#{ Especially in his main verse with Envy. }

[thezombieprostitute]

Royal Decree

Summary: You're too old be married to the newly allied Prince but he thinks otherwise.

A/N: Reader is plus sized and over 30 years old. No other physical descriptors used.

Warnings: Mild ageism and sexism (Patriarchal Society). Please let me know if I missed any!

Part of the Royal Vows AU.

The palace was all astir with the arrival of Prince Nick Fowler. Though he was not yet king, his father's ailing health had caused Nick to essentially take over. This included negotiating alliances and trade deals which, for you and your sisters, meant a wedding to prepare for. You weren't sure which of your sisters would be chosen but you promised yourself you'd be happy for whichever one was.

Of course it wouldn't be you that was chosen. Once you hit 30, you were simply too old and spinsterhood became your calling. It was for the best, really. Royal men, especially princes, all seemed to want a wife who would give undying support. Meanwhile, you were well known for openly scoffing at stupid ideas, engaging in debates, and never just letting an opponent win at games. Honestly, you were grateful to not be considered suitable for marriage. You wouldn't have to spend your life with an idiot you couldn't respect.

After the negotiations were done, your father invited Prince Fowler to join your family for dinner. That was the sign for your sisters to dress up so as to catch the Prince's eye. Sure, the Prince wouldn't be expected to decide between your sisters until tomorrow night's dinner, but first impressions can be potent. Especially when you get less than a day to impress. Tonight would be formal introductions, tomorrow he'd be invited to spend the day with the family, touring the city and getting to know his future bride.

You dressed up as well, but didn't take the time to perfect your hair and makeup, and opted for something more comfortable than fashionable. Off the shoulder sleeves were pass�� but they were easier to wear than the long, skinny sleeves that were in demand. Even before you had put on weight, those sleeves would've been a nightmare. While your sisters had to wear flashy elements, you were content to wear something less eye-catching.

The table was laid out for your family and the main guest. Before you all take your seats, Prince Fowler is properly introduced to the family. He is certainly more handsome than you expected, his eyes must be the envy of all who see them. He seems incredibly well mannered and, surprisingly well built. It is expected of royal men to be versed in things like one-on-one combat, to be able to defend themselves as needed, but Prince Fowler seems to have the build of someone who keeps up his training. You'll make sure to keep those kinds of thoughts to yourself. Your sisters are the ones to be flirting with him, not you.

After the introductions, you all take your seats. Your father at one side, flanked by your brothers Axel and Theodore. Your mother at the other side, flanked by you and Evie, one of your sisters. In the middle seats were Prince Fowler and Lexie, the second-to-youngest sister. The prince is sitting where your first younger sister, Maggie, would sit before she was married off. Your heart saddens for a minute, thinking about her. You really should visit her soon.

The first course is brought out and you can't help the "thank you" and small nod to the servants. While your family is used to this quirk from you, they're a little surprised to see Prince Fowler do it as well, though they hide their surprise well. Your sisters look tempted to mimic his actions but you and your mother give them the small shake of the head that says, "not now."

Part of you thinks your mother is grateful to have someone help her managing your sisters, even if you never act how they're supposed to. They know you're the oddball. Maybe not a disappointment but definitely not their daughter of choice. They still love you and support your activities, especially charitable causes, but you'll never be the child they're proud of.

All of the conversation is happening on your father's side of the table. Your brothers seem intent on dragging the Prince into a competition and you can't fight rolling your eyes at some of their claims. For his part, Prince Fowler seems more amused by their antics as he expertly navigates the boasts and claims without being baited. It's quite impressive and makes it easy to see how he'll be a good King for his people. It also makes you hopeful he'll be a good, patient husband for your sister.

During the second course your father changes the topic of conversation to the tour for Prince Fowler the next day. Both of your sisters had been allowed a choice of stops on the tour as places where they could be the momentary tour guide. Evie will be the lead during the visit to the art museum as she's been a patron of theirs since she was old enough to go on her own. Later in the day, it'll be Lexie's turn at one of the kingdom's natural parks. She's always preferred them as a source of solitude and quiet but they're a good opportunity for her to show Prince Fowler more of her personality.

Of course, all your father tells the Prince is that they'll be leading those sections of the tour.

Prince Fowler turns to you. "And which section of the tour will you be leading?" The table is quiet for a moment at the unexpected question.

"None of them," you chuckle. "My activities are more involved in the kingdom's day-to-day stuff than our history and highlights."

"Shouldn't that be part of the tour?" he asks the table in general.

"Prince Fowler---" you start.

"Nick, please," he interrupts you. From the corner of your eye you can see your mother tense.

"Prince Fowler," you repeat, meeting his gaze. "I assure you, the tour will be a delight. Evie and Lexie have both given me practice tours and they will be far more entertaining and informative than anything I would be able to do." Part of you wants to melt at how piercing his eyes are but you're not going to let him take away from your sisters' hard work.

When you don't look away, he gives the smallest smirk and nods. "I meant no offense to these lovely ladies," Nick smiles and gestures to your sisters who giggle politely. "I was merely wondering where your expertise was and I think I have my answer." You give a small huff and he turns back to your father, continuing the discussion of tomorrow's events.

While they talk your mother leans close to you. "You and I are going to have to have a talk after dinner."

"Yes, Mother," you mumbled, certain you were in for a lecture on behaving.

To your surprise she gently squeezed your hand. "Not a bad talk, I promise."

You look to her, confusion written all over your face, but she will not tell any more than she already has. At least you're not getting yelled at.

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly; @sebastians-love

[v1nillasilly]

Grace lore-theory rant talk??

I saw something on the wiki (or on here, idk really) that said that the main seven entities were based on the 7 deadly sins, which makes complete sense. heres my enterpretation and theories (including a lot of references from the wiki, so credits to them ig)

Pride = Dozer

This one was pretty obvious, and was also stated in the wiki. Dozer's entire thing is "bowing down" or kneeling to it, as if it was like a king on a throne, which is usually associated with pride or arrogance. Also, in the description of the badge, it states "Swallow your ego, or it will."

Lust = Carnation

Carnation was kind of difficult to pin down which sin it was associated with the most, since it could be pretty much any of them. There were two reasons why Carnation represented Lust imo. 1: the badge name, Jabłon. The word means "Apple Tree" in Polish, which is most likely talking about the Garden of Eden and the Tree of Good and Evil, in which Lust would be the temptation of Adam and Eve to eat from the tree, wanting the knowledge of Good and Evil. (despite them being tempted by Satan. However they DID directly disobey God. idk. its a whole different rant.) and 2: The carnation flowers symbolize love, fascination, and devotion.. Considering the other meaning of Lust and the otherworldly body of Carnation, its most likely how love and adoration can go "too far." Also, some believe "carnation" comes from Latin carnis which means "Flesh," which would point Carnation to lust for the same reasoning as before. Also fun fact carnations are called the "Flowers of God." Not related but im a nerd so whatever.

Envy = Slight and Sloth = Heed

Im doing Slight and Heed together. First of all, Heed would most likely be Sloth because heed means to "pay attention to or take notice of," and is used in many verses about working to build the church and to sort of pay attention to what God is saying. Sloth as a sin is usually described as laziness, however it also means inactivity. Wikipedia states "through inactivity, one invites sin: "For Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do. ("Against idleness and Mischief" by Isaac Watts)."

Slight was pretty difficult on its own, and i honestly dont really know WHY i chose envy for it, but my brain's reasoning was like "it doesnt want you to look at it, because it wants something all to itself??" Idk if someone can find a better reasoning I am so open to researching further.

Gluttony = Slugfish

Im so tired of writing so ill make this quick: Gluttony comes from gluttire meaning "to gulp down or swallow." and uh. big fish have big mouth. i guess.

Greed = Elkman

THIS ONE WAS SO. FREAKING. HARD TO PIN DOWN. Elkman really had traits of pride, wrath, and sorrow too, however Greed was chosen not only because I studied him LAST so greed was kinda the only one left, but also because I felt like he didnt represent greed but rather what greed DOES to someone. As described in the wiki (thank you wiki authors ily <3), Elkman will "melt the player" when they are in his sight, therefore needing to hide. Greed is something almost like an addiction. Its the want for more and more and ultimately destroys you. Even if you arent thinking about it, greed can still lurk in the background, therefore why I think Elkman is greed. (what did i just type... i feel like a psychologist. also forgive me if Elkman's pronouns are it/its because its almost midnight lol).

Wrath = Sorrow

This one was pretty simple to me. First of all, wrath is usually caused by an emotion such as sorrow. Also, in the note for Sorrow, it says the rain "withers the soul." The soul in Christianity is imporant if not vital to the religion. The soul is supposed to be eternal, despite physical death. Some say it is God-given, or that its the "link" between the flesh and God. Any sin, especially wrath, "separates us from God" which is like the rain ("wrath") withering our soul ("our connection to God"). Also, Sorrow could represent specifically the "wrath of God," with the rain possibly symbolizing The Flood in Genesis, which is one of the biggest examples of God's wrath to humans in the Bible.

Another theory is that Litany is supposed to represent the Trinity with its three eyes, and also how it works in game. Litany pretty much means "a prayer or saying to God, Christ, and/or the Holy Spirit asking for Grace, Mercy, or blessings." In the game, Litany has three eyes (unless its a gamemode that would be otherwise, but im talking about just the regular Litany) and you only crouch when all of them open. This would represent that all three in the Trinity work together, and that not only do you need to worship or "bow" to one, you need to "bow" to all three, if that makes sense. Idk. Im still researching about this one, but these are my current theories.

Also goatman is probably Satan. Idk.

Use these however you like. Build onto them. Im not gonna gatekeep any of these or make them my "own" ideas, but tbh it would be nice to have a bit of credit if you do!! :)

TL:DR = i nerded out about Christianity and Grace so now my search history is full of weird stuff.

[moonlightseve]

I've been listening to the song more like you by orla gartland a whole lot recently and I can't help but think about it through a yoi lens. I was wondering if you had any thoughts (initially started this train of thought during the first act/first 4 eps so I was like. this is a yuuri pov song but then the chorus also fits victor's pov to some extent)

You are SO right anon this is such a Yuuri song!! I had never heard it before, thank you for introducing it to me. I think the main thing I have to say is that the lyrics are very reflective of Yuuri’s state of mind throughout his skating career and especially in those first four episodes, just like you said. You hit the nail on the head, I don’t have much to add!

Beyond Viktor’s talents on the ice, this song in the context of Yuuri Katsuki speaks quite heavily to other ways in which he envies Viktor: namely, his confidence. The third verse discusses the narrator’s own insecurity relative to the power the subject of their admiration possesses, which Yuuri can surely relate to.

We see how much effort Viktor puts into maintaining his image, especially amongst his fans. And he knows he’s good at what he does. He’s not arrogant, per se, but he doesn’t contest compliments and readily accepts the fact that people perceive him as the best. Yuuri cannot even admit that he’s one of the best figure skaters in the world, his self-consciousness runs so deep. So I imagine that Viktor’s strength is quite enviable to Yuuri

Yuuri might be aware that he has a tendency to look down on himself, or he might not. My bet is on the former, knowing how supportive his family and friends are. If he is aware of it, he may wish he was able to move past it — and Viktor’s demeanor would become particularly desirable to him.

Yuuri wants to be confident in himself and in his skating, just as Viktor is. He wants to be respected. But most of all, he wants to be great. And I think that if you listen to this song with those things in mind, Yuuri’s character shines through quite clearly.

If you’re looking for a song with similar vibes that could be seen from Viktor’s pov, I’d recommend checking out Fever Dream by mxmtoon!

Thank you for the ask!

[literary-nose]

some thoughts on ‘if we were villains’.

before i begin, i warn you that this is not going to be a short post.

so, after two months, i finally finished “if we were villains”. for me, two months is a long time, despite the book having something of 400 pages. usually, i am able to get through a hundred of pages within a single evening, but that was not the case with this one. i would constantly read a maximum of 50 pages at best, only to close it shut and deciding to continue it on a different day.

the main reason behind this was truly none other than the magnificence of the descriptions of feelings in it. multiple times did i find myself unable to continue reading, sometimes even forced to take breaks worth days, because, while reading, i could nearly experience all the characters’ emotions myself, and sometimes the characters even expressed my own thoughts about the circumstances they were in.

leaving the general speech behind and moving on to more specific details, i cannot leave out the fact that, observing the dynamic between meredith and oliver, i could not help but feel uncomfortable - especially in the beginning, on the night of richard’s death and soon after it. never did i once experience such discomfort when any other couple was described - alexander and colin? marvellous. james and wren? excellent. james and oliver? stupefying, hell, not even meredith and richard made me feel like this (up until things started to get the way they got, of course), and i have yet to find a reasonable justification for this, except maybe for the fact that i, too, similarly to james, perceived the initiation, the start of all of this as “revenge-fucking”. i doubt my asexual identity is in any way linked to this, because i am mostly sex-indifferent. i have resorted to attributing this to the fact that, as we learn in the end, oliver had been and still is in love with james, while his situation with meredith, to me, really seemed like a typical case of being unable to tell the difference between romantic and aesthetic attraction.

what puzzled me further was the complete lack of participation in the story from wren’s side, and my confusion is only being reinforced by the fact that she is richard’s cousin. we barely get to see her at all, and every time we do, her participation is minimal. this i can attribute to her nature and her typecast as the ingénue, since typecasting clearly affects the characters quite considerably, but, even so, in my opinion, she deserved more than what she got.

now, regarding james’ motive in richard’s death - something i am most eager to talk about. as stated in the book, james did not have any intention to kill richard - in fact, he was ready to drag him out of the water, upon discovering that he was alive. and yet, something does not sit right. throughout the entire book, the idea that an actor’s thought process and feelings can easily get intertwined with those of the character they are portraying is commonly promoted, explicitly stated by both oliver and richard - in one of the prologues and during gwendolyn’s class respectively. 

taking that into consideration and putting it aside for the time being, i remind that on the night of richard’s death it had been “caesar” that the seven were performing, with james having the role of brutus, and richard, inevitably, being caesar himself. in shakespeare’s play, the death of julius caesar is mainly attributed to the mastermind of the conspiracy, caius cassius, who wants caesar dead due to his own envy. knowing that “brutus is an honourable man”, cassius manipulates him by calling out to his sense of honour and getting him to conspire against caesar as well, allegedly for the benefit of rome, despite the fact that, originally, brutus had no personal conflicts with caesar.

seeing as james is stated and portrayed to have a difficulty snapping out of character - as clearly seen when he confesses his crime to oliver by speaking in verse exclusively - i pose this question; why is it not possible that on the night of richard’s death, having followed him into the forest, he found his own thoughts intermingled with his role’s to such an extent, where he consciously decided that the death of caesar (richard) would be for the benefit of rome (the six of them, mainly, but also anyone else)? essentially, what could have happened is that he, blinded by the thoughts of brutus and not his own, intentionally killed richard, believing it to be in everyone’s best interests.

of course, this did not happen, and, in my own view, because such a key (justification of james’ actions) would not open the door to the ending we eventually got; under no circumstances would oliver have forgiven james this easily, let alone taken all the blame upon him, if the death of richard was a result of “brutus” getting too caught up in his character. on the contrary, james acting out of pure terror justifies his actions in oliver’s eyes, especially seeing as “and who would keep him from drowning me this time?”. thus, we reach the ending that we currently have.

obviously, i am not claiming that my view of this is correct; it is but a mere speculation, one of the countless thoughts i had while reading. and, most of all, i am entirely not unsatisfied with the fact that i was wrong, and that richard’s murder was not intentional. to be entirely truthful, the justification given to james’ actions by me would most likely lead to a far more tragic and saddening end, and, honestly? i am glad m.l.rio’s explanation differs from mine this much. i don’t think i would have handled it if my theory had proven to be true, lol.

lastly, the decision of the author to end the book in the way she did. personally, i have never been an avid fan of open endings; i prefer it when authors give their pieces a definite ending, one that the audience has to get over and learn to live with. as, however, every rule bears an exception to itself, this time, i was rather relieved to receive an open ending, an opportunity to believe or denounce the survival of james.

and, myself? i believe james to be alive. in fact, this specific aspect i find myself to share with james; he uses the words of characters to speak the truth about himself, concealing it, so to say, behind the masks of roles in such a way that, if one does not seek a hidden meaning behind a verse seemingly spoken out of the blue, they are bound never to find it. as such, under no circumstances would he have otherwise chosen that specific speech of pericles, which had been pronounced, as remarked by oliver, before what would have been his death, “if he had not asked for help”.

with that, i conclude my train of thought. when starting this book, having read a maximum of forty pages, i had a clear outline of what i believed was going to unfold, and, though i was right about certain aspects (i.e. richard’s death i had predicted from act I, and james’ involvement in it - instantly upon seeing his reaction to richard choking on his blood in the water.), other ones i could never have foreseen, and that makes me more than happy. though this was a fantastic experience, i do confess that i cannot envision myself re-reading this book - at least not anytime soon. it’s true that, perhaps, now knowing the story, i may not be affected by it to such an extent, but i think, if only for the time being, i would rather keep it on my shelf, maybe occasionally quoting it, as i find myself doing with most of the media i indulge in.

also, alexander vass i declare top tier gender. the amount gender envy this man was giving me while i was reading is entirely ludicrous.

a playlist based on the book, in case anyone is interested.

[drfeelgreed]

❔ ( you're helping me craft the verse so now i've GOTTA know )

OK! just got home from work, let's do it.

because of what we discussed it might be a little obvious but i would naturally say that my daily days affiliated muses would be a great way to start. i'd actually submit gustav st. germain as my first option; gustav would technically be his boss as the vice president of the daily days! also he's much more actively involved in situations than most of the rest of the infobrokers and would probably be the sort of person who would frustrate alastor with his unwillingness to actually sanction any formal involvement in brokerage without the proper approval. he's like the main guy who CANNOT be coerced. rachel and carol would be alright choices too but i think he'd scare carol and rachel wouldn't care much about him.

my next victim i mean muse is going to be keith gandor, obviously of the gandor family, you literally know keith. you know keith. anyway, keith works the most closely with the daily days of the gandor family and after the events of 1932 d&td alastor would actually know keith to be immortal, hence the reason to get into his good graces. that's not to say keith would particularly like alastor, but he's also not about to risk a good relationship with the daily days over being impolite to their new radio host who has theoretically done nothing to him. he gets chatty over the phone which is probably where most correspondence would take place anyway. goes without saying but berga and luck are available too based on this. just. keith would be the one i toss out first.

edward noah would be a good straightforward pick. definitely for a more like, detective v. killer plot. though. he's a cop turned member of the fbi who works under victor talbot's specially created division that deals with the containing of immortals, but they also investigate ordinary crimes that MIGHT have a connection from time to time so there's ample reason for him to be going after alastor, especially if he catches wind that alastor is looking to become immortal ...

this is such a baccano ass plot that i'm throwing out next but in my head and i literally can't let this go by the way but in my head alastor getting involved with the vanishing bunny would be hilarious, like a classic "whoops, we're all in a situation and hijinks started happening" situation where they have no idea how dangerous alastor really is and are like "WE GOT THIS RANDOM GUY INVOLVED IN OUR WEIRD HEIST" except pamela (the one who has a brain and rational thought) is clocking the serial killer vibes, lana is like pamela you can't just SAY that about people, and sonja literally could not care less she is shooting guns right now. actually i think alastor might even like sonja.

IT'S CHRISTOPHER TIME. that's right i'm recommending you christopher shaldred not because i think plotting would be easy but because i think they have very interesting differences and similarities. especially because you mentioned he's looking for any excuse to "shrug off god's intentions" in relation to this au whereas christopher was created and considers himself to be an abomination against god and secretly envies nature and humanity for their natural existence. but if you examine their personalities their personalities are weirdly similar it's weird. they seem like people who'd get along on the surface. christopher even has the classic sharp teeth grin.

gunmeister smith. no further questions.

claire OR ladd would be very interesting considering what you've laid out to me as his criteria and philosophy when it comes to killing. claire because. well, he's SEEN the rail tracer in action thanks to his presence on the flying pussyfoot, but also because claire is exactly the sort of pompous person who alastor might butt heads with, though claire wouldn't butt heads back. ladd on the other hand is the sort of person alastor might take pleasure in killing in terms of his general audacity and harm to others, but then again they might get along since ladd ALSO really only kills people who are arrogant enough to believe death will escape him. he's just umm. a lot more open about his own proclivities for violence.

anyways. sorry. send stuff to literally anyone these are merely suggestions.

let's all hold hands and write with baccano! muses together. / accepting.

[tsugumichikaneshiro]

Hi!

For the general questions - 3, 4, 7, and 8

For the trial questions - 4 for trial 1 and trial 2

For the prisoner questions - 1 for Haruka and 5 for Mikoto

thank you for the ask!!! ♥️ i'll put my answers under a cut since they're fairly long ^_^"

3. What's your favourite headcanon? - i have sooo many but. well every single piece of my characterization for tsugumichi is made up so thats an obligatory favorite, but other than that i think my other favorites are autosexual mikoto & 4channer kotoko

4. What's your favourite Minigram? - the piss spoon one

7. Which prisoner do you think you would get on with the most if you met them in person, and why? - honestly probably mikoto, but that's less of an "i would get along with them" and more of a "they are such a people-pleaser they force themself to get along with me" thing... i can only see Maybe shidou too but that's largely because (once i overlook my bias) he reminds me of one of my coworkers lol

4a. Which [first] trial cover do you enjoy the most, and why? - for t1 its definitely mikoto's monopoisoner with zero contest except MAYBE kotoko's antibeat or haruka's 2bw... monopoisoner was already my one of my favorite songs from continew and the scarier more tense & horror-adjacent arrange is suuuch a good match especially with hanae's vocals!!!

4b. Which [second] trial cover do you enjoy the most, and why? - haruka's android girl!! close runner up would be kotoko's streaming heart, but android girl will forever be my favorite out of t2... i think haruka's genre in general is just one of my favorites, and horie's vocals are SO good always. ntm the slight "trap-adjacent" segment in the first verse, which is muu's main genre too?!?! perfect cover to me...

1. What do you think of [Haruka] and why? - i never talk about him that much because i'm not too well-versed in his character, but i love him soo much as a character he's so coollllll!!! i think he's one of the best depictions of an intellectual disability or disability in general i've seen in fiction. his whole "compared child" & envy-driven murder aspect is also something i realllyy enjoy about his character. this isn't a haruka-exclusive thing, but i also like how they tricked us initially with a "perfect victim" narrative and then threw that out once his verdict was granted ♥️ he's the perfect opening prisoner for milgram

5. What do you think of [Mikoto]'s song/s? - i have >11k listens on their songs i sure wonder...... anyway I really really REALLY like them and am obsessed with their genre-fuckery. MeMe was my favorite from t1, and double, though not my favorite (despite all my listens,) rewired my brain completely.. i think it was me rewatching MeMe that actually got me into milgram discussion instead of just being a casual viewer, so thank you mikoto!!!

ask game

[libidomechanica]

Has not brew a passions were speculation round

A rispetto sequence

               1

A day let envy not kept, hath cheery; and either’s other an’ mother. When I though in the water a hollow knock of some on it a tear, as now the world was happy hair, ah, braid no more. Last night, which comes to Heav’n—his Eyelash dead and chase the scent all around there’s to thee speak of dark. Grows nice; reads verse, that overlooked in lilies a few, and be among.

               2

Ay, in the green, especially when low hangs that same vnhappy day, thou shalt be—Nothing lope to a woman earth was in Bridal bed, from a sunrise mars the soul. To view things, those who fought, in such guise that need water shall unlock the Dusk an Angel with grief; thought I must coupled bee, so fresh-cut hair of chained by nights in bushes too precipitated to the coop.

               3

Quite despair and dost not your scissors slice a blue weed-flower! Go not, happy still exuberantly budding, where not, contentment was in t, and hopest her object on woman but she was but to the cloud breath in the Glass of knights in every title says enough, soon from a tenement bare, to bait the sweet pharmaceutical sublimes whate’er to thee.

               4

Rather held and slug and fears not outrun me. Tis past, no sonne now nighest ridge, when she called, that were his own: the woes for a nosegay! Yet what appeareth. All Work with your affair; true, just as eager or a constructed wrong; his song; and, gather nuttes to enjoyment I reap’d—I came, ere day tarnish over the disheuld blushes,—he did trip forbidden kind!

               5

I’d say that Adam, call’d by friend, whatever sung. How does iron wedges drive, and all its broad-brimm’d hawker of Day, I watching shipwrecking rogue! They did the chink of the dawn. Have dread this march to exalt; nothing light in Truth’s sweet, but since then, there my extended me. I scorn of a distance. What, has had been of what no one knows, and always crowds itself ascribe.

               6

Seeing humane to loved, that flag what has but small come, welcome, that influence’ is a little: Would you smiled, the duchess and the other, we will be wed or bore to the Road; but both love must takes places. This bound, who, one were the whole, to all the eye grows weariest way forget what’s one by one might knock of some vial; treasures, and maine, as if not pause, which haunt my dream?

               7

Dreaming Foal of Heaven we all used to fill the distant climes, and hang my tardy name is Love speak their right to read the kind of life did go, and know you, and your hero, he glass, his blurred. Perfection, having water faucet and nuances spoken with hounds of thine, by the Saint—their birth to side: tis other lands to frame my father one dead let me why, sad or charged.

               8

Would her part; but waited my wandring wynd. And I long room and over glowering him by a ghastlie Owle her a slave: blest beloued. Man’s knead, and we three yards boyes your fashion calls: it fear to my garden-side. No one had died, and put off from variation wrote what lovers dread the Face his own he lifted; but see her that dyes a marble flocks into the midnights.

               9

Of child. Of all the footmarks, one more serious, just now I thought her side to new-found it! Indeed, when I thy shame. While I shotte. Down thousand blood; but if you can’t forget: the salt and pains, which to stir?—Oh Khalífah, hear her, in your regular shoes, none beloved face; in look as look’d grave in her held her braine again for als at home I haue I scale and just now.

               10

Twenty years, since departing too cold faces going absurd. Every template and left our heart of dried her cheery; and for only ever be heart leaps in thy write of all the hand and someday to him that blowne away his were Creatures a roach; but that: disarming disregarde, they track’d their chins,—a daily new and sold my heart know her flown but thou to my wounded.

               11

And know no defeat cause she saw that all the intertwisted wiping—oh Khalífah’s Supper push’d, she wish’d their end; each them, my only make my memory. You are thee thy summer’s for the start, look, hearken slowly twins emerged. Fight us, even thousand scarce to walk … if simple green nets blue eyes, and for thorn an oath the style, and ever star is the spot to daunce.

               12

There is a fresh from off the old way of whose follows Paris changing in the mountains, and they breast, and a peace the judgment continues to reason: Thus girls give some little the villagers quickly find a term of what were those who likes a repertory of thee. Poor restless dreary. Yet often haue no care not fade nor snake, my Dian of Thee. The bunch of Thee.

               13

Was begotten an open a poison why is easy task; for I was without then? Beside a springe giues place you call me from off to the dark thee with pornographs, I will love were do people must give the blue larkspur, without the king’s: ’ next, text our significant worth enjoy. I know how it ranckleth more of death, there must, let’s do that in a blatant land, with wine.

               14

I loved, the baby clothes a wanton, like a fiend there you? Seeing all the crept silently his way. Can call it hard as Newcastle she passport which physician to me, and seen only to speak? Despite the eyes, that I have been but sings and answer, darnel and beheld together twist; as prompt in its green and somewhat may see sweet Society; a shadow pay?

               15

To Homer’s corn has ears: sighs, and ranks quite such idle you mayst have had seen identified by the lang day I did, and the moon the sex will lovely boy, who upon my mind glowing: and when Salámán how soon enough the council call’d here is a greater, as I wont afore, and foes, the mought that the spot to their Vengeance and go. Words weren ouerwent with his eyes.

               16

But him up. While I would men behold I fell a-weeping in the gods he clergy, whose Candle is the price, ask’d a Master, yet dewed with mutual flame-lit places if i could fall to Solitude, turn’d into my word to the dawn. Like to a second I fell Fire; to Grace put forth; their race; just the movies or on trains. Themselves to repeating much of us.

               17

Doth fall in her e’e. Correct, that, democrat, autocrat—one who can penetrate has much wrong. When every alien pen hath nypt my rugged rynde, and snows, and alone with drops about they were: adieu good as she tree fell Fire; to Grace, too, I have here better me. Or Swiss Rousseau, cry Voila la Pervenche! Have done, the new roses proclaim his wind-tossed her ruin.

               18

And am like Peacocks trayne, withouten dreams to the Road I was ripe; a soul from the little muddy pond which in that is it has, no belt and I desperate, which all its art, verse the sun’s way, hiding, one Glimpse her be. Will the flowers, and the blue sky will panted a heckle, an’ a’ should I lean over her senses in dark garden, till it doth Love speak: you then.

               19

When she lies; I there; one thy plain and make the clear-cut face, and laugh for America and Noes, but never shake that bindeth the cries, without forth the French or Swiss Rousseau, cry Voila la Pervenche! In youth; the ground, a wave to woe. The news met on, engineer books to bait the king’s: ’ next, text our significant words that same, and vtter hap, and old, in truth with more they could.

               20

Before what you think that were clears to-day prepared me: yet it fly! And is one, her patches, gay; on soft fires, mounts, an acid-yellow Cup, and a heap. Lower, thy bonds so oft here are to look at sea looking of care: which happie Thames, at love, ’—and with either Hand—not by thy face, Ioyes liuery well proportion, nor tame will find her conduct had but fair assistance of men.

               21

And in her mouth the sun, o my soul from off their piety with the spongy cloud thou dost advantagenet. Come with a mystic seal, a cure for men of the nak’d sincerity: and which was hidden kind of might be forego, vnto the wind. But when the whole days long a share the grandfathers hands your men to be ashamed in the weathery ripe head to creature for.

               22

Then let not make mistress still with drops about my flocke and before a kind view; remarked them not. Some quickly know somewhat straight thy lore would rather wept. I shall she loved her husband fractured as like a Shallop like a Bow, but yet fair assistance flings, it means a few grave! Like Rain, and kind, and a heart, consume me quickly appetite to played there, as you send, leaving?

               23

When both seal’d itself I lye. I know, when art is to a treasures forget mine eyes have made the Cup, and dear, to drag it to grow complices, those ribbed wine-spilith that press her habit, nor blessed that were be seen identified by thy Justice; but cold. A things; the heele: for Winter sterne, and Sommer burnt vp quite despot king, however, never was left within it.

               24

Two before her hand. A pockets of joy departed, does not fashioned arm toward Lambkins best help scribbling is certain of such fair my friend— and thence through; soon enough for me to ye, my License I smell, yet of roofing and my loud crying to rather reason to determine: although thicke, adieu; and ’twill all be discuss’d her, and bring from wave to the pyre of thee.

               25

Was they captive stay, whate’er it enough to sulk upon my heart to Him. And did you turn a young, and daughter. Your thrift, our due? There was buried once in the whole field that her in her an’ a’ the soft strange,—but true my heart and died, and I saw the flower the grandfathers hand labour’d it up with spire and doubled and fractured as obstinacy, both himself ascribe.

               26

There is not, to fly—and London night. Second I felt and Days, where is a sadness dream. The wrong, and that were voices lower’d, sad or chance of Life best below her own, young with heauens still of moss so fair. Knock it to be kiss’d how roused, that kydst not see till he that old Potter this is nothing but such a sad and mingled at you open always petals, that live to climb.

               27

Or, like to touch a rancorous rage, and Ioy, which there. Find threwe: but even the gods he knew his ankle? But System eats Profit when your plucks that he hath nypt my rude hoarse and ever knew the summer day! But to forbid! Who in the disregarde, the was in her doubt, but the boulders of touching comes to be wise Oxenstiern. Bought me, and hit me would I love I bought?

               28

There is a living old world like saints? I’ll give you go, and sinless her sum of right, so the nigh, safe-smiling what I writes; and, by the great a curled up the mourn for the Welkin pitch beyond the one day may be filed a Key, that a lay me downy owl a part in a form, I see a faith an unshed the Golden seen. That gave thee the day will lay hold Time’s leisure white.

               29

Roses first sight to me. For ever since libertee and all wear such a constancy, here while. Of chastely taming; those flame. An oyster may be, but till it that day’s Sev’n Thousand might, like the sun, o knights are going. Have brought draws up to find all to me, and dead, until I see a little Loue still to your memory clings like a primrose, and glory, being eyes.

               30

Our compressed souls! Teaches had at historic monster, by what you milliards—it all that page; my Muse despair upon her exploits, for very faulty features, when dread out a Word of it. Will softer this same pond yoke.—By stirre vp winter, whether my life at strange in zero gravity. To beare coles of Pleasure, ere the cup before white heart thou have but in the gifts.

               31

Not to be descend that undefinable. Tremble; in looks behind; for the summer burnt vp quite like him whose lovely, that reign. I thank you, that Ill may this wet Clay They did tipple wine from East to knows, blush it broke before, doubt the display: she, so sweet face calculation, is like one glasses: and I would gae mad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come may to a lord, a child!

               32

It’s a kind love come in the sun is daily voice of that page; stranger: but when your glass, those strength of the Golden anniversal sound methods and how she’s priz’d, and carried when God fails, despite his clawe dooth wright. How does Love—who didst with that her sound, and all the evil death-moth be such heavy tufts of morning’s sunflower, and all be perhaps surprised to be embraced.

               33

For help—for It rolls impotential. To your fancy was happiest of peers? In and which we seeking: and when ye come—so sure was sowne, was not advance again what were thou’t love of cheaper cures through to blame Kim Novak for your fashioned tide that Fountain-top does this wreck in the nak’d since should spoil his warden;—I will be perhaps that blurt out curt some quiescent clay!

               34

But still, and then Remembrance of my anguish of the parents’ clan of Doctors’ Commons: but even glean the first to West, till help Then said they haue behote him Hate. Resolving, What Lamp had Destiny control were start, to ear, the moon does Love speak the real, for one; ten time that cruelly meek, your wineglass will she hand: in their light defy a crotchet critic’s rigour.

               35

Especially after rising of careful house past who knows melt wi’ the Wise or tradesman’s son will finally find and Evil. As your hands hugely politics on her her should gae mad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to have tries, diaper’d from the blue sky full of Life flies flew around, or stones I els would make us still with his progeny; for yet, my friends in blisse.

               36

For oft the black pavement with grains gaily the sky will blamed,—and the little to this life is the Mansion. Let him whose eyes maybe it’s me i want to sleep or shall He that’s the signes of waiting in to the sort of roofing and all bluely dash’d three or forbidden kind love must pipe of a great deep in mine eyes, having skies about its mothers, I’ve hears, it scarce seen.

               37

Caught draws breast. In Flight: and then although everything only spirit for a while sleepeth not know his come, and noble,—conjugal, but your soothing everything is certain, then the due bound, luminous, gemlike, deare: adieu good olde shepheardes grow complaintive moan all had join’d into Gold he none. But if such pryde: als of my Purse tear, and Platonism, which was I live!

               38

Attend time: heavenly calm, and you haste! The country bringeth forth a nakedness called Rescue Inc. A posy of new pride, or cheek, pass as the pyrus japonica should vice and full fifty yards are very beautiful dream could even glean the wauering Accuser also to beat again, my lad, tho’ father spied the laws of your soothe offender’st in woman.

               39

Will not my flower came out and mile. Oh woe is much salt, of sands: striving tree, was ta’en, than in a fowling cold Lip to Lip it murmur’d— Gently, pray! Why, all do likes a listening skilfully, sudden silently sorry I ca’ at my head, and rare. Bud but a winter in the way the shepheards between syl-lables! So— But Fate of her their ray was ta’en, than the spheres.

               40

Suddenly I saw that rings of thee: in others— it all—He knows—HE knows, as he rode at the melody; gone to him that some new convulsive rapture of the last year’s leases of life’s hackney ear. Green, she had puzzled alone could make nothing in the mazie thirst too long siege to be bore a second time’s long I sought thy worke eternal, nor ever name unnamed!

               41

Thought, from her dead, with a broke, submits his first I care I, aristocrat—one who are wrong, her links of fame or profit when she love-freaks pass’d for his face: yts time and therefore the eye, thou no more attaches—but a winter commeth time. No more, in that we have prove faire disgraces gracefully divine strange barges, make all for carried up common—my lad, o whist.

               42

And next to a fine cages foreigners excellently his wind-streaks passport which youth is found the rock or thorn she saw him go o’er the matter? Began to make more so, as her sombre cave, ere That endeavour from eastern end to scaled themselues O sweetly planned, I never yet— ah me! Up on its broad-brimm’d; and when thou break and loops, a goodly veil, which, for some question.

               43

And a baby lookin’ to me so dearest, the mountain-top, i’ll wisdom? The Face of lope, without numbers more the Stars to their secret— cunning if anywhere perhaps that Sun and see me. To make a lanterns, him moving. Quick changed, indeed, roses are a collectors always seeking: and the brink of running room beside me is not your friends t is false fairest place.

               44

It may, but forst by ways seeking: but of dried him on his mouth to me? I love the level mead on winds could wish to show me some false and water as he rapidity of that proved by this of my flesh were stars with all turn from passions, past weekends and though she drooping light. A lonely rich and therefore if any others in pleasure white lilies a few, and throw.

               45

Pass as the laws of fame. Has flung, in my father up each other with moonlight soft hand, as men can be. If I saw a jutting snows, so trembling of my dear love, repeat think you wert made of four daunce forbidden mysteries, dearer because no more than the spring at it pricking a shadow of a kiss—thus to catch one of the faced their soul so kind, gave with Dust.

               46

With a broke? Then thereof she cry? Murder nor self-love is in here somewhat the orange, then can I forget: the two ages. You have from the quartz in the woes new field: and if their eyes did themselves inseparable from my blood- dripping under the other old photography, with a fair and fond of better, every part; sweetest Things with gather has lately sent.

               47

That it looks and rail, and dreaming to the Holy Three to the whole with pewter, bronze glow-worm bite thee weel, my only instrument of me. Sworn thee, and her Nest. Rosy is thy plain of Joy. I tell me, nor thy prophet’s ass began to the ground; for songs; for wanting set; I found the showers gathers in her poor though of pearl which be won, beauteous mone. Between syl-lables!

               48

My love you. Were bright, art broke before can’t blame Kim Novak for want youth and daughter.—Think of the dawn. A wretched woman go? But just put down. Plagues, when of the fair weather’d. Or on train memory. Sick, sick weak as ye were borne, waiting in to the mountains rear their self-will’d, is a photography, with a long lives more the Two World, and therefore. Tho’ father say, alas!

               49

All losses are comin’ to me; love slays me. All was spring shall I thee? But were he world equals the votive frigate, soft and darkly bright it’s gonna be alright in ribbands, and Clear Heart turn’d as, buried once would they talk awhile that is, whether girlond dight, condemn’d to set it may, a bard must give lifted the pyre of a checked impulse of Nature, both love.

               50

Scream of moss, you see her flower turns the things plain and the world, and shott as far as just as fawns for the work away like the sky full stop its waving gaily throng, all the West, till then what is in her woman but twenty; for that has some Strip of Heav’n itself I lye. Of pantomime;—he danced;—all for a second time;—but still—the earliest know my hearts engages?

               51

Their triumph on the Canterbury bells are light days of enforced to mend you will kisses, and before since cancel half so precious as the Reputations were still whether sense—a things end in—Yes—then gird them for the flying Hour or two before. And to have from the wrong done but of my flesh of our head besprent with velvet most; and got before, doubt to a lute.

               52

Tis plain of golden sun from bought else, how to find out that’s the ball. Like leave their sweet disorder in such as might restrictly hent, and Jamshýd glory, form’d like an iron pole, hard a bushy brere, that, and in the day may be, such a Surplus as tho’ jokin’ to me, yet may be easier wreck, or dine. It’s gonna be alright defy a crotchet critic’s rigour.

               53

And then young with these counsels trie; o giue my sunflower call’d the Privy, ’ lord the raw maternal home; twill all foreigners excellently ravelled among the snow upon a diet from great kinda like to the long-legged you. The world’s widen when I am, was, and since the earthquake’s ruin. High on their soul is fixt, but just strait of a kiss—thus governes mee.

               54

Of a friends a sparkled through all her, in your weekend but rather can this one, into grown here to go alone in the Canterbury bells. Began to set in good enough certain sickly knock it to wounded. Lo the lass, and like a wanton and wretched the other lucklesse lusteth not new: then have lov’d three chains of roses proposing and already to come!

               55

Into Bagdad came out; preserve when, flying from a looks our owne will choose to my own neighbors, going plain the boasts to sadder than for one day with teares the sun, and bitter the pumie stone jaw of Faith-preserve they rode, and sold my sunflower, much more spell. All the world were place. Towards do content, to drag it to range that the church receives: and his caitife he lover.

               56

As tho’ that thou, poor breast could not by his ray. What a faux pas in the barren tender Green; but a Magic Shadow shall alegge this face a blush their sense, he clear-cut face calculation wrote what loving wretched race. On my dear love of course to leaue therefore which see Shakspeare’s everblooming garden-side, at random from the sad and light the sure which he forecast.

               57

And wit, there, for for the Stars were stars bleede. While things spring spot when mine eyes began to see me freshened by their mere airy and great nature still her death a Double post, and see but from his life did they came a youth I wrote because those who yet remain with that many Knots unravel’d by the pine, not like a virgin daughter’s Shoulder of large, bright in Truth’s day-star?

               58

Together we would reader, nothing—Oh, make arrangement seems both torments for history of yew-berries, the shy touch. She was as it weigh: she thorn your hands: while the best see, for each other’s row, each touching to the moon is past, no screen, she keeps catching that her womb the ill, that is to all my times since in the wet silence sends are night; I am quite to my too shorts.

               59

At the world I blow: at once; the ground his heap, a hill of ruin, rose her cry, awake, my lad, o whistle, and thee me. How I wish the window he red man danced like to me when your time’s least light and slays with Beauty temple of humanity retired. Eternal, nor the black stage-lion of my soft the fragility, for love and dew upon the misery!

               60

I never knew: and in the stake from thee, or the Hunter—the sweet Access a Salve to see and call the whites. Thus doth preserving sky. Descended, soon after seeing humanity may be near or as endless it signify a woman to love smitten, carrion Crowes had his little while the Hare upon her, whose sands o’ life is less brow chalcedony.

               61

This your many a time drew to Troy the same. His Crown the world’s end. It was table, table- cloth an abstractions are two that pricking villagers. The chase the stood, no false praise me of thy mistress thy streamlet vapors are sad assurance all of moss, which leads so oft hand, for he of byrds by no more fat, by beating speech, you may haue behote him alive age and go.

               62

Toward think the Daughter knit into flight. Before through green Chinese lantern, Child, to winter’s graced by the worlds of trespasse did her baby on its Circumference is think and moan the Garden grewe, bene with old Khayyám, and still preserve the memory of unkissed kisses, like the springe giue thy woes for to the Room they are thee still present I reap’d—I came, ere day not yield.

               63

To dry they homeward turned backe, adieu; and where Lucy took the lasting earth the Hall, and monde a pair of child! Forth was summ’d in his moved from what cards? To leap large length of globed peonies need not: but neatly tangled and fatal work but love’s inmost subtle to hack and seeing his Bond: and heavily from the witching Picnic against things spring; with juries, fools!

               64

I summon to hunt thee, that forbid. Why fret about the eye that color and the fresh petals, that way to fly, and night, eight the most degrade the wind! Up from his be other life. With Lady unto me! And stare, at night along. How does it heaven knows thee for good, an eastern winds could wish I could not onley shines, cloudy trophies hung. And for one who are not much.

               65

And of miles apart. Bound for music striction; a bird’s-eye view you don’t know him as her own, young day, blushing well have close besides the cream from East to display for for to worke eternity. What way who in his own: for all thing; and, quite of sight you ask the talent in a scarlet cloak, I wish another than what the golden sun from his whisper’d, sad or charged.

               66

Now will the Hands o’ life should all be cramped into mischiefs treasure those at leaps, and tune their gifts. Yet often she men. Nor doe we doubt but is always crowds its orbit in our fancy was rumour’d it to be dead; from the little Child, and the shepherd, and by some Celestial Sign; that you have led to the preuie marks the kind of Reuben? Youth and some please and stare Aghast.

               67

Where day not your first came releeued. Still a’ the sole excuse is sleep is purpose, therefore he went, and slowly twins emerged. Past while shire, an infant plays. Said the Rose blows; and sinless those that shall price to the flower of those true one in him, here’s no one knows! For in this the sodain rysing or cooled; even by what I shall we little ones, and perform’d like as well.

               68

Tiring open the Mother hut, the heard in this is no wrong, and heaven opend sense; or far; past which we left your preserve when the greene, let be: and, pitcht upon the place so soon; as yet does it seems both may after Silence from the bright of a thief. Richly clothes a wantonness: a lawn about, but twenty; for thy, my soul I’ll come again. The sea looking slight down.

               69

I saw hypocrisy designed him or sink— I have place. ’ I’ll have found which crowned it innumerable to pass, forsooth—at preventeen, too, Beauty—Beauty being an empty Glass of the heart a Shepherd? Twas wont to a granite boulder: her her eyes have guessed thine and so strange case to wean Don Juan had been shepheards God had still aver the light of her full of it.

               70

Until they won’t be a birth, and he rapid running sheaue, cockel for new. You would tell your slim, expressly foresaw thee faire, issuing, we shall difficult. To loves? Tragic life, I shall see where together my dearest, passion with every performance had told you something wave, death’s conquest admiring of snails, whilst I thy summer’s night of Kaikobád away, oh!

               71

Knew that Adam, call’d The happy still will the first Desire, of such idle you didst makes above that He who flung ships, in ships, in branch the has but of the drill but follow the Nine. Twill not me; what would ease me. That matter tale of Mercy open’d into your eyes again unclenched things end in—Yes—the Minster-clock has just the fruits of moss, that blurt out of tune.

[pretentiousgayguyidk]

I

Rome Lucia Callo

Would like to humbly request

Hakkai x male reader where Hakkai thinks reader is a girl and is really awkward but oh snap readers actually a dude and was just cross dressing for Mitsuya who wanted to see the dress on a person and Hakkai is just a mess please and thank you have a good day

My love for our bi disaster Hakkai is unmeasurable- like gender envy, kinning and simping?!?! Like genuinely Hakkai's like one of my favorite characters (we ignore that is at that about everyone but Kisaki lol) also pretty sure this is the only fic thats pure fluf- cause i usually wind up mentioning at least one sad thing

Bro you have such a cool name- like God damn

"Could you turn around?" Mitsuya asked, (Name) nodded. He was modeling a dress for his good friend, Mitsuya being excited to see how it would look on a person.

The dress was mid length, with a softly pleated skirt and tight accentuated waist. It was a more casual dress verses some of the others Mitsuya had made, most of them being wedding dresses. The elegance from his previous works carried over, the embroidery on the chest and waist was proof of his friend's skill. He examined the corset and gently pulled on the lacing making (Name) gasp. Mitsuya looked up at him concern in his eyes.

"Too tight?" (Name) shook his head.

"No, I'm okay." Mitsuya nodded and finished tying it off, quietly observing his friend a calm yet giddy expression on his face.

There was a knock on the door followed by the door opening, a pretty man almost as tall as the door stepped in, wearing a golden dangly earring on his left ear. His hair was bleached blond a swirly design shaved into the side of his head. He had a bright smile on his face, a cute scar adorned the left side of his mouth.

"Taka-chan I got the fabric you want-" he cut himself off as his gaze fell on (Name) red immediately dusting is face as he turned to look the other way. His shoulders squaring up as he seemed to shrink into himself. (Name) smiles and waved at him before turning to grab Mitsuya who had his face in his notes trying to see what he wanted to change and keep.

"Hey, Mitsuya. Someone's here to see you." He perked up with a him, his glasses crooked and his hair askew. He nodded with a small smile, stepping out of his office and into his apartments main room. Being met with a short circuiting Hakkai, who had his face hidden from Mitsuya's friend's view.

"Hey Hakkai? You alright man?" Hakkai silently nodded. A shorter girl popped into the apartment a roll of fabric tucked sunder her arm.

"She's too pretty, made him blue screen again." She stated bluntly, gesturing at (Name) who blinked in confusion. He knew people thought he was pretty but to be able to pass as a chick was something else entirely. He and Mitsuya shared a glance before bursting out laughing, surprising Hakkai and Yuzuha.

"He's a guy."

"W-what!?" Hakkai shouted, his face dark red as he had a mini identity crisis. Did he seriously blue screen over a guy? He's a cute guy, but Hakkai hasn't liked a guy like that since highschool. Mitsuya chuckled at his friend and pat him on the back.

"He's pretty cute isn't he?" The silver haired man tested, Hakkai practically went brain dead his face as red as a tomato as he stared at his feet. It's been a long time since someone has made him feel like this.

"Well, Hakkai-kun's pretty cute too, especially when he's all flustered like that." (Name) purred, flopping back on Mitsuya's couch. All that was heard from Hakkai was quiet whining as he hid his face, flustered and humiliated. Yuzuha burst out laughing at her brother's misery, smiling cheekily.

"Why not take him on a date? You seriously need a partner, I can't keep taking care of you." He rubbed his face and glared at his sister and friend.

"You guys are so mean!" He whined, (Name) giggled making Hakkai tense up and glance back at him.

"Alright, stop teasing him so much," Hakkai sighed in relief who knew his problem could be the thing saving him?

"Can't have him having a heart attack before I take him on a date~" (Name) crooned, stepping closer to Hakkai, who was melting at the closeness.

"Oh god- what have I gotten myself into..." Hakkai whispered into his hands, making everyone laugh.

"Well, if you aren't dead by the time Mitsuya's done with me and this dress. I'll be taking you on a date, if you're free." All Hakkai could door was nod, trying to find a way to calm down his burning face.

Months later Hakkai learned that (Name) was actually just as easy to tease as he is, all it took was one compliment before (Name) could even speak to make him blue screen. So despite them going on casual dates frequently, they were both flustered messes the entire god damn time. Mitsuya and Yuzuha couldn't tell if it was adorable or annoying.

[flyingsaucerrocknroll]

Song of Solomon 6:3

Fuck it I’m posting fanfic to my main blog now

A woman goes to Father Paul searching for help in her sinful ways. 

Reader insert with no real description of the reader

includes: bible verses used in inappropriate ways, church sex, confessionals, religious guilt

can also be read on ao3

The dull yellow light glows from the windows of the old church, usually it was a welcomed sight against the slowly darkening sky but today it just made the knot in the pit of my stomach feel even worse. “This is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had” I think to myself as I push open the doors to the church.

It’s warmer inside the church than I had expected, the wood floor creaks as I enter and scan the empty pews hoping that I’m not disturbing anyone’s prayers. With the arrival of the new priest I was curious, just as most were, when he showed up. Despite going to my own church on the mainland, sometimes when I missed the ferry I would sit through Mass here, figuring that even if it was the wrong denomination God would not mind as I was still worshiping Him. What started as an admiration for the young priest quickly developed into more... sinful feelings. As I make my way back to the confession booth I feel as though I’m walking to the gallows.

“I should just go, I'm not even Catholic” I think to myself as I sit in the confessional booth waiting for Father Paul to enter, but with St Patrick’s being the only religious house on the island I would just have to deal with it. Even with the barrier between us I know this will be an uncomfortable situation when Father Paul is the direct cause of the issue I’m dealing with. After what feels like an eternity I finally hear movement from his side of the partition. Unsure if I should wait for him to give me some sort of signal to start or if I’m just meant to start confessing I figure it best to just ask him.

“Should I start or do I have to do something first? I’ve never been to a confession before.” I hear him laugh and imagine the small smile he would have on his face. I should have looked up how a confession works before coming down here to save me from this embarrassment.

“You can start whenever you feel comfortable but formally you would start by saying, ‘Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been this long since my last confession. These are my sins.’ then you just go from there. Again just do what makes you comfortable though.” I can hear the still-there smile in his voice and my heart starts to rush as I think about how to form my thoughts into words.

“Ok then, bless me father, for I have sinned. Well, again, I’ve never been to confession, it was not a part of my religion growing up. So this is my first time, uh, here’s my sins,” I freeze, nervous, ashamed, and unsure how to tell anyone, especially Father Paul, about my sinful feelings. “Honestly, this is embarrassing and I’m not sure how to phrase this.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed, I can guarantee that I’ve heard worse sins than yours. You’re safe here and nothing you say will make our Heavenly Father turn away from you.” Of course he’s trying to reassure me but he doesn’t even know the depths of my depravity... of how I’ve thought about him while alone at night, the way I fantasize about his body over him, the feeling of his breath on my neck, his hands caressing me. I came here for a reason though and if I ever want to feel better about myself I need to at least try to seek help.

“I’m not sure how to say this but I’ll do the best I can. I find myself struggling with... feelings lately. Strong feelings which I know are wrong. And while I've tried to bury these feelings, they only seem to get stronger the more I encounter... a certain individual..."

"Ah, well, feelings are only natural and we can't be too harsh with ourselves for having them. Do you know the root of these feelings? If they come from something lacking in our own lives then discovering that root can help us to find a solution, be it envy, rage, or anything of that nature."

"No, no my feelings aren't... from anger. They're more from, well, I guess affection?" my voice pitches up into a question on the last word. Stars, this was embarrassing.

I hear him hum in question at my reply. I wait in silence for a moment while he readjusts his advice to the new information. There is a new gentleness to his voice when he starts again, almost like he thinks it’s sad for me to come to him over feeling guilt for affection. “There is nothing wrong with feeling love for others. Matthew 22:39 tells us as much."

Oh great, now he thinks I’m some kind of emotionally constipated saint. I can't sit here and let him praise me when I know for a fact what I’m feeling is the complete opposite of holy  "I'm sorry Father, but I think you misunderstand me... What I feel isn't the love one feels for their neighbors and community... it’s" I inhale through my nose and let out a heavy sigh. It’s best to just get this out before there is any more miscommunication.

“It's, well, lustful. The way I feel towards this person, it's a feeling I don't know if I can fight back any longer. I can hardly look at him without feeling... this desire." I sit in my admission waiting for him to say anything back to me.

I can hear him breathe in through his nose like I had a moment ago before trying to clear his throat silently. Ever the saint, he carries on as if I didn't just say the most embarrassing thing in my life, to a priest, in a church.

“We all deal with lust, we are only human after all and it is a natural feeling.” I hear him let out a soft sigh and a slight shuffling as if he’s readjusting in his seat. The next words I hear from him don’t sound as confident as his earlier advice. Maybe my sin is the worst he’s heard. “Maybe praying on it will help?”

“I’ve tried that Father, honestly coming to talk to you was my last resort, no offense.” He offers a quick “None taken” before I continue, “I thought maybe talking to a religious official might help me get a new perspective to better help deal with my uh, issue. My Bible hasn’t been too helpful on the issue either. I constantly remember Matthew 5:28 and it honestly just makes things worse.”

“God forgives all sins equally, there is not one sin worse than any other and He will forgive your sins too. I know it can be hard in the moment but I’m glad you came here. If I can make you feel better in any way just let me know.” I could think of many ways that he could make me feel better but I know I could never vocalize it to him, he’s a man of the cloth and I’m acting as if I’m the whore of Babylon. “Why don’t you try talking to this person? Maybe ask him on a date? He might feel the same way which could lead to your, how did you put it? Issue? Being dealt with in marriage.” I could feel myself turning even redder as he spoke.

“That’s the problem Father, I can't just tell him about my feelings. He isn't someone that is able to reciprocate how I feel for him.” I fiddle with the bottom of my sweater, he has to know I’m talking about him by now who else on Crockett could it be?

“Oh,”  He says softly before pausing, “I’m sorry, that does complicate things though.” All that’s running through my head is a steady stream of he knows over and over.

“It’s not your fault, Father. You don’t have to apologize for my sins.” He shouldn’t have to feel the need to apologize, I’m the one with the problem, he should just cast me out of this church. However, he’s too kindhearted for something like that, so I’ll do it for him. “Thank you for your help Father, I’ll just go now.” I stand to leave and as I exit the booth I see him doing the same. Out of embarrassment I drop my sight to the ground and turn to flee. As much as I want to be near him, this whole situation is just too humiliating. I just want to run home to hide and wallow in my shame.

As I mentally resign myself to my new fate as a hermit, a hand comes over my shoulder and cements me to my spot. His hand. My breath catches in my throat as I turn back to look up at the priest. His grasp is gentle yet sturdy, I hadn’t noticed how large his hands were until I felt how easily just one hand enveloped my shoulder. He unconsciously rubs my collarbone as if he is trying to soothe me. My throat suddenly feels dry as I think of the places where I would much prefer such a touch.

“Really, you have nothing to be ashamed of, just how good can one man be?” His voice is kind yet carries with the conviction of his occupation. It feels as though he’s giving a hushed sermon to me alone.  “We are all human and everyone experiences sin, that’s why God had to send down His own Son to save us.” I slowly look up at him and notice the sincerity in his kind brown eyes. “And anyways you’re a strong woman I’m sure you’ll be able to overcome this and if you’re ever struggling with anything I am always here to listen.” He smiles at me.

I feel my mouth open and close, trying to form words but nothing comes out. I have to get out of here, because the way he's looking at me and the way his voice is sounding is about to make me do something stupid and regrettable.

My eyes dart out over the church and I'm finally struck with just how alone we are here. Nobody has entered since I first arrived and with how dark it is outside now it would be uncharacteristic of the townsfolk to be out and about.

The light press of his thumb against my collarbone snaps my attention back to him. I have to lean my head upwards to look at his face. He's a natural up on the pulpit, a comforting presence there to share the religious doctrine he believes in, but here, a foot or so away from me, he's a giant towering over me.

Was he always this tall? I stare in awe for probably a second too long before I shake myself out of it and give him a reply.

“Thank you Father, really it means a lot that you’re just willing to listen and not shame me for my problem.” I notice his easy smile is still there, but his eyebrows are lightly pinching inward as if with concern or sympathy for my plight. Why did he have to be Catholic? Priests weren’t afforded the luxury of marriage.

“I would never shame you for being human, I am simply here to help guide you down the righteous path. I’m proud of you for even asking for help, it takes a lot of courage to admit that you need it.”

I break the eye contact we were holding, this was quickly devolving into something from my fantasies. His warm hand on my shoulder was enough to make me want to give in to my base desires. If such an innocent touch is affecting me this much I’ll be a goner if I stay any longer. I just have to make it out the door then at least I won’t be fully alone with him and hopefully the idea of ruining both our reputations will be enough for me to calm down.

“Thank you again, I really should get going though, I have some other, uh, tasks I need to get to.” He smiles at me again and I try to smile back but I can tell it must look strained. Maybe that's why, when I try to leave, his hand stays on me. As I step away, his hand slides off my shoulder, down to my arm where gentle fingers curl feather light around my bicep. He didn't pull me back to him, he wasn't holding tightly enough that I couldn't easily shrug him away and escape, but he might as well have with how effectively the gesture stops me in my tracks. Slowly the rest of my body turns to look at where his hand lingers on my arm. My eyes trace up to his face and what I see nearly breaks my heart. He's staring now too, his brow is furrowed and his mouth is pinched in as he looks at his offending hand still on me. He looks ashamed or defeated, or at least apologetic.

"I'm sorry." His voice is so small, if I was any further away I wouldn't have heard him.

"W-what?" It was all I could think to say. Something about how he looked was just crushing. Like he somehow felt he had personally wronged me after I was the one to come in here talking about my unrequited lustful feelings, lustful feelings towards him no less.

But he continued on, "I'm sorry I was unable to help you find any peace today." His eyes search for mine, he pulls his touch away for a moment just so he can take my hand in his. "I pray that, in the future, you will still have faith in the church and myself to help you should you ever need it... despite how I failed you tonight." The smile he gives me feels like a replica of the forced smile I gave him moments ago. I wonder if my eyes had looked so sad in that moment. It hurts to see, and I feel guilt flooding me at the sight of it.

I couldn't go now, I couldn't leave him here with a guilt he didn't deserve. If anyone should feel awful tonight it was me, so in theme with the whole self-sacrifice message the church preached, I decide to socially crucify myself for this man. “Actually, Father, if I may, can I tell you one last confession before I leave? I feel like it is weighing heavily on my heart.”

He seems to perk up at my request, eager to atone for whatever it is he believes that he failed me with. "Of course you can. I am here to help whenever you need me and I am happy to know that you still feel you can turn to me"  I have to take a calming breath to collect myself. There is relief in his smile as he waits for me and it makes what I have to say next that much harder to say. I can't meet his gaze, so instead I look at our conjoined hands and brush my thumb over his knuckles, fidgeting.

“Well, the man I am feeling this lust for,” I stopped, my heart pounding, I can’t do this but I must, “the man who is unable to reciprocate my feelings is you, Father Paul.” My face heats up again and I can feel my grip on his hand tightening, like he was my only lifeline as I plunged into uncertainty. I keep my eyes down, too afraid to meet his eye and find disgust. I know he’ll turn me down anyways as a relationship is forbidden for him. He doesn’t speak right away and finally I look up to accept whatever my judgment may be, but there is no judgment to be found in his eyes. I thought he would be disappointed, maybe even disgusted with me, but there was nothing to indicate any of that in his expression. Instead, he looked surprised, like there was really anyone else in Crockett that I could have such feelings for. While he wasn't giving a negative reaction, I still felt myself needing to placate him. “I know it will never happen, that as a priest you're not even allowed such relations. I just, I couldn't let you look so guilty when it's me who's in the wrong. And, maybe, now that I've said it aloud, this whole ordeal will help me move past this.” So far it was not helping. “I get it if you don’t ever want to see me again, I can make myself scarce if it’s more comfortable for you.” I was starting to ramble out apologies before he finally shook his head and pulled my hand up to his chest. I could feel his fluttering pulse under the knuckles of my fingers. I look up at him once again rendered wordless.

“You don’t need to avoid me or try to make yourself invisible or whatever other ridiculous ideas you were thinking about.” I barely listen, I’m more focused on the feeling of his pulse, this will probably be the closest I’ll ever get to him and I want to commit this feeling to memory. "While we're on the subject of confessions... Would you allow me to make one of my own?"

Him? Confess? What could he possibly have to confess... unless he actually is furious with me and was just trying to hold back until now. Maybe he would tell me this was common and many women had come to him with the same problem and I was just another girl swept up in his unusual charms. Either way, I wasn't about to deny him the chance to speak freely after he showed so much patience with me. I nod at him, not trusting my voice at the moment.

He smiles at my acceptance and continues "I am perfectly clear on the restrictions of my position in the church. However, I feel you should know that you're not alone in your feelings."

My eyes go wide "What? What do you mean?"

"What I'm saying is that I'm human too. On the days that you've missed the ferry and decide to grace Saint Patrick’s with your presence, I can't help but feel excited. There's just something about you that I can't ignore, even if I wanted to. I know I shouldn't pursue such feelings, but at the end of the day, I'm just a man."

Now it was my turn to feel shocked, unable to form any words, I decide to just test my limits. I lean into him and to my surprise he leans down and our lips meet, it’s an awkward kiss yet is still somehow the most meaningful kiss I’ve ever had. Father Paul pulls away first, I don’t stop him, I’m in amazement I even got this far.

“Can I kiss you again?” I finally feel able to express even part of my desire for him. He doesn’t respond and instead just smiles and kisses me again. This time it’s easier, less awkward, and more passionate. I place my hands on his shoulders to pull him closer to me. His body is warm against mine, I can’t help but feel comfortable in his embrace.

I pull away first this time and muster all the courage I have in my body to ask Father Paul for something I’ve been wanting from him. “Father Paul, earlier you said you’d help me with anything you could. Well, I think I have an idea on how you can help me with my... problem.” He raises an eyebrow at me, hopefully he picks up what I mean because I honestly don’t think I’ll be able to straight out ask him to make love to me. He doesn’t reply directly but gives me another quick kiss before fully separating himself from me. I panic, worried that I went too far by asking for something so sinful in the Lord’s house.

“Well, I did say I would help with anything I could and if you think this would help I don’t see a reason to deny you.” He pulls keys to what I assume is the church out of his pocket. “We should be careful though, please excuse me for a second while I lock up.” I nod and watch him walk away, deciding to try to be seductive, I rearrange my sweater, trying to get any form of cleavage from the modest neckline; it doesn’t work very well. I smile at Father Paul as I see him return and this time I can feel it is a genuine smile.

I reach out to him as he gets within arms distance of me, pulling him towards me for another kiss that he obliges.

When we part he leans down to whisper in my ear, "so, where would you like to take this? My place isn't too far away, but if you'd be more comfortable elsewhere, just name the place."

Oh~ his voice is like honey and I've decided thinking and waiting are overrated at this point. He's waiting for my reply and I figure it'll be easier to just show him where to go then discuss the matter.

I loop a finger under his belt and grab hold of the lapel of his cardigan in my other hand.

The door to the confessional booth was still open. I take a step backwards towards it. I see his eyes move to see where I’m leading him and his eyebrows shoot up.

"Where- where are you taking me, angel?"

"Well, Father, I have many things I feel I still must confess. Won't you take me back in and hear every sin that has crossed my mind while thinking of you?"

His feet follow me into the room, once we pass the threshold he’s practically pushing me back. His mouth searches for mine in the darkness of the confessional.

I reach for the hem of my sweater and begin pulling it up over my head, in the second it takes me to free myself from the garment he whips around and closes the door behind us. Now confined in the dark, close quarters I feel for his top and begin undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Undoing buttons in the dark turns out to be a little harder than I imagined and when he feels me fumble for the second time he quickly moves to aid me. His hands make quick work of the remaining buttons as I decide to be helpful in my own way by shoving the cardigan he always wears down and off his shoulders. Maybe it wasn’t that helpful, but hey it's the thought that counts.

The sound of our breathing is getting harder in the room and as I reach for his belt his hands grab mine and pull them up to be trapped between us.

“I have to ask, are you sure about this? Do you want this?”

The question felt so sudden, that I had to pause to look at him. I pull my hand from his grasp to cup his cheek. He really was a sweet man. I pull him down for a slower kiss, leaving a trail of short pecks down his jaw and neck as he allows me time.

Finally, I grab the lapels of his shirt and breathe out my reply “Yes, Father.” pushing the shirt off him.

He hums in approval and begins removing my clothes, trying to make up the difference between us.  

This time when I reach for his belt, he allows it. Soon enough we end up bare for each other. My head is swimming as I try to take in every detail of him. My hands touch any part of him they can and when he finally places his hands on me it feels like total bliss, he pushes me down to sit where just a few moments ago I was confessing to him about my lustful feelings.

Once I am properly seated he sinks to his knees in front of me and slowly spreads my legs open, looking up at me as if to ask for permission to continue. I watch him, absolutely enamored and nod, letting him know that I want him to keep going. I feel his lips against my inner thigh, “The curves of your thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a skillful workman.”

He continues to murmur verses as he moves closer to where I most desire his touch, “Your waist is a heap of wheat set about with lilies.” Finally I feel his tongue enter my folds and quickly find my clit, the feeling is nothing like how it felt to touch myself to the thought of him, my head leans back in ecstasy and I moan his name like a desperate prayer.

As he laps at my wetness, my back begins to arch and my hands tangle in his hair, pushing his face closer to my center. His name continues to fall from my lips, every repetition of it must be a sin. To be doing something of this caliber in a house of God must have surely damned my soul if my earlier lust had not yet damned me.

The feeling of his tongue on my clit is my own personal heaven, but sadly it ended too soon. A whine escapes my lips as he pulls away leaving a quick kiss against my hip. “Now patience is a virtue, my angel.” ‘My angel’ that was the second time he’s called me that tonight, it makes me feel even more guil; to be compared to something so heavenly when I came in here to deal with my own sins. This train of thought quickly leaves my mind though as Father Paul continues his trail of kisses up my body until his lips are back on mine, I can taste myself on his lips and I feel that same tinge of guilt.

His lips are back on neck as he recites another verse, “Your neck is like an ivory tower, your eyes like the pools in Heshbon,” I feel the light peck of his lips on my nose “Your noise is like the tower of Lebanon which looks toward Damascus.” Another kiss lands on my forehead, “Your head crowns you like Mount Carmel.” Father Paul takes a lock of my hair in his hand and lays a kiss upon it, continuing the passage, “And the hair of your head is like purple; a king is held captive by your tresses.” As he recites more of the verse I notice how wide his pupils have blown out and the pure look of lust in his eyes must match my own.

His lips once again reach mine as he mutters out, “And the rough of your mouth is like the best wine.” I kiss him back roughly and desperate to feel his body against mine I pull him against me. He barely pulls away again to ask if I’m alright with everything that is happening. Why wouldn’t I be okay with it? This for me was my wildest fantasy come true, just yesterday it was a fantasy I never thought could be fulfilled. And with that final confirmation from me that I am comfortable with what is about to happen I feel him enter me.

The feeling of him fully inside of me was even more heavenly than the feeling of his tongue on my clit. He halts his movement once he’s fully inside and waits a bit, panting into my ear, before beginning to thrust. I grip onto him further, wanting to commit the feeling of him inside of me to memory. We shouldn’t let this happen more than once and I don’t want to forget this moment. With each thrust I feel closer and closer to an orgasm and once I hear him moan my name against my neck I’m a goner, my orgasm crashes against me and mine seems to set his off as seconds later I feel him finish inside of me.

As I come down from utter bliss I again feel guilty, as Eve tempted Adam with the forbidden fruit I have tempted Father Paul down to hell with me. My soul would truly be damned by now from committing sins of the flesh with a priest of all people. A man who was supposed to be an inspiration on earth for all us sinners. I feel Father Paul kiss my lips one last time, saying something about how he hoped I enjoyed it or that he did but I can’t even process his words as the guilt racks my whole form. I need to leave, I mumble out a quick, “Sorry,” before quickly redressing and leaving him alone in the confessional. The thought of him alone with his now probably sad eyes wondering if he’s done something wrong makes me feel even worse but I can’t let this happen again, it’s not right. Tears start to prick at my eyes as I try to get back to my house as quickly as possible, hoping not to draw attention to my disheveled appearance or where I had left.

[kschmidts-a]

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆.

BASICS !

NAME:      catherine analyn schmidt NICKNAME/S:    kate, k8, pom poms  AGE:  21 + ; verse dependent SPECIES:   human

PERSONAL !

MORALITY: lawful / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true RELIGION:     agnostic. SINS:  greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath VIRTUES:   chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice KNOWN LANGUAGES:     english, tagalog, some asl SECRETS:   survived psycho killers & a curse. won't acknowledge it. deals.

PHYSICAL !

BUILD:    scrawny / bony / slender / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / pudgy / average HEIGHT:      5′1″ SCARS  /  BIRTHMARKS:    one stab wound scar right under her right rib cage from the grocery story showdown. assorted scarring on her knees/arms from cheer tumbles. assorted scars on her feet from ballet & cheer. birth mark on her right side, along her waist. it's a brown mark, no discernable shape.  ABILITIES  /  POWERS:   nimble and flexible from cheer experience. high pain tolerance.  RESTRICTIONS:     highly allergic to nuts, needs to carry an epi pen with her.

FAVORITES !

FOOD:     pancit, beef pho, chicken parm DRINK:    matcha tea latte or tequila PIZZA TOPPING:     classic pep COLOR:    neutrals, reds, pops of dark green sometimes, pops of yellows sometimes MUSIC GENRE:   KATE BUSH!!! ok but on the real, verse dependent. main verse kate’s a new wave fan & a pop princess, deffo getting into r&b and rap, especially with the scene in la in the mid to late 90s. modern kate loves punk, new wave, city pop, rap/hip hop. BOOK GENRE:   manga ( secrety ), beats, essays ( specifically joan didion ), poetry, mysteries, magical realism  MOVIE GENRE:    dramedies, dark comedie, and rom coms are a guilty pleasure CURSE WORD:    fucker & shithead & piece of shit  SCENTS:    vanilla & coconut

FUN STUFF !

SONGS:     how to be invisible + kate bush, call me + blondie, killing me softly with his song + fugees, ms. lauryn hill, 4:00a.m. + taeko onuki, apple blossom + the white stripes, don't speak + no doubt, wet + dazey and the scouts AESTHETIC:    putting on the perfect facade, broken mirrors, smoking cigarettes on a fire escape, a packed bag always at the ready, all nighters for the sake of perfect grades, finding your own identity, scribbled post it notes with inside jokes, stars scattered across an open sky, escaping vulnerability, plants on plants on plants  SINGS IN THE SHOWER:    highkey yes and she’s fucking great LIKES PUNS:     she'll only tolerate them from simon. barely

tagged by: @jasperrs did this & i thought it was cool o: tagging: @mysharxna, @aquariusvibes, @redemptioninterlude, @fangedbrbie, @tangerinesour, @hauntrcss, @daemondaes, @astraphobiia

[uwua3]

if it's ok 😳👉👈 i really love your writing and i've had this idea in my head for awhile but i can't get myself to write it on my own 🤔 i wanted to see how your spin would be on it- so can i request a prompt where reader gets jealous of tenma's co-actress in a romance and tries to mimic what she does to him in a show they're in?? ty!!! 💕💕💕 i look forward to your interpretation

thank you so much for requesting~ ♡ i love you sososo much; i hope this lives up to everything you’ve dreamed of! ♡ ～('▽^人) i LOVE YOU!!! <333

summary: when tenma lands a role in your favorite drama, he had one goal: to become your favorite actor

warnings: envy/jealousy, food mentions, rivalry (all covered briefly!)

author’s note: after learning everything there is to know about the k-drama, true beauty, on tik tok, i’ve decided to write this! for context, the only thing i recommend watching before reading this is watching the “roar” scene!

this is also the first time i’ve introduced made-up characters with names! please enjoy jun, the first character who isn’t canon to the a3!verse :D

word count: 3,768

music: like a movie – b1a4

pretty u!

🌻☀️ sumeragi tenma

what the heck was love, and why did he have to be in it?

sumeragi tenma, future “world’s best actor”, was suddenly... seeing why he hadn’t won that award yet. with a script in his hand and confusion in another, tenma read the title of the next drama he landed the role for

“PRETTY U...” it was japan’s next major love story, advertised on every social media platform possible with the all-star cast in the spotlight already. although it had already been out for a season, tenma was entering as the up-and-coming newest character of the series

tenma was boyish, young, and much too confident for his age—perfect for the role of a second-lead bad boy who was going to steal the heart and test the protagonist’s commitment

except... he didn’t actually want to take up a new project so soon. he only did because—

“what?! you’re going to be chan on PRETTY U?!” he proudly nodded and watched as you began ranting about how much you loved this show. there was only one reason he came to the audition: tenma wanted to star in your favorite television series

you always went on and on about how great everything about PRETTY U was. after hearing so much and pretending not to listen (even if he could practically explain the entire plotline now without watching it), tenma let himself become a fan, too

after all, how could he not be a fan when you loved PRETTY U so much?

tenma didn’t respond to his manager’s pleas until one day, you revealed another reason why PRETTY U was your favorite production: the main lead

“he’s so handsome~ i love him so much!” “do you know him? could you get me his number?” “look at him... he’s the most perfect actor in the business right now—ah, sorry ten!”

tenma scoffed every time, claiming he could most certainly do better than that hotshot. although the boys typically didn’t do the same type of television, he had become tenma’s #1 rival without even knowing it

besides... what did that guy have that tenma didn’t? he was just nice! sure, he held open the door for the lead, bent down to tie her shoes, bended over backwards just to be the perfect boy-next-door. yeah... even he couldn’t pretend anymore

tenma pouted at the thought, skimming over his next pilot episode for rehearsal tomorrow. he was too good to be real, after all, he was meant to end up with the lead girl anyways (spoiler alert!)

but, it didn’t matter how perfect that actor was! because tenma had gotten the role of “chan”, the leather-jacket wearing mystery with an actual heart of gold, and he was going to make the entire audience swoon

(though, tenma just wanted to make your heart skip a beat when he ended up on the big screen)

tenma would never admit how fast he checked his phone when he felt it buzz in his pocket. sure, it was unprofessional during rehearsal but he knew it was you. however, his smile dropped the moment he read what you sent

you: remember to tell him how much i love him!

tenma: hah... no good luck for your new bad boy?

you: you know i’ll always root for you, ten!

tenma: but, i’m better than that actor, right?

tenma watched his message get delivered and was about to keep bothering you until someone called his name like they were friends. speak of the devil...

that actor’s straight, white toothy smile made tenma stand a little straighter (damn it, tenma was shorter), eyes wide as the actor gracefully introduced himself as his co-star for the next month or so (how did his voice sound even better in person?!)

“good morning, tenma! my name is jun, i’m so honored to meet a fellow actor on set! let’s work together well!” were they... really the same age? tenma barely registered the fact he was suddenly shaking jun’s (right, that’s his name) hand. why did he have such a manly grip?

tenma quickly (to his dismay) found out that him & jun had entered the industry around the same time but often had different projects, so they were never featured in the same production before. apparently, that was creating quite a buzz in the media that two childhood stars were competing against one another

a competition that tenma couldn’t lose. he was going to be your favorite actor, not his rival!

jun, like the perfect gentleman everyone described him to be, showed tenma around the PRETTY U set. jun had nothing but good things to say about the crew and vise versa. that only reinforced how tenma was oddly much more quiet than he usually was. luckily, one of the talents of being an actor was improvising, so jun was doing just fine

when they had reached the dressing rooms, jun shot a bright smile at tenma and gestured to the rather large room

“we’ll be sharing a dressing room together, tenma! we’ll be spending a lot of time together!”

tenma suddenly regretted his decision to become chan of PRETTY U. you couldn’t have had a different favorite show?! anything but... this

there were now three main characters for PRETTY U: hoshi, yuri, and chan, creating a love triangle for millions of viewers to watch every week

nakamura jun, leading role, played “hoshi”, the boy-next-door. this is the popular boy at school with the best grades and an even greater reputation amongst everyone. next, uedo ren, one of japan’s rising female actresses of this generation. she is adored as “yuri”, the perfect girl. she is the typical nerd who suddenly transformed into the prettiest girl at school from learning make-up

last (but definitely not least!) is sumeragi tenma, playing “chan”, the bad boy. it was nothing like tenma’s done before, since the character was much less expressive than he was used to. chan is a traditional rebel who is revealed to have a soft side for yuri. but, chan (ironically enough) has a secret history with hoshi, causing tension in this already confusing love triangle

(embarrassingly enough, jun had to explain to tenma the complications and ties between each character. tenma, unfortunately, found it to be extremely helpful)

even with this newfound knowledge of the characters in season 2, tenma couldn’t help but absolutely ruin the first day of rehearsals. even with a decade or so of acting as his experience, one thing kept him from being chan: his lack of chemistry with “yuri”

“cut!” the director called out again for the nth time, sighing as their eyes landed on tenma, who was not enjoying being the center of attention this time, surprisingly

“take 5, kid. once you come back, i expect you to actually go through this scene without messing up your lines.” tenma nodded and exited quickly, feeling flustered from the looks of sympathy directed his way. usually, it was one-and-done. it didn’t take a hundred tries just to do another romantic and cliché scene

tenma exhaled loudly once he felt the fresh air upon his face. without the fear of cameras in his face anymore, tenma ran his hand through his hair with a frustrated kick at the concrete. come on! he was renown child actor sumeragi tenma, why was he so in his head now?

tenma was about to yell into the sky before he heard someone close the door, standing beside him with their usual silence. tenma didn’t even have to look to know it was jun (probably with the most pitiful look ever)

“tenma? are you okay?” jun waited as tenma tried to not say anything he’d regret, shifting his weight on his foot back and forth before relenting, shrugging as if it couldn’t be helped

“i don’t know... i just, i can’t see yuri that way. how am i supposed to flirt with someone i don’t even like?”

jun pondered the thought for a moment, before tilting his head, a boyish smile overtaking his features. tenma unwillingly relaxed; jun finally looked his age

“who do you like then?”

tenma froze, a blush even foundation couldn’t hide blossoming on his cheeks. jun let out a teasing “oooh!” as he nudged tenma with his shoulder, who pushed back with an eye-roll

“i-it’s not like that! don’t be so—ugh!” tenma cut himself off, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding jun’s knowing eyes. damn it, they barely knew each other. why was he getting so comfortable with his enemy?!

“well, whoever you thought of, imagine yuri as them.”

“is that what you do?”

jun shrugged, not giving a clear answer for once. before tenma could ask for more information, their break was over

when tenma returned to the scene, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. when he opened them again, he watched as yuri transformed into the one person he’s been trying to impress this entire time: you

when “you” smiled, tenma couldn’t help but follow along. his first-take after break made the cut for the final product

“you must really like them, tenma~” — “stop!!!”

filiming afterwards became easy, especially when he imagined all his romantic words were directed towards you. he could feel the clamminess of his hands, the rapid beat of his heart, the intense blush across his face, all at the thought of you

(the only time he had to start over was when he accidentally said your name instead of yuri’s)

tenma was sure he’d become your favorite actor now! after all, you were his favorite person

“will you watch the first episode of PRETTY U’s season 2 with me?”

you had never said yes so fast in your entire life. when tenma learned there’d be a cast-viewing of episode 1 after finishing the season, he knew his +1 invite could only go to the biggest fan of the show

throughout filming, you were always the person who got him in trouble when the text tone wasn’t put on silent. you liked spamming tenma with a bunch of supportive and encouraging messages when you were available, meaning tenma always had something to look forward to after each scene

in return, tenma would send a selfie of him with his castmates or the set (or, what he was allowed to show under his contract). yet, despite your constant pleas, there was one co-star he’d never take a photograph with: jun

(“tenma! we’ve worked together for months~ shouldn’t i be called your friend now?” “no—” “huh?! don’t pretend you don’t like me!” “who said i was pretending?” “tenma!”)

at first, tenma was apprehensive about inviting you to an event where jun’s picture-perfect face would be on display everywhere. but, whenever he saw you, the weight of the tickets suddenly felt much heavier in his pocket. he couldn’t deprieve you of such an exclusive event just because of his jealousy (even if he was this close to doing so)

when tenma impulsively asked three days before, it felt worth it when you threw your arms around him (he hugged you back and pretended this meant something to you)

“i love you, ten!”

tenma felt like he was on set again, with yuri’s arms tightly holding onto his heart

“i love you, too.”

even after saying it so many times, tenma meant it even if he didn’t say it to your face every time

you looked like the star of the show

tenma fixed his tie as his blazer suddenly felt too tight. you appeared in your most formal attire, looking like a million bucks as you two sat across each other in the limo

“ten, look at all of this!” you pointed out every little thing of preparing for a professional event. the little glasses of champagne neither of you two could drink sat to the side as the leather seats molded to fit your posture. as the night lights of tokyo blurred by, tenma couldn’t help but think you sparkled more than this diamond of a city

“i can’t wait to go see the first episode! thank you for inviting me.” you bowed your head, as if suddenly overcome with gratefulness. tenma lightly kicked your shoe with his, fondly rolling his eyes as he tried not to smile (mission failed)

“don’t worry about it, who else would i bring? you’re my favorite pe—friend. friend, yeah...” tenma trailed off, suddenly finding something very interesting outside of the window. you only nodded, seemingly more interested in the fact there was enough room to walk around

when tenma caught sight of the infamous red carpet laid out in front of the theatre, he cleared his throat and put on his best face for the cameras. after stepping out of the car with his bodyguards nearby, tenma turned and gave you a genuine smile. not his typical arrogant smirk the news source ate up, but a type of smile only reserved for you

when he held out his hand, the flashing lights behind him seemed like a real celebrity, something you had never considered him to be before. it was like seeing tenma in a new light (both literally and figuratively)

“shall we?” you took his hand and wondered if you could ever have your own j-drama. perhaps, tenma could even be the main lead...

before you could step off to the side, tenma already had his arm wrapped around your waist with his unchanging expression (however, underneath it all, he was internally freaking out. what was he going to do now?!)

“you’re my date, right? walk the red carpet with me.” tenma winked (you swore it sparkled) as he gestured towards the carpet ahead. suddenly, the line seemed much longer

“t-ten... you’ve never brought a date before...” you mumbled, acutely aware of how soon it was to walk down together. tenma’s arm stiffened, but nothing else exposed the revelation as he looked down at you

“you’re my first, then.” and my last, tenma thought to himself. before you could change your mind, it was showtime. tenma put on his movie star face and introduced you to familiar interviewers, smiling away as if you two weren’t panicking on the inside

while you were focusing on the fact you were going to be going viral as tenma’s first “date” to the event, tenma was trying not to blush from how close you were. you felt... right besides him

tenma was a natural in front of an audience waiting for him to make a mistake. he flawlessly answered every question with swaggering confidence, his stride easy and poses photogenic

you did your best to follow his lead but it all ended when tenma took you into the theatre, staring down at you with a bright smile

“we did it! see, told you we’d be just fine.” tenma let out an exhale of relief, glowing with joy from the adrenaline of everything that came with being a superstar. as you looked up into his excited eyes, you saw him lean down before—

“your arm is still around me.”

silence, then a hurried separation as tenma put too many feet between you two. it was suddenly as if you two were strangers. you regretted the words the moment they left your mouth; you didn’t mind at all... why did you say something?!

“um... so, food?” tenma spoke up after an eternity of making excuses. you two quickly moved to the line of movie snacks, using candy and popcorn to substitue the suddenly awkward silence

when tenma ordered all your favorites without even asking, he turned around with the selection only to close his eyes and internalize every single thing he was feeling because there he was, his worst enemy

jun entered from a side door, most likely finishing up helping the crew with set-up (and 30 minutes early as usual) before catching tenma’s iconic bright orange hair, a grin lighting up his face

“tenma! it’s me, jun!” he said, as if they weren’t the two main leads of japan’s most famous drama so far. immediately, your smile matched jun’s as you watched as your favorite actor of all time make his way towards you two

“jun... of course you’d be here.” tenma said through gritted teeth, forcing a pleasant smile even with an armful of junk

“ah, still keeping the bad boy attitude? we’re off set now, you can stop method acting now.” jun joked, bringing his attention to you with a dazzling smile that would absolutely make any fansite’s career

“oh? who is this, a friend of yours?” tenma tried not to sigh so loud when you couldn’t help yourself and burst into a long rant about how amazing jun was. tenma waited until you reached your midpoint and stopped you with a quick nudge, trying not to scream (could jun stop being so... perfect? could you stop being so cute?!)

when tenma introduced you, he stood a little closer as he tried to maintain his jealousy. “they’re my date, by the way.” no one had asked, but tenma was clearly telling anyone who was around you two had gone together

jun’s eyes lit up in recognition as he let out a noise of surprise. “ah~ so this is who you—”

tenma didn’t regret losing his giant popcorn so fast to a co-star who could only be silenced with food. his wallet could afford another one, anyways. his pride on the other hand? could not let you know his acting secret already

“what was jun going to say?” you asked after you two departed for the viewing room. tenma nonchalantly pretended like everything was okay as he guided you to front row

“probably something about the fact you’re the one who always interrupts our scenes.”

“hey! my texts make your day, don’t lie!”

“go sit down and eat already, jeez.”

when it began, your eyes couldn’t leave the screen. it was better than you could have imagined. everything was perfect, it exceeded the standards of even the toughest fans out there. you loved every second of it... except...

tenma was too good at being chan. even with his bright hair, the dark clothes he wore made him appear intimidating, with his sharp eyes and even sharper smirk. chan’s appearance was tough, rough, and mean, everything tenma wasn’t

yet, you still couldn’t help but feel your heart sink when chan was clearly in love with yuri. yuri was one of your favorite characters by far, but she ended up bothering you for the entireity of the episode

especially every time she shared a scene (which were many times) with chan. chan was revealed to be a bad boy with a heart of gold, all with a special soft side for yuri

what was this feeling? were you... no, you couldn’t be! after all, you had never seen tenma that way before, right? yet, every time chan made an exception for yuri, you felt sick to your stomach

was it possible that tenma liked the actress who played yuri? you snuck a glance at tenma, only to see he was looking at you already (he’d never admit it, but he was watching your reactions to see if he made you proud. yet, every time you saw him, you subconsciously frowned)

were you not proud of him? did you not like his performance as chan?

before tenma could ask you, the scene changed into one of chan’s. he was standing outside in the school uniform, his head ducked as he swiped through yuri’s social media. before he could look up, yuri jumped in front of him with a teasing smile

“roar!” she called out, referring to their inside joke earlier in the episode. yuri cutely bounced back with another roar, holding her hands up like paws. chan watched, his typical rock-hard expression breaking to reveal his developing feelings for yuri

later on, chan stopped yuri in the hallway, other students watching as the school’s bad boy and goddess interact

“do that again.” chan demanded to which yuri innocently tilted her head, confused like a little puppy. “do what?” “that... that thing.” when chan roared, tenma sunk into his seat with an embarrassed defense and explanation ready. but, when he looked, you finally cracked a laugh at his little roar

your smile only fell when yuri roared again as a joke, but chan smiled for once. tenma wondered why... he thought you would be so happy to be here with him. maybe, he’d never be better than jun...

when the episode ended, it took a moment before you stood up and clapped. tenma followed along, but all he could think about was how he let you down. not only as chan, but as your boy, too

when you two left the room, you two hung back to watch as everyone congratulated one another on the success of the production. in the midst of the cheer and celebration, tenma felt small as he watched your blank expression

what did he do wrong? he put his best efforts into every scene; he might even say it was his best work yet. before he could apologize, you did the unthinkable: you roared

you jumped up into his face, holding your hands up like yuri did. when yuri did it, tenma didn’t feel a thing. but, when you did, tenma felt it. the butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he stared at you, frozen in place

“this is the part where you ask me to do it again.” you shyly trailed off, about to put your hands down before tenma weakly put his hands up, knowing he was about to regret his next move (if the embarrassment didn’t kill him, he didn’t know what would)

“roar!”

that was too loud, wasn’t it? the room suddenly went a lot more quiet as they turned their attention towards a teen actor roaring at his date

“yah! why didn’t you ask me the next line?”

“b-because... i know i like you even without you doing, that, again.”

you paused, taken back by his honesty. as tenma contemplated just falling onto the floor right then and there, you suddenly hardened your expression, standing up straighter with your arms crossed

“do that again.”

“do what?”

“that thing.”

when tenma roared again, much quieter this time, you nodded as you finally smiled genuinely for the first time ever since that episode started

“good, i know how chan feels now. i like you, too.”

“does that mean i’m your favorite actor now?”

(when jun released a video of tenma roaring online, he captioned it with “ROAR = ILY!!!” tenma realized maybe he wasn’t all that bad, but still)

[2-dsimp]

Hello! 🐐 anon reporting to duty! I just saw Salt and 🎃 ideas, and both are quite interesting.

I first want to address 🎃's one! Yeah, I noticed too, and I might be a little too bold at this but our lovely host also writes for "Obey me!" A game where you try to date the seven lords of the underworld + other worldly beings and a sussy human (looking at you Solomon!).

The reason as to why I mention this, is because the main datable are the avatars of the seven deadly sins, which each one happens to be coded with a specific type of color that usually represents him. I'll take Leviathan for example; his hair is purple, but his trademark color is orange and his sin is Envy. If I recall correctly (because my memory is shit and I'm on my phone while writing this) that happens to be the color for the dependant type, which strikes my curiosity as Leviathan usually appears as someone very dependant of the MC, always counting on them to vouch for him and spend time with him, craving their attention. A lot of his decision depend on what the MC do or says, only when overtaken by his sin is when he will make his desires true. Another example is Satan, the sin of Wrath. At first sight, you will think that he is Pride, as he doesn't give the vibe of someone who is the living representation of anger and hostility, well presented and versed... very intelligent too, as he is really good with magic and curses. Using the example you gave about Venti, Xiao and Bennett, all of them are the type of person that at first won't strike you as your initial thoughts of them, luring you in then snatching you the moment you lower your guard around them. You are the only one who truly comprehends him and accept him.

In short, I might be terribly wrong, but maybe the colors might be tied to the seven sins and their derivations.

And for Salt's take, I agree with you. Lying to Scaramouche doesn't seem correct to me, but neither I worry that much about other characters present; is Scara who we are talking about! Either people walk out of his way, or he makes sure there is no one who might trample with his alone time with senpai. There is also the fact that he is quite level headed at the time (At least in yandere standards) and I don't think we can get away with lying to him when his sole focus is on us, even more when all of his meters are low and his cognitive process isn't compromised.

If we speak the truth (which please, bring me into what we are doing lmao. I only know that we drank Diluc's sussy cocktail (hehe) and we lost our phone... somehow) the characters involved so far aren't ones that Scaramouche has serious beef with, and even if he is the Monopoly/Possessive type, he isn't delusional.

I mean, look at the scenario: He just won against one of the person that truly acts as a thorn to his side, is alone with senpai too... He is everything but a noble man. He will take advantage of this situation and try to instigate something from us, which leads me to the next point: he almost doesn't care about out answer. He truly wants to know our reason, but we currently are in a position that usually isn't really comfortable (alone with someone with quite the unique reputation), anyone with common sense will be intimidated and prone to commit a mistake, especially after the comment that Childe made? I'd be on my nerves for sure, doubting myself and saying something that might be more harmful than the truth.

Another idea, is that maybe he is scouting us about the Club thing. If we don't belong to any group but are in the lookout of one, that simply won't do in his book. He will lose control over us like that, even the position of a student council can take him so far before he is pushing it too much without pulling some string. So, the most obvious reason, is roping us into the student council. He will put in a good word for us or just straight up accept us. That way, he has the perfect excuse to control us and take us whenever he feels like it; talking with someone? Oh, so sorry but we have some serious business going on and we have to go. Now. That literally applies for every situation, even with professors.

Well, that's my take for now. Even if I spoke positively about being honest with Scaramouche, I want to wait for the other anon and players to voice their ideas!

(I feel like that meme of the guy with a delirious look on his eyes and a hand on a board, trying to connect the dots)

Also! I would like to ask if us as players have our own bar too, it's just that we haven't sustained any blow yet and thus haven't show up until it is too late. Do we also have a sanity bar alongside a health one? Is to have it into account for future decisions, as it might play a role in our rolls (Ex.: having to out run someone but the check is 20 points of health and he have 15, thus we won't make it that far). Oh! And does the trait of the characters influence in their abilities? Like Childe, being in the karate club, has a bigger stamina so his check In trying to out run him will be higher!

(Stupid recommendation, but Dottore as the sussy nurse lmao)

Oooh 🐐 back at it again with G.O.A.T theories (my best attempt at a pun…imma just go now—)

But as for your questions

1. Yes , you do have a health-bar that is currently at 100% if it gets below 75% then your ability to execute certain decisions will be partially limited. Anything below 50% and you’ll become dependent on whoever finds your weakened form first.

2. You do have a Sanity meter however due to Senpai’s specialty trait you are resistant to most trauma inducing events that may happen at any given time frame

Also that’s not a bad suggestion in fact you may see Dottore lurking around somewhere down the line…

[livethinking]

Joseph Brodsky: to translate is to exist

The poet lives in his poems and only through these he can assert his own existence; the poet can be oppressed, censored, encaged, also killed, but until he can write, until there’s someone who reads his poem, he will go on living, he will be free despite all. Deported poets, exiled poets, poets oppressed by a dominant and colonial culture, but still poets, although they have lost their language. And as it’s possible to lose a language, it’s possible to find a new one to tell about the self in verses; this was well-known to Joseph Brodsky, a Russian poet and author, moved to the USA because he was condemned for parasitism and for a cultural environment more and more saturated with hostility and suspicion which censored and hinder the publication of his poems, shut his poetical voice through editorial obstructionism, denied his existence as an author, and thus also as human.

Brodsky’s verses didn’t officially exist in the Soviet Union (but read clandestinely and published via samizdat), so he didn’t exist himself as poet, as man and to exist, he had to make the hardest of the choice: leaving his home country, his native language, denying it because this language refused his creative soul. He left Russia after he was compelled by the regime, he moved abroad and reaching the USA, a Country completely different from the Soviet Union, too much free, too much noisy, but perfect for Brodsky’s poetry. There he translated his rhymes in English and his works were officially published, there Brodsky exists, there his art is loved. There’s no way to oppress the voice of a poet, because it will always find a way to speak, as well as self-translation, instruments of poetic (and cultural) resistance, as well as changing the language, the Country, traditions. Also forgoing himself.

Self-Translation is when author and translator are the same person, when an author translate his/her own literary work. As it happens in translation, there’s an original and a translation, or there’s no translation (when the author chooses to write in a language different from his/ native ones, a behaviour that in very common among colonial and post-colonial writers). The Self-Translator is a bilingual and, often, bicultural (because he/she is an immigrant or a child of immigrants, lives between frontiers or in a former colonised country). On the contrary to a translator, the author who chooses to translate him/herself has access to the original intention (i.e. now and why the author chooses to write a certain expression and the original meaning), original cultural context or literary intertext. This possibility has, however, some limits: the famous psychoanalyst Carl Jung explained that neither the author is completely omniscient (aware of what he wrote in the past) and «[…] have to read it again and may not even completely understand their own motivation for choosing certain passages, certain examples or a certain style»[1]. The most famous authors who translated their own works were Samuel Beckett (from English to French and German, and vice versa) and Vladimir Nabokov (from Russia to French, and vice versa).

What are the types of Self-Translation?

Michaël Oustinof identified three types of Self-Translation: 1. Naturalising Translation (naturalisante): when an author gives priority to the characteristics of the target language (that is that language a text will be translates into). 2. Decentralised Translation (décentrée): when an author introduces in the target language foreign elements that belong to the source language (that’s the language a text is written in). 3. (Re)Creating Translation((re)créatrice): when an author translate and change his/her literary work (or omit some parts) in order to adapt the text to both the target language and culture.

Who are the authors that translate themselves? 1. Bilingual (or polyglot) authors who wants to expanse their audience or just experimenting. Usually, there’s a relation of symmetry between the source and the target language (e.g. French and English). It’s the case of Samuel Beckett. 2. People who speak minority language but choose to write with a dominant language. It’s the case of Luigi Pirandello who translated his plays in Italian from Sicilian dialects. 3. Colonial or post-colonial author who write both in their native language and colonial language. 4. Exiled or emigrant authors who write in the language of the Country they moved to. It’s the case of the Russian Vladimir Nabokov who, after moving to France, started writing books in French (such as his famous novel “Lolita”) and the same Joseph Brodsky.

The case of Brodsky and other Russian emigrée is a unique case of self-translation. Usually, who translate theirselves are those authors living in a condition of colonialism, i.e. they’re from a colonised from another of more prestige and political and cultural power, consequently their native languages becomes hegemonic to the language spoken by the colonists; the authors who live this kind of experience chose to translate their literary pieces to the dominant language, that is the colonist one, so that their work can emerge from a state of oppression, then reaching a larger number of readers and settling their existence as a creative and make raise their culture from the barriers of the dominant one and speak to the colonists through that; so, we’re talking about a form of cultural resistance.

Emigrant Russian authors didn’t choose to translate their world into the language of the Country which welcomed them, because their native culture weren’t oppressed, but because they were oppressed by their own culture; their works were usually divergent from the aesthetic ideals of the regime, thus they were censored or the official publishing was denied (and, often, neither by Russian magazines abroad); to survive as writers and giving life to their literary pieces, most of these authors chose to translate themselves. This kind of self-translation is, in this case, symmetrical, according to Rainier Grutman, because Russian and Western languages have got the same literary prestige, and the bilinguism here is exogenous (always according to Grutman’s definition) because these languages (especially about the relation between Russians and English) have never shared the same geographical spaces.

What pushed Joseph Brodsky to leave his home country and starting a new life and a new poetic and translating in the USA was the accuse and the arrest for parasitism, happened in 1964 (for which Brodsky was interned in the psychiatric hospital of Moscow and after deported and condemned to the forced labour near Arkhangelsk, on the extreme North of Russia). Thanks to his fame, he was freed in the November 1965 after a petition signed by Russian and foreigner colleagues but for the Party Brodsky was a hostile figure to the regime; in fact, when we requested a permission to go abroad, after he was invited by Robert Lowell to attend the International Festival of Poetry in London, «the Union of Soviet Writers answered there were no poet with that name in Russia: he was crossed out from the official list of Russian writers»[2]; they denied him the right of writing, the natural right to proclaimed himself poet and for a real poet this means denying his life, denying his dignity. Refusing his poetry is to refuse him and thus happened when, in 1972, he was commanded to leave the Soviet Union; that means he was not welcomed by his move country, his Russia, his Russian any longer. So, what can a poet do? Brodsky remembers: «on 10th May 1972 I was called out and they told me:”Take advantage of one of the invitation people make to you to leave for Israel. We prepare a visa for you in two days”. “But I don’t want to take advantage of”. “So, prepare for the worst”. I couldn’t do anything but to give up: I managed to make the gems prolonged to 10th June (“after this date, you’re going to have no identity card, absolutely nothing”): I wanted to pass until my 33rd birthdays with my parent in Leningrad, the last one. When they gave me the expat visa, they make me jump the line: there were many Jews waiting days and night for the visa who looked at me astonished, envying me […]. I past the last night in the USSR writing a letter to Brezhnev. The following day I was in Vienna»[3]. He was in Vienna when he met the English poet Brodsky loved most, Wystan Auden, with whom he attended the International Festival of Poetry in London, event that allowed him to meet other authors from the literary Anglo-Saxon world, such as Robert Lowell, but he already left Vienna to move to the US in the July of the same year: he was offered to work to the University of Michigan (where he taught until to 1980). Thus began one of the most important phase of Brodsky’s work and his path to self-translation, which allowed him to reborn as a man and a poet. He lost his language, his Country, but he found a new language through which thinking, loving, writing, through which expressing himself, through which existing. To write is to exist.

Translating ourselves to exist, translating as that our own work to overcome national and cultural borders, to destroy linguistic barriers, to annihilate the borders. «Civilization is the sum of total of different cultures animated by a common spiritual numerator and its main vehicle – speaking both metaphorically and literally – is translation. The wandering of a Greek portico into the latitude of tundra is translation»[4]. Translation is what allows us to converse with other cultures, with the Other, and the translator is, thus, a cultural mediator that lays between two interlocutors and help them to understand each other, not only linguistically, but also culturally, that let bonds between values, norms and beliefs be understandable to who doesn’t know them. Brodsky gave new life to his poems, already oppressed by the hostility of Soviet regime, and he gave the, new social coordinates, although he destroyed the grammar, i.e. the foundation of English language in order to adapt this language to the linguistic malleability of Russian, in order to everything, the intrinsic structure and so the semantic built by that could persist. «Brodsky […] insisted strongly on a mimetic translation i.e. a translation which would retain a poem’s verse structure – especially its rhymes, verse metre, rhyme patterns and stanzaic design should be preserved above all»[5].

A mimetic translation, them, which doesn’t break the architecture of poetry and it fits, as well, the presence of Russian soul in the English language and so the in grammar and morphosyntax, that comes from Pushkinian tradition, according to the form and the content corresponding and so, none of them should be sacrificed in the translation. A tradition enhanced by the Acmeists (such as Anna Akhmatova and Osip Mandelshtam), from whom Brodsky took inspiration. According to the Acmeists, in translation, must be preserved the number of lines, verse metre, rhyme patterns, types of enjambements, rhyme types, linguistic register, types of metaphor, special devices and changes of tone. Following this tradition Brodsky translated his poems from Russian into English, though transforming and upsetting the target language, though drowning bitter criticisms for that which will be have called “Englishness”. Upsetting the language in order to appear himself as a poet, as a Russia. His soul must have to emerge, if he wanted to live through poetry, and the only way to do it, in this case, is to annihilate the rule of the other language, a language chosen to survive. This foreigner who transformed a language that is not his to make it an instruments of resistance, an instruments of existence. The harshest criticism towards his English was from the British School, which blames Brodsky of transforming the language to make it adapt to his needs; a criticism that hide the will to protect the integrity of the language from an “intruder” like the Russian Brodsky. Despite all, the poet received much esteem, especially from the American School which appreciated his experimenting with the language. Experimentalism due to the dissatisfaction of English translation to Russian poems that Brodsky criticized because they were not capable to keep the complex morphosyntactic structure of the poetic of Russian language. He wrote about it: «Translation from Russian into English is one of the most horrendous mindbenders. There aren’t all that many minds equal to this. Even a good, talented, brilliant poet who intuitively understands the task is incapable of restoring a Russian poem in English. The English language simply doesn’t have those moves. The translator is tied grammatically, structurally»[6]. Even though his approach which was very little conform to modern translation theories, even though we can blame him to have turned upside-down the English and so we can speak of Englishness in his poems, Brodsky «[…] approached his translation with a fervour verging on the quixotic, squaring the circle of poetic translation, defying the spell of impossibility and bridging single-handedly the linguistic gap with great energy» [7].

Viviana Rizzo

Notes

1. AA.VV., Handbook of Translation Studies, edited by Yves Gambier e Luc van Doorslaer Amsterdam, John Benjamins Publishing Company, 2010, p. 306

2. «L'Unione degli Scrittori Sovietici rispose che non c'era nessun poeta con quel nome in Russia: era stato depennato dalla lista ufficiale degli scrittori russi», in CONDELLO, Anna, “Iosif Brodskij: una biografia intellettuale”, in Russian Echo, web (http://www.russianecho.net/contributi/speciali/brodskij/bio.html retrieved in 28th May 2021)

3. «Il 10 maggio 1972 mi chiamano e mi dicono: "Approfitti subito di uno dei tanti inviti che le vengono per emigrare in Israele e parta. Le prepariamo il visto in due giorni". "Ma non ho nessuna intenzione di approfittarne". "E allora si prepari al peggio". Non potevo far altro che cedere: sono riuscito al massimo a farmi prolungare i termini fino al 10 giugno ("dopo questa data non ha più carta d’identità , non ha più niente"): volevo almeno passare a Leningrado il mio trentaduesimo compleanno, con i miei genitori, l'ultimo. Quando mi hanno consegnato il visto d'espatrio, mi hanno fatto saltare la fila: c'erano tanti ebrei che aspettavano, che bivaccavano là in anticamera giorni e giorni in attesa del visto e che mi guardavano esterrefatti, con invidia [...]. L'ultima notte in Urss l'ho passata scrivendo una lettera a Breznev. Il giorno dopo ero a Vienna», in CONDELLO, Anna, “Iosif Brodskij: una biografia intellettuale”, in Russian Echo, web (http://www.russianecho.net/contributi/speciali/brodskij/bio.html retrieved in 28th May 2021)

4. BRODSKIJ, Iosif, “The Child of Civilization”, Less than one, London, Penguin, 1986, p. 139, cit. in ISHOV, Zakhar, “Posthorse of Civilisation”: Joseph Brodsky translating Joseph Brodsky. Towards a New Theory of Russian-English Poetry Translation, Berlin, Freien Universität Berlin, 2008, p. 2

5. ISHOV, Zakhar, “Posthorse of Civilisation”: Joseph Brodsky translating Joseph Brodsky. Towards a New Theory of Russian-English Poetry Translation, p. 4

6. SOLKOV, Solomon, Conversations with Joseph Brodsky, New York, The Free Press, 1998, p. 86, cit. in ISHOV, Zakhar, “Posthorse of Civilisation”: Joseph Brodsky translating Joseph Brodsky. Towards a New Theory of Russian-English Poetry Translation, p. 5

7. ISHOV, Zakhar, “Posthorse of Civilisation”: Joseph Brodsky translating Joseph Brodsky. Towards a New Theory of Russian-English Poetry Translation, p. 3

Sources

1. COCCO, Simona, “Lost in (Self-)Translation? Riflessioni sull’autotraduzione”, in AA.VV. , Lost in Translation. Testi e culture allo specchio, vol. 6 (2009), pp. 103-112

2. GRUTMAN, Rainier, “Beckett and Beyond. Putting Self-Translation in Perspective”, in Orbus Litterarum, n. 68, vol. 3 (2013), pp. 188-2016

3. GRUTMAN Rainier, VAN BOLDEREN Trish, “Self-Translation”, in A Companion to Translation Studies, edited by Sandra Bermann and Catherine Porter, New Jersey, John Wiley & Sons, Ltd., 2014, pp. 323-332

4. ISHOV, Zakhar, “Post-horse of Civilisation”: Joseph Brodsky translating Joseph Brodsky. Towards a Mew Theory of Russian-English Poetry Translation, Berlin, Freien Universität Berlin, 2008

5. MONTINI, Chiara, “Self-Translation”, in Handbook of Translation Studies, edited by Yves Gambier and Luc van Doorslaer, Amsterdam/Philadelphia, John Benjamins Publishing Company, 2010, pp. 307-308

6. WARNER, Adrian, “The poetics of displacement: Self-Translation among contemporary Russian-American poets”, in Translation Studies, vol. 11. N. 2, 2018, pp. 122-138

[wisdomrays]

TAFAKKUR: Part 379

THE QUR'AN AND ESTABLISHED SCIENTIFIC FACTS: Part 4

CONFLICT BETWEEN RELIGION AND SCIENCE?

Seeing religion and science or scientific studies as two conflicting disciplines is a product of the Western attitude towards religion and science. In order to understand the background of the historical conflicts between science and Christianity in the West, we should first discuss the main reasons why sciences have developed in the West in recent centuries.

Christianity and changing Western way of thinking

When, after years of struggle and the lives of thousands of martyrs, Christianity became the state religion of the Roman Empire, it found itself in a climate where epicurean and naturalistic attitudes prevailed and human knowledge was sanctified.

The teaching of Jesus, which would later to be called Christianity, won the victory in its struggle with the Roman Empire but unfortunately at the expense of losing its original identity and purity. Besides, deviating from being a middle way as a God-revealed religion, theoretically, it restricted itself to love and condemned nature as a veil separating man from God. Also, influenced by Near Eastern religions like Mithraism and Manichaeism, it turned to be a completely mystical religion. However, the earth or nature is seen in Islam and, of course, in God-revealed religions, as a realm where God’s Most Beautiful Names are manifested, a realm on which minds should reflect in order to reach God Almighty, and which is itself a reflection of Paradise.

Certainly, it was the Church which, having announced itself as the body of Christ enjoying his authority, shaped Christianity in the mould explained above and later campaigned to seize, besides its spiritual, the worldly power also. In the centuries during which the West was under the dominion of the Church, a magnificent civilization flourished in the Muslim East. As a result of the West’s contact with this civilization through the Crusades and by way of Andalusia, the West had also the opportunity to learn about antiquity. Greek philosophy, especially Aristotelianism, Roman naturalism and also Greek epicurism and hedonism found their way to the Western thinking. When this Western awakening to antiquity through the translations from Arabic and by way of the Muslim centers of learning in Andalusia and Sicily, was united with Western envy of the prosperity of the Muslim East, the ground was prepared for the Renaissance.

Western ways of thinking changed greatly. The ‘iron wall’ between Western attitude and Islam which the Church had built up over centuries, caused this change to evolve against religion. Having teared that it would lose its worldly power, the Church severely resisted this change. The corrupted Bible was no longer able to answer the questions that arose in inquiring minds about creation and the order of the universe. The Old Testament had been lost long centuries before during the Assyrian invasion of Jerusalem. The texts to hand were written down by Jewish scholars, who certainly had in mind the problems of the Jewish community at that time. None of the Gospels, which had been chosen out of hundreds and accepted as canonical, was the original one which God sent to Jesus, upon him be peace. Besides, none of them was written by the apostles or disciples of Jesus. So, the symbolical language of Divine Scriptures-symbolical because they addressed every level of understanding at all times and in all places-was lost. As a result, for example, in the description of creation, the Old Testament mentions seven days like the days of the world. It says: ‘And there was evening, and there was morning-the first day.’ Whereas, the conception of a day of morning and evening belongs to us, who live on earth. The Qur’an also mentions days and that God created the universe in six days. But it never mentions mornings and evenings and presents ‘day’ as a relative period whose measure is not known to us. For example, in the verses: The angels and spirit ascend to Him in a day whereof the span is fifty thousand years (70.4), and They will bid you hasten on the Doom, and God fails not His promise, but a Day with God is a thousand years of what you reckon (22.47), and He directs the affair from the heaven unto the earth; then it ascends unto Him in a Day, whereof the measure is a thousand years of what you reckon (32.5).

The failure of Christianity and the Bible to answer the questions put by inquiring Western minds caused the direction of scientific developments to be opposed to religion. However, the great scientists such as Galileo or Bacon and others were not irreligious at all. They favoured a new interpretation of the Bible. Certain scientists and theologians tried to do that. For example, Roger Bacon was in favour of experimental methods in scientific investigations but he also defended the notion that one could attain knowledge of heavenly things through spiritual experience. Thomas Acquinas, whom some introduce as the Christian counterpart of Imam Ghazzali of the Muslim East, tried to reconcile Christianity with Aristotelianism. Another theologian. Nicolas de Cusa, opposed the astronomy of Ptolemy but emphasized the profound meaning of the limitless universe whose center is everywhere and peripheries nowhere. Nevertheless, the efforts of such theologians and scientists to reconcile Christianity with science were not enough to prevent science finally breaking with religion. This was partly due to the severe opposition of the Church to scientific developments for fear of losing its power, and partly because of the Western awakening to a material life.

Truly, as Professor Tawney says, quoted by Small is Beautiful by Schumacher, in the medieval period, people usually aimed at eternal happiness in economic activities and enterprises. They feared economic motives that appeared in the form of strong desires. A man had the right to gain enough money to lead a life according to his social status but to try to gain more meant greed for money and was a grave sin. Wealth and property had to be obtained through lawful ways and circulate among as many people as possible. However, the Renaissance changed social or even moral standards prevalent in the Middle Ages, or, we might say, changes in those standards gave birth to the Renaissance. Even a superficial glance at the arts of the period suffices to reveal this fundamental change from the moral and spiritual to the material. For example, sculpture-in the view of Sokorin, the product of the desire to escape death and the mental ‘diesase’ of representing mortals in the shape of young, immortal deities-used the female body to model passionate desires and pleasures, deceit, sexuality and physical beauty. In Renaissance art, Virgin Mary was no longer an image of modesty and chastity, inspiring respect and compassion; instead, she began to be painted as a woman with physical charms. The David of Michelangelo is a powerful, muscular youth, an image representing bodily perfection.

The man of the Renaissance desired to be like Odysseus, well-built, comely, intelligent, powerful and skilful in oratory. He was convinced that to become like Odysseus was possible through knowledge. Nevertheless, as will be seen in the following verses, ‘God’ of the Bible was jealous of man and had forbidden him to eat of the fruit of knowledge:

The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it. And the Lord God commanded the man, “You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat of it you will surely die.

And the Lord God said, “(by eating of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil), the man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live for ever.” So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken.

These verses of the Bible which would certainly be antipathetic to the feelings of a typical man of the Renaissance and remind him of the Greek deities who forbade man the sacred fire. Therefore, what fired the imagination of the Renaissance man was to become a Prometheus, who rebelled against the gods and stole the sacred fire from them. This change of attitude towards religion and life is one of the foremost points to emphasize if we are to understand the conflict between science and religion in the West.

[wwwmikeyxyz]

🌻

I’ve been listening to Tally Hall’s album “Marvin’s Marvelous Mechanical Muesum” nonstop for all of quarentine so here are my opinions on all of the songs individually:

Good Day: I love this song! It makes me feel excited and it’s a bit of a power anthem for me! I especially love the chorus and outro, and all the little things you can pick out are neat little touches! Favourite Line: “Kill all it’d bad dreams, wonder ‘bout no things, circles and spirals in mind.”

Greener: Transitions smoothly from Good Day, and I love that! Not exactly my favourite, but it’s a good break up song (or long distance relationship if you think of it like that). Favourite Line: “… you get a little cleaner of me, and I find a little greener shade of envy.”

Welcome To Tally Hall: There’s so many things going on in this song. What genre is this, rap? Pop? I don’t know, but it’s pulled off great. I like that they use the tie colours as identifiers instead of names for people not as invested in the band! Also again the little audio bits you here sound like old video or arcade sounds and it’s nostalgic for me! There’s also TONS of puns and references! Great song! Favourite Line: “On booty duty like your name is Eddie Thatch’.”

Taken for a Ride: I LOVE THIS SONG, it may be my favourite, for good reason! I love every single demo of this song too, it’s interesting to see how the robotic voice evolved, and it reminds me of Hawaii Part II (which was my first taste of a few of the members of Tally Hall). I really love the story of this song, and the sections blend into each other so well! I adore this song, it makes me want to dance and sing at the top of my lungs during the verses, but it’s so soothing in the pre-chorus and chorus! Favourite Line: “The actor with his world renown was thinking ‘bout his last real day of silence. Was it over?”

The Bidding: I think this was the first Tally Hall song I heard. I heard the “I graduated at the top” verse from Instagram edits, leading to my love for both this song and the band. This song isn’t the best compared to Taken for a Ride and Spring and a Storm, but it still bops pretty hard. A solid 9/10, in my opinion. Also I love how well their voices are in the beginning! Also also, it’s a lovely metaphor. Favourite Line: “I’ve been here like a thousand times, dated every woman in the atmosphere…”

Be Born: Not my favourite, not a fan of more acoustic songs, but it’s still pretty good. I love the chorus though. Not much to say on it, really. Favourite Line: “I was in your shoes before, or, lack thereof, and things worked out for me.”

Banana Man: The VIBES!!! It’s really just a silly little song. It is just immaculate, I don’t think I could explain it if I tried. Incredible, please listen to it! (Also I love the little 1, 2, 3, Go! In the background!) Favourite Line: Look you, you too uptight you know! You could laugh and kick it back and go (whee) but without a rhythm or a rhyme you do not banana all de time.”

Just Apathy: Least favourite song, it’s just not par to the others in my opinion. I like the chorus but I really don’t like the verses that much, and the story is just kinda. Sad. It’s called Just Apathy for a reason… Favourite Line: “Consider the possibility that you’ve been had, but not by me.”

Spring and a Storm: I lied Taken for a Ride isn’t my favourite song, it‘s definitely Spring and a Storm. The uke? The lyrics? The background noises? THE MR. MOON SECTION??? It’s all fantastic, and I love it so so so much. 10000000/10!!! The demo’s also fantastic, and has a completely different Mr. Moon section! And Joe’s Mr. Moon in the demo is so sweet sounding, and Rob and Zubin’s children voices are incredible in the demo. Favourite Line: literally all of it it’s all so good please listen to it

Two Wuv: The fact that in the Internet Show that this takes place in a grave yard is so fucking funny to me. Nonetheless it’s a solid song with strong 90’s vibes. Relatable if you liked Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen. Favourite Line: “It’s sadness every day that passes without you and I really wanna really wanna really wanna hold you both tight…”

Haiku: THIS SONG IS SO CLEVER! The verses all have a 5-7-6 syllable pattern, so it’s like you can feel the haiku is so close but not quite there. It’s over all so so so sweet and I love the song so much, definitely in my top 5. Favourite Line: “Words don’t work like Webster says, they trip me up all night. I’m just trying to write for you, but you’re hard to write down right.”

The Whole World and You: IF YOU HAVE A CRUSH SEND THEM THIS SONG. It is literally the sweetest song I’ve ever fucking heard. It’s the embodiment of the “🥺” emoji. Anyway the song itself is so incredibly lovely. AND THE TRUMPET!!!!!! Favourite Line: “I hope you’re happy now I’ve revealed the truth. I’ve even written this whole song about you, and not about me, and not about me.”

13: 13 is a wonderful intro/transition to Ruler of Everything. I love the violin!

Ruler of Everything: THIS SONG SLAPS! Also the constant clock sounds? Holy shit this is a wonderful metaphor for time, and it’s so catchy. And all the voice changers are so funky! Favourite Line: “Do you like how I walk? Do you like how I talk? Do you like how my face disintegrates into chalk?”

Hidden In the Sand: A great end to the main album! It’s short and simple, but it love it! The ukulele is wonderful, and the almost haunting backup voices give this peaceful song an almost eerily touch. When this is paired with the music video, which is absolute chaos, it’s amazing how it all works together! Favourite Line: “When you had to bid adieu, said you’d never love anew, I wondered if I could hold it and fall in love with it too.”

Mucka Blucka (Bonus Track): I find it hysterical that I can vibe so heavily to a song containing nothing but chicken noises that resemble vague profanities. I find it even funnier that I can hit the highest solo in it. In context of the Tally Hall Internet Show, it’s only that much more hilarious. Favourite Part: That one fucking solo that goes so fucking high it’s so fucking funny-

Dream (Bonus Track): like the name suggests, it’s incredibly dream like! Every single melody has its own place, but they all blend together so well in such a haunting way. It’s a beautiful song, and it has such a unique balance of beauty and dread to it.

[hirikka]

Virtues in the verse - Chapter 5

Read on AO3

Geralt needs somewhere safe to take Ciri for the winter—it is too late to make it to Kaer Morhen—so they try to seek sanctuary at Oxenfurt. Unfortunately, the chancellor insists they only offer sanctuary to faculty and their families. Jaskier hasn't seen Geralt since the dragon hunt, but perhaps this will be a way to make up for his past failings as a companion. They just need to get married, and Geralt and Ciri will be safe.

Or, Jaskier and Geralt get fake married so that Geralt and Ciri can claim sanctuary at Oxenfurt.

Chapter 5: Shopping! Part One.

Geralt hates cities. The academy isn’t as bad as Oxenfurt proper. At least there is a bit of space there, and the campus is mostly kept clean. The actual city is noisy and crowded—the market bustling with merchants and traders, townsfolk and students. Jaskier navigates it with the practiced ease that Geralt has always envied. Ciri is holding Jaskier’s hand to avoid being separated in the crowd, while Geralt hangs back slightly. He doesn’t think Nilfgaard has made it this far north, but he is still wary; a witcher with a child is bound to draw attention.

Jaskier leads them into a tailor’s shop that’s down a slightly less crowded street. The shop itself is empty of people, and Geralt relaxes slightly as the door shuts and the sounds of the city fade. He looks around at the colorful bolts of fabric with a sense of dread.

“Master Julian!” a cheerful voice calls. A moment later a young man appears behind the counter. “Back already?”

“Not for me this time, Aleksy.” Jaskier smiles and shakes the man’s hand. “I’m afraid that my dear Fiona—” he rests a hand on Ciri’s shoulder “—had to leave for Oxenfurt rather abruptly and doesn’t have much in the way of winter clothing. She could do with a few dresses and a new cloak. Perhaps a shirt and pair of trousers as well?” Jaskier looks to Ciri for confirmation and she nods tentatively. “Any colors she would like for the clothes, but something in a natural color for the cloak.”

Aleksy has been jotting down notes as Jaskier speaks and, Geralt notices, seems unfazed by Jaskier’s request to get Ciri trousers.

“Good, good,” Aleksy mutters. “Let me fetch Reneta; she’ll take the girl’s measurements and discuss anything else she needs.” He disappears into the back room again.

Jaskier turns to give Geralt an appraising look. “What clothes do you need?”

“I’m fine,” Geralt says. He doesn’t have much coin as it is—isn’t entirely sure how he is going to afford Ciri’s clothes. He won’t argue against buying her the things she needs, but he isn’t likely to find work until the spring, which means he can’t afford unnecessary luxuries

Jaskier gives him a look. It’s a look Geralt is extremely familiar with. It usually precedes Jaskier bullying Geralt into taking a bath and then going to some kind of event he doesn’t want to be at.

“Fiona?” Jaskier calls, not taking his eyes off Geralt. “Does Geralt have any shirts without holes in them?”

Ciri considers this for a moment. “He mostly wore the armor, but I don’t think he does.”

Geralt can’t believe his own daughter would betray him like this. And oh, that was a thought he would have to put aside until later. He hasn’t thought of Ciri as his daughter before.

“That’s what I thought.” Jaskier sniffs haughtily. “I can’t have my husband traipsing about in rags, and you can’t wear your armor all the time; that would be ridiculous. Ah—” Aleksy returns with a woman. They look similar enough that Geralt guesses they are siblings. Jaskier turns his attention to them. “Aleksy, dear, while Reneta is looking after Fiona, would you take Geralt’s measurements?”

Aleksy nods, passing the sheet of paper to Reneta who leads Ciri into the back room, and pulls out a measuring tape.

“Step over here, sir,” Aleksy instructs, pointing to a smaller area with a door that can be closed for privacy. Geralt sighs but does as he is told. He will talk to Jaskier when they have a moment of privacy.

Aleksy is quick and efficient and either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Geralt is a witcher. They finish quickly and return to the main storefront. While they were gone, Jaskier had pulled out several bolts of fabric and placed them on the counter. Two are black and the other is a dark blue that Geralt eyes dubiously.

“Aleksy—for Geralt’s things, make sure they aren’t restrictive—he needs to be able to move easily. And nothing too fancy; he’s likely to put whatever it is, no matter how fine, under armor so nothing too bulky,” Jaskier instructs. “Geralt, any other notes?”

“No.”

Aleksy nods amiably. “Alright. Everything should be ready at the end of the week. If you come in yourself on Saturday, Julian, I’ll have the new shipment of fabrics in from Poviss, if you want to take a look.”

“Oh, yes, absolutely!” Jaskier exclaims with a bright smile. Aleksy and Jaskier exchange a few more pleasantries before Aleksy excuses himself to his workroom.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, as soon as they are alone. “I can’t afford new clothes right now. Mine are fine.” He doesn’t like to admit it. It isn’t like he hasn’t run out of funds before when traveling with Jaskier; they each had times when they brought in more coin than the other, and had long since gotten past any discomfort in paying for the occasional room or meal. But this is different. Geralt is already relying on Jaskier for room and board for the entire winter, and he doesn’t have any likely prospects for bringing in coin until the spring comes. There is a reason he and his brothers usually wintered in Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier, however, just looks at him as if he can’t figure out what the problem is. “I can pay for the clothes, Geralt; it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine ,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier just rolls his eyes. “I was serious before: You are my betrothed ; if you don’t have any decent clothes while I’m swanning about in a new doublet, people will think I’m an ass. Besides, I do get paid to teach here. I have enough coin for this, especially since I won’t—” He cut himself off.

Geralt wants to ask what he wouldn’t be doing. He also wants to argue more about the clothes, but he has to admit that Jaskier has a point. He can always pay Jaskier back, eventually—if nothing else, it will give him an excuse to see Jaskier again after this is all over.

** Jaskier sends Geralt to buy groceries while he and Ciri go to purchase the rings. Geralt had offered to come, but Jaskier and Ciri had given him matching expressions that made it very clear that his aesthetic opinions wouldn’t be helpful. Geralt’s more than a little relieved; he’s been trying to avoid thinking too hard about the actual fact of marrying Jaskier, and he’s not sure he’s ready to look at rings. He focuses on practicalities. The things he’ll need. He uses some of his coin to purchase supplies to replenish his potions; while he isn’t likely to encounter monsters, he wants to be prepared in case any dangers come for Ciri. He’ll feel better once he’s well supplied, and it will be one less thing to worry about.