#神怪

[shiroeyoru]

[aleeth]

I've seen the Mononoke's film on netflix, I like the old characters more, however I kinda like Shingi's outfit but not in the colors they chose, so I made my own version lol. I mixed both version. I think Shingi's kimono/yukata would have looked good in crimson/red too. Unfinished stuff as usual, I'm lazy. I was testing a new tablet and clipstudio 3.0 as well, but it seems my computer is too old for that T-T

[classic-shoujo]

Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne (1998) by Arina Tanemura

[user-null]

Shingi, please 😭

[purplealmonds]

Hm. This takes some explaining. I shared this illustration of Kon-Kusu inheriting the role of Shingi on Twitter, and shirousagi_mono wrote a story inspired by that idea! And I in turn was inspired to translate that story and drew some supplemental visuals for it!

English transcript below the cut.

DISCLAIMER This started out as a self-indulgent project to clumsily translate this story for myself. However, I became so enamored with it that before I knew it, I drew not only cover art but also various illustrations for each part of this story. The scope of this project has expanded far beyond my initial expectations.

I am an artist, not a writer. Furthermore, I am not an expert at the Japanese language. As such, this translation is far from perfect. Although I used Google Translate and DeepL, there may be parts of the story which I may have completely misinterpreted. A lot of nuances of the Japanese prose were also surely lost in translation. I tried to replicate an approximation of it in English, but again, I am not an expert on such matters.

Despite that, I am incredibly happy that this overseas collaboration is happening at all, and that our shared passion for Mononoke was what facilitated this connection. I can only hope that through the supplemental illustrations, the original narrative intentions of the author comes through.

–––

“Forgive me.”

It hurts, it cries. It hurts, it hurts!

The demonic wailing rises to ear-splitting shrieks.

Unforgivable, unforgivable, unforgivable!

The passion imbued in those wretched cries weigh down like great albatrosses in my heart.

The more I wield my blade, the more my soul becomes entangled in these heady emotions. But I grit my teeth and endure, swallowing all resentment and disappointment, envy and jealousy.

It is indescribable. My sword cuts through the tenuous threads of karma binding these hateful spirits helplessly raining curses upon this world.

I have long forgotten how to pray. Closing my eyes in helpless grief, I am unable to do anything but slash away with that jet black blade swaddled within the flickering blue flame.

***

The pale light of the full moon dances across the rippling waves. I have long become accustomed to the prickling cold against my clammy skin. The water laps at my existence, my senses rippling like fading echoes through its vast expanse.

A voice calls out to me. “Shingi-sama.”

Opening my eyes, I resurface to reality. The muted roar of the waterfall reverberates in my pointed ears. The cascading torrents sweep away my scarlet locks shimmering like a thin film across the water’s surface.

There is a figure stood on a distant shore. I wade towards them, wringing out the moisture in my hair.

“Are you well?” they ask.

“I am fine.”

They hands me my robes, which I accept with a shallow bow and slip onto my still dripping frame. The moisture soaks through the white fabric almost immediately. As the shining crimson fades from my hair, my minder watches on with unadulterated adoration etched upon their face.

Flustered, they avert their gaze. That gesture fills me with a strange sense nostalgia. I cannot help but stare back as they towel down my dripping hair and loosely gather the red-and-white strands into a braid.

“Somehow, this routine is soothing to me,” they confess with a sheepish smile. “Your hair is quite curly.”

Indeed, as they card through my locks, they twist and curl like crackling wildfire through their deft fingers. In the moonlight, the faintest shade of wisteria emerges from those silken locks. My unruly hair tamed into a tidy bun, they step back to admire their neat handiwork with their moon-pale gaze.

The sight of that innocent look constricts my chest with an aching familiarity.

I vehemently shake my head at this resurgence of long-buried memories. Once rekindled, those embers flare up into uncontrollable flames searing painful recollections into my heart. I know these emotions all too well.

My throat constricts in defiance. No. These are tulmultuous emotions are not my own. Not anymore.

“I’m here,” I say, steely voice concealing my heart’s turmoil. “I’m sorry.”

Plucking the mirror hanging from the sash of my other half, I toss it upwards with a practiced motion. It defies gravity, hanging eye level mid air. As it rotates lazily, my face comes into view. But it is not a familiar visage.

The reflection that gazes back at me is missing the black sclera of the my eyes and the crimson markings adorning my skin.

The warped reflection, wracked with grief and pain, stares back at me with pleading eyes.

I call out its name, long lost to time. Its eyes widen.

“You do not belong here,” I say to my past self. “Not yet.”

I reach out to the mirror.

“Go home.”

I crush the it in my fist. The shards melt harmlessly and trickle like ephemeral moonlight between my fingers.

***

I wake with a start. Gasping for breath, I take stock of sensations to ground me. Sticky sweat runs in rivulets down my skin. My chest barely cages the frantic pounding of my heart. I sweep away the stringy mop of pale lavender hair obscuring my vision.

A comfortingly familiar hand reaches out to me. He must have been roused by my unexpected awakening. I return the touch, and he squeezes my palm reassuringly. At last, my gaze shifts to my lover, moonlit eyes framed by a curtain of pitch black hair.

Yes, one day this will be my fate. It feels strange to think of myself in the future tense with such grim certainty. These stolen moments of the present – how foolish was to take them for granted until now? Gazing past my eyes into the depths of my heart, the god of the Kun exorcism sword interrogates my loud thoughts.

“What did you see?” he presses. “What did you mean by ‘my fate’?”

I wince at the graveness of his voice, but comply. Turning my thoughts inwards, I attempt to recall my nightmare. But the moment I touch upon it, it dissipates like mist. I gape helplessly as the dream loses shape.

“I–” I stammer. “I don’t remember. But–“

My racing heart still echoes feverishly in my head. My eyes dart back to my god and soulmate. As he leans over me, his dark hair falls around me like a protective cage. My throat tightens with an inexplicable grief. Despite my fading memories, there is one thing I know for certain.

“I’m scared of losing you.”

As that confession spills from my lips, my eyes grow hot. A stifling fear threatens to tear out of my trembling frame. It is such a childish cliche. Once said aloud, those words will surely become a prophetic truth. I cling to my other half’s pale sleeve as if in desperate prayer. My inability to push him away in my moment of vulnerability fills my eyes to the brim with unshed tears.

Those moon-pale eyes widen. I am stunned by the emotion flickering past his usual stone-faced expression. Before I can think more of it, his large hand obscures my vision like the moon eclipsing the sun.

“Go back to sleep. Forget this ever happened.”

At that soft spoken benediction, the fear wracking my body is snatched away along with my fretful consciousness. His sad voice follows me into a dreamless abyss.

“You should not look into the future.”

If this was truly my future, is it worth continuing down this path? As my eyes drift shut, the desire to give voice to that fading question forms silent tears trickling down my cheek.

[ydotome]

[animenekos]

Kaii to Otome to Kamikakushi; Mysterious Disappearances - Episode 12

[noticiasarquelogicasjaponesas]

Banchō Sarayashiki, también conocida como okiku-san, en vida un aciago día, se le cayeron los 10 platos y por desgracia uno de ellos se rompió y su amo la asesinó y arrojó su cuerpo a un pozo.-Por eso cada noche aparece para contar los platos con una voz tenue, uno, dos, tres... así hasta nueve ¡Exclamando falta un plato! - La historia se remonta al periodo Edo. ¿Conocían esta pequeña historia? Que pasen una buena semana. - お菊さんこと皿屋敷番長は、ある運命の日に10枚の皿を落とし、運悪くそのうちの1枚が割れてしまい、主人に殺害されて井戸に投げ込まれました。 - そのため、毎晩、かすかな声で皿を数え、1枚、2枚、3枚...と9枚まで数え、「1枚足りない！」と叫ぶのだそうです。 - この話は江戸時代まで遡りますが、皆さんはご存知でしたか？それでは、今週も良い一週間をお過ごしください。 -Banchō Sarayashiki, also known as okiku-san, in life one fateful day, dropped the 10 plates and unfortunately one of them broke and her master murdered her and threw her body into a well. - That's why every night she appears to count the plates with a faint voice, one, two, three... up to nine... exclaiming that one plate is missing! - The story goes back to the Edo period. Did you know this little story? Have a nice week.

[yonae]

Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne by Arina Tanemura

[shiroeyoru]

[mechadeimos]

[a-titty-ninja]

[classic-shoujo]

Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne (1998) by Arina Tanemura

[user-null]

Shingi doodle i forgot to share earlier this week

[purplealmonds]

Eepy 🥱💤

[ydotome]