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det-agency · 12 days ago

Text

payneland yule exchange 2024

@clementiiny

tw: bullying/abuse/ptsd/underage drinking

prompts: pre-canon, hurt/comfort, domestic vibes charles-centric fic

Charles eyes the space Edwin cleared out for him on their homemade bookshelf.

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It was funny at first, two ghosts were haunting an old abandoned building. Nestled in off streets on some abandoned development project in Southern England. He can remember when they first stumbled in on a mirror hopping exercise, and Edwin taught him how to concentrate so that he could help move the discarded clapboard pallets. The way the pressure built on his hand without the texture of the wood was so alien to him at the time. When the hastily nailed planks finally rose his eyes darted to Edwin automatically.

“Very good Charles,” his smile radiating in his voice and eyes.

“Thanks mate, I think i’m getting-”

The pressure dissipated instantaneously, the rush of sand colored boards falling in a blur and crashing so loud to reverberate in the unfurnished concrete building.

No one spoke or moved for a minute.

-------- ≪ ｡❅*⋆⍋⋆*❅｡ ≫ --------

Now two months have gone by and he has an empty shelf of the same discarded wood. Right next to Edwin’s growing collection of magical tomes and comics.

Somehow.

The sentiment is nice, but Charles isn’t much of a bibliophile. The last book he cracked open himself was probably Warriner’s English Grammar and Composition- complete course. If he had Edwin to read his coursework to him before his midterms- as well as the signs of faery possession- he might have had a better time retaining information.

He lets his mind fidget with the idea. Sneaking around to study with Edwin would have been loads more enjoyable than swotting up everytime he got wind of a quiz. For all the vapid consternated lecturing about their desire to teach the next generation diligence he’s surprised none of the teachers caught on to his more extreme study habits. He needed to revise twice as long as his mates, whilst still keeping on top of his cricket practice. The stench of smuggled coffee in the shared dorm space, sting of untreated paper cuts on his cricket bat, and echo of quickly flipped paper while on the bench-minutes before practice begins- still haunts him. No one can say his scholarship was not merited. To be candid, a few of his peers tried. They should put his name on a medal.

He winces.

They’d probably think that was lame though. With his friends there was always a give and take. Charles would be too excited or too visually distinctive, and then they would disparage him before intervening. He can almost hear them now, in his head, mocking him for caring enough to wonder what books Charles thinks Edwin would want next to his collection. They’d probably ring his bell if they caught him idling, grinning at it, like a gormless old twit.

Charles starts picking up the books Edwin had pushed to the far side of the room and carrying them back towards their place on the shelf. Each one aged into a different neutral hue.

It’s not like getting lumped aside the head is the worst, he’s just had his fair share of it. The sharp painful corrections reverberated through concert gigs, class, and his old house. With his Dad it was something you could count on. Like the chime of a clock or the clunk of his boots on the floor above him when he got home.

The closest he gets to that is when Edwin scolded him when he misplaced a hand-bound copy of Materials Toward a History of Witchcraft V. II.

His hands were steepled and eyebrows were pinched as he faced Charles.

“It is of our best interest to have our books on occultism organized if we are to keep helping any stray ghost that takes your fancy.”

His tone is sincere with “steps to make sure this does not happen whilst they are in each other’s company.”

It had been the first time Edwin had mentioned a future- their future- together.

So…there are more instances where he messes up with Edwin.

His first offense was gathering discarded vinyl records from the estate to solve the case of the mummified musician. He may have gathered more than necessary. The boxes littered their settled office with the crowded oppressive atmosphere of an obstacle course.

“ I don’t understand the importance of collecting memorabilia from his estate if his condition clearly exemplifies a pharaoh's curse, Charles.”

“Except he’s never been to Egypt, and something is wrong with these records, Edwin.” Charles tests.

“Whatever do you mean?” Edwin asks, hands centering more nervously.

Charles takes the dingy milk crate containing the cursed record to the top of their newly acquired office desk. “He didn’t have any photos of his parents in that house. Closest we got to them was that burnt photo with his passport. So whoever his family is in Egypt he isn’t going back to see them often.” He grabs the third vinyl ceremoniously holding it up and points accordingly.

“This band was based in the UK and was underground in the 70s; they did not have the money to parade around publishing records in Egypt, mate. It also doesn’t have English import tax added to the price on the back so we can figure whoever gave it to him wasn’t a distributor. Finally,” He slides the protective sheet from the record. “The Matrix numbers are utter gibberish.” Charles raises his head to find Edwin studying him instead of the vinyl.

“You know an awful lot about vinyl records, how come your interest has never come up before?” Edwin poaches.

“I’m not interested, mate, this case is just stupid convoluted and I’d really appreciate getting this case closed as soon as possible, yeah?” Charles twists away placing the covering back onto the record and into the jacket delicately.

“Right, of course.” Edwin reassures.

The following offense had occurred after a few days of dodgy eyeing on Edwin’s part. The silent treatment had gotten so intolerable he had resulted in point blank annoying him about the local bands when they walked past the building on their way to pick up new comics and magical tomes from the only occult shop in London to sell to “new ghosts.”

The cold morning air clung to the energy around their forms as they made their way through almost empty city walkways. The greys and blues of the world still clinging to the buildings and street as Charles prattles on about trumpet melodies and inconsistent show times. They had been trotting by a street light holding fast against the elements when Edwin had stopped walking and Charles went ramrod straight.

“Did you use to go to shows frequently?” he asks hesitantly, but his eyes are narrowed and posture is straight, holding a brick sized hand bound french magic book and a recent batman issue with the same reverence, snug against himself.

Charles feels the panic, in his arms and stomach, unfurl their tendrils.

“I-er-well, we all had the go-ahead to leave campus, right, but we could never make it back in time if we went too far, did we? This venue didn’t card, so we always found our way here…eventually.” Charles stammers.

Edwin’s eyes drift to the unassuming dark building with torn weathered posters littering its wall. “You mentioned going to see the Po-Goues in January, but the poster says they were playing January 14th, which is shortly after your holiday. So I may surmise, you came back to St. Hilarion's and then went to a concert in which the interim school faculty would be exceedingly vigilant. You must care about them a great deal.” His eyes roam, and lock back onto Charles, assessing.

“Didn’t think you were actually listening, mate.” Charles teases.

“The Kon 5 is playing next week, so we could attend a show, if you are still interested in such things.”

Edwin steels himself, takes a breath, and then points to one of the newer additions to the wall. Charles follows the line of action from the base of Edwin’s shoulder to the mass-produced poster for the stupid band he used to wait in line to see.

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The building is dark. Metal and Brick both painted over with worn black overcoats. The stairs lead to an expanse of hallway with an open bar and doors. He remembers Mark used to remind him not to be an idiot and forget the stuff they came in with. Abandoned high heels, coats, and a metal bat line the walk-way. If you follow it you can pass the bathrooms to the back and you can see the open floor of an expansive former church turned remodeled stage.

The members come up one after the other. Each fiddling with equipment and performing checks on their respective instruments.

Charles’ energy is erratic. His hand had phased through the bars of the catwalk; they were camped atop up to his forearms. Being inside shouldn’t be putting his nerves on edge. He should be able to differentiate being in the building now with Edwin for one of his favorite bands and the “friends” who introduced it to him.

Nevertheless, every place his eyes rest rip memories from the depths of his mind to the cold air around him. He remembers, agreeing to help one of his roommates move to afford one of the coats everyone wore. Being too scared to decorate it. Skipping class so no one would see him go to a Citizen 8 gig alone. Standing in the dorm’s communal bathroom, looking in one of the mirrors to the shades of purple on his body, no recollection who to inculpate. “It was just a lark, we didn’t mean any harm.”

Getting harrassed.

Getting Killed.

”Hard Lines mate, maybe next time.” muttered at his fucking funeral.

“Are you alright?” Edwin asks.

“What-er- yeah” Charles stutters, “Sorry, we’ve-I’ve- just never got here early before.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Edwin hesitates.

“Oh, yeah, brills.”

It’s strange they don’t have any roadies or stage-hands aside from the band members. Charles points to the stage. “That is the lead singer James doing the mike check. and-” his arm halts its motion as they both watch in horror as the drummer touches his kit, glows red, dives behind the curtain, and begins screaming hysterically backstage.

Edwin looks at him quizzically.

“Well, that was the drummer.” Charles stammers, “Er-‘m sure, he’s fine, mate”

The Kon 5 are about twenty or so minutes into their set. The trumpets and drums are sycophantic in their rhythm drilling the crowd. Shouts of encouragement and lyrics are spurred out from the people around them. He looks to his right, Edwin stands in his school uniform tight and pristine despite the dingy atmosphere and sub-par lighting. His soft, thoughtful expression breaks into a smile when his eyes lock with Charles.

Guilt stabs him inextricably.

Edwin’s face falls and he pulls him towards the front of the venue. The Green lighting is strained on the hallway to the bathrooms that Charles has had the misfortune of painting in sick after a few too many jars.

“It’s okay if you don’t like the set we could head to the office and-” Charles starts.

“That is not the drummer.” Edwin states matter-of-fact.

The words left no room for negotiation, and were left between them.

“The Glowing was reminiscent of faery possession.”

“They just got back from France,” Hammering draws from Charles’s heart and hits his stomach.

“The shows-the tour,” he supplies, “They might have picked it up in Paris. ‘Right, Edwin?”

“You have the list of tour destinations memorized?” Edwin asks.

Charles feels stinging behind his eyes first.

“No, no, I just used to have their albums on tape and the upcoming tour destinations printed on back ‘innit.”

“You had their albums on tape? I had no idea you were passionate about music when you were alive,” he states.

“ We should see if the drummer could lend us some tapes after we rid him of his faery infestation.” Edwin mutters nodding to himself.

“Passionate?” Charles squawks.

“I don’t know why you insist on pretending you have no-interests or hobbies Charles, but you are clearly knowledgeable on the subject at hand.I had hoped your admission to your interest in music had been an olive branch between us, since you are so pliable to my rantings on thaumaturgy and protection charms, but you seem more fretful. ” His eyebrows are knit together before he continues, “I do not want our companionship to be so one-sided. I don't know any of your passions nor do I wish to have our place of residence devoid of your impression.”

“Mate, i didn’t mean-”

“I saw you restocked the bookshelf. Do you not see the office as a worthwhile place to store your belongings?” he continues. “Honestly, Charles, if you have no plans to stay we need not discuss it, but at least give me something to remember you by.”

The clawing in his throat builds with the silence between them.

“I-er,” he tries looking towards the cheap drywall, “This is just the first time it was okay to care about things, y’know?

And- yeah. I don’t, er- ” his voice breaks, and he half expects Edwin to shove him.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Edwin’s hand is steady as it grips his lapel.

He follows the pale pressed fingers to his wrist, up his covered arm and settles his gaze near Edwin’s face.

“Maybe on our return from our next trip from the occult book shop we can purchase some recordings.” He whispers.

Charles feels the buzzing energy in his hands again. He weighs everything said before him. The new revelation stripped the version of himself he had presupposed Edwin saw.

“Five minutes backstage,” Charles surrenders, picking up one discarded aluminium bat.

“Or we are summoning that drummer.” - ------ ≪ ｡❅*⋆⍋⋆*❅｡ ≫ ------

On the way back they pick up a walkman and cassette tapes for the Po-goues, rage parade, and Citizen 8. They leave behind a newly faery-exorcised signed guitar as payment.

When they get back to the office they make it to the middle of the floor before Edwin stands before him with his hand extended.

“What, right now?” Charles asks.

Edwin remains waiting patiently.

The magic canvas bag prognosticates. He swats his hand inside and picks up the cassette player, a tangled mess of earbuds, and the Citizen 8 tape all in one go.

Edwin’s hands dip for a second under the unexpected weight of the cassette player, but adjusts accordingly. Charles presses the eject button and places the tape into Edwin’s other awaiting hand. His fingers hold it in an unconventional manner while Charles stares in awe.

Too soon he presses the cassette into the cartridge and the hand is tucked under the handheld player.

“The earbuds please, Charles.”

Charles' eyes and hands return the mess of wire that he is desperate to untangle. He separates the left and right sides from the main auxiliary cord. Edwin’s hand reaches below and takes the jack and presses it into the aux with succinct precision. He returns, thumbing the earbud from Charles’s left hand to press it to the side of his face. He feels the loss of contact, and then watches Edwin take the earbud from his right hand before putting it to his own ear.

For a moment, he watches the cord between them.

The black wire joining their faces is short, forcing them a little closer than they usually get. His eyes flicker over Edwin’s face, but they find no discomfort. No, Edwin’s face is concentrated as he works. His eyes pinched with the ghost of a smile on his lips. They’re so close he can see the hint of stubble atop his lip and jaw. The coil coupling them taps below his ear twice before-

Edwin pressed the cartridge closed.

The guitar riff expels gruff and triumphant. Five seconds in the drums pick up a heavy beating in the heart of the song. Their lead singer screeches her arrival in a familiar melody.

Edwin’s eyebrows pinch slightly before a soft smile exposes a hint of dimples caresses his face next to the wire joining them. It takes a dull ache in the side of Charles’ face to realize he’s been smiling too. He feels the contact of Edwin’s fingers against his own before realizing he’s unconsciously reached to support the cassette player with him. The weight is lighter than anything he’s held in this new form.

It takes a few minutes before Edwin wanders to pick up his place in a discarded french spellbook. With both ears filled with the rapid pounding of a drum beat he places the remaining two cassettes on his spot on their shelf. With his energy still warmed from Edwin’s presence, he lays a hand on the exposed wood and lets himself press to feel the pressure.

#charles rowland #dead boy detectives #edwin payne #payneland #payneland yule exchange 2024 #clementiiny

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funbirdnest · 2 years ago

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Blackbird (Translation)

I worked in the translation of the story for the past week and I have been unable to shut up about until now. This translation work was done in collaboration of @spectralpooch who worked as English proofreader and provided a lot of insight of the english grammar and composition. I was also helped by Yuko and Asher who helped with wording.

I hope you get to enjoy, even if just a little, the love we all put in this story that we have been waiting seven years for.

Blackbird

The fantasy is burning.

—At the end of the day, love always prevails.

—Hard work and good intentions are always rewarded.

—As long as you wish for it with all your might, your dreams will always come true.

Such are the nonsensical, gibberish words that everyone recognizes as downright lies once they reach adulthood. And burning within a bonfire is the pile of papers—the representation of the very innocence of a young boy who earnestly believed in those lies.

The embers of dreams and hopes are stirred by the updraft caused by the hot air.

Ashes and soot soar up, miserably staining the clear skies.

“Aah, what a terrible shame.”

Hibiki Wataru looked up at the sky and, in sharp contrast to his words, trembled with pleasure.

He is a beautiful man.

Long, silver-white hair that resembles moonlight incarnate. A physique blessed with a perfect golden ratio.

He is wearing his elegantly designed uniform in quite an incomprehensible way.

His facial expressions and gestures are refined and effusively charming, and it feels as though wing scales and fluorescent lights should flutter around him with every step he takes.

But it is precisely because he is too beautiful that he can stand out in any town.

Every person who passes by throws him a strange look and either turns away or flees the scene as if having just encountered a monster. It is the most appropriate reaction when confronted with a monstrosity, but—

He wants them to at least scream.

To curse, spit, and throw stones at him.

It hurts the most to be ignored.

As if to convey this point, Wataru gestures towards them in invitation to do so—but the only one willing to approach him is a slightly dirtied pigeon.

"Aah, Gil! Poor you, Gilles de Rais¹! Your feathers are completely sullied!"

Wataru laments while rubbing his cheek against the pigeon perched on his shoulder.

"When you are covered in soot like this, you look more like a crow than a pigeon! Crows are really smart, and they can become great ‘entertainers’ when trained, but people often hate them for no reason—it's troublesome, isn't it?"

At the sight of Wataru having a conversation with a pigeon as though it were completely normal, the people around him begin to back further away.

"... But right now, I have the feeling that such an individual would be the most suitable companion for me."

As Wataru mutters sadly to himself, the soot-covered pigeon pulls his hair with its beak.

“That hurts?! It was just a joke, Gil! Are you jealous? I've raised and looked after you since you were an egg, so there's no way I could ever discard you and look for another partner! Please cheer up—oya?”

As the pigeon goes all out on him, something falls down from the crevice of its beak.

Cinders.

The wreckage of a dream that had been carried by the wind from afar.

“That's splendid! This will solve the problem of my ink running out!”

Wataru exclaims with pleasure and mashes the cinders with his fingertips.

Then, with fingers stained in black, he writes his name in the bundle of documents that he had been holding.

“—With this, it’s finished.”

Embracing the bundle of documents as though it were his most prized possession, Wataru trembles again.

“I wonder if he will be happy with this.”

***

There was a war.

A tragic conflict in which boys hurt and killed each other for the sake of their own dreams and ideals—for the sake of love.

Of course, although it has now become a gloomy and sorrowful memory, it was not actually a battle where people fought with guns and blades and bathed in each other's blood.

All of them were idols.

Standing on the stage, singing and dancing, their top priority was to bring people happiness.

However, at that time, their place of residence, Yumenosaki Private Academy, was not an environment in which idols could properly live as idols. Everything was decayed, stagnant and rotten.

There were those who stood up in order to change the situation at hand.

There were also those who tried to fight back in anger and sorrow after everything they held dear had been mangled in the name of the "revolution" the others had raised.

They turned the things that were supposed to make people happy into weapons, abused them, and imposed their own resentment and misery onto others.

As a result, this vast and boundless world was changed only slightly.

But the price that had been paid was extremely high.

—Yumenosaki 's era of conflict.

—The first revolution.

—The beginning of the end.

Regret consumes everyone whenever they remember the tragedy of that time.

***

A hospital room.

The brand new hospital in the vicinity of Yumenosaki Academy had been built with a sole purpose: to provide an immediate response on the occasion that a single person's physical condition changed for the worse.

Leading-edge medical equipment and top-notch doctors had been assembled in order to forcibly prolong his existence—sometimes even diverting attention from other, more urgent patients.

He is one of the world's most distinguished billionaires, the scion of the Tenshouin conglomerate, Tenshouin Eichi.

He is the leading actor in the conflict that unfolded in Yumenosaki.

He loved idols more than anyone else.

However, as a result of the kingcraft instilled in him from an early age by his private corporate tutor, the clear mind he has naturally possessed since birth, and his cold heart, he came to massacre the very thing he loved with his own hands.

The many sins he committed in this ironic twist of fate tormented him and made him sick.

“...”

Tenshouin Eichi is lying down on the floor of a very spacious hospital room.

He is also a beautiful man, but there is a crack distorting his beauty.

Seemingly because he hasn’t been eating, he has become emaciated, and his blond hair, which resembles sunlight incarnate², is disheveled and dull. His hospital clothes, composed of high-quality material, are completely wrinkled and dirtied.

Like a baby bird that fell from its nest.

He had ripped off the intravenous drips and other pieces of medical equipment designed to keep him alive and smashed them to pieces.

There were doctors who genuinely cared for Eichi's well-being and those whose interest in treating him stemmed only from professional duty—Eichi shunned them all equally with curses and threats.

—I don’t want to live anymore.

—So, please, don’t treat me.

—Someone like me doesn’t deserve to live.

“No.”

Eichi, withering and on the verge of death, hears a voice reply to the soliloquy he hadn't expected anyone to hear.

There is only a single small window in the room. No matter how hard one might try to contort their body, it would be impossible to enter through—regardless, it was from that very window that Hibiki Wataru's towering silhouette soundlessly entered.

It is like a dream.

As if it were a magic trick, he suddenly materializes.

“—It's you. Hibiki Wataru of The Five Eccentrics.”

"That story has already concluded, so will you please stop referring to me that way?"

As he casually replies to Eichi, who had spoken as though in a trance, Wataru strides across the hospital room.

He steps over the countless broken pieces of wreckage scattered across the floor, but never breaks anything.

“Let's readjust our mindset! Now, while we still have the chance to bask in the success of our stage performances, let's sit back and recharge our batteries! That is our duty, Tenshouin Eichi-kun!"

“Just what the hell are you doing here?”

Eichi mutters reproachfully, glaring up at Wataru with cruel eyes.

“Did you come to mock me because I thought I was victorious but wound up losing everything?”

Presumably too prideful to continue behaving in an undignified manner, Eichi staggers to his feet and then takes a seat on the mattress.

Having refused even the cleaning staff, this dirty hospital bed is now his only throne.

“Or do you intend to seek vengeance on behalf of your fellow Five Eccentrics?”

“No, not at all? Although there were some underwhelming parts, you still persevered and accomplished great things atop the stage! You have my praises. I have no reason to make fun of you!”

Wataru continues, his tone cheerful. Scattered, multicolored petals surround a broken flower vase—he gathers them up, grasps them in one hand, and opens his palm to reveal a single perfect flower.

"Besides, my beloved friends, The Five Eccentrics, were not actually killed. They're not that fragile, so I ask that you do not disparage them."

Though his eyes flash with hostility for a single instant, Wataru hides it with the ease of putting on a mask.

“Shu is slowly recovering his strength in the comfort of his dolls and the mutual love they share. Kanata, too, is embarking on a new life together with the inexperienced hero who saved his heart. And, of course, Our Majesty, the Demon King, Rei, too—indeed, someone like him will never die, even if he's killed.”

As he mentions each of the remarkable members of The Five Eccentrics, Wataru smiles.

“And the youngest sibling whom we risked our lives to protect, Natsume-kun, doesn't have a single scar. He quickly found the bluebird you set free, and is venturing forth into his life—not as a member of The Five Eccentrics, but as a human and idol.”

"...They're so strong. Everyone, all of them, are strong and splendid human beings worthy of respect—unlike me. Hiyori-kun and Nagisa-kun, too. It appears that they’ve already begun to move on to their next stage."

Looking somewhat astonished, Eichi hangs his head like a confused lost child.

“Am I really the only one who can’t move? At the end of Yumenosaki's conflict, or the saga chronicling the subjugation of The Five Eccentrics, am I truly the only loser?”

“No, no. I feel the same way. It's embarrassing to admit, but—I don't know what I should do next.”

With a dumbfounded expression that mirrors Eichi's, Wataru fidgets with the flower with his black-stained fingers.

“I'm quite satisfied with how things concluded on that most wonderful stage, even though we had to settle for the second-best result—but I'm at a bit of a loss, as I have no further plans for the future.”

"I see. Would you like me to apologize? By casting you in the role of the villain, a symbol deserving of ridicule and disdain, I turned you into the target of everyone's malice."

“Yes. Thanks to you, no one trusts me enough to work with me, so all of my future plans are now uncertain. I suppose I could arrange a stage and enact a story of my own choosing, but… A one-man show would be a little lonely, wouldn't it?”

"I thought that you would always be happy to stand onstage no matter what—even alone."

“Regrettably, I'm an entertainer whose only purpose is to make others happy. If I were to stand onstage all by myself, I would lose all motivation.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Wataru quietly offers Eichi the flower.

”And so, I thought I would ask you, the organizer of the most satisfying stage I have ever stood upon, for another commission. That's the reason I came today. Of course, I am also here to visit the sick."

“Was that sarcasm? I humiliated and denigrated you and your beloved friends. I trampled on and killed all of you for the sake of my own dream.”

“No one is dead, Eichi-kun. Everything that took place is just a story.”

”Are you really going to behave like a sore loser and pretend like you all weren't actually hurt?”

"No. If I were to hold a grudge and get angry at you, it would be an insult to my friends' extraordinary performance in their roles as villains. That's why I won't give you the pleasure of my vengeance.”

“I don’t understand your reasoning.”

“It’s a mystery to me too. This is the first time in my life that I have ever felt this alive. It's as though something I cannot quite comprehend is stirring inside me.”

Wataru speaks with an innocent, puzzled expression on his face, as though he were a child who had just tripped for the very first time in his life.

***

“Oops. I went off on a tangent just now, but I meant to give you this gift earlier.”

Suddenly coming to his senses, Wataru quietly hands Eichi the flower in his hand.

The instant that the flower touches Eichi's fingertips, it transforms into a bundle of documents.

It’s just like magic.

“... Oh, my goodness. As always, your magic tricks are beyond comparison, Hibiki-kun.”

“You and I are not particularly close, so don't blurt out things like that as if you know me.”

“I’ve always been watching you.”

Eichi speaks honestly, seemingly too tired to maintain a strong front. He proceeds to look over the bundle of papers.

His expression dawns with astonishment.

“This is—”

“Fufufu. This is the pipe dream³ written by our beloved younger brother and only son, Natsume-kun. He poured all of his heart and soul into it.”

Wataru explains, satisfied with the surprised expression on Eichi's face.

“This is a scenario envisioning a way in which we, The Five Eccentrics, could have achieved victory over you in our final battle the other day.”

“Oh, that's right, just before the decisive battle, you and the other Five Eccentrics had some kind of exchange. I was preoccupied with other matters at the time, so I didn't pay much attention to what all of you were up to.”

Deeply immersed in reading, Eichi flips through the stack of documents carefully. A grin slowly begins to form on his lips.

“Fufu. So cute; it’s really like a fantasy story. ‘I don't want my beloved Five Eccentrics to lose. I want us to have a happy ending where no one has to be sacrificed—’”

"Indeed. He filled the pages with such impossible fantasies and impractical delusions."

“... It was only by defeating you on that stage that we somehow managed to settle things in a conclusive way. If the five of you had won that day, we would still be enmeshed in the middle of an unending conflict.”

"Exactly. I anticipated as much, which is why I was unable to accept this. This present, packed with that child's—with Natsume-kun's—dreams, expectations, and love.”

“And, because we followed the premeditated arrangement, everything went smoothly.”

“That's true. But, just as one would expect from a story desperately written by our beloved child... It's very compelling, isn't it? It'd be heartless to ignore it altogether and just throw it away.”

Wataru gently caresses the pile of documents as if consoling a little baby.

“And that's why I quickly examined the contents, committed them to memory, and secretly copied them. Only moments ago, Natsume-kun burned the original copy himself, so—that child's fantasy should, by all accounts, have been completely erased from this earth.”

Wataru laughs like a naughty child who just successfully carried out a prank.

“Everyone will assume so. And even though this is an imitation, the contents are extremely close to the real thing. No, rather, the contents are only the things that I chose to resurrect in accordance with my own preferences.”

“Hmph. But there's no way you can actually use this, right? It's just a bunch of delusions with no grounding in reality. In other words: worthless garbage. It's nothing more than a work of fiction that fabricates convenient plots for foolish readers who yearn to avert their eyes from this harsh reality.”

Eichi drops the pile of documents onto the dirty bed and sneers at it.

“It has no bearing on the real world. Those kinds of stories only exist in the minds of idealistic writers. It's not the real thing. It's not reality.”

“Right. And so, I'd like to ask you, with your firm grasp on reality, to please rework it.”

“...?”

“You're hospitalized, so you have a lot of free time, correct?”

Wataru smiles, carefully gathering up the documents Eichi dropped one by one.

“Please use that spare time to improve upon this document. And adapt it into a new story in which The Five Eccentrics, your opponents, achieve victory.”

“What would be the point of doing such a thing?”

“You must be prepared for anything the future decides to throw your way, no matter how incredibly low the chances of it actually occurring may be. You know this better than anyone, but you were born with a fragile constitution, so—you could die at any time.”

“...You're right. And now that I've lost my will to live, I'm even refusing treatment.”

“And if you, the main character of this story, were to die and abruptly, nonsensically disappear from the narrative, the entire plot would collapse.”

“.....”

"Do you understand what I mean, Eichi-kun?"

“I understand, Hibiki-kun.”

Eichi's eyes, as cloudy as a corpse's, begin to sparkle.

“I have a responsibility. A responsibility as a protagonist—as an author. I have to be prepared for when my character dies and vanishes from this world—from the story.”

"Yes. However, you don't strike me as an expert storyteller, so I thought it'd be convenient to use something as a basis—for the story. This pipe dream written by Natsume-kun is quite suitable in terms of both content and quality, right?”

“That's right. It's the story that the child prodigy, the youngest member of The Five Eccentrics, wove out of his own life force.”

This time, Eichi doesn’t sneer sarcastically. As he praises his enemy, an honest smile appears on his face.

“Thank you, Hibiki-kun. Since this is a story founded on the premise of my imminent death, I can't let Keito, who hates the thought of me dying more than anyone else, write it.”

Eichi's eyes widen, surprised at the deep affection with which he spoke these words.

He'd assumed he'd lost everything. And yet—is he only now remembering that there are still things worth loving?

“I'll write it. To ensure the story will continue after I'm gone.”

Growing more and more energetic, Eichi stains his fingers with the filth splattered across his bed and begins to scrawl on the back of the stack of documents. His handwriting is so sluggish and messy that no one besides him could possibly read it.

“First of all, let's ensure that I get defeated while I'm still alive. After bringing down The Five Eccentrics and seizing control of everything, I become a power-crazed tyrant. And so, a new generation of heroes stands up to defeat me. It could be Natsume-kun, the surviving member of The Five Eccentrics, or someone else.”

“Yes ♪ And then? What will happen next in this story?”

“It's not enough to merely change the person in power. The masses themselves should mobilize and take action into their own hands to improve the world. Yes, the next step is the people's revolution. That's why... errr... aaahh—”

Eichi is so absorbed in the moment that he scatters the documents. He clutches his head with both hands.

“I can’t work through my thoughts! I'm not a genius, so this is really hard for me! Aah, this is pathetic, and I have no right to ask this of you, but—Can you help me come up with more ideas, Hibiki-kun?”

“Yes, with pleasure ♪ I also have some time to spare, after all!”

Wataru sits on the bed and happily gazes at Eichi, who has become entirely absorbed in the act of weaving⁴ the beginnings of a new story.

“I look forward to seeing what sort of stage I'll stand on next. Aah, in both my past and present, this has always been my only source of happiness.”

“I'm out of paper! I also want something to write with! Hibiki-kun, isn't there somewhere nearby where you could buy some?”

“Yes, yes. Aren't you supposed to be my fan? Are you sure you should be bossing me around like this?”

With a smile that seems to say, Well, it doesn't really matter, Wataru shifts like a bird about to take flight.

“Come on, let's celebrate, let's weave, let's create—a story! In this second iteration, the tragedy will become a comedy! Yes, I'm certain that this next work will be a very enjoyable story!”

“Enough, enough! Stop saying unnecessary things and just hurry up! Before life leaves my body!”

“Yes, yes. You really know how to put people to work, Mr. Author... ♪”

………

And so, Hibiki Wataru chose to assist Tenshouin Eichi in the creation of his story.

Together, they supported one another, engaged in heated debates, and envisioned the future.

It was at the end of that gloomy winter when the two of them, now fine, the rulers of Yumenosaki Academy, were defeated by the revolutionaries of Trickstar.

It was a season when the seeds carried by dirty, exhausted birds finally bloomed into flowers.

1. Gilles de Rais was a leader of the French army and participated in the Hundred Years’ War alongside Jeanne d’Arc as a companion of arms. Later in his life he went on to become a serial killer of children and was condemned to death and hanged.

In the story “Cinderella on the Stake's Stage,” it’s revealed that Wataru also has a pigeon called “Jeanne d’Arc.”

2. Akira describes Eichi’s hair as “陽光を固めたような” = “As if sunlight has taken physical shape”. Likewise this is also the way he describes Wataru’s hair “月光を固めたような” = “As if moonlight has taken physical shape”.

3. We chose to interchange the words pipe dream and fantasy through the story but they often refer to the same script Natsume wrote.

4. Weaving reads as “Tsumugi” here.

#ensemble stars #ensemble stars!!#enstars #enstars translation #translation #eichi tenshouin #wataru hibiki #ensemble stars!#Blackbird

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spanishskulduggery · 4 months ago

Note

What's the difference between espanol and castellano?

They both mean "Spanish" but there are some nuances; for your purposes the short answer is most likely that the difference will be español is the language as a whole as "Spanish", and castellano is taught in schools

There's a little more to it, but I'll explain below

The main difference between the two is that castellano is best translated as "proper Spanish" while español is just "Spanish"

In other words, a native speaker might speak español but castellano is the kind of Spanish taught in schools. It's not a one-to-one analogy but you can sort of think of it like "English" vs. "the Queen's English"

Historically, the Spanish language as we know it today originated in the region of Castile (primarily in the city of Toledo) and because Isabel of Castile funded the American expeditions and her kingdom would come to govern the Spanish-American colonies in Latin America, it became the version of the Spanish language that spread to Latin America

The major nuance here is that castellano is the language of academics, literature, and all things official, while español can be a bit of an umbrella term for all the different dialects and regional variations of the "Spanish" language

In the US, heritage speakers/learners may speak "Spanish" at home but get tripped up by the castellano in schools because castellano requires more precise grammar and spelling and it is very "official"....... so you can sort of think of it like knowing how to speak English but not doing well in an English composition class

Note: Even in Spain itself, castellano is a variety of Spanish as opposed to the Spanish regional variations in other places

Additionally, the two words can refer to demonyms [gentilicios] which show where someone is from; almost like nationalities but could be towns/regions etc.

In that case, español(a) means "from Spain" or a person "Spaniard"; and castellano/a means specifically "from Castile"

That meaning is sometimes less applicable if you're not in Spain, but Castile is a region [usually you're talking Castile and León or Castile-La Mancha], so castellano/a can have a geographic or historical

Again as an analogy, try to think of the difference between the United Kingdom and England, and it's something close to that... where if you refer to English as a language it makes sense, but if you call the wrong person "English" you can ruffle some feathers

EDIT: According to comments some countries will refer to castellano as the Spanish language in general, not español... probably because they don't want to be considered Spanish, but that's a guess on my part

#asks #spanish #langblr #learning spanish

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sodalitea · 11 months ago

Text

I - Miracles of the White Nights [Il Dottore x Reader/OC]

For Valentine’s Day I’m sharing the first chapter of my longer fanfiction about Il Dottore and my Genshin OC Marie Snezhevna (this story can be perceived as reader insert type of thing; the characters' names play a big role in the plot and I decided to pick them by myself). In this chapter I have not provided the most detailed background of the current circumstances between Zandik and Marie, but I plan to do so in the future. I don’t really know if I’ll update it in any regular schedule, but for sure I’m going to continue this story. Meanwhile, enjoy!

TW: Minimally suggestive! Mentions of Marie's guesses about Dottore's true intentions. Summary: Small gestures make a big difference. Due to the long lasting effects of a serious argument with Il Dottore, Marie Shnezhevna gets degraded on the lower position in Haeresys despite being one of his most reliable workers in the lab. Three months later a ceasefire is established. Zandik finds surprising but efficient way to trick her into getting promoted again. Don't repost my artworks/writings please! I'll appreciate likes, comments and reblogs. I am the author of both text and signature illustarion. ♡ English is my second language, there may occur some grammar issues!

AO3 link

I - Miracles of the White Nights

“The days in Snezhnaya seem identical. Wherever you go, you will find your hair and eyelashes frozen. It's so cold that you have to keep moving your body constantly in order to survive, even in the properly chosen clothing. Everywhere you look, you'll be surrounded by the snowy desert. If you stray too far from human settlements, your eyes will be obscured by one of the sudden snowstorms. Bunch of snowflakes will cut into your face like tiny, marvelously crafted blades. Somewhere on the horizon you may spot the outlines of deep, impenetrable, coniferous forests. You will find it difficult to stand straight due to the violent blows of the whistling wind trying to bury you alive in the frosty grave. It's worth mentioning that the typical Snezhnayan days are rather short in comparison to local nights that can last even for months. This land is harsh, but it still possesses unique, raw beauty. Those cold nights offer truly charming views in the form of multi-colored aurorae you couldn't experience anywhere else in equally rich form. The artistry of almighty Cryo Archon is undeniable, only the canvas she uses to paint her abstract compositions are painfully fake. Of course, these aren't the only charms of the Ice Nation. This country is huge and full of contrasts. What may seem surprising is this special time of the year when the sun takes control over the sky completely, so it doesn't set at all. The local population describes this phenomenon as the "Miracle of the White Nights''. Over the course of four hundred years, one could experience many of them, but they could not compare to the fragrant, inflaming nights in the Nation of Wisdom.”

Zandik, as he wasn't holed up in the deepest dungeons of Haeresys, stopped next to one of the windows in the southern part of his mansion and locked his gaze on the distance. The scarlet irises wandered somewhere along the glittering horizon, seemingly without any specific goal as the Harbinger enjoyed pervasive silence. Since he got rid of the segments, it had been happening more and more often. Sometimes he was just trying to shake off a strange feeling of lightness inside his skull. He was fed up with everything. Exhausted with the amount of delayed work. Instead of dealing with serious matters, he wasted too much time on trivial affairs such as correcting the mistakes of people less competent than himself. For centuries he wasn't relying on his employees that much and now he was just even more disappointed with them. After all, they were only humans with ordinary lifespans, without the satisfying amount of experience that would possibly match the level of Teyvat's most powerful mind. Zandik felt frustrated by the lack of quick alternatives to slow down the pace of his own work. He was alone with all of the projects he started when his other selves were still present. By the time he still handled most of the things on his own in different forms, but for now he couldn't even rely on himself truly. This would be a disgrace to him if he addressed this issue to Pierro or their Archon, since for hundreds of years he had been an exceptional professional, the master of planning and reacting quickly to every breakthrough revelation. He was always a few steps before everyone. At this stage, it was not possible for him to return to such a tedious work alone. It would be much less problematic if only deadlines never existed. Escape in thought was his way to break away from the unfavorable situation at least for a short moment. His thoughts traveled to the place where it never snowed. To the forests that sheltered a much richer variety of living organisms. The days were longer there, and the hot nights often made it impossible to fall asleep. The scents in Sumerian air could effortlessly mess with the restless minds of angry young men living for some greater purposes… For the Second Harbigner of Shneznaya, looking towards Sumeru was an involuntary, bitter flirtation with his own past. Currently he was in a place so incongruous to his homeland, but it was the only nation that guaranteed him complete freedom and support in turning his wildest daydreams into reality. It was the only place in Teyvat that allowed him to prove himself the way he was. He had everything he wanted to continue his journey and test the ideas that many would not even dare to think about… And yet, somewhere in his suppressed consciousness, he understood perfectly well that even here he was just a stranger meant to simply play his part. This time, as the man continued staring out the window, he heard the echo of someone's slow footsteps on the marble floor behind him. He recognized the sequence of these steps extraordinarily well… Those were inimitable. If only their owner walked barefoot, she would reach him in perfect silence. The corners of the Doctor's mouth turned up involuntarily.

“Marie Snezhevna,” he said without even turning towards the woman. Instead, he laced his fingers together behind his back. “Is this an emergency? At this hour I would rather expect to witness your presence in the laboratory or in your chamber.”

His voice echoed crystal clear between the walls of the corridor occupied by him and his underling. As usual, the scientist chose his words in a stiff, somewhat archaic way. Although it added seriousness and supposed politeness to his overall image, he himself seemed distant. Despite Zandik's cold demeanor, his interlocutor did not feel rejected. She was used to talking to him. Marie's interactions with Il Dottore resembled rituals based on some unwritten rules which the main participants managed to learn over the last few years. If there was an ordinary side witness there, the said unrefined observer could experience the eagerness to say that both Marie and Dottore enjoyed engaging in these subtle games.

“I will leave immediately if I interrupted something important,” the woman replied calmly, keeping her demeanor professional. Zandik remained silent for a moment, giving her no answer. This made the woman sigh heavily before she turned her back towards him to fulfill her promise. The quiet rustle of her clothes alerted the Harbinger, who slowly turned towards her and squinted his eyes hidden under the raven mask.

“Stop.”

It was an order. Naturally, the woman immediately stopped and turned her face towards him, allowing him to continue his speech. After all, she had to respect his will. He cleared his throat, seemingly offended by the whole situation.

“You wouldn't come here without a reason. Besides, I don't think it's respectful to be in a hurry when you're talking to your boss.” Indeed, he had known her for a long time and he knew what he could expect from her. He had to play it cool, precisely because — since he had fully understood his own position over the last few months – he didn't want to miss the opportunity to finally talk to Marie alone.

Since he delivered the two gnosis to Tsaritsa, he cut off almost all forms of communication with his former main assistant except her reports on the progress of her research under his command. Although the heretical scientist usually didn't care about time, now it felt like the whole eternity had passed. A really strange thing. Deep down in his heart he was a simple coward, or maybe his unwavering patience was reasonable and had finally paid off as the woman herself announced her readiness for a face-to-face confrontation? Marie shrugged her arms and shifted her body weight to one of her hips before shaking her head, sighing again with a faint smile on her lips. It was an extremely familiar gesture, as if everything before had never had the opportunity to set them apart.

“Of course, naturally…” she looked up at him, and then her facial features softened noticeably. “I just want to thank you for everything you did for me. I really didn't expect this. Certainly not after I caused additional problems in a very crucial situation. I made it all about myself. I think you deserve an apology for what I said, when I stated that you're…”

“Your apology is unnecessary.”

The Harbinger made a gentle gesture with his hand to silence her. He didn't want Marie to take old skeletons out of the closet. He also did not want to elaborate more about the choice of his that had a negative impact on his daily functioning. He wasn't even bothered by the earlier behavior of his former assistant anymore. Even though he still couldn't fully accept what she truly meant back then, he understood her perspective on an intellectual level. During that mission, he was caught off guard by Kusanali and he just did what was necessary to succeed. However, he could have done it all more skillfully to minimize the unpleasant side effects of the special operation. However, he did not take this into account at the time, so he was delaying an adequate response to Marie's complaints. No honest apology passed his lips in ages and he wasn't very likely to utter that magical word anytime soon.

“Follow me. It will be much more beneficial,” he gestured and clasped his hands behind his back again. Then, he started moving further into the southern nave of the mansion. He walked leisurely, visibly waiting for Marie to go after him. True to his expectations, she caught up with him very quickly. When Marie glanced at his face from closer distance, she spotted his poor state immediately. He looked extremely tired and couldn't hide it even under the mask. His skin was paler than usual and it had a sickly greenish undertone. Exhaustion would explain his growing isolation in a convincing way. His own pride was his downfall. As they walked through the corridors in silence, listening to the wind blowing outside, Marie noticed that they were approaching the sector of private chambers. His intentions could be... everything and anything.

Dottore's supposed intentions caused Marie's consternation, but in order to avoid hasty guesses, she decided to keep all comments to herself. The time on his side teached her that the worst things were usually caused by the incorrect assumptions about his agenda. Yet, when Zandik started unlocking the door to his dorm, the woman cleared her throat quietly and took a step back.

“I'll wait outside.”

Slightly awkward smile appeared on her face. She received a reply in the form of a nod. It seemed that he didn't care about the goal that could stereotypically motivate any man to take a woman to his apartment. Overally, Zandik loved privacy, so Marie was going to respect that as well, leaving aside the obvious moral issues. The Doctor disappeared inside his apartment for around five minutes. When he came back, he handed her a small box wrapped in a papyrus. He had a gentle yet wry smile on his lips that only fools could trust. He warned the woman before she started asking him any questions.

“In Sumeru I managed to obtain some new chemical samples which I expect you to analyze, describe, and maybe even extract something completely new from them. I just require you to be extremely careful when handling them. I didn’t choose any intermediary, considering the high value of those resources… I'm strongly against unpacking them outside of the laboratory environment.”

“I see. I will do my best to keep them safe,” Marie took over the package with extreme caution. She seemed to turn pale when she heard a silent clink of glass under the packaging. She looked fearfully at the Harbringer, who rubbed the tip of his nose with his knuckles, covering the lower part of his face at the same time. It took a lot of effort for him not to burst into manic laughter. Fortunately, Dottore was an excellent actor.

“This is another urgent project that has been delayed unexpectedly, so get on with it immediately… If you can make it this evening, I might even consider promoting you again.”

The man sounded as categorical as promising. Yes, exactly, it was a great idea for Marie to return to her previous position. Of course, if only that's what she wanted. Zandik just intended to convince her to do so, being fully determined to achieve the desired effect. Among all of his employees, he memorized cooperation with Marie as the most pleasant. Moreover, he could keep an eye on her constantly to avoid particularly embarrassing accidents involving her... This woman's reliability required appropriate supervision to shine fully.

“Promoting me, you say… For how long?” Although the woman turned it into a joke, she slowly moved towards the opposite side of the corridor, remaining very careful around the package received from her boss. Since Marie was cut from the same cloth as Zandik, she also didn't want to admit that she simply missed the infamous heretic's company. “Apart from formalities, I just wonder what it is. Naturally, I will prepare the report as soon as possible!”

The Harbinger watched as the woman took up her task. It was amusing to witness her curiosity and willingness to gain knowledge. In this particular case, he had a feeling that it would herald a real breakthrough in their united research.

“I'm counting on your expertise, Professor,” he added in Fontanian as she left, before the storm of woman's black curls disappeared from his sight. He expected very quick results from this long-awaited experiment.

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

When Marie entered her study room in the lab, she put the package on the table and rubbed her hands together with excitement. Sumeru was the region with the best samples of poisons. What could be inside the parcel? Small colorful frogs for the production of poison darts, medicines and antidotes, rhizomes, roots, leaves, mushrooms, insects… The tropical jungle hid countless treasures and the fact that Il Dottore himself managed the trouble of obtaining raw materials was exceptionally valuable. Marie didn't know anyone who was more familiar with the local flora and fauna. She herself might not have even paid attention to some things during her on field delegations, but now she had the opportunity to learn something new directly from the mastermind himself. On top of that, he offered her another promotion. Wonderful. Low importance tasks weren't as fulfilling as experiencing the true science. After conversation with Zandik she felt extraordinary happiness that she had not expected to return these days. The way he referred to her as Professor scratched the right part of her brain a bit too pleasantly. She was more willing to try to forgive him for scaring her to death when he destroyed his segments out of nowhere. At the same time, was this really necessary to wait so long before handing her the new project?

The woman tied her hair back and put on protective clothing, quietly humming the first random melody that popped into her head. Then, she walked over the table and began unrolling the package. As soon as she saw its contents, she felt the wave of heat on her cheeks. This wasn't what she expected… She slipped the protective mask off her face in bewilderment, and then, with wide eyes, she began to look at the containers. The bottles indeed contained chemicals, but at first glance none of the substances had something to do with the poisonous flora of Sumeru. Those weren't even standard vials from Zandik's laboratory, but some colorful glass flasks decorated according to the Sumerian manner of design and sealed with appropriate labels. Marie sank heavily onto her stool and began carefully turning the bottles over in her fingers. Maybe… Dottore made a mistake or someone miraculously robbed him, replaced the original cargo and even managed to escape with his life? Sounds a bit too silly, but it was all just women's cosmetics. Nothing really valuable to the scientist.

Rose water, kohl, aker fassi and several niche perfume oils. What's more, at the bottom of the package there was an original Sumerian halva decorated with dried fruits.

Marie tried to maintain her denial, but instead of relief, she felt a pang in her heart. At this point her face felt as if she was on fire. If Zandik planned to give it to her right after he returned and her sulks prevented him from doing so… She felt so bad about herself. Willingly or not, she blinked her eyes a few times, as for a moment her vision became blurry. He had no reason to be so generous. Maybe it was a suggestion that he noticed her getting old slowly, or maybe she should just look for some specific, new purposes for simple household chemicals? Maybe the halva was poisoned or packed with elixirs he hadn't tested before? After all, Dottore always devoured it himself and he was reluctant to share it with anyone. Or maybe Marie was just overthinking at the moment and what Dottore really expected from her was terrifyingly simple. Was it that he wanted her to try those substances on herself, like she always used to do in her job? Zandik wished to see the effects of her work in the evening, which meant there was no time for typical scientific inspection… Marie had just enough time to do her makeup. It was exciting, moving and scary in its own way. It wasn't usual to get any prosaic, non-scientific gift from Zandik.

However, if this was the only requirement to restore the old order in the laboratory, Marie was willing to do it for both of them and touch the precious part of Sumeru that he brought to Snezhnaya for her. Soon the woman's green eyes got embraced by a beautiful dark frame. Her cheeks and lips got touched with the color of a pomegranate with a golden glow. She placed the sweet scent of honey, sandalwood and rose behind her ear. She cut the halva into pieces. For now she was almost ready to face him again. It was one of those white nights, when endless days asserted their domination over the lenghty times of darkness again.

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