#if you go through the trouble of translating this then props to you

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Elbert Greetia Episode 0

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors.

Pale lips, bloodless white cheeks, trembling limbs.

My first impression was that she didn’t look like a person suited for sin.

Elbert: “Al, do I have to go too?”

Alfons: “Yes, seeing how it’s such a lovely evening. Also, there might be something you’ll like at the target’s mansion.”

Elbert: “I see. Okay.”

Victor: “Tonight, let’s pledge our loyalty to our evil deeds again.”

The Crown, an organization directly under Queen Victoria, is composed solely of “cursed” individuals.

From espionage to assassination, we undertake shadowy jobs that the police or the military cannot handle.

I’m a member of that organization, but一

(I don’t really like going on missions.)

Using my ability to “revive the opponent’s saddest memories” and seeing the target suffer with it is like adding to my sins, making it harder to breathe every time.

(But as Alfons says, maybe I’ll find what I’m looking for.)

Something that can atone for my sins. Something worthy of what I’ve taken away.

(The most beautiful thing in this world.)

I gently close my eyes, feeling a dark, murky lump wriggling deep in my chest.

Victor: “By the way, William found a cute Robin in the city today.”

(A robin?)

Robins are not very rare here in the UK. In fact, people love them because they are friendly and familiar.

If he’s specifically saying he “found” it, then it’s likely not about a bird.

Alfons: “When you say Robin, are you referring to someone very lovely?”

Alfons: “Or are you referring to someone who brings water to sinners and gets burned by the flames of hell?”

William: “Well, maybe both.”

William: “According to Victor, she apparently defended a poor girl who had stolen jewelry on the roadside and paid for the stolen items in her place.”

Elbert: “That’s very kind of her.”

Alfons: “But she seems like the type to suffer losses.”

William: “You could also say she has her own sense of right and wrong.”

(To think she’d defend someone who committed a crime...)

(She must be strong and kind.)

Elbert: “If she’s that kind of person, it might be best for us not to get involved with her.”

William: “That might be true.”

With a narrowed gaze and a smile, William seemed to be expecting something contrary to that.

William: “Hm? Aren’t you the little Robin I met earlier today?”

Kate: “Huh? Eh? What?”

As it turned out, the woman referred to as “Robin” appeared before us.

(Is that her...?)

Amidst the deep darkness and the blood-red dance hall, she stood alone, bathed in moonlight and shining brightly.

(I don’t know why, but I can’t take my eyes off her.)

Pale lips, bloodless white cheeks, and trembling limbs.

(She doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would be fit for sin.)

A feeling similar to envy suddenly came to mind.

Liam: “Is she your acquaintance, Will? Does she know about us?”

William: “We just talked a bit in town, Liam. She doesn’t know about the Crown.”

Liam: “I see. Then we’re in trouble. What should we do?”

Harrison: “I apologize for scaring you, but this is just a prop for a stage play.”

Kate: “Y-You’re lying...”

Harrison: “Pretending to believe would’ve been for your own good.”

Harrison: “What do we do about this, Will?”

William: “Of course, we should take her to the palace’s grim reaper.”

Jude: “Tch. I told you to lock the door.”

Roger: “Haha! I didn’t think anyone would trespass. You’re quite the naughty girl, aren’t you, little lady?”

Ellis: “Why don’t you come over here? You can’t escape, anyway.”

The moment she heard the words “can’t escape,” she grimaced.

Her appearance, a mess of fear and confusion, resonated with a younger version of myself.

------------Flashback------------

Maid: “Kyaaah!! Someone! Someone help! Madam is!!!”

---------Flashback Ends---------

The fear and confusion that had overwhelmed me when I peeked through the gap in the door and heard the maid’s scream from my mother’s room resurfaced.

(Poor thing.)

It was awful and heartbreaking.

My mother’s death was undoubtedly my fault. That's why my fear back then was something I deserved to experience.

(But you're different.)

You had no connection to the scene unfolding before us.

(A kind person who even extends a helping hand to a sinner doesn't deserve to experience fear.)

(Why did you even end up in a place like this?)

William: "Let me invite you to tonight's dinner. What's your name, dear guest?"

Under the control of William's ability, she introduced herself as Kate.

I thought it was a sweet name.

As she was being taken to the castle, she had been staring anxiously at the sky the whole time.

Kate: "I'm sorry."

Elbert: "It's fine. Are you alright?"

I held her staggering shoulders, and she looked at me for the first time.

Kate: "I'm okay. Thank you."

Elbert: "Is that so?"

(Still, why am I captivated?)

Is it because I felt sorry for her?

Or is it because I heard that she is a strong and kind person from Will?

An inexplicable urge to gaze at her welled up from the depths of my heart.

(Or maybe...)

Because she's beautiful?

I felt like I heard a deep and heavy whisper from within my heart.

Then, as a result of negotiations between Victor and her, Kate decided to stay in the castle as a "fairy tale writer" for one month.

I asked Alfons if she was beautiful, but he simply denied it.

On sleepless nights, as always, I wander around the garden.

Gazing at the blooming white roses, I looked up at the castle and saw a light in a room that should have been empty until yesterday.

(Is she still awake?)

She probably couldn't sleep through the night either.

(One month, huh?)

(If, by any chance, I have the opportunity to accompany her on a mission, the only thing I can do is close her eyes so that she won't get hurt anymore.)

While I was thinking about such things, her eyes suddenly came back to my mind.

(But if she is what I am looking for...)

I would obtain her, even if I had to hurt this innocent girl.

Conflicting emotions of anxiety, fear, anticipation, and excitement surged and engulfed me.

Elbert: "Are you what I am looking for?"

Elbert: "Kate..."

No answer came back from the dimly lit window, and before I knew it, a freshly picked, pure white rose lay in the palm of my hand.

[glaciertea]

Masterlist here~

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.4<< >>Ch.6

Notes: He's only visiting to just check in to make sure you're not doing anything suspicious.

Also plz forgive my horrid Spanish, I failed it in high school (and still fail at it in life), and that good ol' English to Mexican-Spanish translation will be showing. But, I will be happy to have any advice/corrections.

Chapter 5: I'm No Good Without You

Word count: 2.3K

You scrambled around the living room, triple-checking if everything was in proper order. “Snacks, check, records, and record player? Check, check! Decently clean apartment?”

You scoured the place as it was virtually cluttered, yet with a satisfactory, homey sort of approach. “Check! Comfy clothes? Checkity check. I'm ready for tonight!”

Peering at the clock on the TV, it was nearly ten. Seven minutes away, to be exact. A perfect stretch to do another rapid once-over before he arrives. Then a knock screeches you to a full stop.

You twisted your head toward the TV and then over the door. He's ahead of schedule, but you were struck by his punctuality. Dusting your stretchy checkered pants, you skipped over and opened it.

“Oh, you look really nice.” You smiled, bending one knee to the next.

Miguel loomed over, wearing comfy jeans, a tight-fitted red shirt, and a black jacket to pull it together.

“Thank you, and you look lovely too.” Miguel stiffly strolled in and removed his casual dress shoes, propping them on a wooden shoe rack.

“Thanks, but this is more of my chill style, if you catch my drift. But come on, things are about the same as the last time you were here.”

Fiddling with some lint in your pocket, you clumsily shuffled past him and gestured towards the couch.

Taking a spot on the left side, his back refused to recline into the cushions, his face flashing that frigid hold.

You both were strained. Besides concealing behind screens and exchanging messages, being face-to-face was a new notion for you two. Especially with the previous incident involving him unintentionally sleeping over due to fortuitous drug consumption.

Then, in a well-endowed chat that descended into him frantically striding over your place, there certainly wasn't any affable history within reach.

“Did you have trouble finding your way around? Hungry?” Your mind rushed back to that morning. That polar atmosphere slithered its way right into the air, hovering.

“A pretty easy find. I remembered the route. Not specifying that I made a point to recall, the landscapes were familiar to me.” Miguel's strain refused to fade. “And I'm good, thank you.”

“No, no! I understand. My complex can be simple to spot. Especially with those overly deflated balloons they seem to not want to remove.”

You placed a veggie platter, water bottles, and some cut-up mini sandwiches on the coffee table just in case. 

“You noticed how there's some that have more float to them than others? Sometimes the people here like to tie some next to the floppy ones. I'm guilty of it too; I can't lie.” You chuckled, settling on the farther right of him, that middle gap in between. 

“Yeah, I noticed. I was going to ask you about that. Is it a sort of tradition in this community?”

“In a way. It's more of a ‘hey, I should do this because it's spontaneous and silly, and it's not hurting anyone.’ I try to make it a habit to clean up the ones that do find their way to the ground and toss them.”

Miguel gave a quick nod of understanding. Then instantly, that dead silence returned. Miguel's massive uneasiness fixed on his shoulders.

This was a bad idea. He should have declined the invite.

Abandoning his work? This was arbitrarily gut-speak. This moment, his gut somehow clambered through, striking any common sense inhabiting it.

You purse your lips into a thin line. You deduced his body language. It seemed like a good idea to have him over. You spoke pretty well when he allowed his guard to falter, and even your texts sparked volumes of personality. 

Those constraints he has strangled around are vastly keeping him from having a decent time.

“Would you like to look at the albums? They're in pretty tip-top shape after so many years.”

Before he could reply, you hobbled towards the shelf, grabbed them, and made your way back over. Gently sticking them on his lap, you decided to occupy the middle cushion.

Miguel glared at the records for a few seconds, seemingly fretting whether to even handle them.

“Hey, these are for you, remember? Go ahead; I'm sure you'll be careful with them.”

Your eyes met, and a diligent smile crossed your face as you gently patted his shoulder. He was certainly strung out, evident in his overly compressed muscles.

He turned his attention to the music, concealing the shaking anxiety that was battering him internally. Gleaning the Selena album in his unsheathed clawed hands, he flipped it back and forth.

“She has a very beautiful voice. I heard a few of her songs, but I'm willing to delve into more.”

He pulled the sleeve off the record, delicately removing it, his eyes glossing over with memories.

“My mother played her music every Saturday. I remember waking up to the sounds of clattering in the kitchen as she sang along.”

“Did she have a favorite?”

Miguel huffed out a noise that almost sounded like laughter. “Nunca hubo ninguno. All of them were her favorites. Whenever someone asked, she would pull this most offended face, cursing about how dare they make her choose only one.”

You snickered at that before grasping the record, heeding the fragile object. Sprinting over, you inserted it on the turntable, placing the needle on it. 

You refused to allow the silence to triumph between you two.

Selena's voice unrolled effortlessly through every corner of the apartment as you bumbled your way to your respective seat.

“I may have done some peeking into the tracks.”

“Oh?” Miguel finally managed to scoot back on the couch, though he was still a bit on alert.

“Just to make sure they weren't scratched. Tippity top shape, as stated previously.” You displayed the ‘okay’ gesture.

“Well, that's really good to hear. I don't want them messing up on me.”

“Don't worry, I got you! I would never bestow any materials that will fall from grace!” You dramatically slapped your hands over your heart, head propped high as if reciting some melodrama poetry.

Miguel returned it with a lopsided smile. “I'm trusting you did well.”

“My efforts haven't gone unnoticed! But what made you pick those three artists? Well, I can guess with the Selena one.” You huffed, swinging your legs on the couch, crossing them, elbows on your knees, and giving all your undivided attention to him.

“Just the first three that popped into my head. Well, besides Miss Selena,” he nonchalantly waved his hand. “I picked something that I think you may also appreciate.”

Miguel only spoke half the truth. He rehearsed lines and answers that he suspected you would pose on the venture here.

The full reason? He wished to share all of the music that he personally grew up with. To watch your reactions up close and in person.

And that's what was unnerving him. The uncertainty of this non-disclosure, undistinguished bond.

“Aw! How sweet of you! I personally know some Santana, and didn't Jorge Ben sing Mas Qué Nada?”

“Si. Considered a classic by many.”

“Ah-ha, I knew it!” You shimmied at your correct response.

You and Miguel didn't register how much time passed as a third of the veggies were eaten, and so were half of the sandwiches.

Your arm was perched on the sofa head as you shifted into your tunes, chilling to the fifth album you put on. Miguel rested his back fully into the comfy cushion, unwinding as his concentration was now focused on you. 

“Espere, Espere, hold on. They tried to do what?” Miguel chuckled.

“Yes, they tried to bargain a bicycle without the handle bars, the wheels, and the seat! Even the bell was missing, but the ringer managed to cling on for dear life.”

“So, what did you all do?”

“My boss Ronnie was ready to tear them a new one, but I managed to calm her. I negotiated with them, telling them if they can take apart all the pieces, then we'll find better uses for them.”

You dipped a carrot stick in the ranch. 

“So they did, and we managed to reach a compromise. We got rusty bicycle parts, and they were about fifty bucks. But here's the kicker.”

Miguel leaned in, oddly invested.

“Apparently, a piece from the bike was valued at seven thousand dollars. I can't recall which part, but I remember Ronnie freaking out. Now, she tried to hoard all the cash for the store, but I had her call the people who gave us the bike to get a cut from it.”

You placed your balled hand on the side of your cheek. “They turned that fifty into three thousand. I swore I could see the angels floating down as ‘Hallelujah’ sang from the heavens when they received that money!”

You spread your arms toward the sky as you both heartily laughed.

Miguel couldn't remember the last time he'd been so content. This is loose around somebody else.

Well, besides Gabriella, of course.

His eyes directly sank as his muscles began to taut from the crushing waves of paranoia, of the memories, and of the cruelty he faces.

“Hey, Miguel, are you okay?”

You warily made light feather touches with your fingertips on his upper arm, your eyes creasing with dismay at the instant change of behavior from him. He was a bit jostled. He whipped his head towards you, his extreme disorientation and attentiveness written all over his face.

That look. That concerned, considerate expression you showed.

“Why? Why?” That quivering dread in his voice, that sneaking dubiety of this situation.

“W-why?”

Just like the first time. The uncertainty of it all. Miguel despised it, but straying away wasn't an option for him.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you not…”

His heart raced, competing with his mind. His leg bounced in rapid spurts as he fought to retain composure. 

You held that docile, warming gaze.

“Why did you agree to have me over? Why did you invite me?” He calmly asked.

His voice deceived what his body and mind were truly undergoing. Purposely hiding that pang of bitterness. Of anxiety.

Stunned, you blink your eyes a few times.

“Oh! Well, I genuinely wanted to hang out with you. You are a good person, and I'd like to think I have some decency in picking up characteristics. Even though judging is wrong, I'm sure you understand what I mean.”

You drifted your right hand over his shaky knee, keeping it there until you were given any permission to put it there. Miguel studied your motion before reluctantly slowing down. You inched your way until your palm was settled on top.

“Miguel, do… Do you not receive many requests to hang out outside of your work? Does anyone ever check in just to check in?”

“I don't—no. Not really. I'm the leader. I'm not allowed to just go wherever I want.”

You nodded, whispering a faint okay underneath your breath as your hand rubbed his knee.

“So you're putting yourself on this level higher than others, that because you oversee everything, you're not allowed to do things normally many do.”

Miguel kept quiet as his eyes followed your fingers.

“But that isn't the case. You did choose to be here with me. You had to talk with someone to take a bit of a break to come here, right?”

His heavy brows lowered into a vacant, thinking stare.

“Huh. I-I guess I did do that.” His shoulders slumped.

“Mhm, and you've been here for nearly, um.” You peered at your phone, then back at him, “nearly two hours. Are you at least having a nice time? Am I being a decent hostess?”

A goofy grin plastered on you as he couldn't help but twitch his lips as they curled up.

“I mean, I think you're an alright hostess.”

“Hey, you're getting three albums from me! And you had some veggies and sandwiches, so I believe that warrants a push-up in the grading department.” You nudged him as he rolled his eyes, snorting at you.

“Alright, alright, you're absolutely correct. Hiciste un hospedaje increíble y un gran trabajo con todo. Llamaré a esto un éxito.”

You scrunch your face as you take a crack at figuring out what he said.

“I didn't even take Spanish; I took French. Uh, I heard the word incredible in there, so that's sufficient enough for me.”

Miguel momentarily eased up, that smile never fading. “Thank you for this pleasant night, missus.”

“Hey! None of that. Or I'll revert to calling you Mr. Miguel.” You poked at his muscular arm.

“Usually I can't stand that, but hearing it from you will be a very nice change of pace.”

You stuttered at that, briskly setting your hands between your thighs.

“So you can be smooth.” You muttered to yourself.

“Hm, what was that?”

“Oh nothing. Just saying how smooth this track is.” You motion at nothing in particular.

Miguel smirked impishly, highly aware of what was said. “So are you calling me the song?”

You whined, burying a pillow in your face, mortified that he clearly caught what you said as he sweetly taunted you about it.

One of the daunting strings snapped. 

One of the many strings imprisoning him from his own faith lies bleak.

Nearly one in the morning, with the three albums cradling in his forearm, Miguel took deliberate, meticulous strides back to the base. The nipping, chilled wind felt nice. Body warmer than when he arrived.

His mind went back to you. The goodbyes and courteous ‘thank yous,’ ‘we should do this again,’ chimed all over.

How that handshake turned into a comforting hug. For you, it was a friendly gesture; however, to him? To him, it was more.

He still sought to combat the sentiments resounding inside, but for this moment, for this period, he spared them. For this night and night only, those qualms can stay motionless. Tattered away in a distant, barren field.

Because of this night, the flame gathered the twinge of a single burning droplet.

[freckle-face-ace]

Portgas D Ace X CisFem Reader

<typed>

«signed»

17

Rosinante chuckled from your kitchen table as he sat with your tablet propped up in front of him.

Your face was burning as you sat across from him thoroughly embarrassed. His amused eyes flickered from you back to the screen.

"I didn't know you were gonna watch it in front of me." you groaned.

He was reviewing the project he'd assigned you - to translate one of your favorite songs into sign language.

«Sign only, please.»

It wasn't that you had done a bad job, but your discomfort and embarrassment was very apparent in the video. It made you stumble and sigh often. Also something you weren't aware of, was Ace's voice singing along as if he'd known the song his entire life between chuckles and celebratory words when you managed to get a whole sentence correct. It wasn't just funny, it was down right adorable.

«Mean.» you pouted.

He rolled his hazel eyes and leaned forward locking the tablet.

«This was very good.» he smiled encouragingly, «There are still some words and letters you need to work on.»

«OK» you sighed and rubbed your face, «I'll work harder. »

«You aren't in trouble.» his smile remained, «We're going at your pace. You've come a long way in the last month and a half.»

«If you say so.»

He shook his head at your behavior as Kuma rested his chin on your lap. You wish you could say you didn't know why you were being so difficult, but you knew.  Signing forced you to make movements you weren't entirely comfortable with. It was like dancing - you hated dancing. Not only that, it wasn't something that was incredibly common. At least you had never met a hearing impaired person before, which meant when you were at the store with Ace having a conversation people were staring. You felt it. Being on display like that was the last thing you wanted.

Kuma left your lap drawing your attention back up. He waddled to the door excitedly and sat with all of his attention focused on the doorknob.

Ace was home.

You glanced back at Rosi who was gathering his things.

«I'll see you on Friday, keep going over your alphabet and the words we discussed.» he swung his messenger bag over his shoulder and turned somehow getting his feet tangled.

"Rosi!" you gasped hopping to your feet as he caught himself on the side of the counter.

Ace rushed passed you to help the blonde up, "Are you alright?"

Rosi straightened himself out, «I'm fine, sorry to startle you.»

"As long as you're not hurt." you stepped next to your freckled mate.

You really should have been used to his clumsiness by now, but every time was a complete surprise.

After some reassurance and some small talk with Ace, Rosi made his exit.

You were stretched out on the sofa, the back of your head resting in Ace's lap while he brushed his fingers through your hair and watched TV. He'd been a bit down the last few days, after having a dream about Pops. He claimed it wasn't a dream - who were you to deny him? For him it was a very real experience that apparently Thatch had as well one night a couple of months ago. Finally reaching the closure he didn't know he needed with his father figure.

Finding out about Pops' death hit Ace harder than even he ever thought. He knew the old man would pass away eventually - he'd been very ill over the last year. Something about knowing they perished on the same day in the same place hit him in an unexplainable way. There was a silver lining, as there often is with this sort of thing - he was free of that illness. He also died knowing he was loved by his sons.

Your gaze rested on his melancholy expression. His eyes were cloudy but fixed on the television as he mindlessly messaged your scalp. You knew he was in some place far away. Slowly you reached up caressing his freckled cheek forcing his rubies to focus on you.

"You ok?"

You couldn't hear what he said but you were getting better at reading lips.

"I am." he smiled softly and rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip.

With a small smile you reached for the tablet laying on your stomach.

<I have an assignment from Rosi for tomorrow. Have you seen Kuma's service vest?>

His brows pinched together as he read, <You're going out?>

You nodded, <I'm meant to have my first public experience alone, well, with Kuma at least.>

<Should I have Thatch take you?>

You could tell he really wasn't ready for you to go out, hell, neither were you.  It was going to happen eventually and as Rosi said, "the sooner the better."

<I'll just Uber. I've got some work to get done.>

His pout tugged at your heart, <Where are you going to go?>

<Just the craft store, I'm more comfortable there. Nothing crazy I promise.>

<Promise you'll text if you need me.>

You nodded and pulled him down for a sweet kiss.

_____________

The next afternoon you waited on the porch for your Uber driver to arrive. After loading Kuma into the back seat you tapped the driver on the shoulder and showed him the note on your phone informing him that you were hearing impaired. He nodded and proceeded to take you into town.

Kuma's head rested against your shoulder, having sensed your anxiety beginning to peak. You hadn't been in a car many times after the accident, and when you were, Ace was with you. You rubbed his head until you arrived at your destination.

It was so strange to enter a busy store and not hear anything. You almost missed the 90's pop music playing over the store's speakers, it would have been better than the overwhelming nothingness.

With a soft sigh you tightened your grip on Kuma's lead and grabbed a cart. Looking around, you realized everything in the store had been reset.

Not off to a great start.

You were hoping this would be a quick trip with minimal human interaction. Now, unfortunately, to make it a quick trip you were going to have to ask for help.

Reluctantly you made your way to the nearest employee and tapped her shoulder. She turned and glanced at you, then down at Kuma.

As her lips began to move you held up the same note you'd shown your driver.

«I sign a little.» she smiled sweetly, «What can I help you find?»

Your anxiety ebbed a little, which was unexpected. You didn't expect to find someone who could sign.

«Paint, fabric and...» you paused and snapped your fingers trying to remember how to sign what you needed, «wooden...» you could feel your face heating up with embarrassment.

She watched you patiently.

"Dowels." you muttered.

«Still learning?»

You nodded bashfully, «Car wreck.»

«That must be hard. You'll get the hang of it.» she gave your shoulder a reassuring pat.

«Thank you.» you gave her a small smile.

With that she walked you through the store to find the things you needed.

___________

Ace sat at the bar in the restaurant flipping his phone in his palm while he waited for Thatch. He was a little worried that he hadn't heard from you. After your accident leaving you alone was difficult for him. This was the first time for you to go out without him, and you didn't check in when you got home.

If you got home...

A huff pushed passed his lips as a hand came down over his left shoulder.

"Calm down, you're weirding out the customers."

"She didn't text me." he muttered turning to the brunette.

"You said she had work to do. I'm sure she got busy." Thatch assured checking his phone, "C'mon, let's go."

The drive home was more or less quiet. Ace couldn't stop being bothered but Thatch managed to distract him with stories of things that happened before he'd arrived in your world.

Trailing off his laughter the raven glanced out the window a bit alarmed. They'd driven passed the house and were on a dirt path that led to the man-made pond near the forest where you discovered Ace. As they approached he spotted you standing in front of a small paddle boat with Kuma not far away.

"What's going on?" he asked looking at his brother.

"You'll see." Thatch's demeanor had gone a bit serious suddenly which made the younger male cautious.

Finally he parked as Kuma nudged you alerting you of their presence. You turned toward them, an adorable smile up turning your lips as the setting sun warmly lit your features. Ace's heart pulled in his chest. Seeing you so happy just to see him made his chest flutter.

After hugging you tightly and kissing your head he stepped back, «What are you doing out here?»

«I wanted to help...» you stumbled a bit with your signs, «with close.»

"Help with close?"

"Closure, I think." Thatch interjected.

You huffed and pulled your tablet from your hoodie pocket, <Come look. I'll explain.>

The brothers followed you the short distance to the bank of the pond where you had beached a small beat up wooden row boat. Ace's eyes widened as they scanned the very familiar jolly roger painted on black fabric that was pulled taut with dowels over a neat little pile of logs.

You handed a large smooth stone to Thatch and gave the second to Ace.

<I know that in some sort of dream scape you both got to say goodbye. Part of saying goodbye usually involves a ceremony. In our world pirates were honored by their crews and given back to the sea.>

Thatch was already sniffling as the app on the tablet read your text aloud.

<Sorry this isn't the sea but it is a place you can visit and hopefully feel a connection.> locking the tablet you slipped it into your hoodie pocket.

The brothers stepped closer as you motioned them to place their stones at bow and stern. After that you opened the white container that had been sitting on a tree stump with a box of matches. You squeezed the bottle dousing the vessel and its contents in lighter fluid.

Ace and Thatch gave the boat a push as you struck a match and quickly tossed it into the logs igniting it. The sun had gone down quickly allowing the flames to be perfectly mirrored on the water as boat drifted out. Ace's arms wound around you tightly while you all quietly watched it begin to sink.

His damp freckled cheek nuzzled against yours as he muttered into your shoulder.

The End

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE CHARACTER SONG Vol.2 GRATEFUL★DEAD ★MARCH by Sakamaki Kanato Mini Drama “The Serenade Danced with Jealousy”

Original title: 嫉妬で奏でるセレナーデ

Source: Diabolik Lovers CHARACTER SONG Vol. 2 Mini Drama

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Kaji Yuki

Translator’s note: Honestly I have an insane amount of respect for all of the Kanato stans out there because it couldn’t be me, lol. Huge props to all of you for keeping up with this purple gremlin and his jealous antics. Honestly, you could be breathing air and this boy would be pissed because HOW DARE YOU PRIORITIZE OXYGEN OVER HIM. >(((( Rejet was smart to hire Kaji Yuki as his VA though because that man is talented as hell and the only redeeming factor to this character imo. 

“...There you are.”

*Rustle*

Kanato approaches you.

“I gave you some alone time since you told me there was some important business you had to take care of, so I got curious as to what you could be up to, only to find you lost in thought in your own room?”

*Rustle*

“Hm? You hid something behind your back just now, didn’t you? ...Show me. ...You know what will happen if you say no, don’t you?”

*Rustle*

“This is...an organ? I’ve never seen it before. Hmー”

He paces around you.

“You got your hands on it without my knowing...and tried to hide it from me on top of me?”

*Thud* 

“Did you truly believe you could get away with that?”

You apologize.

“Teddy...Did you hear her just now? This girl seems to believe that all she needs to do is apologize and she’ll be forgiven. She must be letting the fact that her blood is somewhat special get to her head. That’s only logical explanation. ...Ah! I just had a great idea. Give me that, please.”

*Rustle*

“Come on, hurry!”

 He rips it from your hands.

*Rustle*

“...Heehー Now that I take a better look at it, I have to say that this organ is a work of true art.  It’s made from glass. However...It’s an eyesore. I cannot believe you would prioritize this thing over me.”

*Rustle rustle*

*SHATTER*

“Fufu...Fufufu...Well, would you look at that! That’s one less annoyance in this world to worry about! I bet you must be happy as well?”

He halts right in front of you.

“My mood has somewhat improved as a result after all. ...Now don’t ever make me go through extra trouble because of your unnecessary behavior. That being said...Ahー Poor little organ...It met such a cruel fate because it ended up in your hands. It’s all your fault, because you turned a blind eye to me. Fufufu...Anyway, this is the end.”

He walks to the door.

“Let us go to my room. I do not want to stay here another second.”

*Rustle*

“Hey...Why won’t you move?”

He walks back up to you. 

“Are you that sad about what happened to that organ?”

You explain.

“Eh? It was supposed to be a gift for me...? ...Please safe me the horrible excuses. You cannot fool me with those lies. It doesn’t make sense to give gifts on a random day, does it?”

You try to defend your case.

“You are insistent...that you’re stating the truth? Then why don’t you tell me why you wanted to gift it to me?”

You explain.

“It played a beautiful melody so you wanted me to hear it too? That hardly counts as a reasoning. Besides, did you truly believe that i would be happy with such a gift?”

He picks up one of the glass shards. 

*Cling*

“This stupid thing...”

*Shatter*

“It breaks so easily, just like this. ...It’s nothing but a bunch of trash. ーー I don’t want it! How come you just don’t get that!? Stop doing things I never asked you to!! ...Haah, haah...Hah...I thought I had made myself very clear at this point, but it seems like you still fail to realize. In which case, I shall teach you one more time. ーー The only thing someone like you can do for me...”

Kanato bites you.

*Sluuurp*

“Nn...is to donate your blood like this...Mmh...”

*Sluuurp*

“Nn...”

*Sluuurp*

“Hah...Trying to do anything beyond that point is nothing but presumptuous...Hahn...”

*Sluuurp*

“Mmh...Nn...”

*Sluuurp*

“Nn...Nnh...Exactly...All you need to do is be at my mercy like this, forever...I won’t let you show interest in anything or anyone else...Having you be meek and obedient to me makes me much happier than any gift ever could...Do you understand?”

*Rustle*

“If you do not want to upset me any further...Then please forget about that silly little organ already. All I want is for you to only ever have eyes for me, pay mind to my words, and offer your blood to my fangs...As every cell of your body craves for me and only me.”

*Sluuurp*

“Mmh...Nn...”

*Sluuurp*

*Gulp*

“...Hah.”

*Rustle*

“...Hm? Why would you flinch all of a sudden? ...Ahー I injured my hand? I suppose it happened when I picked up one of the glass shards earlier. However, I won’t die from bleeding a little.”

You frown.

“Hm...Are you worried about me, perhaps? ...Fufu. Right. This is all your fault, so you do something about it. ...At this point, you should have plenty of experience dealing with blood, don’t you? ...Come on.”

*Rustle rustle*

“...Fufu...Fufufu...That only tickles. Come on, part your lips wider and lap up the blood...Fufufu...Fufufu...Ahaha...Ah-aah~ You still don’t know what to do, do you? ...You really are a silly girl, aren’t you? In that case, I suppose I’ll have no other choice but to take tonight to teach you more thoroughly. ...Right, Teddy? Fufu...”

*Rustle*

“Are you listening? You should do it like this...”

Kanato shows you.

“Mm...”

*Sluuurp*

“Hahn...”

*Sluuurp*

*Gulp*

“Mmh...Nn...”

*Rustle rustle*

“...Hah. ...Once again...If you ever wish for something or someone other than me...Nnh...I will never forgive you...Mmh...Never...Understood? Fufu...Fufufu...Ahahaha! ...Nnh...”

*Sluuurp*

*Gulp*

“Ah...”

*Sluuurp*

ーー THE END ーー

[cinewhore]

One Way or Another

Pairing: Marcus Pike & Fem!Reader (Carmen Sandiego AU)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: angst!

Summary: You’ve been working your entire life to become an ACME agent. When things get too quiet, you grow comfortable with the silence. Too bad it doesn’t last for long. 

A/N: It’s been a while. Wanted to get something out. No beta. Credits to the gif maker. 

After three years of radio silence, a buzz was made. 

The agency has been nothing short of chaotic for a fucking week. 

You could already tell that late nights and early mornings were going to be a thing, so you set up shop in your office. You barely left, scanning over documents and photos, earning more headaches by the hour. 

You weren’t the only dedicated agent. 

Marcus Pike was sent in by the FBI, a stunt you didn’t understand nor did you agree with but you figured if they were going through the trouble of getting him to HQ then he must be the real deal. ACME was best of the best in terms of an international agency, it made all the other agencies look like babies. Out of your entire training class, you and two other people were the only ones left. 

You were sure Marcus was going to come in with his britches tight and ego inflated but he rendered you speechless as he stated that he was there to assist you the best he knew how. He was polite, diligent and ambitious. 

That made him dangerous. 

Currently in the state conference room, you sit in a chair with your feet propped up on the table, mouth working furiously at your lip. It was a terrible habit and you made up for the nagging voice of your mother in your head by constantly applying a new layer of chapstick on whenever you felt the tiniest hint of dryness. 

A large map of the world was displayed on the screen in front of you, police scans from all over steadily streaming in through the speakers. It had become white noise to you. Glancing up at your partner, you crease your eyebrows. 

Marcus looked different. 

He was no longer the shiny new toy being paraded around. Instead, he was sporting a patchy beard, unkempt hair, and wearing a ruffled suit you’re sure he’s been in for the past two days. 

He was murmuring to himself, eyes dancing across the screen like it was a lifeline. Posture no longer rigid, he sort of slumps over as he sits perched on the table. 

Your gaze lingers on his arms, muscles bulging through the white button down. He was a good looking toy but one that was off limits. The Chief made sure you knew that. 

“Hey,” you rasp your knuckles on the table, garnering Marcus’s attention. “We’re gonna get her.” 

His brown eyes blink a few times, the vacant glaze holding your own. Marcus nods and clears his throat. 

“Yeah, of course.” 

You poke a thumb at the takeout that had been picked through earlier. 

“Should I reheat this? Eggroll is gonna be a bit soggy but the cafeteria should still be open so-“

An alarm dings. 

A red dot appears on the map. 

Moscow, Russia. 

Marcus flies up to the screen, hands waving frantically at you. You jumped at the sound as well, tapping away on your laptop to alert the chief. 

“Gotcha,” Marcus whispers, facing braking out in a crazed smile. “Can you tran-“

“Already on it.” 

As soon as the alarm went off, the map picked up on the reports coming out of Russia and you were hard at working translating everything over to a staff memo. 

The ACME agency in Russia would be alerted immediately and agents would be dispersed. Everyone was waiting anxiously, ready to rush out at the drop of a pin. 

“What the hell is she doing in Moscow?” You whisper aloud. 

“There’s going to be transportation of a Faberge egg, it’s on loan currently.” Marcus replies without skipping a beat. 

The guy really knows his stuff. 

You shake your head. “Doesn’t make sense. Why take the egg? She’s too dumb to keep it and too smart to sell. Something like that pops on the market and we’ll know its her. There’s something else at play.” 

Marcus rubs a hand against his faint mustache. “Let’s hope you’re wrong.” 

“Moscow team is already in route plus we have escorts with the egg. She won’t be able to come close.” 

Another ding. 

Bogota, Columbia. 

And another. 

Paris, France. 

Xi’an, China.

Cairo, Egypt. 

Once it started, it didn’t stop. The police chatter now sounded like an angry swarm of bees. A mesh of languages, some of which you understand but others you didn’t. 

You did understand one thing in every language, though. 

Carmen Sandiego. 

You lean back in your chair, dumbfounded. More than fifty dots had shown up on the map in over a hundred countries. It was unlike anything you had ever seen. 

You look over to Marcus, the half smile now replaced with a scowl etched so deep into his face you swore he was a different person. 

“Marcus?” 

He whips out his phone, the screen illuminating him. He quickly shields it from view, gunning for the exit. 

“I need a second.” 

You stare at him as he leaves, slowly turning your head back to the map. Your own phone vibrates itself off the table, clattering onto the floor. 

Marcus heads outside, undoing another button on his shirt. How long had he had this on? There was definitely a mustard stain on it from a few days ago. 

His phone continues to ring, the unknown caller ID mocking him. Marcus answers the phone, not bothering to utter a greeting. 

“It’s unlike you to be up at this hour, Texas.” 

Marcus swallows thickly. 

“Where are you?” 

The voice on the lines laughs, the sound akin to slow dripping molasses. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

Marcus wanders away from the building some more, obtaining a more firm and hushed tone. “We didn’t agree to this.” 

“You didn’t agree to this, all I said was that I was going to play nice.” 

“Nice? You think this is nice?! I’ve got warrants out for you on six out of the seven continents, not including your so-called friends. This is not a game.” 

“Oh, but it is, isn’t it?” The voice answers back gleefully. 

Marcus exhales deeply, rocking his jaw. 

“I’m trying to give you a win, here. Ivy is on the move in Berlin. She’s sloppy and careless. A walking liability.” 

Marcus didn’t like handouts. However, in this instance, he was in no shape to deny it. 

A brief silence lingers over the phone. 

“Marcus, please.”

He hated how much he loved her saying his name. He hated that it happened on numerous occasions. He hated that he wanted her to do it again. 

“Fine but I want three more lined up by sunset. No funny business.” 

A light chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll wrap them neatly for you.” 

Marcus scuffs at the ground with his shoe, feeling like a little boy with a school grade crush all over again. 

He looks back at the building. “I should get going.” 

“Yes, you should.” 

Another beat. Then, “I miss you.” 

The line clicks. 

Marcus doesn’t give himself time to process what was just said, hurrying back into the conference room where you were likely battling almost every agency in the world trying to ensure operations ran smoothly. 

A few more people has entered the room since but you’re the only one who offers him a smile and a cup of coffee as he returns. 

You look him over, taking note of his flushed cheeks. “Everything ok?”

He gives you a reassuring pat on the arm, taking a swig of his beverage. Just how he likes it. 

“Yeah, everything’s good. Cancel all units except Germany’s.” 

You scoff, pointing up at the map. Everyone in the room stills. “What are you talking about? We’ve got reports-“

“And I’ve got a gut feeling. Let’s close in on Berlin.” 

Marcus doesn’t stand down, looking rather confident in his decision. You glance towards the door and back at him. Reluctantly nodding an affirmative, you instruct the other agents to coordinate a sweep of the area. 

“One hell of a gut you got there, Pike.” 

Marcus squints his eyes, hands firming around his cup. 

“I’m aware.” 

[hankwritten]

Words That Taste Bad in Your Ears

Zhanna/Scout, 1k

Saturday (July 8) : Spicy | Savory | Sweet

“We need car,” Heavy said when they landed in the middling Australian town barely propped up by the minuscule airport.

“We are here to find transportation,” Heavy reminded forty-five minutes later.

“We,” he grit out, emphasis on every syllable as Zhanna and Scout pressed their faces to a glass display case containing children’s toys—ooing and aaing as if they were children themselves—“come to village. For car.”

“Relax Big Guy,” Scout waved away, not taking his eyes off as a wooden cutout with mechanical limbs fired an unsettlingly detailed toy rifle, causing a 2D wooden kangaroo across the display to fall flat, “won’t kill you to slow down a goddamn sec.”

“These words. They come out of little Scout’s mouth. Are you even listening?”

“Mm hmm…”

“Scout! Tell Heavy to slow!”

“Yeah…” Scout still hadn’t taken his eyes off the display, watching as the toy hunter and toy kangaroo reset themselves with clicking precision.

“Chatterjay is right,” Zhanna, exposed to The Worst of Heavy’s coworkers and now traitorous and unhelpful, said. “Misha rushes us.”

“We are in rush.”

“If someone has not come and taken all the metal by now, a few hours extra hours will not make.”

“<Zhanna,>” Heavy said, switching to a language that could properly capture his annoyance. “<We came to do a job! We aren’t here to be tourists, to go sprinting about some no where town in the dry and the heat just to gawk at all the stupid things the Australians have come up with. I Are you doing this just to aggravate me?>”

“<Not everything I do is about you, Misha,>” Zhanna shot right back, straightening up from the glass display and nearing his high with a glare. “<Have you ever thought that maybe I want to go look at things that aren’t an endless icy expanse? That maybe your sister wants to live a little for the first time in twenty years?>”

“<Our family keeps our word. When we say we’ll do a job, we’ll do it.>”

“<That is what you do. And you’ve applied it to the rest of us without proof.>” Zhanna puffed up. “<We’ll go to the big rock when we’re good and ready. And if that little purple woman is cranky, well then she can just go cry about it.>”

“Yeah!” Scout said, puffing up beside her. “No idea what my girlfriend just said, but she sounded pissed at you and I support her wholeheartedly. Screw you Heavy!”

Zhanna, for whatever reason, thought this was very funny. “Screw you!” she repeated.

“Screw you!”

They echoed this back and forth a few times until Heavy had had quite a enough, marching off down the street to find suitable transportation on his own. His two—supposed—mission-mates kept laughing, Zhanna so hard she squeezed Scout in a sidehug that lifted him off the ground.

Still, through the oxygen throttling show of expression, he managed to throw out one last, “Screw- gak! –you…”

“Love you little chatterjay. Such a way with words.”

“…Thanks…*wheeze*…babe…”

*

Heavy’s solo expedition did not pan out as well as he had hoped. This was not how he would have split the Team had he been in charge, though at first he was relieved he could keep an eye on Zhanna a bit longer; she was the eldest of his sisters, but age did not translate to wisdom, and it often seemed she sought out trouble on purpose. Trouble like Scout for instance. Probably the worst man she could have chosen to suddenly fling her first ever affections on, Scout took her sudden interest in stride, and was in no way disturbed when they had calcified into this unshakeable loyalty. Zhanna had decided what she liked, and what she liked was this annoying little toothpick who wouldn’t shut up.

How he hoped Bronislava and Yana were getting into less trouble. He’d sheltered them out of love yet…

Yet he had to admit many of his decisions weren’t always the best ones. The quest for a rental car for instance. The last three Australians he spoke to insisted on arm wrestling him before doling out any quest information, and when he handily beat them it turned out most of their advice were things like, “Don’t know about that, maybe go ask Marsha up the road?” In the end Heavy was fed up that he started refusing ‘brawls’ all together, which only further decreased his success rate.

When he finally trudged himself into the town’s largest diner, he was less than pleased to run into Scout and Zhanna there, still dragging their feet.

“And in the states,” Scout was saying, “chicken comes in buckets. It’s great. I don’t know why but having chicken in a bucket is just so much better than regular chicken- you know I even have this chicken costume they let me have for free when the TFC—Teufort Fried Chicken—place was closing down. They just threw it away! Okay so they didn’t let me have it for free, I had to go out to the back and fish it out of the dumpster, but it was worth it because they’d had a guy wearing that mascot costume for thirty years before they closed down—thirty year old grease stains on the inside! Can you believe it!—but then the Italian place across the street ran them out of business.”

“Mm…” Zhanna said, chin resting in hands as she watched him across a plate of friend chicken.

“So instead of being a mascot, it’s now a mas-scout! Get it? Ha! I crack myself up.”

“Yes. Cracked like chicken egg. Scout is done talking now though, and will go back to putting showing me ‘real cuisine’.”

“Huh? Oh! Oh right, yeah.”

So Scout picked up a chicken wing, and leaned forward. Zhanna took a rip out of the flesh, then proceeded to lick the savory grease off Scout’s fingers. The two did break eye contact during this.

Heavy sat down beside them with a mild noise of disgust.

“Brother! Finally done wandering around?” Zhanna wiped the grease off her mouth with her sleeve. Scout watched her do this adoringly.

“Heavy,” Heavy grit, “was looking for car. To get us out of this place.”

“A ride? Ha! We already found one, dummy,” Scout said.

“What?” Heavy said. “When?”

“While you were out moping. C’mon, it’s out back.”

Heavy was left to be the one to throw bills on the table. This annoyed him. And then, annoyance didn’t even begin to cover what he felt when he walked to the back of the diner and found, not a car, but a scooter with a sidecar attached.

“This will not make five kilometers,” Heavy said doubtfully.

“Sure it will! The chick who sold it said it ‘outrun a pack of thirty dingoes, all while you’re transporting live feral wombats’.”

“Implication was that would be fighting wombats, while dingoes are chasing,” Zhanna nodded helpfully.

“…Fine,” Heavy said, walking toward the vehicle. “As long was we are leaving.”

But before he could even touch the thing Scout barked, “Nope! I’m driving, chucklenut.”

“What?” Heavy demanded.

“Sorry man, way it’s gotta be. I’m driving, Zhanna’s riding bitch, and you-” Scout paused, wiggled his finger in a circle, and papped it against Heavy’s chest, “-get the baby carriage.”

“Scout is not serious.”

“He is,” Zhanna nodded solemnly, “I will be riding this bitch all the way to big rock.”

She used one arm to squeeze Scout around the shoulders, who promptly turned bright ride. Heavy got in the sidecar. It was the only place he could effectively turn around, and not have to look at them anymore. Better alone in the hack for the entire rest of the trip than to spend one extra minute than he had to with them.

He would have words for Pauling when this was all done.

[liljplibrary]

Cat Food (Tomoki Morikawa)

Looking to create the finest cat food, the bakeneko Pluto embarks on an operation to manufacture minced human flesh! In order to do this, she invites (lures) four young humans to a human cannery disguised as a cottage... However, the black-cat bakeneko Willy has hidden himself amongst them. Of course, it's illegal to kill one's fellow bakeneko. Just who the hell could Willy be?! Rack your brains if you don't want to be eaten.

Tomoki Morikawa's debut work and the first entry in his Great Detective Sanzunokawa series! For a long time, Cat Food was THE book I most wanted to see translated. So, I guess you can consider this a case of "fine, I'll do it myself."

Unlike Alice, I didn't have an editor on hand to double-check my translation so the quality may be a little weaker than Alice. However, Life (props to Life, as always) did go through the trouble of reading it over anyway and letting me know if anything stood out as odd. All that aside, hopefully it's still readable and enjoyable! If you enjoy mental battles -- ala Liar Game or Death Note -- or incredibly evil detectives, you'll definitely love this series.

How To Extract The PDF/Epub

Use winzip, winrar, etc. to open the zip file. When it asks for a password, flip through a legally-acquired copy of Cat Food until you see an image of a can. These appear very frequently throughout the book and are used to separate sections of the text so it should be easy to find. The password is the English letters printed on the cans. NOTE! It is case-sensitive.

How To Acquire Cat Food

Same as Alice, this translation requires you to have your own copy of the book. You can purchase Cat Food from any of these: Amazon JP CDJapan

You might also have some luck with second-hand Japanese bookstores -- like I did -- or if you're REALLY lucky, some retailers like Kinokuniya, though I should note that I THINK Cat Food might not currently be in print so I really don't know?? Certainly, it's trickier to get your hands on than Alice. I'm sorry.

Content Warnings

Unlike other TLs I've posted, Cat Food is NOT a horror novel. It's mostly a dark-comedy novel, and a pretty funny one at that! That said, I've listed the content warnings I noticed below to be safe. Note that there will be spoilers among them.

WARNING! SPOILERS AHEAD!

CW: Violence, Blood, Frequent Animal Death, Human Death, Cannibalism

[leighsartworks216]

Strawberry Lip Balm

Klavier Gavin x gn!reader

Okay so I'm aroace so I have no idea what crushes are like but I tried my best?? I've also never written for Klavier before but I just finished aa4 and I couldn't resist lol

Translations at the end :)

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1393

Masterlist

AO3

You don't know how such a stupid, blurted-out question brought you to this moment, but sitting in the God of Rock's lap with his hands set on your hips to support you, you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

"Can I do your makeup?"

It was a stupid question. He had his head in your lap, guitar across his stomach as he loosely tried out melodies, and you lost yourself admiring his features. You weren't thinking - you really expected him to laugh in your face and tease you for it. Instead, he took it like it was any other question.

With a slight grin, he remembered he had a makeup bag tucked away in his unnecessarily tall filing cabinet. So he got up from the couch, propped his guitar safely in its glass case, and rifled through the endless drawers while you sat there trying to collect yourself. He found the case, plopped back on the couch, and after several minutes of struggling to position yourself to do anything to his handsome features, he told you to just sit in his lap.

It took a moment of adjusting. To be honest, you couldn’t tell if he was just doing this to mess with you or if he was being genuine. It was better not to think about it too much.

His makeup bag contained some basic things - dark pencil liner, some concealer, an eyebrow brush. But tucked down toward the bottom was a bold liquid liner, mascara, even a couple round containers of blush and eyeshadow.

Klavier was essentially putty in your hands. You decided to try out some eyeshadow and asked him to close his eyes, and he obligingly shut them. His grin never faltered, even for a second.

With a brush from the bag, you very carefully worked to apply a brown shade to his lid. It complimented his tan skin exceptionally well, and you tried not to get stuck just admiring him there. The trust he was putting in you to do this…

Warm hands squeezed your hips playfully, startling you.

“Don’t forget to breathe, schatzi,” he teased. “You’ll have plenty of time to admire me when you’ve finished.”

You scoffed, desperately ignoring the way your cheeks burned. Still, he kept his eyes closed, so at least he wouldn’t see how flustered you were. “I could make you look hideous on purpose, Klav,” you threatened. “You’re lucky I won’t.”

He huffed a laugh. It resonated through you. “I am grateful, liebling. I would hate to frighten my fans.”

Once the eyeshadow was even (enough), you put away the container and brushes. You picked up the pencil liner, then considered the liquid liner. It was hard enough to get even lines on yourself, but… It was just for fun, right? It wouldn’t matter. He’d probably wash it off once you left.

“Trouble?”

You grabbed the liquid liner. “Nope. Now shut your eyes.”

The brush was thin, perfect for sharp lines. The rich black glided across his lashline and into an “elegant” wing. You leaned in closer in your concentration. Joke or not, you were going to get this perfect. Klavier waited in perfect silence as he felt the cool, wet ink define his eyes. He also felt how you went back and forth between both eyes, and heard when you cussed quietly under your breath before adjusting one or the other.

As he sat there, acting as the perfect subject, his mind wandered. When he first met you on a crime scene several years ago, you’d tried to stop him from entering. You didn’t realize the famous Klavier Gavin of the Gavinners was also Klavier Gavin the prosecutor. You’d apologized profusely for the confusion, but he just laughed it off. Somehow, you became friends. Similar to Prosecutor Edgeworth and Detective Gumshoe, you became stuck to his side. He requested you to lead investigations when he was working the case, you would testify the lay-down of the events during trials, and he took you out to dinner when he “won” (though he was always more interested in the truth than winning).

Somewhere along the way, he couldn’t quite figure out when, his thoughts would constantly shift to you. What did you do when you weren’t working? What was your favorite color? Favorite food? Did you like scary movies or were you the kind of person to hide behind a pillow the whole time? He wanted to know so much about you, always. Maybe that’s how these get-togethers started. Maybe he asked if you wanted to hang out after investigations or trials to get to know you better. The real you. The you that didn’t hide behind your badge.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t hesitate to indulge your stupid question. Maybe that’s why he let you sit in his lap. Maybe that’s why he held onto you, even if you didn’t need the support.

“Klav?”

Ripped from his thoughts, he carefully opened his eyes, worried the liner could still be wet. He didn’t realize you finished his eyes several minutes ago, and had filled in his eyebrows and touched his cheek-bones with blush while he zoned out.

You were still there, sitting in his lap. He almost forgot you were really there. You turned a small tube around in your hands, looking for a label. He hummed, getting your attention. You held the small container to him so he could look, too.

“What is this?”

He removed a hand from your hip to take it from you. The warmth lingered behind, but you missed the weight it provided.

“I think…” Skillfully, with one hand, he opened the tube. He smelled the whitish wax inside. “Ah! It’s my strawberry lip balm. I thought I lost it.”

“Strawberry?”

He hummed, holding it out for you to smell. You leaned forward and held the back of his hand as you cautiously sniffed it. He hoped the way his cheeks tinged pink was hidden by the blush.

“Oh, it does smell like strawberries!”

“It tastes like strawberries, too, schatzi,” he mused. “Put it on, try it.”

You swore your whole face was red. “A-Are you sure?”

“Ja. I can always buy more if I need to.”

You carefully took the lip balm from his hand and twisted it to expose more of the wax, looking away to save yourself the embarrassment. All the while, Klavier felt his heart stutter as he watched you carefully apply it to your lips. Watching the movement entranced him. It was like being on stage and watching as the crowd coordinated into a wave of fluid movement, energizing him even more. His pupils blew wide as you tentatively rubbed your lips together and licked slightly, tasting the strawberry flavor.

A thumb and index finger gently grabbed your chin, urging you to face him again. He had to force himself to stop staring at your lips that now gleamed in the late-afternoon light spilling into his office, but he was just as stunned by the way your eyes sparkled with the orange sun’s rays.

“Can I try it, liebling?” His voice was a low whisper. No one would think this is the man that regularly belted out his soul on stage.

He waited, waited until you gave him your answer with the slightest nod, almost imperceptible if he did not feel the movement between his fingers.

He guided your face closer, eyes becoming half-lidded as he pulled you in. His mind raced, thinking only of what you would taste like through the sweet strawberry lip balm. Of what you would feel like against his lips. His eyes shut the instant your lips brushed his.

The kiss was barely-there, like a butterfly’s wing fluttering against sun-kissed summer skin. It didn’t last that way forever, though. Klavier pulled away, before going back in with more vigor, eagerly angling his head to reach every inch of your lips he could.

His hand reached around to cradle the back of your neck. Cold rings sent shivers down your spine, and you felt the way he grinned. You slid a hand up and over his shoulder, around his neck and into his long hair. He groaned into the kiss, pulling you closer with the hand on your hip; he despised the space between your bodies, desperate to feel all of you.

Strawberry was his new favorite flavor.

--

Translations:

Schatzi - treasure

Liebling - darling

Ja - yes

[the-travelling-witch]

You enter the familiar potion shop, the door to which had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, not looking for anything in particular. But before you knew it, you had already crossed the threshold.

Behind the counter, the witch sitting there looks up at the sound of the bell and grins when she sees you. On your way over, you inspect the assortment of magical and mystical items you couldn’t identify lining the shelves, the space in the shop much larger than it appears from the outside.

“Welcome back,” she greets you with a wink. Propping one hand on the counter, the witch studies you. “What can I help you with today? Or did you only visit because you wanted to see me?”

When you tell her you only dropped by on a whim with nothing really in mind, the witch’s eyes sparkle as she laughs. Looking onto the counter you see she was inspecting what appeared to be a dark blue piece of parchment. Occasionally, darker shades swirled across it, giving the illusion of clouds against the night sky.

“What you’re looking at is a star map,” the witch explained. “As you can probably imagine, it does more than just chart the stars. But most can’t read it.

“See,” the woman pointed to the blue swirling parchment where not a single star could be seen. “You have to piece it together first. It’s said the pieces are strewn across the universe and will link together if you collect them all. Most wouldn’t go through that trouble.”

You reach out to graze your fingers over the map and a cold chill spreads across your body before it’s replaced by pleasant warmth. Suddenly, you wonder about what lies beyond the world you know, what wonders the universe could hold for you. The witch laughs.

“Go on, take it. I have my hands full with the shop, it would just collect dust here.” Carefully, she folds the map back together, seemingly unbothered by the temperature drop. “I know it might sound daunting to travel the universe for clues. But let me assure you that all puzzles come with clues, so you’re not stumbling around blindly. Look, there’s already something stuck to the back of the map.

“Well then, are you ready to go on an adventure?”

© the-travelling-witch 2023 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

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[twilightmalachite]

Sandstorm - Epilogue 3

Author: Akira

Characters: Hinata, Yuuta, Rei, Kaoru, Koga, Adonis

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Yuuta-kun—He might’ve been serious, you know."

Season: Winter

Location: Chuugoku Region Qualifiers Stage

Kaoru: Hehe, well, we all suffered through quite a lot this time, but I’m glad we all seem to be motivated.

I didn’t think it’s possible to make a full comeback at this point, but if Rei-kun thinks we can, it kinda feels like it is possible, y’know?

Adonis: Yeah. Sakuma-senpai is always so hopeful.

Koga: Peh, even if we get all motivated now, it’s still far too late, ya piece of trash! You and the seniors are aaalways like that, quit it!

Rei: …… (ignores Koga and turns away)

Koga: Can ya stop that? Ya think it’s funny how I get upset every time ya ignore me, don’t ya’~?!

Kaoru: Ahaha, isn’t it nice to have a new comedy routine between you two?

Adonis: Uh-huh. It’s good to try to find the good in things, Oogami.

Yuuta: None of this matters, can we just hurry to work pleaaase? The live has started, you know~!

Hinata: Ahaha, but it’s been a while since we’ve all been in the same place, don’t you want to talk to everyone too?

Yuuta: Still, go backstage for that, pleaaase? Your fans all missed you too y’know~, pleaaase don’t tell me you only care about your friends?

Yuuta: If you can’t even do that much, maybe I’ll just set another trap and elimate you too~?

Koga: Whaat? Weren’t ya done with this exploitative character of yours? Didn’t ya just act like a villain just to fool the management?

We all know you guys are actually good kids, y’know!

Ya gotta be careful else other people are gonna think you’re actually cold-blooded merciless villains!

Adonis: That’s right, and you can’t entertain people who you scare. Instead, you won’t be able to approach the people who you want to make happy. I’ve experienced it myself.

And that's why instead of making such scary faces, I want you to be able to laugh—Yuuta, Hinata.

Hinata: Ehh~? But I’m always smiling~! ♪

Yuuta: Yeah, yeah. I promise we hear you guys~—we are the obedient good kids, after all.

Koga: …Fuckin’ idiot.

Yuuta: Ow-owow!? Stop messin’ up my hair! You animal! I set it all nicely, too!!

Koga: “~…♪”

Yuuta: Wait, you’re ignoring me! Don’t do what you don’t like done to you, didn’t your mama teach you that?!

Hinata: Ahaha, but for us, it was our dad who taught us that, wasn’t it?

Yuuta: He didn’t teach us that, he just spat complaints out at us. That's how toxic parents are, complaining that we’re always causing trouble for others~, right?

“♪~♪~♪”

Hinata: Man… You’re so fixated on our dad, one could even think that you do love him~...Yuuta-kun?

Kaoru: —Hey, Hinata-kun.

Hinata: Hmm? What’s up, Paisen, ya want a kiss? We can't~, my big brother is watching~!

Kaoru: I can't grasp either you or Rei-kun’s jumbled characters, you know~?

But it’s fine, it’s more interesting to be so faceted.

But, moving on—

Hinata: Eek, PLEASE don’t unsheathe your katana! I know it’s just a prop, but even knowing that I’m scared anyways!

Kaoru: Heheh, I’m copying Souma-kun~.

Hinata: Whoa, you’re Japan’s best! Kyaah~, you’re so cool, Hakaze-paisen~! ☆

Kaoru: …I just would like to ask one thing of you, is that okay?

Hinata: What? You look like you’ll behead me depending on my answer, though!

Kaoru: Yuuta-kun—He might’ve been serious, you know.

Hinata: ……

Kaoru: That kid really tried to crush us, legitimately.

People like Adonis-kun will just interpret it in good faith, though. So as a result, they all think that he just took on a thankless role—As he was supposed to.

But I wonder if that was really the case.

Rei-kun does too of course, but Adonis-kun and Koga-kun go through life on instinct. They don’t think too far into things, and can’t read the air either.

Hinata: Whoa, you’re really tearin’ into them…

Kaoru: Well, yeah. But it is because they are pure children that they always see through to the truth. You can’t hide things from them.

So… if Yuuta-kun’s true intentions really were to deceive the management—Koga-kun and the others might have already noticed that.

But, as far as I can tell, they’re seriously confused.

They were all genuinely angry Yuuta-kun had betrayed us, so angry that they just wanted to grab him by his collar—That’s what Rei-kun told me.

I think the reason Koga-kun and the others got so angry was because they knew that Yuuta-kun betrayed them wholeheartedly.

That Yuuta-kun seriously tricked us so he could curry favor with the management—

To devour us so he could rise in power.

Hinata: ……

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[emilyzone]

emily reviews the GG sonic games

over the past few months i beat the GG sonic games with all chaos emeralds. well, here are my thoughts!

Sonic the Hedgehog What a sweet game. Forgiving but satisfyingly challenging, and with a sense of style the others really can't match. in many ways this game's presentation is actually more polished than its 16-bit counterpart. It makes me feel more within the World established by ancillary media in JP of the time than the main game does. The role this game has in the story of its developer, Ancient, also adds to the appeal. I would give this game a smooch.

Sonic the Hedgehog 2 This is such a contrast with 1 that it's a bit of whiplash going in. the art is raw and unpracticed, and the gameplay is aggressive toward you in the way old platformers frequently will be. But after giving in and switching from GG to the MS version (after beating Mecha Antlion once on GG to prove myself), i was able to meet the game where it wanted me to. The challenge became fun, and it was satisfying to make it through to the end. Making the 'special stage' a true final zone with vaporwave stylings based on the 16-bit special stages is an inspired use of limited rom space, and was really fun to play too. they haven't made a zone like Crystal Egg before or since. oh yeah and toot toot sonic warrior originated here - what a landmark tune for this game to have to its name. scrappy game altogether, but in a way where you're happy to see it succeed :)

Sonic and Tails ('chaos') Feels like Aspect is trying to establish their own voice as a sonic dev here. The portable and motobug springs are smart ideas that lend themselves to new puzzle structures, and the rocket shoes are just kind of silly. The experimental special stages are interesting, but it was definitely a miss that when you unlock one, it takes you out of an act without the opportunity to go back and finish it later. The premise that Eggman has an emerald and that's why you only need to get 5 is funny, but I respect it as a way for them to rebalance the challenge in a way they were happy with, without sacrificing the established lore that there must be 6 altogether. Aqua Planet feels weirdly prescient of Hydrocity. Electric Egg feels like someone wasn't finished with Scrambled Egg from the last game, and needed another attempt. I enjoy the tube puzzles so that's fine.

Sonic and Tails 2 ('triple trouble') I initially bounced hard off of this one. The special stage entry restrictions felt too restrictive - 50 rings PLUS find ONE monitor hidden somewhere in the stage. It combines the mainline S2 and S3 concepts into a double challenge. Once you're comfortable enough with the game though, its actually very manageable to plot your route. The visuals do great work translating the S3&K style into 8-bit, probably the prettiest of these aside from 1 (although thats obviously subjective). knuckles piloting a boss vehicle is funny. Fang is funny. I wish they hadnt taken away his gun. Big props to this game for committing to its own core mechanics for sonic - they put in some great challenges making use of balling-up-from-spring and the strike dash.

Not sure if i'll bother with Sonic Blast, at least for the time being. on the whole though these games are fun if you don't expect them to be exactly like the mega drive games.

[junsei-draws-rotasu]

Monkie Kid: A Hero Is Born Live blog rewatch

Before I can go to S3, the season I left off and avoided for sometime until it’s available to watch, I needed to refresh my memory.

Oh wow straight to the intro

I also forgot that this has the same studio that animated ROTTMNT cuz the animation is sick!

Fun fact I only started to watch this because of a TIKTOK video of Macaque

The fight sciences scenes😍

Not SWK trapping DBK under a mountain just like Buddha did to him 🙂

Is this how the Journey to the West really ended? I really want to read but I don’t have it in me to read it. I’m just waiting for Overly Sarcastic Productions to make their video

Wow, sick translation Narrator

Ngl I forgot how Monkie Kid characters sounds like. With the fanfics I had read I genuinely written off Tang having a smooth gentle voice

Although MK’s voices caught me off guard

!!! I never noticed this!

This is a nice wallpaper

A warthog vs a pig in cooking… not sure who’s going to win this one /s

M.K. has some nice jams to listen too

M.K. is like me with phone screens. Never bother fixing them :,)

There's our impulsive Monkey!

How does M.K. do that?! How did he climbs—ah anime cartoon logic combined together is dumber than normal

You know I just realized. If this was an anime, you know they would put fan service on Iron Fan Princess

Even SWK was surprised at MK

Is that bull a robot or those arms are just prosthetics?

Oh, it is a Robot… you would think the Robots they created wouldn’t have this much emotions in them.

“Deemed worthy can hold it” what is this? Excalibur?

Just what kind of mystic did you infuse in that gauntlet?

Oh wow, Red Son you actually did it! Didn’t remember that

Can you even call that a mountain anymore? It turned into a hill!

Ooooo, didn’t remember that broken horn on DBK

“I had returned to the world of the living!” You didn’t die DBK, just sealed 😒

"No go away" *proceeds to peck* SWK you little shit

Aw, Red Son’s little face when DBK said excellent 🥹

What’s nothing more romantic than having your first meeting of your partner than landing on them… literally

I’m just giddy and amused by Red Sons antics on trying to look cool and impress his father

“Noodle boy” Oop, he said it!

Really want to put ADHD on M.K.’s character sheet cuz he just zoned out by looking at SWK staff

The two kids in the room having exaggerated expressions while the adults are just there with tired and confuse expression XD

Ah, I seem to forget that M.K. is also a little shit

With DBK’s exaggerated movements, I think I know where Red Son’s love of theatrics came from

The vehicle looks out of place

Not the noodles!

Red Son, why are you always ready to combust?… actually wait, don’t answer that

Oh that poor women’s apartment! How will she pay for it???

“Pigsy going to kill me🥹” Not if Red Son kills you first

Does the actual toy of the car really have a motorcycle inside?

Now how did Mei know M.K. was in trouble?

Ows, the property damage 😬

We all need Mei as a friend. I would know, because I am her

Something rare and expensive… go to a museum, but remembering the plot, it has to be a shoe

I'm sooo using this as a reaction

Props to the cashier to tell an intimidating person to go back in line

This feels like a fever dream but it's not

They’re immediately got to Flower Fruit Mountain?! Where’s the gag of day and night cycles going too fast?! Missed opportunity really

Technology defeated magic, oh how Rise!Donnie would be so smug

Here’s the cliche protag team thinking the MC is dead but they’re really not

Aw 🥺

You know they’re really angry when they’re smiling instead of raging

To think that staff used to be a pillar of a Sea Dragon God

Not my boy M.K. releasing the recent traumatic event he went through

Comparing Sha Wujing and Sandy… they look nothing alike… is this why people likes to write fanfics where Sandy killed Sha Wujing?

Yeah I don’t recall this magical sequence…

Aw, M.K. 🥹

Once again, I’m taken back at the voice

And here I thought it was fanon that SWK had his eye on M.K. as his successor for a while

Man, I would be mad at SWK for thrusting this kid into this situation but I remember now SWK is sooooo

“You believe in ourselves” that… does sound like a good plan

Convenient

Wow M.K. got rebirth into a stone egg

I was about to comment on how history going to repeat itself then I remember the future episodes I’m going to watch and DBK clearly not trap under something

Ow, that’s going to hurt

I’m having severe flashbacks of Krang vs Leo fight here qwq

Here’s the toy shot

I finally get it! Red Son's nickname for Mei! It's because Mei represents the dragon that turned into a horse in the Journey to the West! Wow!

And finished!

[cassandrasimplex]

Augh. I tried so hard not to write this, you have no idea, because it's bound to be long (oh yeah, it got long!) and it's such a minor detail/tangent anyway it's probably not worth the time it will take to read, but I am irresistibly compelled because it relates to a Motohashi-sensei story and those get a +2 nostalgia bonus to compulsivity plus another point per 5 years since I saw him last (in 1993).

About that "legibility" complaint.

I'll save the Motohashi-sensei story for the end as the least-relevant info, like a good little once-I-got-out-of-an-English-composition-course-by-doing-tech-support-for-the-journalism-students... uh. Noun.

But the thing is. Okay. Look, first off, it's perfectly fucking legible!

Google's translation here is absolute shit, and my facility with the -ou conjugation isn't enough to make up for the lack of context, but it's clearly "Nana-chan" (person's name, person being a peer and female, likely but not assuredly a fellow student or something?) "mo" (a particle that means, more or less, "also") "kayoubi ni" ( "on Tuesday", where kayoubi is Tuesday, but I had to use kanji instead of the kana the writer used, in order to make Google translate notice that and stop trying to turn "kayoubi" into particles that grammatically wrecked the translation) "asobo" (which is more properly "asobou", the verb for "play" plus the future "might happen" or "let's do" conjugation that can be used for anything from "it might rain" to "let's go to the dog park" including cases where "let's do" is actually a gentle imperative, "YOU do", like "gambarimashou" for "work hard /do your best!" Uh. )? That sentence got out of hand.

Anyway, you can see why Google kind of chokes on translating, because it might be "let's include Nana-Chan also when we play on Tuesday" or it might be "Nana-chan will be joining us for playing on Tuesday" or it might be the case that Nana-chan is the name of an animal or plushie to add to Tuesday's existing playtime plans, or. ??? It's an out-of-context snippet of an existing conversation in a language that relies on context most of the time to specify who's doing what to whom or to what (except when it gets really specific because it's changing contexts). And I'm just not experienced enough with the nuances of using that conjugation to make up for lack of context in such an extraordinarily context-dependent language. And I'm not well versed in casual Japanese. And I've never used it as a child, so I don't know the specific kind of casualness children inject. And so on.

But legible? Yes, completely so. Proper? No, not quite. But I see kana used for magazines and book covers that are warped in far less legible ways that give me trouble even determining whether I'm looking at hiragana or katakana or even kanji, let alone what they say.

There are minor points. That first letter that's repeated, for "Nana" (なな)? The loops are way too big and they're rounded in the wrong place, flattened on top instead of on the bottom left. The "mo" (も) has fallen over on its side in an adorably clumsy way that suggests its rounded bottom is difficult to balance on (creative! cute! and written quite clearly to be unmistakably recognizable that way). The "ka" (か) of "kayoubi" has its little extra bar crossing through the right leg instead of floating to the upper right of the main structure. (Maybe that helps prop it up so it doesn't share mo's fate?) The "so" (そ) is practically a formless scribble (but I still had zero trouble knowing it could only be "so") and the top bar of the right half of "bo" (ぼ) is floating so far above the rest of the letter that it did actually give me pause wondering if there was a "-ba" (ば) conjugation usage I just don't know (as opposed to ones I do).

But like. I'm rusty on kana, at least rustier than I'd prefer to be, and the only thing that gives me real trouble is the very last word, written in parentheses, which I assume is probably a signature and which also looks like it uses a kanji often found in girls' names (子) preceded by two letters that are kind of confusing. The first letter looks like "o" except it uses a... Call it a diacritical mark? That only consonants* get. That circle to the right of it turns "h" into "p", for example. Is this a cutesy way the writer used of personalizing her name that has no effect except aesthetic, like anglophone girls who dot the "i" in their names with a heart? Maybe. I don't know. I was never a young Japanese girl. In fact, I only ever got to third semester Japanese. My Japanese is just not that good. And yet I find everything except the probable signature perfectly legible.

So legibility is a clear fig leaf for the real complaint.

(here ends all relevance to the main post)

* There aren't consonants as letters in Japanese writing.** There are syllables that are just vowels and there are syllables that are a consonant followed by a vowel, so it's really that "ha" (は) becomes "pa" (ぱ) while "hi" (ひ) becomes "pi" (ぴ) and so on.

** Except for "n", which is found in the whole typical "na ni nu ne no" (なにぬねの) series of syllables but also as just "n" (ん), which is arguably not quite the same letter/sound but I promised myself I'd stop this tangent here and most people don't make that distinction anyway, possibly because they never met Motohashi-sensei.

Anyway, here's the Motohashi-sensei story.

First week of class. First day: Sensei passes out the syllabus, reads it out loud, and warns us that Japanese is very, very hard for English speakers to learn, that he is a very strict and sometimes outright mean teacher, and that half of us will have given up and dropped the class by the end of the second week.

Second day: He passes out a handout listing sixteen basic social phrases (hello, please, thank you) in romaji (the Roman alphabet, you know, the one we can actually read, being only in our second-ever Japanese class) for us to memorize and then warns us that learning kana starts the next class period. He says that by the end of next week we will be expected to read and write solely in hiragana until we can use katakana and kanji where appropriate and we will never see nor use a single letter of the Roman alphabet in a Japanese word in his class ever again, forever, on penalty of his extreme wrath.

At the start of the second week, our third Japanese class, he tells us that the thing he hates most about teaching Japanese to English-speaking teenagers is our atrocious handwriting. (He really is actually pretty brutal about it, and a couple of students end up trying to file complaints later.) We're lazy, we're apathetic, we're uneducated, we're just generally disgraces, he says, and he doesn't feel like facing down the aspirin bill we'll drive up giving him headaches with our chicken scratches (a quotation; he later told me he learned that English phrase specifically for insulting students' handwriting in this little speech of his) so he's gone to a lot of trouble and expense and called in a huge favor to have a friend come all the way from Japan for a week to teach us to write hiragana "properly".

Then he introduces a Japanese woman who is a renowned enough calligrapher her work hangs in museums. He talks for about ten minutes on her many professional accomplishments and emphasizes to us not only that her presence in our classroom is a tremendous honor but that we categorically do not deserve it, will never understand the honor well enough to truly appreciate it, that HE doesn't deserve it, and that she is possessed of a personal generosity previously thought only to exist in the saints and saint-equivalents of various world religions to take the time and effort to grace our grubby little hands with her brushes. (She seems embarrassed by all this praise and breaks in a couple of times to argue with him.)

We didn't know enough yet to understand it, but this was in fact our first Japanese lesson. Not just the culture; this kind of thing is baked into the language. He established an in-group, his students and himself, to put down, and an out-group, the guest, to praise. She responded entirely as protocol demand by demurring. Learning to recognize and engage in that is a requisite skill to speak Japanese with any fluency, let alone navigate a conversation as a nuanced social interaction.

The students who didn't get offended by it were the ones he predicted would do well with the language. The ones it drove away were the ones he didn't think would continue past, or even finish, the first semester. And that man spent money on us. In large amounts (for appropriate purposes!), regularly, out of his own pocket, for things like guest speakers and so, so much more, including our final exam. (Which is my all-time favorite Motohashi-sensei story.) So please forgive him for wanting to winnow out early all the students he predicted would just drop the class anyway.

After the introduction, she passes out large sheets of thick paper, little cups of ink, and these giant brushes.

And teaches us to... paint?

It's an art style called sumi-e ("ink pictures"), a pretty distinctive style which you've almost certainly seen before.

(Shutterstock photo, contributed by Natali Mias)

In fact, a bamboo composition a lot like this was the first thing we learned to draw. Then we worked on drawing (very, very bad) birds.

Sumi-e is, at least in its foundations, an extremely structured style that uses only a handful of basic brushstrokes -- I think we learned four -- almost algorithmically, or like Legos, kind of like those "learn to draw" books that teach you to look at something like a cat's face as an assemblage of circles, rectangles, and triangles. The brushstrokes are really easy to learn. The art enters into it when you try to make four different kinds of brushstrokes look like breeze-tossed bamboo, or a whole entire bird. We were... Mostly not artists that day.

That was it. That was our third Japanese language class. Luckily, neither our bamboo nor our birds were graded.

For our fourth lesson, we get handouts of this gridded paper (the same kind Japanese kids use to practice kana and kanji) and plain wooden pencils. We're told that from that day forward, we will never use pen in Motohashi-sensei's class, because only pencil (and never mechanical pencil, either!) could reproduce the nuances of a brushstroke.

Then we learn how to build those four basic brushstrokes into hiragana.

All the hiragana.

In one day.

There are 46 of them. (Not counting the ones where you add extras like for turning "hi" into "pi").

Our fifth lesson opens the third week of class. From then on, we go entirely without romaji, as promised.

And also, as predicted, without about half the initial students. 😅

So look, it's true, Japanese really is hard for English speakers to learn, especially if we're used to thinking all other languages are going to basically be Romance languages like Spanish or Italian that share grammar and a lot of vocabulary with English. But sensei seemed to be intentionally making it even harder than it had to be, deliberately, for no reason we could understand then except maybe simple sadism.

I did eventually understand why he was so harsh, and at the end of about 30,000 more words I could explain exactly why he did that and why it made him the greatest teacher I've ever known, the one who had the most profound positive impact on my life that not just any teacher but any single individual outside my immediate family and intimate relationships has ever made. And if I wrote them all and you read them all, you'd understand, too.

But also you might want to hunt me down and put Legos in the dark hallway between my bedroom and bathroom every night for the rest of my life if I did that here. So instead you'll just have to take my word for it. It was masterful harshness. Also? An odd, unfamiliar sort of affection.

And the result was that I have Japanese handwriting that native speakers still compliment 30 years later, not just "Hey, that's great for a foreigner!" but "Whoa, my handwriting isn't that good! Where did you learn to write like that?" And that's 30 years of not really practicing much most of the time. And not just in hiragana, but in kanji and katakana as well, because both kinds of kana are based on kanji, and kanji are based on Chinese hanzi, and hanzi are written with a standardized set of brushstrokes that...

...Are used in sumi-e.

Motohashi-sensei's specialty was historical Japanese. It was like getting a Chaucerian scholar trying to teach ESL (English as a Second Language) courses. He had this compulsion to rewind back to the origin of everything he taught to make sure we got the foundation correct. (He would never tell us which kanji he used for his name, but I've always secretly believed the "moto" absolutely must be 元 -- not just because it's common that way, but also because he had to get to, and start from, the root of everything.) But for students willing to follow him on that whole meandering journey to the finish line, the benefits were incredible.

Anyway, the paradoxical effect is that although my handwriting benefitted incalculably from his unexpected teaching method, it also left me with certain expectations about how Japanese characters will be built, structurally, which means I have slightly more trouble reading them out in the wild than I might otherwise.

And this Japanese girl's handwriting is almost perfectly legible to me.

Uh. So there. Nyah!

[ETA: Ha ha, all that and I still got bits of it wrong. "Mo" is actually "be", so it's to Nana-chan: "Let's play on Tuesday." I was right about my limitations, though; there's a pattern of character alteration I didn't pick up on.]

Source 

[wife-tober2024]

Cooking Experiments (10/8)

The smell of sugar hung heavy in the air, so strong Lauren’s teeth felt itchy. She sucked on them noisily while she mixed chemicals from the stolen jars scattered across her kitchen counter. She shoved several to the side after reading the labels. She didn’t have time to investigate every bottle when she took them from the lab. There was bound to be a few she just wouldn’t need. 

Lauren stirred the pot gently with one hand while looking over the notes she had propped up on her cookbook stand. Sadly the handwriting was atrocious, a collection of chicken scratch that Lauren had to translate rapidly while she worked. The fact that she hadn’t blown up her kitchen yet spoke volumes about her skill. She was actually rather impressed with herself. 

Tossing in a few blueberries, because she was all about the classic flavors, Lauren lowered the heat and stepped back. She waited a few moments to confirm the concoction wasn’t going to rise over the edge of the pot before turning to the bowl on the counter beside it. She eyed the dry ingredients sifted in the bowl before taking a small fist full of flour and adding it to the rest. There. That should be enough to balance out the wet ingredients currently simmering on her stove.

She turned again to the corner where she had a toaster oven set, the various cords and cables sticking out of the modified contraption giving it the appearance of a mechanical eldritch beast. Two steps toward the machine and Lauren was falling, face rushing towards the edge of the counter. She caught herself and turned to the brown and black bundle of fur that had darted in front of her.

“Biscuit! You know you’re not supposed to be in the kitchen!” The thigh high dog sat on his haunches, tongue lolling out to one side. Lauren smiled and bent down to his level, scratching behind both ears. “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” she said. She went back to work, but not before tossing a blueberry to him. He reared up, eyes laser focused on the fruit only for it to bounce off his nose and roll further into the kitchen. Lauren shook her head, smiling at the dog. She’d yell at him later.

Lauren looked over the notes again. Professor Dixon seemed to be incredibly thorough in his research, if a little crazy. Though she couldn’t figure out half of what she was reading, she knew enough to know that she’d be able to make the best damn muffins the town had ever seen. She’d win that contest for sure and be a Halifair University legend, get that prestigious internship, and eventually open her own bakery. The plan was perfect. 

The rigged oven was set up to the best of her ability, the mixture on the stove simmered and removed from heat, and Biscuit in the middle of the kitchen floor as usual. There was nothing else for her to procrastinate with. Lauren took a deep, fortifying breath and removed the pot from the stove. She stepped over Biscuit carefully and poured the contents of the pot into the mixing bowl. It bubbled and fizzled instantly and Lauren dropped to the ground, covering her head for the inevitable explosive mess. After several seconds of nothing happening Biscuit decided Lauren needed his attention and began licking her face excitedly.

“Oh gross buddy stop.” She pushed him back but kept him close. “I guess we’re fine? Think it’s safe to check?” Lauren stood slowly peering over the counter at her bowl. Other than a few messy splatters on the counter top, her mix remained intact and thankfully no longer fizzing. In fact, it appeared the two sets of ingredients had mixed themselves together. “Well,” she said, “If anything people are going to love this self mixing recipe.” Lauren laughed at herself and picked up the bowl, rotating it gently. Everything looked fine, but she took a spatula to the lump with a few slow stirs just in case.

Once she was satisfied, Lauren poured the mix into the muffin tin. She set the bowl aside to collect the dregs later. After all the trouble she went through to smuggle the ingredients from the science labs she was not about to let any of it go to waste. Besides, it wasn’t likely she’d be to able restock her supply. Lauren wasn’t even entirely sure what all it was she had taken. Before placing the tin into the oven she quickly gathered up the stolen bottles back into the box and hid it deep in the back of her closet. She’d deal with what to do about the rest later. Right now, she had one final step to complete. It was time to bake her batter in the voltage oven she’d rigged together.

Lauren gently placed the tin into the toaster oven and secured the latches. She checked the calibration one final time, secured her safety goggles over her eyes, and slowly began to turn the dial. Immediately arcs of electricity began sparking inside, like little bolts of lightening. A noxious and sugary smell began wafting from the device, with a faint hint of ozone underneath. Lauren began to grow concerned. If that smell was going to linger in the muffins this was already a bust. No one would even come near her muffins like that. 

The electricity surging inside the small oven grew more constant, but still Lauren stayed put. She’d see her experiment through. There was no sense in stopping it now and luckily she could see the mixture actually rising and beginning to thicken.

“This might actually work!” She smiled triumphantly down at Biscuit, whose head was twisted in confusion as he stared at the oven.

A loud banging startled the both of them, causing Lauren to yelp with an embarrassingly high squeak and Biscuit to start barking manically. The small oven on the counter started to shake and bounce, its little legs clacking on the marble. Lauren began backing away, pulling Biscuit along with her. Her muscles strained against him. All he wanted to do was attack the mechanical villain on the counter. Finally, a small explosion actually did happen, destroying the toaster oven. Shards of glass and metal flew past them, missing Biscuit by several inches, but a few bits cut into Lauren’s arms as she  raised them to protect her face. 

“I can’t say I wasn’t expecting that,” she said, hopes deflating as she pulled shards from her arms. It was a long shot anyhow. Maybe she should just make regular muffins and hope for the best. She knew her muffins were delicious. But so were everyone else’s that entered the contest.

Lauren went back to the smoking remains of her experiment. The oven had split nearly in half, the wires protruding from it singed. She was lucky it didn’t short the electricity for her entire house. As gently as she could she moved debris aside to uncover the muffin tin. The metal was blackened, already Lauren could see that it was clearly ruined. The batter inside was no better. Several had exploded all over the inside of the oven, a few others burnt to the point of rock hardness. 

In the corner of the tin farthest from the front of the machine a single muffin sat perfectly golden, purplish blue berries in the top a vibrant contrast. Lauren stared briefly before slowly removing the tin. Surprisingly, and convenient since she didn’t even think to put on a mitt, the tin was cool to the touch. She placed it on the counter ready to dig it out and check for shrapnel. Just one muffin wouldn’t help Lauren in the contest, but her curiosity was getting the best of her. 

The muffin came out easily, the rest of it looking just as perfect as the top. Lauren turned to show it to Biscuit, but her grin faltered. Biscuit had his heckles raised and teeth bared in a low consistent growl. 

“What the hell boy? It’s just a-“ A sharp pain in her hand made her yelp and drop her muffin. A shard of something must have pierced her. When she investigated the bloody spot on her hand her pulse quickened. That was not a simple cut from a sharp edge. Those were… teeth marks. A tiny half circle of little points ran along the webbing between her thumb and pointer finger, a matching one on the other side. Something bit her!

She looked on the counter where she had dropped the muffin, but nothing was there. The muffin was gone. She looked back at Biscuit, expecting to see crumbs on his snout, but the dog had not moved. She glanced around with a small sense of panic. There was definitely something wrong here. She searched around the toaster oven and surrounding areas of her counter but found no trace of it. It couldn’t have just gotten up and walked away. She needed to find it so she could dispose of it.

Biscuits toenails clacking on the linoleum drew her attention. He was slowly stalking closer to the little breakfast table under the window. There Lauren could see the muffin as she drew closer. She could feel her body start to shake. It DID get up and walk away! The muffin was hissing sharply at Biscuit, the sound emanating from a tiny slit under its fluffy top where Lauren could see a row of sharp little teeth. Under the things mouth were speckles of blood from Lauren’s hand. 

“What the hell is that!?” She screeched and the thing turned in her direction, hissing louder. Its little body bounced, anger and aggression obvious in the sharp ways it moved. Lauren glanced around looking for a weapon or container to trap it in. Could she put it in one of her plastic containers and store it in the fridge? Would it survive? Did it even breathe?! All questions Lauren was desperate to answer, but the little muffin’s movements became more erratic the more she moved. She froze, but before she could decide what to do the muffin sprang up with a piercing screech, aiming its row of tiny sharp teeth at her face. 

Lauren closed her eyes, knowing she was about to get her face mauled by a breakfast pastry, but unable to stop it. But the pain never came. The screech turned garbled and wet sounding. Lauren opened her eyes to see Biscuit tearing into the muffin savagely. Bits of golden muffin top littered her floor and a purple blue liquid seeped from her dog’s mouth, hitting the floor with a strangely sickening plop.

When Biscuit finished he turned to her, tail wagging and the sweet carnage coating his muzzle. This was fine right? The muffin was gone and with the exception of a nasty bite on her hand, the both of them were unharmed. Surely nothing else bad was going to come from this.

[a-film-app]

Ultimate guide for Indian Film industry to succeed

People all over the world hold a particularly special place in their hearts for the Indian film directory. The world loves romance, humor, and drama very much. Among the most viewed forms of entertainment is it. There are numerous of detailed data about the culture, soundtracks, and language delivery in the Indian cinema directory. People are always shocked by it.

Over the past 200 years, there has been a significant advancement in the Indian film industry. Now, viewers worldwide watch three hours of dramatic drama, chitchat, sobs, music, and dances. The filmmaking genre of "Indian films" is increasingly often used, translated, and captioned. 

A movie is a conscious, breathing entity, and much like all living things—from plants to people—it begins as something small before taking on its final shape. Take a deep breath and review this basic diagram of the seven Steps of the Indian film directory. Suppose you're having trouble deciding where to start when producing your movie or what to do next. All you need is to get celebrity phone numbers in India and follow the steps thoroughly.

Let's Look At The 7 Stages

Developing

The project director is in charge of the development phase. During this time, they begin accumulating ideas for the movie and, if necessary, obtaining the required permissions from plays, books, etc., until the screenplay's final draft is finished. An initial synopsis is created during this period to aid the primary producer in funding and selling the concept. Storyboards and other visual aids are frequently designed to go with the script and help the producers in conveying the spirit of the film industry.

Finance

Many producers will connect with potential financiers through networking and setting up meetings, frequently in massive production lines. In order to present the technical aspects to potential investors, many producers also travel to festivals domestically and abroad.

Pre-Production

Well before activities can commence, there is sufficient finance, including choosing the actors and crew, sites for the shoot, building things and props, etc. The producer begins by creating shot lists and works on a general timetable for the entire ceremony before narrowing it down as production picks up.

Main Production

By managing all the many teams simultaneously, the AD shines throughout production while the actual footage is filmed. After perhaps weeks or days of practicing, actors eventually film their sequences as the rest of the production team, including grips, staging, audio, cameras, etc., puts in a lot of effort to make each second segment and every shot seem impressive.

Post Production

Here the editors and special effects teams come into action if the money is large enough. Together with the filmmaker, editors start putting together takes and shots to build a linear movie from hours of material. Teasers can be made at this point for larger projects to begin marketing.

Promotions

In the event of a large production firm, teasers are already available to advertise the movie's release date. In other cases, the most significant ways to promote the film are through social media, festival screenings, including promotional posters.

Distributing

Internal and overseas partnerships with production houses are necessary for cinematic distribution, which pays for the film's physical theater screenings. Producers used to concentrate their time on how the movies would be released on VHS, DVD, or Blu-Ray and negotiate with video rental businesses, but streaming has taken over.

Conclusion

Indian movies are well-known worldwide thanks to their unusual and distinguishing features. India's market share is gradually growing. Considering this, Bollywood only makes up a small fraction of the world's film industry. However, if filmmakers continue to produce content that resonates with people all over the world, it has the potential to expand dramatically. 

[plentyghosts]

Kit: [taps her fingers on the side of the table]

Jacques: [taps his fingers back]

Jacquelyn: what.. are they doing.....

Lemony: morse code. Theyre arguing but giving each other the silent treatment at the same time.

Kit: -.-- --- ..-     -.-. .- -. -     . ...- . -.     .- -.. -- .. -     -.-- --- ..- .-. .     .. -.     .-.. --- ...- .     .-- .. - ....     .-.. .- .-. .-. -.--     ... ---     ... .... ..- -     ..- .--.

Jacques, slamming his hand on the table: YOU SHUT UP!