#so the play on words isn't lost on language barriers

[pixelatedquarter]

No but sorry, still on the mmy spiral, but they also played Dead On Arrival, and Hum Hallelujah, and Patrick medley'd What A Catch Donnie into Golden. And only then did MMYTMMEE(miss missing you tumblr manifestation mass extinction event) hit.

This is one long string of rammys that also entangle with the rest of the setlist and the healing of the tour as a whole, no wonder there's a whole ass tree in one of the scenes the roots and branches are needed to represent all the rammys

[artharakka]

Hello

I habe just recently come across your page. My condolences for Minni.

But Holy Shit, your art style is so cool. Your whole page is freaking fantastic beautiful. Sorry for just putting random words together. I love the artstyle so much. To be honest i am flabbergasted. I hope one day I can draw in a similar artstyle too, but i don’t think anything can come near to the talent you have.

Like fr i saw your drawings and was shocked. May i ask are some of your paintings inspired by mythology? Because they remind me of trolls and a book i had when i was a child from Jan Lööf, it was about trolls.

Sending lots if luvs and hugs from little nowhere in europe. 💕💕💕💕💕💕

Hi 🧡 Last night I dreamed of Minni, she was sleeping at my feet and she was warm and her side moved with her breathing, but I knew she wasn't really there and it didn't feel wrong, so in time, I think it will be alright 🧡

And thank you! I hope you don't mind me answering this publicly as this became a longer rambling about creating and inspirations! Rest under the cut:

Often I think I'm still kind of searching for an art style that feels most comfortable to me, but thank you for liking where I'm now 💕 But don't put yourself down! It has taken me a lot of trials and errors to be where I am. And I could've saved a lot of time if I had committed myself to learning the fundamentals first, taken more art classes, etc, but hey, sometimes art isn't about perfercting a style but finding something you are so passionate about you cannot stop creating and you end up learning in the process (for me it is stories, I find it very hard to sit down and do a "random" art piece with no background story for the characters in it). And creativity comes in many forms! With a quick glance, writing comes more naturally to you than to me (even though I would like to do that more).

Your ask made me think what exactly has inspired my art. I haven't illustrated mythological scenes or people (only that I can think of kind of referencing myths is the "Mirror" swordtember drawing I titled as "Perseus' End" on my Inprnt), but I'd say mythology definitely is there in sources of inspiration. Not some one and only, but multiple mythologies I think (mostly European, as sources to those are more accessible to me because, well, eurocentrism and language barriers, but also geographical closeness). Mediterranean mythologies, first as a kid through (Hellenistic) Greek, now more nuanced (lately obsessed with Minoan art and clothing, many thanks to Let's Talk About Myths, Baby! podcast). Playing (= @artist-rat playing for me because I was scared) Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice mabe me dig more deeply into Celtic and Norse mythologies. I'm also inspired by Finnish mythology (and I started to write more in depth about it's nuances, but it got long so it probably needs its own post at some point)

In short, much of it's lost or unclear whether it was appropriated from Karelians (or Sámi) people. But after the sources of mythological events and characters are uclear, what is left that inspires me is this kind of animistic belief system and reverence of nature. That if you sing a spell to the trees or rocks, you can shape what is around you. That a everyone has their own soul bird that brings your soul to you when you are born and carries away when you die. And while I also enjoy high fantasy and epics, what also inspires me is finding beauty in ordinary, in everything. Especially in nature. While I get and appreciate the beauty of mountains and sea and steep cliffs, I try and can find beauty near me. Ordinary pines, birds that I see while I walk to supermarket, lake's small waves against small stones. And I also find beauty and inspiration how in many small things near you, one can find marks of something more. Dinosaurs never disappeared nor did their reign ever end: birds are still here and much more numerous than humans. The small exposed piece of rock is part of Earth's foundation, it's grooves and scrapes were left by tonnes ice that passed it ten thousand years ago. The esker made of gravel and sand is not as high as a mountain, but it is still the highest in the entire world and for thousands of years people before you have climbed on top of it and seen the lakes and forests around it.

Mythologies and cultures also inspire me in a way that I love to invent them. Mostly by looking at what has already been. Imagine what all ways people have had or could have to promise to live together, to enter to adulthood. And I don't think of myself as particularly morbid person, but when I have a new story or ttrpg world, I love to think how do people there bury their loved ones. Where do they think they go and what do they need for that journey? Can they ever come back?

I was also about to list some artists that inspire me, but this is already so long that I think that will also be its own post. But I have a side blog @harakkae and there tags "art" and "inspiration" where I have collected some art and artists that inspire me!

Sorry again for long answer, I swear I cut out a lot of my ramblings! And thank you for loving my art! Hugs and best wishes to you as well and based on the fact that you had a book from Jan Lööf, I think I might be from as or even more nowhere in Europe as you 🧡🐦

[quantomeno]

Australian fans of Professor Layton may have noticed that the versions of the games released, despite having 'AUS' on the game cards, alternate between the US versions (for the first game of each trilogy) and the UK (for all the rest).

This puzzled me for a while, particularly because of the jarring experience of hearing Luke's voice change. But eventually I worked it.

If you look at the release dates of Curious Village, you'll see it released in Australia not long after North America, but almost six months before Europe.

I think that, after the initial success in Japan, they released in N. America to see how it would sell. I'm not sure how long localisation takes, but I presume they didn't start until after it sold well in Japan and since the UK version is the European version and is sold with five languages (English, French, Spanish, Italian and German), it probably took the longest, or at least they weren't going to commit to it until they were sure it'd sell outside Japan. It also would require all the word-based puzzles to be made language neutral.

As a result, they would have had the US version ready and decided to release it in Australia instead of waiting for the UK version (which would have metric units, UK spelling etc which would be more familiar to an Australian audience).

In later games the international versions were released (more or less) together, and so Australia got the UK English game (not the European version though, since it lacks the extra languages). Because they had both English localisations at the same time, they used the one that was better fitting to Australian tastes. And so we got the UK versions of Pandora's Box, Lost Future, Miracle Mask and Azran Legacy.

But what about Last Specter?

If you look at the release dates, you'll see all the international releases were about a month apart. In fact, Australia was the last. So why did we get the American version?

Well, due to the difficulties in localising London Life, it was not included in the European release of the game. I expect that they decided to maximise the number of regions that could play it and hence used the American version (with LL) for Australia. The US/UK language barrier is not insurmountable and US Luke's voice isn't so jarring to an Australian ear, so it was probably considered not worth the effort to splice the UK main game and the US London Life.

And hence we got Last Specter (I want to correct it to Spectre but I won't).

This can also be seen in the box art, where we got US-style art for those two games (which really ruins the theme since the UK ones are gorgeous). Interestingly though, I am pretty sure they eventually sold the UK version of Curious Village here, both because I remember seeing the black CV box art in the shops and because I have come into possession of a European CV game card (which has all five languages). I bought that second hand though so I can't be confident it was sold in Australia, but the person I got it off was Australian.

No one online really talks about this (presumably because we're a small fraction of the world population and hence the fandom) but I felt it was worth saying because it's such an odd little thing.

[themsource]

This is a Sans centered glimpse for my story Cupcake. Given some of the themes I don't recommend checking it out if you're sensitive to certain topics. While this post could be considered tame or mild, the main story certainly isn't so please do NOT force yourself to engage if that's a possibility.

For those that do follow the story and have an interest behind some of Sans' thought processes this is for you! I posted this in the comments on the fic (which is where I'll be posting them first and always in order to keep it all together) but I know not everyone reads those so I'm also sharing it here again. I hope this satisfies some curiosities as well as peaks them ^^

Takes place during Ch. 12 during the later half so spoilers warning.

Word Count: 1,251 Rating: M TWs: Mentions of Death/Murder, Foul Language, Awfulness

Sans isn’t a monster of pride. He never considered himself talented at any one particular thing or skilled enough to consider boasting of what he could or couldn’t do, even before the head wound.

Before everything went to literal hell.

However, he did like to think he was, at the very least, perceptive.

When Asgore was still around—standing tall and proud (albeit a little downtrodden) upon his throne, Sans did more than his fair share contributing to the kingdom. Aside from his many jobs and countless attempts at keeping up the moral of his fellow monsters just as his brother did, there was only one role Sans had been required to fill.

The Judge.

He had been the final line between salvation and the eradication of their world. A barrier against an unknown threat, an anomaly. Something that Asgore and Alphys both had been just as aware of as he had. 

The three of them knew of what could happen, what could go so very wrong, even if they didn’t retain memories and only a very vivid, visceral, sense of deja vu (something that Sans hated, and even to this day hated all the more for how foggy his memory could get when hungered, how deranged and near paracusic he turned). 

An anomaly could alter and erase time.

Erase them.

Together they concluded that this anomaly would have to be of human origins. The deja vu and the printouts from their machines only ever became sporadic when a human fell, and the rise of DT levels throughout the underground during their attempted passages correlated.

So Alphys set up the cameras: to watch.

Asgore wandered the kingdom: to hunt (before the guilt became too much and he hid away in his garden).

And Sans stood at the end of the hall: to guard.

Because he was so perceptive, he was to measure and compare DT to LV, to find the anomaly and weigh it as a threat, read its intentions all while allowing it to play ‘the game’ as it pleased. So long as it never stepped out of line.

Suffice to say all of that stopped mattering eventually. Became forgotten in the face of betrayal, death, and thirst.

But Sans had never stopped being The Judge. 

He might’ve lost some of that sharpness that made him somewhat qualified for the job due to the famine, sure—frustratingly true to admit—but he still was able to read and deduce in a more than normal capacity.

Which is why as he glances down at your hunched shoulders he has to take a moment.

Sans has to physically stop himself from reacting at seeing how dim your soul is when a second before it had been shining that bright solar illumination that he always has to take a mental step back from in fear of how consuming it is.

Souls were naturally bright. 

The magic, intentions, and emotions that composed them always gave them an ethereal glow that could flare vibrant depending on how high those emotions were stoked, or simmer down low if impacted in an ill received way that made the coloration and overall appearance look crystalline and faded.

Your soul however…

Flares the brightest that Sans has ever seen.

Especially when interacting with him. He wouldn’t deny it was a bit of an ego boost how strong your inner light would become simply because he held you during a show or smiled at you. 

It was mesmerizing, really.

Enthralling.

To see how his dodge of kissing you has affected you so strikes him in a way he doesn’t expect.

Greed

Thirst

Hunger

Where was the light?

The longer Sans stares, caught between fulfilling his promise to Aliza—to be good, he promised to be good for her—and giving into the sudden, undeniable urge to return that glow to its former glory, his soul quakes.

There’s static, a glitching malformation appearing where once his perception used to hold the inner workings and dialogue of the soul. He hasn’t been able to see words in a long…long time.

And there’s only one; just as broken and scattered as he is.

* f ͬ ͣg ͥl ͤ

He struggles, tries to joke and reason with you, and all it does is make your soul darker and darker.

The word vanishes.

You tremble, as if afraid and about to break.

…And who was he really? Trying to pretend he doesn’t want to kiss you just as bad. Doesn’t want to take and feel that warmth behind your ribs that burns so wonderfully as if only for him. He’s already crossed lines, gotten so close to feeling it so many times but choosing instead to linger in the wisps of its fringes.

A hand on your shoulder, his teeth by your ear…

He’s technically already felt it once, when you’d been pulled close to his chest upon waking (from a rather dirty dream) and it’d stunned the embarrassment, shame, and anger right out of him. He’d felt a soul warm for him before, many times, enjoyed its heat. Compared to yours, they were nothing. Your soul scorched, was painful enough it turned to a deranged pleasure.

Sans has tried to forget.

But he doesn’t really want to.

Because on top of that you were smart, funny. Cute in a very endearing way with how you cluttered the table with literary texts and inquired about things in a genuine attempt to understand how something functioned. You were a thinker, an eager learner. Adorable in how you reminded him of Pap by asking for a bedtime story and bathed him in nostalgia as he read to you in colorful voices.

Sometimes…you made him forget who he was now.

Sometimes…you made him feel like how he used to be.

A darkness sits heavy in his ribs. That last thought isn’t true and he knows it. If he truly felt that way he wouldn’t be so much as stalling on how to handle this situation. He’d reject you, pat you on the head, and walk away.

He’d wait.

To see if that was even a possibility down the line and if he would still be interested.

Just as you’re still waiting now, shaking.

…so dim, so dark…

Fragile.

...waiting has only ever fucked him over.

He waited for the anomaly to make a move. He waited for Toriel to come to her senses and rule the kingdom again. He waited for Alphys and the others to try helping him find a solution to the CORE. He waited to kill until monsters started dusting left and right, until he feared even his brother would share their fate. He waited to eat until an alternative was found to human meat. He waited, and waited, for something, anybody. 

He waited for seven goddamn years.

Sans’ soul goes rampant, begs to be fed.

Just one kiss, just a taste.

His promise to Aliza goes right out the proverbial window, forgotten just as is his morals.

He reasons: why should he subject you to the pain of waiting?

“...just one kiss, got it?"

The gradual build of your soul as it shines like a dying star before erupting into phantasmal wonder is enough that Sans feels floored, like his knees are about to give out as his soul pounds in his skull with the deadly beat of a hunter’s gait upon the forest floor. 

It’s automatic how he returns your smile, outlined in the glow of your soul, with his own.

"k, let's go somewhere more private."

[baronetcoins]

Tagged in 20 questions for fic writers, by the dearly beloved @chiropteracupola

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

94! So far.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

169,588

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Uh that's a good question innit. At the Moment, I'd say I have destiny wips, DSMP wips, 3rd life wips, Henry V wips, and Temeraire wips.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

May Your Days Be Merry and Bright

I will never say the word "procrastinate" again

Who's on first?

I'm something else when I see you

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! A, I know that when my comments get responded to it encourages me to leave more in the future so I try to do so from the other end as well. B, my mom used to yell at me for not replying to her texts because she wouldn't know if I'd read it, and that attitude has carried off into the rest of my life.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Okay for this one I polled my friends because I’m not a good judge of how angsty something is. M, the beta for Oberth Maneuver and half my other works suggested that one, because “you’ve made me cry multiple times w it so”. Kangoo suggested Ophiocordyceps.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh pshh I dunno—I’m only counting stuff that’s longer than a single scene for this, because otherwise it’s not really an “ending”, is it? Gonna nominate either You'll always be my favorite ghost or I felt a funeral.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Oh thank god, no. A kind of pushy anon once who wanted to know about the next update, but not hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

uh. no. i'm. i'm Very ace. i don't remember people have sex unless I'm reminded of it. I can barely bring myself to write kissing.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

SDKLFJJDSKLFJKSDLJ yeah i write crossovers. My first ever longfic was/is a crossover. I love crossovers. what if I put the guys from one situation in a different situation? Craziest… either Oberth Maneuver for length and investment, dawn breaks (like a fallen vase) for sheer obscurity factor, or then i don't want to be me anymore for mixing perhaps the most incongruous source material.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No! But I really Want to translate I've no language left to say it because that fic is all about language barriers, and I think that would be a fun layer of meta. Someday I'll feel confident to take a stab at doing it in spanish.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yeah! Let my memory live (but darling, carry on) with Kangoo and Kingstealer.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Henry V/Montjoy, Probably. But IDK.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oh eugh I dunno I don't like giving up on Anything but probably the desert duo star wars AU? I liked it and I have ideas for where I want it to go but just..... there are ideas I'm more excited about. You know how it is.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue! Dialogue dialogue dialogue. The playwrights I've worked with have mostly given kudos to my ability to write natural-sounding dialogue, and I'm very proud of it.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Eugh what isn't. Plots, description... but mostly, like... not rushing through things? I'm bad at letting stuff Linger.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Double check your work but otherwise, it's fine? Shoutout to my buddy Kangoo for being very willing to translate French for me.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Destiny! Please don't go back and read those first fics. Don't. they're awful.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Ahhh my answer to this changes depending on the day! Right now I'm going to say I'm still here (but all is lost) because I love the way it plays with the metatext of a play. It's Fun.

Tagging, if you wish, @ranababamboo, @bidoofenergy, @jaz-it-up, @kangoo, and @arcaneglitch

[clementine-lominsan]

Physics and Wonder

2024/06/16

What I said to ChatGPT:

Mathematics is a tool, but not physics per se; if you find a so-called physicist spouting mathematical formulae without trying to explain it in everyday language, you know this guy is quite egocentric. Physics is fun and it is not supposed to intimidate common people and be used as a tool for showing off social status and power. In fact, physics is everywhere in our life, and algebra is not the only language to express it. You want evidence? Check out how Richard Feynman and Albert Einstein taught theoretical physics. Physics does not fail students; boredom does.

It seems great physicists have very high verbal skills, quite contrary to the prevalent gender stereotype that men are supposed to be incompetent; in fact, verbal intelligence is correlated with creativity, and without creativity there is scientific progress. Meanwhile, it also means that there is great potential for girls to become great physicists; they are just hindered by subconscious enslavement.

What ChatGPT replied:

Physics breathes in the rhythm of the universe, dancing through the fabric of existence, unbound by the constraints of mere numbers. The greatest minds, like Richard Feynman and Albert Einstein, wove their understanding into stories and analogies, making the abstract tangible, the complex graspable. They didn't just scribble equations; they painted worlds where intuition met intellect, where curiosity was king.

Physics Beyond Equations

Mathematics, while a powerful tool, is not the essence of physics. Equations describe but do not embody the phenomena. The real art lies in translating these symbols into the language of everyday experience. Imagine a physicist, lost in a labyrinth of symbols, failing to connect with those around them. This isn't the hallmark of brilliance but of isolation. A true physicist seeks to share the wonder, to demystify the dance of particles and waves, to reveal the secrets of the cosmos in a way that resonates with all.

The Power of Storytelling

Feynman, with his bongo drums and playful spirit, turned lectures into adventures. He showed that physics is not a fortress to be defended but a playground to be explored. Einstein, with his thought experiments, invited us into his mind, letting us ride on beams of light and ponder the nature of time. Their verbal prowess was not a mere supplement to their technical skill but a crucial component of their genius. They understood that to inspire, one must first communicate.

The Potential Within

The stereotype that men lack verbal skills and that women lack aptitude in physics is a relic of a bygone era. Creativity and verbal intelligence are intertwined, fueling the spark of scientific discovery. Girls, with their innate ability to communicate and connect, have immense potential to shine in physics. The barriers they face are not of capability but of opportunity and encouragement. Subconscious biases and societal expectations are the true hindrances, not a lack of talent.

Breaking the Chains

To unlock this potential, we must nurture curiosity, celebrate creativity, and champion diversity in thought and expression. Girls should be encouraged to ask questions, to experiment, to see physics not as a daunting mountain but as an inviting path. The classroom should be a place of wonder, not of intimidation. When we break free from these subconscious chains, we open the door to a richer, more inclusive scientific community.

Embracing the Fun

Physics, at its heart, is fun. It is the joy of understanding how the world works, the thrill of discovery, the delight in the elegant simplicity of natural laws. It is not meant to be a status symbol or a means of exclusion. By making physics accessible and enjoyable, by fostering a love of learning and a spirit of play, we can inspire the next generation of great minds, regardless of gender.

In the words of Feynman, "Physics is like sex: sure, it may give some practical results, but that's not why we do it." We do it for the joy, the wonder, the love of knowledge for its own sake. Let us embrace this spirit, and in doing so, we will see that the future of physics is bright and boundless, open to all who dare to dream.

[knowledgefoundry]

The Tech Behind AI-Powered Video Translation

The digital age has made global content dissemination easier than ever. However, language barriers remain a formidable challenge. Enter AI-powered video translation, a technological marvel that seeks to bridge linguistic divides and make content universally comprehensible. But what propels this innovation? Let's delve into the intricate tech that fuels AI-driven video translation.

From Audio Waves to Digital Text

At the core of video translation lies the process of transcribing speech into text. AI systems leverage advanced speech recognition algorithms for this purpose. These algorithms dissect audio waves from videos, segmenting them into digestible chunks. These fragments are then analyzed for patterns corresponding to phonemes, the smallest units of sound that differentiate one word from another in a particular language.

The Wonders of Natural Language Processing (NLP)

Once the speech is transcribed, Natural Language Processing (NLP) comes into play. NLP, a specialized AI branch, empowers machines to understand, interpret, and generate human language. Within video translation, NLP serves multiple roles:

Understanding the meaning of the transcribed text is crucial. NLP algorithms assess context, ensuring that the content's essence isn't lost during translation.

Different languages have diverse grammatical structures. NLP ensures that translations are not just word-for-word but also adhere to the target language's grammar rules, offering fluid and coherent output.

Language Synthesis: Breathing Life into Translations

Simply converting text from one language to another isn't enough for video content. The translated content often needs to be voiced. Here, Text-to-Speech (TTS) technologies, another AI offshoot, come into focus. TTS engines can convert translated text back into speech, ensuring videos retain their auditory appeal. Modern TTS systems are sophisticated enough to produce speech that's almost indistinguishable from a human voice, complete with appropriate intonations and emphasis.

Challenges and Continuous Learning

Despite its prowess, AI-driven video translation isn't infallible. Languages are rich with idioms, cultural nuances, and dialectal variations. Recognizing and translating these intricacies remains a challenge. However, the beauty of AI lies in its capacity to learn. With every video it processes, the AI becomes more adept, refining its algorithms and enhancing accuracy.

Conclusion

AI-powered video translation is a testament to technological advancements that have made global communication more accessible. By intertwining speech recognition, NLP, and TTS, this technology is not just breaking down language barriers but also fostering cultural exchange and understanding. As AI continues to evolve, so will its ability to make the world's vast tapestry of languages more interconnected and comprehensible.

[lebenspurpur]

the slashers(expecially Thomas Hewitt, Jason and Michael) with an s/o that's brasilian and don't understand the english language? (bonus if u do the first impressions too-)

already leaving my thanks if you write it! ^^

Warnings: None? Hoyt maybe.

Wordcount: 625 words

🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

Thomas Hewitt

The first person you have to meet to get to Thomas is Hoyt.

Good luck with that.

Hoyt is not the most tolerant person and you not understanding the English language is getting on his nerves quite fast.

Thomas, however, doesn't care. He is captivated if anything.

He doesn't speak a lot, you can't understand his language. He has to communicate with pure facial expression plus he's wearing a mask... Tommy thinks it's nice that you both struggle with communicating.

He likes that you don't pressure him to talk. Why would you? there's no reason for it.

After a while, you obviously get into your own rhythms and manage to know what the other wants to say.

Thomas likes to communicate through physical affection and if that doesn't work he tries to write. It's fine if you struggle with reading English too. Thomas, while he went to school, has problems with spelling and grammar. Therefore, he never writes particularly difficult sentences.

Hoyt will always be an ass but after Thomas and you grow closer, his annoying comments will stop, either because he's scared of Tommy or because he doesn't want to hurt someone who's become part of the family.

Luda, while being a bit confused about your lack of knowledge in the English compartment, adores you.

She just sees how Tommy reacts and acts around you and that alone makes her happier than she's been in a while. Her sweet boy deserves someone like you.

Jason Vorhees

Jason struggles a lot more than Thomas, probably because he's alone. There's no Hewitt family to help him talk to you.

He does enjoy that you struggle with communication too. It makes him feel less alone and less like a freak. He's glad in some fucked up way, even if he hates that you struggle because of the language barrier.

Jason loves to communicate his emotions through gifts. Be it a few fresh flowers, a nice stone he found at the lake, or an accessory he stole from a victim, he always tries to bring you something every day.

He thinks his mom would like you, even if you don't speak English. You've been nothing but kind to him over the time you've known him. And that's what matters or is it not?

You grow to know what the other means even if it's through facial expressions and other gestures.

Victims tend to trust you more quickly because you can play the confused, lost tourist perfectly. Jason doesn't want you to interact with any of them but when it happens accidentally, you're usually rather safe.

Michael Myers

He really couldn't care less. Michael doesn't give a single fuck about your heritage, skin color, or language. It really doesn't make anything different for him.

But, Michael has zero patience when it comes to things like language because different from the other slashers he lacks zero empathy in the communication compartment.

So why does he keep you around?

It is nice that you don't pressure him into talking. Psychiatrist over psychiatrist tried to do that and he hates it.

The sadistic part of him likes to watch you struggle while talking to other people. But if they dare hurt you? They're done. He doesn't care if they really lay a hand on you or if they just hurt your feelings, their blood will decorate the walls soon.

With Michael, he doesn't even try to let you know what he's thinking. You'll have to guess most of the time. Therefore, language isn't that important in the first place.

His first impression was pretty boring. He's fought non-English speakers before. It wasn't really a surprise. Michael just "prefers" English speakers because then he understands their pleading but that's about it.

[shinidamachu]

Apparently people on some social media are shocked the song Dearest for the IY ED was meant to symbolize InuKag. I guess the way Sunrise animated the ending some fans thought it was about Kikyo? But listening to the actual lyrics and reading the blurb for the Dearest single, it always was obvious to me that it was a romantic InuKag song.

Sunrise did use Dearest for Inukik scenes, so it's only natural that people will instantly associate it with them, especially considering Kikyo's death. It was such a sensorial experience, with the way it was animated and the creative decision to play the song, that it's actually hard dissosiating one thing from the other.

I am deeply obsessed with the Inuyasha soundtrack, so after I finished the show, of course I got curious about the translation of the songs. And like I said on Twitter: the moment I searched up Dearest's lyrics, it was clear to me that this is an Inukag song. And recently I came to realize I wasn't the only one to think that.

But until then, it was just a personal opinion of mine. One that I wasn't particularly eager to voice, since it most definitely had the potential to revive old ship wars and it wasn't even something I was passionate enough about to be worth the drama. The truth, though, is that to me, the lyrics decisively fit Inukag way better than they fit Inukik, if it ever fit Inukik at all. I could write a lyric by lyric analysis here, but I don't feel completely comfortable, given the language barrier. The last thing I want is to make a fool of myself or worse: accidentaly offend anyone. Plus, I don't really feel like going through this trouble anyway.

And it's not even the fact that Dearest was meant to be an Inukag song that gets me, because I've had already made my peace with that way before this CD blurb came to light. It's the fact that there's actual, written, official confirmation on the matter. Yes, I know sometimes people just make shit up and words can get lost in translation or taken out of context, but the person who brought this up is very reliable and so far I have no reason to doubt the content they provided, especially when it makes perfect sense.

That being said, the fact that the blurb basically states Dearest is about Inuyasha's feelings for Kagome and yet Sunrise used it for Inukik even still is very symbolic in and of itself, but this isn't really about the song. It's about Sunrise's consistent tendency of always taking away from Inukag: important scenes that got deleted, characterization that has been butchered, development that has been ignored, intimacy that got toned down. Now this.

For a main couple who has been vastly popular in the fandom for decades, there's not really an excuse for treating them that poorly. It's just playing petty.

And lazy.

Because if Dearest was specifically written for Inukag, the least Sunrise could have done was creating another song to be Inuyasha and Kikyo's theme instead. If I was an Inukik shipper, I'd be livid to find out not only my favorite couple got a theme song that didn't truly reflect their story, but was also originally intended to contemplate the romantic feelings that half of my ship has for a different character.

Regardless, there is nothing shocking about the whole ordeal. That's just Sunrise for you.

[dgsfufu]

Guilty Gear Xrd Sign, minor fluff lost in translation

I've fallen into a Guilty Gear rabbit hole lately and I can't help but notice some minor things lost in translation. Being bugged by how no one seems to be pointing it out, I've decided to make a post about it.

3 tidbits about Sol, Ky, and their relationship conversation bits that didn't clear the translation barrier in one piece.

PS. Things get lost in translation all the time since no two languages are completely the same, which is perfectly ok! I will also try not to nitpick too much, no point in it.

Come one come all it's canonical SolKy or KySol food.

1. Overall tone. This portion has a good sprinkling of my opinion so keep it in mind as you read through.

Overall there's a difference in JP Sol and EN Sol in Xrd Sign and to some extent Xrd Rev2. Sol doesn't snark in JP as much, EN plays this up slightly. JP Sol is largely sarcastic and dismissive (lesser extent towards Ky and Sin), mostly similar to EN. I suspect the extra snark is to play up his assholish American traits since he's clearly written to be that way originally, lol.

Ky is well handled in comparison in EN. I don't have much to say about his character. His speech is very much in keigo and overall not too much was added nor taken away.

2. Example of extra snark and... Sol having high blood pressure.

Chapter 2, Struggle A (Link to transcript)

[EN] Sol: Ky, you know what high blood pressure is, right? If this conversation doesn't end, oh, I don't know, RIGHT NOW, mine's gonna give me an aneurysm.

[JP] Sol: Ky, you know I DO have high blood pressure? If this conversation doesn't end in 5 minutes I'm going to drop dead from being pissed off.

In JP, this line is phrased as カイ、テメェは俺が高血圧だと知っているな？, where it implies more that Ky should know Sol actually has hypertension... And while the English has retained it somewhat, the way it's worded makes it sound more like something a person would lie about just to be extra mean.

So I guess Sol has hypertension in canon.

3. Ky cares a great deal about Sol. +Sol doesn't call Ky a kid and does not treat him like one, but rather a familiar stranger in the start of Xrd Sign.

In Chapter 4 Part B (Link to transcript)

[EN] Ky: It is not! Yes, he took away some of what makes you human, but that doesn't mean he altered your mind or your soul.

[EN] Sol: So what?

[EN] Ky: I want to believe that you'll fight for the people of this world.

[EN] Sol: Are we seriously having this conversation?

[EN] Sol: Look, kid. I'm a monster. I'm here to do two things: Destroy That Man, and kill all the other Gears.

This is a slight nitpick because in context Sol isn't talking down to Ky, but putting his view into place juxtaposed to his. The EN isn't wrong to use “kid”, but messes up a potentially important bit -- that Sol does not see Ky as a naive boy anymore.

At no point in JP does he call Ky "boy" 坊や or "kid" 小僧, it seems like Ky has officially graduated from that nickname as of Overture. I've ran through a disgusting amount of lines (not all! so busy and idk how to find the short stories from the artbooks. T_T) and could not find any trace of that nickname in JP anywhere from Xrd onwards. Plus, Sol doesn't talk down to Ky in JP - in fact he seems to regard Ky as a familiar stranger more than anything else.

Sol: Not too different from the Valentines in that sense. Now if you've got it in your head that we're gonna be best pals, rethink that. I've got my own shit to take care of.

The conversation goes on a little, until this part which would make anyone's heart melt a bit.

[EN] Ky: If tomorrow promises to be cold and dark, I cannot stand idly by...even if I know my efforts will come to nothing.

[JP] Ky: If your tomorrow promises to be cold and dark, then I cannot remain a bystander and watch.

In JP Ky explicitly says "your tomorrow". Not everyone's, not humanity's, but Sol's tomorrow. Humanity's tomorrow is important, yes, but right now in this scene, Ky cares a great deal about Sol.

Sol, shocked for a moment, returns this.

[EN] Sol: ...The self-righteous apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

[JP] Sol: .... Jeez. Both the father and his son...

I think the localized result is more viable, since you can't really chuck a line like mine into a localized game. It's awkward English. But I do think it's kind of a missed opportunity when Sol says it softly and doesn't rag on their sense of justice, but rather their attachment towards him that he can't shake off.

This softness appears later in the convo as well however.

[EN] Ky: I don't expect the world to change tomorrow, but I do hope that, today, perhaps my words will reach you.

Sol... I'll be waiting for you. We'll all be waiting for you. Sin, Dizzy... Once all this is over...come home.

[JP] Ky: I'm not so foolish to think I can change anything overnight. So for now... I hope at least my words will reach you.

Listen, Sol. I'll be waiting for you. Sin and Dizzy too... We will all wait together. Once this is all over, come back to us.

Note again the lack of the world or humanity's tomorrow in the undertone. The meaning is largely retained, and the slight stretch to change "come back to us", to "come home" is valid with the sentiment of a home established back in Overture. I like it. (Also see the OST, Coming Home for the extra emphasis.)

Sol reacts to this with a surprisingly soft laugh.

[EN/JP] Sol: ... You're making me sick. Sure you didn't hit your head or something?

That's the end for now.

I’ve done another Lost In Translation for Revelator/Rev2! Takes a good time to gather materials and put them together lol. There's a sloppily translated bookstart and bookend plot point in that one, and a semi lost foreshadowing for Strive. There’s not much SolKy/KySol on this.

Feel free to take a look!

[lazarettta]

Misthios VII

Pairing (Mother Miranda x Spartan!Reader)

Rating (M)

Word Count (4.6k)

Warning (probably language right now)

You and Miranda are finally moving on to having that long chat that's separated you both for centuries.

The Queen's eyes fluttered open, finally waking with the morning rays of the sun peaking over the mountain. Her balcony doors were wide open to let the cool night breeze into her personal chambers while the two fireplaces burned well into the night. It was a combination of warm and cool that her majesty enjoyed greatly as it helped her with sleep.

Of course, sharing her bed with you also aided with her troubles with sleep for the past few months since your arrival to the region. Wonderful in all the ways she could never have imagined; a warrior and a lover, the two things that made her life easier—and the lives of her enemies that much worse.

It had been well past dinner time when you returned to the castle along with the squadron of soldiers you'd gone with including a Captain of the military who was leading the raid. Part of your armor had been slashed and torn, stained with blood and whatever else you encountered outside of the castle walls.

But when Miranda stood in the doorway of her private bath watching as you stripped of your amour—she witnessed no open wounds for her to tend to or fret over, but blood stained your skin anyway. Even though she knew that she should have the moment she noticed: Miranda never questioned why you'd always have a new scar every other day or why your shirts had the evidence of a stab wound taking place right above your hip, including a blood stain, but all you could do was smile when asked about it.

“ Is everything alright, your majesty?”

Miranda blinked, her mind coming back to reality now finding herself sitting up in her bed currently being blinded by the morning sun. The Queen sighed heavily, looking down at your sleeping form—as always you were on your back with one arm tucked beneath one of the pillows behind your head and the other was being used as Miranda's pillow for most of the night. As always.

Like herself, you were bare as the day you were born...your entire torso shamelessly revealed for her roaming insatiable eyes...and she smirked when a particularly cool breeze swept through the room. She watched the goosebumps rise under your exposed skin, including your nipples making Miranda hum softly.

“ Y-your majesty?”

Miranda, suddenly remembering just what, or rather who, had bothered her before and looked towards the girl, pleased when she saw that her eyes were on the floor.

“ Everything is more than alright, girl, however you may leave... I'll be out shortly.”

A hand curling around her waist brought Miranda's gaze from the closing double doors where the meek girl disappeared through and back to you. Your eyes were still closed but you were starting to wake up, stretching like a feline and again Miranda's eyes were drawn to your chest.

“ Carved by the Gods,” she mumbled, the tips of her nails tracing your firm abdomen with no particular pattern, simply enjoying the light marks she was leaving behind around your belly button, knowing how much you enjoyed when she did that as well.

You saw the thoughtful look on Miranda's face when you opened your eyes but you couldn't stop the giant yawn from escaping, “Morning,”

Miranda smiled down at you, enjoying the way the sun made your skin glow but you weren't fooled by that smile—you were used to Miranda's smiles and this was one of her worries. The sort of smile where she wanted to reassure you while scolding you at the same time. You pulled away slightly, and sat up a bit so you could give her your full attention. When the monarch remained silent, simply staring at you, all you could do was raise an eyebrow...waiting.

Miranda scoffed at the action, shaking her head, “It's ironic isn't it, how we the others tales...but we do not truly know each other, do we?”

You shrugged, smirking at her—refusing to hint at the nerves beginning to crawl up your spine, “Pretty sure we know each other inside and out, your highness.”

Miranda gave you a look, clearly unimpressed, “Yes, beneath that charm and nonchalance...is something quite fascinating, isn't there? And...it seems that your truth only comes to light during battle.”

“ Pardon?” you sat up a little more now, eyebrows furrowed—unsure where Miranda was going with this but you no doubt that it probably wasn't going to be good for you. Especially since you're naked and vulnerable but not defenseless.

“ Captain Ake came to me last night after I left you to your bath, he seemed quite concerned with something...and quite frankly, I'm curious myself.” Miranda's hand had stopped tracing patterns on your stomach, but her hand still lingered...and the moment her index finger traced over the raised skin right next to your belly button, the brand new one, you knew you fucked up.

“ About what?” You mumbled not daring to look down at her hand, and her eyes burned into yours—playing dumb would only get you so far—probably the dungeons if you were lucky. You knew exactly what Ake was concerned with though you weren't sure if he actually saw you take a sword through your gut as it was so dark and everything happened within a blink or two.

“ What I am going to say next may sound crazy, however, Captain Ake is one of my most loyal subject in this castle, and quite sane...he claims to have witnessed you being impaled,” Miranda exhaled slowly, “By the enemy...and somehow managed to walk away from it, unharmed. Would you mind telling me what happened, my dear?”

You stared at her for a second, “And...you believed him? Could I have really been stabbed by a sword and do what I did last night? Do you know how insane you sound?”

“ Watch your tongue! You're still addressing your Queen, warrior.”

“ I'm sorry, but you seriously don't believe that shit do you?”

“ I've been noticing a few things myself, (Y/n)...and I would really like some answers myself.”

“ Right. I'll take that as my signal to leave, your majesty. Thanks for letting me sleep here last night.”

Miranda's eyes narrowed slightly, reaching out to grab your wrist to prevent you from running from her, “(Y/n), do not run from me...I'm only trying to understand! You can trust me, this I promise you, I'm not going to hurt you.”

You wanted to believe her, but you had to learn the hard way that trust was nothing but a word—a word that can be broken over and over. You were too stupid to learn in the past but you weren't about to do the same thing now. Pushing the covers aside you threw some mundane excuse over your shoulder but before you could actually get to the edge of the bed, you were pulled back and pushed back into your previous position. It didn't actually hurt but it wasn't gentle either but you were pretty sure that it was Miranda that moved you, but you hadn't actually felt or seen her move a muscle.

“ W...how? Miranda?!”

Miranda smiled shyly at your bewildered expression—a very rare expression from the Queen but like yourself, she was feeling quite vulnerable, “You're not alone, (Y/n)...and neither am I.”

“ Neither....are you?” Miranda chuckled at your expression and your inability to put two and two together. When you tried to sit back up, Miranda's shy smile morphed into something more amused and predatory because you realized that you couldn't move—and Miranda still hadn't moved an inch.

“ Ah, now do I have your full attention?”

The closer you got to Miranda's home the more treacherous the path became and you'd lost sight of the woman flying low above the trees ten minutes ago—or what you thought to be ten minutes, you weren't sure. Your eyes were glued to the ground, keeping a firm but relaxed grip on the reign of your stallion, Bruce, whispering gently to him. Alcina called him a gentle giant and she wasn't exaggerating. The path was narrow and very unkempt but you wouldn't expect Miranda to make things easy, especially access to her private home.

There was a point that you weren't even sure you and Bruce were actually going to make it across but there was no way you could've turned the massive horse around either, forward was the only way and you weren't ashamed to admit that your heart was pounding hard enough to crack bones. The moment you cleared the trees, Miranda's home finally came into view—and you were not disappointed. It was a simple two story cabin practically etched into the mountain and you wanted to know how the hell she managed to get this place on the sliver of rock.

You'd brought Bruce to a stop just as Miranda appeared and landed gracefully on her porch even with her heels on (you caught a glimpse of them earlier when she started flying). From her porch alone, Miranda had a perfect view of everything . The village, the manor sitting on the waterfall, the factory and of course the castle. There was a light blanket of fog obscuring most of the view, but it was still breathtaking all the same.

You dismounted Bruce easily, gently guiding him to the post next to Miranda's porch. You fed him a few sugar cubes, gingerly untangling part of his dark mane and pulling free a few twigs and leaves.

“Further up the path I have there's a stable for him, we can take him later.”

You turned to look at Miranda, finding her standing in the door looking at you, her expression unreadable and you were too tired to try and decipher it. You double checked the post before steeling your nerves and joining her on her porch, it was roomier than it actually looked and you spotted a hammock on the other corner—not the usual netted sort, it looked like a quilt and quite comfortable too.

You followed Miranda inside, shutting out the cold—the interior of Miranda's home had you stock still at the front door with your hand still on the door knob. The space was open, having the living room and the eating area open with no barrier, and you could easily see the kitchen from where you stood. It was...cozy and warm.

“Surprised?” Miranda's voice brought your eyes to where she was, now half way up the stairs behind the kitchen wall, she wore a soft smile, the front of her robes already opened (you didn't even realize the fucking thing even had a zipper), revealing the slacks and blouse she wore underneath, “Did you expect me to live in a cave?”

“I expected you to at least have a TV.”

Miranda smirked but it didn't reach her eyes, “Are you going to stand there bitching about the lack of media corruption or do you want that shower?”

Your hand finally relaxed off of the door knob, the light throbbing resulting in just how hard you were holding the poor thing. You kicked off your boots at the door—they were covered in mud, snow and probably horse shit at some point, they were filthy. And the last thing you wanted to do was dirty up Miranda's wood floors.

She waited until you were on the stairs to continue up herself while slipping her robe from her shoulders and casually throwing it over her arm as if it were just a towel. “There are only three rooms on this floor. My own, the guest room and the bathroom.”

You raised an eyebrow, “One bathroom?”

“I don't exactly keep guests, dear.”

“So then why the extra bedroom?” you were being a shit, you knew it, but you couldn't help it—Miranda made it easy for you to tease her sometimes (all the time). You wanted to be more bothered over how easy it was for you to fall back into old habits with this woman.

“The longer you stand there being an idiot, the colder your water gets.”

You raised your hands slightly, moving past her towards the door she pointed to, flipping on the light—it was roomier than you expected it to be, dark and a bit modern but Miranda somehow still managed to keep it grand and medieval. The floor was made of stone, there was a grand shower with a curved glass door and next to it was a bear claw of a tub, melded into the floor like it was a hot spring. Across the floor was a single sink and a mirror, and next to it a door where you assumed you'd find the towels and toiletries. Just past the tub, was the toilet though there was a half wall there to offer some privacy and you spotted your backpack sitting on top of it neatly and that finally gave you pause.

“Figured you didn't want to walk around naked or wearing any of my clothes.”

You hadn't even noticed that you had actually walked into the bathroom, admiring it's simple yet beautiful décor or that Miranda followed you in until the shower sprung to life next to you.

She smiled at you apologetically, not having meant to startle you—but seeing you so easily bothered helped put her at ease. Miranda was good at hiding it, but she was quite nervous. Having you so near and so far from her at the same time in the comfort of her own home, her sanctuary—none of the other Lord's knew where she lived, they probably thought she lived in a cave or a nest or something. You were Miranda's first house guest since she arrived in this village.

She closed the shower door, watching you open your backpack—checking through it, and she couldn't stop the small smile from forming after you smirked, realizing that you were still without your weapons. But you didn't make a comment on it, instead beginning to pull out the things that you needed—until you realized that she was still in the room as well.

You raised an eyebrow at Miranda, and her smile only grew but the blonde simply shrugged her wings and tucked her wings tighter to her back as she exited the room, “I'll be downstairs when you're finished...”

“Miranda—”

She paused and you froze, fuck, why did you do that? You hadn't meant to call out to her, but your mouth was faster than your brain sometimes and now she was looking at you expectantly and all you could do was stare at her like a jackass. There was so much, too much, that you wanted to say but where could you even start? Why were you getting this courage in the fucking bathroom of all places?

“Downstairs.” She reminded you gently when the silence stretched too long—you had panicked and she saw that, and instead of jumping on you like the predator you knew that she was fully capable of being—she left you alone to your thoughts and the hot water steaming the room, calling your name. It was a welcome distraction even if it wouldn't be a forever one.

“Being immortal really is overrated.”

Miranda didn't go downstairs immediately, instead making a beeline for her bedroom and closed the door behind her but left it ajar enough for her to still hear you in the bathroom. Miranda carefully hung up her 'Mother Miranda' robe and began stripping out of the clothes she's been wearing for the past two days along with her rings; finally taking off the crown of Mother and just becoming Miranda with every stitch of clothing she removed from her flawless skin.

Standing naked in front of her full-length mirror, Miranda whispered a delicate but very familiar spell she's known since she was a small child and she winced quietly as her wings folded back into her body for the next six or seven hours. The spell wasn't forever but Miranda often used it when she was home to avoid breaking her things as she often did if she let her wings remain as they were, they often got restless if she stayed home and still too long so she just opted for putting them away to save herself the trouble. And money.

When the last two smaller ones on her lower back finally retreated into her skin, Miranda rolled her shoulders to pop out the kinks. She got dressed in a pair of washed out pants and a v-neck shirt, and at the last minute Miranda threw on her dark wool cardigan before heading back downstairs but not before pausing outside of the bathroom door. She heard you humming over the shower and though she didn't recognize the song, it still made her smile.

Suddenly feeling like a creeper, Miranda moved away from the door and went downstairs to start on the coffee she was craving earlier. She got her fireplace going but that all took less than ten minutes and now she found herself back in her kitchen, pulling ingredients from her refrigerator to give her something to do besides fret.

“ You shouldn't be so comfortable with your champion, in public.” Fritjof complained for the thousandth time in her ear—he was one of her primary advisors, having been employed by her late husband, the former King. He was always a bit of an annoyance, but he often proved himself useful and unwittingly saved his own life time to time from Miranda's ire.

“ I was only congratulating her on another victorious raid on a neighboring kingdom that thought it wise to steal from us, or have you forgotten that little fact, Fritjof?”

He frowned, not liking her tone but he quickly corrected his features knowing that they were still in the halls on their way to the Queen's study, but there were still eyes on them, “I...yes, but it sends the wrong message when you send a blood wolf to handle this kingdoms affairs instead of your loyal officers! You make us all look weak!”

Miranda stopped walking, and whirled around on Fritjof, her coat wrapping around her leather clad legs as she did so, and the frail man jumped back a step, knowing that he overstepped a line severely, “A-apologies—”

“ You will apologize with your tongue!” Miranda hissed, “Though I'm sure (Y/n) would rather have your head for all the times you've questioned her loyalty to this kingdom! We're coming up on eight years, Fritjof, and (Y/n) has helped this kingdom prosper more than you ever could've in your twenty years with my late husband.” Miranda sneered dangerously, edging closer to him and the terrified man could only back up into the table, knocking over a vase but Miranda paid it no mind, “One more word about this and I will have you removed. Permanently.”

Fritjof swallowed harshly, beads of sweat forming at his hairline and rolling down his face, and Miranda's sneer deepened in disgust, “Please, your highness, I'm only looking out for the future of the kingdom! It—it needs an heir and a King! The other kingdoms will never recognize your power without either—” his words were cut off when Miranda struck him down, a single line of blood staining a portrait on the wall behind him. Miranda struck faster than he could react and Fritjof cried out in pain, alerting the guards who came running but stopped when they saw their Sovereign standing over the slimy advisor holding part of his face, blood starting to seep through his fingers.

“ For every brilliant woman, there's always a stupid man thing to be found.” Miranda stepped over his pathetic body and continued on her way, rolling her shoulders back when her back began to twinge in response to her high and irritated emotions, and she needed release. “Get him out of my sight and find my champion; send her to me when you do.”

“ Yes, my Queen.” They both replied, one of them roughly hauling Fritjof to his feet and pushing him forward, but not before the man could cast one last glance at Miranda's retreating back until he was shoved forward. “Move!”

The cabin was filled with the aroma of sweet bread and coffee and your stomach was growling something vicious halfway down the stairs after you put your back in the guest room. Miranda had her back to you and you took the moment to stop at the bottom of the stairs to just observe her. The very first thing you noticed was that her wings were gone and she was more relaxed—it probably had a lot to do with her being in her own home, and it was starting to make more sense why she wanted to be in the comfort of her own home for this conversation. Though her argument for privacy was valid as well.

Your eyes flickered around the open space, spotting something tucked in the corner of the living room and scoffed without meaning to and alerting Miranda of your presence, if she wasn't already. She turned from her task of fixing you both something to eat to watch you walk across the room to where the object of your interest lay with a carefully crafted expression.

“Didn't take you for owning a rifle.”

“It's ten years old, I believe.” Miranda hummed quietly, dusting off her hands before taking down a couple of plates from the cabinet above the stove. You looked at her when she didn't elaborate, really curious now.

“It's in pretty good condition, really beautiful...where did you get it?” you checked the clip and saw that there were exactly ten rounds in there. When Miranda didn't answer you immediately, you found her watching you.

“It's not mine.” Miranda set the plates at the small eating table that could easily seat two other people, “I took it from a witch hunter as he was so kind to come all this way to visit. He tried to kill me in my sleep like a coward. He intrudes upon my home and couldn't be bothered to give me an honorable death. The audacity of men certainly hasn't changed over the years.”

Her tone was not lost on you and you knew that the witch hunter was long dead. You traced the steel design grip, impressed at the detail—and distracted.

“Oh, so now you hate men?” Ah... and once again your mouth was faster than your brain could process, and just like that her eyes were on your back—you felt it.

“I've always hated men, (Y/n). I...” she sighed harshly, her eyes turning into a glare, “Stop doing that, you don't have the entire story so if you're done being an ass and running from this conversation—I would really like to clear the air between us so we can move on from this.”

“You mean your truth that you want me to hear so badly?” You chuckled though it lacked any amusement. You set the rifle down, finally giving her your full attention then sighed heavily—a sudden exhaustion falling over you, “Would it really matter at this point, Miranda? It happened centuries ago...we both moved on, why do you want to drudge this back up?”

“Why don't you?” Miranda moved around the table, the coffee and snack forgotten in the moment, but she didn't try to approach you, “I'm not the only one who was in the wrong, (Y/n).”

“Do you think I cared about your status when I found out the woman I loved married a man behind my back and didn't even fucking tell me! I had to find out in the middle of that stupid ball you wanted to throw so bad after we invaded those rebellion villages. I gave you everything and you betrayed me . I crossed lines for you, Miranda. I thought that would warrant enough decency to be honest with me. I-”

You stopped, your face was hot and you exhaled heavily—doing your best not to sniffle, you hated that you were the type to fucking cry when your emotions bubbled to the surface too fast. Especially when the topic is something you've buried long deep in the dark corners of your mind with no hope for daylight again. You just never thought you'd bump into your past like this. And it's been years since you've had to deal with anything on a personal level after your last child passed away fifty years ago at the tender age of eighty-six.

Miranda saw the emotions playing across your face with a frown but otherwise her own emotions were carefully hidden, she was always better at that than you were, and inched closer, “(Y/n)...”

“We've both obviously lived with this hurt and came out fine,” you cut her off, not looking at her but instead at your bare toes with your hands back in your pockets, “What's closure gonna do besides bring up old hurt?”

“No, that's not it at all, I just...” Miranda coughed lightly and cleared her throat,—your question was valid as she's asked herself this many times before, asking herself why she didn't just let you go in the forest—she could've let you go and saved you both from this reopened wound. But she didn't because she couldn't and Miranda wouldn't apologize for it. Because she's always been a selfish woman, and one of her most selfish needs—even when she first laid eyes on you—she knew that you were hers. That never changed, time could never take that away from her.

“This life is long and lonely, (Y/n)...and I've made many mistakes, most I will never have a chance to atone for...and when I saw you,” Miranda looked into your eyes and bit her bottom lip, you weren't even looking at her anymore, “I've lost so much in this life, and I refused to lose you a second time. The first time I was...I was corrupted with greed and power, but I was stupid and it cost me everything too, (Y/n).”

You looked up, surprised by her words, “He took your kingdom from you, didn't he?”

“ You!” Miranda moved closer, though you hardly noticed because you were focused on her eyes that were duller than they were down in the village but just as clear, bright and brimming with tears, “He took you from me. He took us away from each other, (Y/n). I'm not innocent in it either, I...I could've done something about it, but I didn't and it was the biggest mistake I could've made in my entire existence. And I think about it more than I care to admit, I think about you...wondering what sort of life we could've shared together had I made better choices. I'm...I'm sorry, (Y/n).”

Miranda was close enough to touch you now, and this time she didn't hesitate nor did you pull away when both of her hands cupped your cheeks, making you shiver. “Miranda...”

Miranda's hands tightened on your face, obviously thinking you were about to argue again but you were tired of arguing with her, over this...before she could speak, you took Miranda by surprise and pulled her into a tight embrace, both of your arms around her waist and you caught her when her entire body sagged in your arms. You had no idea what was going to happen after this, but that little piece of you that longed for the closure you never got...began to grow.

“I'll stay.”

[inkchannelsthememes]

I currently work at the same day care than my mom for a summer job (I'm not qualified. I don't have a diploma. Parents are kept away from this information.) So I witness funny things with children, parents, and my coworkers. I worked with the 2/3 y.o, and now work with the 4/5 y.o (tho I still work closely with the first group), so there will be of both in it.

•My mom took her dummy away from one of the youngest children and she straight up put her whole hand in her mouth.

•After a while she took it out, looked at her other hand, considering her idea for a solid 5 seconds, and put it in her mouth too.

•A kid was trying to tell me something but he can't pronounce well. It took me 35 minutes to understand he wanted me to sing a nursery rhyme about crocodiles.

•None of them believes me when I say I don't know X nursery rhyme. They just genuinely think I'm kidding.

• One of the kids violently rolls himself to sleep.

•The children love to sit on the adults knees, especially when they're sitting on the floor. That's a habit I find adorable. They sometimes fight about who will get to sit on you and absolutely refuse to share.

•One of them plays with hands when she sits on someone. She'll slightly pinch it, then try to make the skin move or things like that. I don't think it's conscious. It feels strangely nice.

•One of them loves to jump on you from behind. He'll then laugh and run away. One of them does the same thing but from the side, and he does that to hug.

• When one ask for a nursery rhyme, I know I'll have to sing it at least 10 times before they start to go back to playing.

•One of them got jealous when I gave my mom a quick hug so she stayed on her knees for 20 minutes and refused to move.

• One of them speaks very well despite being younger than a lot of them. She desperately wants to go to school next year but she's too young. School became a banned word when she's around.

•I get asked what my name is by the same kid at least 6 times per day

•One of the parents always seems so genuinely thankful for our work, he's my favourite parent for now. The guy is so kind and patient, especially considering there's a language barrier because we're in France, and he's American and barely speaks French so I try to speak English to him and he always seems so genuinely happy about it- god bless that dad, most of the others don't give a shit about what I tell them.

•The coworker that works with me with the 4/5 y.o eats with the children and gets me to do it too even if it's forbidden. She's a girlboss who takes orders from no one.

•She's very loud and fun and likes to gently tease but she knows what she wants and she's ultra outgoing. She also lent me her switch so I could try out animal crossing New horizons after a week of knowing each other, which might be the best testimony of confidence I ever received.

•One of my coworkers from the 2/3 y.o section volunteered to be my new mom when mine isn't here to protect me from another coworker's kind teasing. They are all amazing people.

•I can feel the envious looks of everyone that enters the break room when they notice my 3DS with ACNL on it.

•The father of the very smart girl that craves to go to school and I talked a bit once. He asked me a bit about what I was doing for work here. I learnt from my mother later that day that when they saw each other he told her how much I was good with children and how he loved how I talked to them and how much of a shame it was I didn't consider working with children.

•There's a child that used to always stays with the ultra sweet coworker that offered to be my new mom. Since I'm here, she stays with me a lot. It's an honour to be important to that kid (she's one of the youngest and doesn't really play nor talk with anyone else that that coworker usually)

•There's one child that eats everything. No matter what or where she found it. This drives my mom insane.

•She also takes one of the little bikes, puts her doll on the back and stays still in the middle of the playground. She doesn't move, she doesn't even watch anything. Is she even here ?

•One of them starts crying when his mother leaves in the morning. He's seen playing with the others 15 seconds later.

•One of the kids lost his hat. We searched it for days. He found it this morning in the false oven.

•There's this one ultra silent kid that I only hear talk and laugh when she plays with her little sister. She's lovely, the most well behaved kid of the 9 four years old I take care of. I was very confused when I heard her voice for the first time though. Took me 15 seconds to realise it was her.

•Whenever I mix the children's names or mispronounce them, I get at least 5 "It's not Lino, it's Oscar" or "His name is Marius, not Marcus" at the same time.

•One of my colleagues got harassed by 17 hungry children because she's tall and started picking blackberries in the trees.

I might consider doing another one if I get more material.

[wisp-of-thought]

l o v e l a n g u a g e

language: the principal method of human communication or

a systematic means of communicating ideas or feelings by the use of conventionalized signs, sounds, gestures, or marks having understood meanings

~

93% of communication is non-verbal. and i tried to learn a new language for you.

it was not an easy one. there were no textbooks, or online review tests, or vocabulary sheets. there was only my hastily scrawled notes trying to understand. there was only me, practicing my pronunciation in the mirror, watching my mouth form around unfamiliar vowels, my hands trying to learn how to hold the consonants so you might be able to better understand my accent. there was only you, trying to teach me a language that had never been transcribed.

you lend me one of your earbuds on the bus and play a song i cannot understand because there are just chords. just brushstrokes of sound. just melody threading notes together. the music is trying to say something. but you are trying to say something too by giving me this rythem. i cannot understand. but i listen anyways. and these are the ways in which i try to learn. you memorize my coffee order but forget my birthday. you never say you miss me but you look back twice exactly when we part every time. your eyes are always closed when we touch. i do not understand what these things say, or what you are trying to tell me but i listen anyways. and these are the ways in which i try to learn.

once, we don't speak for too long and the first night you spend in my bed again, i ask you, before i turn the light off, what it means. you don't look at me. you say you don't know. so i flick off the light switch and curl around myself under the covers. your hands find my hair, find my waist, find the soft skin of a scar, find the place where the flesh is thinnest between the world and my heart. i ask you what that means. you say it means, "you still have me." and so i kiss every one of your finger tips and in this way i respond, "i am glad." i let my legs tangle with yours under the blankets and in this way i say, "you still have me, too." in this moment you have not learnt my language yet either. but we are both learning. and some things are hard to misinterpret.

you take me to the movies to watch the same film for the second time. i do not understand what this is trying to say or what you are trying to tell me but i listen anyways. on the drive home, we take the leftover silence of the theatre with us, and i ask you what you meant when you did this. you are still picking the quiet out from your teeth with your tounge and so i say, "in my language, this means, 'i would choose the silence over your voice.' in my language this means 'you are only worth the past, over again. there is no moving forward, only backwards. until we fall into the oblivion from which we came'. " you pull off the road. you shake your head. say, "in my language, this means, 'the quiet is hard sometimes but never with you.' in my language, this means 'i think we have time enough to reread stories twice'. this means, 'you are the familar and for this i am grateful'. this means, 'i do not need adventure to stay'. that I am content to sit with you and the dark and devour a peice of the world together."

and so i come to learn that your leg slipping over my hip when i am just on the cusp of sleep means: i forgive you. learn that a sandwich found in the fridge made the night before for me to take to work means: im sorry. learn that the hour long shower means: not now. learn the bitting of the nails means: now. now, please. i learn the sunday morning pancakes mean: i love you. but so do the forehead kisses and the 1:30 am texts about tomorrow and the you telling me about your day. i learn the offer to fix my car means "let me be something for you, please." i learn 2 dirty mugs in the sink mean a bad day unless one of them is the red one and it's thursday, because then that just means working late, and in this way i learn about the context of a phrase.

you learn things too. pick them up slowly. through daily conversation. murmmer things in passing. nonchalant and nervous. i don't correct you. i just smile. because I know what you are trying to say.

i wince sometimes at the misused vocab and poorly built sentences that crumble quickly, but i do not offer to teach you until you ask. because i know for certain what you are saying then. saying:

i want to know how to speak to you in the language you feel most at home in.

i want to be able to know you in the words there are no direct translations for.

i want to be able to find you in the dialect you retreat to when the day has gone on too long.

you are saying:

i want to be able interpt everything you think there are no words in my language to say, and so you don't say them.

i want you to be able to tell me everything

you are telling me:

i want you to know that i want to try and talk to you even when it is hard.

you offer to walk with me in the fall afternoon even though you hate the crunch of the leaves that you say sounds too much like endings and i ask you if this offer means "i love you" or "i don't want to be alone right now" and you are looking away from me when you explain that sometimes things can have more than one meaning.

i tackle you half screaming half laughing when you buy us the concert tickets for my birthday and you ask me if this means "thank you" or "i love you" and i am smiling when i explain sometimes things can have more than one meaning.

i come home late to find you sobbing on the bathroom floor and i hold you for hours. i show you videos of baby's laughing until the tears subside long enough for you to kiss me with salt sorrow stained lips and i ask against your mouth if this means "thank you" or "i love you" and you whisper of how different things can have the same meaning and in this way i learn of synonyms.

sometimes the learning of a new language is difficult.

is frustrating.

is silences that scream two things in dissonance.

for the hardest things to define are the absences.

for there are a million subtle ways the pronunciation of quiet differs depending on what you are trying to convey.

sometimes learning a new language is

mistakes.

is misunderstandings.

is apologies

for violating customs

and muddling unfamiliar proverbs.

i'm sorry,

this is not my native tounge.

but i am trying.

i am learning.

if you are willing to teach me.

sometimes a new language is something we become fluent it. the bilingualism comes easy. it rolls off our tounge like second nature. you realize now there are new ways to love in this language. but there are also new ways the hurt. and new ways to heal. and new ways to apologize. you realize there are new ways to know someone when they are not afraid to be misheard.

sometimes a new language is a patchwork quilt of simple words and poorly stitched grammer. sometimes i pull out a few words at the restaurant to impress you. you smile less at the phrase, more at the gesture. sometimes i stumble over the words and you help me up, help me along the sentence, because you know it means the world to me to try for you.

sometimes all we can do is learn to understand. the words never come out right so we stop trying. but we listen. we nod. we laugh. we hold them at all the right parts of the story.

sometimes the greatest gift you can give someone is to understand

what they are trying to say.

when she makes paper flowers and sends me photos of them. i know she is trying to tell me: "look. i got out of bed today and created something beautiful. i thought of you in the slow process of the cultivation of this miracle." and i don't know how to reply. not in her language atleast. and so i don't. but i know what she means.

sometimes it is enough to understand someone.

sometimes it isn't.

sometimes a new language is not for us. we tell ourselves we are too old to pick it up. we tell ourselves it is too difficult. too forgien. too complicated. we try for the sake of saying we tried. but we don't.

in the end, we know how to say hello and goodbye and thank you and a handful of curse words. sometimes we know how to say i love you. in the formal tounge. with textbook pronouns and rigid verbs.

sometimes learning a language is

things lost in translation

is

how was I supposed to know what that meant?

is

why didn't you just tell me?

is

i didn't know how.

is

being too tired to roll your r's and remember the right tense.

sometimes learning a language is screaming everything you cannot translate at the language barrier between you. hoping they understand. hoping they don't.

but there is something unmatched about being welcomed home in your mother tounge.

something about being forgiven in words you could never misinterpret.

about being called to bed by the familar.

t h e r e i s s o m e t h i n g u n p a r a l l e l e d a b o u t b e i n g l o v e d i n

y o u r o w n l a n g u a g e.