#they learn in order or strokes not in order or word frequency

[halfmoon-horse]

I bought some kanji workbooks with a Pokémon theme! They're for elementary school kids lmaoo

The lady at the bookstore was like "you know these are for kids right?" And I was like "yes"

[korolife]

Blog No.004📚　24年6月13日

My Visual Method of Learning Japanese Kanji (漢字) part①

～ Let's Pair-up Similar-lookin' Characters Next to Each Other♥!～

There are many ways to learn Japanese. 📔

This way might not be effective or efficient (or even reasonable) for anyone else, but this is the visual approach that I'm currently developing + sharing for possibly any like-minded students it might resonate with!

【Background】

At first, I did the standard "write it down with repetition until you get it right" on flashcards, notebooks, etc. I don't think I ever got it 'right'ーevery optimistic attempt of "I'm gonna get in some daily lessons in today, and successfully absorb this knowledge!!" was always accompanied with this state of... confusion? and being so, so overwhelmed that neither the meaning, the reading, the stroke order, nor even the appearance of the kanji stuck to me at all. I don't think I've ever made it past the list of N4 kanji, even though most words I come across tend to be scattered around the N3-N1 level.

I've tried studying them strictly in order of the listing / then tried loosely with some doodling / or even a cherry-nitpicky minimalistic approach; just-take-what-is-frequently-used-style... but there just seemed to be no end in sight。

『Issue①:』 I wanted to see ALL of the kanji displayed at once, instead of dreading the 'higher levels' hidden from the limited amount displayed at a time; be it from reference books, screen displays on websites or mobile applications, etc. It's definitely just a personal issue, I think haha I just didn't like the surprise sneak attack from so much identical kanji from differing levels that scrambles my brain everytime I encounter a doppelganger. And boy, there's a LOT of those (as you will see).

I thought about making a series of biiiig posters or scrolls I could stick up on a wall, like those kiddie info posters but completely filled with kanji as decoration + motivation + and a bit of a cheat sheet I could easily access at a glance. But just imagining over 2,000 jumbled characters looming over me while I work on my desk or seeing something like that first thing after waking up………it feels a lot unsettling, I think-

『Issue②:』 They're often arranged according to their frequency of usage, stroke order, or general difficulty of the word. Although it's for practicality, it leaves the visual impact completely all over the place. I don't know if I have any underlying conditions that contribute to something trivial like this greatly bothering me past the point of productivity, but it's not even about aesthetics I have an issue with, I don't think? It's just...the arrangement feels so chaotic, or sometimes oddly restrictive that I keep getting distracted. It's like some kind of puzzle I've been trying to solve for 10 hours straight, but it's just me going in circles back to zero. Speaking of puzzles....

Maybe, to save physical space for literally thousands of characters, I thought about placing one kanji on each of a rubik's cube's faces. But that would take a ridiculous amount of cubes and printer ink/alternatively, manually cutting, pasting, and poorly writing very very tiny 0.5inch labels for...two thousand times, at least. By hand.

I'm still tempted to incorporate this idea in some way, but felt unmotivated and lazy with how flimsy and shoddy my handwritten labels were…also printer ink prices continue to be a goddang scam--

I've unfortunately never been a studious student, especially not when it comes to conventional learning methods. It tends to make me want to try ridiculous ideas to get around my own dysfunctionality, because the other option would be... to continue a system that doesn't work and be frustrated, and accomplish nothing; not even a smile.

Because I was learning Japanese out of my own free will, I wanted to have fun with it, because the whole concept of kanji seems really fun in theory!… but not so much in attempted practice as a clueless outsider with no knowledge apart from the standard English reading and writing system.

Even if perceived as a complete waste of time by a lot of people, I still want to understand each individual character to be able to appreciate and greet them accordingly when I encounter them in the wild.

For fun☆!

【Conventional Systems】

I mostly took inspiration from other existing popular learning systems that many people use:

➊The standard N5-N1 System was alright, but I found myself tempted to skip straight to ～N3 where frequently used characters appeared more, despite being barely at the lowest N5 level myself. I wanted all the characters to be visibly accessible…but it got intensely overwhelming so fast. The hierarchal labeling made finding a N1 character have this weird sense of pressure? Like, "oh sht , this word has N1 kanji. mY ELEMENTARY GRADE DUMBASS AIN'T SUPPOSED TO BE IN HERE--"

➋Then there's pictographs. It's interesting, but I thought a lot of them were a little bit of a reach? haha it's basically a visual mnemonic, right? But other people's mnemonics usually have their 'creative logic' that my own may not agree with, so I just end up getting distracted with the internal logic of the image and how it correlates to the kanji instead of absorbing any actual information. I think it has potential, but I'd need to personalize the visual imagery for it to be effective…or at least, have the mnemonic make enough sense to me and not be abstractly distracting. Even by then, the more strokes there are, the more convoluted it looks to even liken it to anything in the real world...Kanji by itself is already a pictogram, I guess...?

➌Then there's the Heisig method. I liked the concept; the goal is for (mostly) foreigners to easily familiarize the 'look' of the kanji character and attach it to a singular meaning. But personally, it wasn't working with how much my brain was confusing every variation of similar-looking patterns that kept reappearing over a span of different kanji, with the same radical appearing in different positions or orientations. Heisig's compilation was good in a sense that I could see a reoccurring pattern and it was most definitely less chaotic to look at now, but they continue to persist so far away from each other? Then adding that element of "the unknown" with kanji I've yet to encounter or seek out for being 'too advanced' with this doppelganger dilemma was driving me absolutely coconuts.

Plus, since it's a method created with absolute beginners in mind, it falls short with the lack of kun- and on- yomi readings…which were what I needed to learn the most.

I decided to combine these three ideas to make my own way.

【??? Personal System】

This system will continuously be developed from here on out until it can actually be functional, but so far, here's what's been done and being planned:

Apparently these were from 8 months ago good lord-

I pretty much just lined up screenshots of a full kanji listing (I believe it was a Jouyou listing) and just...painstakingly played a Match-3 game, but irl, pretty much... and with more back pain

※Reference used to curate these kanji and their information are primarily from ①an app called 'Satori', and ②another app called 'Yomiwa'. Both apps source information from KANJIDIC and JMDict + mixed with a variety of online dictionaries to cross-reference and check for additional info.

I was working on and off on it because staring at nothing but kanji all day will probably make a few screws loose, but I generally continued anytime I was feeling a little down, stressed out, or just had free time. It was oddly therapeutic when I saw the finished arrangements, though. This feeling of "I can't tell if I like it or hate it" reminded me of my thesis days lmao

I had originally planned to put them on 3x3 rubik's cubes, so I initially had to group them by a full set of 9 characters. But the distribution was so unbalanced that each look-alike group was either lacking or exceeding in numbers, and trying to evenly incorporate 'leftovers' into the other groups just looked forced as hell, visually. So, I gave up on the rubik's cube concept and just tried to match at least a row of just 3 look-alikes to then ascend or descend in complexity with their other cousin-distant-lookalikes.

EXAMPLE:

人　大　木

person・big・tree

▲These three I would consider 'cousins'. I wouldn't classify them together in a row of 3 because there are far more identical characters, but after I gather all of each of their sibling groups, I'd most definitely arrange them next to each other in succession as if the 人 was growing more limbs.

太　大　犬

fat・big・dog

▲These three I would consider 'siblings'.

It reminds me of twins that only have differing beauty marks for distinction.

▲And these...are kinda cursed ngl, my double takes had to do their own double takes everytime I would finish grouping something to the 'tree radical' family, and suddenly spotting another one I could've sworn was the exact same character. It made me feel like I was going insane lol I know that the context showing the connecting hiragana is usually a dead giveaway on which kanji it is, regardless of how similar in appearance + how it's going to be read... but man. It's so surreal seeing them all lined up next to each other?? All I see is a forest-

Somewhere along the way, my brain remembered about the elemental periodic table and drew some layouting inspiration from there, too. Ideally, I would love to have all the information already present at a single glance with each character. But with the limited display space, assigning chronological identification numbers on them for now would help in navigating this wide, colorful kanji blanket.

I might've discarded a couple of archaic / overly complex kanji that no one really uses for this list at this moment, but in total, there appears to be 952 rows of trios.

= A total of 2,856 kanji have been included. Unless I miscounted somewhere-

my back hurts-

【Personal Limits + Goals】

I've been learning Japanese the same way I have Englishーvery, very informally; simply picking up what I hear and read in random places and applying them to how my brain interpreted their usage. It's literally like 'playing by ear', musically? except I'm tone deaf as hell-

There are some words (both Eng and Jp) that I surprise even myself when I know how to say it, or suddenly somehow using it during very specific situations, even if I don't know how to define their exact meaning…or even how to pronounce them correctly. Then there's very basic words that are so foreign to me because I have never heard or seen them before, despite possibly being one of the first things teachers introduce in proper lessons.

I can understand verbal Japanese just OK (some common dialects are recognizable too, just as long as it ain't extreme keigo-), my attempt at constructed sentences is weab-level at best and my butchering of the intonations is an atrocity, but most importantly, I can't read most kanji I come across for the life of me without furigana. Even with it, it's usually too dang small in print to even read…

Basically the nutshell of my 'Japanese Reading Practice with Manga' series orz I was so worried about potential copyright infringements, but I misread everything, it just became transformative on its own--

※ADDITIONAL NOTE: There is the onyomi (Orig. Chinese reading used when compounding the character with another to create a word) and the kunyomi (general Japanese reading of the kanji) that I ranked as the 'most important' thing to learn for me...then there's their long-lost wayward sibling: Nanori for Japanese name readings.

It is a ｗｈｏｌｅ new world out there......and I'm good staying indoors, thanks- don't even get me started on kirakira name readings I will cry for those poor unfortunate souls deadass named things like 'PEGASUS' or 'ANGEL LOVE' as their government name good lord

Speaking of names, when I saw Kaedehara Kazuha's name (Genshin Impact) in kanji for the first time :

「楓原万葉」

I read it as "Kazewara Manba"💀he is Manba-kun to me now

ーEven if my overall proficiency is at kindergarten level, for now,

I want to improve at at least recognizing the correct kanji at a regular reading speedーwith no mistaken identities, frantic dictionary pulling-out, or furigana dependency necessary!★

And that's what I want to achieve first and foremost with...whatever this is I'm creating。

+ so I can read manga and novels in peace without constantly squinting at a magnifying glass orz Fluency is kinda moot in my case because... I don't talk to anyone lol-

also, online shtposting in the Jp meme side rly do hit different

　〘ーand I'd like colors to accompany me!〙

『Issue③:』 Every Kanji list overview, regardless of arrangement or method, always gives me anxiety with how sharply white and black it is. That minimalistic uniformity forces you to depend on shapes alone to make inferences... but then you see sht like:

土　VS　士　

(dirt)・(samurai)

末　VS　未

(tip)・(sign of the sheep)

where it's literally the subtlest of LINE LENGTH, a tiny splotch, or the more complex characters that don't even share the same radicals but because they both vaguely have a similar silhouette, they start looking confusing to the brain, I just...............colors are absolutely necessary!! At least, it is definitely the case for my very easily bamboozled noodle that demands distinctive visual variations. I am in the belief that shapes alone will not suffice to memorize the correct information when you have over 2,000 subjects to sift through that... literally copied each other's homework. They kept gaslighting me throughout the process- Ask a Chinese or Japanese friend today if they're doing ok bc holy sht how do ya'll live like this, especially when web browsers tend to squash anything exceeding 14 strokes at regular display font sizes I-

I made the ｺﾛﾚｯﾃKoroLife System (Kororette Life; a wish for a 'colorful life') that pushes more focus on the creative and productive use of colors and patterns for myself, initially for drawing composition purposes... but I found that it was something just as applicable with making everyday tasks way easier and fun to look at.

It eventually took over this project too, and finally gave me what I was looking forーinner peace with a lifetime of beef and animosity with kanji…but in style★

When I said I was a heavy visual learner... this is exactly what I meant-

So…this is my way of arranging nearly 3,000 kanji by rows of 3 visually identical characters that confuses my dyslexic 外人 dumdum the most + making use of colors for subcategorizing them according to their shapes. And, hey, they make for pretty neat stickers!

⇒[FREE TO DOWNLOAD!]

△contains x4 parts of higher quality of each quadrant (transparent bg) + this huge overview display map...or kanji blanket, however you see it as-

Unfortunately there's very little to make of it apart from a display, but as soon as I add some practicality to this system, I will compile them into the 0+ Resource Shop. For now, please feel free to personally use them however you like~! I'm already sticking 'em everywhere-

I divided them into 6 colored categories according to the character's overall perceived 'shape'*: ・Curves (orange)

・Sparks'n'mix (pink)

・Criss-crossing (dark blue)

・Lines (light blue)

・Cubes (yellow) ・囧ﾒ (violet)

・imperfect matches (green)

Highlighted ones are stand-outs, or visually the easiest to digest (to me anyway).

＊these are very arbitrary classifications with flawed, subjective internal logic that has been revised multiple times over. (eg. Even if something has a curve, if I feel like the overall shape has lines that stand out more, then it's in the light blue category instead.)

And with that, I think I'll call it...

The「色々色 / IROIROIRO」 Method!! otherwise known as the 色³ for short!!!

■ 「色」・いろ・(Iro)

➊lit. Color, tint, hue, shade ➋kind, type, variant

■ 「々」・のま・同の字点 / どうのじてん・(noma / dou no jiten)

Kanji repetition mark; placed beside a repeating kanji.

■ 「色色 / 色々」 ・いろ・(Iroiro)

various, all sorts of

■「³」・３乗足す / さんじょうたす・３の立方 / さんのりっほう・(san jyou tasu / san no rihhou)

mathematical term.; Cubed, to the power of 3 pls don't ask me for the actual application specifics, I get a 3/10 average on my math tests-

It's a fun pun! Kinda.

【Preliminary Conclusion】

Is it an effective strategy to master Japanese kanji at all, though? Maybe not. At least, probably not just by this visual display alone. I honestly don't expect anyone else benefitting much from this project, but it personally really reinvigorated me to continue studying Japanese again. It's strange how something that caused me so much feelings of dread and anxiety for the majority of my early teen years, suddenly feels so much fun to work with. All it needed was sleep deprivation, some touch of personalization, and a little bit of color!… ok, well, a lot of color-

It's a complete homebrew, unverified by anyone, and I guess a little insane, but I thought it turned out kinda cool anyway, so I thought I'd share it! What do you think? I'll write up an update about any further developments in this silly lil system the next time. I'm thinking of somehow fitting in all the definitions, readings, stroke orders, and maybe samples of their usage... but also in style★ somehow-

We'll workshop it, even if it takes another additional 8 months!!!

Until then! バイバイ(￣▽￣)／

つづく

➡To be continued...

・・・ホームページALL LINKS・・・

・Art Gallery・Commission Info・Ko-fi shop・

[dmagedgoods]

OC Mannerism - Salvadore

picrew I was tagged by @cassynite. 💕 Thank you so much! You find the amazing template by @the-raging-tempest here. This time I'm tagging @steampunkserpent and @spyridonya and @arrow90-art and @dantent and @molochka-koshka and @starlightcleric and @iwoszareba

- NO. OF SPOKEN LANGUAGES >> 4 in the pathfinder universe (fluent in Taldane (Common) and Kelish and speaks some Osiriani but not well enough to have a debate using it. He also started learning Celestial after he decided to keep his angel powers.) - TONE OF VOICE >> high / average / deep (a low tenor) - ACCENT >> none in pathfinder universe, at least not in Taldane, he speaks very clearly and without dialect too - DEMEANOR >> highly confident / shy / approachable / hostile / sometimes frigid and sometimes charming / prideful / intimidating / commanding - POSTURE >> slumped / straight / stiff / relaxed but graceful HABITS head tilting / swaying / fidgeting / stuttering / gesturing / arm crossing / strokes chin / er, um, or other interjections / plays with hair or clothing / hands at hips / inconsistent eye contact / maintains eye contact / frequent pausing / stands close / stands at a distance / raises one brow COMPLEXITY (Fill in the circle’s as you wish) - VOCABULARY >> ⚪️⚪️⚪️⚪️⚫️ Salvadore is very eloquent with strong rhetoric skills, educated, trained in diplomacy, and even studied speech patterns since he has a natural interest in and talent for words. He loves to talk to people, to convince them of his views, or to hold impactful speeches in front of an audience. - EMOTION >> ⚪️⚫️⚪️⚪️⚪️ While strongly passionate about his goals and for those he cares for, Salvadore rarely gives away many emotions in front of people. It needs a deep bond with someone for him to show his warmer and even surprisingly playful side or his possessive tendencies. (All of this even publicly to a degree with someone he loves romantically.) - SENTENCE STRUCTURE >> ⚪️⚪️⚫️⚪️⚪ It varies. He makes his sentence structure as complex as needed to convey an idea. After all, he wants to reach people with his words not to confuse them. His choice of words is sophisticated but he speaks clearly and not in obscuring, long-winded, or highly scientific terms. Sometimes he utters very short and strict orders or shuts something down with a well-aimed remark. PROFANITY - FREQUENCY >> ⚪️⚫️⚪️⚪️⚪️ Rarely. There may be audiences where stronger words are needed and he doesn’t mind going there, but in his usual speech patterns, he mostly refrains from it. If he uses profanity, then the rough, harsh sort. In sexual contexts and roleplays, he enjoys profanity here and there – though it depends on the words in question. - CREATIVITY (in regards to profanity insults) >> ⚪️⚫️⚪️⚪️⚪️ He goes for the classics. If he means to insult, he will hit the mark in different and deeper ways (humiliating his target in eloquent manners) than by making up creative swear words. BOLD THAT APPLY

arse / ass / asshole / bastard / bitch / bloody / bugger / bollocks / chicken shit / crap / cunt / dick / frick / fuck / horseshit / motherfucker / piss / prick / pussy / screw / shit / shitass / son of a bitch / twat / wanker / damn / hell THIS OR THAT

straightforward or cryptic / finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind / masculinity, neutrality, or femininity / formalities or with abrasiveness / praise or and equivocation / frankness or and flattery / excessive or and minimal hand gestures depending on situation / name-calling or magnanimity / friendly or blunt condescending IMPORTANT QUESTIONS - DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME HEARING OR UNDERSTANDING YOUR CHARACTER? almost always / frequently / rarely / never - DOES YOUR CHARACTER’S POINT COME ACROSS EASILY WHEN THEY SPEAK?  almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never - WOULD YOUR CHARACTER INITIATE CONVERSATIONS? almost always / frequently / sometimes/ rarely / never - WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never - WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE ‘WHOM’ IN A SENTENCE? yes / no / only ironically - YOUR CHARACTER WANTS TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT. WHAT WORD DO THEY USE? but / though / although / however / perhaps / maybe - HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER END CONVERSATIONS?  With a clear but polite explanation if the person is of importance or if he doesn’t actively dislike them, with a short and incisive remark if he is annoyed or they are stealing his time. - WHAT SOCIAL CLASS WOULD OTHERS ASSUME YOUR CHARACTER BELONGS TO, HEARING THEM SPEAK? upper / middle / lower - IN WHAT WAYS DOES THE WAY YOUR CHARACTER SPEAK STAND OUT TO OTHERS? accent  / vocabulary / tone / level / politeness / brusqueness / it doesn’t Anything that wasn’t touched on? Salvadore’s voice gets husky when he is very emotional.

[mountainashfae]

OC Mannerisms: Aurien Florence

As tagged by @the-raging-tempest in the original template post. Finally getting around to this.

BASICS

- NO. OF SPOKEN LANGUAGES >> Sylvan, Skald, Varisian, Elven, Taldane, Celestial, Mwangi. In that order.

- TONE OF VOICE >> high / average / deep 

- ACCENT >> yes / no  Their roots in Sylvan definitely show up, especially since for most of their life that's what they spoke. RL equivalent of Welsh.

- DEMEANOR >> confident / shy / approachable / hostile / other

- POSTURE >> slumped / straight / stiff / relaxed Whether their posture is stiff or relaxed varies wildly by the context. When they are moving, they are fluid and relaxed. When they are still, they are stiff as ice.

HABITS

head tilting / swaying / fidgeting / stuttering / gesturing / arm crossing / strokes chin / er, um, or other interjections / plays with hair or clothing / hands at hips / inconsistent eye contact / maintains eye contact / frequent pausing / stands close / stands at a distance Their gesturing is a learned habit rather than a subconscious one. Their natural stillness does not fit the image of an approachable cleric they put on, and the conscious gesturing can be picked up by someone paying attention.

COMPLEXITY (Fill in the circle’s as you wish)

- VOCABULARY >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚪️⚪️ Picking up Skald and Varisian after Sylvan did good things for their vocabulary. Sometimes they revert back to the smaller vocabulary of Sylvan though.

- EMOTION >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚪️ Aurien wishes they could conceal their emotions better, but their appearance changing with their emotions gives them away.

- SENTENCE STRUCTURE >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚪

PROFANITY

- FREQUENCY >> ⚫️⚫️⚪️⚪️⚪️ They learned to use it more often while in the Shackles to fit in among the pirates, and some of that stuck around.

- CREATIVITY (in regards to profanity) >> ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚪️⚪️ The majority of their swears are in the Mwangi language, which is funny to hear up in Mendev.

BOLD THAT APPLY

arse / ass / asshole / bastard / bitch / bloody / bugger / bollocks / chicken shit / crap / cunt / dick / frick / fuck / horseshit / motherfucker / piss / prick / pussy / screw / shit / shitass / son of a bitch / twat / wanker

THIS OR THAT

straightforward or [ cryptic ] finding the right word or [ using the first word that comes to mind ] masculinity, [ neutrality ], or femininity [ formalities ] or with abrasiveness praise or [ equivocation ] frankness or [ flattery ] excessive or [ minimal hand gestures ] name-calling or [ magnanimity ] [ friendly ] or blunt

IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME HEARING OR UNDERSTANDING YOUR CHARACTER? almost always / frequently / rarely / never

DOES YOUR CHARACTER’S POINT COME ACROSS EASILY WHEN THEY SPEAK?  almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never sometimes they purposefully obscure the meaning

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER INITIATE CONVERSATIONS? almost always / frequently / sometimes / never

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE ‘WHOM’ IN A SENTENCE? yes / no / only ironically

YOUR CHARACTER WANTS TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT. WHAT WORD DO THEY USE? but / though / although / however / perhaps / maybe

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER END CONVERSATIONS? walk away / ask if that’s everything / say that’s everything / give a proper goodbye / tell their company they're done here / remain quiet / they don’t

WHAT SOCIAL CLASS WOULD OTHERS ASSUME YOUR CHARACTER BELONGS TO, HEARING THEM SPEAK? upper / middle / lower

IN WHAT WAYS DOES THE WAY YOUR CHARACTER SPEAK STAND OUT TO OTHERS? accent  / vocabulary / tone / level / politeness / brusqueness / it doesn’t

Anything that wasn’t touched on?

Rotgut has a weird combination of Aurien's accent in Taldane and a Mwangi accent because that's a familiar. That's a sentient bird with a higher INT stat than Aurien. His "native" humanoid language is Mwangi because he's from the fucking Shackles and had to learn Taldane from Aurien.

Yes Rotgut and Aurien frequently bicker in Mwangi

Aurien very frequently avoids answering questions by giving answers around the question but avoiding the core of the question. Even when they're trying to be honest they end up doing this.

The tone and pitch of their voice changes slightly along with their emotions and appearance. Higher pitch with spring, silky smooth with autumn, slightly huskier with summer, and low and cold with winter.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

"Weakening resolve"

Rating: E

Pairing: Lúthien x Thû

Prompts: Marked

Themes:  Dark | Smut

Warnings: Dead dove | Major character death prior to the beginning of the story | Dubious consent | Monsterfucking | Breeding kink | Marking | Penetrative sex  | Knotting | Corruption

Wordcount: 1.2k words

Summary: Lúthien has to endure more of Thû’s visits in order to learn the whereabouts of Beren

A/n: this is the second of three fics that have been inspired by these prompts by @cilil

This is also available on AO3

Minors DNI | 18+

Her captor was not spinning wild tales when he told her that she would be serving him in his bedchamber for as long as he wished and that she would serve him well.

Thû would come for her every night to slake his lusts upon her body, and Lúthien had to prepare herself every night before he did so. She would bathe an hour before his arrival, taking great care to fix her hair and allow herself to be garbed in the flimsiest silks the thralls laid out for her to wear.

I must endure this, she often reminded herself whenever she changed for the night and slipped into the wide featherbed that had been a gift of sorts from him. Her captor had presented her with many fine gifts, gifts she did not receive even as a princess of Doriath. Lúthien did not know what to make of it. All she did know was that she found herself slowly welcoming such luxuries. It frightened her, for it meant her resolve was slipping away from her. I must. He will not tell me where Beren is if I deny him.

Of course, Thû never told her. No matter how many times she surrendered to his embraces, no matter how many times she pleaded and pleasured him in ways that she considered most degrading, he never uttered a word of Beren’s whereabouts. She truly believed that he enjoyed it, dangling this bright golden carrot in front of her before yanking it away, leaving her with nothing but shattered hopes. There was little she could do, either. Thû was as powerful as her own lady mother now, and the magic that she possessed could never overcome his own.

And his embraces left her exhausted of late. It was the onset of spring, and Thû’s visits had increased in frequency. Before, he only came to her at night. Now he came to her whenever the need to cleave to the flesh of another grew strong, and he would take her while he was in the beast-like form he chose for himself during the first time she gave herself to him.

Today was no different. He came to her before sunrise, waking her up with a heated command and giving her no time to prepare herself for him. Lúthien tried valiantly to keep silent, but every time he pushed inside of her, her wayward tongue betrayed her and she cried out, her fingers clutching desperately at the broad back covered in coarse fur. It was another sign her resolve was crumbling little by little.

This is wrong, she told herself. I should find no desire in this, no enjoyment, and yet my own body keeps welcoming everything this creature is doing to me.

Lúthien wanted to do nothing but look over his shoulder and fix her gaze on the velvet canopy above them. It was something she had been able to do at the beginning, only looking back at him when he commanded her to do so. Now she found she could not bring herself to do this. Not with pleasure burning white-hot and sharp in her veins.

Forgive me, Beren. She closed her eyes, ashamed of herself, stroking thick tufts of wiry hair without even realizing that she was doing so. The beast—for Thû truly was a beast at this time—growled in approval and pressed himself against her, caging her to the featherbed beneath them and whispering obscene words of love in her ears. 

It will not be long before she willingly places herself in my arms, he thought. And then, and only then, would he tell her of the fate of the mortal whom she loved over all others.

Beren was already dead, having perished in the pits of Tol-in-Gaurhoth just after his intended bride arrived in the lands Thû ruled as its lord. There had been a great duel of song, and Finrod, the elf who dared to aid him stand against a being that helped sing Arda into existence, fell in defeat. His elven companions had been forced to live out their lives in thralldom, and he, the fair, glittering king of Nargothrond, had to tend Lord Mairon as his slave.

Nothing good ever comes out of loving a mortal—nothing but doom and agony. Thû laughed to himself, delighting in the feel of Lúthien’s heels digging into the backs of his thighs. The half-ainu princess was as cold as a dead fish the nights following their first coupling, always laying still, always having to be ordered to return his embraces. Now she was writhing beneath him, fisting her hands in his hair, her pale skin already covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

I wonder how long it would take to get her with child. The season to sire offspring was already upon him. It was an all-consuming feeling, nearly driving him mad at times, and it only started after he began taking the form of a beast that was neither a wolf nor an elf. Thû did not mind, as it meant his bedmates presenting him with offspring that could fight for his master in his many wars once they came of age.

The first from her will be given over to the master when they come of age, he decided, and the one that will follow will be my own.

Nails gouged themselves into his flesh, prompting a violent noise to rise at the back of his throat. Thû marred the curve of Lúthien’s throat with his teeth, adding to the growing number of dark marks he had left all over her body. He savored the sharp taste of iron against his tongue, the cry that spilled free when he marked her a second time, all while he succumbed to the need to empty himself of his spend.  

Forgive me, Beren. Lúthien felt warm, feverish, and lustful. Her shame, much like the crushing weight of the body above her and the pain of the teeth piercing her flesh like sharp blades, was all but forgotten when a blinding white light erupted behind her eyes. It was too much, undoing her before she could take another breath. The rapture that followed overcame her, dragging her to its unfathomable depths before it drowned her. So lost was she in the pleasures that came with her release that she did not even hear it, her moaning his name, and she barely felt it, the size of him increasing to an uncomfortable degree while he spilled his seed. 

Thû silently exalted when his name parted her bruised lips. He had marked her as his with more than just the sharp bite of his teeth. He often took great care with his words after they had finished, preaching the master’s vision in a way that would appeal to her, offering her more than what any mortal could offer her, and the evidence of her slowly accepting her fate and yielding to the master’s cause would soon become plain to anyone with wit.

When that blessed day arrives, he thought, she will not even care that Beren has perished, for she will be well within my influence by then. 

It would be a tale fit for the greatest of lore masters: how a daughter of the great Melian left the light and followed him down a path of eternal darkness.

Original image: Ed Robertson/Unsplash

[nonbinary-ghost]

A Conversation Between Vessel and Wyrm

So, I know I’ve never posted my writing here before but this scene has been playing in my head for days and I just need to share it. The premise is based on @chipper-smol ‘s shitlordAU where Ghost somehow goes back it time to when they and the Pure Vessel were kids, and decide to absolutely torment their Father in between finding a way to kill the Radiance. It’s such a fantastic AU rife with opportunities for both humor and angst. Anyone who reads this should totally check out chipper’s work!

(This turned out longer than expected: ~2700 words, so the rest is under the Keep Reading tab)

Ghost leaned back and tilted their head to the side, observing their painting with a critical eye. The corridor in which they worked was dark, but the barest glow of the occasional lumifly that flitted about the palace halls provided just enough light for Ghost to be able to make out the dark lines of ink they had scrawled across the white wall. They nodded to themself in approval. The painting, while quite sloppy, could at least be recognized as the Pale King with monstrously exaggerated teeth and a grotesque tongue. They rubbed their chin thoughtfully, unwittingly getting some of the black ink on their mask, as they pondered if there was something more they could add to the painting to make it even less flattering.

Their current prank was one outside of Ghost’s typical inclinations. Until the Queen had begun to teach Ghost to write, they never held much interest for anything to do with a brush and ink. They had found Sheo’s art beautiful or interesting certainly, and they marveled at the skill with which the retired nailmaster could wield a brush – but such things never appealed to Ghost. There had been so much they needed to do at the time that learning about art seemed unnecessary. But now that they were learning to write, Ghost realized that art could be used to communicate just as much as words, and the motions of painting were somewhat easier for them than the neat script they were attempting to master. Sheo hadn’t lied when he said the strokes of a brush were not unlike the strokes of a nail, and Ghost had found they enjoyed the act of creating something that others could see and understand.

This particular painting was not their best, but it wasn’t intended to be. It was intended to stir up the Knights and bother the Pale King, to prove yet again that Ghost could think and feel – and to illustrate how they felt about the King.

Ghost didn’t notice the approaching bug until the shadow eclipsed the faint lumifly light they were using to paint by. Ghost froze as the shadow slipped over them. Their shoulders tensed as they prepared for the cold hand of a Kingsmould to grip the collar of their cloak, or a loud scolding from Dryya. When neither came, Ghost dared a hesitant glance over their shoulder. Shock rang through them like a stag-bell when they found not a Kingsmould, nor one of the Five Knights behind them.

It was the Pale King.

Ghost went ridged, half prepared to bolt and debating if doing so was worth the effort. Their painting was meant to be discovered after all, and it would never have been any question by whose hands the crude caricature had been created. But the King’s gaze focused not on the guilty Vessel standing before him. Rather, he appeared to be studying Ghost’s painting, his secondary hands clasped behind his back and while his primary ones rested in the wide sleeves of his robe. The Pale King’s unusually calm demeanor unnerved Ghost and they slowly turned to face the Wyrm, their hand almost instinctively reaching for the reassuring hilt of a nail that was no longer there.

“A remarkable likeness.” When not raised in anger the Pale King’s voice was almost as melodious as the White Lady’s. Ghost cocked their head enough to glance between their painting and the King in disbelief. The painting, while recognizable as the King by the crown-like horns, was by no means a “remarkable likeness” to the actual subject. Ghost had deliberately made the painting as messy and obnoxious as possible. Perhaps sensing Ghost’s disbelief, the King unclasped a secondary hand from behind his back and raised it toward the painting.

“I imagine that this is how you must see me,” he murmured. “I cannot truthfully say it is all that far from accurate.”

Before Ghost could process the meaning of the King’s words, the Pale Wyrm finally turned his gaze on them. The weight of that unwavering attention felt like a heavy pressure against Ghost’s shell and they found themself tensing, feeling as if the Pale King was staring right into them. It was unusual for the King to actually look at Ghost without some other distraction dividing his attention – distractions Ghost typically crafted – and they weren’t certain they liked the scrutiny of the King’s abrupt interest in them. Despite the fact that Ghost now stood taller than the King, they felt suddenly small.

“Vessel-“ he began, but stopped before the word fully left his mouth. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Ghost. If I may have a word with you somewhere more comfortable?”

So startled by the Pale King’s use of their name and the phrasing of the request as a question rather than an order, Ghost found themself nodding yes without really considering the consequences. They followed the Wyrm with their thoughts swimming. This was not the kind of response they had come to expect from the King – anger, yes, shouting, almost certainly. But this calm, quiet passivity left Ghost uneasy and they struggled not to fiddle with the hem of their cloak as they walked behind the King, following him down corridor after corridor. As they walked, Ghost began to notice that the pale white light that the king always seemed to give off was much fainter than they remembered. Perhaps the Wyrm was suppressing the glow to avoid disturbing any sleeping bugs whose rooms they passed.

With a final turn the two of them entered a veranda that overlooked a vast garden glowing bright with thousands of lumiflies – no doubt one of the Queen’s creations, though Ghost didn’t recall ever coming to this particular garden with their mother. The King gracefully lifted himself up to sit upon the short wall that separated the tiled veranda from the garden, his wings flaring slightly to aid his balance. Ghost stared, uncertain of what to do. They were fine with breaking formalities for the sake of rebellion, but at the moment the King was adhering to no formalities for Ghost to go against. It made them feel strangely directionless. They fidgeted. They didn’t like this feeling. The King lifted a secondary hand to gesture to the space beside him, keeping his primary hands nestled in the sleeves of his robes.

“Would you care to sit with me?”

Ghost rocked forward to oblige but halted before even taking a step, instead crossing their arms over their chest and staring at the Pale King expectantly. While they could not fathom what all of this was about, they could clearly sense there was something specific the King wanted to say. Ghost waited and the King sighed, turning his head to look out over the garden.

“It has come to my attention that you have begun spending some time with the Pure Vessel.”

Ghost didn’t move. So what if they had? Pure was not some hollow thing, no matter how much they pretended to be in order to appease their Father. Ghost knew the Knights went to great lengths to keep the two siblings away from each other, but that didn’t mean Ghost didn’t seek Pure out from time to time. When they were alone, Pure sometimes even relaxed a little, and showed sparks of interest in the language of hand-signs Ghost was crafting with the Queen. Their meetings were few and far between, as Pure’s life was strictly regimented and Pure would never go against something they were told to do, but their meetings had been occurring with more frequency after the sparing match Ghost had instigated.

“This cannot be permitted.”

Indignation sparked through Ghost and they clenched their hands against their folded arms. The Pale King let out a long breath and turned on the wall to face them, his expression unreadable.

“I must admit, was wrong about you.”

Ghost stared, their anger faltering somewhat. Making their hands into fists, Ghost held them up in front of their chest with their thumbs pointed toward themself. With a quick twist of their right fist, Ghost pointed their right thumb upwards. The motion meant “how” – in what way was the King wrong about them. Ghost wasn’t sure if the King knew any of the signs they used with their Mother, but it was what they had. The King at least continued as if he understood the motion.

“You were never hollow – only a fool would watch your mayhem and attempt to claim otherwise. For a time, I have ridiculed myself for allowing you to remain here with the Pure Vessel. I believed you should have been removed.”

The King’s gaze had shifted down to stare at his primary hands resting in his lap. Ghost could see, now, that they were stained a dark black that stood out starkly against his silver robes. A black so deep and bottomless it looked like it would leech the light out of the room around it. A black so similar to the void of which Ghost was made … Ghost went cold as they suddenly comprehended what the Pale King was implying – that they should have been killed. Discarded into the abyss. The King shifted and Ghost dropped into a defensive stance as their whole body trembled with sudden fear, once again reaching for the hilt of a nail that was no longer there. But the King only lifted his head to meet Ghost’s eyes.

“It was wrong of me to believe that.” He paused only long enough to take a deep breath before continuing. “You are a sentient being, very full of life and will, with a personality all your own. To believe that I have any right to take that from you is a crime against everything I have built Hollownest around. And to see the way my Root adores you … how could I ever take you away from her?”

The raw honesty in the Pale King’s voice made Ghost hesitantly stand from the half crouch they’d fallen into. He…cared? He cared that Ghost could feel? Enough so for it to stay his hand in killing them, when he’d never hesitated with all of their lost kin in the abyss far below? Why? Was it because he knew without a doubt that Ghost was not hollow, and could not delude himself into thinking otherwise as he had with the others? Or was it because the Queen had taken a liking to Ghost and going against her wishes would cause strife between them? Ghost almost didn’t hear the King’s next words, but at the mention of Pure their attention was quickly pulled back to the Pale King.

“But the Pure Vessel is a different matter. It has a purpose – one whose success or failure will determine the fate of every bug in Hollownest.” The tentative hope spurred by the King’s acknowledgment of Ghost’s sentience vanished as the King continued to speak, and unease began to worm its way through Ghost’s chest. “You are not hollow, of this there is no doubt, but the Pure Vessel must remain as such if it is to succeed. The more you are around it, the more likely it is to begin to feel. If it sees the leniency with which you are treated, it may begin to develop a will of its own, and all of the sacrifices made to protect this kingdom will have been for naught. You must stay away from the Pure Vessel to preserve that hollowness for which it was created.”

Rage thundered through Ghost at the King’s words and they sharply signed “You are wrong”. Pure had never been hollow. The King’s plan had already failed, doomed from the very beginning, and Ghost refused to let their sibling go through that suffering again. That was the whole reason they were here – to stop the radiance before their sibling was sacrificed, before Hollownest fell to ruin. The King blinked at the venom in Ghost’s movements as their hands flittered through the signs for disgust, for being too late, for refusal. They were too angry to keep the motions smooth and they shook as that fiery emotion pounded through them. Even if the King could not understand all of the motions, the message was clear: They refused to stay away from Pure.

The Pale King’s brow pinched in anger and his wings flared slightly.

“There is no other way to keep Hollownest safe,” he rumbled, his voice tight with controlled anger, but Ghost shook their head. The King’s hands clenched into fists. “We have tried everything else. Without something to contain the Radiance and Her infection, Hollownest will fall and every bug in the Kingdom will be corrupted. I cannot doom the entirety of my people to an existence of mindless misery for the sake of any one bug. If you continue to interfere with the Pure Vessel, you will condemn everyone in Hollownest to a living death. Surely you must understand this! I know you are not blind – you have been outside of the palace, you have almost certainly seen those the Radiance has already corrupted.”

The Pale King had no idea just how much suffering Ghost had seen at the hands of the Radiance’s infection. The memory of Pure’s eyes filled with the yellow light of the Radiance swam up and Ghost recoiled as they remembered the wretched agony in their sibling’s motions as they turned their nail on themself, trying to cut the infection away. No. The King could not possibly understand just how much Ghost knew about the pain the spreading infection caused. They shook their head, feeling oddly ill as they clenched their trembling hands into fists at their sides in their sign for “I’m done speaking to you”. They turned sharply and moved to leave the veranda.  

“If there was any other way, I swear to you I would take it,” the Pale King whispered to Ghost’s back, his voice soft with some kind of emotion. Regret? “But I cannot See any other path that will slow the Infection’s spread.”

Ghost straightened, spinning to meet the King’s gaze with a furious glare. Of course he could not know of any other way. He was looking at this problem from a completely different angle than Ghost. He was trying to find a way to slow the infection, to contain it, while simultaneously trapping and starving the Radiance in a Vessel of Void. He could See no way to remove the infection at its source. Ghost realized that while the Pale King had a measure of Foresight, his Sight must be limited to the scope of the knowledge he already possessed. He did not know of the Seer, of the Dreamnail, of Godseeker. He could not fight the Radiance directly, not without a way to enter Dream and face the enraged Goddess, and so he was attempting to defeat her in this roundabout manner. Did he know his doomed plan would ultimately fail, but believe it to be the only way to buy his people time?

“You are wrong,” Ghost signed, pointing at the king and lifting their thumb and pinky in a gesture under their chin. They then closed their fist and pointed their thumb to the side before using both hands to imitate the sides of a path: “There is another way.”

The King’s brow furrowed and he shook his head.

“I do not understand.”

Ghost opened and closed their fists at their sides in frustration. Even if the King could understand their signs, Ghost did not have the gestures for the ideas they would need in order to convey their plan to the Pale King. Their anger cooled somewhat, shifting to a steady burn in the pit of their being rather than the all-consuming fury that had raged through them not moments before, and they realized that if they could find a way to explain their plan to the King, he might help them find the Seer. If he knew there was another way, would he help them do it?

“I don’t have the words to explain,” Ghost signed by drawing a finger over their throat. They held up their index fingers a little ways apart, then made an ‘L’ with their right hand, pressing their thumb into their raised left palm and twisting their right hand so the ‘L’ was upside down: “I will tell you later.”

They did not wait for the king to respond before turning and storming out of the veranda, their mind ablaze.

The Pale King could not See that there was another way.

So Ghost would make him See.

[linghxr]

Reviewing Chrome New Tab Vocab Extensions

I thought it would be fun to install a browser extension to show me vocab when I open a new tab. I found 5 of these extensions that support Chinese. I tried them all out to decide which I liked best, so I thought I’d write up this little review. If you know of any other extensions, I’ve love to hear about them!

1) Accumulate: First of all, the pictures are beautiful. This service only displays single characters, not words. You can choose to display characters based on frequency or HSK level. I really like how it shows the same character all day and how the definitions are more than just one word. Also, you can display traditional and simplified together. You get to choose which one is bigger, and the other one will be shown underneath. There’s also a lot of flexibility in the settings. As you can see, you can even add Cantonese and Japanese pronunciation! The settings menu is pictured below:

And a tip for this extension: if you already know the character of the day, switch to another vocab list and then back to your original one. Then it will switch to a different character for the rest of the day.

2) Hanzi Xiaobai: This service animates stroke order, which is pretty cool. It also allows you to select words by HSK level and also only shows single characters instead of words. There’s a new character every time you open a new tab. It appears to only support simplified characters. As you can see, it’s not quite as pretty as the first extension. Also, it can take a sec for the stroke order animation to load.

3) Letra: This extension supports full words. It will show you the same word all day, but you can press the refresh button if you want a new word. Also, this service has a variety of different languages. Simplified and traditional are supported separately, so you can’t see both at once. For me, the deal breaker was that I couldn’t choose a level. I kept getting words I knew already and didn’t really want to have to deal with refreshing until I got a novel word. Also, the definitions are typically just one word, which isn’t enough nuance for me.

4) Mainichi: This service shows a new word each time you open a new tab. It also supports Japanese and Korean, but I didn’t test those. It only supports simplified characters. Also, I noticed it has a lot of household item and animal nouns, which aren’t really what I’d like to be learning right now. The images match the word, which is nice, but the overall appearance is pretty plain compared to some of the other options.

5) Ponddy: This service offers a lot of customizability for level of words. I’ve put a screenshot of the settings menus below. However, I believe you have to make an account to use some of the features. The biggest downside for me was that this service actually makes a “deck” of flashcards, so you are supposed to go and click through them. I wanted something more simple. Also, I just found that this service looks too busy.

I eventually went with 1) Accumulate. Even though I would prefer words over characters, I decided that good definitions, simultaneous simplified and traditional characters, and a simple design were more important to me. Also, I decided having the same character/word all day is probably better than a new one every time I open a new tab. The pretty pictures don’t hurt, either.

[meimae]

Language Learning Through Immersion: One Year Japanese Update

11/03/2021

I did it, you guys! I’ve successfully reached my very first year of Japanese language immersion! I honestly thought that I would have given up by now, but this really has been a fun and ultimately rewarding endeavor.

Studying the language has been at the back of my mind for years since elementary school, I just never really knew how to go about it before, and I always thought that I could learn it in a classroom setting someday. That someday for me was in two elective courses in university, and while those were fun as well, it did not give me the same gains that I have achieved in this past year.

It’s probably easier to quantify learning a language in a classroom setting, especially when going through a program to earn a language degree. Learning through immersion, however, I had to really consider what my goals should be on my own. Eventually, I stumbled upon an article saying that for an English speaker, Japanese was exceptionally difficult to learn and that at least 2,200 hours must be spent with the language to reach a certain level of proficiency. So I said to myself, “well okay internet, if you say so!”, and set that as my long term goal going forward.

Spoiler Alert: I did not hit that goal in my first year. I am not crazy and will never listen to Japanese in my sleep regardless of what Khatzumoto (the creator of All Japanese All the Time) says. 

I did, however, hit a total 1,226.65 active immersion hours in my first year, so I guess I’m still a bit nuts. That is 874.96 hours of active listening and 351.69 reading hours. I also did 270.59 hours of passive listening, also known as the time in the very beginning of my immersion where I was using Japanese subtitles (therefore not really concentrating on listening alone). That’s a cumulative 1,497.24 hours spent with Japanese. That’s more than halfway towards my goal! 

To further break that down for curious animanga fans out there, that’s 973 episodes from 109 anime, 765 episodes from 33 dramas, 7 movies, and 967 chapters from 107 volumes of manga (21 series). Here’s my anilist and mydramalist to see what I’ve read/watched.

During all this, I was also doing my daily Anki reps and now I have a 530 day SRS streak (includes the time prior starting immersion and only doing RTK and some vocabulary cards) and a total 8,857 sentence cards. I’ve been averaging 406 cards daily (because I’m trying to cure my leeches) and I spend about an hour per day doing reps and learning new cards. I don’t really track my time on Anki, but I do have a set timer that goes off after 1-1:30 hours.

What I haven’t touched upon at all is output. I have not gone out of my way to find a tutor or a language partner. There’s still plenty of input out there to immerse in before I even consider outputting.

Graphs, stats, and more thoughts:

Here's my current card count in my main deck (minus the cards in my new/learning queue and leeches I've been relearning which are in separate decks):

That one day in 2019 where I did not do my cards because I was seriously doubting whether I can actually stick with language learning this time around will forever haunt and inspire me to keep going everyday.

Workflow and Tips

You might be wondering, how do I have a lot of time? I started this whole endeavor in the middle of a pandemic, which eliminated the option of me going to a language school, and a slew of other things I were considering doing last year became impossible (and if anything, very scary to do in a pandemic). All I can say is that, things work out eventually if it is His will, and if I can learn a skill before everything properly settles back down again, then why not? 

I wake up at 5 in the morning everyday to either do my Anki reps or read until the time when I need to get up and I listen to compressed audio throughout the day. The biggest tip is to switch the time you spend watching/reading in your native language to your target language instead. Listen to a podcast during your commute, watch an episode during lunch break, read before going to bed, do your Anki reps in the bathroom if you have to. 

But, if you’re feeling burnt out, there is no reason for you to not take a break! I have been watching a lot of Among Us streams before bed, and I chat with my friends from time to time. Language learning is not a race.

More Stats

Here are a couple of grids of the kanji characters that I have encountered at least once in my immersion and how well I have answered them in my vocabulary/sentence cards.

It's interesting that after almost 9000 words, I have yet to encounter every single character from the Remembering the Kanji 1 (RTK 1) book by James Heisig, which teaches you the most common use characters that are part of the 常用漢字. Which brings me to the question, was writing down every single character being taught in RTK worth it every time it came up in my reviews for the first 3-ish months I was reviewing them? Maybe, maybe not. It certainly removed my anxiety whenever looking at blocks of text in Japanese, but the longer I think about it, the more I feel I should have switched to Recognition RTK earlier. Still, being able to write in proper stroke order is cool I guess, and it also helps me when looking things up in the dictionary.

Here’s the same grid but in JLPT order:

I clearly need to grind those N2 and N1 level cards! Speaking of which, I have apparently almost covered every single character that could possibly appear in the JLPT (except for the N1 which I have only covered half of) in just a year's time. If the JLPT word frequency lists I’m using are accurate, I have about 2,000 words more to go to to cover most vocabulary that could appear in the test. This makes the "10,000 sentences/words to fluency" argument a reasonable milestone to aim for for Japanese learners if said aim is only to pass the test. That said, 10,000 words is just that, a milestone. It's more akin to a comfortable level of comprehension, but not my own concept of fluency which is being able to read with ease, speak articulately, and write comfortably.

READING IMMERSION GRAPHS

My biggest motivation for tracking my stats is for the purpose of seeing whether my reading speed is improving over time. Reading speed is also easier to measure than listening comprehension which is kind of subjective, so I had a lot of fun making these. What I found is that for the first volume or chapter of whatever it is I’m reading, I always take the time to get used to the writing style of the author. My speed really improves whenever I keep reading the same topic over and over again. On the other hand and quite obviously, looking up many new words in a row and trying to parse sentences slows me down.

Manga: Reading Speed Progression per Volume

I clearly love ちはやふる and I am not ashamed to admit it.

I need to start reading longer manga. When I do, I’ll probably split this graph into less than and greater than 20 volumes. Imagine if I start reading something ridiculously long as 名探偵コナン or ワンピース, these graphs will start breaching the bounds of time and space.

Novels: Time Spent Reading per Chapter

#neverforget the time I read chapter six of Norwegian Wood for 9 hours when it took me less than half that time in English RIP. Also, my interest in Kitchen plummeted LOL. Still planning to finish it don’t worry. 

I also need to start branching away from manga and start reading more novels and light novels, too just so I can make more pretty graphs.

Visual Novels: Time Spent Reading and Daily Word Count

Also known as images that clearly show that I’ve already spent several days only reading the prologue of Island. I’m not sweating. 切那 needs to stop using words I don’t know in succession. More thoughts on this VN far into the future.

Thoughts on Immersion

I can’t really say anything else other that that it works for me, and needless to say if you’re considering this method, remember that the SRS is your friend but immersion should be your one true love.

Prior to all this, I couldn’t even read a sample paragraph from Genki without being confused to my very soul. Yes, I know, it’s embarrassing, but that’s the truth. I was way more scared of failing my Japanese classes than my actual thesis for my bachelors degree, I kid you not. I would quite literally spend all my free time in university trying to understand grammar, memorize vocabulary, and answer my workbook exercises with little to no success. 

I tried so hard to get all the grammar “formulas” into my head for 1.5 years and it only brought me more confusion. I’m never going back to traditional classroom study for language learning, but I will still refer to grammar books when I need to, and not because I feel like I need to answer 4783342 different workbook exercises like my life depended on it.

I still can’t believe it, but with immersion this statement is actually true to a point, don’t try shadowing anime/or calling your boss anime language slurs, use your common sense:

study anime to understand Japanese > study Japanese to understand anime 

Future Goals/Plans

2,200 immersion hours was my initial goal, but honestly I feel like that number could be much higher. There’s still a lot of stuff I don’t understand (news, politics, sciences, etc.), so I’ll make attempts to cover more of those things in my immersion. 

I’ll continue reading more, because that’s a natural SRS in itself. Try to read longer manga, more novels, visual novels, and light novels, and maybe news articles. 

I’ll try to mine as much “JLPT vocab” as I can before making any attempts at taking the JLPT. I noticed that a lot of the words I know don’t appear in the JLPT word lists as much, even though they appear a lot in media/daily conversation. 

Continue mining all words I don’t know because all words are useful anyway. There is no such thing as useless words. I never really understood mining only “interesting words” or words that “pop up” in your immersion. As I said in my previous blog post, 美人局 is an interesting word and I certainly caught it being said in my immersion, but in the three languages I know, I wouldn’t know when I would be able to use such a word, as compared to something like ジャガイモ which is a significantly less interesting word, but is certainly useful to know. 

_

I have managed to talk up a storm, but if you have any questions regarding my process or recommendations for new immersion material, please feel free to send an ask/reply to this post. I love hearing about other people’s language learning/immersion journeys. 

See you on my next post!

[pretchatta]

swoon june day 16: heartbeat

[insp]

rating: mature (lap dancing, blood/injury); kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 2.7k words

---

Hera’s heartbeat thuds in her ears as she enters the private club. All around her she’s aware of richly-dressed patrons sitting around tables being attended to by a variety of beings. She holds her head high in her best imitation of self-importance. Even though women of her species are usually expected to be in a different role in establishments such as these, she has learned that projecting confidence goes a long way towards convincing people that she belongs to nobody.

It doesn’t help her fear that comes from being here in the first place.

The club is warm, enough for her to remove the cloak around her shoulders. Underneath she’s wearing a cowl-neck dress that falls to her ankles, the fine material a deep purple colour. It hugs her figure while leaving her arms bare, and a matching cap covers her head and the base of her lekku. Her heart beats harder with a new fear now, the fear of being seen, of being reduced to her body and her species and nothing else. It’s an old fear, one she can control.

She finds an empty booth in a shadowy corner. Ignoring the way her shoes stick to the black floor, she sits on the circular padded bench that runs around the circumference of the small space. The red material is imitation velvoid – or, at least, she assumes it’s imitation in a place like this. The light is dim enough that she can’t tell. Soft music with a steady beat comes from hidden speakers, and she can feel the bass through the seat.

A zabrak server in dark robes arrives to take her drink order, and to ask if there’s anything else they can get for her. She knows exactly what they mean.

“A human male,” she says, in the same tone she ordered the drink. “Preferably tall, with long hair.”

“I’ll see who’s in for you tonight, Mistress.” The server gives a small bow before leaving.

Hera knows exactly who is in tonight. When Fulcrum had offered her this job, they had made it clear she didn’t have to take it. When she took it anyway, fully expecting that she would be the one to infiltrate the club that was actually a front for zygerrian slavers, she had been surprised when Kanan had insisted he go instead. Surprised, and touched. He’d been on her crew barely six months and still hadn’t shown much interest in her rebellion work, but the moment she’d briefed him on this job he’d been adamant that he would be the one in the field. They were fortunate the zygerrians trafficked in humans.

His target was data: a list of the trackers the zygerrians had implanted in their slaves and the frequencies they operated on. Without it, extraction would be impossible. If the zygerrians couldn’t recapture their prisoners they would simply remotely activate the explosives contained in the trackers, and any rescue would have been for nothing. Kanan would get the data, Hera would transmit it to Fulcrum, and then the rescue would be staged by the small team of bounty hunters Fulcrum had hired to ensure total success on this job.

All Hera had to do was meet Kanan and get the list.

Knowing that he’s the only human here doesn’t stop the relief she feels when he finally appears. It’s been four days of waiting, four days of alternating between worrying about him and feeling guilty and selfish for sending him instead of her. For a moment, the sight of him whole and healthy and unharmed calms her. Then she takes in his appearance and her heartbeat speeds right back up.

Kanan’s loose pants hang low off his hips. The dark material drapes down his legs, the lines of light and shadow shifting when he moves. In contrast, his armless green shirt is skintight, doing little to hide the lines of hard, lean muscles on his chest. He still has the same goatee as before but his hair is different – about half has been pulled up into a topknot and the rest hangs loose about his shoulders. His eyes, smudged with a touch of black eyeliner, immediately fix her with a smouldering gaze.

Hera’s cheeks flush with heat. She’s been so wrapped up in worrying about his well-being that, until now, she hasn’t spared a thought for the service she is posing as a customer for. She still hasn’t sorted out the mess that is her feelings for him, and it dawns on her that they might be about to get a whole lot messier.

He leans against the entrance to her booth with a casual grace.

“Do I meet your requirements for tonight, Mistress?”

His voice is low and husky and goes straight between her legs.

She swallows and tries to keep her voice steady as she replies.

“You’ll do.”

He gives her a small smirk as he pushes off the wall and slinks inside. The music grows louder, coalescing into a thrumming song with a heavy beat. He stops in front of her and smoothly takes her hand, bringing it to his mouth to brush his lips along the back of it.

Her breath catches in the back of her throat. She doesn’t know if he’s joking or if they’re being watched, but she follows his lead and keeps up the act in case it’s the latter.

He slides onto the bench beside her in time with the music, still with her hand near his face and his darkened eyes locked on hers. He brushes his nose against the back of her hand and then continues down her arm in a line, over her wrist and elbow all the way to her shoulder. From there he turns his head so that his lips are barely an inch from her earcone.

“They have cameras everywhere,” he whispers. “We’re both new, they’ll be watching us. Just play along.”

Hera gives him the smallest of nods to show she understands.

Kanan’s next moves flow with the beat of the music so well that she can’t help but wonder if there’s more than just four days of experience behind them. He twists so that he’s on one knee, and then swings his other knee over her lap, straddling her. His body undulates over hers, keeping time with the thrumming bass. She notices he’s very careful not to make contact with her, except for where the material of his pants drapes over her lap.

He lowers himself so that he’s almost sitting on her legs and drops his head, his mouth now next to her other earcone.

“In about two minutes there’s going to be an evacuation. Get out, transmit the data, then meet me round the back with a speeder bike.”

Hera hopes his shoulder hides her mouth from any cameras as she breathes, “Where’s the list?”

Kanan turns his head so that his sly smile hovers just above her mouth. “I’m about to give it to you.”

Heat flares in her body in response. His hands cup her face and tilt her head back. She feels his nose brush her throat, and then his hands are running down to her shoulders, along her arms. His nose reaches the dip between her collarbones.

“They gave me a tracker,” he murmurs, his breath tickling her breastbone, “but I couldn’t get the frequency. That’s why I need an alternate extraction.”

In one smooth movement he’s standing in front of her again, holding her gaze with his eyes. He runs one hand down his chest, then takes the hem of his shirt and slowly lifts it. The hard lines of his tensed abdominal muscles had already been visible, but now she can see his flushed skin and its sparse coating of hair. It’s enough to distract her from the question she was about to ask.

Kanan draws his shirt up further, to his chin, at which point he takes the material between his teeth. Then he steps back towards her. He takes one of her hands and presses it against the highest point of his exposed skin, his breastbone, just under the triangle made by the hem of his shirt. With her palm flat against his hot skin she can feel his heart beating almost as hard as her own.

He then moves her hand down and slightly away, grazing the tips of her fingers down his abs in a line. Hera’s barely breathing. Even if maintaining his cover hadn’t been imperative, she wouldn’t have been able or willing to stop now. But continuing their act was important – they were so close now, the last thing they needed was for the zygerrians watching them to get suspicious.

When her hand reaches the top of his pants he cants his hips so her hand is once again pressed flat against him, and she feels something hard pressing into her palm. She hooks her fingers inside his waistband to retrieve the small datachip tucked into it and doesn’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed that it was off-centre.

He lets her hand fall to her lap. Hera draws it up to her face, her thumb tucking the datachip against her palm. Her cheeks are flushed with heat but she holds his gaze as she flicks out her tongue and slowly drags the length of her hand over it, licking off his sweat. Something flickers in his kohl-smeared eyes as she does. When she’s done, her hand is on her chest and she can tuck the datachip into the cowl of her dress.

Kanan blinks and comes back to himself, dropping to his knees in front of her, in time with the music once again. He places his hands on her legs so that his fingers splay over her thighs, their warmth penetrating through the material of her dress. Then he starts to slowly stroke up, towards her hips. He bends his head to follow, his nose brushing along her inner thigh. Hera feels like her heart might explode, blood pounding hot in her ears.

Without warning, the music cuts out. A moment later an alarm starts blaring. Kanan is immediately on his feet, tugging his shirt back down and offering Hera a hand.

“Evacuation alarm, Mistress,” he says loudly and calmly over the noise. Hera takes a shaky breath and allows him to lead her out of the booth. Her heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of her chest, and she doesn’t realise she’s forgotten her cloak until Kanan settles it around her shoulders. She turns to thank him, but they’re back in the main area and his face is set in an expressionless mask.

Hera lets herself be ushered back to the entrance she came through by the servers as Kanan disappears through a curtain into the back. In the noise and confusion it’s easy for her to duck away into a side street and away from the congregating patrons, who range from bewildered to outraged that their night is being interrupted.

The cool night air is soothing against her flushed skin. She takes several deep breaths as she walks back to the place she stashed her speeder bike, doing her best to calm herself. Attached to the bike is the short-range transmitter she installed and she uses it now to send the bounty hunters the frequency data. They should be on standby, ready to go as soon as she gives the word, which means the extraction begins now.

She hops on the bike and revs the engine. Kanan’s extraction begins now, too. She never did ask him how he was intending to disable his tracker, and she squashes the sudden fear that he doesn’t actually have a plan for that yet. Or, at least, she tries to; her hands shake on the handlebars as her heart once again starts pounding.

The back entrance isn’t hard to find, because it’s where the bounty hunters’ ship is hovering. She tears around the corner in time to hear Kanan’s voice.

“...go, I’ve got my own way out!”

She doesn’t see who he was talking to, as they are presumably taken up to the ship. It starts to rise as she brakes, calling out to Kanan.

He appears a moment later.

“Go,” he shouts, leaping onto the bike behind her. Three zygerrians follow him out, whips and crossbows in their hands. She steps on the accelerator as Kanan’s arms encircle her waist from behind.

Several shots sail over their heads as Hera urges the bike down the narrow streets. Driving isn’t quite the same as flying, but the thrill is close enough. She takes several sharp turns to throw off any pursuit, and is about to map out a route back to the Phantom when Kanan speaks into her earcone.

“Pull over, they’ll be tracking me.”

She’d almost forgotten. She finds an empty alley to back the bike into and takes them into the cover of the shadows before turning to him.

“You do have a plan to get it out, don’t you?” She doesn’t know if she’ll be more scared or angry if his answer is no.

“Yeah, but it’s going to be messy and I don’t want anyone else to see this.”

That’s something, at least. She’s still trying to work out what he’s about to do when his shirt comes over his head in one swift movement. The sudden appearance of Kanan’s bare chest stuns her into speechlessness as he starts to tear the thin material into wide strips.

“Can you tie this around here?” He hands her a strip and indicates the upper part of his right arm. “Tight, like a tourniquet.”

Hera takes the offered strip slowly, confused. “What are you doing?”

“No time to explain. Just trust me.”

She ties it and pulls the knot tight, grateful that her hands are no longer shaking, though adrenaline still courses through her veins. Once Kanan is satisfied with her work he hands her the rest of the cloth strips. Then he takes a step back from her and closes his eyes. His left hand comes up to hover just over the inside of his right elbow and a small frown of concentration appears on his brow.

Hera understands what he’s doing a moment later.

Bright red splatters Kanan’s chest as something explodes out of his skin. Hera gets a glimpse of a small, credit-chip-sized electronic device floating in mid-air for a brief second. Then Kanan’s hand clenches in a fist and the device collapses in on itself, crushed by an invisible force.

Blood begins to pour from the wound in his arm and she rushes forwards with the rest of his shirt to try to stem the bleeding. The first strip wasn’t just like a tourniquet – it was a tourniquet, tight enough to slow the blood his heart is trying to beat out of his body.

She doesn’t realise she’s letting out a stream of curses as she tries to stabilise him. She’s angry, she’s scared, she’s covered in Kanan’s blood and all she wants is to be safely back on the Ghost with all the doors locked and everyone’s skin intact.

“–absolute kriffing idiot, wool-headed nerf-herder, you bantha-brained stupa–”

“We need to go,” he cuts in, stopping her tirade.

She gives the bloodied mess of material a final tug to make sure it’s tied in place and then relinquishes his arm. He immediately throws a leg over the bike and sits down heavily, and her heart softens. She’s not angry at him for hurting himself, she’s angry at the galaxy for making this mission a necessity.

Noticing his skin is pebbled with goosebumps she removes her cloak and affixes it around his shoulders before he can complain.

“Just hold on,” she tells him gently, cupping his face with one hand. “We’ll get you back to the Ghost and we can fix you up there.”

He nods in response.

She carefully places herself in front of him and feels him settle against her back. She draws his good arm securely around her waist and then revs the bike’s engines a final time, shooting away into the night.

They did a good thing today. The people they freed would be able to return home, and Kanan would be alright. She’d make sure of it. Anything else could be dealt with later.

[ofpsalms]

VOICE / SPEECH HEADCANONS

NO. OF SPOKEN LANGUAGES : The number of languages Nico can speak depends on the verse that she is in. In her main verse, due to the fact she is constantly needed around the world she is fluent in four languages (Italian, English, Spanish, Ecclesiastical Latin) and conversational in two (French, Portuguese). This same rule applies in her Victorian verse.  In her Late Roman Empire-verse, she can only speak two fluently- Classical Latin and Koine Greek, while having basic knowledge of Galilean Aramaic. 

TONE OF VOICE :  high  / average  /  deep.   Nico’s voice is usually clear, crisp, and forward in order to get a concise point across, but aside from that has quite an average tone.  Her voice at times can be sharp and cutting, particularly if she wishes to intimidate whoever she’s talking to. 

ACCENT :   yes /  no   — You can very much hear a distinct Romanesco accent when she speaks English. Nico does at times fall into common habits native Italian speakers have when speaking English. This includes rolling her r’s, pronouncing double letters in English as a longer sound, and occasionally adding an extra vowel to the end of the word ending in a consonant to make something easier to pronounce (eg. man = man-a, flag = flag-a). 

DEMEANOR : confident /  shy /  approachable /  hostile  /  other.   — Mostly italicized because Nico’s demeanor really depends on what her attitude is towards the individual she’s speaking with. She likes to present herself as confident and in control, being more amiable towards those she’s friendly towards and more hostile towards those she immensely dislikes. 

POSTURE :  slumped /  straight /  stiff  / relaxed.   — Nico holds herself like a soldier. Her posture is another way of displaying herself as someone who is in control and has the upper hand of a situation, as well as keeping an air of respectability about her. Underneath this, however, you’ll find a degree of paranoia due to both her politicking and line of work. Because of this sometimes her position will seem tense and stiff, though she is preparing to be attacked. 

HABITS :   head  tilting  / swaying /  fidgeting / stuttering  / gesturing /  arm  crossing /  strokes  chin  /  er , um , or  other  interjections  / plays  with  hair or  clothing /  hands  at  hips  / inconsistent  eye  contact /  maintains  eye  contact  / frequent  pausing  / stands  close  /  stands  at  distance

COMPLEXITY.

VOCABULARY :                   ⬛  ⬛  ⬛  ⬛  ⬜

EMOTION :                      ⬛  ⬛  ⬛  ⬜  ⬜ 

SENTENCE STRUCTURE :      ⬛  ⬛  ⬛  ⬜  ⬜

NOTES : You can tell she has had a Jesuit education. Nico has quite a diverse vocabulary in Italian, and enjoys learning complex words in English. Her sentence structure can also be quite complex when debating with others or speaking about matters of God, though she’ll usually speak more casually and concisely around laymen. Nico, however, is usually surprisingly restrained in her emotions when speaking towards others, outside of the physical gestures she makes. This stems from two things, her need for control (or at least the appearance that she has control of a situation) and her fear of displaying too much vulnerability towards others she does not know. 

PROFANITY.

FREQUENCY :       ⬛  ⬛  ⬜  ⬜  ⬜    

CREATIVITY :    ⬛  ⬛  ⬛  ⬛  ⬜    

NOTES : Nico curses more than you would expect, but still tries to keep her vulgarity to a minimum. Most of her profanity is Roman, but has picked up a few words from friends from Tuscany. Her creativity with insults depends on her level of anger towards whomever she is directing them at. At peak anger she may say something very creative and very rude like “Li mortacci tua, de tuo nonno, de tua madre e dei 3/4 daa palazzina tua.” (Fuck your dead relatives, and your grandfather's, and your mother's, and those of the three-quarters of your apartment block). Nico never uses blasphemous profanities, as it is considered incredibly taboo in Italy, but will exclaim things such as Dio! or God have mercy! as a casual way of asking God for help.

BOLD ALL THAT APPLY.

arse. ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. chicken shit. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shitass. son  of  a  bitch. twat. wanker. pussy.

accidenti. bacha ma culo. bastardo. cazzo. cazzata. che palle. coglione. culo. gran’ disgraziato. fava. figlio di puttana. idiota. leccaculo. merda.  li mortacci tua. pezzo di merda. porca miseria. segone. stronzo. vaffanculo. vai a morire ammazzato.  zuia.

GIVEN PROPER RELIGIOUS CONTEXT.

christ  on  a  bike.  christ  on  a  cracker.  damn.  goddamn. godsdamn.  hell.  holy  shit. jesus. jesus  christ. jesus  h  christ. jesus  h.  roosevelt  christ.  lord  have  mercy.  jesus ,  mary  and  joseph. sweet  jesus. jesus  fucking  christ.

cristo. dio. dio cane. dio santo. gesú, madonna. madonna mia. madonna santa. porco dio. porca guida. vai all’inferno.

THIS OR THAT?

straightforward  or   cryptic?  |  finding  the  right ��word or   using  the  first  word  that  comes  to  mind? |  masculinity , neutrality ,   or   femininity?  |  formalities or   abrasiveness?  |  praise   or   equivocation?  | frankness  or   lies?  |  excessive  or   minimal hand  gestures?  | name – calling   or  magnanimity?  | friendly   or   blunt  nicknames?

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME UNDERSTANDING OR HEARING YOUR CHARACTER? —  almost  always  /  frequently  / sometimes / rarely  / never.

DOES YOUR CHARACTER’S POINT COME ACROSS EASILY WHEN THEY SPEAK? —   almost always / frequently / sometimes  /  rarely  /  never.

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER INITIATE CONVERSATIONS? —  almost  always / frequently  / sometimes / rarely /  never.      

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS? —  almost  always  / frequently /  sometimes  / rarely /  never.

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE 'WHOM’ IN A SENTENCE? —  yes /  no /  yes, but it’s always wrong

YOUR CHARACTER WANTS TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT. WHAT WORD DO THEY USE? —    but / though  /  although /  however  / perhaps /  mayhaps  /  maybe

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER END CONVERSATIONS? —   walk  away  /  ask  if  that’s  everything  /  say  that’s  everything  /  give  a  proper  goodbye  /  tell  their  company  they’re  done  here  /  remain  quiet /  they  don’t.

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER ADDRESS OTHERS? —  titles /  first  names  /  surnames  /  full  names  / nicknames.

IN WHAT WAYS DOES YOUR CHARACTER’S SPEECH STAND OUT TO OTHERS? —   accent /  vocabulary  /  tone /  level   /  politeness   /  brusqueness  /  it  doesn’t.

[yummysweetroll]

So cold, so Warm.

Butch's pipboy made a soft static sound. For a few days now, nothing connected in that frequency, not even a cry for help or even that annoying Sugarbombs advertisement, just silence ... And that was a bad sign, after all, it is an indication that there was no settlement or big city in the next few miles of road and all Anna wanted most on this cold night, was now to sleep in a bed with a frayed mattress from any inn.

See more here! ⤵⤵

The radio was still hissing when the first rays of sunlight appeared on the horizon. The night fog still lingered, making it difficult to see while keeping everything chilly. Anna shivered with cold, trying to cover herself with the Tunnel Snakes jacket and scarf, while Butch buried his nose in his scarf and muttered under his breath. Thank heavens, for a few days ago they helped a family and they offered some warm clothing as a reward. Turning her arm a little, the girl checked her pip-boy, March 20, the first day of spring.

"Butch, today is the first day of spring!" -She commented trying to liven up the walk -

"Yeah? And ?!" - Butch replied back looking out of the corner of his eye-

“Sooo, I thought maybe, we'll feel less cold on the road… And they say it's time for flowers and birds.” - ignoring her road partner's initial bad mood-

“And what difference does that make now, Nosebleed? We are going north, it will get colder each day and there will be only snow! It is simple, or have you forgotten Broch's classes? Besides, do you think we will find some beautiful flowering field with birds and bees in this nuclear desolation? You're too naive "- He took his hand out of his pocket and pointed at Anna-" If it weren't for your idiocy of wanting to compensate for the Tin Brotherhood, we could be in Rivet City, in that warm room.

Anna snorted, of course she remembered the annoying geography lessons! She also remembers the conversations the two had, about the world outside the Vault and the times they received punishments for talking about it ... And now that they're being able to make everything real and make all the punishments count, he wants to keep his butt in that rusty bathtub? In a place that resembles and feels the same claustrophobic feeling that was the vault? Besides, why flying so many grumpy words at her? Was the cold her fault? Didn't he understand how much debt she owed to the Brotherhood of Steel? They saved her!

"Shut up! If you wanted to be comfortable so much, then you should have stayed in the Vault. Sure you would be warm and living the same life! You came because you wanted to, I didn't ask to follow me. I just thought that… ”- The girl's voice gave a little hesitation and a lump in her throat was installed, along with some tears-“ Damn it, Deloria! ”

Butch opened his mouth to retort, but before he even said anything, Anna stepped up and disappeared into the mist. The boy stopped walking and called her a few times, but there were no answers. What did he do this time? His mind ran through his last sentences, did Anna think he regretted accompanying her? Does she think it's her fault for things going wrong? He had no doubts about that.

"Moron." -That was the only word that crossed Butch's head as he advanced through the fog after the girl. Since when she completed her father's project and woke up in the Brotherhood hospital, after that radiation bath and thank God with all her hair on her head, Anna started to blame herself for many things, be it the death of her father, the other scientists and even for the coma that the blond soldier finds himself in - "You idiot."

Turning off the Pip-boy, Butch managed to follow the small sounds of sobbing and it didn't take long to find the crouching girl crying behind a rut.

"Anna." - Butch called her seriously. And the way the girl's green eyes looked back at him, it looked like he wasn't expecting that. "Anna, are you going to tell me what's going on or are you playing hard to get?"

The girl swallowed her cry, and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the tip of her scarf.

“II, B-Butch .... There is so much going on, so much problems that I have to solve and that almost always ends with someone I like injured or… dead. It is being difficult and too heavy to handle alone. - She paused to get her thoughts in order, Butch did not move or spoke in fear that she would stop talking - “And I don't want this anymore, I don't want to have to take responsibility for others, I don ' t want to decide the future of the world anymore. But I do everything the same, I don't change anything ... You're right to want to make up for it, and look at us now, it's really my fault that we're in this situation, for being away from home, for being hungry and cold, for having this stupid mission. Sorry Butch, I also wanted to be in River City ... But I also wanted to be on the road with you by my side, discovering and making all those detentions we took for dreaming about being here worthwhile. I'm sorry if I got you involved in my problems again. -She finished lowering her eyes again-

She let it all out, almost without pause. Her eyes cried again and Butch crouched down beside her and stroked her head. He sighed and as he put together a sentence, thoughts of her traveled a bit to when they lived in the vault. Since childhood, Butch had to deal with an Anna who lived under pressure to do what society or her father expected, always smiling and as if she were happy ... even if it was totally contrary to what she wanted and believed, And every time those tearful green eyes came to meet him, the boy did exactly as he did now, let her vent (even if he didn't hear much of the complaint) and stroked her head.

It is unknown how long the two stayed there, but it was long enough for Butch to think about something, the sobs to stop and all that morning fog to dissipate.

“Thank you,” replied Anna quietly, still buried in the scarf.

Butch smiled as he took Anna's hand and held it up. He knew that his "tough guy" pose was almost always undone when he saw her crying face ... After all, she was always his best friend and all that silly nonsense that the woman who married the priest comments on about soul mate.

“It's ok, Crybaby. Of course, I was mad at the cold, you know I hate cold ... But I'm glad I came with you, I learned a few things and met a lot of nice people. Besides, that's what I… sorry, we always wanted to do it! - Then he left his tender voice, to bring his traditional debauchery voice - And of course I couldn't leave an idiot like you alone here ... That's what I'm here for, because I can do a lot of things, shoot , stab, make you start to cry and stop and… ”

“Butchieeeee, you always destroy that romantic climate” - interrupted the girl with giggles, pushing him - And you always complain that I'm not "romantic enough".  

Butch smiled smugly, of course there was more that the boy wanted to say to her. But at that moment, it was enough, probably because she wouldn't be able to get rid of this burden so fast.

A strong wind hit them and with his free arm Butch protected her as she hugged him back. When they opened their eyes they realized that the last remnants of mist had disappeared, presenting them with an image that they had only seen in black and white in the films or in the biology books ... A green field dotted with colorful flowers with a few birds flying over them. The two exclaimed in awe as they watched the rare landscape.

"And that talk about not having a place like that ?." - Anna commented softly-

"Shut up." - Butch replied smiling.  

_____________________________________________________

Heey!

❤ Another drawing following the list of clothes and with a little story !! ❤

The truth is that this time it took me longer to write than to draw. 😥😥

Do you like posts like that? Do you think it's worth it?

That drawing came from this list!

✨ OC Outfit Doodle Asks ✨

I want to use this list to train poses, clothes and everything! So please, send an emoji from the list and I'll draw Butch and Anna!

[honestsycrets]

Forgotten Favourite | [ Lagertha x Reader, Ubbe x Reader ABO ]

❛ pairing | ubbe x reader, referenced!lagertha x reader and ragnar x reader and ragnar x lagertha x reader, lagertha x astrid

❛ type | triple shot [SFW this chp]

❛ summary | once upon a time, when things were simple, it wasn’t so difficult to keep Lagertha’s attention. Now that she has Astrid, that’s something else entirely. Maybe Ubbe can help.

❛  tags | ABO, Alpha!Ubbe, Alpha!Lagertha, Omega!Reader, Older Reader, Polygyny, some hallucinations but very minor, angst heavy, much sads reader, but maybe she can get back her voice, dub!con (this chapter has nothing too graphic), chasing, non-canon compliant.

❛ sy’s notes | “Shithead Ubbe” in action.

“Are you well?”

You looked into her eyes, steely and calm, and nodded. Your gaze fell back to the pool of mead between your clean fingertips, chewing on your lower lip. Her hand ran by the neatly woven braid that tumbled down your chest, imbued with gems she brought you from England, and they’re all pointless. If they no longer caught her attention, that was.

“Are you sure?”

“I must be tired, Astrid. I’ll go rest.”

“Should I come with you?” Astrid asked. “It’s…” her hand drops, hovering then at your stomach. “Unsafe.”

“No, no. Don’t strain yourself.” You quipped quickly. “She’ll be looking for you. It is only Kattegat, after all.”

You slipped outside of the Great Hall where a ravenous feast waged the night away on the back of barrels of ale and heaps of bread and fish. She was only a few crowds away discussing alliances with men that she’s earned the respect of being the single most important valkyrie with women like Torvi and Gunnhild. Women of the shield and sword; strong, sexy women like them.

Perhaps that was why she lost interest.

You were regretfully pathetic with a sword. In the world of the House of Lothbrok, you know that outside is not a place you can stay for long being so bad with sword, shield, and even your own fangs. Perhaps its curiosity that led you outside that night. Would she come find you after all these years? After moments turned to minutes, you exhale a cool breath of air.

The answer was plain.

You stepped away from the Great Hall and looked toward the pins with quiet fat piglets, illuminated by the forgiving full moon in the sky. The red hue indicates the start of the festival. Time for sex, drinks, and bond gifting. The mother squeals sound painful as they rutted against their mother for milk before their night’s end.

Your fingers ran across the mark upon your neck. There’s no fancy sigil there, no glowing golden marks, nor claims. Just… the knowledge and reminder of her scent, hurtling you toward a better time. The vastness of the memory is both wide and deep. It would consume you if you let it. It feels less of a bond and more of a distant memory.

“Is something on your mind?” you lifted your eyes from your prison of self-pity to look behind your shoulder. It’s as if the world comes into focus when you recognize him standing there-- Ragnar, his rugged face fading, smoothing-- and no, it’s not Ragnar. Not the man that would steal away in a moment to find you. That face is too smooth, too princely, entitled. It’s Ubbe. He stands a reminder of his father before him when things were easy and good-- and you mattered. He speaks. “You weren’t inside with Lagertha.”

“I didn’t take it anyone would notice.”

He gazes out toward the empty wooden homes, then back, training his eye upon your mutual bonded neck. Your fingers fall away from your neck. “Everyone notices when an omega goes missing.”

It gives you a moment of pause. In the bright moonlight, his long rolls of hair mimic Ragnar’s. Though they weren’t thick and there were no searing tattoos across the expanse of his pale skin. Not like Ragnar’s. How chiseled his body was, cut by scars his younger doppelganger lacked, the likes of the fishhook that dragged from his chest to his bicep. It pangs, strangely, and the memories with it.

And yes, in the heat of the night, under Lagertha’s comforting touch, how he used to sink into you thrust by thrust. You scanned Ubbe over, dragging the soft fur over your shoulders, and stand upright. “Your father told me that once.”

Ubbe’s slender lips pressed together-- firm on thoughts that you could never touch. He ignores the comment. “Come back inside.”  

It’s not a request. It’s an order. He must think that he has something over you to speak to you in such a way, flat and dry, but level in as many parts with commanding. He’s speaking to the wrong woman. Your eyebrows knit together.

“I am not going inside, Ubbe. I am tired of being a wallflower for one night.”

As dramatic as that knowledge was, it was a fact. You had put effort into looking like this, weaving the pearls, fluttering your lashes at her, the only beg for a night. You knew as well as she did that you wouldn’t beg. You were too proud. As was she.

“She’ll miss you.”

Your lip twitches. You look up to hold his gaze, when you can’t anymore because it’s too painful to tell him. Inevitably, you scoff and look at the band around your finger. “We are old enough to be without one another. She has Astrid.”

He grunts. Bent his head down with a small kick out of the rock under his leather boots. Then turning one way before another, he steps forward into your space. As a bonded omega, you instinctually lean away from him, though his arms are unoffending turned one over another, rather than raised against you. His breath is warm against the cool air of the night. “Then let me walk you to your cabin.”

You couldn’t shake him if you tried. You took the first step toward the dusty street that would lead you to your cabin when things had gotten too loud. Bjorn, Astrid, and Lagertha would undoubtedly drink and talk. Bjorn might venture off for sex. Astrid and Lagertha would go to bed together and-- you shook your head to the thought. Your earrings jangle with it.

“Is it an offer or a demand?”

“Maybe both,” Ubbe follows your quick steps with wide strokes. He’s a big man, perhaps bigger than Ragnar, reflecting his mother’s size. He’s like his father, and yet, nothing like him. His eyes share that same heavy shadow after you, but they lack Ragnar’s curiosity. Not in the absence of it, but the purity in which Ragnar was willing to learn.

“You’re approaching a heat. That is why you wanted to leave.”

You stop.

“Is this what--”

“Another strong scent. I thought you were barren. That’s what I’ve been told, after all.”

This then is the part where your lips part, unable to speak your truth. There’s something off-putting about the way he puts it. It isn’t that he’s necessarily off. In recent years, your heats had been coming with less frequency. Your hand feels itchy, fingers twitching, your words were growing in your mind, and failing to come off your tongue.

There’s nowhere to run.

“Ubbe--” you took a step back, then another, and Ubbe doesn’t mind. It excites him. His eyes are wide blown, rimmed with a blue that was clearer than the sea. He is strange. Most men would turn away from older women and yet-- he comes closer. “When was your last rut?”

“Why does that matter?”

He knows why it matters. You know why it matters. It was pure instinct for Ubbe to mate. It did not matter what Torvi or Margrethe said of the matter. You had only thought you were exempt-- given who your woman was. He feels huge compared to your body, illuminated only by the soft glint of the moonlight-- moonlight. It shone in the sky in brilliant disarray. It was a full traitorous moon.

Words fold on one another in your chest, rising and falling with renewed effort, as if to know what he was about to do. Your eyes make the mistake of latching upon his, delving into deep eye contact, one where his eyes look infinitely darker, and where you’re petrified to break it as if to know that the first one who released it would be the first one to act.

There’s something to be said for an old omega-- they know how to run, how to escape the advances of a drunk alpha, who caught a little bit too strong of a whiff of something he was never entitled to have. But, as alphas go-- once the scent was imprinted in their memory, they would never let it go. You know you don’t stand a chance at outrunning him. He’s too young, too spry, too ready. And you had just fallen headfirst into his trap of the perfectly calm carer.

You pivot your heels and run an omega’s run.

Her name is on your tongue like a chant, sobbing past the frustration of your woven sandals snatching sand through the alleyway. He’s not at all like Bjorn. Bjorn you can outrun, his shape isn’t made for long-distance runs. He’s heavy muscle and bad decisions. When you’re faced with someone like Ubbe, limber and quick, you know there is an issue.

It’s too easy for him to slam into longhouses. You scramble over the empty barrels of ale, scratching with desperate squeaks crying out to the stragglers on the streets for someone to hold him back. You fall on the other side of the barrels, catching your long skirts in bundles, and rush out the alleyway.

And it’s quiet.

Your head snaps down the alley where one sole barrel rolls on its side onto the ground. On the other side, it’s eerily still. The only noise is that of your chest rising and dropping to the tune of Kattegat’s rich ocean some great distance away. His scent is there, foggy and strong, seeping into your lungs in suffocating realization. It hits you all at once, connecting your back to an abandoned barn, where only slaves and pigs lived.

“Don’t move.” He’s so strong, pinning your hips to the barn, that you don’t realize how strongly he’s crushing you, ensuring you couldn’t run. Or think. Or cry out with his mouth fitted clasped over your neck. His gnashing fangs bite the fight out of your lungs, snapping time and again, and it hurts, but what can you do?

You sought something out— anything that is a bridge between reality and the teeth sinking into your neck. That encouraged the flow of your juices over your thighs and an undoubted excitement of the hunt. Instead, you’re so full of the rich, syrupy scent of a lover that reality melts like a pat of butter under summer day. It’s all Ubbe, flooding your nose, infesting your senses.

It hurts. And yet, it soothes the distant ache of your loneliness.

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor

[lovelikedestiny]

3. Copley: And our kingdom is gone

White glowing skin, touched by stars,

kissed by silver moonlight.

When Joe gets up and leaves the room with one last stroke of Nicky's head, just as Copley has entered the living room, Copley asks himself when the immortals started to trust him.

Andy and Nile are exercising in his backyard and Copley, hoping they don't destroy his amateur herb patch or his dahlias, has tried very hard to give them privacy. By that he means that he is not standing on the porch like a stalker and watching the two women attack each other without mercy and with deadly skill, faster than he has ever seen.

Astonished, he stops and stares at the door Joe has disappeared through before he realizes that he is not alone in the living room. Nicky nods slightly to him, one corner of his mouth curved into something like a half smile and Copley only realizes that because he has spent the last few days closely observing the immortal warriors and analyzing their behavior.

Copley has always considered himself to be a passable, if not a good judge of people - this skill was very helpful in his job and served him well. But Nicky's micro-expressions are on a completely different level. He seems perfectly at rest within himself and nothing in his face indicates what is going on inside him. Admittedly, Copley finds this just as intimidating as Andy's sharp presence, Joe's death look and Nile's powerful charisma. Nicky must be really good at playing poker, Copley thinks, and inwardly shakes his head because it's like wondering what Joe likes to do in his free time besides the obvious drawing, or what kind of ice cream Andy prefers to eat. And Copley isn't sure that the relationship between him and the ancient warriors can be considered as that familiar.

He fully understands their vigilant, suspicious attitude towards him and is determined to help them with their current problem, because he is complicit in the events that have happened and hopes to gain their forgiveness. Guilt and shame are still present in his heart for being blinded by the prospect of helping people with illnesses like the one that plagued his wife, even though all the signs of Merrick's sadistic play were right under his nose.

All the more, the fact that Joe left him alone with Nicky in a room, presumably to use the bathroom, feels like a minor victory, and Copley tries not to seem too baffled by it.

The minimal change in the bright mountain lakes that make up Nicky's eyes shows that he's not doing as good a job as he has hoped. In Nicky's eyes and the features around his mouth, the most emotions can be read, Copley noted, even if it will take him a lot of practice to see as much in Nicky's face as Joe. He will probably never reach this level, because he certainly does not have 900 years for a character study.

Nicky's minimal facial movements also make it harder for Copley to tell if he's in pain or to recognize the warning signs that precede any vomiting of blood - which is now occurring with terrible regularity.

Since he has found a tough nut to crack in Nicky, Copley has started to pay attention to Joe after Nicky's first blood break, in order to learn more about Nicky's behavior. With this tactic, Copley adds daily to his mental list of Nicky's signs of certain sensations, and to his chagrin, the signs of physical pain seem to be increasing in frequency.

Copley, one of those people who whine hard when they stub their little toe, admires the stoicism with which Nicky endures his rapidly deteriorating condition. Only his slow, sluggish movements and a barely noticeable frown are frequent indications of Nicky's discomfort, as well as a slight lowering of the corners of the mouth and the twitching of his jaw pointed out for Copley by Nile.

And of course the tremors from the chills going through Nicky's body at that moment. In addition to the thick hoodies, they pulled out all the stops with various blankets, socks, hot-water bottles and tea and Joe gives Nicky his body heat anyway, just like Andy and even Nile.

This deep, family bond between Andy, Joe and Nicky is met with great fascination by Copley and although Nile has only been an immortal for a few weeks, even Copley can see how easily the young woman has integrated into the team like a matching piece of a puzzle. It also shows him how much the emptiness of his house oppressed him after the death of his wife and that he finds himself wishing to be a part of this unusual family of extraordinary individuals.

With a quiet clearing of his throat, Copley de-freezes himself from where he has been standing for an alarmingly long number of seconds and turns the heat up. With the onset of autumn it is not a problem to heat so strongly because the nights are gradually getting colder. And Copley finds that he's already used to the high temperatures in the constantly heated living room. Sweating a little to keep Nicky from freezing as little as possible is probably the least Copley can do.

"Thank you, Mr. Copley," Nicky says, returning his attention to the open book in his lap, which Copley cannot identify as one of his. While he grimaces inwardly - whether that's because Nicky is the only one who continues to call him Mr. Copley, or because of how rough and strained his voice sounds, Copley can't tell - he sits down in the place where he is working. At least when he's not in his study. Actually, the professional atmosphere of his office always helps him to be more productive, but since Andy and her team moved in with him, Copley has gotten used to finding the presence of the others very pleasant.

When Joe returns, Copley is back to work retracing Meta Kozak's footsteps. She is currently moving from the western US towards New Mexico, but Copley doesn't know what her destination is or where she is keeping any evidence from Merrick's lab and that makes him angry at himself. He tracked Andromache the Scythian and her group of immortal warriors down so he shouldn't have any problems pinning Kozak down too. On the other hand, he had time to track down the immortals, and in this case it seems to be running like sand through his fingers.

Neither of the others is pushing him to hurry up or do better work, which Copley appreciates, but they all see Nicky's crumbling form every day.

Five minutes pass with no sound coming from the sofa, except for the occasional rustle of paper when Nicky turns a page or the sound of Joe's pen in his sketchbook, and Copley longs for a fifth cup of coffee.

"Copley?"

"Yes?" Even if Copley suspects what Joe wants from him, he takes his eyes off the irritatingly bright screen of his laptop to look at him.

Joe's dark, serious eyes are in such a strong contrast to the soft, warm expression of affection that they always take on when they come to rest on Nicky. "Is there-" Joe pauses to reconsider his choice of words, but Copley realizes in it the unrest that comes with Copley's own uneasiness. "- any news?"

To be honest, Copley prefers an angry, menacing Joe to the version whose tiny spark of hope Copley has to stifle over and over again, and he hates it. Still, he keeps his calm and shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry. I was able to locate her on the recordings of a hotel in Phoenix, Arizona, where she stayed for three nights. But I can't tell where she's going next. My guess is New Mexico, but she has changed direction several times in the past two days.” He sighs and shakes his head again. "She is very careful, which means that she expects you to search for her."

The pale, blurred face and cold, lifeless-looking eyes on his laptop cause a disgusted, hate-like feeling in his stomach. Copley wonders how he could ever expect from such an immoral doctor who sliced ​​people up for the Nobel Prize and took samples without letting herself be disturbed by their screams of pain to do something good for humanity.

Joe nods slowly and turns to his drawing with furrowed eyebrows, chewing on his lower lip and Copley looks at Nicky, only to notice that Nicky's focus has long been on his love. Copley thinks he sees something like concern in Nicky's eyes and then he reaches out his hand and squeezes Joe's, saying something in a lowered tone in that strange language and Joe snorts and grins slightly.

Copley has seen moments like this quite often lately. It's no secret that Nicky's condition weighs as heavily on Joe as a block of cement, and while Joe is definitely a smiler, there's nothing like it to be seen. Dry comments from Andy or deliberately silly jokes from Nile make him smile and, at best, even laugh a little. But only Nicky manages to ignite the humorous spark in his eyes and he does that as often as possible.

In the same language, Joe replies something, causing a low snort from Nicky about that Joe looks so happy, as if he had won the jackpot, before he seeks Copley's eye contact again. "Thank you, Copley."

Copley high fives himself in his head for the further progress he's made with the immortals and smiles. "Of course, I will keep you informed about further results."

"We really appreciate that," Nicky says, putting his book aside. He coughs heavily and Joe is immediately on alert, ready to jump up and grab the bucket they've positioned next to the sofa since the accumulating blood-vomiting, but Nicky pulls himself together. "Have you eaten anything today, Mr. Copley?" He asks hoarsely.

"I beg your pardon?" Copley blinks.

Up to this point he hasn't even given a thought to food and is amazed to realize that he has actually not eaten anything since last night because he was too busy following Kozak's trail. As if on command, his stomach growls softly and Copley is stunned that Nicky pays remarkable attention to who is eating what and when.

"Oh," Copley says, staring at his keyboard and then at Nicky, who is patiently waiting. "I'm afraid not, no."

He didn't even finish his sentence when Nicky gets up from the sofa - so slowly that it's painful to watch - and heads for the kitchen. "Do you like French omelettes?"

"Nicky-" Joe is hot on Nicky's heels, which is no wonder given Nicky's slow pace, every step taken so carefully, as if every move would hurt him. Because Nicky is supposed to take it easy and rest, Andy and Nile have thrown him out of the kitchen a few times because standing at the stove had exhausted him. And even if Copley doesn't know all the habits of the team by a long way, he can see how much Nicky loves to look after his family and that cooking and baking gives him great joy. This makes it all the more difficult for him not even be able to do that.

And the way Joe looks, he is more than aware of it. But instead of putting Nicky back on the sofa and advising him not to use the kitchen to make Copley a French omelette because it could harm his condition, Joe just says gently, "May I help you?"

It is not a statement that has been disguised in a question to avoid contradiction. It's a real question that Joe means wholeheartedly and leaves Nicky to decide whether he wants to work alone in the kitchen or to be helped. Joe didn't ask if he could cook, but asked Nicky's permission to help him cook and leave the main work to Nicky. And that Joe pays such careful attention to Nicky's feelings and wants to do something about it that he feels useless, moves Copley more than he would have expected.

Copley only catches a glimpse of the smile Nicky only saves for Joe. "Of course, hayati." Copley can't miss the underlying gratitude.

Continue reading on AO3 ;)

[wrenhavenriver]

Hello! You're the only language person I follow so I hope you don't mind me asking about resources 😅 I want to learn how to read and write a language more than I want to speak it, is it possible to do so? I have my eye on learning Japanese, Korean, and both traditional and simplified Chinese. It's a bit frustrating finding good resources that aren't mostly spoken language. Any insight would help, thank you! 😄

Hi! I can really only offer help with Japanese as it’s been almost a decade since I studied Chinese in any real capacity and I have no experience with Korean, but I would say yes, it’s possible. It’s true that a lot of the more popular resources available tend to be geared toward speech, but those same resources often include text on screen and explain grammar points in accessible detail, so I wouldn’t necessarily discount them--and even if you’re not intending on doing any speaking, I think a solid internal understanding of sound and pronunciation rules is a good thing to have, if only for ease of looking things up. I do have some general advice based on my own experience! I’ve gone ahead and bolded all of the text below that contain links to beginner friendly resources just in case you’re on a platform that doesn’t show links very well. 

I’m not sure where you are in your study, but if you’re just starting out with Japanese, it’s important to understand the three different writing systems and how each are used, as you can and oftentimes will see all three in any one sentence. (The reasons why the written language is like this are very interesting from a historical linguistics perspective and I think helpful to a basic understanding of the language in general).  From there you will likely want to start with kana, the phonetic syllabaries, as you can technically write anything and everything with just those (particularly hiragana).  Break them up into batches and start writing! Stroke order is important to keeping them legible, so watch videos of native speakers writing or reference one of the many, many charts out there. There are downloadable graph-paper style practice sheets that you can print en masse--these are good especially for learning to keep them proportional--but a small $5 dollar dry erase board from, like, Walgreens or something is also good for freehand practice. In terms of recognition, sites like real kana and tanoshii japanese are solid choices that let you customize how many characters you want to practice at a time.  Kanji is a whole other beast altogether. Kanji are largely logographic, meaning they represent a word or a meaning instead of a sound, the way phonetic alphabets and syllabaries like kana do. As a result, there are tens of thousands of kanji in existence. However, you can be fairly literate with the ~2,000 or so most commonly used kanji, called jouyou kanji--these are the ones taught to Japanese children in primary/secondary school. There are so very many resources out there for learning kanji! Some of the basic steps for learning them are pretty similar to those used for kana (which is fitting, as kana were originally developed by simplifying certain kanji). Break them up into batches (by grade level, frequency, or JLPT level are some of the most common options).  Learn the general rules of stroke order and doublecheck the order for each character you learn--again, you can do this any number of ways, through writing videos by native speakers, stroke order functions on dictionary sites like jisho.org, or printable practice sheets. This is important for legibility but also for your own recall/muscle memory. However, you’ll also want to look into learning radicals--kind of recurring base characters present within the larger kanji--as these will also massively assist with recall/learning/on the spot reading and are key to the kanji look up function in dictionaries, whether online or physical.

When looking up words you will need to keep in mind that kanji have multiple readings, called kun readings (native Japanese pronunciation - generally used for freestanding kanji that are their own word) and on readings (approximation of Chinese pronunciation - generally used for words formed by multiple/compounds of kanji). Even if you’re not planning on speaking Japanese, learning the most common kun and on readings for each kanji will really only benefit you, if only for the sake of looking things up. Learning these readings happens pretty naturally if you’re studying kanji in context of their most common uses and compounds, which is what I recommend. (No link here, just bolded because I think it’s important.) For example, if you’re learning the kanji 新 (jisho.org entry here), practice both 新しい (atara-shii), new, and 新聞 (shin-bun), newspaper. (That entry also conveniently shows you the stroke order, identifies the radical 斤, lists all the different kun and on readings, and gives you the option to find words containing that kanji, so basically make very good friends with jisho.org is what I’m saying.)

From there it’s a matter of consistent practice--apps like wanikani, anki, and memrise are some of the more popular options--and putting what you’ve learned to use, which is where things can get trickier to hunt down. Here are some ways to practice reading split up by proficiency level. The LearnJapanese subreddit is also quite good for recommendations and resources. Language exchange apps exist, though they do tend to put a lot of emphasis on speech. And honestly, you can even just put the Japanese word for anything that interests you into any given social media platform and see what pops up. 

It’s a long process but a very rewarding one! I hope this helped a bit, good luck and let me know if you have any more specific questions c: 

[darkpoisonouslove]

“No Order Can Make the Heart Miss”

Summary: Trust is not something Samara has learned between trading one tiara for another all the way to the queen’s crown her mother managed to get her hands on. Until Erendor’s short absence brought about a shift rocking her whole world with the steadiness she’s always craved but never had before.

This is happening. I have officially started shipping this and writing fic that focuses on it. I have a feeling there'll be no going back. I hope you enjoy!

Samara's heart was racing faster than it had on the stage of every beauty pageant and modeling contest she'd ever competed in as if to compensate for the lack of rouge on her cheeks. Not an easy conclusion to draw when a good portion of her earlier career was lost in the fog of her youth in which the orders she'd followed had been her only means of navigation and the hollow first places she'd won had had no value for her with all the power still held out of her grasp as the tip of the tiara on her head had barely reached her mother's waist. Yet, she'd come to the knowledge in the blink of an eye–or would have if hers weren't closed in the midst of the shared moment–had found it via what she would have been forced to play off as logic with the focus of a crowd on her but in the privacy of Erendor's bedchamber intuition didn't have to dig itself deep in the back of her mind like it was a dirty word.

It slipped freely through her fingers as she clutched at Erendor's outfit–still the one he'd traveled in when he hadn't taken the time to change and she hadn't given it to him–and guided her tongue to caress him in return for the invitation to openness. Her lips parted further to coax the little moans starting in the back of her throat to run along and greet his breath rushing into her system like her eyes had swallowed the sight of his carriage pulling up and her body was absorbing his company as if it was a solid ruby resting on her chest to ground her. Holding herself back would kill her in the vain attempt at hiding that it was.

There was no hiding from Erendor's mouth as it pressed hard against her own, enough so to burn her with the warmth of the contact and the insistence of her own being to follow and return the ardency. His tongue slid over hers hurriedly, sloppily even, like a clumsy river spilling all outside its bed – in a manner so unsuitable for a king. He was no king now. He was a servant to the devouring impulse she awoke in him. He was her husband.

She had to be drowning in fear but that wasn't what had her heart thumping in her ribcage as if looking for a vulnerable place to smash through and jump outside where it could be grabbed by rough hands. There was no reason to tame her pulse now and lock up the flood of blood behind foundation on her sides and neck like she'd done as a bride leaving her life for a palace she wouldn't even get to claim a trophy of her own. She wasn't a shadow anymore that had to seek cover from the obliterating reveal of truth. She was the one holding the light in her hand to be his control and the kingdom's. Her will was the sun he wouldn't poke to blind him. He'd ask for the rays and she'd give them without forcing him to plead to have the gold shining on both their heads in a radiant symbol of their union.

Her fingers slid over his jaw like it was the edge of the crown she was stroking but the heat on her flesh welcomed differently with his words and actions having laid a path for it inside her that his absence hadn't erased as if it was weak graphite. There was no chill running down her spine from the bright gleam of metal too heavy for her delicate neck, only the weight of his hands on her waist holding him to her, not the other way around. A crucial distinction she could hardly make out with her tongue all tangled up with his and the shift in temperature all over her body as his presence wrapped her more securely than the blanket she cocooned herself in at night as if she was a tiny centipede praying to transform into beauty that could fly rather than exhaust all those legs just to crawl.

Erendor growled in her mouth to send her heartbeat vibrating at the same frequency despite her inability to tell whether the primal sound was directed at the dress clinging in the way of his hands to her skin like it was its purpose or at the oxygen missing from their lungs while their mouths were locked together and her mind hyper focused in the space between their bodies to fill it away and leave no emptiness. She would have almost mimicked it as his lips slipped out of her reach if not for the quiet whine dropping out of her heart to tingle through her whole body like she had no shame to block the way and stop the spread.

"Show me," Erendor huffed against her cheek in the short reprieve he gave his system. His lips ghosted over the burning flesh to tickle with their softness and the breath rushing out of him in place of the usual orders he barked at their subjects.

One inhale. Two. Three. Enough to pin her mind in place as the rhythm of her own chest grounded her back in her body instead of the proximity of his. "What?" Not enough air had entered her in the absence of his tongue for the short word to get out without revealing the void it had had to go through. It didn't matter when his own voice had been quiet like shortness of breath didn't even make it after the physical effort his ridiculous friendly sparring with Oritel pulled out of him. It was the question of hesitation that shook the words off his lips despite his honesty always falling out of his mouth like a brick hitting her over the head with how unafraid he was to let her touch it.

"Show me how much you missed me," Erendor panted so close to her ear that the sound went directly through it and in her mind like a knife.

It was a weakness. And a weakness she couldn't give anyone so close to her. Close as Erendor had come after a two-week absence he'd kept away from her like it was an out-of-control dragon instead of a personal matter that was his to attend to. A visit to his family to relocate them to another estate they owned near the northern border of Eraklyon where spring came late and summer didn't stay long bought for the specific purpose of being as removed from the crown as possible.

It had been the family he'd had before her–a fortress of painful memories reflected in her eyes–he'd spared her, not the reign he'd pulled out of her hands. The crown was still on her head where her mother had put it but it had been his careful fingers through the waves of blood red hair that had fixed it there–even though she'd had no one else to catch the gold symbol from shattering if it slipped off–instead of knocking it away with the dismissal she'd lived inside before she'd called the palace home for the first time.

He wasn't asking her for affection, just for attentiveness. It was her own heart that had considered giving more on its own initiative which was more than she'd been given the chance for before she'd signed away her last name for a palace and a kingdom. He'd given her a husband and a family. He'd given her so much to hide from him in his presence and from herself in his absence if she wanted to continue living in the dark cast over her life by a silhouette time had been supposed to sand off her mind without the shape burning in her eyes every day.

She reached for the emerald green of her dress instead of the creased red clinging to his body like rust from the road to shed the fabric she wore like armor on demand of the diamond-hard habit embedded in her behavior. How would stripping him vulnerable say anything about her intentions, about her transformation... about her heart?

[mercuryeff]

A Night with no Stars: Prologue

A Night with no Stars by Mercury Eff - check on the blog!

Prologue

Like a Bat out of Hell

It’s been less than twenty four hours and the fifty seventh time Maks thought he was making a mistake. The frequency of this pondering depended heavily on the amount of time spent with his parents. The mere existence of these people gave the institution of marriage a bad publicity.

He’s been trying to convince himself that it was only natural to be anxious after making such a huge life decision and besides, why would he even waste time on doubts when he knew from the very beginning how it was going to end? So what if sometimes there was a small, lost question in his mind, asking if it was really all he will ever have in life. Maks hated his inner voice, its advice usually sucked and it was awfully pessimistic.

He apologized, interrupting his mom mid-rant, right when she was accusing his dad of treating everyone like garbage and not caring about their feelings at all. He stood up rapidly from the table. Wiktoria’s eyes have risen from her iPhone and she gave him a long stare. For a second he though she was going to react somehow, but eventually her head dropped back without care in the world. Holding back a heavy sigh, he left the living room quietly. His sister’s momentarily engagement in family matters involuntarily drew attention to her and now their mom was complaining how she could spent the whole time with her nose glued to the screen and does anything even interest her anymore. Her voice full of distress became more distant with every step Maks took.

He sat on the toilet after entering the bathroom and stared for a moment at cream colored tiles with flower adornment. He remembered when years ago, when he was still in high school, his mom has been hassling him to help her choose these tiles and he remembered precisely all fourteen patterns that were shoved in his face. He didn’t know why he kept bullshit like that in memory, why he didn’t have a healthy reflex of removing useless information.  He always remembers everything. He remembered when he saw her for the first time on the school hallway. He was getting back from the theatre rehearsal, she was stuffing books in her backpack. They didn’t all fit so she left a pocket copy of William Wharton’s “Last lovers” on the windowsill and walked away. He waited hidden behind the column for the whole two minutes before taking the book and spent the next four days scanning the hallways obsessively. Now he knew that she caught a flu the next day, but back then he wasn’t sure that he didn’t make her up. Eventually he found her and almost followed her to the ladies room, before he realized what he was doing. He returned her book, stuttering as if he was having a stroke, which was really lame for someone who spent the majority of life arduously polishing up his diction. She smiled the smile of someone who knew perfectly well that shyness was sexy and when a few hours later he looked around her room for the first time, he felt like an idiot, because of all his sacrifice for this one book, when she had around hundred thousands of them. That was probably the moment he kind of fallen in love. They were like two peas in the pod ever since, he was all bright and pale, with hair curvy just like wrinkles on his forehead after thinking too much and crumpled like his shirt, while her hair was all smooth and glistening just like the rest of her. Kind of absurd, as if people actually adapt to be more like their hair.

That was eight years ago, when Maks and Ewelina gave each other their first sacramental “maybes”. And now he was going to marry her for real. Now that he came back from England after two years and she was waiting, just as she promised, but a little bit forged. A little bit less smooth and glistening, her eyes less sparkly and her smile less honest, when she dropped by his place after work at nine pm, with eco-friendly bags full of hummus and cherry tomatoes, and eyelashes so long that Maks was kind of scared to approach and get impaled on them. She didn’t do anything to make sure that he was listening to her, when she ranted about her boss who sucked at confrontations, and why such a lousy person should have such a high position, moving her gel nails rapidly on her smartphone’s screen at the same time. Then she would mention casually when he was going to find a job, seeing that he was back in Poland for more than a month, and not everybody had such an easy start in life where they didn’t have to put any effort to get whatever they wanted. Did she sound like a bitch? Probably, but he tried to convince himself that his Ewelina still had to be hidden in there somewhere. So what that all of her books were long covered in dust?

Since he came back, it was like he couldn’t find a place for himself, as if this city disinherited him and in order to belong again he needed to pass some kind of test, but had no idea what it was and what were the rules.

“Maks, baby,” his mom whispered, lurking at him outside of the bathroom. She gave his hair a very mom caress, hugging his arm lightly. “I’m sorry, I still can’t get enough of you,” she explained, so he returned the hug awkwardly. It was kind of cute, but mostly embarrassing. “I know you need time to get on your feet, but I can see you’re struggling. Maybe if you tried…?” she started with voice full of hope. That was about a thousand time she said it.

“Come on, no,” he whispered back, stealing a glance inside the living room.

He couldn’t understand why she was so adamant to keep him unemployed for the rest of his life. She meant well, he knew that, because she always meant well, but no one graduated from Cambridge in economics to become an actor, it simply didn’t make any sense. Sure, it was his dream when he was young and foolish, but in the end he took a different path and it wasn’t his fault that she couldn’t accept it and was convinced that it meant he will never find happiness. He could. When he visualized himself ten years from now, he did see himself as a financier. And he did see himself as Ewelina’s husband. Really. Probably.

He actually liked his mom, unless she was reminding him that he sold his dreams and soul for his father’s approval and his own peace of mind. It did sound kind of sad, so he tried not to think about it like that. She was such a kind-hearted person, even though lately she didn’t even drink her liquid courage from the little glass like before, but straight from the pot-bellied bottle, which Maks though was a little disturbing. Almost as disturbing as the fact that she seemed to do anything she could to turn him against his father and vice versa. He knew it was awful, but he was really glad that they could afford to buy him his own place, cause if he had to stay here with them he would probably shoot himself in the head.

They got back to the living room and Maks thought that it was a perfect moment for him to announce it was time to leave.

“All right, I should go.”

He got the impression that his house became a battlefield, where two enemies fought, armed with ruthless words and only waiting for the right moment to attack.

“Monday, eleven o’clock. Don’t be late, son,” his dad said with eyes focused solely on the news. He didn’t seem at all interested in persuading him to stay. Wiktoria again raised her head.

“Hey, would you give me a lift?” she asked hopefully. Maks frowned, but his mom was the first to speak.

“Are you crazy, you’re not going to Warsaw at this hour, it’s close to midnight!” she snapped disapprovingly. Wiki rolled her eyes.

“So what, I could stay at Julka’s…” she whined without much conviction. She knew she would get nothing out of it.

“You’re not staying at Julka’s,” mom said in menacing tone. “If you want to go to Warsaw you can go in the afternoon and take the last train back, not sponge off your brother,” she added and then addressed Maks, putting a hand on his elbow. “Are you coming on Sunday? You could bring Ewelina with you.”

“Will you just let him be, we didn’t buy him that apartment for you to keep him here all the time. At least pretend that you want him to have some independence,” his father snorted. His mom sent him a death glare. Maks only nodded, trying not to get in the middle of it. It didn’t always work, because he felt kind of responsible of keeping family drama in check. Wiki apparently didn’t have the same problem, she just casually got back to scrolling through her phone, appearing completely unflappable. On the one hand, he kind of envied her, but on the other she was the one that had to live here, so it was understandable that she created some defense mechanism to survive. He knew that she was waiting just as impatiently as he was to hear that one liberating sentence. We’re getting a divorce. But they’ve waited for years and if it didn’t happen so far, it probably never will.

Monday, eleven am, he repeated in mind. It was kind of pathetic that his dad had to get him a job interview, but he felt strangely powerless when it came to that. Maybe it was because he hated it, this whole world of economics, numbers, money, his peers, all of it. But he couldn’t say that out loud, and it wasn’t as if he had any other choice, because his chances of becoming an actor were practically non-existent. If there was anything he actually learned on the freaking Cambridge, it was the balance of probability. Which furthermore meant almost one hundred percent chance of hearing one of his father’s 'I told you so’s' at the end, which should be avoided at all costs.

He got into the black Subaru and drove carefully through the gate. When he rolled slowly on the gravel road, it was like someone turned off the world around him. There was not one star visible, not one street lamp glowing,  not one car, not a soul in this shithole except for him, and sure it was late, but it was still Friday. But that was Sulejówek and nothing ever happens here. Especially nothing ever happens on the way from Sulejówek to…

He slammed on the brakes when he saw a hunched silhouette on the side of the road. At first he did it cause he was concerned that the crazy drunk was going to fall under his car, but when he came to a full stop he realized that the crazy might not be drunk and might not even be crazy. He was a little anxious, because what if that someone was dangerous? After all how normal someone wandering around the woods at night in March can be? He was struggling internally for a minute, because he had no problem with admitting that he wasn’t the most brave of men and taking a risk to help someone who probably didn’t even need his help didn’t sound very appealing. He should just drive away and forget about his existence.

Apparently there was a short circuit in the part of his brain responsible for common sense and self-preservation, because instead he opened the door and got out of the car, squinting his eyes to see the figure through the darkness. It was a man, probably not old, but he couldn’t tell much more. He was crouching in the grass and appearing to be looking for something.

“Hey, is everything ok?” he asked hesitantly. He couldn’t see much, but for some reason he knew that the guy was eying him suspiciously from the second he stopped the car. He slowly straighten up.

“Of course it is.” His voice was flat, Maks couldn’t tell whether it was supposed to be sarcastic or not. He sounded young, but more like a man than a teenager. He seemed arrogant, maybe too arrogant and for a moment Maks was wondering if he was using sassiness to cover something else.

“Ok,” he said slowly, feeling quite silly with the knowledge that both his question was stupid, and the answer insincere. “Is there any way I can help?” The guy finally looked at him and for a moment he seemed to judge him, as if he was trying to decide if he could be actually useful.

“I've lost a phone,” he gave up eventually. For some reason he was whispering. Maks made a few more steps.

“I can call,��� he offered the first thing that came to his mind, taking his own phone out of his pocket. The stranger frowned on him.

“I don’t have the number,” he informed him rudely. “We need to find it the old way,” he added, making a chaotic gesture with his hands and getting back to crouching down in the grass.

That should probably set off alarm bells in Maks’s head - the guy was looking for someone else’s phone? - but for some reason it didn’t, so he just turned the flashlight on. The boy winced from the light and then looked around apprehensively. Maks could finally take a better look. He was right, he was young, no older than twenty. His hair was dark with long bangs. He couldn’t tell how tall he was, cause he was still squatting, but he was definitely pale and his eyes were wide open. He seemed fully focused, as if he was listening carefully all the time and not lowering his guard even for a moment. He was dressed in grey hoodie, it looked pretty thin, he must have been cold. For one absurd second Maks wanted to offer him his coat. Maybe it was just his way of dealing with lack of meaning in life, helping strays to feel better about himself?

“Ok, hurry up,” he hissed, so Maks obediently turned the light to the ground.

“Here,” he said triumphantly after several minutes, forgetting that they were supposed to keep quiet, even if he didn’t know why they were supposed to keep quiet. He leaned down and picked up the old Samsung model from the ground.

“Turn it off,” the kid snapped at his flashlight, grabbing the phone and looking over his shoulder, visibly distressed. He dust his jeans off when Maks finally put his own phone away. “Thanks,” he muttered absentmindedly, looking as if his mind was already somewhere else.

“Where the hell are you going?” Maks frowned when he realized that apparently the boy was just going to walk away. In this weather, dressed like that? It was like asking for pneumonia. The kid looked surprised.

“As far away as possible,” he shrugged. Maks’s eyebrows went up.

“Is Warsaw far enough for you?” He had no idea what the fuck he was doing. The kid looked uncertain for a long moment, when suddenly he turned around rapidly. Did he hear something? The only thing Maks heard was dead silence.

“Ok, whatever, just hurry up,” he whispered, rushing to the car and tapping Maks on the shoulder on his way. He sat on the passenger seat, still behaving kind of paranoid, looking around and listening. Maks suddenly felt as if he was in an action movie, but he’d rather focus on acting, not thinking, so he just got behind the wheel and turned the keys. “Go,” said the guy, looking intently at the woods and sounding a little desperate. He seemed as if he couldn’t wait to leave whatever it was behind them. Maks didn’t look at him until they were safely back on the main road. His lips were clipped tightly, his eyes were still bulging unnaturally and that’s when he realized that he was driving someone who was a complete stranger in the middle of the night, a stranger who was looking for someone else’s phone in the middle of nowhere and was clearly scared of something in the woods. He must have gone completely insane.

It took a moment, but eventually the woods started to clear a little and they saw city lights ahead of them. The guy seemed to relax a bit,  but Maks was now starting to panic. He tighten his fists on the steering wheel, wondering if he should start any conversation and how to start it. And when he should kick this weird guy out of his car, considering that theoretically they were already in Warsaw. He was surprised when the kid spoke up first.

“What’s that?” he frowned and Maks looked around wildly, momentarily thinking that something actually came out of the woods, and then he understood what he meant.

“Apostolis Anthimos,” he said. His companion pulled a face. “What, not a fan of jazz?” he added mockingly, cause seriously, here he was driving his ass to Warsaw and the kid though it was ok to whine at his music?

“I love jazz.” Maks glanced at him skeptically. He tried not to judge a book by its cover, but the kid looked as if he could easily blend in with the crowd of football hooligans and didn’t seem like someone who would like jazz. “But it’s a fucked up name. Too long. I hate long names.” He sounded distracted. Maks thought that maybe his previous panic was acting up and now he was starting to drivel. The corner of his mouth raised up.

“Maksymilian,” he introduced himself without being asked. The kid moved these wide eyes of his at him – really, Maks was convinced that he didn’t blink once since he first saw him – and snorted. His laugh was high-pitched and a little hysterical, but it was nice and Maks thought that maybe he will even give him a lift to the city center.

Nothing ever happens on the way from Sulejówek to Warsaw indeed.