#because the choice of language the way it comes across in translation is just.

[defeateddetectives]

IN THIS ESSAY I WILL

[follow-up to this two-image post that's worth more than twenty thousand words and altered the course of my life]

#apparently the last time i read this arc straight through was FIVE YEARS AGO and at the time i was so awestruck over it's existence alone #(also: bratty clan head being locked in the cursed room with the cursed love of his cursed life!!!) #that the extent of the textual parallels didn't even register aside from maybe that iconic bench of sadness and general ~themes #but no it's? RIGHT? THERE? #'HE COULDN'T MAKE HER SHARE THE BURDEN HE BORE' #'I WON'T PRETEND TO UNDERSTAND WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BEAR THE BURDEN OF THE LEGACY YOU'VE HAD TO SHOULDER' #(the way i SAT UPRIGHT) #i cannot attest to the quality of these translations or comment on the original text #but would be so intrigued if someone could compare how similar/different the wording is for the panels in the middle row #because the choice of language the way it comes across in translation is just. #yeah. #i'm incoherent #(tumblr's suggested tag: i'm inconsolable #which yeah. THAT TOO!!!) #your honour i rest my case??? #natsume yuujinchou #horrible exorcists #specifically #horrible exorcist number one #OH AND - AFTERWORD: 'i think these days a person does not have to bear it alone'!!!!!!!! #and it coming from natori of all people #(i am not asking you to abandon your family or who you are and i'm here and i'm not leaving and i'll meet you where you're at) #and though this isn't the first time he's said it the YEARS it's taken him (taken them both) in getting here specifically #and the temptation and hope and promise in it!!! which lets one wonder if maybe just maybe they'll break the cycle or at least make a dent #(doubtful....but i can dream!) #pls send thoughts and prayers as i'm about to undertake homura arc properly for the first time (yes finally) and may not make it out alive #(one day i may or may not also become emotionally equipped to make the unhinged post about the two separate times he's asked and reacts to #have you ever considered quitting exorcism? #alas that day is not today...but maybe in another five years!!!!!) #dont forget we're here forever etc etc etc ETC :)))))

[notafunkiller]

cherry

Summary: During your family getaway, things get a little messy when you meet Bucky's old friend.

Pairing: (fake) boyfriend’s brother!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: age gap (r is 26, Bucky is 38/39), teasing, pet names, language, alcohol, mentions of sex, jealousy, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 4.5K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: This story will have around 4 parts, this is the 2nd part.

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

You keep coming across each other in the morning and during dinner for the next couple of days. He’d refused the offer, you heard from Jessica. You noticed he doesn’t enjoy talking about business in general, so you never open the conversation about it.

His family is really lying to him without shame, and you can sense how cold their bond is, but what can you do? You wish he knew... you wish you could talk about it with him. If only...

That’s why you are surprised when both of your families decide to organize a getaway in Austria for the weekend, and Bucky is coming along.

Thankfully, the cabin you’re staying at has more than enough rooms even with Bucky and William’s sister there.

Rebecca is a physiotherapist, she’s thirty and she lives in France. She seems very close to Bucky. They’ve been hanging around a lot since you arrived.

You wish you could say you are close to your family. You’ve been barely speaking to your mom since this whole arrangement became a real thing. But you didn’t say even a single word to your dad. And Bucky noticed, but he didn’t comment on it even as he helped you get your luggage to your room.

“You know I could have done that myself, right?” You smile.

“No need to. Your boyfriend should have, but he’s a punk.” He shakes his head disapprovingly. “No wonder why you won’t...”

You immediately puff, anticipating what he wanted to say. Why does he want to bring that up? “What, fuck him?”

“I was gonna say share the room with him. My little brother’s sex life is none of my concern.”

You nod, all flushed. “Good. I’ll go take a shower and be right back.”

You don’t know why you tell him this because it’s not like it’s his job to inform anyone. That should be William’s, but he’s not here. And even if he were, you know you wouldn’t ask him to.

“Alright. Uhm, see you later.”

Bucky didn’t anticipate Rebecca waiting for him in the doorway of his room. She has a “I know everything” look, making him blush even though he did nothing wrong.

“How old is she?” She asks soon as Bucky closes the door.

“Who?”

“You know who, Bucky.” She jumps on his bed amused. “Your little crush.”

He puffs in response as if that’s a real answer.

“Come on, don’t be mad. It’s okay. Maybe she’ll realize she is into older guys.”

“Rebecca!”

“What?”

Bucky groans. “You are talking about our brother’s girlfriend.”

Rebecca’s eyes glow, and he has no idea what he’s just started.

“They haven’t been together long though. I doubt two people who live in different rooms-”

For some reason, he gets defensive immediately and interrupts her. “That is their choice and you should respect it.”

So it’s hers, Rebecca puts two and two together.

“You think he is that bad?” Rebecca changes the subject a bit to get more out of him, and Bucky realizes, but he can’t help but ask.

“What?”

“In bed. She seems angry all the time.”

She doesn’t remember the last time she saw her brother looking like this. This is more than a crush at this point. He’s annoyed, angry and livid, all at once.

“What? You never thought about it? Never heard them?”

“Can you go to your room now?” He snaps, trying to brush the images of you with William off his mind. It makes him sick to his stomach. “I don’t wanna talk about my little brother’s sex life!”

Rebecca laughs, walking to the door.

“You didn’t deny she’s your crush! And I didn’t even say her name, by the way.”

Shit... He didn’t even realize.  Things are going too far, he needs to snap out of it.

“Your room, Rebecca.”

“Such a bad man, mid-life crisis hitting you for two years..” She stops for a few seconds before she corrects herself with a wink. “One earlier.”

Bucky groans. “Rebecca!”

“She’s into you anyways, Buck. You’ll save him from dating or even marrying someone who doesn’t love him.”

Somehow, her words set him on fire and cool him at the same time. Rebecca is good at reading people, and he sensed something is off about you and William, too, but how can he hope... how can he think about kissing his brother’s girlfriend even after a break up?

“She was checking your ass on the stairs.” She adds with a smirk. “And it was not subtle.”

And then he’s left alone with his confusing thoughts and feelings.

*

Something’s wrong with him. He’s been completely —and obviously— avoiding you ever since he helped you with the luggage, and you wonder what you did wrong. As soon as you get inside any room he is in, he finds excuses to leave. Was your tone too rude earlier? You didn’t intend to get mad, but you couldn’t help it.

You know he is an adult, and he should be able to face you even if it bothers him, yet you can’t help but feel bad when you see him outside, in the cold.

You take the nearest blanket without thinking twice and open the door.

His head snaps in your direction, and you smile shyly, wrapping the blanket around his back.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bother you, I just came to give you this.”

His shoulders relax, and he reaches out to take your hand. “Thank you! You’re not bothering me at all. You can sit with me if you want.”

Neither of you has any idea where this came from. You thought he didn’t want to be around you, but how can you say no to this?

You sit on the chair next to him and smile when he covers you with the blanket.

“No, no. This is for you.”

“I’m not gonna let you catch a cold, love.” His voice sounds authoritative but not distant.

“Then let’s share.” You grab the end of the blanket and adjust it until you are both covered. “See? Perfect!”

After that, you’re quiet for a few seconds, trying to find the right thing to say or ask him.

“Are you alright?”

Bucky smiles. “I’m alright.”

“Well, you look alright.”

He blushes and laughs at the same time, making you giggle. He looks so adorable like this.

“Then why did you ask that?”

“To make you smile. You were quite tense.”

“When?” He tilts his head, and your shoulders touch under the blanket.

“Ever since we arrived, to be honest. Did I do anything to upset you?”

“No, love, you didn’t upset me.” He immediately assures you, but you’re not certain he’s being honest, and he senses it. “I mean it, I’m sorry if I gave you that impression and made you uncomfortable.”

It’s easy to notice when he is lying at least. He surely didn’t intend to make you feel bad, but he’s been avoiding you.

“Don’t worry about me.” You sigh. “You can just tell me next time, though. So I won’t be in your way.”

“What does that mean?” He can feel the panic rushing through his whole body.

“I mean, it’s your family, and they decided to have this random vacation. I could have stayed home.”

Not entirely true because you were asked to come along.

“Well, your family is here too, plus your boyfriend. But it’s irrelevant, anyway. I am sorry for ignoring you, I was just… consumed by my thoughts,” he says honestly, and you smile.

“It’s okay. It happens to me too.”

Especially when it comes to him.

“Why are you not with William?”

You try not to look disappointed as you answer. He has a point to ask you that. After all, William is your official boyfriend, and you two didn’t spend much time together. But you hate it anyway.

“You want me to leave, huh?”

You try to take off the blanket, but he doesn’t let you.

“No, no. Don’t go, I mean... I just expected you two to spend more time together.”

“Well, I wasn’t too keen on coming here. I have a lot of work to do on Monday, and I wanted to prepare some docs beforehand, but my parents forced me indirectly to...” Bucky snorts, amused for some reason, so you stop talking.

“You don’t like spending time with old people much, do you?”

Old people? Does he mean your parents?

“By old people you mean you?” You ask jokingly and turn to him just to see him smirking. The little beard he grew over the last few days makes him somehow even more gorgeous. He’s probably, truth be told, the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

“Yep. I’m turning thirty-nine after all.”

Holy fuck... The question is why you find this so sexy.

“That’s a very nice age,” you comment amused, playing with the edge of the blanket. “You make thirty-eight look very good.”

You don’t have to look at him to know he is smiling again. Good, he should know, and it’s not wrong to compliment someone.

“Thanks.”

You start to talk about random things shortly after: jobs, projects, random hobbies. He is shocked you enjoy origami, and you can’t believe he was in a band during high school. Well, you can imagine it, but it still surprises you. It’s comfortable and nice, but every time he calls you love, you feel yourself shivering more and more. And he senses it, immediately starting to brush your arms with his hands under the blanket.

“Maybe you should go inside.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” you protest, melting under his touch. It feels so good. “Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

“Ha, funny!” You playfully roll your eyes. “Is it your parents’ anniversary or something?”

Bucky lets out a chuckle. “No, no special occasion for them. Why?”

“Saw a birthday cake...”

“It’s not for them.”

Fuck, is it William’s birthday? No way. Your parents would have told you… you wish you checked the calendar with everyone’s birthday before starting this conversation.

“Is it Rebecca’s?”

“Nope.

“Then...” You think for a little and when it hits you, you gasp. “Yours?”

“Yep.” He pauses, turning his head just enough so he can look into your eyes. “My daddification era is starting.”

Your immediate reaction is a burst of laughter as the lightheartedness of the moment caught you off guard, followed by a flush of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks. It feels like your face is on fire.

“But you’re not turning forty...” You mumble, your words barely audible. “I mean, I had no idea. I’m so, so sorry, it’s so embarrassing!”

“So no gift for me, huh?” He teases, utterly unfazed. He hadn’t expected anything at all, and seeing you blush so furiously is endearing. “I feel deeply hurt.”

Without thinking, you lightly slap his chest. “Shut up!”

“That’s not how you talk to your elders, ma’am.”

“Okay, dad,” you snort in response, but there’s a momentary pause from Bucky. He holds his breath, a flicker of different emotions crossing his face.

*

The knock on the door doesn’t wake him up, but it surprises him. He slowly drops his phone on the bed and puts on the nearest T-shirt before opening the door.

There’s no one there waiting, instead, he finds a tall cocktail glass made of paper with a note inside it. Confused, he carefully picks it up from the floor before getting back inside again.

If you don’t drink anything today, I’m gonna punish you... with my presence.

So think twice before refusing :)

Happy birthday, Mr. Barnes

*

What Bucky doesn’t expect when he gets downstairs in a great, great mood is to see you, Rebecca, and Cherry talking on the couch.

He freezes, shocked, but he doesn’t have time to recover before everyone starts to hug and wish him a happy birthday. Cherry kisses both of his cheeks and hands him a small gift, which he assumes it’s a watch based on the size.

“Surprise!”

Bucky smiles. “It’s actually a surprise, I really didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Becca said we should keep it a secret. When did I ever miss your birthday?”

He instantly looks in your direction, worried for some reason you might misunderstand this situation, but you don’t seem mad at all. And why would you? You are with his brother. You’re not his. Not even a little. Because if you were...

Rebecca smirks satisfied and hugs him too. “Happy birthday, grandpa!”

He hears you laugh, and before he can think twice about it, he sticks out his tongue playfully toward you.

“Keep it low with the flirting, will you? Your little brother is in the room,” Rebecca whispers, amused, in Bucky’s ear before letting you wish him a happy birthday.

You stop awkwardly in front of him, wondering if you should hug or kiss his cheeks.

He makes the decision for you, grabbing you by your waist and getting you closer. You open your arms and wrap them around his back, shocked, knowing how intimate the way he’s holding you might look. But you don’t care. You let yourself enjoy this as you rest your chin on top of his shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Barnes.”

“Thanks for the drink, love. The best gift I received.”

You hide your smile in his shirt.

“You haven’t even opened others yet.”

“I don’t have to.”

You bite your lip, breaking the hug before it gets too suspicious, and give him space so your mom can wish him a happy birthday.

Rebecca winks at you, which makes you even more confused, but you don’t think much about it, focusing on Bucky.

The breakfast goes well, with Bucky in the center of attention despite his obvious attempts to shift the focus to anyone else. Your parents decide to get some shopping done around lunch and get some food for all of you, so you don’t have to worry about much. William tries to do some affectionate gestures from time to time, but you ignore them as much as you can, without making it obvious. You still have to play your part.

Cherry seems like a nice girl. She’s Rebecca’s age and they met during university. They all have been friends for a couple of years, and it’s easy to see that by how comfortable they act around each other.

As they talk about some fancy place in Spain you’ve never been to, you scroll randomly on Instagram.

You decide to search Rebecca and Cherry up so you can follow them, and as you look at Rebecca’s photos, one post in particular catches your eye.

You can’t hold back your gasp, which immediately draws Bucky’s attention.

“You good?”

“Yes,” you answer absently and zoom in on the first pic. There are around ten people there, including Bucky, Rebecca, and Cherry. It’s clear they are all close, but you didn’t realize how close Bucky and Cherry are. They are sitting next to each other in almost every photo. In the second to last one, he is holding her by the waist in a very boyfriend way, which makes you close your eyes.

Of course they were a thing. Of course! And now she’s here... You feel close to crying and you don’t remember the last time you felt so stupid.

Why do you care so much? You are officially dating his brother and you’ve been just friends.

You close the app quickly and stand up, ignoring Bucky’s eyes on your back as you announce, for the sake of appearances, that you’re gonna take a nap.

You don’t let yourself tear up until you close the door.

What if they hook up again here? What if you’ll hear them?

Jesus, anything but that! You couldn’t bear it... You’d be sick for real.

*

You don’t go down for lunch. Your mom comes a few times to check on you, then William, then your mom again with lunch.

You feel hurt and annoyed with yourself. You can’t act like a kid all the time, so when Rebecca comes to check on you, you decide to go downstairs with her.

Bucky looks at you immediately, concerned and confused, but you don’t let your eyes linger too much on him, especially since he is sitting next to Cherry. You drop onto the couch, next to William, and he smiles.

“Feeling better?”

“Much!” You lie, but you do it well enough not to get questioned.

“So now that we’re all here, can we see the surprise, Buck?” Rebecca asks excitedly.

You watch Bucky get up without saying anything, and everyone stays quiet until he returns with a tray full of drinks. He keeps one to himself and takes another one that looks like a cherry mocktail while everyone else hurries up to take one of the drinks. Bucky heads toward you with a smile. “I guess I am not as rusty as I told you last night.”

You know exactly what he means: his first job was as a bartender. He shared stories with you about glasses he broke in the first month, but how he learned, yet it’s been years since he’s made a drink.

You can’t deny the drink looks tempting, especially with your penchant for cherries, but the mere thought of sipping it turns your stomach. “Thanks, but I can’t drink this.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows, the wrinkles on his forehead becoming more pronounced. “What’s wrong? Still feeling sick?”

“No, I just hate cherries. I can’t drink it,” you lie in a disgusted tone, keeping your eyes on the table.

“Do you want me to make you another one?” He asks immediately, surprised because he saw you eating cherries before. Why would you hate them all of a sudden?

Cherry herself is walking toward you with Rebecca, so in a moment of madness, you extend your hand. “Can I taste yours?”

Bucky nods, and you immediately take the glass from his hand and take a sip.

It tastes okay, but it’s not your favorite, for sure.

“Thanks, but I’m okay.”

“Is it bad? Should I-”

“I’m fine, enjoy your drinks, Bucky. It’s your birthday.” You try to sound as casual as possible. “Gonna get some wine.”

“Wine?” Your mom's surprise is evident in her voice. “Since when do you drink wine?”

“Special occasion. My brother-in-law,” You have to force the words out of your mouth without choking. “Is turning thirty-nine.”

You haven't even gotten tipsy until now, so the half glass of wine, combined with the lack of a proper lunch, makes you feel a bit dizzy. Rebecca immediately catches on and nudges Bucky, who’s been on the edge all night, to help you. William and your parents have already gone to their rooms.

You’re half asleep when you feel Bucky’s arms wrapping around your waist, causing you to open your eyes in shock.

“What are you doing? Let me down.” Your face makes contact with his chest as you speak.

“I’m taking you to bed.”

You snort immediately, letting him climb the stairs with you in his arms. “You can’t take me to bed, silly. Go back to your p-pretty... friend.”

“I’m carrying my pretty friend right now.”

“Smooth talker.” You sigh when he opens the door. “Not me.”

“Who do you mean then, love?” He helps you sit on the bed, and you instinctively reach for his hand, running your fingers along it. His skin feels remarkably soft and warm. You don’t remember the last time you found hands attractive. Or veins. At least, not like this…

Deep down, you know you never stood a chance anyway. Even if you weren’t officially with William, you’re far from Bucky’s type. Cherry, from what you've observed, is an amazing woman, and you can admit that he has great taste.

He probably sees you as too young for him, perhaps even as a little girl. 

You scrunch your nose, and Bucky sits on the bed too since you won’t let go of his hand. He allows himself to enjoy this fleeting moment for a few seconds, aware that it won’t last. This won't hurt anyone, right?

“She’s so pretty and nice, I get it.”

“Get what, love? And who is pretty?” He lets you take his other hand too as he gently asks.

“Cherry.” You sigh, tapping his palms with yours lightly. “I guess she came here to win you back. And I understand. But like... you’d be wasted,” you complain, grabbing his face all of a sudden.

Bucky leans in instantly, closing his eyes.

“If something didn’t work once, why would it work now?” You stroke his beard gently, taking your time. “I mean, sometimes it does, but I can’t see it happening for you. You’re old,” you laugh, making him laugh too.

“I’m old?”

“Ihm, you are. The daddification era looks good on you.”

Bucky’s mind is racing now. From your touch to your words... he feels weak.

“Thank you, love. But how do you know about Cherry?”

“Saw some photos on Instagram this afternoon. You looked gorgeous and all over each other,” you bite your lip, unable to stop touching him. Even if he doesn’t belong to you...

“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t serious, love.” He brings his hand to your face too, caressing your cheeks, which only makes you giggle.

“Hmm?”

“We’ve been friends for ages and we just had some... fun for a little while, but it wasn’t a relationship.”

You puff. “That is a form of relationship too! And maybe she wants you now.”

“I doubt that. But even if she did, I don’t want her like that, okay?”

“But she’s so pretty and funny,” you add, surprised.

“Many women are. But I told you, there is nothing like that.” His tone is serious, but you can’t understand.

“But you had sex with her,” you point out, visibly upset. You hate that even though it’s silly.

“O-kay, you need to get some sleep.”

You move your hand down to stroke his chin. “I’m serious, you’re...” You find yourself glancing down to his lap for a brief moment. Although you can't see anything, you just know it’s big. “A whole package. Don’t waste yourself.”

“You think I want Cherry?”

You don’t understand the surprise in his voice. Why wouldn’t he want her? If he wanted her once...

“You’re so confusing,” you murmur, and your eyes fall on his bottom lip the moment he licks it. It’d be nice to feel how soft it is. His mouth seems so soft and wet, and you bet he knows how to use his tongue. Ah... “You wanted to have sex with her, but you wouldn’t want anything with her now?”

Bucky smiles widely, surprised by your interest in his past. He knows it’s silly, especially since you are with William for some reason and he’s pushing forty, for fuck’s sake, but he can’t help himself.

“It was only for a summer.”

“Is this what you do with everyone?” He gasps when he feels the tips of your fingers on his lips as you speak.

“W-why?”

“Don’t waste yourself, okay, pretty boy? They don’t deserve you.”

Bucky literally chokes, completely taken aback.

“What?” He gently grabs your chin. “Who doesn’t deserve me? Cherry?”

“All of them.” You yawn, trying to keep your eyes open. “You deserve a better family.”

You’re so sad for him. They’re lying to him, and he’s so lonely.

Bucky’s confused but also touched by your words. You probably noticed how tense his relationship is with his parents, and you paying attention to that gets him emotional.

“We all do. But right now, you need to rest.”

“Don’t go to her tonight, okay?”

“Jesus, princess.” He strokes your cheek gently, and you giggle for a second.

“I’m not a princess. But please don’t do it. I can’t hear it…”

“Hear what?”

In response, you clap your hands together three times, mimicking the sound of skin slapping. “Please.”

“You mean sex?”

“Duh! At least...” You shake your head, trying to fight tears. You don’t want to cry. “Not tonight. I don’t want to hear it.”

Bucky sighs. He’s already told you he isn’t going to, but you mean sex now, and he wants to make that aspect clear too.

“I am not going to be with Cherry in any way, okay, princess? You won’t hear a thing because there isn’t a thing going on, alright?”

You nod happily and giggle. “Yes, sir.” You move your hand to your forehead, imitating a military gesture.

“Wow, such a good girl,” he snorts. “I expect this attitude from you tomorrow too, love.”

You roll your eyes, still in a good mood. “I’m sleepy, go away.”

“After you made demands about my sex life?” Bucky laughs. “Should I make demands about yours?”

“Go away!”

“Oh wait, there’s no sex li-” You hit him with the nearest pillow you find before he can finish his sentence.

“Augh! So aggressive.” He leaves the room still giggling.

*

You wake up in the morning feeling well-rested, without any headache or stomach ache. You can’t believe how embarrassing you acted toward Bucky. Like who are you to ask him not to sleep with someone? You wonder how he hasn’t told you to fuck off already.

He’s so kind, and here you are, lying to him, just like the rest of the family. Just like William. You’re deceiving him… 

Even if he was into you after all, you lying to him like this would ruin any potential relationship before it even begins.

You need to stay away from him.

Packing doesn’t take as long as you anticipated. William helps you get your bag in the car, and your family makes sure to remind you to be a good girl as if you are a naughty kid being left with a new nanny.

As much as you avoided Bucky until then, you can’t help but stare at him as Cherry hugs him. Indeed, there is nothing but friendliness all over his face, and you wonder if this is how it’d be if you fucked him —in another universe. You’d still be his friend? You cannot understand this. Not even a little.

Unfortunately, you don’t notice Rebecca looking at you until it’s too late. As she hugs you goodbye, her words make you freeze.

“Take care of yourself, and please don’t play with both of my brothers’ hearts.”

The shame floods your entire body, overwhelming you. You rush to the bathroom to splash water on your face, attempting to hide the tears staining your cheeks.

You fucked up really badly.

Tags:

@charmedbysarge @identity2212 @vicmc624 @cjand10 @mayusenpai666 @abitofblues

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #boyfriend's brother!bucky #boyfriend's brother!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky fanfiction #my stories #my fanfics #sebastian stan #fake dating

[yazthebookish]

House of Flame and Shadow

Prologue and Chapter 1 reading updates

(Warning: spoilers below!!)

Prologue (Lidia's POV)

Morven and Einar are pieces of shit.

I guess Cormac is gone for good 💔

At least we got some descriptions of how some of the other Asteri look like. It still bothers me Rigelus chose the form of a 17-year-old boy. Ugh what a creep.

"Quinlan and Athalar are mates. She will return to this world because of that bond. And when she does, she will go straight to him."

THEY 👏🏼 ARE 👏🏼 MATES 👏🏼

"Athalar and Baxian dangled unconscious from the ceiling, their torsos patchworks of scars and burns. And their backs..."

The Asteri better start counting their fucking days.

"Lidia couldn't look at the third figure hanging between them. Couldn't get a breath down near him."

UGH!!!!

"Baxian still hung unconscious. Pollux had beaten him into a bloody pulp last night after severing his and Athalar's wings with a blunt-toothed saw. The Helhound didn't so much as stir."

Pollux I hope you'll burn in the deepest pit of Hell and get to have the worst death in the history of SJM character deaths.

"They'd never spoken mind-to-mind outside of their dreaming, but she'd been trying since he'd arrived here. Again and again, she'd cast her mind toward his. Only silence answered."

This sounds a whole lot like a Daemati. Like I'm still not sure if she is but it seems like it.

---

Chapter 1 (Bryce's POV)

"The darkness seemed inherent to the three people standing across from her: a petite female in gray silk, and two winged males clad in black scalelike armor, one of them-the beautiful, powerful male in the center of the trio— literally rippling with shadows and stars. Rhysand, he'd called himself. The one who looked so much like Ruhn."

Let's fucking gooooo!!

"You said your name is Bryce Quinlan. That you come from another world —Midgard." Rhysand murmured to the winged male beside him. Translating, perhaps.

Yes Rhys show us how useful your Duolingo lessons were.

Rhys seems to be agitated about her.

Master of spinning bullshit, indeed. "So maybe I'm here for that. Maybe the sword sensed that dagger and ... brought me to it." Silence. Then the silent, hazel-eyed warrior laughed quietly. How had he understood without Rhysand translating? Unless he could simply read her body language, her tone, her scent—The warrior spoke with a low voice that skittered down her spine. Rhysand glanced at him with raised brows, then translated for Bryce with equal menace, "You're lying."

Bryce, honey, that's the Spymaster of the Night Court.

"I just watched my mate and my brother get captured by a group of intergalactic parasites," she snarled. "I have no interest in doing anything except finding a way to help them." Rhysand looked to the warrior, who nodded, not taking his gaze off Bryce for so much as a blink. "Well," Rhysand said to Bryce, crossing his muscled arms. "That's true, at least."

Not Azriel functioning as Rhysand's personal lie detector. Impressive though.

" I do not pry where I am not willingly invited." Bryce lurched back in the chair, nearly knocking it over at the smooth male voice in her mind. Rhysand's voice. But she answered, thanking Luna for keeping her own voice cool and collected, "Code of mind-speaking ethics?"

LOLOLOLOLOL 🤣🤣🤣🤣

"So this is it, then. This is where we-the Midgard Fae— originated. My ancestors left this world and went to Midgard. .. and we forgot where we came from."

The theory I had since before even HOSAB came out is finally confirmed. I mean it was semi-confirmed in HOSAB but some readers still debated it.

The corner of Rhysand's mouth curled upward. "We will not torture it from you, nor will I pry it from your mind. If you choose not to talk, it is indeed your choice. Precisely as it will be my choice to keep you down here until you decide otherwise."

Bryce couldn't stop herself from coolly surveying the room, her attention lingering on the grate and the hissing that drifted up from it. "'ll be sure to recommend it to my friends as a vacation spot."

Of course Rhys has to pull the "choice" speech whenever he can 🤣 also, BRYCE LOL!!!

"You haven't seen it in fifteen thousand years, or spoken this language in nearly as long-which lines up pertectly with the timeline of the Starborn Fae arriving in Midgard."

So they exist in the same timeline then but Midgard happens to be more advanced.

"It is in our history, Rhysand," Amren said gravely. "But the Asteri were not known by that name. Here, they were called the Daglan."

Asteri are the Daglan, we guessed as much in HOSAB but that's another theory confirmed now!

"Azriel, without Rhysand to translate, watched in silence. Bryce could have sworn shadows wreathed him, like Ruhn's, yet... wilder. The way Cormac's had been."

Ruhn's darkness seemed more similar to Rhys, but Cormac was close to what we know of Shadowsingers. But if Shadows are an Avallen Fae's gifts then how is Azriel one? We're told Shadowsingers are not specific to any courts but there are no Shadowsinger Fae in Midgard than Avallen Fae. But Azriel has a unique way with his shadows (given that magic is more powerful in Prythian.

"The Veritas orb?" Amren said, and Azriel lifted an eyebrow.

Oh damn.

Rhysand mastered himself, a cool mask sliding into place. "You live in such a world." It wasn't entirely a question. But Bryce nodded. "Yes." "And they want to bring all of that ... here." "Yes." Rhysand stared ahead. Thinking it through. Azriel just kept his eyes on the space where the orb had displayed the utter destruction of her world. Dreading-and yet calculating. She'd seen that look before on Hunt's face. A warrior's mind at work.

She showed them the destruction and all the weapons the Asteri have. She even showed them Rigelus. Rhys, Azriel, and even Amren seem at a loss for words.

Bryce examined the silver bean that lay smooth and gleaming in her hand. Amren said without looking at her, "You swallow it, and it will translate our mother tongue for you. Allow you to speak it, too." "Fancy," Bryce murmured.

Of course they have a pill for translating any language and here we've been pondering about how they would communicate.

Amen turned to Rhysand and said in that new, strange language -their language: "The glowing letters inked on her back... they're the same as those in the Book of Breathings."

Oooooh Leshon Hakodesh 👀

Then Azriel said in a soft, lethal voice, "Explain or you die."

Holy hell that's hot—I mean—Azriel that's not a way to treat a woman chill the fuck out.

---

And we got to the end. This is what SJM only had available on her website. 4 more days until I get the full book and continue then 🤩!!

Also, Azriel's shadows seem to be around and thriving after all 😌 I recall being told they're gone for good based on HOSAB's ending, not that I took it seriously Lol.

#hofas spoilers #yaz reads hofas

[notfreetoday]

My Personal Weatherman Ep 1 Subtitle Corrections

So I've been analysing the way MPW uses language to showcase the dynamic between Segasaki and Yoh - something that I suspect is not quite coming through with the English subs - and decided to watch Ep 1-3 again, with Eng subs this time. I am now going to complain about some of the subtitle and translation choices and edit them way too literally because I'm nerdy like that.

Disclaimer: Everyone translates differently for different audiences. This is not meant to disrespect the official translation team in any way because they are subbing for a more general audience and have different pressures, so don't come at me or them for our different priorities. I'm talking to the particular group of viewers who like this show and/or like Japanese and want to go a step further in interacting with the characters. That said, I'm happy to discuss MY translation choices so please feel free to drop in about any line.

Under cut because this GOT REALLY LONG.

I'm translating directly from the Jp, so sometimes my subs differ only slightly - I will lean towards a more literal translation here because that will allow me to explain my language analysis better in a follow up post so some phrasing may be awkward. Big changes/missing info have been italicised and bolded. Explanations of nuances/connotations have been added where I feel they add to the understanding of the character/scene, and the relevant phrase is marked with * in my translation and the Jp.

Ep 1

[S: だから、漫画つずけりゃいいじゃんって　衣食住の金は保証してやるから　おれんとこに来い。んで、その代わり　*俺の言うこと全部聞け]

Original: I said, just keep drawing manga. I’ll take care of your food and lodging *expenses, so come to my place. And in return, you’ll do everything I say.

Mine: I said, *it's fine (for you) to continue (being a) manga (artist). I'll take care of the expenses for your *food, clothing and lodging so, come (live) at my place. And, in exchange for that, (you must) *listen to everything I say.

*This whole paragraph is extremely blunt and direct. Every sentence is worded as an order, and this last line especially - the word "listen" is used here to mean "obey" - so this line really translates to, "in exchange for that, (I want you) to obey my every word". The reason it's not been translated this way is that it sounds so strong it borders on corny in English. In Jp though, the connotation of "obey" comes across not in the words but in the extremely strong/direct delivery of the line (contrasted with the extremely nonchalent tone), so it sounds more shocking/overbearing than it does corny. The original translation here works very well actually.

Technically Segasaki introduces himself here as 気象解説員 (weather forecaster) as opposed to 気象予報士 (meteorologist), but in the show's character bios, and when Man-san talks about him later, he's called a meteorologist anyway, so this difference is of absolutely no importance (I'm just anal like that). FYI, in Japan, all qualified meteorologists (who must pass a national exam) can be forecasters, but not all forecasters have this qualification.

[Y: 明日も雨…か*] Original: More rain tomorrow Mine: There'll be rain again tomorrow, huh? *Said with a falling tone, the "huh" here hints that Yoh is likely a little down/disappointed about the rain continuing, and lays the ground for his reaction later about the rainy season.

[M: 人を沼に召喚しといて　何なの？その態度 S: いや　むしろ　万さんがかなり能動的に突っ込んできた印象しかないんだけど M: ごちゃごちゃうるさい　ややこしいオタクめ S: ごめん　ややこしくて]

Original: M: Why summon someone into your otaku pit and act like that? Y: No, it’s more like you actively intrude into my life M: You’re being noisy and complicated, you complicated otaku Y: Sorry for being complicated…

Mine: M: (You’re the one who) dragged me into this fandom, (so) what’s with that attitude? Y: No, on the contrary, I have the distinct impression that it was you, Man-san, who pretty much jumped right in of your own volition M: (You’re) babbling nonsense (you) troublesome otaku Y: Sorry for being troublesome

[S: めし　なに？ Y: あ、しょーしょうがやき]

Original: S: What do you want for dinner? Y: Stir-fried ginger

Mine: S: What's for dinner? Y: Sho-shogayaki

Shogayaki is a style of cooking meat, usually pork, where you stir fry the meat with ginger. Unless the type of meat is specified, it refers to Pork Stir Fried with Ginger, or Ginger Pork Stir Fry. Very common home cooked dish.

[S: あ、そ] (A, so?) S: Oh, is that so?

"I see" is a totally ok translation too. "A, so" can mean "Oh I see" or "Oh is that right" or "Oh is that so" etcetc but it has the air of a really bored "Oh, really?/Sure/If you say so" This is why Yoh's reaction after this is "if you aren't interested then don't ask!". This is the first of many times that Segasaki will use this phrase, as we will see in the following episodes, so I'm highlighting it here for now.

No translation issues here - but I just want to point out that it's reeaaally difficult to make tasteless shogayaki hahaha If you've had ginger stir fried in anything you'll know - it's not a meek herb at all. Canonically, Yoh is apparently a really bad cook. This will be pointed out again later, when he makes curry, because again, it's gotta be some kind of talent to make bland japanese curry; it's r*eeeeaally *easy. Anyway, the sauce that Segasaki asks for here is Soy Sauce, which is different from the sauce that he asks for later! Seems like a few people think they're the same thing (also pay attention to the sauce rack position here - Yoh'll will move it closer to himself by their next dinner hahaha)

[Y: ちかいんだよ、いちいち*] Y: He (leans in) so close, every (damn) time*!

*Not sure if this comes across, but the word for "every time" here is usually associated with slight annoyance, but the way "close" is said here implies Yoh's a little bashful about it.

[Y: 雨、多いな*] (ame, ooi *na...) Y: Rain...so much of it*

*This has the same feel as the "there'll be rain again tomorrow...huh" that we first saw earlier this episode. The ending particle "~na" bakes in a sigh and a sense of disappointment here (if you didn't notice the utter depression on Yoh's face lol)

[S: めし、まだ？] S: Food's not ready yet?

See, you don't notice it with the Eng translations because even the most basic Eng grammar will form a complete sentence. In Jp though, Segasaki is once again taking "man of a few words" to the extreme. He has taken out every single part of the sentence he possibly can whilst still keeping it grammatically complete. So this line is literally just "Food, not yet?". He's done this throughout the episode btw - it's why he comes across as so cold/distant.

[Y: やっぱ　わかんねえよな] Mine: As I thought, he doesn't understand...

[Y: 結局　従ってしまう自分の従順さが憎い*] Original: I hate my obedience, always giving in Mine: In the end, the obedient part of me that always ends up following his orders - I hate* it

*the word used for "hate" here is "nikui" which is different from the word Yoh uses when he says he "hates (dai kirai)" Segasaki. "dai kirai" is simply the opposite of "dai suki" - to really like, so is more accurately "really dislike" than it is "hate" (even though it is frequently translated as such). "Nikui", which is much stronger word, bringing to mind the idea of a "strong rejection of/detest/disgust for" something.

If you didn't already know, the word "embrace" aka "抱く" here is a euphemism for "to sleep with (somebody).

Shoyu = Soy Sauce. Sauce = worcestershire sauce, unless you're in a tonkatsu shop. Then sauce = tonkatsu sauce (which is a slightly different variation). Don't look at me, I don't make the rules.

(This is very long but I'm going to write the whole monologue here)

[Y: 晴れ予報の度に抱かれて 晴れ　なんて単語は　暗いなかで湿っぽく行われる　それとは　ちぐはぐなイメージなのに。。。 まるでやらしい言葉みたいに　頭に刷り込まれていって わかってんのか？　あんたの口から　予報をきいて　どんな気持ちになるか わかんないんだろうな　一生考えもしないだろうな だってあんたは　恋人でもない俺に　平気でこんなことができる]

Original: Every time there’s a sunny forecast, he does it with me The word sunny feels out of place for such activity in a dark and damp room It’s as if it’s such a lewd word being forced into my mind Do you understand, how I feel when I hear that word from your mouth? You probably won’t understand or even think about it for your entire life You have no problem sleeping with someone you’re not even going out with

Mine: (He) embraces (me) every time the forecast is sunny A word like “sunny” … (brings up) a completely different image from that damp, humid activity taking place in the dark And yet (to me) it seems like a lewd, obscene word, searing (the image of) itself into my brain Do you understand? How exactly I feel when I hear the forecast from your mouth? You probably don't understand, do you? Probably won't ever think about it your entire life, right? Because you're able to do this with me, (someone)who isn't even your lover, without any issues at all

This line was ad-libbed btw, if you didn't already know (link leads to Kouhei's 16th Aug IG livestream, and his explanation starts around 07:20 mark) They've talked about this a few times on both their IG lives, and Kouhei seems to get prouder about it each time hahaha. In the linked IG, Kouhei said:

(reading a fan comment) "More" was an ad-lib?? I'm gonna die

Kouhei: Yea it was…ah that was…um, Mashiko-kun… Acchan (his nickname for Atsuki) gave me a really good expression so…somehow, (by the time) I realised (what I had done), yes, (by the time) I realised it,I had said it. Well probably saying "by the time I realised it" is weird but… yes. By the time I realised it... "even more"…(I'd wanted him) to open his mouth more so. Yes. That's all.

[S: そこそこ高給取りになる予定*だから] Original: I'm planning to *become a high earner Mine: It's likely* that I'm gonna be drawing a pretty decent salary so...

*The exact wording here is actually "(it has been) planned that (I will) become (someone) drawing a pretty decent salary so" - the way this is phrased indicates that this conversation probably happened in Segasaki's last year of university, probably right before he graduated when he already had a job lined up for himself. In Japan, your final year of university is spent interning at companies and if they like you, you'll stay on as a salaried worker, so most graduates will have something lined up before they officially leave university.

[Y: 流されるな] Y: Don't get swept away (by this) This phrase is usually used to warn people not to let themselves be swept away/caught up by the latest trends/public perception/societal expectations/their own emotions/panic etc Here, together with his insistence that he's just Segasaki's slave and so obeying him is a natural consequence, and so is sleeping with him (as opposed to Yoh doing it because he likes/wants to) - Yoh is basically telling himself "don't get swept away" by the situation/his feelings because their relationship doesn't mean anything.

[Y: じゃあ、しばらく…ないのか。*slaps face* しばらくしなくていいんだ！]

Original: So, it won't be happening, for a while huh? *slaps face* I'm fine without it for a while, right?

Mine: So then... there won't be... for a while, huh... *slaps face* (It should be) "I don't have to do it for a while!"

Again, you can see, Yoh's literally spent this entire episode trying to convince himself that he's not actually in love with Segasaki, and everything he does for Segasaki, be it listening to him, or sleeping with him etc, he does simply because he is fulfilling his end of the bargain as "a slave".

OMFG I FINISHED THAT WAS TOO DAMN LONG.

I will finish Ep 2 & 3 before I do the language analysis post. But first... I need a break....

#my personal weatherman #taikan yohou #体感予報 #MPW subtitle corrections #mytranslations #this was not supposed to happen #i just wanted to nerd out at the way they talked to each other #not do subtitle corrections gdi why am i like this #i had to split the episodes because it was getting too long #translating is hard work i respect everyone ok #but also i get very frustrated when the subs are off #otherwise i just kinda sigh and lament about all the nuances people miss #this is why i don't like to watch with eng subs #left some out that weren't too important to the storyline because otherwise this post would never see the light of day #anyway hope this helps #also hope someone comes and geeks out with me

[yanderes-galore]

I've noticed not many show some love to Yautja sooo may I request Yautja with a human darling concept? (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

Of course! I defaulted to a Male Yautja because those are the more common ones :) Hope you enjoy! First time properly writing one. I picked no specific Yautja for this too.

Yandere! Male! Yautja with Human! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Human/Alien pairing, Obsession, Stalking, Talks of mates, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Violence/Murder mention, Possessive behavior, Forced relationship, Biting mention.

Yautja can be considered a violent species due to this culture of hunting for sport.

However, Yautja have a code they follow.

They only hunt prey they deem as strong, basically armed prey.

Yautja explore the galaxy to find new prey once they prove themselves as proper hunters.

It's said Yautja can only stay on Earth for about a week before having to leave their hunt.

If a Yautja did decide to choose a human mate, they would choose one during that week.

I have a feeling that human/Yautja pairing isn't very popular in their culture.

Sure, a companionship between the two has been seen, but I am unsure about mates.

This story would be a male Yautja coming to Earth for a hunt.

Then he finds you by accident and decides he should take you in.

A Yautja would have a higher chance of picking a mate who can hold their own or helped the Yautja in some way.

Although the idea of a Yautja just finding a human they like by coincidence is also an interesting idea.

Yautja prefer to stay out of sight.

Which would mean they'd be yanderes who stalk their obsession most of their hunting week.

Once this Yautja picks out their chosen mate, he splits up his week.

Part of his week he spends hunting other humans, the other half he spends watching his mate to decide if you really are the right choice.

If you helped this Yautja with his injuries somehow then he slips away and spares you, but never quite leaves you be.

Splitting his time would work for the Yautja.

He can move up in the ranks as a Yautja hunter and he can take a secret human mate for himself.

I imagine the Yautja would have to keep his obsession a secret from his planet for a long time.

It's not very traditional of him to choose prey as a mate.

You most likely won't "get to know" your Yautja yandere until he kidnaps you.

Most of the time after he successfully collects the trophies of his hunt, he'll wind down by watching you.

He didn't see humans as very appealing until you came across his gaze.

Yautja watch their darlings for a long time, regardless of their type.

He'll watch you from a distance by using his tech.

He'll track you moving in your home with a thermal scan and watch you through your windows.

If he finds other humans with you then he takes note of them.

Unless they challenge him he can't kill them.

For example, if you had a human mate (Boyfriend/Girlfriend/any romantic partners), he'd only hunt them if he felt they were challenging him.

He wants to be your only mate after all.

That is, unless, your Yautja is a bad blood.

Then murder of anyone is appealing to him.

Your Yautja assumes any sort of mate you have is challenging him when they try to fight him.

Unarmed combat and he'll still not hurt them, then there's if they pick up a knife...

After that he feels this is a fine kill that does not break his code.

After he deems his time is up on this planet, your Yautja will reveal himself and drag you kicking and screaming back to his ship.

Most of your Yautja's obsession is studying your patterns and stalking.

The other part is taking you in and having you adapt.

He most likely found a way to give you a part of his ship acclimated to your environment as a human.

That or find a way to make a breathing apparatus for you.

This is because he breathes more nitrogen than oxygen compared to humans.

You'll have your own little part of the ship while he works on a way to translate your languages.

Yautja may have a brutal culture but are quite intelligent.

He understands you'll be scared when he takes you in at first, but hopefully you will be fine once he figures out a way to speak with you.

Once he does establish a way to communicate, he asks you questions and allows you to ask your own.

After all... if you are meant to be mates, you will need to learn about each other.

There's no doubt he'll be judged by his Elders if he brought you back right away.

That's why your home primarily becomes his ship until he can find another way.

Having a Yautja "boyfriend" has a huge amount of culture shock.

He proudly shows you the skulls and trophies of his kills.

He shows you Xenomorph skulls and human skulls.

All of which make you uneasy.

I feel affection won't be common until much later in your "relationship".

Your Yautja will wait until you are calmer and more susceptible to him before moving closer.

Then he'll experiment with physical affection, dragging his claws down your skin and clicking towards you.

There's no doubt he enjoys the size difference between you, often trying to hold you as he works with his ship.

In fact, he may even bite you to claim you.

You're told to stay put during hunts but he'll bring you back food, it's all mostly meat since he's used to it.

Raw meat so... you get sick frequently.

He tries to pay attention to what you need to survive.

Yautja are close with the human species so he most likely knows but all humans are different.

He treats you as someone he has to prove himself to and tries to impress you.

It's what one should do for their mate, right?

He should move up in the ranks and be the best hunter he can be.

When they allow him to pick a mate he'll say he has one and that's that.

While humans are prey, they can be respected as equals.

When he feels it's time to establish you two as proper mates, he'll defend you.

Yautja can be possessive of their mates and will make it known he's chosen you and only you.

You may take a long time to warm up to him, if at all, but your Yautja promises you one thing...

He's your mate until the end... he'll never leave your side now that he's found his human.

#yandere predator #yandere yautja #yandere male yautja #yandere teratophilia

[hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon]

Translating Killjoy Names

The Fabulous Killjoys live in the American Southwest outside L.A. if u try to tell me that they're not all a little Chicano imma be mad. I say they get spanish names too bc i love translating.

There’s a quote that’s like “you’re never translating literally between just two languages, you’re also talking about the third thing that the original phrase actually meant” and Killjoy names got a lot of connotations and meaning behind them ESPECIALLY when they’re referencing other stuff. So without further ado:

Jet Star -> Estrella Oscuro

There's a couple different connotations of the word 'jet', notably as a specific type of plane or the color descriptor 'jet-black'. There's also some lesser connotations about elegance, usually as an offshoot of the two more common meanings. Which to use here in terms of translating to get the point of it across?It’s actually unclear bc we got little information about why the killjoy names were chosen or the associations they were going for (both in terms of in the danger days universe and outside of it). I went with the 'jet-black' connotation here. Jet is a kind of dark rock, and where we get the phrase ‘jet-black’ from. Literally Estrella Oscuro means 'dark star', and I think that is a really cool killjoy name as well as an acceptable translation bc it keeps the sense of 'wait, these words go together but WHY.

Fun Ghoul -> Demonio Divertido

This translation is both easy and difficult. Right off the bat, you can do Demonio Divertido, literally Fun Demon (the word demonio means demon, yeah, but also has wider connotations for monstery things like Ghouls.) HOWEVER. This is one of the killjoy names we got an additional info for-another reason it was picked was because it sounds vaguely like ‘fanculo’ or ‘fuck you’ in Italian. Finding a spanish translation that also sounds like an insult in another language actually makes my job harder so we’re sticking with Demonio Divertido until I come up with something better.

Party Poison -> Maria Mata

Similarly, the direct translation of Party Poison would be Veneno Festivo. BUT Party Poison is also a slang term for molly/MDMA/ecstasy. Again, finding a Spanish term that keeps the idea of “killing your fun” WITH the added connotation of having the same name as a drug makes translating more difficult. Do ya use the spanish slang terms for molly, which vary but include extasis, pastis or Maria? A fun way to do it could be Maria Mata, aka “Molly Kills” going off slang terms, and I like that one because it keeps the idea of something/someone fun also fucking you up.

Kobra Kid -> El Hijo de Serpiente

The Kobra Kid translated literally is El Hijo de Serpiente, and I have no idea if there’s any deeper meaning behind that choice so we’re gonna stick with it.

Maybe I'll do more later?

#sebastian speaks #twice as shiny #danger days #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys

[rongzhi]

Just wanted to say thank you for your translations! You really are working so hard to give us Content that would otherwise be completely locked off - out of interest, have you noticed any significant differences between the humour in these videos vs English tiktok?

I really only see English tiktoks through tumblr so I can't really say what the difference in humor is between the two apps. I guess anyone who uses tiktok and also follow this blog could probably give a better answer! I will say a lot of Chinese humor is language based, I guess, and obviously Chinese has its own expressions and ways to deliver humor through puns or word choice (these don't always come across in my translations unfortunately).

Also, the videos I translate are highly tailored to MY sense of humor so it's not like you guys are getting the full experience. There are entire styles/genres of douyin comedy that I just don't share here because it doesn't make me laugh :P

#text #answered ask

[theteasetwrites]

Begin Again

Chapter 1: Aux Portes de la Mort

❧ Media: The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon ❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 1 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: violence, blood & gore, scary situations, mentions of death ❧ Word Count: 7.6k

❧ In This Chapter: When you and Daryl awaken in an unknown land, far away from home, the world becomes twice as dangerous as it once was, with a whole new breed of dangers lurking around every corner. You have no choice but to begin again on a new mission: Get. Back. Home.

❧ A/N: IT'S HERE. I'm so excited to be writing for them again ugh it's been too long. I love this reader because she has all that history with Daryl from the first series so it's a real treat to keep all that in mind when I'm writing their scenes together. Also I am posting this before the premiere of the show. This chapter is based on the events of the sneak peek that was released on AMC+! So here ya go, the first chapter! Shoutout to Dahlia (@simpbyday) for helping me with the French translation for the title. She will be my official French language correspondent throughout this process. And if anyone else also knows French, I would love to get feedback on my usage of French throughout the series as well! <3

“Near death” did not mean much to you anymore.

You were either dead or alive, nothing in between. That’s how you felt about it now. There were few areas in life that were black and white to you, and that was one of them. If you were alive, you were alive. Maybe you’d be a little worse for wear, but you were alive. That was the important thing.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway. As a way to condition yourself, to be stronger. For Daryl. For Robin. For Wes. You had to be strong for them. Maybe that’s what got you into this mess. 

No, Daryl did. Daryl got you into this: tied loosely to the back of a lifeboat, one foot missing a boot and hanging off the edge, dangling pitifully in the ocean as the small vessel drew you closer to the shore. 

You might’ve stayed asleep if it weren’t for the splashing sound, followed by the familiar grunts and wheezes of gasping breath. You felt the rope across your hips pull in the other direction, where Daryl fought with the current to come back to the air. Through heavy eyes, crusted by a long sleep and sensitive to the bright light of what must’ve been mid-afternoon, you saw him struggle to lift the rope from his body as a wave pummeled him back down below the water. 

Your throat burning, rendering you unable to so much as cry out his name, you freed yourself from the rope, sliding into the water. What happened next would fade into the obscurity of rumbling waves carrying your weak bodies closer to shore, until the feeling of ground underfoot welcomed you. 

But that feeling was short-lived. As soon as your feet felt the sand, you were knocked down by another wave. Now you could only crawl, with what little strength you had left. Even Daryl, so very hearty and always physically stronger and more durable than yourself, began to stagger, falling less than gracefully to his knees just a few feet from you. There was no need for verbal recognition or even touch—you felt him there, crawling beside you, alive. 

Now with only your feet still clinging to the sea, your arms gave out underneath you, like two pieces of boiled spaghetti, limp and sprawled out not far from Daryl, who lied with his face pressed against the sand, his wet hair shrouding any semblance of his visage. 

Though you could hear his sharp breaths, his heavy pants that withdrew with high-pitched whimpers that sent a shiver down your spine, you could hardly tell if he was moving. 

Momentarily frozen, you gathered all your strength to extend your arm across the sand. Your fingers stretched out to the fullest extent, crawling like a spider until finally you gripped his hand, entwining your fingers with his and shaking it roughly, urging him to move.

You had been near death enough to know that the worst thing to do was to stop moving. That was like accepting death, and wherever you were now, you weren’t going to face it without him.

Your movement brought him to life as he lifted his head, his sight first taking in his surroundings—a beach.

And not far in the distance, a small blue bucket. 

You followed his gaze, which seemed transfixed on the object, partly buried by the wet sand that must’ve remained untouched for God only knows how long. 

Having a near encyclopedic understanding of Daryl’s mind, you knew what he was thinking of—survival. There was water in that bucket. Sandy ocean water, but water nevertheless.

All you could think of, though, was how familiar that little bucket was. Robin had one just like it. Last time you’d taken her and Wes to Oceanside, they played on the beach for hours, making sandcastles with her little bucket and shovel that she’d gotten for her seventh birthday last May. Somehow she’d convinced Daryl to let her bury him under the sand. You had the Polaroids to prove it somewhere in one of the pockets of your vest, if they hadn’t been lost to sea.

The memory faded quickly, as he pulled you up, still holding your hand. At least now he was moving, dragging you and himself towards the bucket.

He’d let go of your hand to pick it up, digging out as much sand as he could before handing it to you. Without a word, you brought the rim of the bucket to your lips, taking just a few sips, despite the painful drought in your throat.

Daryl took the rest, downing the sandy saltwater like it was the nectar of life, and here, at the gates of death, it was. 

When the water was gone, he let the pail fall back to its final resting place. You couldn’t bring yourself to even raise your head. You could only watch it fall, the bright blue plastic taking you back to a time that seemed so far away now, to a world you wished you’d never left. 

But Daryl, ever the pragmatist, always planning the next move, was already narrowing his eyes, looking around for the answer to that burning question that lingered between the two of you—where the hell are we? 

You could’ve looked at that little bucket forever, if he hadn’t tugged on your hand, not unlike how you’d done so to his just minutes ago. 

“C’mon.”

The further the two of you walked, slowly, limping, the more you began to take note of your surroundings, without too much thought of the complete and utter shit you two were both in. For all the differences between you, you both knew one thing was true—there was no point in dwelling on how you got here, the only thing that mattered was getting back home. That was the unspoken truth. 

As you walked further, the sand beneath your feet turned into concrete. Some kind of parking structure, or what once was. You passed the rotting, rusted shells of cars, their windows smashed and their hoods lifted, no doubt due to survivors looking for parts to salvage. A clump of neglected bicycles leaned against a graffitied pole. Like most graffiti, you couldn’t make out what it said. 

Passing a small overgrown boat, you spotted a signpost not too far away. You walked ahead of Daryl, all too eager to see what it said. The letters were faded, but you could make out the arrows, meaning it would point you in whatever direction you needed to go in. That was all you needed now: direction. Some delusionally hopeful part of you, deep down, wanted to believe the sign would display the word “HOME” with an arrow accompanying it, leading the way without confusion or ambiguity. 

But of course, you knew that was impossible. Still, you did not anticipate what you saw.

Squinting your tired eyes, your weakened legs slowed to a halt as the sign’s lettering came into view. Your heart sank as you stepped back, almost terrified of what you read. But you backed against Daryl’s chest, which caught you before you could lose your balance from the shock of the realization. 

You could not read the sign. 

Pla… place de… ste?

Port de… Martegues?

… Cimetiere?

Shit.

Some kind of port city, somewhere in France.

That’s what you decided upon, in the silence of your heavy thoughts as you walked together aimlessly, still not speaking. How could you speak to him? What was there to say? You had no hope now. It was gone, and usually, that was the only thing that kept you talking in times like these. 

And Daryl, he could go hours without speaking, if he had nothing to say. 

He, too, was at a loss for words. After all, he knew he’d gotten you into this. He knew none of this would’ve happened if he’d just… It didn’t matter now, though. What mattered was getting home.

But you weren’t safe here. 

You always knew that the whole world must’ve fallen, of course. When everything happened, the world went dark. France was no exception. The state of the place was proof enough. In this old city, with cobblestone streets littered in the abandoned remnants of a once prosperous civilization, every corner you turned was the same—empty, ruined, overgrown.

By some instinct, you both walked along a path just on the edge of a canal that seemed to run through the city. Perhaps it was just a gut feeling, or perhaps the both of you knew to stay close to the water, on the off chance that you’d find some kind of seafaring vessel. Though you still couldn’t shake the taste of saltwater, you knew that the only way you could get back home was to get back on the water. That was your priority.

Sure enough, you came upon a boat, moored at the edge of the path, floating upon the water, and looking as though it had been there for centuries.

Just outside the boat on the cobblestone path, it looked as though someone had set up camp, once upon a time. Whoever had been there, though, they were long gone. As you passed a desiccated corpse, completely barren of flesh with a long fisherman’s spear skewered through its head, you wondered if this body had once held the poor soul of the boat’s former occupant. You didn’t wonder for long, though, as these days, you’d seen enough dead bodies to almost completely desensitize you from any human curiosity. Now, it was just a bag of bones. 

Approaching the stern of the vessel, Daryl went into the cabin first, his sights set on the wine bottles perched on a wooden shelf, in the hopes that maybe they’d contain some water. He picked them up one by one, shaking them. Nothing at all. 

You busied yourself, rummaging through a bag you found hanging from a nail near the door. Your hand gripped on some long, cylindrical plastic, ribbed and seemingly filled with liquid. 

“Daryl.”

You held the water bottle out towards him as he turned around. You hadn’t caught a good glimpse of his face yet, until now. 

The skin of his face and neck were reddened terribly by the sun, but that didn’t worry you as much. It was the scarlet red cut stretching diagonally over his forehead, and the paleness of his lips, dry and dehydrated. The saltwater you both drank earlier only made the thirst more potent. 

Deciding he needed the water more than you, you pressed the bottle to his chest, despite his brief protest that he gave with only a knowing look on his face, as if to say: You drink first. 

You returned the look, but with more conviction as you shoved the bottle harder now, as if to say: No. Drink. 

Reluctantly, he did, drinking less than half before handing it back to you, with the same force you applied when giving it to him, and the same stern, protective look: Drink. 

You took the rest of the water, wincing at the aged taste. But you drank it down slowly, steadily, the cooling liquid coating your barren throat. 

Lost in the brief relief it gave you, you hadn’t noticed Daryl’s continued russling as he pillaged the tiny boat cabin, looking for anything and everything that could somehow be useful. 

As you used your long, torn sleeve to wipe away the dripping water from your chin, you were startled by the sudden sound of a man’s voice, not Daryl’s. 

With a flinch, you turned around to see Daryl, sitting at the small dining table, holding a tape recorder. 

“Nineteen months at sea,” said the man’s garbled voice, with an accent you deemed to be Irish. “Hoping to stay ahead of this thing.”

On the table before him was a map of Europe, and a photo of a family. There was a man that must’ve been the owner of the voice you listened to now. Beside him was a woman, his wife, Daryl assumed, because on her lap was a little girl, holding a large stuffed penguin, about half the size of her. She couldn’t have been older than Robin, he thought. 

They looked happy, all smiles. Somewhere in one of his pockets, he was sure he had a picture that looked almost exactly the same, only with his family—Robin, Wes, Dog, you. He quickly willed the thought away, though. If he kept thinking about it, he was sure he’d break down, when at this point, what he needed to be the most was strong. 

“Circled Spain,” the voice continued. “Nowhere safe… We’ll try Marseille next. Maybe the south of France is good… There’s got to be a safe place somewhere.”

You were sure you’d uttered that phrase once. Maybe around the same time he did. Just goes to show how much this world changes you, which was saying something—you always believed the world hadn’t changed you nearly as much as it changed everyone else. But you knew now that there was no safe place in this world, except in the arms of the ones you loved. And even then, that was only a metaphor. But you had to believe it, to convince yourself it was true. Otherwise, you were no different than the dead.

Night was closing in. There was no more time to waste. 

Still without hardly more than a one-word sentence exchanged between you, you got to work setting up a night’s worth of camp, while Daryl speared a fish in the canal. Just one was all the energy he had, but it was more than enough for the both of you. A white fish of decent size, which Daryl cooked over the makeshift barbecue near the boat. 

Sitting on the boat, you got a lantern working, providing just enough light to see what you were doing as you tried to filter the muddy canal water through the mesh lining of a jacket you’d found inside the boat. Across the way, you’d glimpse at Daryl, now draped in a tarp he’d fashioned into a poncho, in only the way Daryl could even think of doing. 

His tired face was illuminated by the fire over which he cooked the fish, turning it over with a small knife until it was cooked through. You wondered what on Earth was going on in his head, if he was as frightened as you were, if he had any hope left. 

You didn’t have much hope anymore. Not now. 

In this world, you’d found that your hope had been tested constantly, but only a handful of times did it try you like this. When the farm fell, when you lost the prison, when the Saviors took Daryl… 

But you always got it back. You always found your strength again. 

You weren’t sure if you could get it back this time.

Still, you had Daryl. If you were alone, in a strange place, thousands of miles from home, you were sure you would’ve given up by now. But he was here. 

The silence between you persisted into the night, as you sat across from each other, under the dark blanket of the night sky, eating the charred fish straight off the bone, with only the dim flickering light of the lantern just barely lighting your faces. 

When the silence became unbearable, Daryl had pulled the tape recorder from his pocket, playing it again, as if he found comfort in the man’s voice, despite the ultimate tragedy that must’ve occurred. 

“Sue had a heart attack.” You could only assume that was the name of his wife, the woman in the photograph. “I had to… take care of it.”

You’d heard stories like that before, of someone having to put down their loved one before or, God forbid, after they turned, but it would never cease to send a shiver down your spine. The thought of having to do that to Daryl… It was a nightmare you’d had more than once.

“Our tenth anniversary would’ve been in June… Holly keeps crying. She wants her mum back.”

That was when you stopped eating, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

“She wants things the way they were.”

You swallowed hard in an attempt to suck down the lump forming in your throat. 

“She wants to go home.”

“Turn it off.”

The sudden sternness in your voice nearly surprised him, or maybe it was just how many words you spoke at once. 

He grabbed the recorder and turned it off with a sharp click, restoring the heavy silence that lingered like a thick fog between you. 

Daryl watched intently as you hugged your legs against your chest, your eyes downcast and glued to the worn and torn stuffed penguin, buried underneath some ropes and an empty old fuel tank. You recognized it from the photo. 

He could read the look on your face, and the thoughts that he knew were flying through your head at a thousand miles an hour. He knew that you were thinking about home, about your family. Still, he couldn’t shake this discomfort. This quiet. 

For all the years he’d known you, he’d never gone this long with such silence between the two of you. Of course, he’d been separated from you before for much longer, but together? You were hardly ever at a loss for words. He couldn’t remember the last time you were like this, but he didn’t like it. Funny, Daryl was always the quieter one, the one who more often than not needed to be coaxed into talking. He always preferred the quiet, but this was unbearable. 

He needed to hear your voice, now more than ever. He needed your hope.

“You haven’t said more than three words since we got here.”

Washed up here, your mind corrected. 

He leaned forward stiffly, still eying you, despite your gaze still transfixed on the once pristine stuffed animal. 

Several painful moments passed. Daryl couldn’t take it anymore. He’d beg for you to speak, to say anything to him. All he wanted was to hear you. 

“Please.” His voice was low, soft. It was always like that with you, but something about it now seemed more desperate. “Please say somethin’.”

Finally, you raised your head slowly, meeting his silvery blue eyes, visible through several loose strands of hair that framed his face. If you were in better spirits, you might’ve smiled, just seeing his face, despite how badly he was in need of a good shower. You were sure you looked rather filthy yourself.

But you couldn’t smile. You couldn’t even imagine such a thing. The last time you smiled seemed so far away, you could hardly even remember it. 

“What do you want me to say?” Your voice was shaky, hoarse, tired. He’d been with you through Hell and back, and back again, and yet he’d never heard your voice so defeated, so… lost.

“I don’t know,” he replied simply, still holding your gaze. Now, you both stared intently, as if battling to see who could dare to look away first. “I just…” As he trailed off, his eyes sank in defeat. He’d lost the battle. “I’m sorry.”

With a sniffle, you replied. “What are you sorry for?”

It took him several moments to speak, as he tried to compose himself. If he opened his mouth too soon, he might start crying, and despite how much you encouraged him to be vulnerable, to not neglect his emotions around you, he could never fully let himself cry in front of you without feeling that ingrained sense of failure and inadequacy, like he wasn’t the strong man you needed, no matter how many times you reminded him of how strong he was. 

“For gettin’ you into this.”

Your lip quivered, your eyes softened. 

He continued, “If I hadn’t asked you to go with me—”

“Then you’d be sitting here, across the world, alone, and I’d be in Alexandria worried sick about you.”

“But you’d be safe,” he said, an almost imperceptible shake in his voice as he was reminded of the danger you were now mired in, all thanks to him.

“How many times have I told you… I’m safest when I’m with you.”

That thought was nice, but it still could never completely alleviate Daryl’s worries. 

And there was another reason he wished he hadn’t asked you to come along. 

“But you’d be with the kids.”

Your eyes sank as though they were anchored to the floor of this decrepit old boat. He knew that would get you, you were sure. He knew that, besides him, you loved your children more than anything else, and being so far away from them, lost with no immediate hope of seeing them again, was crushing you.

A silence befell you, and Daryl felt like he lost you again. God, all he wanted was to hear you. Your voice was the most comfort he could have right now, just to know you were near.

Now Daryl looked down, focused on the mud caked around his brown boots. He raised his hands to his face as he huffed. 

“Shit,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

You weren’t angry. Just sad.

With a sniffle, you looked back up. He still sat with his head in his hands, until he lifted his eyes above his fingers just enough to see you. 

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice a cracking whisper.

“Nah,” he said abruptly. “Nothin’s okay.”

Daryl always had that bad habit of blaming everything on himself. You knew it well. It frustrated you—his inability to give himself any credit and his tendency to dwell on his flaws instead of celebrating his accomplishments. Granted, one of the many traits you admired about your husband was his humility, but sometimes, you wished he would consider the things he’d done right instead of all the things he did wrong.

You raised yourself to your feet, crossing the boat to sit beside him. He did not look your way or pay you much attention, still lost in his thoughts. Still, you carefully, slowly, wrapped your arm around his waist and his shoulders, holding him. 

He was stiff, but under your touch, he slowly began to soften, as he always did. It was then he had realized how long it seemed he’d gone without your touch like this. You’d been with him the whole time, but survival did not allow for many moments of pure, gentle intimacy between two lovers.

“We’re alive,” you whispered. As you leaned against him, you pressed a small, but firm, kiss to his cheek. “We’re together.”

Without a word, he gave you a knowing glance. He narrowed his eyes almost suspiciously, while he chewed his bottom lip in deep thought. He didn’t need to say anything for you to know what he was thinking.

You smiled. “One of us has to be the positive one. We can’t get anything done if we’re both sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves.”

“Yeah… I know.”

“It’s shitty,” you said. “This is a shitty situation… Maybe the worst situation we’ve been in, but we’re going to get back home.” 

Though you spoke with conviction, you weren’t entirely sure that you really believed the words you spoke. It was hard to believe. It was hard to believe you were here in the first place. Nevertheless, you’d die trying to get back home, to see your children again, to watch them grow.

There was no way in Hell you were going to sit back and do nothing. 

To your relief, Daryl’s hand found yours, curling around it and squeezing it tight. He nodded, then raised your hand to his lips.

“Yeah. We will.”

You smiled as you roamed his face, finding comfort in the familiarity. In this world of uncertainty, this new world where neither of you belonged, you found safety in each other—you saw Alexandria in his face. All the memories. It was like a photo album, everything flashed before your eyes. You saw Robin, Wes, Aaron, Lydia, Maggie, Michonne, Rick… everyone. Everyone you loved, alive or dead, all in him. 

And in you, he felt the same, but not only that. He saw everything beautiful and pure in this world, everything worth protecting and keeping alive. As you held him, he held your face, his thumbs moving gently over the apples of your cheeks. 

Your face was worn, tired, with a few knicks and scratches scattered about over your usually smooth and unblemished skin, but nothing could distract from the perfection of your features that he knew and adored so well.

And you, you couldn’t help but eye that nasty cut on his forehead. You swept away the stray pieces of hair that obscured the cut, then huffed. Though you had already washed the cut with water, you were itching to find a real first aid kit to prevent infection. The one on the boat was cleaned out, and whatever first aid kit you had brought with you was in a bag lost at sea.

“S’fine,” he said, knowing full well what you were thinking. “M’fine.”

“It’s just… I don’t like it.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“We’ll find something to help it. If I could get my hands on some calendula or even some marshmallow…” 

That thought prompted you to look around, the darkness of the empty waterway in the desolate, ruined city. Even if you could find some herbs with healing properties here, you wouldn’t know where to start looking. 

The south of France wasn’t exactly the same as Virginia in terms of flora and fauna. 

“First thing we gotta find is a way back,” he replied.

“We could fix up this boat.” Daryl’s mechanic expertise started and stopped with cars and motorcycles, but you figured a boat couldn’t be much different. 

“Nah. Engine’s shot, and I dunno the first thing ‘bout how boats work, anyway.”

“Well… We’ll just have to find another way. There have to be people somewhere.” 

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow as he chewed the last of his fish. “You remember what happened the last time we asked a bunch of strangers for help?”

Ah, yes—the Commonwealth. 

At least that turned out in your favor, eventually. It took almost a year of turmoil, but in the end, it was worth it.

“Daryl, I don’t see any way out of this without some help. Besides, we haven’t seen any walkers yet… Maybe France is faring better?”

“Or maybe they’re all dead.”

“Stop it. That’s not true.” You held his cheek and turned his face towards you. “You know it’s not true… It can’t be.”

The rest of that night passed slowly, quietly. Maybe it was out of habit, or just his need to be aware of his and your surroundings at all times, but Daryl spent a good fifteen minutes checking out the general vicinity, scanning the perimeter around the little boat on which you busied yourself by fashioning a bed of sorts out of pieces of seats and blankets. 

Daryl returned not long after he left, with a curious trinket in his hands: a Barbie doll. 

You looked up at him from the makeshift bed. He took the liberty of posing the little blonde doll, sitting her atop the small dining table with her arm raised as if she were waving. Her hair was only slightly mangled, but you knew many tricks when it came to freshening up Barbie dolls and making them good as new for Robin, and sometimes Wes, to play with.  

“Only you could find a Barbie doll in France,” you said.

“It’s not just any Barbie doll,” he said, sitting himself down beside you with a huff. Gravity forced his body to the bed. Well, bed was a generous term for the dismantled chair covered with blankets. “It’s a veterinarian.”

You studied the doll closer from a distance. Indeed, she had a little white doctor’s coat and a pink stethoscope. You would’ve thought she was actually a doctor Barbie, but only a trained, professional eye like Daryl’s would spy the light pink paw print pattern on her lab coat. Thus, she was distinctly a veterinarian, to be sure. 

A smile spread across your face as you laid back, snuggling close to his side. He smelled faintly like fish, but you were certain that you didn’t smell so great either. 

“She’ll love it,” you whispered. There was no question who you could possibly be talking about. “I’ll keep it in my bag until we get home.”

Daryl couldn’t respond verbally. He could only chew his bottom lip as his arm snaked underneath your side and wrapped around to stroke your shoulder with his hand. Perhaps that was the ultimate reason he took the doll—as a way to further motivate both of you to live long enough to see your family again. And you would. He’d make sure of it. He knew it. He had to.

At length, you spoke again. 

“It’s clear?”

He nodded. “Yeah. No walkers, no people… No nothin’.”

That was good. If Daryl felt it was safe enough for the both of you to sleep tonight, that was a victory in your book. 

“Tomorrow,” you began, “we should start heading north, towards Paris.”

Daryl’s lip twitched into a slight smile as he began to close his eyes, still holding you. Sometimes, you hardly noticed he was holding you. A long time ago, it had become second nature, so habitual that him holding you in bed at night was a feeling you couldn’t quite sleep without. 

“Paris?”

“Yeah… There could be people there. Biggest city, biggest population.”

“Yeah, biggest population of walkers.”

You sighed. “Well, I don’t know then. You got any bright ideas, Einstein?”

He raised his eyebrow as he looked at you, with only one eye open, the other squeezed shut as his nose scrunched up and he made a faux scowl. It was almost enough to make you laugh. 

He chewed his bottom lip, deep in thought. “How about west?” he asked. “Least we can head that way first, see if we find anyone or anything. Best to stay as far away from the city as possible.”

“You're right,” you replied, resting your head upon his chest. Somehow, it was always much more comfortable than a pillow, despite its relative firmness. “You're always right.”

“Not always,” he said lowly, his fingers finding the ends of your hair and twirling around them as if by instinct.

“Yeah… Not always.”

“Pfft…”

“What?”

“Jus’... Can’t believe where we are right now.”

You nodded in agreement, but you could tell where this line of thinking was going—this negativity that sometimes clouded Daryl’s almost unwavering hope. That was where you came in, though your hope was in serious question, too.

“Well, you did promise you’d take me on a vacation.”

He scoffed again, but it was almost a laugh. Almost.

“France wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Me neither,” you said. A few beats of silence, then you added, “I would’ve preferred Italy.”

Three days had passed, all of which were spent hiking through ruins and desolate hills. Daryl used the long fishing spear from the boat as a kind of walking stick, and a weapon, along with whatever else he scavenged from Marseille. You’d found a few good knives, but nothing to quite balance out the slight limp you’d woken up with when you washed ashore. 

No encounters with walkers, you’d noted, though you’d seen some wandering in the distance, ambling aimlessly through deserted stretches of wilderness. At certain points, you feared you might’ve been walking at the same pace as the rotting corpses, but they were far enough, and none of them seemed as fast as some of the climbers you’d seen. 

Wilderness eventually faded into a somewhat industrialized town, much further away from the coast you’d started from. 

It was small, but a good place to stop off for the night, you’d hoped.

Wandering through the small alleyways, littered with debris and overgrown vegetation, you came upon a large building, something like a warehouse turned into what appeared to be a supermarket. At least, that’s what you gathered from the signage, despite its unknown language. 

Oh, how you wished you’d taken French instead of Spanish in high school now. 

Daryl entered first, quietly opening the creaking door. The general protocol when entering new, unknown buildings had always been the same: be quiet (silent if possible). Although, if there were any walkers in there, odds are, they could smell you before you’d even say a word.

Still, you felt Daryl’s hand tap your shoulder lightly. He signaled to you, signing the phrase, “Me left, you right,” as he mouthed the words. 

You always hated splitting up, but you signed back, “Be careful.”

Connie and Kelly would’ve been proud, you were sure. 

The two of you split up, Daryl searching the leftmost side of the building, you the right. 

As you examined the place, you took note of its state. It was abandoned, of course, but it was one of those places that had been left alone since the very beginning. It looked as though there had been a farmer’s market here, with long tables and booths with once meticulously laid out displays of crafts and homemade wares. Surely, whatever fresh produce had been here had long since deteriorated into nothingness, but there was always the chance of coming across dry foods. Grains and legumes and the like. Those were the ideals.

If fortune favored you, you could even find some dried herbs or medicinal plants to use on Daryl’s cut, but that was a longshot. 

Still, you kept a lookout, your mind, and your stomach, much more focused on finding food than on scoping the place out for walkers. From across the way, you heard a small thud that made you flinch. Your eyes followed the sound—Daryl had set down his bag rather carelessly. 

Eyes wide, you looked at him. He seemed entranced by a jar he was in the process of opening, only to smell its contents and put it back. Feeling your gaze on him, he looked up at you. 

“You OK?” he signed, mouthing the words.

You sighed quietly, recovering from the startle. “Yeah.” With much more emphasis, exacerbated by the firmness with which you moved your hands, you once again signed, “BE CAREFUL.”

“OK,” he signed back, his face bordering on slightly annoyed with your protectiveness.

But another thud quickly drew your attention, though this one was not from Daryl, who also turned to locate the source of the ruckus. 

You could only see a faint movement that was rather close to the ground, as though an animal was stirring, but as the familiar groans and wheezes started, you knew what it was. 

Much to your surprise, Daryl seemed stunned for a moment, standing rather still as he simply watched the walker crawl out from underneath a pile of rubbish. As for you, you gripped the handle of your knife, removing it from its holder on your belt. But you were much further from him, and where there was one walker, there were, more often not, much more.

Suddenly, more walkers seemed to awaken from their slumber. Sleepers, you’d grown to call them. In your fascination with the habits of walkers, you’d begun taking note of how they seemed to have their own mode of hibernation during times of inactivity. 

From what you could see, about eight or so of them had emerged from the far left, somewhere behind the produce stands, and were heading towards Daryl. You had the luckier draw, with only three or four setting their sights, and their gnashing, rotten teeth, on you. 

No need for signing anymore. Dinner was officially served, and tonight, fresh American meat was on the menu. 

“You got it?!” you called out to Daryl, raising your knife as the nearest walker limped towards you, its skull just barely clinging to the remainder of petrified flesh that hung loosely from its face. 

He hesitated for a moment, worrying you. Daryl seemed off his game when it came to fighting walkers. Perhaps it was because he was still frazzled by the strangeness of your situation, or perhaps, God forbid, he was more worse for wear than he wanted you to know. After all, Daryl did have a tendency to downplay his injuries or his illnesses, a habit which frustrated you perhaps beyond any other quirk he had, because this was the most dangerous to his health.

But you couldn’t think of that now. Not when there were walkers snapping at you, and even more at your husband.

“Yeah!” he finally called back as he got a grip on his spear. 

He set his focus on the first walker that had risen, which began slowly limping towards him. From behind him, though, was another walker, making quicker progress. He turned briefly, skewering the walker’s head with the sharpened point of the spear. He followed that with a kick to the walker’s abdomen, removing it quickly from the weapon.

On the other side of the place, you drove your knife into the nearest walker’s skull, but not without the usual splash of blood that came spurting out afterwards. 

This spurt, though, was no ordinary one. 

As you tugged the blade from its skull, you noticed a stinging sound, like that of a singe. It came as the blood spattered over the floor, and continued as it poured from the walker’s head. You stepped back, brows furrowed as you watched the trail of blood seem to evaporate, but it left behind a cloud of… smoke. 

In a way, it reminded you of a branding, how the hot iron had been embedded into your skin and eaten away at the flesh with a horrendous burn until an X was forever scarred into your back. Whatever was going on with that walker, if its blood had gotten anywhere near your skin, you were sure it would have a similar effect—an agonizing, flesh dissolving burn.

But you hadn’t any more time to think about the strange walker, as there was another one coming behind you. 

Meanwhile, had just skewered another walker through the face, then pulled the spear out to fling the walker backwards and tumbling back against another one.

Stepping backwards, just about to turn around and face another batch of walkers, one lunged forward, reaching its hand out to grip Daryl’s forearm, but this was not any ordinary death grip.

Most walkers’ touches were cold, lifeless, but this? This… searing, stinging, agonizing sharpness that made him scream.

With one last kill, you turned towards him, your eyes wide and your mouth agape with the fear of the most profound variety. Daryl never screamed like that. At least, not when you were around. Suddenly, every nightmare and intrusive thought of Daryl being bitten assaulted your mind all at once. 

All you could see was him struggling against a walker, whose grip on his forearm must’ve been so strong that even Daryl couldn’t immediately pry himself away. 

But the walker’s grip really wasn’t that strong. No, its hand was simply stuck, with Daryl’s burning, melting flesh acting as a kind of glue. 

As he tugged and yelled in frustrated pain, you quickly bounded across the room, taking down another walker on the way. 

The closer you got, the more you saw it—the small swirl of smoke emerging from Daryl’s flesh as the walker’s hand seared the flesh of his arm. 

Just before you could get to it, Daryl managed to rip himself free, stepping back a moment to briefly scowl at the strange burn. 

Immediately, you came forward, plunging your knife into the walker’s head. 

Daryl’s eyes flashed to meet yours, a simple exchange of breathless nods between you enough to suffice until the rest of the walkers were taken care of.

You looked around swiftly, and Daryl did the same. Six more walkers. Between the two of you, it would be light work. That is, if there were no more SNAFUs.

Daryl took the high ground, situating himself on a large wooden table to better approach the threat. 

You kept on the floor, using one hand to pull the walkers toward you, the other to strike with your knife. 

Once again, Daryl found himself with the unlucky situation. Underneath the table he’d taken defense at was another walker. 

Plunging the end of his spear through the wood, he successfully impaled the walker’s head, but not without his spear getting stuck.

He tugged on the spear with all his strength, but the thing wouldn’t budge—the spear was lodged too deep in the walker’s skull, causing it to bang on the underside of the table with each attempt to tug it back up. In perhaps a less serious setting, the image might’ve been quite comical. 

Daryl’s grunts combined with the repeated banging sound alerted you to the situation, and to the other walker coming closest to him. 

You quickly charged the walker, finally taking it out with a swift but jagged movement. Meanwhile, Daryl had just freed his spear, and now moved to kill two more walkers in his path. 

He was fast this time, killing them within hardly a second between each other. It was just enough time for him to turn around and see the very last walker coming towards you.

Without another second to even hesitate, you raised your knife, only for another one to fly into the side of the walker’s head, sending it falling to the ground at your feet. 

Sometimes, Daryl’s flying knives startled you more than the walkers. 

With a huff, you reached down, pulling the knife from the walker’s head. Just as you’d seen from the other one—a splash of burning, corrosive blood, a hissing sound as it hit the floor, and a small plume of smoke.

What the hell are you? you asked the corpse in your head. 

But that wasn’t important now. You quickly turned your attention to Daryl, who pulled up the sleeve of his poncho to reveal the raw flesh of his burn. 

Within a moment’s time, you were at his side, holding his arm as your eyes frantically took in the wound. In your confusion, and your fear, you looked up at him, all the color drained from your face. From what you knew of burns, this looked to be second degree, oozing redness and blisters already starting to form. 

“We’ll bandage it up,” you said, nodding to yourself, as if to reassure both him and you. “We’ll clean it first… Some water and—and if I find some aloe…”

He caught your gaze, holding it for a good several moments of heavy silence.

“You ever seen a walker do that?” he asked, knowing full well that the answer was no.

You turned to investigate the last walker you’d killed—on the surface, not unlike any other walker you’d seen before, except you supposed he had a certain… je ne sais quoi, if you will. 

“Maybe… it’s a French thing,” you replied. “I have no idea.”

Daryl let out a deep huff as he sat, still wincing at the unsightly burn on his arm.

You sat beside him, reaching into your satchel to procure a crinkly plastic bottle of water. 

“Don’t,” he said lowly. “You need to drink that.”

Ignoring him, you dabbed several drops of water onto the clean rag you’d taken from the boat in Marseille. With Daryl always getting hurt somehow, you knew it was a good find.

He hissed between his teeth as you lightly cleaned the wound as best you could, but it still seemed to ooze.

It worried you, to say the least. 

And Daryl… he only worried about what might happen to you if this thing was even more sinister than it looked.

“What if it’s—”

“It’s not,” you replied quickly. If you knew what he was going to say, you weren’t even going to let him speak the possibility into existence. “It’s not like a bite.”

“But what if it is.”

After all, what you knew of walkers was that their bites were deadly. What if their… burns were too? 

But you refused to believe that. 

“It’s not,” you said back. “We’ll patch it up. It’ll be fine.”

From the look on his face, he appeared not to believe that, his eyes clouded with fear and uncertainty the likes of which you’d almost never seen in him. Daryl didn’t fear death, though. He feared the thought of you being alone, in a world where the two of you needed each other more than anything. 

Again, here you were, trying to lift his spirits despite the possibility of death lingering all around you, in this French supermarket that reeked of death and rotten flesh. But you weren’t just reassuring him, you were reassuring yourself.

“Hey.” Your hands cupped his cheeks, forcing his gaze to face yours. Your eyes were soft, but firm enough to remind him that, just as he would never let anything happen to you, you would never let anything happen to him. Your voice barely above a whisper, you spoke to him with the gentleness he knew and loved so well. The gentleness he’d needed all his life, and would need until the day he died, and after that, too. “Sweetheart… We’re alive.”

That was enough. It would have to be enough. Enough to begin again.

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

#begin again series #begin again #the walking dead #the walking dead: daryl dixon #daryl dixon #daryl dixon spin-off #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead: daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you

[thelunarfairy]

I love your way of writing, if it's not too much to ask, could you write a romantic moment Hanene?

Of course, well, it was longer than it should have been, but I hope you like it ^^

I made this in a short time, so I hope it turned out well XD Sorry

I put some music in case you want to read while listening to it.

There may be some spelling errors and changes in pronouns because I translate the text from my language to English, I corrected them, but there may be some that I didn't notice.

Enjoy your reading.

Let’s start with a remarkable sunny November afternoon.

The intense sigh marked itself on the window glass like a grayish blur. As the golden eyes wandered around looking for something that was ailing him, oh, all those people outside having fun, running around, full of smiles and silly conversations that couldn't be heard from so far away. Sitting on the window sill of the women's bathroom, the ghost boy sighed his sorrows in silence, perhaps he was curious, perhaps envious, or who knows, nostalgic, what could those silent eyes tell us? He quickly grew tired of them, and finally looked up to watch the sun say goodbye, the refreshing breeze he heard as he watched the orange clouds take the sun with them, made him sigh again. He was waiting for her, he wanted to contemplate the arrival of his longtime companion.

"Are you waiting for the moon to come out?" - Nene carefully removes her apron while looking unpretentiously at the squeegees.

"She always comes"

"It's not like she had a choice not to come, right?" - Nene laughs at her own joke, but within seconds the laugh is suffocated by the lack of response from the boy at the window.

"What's wrong Hanako-kun? You've been quiet all day today."

Hanako's gaze lifted within seconds, as if he realized he had let on more than he should have. Then, he smiled without thinking twice.

"Oh, Yashiro, I ask you, why have I hardly heard any complaints from you today?"

"Isn't it better this way?" - She closes her eyes on impulse as she slightly turns her face to the side.

"Eh, it's boring, what's the problem?"

"Why are you using my question against me? You didn't answer me"

For a moment he swallowed hard, he rose from the sill and floated.

"You know, I was just thinking about life"

"But you're dead"

He quickly smiled and whispered to himself

"That is the problem"

"What did you say?" - Nene was curious, the sad look reflected again on that face slightly hidden beneath the dark hair.

She sighed indiscreetly, like a great wordless grumble, a complaint for an unsolvable problem.

"Hanako-kun, could you meet me on the roof?"

"Um? I thought you were going home."

"I will, but I need to do something important with you"

"Oh, you can't do anything without me, can you, I feel flattered" - he smiled as he floated around himself, doing a few light turns.

"Just wait for me there, I'll be back later"

Nene left and took with her the smile that was forcibly stretched across Hanako's face. The restless and lying smile that used to be his friend in inopportune moments, was not enough in happy moments, they had to come in sadness, to ease an invisible pain, which only he felt. Ah, it was tiring and so heavy that his feet rested on the floor, silence had returned to the house, it echoed on those red walls that were darkening as the sun said goodbye. The darkness was slowly hugging him…. But he had no problem, Hanako always hugged her back. …. The corridors were becoming empty, the footsteps were barely heard, one or the other was still standing in the distance, the lights were going out, many goodbyes and promises of reunions the next day, while Hanako slowly walked to the roof, which strangely seemed so far away now. Sometimes he would repeat the path for lack of anything to do, sometimes on purpose, just to walk endlessly through those corridors, in the hope that they would take him somewhere, but he had nowhere else to go. At least now he had one more reason. Before, he insisted on going there every day to contemplate the presence of an old friend. He used to tell the moon his deepest secrets, and he told her because she was great at keeping them. Was there anyone else more trustworthy than her? Oh, you can hear the laugh he would give if he heard us talk about this, and he would argue, there is no one more trustworthy than her. Who are we to doubt such an obstinate ghost. Questions began to arise in that young head beneath the hat, what did she want, and why so late after school? Before he allowed himself to dream, he thought about melodramatic love letters that Nene received by mistake, or about imaginable flirtations that she created in her head. See, the ghost boy thinking of thousands of different jokes to laugh at her when she tells him about some handsome boy who won her over quite easily. The laugh he gave coincided with his arrival on the roof, raising his head to greet his old friend who was watching him from the skies.

With his hands in his pockets, he waited patiently while he talked something to the moon, oh, yes, a secret, I couldn't hear it, it was a private conversation. Even though it was long, his eyes did not reflect happiness, but a melancholy that seemed to be rooted in those eyes. These, who turned slowly when he heard the voice of the girl who had invited him to the roof.

"Sorry for the delay, for a moment I thought I wouldn't be able to come" - she said, panting as she placed a large fabric bag with large straps on the floor.

She was different.

His gaze swept over her slowly, as if he had discovered a new work of art, from the emerald sandals perfectly fitted to those small feet, the bare ankles and legs up to the knees, slightly covered by the aqua green fabric. This one, which swayed slightly in harmony with the night breeze. Even her face, tired, red and slightly sweaty, she really tried hard to get there on time. Her labored breathing gave away the little run she took until she arrived. Standing up again, and leaving the support of her knees, she completely exposed the aqua green dress, which showed off the sleeves with white polka dots.

"Wow, you really are the color of a radish" - he said, smiling awkwardly.

"Radishes aren't green! They're white!"

"With green foliage - he continued - that explains why your hair reminds me so much of radishes"

"Hanako-kun! I'm going to go away and pretend none of this happened"

She filled up with air to the point of turning red, her arms crossed in disapproval making Hanako laugh. She wouldn't forgive him, not when she bought a new dress, but… She slowly lost the wrinkle between her eyebrows, which showed an old irritation that gradually dissipated when she noticed the ghost boy had a new palette of colors on his face. The blush that revealed his real feeling, it seems he didn't notice, he was too busy laughing at the very jokes he had been thinking about for the last few hours.

"Hanako-kun"

"Sorry, sorry… Ahem, so what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Well… it's just…."

Hanako yearned for that answer, how could he not? The eyes that danced from side to side to find comfort, the hands that clenched the hem of the dress, the red face. Was she nervous?

"You promised me!"

"I promised?" - genuinely curious eyes roam the skies trying to find answers, memories of a supposed promise.

"I promised what Yashiro?"

"You… didn't promise but… you asked me to go to the cinema"

He swallows, eyes duly bulging to show his astonishment.

"You remember, don't you Hanako-kun?"

"Ah…. that"

"It was you, you were Amane, you always were from the beginning…when we were in that fake world…"

Silence became a third companion, or should I say, silence of words, the breeze continued to whisper, almost like an intrusion into that temporarily non-existent conversation.

"I can't leave school Yashiro"

The eyes hid below the brim of the hat, the hands came together to generate some comfort. That melancholy air in the window had returned.

"Well, you don't need to go anywhere, I…"

His gaze lifted again, waiting for the rest of the answer. It didn't come through words. Nene took the liberty to finally show why she brought that big fabric bag that seemed to suffer so much to keep everything inside it. Soon, everything began to take shape while Hanako turned cherry red. The whimsy, the subtlety, watching her try to place the fabric on the floor without the wind disturbing her, or placing each item of the bag to form a new cozy place. He could see her light and slightly greenish hair dance in rhythm with the wind, she was so obstinate in keeping a small puff in the right position, that she didn't notice the ribbon untying and slowly saying goodbye to those hair. Ah, Hanako wished it would become that ribbon, which would slowly fall as it ran along her body. A forbidden desire, which came without permission, and which passed when he saw her quickly get up to show the finished work, Nene turned to him with open arms and excited, as if she wanted to embrace the world.

"Ta-dah!"

"That…"

Coziness, a small place on the roof covered in the purest nectar of innocence. Happiness permeating her smile, proud of having created that small place, covered in dark bluish fabrics, which remained quiet even with the intrusion of the night breeze, the two small puffs positioned next to each other, and in the center, of course, a bucket of popcorn.

"I brought the cinema!"

His eyes watered a little, not so much that she noticed, and not so little that it didn't happen. For a moment, he forgot how to use the words, they were gone, they wouldn't come out.

"Ah, I almost forgot" - the smile accompanied her as she searched the bag, now relieved that it was almost empty, when she got up, she showed him another smaller bag.

"They're your favorites, aren't they?"

Her smile almost made him tear up, how could he know how to deal with such a new experience, so genuinely unprecedented that he didn't know how to keep his heartbeat in rhythm, he who previously didn't know how to speak, has now unlearned how to smile.

"I… I could only bring my tablet, it's not a big movie screen, but for both of us it's enough, isn't it? Here, get some donuts, I'll put the tablet in its place"

She handed him the bag as she sat down to prop up the tablet. It happened so quickly, when he noticed he was already sitting next to her watching a mysterious film about hamsters in a war in space. Hanako remained in painfully interminable silence. Rhetoric of lovers, give me an exact and poetic comparison to say what those eyes of Hanako were like, while he observed every detail of that skin, that face, that hair that insisted on dancing with the night wind. How much he wanted to finger those hairs endlessly until his fingers fell off. How much he wished to be trapped eternally in that embrace he wanted to tie himself to. How much he wanted her scent to impregnate him so he could never forget it. A feeling so intensely strong that they were tied to each other without even noticing, a genuinely desired hug, hearts beating fast, oh, what were they supposed to do now everything was hot, even the popcorn and donuts until then untouched. The sky looked inviting that night, and even though Hanako tried to look at it countless times in search of words, he couldn't find anything other than genuine happiness, his breathing was labored, his face was painted red, the movie was ending. What should he say? The stars did not respond. The anxiety was born when the credits rolled, when he imagined that Nene would move away from the hug to turn off the tablet, but instead, she remained motionless, and he only heard her melodious voice.

"I could wish we could stay like this forever"

Anxiety became torment, turned into sadness, Hanako's lips no longer had room for a smile.

"I'm sorry - he tightens the hug, as if he was afraid that she would vaporize at any moment - I…."

"Hanako-kun…"

"I can't give you… I can't give you what you want, I can't introduce you to my parents, I can't get married and have children with you, I can't… I can't be the person I wanted to be… I can't even take you to the movies…"

The hidden eyes, before so bright, Nene couldn't see them, Hanako was hugging her tightly while he hid his face in her shoulder.

"I…."

The sound of silence returned, Nene's panting made him anxious, the fear of the answer, his heart racing at the thought of the impossible.

"I chose you Hanako-kun…."

….

"I chose you, Amane"

His eyes slowly lifted, meeting hers, so shyly that it seemed like sin, the trapped words that were expressed through those golden eyes, brought him closer and closer. Tied in a long hug, now looking fixedly at each other, their breathing mixing, hearts beating together in the same rhythm, Hanako's whisper as he got so close to her lips

"Yashiro… I… I love…

"What are you guys doing?!"

The high-pitched, irritating voice broke the moment into small pieces within seconds.

"Mi… Mitsuba-Kun?" - Nene screams in response.

"Are you guys on a date? Gross."

"Who's on a date?" - a similar voice came from behind Mitsuba.

"Ah… Tsukasa…." - Hanako sighs.

Hanako and Nene look at each other for a moment, and intense laughter is heard between them.

"What's wrong with these two? I'm not going to stay here to find out, let's go Tsukasa-kun" - Mitsuba pulls him by the arm.

"But why?"

"Come on, I'll take you to play Katanuki"

The voices became more distant and distant. Hanako and Nene sigh almost in a shared way. Silence returned again.

"..... Hanako-kun?"

He smiled sideways, showing his mischievous eyes, which now hide a truth that was almost said, ah, it's sad. The truth through words did not come, but in its place the genuine proof of love and desire he could demonstrate. The meeting of lovers, the meeting of lips, a smile here and there between this infinite kiss that he wanted to make a loop so that it would never end.

Ah, the moon knew what his desire was at that moment. Hanako's desire, the desire to be the living boy who would be by her side, who would give her everything she wanted most… little did he know that he was her greatest desire.

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #tbhk #jshk #hanako kun #yugi twins #amane yugi #aidairo #hanakokun #jshk spoilers #hanene ♡ #hanene #hanako x yashiro #hanako x nene #jshk hanako #tbhk hanako #jibaku shoujo hanako kun #yashiro nene #yugi amane #tbhk amane #jshk amane #yugi tsukasa #jshk mitsuba #jshk yashiro #nene yashiro #yashiro #jshk nene #nene x hanako #jshk fanfic

[qvincvnx]

every time i see people say that all translation operates at a loss it so completely baffles me. all translation operates at a gain, because you are adding things to the source text: a new retelling and interpretation by the translator; a new audience of new readers, from a new cultural context; a new relationship between cultures (source and target); a new network of inter-connectivity and reference (a translation can link a work external to the culture into its own culture's network of literary references in ways a source text simply cannot - thinking here about the ways the LXX links the jewish bible to hellenistic epic traditions using word choice and other allusions! that's not present in the hebrew bible, but is possible in the greek translation - even without changing the plot or content).

a translation is always generating more new meanings than reading a work in its original language would! works and words that are "untranslatable" exist but we generate such tremendous meaning by TRANSLATING THEM ANYWAY. it's only a "loss" if you think of everything as a zero-sum game where objectivity and the meanings of words are bounded by the limits set down by other people in a dictionary. meanings change! the dictionary describes how a word IS used when the dictionary is written, not how its meaning has changed over time and not how it might come to change in the future.

language, culture, and texts are all part of a continuous process of recreation: you, as a reader, bring something completely unique to every text you ever read. translation does the same thing: it changes not just the source text into a target language translation, but it also changes the target language and the target culture by shaping those around concepts that might not naturally "fit". and those changed meanings then trickle backwards into the source language. everything is always changing! translation is an incredible opportunity to watch these things change in real time.

obligatory caveat: i'm not going to pretend that language and cultural imperialism aren't worrying dynamics that can exist in translation; obviously they can be. but that's not the fault of the *process of translation*, that's the fault of cultural imperialism and exploitation. the idea that cultures should be firmly discrete and isolated from each other and never interact is frankly worrying! it's possible to interact across cultures - and to translate! - without linguistic supremacy burrowing its way in, especially if you decouple the translation process from christian ideologies (the letter doesn't matter, just the spirit) and capitalist priorities (what will sell for easy consumption) about what makes a "good" translation.

#TRANSLATION RULES and the way people seem to be talking about translation on this site has for real started to freak me out #do you not want to be in relationship with and open to other cultures and stories?? #do you only want stories that fit neatly into your understanding of the world? you don't want anything that's challenging or complex -- #-- or 'untranslatable' and translated anyway?

[sillyassonepieceheadcanons]

Teaching them to say "I love you" in your native/foreign language: (Robin, Luffy, Sanji, Law) x GN Reader, SFW

Notes: [text] is supposed to mean it's in your language of choice

Whether they're saying "I <3 u" platonically or romantically is up to you

Summary: their approach to learning language plus how successful they are about being taught

Robin

In general, she's interested in learning the dialects of the world, and will ask you to teach her other phrases in your native tongue too.

This becomes a whole thing, and in the daytime the other crewmates can hear your voices repeating phrases like,

(Off pronunciation) "[I want directions towards the East Blue]"

"No no, you gotta say it like... [I want directions towards the East Blue]..."

When you two get night shifts together, a lot of it is now spent coaching her on the phonetics and sometimes writing the words out for her to learn too. Before, conversation with Robin was a bit difficult to achieve, so you're glad you're getting to spend time with her this way.

She's a very good student and achieves excellent pronunciation thanks to ur help.

Emotional language doesn't come easy for her, but after one particularly productive session of learning, she smiles and says, "Can you check my pronunciation on this again? [I love you]"

Luffy (+ a lil Zoro)

He's not an easy person to teach but lord you can try.

At first, you try to teach him + Zoro practical phrases in case either ever gets lost in a foreign country, but they both misconstrue sentences and always end up accidentally saying the most vile and awful shit imaginable.

You decide to teach them just one phrase, as love couldn't possibly be misunderstood.

"Repeat after me Luffy, Zoro, [I... love.... you...]"

"[Į... ļõve...ÿou...]" "[İ... łove... ou...]"

Luffy repeats the new phrase once curiously, and then something clicks under that big straw hat. He gets a great big smile on his face and starts saying “[I love you! I love you! I love you!]” as fast as he can to you, over and over. He starts going around saying it to everyone in the crew, who have no idea what he’s saying but smile anyways. Zoro acts like he doesn't care enough to say it in a he's-actually-just-too-shy kind of way.

Once, you guys encounter an enemy who speaks your native tongue, so Luffy says the only phrase he knows... declaring his love to the enemy, which baffles them but has you laughing your ass off. 

Sanji

Actually it happens that he's already memorized how to say "I love u" in just about every language across the blue seas... because he wanted to make sure he could get his message across to any lady in the world, even if they don't speak his language.

Absolutely pretends like he DIDN’T KNOW though, so you can teach him and hear you say "[I love you]" a million times.

Learning foreign languages was also something impressed on him by his father as part of an unkind curriculum, so getting to experience it in a new light with you, as a man free from his family, is something which deep down he is very grateful for. 

Will now alternate between saying he loves you in English and in your dialect when he sees you. 

Law

Besides being good at fights, as a doctor, he has a very studious side of him too. However, he rejects having the first phrase he learn to be “I love you,” instead of something practical. 

If you want to be a little mischievous you can promise to teach him a polite greeting when you’re actually teaching him to say, “[Good evening, may I be so kind as to propose my eternal love for you?]” If he ever finds out he’s going to get your ass beat though. 

Wouldn’t seek out learning because he has other things to do as captain, but if you two are ever bored together he’d enjoy having you coming over and teaching him. Sometimes you like pulling out one of medical books and translating different body parts and organs for him to learn to the best of your ability. 

One snowy day you find him standing alone on the deck of the Polar Tang, and maybe because he had something to drink that day, he starts talking to you about the Heart Pirate's crew and how grateful he is to everyone but especially you. At the end, you almost don't catch it, but you swear you hear him say, "[I love you]"

#one piece #trafalgar law #nico robin #monkey d luffy #vinsmoke sanji #x reader #gn #I hope what I'm writing isn't too cheesy. but even if it is. it's ok we're just here to have fun right

[spockandawe]

Hello! I've been thinking about binding some danmei novels in my native language, but I don't know where to start. I found your blog recently and find it very inspiring! I was wondering if maybe you could share with me what tools and materials would be good to get started with?

Sure!!!! So, I'm on mobile and don't have links at hand, but if you go back through my bookbinding tag, there are other replies I've got about the materials for making a book specifically. The renegade publishing blog also has resource documents that walk through the bookbinding process and include links to educational materials, etc. So for here, I'll focus on the danmei side of things!

So, a fun feature about these books is that they tend to run LONG. I've seen a number of people try to take up bookbinding in google docs, and honestly, it's doing things on hard mode. For many danmei, it's basically impossible. I think my EARLIEST earliest attempt at svsss began in gdocs, and that's not a super long novel, but gdocs was choking on it. A word processor on your desktop is going to be your best bet. Personally, i invested in a microsoft office license, because it was familiar and i could afford it. But the free parallel to that will be libre office, which does basically everything word can do, with just minor differences.

On the fancy end of bookbinding software, affinity, indesign, and microsoft publisher are also names you may hear tossed around. These can do fancier, more artistic layouts, but also come with a heavier price tag. And because i had webnovels on my radar from the start, i wanted something ROBUST. I wanted to be able to dump all of the husky and his white cat shizun into a single file and work from it. And i did eventually do that! Being able to typeset a single file rather than repeat each step across several is great, especially since i tend to tweak design choices as i go.

For danmei, you're also going to want a robust printer. I have a color laser that's been an absolute beast of a machine, but a black and white laser can get you a long ways, and monochrome designs can be very elegant. You don't want an HP brand printer, their toner subscription practices are downright predatory, but Brother and Canon are names I've seen recommended highly. You probably don't want an inkjet printer, because long books take a LOT of ink. The one exception would be if you can find an affordable ink tank printer.

And the last major thing i can think of is that if your main computer is a laptop, consider typesetting with an external mouse and keyboard! Danmei novels are split into lots of short chapters, frequently split across just as many web pages, with lots of footnotes to format, and laptops are convenient but not ergonomic. Doing too much on there is just asking for a repetitive strain injury. I've done it, but often paid for my sins in pain! And your laptop keyboard may start complaining too, I'm almost certain my first typeset of mdzs was the nail in the coffin for my last laptop's keyboard, haha

I hope that helps! Best of luck to you! Ive found binding cnovels to be EXTREMELY rewarding, even though my original reason was because these things would NEVER be licensed in english 😂 I'm delighted to see people experimenting with it for other translations in other languages, I really hope it goes well for you!!!!

#spock replies #bookbinding

[chronicallyaunline]

Legolas makes more sense if he’s autistic

I recently re-watched the Lord of the Rings movies and I couldn’t help noticing how strange some of Legolas’s behaviour is. So many of his lines are unconnected to a broader conversation, and when they’re directed at others they often feel at odds with the scene.

Alternative theories for why Legolas is weird:

Bad acting

Bad writing

That’s just how elves are

I’m going to disregard the meta analysis for now, but there is a decent body of evidence that elves do not behave the same way Legolas does. In fact, I think his weirdness is camouflaged by being the only elf in most scenes. The other characters and audience members are more likely to attribute his behaviour to being an elf than to him being whatever the Middle Earth equivalent of autistic is. All the elf characters love being aloof and saying cryptic bullshit, but this is something beyond that.

Some evidence:

Flat affect, issues with empathy

After Gandalf is believed to have died, the Fellowship is in Lothlorien where an elf choir sings a lament to Gandalf. Legolas tells the group that it’s for Gandalf, but then says he can’t tell them what is being said because the grief is too fresh for him. His facial expression and tone are extremely flat. He isn’t malicious and doesn’t seem to lie anywhere else in the series, which suggests that he really does feel so intensely sad that he can’t tell the others what is being said about Gandalf. The fact that he feels that level of emotion with an entirely straight face reads like autism. A few minutes after this scene we see Galadriel experience intense fear, and in some scenes Elrond is visibly angry, which suggests that low emotional affect isn’t a facet of the species. It’s unique to Legolas.

While it doesn’t make sense for him to be purposefully unkind, telling people that their friend is being eulogized in a language they don’t speak and then refusing to translate is an odd choice. Why tell them at all if he wasn’t going to tell them what was being said? It seems like he struggles to understand what the impact of that would be on others.

Poor interoception (understanding of one’s own emotions and body signals)

During a drinking competition Legolas appears slightly confused when he discovers that he’s experiencing symptoms of drunkenness. Legolas has been alive for centuries. It doesn’t seem plausible that he’s never had a large quantity of alcohol before. We don’t see other drunk elves in this series so intoxication could be highly unusual for them, but it still seems odd that Legolas would be surprised by a bodily experience (tingling fingers) being connected to drinking. He only identifies a “slight tingling” as a symptom, yet his movements and speech are slowed in a way that suggests that he is more affected than he realises. He has just failed to pick up on what is happening.

Unusual social behaviour

Aragorn shares a plan to help Frodo by diverting Sauron’s attention with an army. Legolas unhelpfully summarizes with, “a diversion.” He also smiles slightly after saying this, which makes it come across as genuine rather than sarcastic. Either he has wildly underestimated the intelligence of everyone else in the room, is voicing his interal monologue, or is making an awkward attempt to be part of the conversation. There is no evidence elsewhere of him considering the other characters stupid or of him voicing his thoughts aloud. This looks more like mirroring, trying to be part of the conversation by parroting back what someone else said. This statement adds nothing to the conversation except to get him involved, which may be the true goal.

When Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli first meet Eomer, Gimli says something rude to him and Eomer says that he would cut off Gimili’s head if it were further from the ground. Legolas responds by drawing an arrow and threatening Eomer, which takes a tense but calm interaction and escalates it into a stand off. There was nothing about Eomer’s behaviour to suggest that he was actually going to harm Gimili. It was more about trading aggressive banter than an actual threat to Gimli’s life. It’s Legolas who unnecessarily escalates the situation and causes the Rohirrim to draw their weapons. He isn’t dangerously impulsive elsewhere in the movies, which makes me think he didn’t understand the interaction. He took Eomer’s words as a genuine threat and reacted as though Gimli was already in danger, which doesn’t seem to have been the case.

Conclusion

I’m of the opinion that a neurotypical Legolas is kind of a bad character. It makes it difficult to get a sense of his internal life, what motivates him or why he responds the way he does. So much of what he does and says seems like the writers and actor just didn’t know what to do with him. That may be the case, but if we re-interpret his behaviour as elf autism, he’s a more interesting and sympathetic character. I think we are always meant to interpret him as having a different brain from humans, but even the oldest and wisest elves interact more “correctly” with others. I’m not suggesting that Legolas was written as intentionally autistic, but so much of what makes him an erratically-written neurotypical character makes him a plausibly written autistic character.

#autism #actually autistic #lord of the rings #legolas

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2023-10-16

Another year older. Stealing the Untitled Wednesday Library Series format from Morrak for an open Reading section and then we'll get to the normal post.

Reading:

Untitled Monday Wednesday Library Entry No. 0

Do you like a recipe book? Do you like an unbearably comprehensive and frequently incorrect recipe book? Well boy do I have an item for you:

It's Indian Delights, the de facto standard book of South African Indian cooking. Assembled in the 60's by the Durban Women's Cultural Group and in print ever since then.

The How

A birthday gift from my parents, who sent it from South Africa.

There are apparently places that carry this book outside of South Africa but I do not know what those are.

The Text

Dubious, but useful despite this. It was written in the 60's by a bunch of people who had never and would never again write a recipe book. You may note from the frontmatter that while it has had sixteen impressions since its first publication in 1961, there has only ever been a single revision of the book. There are numerous errors, omissions, and flaws. Recipes may list ingredients that are not used, call for ingredients in the method not given before, begin preparing components and never use them, or outright lie about the quantities of ingredients you need. A challenging exercise.

Any given individual's copy of this book is full of little pen notes, slips of paper, and scratched out experiments. I have a blank canvas.

It is absolutely stuffed to the brim with recipes from the then-almost-century of South African development on South Asian cuisine. It is intended as a one-stop-shop for cooking from a diaspora of extremely wide origins.

South African Indians arrived in South Africa as indentured labour for British sugar farms and could just as easily be from the relatively cold and mountainous North Indian regions or the low, rainy, hot coastal areas of South India. As a result you've had almost a hundred years of adapting to the locally available ingredients, intermarriages across wide geographic origins, and failing memories. There are frequently many duplicates of any given recipe, each with some unique variation of note.

It is also extremely dated. It still lives in an era where "adding an elachi (cardamom) pod to your rice" is a luxurious choice that requires financial considerations, and where meat was still expensive. It also has a delightful section on mass cooking, such as the above "Biryani for 100 people" which has an additional note on the ingredients for a "Biryani for 800 people" on the opposite leaf. These things come up sometimes, although the largest biryani I've ever been involved in was for about 60 people.

It is not really for beginners but it does have a lot of introductory matter, in part because it has to contend with the mishmash of languages and loanwords that exist. You don't know if the reader uses the hindi word for cumin, or the tamil word for cumin, or makes a formal distinction between roti and chapati. As a result, there are extensive opening tables of translations.

The Object

Big, blocky hardcover recipe book. Cheap but hardwearing coated pages. I have seen these in every imaginable state of disrepair, unfortunately I do not have a photo on hand of my mother's which is completely beat to hell.

I mentioned that there have not been many updates, and this continues to the outside. Not a single impression has, for example, corrected the misalignment of the spine and the cover that means it stands out on any book storage system.

Some damage to the cover from the rigours of air travel. It'll recover, or rather, it'll get beat up in ways that make that negligible.

The photography is antiquated, having been taken by a photographer who was certainly good but was operating a) with 1961 camera technology, b) 1961 photographic sensibilities, and c) no real experience in food photography. As a result the images can look somewhat alien if you're familiar with more modern food photograpy. Colours are not accurate, framing is flat, and composition is often packed.

In addition to the colour glamour plates, there are black and white instructional photos, which are much more timeless.

The Why, Though?

Indian Delights is a very important cultural reference for the South African Indian population, and it's a pretty standard leaving home/getting married/leaving home and getting married gift. I've bought a copy for many friends and now this one is mine.

Will I actually use this much? Certainly not that often. My mother and her sisters learned to cook from this book, so it is the root of my personal culinary tradition. That means I already know a lot of what can be distilled from this for day-to-day recipes. Where it is handy is for more technical dishes, which require some guidance, or as an ingredient reference for something new you want to try.

In particular Diwali is coming up and while both my mother and I are staunch atheists, we will also take any excuse to make a ton of sweets for friends. If you are in Prague in the week of the 12th of November you can probably hit me up for something.

Listening: Acheney is a shockingly talented synth designer for the niche softsynth tracker sunvox, available now on windows, mac, linux, windows CE, android, and iOS. I was tooling around with their Guitar synths and decided to check out their music, which is a couple albums of very high concept EDM inspired ambient and/or noise stuff. Here's Euler Characteristic Zero

Watching: @humansbgone is an animated sci-fi series about intelligent giant arthropods and their attempts to deal with invasions of pesky little humans

Big spec-bio focus with a lot of end notes on the arthropods in question.

Playing: Played the Trans Siberian Railway Simulator demo, which I recorded and put up here, with crap audio because it's authentic to what I had lying around after I forgot my headphones at work.

Also: the digital version of the D&D themed agent placement game Lord of Waterdeep with my family, which works quite well. It's weird to have the game handling the admin of moving points around and automatically deducting resources, but it does make the game go very quickly, even if your parents are still figuring out the interface.

Making: Big cooking experiment with a slow roast lamb shank. Came out very well. Lamb shank definitely one of the more animal parts of an animal you can cook. Smells intensely of lanolin and other hair smells. Real greasy. Big honkin' bone. Smooth and fine but sturdy musculature. This thing used to be a very specific part of something alive and that thing lived the kind of life that develops the very particular smells of the insides of a sheep that are very close to the outside of a sheep. You will find some wool fibers in your pan from where the follicles reach down close to the bone and sinew.

Tools and Equipment: Easyeffects is the successor to PulseEffects and is a very complete set of audio tuning and manipulation tools for Linux. You can use it to process incoming and outgoing audio with basically any plugin you care to imagine.

#last monday of the week #Bandcamp #food #indian delights #south africa #recipe books #untitled wednesday library series

[broken-synchronicity]

Since Twisted Wonderland's language "Common" is the equivalent of Japanese, & the foods Grim mentioned are typical foods that one can find in Japanese convenience stores, wouldn't it be safe to assume that the culture & customs are Japanese as well?

Like, if the students celebrate Halloween, they probably just dress-up in costumes & decorate the dorms. No "trick-or-treat" because Japanese people have this strong "no bothering/disturbing/cause inconvenience to others" mentality - so no collecting sweets, candies & chocolates by knocking doors from one dorm to another.

Or, if the students celebrate Christmas, they would mostly eat fried chicken, because somehow KFC in Japan has a strong association with the holiday, hence why it's a popular choice among Japanese people.

Or if the students celebrate Valentine, it would be still in the traditional sense: because NRC is an all-boys school, most of the students would at least receive chocolates from girls - and they're expected to give those girls back in a month (White Day).

How does Kal explain the American version of these holidays with the language barrier if neither Lilia nor Malleus is around?

I'm fairly certain the only reason there are so many recognizably Japanese things in twst is because it's a Japanese game. But that's very few things in general. Even then, during the Prologue we had the pair of bullies try and start something with us over Carbonara, and Azul has squid ink pasta for lunch during his arc, decidedly Italian dishs. Mont Blanc, despite its heavy popularity in Japan, is still very French in origin. Just because there are Japanese snacks in a school store, doesn't mean everything is so decidedly Japanese.

Holiday wise we had:

The Halloween event states that each area is a stamp collection point for a stamp rally they're doing to collect a prize for at the end of a circuit through the school grounds, which would be in replacement of actual trick or treating since there's no way any school would shell out for that much candy for that many guests over the course of a week even if it's only 7 points of collection, and no child only picks up 7 pieces of candy during trick or treat. Also, haunted houses are a thing.

All the students go home for winter break, so there's almost no way to know what or how they celebrate winter holidays if they do, and both the Ghosts and Crowley list/give us a pretty standard European Christmas fair with a cooked turkey and gingerbread house

Masquerades are EXTREMELY European, even if the idea of donning a mask during spooky season isn't wholly

There are hundreds of festivals, not just holidays, that hold the main point of a Firework display as the highlight, so the Scarabia event is hardly isolated

Literally the only vaguely Japanese-esque holidays was the Wish festival and Bean day, but that's it. And they both were VERY round about in their presentation, making them easily holidays that could pass anywhere else that held those similar stories the holidays were based off of (Pinocchio and Jack and the Bean Stalk.)

There's no way to know how or even if there's a Valentines day equivalent since we're never getting such an event, so there's no way to say how any of the boys go about it.

As for Japanese being the "Common" language, that's just literally what I call it in LiT. It's got a historical reason that I haven't gotten to in my story, but that's just what I call it.

They might not actually be speaking Japanese in-game, that's just how it comes across to the MC, Yuu, who is Japanese, since in-game it's stated that there's a translator spell cast over school grounds because all the students don't actually speak a common language.

Sorry if this got ranty, but twst, despite being so thoroughly Japanese, doesn't at all lean very heavily into it for the very reason it's a Disney Fantasy Game, it's picked up all these Non-Japanese fairytales and needed to represent that, not their own culture.

#twisted wonderland #twst #nonnies getting curious! #traditionalartist #if they wanted another perfectly japanese school visual novel #then there's hundreds of thousands of others already out there #they're actively trying to NOT represent japanese culture too much #despite how that goes against their very heavily ingrained nationalism #this isn't ABOUT them it's about DISNEY

[hanzajesthanza]

Happy birthday!! Just wanna say while I'm here that you are truly the no.1 Witcher scholar and I love your work, and also I actually find it very moving that even though you are not Polish and don't speak Polish, you treat the books with such respect and deep understanding of the culture and language!! I wish everyone engaged with the works that they love in this way. I'm Polish but I'd since moved away and have a lot of bitterness towards the social environments I grew up in, but the Witcher is the one thing from Poland I truly love and makes me feel connected to my heritage and idk I just love your work sorry for the long message!

oh thank you!! i am so flattered by your words 😅 all i can say is, i try my best, of course! and a short essay response incoming...

the witcher is not only a translated work, but a multilingual and multicultural/national community, fanbase, and the american fanbase from which i'm coming is a relatively new development in the broader fanbase, especially as it relates to the books. it's more complex than how i'll phrase it here, but, essentially when you're in the fandom of the witcher books, you're in a predominantly polish other slavic language speaking space, even if you only speak english, because the books were created in polish and the whole thing has had over 30 years to gain traction and fans in poland and other slavic language speaking countries.

(i think there tends to be a certain level of entitlement from people, alright, americans whose primary language is english, where it is expected that everything be in english - you hear it all the time, stories of tourists going to a different country and demand english be spoken for everything for them. while english is indeed commonly spoken in poland, i think it would be a bit ridiculous, bringing it back to the witcher fandom, to expect every online interaction and material you come across to be in english, and expect to never use polish sources or look at the original text in polish. it may not be something you're skilled in or know about, but it's an opportunity for you to learn and ask questions. just embrace that, strive for understanding, even if you don't have any which you're beginning with. being prepared to be wrong and mistaken, being willing and open to being corrected. so, treating with respect and striving to better understand cultures which one doesn't belong to should be step one, i hope, at least in this community!)

i don't believe that there is such a thing as an english side of the fanbase which stands on its own separate from the original polish (and czech and russian, the first two languages witcher was translated into) fanbase(s), because the english fanbase was seeded and encouraged by these fans, a good portion of whom were bilingual and helped the fanbase grow by posting in english, gaining visibility and encouraging others to join and read the books. so you can't really have the english fandom without the polish fandom, it's like a branch off of a tree. and, with the majority of lifelong, or in other capacity dedicated and passionate, fans, coming from poland, and some of these fans also engaging in english-speaking places online, we're going to share ideas and end up admiring each other and becoming friends! and there's, again as always, a lot you can learn from your friends.

addressing the witcher as a work specifically, its identity is inseparable from its written language. with translations to other slavic languages, there's not an exceptional amount lost, but when it comes to english... well... though the story is there (except for a few glaring errors), there's not only lot of language-specific word choice, wordplay, and jokes that are lost in the english language and especially in the the official translation (which was crafted, i think to be as much of an "easy read" for an english reader as possible, and not to preserve sapkowski's style, character, and vocabulary), but also because a lot of the cultural phenomenon, celebration, element, described in the books, simply doesn't exist for the english reader and is untranslatable without an explanation of the context and history. sapkowski, who speaks italian, has mentioned the saying "traduttore, traditore," (translator, traitor) in interviews.

for just a few examples, torque at the end of the short story "edge of the world" saying "goodnight" being the perfect end to the story, because of the saying where the devil says goodnight. or the saovine tradition of burning straw falka dolls resembling the burning (or drowning) of marzanna effigies. and, also related to saovine, the offerings of honey, groats, and vodka for spirits being a mirror image of dziady. all of this is something that's not common knowledge for the english reader, it's stuff i learned about by looking it up, or having a conversation about, or reading a forum page online, or learned however, but learning about it made my enjoyment of the story a lot richer because i could (in part) go back and appreciate the depth of realism and familiarity woven into the world. and the act of seeking that out, or having that conversation, the act of learning itself was rewarding, to satisfy curiosity and engage my mind and social brain.

also just, a lot of the time, i'm trying to figure out where sapkowski's mind was at when he wrote some of this stuff, or who are these characters and what are these characters feeling, and all we have of them, to understand them, is their words. and the official translation isn't able to translate word for word. so looking at the polish edition and working through the sentence to translate (and looking into the nuances in definitions of words and phrases), i've found, can really help my reading comprehension and interpretation of the scene or character.

of course, sapkowski was taking "paneuropean" inspiration from multiple different cultures, not all of them slavic, a lot of them western european, weaving all these different fantasy and folktale sources together to create something diversely culturally rich. but as an english reader, i was motivated to seek out, "how does that line originally go in polish?" or "what's the original folktale sapkowski is referencing here?" because it just makes it that much more fun! it's part of the fun! of course an english reader could just pick up the books, breeze through them, and get a lot of enjoyment out of that, but without investigating any of the language or culture, it remains surface-level enjoyment. it's so rewarding to be able to exist in a community and friend circles that are positive towards learning and teaching in a casual way, it has made the witcher a lot more than just books for me. and all i'm doing personally is just having fun and learning as i go!

#ask #araneapeixes #analysis