#portuguese language settings i mean

[bat-the-misfit]

what's your favorite food?

and what's your favorite language/accent?

:D

do desserts count as "food" in this case or does it mean just meals? lmao i never know

anyway i can't choose one so i'm going with a dessert instead: BROWNIE 👀

as for the 2nd question, this one is way too difficult so i'm gonna be cheesy and say Brazilian Portuguese lmao

dialect of it i'd say the one from Bahia :D it's adorable to my ears

[littlelightfish]

Funny things I found out playing with language setting in Netflix while looking episode 15:

Chilchuck's scream sounds HAUNTED in brazilian portuguese. Give it a try if you can.

(You can hear it here)

In spanish dub, Senshi says: "tocó mis senos de hombre", which means "he touched my man boobs" in Spanish. And I think that's the best dub line one so far.

[imninahchan]

⌜ 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮: strangers to lovers, my poor spanish skills, casual and unprotected sex [you can't do that, c'mon!], readerʼs a brazilian woman, some portuguese words, dirty talk, age difference, finger sucking, male oral, manhandling, light pussy spanking, ʽpapiʼ, dumbification, dacryphilia. ˚ ☽ ˚.⋆ ⌝

꒰ 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑹ʼ𝑺 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬 ꒱ sooo never thought about posting something in eng but @femmechaotic (thx baby) showed me her translation and i gave it a second chance. This was originally written by me in portuguese, thatʼs why the reader is brazilian. Eng is not our first language, sorry for any mistakes, just posting for the fun of it♡

𓍢ִ໋🀦 HE'S THE KIND OF MAN YOU'LL ONLY MEET ONCE IN A LIFETIME ─────

You realized this from the moment you laid eyes on him for the first time. Sitting a couple of tables away from his, on the balcony of the hotel lobby.

You simply couldn't help but notice it: the thick strands of dark hair, how his hands run through it, as the gentle morning wind blowed. The basic white tank top, a coat hanging over the chair next to him at the table. His big and pointed nose, his eyes hidden mysteriously behind the lenses of the fancy sunglasses.

He's definitely not Brazilian. You could tell just by the food he chose from the buffet on his plate. Youʼre just so genuinely intrigued by the whole set of ongoings, obsessed with watching him, that you forgot about your own — boring — breakfast. The buns were cooling next to the black coffee in the porcelain cup.

You wanted to open the messaging app on your phone and send a sassy comment to your best friend, saying something like: “omg u won't believe how cute is the guy i just saw”, but you didn't even have time for that. The man raises his chin, with his attention shifting from the phone device in his hands to noticing your presence ahead.

You look down immediately, feeling as if you had committed a crime and you've just been caught in the act. You bite your lip, trying to hold down a childish smile, like a vicious little girl. Your palms starts sweating; suddenly cold. The intention was to keep yourself busy with the porcelain cup in the short meantime, trying to deal with the awkward sensation of being caught.

Itʼs not working, of course. You didn't know whether to drink or not, sometimes you try to sip the hot liquid, but you give up halfway through, lost like a robot in a breakdown. And when he raises his eyes once more, in the same direction as you looked for so long, the man's gaze meet yours again.

It feels, apparently, like youʼre going to faint, to actually die, Jesus! You've never felt so embarrassed in your entire life and you insist on thinking about how you're never gonna be able to eat, think or breathe while being in this crime scene — also known as the balcony of the hotel lobby.

“Get up, then!”, you think to yourself. You pick up on a couple of the cold buns from the plate, taking a sip of the — now cold — coffee, and walking towards the lobby. Like, damn, youʼre not even dressed up, maybe the clothes are not so bad but you donʼt even have any makeup on or hair done the way you liked it so much (and did it religiously every day).

But there is an actual explanation for you not being ready. The plan, initially, was just having breakfast and enjoying the view for a short period of time, so you could visit the downtown in Madrid afterwards. Now, you are running away like a criminal, with your mouth full of bread heading towards the elevator.

When you finally thought that the closing of the gray automatic doors would mean freedom, your heart has one more reason to flutter, as soon as the man steps into the cubicle before he could lose the sight of you.

You decide to chew more quickly, hiding the other roll of bun between your hands. Standing next to you, he takes off his pair of glasses, holding his coat and a crossbody bag.

He looks at you.

— Enzo — he says, and from the way he announced his name, you can tell by his accent that he speak Spanish. You swipe the back of your hand over your mouth, wiping away any remaining crumbs.

— Oi... hmm — You stammer the response in Portuguese, automatically panicking again for a few seconds when realizing that your brain couldn't think of a greeting, even in your first language. After some quick struggles, you tell him your name.

— ¿Eres de aquí? ¿de Madrid? (Are you from here? From Madrid?)

— Ahm... — You stutter, again (unfortunately). — Brasil!

He smiles.

— Ah, sí. Brasil... ¡Es un lugar magnífico! (Oh, yes. Brasil... It's a wonderful place!) — and praises. But his gaze turns sharp, he needs to know: “Entiendes lo que digo, ¿no?” (Do you understand what I say, right?)

— Sí, sí! (Yeah, yes!) — you return with a wide smile back at him, almost hyperventilating.

Your desperation is pathetically noticeable, itʼs cute actually. He watched you, smiles softly, almost like a chuckle. The curiosity gets into your nerves, you wanted to ask more questions, extend the conversation, but the elevator reaches your floor, and you leave, too withdrawn to say anything.

“Shit”, you curse at yourself, it wasn't so difficult to have a decent small talk, you should've said something, anything. You brood all day long, thinking you're such a dummy for missing the opportunity. Why did you have to act like a stupid teenager, huh? Then, after what happened, not even the museums — that you were so excited to visit — were fun anymore, no place in this goddamn city could take away that little thread of regret from you.

In the next day, however, you go down for some coffee at the same time as you did the other day, with the foolish intention of trying to see him again, and thatʼs it, it worked; like a freaking miracle. The man was sitting in an armchair in the lobby, it seemed like he was waiting for you too, what were the odds?

You can even feel your legs wobble.

— ¡Buenos días! (Good morning!) — he greets you. — ¿Cómo se dice ‘Buenos días’ en Brasil? (How do you say ‘Good morning’ in Portuguese?)

It takes a few seconds for you to think and say it back, ‘Bom dia’ (Good morning), you respond. He smiles.

— Es muy parecido (It's pretty similar) — he comments, awkwardly. Then, looks at the buffet, “¿Vamos?” (Shall we?)

Although he sometimes used terms that you completely donʼt know the meaning of and have to ask him to explain again, the conversation is, apparently, going very well. You discover that he is older, Uruguayan, and not Spanish as you immediately thought he was. You tell him a little about the country you come from, and he gets enchanted by the way your accent pronounces his name. Enzo. Paying attention to the ʽzʼ sound, unlike the pronunciation in Spanish.

it was with his company that you explored the city. The both of you went to a small square together, had some ice cream, met tourists hotspots, then chatted while exploring a little shop nearby. You hated to admit it but the situation was indeed romantic. Later in the afternoon, you were taken by him to a bar.

There, the conversation extended even further, including the beer you guys shared. When you didn't understand anything he said, (what was quite often in the conversation) you just laughed, your cheeks getting really hot and red from smiling that much. Honestly, you could leave him talking to himself for hours, just because you loved the husky sound of his deep voice and his pair of brown sparkling eyes.

It didn't mean that you were in love or anything, right? Besides, there was no way you could fall in love in such a short period of time.

But the heat you felt emanating from your own body definitely meant something. It could be because of the dark blue button-down shirt — these pieces never fail to be attractive, right? —, or the silver ring that caught your eyes every time he articulated with his hands in the air. Even his perfume... ah, the perfume! A fragrance that filled your lungs, woody but with a slight sweet note. Projecting all day long, torturing, practically inviting you to bury your face in the curve of the moreno's neck.

At nighttime, he takes you back to the hotel: his excuse was that he wanted to help you with the shopping bags, as if you had bought all of Madrid. And it was supposed to end there, at your hotel room door, simple as that. He hands you your things, and the most he does is lean over, slowly, as if he is silently asking for permission, and so, he places a small kiss on the corner of your mouth, millimeters away from touching your lipstick-painted lips. But you hold his hand, before the man walks away down the hall, you donʼt let him escape.

He approaches you again, his other hand touches the corner of your face. Warm, affectionate. ¿Qué te pasa, nena? (What's wrong with you, baby?) The focus of his brown eyes are on your mouth now, the question is whispered, seductive. The touch of his fingers bypass your jaw until it gets on your chin. ¿Quieres algo más que un beso? (Do you want something more than a kiss?)

Youʼre not sure which words to use, which command to prefer. In fact, you donʼt even want to be thinking. You want to shut your brain, to be so dissociated so that only your body can enjoy the moment. You wrapp your arms around him, your face can finally hid in the curve of his neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his. You hear the sound of his chuckle, feeling his big hands being placed on your waist. ¿Qué quieres? Dímelo. (What do you want? tell me)

You look up to him, shy. The tip of your nose rubs against his, creating a friction that, just because of the absurd proximity, makes everything even more tense, burning erotic.

— No Brasil — you say, trying to hide it by biting your lip —, se diz ‘foder.’

Enzo's smile grows, almost in slow motion. “Foder” (fuck), he repeats the word in a whisper. Again, you donʼt even have to think much to understand. Everything sounded similar, and it seemed that your mind was connected to his by a chaotic carnal desire.

The Uruguayan's lips meets yours; his hot tongue brushes against yours. Your bodies take on a life of their own. Little by little, the main setting stopped being the hotel hallway and became your room. The door gets closed with a gentle push from his feet, while the chosen path is towards your bed.

His hands moves up from your waist to grab your blouse and take it off from your warm body. When you lay on the mattress, supporting on your elbows, itʼs the cue the man needeed to messily pull down your shorts.

— ¿Quieres ponerte de rodillas? (Do you want to be on your knees?) — he asks, as he unbuttons his own blouse. The sharp look he gives you, bathed in desire, delirious. On his lips, you notice the smudged red of your lipstick. — Correrme en tu boca... (Cum in your mouth...)

Maybe itʼs your mind lost in urgency, because you donʼt process what was said to you. You keep your eyes still, your mouth half-open, taking in air, panting. So pathetic that all he does is laugh at your face, running his hands through his hair instead of going straight to the belt of his shorts.

— ¿Qué? ¿No lo comprendes, no? (What? you don't understand it, do you?) — the tone used with you bordered mockery. And contrary to what you would normally feel like, it gives room to a sick feeling, butterflies in your stomach, you feel even more horny, stimulated. He leans in close. — Mira. (Look)

And as if you were learning something for the first time, you imitate him when he parts his lips. You let the man's thumb drag over your lower lip, and then his middle and index fingers together slide over your tongue, until they occupy your mouth. “Así” (like that), he pushes and retreats with his hand, in a slow, sensual movement, “Metértelo en la boca.” (Put it in your mouth)

Ah, now you understand him well. Your face burns, the wet way the fingers come out of your mouth, a little strand of saliva kept resisting in the distance, itʼs wanton. You nod, kneeling on the wooden floor, eyes glued to him unbuckling his belt until you could have his erection in full view.

You part your lips once again, as you were ‘taught’. He fills your mouth, up to a point where your nose touches his crotch, and comes back, completely wet. It allows the Uruguayan to control the pace, to catch the corner of your face. You raise your gaze to his, surrendered not only by the lasciviousness of what you were doing, but also by the beautiful view you had of his face from that angle.

Enzo uses the index finger of his free hand to run down the curve of your nose, affectionately.

— Qué ojitos más bonitos... (You have such beautiful little eyes) — he praises you, with a smile. At that moment, you could swear your heart felt like it exploded. — Eres tan bella, nena. Preciosa. (You are so beautiful, baby. Precious) — he sighs, his head falls back, then to a slide side angle. He looks at you in such a mischievous way that you avoid returning the look. — Me encantaría correrme en tu boca... pero prefiero guardarlo todo para dentro de ti. (I would love to cum into your mouth... but I prefer to keep it all inside you)

You get taken back to bed, easily manhandled by him when you silently gave up control of the situation. He comes over, dangerously close, unlocked the front fitting of your bra, getting lost between your breasts as soon as he releases them from the tightness of the piece. You hold onto his hair, restless under the delicious sucking of his tongue, the wild bite of his teeth. You gasp, having to move away from the black threads of his hair while his mouth travels down your belly.

He releases you from the last piece of underwear too, the wet kisses were loud and pornographic, crackling on your skin. The tip of his big nose rubs lightly over the area where he knew your sensitive clit was. His palm run through your wetness, the chill of the his silver ring sliding across your boiling skin.

He clicks two, three slaps in a row that makes you shudder, whimpering softly. Enzo smiles, he didn't need to, but he returned to that mocking tone from before, of someone who had to calmly spell out the commands so you could understand.

He brings his hand to your lips, gave a little tap on the top, de aquí, and then went all the way down again, leaving a wet trail until he gave your pussy another tap, a aquí. And itʼs these little details that makes everything even better. It makes you feel so dumb, foolish, but itʼs so strangely good...

When he puts himself inside you, you lock your legs around his waist, wrapping your arms around him, feeling him dominate everything in you. He, however, insists on eye contact, lifting his torso, resting his forearm against the mattress, to look you in the eye. He smiles, panting like you; moaning low, hoarse. At first, slow, but soon he surrendered to the speed, to the sharp sound of your moans with each stronger thrust.

And there where so many thrilling impulses, fuck it... You want to cover your mouth, close your eyes to try to contain yourself. Itʼs the nasty noise of your bodies in shock, his deep voice, the scent of his hot skin. Youʼre so sensitive that your eyes get wet, a little tear runs down your cheek.

— Oh, no... Perdón, perdóname, cariño. (Oh, no... I'm so sorry, honey) — he stops, his thumb wipes the tear from your face.

'En—', you even started to want to call his name, but the frustration of no longer receiving the same thrilling sensations and to the same extent was such that you only knew how whine; your mind melting, finally murmuring “Dale, dale, papi.” (Give it to me, please, daddy)

Enzo smiles again. He leaves a few kisses on your lips, repeating your words between the kisses, as if he was making fun of your desperation and also the term you used to refer to him.

— ¿Más rápido, hm? Más duro? (Faster, hm? Harder?) — he turns you over on the bed, putting you on all fours. The dirty talk makes you smile, dumb with lust already, clinging to one of the pillows. The Uruguayan's body lead over yours, bringing his mouth close to your ear. — Tranquila, nena. Te daré todo lo que quieras. ( Calm down, baby. I will give you everything you want.)

[leafs-queer-diary]

the nonbinary trans experience

being nonbinary, whether you identify as trans or not, comes with its own set of specific obstacles that being a trans binary person doesn't come with. this isn't to say that binary trans people struggle less than us, obviously; it just happens that our struggles are different, because we're nonbinary.

here are a few examples on how being nonbinary makes my life difficult:

i can't legally change my gender marker to x or remove the gender marker from my id entirely

many languages (such as portuguese, german, spanish and french) don't officially have gender neutral pronouns, which means that nonbinary speakers have to come up with new terms, which aren't recognized and respected by other speakers 99.999% of the time

it is especially difficult to pass as a nonbinary person because the idea that gender is binary (m/f) is so deeply ingrained in westerners' minds that they wouldn't conceive the possibility of a nonbinary person even when said person is dressed androgynously

and please keep in mind that these are struggles i face as a white able-bodied person who is not an immigrant. other nonbinary people have it much worse than i do based on their circumstances and other axises of oppression.

exorsexism is real. uplift nonbinary voices.

[issa-pheonyx]

If you write for Carlos, mayhaps something fluffy? Sfw/Nsfw is up to you, but preferably no mommy/daddy kink, its just not my thing qwq

𝗜𝘁'𝘀 𝗼𝗸𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝗯!! 𝗪𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝘁𝘁𝘆 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪, 𝘀𝗼 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳. 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 :𝟯𝟯𝟯

▌│█║▌║▌║ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ ║▌║▌║█│▌

-As distinct as it is with him from the game he is going to make you laugh or even crack a smile from you. Besides he knows a way for a lady's heart is to make them laugh. Though there are times he would internally cringe when he predicts he tries too hard in certain jokes, but if it entertained you then perfect! He will not add onto it after that he thinks it'll just ruin it

-FUCKING FLIRTY BASTARD-ahem, now I know this man is fine and all, assuming he just be flirting people left and right, but when you know he likes you and only has eyes for you best believe he will be having his eyes set on you. You are the eye of the prize, nobody else, and honestly I feel like he is the type to do the kabedon move on you (hope I spelled that right, my apologies)

-Speaking of kabedon, his love language is definitely physical affection. I mean even if you are not the type to be equally affectionate as he is, he would have his body close to you, shoulders touching or brushing against each other. He would pepper your face in kisses to wake you up or just to be playful with you, bonus he would end up tickling you with massive kisses on your neck and waist just to hear you laugh cause it makes him laugh of happiness ('but Issa my laugh sounds like a seagull squawk' honey, it'll make him laugh harder sounding like a distorted horn you're safe LMAO-)

-Another would cooking for you I mean look at him on how he is built. That big boy gotta eat. He is most definitely the main chef of the house and if you do not like or never tried any food related to his culture (looked it up saying he could be Brazilian/Portuguese, again this was a quick search and not claiming he is, so don't come at me) well, you're going to try it. Honestly, his cooking skills are really chefs kiss. Anyways, you don't gotta worry about not having time to make food or you don't have the motivation Carlos got you bb~

-Now he is the sweetest, funniest, charming, and gentle giant he is, however he is protective. Maybe too protective, but he learns the separate his life and workplace (until he finds out they were lying to him), but after what went down with Umbrella it did mess him up mentally and psychologically he sought professional help (as he should) and did guide him. Sure, you and him can tell the damages that has left him, but since he sees you as a hope of light that's all that matters to him to keep it moving

-Lastly, he wouldn't mind if you pamper him. Like not only pamper him, but if you✨yassified✨by doing his makeup, putting ribbons or braiding his hair, etc. He turns into a whole different persona and would act so funny when you pull out the camera being like "Yas, queen🌚💅🏽". Dramatically, whips his head causing some ribbons or braids to fall off/go loose, but would be like "ah fuck my eye-" cause the lashes are too unbearable💀

-Overall, he is the best kind of bf/husband and is a walking green flag (shut up I am not gonna do red flags let my babies be happy cause irl men are bleh) and no just because he has his mental struggles that he tends to hide at times. He still seek professional help for that regardless and is still himself, Carlos~

▌│█║▌║▌║ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ ║▌║▌║█│▌

𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴! 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝘁. 𝗠𝘆 𝘂𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗦𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹~🖤🫣

[project-niji-official]

DISCLAIMER: This post has been used by multiple accounts on multiple sites. You may have seen this before.  TRIGGER WARNING: While there aren't any dark topics mentioned in this post, they are abundant in the story. If you are uncomfortable with self-harm, swearing, depression, suicide attempts/suicidal thoughts, mentions of rape, eating disorders, substance abuse, child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual references, personality disorders, intrusive thoughts, or obsessive behavior, then this isn't for you. (I know that's a long list, but it's a long project, and they're spread throughout the story.)

Do you like relatable characters? Do you like Project SEKAI? Do you like fandom? If you like any of those things (emphasis on the first one), then you might like SPECTRA LIGHT: Project NIJI! (If you're not interested, keep scrolling. If you are... carry on.)

This isn’t an ad to get your money. It’s an ad to get your support. Project NIJI is a nonprofit fanproject run by a bunch of… well, fans. It’s technically an Alternate Universe (AU) for Project SEKAI, but someone without knowledge of the game could still understand the story perfectly well, as the main cast is composed of 20 Original Characters (OCs).

Since this is a fanproject and doesn’t have to abide by copyright laws, ambitious collaborations or ideas can be accomplished more easily. This means that we don’t have to dance around more mature topics to hold onto that sweet, sweet 9+ rating. 

There’s five musical groups: 

Welcome TO Purgatory, a band dedicated to showing the world the truth, no matter how uncomfortable.

Sparkling☆Smile☆Stage, a group who wants the world around them to be a little less sad (even if they’re doing much worse).

LITERALLY HELL, who wants to show you that not every story has a happily ever after.

StarSuit Go!, an idol group who doesn’t believe in letting others change who you are.

Night blossomS, an online music group with questionable PR decisions who wants to reach someone.

That’s simplifying the groups a LOT, but it gets the general point across.

Now, I’ve spent most of this rambling about the project itself, but here’s why I’m making this post: We need people. Lots of them. In fact, we need:

Writers

Artists

Storyboarders

Beta readers

Music arrangers

Vocal tuners

Video editors/animators

Singers/voice actors (keep in mind that you might have to speak in another language a lot)

Translators

Color artists

Moderators (for our Discord server, and our subreddit if we get one)

Publicists (social media managers)

Chart makers (iykyk)

List of languages that we need translators for (we need people to translate these languages into English, or vice versa):

Japanese (we need the most translators for this language, as it's the primary language. Project NIJI is set in Japan, after all.)

Dutch

Swedish

Portuguese

Vietnamese

Chinese

Cantonese

Tagalog/Filipino

Russian

French

Arabic

Korean

Danish

Italian

German

Hindi

Spanish

There are other languages featured in the story, but they don't show up enough to warrant a translator.

If you can do any of those things (or maybe something else that could be helpful), then you can apply in this form. Please DO NOT DM THE ACCOUNTS IF YOU WISH TO BE A PART OF PROJECT NIJI.

[morgana-lefay]

I've been reading Till's poetry book, "In Stillen Nächten" ("Nas Noites Tranquilas") and I'm actually enjoying most of the poems. Some seem to make no sense or I just don't think I understand them (many times I catch myself commenting in the end "What the fuck did I just read?"😅). Others make me laugh. My favourites, so far, are the most depressive and fatalist, I'm reckoning (guess it's the Portuguese in me). And there are others that make me a bit more uncomfortable (although I think this book is "lighter" on that matter compared to what I've read about Messer). But, in the end, they all make me feel something.

This means, I will, most likely, be sharing some of my favourites, particularly in Portuguese.

Right now, I feel like talking about one called "Wenn Mutti spät zur Arbeit geht" ("When Mother goes to work late"/"Quando a Mãe vai trabalhar tarde").

Wenn Mutti spät zur Arbeit geht Wenn Mutti spät zur Arbeit geht Dann bleibe ich allein Sie wirft mir Zwieback auf den Mund Schließt mich im Zimmer ein Wenn Mutti spät zur Arbeit muß Fährt nicht mit Bus noch Bahn Ihr Arbeitsplatz ist gar nicht weit Ist das Zimmer nebenan Sie kommen und sie gehen Manchmal auch zu zweit Die späten Vögel singen Und wenn die Mutti schreit Wenn sie mich früh zu Bette schickt Sagt ich soll nicht traurig sein Weint mir ein bißchen ins Gesicht Schließt mich im Zimmer ein Sie kommen und sie gehen Das Licht im Fenster rot Ich sehe zu durchs Schlüsselloch Und einer schlug sie tot Traurig war ich vorher schon Die Mutter fehlt mir nicht Ich riech an ihren Schlüpfern Und mal mir ihr Gesicht

During my searches, I ended up on RammWiki (bless them) and was linked to MusikGuru, to find that there's a GDR children's song called "Wenn Mutti Früh Zur Arbeit Geht". Well, I'm assuming (and then, after reading the RammWiki page, confirmed) this poem takes inspiration from said song, which was interesting to learn.

As we know, Till adapts some of his poems into Rammstein songs and Lindemann/his solo work (we can read some more familiar lines in this book, that I might bring up too) and for those of you who get the language, you might have already noticed he made this one darker and it became "Puppe".

The GDR song talks about Mom having to go to work early and how the child engages in all these age appropriate chores while, also, having time to play with her "child doll" ("puppenkind"), certainly training her to be a good mother one day.

Till's poem and lyrics twist it around, setting the time in darker hours and giving it a darker meaning. In the poem, the child is on his own, after Mom feeds him a biscuit and shuts him in his room. Mother seems to be a prostitute and her work place is the room next door. He peeps through the lock and sees her getting killed by one of her clients. There's, then, a final verse where he adds how he's been sad before and won't miss her.

In "Puppe", he filled the text more and upped the weird/dark scale. This time, the story goes around a sister and no longer a mother. Same line of work, same working place [from what translation gives me, he gets a bit ironic and goes on a little word play here, changing from work place ("Arbeitsplatz") to creative place ("Schaffensplatz")] and same fate in the end. He picks the doll part from the GDR song, as the sister leaves it with him and it keeps him company (and they take it up a notch live). There's also a change to what he's feeding on - from biscuits to medicine. Contrary to the child in the poem, who wasn't sad anymore, the child in Puppe gets increasingly upset and angry, until, putting all these emotions out in the doll, ends up making him feel better.

[leitereads]

⋆✮↪ ReIntroduction

-emia, meaning presence in blood.

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

The crime scene

⇒ Multifandom blog ➣ (series/films) (books) (anime) ⇒ Writeblr, langblr and studyblr ⇒ My visual arts ⇒ Literature, classical art and philosophy ⇒ Music ➣ classical, classic rock, goth, metal and indie ⇒ Dark Academia ⇒ TTRPGs and videogames ⇒ Horror, true crime and oddities ⇒ Medicine and science ⇒ Travelling and lifestyle ⇒ Further info: linktree

The Murderer

⇒ Name: Leite (they/them) ⇒ Age: 21+ ⇒ Blood type: [confidential] ⇒ Murder weapon: blood, sweat and tears ⇒ Profession: medical student ⇒ Location: Portugal ⇒ Languages: Portuguese, English, Spanish, French ⇒ Other details ➣ (linktree) ⇒ Hobbies ➣ TTRPGs (DnD, CoC, VtM, BitD, etc.) | writing | reading | drawing/painting | horse riding | swimming | HEMA | sportive fencing

Note: I am on holidays, therefore I won't be that active till the 26th July

Confidential Information

This blog may contain sensitive content. Everything potentially concerning is tagged under the tag "cw". Still, user discretion is advised.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Modus Operandi

✏ WIP: The Apocryphal Truth

Set in the late 1890s-early 1900s, this novel is about a young doctor who doesn't believe in God, just to realise that he is part of what he doesn't believe in.

⇒ Gnostic, cosmic and psychological horror, sci-fi (steampunk and biopunk), historical fiction (speculative history) ⇒ 1st draft - longest WIP till date ⇒ 3rd person POV, likely unreliable narrator

༻✧༺

✏ WIP: The Immortal Emperor's Regicide

Inspired by the tabletop roleplaying game "Blades in the Dark", by John Harper, this WIP started as a collaborative creative writing project, being now a personal WIP. The steampunk city of Doskvol hides away all sorts of scoundrels, aristocracy and insane cults to Eldritch gods. While some criminals don't have any other choice besides a life of crime, some of them have higher ambitions, and the highest of them all is to finish the reign of terror of The Immortal Emperor.

⇒ Horror in general, sci-fi (steampunk, biopunk), mystery, thriller ⇒ 1st draft - adapting the lore and worldbuilding created for the collaborative writing project ⇒ 3rd person omniscient narrator.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

In order to understand, I destroyed myself.

- Fernando Pessoa

This Introduction post is also a WIP. Soon to be added:

Spotify playlist addressing all my favourite music genres.

The link to the content warning tag.

The links to important/personal tags.

Links to an info page about my OCs

[warping-realities]

A Better Family III (Final)

Miguel fixed his godfather with a furious look before addressing him with indignation.

"You set me up. If I'd known I was going to be put against the wall I wouldn't have come all this way, but it's my fault for being so stupid. I'm not in the mood for a lecture, Diego."

"So now it's like this... Diego, no padrino or tio? When did we become strangers, Miggy?" Diego asked, with a serious look, while taking off his training shirt.

"Since I grew up, I'm not a kid anymore and more importantly, I'm not your kid. I make my own decisions."

"And what are those decisions? Disappearing for months? Not even communicating? Maybe Killing your mother with anxiety? Where have you been, Miguel?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I... I was in Brazil."

"What? How...? And why?"

"I managed to get there and that's all you need to know."

"But what were you doing there? Your father is dead. Your mother is here and she left no family in Brazil."

"But my father does... I have uncles there, I found out last year and my mother hid it from me my whole life!"

"She must have had her reasons."

"It doesn't matter they are... were... my family..."

"What happened in Brazil, Miguel?" Diego asked feeling that the boy was hiding something.

"It doesn't matter to you, take care of your own problems, I'll take care of mine."

"Miguel, I've known you all your life, you're like a son to me, you're my problem! I'm just trying to understand the reason for all this. I understand that you want to know your origins, but why would you do things this way? Where did all this anger come from?"

"You will not understand..."

"Why don't you try to explain it to me, I promise I won't judge and try to understand."

"Okay, but if you start lecturing me I'm out of here... I say you wouldn't understand because you don't know what it's like to be different in this country!"

"Miguel, I'm a Mexican man who immigrated here illegally, I know what it's like to feel like a stranger in this place."

"But it's different, you adapted here, you have a... community. I was born here and I don't even have that."

"Miguel, you are part of our community!"

"Am I? I'm Brazilian, a different culture, a different language!"

"You're talking like the xenophobic Americans I encountered when I arrived. Okay, Brazil is different from the rest of the countries in Latin America, but it's still a Latin country. This exclusion from Brazil of the latin people because of the language is an American thing, not ours. And besides each country has its culture, its traditions, or do you think the Spanish I spoke in Mexico is the same as Henrique's grandparents spoke in Venezuela? We are all different, but part of something bigger."

"Nice lecture, I should turn around right now, as I promised. This is all very nice in words, but that's not how it works in real life. I'm tired of being excluded and left out, I'm done!"

"Why didn't you come talk to me? I would have helped you!"

"I already told you, tio. I make my own decisions! And one of them is fighting my own battles!"

"Then fight the right way, not running away to a place you don't know... well, how was it there? You were badly received, is that it?"

"No, on the contrary, my uncles treated me very well, they are humble people, honest workers. Rio is a beautiful place, even in the favelas, with all that poverty, there is still a joy... it is contagious!"

"What was the problem then? For there is a problem, don't deny it!"

"Me, I’m the problem. I thought I knew what I was doing... the truth is that I fit in even less there than here... and I tried… really tried… I hunged out with a crowd that... at first it was funny, they called me "Gringo" and laugh at my Portuguese... but they... they were bad people… dangerous people. I thought I could handle it, as I got along well with the guys here... but there is another level... I had to come back."

"What do you mean when you say you got on well with the guys here? What guys?

"Shit..."

"Miguel, you couldn't have been stupid enough to get involved with thugs on both ends of the continent!"

"That's enough, I'm out! I don't need to hear this!" Said the boy turning to leave the gym locker room. But being stopped by a strong hand holding his shoulder. A hand that held a small metallic disc.

"You're right, you don't need to hear this. Do you know why, Miguel? Because you really make your own decisions. I just wish they were the right decisions." Diego said, watching the Reality Warper do its job for the second time, just as amazing as the first time. He felt again that feeling of time standing still as he watched the metallic cocoon form around the boy. He watched in wonder as the images that surfaced on the surface of the structure, which although not as drastic as those that appeared in Dieguito's transformation, still denoted that something was going to happen to the boy inside it.

Finally, still stunned by it all and by his decision to make that happen, he watched the structure retract and reveal a young man at the same time very similar and very different from the one who had been there.

In an attempt to find out more about how the artifact works, Diego decided to replicate the exact movements of the previous time, starting by touching the object to the boy's skin. Now, even before the boy fully woke up, he laid his hand on his exposed shoulder. Being invaded again by a wave of memories, although this time not so drastic, since only a few things from the past of the boy were changed. But enough to make a big difference. In this new configuration of reality Miguel still feel excluded, he still have anger inside him, but he channelled it in other ways. The boy, now a scholarship student at the same St. James where his "cousin" Enrique taught. Member of the football team where he vented his aggression in a controlled way and curiously also of the debate team where he gave voice to that same anger, in an articulate and eloquent way. Diego knew that the boy would likely follow in Rico’s footsteps and go to college and that when he returned he would be a voice to be heard within the community. Perfect, he thought smiling, while the boy smilled back.

"Tired already, tio?" Asked the boy, widening his smile.

"I trained in the morning, I only came here because I knew I would find you training with your cousins."

"Is there a problem? Did I do something wrong?"

"Quite the contrary, I don't think you've ever made a wrong decision in your life!" I'm actually worried about your brother." Diego said.

Curiously, the memory of the conversation he had with Marina in the morning did not change completely. Apparently Nicolas continued to be a cause for concern, and whatever change had taken place in his brother had not been reflected in him. The reason for the boy's strange behavior was another and not a negative influence from his brother. Diego would now have to find out why.

"Ah, tio. We are worried too, but Nico doesn't listen to us."

"What if I talk to him?"

"I'm not allowed to leave school during the week, I'm just here because of my training schedule with Rico. Tio, I think that some of Nico's behavior stems from my absence, even more so because he couldn't get into Saint James .... This weekend I'll go home and talk to him. But I don't know if he'll want to talk to you."

"Just make sure he gets to me and I'll handle it, trust me."

"I trust with my eyes closed. So much so that I'm going to ask you to be my sparring partner today, even though you're all old and worn out!"

“This old man will rip you off at any opportunity, boy."

"Would you rather test my skills on the field or in a debate, tio?"

"Boy, I'm not stupid to compete with you in these things, but you still have a lot of growth to face me in bodybuilding." Diego said, resting his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"It's the goal, padrino!" Answered the boy, letting himself be guided to the weight training room."

….

The rest of the week passed without incidents. Diego tried unsuccessfully to get in contact with Nicolas until he finally decided to wait for the weekend. He was now reasonably sure how the artifact worked. The question was whether he would use it again. Diego Jr had been an accident, but Miguel had been deliberate and although Diego firmly believed that his choice was the right one he preferred to try to work things out with Nico in a more traditional way.

It was with that in mind that he entered his car workshop after training at the gym, on a sunny Saturday morning. Being greeted by his son's bright smile. Dieguito was shirtless, wearing only sweatpants, exposing his magnificent chest, and for the thousandth time that week Diego felt his chest fill with joy.

"Buenos Dias, papá! We're working on the Mustang, I'd like you to take a look at it. Miggy is messing with it right now AND HE'S GOING TO REGRET IT IF THAT CAR HAS EVEN A SCRATCH!"

"No need to shout Dieguito, your girlfriend is in good hands." An equally shirtless and smiling Miguel replied.

"You two should be worried about what I'm going to do with both of you. What are you doing shirtless? What if a customer shows up?"

"Chill out, papá. The workshop won't open for a few minutes, we're going to change now. Cheer up, today we got another pair of hands, Miggy will help us. Let's change, mano." Said Diego Jr heading to the locker room.

"Thanks, Miguelito, take your payment with me at the end of the day."

"It's not necessary, tio, I help because I like it."

"I know, kid, but that doesn't mean it doesn't need to be rewarded."

"Thank you padrino, I.... I don't believe... he came." Said the boy looking amazed towards the door, where his younger brother was passing.

"Nico, your hair, what the fuck, did you lose a bet?" Miguel asked smiling. Only to be rudely interrupted by his brother.

"Shut the fuck up for once in your life, Miguel, I'm tired of your talking!"

"Nico, come on mano, I'm sorry, it's just that..." Startled a scared Miguel to speak, interrupting himself for not finding the words. Something his younger brother can't help but notice and mockingly comment on.

"Looks like the debate team precious star has run out of arguments, better that way, I'm tired of your litany!"

"Nico... mano... por favor..." Miguel tried again to start, but stopped because of the furious expression of the brother he no longer recognized. Realizing that stricter measures might be necessary, Diego intervened.

"Miguelito, go inside with your cousin, let me talk to your brother alone."

"Okay, tio." Answered the boy looking with hurtfull eyes at his brother.

"Cousin, what a joke!" Said the younger boy watching his brother walk away.

"It's just an affectionate way of saying it, you and your brother are like my children."

"Sure, and every parent has their favorite child..."

"Nico, I'm your brother's godfather, but I never made a difference between you two, I changed your diapers and made you sleep when you were little."

"Still he's your favourite, don't deny it, he's everyone's favourite, your kids' favourite, Rico's favourite, because of that stupid scolarship, and of course, he is her favourite..."

"Your mother is very proud of your brother, but that doesn't mean she loves you any less, Nico."

"You don't know what it's like! The demands, the comparisons, being the big star's little brother, being always in the golden boy's shadow!" It was then that Diego understood, he had misjudged the whole situation, Nico had not been acting under his brother's influence before he intervened in Miguel, he was acting that way because he wanted attention and apparently Diego made everything worse by changing the older boy. The haircut and aggressiveness were clear signs of that. He also realized that Nico couldn't compete with this new version of Miguel, so he made his decision. He approached the boy, with the Reality Warper clutched in his hand.

"So tell me, what do you really want, Nico, because I know it's not that, this revolt, the distance from those who love you, from your brother, what do you want? To be better than him, is that it? I highly doubt it!"

"What I want is to stop listening..." The boy began, looking at the gigantic man he had known his whole life and noticing for the first time the full size of Diego, as he rested his hand on his shoulders, feeling an icy sensation around in his neck."

"What you want, boy, is to be with your brother, to deserve the same attention as him, to be part of something... son." Diego concluded, this time knowing very well what would happen. Yet he marveled again at the process.

This time he didn't even wait for the boy to wake up before touching him. Receiving the new stream of memories while the boy hadn't even opened his eyes yet. In this new reality Nico did not become Diego's biological son, surprising the man, but having been raised since he was a baby by him after he took courage and asked Marina to be his girlfriend, officially marrying her a few months later. In that reality the two had just completed 15 years together. With both boys treating him like a father. The reflection of this in Nico was evident, the boy at 16 years old was a totally different figure than he had been before. A sophomore in St James, also a member of the football team in a different position than his brother, as evidenced by his greater muscularity. Also a scholarship holder thanks to his grades, being a prodigy in mathematics and finance, so much so that he was already responsible for the accounts of his father's workshop. Diego welcomed those memories, the new reality and his youngest son with a smile.

"Apparently all my kids have decided to walk around half naked today. I have to be thankful if Melissa doesn't adopt the same behavior." He commented looking to his son exposed chest, being greeted by a smile from him.

"Relax, papá. I'm going to change now, although the clientele don't complain when they see me like that. Last week Dona Angela complimented my pecs and even asked me to flex my arms."

"And you did what?"

"What she asked for, of course! Don't you always say the customer is always right?" Answered the boy, increasing his smile even more.

"Devilish boy! Come on, let's get changed." Diego said accompanying his son to the locker room.

….

A little less than a year later, on a sunny Sunday morning, Diego walked Melissa down the aisle, handing her to a smiling Rico.

He positioned himself next to Marina, as beautiful as the day they met.

And smiled at the sight of his sons, Dieguito as Rico best man with the youngest boys positioned close behind. Nicolas with the bearing of a professional defensive player and Miguel with the beginnings of a beard.

God, he really was getting older. He and those who formed the heart and soul of that community. Looking at his boys, Melissa and Rico he knew they had a good future ahead of them. He glanced around the crowded ranks of his people, there were some new additions, Isabel, the sister of the late Marcelo managed to legally immigrate together with her husband Eduardo and the couple's children, with the help of some Rico’s friends from college, at the request of Miguel who, as Diego had wished, was doing things the right way . Nicolas, on the other hand, had quickly made friends with his cousins, and was helping them to study and adapt, apparently taking great satisfaction in being taken as a role model. However Diego noticed some abstentions, Dona Angela's only son had joined a gang a few years before, and the Garcias' son had spent the last years in and out of rehab clinics. And those were just some of the losses they had to deal with. But not anymore. Diego had already conquered a better family, now it was time to do the same for their community.

[asktheisle]

Pokeask Latin American Month Drawpile!

Like the title says, decided to set up a lil thing for the month to recognize and celebrate fellow community members who are of Latin American backgrounds!

Since I know it's hard to encompass everyone and get all the bases covered, the definition we're gonna run with for this is:

"Anyone of Central American, South American, or Spanish Caribbean background whose languages include Spanish or Portuguese, whose cultures are also influenced by or have ties to Spain or Portugal"

(basically, I'm waving my hands in a welcoming manner to any Brazilians here gjdh)

How it's gonna work: join in with a sona, a character you have that's coded to be Latin American (coded meaning that even if these countries don't exist in your worldbuilds, they have influence to their respective culture), or a character of yours that you feel represents you! Doesn't have to be just one either, if you got a handful-feel free to put em in!

Have them with your/their respective flag in any form-be it an actual flag, an accessory, clothing, etc

I want to open this up to the Latin American members of the community first, but once Sunday, October 1st hits, everyone else who may have Latin American characters can jump in on the fun c:

I plan to compile everything sometime by Sunday, October 15th so everyone who wants to join has plenty of time to add their part. I know tumblr loves to butcher the quality and take away transparency, so you're welcome to send me a transparent version through DMs if you want!

And in case the file size messes up with uploading, here's a full size link c:

You can either reblog your part or upload it separately and tag me. If you make a separate upload I'll be tracking "pokeask latam month". Tag me nonetheless though just in case the tag doesn't update for whatever reason!

Time to throw those flags in the air, vamos!

[easternmind]

A compendium of references to Portugal in Japanese video games

The beginning of the historical relations between Portugal and Japan dates to the year 1541, when a Portuguese ship washed ashore at Jingujiura. Nearly sixty Japanese words are of Portuguese origin. A variety of Japanese traditions and culinary delights were introduced by Portuguese traders, sailors and missionaries. But in what way has this cultural exchange extended to the more recent phenomenon of Japanese digital games? As a portuguese devotee of Japanese culture, the topic seemed relevant enough to merit some additional exploration.

To my knowledge, the first significant reference to Portugal in Japanese video game is found in Koei's The Age of Discovery from 1990, a game published in the west under the title Uncharted Waters. The main character is a disgraced Portuguese nobleman named Leon Ferrero who resorts to maritime exploration, trade and naval warfare to restore his family's good name and prestige.

Its 1993 sequel, known in the west as New Horizons, diversifies the base game structure of the original by including multiple characters to select from, each with their own story and mission. Among them is the tale of João Franco, the son of the original episode's protagonist Leon, who sets out to discover the mysterious location of the fabled Atlantis, no less.

Another meaningful reference can be found a year later in ArtDink's 1991 strategy game The Atlas, in which the player takes on the role of a 15th century explorer with a five year contract with the King of Portugal to discover and chart lands around the Iberian Peninsula.

In 1998, ArtDink recreated the game for contemporary systems and published as Neo Atlas. The protagonist is a Portuguese trading company owner seeking business expansion opportunities in remote territories, as well as discover and chart hitherto unknown parts of the globe. A similar premise is found in a later sequel, Neo Atlas III.

Apart from nautical strategy games, a few other titles exist where mentions to the Portuguese territory, language and culture can be traced.

Galvanized by the success of Cyan's world-renowned point and click adventure CD-ROMs, Sony Computer Entertainment helped to publish The Book of Watermarks, a game designed by a miniscule Tokyo-based studio named Watermarks that is brimming with interesting first and second-hand references to Shakespeare's The Tempest. The objective of this visually impressive pre-rendered journey is to aid in the recovery of a series of ancient tomes, each including the nuclear bases of knowledge for mankind.

The very first lost volume is named the Book of Navigators, said to be owned by the historical Infante Dom Henrique from the 15th century, condensing information on shipbuilding, oceanography, geography and astronomy. While a purely fictitious book, the reference to Prince Henry is historically accurate, him being a pivotal figure in the early age of Portuguese maritime discoveries, the governor of the Order of Christ who at once built and ruined his reputation through his various campaigns in the African continent.

Atlus' futuristic vision of Earth in Maken X includes a most unexpected tour of Europe, with a mandatory stop in Lisbon. Inexplicably, the developers got its geographic location wrong and moved to all the way to the northern Spanish region of Léon. The level, itself, boasts a reasonably accurate depiction of one of the city's oldest quarters, Alfama, and the architectural styles found therein.

Although I could not discern any actual references in the game itself, the Grandia II soundtrack by the veteran composer Noriyuki Iwadare contains two themes whose lyrics are written in Portuguese: A Deus, a double-entendre that can be translated to both farewell and to God; and Canção do Povo, meaning People's Song. Also, the name of the official soundtrack is named Melodia, which translates to Melody as you'd expect. Both themes were performed by guest singer Kaori Kawasumi, who took on the composer's challenge to sing them despite her not knowing the language.

She was coached and assisted by José Álvarez and Motoi Sato from the Portuguese Arts and Culture Center in Japan, whom she thanks in the acknowledgement section. The Grandia II Special Package edition booklet contains a page with two photos of Portugal, one for the Jéronimos Monastery in Lisbon and the other, seemingly, for the Moorish Castle in the nearby town of Sintra.

The last Pomping World (a.ka. Buster Bros/Pang) that Mitchell Corporation ever produced before shutting down was the 2010 DS European exclusive Magical Michael. It includes two levels set in Portugal, one in Lisbon by the Belém tower, a nautical landmark, and the other in the Sintra National Palace. Their representation is at once pleasingly stylized and true to life.

This final reference is found in Spike Chunsoft's third installment of their successful visual novel series, Nyūdanganronpa V3 Minna No Koroshiai Shin Gakki. Among the dozens of MonoMono machine items that can be acquired, one is a weathercock styled after a traditional Portuguese folktale hero, the Galo de Barcelos, meaning the rooster of Barcelos, a town in Northern Portugal.

As per the description, this animal became famous through an age-old tale involving a man wrongly sentenced to death who seconds before his execution remarked he was as certain to be innocent as it was certain that a nearby rooster would sing. Because the bird did crow, much to everyone's amazement, he was exonerated. Thus, the black rooster became a symbol for truth.

I would like to thank @diogojira and @DanielOlimac for their assistance in making this article possible.

[sleepershell]

Some General Marauders Era Headcanons

NOT canon compliant (I don’t care about jk shitface’s canon lol)

Regulus Black (the main character as far as I’m concerned)

~ French, I mean cmon the Black family motto is toujours pur for gods sake. He absolutely speaks French. Other than that, they can be traced to German (Walburga’s side) and English heritage.

~cis bi boy (sapiosexual?)

~ c-ptsd, depression

~ messy curly medium-length hair, long nimble fingers, one of those people with a few lovely moles in choice locations, slutty waist, angular jaw, kind of set in eyes, not tall but a bit taller than Sirius

~ most dogs freak him out (lol oof)

Sirius Black

~ french (& English, German) ofc.

~ amab queer, omnisexual mlm

~c-ptsd, adhd

~ wavy long black hair, also a slutty waist, not very tall, squinty eyes, latently a little muscular

~ big believer in a leather jacket

James Potter

~ I stan desi Potter. But also love the idea of Euphemia being Greek per her name so Jamie boy is part Greek and part Pakistani on Fleamont’s side. He only speaks English but has some terms and things from both Greek and Hindi.

~ cis bi guy

~adhd

~ needs glasses ofc, I imagine he’s super nearsighted.

~ super messy hair, lean and muscular, medium tall

~ red converse wearer

Remus Lupin

~ Welsh, English, and Portuguese. He speaks only English.

~ amab, queer, demisexual?

~ anxiety

~ chronic pain from wolf injuries

~ scarred all over, light brown hair, tan, he’s the tallest, skinny but not lacking muscle, limps sometimes and often needs to stretch his sore muscles, hairy!!

~ always wearing a sweater

Peter Pettigrew

~ English & German. Speaks English.

~ cis, bi

~ anxiety, definitely does self-soothing movements

~ fat !! no skinny wormtail in this house, wavy blonde hair, the cutest cheeks known to man, callouses on his hands and no one can figure out why

~ asthma

~ loves naps

Pandora Rosier

~ Another family who absolutely must be fluent French speakers. So I think they have some Afro-Caribbean on one side and the other is very much originally French. Speaks English and French.

~ cis fem, pansexual, demiromantic

~ autistic

~ hair is super light blonde and looooong in dreads, light blue eyes, brown skin, quite tall and thin, all her features are super delicate and lithe, she’s kind of otherworldly tbh but she certainly doesn’t act so she’s got quite the mad scientist competitive streak

~ amazing at charms

Evan Rosier

~ Afro-Caribbean, French, English. Speaks English and French.

~ he/they, omnisexual (and by that I mean he fucks everyone ha-hey)

~ super light blonde hair either cropped or in a protective style, brown skin, light brown eyes, braces, dead average build, but still suave af don’t be mistaken everyone wants this kid, not hairy

Lily Evans

~ English and Scottish, speaks English.

~ cis gal, questioning but likely demisexual

~ fat!!, straight-ish red hair ofc, freckles, green eyes, cute small chubby hands, radiant smile

Barty Crouch Jr.

~ English, speaks English and all curse words in every language he could get people to teach them in.

~ queer amab bisexual

~ I won’t begin to try to dissect the workings of Barry’s brain but depression could be a start

~ eidetic memory

~ needs reading glasses? but like most of the time they’re not on him or they’re broken. so he just like uses his crazy big brain to just remember stuff or else he mostly never reads outside of studying times

~ brown hair but whenever he gets the chance he buzzes or dyes it green for fun, stick and pokes and self done piercings, tall but not Remus tall, lean muscular, hairy ass legs

Dorcas Meadowes

~ Ethiopian and English. Speaks English.

~ cis girl, sapphic

~ dark skin, black hair often in long braids, dark eyes, athletic curvy build, long fingers

~ literally prodigy herbologist, also amazing at potions and divination

Marlene McKinnon

~ Filipino!!!!!!!!!!!! speaks English and Filipino (maybe some of another regional language of the Philippines).

~ cis girl, sapphic

~ adhd, depression

~ lactose intolerant

~ short queen, freckles, dyed blonde but def experiments with color and cut, usually straight or a little wavy, muscular but it doesn’t really show she just seems kinda thin, some stick and pokes, several ear piercings

~ wears red cowboy boots, studded belts, low rise, cut up t shirts, hats

Mary Macdonald

~ Brazilian on one side and South African & English on the other. Speaks English and Portuguese.

~ cis girl, bisexual

~ ehler’s danlos syndrome

~ wears her dark hair natural curly, curvy, average height, belly button pierced, huge gorgeous smile, adorable button nose

lol

Severus Snape

~English and Polish. Speaks English.

~ cis, hetero

~ depression, anxiety

~ straight long black hair, pale, Remus tall, fairly average weight, dark eyes, strong nose

~wears mostly black

~ amazing at potions

[dyrewrites]

Before Deluca -- the littlest vampire

A mist swelling as we found more glowing cats on the sparse trees of what might have been a park. With another step into all that white, it revealed how thoroughly it wasn’t. It was a cemetery.

Nonexistent before that step, glances behind suggested it all there ever was.

“Closer, treasure,” Lucient warned, holding tighter, “I’ve seen only Jacques manage mists so thick...and none this trick.”

My chuckle was not appreciated and he slapped my arm for it.

Lifting him over a tangle of root and mud, I earned a taste of lips and, as he retook my arm, I asked, “Could the one we seek be one of his, my love, or his maker even?”

Glowing softly, in splotches through the impossible white—made evermore for the darker night enveloping the cemetery—brighter cats led us. Snaking through monuments and headstones, nothing else pierced to tell of distance or location within the city we’d surely lost.

Cool as the mists were, wisping sweetly along my face and hands, I didn’t mind them so much as Lucient. Who held tighter for my heat.

“Doubtful,” he sighed, “similar ability means nothing between maker and made. If it did you’d be hiding under a parasol with me on our outings.” Giggling, softly, for the kiss I stole, he continued, “it is what we make it, so they say.”

“What of Mariette and all her wolves?”

“She likes wolves, she makes wolves.”

“There’s little sense in your words, my love,” a fissure—which made less sense—forced a stutter in our pace, before Lucient scooped me up and leapt over it. My grin for the display did not amuse, earning me rolled eyes and too sweet a kiss before he set me down.

“Little sense to be had, treasure,” he tried to explain, while pointing to a set of cats further ahead—a hope of an end, “We’re not an easily studied thing. Even what books there are offer vague guesses. In the mist’s case, however, she may simply be very old. Greater abilities come with age.”

“Seemed more mad than old.”

“That, too, comes with age…” Reflective, his voice.

And I sought to tease it, “is my love worried of going mad?”

“Mm,” a kiss, but not an answer.

The set of cats marked the entrance to a mausoleum, one too small—I thought—to be worth all the trouble of mists and markers.

A new one waited on the door, a riddle.

“Não é uma fruta, mas, ah, tão doce; compartilhada entre amantes quando se encontram.”

Tilting my head for it, as Lucient groaned, I realized I didn’t know the language. We’d encountered so many in our travels, yet not many written, “Any ideas, my love?”

“‘Not a fruit, but oh so sweet; shared between lovers when they meet’,” he recited with all the enthusiasm of a bored child. “It’s Portuguese. A children’s riddle, treasure,” stepping forward, searching for eyes he assumed watching, he spoke just below a shout, “Are we to perform the answer or speak it?”

Assuming perform, I grabbed him, turned him to face me and sought his sweet tongue with my own. Delicious his surprise, more his hands—one snapping to my waist, the other digging fingers in my hair—and none of the mist mattered in that hold. Nor the giggling through it, heard and assumed our host, it didn’t matter.

“A kiss, yes, with such passion...such desire,” the giggle spoke.

Mattering enough to part us, to spin Lucient on a nearby headstone, where the giggle sat, “and your point in this?”

Ignoring his question, she spoke to the thick mist and bare branches above us, “When I were a ‘he’, a pretty lady found me dancing in a stolen dress. Such passion she showered me in, such sweet promises to make my desires real.”

Slipping from the headstone, she danced around us—so slight she was, near a child in height and I worried, briefly, for something I’d not previously.

Lucient dashed them, the change doesn’t work on children, treasure...they desire too much, in fleeting bursts. She is small, not young.

“Promises, promises,” the giggling vampire sang, stopping to stare up into my grin and Lucient’s scowl, “Took the sun from me instead, and my family, my village...my life.” Spinning, arms out and ragged black dress fluttering, she sighed, “But I wasn’t what she wanted when changed. So she took herself too.” Dancing from headstone to headstone, she kept close enough not to lose in the mists, “Leaving me to the dead things, with their dead blood singing too sweet. Where I learned the animals and the mists, and other shapes.” Turning to us, grin wide and sharp—teeth not as ours but more a shark’s—she giggled higher, “This shape, which is my favorite. I am anything now. Everything. Even in the light, sometimes, if careful.” Vanishing in mist too like what surrounded, she reappeared in front of me, arms out, hands almost touching, “Not like this one, so lucky this one.”

Smiling, for her enthusiasm, her display, her story perhaps, I played into it, “this one knows and is sorry it is so rare.”

Scoffing, Lucient kept quiet, and close while our host’s misty eyes grew too wide.

“No, no. Not rare, some will say it is, but it isn’t,” throwing her arms up and spinning again, she swooned, “We’re everywhere.” Narrowing her eyes, and tightening her lips, she drew a chuckle from me as she spoke quieter, “Can’t tell for many, but we’re everywhere. Alone,” curling into herself, elegant and smooth as all her movements, she dropped her voice lower, “even together so many are alone.” Bursting from the cocoon she’d made of herself, she gestured wide at both of us, voice bright, “But not you! No, not you. So I had to meet you. Close and real.”

“Oh, la pièce est terminée?” Lucient taunted, “I half expected a musical number.”

“My love,” I tried, adding a nudge, “we meet so few of our own not out to kill or keep us...and it was a fine little show.”

Rolling his eyes, he sighed and waved a hand, “I suppose it wasn’t too terrible.”

The other smiled, watching us too intently, “Nathaly,” she blurted, pointing at herself, then at us, “and you?”

Hesitant for names shared, Lucient intended to lie, so I answered before he could, “Ludovico, and he is Lucient.”

Chill those eyes, and I adored them—refused to look at them, but adored them.

While ‘Nathaly’ giggled, rushing around us in a flurry of tiny bats before reforming as the small woman again behind us, “Come, come, my home is yours.”

Stone shook, spitting bits of root and dust with a touch of her pale brown fingers, splitting the mausoleum doors wide.

To say the smell wafting from inside was unexpected would be an understatement. I had decay in mind, filth and rot and damp. What flowed were sweet flowers, heady in their perfume. Lucient’s raised brows showed he felt similarly for them, but he pressed closer anyway, as did I, and with wary steps we followed the little vampire.

→Before Deluca Taglist<-

// feel free to ask to be added or removed ^.- //

@watermeezer @starbuds-and-rosedust @thespacelizard

@your-absent-father @mr-orion @cowboybrunch @olliexwrites

@rowanmgrey-author @the-golden-comet @wyked-ao3 @leahnardo-da-veggie

@lychhiker-writes

[spamminginks]

Comic Progress

I thought it would be a fun idea to show you all how I went about making this comic since I don't see people do it very often.

Timeline:

-Day 1 Part 1-

I started by making a side profile study of what I wanted the ender king to look like and the comic thumbnails while Phil was still live, before he had even seen Missas' "house". I have hyperphantasia (I have extremely vivid mental imagery) so I already knew what I wanted everything to look like, so I was able to finish both the side profile and the full thumbnail set before Phil had even ended stream.

-Day 1 Part 2-

Took a short break to take a nap and eat some food (remember to always take breaks and save the progress you have down to send to yourself so you can see it at a different angle. It helps a lot with seeing any errors you may have made.) At this point it was getting close to when I usually sleep so I only did a little more progress before I stopped for the day.

-Day 2-

Really started pumping out more refined final sketches for about half of the pages. The only one that I didn't like was page 1 of set 2. Added text and experimented with text location

-Day 3-

I decided to make a 3d ref for page 1 of set 2 because I was struggling to get the angle right, finished the other half of the final sketches and figured out what I wanted for page 1 of set 3.

-Day 4-

Break day. Didn't do much beside deciding what angle I wanted page 2 of set 3 to be at and light edits all around. This was also the day I decided I wanted the comic to at least be translated into spanish and started asking around for a translator in different qsmp discord servers I'm in.

-Day 5-

This was the day I made my post about the comic! I started rendering 5/12 pages and finished page 3 of set 3 (sorry for the trash image quality).

-Day 6-

Decided to full send it and do all four of the main qsmp languages. @tikiloowho got me in contacts with @insertatitlehere for the french translation and @the-anime-idiot got me in contact with @/zzkkai_ for the portuguese translation (cellbit discord my beloved). While I waited for the translations to get back to me, I finished fully rendering 11/12 pages. The only one I didn't finish was the first page because I wanted to customize the enchantment table text on the book for all of the languages.

-Day 7-

Got all of the translations plus any grammar updates that got caught and implemented them into the comic and fixed any last minute edits I wanted to make. Stopped for the rest of the day to come back to check if anything else needed fixing.

-Day 8-

Posting day!!! The comic is now available in all four languages listed above! Thank you for following along and checking out my art! It really means a lot <33

English | Español | Française | Português Brasileiro

My personnel favorite pages

Bonus!

[robintherobiner]

Dick and Damian bond over being different to their family.

Jason and Stephanie and Duke were born into the deepest, darkest corners of Gotham, while Tim and Bruce were thrust into galas and secrets and old-but-new money.

But they're all Gothamites at their core. They look up into the gloomy sky and feel at peace, they look down and feel calm, they walk around with the ache of Gotham in their blood, recognized or not.

Damian is half Pakistani. (Nanda Parbat (where the League of Assassins is set) is based on Nanga Parbat, the westernmost major peak of the Himalayas. While Gotham City is traditionally depicted as being located in the U.S. state of New Jersey. (Its look and atmosphere was mainly influenced by New York City, and Bill Finger said that he chose the name "Gotham", and not New York, so that all readers in any city could identify with it.) )

Dick is Romani. (In most cases, he's depicted as either a quarter or half Romani, but no matter how little, he IS Romani. I'm not entirely sure which subgroup he is (i'm not sure if subgroup is the right word, sorry), but according to Wikipedia its a Indo-Aryan ethnic group which most likely originated in India, but then they migrated into Europe so there's so many possible different places he could be from. I'm not entirely sure how this all actually works, so I don't know if theorizing which specific country/subgroup matters or not.)

Please note that I'm not talking skin colour in this post. Damian (in most cases) is depicted with tan/light brown skin, but Dick is almost always as white as the others. The only person (of my knowledge) in the batfam who is always shown as coloured is Duke. But he's not in this post because he is very much a Gothamite, regardless of his skin colour.

This is because skin colour does not entirely depend on the country you're from. I am white, and my friend is brown, but we are both fully Portuguese because all four of our parents are from Portugal.

I was raised in England, and I feel a strangeness whenever I am with my British friends because despite having the same skin colour, living in the same country, speaking the same language, i am different. But my friends difference is both inward and outward, if that makes sense.

I made this post because as someone who has recently realized this difference i feel, i want these fictional characters to feel it too.

So, sorry for the ramble, but I just want more fanfics where these characters take their difference (I don't know if race or ethnicity is the right word, but by difference I mean the fact that they are not fully Americans) and embrace it, whether they do it together or separately.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[atthebell]

honestly the entire process of learning portuguese so far has been really interesting because i've never learned a language so close to one i already speak (hebrew and yiddish use the same alphabet but have entirely different origins and structures, so aside from knowing the letters i still started hebrew pretty much from scratch; spanish and english have very few cognates, yiddish and english have a few but for the most part aren't that similar). like i cannot stress enough how much of a leg up knowing spanish is-- conjugations are incredibly similar, there's a ton of cognates and shared roots, the structure is similar, all of it really helps and because portuguese is very difficult it provides a really solid foundation imo.

AND i've never learned a language in this kind of setting-- entirely outside academia/coursework and entirely self-guided, alongside the daily immersion of listening to native speakers speaking it VERY casually. i have no like control group really, because i just don't think it's comparable to how i've learned any other language.

also every language you already speak makes learning more easier (yes, this is why i can pick things up really quickly-- aside from being a huge nerd whose biggest interest is learning languages and picking them apart, already speaking four languages and having studied a couple more in bits and pieces means i have a HUGE leg up on learning another language and i do want to acknowledge that alongside all the other reasons i'm good at it). so it's hard to compare past experiences of language learning because they're never going to be the same across people, across time, across different contexts; but it is interesting to poke at the differences and similarities regardless.

i have no like thesis with this it's just been a really interesting experience and i adore portuguese so much i'm so delighted to be learning it