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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

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PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— US AGAINST THE WORLD ; PART 4 / ?

( credits to @animusrox for this gif )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2247 hot diggy dog

SUMMARY: You have a heart-to-heart conversation with one of your students before the play and you're hit with the realization that your love for Bruce may be more than meets the eye. hence, you’re starting to wonder if it was a mistake you can never fix.

A/N: This one’s long and kinda depressing. I’m in an angsty mood now whoops. Nevertheless, thank you for reading this series, the bagels will make its appearance and enjoy this one folks.

WARNINGS: Anxiety, depressing thoughts.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

The night of the show arrived quicker than you anticipated. The flurry of theatre kids rushing about backstage is quite the sight, feeling the incredible sense of pride of a mother for her children. Yet in prayer, you ask Mrs. Wilson for the gift of strength and ability to manage a bunch of highly-strung teenagers. It’s only Shakespeare after all but you knew that wasn’t the genuine nature behind their stage jitters. With all tickets sold out within a week, it has easily become the biggest event of the year aside from homecoming. It may be a little pretentious for a high school production of an over-performed Shakspeare play to emerge as the highlight of the year, but you know it will help with some of the students’ portfolios for acting school.

The clock ticks—thirty minutes before showtime and panic starts to creep.

Your fingertips dance along the selvage of the extensive drapery of the stage as lighting queues are being run through for the last time. The urge of curiosity lets you crack open the curtain as you peeked at the rest of the theatre. The bustling crowd made up of mostly teenagers with seats rapidly being filled, it’s certainly a sight for sore eyes. Amongst the settling audience, you spot Bruce, seated between Mr. Walken, the principal, and Mr. Huckleberry, the vice-principal, likely being shamelessly asked for donations. He looks engaged, but his posture and the gaze of his eyes tell a very different story—Bruce is barely listening to a word they’re saying.

He then turns in the direction of your hiding spot and despite the distance, he catches your eye, immediately recognizing it’s you spying from behind the curtains. You watch the curve of his lips turn up into more of a smirk, swiftly sending a wink your way. You instantly disappear behind the curtains, cheeks burning.

You sometimes find it hard to believe you’re sleeping with the man with no strings attached because you’re incredibly attracted to him.

Someday, you’ll burst out into an exaggerated love confession, and you know it’s going to be ugly. It’s a reality check and right now, it’s the last thing you want. Running away from your problems is more of a habit than a choice as you would rather live in the world your mind has created, where miracles are made and defects cease to exist. Anyone would trade the cruelties of reality for a perfect one yet getting too caught up in a daydream will eventually evolve into toxicity. Bruce orbits the very core of your problems and daydreams. You want to run away from him and allow yourself to be engulfed by his presence at the same time.

You just need...to breathe. Hence, the second dressing room has a weird stench to it. It’s a mess but it’s empty. Yet, it seems you aren’t the only one in need of space, away from everyone else. Shaniqua is seated at the far corner of the room on a crooked metal chair, dressed in a somewhat modernized version of an Elizabethan era dress. Very elaborate and theatrical. Despite her introverted character, she was constantly bright-eyed and keen during your classes. She had a drive like no other. Hell, she miraculously memorized all her lines in two days.

You’ve never seen a furrow of the girl’s brows, until now, and it worries you. Even her glitter-covered eyes could not conceal the dismay they portray with prominence. Gingerly, you made your way to her as she stared at her fidgeting hands. It was only when you settled on the opposite dusty old chair when she finally noticed your presence.

“Stage fright, huh?” you casually asked, resting your arm on the dressing table. She mirrors your posture, heaving a deep sigh, and shakes her head. “No, it’s just,” A pause, her gaze finds yours. You nod, flashing her a smile. It’s a simple gesture that you’re here to listen. “It’s about Oscar...” You catch a hint of a smile as she trailed off and in an instant, your brow raises with curiosity. Oh? Another beat of silence, her eyes dart around the room. You sit quietly with patience because you knew she had more to say.

“It’s just that doing this play has got me thinking a lot about my feelings. I mean, if Romeo and Juliet could be lovers, despite their feuding families, then it must be easy enough for me to admit that I like Oscar.”

“You have a point.” You chuckle, eyes crinkling with amusement. Sometimes she thinks too much for her own good. She reminds you of Bruce. Shaniqua flashes you a faint smile, lips pressed with doubt. “But why am I finding it so hard to just tell him that?”

You stayed silent for a moment or two, mind deep in thought. The chair creaks as you shift in your seat. “Well, could it be that you aren’t sure if he likes you back?”

A hum in response, shrugging coyly as she mumbled a ‘maybe’. Although it was clear as day to you that Oscar liked her back, you wondered if her doubts emerged due to their differences in character. The familiarity of the situation is beginning to feel a lot like deja vu.

“How do you know that someone is the one?” Her sudden question catches you off guard because, in all honesty, you aren’t confident if you knew the answer. A straightforward question, commonly seen in the pages of teenage magazines, written for innocent eyes. You knew its true nature and it terrifies you. The image of Bruce charges through your thoughts like rushing water, memories of times when the two of you were younger clouding your mind. You forcefully push back your university days, buried back deep into your conscience.

“I don’t exactly know the answer to that but in my opinion, it’s—it’s the feeling of completeness when you love them and know they love you. They may be different from you, but it doesn’t make you love them any less. There’s no conflict or strife; it’s just the two of you against the world.”

Those words were raw and genuine, carefully crafted directly from the heart. You weren’t surprised by your words because you’ve thought about it a lot, especially on nights you slept on Bruce’s bed. Maybe, you do love him, and that's a huge ass problem. It’s amazing how unexpected situations tend to encourage apprehension on large issues you never knew existed in the first place. Perhaps it was your astonishing lack of discernment when it came to matters that could potentially alter your life.

Tonight, a sixteen-year-old girl did just that.

Amid your growing anxiety, you manage to catch sight of the wall clock, hung on the other side of the room. It’s now eight minutes until showtime. Your eyes are now wide as you sprung up from your seat in the sudden realization that everyone should be at their respective positions two minutes ago. “Oh God, we’re running late. Shaniqua, word of advice—don’t end up regretting something you didn’t do,” You shoot her a pointed look, index finger stretching towards her. “Now, you really need to go, or we’ll have to delay and you know Mr. Walken hates waiting.”

It’s a quarter to nine, and the theatre is empty. Outside, the foyer and the hallways are buzzing with the remaining audience, lingering and sharing inane conversations as others wait for a car to take them home. You had only just finished rearranging the costumes in the wardrobe of the dressing room. You tried to sweep the scatter of glitter all over the floor but it deemed a task as impossible; you’ll deal with it next week.

You’re sitting in the seat at the front row, nearest to the aisle with a large box filled with props on your lap. Alone in transcendental silence, feeling as empty as the theatre itself. It was partly the conversation you had with Shaniqua that hit you with the reminder of all the mistakes you made that have led you to this unchanging world of a blur that takes the blame for the wretched feeling in your chest. Yet, as the show progressed, hearing the words of affection from two lovers had sent your mind reeling. You were desperate to head home, crawl into bed and potentially cry yourself to sleep but the growing anxiety forbids it, you don’t even think you could drive home.

So, you stillness of the theatre reminds you of Edward Hopper’s painting, Solitary Figure in a Theater. With eyes shut, you pretend you are the figure in the painting, sheathed in black, sitting alone in the cavernous dark.

You hear the door of the theatre squeak, swinging open followed by the shuffling of feet. You don’t look at first, too tired anyway. You’d assume someone had either forgotten something or it was the janitor that you’re sure is going to be upset over the glitter massacre in the dressing room. It looked like a crime scene, except it was the murder of a literal unicorn. You made a mental note to send an apology sandwich of some sorts next week.

It was the familiarity in the whiff of cologne that made you snap your eyes wide open, looking over your shoulder to meet with the sight of Bruce, ambling down the aisle towards you. He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “What are you still doing here?” He smiles, and you mirror him, shifting in your seat and nearly toppling the box to the ground. “I could ask you the same question.” He settles in the seat next to you, elbow brushing against yours. Your head tilts, gesturing to the box. Bruce merely hums and nods thoughtfully.

“So, how was the play? Does it get a Wayne seal of approval?” There’s a hint of teasing in the curve of your lips as his eyes drift to the stage. “I liked it. The kids have talent.” Your eyes glint with amusement, your smile growing wider. “I never knew you were a fan of romance.” His laugh comes out more like a huff of air, crinkled eyes meeting yours, and nudges you lightly. “Well, now you know.”

He recognizes the way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes and the way you’re fussing with the edges of the box on your lap. Something is bothering you and he knows it. He nudges you once more. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You blink once. Then twice, face wincing instinctively. You keep forgetting how well Bruce can read people, especially you. You exhale slowly as he watches you struggle to pick the right words.

“It’s really nothing. It’s just-” you say after a long minute, cutting yourself short. Then, you turn to Bruce. “I’m growing older, and I’ve spent my entire life in a fog with so much fear for reality, I’m afraid it’s too late to fix all my mistakes and regrets.” Your voice dwindles with every word that escaped your lips. You were young, naïve with the notion that time was extensive to make decisions without thinking it through. To know that you could never take back the things you did. Saturn’s rising, it’s a wake-up call now that you’re older and the fear that you would never change creeps onto you with every passing birthday.

Bruce defines the epitome of the sinking feeling in your chest whenever you lay in bed at night and let your mind reel about your existence. Yet, it isn’t as simple as you want it to be. The boy you met at university has grown into a far more complex and entangled mess of the grief of his parents, the responsibility he held over this city and the drive to just...keep moving on. For the longest time, it was him against the world, and a part of you wants to believe that it doesn’t have to be that way. That maybe, you could be enough for him.

He glanced away from you, trying to hide the despondency in his eyes. He holds back a sigh as he speaks, “Do you regret us doing this?” As vague as his question is, you know what he exactly means. He remembers the time the two of you used to exchange senseless conversations and laughter so vividly that it scares him. Juvenile friends, lacking the knowledge to know what love really was. Hence, the agreement—it was just two friends, messing around. Nothing could go wrong. Now, the hole has been dug in too deep, with no way of getting out.

“I don’t,” you reply and with just two simple words, his chest feels like fire. It was the way you had said it, with so much confidence and assurance, despite the intricacy of this relationship. For the first time in a long time, you were extremely sure about an answer. You could never regret Bruce. Never.

It’s almost hesitant in the way his hand finds yours, but it represents his care for you, even if you may not know it. The warmth of his hand feels like fire. Hell, your chest feels like it’s on fire, heart burning for the man beside you. “I’ll drive you home,” he whispers with a squeeze of your hand. You flash him a grateful smile as the two of you drift into a comfortable silence. Silence so eloquent that you don’t feel so empty anymore. No longer a solitary figure trapped in a painting but now two, hand in hand, against the world.

TAGLIST

@raineeace

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batman #batman x reader #justice league #batman imagine #bruce wayne imagine #pining bagels repeat

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dddainuhsoar · 3 years

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long nights, part ii

historical and vampire au, guanshan x hetian, pg, unbeta-ed

word count: 1016

you may want to read:

part i

there’s a clatter behind the cash register and hetian looks up to find a pair of widened eyes staring back at him. when the boy realises their eyes have met, his gaze darts away as he turns his head, giving hetian a nice view of how a red flush stretches from the tip of his ear down the side of his neck in a hot stripe. smirk playing on his lips, hetian continues his pretense of selecting a box of chocolates from the assortment on the top shelf.

oh, destiny sure has a way of doing things. hetian should have asked demanded for a more romantic re-meeting. he had wondered if he wasn’t forceful enough when he threatened the god of destiny all those years ago, and it turned out he was right. not only had the god delayed their re-meeting for longer than hetian found acceptable, he had even given them a convenience store as their setting, certainly not the backdrop hetian would choose for a romance that has lasted through disease, disaster and thousands of years.

hetian makes a mental note to hunt down that crummy excuse of a god and give him a piece of his mind. (somewhere in the archival library of the heavenly halls, the god of destiny sneezes.)

as much as hetian desired to reunite with his first love earlier, he has to admit the 20-year-old has never looked lovelier. a few years ago, he wouldn’t have appeared this lovely. he is tall, his shoulders are broad, and his face is clear of the spots that plague pubescent skin. not that hetian wouldn’t have loved guanshan as much, but this felt less… predator-ish.

a lovestruck sigh nearly escapes hetian’s lips when he casts his eyes over the boy’s silhouette again. ah, even the baggy store-regulatory collared shirt and unflattering black apron look nice on his slender frame.

a customer sidles up to the cash register, blocking hetian’s view and cutting him out of his daydream. although slightly irritated to have been interrupted so rudely (yet another marker that the setting was a poor choice resulted from the incompetence of the god of destiny), hetian decides it’s time he finally meets his beloved again, anyway.

with a rectangular box of chocolates in one hand and a cup of steaming hot coffee in the other, hetian queues up behind the customer who’s currently being served. the boy behind the cash register risks a glance at hetian. just a moment, as if he couldn’t help himself, and he’s back to giving the customer her change. he murmurs a “have a nice evening” as she collects her things and leaves. now it’s just the two of them. hetian slides up to the front of the counter, putting down the chocolates and the cup.

their eyes meet just for a moment once more, and then guanshan is keying in the items into the register.

“you’re new,” hetian says matter-of-factly. “when did you start?”

the redheaded boy looks up, surprise colouring his features. “it’s my first week,” he replies. he doesn’t have anything to add to that, so he just stares prettily at hetian before bursting into a blush again.

“are you used to working the night shift yet?” hetian offers.

“oh,” guanshan smiles, as if pleasantly surprised that hetian wants to continue conversing with him, “i’m used to staying up. those college papers don’t write themselves, after all… i’m sure you know what i mean.”

hetian has stopped aging since he last drank guanshan’s blood when he was 20 years old, he also hasn’t studied anything since he was casted out by the demon lord, but he knows a thing or two about staying up past the dead of night.

“those long nights, huh,” hetian says agreeably. with a knuckle, he nudges the cup of coffee on the counter between them towards guanshan. “this will help you through tonight at least.”

realisation followed by more pleasant surprise flash across guanshan’s face.

“th-thank you,” he says, hand curling around the warm cup. “um, will you be paying by cash?”

“no, i…” hetian waves his phone.

guanshan nods. he puts away the cup of coffee behind the register and taps a button on the cash register. the machine beeps, and guanshan gestures for hetian to tap his phone against it.

“since i already have my phone out,” hetian says, “can i add you as a friend?”

guanshan’s lips part as he takes a breath, a small gasp. he’s fighting down a smile and losing. it’s so cute, hetian wants to lean across the counter and crush him in a hug.

“sure,” he stutters. he takes the proffered phone and inputs his username into the app’s search bar. “that’s me.” he shows hetian the screen briefly. “my name is mo guanshan, by the way.” he taps ‘send a friend request’ and returns hetian his phone.

“i can’t believe i forgot to introduce myself first,” hetian says. “i’m hetian.”

“‘hetian’,” guanshan repeats. he opens his mouth as if to say something and then hesitates.

“guanshan,” hetian imitates and offers the owner of that name a friendly smile.

blushing, guanshan finally asks, “my shift ends at 5am… do you want to grab a bite with me then?”

hetian can’t believe his luck. it’s happening, and he hasn’t even turned on any of his seduction techniques. they are destined; they are definitely destined. they were fated to meet back then, and they are fated to meet even now. even if he hadn’t gone and threatened to erase the god of destiny’s own destiny, they would have met again. perhaps, he thinks, this would have happened earlier if he hadn’t meddled. no, but he couldn’t bear to sit around waiting, he had to take matters into his own hands to make sure it happened. and it has, it is…

hetian licks his lips, unaware he’s even doing it until guanshan’s eyes drift down his face.

“i wanted to ask you the same thing,” hetian says.

this time, he’s not letting guanshan go. he’ll take what all those years of waiting owes him.

#19 days #tianshan #19 days fic #wip

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x0401x · 3 years

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Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #13

Feel free to message me about possible corrections, and please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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Ramen Story

The voice of the owner as he said “welcome” turned into a mutter at the end, fading away. I could understand how he felt. With a light, cut-and-sew jacket draped over him, a blond, blue-eyed man had come inside, standing behind another man who quite literally had the air of a student. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to wonder if he was an actor. But we were just a party of two.

“Two people,” I indicated with a peace sign. We were guided to a table seat. There were no other people around. While we were at it, we gave them the meal tickets that we had bought from the vending machine outside. A couple of negi ramen.

“What a surprise. There’s always a long queue for this shop. So that’s how shops are like right after they open in a student district?”

In this shop, currently reserved to our exclusive use, I talked without restraint about all sorts of things – about the layout of the classroom building in my campus, about the hideout-like garden in the university’s premises, about my friends and even about my teachers. The shop’s atmosphere did that to me. The man who could well be the best listener in the world let me talk as much as I wanted, occasionally making an exasperated face.

“Here, sorry for the wait. It’s hot, so be careful.”

“Thank you, thank you.”

“You too, Mr. Foreigner. This is ‘hot’.”

As Richard replied with a “thank you, madam”, the old lady laughed fickly.

Now for the ramen.

Its soup was salt-based, warm steam wafting from it. That being said, it wasn’t as if there was anything special about it. We hadn’t added any ingredients, so it was a simple one. Fermented bamboo shoots, dried seaweed, fish cake and a large helping of green onions.

We silently put our hands together to thank for the meal, taking the chopsticks and parting them with a snap. I took the dwindled noodles, then opened my mouth wide and filled it with them. I tried to make as little noise as possible.

Delicious.

This shop’s ramen was simple, but it was a strong ally for a student’s cold pockets and quick-to-get-hungry stomach. It stayed steadily in your belly, resolutely reminding you for about three hours that you had eaten ramen today. And above all else, the animalistic joy of eating without thinking was more irreplaceable than anything else. Tasty food was great.

By the moment I was done with my very-IQ-lacking monologue of “thank you, o ramen; o ramen, thank you”, there was only a little bit left of the contents of my bowl. Still eating the green onion ramen without a sound, Richard looked at me with upturned eyes from his bended posture. Those blue eyes made me seriously wonder if there weren’t gemstones inserted in them.

“Hey, you got a moment?”

“As you wish. Whatever you please.”

When I prefaced it with, “This is serious talk – super, super serious talk”, he made a face that screamed, “You’re being too long-winded”, so I went straight to the point.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come eat ramen with me.”

I hadn’t imagined that the day would come when I could eat a bowl of ramen for 450 yen at a historical, cozy ramen shop in the student town with this beautiful man who usually only wore suits. I hadn’t at all. Even now, another side of me was still tilting his neck somewhere within my mind, wondering about “how things came to this”.

Ever since around the time I had started working part-time in Ginza, I had no sense of reality. Not even about the fact that I would later be going to Sri Lanka. No, of course, I was fully ready and had a Visa, so I was in a phase where all I had left to do was get on the plane and I was making the oh-so-busy Richard help me out with that, but...

Richard took a sip of the salt-based soup with the china spoon, then glanced at me. “So you were not expecting anything from me, is that it?”

“No way. On the contrary.”

When I said that I just didn’t think he would give me the OK, Richard’s lips curved in the shape of an arc, and after looking for napkins on the table, he realized that there weren’t any, so he took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his mouth.

“I value the accuracy of your palate. It is obvious that, if you have a shop you like, I would want to try eating there.”

“Thank you. And for remembering about it too.”

Soon after I had started working part-time, I was introduced to a stone called chrysoprase. I once laughed my butt off when I learned that the etymology of the fresh green-colored stone included the meaning of “leek” or “green onion”. The topic then changed into ramen, and we, the shopkeeper and part-timer who subtly had not yet thrown off reserve with each other, talked about liking green onion ramen, what kinds of toppings we preferred, and other such things. I had kind of thought that “it’d be nice to go have ramen with this guy someday”. Back then, to me, Richard was someone as far-off as the moon and stars that shone in outer space. Of course, he was still as resplendent as the moon and stars even now, but he didn’t feel as distant.

Once I was done drinking the soup up to it’s last drop, I heaved a small sigh. “That was delicious. Last time eating Japanese ramen and this one for a while, huh.”

“How about putting instant ramen in your suitcase?”

“I ain’t used to making those. I’m the type that goes out to eat ramen rather than making instant ones. But there’s curry roux inside. Weird story, isn’t it? I’m going to a curry culture zone, yet I’m taking curry with me.”

“Analyzing Indian and Sri Lankan curry by Japanese curry standards can cause serious stomach problems. Beware.”

I puffed out my chest, saying that I had properly prepared myself for this because he had already told me about it before, to which the beautiful man gave a little sigh.

“May I also talk about a truly serious topic?”

When I told him that didn’t mind it at all and that I wanted to hear it, Richard looked at my face directly. It made me nervous. What was he going to tell me, I wondered.

“I did not think that you would actually invite me out for ramen.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I honestly did not.”

“Why?”

As I kept on tilting my neck at that sentence, which you wouldn’t think would come from someone like him – who looked like just breathing was enough for him to get invited to eat out –, Richard spoke to me reticently. He told me that people were quick to come towards him, but there were also those who surrounded him from a distance, watching him without trying to shorten the distance between him and themselves. So this kind of thing also happened?

Looking back, I was also from the keep-a-distance group at first. But I sucked at giving up, and whenever something that made me happy happened, I would be overjoyed no matter how many times I remembered about it, so every time I recalled the chrysoprase talk, I would find myself thinking that I should invite him out for ramen. It just so happened that the desire for this “someday” had amplified as the number of times that I thought about it increased, and I had finally voiced it this spring.

The shop was tiny and had a bit of a mysterious scent, but it was truly delicious. It would be closing this spring. I was concerned about what to do if he declined it with an awkward face, but the response I got after speaking up was a “When will it be?” without a moment’s delay.

“Was it okay to have invited you?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, I was just thinking I was glad that I invited you, but...”

The reply was a short-range smile. That slightly tired face with no sense of uneasiness to it was bad for the heart. But I was gonna get used to it. I had to.

“Still, was it really all right? That I was the one you had a meal with for the last time at a shop that you have fond memories of, I mean. Would it not have been better to do so with the friends that you always ate with?” Richard asked.

Hmm. So he was gonna bring that up, huh?

“Well, well, thank you very much for your superb consideration. But I’m glad it was with you.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m glad it was with you. Not anyone else; with you.”

I had learned many lessons even in just four years of university, such as that things were shifting, everything kept changing over and over, the green onion ramen shop would be gone, I would be leaving for Sri Lanka in the near future and there was no telling how my life was going to be from now on. But this jeweler was a man who knew very well how to cherish a memory.

Only to people like that did I entrust the things I didn’t want to forget.

Bidding a courteous farewell to the elderly shopkeeper and old lady employee, we exited the shop. Cars rushed on the Yasukuni Avenue. Kasaba during holidays was so quiet that it felt like a different world. As the wind softly blew, the cherry trees planted along the street shook and their pale pink petals scattered about.

“That was delicious, huh~. You got any plans for later?”

“I am going to help Saul with chores. We are not boorish enough to engage in business talk after just eating ramen.”

I stole a peek at his profile as he started chewing on a mint gum. The beautiful man brushed cherry blossom petals off his golden hair. He offered me one of the white gums, asking if I wanted to eat it.

I probably wouldn’t forget this sight. Even if that ramen shop was gone, even if my address was no longer in Tokyo.

Richard tilted his head a little, as I was still staring at his face even after accepting the gum. “Anything the matter?”

“Aah, sorry. Your beauty was like you’ve come from another world, so I spaced out.”

I then changed the topic, saying I was going to think about what to have for dinner or something. There were still lots of shops that I wanted to visit while I was still in Japan, though they were all set-meal and chain ones. I didn’t think I was able to hide my melancholy, but he’d probably act like he didn’t see anything. I was grateful for that.

In the middle of our walk to the train station, I looked back at the cityscape one last time and wordlessly offered a moment of silence to it.

Thank you for everything; I’m off!

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #housekishou richard #jeweler richard #the case files of jeweler richard #nakata seigi #richard ranashinghe de vulpian #richard ranashinha de vulpian #richard #jr short story collection #tsujimura nanako #yukihiro utako #novel #my translation

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tacko3d · 3 years

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Graphics in video games

Graphics. People say a lot of stuff about how Graphics can’t make a good game. I think people are so wrong.

Journey. World full design yes. But if it weren’t for its wonderful direction, amazing environments and top notch lighting I feel like no one would remember it.

Overwatch. If it looked like your standard shooter and a not Pixar like style, it would’ve been ignored.

Graphics make or break a game. Literally.

Bad art style? Audience doesn’t care. Poor Direction? It’s jumbled mess. Too many polys? Very long loading screens and possibly a game that just does not run.

LOD loading issues

Graphics Matter. And Graphics mean more than just Poly counts, texture resolutions and animation. It always include UI/UX and any other visual queues that may pop up.

Counter timing Hit detection Objectives Diegetic and Non-Diegetic design.

You see these things to truly feel them. To use them. To get the info you need. If your game requires these things it’s gonna be hard for a player to keep track of these things.

I don’t get why people say graphics don’t matter. That’s just an uneducated response.

So yes. I agree the points most people about making a fun game But you gotta remember, while yes often artist aren’t given the right amount of time and or conditions to make things, you also gotta remember pretty much everyone in games is a perfectionist.

I don’t release updates on Protohunter until I know for certain that it is up to my standard.

Literally every artist/dev I know that works in games pour their heart and soul into their craft. And I’ve seen them go like “You know, Protagonist needs a smaller head” And their game is 2D Pixel art So they have to remake all the new animations with the smaller head design

Tell me graphics don’t matter when someone puts themselves through that, just because they thought it could be a little better. (from this thread on my twitter. https://twitter.com/tackogamma/status/1338312366795223042)

Do not misinterpret what I say as “Bad Graphics mean bad game.”

Cause thats not what I’m saying. There are tons of games with “bad graphics” that play really well. Graphical Fidelity is something to strive for and is something that when a community was loud enough, led the delay of a big game. And hey, if devs think it needs more time in the oven, they should get it.

We’ve all seen how Cyberpunk 2077 turned out.

Huge LOD issues, Unplayable on the PS4 and XBox One while the PS5/Xbox Series S/X versions...

They run. Hardly.

Freaking annoying sometimes. Cause you can end up waiting for like 2 minutes for a door to open because the LOD hasn’t even loading in game yet.

Its a technical mess. but the game can look really cool at times.

MOVING ON cause we’re getting off topic.

You have to understand that readability, fidelity, UI/UX all affect the experience. They all make make sure you the player are having a good time and at times it can even tell the story.

LIKE HALO!

Halo does a lot of its world building through the actual world. You first meet with the Flood we get a green misty dark dank place. It tells you that something is wrong. Something is amiss.

You feel cause your there. Its you going through these corridors. This ring is a world of secrets, Dangers and Mystical importance.

Graphics are important to keep the player in the world. In the experience.

Visuals make you feel and if it makes you feel, it makes it real.

And as artist, as a game artist and developer, I must tell you...

Watch Noodle’s video on Halo.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwEYp8ZY3ak

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fashionablyiconic · 3 years

Note

It’s… probably not in good taste to post that last one right now (the one that looks like a dementor), consider Kabul just fell to the Taliban

I believe you are referring to the Balenciaga collection? Likely look 1 for that collection.

ok.

I don't know how long this has been sitting in my inbox. I queue and shuffle my posts and I'm not online all the time (hence the queuing) but given the information in the ask I can guess this was sent to me between the 13th and the 16th of August. And when queuing posts, I actually do that through WeHeartIt (I know I need a better system) so i don’t always see my tumblr, specifically this one. Which is also why this response may have been delayed. I apologize for the delay in my response...and that this response will probably be long but I've been flitting between two different responses to this ask so I'm leaving it open to a discussion here. I honestly am unsure how to proceed.

Before we go farther, obviously I didn't hand select this look to be posted in tune with current events in the world. I think I queued up the collection about two weeks ago. It was shuffled and queued and then I went offline to begin my work week. I do not know the order of posts I only knowhow many days my blog will post and what collections I will be featuring. The posting of that image was not intentional nor was it to drum up any publicity or ruckus.

This Balenciaga collection had its debut on June 6th 2021 (my posting has been incredibly delayed) and follows the vision of Demna Gvasalia, creative director of Balenciaga. Gvasalia's focus has been about technology and "deep fakes", and has gotten really into the use of veils, masks, and coverings in his design. He has created the motif of "clones" who wear similar headpieces, creating unified and artificial aesthetics. Often the use of covering the face assists in his creation of "digital clones" in a world where "We no longer decipher between unedited and altered, genuine and counterfeit, tangible and conceptual, fact and fiction, fake and deepfake. Technology creates alternate realities and identities, a world of digital clones.” (his words exactly). My interpretation of this motif is that in our digital world the use of anonymity is not only valuable but almost necessary...so how not wear Balenciaga to hide when so much of our lives, information, and identity is connected to the internet. That's why Gvasaslia opens with "the one that looks like a dementor".

Kabul has fallen to the Taliban, an religious and military organization that has had a presence of at least some kind in Afghanistan since the 1990s. Most commonly known for their government control in 1996-2001, where one of the most notable uses of their power was to enforce mandatory burqa for women and restrict female autonomy to the point where they weren't permitted to leave their households alone. The Taliban ALSO has a history of censorship and destroying art and even ancient and historic monuments like the Buddhas of Bamiyan. More recently, as in the past few days, there are reports of Taliban covering advertisements featuring women and specific art.

I will just quickly note that I believe a mandated dress code, specifically for women, is abhorrent. That goes both ways with mandatory head coverings like in Iran and Taliban-run regions AS WELL AS the banning of head coverings like in France and Quebec. Women should wear what they feel represents their identity without fear persecutions. The enforcement and/or banning of certain kinds of dress are two sides of the same coin that is policing women’s bodies and autonomy.

So I have a question and this is a genuine topic of discussion not just me being a smartass.

My question is this: With the acknowledgment of current events, do I remove the image due to it’s CURRENT associations and disregard the original artistic intent OR do I leave the image up regardless of all associations and connections, be it emotional or critical, simply due to the fact that the initial intent of the image (or rather the garment) stands independently on its own?

I can argue both sides here. On one hand I recognize that in light of the events going on in Afghanistan there may be quite an emotional reaction illicted from the image in question and that is not necessarily always a good thing. I can’t help but remind myself that I have needed to make spaces for myself that avoid certain content in the past (most recently with TikTok) for this blog. On the other hand, however, Demna Gvasalia’s intention with the garment and the rest of the collection appears to be completely unrelated from anything close to the resurgence of the Taliban. In fact, it also seems like a form of censorship in favour of an unrelated issue.

Personally, I quite like the look. With Gvasalia’s intention in mind, it reminds me of wanting complete anonymity in aspects of my life that I don’t get to enjoy (like at my job where people see me and regularly connect with me in a way that means that sometimes I get the “why do you look familiar” question outside of my work. I work in retail). It feels haunting yet not weighed down.

Anyway, I’m feeling very conflicted and if you have opinions, I’m open to hearing them because I’m very split right now on the matter. Thank you for the ask and I apologize if it took me a minute to respond...also I’m sorry this post was a bit of a mammoth but I wanted to think about it because it was such a loaded subject. Images and words have power.

Here’s some ways you can provide support to the people in Afghanistan if you are able to, if there’s other places or ways to support PLEASE let me know.

The Federation of Anarchism Era

Islamic Relief Canada

Women for Women International

(Edit: fixed some grammar and spelling. That’s dyslexia for you)

#asks #long post

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typeflux · 2 years

Text

come, now

content warnings: ffxiv endwalker spoilers. ffxiv shadowbringers spoilers (i guess? zone 6).

note: text version of "come, now"!

links:

pic version (the original format)

---

Description of the letters' format:

Since the Amaurotines are fond of strict procedures, these Request Letters have a template to follow. There is a frame-like border around the letters with the heading "BUREAU OF THE ARCHITECT" on top. Below that heading it says "Request Letter for Approval of Concepts."

Across the letters there is a semi-transparent grey watermark that says "CONFIDENTIAL," tilted diagonally. Since this has to be filled in by hand, (my) Azem's handwriting and Hythlodaeus's handwriting are distinct from the fonts of the template itself.

Azem and Hythlodaeus end each of their letters with their signatures (again, with a different font even from their usual handwriting). At the bottom of the pages the "Seal of the Architect" can be found as well; it's a small, rectangular sticker with a dark purple border and a lighter purple background. The text "Seal of the Architect" is in white and "text-transformed" to be in a circular/ring-like appearance. These seals have been, of course, haphazardly attached by the Chief himself: tilted and placed in different places.

* * *

BUREAU OF THE ARCHITECT

Request Letter for Approval of Concepts

Request No.: 3422-Y-616951-1

Submitted by: Azem (The Fourteenth Seat)

It has been too long, Hythlodaeus! I pray you are faring well. I had intended to instead visit you in person but both the mazes of queues outside your office and mine own duties prevented me from doing so (like the volcano! A story for another time). This letter shall suffice. (Apologies for the blot (again) by the way… I always lose track.)

First off, I do not mean to rush, but it is unusual for you to delay feedback. I would like to just gently ask for a follow-up regarding my two most recent concepts: the “gaelikitten” and the “flying chair.” I believe I sent them for approval last… week? Yes.

To refresh your memory, the “gaelikitten” borrows from the already-approved concept, the “kitten,” but this time, it will be equipped with the ability of flight. Due to previous experiments where the researchers at Elpis tried—and failed—to physically imbue the kitten with wings, I put forth this new proposition that we create a separate mechanism attached to the kitten. The kitten’s robe, not unlike the ones we wear, if you will. This process would surely hurt less for both the kittens and the researchers, no? No more scratches for either party.

As for the “flying chair,” it is what it is. Imagine the possibilities of this concept! We could all travel in the comfort of our own seat! I dare say this is perfect in itself; perhaps a few adjustments to size for maximized comfort. I bet the Convocation would love this one. I know I would. Oh, my weary legs…

Now, to the heart of the matter. My newest request.

Hythlodaeus, I humbly request… for a date with you. Later, when night falls. Meet me at the Macarenses Angle. You’ll find me standing by the bench—the usual spot, you know. This request is of great import.

I would like for you to approve of this one before the concepts I just mentioned above. Please. I spotted an island in Elpis that will interest you. I’ll be waiting, Hythlo. Specifics can come later.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Warm regards,

azem * rin

Azem (Rin)

BUREAU OF THE ARCHITECT

Request Letter for Approval of Concepts

Request No.: 3422-Y-6151-2

Client: Azem (The Fourteenth Seat)

Azem! Too, too long. I am pleased to hear that you are safe after… that. I’ll have you know that even our most esteemed Emet-Selch feels the same—or more so! Not that that would come from his own mouth. When will he ever learn…

You know, my delay in delivering feedback surprises even me! Worry not, I haven’t forgotten. I may be pedestrian—or worse, I’d argue—at a multitude of things, but not at this job, no. Why do you think I was offered to be Chief in the first place? To earn the title “Emet-Selch”? Heh heh.

Regardless, I must still give you the reason why this delay is occurring in the first place. The Words of Lahabrea have been especially vigorous these past few days. Sharks... frogs... and more sharks have been flooding my office that everything else has landed in the backlog. (What could have made him collaborate with Mitron…? That fellow’s something else, too. You don’t know how many times I nudged him about Loghrif. Anyway.) And I rarely ever have backlogs, mind you! I like to be done with work as soon as possible; how else would I indulge you (and myself) with your antics against Hades?

Ah, yes, your “gaelikitten” concept! A chat over tea with Hermes is long overdue. The same goes for your “flying chair.” I can’t wait to see Hades’s face when we pull that chair from under him! Heh heh heh! Remember when we told him about that “shoebill” concept of yours? Absolutely furious!

And on to your final request:

Permission granted, with the following restrictions:

You will regale me with your heroic volcano tale later. I’ll be expecting that, Rin.

Come, now, my dear. No need to hide it. How can I deny such a request from you? It need not be interesting… your presence alone is enough.

See you,

Hythlodaeus

Hythlo :)

#endwalker spoilers #endwalkerspoilers #ffxiv endwalker #endwalker #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #ffxiv art #ffxivart #ffxiv fanfic #hythlodaeus #hythazem #wolhyth #fiction #fanfiction #epistolary fiction #fanfic #end my misery #experimental fiction #typefluxtypes

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calumcest · 4 years

Text

taking the long way home

[ao3]

“May we have your attention for flight BA8227,” the tinny voice of the announcement says, and Ashton’s stomach sinks. They never announce anything he wants to hear; there’s never any we’ve upgraded hardworking and broke session drummer Ashton Irwin to first class, he’s also been given unlimited air miles and a refund on his overpriced tuna melt. “We are sorry to announce that this flight is delayed by approximately seven hours. This is due to unforeseen adverse weather conditions. I repeat-”

aka their flight is delayed au

Ashton Irwin does not, repeat not, like flying.

He thinks it’s a perfectly rational thing to dislike. He’s not afraid, by any means – it’s just such an inefficient way of getting anywhere. He’ll spend an hour getting to the airport in order to be two hours early for his three hour flight, and then spend another hour on the other end getting to wherever he actually needed to go because airports are never anywhere convenient. Not to mention the patting down he inevitably gets at security, the fifteen minute wait for them to check whether or not the dark shadow in his bag is a tube of lip balm or a stick of dynamite, and the ridiculous price of the lunch he’s forced to buy in Duty Free. All of that would perhaps, perhaps, be just about tolerable, if his flights were ever on fucking time.

So far, however, Ashton’s day is running fairly smoothly. He’d not even been ‘randomly selected’ at security for a pat down, and the lady in Costa had taken pity on him when he was fumbling with his coins (seriously, why the fuck are five-pence coins so small?) and given him his tuna melt panini for ten pence less than he owed. He’d even made it to his gate an hour before departure time, picking the most strategically placed seat so he can jump up and join the queue as soon as boarding is announced. All in all, Ashton’s having the most bearable day he could possibly have in an airport.

The universe, however, seems to have other plans. Despite it being January, despite the weather forecast saying it might snow, as soon as a single snowflake hits the runway, the entire fucking airport loses its shit. Flight after flight gets cancelled, delayed until the morning, and the airport is suddenly filling up as people aren’t getting on their flights. Ashton’s flight makes it all the way until half an hour before boarding is supposed to start, keeping Ashton’s hopes high, when-

Great. Fucking great. Not like Ashton has places to be, people to see, a life to live, a home he would like to get back to before the age of ninety. It’s already eleven p.m.; if Ashton’s rudimentary maths is accurate, his flight won’t be departing until nine a.m., if at all (he adds a few hours onto the delay, because he knows better than to trust airlines).

Groaning, he drags himself out of his well-selected seat and over to the information desk, where a small crowd is starting to gather, jostling impatiently to try and hear what the one harassed-looking employee is saying to the man at the front of the queue.

“Can you fucking believe this?” the guy behind Ashton grumbles. He’s got a familiar Aussie twang, but Ashton doesn’t even turn around to bond with him – testament to how bad of a mood he’s in.

“Yes,” Ashton says darkly. “It’s a fucking airline.”

“Fair point,” the guy says. “Reckon they’ll have any hotel rooms left? We must be the ninetieth flight delayed because of adverse weather conditions.”

“I’d rather take the extra compensation money and sleep on my suitcase,” Ashton says. The guy behind him laughs.

“Need the money?” he says, sympathetically. “I’ve been there, mate. What do you do?”

“I drum,” Ashton says. “Session musician.”

“Sweet,” the guy says. “I play guitar. Session musician, too, but my band’s trying to make it.”

“Oh?” Ashton says, interest finally piqued enough to turn around and get a good look at the guy. He’s about Ashton’s age, maybe a little younger, with a long, sweeping blonde fringe that Ashton’s impressed managed to cling on through to the 2020s.

“Yeah,” the guy says. “Heading out to LA to record. You?”

“I was here to record,” Ashton says, and then they’re interrupted by a tall guy rushing up, clutching a duffel bag in his arms.

“Sorry, Mike,” the guy says, slightly breathless. “The toilet’s a fucking mile away, and possibly in another dimension.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the fringe-owner (Mike?) says, rolling his eyes. “Hey, I’ve made a friend. He’s Australian and a session musician too. I’m considering replacing you with him.”

“Ashton,” Ashton says, nodding at both Mike and New Guy. He does a (subtle) double-take when he properly looks at New Guy, because Christ, he is fucking gorgeous. He’s got blonde hair that curls beautifully in the way that Ashton’s never managed to get own hair to, baby-blue eyes that blink at him from under dark, inky lashes, and a dimple on one side of the lips he’s currently biting.

Well. Consider Ashton fucked.

“Michael,” Mike says, nodding back. “And this is Luke.”

“Hi,” Luke says. “Sorry, I swear I’m not queue-jumping.”

“Wouldn’t matter to me if you were,” Ashton says. “You’re behind me.”

“You’re not very principled,” Luke says. Ashton shrugs.

“Never claimed to be,” he says.

“Ashton wants to sleep on his suitcase,” Michael informs Luke.

“I said the same thing,” Luke says. “I need the money.”

“I want a bed,” Michael says.

“You just want somewhere without me to call Calum,” Luke says accusingly.

“Can you blame me?” Michael says. “I’ve got to spend an extra seven hours with you now. Hey, maybe Ashton’ll take you off my hands.”

“No can do,” Ashton says, although his dick very much thinks yes, please, it would be my honour. “I need my beauty sleep.” Luke frowns.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he says, slightly petulantly. Michael pats him on the shoulder.

“Of course not, babe,” he says patronisingly. “Hey, Ashton, you’re next.” Ashton turns around, surprised at how fast the queue has moved, to see he is indeed the next person in the queue.

“Good evening, sir,” the lady says, tiredly, when Ashton slaps his ticket down on the counter. Ashton feels a stab of pity for her. It’s not her fault that airlines are determined to suck the joy out of life.

“I want the compensation money,” he says, figuring it’s best to cut to the chase.

“Thank goodness,” the lady says, scanning his ticket, “because we don’t have any hotel rooms left.

“Hear that?” Ashton hears Luke say to Michael.

“Yeah, Luke, I’m stood just as far away as you,” Michael tells Luke.

“Right,” Ashton says. “Is the flight actually going to leave tomorrow?”

“Not a clue,” the lady says, tapping away on her keyboard. “The money will be in your account in three business days, Mr Irwin.”

“Thanks,” Ashton says, picking up his suitcase and ticket and moving to the side to put his ticket and passport away.

(And yeah, maybe he fiddles a little more than strictly necessary with his suitcase, zipping and unzipping it a few times for no reason, until Luke and Michael finish with the customer service lady. It doesn’t mean anything.)

“…might not even be into guys, Mike, oh my God, fucking stop, stop,” he hears Luke hiss, sounding like he’s pleading, and he looks up from his suitcase to see Michael heading towards him with Luke trailing behind.

“Well?” Michael prompts, when they get to Ashton. Ashton looks at him questioningly, wondering whether he was supposed to overhear and comment on whatever Luke was talking about. “You’re going to spend the night with us, right? Us Aussies have to stick together. I can’t leave you on your own with British people in good conscience. Plus, I want to call my boyfriend, and I need someone to look after Luke.”

“I’m fucking twenty-three,” Luke says. “I can look after myself.”

“You left your passport in the hotel,” Michael says.

“Yeah, and then I remembered that I forgot it,” Luke says.

“Once you got to the airport.”

“So? Our flight’s got a seven hour delay,” Luke says. Michael rolls his eyes.

“I’m going to call Calum,” he says. “You two find somewhere nice and cosy for us to sleep tonight. Pick the best chairs.” Without waiting for a response, he strides off, phone already in his hand.

Great. Now Ashton’s stuck with possibly the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen, and he’s in a terrible mood so he can’t even flirt.

“Sorry about him,” Luke says, and he does actually sound sorry. He’s worrying the bottom corner of his lip with his teeth, and Ashton wonders absent-mindedly whether there’s a cause behind that particular nervous tic. “You don’t have to stay with me. I mean, like, obviously not, you don’t even know me. Michael’s just…like that.”

“Don’t worry,” Ashton assures him, because something in his gut is screaming that he really, really does want to stay with Luke. “I could use the company.”

“I thought you wanted to sleep…?” Luke trails off.

“Who ever gets what they fucking want in an airport?” Ashton says, and Luke laughs, laughs, and Ashton’s stomach flips in a way that’s nearly pleasant and almost-probably isn’t to do with the tuna melt he ate earlier. He resolves to try and make Luke laugh as much as possible for the next seven-plus hours. “Let’s find some good seats to hog before the rest of the flights tonight get cancelled.” Luke nods, biting his lip again, and grabs his and Michael’s bags, following in Ashton’s wake.

Ashton, for all of his hatred of airports, is a master at finding the perfect seats, so it’s really no surprise when he spots a secluded little square of seats tucked away behind a wall that looks like it’s a dead end but isn’t. He’s kind of proud, though, when Luke makes a noise of surprise and approval, and tries not to let it go to his head.

(He doesn’t succeed.)

“Mike’ll be gone for, like, three hours at the very least,” Luke says apologetically. Good, Ashton wants to say. Get you all to myself. Sounds a bit serial-killer, though, when he thinks about it, so he doesn’t.

“His boyfriend?” he enquires, hoping it’s coming off very much as I, too, am interested in having a boyfriend and not a man with a boyfriend? What is the world coming to? Luke nods, so Ashton reckons he got close enough.

“Yeah,” Luke says, a small smile forming on his lips. “Calum. They’ve been together as long as I’ve known them.”

“How long’s that?” Ashton asks, curious.

“Ten years? Something like,” Luke says. Ashton whistles.

“That’s a long time for someone your age,” he says. Luke makes a small noise of outrage.

“My age?” Luke says indignantly. “You’re what, like, twenty-six?”

“Twenty-five,” Ashton corrects. “See? I said I needed my beauty sleep.” Luke scowls, but it’s good-natured.

They busy themselves with getting comfortable for a few minutes. Ashton leaves the seats by the window that’ll get draughty in the morning for Michael (first come first served, he thinks) and picks the row opposite Luke to stretch out on, kicking off his shoes and using his backpack as a pillow. From the corner of his eye, he sees Luke take a travel pillow and thin blanket out of his duffel bag, and for some reason Ashton’s heart decides that’s the cutest thing Luke’s done so far tonight.

“So, where in Australia are you from?” Luke asks, fluffing up the tiny pillow as best he can.

“Sydney,” Ashton says. “You?”

“No way,” Luke says, turning around to face Ashton. “Me too!” He sounds so excited that Ashton doesn’t have the heart to point out that it’s not that surprising, given Sydney has a fifth of Australia’s population.

“Whereabouts?” Ashton asks, hoping it’s not coming off as stalker-esque.

“Western Sydney,” Luke says, swinging his legs up and lying down on his row of seats. “Like, Oakville kind of area?”

“No way,” Ashton says, because that is a little bit more exciting than simply being from the same massive city. “I’m from Richmond.”

“That’s so weird,” Luke says happily. “What are the odds of bumping into someone else from western Sydney in Heathrow Airport?”

“Well, you’re here with Michael, aren’t you?” Ashton says, lying down and arranging his coat over himself.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be bumping into him,” Luke says. Then, as though the thought’s just struck him, he adds- “Hey, he said you play?” Ashton nods.

“Yeah, drums,” he says. “I can play guitar and a little bit of piano, too, but drums are my main love.” Luke grins, eyes crinkling around the corners, making Ashton��s stomach swoop.

“That’s fucking sick,” Luke tells him, and he sounds so earnest that Ashton actually believes that this random guy thinks Ashton’s ability to hit a drum with a stick is cool. “Our band needs a drummer, actually. I bet Michael’ll try and recruit you.”

“I don’t know,” Ashton says, pretending to muse. “My going rate is pretty high.”

“Oh?” Luke says. “Will ten pounds and a can of coke do?”

“I’ll do it for just the can of coke,” Ashton says, and Luke grins again. Ashton thinks it’s pretty unfair of the universe to present him with such a beautiful, out-of-his-league man when he’s tired and grumpy, so not up to his best conversation. If this were any other situation, Ashton would be wooing Luke so hard he’d put Romeo to shame.

“I’m going to try and sleep,” Ashton says. I want to try and be in a better mood tomorrow morning so I can flirt with you and possibly suck your dick, he adds mentally, just in case Luke can read minds. Luke just nods solemnly.

“Good luck,” he says.

“I’m going to need it,” Ashton tells him, flashing him a quick smile before closing his eyes. He hears Luke sigh, shuffle a little under his thin blanket, and peeks out of one eye to see him stretching. His phone, clutched in his left hand, clatters to the floor.

“Oops,” Luke says, blushing slightly as he twists around to pick it up and inspect it for damage. His shirt rides up a little, just enough for Ashton to see a sliver of smooth, pale skin on his hip. Ashton squeezes his eyes shut again.

God. He is so fucked.

-------

Ashton actually manages to drift off into an uneasy sleep, much to his surprise. When he’s pulled back into consciousness, far too soon for his liking, it’s to the low sound of people talking quietly.

“…number,” someone’s saying.

“I’m not doing that, Michael!” someone else says, voice almost squeaky with indignance.

“Why not?” the first person (Michael, Ashton’s sleepy brain supplies), says.

“Because!” the second person (Luke, Ashton thinks) says.

“What are you, four?” Michael scoffs. “That’s not a valid reason. I’ll give it to him.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Luke says.

“C’mon, Luke, what’ve you got to lose?” Michael says. “You’re never going to see him again.”

“My dignity,” Luke says pointedly. “Not that you’d know what that is.”

“You’re right,” Michael says agreeably, “so I’ll give it to him.”

“No!” Luke squawks, and it’s loud enough that Ashton opens his eyes. Both Michael and Luke, sat upright on their rows of seats, turn to look at him, Luke with a guilty look on his face, Michael unreadable.

“Morning,” Michael says.

“Time’s it?” Ashton mumbles. It’s still dark outside.

“Four,” Michael says, and Ashton groans, letting his eyes fall shut again.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Hey, at least you slept,” Michael says.

“Did you not?” Ashton asks.

“Luke did,” Michael says, nodding at Luke, who smiles bashfully back at him. “And now he’s hungry.”

“I can speak for myself, y’know,” Luke informs Michael, before turning to Ashton. “I am hungry, though.”

“Want to spend your entire life savings on a disappointing sandwich?” Ashton offers. “I’ll join.”

“Sure,” Luke says. “Mikey…?” Michael throws him a meaningful look, and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ll stay here, guard your precious little pillow.”

“Hey,” Luke says, pointing at Michael. “My little pillow helped me sleep.”

“Ashton slept without one,” Michael says.

“I don’t think my neck appreciated it, though,” Ashton says, sitting up and cracking his neck from side to side, making Luke wince.

“D’you want anything?” Luke asks Michael.

“A chocolate brownie, if you find anywhere that sells them,” Michael says. “And for you to-”

“Alright,” Luke says loudly, sounding slightly panicked.

“-fuck off,” Michael finishes, throwing Luke another indecipherable look.

“Chocolate brownie,” Luke repeats. “Got it.” Ashton swings his legs out from under his coat, feeling the sudden loss of heat, and shrugs his coat back over his shoulders.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s see where we can waste our money at three in the morning.”

-------

They scour the entire terminal, but the only place that seems to be open and worth going to is Caffè Nero.

“Yet another overpriced panini,” Ashton mutters, staring at their selection in distaste.

“Not necessarily,” Luke points out. “You could go for an overpriced toastie.”

“Or treat myself to an overpriced salad,” Ashton agrees.

“I’m getting paid soon, so I’m going for a toastie,” Luke says, grabbing a ham and cheese toastie from the fridge.

“I just fucking love tuna,” Ashton says, grabbing another tuna melt. “Is it too early for a coffee? I’ll be wired for the whole flight and crash as soon as I land.”

“Too early for a coffee,” Luke tells him. “Get some chocolate instead.”

“What about a coffee and chocolate?” Ashton probes. Luke shakes his head.

“Chocolate,” he says firmly. Ashton mock-scowls, sighs dramatically, and goes up to order. He gets a hot chocolate, which is hot like coffee but chocolate like Luke told him, and a bag of crisps to wash down his tuna melt.

“Eat in or take away?” the guy taking his order asks. Ashton throws a glance at Luke.

“Take away,” Luke says. “Cheaper.”

“Good point,” Ashton says, turning back to the guy at the till. “Take away.”

“We can find somewhere to sit without Michael,” Luke says. “He hates the smell of tuna.” Ashton tries to ignore the way his stomach flips at the easy we, and the fact that Luke’s willing to sit with Ashton, a total stranger, rather than going back to his friend of a decade.

(He fails miserably.)

Luke gets two chocolate brownies, the fancy hot chocolate that Ashton wanted but his bank account didn’t, a can of coke and a bag of crisps on top of his ham and cheese toastie. They make idle chat while waiting for their food, and then find a little corner of the deserted terminal to sit down and start eating.

“God, I forgot how good a simple toastie can be,” Luke says, eyes fluttering shut in bliss as he takes his first bite. Ashton’s dick’s interest is piqued.

“Who’d’ve known that heating up ham, cheese and bread can make such a difference?” Ashton muses, taking a bite out of his own tuna melt. Not as good as Costa, he thinks, but better than Pret.

“We’ve got a toastie maker at home, but we never use it,” Luke says, and Ashton’s heart sinks. We. Of course Luke’s taken; how the fuck could he not be? He’s possibly a demi-god, that’s how attractive he is – there’s no way someone like that stays single.

“Oh?” Ashton says, trying not to let the disappointment leak into his voice. “Your girlfriend want more adult food than toasties?” Luke looks at him, startled.

“Girlfriend?” he says. Yeah, Ashton’s not exactly subtle when he’s tired.

“Well, I-” Luke cuts him off with a small, shy smile.

“I don’t, uh, really swing that way?” Luke says, as though it’s a question, and Ashton’s stomach uncurls a little.

“Oh,” he says. “Good. I mean. Me either.”

“Oh,” Luke says, smile getting bigger. “And, just for the record, I don’t, um, have a boyfriend, either. Not that I’m- I’m not trying to- like, I live with Michael and Calum, so.” He shrugs, looking away, and Ashton sees a fierce blush creeping up his cheeks. He desperately wants to kiss Luke.

“Wow,” Ashton says, when he remembers to respond. “That can’t be fun.”

“Fucking isn’t,” Luke mumbles around his toastie. He swallows, clears his throat, and then adds: “Well, mostly it’s great. Until they start fucking.” Ashton chokes on his bite of tuna melt, and through his splutters he sees a coquettish look on Luke’s face.

“You don’t have to listen, you know,” Ashton says, when he recovers.

“I don’t,” Luke assures him, finishing off his toastie and starting on his crisps. “I cycle very loudly through a playlist called Worst Songs To Have Sex To.”

“What’s on it?” Ashton asks, curious.

“Oh, you know,” Luke says, grinning. “Cotton Eye Joe, What Does The Fox Say, nursery rhymes, that sort of thing.” Ashton snorts.

“Fucking hell,” he says. “I don’t think I’d be able to have sex through that.”

“Well, either Cal and Mike are into some weird shit, or the walls are thicker on their end than mine,” Luke says. Ashton doesn’t have the heart to point out that that doesn’t make sense.

“You should play the same songs every time,” Ashton suggests. “Pavlov them into getting hard whenever they hear Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” Luke bursts out laughing.

“Fuck,” he says, through giggles. “I’m absolutely going to do that.” Ashton grins, a warmth growing in the pit of his stomach at the fact that he’s made Luke laugh like that.

“Or just have really loud sex back,” he says, and Luke’s giggles still.

“Well,” he says awkwardly. “I, like. Don’t really get to do a lot of that.” He’s blushing again, and Ashton cocks his head.

“Really?” he says.

“Really,” Luke says.

“You must have people throwing themselves at you,” Ashton says, and Luke bites his lip, shakes his head. “You’re fucking lying, Luke. Come on, look at you. Not getting laid, I get, no shame, that’s your choice, but not having the opportunity? I’m not buying that.” Luke shakes his head again, almost shy.

“Not really a lot of people’s type,” he says, and it sounds kind of sad. Ashton wants to kiss Luke, hold him in his arms, and also fucking kill whoever’s made Luke think that way.

“You’re kidding,” Ashton says flatly. “Luke, you’re the most-” he cuts himself off, because most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my entire twenty-five years of life is probably coming on a bit too strong. “You’re fucking stunning, Luke. You’re stunning, and you’re funny, and you’re cute. What’s not to like?”

“I don’t know,” Luke mumbles into his hot chocolate. “Maybe it’s because I’m shy. Guys like confident men.”

“Not all guys. I don’t,” Ashton says, without thinking. Luke looks up at him, blue eyes unreadable under his inky eyelashes.

“Yeah?” Luke says, quiet, and definitely shy.

“Yeah,” Ashton says boldly, thinking fuck it, why the fuck not? If this goes badly, he’s never going to see Luke again, is he? You miss a hundred percent of the shots you miss, or whatever that saying is. “Luke, you’re, like. The cutest guy I’ve ever seen. I’d date you in a heartbeat.”

“You would?” Luke asks.

“I would,” Ashton says. A small smile creeps onto Luke’s face.

“Oh,” he says.

“Yeah,” Ashton says, feeling a little awkward now. “So, like. Yeah.” Luke smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Well, we’re both going to be in LA, aren’t we?” he says, sounding nervous. Ashton opens his mouth to respond – yes, that tends to be what happens when two people both get on a flight to LA – before his brain catches up with him, realises what Luke may potentially be hinting at.

But surely not, right? Not with Ashton.

“Are you asking me out?” Ashton asks. Luke looks away.

“Not really,” he says. “I’m- I might be, uh, asking you to ask me out, though.”

God. Ashton’s never met anyone so endearing in his fucking life.

“Let me take you to dinner,” Ashton says, finally, when it’s sunk in enough that Luke, Luke, the six-foot-three deity of pure, unadulterated sex and charm wants Ashton to ask him out. “Well, maybe not dinner, unless it’s in, like, two weeks, when I get paid. Maybe, like, a coffee. Or I could cook you dinner at my flat. I’m a good cook, and I promise I’m not a murderer.” Luke laughs again.

“Dinner at yours sounds good,” he says, grinning.

“Well,” Ashton says, finishing off the last of his hot chocolate. “I never thought I’d say this, but thank fucking God my flight got delayed.”

Luke’s answering smile makes Ashton feel slightly giddy.

-------

When they get back to Michael about an hour later, the sky is starting to brighten, and Michael’s fast asleep, having stolen Luke’s pillow.

“The bastard,” Luke says in a low voice, pointing it out to Ashton as he sets the brownie down carefully next to Michael. “What if I wanted to sleep?”

“Given that our flight’s leaving in, like, two hours, I think you’re a bit fucked on that front,” Ashton says.

“Don’t underestimate me,” Luke says. “I can fall asleep anywhere.”

“Perks of living such an extravagant, jetsetting lifestyle,” Ashton says solemnly, and Luke snorts.

“There have to be some perks in commuting from London to LA,” he says. “I’ll have to sleep on the flight.”

“Ooh, no,” Ashton says, wincing. “You can’t sleep on the flight. You’ll wake up after an hour and a half of unsatisfying sleep with a bad taste in your mouth and a stiff neck.”

“True,” Luke says, “but we’re supposed to have band practice today.”

“You practice out there?” Ashton asks.

“Yeah,” Luke says. “Cal’s already out there – he’s been recording bass for some ska band – so Michael and I are meeting up with him this afternoon for practice.”

“How do you practice without a drummer?” Ashton wants to know.

“GarageBand,” Luke says, and Ashton winces.

“Oh, no,” he says, emphatically. “I can’t be having my beloved instrument reduced to GarageBand.”

“Hey,” Luke says, mock-affronted. “GarageBand comes a lot cheaper than drummers.”

“Cheaper than a can of coke?” Ashton asks, grinning. Luke grins back, and then looks like he’s suddenly been struck by inspiration.

“Hey, wait-” he fumbles around in his bag for a few seconds, and then tosses the can of coke he’d bought earlier at Ashton.

“You’re in the band now,” he says. “I hope you’re good.” Ashton laughs.

“I might only be worth a diet coke,” he tells Luke, pocketing the coke.

“Hey,” another voice says sleepily – Michael. “Where’m I?”

“Airport, Mike,” Luke says patiently.

“Oh,” Michael says, rubbing his eyes. “Where’s Cal?”

“In LA,” Luke says.

“Oh,” Michael says, sounding a little sad.

“That’s where we’re heading,” Luke reassures him.

“Oh,” Michael says, a little happier, dragging himself into a seated position. He rubs his eyes, again, and then blinks at them blearily. “You’re Ashton,” he says to Ashton.

“I am,” Ashton says.

“You’re a drummer,” Michael says.

“I am,” Ashton says.

“You should join our band,” Michael says.

“I have,” Ashton says.

“What?” Michael says. Ashton holds up the can of coke.

“My payment,” he explains. “Meet the new drummer of-”

“5 Seconds of Summer,” Luke supplies.

“-5 Seconds of Summer,” Ashton finishes.

“I don’t even know your last name,” Michael says.

“I don’t know yours either,” Ashton says.

“Clifford,” Michael says.

“Irwin,” Ashton says.

“Like Steve Irwin?” Ashton groans.

“Yes, like Steve Irwin, no, I’m not his son, not at all related, don’t even like animals that much,” he says.

“Are you good?” Michael asks, disregarding Ashton entirely.

“I mean, I’m a session drummer,” Ashton says. “Draw your own conclusions.”

“Great,” Michael says happily. “We have practice this afternoon.”

“I already told him,” Luke says, and turns to Ashton. “Three p.m. I’ll pick you up.” Ashton grins at him, butterflies in his stomach.

“You’re going to have to give him your number, then, Ashton,” Michael says, watching the interaction between the two of them.

“I probably should,” Ashton agrees, holding his hand out for Luke’s phone. Luke passes it to him, and Ashton types in his number, saving himself as Better Drummer Than Garageband.

“Thank fuck,” Michael says, “because he’s been wanting to give it to you all evening. He thinks you’re cute.”

“You’re behind the times, Mikey,” Luke says. “We’re going on a date.”

“I’m cooking him dinner,” Ashton tells Michael.

“What the fuck?” Michael demands. “When was this decided?”

“When you were sleeping,” Luke says. “On my pillow, by the way.”

“It’s so fucking small,” Michael says, chucking it at Luke, before rounding on Ashton. “I can’t believe I missed you asking Luke on a date. I’m never sleeping again.” Ashton’s saved from answering by an announcement cutting through loudly on the speakers.

“May I have your attention for flight BA8227,” a lady says. “This flight is now ready for boarding for rows twenty through thirty-one.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ashton says, shoving his things haphazardly into his backpack. “Where are you guys sat?”

“Uh, row twenty-one,” Luke says, stopping his packing to check his ticket. “You?”

“Thirty-nine,” Ashton says. “But I’m running to the queue as soon as they let me.”

“I’m going to the toilet, Luke,” Michael says. “Save me a space in the queue.”

“Take your fucking bag!” Luke shouts after him, and Michael flips him off as he speedwalks off to the toilets. Luke rolls his eyes, and turns back to Ashton.

“Want a hand carrying Michael’s things?” Ashton offers.

“Would you?” Luke says. “Thanks, Ashton.” Ashton permits himself a private smile at the way his name sounds in Luke’s voice.

They shove everything in their bags as quickly as possible and jog over to the queue, which is already at least fifteen people deep, but is moving, which is something.

“Hey,” Michael says, strolling over to them. “Thanks for bringing my stuff.”

“Bastard,” Luke tells him, and Michael grins.

“You love me,” he says. “You’re not boarding with us, are you, Ashton?” Ashton shakes his head.

“Just providing a bag-carrying service,” he says.

“Luke’ll give you your tip,” Michael says, kicking his bag forward as the queue moves. Luke doesn’t move, though, and neither does Ashton.

“See you in LA, then,” Ashton says to Luke, and Luke grins.

“See you,” he echoes, and Ashton, who’s had approximately three-and-a-half hours sleep, can’t help himself – he leans in, tiptoes slightly, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Luke’s lips.

“See you at practice,” Ashton says, leaning back, and relishing the flush on Luke’s cheeks. He desperately wants to lean in again, kiss Luke for real, but he stops himself. He only met the guy, like, eight hours ago, and he’s already joined his band and invited him over for a dinner date. “Text me.” Luke holds his phone up.

“I will,” he says. “I’ll text you as soon as we land.”

“Good,” Ashton says. “Now go, get on the plane.” Luke nods, throws Ashton one last smile, and steps forward to join Michael, who’s clearly been listening to their conversation.

“See you later, Michael,” Ashton calls, as he walks away.

“Don’t be late for practice!” Michael shouts back, and Ashton grins, and shakes his head.

-------

Half an hour later, Ashton’s finally on the plane. His backpack’s underneath the seat in front of him, his headphones are in, and he’s going to be home in just under twelve hours. And, perhaps even better than all of that, he’s going on a date with the hottest man alive.

As if on cue, his phone interrupts his music with a ding, and Ashton fishes it out of his pocket.

+447568392881 I know I said I’d text as soon as we landed, but I saw this really hot guy boarding the plane and I just had to tell you about him

Ashton grins.

Me Oh?

Luke Yeah, he’s got this curly hair, gorgeous hazel eyes, about six foot, in incredible shape? You can’t miss him.

Me You could see his eyes from the plane? What are you, Hawkeye?

Luke Way to ruin the moment

Me Well, I’m just thinking – curly hair, gorgeous eyes, six foot (definitely a bit of a lowball estimate), in incredible shape – I saw a guy just like that earlier, only he had blue eyes.

Luke You’ll have to point him out to me when we land.

Me I will – I’ll be thinking about him for the whole flight.

It takes a while for the next message to come through, and the plane’s already gearing up to take off when his phone finally dings again.

Luke He’ll be thinking about you too.

#lashton #5sos fic #also a bit of #malum #but background

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siashmed · 3 years

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Top 10 pharmacy stores in Noida

With the advancement in internet technology, the sending of messages is spreading its wings. Every customer wants fast communication and the delivery of the medicines, pharmacy and healthcare products on time. The health concern of customers is of prime concern for us. Prepare to connect yourself with a pharmacy store and get a product of your choice within few hours. Avail discount offers while buying medicines. Everyone wants home comfort with the availability of a prescription on the advice of a physician. We offer networking connectivity of the SiashMed app with the different pharmacy outlets at your comfort. Our connectivity will ensure that the order placed by a customer reaches the destination within a matter of some hours. Every medicine, pharmacy, or healthcare product reaches the customer's home during their most critical times of a patient's illness. The launching of the SiashMed app launch serves many beneficial features like availability of discounts, easy connectivity, and fast service. The other features include updating the physician prescriptions and the customer orders. We are born to serve the customers through our SiashMed app service network. We present some of the finest pharmacy stores in Noida with a connecting network with SiashMed.

Read This... Local pharmacy in Ghaziabad

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kumoriyami-xiuzhen · 4 years

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Hakuoki SSL - Hakuo Gakuen Student General Assembly Track 3

well... i hit 300 followers. not sure if it’s a milestone worth mentioning (if you’re one who followed because of the musicals and hasn’t gotten a message, read what it says at the top of my stuff i have page) or not since i can honestly say that i only started this tumblr for myself and everything i translate was really only done for my own sake... and I really have no idea if that number is good or bad for the amount of time I’ve been posting lol.

Still, i’m going to use the fact that this happened as an excuse to post this since i couldn’t figure out where to stick it in my queue since i didn’t want to wait til september to post this lol.

Anyway, this damn track is 18 min long... and i’ll get to the video next month along with the Hijikata web drama (have to push that back cause i got a bit busy with some things). Please note that the text left in bold is when Amagiri’s conversation with Kazama gets overlapped by Shiranui speaking.

As always, final edits will be done when I get to my subtitle video... need to double check that other video translation and the audio for a few things.

Enjoy~! and do not post elsewhere!

Hakuoki SSL - Hakuo Gakuen Student General Assembly Track 3

Translation by KumoriYami

Hijikata: okay... it's about to start.

Harada: Hijikata-san? you okay? need stomach medicine?

Hijikata: no need... alright, start/begin.

Amagiri: The Hakuo Gakuen Student Assembly will begin now. All students, stand! .....sit down.

Kazama: Then, start with each club's budget report, Amagiri.

Amagiri: Yes. these are the draft budgets for the various clubs/departments.

Kazama: The arts and literature club, the calligraphy club, and the photography club last year all needed 10,000; the music club which won a competition, in any case, needs a budget of 50,000; the newly established broadcasting club/depart of broadcasting to buy equipment, they need an increase of 20,000; the baseball team, soccer team and tennis team will be the same as last year with 50,000; the judo club, archery club, track and field team, and also the kendo club, given their achievements from last year......

What......100,000?! Oi amagiri, what's going on/what's this about?!

Amagiri: About this issue...

Kazama: I haven't approved of any of this!! any club/organization/group associated with Hijikata will not have its budget approved!!

Shiranui: Alright/Well, of the budget report was just read, the clubs that weren't named will will maintain the status quo this year, ok? If there's no problem, the draft proposal will be adopted directly.

(applause)

Kazama: Eh...... continuing on [next], regarding the cultural festival that is to be held in october.......Shiranui.

shiranui: hey, hey. But there's nothing much to say since it will basically be the same as last year.

Kazama: This year like previous years, Hakuo Gakuen will hold its cultural festival......

(Kazama voice's cuts out completely while Hijikata and Harada talk)

Harada: I originally though [he'd] poke a basket [probably blow a gasket], seeing him now though, it seems that things are going smoothly.

Hijikata: For better or worse, that's because he's the student council president. But, what happens next will be the real question[/test]......

Harada: Next...... you mean the matter of changing of school rules and regulations?

Hijikata: I don't know what sort of issues the students will raise, though it's better to keep an eye on them.

(aside ends)

Kazama: Read it out/This reading is finished [check video version. Alt: That will be all on/for that/Conclude with that]. Are there any objections to what was raised? If there are no objections then this proposal/motion will be passed/approved. the next topic of discussion will be pertaining to amending the school rules and regulations.

You should all remember/recall, the questionnaire about amending the school's rules and regulations that I had sent out.

Due to he subject of this questionnaire, we solicited opinions on the revision of school rules.

amagiri: kazama-sama, these are the results of the questionnaire.

Kazama: So many opinions were collected, this shows that everyone is quite diastisfied with the current school rules and regulations. I see I see.....

? ? ?: How about cancelling the classical literature class? As someone living in modern times, I cannot help but wonder if there is any real need to learn classical literature. I think the time for classical literature should be spent on something more meaningful. So I propose that the classical literature class be cancelled. ——Proposed by: Anonymous

Kazama: Hm, hahahahaha.... This suggestion/proposal/motion/draft truly is great! However I believe cancelling the classical literature class isn't enough, rather [we should be] abolishing the classical literature [teaching] position. Hm. This suggestion will be kept to discussed later.

Hijikata: oi!!! You've got to be kidding me!! Classical literature is a required subject for entrance exams! Really, it's already that Kazama is thinking about adopting this proposal, and the one who wrote this sort of proposal is also ridiculous, Souji ! You two, [come] to my office later! [either that or the principal's office.... but im leaning towards 'my' since 我 is in the TL. reword later]

Okita: Wait a moment/sec Hijikata-san, why do you think I wrote that proposal? The questionnaire was anonymous, there's no evidence that says that I wrote that proposal.

Hijikata: Regardless if you try to be anonymous, a proposal for cancelling the classical literature, there's no one aside from you in the entire school who would propose such a thing!

souji: wah, you seem to be really self-confident in that~ However, don't you think that students find Hijikata-san's classical literature class boring, I've seen not a few of them [may be: i don't think anyone i've seen would disagree...? check video later]?

hijikata: you bastard!!!

Harada: Calm down, Hijikata-san! You need to calm down! you should treat this as Souji fooling around.......

Okita: yes yes, I simply wrote down my heartfelt and honest thoughts~ [reword later? check video tl]

Hijikata: Sure enough you were the bastard who proposed this/it!!

Amagiri: Kazama-sama. do you want discuss the motion for cancelling the classical literature class later? I think you should continue with the next proposal. Further discussion on this draft may cause delays.

Kazama: To dare give/Daring to give me advice, you truly are brazen/impudent——I was originally going to be saying that, now you do as you say/that. [check video for last sentence]

Amagiri: I sincerely apologize.

???: Classes are 50 minutes in length, and they're too long! So can they be cut down to 30 minutes? If that happens, then the lunch period can be extended, which would mean more time to eat or even take a nap right? I think that this would absolutely be better!

——Proposed by a hopeful anonymous person [double check audio cuz the text on the video just says 'proposed by: anonymous']

Shiranui: Cutting the amount of time spent in class, that has my support! Kazama, pass this proposal [approve of this]!

harada: oi, oi! Don't you know how bad it would be/about the adverse/negative influence/impact/effect it would have, if you cut down on class time?

Shiranui: Hah? How bad effect it might have?! Shouldn't this be something to celebrate [Not sure but it might instead be: something happy/good to look forward to. check video tl]?

Harada: Hah...... you may think that cutting on class time would mean more time for playing around, but that way of thinking is wrong! Don't you guys know that each semester, exams are regularly scheduled? If class time is reduced, I'm afraid that it might mean being unable to learn everything before taking those exams. If that happens, you'd have to sacrifice your weekend for make up lessons. Is that alright with you?

Shiarnui: If that's the case, it would be better to reduce what the exams cover then!

Harada: In school, there are "learning essentials." If you feel like causing problems, and ignoring the minimal learning requirements, maybe should try being a teacher. If that happens, getting passing post-secondary entrance exams will become a dream. So, Heisuke, this type of draft proposal would be something that we can't approve of.

Heisuke: EH?! Harada-sensei, how do you know that this is something that I wrote?

Harada: Think with your head, who else would have come up with such an idea. To really think that you wouldn't get found out, that sort of thinking is completely incomprehensible.

Heisuke: ergh...........

Kazama: This type of shortsightedness really suits your identities as small fry. If class time is reduced, it'd better to have the classes cancelled altogether. Final exams cannot be considered as something to worry about, if I was writing an exam, I'd be able to get a perfect score even if my eyes were closed.

Amagiri: That skill is something that only Kazama-sama has.

Shiranui: Mah... The outward appearance is [might be] human, but [I/who] don't/doesn't know how many times he's repeated the school year/about the countless times [he's] repeated the school year.

Kazama: Returning to the subject, are there any objections to this proposal? It seems that there aren't, then [we're] moving on to discuss the next proposal.

???: I've heard that many students go play at the rail station/bus stop after school. Although moderate relaxation is harmless, but isn't playing at the game centre and KTV all night, something that goes against the responsibilities that students have? In order to prevent problems from occurring, I think that students should get permission from their teacher for where they go after school beforehand. [^check video tl for this later]

——Proposed by: Saito Hajime.

Kazama: oh.....? The proposals up until were all anonymous, it seems like draft is different. But, to have the teacher give permission approve of where one can go after school, what a stupid idea.

Saito: A stupid....... idea?! If one person disrupts the moral standards/discipline, it will cause a chain reaction. What's so stupid about a proposal to prevent that?!

Kazama: Just think about it for a little bit. Or is your brain too small so you can't [even] figure that out?

Saito: …………

Amagiri: Kazama-sama. Although it may be bold for me to act as your substitute/in your place, but may I be the one to handle this explanation?

Kazama: Approved.

Amagiri: yes!...... saito-dono, your opinion does sound somewhat reasonable. Because the act of playing around after school is not praiseworthy. However, after studying hard in school, it is necessary for suitable entertainment to be used as an outlet for accumulated stress. Just monotonously going to and from school will affect the students ability to think independently. Only by enriching their experiences will their minds be able to grow [more literally this sentence is about experience becomes the soil for minds to grow in... check video tl later].

Saito: But I never said anything about banning after school entertainment/recreation! I only proposed having teachers the approve of what can be done after school!

Amagiri: That will affect the students' ability to think independently. What is referred to as independence, requires individuals who think by themselves and make their own choices [says "to take action"]. I believe, that it would go against human nature, if a teacher was asked about for permission about being able to play in a certain manner [check video tl for this later]. What do you think of this perspective?

Saito: So it was like that. Just as you said. I actually proposed something that opposed Hakuo Gakuen's education policy....... I will accept this conclusion [word I have for this translates to 'reality.' check video tl later], and deeply reflect upon this.

Harada: But even though this has nothing to do with being self-reliant/independent, this sort of regulation is [would be] too harsh/strict.

Kazama: Hrm......is that worthless discussion finally over? Presumably everyone has already become tired of this sort of monotonous talk. Here is some good news. The draft I will be reading now, I will not be accepting any objections and [will be] pass[ing] it right away.

(students mumble in background)

Kazama: Hmph. I understand how you are all worrying about whether or not your proposals will be adopted. Ignorant fools! Get down on your knees/Grovel on your knees before me and pay attention to attention to what I have to say! "My wife must greet me every morning at my home. Although there will be difficulties in the implementation of this regulation, I will compromise in having my her greet me every morning in the student council room.

Hijikata: This terrible proposal, did you really think, that this wouldn't get vetoed! Don't you remember how the same draft was rejected last time!!!

Kazama: That's preposterous...... Didn't you hear me?! I remember saying "the proposal that I will be reading now, I will not be accepting any objections, and [will be] passing it right away."

Hijikata: We don't have even the slightest reason to accept the draft proposed by you! Really, originally I thought that this would be able to proceed smoothly, but I didn't expect for this to happen again. Furthermore, you need to restrain yourself, stop calling/don't call her "my wife!"

Kazama: Hrm~ I have no obligations to listen to your complaints. But....... it truly is a pity for my wife to not be here right not. If she was here, surely, she would be passionately watching me, and blushing shyly while crying tears of joy.

Souji: To be able to misunderstand to this degree, it's shocking to the point of laughter [hilarity?]. The content of this is the exactly the same as last time, and nothing's been changed.

Heisuke: (Fortunately), ["fortunately is included in the text tl but not video tl. check audio later]It seems like that guy caught a cold, which is she isn't here today.

Harada: It's seem that you can also do something smart. Well done, Heisuke!

Heisuke: hehe, right?

Kazama: Che! Too loud! After I've announced the passing the adoption of these proposals, you all/all of you bastards [check audio] should just obediently behave......!

Amagiri: Then, read out the next proposal.

Shiranui! Oh! That looks pretty good. "I hope for winter vacation to be as long as summer vacation, please give us a month of vacation!" Summer vacation is indeed a month long, winter break is only have a month!

Amagiri: To begin with, the length of summer vacation isn't the same across the country. In colder regions with more snow, summer vacation may not be a month. On the contrary, that region's winter vacation may be relatively longer. Summer vacation was originally established for escaping the hot weather.......

Shiranui: I know, I know! I get it already! Stop talking okay?

Amagiri: No. I am not finished speaking....

Kazama: Amagiri, Shiranui! You've got some nerve to be interrupting me while I talk! This is all your fault that we've strayed away from our next topic for discussion!! The next time this happens/If this happens again, I will not spare you! Remember that/keep that in mind!

Saito: I believe that if it wasn't for your pointless proposals, the current topic of discussion wouldn't have been so derailed.

Kazama: Listen to me, no matter the objections against the following/next draft, I will still implement it! Now remember that and listen carefully!

"Female students must report to the Student Council room immediately after the bell rings for lunch. At the time [they] must also bring a hand-made bento..."

Hijikata: Veto!

Kazama: "Female students must go to the Student Council room after..."

Hijikata: Veto!

Kazama: "Female students must..."

Hijikata: Veto!

Kazama: Hijikata, if you haven't listened to everything that I've said, surely you have a reason for it [/how can you have a reason to interrupt me]?!

HIjikata: It’s because you deliberately targeted her by writing so many proposals, bastard. [alt: "because, bastard, you deliberately targeted her..." will check audio for this later]

School rules are not your toys!

Kazama: You don't understand the obvious! As Hakuo Gakuen's student council president, I am obligated to make the school rules and regulations perfect! Therefore, the current school rules must be amended with only this draft!

Souji: Saying/Having said such beautiful/pretty words, isn't he just making excuses for his wilfulness?

Saito: Because there is only one female student in the entire school.

Kazama: Keh! You bastards! Do you guys mean to do everything you can to obstruct the path of love between me and my wife!?

Heisuke: what path of love......

Harada: It goes without saying that she's not your wife! Having said that though, to say spout such nonsense without backing down in front of everyone, that courage is really admirable.

Kazama: How could I possibly give up! My wife and I have been matched by the red thread/string [of fate]! This profound bond, even if the world stands against me, I will never back down!

[While I usually see 'thread' associated with the Chinese version of this belief, I don't know if the Japanese version of it uses 'string' or 'thread'....]

Shirnaui: What red string...... this is clearly just Kazama's own unbelievable delusions and his own wishful thinking.

Amagiri: Shiranui. You cannot say that/That mustn't be said. there's no telling if a miracle will occur. [reword more formally later]

Shiranui: Ah, if the sun rises in the West and the sky rains red, perhaps that might be true.... but, I don't think it's/that's going to work/it isn't anything but hopeless.

Amagiri: Mm............

Kazama: Heh, you've said enough. No matter what you think, the final decision is in my hands. Amagiri, all the drafts that were just read have been approved.

Amagiri: But... isn't that too unreasonable?

Kazama: What's the problem. I am the the student council president. Even if the [my] methods are unreasonable, no one would dare object.

Heisuke: Who'd accept that sort of ridiculous reasoning?!

Souji: That's right, if you think that you'll be forgiven for doing whatever you want as the student council president, then you're gravely mistaken. Eh.... (goes up on stage) I see.... these were the drafts that were read right?

Kazama: What the hell are you doing bastard?

Souji: Of course doing this! (tears all the drafts)

Kazama: ...! You bastard! You two quickly help me stop him!!!

Amagiri: Kazama-sama. I do not think that those drafts are suitable to be adopted.

Shiranui: I also agree/Agreed. Say, I'm very tired can I go home now(/ Anyway I'm tired can I go home now? [2nd one sounds better])

Kazama: Not permitted...!

Hijikata: Anyway! If you continue being a nuisance, we also have our own ways to respond. I don't care about the power you have/ about the powers of the student council president, but I'd advise you to not look down upon us teachers.

Harada: That's right, Kazama. I advise you to retreat while you're still able. If this continues, those so-called rules won't be able to protect you.

Amagiri: Kazama-sama. Listen to Hijikata-sensei and Harada-sensei's advice right now. This commotion/disturbance is getting bigger, and continuing this may cause others to doubt Kazama-sama's ability as student council president.

Kazama:.....Kuh!...! Heheheheheh.... You guys, I'l remember this! The next Student Assembly, I'll show off all my power to show everyone in the world just who my wife belongs to [check video tl]! Look forward to it!

Souji:...This type of behaviour... is this what they call a "defeated dog's barking"? [if it's not this interpretation.... i'm assuming it means something like 'running away in defeat,' or 'having your tail between your legs'or 'turning tail' since this mentions a dog - 负犬远吠 in chinese. or maybe its 'barking dogs seldom bite' that was the only idiom i found that that mentioned dogs and barking that might have been in JP when browsing. either way, i'll go i'll go double check the other version of this that has been translated later].

Saito: Exactly/Absolutely/(indeed/It is). I don't want to become like that person. /I don't want to be that kind of person, even if I walk astray/I don't want to be that kind of person, even if I'm not careful. [check video tl]

End

----------

well, this is now officially the longest thing I’ve translated... tho that won’t be the case when I get to Shinsengumi Oni-tan. i dragged this one out for a long time since it just looked like a massive wall of text in nimble... haaah thankfully all the other ssl dramas aside from “Another Chizuru?” are >15min... I think?

also no images being posted this time cuz i didn’t schedule this posting.

#hakuoki #hakuouki #hakuoki ssl #hakuoki drama cd #hakuoki drama translation

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whatdoesanattorneydo · 4 years

Text

Why Is My Family Law Matter Taking So Long?

What should you do if Family Law Matter making Delay?

Merging Family Courts and Early Senate Reports

The current structure of the Family Court and Federal Circuit have led to systematic backlogs of cases, with Judges required to hear a multitude of matters on a single day. This has led many parties who have proceedings before the Court to be frustrated, and rightly so.

The planned merging of the Family Court of Australia (FCA) and Federal Circuit Court of Australia (FCCA) has been a government objective since early 2018. However, this Bill was contingent upon the Senate Legal and Constitutional Affairs Committee Report (released on 15 April 2019). With time pressures of whether the bill, in an amended form, would be heard before the sitting Parliament prior to the next Federal election, the Committee released the report some two months early.

Make your Family Law Matter Faster?

Provisions recommended by the Committee

The report reflects the majority of the Committee recommending that the bill which would merge the FCA and FCCA be passed by the senate, subject to several amendments. These provisions include:

In addition to allocating funding, that the proposed new divisions of the Court be provided additional resources for Registrars to assist with the backlog of cases;

That an appellate division of the Federal Court of Australia not be created and instead, the existing appellate jurisdiction of the FCA be retained into the FCCA;

The Qualifications of Judges be amended to ensure that they have appropriate skills, knowledge, experience, and personality for the position;

The Australian Government pursues the immediate appointment of suitable candidates to vacant judiciary positions in the family courts and considers whether there is a need to appoint additional judges.

Subject to the adoption of the above recommendations, that the bills be passed.

These recommendations, whilst not extensive, do promote signs of positive movement towards qualified judges hearing more cases and clearly the inundated queues of parties waiting for their cases to be heard.

Although the issues surrounding the merging of the FCA and the FCCA are far from finalised, the Committee’s report should give individuals with family law proceedings hope that their matter may be finalised sooner than expected.

If you have any questions regarding the above information or are seeking legal advice on a family law matter, contact our office on 1800 662 535 to speak with an accredited family law specialist, or email us at [email protected]

#Family Law Matter Advice #Family Law Matter #Family Law Matter solution #James Noble Family Law #Family Courts

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unicyclehippo · 4 years

Note

beaujester + infiltrating a ball?

The Serene Fort stands apart from the city a small way, atop a hill that rises to a cliff. The road up to it switches back and forth, studded the entire way with softly glowing lanterns that hang from wooden posts carved into facsimiles of trees.

‘Kinda fucked up, don’t you think?’ Beau asks, nose almost pressed up against the window of the carriage as she stares out. ‘Like, they’ve obviously cleared the place. And then they’re like, actually, we’ll put back a couple of trees. But fake ones.’

‘It does look pretty, though,’ Jester says, and, despite having a window of her own, she leans fully into Beau’s space as if Beau’s window will show her a different view, let her see the place differently. Beau just leans back, stretching her arms over the back rest of the carriage seat. Or, she tries, but her suit won’t cooperate so she folds her arms over her chest instead. After a moment, Jester hums a sad note and leans back mostly from Beau’s space. But not entirely.

‘See what I mean?’

‘Yah.’

Beau drags her gaze away from the view and grins over at Jester. ‘You and Ducey’s tree is way better.’ Jester’s face lights up with a smile and the light of a passing lantern, and Beau‘s mind blanks out, stunned.

‘What?’ Jester asks when Beau sits and stares for going on a full minute.

Beau shakes out of a stupor, laughs. ‘Nothing, nothing.’

‘Is there something on my face?’

‘No, you’re good. Hey look, we’re almost there!’

Jester gives her a befuddled glance but, at seeing how close they really are to the Fort, she hurries to pull the forged invitation from her bag. Taking it, Beau checks it over one last time; she can’t find any fault with Jester’s work so she nods and tucks it into her coat pocket.

‘Beau?’

‘Mm.’

‘Are you nervous?’

A brash of course not waits on the tip of her tongue but Beau bites down on it. She hasn’t lied to Jester for a long time now and she’s not going to fall back into bad habits tonight just because she’s feeling all kinds of out of sorts.

‘Yeah. You?’

Jester breathes out shakily. Reaches for Beau’s hand. Her dark eyes reflect the dots of light outside, growing brighter as the carriage trundles from the cobblestone to pavers and the driver pulls them in a smooth arc toward the immense gilded front door. ‘Yah,’ she whispers.

Beau shifts closer. The sleek fabric of her new suit glides over the smooth upholstery and she miscalculates It by a fraction, pressing her thigh against Jester’s. She leaps back, stung by the warmth and by Jester’s yelp of ‘Careful!’ when her skirts crush faintly.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Beau squeezes Jester’s gloved hand. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing. You’re gonna be great.’

‘We are gonna be great.’

‘Hell yeah. I’ll be at your side the whole time and the others are right outside, and as soon as we give the word they’ll break in.’ Somehow. The precise nature of that had not been discussed. Plausible deniability for the girls going undercover, or something. Beau touches the curling copper earring she’d fashioned with Nott, that clasps over the shell of her ear and pierces down at the lobe. ‘It’ll be great.’

‘Right. You’re right.’ Jester nods firmly. Beau squeezes her hand again and sees with some relief and pride that the worry ebbs somewhat. The carriage comes finally to a stop and Jester nods again, mutters something under her breath that Beau can’t quite make out, and then fixes her with an amused look, brows arching. ‘Beau,’ she whispers. ‘You’re supposed to help me out.’

‘Oh! Oh shit! Yeah!’

Nearly flinging herself out the opposite side of the carriage, Beau takes a moment to calm herself. She’s not an Expositor tonight, not a monk, not some random rude girl. She’s Beauregard Lionette, escorting the Marchioness Jester Lavorre, of Nicodranas.

The driver steps down from his perch and comes around to open the door. He’s a friend they had made in town, one who knows what they’re here to do, and he meets her eyes, mimes taking a deep breath. She nods. Fiddles with the pale blue gloves she’s wearing and, folding one arm neatly behind her back, she nods again. The driver reaches up to open the carriage door and Beau steps forward, offering her hand to the woman within.

‘Marchioness. May I escort you inside?’

Jester laughs, a clear chiming laugh that out of the corner of her eye Beau can see has attracted the attention of a few solitary guests making their way up to the entrance. She takes Beau’s hand and steps out, skirts pouring out behind her with each step like a waterfall of wine. Beau can see her nerves; knows the laugh, as pretty as it was, is a sign of it. When Jester stands beside her, Beau squeezes again. Relax, she hopes it says. Or, I’m right here.

‘Thank you, Baronet.’

Beau tries to focus on her posture, her bearing—does she look regal enough? Is she messing this up?—but when she nearly stumbles up the steps and it is only Jester’s strong hold that keeps her upright, she decides instead to focus on Jester. That’s what the role is about, anyway, wasn’t it? Doting on the marchioness? She guides Jester up the stairs, levelling a cool glare at a young unadorned noble who tries to enter before them, and whisks her aside somewhere safe so that she can speak to the announcer.

She finds him in some truly unfortunate livery—an unflattering puce and what was probably supposed to be grass but looks lime in contrast—and pulls their invitation from the interior pocket of her coat. The announcer glances over it and nods quickly, despite what had to be unfamiliar names.

‘Coats and cloaks may be left in the antechamber,’ the announcer tells her. ‘Join the queue here on the stairs and when your name is called, lead the marchioness down to the host. Did you bring your masks?’

Beau blinks. ‘What?’ she blurts. ‘I mean, pardon? We were not informed that this would be a masked event.’

The announcer doesn’t look surprised. ‘There are complimentary masks with the attendant. Find a set that fit.’

‘Doesn’t it defeat the purpose of a masked ball if we are announced?’ The servant shrugs. ‘Okay. Okay, thank you.’

Turning on her heel, Beau returns to Jester. She lingers a short distance away as the other girl is apparently deep in conversation with a rather stunning young man—like, to the point where even Beau would have to be properly contrary not to admit it. They seem to be having fun, Beau notes. More importantly, Jester seems to be having fun. Beau stands where she can see the young man, close enough to intervene if he tries anything.

‘Oh dear, oh dear. It seems the Earl has spotted a new conquest.’

A flurry of quiet titters pulls Beau’s gaze—with great difficulty—to a flock of bejeweled and plumed ladies. Most of them are watching Jester and her young man—the Earl, Beau assumes—but one, a golden-skinned tiefling woman whose horns curl back and up and nearly meet in what could be mistaken for a halo. She has her attention firmly on Beau, and it is her who smiles at Beau, painted lips curling into a perfect smile.

‘Earl Simon Altherton,’ she tells Beau, nodding to the handsome man. ‘He has something of a reputation. All very good things,’ the lady assures her, managing to do so in a manner that is not reassuring in the slightest. She swans forward, extends her hand for Beau to kiss.

Beau does, bowing over the gloved hand.

The lady turns her hand over as she retrieves her hand, and the sharp points of her nails graze over Beau’s chin, bordering that line of flirtatious and dangerous. Jerking back from the touch, Beau is so ready to spit the rude retort hot on her tongue; she snaps it back behind her teeth last second but it doesn’t go unnoticed. The lady’s perfect smile widens.

‘I hope she knows what a dedicated escort she has in you,’ the lady continues, and Beau doesn’t know whether to flush or fight her with the way she lets the word escort curl from her forked tongue.

‘The marchioness is well aware of my loyalty,’ Beau says stiffly. It sounds like the kind of proper, and properly douchey thing nobility might say. She doesn’t wait to see if the lady agrees. ‘Excuse me,’ she says, and turns away.

Her eyes find Jester immediately—looking to all the world comfortable and delighted by the whole situation, but to Beau who knows her, she can see the nerves. She feels no hesitation in marching up alongside Jester and setting her hand on the small of her back.

‘Marchioness, forgive me for the delay,’ Beau whispers just loud enough for the Earl to hear. ‘The announcer is ready for us, as soon as we collect our masks.’

‘Masks?’

‘For the masked ball,’ Beau explains, and watches as Jester’s eyes light up. She has to fight a grin, and only mostly succeeds.

‘Perhaps you will save a dance for me,’ the young man suggests, but he doesn’t seem to believe that she will. He doesn’t look all that put out by the fact either, just turns his stupidly handsome face away to find the next person to chat up.

Jester walks with Beau into the antechamber. Though it is only small in comparison to the entry hall, it does feel less intimidating and Jester turns their hands over so she is holding Beau’s hand and drags her impatiently over to a display of stunning, impractical masks.

‘Which one do you want to wear?’ Jester asks, pouring over them. ‘They’re so pretty!’

‘Uh. Whichever. I guess it doesn’t really matter—‘

‘Here!’ Jester interrupts, and from the display she picks up the one that others have all avoided. It is, if Beau had to guess, the one that people are supposed to not choose, like a trick mask, the one that is too ornate, too dripping with brilliant jewels. Not that it is gauche but it is one of those games that nobility plays—if you choose the richest one, it’s poor manners or whatever. Jester doesn’t seem to care, which is all Beau cares about—and it is stunning.

Slender layer upon layer of black opal like glossy feathers are set into the gold base of the ravens-head mask and when it catches the smallest bit of light it dazzles away from it, showing the hidden flecks of other precious stones that sit within and behind the opal feathers.

‘This one? Really, Jes?’ When Jester nods forcefully, Beau shrugs. ‘Okay.’

Lifting it to her face, Beau’s breath catches as the gold seems to shift and melt to pour across her brow, cling to the sharp line of her cheeks. There is no strap to hold it in place and, when she turns her head slowly and then shakes more vigorously to make sure it isn’t going to fly off and cost her seven hundred lifetimes to repay, she decides whatever magic reforms the metal means it doesn’t need one.

‘How do I look?’

Jester opens her mouth. Closes it again. Licks her lips. ‘Um.’

‘Oh yeah, coat.’ Beau shrugs out of her coat and hands it to the attendant hovering nearby. Spinning back to Jester, she holds her arms wide to show off the suit. Marion had helped, connecting her with a favoured tailor, and Jester had given the tailor the instructions, but Beau is pretty sure she’d never seen the finished product. The heavy brocaded jacket, once black and now awash with sapphire waves and coiled jade serpents. The cream blouse and gold trim and the smooth, tight pants of that Nicodranian fashion that had been so uncomfortable at first when she was so used to her loose fitted pants but now she can admit look fucking stunning.

‘Beau,’ Jester whispers, eyes wide. ‘Wow.’

‘Just wow?’

‘Wow,’ she says again. ‘You—wow.’

The sincerity in Jester’s voice—and her eyes, gods—is too much. Beau is glad for the mask now covering her face as her cheeks burn hot, but she still turns away and searches the table for a mask for Jester. She sees the shift as Jester removes her own cloak, handing it over to the attendant with a flash of gold in her palm, but focuses on the choice in front of her. Finally, she settles on one that looks like a beetle or maybe a heart, dazzlingly jade and with sweet rounded wings.

‘How about this one?’

‘Put it on me,’ Jester insists, and Beau nearly fucks that up because her hands go wet with clammy sweat when she turns to see Jester in all her glory.

She...

Wow.

‘Wow.’

‘Just wow?’ Jester teases, like Beau had, and laughs.

‘Jes...’ Beau shifts the mask between her hands, wiping the clammy sweat onto her pants. ‘You look beautiful.’

It’s a word that falls short, Beau can’t help but think. Jester looks like, like she went swimming in a lake of deep red-purple wine and stepped out with it still clinging to her. It falls away from her and clings in other places, never too scandalous, but still Beau feels her whole body light up and her head goes fuzzy and her tongue feels too big for her mouth and her fingers clumsy and heavy as she approaches, carefully, so carefully pushing Jester’s hair back behind her ears so she can set the mask over her face. As it settles, Beau could step back but she doesn’t.

Wine-drunk love, a little voice in Beau’s head whispers, and she doesn’t tell it to shut up or go away. She can admit when she’s right.

‘We should...go to the ball,’ Jester tells her. Beau nods.

#cr tag #tagging my stories #prompt fill

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