SOMEONE STOLE MY SAIKI FANFIC (AGAIN) BUT WITH AI NOW !!
My fanfiction:
Read I DON'T LIKE COFFEE from the story I DON'T LIKE COFFEE [SAIKI K.] by ranposs (๐ธ๐ฝ๐๐พ๐๐๐ถ๐งธ) with 11,559 reads...
Copycat:
Read TASTELESS from the story ๐ง๐๐ฆ๐ง๐๐๐๐ฆ๐ฆ | Saiki K x Reader by saikikat with 360 reads. kusuosaiki, happyending...
Im so damn tired of people copying this thing I wrote years ago. And they thought I wouldnโt even noticeโฆ because they have put it through Chat GPT to change the narration. But itโs the same story. You can check it out. Iโm literally fuming, not depressed like last time.
Fan fiction is literature, yes. Not in the form you expect it, obviously not high literature, but itโs a way to put your art out there. DONT copy other peopleโs works. They will find out. They will make you take it down. Donโt be mean. Donโt do this. DONT USE AI TO MAKE IT SEEM THAT YOU WROTE IT YOURSELF.
Hi everyone! โจ I have something for my Jujutsu Kaisen enjoyers (*ยฏะทยฏ) I was working on some desktop icons/folders inspired by JJK!
Which, you can find HERE in my ko-fi shop!
The first package is completely โจFREEโจ - I have enabled the option to allow you to donate if you feel like it but you do not have to do it! ยด๏ฝฅแด๏ฝฅ`
I already made more and shortly I will make bigger character-themed packages for you to purchase for a small price! You just have to go to my ko-fi shop page (my user name is almaadst) and type "0" in the price box and click the "Get Now" button ๐ช Also, I was thinking of making a survey for which package should I release next so stay tunned ใยดโ๏ฝใ
Links to Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Final
I translated the first few pages of the new Dazai novel, which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.
Please carefully read the notes below before progressing.
- This post contains spoilers. It is not a summary, but a full translation of the first few pages of novel. So if you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.
ยท I tried to keep the translation as accurate as possible, but as I don't speak English or Japanese as my native language, I may make some mistakes or use weird words etc. This translation might not be final. I may come back and fix it later if I find any mistakes.
ยท This is a moviegoers-only benefit, so please be extra careful when discussing it about on Twitter. Use a #spoiler tag on your tweets or your fanarts. You can share the links to this post but don't take many screenshots.
ยท Donโt retranslate it. [UPDATE MAY 9, 2023] You can retranslate it but please keep in mind that my translation is not perfect and some meanings will be lost through re-translation. If you are not sure about the meaning at any part, please let me know! Donโt repost this translation anywhere else out of Tumblr.
ยท DONโT GO TO THE AUTHORSโ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.
I'm sorry if that's too much but honestly all I want is for everyone to have a good experience, for those who wants to read the novels to be able to read the novels, and for those who don't want to be spoiled, to be safe from it as much as possible.
If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!
A bloody corpse of a young man is lying on my front porch.
I look down at the corpse, then at the front of the house. It is a quiet morning. The apartment across the street is casting a long black shadow on the pavement in front of me. The trumpet vines planted in the hedge are rustling in the breeze, and whispering to each other in a way that human cannot decipher. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the sound of the long-distance trucks scraping against the road surface. And there is a corpse in the middle of the stairs in front of me.
In any case, to our eyes, a corpse is always a strangely exaggerated presence. But this time it is different. This corpse blends in with the landscape, becoming one with the everyday peaceful morning scenery. After a while, I realize the reason. The corpseโs chest is moving up and down faintly. It is not a corpse, it is alive.
I look at the young man. He is all black. A high-collar black cloak, a three-piece suit, a black tie. The things that are not black are his button-down shirt, and the bandages around his head. This one is a mottled color of white and red. This color pattern reminds me of some ominous Chinese prophetic characters. The place he is lying, is the middle of the stairs that leads to the front porch. The blood stains continuing down the cracked concrete stairs looks like he has been crawling.
Question. What should I do with this nearly-corpse in front of my eyes?
The answer is simple. If I touch him with the tip of my toes and put some weight on him, he will just roll down to the ground below. If I do so, then he will not be on my premise anymore. He will be on a public road. The countryโs territory. All those who are in trouble within the territory of the country should be saved by the mercy of the country. An ordinary postman like me should go home and have breakfast.
I am not doing that because I am a cold and heartless person. I am doing that because it is a survival necessity. The young manโs wounds are clearly from gunshots. He has been shot multiple times. There are probably more holes in his body than I can see from here. And to top it all off, he is holding a bunch of new notes in his left hand.
What can this mean? Nothing. It means nothing, except that his existence is a huge trouble, and that nothing good will come out of getting involved with him. In other words, he is clearly not someone that an average citizen should get involved with. A normal person in his right mind should have fled to the next city at the sight of him. Just like Jonah in the Bible would do the second time he runs into a giant fish in a stormy sea.
I look at the young man, at the road, and the sky, and at him again.
And then I start to act. First, I approach the guy and lift him up by his sides. Then I drag him by his heels into the house and lay him down on the wall-mounted bed. He is much lighter than he looks. Carrying him alone is not that much of a trouble. I check his wounds. There are many deep wounds, and the bleeding is not usual, but if he receives immediate proper treatment, it is not like he will die.
I take out my medical kit box from the back of the closet, and give him some simple first aid treatments. I put a towel under his upper body, cut his clothes with a pair of scissors to expose the wounds, and check if there is any bullet left inside. In order to stop the blood flow, I apply pressure on the pressure points: below the armpits, inner elbows, ankles, backs of knees, and tie them tightly with a clean cloth. Then I put disinfected tourniquets to the wounds to stop the bleeding. Fortunately for him, I can do this kind of first aid even with my eyes closed.
After I am done with the treatments, I look down at the young man and cross my arms. His breathing has stabilized. His respiratory system and bones seem to be intact. But he does not seem to be waking up. โItโs fine already, just kick him out.โ I can hear the voice in my head. There is nothing more stupid than treating a suspicious guy like this. I guess I should listen to that voice. That is what a wise man would do.
Before following the angelโs advice, I take another look at the young man. I donโt recognize his face. Probably not someone I know. I say probably, because the bandages covering half of his face makes it almost impossible to make out his features. But he is much younger than what I first thought. He is probably young enough to pass as a โboyโ.
Then I remember the wad of cash he was holding. He is still holding them. If it is actually as much as it looks, it must be a fortune for someone with a miserably cheap wage like me. In this situation, it should be okay to have some of them gently transferred to my pocket as a thank for saving his life, right? Thinking so, I pick up the wad of notes. And now I finally realize that I am the biggest idiot in this town.
I feel a bitter taste spreading inside my mouth.
That is an unused bundle of notes. There is some blood on them, but the paper strap, the proof that they are new, is there. There is no bankโs name printed on the strap. There is no printing of any kind. And the notes are neatly lined up by serial numbers in ascending order.
I feel like someone just punched me in the stomach.
There are two possibilities that I can think of. First, this bundle of notes has been taken out of the Reserve Bank of Japan Mint, before it hits the market. That would mean this man is a plague. There is no chance that an ordinary person could get his hands on such a thing. The notes printed at Japan Mint are first sent to the Ministry of Finance, where their serial numbers are scanned to become usable notes. Then they will be sent in cash transport vehicles to branches of the Reserve Bank. From there, they continue to be subdivided and distributed to city banks. At that point, the straps will be switched with those of the city banks.
However, there is no printing on his trap at all. The only way to be able to carry out a wad of notes in that state is to steal it from the Reserve Bank. The most likely way is to attack a cash transport car. Could it be that he just returned from a raid like that?
But if so, I will just stroke my chest in relief, and go back to making coffee in my kitchen. The cash car robbers are violent guys, but only violent. Violence alone cannot make a storm.
There is another possibility.
These are counterfeit notes. I take out a magnifying glass from the back of the room, and carefully examine the wad of notes in my hand. I become completely chilled that my fingers are tingling. I try comparing them with the notes in my own wallet. I canโt tell the difference at all.
A supernote.
I feel dizzy.
If that is the case, the thing in my hand right now has become as dangerous as a small nuclear warhead. Counterfeit currency is a tool of warfare that has been used way before bows and arrows. If one can bring an amount of well-made false currency into an enemy country, the value of that currency will drop due to the increase amount of money in circulation, leading to inflation. A country is, in a sense, its own currency. By skillfully fueling distrust in a countryโs currency, it is possible to destroy the economy and bring down a whole nation. For that reason, the National Security Agency is always on the lookout for counterfeit notes. If this level of a note is to be brought into the market, it would not be the city policeโs business. It is much higher. The National Security Agency, or the Military.
I put the wad of notes on my desk as if I am throwing them away. I donโt want to leave my fingerprints on them anymore. I head to the phone. If I report the incident right away, I might be able to argue for some extenuating circumstances with the authorities. There is no time to waste.
When I pick up the receiver, I hear a faint voice. It isnโt coming from the phone.
โPut the phone down.โ
I turn to the direction where the voice came from. Before I knew it, the young man has opened his eyes and is looking at me with those eyes. I look at the receiver and the youth in turn. Then I say, โWhat if I donโt?โ
โI kill you.โ
Those words are as mediocre as the unsold leftover packs lining up in a deli, at least to this young man. I can tell from looking at his eyes. When he utters the word โkillโ, it is nothing more than an ordinary, everyday word for him. Just like cutting your nails, or going out to buy more cigarettes, those kinds of words.
โHow?โ I put down the receiver, but I have not returned it to the base station. Then I say, โYouโve got holes all over your body. You canโt move anything. Youโre dying everywhere. You donโt even have a gun. To kill me in that condition, it would take two hundred of you.โ
โI donโt need that much.โ He says with a chilled voice. โIโm Port Mafia.โ
Those words only are enough.
โPort Mafiaโ, I carefully choose my words before saying โThen I have no choice but to obey.โ Then I take my time and quietly put the receiver down.
โThatโs good,โ he chuckles.
If he really is from Port Mafia, I would have to be careful even about lifting or lowering a spoon in front of him. When the opponent is the Port Mafia, the synonym of darkness and violence, even if I report this and manage to escape today, there is no telling what will come later. A human being has a total of about two hundred bones. But it would not be strange if I will be shredded into just as many pieces of flesh.
I stare at him for about three seconds. Then I go to the kitchen. I keep the door open so that I can watch him from there. I start making coffee in the kitchen. I put the kettle on the fire and wet the rod with some water. I add the coffee powder, and pour boiling water in.
โIf Iโm not allowed to call the police, what about the doctors?โ I say, keeping my eyes on the water.
โWhat Iโve done is just emergency first aids at best. If you donโt get checked by a proper doctor, you will die soon.โ
โNo need to worry.โ The young man speaks with a slightly stretched out voice. โThis much is no big deal. Iโm used to injuries.โ
โIs that so? Then I will obey.โ I stir the coffee and set a timer. โIn any case, there is no way a normal postman like me can go against the Port Mafia demons.โ
โBeing obedient is good. So nextโฆโ
Suddenly, the young man starts coughing and vomiting blood. I quickly run up to him and turn his head to the side so that he will not choke on his own blood. I check inside his mouth. I canโt tell where the bleeding is from in this situation. It could be just a cut inside his mouth, or it could be an internal injury. I donโt know.
โGo to the hospital. Get treatments. You are really going to die.โ I state.
โItโs perfect then.โ he speaks like whispering. โJust let me die like this.โ
I feel a chilled wind passing through me.
I look at the young man. He is just staring at the ceiling. No emotions, no intents. Just a flat expression, like one who is just telling his age. I cannot believe my own eyes. I donโt even feel like there is a human there. If it was late night instead of a refreshing early morning, I would think that he was a ghost or a hallucination.
Crazy things keep happening today. My life is about to get screwed up it seems.
โFine then.โ I say. โIf you want to die, just die. Itโs your own life. I wonโt stop you. But I will be in trouble if you die here. If you die here, no one will be able to testify that I am not the one who caused your injuries. I might be arrested.โ
โTo be arrested, or to be killed by Port Mafia later, which one is better?โ
I stare at him while saying, โThatโs a hard question.โ
I go back to the kitchen, wait for the timer and turn off the fire. I then take out the cream can and ask, โYou want some coffee?โ
No answer.
โHow did you collapse in front of my house?โ
Still no answer.
โWhat the heck are those notes in your hand?โ
No answer for this one of course.
I feel as if Iโm talking to a wind fairy. A character from a picture book who suddenly came to my house on a peaceful morning. Just that he is covered in blood, and he wants to die.
I pour coffee into two cups and add in the cream. I watch the steam, wait for some time and start stirring. Then I notice that I canโt feel the sign of anyone in the next room anymore. I canโt even hear him breathing. No hint of death drifting either.
I poke my head out of the door, the cups still in my hand. The young man is crawling towards the front door. If he could move his legs, he would just walk out. But it looks like he hasnโt got that much strength back, so he just has his arms hooked on the floor and slowly creeping forward. Just like a prisoner escaping from cell in those old war movies.
He notices my gaze, and then as if he has given up, a mocking smile appears on his face.
โYou donโt want me to die in this house, do you? Then if I leave, youโll have nothing to do with it. No need to help me. No need to ponder anything. Just stay there and watch.โ
I ask him, still holding the coffee, โDo you want to die that much?โ
โOf course I do. I joined the Port Mafia, but there was still nothing.โ replies the young man in a voice that sounds like a soul-deprived gasp. โThe only thing I want now, is death.โ
Then he starts crawling again.
I take a sip of my coffee while watching that. His progress is pathetically slow. I take another sip. He keeps moving without a rest. He has no intent to look back at me anymore.
There is only one thing to do.
โItโs no use to stop me.โ The young man seems to notice my movement. He says with his eyes looking forward, โNo one can go against the Port Mafia. And no one in the Port Mafia can go against me. In other words, no one can whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!??โ
He is pulled backward.
I wrap him with a bed sheet and lift him up. I then twist the two ends to close it. Like a candy wrapping paper. Then I turn him upside down and carry him back.
โIt hurts it hurts it hurts! My wounds are opening! What the hell are you doing, you blockhead. You want to be killed?โ
โI donโt want to be killed. But I donโt want to let you die either. If you go out in this state, you will definitely die. Just make up a death story without me in it when you get better.โ
As it looks like he is going to let out more complaint, I shake the lump of cloth.
โOuch ouch! Stop it! I hate pains!!โ
โThen will you give up?โ
โNo!โ
I try to come up with a way to deal with it and I get one. Letโs tie him to the bed.
I put him down on the bed and open the pack. I bring in a big towel and wrap it around his arms, which are crossed in front of his chest, altogether with his torso. I take the decorative cord from the door way to bind his legs together and tie the ends to the metal fittings of the bed. I raise the pillows, change the blanket into a new one, and open the window to let the fresh air in.
โFor the time being, until your wounds have healed, I will have you stay like that.โ I look down to the young man and say โIs there anything you want?โ
โMy nose is itching.โ He looks at me resentfully while wriggling his two arms that are no longer free.
โPoor you.โ I go back to the coffee in the kitchen.
The young manโs insults are echoing behind my back. But this neighborhood is sparsely populated, so there is no need to worry about disturbing the neighbors. I enjoy my morning coffee.
And so begins the strange and short communal life of me and Dazai together.
The fact that Vaggie knew it was a HORRIBLE idea for her to go to Heaven because there were so many things that could go wrong and so many bad memories there, but her girlfriend needed her and she couldn't say no to her cute face; the fact that the headstrong, optimistic, determined, powerful Princess of Hell knew she couldn't handle taking this huge step alone and the only one person she could imagine being by her side in that critical moment was Vaggie.
The fact that even when she felt so hurt, heartbroken, and betrayed and tried for a second to deny it, Charlie never stopped loving Vaggie, still referred to her as her girlfriend, and had full faith that she was completely succeeding in her task (getting detailed sensitive information from a weapons-dealing Overlord) while Charlie herself was struggling and failing with her own.
The fact that even with Charlie so upset that she intentionally threw a painful commentbat her (a comment with a subtle double meaning, though Charlie herself was definitely NOT thinking clearly enough to realize that implication and only meant to make a jab at the secret-keeping), Vaggie still wanted so desperately to protect Charlie out of love that she regrew angelic wings despite having been in Hell for years.
The fact that one gesture from Charlie told Vaggie everything she wanted to say to her, and that mutual understanding was so complete that she didn't hesitate to run to her knowing she would be accepted because her girlfriend still loved her and forgave her.
The support, love, and intimate understanding these two share even when things are hard and painful is so beautiful. They've been together for years; they've been through so much; and it's wonderful to have that respected and portrayed canonically instead of dipping into that easy, fan-craved trope of dramatically heavy relationship angst. I'm glad they left that angst itch to be scratched by fanworks instead, because these ladies aren't that type.
They are powerful; they are determined; they balance and complete each other; and most importantly, they are so head-over-heels and experienced in their love for each other that it took one day for Charlie to deeply consider everything and fully reconcile with Vaggie, who never doubted her even for a second. Their relationship isn't just established; it's stable, and I love to see that for a wlw couple. <3
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