cheap translation


Coming to you from my lunch break with the menu for the SweePara collab event starting from May 1st.

They’re going to offer what’s called a collab set for 650 where you get to choose 1 food and 1 drink from the following list. If you order a set you get a coaster and a paper lunchmat (I guess? I’ve only heard ランチョン used as “luncheon”). You can add on to your order a limited number of times for an extra 500 yen each (meaning @xiil3gendary and I will have to go multiple times) and for every extra drink receive a character sticker, which are randomly doled out, because of course they are.

Anyway, the menu!

Saihara Shuuichi’s Mystery Curry Soup

Toujou Kirumi’s Black Maid Pasta

Amami Rantarou’s Omlete Rice*
(They call it オムライっす to pun off his speech pattern)

Monokuma Family Curry

Yumeno Himiko’s Magician Waffles

Akamatsu Kaede’s Hardworking Pianist Pancakes

Ouma Kokichi Coffee?!?!

Iruma Miu’s ♥♥ Drink

Harukawa Maki’s Berry Poison Soda

Momota Kaito’s Galactica Soda

Kiibo’s Robot Drink

…some of these names were cleverer than others.

Anyway so yeah. Birthday month is shaping up to be awesome!

8年間 AKB48のことを 朝から晩まで考えて活動して来ました そして今ではグループ総監督という 役割を与えていただいています AKB48グループで 東京ドームコンサートを もう一度したいです メンバーのみんな一緒に歩んでください 

From dawn till dust for 8 years I’m always thinking about AKB48 And now I got to be the group soukantoku.  I want to give my best for AKB to be at the Tokyo concert again. And I want to walk that path together with members and everyone.

- Yokoyama Yui @ Sousenkyo 2017


Someone on DC typed up the parts of the letter that we can see:

To. 세상에서 제일 아끼고 사랑하는 우리 엄마♡
To: My Mom, who I treasure and love the most in the world ♡

엄마! 나 누구까? 엄마 아들 대휘야~ 방송을 계속 보면서..
Mom! Who am I? I’m your son Daehwi~ While watching the broadcast…

모니터도 하구 연락도 매일 하는데 직접 만날 수 없는게 너무…
Monitoring the show and we keep in contact everyday, but the fact that we can’t meet face-to-face is just too…

끝나고 파이널 생방송을 앞두고 있는데 아직도 내가 여기까지..
After this is done, the live broadcast will be next, but until now, I am still…

믿고 시작한 프로그램이 부담도 되고 힘들었지만..힘을 얻고 잘 버텨온 것 같아요. 
I began this programme with trust but now it has become a burden and it is exhausting… but I think I can have strength and hang on.

우리 가족..아빠없이 나 키우느라 너무 힘들었고 과분한..
In our family… Without a dad, raising me is tiring and too much…

힘들었을 거라는거..
it must have been been so tiring…

anonymous asked:

why and how did you encounter a mafia front

So its not universal???

OK well. There’s this restaurant in san francisco that I won’t name because I don’t want to be killed, and I’ve been going there for many years now. The food is excellent even tho the menu is in Chinese and literally no one working there speaks English so I kind of have to point at the pictures on the menu and use google translate. Its cheap too, but almost always empty except for the occasional group of what look like Chinese businessmen. Aaaand there’s a second story to the place and you can pretty much always see suspicious looking men, usually with leather jackets going up the stairs, and they tend to glare at me or just generally look confused as to why this white girl is sitting there.

Growing up my mom was like “I think this place is a front for the Triads” and I nodded along sagely, and I totally had no idea who or what that was so many years later I googled it and was like “oh ok”

But I kind of forgot until the next time I went and I saw like 3 men with guns on holsters going up the stairs and I was “ooooh triads. Right. this rice is so good.”

There’s also this Russian bakery on the other side of the city that I wasn’t allowed to go into because my uncle said the Russian mafia the place but as far as I know that’s hearsay

anonymous asked:

Prompt-They meet some of the avengers?

Guardians of the Galaxy/Avengers, with vague spoilers for the new GotG movie, not really any recent Avengers spoilers to speak of.

Also on AO3:

“Hey! Whatcha lookin’ at down here?”

Clint jumped. He had been staring out the … window probably wasn’t right. Porthole? Viewscreen? Anyway, looking at space, watching the stars pass, when Peter Quill dropped out of a hatch over his head that he hadn’t even realized was there and thumped to the deck beside him.

It was hard not to think of Peter as a kid, even though there couldn’t have been more than about a decade or so between them. But Peter’s enthusiastic golden-retriever exuberance made Clint feel about a million years old, especially at times like now, when he’d been mesmerized by the vast gulf of blackness around him and mostly thinking about how someone like him (nothing special, no superserum, not even any fancy armor, just a damn spook, and a retired one at that) didn’t belong out here.

He was in space. On a spaceship.

“Stars,” he answered dryly.

“Yeah, I figured that part out.” Peter glanced out the window without a lot of interest. “There’s not much else to look at in this part of the cosmos, but we’re not quite to the next jump point yet. Oh, hey! If you really want to see something, we should take you by the –” and he said something odd, a quick garbled clicking.

“The what?”

Peter looked briefly baffled. “Didn’t that translate? Uh … it’s Chthonian, these cheap translators don’t always have all the languages from the Outer Arms …” He did something behind his ear. “Center of the Cat’s Eye. Did you get that?”

“I think so,” Clint said, frowning, because now he was wondering what language they were actually speaking, especially what the more unusual members of Peter’s crew sounded like.

“Sweet.” Peter touched something on the wall. “Hey, Rocket, when we hit the jump point, jump us to Cat’s Eye, would you?”

“Why?” came the cantankerous response. “That’s three jumps out of our way.”

“Yeah, but I want to show the new folks.”

“Fuckin’ tourists,” the mutter came from the wall.

Clint cleared his throat. “Er, just so I’m clear, Rocket is the ra –”

Peter’s hand shot out and clapped over Clint’s mouth until he had tapped off the intercom. “Don’t call him a raccoon. At least not if you want to leave the ship with all the fingers and toes you came onboard with. And he’s got ears like a bat.”

“You know,” Clint said, more than a little disgruntled, “I thought you were hanging around upstairs with the women and the … er … tree.”

“Yeah, well, Gamora and your redheaded friend were showing each other some high-kick moves, and then the knives came out, and I decided it would be a good time to get out of Dodge.” Peter leaned a casual shoulder against the wall. “Anyway, I wanted to find you and ask if you have any cool powers. I’ve asked everybody else, but I haven’t asked you yet.”


“Yeah, I’ve met a few people from Earth out here, and most of them have powers. One time I met a lady who could punch through an asteroid. That was seriously cool. What do you do on your team?”

And didn’t that just strike right to the heart of his current bout of nerves about the coming fight. Clint snorted. “I shoot arrows, mostly.”

He was unprepared for the look on Peter’s face, a quick flash of open, wounded hurt, before it was hidden behind a grin laced with traces of melancholy. In spite of that, Peter looked interested. “How do you do it? Do you have implants?”

Implanted what, was the question, and a question he decided not to ask. “With a bow, the old-fashioned way.”

With that, Clint unslung the bow from his shoulder. It was the nifty little collapsible model Stark had helped him develop, and when he extended it to its full length, a bright look of wonder and delight spread across Peter’s face. Like most people, he hadn’t realized what it was, and it appeared he hadn’t recognized the high-tech Stark-make quiver for what it was, either.

“Oh, cool.” Peter held out a hand, eyebrows raised like a question mark, and Clint passed it over to him. “Wow. I’ve heard about these, but never seen one. I didn’t know Earth had them. Are they common weapons there?”

“Not anymore.” Clint reached over his shoulder for the quiver, fingers moving swiftly across the top and selecting a shaft with the ease of practice. The thought occurred to him, as he did so, that the fact he’d spent so many hours practicing with the new tech probably put the lie to his insistence to Laura that he was really home for good at the farm this time, really, no more trips overseas, no more working with SHIELD …

Apparently being offered a trip to outer space had been his Achilles heel.

“Here.” He handed Peter the arrow. Peter took it with more reverence than Clint really thought it deserved, almost like he was having a religious experience. Clint showed him how to fit it to the bow. “This one’s magnetic. Just shoot in the general direction of whatever you want to hit, as long as it’s metal.”

“Not hard. We’re on a spaceship.” Peter grinned his pirate grin, but still he hesitated, something stilling his hand before he released the string. The arrow plunked into the opposite wall and stuck there, quivering.

Peter had a point, the magnetic arrow couldn’t exactly fail to hit something when there was metal all around them, but it was more than that: Peter was a natural at this. Clint could tell. No more than they’d seen of him so far, Clint had picked up on the fact that the self-proclaimed Star-Lord had a skill set encompassing a wide variety of weapons and (in Clint’s all-too-expert opinion) sleight-of-hand and pickpocketing skills as well. It wasn’t surprising that he could apply those skills to using the bow. He had the hand-to-eye coordination for it, and the heart for it. Peter, Clint thought, could be really good at this.

Right now Peter was holding out a hand to empty air. He frowned in puzzlement, and then before Clint could ask what he was doing, walked over and gave the arrow a hard tug to retrieve it from the wall. Aha. Peter must think it came back automatically. Well, that wasn’t a surprise when you were used to dealing with crazy-advanced outer space tech.

“Wanna try another?” Clint asked, reaching back for his quiver. It was a pleasure to work with a talented student.

Peter hesitated, then shook his head and handed the bow and arrow back. “Nah. I don’t think it’s my weapon.”

The way he said it was … Clint could almost get a read on it, but he couldn’t suss out the pain underlying the words. He didn’t have a chance to ask, not that he would have, because just then a shudder passed through his midsection, and Peter’s quick grin flared as he reached out to steady himself on the wall.

“We’re jumping,” he said. “Hang onto something.”

Oh God. This again. Clint was settling the bow into its accustomed place on his back, and therefore he wasn’t holding onto anything when reality warped, settled, warped again. He ended up sitting ingloriously on the floor when the ship and the stars outside the window steadied around them.

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter said cheerfully, offering him a hand up. “First time I went through a shipboard jump, I puked all over the guy who was holding onto me. Who was a space pirate, by the way, so you can guess how that went down. It gets easier.” He guided Clint’s fingers to a handle built into the wall. “There’s going to be one more jump before Cat’s Eye, so hang on and you’ll be fine.”

Peter was right, it was easier this time, like taking a punch when you were braced rather than catching a fist in the stomach unawares. The quick shiver through reality faded away with a humming series of tiny aftershocks and Clint instinctively glanced at the window.

And did a double take.

“Cat’s Eye,” Peter murmured.

Clint was speechless. He’d expected all of outer space to look like the part they’d passed through, a great gulf of blackness littered with stars, like a rural sky at night. But the window, viewport, what-the-heck-ever was full of light, great curtains of shifting and shimmering light, rolling around them in shafts and rippling sheets. It was like being inside an aurora.

He stared, mesmerized, only vaguely aware of the ship’s deck shuddering under him and Peter on the intercom: “Hey, Rocket, little bit close, aren’t we?”

“You said the tourists wanted to see the show,” came back the sharp, somewhat snide tones from above.

“I didn’t mean fly us all into the freaking middle of it! Christ!”

“Be more specific next time!”

The bickering rolled off Clint. He was captivated, watching the colors wheel past them as the ship made a slow, ponderous turn, fingers white-knuckled on the handle built into the wall. The shuddering of the deck eased, and the ship straightened out, gliding alongside the great roiling well of light and color.

“Yeah,” Peter said softly, looking out at it past Clint’s shoulder. “That’s about what I looked like the first time my old man showed me that thing, too.”

“Men may stumble upon secret things, but Von Junzt dipped deep into forbidden mysteries. He was one of the few men, for instance, who could read the Necronomicon in the original Greek translation.”

While the Necronomicon gets all the press, my personal favorite Tome of Eldritch Lore is undoubtedly Unaussprechlichen Kulten by Friedrich Wilhelm von Junzt. Known primarily by its translated name of “Nameless Cults” or just The Black Book, it is a catalogue of horrors and secrets, compiled by a German who spent his life traveling around the world, prying into the darkest corners of the occult.

His errand was quickly stated. He wished my aid in obtaining a volume in the first edition of Von Junzt’s Nameless Cults—the edition known as the Black Book, not from its color, but because of its dark contents. He might almost as well have asked me for the original Greek translation of the Necronomicon. Though since my return from Yucatan I had devoted practically all my time to my avocation of book collecting, I had not stumbled onto any hint that the book in the Dusseldorf edition was still in existence.

Unlike most Eldritch Tomes, it isn’t actually that old, having been written within living memory of the pulp era, and whereas most of these books were meant to be kept as closely guarded secrets, The Black Book was intended to be published widely.

A word as to this rare work. Its extreme ambiguity in spots, coupled with its incredible subject matter, has caused it long to be regarded as the ravings of a maniac and the author was damned with the brand of insanity. But the fact remains that much of his assertions are unanswerable, and that he spent the full forty-five years of his life prying into strange places and discovering secret and abysmal things. Not a great many volumes were printed in the first edition and many of these were burned by their frightened owners when Von Junzt was found strangled in a mysterious manner, in his barred and bolted chamber one night in 1840, six months after he had returned from a mysterious journey to Mongolia.

While the German title is usually translated as “Nameless Cults”, a more accurate translation is “Unspeakable Cults” with the double meaning of both “Forbidden” and “Unpronounceable”, both of which make sense given the Lovecraftian names contained therein. While most of those interested in the occult have heard of the book, and may be somewhat familiar with it, most have only read poor translations and pirated editions.

Five years later a London printer, one Bridewall, pirated the work, and issued a cheap translation for sensational effect, full of grotesque woodcuts, and riddled with misspellings, faulty translations and the usual errors of a cheap and unscholarly printing. This still further discredited the original work, and publishers and public forgot about the book until 1909 when the Golden Goblin Press of New York brought out an edition. Their production was so carefully expurgated that fully a fourth of the original matter was cut out; the book was handsomely bound and decorated with the exquisite and weirdly imaginative illustrations of Diego Vasquez. The edition was intended for popular consumption but the artistic instinct of the publishers defeated that end, since the cost of issuing the book was so great that they were forced to cite it at a prohibitive price.

To read an original copy of Unaussprechlichen Kulten with its heavy leather covers and rusty iron hasps was to delve into secrets of every kind. From Lemurian religions to the Thuggee, from pre-human monoliths to ruins of antediluvian civilizations, Von Junzt wrote about dark things and forgotten lore. But he was no mere scholar, collecting and retelling tales told by others. He sought out these hidden cults himself, tracking them down one by one, learning their secrets and attempting to drag them, wriggling, into the light.

Von Junzt spent his entire life (1795-1840) delving into forbidden subjects; he traveled in all parts of the world, gained entrance into innumerable secret societies, and read countless little-known and esoteric books and manuscripts in the original; and in the chapters of the Black Book, which range from startling clarity of exposition to murky ambiguity, there are statements and hints to freeze the blood of a thinking man.

What lends the Black Book its aura of dread is this very proximity; these are not ancient tales chronicled by a historian, but a log of things discovered still extant. Von Junzt went out to the darkest corners of the world and found these secret cults, and they can still reach out into the world for those who meddle in their affairs.

Reading what Von Junzt dared put in print arouses uneasy speculations as to what it was that he dared not tell. What dark matters, for instance, were contained in those closely written pages that formed the unpublished manuscript on which he worked unceasingly for months before his death, and which lay torn and scattered all over the floor of the locked and bolted chamber in which Von Junzt was found dead with the marks of taloned fingers on his throat? It will never be known, for the author’s closest friend, the Frenchman Alexis Ladeau, after having spent a whole night piecing the fragments together and reading what was written, burnt them to ashes and cut his own throat with a razor.

Headcanon Wednesday: Translators and Translation

Or: How Come Everybody Can Understand Everybody Else?

Ironically, it was the salarians who developed the fast, cheap, and highly effective translator technology that’s currently used across the galaxy. ‘Ironically’ because salarians are the species least likely to need it: salarian brains are highly plastic, and the so-called language acquisition window never closes for them, which means they’re natural polyglots. Most salarians know at least four or five languages fluently, and up to twenty is not especially unusual. Salarians can quickly and easily pick up other languages all the way up until they die of old age.

But perhaps it’s actually because they pick up languages so easily that salarians developed translator technology. After all, on their own homeworld most salarians never had to deal with the inherent discomfort of not being able to understand another language, since they could just learn it if they were so inclined. Once they discovered that there were far more languages in the galaxy than even a salarian could possibly learn—well, that made them uncomfortable enough to do something about it.

The translator technology that salarians developed is a mature technology: cheaply produced, easily miniaturized, extremely effective. It consists of a microphone, a speaker, and a sophisticated natural language processor, all wrapped up in a package about the size of a grain of barley. In short: the microphone takes in what’s being spoken, the processor translates it, and the speaker produces a fluent and natural translation. The translation is audible, and the general effect is similar to the audio-with-translation-overlay of a news broadcast: you can hear the underlying speech, which is important for inflection and tone, and the translation is layered over it.

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[Twitter] Murayama Yuiri - 20.09.2017


パフォーマンスで レッツゴー研究生公演を


It’s already the end of the day
so today 20 September
is Yamauchi Mizuki-chan 16 year-old birthday.

A serious but also humble and shy Zukki.
But she always heat the stage Let’s go Kenkyuusei with her great performance. Thank you.

Wish you the best year.
#Yamauchi Mizuki

SinJa DJ - Person Who Does as He Pleases by Yu-Cho//Pal (RAW)

Yeah, since it’s a lot easier for me if I scan my hard copies that I have to keep hidden, I’m gonna start scanning them though it might take a while ^^;

Unfortunately, still haven’t found a cheap translator for the Gosumura one :’( I’m actually tempted to start a scanlation group exclusively for SinJa stuff as the ones I know about are pretty much inactive atm… also, since my scans are really low quality, I doubt any group would work on them ^^; but don’t even know where to start in finding staff… I am part of scanlation groups but my role is only English proofreader so yeah, I’d need at least a translator, which is the most difficult one to find :’(

Anyways, for now, here’s another raw scan of my Magi DJ :) Please support the doujinka by buying their works if you get the chance ^^

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also sj clearly took a long time to prepare what they were going to say and practiced in advance (which meant they had by far the best ment bc kcon was too cheap to hire a translator) and that’s just so cute and I really want to appreciate them for that ㅠㅠ babies always trying so hard for us

Ren’s cheap translations

So while Im looking for a job (which is not going well so far) I thought I could earn some money doing translations. I will translate from English to Spanish and viceversa.

I will translate practically anything, from simple stories to academic texts.

The fee is $0,8 per word (minimum fee according to most websites)

For more information please contact me at:

Mientras busco un trabajo (lo cual no va muy bien hasta ahora) pensé que podria ganar un poco de dinero haciendo traducciones. Voy a traducir del inglés al castellano y viceversa.

Voy a traducir practicamente todo, desde simples historias hasta textos académicos.

La tarifa es de $0,8 (dolares) por palabra (el mínimo según muchos sitios)

Para mas información por favor contactame:

Ren’s cheap translations

So while Im looking for a job (which is not going well so far) I thought I could earn some money doing translations. I will translate from English to Spanish and viceversa.

I will translate practically anything, from simple stories to academic texts.

The fee is $0,08 per word (minimum fee according to most websites)

For more information please contact me at:

Mientras busco un trabajo (lo cual no va muy bien hasta ahora) pensé que podria ganar un poco de dinero haciendo traducciones. Voy a traducir del inglés al castellano y viceversa.

Voy a traducir practicamente todo, desde simples historias hasta textos academicos.

La tarifa es de $0,08 (dolares) por palabra (el mínimo según muchos sitios)

Para mas información por favor contactame: