#English is hard enough without all the different slang and made up words that change meaning every time you blink

[alvfr]

Urban dictionary is wrong, the person who said the chapter cooked meant it was good!!

Oh that is good to know

Thank you! 🙏

[bigbadredpanda]

Hi,, I hope I'm not bothering you with this and I'm sorry if my English isn't good, I hope you can understand my questions. I've been thinking about this for a while now and I tried to find information online but I found nothing.

MDZS is the first Chinese Novel I've read and I still haven't finished it yet,,but I've heard about rumors that said that MXTX is in jail, because she sold copies of her books. The rumor isn't true, however it made me wonder something,, I know China's censorship on lgbt related stuff is really heavy and that's why the donghua and drama adaptations of MDZS and other bl works are censored, but I didn't know that authors couldn't sell their novels.

So my question is,, how does MXTX earn money if she isn't allowed to sell her works? She has already finished 3 Danmei novels, and her works are really popular, they even have manhua, donghua or drama adaptations. The adaptations have earned quite a lot of money, but since she's an anonymous writer, does part of it even go to her?

To make the drama, the donghua and the manhua, producers had to ask her permission, I think. So, since the adaptations are doing well, she should get part of the profit, but how does it work? If the Chinese Government really is against lgbt themed works, shouldn't they have done something about her?

I really love her works and I hope that she earns something since she is the one that created all of them. Thanks for considering my question!!

Hi both of you and welcome to the cnovel fandom! Quick intro of the author, MXTX uses a pen name like many webnovel authors, it’s the abbreviation of Mo Xiang Tong Xiu which literally means “Ink Fragrance, Copper [Money] Stench” (墨香铜臭). Fun fact, it’s her mother who coined that name. MXTX wished to pursue a major in literature during university but her mother wanted her to graduate in economy instead while keeping writing on the side, that way she would have the fragrance of ink in one hand and the stench of money in the other.

We also know that she is fairly young, she wrote Scum Villain while she was a university student and she started working on the outline of MDZS in her final year. Tian Guan Ci Fu (Heaven Official’s Blessing) is the third book she completed and a fourth novel is/was in the works, its provisional title is “No rest for the death god” and is supposed to be a supernatural story taking place in a modern setting.

MXTX is one of the most popular webnovel authors on Jinjiang Literature City, the webnovel platform, but her popularity also comes with a great many detractors. You’ve heard some of the malicious rumours circulating in the English-speaking side of the fandom, it’s just a drop in the ocean compared to the outpouring of heated controversies in the Chinese side as the latter can have real-life consequences. There is a different nexus between the creator and the audience and the fandom culture is not the same either, it can be quite deleterious due to the tendency to report any content that one disagrees with.

Censorship in China is... ever-changing and nebulous. How severe it is depends on the medium. Nevertheless, gay literature (同志文学) does exist in China and it is distinct from danmei. I also want to nuance a bit the pervasive idea that anything lgbt is systematically and relentlessly censored in China. The reality is more complex than that and it would be dismissive of the hard-fought gains and visibility that Chinese lgbt activists have obtained these past two decades (some concrete examples: the work of the lgbt centre in Beijing or the pride festival in Shanghai). I don’t know if people are aware of this but lgbt dating apps are thriving in China, the most popular one, Blued, is also the largest lgbt social network worldwide. With that said, the official policy towards homosexuality is the three No’s: “no approval, no disapproval, no promotion”. A stance comparable to the “don’t ask, don’t tell”. It’s not explicit persecution but it manifests in the silencing of public discussion and the limiting media representation of homosexuality. In 2017, the top media regulator that oversaw radio, film and television  issued guidelines banning a number of things, this included obscene and violent content, homosexuality, superstitious pseudoscience (such as reincarnation or spirit possession). On top of that, there is also an ongoing crackdown on online pornography that gets increasingly intense. And that concerns everyone on the internet, it’s astonishing the lengths netizens will go to in order to circumvent the censorship, new slang is developed to refer obliquely to banned words, fanfics are published in image format to prevent text recognition, etc... The censorship might be increasingly prevalent but netizens push back with their resourcefulness. Pushing back is also not without significant risk. Perhaps you have heard of the case of the danmei author that received a severe jail sentence? A few Western media picked up on that and criticised the ruling that was deemed homophobic. Chinese reactions tell a slightly different story, the author's crime was not writing danmei, she was in fact accused of making a profit by illegally producing and disseminating pornographic material. I’m not too keen on the details but it seems she printed the books herself and sold them online. To some Chinese observers, the ruling was not discriminatory because she did break the law. To others, it was absurd because this law dates from an era when internet barely existed and it would have been much more laborious to mass-produce and share porn at that time. There’s a bit of truth in all these points of views. It’s also not disingenuous to say that lgbt content is more likely to be targeted than het content even if the charges are not directly lgbt-related.

Usually contracted authors of webnovel platforms have a more secure status. They get a fee from the purchase of VIP chapters as well as tips from the readers. Other sources of revenue arise when webnovels get popular enough to get the opportunity to be published through official channels or when adaptation rights are sold (I assume that the author receives a share of that deal but perhaps does not get any further financial gain from the adaptation or its merch).

To support the author, I would suggest purchasing TGCF on Jinjiang (guide) or buying the physical versions of her three novels in Chinese (shop, change to English with top-right world icon), the special boxsets of MDZS and TGCF come with tons of goodies!

Hope I could be of service and that my tirade was mildly informative ^^'

[spotofimagines]

Rivals Last ~ Jadon Sancho

A/N: So I had this in my drafts before he signed with man united but that's fine, we move, we adapt. A third piece for the @footballffbarbiex summer challenge. Hope you enjoy it :)

Warnings: none - reader is female

Summary: You love both your brothers dearly, but being in the football world with them can make some things a little complicated.

gif by @archivesbvb - gif by @ermuellert - gif by @italynt

Being a footballer meant living in a special world. Being in a footballing family meant living in a special world too. Being the younger sister of Lucas and Theo Hernandez meant living in a really special world. But nobody told you just how crazy it would be for all three of those things to apply to you.

You truly love watching your older brothers play football. They teach you something new during every match you see; even though you play as a striker, their movements and handling of the ball always inspire you to play better. After all, it was their defensive skills that helped you become a good goal scorer growing up since they never let a tackle go unchallenged in the park and you had to find out how to manoeuvre around them. A lot easier said than done.

Currently Lucas is signed with Bayern Munich. In his time there so far, he has learnt the heritage, history, and importance of wearing the badge and defending its honour in every match they play, especially derbies. Having supported Lucas, it quickly became easy for you to support Bayern Munich too and celebrate their victories like it was your own team. You'd always managed to do it with the clubs both your brothers played for, letting the atmosphere of the fanbase carry you away.

You have just finished your second season in England with Manchester City women's team. You'd settled in nicely now, having learnt a lot of the English language and culture already. The experience was made so much easier because of the help given by your welcoming teammates and the staff that translated things into French and Spanish during your first months there.

Fans were a little disappointed during the 2019 summer transfer window when it was confirmed all three Hernandez siblings would be leaving Spain to play separately in England, Germany and Italy, joking that no one could know what might happen with you all so far away. However, to you, it made things easier, as Lucas and Theo would stop making so many awful jokes about each other's clubs, only to join forces to diss your club even more afterward. Now the only connection you have to the clubs you all play for is the want for your sibling to win with them. And it is a great feeling. A welcome change of pace.

But no new change to your life felt as good as your blossoming "relationship", situationship, whatevership, you have with Jadon Sancho.

It all started with you flirting back and forth on social media, which turned itself into countless hours of DMs no one else could see. You congratulated his goals and he congratulated your wins. All the light-hearted teasing and the warm-hearted compliments stayed in your own little bubble. The only thing peeking out was your silly inside rule that if you were going to comment on a post, it had to be emojis only, stretching to a few words if you really couldn't help yourself - but it would earn you taunts from the other for the rest of the night.

Some eagle-eyed fans noticed how you'd been liking each other's posts every time they appeared for a while now, but it just added to the fun and thrill you got from flirting with him so much.

You weren't meant to be forming a bond with Jadon. He played for your brother’s rival. He was supposed to be the enemy. Someone you should dislike with a snap of your fingers. Certainly not a boy to fall for like you have.

You couldn't help yourself. Lucas and Theo had helped you since you moved to England by being the steady rocks they always were, cheering you on from afar. Your new teammates had helped you since you moved to England by introducing fun things for you all to do together and taking you under their wings. But Jadon had helped you in a different kind of way. He gave you a new kind of comfort and reassurance when you talked. He became someone to turn to with all your interesting news and your curious problems. He told you the good places to visit around the city that he remembered from his time there and taught you English slang to make your teammates laugh. You spoke three languages to varying degrees now, and you'd managed to pick up more German vicariously through Lucas in two years faster than Jadon had done living in Germany in four years, so you'd clue him into rude German phrases you had asked Lucas about, alongside the French and Spanish swear words he used more often than English ones now when you text. 

Even though a language barrier comes up once in a while, you have both learnt behaviours from each other and crave the contact you share. Jadon was starting to drop everything to send replies to you, a change his teammates have noticed and jokingly mock him for. Little did they know the unknown girl they joke he is smitten over is the sister of their rival.

Theo is the one in your family you usually tell about the boys you go out with; boyfriends and dates have been shared with him since you were 13 and doting on your first crush. He does the same with his girlfriends; asking advice and telling you more than you need to know at times. So, when you all went home for a bit of family time around Christmas, nothing could stop him from noticing the tell-tale signs that you had something going on. He already figured out through persistence that it was another player you were getting involved with, and his insistent questioning hasn't stopped in his search for who the player is.

But you keep it hidden from Lucas, and you don't know when you'll tell him. He has been your protector since you were kids, comforting you on sad nights when no one else was there, teaching you little secrets about how to navigate through the world, he even punched a boy who teased you once at school. The idea of telling him you were chatting romantically to another player would be trouble enough, but telling him it was a Dortmund player might just end up in another schoolground incident. You hadn't wanted Theo to know for fear he'd go dishing your dirt to Lucas, but he discovered it on his own and there was nothing you could do.

Who knows what might become of this thing you have with Jadon, and lord knows your eldest brother owns a hard as nails death stare that just might do Jadon in, but for now you actually quite like having the secret. A little mystery tucked away up your sleeve.

The rush you always get when Lucas calls your phone as you're typing a text to the Englishman,  feeling as though the first words from the other end will be shouts of how he knows everything and he'll never speak to you again for keeping it a secret, fills you with dread at times. But it never is the reason he calls, and it turns out he is just making plans or has something funny to tell you. But the way your heart thumps as you go back to texting Jadon, that is part of the chase you have to admit you enjoy.

Hardcore fans online have noticed the past few months that when you do interviews in English, the odd slang term comes up during jokes - terms you hadn't used before and stem more from London boroughs than northen towns - so speculation of how you'd learnt these things easily coincided with dating rumors.

Lucas had seen the speculation online; seen fans trying to put your interactions with the Dortmund player together through both your instagram stories and comments and the tweets you both had liked about the other. Lucas had even grown suspicious of the little questions you asked him about Germany, German phrases and his lifestyle there, not knowing why you would need nor want to know those things. But Lucas doesn't believe it. He knows that you know better to mix with a Dortmund boy.

Sometimes an older brother just doesn't get it quite right…

Soon, the chance will come to really see if your connection is something you can build on. Jadon's new signing with Manchester United has been confirmed and he will be moving back to England. It is a great opportunity to get to see him more often, rather than the odd rendezvous point or clandestine trip during small breaks in the season. You'll spend more time face to face instead of over the phone. You'll get to wake up in his bed and him in yours, without needing to sneak away from hotel rooms afterwards. You'll maybe even get to go on a proper date, just the two of you, where you can flirt across the table your joined hands rest upon. Hanging out with Jadon won't be the first time you've spent time together in person. However, getting a full day with only the two of you where you won't have to pretend you hardly know who he is, and you won't have to pretend your eyes aren't meeting across the group of people you're in - it fills your stomach with knots and butterflies.

A certain pressure has fallen off you now Jadon has no growing rivalry with Lucas, but not completely. You won't be able to take back the way their teams made the other feel in the past, but the fact there won't be more of it next season comforts you a little. The biggest thing that will hold you back from going public before the new season starts will be the media, but that is an issue you can't even begin to worry about yet. You are too caught up in the excitement of being in the same town as Jadon to care. Rumours are spinning crazier than ever about you two as some of your liked tweets about his move got reposted by sports pages and fan blogs - now joking about him being your rival instead of your brother's - and yet it didn't stop you, no longer all that bothered about keeping a low profile now you both will be living away from Lucas. If he gets mad, all he will be able to do is shout down the phone, and whilst you never want that to happen, you know the time to flourish with Jadon and capitalise on the foundation you have already built is better than ever, brothers be damned.

There are big changes coming for the both of you, yet one thing will remain the same no matter the outcome of your relationship. You can't quite stop being football rivals.

[hiswhiteknight]

Unbelievably Outlandish– Part 9

Summary:  Before starting down a new crossroads, the Reader goes onto an adventure of literary traveling. Suddenly tossed into an unbelievable story that has swept the world, The Outlander Series itself. How will a twenty first century woman survive?

Note: I own no characters, except reader, clearly this is based off the lovely book series Outlander by Diana Gabaldon and tv show. This follows more the tv show, but it’s far from accurate. I’m going to try to get better with using less proper English, but who knows maybe I’ll get into Scottish slang.

Pairing: Jamie Fraser x Female Reader

Words: 1900

 Warning: Angst, playfulness, cursing, slow start, obviously fighting and such

You heard Jamie’s word after he left, ‘You should go up and spend some time with the clan, it might be worth learning a bit more.’ He wasn’t wrong, though it was hard for you to admit it. You took a deep sigh, fixed your hair, and went back up the stairs. You found Mrs. Fitz, who passed you a drink. “Lovely you joined us again Y/N. Everything prepped for the hunt?”

 “Sure is, Mrs. Fitz, sure is, which means I can drink and be merry,” you watched as the line started to dwindle down as the men took their oaths to Colum. “Anything happen after the oath taking, like that musician, will he be playing today. Love that guy,” you smile down at her.

 She looked at you bemused and shook her head, “No, he won’t be playing this evening. There will be dancing later, I’m sure quite a few men would be interested in dancing with you.”

 You shook your head at her, “You are not a match maker Mrs. Fitz. I would not dare to go out on that floor. I would insult the good Mackenzie clan with my lack of grace.” A man tripped over his feet in front of you and stumbled on to find his friends.

“Grace is nothing you need to worry about here dear,” she grinned at you. “Not too difficult to figure out, I’ll have Laoghaire show you later,” she tapped you. Laoghaire stood next to her, giving you a strange look, you were sure you didn’t warrant. Suddenly the room grew quiet and you looked up towards the entrance of the hall. Jamie was weaving through the crowd slowly. He had changed and making his way towards the oath taking line. And every eye was on him, except when you turned to observe everyone’s reaction Murtagh was looking at you. You gripped Mrs. Fitz’s arm and pushed towards Murtagh, there was no way you were taking credit for this.

 When you made yourself up to him, he was towards the back of the room with his hand gripping the top of his sword, “Why do I have a feeling this involves you?”

 “I didn’t do it,” you whispered harshly to him, sounding like a child defending their lack of innocence. He tipped his head over not believing you for a second, “I didn’t do it on purpose, and he told me he could get back just fine.”

 “You don’t understand what you just did to him. You signed his death sentence,” he pulled you back further. Murtagh caught you up in the severity of Jamie’s predicament. With every word, you grew more worrisome and filled with guilt. The thought of not having Jamie to rely on as a friend tousled around in your head. You tried to find a way to free Jamie from this situation and the only thought you could manage was start a fire or faint and you didn’t believe either of those situations would help him out of this.

 It was Jamie’s turn next and you didn’t acknowledge that you started to hold your breath. Suddenly without reason or thought, you grabbed Murtagh’s forearm. And without much thought, Jamie diplomatically got himself out of the situation looking like a leader. You cursed under your breath, before dusting off the front of your dress, “And you were worried Murtagh. See Jamie came out looking like a,” you paused not being able to come up with a metaphor that would make sense in the 18th century, “I don’t know. He is just fine. Now you can’t be mad at me.”

 Murtagh rolled his eyes as Jamie walked up to him, “Couldn’t stay away from trouble, aye?”

 Jamie looked towards you, his face grew a knowing smile I didn’t quite understand, “Sometimes trouble finds me than I’m like a moth to flame. Y/N, I see you decided to join the gathering again.”

 “You made it sound so exciting and here you were not wrong. Though it doesn’t bode well that you got caught. And now Murtagh here is blaming me for your lack of discretion,” you use your thumb to point back at Murtagh, “And I was starting to win him over.”

 Scratching the back of his neck, leaning in to whisper, “Not everyone can be sneaky as you and not get caught.”

 “Tis right there sir,” you shoot back at him.

 Hearing a big sigh come from his partner in crime, Murtagh gave Jamie an eye roll and pulled him out of the hall, “You’ve had enough of trouble this evening, let’s go.”

 “Enjoy your evening, Y/N.”

 You shook your head, biting back a snarky comment. You could throttle the man for making everything seem so suave and charming. As Jamie and Murtagh rounded the hall entrance, the phrase you repeated to yourself, ‘your charm doesn’t work on me Jamie.’ It was slowly hitting you that, that mantra might not be as strong as you needed it to be. You looked around, feeling someone starring at you and caught eye contact with Laoghaire. And suddenly she was storming out of your eyesight. The dancing had started and you watched the mesmerizing dance of the culture. Everyone’s laughter put you at ease for a moment. Then suddenly, you were in your head missing your home and brother. You weren’t meant to be here, everything you are is fake or reserved. You couldn’t live like this and the bought of hopelessness took over your soul. In this moment, something inside you became a little toxic.

  The next morning, you were up early for the hunt. The way the night ended with the uneasiness sat on your chests as you dressed for the day. This wasn’t your place, this wasn’t your job, and it started to bother you how different the times are. You would never be respected as a woman, an unmarried woman. You tossed your hair in two French braids, per usual fashion when having a busy day. You dropped your hair piece under the bed and you ducked down to grab it to suddenly find a strange bundle. You finished with your hair and brought the bundle down to the kitchen.

 You grabbed some bread and sat the bundle on the table, “Dear what are you bringing that into this kitchen,” Mrs. Fitz yelled catching you off guard and causing you to stumble backwards.

 “I,” you paused to comprehend the situation, “I, I found it in my room, under my bed and I was going to ask it was some weird potpourri thing. What is it?”

 “It’s an ill-wish, a witch’s making,” she tossed it into the fire.

 “An ill-wish, what?”

 “Someone be wishing to bring you harm dear, what have you gotten into,” she put both her hands on your face, “Try staying out of trouble, someone has an eye to hurt you.”

 “I didn’t do anything, literally I have been making myself small at possible Mrs. Fitz,” your voice started to raise. You have done everything in your power to win people over, treat people with kindness, not start a stir when you found injustice to your gender and status. You didn’t believe in witchcraft, though it should cause you to question since you are living the 18th century, which is something you would never believe in.

 “All due respect, Mrs. Fitz, but someone is going to get their ass beat hard,” you shot catching everyone’s attention.

 “Lass, mind your tongue. That is not the language a lady speaks,” Mrs. Fitz tried to sooth you.

 You pull away from her, “No,” you start to gather your things feeling the heat of this betrayal crumble the wall you built around your true self to keep you protected from these people. Every comment, action, and lie you’ve told to keep yourself from being killed, shunned, raped, or imprisoned is bubbling out of your pours. You have reached you limit, “I am not a lady Mrs. Fitz. I do not belong here. I wear pants damn it, I swear, and I could probably kick the ass of half the men here,” you paused, “At the same time,” you paused again, “Maybe not, but I sure would die trying. I do not belong here. Look at how everyone looks at me, treats me, I’m the enemy because I’m different. I’m not part of the clans, I’m an imposter. And rather than whisper about their hatred, someone wants to cause me actual pain with this bullshit. Fuck that. I’m sorry Mrs. Fitz and pardon me, but fuck that.” Your packs were hanging from my shoulder, “Let this spread around the village, anyone that can guarantee me the name of the person who put this under my bed gets all the money I have earned over the time I’ve been here.”

 “Y/N,” Mrs. Fitz called after you. She clearly was not offended by your lewdness, but more she was concerned about what you were about to cause with your burst of feelings of revenge and anger.

 You stomped up to Angus, “Where the necklace man, I didn’t escape or leave, now give the piece back?”

 “Don’t speak to me like that lassie,” he started to feel around his body for the necklace you gave him the night before. With every pat, your already boiling anger grew. That was the only piece from your family you owned. “Might of lost-,” he started to say.

 With the beginning of his sentence, you went for your dagger lying on your waistband. Before you could pull it out, Rupert pushed your hand down holding the handle down, “Settle down Y/N, Angus gave me the necklace to watch over. He noted he would lose it.” He pushed the charm in your hand, “If that would have came out, Angus would have gutted you. Does the hunt have you on edge lass?”

 “Stupidity has me on edge Rupert and it’s not much of your business,” you stormed away to find your horse. Something had changed in you and you weren’t sure what to do about it.

 You struggled to get on your horse, when someone came up and offered you an extra push. Jamie stood in front of you and your horse, “Mrs. Fitz asked me to check on you. She shared you were upset and threatening people. I heard you tried to pull a knife on Angus, what has gotten into you woman.”

 This time you didn’t make eye contact with Jamie, “Mind your business Mister MacTavish. If I want to fight or punish someone for their actions against me, then I’ll see fit to do it. Now get out of my way, there is a boar to chase down and murdered.”

 Jamie didn’t move, keeping your horse in place, “You going to get yourself killed and as your friend, that does in fact concern me. You shouldn’t be going on the hunt like this.”

 You pushed forward with the horse causing Jamie to back up quickly, “I’ve seen Old Yeller, I get the dangers that come from a boar. Right now, you should be worried about the clansmen Mackenzie. Now if you’ll excuse me,” you started to move towards the field.

 You were fully aware he would not get the reference from the 21st century, but you did not care. The thought of taking the horse and charging out of the village to the stones drifted to your mind. But you still cared to get back to your brother at the moment and that meant you had to have a chance to survive, “Y/N,” Jamie yelled after you.

 “Leave me alone, Mister MacTavish, I have business to attend to,” you shouted back.

 Part 10

Taglist:  @doctorwhatwhenandwhere @damnedandbroken @blushingpogue @blancastans @slytherinambitious @kinky-asher @lovesanimals @bilesxbilinskixlahey

[tea-at-221]

So, let's delve a bit into the Spanish dub of Supernatural.

I'm going to go through a lot of terms here, and a lot of basics, in order to increase people's level of understanding as to how the dub may possibly have come about the way it did.

This post will provide information and, I hope, allow some members of the fandom to move forward with their own theories with more reassurance. Information is power. I will define and clarify industry terms to the best of my novice ability to make it easier for others who wish to do their own research.

This post was inspired by the fact that I've been part of multiple fandoms in which queerbaiting has played an enormous part: I am tired of seeing fandom friends left devastated and without answers, no emotional resolution in sight. So this post is, in spirit if not content, largely dedicated to my fellow Johnlockers and Queliot shippers. And most of all, for Quentin Coldwater, who deserved not just better but the very best.

Disclaimer: This is my own research and there is a bit of speculation involved; I can't guarantee 100% that I will get everything right (I hit some very frustrating walls looking up what should be easy-to-find facts), but I did a *lot* of work for this. Other people will doubtless be able to clarify points/give better specifics/correct what I've gotten wrong. I am not promising a concrete answer to “SPN gate” here, as without more information than we currently have that is impossible to declare with certainty.

More under the cut.

All that having been said, onwards (see end for sources):

First, who airs the Spanish dub of Supernatural?

Answer: the Warner Channel.

Why? It goes back to who owns The CW.

From Wikipedia (2): "The CW Network, LLC, a limited liability joint venture between the CBS Entertainment Group unit of ViacomCBS; and the Studios and Networks division of AT&T's WarnerMedia, the parent company of Warner Bros., former majority owner of The WB. The network's name is an abbreviation derived from the first letters of the names of its two parent corporations (CBS and Warner Media)."

Warner Bros apparently is the side that handles the delegation of dubbing to outside studios. So, who does Warner use for their dubbing? Perhaps multiple studios, but the two I found in the course of my research were SPGStudios(5) (who specifically handle localization for Latin American Spanish productions) and Iyuno Media Group (formerly BTI Studios)(3).

What is localization?

Simply put, it refers to the translation of the home language of the show in question to the language of the new market it's entering. So, Supernatural 15x18 is translated from its native English to Spanish for Latin American viewers.

And what exactly *is* dubbing (actually called revoicing within the industry; dubbing is a widely-recognized term, however, and it's pretty well understood what is meant by it)?

Here is the Merriam-Webster definition:

"1 : to add (sound effects or new dialogue) to a film or to a radio or television production —usually used with "in"

They dubbed in the music.

2 : to provide (a motion-picture film) with a new soundtrack and especially dialogue in a different language

The film was dubbed in French and Spanish.

3 : to make a new recording of (sound or videotape already recorded) also : to mix (recorded sound or videotape from different sources) into a single recording"

There is a slang term, "dubby," which refers to any overdub that is comically jarring and obviously a dub. The history of dubbing has been such that this has become a way to think of and recognize it: by how awful and ineffective it used to be when it came to foreign films sloppily overlaid with English dubbing.

However, we are in the midst of an age of networks and companies scrambling to play catch-up, eager to use modern technology to create more effective, convincing dubs. In short, they see the moneymaking potential of presenting finished works that viewers may not even realize *are* dubbed without careful inspection. It's true that a good dub is about 10x more costly than subtitling, but it's hard to satisfy the viewer's desire for escapism if they can't suspend disbelief because they're busy reading.

The truth of that is reflected in internal statistics Netflix (for instance, but not just them) parses to gauge viewer interaction and retention with their various shows: when comparing subtitled vs. dubbed shows, it's easy to see which is the winner.(1)

So to be sure there is no nefarious intent here, we would need to be able to identify the following:

A.) What exactly was the process for this dub?

B.) Who decides what changes to make during a dubbing process?

C.) Who approves those changes?

*Can* there be such a thing as a "rogue translator," as Misha Collins put it? (I am going to clarify here that I think Misha is an upstanding person who believed the best of the show he was involved in and all the people who made it, so his assumption of a rogue translator makes sense in the context of that emotion-based reasoning).

I'm not sure which studio did the dub for the Latin American Spanish version of Supernatural; if I had access to that episode perhaps it's mentioned in the credits. You'd think that would be simple enough to figure out anyway, but I was unable. So maybe someone can take a look and let me know. But, as an example, here is how SPGStudios outlines their localization (dubbing) process:

1.) They make a digital or analog transcription of a show/movie.

2.) The translation, or localization, is done by their staff (in any of 40 available languages their staff can speak). When translating, they translate for meaning and then adapt for time, tempo, and style. They say that "extensive experience is required to capture the essence of the language dialog while accounting for variances in speaking time between the source and destination languages." i.e.,  wording/word choice will be kept as true as possible to the original intention of the native language, but at the same time the translation will need to use its chosen wording in a way that fits what is being shown on-screen. To produce a convincing/pleasing dub, they won't replace a word like "looked" with a longer phrase like "scanned the horizon" because it's not going to match what's onscreen. That would be venturing into "dubby" territory.

3.) They perform the ADR process: the voice actors (in this case it would normally be Guillermo Rojas performing for Dean Winchester, though it appears things may have been different in 15x18, possibly due to covid) record the new dialogue to replace the original actor's performance.

4.) The newly recorded dialogue goes to the sound editorial department "to ensure that lip-synch is optimized and technical aspects of the vocal performance match the original."

5.) All of the new audio--including dialogue, music, and sound effects--is mixed together to emulate the quality of the original production as closely as possible despite the changes in rhythm that resulted from the dialog having been translated.

6.) Designers, animators, and VFX editors assist with the localization or enhancement of graphics, if needed.

7.) Localized Master: SPG has a 'traffic team' who 'ensures that all client delivery and storage specifications are met, including file formatting, labeling, and uploading." So in other words, the files are heavily encrypted (or that's how I read this).

Presumably, after all steps are performed, SPGStudios transfers the show back to Warner, who then distributes it. The other studio, Iyuno, makes it very clear that *they* can coordinate and handle all distribution themselves to a vast number of networks. That means that if the client desires, Iyuno can send the finished product directly out into the world.

There seem to be two types of scripts that can be given to the dubbing company:

1.) "In-Production Dubbing indicates that dubbing production is active in tandem with post production. In-Production Dubbing fulfillment partners should expect potential changes to source materials."(4)

2.) "Final Asset Dubbing indicates that dubbing production takes place after final delivery of the show. All source assets will be in a final state. The dubbing fulfillment partner should not expect any changes to the source materials."(4)

Without knowing which of these was agreed upon for SPN 15x18, it is very hard to say exactly where or if additional edits may have been performed on the original material that weren't performed on the translated material (in other words, earlier draft).

If the studio was given the episode as an In-Production Dubbing project, this could explain why the title of the Spanish translation reflected the original script title, "The Truth," rather than the final title in English, "Despair".

Assuming this difference was unintentional, rather than a calculated marketing ploy re: audience enticement (which seems admittedly unlikely), then yes, it could indicate a screw-up on someone's part. The question is, was the dub company given the task of generating the title card, or did some other graphics department handle that before the project made it to them? If the latter is the case, the choice to add "Me too" instead of "Don't do this, Cas" could be either a conscious choice on the dub studio's part as sort of a nod to what they thought "the truth" was, or could just be them going with what they were given and making their translation choices based on something else, such as rhythm/timing.

SO, could there have been an original script that had Dean say "me too" in response to Cas, which then went through translation and made it out into the world? Teeechnically yes, but one would assume that the original script and original *footage* would have to have arrived at the dub studio together if the script is being transcribed in-house as SPGSTudios outlines in their process. I'm going to reason that the odds of them using a later edit of the visual--one that contained what in this instance we would be assuming was Warner's preferred dialogue ("Don't do this, Cas") yet choosing to stick with their own audio revoicing of the (supposed) original script/visual's "Me too, Cas" with its now subsequently poor timing, seems unlikely.

So either they would likely have to redo the exact same "Me too" audio again (having made the choice to keep the original dialogue, while also having to work under pandemic restrictions re: travel and talent availability) to make everything match the visual footage time-wise, OR, it was simply a matter that the English scene always was just as we saw it, but that the studio chose to interpret the script the way they did and were able to do their timing the first time around to match accordingly.

This still leaves a question in the air regarding the origin and fate of certain clips of Dean's more visually emotive reaction to Castiel's confession that have been floating around the internet. I've only seen very very brief glimpses of them, myself, and I'm not certain that they're really evidence of anything other than more than one take having been done of that scene, which wouldn't be uncommon and doesn't necessarily point to a conspiracy.

I also want to state that in the wake of 15x18, I opted to protect my mental health rather than follow every development/rumor/speculation that cropped up in the aftermath, so there’s probably a lot that I’m leaving out of this post that may be pertinent. Do me a favor and do assume that I know nothing of it. lol

I will also add this about the other studio, Iyuno: they are very careful to state on their site, repeatedly and with great pride, that they are committed to presenting the world with the smoothest, most true-to-the-original localized version of a film or show possible. Quote: "...our entire team of staff wants nothing more than to make every single one of our partner's content feel as if it were never translated." They are not fucking around. They want to please the client. Would they have done something like the translation in question without any direct go-ahead from Warner? It seems unlikely, though they don't outline their process on their site the way SPG does.

Notice that in the SPGStudios process outlined above, there is no mention made of a review step in which the studio presents the translated dialogue to the client for approval re: the new wording. That doesn't mean there isn't a review step; however, without seeing the contractual agreement that was made between Warner and whatever dub studio they used, or knowing Warner's preferred process by some other means, it's difficult to be certain whether or not there was a review process for the translated script. I did find evidence that Netflix reserves the right to review such translated scripts before air.

Speaking of Netflix, I will include here what their translation requirements are, as I did find those. They, like Warner, also use Iyuno Media Group much of the time for dubbing (voiceover style dubbing in which they apparently like to leave the original language audible underneath, so that's slightly different from revoicing, but I'm working on an assumption that the general expectations are the same for both):(4)

"1. Translation Requirements

1.1 Main Dialogue

   All main dialogue in the source (original) language should be translated unless specifically noted.

   Due to timing limitations, some of the dialogue may be condensed/truncated as long as it retains all essential elements of the plot.

   Please refrain from dubbing redundant words such as character names and repetitions.

       Additionally, do not recreate laughs, hesitations, reaction noises, etc."

I'm looking at that bit: "Due to timing limitations, some of the dialogue may be condensed/truncated as long as it retains all essential elements of the plot."

So let's say just for argument's sake that this is pretty standard language provided to the dubbing studios. Netflix is a giant, so I'll proceed with that assumption given the lack of more concrete information:

Does it really change essential elements of the remaining plot to have Dean return Castiel's declaration of love? Forgetting about the outside, emotional ripple effect such a declaration was bound to set off in the viewing audience, no. The two characters have no further scenes together, nor does Dean go on in the next episode to immediately embark on a new relationship, or tell anyone that Cas said he was in love with him but he couldn't return it because he didn't feel the same. So technically, no rule was broken. And that is what it comes down to, if you're thinking like a lawyer reading a contract: specifics, not theoretical implications or consequences.

So, possibly what we have is something that was simple to add and easy to get away with/argue for: translated dialog that fit a dub better due to its length, and didn't actually change anything plot-wise (or at least, the argument for that could easily be made). This points to the painful crux of the matter: why would the Spanish version of Supernatural which aired in Latin America allow Dean Winchester to return Castiel's declaration of love with a "Me too, Cas"? Could it *really* be as insulting as the fact that "Yo a ti, Cas" would be a quicker, smoother dub than "No hagas esto, Cas"? ("Don't do this, Cas" in English.) Or did they see something they could get away with, and a reasonable argument to provide for it, so they went ahead and claimed a small LGBT+ victory?

Is someone, somewhere, getting in trouble for all this? Maybe. But could action be taken against them? That would look pretty bad, public-relations-wise, for the party expressing condemnation if that got out. Could Iyuno, or whatever other studio (again, I don't actually know which one handled the dub) theoretically feel a ripple effect from the fallout of this? Could they quietly suffer a drop in acquisitions/revenue for "reasons unclear"? Sure. That sort of thing happens all the time, so theoretically yeah.

Whatever the reasoning behind the decision to have Dean return Cas' declaration of love, surely they didn't have to do it. Surely they could have chosen some other phrase that fit. But they chose to do exactly what they did. I don't know what went down, in the end, or whether censorship was indeed involved, but I will certainly say that I think it was a brave and admirable choice that was made with the Spanish dub. It doesn't undo the "bury your gays" trope of course, but for some LGBT+ audience members it surely provides a sense of validation and maybe even lends a little hope for better representation--which is long, long overdue.

Thanks if you read this far. I hope that even though it’s not perfect it will be helpful in some way.

Sources

(1) https://www.indiewire.com/2020/02/subtitles-vs-dubbing-what-you-need-to-know-1202212800/amp

(2) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_CW

(3) https://www.iyunomg.com/

(4) https://partnerhelp.netflixstudios.com/hc/en-us/articles/115016062708-Dubbed-Audio-Style-Guide-VO-Style-Dubbing

(5) https://www.spgstudios.com/localization

[yourdeepestfathoms]

A Little Piece Of Heaven (part one)

[Tour!verse]

TW: Surprisingly not many...I guess mockery of religion, specifically Christianity and anything in that branch. Very minor mentions of self harm (like one time- if you blink you’ll miss it). But mainly this fic is just psychological.

———————

Lord of The Flies

Let’s get something clear really quickly: Joan Meutas was not religious. Did she used to be? Unfortunately, yes, but after seeing the world for what it really was, after getting an axe to her vagina from her beloved husband, she has realized that there was no merciful God who would save lost souls. It was all a hoax by crazy old folk from wherever Jerusalem was to herd people into one belief, thinking that it may make them more humane and friendly. But religion has done more harm than good- Christianity damns all non CIS heterosexuals to hell, Jews got murdered by the thousands, that one branch literally won’t eat anything besides fucking grain or some shit, Catholics are just rude as all hell, those fasting things literally cause people to STARVE TO DEATH, and for what? To appease some higher being? Do they truly think they will be saved? If God was so merciful and wonderful and kindhearted, why would he make things like murder and cancer and rape and torture?

Joan even once heard that the Bible stated that when a woman was on her period she had to leave her village and wasn’t allowed to come back UNLESS she had a turtle dove. She’s never read the Good Book before, so she doesn’t know if that was true or not, but it doesn’t sound unlikely given all the stupid rules she’s heard about.

So, no, Joan was not religious.

It’s strange, she thinks, how offended people get when she says it or simply hints at it. Their eyes will practically bug out of their skull and they probably pray for her “lost soul”, maybe even do that weird cross gesture on their chest when they think she isn’t looking. They look at her as if she was actually a demon spy loosed from hell and not just someone who has enough common sense to realize that an “all powerful father” was complete and utter bullshit.

That’s the thing- it’s like the word “atheist” was purposely made to seem like the most evil string of letters to ever be created. You know the words- those synonyms that just sound much worse than the actual root phrase (molest, slaughter, moist). Atheist just has this dark shade to it. Or so religious people say.

But enough of that! There’s a reason why such a taboo subject is being brought up.

Joan was going to contact Death.

As they say, desperate times calls for desperate measures. And desperate Joan was.

You see, her queen- Jane Seymour- used to be quite the woman. Sharp, beautiful, powerful, but also warm behind the closed court doors. Joan was very lucky to see this side of her as her youngest lady in waiting, often getting called gentle pet names and sometimes pats on her head if she was particularly lucky that day. As a touch-starved orphan servant, this was like a pot of gold to Joan- love and affection is something she’s craved long before reincarnation in the modern world. And, speaking of the resurrection, Joan thought she would get even more of Jane’s “Mum Treatment” since they had more time on their hands, but she was very, very wrong.

Jane...Jane was different. She changed. No longer was she the motherly, caring, strong woman from the past, but instead coming back as some reduced version of herself- slightly younger (24, 25, maybe even 23), more awkward and timid, and much less maternal. The way she now looked at Joan wasn’t with compassion, rather...plain curiosity, sometimes even aversion. Her memory of her young lady in waiting has waned- it was as if she didn’t remember that Joan had been at her side the whole time when she was bedridden after giving birth to Edward! Like she couldn’t conjure up the remembrance of a teenager literally watching her rot away and slowly die for days!

To say the least, Joan was not happy. Add in trauma, insomnia, hate on social media, constant stress and pressure from her profession, and a severe lack of friends and you can probably see why Joan was going to such extreme measures.

Now, she knew about the stories. She’s read The Monkey’s Paw. She knows about the consequences of one’s actions. Joan wasn’t going into this completely stupid- have some faith, will you?

Gambling with Death was a risk. A huge risk that could very well end with her soul being ripped out of her mouth or her flesh being worn by a supernatural being that then goes on to commit atrocities under her identity. And not only was it a massive risk to take, it was also very, very stupid.

If I have to spell it out for you, listen closely: Death knows things. A lot of things. They don’t call him the “Lord of The Flies” for nothing. Which is why he loves to play games for those desperate enough to contact him because he knows he is much smarter than whatever pathetic, miserable piece of useless garbage comes clawing at a mirror, begging him to reveal himself. And unless you have every secret of the universe, you’re probably going to get ass-blasted back to Tuesday.

Oh, what am I saying? You won’t get a second chance.

You’ll be long gone by then.

And whatever state the cops find your body in the next morning depends on whatever mood the beast was in.

However, in Joan’s case here, she is desperate and stupid enough to take the risk. In her eyes, she doesn’t have much to live for. She’s a slave to SIX- day and night she’s working endlessly over musical paperwork and the same songs over and over and OVER again. It doesn’t help that she isn’t the closest to the rest of the cast and is often left alone when everyone else goes out and has fun. The scars on her wrists are evident of how many nights she’s been alone.

Without Jane, she has nothing to live for. She needed her.

And that’s exactly why she was sitting on the floor in front of a mirror propped against the wall in the dark theater surrounded by candles and a semicircle of salt.

Joan has done a lot of studying up to this point. She knows she has everything correctly, now she just has to get Death to appear...and hope he doesn’t immediately pull her small intestines out from her throat for bothering him.

Joan stares into the mirror as hard as she can, closes her eyes, then counted to ten. Her eyelids lingered shut for longer than she would like to admit after she hit the number one, but she eventually pried them open.

It was not her reflection staring back at her.

To be honest, Joan wasn’t exactly sure of what she was expecting to see. Some parts of her believed nothing would happen, other parts convinced itself that a grim reaper-like figure or a horned, goat-legged demon would be kneeling on the other side of the glass wielding a scythe or pitchfork. However, a suit-wearing young man was not really something that crossed her mind in her theories.

If Joan wasn’t a lesbian, she might have found him attractive, but he definitely was at a straight woman’s perspective. Perfect smile, the most amazing cheekbone structure, unflawed olive skin, neatly combed brown-blonde hair, a broad chest, phenomenal shape- if it weren’t for his yellow eyes with slit pupils, he might have been the perfect lady’s man (although, knowing straight women, they probably wouldn’t care for his demon eyes- after all, you don’t need to see someone’s peepers to suck cock!).

Joan sat completely bewildered, all of her confidence draining and being replaced with dread that drenches her like a thick, dark oil spill. She can feel her hands, which are lying in her lap, starting to tremble and clenching her fingers doesn’t help at all. The ability to form a coherent sentence slips from her mind, so Death speaks first.

“Hello, Joan Meutas.”

This guy is the real deal. He pronounced her last name correctly!

Joan opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water and Death is thoroughly amused by her sardine impression. He watches her through the glass, waiting patiently for her to learn how to enunciate again.

“H-h-hello-”

“Yes, yes, h-h-hello to you to,” Death laughed. He wasn’t directly trying to be cruel, but Joan’s self esteem was far enough into the ground to hear his jibe as a mockery of her understanding of the English language. “If I let you speak the whole time we are going to get nowhere! Pull yourself together, kid. You should see the look on your face! You look like you just got caught making out with the family goat!”

Joan’s expression remained one of fright.

“What? Didn’t you own a goat back in- god, what year were you born? 1517 or 1525? Historians paint it as both! But I thought a family farm animal was the big rave back then! I apologize- I need to catch up on the modern slang. Say, would you be considered a ‘boomer’? Because I have been DYING to use that phrase on someone who contacts me. Could you imagine it?” He warps his voice into one of a pruny old woman, “‘I wish for great fortune!’ ‘Okay Boomer.’” Death bursts into fits of maniacal laughter that sounded as if a thousand lost souls were chortling together at once.

Joan is still silent, but during Death’s monologue she was able to wire her brain back to functionality. She sits up a little bit straighter and Death notices, so he containers himself instantly, also fixing his posture.

“Ready to talk now?” He asked.

“Yes.” Joan answered.

“Wonderful,” There’s a glint in his piercing yellow eyes, “What is it that you desire of me?”

Joan gathers up all her courage, sits up a little taller, and says, “I desire to challenge you to a game of question-and-answer.”

The glint flares into a blaze of confidence. If Joan stares hard enough, she swore she could almost see the fires of Hell burning in his eyes.

“How fun,” The words ooze out from Death’s pale lips, soaked in liquid menace. “Shall I go over the rules?”

Joan nodded. She knew them, she knew she did, but it would be good to hear them one last time.

“Very well,” Death said. He cleared his throat and began speaking as if he were reading off of a manual, “Death’s Gambit: A two-player game between the Lord of The Flies himself and a human. After being conjured- just gonna skip over that process, you’ve clearly got it down, kid- and initiating the game, both parties will have sixty-six minutes and six seconds to answer as many questions correctly as possible. Anything can be asked- trivia, personal inquiries, riddles, even dares, as long as the salt circle is not exited. The catch of the whole thing is this: The Prince of Darkness is obligated to tell the truth only if the human answers correctly to his question or does a requested dare or the human manages to stump him. However, if he answers correctly or the human answers incorrectly to HIS question, he may lie about whichever question he wants. The score will not be revealed until the very end once the time is over. If the human wins, the Keeper of Souls MUST grant any one wish they have. If He-Who-Lies wins, the human will be the victim to whatever losing punishment he comes up with. Remaining rules include: The salt circle cannot be left- you may find yourself no longer in your dimension-, the game cannot be quit until the time is over, items like watches or phones are not permitted to be used to look up answers or keep track of the time. Good luck and Beelzebub be with you.”

Despite knowing this all already, hearing it out loud, spoken by the beast himself, made it all hit home for Joan. She was really doing this; she was gambling with Death.

She had to be the stupidest fuck to ever grace God’s green earth.

“Are you ready to begin?” Death asked.

Joan took a deep death and answered, “Yes.”

A wicked smile curled on Death’s lips. The candles around Joan blaze.

“The game is on.”

A dark feeling weighed down on Joan after that was spoken. The air around her seemed to shift. Her gut was screaming at her to run away, to hide, to do something other than just sit there, but she couldn’t move. Not from fear, but from sheer will. She couldn’t be stupid. Who knows what lurked outside her thin salt circle....

As he usually did, Death initiates the game and asked his first question.

“What was the name of Catherine Parr’s true love?”

Like that, a cold stone drops deep into the pit of Joan’s stomach. Of all the questions she expected him to start off with, Tudor history was not one of them. It startles her, takes her by surprise, and she realizes very quickly that that’s exactly why Death asked it. He’s trying to disorientate her right off the bat and weaken her before she has the chance to get some points in.

She could not let that happen.

It’s just that- she didn’t know Tudor history outside of knowledge on her queen and whatever is said in the show. The others certainly did talk about their past lives, but Joan- she-

It stung, to say the least, when she realized that Death knew about her nonexistence friendships with the queens. And that he was targeting that.

“Thomas Seymour.” Joan finally said.

She was pretty sure that was the right answer...but not completely positive. And, because of that, her worried mind began to scream doubts inside of her brain.

Was that a trick question? He’s supposed to be the embodiment of pure evil- wouldn’t he think Henry is Parr’s true love? Was Henry the right answer?

“Your turn.” Death said, not reacting to Joan’s answer, which scares her even more.

“What’s- why did you choose to show up in that body?”

“Oooh, you’re starting with a personal inquiry!” Death said, laughing, “How fun! And I hope you’re not flattering yourself, Joan- I don’t look like this to make your pussy wet. Trust me, I could look way more attractive, but I know you.” Those three words slither into Joan’s ears and made her shudder. “Isn’t the whole point of being a lesbian to not be attracted to men?” Death laughed again, “But I look like this because I want to. I can take whatever shape I want! Remember that one time I was a snake? That was weird. Although, peeping at a naked chick was pretty damn fun. As a lesbian, you could probably appreciate the sight.”

For just a moment, the image of Death disappears, the mirror hazes to white, and Eve appears. Not the paintings you always see- THE Eve, bare breasts and vagina and all, and if Joan weren’t also asexual, her own genitals may have been burning with desperate pleasure.

“She was a sight.” Death said, returning to view. He chuckles, then immediately goes to his next question, “What was the exact height of Mount Everest in the year 1666?”

Joan’s heart just about stopped.

How in the holy hell was she supposed to know that? Then again, that was probably the point of asking such a thing.

“Three...hundred feet?” It came out as a question, but it’s taken as an answer and Death doesn’t react except for a slight twitch of his nose. “What...is the hardest piece to learn on the piano?”

“Liszt.” Death answered smoothly. “What animal can see the most amount of colors?”

“A...dolphin.” Joan physically cringed at her answer. “Who wrote Liszt?”

Is this what she was going to be doing the whole time? Asking the King of Hell fucking piano trivia?

“La Campanella.” Death once again answered perfectly. “What is the full chemical name for the antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication, Zoloft?”

Wasn’t that the medicine Joan was supposed to take for her anxiety?

“I- I don’t know.”

Death just hummed and awaited his next question. He didn’t laugh at her like she expected him to, which slightly lightened the blow of her stupidity.

“What’s my favorite song in SIX?”

“None of them. Why did you stop taking your Zoloft pills?”

The answer followed by such a question felt like Joan was just punched in the stomach with a spiked gauntlet. She swore she was winded by some unseen force (probably shock). Her breath hitched in her throat and she seemed like a little kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I-” She hunched her shoulders around her neck. Death is giving her a curious look, which was at least better than worry or concern. “They- they weren’t helping me...so I didn’t think there was a point taking them if they weren’t going to fix me.”

Death hummed once more, this time louder and more enthusiastic. He clearly liked her answer.

“Interesting,” He mused, then quiets himself for the next question.

“What’s standing behind me?”

Ever since the game began, Joan picked up on the presence of something staring at the back of her head. She could feel their eyes burning into her skull, sometimes even breathing on the back of her neck.

Death smiled. “See for yourself.”

Joan saw nothing in the reflection, just darkness beyond the candles and Death, and she was not about to go and look away. She was scared about what would happen if she turned her gaze away from the mirror for even a second.

When Death realized Joan wasn’t going to fall for his tricks that easily, he quirked an impressed eyebrow and moved on.

“Will you greet the worker who just came in?”

Joan glanced fearfully to the corner of the room. A figure is hunched there. The glow from the candles just barely licks at their claws.

“What was their name? Terrance?” Death said, “Doesn’t he work in lightning?”

“That’s not Terrance,” Joan murmured.

Death took it as an answer, it seems. He leans in close to the glass and when he whispers, his hushed tone is right at the back of Joan’s ear.

“You don’t want to know what he really is.”

Joan can feel a panic attack rising in her chest. Death is trying to scare her, stray her from answering coherently or correctly and get her to waste time by freaking out. She had to steer the game back into calmness.

Or, rather, however calm a Devil game could get.

“What do I have in my pocket right now?”

Death seems a little bothered that the cryptic theme was interrupted, but he gets over it.

“One black pen that’s almost out of ink, a granola bar you promised yourself you would eat, and a rosary you stole from Aragon.” He said, “Oh and, by the way, that isn’t going to protect you from me. So return it as soon as possible or Aragon is gonna be PISSED!” He laughed, imagining the storm the golden queen would cause if she caught Joan with such a precious belonging.

Joan swallowed thickly. She didn’t want to check her pockets. She didn’t want to know that he was right.

“What is the color of the sky?”

It seemed like an easy enough question, but Joan, believe it or not, knew better than to fall for such a simple trick. She wracked her brain for a moment, then answered, “Black.”

Death doesn’t react aside from licking over his dried lips. His tongue is too pointy. Joan moves on.

“Does Jane care about me?”

Honestly, the question kind of surprised her. It bubbled up from her throat from out of nowhere- yes, she had been wanting to ask it so badly, but she didn’t actually expect it to come out.

“Yes.” Says Death.

For a moment, joy bursts through Joan, but the metaphorical, celebratory confetti is sucked up by the vacuum of doubt.

Is he lying? Is he giving me false hope? Or is he telling the truth?

“What’s your blood type?” Death asked.

“A...AB.”

Like Joan fucking knew that.

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Blue.” Death smiled, “Because the blue sky would always remind you of opportunities for a better life.”

A shiver runs down Joan’s spine. She didn’t like how he knew that.

“What’s something that you can’t eat for lunch or dinner?”

He’s asking a riddle. Joan bit the inside of her cheek, thinking.

It couldn’t be a food. That was too easy.

Think, Joan, think!

“...Breakfast.”

Death chuckles. Joan doesn’t know what to think of that.

Twenty minutes pass by in a blur. Cold sweat soaks Joan’s brow, dripping down her face, but she’s too scared to move from her stiff position. Her back muscles hurt from sitting like a statue for so long- how the hell does Death look so relaxed? Then again, he doesn’t really have much to worry about.

He doesn’t have to worry about the possibility of being mutilated or dragged to Hell or that that figure in the corner has been getting closer and closer as the minutes passed by.

“Do you think every human deserves to live?”

The question came out of nowhere, really. Death had been asking mostly trivia up until that point. He tittered at Joan’s stunned expression, then raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Well?”

“No.”

Joan didn’t hesitate because she knew it was the truth. Not everyone deserved to live. Rapists, pedophiles, serial killers, racists, homophobes, terrorists, abusers- they didn’t deserve life. People like them deserved to die.

And anyone who doesn’t believe that is a fucking idiot.

“Do YOU think every human deserves to live?”

Death scoffed. “Of course not.” He peered at Joan, really analyzing her for the first time. His yellow slit eyes raked over the girl, making her feel uncomfortable and violated. “You know, you and I think a lot alike. Not many humans give ‘no’ as their answer. They think optimism will make them seem like a good person. It’s pathetic.”

Joan just nodded silently.

“Now...where were we? Oh, yes.” Death leaned in, “Which queen suffered the most?”

Joan furrowed her eyebrows. The whole point of the show was to not compare, especially traumas, but...

“Katherine Howard.”

Come on- clearly K Howard had it the worst. The girl was violated by four different men before she was an adult! None of the other five stories combined could possibly rank to the fifth queen’s suffering.

“Honestly, I think the same!” Death said, “I mean- what is UP with the whole ‘one of a kind, no category’ gimmick? How stupid! Last time I checked, being a victim of sexual abuse doesn’t make you ‘one of a kind.’ Why would you even think of it that way?“

Joan nodded slowly.

“I agree,” She said, “Um- here’s my next question: Is this question false?”

Death raised his eyebrows and cooed in obvious interest.

“True.” He said, smirking. “My turn. Do you resent the queens?”

Joan actually recoils. Death laughed.

“I-”

Did she? Did she resent the queens? Surely she didn’t... She couldn’t! The queens were perfect! How could anyone ever hate them?

“No.”

Death almost looks disappointed.

“What’s worse than death?”

“You’re living it.”

Cold sweat drips down Joan’s face. It stings her eyes and is salty on her tongue. She hears noises all around her, but doesn’t dare to look. She already knows “Terrance” is on his knees beside the salt circle and his leaning his face in right next to hers. She can smell the rot on him.

“Have you ever wanted to hurt the queens?”

Death’s questions are definitely ramping up in darkness. Was the time close to ending? Is that why he’s getting deeper?

Joan shut her eyes tightly for a moment, but opened them quickly when the fear of losing sight of Death nagged at the back of her mind. Before her, on the other side of the mirror, the being is waiting patiently, eagerly for her answer.

“Sometimes,” Joan breathed, “Yes.”

Death smiles a wicked smile.

“How interesting,” He purred, then gestured for Joan to ask her question.

“Does God exist?”

“Unfortunately.” Death groaned, then laughed. He inspected Joan again. “How would you hurt the queens?”

Joan felt her stomach ache. She didn’t like that question. She didn’t want to think about actually hurting the queens, even if she’s considered it one or two times before.

“I- I haven’t really given it any thought.” She answered, then quickly sputtered out her next question before Death could comment, “Does the Bible speak the truth?”

“Of course not.” Death said. “My next question is this: If I were to give you a task, would you do it?”

“Depends,” Joan said, “What would the task be?”

Death held up both arms in a shrugging motion. “I don’t know! Pick up my dry cleaning? It depends! Don’t put me on the spot like that!” He then laughed that horrible laugh again. Once he contains himself, he says, “Time is ticking. The game is almost over. I want to switch things up before we end. I have a dare for you.”

Joan nods.

“Stab yourself in the hand.”

That flush of icy cold dread floods through Joan’s system again. Every part of her being screamed at her to refuse, there will be other offers or questions she could make up for, but she knew that was just false hope. Like Death said: time was almost up. She couldn’t risk refusing and docking more points (if she isn’t in the negatives already, that is).

“Fine.” She forced out through her teeth.

She reached for the pen in her pocket, but Death held up a hand.

“Don’t use that inky thing,” He said. “It won’t get the job done. Please- allow me.”

He flicked his wrist and a large carving knife appears out of thin air and clatters to the floor in front of Joan. She stares at it for a moment, then picked it up, setting her left hand down in its place. She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut, and plunged the blade down.

Joan couldn’t choke back the scream that burst from her lips. She cried at the pain, sobbing in horror when she looked down to see the knife practically pinning her hand to the floor. Dark red blood pools around her fingers, gushing and spurting like spigot from the wound when she pulls the blade free. She cradled her wounded hand close to her chest, weeping weakly.

“Very good,” Death cooed, clapping.

Joan raised her eyes slowly and Death smirked at how lit up they were, almost like hot coals.

“I have a dare for you.” Joan growled, her voice low and dangerous.

“I accept.”

“Change your eye color to blue.”

For a moment, Joan swore she saw the slightly twitch on Death’s features. She watched him close his eyes, sit their silently for a moment, then open them again.

They were still yellow and slit.

“I cannot.” He said. However, he wasn’t angry or irritated at being stumped, rather amused. “Next...what is the flying speed of a swallow?”

Joan ripped off of a strip of her shirt and wrapped it around her bloody hand, hoping it would be a good enough substitute for real bandages for now.

“African or European?”

Death grinned. And that grin only grew wider as the candles around Joan went out until only the one behind her remained lit.

"̸̡̢̢̣͓͚͖̪̼̪͑͊̈́͋̀́̾͗͘ͅT̷̼̺͈̮̜͔̙͂̋̉͋͛̈̿̀̕͜͠͝i̸̢̹̙̼̠͓͚̖̗͔̮̔̌͂̓̐̊̈́̔̃̕m̸̡̱̤̱͙͎̦̱͙̪̻̓̅͌̉̀̈́̐̄͒̌̕͘͝e̸̟̳͒'̸̗͎̞̙̋̎̓́́͑̉͐͑̈́s̷̰̬̙͖̲̩͚̥͈̝̩̻̻̮̭͂̀̐̓̑̓͌̓̀́̐̐ ̷̡̳͍̗͉̝͔̃̑͛̀͊͌͆̌̒̃̔͘̚͠ͅû̵̞̠̣͉̻̖̅̓̄̏͝p̷̛͖͎̮̖͇̬̮͉̥̲͈̟͊̃́̃̏̇̇͛͗̅̕͘,̷̢̧̧̹͈̗̝͙̪͉̖̆̈́ͅ ̸̲̩̥̇͂̓͌̀̋͗̀͛̚J̵̼̣̋ö̴̡͕̺̪̠͓̹͔̂͝ą̶̡̜̭̤͖̭̫̝̘̆̂̾̐͊̾̒̂̏n̶̛̛̬̦̥̠̮̐̓̃̋̍̒̂͐̂̽ͅ.̴̪̰̩̀͊̑̐́̂͗̍̐̈́̚"̴͍͆͛́̈́̈́̍͆̀͗͘͝͝

It was almost impossible to breathe. Joan can barely hold herself together- the tears are flowing freely and she can’t get them to stop. She would say a prayer for her damned soul if it weren’t for the whole atheist thing, and she worried that Death would get angry at her for it, even if it was said in her mind, which he couldn’t possible read (or, at least, she hoped he couldn’t).

Still, she bowed at the waist and thanked Death for the game.

“Let’s tally up the score, shall we?”

Joan first saw blood start to spread across Death’s midsection, then a sharp sting struck her in the stomach. She hissed in pain and lifted her shirt slightly, as did Death, and they both saw tally marks upon their flesh.

Death had twenty-three.

And Joan watched in shock as a twenty-fourth tally carved down through her skin right before her eyes.

“Congratulations, Joan Meutas,” Death says, “You’ve won. What is it that you wish for?”

[wanderlustlanguages]

Brazil study abroad roundup

So since I failed at posting during my study abroad I am going to attempt to sum everything up here. I hope this might be helpful for people who want to study abroad in Brazil in the future.

Disclaimer: This is written based on my personal experience which is of course affected by who I am (20-year-old, female, Austrian, introverted, straight, white,...) and the people I happened to meet and a million other small factors.

If you have any specific questions don’t hesitate to inbox me or send me a message.

Rio de Janeiro

I spent my exchange semester in Brazil or more precisely in Rio de Janeiro. Rio de Janeiro is without a doubt a city unlike any other (I have ever seen at least). My favourite thing about Rio is its diversity in both its population and the landscape. Rio really has it all amazing beaches, lush-greenness and a buzzing city. The city itself was probably my favorite thing about my exchange. I remember the first day I arrived and drove through the city to get to my apartment. I was fascinated by how the rich and the poor lived so close to each other and how there were 15 story buildings right in front of green hills and corporate office next to a beach.

Culture and People

The culture is completely different from anything I have ever experienced before. People in Brazil are so friendly it is shocking. Everyone seems to be open to have a chat and help you out. The one downside I found to this (as an introvert) while everyone is open to having a chat it can be hard to find real, solid friends. People tend to talk about hanging out or doing something but as you are talking about it both of you already know that it will never happen. So while in general, I cannot complain about people since they are very friendly to foreigners I have not made any real friends.

Language

However, not making friends might also have something to do with the fact that my Portuguese wasn’t really good enough to speak much when I arrived here and most people don’t really speak English. While it has improved greatly (especially my understanding of native speakers) I am still missing the practice to come up with words quickly enough to have a fluent conversation. Also, slang is still an issue while I have learned some of it there seems to be an endless amount of slang terms that I will probably never know (the fact that Brazilian Portuguese slang changes quickly and varies by region isn’t helping either):

Food

I have a love-hate relationship with Brazilian food. There’s some food I really enjoy but then there is even more food that I don’t particularly like. The food that I did enjoy seemed to get too monotonous quickly. In general Brazilian cuisine tends to be very much meat-based (being a vegetarian is still somewhat rare here) with carbs also playing a big role. As someone who prefers to eat a bit more plant-based and lighter it was a bit difficult to imagine eating a typical Brazilian diet every day. But of course, this wasn’t really an issue I just bought my vegetables in the supermarket and prepared them the same way I would have at home. But I did miss typical dishes from home and also Maki with avocado or cucumber (for some reason they only have sushi with actual fish here).

Money

Brazil is not as cheap as some other Latin American countries, especially Rio is quite expensive. I would say on average the living expenses here are as much as in other European cities (not London or Paris). The prices for food are pretty moderate with imported goods, of course, being more expensive. The metro is cheap compared to European standards and while it does cover much less area than the underground systems in most other major cities it really does take you pretty much everywhere that you’ll need to go. Uber is also surprisingly cheap. If you can split the ride it might just end up being cheaper than the metro ticket. My monthly living expenses without trips and rent were around: €500.

Housing

The rent prices vary greatly depending on the area you live in, however, in general, the standard of living is lower so even if you pay €500 a month the apartment might have all the necessities but often just doesn’t look as pretty (not an issue just something to keep in mind). I personally chose to live in an apartment in Ipanema which I shared with another girl from my university we paid about €500/month each. When choosing an area to live in you should keep in mind that there are areas that are not so safe. Personally, we booked our apartment on Airbnb but many people find theirs on facebook or upon arrival.

Trips

I managed to go on quite a few trips but getting around Brazil can quickly get complicated and expensive since it is such a huge country. If you have a place you already know you would like to visit I recommend booking the airplane ticket as early as possible the closer you get to the date the more expensive they tend to get. The cheapest airplane ticket I managed to get was about €70 (one hour flight, no checked bags). There are buses almost everywhere and they can be significantly cheaper however it is debatable whether you would rather pay €60 and drive for 14 hours or pay €150 - 200 and fly for 2 to 3 hours. For shorther distances buses are of course completely fine and you can book most of them online or buy a ticket directly at the central bus station.

Personally, I visited:

Paraty Salvador Belo Horizonte Ouro Preto Buzios Blumenau Curitiba Porto Alegre São Paulo Petropolis

Education system

Like in many countries getting a good education in Brazil means getting a private education. Since my university had a contract with a private university that’s the kind of educational environment I experienced. Personally, education is a topic I feel quite passionate about or more specifically I feel quite passionate about the belief that education should be as accessible as possible to as many people as possible (I am not going to go in-depth here about why..). The Brazilian education system is built in a way that greatly advantages people who are more well off than the average Brazilian. I personally was not a fan of my university since I felt the entire thing was just this bubble that didn’t in any way mirror the Rio that I experienced outside of university. 

Society

I touched upon this briefly in the previous section. One of the most interesting dynamics about Brazil is the society. There seems to be this strange dichotomy were Brazilians are proud of the diversity of their population yet there is some kind of deeply ingrained, probably to a large degree unconscious (like in many countries), racism going on. People who are noticeably darker in complexion are mostly still part of the poorest of the population while the richest look astonishingly European and nothing is done to change this. Brazilians are proud of their diversity yet the order of their society still reflects one of the colonial times. (I am in no way saying that every Brazilian supports the way things are. This is more a reflection of the politics going on in the country which are unfortunately corrupt to a large degree so we cannot exactly consolidate the current societal state with the actual opinion of people)

Touristy things + Leisure time

Now for a lighter topic. There is plenty to see in Rio and when I say plenty I mean a lot as in I didn’t even manage to see everything that I wanted to see. I plan to make a more comprehensive post on places to see in Rio (well-known ones and some not so well known). Leisure time is to a large degree spent outdoors on the beach, hiking, or at parties. One disadvantage of Rio is that it is a quite outdoorsy city so when it rains there aren’t many options for entertainment.

Party and dating culture

Parties here are a lot more spontaneous often happening on the street in front of university buildings. They are also a bit wilder it is quite common for one person to make out with several different people a night and it is almost unheard of that someone doesn’t drink alcohol. Dating culture from what I experienced (which is admittedly somewhat limited) is very relaxed. Casual relationships are extremely common and break-ups are usually quite pragmatic. At the same time, the macho culture is still a bit more prevalent than in many European countries. As someone who is introverted and doesn’t really enjoy casual relationships or just dating for the sake of dating it wasn’t my thing but each to their own.

Conclusion

Would I want to live here forever? No. Did I really like the experience? Yes. Brazil is what I like to refer to as an “extrovert country”. So as an introvert it can be quite exhausting to navigate the social life here even more so than in european countries since people here are very talkative and open. However, this was a thing I was prepared for and since it was a dream of mine to got to Brazil one day despite that I can’t say that I didn’t have a great time and that it wasn’t worth it. I definitely see myself coming back to see more of the country. I simply personally enjoy the openness for a short period of time but it would probably be too much for me to live like this for the rest of my life. I am also quite thankful to have been born in a european country with free education, pretty good public health care, less corruption and overall more stability. Still I would not ever tell anyone NOT to go to Brazil, or Rio especially. I like to think of Rio as the bad boy of cities. It might be a little dangerous or more uncomfortable than others but it’s just so pretty, fascinating and mysterious you can’t help but fall in love. 

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted’s Decade Picks

Heron Oblivion, still the closest thing to a Dusted consensus pick

Just as, in spring, the young's fancy turns to thoughts of love, at the end of the decade the thoughts of critics and fans naturally tend towards reflection. Sure, time is an arbitrary human division of reality, but it seems to be working out okay for us so far. We're too humble a bunch to offer some sort of itemized list of The Best Of or anything like that, though; a decade is hard enough to wrap your head around when it's just your life, let alone all the music produced during said time. Instead these decade picks are our jumping off points to consider our decades, whether in personal terms, or aesthetic ones, or any other. The records we reflect on here are, to be sure, some of our picks for the best of the 2010s (for more, check back this afternoon), but think of what follows less as anything exhaustive and more as our hand-picked tour to what stuck with us over the course of these ten years, and why.

Brian Eno — The Ship (Warp, 2016)

You don’t need to dig deep to see that our rapidly evolving and hyper-consciously inclusive discourse is taking on the fluidity of its surroundings. In 2016, a year of what I’ll gently call transformation, Brian Eno had his finger on multiple pulses; The Ship resulted. It’s anchored in steady modality, and its melody, once introduced, doesn’t change, but everything else ebbs and flows with the Protean certainty of uncertainty. While the album moves from the watery ambiguities of the title track, through the emotional and textural extremes of “Fickle Sun” toward the gorgeously orchestrated version of “I’m Set Free,” implying some kind of final redemption, the moment-to-moment motion remains wonderfully non-binary. Images of war and of the instants producing its ravaging effects mirror and counterbalance the calmly and increasingly gender-fluid voice as it concludes the titular piece by depicting “wave after wave after wave.” Is it all Salman Rushdie’s numbers marching again? The lyrics embody the movement from “undescribed” through “undefined” and “unrefined’” connoting a journey toward aging, but size, place, chronology and the music encompassing them remain in constant flux, often nearly but never quite recognizable. Genre and sample float in and out of view with the elusive but devastating certainty of tides as the ship travels toward silence, toward that ultimate ambiguity that follows all disillusion, filling the time between cycles. The disconnect between stasis and motion is as disconcerting as these pieces’ relationship to the songform Eno inherited and exploded. The album encapsulates the modernist subtlety and Romantic grace propelling his art and the state of a civilization in the faintly but still glowing borderlands between change and decay.

Marc Medwin

Cate Le Bon — Cyrk (Control Group, 2012)

There's no artist whose work I anticipated more this decade than Cate Le Bon, and no artist who frustrated me more with each release, only to keep reeling me in for the long run. Le Bon's innate talent is for soothing yet oblique folk, soberly psychedelic, which she originally delivered in the Welsh language, and continued into English with rustic reserve.

Except something about her pastoralism seems to bore her, and the four-chord arpeggios are shot through with scorches of noise, or sent haywire with post-punk brittleness. In its present state, her music is built around chattering xylophones and croaking saxophone, even as the lyrics draw deeper into memory and introspection, with ever more haunting payoffs. It's as if Nick Drake shoved his way into the leadership of Pere Ubu. She's taken breaks from music to work on pottery and furniture-making, and retreats to locales like a British cottage and Texas art colony to plumb for new inspirations. She's clearly energized by collaboration and relocation, but there’s a force to her persona that, despite her introverted presence, dominates a session. Rare for our age, she's an artist who gets to follow her muse full time, bouncing between record labels and seeing her name spelled out in the medium typefaces on festival bills.

Cyrk, from 2012, is the record where I fell in, and it captures her at something close to joyous, a half smile. Landing between her earliest folk and later surrealism, it is open to comparison with the Velvet Underground. But not the VU that is archetypical to indie rock – Cyrk is more an echo of the solo work that followed. There’s the sharp compositional order and Welsh lilt of John Cale. Like Lou Reed, she makes a grand electric guitar hook out of the words “you’re making it worse.” The homebound twee of Mo Tucker and forbidding atmosphere of Nico are present in equal parts. Those comparisons are reductive, but they demonstrate how Cyrk feels instantly familiar if you’ve garnered certain listening habits. Songs surround you with woolly keyboard and guitar hooks, and one can forget a song ends with an awkward trumpet coda even after dozens of listens. The awkwardness is what keeps the album fresh.

She lulls, then dowses with cold water. So Cyrk isn't an entirely easy record, even if it is frequently a pretty one. The most epic song here, reaching high with those woolly hums and twang, is "Fold the Cloth.” It bobs along, coiling tight as she reaches into the strange register of female falsetto. Le Bon cranks out a fuzz solo – she's great at extending her sung melodies across instruments. Then the climax chants out, "fold the cloth or cut the cloth.” What is so important about this mundane action? Her mystery lyrics never feel haphazard, like LSD posey. They are out of step with pop grandiose. Maybe when her back is turned, there's a full smile.

Who are "Julia" and "Greta,” two mid-album sketches that avoid verse-chorus structure? Julia is represented by a limp waltz, Greta by pulses on keyboards. Shortly after the release, Le Bon followed up with the EP Cyrk II made up of tracks left off the album. To a piece, they’re easier numbers than "Julia" and "Greta.” The cryptic and the scribble are essential to how Cyrk flows, which is to say it flows haltingly.

This approach dampens her acclaim and her potential audience, but that's how she fashions decades-old tropes into fresh art. She’s also quite the band leader. Drummers have a different thud when they play on her stage. Musicians' fills disappear. She brings in a horn solo as often as she lays down a guitar lead. The closer tracks, "Plowing Out Pts 1 & 2," aren't inherently linked numbers. By the second part, the group has worked up to a carnival swirl, frothing like "Sister Ray" yet as sweet as a children's TV show theme. Does that sound sinister? The effect is more like heartbreak fuelling abandon, her forlorn presence informing everyone's playing.

Fuse this album with the excellent Cyrk II tracks, and you can image a deluxe double LP 10th anniversary reissue in a few years. Ha ha no. I expect nothing so garish will happen. It sure wouldn't suit the artist. In a decade where "fan service" became an everyday concept, Le Bon is immune. She's a songwriter who seems like she might walk away from at all without notice, if that’s where her craftsmanship leads. The odd and oddly comfortable chair that is Cyrk doesn't suit any particular decor, but my room would feel bare without it.

Ben Donnelly

Converge — All We Love We Leave Behind (Epitaph)

Here’s the scenario: Heavily tatted guy has some dogs. He really loves his dogs. Heavily tatted guy goes on tour with his band. While he’s on the road, one of his dogs dies. Heavily tatted guy gets really sad. He writes a song about it.  

That should be the set-up for an insufferably maudlin emo record. But instead what you get is Converge’s “All We Love We Leave Behind” and the searing LP that shares the title. The songs dive headlong into the emotional intensities of loss and reflect on the cost of artistic ambition. The enormously talented line-up that recorded All We Love We Leave Behind in 2012 had been playing together for just over a decade, and vocalist Jacob Bannon and guitarist Kurt Ballou had been collaborating for more than twenty years. It shows. The record pummels and roars with remarkable precision, and its songs maniacally twist, and somehow they soar.  

Any number of genre tags have been stuck on (or innovated by) Converge’s music: mathcore, metalcore, post-hardcore. It’s fun to split sonic hairs. But All We Love… is most notable for its exhilarating fury and naked heart, musical qualities that no subgenre can entirely claim. Few bands can couple such carefully crafted artifice with such raw intensity. And few records of the decade can match the compositional wit and palpable passion of All We Love…, which never lets itself slip into shallow romanticism. It hurts. And it ruthlessly rocks.  

Jonathan Shaw

EMA — The Future’s Void (City Slang, 2014)

When trying to narrow down to whatever my own most important records of the decade are, I tried to keep it to one per artist (as I do with individual years, although it’s a lot easier there). Out of everyone, though, EMA came by far the closest to having two records on that list, and this could have been 2017’s Exile in the Outer Ring, which along with The Future’s Void comes terrifyingly close to unpacking an awful lot of what’s going wrong, and has been going wrong, with the world we live in for a while now. The Future’s Void focuses more on the technological end of our particular dystopia, shuddering both emotionally and sonically through the dead end of the Cold War all the way to us refreshing our preferred social media site when somebody dies. EMA is right there with us, too; this isn’t judgment, it’s just reporting from the front line. And it must be said, very few things from this decade ripped like “Cthulu” rips.

Ian Mathers

The Field — Looping State of Mind (Kompakt, 2011)

Looping State of Mind by The Field

On Looping State of Mind, Swedish producer Axel Willner builds his music with seamlessly jointed loops of synths, beats, guitars and voice to create warm cushions of sound that envelop the ears, nod the head and move the body. Willner is a master of texture and atmosphere, in lesser hands this may have produced mere comfort food but there is spice in the details that elevates this record as he accretes iotas of elements, withholding release to heighten anticipation. Although this is essentially deep house built on almost exclusively motorik 4/4 beats, Willner also plays with ambient, post-punk and shoegaze dynamics. From the slow piano dub of “Then It’s White,” which wouldn’t be out of place on a Labradford or Pan American album, to the ecstatic shuffling lope of “Arpeggiated Love” and “Is This Power” with its hint of a truncated Gang of Four-like bass riff, Looping State of Mind is a deeply satisfying smorgasbord of delicacies and a highlight of The Field’s four album output during the 2010s.

Andrew Forell

Gang Gang Dance — “Glass Jar” (4AD, 2011)

Instead of telling you my favorite album of the decade — I made my case for it the first year we moved to Tumblr, help yourself — it feels more fitting to tell you a story from my friend Will about my favorite piece of music from the last 10 years, a song that arrived just before the rise of streaming, which flattened “the album experience” to oppressive uniformity and rendered it an increasingly joyless, rudderless routine of force-fed jams and AI/VC-directed mixes catering to a listener that exists in username only. The first four seconds of “Glass Jar” told you everything you needed to know about what lie ahead, but here’s the kind of thing that could happen before everything was all the time:

I took eight hours of coursework in five weeks in order to get caught up on classes and be in a friend's wedding at the end of June. Finishing a week earlier than the usual summer session meant I had to give my end-of-class presentations and turn in my end-of-class papers in a single day, which in turn meant that I was well into the 60-70 hour range without sleep by the time I got to the airport for an early-morning flight. (Partly my fault for insisting that I needed to stay up and make a “wedding night” mix for the couple — real virgin bride included — and even more my fault for insisting that it be a single, perfectly crossfaded track). I was fuelled only by lingering adrenaline fumes and whatever herbal gunpowder shit I had been mixing with my coffee — piracetam, rhodiola, bacopa or DMAE depending on the combination we had at the time. At any rate, eyes burning, skull heavy, joints stiff with dry rot, I still had my wits enough to refuse the backscatter machine at the TSA checkpoint; instead of the usual begrudging pat-down, I got pulled into a separate room. Anyway, it was a weird psychic setback at that particular time, but nothing came of it. Having arrived at my gate, I popped on the iPod with a brand new set of studio headphones and finally got around to listening to the Gang Gang Dance I had downloaded months before. "Glass Jar," at that moment, was the most religious experience I’d had in four years. I was literally weeping with joy.

Point being: It is worth it to stay up for a few days just to listen to ‘Glass Jar’ the way it was meant to be heard.

Patrick Masterson

Heron Oblivion — Heron Oblivion (Sub Pop, 2016)

Heron Oblivion by Heron Oblivion

Heron Oblivion’s self-titled first album fused unholy guitar racket with a limpid serenity. It was loud and cathartic but also pure beauty, floating drummer Meg Baird’s unearthly vocals over a sound that was as turbulent and majestic as nature itself, now roiled in storm, now glistening with dewy clarity. The band convened four storied guitarists—Baird from Espers, Ethan Miller and Noel Harmonson from Comets on Fire and Charlie Sauffley—then relegated two of them to other instruments (Baird on drums and Miller on bass). The sound drew on the full flared wail and scree of Hendrix and Acid Mothers Temple, the misty romance of Pentangle and Fairport Convention. It was a record out of time and could have happened in any year from about 1963 onward, or it could have not happened at all. We were so glad it did at Dusted; Heron Oblivion’s eponymous was closer to a consensus pick than any record before or since, and if you want to define a decade, how about the careening riffs of “Oriar” breaking for Baird’s dream-like chants?

Jennifer Kelly

The Jacka — What Happened to the World (The Artist, 2014)

Probably the most prophetic rap album of the 2010s. The Jacka was the king of Bay rap since he started MOB movement. He was always generous with his time, and clique albums were pouring out of The Jacka and his disciples every few months. Even some of his own albums resembled at times collective efforts. This generosity made some of the albums unfocused and disjointed, yet what it really shows is that even in the times when dreams of collective living were abandoned The Jacka still had hopes for Utopia and collective struggles. It was about the riches, but he saw the riches in people first and foremost.

This final album before he was gunned down in the early 2014 is full of predictions about what’s going to happen to him. Maybe this explains why it’s focused as never before and even Jacka’s leaned-out voice has doomed overtones. This music is the only possible answer to the question the album’s title poses: everything is wrong with the world where artists are murdered over music.

Ray Garraty

John Maus — We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves (Upset The Rhythm, 2011)

We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves by John Maus

Minnesota polymath John Maus’ quest for the perfect pop song found its apotheosis on his third album We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves in 2011. On the surface an homage to 1980s synth pop, Maus’ album reveals its depth with repeated listens. Over expertly constructed layers of vintage keyboards, Maus’ oft-stentorian baritone alternately intones and croons deceptively simple couplets that blur the line between sincerity and provocation. Lurking beneath the smooth surface Maus uses Baroque musical tropes that give the record a liturgical atmosphere that reinforces the Gregorian repetition of his lyrics. The tension between the radical ironic banality of the words and the deeply serious nature of the music and voice makes We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves an oddly compelling collection that interrogates the very notion of taste and serves an apt soundtrack to the post-truth age.

Andrew Forell

Joshua Abrams & Natural Information Society — Mandatory Reality (Eremite, 2019)

Mandatory Reality by Joshua Abrams & Natural Information Society

Any one of the albums that Joshua Abrams has made under the Natural Information Society banner could have made this list. While each has a particular character, they share common essences of sound and spirit. Abrams made his bones playing bass with Nicole Mitchell, Matana Roberts, Mike Reed, Fred Anderson, Chad Taylor, and many others, but in the Society his main instrument is the guimbri, a three-stringed bass lute from Morocco. He uses it to braid melody, groove, and tone into complex strands of sound that feel like they might never end. Mandatory Reality is the album where he delivers on the promise of that sound. Its centerpiece is “Finite,” a forty-minute long performance by an eight-person, all-acoustic version of Natural Information Society. It has become the main and often sole piece that the Society plays. Put the needle down and at first it sounds like you are hearing some ensemble that Don Cherry might have convened negotiating a lost Steve Reich composition. But as the music winds patiently onwards, strings, drums, horns, and harmonium rise in turn to the surface. These aren’t solos in the jazz sense so much as individual invitations for the audience to ease deeper into the sonic entirety. The music doesn’t end when the record does, but keeps manifesting with each performance. Mandatory Reality is a nodal point in an endless stream of sound that courses through the collective unconscious, periodically surfacing in order to engage new listeners and take them to the source.

Bill Meyer

Mansions — Doom Loop (Clifton Motel, 2013)

I knew nothing about Mansions when I first heard about this record; I can’t even remember how I heard about this record. But I liked the name of the album and the album art, so I listened to it. Sometimes the most important records in your decade have as much to do with you as with them. I’d been frantically looking for a job for nearly two years at that point, the severance and my access Ontario’s Employment Insurance program (basically, you pay in every paycheck, and then have ~8 months of support if you’re unemployed) had both ran out. I was living with a friend in Toronto sponsoring my American wife into the country (fun fact: they don’t care if you have an income when you do that), feeling the walls close in a little each day, sure I was going to wind up one of those kids who had to move back to the small town I’d left and a parent’s house. There were multiple days I’d send out 10+ applications and then walk around my neighbourhood blasting “Climbers” and “Out for Blood” through my earbuds, cueing up “La Dentista” again and dreaming of revenge… on what? Capitalism? There was no more proximate target in view. That’s not to say that Doom Loop is necessarily about being poor or about the shit hand my generation (I fit, just barely) got in the job market, or anything like that; but for me it is about the almost literal doom loop of that worst six months, and I still can’t listen to “The Economist” without my blood pressure spiking a little.

Ian Mathers

Protomartyr — Under Colour of Official Right (Hardly Art, 2014)

Under Color of Official Right by Protomartyr

By my count, Protomartyr made not one but four great albums in the 2010s, racking up a string of rhythmically unstoppable, intellectually challenging discs with absolute commitment and intent. I caught whiff of the band in 2012, while helping out with editing the old Dusted. Jon Treneff’s review of All Passion No Technique told a story of exhilarant discovery; I read it and immediately wanted in. The conversion event, though, came two years later, with the stupendous Under Color of Official Right, all Wire-y rampage and Fall-spittled-bile, a rattletrap construction of every sort of punk rock held together by the preening contempt of black-suited Joe Casey. Doug Mosurock reviewed it for us, concluding, “Poppier than expected, but still covered in burrs, and adeptly analyzing the pain and suffering of their city and this year’s edition of the society that judges it, Protomartyr has raised the bar high enough for any bands to follow, so high that most won’t even know it’s there.” Except here’s the thing: Protomartyr jumped that bar two more times this decade, and there’s no reason to believe that they won’t do it again. The industry turned on the kind of bands with four working class dudes who can play a while ago, but this is the band of the 2010s anyway.

Jennifer Kelly

Tau Ceti IV — Satan, You’re the God of This Age, but Your Reign Is Ending (Cold Vomit, 2018)

Satan, You're The God of This Age But Your Reign is Ending by Tau Ceti IV

This decade was full of takes on American primitive guitar. Some were pretty good, a few were great, many were forgettable, and then there was this overlooked gem from Jordan Darby of Uranium Orchard. Satan, You’re the God of This Age, but Your Reign Is Ending is an antidote to bland genre exercises. Like John Fahey, Darby has a distinct voice and style, as well as a sense of humor. Also like Fahey, his playing incorporates diverse influences in subtle but pronounced ways. American primitive itself isn’t a staid template. Though there are also plenty of beautiful, dare I say pastoral moments, which still stand out for being genuinely evocative.

Darby’s background in aggressive electric guitar music partly explains his approach. (Not sure if he’s the only ex-hardcore guy to go in this direction, but there can’t be many.) His playing is heavier than one might expect, but it feels natural, not like he’s just playing metal riffs on an acoustic guitar. But heaviness isn’t the only difference. Like his other projects, Satan is wonderfully off-kilter. This album’s strangeness isn’t reducible to component parts, but here are two representative examples: “The Wind Cries Mary” gradually encroaches on the last track, and throughout, the microphone picks up more string noise than most would consider tasteful. It all works, or at least it’s never boring.

Ethan Milititisky

Z-Ro — The Crown (Rap-a-Lot, 2014)

When singing in rap was outsourced to pop singers and Auto Tune, Z-Ro remained true to his self, singing even more than he ever did. He did his hooks and his verses himself, and no singing could harm his image as a hustler moonlighting as a rapper. He can’t be copied exactly because of his gift, to combine singing soft and rapping hard. It’s a sort of common wisdom that he recorded his best material in the previous decade, yet quite apart from hundreds of artists that continued to capitalize on their fame he re-invented himself all the past decade, making songs that didn’t sound like each other out of the same raw material. The Crown is a tough pick because since his post-prison output he made solid discs one after each other.

Ray Garraty

[softspaceboibrian]

Journeys End in Lovers Meeting (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Professor Gwilym Lee x student reader

Summary: Reader is a new student at Harvard University and, on her first day, she does something she might regret. Or maybe not.

Warnings: none

Wc: 2035

A/N: sorry for being inactive, not posting anything. it's just that I'm so busy with uni and exams (reason why I won't be too active in the next month or so). anyway, here's the new chapter! hope you like it!! remember to reblog and leave your comments, so I know what you think!!!

Previous Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 5

Taglist: @tegan-eva @kerouacsroad

“The play was really good, don’t you think?” Gwilym said with a smile, while walking out of the theatre, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

You finished closing your jacket while walking behind him, trying to protect yourself from the cold of your first American winter. “Yes, the actors were amazing, and I loved how they kept the original English rather than making it more modern.”

He was going to add something, but immediately noticed how much you were shivering because of the cold. “Do you want to grab something to eat? There was that diner you saw a few blocks back. You seemed to like it.” He smiled gently, taking a step closer to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, trying to warm you up a little.

And you actually did appreciate the warmth the man irradiated from his body, instantly getting closer to him, forgetting for even just a second the fact that you were supposed to be his student. In that moment, you were just friends, which, in a way, you really were. “Yes, please, let’s do it”. You were freezing, obviously you were. Geographically speaking, Cambridge, Massachusetts, was supposed to be somewhat warmer than good, old London’s freezing winter. At least that was what you thought since, by looking at a world map, you thought Massachusetts was a little more south than England. But, again, you knew next to nothing about anything regarding science.

You walked down the sidewalk together, actually appreciating the evening – yes, the cold too -, talking about the play and how you liked it, which was each other’s favourite scene, and all those things Shakespeare’s lovers discuss about. But, finally, a few minutes later, you got to the little diner. As soon as you walked in, your eyes started to move from side to side, admiring every single detail of that place, which looked as if it was from another era: it was just like those old movies you used to watch with your mother, like Grease or Back to the Future, with a black and white checked floor, with individual booths, leather-covered benches and stools, those big led signs, and, obviously, a jukebox. “This place is wonderful” You breathed, astonished by that place.

He just smiled, walking towards a booth and waiting for you to join him. “I thought you were more a 20s kind of girl – he grinned, looking at you – you know, dry cocktails, curtains blowing in the wind, Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald.”

“Oh goof (sweetie), it was cat’s pyjamas (awesome, the best) back then, but you know, this place is swell (cool)” you giggled, while sitting in front of him, finally laying your eyes on him, an amused grin on Gwilym’s face.

“So, you know the 20s slang. I see” He tilted his head to side. “And tell me, doll, would you mind ordering something to chew (eat)?”

You laughed, definitely not expecting him to know 20s slang too. It was already crazy for one person of your age to use a slang that was used almost a century before, let alone two. “Absolutely”

“That was delicious” You marvelled, right before taking the last sip of your vanilla and mint milkshake. You were ecstatic, and Gwilym noticed it. He had never seen you this happy, and he had known you for four months at that point. Your smile was pure, with the angles of your mouth so far back and up that it almost took up most of your face. Your eyes shone so bright. And those dimples, which he had only recently noticed, those were so accentuated.

“Do you want to play a song?” He asked, giving you a coin and nodding towards the jukebox right behind your table. He didn’t need to ask you a second time, you had already taken that coin and got up, your eyes already scrolling through the long list of songs. He was looking at you, noticing how your eyes were unable to keep still, they were lively and quick, never fixed on one thing for too long, probably to keep up with your always working mind. And you were beautiful.

“Hope you know this song, because we’re dancing” You broke the silence, immediately running to him and grabbing his hand, trying to make him stand up.

“What? Wait, love, I don’t… I don’t dance” He shook his head, laughing, trying to sound as nice as possible.

At those words, you stopped, pouting. “Please, just one song” And looking at you like that made it even harder for him to say no a second time. “Pretty please! I love this song!”

He stayed in silence for a few second, before getting up, finally giving him. He couldn’t definitely dance, that’s for sure, but he just couldn’t stay there and not do anything, not when you were that happy just a few seconds before. “You will have to guide me through this because, honey, I’m not joking when I’m telling you that I cannot dance” He giggled, squeezing your hand a little bit before actually pulling you closer. At those words, your face immediately lit up.

In that moment, if someone saw the two of you like that, jumping around, Gwilym holding you close to him in that way, that someone would have probably thought that you were friends, or maybe something more, definitely not a student with her professor. And neither one of you felt that way. Everyone could read in Gwilym’s eyes how much he cared for you, but even how hard he was trying to not fall for you. Whereas you, you would never admit your feelings to anyone, but Rose already knew it. You definitely were head over heels for him, but at the same time you were too scared to admit to yourself that you actually had feelings for him. Every time Rose would ask you whether you liked Gwilym or not, you would immediately start nervously laughing, looking away, your cheeks would turn red and you would say things like “What? Him? But he’s my professor!” or “What are you saying? No!”, but your body was surely saying something totally different.

A few minutes later the song was over, and you were sitting again one in front of the other, trying to catch your breaths. “So, are you going back to your hometown for the winter break?” Gwilym asked, his back against the seatback.

In a matter of time, your smile faded away, which was quickly replace by a cold, distant expression. “No, I think I’m staying here” you mumbled, crossing your legs on the bench.

“I see… - he nodded, not getting why your mood changed so quickly after that question – are you celebrating Christmas with Rose then?”

“No, she’s going back to Illinois to her family. She asked me to go with her, but I didn’t feel like it. I will just stay home, watch some old Christmas movie, make cookies and hot chocolate. Maybe I’ll visit a couple of museums.” You explained, your eyes low on the empty glass that was once filled with delicious milkshake, absent-mindedly playing with the straw.

He hated seeing you like that. It wasn’t the first time he had seen you this sad, and it was probably for the same reason, which you never wanted to explain to him. You would always try and hide it behind a fake smile or simply a cup of tea. But that time, it was different. He had said something that made you feel that way, and he couldn’t stand it. “You can come over to my place for Christmas.” He said, trying to catch your attention, wanting to look you in the eyes. “My mom is going to be there and she’s definitely going to prepare too much food for just the two of us.” He laughed a little bit nervously, really hoping you would say yes. “Furthermore, I don’t want you to spend Christmas day alone. That would be really sad. Unless you’re old and grumpy and your name is Ebenezer Scrooge”

Finally, you cracked a smile. He knew it wasn’t a happy one, or at least not as happy as it would have been a few minutes before, but he made you smile, and that was already far more than enough. “I don’t know, Gwilym, I don’t want to-”

“Humbug!” He talked like an old man would, obviously trying to imitate the A Christmas Carol’s character. He new you loved that story, and he thought that it was definitely the right way to cheer you up. “Come on! I’ll come and pick you up, so you can help me set the table and then we’ll just wait for my mom to arrive while watching a movie.”

“Okay, but only if I can bring the dessert”

“You can do whatever you want, love” he smiled, happy to see you do the same.

The days went by quickly after that night, lessons finished, winter break started, Rose left and so did almost half of Cambridge’s population, because, apparently, most of the people living in that town were Harvard students. Walking downtown those days was both relaxing and melancholic, cafés were almost empty, shops played those old Christmas songs for the few people that came in to buy the last presents. It had even snowed for a couple of days, and now the streets and the sidewalks were covered in white, soft snow, which seemed to be asking to be picked up and thrown at people. But you had no one. Not that you minded being alone that much. you appreciated being able to walk alone, without worrying about what time you had to be back home for dinner, being able to walk out of the bathroom in your underwear after having taken the longest shower ever, without risking to find an unexpected guest. You had even found the time to get Gwilym a small present. It was nothing too special or expensive, just a little something to thank him for everything he had being doing for you since the first day. You were walking down a street, not really looking for something in particular, just enjoying your alone time, soft music coming out of each shop; then your attention got caught by an old bookshop just across the street. Curiosity drove you inside the store, where you immediately recognised the familiar smell of paperbacks, old newspapers, and you knew that was going to be your new favourite shop. You walked through the aisle, scrolling with your eyes through the titles, spending a little more time in the classics section. It didn’t take you long to sit yourself down on the ground, in the middle of the aisle, your back against the bookshelf, with books scattered all around you, trying to decide which one you should get yourself as Christmas present, not really thinking about anything else.

“Can I help you, dear?” A voice asked, which made you look up. In front of you there was a lady around her sixties, with grey hair neatly pulled up into a perfect bun, as if she was one of those ballerinas ready to go on stage for their performance.

“I was just looking for a book” You smiled back, getting up and noticing how small the woman actually was.

She turned around and reached for a book, handing it to the young lady in front of her, a gentle expression on her face. “Have you ever read this one?”

You took the book from the woman’s hands and read the title: The Call of the Wild by Jack London. “Yes, I know this book.” Of course you did, just as you knew it was one of Gwilym’s favourite books. You remembered how happy he got every time he told you about his mother reading him that book every night before going to sleep when he was 10. “I think this is the book I was looking for”

“Is it a present?”

“Yes” Your plan of getting a book for yourself just vanished from your mind, all you could think now was how Gwilym might react to you giving him that book.

“Someone special, darling?”

“I think so”

[beihonglin]

[about subbing.]

alright y’all sit tight and buckle up, i’ve held this in for three months now but today i saw a youtube comment demanding to know why it took so long for eng subs for a certain show to come out and i think some things should be made clear. 

fan subbers are not obligated to do the subbing we do. we are people with our own lives who are busy with work and school and life. the time spent subbing takes away from our study time, our down time, or time better spent doing more productive things. 

“but wait, surely it doesn’t take that long to sub a show? i see gifs on tumblr / translated transcriptions on twitter, so i know people are capable of translating things but nobody will sub the whole episode / it takes so long for eng subs to come out.”

it takes. so. much. time. in case you’re not familiar with the process (i know i wasn’t, before joining a subbing team), i’ll walk you through it with personal examples. 

(1) obtaining the raw video: 

content is often hosted on iqiyi, youku, tencent. unlike youtube, these platforms have little to no ‘fast’ ways to download the videos. for example, iqiyi uploads their episodes as .qsv files, which, due to their non-standard format, cannot be opened in any normal multimedia player and require the use of iqiyi's proprietary software. in order to decode the file and make it usable, downloaders have to find ccodes and ckeys, which takes time. to make it worse, these ccodes and ckeys change every few weeks, which means downloaders have to go on a hunt for them all over again. 

even if you could find an online downloader for videos, video parsers such as this one often give you very little control over the quality of the video - most of the downloads end up looking like someone chewed it up and spit it out. 

this means that whoever obtains the raw video has to use methods like coding or terminal just to get the hd file, which takes time and effort. 

from here, the raw video goes to two people: the transcriber and the timer. 

(2a) transcribing the video:

this is a step i skip when i am subbing alone or when i’m subbing in a team that are all chinese-speakers, but when i’m working in a team that has typesetters who don’t speak chinese, we have to provide a transcription along with our translation so that they can match the words on screen with the translations they put in. in some teams, there are members who only transcribe, but in smaller teams, translators have to do it ourselves.

transcribing takes time - it can take anywhere from half an hour to two hours for a five minute segment, depending on how used you are to typing in that language.

(2b) timing the video:

for me, this is The Most Time Consuming part of subbing - it’s the part i dread when subbing alone. it involves making sure your subs appear at the same time as the corresponding characters on screen, and often, if your subs appear even a couple of frames off, the entire sequence will look strange to the viewer. timing involves small adjustments made over and over again just so your subs look at least presentable. 

it requires precision, which takes time. and it requires practice and being comfortable with the timing software - if you’re starting out with new software, you might take more than two hours to time a five minute segment. 

even worse is when a video comes without chinese subtitles (rip all of us who ever had to sub these) - we don’t have a frame of reference and have to decide how to time by ourselves. we have to take into account sentence length and how fast viewers can read per second, how long a clause can be before viewers forget what was in the previous clause, and we have to make these decisions in tandem with how fast the people on screen are speaking. which takes time.  

(3) translating the video:

i think this step is often what people reduce subbing to and is what most people are familiar with seeing, but i cannot stress this enough - it also takes time.

personally, i take an hour to clear five minutes worth of dialogue on a good day. and then i take additional time for the sfx captions. and then additional time to proof-read and make sure i didn’t mishear, misinterpret or mistranslate things. most of the time, interviews love using internet slang or gaming terms and for those of us who don’t game or spend most of our lives on weibo, it’s an extra step for us to search for the term, understand its meaning and the context in which it’s being used. which takes time.

when a video comes without chinese subtitles and the members on screen happen to Love Screaming Over Each Other... replaying the segment over and over again to try and hear what they’re saying takes time. and patience. and eardrum abilities. 

in a team, it also involves proof-reading each other’s work. our translations team always proof-reads each other’s segments in case we catch something the others missed out on or mistranslated, or in case semantics are awkward and we have to restructure a sentence. i’m very, very lucky in that the subbing team i’m in have different strengths - one of us is better at chinese and explaining complex phrases, one of us is good at pragmatics and catching nuances and suggesting rephrases and one of us is good at semantics and making sure things are grammatically accurate. but sometimes teams are unbalanced and it takes extra effort to make sure things still turn out in the best quality possible. 

in some cases, we can discuss one (1) word choice for a full ten minutes because there simply isn’t a phrase for it in english and we have to t/n it, or because multiple english words map to the same chinese word and choosing the wrong one will provide a wrong connotation. in other cases, we know that some scenes will be talked a lot about or giffed a lot by international fans, and we have to make sure that the translations have to be as accurate and as nuanced as possible so that nothing gets twisted. and in the worse case scenario, a wrong word choice can change a fan’s whole impression of a member. 

(4) typesetting the video: 

for dialogue subtitles, this involves finding a font that is readable by everyone and a style that will be visible against all backgrounds. it involves making sure they stay in the same place and are of the same style (all aligned left, a certain number of pixels from the bottom etc). 

for sfx captions, this involves matching your english font to the chinese font used so the scene style isn’t incongruous and matching styles like outlines and shadows so that the colour scheme remains the same. in some cases, there is no space for the sfx translation, and typesetters have to blank out the original to make the translations visible. in many cases, they move, so typesetters have to animate the text, which takes extra effort. 

for multiple-episode shows, typesetters have to make sure that the styling remains consistent and visible in all settings, which make the thought given to these choices all the more important.

in some teams, typesetters don’t speak chinese, and have to refer to transcriptions and corresponding translations to typeset correctly. this takes time. in the cases where the original video comes without chinese subtitles, typesetters have to decide in which order the noise and mayhem should appear on screen. this takes time. 

and in the first place, this assumes that you have the software to do hard-subs - something not all of us have. 

(5) encoding and posting the video:

this step takes the least effort but it still needs So Much Time - converting the aegisubs or premiere pro file into an .mp4 requires a media encoder, and adobe media encoder more or less takes three hours to encode a three hour episode. sometimes, it exports as an .mov and you have to handbrake it to get it to an .mp4 file, which takes extra time. 

uploading it on youtube also takes time - it takes an hour to get a two-hour video uploaded, and it takes another few hours for it to process so that you can publish it in 1080p. 

some of our laptops don’t have enough processing power to go through a three hour video - even encoding a half-hour episode can slow down our laptops so much they’re pretty much useless until it’s done. some of us even don’t have a media encoder on our laptops and have to run to computer labs to get it encoded. and if the closest one is on campus twenty minutes away and it’s snowing outside? good luck. 

people who gif casually or translate in blocks of text on twitter don’t have to deal with steps (2), (4) and (5), and that’s where the difference lies - even if they’re capable of translating things, the sheer amount of effort and time it takes can deter people from trying. 

in addition, most of the time, the content we sub is copyrighted so we can’t even monetise the eng subs - we get nothing out of subbing. 

the reason why we do it anyway is because we love the show or the people on the show and want to share that with an international audience. we’re fans and for some of us, that’s justification enough to put in the time and effort needed to get more love and attention for our faves. 

and that’s why we appreciate it when people ask us, “hi, would you be interested in subbing this show?” most of these requests are polite and include an “only if you want to” add-on (which frees us from the obligation to agree), and it lets us know that you’re following our faves and lets us know what kind of content you’re interested in. most of the time, most of us don’t even need a ‘thank you’ in the comments (although they are very much appreciated), because if we see comments laughing over a certain member’s actions, it means someone else is loving our faves too and to me, it makes the effort worth it. 

i understand people asking, “why does it take so long to sub?” out of curiosity, because before i joined my subbing teams, i knew nothing about the process. but going, “why is it taking so long to sub?” is different, and demanding that a show be subbed when it takes us ten hours of work to let you enjoy a twenty minute video? that’s not fair. 

tl;dr: don’t underestimate the amount of effort it takes to sub a show. subbers have their own lives and are not obligated to work on your schedule. 

if you’re still thinking about demanding subs faster, consider joining the subs team. otherwise, shut up and enjoy the fact that fans are putting in time and effort for your entertainment for free. 

[shadesofjanuaryblues]

Chiberia

Chicago.

 Chicago. One of the greatest cities. THE Windy city.

Also known as Chitown, Chiberia.

I live here. Not directly in the city, but about 30 minutes out west, in the most basic middle class town. It doesn’t fall into the small-town category, but it isn’t a big town either. But basically, you go to the grocery store, and there is a 43% chance of you running into someone you know.

Well, let’s start from the beginning. I’m an immigrant. 

I am pure-breed, one hundred percent Lithuanian. Born and raised. Well, I guess, “halfway” raised. I came here when I had just turned thirteen. Straight into the school-year. Eighth grade.

The middle school I went to wasn’t big. Everyone knew everyone. Obviously there were the popular, the “independent” friend groups, and of course, the not-so-popular. But I’m not here to describe the social pyramid of the American school system.

All you have to know, is that I was placed in an ESL class, which was created to help out students who have a hard time with English. This helped me gain two friends, which gave me a little comfort to go through the school day without having to cry in the bathroom during lunchtime. Hell, I was glad to have someone to borrow a notebook from.

Going back to the whole ESL thing: my family stumbled into the office of the school, merely 2 months after moving here, me having absolutely zero English skills and having not formed any because I was only surrounded by my Lithuanian speaking family, we were told that I was not going to be able to repeat 7th grade, and that I was going to be placed straight into the next school year. Of course, our pale flustered faces were accompanied by my second-hand cousin, who had attended that school as well, earlier on. Anyways, they put me in a class - for immigrants. FANTASTIC resource, don’t you say? Except the biggest problem was that my ESL teacher’s second language was not Lithuanian, it was Spanish.

Now you say, “so many people go through these classes, they learn English, like even you, you’ve been here for, what, eight years already? I can’t even tell that you have an accent!”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Heard it all before. Yeah, truthfully that class did help me. Not to learn English, but to complete my homework. That’s it. Meanwhile I was in an English class learning the same stuff as the other eighth graders were. History? A bunch of foreign words and gibberish. Science? Oh man, don’t even get me started. Even PE? CONSTANTLY hearing shit I did not understand. Like pacer test? Do you know how much nerve it took for me to ask a fellow classmate what the fuck that was and how do I do it? To literally make a fool out of myself with my “broken English”? Even math. Slopes, fractions, functions? I had not even heard of those terms when I got there, and in eighth grade they weren’t learning it anymore, they were perfecting it. So many hours spent by my kitchen table crying.

One advantage American kids had, was that they could ask their parents. I couldn’t.

Well, in other words I did, but they didn’t know.

 And the purpose of this whole written rant isn’t for me to shit on Americans. Not at all. It’s for you, the reader to realize or relate to the struggle immigrants have to go through. And many other issues that I’ll cover later, but this would be the first.

 Comes the age 15, I had befriended a fellow Lithuanian, a year earlier, who helped me ENORMOUSLY with my English. Not only the formal language, but the slang as well. This friendship was beneficial to us both, because at this point she had been living there for eight years, and having moved here at an earlier age, her Lithuanian was getting rusty.

Anyways, at 15 I started setting up my first bank deals with my parents. In person I would introduce myself as their daughter, the translator. I was learning new banking terms in English and Lithuanian on a weekly basis. By the phone, I talked on behalf of my mother, I mastered the art of lowering my voice and sounding more formal, knew my mother’s social security number by heart before I had even really looked at mine.

By sixteen I was handling most of my family’s bills, loans, car payments. I was answering most of their formal calls. Later that year my parents opened up a trucking company. With the help of some Lithuanian representatives, and myself, the company was running. I went over all of the contracts that were signed in terms of buying a truck, leasing a trailer, safety and all other regulations (not going to get into detail). Then, I got a temporary job at another trucking company in the summer solely to learn how to dispatch.

I had to learn how to dispatch so I could teach my mother. My mom’s English was still very weak at the time and she was scared to go and learn it herself.

In other words I had no choice. I spend my summer mornings waking up crabby as shit, going upstairs to make phone calls with cocky dudes with egos breaking through the roof. “Illinois to Alabama, one pick, one drop. Potatoes. 750 miles, rate 950”. See at that point I was taught to shoot double, then lower it to the most reasonable price. “Where’s the pickup? Loose potatoes? (Requires a paid wash afterwards, therefore rate should always be higher- waste of money and time), I’ll take it for 1500”, “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHa are you out of your mind, where have you even heard of prices like this? 1000, take it or leave it”.

Approximately 70 calls a day with one successful, if it��s a good day. Sometimes I’d be on that computer for over 10 hours.

My mom learned, she started dispatching, things got a bit easier. I only had to handle the “bigger” things. Claims, detentions and other shit like that. Stressful as hell, burned out most of my patience out by the age of 17.

At seventeen, I started rebelling. I wasn’t happy with my life, but I also felt fucking invincible. By then I had earned a bit of social acknowledgement, I guess everyone saw me as the bitch I was portraying myself to be. Reckless and bad as fuck.

Street racing, going 120 on the highway to the city and back, drinking in the forest in the car. Coordinating who’s throwing a party on what weekend, sneaking out and coming home hammered, only to sleep for a few hours and go about my day like nothing ever happened.

This lasted a whole year, shit more than that. I made a lot of good and bad memories, been places I really shouldn’t have been, but I don’t regret any of it. But guess where I ended up on Halloween night the year I turned 18?

Cuffed to the fucking wall at a police station.

Wow.

Who would’ve thought, what a surprise!

 I’m not quite comfortable going into detail in writing, but if you know me then you know the story, and if not, ask me about it in person, I’ll be happy to tell you.

The one thing I want to put on the table is that it wasn’t drug affiliated, and not criminal.

 However, I was facing jail time. But hey, I was lucky enough to get those charges dropped, and that was the biggest lesson I could ever have.

 From that point on, I went to my court dates, reevaluated my life, and started rebuilding. I had to switch schools, which introduced me to new people, ended up cutting some off, and befriending new ones. Graduated, started going to the local community college. I was working the whole time, trying to make spending money, still helping out my parents with all the financial stuff. In college I was undecided, tried out a couple different options, they didn’t seem to work out.

Not this brings up another issue I have with the way society has been built.

HIGHER EDUCATION.

I ended up picking something I felt I had an interest in, and not what my parents thought would be good for me. I enrolled in the architecture program. I was doing great, I was able to keep my focus, I wanted to improve and was eager to learn new things. Finished off the first semester. Through sweat, sleepless nights, and tears – ended up with all A’s. That significantly brought my GPA up.

By the second semester, I was ready. I was excited, because at this point we were actually starting to be able to create. This had to be my favorite part, because I consider myself relatively creative, I constantly have random ideas flowing in my head. It’s kind of like slight madness.

Anyways, when we started, my architecture program coordinator was teaching one of the classes. By that time I had already formed a professional relationship with her, she was very helpful and gave enormously valuable advice. Every project we did, I put my heart and my soul into. There weren’t any major guidelines, yet I kept being told to simplify my work. I kept being told to change it up, almost so I would blend into the other projects hanging up beside mine. I talked to my professor, she complimented my creativity, she said she hasn’t seen this much creativity and thought in a very long time, yet I still had to change it, and simplify it.

I don’t blame her, or anyone, really, but I felt myself get more and more suppressed. I felt like I had to fit into a basic box that’s been designed by someone else. I accepted it, decided to move forward. Life is all about compromise, isn’t it?

But then, in the middle of my somewhat peaceful life…

 ….I found out my mom was having an affair.

 It’s almost like being practically the head of the family, I finally stepped a couple steps down and within a few blinks everything went to shit.

Wow, I can’t even describe you how I felt, truly broken. Like even worse, I felt like family was ripped out of my hands.

I tend to rely heavily on friends and family, and these two really are the only thing that kept me alive throughout all those years. And just like that, it’s gone.

The day I found out, I had been driving to the mall with my mom. I was putting a song on thru her phone, when a text message came in. I recognized the number, I had asked her about it roughly 4 months ago.  She told me it was nothing, just some stupid guy hitting on her, and that she blocked his number. During that car ride, looking out the window I realized that all those evening yoga classes weren’t really even yoga after all. Shit hit me hard. But what I managed to blurt out was “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see this, so that we have one good last day, and I will deal with this tomorrow”.

Fast forward over the next month or so, listening to my mother’s lies, and my dad’s psychosis trying to vent to me, I lost my mind. Actually, this time. I lost it. I dropped out of school after numerous failed attempts to show up. I would park up, get my backpack and tell myself “okay I’m going to go in one minute”, on repeat, until the class ended and I would take my ass back home, shameful and full of hatred. My anxiety and depression peaked at this point. I went to therapy, refused drugs, decided to continue going to therapy until I got somewhat stable. My friends pulled me out of the hole, forcefully, very unpleasantly, but I am eternally grateful for them. Took a very long time to heal, but I healed, I got back up, and I started moving forward.

Shortly after my father found out my mom was having an affair, he switched his life around trying to win her back. I respect him for that, however it didn’t work. The house went on sale. The house got sold. Dad (who is actually my stepdad but has been raising me since I was 3 years old), was moving in with his friend. I didn’t like that friend at all, he was an alcoholic and quite inappropriate at times. Mom? Off with her new husband. Greta with her dog and cat? Choose.

Do I want to live with someone who makes me feel very uncomfortable and is quite unpredictable?

Or do I live with the man who is the reason my family, and my life has fallen apart? Whom I, in fact, fantasized about stabbing at the time?

 I said fuck you to them both. Picked up more hours at my two jobs, with the help of my dad, I rented out a 500 square foot studio apartment. I worked a fuck ton, and I mean it. From one job to another in the same day, back and forth thru the week. Paid my bills, dad helped if I came up a few hundred bucks short. My diet consisted of solely the food I could get at the restaurant I was working at. If I worked there only 4 days that week, that means I was only going to be eating those 4 days, the next three, I’d get off my other job, if the time was right I would visit someone and eat what they gave me, if not I’d literally not eat. Cigarettes were expensive and they were my priority.

Slowly my dad got back on his feet, despite his deep depression that he simply wasn’t able to understand. He started out helping out more and more, at this point I was able to save a few bucks for myself. Those bucks were spent mostly on ramen and bottom shelf wine.

A while later, I got promoted at my job. I started being a manager at the restaurant I was working at, and then slowly went into accounting.

Quit my retail job, and have been relying on shifting from manager to waitress for the past 6 months.

I would go into detail about how difficult it is to be put in a higher position as a 21 year old white woman, working with middle age white men, but that’s just a buzzkill. Everyone knows “white men run this shit” and I have a HUUUGE problem with that, but it’s fine. Not going to worry about it.

  So why, after all this time, this magical city that I’ve seen my best ant my worst moments in, suddenly makes me sick to my stomach? Why can’t I stand being here?

Is it a bad case of (literally all year long) January blues? Is it all the cold and the gray? Is it all the garbage on the streets?

Downtown Chicago is like a painting you hang up on your wall. “Like, wouldn’t it be cool to be there right now?”, or “okay, this is the building I’m going to live in”. Pure fantasy, baby. You drive to your minimum wage job that you hate, you see the Chicago skyline in between the clouds ahead. All it is – a reminder that you probably will not be able to live on the 92nd floor of that building, no matter how hard you try. Some of us will try our best, but we will not achieve great things. Chances are slim, so we definitely should still try, but prepare for the worst. Life is funny, it will never go the way you want it to.

 I type this from my dad’s apartment, which I moved back into, with the hopes of going back to school soon.

  A few more things I want to mention while I’m here:

1.       Value your family, always. No matter how dirty they do you.

2.       It’s okay to hold your life on pause, to fix and reevaluate, as long as you make progress after.

3.       Don’t rush to move out of your parents, you will feel lonely. Like really fucking lonely.

4.       Don’t max out your new credit cards if you don’t want to be paying the bill (I’m currently still working on this)

5.       Yes, these new Nike’s will make you feel like a bad bitch, but you worked 10 hours for this amount of money.

6.       Don’t take a fucking 5 year loan out on a car that doesn’t hold value, shit drops value by the minute. Worst thing to ever invest in.

7.       Treat your friends to lunch, and make sure they feel appreciated, even if it’s Wendy’s 4 for 4.

8.       Last, but not least: don’t fucking litter please.

[pinkchaosart]

In response to Mr. Prager

If you haven’t seen it, this is the video that this essay is in response to

So, obviously I disagree with this video. Let’s go through it: welcome to my ted talk.

1. Universities - First of all, let’s get this out of the way: just because one professor has an opinion about his school becoming a “laughing stock,” doesn’t mean that all education is going down the tubes. In reality, more people of colour and women are being educated than ever before. Kids are graduating high school more than ever, and education is more accessible than ever, at least according to the National Centre for Education Statistics. I don’t know if Mr. Prager has ever been to a modern, public university, but the only people that shut down vs debate are people who are not open to new ideas, who feel overwhelmed and persecuted because their opinion isn’t the only one in the school. Also, Christopher Columbus (pictured in the video as a pillar of education) was a genocidal lunatic. He murdered the Tainos people, didn’t discover America, and didn’t prove the earth was round. Go read about that.

2. The Arts - “The primary purpose of art was to elevate people.” I don’t know if there is a single time in human history when this stands true. This is a topic I’ve personally studied and so I’m going to tell you that, for most of human history, the primary purpose of art was for the rich to show off their money. Portraits were paid for by wealthy people to immortalize themselves. Selfie culture who? I also want to point out that, in the animation in the video, an example of “classic art” given is a painting by Monet, a modern artist who’s work was seen as shocking at the time due to it’s non-photorealism. The only reason we see it as beautiful now is because of time and the art prestige classifying it as such. I would also like to point out that the urinal in the next bit of the video was actually “made” around the same point in time. By no means is it something anyone would consider a current piece of art. I would also like to point out that Mr. Prager is being a hypocrite here, employing the imagery of “urine and feces” for shock value, the very thing he had just criticized. Pablo Picasso said, “What do you think an artist is? ...he is a political being, constantly aware of the heart breaking, passionate, or delightful things that happen in the world, shaping himself completely in their image. Painting is not done to decorate apartments. It is an instrument of war.” Art isn’t for beauty, it’s all politics, war, sex and money.

3. Literature - “The English department of the university of Pennsylvania replaced the portrait of the greatest English writer who ever lived, William Shakespeare, with a picture of a black lesbian poet.” Yes they did, and that poet’s name is Audre Lorde. First, William Shakespeare’s work is not prestigious. His work was not considered refined when it was produced. It’s full of lewd and ridiculous jokes. “Much ado about nothing” roughly translates to “everyone wants the pussy”. “Nothing” was slang back then for vagina. But let’s go back to Lorde. Mr. Prager said that they replaced Shakespeare with her because they value diversity over excellence. What he’s implying is that Lorde is not worth revering, despite being a very important writer of her time, five thousand times more serious than Shakespeare ever was, and her writings are much deeper than Prager gives her credit for. In fact, he gave her no credit, didn’t even say her name.

4. Late-night television - “In America, late-night shows were completely apolitical” This is completely wrong. Late night TV started in the 1940-50’s, and often they were based on politically charged comedy, just like they are now.

5. Religion - “In many churches and synagogues, one is more likely to hear the clergy talk about political issues than about any other subject, including the Bible.” First of all, I would like to point out that political issues were what Jesus mostly talked about. “Love your neighbour” was a direct comment at the racism Jews experienced and held towards others. “Turn the other cheek” was about how to make your aggressor look like a total jerk. What is the point of church if not to give people usable tools in our modern world? That’s what Jesus did. I would also like to point out that, again, this is Prager’s opinion, and it’s clear what kind of content he thinks should be taught.

6. Freedom of Speech: “Yet the whole point of free speech is that it allows people to express any political or social position, including what any one of us considers hate speech.” Except that it doesn’t. Freedom of speech is described: “everyone shall have the right to hold opinions without interference” by the International Human Rights Law, but it also states that the rights carry “special duties and responsibilities” and are “therefore ....subject to certain restrictions ... for respect of the rights or reputation of others ....or the protection of national security of public order or of public health or morals.” Freedom of speech is not absolute, and common boundaries are hate speech, food labeling, pornography, obscenity, slander, copyrights, etc. I would also like to point out that him arguing to be allowed to use hateful words is pointing out the obvious: that he hates us, ie: people that he describes in or agrees with this video.

7. Race - “America has become the least racist multiracial society in world history” ding dong, this is so unbelievably wrong. Let’s talk about “systemic racism” for a minute. This isn’t some “angry diatribe,” but a legitimate and historically accurate concern. It is a form of racism expressed in the practice of social and political institutions, reflected in disparities regarding wealth, income, criminal justice, employment, housing, health care, political power, and education, among others. It is a reality that millions of North Americans (yes, Canada’s not clean on this issue) experience daily. For example, Caucasian people and black people consume the same amount of pot on a national scale. Black people are way more likely to be arrested and receive convictions for it. In America, once you receive a criminal conviction, you are no longer able to vote. So even though equal amounts of white and black people use marijuana, black people are arrested and convicted (and therefore cannot vote) because of a system designed to take away their voice. Let’s also touch on the “red lining” from a half-century ago which allowed banks to not lend money to people of colour which created ghettos, which is now home to an overwhelmingly poor and coloured population. That’s systemic oppression and it has been going on for decades. Mr. Prager is the epitome of White Privilege. I’m as white as he is and even I can see that this man hasn’t had to question his good fortune a day in his life and instead chooses to blame others for not “working hard enough” even though they’ve worked harder than he ever has.

8. The Boy Scouts - “They’re not even the Boy Scouts anymore, they’re just the Scouts. The left forced them to admit girls” - So? “The Boy Scouts have helped shape tens of millions of boys into independent and strong good men.” Okay, so wouldn’t you want your girls to grow up strong and independent? How is adding MORE PARTICIPANTS destroying the Scouts exactly?

9. Male-Female - “In New York City, parents do not have to select male or female on a newborn’s birth certificate.” Again, so what? How is that going to affect anyone other than that family. Also, designations of gender at birth on a certificate aren’t set in stone, they can be changed later. It’s not a big deal. Allowing a child to grow up unrestricted in gender norms, won’t create confused people. Letting your boys play with dolls isn’t going to make them want to be a girl, and letting your daughter roll around in the dirt won’t make her a lesbian. Mass confusion doesn’t just happen because of an “x” on a birth certificate.

“America is only bad compared to Utopia.” No, America is bad in comparison to most other first-world countries. The only thing that America excels in is making war. It spends billions of dollars occupying other countries while its people can’t afford health care, food, education, and other basic human rights.

What i find really interesting about this video is that it is completely his opinion. There’s no facts or sources given, he’s chosen his quotes very carefully (even taken them out of context), and I have to conclude that a video like this is only meant to drive the “us vs them” mentality. At it’s best this philosophy is unhealthy, at it’s worst it can kill millions of people and has started countless wars. Mr. Prager isn’t well-educated on most of what he’s talked about. He has an undergraduate in Middle Eastern Studies. Everything else he’s studied appears to be related to orthodox religions. He hasn’t done his research, got some of the most basic ideas completely wrong, and nobody should be listening to a word he has to say on any of the topics he’s talked about in this video.

As someone who used to go to a radical church and was part of the “us vs them” mentality for a number of years, I know that my words aren’t going to change many people’s minds. But what I will say is that we have more in common than we have differences. He said he wants us to debate, so here’s a rebuttal. You can have your opinion but only if you can defend it (not using religious texts). Videos like this are just dividing our culture even more than it already is. My uncle referred to “leftists” as vultures. How awful is that? To dehumanize people so extremely is a great first step to calling for their destruction.

Just ask your German Jewish friends, Mr. Prager.

[sazandorable]

A compilation and comparison of Ghetsis’ USUM lines about Giovanni in ENG, JPN, and FR

awright so I was actually started on this over on twitter and actively encouraged, so now you get... this (harharhar). It’s long and rambly, sorry!

For clarity’s sake, let’s start with the official ENG localization. I’m linking random LP videos each time for convenience, but there are lots of others to find.

ENGLISH:

"In order to achieve this beautiful ideal, however, I have need of a useful pawn... And that man, the leader of Team Rocket, is a man of pure evil! If I can make good use of him, and set him up as a king, I shall be able to reign supreme above all existence!"

"I have found that humans, with their predictable ambitions, are easier to use and control than a freak without a human heart."

"It wouldn't do at all to have you get in his way, especially when I must establish him as my king!"

(text c/p’d from bulbapedia (bolding mine). conversely, please have a look — i don’t even mean read, just. look. — at the entirety of ghetsis’s USUM dialogue on bulbapedia:

look at all this bold. i love his freakout trips so much.)

So to recap:

- pawn

- man of pure evil

- useful, make good use

- set up as (my) king

- human

- predictable, easy to use and control

- don’t get in his way (doesn’t comply with my plans!)

Now for the original

JAPANESE:

この野望を叶えるには操り人形が必要です 純粋な悪の思想を持つロケット団のボス… あの男…王としてうまく扱えば ワタクシはあらゆる存在の頂点に立てるのです！ 目的がわかりやすい人間は人の心を持たぬ化け物よりはるかに制御しやすいのです！ いいですか？ワタクシの王として彼を利用するためじゃまをされてはこまるのですよ！

(partly c/p’d from this blessing of a page which is basically the monolingual equivalent of this post, I’m laughing so much, same, bro, same)

I’m... Ok, I linked a video where the player reads the text aloud, but I’m still also going to transliterate this so you can “hear” it in your heads because. I really need you all to take notice of the sheer amount of “のです” in this extract. 3 out of 4 lines end with “no desu”. This is how Ghetsis speaks all the time. English localization did its best but still mostly lost this IMO: there’s two ways to read the formal, polite way JPN!Ghetsis speaks. One is the calmly threatening, quietly scary way in which the player acts out his lines in the video. The other way, the way I personally cannot stop hearing him, is like an affable, cutesy and harmless grandmother. Like a moe schoolgirl, even. Ghetsis once referred to himself & Team Plasma as being all “nakama” in canon. (EDIT: i actually remembered that bit as being worded “nakama na no desu” but alas, not quite.)

I just really need people to know this, okay.

Now that I’ve made this clear, as-literal-and-close-as-possible-and-thus-very-wonky-sounding translation by yours truly:

kono yabou wo kanaeru ni wa, ayatsuriningyou ga hitsuyou desu

“To fulfill this ambition, I need a puppet.”

Although “pawn” is a perfectly good translation choice (and adds a very appropriate chess theme), I also really want to let it be known that the original was “a puppet” (操り人形 ayatsuri ningyou). The kind with strings. (操る ayatsuru means “to pull strings” or “to manipulate”, in the literal sense.) Such a wonderfully creepy image too <3

junsui na aku no shisou wo motsu ROCKETTO-dan no BOSU... ano otoko... ou toshite umaku atsukaeba, watakushi ha arayuru sonzai no chouten ni tateru no desu!

“The boss of Team Rocket, of purely evil thought/idea/ideology... that man... if I can successfully treat him as a king / if I can make good use of him as a king, I will be able to stand at the summit of all of existence!”

The ENG used two verbs constructions here, but it's a single word. I am not savvy enough in Japanese to be able to tell if one or both nuances is stronger than the other here. But I do know that the verb (扱う atsukau) has the two meanings (“handle/operate” and “treat as”). And the ENG localization did keep “make use of”, too, despite the として structure being generally translated with “treat as”. I'm just saying, interesting double meaning within a single word here. V nice.

mokuteki ga wakariyasui ningen ha, hito no kokoro wo motanu bakemono yori haruka ni seigyoshiyasui no desu!

“A human with easy-to-know/understand objectives/motivations is far easier to control/keep in check than a monster without a person’s heart!”

... Okay usually I would have gone with “without a human heart”, like the localization always does, but the thing is he actually says “人間 ningen” (human) in the part about Giovanni. But not for N. In his usual pet name for N, he just uses “人 hito” (person). So. As evil as Giovanni is, Ghetsis still considers him human, unlike N (and N doesn’t get to be a person either). As lovely a dad as ever, huh. (Not about Giovanni but also noteworthy: the “freak” in the recurrent pet name is originally “monster” (化け物 bakemono). As far as I can tell, it’s always the exact same wording in JPN too.)

Technically this sentence could also be set in plural (no grammar cue at all), but since he’s clearly referring to N in the second half, I went with singular both times. In truth, he could be referring to humans in general (like what the localization went with), or simply to Giovanni specifically.

ii desu ka? watakushi no ou toshite kare wo riyousuru tame jama wo sarete ha komaru no desu yo!

“What about this? In order for me to make use of him as my king, allowing you to interfere would be troublesome!”

I ALSO JUST REALLY NEEDED EVERYONE TO KNOW THAT HE SAYS “II DESU KA?” HERE AND IT’S SO HARD TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO CONVEY THAT ACCURATELY. IT’S NOT QUITE “WHAT ABOUT IT”. IT’S BASICALLY. ASKING FOR YOUR PERMISSION. LIKE “MAY I?”. Except of course he’s not asking for your permission, it’s also like... “So, you see?” But basically. Basically he’s not just threatening you or explaining to you why he’s gonna beat you up, he’s like “See what I’m about? So, can’t you be a good kid and let me do this puh-leaaase? :)”

And the word choice in the rest of the line is also very “Look I’m a nice harmless grandma :) :)” and cutesy.

The verb for “use” is a different one this time, though, more straightforward.

And the last line is slightly ambiguous as to who you’d interfere with — either “I can’t let you interfere with my plan (which is to control Giovanni)”, or “I can’t let you interfere with Giovanni’s actions, since I need him to succeed for my own plans”. Ultimately that doesn’t change a thing, but the latter sounds a little like “heeeey don’t break my stuuuff, I need this”.

And by the way yes it’s literally “my king” in Japanese too, very conspicuously so, sounded super gay to me.

So to recap, this version gives us:

- puppet

- PURE EVIL MIND

- to treat him as my king (huhuh)

- human

- easy to understand, easy to control/keep in check

- puhwease :) don’t get in [his OR my] way

And now for the absolute funniest:

FRENCH:

“Mais pour cela, j'ai besoin d'une créature... Un pion facile à manipuler, un pantin pour distraire les masses...”

“Et soudain, voilà que le ‹‹ boss ›› de la Team Rocket, un homme à l'âme plus noire que son costume, se présente à moi !”

“Je n'ai qu'à faire de cet homme un roi, puis à tirer les ficelles en coulisses... Et je me dresserai au sommet incontesté de toute la création !”

“Il est tellement plus aisé de manipuler un balourd aux désirs primaires qu'une grotesque parodie d'être humain sans âme !”

“Comprenez-vous, belle enfant ? Et vous, Dresseuse ? Je ne peux vous laisser m'empêcher de faire de cet homme un roi.”

So much to unpack here. /rolls back sleeves/

First off, you can probably tell that the French localization loves to make Ghetsis RAMBLE. He’s very dramatic, flair and all, and his choice of words are absurdly purple (and often archaic). Yes, he noticeably has these traits in the ENG localization too, but FR!Ghetsis is that to eleven. I can’t manage to accurately convey this in these translations, but trust me, he’s just. Completely over the top in all ways, all the time.

Mais pour cela, j'ai besoin d'une créature... Un pion facile à manipuler, un pantin pour distraire les masses...

“But for this, I need a creature... A pawn, easy to manipulate, a puppet to distract/entertain the masses...”

Geez, FR!Ghets, how come your localization lets you have all the cool dehumanizing insults and creepy metaphors at once?!

Et soudain, voilà que le ‹‹ boss ›› de la Team Rocket, un homme à l'âme plus noire que son costume, se présente à moi !

“And suddenly, the “boss” of Team Rocket, a man with a soul blacker than his suit, presents himself to me!”

I treasure the shade in those sarcastic quotation marks, okay. These just. Come from absolutely nowhere. Quite possibly to poke fun at the fact that French localizations have used the word “boss” from the start of the franchise, and it would be weird and confusing to use something else to refer to Giovanni here, but it’s not actually a word we’d use naturally and, indeed, FR!Ghetsis would never use it unironically (it’s kind of slang and very much not-originally-a-French-word)...

Also: A SOUL BLACKER/DARKER THAN HIS SUIT

GUYS THIS WAS NOT IN THE ORIGINAL SCRIPT

Je n'ai qu'à faire de cet homme un roi, puis à tirer les ficelles en coulisses... Et je me dresserai au sommet incontesté de toute la création !

“All I need to do is to make this man king / make a king out of this man, then pull the strings backstage... And I will stand at the unquestioned/unchallenged top of all of creation!”

In this version he just says he’s literally going to make Giovanni a king. No detail as to how, but there’s no nuance that it’s just pretending or tricking him or anything. The words he uses also mean literally “pull strings” and “backstage”, exact same nuances as in English, so still totally reveling in the show metaphors.

Il est tellement plus aisé de manipuler un balourd aux désirs primaires qu'une grotesque parodie d'être humain sans âme !

“It is so much easier to manipulate a boorish oaf with primal/basic desires than a grotesque parody/repulsive joke of a soulless human being!”

... Again. Bonus extra shade. The original wasn’t complimentary by any measure, but this is so gratuitously extra mean. Amusingly, even though we have the word “ambitions” too, the FR localization opted to turn the JPN “objectives” into “desires”. Yes, same nuance as in English here too. “Désirs primaires” sounds insulting but also... kind of raunchy.

Also, “balourd” is a really funny word choice, intrinsically and also especially when contrasting with Ghetsis’ usual speech, it suddenly drops a few levels in formality to go almost colloquial. A “balourd” is like... think The Jungle Book’s Baloo, actually.

"Grotesque parodie d’être humain” was one of the (... many) things he yelled to N at the very end of B2W2, however it was translated a bit differently in BW, so this is the first reoccurrence French localizations get!

(... Because until then he had... quite a varied arsenal of these. “Marionnette” (puppet) and “aberration de la nature” (aberration/freak of nature) in B2W2, “MA CREATURE” (my creature/creation — Giovanni got this one too here!), “Il ne possède pas de coeur!” (He doesn’t possess a heart!) and “triste abomination” (sad/grotesque abomination) in BW.)

Comprenez-vous, belle enfant ? Et vous, Dresseur/Dresseuse ? Je ne peux vous laisser m'empêcher de faire de cet homme un roi.

“Do you understand, beautiful/lovely child? And you, Trainer? I cannot (afford to) let you stop me from making this man king / making a king out of this man.

This has nothing to do with Giovanni anymore but it’s some more extra creepy :) (HAHAHA YOU HAVE FALLEN FOR MY CUNNING TRICK i just wanted to ramble about Ghetsis’ awesome lines and speech patterns in general ok... don’t shame me...)

“Do you understand?” appears to be how the FR localization chose to deal with the “Ii desu ka?”, which isn’t a wrong decision, but they randomly decided to apply it to Lillie too.

“Belle enfant” is referring to Lillie, he calls her this through the entire scene. It sounds very archaic (calling to mind the Middle-Ages and fairy tales — it’s what someone would call a teenage Sleeping Beauty for instance) and also, you know, SUPER CREEPY. Also, despite this infantilization, he uses vous (= formal you) for both Lillie and the PC, which is very very odd for an adult speaking to a child. Like I said: extremely polite, overly so, unnaturally so.

... Until you beat him and he snaps, anyway, because then he switches to tu (= thee, informal/familiar you) and informal insults. <3

Anyway, in this version he says you’re in his way, not Giovanni’s.

So to recap:

- creature, puppet, pawn

- manipulate, pull strings, creation

=> overall, all the chess AND (puppet) show AND creator-god metaphors (later on instead of “ruler of this world” FR!Ghets literally calls himself “the demiurge”, I’m not making this up) 

- “““boss””” of Team Rocket

- his soul is blacker than his suit

- simplistic, boorish oaf

- ... does not directly call him a human (just at-least-not-a-grotesque-parody-of-a-human-being)

- primal desires ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

- don’t stop ME from MAKING HIM KING

- (no “my king” :()

I wasn’t setting out to make a point but oh hey guess there is one: the level of ‘respect’ and amusement Ghetsis has for Giovanni’s abilities and evilness, as well as exactly how serious Ghetsis is about the whole king thing, vary from one version to another, and some things can also be interpreted in various ways! The reason why he attacks you also differs from “Uhhmm, I can’t let you get to Giovanni and ruin his thing, because I need him functional for my thing later, so I’ll have to stop you here” to “Don’t ruin my thing. Lol just try and stop me”. ... And I thought he called Giovanni something along the lines of “black-hearted” in all versions, but this post taught me that he doesn’t, just “evil”, so hey now you know that in French he does, isn’t it neat!

Also, Giovanni may be evil and basic, but at least he doesn’t speak to Pokémon.

Ghetsis, your standards.

[oumakokichi]

What do you think about NISAmerica's localization of Ouma's lines in general, especially in chapter 5?

Both of these questions deal with pretty muchthe same issue, so I’ll be answering them both together. Also, Ouma’slocalization in particular is something I’ve been wanting to discuss ever sinceI got to about midway through Chapter 4 in particular, so now that I’m finallyfinished playing the localization in general, I’m glad to have a chance to talkabout it specifically. I’ll be saving my thoughts on the rest of thelocalization for other posts, but for this one in particular, I really do wantto talk about what happened to Ouma’s characterization in particular.

First and foremost, I want to say: these are mypersonal thoughts on the matter. I’m not here to bash on other people’stranslation work, moreso with the amount of effort and detail that’s requiredfor translation. Some of the errors that occurred throughout the course of thelocalization were not, in fact, due to any one translator but were instead thenatural result of what happens when you have four translators working ondifferent characters—that is to say, a simple lack of context and communication.Several lines were drastically mistranslated simply because the translatorsdidn’t know what the character immediately beforehand had said, and this causedsome confusion in the process.

However, it is a fact that much of Ouma’scharacterization, particularly in Chapter5, suffered as a result of this localization and the translation choices that weretaken. In fact, some of the most important, plot-relevant scenes concerningOuma were translated in a way that I believe makes it much more difficult forpeople who have only played the localization (and therefore had no access tothe original lines) to understand his motivations, his thought process, or hischaracter in general.

This entire post is going to be very, very long,namely because I tried to go in-depth and double-check all the originalJapanese text before writing. I’ve bolded some of the points I felt were mostpivotal to what the localization messed up. Huge spoilers for the whole gameare under the read more, so be careful if you’re trying to stay spoiler-free!

Ever since the localization released, I haveseen a considerable amount of Ouma hate (both in his character tags and thegeneral ndrv3 tag), most of which I expected. After all, it was pretty much thesame back when the original game was released and misinformation waseverywhere. I figured that while some people will certainly dislike Ouma thewhole way through, others would come to revise their opinions on him after thereveals about his character late into Chapter 5 and 6, and didn’t think much ofit other than that as I continued to play the localization for myself.

However, after finishing the last two chapters,I was… rather shocked to see certain aspects of his character weremistranslated and/or nearly left out of the game entirely. I’m sad to say thatI feel like, to some degree, there’s been arguably even more backlash and confusion regarding Ouma’s character nowadays thanthere has been ever since the original version of the game first released inJanuary. Back then, misinformation was abound, and while nobody knew what wastrue and what wasn’t without playing the game for themselves, most people took allinformation with a grain of salt. Since the localization is the “canon”adaptation of the game, however, that actually makes it much harder to clear upmisunderstandings or to explain that yes, sometimes even professionaltranslators can and do make translation errors.

To start with, I want to say that there arethings I like and dislike about Ouma’s translation in the localization, asthere are with the localization as a whole. I feel some aspects of his speechesand behavior were covered quite well—his FTEs in particular were very welltranslated, as were some of his more memorable speeches. In fact, one of myfavorite speeches in the entire game, the one in the Chapter 4 trial where hetalks about the painful, singular truth vs. gentle lies and the endlesspossibilities they offer, was translated spectacularly from start to finish.

However, there were some definite things abouthis overall translation that didn’t really sit well with me, even early on.Much of it has to do with tone, I think—although this is, of course, entirelysubjective and depends just as much on the translator’s preferences as it doeson the player’s.

Ouma is undoubtedly bratty, childish, and has atendency to tease and play pranks on others. But it’s also just as true that hehas nearly as many very serious, straight-faced moments with lines delivered ina perfectly calm, rational fashion. This localization made it… very hard todifferentiate between those two moments, in my opinion, just as it made it hardto differentiate between “mysterious brat with a childish streak that’sactually hard to hate” and “mysterious brat who is actually just downrightgrating and annoying.”

To give a more specific example, a lot of the dialogueand slang that was added to Ouma’s dialogue (both in optional segments and inthe overall plot) is funny maybe once or twice, but it fell rather flat to methe more it went on. “Hewwo”-speak, meme references from the last 2-6 monthsthat are kind of funny but will quickly be outdated by next year, and othersimilar translation choices made it really hard to focus on what Ouma wasactually saying, especially when many of these memes were thrown in all overthe place even in lines where he said nothing of the sort.

More than anything, the overall feeling anddelivery of many of his lines—including lines where it’s very clear he’s beingserious, rather than annoying or bratty—suffered as a result of trying to makehim sound “funny” most of the time. This happened a few times during theChapter 3 trial in particular, with Momota calling him “pure” (translatedas “naïve” in the localization, which works even if it doesn’t quite capturethe same feeling), and again when responding to Kiibo saying he could understandhow Himiko felt when grieving over Tenko and Angie’s deaths.

In both cases, the general feeling of Ouma’sdialogue was changed drastically. I noticed there were changes in thepunctuation (lines which were delivered very calmly and quietly in the original Japanese wereinstead punctuated with “!?,” which I suspect also drastically changed thedelivery of these lines in the dub, though I haven’t listened for myself yet),as well as changes with the entire phrasing.

In the original, Ouma responds to Momotacalling him “pure”/”naïve”/”innocent”/what-have-you with a very quiet line,almost as though talking to himself, which translates to roughly as follows: “It’sthe first time that anyone’s ever called a liar like me ‘pure.’” The emphasisin the original is very clearly on the fact that, while certainly playing thepart of an antagonistic force, Ouma himself disagrees with Momota’s blindbelief and faith in others and refuses to let go of his own paranoia. But atthe same time, he’s definitely somewhat surprised that someone would callsomeone like himself such a harmless-sounding word. Once again, it all tiesback in with Ouma’s projected image as a force of chaos, and the reality thathe’s much more childlike and hard to hate just under the surface.

By contrast, his line in the localization wasinstead changed to this: “No one’s ever called me naïve before. And from Kaito?Seriously?” Not only does this drop the entire “liar” theme of Ouma’s characterand dialogue in general, but the feeling is completely different fromthe original. The sudden finger-pointing at Momota isn’t anywhere in the originalline at all, and overall, it makes it feel much more like Ouma is throwing avery childish temper tantrum over being “name-called.” If I hadn’t known whathe said in the original line, I wouldn’t have thought it was a scene of anyimportance to his character.

The same goes with his line to Kiibo. In theoriginal, Ouma actually stops joking around entirely after hearing Kiibo’sclaim, and asks point-blank, very blank-faced: “Saying that you can understandhow she feels… So can a robot like you truly understand human emotion?” Thelocalization line, however, was this: “So you can understand how she feels. Isee… Wait! Robots can understand human feelings!?”

This is what I mean about the localizationchanging the punctuation and overall tone—while it might seem like the generalmeaning is the same, these two lines carry a very different feeling to them,and the latter makes it seem like Ouma is definitely teasing/bullying Kiibo asusual when it’s actually one of his most serious and soft-spoken lines in theentire trial up to that point. Again, it’s generally hard to get a feeling ofwhen Ouma is being serious at any point in the localization, or when he’ssaying anything important, as pretty much all of his lines, even the veryserious ones, have had their tone and feeling tweaked quite a bit.

And now, as for Chapters 5 and 6… well, the CGerror in the Chapter 5 trial was already disappointing enough (namely as itmade one of the most fun and enjoyable chapters look as though it had a verydumb, gaping plot hole that didn’t exist in the original), but I can vouch thatthe translation of Ouma’s final speech to Momota was butchered right at themost important part in the Chapter 5 post-trial. I translated the entirepost-trial to English myself quite a few months ago, so I was very excited tosee how NISA would handle it—only to find myself extremely disappointed when Igot there.

When Momota asks him why he lied and said heenjoyed the killing game, Ouma gives him a full explanation of his motives thatwe, the players, are encouraged to pick apart and decide for ourselves whetherhe was lying or not. In my opinion, the most glaring disservice done to Ouma’scharacter in the localization is the fact that they completely ruined thisexplanation, not only in the Chapter 5 post-trial but in Chapter 6 as well,making his entire character an incomprehensible, jumbled mess.

The explanation Ouma gives in his flashbackwith Momota is, quite literally, that he hates the killing game because of how many lives it took. He revealsthat it was all a lie he had to tell himself in order to survive, but the cruxof why he hated it so much was that he was horrified by the sheer loss of life.He specifically says, “人にやらされるゲームなんて…楽しい訳あるかよ…”The verb “やらされる” (also written “殺らされる”) means “to kill,” “todo someone in,” etc. So what he says,quite literally, is this: “As if there’s any fun… in a game that kills people like this…” A more natural-sounding translation would be something like, “As if agame that takes people’s lives like this… could ever be fun.”

The localized line, however, drops the ballentirely. It was translated as follows: “H-How could a game… that you’re forcedto play… be fun…?” This completely changes… well, everything about Ouma’s last words,his motivation, and his entire character. Rather than hating and detesting thegame because of the number of lives it took, and because he himself is morallyopposed to murder, it makes it sound as though he would be absolutely fine withthe killing game (and with killing in general) if only the participation wasn’tforced.

This…puts Ouma’s character into a considerably more negative light than the originalversion of the game, but the worst part of this mistranslation is that it continuesinto the next chapter and causes further misunderstandings. In Chapter 6,Saihara and Maki discover Ouma’s motive video in his room—which was somethingelse I translated before the game’s release.

One of the first and most important pointsabout Ouma’s motive video, mentioned almost right off the bat, is that Ouma andDICE strictly forbade murder. It was one of their two most important mottosas a group, the other being to commit “fun, laughable pranks.” His video is explicit about the fact that he and DICEas a whole didn’t condone murder. Andyet, incredibly enough, this line was removed entirely from his motive video inthe localization.

The originalJapanese is a little lengthy here, but I will post it just for the sake ofclarification:  “「人を殺さない」かつ「笑える犯罪」をモットーに、愉快犯的な犯行を繰り返す”DICE"には…王馬くんと共に活動する10人の優秀な手下達がいました。”

There really is not anything morestraightforward and explicit than “人を殺さない” (hito wo korosanai), literally, “don’t kill people.” I wish Icould understand where on earth NISA was coming from when the decision was madeto cut this out of his motive video, but honestly, it baffles me. Again, all itdoes is cast his character in a much more negative light while confusingcrucial facts about his character that weren’t ambiguous at all in theoriginal.

Forcomparison, the localization wrote his motive video as follows: “[Ouma] causedmayhem the world over as the leader of the secret organization DICE. And by ‘mayhem,’I mean petty nonviolent crimes and harmless pranks… Anyway, he had ten loyal goons working for him.” Before anyone tries tostate that “petty nonviolent crimes” is an equivalent substitute, it’s reallynot. Nowhere in the entire localizationfor his motive video does it mention that murder was expressly forbidden, northat it was the group’s most important motto.

Thiserror actually ruins the entire point of using Ouma’s motive video as a truthbullet during the Chapter 6 trial, when Tsumugi tries to keep claiming that hewas a member of the Remnants of Despair. Saihara specifically cites the videoas evidence that DICE couldn’t have been related to the Remnants of Despair,because their organization “forbade murder”—but this translation doesn’t matchup with the translation of Ouma’s motive video itself, or even with the truthbullet summary, neither of which mention that “no killing” was the mostimportant motto of the entire group.

Thecorrelation goes from “Ouma and DICE couldn’t be Remnants of Despair becausetheir organization expressly forbade murder” to “Ouma and DICE probably aren’t Remnants, maybe, because they like doingnonviolent crimes and pranks, I guess.” It’s much, much harder to make theargument that Ouma and DICE couldn’t be controlling a killing game when the “nokilling” rule is quite literally removed from the translation, only to bebrought up by Saihara as though it had already been mentioned before (and I’mguessing that was likely due to miscommunication and lack of context betweendifferent translators, just like I talked about).

There’sreally no other way to view this than as a glaring mistranslation, or else a deliberate,skewed decision taken to make Ouma seem… well, vastly different as a characterin the localization than he was in the original. There’s also no longer anylink between his motive video and his final words to Momota in Chapter 5.

Before, there was a very clear link between Ouma saying that he hatedthe killing game because of the lives it took, and the fact that his motive video then went on to mention that he and his organization specifically forbade killing people. But now there’s no correlation atall between Ouma saying that he hates the killing game “because he was forcedto participate” and his organization which does “petty nonviolent crimes.”

The reveals concerning Ouma in the original versionof the game are extremely important, considering that they help cast every single thing he’s ever said in acompletely different light once you go back and replay the game. Knowing thathe hates death and murder is central to understanding most of his character. Itexplains not only his decision to expose Maki’s talent to the group, but alsocasts many of his lines about how he’s “always thinking of everyone” and how he’s“acting for everyone’s sake” in a much more truthful light than they appearedat first glance. This is crucial to enjoying his character, in my opinion; as a“liar character,” the most surprising twist of all is to learn that he wastelling the truth a lot more often than anyone thought.

In thelocalization, however, it’s difficult to know what to make of him even afterall the reveals in later chapters—namely because these reveals were so badlytranslated and handled that they didn’t clear up much of anything about his character.Whereas in the original Japanese text, his motive video and final speech inChapter 5 very clearly establish that he hated death and killing on a verypersonal level, the localization makes it seem as though he simply hated being forced into the killing game, not theidea of the game itself.

Thefact that he and his entire group had a “no killing” motto is not brought up oremphasized in the least, other than Saihara’s single line in the Chapter 6trial. This means that something which should have been very clearlyestablished about his character is now only there if you squint in thelocalization—and even then, it doesn’t make any sense why he and DICE wouldforbid killing if he really just hated “forced participation” into any game ingeneral, so the entire reveal seems to come out of left field. In other words, it’s a very, very different portrayal of his character than what occurs in the original version of the game.

I couldhave dismissed the tone shifts and general mood whiplash of his translation inother parts of the game if only these very important aspects of his characterhad been included and translated accurately, at least. But the fact that theywere either omitted entirely as a matter of choice or else directlymistranslated makes it much, much harder for me to like the direction the localizationtook his character.

Ingeneral, it feels like the localization wanted Ouma to be a much harsher, crueler,and overall less sympathetic character than he was in the original version ofthe game. I personally believe that while it’s possible to understand him, his actions shouldn’t be excused—the originalnarrative already makes it quite clear that while his actions can be explained,they’re certainly not supposed to be excused or hand-waved away. He acts like a huge, god-awfulasshole on more than one occasion, and regardless of whether it was for thesake of trying to stop the killing game or not, he absolutely deserves to beput in his place for the stunts he pulled in Chapter 4.

However,skewing facts and downright omitting evidence is contrary to what a translationshould do. Unlike other translation differences, being a localization has nothing to do with it. Fan translations and localizations alike should strive to avoid altering the facts to suit how a character is portrayed. When there are several facts indicating that acharacter is not nearly as horrible, sadistic, or selfish as they’ve madethemselves out to be, I don’t think it’s right to simply leave those things outentirely.

Thefact of the matter is, Ouma is shown pretty explicitly to have been deeply,personally opposed to murder and killing—while one could argue that it’s only implied (heavily) to be thetruth in Chapter 5, Chapter 6 outright confirms it. There is really no way to argue against it. And the localizationcompletely robbed his character of those things and provided people with a verydifferent version of events than what actually happened. Things which should’vebeen spelled out are now only there if you read in between the lines, and Ouma’soverall characterization suffered pretty badly for it.

Peopleare free to like or dislike Ouma. I can certainly understand if they do dislikehim. He’s a morally grey character, who does morally ambiguous things; he’sdefinitely meant to be a polarizingcharacter. But I feel it’s unfair to provide people with only half the facts,or even complete misinformation, as this can alter and influence people’s opinions heavily.

I havemore to say on the localization as a whole, but I’ll leave that for a differentpost, where I can talk more about all the characters in general, as well aswhat I actually liked about it. I’m sorry for how long this got, but I hopepeople might read to the end and spread this around.

I want people to supportthe localization as much as possible—games getting localized and brought to thewest are rare enough as it is, so it’s a huge success that ndrv3 got alocalization like this! But I feel it’s also important to keep in mind thatthere are definite errors in the localization too, and that the differencesbetween the localization and the original game can often affect one’sperception of it.

Anyway,thank you both for stopping by. I hope I was able to sum it all up, and thankyou for reading.

[ladygloucester]

A common enemy - The confrontation

Previously...

Never heard before sounds reverberated in her ears. The agony screams, the gaelic slang, but above all, the steel. The clashing of the swords, the noise the blade made when it entered the flesh, the crash of life and death on the dirt. It was frenetic. The overwhelming fear, the uncertainty of the nearest future, the smell of demise burdening her nose. All her senses were sharpened and, at the same time, her mind was completely blocked faced with all the stimuli that flooded her.

Time slowed down to a painfully unhurried cadence. When the red dash of curls appeared through the door, her heart skipped a bit in panic, then resumed its beating, fast, runaway. The fear and her instincts kicked in and when the highlander began to come closer, Claire took advantage of his unexpected change of demeanor and threw her foot as hard as he could against his face, hitting him with a loud thud. Then she launched herself through the door, hoping to bypass the highlander and escape, but she miscalculated his strength. With gaelic profanity still ringing in her ears, she felt his arms surrounding roughly her waist and holding her over his shoulder.

“Let me go!! You fool, bloody brute!!“ She screamed while kicking.

“Watch it, meer. Ye might kick me once but next time I will treat ye as I do with my mules.”

But Claire didn’t stop fighting. When they both came out the carriage, her frantic skirmish made her hit her head with the threshold and dizziness took her senses away. Jamie felt her body get calmer, and allowed her to descend in front of him, sliding her against his chest, keeping his arms solidly wrapped around her waist and capturing her own arms under his bond. The men saw him and their faces varied from astonished to disappointed, in a colorful array of sneers, most of them directed at his bloody nose.

“Didna know Randall wore skirts these days,” said Angus causing a general burst of laughter in the middle of the adrenaline rush they all felt.

Dougal, however, didn’t laugh. Not even a sly smile crossing his thin lips. He accommodated his bonnet, and cleaned the blood of his mouth against the sleeve of his shirt. Jamie’s eyes watched his uncle while he slowly strode towards them. He felt the English woman resistance quietly subside, but still was there, dormant, just waiting for the concussion to go away. He made a gesture to Rupert, one of his clansmen, to get some rope and tie her hands, but as he was about get on with it, Dougal pulled out the rope from his hands, threw it to the ground and draw his dagger.

Just as he was unsheathing, Jamie pushed the woman behind him and put himself before her. Without Jamie’s support, she fell to the ground, numb and unaware of the rush of events that had developed in matter of seconds.

“Jamie lad, move. She canna live. She saw us.”

The faces of both men were close. Blue and brown eyes, defying each other. Jamie was one of the tallest man of the clan, but his uncle wasn’t any shorter. Silence overcame the scene, not even the wind dared to blow among the leaves. But where Dougal was impulsive and abrasive, Jamie had colder blood. He knew how to restrain his anger and contemplate honestly what was right and wrong. And killing that woman was wrong.

“We dinna ken who she is. We dinna even ken if she has anything to do wi' Randall.”

The tone of his voice was soft, as always. Low and rich, but there was a firm edge to it. Even though his eyes never left his uncle’s he was well aware of where the dagger was, and how he’d stop it if it came to that. Dougal was waiting for this. For a chance to measure himself against his sister’s bairn. The only one that, if things went sourly, could deprive him of ruling the clan one day. There was more at stake than the life of a wench. It was a clash of powers, of minds, and of different ways of seeing life and justice. After a silence that seemed to last forever, Jamie’s voice quietly filled the moment.

“We maun take her with us and fin’ out who she is. For nou she’s under my protection.”

Placing her under his direct protection was a bold move, and Dougal knew it. The clans law still ruled those hills and meadows, and when a highlander declared in this way, only killing him would deter him from fulfilling his promise. That woman wouldn’t die if Jamie didn’t first, and there was no time for it. Not yet, at least.

When Claire regained some control over her senses, the first thing she felt was the rope, rough and painfully tied around her wrists. Testing its strength, she realized it wasn’t too tight, but enough for it to be undoable. With a sigh leaving her parched lips, she leaned back to rest, only to realize the context of the situation. Between her legs there was a splendid Arab horse, and riding behind her with one arm around her waist and the other holding the reigns, there was a man, and not a little one. The shock was probably tangible in her body, because a familiar low voice spoke almost into her hair and sent chills over her spine.

“It was about time, lass. Thought ye’d sleep till the morn… No, dinna try to,” he warned her while tightening his grip on her. “Ye’d probably fall off the horse, and it’s not a nice way to start off yer day, losing all those pretty teeth.”

“My day already started with an almost decapitated soldier in my carriage. Don’t think it can get any worse,” she barked under her breath while he let out a low, quiet laugh, but stopped shaking the rope. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere ye can rest. We all can. ’Tis been a rough night for all of us.”

After a while, the dizziness was completely gone and replaced by a pounding headache. The blow against the threshold must have caused a gash in her temple, where she felt the skin tender and wet. The hours flowed slowly, excruciatingly slow. Her hips began to ache from the riding and even though at first she tried not to, Claire gave up and leaned against her captor. He didn’t seem to mind, as he stood straight on the horse, with the mastery of someone who is accustomed to long journeys on the saddle.

The sun was low when the group decided to stop. To avoid being seen, they had left the road aside and the ride was a test of resilience for everyone. The man who appeared to be in charge restrained his horse and looked around, inspecting the turf.

“Aye, we camp here for the night. Tend to the horses first.”

The redheaded highlander riding behind her got off the horse more gracefully than it was expected for a man of his size, and grabbed her waist to help her down. His hands felt strong, and when she stood on the ground, she could feel the heat irradiating from his body, only inches away from hers. His cinnamon curls stuck to his forehead with a mixture of sweat, blood and drizzle, and obscured his deep blue eyes, who lingered upon her a bit more than it seemed necessary.

He then grabbed her rope and drove her carefully to a tree nearby, helping her sit by the trunk.

“Dinna move or try to run. Ye ken you willna make it far before we get you.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a statement. With her hands tied, the soreness of her body longing for a warm bead and the headache making her feel the blood rushing through her brain, there was no chance she could plot an escape. Let alone fulfill it. She nodded silently and laid back against the wet bark, closing her eyes.

The small camp was instilled with life. Every man knew what he was supposed to do, and while the redheaded was in charge of the horses, others prepared the bonfire and a couple of them left to inspect the vicinity with small bows. The sun was already setting and darkness expanding over the crown of the trees when the man who captured her returned, followed suit by two of the men carrying two small rabbits.

She hadn’t realize how hungry she was until the smell of the stew started to smoke. And then, it all hit her at once, unleashing a wave of fear that shook her to the bone. She was alone in the forest, with outlaws and murderers that had exterminated her whole caravan. As much as she knew, they could kill her in her sleep and they seemed pretty favorable to the idea in her eyes, all together a few feet away from her, whispering in gaelic and looking at her over their shoulders. No masters of discretion, that’s for sure.

“Who d'ye think she is?” Rupert asked, hands on his hips.

“The best way to fin’ out is to ask her.” Jamie grabbed the flask that was being passed along and took a long sip. He looked around and turned to the woman sat by the tree, squatting down in front of her and offering the flask. She refused with a gesture of her tied hands, but Jamie insisted. “'It willna fill your belly, but it will make ye forget you're hungry”. She slowly nodded and grabbed the flask, taking a long sip before returning it.

“Why are you taking me with you?” She inquired with a spark of pride flying in her eyes. Jamie smiled and covered the flask.

“We dinna ken who you are, Sassenach. It would help your situation to throw some light on the subject.”

Her eyes dropped and Jamie could see her mind running wild. Obviously she was going to lie, but at least he was willing to give her the chance to tell the truth.

“We dinna want to hurt you. We can, and some of us are more willing than others,” he added looking slightly over his shoulder, “but you are safe with me. Ye need not be scairt of me. Nor anyone else here, so long as I'm with ye.”

The woman looked him straight in the eye, confused, surprised and still not fully trusting him. It didn’t matter. He had uttered the words and would die, if it came to it, to keep his word.

It was stupid to trust him, that’s for sure. But there was something in his eyes, some sort of… Comfort? Sincerity? She couldn’t put a name to it, but it was warm. And inviting.

“You’re asking me who I am and for all that I know, you’re just a kidnapper and a fugitive.”

A smirk started to appear in his lips and a small chuckle followed it.

“Fair is fair, Sassenach. I’m Jamie.“

“Claire.”

Next…

[wordydelights]

first chapter of the first book i ever tried to write

When Galaxies Collide

11:39 AM, November 29th

As I tapped my no. 2 against the side of my desk, I could tell others around me were becoming annoyed. But, that didn't seem to bother me much. The ticking of each second passing by echoed throughout my eardrums. The day was going slower than normal.

It was torture.

I'd usually be scribbling something on the corner of my notebook by now, but the inspiration I needed wasn't present at the moment. I was just waiting for it to walk through the door.

11:43 AM

The classrooms' temperature caused my hands to numb and drift asleep.The dull environment, dry with boredom, painted the students' faces with clear disinterest. Blank sheets of paper sat on each desk, patiently awaiting to be written on, alas no one could find the strength to lift their fingers.

The teachers here refer to us as a lazy generation, concluding we only spend our time watching 'screens' all day and don't know how to socialize, on account of being caught up in our make-believe worlds. They also believe that the public school system is a well established institute for education...and our school's sports teams don't suck. So who's the real loser?

My yawning began to fog the glasses now resting on the tip of my nose. I gently removed the specs, carefully wiping them off with the knit sleeve of my sweater. I'd occasionally wear contacts but I was usually too lazy to deal with carefully shoving plastic underneath my eyelids.

I had sat in the back of the classroom, three rows to the left, giving me a perfect view of my fellow peers, the white board and the lovely scenery of the school's totally non-crappy parking lot, outside the window.

A faint sound began to tickle my ears. As it grew louder I was able to make out my name. Don't worry, I thought. Hearing your name being called is the sign of a healthy mind. Either that or I was becoming schizophrenic. But, unfortunately this wasn't a figment of my imagination, let alone a psychotic voice in my head.

"Jackson."

I snapped my head up towards the front of the classroom, like being resurrected with a sudden jolt. My eyes met the shiny forehead, wrinkled with distress of The Professor. He was a World History teacher at Oakwood High. No one seemed to refer to him by his real name, honestly, I think most of us had forgotten it.

The Professor had always made a huge deal about universities, how hard it is to get in and statistically most of us will end up at a dead-end community college with a degree in flipping burnt burgers. To make matters worse, he constantly bragged about his past employment at Harvard.

The big question he hadn't answered however was 'how he got from Harvard to a low budget public school in Forest Grove, Oregon.' Bigger question, 'how he was removed from Harvard's distinguished faculty?.'

Never once did he object to this sarcastic nickname which was used to describe his unhealthy obsession. As a matter-of-fact he took pride in it. Probably because it reminded him of the times he once had a bigger paycheck, respectful students and a school with an IQ average larger than 60. Or partly because he was an arrogant asshole, who enjoys dwelling on the past.

"Daydreaming again, I see," he said expressionless. His specialty.

"No s-s-ir," my voice cracked.

I heard snickers from multiple students around the room.

Damn you puberty.

"I was just looking for a bit of inspiration."

"Inspiration," he smirked. "How is that related to the lesson?"

My eyes darted across the whiteboard, searching for the title of today's topic, written in it's general bold letters.

The Age of Enlightenment.

"Well sir, during the Enlightenment period, inspiration was what all people were searching for."

"And have you found any inspiration?"

"Not yet, it hasn't seemed to arrive."

He squinted his eyes as if trying to read to me. Scanning my body language, then absorbing the information obtained. I knew I was about to be asked to explain to the class something complex, that I obviously don't know about the Enlightenment. It was his typical routine for making me look like an idiot, not like he had to try.

11:47 AM

As soon as he opened his mouth to speak, the words on the tip of his tongue, the door swung open. Inspiration had arrived.

"Hi sorry...you would not believe the hallway traffic."

She was on her usual time. Not too late to be counted absent, but late enough to piss of The Professor.

"Pass?" The tone in his voice was dripping with frustration.

She walked up with a certain confidence in her stride. Not the prideful, vain kind. The bold kind. Too bold. So bold it was a cover up for something dark lying within.

She pushed the hair out of her face, and flashed a smile, a fake, phony, I-hate-you smile, proceeding to hand over a crumpled up hall pass.

The Professor snatched the piece of paper out of her hand, quickly analyzed it and sighed,

"Just go sit down."

"Gladly," she'd snap back without missing a beat.

I watched as she made her way to her desk dropping the bag to the floor and whipping her classic black and white chucks up onto the empty seat in front of her, then continued to twist the stained silver ring on her finger.

Some days were better than others. She never truly disrupted class. She just threw on a show whenever she came in.

Never once did she acknowledge my presence this entire year. I doubt she even vaguely remembered me.

She had changed so much since the four-foot-three Serene Easton from elementary school.

No longer did she wear that burgundy ribbon in her hair, candy bracelets or fuzzy scrunchies on her wrists. She moved away one summer just as we were about to start the seventh grade. I don't know where or why, but I do know I bawled my eyes out for a month straight.

I just couldn't bare the thought of her not being there for me when I needed her most. I don't even really remember much of the time we spent together. It was mostly Halo dragging me along her wild goose chases, getting busted with Halo for tagging along those wild goose chases, and brief moments with Noel during those wild goose chases, probably only lasting half a second, that had been sown in my being.

I told her to write. She didn't. I told her to call. No calls received. I told her to send a damn email. No emails sent.

Her response to each of my requests was a half smile, followed by a nod and sincere look in her eyes. I was like a puppy being left at the local Humane Society, thinking, surely their owner will be back for them.

But, they never were.

Oddly enough, my parents thought it was good, healthy even, that the only friend I had was leaving. My mother was afraid I would become too dependent on Halo if our friendship sustained. And I'm fairly certain my father was becoming worried about my sexuality.

Being a young boy, who wasn't quite as athletically gifted as others and only able to maintain one friend who happened to be female, caused him to raise some suspicions. Also, my incriminating actions might have come into play. Such as, not being able to change in front of other boys or perhaps stumbling upon gay porn on their computer, but I swear, it was already there when I went to use the laptop.

Nevertheless, my family supported me through thick and thin, but at the same time, had awkward conversations about how they accept me for who I am and will always love me not matter what.

Despite my parents' 'words of wisdom,' I will never forget Halo's last words she said to me before she left.

"The story continues."

She said it cryptically, like it was my job to decode the message behind it. The mystery bouncing within the light of her eyes.

Halo had never found pleasure in saying goodbyes, as a result she would say things like 'see ya later' or 'until next time.' In her own words; goodbye is too permanent. But, this time, this saying was different. What did she mean by 'the story continues'? What was the story? Was it her life? Was I just a mere chapter or an adventure to move on from? Or was the story both of us? How we have future journeys lying ahead, just waiting to be ventured upon. Maybe her moving away was just an example of the plot thickening.

I might never realize what she truly meant, however, it gives me hope.

Lunch at Oakwood was pretty much what you would expect for your customary high school. Freshman sitting with freshman, sophomores with sophomores...yeah, you get the gist. Girls on one side, guys on the other, then a couple of mixed tables scattered across the sea of pubescent bodies.

It's a small school. Our last graduating class contained about 136 students. Out of a total population of 584.

Everyone had a place and if you didn't it's because you chose not to have one. That was just my theory at least. I'd always been that shy, quiet guy.

I had become a master of blending in, being overlooked by almost everyone was my speciality.

"Jackson, mah brotha from anotha motha!" Ravon announced as he approached the table. His feign, early 2000's, ghetto slang caused me to cringe. The buttons on the back pockets of his acid wash jeans scraped against the seat next to Aditi, as he began to sit down, creating a group of three. He advanced to unraveling his brown, paper, lunch bag, revealing his masterpiece of a PB&J.

"Hey," he pointed. "Check out that spicy chocolate mama."

Ravon drew Aditi and I's attention over towards Jasmine Baker, senior class president. We watched as she made her way over to her pretentious, intellectually gifted friends. Her hips swayed with each step followed by the sound of her high heeled boots clicking against the marble floor.

"Bow-chicka-wow-wow," Aditi exclaimed.

His thick Indian accent made it hard not to burst into laughter. I snorted.

Aditi was a foreign exchange student from India. He didn't know much English, so he would say words completely irrelevant to the topic, however, I was surprised to hear how much he had improved.

"M-m-mmm," Ravon drooled. "That's one stone cold fox."

I awkwardly shrugged, picking at the glutinous macaroni and cheese, now glued to the paper tray.

"Aw, hell nah."

Ravon stared at me with an almost how-dare-you expression slapped across his face.

"What?" I asked.

He moved closer to my face. So close, I could smell the potent peanut butter aroma permeating the air from his mouth."Did you just diss the chocolate mamas?"

"No, I just don't find Jasmine very appealing."

Which was true. I didn't find girls who covered up their insecurities with false confidence very attractive. Girls who lived for themselves instead were more my type.

I finally looked from my pathetic excuse for a meal and up at Ravon. His dark skin in piercing contrast with his coral polo shirt. He blinked twice. I couldn't tell if he was about explode into a full-fledged rant about how dissing the 'chocolate mamas' was like sucker punching his future love child Tyron. And nobody touches little Tyron. Or laugh it off, pat my back and put this insignificant feud behind us.

Ravon was an interesting character. For example, using words which were televised in the late 90's and dressing in similar fashion to a cast member from a Fresh Prince rerun.

The tension in the air was becoming too thick to breathe. Luckily Aditi broke the ice.

"Bay-gull," He exclaimed in his way of saying the word bagel. At least, so we think..

"Yes, Aditi," Ravon hesitated. "Bagel indeed."

There was something uneasy about the way he spoke, nonetheless, I disregarded it..

Out of the corner of my eye, I captured a glimpse of Halo eagerly walking towards the outdoor lunch patio. I guess I made it obvious as to what I was staring at, because I received unnecessary commentary to my vision.

"Hellooo," Ravon flirtatiously said, lifting both of his eyebrows. "Vanilla mama."

"You're obsession with comparing women to pieces of candy is becoming disturbing," I mumbled while burying my face into my palms. Through the cracks of my fingers, I spotted the back of Halo vanishing behind the corner of school, racing to the usual spot where her group of 'juvenile delinquents' sat. Gone, once again.

I spent the rest of the period listening to Ravon ramble about getting to second-base with a girl waiting in line at the mall. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure I saw him there the other day groping a mannequin.

It was relatively easy pretending to pay attention to Ravon. All you had to do was nod and half smile occasionally. He was that type of person who lived in a false reality. Choosing not to believe the fact that the only people he had to speak to included someone who obviously couldn't care less and someone who didn't understand half of what he was saying.

The problem with me was that it became so hard to connect, to feel any emotion whatsoever. It's better when it's just me. My mind and I, we go well together. We agree about everything. It's really all I need. Friends come and go, leading to grief. Why waste all that energy on the expected? So yes, I'm not actually friends with Aditi or Ravon. They just happen to be people in this specific chapter of my life. By the time I'm thirty, I probably won't even remember them. Sad, but true.

I just prefer thinking realistically.

With a hop, skip and jump in my step, I was dumped on the side of the road, attempting to avoid slamming into the bright, red stop sign. I was possibly the only junior at Oakwood who still road the bus to school instead of driving their own 'set of wheels.' The stop was half a mile away from my house, which was far, but not too far to walk home. It happened to be very calm and reflective. I don't know why, but there is something about walking alone that just helps you forget all of the pesky problems in life. Cars passed by me leaving a gust of wind to be remembered by. Puddles were dispersed across the road, which wasn't quite unusual when living in Oregon. The trees were almost bare, only few Amber and ruby colored leaves attached to the claws of their branches. Every now and then I'd see someone I recognize from school, but I don't think I'd look as familiar to them as they do to me.

About a quarter of a mile away from my destination I'd pass a small white house. Its curtains closed, concealing secrets to the curious eye. It looked like your average suburban home. A welcome mat by the front door, wind chimes hanging from over its porch, and a lawn in slight need of a good mow. It definitely did not appear to be the type of home you'd expect Halo Easton to be living in.

I wasn't quite sure if she was home at the moment, there appeared to be no activity coming from within, except for the slight flickering of a light, most likely from a television screen, piercing through the closed blinds. Then again, Halo was the type of person that never seemed to be at home.

By the time I had arrived, my mother was in the front yard hauling what had the appearance of tacky couch from the 70's, from our family pickup truck. One end of the abomination was tilted against the driveway, the other leaning against the tailgate of the vehicle.

"Oh! Jackson, honey, could you come help me with this?"

Sweat poured from the top of her head, as she wiped her face with the white apron she normally used for cleaning.

I made my way over towards the hideous piece of furniture, it's yellowish piss coloring, velvet fabric, with brown and white stripes outlining it's unflattering frame.

"Mom, did you buy this?" I asked while trying to hide my horrified expression.

"No, sweetheart you know me better than that," She paused, catching her breath.

"I found it in of one of our neighbors front yards! Can you believe someone was just giving it away!?"

My mother was a hoarder. As hard as she wanted to admit it, she was. She liked collecting junk, adding to her insatiable collection of stuff she will most likely never use. I guess she thought she would sometime, in the near distant future, fix her junk up or put it to some sort of benefit, unfortunately she never did. So, now we had achieved a garage filled from bicycles missing wheels, to the largest world collection of disfigured beanie babies. Even though she was a bit crazy, I sort of admired her for it in a way. She was able to see a beauty, that no one else did, in the things she found. After all, I had to get my artistic side from somewhere.

"Ok, one, two, three, lift."

The nonexistent muscles I had in my arms, were straining. I was unprepared for the amount of weight I was now lifting. I felt my heart beating twice as fast, almost as if screaming, 'Shouldn't have skipped gym you weak bitch.'

Somehow we managed to tilt the 'couch from hell' rightside up. Mostly because I let it fall to the ground at the last second.

"Good, now help me move it into the garage."

I might've started screaming bloody murder, if my little sister Gracie hadn't opened the front door and shouted, "Daddy's home!"

Slowly, my father's blue minivan rolled up the driveway. Gracie, with a sheet of notebook paper covered with multicolored scribbles in her hands, ran towards the door of the car, excitedly tapping on its window.

My father calmly walked out, but I could tell by his constant glances over towards the new piece of furniture we now owned, which he now had to help move, was ready to burn mother's garage full of trinkets.

"Daddy look." Gracie held up her art, stained with a bit of 100% grape juicy juice.

"Aren't I just as good as Jackson? It's abstract. Just like the one drawing you guys really liked that he did, except mine has color!"

"It's beautiful," my father faintly smiled, but the reassurance in his voice wasn't very prominent.

I smirked at her jealousy of the talents I possessed. She always looked up to her big brother Landon, but he had been away at college for the past few months, so I guess I was her backup plan. However, she didn't hold the same sort of honor she had for me as she had for Landon. It was that 'middle child honor.' The type of honor that truly does look up to you, just doesn't like showing it. The type of honor that likes to bring up embarrassing moments that will haunt you for the rest of your life, steal your towel and clothes while taking a shower and eat the last bite of your favorite cereal.

Luckily, I had my revenge planned. When she really pisses me off I can finally tell her the truth about her unplanned conception.

"How was work dad?" I never usually acted this interested in my father's occupation, mostly because it involved unclogging the shit out of people's toilets, but I was trying to avoid carrying the monstrosity of a sofa to the garage.

"Eh," his common response. He wasn't the most emotional person, especially on days when he was in one of his 'moods.' This was one of those days.

He made his way towards mother, despite her stockpile-syndrome, you could tell he loved her more than life itself.

"Hey hon," he said, softly pecking her on the lips.

It was like her insanity was a part of him that he adored. The part that kept him young, helping him remember their early blossoming romance. They were complete opposites, yet each mirrored the other. Each bringing out the other's character.

As I see it, everything needs it's opposing pair. It wouldn't be whole without it.

What would the moon be without the sun, the light without darkness, bitter without sweet, grief without joy, love without hate? These forces balance each other out. My parents are like that.

My mother smiled, then began, "Hey! Oooo, do you think you could help me move thi-" mother began but was cut off.

"I'm already on it," my father laughed, lifting one side of the couch, clearly exhausted.

I started to walk into the house, the straps of my backpack now chaffing my shoulders. We had lived in this house for about 18 years. Apparently after mom found out she was pregnant once again, they figured it was best to start searching for a place other than the one bedroom condo they were already living in. They found our home thinking it would be a proper family home. Instead, it turned out to be infested with termites, gnawing away at the wooden beams supporting our ceilings. Of course, an exterminator was hired. After that slight bump in the road, a paint job and serious cleaning, it turned out to be the domicile we would spend the rest of our childhood in. All of our precious memories, which we held dear, lied within it's walls.

I raced up the stairway to my room. The house, unlike our garage, was rather neat. My Father and I had always shared a passion for order. I guess I wasn't quite as uptight as he was, although I did become slightly OCD about a backwards roll of toilet paper.

My bedroom was whitewashed with well. . .white. Colorless and bland.

It's not that I was a boring stick-in-the-mud, I just didn't want to ruin the elegance my room pertained. It was like an empty canvas, a blank sheet of paper. Having so much potential. Potential that could easily be destroyed.

My fear was screwing things up.

As an aspiring artist, you might find it odd how I'm exceptionally organized, rather dull and basic. Not all artists have to be these messy slobs, using vibrant colors, seeing things differently than others.

I saw things for the way they were.

I laid my backpack down by the side of my bed, it's zipper clanking against the metal frame. It was time for my daily procrastination. I rolled open the drawer to my drafting table. Its polished wooden frame, still held the freshly cut pine scent, regardless of how old it was. Delicately choosing a pencil from my collection. It needed to be ideal. It's lead not too stubby, so I didn't have to find the energy to choose a new tool, yet not too sharp so it wouldn't break during the process. I tried taking a few short breaths. Attempting to clear my mind.

I liked playing a game with myself. The first thought which popped into my head, I would draw. I counted to four. Not three. Not five. Four. It was the number in between, commonly overlooked as a number to count to.

Just like me.

One....Two....Three...Four.

The gears in my brain started turning, sorting through the files of my mind, seeking for the perfect thought. It scanned through the alphabet.

A...B...C...D....E...STOP!

Yes, E.

The word became clear, its letters floating about.

Emptiness.

Beginning is always the hardest part. It is the foundation for everything. All the work you do from that point on stands upon the structure you created.

The first thing that came to mind when picturing the word was someone hiding behind a mask. Disguising their pain.

I proceeded to sketch a young girl, probably around Gracie's age. Her hair, hiding half her face. Each strand, unkempt, and untamed. She was smiling, yet the crinkles near her eyes told another story. A vacant heart.

A label was printed across her forehead. Numbers, like an ID.

18, 5, 10, 5, 3, 20, 5, 4.

Each number representing a letter. Each letter forming a word. A word that was the root cause of all emptiness. Being rejected.

She could fool anyone who was gullible enough to believe her false sense of contentment. Only those who looked close enough were able to see the agony beneath her facade.

Later that evening, while shading the striking features of the girl's face, darkening her glassy, tear-filled eyes, I was called down for dinner. My creative flow now interrupted, I made my way downstairs. My family each in their traditional seats. We use to have a big fancy dinner table, for guests, but I guess after the first awkward dinner with the Peterson's, and the fact we rarely ever had guests over, we sold it and bought a table much more accustomed to the size of our family. We only had one extra seat, of course in the garage, which was for Landon when he returned from (insert school name here). I plopped into the last available chair, my nose meeting the delicious fragrance of chinese take-out.

Egg rolls, white rice with baby shrimp, teriyaki chicken and those oh-so-sweet stargoons. I guess mom was too lazy to cook tonight. Again.

But, I wasn't complaining.

It was at that moment when I realized just how starving I was. I had forgotten I didn't eat my lunch.

I commenced to quietly dip my egg roll into a small packet of 'duck sauce' or whatever the hell it was and continued to stuff my face with a bite far too large for my mouth.

"So, Jackson, Gracie, you're father and I have some news."

I raised my head, my cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk trying to store his precious supply of nuts. Haha, nuts.

Dad just sat idly by while my mother eagerly took his hand. He seemed clueless. As if he was a random passerby who had just won a lifetime supply of pastries for buying the millionth funnel cake.

"Landon's coming home for the weekend," she exclaimed.

Gracie enthusiastically shrieked like a mating dolphin from the top of her lungs.

"Not inside the house Grace," Dad grimaced.

"Jackson, honey, isn't that great?"

I guess the lack of emotion on my face and the fact I had said not a word might have given the impression I wasn't thrilled to be reuniting with my dear brother, who I had profoundly missed, or was taking his trip home for granted. No, it wasn't either of those things, I was only slightly busy attempting not to choke on the rather sizeable amount of egg roll I had just consumed. The lump in my throat felt as if it was the size of golf ball. The shells' sharp edges slowly slid down my throat.

Amazingly I was able to swallow the choking hazard.

"Yeah mom, that's awesome."

Lately my parents had been acting more attentive towards my needs, assuming I'm depressed or unhappy with my circumstances. I suppose they have noticed my increase in afternoon naps, deadpan smiles and most of my life being spent in my room.

Perhaps they thought bringing Landon back home for a little while, might help recover the 'old Jackson' whose absence had been accounted for.

Yes, I admit it. Landon leaving did make things difficult. But, it was my fault for getting so hung up on the situation. I knew he was leaving. I couldn't help but also feeling slight resentment towards Landon.

He left me. However, Landon wasn't to blame. This was a step he had to take in life. I never expected for him to stay home to tend to his emotional brothers' needs. It just gave me a taste of the truth. Even family will not always be there for you.

Although, I did begin acting unlike my common self around the time when Landon left, he wasn't the only factor that had come into play of my mysterious change in personality. I guess his disappearance was just the gateway to all of the crap I had been storing in my heart for years.

Think of it like Jenga, the more blocks you pile up, the more come tumbling down.

I was never the type of person to talk about their issues and receive perceptive insight, causing my life to magically become picture perfect, solving every single one of my problems, then rolling the credits with the Friends theme song.

Because life just wasn't that simple.

That night was probably like most. Laying in bed staring at my ceiling, weary yet unable to let loose and drift away. All that was left for me to do was think. Think about the inevitable fact that I would soon fall asleep, unfortunately I would have to spend the next few minutes, before that happens, and suffer. I guess this was mother nature's way of letting you reflect on your actions, those humiliating moments we regret, causing us the gut-wrenching feeling of condemnation.

But, there were no moments belonging to me I had to ponder. I could only ask myself, what the hell happened to her?

Halo was a mission impossible movie. There was always something exciting and adventurous just around the corner. Her motto once was there would be no rules without rebellion. She'd then emphasize the statement saying how technically she was enforcing the rules by breaking them. She was one of those people who would have an idea, not take a second longer to think about what had just entered her mind and do it. From what it seemed, her impulsiveness had not changed much or her thirst for an adrenaline rush. No, what had changed was the wholesome tone she use to have in her voice. Each word was now filled with no meaning and each action was driven from a burning desire to fill the void in her soul, only enlarging.

If only I could just find enough courage to talk to her.

But, what would I say?

"Hey, uh, remember me? Jackson Novak. We use to hang out when were like ten, and I've noticed you recently moved back into the neighborhood this past year. Sorry if you ever caught me stalkerishly staring at your house, I was just wondering if you were home and what you might've doing."

Oh yeah, she'd probably just fall right into my arms after that glorious soliloquy.

Actually she might just jackslap me in the face for even considering speaking to her. After all, she had made it very clear she either never wanted to talk to me again, or suffered a terrible case of amnesia, causing her to lose about four years worth of her memory.

In all fairness, we were young.

We have matured quite a bit since our last rendezvous. She definitely wasn't that flat chested little girl from the fifth grade anymore. So, maybe it's possible she didn't recognize me?

That's ridiculous, I hadn't changed that much. I was still rather freckled face, sustaining your basic non-aerobic physique, just a foot and a half taller and different pair of glasses. I couldn't have changed to a certain degree making me unrecognizable.

Yes, it had been about five years, I'll give her that, but wouldn't she find me the slightest bit familiar?

Maybe, her life just didn't have enough room for me at the moment. She was already busy with her other friends, she just hadn't found the words to say to me yet.

Or maybe, my special gift of blending into the crowd was becoming better than I intended.

"Yeah, that was it," I tried telling myself, sinking into denial. Even though I hadn't chosen a possible theory to which I agreed with.

It was sometimes easier to deceive yourself than accepting the facts.

But, what's the point? She's moved on.

I wanted to hate her. To hate her for planting seeds of hope. For making me wish she would look at me and smile, reminiscing on a moment we once shared. She left me in suspense, on the edge of my seat, eagerly waiting to see what her next move would be.

But, I didn't hate her. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't.