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flufffysocks · 4 years ago

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let's talk about andi mack's worldbuilding

sorry this took forever to make! i've been pretty busy with school stuff and i kind of lost my inspiration for a bit, but i ultimately really enjoyed writing it! i wish i could've included more pics (tumblr has a max of 10 per post), and it kinda turned from less of a mini analysis to more of an extremely long rant... but i hope it's still a fun read!

i've been rewatching the show over the past few weeks (thanks again to @disneymack for the link!), and i’ve been noticing a lot that i never did the first time around. this is really the first time i’ve watched the show from start to finish since it aired, and it honestly feels so different this time - probably a combination of the fact that i’m not as focused on plot and can appreciate the show as a whole, and also that the fandom is much, much smaller now, so there’s a lot less noise. so the way i’m consuming this show feels super different than it did the first time, but the show itself doesn’t - it’s just as warm and comforting to me as it was the first time around, if not more so.

i think a lot of that can be attributed to andi mack’s “worldbuilding”. i’m not quite sure that this is the right word in this context, to be honest, because i mostly see it used in reference to fantasy and sci-fi universes, but it just sort of feels right to me for andi mack, because you can really tell how much love and care went into constructing this universe. for clarity, worldbuilding is “the process of creating an imaginary world” in its simplest sense. there’s two main types: hard worldbuilding, which involves inventing entire universes, languages, people, cultures, places, foods, etc. from scratch (think “lord of the rings” or “dune”), and soft worldbuilding, in which the creators don’t explicitly state or explain much about the fictional universe, but rather let it’s nature reveal itself as the story progresses (think studio ghibli films). andi mack to me falls in the soft worldbuilding category. even though it takes place in a realistic fiction universe, there’s a lot of aspects to it that are inexplicably novel in really subtle ways.

so watching the show now, i’ve noticed that the worldbuilding comes primarily from two things - setting and props, and oftentimes the both of them in tandem (because a big part of setting in filmmaking does depend on the props placed in it!).

one of the most obvious examples is the spoon. it really is a sort of quintessential, tropic setting in that it's the main gang's "spot", which automatically gives it a warm and homey feel to it. and its set design only amplifies this:

the choice to make it a very traditional 50s-style diner creates a very nostalgic, retro feel to it, which is something that's really consistent throughout the show, as you'll see. from the round stools at the bar, to the booths, to the staff uniforms, this is very obvious. the thing that i found especially interesting about it though is the choice of color. the typical 50s diner is outfitted with metallic surfaces and red accented furnishings, but the spoon is very distinctly not this.

instead, it's dressed in vibrant teal and orange, giving it a very fresh and modern take on a classic look. so it still maintains that feeling of being funky and retro, but that doesn't retract from the fact that the show is set distinctly in modern times.

of course, this could just be a one-off quirky set piece, but this idea of modernizing and novelizing "retro" things is a really common motif throughout the show. take red rooster records. i mean, it's a record shop - need i say more? it's obviously a very prominent store in shadyside, at least for the main characters, but there's no apparent reason why it is (until season 2 when bowie starts working there, and jonah starts performing there). a lot of the time, though, it functions solely as a record shop. vinyl obviously isn't the most practical or convenient way of listening to music, but it's had its resurgence in pop culture even in the real world, mostly due to its aesthetic value, so it's safe to say that it serves the same purpose in the andi mack universe.

the fringe seems to be nostalgic of a different era, specifically the Y2K/early 2000s period (because it's meant to be bex's territory and symbolic of who she used to be, and its later transformation into cloud 10 is representative of her character arc, but that's beside the point). to be honest, exactly what this store was supposed to be always confused me. it was kind of a combination party store/clothing store/makeup store/beauty parlor? i think that's sort of the point of it though, it's supposed to feel very grunge-y and chaotic (within the confines of a relatively mellow-toned show, of course), and it's supposed to act as a sort of treasure chest of little curios that both make the place interesting and allow the characters to interact with it.

and, of course, there's andi shack. this is really the cherry on top of all of andi mack's sets, just because it's so distinctly andi. it serves such amazing narrative purpose for her (ex. the storyline where cece and ham were going to move - i really loved this because it highlights its place in the andi mack universe so well, and i'm a sucker for the paper cranes shot + i'm still salty that sadie's cranes didn't make it into the finale) and it's the perfect reflection of andi's character development because of how dynamic it is (the crafts and art supplies can get moved around or switched out, and there's always new creations visible).

going back to the nostalgia motif though, the "shack" aspect of it always struck me as very treehouse-like. personally, whenever i think of treehouses, there's this very golden sheen of childhood about it, if that makes sense. i've always seen treehouses in media as a sort of shelter for characters' youthful innocence and idealistic memories. for example, the episode "up a tree" from good luck charlie, the episode "treehouse" from modern family, and "to all the boys 2" all use a treehouse setting as a device to explore the character's desire to hold onto their perfect image of their childhood (side note: this exact theme is actually explored in andi mack in the episode "perfect day 2.0"!). andi shack is no exception to this, but it harnesses this childhood idealism in the same way that it captures the nostalgia of the 50s in the spoon, or the early 2000s in the fringe. it's not some image of a distant past being reflected through that setting; it's very present, and very alive, because it reflects andi as she is in the given moment.

some honorable mentions of more one-off settings include the ferris wheel (from "the snorpion"), the alley art gallery (from "a walker to remember"), SAVA, the color factory (from "it's a dilemna"), and my personal favorite, the cake shop (from "that syncing feeling").

[every time i watch this episode i want to eat those cakes so bad]

these settings have less of a distinctly nostalgic feel (especially the color factory, which is a very late 2010s, instagram era setting), but they all definitely have an aura of perfection about them. andi mack is all about bright, colorful visuals, and these settings really play to that, making the andi mack universe seem really fun and inviting, and frankly very instagrammable (literally so, when it comes to the color factory!).

props, on the other hand, are probably a much less obvious tool of worldbuilding. they definitely take up less space in the frame and are generally not as noticeable (i'm sure i'll have missed a bunch that will be great examples, but i'm kind of coming up with all of this off the top of my head), but they really tie everything together.

for example, bex's box, bex's polaroid, and the old tv at the mack apartment (the tv is usually only visible in the periphery of some shots, so you might not catch it at first glance) all complement that very retro aesthetic established through the settings (especially the polaroid and the tv, because there's really no good reason that the characters would otherwise be using these).

besides this, andi's artistic nature provides the perfect excuse for plenty of colorful, crafty props to amplify the visuals and the tone. obviously, as i discussed before, andi shack is the best example of this because it's filled with interesting props. but you also see bits of andi's (and other people's) crafts popping up throughout the show (ex. the tape on the fridge in the mack apartment, andi's and libby's headbands in "the new girls", walker's shoes, andi's phone case, and of course, the bracelet). not only does doing this really solidify this talent as an essential tenet of andi's character, but it also just makes the entirety of shadyside feel like an extension of andi shack. the whole town is a canvas for her crafts (or art, depending on how you want to look at it. i say it's both), and it immensely adds to shadyside's idealism. because who wouldn't want to live in a world made of andi mack's creations?

and, while it's not exactly a prop, the characters' wardrobe is undoubtedly a major influence on the show's worldbuilding. true to it's nature as a disney channel show, all of the characters are always dressed in exceptionally curated outfits of whatever the current trends are, making the show that much more visually appealing. i won't elaborate too much on this, because i could honestly write a whole other analysis on andi mack's fashion (my favorites are andi's and bex's outfits! and kudos to the costume designer(s) for creating such wonderful and in-character wardrobes!). but, i think it's a really really important aspect of how the show's universe is perceived, so it had to be touched upon.

[^ some of my favorite outfits from the show! i am so obsessed with andi's jacket in the finale, and i aspire to be at bex's level of being a leather jacket bisexual]

and lastly, phones. this is a bit of an interesting case (pun intended), because the way they're used fluctuates a bit throughout the show, but i definitely noticed that at least in the first season terri minsky tried to avoid using them altogether. these efforts at distancing from modern tech really grounds the show in it's idealist, nostalgia-heavy roots, so even when the characters start using their phones more later in the show, they don't alter the viewer's impression of the andi mack universe very much.

so, what does all of this have to do with worldbuilding? in andi mack's case, because it's set in a realistic universe and not a fantasy one, a lot of what sets it apart from the real world comes down to tone. because, as much as this world is based on our own, it really does feel separate from it, like an alternate reality that's just slightly more perfect than ours, which makes all the difference. it's the idealism in color and composition in andi mack's settings that makes it so unmistakably andi mack. even the weather is always sunny and perfect (which is incredibly ironic because the town is called shadyside - yes, i am very proud of that observation).

the andi mack universe resides somewhere in this perfect medium that makes it feel like a small town in the middle of nowhere (almost like hill valley in 1955 from "back to the future"), but at the same time like an enclave within a big city (because of its proximity to so many modern, unique, and honestly very classy looking establishments). it is, essentially, an unattainable dream land that tricks you into believing it is attainable because it's just real enough.

all this to say, andi mack does an amazing job of creating of polished, perfect world for its characters. this is pretty common among disney channel and nickelodeon shows, but because most other shows tend to be filmed in a studio with three-wall sets, andi mack is really set apart from them in that it automatically feels more real and tangible. it has its quintessential recurring locations, but it has far more of them (most disney/nick shows usually only have 3-4 recurring settings), and it has a lot more one-off locations. it's also a lot more considerate when it comes to its props, so rather than the show just looking garish and aggressively trendy, it has a distinctive style that's actually appropriate to the characters and the story. overall this creates the effect of expanding the universe, making shadyside feel like it really is a part of a wider world, rather than an artificial bubble. it's idealism is, first and foremost, grounded in reality, and that provides a basis for its brilliant, creative, and relatable storytelling.

tl;dr: andi mack's sets and props give it a very retro and nostalgic tone which makes its whole universe seem super perfect and i want to live there so bad!!

#andi mack #buffy driscoll #cyrus goodman #jonah beck #tj kippen #tyrus #ambi #bex mack #analysis #film analysis #disney channel

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imreallyhereforkataang · 4 years ago

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I'm unsure about how's the best way to articulate this, but I'm kind of surprised there's not more fan content highlighting the otherworldly aspects of Kataang, and a part of me wishes we could see a bit more of that.

I'd expect that most if not all fandoms frequently have an affinity for glamorizing aesthetics of characters and ships, and content creators who I know often look for ways to convey that sort of thing. I've also witnessed lots of people on this site claim that they first became attracted to a ship for its aesthetic because they saw embellishing artwork that didn't really highlight much about the characters' personalities, but was still gorgeous and impressive to look at.

And yeah, it makes sense that content creators and consumers in fandom engage with works that make epic an idea that may be primarily based off the “what” of the characters, or the situations they find themselves in, rather than the finer details of the “who.” The resulting creation is similar to what happens when the personal elements of a legend get lost over time, while the sensational aspects continue to be retold and glorified. That sort of thing makes for extremely intriguing depictions of the original source material, even if it’s at the expense of some of the subject’s humanity. Though, even when that depiction becomes so far removed from the original that it's totally unrecognizable, I do think it's often still fascinating and creative, and maybe should be its own celebrated thing altogether.

It's just surprising to me, and kind of disappointing if I'm honest, that, based on the relative lack of fan content doing this, many people seem to either not recognize or not act upon how Kataang has that exact aesthetic potential.

If you were to keep the basics of their story intact but tell it through a different lens or genre, maybe dramatize it a bit, it would be so easy to emphasize how Kataang is literally like a demigod and a mortal falling in love. That on its own to me sounds like the premise for the epic love story fandom culture would traditionally find appealing. And it's really not much of a stretch -- that is one legitimate way to look at the pairing if you broke it down to its objective pieces, even if it's not the most focused-on part of their relationship in the original material (though it certainly is alluded to). The source material is much more detailed and personal, like watching a show where Oma and Shu are the main characters versus hearing the major beats of their legend.

For Kataang, we can definitely take it further with drawing out their major beats. The mortal comes into her own and is shown to be a force of comparable measure to the demigod, as she is his self-appointed protectress. She releases him from dormancy, bringing him back into the world to fulfill his grand destiny, and on their quest, she would become his teacher, both in training and in reacquainting himself with the new era. At one point she would even revive him and his line of divinity after watching him be struck down and killed. This mortal is his first devotee, and his personal connection with her makes her his attachment to the world and, in extension, the mortals he protects.

Meanwhile, the demigod is the personification of the mortal's faith, a vessel of the compassion she feels so deeply for others. He takes her places, literally and metaphorically, she never could have gone before, teaching her in turn about lost practices and new perspectives. He can legitimately bring her to the skies with a unique ability that no one else in the entire world possesses -- an ability that also defines much of what he stands for and what her world has been missing in his absence.

Not to mention how the mortal was one of the only people who believed this demigod would resurface, and the only person by his side from the start of meeting him in their warring environment. The two were born nearly 100 years apart, yet their connection and love is shown to transcend both time and space. Their elements and roles to the world and to each other can be represented by synergistic air and water, which are associated in canon with freedom/peace and change/virtue, respectively. And if one were going to dramatize Kataang's relationship and what it stands for, their exchange could reasonably be depicted as the bridge between the heavens and the earth (moon and ocean).

Like, truly, their story is so mythical. The pieces are there. Think about how their theme is called "The Avatar's Love" and segments of that theme are reused for LoK, pointing to Aang's reincarnation cycle and how the love he feels transcends so many lifetimes, but he chooses Katara in this particular one. Think about what Yangchen says to Aang about the reason the Avatar is born a human and not a spirit, that the Avatar must live amongst humans and experience human emotions to recognize how precious the life is that the universe entrusts him with protecting. Think about Aang's chakras in The Guru, and not just the Love and Thought Chakras but nearly all of them, and how truly tied Katara is with his energy, his spirit. That can't be faked -- that's real, genuine influence, her touching his life in ways that highlight his humanity. Think about how Aang has a real-time vision of Katara without even intending to, and the only other being we see Aang do something similar (but intentionally) with is Appa, to whom Pathik says, "You and the Avatar's energies are mixed. You have an unbreakable bond."

Think about the Pietà pose in The Crossroads of Destiny and all that symbolizes about Aang and Katara (honestly that alone should be enough because it speaks volumes), including their world savior/first believer dynamic. How Katara brings Aang back to life and says, "I don't know what I did exactly," thus giving fuel to the idea that saving him didn't just constitute normal healing on her end. Think about the visual parallel between her resurrecting him and her releasing him from stasis in the first episode. Think about Katara's extended opening narration in the pilot and how it evolves to when she meets Aang, with just as much trust in an idea as in what ends up being the real thing.

Think about their relationship when Aang goes into the Avatar State, embodying his most divine form. How Katara is able to speak with and approach him, and how he can hear her and respond to her while in that state, honing all his past lives. Think about when Aang deals the heavy attack at Fong's base that would continue to haunt Aang for so long afterwards, which showcases how out of control he is here, yet his blow from all Avatars completely and deliberately avoids Katara while targeting everyone remotely near her. Think about how Katara is so unafraid of a raging demigod, even when the person underneath hasn't been acting like himself lately, that she doesn't flinch at the output of his anger and just goes to him as everyone else runs. Think about that visual where she grabs onto his arms and pulls him from the air that only he can bend to the ground she's tied to and into her arms. Think about how she always tries to catch him when he falls, because she is adamant about being his cushion to the earth.

Think about how Aang is the reason Katara gets to touch the heavens. Think about how he takes her on an epic journey across the world so she can learn waterbending and make the difference she's always wanted. How being with him, the one person with a divinely granted duty to the world and who will always choose her, puts her right on the foreground for making that difference. Think about how they can still waterbend together even if Katara can't airbend -- no one can besides Aang. Think about their push and pull of the water and how it highlights their equal footing, and that although, as the demigod he is, Aang can master all the elements, Katara is the mortal who teaches him mastery in the one they share between them.

I don't know, to me it's all so cool and awe-inspiring. Obviously the most important part of Kataang's relationship is how their personalities play off each other and how they treat each other, but in terms of this kind of grander depiction, I think of it more like Oma and Shu. We don’t know the details of how Oma and Shu acted towards each other, yet we hear the story about the power of their love and take inspiration from it.

So yes, I unfortunately don’t see this pronounced demigod/mortal iteration of Kataang very often in fan works, but it makes for a pretty dang fascinating legend to contemplate anyhow.

#kataang #kataangtag #aang #katara #atla #avatar the last airbender

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animatedminds · 3 years ago

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Star Wars: Visions - Episode 8: Lop and Ochō

Early reveal for the rest of the review: this is by far my favorite of the films so far (who knows, maybe Episode 9 will extremely wow me, but until then...), for what is actually a variety of reasons that I will probably go into at length. And because there’s nothing I like better than to nerd out at length, there is better time than now to delve into... Episode 8: Lop and Ochō Developed By: Geno Studio Directed By: Yuki Igarashi Another one that uses a brief narration to approximate the opening crawl of the films, again to great thematic effect.

This is also another one with an explicit timeframe. During the rise of the Galactic Empire, we focus on a formerly isolated planet that has reached out to the Galactic Empire in hopes that the Empire’s influence can modernize their society (some very clear Japanese historical subtext here), leading to many aliens immigrating to the planet. This includes Lop, a homeless bunny-girl alien (mildly jarring, since Gamorreans aside animal-people aliens is something you’re more likely to find in Wing Commander) who escaped from captivity and one day bumped into the patriarch of the ruling clan of the planet and his young daughter. The daughter - Ochō - insists on adopting Lop, leading to her father bringing her into the family: and so Lop and Ochō become like sisters.

Years later, strife strikes as the patriarch - Lop and Ocho’s father - realizes that the Empire only intends to exploit their planet and mobilizes a guerilla force to strike back. But Ochō takes the opposite opinion: without the Empire’s influence, their backwards planet is doomed to fall behind no matter how noble their culture is, so they must submit to ensure their own future. This rift explodes as Ochō formally joins the Empire and their father steps up his efforts to fight back, while Lop stops at nothing to stop the fighting and bring her adopted family back together again.

The very first thing I’m going to focus on here is the choice in how the story opts to approach the setting. Here, instead of getting a Jedi who visits this planet, seeing these people as an outsider does in the way most of the other shorts set up narratives of this type, the focus is on this particualr culture and how its individuals see the Empire’s presence. You are immersed into these people and their ideologies, their history and how Lop and Ocho fit into it all as heirs in the next generation. This is a fantastic way of doing this - you may recall that back during my review of The Village Bride, I commended that short for giving the people of that short a distinct means of looking at the Force, but even in that one the people were secondary: objects of the Jedi’s perspective. Here, Lop is technically an outsider, but that only outlines the prominence of the setting and storytelling as she is then raised alongside this new family and world.

The presentation here is very similar to something like Lost Stars, a book in the current canon that I’ve always seen as one of the best Star Wars novels made in the last few decades. Like Lost Stars, this short uses the characters culture to set up their upbringings and situations, and then applies that to the issue of the Empire: Lop chooses to oppose the Empire - or, more accurately, to try and bring Ochō back home - because of how much her adopted people’s attachment to family has shaped her. Ochō chooses to join the Empire because she sees nothing but the big picture, her good intentions leading her down a draconian path, and as the story goes on her conceit as an entitled heir eventually starts to show itself. The conflict does strike similar beats as the one between Thane Kyrell and Ciena Ree for similar reasons: the story makes sure we know why these characters are going to split before the split happens.

The characterization is good, is what I’m saying. A great example of doing great, distinctive character work in a short amount of time.

I should also get the visuals. This short combines bright, modern character designs with a very classical, painted aesthetic for the world around the characters. This gives it a very classic animation feel, like watching a Miyazaki movie or Sleeping Beauty: the location art of this episode is among the series’ best, and the action animation manages to combine a fluidity of motion with a simplicity of choreography, in a way not unlike The Ninth Jedi - another of the shorts whose action animation stood out.

Back to the plot with another interesting track: the story makes it unclear how strongly force sensitivity plays a role, which also gives it a good contrast to the others which generally don’t just star Jedi, but are almost exclusively about Jedi intrigue and entanglements: Lop is clearly strong with the force, but she has no context for that and her objectives have nothing to do with being a Jedi - she is centered around her people and her family. The lightsaber we see in the short - fantastically - has a backstory similar to the Darksaber we see throughout The Clone Wars, Rebels and The Mandalorian: centuries ago, a Jedi was trained from this warrior culture, and instead of passing their saber down to a padawan or giving it back into the Order, this Jedi instead passed the saber down through their family, again cycling back to the way this short uses the characters’ unique perspective and history to approach the setting rather than the other way around. The people in the short only have legends of the Jedi, and the only thing that’s significant here is that the sword featured is the prized possession of their clan.

This gives the story a lot of room for questioning, especially as the ending is open rather than definitive: is Lop going to learn more about the force, and if so will she do through the lens of her people? Who was this old Jedi, and does the sword have a history like the Darksaber does? And most importantly: the war against the Empire does not end with the end of the short: where will it go from here? Will Lop and Ochō ever be reunited? There is a degree to which this short comes off almost like a pilot for a longer story, which would serve me just fine - for the reason I’m about to get into now: As always, a purpose of these reviews is to look at how much potential these shorts - which are currently non-canon - have to some day become canon, or even at least be followed up on by the studios involved. The potential there comes down a few key factors: the major one being the amount of support these shorts get from the fanbase. But another is in how easily or organically these shorts can be incorporated into the framework of the Star Wars universe.

And are the chances for this short’s incorporation good? ABSOLUTELY. I generally judged the other shorts’ potential on how little they contradicted the world and setting around them. With this one, however, its simpler to think of it from the opposite direction: this is exactly the kind of stories that gets told in the Star Wars universe today. There are several stories I can think of just like this in concept that were made within the last few years alone, or even being made right now: the current canon loves its stories about X culture in one corner of the galaxy and how its reacting to the rise of the Empire, which heroes come from there and why. Where those heroes go in the end. The comics, especially, always seem to be on the lookout for more focus characters to play with, but I also mentioned Lost Stars earlier, and that’s a very good point of comparison: for the same reason Lost Stars makes for one of the best prose installments of the current canon, Lop and Ochō has a lot of open real estate it can waltz into to define its own part of the universe.

Besides a couple superficial stylistic things (the symbols on the lightsaber blade, as I mentioned before, Star Wars doesn’t typically do strictly “animal people” as species - that’s more a Wing Commander thing - but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t if they really wanted to), there’s nothing really stopping this thing from getting canonized. I really hope people make some noise for it, because I’m being serious when I say this of all the films has The Best Chances of being followed up - minus The Duel which, of course, was already getting a followup before the series even released.

All in all, I mean it when I say this was my favorite of all of the shorts. It, pound for pound, has everything that I found enjoyable about this set of films all in one package, ever interesting means of approaching the Star Wars universe that I was looking for, all of the interesting ways of looking at situations we already know that I was hoping for, with a set of endearing characters on top of it.

If we can get more stuff like Lop and Ochō in the future, I would be more than happy. If we can get more Lop and Ochō specifically, all the better for it. I also mean it when I say I hope people make some noise for this one. It’s worth it.

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azerothpeacecouncil · 4 years ago

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When: October 10th, 5:00 PM ST Where: OOCly Duskwood (ICly a safe far off corner of Tirisfal)

A curious thing has reached your ears...an even more curious notice was posted in a place only those who need it will see. A gathering in a far off corner of Tirisfal, untouched by the toxic blight, is happening soon.

Here, we come together to as Forsaken, for Forsaken, to remember all that has been lost. Not just their beloved city, but much much more. Home. Trust. Friends. Even hope. But not all is lost, no. Where things we believed in may have shown betrayal...is now when we must join together most of all and find the trust in each other, and see to the future. All may come to honor what Undercity stood for. What it still stands for. For what was. For what is. For the Forsaken. ~~ After many ups and downs, rescheduling and change of plans. Azeroth Peace Council happily presents our mirror event to Honoring of Teldrassil: Remembrance of Undercity. One that has changed greatly in meaning since it’s loss.

Here this event is not just to mourn a city that has meant so much to so many people, but to also reflect now on all that the Forsaken, and allies, endured and felt during this recent war, and the things that led up to it. The feeling of betrayal. The feeling of loss. Friends and families ripped apart and a leader they thought would stand as their ray of hope. Much is lost. But now we seek to gather what can be gained. A time of remembrance, togetherness and a show of care to a people who deserve it. This is for all the Forsaken who are hurt, confused and need a time to express and allow themselves a moment to grieve, for the Horde who support and fight along side their friends in their unlife, and for the others... who may have family who look different now, but still love them. Join us, the Azeroth Peace Council and friends, to see these people honored and given the space express their grief and heartache, even if it beats slower or not at all. We welcome you...to the Remembrance of Undercity. -- Below is important info on: Schedule, Rules , Location and Questions ---- Something in advance, please make sure you have either the pets: (Preferred!) Lost of Lordaeron, Wicked Soul or Tiny Apparition.

The rest of the information will be located beneath the Read More, please read thoroughly, as it holds very important things to know. Especially information for those who might not be Horde (Alliance).

Schedule:

All times are subject to change and fluctuate due to the nature of participation and role play. These are just estimates.

5:00 PM Server Time

The time to start showing up.

5:30- Thoughtful Souls

Here, you will have a chance to speak on your feelings. On what was lost. On what ...or who you lost. What this time means for you as Forsaken, and what it means over all. Undercity. Sylvanas. The divide. Anything...now is the time, to speak of mourning. Love. Grief. Anger.

I will be taking speakers before hand, please PM. The first few speakers will be given priority to Forsaken. After scheduled speakers, those from the group will go should time permit. You will have 8 minutes to speak. Pre-written if possible would be good here!

6:35~ (Depending how the speeches go/last) The Ceremony of Embers and Spirit

Here, a ceremony will be had symbolic for all. A great fire will be made, and after the introduction and speech for it, will let all step forth and cast items into the fire. These items are to be a symbolic chance for your characters to get rid of the things they thought they could trust, things they do not stand for, things they want to forget.

Think about what your character may wish to cast in the fire (Be it old weapons, tabards, insignia, momentos of war ect). Things that they can be satisfied in seeing gone from their life, to move forward together with all. Please note: You do not have to throw everything in, there will be an important reminder about history and relics of the past.

And after...we will have a time to remember. To reflect. To honor and then to see restless spirits put at ease....

(This ceremony is for Forsaken and Horde)

-7:45-8:00 A Feast for the Weary and Hopeful

A special selection of food has been prepared for the Forsaken who can, would like to or benefit from eating. There will be a selection foods made from

pork blood and meat, mushrooms and forsaken nutritious molds and insects.

And that’s it...please don’t ask for alternative.

There will also be foods for the rest, of kodo stews, plainstrider haunches, blood sausage, fruit pies and why not... You also get some safe insect meals. Fried spider fritters and snail. At this point, all will sit and feast and relax. And should any...non Horde wish to express their feelings here, they may (If none were allowed to during the Thoughtful Souls)

Rules:

- Absolutely no trolling, griefing or over the top OOC and toy spam. If you do not intend to come to participate, do not come at all.

-If you are not in the position of speaking or giving a speech, please do not over do it with multi paragraphs. Due to crowd based RP, that can make it hard for people keep up. Please be courteous.

- Please behave ICly as well. Gotosh has hired specifically Death Knights for this as well as those volunteered from his Council, and he would prefer they didn’t have to enforce too much. Let this be a time of rest and remembrance, and no party antics.

- And a special note for Alliance who do show up to show support. Absolutely under any circumstance, please do not push it OOC or IC if a character in RP expresses distaste with you being close. The nature of this event is a little different then our Teldrassil event, and while you are not going to be shooed off, please respect the space of these characters and listen to security if they ask to make room. We want this event to be a realistic mesh of majority Forsaken and Horde, but with the allowance of Alliance who understand it’s nature. Forsaken were (are) human after all, and many wish to see their loved ones. This much, is very canon.

Questions:

Wait did you say...Alliance? Why would they BE at this, they shouldn't be allowed!: While this is a Horde and Forsaken focused event, the Alliance who do want to show up, I am going to strictly say you better be Alliance who are here to support. Antagonistic behavior will not be allowed, dealt with and 100% not be put up with. But Alliance who wish to come somberly support will not be shunned, and we do not want you to either. It wouldn’t be fair to our first event, which was a Horde event where Alliance were allowed to come and see, if we did not allow this again. While the nature of Forsaken is different then Teldrassil, we want to create a realistic atmosphere. Even if its just a few Alliance, this should be a safe place for human relatives, grieving human relatives, and Alliance who have friendships with Horde and Forsaken. But please know, we understand the nature of the situation, and I hope this doesn’t deter you from showing. All privileges and focus will go to Forsaken and Horde first and foremost. I ask if you’re inviting friends, to please let them know of this so they do not try and take matters into their own hands. Security will be there after all.

Is there a dress code?:

Dark, forsaken inspired, things that are meaningful for your character to wear at an occasion like this.

Why wasn’t this held in Tirisfal?

We were noticing a lot strange things with Tirisfal phasing, even on the low level side. Duskwood has a quick and easy way of being accessed through the south, it’s low level and the area fits the mood aesthetically. Plus, it looks visually similar to our first event. ICly this is Tirisfal, in an area far off where the blight did not reach. This would also allow , should any sympathetic Alliance wish to show, they can so safely.

LOCATION

(Inky Black Potion for this event will enhance it! Yeah, Duskwood is dark...but you’ll see.)

Additional questions? Shoot us a message!

#world of warcraft rp #horde event #forsaken event #remembrance of undercity #wrymrest accord #wra rp #wra horde #neutral....ish #apc events

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grimoire-of-geekery · 4 years ago

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Detect Magic: the Sixth World Tarot by Echo Chernik

(pictured here- the deluxe edition [left] and the Arcanist edition of the Sixth World Tarot by Echo Chernik)

Y'know, it's been a long time since I did one of these, but here goes. It's time for another Detect Magic review. I haven't put the Dork Magician hat on for a while, so let's give this a whirl!

Today we're taking a look at the Sixth World Tarot, by Echo and Lazarus Chernik. She has this available on her website (click the above link), which come signed by the artist and the author. I'm a bit bummed, I bought a copy of this deck juuuuust before she started signing them. Not her fault, but still. XD

For those of you unfamiliar with Shadowrun, it's a cyberpunk dystopian magic-and-mech RPG setting and fantasy novel universe which originated in the late 80's. The premise is that magic is growing stronger, the world experienced a big Awakening in the early 2000's, right around the same time that corporations managed to gain extraterritoriality. So, you have dragons running huge megacorps, which basically enslave people to be lifelong wageslaves from birth (or as soon as they can get their hands on a desired talent), immersive VR Matrix hackers, cyberware enhanced fighters and magic practitioners acting as "deniable assets" to said corps for all sorts of shady business.

Hence the name "Shadowrun."

This setting, one of my absolute favorite settings out there, has had the misfortune of developing a sort of eerie prophetic element akin to the Simpsons and its bizarre track record of prediction of ludicrous world events. Shadowrun was intended to be a cautionary tale, not an oracular one. That being said, that does make a tarot based on Shadowrun more than a little on-the-nose for predictive purposes. After all, they're telling the future without even trying. Wait until they actually put some effort into it...

All right, time to Detect Magic!

Accessory- Crit (4 out of 4) Stunning artwork, evocative imagery... this deck is gorgeous. It's so beautiful, and so intricate and well made, that people who don't even read tarot (or even particularly like tarot) buy several copies for their geeky collections, and even people who don't particularly care about Shadowrun have dropped their jaw when I showed the deck to them.

A bit busier than I'm used to working with (not the art, but the extras which I'll explain later), I was pleasantly surprised at how much I loved the cards when I first got them. The box for both editions I own are a nice durable gloss with a magnetic foldover closure, there's a ribbon inside each to help pull the cards and book out of the box, and the decorative artwork is gorgeous and fitting with the setting. Definitely aesthetically pleasing enough to take places, and durable enough to resist scuffing or tearing for on-the-go divination and gaming use.

Tome- Crit (4 out of 4) So, the Tome section of this review is supposed to be about how well the cards help one in the pursuit of learning magic and practicing geekomancy. And... really, I don't think I've found a deck (or any artifact of fandom) quite as good as this.

Let me explain.

Tarot, in the sorcery practice I teach, are already basically a pictorial grimoire, describing life in a way that allows us to learn the hidden movements, mysteries, and forces at play in our world. Art is good for things like that in general. It helps you see the world through a special lens, one which allows you to see things you might have missed.

The thing is, the lens of this deck is the Shadowrun continuity, which as I said earlier, has proven to be more than a little prophetic, and alarmingly so.

The magic system of Shadowrun is pretty adjacent to our own. Life force lines, spiritual power sites, astral projection and spirits and magical "energy" forms, initiatory mysteries... it's all pretty much the same as our own reality, just juiced up a bit, with some extra game elements added (don't even ask me about insect spirits).

This makes the deck particularly helpful if one wishes to learn magic in any of the myriad ways described in Shadowrun (and they're particularly respectful and diverse and true-to-life in their tradition descriptions).

BUT, it also has an entire lore-book called the Book of the Lost associated with it, which explains all these little secret sigils and images and easter eggs stored throughout the deck, which can be used for gamebuilding and storytelling, but are designed to be arcane indicators and omens, among other things. And the kinds of symbols they use range from sentences or mottos in dead languages, all the way to waveform patterns and dot-matrix maps. I swear, if you're one of those people who like puzzles and cryptography, this deck is even more fun than the Hermetic Tarot.

In summary, while you'll have to get some Shadowrun sourcebooks to really get deep into the canon lore, there's so much of it that the cards really show you on their own that I don't consider this a setback at all. Feel free to deep-dive with this deck, you'll learn a TON about magic if you let it guide you.

Relic- Success (3 out of 4) If you read the Book of the Lost, or Unearthed Arcana, or any of the 5th edition Shadowrun magic sourcebooks, you'll see that "tarot magic" is an up and coming thing in their canon. Each text helps you see how practitioners use the cards in-game for spellcasting, ritual magic, initiation practices and spirit summoning. The Tarot are already really valuable as central objects of importance to certain kinds of magical practice. This particular deck is designed to be so handy a central object that there's an entire book dedicated to it.

Weapon- Success (3 out of 4) The only reason I'm rating this a success instead of a crit is because they don't provide enough spreads in the various associated books for one to immediately begin casting spells with them, which means you'll have to do some designing. They do have a couple solid unique spreads for basic divination though.

The deck's canon in-game suggests ritual practices like gathering and doing a ritual with sets of related cards, and one such ritual was easily adapted in my own practice, into the Lucky Kimono spread I designed (which people can read about on my Patreon at the higher tiers). So, even without outright including spell-spreads, they sort of gave us clues anyway.

Again, you're going to need the sourcebooks, but it's only a few of them, and they're well worth a read even if you're not planning on playing the game (and I don't play in the actual Shadowrun mechanical system, though I do like the sourcebooks for campaign setting ideas).

Overall Rating: Critical Success (14 out of 16)

Achievement Unlocked: Novahot Echo's artwork is already legendary in the dork realms of geekomancy. She's done work for Dungeons and Dragons, Mage: the Ascension, House of Night... she's even working on a Fate: the Winx Saga playing card deck right now. Her art-nouveau delicacy combined with the powerful non-pandering way she draws women means that her paintings pack a punch!

That being said, it's rare that we see professional artists create a tarot deck of this magnitude as a gaming accessory. Most tarot decks of this caliber are found in professional occult catalogues or as independent projects by artists just wanting to flex their skills for their own reasons. To have a deck like this, clearly a labor of love by all involved, as a major element of gameplay within a franchise is really very special. And something this diverse, deep, and absolutely saturated with layers of ciphers and riddles... it's a geekomancer's dream come true.

Level Up: 2 Levels I think the only way anyone's going to be able to top this deck is if they manage to design a tarot deck that's also a fully immersive VR video game AND an AR game and divination tool useable with one's iPhone or Android. Legit, Echo and Lazarus left everyone in the dust. I haven't been this excited about Shadowrun since Shadowrun Returns first came out, and I got a set of dogtags that had a USB drive with the game on it.

It's just... crazy cool.

Full disclosure, I've had the deluxe edition of these cards for a while now, so I've basically been low-key squeeing about this deck since I first heard about it in 2018, even before I got it. I've been utterly astonished that people weren't more excited about them, and I wasn't hearing about them everywhere.

Before this, I created my own Shadowrun tarot method using the Universal Transparent Tarot (cuz, y'know, plastic and see-through and weird little mosaic readings all in one place, seemed fitting to me), and when I got the Sixth World Tarot? I don't think I've opened the UTT since!

Anyway, this is my review of this deck! Go follow the link up at the top of this post, and buy yourself one! And hey, let me know if you figure out the cool little map trick. My jaw literally dropped when I was shown that!

#detectmagicreview #shadowrun #sixth world tarot

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bookfreaky · 3 years ago

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LOVE DOING - The Analysis

Intro:

I try to never analyse my work while still working on it, because I believe that the painting must be born from an image in your head, or a feeling, and not from a concrete idea. That is the foundation of abstractionism. Then when you’re finished and you are kind of star-gazing your own work, you try to find what made you create all that, what made you use that colour or this shape. I did that and I saw that all the dots were connected in the same theme: Love.

Love as a broad concept and my experience with that. I think love is a very liquid sentiment, like water, it takes the shape of its every container you put it, but pretty much it’s still love. That same impulse is there. It can be like water also in the way it reflects the sun light, how it changes colours and distorts shapes. Love can be illusory; it can be lysergic but it can also be the answer to many simple questions in life. In its gas form it can be contagious and performative as it inhabits imagination, but it can also become solid when under pressure, just like water becomes ice under high pressures. In difficult situations, the love you feel for that person may be the only thing that keeps you going. I experienced that, and I think many people did too with so many people getting ill and dying during the Covid pandemic.

Like water it nurtures, like water it drowns. Love can be represented as a substance, like it just did, but also it persists as an action, an abstract action at so, an actual verb. In abstractionism, it’s to be said that colour is verb while shape is noun (I won’t remember to said that), for that reason I focused in this collection mainly in two colours in their variations, red and blue. Without the political branding aesthetic, red is seen in psychoanalysis as a active colour, the colour of human blood. Blue could be described as a “calmer” colour, but not so lacking in action. As Rebecca Solnit said, I quote:

“Water is colourless, shallow water appears to be the colour of whatever lies underneath it, but deep water is full of this scattered light, the purer the water the deeper the blue. The sky is blue for the same reason, but the blue at the horizon, the blue of land that seems to be dissolving into the sky, is a deeper, dreamier, melancholy blue, the blue at the farthest reaches of the places where you see for miles, the blue of distance.”

So I dedicate this four paintings to the people I love and whomever loves things, but also to all the feelings that come about with love. Some of these paintings are capable of calming me and I could keep looking at them for hours, forgetting about myself. Others make me feel angsty, uncomfortable and looking at them oblige me to think about my own existence and fear my future.

I really hope you look at the paintings before you read the whole thing, and suffer through the same. Thank you.

Love Escaping Into the Blue:

This one was the first painting I made, before I imagined it to be a collection, and it was born from the experience of decompressing love from a place of deep passion; where you are taken by this sudden and enormous sadness but also relief. I felt free, really. I read this biology paper from the Monterey Bay Aquarium, called “Light in the Deep Sea”, and it explains that there’s some uniformity of colour in the ocean animals according to how deep in the water they inhabit. Animals living in the great depths of the sea, between 6,000 and 11,000 meters deep, have commonly a very vivid red colour, but closer to the surface of the water, between 200 and 1,000 meters deep, most animals are silver and grey. That’s because in this depth the brightness of sunlight is fragmented into a blue colour, and grey reflects the blue light creating the illusion that the animal is, in fact, blue. A Blue Whale is actually grey, not blue.

[Seadevil Fish (Cryptosaras couesii), left. Blue Whale (Balaenoptera musculus), right.]

The painting shows a leak of red coming into blue and bluer space, which is this feeling of infatuation and selfish desire, possession, fear and jealousy that is very red in colour and has connotations of violence and anger, moving into a place that is not so deep in the water but clearer and wider as the open sea, illuminated by this navy-blue light. It’s like you can finally breathe and see that your love is still there, but it has changed. In hope by being closer to the atmosphere it is also somehow closer to the divine. I imagine some people might feel lost when love escapes into the blue, and I get this sensation too, but it’s about loving freely, learning how not to feel love so deeply into ourselves, but widely like the ocean.

Love Growing in the Pit of the Stomach:

When I looked at this painting in particular after it was done, I had this sensation of angst that was difficult for me to name. It’s about desire, it’s about this feeling growing inside of you that you know it will be something more than what you want, but what you need. I’ve become obsessed with the image of holes, looking like they are piercing the canvas; I think they show this emptiness I feel, like a window showing how hollow I am inside, but also, they give me this satisfying feeling by looking at them, like opening a wound and poking a bubble. I think this emptiness comes from the idea most trans women cannot take away from the back of their heads, which is if you do or do not have a “female genitalia”. Gender in our culture is very centred around genitals and biological sex, for centuries being a woman has been defined by the person who’s able to carry a man’s child. There is this little fantasy of mine where women have this little hole in them that can swallow the world. The idea of it, for me, has grown into a very real desire very much like the desire for sex. Actually, very close to sex too. But the roots growing out of the hole, in green and blue, represent pain and fear, because I’m not sure if I’m okay with the idea of having to undergo a surgical procedure to fulfil this fantasy, neither I am sure if it is a fantasy or a need.

Most of my work resembles yonic shapes (resembling the form of a vulva), either in this work or in former ones, and it’s never intentional, it sort of just slips from my subconscious. I believe that the vulva, as well as the womb, are under-shadowed symbols of power. Phallic shapes are very common in art and what-not, they are usually associated with offense and aggression. Like when school boys draw a dick on the toilet stalls as if marking their territory. The vulva, however, is never quite portrayed like that.

I read about this Japanese visual artist, Megumi Igarashi, who made several pieces of art shaped after her own vagina, including a yellow vagina-boat (which I absolutely loved) and she got arrested and fined for “obscenity”. I think that for her subversive art-form she should be considered a national hero. Many man-made constructions are phallic images, look at the Washington Obelisk, or the Eiffel Tower, but in nature we most commonly find yonic shapes, like the Grand Canyon.

There is a profound violence in desiring this, feeling as if a part of your own anatomy is lacking, but you can’t grow it naturally, you can’t do it in a god-intended way. The bright red colour represents violence and sex, and in this case both. It’s way more complicated than the concept of having kids and being a mom, it’s a lot more than to be seen as sexual beings, and sexuality, and to feel loved; it’s about symbols of power and somehow getting that denied. It’s about learning how to love this new body, a body that is foreign, infertile, obscene and unconventional. That love is hard to achieve and it is violent because women, and especially trans women, have been taught to hate their bodies.

Love Falls In The Bathroom:

This one took the longest to finish and left me with the most unsure brush-strokes, much perhaps because it isn’t based off on an idea but on a memory, on dream. In three more years I’ll be the same age my mother had and she had me, 29 years old. Somehow it feels like a looming date. Having kids and getting pregnant, specifically, have been sporadic subjects of therapy sessions – the antithesis is always the same: you are not lesser of a woman for not being able to get pregnant, you can still be a mom through other means, you are not even sure if you want kids or marriage, you can always adopt – Those answers feel reasonable, but none of them ever could appease the deep feeling of something missing in me, like something is perpetually wrong with me. Then I understood that in this painting, I was trying to evoke these feelings. Love and grief.

[My mother, pregnant with me, in the 90s.]

My friends tell me I seem to be older than I actually am, and sometimes I wonder if that’s not because I had never been a happy child. I feel like I had my childhood robbed from me. I mean, I had an okay, comfortable childhood, and a problematic teenage-hood, but I never had a girlhood. I am still grieving it. I had been assigned male at birth, I’m still grieving that too.

In July of this year, I experienced a very vivid dream, in which although short all the images and the sensations were, felt very real. I was taking a shower in my bathroom, I close off the water, wrap myself around a towel, my usual pink one, and when I’m stepping out of the shower stall I fell. I hit my right elbow against the toilet lid as I fell with my legs open in opposite directions, a sharp pain struck me under my thighs, close to my groin, and a light string of blood followed right after that. It wasn’t menstruation blood, thin and clear red, but thick and dark. It was all very quick but I knew, right then, right there, exactly everything that was happening. I was pregnant, 13 weeks, alone in the bathroom floor, surrounded by blood. I wonder how many days of my recent life, how many hours a day, I am really just sitting down alone on my bathroom’s floor surrounded by blood. I woke up and it still felt very real. I had spent the next two days very quiet, not wanting to speak to anyone. I wanted to tell someone as soon as I was back from the dream, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to call someone, a friend, anyone, and say “I lost it. I lost my baby”. I realised then, in that post-dreamy state, that I have been silently grieving for a lot of things, things I haven’t yet allowed myself to grieve for. Things I still did not have a chance.

Love Lost In Imagination:

This one is the only one what doesn’t forecast red and blue colours, but instead in red and blue paint mixed together in a royal purple colour. It was the last one I made, and it’s the one that differs the most in shape. I like to imagine it was love in it’s gas form, vaping inside your brain like Nitrous-oxide, with white-coloured cloud shapes and yellow peacock eye-feathers. It’s about how sometimes love can only exist in imagination, how we often elaborate better scenarios in our heads, and we think “what if things were different?”. I believe to be okay to fantasize, anyway the utopia is what moves us towards a reality, but sometimes we can get lost in imagination, and in questioning the same questions over and over. “What if I hadn’t done this and done that?”; “What if I hadn’t said no?”; “What if I had stayed longer to watch that movie?”; “What if had come out as trans earlier?”; “What if I had become a professional writer?”; “What if I had born a woman?”. Is love real if it perpetrates only in thought?

I would be more than happy to quote some of Saint Augustine here, and his theological virtues, love being one of them, but I wouldn’t like to make this essay even longer and complicated.

I think to myself sometimes, when was it that I started to prefer having peace then pleasure. My head has always been very noisy, very noisy, and I wanted it to stop. Now it feels like I’m constantly too quiet about everything. That somehow, like the Little Mermaid by Hans Christensen Andersen, when transitioning into a woman I exchanged my legs (my body) for my voice, and now I can’t voice or even pinpoint what I want. I’m just so tired. So, so tired. My mental health hasn’t been great for more than one year, and the pandemic didn’t help. I’m constantly anxious around people, even the closest ones to me (especially the closest ones to me), I’ve been eating like a bird and sleeping like a cat. Still, sometimes I imagine what future I would like, and I imagine myself living somewhere with open space, trees, breeding horses just like my grandfather did, space for dogs, musical instruments and the kids. Space for being big.

The painting makes me think that sometimes I can only love myself in this imaginary place. Otherwise, it just looks slightly like a chicken’s head. You decide.

- Original work, G.L. Alódio.

#art #art analysis #art essey #personal #my own #painting

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sherry-l · 4 years ago

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Why YGO Vrains is such an immeasurable disappointment: a list

First of all, I need to make it abundantly clear that Im a big fan of Vrains – I love Yusaku, Ryoken, Ai, Kusanagi... you see them very often on my dash. I fantasize about the ideal version of Vrains that’s written well, the Vrains that’s fully exploited its potentials, every night in my sleep. I wrote this list PRECISELY because I love Vrains. That’s why I got so frustrated with its cardinal writing issues (and production issues). It physically pains me to hear people calling Vrains the worst and most boring series of YGO – but the fact that I couldn’t argue against that because it’s true pains me more.

And now, an incomprehensive list of the faults of Yugioh Vrains.

1. What the fuck is wrong with the character designs (beside that of Yusaku and Ryoken???) Everyone looks aesthetically displeasing – characters in real life look incredibly boring they could easily drown in a crowd of background characters, but their avatars are OSTENTATIOUS. Seems like the character designer had no clue what “less is more” means – blue angel, soulburner, and Bohemann for example, look like they were immersed in a bucket of glue and then dumped into another bucket filled with random accessories.

(from a fan artist’s perspective…Im especially salty about takeru, akira, Kusanagi, and the Knights of Hanois’ designs…like, their designs don’t inspire me to draw. Their personalities might be interesting, but their looks lack the vibrant, enthusiastic energy that the 5Ds, Zexal, and Arc-V characters possess)

(imagine how many fanfics and fanarts of Kusanagi x Yusaku there would be had Kusanagi looked HALF as hot as Ryoken)

And don’t even get me started on the colour palette – whoever decided on the colours just cant make up their goddamn mind! Colour saturation is way off the charts, the range of colour is too wide the audience simply dont know where to focus.

2. Forgotten plotlines. Yusaku’s link sense? Hanoi’s spy in SOL? The Queen and the rest of the chess pieces? Yusaku’s forgotten memories? The rest of the victims of the Lost Incident? Just to name a few.

3. Character relationships are weak to minimal to none. Bonds and friendships – the vital element in all previous YGO series – is practically non-existent in Vrains. Where’s the camaraderie between our main casts (Yusaku, Aoi, Soulburner, Ema, Onizuka, etc…)? They don’t feel like a team fighting the evil together. They’re completely separate individuals who don’t give a single fuck if one of their…acquaintance…dies in a battle. We don’t have heartwarming moments of friendship blossoming and consolidating. It’s honestly such a let down.

4. Interesting and debatable topics thrown away. The conflict between artificial intelligence and humans could spark so many in-depth discussions, but then the writer just decided its all Lightening’s fault. No morally gray situations, no ambiguity between the line of good and evil. It’s just all Lightening and his petty jealousy… yeah.

Oh and if Ai lives on the world will blow up. Why? Do we have a concrete reason to back that statement? eh...

5. Overall quality of the animation. I don’t know if its because the animation staff was short on time or low on budget, but for a megacorporation (konami cough cough) that makes billions every year, they certainly are capable of investing more in this anime series. I can count the number of episodes in which the characters don’t look wacky with a single hand.

6. Character development, wasted potentials. Ryoken is the only character who received decent treatment. The rest of the Vrains cast are all disappointments. Original concepts are cool and promising – Yusaku, a victim of child abuse with PTSD, embarking on a journey to overcome his reclusiveness and learn to open up to people around him? HELL YEAH. Aoi, a teenage idol with depression developing into a more mature and responsible heroine who saves Link Vrains? IM ALL FOR IT. Soulburner’s character arc is fine overall but personally I don’t feel like it’s expanded enough. Also, there’s the mistreatment of side characters like Onizuka, Ema, Akira, the list goes on. I got so furious just looking at these characters and remembering that they’re all wasted and sidelined.

7. Incoherent/ random plotlines. IDK all episodes in season 1 (Hanoi’s arc) felt pretty consistent, focusing on a linear theme – Yusaku’s revenge on the Knights of Hanoi. But after that it felt like the writers gave up writing outlines and just wrote whatever he pleased/ considered more convenient for the sake of…a plot…that he had no idea which direction it was headed for. This is reflected in the amount of forgotten plotlines we listed previously.

8. Weak villains. Kinda related to point 4. Bohemann, Lightening, Windy, and Haru are all one-dimensional, flat, predictable villains with the cliché goal of “destroying humanity cuz humans are dumb and Ais are superior”. Not likeable, not fun to watch, not morally gray (something I expect from well-written antagonists), they are just there to serve as symbol of evil for the protags to defeat.

Honourable mentions - what I personally want to see in Vrains, really. Very biased.

- The familial interaction between Yusaku and Kusanagi? Brotherhood, perhaps? Without any mention of Yusaku’s parents, Kusanagi is the closest Yusaku has to a brother figure. I crave for some wholesome brotherly moments between these two.

- More slice of life episodes please.

- The friendship between Yusaku and Takeru. Please. Please. PLEASE. From the second opening we can see the animation staff CLEARLY intended for there to be a strong bond between Yusaku and Takeru – Takeru probably was written to serve as a Jounouchi/ Johan/ Crow sort of character. Yusaku and Takeru could bond over their trauma and overcome their PTSD together. AND IT WAS SO HEAVILY HINTED AT IN THE 2ND OP!!! fam what the fuck happened to that friendship, Im so robbed.

- Yusaku and Ryoken’s duel or tag duel. These two haven’t duelled AT ALL since the first season ended. Isn’t Ryoken Yusaku’s official rival? Isn’t it Yugioh tradition for the protag and the rival to duel like, a trillion times? AND ISNT IT ALSO A YUGIOH TRADITION FOR THE PROTAG AND THE RIVAL TO TAG DUEL?????? The fact that Yusaku and Ryoken never had a tag duel haunts me every night in my worst nightmares afjw4ot9wgrk

- Topologina Nabee

Thanks for coming to my ted talk, this marks the end of my rant on YGO VRAINS DISAPPOINTMENTS. Again, I harboured no malicious intent when I compiled the list – its more like a vent of frustration than actual criticism. I would pay billions to see a Vrains reboot or, if there exists an alternate universe where none of the writing/production issues above are present in Vrains, I would do a Kaiba and build a dimension travelling machine and immigrate there.

TLDR: wasted potentials. wAsTED PoTEntialS. WASTED POTENTIALS!!!!!!

#yugioh #yugioh vrains #rant

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amazingorangedangantrash · 4 years ago

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I'm a bit late to the party, but yesterday was August 15th! The infamous date in the kagerou daze song. (I don't know a lot about the project, but I used to be OBSESSED with that song, more specifically, jubyphonic's cover of it ah- I actually found out about it through a USUK version hshsbsshsh-).

Ok ok i hear you- "shut up what does this have to do with danganronpa?" WELL- imagine a kagerou days AU!!! (I know I'm not original ok- don't be mean ;-;). I don't know for which ship yet. Probably Komaegi tbh since it's my favourite ahhh.

Honestly considering how self-sacrificing the both of them are I think it's perfect. Komaeda has always said he has no problems being killed for the sake of "hope" (aka Naegi-), and would gladly thrust himself into harm's way in order to protect him, no matter how many times (also that scene with the falling beam implaing the girl... sdr2 gungnir flashbacks-)

On the other hand, Makoto would just as determinedly give up his life for Nagito, being self-sacrificing himself. Whilst he isn't the kind of person to resort to "welp guess there's no choice gotta die oop-" straight away in the continuous situations they find themselves in where he'd have to make an instant choice, he'd choose to save Nagito. You'd wonder why he wouldn't tell him about what was happening straight away? Maybe because he knows Nagito would do something drastic if he found out- something Makoto would refuse to let happen.

I mean I can also see Makoto determinedly being the one to try again and again to find a solution to the other's death loop, instead of just giving in. But then again, so would Nagito, especially if it was someone as important to him as Makoto.

Hmmm. I know the whole 'suicide' thing is a lot more suited to Nagito's character, but I think that's why having Makoto be the one to (initially) be a part of the death loop would be so much more impactful- Nagito finding out that someone like Makoto, the symbol of hope who theoretically everyone would give up their life for, was purposefully sacrificng himself over and over and over again, for someone like him-?

It'd be devestating.

Also I guess aesthetically Makoto = the girl, and Nagito = the boy (i don't know their names ah sorry-) makes sense too. The girl wears black/has black hair (matching with Makoto's darker palette) and the boy has a lighter palette/hair (matching with Nagito's). This is a big stretch but i think their hair matches up a little too (I remember one scene where the girl was falling and her bangs reminded me of Makoto's *wheeze*). I know in the title card/thumbnail, the boy's hood flaps behind him and i thought that could kinda fit with Nagito's coat. Oh, also the girl is shorter too, so there's that ig.

Lyrically i cant say much because I'd only be going off jubyphonic's lyrics ahah- I do think the whole, "hey but I really hate the Summer time" would be jarring to hear from Makoto, someone who (well for me anyway) is so associated with light/sun. Although I tend to associate him more with Spring so idk. Idk i think it'd play well into the whole 'something ain't ok here chief' feel.

OH- on that line, imagine if the cat was replaced with a dog? Imagine the heartbreak Nagito would feel seeing Makoto chase after a dog into the street (reminder that his dog died when he was young by being hit by a truck (it's implied the reason for this was his luck, making it so it'd swerve and hit the dog insteard of him- another instance where he lost something close to him for the sake of his own life-)). That would seriously sting.

AH this was meant to be a short "what if" ahdjshshsh it ended up a bit longer then I intended oops (i cant help it iltsm). I need to honestly get into the kagerou project- always wanted to, had no idea where to start lmao. Ah, um- i hope if you're reading this you enjoy this little concept/au idea.

#makoto naegi #nagito komaeda #komaegi #otp #AU #AU idea #?#kagerou days AU #komaegi au #kagerou daze #my post #groundhog day au #death loop #(just due to the nature of the au)

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years ago

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Let's Not Go There

The reason it is hard to believe in the fantastical and unnatural is because you either always only hear of bizarre phenomena that other people experienced, or whatever you experienced was so strange that it is easier to bend over backwards in the effort of coming up with a rational explanation.

My experience defies every possible explanation, and it is why I have developed such a fascination with the concept of other-worlds, astral travel, and parallel dimensions. And I am not alone in this. I cannot chalk it up to mere hallucination. I cannot consider it a case of my mind breaking, for I have no history of mental illness diagnoses, nor have I ever experienced anything like it in the decades that followed.

It all happened in the 1990s. In a place that already feels surreal and otherworldly to begin with.

Of all possible places, it happened in a shopping mall.

Abundant optimism was something you could taste in the air back then. It smelled like bubblegum and stale air-conditioned air and tasted like buttery popcorn. Maybe this is just nostalgia blending with the idiocies of being a teenager, but these are the scents and sights as I remember them back then.

Gentle music underlined by mellow saxophones and sleepy guitars playing in the distance, escalators rolling along at a plodding pace, aesthetically pleasing fountains with their hypnotic water streams, and strategically placed plants that laminated an otherwise cool and heartless architecture, consisting of shiny floors and cubic intersecting spaces occupied by temples of commerce.

The internet was still around the corner, waiting to be discovered on a wide scale, and computers dwelling in blissful isolation of networks stood on display in electronics stores like some sort of technological marvel, even though they chugged and struggled just to spit out pixelated screensavers. While we are at it, try to imagine how almost nobody had a cell phone back then.

Storefronts displayed flashy fashion, an announcement in a melodious voice that I completely ignored echoed from loudspeakers every now and again, and the palette of garish colors and exotic shapes overwhelmed my senses but also always drew me back, luring me to return every week when I had time outside of school and homework.

A texture of voices and motions constantly thrummed in the air, somehow soothing and always vibrant; of many people speaking just loud enough that you could catch a word but never the meaning, and shuffling through these seemingly infinite hallways, in and out of shops, loitering around on benches, or where the smells of ice cream or pizza drew them in like flies to honey.

As much as it was a ritual to visit this wondrous world once a week, my allowance was limited, so I had to save towards certain things and just spent time here with friends, strolling about and admiring things and dreaming of owning items I would never need, but desired, nevertheless.

One of the bookstores at that mall belonged to my personal highlights. Something about the soft carpeted floors that swallowed loud sounds, the muted warm light, the red velvety chairs to sit upon, the rustling of pages, and the smell of freshly printed paperbacks and hardcovers alike, sliding in and out from shelves as people inspected their covers or flipped through their contents.

On that day, my friends and I—because I never went here alone—had already spent hours wandering through the mall, window-shopping, and staring dreamy-eyed at its many meaningless wonders, and our legs were all wobbly from all the walking about.

They had decided to spend the rest of our time at the arcade to get some pizza and play some video games, and I fully intended to rejoin them once I had doubled back to said bookstore to pick up a novel I had been thinking of plunking down my meager cash for.

A rare time and circumstance to be alone here, like this, but there it was. That was when it happened. Creeping and unfathomable, I felt my stomach knot for no apparent reason.

Bought the book I had been eyeing for weeks now, for a collection from the same author I had started reading almost a year ago, eager to uncover the secrets that would unravel once reading it, page by page.

Handing over the cash, hearing that register churn and clink as I received a few coins as change, the smile of the cashier’s friendly beautiful face smiling at me in a rehearsed but pleasant manner. Nothing out of the ordinary. All as it should be.

Yet some inexplicable tension remained even as I exited the bookstore. As always, I felt a little pang of buyer’s remorse, thinking that I might have saved every penny for something better, something more practical. As such, I stopped right outside the entrance to the shop, without apparent reason. Dead in my tracks, pondering if I had done the right thing.

With the water fountains nearby sparkling, people walking past me wrapped up in idle conversation, and the dreamy elevator music reaching my ears, I dug around in the thin plastic bag from the bookstore. Crammed around in it until I found the receipt and looked at it.

And that—that right there was what was wrong.

Only now did I realize how I had bought the book almost blindly. I stared at the flimsy piece of paper and ink in disbelief. The printed symbols on the receipt did not look like numbers or words I could comprehend. Or, hell, like any human being could understand. Just like alien writing that did not belong. The more I stared at it and tried to decipher any meaning, the more my vision blurred and a sharp pain, like a knife sliding right into the back of my head, started to split my skull.

A shopping mall being what it is, you can see motion all around you but just organically tune it out without thinking about it. Something needs to be special or highly unusual to grab your attention, but exactly that happened to me just then.

I saw motion behind me—right behind me—in the reflection of the bookstore’s front window. Eyes. Before I could identify any face to go along with it, the figure melted into the blind spot exactly behind me and only then did I feel a gust of warm breath against the back of my neck.

Terrified, I swiveled and found nobody to be standing immediately behind me. People passing me by gave me funny looks as I kept swiveling, and I am quite sure that I must have looked like I had lost my mind.

When I beheld my reflection in the storefront window again, as if I could possibly see that non-existent mystery person there, something else caught my eye.

The store brand logo on my plastic bag looked different. Similar enough in all key ways to not immediately pay attention: similar shapes, similar color, a typography that resembled the way it should look. But the words were all different. Instead of the name of the bookstore chain, it read, “Look closer.”

Shooting a glance at my bag—not in the window’s reflection but at the actual bag—it looked normal. Just like the logo should, reading the chain’s name as it should. I could feel the blood draining from my face once my gaze wandered back to the window and I could only see that phase again.

Look closer.

The saxophones leading the elevator music in the background seemed to swell while I stared. My own heartbeat in my ears drowned out the idle chatter of any people nearby, and I knew what I had to do.

I stepped up to the storefront window, oblivious to anything on display beyond its glassy surface. Focused only on the reflections, I held up that receipt to it. Sure enough, I could read something on it now, as if the window and its reflections served somehow as a decoding lens.

Look to your right. Step through the exit.

I had to read it multiple times to know I was not dreaming or hallucinating. But I remembered how I could never read in my dreams, and everything else around me just felt and sounded so normal. So real.

The sweet perfume of someone passing me by, the squeak of someone’s sneakers streaking against waxed floors, and a fuzzy something that resisted being compartmentalized into any of the five senses.

Real.

Look to your right, the message read.

As I followed that instruction, I saw the glowing “EXIT” sign, nestled in the wall in between two stores. It looked so unfamiliar in that moment, but also like it perfectly belonged. Had it always been there, and I never paid attention to it? Probably.

Step through the exit, the message had continued. Its words echoed in my mind, riding on the idealized reflection of my own voice.

I looked around but anybody nearby just went about their lives, ignoring me. So, I pushed, and the door emitted a chunky metallic sound as it yielded, letting me enter the fire escape hallway. Another chunky sound accompanied it closing behind me as I entered.

That dreamy texture of mall music and a multitude of people wandering around was muffled by the door, insignificant in comparison to the echoes of my shoes tapping against a rough concrete floor. This hallway in and of itself already felt like another world entirely, one that bled into the world of the shopping mall and vice versa.

Everything was much brighter in here, illuminated by fluorescent tubes running along the entirety of this narrow hallway. A cool air breezed past me as I wandered deeper down its length.

Just like in the fantasy and science-fiction adventure stories I loved so much, I felt like I was fulfilling some sort of prophecy and, hell, my dumb teenaged brain told me that I was born to do this. Meant to do this. Not once did I stop to question the madness of any of this.

Somehow, against all reason, it all made sense.

Yet even as I believed to be feeling the draw of destiny, suffused with purpose, my heart raced. Some other part of me instinctively knew that something was deeply—utterly—wrong.

As I turned a corner, I gazed upon my horrid destination.

A door, covered in black vines with leaves so thin and sharp in definition that they could have been razors. Worms wriggled on the floor around it, near where a crack should be. No handle or knob adorned the portal’s face. But it throbbed with a pulse of its own, out of sync with its own heartbeat. Vein-like tendrils, black, and pulsating, ran from the epicenter of this otherworldly door, entrenched in the wall around it, as if it had infested the plaster like a disease, spreading slowly.

I turned to run, but the lights on the ceiling at the end of the hallway where I had come from now flickered out, dead. One by one, they plunged the hallway into a growing pool of darkness, speeding up as they approached.

Any courage to explore the thin veil between worlds or whatever lay beyond, it now all melted away instantaneously.

Darkness, from which I could hear the mall no longer, and only imagine what things now lurked inside of it.

Or that dark door.

I fled forward. Nearly cried as I scrunched my eyes shut and heard the squelching sounds of things getting squished underneath my shoes, as I felt the delayed burn and sting of many little cuts—like papercuts—flaring up as I pushed against that black door with all my might.

It gave way more easily than I had expected and I stumbled forward into the unknown.

Still blind by own volition, I sensed far softer grounds underfoot, where grass rustled with each of my steps and wind whistled through alien leaves all around me.

When I dared open my eyes again, I found myself in a gloomy clearing, underneath a low, dense canopy of trees, with no door or any mall in sight. Another world. Pink birds chirped with foreign sounds, and insects I never would have dreamed of crawled in the dark dirt between plants.

Panic fully gripped me and dulled my senses to the point where my gaze swept all around me, full circle, multiple times, until I spotted a pair of eyes staring at me from beyond the gloom, swallowed by shadows cast by the foliage. Glowing yellow, and curious. Unblinking and oh-so-hungry.

“Do not look at me,” a hissing whisper came from those eyes.

Though I could see no mouth, I could hear the rows of sharp teeth through which those words traveled to reach my ears.

“Do not look at me,” it repeated. “Or I will eat you alive.”

More than anything, I tried to hold back tears, but they flowed despite my effort.

“I just wanna go home,” I pleaded with Yellow-Eyes.

Although I averted my gaze, I could feel a sinister smile creeping across its face as it replied, now adopting a melodious and mocking tone that seesawed between idle amusement and deadly threat.

“You look like a plump little beanstalk, yet you talk like one of us.”

I looked for places to run, but knew in my heart of hearts that Yellow-Eyes could run faster than I. And that no matter where I ran, I could never hide from such an abomination.

“You are not so pretty yourself, you know,” it said, as if it could read my mind. “But no matter. You fit right in with us. You could carve your own little kingdom from the mountains and the trees here.”

The tree trunks here all looked thick and ancient, yet they presented gaps in between them, wide enough for me to flee through. Not that I harbored any hope of making it. Every time Yellow-Eyes spoke to me again, it crushed every shred of anything even so remotely resembling hope inside its hoary maw.

“But you are afraid, which I understand. I have passed through that same door, before. Of strange steel, and cold, sleek surfaces; where odd squeals travel through the glass to meet my ears and mock me. ‘Open me,’ they screech! ‘Explore the other side,’ they demand.”

To blot out its damnable rambling, I covered my ears, but it was too late. The voice of Yellow-Eyes had entered my mind. I have a hunch as to why, but at the time there was no understanding why I suddenly felt like we were kindred souls, Yellow-Eyes, and me.

Averting my gaze for so long, and with the circle of trees spinning around me as I grew dizzy, I lost track of where this entity prowled. Another gust of warm breath hit the back of my neck, provoking every hair upon it to stand.

“I have glimpsed your world, and you have now glimpsed mine,” said Yellow-Eyes. “I can show you the way back if you invite me across the threshold.”

I wanted to deny it. Turn it down. Its words rang hollow, dripping with venom. In between the lines it spoke, I felt something dark and old and wicked.

“Thus, you need not deal with the things that dwell hither, like the Way King, or the Red Carpenter, or the Unbirthed Paddock-Watcher. The River of Lions, the Green Cairn, or the Castle of Thorns. I could show you such wondrous place, but would you resist their call? Would you survive their grinding teeth, their toxic breath, their maddening words?”

Maddening words Yellow-Eyes provided plenty of already. My heart raced, but those names and those places, they somehow beckoned me. I yearned to explore this world, to uncover its mysteries. It fascinated me as much as it instilled pure dread in my heart.

How alien it all felt, how wrong. Underneath it all, I did just want to go home.

“Please,” I whispered.

That whisper sliced through the air like a blade. The strange forest went silent. All I could hear was Yellow-Eyes breathing, faster. More excited.

I said, “Come with me, across the threshold. Just help me find home.”

That warm breath brushed across the back of my neck again.

“Oh, my pleasure. My leisure. Let us depart with haste, lest the Blighted Sparrow of Shadowy Waters return here to roost and interfere.”

Rubbing the tears from my eyes until my vision had cleared enough to see, the door stood there again—in the middle of the eerie clearing. Worms wriggling beneath it, the solitary door connected to no building, no walls, just wreathed in black vines, as before. Throbbing and pulsating as if alive.

Or had it been there all along? Had Yellow-Eyes hidden it from me somehow?

“Waste no time! Go! Open that door,” Yellow-Eyes hissed, making no effort to sound enticing anymore. Just exuding malice with each syllable.

And I did.

Once more, I cringed at the disgustingly soft grounds where worms squished under my shoes wherever I stepped to near the door, but I kept my eyes wide open this time. I gritted my teeth as I could watch the edges of those bladed leaves, almost translucent, cutting the surface of my exposed skin as I pushed against the door.

A dark void yawned at me from beyond the portal, not a gloomy clearing. I sensed something even worse than Yellow-Eyes, lurking in that deeper shadow. Then it retreated. Fluorescent tubes sprung to life, one by one, and bathed in light a long hallway of white plaster walls and concrete floor before me. I fled inside before the final lights flickered on and despite not hearing any sound to indicate it, passing that threshold of worms and razorblade vines, I knew the door closed behind me on its own.

And with me, this time, traveled Yellow-Eyes.

Greeted again by the chunky sound of the handlebar opening the fire escape door from the narrow hallway, I emerged into the shopping mall again.

Muddy brown discoloration clung to the edges of my sneakers, and I saw tiny streaks of crimson upon the sides of my hands where the leaves had cut me. The bag with my new book drooped lazily from my wrist, but the logo on the plastic looked normal now.

Had it ever appeared otherwise?

Of course, as I wandered through this temple of commerce in a daze, slowly shuffling my way towards the arcade to meet back up with my friends, I questioned my sanity. I wanted to tell them what had just happened, but I also did not want to.

I am surprised I am even telling you, now.

But someone needs to know. Because what you described—it reminded me of this. I can see the signs.

It reminded me that every time I look into the mirror, I see those yellow eyes flash. I see my own lips curl into a sinister smile that it is not my own but inhabits my face against my will. Well, that is not entirely correct, because I did invite Yellow-Eyes along.

And my fascination with the concept of other worlds is not some idle hobby.

It is an obsession.

So, if you know something I do not—if you have an even inkling about how you might cross over, then you need to tell me. Try to remember what exactly you were doing, what time of day, even what you were smelling or thinking. You need to tell me.

Right now.

Because both old Yellow-Eyes and me, we want to return there. See how much has changed in the past decades.

And if you don’t want to talk, well…

Let’s not go there.

—Submitted by Wratts

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afoxysunny · 4 years ago

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Pixel as Spectra

My mind first connected him with the Peacock Miraculous because of their shared colour scheme and ended up loving the combo more and more the longer i thought about it

Pixel lived in Lazytown for as long as he can remember. Being probably the most introverted person in the friendgroup and not as excitable he still tends to feel a little removed from them though. Still he always tries his best to help out with his more or less successful inventions, giving him a bridge to connect with the others by combining the comfort he feels in the digital world and his wish to be there for his friends even when he doesn't fully understand them.

Because for most of this design i went with "he'd think this is cool so let's do this" i didn't have a ton of references this time around

With almost all of these designs I'd tweak them a little bit if only i knew what bothered me and how to do better but, man, am I thrilled with how Pixel turned out! I love him exactly as i drew him!

Design Notes:

Colours - so many of them. The only thing that I was initially not 100% sold on was the sheer amount of colours in this design but damn it really grew on me. The peacock Kwami Duusu and Pixel (puppet design) share two main colours, Dark blue and white so those were a must. But then i also had Duusu's pink that had to stay and Pixel also has light blue and orange. I feated it would be too much but peacocks are damn coloirful and beautiful so it worked out after all

Orange + green hair - and of cause i had to add another colour: green. I knew i really wanted to keep his dark skin from the tv show but god i love the green hair he has in Glanni Glæpur í Latabæ so much! I couldn't help myself. I also kept that cool crown like part his visor has on the puppet design as it, together with the mask shape resemble the natural peacock's face pattern very well

Cape/Top thing - i just googled "men cape fashion" or something like that and didn't expect too much but when i saw that pic i knew exactly that this and only this had to be included. I'm kinda obsessed with it and i want one! So Pixel gets to live this dream for me. Being an extreme introvert a cape like this to quote unquote hide and protect part of himself behind suits him so well in my opinion

The fan - the weapon for this Miraculous is a fan and Pixel is a video game nerd so naturally he's very excited about this super aesthetic weapon. As far as i remember he's left handed in the show (i think i remember him using the mouse of his computer with his left hand?) but i already put the cape and Miraculous Brooch on hif left so the fan gets fixed to his arm. Like this it doesn't really matter that his right hand isn't as proficient as the other would be and he can be dramatic and open the fan like a bird spreading his wings if he feels like it

Miraculous Brooch - the Peacock Miraculous grants the power of Emotion, symbolizing this, i put the brooch directly on his heart. Not only to be easily protected with his cape but also to show where his powers come from

Feathers - in the show Miraculous Ladybug the peacock is one of the corrupted ones and the white feathers turn dark purple when charged to use. With Pixel they gain orange strands in them to look just a little bit like they are glowing and also sunshine

Reasoning:

Duusu, while also corrupted in canon like Nooroo, seems not as bothered by that. Firstly because he appears a little dense and playful in the few times we see him but also because the user isn't doing evil because she lost her way. No, Mayura is still using the Peacock's power as intended to help another miraculous holder.

But more than that this is about Pixel. I don't remember where exactly but i read on multiple occasions that he has a form of autism. While I'm not the most knowledgeable person at this topic and I'd love someone to enlighten me more about it i did understand that this manifests strongly in each depiction of him with being very introverted and only able to understand and properly communicate with others via help from what he's most comfortable with. This is precisely why i believe the power given to him by Duusu, to sense others emotions, would be an incredibly valuable help for him. While simultaneously not getting crushed by the constant stream of feelings around him like someone as emphatically sensitive as Sportacus who must struggle a lot with getting that same power from Nooroo. Furthermore the power to give form to someone's strongest emotion matches perfectly with his usual role of building gadgets to help other!

Story:

I already slipped into this very heavily in the reasoning section so sorry if i repeat myself bit I'll try my best not to

First up, I'm absolute Trash for Pixel x Jives so that means, spoiler alert, most of what i have thought up for either of them is related to their journey from best friends to boyfriends

But i think a "lovestory" where that's the only defining feature of both characters sucks so I'll go into detail with characters a little more here

The Peacock Miraculous is meant to be used pretty defensively as him losing his strength would also mean the Amok, the powerful creatures he creates out of people's emotions, would disappear with him transforming back. Also he'd need to stay back for a good overview of the situation to make a better judgment, i definitely think he's the perfect fit for this role but besides that he wouldn't enjoy just that. If video games taught him anything then that standing back and watching others fight is not what a hero should do. His set of powers and given weapon may not lend themselves as easily to physical combat as the others but that doesn't mean he won't try. And fail. Obviously he'd beat himself up over this a lot and end up training way more on his own than the others.

You see, after Lucky Bug and Pitch Serval have a good long talk with the Guardians of the Miracle Box they get the job to pick up their friends and help them choose a Miraculous for each if and when they trust them enough to fight alongside them. After that they train as a group to master their new powers but Pixel also trains on his own as directly fighting isn't really something he's meant to do with his powers so it's not included in their training sessions. The only one who joins him, finding out kinda on accident is his best friend Jives, who gladly helps him of cause

Name:

I knew from the start off that i want to give him a name relating to colour and computer. Thankfully my sis is a lot wiser with both those topics and gave me a few options. One of them was Spectrum and, god, it just clicked with that one! Not only did i always headcanon him as bisexual, one spectrum he's on but also there is the autism spectrum and just colours in generl, three specrta for him so the name was the most obvious and best fitting i could pick

Thank you so much for your attention! I hope this was relatively understandable, my rambles can get a bit hard to follow and i was very excited to share this one so let me know if i ended up confusing you more than explaining anything. Thanks again

#Lazytown #miraculous ladybug #Lazytown au #Miraculous Lazybug #revive the lazy #pixel hyperbyte #pixel lazytown #Pixel x Jives #Mentioned #goggi mega #Duusu

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hiddendreamer67 · 5 years ago

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The Dragonfly Curse

Summary: Roman often gets hit with small curses by the Dragon Witch- little things being forced to speak only in rhyme or becoming incredibly clumsy for a day. He hides this from the others, as to him they’re punishment enough for his failures. They’re small measly problems- which makes this latest curse ironic in that he’s reduced to a four-inch tall dragonfly-winged fairy.

Words: 4,780

This is a commission piece for @i-will-physically-fight-you! Thank you again for commissioning me, this was so much fun to write. :) My commissions are open! More information available on my blog.

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Roman treaded through the forest, footsteps light as he fought to keep his presence unknown. Uneasily he twisted his wrist, the handle of his blade recognizing the familiar movements as he gave the sword a small twirl to calm his nerves. It grounded him, reminding him that even in this vast expanse Roman still had strength. A strength he had to wield if he intended to protect those he loved.

Imagination could be a fickle thing. Once upon a time, Thomas was young. His dreams were filled with puppy dogs and rainbows (the symbolism ever present in his gay subconscious), and Roman was happy to traverse the magical paradise that had appeared through a portal in his room. Back then it was a magical place, so full of laughter and cheer. Roman had always wished he could bring some of that wonderous joy into his own room so that he could let his fellow sides in on the fun.

Now, Roman’s greatest fear was exposing his family to this hell.

As Thomas had grown older, the Imagination had become overgrown with negative creations, a side effect of the dark sides no doubt. For far too long Roman had blamed Virgil for the shadow figures that now crept behind every tree, or the inky dark marshes that threatened to swallow unsuspecting villagers whole. Now Roman knew better; the horrible demons lurking around the Imagination had appeared on their own, independent of a single creator, instead representing something far darker than the embodiment of anxiety himself.

Roman chuckled darkly to himself. Maybe Virgil would be amusedly offended at the idea of something having a more terrifying aesthetic than his hundred layers of black eyeshadow. The image was nice to chuckle at, but Roman knew it would never be a reality. He couldn’t let Virgil, or anyone else he cared about for that matter, ever learn about these invaders. They were Roman’s problem alone, his burden to bear. Why else would the portal into Imagination only exist in his own room? Clearly this was his purpose as a knight- to protect those he loved, even from fear of danger itself. Ignorance was bliss, surely.

Of course, Roman was unable to hide everything from the sides, much as he wanted to remain covert. There were times when Roman would… lose. The Dragon Witch was a formidable opponent, much as Roman loathed to admit it, and she took pleasure in laying curses upon Roman for her amusement. These curses were hardly permanent but would carry into the mindscape. Perhaps this was the Dragon Witch’s way of trying to affect the world beyond this accursed land, knowing she herself could never get past the portal. Sending back a defeated and hexed Roman was the closest she could get to throwing something of her own into the mindscape.

Thankfully, these curses had never been particularly threatening to Roman’s physical form, just his pride. That only made them hurt worse in Roman’s mind. Was it not enough to be defeated in his own realm? Must she bruise his fragile ego? But in this way, she knew his weaknesses. Stabs wounds healed. The echoing laughter in his mind did not.

Roman thought back briefly, recounting some of her more memorable curses. One of the first had been upon his tongue, turning it a dull silver in mockery of the phrase ‘silver tongue’ and forcing the princely figure to only speak in rhymes. The others thought he was just being dramatic as ever, putting up with his antics as Roman attempted to compliment Patton’s cooking skills and ended up launching into an eloquent soliloquy about the talent of the heart to bring such “delectable, respectable, selectable treats to the table, how my dearest Patton have you proven yourself so able-“ and so the rhyming continued. Roman had even enjoyed that one, leaning into it to test his own feats of poetry. He challenged Logan to a rematch of their rap battle, this time proving himself a worthy opponent.

The Dragon Witch had been less than pleased when he returned the next week, whistling a nameless tune and declaring how ��your devious plan backfired; I’m feeling rather inspired!” Perhaps it was his jesting that had earned him the next hex, cursing him to become unstable on his feet. Roman had spent the day tripping over himself, spilling water any time a cup was placed in his hands and falling flat on his face on more than one occasion. Roman could only play those instances off with the line “I’ve falling for you, my fairest Virgil!” so many times before it was clear that this behavior wasn’t going to end. Virgil told him to snap out of it, and Roman was forced to spend the rest of the evening in his room willing his boots to stop making a fool of him.

So the curses continued, slowly accumulating through the years to remind Roman of his failures. Each lasted only a day, gone by the time he woke the next day. Never the same curse- after all, being part of the Imagination, even the Dragon Witch had standards. Unoriginality wouldn’t stand. Normally Roman would appreciate this creativity, but used against him it was less than pleasant having to bravely face his punishments. Which is why Roman made it a point not to lose often.

Roman paused, his feet stopping atop the large carpet of leaves painted in beautiful golden hues. It would be a beautiful sight, if the stillness in the air did not make the hairs on the back of his neck stand so unpleasantly.

“I was almost thinking you would not show.” Roman spoke up, raising his voice. He kept his gaze straight ahead, giving no other indication he knew there was a trespasser amongst the woods. “Or rather, if you’re attempting to be sneaky, you need to work on your dramatics, you son of a birch.”

There was a giggling through the air, as though the trees found this insult particularly amusing. Roman thought they might, and he gave a small smirk, radiating the essence of a casual hero who was sure of his blade. Perhaps if he imagined himself as such, it would prove true.

“Son of a birch?” A tree, darker than the rest, appeared insulted off to the left a few more paces down the path. The foliage shifted, the tree shrinking and curling in on itself as a woman emerged from the wreckage. She looked annoyed, the atmosphere immediately darkening as she stepped forwards. “I was an aspen, you royal twig!”

“Well you’re certainly as-pain in my butt.” Roman retorted. The trees merely groaned at that one, a few of the younger saplings muttering amongst themselves as though trying to figure out what exactly he meant. Roman rolled his eyes. “Alright peanut gallery, I get it, not my best work.”

“Peanut gallery, now there’s an idea.” The Dragon Witch put a finger to her chin, as if considering an idea. “Perhaps when I beat you today I’ll turn you into a peanut plant. Or better yet, I’ll trap you in a peanut gallery comic, so you will be forced to watch everyone laugh at your antics.”

“I’ve already been a comic book character.” Roman groaned, pretending to be bored as he stretched out a crick in his neck. “And you did a strawberry bush only a month ago. Have you really run out of curses so soon? You seem a bit lost for inspiration. How about I do you a favor. After I kick your butt, you can spend the week thinking up better ideas.”

“You make me laugh, Prince Roman.” The Dragon Witch said, but her mouth was still a flat line. “But perhaps you should save the theatrics for your stage.”

“Gladly.” With no more fanfare, Roman charged, sword at the ready. He took a swipe at the Dragon Witch. Unsurprisingly, she disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke. Knowing this trick, Roman wasted no time in bringing his elbow reeling backwards, satisfied by the ‘oof!’ of pain that came as he painfully elbowed her in the stomach. Roman had no qualms against playing dirty against a girl, especially because gender is a social construct and she started it.

“Why, you little-!” Before she could wrap her claws around Roman the prince rolled to the side, coming up to face her head on again. The Dragon Witch growled, a ball of green flame appearing in her hand.

“You wouldn’t.” Roman squinted, trying to gauge how far his opponent would go.

“Oh, I would.” The Dragon Witch sneered, tossing the flame to the ground. Instantly the golden leaves began to catch fire, the flames spreading as quickly the entire scene became ablaze.

Roman’s eyes widened only momentarily before he began to frantically dash back down the path, the flames licking at his heels. He knew that the trees themselves would likely be protected, mere puppets designed by the Witch who wanted an audience (she always was one for theatrics), but everything else in this forest was fair game.

“You’re insane!” Roman yelped, shaking his leg briefly as his pants briefly caught fire. The Witch cackled at this, giving chase through the path as the green flickers did nothing to harm her. If anything, they curled around her ankles, hugging their creator gently.

“Liar liar, pants on fire!” The Dragon Witch seemed to only find humor in this scenario, grinning manically.

“What are you, twelve?” Roman huffed, his breathing becoming heaving as he fought to keep running. Why didn’t Thomas go to the gym more often? Probably due to Patton’s love of cookies. Even if Patton was a fluffball, at this particular moment Roman was wishing he could change a lot of the heart’s habits if only to gain a little more endurance for these aggravating chase scenes. When he got back to the Mindspace, Roman was certainly going to fill Thomas’ dreams with more eye candy muscled men in the hopes of inspiring him to exercise even once.

Too distracted by thoughts of shirtless men, Roman was oblivious to the branches reaching out for him until it was too late. The wooden limbs wrapped around him, forcing his sword to clatter to the ground as one of the tree spirits tugged him into a tight grip.

“No fair!” Roman pouted, watching the Dragon Witch approach with a devious smirk, her flames coming with her.

“What’s wrong, Prince Roman?” She feigned ignorance, lifting her hand to direct the flames to begin climbing the tree, getting closer and closer to his legs which were desperately trying to kick out of their way. “Come now, surely you haven’t been bested by a few candle flames and a tree? Get up, Prince Roman. Fight. Where’s that courageous hero who dared to march into myrealm just hours ago, dressed in regal colors and claiming ownership of a land he can never hope to control?”

“I YIELD!” Roman suddenly declared through gritted teeth, his knees tucked up to his chest as the fire licked at his boots. To declare himself unsuccessful hurt more than their burn, and as the flames disappeared Roman felt the own fire of determination dying in his heart.

It seemed recently it had burning out quicker with each battle, these losses slowly taking a toll on even his resolve.

“Aww, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” The Dragon Witch teased. Roman gave her a defiant glare.

“I already yielded, there’s no need to drag it out.” Roman huffed, slumping back in the tree’s embrace. “Just get it over with, do your thing. Give me your curse and I’ll be on my way. What will it be, the comic or the plant? Well? What are you waiting for?”

The Dragon Witch paused, her expression for once perfectly blank. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

“Why should I be?” Roman shrugged, feeling a bit proud that he could make her scowl even in her victory. A conversation was still a battle when it came to the Dragon Witch, and at least Roman could win this. “Your little curses are nuisances at best. Your strongest has only ever left me cowering under a blanket for a day. Just a day, nothing more. Nothing sticks. You can’t hurt me, not in any real way at least, because everything you do is temporary. Your magic is just little parlor tricks.”

“Little parlor tricks?!” She screeched and spat. “How dare you! You insufferable pest, you incompetent sprite, you infinitesimal thorn in my side!” The Dragon Witch’s eyes blazed with a fury unmated by any Roman had ever seen, and for the first time in forever Roman really did feel afraid. She struck her hand across his face, leaving a scorching mark with a familiar tingling feeling of magic.

“There.” The Dragon Witch hissed, letting the tree drop Roman into an unassuming pile on the ground. “How’s that for a parlor trick?” Without another word she spun on her heel and left. The fact that she didn’t stick around to watch her spell take effect was a sure sign that Roman had pissed her off more than usual, which likely didn’t bode well for whatever unfortunate hex had just been quite literally slapped upon him.

Roman groaned, his body feeling like it was collapsing in on itself as Roman curled up into a tight ball. A searing pain had begun just along his spine, and Roman heard the fabric of his shirt begin to tear. Rude; he was particularly fond of this ensemble. But even Princey couldn’t lament the ruination of his garments for long, instead letting out a gasp as another round of fiery discomfort shot through his back. Was this the curse? To be in misery for a day? It certainly made Roman regret being so mouthy.

Thankfully, the pain slowly began to ebb away, leaving only a dull ache in its wake. Roman felt as though something was laying across his back, and new nerves connected to these new appendages. Cautiously Roman opened his eyes, looking back for confirmation.

Wings- he had wings. Dragonfly wings, to be exact. It seemed the Dragon Witch was still just as fond of draconic irony as always.

“Well that’s not so bad.” Roman decided. Sure, they were painful to grow, and they would certainly be impossible to hide, but Roman had stayed in his room during a curse before. He gave them a cautious flutter, wincing as one wing smacked him in the face. Perhaps this would take a bit more practice.

Roman stood up, gaining his footing on the slippery leaf below him and prepping for a test flight. Wait… yes, that was leaf, singular. Roman stared down at his feet incredulously, not believing his eyes. That had to be a very large leaf, unless…

The princely figure let out a groan, looking up to see his suspicions were confirmed. The dark trees now loomed over him, appearing to be hundreds of feet tall. It wasn’t just wings, then. The witch had cursed Roman to become a fairy of all things, reduced to nothing but a poor copy of tinkerbell.

At this size, Roman was even more wary of Imagination land, picturing all the horrible creatures that could make quick work of him. He had to get back, now.

“Alright, faith and trust and all that jazz.” Roman psyched himself up, scrunching his face and giving his body a shake to let out his nerves. He focused on getting his wings to flap properly this time, nearly crying out in relief when his feet left the ground.

“Don’t look down.” Roman instructed himself, firmly keeping his gaze forward as he shot through the air, beginning to get the hang of flying as he dodged the various brambles. More than once Roman nearly went headfirst into a spiderweb, skidding to a stop at the last moment. Thankfully he reached the exit on the other side of the forest without becoming prey to any of the shadowy demons. He was relieved that the door still recognized his presence in this form, swinging open wide. Roman wouldn’t have been able to open it himself.

“…woah.” Roman floated inside, momentarily shocked by how unfamiliar his own bedroom looked at this size. He settled down onto his desk, thrown off by the way he had to look up to see the bristled tips of his paintbrushes. How odd.

A knock came at the door, so loud and intimidating that Roman nearly jumped out of his skin. “Kiddo?” Patton’s voice was clearly gentle, but still it rumbled with an unnatural quality. “Do you want to join us for lunch?”

“Ah, no thanks, Pat!” Roman called back, hoping his nerves weren’t heard in his voice.

There was silence, and then another knock. “Kiddo? You in there?”

Oh, of course- an impulse to hit his own forehead overcame Roman. If Patton’s voice was so loud, it only followed that Roman’s voice must be quiet in comparison. He’d have to commit if he wanted to be heard.

“NO THANKS!” Roman called again, this time cupping his hands to his mouth to be heard.

“Oh, okay!” Patton sounded relieved, if not a bit disappointed. Roman deflated slightly, knowing this was another consequence of the curse. He hated letting Patton down. “Well, uh, I’ll check in on you again later!”

He would, of course, the little puffball.

***

Roman tried not to let the knot of guilt twist in him too tight when Patton came back to ask at dinner, then again at breakfast, and a third time at lunch the next day.

This was the longest day of his life. Roman groaned, collapsing back onto his pillow. It only took a few moments for him to realize this was a terrible plan, nearly getting stuck as he sunk into the overly plush surface. Why wasn’t he back to normal yet? It had been 24 hours, hadn’t it?

Patton came back again at dinner. He was more insistent. Roman snapped at him, and it hurt.

What was he meant to do? Roman couldn’t sleep that second night, his wings beginning to twitch anxiously. A curse had never lasted this long before. Should he tell the others?

The new fairy quickly shook his head. No, he couldn’t do that. Going to them meant admitting defeat. He would have to come clean about his rivalry with the Dragon Witch, letting them know of all his countless failures. What would they think of him? What sort of creativity was he if he couldn’t do his one job of keeping Imagination in check? Roman had to protect his family, not the other way around. Besides, he could only imagine the jests he would receive in this form:

“It seems you are incapable of even performing your own tasks adequately-“

“You tried your best, Kiddo, but leave it up to the real sides next time-”

“What’s the matter, Princey? A little thing like you couldn’t possibly help-“

A knock on the door jolted Roman out of his thoughts, the fae rubbing at the wetness on his cheeks. When had he started crying?

“Roman?” That was Logan’s voice, so cool and calculating and pleasant in tone. “We have been sent to retrieve you for breakfast. Are you alright?”

Roman couldn’t even work up the energy to respond. He just let his head loll to the side. Sooner or later the others would learn to leave him alone. Maybe they’d even forget about him… if he was going to be stuck like this, it might be for the best. Roman was useless.

“I can feel the sulking from here.” A third voice muttered, Roman’s sensitive ears picking up Virgil’s annoyed tone. “I say we just break in.”

Roman quickly sat up. What? Them, here? No, they couldn’t see him like this! He flew into the air, eyes scanning for any place he could hide.

“I thought you were against barging into bedrooms?” Logan spoke.

“Nah, just my room. Call me a hypocrite.”

Roman panicked, hearing the doorknob begin to turn. Without hesitation he dashed out of sight, settling onto the top of his wardrobe. Just in time, too, as moments later his fellow sides came barging into the room.

“PRINCEY, GET UP!” Virgil’s volume made the tiny side cringe, Roman pressing his hands firmly to his ears. “…princey?”

“It appears he’s not here.” Logan sated, the two gazing at the bed with conflicting amounts of bewilderment.

“Yeah, thanks, Sherlock.” Virgil’s facial features had turned decidedly blank, trying to process what was right in front of him.

“You do not sound thankful.” Logan murmured.

Virgil ignored his quip, throwing the blanket off the bed. Of course, the entire thing still looked untouched. The anxious side began to run his hands through his hair, seeming conflicted before he rushed back to the door. “PATTON, GET UP HERE!”

There was a frantic pounding of footsteps, Patton clearly running up the stairs before he too appeared in the doorway. “What is it? Is Roman sick?”

“Sick in the head- he’s gone.” Despite his angry words, Virgil looked frantic, and Roman felt far more than a twinge of guilt.

“This is peculiar.” Logan frowned, a hand put to his chin. “The mindscape is only so large. It contains each of our respective spaces and one communal area. Thomas is asleep, so he’s not there, and none of us have seen Roman in over 48 hours. Where could he possibly have gone?”

“Uh…I have an idea.”

The other two sides looked where Patton was pointing, the door to Imagination still ajar.

No! Roman’s eyes widened with fear. The others couldn’t go in there, they’d be killed for sure! Roman had always lied about Imagination, treating it like a magical secret only for him so that they would never know the true misery he faced every day.

“Do you think his realm would grant us access?” Logan took a step closer, making Roman tense up. “I was under the impression that subconscious domains were only accessible by the primary side.”

“Well, the door’s open.” Patton shrugged. “It’s worth a shot, right?”

“Hold on a minute, Pat.” Virgil reached an arm out, grabbing Patton’s forearm. “I don’t like the look of this. Roman’s an idiot-“ Hey! “-but maybe there’s a reason we shouldn’t go in there. We don’t know what it’s like. Maybe we’ll get corrupted just like you guys do in my room.”

For once, Roman was relieved Dark and Brooding was always so cautious. Maybe his friends would be safe after all.

“Virgil, it’s Imagination.” Patton removed Virgil’s hand with a smile, crushing all Roman’s hopes and dreams. “It’s not going to hurt us! I bet it’s got cotton candy clouds and singing flowers and puppies everywhere. “

“I take it back, that’s much worse.” Virgil cringed, but he allowed Patton to take his hand and guide him forward.

“Assumptions will get us nowhere; there is only one way to know for certain.” Logan reached for the handle-

“WAIT!” Roman cried out, his voice shrill and high-pitched as three heads whirling around to meet his terrified expression. Roman gulped, still frightened of their reactions but knowing he had made the right decision. It was better they looked down on him forever if it meant they stayed safe.

Still, having three giants focused on him was nothing to sneeze at- even with all his pomp and circumstance, Roman found himself continuing to huddle against the top of the wardrobe, knowing the jig was up.

“…Roman?” Patton called out, his voice softer than it had ever been. “Is that you?”

Roman winced. “Yeah, it’s… it’s me.”

He was thankful for his high vantage point, but he knew that if the others wanted to get him down it would be an easy enough task. He might be able to fly, but there were three of them for goodness sakes. At this size, a butterfly net could overpower him.

Roman groaned at the imagery, trying to get these thoughts out of his head. Why was he so frightened of the people he loved? Sure they were bigger now- er, he was smaller now- but they still had to care a little bit for him… right? Logan wouldn’t really pin him to a board and Patton wouldn’t really squeeze the life out of him and wow these images really need to stop right now get a GRIP, Princey!

“Are you harmed?” Logan asked, his question surprising the creative side. Logan was often ignorant to other’s state of being.

“Just my pride.” Roman admitted.

Virgil quirked an eyebrow, but it lacked its usual sass. His expression was more shaken than it should be, and the emo looked paler than usual. “Care to tell us what’s going on?”

Not really. Roman wanted to say, but he knew it was too late to back out now.

“Will you come down from there, Kiddo?” Patton took a step forward, cupping his palms and looking ready to catch Roman. He gazed at those hands for a minute, contemplating the risk before he fluttered down to stand in Patton’s palms. This action earned a series of gasps as his wings had previously gone unnoticed.

“It was the Dragon Witch.” Roman admitted, rubbing at his arm self-consciously. “She cursed me to take this form.”

“So, you’ve just been hiding up here all alone?” Patton looked just about ready to cry. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want you all to think any lesser of me.” Roman ran a hand through his hair. “I know you all think of me as foolish already, and I thought- if you knew how much I failed, that would just be used against me as well. I’m not the protector I pretend to be. I’ve tried to hide this from you because look at me now! A few inches tall and wings on my back like some laughable child cartoon character. I couldn’t stand the mockery on top of everything else.”

“Roman, that is preposterous.” Logan said firmly, earning an elbow to the side from Virgil that didn’t stop the nerd from continuing. “Regardless of your current stature, you are a core element of Thomas’ personality. We require your input. We function best as a cohesive team. Sharing information about your own struggles will only better us as a unit because we will be better equipped to assist you.”

“The nerd’s right.” Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, looking guilty. “Jeez, Princey, I mean… I know we call each other names, but I don’t mean anything by it. I just thought that was our thing. I’m not gonna mock you when you’re clearly hurting, that’d just be cruel.”

“Failure is normal, kiddo.” Patton reached his thumb up, rubbing it comfortingly along Roman’s side. The sensation was strange, but not unpleasant. “Just because you failed once doesn’t mean you’re a failure.”

Roman winced. “Ah, actually, it’s… it’s more than once.” The words began to spill out of him, gaining momentum. “I lose to her so often, she always has the upper hand and it’s never the same curse and I keep hiding them from you but they only last a day and this one hasn’t stopped and I don’t know what to do and I’m going to be tiny and useless forever-“

“OY!” Virgil’s shout made Roman flinch again, and the anxious side had the decency to look sheepish. “…sorry. But you need to cut it out. Panicking is my thing.”

“Roman, it doesn’t matter if you’ve failed a hundred, trillion, billion times.” Patton corrected his wording.

“That’s not statistically possible.” Logan looked confused.

“You will never be a failure in our eyes.” Patton insisted. “You are brave, and kind, and lovable, and you bring so much to the table every single day. We couldn’t do it without you, Kiddo. And even at this size you’re the same amazing Prince we know and love. You’re just… a pocket prince now!”

“Roman, I admit that curses are not my area of expertise.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “But, I believe that with our efforts combined, there is certain to be a way to reverse these effects, especially given the knowledge the previous curses all took time to wear off.”

“Let us help you.” Virgil said, his tone bordering on pleading.

Roman looked around at his family. His fantastic, brilliant, amazing family. How could he have not trusted them with this? Of course they wouldn’t see him as lesser, just because of a small curse. His failures were not what defined him.

“Okay.” Roman agreed, feeling nearly overwhelmed with the love he had for them all.

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silenthillmutual · 4 years ago

Text

@milk-teeths wanted dadniil comforting khan during a breakdown. i’ve never written khan before so i hope this turned out okay ;; --------------------

Victor means well. He always does. And Khan knows he's very lucky, to have a father that means well. But meaning well doesn't exactly help in all contexts, least of all this one. One that Victor is far from able to advise him on, and he is not, under any circumstances, taking this spiral of self-doubt to uncle Georgiy. It's not even that Victor had suggested it, but knowledge hung there in the air between them both as they explicitly did not talk about Georgiy "such a pity we have no male heir" Kain.

He'll apologize to his father later, if he must. If he feels the compulsion to, though he knows the man doesn't expect it himself. Right now he just needs to get out. He'd get out of Town, if he could, even with the voice in the back of his head screaming Irresponsible at him. He has a town to look after, a future, a people, and he just wants to run away from it all. There's no privacy here, no place where he can just let the mask go and be sixteen years old and not have to worry about any of this. About leading. About being an example. About people finding out.

And who is he kidding? In all probability, they already know.

The Polyhedron is gone, but the Nutshell at least still stands as a neutral territory. He's counting on Capella's feelings, her connections to reach out to him and tell people to leave the place undisturbed until he's ready to go. It's three hours until nighttime, but people hang around here anyway. He bites his lip as he rounds the corner, but it's blissfully empty.

He almost vomits in the corner. He manages to push back the wave of nausea by leaning his head against the wall. He's not feverish, but God forbid if his father or his sister or worse, Artemy Burakh learns he's nearly been sick. He'll never hear the end of it. He guesses he's glad for it; again, he's made to think about how fortunate he is. Notkin doesn't have this, Capella hasn't in years, but he can't stand the babying. It's how they treat the women here, all of them, and he doesn't know how they stand it. But he sure as hell doesn't want it directed at him.

Khan pushes off against the wall and undoes his shirt buttons, fingers shaking. He needs to unwrap these bandages before he suffocates. He hates that he can't manage it for long, when he knows it's only going to get worse the older he gets. When he's eighteen, at least, he'll be able to talk to someone about it. Burakh, maybe, or Rubin if he won't. They're Olgimsky men, ostensibly, and whatever happens between them all he trusts Capella not to let him down.

...But the idea, the idea of the Capital, of seeing a doctor there who can take this weight off of him...

The door slams open clumsily and he barely has time to tug his shirt back over his chest before he spins around, scowling. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear - but at least this doctor, though bumbling as the others, makes a habit of asking before entering. If, of course, he knows where he's going. Dankovsky blinks at Khan, rather confused, and sighs at himself, rubbing his forehead. "Not again," Khan hears him mumble, and sets his bag down for a moment to look at his map. Over a month now, and he still doesn't know the streets.

"Do you need directions, doctor?" Khan asks, trying his best through the pain to lower his voice.

"No, no, I'll get it!" he says, waving his hand. His face doesn't exactly betray confidence, though, brow furrowing. Khan hears him mutter the word "Whatever" before he shoves it back into his bag, and looks at him, still frowning. "I needed to speak with you anyway."

Oh, no. "I'm afraid it'll have to wait," Khan says, attempting authority in his voice. "I'm indisposed."

Wrong choice of words. Of course he shouldn't have assumed the doctor would be any different here - Capital man or not, he's still a doctor. "All the more reason for us to talk," he says, removing his gloves. He's spent too long around Burakh, putting his hand over Khan's forehead. "You're not running a fever, from what I can tell," he says, apparently oblivious to his own slip, and continues. "Where is it you don't feel well."

"That's none of your concern," Khan says, but as the only adult who hasn't treated him with condescension, he's never been good at sending Dankovsky off. "I didn't call for you."

"Well I'm not leaving," Daniil says. "That would just be ridiculous, and your father and sister would never forgive me."

"I thought you weren't on speaking terms with Maria?" Dankovsky scowls at him, but he can see the man's not going anywhere. "It'll pass anyway, doctor, it's just -"

"Hang on." His voice is coming out slow and suspicious. Khan is unnerved. The doctor walks around him, frowning, and he knows what it is he's got in hand before he shows it to Khan. "Have you been -? Khan, is this where all my missing bandages have gone?"

It's the fact that his voice sounds hurt that's got him to breaking. God damn this time of the month. "I'm sorry," he says, voice squeaking. He hates it.

"Oh - don't cry, please." He watches Daniil squirm uncomfortably, from where they stand a few paces apart, Khan looking elsewhere with his jaw clamped shut. "Just - why? Is there something going on I don't know about? Your... your... What do you call them again? Dog Ears? Are they hurt?"

"No," Khan says, words coming out a little too loud. "It's something different. You wouldn't understand."

"Please explain it to me. I'll try." Khan fidgets. "Casper?"

"I need to bind -" he blurts out. He cuts off his words with his teeth. "Something. It's - I have to do it very carefully. And if I use anything coarser than bandages, I'll hurt myself. Do you understand enough now?"

Things are very quiet for a moment. "I understand perfectly well," Dankovsky says softly. "Better than you know."

"You don't know anything! None of you do!" But what should come out as an angry retort is lost behind tears. He doesn't sound commanding, he just sounds pathetic. "All of it is such a mess now! Everyone's scattered, and even you aren't helping! With your alliance with Burakh, you've got Capella thinking the future won't work out the way we'd intended. And the Tower is gone, so there's nowhere for me to even run to anymore, and - no! You don't get it!"

Khan stops shouting, covering his top lip with his arm. He feels stupid now, having said so much when he's supposed to be... different. More mature. More in line. He hears Dankovsky's "Oh, dear," and feels his shadow shift as he walks closer to Khan. He doesn't have to move his body much to look Khan in the eye to say, "Well, you're right about something - I don't understand a word of what you just said. But that first bit, about the binding - I understand what you're doing, and even with bandages, you *will* hurt yourself. I'll be surprised if you haven't got some internal bruising already. How long have you been binding for?"

"For as long as it's been necessary," he says, tone sour.

"Oh, dear," Dankovsky repeats, "So earlier than I'd been."

He blinks, and turns his head sharply to look at the doctor. His face is neutral. "Earlier than you'd been...?"

"Yes," Daniil says. "That's what I meant when I said I understood. It wasn't just a worthless platitude. I know how much those..." he trails off, looking for the right word, and ends with a flat, "Suck."

Breathing comes a little easier now, such an intense change that Khan almost feels light-headed. "How did you manage? Until you were able to -?" Khan gestures to his chest.

"Lots of layers," Daniil replies. "It helps that I'm usually quite cold, and that it fits my aesthetic. No one ever asks, and no one can tell." Khan nods. "So this sick that you feel, is it your cycle?"

And it's back to uncomfortable now, but at least it's the kind he can deal with. "Yes. I keep getting nauseous. It didn't used to be so bad in the Polyhedron, but now -"

"Closer to the twyre, yes. That *has* made things worse. I've prescribed lots of pain medications for headaches, cramps, insomnia - I don't know how you all stand it, here."

Daniil is shaking his head, but Khan notices he's smiling. "And yet, you stayed," he points out, and watches the man blush. "You're part of what ruined everything, you know."

"What a surprise," he deadpans. "Howso this time?"

"You and Burakh. Getting along, like Simon and Isidor used to. It's made Capella think there's other options for the future." He shakes his head. "Love matches, and that nonsense."

The doctor keeps blinking, flustered, for a moment before he continues, "Well, do you really want to marry someone you don't love, just for politics? That's hopelessly old-fashioned, and you're meant to symbolize the future -"

"It's not that. I have no preference for that sort of thing, really," Khan says. "I'm only sixteen. But it means I don't -" He stops himself short. This almost feels unsafe to talk about, but... Though he stayed, he is still an outsider, so maybe he can... Offer guidance... "I don't have any way to stand out, now. The Polyhedron is gone. In a few years I'll be too old for the gang. My sister is the mistress. My uncle is the only remaining founder of this town. My father still lives with the ghost of my mother's memory, and even he means more to the town than I will if I don't marry Capella."

Daniil takes a moment to listen, before he hums, and nods. "There are other ways to stand out, I'm sure, if you really want to." He stops. "But do you really want to?"

Khan's fingers clench and fight against each other. "Does it matter what I want? I'm a Kain. I'm going to, one way or the other."

"But then that solves your conundrum. By your name alone, you'll stand out."

"But I won't have made a mark for myself," he explains. "And I have to."

"Why?" Daniil shakes his head. "My dear child, you don't have to do anything. I think it's enough, really, to just be happy."

"I'm surprised to hear you say that," Khan admits. "You, of all people!"

"Doesn't that sort of illustrate my point?" Daniil asks. "I came here thinking differently, feeling differently. Things change. I can't say that the plague should have taught you something, that wouldn't be very fair of me. But - quam bene vivas refert, non quam diu. Don't worry so much about the future. There's no fate, Casper. It isn't set in stone. And I think you'll be happier if you allow yourself to just exist."

He shifts weight between his feet, uneasy. "I don't know," he says. "I'll have to think about it -"

"But promise me that you will," Daniil says.

Khan nods. "I will."

#icarus.txt #ok to rb #nori writes #khan kain #PLEASE give me guidance in writing him just. be gentle i beg u #daniil dankovsky #counts as pride month since they're both trans here #mine #icarus.docx

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alittlecatastrophe · 4 years ago

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On the one hand, criticism doesn’t change anything; while on the other, you are not just writing for a check. There is some kind of belief that there will be some kind of effect. What is the effect that you are going for?

I write criticism because I feel that if I am being made crazy by the distorted nature of the publishing industry, then other people are as well. I really believe that many people like serious books and serious engagement with books. There are not a ton of opportunities for them to feel part of a conversation. The fact that you basically have no power as a critic should be liberating—it should make people take more risks, do more experimental things, and be harsher if the book merits harshness. But they don’t, and it’s weird. Because if you do it in a fair, sane way there is no professional consequence, except that some people aren’t going to like you. If you’re nice to everyone in a fake way, lots of people aren’t going to like you either. So you might as well be honest.

Why does it seem like critics are scared of writing negative reviews?

There’s this tendency to protect authors, and often it’s a treat-others-as-you’d-want-to-be-treated thing, because many critics have books themselves. Your book is your baby, you worked really hard on it, so you deserve not to have to feel bad about it in any way. I don’t take that view. A writer is asking people to spend several hours with their book, to take what they’re saying seriously. As a critic it’s your responsibility to do that, and to take the reader seriously as well.

Critics also sometimes get this conspiratorial tendency and write as if they’re the only people who can see the true essence of the book. If they can pull out the symbolism, the complex themes, find a connection to Jane Austen or a theorist, I think they feel empowered, intelligent, and in possession of a wide range of references. Even though none of that is actually there, and what you’re looking at is something someone got paid quite a lot of money to make in the hope that it would get turned into a TV show.

Often the book that might be negatively reviewed more or less expresses the correct political views, and the author seems to come from a good place, and critics might think the aesthetic choices that go into expressing those ideas don’t matter enough to justify criticism. But they do matter. And then there’s a certain point where you have to ask, did no one tell the writer this book was bad? Did really no one say anything? Which is also a question of how the sausage gets made. Because they probably did not. It would be sad to be a writer that nobody criticizes, because that means nobody is taking you seriously or engaging with your work, and to a certain extent you’re being used to make money.

Shouldn’t we cut writers some slack because it’s hard?

It depends on what kind of book it is. As a critic your responsibility is to assess what the author is intending to do, whether that’s a good aim, and then if they executed it well. There are two types of bad books. One, your aim is completely stupid and misguided, and you should not have written a book that attempted to do that. Two, and this is more common in my world, you had this nice aspiration that you did not remotely execute. Yes, writing is very hard, and no book really lives up to its aspirations, but once you’re an adult you can’t be writing bad books all over the place. People might read them! It’s not your right to be a writer. It’s not your right to be read. It’s not your right to be a public figure. A just society is one where everyone has a home, food, healthcare, an education, and vacation for four weeks a year. A just society does not mean everybody gets to be a celebrated writer if they want to be. If we consider literature important, we have to critique it rigorously.

If it is an economics question. What can a writer do to not fall prey to the insidious marketing machine? What can they do to contribute to a more critical literary culture?

If I am going to send a message to my people [again, ironic tone] then I will say, “If you have even a halfway fair critique of something you are not going to get in trouble for it.” You are not going to scandalize an editor at the New York Times because you said a book that they thought was good was in fact bad. It is their job to be mature about this sort of thing, and if you approach it in a serious way it’s not going to affect you. They might not want to be friends with you, but they probably weren’t going to be friends with you anyway.

All this said, I do feel increasingly that the books being celebrated are more complicated than they used to be! And I feel like we’re on the verge of a good phase in criticism.

It feels like we have lost our sense of proportion. However, we don’t need to worry about everything, it is okay to let some things go. How do we regain a sense of proportion?

This is an internet inflected thing. I don’t know if it has always been this way. On the internet, everything is out of proportion. Things that are very important do not get a ton of play. Whereas things that are totally stupid become very significant. You end up trying to find deep meaning in stupid little things.

It might be best to remember that reading hard books is hard. I don’t think it’s supposed to be easy to read Dostoyevsky or Ulysses. You don’t just sit down and read those books and that’s that. The work you do to understand them generates the meaning. Once you have had that experience, the superficial experience that is produced by entertainment tugging at your heartstrings has much less of a wow factor.

How do you handle the tension between working toward a collective goal (whether that be political or just in the way we talk about books) vs the pitfalls of putting people under our own personal theories?

When I write I am constantly asking myself is this right? Is this right? Is this right? Am I just doing this because I have a bad feeling that I am trying to expel from my body? I always think of it as some kind of scrubbing. Get rid of the received wisdom, the cliches, and everything else you’ve read. What do you actually think? What is the book actually doing? The whole point of literature, man, is that we are all one people and we have a lot in common. We might have radically different views or perspectives but we are mostly the same. If you keep that in mind the other stuff falls into place.

I Feel That I Am Being Made Crazy By the Distortion; an interview with Lauren Oyler

#writing

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