#She's so small and waif-like in comparison to most of them

[cometomecosette]

"Les Misérables" musical character interpretations: Éponine

Next in my series of characterization comparisons: every audience's darling, Éponine.

These five interpretations of the character are the main five I've seen in various performances. But they can also be combined with each other to create still other portrayals. For example, in the bootleg video of the US tour performance from 2000, Sutton Foster's Éponine is "the Wolf Child," but her natural charm and humor adds an underlying layer of "the Gamine Next Door." Whereas Joanna Ampil's Éponine in the same year's London video – from what I've seen of it – is also a "Wolf Child," but with the underlying fragility of "the Waif." And when I recently saw the current US tour, I thought Christine Heessun Hwang's Éponine was a cross between "the Gamine Next Door" and "the No-Nonsense Street Kid."

The Gamine Next Door

            This is a simple, straightforward portrayal of the musical’s Éponine, who projects an air of easy likability. First and foremost, she’s a spunky, sassy, cheerful street urchin, much like an older female Gavroche. She might occasionally hint at the true sadness of her life (i.e. “Look what’s become of me”), but she always quickly hides it behind a bright, cheeky smile. And as her name implies, her interactions with Marius have an air of a tomboyish “girl next door,” with free and easy playfulness and warmth. She might sometimes add a hint of flirting, but she never crosses the line into bad manners. This isn’t to say that she can’t be gritty when necessary: her “Attack on Rue Plumet” can be very fierce and angry, although she’s more likely than some Éponines to mix relatable fear with her defiance. Nor does her lighthearted veneer mean she’s immune to suffering. When she’s alone, she gives heartbreaking voice to her starry-eyed yearning for Marius and her abject anguish that he doesn’t return her love. Of all possible Éponines, this one is the most idealized compared to the novel’s Éponine, which obviously won’t suit everyone’s taste. But in general, audiences are guaranteed to like her, pity her, and relate to her. Teenage girls, in particular, who are in the throes of their own first unrequited loves, will embrace her as one of their own. 

The Waif

            This Éponine is the most vulnerable of them all. She’s likely to be small, delicate, and “kittenish” in appearance. She’s more soft-spoken than other Éponines too, although still with a powerful singing voice for “On My Own,” and with a gentler, more girlish demeanor. Of course, she does affect a tough, sassy veneer, boasts about her street smarts, and stands up to her father and Patron-Minette with all the necessary fierceness. But that veneer is more fragile than glass. She constantly seeks Marius’s attention with a look of wistful yearning – even if he fails to see it, we can – and when they interact, her teasing is obviously a cover for the shyness and awkwardness she feels, knowing how out of her league he is. Nor is anger and aggression her first response to danger. In “Attack on Rue Plumet,” expect her to try to reason with the men at first, and to only turn defiant when they won’t listen. Above all else, the audience will remember the tenderness of her longing for Marius and her raw anguish that he’ll never be hers. Where other ‘Ponines express their pain without crying, this one’s rendition of  “On My Own” will more likely be drenched in tears. Throughout the show, the audience will want to hold her. shelter her, and comfort her, so in “A Little Fall of Rain,” however sad the circumstances, they’ll be glad that Marius finally does.

The Wolf Child

            This feisty tomboy is very much a street urchin, not a street waif, and very much the Thénardiers’ daughter. She’s a grubby yet self-assured, iron-willed survivor, just like her father, and she has more than a little of her mother’s brashness and temper. Among Patron-Minette or with Gavroche, she’s clearly “one of the guys,” and when the time comes to fight off her father and the gang at Rue Plumet, her anger and ferocity are positively feral. Expect Montparnasse to get a good kick or punch if he dares to bring his knife near her throat. Her teasing of Marius is bold, boisterous, and physical: expect to see her pushing and pulling him around in a very unladylike manner. This girl is determined to gain his attention, and apart from brief moments of despair, she clings stubbornly to the hope that he’ll fall in love with her someday. But in “On My Own,” she’s forced to admit that she’s been fooling herself. She faces this sad truth with heartache, as all Éponines do, but with anger too. Anger at Marius for his blindness and failure to appreciate her, at the world for being empty when he’s not with her, and at herself for being vulnerable in this way, when she’s usually strong enough for anything. Of course, her story ends in tenderness, with her final moments of bliss in Marius’s arms. But what the audience will remember most are her toughness and her fiery passion.

The Wild Urchin

            This girl comes as close to the novel’s Éponine as the musical allows. Physically she’ll probably be dirtier than other ‘Ponines, with bad posture and skittish movements that recall an abused dog or a stray cat. And more than any other musical ‘Ponine, she gives off an air of mental instability. Yet she combines it with a lively, free-spirited nature, and the result is a wild, whimsical, childlike quality that’s strangely endearing, even as it earns pity. She “frolics about,” swinging her legs as she sits, playing with her skirt, kicking stones in the road, or casually lying down and stretching out on the pavement. With Marius she’s even more forward and unladylike than the Wolf Child, freely invading his personal space, and sometimes trying to flirt in a way that recalls her father with the girls at his inn. This might make even Hugo’s Éponine blush, but it drives home the point that her social skills are lacking. She strives hungrily for Marius’s attention, but between her upbringing and her mental state, she doesn’t know how to begin to win his heart. She’s also more ashamed of how awkward and “odd” she is than she pretends to be, which we see when she’s alone, along with her wistful dreams and the pain of her hopeless love. She’s a “crazy homeless girl” whom in real life, we might try to avoid on the street, but we’re forced to understand her, empathize, and care for her anyway.

The No-Nonsense Street Kid

            This ‘Ponine is less fierce than the Wolf Child, but she has a similar toughness, and though she’s quieter than other ‘Ponines, it’s not a gentle quietness like the Waif’s, but a hard quietness. Her usual demeanor is sullen yet stolid, unhappy yet resigned to her lot and ready to “tough out” anything. She stands up to her father and the gang with hard, calm defiance and mocking disdain, and though she can be sassy and playful like all Éponines, her humor is drier and more subdued than most. Her only genuine smiles are reserved for Marius. Yet she might be a mild tsundere toward him, as they say, teasing him in an “annoying little sister” style, but closing herself up and pulling away if he offers her too much friendship. She doesn’t expect him to fall in love with her; she knows it’s foolish to hope. But she can’t help but hope anyway. She wants to be resigned to living without him, but though she tries, she can’t conquer her anguish, yearning, and secret fragility. Even when dying, she’ll still be tough, walking away from Marius to try to take care of herself, only to collapse; only when Marius takes the initiative and holds her will she finally show him her inner tenderness. This is different from Hugo’s Éponine, as is her grounded personality compared to the free-spirited Wild Urchin that Hugo wrote. But this portrait of a “hard nut” slowly cracking is moving in a different way.

More comparisons to come!

[delta-lethonomia]

5, 12, 25 🫣

Ooooh! That was quick 🥰

#5. Describe their idle animations!

Tav tends to stand around with her arms folded, with an intense, far-off look on her face. She's the queen of resting bitch face. Should there be a wall nearby to lean on, she'll do so, and she crosses her legs when sitting on a chair. If she's not glowering at nothing and looking generally unapproachable, she tends to have her head buried in a book or her journal, but only with half her attention if she's around people she doesn't know or trust. Tends to look up a lot and scan her environment. As the story progresses, you'll find her in Astarion's camp, making use of his table and chair, increasingly engrossed in her writing. She's got the Sage background, though you wouldn't know it.

#12. Does your Tav have any tattoos or scars? Why?

The most obvious one is the black line bisecting her lower lip. After the death of Sylvar and her son, Tav had little money, no job, and refused to go back to Sharess' Caress. She did have her new powers as a warlock, but her overall appearance was a wreck - massively depressed, incredibly stressed, broke, and alone, and possessing a bit of a baby face only accentuated by her short hair, she looked more like a waif in need of rescue than a powerful warlock you should totally hire for your adventuring troupe. So, she got a face tattoo, grew out her hair, and started wearing heavy makeup as a way to reclaim her appearance and increase her intimidation factor. It worked! (I'll post a comparison later).

Tav also has both a small and a longer scar on her face from her early adventuring days, and chose to keep them for similar reasons. She has a scar to the right of her sternum from where an old lover stabbed her, a couple little ones on her knees, ankles, and hands from misadventures throughout the Rivington farmlands as a child, and a couple of minor nicks and burns on her hands and arms from potions work. She did have other scars, but removed them with some powerful scar removal cream, and doesn't like to think about them.

#25. What is something they would die on a hill over?

Ooooh! The phrasing makes me think this should be a joke thing, like a vigorous defense of the oxford comma, but I can't think of anything small and funny like that that Tav would necessarily have strong opinions about. She does think that the Baldur's Gate legislature is entirely composed of out-of-touch idiotic patriars who uphold and maintain a corrupt system exclusively for their own benefit, and cares little for laws after getting fucked over by them. She barely pays taxes and does most of her work under the table, and given a few more years, would probably just hex anyone who came knocking to fully complete her "Witch in the Woods" aesthetic dream life.

More specifically, she has strong opinions about the laws about prostitution in Baldur's Gate being utter tripe and written by people who wanted to keep people trapped in it, not help them, but that's for later chapters to discuss ;)

[crowleplays]

I think that Drip is rather scared of Gl'bgolyb ever noticing her presence on Alternia tbh

It’s probably why she’s so scared of interaction with trolls and absolutely why she avoids tyrians like the plague. After all, heirs and heiresses are but the Mother’s eyes and ears. 

Drip hardly does much damage on her own, at least when her hunger is kept in check. If she were to abstain from eating at all, she would surely fall into a ravenous madness and go on a rampage that would catch more than a bit of attention.

She doesn’t want to be on Alternia at all, honestly. Drip basically fell through a gap in the planes and was yanked away from the Outer Ring by the rip-current of a far greater horror moving about/being summoned.

[ohblackdiamond]

liner notes/unused joke summaries for kiss fics (part iv)

Despite what my general dislike of the shift key and my tendency to mock all that I love might imply, I actually overthink everything I write to a great extent. I make no claims to these explanations being in any way enjoyable, but if you wanted to know what I was thinking while writing KISS fic… now you do. Part one can be found here. Part two is here. Part three is here. 

little t&a --If Paul had boobs, they would be big and Gene would want to grab them.

>>Title from a Rolling Stones song of the same name; most of the chapter titles are from another Stones song, “The Spider and the Fly.” I started it during quarantine as a means to occupy myself and destress, and didn’t initially plan on posting it at all. Once I’d written five chapters without having posted it or mentioned it to anyone, I figured, well, I guess this might as well go somewhere, so I put it up. I had the hope that it’d give me something to strive for during the stress of lockdown, and I’d assumed that I wouldn’t ever have that much time to devote to a story again.

There were a couple of things that really inspired me. I’ve always enjoyed sexswaps as a bit of a guilty pleasure, but wanted to do a different take on them-- there’s this tendency for sexswaps to either be wacky hijinks or an excuse to write particularly brutal noncon. There’s also a tendency for the sexswapped character to almost automatically start adopting stereotypically feminine traits he didn’t have prior, with no real reason for it. I wanted to try and avoid all that as much as possible.

... There’s also another tendency for the sexswapped character never getting back to normal, and I wanted to avoid that, too. I mean, c’mon, KISS is supposed to start the Love Gun tour a month after the fic. Paul can’t exactly pull the trigger of a love taco. (Maybe gently brush it a bit...)

I had Paul already cursed for five days at the start of the fic because I thought it would make things easier and allow the plot to advance more quickly. I also felt like it would give him more autonomy-- prior to Gene showing up, he has tried (albeit in small ways) to get a handle on what’s happened to him, and while he’s hermited it up, he hasn’t given up. Autonomy in general was pretty important for me re: Paul. (Incidentally, probably one of my favorite things about this fic is that Paul’s made that poor twelve-year-old kid on his bike buy him sanitary napkins.)

I wanted to explore a couple of other things, too, mostly rock and roll’s (and KISS’ in particular) pretty heinous treatment of women. Gene and Paul argue in the eighties that groupies know the score from the beginning, and even postulates that those relationships are more “honest” than just taking a girl out to dinner. They’re not alone in this (and, of course, as married men, these days they try not to discuss those times at all); almost every band/artist from around that time period will give you the same answer. “The girls know what they’re doing.” I think many of them did know. I also think many of them came into those hotel rooms expecting a lot more than they ever received, and I think plenty of girls ended up at the very least disappointed by their encounters, if not humiliated or worse.

I don’t know if this was successful, but I also wanted to at least try to poke a few holes in celebrity/idol worship as well. Carol’s scathing comments to Paul-- “they [fans] think there’s something you’ve got that they can get at, but there’s not” pretty heavily exemplify behavior I’ve seen at conventions, fan meet-ups, etc. At the end of the day, well, there’s no point in putting them on much of a pedestal. I dunno. I’ve seen some weird crap in the name of fan worship, in and outside of RPS. Keith Richards talks about it in his book-- girls urinating on themselves out of sheer nerves/excitement just at seeing the band, etc., which, while disturbing, had to have given them a sense of being something beyond ordinary (and act accordingly, of course).

I don’t know. I like them a lot, but I can’t hero-worship these guys; they don’t live in the real world. They’re not, ultimately, relatable or accessible despite the billions of photos, the twitter posts, the meet and greets-- any more than they were 40-odd years ago. I think there can be a real danger in thinking they are. I wanted to show that, too, but again, I don’t know if it came across properly.

One of the aspects I really struggled with was getting a good handle on Paul’s innately slippery sense of identity without it overtaking the story entirely. Gene’s very stable identity was a good foil, and it helped that most of “t&a” is from his point of view, rather than Paul’s.

Another place I faltered with was Paul’s outing alone at CBGB. The first draft had the guy in the club slip quaaludes into his drink, but I really didn’t like that at all and felt it took too much control away from Paul/punished him for going out on his own. I thought it’d be more interesting if Paul deliberately took what he knew was a dangerous combination (alcohol + quaaludes) in the hopes that would make him feel better about sleeping with someone he didn’t care about.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, having him do that (and the way the scene with the guy at the club ends) also meant that I couldn’t have him hop right into bed with Gene that night, either, so that accounts for some of the delaying. I was also really wanting to make sure in general that when Gene and Paul finally did go all the way, there wasn’t any feeling of being coerced or pressured. Not that Gene would do either of those things, but I didn’t want him or Paul to be doing it out of any feeling of obligation or hurry; I wanted it to be as natural as possible, under the circumstances. And I wanted, again, Paul’s dubious sense of self and Gene’s ambiguous feelings about Paul(’s boobs) to come into play-- yes, Paul, now you, too, can take Gene on the amazing technicolor dreamdate you’ve been fantasizing about for the last seven years! Or, you know, not. Overall, there are some pacing issues and the story slows down considerably after Gene takes Paul home from CBGB, but I like to hope that most of the scenes add something.

There were a couple of secondary plotlines that got scrapped because I couldn’t get them to fit well enough with the narrative. One of them was Paul’s very troubled relationship with his sister, Julia. There’s a fair amount of references to her scattered throughout, and Paul brings her up on several occasions, generally without much provocation, and generally at mildly odd moments (at Central Park and immediately after getting drawn by Gene being the standouts). There was an initial draft of the chapter in which Ace calls Paul, where Julia’s the one calling Paul instead (after having gotten his number from their parents). I wanted to at least get the start of a reconciliation going between them. Ultimately I scrapped it because I couldn’t get it to flow with the main plot and never felt like I’d ever explored it thoroughly enough for it to be worth a detour.

The comparison between Paul and Carol is pretty blatantly obvious, even in the narrative. Paul and Gene both recognize it (Gene, initially, when he notes that Carol doesn’t seem to belong at 54 any more than Paul does), and it makes them highly uncomfortable. (Mary-Anne, Carol’s friend, also notices it-- “she [Paul] reminds me of Carol. Just pitiful.”) They’re both very shy, insecure people that have thrust themselves into a world they’re not naturally suited for (show business) in order to achieve their own ends. They’ve both put great stock in a single person who helped them (inadvertently or not) during a dark time, and are driven by those feelings, despite knowing that person is out of reach.

Physically, they’re intentionally mostly opposite (Carol’s short, with a slight build, lighter hair, blue eyes, vs. Paul being, well, Paul-- tall, fuller build, black hair, brown eyes). But narratively speaking, neither of them are described as beautiful; “cute” and “kind of pretty,” sure, but nothing past that (except when Gene says it towards the end). That was important, too, for a couple of reasons. One, I wanted to further the comparison between them; two, I wanted to at least try and dispel the idea that all groupies were glamorous; many of them were rather ordinary-looking.

Paul not being “playboy material as a girl” was very deliberate. I feel like a lot of sexswaps tend to make the guy in question end up a ridiculously hot babe, which didn’t quite jive with what I was going for (not that I wanted Paul to end up awful-looking, but...). ... He’s probably hotter than he thinks he is though; at least, Gene didn’t mind at all, and Pete thought he was pretty. I wanted him to be recognizable if one knew where to look (face, body language). I didn’t want him to end up a tiny, frail-looking waif-- given what he looks like as a dude, that didn’t make sense to me. So this meant the less perfect attributes had to stay and carry over to a female body. He ended up with big boobs because... well, honestly because if he wasn’t going to end up with a great figure overall, he might as well have great boobs. And I mean, really, his chest’s already pretty all right as-is.

I didn’t want there to be a love triangle, but I did want it obvious, at least in an offhand way, that Peter and Paul had had sex (Ace mentions it in the car with Peter, with his “how long did it take you”). I wanted to incorporate Ace and Peter to as great an extent as possible in general.

Marbas is an actual demon from The Lesser Key of Solomon, although other than the few sentences Paul reads off from that grimoire, there’s not much more information on him to be found. 

[doedipus]

I finally finished moyashimon

it’s honestly one of my favorite anime/manga that I’ve read in a long, long time. there are definitely some aspects of the work that frustrate me, but it’s not quite enough to sour the work as a whole in my eyes. if you’re in the mood for a really chill slice of life series with a lot of well-developed and respectfully portrayed female and queer characters, definitely give it a shot.

first of all, to anyone who’s only seen the anime adaptation, definitely, definitely, definitely look into the manga. some of the best parts in the series happen after the anime ends, esp. the craft beer adventure in volume 8 and american road trip in volume 10. plus, if you’re like me and are mostly drawn to the work because of kei, her involvement in the story only starts ramping up immediately after the anime ends, and she’s essentially the main character of the last 3 volumes. Plus, ishikawa and his team have a lot of fun with the medium that doesn’t always translate into animation.

All in all, picking up the manga is 100% worth your time if you’re even vaguely intrigued by the premise

more detailed thoughts and a handful of good reaction images under the break

I think overall the beer, france, and america arcs are the high points of the series.

The beer arc sticks out to me mostly because of stuff happening in real life during the time I was reading it. Basically, some of my friends talked me into taking a beer tasting class at uni with them. I’d never really liked beer very much beforehand, but it turns out I was just drinking the wrong kinds of beer. I’ll put my life on the line for a good IPA now that I know what that even is.

The beer section of moyashimon has mutou go through a similar process- she starts out by going on a huge tirade about how craft beer sucks and it’s only appealing to pretentious weirdos, and then over the course of the volume, they go over what different kinds of beer are like, how they’re made, etc. It ended up giving me a good idea of what to look out for in the beer class, and it was fun being able to compare what I was sampling to what the fermentation lab crew talked about.

There’s also a pretty cute gender-affirming moment for kei in there, where the gang gives her a women’s costume for the faux oktoberfest celebration the book culminates in. it’s a small plot point, but I liked it a lot.

The france and america arcs are pretty similar and I like them for basically the same reasons. Essentially it boils down to them tying really dynamic plotlines in with the usual culinary intrigue. There’s a real sense of tension to what’s happening in the story, and the food stuff is more directly related to what’s happening in the story than it usually is. In a lot of the other plotlines, the writers have a tendency to frontload all the technical stuff into one or two extended dialogue scenes, which can be kind of hard to get through in comparison

I also found ishikawa’s assessment of american food pretty fun to read through, and a lot of his comments make me want to try out some western restaurants in japan if I ever end up going there. For instance, he has the characters talk a lot about how burgers and stuff are much sweeter than they’re used to them being in japan, and it’d be neat to have a point of comparison for that.

Also the america arc is where kei and marie probably do gay things, which I am very down for

ultimately, I think upwards of 90% of people who stumble upon this series now, 5 years after the last chapter and last episode were released, are here specifically for kei. she’s the strong bad to sawaki’s homestar: you might not know it yet, but she’s the reason you’re here. if you’re impatient and wanna speedrun straight to the part where she transitions/goes full time/whatever, it’s halfway through volume 4 of the manga and episode 10 of the first season of anime. there’s a lot of fun plotlines that happen before that point that really deserve attention on their own merit, though.

I’m a big fan of kei’s characterization. she’s possibly my favorite trans (or trans-adjacent josou danshi, post-colonialism ho!) character I can think of, and certainly the best I’ve seen written by a cis author. being manga, there’s some dumb missteps that happen, but they seem to be mostly a result of the creators not knowing better rather than them just putting her in to gawk at like a lot of other creative teams tend to do. plus, I think a lot of it boils down to localization error. for instance, the scanslation I read consistently has characters and margin notes refer to her as “he,” but like, japanese doesn’t really use gendered language the way english does, so it’s more representative of the scan team’s biases than the writers’.

One of the things I really like about Kei’s depiction is that the author doesn’t try to make excuses for her behavior. There’s no throwaway line in her backstory about how her parents saw three crows and a capybara on the way home from the hospital and decided to raise her as a girl. She’s clearly attracted to Sawaki, but that’s never framed as her primary motive for transition. She just flatly explains that she thought about it real hard and decided that this was best for her. To me, that’s a much more compelling narrative than one where it’s something either foisted upon the character or something they just sort of haphazardly stumble into.

Another thing that sticks out to me about Kei is that she exists in a series that doesn’t construct its cast as a harem around a singular main character or the reader, which gives her much more room for personal motivations and interests. Like, even though I love Luka from steins;gate to pieces, she and the rest of the female cast in that series really only exist in order to be Okabe’s, and by extension, the viewers’ romantic interests. This ends up sort of limiting their ability for character growth because at the end of the day, they all have to remain available and receptive to Okabe’s advances. As a result, Luka can never really call Okabe out for mistreating her because the writers won’t risk making her route or subplot unappealing. The same goes for plenty of other series trans characters find themselves in, and it shows. So many of them are either smug tricksters there to tease viewers or utterly submissive waifs, and often lack development beyond what’s necessary to get otaku motors running.

Since Moyashimon doesn’t use that kind of restrictive casting structure, the author is able to untie Kei’s sense of self-worth from how Sawaki feels about her and allow the romance subplot to take a back seat while the cast works on their various projects. As a result, she ends up being more independent than most other trans characters and her self-confidence is more genuine. She’s designed from the ground up to be a more complete character, and it makes her inclusion in the main story as well as her subplot with Sawaki feel organic.

on the other hand, as punlich​ pointed out in their post, the series does take a couple passes at introducing characters that seem to be designed with the intent of giving the reader an outlet to vent their sexual frustration around kei, particularly marie and madoka. the former is frequently referenced within the work as being a cis palette swap of kei, and madoka is another of itsuki’s proteges who begins insisting that she’s going to marry sawaki shortly after she’s introduced and receives little characterization beyond that. Marie ends up being a strong character in her own right, but the work probably would’ve been better off if they’d given her basically any other design.

at least in my reading of the work, neither is really taken seriously as a preferable alternative pairing to kei/sawaki, since marie ends up being more into kei than sawaki in the end, and madoka just makes sawaki uncomfortable more often than not. it’s a clear step up from works like steins;gate, re:zero, blend-s, or oregairu, where the trans or GNC character is the one who’s never taken seriously to the point of being a joke inclusion more than anything. still, it’s irritating that the creators would feel the need to include that sort of character, given how they’re usually pretty good about not harem-izing their cast.

uh, and speaking of that, fuck most of volume 11. the central plotline for that section is that the school holds a beauty pageant for the cast, which is, uh, wildly out of character for the series to say the least. it’s to the point where I’m inclined to suspect some form of executive meddling. like maybe they were gonna get dropped due to lack of readership and the brass told the creative team to do a dumb fanservice arc or something. they talk in a sidebar about how they changed editors around the start of this arc, so I have a hunch that has something to do with it?  I guess only they would know, though. it’s not like I can read any interviews or anything lol.

there’s still good content in there, and like I mentioned earlier, it’s when kei starts to really dominate a lot of the screen time, which is a big plus. it’s just dumb and out of place.

I also kind of found the conclusion to kei and sawaki’s “will they, won’t they” subplot really unfulfilling. namely, there really isn’t a conclusion to it at all. at the end, it’s clear that kei’s finally become comfortable with her attraction to sawaki, but sawaki is still kinda hesitant about going anywhere serious with someone he’s been friends with since forever. and like, I can get that, it’s sort of a natural aspect of where that arc would have to go, it’s just a frustrating note to end on. it seems likely that they would get together in the future, at least. (and that’s why you should read my fanfics!)

One thing I really liked about the ending section is sawaki comes up with some proactive uses for his superpower. for most of the series, it’s just a vehicle for ishikawa to exposit about his fascination with microbiology and fermented cuisine, which works great with the lower-key tone the series went for. still, the ways he uses it at the end are pretty clever, and it would’ve been neat to see him go on to use it in other ways. It’s frustrating that one of the uses he comes up with involves doing mouth-to-mouth with madoka, however.

I kind of get the feeling that the series got cut short because a lot of plot threads get addressed and tied up really quickly and sloppily in the last four or five chapters, while a ton of others just sit there. idk if it was a popularity thing, or if ishikawa decided to go all-in on maria the virgin witch, or some other factor, but I guess that’s kind of the nature of serial fiction. it just goes on as long as the creators and publishers are engaged with it, and then it’s over and they all move onto something else.

I’m being pretty hard on the ending portions of the series, but honestly pretty much everything not directly related to the beauty pageant or madoka is really solid. I’m just laying it all out there so nobody gets caught off-guard by the jankiness more than anything.

For one reason or another, moyashimon really struck a chord with me, and it’s kind of hard to put into words why. A big part of it is that kei is a character that I feel a sort of kinship with, which is a rare occurrence as a trans person. She feels like a real person that I’d meet through a message board or discord lobby. The rest of the cast has shades of that as well- the students feel like people I could have met in school, and itsuki harkens back to aspects of professors I’ve had, from his weird sense of humor to his rather alarming past working for the military. It’s easy for me to subconsciously insert myself into their fictional friend group. I guess it’s kind of like how people tend to engage with redlettermedia or ensemble let’s play channels like game grumps or super best friends play. Reading about the gang’s antics confers a sense of belonging that I’m perpetually starving for.

Another aspect of it is that it’s just fun to indulge in someone else’s hyperfixations for a while. It’s why sci-fi authors like heinlein and crichton are so influential, and why internet personalities like cgp grey or jon bois are so engaging: they’re really adept at articulating how utterly captivating some concept or ideology is to them at the moment. Somewhere between most and all of what ishikawa has to say about food and microbiology goes directly over my head, but the passion he has for those topics is readily apparent in every jargon-infested, chart-saturated debate he has his characters get into, and I love it. In that sidebar he goes on about his relationship to his editors, he mentions that the top boy editor chewed him out a couple times for basically trying to sneak a textbook into the magazine. It ends up being compelling based on passion alone, even if I only really internalized a fifth of what he actually had to say.

Is moyashimon for you? Ultimately I don’t think it’s really for anyone besides ishikawa himself. But if you’re at all like me, chances are you’ll fall in love with this bizarre and charming edutainment series anyway. If any of this sounds even remotely interesting to you, I can’t recommend checking it out highly enough.

[wizardsnwookies]

POTA 101818 - Magic and Mystery

The symbols confused Dion. Strange sigils of various shapes and lines that held no meaning to him, but clearly had some sort of importance. The way they circled around the central eye hinted at some kind of connection to whatever madness had occurred here. It was all so very strange. The tapestries that hung on the walls of this makeshift temple didn’t do much to encourage him. Images of earthquakes, storms, and blazing infernos delicately woven in colorful threads. Indeed there was much more to this than a man gone mad, but he had no clear indications as to what that might be.

“So...this is magic?” Miv stood staring at the orb as it floated amidst the tangle of arms carved from rock. A macabre pedestal for this strange holy artifact.

“Are you...unfamiliar with magic?” Dion inquired.

“Not much use for it in the Monastery. We were told that the only power we needed can be found from within. Strength, will, dedication, and Chi.”

“Think of it like Chi.” Dion stood, reaching a hand out to the orb. “Magic also can come from within, a mystical force that envelopes all the world and those beyond. It can be harnessed, channeled, and focused by the user for either good, or in this case, for ill.”

Carefully, he dipped his fingers through the veil of illusion that covered the orb. Not a ripple broke the surface. Inside he felt the cool, smooth, touch of metal against his fingers. He wrapped his hands around either side and cradled it delicately like an egg before slowly withdrawing. Once the large metal orb had broken the surface, the shimmering image of symbols disappeared, and the eye blinked out of existence.

“Magic can either reveal the truth, or conceal it. What was once an unholy idol, is nought but a simple Drift-Globe.”

“Drift-Globe?” The priest might as well be speaking Gnomish. Miv furrowed his brow, trying to take all this new information in. The comparison to Chi helped well enough, but he had a hard time imaging anything that could be channeled outwardly to the world around you.

“Yes, a simple magical item relatively speaking. It floats around the user providing light in the darkness. Think of it as a torch you do not have to carry, and can extinguish and ignite upon command.”

“...amazing.”

“Perhaps you would like to hang on to this for us?”

“Me?” Miv shrunk away from the offered globe as if it were a pit viper. “I...wouldn’t know how to use it.”

“I would be happy teach you.” Dion smiled.

---

Instructing the young Dragonborn took some time at first, but he was bright and eager to learn. The awkwardness he had shown at the tavern had melted away and he was starting to open up. His energy starting to flow outward. He was quick to learn, a product of his mindfulness training as a Monk. Dion smiled, watching as Miv amused himself by making the globe dance and flicker in the air. The levity was welcome in this dark place. Unfortunately, he had to pull himself away from this scene and find the one named Flea. Something he had said, did not sit well with the cleric.

He was found standing in observance of one of the tapestries. It was a particularly chilling scene depicting floods sweeping across a plain, washing away towns and villages, drowning all who inhabited it. Flea was nodding, whispering to some unseen figure or figures. A loose pebble on the floor gave Dion away on his approach, and the conversation stopped, his attention drawn.

“Have you indulged your curiosity yet? Can we go now?”

“So eager to leave?”

“I don’t like this place.” Flea pulled his eyes away from the Tapestry, a lingering glare in his eyes.

“No, neither do I. We can get moving once we’ve finished all the final rites. Although, if I may, can I ask you a question?”

“Knock yourself out.” Flea shrugged.

“You said that magic you used early was your family? I’m wondering if you could enlighten me on this further?” Dion danced around the subject delicately. He had very real concerns, concerns that had to be addressed, but Flea had shown himself to be rather rough around the edges. Best not to offend him outright, it would be easier getting the info he wanted.

“What’s there to say? I get my power from my ancestors. They follow me into battle and lend me their strength and wisdom.”

“I see. Are they...who you talk to when you are by yourself?”

“Yes.” Flea narrowed his eyes. Ancestral magic was a sticky topic of discussion in his experience. Most of the time people just assumed you were crazy. He had a hard enough time with social prejudice being a half-orc, being called a madman was not something he took kindly to.

“Why don’t you just come out and say what you want to say?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just a bit...concerned. The spirits of your ancestors don’t belong here. They deserve their rest, they deserve peace.”

Flea let out a boisterous laugh that startled the cleric. The guffaws echoed off the walls, sounding like an entire crowd of half-orcs doubled over in a mirthful amusement.

“Oh, priest.” Flea clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I can’t get rid of them!”

“I’m sorry but I don’t see the humor in-”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about. They’re here on their own accord. In my family, we take care of our own, dead or alive.”

Dion forced a half-smile he didn’t entirely feel. Although his concerns were lessened, he still had many questions he would prefer answered. It all seemed wrong to him. To deny oneself the eternal rest, to forever roam a plane you cannot and should not exist in. Why would you ever choose that? Especially, if you’re dead to begin with.

“Let’s leave it there for now. You amuse me priest, but don’t press your luck.” Flea gave him a playful shove, perhaps a bit too hard, sending the waif of a cleric nearly toppling over.

“Come. Let’s go head back to town and I’ll buy you a drink.”

---

Banshae stood tall at the mouth of the hall leading to the Necromancer’s chambers. Though all threats had been dealt with, no danger to be had, still she stood watch. In reality, it was the only thing could think to do. This is why she hated downtime. The time where normal people keep themselves busy with their own interests or friends. As far as Banshae knew, she had neither. For her, downtime was merely a depressing stare down with the open void within her.

“Not too shabby at all.” Elora cinched the coin purse shit, tossing the last coin inside. She liked the sound it made when it met with the others, the gentle yet satisfying clink of metal on metal. The ‘Lord of Lance Rock’ was not rich by any means, but it was a decent enough payday combined with their fee to make the trip worth while.

“I might just be able to afford that lovely dress I saw in town.” AFTER her usual donation of funds back home, she added to herself.

“Oh, and no offense of course, but we need to get you some new clothes while we’re at it.”

“I beg pardon?” Banshae blinked.

“Well I couldn’t help but notice in the past few days together you seem to only have the one set. Unless you’re hiding some kind of grand wardrobe in a bag of holding.”

“No...” She was starting to get uncomfortable. Elora had announced herself as the most outgoing of their group early on. Talkative, friendly, but ultimately harmless. So why was she so nervous?

“I thought not.” Elora stepped back and took a good long appraisal of the Dragonborn’s form. Banshae visibly squirmed under her scrutiny, the silver in her cheeks flushing with a red hue, but she was too focused to notice. Just like her home, here was something she could help fix. When she fixed things, her mind focused to a fine point, blocking everything else out in the world.

“A bit short for your kind...nice curves...broad shouldered...good cheekbones. You’ve got plenty of options, that’s for sure. We can start simple, something casual so you don’t have to wear that horrid armor all the time.”

“I am a soldier of Mirobar.” Banshae gritted her teeth. She felt suddenly cornered in the large open room with no clear options of escape. She could deal with her own modesty, the unease of being appraised in such a way. What frightened her were all the questions that would have to be asked, that she had no answer for. What colors did she like? What style? How did she identify? All lost to the void.

“You’re more than that I’m sure, besides even soldiers have time off.” Elora offered a restrained smile. She was starting to notice it now. The Dragonborn was shifting in her place, avoiding eye contact, and she was quite sure any physical contact would be quite unwelcome.

“I’m sorry. I get ahead of myself sometimes. I just wanted to offer my help, if you should want it.” She walked things back a bit, trying to find a more comfortable space for Banshae to retreat to.

“...thank you.” That was all she could manage for a moment, letting the unease settle. She tried standing taller, let herself crawl back into the shell of the soldier, the only thing that was somewhat familiar to her. There she found some kind of strength, if not confidence.

“I must also apologize. There are things about myself that...” No. Try again. “Currently, I feel this is something I have to do by myself. I realize I seem withdrawn, and know that your efforts to welcome me are acknowledge and appreciated.

“Unfortunately, there are things that must kept to myself for the moment.” A small smile grew on her lips, barely noticeable on the outside but Banshae noticed if only because it wasn’t forced.

“When the time comes, however. We will go shopping.”

Buy Me a Coffee

[markoftheasphodel]

Shadows of Valentia Top 10 Honorable Mentions: Mathilda, Forsyth, Jesse

As with the small, tight-knit, and vivid cast of FE8 there are few playable characters in FE15 I dislike. 

The new characters added to the Gaiden cast fail to elevate the material in any damn way; I pity Faye and prefer to forget about the Worst Plot Twist in Valentia. Deen is the character who most runs against the grain of my bias but I can recruit Sonya and let him rot. Kamui is a big step up from Deen but not really my thing. Everyone else? I like 'em or love 'em. Mae, Leon, Gray, Sonya, Valbar, Tatiana, Boey...

And then there are the Archanea crossover characters (Pegasisters and Zeke) for whom I can't really do a standalone ranking. Zeke in particular is great but it doesn't feel entirely fair to stack him against the homegrown Valentia gang when the full weight of his character is bound up in what he was and will (briefly) again be. Same goes for the Pegasisters, with Est in particular existing in the cross-hairs of what the Archanea Saga has in store for her. Everything they do and say is shaded by irony-- characters on the precipice of hell who don't know it and so bicker and bubble like they always do.

So let's leave them to focus on some stand-outs who don't quite make my Top 10 at present.

Mathilda

“Now stand back while I unleash the seven hells upon these pitiful fools!”

Why so low a rank for the battle goddess of Valentia? Brave knight, loving wife, caring older sister figure to Clair? Well, she suffers a bit in comparison to her family (Clive and Clair) who are messier and more interesting IMO and get more presence as characters with plot armor. Mathilda can die (boy, can she) and so there's a bit less to work with main game. At least she gets some Rise of the Deliverance screentime. Anyway, she's basically great, I'm pleased the Legendary Knight of Valentia has been dusted off so she can be appreciated alongside the big boys on horsies, and I'm not going to complain about her ending at this point in time.

Forsyth

“Well then… S-so be it. I shall stay here and stand watch over the hideout with honor and…um…”

The relentless and relentlessly entertaining Green Soldier just doesn't hit the high notes of his comrades in the Deliverance RGB Trio aka Clive's Gay Entourage. He actually made a bit of an impression in OG Gaiden with his infodump scene, back when he was a fuschia-haired waif, but reboot!Forsyth has been reengineered to give Gaiden the red knight/green knight dynamic it never had by juxtaposing him with Lukas while his bond with Python is both entertaining and provides some of the class-warfare juice to the inner conflict ripping Zofia apart. He's amusing in the game, his DLC supports are good, but often he's comic relief that doesn't know he's comic relief-- for all that the script appears to draw a point of comparison between Lukas the cold-blooded advisor and FE13's Frederick, Forsyth's running with Frederick's vibe of overzealous quirkiness. If he thought distributing nude posters of Clive would inspire the troops, he'd do it. And Python would help him, laughing up his sleeve the entire time. They're my newfound OTP in this game but Forsyth just works best bouncing off other characters.

Jesse

“Turns out trying to take on a group of slavers single-handed is a terrible idea. Anyway, that’s my story—what’s yours?”

I was fond of Jesse back in OG Gaiden. I hate moody swordbastards but Jesse's not on that wavelength; I liked him for getting in trouble while trying to help Est and for having the mojo to carve out a kingdom within the land mass of the One Kingdom. I figured he might actually make a decent future partner for Est once she bailed on Archanea, thereby making Est queen of a lot of sand. Then reboot Jesse shows up, a rogue with a mop of blond hair, a lot of skin on display, and a firm dimpled chin, like FE4′s Beowolf updated from brute muscle on a horse to a swingin' dude who hits on everyone and everything up to and including a statue of Mila. He’s charming, cheerful, and surprisingly ambitious; his solution to the class conflicts in Valentia is to make a kingdom with no nobles, no commons, just mercenaries ready to work for the highest bidder. And then he up and does it. Jesse's heart is in the right place but I don't want to know where his dick's been... hopefully nowhere near Est.

Also he’s a Saber fanboy. That’s adorable. He’s got taste.

[punk-in-docs]

You Were Always Mine, Chapter 11

AU Tom Hiddleston - Romantic, Historical Romance, Victorian Fic. Based off the imagine; ‘Thomas spying on you after your divorce and doing anything to get you back. Including threatening your new beau.’ credits go to the lovely ladies at Tom-Hiddleston-Imagine.Tumblr.com. Link to the imagine here…. http://tom-hiddleston-imagines.tumblr.com/post/158156795440/gif-lokihiddleston-imagine-thomas-spying-on-you Chapter number: Chapter 11 Author: Punk-in-docs 
Triggers/warnings: mentions of nursing. Injuries. Limb loss.

~

Thomas Sharpe sat alone in the Royales expensive, elegant and low lit dining room. Candlelight the colour of champagne splashed up the walls, and doused the ceiling. Silent waiters skated dextrously through the room, gliding from table to table. The rooms atmosphere is underlined by sheer elegance, and class. Baroque, golden mirrors, that seemed to ooze and drip gilding down the middle, lines each wall. Multiplying the room out on itself for what seemed like eternity.

Gold chandeliers cast soft lighting around the antique, ornate ceiling. That too was ostentatious in it’s seventeenth century extravagance. Everything was flawless. The food. The wines, the champagnes. It all promised to be luxurious and immaculately sublime.

He sat, alone, at a white, linen clothed table that was laid as flawlessly as an iced cake. Set for two, with gleaming silver cutlery, the finest china, adorned with sparkling wine glasses, crystal, glinting in the light. Like amber sherry in the firelight. It was a dinner service so fine that it could be served to royals at Buckingham palace should it need be. Though he himself admitted he wasn’t exactly the kind of gent to get along with all members of society. Tonight, he looked undoubtedly suited to this environment. Pressed black tails, black waistcoat, and a scarlet red ascot tie. His hair was neatly brushed back, and most of the curious men and women about the room were drawn to his mysterious aura, and the beauty of this elusive, dark, lovely creature.

Men wondered who he was, this abstruse, dark outsider. And women wondered what on earth an eligible, stunning, dashing man like that could possibly be doing, dining alone.

He and Vianne had an outstanding reservation this evening, to dine. She had been volunteering all afternoon at the Hospital. He had been surveying some possibilities of striking up business with a local engineering company. So their days had been separate. But he had pledged to her that their evening, most certainly would not be. If at all possible, he wished to spend the evening as entwined as was possible. He couldn’t keep his mind off what happened between them the other night.

Whenever he shut his eyes, he could smell and feel her skin under his hands. Her lips on his neck, and her small hands raking into his back. He could picture her, utterly naked, laying in bed next to him. Doused in moonlight, that red hair a copper mess and her lips all bruised from him as she lay under him. Enchanted in his hold.

He opened his eyes. Trying not to let his body grow roused at the thought as he sat there. He blinked, jolting himself back to reality. He adjusted and refolded his legs under the table, shifting his restless body. Glancing once more at pocket watch. They’d agreed to meet at eight o'clock sharp. And now it was a quarter to nine.

He watched it go from ten past, to twenty past, and then half. His eagerness to see her not fading. He could only hope the next few minutes would bring her to him. But. To no avail it would seem…

He had his eyes glued to the doors, waiting the familiar sight of her to walk through those doors at any second. Most probably flustered, and wearing that pinched expression of empathy for being so late to their dinner. His eyes diligently watch the doors. Waiting. For that red hair. That shapely figure that was wholly and uniquely her. His eyes are blessed with no such luck tonight.

He tightens his jaw. Putting his watch away before he had the displeasure of watching it tick over to nine. Sighing inwardly to himself. His eyes flicking back over to the place setting opposite. He watched her champagne fizzing and spitting in it’s glass. Probably warm by now. And he looked on with despair at the velvet jewellery box and red rose he’d sat to nestle on her placemat.

A wry, polite cough at his side alerted him to the dark coated, light of foot, waiter who’d appeared at his side as if he were not human, but rather a spectre made out of thin air.

“Will your companion be joining you to dine, sir?” Comes the enquiring sneer. Hands folded nearly behind his back. Thomas gave him a pointed stare from those piercing eyes. Letting him know his snide contestation did not go unnoticed for it’s poignant sarcasm.

“Evidently, I think by now, we both know the answer to that question…” Thomas answered him. A slight edge to his tone.

The waiter dipped his head in a formal bow. And slid away to attend another table.

He drained his own glass of lukewarm champagne. It was sweet, crisp and the tang of taking so much at a time burned acrid in his throat.

He slowly stood. Scraping the chair back. And coming to a stand. He picked up the velvet box, stroked it with his thumb, sadly, and slid it back into his pocket. He tucked his chair back in under the table. And adjusted his jacket. Smoothing his lapels, and the creases near his elbows. He looked at the docked stemmed, crimson rose on the table below.

He picked it up. And twirled it round in one hand. Feeling the brush of its silky petals ghost over his knuckles. Able to sense it’s sickly, rich fragrance.

When he detects the hefty burn of someone’s eyes boring into him, he looks up. A few tables away, a young girl, no more than ten and six years old, was watching him. Her big, innocent eyes snapping elsewhere when he joined eyesight with her. Her cheeks reddening. He could tell her age by her waif like figure that hadn’t blossomed into womanhood yet. And she still wore little blue ribbons twined in her dark hair. He felt sorry for the poor lamb. Sat in such a stuffy environment was no entertaining experience for any child. All the more potent for the unfortunate girl, as she was being ignored by both her parents. That was no way to treat a child.

He turns to leave. His pride a little sore, dejected, slightly incensed at Vianne for forgetting their engagement for dinner. He cuts through the dining room. Heading in the girls direction. A testament to how little attention her parents were paying her. That they didn’t even notice when Thomas stopped and handed her the red rose. She took it, reluctantly, still as shy as a baby fawn.

He smiled down at her, before nodding kindly and in a gentlemanly manner, before he moved away. Out of the expensive, elegant atmosphere. Away and off into that London night.

~

Usually the wards at night were quiet. Only the sounds of coughs and snores to be heard, and the gentle footsteps of careful nurses, gliding from bed to bed, with oil lamps, to check dutifully on their sleeping patients.

Tonight was no such night…

This evening, the wards were lively. Invigorated by the catastrophe that had all medical hands to be spared on board. Everywhere was chaos. Chaos, blood, burns and bandages. It was all a blur. Shouts and groans of agony. People crying out for their mothers, wives or doctors. The three people whom beheld the highest degrees of comfort, safety and escape from the pain. Her evening thus far was a blur of fractures, deep wounds and sutures. She felt like no matter how fast she stitched, dressed and helped reset splintered bones. She was still behind. Men and their cries, faces gnarled in agony, all were seared, raw, into her mind.

Vianne had never known a night like it. Other than the war, was her instant comparison. The receiving room was crammed. There had been a boiler explosion at the docks from a faulty compound yard. Which meant that every already full ward was twice as busy. Vianne wasn’t a properly qualified nurse. She was busied by fetching and carrying clean linens, changing beds, dressing wounds and tending of those who needed help with feeding themselves.

She must have been a sight for sore eyes, in her high collared, aproned, cobalt blue dress. Streaked with blood, and muck. Her white sleeves she’d left off long ago, after she shed them helping assist in holding down a man who’d sustained severe burns from the Docks explosion. Her hair was unruly, and unkempt now. But even Matron Davis was too busy in her duties tonight, to point out that her buttons were askew and her drooping hair arrangement needed re-pinning.

Vianne liked her work. Really she did. She found pleasure in dressing wounds, helping ease pains and aches. Sorting immaculate linen cupboards and organising a spotless ward into it’s functionality. She got along very nicely with patients. She was always requested after, to sit by beds. Read stories, chat idly with them. Both young and old, male and female. She was adored on the wards. Her bedside manner was remarked on as being divine. They always asked for Nurse James.

She was there. Always. For those in need. Helping young girls dress their hair prettily, or getting young boys to eat all their greens under doctors orders. She could comfort the lowliest, foulest, most vile mannered person into easiness. Five minutes talking with her and her no nonsense attitude, and they were cured of their ill temper. No one could deny it. She was a highly skilled nurse. And no exception. Though she wasn’t aware if it, her looks helped her along somewhat too. That made her all the more popular - particularly with the male patients. Staff or not, both adored it when she did her rounds on Wellington, the men’s ward, because that meant that everyone would be obedient if she were there to cause smiles.

She’d just delivered another round of dirty linen to the laundry, and hurried back to the ward. Where Sister Evangeline have her an entirely new set of orders. To redress bandages in beds, four, seven, and twelve.

She nods. Wiping a hand over her dewy brow. Dutifully obeying. There were too many things to keep track of. Her mind going at a million thoughts a minute. She grabs an oil lamp, and heads to Mr. Hewitt. She almost preferred to work at night. It was calmer. But after the catastrophe earlier, the place was still humming with life, and it was all hands on deck. Doctors still flitted about beds, nurses marched from bed to bed soothing where they could, and groans of agony could still be heard. There would be no slumbering silence for a good while yet.

She rounds bed four, and sees the old man within, brighten lightly at the sight of her. He was led back, asleep, his cheeks rosy, and he was perspiring too. She could see it plain as day in the sparse, low, lamp light. His hooded eyes found her as she came to stand by his bed. Her eyes creased as she smiled gently down at him. He groaned, adjusting himself to sit up. Made all the harder by the fact that his left arm was no more than a nub. Having been amputated a week ago for gangrene from a poorly done tattoo. He was baring the loss of it remarkably well.

“Having trouble sleeping, are we, Mr Hewitt?” She asked in a gentle whisper.

“Yeah. A bit. All that rackets keeping me ‘wake. Nurse. D'you think you could tell ‘em to keep in down, for an old man?” He japes lightheartedly.

“… You and me would both be in for the long jump if I let out so much as a peep of that notion to Dr. Warner. He’s busy trying to patch up those poor souls from the docks explosion…” She explained. Straightening and retucking his covers, adjusting his pillows. It was some form of magic she had about her, he decided, because from two mere touches and suddenly he felt much more relaxed and comfortable from the simple way she’d rearranged his pillows and bedcovers.

“Sister told me you were uncomfortably hot earlier…” She adds. Placing a cool, soft hand on his forehead. She then reaches down for his pulse, finding her watch and taking it. Feeling it was a little faster than normal. She then reached for a thermometer and he dutifully allowed her to slip it under his right armpit.

“My temperature always shoots up when it’s youse here to take it, Miss.” He flatters. Vianne smiles. Slyly. Watching him out of the corner of her eyes. Flicking over from where she was still watching her pocket watch.

“Now, now. Mr Hewitt. Do try to behave yourself. Your temperature and your heartbeat certainly aren’t. And we can’t have that. Now can we?” She tells him firmly.

“Would you mind awfully unbuttoning your shirt please, Mr Hewitt. I need to get to your wound. Due for your hourly check I’m afraid. We need to see if there are any abnormalities happening with those dressings..” She tells, helping him slip off his striped hospital wear, nodding when she saw the state of his wound.

It was seeping through the snowy dressing. And when she pressed her hand to it. She found what she thought she would. It was abnormally hot. She unwound it, and found his discomfort was due to that fact the surgical site was slightly infected.

“I’ll speak to Sister Evangeline and Dr. Warner, Mr Hewitt. But it looks to me like there might be an infection. Which means you may need a drain in that wound. We’ll get you comfortable as soon as is possible… I’ll make sure of it. In the mean time. I’ll fetch you a cool flannel and some ice-water to help cool you down. Never worry. We’ll get you sorted.” She assures him. Patting his shoulder. Before recollecting her oil lamp and heading for the desk.

She can barely get her words out. And she had more tasks to be getting on with. It turns out the young rascal in bed three had a friend sneak him in more booze flasks again. Trouble was, booze was not a good thing in trying to cure portal hypertension. Causing cirrhosis of the liver. All of which meant that one should usually give up the cup that inebriates and not cheers. Trouble was. Their patient was a slippery customer. An East Ender who was the very meaning of the word trouble.

“I’ve no idea what to do with him. Nurse James. He’s a menace. As if we don’t have enough to deal with on our plates tonight already… That boy has a smart mouth on him. And he’s as stubborn as a mule.” Sister Evangaline fretted to Vianne, in a quiet hush under her breath whilst she angrily scratched her pen onto the ward report.

Vianne smiles. They were both in the same state. Weary to the bone. Dead on their feet. Aching. Hungry and tired beyond any reasonable measure. Covered in blood and various other fluids that couldn’t be named. Hair mussed. Uniform shabby. It was remarkable, what the toll of a day saving lives took on ones appearance.

“Don’t worry, Sister.” Vianne assures her. “In my own way. So am I.” She smiles. Heading over. All she wanted to do was drop into a hot bath, with a stiff drink, and scrub her day away. But, she sighs wearily, not yet she can’t.

Again. She is off. Barely having time to stand still. She crosses to bed three, where their calamitous patient lay with his bowler hat perched wonkily on his head. His arms were cockily crossed behind his head, and his legs were resting in the same crossed manner. One folded over the other. He lay atop the covers. Smirking at Vianne as she moved closer.

“Evenin’ Nursey…” He drawled when she came close. She stood by the end of his bed. Her hands folded as she looked at him sternly.

“Good Evening. Mr Robins.” She smiles sweetly. “How are you feeling?” She asks pointedly. Rounding the bed. Eyeing him shrewdly as he levelled his hat on his head. When she came closer, she eagerly eyed a spot of a stain on his shirt. It was the colour of toffee. But she had a sneaking suspicion that it was not a confectionary related spillage. He had that wicked gleam in his eyes. One she had seen in him before when she was admitted. And it had not appeared there under the influence of sobriety.

“Can I help you, Nurse?” He asks her cheekily. Vianne says nothing. But narrows her eyes and steps forwards to look through his bedside cabinet. He jumps a little, sitting up in the bed.

“Am I to find any contraband that you are wishing to keep hidden from us, Mr Robins?” She asks. Searching through his folded clothes.

“I’d not dare hide anything from you, Nurse.” He flirts. She drops to her knees, crouching, and runs her hand along the underside of his mattress. He watched her. Those brown eyes twitching in nervousness that he masked with confidence. She could see him fidget in disquiet as she probed around.

“You don’t believe me. Do ya? Oh. I am hurt Nurse. You cut me. Cut me to the quick you ‘ave.” He teases all the more. She stops. And raises an unimpressed brow at him, her smile wry, as her hand grasps for the object that it came into contact with. She gets her fingers around it, and tugs it out. Tilting her head in a silent query as she held a small hip flask in her hand. Still able to hear something sloshing around inside it. She watched Mr. Robins sit bolt upright. Looking severely panicked.

She opened it and swilled it’s contents around. Holding it under her nose to take a sniff. Raising a brow.

“By my guess….I’d say… Scottish…. Single malt, whiskey. Judging by that stain on your lapels. And if I got any closer, Mr. Robins, would I, or would I not, be able to smell that very same spirit on your breath?” She asks him with thinning patience. Still smiling down at him. He averted his eyes. Ashamed under her scrupulous interrogation.

“Just a little tipple to take before bed, Nurse. Nothin’ ‘armful. I can’t sleep without it.” He protested grumpily.

“Mr. Robins. You came to us because though you may be in your early twenties. You have the scarred liver, and abdominal tenderness of a middle aged, forty year old. You’re suffering from alcohol poisoning. Mr Robins… Because that’s what drink is doing to you. Poisoning you. Killing you. And if you keep it up at this rate, you’ll have a lot more strife to deal with than me giving you a sharp dressing down. Do you understand?” She tells him firmly.

He looks ashamed. But seems to perk up and smile filthily at her again.

“Wouldn’t mind you giving me any sort of dressing down, Nursey.” He winks. Vianne sighs and employs her best, well learned, sharp, hard, nurses glare that oft had people jumping to obedience to do her bidding when she employed it. Patient or no.

“That’s, Nurse James. To you. Mr. Robins. I’ve no doubt out about in the streets you think yourself in charge. But this here’s my domain. And I rule in here with absolute authority… Now consider this flask confiscated. And if I pass by again and find you still awake, I will set Matron on you. And you’ll be begging for a reprieve by the time she’s done with you. I can safely assure you of that.” She promises. Tucking the flask in her uniforms pocket and walking away. Before an idle thought occurs to her. And she pauses…

She walks back to his bed. And smiles, politely.

“Do you not take your hat off, to a Lady? Mr. Robins?” She demands with a cunning smile. Knowing she had him beat. He acquiesced to her request. Plucking his hat and lifting it off his head to her. Careful to keep the inside brim concealed from her sight.

She rolled her eyes and snatched it from his hands. He let out a loud exclamation as she did. But quietened down when she looked into the dome of it, and found yet another flask pinned, hidden up there.

She raises a brow. She unlatched the flask, and with a flick of the wrist, as if she was skimming a stone, she tossed the hat back to him. It landed square on his chest. Emptied of it’s contraband contents.

“Sweet dreams, Mr. Robins. You are a terrible liar.” She smiles before she sidles away to the Nurses desk.

“My dreams aren’t sweet compared to your tender care, Nursey.” He calls sarcastically after her.

She rounds the counter, smiling at Sister. Placing the two flasks in a strongbox. Smiling at her conquering victory. Placing the source of Mr. Robins ill health under lock and key. And putting it out of sight. If only all ailments were so easily cured. She thinks.

“We’d be a sorry ward without your expert touch. Nurse James. I thank you.” Sister Evangaline smiles, looking up for a moment from her ward report. She had a sweet smile that was rarely seen for all the times she was so shrewish and strict. She was kind. But she took no nonsense above it. Vianne had a kinship with her. She saw less and less of her acerbity now. The very same veracity that had most probationers shivering in fear when she passed them by.

“Oh, a Gentleman just left this for you. Nurse… he didn’t leave his name. He said you’d know who he was, and what it was about.” She told. Passing her a small, white envelope.

Vianne swallowed. Looking at the small, rectangular slip of paper in Sister Evangeline’s hand. Her breath came short, and she felt queasy just looking at the dreaded little thing.

For if it was anything alike the note she had received the other day. She didn’t want to go through opening another. She took it quickly. With a false smile. And a nervous, trembling hand.

It had her first name written on it. No profanity’s this time. Which eases her fears, if only by a little. She smiles meekly.

“Have you any other duties for me, Sister?” She asks curtly.

Sister Evangeline met her eyes, smiled. And bid her leave to go and take a tea break for a few moments. Vianne walked briskly away, out of the wards double doors. Which squeaked loudly in her absence. And her footfalls echoed loudly in the empty, hallway. She stalks quickly to the linen cupboard, and shuts the door soundly after her.

She’d hidden the previous one from Thomas. His temper would be volcanic if he thought someone was threatening his Vianne. She’d stuffed it into her dressing gown pocket and forgotten it. But let it instead burn a gaping hole in her brain…

Then she gasps…. Thomas. Oh. God, Thomas.

She is suddenly hit with a wave of epiphany. Aswell as one of guilt and shame. It had just gone eleven o'clock. And she had dutifully promised Him she’d meet for a romantic dinner at the Royale at Eight. She put a hand to her forehead. She felt rotten. She sighs in her abhorrence at her own stupidity. She’d been so caught up in her shift and orders, that she’d quite forgotten the time.

She opened the note with a heavy heart. She have to make it up to him in some way. She’d stood him up, without so much as a note. But when she tore open the letter in her hands, she didn’t find anger in it’s contents.

“Carry on the good work. Dearest Heart. - T”

~

When she is released from her duties, she doesn’t even bother to change from her nurses uniform. She pulls on her coat. Collects her surgical bag. And trudges wearily for a hackney cab. Her aching body bone weary, and miserable. She was tired, hungry and filthy. And to top it all off, she’d let her Thomas down.

She hated letting anyone down, let alone him. Especially not him.

She chides herself all the way home. Wanting nothing more than a scorching hot bath, and to get a missive to him as quickly as was possible. Detailing all the ways in with she was sorry for missing their engagement tonight. She can only hope he’d be forgiving. If she'd have ever done that to Henry, the repercussions of riling his temper didn't bare thinking about. But judging by Thomas's perplexing letter, he had visited the hospital, and found she was too busy to be pried away. That’s what ate away at her worst of all.

The fact he now thought that she would put work ahead of him was just too unfathomable to bear. Given their past history.

When she gets home, she drags her aching limbs out of the cab. Cursing inwardly at the frankly foul nature of the ache in her neck, and back. Pays the driver. And coerces her ailing form up the steps, unlocking the front door, she let’s herself in. And shuts it after her. The house is unlit, and eerily quiet. Tonight was Jeanie’s night off. She often went to see her family in Poplar of a Wednesday night.

She stood, for a second. Looking up at her dark, lifeless house. Never dreaming she’d be the one to be a lowly spinster. Coming home to nothing but a house. A silent house, to a woman of her age, was the saddest thing of all. No husband. No children. Not even an batty, aged relative to keep her company in the next room. Just her. And her monotonous life.

She sighs. Putting her coat on the rack, chucking her bag on the side table. In the foyer mirror, she looks at her dark, baggy eyes. And exhausted face. Un-pinning her nurses cap, and removing her stained, bloodied apron. She crumples it into a ball in her hands. She then detached the stiff, two buttoned collar and threw that down too. Undoing buttons down to her chest, letting some air get to her heated skin. Placing a steady hand on her sternum. She breathes deep and looks in the mirror. She saw the same flawed woman staring back. Looking lonely, tired and despairing.

She’d march herself upstairs. And flop straight into her own bed. She wasn’t even sure she’d spare the energy to pull off her shoes. Of course, her corset was ruthlessly tight. And she wanted to tear it off. But with the little energy she has, she fears the climb above stairs would sap her of all the little motivation she did have left.

She turns to take her bloodied clothes upstairs, when her attention is drawn to her front parlour door. Because there was a sliver of amber light slicing under the door. Standing out like a beacon in the dark house. She frowns.

Walking quickly to the door, she twists the handle and slowly walks the door open. When she saw what was the other side, she gasped. Smiling wholeheartedly at the sight within.

A small table. Set for two. Laden with lit silver candelabras, dressed with a vase of roses, and two silver domes awaiting their attention. And one ex-husband, turned current lover, sat smiling across at her from the settee.

“May I begin with a thousand apologies?” She asks him sincerely. Frowning with empathy at him.

Thomas comes to a stand, and crosses to take her in his arms. One hand to her dainty waist, the other to the back of her neck. And he pulls her into a hungry kiss that conveys how much he had missed her, being parted from her all day. After he’s made her knees weak, and her legs shiver in wanton arousal. He pulls away. Both hands now on her neck as he leaves her gasping for air when he retreats. His hot breath fanning against her lips. She rolls her eyes back in her head in pleasure as he kisses her neck. And then he speaks.

“You may not. And I will tell you why. I came to the ward tonight. Ticked off, and with my nose put out of place because I thought you’d taken the choice to put work before our time together. But then I saw you… I saw you sat talking to that man with one arm as you gave him comfort, and made him smile. I watched you tease and chide a patient for the sake of his own silly good. I knew then you hadn’t chosen your nursing over me… But that I had been selfish once again. There were people who needed your help, more so than I needed your time. How can I be mad at a woman who spent her time today, saving lives?” He asks her.

She smiles. Clutching at his arms. He nuzzles his forehead to touch hers. Closing his eyes. And sighing a moan in pleasure as he held her in his arms.

“… And then. I thought. Well. If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain. The mountain shall come to him.” He smiles. Gesturing to the table behind him.

She kisses him for that kindness. He draws her closer, the hot look in his eyes letting her know he intended to kiss her once more… She pulls back. Gasping a smile as one hand slid south to grab her bottom.

“I should warn you. I’m in dire need of a bath. And I can barely keep my eyes open. I don’t know what I want more, a drink, to rip these clothes off, or some sleep…” She sighs happily. Stroking his hair. One finger sliding lovingly along his pale, sharp cheekbone. Drinking in the sight of that adoring face. Even sans scar. To her, he was still the handsomest man to ever walk the earth.

“Why don’t we start with that drink, then, my love?” He asks. Helping guide her to the table. Helping her to take a seat. She flushed wildly, hot, as she sat down. Because then he leaned in, his warm fingers toying with a curl of hair at her nape. And his lips lowered to her ear.

“And as for the ripping off of clothes, and the bath… I’d quite happily assist you in those ventures…” He flirts. And when she meets his mischievous eyes once again, she can’t help but notice he looked terribly determined in that quest also.

~

@heavymist @totallynotasmutblog @frenchfrostpudding

[nacsygen]

speaking of fashion, i feel like rambling about my boobs, and this is my tumblr, so i will.  also bc this is tumblr, i will frame my rambling about my boobs in the context of my mental health journey.

over the past coming up on four years, my mental health has had a drastic (thought not constantly) upwards trajectory, from ‘’trembling waif unable to hold a conversation without wanting to literally run and hide and/or cry’’ to ‘’wow, i just realized it’s been like two years since i felt like absolute shit for no real reason for more than, like, a day at a time. is this like...is this what being happy is like? wow!*” *”oh shit, now i have to actually live past 25...” part of it was maturing yes, bc no matter what bullshit they tell you, you’re still growing and maturing in your 20s too - and after that, too, for your whole life, really.  the idea that you should have all your shit figured out by the time you’re 22 is some kind of implied propaganda we all internalized around when they were showing us the charts in middle school that showed the average incomes of people with different levels of degrees.  and if you’re not the kind of person to have your shit together by 22 - say, you’re not neurotypical, or you’ve got un-dealt-with-traumas, or you’re just not the kind of person or at the stage in your life where post-secondary is the right fit for you, or any combination of the above, or anything else - when you DON’T have your shit together by the time you’re “supposed” to, it just feels like salt in the wound, when you’re different.  it feels - no, it IS damaging, especially if you’ve never been able to really internalize the idea that it’s O K to be on a different life path than what you’re “supposed” to be.  that is, in fact, the very thing that culminated in the worst and last (and i sincerely hope it’s the LAST) depressive episode of my life, around my 25th birthday. i feel sorry for the girl who was me from 20 to 25.  poor thing hurt a lot, and too often. but the main part of my getting better was just getting help.  or rather, my mom reaching out to do the research for me, finally recognizing that i wasn’t going to magically get better on my own and that guilt tripping and anger were not helping my crippling depressive withdrawal (and while i know that the physically disabled tend to not care for the psychologically disabled using the term “crippling”, in my case it definitely extended to the physically disabling in several very literal ways that i won’t get into here).  my mom did the research and made me make the calls.  i was very lucky that there was a low-income mental health center 15 minutes down the road.  i was exceedingly lucky in that i got an incredible counselor who’d been through it herself, herself now (then) in her late 20s, early 30s, maybe one or two levels up from where i am now. my sessions with her literally changed and quite probably saved my life.  i went from crying in every session and her gently and considerately seeing me out the back door of the office to minimize the strangers who’d see my raw vulnerability, to the sessions being the highlights of my week, with me eager to share with her my progress - to delight in finally becoming my true self again, to be vibrant, to find joy in things, to have things i could be happy to share with a professional friend. because of her guidance i learned how to change the way my mind had wired itself in a negative way, and to love myself again.  because of her i was able to move on, move out, become self-sufficient - eventuallym because of how she taught me, to take care of myself and to keep growing, to love myself the way i love the world. to be happy, most of the time, when at the time we first met, i wasn’t sure i ever would be again. to take care of myself again but i was talking about boobs and fashion, right? the thing is, i’ve had essentially the same body type, my “adult” body, since i was 13.  this body has, no matter its weight fluctuations, had proportionately significant breasts.  (a blog post about afab body image and mental health would not be complete without at least one teenaged semi-traumatic anecdote - i once when i was in eighth grade got accosted by a group of older girls in the courtyard at school before class, demanding to know what i stuffed my bra with, and getting increasingly hostile and physically investigating said bra with harsh gropes when i said i didn’t stuff it at all. this was, needless to say, humiliating and traumatic, and i didn’t wear that tight turtleneck again for years.)   the thing is this body that contains me is also exceedingly small in all other directions (except my head, i’ve got an adult human-sized head) compared to normal humanity.  very short in height, narrow ribcage, ectothermic body structure, narrow limbs, narrow hips, child-sized hands and feet, etc.  even when i was at my lowest weights, which i will always associate more with my worst depressive episodes than any kind of diet-culture positive, even when they were to my eye as flattened pancakes, i still had pretty alright boobs that i liked. but then, once i got healthy again, i naturally gained healthy weight.  it came with eating more healthily, and eating with purpose, and not just because i would die if i didn’t, and even for a depressive starvation’s not a good way to go.  it came from caring for the human animal, from realizing that i could never live with myself if i neglected a pet the way i was treating my human animal, because if i didn’t care for it, who would? eating with structure, at set times every day, and maintaining at least a mininum amount of calories needed, necessarily entailed that i would gain weight. and i welcomed that! most of my body issues when i was younger stemmed from my skinniness - i hated my fragility. i longed for and desired (in the gay way too, and probably though i didn’t realize it yet the non-cis way) and wished to be like girls with weight and heft to them, girls with thick thighs and arms, girls with muscle, girls with softness and roundness, girls with strength and solidity of frame. in comparison i felt like a ghost close to being torn to pieces in the wind, a collection of fragile bone in the shape of a person.  but that’s not who i am anymore, and that’s no longer what i fear. but at least i always had my boobs, and with them, with being healthier mentally and physically going hand in hand, i was and have been able to measure my own healthiness by their size. by cupping them in my hands and counting how many fingers it takes to go from ribcage to the edge of areola, i can measure my own growth and well-being.  they’re most of where i gain weight, and i’ve gone from two fingers and change at the worst to all four fingers plus a spare inch, besides, now, at what is currently the best. despite my current stressful situation, i am ultimately at my healthiest physically and mentally i’ve been since i was like 11.  more, even, because i’m no longer anemic.  and accordingly, my breasts are the largest they’ve ever been (not counting that time i was on birth control for a couple months, and my least tactful roommate asked if i was pregnant, and i stopped taking it because i decided crying myself to sleep every night for no reason probably wasn’t worth it).   which brings me to fashion. and boobs. i’ve alluded to here and outright stated before that i identify as somewhere between nonbinary and bigender.  all i know, really, in our limited current vocabulary, is i’m not cis female. but you know? i like my boobs. i’m pan, i reserve the right to like boobs, even love them, even if they’re on my body, even if i’m not “female”.  i live in and love and feel at home in a climate, and otherwise a culture, where female-coded dress (tank tops and short-shorts, sundresses) are far, far more comfortable than male-coded dress (heavy thick shorts or jeans, a t-shirt with an undershirt for god knows what reason - they can’t know we have nipples!!).   i reserve the right as a non-binary/bigender person (yes i’m aware that’s a contradiction in terms, so am i) to reject the idea that my physical interpretation of my presentation as leaning femme means i’m female. fuck you. you ever wore a sundress in the florida summer? you ever wore heavy khaki knee-length cargo shorts paired with sneakers and socks and an undershirt and a t-shirt in the florida summer? which would you guess is more comfortable? i rest my case. oh, i almost forgot to get to the point, which is that as my breasts have gotten more prominent, some of my favorite comfy dresses have somehow become Problematic in Public.  they are now Too Booby.  larger breasts in and of themselves, even in the same dresses but instead of with smaller breasts (that’s Fashion tm), carry with them Implications of Sexiness. Luridness.  Provocativeness.  as someone who’s had both small boob privilege and big boob sexy, this is completely obnoxious and at the same time culturally unavoidable. in my current favorite dress, which fits me like it was tailored to me despite got from goodwill, it cups and supports my breasts lovingly in its bodice and flows beautifully asymetrically down from the high waist line that is also flattering to my body type.  i love it, i absolutely adore it, i love the way it makes me look, i love the way it fits me perfectly, i love the way it makes me feel.  but it is definitely a Boobs On Display dress.  it’s so low cut in the front of the neckline, and boosts my already large breasts enough, that you can see a significant curve of underboob. and they are objectively gorgeous breasts! but this dress, having them On Display, apparently, instead of my love of its supportive and flowing embrace of my body, indicates i’m On Display when i wear it.  that’s...a little dysphobic and dysmorphic. it means i can’t wear it in any situation where i want to appear Professional, bc boobs Aren’t Professional.  it means i have to think about what situations i can wear it in and how people will judge me for it, this my new favorite dress. it means people will think i’m Lurid and Sexual by virtue of having and showing so much cleavage, while in my mind i’m just delighting in how comfortable it is and how good i feel in it.. yeah, i’m not cis, yeah, i love looking pretty, fuck me, i guess.  my last girl told me once “holy shit, you’re like jessica rabbit” after i sent her some of my favorite chest-centric selfies. i’m not bad, i’m just drawn that way. i’m not a comic book heroine, i was just born that way. except also with a gut and no ass. life is full of compromise.

[archi-anime]

(author’s note: yes I know this is like super super months behind, but I finally finished it!)

This year, Crunchyroll hosted their very first Crunchyroll Expo (CRX) the weekend of August 25, 2017.. I bought the weekend pass the day of my birthday, as it was the cutoff date for them to mail passes to attendees. That alone was one of the main reasons I ended up checking it out. I didn’t have to do the whole line-con thing just to get a badge. The only other convention I’ve had the chance to go to is Fanime both in 2016 and 2017. I got a weekend pass; but ended up attending 2 of the three days. I was just too exhausted by Saturday night, so I skipped the last day.

from my personal instagram

Overall, I thought the expo was a success for its first event. The mailing of the passes was a great draw. But what I found to be really nifty and handy was the use of the guidebook app, that you could download on Apple’s App Store, Android, or even Google Play. At first I thought it was solely created for CRX, but realized that it’s a standalone app in which you can check into events and then pull information for that.  The guidebook allowed me view the schedule and the maps efficiently. If I clicked on a panel, it would show me where it was on the map. However, it didn’t have a “you are here” aspect to show my location in relation to where I’m going.  It also allowed me to create my own schedule by picking the panels I wanted. It let me know if there was a conflict in schedule if I chose multiple ones at the same time, and kindly reminded me 15 min. before any panel started was about to start. The app made my Con experience really enjoyable and allowed me to plan accordingly.  The compactness of the space also allowed easy maneuverability from one space to another in comparison to the treks between panels at Fanime.

Exhibitors��� Hall & Artist Alley. There was  very small amount of Vendors inside Exhibitors hall, but that’s to be expected – it is their first expo! I saw a few familiar faces there that I usually would see at Fanime.

There was a huge Attack on Titan head on display as well as a few cars that were decked out. I paid special attention to one particular car, because well it had Danny Choo written all over it. Danny Choo is the son of famous shoe designer Jimmy Choo. I’ve been following Danny for awhile because of his “smartdoll” line; ever since I got into Toy Photography I’ve always admired his version of the Ball Jointed Doll, and to be honest I’m currently saving to purchase one of these bad boys.

My only critique of these two spaces is the actual physical space. there were a few rows inside artist alley were way too tight for comfort (see below about ventilation). While exhibitor’s hall was massive, the actual space given per vendor wasn’t exactly a lot compared to like say, Crunchyroll’s own space for their booths.

But, there were some drawbacks to the Expo. Personally it was more about the amenities than the Expo itself. I get it, it’s the first go around with an Expo, and they probably weren’t sure what kind of gathering would appear. But the ventilation system there was really bad. Circulation spaces (hallways, lobby, artist alley) were just so humid and stuffy (okay maybe that’s more of my architect side kicking in). The only places I could find respite were in a few of the rooms in which panels were held, and Main Stage. Luckily main stage had massive amounts of seating for anyone that just needed to sit down and take a breather. Another downside was the lack of food choices. There weren’t many choices nearby for quick bites to eat. Food at the venue was average if not a little pricey. Also, I had heard that even though there was an area designated for food trucks; the turnout was rather disappointing.

One thing that could definitely be improved upon was cosplay gatherings. I wish there had been a schedule for cosplay fandom’s to get together and take photos – structured like San Jose’s Fanime’s idea on the gathering. However, I found that this Expo was much more panel focused than the cosplay’s and while I enjoyed that, I would’ve loved to snap photos of gatherings.

As stated, the panels I attended were really good ones, and I guess I’ll break down what I took away from them followed by some helpful links!

Friday | Day One

Dream Daddy | Panel

This one of the panels I was really looking forward to CRX started rolling out their special guest list. I got into this game on a whim and also because I’m easily swayed by my otome queen, Naja. It was really neat getting to know the creators of the game, how they got inspired to create such a game, and how at times this game was touching on an emotional level. You can find Dream Daddy on Steam. Essentially, the crew behind it loves visual novels and otome type games. Leighton just thought a loud one day that it’d be nice if there was a game where you could be a dad that dated dads. She further went on into how the daughter in the game, Amanda, reflects her personal relationship with her own Father. She got to talking with Vernon about this idea of dating Dads while on a trip to California, and just so happened to be at Disneyland when they started to flesh out the types of Dad’s you can date, and that was the starting point. A handful of great connections landed them to actually get this game going, and to their surprise became an overnight hit! Among the creators and contributors that were on the panel, it was pretty clear that dad Damien was the favorite.

Being an Otaku: Collecting Without Breaking Your Wallet | Panel

Most of you readers know I’m quite obsessed with Nendoroids, but those closest to me know that I’ve recently started collecting a bunch of figures. I figured I should attend this one just because, collecting figures hasn’t been easy on my wallet, and honestly there were a lot of tips and tricks taught in this panel. I even bumped into the host walking around, and ended up snagging their phone number for whatever questions I have.

While the tips and tricks were really good, the process is not for the faint of heart, as it’s pretty damn time consuming and very much research based. If you’re interested, reach out to me! I’d be glad to share what I’ve learned!

My Hero Academia: After School Special with Special Guests | Panel

This was one of the bigger panels. Basically, they showed the latest episode (however, most of you probably saw that there was no new episode this past week), so we watched the episode that told the story of All for One and One for All. After the episode finished airing, the Voice Actors for the dubbed version of My Hero Academia came to the stage while the panel host’s directed a conversation with them. The two that came out were: Caitlin Glass (VA for Ashido-Acid Girl) and Monica Rial (VA for Asui-froppy). Monica ended up using froppy’s voice for majority of the panel.

One major takeaway from their discussion was that they really enjoyed the art style of the females, as they weren’t the thin waif-like types; they actually had some meat on them. My Hero Academia does well in regards to dealing with a positive body image, however, the discussion of Momo Yaoyorozu’s internship and how they were doing commercial’s instead of hero work. The argument that the women were being objectified came up, but then the idea that commercials are an extension to the role a hero plays in every day life came up as a counter.

Saturday | Day Two

Anime in Academia: An Introduction to Anime & Manga Studies | Panel

I went to this panel because I do want to look at Anime on an academic level, in terms of research and linking it back to my career, it’s been difficult to find good texts to start off with, and where to find good sources. This panel was a great introduction into what books serve as great introductions while also providing a list of websites that also cater to this realm of anime analysis.

Mechademia: A Journal. They also host a few conferences as well.

Genron: Another type of journal. English translations of some of the work can be found on the website – just click on the journal.

Transformative Works and Cultures: A great online Journal.

These are just a few that were mentioned. Get in touch with me to discuss more in-depth if you’re interested!

A Feminist Survival Guide to Anime Fandom | Panel

As I sat in this panel, I thought it was just a feminist panel. I had ZERO clue that the creators of Anime Feminist were actually there in the flesh. I also found out the history behind this website, and that they’ve only been running for a little over a year. They talked about the role of feminism as discussion when it comes to anime, while also describing how to handle the dark side of social media when you become a public figure.

Food in Anime | Panel

I think the title says it all. A panel of people sat and showed clips from anime’s of the cooking genre. One of the panelists was Emily Bushman, a writer for Crunchyroll and runs the blog Yum! Penguin Snacks, where she takes recipes from anime’s and re-creates them in her kitchen. She talked about her blog a bit, and then! they ended the panel with a trailer for Shokugeki no Soma: San no Sora. Who else is looking forward to more food wars? I know I am!

Johnny Weir: A Conversation with an Olympic Figure Skater and Yuri!! On ICE Fan | Panel

Ah, where are all my fellow Icer’s?! I honestly thought they’d compile some clips of YOI, for Johnny to talk about; however it really was just a conversation between the host and Johnny. Discussion on his career in parallel to that of YOI. His favorite characters, least favorite characters, who he related to, and what he’s looking forward to. He also discussed the animation aspect as well as the choreography of the show.

Did any of you guys make it out to the expo? I know I got to meet Shay, a fellow OWLS member! Even though it was really really brief, it was nice to finally meet her. We had missed meeting each other at Fanime earlier this year.

Was there anything in the post that caught your eye? Or anything that you wanted to know more about? Let me know in the comments below! 🙂

  Crunchyroll Expo 2017 (author's note: yes I know this is like super super months behind, but I finally finished it!)