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fromthehellmouth · 4 years ago

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One for Sorrow, Two for Mirth

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Maledictus! Femme! Gryffindor! oc. Regrettably, there is so much angst... Part One!

Maledictus prompt requested by @hyacinthsandbooks I had so much fun creating this character, thanks for the prompt! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Drawing by me and inspired by scenes from the story. I hope you enjoy!

Overview:

Tom Riddle befriends an unlikely victim of a powerful blood curse

I had increasingly found myself in a perpetual state of insomnia and dread. There was almost nothing I could occupy my mind with that would take it from my lingering anxiety and melancholia surrounding my condition. My nights were long and restless, and I had to become endlessly creative in order to find ways that would keep me out of trouble as well as keeping me occupied during the long dark nights in the Gryffindor common room alone past curfew. Often, it would result in me exploring the castle grounds in my other form, or writing down my thoughts to pass the time. Perhaps it was the concept of literature that I would gravitate to because of its mysterious qualities of immortality. It was chilling but also somewhat comforting to know that my works would remain with me far after I had irreversibly changed. It was not something I liked to dwell on, but it was something that I knew I could not escape from--it was always there, nagging, prodding, looming over my decisions, my psyche--it was a horribly cruel curse.

Over a century ago my family had gotten involved with a group of vengeful wizards who were known for their adaptations of some of the darkest corners of the dark arts. They fled the country but the curse went with them. Once a curse of that strength had penetrated its way into your bloodline, it would permanently dwell there, feeding off you, like a tumor, like a degenerative disease, like a leech, essentially, it declared its power with its name; it was a blood curse. It was only a matter of years before there would be nothing more I could do, and I would have to accept my change and my fate with it. At least there was no need to study for N.E.W.Ts. My parents had begged me for years not to accept such a pessimistic attitude, to care about my studies, my dreams, and my aspirations. Over the past few months, through our owl correspondence, I felt they had lost the motivation to keep pestering me about a life that had been taken from me the moment my grandmother told me what I was: a maledictus.

Fortunately, at this point in my development, my transformations were still voluntary. When I was very young, I remember having frequent visits to the Ministry of Magic with my parents. They would have me seen by famous dark wizard catchers, legendary curse-breakers, healers, and talented seers. From the beginning we knew there was no known cure for this type of blood curse, but I think the little security the aurors offered was necessary for my parents to hold onto. They needed expert opinions, that unfortunately would continue to tell them there was nothing to be done. Of course, my childhood self had virtually no knowledge of the severity of my condition, and thought it was simply enchanting to see mommy and daddy’s workplace.

Since my first year at Hogwarts, I had told no one about my condition except headmaster Dippet, professor Stump—my head of house, and professor Merrythought who was an expert in the dark arts because after all, she was the DADA teacher. I liked professor Merrythought quite a bit. She was an older woman with grey-blonde hair pinned back in a loose braided bun which she always had hairs escaping from. She was one of the few people who did not immediately resort to pity and fear when I told her what my bloodline had been cursed with. She was calm and interested, she told me how special I was and got me involved into studying more about blood disorders involving dark magic. Unfortunately, there had been rumors of her leaving Hogwarts and retiring—yet another thing I would be attempting to repress. My mind had become an expert at most coping mechanisms, my methods of choice being denial, repression, and sublimation--primarily writing.

In a sense, knowing my future was carved into stone was somewhat freeing. It allowed me to live fully and completely in the moment, and not have to plan or study for my future. In another sense, the looming dread was very real, and seemed to be working its way into the grooves of my personality--settling in the fine lines of my psyche. My dull despair had become a part of me. I never doubted my purposelessness until I met Tom Riddle.

***

It was nearly 1:45am when I noticed his figure contrasted against the shamrock-green hills. In a defeated attempt to become more comfortable with my animal form, I had begun to fly over the castle grounds more recently during the night when I felt my insomnia had become too much for me to ignore by lounging in the Gryffindor common room long after the other students had taken leave. I was never in the mind of being rebellious or secretive, and I was almost positive that if I had told professor Merrythought, she would have kept the sensitivity of my travels safe. Spotting a dark-clothed figure, I circled closer, still keeping my distance. Edging in tiny fractions closer to the tops of the forbidden forest’s trees, I made my way closer to the figure. I was presently slightly concerned for encountering the kind of person who would be coming from the forbidden forest at nearly 2 o’clock in the morning, but my growing curiosity controlled me, and I eyed the figure from above, still slowly cruising lower and lower. When I had reached the grass, the figure had entered the covered corridor leading to the clock tower, and I decided to present myself to the figure who couldn’t have been more than 6 feet away from me. It was always fun to play out a little scare. I let out a shrill, stuttering call. The figure froze, spinning swiftly with a hand to his mouth. I could see his shoulders quivering as he stared at me.

“...it’s just a magpie, Tom...” he whispered to himself as if he needed convincing. As he turned to face me, I immediately recognized him as a popular Slytherin boy from... history of magic...? divination...?

“Unless...”

Defense against the dark arts. That was it.

“Are you... an animagus?”

I froze. How could he have known? There was no way he could have known... Silently and immediately I flew back outside the covered corridor back into the open air, and faster than I had ever flew before, I found my way back to the Gryffindor tower, perching on the windowsill I had left open, dropping inside, and in the darkness transforming back into a student and swiftly slipping under the thick covers, I fell asleep suprisingly effortlessly.

***

In the morning I awoke earlier than usual. It was as if my mind knew I had been gifted with a long sleep and didn’t want me to get comfortable. I had become accustomed to falling asleep late and waking up early—both situations leaving me awake while the rest of the castle lay unconscious. I put on my uniform and brushed out my hair. I found that the more I transformed, the silkier my hair had become, it was as if the strands were becoming more feather-like, and tended to reflect the light more. I had gotten nearly a dozen requests for the enchantment I had used, always leaving me with an awkward and less than satisfactory “it must just be oily.” I descended the stairs to the common room where I read the clock.

5:30.

Defeatedly, I gathered all my schoolbooks and began to review the material for my first class of the day. Herbology.

***

I decided to take a walk to the kitchens to pick up a cup of tea before breakfast, which begun at 9am each morning. I still had a few hours before breakfast, so after I made myself a cup I circled back to the clock tower courtyard near where I had departed from the boy I had followed last night. I sat on the ledge of the fountain and began to re-read the textbook required for this upcoming unit in herbology on uses and cautions of aquatic plants. We would be taking a guided field trip to the Black Lake for research, which I was quite excited for. While my eyes danced across the finely-scripted writing in the yellowing book, my mind wandered to last night. I found myself retracing my steps, and visualizing the boy’s face above me, shocked and intrigued. What did he know?

***

After herbology class, which had been held at the Black Lake, I followed the mass of students back to the main castle grounds. My days at school were mostly spent alone either studying or hopelessly wandering in my mind to places where I no longer had to abandon my future. I recognized very few people as friends, and I stood out from my fun-loving, reckless, and colorful housemates. It was as if my natural personality I remembered glimpses of from childhood had been veiled with a layer of plaque, tarnished and dusty. I didn't mind the aloneness. I often felt most secure when I didn’t need to reveal my secret to anyone, and was able to choose my schedule the way I saw fit. Back in the castle, I followed my normal crowd of Gryffindors who I shared my first two classes with. These were the students who I sat with at meals, went to study parties with, sat in the common room after hours with, but never ended up knowing very well. It was a polite relationship. They asked me what I thought about our next class’ lesson.

“Can’t say I’m excited.” I rolled my eyes, my hands rested deep in the pockets of my skirt.

“Don’t want people to know what you’re scared of?”

“Must be it.”

Defense against the dark arts with professor Merrythought was next, and the notorious lesson on boggarts had been expected by most students for months. Undoubtedly there was excitement for exposure to mysterious and dark creatures as well as teasing material for students with childish fears. I couldn’t help think of the boy I had encountered by the clock tower who I would inevitably see again this upcoming class. I hoped my nervous habits would not give me away as suspicious. For some reason, I felt the need to be wary of him.

***

The classroom had been completely rearranged for the upcoming lesson, with the chairs and desks pushed to either side of the long room, and professor Merrythought’s figure standing in the back near a large ornate chest. As the students trickled in, the rumblings of the crowd grew louder as giggles and anticipation filled the cold air. My hands wrapped around my arms as I attempted to retain my warmth.

Am I the only one who notices that draft?

Merrythought calmed us down and begun her lecture on the history of the discovery and initial magical responses to the boggart. It takes the image of what you most fear... Its true form has never been seen... It withers at the sound of laughter... The students got called up one at a time as she showed us the counter-curse Riddikulus! which would obstruct the boggart’s form and intercept its visual manipulation. Riddikulus! the steep chasm of a split cliff lets out a nasty fart and the room explodes in laughter. Riddikulus! a swarm of wasps turn into winged lemons and drop to the floor, rolling around and colliding with each other, and the class cackles.

Godric, would she just close that bloody window?!

“Lucia!” the room’s roaring died down and I felt my face turn red hot. My stomach twisted and contorted within me and my walk was feeble as I approached the large chest.

“And when the boggart is released, remember the incantation!” I swallowed hard and in a second, the lid of the chest flew open and a swirling silvery mass flew toward me and shifted into a bird, its head, beak, and breast were black mimicking a raven, but its belly was white and the under-feathers of the wings and long elegant tail that caught the light shimmered hints of deep phthalo green and royal Prussian blue. The bird began to lunge toward me and in a panic I shouted the incantation much louder than I expected.

“Riddikulus!!” The bird’s feathers erupt in every direction, leaving the creature completely bald and resembling an uncooked chicken, struggling to stay suspended in the air. The class giggled and Merrythought propelled the creature back into the chest and called forward the next student as I slipped back into the crowd.

“Tom!” The boy approached the chest in a single fluid moment. He wore his school robes to every class unlike the majority of students who only wore the required minimum of a blouse, sweater and trousers or skirt. He stood out not only because of his height but because his ebony-black hair glistened under the lantern-lit room. His robes seemed to be an extension of his broad square shoulders, and as he readied his wand I felt the room muffle in an unnatural stillness. The boggart shifted into the body of a young boy, with the same black hair as Tom, the same pale skin and full, pink lips, but the boy’s eyes were closed, his face was hollowed and gaunt, and he was lying on the floor, seemingly lifeless. The class seemed to collectively hold its breath as the dead body of a young boy nearly identical to the older Tom lay before us. Tom lifted his wand and smoothly uttered,

“Riddikulus.” The black robes along with the body of the boy melted into a thick black bubbling slime that seemed to shake and bounce slightly. This time there was no laughter. There was no reaction. Professor Merrythought quickly swooped up the transformed boggart with her wand and tossed it with a graceful flick back into the large chest.

“Well done class! Quite the show. That’s the end of the lesson for today, we’ll continue where we left off tomorrow!” The students murmured with the abrupt dismissal and I couldn’t help myself from straying my gaze to look at Tom. To my instant shock his piercing aquamarine eyes shot right back at me and I almost let out an audible gasp at the sudden intensity of his stare. I felt my heart-rate race and I nearly ran from the classroom.

***

Later that night my mind was racing, I had to know what he knew, why he had stared at me back in class, did he know I was the bird who had followed him last night? I sat by the crackling fireplace of the Gryffindor common room. The clock read “12:10,” and there was only one girl left in my company. She sat at the other corner of the room and I could hear the shuffling of books which meant I would soon be alone and she would be going to sleep. I caught myself staring into the flames, the fire dancing and glittering into smoke and stray glowing embers.

“Goodnight!” the girl called out as she ascended the stairs to the dorms.

“Goodnight.” I replied, my voice was tired but my mind was wide awake. My eyes lazily flew over the spread of books before me.

There was no way I would be able to study with Tom on my mind.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his bright eyes flashed in that cold room. It was as if the only thing my head could focus on were those piercing eyes and the image of that magpie lunging right toward me.

If you’d like to read Part Two, click here

Tags: @tmr-simp-pride

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle fic #Harry Potter #Harry Potter fic #harry potter imagine #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagine

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recentanimenews · 4 years ago

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INTERVIEW: After 13 Years, Indie RPG Masterpiece Ruina is Finally Available in English

All screenshots of Ruina: Fairy Tale of the Forgotten Ruins taken by author

This article was made possible through the invaluable contributions of translators Dink and bool, and further aided by context generously provided by writer, translator, and RPG Maker scene dweller Kastel (@kastelwrites). Sections from their answers were excerpted for this piece and edited for clarity and content.

Last year, at the start of the pandemic, a lapsed member of the RPG Maker community known as Dink stumbled across a screenshot while trawling Japanese free game websites: a black obelisk standing in the midst of ruins. “This is going to make me sound like I've been huffing paint, but this image spoke to something quite visceral for me — like I'd been waiting to find this game. Something about the sepia tones, the light and shadows, the elegance of its very archetype. I knew I had to play it.” Dink had stumbled across Ruina: Haitou no Monogatari (Fairy Tale of the Forgotten Ruins), one of the most acclaimed free RPGs ever made in Japan. Released in the antiquated RPG Maker 2000 engine in 2008 by developer Shoukichi Karekusa, it retains a strong cult following and has even been translated into Chinese. Yet unlike its RPG Maker siblings Yume Nikki and Ib, Ruina is practically unknown in English-speaking countries. Dink decided to change that. “Once I realized that it had yet to be translated into English,” he said, “it was like I’d become possessed.”

Ruina is unique. A role-playing game that takes direct influence from tabletop games and gamebooks, it boldly defies conventions established by classic console role-playing games like Dragon Quest and Final Fantasy. Rather than controlling the main character across a top-down map, the player slowly uncovers a hand-illustrated map of nodes. Survival in the dungeon requires the use of ropes, pickaxes, and oil for your lantern, resources that are all expendable. Your party members are valuable not only for their combat skills but for their out-of-combat abilities: thieving, sneaking, even swimming. Most of all, Ruina allows for choice and consequence, a phenomenon far more common in western RPGs than Japanese RPGs. Say you stumble across treasure in a dungeon, but are ambushed by thieves who want the treasure for themselves. Do you give the treasure to the thieves? Stand your ground? Or attack the thieves before they can do the same to you? Since your ability to save in the dungeon is heavily rationed, you may find yourself having to choose between restarting a save or living with the messy outcomes of your choices.

There’s something to Ruina that grounds it in the Japanese RPG tradition, rather than a straightforward riff on Wizardry or Might & Magic. Those earlier games gave you several choices as to building your party, but little in the way of story or character. Ruina is a far more curated experience. On starting the game, you’re offered four “backgrounds” that align you with certain other characters, just one year before Dragon Age: Origins would pull a similar trick. Rather than being given the full freedom to explore a sprawling world, your options are limited to navigating a single, contained dungeon. The characters available to be recruited into your party have defined personalities and quirks — some are already good friends of yours, others are insufferable, and still others have significant flaws that speak to the kind of person they are versus their gameplay function. These are NPCs out of the Baldur’s Gate school, given the illusion of life, rather than the team of personalized murderers you’d recruit in an Etrian Odyssey game.

Very little else in the Japanese games scene is like Ruina. You could draw comparisons with games like Unlimited Saga and Scarlet Grace, representing the legacy of controversial SQUARE ENIX auteur Akitoshi Kawazu. You could similarly connect Ruina with Yasumi Matsuda’s experimental Crimson Shroud, which takes influence from tabletop to the point that it has the player rolling dice in-game. But Ruina is more accessible and polished than a Kawazu game, and far more fleshed out than Crimson Shroud. Even Etrian Odyssey, with its comparatively barebones story and characters, doesn’t quite compare. Ruina stands alone in the Japanese free games community, a legendary title that people respect but don’t fully understand how to replicate.

A few days ago I reached out to Kastel, an academic, writer, and translator who is very familiar with Japan’s RPG Maker scene, about where Ruina fit in Japan’s wider field of indie games. “I know many people in the furige (free game) scene who love the game to death,” they said. “But they also found it to be a hard sell due to its unique, almost western take on the scene. The fact that the game is even this popular speaks to something.” Despite its crunchy mechanics and niche inspirations, the game is popular enough to have spawned light novels, an honor not unique to it (other RPG Maker games have accomplished the same) but certainly significant. Kastel drew a comparison between Ruina and Darkest Dungeon, another weird and uncompromising game that draws from both Japanese and western RPGs. “Ruina is sorta different from everything, but you also see dungeon crawlers get inspired by it,” they said. “Not all games take direct inspiration, but you can’t help but see a little bit of Ruina here and there.”

So why did it take so long for anybody to translate Ruina? Dink isn’t the only person to try his hand at translating it into English; just last fall, another forum dweller placed an ad recruiting a translation team to tackle the game. The unfortunate reality is that translating text within the RPG Maker engine into English requires intensive and repetitive labor. “There’ve been tools developed by vgperson [a prominent translator of RPG Maker games] for RPG Maker 2000 and some other machine translation tools for newer games, but they all remain difficult to use for translators,” Kastel says. “The way games are scripted uses events inside the map and developers rarely name them. So not only do you need to edit it via the appropriate RPG Maker engine, but you also need to go through each event contextless unless the creator actually notes things down.” So, the enterprising Ruina translator doesn’t just need to translate all the text in the game into English. It isn’t even a question of whether or not to manually edit the game’s many pictures and custom menus into English by hand. It’s the sheer difficulty of navigating between thousands of (often poorly labeled) events and variables in the RPG Maker engine, ensuring not to introduce any new bugs or errors in the process, while also finding the time to do all of the above.

Dink was assisted by a friend of his named bool, who played through the game alongside the translation process and gave invaluable advice and fixes. “Uncovering the mystery in the game's story sort of ran parallel with the translation of the game itself,” bool says. “As the story progressed, the characters would decipher and learn more about the lore of the eponymous ruins within the game, and as the translation progressed, the same held true for us. It really captivated me to be a part of this process, and I started to look forward to each new area that I could explore and each new morsel of the story I could understand.”

Without bool’s efforts, it might have taken far longer to put together something workable. As it was, it took four exhausting months. “I worked long hours — 12+ hours a day, 6, sometimes 7 days a week on top of my day job — and very rarely used my free time on anything else,” Dink says. “I did manually input the text in RPG Maker 2000, which has raised some eyebrows because there are some very nice tools available for game translation that would have saved me a lot of time. However, a huge advantage of working directly in the editor is being able to see the game more or less as it appears to players. A Notepad file streamlines the basic translation process, but it also heavily obscures context, whereas the editor allows you to see what switches and variables are being used, what music is being played, and sometimes even helpful creator comments, all in the same relative order you'd experience it from within the game.” Dink had one more secret weapon up his sleeve: the experience of working with the RPG Maker engine as an adolescent. RPG Maker has a reputation of being a tool designed to churn out Dragon Quest clones with ease; but nobody knows the intense difficulty of forcing the engine to do something, anything, like a former RPG Maker developer does.

The English version of Ruina, as it currently exists, is a workable but inevitably compromised version of the game. Running the game requires installing the Japanese RTP pack of visual and audio resources for RPG Maker to function, along with the use of the EasyRPG player to provide English-language player name entry. There’s the matter of the custom menus, as well. Several of the menus have been replaced with functional English equivalents, but by Dink's own admission they could use an expert's attention to better compare to the original. Other pictures, such as place name displays, have yet to be replaced by English-language equivalents at all. And the strict character limits of RPG Maker 2000 led to some creative truncating when translating from Japanese to English, especially with item and skill descriptions.

But the existence of an English-language Ruina, one that renders the whole game playable from beginning to end with a readable script, is a miracle. Speaking for myself, I started the long process of learning Japanese two years ago in part so that I could one day play this game, never expecting there might one day be an alternative. Others in the Japanese RPG Maker scene, knowing the brutal difficulty of translating a game made in the earlier engines, were shocked that a game of Ruina’s complexity and length was successfully translated at all. Speaking for themselves, Dink and bool insist that their own story doesn’t matter much. What matters is the quality of the original game and the hard work developer Shoukichi Karekusa put into its creation. Anything else is an addendum, another version of the game that — while it cannot ever be the original — might at least make something resembling that original experience accessible to others.

Frankly speaking, I think there’s something to that. The “true” version of Ruina will always exist in its original form, released for free by Karekusa in 2008. It stands as the defining work of a creator who sought to create a unique experience combining the appeal of console and tabletop roleplaying games, with no concessions to market sensibilities. A creator who not only released their baby on the internet for free, but insisted that a game like Ruina must always and ever be free. An austere monolith, it stands side by side with Yume Nikki, Ib, and even Cave Story as one of the great works to come out of Japan’s independent scene. Now any English speaker can pick up and play this new version of Ruina, and learn what that monolith is and where it leads to.

You can download the English translation of Ruina here. For those who want to learn more about the Japanese RPG Maker scene, I recommend checking out Kastel’s page here.

Are you a Ruina fan? Let us know in the comments!

Adam W is a Features Writer at Crunchyroll. When he is not working through exercises in Wanikani, he sporadically contributes with a loose group of friends to a blog called Isn't it Electrifying? You can find him on Twitter at:@wendeego

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a feature, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: Adam Wescott

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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undertale-in-writing · 3 years ago

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Undertale In Writing: Page 2

You feel as though years have passed while you stood there, staring at the flowers. Though it's only been one heavy moment.

You take a deep breath and kneel down to pluck a flower from the ground. You tuck it behind your ear. You stand and turn to gaze into the darkness. Something warm fills your chest, not entirely unlike when Flowey revealed your SOUL. Just to be sure, you look down. There's no glowing, only calm... fullness. Stubbornness. DETERMINATION.

You felt something like this when you woke up before, but it was uncertain, confused. Now, it's fully taken root. You turn and begin to follow the path you took previously. Not like there was any other path.

Flowey appears again in a blink of light. You take note this time. He seems to be glowing. It's magic. All magic has a slight glow, and all monsters have magic. I can't think of any flowers down here that glow like a monster, though; echo flowers glow, but those are bioluminescent. And he doesn't smell like a normal flower.

The familiar face is still for a moment, then he breaks into a grin. “Howdy! I'm Flowey! Flowey the flower! Hee hee hee...” He tilts his head slightly, humor in his voice now. “Why'd you make me introduce myself? It's rude to act like you don't know who I am. Someone ought to teach you proper manners.”

You frown, because you're still not sure what happened. He killed you, didn't he? Was he the reason you were placed back at the start? I feel like it's more than that, but how come he remembers you?

No time to dwell on it. The golden flower begins following the same script as before. He opens the battle stage, refers to your heart. “That's your SOUL,” he says, as if you hadn't heard this before. He introduces LOVE, and he pulls out his bullets. “Down here, LOVE is shared through... little white... 'friendliness pellets.'”

You frown. Why is he telling you all this again? You know it, and he knows that you know it, and he should see from your expression that you know he knows you know it. Your lips purse. You want to say something, but you can't bring yourself to speak in this moment. The energy required is currently being used to prepare for what comes next.

“Catch as many as you can!”

You jump the side. The bullets dart by you and dissipate in the air a few feet back.

Flowey's expression changes. He holds onto the smile, but now it's challenging. Almost taunting. “Hey, buddy, you missed them. Let's try again, okay?”

You ready yourself, mind racing over how you might get out of this. Maybe you can outlast him?

The bullets shoot into you, and this time you can hardly react. They make contact. Your heart pulses, your feet slide back an inch, there are holes in your sweater and blood and bruises and it hurts.

But you're not in pieces. The wounds are shallow. You try to stand tall in defiance, but there's a pain in your shoulder that makes you wince, and you realize that you're very weak.

Flowey laughs. His face contorts into an evil smile that frankly does not belong in 3D space. “You idiot,” he cackles.

Your mouth opens in protest; a sound comes out—a soft, “I'm not—!” but you have to clamp it shut. Your face reddens.

Flowey continues. His voice is different. Somehow, he's made it sound like he's speaking through a crackly intercom. He says, “In this world, it's kill or BE killed. Why would ANYONE pass up an opportunity like this?”

A chill runs down your spine. This flower... isn't a monster. Monsters aren't like this. Monsters aren't evil.

“DIE!”

A ring of bullets form around you and come flying at your tiny torso. All you can do is yelp and curl into yourself. You're going to die again. You're going to hurt again. He's going to tear you apart.

There's a crackling sound, and a fwoosh. You glance up. A ball of white-hot fire hits the flower in the back of the head, and his roots are torn from the ground as he flies off into the darkness with a small “eep.”

Suddenly, you're alone. It's dark. You're confused. Disoriented.

Annoyance floods your brain. You'll probably be nonverbal all day now.

You push yourself to your feet, flinching when a shallow cut on your stomach pulls sideways. The battle stage is still there, but you can't feel Flowey's presence anymore. Something else looms from where the flame originated. Fiery red eyes bore into you from the darkness. A shape emerges, tall and fuzzy. A pair of small, sharp horns curl up from the top of a long-eared head. A snout exhales with annoyance.

You see the monster's dull claws at eye-height. The sleeves of a strangely familiar robe fall over one paw as it's drawn to the monster's hip.

“What a terrible creature,” she scolds, “torturing such a poor, innocent youth.”

Her voice is gentle. Familiar. Comforting. Motherly. You tilt your head again to look into her eyes, and she bends down to bring herself on your level. Now that you see her face head on, she doesn't look scary anymore. Her ears are soft and floppy, her horns small, her smile friendly, her eyes kind. She looks like a concerned goat mom, if goats were... What's the word..? Anthromorphic?

“Do not be afraid, my child,” she says softly. “I am Toriel, caretaker of The Ruins. I pass through this place every day to see if anyone has fallen down.” She pauses, and you realize that the battle stage is gone. There's color in the world again, and your heart is in your chest where it belongs.

Toriel smiles and stands suddenly. “You are the first human to come here in a long time.” Her robe flows loosely as she reaches down with one paw. “Come! I will guide you through the catacombs.”

You don't take her paw. Toriel isn't fazed by this. She turns ninety degrees and gestures into the darkness. “This way.”

Page 1 — Page 3

[End page]

We made this blog almost two years ago and never followed up, so here’s page 2. We’ll try to continue it indefinitely, even if it takes a while. It’s still very much something we’re interested in.

Rules:

This is an interactive Undertale adaptation, not an AU. All actions taken must fit into the game. Obviously I’m taking little liberties with the reset system, but nothing is changing. If you want your response to be included, it shouldn’t change the plot. It’s about informing a player character’s decisions and, to an extent, Frisk’s personality.

You don’t need to follow some kind of format or command system. Your response can be in a comment, a reblog, a reblog of another’s reblog, a comment continuing another’s comment… It can short or long. It can be a suggestion or a narration.

The readers, together, are the player character.

Some time will pass, and we will take all responses as a vote. Common actions will become “canon,” and the story will continue. Influential commenters will be tagged, and anything we directly quote will have credit immediately after the section.

Commenters last round: @thesuperduckling24, @finallycrawledoutfromundermyrock, @thepotatoreader, and @arireblogthat

If threads form of various players writing out their own alternate timeline, that’s fine too! There are no restrictions in how you respond. No need to limit yourself to what you think I’ll write down.

Headcanons that we’re using to include as much flavor from the game as possible:

We’re running with the Chara as narrator interpretation, because the tone of the narration is a major part of the experience. It may come out more in the future, but we’ll never name them. We will also adhere to the canon that their personality going forward is influenced by the player character’s decisions.

The one thing we’ve decided about Frisk up front is that they are semi-verbal autistic. Nothing extra will be inserted; it’s just a framework we’re using because it’s a consistent guide to explain some very video-gamey behavior -- like the sparse implied dialogue, the fixation on smells, and apparent disregard for low HP. (We’re autistic ourselves and will be pulling from our experiences.)

I’m adding these under each page so that you can use these narrative frames if you want. Happy writing.

#undertale #toriel #frisk #flowey #the underground #undertale in writing #page 2

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years ago

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The Many Lives of Lee Miller: Surrealist icon who photographed World War Two

If you were one of the few women photographers accredited by the U.S. Army at the start of World War II, chances were you were far from the front lines. Military regulations at the time dictated that female photojournalists, unlike their male counterparts, were not to enter combat zones.

But Lee Miller, the Poughkeepsie-born photographer and noted Surrealist operating as British Vogue’s war correspondent, was not one to be constrained.

Miller had made a habit of not taking no for an answer long before she accompanied American forces to document scenes such as the Blitz; nurses operating hospitals after D-Day; women serving across the armed forces; and just-liberated concentration camps.

Elizabeth ‘Lee’ Miller was born on the 23 of April 1907 in Poughkeepsie, New York. She was the middle child of Florence and Theodore Miller, a mechanical engineer and avid amateur photographer. She was something of a tomboy, always ready for the next big adventure and to try the biggest stunt.

Her first coup was gracing the cover of U.S. Vogue in 1927 at age 19. Lee Miller was walking down a crowded street in Manhattan. She was ravishingly beautiful: blonde hair stylishly bobbed, lips painted red, her slim figure clad in the latest fashions from Paris.

Perhaps it was Paris she was thinking about so deeply. Whatever it was it absorbs her entirely that as she stepped off the sidewalk she didn’t see a car speeding towards her.

At the last minute a man whisked her to safety. He turns out to be none other than the publisher Condé Montrose Nast. As soon as he saw the woman he saved, he decided she must model for his magazine.

A few short months later, Lee Miller’s face, drawn by Georges Lepape with the New York skyline for a backdrop, stares out from the cover of Vogue.

That cover launched Lee Miller’s modelling career. Within months she became a fixture on the New York social scene, hobnobbing with the likes of Charlie Chaplin, George Gershwin and the Vanderbilts.

Fashion greats such as photographer Edward Steichen zipped her into Lanvin and Lelong, draped her in pearls, swathed her in velvet. In one picture she models a Chanel evening gown covered with geometric embellishments, her body resembling a glorious art-deco building.

Lee was fêted and pursued by suitors. A glassware manufacturer even moulded a champagne coupe in the shape of her breast. It was all very glamorous but, for Lee, not wholly satisfying. Later, remembering her New York years, she said, ‘I looked like an angel but I was a fiend inside.’

This contradiction – stemming from a traumatising childhood into early adulthood,

Her father, Theodore, was an amateur-photographer and had begun to photograph his naked daughter long before that, in 1914, when she was seven. According to Miller herself, in that year, she, then known as Elizabeth, had been sent to stay with family friends while her mother was in hospital.

During the trip, she had been raped by a sailor; the attack left her with gonorrhea. For the next year, the child was subjected to daily douches of potassium permanganate, and k twice-weekly visits to the hospital to have her cervix painted with picric acid. Everything she touched at home was immediately sterilised.

It was during this year that Theodore had begun to photograph his daughter in the nude, his first composition being a take on the French artist Paul Chabas' September Morn, a painting of a nubile girl bathing, which had caused a scandal when it was shown in New York in 1913.

For his own picture, Miller required his daughter to pose, nude but for slippers, in the deep Poughkeepsie snow: the resulting picture was called "December Morn". Theodore made it using a stereoscopic camera, so that, viewed through accompanying glasses, his naked child appeared three-dimensional.

The early childhood experience would plague her throughout her adult life, and arguably cause her to constantly try to reinvent herself, wondering if she ‘ever was meant to fit together’.

Those reinventions – as a key figure in the Surrealist movement, fashion photographer, muse and tormented war correspondent – have made her the subject of plays, film scripts (Nicole Kidman wanted to play her in a film written by David Hare that was never made).

Reinvention of otherworldly beauty was also so evident in all her photographs. But Lee wasn’t happy as a model. A sketch she drew in her journal in 1930 shows a woman standing against a studio backdrop, daggers pinning her into place, as another woman in a hat looks on. No wonder, then, that she was hungry to forge her own identity beyond the camera’s frame – a frame that, to a woman who had been looked at by men her entire life, represented an implicit power imbalance.

She gave up her modelling career and set sail for Paris, intending, as she provocatively stated, to ‘enter photography by the back end’.

Bags of confidence, together with letters of introduction from Edward Steichen, convinced Man Ray to take her on as his assistant. He was instantly enchanted and their professional relationship blossomed into a love affair so tumultuous that it affected them both for years afterwards.

Miller was to befriend other iconic Parisian artists like Max Ernst and Picasso and intellectuals like Jean Cocteau. She would vacation with some of the most prominent figures in the art world at the time. Picasso would paint Lee six times and the two remained friends throughout the rest their lives. Picasso wanted to bed her but she held her distance.

It was Lee Miller, not Man Ray, who discovered the photography technique known at "solarisation" bu turning on a light in their darkroom before the negatives had fully developed. It creates a dark line around the subject of the photograph and created groundbreaking images at the time. Ray is often credited with this discovery and he used it often in his own work, but it was actually Lee Miller who made the first picture of its kind on accident.

Man Ray’s portraits of Lee are sensuous and romantic, but even he never seemed able to see her as a whole, often depicting her body broken up into pieces.

He painted her lips floating disembodied in a mackerel sky in ‘Observatory Time: The Lovers’, and in his photographs her breasts, neck and eyes are removed from their context, palpably humming with sexual energy, the ultimate surrealist objects.

In December 1930, Miller's father, Theodore, had come to Paris from Poughkeepsie, New York, to see his daughter. Like any good parent might, he had taken pictures of her. Unlike most fathers, these photographs were shot in the nude, in the bathtub of their shared hotel suite. Lee Miller was 23.

The shots Man Ray took of Lee and Theodore Miller, she in a demure print frock and curled, child-like, in her father's lap, are deeply weird. They seem less of a father and daughter than of an older man and his much younger lover.

Perhaps Ray had heard rumours that Theodore had been Lee's actual childhood abuser, or he may have imagined it for himself. (No charges were ever brought against the unidentified sailor-rapist.)

In terms of age, Ray's own relationship with Lee was also ambiguously paternal: he was 17 years older than her, a pattern that would mark all her relationships with men. At any rate, Theodore and Ray seem to have gotten along famously. Together, the two men photographed Lee, nude, lolling on a bed with three other naked women.

It is hard not to see all this in psychological terms, if not in moral ones. Cursed with a perfect beauty, Miller became a focus of Ray’s internal need to violate. For Man Ray, this was aggravated by the masculine drive to compete.

If the countless celebrities photographed by Man Ray – Wallis Simpson, Aldous Huxley, Virginia Woolf, Picasso, Chanel, Schiaparelli, himself – the one he went back to most obsessively was Lee Miller. You can see why. Miller was a physical ideal, the kind of perfectly moulded, ice-blonde beauty beloved of Hitchcock; flawless, or at least imaginably so.

Lee Miller and Man Ray's exciting, passionate and tumultuous relationship ended and Man Ray did not take it well. In fact, one of his most famous pieces, Indestructible Object, includes her eye ticking on a metronome.

Ray's instructions to fans on how to make their own version of the work suggest the violence of his anatomical method. "Cut out the eye from a photograph of one who has been loved but is seen no more," he writes, bitterly. "Attach the eye to the pendulum of a metronome and regulate the weight to suit the tempo desired. Keep going to the limit of endurance. With a hammer well-aimed, try to destroy the whole at a single blow."

That done, the photographer, ever the drama queen, sat for a self-portrait called "Suicide" with a noose around his neck and a gun pointed at his head.

Hell hath no fury like a Surrealist scorned.

When their affair ended, Lee moved back to New York and opened her own studio, where she worked ‘in the style of Man Ray’, as she advertised in a bold appropriation of his name.

She hardly needed the help. Clients such as Saks Fifth Avenue and Elizabeth Arden paid handsomely for pictures by the woman who was herself ‘one of the most photographed girls in Manhattan’.

But in just a few years the Lee Miller Studio closed when Lee married an Egyptian, Aziz Eloui Bey, and moved with him to Cairo. She felt stunted by Egypt’s restrictive society but produced some of her best work there, driving into the desert with her trusty cocktail kit in the boot to take photographs of the landscape.

Her husband, however, let Lee spend extended holidays in Europe with the Surrealist set, where she met painter and art collector Roland Penrose, the man who eventually became her second husband. They would be happily married for the rest of their lives until death. She at last found someone who accepted her whole. But it still wouldn’t be enough for Lee.

By 1939, it was time for another reinvention. War broke out, the Blitz rained down on London, and Lee, urged on by her friend, the photojournalist, collaborator and sometime lover David Scherman, got accredited as a war correspondent for (of all places) British Vogue.

Her editor, Audrey Withers, expected soft-focus photo-essays about war privation, but Lee had other ideas.

Her reportage was gruesome, intimate and important. On the front lines at the siege of Saint-Malo, Lee documented the Americans’ first use of napalm and described a company ready for action, ‘grenades hanging on their lapels like Cartier clips, menacing bunches of death.’

She shot close-ups of the faces of German Nazis who had committed suicide in Leipzig and took powerful portraits of starving prisoners following the liberation of Dachau and Buchenwald.

When she arrived in Paris during the Liberation the first thing she did was go to Picasso's studio. There they are pictured smiling holding each other tight, probably beyond relieved that they were both alive. Picasso is quoted saying in astonishment "the first Allied soldier I should see is a woman- and she is you."

When Hitler fled Munich at the end of the war, Lee and Scherman were the first of the press corps to reach his apartment, where they drank his cognac and napped in his bed. They propped a picture of Hitler on the rim of his bathtub, set Lee’s dirty combat boots on the bathroom rug and took the now-famous photograph of her bathing in Hitler’s tub.

The war made Lee feel alive.

The image of Miller in Hitler’s tub was the one that led to the end of her Vogue career. The public was outraged at what they interpreted as flippant disregard for the ravages of war. Being accused of insensitivity inevitably took its toll, but it was what she saw, felt, and experienced during those years that would eventually send her into a struggle with depression.

She loved her uniform, tailored on Savile Row. She loved roughing it: washing in her helmet and subsisting on K-rations. And for a woman always searching for meaning in her life, documenting the war for readers back home gave her purpose. ‘Believe this,’ she cabled to Vogue, and the pictures she sent back were indeed horrifying. They came at a cost: Lee was never able to distance herself from her subject. She threw her entire self into her work.

Lee suffered mightily postwar.

The trauma of what she had seen haunted her for the rest of her life. Today we would call it PTSD. In postwar England, Lee was told by her doctor ‘we cannot keep the world permanently at war just to provide you with excitement’.

On her return to London after the war, she was feted. "Who else has written equally well about GIs and Picasso?" her editor said. "Who else can swing from the Siegfried line one week to the new hip line the next?"

Desperate to ward off a sense of anticlimax, she returned to eastern Europe. But soon she was pregnant at 40 years old and finding the prospect of motherhood scarier than any front line.

She missed the action, despite suffering post-traumatic stress. She also felt increasingly sidelined: in staid, patriarchal postwar Britain, her husband was the one in demand.

Finding the inspiration to write and take photographs became harder and eventually she gave it up entirely, hiding more than 60,000 negatives and contact sheets in the attic and becoming so tight-lipped on the subject that even her own son, Antony, knew nothing about her war work until he was an adult. An entire piece of herself was boxed up and placed out of sight.

Depressed at her loss of looks and gain in weight, she found solace in drink and cooking elaborate gourmet meals for her guests at Farley Farm House in East Sussex, her home until her death in 1977.

She could have written a very good cookbook by all accounts. She was a virtuoso chef.

She remained friends with the Paris crowd. In particular she was close to Picasso. Lee Miller's son recalls going over to Picasso's home as a child. He even wrote a book about the time he bit Picasso, as a child, called ‘The Boy Who Bit Picasso’.

Lee even reconciled with Man Ray. Lee and Man Ray last met in London in 1975, at Man Ray's retrospective at the Institute of Contemporary Arts. By now, he was in a wheelchair and Lee Miller was a drunk.

Lee Miller died of cancer in 1977. By the end she was overweight, an alcoholic, ravaged by depression, and tortured by her husband’s affair with a trapeze artist. Anyone meeting Lee Miller then would have been surprised to know that she was once considered the most beautiful woman in the world, second only to Greta Garbo.

But just as she, and her reputation, went out of sight for years. There has in recent years been a resurgence of interest in Lee’s photography, bringing her legacy, and her enduring appeal, further into the light.

As a female icon she never saw herself as a victim. It's remarkable that Miller was able to delight in her body (and in the pleasure others took from it). She saw sex and love as two very different beasts. She was very comfortable living out the truth as she believed it."Emotionally, I need to be completely absorbed in some work or in a man I love," she wrote, but she didn't see why going to bed with someone should upset whichever man she was currently in love with.

Lee insisted that she couldn’t be kept and that women should be able to be as sexually free as men. She was radical, and people made her suffer for it - Man Ray included.

Strikingly beautiful, she was used to submitting to the male gaze and even subverting it. A less spirited woman might have been crushed by these alpha males, but Miller, unfazed, determinedly transformed herself from passive model to active artist.

Her son, Antony Penrose, observed in his 1998 biography of his mother, The Legendary Lee Miller: Photographer, 1907–1977, her unique background capturing uncanny moments and haunting, bizarre portraits during the heyday of the Surrealist movement served her well in war photography. Penrose wrote:

“Unexpectedly, among the reportage, the mud, the bullets, we find photographs where the unreality of war assumes an almost lyrical beauty....On reflection I realise that the only meaningful training of a war correspondent is to first be a Surrealist—then nothing in life is too unusual.”

But it was the very nature of unconventionality of her career trajectory that hampered her historical reputation.

Her early association with the Paris Surrealists - particularly her role as Man Ray's "perversely enchanting muse" - overshadowed her own artistic accomplishments.

Her abandonment of photography, and the consignment of all her work to her own attic also limited her impact during her lifetime.

Her association with fashion also coloured the interpretation of Miller's work. As her biographer Carolyn Burke states, "to this day, her life inspires features in the same glossy magazines for which she posed...this approach turns the real woman in to a screen onto which beholders project their fantasies", and further perpetuates the legend of Lee Miller as an "American free spirit wrapped in the body of a Greek goddess".

The force of her beauty, effervescent personality and high octane biography will always remain central to interpreting her work.

Today Miller has been recognised as among the most original and ambitious photographic artists of the 20th century, and a subtly transgressive artist, who - as Lynn Hilditch asserts in Lee Miller, Photography, Surrealism and the Second World War - took off from her Surrealist background and "pushed the boundaries both of art and war photography, often using unconventional methods to comment on such multifaceted issues as sex, gender, death, and war"

#lee miller #history #photographer #world war two #art #beauty

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ardent-musings · 4 years ago

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The Girl Who Vanished (Part 1)

Chapter 25: Learning to Lose

“Professor?” Ana started as she sat by and watched the potions master work on her Dreamless Sleep Potion. She had been sitting in on his potion making, trying to understand the method and skill needed to brew the mixture.

Of course that meant spending more time in the cold dungeons which caused her to shake, regretting how terrible her clothes were at keeping her warm. If she was surrounded by her friends that would take the edge out of her boredom, but Professor Snape was not going to allow a whole swarm of students to spend even more time with him.

Without paying her much attention, the man grumbled in response. His eyes were sunken in and tinted a deep violet. With all the chaos that happened during Halloween, Ana could only imagine how tired the man was. It was also probably incredibly exhausting making fun of Harry Potter and all the boy’s friends on the daily. She never understood why he did it and found it strange just how involved the grown man was with the house rivalries.

“Could I possibly start brewing my own potion?” She asked as he crushed a few beans and drained the liquid into his deep charcoal cauldron. He was incredibly focused when doing anything regarding potions, almost to the point of refusing to blink or breath.

“There is no need for that, Ms. Malfoy. The shelf life for this potion can last months,” he groaned with furrowed brows as he pointed to the bubbling liquid in front of him. “Your batch from the summer lasted you up until now and it would be foolish of you to waste ingredients just to brew beside me.”

“I didn’t mean right at this moment, Professor Snape,” she corrected as he turned to collect more ingredients. “I was talking about the next batch of Dreamless Sleep Potion. Or perhaps my medicine so Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t have to do that for me anymore.”

At the mention of her medicine, he stopped in his tracks to redirect all of his attention onto the young girl, “And why would you want to tamper with that by brewing it yourself?”

Snape’s eyes squinted in disapproval, the act making Ana uneasy. The man hadn’t ever displayed this much annoyance at the young girl, the shift made her suspicious of his sudden defensiveness. She wasn’t scared of it, just curious as to why the grown man looked at her like she was a monster.

“The only reason I ask is because with all the unpredictable things that seem to be happening all the time, I’d like to have my potion ready when I need it, instead of having to wait for it. I fear missing my potion if I don’t get to it on time,” she explained firmly.

“You’ve never missed a dosage have you?” He quickly sputtered as he swung around to face hear head on. A small ball formed in her throat at the confrontational man before her.

Ana shook her head; even if she had to run to her potion from the common room, she wouldn’t ever miss taking it. That was the one thing she had always been told to remember. At the sound of her answer, Snape relaxed his tensed face and went back to collecting ingredients.

“If you think I would allow you to brew your own medicine, than you are not the bright witch that I had assumed you to be.”

“Well is there a chance I could eventually brew it myself?”

“No, Ana you cannot.”

“Well why n-“

“Because I said so!”

The man was full out yelling at her, his nose was flared like the troll from Halloween night and it made her feel cold and infuriated. Unlike the troll, she wasn’t scared of Snape. His little charade of being mean and intimidating was poorly acted out, like Draco when the boy tried lying to her. Despite his shouting, Ana sat up straight, nodded once at the man’s snarl and offered him an icy glare in return.

“Then why am I here, Professor?” she criticized bitterly. “I don’t sit here and watch you drop herbs into a pot because I have absolutely nothing to do. I’m here because I want to learn.”

Snape stared at her with no emotion, his grip on the cauldron tightening. Ana knew it was going to take more to get a reaction from him. He was stubborn beyond belief but she was patient and determined.

“I’m here because I find potion making interesting. I’m here because I grew up watching my mother make potions and tonics for me and I am here because last year you said that I seemed like a promising student. Why won’t you give me the chance to prove it?”

Any bit of air that existed within the potion’s classroom seemed harder to inhale; she said all she had to. It was up to Snape to either turn her down and order her out of the room or surprise her by doing the opposite. By the stern look on the man’s face she assumed she would be marching back to her common room in a few minutes.

Without saying another word, Professor Snape abandoned the girl at the table and went back into his office. She found it comical how he refused to acknowledge her and felt the need to run from a twelve year old girl. Ana rolled her eyes and stood up from her stool in aggravation when Snape returned looking cold. He peered down at her for a moment and then presented her with a small bit of parchment. She unrolled it to see in a neat script detailing the directions for brewing the Dreamless Sleep Potion.

“This particular potion is bothersome even for the most seasoned masters to brew,” he warned as she began reading the seemingly never ending ingredient list and method required for it, “If you truly want to prove yourself than you will come back to me with a fully perfected potion.”

Ana knew that this was going to be a challenge but she desperately wanted to prove the arrogant man wrong, but at least she got her hands on what she wanted.

He was no longer looking at her like she was just another student that he despised, he was looking at her like he too hoped she could make this work. Snape nodded at the young girl in approval and she mirrored his movement back to him; they were on the same page. They both hoped she could pull this off.

~ “Go, go, Gryffindor! Go, go, Gryffindor!”

If Ana wasn’t nervous beforehand she was now; the gleeful cheers for her opposing team only reminded her of how the Slytherin versus Gryffindor game was for the whole school. Her very first game as the new Slytherin chaser weighed heavily on the girl, the pressure of her new title seemed overwhelming.

From behind the Slytherin drapes, Ana stood beside Marcus Flint which made her blood boil, but right now she had to focus on the game. He looked as dreadful as ever, his face scrunched in a sneer, but she had to stifle a laugh once she saw a tiny mushroom sprouting from behind his ear.

“Hey, blondie,” Lucian whispered from behind her and without looking Ana knew that he was probably giving her the most kind smile, “You’re going to do just fine. Don’t worry.”

She found it pointless for him to tell her not to worry, there was lots to worry about. And yet she couldn’t help but feel comforted by the sweet reminder. No matter how many summers she spent speeding around on her broom with Draco or how well she did during her tryout, Ana’s mind was preoccupied on the fact that Gryffindor’s team had Harry Potter as their newest member. Maybe that meant less people would be staring at her, which at this point was what Ana wanted.

The curtains that stood between her and the Quidditch Pitch opened wide and she mounted her Nimbus 2000 before finally taking off. Screams of excitement and pride filled her ears and made them ring with just how loud everything was. From her position she could see Draco with his bumbling friends not too far away from Alex, Calista and Aeron who were hollering and waving at her wildly.

Madam Hooch was going over the rules of the game while she finally focused on the two Gryffindor beaters who waved the short bats at her mockingly. She wasn’t going to let them know just how anxious she was so she raised her brows at them playfully and smirked with faux confidence.

Ana didn’t get the chance to stare at the twins long before a whistle sounded from below her and the Quaffle was released. Before she could register what was happening, her body dipped down automatically as she swiped the ball from the air. The cool wind pierced against her skin as she zipped towards the Gryffindor hoops. Flint appeared next to her so she passed it off to him to make the goal. After launching the Quaffle, Oliver Wood blocked it far too easily which made her wonder if she should’ve just went for the goal herself.

Once she got into the rhythm of the game, she found that her nerves disappeared completely; not only did she score a few goals of her own, but Lucian and Derrick were blasting any bludger that the twins sent her way. She had to give the boys credit, when they said they weren’t going to go easy on her, they weren’t joking. More often than not, Ana was dodging the iron boogers, thankfully it allowed the other chasers to score.

Of course Marcus Flint couldn’t play a clean game as he grabbed Lucian’s bat and whirled a bludger into an unsuspecting Oliver Wood who took the hit straight to the gut. It hurt Ana to see the boy free fall, but at this point, there was nothing she could do.

“Bibiana Malfloy races towards the pitch! With Wood out cold this is going to be an easy goal,” Lee yelled over the intercom as she broke away from Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell who were trying their best to steal the ball from her. It had been a while since Ana had been so close to Angelina, but at the moment, they were opponents. “She’s about to score again!”

Ana launched the ball towards the hoops, whirling into the unguarded goal.

“That’s another ten points for Slytherin!”

The announcement made the girl smile widely, enjoying how she was able to contribute to their current lead. As a chaser, there was no time to stay still or observe her surroundings; she had to move on instinct and speed. However, she couldn’t help but notice when out of nowhere, Harry was flailing around on his broom as if it was being yanked by something. Besides his movements, a burning feeling on the side of her neck took her out of the game mentally and in that moment all she could focus on was the crunch of the bludger against her hand as it came into contact with her. The pain was immediate and intense, it took all of her balance just to keep her upright within the air.

“Malfoy took a hit by George Weasley! That’s go- Wait! What is going on with Harry Potter’s broom?”

The injury wasn’t enough to take her out of the game, but there was no way she could hold her broom and the Quaffle at the same time. Without a hand to score with, Ana made sure her body would get in the way of the Gryffindor chasers, although Harry was doing the same as his body jutted harshly across the field. Murmurs of worry erupted around the stadium as the boy who lived was tossed around by some invisible force, but Ana dodged him and the bludgers that kept coming her way.

With every twist on her broom, her hand stung with jolts of pain, each one more painful than the last. She would definitely have to give George the biggest guilt trip of his life once the game was all over. The thought of making the boy apologize to her was the only thing getting her through the agony that was situated in her hand.

As Ana focused on her injury and the Gryffindor chasers, she hadn’t noticed that Harry had regained control of his broom. Across the pitch, Higgs and Harry were neck in neck as they raced for the golden snitch. She was oblivious to the two boys who dove towards the ground at high speeds in pursuit of the ball which was soon to be caught.

“Harry Potter has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins!” Lee cheered animatedly which caused the rest of the pitch to scream happily, except for the Slytherins who groaned at the loss.

Ana was disappointed in the loss but as soon as her feet touched the ground below, all she could focus on was the growing pain in her wrist and the suspicious burn on her neck. The team was supposed to return to the changing rooms to go over the game, but instead Flint was yelling angrily at the outcome. He was so blinded by his fury that he didn’t even notice that Ana was hurt, or maybe he just didn’t care. Before Flint could do more damage, Lucian ushered her out of the room and accompanied her to the hospital wing.

Ana hung her head as she cradled her injured wrist close to her, the final score began to register to the young girl.

“You did great out there, you know,” Lucian complimented as he strutted down the halls of the castle confidently. She didn’t necessarily believe him, but she did know that she did what she could; even if she did poorly, Ana at least gave her all.

With the lack of a smile or anything, Lucian continued, “I mean, you got hit with a bludger and pretty much laughed it off. That’s badass.”

At the sound of that, Ana stopped in her tracks to laugh at the boy, “Badass?”

“Badass.”

Fred blurted in agreement tiredly; he and George had followed behind the two snakes, hoping to catch up with them. Ana attention went straight to the younger twin whose browns eyes were wide with fear, the tips of his ears matched the red hue of his hair. She could tell he was worried, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to have a bit of fun.

“I see your aim is incredibly accurate,” Ana fake pouted as she dangled her injured wrist at the boy, “Fred’s aim could use a bit of work.”

At that jab, Fred rolled his eyes and turned away from her entirely. She loved pushing that boy’s buttons, and the insult made Lucian snicker beside her.

“Ana, I am so unbelievably sorry,” George whined woefully. “The thing is I didn’t even aim the thing. I got distracted by Harry when the bludger was coming after me and I just whacked it away and right into you.

His voice trailed off at the end of his explanation, running out of breath from his fear and tiredness. Ana decided to show the poor boy mercy, it was a mistake after all.

“George, I’m not angry. It’s okay,” she said as a rush of pain redirected her attention to her wrist, but she held in any signs of discomfort in order to reassure the boy of her lie.

“You don’t hate me?”

“No, I don’t hate you.”

George released a shallow sigh at her acceptance, the pale color returning to the boy’s face.

“Ana, we should get to the infirmary,” Lucian reminded her softly, not trying to come between their conversation, “your wrist is turning blue.”

All of their eyes widened at her almost fully bruised wrist, the damage seemingly getting worse by the second. Ana shuffled on her feet and that alone made the girl gasp in pain, which made all four boys jump in concern.

“Sorry, boys, but I’m gonna steal her from you, if that’s alright.”

Of course, Lucian would be perfectly charming to the boys he had not only played against but who also injured one of his best friends. Ana was appreciative for his actions since Aeron or Alex probably would’ve started yelling at the twins. Somehow, Lucian always knew what to say no matter who it was.

“Congrats on the win, Weasleys.”

“Thanks,” the boys said together, both with hints of confusion, which Ana assumed was their reaction to Lucian’s unwavering kindness. It didn't surprise her one bit, that's just who Lucian was.

All four of them exchanged gentle smiles as Lucian opened the large doors to the hospital. Now her wrist was fully black and spreading further up her arm. The color was dramatic against her pale skin which made it blaring obvious how much worse her injury was getting.

“Ms. Malfoy, welcome back,” Madam Pomfrey welcomed in an exasperated huff.

Ana plopped down on the same cot she laid in the year before after her run in with Trelawney; that memory had been pushed deep within the confines of her brain. It wasn’t one she enjoyed thinking about much.

“Hopefully she doesn’t end up here again,” Lucian joked with the woman who had already begun administering a balm to the girl’s wrist which made her wince at the touch. The pain was brief and the healing effects of the topical was already making her discomfort lessen. Next to her, Lucian leaned against the side table as he watched over the healer at work. He waited patiently as Ana was being cared for which made the girl smile at him. She was still hurting a bit, but Lucian brought her an insurmountable sense of comfort when he beamed back at the girl.

#fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley x oc #bibiana malfoy #the girl who vanished #tgwv #tgwv 1-25 #enemies to friends to lovers

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jackdawyt · 5 years ago

Video

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With Dragon Age 4 still quite a few years away, given it's expected 2022-2023 release window. I've been reflecting and thinking retrospectively about how long Dragon Age 4 has actually been in development. And so, with that question, here I am on a quest to try and answer it.

This investigation has been put together for the betterment of everyone in the BioWare community, including myself, plaguing the developers with infinite questions regarding what’s next for Dragon Age and when will we hear something about the next game.

If we, as a community, can understand at which point BioWare are with the development of the next Dragon Age, then perhaps we’ll have more grace and patience as we support the developers with their hard work and dedication to creating the next game.

We’d have some appreciation, all the while garnering an understanding of how long this game has left in development. Yes, for our sakes, but also for BioWare’s sake. We need to see if EA are giving the Dragon Age team enough time for them to create the Dragon Age game they want to make, and nothing short of that.

And that’s exactly what I want to uncover in this video. With that, let’s begin. it's no secret that the next Dragon Age game has already had quite the tumultuous time in its early stages of production:

The previous iteration known as 'Joplin' was canned and has been rebooted for 'live service elements'.

The Creative Director and 14-year BioWare Veteran Mike Laidlaw left the studio, along with his vision for the next Dragon Age game.

Shortly after that, the Lead Writer and 17-year BioWare Veteran David Gaider left the studio to pursue other games design avenues.

Not to mention the anxiety and panic attacks the developers faced ensuing Anthem's development.

Although all of these factors point to disaster and worry, and they can lead to mixed feelings about the next game in production, I can assure you that there's still plenty confidence and hope for the next iteration of Dragon Age 4:

The developers working on the next Dragon Age game are creating the next with "an eye to what the fans love about Dragon Age, which is easy because they love Dragon Age."

The Creative Director of 'Morrison', the latest iteration is Matthew Goldman, the previous Art Director of Dragon Age: Inquisition.

Plenty of BioWare Veterans are still in the studio, working on the next Dragon Age title such as Patrick Weekes (15 years), John Epler (13 years), Caroline Livingstone (12 years), Mary Kirby (13 years), Graham Scott (13 years), Mark Darrah (23 years?), Parrish Ley (14 years), Lucas Krisjanson (22 years), and many more legacy developers!

There's been signs of improvement within the working conditions at BioWare, Casey Hudson personally has been getting involved with solving these issues. I've seen a few developers sharing tweets that they're enjoying working at BioWare, and they're eager to share more on the next Dragon Age game. I'll share even more on this topic in my next news video coming end of May! But it seems that the developers are staying on top, and positive for the next Dragon Age.

Regardless, I'll take any chance I can get to inspire folks that the next Dragon Age game is in the right hands and BioWare are aware of what the fans expect from them. Let's move on to the main investigation of this video, to examine the next Dragon Age game’s development process.

Ironically, the next game hasn't officially been announced, according to many of the developers at BioWare, yet EA have already given the project an initial release window of 2022-2023. One of the main questions I want to answer by the end of this video is, do BioWare have enough time to create an epic Dragon Age game, with that strict deadline mandated by EA?

Well, in order to answer that question and understand the production stages the game is currently at, I'm going to have to begin at the start by revisiting Jason Schreier's "The Past & Present Of Dragon Age", which I know we've talked about a lot, but it's the biggest indicator on Dragon Age 4's development. So, here we go.

2015:

Following Dragon Age: Inquisition's Trespasser DLC release in 2015, Dragon Age 4's previous iteration began its very early stages of production. The plans for the next game were very exciting, and some of the developers had put their best work into it.

The project was called 'Joplin' and it would've centred on spies embarking on heists in Tevinter, smaller in scale then Inquisition, however, much further in depth, choices and consequences. And there was an emphasis on repeat play, having the player's visit previous areas again, with new content.

2016:

However, the first major bump in the road occurred in 2016, one year after development had started. Mass Effect: Andromeda required all hands-on deck, and so many members of the Dragon Age team were moved to work on Andromeda, they're even mentioned in the credits of Andromeda as the 'Dragon Age Finaling Team.'

2017:

After Andromeda's release in March 2017, it was back to working on 'Joplin' for the majority of the shifted developers. For some developers, it was refreshing to get back to working on the next Dragon Age. However, it wasn't long before BioWare's next releasing title - Anthem was suffering through development troubles. By the latter half of 2017, Anthem was in real trouble, and so EA took drastic action.

In October, 2017, EA cancelled Joplin's development and moved the bulk of the project's staff onto Anthem. With two years of development on a project that will never see the light of day, Mike Laidlaw departed BioWare that same month.

Alexis Kennedy was previously working on 'Joplin' too, however, according to his LinkedIn profile, he left the project in October too. It seems his work only extended to 'Joplin' and will most likely be scrapped as well.

Towards the end of 2017, as the majority of "Joplin's" core team went to work on Anthem, a very small skeleton team stuck around to work on a brand-new Dragon Age project under the new title 'Morrison.' This team will have consistent of developers like Patrick Weekes, who was anointed the role of Lead Writer since David Gaider departed. Other key developers working on the foundations of 'Morrison' in 2017 included: John Epler, Matthew Goldman, Daniel Kading, Matt Rhodes and many other talented designers.

It's unknown how much of "Joplin's" previous work will make its way into 'Morrison', surely a project with production escalating over two years would have some worthy elements that could be added to 'Morrison'

As it stands, we don't know if the games will share the same vision, or if any of the same key mechanics, concepts, story threads, etc, have made their way into Morrison.

All that is known about 'Morrison' is that the game has been rebooted with Anthem's codebase, so the developers aren't starting from complete scratch, they'll have somewhat of a preset of the Frostbite engine that can act as Dragon Age 4's very foundations. However, unlike Joplin, this new version of the fourth Dragon Age is planned with a live service component, built for long-term gameplay and revenue.

A few developers working on 'Morrison' stated that this game will change drastically in the next two years, however, that's been the case with every Dragon Age game. The point is that the project will take many different shapes until it feels like a Dragon Age game.

2018:

So, we know that this project reboot happened around the end of 2017, with a very small skeleton team going forward following a slightly new approach, and a new Creative Director. This is the new Dragon Age 4 that was later teased at The Game Awards in 2018. However, unbenounced to us at the time, we didn't know the game was rebooted, and therefore, as fans do, we presumed that this title would release soon.

In actuality, when 'The Dread Wolf Rises' teaser dropped, the new iteration of Dragon Age 4 had only been in very early development with a small team for about a year, hence why we still haven't heard, or seen anything of this project since. the game's production stages had barely started.

Not only that, but the teaser wasn’t supposed to act as an announcement, but more of a message to the fans that something is happening with Dragon Age.

2019:

Anthem shipped in February, 2019, and following its release, the Dragon Age developers who were shuffled to the Anthem team back in 2017, then went back to the new iteration of Dragon Age in May of 2019, including the Executive Producer, Mark Darrah.

The Dragon Age team; fully operational with all hands-on deck, could begin to wrap up its pre-production stages, and start production development. We discovered a few key production stages last year in my massive 2019 news roundup, things like voice acting, concept art, and potential 3D models.

Fernando Melo left the studio in August of 2019, stating that his work of “guiding the team through EA’s concept and early production phases” had been complete, and he felt it was the least messy time to leave the company. This proves that indeed; the title has begun production stages.

2020:

With that, we can safely say that Dragon Age 4's production has continually increased, as the project makes its way through many core development stages.

To this date, the game has recently had script readings for scenes, some of them being romance moments. Animations for a dog-like companion. Something about coding 'Scriplets' and plenty more of tidbits, that if you're interested be sure to check out my latest news video.

Conclusions:

So, in an attempt to work out how long Dragon Age 4 has been in development... If we do some quick maths, it seems that project 'Joplin' was in development for around two years, between 2015 - 2017.

Therefore, project 'Morrison' has been in development for around 3 years, given that it started in 2017 - present.

However, from late 2017 to early 2019. the work on 'Morrison' was pre-production. The main production stages began in May 2019.

So, 'Morrison' has been in pre-production for approximately 18 months, with the production stages starting around a year ago, in May 2019.

With its release window of 2022-2023, can BioWare successfully create an epic Dragon Age title? Is this enough time for the developers to create the best Dragon Age possible?

Well, I'm not one to leave you with rhetorical questions. If we look at Dragon Age: Inquisition's development, a game that I'd consider to be a Dragon Age epic, that served the fans supremely well.

In a 2014 interview with Mike Laidlaw, conducted by UK newspaper The Guardian:

Dragon Age: Inquisition's production had been about three years, but taking in the early concepting, it would be four years. As studio general manager Aaryn Flynn kindly pointed out, that’s about 10% of Mike's life.

If we go by that measure, 'Morrison' with 18 months of pre-production and one year of full production, and two to three years of development left before an initial release window.... it sounds quite plausible that BioWare could pull this off.

Although BioWare have their work cut out for them, I have hope that they can deliver an amazing Dragon Age game dedicated to the fans. With plenty of time spent on the pre-production stages, hopefully the team has learned from Anthem and Andromeda's rough early stages, and they've conceptualised the development enough, that production can carry on at ease.

And regarding Joplin's two years of previous work, I hope that at least some aspects of that project's production went into 'Morrison', the core concept alone sounded like it could've been the best Dragon Age game to date, and with so many developers pouring in some of their best work, I truly hope that it all hasn't been canned and it can make its way into the next Dragon Age game.

Regardless, I have a news update in the works for the end of May as I mentioned before, there's still plenty of tidbits coming out, and as I stated in my Tinfoil Tea Party podcast, I'll be doing news videos before the first of every month when we have enough, well news... In April, we got a fair bit, but May has been epic so far. So, stay tuned for that!

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graaythekwami · 5 years ago

Text

A Good Actor - ML one-shot

Summary: To avoid auditioning for the role of Ladybug, Marinette finds herself trying out as Chat Noir for a school performance. It’s just her luck that she’s trying out with Adrien, who she can barely get a sentence out around. So when she’s told to improv the heroes’ patrol night she does the easiest thing– and repeats exactly what Chat Noir said to her on patrol last night.

Also read on ao3!

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“Y-you want me to what?” Marinette cried, taking a step back, staring at Alya with wide eyes.

“I want you to play Ladybug for the school performance!” Alya said, holding up the poster excitedly. “Every class needs to send in a video of two students to audition for the role of Ladybug and Chat Noir, and just about everyone in our class agreed that you’d be the perfect Ladybug!”

“Hahaha, me? Perfect Ladybug? What are you talking about we’re nothing alike,” Marinette said hastily. “I’d just trip across the stage and get tangled up in the yoyo string if I tried it, you know me!”

“For once I actually agree with Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe piped up from the other side of the room, arms crossed. “I would be a much better Ladybug than she would ever be!”

Alya ignored her, pressing closer with a smile. “Yes you, girl! Who better than our ‘everyday Ladybug’? I saw you dressed up for Clara Nightingale’s video, and you pulled off Ladybug’s costume so well. And sure you can be a bit clumsy sometimes, but that doesn’t mean a thing. Remember when we were shooting that school film and you were going to step in as an actor? You were doing awesomely!”

“B-but wouldn’t you be a better Ladybug?” Marinette stuttered out. “I mean you run her blog, you probably know the most about her, you’d pull off Ladybug perfectly! You’re her number one fan!”

Alya grinned. “Also, did I mention that we’re going to have Adrien play Chat Noir? That’d mean you’d get to play a role where Adrien’s flirting with you, and even if you guys aren’t chosen as the final actors you’d get to spend some time with him...”

Marinette was mad that this made her pause for a moment– because that was not how she was supposed to act as a superhero. Rule number one was to protect her identity, and everything else comes after that. She already had put herself in a role where she had almost been fully dressed up as Ladybug before, and she was not going to do that again. Even if it meant working with Adrien.

“Ha! I knew that would change your mind!” Alya said triumphantly, taking her pause as a yes. She grabbed Marinette by her arm, dragging her away. “We got our Ladybug!”

“Wait Alya, I didn’t say–!” Marinette began, only to be cut off by Adrien on the other side of the room.

“You want me to play Chat Noir?” He asked, looking quite startled at the idea.

“Well, yeah dude,” Nino said with a grin. “I mean, you were his voice actor for the movie, right? You look kinda like him too... ‘cause you know, blond hair and all? Even the Clara Nightingale wanted you to play Chat Noir in her music video. Who would be better in the class?”

“I mean, I don’t know, you know I probably wouldn’t have time to do it, with my schedule and all–”

“But you have time today, you’re here after all, and just about everything else will be done during school hours,” Nino countered, still grinning. “So we could film the audition today and submit to the school, and if you guys make it then the rest would be during school.”

“I–”

“Marinette is going to be playing Ladybug for our class audition,” Alya said happily as they pulled up near the boys. She pushed Marinette forward, who was stiff. “You guys work so well together, won’t it be perfect?”

“Alya I–”

Adrien gave a small smile. “I think Marinette is an awesome choice, but I don’t think I will be able to do this. I don’t want to disappoint, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to step down.”

“Come on dude!” Nino begged. “There’s no one else in the class that can pull off a better Chat Noir.”

Marinette crossed her arms. “I’ve seen the call for auditions– they specifically stated that looks don’t matter at all for this, it all comes down to acting skills. You don’t need me and Adrien just because we happen to have the same hair color as the heroes. There’s other people that can do it better, so choose them.”

“Adrien has the most experience with acting though!” Rose piped up.

“And I’ve run the statistics, and out of all the females in the class Marinette would be the most suitable candidate for acting,” Max remarked.

“We–” Adrien began, but he was cut off by their class.

“You would be awesome, man,” Kim said, leaning over his desk. “Both of you, just give it a try?”

“Neither of you would mess up on stage,” Mylene said softly.

Ivan nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt to at least try, right?”

“You owe me girl,” Alya reminded Marinette. “And I’m cashing in right now– you need to try out for this audition. This would be an awesome chance for you!”

Marinette swallowed, barely noticing as she bumped up against Adrien, slightly startled at how adamant her class was on it being them to audition. Of course they didn’t realize what pressure they were putting on her, if anything they were just trying to work up her courage, not realizing just what could be at stake if she were to do this. She nervously looked up at Adrien, who surprisingly looked just as worried about this as she did. He glanced at her, offering a nervous smile, but also seemed to be quietly asking for her help as well. Of course he had enough pressure on him from his family, and pushing his schedule probably never went over well for him.

“Guys,” Marinette said, trying to make herself heard over the clamor of encouragement. “I don’t want to play Ladybug in this. I’m flattered that you think I’d do such a good job... but I don’t feel the same.”

“It’s just an audition,” Alix said. “Come on, would it hurt to give it a shot?”

Marinette swallowed, they weren’t going to let this go, were they? She closed her eyes, mind racing. She could feel Tikki pressing up against her through her purse. Once again her class began reassuring her that she would do an awesome job, to at least give it a shot. That there would be so many auditions that it would be unlikely that she would be chosen anyways. Ideas raced through her mind, trying to find some solution.

“Fine!” she suddenly cried, and she felt Tikki stiffen up. “I’ll do the audition!”

“Woo!” Alya cheered, and the class was grinning. “We got our Ladybug.”

“Wait–” Marinette said hastily, holding out her hands. “I’ll do the audition– but I don’t want the role of Ladybug. I want to try out for Chat Noir.”

Everyone stared at her.

She scratched the back of her head. “He’s my favorite of the two heroes, and I think I’d be more comfortable doing all this if I was trying out for his role, you know? Besides, the flier said this was going to be more focused on talent than anything else so why not...?”

“Besides!” Adrien suddenly interrupted, throwing himself into the conversation. “I’d love to try out as Ladybug! I think I would have a lot more fun with that role anyways, she’s awesome!”

“Well, um, I don’t see anything wrong with that, you are like her biggest fan,” Nino said with a shrug. “You’re both awesome actors, I think you could pull off any role.”

“But it would be so perfect the other way,” Alya muttered. “I still have pictures from Clara’s music video auditions, you were both so cute...” Nino nudged her, and she smiled. “But whatever you guys are most comfortable with doing– I know you two are going to be awesome!”

She winked at Marinette, who flushed slightly. She didn’t know why Adrien now seemed willing with the role swap, since he had acted like his tight schedule was the issue before– yet now he seemed much more relaxed. Maybe he was tired of always being dragged into the role as Chat Noir? It seemed to happen so often with him, so it was no wonder he wanted to play Ladybug...

That’s when it hit Marinette. Adrien was going to be auditioning for the role of Ladybug. He was going to be acting as her. And if she was going to be playing the role as flirty Chat Noir that would mean that she would be flirting with Adrien.

Suddenly the room seemed a lot warmer, a pink blush spreading across her cheeks. No one said a word as she and Adrien were dragged towards the front of the classroom. Nino had his phone out to record the audition, while Alya was looking over the requirements one last time.

The next thing Marinette knew she was positioned across from Adrien, a plastic Chat Noir mask being pressed onto her face. It was far from comfortable– the mask the Miraculouses provided always seamlessly sat on her face, not obstructing her vision nor poking into her skin. She had to adjust this fake one several times, the elastic that held it into place digging into the sides of her head.

Adrien had a Ladybug mask on, fidgeting with it himself, shooting her a hesitant smile. She smiled back, knees feeling weak seeing him with her signature colors on him. In fact if you messed up his hair a bit he could probably pull off a Mister Bug costume– but she was sure the last thing he wanted was to be compared to Chat Noir if that had been what made him uncomfortable about all this in the first place.

“Okay!” Alya said, scrolling through the school website on her phone, holding the audition flier in the other hand. “No costumes are needed for the auditions, I just want to help you guys to be in character. Minimal props are allowed, and we just need to send in a two-to-three minute video of the two actors doing an improv performance of any scenario involving the heroes. ‘We’re looking for actors that can naturally fall into the role’, blah blah blah, ‘no script of any kind is needed to be followed for the audition’, blah blah, ‘only one video submission per class’... and I think that’s everything!”

“Here,” Juleka said, holding out two objects for them to take. “For props.”

Marinette was given a long cardboard tube, and considering the fact that Adrien was handed a yoyo it was probably supposed to represent Chat Noir’s baton. She had to stiffen a laugh, the image of a cardboard-covered Chat Noir leaping into battle popping into her mind. She didn’t know why, but it definitely seemed like something he would do.

“Okay!” Alya said excitedly, grinning at them. “Just relax, we can do as many takes as you guys want. Sure it’s supposed to be improv, but the beauty of video auditions is that we can just send in our best one.”

Adrien laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “So then, what scenario do you want us in then?”

He had looped the yoyo around a finger, but it was quite clear he didn’t have much experience with the toy. The yoyo only came back to his hand once before losing momentum, and he had to wind it up. Marinette tried to avoid yoyos for the most part, mostly because she had become very skilled with them both in and out of the mask. Also she found regular yoyos to be very boring– no endless string and it doesn’t function as a grappling hook? Where’s the fun in that?

“An akuma battle!” Kim said eagerly.

“And what are we supposed to do? Have them jump around the room fighting a non-existent monster?” Alix rolled her eyes.

“They need a speaking role– something to show how amazing they are!” Rose said happily, beaming at them.

Alya grinned. “Okay, I got it– you two are meeting up for a nightly patrol, okay? Marinette, go off screen for a moment, because Ladybug would definitely be the more punctual of the two... perfect!”

“Actually–” Adrien began, before stopping.

Chat Noir was actually the more punctual one of the two– he tended to arrive early on patrol nights and on time for anything else, while she ran late as both Marinette and Ladybug. The only time Chat was late was when he was busy with his civilian life– meaning he was still being punctual in that part of his life.

“How should we start?” Marinette asked uncertainly, stepping back as Nino held up his phone to record.

“Your choice girl, just be Chat Noir,” Alya sat up. “Okay, everyone quiet... and go!”

With that Nino started recording. Adrien stiffened up for a moment, before leaning up against the desk, looking over to Marinette. Improv or not she had no idea what she should be doing, and she closed her eyes for a moment. Patrol... she went on patrol every week, this shouldn’t be a problem. She just needed to do as Chat Noir did, and no one knew him better than she did.

She had literally been on patrol with him last night, this would be easy.

So Marinette sat up, putting on her best Chat-grin, and sauntered onto the camera. She twirled her ‘baton’ the best she could with her hands, before slamming the tip onto the ground and leaning against it like she had seen Chat Noir do so many times before. Her heart was hammering, considering the fact that she was smirking slyly at Adrien, but she reminded herself to just play her part.

“Hey there Bugaboo,” she said as smoothly as she could. “Tonight is purr-fect, isn’t it? Absolutely mew-velous, just like you.”

She couldn’t help but let her grin widen– saying the exact same thing Chat Noir had said to her last night. Adrien stared at her for a moment, blinking once, and she decided that he was adorable in his little Ladybug mask. He looked surprised, probably because she wasn’t a stuttering mess, before composing himself. He crossed his arms, rolling his eyes.

“Really, Kitty?” He asked in what seemed to be an attempt to mimic Ladybug’s voice. “Can’t we have just one patrol without your puns?”

Huh. That had been basically the exact same thing she had said in reply to Chat Noir last night. That made her feel warm, the fact that Adrien understood Ladybug that well. Nino had said he was a fan, but still.

“No puns, My Lady?” Marinette replied, once again echoing her and Chat’s conversation from last night, and she put her hand on her chest in mock-offense. “But that would be so claw-ful. A cat-astrophe! Purr-haps you need to reconsider just how pun-derful my puns are.”

Adrien struggled against a laugh as she rattled off her cat puns, and she hated the fact that they came to mind so easily. Thank goodness Chat Noir wasn’t here to watch her now, because she knew that he would never let her live this down. Mimicking him and making puns? He would probably think he was in heaven.

“I will not hesitate to push you off of this building,” Adrien replied with a huff, crossing his arms just a bit more dramatically than she had when she had said this last night. “Now, I’m going to patrol the east side, you take the west and–”

“Meow-ch!” She cut him off without a second thought, because that was what he had done to her last night when she had tried to divide up patrols. “Separate patrols again? I would think that you’re trying to avoid me, but considering how many messages you left me last night–”

“I was worried about you, you stupid cat!” This time Adrien cut her off. “You took several hits for me with that akuma yesterday– then left as soon as the battle was over! I just wanted to make sure you were okay!”

“My Lady was worried about me!” Marinette swooned, clasping her hands together– but had to swiftly grab the cardboard tube before it fell over, because unlike Chat’s actual baton it couldn’t shrink down. “Your Miraculous Ladybugs did heal me up, but I have to say I am still a little sore...” she held out one hand, smiling slightly. “Kiss it better, Bugaboo?”

On the outside Marinette was flawlessly playing her role, but on the inside she was panicking. She was calling Adrien Bugaboo! She had just asked him to kiss her hand! Audition or not she was still freaking out... but that wasn’t the only reason. She had just used what had happened on patrol last night as a starting point for this improv shoot, yet somehow the conversation was going exactly how it had gone last night– and she had no idea what that meant.

Adrien was watching her with wide eyes for a moment– was there something on her face? Did he think she was weird? Was she making him uncomfortable? She didn’t have time to question him further as he slipped back into character, rolling his eyes and pushing her hand away. He attempted to spin her yoyo about a few times, though it didn’t go too well so he stopped.

“Such a needy kitty,” he said as he turned away. “We can patrol together if you want to so badly– but if you call me Bugaboo again I’m throwing you into the Seine.”

Alarms were going off in Marinette’s mind at this point– because that had been exactly what she had said, nearly word for word. She had given Chat Noir that same threat last night, she had turned away in the same way, she had been spinning her yoyo about– had Adrien been spying on them or something?!

“Must you wound me, My Lady? Purr-haps you should reconsider.”

Adrien let out a dramatic sigh. “You already used that one tonight, Kitty.”

Marinette had stiffened up, and was now staring at Adrien in shock. There was only so much that could be a coincidence, and this had now reached far past that. Her mouth was dry, knowing that what she said next would either confirm or deny the racing possibilities in her mind, because she could only think of one reason on why Adrien could parrot her conversation from last night so perfectly.

“W-well,” Marinette stuttered. “I think you should appreciate my puns more, even P-plagg likes them.”

This time Adrien stiffened up, having gone still. He didn’t say anything for a moment, before slowly turning around, watching her closely. He opened his mouth, about to say something, then paused. She swallowed, and then he spoke again, each word said with some hesitation.

“Well... Tikki says Plagg has no taste,” he replied slowly, and Marinette’s world came crashing down as he said her kwami’s name. She took a step back, face pale as she stared at Adrien. The audition was long forgotten, Alya’s wave at her for her to continue having gone unnoticed. She just stared at her crush and partner, mouth part way open.

“Ohmygosh!” She blurted out, hands going to her mouth. “Oh my gosh, n-no, this isn’t– you can’t– you’re not–”

Adrien was staring at her with awe, like he had never seen her before. She paid no heed to the confused looks her classmates were giving her, taking a step back from Adrien. He reached out, hesitating, looking stunned– but he had a huge smile on his face.

“Can I just say you make a fabulous Chat Noir?” Adrien said with a grin.

“Shut up!” She cried, voice muffled by her hands.

“You just pull him off so purr-fectly,” he continued. “Anyone else would have done a claw-ful job, but you just captured his essence–”

“I will throw you into the Seine!” She shouted, being fueled by nothing but panic.

“Cut!” Nino called, pausing the recording. “What happened, dudes? The first half was going perfectly.”

“Purr-fectly,” Adrien whispered under his breath, a gleeful smile on his face, and Marinette reflexively chucked the cardboard tube at him.

Adrien stepsided with ease, winking at her, and she felt herself turning red.

“Hey Nino, could you send me a copy of that take?”

“No!” Marinette yelped. “Nino, no! I will sic Alya on you! Don't you dare!”

“I'll do whatever you want, just save it!” Adrien called, arm wrapping around her waist as she sprang towards Nino’s phone, holding her back. “I need it for the memory!”

“I will sic Alya on you too, Agreste!”

“...What is happening?” Alya whispered, and the rest of the class seemed to echo that sentiment.

Adrien seemed to gain the upper hand as he scooped Marinette up in his arms, causing her to let out a startled squeal, turning bright red. She most definitely wasn't protesting as she looked up at Adrien, but the startling thing was that Adrien was doing it in the first place. He seemed surprised by her reaction, but was grinning.

“Wipe that smirk off your stupidly handsome face!”

“Handsome face, you say?”

“I will tie you to the Eiffel Tower and leave you there all night!”

“As long as you're there~”

“Shut up, Agreste!” Marinette snarled, punching his shoulder, which only made him laugh.

He leaned in close, still cradling Marinette in his arms. He was smirking, a gleam in his eyes as he leaned in close.

“Make me, little lady.”

Marinette, who somehow had gone even redder, glared up at him. She reached up, grabbed the sides of his face, and pulled his lips down into hers. The whole class exploded as she did so, Adrien stiffening up as they kissed.

It only lasted for a moment, and then instantly Adrien melted into the kiss. He pulled her in closer, his grip on her shifting. One hand found the center of her back, the other supporting the rest of her as they kissed. Part of Marinette was panicking– because Adrien– but the rest of her now recognized him as her partner.

Chaton. Dork. Trustworthy. Safety. There was no reason to panic, but plenty to keep kissing.

They were breathing heavily as they pulled apart, resting their foreheads together. His smirks from before were gone, his gaze nothing but soft, joy pouring from him.

“Oh kwamis,” he whispered, his warm breath on her face. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she murmured, and she felt a purr building up in his throat.

“Say it again?”

She gave a small smirk. “How about you kiss me again?”

He grabbed her chin, and did just that.

#identity reveal #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #LadyNoir #adrienette #ml ladynoir #ml adrinette #adrien agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #ml marinette #ml Adrien #chat noir #ladybug #my fics #one shot

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kenkamishiro · 5 years ago

Text

Ishida Sui’s Review of 2019

I didn’t think I’d ever finish this with my onslaught of classes including pharmacology, but I somehow managed! 6k word count, the longest TL I’ve done to date besides Parvati’s interlude for FGO. Lots of insight into Jack Jeanne’s production and what Ishida’s been up to for the past year. It was tough to translate because it was so long, but I had a lot of fun.

Let me know if there are any mistakes, I’m sure there’s a whole bunch. Have fun reading!

Original can be found here.

＊＊＊

2019. I’m reflecting on this past year while flipping through my agenda. Since I’m writing this for my sake, there’s going to be a lot of sections without much explanation.

January

○ This was when Jack Jeanne had yet to be announced, so I was mostly doing preliminary work at the time. Stuff like “BU” and “character facial expressions” will be finished some time this month, is written in my schedule book.

○ New Year’s party in Tokyo from the 16th - 19th. The New Year’s party is a joint party that’s comprised of the 4th editorial department (Shueisha’s seinen magazine branch) that’s held every year in January. I attended the party with the staff every year during serialization, minus my first year.

2019 will be the first New Year’s party since the series ended, but I thought I should stop inviting the staff to attend since we’re not working together anymore (plus it’d be a hassle), so I didn’t really invite anyone. But the day before the event, Editor M brought up the topic inside the taxi and asked, “Are none of the staff coming this year?” (Even if they’re invited now, it’s going to be impossible, asking them to fly the next day and causing a ruckus…) When I replied, “Hey, I’m sure it’d be fun if you invited them and they all came~”, the editor contacted Goubaru-kun, and after said, “He said he’s going.” Guess he wasn’t busy. In the end, the staff during serialization and several people from OB and OG came, almost identical to the lineup from previous years, and it occurred to me that maybe I should have just invited them from the start.

Anyway, at this year’s New Year’s party, I don’t really remember much of what happened. I talked with my senpais from back when I was an assistant for Kingdom, and outside the venue I sobered up from the agoraphobic dizziness I was feeling inside. At the second party I remember people talking to me haphazardly and being photographed. I wish I’d refused. Also, I was sexually harassed by Rikudou Matsubara, my senpai from the same region as me. This New Year’s party will be my last.

February

Briefing session for the game held in Tokyo. Key visual created. It says here [on the agenda] that I want to go to Kagoshima. Every week there’s a checklist for 10 km of jogging and weight training 2-3 times a week. I spent about a week doing some composition work. It ended up being helpful for me, but it made me decide not to work anymore with people with different levels of interest from me.

○ TRPG is written for the 28th. Usually we use the DX (Double Cross) system, but this time one of our participating players, M’s schedule was under mysterious attack. As game master, taking consideration of everyone who’d made time in their schedules for tonight, I thought we could switch to Cthulhu and asked them to wait an hour. 2 hours later I finished coming up with a scenario and began the session. It was fairly fun.

March

Finish BU this month, is clearly noted down. BU stands for bust-up, which are drawings of characters in standing poses [sprites] that are common in ADV games. Normally, since it takes a huge amount of work, the BU work is always divided up. The original drawings are done by the illustrator, in this case I do the base illustrations (line drawing & colouring), and using them as the base, the department sharing the work cleans up the line drawings and recolours it...that’s how the process goes. But since I’m a mangaka and don’t have the technology needed to make gaming assets, I thought it’d be best to leave it to the pros in that field, so that was how that stage proceeded. At that point in time at least.

I also had plans written down to go to Kagoshima. Looks like I didn’t go.

○ TRPG on the 25th. Player M’s schedule lined up with ours, so we played DX with 6 PL plus me as GM. We went to the aquarium, were attacked by witches, and so on.

April

Finish BU, is faintly written down. It seems like the work was more or less completed earlier this month.

○ High school friend K’s wedding on the 6th. Up until then I’d only been to two other wedding receptions. The weddings were for a different friend from high school, and Tajika-san, one of my senpais from Kingdom. This suddenly reminds me of that time at Tajika-san’s reception, when I took a super early flight because I absolutely didn’t want to be late whatsoever, but I ended up not being able to fly for about an hour and a half because of engine trouble or whatever, so I entered at almost the same time as the bride and groom during the reception…

K’s wedding was the first time in my life where I was present all the way from the wedding to the reception, but how should I put it, I was struck by a beam of light. I don’t know who he’s getting married to, I have no clue what their relationship is like. But I was somehow bombarded...by all these thoughts that became jumbled in my head, like the energy in this place, the power of their oaths, questioning what it was, how light isn’t always justice.

I got the feeling that this was what proper, respectable humans take part in, but since I'm fine with not being a proper, respectable human, I decided to not do anything other than what my heart desires.

I'm definitely not good with places where I’m in the spotlight. But congratulations.

○ “Play Sekiro” is strongly noted down. Thank you for supporting me in the first half of 2019.

○ TRPG for the 29th - 30th. DX. Player M’s character dies.

May - June

My schedule book is starting to look more scattered now. On the other hand, since I’ve got a good memory of this time, I can write while recalling the events.

○ I did the covers for the Touken stage play book.

I drew the cover illustrations for the Touken [Ranbu] stage play that Mikasano-san, who I’m grateful to for his work on the anime and movie scripts for TG, worked on. In my mind, it feels like I'm watching the back of who I'd consider my older brother in the creative world, or a fellow comrade on another battlefield fighting to the death. I think it came out quite charmingly, so I’ll include the links for now. Link 1 | Link 2 | Link 3

During this time of work for Jack Jeanne, I was working on “model sheets”. Blueprints for the characters’ attire, not just from the front but also the internal structure.

Unlike most other games, Jack Jeanne has “performance costumes” in addition to normal attire. Because of its “revue” theme, costumes that will be worn onstage needed to be prepared. I was shocked when I suddenly admitted that I needed model sheets for 5 different performances (spring, summer, fall, winter, final) for the 6 main characters, making 30 designs in total.

Back in the TG era, these kind of drawings that I just explained, or drawings that needed a lot of layers, were a pain in the ass. Plus I wasn’t good at them, so I thought that I didn’t want to do it for the rest of my life if possible. But it seems like I have to do this myself. With a sense of determination, I decided to work solely on this for all of May. At the same time, I made nothing but curry for all my meals. There’s no deep reason behind it, but my aim was to kinda boost my ability to concentrate daily by choosing to be decisive in that action.

○ Working on model sheets It came with an unintended effect. Because I spent a month on work that required balance and consistency, my right-left checking skills got better, and completely unrelated, I improved in drawing perfect copies. The design work for the model sheets itself became really fun to do, starting around when I became obsessed with the scarf design (sumo wrestler drawing) I definitely couldn’t use for Neji’s summer costume. I discovered that it’s precisely because I’m not good at this that my labour bore fruit. I feel like this was my experience for the latter half of the year.

July

The cast members were chosen. Unlike TG, there are 6 people + 1 person who can be referred to as the main character, so it was interesting to have a cast with some breadth.

Seems like lyrical work was the main thing I worked on.

Lyrical work. In Jack Jeanne, each performance contains several songs to sing and dance to, so each one is supposed to be sung. ...hence the lyrics.

The topic of what to do with the lyrics was brought up in November 2018. What happens typically is that, let’s say there’s singing in an idol game, then a company that specializes in it is asked to produce the songs. Even for Jack Jeanne, there were several candidates I could pick and choose from. But after a quick look-through, frankly speaking, they all looked the same to me. There’s one person that’s good, it’d be great if we could get them...is what I thought, but, “Even though I don’t have the skills, I’m the one who understands this world the best,” crossed my mind. ...should I try? I tried it. To be honest, I was super embarrassed since it’d be seen by a lot of people, but it evolved into, “Who cares if you’re doing it?” And so Jack Jeanne’s lyrics were tasked to me.

I mentioned this earlier, but there are multiple songs for each performance. So if you combine those plus the opening and ending songs, that makes 17 songs in total. Lyrics for 17 songs that I’m fully responsible for. What the hell...am I doing? Maybe it was from that moment that I started losing it.

Including the lyrics that I’d been working on bit by bit every month, the remaining ones were finished in one go this July. By the time I finished everything, my current state was, “Give me more songs...let me write more lyrics!” But it wasn’t over just yet.

August

Every time I meet someone I tell this story. I’m thinking of keeping it up. Here I am, relieved to have finished the lyrics, when a message pops up on the Skype group chat. It’s from Yamashita Daisuke of Broccoli.

To briefly touch upon Yamashita Daisuke, he is a young man who’s been involved with this project since October of 2018, and a poor soul who was tasked with conducting very important meetings on his third day of working at the company.

The producer from Broccoli was going on maternity leave, so he was scouted as her replacement. As an aside, if I have to be honest, the exchanges between me and Towada-san, and Broccoli’s Jack Jeanne team up until then were quite frustrating. “How about doing it like this?” they would counter. And we’d respond with something like, “This part is going to be developed later on, and since this will become foreshadowing for the entirety of the story, it can’t be modified that easily.” This kind of situation, having to explain everything in detail one by one, going 3 steps forward and being held 2 steps back, had been going on for about 3 years, so the two of us would often whine about it over drinks, going, “When should we quit, this is ridiculous,” etc.

Finally when things began going more smoothly, the producer who was leading the project took her leave, so I wondered if we’d be able to get along with Yamashita Daisuke, but he was, how should I put it, very diligent. For the last year I've been working with people who don’t put in their best effort, so I was very hopeful and thankful to him.

But I digress. This was the gist of the message that Daisuke sent.

“Kosemura-san’s who’s in charge of musical composition wants ‘scratch vocal tracks’ for when the singers are recording.” “Does Ishida-sensei happen to know anyone he could ask for this favour?” “I’m sure it won’t be a problem for you!” “Frankly speaking, it’s okay even if they’re bad.”

Huh. Well, as you might have already guessed, even with the lyrics, it’s impossible to really understand the song at first sight without knowing what kind of rhythm, what kind of emotions are being expressed in the bar measure. Of course we’d need ‘scratch vocal tracks’ to explain the general feeling of the song.

Now, what Daisuke said was, “Do you have anyone you can ask? It’s okay even if they’re bad. Or even you can do it.” But if I found a “it’s okay even if they’re bad” kind of person, we’d still have to show them how to sing it and explain how the rhythm goes. Daisuke already knew which was probably why he asked for the favour. “The person writing the lyrics would be able to make the scratch vocal tracks the fastest.” ...come to think of it, the demo songs that Kunimitsu sent me every time that were sung using Vocaloid, weren’t they also scratch vocal tracks?

Daisuke must have been in a pinch trying to figure out how he should ask me candidly. Ishida-sensei, I couldn’t just ask you to sing it, so I had to ask in a roundabout manner.

I’d already given my answer, but I was still hesitant. It’s true that after I finished writing the lyrics for the 17 songs I’d already lost sight of myself, but if I sang, my singing would reach Broccoli and Kosemura-san’s team’s ears. But I couldn’t just leave poor Daisuke hanging.

So I consult Towada-shi, whom I’d been collaborating with in creating the scripts for Jack Jeanne, for advice. (He had been in charge of TG’s novels, and I’ve known him for a long time.) “Did you check Skype?” “I did.” “What do you think?” “Start by looking up scratch vocal tracks,” so we paid a visit to YouTube. The first search result that came up for ‘scratch vocal track’ was a video of a vocalist who was used to sing a scratch track for AKB or something. I see, so that’s what it looks like. Innocuous, but I could see it was very professionally done.

And the second result that came up was Tsunku♂-shi. The figure of Tsunku♂-shi himself recording a scratch track for his idols. The producer himself became an idol, and was singing really cutely, in his emotions and how he sang it. “This is it?” I said. “Yeah, it is,” Towada-shi agreed. If Kosemura-san and his team, and the people who will be performing the songs have to listen to it, it’d be a disservice to them to half-ass it. I don’t like people who don’t try their best. That means I have to show that attitude myself. Let’s come out of my shell for poor Daisuke as well.

“You’re gonna become Tsunku♂.” “Yeah...I’m gonna be Tsunku♂!” And that was how I became Tsunku♂.

I replied to Daisuke on the Skype group chat. “Understood, I’ll do what I can.”

So this guy, who doesn’t even know what the ‘D’ in DTM stands for, first downloads the software, and begins setting up a recording environment. Other work is pushed aside. I set 3 days to work on this.

I timidly begin working on the scratch tracks. From the perspective of someone who doesn’t have to listen to their singing for a living, it starts out as a living hell, but you get used to it as you listen to it over and over.

And so I kept learning new things. I noticed I was harmonizing with myself.

Just like Tsunku♂-shi, I’d change the voice for each character. If it was Jack (male in a male role) I’d sing like a man, and if it was Jeanne (male in a female role), then like a woman, while the main character Kisa (female) should sound cute... No, Kisa needs to be cuter! I re-recorded her part many times. Depending on the song, I’d sing for 7 people. I was Jack Jeanne now.

Tsunku♂ (I) recorded 17 songs in 3 days, and sent the data first to Towada-shi. Since I was now Tsunku♂, I no longer felt any sense of embarrassment.

“I listened to it,” the reply came, and I called him. Towada-shi was roaring with laughter. I regained the embarrassment I’d forgotten.

“Oh no, I was laughing ‘cause I was impressed,” he said, but my heart was already as fragile as that of an abandoned dog.

“Even this is a big help to Kosemura-san, and Daisuke should be grateful, right?” Yeah. Although Towada-shi guffawed at me, Daisuke will surely thank me. And then he’ll definitely tell me what a good job I did!

I dumped the music into the Skype group chat. “I did what I could,” I added.

How will Daisuke react to my Tsunku♂? I waited restlessly. Three days later on August 5th, a formal message arrived after it was received.

“Thank you very much. We will schedule a meeting with Kosemura-san…”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. My hard work got dismissed with, “Thank you very much.”

Daisuke, why? I thought you were in a pinch, so I...were...were you fooling with me from the start? Answer me! Daisuke! Just tell me I did a good job, or follow up with something, I’m fine with anything! So much for my heart being like an abandoned dog, it’s more like a grown-ass man left naked on a snowy mountain. I did what I could! This feeling was welling up inside me, but was it myself that managed to do it?

○ Later, at a meeting with Kosemura-san “It’s great that you could do this much for us. You didn’t have to do all that.” With the gist of those words, a warm blanket was finally placed over my heart, which had almost frozen to death.

“I didn’t know how to respond. I wasn’t sure if Sensei was the most who did it in the first place,” Daisuke said, so I decided to satisfy myself by threatening, “I’m gonna tell this story until the day I die.”

September

○ Responses to the Questions to Ishida Sui contest We did a “Ask anything to Ishida Sui” contest as a project for the art book “zakki:re”, where purchasers could apply with a postcard. I was writing the replies for them.

I thought there’d be a lot more questions about TG or its contents, but surprisingly there were a lot of questions asking for life advice. There were quite a few questions that I had to seriously think about to answer.

It was kinda tough since there were over a hundred of them, but I thought it’d be nice to get in touch like this every once in a while.

○ BU work for Jack Jeanne Once the music-related tasks like lyrical composition and scratch vocal tracks were completed, I worked on BU. ...BU work? Wasn’t it finished back in April?

Well, a similar situation arose just like what happened with the lyrics. Regarding sprite quality I might not be able to beat the pros, but since I’m the one who best understands how the characters look best and their body balance, I had decided to do all the line drawing colouring myself in June. I had no clue whether I’d make the deadline or maintain the quality, but thanks to Broccoli’s understanding, I was allowed to make it myself.

I realized once again that I’m terrible at splitting up work. If I can do it by myself, I will.

Plus, it’s, how should I put it, starting from my TG days, even though it wasn’t a lot I got to see various types of workplaces. I’d see places where there was no sense of responsibility whatsoever, or the work may have been divvied up appropriately, but it felt like they were making something without a sense of purpose, like a main plot line that isn’t going anywhere.

It’s impossible to accomplish big things with that kind of stance, and I understand that the more people that intervene, the more uncertain the core becomes, so I didn’t like that kind of approach. It makes me wonder whether there’s any meaning in creating a work that’s conservative and unchallenged, and if it’s nothing more than a money grab.

Since I don’t have any desire for material things, getting fed up about it is useless, but I just can’t help thinking about it.

Of course, it may be difficult to get what I want 100% of the time, but I want to create things in an environment that I think is beautiful, even in places that I’m slightly involved in.

...in other words, BU work is tough, but I began remaking the sprites once again by myself. This was the toughest work I’ve ever done out of everything, including the serialization...

○ Scratch vocals training camp at the end of September I went to the recording for the scratch vocal tracks. Based on the scratch tracks that I made, we got professional vocalists to sing it again properly. This is what the actual cast would use as a reference to sing. (So my version was like the pre-scratch vocal track.)

I was stuck in Tokyo for almost a week. Wake up, get ready, go to the recording studio. Come back at 8 or 9 pm, rest and sleep, repeat.

It was like I was back in school, and since I don’t have a steady lifestyle, I enjoyed it.

Kosemura-san’s team is really great, and I know I mentioned this before, but I felt like their workplace was a very healthy production site. When I was drawing manga, I never had much time to talk with fellow manga artists, and I’ve never had the chance to experience what other professionals’ workplaces were like, so it was very exciting for me to see people as professionals tackle one thing seriously. The vocalists were as amazing as I expected, and although my scratch tracks were played at a loud volume to annoy me, I had a great time.

The game might have a high level of entry, but it’s worth listening to just for the songs, is what I truly thought.

○ Parting words to Editor M-shi This might have been back in August, but from 2018 to 2019 I had a lot of things on my mind, so I began talking to the editor.

In between the 11 years of serialization starting from my rookie days, I’d received guidance from him so it wasn’t easy, but I expressed to him that we should keep our distance for any future works.

“I want to become absorbed in myself, not to Ishida Sui or Tokyo Ghoul,” I told him. The other part said he also felt the same way, and accepted it. The next time we meet, I hope we can talk about what we’re into, what we’re going crazy over, he said.

And so, 2 months after that conversation was the scratch vocals training camp in Tokyo, and I had the chance for the two of us to talk again. That day I was completely tuckered out from recording the scratch track, but it was a day filled with accomplishments.

He took me to a restaurant with delicious food in Ebisu or somewhere, and after concluding our brief business meeting, I tried throwing out the cliched, “So, what are you up to lately?” As the lead writer, there was a part of me that was curious about how he was doing after that talk we had.

The editor began talking about homemade curry.

...that’s what he’s into? I decide everything from selecting and picking the ingredients myself, and next time I want Ishida-kun to also see how delicious the curry is...he told me passionately, but how should I put it, the conversation wasn’t very spicy.

The food was delicious.

October

○ BU work

What’s hard about BU work is that it’s difficult to separate the layers according to the face, hair and clothes, and they all have to have the same style and touch to it. If it was manga, then maybe...no, even in manga, there’s still some need to match the outfits, but it doesn’t really matter to that extent.

It’s because I don’t like game sprites. “This character has so much energy from their sideways pose! Amazing!” This never happens…

Around this time of the year, my older sister called this elaborate task, “the task you’re probably the worst at.”

○ The bean life I’m not really fat in particular, but I made up my mind to try dieting. At the time, my body fat percentage was at 18%, and I’ve never been below 10% ever in my entire life, so I’m thinking of aiming for that. Instead of eating rice with unseasoned chickpeas and black soybeans, I began my lifestyle of consuming vegetables and cuts of meat with less fat. Hopefully I can achieve my goal in about six months’ time.

○ Ano-chan, Honda Keisuke, and I After Ano-chan left “You’ll Melt More!”, her official Twitter account removed every single account she was following, but for some reason only two people remained. Those two people were Honda Keisuke and Ishida Sui. To Ano-chan, Honda Keisuke and Ishida Sui belonged in the same category. After some time passed, even we were removed, but I consider this one of my hottest mysteries of 2019. Ano-chan! I’ll always be waiting, so let’s have tea some time with Honda Keisuke!

November

○ BU Need I say more.

○ Main cast’s first recording session from the 26th - 27th.

I visited Tokyo with Towada-shi to supervise the main cast members’ recording session. Wow, everyone was so amazing~

Of course, not just the main characters. Terasaki Yuka-san who plays the main character, Tachibana Kisa, was wonderful as well.

In this kind of game genre, the position as the main character feels less important than the male characters, but I want her to stand firmly in this story’s script. I thought it’d be nice to have the main character not stand out too much and have her watch over the male characters, and I felt that Terasaki-san’s voice and acting fit that image perfectly.

About the cast members, it seems like there’ll be a chance to speak to them eventually, so I’ll come back again.

○ 1 month into the bean life I’m steadily losing weight. Basically I always work from home. I go to the gym and supermarket 2-3 times a week. I started cooking for myself. I got a brand new refrigerator to replace the one that suddenly broke. It actually cools things down now. Living standards have risen.

December

○ I break off ties with M who I played TRPG together with. He was a former classmate who was even chief assistant at some point during the series’ run, but eventually he ended up getting fired due to falling asleep at work. He said he’d attend the last session for the story that day (although his own character had already died), and I was working on a schedule to accommodate him, but once again he cancelled at the last minute.

It’s fine to cause trouble for me (although I’ll probably get pissed), but I can’t overlook treating others the same way. And it’s not the fact that his schedule didn’t match up, it’s because he was complete trash who didn’t know how to behave like an adult once he made plans with others, that I felt sorry for the other TRPG people who took time out of their schedules. Since I felt ashamed when I was together with him, I decided I’d had enough.

This was a year where I cut ties with a lot of people, but I think what they had in common was that I was ashamed to be with them. From now on, I don’t want to associate with such people.

What’s more, when I finally told him, he didn’t even try to deal with it and just gave up, responding, “So that’s how you felt about me. Okay. My bad.”

I won’t go anywhere with those kind of people again.

○ The bean life ⇒ the potato life. I changed it to potatoes.

○ BU is over...

On December 17th, I finally finished the BU work that I spent ageeeeeeeees on.

Although I said that serialization is tough, as long as I finished 18 pages a week that was it (although there were times where I was chasing myself with other work), so I could finish it as long as I didn’t sleep. I somehow managed to finish both the manuscripts and the colour illustrations this way, so expecting BU to be similar, I wasn’t really scared about it never ending, but BU truly was despair. When is this gonna end? I’m even working super hard… This is how it went on the entire time for over a month.

There were about 200 different sprites I had to make myself, including the different costumes and poses, and I had to do all of them.

For one thing, when, “This process is necessary,” came out, I had to go through the same process roughly 200 times, that it felt like I was facing the final boss who already transformed many times. Also, it’s like not equipping myself with a lot of equipment and recovery items in the previous town, but the dungeon I somehow managed to enter is extremely dangerous and even though there’s no safe points anywhere in sight, the boss suddenly comes up behind you, and you go I’m gonna die I’m gonna die

○ If you eat a lot while you’re losing weight, you’re going to have a bad time.

On December 15th I had trouble concentrating, so I tidied up the living room, created a space in the middle of the room, and darkened the lights. After an hour of meditating, only the sound of my breathing could be heard in the room, and so I went back to work with renewed concentration after confronting the issue (like a monk?).

On December 16th, I’ve been working the entire time since morning. I thought today was going to be the last day, but an entire day has passed and I don’t have any energy...

I’ll buy a midnight snack, replenish my energy, and end it once and for all. I’m trying to lose weight, but I went to the convenience store while thinking about how I’m gonna eat a katsu sandwich (I didn’t have the energy to cook).

While looking for something at a convenience store I can eat during weight loss, I think back over the last few months.

Like how it seems like BU is finally over, how a lot of things have happened, how I’m working hard, how lately I’ve been eating only potatoes, vegetables and meat.

And then I suddenly thought, “I wonder if the reason I don’t have any energy is because I haven’t had any rice lately.”

...I thought I should go on a diet in October, so I’ve been living a very modest life since then. Thanks to that, my weight has steadily decreased, and my body fat percentage has gone down 3% to 15%. What will happen if I continue with my relatively strict dietary restrictions during this difficult time?

...even if you’re losing weight, there’s a technique you can set up to binge eat during periods where weight loss stagnates, called cheat day (though results may vary), but what is it that makes no-cheating so inefficient even for weight loss?

...should I have a cheat day today?

“Huh, is it really okay?” I asked my mind. “Do it!” was the answer I got. From that moment, everything around me morphed into things I could eat.

No exaggeration, my knees trembled.

I crammed into my shopping basket carbohydrates, carbs, more carbs… It’s okay just for today, I say as I shove cream puffs, dorayaki, pudding, Family Mart chicken and ice cream. (Even if it's a cheat day, it’s probably not a good idea to take non-nutritional foods, but shh.)

With food in both hands and in high spirits, the first thing I ate was the delicious part of the Family Mart chicken.

I groaned loudly, all alone in the room.

Alright, let’s finish this work! I was energized, but my blood sugar levels spiked so much that I felt extremely sleepy and went to bed instead.

The next day on the 17th, I wake up at 4 am and immediately notice something unusual. My body is burning. I’m sweating.

I immediately wake up, and overflowing with energy, I head for my desk. I’m working actively, and I finish the BU work. It felt like I was pushing forward with only positive energy, feeling uplifted.

I break out a laugh at a slight joke I found funny from a foreign drama (The Mentalist) I’m playing while working. The greenery of the plants and the lighted sink glisten, and the scenery is vivid.

What is this?

I suddenly recall the story of a YouTuber I saw recently. He lives in a region where medical marijuana is legalized, and he explained in detail what changes would occur if you smoked cannabis.

To put it roughly, you feel calm and your senses sharpen. Trivial things can become funny, and funny videos can make you roar with laughter.

Then maybe...I thought, I'll watch Nagareboshi (a comedy duo) on YouTube. Usually I go, haha, that's funny! But that day I exploded with laughter...all of their videos were just too funny.

I learned that when you’re losing weight and suddenly eat a lot, it alters your mind and body as if you smoked cannabis. (※ Just to be clear, I don’t know what cannabis is like.)

Thus the BU work ended with me being high as a kite.

(※ I’m covering it with mosaics for now. I’ll remove it once I can announce it.)

○ I stopped playing TRPGs. I’ve been doing it for about two and a half years, but it also helped me in honing my creative skills. I’d sometimes perform, so it was useful when I was recording the scratch vocals… It was a good experience, managing to vicariously live the energy of ending a story. It was a story about a group of friends, so it was easy to appreciate.

Summing up 2019

After the weekly series finished in 2018, I was in a daze for a few months, but in 2019 I worked only on Jack Jeanne for the year.

This year I tried various things, and trite as it may seem, felt the possibilities within myself expanding. I had many opportunities to realize how important it is to keep a distance from bad things that don’t do anything for me.

During my work on Jack Jeanne, I vaguely thought about my future creations. The work I’m doing now in game production is fun so I wonder if I can keep working in this field, but I’d also like an environment where I can release things more constantly.

I can’t promise anything specific, but I’m going to work on things that I want to do.

I look forward to what 2020 has to offer. Have a happy New Year.

2019.12.31 Ishida Sui

#Jack Jeanne #Ishida Sui #Translations #my translations #time to hibernate

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revlyncox · 4 years ago

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Dreamers (2021)

Working toward a better world, a world of racial justice and an end to interlocking oppressions, requires imagination. On this weekend when we remember the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., let's also consider both the history of civil rights and the unbounded creativity of speculative fiction by writers of color as sources of inspiration.

Expanded and revised for the Washington Ethical Society, presented January 17, 2021.

“We are creating a world we have never seen,” writes Adrienne Maree Brown in Emergent Strategy. On this weekend, as we remember the legacy of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., support a peaceful transfer of power, and recommit to his legacy and the work of civil rights yet to do, it may seem like a luxury or a distraction to engage with imagination. It is not. Just like we cannot allow oppression to steal our joy, we cannot let it steal our imagination. Neither threats of violence, nor attempts to push us into re-creating a fictional and regressive society of the past, nor manufactured austerity preventing relief from reaching working people, nor white supremacy in any form should be allowed to steal our imagination. Our ability to dream of a better world is a matter of collective survival.

What does it take to dream big? What fuels our ability to imagine a future without limits like racism, classism, and sexism? Entering a dream state where equality is possible takes some practice. Music can get us there. Listening to activists who are moving our society forward can help us get into that frame of mind. Great art can invite us into that kind of transformational trance.

Dreaming is important. Dreaming gives us creativity, energy, and a warm vision around which we can gather a community. Dreaming is not enough. Once we have imagined a better world, we have to (we get to) build it, to keep building it, and to rebuild the parts that got torn down when we weren’t paying attention. The next step is to use those dreams as a doorway to action.

Dr. King’s words and actions demonstrated connections between systemic racial inequality, economic injustice, war, threats to labor rights, and blockades to voting rights. All of those forces are still relevant. He and the other activists of his era left a very rich legacy, for which we are grateful. We are not done.

I’ll be drawing today from Dr. King’s 1963 work, “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” (Also available as an audio file from the King Institute.) I think the critiques he offered in that letter are still valid, especially for us in this community that strives to be anti-racist and yet must acknowledge that we are impacted by the norms of what King calls, “the white moderate.” His letter was a response to Christian and Jewish clergy, who had written an open letter criticizing nonviolent direct action. Though Ethical Culture uses different language and methods than our explicitly theist neighbors, I think it is incumbent upon us to hold on to the accountability that comes with being part of the interfaith community. So I believe this letter is written to us as well. Dr. King wrote:

I must confess that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the … great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizens Councillor or the Ku Klux Klanner but the white moderate who is more devoted to order than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says, “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can’t agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically feels that he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by the myth of time; and who constantly advises [us] to wait until a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.

I would like to think that, in this community, we have made some progress since 1963, and that majority-white communities have stopped explicitly trying to slow the pace of civil rights. Indeed, WES can be proud that racial justice has been woven into its goals from the beginning, though we must also be honest that a perfectly anti-racist history is unlikely. At the same time, I see people who claim to be progressive rushing to calls for “civility” or “unity” without accountability. Understanding the direct link between the intended audience of this letter and the people and communities with which we have kinship today is an act of imagination that we must embrace in order to learn from the past and to continue Dr. King’s legacy. “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” can help us understand why we need to dream of something different in the world.

We need dreams and we need plans. We seek inspiration as we continue to work toward bringing a dream of economic and political equality fully into reality.

One place I turn for inspiration is toward socially conscious science fiction. Looking at how the art form has offered critiques of what’s wrong and pathways to what’s right, I see suggestions for how we can nurture the dream of a better world.

Science fiction has even helped me understand spiritually-connected social movements, such as the one depicted in Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents by Octavia Butler. The series depicts a self-governing poetic community that tries to live sustainably in an environment affected by catastrophic climate change, and that maintains an improbable vision of exploring the stars. The poetry uses the word God, but not in the way that it is normally used. Recognizing that WES is not a community that makes use of theism, I hope you’ll be able to hear how that metaphor is used in the world of the story. In Parable of the Talents, the main character, Lauren Olamina, writes a poem for her community:

God is change

And hidden within change

Is surprise, delight,

Confusion, pain,

Discovery, loss,

Opportunity and growth.

As always, God exists

To shape

And to be shaped

(Parable of the Talents, p. 92)

In the book, the community that reflects on change in meditation and song is able to use that energy to maintain resilience, even in the face of white supremacist violence and criminalization. Butler imagines an inclusive community led by People of Color who strengthen and encourage one another, inject their strategic planning with an expectation for backlash, and still imagine and make their way toward a better world. Her books provide inspiration to those who know that the negative extremes of the world of the story are possible.

Socially conscious science fiction spins dreams that are extreme, that challenge us in good ways. In science fiction and in practical experience with progressive movements, we learn that dreams need help to become reality.

The alternate universe where justice rolls down like water may seem too fantastic to believe, it may be cobbled together in ways that seem mis-matched to mundane perceptions, and it will certainly take work to achieve. Nevertheless, like Dr. King, I believe “we must use time creatively.”

Dreams Are Extreme

The first thing to note about dreams, whether sleeping or socially conscious, is that they are extreme. Things that would be totally absurd or unthinkable in everyday reality are woven into the fabric of a new vision. The dream might be a positive one, in which we imagine what it would be like to live in a better world. On the other hand, dystopian dreams can also be effective at stirring us to action. In an imagined world, we are met with the possibility that a flaw in our current society might go too far. Absurdity comes uncomfortably close to the truth.

Dr. King spoke about the role of discomfort in “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” saying that nonviolent direct action is meant to bring that discomfort to bear so that those in power will sit down and negotiate, to recognize people of good conscience. This is different from using violence as coercion, which is destructive to democracy; this is using peaceful means to declare the right of people to have a voice in what concerns them. Dr. King writes:

Nonviolent direct action seeks to create such a crisis and establish such creative tension that a community that has consistently refused to negotiate is forced to confront the issue. It seeks so to dramatize the issue that it can no longer be ignored. I just referred to the creation of tension as a part of the work of the nonviolent resister. This may sound rather shocking. But I must confess that I am not afraid of the word “tension.” I have earnestly worked and preached against violent tension, but there is a type of constructive nonviolent tension that is necessary for growth.

Tension has a place in literature and drama that can also be used for racial justice. I once served as an intern at a regional theater. In one of the plays we presented that year, the plot hinged on something unexplainable and highly improbable, which is one definition for science fiction. It was the 1965 play Day of Absence by African American playwright Douglas Turner Ward. In the story, white citizens of a racist town awaken one day to find that all of the African American residents have mysteriously disappeared. They slowly come to realize that they cannot function without the neighbors they mistreated and took for granted. Rather than try to solve their problems, they spend the rest of the play panicking and blaming each other in comedic ways.

Between the satirical script, the exaggerated makeup, and the abstract set, the show turns reality inside out in an effort to alter the audience’s collective conscience. Day of Absence shines a spotlight on the links between racial oppression and economic oppression, and is an incitement to join a movement for change. Consistent with the Revolutionary Theatre aesthetic, the play is meant to make people uncomfortable. We should be uncomfortable with the real systems of inequality parodied in the play.

It worked. Audiences were uncomfortable. Some patrons were able to take that discomfort and use it to grow. Some patrons were not ready to deal productively with their discomfort. For art or spirituality or dreams or anything else to offer the chance for transformation, creating the opportunity can’t wait until everyone is equally ready to begin the journey.

One goal of satire is to take something that is true and to exaggerate it until the truth cannot be ignored. When that something is oppression, making art that can’t be ignored and suggesting a justice-oriented overhaul to society is going to seem extreme to some people.

Speculative fiction by writers of color, even when not satirical, can also use exaggeration for a positive effect. The 2019 HBO Watchmen series explored this, creating an alternate history that lifted out problems with racism and policing in our own timeline. The Broken Earth trilogy by N.K. Jemisin explores extremes of climate change and identity-based exploitation, and weaves in glimpses of generational trauma between parents and children trying to survive in a society that rejects their wholeness. Extremes in literature can reflect back to us the plain truth.

Similarly, a dream that draws people together for the hope of a society that is very different from what we have, a dream that re-imagines the future of justice and economic opportunity, is going to be considered extreme, which is not a good thing by some standards. Every time there is a popular movie or TV show in the science fiction/fantasy genre that uses multiracial casting, and every time a speculative fiction novel by a writer of color receives sales or awards, there are claims that social justice warriors are running amok, or that trends have gone too far. Allowing for multiracial imagination is considered a violation of balance, a bridge too far. Inclusion is considered extreme, rather than a tool for bringing imagined futures into being.

Dr. King explored this critique of extremism. In “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” he expresses some initial frustration at being labeled an extremist for his peaceful methods. It seemed that any movement toward change was too radical for the white moderate clergy. But the status quo was not and is not acceptable. Dr. King writes:

So I have not said to my people: "Get rid of your discontent." Rather, I have tried to say that this normal and healthy discontent can be channeled into the creative outlet of nonviolent direct action. And now this approach is being termed extremist. But though I was initially disappointed at being categorized as an extremist, as I continued to think about the matter I gradually gained a measure of satisfaction from the label. Was not Jesus an extremist for love: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you." … (Dr. King gives a few more examples before he goes on.) So the question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice? … Perhaps the South, the nation and the world are in dire need of creative extremists. (paragraph 24)

I believe the nation and the world are in need of creative extremists. We need dreamers. We need bold playwrights, courageous writers, and artists who cannot be ignored. We need the power to imagine a more just and radically different future.

Dreams Need Help to Become Reality

Another point that connects science fiction with visions of equality is that dreams need help to become reality. We hear often that “the arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice,” but the unwritten part of that is that actual people have to do some bending. Dr. King wrote about that, too; though he uses “man” in a way that was common at the time to mean people of all genders, and he invokes his own religious tradition, we can all hear the collective responsibility in this passage. In his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” Dr. King wrote:

Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right. Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy and transform our pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our national policy from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of human dignity. (paragraph 21)

We can and should have hope. We still need to act according to our values. No act of encouragement, no vote cast, no letter written is a wasted effort. We must use time creatively. In the case of arts, literature, and entertainment, we must also use time travel creatively. Progress does not happen by accident.

Nichelle Nichols, who played Lieutenant Uhura in the original Star Trek series, spoke about the creation of her character and why she chose to stay on the show. None of it was an accident. When she first met with Gene Roddenberry, she was in the middle of reading a book on Uhuru, which is Swahili for freedom. Roddenberry became more convinced than ever that he wanted a Black woman on the bridge of the Enterprise. Nichols said:

When the show began and I was cast to develop this character – I was cast as one of the stars of the show – the reality of the matter was the industry was not ready for a woman or a Black and certainly not the combination of the two (and you have to remember this was 1966) in that kind of role, on that equal basis, and certainly not that kind of power role.

Nichols was also an accomplished singer and stage actress. The producers never told her about the volume of fan mail she was receiving. She was considering leaving the show to join a theatrical production headed for Broadway, when she was at an event (probably a fundraiser for the NAACP, but Nichols doesn’t remember clearly) and was asked to meet a fan. The fan turned out to be the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He told her how much he enjoyed the show, and that it was the only show he and his wife allowed their children to stay up late to watch. She told him that she was planning to resign. “You cannot!” he said. Nichols goes on:

Dr. King said to me, ‘Don’t you understand that you have the first non-stereotypical role in television in a major TV series of importance, and you establish us as we are supposed to be: as equals, whether it’s ethnic, racial, or gender.’ I was breathless. ‘Thank you, and Yes, I will stay.’

Nichols’ decision to stay had a ripple effect. Whoopi Goldberg said that the first time she saw Lieutenant Uhura on television was a major turning point for her as a child. Mae Jemison, the first African American astronaut in space, spoke about Uhura as an inspiration. Stacey Abrams is a fan.

The inner workings of a TV show with cheesy special effects, beloved as that show may be, might seem inconsequential to the future of human rights. I maintain that anything that expands our ability to dream of a better world is necessary. Stories that give us building blocks for change make a difference. And representation matters. People are hungry for diverse, respectful, innovative stories. Representation increases the chances that someone from a marginalized group can get the resources to tell their own stories rather than relying on the dominant group to borrow them. In this age of communication, it is possible to engage people from all over the planet in a conversation about our shared future. The trick is that we have to work to make sure all of the voices are included. The dream of a better world needs people who can make it a reality.

Imagination is key, and it is a starting point. In Emergent Strategy, Adrienne Maree Brown writes:

Science fiction is simply a way to practice the future together. I suspect that is what many of you are up to, practicing futures together, practicing justice together, living into new stories. It is our right and responsibility to create a new world. What we pay attention to grows, so I’m thinking about how we grow what we are all imagining and creating into something large enough and solid enough that it becomes a tipping point.

Earlier, you heard another quote from the book, in which Brown names the Beloved Community that we can use imagination to grow ourselves into. She names “a future without police and prisons ... a future without rape … harassment … constant fear, and childhood sexual assault. A future without war, hunger, violence. With abundance. Where gender is a joyful spectrum.”

Brown frames this imagined future world, this Beloved Community, as a project of both imagination and community organizing. A better world is possible.

Conclusion

The arts, in particular science fiction, can ignite a kind of a dream state. By using time and time-travel creatively, we can envision a world of justice, equality, and compassion. We have yet more ways to craft stories and plans that respect the inherent worth and dignity of every person. The dream of economic equality, the dream of equal voting rights, the dream of equal protection under the law all need foundations built under them.

If we wish to count ourselves among the dreamers, let us take action. We can continue to build coalitions with partner organizations of other faiths and cultures. We can send representatives to workshops and meetings, and listen carefully to their findings when they return. We can read about dismantling oppression and share what we find with each other.

This community is a place where we can dream freely. Let us use time effectively. Let us enter into the powers of myth, creativity, and art to imagine a better future. And then let us work and plan to make that better future come to pass. May our dreams refresh us and energize us for the tasks ahead.

May it be so.

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cosmosfated · 4 years ago

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The Summoning

SUMMARY: Lea, Xion and Roxas perform a summoning to bring back an old friend to perform on a job asked by another. This results in a conversation between them and their old friend that gets uncomfortable in several ways, as well as a couple of faces that intrude. Roleplayed on Discord.

It's a tug of warmth in his chest that begets a look of confusion. What? Then, a name. A familiar one, his. His ears ring with bells as he feels himself pulled from his place in The Depths and up, out, away. The dragon is with him, always with him, but the sensation is jarring and wrong and it feels too fast. It makes him feel dizzy and sick and awful.

This is all too quick, and he takes a breath of cold, but comparatively warm air. The light is bright against his eyes, as he'd grown used to the dark. He has to squint somewhat to adjust and his chest shudders as he breathes in. Everything aches, he hurts. Clothes torn to near shreds, beaten, bloodied, hair slicked down, covering his right eye, single visible eye a bright silver, fully aware that there's flowers and leaves and trees and life and vigor all around him but not trusting it. His ears are ringing still with the sound of bells. Right, right, first things first. Deal with the rest of what he sees later.

His eyes focus on... wait... no... that can't be right. Yet his chest is warm. A tug forward, to a familiar face. He doesn't trust it. He can't...can he? "... excuse me." Voice a growl, like a warning, like a demand for an explanation.

The curl of a flame dips before settling on a shoulder. Comfortable now that its done its task. A smirk curling across features that would sooner see a sunset then stand around a garden. Or would he?

"Yo!" The mock, two fingered wave/lazy salute given with his free hand is well enough to give away who it is. A greeting far too familiar to be anyone else. Not that his looks would be anyone else. Nor to two half pints flanking him on either side. Keyblades drawn and looking like deer's caught in the headlights. Something he's quick to note and shake his head at.

"You two got all that? Or are we going to have to do that again?"

"I have it, though Roxas on the other hand..." Xion states with a bit of a smirk to the blond and redhead. "Hey! I got it too! This was important so I was paying attention!" Roxas pouts somewhat, though mostly playful in his intent.

Fleur can't help the flicker of a smile that plays on his lips at the familiar bickering between familiar voices. It's his friends. Oh how he's missed them. But just as quickly he's reminded that this is probably a trap and he all but snarls at the familiar visage before him of his so called friend. This isn't beyond something that The Depths would do to him to get him to die before he reaches his grave. Then he would be screwed. Then there would be no escape. Then there would be truly no way for him to go home. And then he would be going against his word.

"so. you called for me. i would like to know why and the terms. i was in the middle of something. something important too." He's calm, but his breaths are short, stunted, as if breathing through a straw. "i don't take kindly to being interrupted while on a business venture."

Lea's grinning at the duo even as his attention slides back over towards Fleur. Waving off the words with his free hand like they're not much but an annoyance or a few leaves on the wind.

"Yeah you're busy so you're not back yet, we get it. This is kinda important though." His keyblade disappeared in a flash of fire as he moved to cross his arms over his chest, far more comfortable but also far more serious.

"Saros hired me as a body guard."

There's a pause, a twitch of his claws. And then-

"with what money?"

It's a simple question but one that is as stupid as it comes. He knows well the going rate of an assassin. Especially one of Lea's caliber. He just wants to know how Saros managed to access his money without him giving that information up to them. It's real interesting.

That gets a laugh. "Pretty sure pearls are expensive. And it's not like you ever hid anything from the kid." He's rolling his eyes long before anything else knowing the kids will back him up on this one.

He clicks his tongue. That's a fair assessment he supposes. Hide, no, not if they asked, and they asked plenty of things. Unlike others in their 'family'. He pauses again, realizes something. "my magic. it feels strange. i can't access what i normally can. is there a cap on it that i should be aware of or is this because of the way you summoned me?"

He looks over towards the kids warily, for just a moment, but they just smile at him and wave. Weird. They haven't tried to attack him yet. He mutters under his breath that they're being weird.

"It's Keyblade stuff." Lea's answer sounds almost as exasperated as he looks. One hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck even as he shakes his head at the ground. "Far as I could get out of Sora, without all the mushy heart talk thrown in, we act as a unit. Two people, one shared attack or magic effect."

"...i'm sorry," he's so calm, terribly calm. He's not even looking at Lea. "but not only can i not teleport freely, but i can't use my spells? i can't use mirage arcane or herasha mirak?" He suddenly looks annoyed. He does however start coughing a little bit, for just long enough for it to become a problem and then he stops.

"... i hate this. this is awful. don't summon me again after this, okay? or if you do, summon me the right way, so i have all my abilities and can actually do something." Sigh! "guess i'll just rely on the old fashioned way." Pause. "wait. wait. back up. body guard. why body guard? they're 13 they don't need a body guard."

Well he would comment on how rude that was. There were some tricks up his sleeves thank you very much! But... Well... Lea shares a look with Roxas and Xion. That cough doesn't sound good. Now he's glad they talked him into making it a Trinity Limit. It would last way longer this way. Not that Fleur had to know that.

"Fine, fine I'll let Xion summon you next or something." He waves a hand again, exasperated even as his other finds its way onto his hip. Can they get on with the program please?

Roxas and Xion definitely look worried for him. That didn't sound good. He looks worse for wear too... He looks like he could use the time out from where he was.

"no! i said YOU! not xion!" He rubs at his temples and sigh-growls. "anyway, body guard. right. why would... a 13 year old need an assassin as a body guard..." ... Nope. Nothing comes to mind. "bullies at school or something? i'm sorry, i'm not all with it, a bit loose in the cap. i'm, ah." He winces. "distracted too. right sul?"

There's a low rumble of a growl that shudders the ground like a localized earthquake, and then a rumble of a voice answering "I do not believe these are deceptions young one. You can stop playing your games."

Lea's stance widens just a hair. Oh shit another one! "Uh... Care to catch us up?"

He knows the kids will back him up. They always do, but his side still smarts from where he took the most damage sailing THROUGH a WALL thanks to a dragon friend of Sunshine's.

"Long story short on our end? Your script's been messed with. Sunshine's a very real threat with a very real dragon. One that's threatened Saros enough into hiring me... and enough for calling backup."

The kids even go a bit ready on the offensive for just a moment. There's another dragon in their midst?! God damn it! Not again! They don't need this...

Fleur doesn't seem fazed by this information until he hears that Saros has been threatened by Sunshine. At which point a low snarl tears from his throat. An awful sound that is actually sounding a bit watery and drowned. He then takes a short breath and shakes his head.

"Young one. You should take what time you have." Silence. "This should not be squandered." Silence. "Young one. Trust in what allies that you have. You have few." Silence. "Young one?"

"i'll help. but i need to check up on two people first." He looks down for a moment. "they don't need to be now but i need to... see if they're okay. just at some point. even if i have to steal one of my watches to do so."

Is he about ready to bolt? Maybe. But weird feeling the kids anger though. That’s a new one. Sora could have given him a heads up. He’s pretty sure if the two half pints weren’t in view he’d be a lot scarier right now.

And that’s a thought he’s going to shake right back into a box thanks. No shape edges needed here. Not right now.

He hopes Xion doesn’t think too far into why he puts a hand on both her and Roxas shoulders as he steps closer to Fleur again. “Sure fine, check on whoever. I’ll buy you some time.”

I'll buy you some time.

Something about that phrasing makes his expression soften. The anger in his visible eye flickers and dims. And he just stares, no words, no response, just stares, as if he simply can't understand.

Xion looks at the hand on her shoulder, then up at Lea, then at Fleur. "... I think you've broken him. Look at him. You've broken a perfectly good friend is what you've done." She smiles. Roxas gasps. "You broke him again? Isn't this like, the fifth time?" Cue a wide grin. "Come on Lea, we need him unbroken."

Lea smirks. Your turn kid to have a little extra time.

Only for the touching moment to end with Xion and Roxas poking at him for breaking Fleur. "Hey!" That's his hands on both their heads. Time to mess with their hair. Brats. Key brats the both of them!

He snaps back to attention at hearing the laughter of the two keybearers, and Fleur closes his eyes, reaching up to gently scritch at the neck of the dragon as it comes into view. Gargantuan, silvery with hints of grey, but only for a moment before it shifts itself to be small enough to be on Fleur's shoulders like a scarf and just stares at the the Keyblade bearers. Respecting distance and also keeping close to Fleur.

"that requires stealing a watch from either my lab or from the embassy. i can't just be invisible while walking around so i have to be careful how i go about this. my damned other watch broke when i... left." Sigh. "speaking of. how did you get clearance to do this from the watchers of this timeline? namely the wardens? ... and i can still feel the influence of my papá." His expression drops. "oh gods. i'm actually... this is real?"

"Did you doubt us?" Roxas throws up a victory sign, grinning like the fool he is. "If it wasn't us, it would have been someone. You know that. Now's not then." Xion insists. "Isn't that right, Lea?"

“You’re joking right? Maribel was one of the first people we told with the idea to summon you. She’s the reason we haven’t got people on our butts.” Lea waves a hand over his shoulder. They’d made enough of a racket recently that just their presence doing something this serious would bring more then a few main players running.

Speaking of...

It’s not the sound of boot-steps that heralds him. Silent as the grave save one thing... It’s the aborted noise caught in an agape mouth. One that isn’t sure what to say. Too many things running through a head at high speed off fractured surfaces. Nothing that will articulate correctly. One hand aglow, ready to defend to the death a world his son had loved with what magic he could throw, the other wrapped deep into the fabric of a friend’s collar to drag him along. A grip now going slack at the sight before him. An eye rippling with rings of color stilling once again.

"i'm sure she loved the idea of bringing me back. especially considering the state of the world." He almost laughs. But the aborted noise makes him jump and spin to face the sound, ready to fight and defend Lea and the kids, that rise in anger and fear undeniable in his heart.

But he's greeted with something else. Familiarity. Painful familiarity.

The friend who had been brought along for this ride had, sadly, been brought along with the thought that he'd be in a fight, so he didn't put up a disguise. So no illusion. No tricks. Nothing. He looks like himself. And perhaps that a good thing. Seven raises a hand to the one Lost has entangled in his collar to gently unentangle it. "Well." He says calmly, recognizing the boy in front of him without problem, without pause. He takes off his cloak to walk up to the tense Fleur and wrap it around him, and smiles. "You look awful. You should get cleaned up a bit. A shower would do you a lot of good." Spoken as if he were seeing an old friend after work, and not seeing him after being dragged out of a hellscape.

Fleur just looks over his shoulder at Lea and the kids with the expression of 'uh, help??' but only gets the look back of 'what do you want US to do?' from the kids.

Even with attention elsewhere, tunnel-visioned onto someone else his hand is removed with ease. A trust there that most haven’t earned. A flinch that doesn’t come. Someone is touching his hand, and Lost is unbothered, even as fingers are uncurled from cloth.

Lea gives Fleur a shrug. He recognizes one of these faces. The other one he doesn’t. The fact that the first hadn’t shown up to stalk them while they’d been running around for a while was already confusing, but still welcome. All he could do was stay a stable presence right? That’s how this worked or something? Who knows.

Fleur slowly looks back at the two familiar faces and warily assesses the situation. So, this looks like Seven and Lost. Two of the figures that had taken care of him when he was at his worst. But then again, this could be a trick. A very elaborate trick.

"s...even?" "Yes?" "...how are you-" "Long story short: you led me to your old man over there and he pulled me free for a time. I still suggest a shower. Or a bath. A nice long one. You look like you need one. It relaxes the body and mind. You know? Right, Lost?" Seven turns to face Lost with a grin. "Start with a proper shower and go from there?"

"Man this guy's weird," Roxas mutters to Xion under his breath, who shushes him but nods.

Lea crosses his arms over his chest but deigns to say anything. This is interesting to watch, and for more then one reason. He's seen this in a few places, and the few places he has. Well, he'll leave his mouth shut.

Thoughts bounce off shattered panes of coded messages. Half formed thoughts and partially coherent mutterings.

That was his son, but what if? Could he? What if not? There was danger here. Keys friend or foe? He looked terrible. Agreed. There was a spike in activity in sector 586. Movement from One-that-is-not-Frisk: None.

Fleur opens his mouth to say something... but nothing comes out. He has nothing to say. If this is really Seven... then he looks tired. Worse for wear. Not the way the Depths would make him look. A confused and strangled, drowned noise tears its way out of his throat and he backs up closer to Lea. The dragon growls at Seven, peeking out of the drenched but slowly drying hair, as a warning.

Seven seems caught off guard by the dragon for but a moment before nodding. Very well. He's unwelcome. Have his cloak then. It's cold out anyway. Seven turns on his heel and walks up to Lost again, gently taking the man's face in his hands. "I need you to stay focused. Can you do that for me?" Speaking gently, calmly, as if nothing else were there but the two of them. "I know this is tough, but you must to try and find your words. Just one at a time will do. Can you try that for me? Not for them. For me. Let me know if I'm asking too much."

Lea's hand steadies him automatically, a hand just to a shoulder. They're here, and aren't going anywhere.

Lost freezes. Hands. Warm.

His eye is quick to meet Seven's holding. A jittering and diffused glow sharpening to a more focused light. Ever so slightly he leans into that touch, grounding himself and settling into that warmth, that trust, that hold.

It's a rattle through his bones that answers more then his voice does. A tight squeeze shut of an eye as he takes a second to focus not on what he sees or thinks but on what he's been asked.

"Keys." Finally makes its way past his teeth. His eye opening again to sweep the three wrapped in an odd material. Sharp with a wild threat. He'd sweep his son away to his ship in an instant if he but knew he could. But what did these keybearers represent here?

The hand on his shoulder does put him at ease, especially since it's Lea that does it. Seeing Roxas out of the corner of his eye calms him some more but he does look towards Xion just to make sure she's there. Good. His friends are still there.

Seven smiles again. "Thank you, my friend. That's more than enough." He then steps to the side to place one hand on Losts arm to help keep him grounded as he speaks. "I think an explanation is in order, if I'm to understand my friend here correctly. The presence of the keybearers right spooked him."

"oh uh," Fleur stammers for a moment. "i was u-uh, s-summoned? right? yes. summoned. by lea. and roxas and xion? i think." He's just staring at Lost. Bewildered and caught between wanting to wanting to reach out and wanting to stick near Lea.

Lea blinks before looking the duo that looked like they might be from Halloween Town over. Huh... So one of them knows about the World Order and the other doesn't. Interesting.

"Right, well we're not here to cause that kind of trouble. Unless you're with Sunshine."

It's almost automatic for him to hook that arm as if he's escorting someone. This one is with me. And yet, it is the entire opposite. Seven has him. Lost's eye narrows just a bit further. His head tilting slightly in curiosity but still a deep distrust set into the light of his eye. His free arm sweeping out to gesture at the world around them, claws showing themselves within the gesture.

"This world is protected." Each word is a struggle. But he manages. He will make certain these keybladers know it, and know the threat well. He will not give up this place that is beloved by his family without a fight.

Ah, Fleur had almost forgotten. The other side to knowing Keybearers. The dangerous side. He's just known them for so long, he's really just seen them as 'they would never'. This is his world. They would never think to harm it unless he gave up on it.

So he steps forward again, still hesitant, still unsure, but towards Lost and Seven. He tugs the cloak closer around him for warmth, and gets a little bit closer, and closer still. He doesn't say anything at first, unsure of what to do or think. Even Seven watches him warily and the kids look like they want to say something but don't.

"you've been protectin' it, haven't ya?" He says with a smile. And then he opens his arms for Lost to give him a hug. He's taking a shot in the dark as far as he's concerned, but he misses his papá. He needs to know.

Lost watches his son walk forward. Uncertain and without trust. It hurts to see, and yet it is only understanding that has him take a step back. A nod bowing his head but also an old warning haunting a step that had not been as steady as it should have.

His mouth clicks closed even as his hand clinches tight on thin air. Of course he would protect this place. That was without question. But that did not mean that he should be trusted. He knew those games just as well as his son did, and all of this was all too many warning signs.

His eye lingered upon Fleur a moment longer before sliding back up to pin the keybearers where they stood.

“Summoners.” It’s a word almost growled out, a low hiss upon his tongue that for those that knew him demanded swift explanation. It’s a warning that comes with his free hand slipping into a pocket.

Those that summoned could command and control just as easily as they could grant that leeway. This was two strikes and he’d get his answers first and foremost.

Ah. So this really was his papá. The depths would have taken that chance in a heartbeat. He drops his arms and smiles sadly. He also takes a step back. Towards safety, towards certainty. This is for the best, for now. Until they both can be sure of themselves and their company. He rushed it, again. He doesn't sigh, but the temptation is there.

"they summoned me because they need my help." He states simply. This is business. This is not a reunion. Not yet. "something happened with saros between them and sunshine, and they summoned me from the depths in order to help them out. i'm going to help because of my own free will. they wouldn't keep me here if i didn't want to stay, right, lea?"

Lea just rubs at the back of his neck. “Pretty sure you’d kick our butts if we tried something stupid.” The kid was stubborn, not stupid. All three keyblade wielders knew that if Fleur didn’t actually want to be here he wouldn’t be. Beside, he’s pretty sure that’s not how this version of summoning worked...

All this hero and heart stuff could give a somebody a headache.

“Otherwise, that’s the gist of it. Saros hired us and we needed the backup.”

Lost’s head tilts, his eye settling on each bearer in turn. Taking his time. These are not beings he can just gloss over.

Instead he hisses out a breath of mist. Might as well start concealing steps that others have already noticed.

“Crow’s about. Be careful.” It’s not an invitation. That would be too simple to listening ears. But the mist makes it easy for him to relax his posture and lean on Seven. Letting his eye unfocus and close as visibility turned terrible to most save those he deemed worth the time. Now escape or return to ship, he’s not up to mind. He’ll trust Seven’s judgement for now.

"i would, you're right." He jests, though knowing that a forced summoning would hurt like hell. Even this strange version of it, there must be rules to it. And he's pretty sure one of said rules must be that both sides must be willing. Otherwise it won't work. He hopes so at least. Otherwise he'd never get his word achieved if the kids had any say in it.

The kids know better than to back down or hide but neither are they going to puff out their chests in pride. They're just waiting. Watching. They've been silent on purpose. They know better than to interrupt something important.

Seven takes the leaning with pride and rests his free hand against Lost calmly. "I have to agree. People you don't want on your tail may already be looking to sever your connection. You best be careful. Keep my cloak for a time. You'll need it more than me. Return it to me when you get a chance, will you?" Said to Fleur, who nods though seems sad. "Good. Now. Lost, that's enough excitement for a while. We can leave when you feel you're ready to go."

Lost watches on through the fog for a moment longer. Eye light like a distant lantern within the gloom.

There isn’t anything to be said as his coat flutters as if caught in an unusual gale. The shadows around him and Seven deepening and turning the fog almost black save the lights of their eyes.

“Always.” Is uttered upon the quiet of the mist that smells of death, sea-breeze, parchment, cedar, and sage. A single word before a light fades and darkness recedes, leaving nothing behind.

Lea gives a low whistle. Now that was an exit. But at least they had a little cover now to get out of here with some sort of stealth to their name.

Almost as if he had been holding his breath the entire time, Fleur lets out a long breath and starts coughing, hacking, wheezing. Breathing is difficult when you've drowned. When he steadies himself after a few moments, he finds himself staring out at the space where the two were. "well that went... elegantly."

"That was tense." Roxas finally speaks up with a bit of a wince to his words. "You okay, Fleur? That coughing fit sounded bad." Xion asks, stepping forward to reach out to him.

"oh aye. just a bit drowned. or drowning. everything hurts." He rolls his shoulders. "got a place you're staying? i could use a moment to rebandage my wounds." Gesturing to the various dirtied bandages across his arms, his chest, even his legs.

Not all that glitters is gold. Not all that is precious is made of gemstone.

Always; he had said. A quiet and broken sentence to a slightly longer one. One punctuated by something that slithers through the fog and mist to curl about a drowned man’s boots.

Bone and just a bit of glitter clung to countless ribs stares up at someone that should not have left it behind. How dare. There will be much pouting for this.

And noticing the familiar sight makes the anger dim that much further and be replaced with joy. Oh how he's missed you! He kneels down to pick up the snake, careful in his motions as to not aggravate his coughing and wheezing. Ah there's the dizziness. "sorry for leaving you, friend. i hadn't a choice."

"I've never seen you look so fondly at something before in my life," Roxas intones in awe. "I have. It's cute. Let him have this while we figure out how to escape someplace safer than this with him in tow, right?" Xion chirps as she tugs on Leas sleeve. "Ideas?"

Lea chuckled watching the kids. Sometimes Roxas missed the biggest cues even now. Man did it show. One hand plops itself onto a blind head to ruffle and muse hair that is in dire need of being messed up for that one.

Xion’s question does get him to pause and think. “Actually, those two gave me an idea.” If this world was as weird as it seemed to have dark creatures working as heroes ... well sorta. Then follow the darkness.

He looked to Fleur with a curious brow raised. “Am I right in betting that travel through the dark isn’t as dangerous here as it usually is?”

Roxas makes a noise of discontent at having his hair mused but doesn't fight it. Clearly he's missed something so he'll take it. Xion just laughs quietly.

Fleur stands and turns to face them again, now holding two entities that are vying for his attention and shoulder space. "erm, it depends on the means of travel. usually not, one of my old friends used to do it all the time and never had a problem. but i can't say every means of travel is exactly the same guarantee. there's always a risk you run. a gamble, no matter how small."

Lea nods. A small gamble is way less then what they usually deal with. And he looks to the duo of kids for a confirmation. He won’t pull a stunt like this without their approval.

“Well, it’s worth a shot.” They could leave the area and get where Fleur might want to go.

The kids just nod towards him; they're up for the gamble if he is. They might as well take the shot if it's going to get them away from here.

"it's worth a shot indeed." Fleur retorts as he finally notices the two on his shoulders gets comfortable. "at your pace."

#discord.#The Summoning #Epilogue #Fragmented Fate #Happy New Year's?#early new year's I suppose

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theorynexus · 5 years ago

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50.

Before returning to liveblogging, I’d just like to say that the organization I used for the Aspects (3 sets of 4, with Freedom, Fate, and Mixed categories) in my last post is one of many different possible ways of categorizing the Aspects. Their nature is complex, and they individually preside over such broad aspects of reality that any one system of dividing among them is not necessarily going to capture all the nuances and connections to be found between them. The one way that is known canon to organize among these would be the Aspect Pair system, which, as one can see due to the way I described the four categories, is not mutually exclusive with the schema which I utilized in the post. To clarify: I mostly chose this particular way of organizing the Aspects for my counter to Dirk’s train of inquiry for the sake of showing that while many of the Aspects lend themselves to a Fate reading, Free Will is just as well supported. ...

***snickers*** Well, that’s certainly one way to describe the blurring resulting from the intermingling of numerous shards of her soul which is now occurring. On a side note: It is very interesting that his control is ongoing in pseudo-real time, for his frame of reference, and that his ego is so narrowed/focused at the moment (possibly as a result of the difficulty in maintaining narrative control?) that he can possibly have such slips as a result of distraction on his part. I wonder if Rose not speaking is more a result of the general narrative pause that he is implying might happen if he is not focusing (unlikely, considering all indications are time flow continues) or his manipulation/entanglement of Rose.

How benevolent of him. That said: Yes, indeed, what he is saying does make quite a bit of sense, especially with the tense “could have been,” suggesting that this is a matter of present and past intermingling, such that the future selves that split off from at least her current main node of being (from her perspective) are not integrated preemptively, for that would probably skew their creation, mess with possibility, et cetera. Moreover, what he is saying with regards to the psyche needing to be at a certain level of strength very much makes sense, as well. His own is only capable of this because of his Unbreakable Soul personal trait, most likely. He cracks, splinters, bends, but doesn’t fully break~ (And no, I don’t think that Dave being able to cut his Unbreakable Sword suggests that this is no longer the case; rather, it is most likely a sign that he achieved greater mastery of his soul and was able to divest its connection with the sword temporarily, showing an increased degree of flexibility on his part.)

I don’t entirely trust this, insofar as I am not entirely sure Rose is ready to open them, but if Dirk is being truthful as far as his intentions go, at the very least this suggests that his agenda of “becoming a single god” might be more benevolent insofar as it might be more local (meaning specific to him). If that is so, it could explain the discrepancy that seemed to crop up with Rose being able to actually talk/think in presumably her own (that is to say, deviant from Dirk’s) manner / persona, and might suggest he at least intends for this measure to be temporary.

Hmmm. Well, this all makes it seem somewhat sinister again, insofar as “what I want her to see” could be interpreted as being “only” what he wants for her to see, and the antagonistic “martyr” comment a moment before makes that vibe a bit stronger; however, I DO think that she at least eventually needs/needed to have opened her eyes for the sake of her cohesion and development, so I am quite conflicted on this matter, and in my opinions of it. (Note: I think she needs this because she’s presently quite restricted and narrowed in her field of vision, for her expanded Vision as a Seer of Light is being constantly resisted by her, and thus she is essentially putting blinders on to the burning rays of the sun.)

This could be interpreted both as dangerous, psychically subsuming, insinuating behavior on his part, or as the natural result of her Seer status making things happening seem like noise in her wider-opened consciousness.

Well, that’s a very interesting act of metaphorical/-physical manipulation. So very subtle and questionable and interesting~

LET’S TAKE A FIELD TRIP TO CANDYLAND!!!

That is a weird and silly way of viewing things. Of course there can be regret. Humans agonize over things they can’t help/change all the time, dummy. :P

Yes, indeed, I do appreciate that spoiler protection, Narrator. Though perhaps a hint might have been more interesting. Perhaps a hint might still be yet to come. Indeed, though: it is likely that no change would happen while I was gone, if I randomly flipped to the equivalent page, Candy 25, and looked back. I will not do so, regardless of the temptation.

***chorus of Cherubic laughter*** Negatives and positives. Very interesting, indeed. For some reason, I am suddenly struck with a desire to know whether and/or how these epilogues might intermingle in Homestuck^2, should it be a direct sequel to them.

Now... that is a particularly interesting manner of describing things. I wonder: does this describe the uncertainty/opacity that was naturally supposed to emerge from the narrative End of Homestuck gap in the works that allowed for the escape out of canon in the first place? The “blend ingredients responsibly” comment probably refers to the fact that Lord English presented the primary force that insisted on there being a single Alpha Timeline that, regardless of the retcons, Scratches, and narrative loop-de-loops required to reach its conclusion, ensured his ascension and the natural progression of his being, within Canon. Presumably, outside of Canon, reentry might be both possible and required in order to maintain the balance of that narrative shell that protects the rest of meta-textual reality from LE’s ire-filled gaze, and thus there are multiple “pathways of promise” that have equivalent legitimacy, and which can simultaneously take place, so long as one of them actually leads to LE’s most important battles’ proper conclusions. A similar situation to this actually happened in Homestuck’s canon, with the splitting of Vriska, though I’m sure you knew that already. Of course, only one timeline in this scenario actually successfully left to the exit of canon, along with the kids’ victory state, and presumably the situation is now majorly different. Anyway: I do again wonder how these two main branches shall combine and/or split off in the future-- what sort of interactions they might have~

I am very curious what actual mechanics might have led to this particular sweet and rancorous set of circumstances being forced into being. Is it just random chance that leads to this “irresponsible” outcome? Is it a necessary sacrifice for the narrative “oomph” to oppose Lord English, in order for the measure of wills to be balanced? Very curious, generally.

Wow, indeed that sounds incredible. Also ominous. Particularly the use of “bleed,” and the contrast of majesty+disheveled, light and shadow.

Somewhat creepy, but okay. (I guess the fact that Doc Scratch was a creepy uncle figure always meant that Dirk was intended to be creepy like this, to some extent.) That said: Indeed, I agree that this is probably very reflective of her true/Ultimate self.

Again, somewhat creepy. Additionally: Interesting that he seems uncertain-- unable to truly penetrate her mind, just then --and that this comes across almost as him reassuring himself.

I do truly appreciate this semi-blind, selfish desire of his. Truly, that is one of the greatest needs of the thinking being: acknowledgement.

That is a very complex thought. It certainly will be her, but it will be more. Regardless, as will have been elaborated upon by the later passages: she absolutely needs to let go if she is to survive. Her physical form is dying, and the only choice is to either perish, or to allow herself to naturally develop as her godly self is naturally designed to. While there is technically a choice, as is the case with The Choice that the Denizens present, there is really not much of one to begin with. She will know what is right in her heart, when the choice is made, and her own character will not have permitted her to turn another way. The only question is if there’s a third option. I would just like to say that Dirk’s statement of “better” is somewhat untrue, likely. There are likely positives and negatives of the choice-- things Rose will have to sacrifice in order to make it work. Thus, while her Greater Self will be better in some ways, she may well be deficient in others.

Her earlier statement, as I laid out earlier, was in fact incorrect. That said, it is indeed necessary to have abandoned humanity at the point. Whether or not it was additionally necessary to break down quite all those barriers is another matter. I would suspect that this is in fact not the case. I do wonder: shall individuality between the two of them actually buckle with the entanglement of their being on a psychic level? For some reason, I suspect that their cores shall in fact remain somewhat unfused. However, this is mostly intuition, based on the fact that he is/intends to struggle to maintain her physical body for at least a while, yet. We shall see how things truly turn out, either way.

***lip curls into a snarl*** What disgusting, wretched nonsense. That kind of verbiage directly contradicts your desire for an understanding equal, Narrator. Why does your intelligence have to outstrip your wisdom to such a degree? ***sighs***

Yes. Yes, it does. Whilst it is not such a linear or meta-stable structure as might otherwise be thought, anyone knowing the nature of Narrative should be aware of the key time-based interactions which allow it to function. I am beginning to absolutely loathe Dirk’s arrogance. ~~~ Post Script Note: It is very interesting to see the “You” at the end, there, for it could represent Rose, rather than the Reader, at this moment, and the aforementioned blurring of their consciousnesses which I suggested some time ago.

#Homestuck Spoilers #Homestuck^2 #Homestuck Epilogue #Homestuck Liveblog #Meat or Candy #Homestuck Analysis #Unreliable Narrator #Dirk Strider #Rose Lalonde #Abandoning Humanity #Humanity #Philosophy

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writingmilo · 5 years ago

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Maya: Chapter 6

Part 3 of Flipped AU

TRIGGER WARNINGS: MANIPULATION, STARVATION, PHYSICAL VIOLENCE

Maya had been in the room for days. Once some of the pain from the first day had disappeared, she had managed to move herself over onto the bed, settling into the soft plush of the duvet and mattress. Another day later and more of the pain had gone, and she was able to walk as long as she held onto something. The first thing she did was look inside the drawers and the wardrobe, trying to find something to eat. Despite the IV she had in the hospital for a few days, she hadn’t eaten anything since she had eaten lunch with Kenna.

Kenna.

The thought of Kenna made her chest tighten, and even though she had missed their date, she was sure that she was smiling when she thought about her. She needed to call her, or text her, just let her know what was happening.

For a second she considered just asking for a phone, but she knew that would lead to a flood of questions that she didn’t want to answer for fear of dragging Kenna into the mess. It was also unlikely that they would give her a phone in case she called the police. Whilst she was thinking, her mind drifted to the thought of food. She had behaved since she had been in the room, maybe they would give her some. She would have to ask though, which would require getting someone’s attention.

She started to think of plans until she had one she was happy with. Limping to the wardrobe, she opened its doors and picked out the least revealing outfit that was there, and laid it out on the bed where she had spent the majority of the last few days. Then, she went to the bathroom that was connected to her bedroom. There wasn’t a lot in there, a shower, a sink and a toilet. Nothing had been left in the cabinet besides some shampoo, shower gel and a towel.

Tentatively, Maya switched the shower on, waiting for the water to run warm before she stripped off her bloody clothes and stepped under the stream. At first she hissed, when the water ran into the cuts, and when soap suds entered them. But she managed to wash herself until she felt cleaner, and stepped out of the shower, drying herself off with the small towel.

Half-wrapped in the towel she walked back to the bed, where she dressed in the clothes from the wardrobe. With the towel no longer being used, she was able to dry her hair somewhat, even if the violent rubbing hurt the bruising on her scalp.

Now was the hard bit, to act submissive. She knocked on the door, waiting for a reply. When nothing came, she started talking, keeping her voice controlled and her sentences short. She had prepared the script in her head, there was no way she was going to ruin her plan by going off on one now.

“Please, is anyone there? I’m sorry. I have dishonoured the family and I deserve my punishment. I need to apologise to Chase.” She waited in silence, hoping for the click of the lock.

After a few minutes and no click, she resigned herself to the fact that she would likely starve for her temper. That was until she heard the shuffling of feet, and the muffled sound of whispering voices outside the door. Every fibre of her body wanted to push her ear to the door and listen to the conversation, but she resisted, sitting patiently on the edge of the bed.

Eventually, the click of the lock sounded, and the door pushed open, revealing Chase and Jackie stood in the doorway.

“So, little duck, Jackie tells me you are ready to face your punishment for your behaviour?” Maya nodded.

“Stand up.” She did.

“Follow.” She walked a pace behind Chase, still limping, with Jackie behind them both before slinking away. The hallways of the house were endless, turning the large building from a home into a maze, and they walked in silence along them until Chase stopped, and gestured for Maya to go ahead of him. They entered the kitchen, and he told her to sit at the table. As Maya found a sitting position that didn’t agitate any wounds, he opened the fridge, revealing it filled with food, including some of her favourites. He shut it again before she could start drooling, holding nothing; he opened the oven, pulling out a warm stack of pancakes. Finally, he placed them in front of her with a set of cutlery. Only then did he sit down facing her.

“Eat.” The command took her by surprise, and she hesitated. “Or I’ll eat it myself.” At the threat she cut into the stack, taking a bite. This gave Chase time to talk.

“Maya, we understand that you’ve just gone through a huge shock, but you can’t lash out at us. Jackie tells me that you wanted to apologise to me.” Chase’s expression was sympathetic, as if he really wanted to help her.

“Yeah, I do. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken so violently towards you and Louise. It was wrong of me.” Maya bowed her head.

“It was, but you are forgiven.” Maya breathed a sigh of relief, and went to thank him.

“However if it happens again you must not expect us to be so lenient.” She nodded, turning back to the table. “And there is one more thing — of several — I would like to discuss with you, little duck, for now: we understand that you are in need of some new,” He scanned Maya, ”more appropriate, clothing, and are happy to take you shopping when you feel fit. Once again, there will be some ground rules: mainly that you must stay with whoever takes you at all times.” In Chase’s pause, Maya took more time to eat the pancakes he had given her.

“As well, there will be a family meeting late this afternoon, and you will be expected as part of the family. Until then, you have free roam of the house, go and explore.” Smiling, he stood up, leaving Maya to finish her pancakes. Having not eaten for over a week, she could hardly make a dent, and ended up throwing the majority in the bin.

Before leaving the kitchen, Maya looked up at the clock; it would be at least a couple of hours before the meeting. The thought of running away did cross her mind as she passed the front door, but it was quickly dismissed. There was nowhere for her to go, and it would reveal her submission to be a lie. So she continued down the hall, weaving in and out of doorways, under huge chandeliers and past paintings and tapestries that lined the walls. Each room she passed, if the door was open, she would look into. Bedrooms, spare rooms, storage, a soundproofed room with a computer and lights, something that looked like a doctor’s surgery, an almost comical corkboard, an empty room, there was almost anything she could imagine somewhere in the house. Except… she continued along the hall, towards a grand door that was larger than the others. It wasn’t closed, but it wasn’t open either. Summoning her courage, she pushed it open, revealing shelves lined with books.

Finally: a place where she could spend a few hours.

When Jameson came to call her to the meeting, he found her sat cross legged on the floor surrounded by piles of books that towered above her lowered head.

“You found the library then?” His voice startled Maya, and she squeaked as she dropped her book.

“It’s very nice. I could stay here forever.” Maya looked down at her lap sheepishly, embarrassed over her reaction to Jameson.

“It is beautiful isn’t it? I enjoy spending my spare time here, and it’s amazing how many ideas can come from books. Some of my most coveted works started here.”

Maya looked at him, puzzled by what he meant. He did look familiar, but where from she couldn’t place. Before she had a chance to ask, he had changed the topic.

“Anyway, I’m here now because a family meeting has been called. We need to go now, come on.” Maya scrambled to her feet, eager to follow Jameson closely so she didn’t get lost. In her haste, she forgot that she was still holding her book.

Soon enough they arrived in the meeting room, where everyone else was sat around a large table. Chase stood as they entered the room, and gestured to the empty chair that was next to him. Jameson had left her at the doorway, so she walked up the room, feeling everyone’s eyes on her, and took the seat Chase had offered her with a mumbled thanks.

Chase started the meeting.

“Brothers, little duck, I called this meeting as a way to formally introduce Maya to the family.” There was a cheer through the room. “After talking with her this morning, it has been decided that Maya is fully a part of the family. She also wanted to say that she is sorry for how she acted when she first arrived here.” Mumbles of acceptance sounded, and Chase continued again.

“Now there is only one thing left, which is to help Maya move happily into life with us, the house rules.” Everyone groaned, as if part of a script. “I know: you’ve heard them before and you know them well, but there have been a few changes since we adopted a little duckling.

First: a strict curfew of eleven pm for everyone. That one hasn’t changed.

Number two: obey the rotas and lists for house chores and cooking.

Three: the family is everything that you ever need. If you have a problem, we can help you.

Four:If there is a dispute, an impartial member is invited to mediate the removal of any harsh feelings, and then it should be forgotten.

Maya, on this note, if you want to leave the house, you ask one of us, and they will decide whether you may leave or not, and whether you need to be accompanied. If one of us says no, you can’t go and ask anyone else. That undermines our authority and puts us against each other, when our family is a whole.

Finally, be happy! We want you to be happy and safe here, you can talk to us about anything.”

Everyone stood up, telling Maya that the meeting was over. As she stood up to leave though, Henrik took her arm and led her to his lab.

“I would be happy to give you a check over, to make sure that you are more healthy than before.” Maya jumped onto the bed, her legs dangling over the side. Remembering the book that was still in her hands, she held it in her lap. Henrik scanned the cover before he started to examine her broken ribs and the bruising on her back.

“That is one that I used to read to my children, the Grimm tales.”

“You have children? Do they live here too?” Maya wondered how she managed to miss multiple children in the house.

“No, my ex-wife took them and now they live with her and her tennis-instructor. But it is okay, I can focus on my work now better.” Henrik took the book, turning it once in his hands before placing it on the bed beside her, and hitting Maya in the ribs.

The strangled sound of pain answered the question before he asked it. “Did that hurt?”

Grimacing at the pain in her ribs that was now ebbing deeper into her chest, Maya struggled a nod.

“Ah, yes, of course, because it is broken, your chest. A broken chest takes quite some time to heal, but will be better than ever.”

“Do you mean ribs? I thought my ribs were broken?”

He paused a minute at the correction. “Yes. Yes that must be what I meant.” He returned to his work.

So that break was just a tad longer than I expected, but I am proud to say that as of now, Flipped AU posts will be returning to their regular schedule. Hopefully :)

@honestlyitsjustkenna @thelunarmasquerade @goldenoceanaart @kate807 @bloodygoldensam @unsuredoodles @the-yandere-kitsune @septicuniverse @simsepticfan @friezzzboiii @atomicsepticeye @jessiitjiia @maybekatie @theluckoftheclaws @egopocalypse (idk if you want to be tagged but when i first started this kenna kept telling me to tag you and i guess i finally worked up the courage to give you my attempt at angst as an offering)

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horncity18-blog · 5 years ago

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How anime works?

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recentanimenews · 5 years ago

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An Explorer's Guide to the Wonderful World of Visual Novels

Visual novels! Once decried as a “niche” by the masses, they have slowly but surely wormed their way into video games as a whole. Persona became a visual novel, then Fire Emblem. Now Saya no Uta, Gen Urobuchi's disturbing cult “classic” (?!) is available on Steam to stumble upon. There are fewer barriers than ever before to experiencing this varied, historic and often misunderstood medium.

But where to begin? Some visual novels are very long. Others are quite lewd. A number of them (even the ones people love) front-load their most boring material at the beginning, and save the best moments for the last hour of what can be twenty or thirty-hour games. Picking up Saya no Uta without being primed for the extremes of the medium is a recipe for despair. But don't be afraid! Many of the best visual novels being made today are only a few hours long, encompass many approaches and genres, and are acceptable for all ages. In this piece I will lay out a path that you, dear reader, may follow into the thickets. Some things to keep in mind:

1. Every one of the games featured here is legally avaliable in English. If you know Japanese and are willing to spend some money, feel free to experiment on your own!

2. The games featured here range from appropriate for teenagers, to appropriate for mature audiences. Content warnings will be marked as needed. That said, almost none of these games feature the kind of graphic sex you'd see in old-school titles like Fate/Stay Night; the exception is the final title, included for completionism, which is truly sordid and not appropriate for anybody (but I like it).

3. While I've had some experience with the medium, BL and otome games are huge blind spots of mine, so I won't embarrass myself by pretending expertise! If you're interested in exploring those fields, I've heard good things about Code: Realize (get the collector's edition with the extra content!), Hatoful Boyfriend and (if you're OK with some NSFW material) Coming Out on Top.

With that said, let us being our journey!

SHORT AND SWEET:

These games last about two to three hours, but will stick with you longer than that. Don't assume these are “beginner games” simply because they are short! I could argue that collectively, the three titles here are the best on this list.

Butterfly Soup is Brianna Lei's follow-up to her cult success Pom Gets Wi-Fi. It's free! It's also one of the most acclaimed visual novels ever by the mainstream games press, scoring praise from folks like Patricia Hernandez and Steve Gaynor. As for what it's about: it's the story of four girls on their high school softball team, two of them are in love, and there are many funny jokes. I found the ending to be abrupt, but if you're looking for good vibes and some much-needed encouragement to stay true to yourself, I highly recommend this game. Plus it references Matt Mullholland's excellent “My Heart Will Go On” performance, which earns it extra points in my book.

Content warnings: Brief depictions of parental and physical abuse (no visuals!), ableist slurs.

We Know the Devil is “what if Kelly Link wrote Revolutionary Girl Utena?” Plenty of anime and games channel that energy (my beloved What A Beautiful visual novel series among them) but few do so as succinctly and distinctively as Aevee Bee, Mia Schwartz and their team do in this game. The result is a punk, unsettling take on magical girl stories set in a Christian summer camp, featuring sneaky world-building and some striking body horror. You'll feel for the cast and their struggles, and cheer in the True Ending when everything goes completely off the rails.

Content warnings: Psychological and body horror, alienation of queer youth in a religious setting, freaky music.

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EXTREME MEATPUNKS FOREVER is a game about gay antifascist folks fighting fascists across the desert while riding giant robots made of meat. It's the equivalent of a zine you'd pick up at a fair, willing to dive into messy topics most games shy away from and wholly uninterested in sanding away any rough spots. The music is great too! Play this game if you want to beat up Nazis in a giant meat machine called ROOTS AMONG ASH.

Content warnings: Body horror, mentions of self harm and abuse, suicidal ideation, alcohol, gender dysphoria, loss of bodily autonomy, apocalyptic ideation. For mature audiences!

NICE AND MEATY:

These games are a good bit longer, ranging from five to fifteen hours to beat. If you enjoyed the earlier entries and want more, try some of these!

The House in Fata Morgana is a bonafide cult classic, a game made by a small studio that earned itself a legion of die-hard fans in the visual novel space. At first glance it's an entertaining genre pastiche, four tales of doomed love centering around a cursed mansion. But read past the first four chapters, and suddenly the real story comes to the fore—the tale of two ordinary people and a love that lasts for centuries. Fata Morgana takes some huge swings, tackling societal oppression, intersexuality, recovering from past trauma and learning to move on from those who have wronged you without having to forgive them. Its success at landing these swings likely depends on the reader, but I found Fata Morgana's heart to be in the right place. Couple that with one of the best soundtracks in video games, and you have an experience that is worth it even at 0% off.

Content warnings: incest, domestic violence, racist and sexist remarks, psychological manipulation, homophobic and transphobic remarks, sexual assault, child abuse. For mature audiences!

Heart of the Woods is, as of yet, the most ambitious game made by Studio Elan. It's a supernatural mystery where two adult women travel to a small town in the cold and dark to investigate some strange occurrences. What they find leads to unexpected romance, but also incredible danger. Heart of the Woods is sweet, it's funny (Tara is hilarious!) and as has come to be a running theme in this piece, the music is excellent, courtesy of Sarah Mancuso and Kris Flacke. Heart of the Woods is a game made by people who clearly have a lot of affection for visual novels as a medium, but had enough discretion to snip out the bits they weren't fond of. It also comes with a plethora of accessibility options, allowing you to customize everything from the text to the music to your needs.

Content warnings: Parental abuse, alcohol, light horror elements, some sex scenes you can enable with an optional R-18 patch. For mature audiences!

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As for Seabed, it's... yuri ASMR? It's difficult to describe, as the appeal of this one for me isn't so much the story—which is intriguing, but very slow-paced—as it is the feel of it. Everything from the music, to the sound effects, to the text, contributes to a languid feeling unlike every other game in the medium I have played. Seabed won't be for everyone, but few titles match its distinctive atmosphere.

Content warnings: alcohol, partial nudity. At least one sex scene that isn't too explicit by the standards of the medium. For mature audiences!

THE DEEP END:

These games range in length from fifteen hours to fifty... and beyond! If you're looking for the experience your Japanese-speaking friends fell in love with back in the days of fan translations and frantically searching online for information on Type-Moon properties, this is it!

Imagine that you have an idea for a great Japanese TV-drama, but you decide to make it as a visual novel instead. Wanting to produce as authentic an experience as possible, you hire actors and have them act out every scene in your script as you take multiple photographs depicting every twist and turn in the plot. Imagine the sheer amount of time and labor it would require. Then multiply it by five, let the player switch between these narratives with the ease of hitting a button on a gamepad, and tie them together into a vast meta-narrative. That's 428: Shibuya Scramble, one of the most ambitious visual novels ever created and a game that was famously awarded a score of 40 by the Japanese games rag Famitsu. Despite having an enormous and complicated script, it was localized into English just a year ago. Don't miss out on this bizarre and fascinating video game! If you're a fan of the Yakuza series, you'll be right at home with 428's brand of lunacy.

Content warnings: Violence, drugs, alcohol, some bad language.

Umineko: When They Cry is a lot. A gonzo mystery story that starts as a riff on And Then There Were None, it swiftly mutates into a hundred-hour game of four-dimensional chess. It was made by a small team, scored by the music of the gods, and is fully committed throughout to its brand of sentiment, metaphysical rambling and extreme horror. Some might say that Umineko is overwrought, but that is the point: the game is memorable for its excess, not despite of it. If you're looking for a taste of the full VN experience, complete with shocking twists, a weird obsession with trivia and far too many words, this is the most authentic you can find that's appropriate for all audiences. Please play with the original art! It's charming.

Content warnings: Parental abuse, blood and gore, people getting killed and suffering fates worse than death at the hands of witches (???). For mature audiences!

And now we come to [NSFW] Wonderful Everyday, everything your anxious friend told you about visual novels. It's not just that Wonderful Everyday has sex scenes, it's that it takes less time to list what triggering and problematic content is not in the game than what is in it. It references Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus and Cyrano de Bergerac. The game isn't afraid to take huge, unexpected shifts in tone and aesthetic in order to scare or destabilize the player. You might be wondering: why recommend a game like this, which many would find morally abhorrent? All I can say is that Wonderful Everyday is the game that convinced your Japanese-speaking friends to read Wittgenstein. It's a cult classic, a title unavailable in English for years that came with the highest praise imaginable: that it was a profound work of art, that it would change your way of thinking forever. After finally playing through the game two years ago, my feelings were more mixed; but there's no mistaking that few games better personify the visual novel medium's eccentricities, indulgences or shoot-for-the-moon ambition than this shaggy, gross, but fascinating video game.

Content warnings: suicide, psychological and body horror, multiple variants of sexual assault, extreme bullying, extreme violence, bestiality (thankfully cut down for release in the US!), a transgender character who is handled in a pretty specious way. Many graphic sex scenes. For very mature audiences!

There's even more great titles out there that I couldn't fit on this list! The high stakes and interface-shattering plot twists of 999. The countless games being made in engines like Ren'Py, Choice of Games and Twine. South Korean visual novels like Nameless and Mystic Messenger. No matter what kind of person or reader you may be, there is a visual novel out there somewhere for you. I wish you luck in your endless journey of discovery!

Are you a fan of visual novels? Do you have any (safe for work, if possible) recommendations? Please let us know in the comments!

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Adam W is a features writer at Crunchyroll. When he isn't eagerly awaiting the announcement of the Girls' Work anime by Type Moon, he sporadically contributes with a loose coalition of friends to a blog called Isn't it Electrifying? Follow him on twitter at: @wendeego

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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