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bbangsoonie · 4 years ago

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creker academy

member: eric genre: fluff (ft some angst), fantasy au word count: 6,182 synopsis: after finally triggering your hidden powers, fate lands you at creker academy, a special boarding school meant for shapeshifters. there, you learn how to control your abilities and that opposites do indeed attract.

The day you found out that you were adopted was the day your life fell apart. The secret was hidden from you until your uncle coldly drew the line at your parents’ funeral. He told you that he had no intention of taking responsibility for his brother’s actions and that you were no longer a part of the family.

That was how you ended up living alone in a tiny half-basement studio. You barely managed to afford the deposit and rent with the consolation money you received from the funeral.

Every day, Hyunjoon would come knocking at your door and every day, you would turn him away. It had only been a month since you became independent and the scar of losing your parents was still fresh. You were also too ashamed to face your friends. You didn’t want their pity and so you hid away in isolation.

On the night of your birthday, the pain became too unbearable. Although you aged another year, you were still only a teenager. Granted, you were in your last year of high school but you were still a minor. Having to fend for yourself in this harsh world was too much for you to handle.

As you cried yourself to sleep, you could feel a cold coming. The heat from your headache spread to the rest of your body and you felt yourself burning up.

After you bought some medicine from the pharmacy, you slipped into a deep slumber. Your dreams were wildly vivid. You dreamt of an enchanted forest that enticed you to take refuge in its comfort. There, animals of all species ran free and in harmony. It promised you acceptance and a home.

“It’s time you learn of your identity,” a soft voice spoke.

As soon as the whisper tickled your ears, the entire forest was up in flames. Strangely, you weren’t struck with fear. Rather, you felt empowered.

“Y/n, you need to learn how to control yourself,” the voice warned.

It was only then that you started to panic. The flames were engulfing everything in sight and all the animals were running for their lives.

“Y/n, you have to wake up. Now,” the voice commanded.

With that, your eyes shot open. To your horror, the scene in your dreams reflected the view in front of you. Your house was on fire and you were slowly getting cornered by the heat. Frightened, you look to the door only to see it consumed by the blaze.

“Trust your instincts, Y/n,” the voice in your head cooed. “Let your body take control.”

Bewildered, you had no idea what that meant. All you knew was that you had to get out of there. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping to think of a solution. When you reopened them, the room seemed to be a lot bigger than normal. At that moment, you saw the window cracked open. It was your only hope.

Your body felt different when you stood up.

“Why am I so short all of a sudden?” you wondered.

You looked down and almost screamed when you saw paws instead of your feet. Except a meow came out of your throat instead.

You didn’t have time to freak out about it. Feeling something hot graze your tail, you jumped up and landed on the window sill. Your innate desire for survival kicked in and you squeezed through the opening to escape.

Once you felt fresh air in your lungs again, you ran. And ran. And ran. You didn’t know why or where you were going, but something in you told you to run. Your legs kept sprinting until they reached the forest that appeared in your dream. They came to a slow stop when you realized where you were.

“What is this place?” you pondered.

“This is the border between our world and the human world,” a woman in white suddenly emerged from the trees. “You are now about to cross into our territory.”

It was the same voice from your dream. Trying to grasp the situation, you opened your mouth to ask a million questions. But again, a meow replaced your voice.

“It’ll be easier for you to transition back once you're on our grounds,” she assured. She bent down and gestured for you to jump into her arms.

Not seeing any other option, you hesitantly took her offer. With you safely in her embrace, she passed through a translucent wall that revealed what looked like a huge campus. Your jaw dropped as you observed your surroundings. There were students walking around the magical place. You saw a girl tending the garden and gasped when her hands hovered above the flowers to revive them.

The woman brought you to an office you presumed to be hers and placed you in front of a mirror. Your shriek came out as a cute yelp and she chuckled.

“I-I’m a cat!” you thought.

“There’s an outfit you can change into once you return to your human form,” she pointed at the black dress neatly prepared on the table.

The second she finished her sentence, you felt a bare sensation. Looking down, you screeched at your naked body. Embarrassed and horrified, you quickly clothed yourself with the dress.

“W-What’s going on?” you asked, relieved to finally hear your own voice again.

“I’m sure you felt different from others your whole life?” she asked. It sounded more like a statement rather than a question.

She wasn’t wrong. All your life, you never felt like you fitted in anywhere. Maybe your body knew you were adopted before your mind did and ostracized itself. Or maybe you truly were different. You had weird talents that other kids thought were freaky, making you hide them and become introverted. For instance, you were suspiciously good at starting fires from scratch at summer camp and didn’t feel any pain when your shirt accidentally caught on fire.

“I know this must be shocking to you but you’re special, Y/n. We’ve been waiting for you. Waiting for you to trigger your powers to bring you here,” she smiled.

“My what?” you gaped.

“Your powers. What you just did back at your old house and right now. You’re a shapeshifter, Y/n. A shapeshifter with the element of fire,” she explained.

“I’m a what now?” you scoffed in disbelief.

“Creker Academy is a school and home for students just like you. It’s a place meant to train you how to control your powers. Without our guidance, you’ll lead down a path of self-destruction.”

Baffled by her words, you stared in silence. There was no way any of this was true. Surely this had to be a dream.

“This isn’t a prank or a dream, Y/n. You’ve finally found where you belong,” she clarified.

Belong. You had never felt like you really belonged anywhere. But now, someone was telling you that you belonged with them. That they wanted you there. That they had been waiting for you.

“I understand you must feel overwhelmed. But there are procedures to follow so I’m afraid you will have to begin your tour first. A fellow student will be arriving soon to show you around.”

As if on cue, a boy around your age knocked on the door and came in after receiving the woman’s permission to enter.

“Hello, Headmaster,” he bowed.

“Eric, this is Y/n. Y/n, this is Eric. He will be helping you adjust here,” she introduced.

Eric was bright eyed and eager to meet a new friend. You, on the other hand, were quite reserved and uncomfortable in your new environment.

He was excitedly pointing out the purpose of each room you passed by and rambled on about the social norms of the boarding school. You learned that on top of academics, there were classes on virtues and physical training. And of course, classes that taught you how to properly use and contain your powers.

The use of magic was strictly prohibited inside any and all buildings. Students could practice their skills outside but were forbidden from any acts that could potentially put someone or something at risk. That was the one rule that was rigidly enforced and obeyed.

“So what animal and element are you?” he curiously pried. “I’m a dog with the element of water.”

“I’m… apparently a cat,” you felt ridiculous saying it aloud. “And control fire.”

“Ah, you’re a member of the fire element,” he nodded. “What that means is that your element rivals with mine. Some people see fire elements as hotheaded, impulsive, and extreme. Water elements are sometimes emotional, sensitive, and antisocial. But those are all just stereotypes, of course. Not everyone fits into the standard. I, for one, am very outgoing. And your animal obviously plays a role in your personality. I guess the dog in me overpowers the water.”

You had moved on from the indoor portion of the tour to the outside part. He was showing you the garden you had passed by earlier. It was full of flowers that wouldn’t be in bloom this season in the normal world.

“I’m a strong believer in that there are good traits about each element. For example, fire elements are passionate, inspirational, and expressive. They’re arguably the most fun people you’ll ever meet. Water elements are empathetic, imaginative, and loving. But again, all this is relative and doesn’t accurately describe each person,” he reminded. “The only reason there’s still a stupid feud is because some people love sticking to the status quo and labeling others.”

“What are the other elements? Air and earth?”

“Yup! Air elements are independent, talkative, fickle, and nonconformists. Most likely social butterflies. Earth elements are disciplined, loyal, organized, and judgemental. Oftentimes the leader.”

Eric greeted a male student who was passing by with two other boys. He exchanged smiles with the three of them who offered you a kind nod of acknowledgement.

“That was Sangyeon. He’s a bear. On his left is Jacob, a rabbit. The one on the right is Younghoon, who’s also a dog like me. They’re all earth elements,” he disclosed. “Sangyeon is the class representative of our grade. Definitely fits the leader stereotype.”

You couldn’t get over how thrilled he was to be your tour guide. He was filling you in on even the little details of the social life at the academy. He told you about how transfer students were rare and that it was his first time seeing a new student.

His vibrancy contrasted your somber aura. If he noticed, he didn’t comment on it. He was having too much fun getting to know you.

“Oh! That’s Hyunjae and Juyeon,” Eric suddenly pointed at a pair of boys on a morning run. He waved at the two who waved back before speeding up.

“The one with brown hair is Hyunjae, a wolf and fire element. His real name is Jaehyun but he changed it to Hyunjae once he got to Creker Academy. Juyeon’s the one with black hair and is a cat like you. Except he’s a water element like me,” he grinned. “They’re my best friends. Oh, and this guy named Sunwoo who’s a raccoon with the element of fire. As you can see, water and fire elements can get along fine and well. So don’t listen to anyone who says otherwise.”

By the time he was done showing you around, a bell rang and students began to convene inside. Eric explained that the bell was signaling the beginning of classes and brought you to his homeroom.

“Breakfast is buffet style and self served. It’s up to you to wake up and come down to eat. The cafeteria remains open for an hour until that bell rings and we have to get to class,” he said you entered.

Looking around for an empty seat, his face lit up when he spotted one. He sat at his desk and tapped on the one behind him to let you know that it was yours to take.

You still hadn’t processed all that’s happened since dawn. Everything felt like a haze. Nevertheless, you found yourself paying attention when the teacher walked in. He scanned the room to find a new face and smiled when he made eye contact with you.

“Alright, guys. I’m happy to announce that we have a new student that will be joining us starting today,” he beckoned for you to come up to the front of the classroom.

You wanted to shrivel up and crawl into a hole. Feeling your classmates gazes on you, you gulped and began to sweat. You were never a fan of attention. You quickly introduced yourself before rushing back to your seat, eliciting giggles from a few students. Your cheeks heated up and you felt that burning tingle again.

The awkwardness made you transform back into a cat, making your classmates gasp. Their intensified stares made the tips of your fur ignite, alarming the teacher who tried to calm you down.

“Well I guess she’s a fire cat,” a girl snickered.

Eric shot her a glare before leaning in to ask if you wanted him to put the fire out with his water. Not knowing what else to do, you nodded and the next thing you knew, you were drenched.

So much for your first day.

You ran out of the room before you could change back into a human. You fled but didn’t know where to go. You grew anxious, desperately hoping you wouldn’t end up flashing anyone.

“Hey!” someone called out. You turned around to see a male approaching you. Panicking, you dove into a bush.

“You’re the newbie, right?” he asked, taking something out of his bag. He dug out a large t-shirt and a pair of shorts and placed them in front of you. “I usually carry around a spare outfit in case of emergencies. I hope you don’t mind the fit.”

You were still in your animal form so you peaked your head out to look at him.

“My name’s Chanhee. Air element penguin,” he squatted down to meet your eyes. “Everyone’s first day is rough. You’re not the only one who’s had incidents like this so try not to feel so bad about it.”

He stood to go back to class, leaving you to change in privacy once you returned to your normal body. Your hair was still wet as you dragged yourself back to the headmaster’s office.

The headmaster looked at you with pity when you walked in looking worn out. You didn’t have to tell her for her to know what happened.

“How about I show you to your dorm?” she warmly suggested. Anything was better than returning to the classroom.

Due to your late enrollment, you were assigned a single room as opposed to the traditional double rooms. You were glad you didn’t have to go through the process of meeting and getting used to a roommate. It was a small but cozy space and the closet was filled with clothes.

You realized all of your belongings were probably burned down in your old home. Now you really didn’t have anything to go back to.

Before the headmaster left to allow you to settle in, she insisted that you join your classmates for lunch later. You wanted to say that you just wanted to stay in your room but her stern look had you close your mouth.

So you begrudgingly made your way to the cafeteria and gawked at the amount of students packed inside. Feeling them stare at you, you tried to ignore their whispers as you grabbed a tray of food. To your relief, you saw Eric motioning you over and went to go sit down next to him.

His group of friends was fairly large. You saw the boys he had named earlier that day and were surprised to see Chanhee again.

“Hi! I’m Changmin,” one enthusiastically waved. “I’m an air squirrel.”

“Haknyeon, air pig,” another raised his hand.

“My animal is a hamster and my element is water. You can call me Kevin,” the last one smiled.

After shyly exchanging greetings with everyone, you poked at the rice on your plate. The food was undeniably better than the food served at your old school. However, thinking about your old school made your stomach drop as you thought of the friends you left behind. You were sure Hyunjoon was worried sick about you.

“Do you hate water? And have you always hated water? I would assume you don’t like it very much as a cat and fire element,” Changmin looked at you with sparkling eyes that displayed his curiosity.

“Yeah I actually never learned how to swim. I guess that explains why. I never had a reason when my friends asked me about it,” you mused. In hindsight, your unreasonable hatred and fear of water made sense.

“Interesting, interesting,” he nodded.

Like that, the next couple of months flew by. You were put on an intensive program to catch up with your peers and received one-on-one tutoring to help you learn how to shapeshift at will. You could now easily turn into a cat but still had trouble returning to your human form.

To your dismay, you were denied communication with the outside world. The headmaster was very much against risking having the academy and everyone’s identities exposed. Which meant that you weren’t allowed to contact anyone from your previous life.

One good thing was that you were no longer the hot topic of the school. People’s interest in you died down when you didn’t reciprocate theirs.

You grew close to Eric and his group of friends. They were an interesting bunch. Each of them were uniquely chaotic.

Eric was the exact opposite of you. Literally. As a water element dog, his personality contrasted your fiery cat. Everything from your food tastes to fashion style were different. Yet, you felt the most comfortable with him. He brought light into your life and made adjusting to your new school easier.

You were also always at odds with Juyeon. Although you were both cats, he was everything you weren’t. He was sweet but you just didn’t match on so many things. This meant for a very awkward but pleasant friendship.

You got along best with Chanhee. His air side complemented your fire and he quickly became your closest friend. He was both sassy and caring and you appreciated his endless concern and support for you.

Changmin was a wild card. He and Sunwoo wrecked havoc everywhere they went as Younghoon and Haknyeon incited them while Kevin and Jacob were trying their best to prevent them from destroying the campus. Sangyeon and Hyunjae, who were usually busy with student council matters, were the only ones who could calm everyone down but sometimes chose to enjoy the mayhem.

“Did you guys hear the rumors?” Sunwoo bursted through the classroom door panting. “The headmaster is considering an overnight field trip for the seniors!”

Jaws dropped and gasps spread throughout the students. The room was immediately in a buzz as everyone was shocked and excited at the possibility of leaving the sealed territory. It had been 5 years since students were allowed a trip in the outside world.

The homeroom teacher came in and hushed everyone to quiet down. He couldn’t hide the smile that forced its way onto his face after seeing how happy his students looked.

“Is it true we might get a senior trip?” Haknyeon impatiently asked.

“I cannot comment on that. An official announcement will be made later today,” the teacher said.

“That’s not a no!” Younghoon squealed.

True to his words, the headmaster’s voice was heard over the PA system before the dismissal bell. She congratulated the seniors on their hard work and announced that they would be given the opportunity to sign up to spend 3 days and 2 nights on a cruise.

The entire floor of students erupted into cheers and you heard footsteps run across as they barged into classrooms to find their friends and rejoice together. Changmin came into your classroom dragging Kevin and Juyeon behind him.

“Guys, I can’t believe it! It’s been forever since I last saw humans,” Changmin gushed.

“The whole point of us going on a private boat is to ensure that we don’t have any run-ins with humans,” Kevin reminded.

“Yeah but I’m sure we’d pass by them on our way there,” Changmin rolled his eyes.

Sangyeon, Hyunjae, and Jacob strolled in, greeting your group of friends with a nod of acknowledgment. They waited as the rest of you gathered your stuff to leave together.

“Everyone’s going, right? Y/n, you too?” Eric asked.

“Umm,” you hesitated as you looked at their expectant eyes. “I honestly don’t know if it’d be a good idea… I’m still not in complete control over my powers.”

“Aw but Y/n! You can’t miss out on this once in a lifetime trip with all of us!” Sunwoo whined.

“Yeah, it’ll be your last time leaving campus before graduating! Plus, it’ll be your first and last major bonding experience with our class,” Younghoon pouted.

“I know how hard fire can be to control. If you want, I can stay with you and try to help you detect signs of distress before it manifests itself,” Hyunjae offered.

“And I‘ll be next to you to put out any accidents!” Eric beamed.

“You know I always have extra clothes in my bag,” Chanhee added.

You couldn’t say no to the 11 pairs of pleading eyes. They all so desperately wanted you to go with them that it warmed your heart. It hadn’t even been long since you first met them but they always treated you like you were with them from the start.

So you added your name to the list of students and that was how you ended up dragging your suitcase to the giant cruise ship. Haknyeon was bouncing in excitement next to you as the throng of high schoolers slowly made their way inside.

Room assignments were the same as back at the academy, which meant that you were in a single by yourself again. Changmin expressed his envy as Chanhee happily pulled him into their shared room.

Once you were unpacked, you headed to the deck and admired the seascape. The ship was already sailing into the vast ocean and the endless horizon felt so freeing. Leaning on the handrails, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. The salty smell brought back memories of visiting the beach with your parents.

You felt someone join you but didn’t open your eyes. You could tell by their footsteps that it was Eric.

“Enjoying the change in environment?” he asked.

“Makes me a bit nostalgic,” you said as you opened your eyes.

The wind was strong and the waves were violently crashing into the sides of the boat. With the sun glistening in the water’s reflection, you squinted a bit to appreciate the scenery in front of you.

“Isn’t the view so pretty?” you sighed in content. You didn’t notice that he wasn’t looking at the sea. Instead, he was staring at you.

“Yeah. Extremely pretty,” he found himself saying with a soft smile.

To Eric’s slight annoyance, Sunwoo came and tactlessly interrupted the moment to tell you two to meet everyone else at the pool. He was raving about the jacuzzi next to it and eagerly tugged at Eric’s sleeve to hurry him up.

Younghoon was already shoving Hyunjae’s head underwater when you arrived. Jacob waved at you from the chaise lounge and you sat down next to him. Giggling, you watched Sangyeon climb on top of both of them as Juyeon egged him on. Changmin and Chanhee were relaxing in the jacuzzi while Kevin and Haknyeon were piling food on their plates at the snack bar.

Eric was thrown into the pool thanks to Sunwoo’s push and he emerged to the surface screaming and laughing. Using his powers to add more pressure, he splashed Sunwoo with water, who ran off shrieking.

“Do you not like the water as well?” you turned around to face Jacob.

“I don’t necessarily dislike it but I don’t really like it either,” he shrugged. “I don’t mind jumping in if the guys tell me to join.”

“Do you hate the water or are you afraid of it?” Haknyeon asked as he and Kevin took a seat next to you.

“I guess both?” you answered.

“You know, contrary to popular belief, I’m actually not that fond of large bodies of water either,” Kevin said as he offered Jacob a bite of his pizza. “Pretty weird for a water element, huh?”

“Hey, hey, we don’t stick to stereotypes. We are all individuals with personalities and preferences unique to our own character,” Jacob chided.

“Oh how I love confirmation biases,” Haknyeon joked.

You had to admit it was pretty interesting to see how each person matched and defied their element and animal characteristics. It was like taking a personality test and fervently agreeing with the parts that were true and blatantly ignoring the parts that weren’t.

The rest of the day was spent fooling around and playing games. There was never a dull moment with the boys. They were always in high spirits and full of energy.

Even at dinner, your table was the loudest one. Juyeon had been sneakily stealing a few bites of fish off of Haknyeon’s plate, who took great offense when he finally noticed. Meanwhile, Eric was bargaining with Younghoon for his chicken. At the mention of chicken, Hyunjae joined in on the negotiation of the last piece of meat.

So far, you haven't had a risky moment with either your element or animal. You were in complete control and didn’t need guidance—although Chanhee remained by your side just in case. When you made it back to your room to call it a night, you were relieved and proud that the trip was going smoothly without any hiccups.

Perhaps you spoke too early.

In one of the rooms down the hall, a girls’ night had turned awry. One of the girls, a water element, began crying and started a waterflow that got out of hand. The more she panicked and tried to stop it, the higher the water rose. It quickly seeped into the hallway and into other rooms.

With her friends screaming at her to make it stop, it only escalated with a loud whoosh as the door broke open from the pressure. Now in full panic mode, the girls shrieked and realized that the place was flooding from the inside out.

They trudged through the rising water to flee, banging on doors on their way out. Doors swung open as students woke up from the commotion.

By the time Juyeon finally managed to wake Eric up from his deep sleep, the water was nearly up to the bed. The roommates freaked out, wondering what the heck was going on. Juyeon quickly grabbed his bag and hurried Eric to leave.

On their way out, however, they saw that your door was still closed.

“Shit, Y/n can’t swim,” Eric gasped.

“The water’s not that deep yet. Let’s get her out while it’s still walkable,” Juyeon said as he threw his bag down and started walking towards your room.

Meanwhile, you were still sound asleep. You were startled awake by the pounding. When you registered the situation, the fear made you shift into a cat before you could get up and unlock the door. You anxiously glanced at the closed door as the water began to climb up your body.

Outside, Eric felt a pit form in his stomach. Getting worried, he decided to break your door open. With the help of Juyeon, he barely slammed the heavy wood down by mustering up all the strength he had.

“Y/n!” he yelled when he finally saw you.

You were struggling to keep your head above the water and it was getting harder by the second to not breathe in the liquid. He rushed to pick you up and kept you afloat even when he stumbled. The waves were now reaching his chest.

Juyeon transformed into his cat form to swim as Eric trekked through the hall. You were clinging onto him and Eric was holding onto you tightly as well. You could feel him pant and his heart beat fast. Tucked under his arm, you looked up to see beads of sweat falling from his forehead.

Your own heart skipped a beat at the sight. You could tell how much he cared for you. He made you feel wanted. Needed. Important.

You two were polar opposites but still complemented each other so well. He was the optimism you lacked and you were his rock. You kept him grounded and he made you laugh.

When you finally escaped to the deck, Juyeon stepped away to change back into a human and put on clothes. Your friends crowded around you, Younghoon drying you off with a towel and Chanhee placing a clean outfit next to you.

“Alright, everyone, settle down,” the headmaster called out, turning heads. “I’m glad you’re all safely out but it’ll take some time to drain the water. Please calmly stay in groups until we sort everything out.”

Thanks to your months of training, you were now able to sense when your transformation was about to occur. You grabbed the clothes with your mouth and ran off before you could flash anyone. You sheepishly returned wearing one of Chanhee’s pajama shirts and with water still dripping from your hair.

“Y/n!” Sunwoo dramatically whined, jumping you for a hug. Displeased, Eric peeled him off of you and handed you another towel.

“Thanks, Eric,” you smiled. “For… everything.”

“No problem,” he grinned as he ruffled your head.

“Thank God these two got you out safe and sound,” Sangyeon sighed in relief. You apologized for worrying everyone, to which Hyunjae insisted that you had no reason to feel sorry.

Luckily, the next day was not as eventful. A dinner party was prepared for the last night on the cruise and you got to dress up and have fun. You enjoyed a relaxing time in the ballroom with music playing from the speakers and the boys embarrassing themselves on the dance floor.

You giggled as you watched Changmin ask his crush for a dance after Chanhee quite literally pushed his friend to approach her. It was sweet to see both of them all shy in each other’s arms.

Juyeon nudged Eric and nodded in your direction to ask if he was going to ask you to dance as well. When Eric pretended not to know what he was talking about, Sunwoo joined in to tease him.

“Come on, bro. We all know you like her. Just hurry up and make a move already,” Sunwoo snickered.

“Ooh are we talking about Y/n?” Hyunjae came after eavesdropping.

“I hate you guys,” Eric rolled his eyes as he tried to hide his blush.

Learning from Chanhee, Sunwoo shoved his best friend towards you and fled after he bumped into you. Shooting him a glare, Eric silently swore at him with his eyes. He cringed before turning around to face you.

He felt his breath being stolen away when his eyes met yours. You were absolutely stunning. The glimmer of the chandelier shining on your enhanced your features and he found himself lost in your orbs.

From a few tables away, Kevin and Jacob had joined the other three guys to fanboy over the interaction. Juyeon whispered “he’s totally whipped” to Sunwoo who failed to hold back his laughter. Eric, however, didn’t even notice. He was too busy gaping at you.

“Uhh is there something on my face?” you asked, bringing your palm to your cheek. You were slightly self conscious at his intense staring.

“Beauty,” he blurted. Trying to play it cool, he acted confident and ignored the burst of laughter from his friends. You felt your face heat up at his comment and awkwardly coughed as you looked away.

“Y-You look great too,” you stuttered.

On his way to pour himself some more punch, Chanhee loudly told you to just dance with Eric. He passed by and continued to walk towards the drinks without a care as to how flustered he left you two. Your friends were practically doubling over in laughter at this point.

So Eric boldly held your hand and gently guided you to the dance floor. Feeling your body heat up, he applied his cooling powers on you to prevent you from igniting flames.

“I guess we could say there’s a spark between us,” he joked.

The rest of the night flew by in a blur. You hadn’t felt so carefree in so long. For the first time in a while, you weren’t hung up on the past or worried about the future. You simply appreciated the moment as you were living it.

You never expected things to turn out the way it did. With the death of your parents, you lost a lot of things. But your new friends made you feel complete again. They healed you in ways you couldn’t have imagined.

The revelation of your true identity also brought you peace. You no longer felt like the odd one out. Your own powers didn’t scare you and you felt safe learning about them at the boarding school.

However, you began to doubt all of that the second you docked back on land. You were chatting with Eric about his favorite ramen brand when an all-too-familiar voice made you freeze.

“Y/n..?” he carefully called out. He slowly came up to see if it really was you and gasped when he saw that it was.

Eric didn’t know why he suddenly felt uneasy. Maybe it was because an unknown male had made a reappearance in your life or maybe it was because he recognized the way he was looking at you. It was the same way he looked at you as well.

Chanhee, now protective and defensive, slightly pushed you to the back to ask who he was.

“It’s okay, Chanhee. He’s my friend,” you assured, stepping forward.

Juyeon scowled, not liking that you were interacting with people from the human world. It was borderline going against the rules.

“Hey, Hyunjoon. Long time no see,” you timidly greeted.

“Are you kidding me? You disappeared after a fire burned down your house and that’s all you have to say to me?” Hyunjoon fumed.

You winced at the pain evident in his voice. It had hurt you to ignore your best friend and there hadn’t been a day where you didn’t miss him. Guilt-ridden, you were unable to meet his eyes. He took you by surprise by pulling you in for a hug.

“We thought of the worst, Y/n,” he murmured. “I forgive you for going M.I.A. on me. It’s okay. Everything’s fine as long as you’re here.”

You choked back tears but couldn’t stop one from falling down your cheek. You heard the headmaster gathering the students to get on the bus back home and knew that you didn’t have much time before you had to leave him again. Sangyeon patted you on the shoulder and ran ahead to ask the headmaster for leniency.

“I-I have to go soon,” you stammered as you broke away from his embrace.

“Go where? You’re not coming back home?” Hyunjoon asked.

“I… have a new home now,” you gulped. “I can’t tell you where and I can’t promise that I’ll be able to see you again. But I’ve missed you. I still do.”

“Are you safe?” he whispered after staying silent for a bit. “Are you happy?”

You took a glimpse of your group of friends that was unconvincingly pretending to not listen to the conversation. It almost made you chuckle despite the situation.

“Yeah,” you trailed off. “I’m doing well, Hyunjoon. And I hope the same for you. I’m sorry.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” he forced a smile as he hugged you one last time. “Bye, Y/n.”

“Bye, Hyunjoon.”

It pained you to see him watch you walk away. Your heart broke with each step you took. On the ride back to the forest, you stared out the window. Eric, sitting next to you, softly squeezed your hand to offer you some comfort.

“I made the right choice, right?” you asked, leaning on his shoulder.

“Do you regret it?” he cautiously asked.

You thought about it. You definitely missed Hyunjoon and all of your other old friends. You also definitely felt bad that you left them behind without a word and still couldn’t provide an explanation. But at the same time, you’ve grown to love your new school and new friends. You no longer had to be on edge without even knowing the reason why. Creker Academy made you feel confident. The boys made you feel accepted. Eric made you feel loved.

“No,” you answered with certainty. “Not at all.”

a/n: for the eric to my sunwoo, @sohnhorizon

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symphonicmetal101 · 4 years ago

Text

Brother Bonding(?) HCs

Lucifer

Mammon

He and Mammon have a bit of a complicated relationship, in that Mammon is always getting into trouble, and Lucifer always has to get him out of it, and then takes it upon himself to scold him for getting them into trouble. However, there are times when Lucifer helps Mammon pull pranks on the other brothers, under the condition that Mammon doesn't tell anyone, otherwise he loses Goldie permanently. The pranks are well executed, and often the blame is but on Belphie or Satan instead.

Levi

We know that Lucifer is responsible for Levi's obsession with Ruri-chan and anime as a whole. Lucifer is often concerned for Levi, as he is familiar with self-doubt, and sympathizes with Levi's constant stream of it. He tries to set aside at least one day a month where he will rewatch old anime with Levi, listen to his spiels, and leave him an allowance to use however he would like. If Lucifer is too busy with paperwork, he'll invite Levi to his office and ask him about the latest games and mangas, even if he isn't listening the entire time.

Satan

Ah, this is a little more complicated. Truthfully, they don't spend much time together. However, if Satan happens to mention a book he wanted, even offhandedly, Lucifer will make sure it ends up in Satan's possession somehow, even if it's through MC. Satan notices this, and as much as he wants to hate Lucifer, those days he makes an extra effort to try and not tease or humiliate Lucifer. It's almost like a silent truce.

Asmo

Yeah, yeah, Asmo paints everyone's nails. But Asmo also knows massage and aromatherapy. When Lucifer is particularly stressed, he'll take it upon himself to try and help him relax. If he has the patience, Lucifer will listen to Asmo explain the science between different scents and how they help the mind and body. Sometimes Asmo isn't sure if Lucifer is actually listens, but within three days of their chats, he finds a small package on his bed with different oils, and a note that says, "I look forward to learning what these oils can do." - Lucifer

Beel

Beel likes to cook, bake, etc. Because Lucifer is always on the go, Beel tries to come up with meals that are easy to walk around with. Lucifer is always the one Beel asks to taste test, (if Beel manages to resist eating the entire thing himself), because Lucifer will give him an honest opinion. It's rare that Lucifer has anything but praise for Beel, but on the off chance he doesn't, he'll walk him through a couple of ideas he could do to improve it, and Beel will deliver.

Note: this is also how Beel found out that Lucifer has the lowest spice tolerance out of the brothers, and he is not to mention it to anyone.

Belphie

Another relationship that serves to be more complex. Lucifer often finds himself wanting to reconcile with Belphie, almost to restore the kind of relationship they had when they were angels. But when you lock someone in an attic against their will, (even if it was to protect them), they tend to hold a grudge. Again, they don't really spend time together unless Beel is present, but Lucifer tries to help Belphie in little ways, like switching his linens weekly, fluffing his pillows, making sure he actually makes it to a bed when he goes to sleep. Belphie just assumes it's Beel doing these things though, and Lucifer lets him. He hopes one day Belphie will realize how much he really does care for him.

Mammon

Levi

They usually don't get along, mostly because of financial issues between them. However, when they are able to put that aside, they can actually enjoy each others company. Mammon has a lot of energy, and Levi likes video games. As a compromise, they regularly play games such as DDR or Just Dance. The whole time, they will insult each other, but lovingly.

Satan

Satan will actively look for books on finance, budgeting, business, etc. To help Mammon. He pitches it as ways to help him get rich, and they will spend hours together trying to form a business plan. While Mammon doesn't usually have the patience, for the sake of spending time with his little brother, he pushes through. Satan usually does this only after one of Mammon's bigger schemes fell through, or when Lucifer tells Mammon to stop.

Asmo

These guys both model. Mammon will set aside some money and time to go spend with Asmo on clothes, accessories, etc. Mammon is just as skilled behind the camera as he is in front of it, so whenever Asmo wants to model, doesn't matter where, Mammon is ready. Sometimes when they've planned their outing with enough notice, Mammon will have saved enough money to buy something for Asmo.

Beel

Whenever Beel is cooking for himself, he usually adds a lot seasonings. Sometimes, it's in hopes that spice will slow him down. Other times it's because he really likes the food, but has almost become desensitized to the taste😥 however, when he makes these batches of food, he'll sometimes invite Mammon to join him. Mammon has an ungodly high tolerance for spice, at least when he's eating. (His stomach may or may not suffer later). Mammon sometimes foolishly challenges Beel to a speed eating contest. Beel tries to decline; he just wants to eat, and he does not want to watch Mammon give himself indigestion or heartburn, but Mammon, persistent as ever, will try and eat as many servings of Beel's food as quickly as possible. This is one of the few times Beel doesn't get mad, he just watches with mild amusemeny and concern.

Belphie

Belphie and Mammon are surprisingly close, despite being complete foils of eacb other. Mammon has lots of energy, Belphie has none. Mammon likes to go out, Belphie likes to stay in. However, building forts? Hell yes, Belphie has enough energy for that. They usually build pillow and blanket forts in the observatory. Belphie will direct Mammon in how to build it for the most amount of comfort. Usually they'll just end up plugging in their headphones and listening to their own music in each other's company until they fall asleep and/or Beel joins them.

Levi

Satan

Levi introduced Satan to VR, and their relationship has taken a turn for the better since then. Satan is more interested in medical simulators and animal simulation games. Levi once made the mistake of playing Mario Kart with Satan, and his room was left in shambles, so now they only do sims to avoid the competition with other players. Satan also likes to play Among Us, as it gives him a chance to flex his detective skills. His self-control is much better with this, for whatever reason.

Asmo

Levi and Asmo are constantly at odds. Not like Mammon, but Asmo cringes every time he sees the way Levi is sitting, every time he hears Levi has ruined his sleep schedule, and every time he sees him sleeping in tje goddamn bathtub. Yes, it has lots of pillows, but none of them are really good for support. He is constantly trying to get Levi to at least stretch or do yoga every once in a while, as well as sit properly in his chair. These stretching session are also when Levi starts to talk about the next cosplay he's working on, which Asmo will undoubtedly want to help with.

(Ik that its implied that Levi taught Asmo how to sew and stuff, but that hc is everywhere, otherwise I would elaborate. It's really cute though.)

Beel

Although Levi spends a lot of his time in his room, he is still the Grand Admiral of Hell's Navy. He does dedicate some time to working out, and when he does, he does it with Beel, because he knows Beel will help keep him on track. Beel is also Levi's biggest source of encouragment. Levi thanks Beel in mass quantities of food from Akuzon later, sometimes in hopes of winning something from a draw, other times as a genuine thank you.

Belphie

Introvert buddies! Belphie doesn't really care for video games, Levi doesn't have the same speed as Mammon for building a pillow fort, but sometimes Belphie will ask to come into Levi's room to look at his aquarium. He finds it relaxing. They don't really talk to each other, they just enjoy each other's company. If Belphie is feeling curious or notices Levi is kind of upset, he'll start asking Levi about the different fish in his aquarium, which quickly cheers Levi up. Belphie's favourite thing about Levi though, is that he is usually awake the same time he is, helping him feel a little less lonely.

Satan

Asmo

I've mentioned this before in my random hcs post, but Asmo and Satan like to study astrology together. They find it fascinating in how accurate it can be, especially since they only get to see the *real* stars, moon, sun, and planets when they're in the human realm. Asmo actually introduced it to Satan, as he used to study it in the Celestial Realm as well.

Beel

Beel is constantly coming up with new recipes, so Satan documents them all for him. He'll be a scribe, while Beel tells him exactly what he's doing the whole time. The other brothers don't know, (Beel asked to keep t a secret), but Satan has helped Beel publish 3 cookbooks already.

Satan also attends Beel's games whenever possible, and Beel has attended Satan's debate team or sometimes book club meetings whenever possible. Because Satan and Belphie are close, so are Satan and Beel.

Belphie

>:)

They are constantly coming up with ways to inconvenience Lucifer, which is their main form of bonding. However, Belphie also taught Satan the constellations when they were younger, so now they will often go stargazing together. Satan doesn't remember, but he used to make up stories about the constellations, and Belphie has a written record of all of them. Sometimes, Belphie will retell the stories from memory to see if Satan recognizes it, but to no avail. Instead Satan will tell another story he has read about the stars. They tell each other stories and stargaze until they fall asleep.

Asmo

Beel

Beel will do warm ups with Asmo; basic stretches, a jog, etc. They will sometimes do yoga together. However, Beel works out a lot, and sometimes his muscles get sore, so Asmo gets to work. Being around Asmo brings out the gossip girl in Beel, so while Asmo is giving him a massage, he's also getting all the tea from all the clubs that Beel is a part of. Beel is very careful with his delivery, but he trusts Asmo to never spin his words the wrong way and to use the new info for good.

Belphie

Asmo has his own fashion line. He often asks Belphie to rate the comfort of his clothes, as he wants them to be fashionable, functional, and comfortable. Belphie never pulls his punches, and Asmo is grateful for the honest criticism. However, sometimes it does get on his nerves, but Belphie makes up for it later by getting Asmo new linens, often silk, because Belphie knows Asmo's preferences. Asmo always asks him where he finds it, but Belphie never answers.

Beel + Belphie

These two can bond almost over anything. However, one of their favorite things to do together is make Quetzalcoatl brain soup. Belphie stays awake long enough to remind Beel to leave some for him.

(My brain just left me here to rot apparently, I'm sorry.)

Oof

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me thoughts

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astralkoo · 4 years ago

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the huntress | jungkook (teaser)

Pairing: jungkook x (f.) reader

Genre: werewolf au, hunter au, action, thriller, angst, fluff, smut

Rating: 18+ (graphic violence / explicit sexual content)

Estimated Final Word Count: 15-20k??? Maybe more bc it’s already at 7.4k and I haven’t even fully hit on the main plot yikes

Teaser Word Count: 1,780

Summary: You are a hunter. You are a protector. And you are a killer. These are simple facts. Facts that have been drilled into your head since you were a child. These facts are all that you know, all that you can rely on when the world around you is constantly changing. But, what can you do when one of the very creatures you’ve been taught to hunt, taught to kill, taught to hate makes you question everything you once believed?

Warnings: explicit language, descriptions of blood, graphic violence, death, killing/murder, jk is kept in a cage, panic attack, betrayal, sad jk, explicit sexual content; sex in a lake, unprotected sex (please be safe!!), sub!jungkook, dom!reader, virgin!jungkook, lots of whining, light dirty talk, hand job, fingering, jk has a kissing kink, oral (f. receiving), biting, reader calls jk puppy (all warnings are subject to change)

Release Date: TBD

A/N ; ah shit here we go. she’s been coming along pretty smoothly, so I thought it was the right time put the teaser out for you guys! I’m really excited to get the full fic posted and hopefully it won’t be too far in the future, but with my track record... I can make no guarantees. thank you for 1.4K followers!! I hope you enjoy!

You felt it building in your chest, swelling into something large and uncontainable. The sensation creeping up your throat, filling the back of your mouth and forcing open your jaws. Tears sprung to the corners of your eyes and your dry lips strained as they stretched open, the monstrous yawn finally breaking free.

Fuck. You are so tired.

It had been an exhausting day to begin with and of course, with your luck, it was your turn to take the night watch.

Around you, the forest was alive: crickets and cicadas singing lazy songs, the warm summer breeze rustling through the leaves, the waning moon casting a cool silver glow over the sleeping earth. Beside you, the dying remains of a bonfire flickers and spits blazing embers, choking and fading with every gust of wind. The darkness is slowly closing in, the eerie shadows of the surrounding trees creeping closer and closer with every passing minute.

Gravity pulled at your eyelids, the sweet lure of sleep all too tempting.

Crack.

You shot upright, eyes wide and alert, ears straining. It was too dark to see past the outer layer of trees, and a heavy silence followed, only remedied by the soft crackling of the singed wood. There’s a familiar prickle under your skin, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. It’s dark, but you don’t need to see to know that there is something out there. Call it a self-made sixth sense if you will, something you’ve developed and trained into perfection over the course of many years.

Instinctively, your fingers reached for your bow. The sleek black metal scraped against the large stone it was propped up on as you swiftly and silently fall into position. Unsheathing an arrow from the leather quiver, you pull it back against the string until you feel that perfect tension. The side of your thumb caresses the cool skin of your cheek, and you close one eye, honing in on the dark tree line.

Come on. Give me a reason.

But you’re only rewarded with silence.

After a few tense moments, you slowly lowered your weapon, brow twitching in irritation.

“Get a grip, y/n.” You grumbled roughly.

You were on edge. It’s understandable; you were in completely unfamiliar territory, with no reliable knowledge of the land or its inhabitants to lean back on. The knowledge which you did have, however (that being the knowledge that the nearby town had been getting ravaged by a bloodthirsty beast under the cover of nightfall), didn’t ease the tension in your shoulders in the slightest.

After all, that was the whole reason for your troop’s relocation.

A little over three weeks ago, the head of your troop received a letter from a desperate mayor, pleading for your help. They had a problem. Almost every night for the past month, towns people that wandered the streets late into the evening when the sun had set behind the hills and the moon had risen past the horizon, whether it be walking home from a long day of work or going for an evening jog when the summer heat wasn’t so unbearable, had been getting killed. No, not killed— slaughtered.

You’d seen the pictures.

No human being was capable of doing what had been done to those people.

Ergo, the exigency for your troop’s presence.

This town didn’t need cops, they didn’t need police or detectives searching for some rampant serial killer. What they needed were hunters. More specifically, werewolf hunters. Which is precisely what you were. ‘Slayers of the Supernatural’, some might say. Your job was simple: find the murderous creature responsible for the bloody deaths of thirty seven innocent civilians, and eliminate the problem, once and for all. Pretty cut and dry when you think about it.

And for a troop as skilled and experienced as yours, finding and ending this bloodthirsty beast should be a cinch.

But, that didn’t make sitting out, so painfully alone in the dark of night with a killer werewolf on the loose any less unnerving.

Now, you weren’t afraid of the monster itself, you’d held your own against its kind and worse plenty of times in the past. No, it was the deafening silence that was most disquieting. The stillness. The lack of happening. It set you on edge, made it feel like you had to hold your breath to get the slightest idea of what was going on around you. The wait had always been your least favorite part of the hunt, despite it being one of the most vital.

You’ll admit, you can be impatient. It was your most notable cause of failure back in your training days and in some of your earlier hunts. But you’ve gotten better, become capable of capping your overzealous antics, improved in terms of self restraint. Though, you’d still much rather be in the heart of the action than sitting on the sidelines and waiting with buzzing anticipation nipping at your heels.

Exhaling heavily, you slumped back onto the ground, exhaustion quickly seeping back into your sore muscles once the brief flush of adrenaline drained from your system.

Then you heard the rustling of leaves. But this— it was different from the sound made when the breeze wisps through them. There was a certain force to it, a heaviness in the way the branches clicked and the leaves crunched. It was the sound of a body moving through the heavy foliage. A large animal? Maybe. Or perhaps it was something else entirely. Not human. Not an animal. But something in between.

Your hand was around the grip of your bow in less than a second, body swiftly falling into a low crouch.

It was dark. But the moon spilled just enough light over the forest for you to catch a glimpse of a silhouette: a tall, dark shape moving slowly through the brush. You had your mark. Now you just needed a reason to loose your arrow.

Never strike without absolute certainty that you have your eye on the right target. That’s what Junmyeon always drilled into your head during training after you attacked too early and without proper understanding of who (the dummy representing an innocent civilian, in such cases) you’d been aiming at. Because if you somehow mistook an innocent for one of the beasts you hunt— it was a thought you didn’t want to so much as consider.

Teeth gritting, you carefully followed the shadowy figure, feet shifting silently across the dirt. Suddenly, your boot clad toe suddenly knocked a pebble, sending it skittering across the ground. You froze, and so did the silhouette. Then its head whipped in your direction, and the very second you saw the flash of two unmistakable red eyes, your fingers released the taut string, sending the arrow whizzing into the tree line.

A shriek of agony ripped through the calm night air. The figure staggered, doubling over, before quickly righting itself and whirling around, taking off into the dense, black forest.

You didn’t let so much as a fraction of a second pass before you launched yourself off the dirt ground and bolted into the woods after the creature, a delicious combination of red hot adrenaline and childlike excitement immediately consuming you. It was this— this feeling, this exhilaration that you lived for. That you hunted for. It drove you in ways nothing else ever had. The combination of blood rushing through your veins and your heart thundering in your ears created an almost euphoric sensation. It was a high, thrilling and electrifying. But perhaps those weren’t quite the right words to describe it.

Maybe it was the fact that for these moments as you were rushing through the brush, low branches slicing at your arms and face, cool wind winding through your hair, you could clear your mind and focus only on this one thing, on putting every ounce of your energy into this one moment to accomplish this one feat. There wasn’t— there couldn’t be a single invading thought, doubt, concern. There was nothing but boiling determination, molten in your bloodstream.

Ahead of you, the creature rushed frantically through the dense forest, weaving and staggering around the bulging trunks of towering trees. It was trying to lose you. But you excelled when it came to the chase. The fact that it was wounded also helped; the dark red blood stained the leaves and mossy earth, leaving a clear path for you to follow.

You were catching up, the distance between you and it growing smaller and smaller with each moment. You could hear the creature's heavy footfalls, the crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs. Within a few strides, you were within arms distance. If you were to reach out your hand—

Just as your fingertips grazed its back, you broke through the tree line. The creature, caught off guard, stumbled. A fatal mistake. Before it had a chance to recover, you rammed your shoulder into its back, directly between its shoulder blades, sending it stumbling forward with a stunned yelp. You hadn’t even noticed the massive body of water until he fell into it. Always be aware of your surroundings, you reminded yourself sharply, before honing in on your target. The water, reflecting the night sky like a mirror, rippled and spat around the form of the creature as it attempted to scramble away from you. But you didn’t let it get far.

You thrust yourself on top of him, pinning his kicking legs down with your own and making a grab for his flailing arms. A sharp hiss rushed past your teeth when you felt something slice into your arm, but you paid no heed to the warm, familiar trickle of blood. It only fueled the roaring fire of determination inside of you further. He was bucking up, thrashing wildly, trying to throw you off, but you held fast, angling yourself in such a way that you had the upper hand. Icy water splashed across your face, seeping into your clothes as you used all your strength to keep him down. But it wasn’t easy fighting a werewolf with your bare hands. Not even a wounded one. And you were quickly growing sick of feeling the piercing sting of his claws cutting through your clothes and biting into your skin.

In one swift motion, you unsheathed the silver blade hidden in a pouch sewn into the inside of your boot. Every muscle in his body froze up at the feeling of cold metal pressing threateningly against his vulnerable throat.

Panting through clenched teeth, you pinned him with a chilling glare.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat.”

#bts fanfic #Jungkook fanfic #teaser #the huntress #bts #Jungkook #bts smut #werewolf Jungkook #bts au #fanfic teaser #sub!jungkook #sub!bts #Jungkook smut

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slugtranslation-hypmic · 4 years ago

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The great direct translation vs localization debate in Japanese to English media translations - A full explanation of my thought process

You have likely seen me discuss my thought process regarding translations and critiques I receive on my choices; if you follow any professional Japanese to English media translators on social media, you almost certainly have seen them face similar criticisms and viewed replies which largely mirror mine.

I do not pretend to speak for every Japanese to English media translator, nor do I intend to present myself as a professional. In fact, my opinions on translation have completely transformed since I began working with translations on a daily basis three and a half years ago. While I am entirely self-taught, I have also read many works of translated media and literature (especially in Japanese to English) in order to analyze the translation decisions and read numerous essays, lectures, and informal Twitter threads from professionals in virtually every translation field. Therefore my opinions, while coming from an amateur, are backed by years of thought, intense practice, and support from those who have worked far longer in this profession than I.

Japanese to English media translators all typically follow similar guidelines in their translations which, when summarized heavily, come out to be writing engaging, creative text that is enjoyable to read and easily to interpret by the average non-Japanese English reader within the constraints of any limiting factors such as time, spacing, or the translator’s skill or knowledge cap. However, there is a small but very vocal minority of media consumers who constantly disagree with these guidelines and ask for more direct translations. This often causes no end of frustration for professional translators, because hardly anyone appreciates being told how to do their job by people who almost always have much less knowledge in this particular area of expertise. In return, advocates for direct translation often feel frustrated that their wants as consumers are being ignored. As a result, tensions fray, and arguments ensue.

What is causing this tension, and is it possible for both parties to amicably agree to disagree? In order to do so, both translators and readers must come to the table in good faith and be willing to understand the other’s concerns, and both sides must come equipped with the same information in order to have any sort of meaningful dialogue. Much of what I see that advocates for direct translation reaches me alongside common misconceptions or inaccurate terminology, so I want to clarify as many of those misconceptions as I can in the hopes of either changing opinions or else receiving informed criticism. In this essay, I will also be presenting thoughtful counterarguments and questions I think deserve consideration in addition to explaining why I do what I do and providing examples of professional works that do the same to great effect. The majority of these samples will be from video games, because those are the first examples that are coming to mind as I write this; moreover, it is easier for me to acquire footage displaying text from games than from anime or licensed manga.

Let’s get started.

Vocabulary

At the risk of appearing condescending, I would like to take a minute to define several terms and concepts exactly as I will be using them here so we are all on precisely the same page. As these concepts form the basis of our conversation, I ask that you do not skip them.

Language - Language is a tool to communicate ideas as expressed through spoken words, written words, or signed words. It is not the sole way to communicate meaning. Music, illustrations, and body language are other examples of communication tools. Language rarely works in a vacuum and typically relies on other communication methods for assistance.

Translation - At its simplest, translation is the process or end product that communicates ideas from one language (the source language) into another (the target language). The original product is likewise called the source text; the finished product is the target text. In English, translation refers to written materials or, occasionally, audio materials in a non-live setting (such as a video or a song translated after the initial showing or recording).

Interpretation - Although this distinction does not exist in all languages, in English, interpretation refers to the process of communicating ideas from one language to another language in a live or almost live format. Interpretation commonly occurs in the business, medical, and legal worlds. For the sake of this essay, translation and interpretation are closely related cousins. This essay also discusses interpretations in the colloquial sense, which are understandings formed from reading, seeing, or listening to a form of communication.

Localization - In the business world, localization refers to the process of taking material originally designed for one audience and adapting it to suit another audience’s needs. Translation is considered a part of the localization process, but localization also takes into account design elements that communicate ideas through different means besides language.

Direct translation - A direct translation is one which, in theory, the target text is a close mirror of the source text. This is challenging at the best of times to define, but Japanese to English presents extra issues due to the languages being very dissimilar both in structure and in basic thought patterns. A direct, word-by-word translation that follows Japanese grammar exactly is a completely unreadable word salad that is generally of no interest to anyone but linguists or language learners. For the sake of practicality, we shall assume that all theoretical direct translations discussed and showcased in this essay have been cleaned up enough so as not to be gibberish but have had few other changes made.

Localized translation - Contrariwise, a localized translation is one which, in theory, takes into account the wants or needs of the target text’s reader and makes changes to the text’s structure or content in order to communicate the source text’s ideas. A localized translation, when done well, still conveys most of the source text’s ideas. (As discussed below, it is impossible to convey all source text ideas no matter the translation style.) The average translation contains many elements and examples of both direct and localized translation. This term is not used in the professional translation industry, but we will use it here to differentiate from direct translation.

Literary translation - A literary translation is a translation of a written work which has (debatably) significant artistic merit. Its primary purpose is not, typically, to entertain. The overwhelming majority of literature falls into this category.

Media translation - A media translation is a translation of a work that is designed to entertain an audience and does not typically have outstanding artistic merit. Anime, manga, video games, light novels, and other elements of pop culture usually fall into this category.

Misconception 1: All types of translations/interpretations are similar enough to be judged by the same standards.

The primary purpose of communication is to share ideas from one person to the next; however, a myriad of secondary purposes influence the delivery of the communicated ideas. A politician giving a speech is seeking to persuade their audience to rally behind a cause, and as such they use emotionally charged language and confident body language. A person texting their significant other for fun acts flirtatious or playful, and their language is informal and silly in order to entertain themselves and their partner. The politician’s speech style would be inappropriate as an informal text in the same way that the politician should not address their audience with texting speech and abbreviations.

Likewise, when these ideas are picked up and presented to a new audience via translation, different purposes affect the translation style. A medical interpreter and a translator of the Russian novelist Dostoevsky have very different goals and therefore very different approaches to their work. The medical interpreter wants the doctor to understand the patient’s reported symptoms and concerns and the patient to understand the doctor’s diagnosis and treatment plan with perfect clarity. However, such an issue is less of a concern for the literary translator, where lack of clarity is part of the author’s voice and can lead to literary analysis. The literary translator also values the beauty and skill of the author’s words and wishes to communicate those, whereas the medical interpreter does not care at all about any artistic value in the doctor’s speech.

Media translation has different goals than either of the above examples and therefore uses different practices. Mainstream media such as movies, games, and pop culture books are almost always created with the intent to entertain. This is not the case for every example of media - and a translator of 2001: A Space Odyssey or Neon Genesis Evangelion will likely employ techniques more often used by a literary translator - but most people consider the average episode of Naruto or chapter from Fifty Shades of Grey to have less artistic merit than the average passage from the Iliad.

While a piece of entertainment may have secondary purposes, its primary purpose is to entertain an audience and, in the process, make the creator money. Media translations exist for largely the same reasons and are therefore designed to sell. This leads to stressing several things which are usually absent in other translation work.

In order to sell their product, the media translator focuses on:

Producing well-written, creative text in order for the finished work to be engaging and fun

Adapting the text to be accessible to the widest range of consumers, because more consumers = more sales

Removing othering aspects in order to avoid turning off the target audience from their work

This is not to say that media translators are motivated purely by greed and have no artistic spirit. Media translation does not pay well compared to other translation fields and often comes with extreme deadlines and other poor working conditions; media translators frequently choose this job because they love the process and are passionate about the work they do. This is also not to say that media translators have no respect for the source material and apply changes at random. Even as most translators do not have the opportunity to explain their thought process on every line of text, the overwhelming majority still place care and thought into their words and have strong justification for every decision that deviates sharply from the source text. Do not assume that media translators act in bad faith - any that do (and I can think of very, very few examples) are working far above their skill level or are the strong exception to the rule, not the rule itself.

Let’s break down each of the goals above and why they are so critical to media translation.

The media translator assumes that the vast majority of their consumers will only interact with the target text; this is a reasonable assumption, as interacting with the source text requires at least some source language knowledge. While those who can read both target and source language still read translations for a variety of reasons, writing a translation solely for them would be silly and would negate the purpose of translation as a means of communicating ideas to a new audience. Therefore, the media translator wants their finished product to be as polished and well-written as possible to stand on its own as a complete work. They are the ambassador of the original work, and it is their duty to present it in the best light possible. This means that their work should be by turns funny and emotional while constantly being creative and engaging. Like any other writer, translators want consumers to read their work and enjoy it.

For Japanese to English translators, this means that direct translation is usually not enough. Japanese stores much of its creativity and character voice in grammatical structures like sentence endings or particles which have no exact equivalent in English. Direct translation drops these to deliver only the meaning, which can often create dull, unexciting text. Therefore media translators often ignore a direct approach in certain situations in favor of a more creative and localized approach.

For example, take a look at a line of NPC dialogue from Chrono Trigger DS.

Footage source: me

Direct translation:

I’m a piano player ~ ♪

> A sad one

> An upbeat one

This fails to take into account the piano player’s silly speech style and is, while technically correct in every way, not particularly interesting to read.

The English translation (Tom Slattery) is this:

Transcription:

I’m the piano man! Whaddaya want me to play? ♪

> Play me a sad one!

> Something upbeat!

The choices now have different structures to avoid montony, and a very colloquial speech style is adopted to make this much more enjoyable while still communicating every idea of the original. It also has the added benefit of reading like a very natural English conversation by adding a question before the player’s song request.

Creativity in dialogue is especially crucial for character introductions, as this forms the basis of the audience’s first impression. Direct translations typically don’t do this justice. Let’s observe a handful of first lines for the first two characters introduced in Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney.

Footage source: me

Direct translation:

Ooh... I’m nervous...

The player’s first introduction to the eponymous ace attorney is that of him battling nerves before his first trial. That and Phoenix’s casual speech style should give the player an impression of someone youthful and inexperienced, which the direct translation can’t capture.

Transcription:

Boy am I nervous!

By comparison, this English translation (Alexander Smith) expresses both main ideas of Phoenix’s nerves and casual tone. It also sets the stage for his unique and rather jocular speech style that he uses throughout the rest of the game.

Phoenix’s mentor, the more experienced lawyer Mia Fey, introduces herself with this after a series of greetings.

Direct translation:

How do you feel? About your first time in court.

Mia speaks with a stereotypically feminine style which makes her appear like a big sister figure to Phoenix. Also not pictured after this image (due to differences in the structure of their English and Japanese conversations, I didn’t realize to screenshot it) is a line where she mentions that his first trial is a murder case.

Transcription:

Well, I have to say Phoenix, I’m impressed!

Not everyone takes on a murder trial right off the bat like this.

Here the translator employs a very effective translation strategy - moving meanings to different lines in order to convey information more naturally - in order to have one of the very first impressions of Mia be her as a supportive figure. This establishes the big sister role that was present in the original while still conveying all of the necessary information.

Remember also that the media translator does not simply translate into a void. Communication from one party to another relies on knowledge of a target audience. An author of a children’s book will use very different language than a scientist presenting a paper to a panel of experts. Similarly, translators need to consider their target audience and its various needs while simultaneously accommodating the largest audience possible.

For many hardcore anime and manga fans, such practices can appear ridiculous, especially in older media. The early runs of the Pokemon anime receive enormous amounts of criticism for handling Japanese food in somewhat bizarre ways, such as showing riceballs on screen while a voiceover labels them jelly donuts. While this is indeed a silly way to handle the issue, it is important to consider that this episode was first broadcast in the US in 1998 and was primarily targeted towards elementary school children. Japanese pop culture was far less mainstream at the time, and while the average TV watching child in the US today has a much higher chance of recognizing a riceball as a common snack for Japanese children, that was not remotely the case in 1998.

This is not to say that learning opportunities about foreign cultures do not have their place in media translation; however, many translators of virtually every translation field consider it poor practice to place the burden of research on the audience in order to understand key ideas. Different audiences come equipped with different levels of background knowledge, and the translator must be aware of those differences and bridge the gap when necessary. In literary translation, which assumes the audience is eager to learn and engage with the text beyond the surface level, this is usually accomplished with lengthy introductions and footnotes. Yet while some people play games or watch anime to learn and perform analysis, most people engage with entertainment media in order to relax and have fun. Translators run the risk of discouraging people from consuming their work if the work is too challenging to comprehend, asks for large amounts of outside research, or is constantly interrupted by explanations of what something meant in the source text. This can be frustrating to people well-versed in the source text culture or people eager to learn more about it, as they can feel looked down upon or babied, but there is nothing condescending about acknowledging that relaxation and play can exist without being a teaching opportunity. It is perfectly acceptable to demarcate times to study and times to engage with something more passively in order to have fun. Media translation focuses on the latter.

An audience is comprised of many entities, some more knowledgeable than the rest, but in order to avoid alienating a potential portion of the audience and thus lose sales, it is important to assume a general base level of knowledge for the average population. Things like sushi or ramen are almost universally understood in English-speaking North American and European territories, but natto and teppanyaki are not. It is the translator’s duty to figure out how to handle that to avoid leaving a section of the audience floundering. For media that is focused strictly on a potentially unfamiliar cultural element, like a theoretical manga about a rising teppanyaki chef, the translator may find it necessary to teach the readers about the concept first. In other situations where the element appears only in the background, it may be wisest to simply rewrite or replace it with something else that conveys the same information.

Another key component to avoid alienating the audience is to avoid writing phrases that are considered unnatural. Because Japanese and English are very dissimilar, direct translation frequently produces writing that can sound odd to native English speakers. Some English-speaking fans of Japanese pop culture do not notice this due to repeated exposure to directly translated Japanese, but this should not be an excuse to ignore other audience members. Doing so can lose audience members, as many people will not want to engage with a product they believe is written poorly or find hard to understand.

Counterargument

Language is not static, and attempts to prevent language growth stifle creativity and can be used as tools of oppression against minority groups. The Japanese-English hybrid born as a result of direct, shoddy, or rushed translations is a fascinating phenomenon that may someday count as its own dialect or enter mainstream English. However, as of the time of writing, it definitely has not done that; therefore, translators must be willing and able to write in other styles. Additionally, most highly paying media translation jobs discourage this style for reasons of accessibility as talked about above, so it is in the translator’s best interest to work harder and write in a different form of English.

Misconception 2: It is possible to translate media without the translator’s interpretations or opinions entering the work.

We have now established why it is that media translators favor localization practices or at least are reluctant to employ only direct translation, but direct translation advocates often bring up the concern that this style unnecessarily obfuscates the source text. Isn’t it possible to have a media translation without the translator’s meddling hand in it? Well... no.

When someone reads a text or listens to another person speak, their brain forms an interpretation which may or may not be the same as the author’s understanding of the information. Likewise, when a translator approaches a text, they are not operating off of the author’s thoughts but of their own interpretation of said thoughts that is formed by reading the work. The translator cannot become the author, but in many situations, translators can work with authors or other translators in order to develop more robust understandings of the text. Even in situations where the translator is the author themselves, the author-translator still operates off of their own perception of the work, which is not the only valid interpretation. A character may appear gallant and heroic to the author but arrogant and self-centered to readers, and neither interpretation negates the other.

The translator must then determine what aspects of their interpretation does the author intend to convey to their audience and then choose how best to communicate this, via language and any other tools available such as visuals, gestures, or music. Translation is not an act of copying so much as an act of paraphrasing.

Literary translator and professor of post-WWII Japanese literature Mark Gibeau speaks about a process shared with media translation:

Each translation is an interpretation. ... Each translation, if successful, is a distillation of the translator’s understanding of the work. It is the result of hundreds and thousands of decisions, large and small. The cumulative effort of these choices is enormous. Naturally, one cannot (or should not) choose to interpret the word “shoes” as the word “tiger”, and in that respect the translator is bound in ways the author is not. Yet, when translating between two languages that are very different - and it is difficult to imagine two languages less alike than Japanese and English - the translator’s interpretation plays an enormous role in the translation process.

Unlike a literary translation, however, the average media translation does not deal with work that has the same artistic or cultural merit as most literary translations. No matter one’s personal thoughts on the values of One Piece, the intricacies of Eiichirou Oda’s writing are not comparable to John Milton’s in Paradise Lost. Therefore the media translator is less concerned about fidelity to the exact text. Instead of asking questions such as, “What does the author’s diction and punctuation implicate about the work? What effect do these sentence lengths create? What is the cultural significance of this motif?”, the media translator is more likely to ask, “How does the author establish tone, and is this tone pertinent to my audience? If I must tailor it, how? How do I deliver this tone to my audience? Are my sentence lengths varied enough to be pleasing to readers and also deliver the appropriate pacing? What is the use of this motif, and where is the most effective location for it in my translation?” Literary analysis is a key component of both translation types, but the analysis involved in literary translation is more directed at the source text while analysis for media translation is more aimed at the target text.

While media translators often have fun with their work - as they should! A translator enjoying themselves is usually apparent to readers - they typically do not make arbitrary changes in order to push an agenda. However, biases, both conscious and subconscious, do enter work by the nature of reading and paraphrasing a work. This is especially true when dealing with Japanese to English, as Japanese communicates more information with unspoken context than English does.

To illustrate this, let’s bring back one of the direct translations I did in the above section. Mia Fey says in Japanese, “どうかしら？初めての法廷は。” which I wrote as “How do you feel? About your first time in court.” This direct translation forms several assumptions based on what was implied to me by the setting, the previous conversation, and the visuals.

First, the どう simply asks “how” or “in what way” (the かしら following it is simply a grammatical structure that makes Mia sound feminine and allows her to ask this as a question), but the rest of her question is never stated. She then clarifies in the next sentence by saying, quite literally, “first courtroom” and a particle that signifies that “first courtroom” is the subject of her thought. As both characters are lawyers, it is safe to assume that “courtroom” is actually “appearance in court” or “trial”, but the question then becomes, whose first trial is it? Mia’s? Phoenix’s? Someone else entirely unrelated? Since Phoenix is nervous in the previous line and Mia is talking to him, we can assume it is Phoenix’s first trial. So far, the idea we have is “How about your first trial?” This makes more sense, but we still don’t know what Mia is asking about the trial. Is it the starting time? How the defendant feels about the trial? We have to go to context to discover what it could be, and judging by the fact that the trial hasn’t started yet and that she is talking to Phoenix, we can reasonably assume she wants to know his feelings about it or his level of preparedness. Therefore the thought is now “How do you feel about your first trial?”

This thought process typically happens subconsciously and is abstracted away by the translator to avoid bothering the reader with pointless details. An exact copy of the Japanese, “How? First courtroom”, does not communicate, hence why even a basic interpretation is always necessary. Machine translation tools like Google Translate also form interpretations, so even the least personal translations - those performed by AI - are influenced by biases.

As much as it is an obnoxious response, if someone wants to read the source material exactly as it is without the filter of anyone else’s thoughts, they must learn the source language. There is no alternative, as translations are never copies.

Case Study: The Honorifics Debate

Japanese speech is built on the back of a complex grammatical system of honorifics which establishes the relationship between speaker and audience. The most well-known example of this system is the practice of attaching suffixes to names in order to denote deference, affection, or even disrespect. Some translators, assuming their audience is familiar with the suffix system or can be brought up to speed quickly enough, use these suffixes even in English, but others do not. Although I dislike forming inflexible policies, I have not yet worked on anything where I felt using them in English - ie, not translating them - is absolutely necessary.

Honorific suffixes can generally be distilled down to a few simple, hard-and-fast rules, but these rules do not fully define the suffixes, thus leading to edge cases that can be confusing for English readers. It is fair to assume that some English readers are familiar enough with Japanese to understand even the edge cases, but this assumption cannot be made for every reader. Questions may arise in situations where the hard-and-fast rules break down. Why does a male boss use -kun for his female employee? How can using -chan or -kun be socially inappropriate, even around people of the same age? How can -san or -sama be insults? If the translator cannot answer these questions for their audience, then they have failed to communicate an idea.

Advocates for honorific suffixes frequently complain that omitting honorific suffixes is simply omitting information; however, that is not what happens in the majority of cases. Media translation is focused on communicating ideas rather than individual words, so a media translator approaches a situation with an honorific suffix and asks themselves, “What information does this convey?” and writes target text which successfully communicates the information. After all, English also has an honorifics system. Consider the type of language used at a business conference versus the language used in a chat with friends. Adjusting formality and tone communicates the information from the source text to a larger audience than simply leaving in honorific suffixes that may be misinterpreted.

A great professional example of this comes from The World Ends With You (Brian Gray), a game set in Japan that never once needs to rely on untranslated honorifics. In the scene below, the prickly teenage protagonist Neku meets a character named Joshua who immediately gets under his skin. Joshua asks Neku’s name and then responds with this:

Footage source

Direct translation with honorifics intact:

Neku-kun, huh...

Heh heh heh... that’s an interesting name.

While it is still a perfectly reasonable thing to call Neku, -kun implies a level of familiarity that the loner Neku is uncomfortable with and, coupled with Joshua’s earlier dialogue, makes it sound like Joshua is looking down at Neku. While some English readers may naturally pick up on that, the translator cannot rely on every reader doing so. Instead, they wrote this:

Footage source

Transcription:

Neku, hmm?

Hee hee... Charming.

The slightly smarmy response oversteps acceptable boundaries for a first meeting and clearly demonstrates to the audience why Neku finds Joshua off-putting. It also sounds somewhat sarcastic to communicate that Joshua is teasing Neku. With all ideas intact in the final product, the untranslated honorific is obsolete.

I also use this process in my work with Hypmic and other series. In Hypmic’s TDD era, Ichirou uses -san for Samatoki and Jakurai but not Ramuda. Ramuda’s lack of honorific is due to Ramuda artificially familiarizing himself with everyone he meets, whereas Jakurai earns the -san from Ichirou’s genuine respect and the respect implied with their age gap. However, Samatoki’s case is unique because Ichirou does not use honorifics for other close friends like Kuukou. Using -san for Samatoki indicates that Ichirou is at heart a very polite young man who considers Samatoki to be an older, probably mentor-type figure. Considering that Ichirou refuses to use it after TDD disbands, it means he also is willing to play along with Samatoki’s posturing.

In order to showcase that level of respect, I have Ichirou speak to Samatoki with polite, but not unfriendly language. Below is an example.

Ichirou typically uses “please” when asking something of Samatoki....

... but rarely, if ever, does that with Jirou, Saburou...

... or Ramuda. These were all conscious decisions on my part based around the information I interpreted from Ichirou’s form of addressing each of these characters.

Furthermore, in situations where Ichirou is exploiting the respect to appeal to Samatoki, I emphasize it even further.

While I do need more practice in order to be able to execute this more effectively, I believe this is completely worthwhile to pursue. Translating honorifics is much more challenging and requires more creativity than leaving them untouched, but it also cuts down on misinterpretation and opens translations to a wider audience.

Counterargument

Every translation must consider an audience, and this process can exclude already marginalized groups. Additionally, for those living in countries outside of the US, Canada, Great Britain, Australia, and South Africa, English may automatically read as foreign, and thus certain aspects which would potentially some alienate audience members have little to no effect.

Situations like using “oniichan” vs using an older sibling’s name can divide audience members, with many Asians and those of Asian descent considering the former more appropriate and many non-Asian Americans and Europeans finding the latter more natural. I currently consider it impossible to cater to both parties at the same time, but translators should be aware that like any other author, their works still have social consequences. Consistently prioritizing one subgroup of an audience can reinforce existing discrimination and give the impression that this subgroup is not worth being targeted in writing.

As an effective countermeasure, I am a strong advocate for more regional localizing, which localizes to small regions such as individual countries or cultural regions rather than having one or two translations for a single language. Having multiple translations within a single region to reflect different dialects and local cultures is even better, but this is largely a pipe dream. Translations are expensive to produce, no company wants to divide up their audience into smaller groups, and minor details within copyright and licensing laws make this practice illegal for many types of media. I am still searching for and considering other approaches to solve this dilemma.

Additionally, Japanese pop culture is becoming more mainstream in the English-speaking world, and there may come a day when even the smaller intricacies of honorific suffixes are as common knowledge as they are in Japan. However, from what I observe of both hardcore and casual fans, this is still definitely not the case, and until that day, translators should consider other options besides neglecting to provide information to portions of their audience.

Case Study: Limiting Factors Affecting Translation

Other specific criticisms of localized media translations tend to have little to do with the translator’s specific policies - actually, many translation choices come down to limiting factors!

In order for a translator to effectively communicate a text, they must fully understand whatever it is the text talks about. In order to comprehend this, try picking up a complex novel and paraphrase a few pages of it as best you can without leaving out any information or reusing any of the words or phrases from the original. You can very quickly realize how challenging this task is, and you will probably find a handful of words or ideas you do not understand well enough to convey to someone else. This is a huge part of why literary translation is such a daunting task.

Media translators face similar issues, as pop culture often discusses technical fields the translator is not an expert in. If the translator is able to research and fill in their knowledge gap, there is often no issue. However, many media translators work under strict deadlines and this, along with little quality assurance or proofreading, can lead to shoddy translations or ill thought-out decisions in the final work.

Spacing can also cause issues, especially in video games, other software, and manga. A translator can write a beautiful translation, but if it cannot fit in a certain space, it cannot be included in the final product. Japanese frequently uses significantly less letters to communicate most sounds and ideas than English, as can be seen below in a sample from the Hypmic manga wherein English text is provided alongside a Japanese transcription.

What was expressed in three letters in Japanese took, with spaces, took twelve letters in English. English text therefore often needs to be shrunk or truncated to accommodate sizing constraints.

This issue is only compounded with audio, and this is best illustrated through example. Rhythm Heaven Fever (Robert Heiret, Scot Ritchey, and Erika Webright) is a rhythm game that syncs different minigames to the beat of the music and any sung lyrics. Therefore any audio translations need to match the Japanese song exactly in line length, positions of stressed syllables, and, occasionally, vowel patterns. Lyrics translation is already a nightmare as it is, but this is an extra level of challenge where virtually every translation decision is informed by the gameplay mechanics.

One song, Beautiful One Day, directly translates to this:

Life is about kissing up to men.

You can’t encounter your true self.

You know, your dancing is sexy.

You’re a good girl.

You know, when you kiss me, I go crazy

You’re wonderful just as you are.

I want to shine. I want to be loved.

Without neglecting the past,

I want to live a glamorous life.

Ah, sad music plays

As you walk through town.

You accidentally let loose tears.

Why is that?

You will be beautiful one day.

Therefore when your love breaks,

And you have faith in no one,

Cry as much as you want.

And you will be beautiful one day.

Therefore when you love again,

You may become so obsessed in it

That you can’t see your surroundings.

Note that I added subjects not explicitly stated in the source text and performed other minor cosmetic changes in order to make it more understandable.

The translation in game is, surprisingly, very similar but deviates in a few key areas:

They say it’s still just nothing but a man’s world.

They say it’s just too hard to find yourself.

But that when you dance you feel good,

And you know you got ‘em going,

And you know your moves are real good,

And you know that you are beautiful.

I just want to shine, I want to be in love now.

You know you can’t leave the past behind you,

You know you can’t just live a life of shining glamour.

Ah, the music plays on and on,

Ooh, as you walk through the town.

And the teardrops just keep falling down,

And the teardrops just keep falling down because...

I only wish I knew.

Someday you’ll find yourself and realize that you’re beautiful.

So that when love takes you down again,

And it breaks your heart in pieces, then just

Let the teardrops fall like gentle rain.

That’s when you’ll find yourself and realize that you’re beautiful.

And you might just start to heal then,

And you might find your heart whole again,

And you will find what you’re looking for after all.

Putting it into practice, the finished results are astonishing.

youtube

Footage source

youtube

Footage source

Notice also how even spoken lines take up the same amount of time and syllables, which is how Japanese lines like “Look this way!” become “Pose for the fans!” in English.

Conclusion

While professional work takes into account many factors that direct translation cannot satisfy, why do I apply similar standards to Hypmic and other series that I work on?

First, although some critics claim that Hypmic is too niche for accessibility to be any concern, I greatly disagree. Even though Hypmic has only begun to dip its toes in the water of international marketing, certain aspects of Hypmic like the anime and songs are very accessible to even the most casual of Japanese pop culture fans. In terms of anecdotal evidence, I’ve received far more praise and gratitude for accessibility and transparency in the manga and its related materials than complaints or requests for the opposite. Yet even if Hypmic is as niche as these claims say, why create further barriers for accessibility? Writing high quality and engaging translations will allow more people to enjoy the series regardless of their knowledge of Japanese language and culture.

More importantly, my love of Hypmic derives first and foremost from a love of translation and a desire to practice translating with good habits. Therefore, even if it is selfish, I will translate in a way that I find enjoyable! Translators who enjoy what they are doing usually produce more entertaining work, and (although again, this is only anecdotal evidence) I notice more positive responses in candid environments like Twitter reactions for lines I did not directly translate or else began from a direct translation and then embellished. More thought and attention put into a translation is rarely a bad thing, and localization techniques are not the only tools I have on hand. Like most media translators, I focus more on direct translation for lines that prioritize mechanics or lines that are central to the plot. Yet lines that primarily communicate character dynamics or exist to entertain are given due reflection to make them actually entertaining.

As an aspiring professional media translator, I also find it pointless to practice habits that run contrary to the majority of industry standards. As I work to become a stronger writer and translator, I also seek to improve the quality of the manga so that it can, in the absence of an officially licensed version, stand in for a licensed work in most every way. In this sense, I am prioritizing my own needs over the needs of readers or the nebulous concept of the Hypmic fandom as a whole, but a strong, creative, and entirely free to read translation does not do the fandom a disservice.

It is my hope that you, as readers, can now approach Japanese to English media translation with a greater understanding of the process that is normally abstracted away to preserve entertainment value. I do not discourage criticizing translators or questioning translation decisions, but you should understand that there is reasoning you cannot see. I encourage you to ask for this reasoning before finding fault, as most translators are only too happy to explain their thought process. Productive, thought-provoking discourse is a powerful tool for personal and industry-wide growth, but advocating for impossible or unhelpful practices is unlikely to produce anything but frustrated translators and an angry audience. When we come to the table to talk, let’s bring our best selves to work out solutions and come to new conclusions in an educated and civil fashion.

Thank you very much for reading.

#translation essay #not a translation

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ladykissingfish · 3 years ago

Text

Under the Mistletoe with the Akatsuki // Part Nine // Pein (Nagato)

Leader. Never in a million years did Nagato Uzumaki believe he had it in him for be a leader, and especially not one of a group of S-ranked criminals like the ones that comprised his Akatsuki. But perhaps he really wasn’t; after all, save for Konan, none of them had even met him before. All they knew about him was Pein, the body that he animated and controlled through his chakra. Yet despite all he and his group have accomplished, the nagging feeling never leaves him ... that Yahiko would have done a much better job than Nagato. It’s one of the main reasons that Nagato fashioned his main Pein-body after his old friend; to try and infuse some of Yahiko’s wisdom and charisma into his own leadership style. One of the things Yahiko often stressed was the importance of having people around you that you could trust, and depend on. In short - friends. Aside from Konan, Nagato doesn’t truly consider anyone in this organization to be his ‘friend’ ... rather, he’s come to think of the group as a whole of being his family. And apparently families played games with each other, hence why he (as Pein) agrees to this mistletoe game now.

Kisame

“Good evening, Leader.” Kisame was by far one of the more desirable members that Nagato had strived to bring into his group. Mature, experienced with battle and ninjutsu, and one of the fabled Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. In any given situation, in any conflict between members of the group, Kisame will most often be the voice of reason. Nagato chose to pair him with the young but mature beyond his years Itachi, believing they’d have much to learn from one another, and he was correct. Out of all the duos, theirs was probably the most stable (and certainly the least problematic). Despite being both tall and intimidating, the half-shark had a surprisingly gentle, almost shy nature to him when one caught him in a one on one situation, as was the case now. Kisame walks up to Pein but seems unable to take the initiative, so Pein does so himself. He puts one hand on Kisame’s shoulder, leans up slightly, and kisses his cheek. Kisame blushes and grins, before going back to his room for the evening.

Sasori

Unbeknownst to the others, aside from Konan, Sasori is the only member of the Akatsuki that knows that Pein isn’t who (or what) he presents himself to be. After all, spending years hidden inside a puppet body gave one a little leeway into seeing into (or perhaps seeing past) others’ true selves. But Sasori understands Nagato’s need to conceal his real body; in fact, he’s even helped him a few times. He’s travelled with Konan before to meet the actual Nagato, when the latter came down with an illness that Konan wasn’t sure how to treat. Sasori used his extensive knowledge of medical procedures to help Nagato, and since then, the two had become good friends. He also gave him valuable advice (again from his own experience of using chakra to control multiple puppets at once) to Nagato in how to more effectively maneuver his Six Paths of Pein bodies during battle, even helping Nagato to tweak them to better control their movements. Sasori shows Nagato (and ultimately, Pein) the same respect that he would a fellow master puppeteer. He approaches Pein now, in his own body. Pein leans down and kisses his cheek, and the two nod at each other before Sasori returns to his own room.

Itachi

“He murdered his entire clan in one evening.” “Are you sure?” “Well, all but his younger brother. But I’m sure if he ever got the chance —“ Nagato still remembers the conversation he had with Konan, the day before they brought Itachi into the Akatsuki. Nagato had been against it at first, believing that one who could commit such callous atrocities against his own clan and family would no doubt have trouble turning against a group of people that were strangers to him. But Itachi pleasantly surprised Nagato, with how calm, and quiet, and kind he was. He often forgets how young Itachi is, considering he speaks and acts like a man decades older. But still ... there was a sadness that could be felt whenever Itachi was in the room, tangible even to someone who’s “real” body was quite far away, like Nagato’s was. When Itachi comes to him, the Pein body reaches out and pulls the boy into a hug. Itachi seems surprised, but whether out of respect to the leader or because he truly needed it, he lets the embrace happen. The two stand there for longer than seems feasible, until Pein breaks it by gently kissing Itachi’s forehead. Itachi steps back, gives Pein a smile (which turns back the clock even more and makes Itachi seem like a child) and goes back to his room.

Deidara

Nagato felt real, valid concern when bringing the 15 year old Deidara into his group. Besides being the youngest, besides having that volatile temper and wanton pleasure in causing chaos and destruction ... the kid was beautiful. An odd word for a male, perhaps, but it was the most fitting term for him. In the Akatsuki it was more or less made clear that Konan was off-limits in terms of things like that, but Deidara ... with his long silky hair, big blue eyes, soft skin ... what was to stop one (or possibly ALL) of these older (and likely stronger) members from attempting to — but Nagato was lucky, in that everyone exhibited more self-control than he gave them credit for. And pairing him first with the older Sasori and then with the wily Tobi had seemed to be good choices, as well. One taught him maturity, and the other, patience. Although sometimes — “Oi, Leader ... can you talk to Kakuzu for me?” “For what?” “He won’t let me have an advance on my pay, because he says I’m just going to waste it on ‘my stupid clay’, hm!” “I do not interfere with the financial decisions of my treasurer, Deidara.” “But —“ Pein kisses his forehead and says, quietly, “Learn to exercise restraint when it comes to your artistic endeavors, Deidara.” Deidara grumbles as he walks away, and Pein smiles and shakes his head as he watches him go.

Kakuzu

“Pein. No matter what Deidara said to you, you won’t convince me to give him an advance on his pay. That boy is already three weeks into his money, and our budget simply won’t allow —“ “Do not fear, Kakuzu. I don’t intend to step on your toes regarding our finances.” Never in Nagato’s life has he met anybody quite so concerned with money as Kakuzu. He was strict not only with his own money, but every other member’s, as well. While Nagato found this to be a character flaw at first, now, he saw Kakuzu’s thriftiness and frugal tendencies as being a God-send. It was only because of him that they were able to move from hideout to hideout, to put food on the table, to buy clothes and weapons and any number of things that the group needed to survive. But his finance-savvy ways weren’t even the most impressive thing about him; it was the fact that he dealt with Hidan, day in and day out, and had not been driven to madness. The older man walks up to Pein now, lowers his mask, and delivers a light kiss to the cheek. Pein nods and watches as he leaves, noting, as he often did, his cold Kakuzu’s skin is. Nagato can feel it through Pein’s sensors; standing close to Kakuzu is much like standing in front of an open grave. He often felt that he should suggest redesigning Kakuzu’s Akatsuki robe to make it warmer, but Nagato knows that this suggestion would be rapidly rejected.

Zetsu

On the day that it is Pein’s turn under the mistletoe, Zetsu is nowhere to be found. Nagato knows where he is, of course; traveling through the earth at the speed of sound, going to scout out an enemy territory before the Akatsuki makes a move on it. Zetsu and his infiltration skills have helped Nagato countless times in the past, providing valuable intel on targets and mapping out the most problem-free routes for the rest of the group to take on missions. Still, though; there’s something about the plant-man that gave Nagato the slighter touch of unease. Being near Zetsu, even through the barrier of Pein, gave Nagato the feeling of being inches away from a wild animal. Hearing him speak was like listening to a dog that suddenly begins speaking in a human tongue. Nagato is very glad that Pein does not have to kiss this individual, and in fact hopes that his turn will end before Zetsu makes his inevitable return.

Tobi

Tobi, Tobi, Tobi ... such a confusing young man. Such a surprising young man. Many months ago, the Pein-body walked into Tobi’s room to retrieve him for something, and happened to catch him sleeping. Nagato was curious and made his artificial body approach the side of the bed that Tobi’s face was on ... but all Nagato was met with was darkness. A solid, blurred-out black where the boy’s face should have been. Nagato thought that perhaps something was malfunctioning in the Pein body’s ocular region ... but everything else was clear as a bell. Did Tobi have some kind of exterior defense mechanism set into place that would bar Pein, specifically Pein, from seeing his actual face? And if that was the case, then WHY? What exactly was he hiding?? It made Nagato nervous, but he never let this on to Tobi. “Pein-sama, Pein-sama! Is it Tobi’s turn for a kissy?!” Pein nods and Tobi approaches him, slides his mask halfway off ... and again all Pein can make out is blackness. He can feel his cheek being kissed, but his vision doesn’t return to 100% until Tobi’s mask is fully back in place. “Thanks, Pein-sama!”, Tobi says; and is it Nagato’s imagination or is there a touch of smugness to his voice? Well, regardless, the kid is leaving, and a Nagato can put him out of his mind once more.

Hidan

“I’ve had to kiss every single one of you fucks, including the old geezer and the orange idiot. Now I’ve gotta slobber with the boss too?? What’s next; are we are jumping into bed and having a group fuck?!” Nagato hadn’t rolled his eyes in many years (and rolling Pein’s eyes would have been an unbecoming gesture for a leader), but hearing Hidan speak always made Nagato want to break this self-imposed rule. With his additional bodies, his Rinnegan, his seemingly unlimited chakra and his fabled Uzumaki clan endurance, Nagato considers himself to be an earthbound God. But then this kid, this foul-mouthed violent crusader, comes into the group speaking about HIS God, Lord Jashin, and flaunting his (admittedly enviable) gift of immortality. From the very beginning, Hidan made it clear that offering sacrifices to his God was his main priority; and the kid wasn’t lying. It’s always been Pein’s (Nagato’s) mandate that as long as one completed their assigned mission, then they would be free to do as the my liked in their spare time. But Hidan’s preferred “hobby” left even someone as war-weary and hardened as Nagato feeling a bit queasy, in the pit of his stomach. “Come, Hidan.” Hidan visibly balks at being given an order; but he’s never love hesitated to obey the Leader. He goes to Pein and, after Pein studies his face, receives a kiss on the nose. The gesture is so light and whimsical that it leaves Hidan blushing and flustered, as evidenced by his leaving without uttering a single swear word.

Konan

The kiss between Konan and Pein is ... disappointingly short. Surprising, considering how close the two of them are, and how much Pein seems to care about her. But it’s a very quick forehead peck, and then both Pein and Konan retire to their rooms. The Pein-body shuts down in his own room, but Konan is getting dressed. It’s a somewhat lengthy journey, especially for this time of night, but one Konan is very familiar with. She comes every single day, after all, after everyone else is asleep or preoccupied for the evening. The old cave is so far into the woods, and from the outside seems abandoned, but ... “Nagato? I’m here.” Nagato turns his head and, although he’s happy to see her, can’t help but sigh. “You’re soaking wet.” Konan uses her cloak to wipe her face, telling him it’s not a big deal, just a little drizzle outside... but it is to Nagato. Trapped like this, a prisoner of his body and his hatred and pain ... anybody else would have walked out and left him years ago. But Konan, no matter what, she stayed by his side, and showed him more caring and comfort than Nagato felt he deserved. “I brought you some beef and curry rice tonight,” Konan said, now uncovering a small bowl. “It’s still warm.” She moves into position to feed him, and as she does, she quietly tells him little tidbits about her day. It’s solely through Konan that Nagato has any sense of the outside world at all, or any REAL idea about what the members of the Akatsuki are actually like. And he’s grateful to her. He’s grateful to her for so many — “Konan?” She looks up from where she’d been tidying up. “Yes?” “I’m so sorry.” She stops and looks at him, head tilted. “Sorry? What are you sorry about?” “I’m sorry that you’re not married, I’m sorry that you don’t have children, or a family, I’m sorry that you go from hideout to hideout and village to village and all you see is the same pain we saw when we were kids. And I’m sorry that things are only this way because of me. I couldn’t save Yahiko, and I’m destroying you, and any chance at happiness you could have had. I never meant for things to be this way. I’m —“ but Konan’s arms are around him before he can finish his sentence. “You’re a goddamn idiot,” she mumbles, her voice slightly shaky. “Yahiko dying wasn’t your fault, and my life — my life is full, and despite what you may believe, I’m happy, Nagato. This Akatsuki you’ve created; you’ve done two things. You’re fulfilling Yahiko’s dream, and you’ve given me, US, a family. So stop with this nonsense, okay?” “But I —“, and Konan interrupts him again, this time with a soft kiss on the cheek. Her lips breathe warmth and comfort into his chilled skin. “You’re the most important person on this earth to me, and I love you,” she murmurs as she pulls away, a smile on her face. “But I swear if you don’t cheer up, you’re not getting any of this dessert I made.” A pause, and then, with a smirk reminiscent of the shy boy he once was, “I’ll only cheer up if it’s something I like.” “Strawberry pie.” Nagato gives Konan an even bigger smile, to which she replies “That’s better”; and the two laugh. He feels like a weight has been lifted off of his heart. After dessert, he tries to mentally prepare himself for her leaving again ...but to his surprise she pulls a blanket from her satchel spreading it out neatly along the ground. “You’re staying tonight?” “I’m staying.” “Good. I love you, too, by the way.” “I know.” Before bed she spends a good deal of time gently brushing out his hair, telling him jokes and stories, the same that she used to do with him and Yahiko when they were all children, during those many long, cold nights when hunger or anxiety kept them awake. Neither is present now, but the goodness of the feeling remains the same. After awhile they both fall asleep, and for once their dreams are calm and peaceful.

#under the mistletoe #the akatsuki #kissing #nagato #pein #konan #kisame #itachi #zetsu #deidara #hidan #sasori #tobi #kakuzu #headcanon

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cruelfeline · 5 years ago

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I find this to be one of my favorite Entrapdak scenes. Well. "Favorite." It's not heartwarming, obviously. Hordak is at his worst here: the most aggressive he's been towards Entrapta since she installed herself in his Sanctum. It's unpleasant to see, the sort of thing that makes one cringe upon viewing, and yet... it's interesting, this show of aggression. It's interesting to pick apart, to understand why he turns on her so suddenly, to assess if he's actually dangerous, abusive, when acting this way, if he truly means her harm. And, at risk of bringing down the wrath of a huge portion of this fandom, it's interesting to compare it to some rough Catradora moments, too.

First and foremost: why does he lose his composure here? Is he simply angry about the portal not working, as he suggests? Is he using his aggression to force Entrapta to work faster, to intimidate her as punishment for a lack of progress? Mm... I don't think so. I don't think his aggression is an attempt to bully or hurt or control Entrapta in any way. If it was, we’d have seen it more often during their other scenes together.

To my eyes, Hordak has abysmal emotional coping skills. Like, he is almost entirely deficient in any sort of ability to identify, manage, and resolve his own negative emotions in a healthy manner. Which isn't surprising, y'know? He's a clone soldier who was likely never meant to live his own, free life; he would have never had any sort of education in emotional coping skills.

In this scene, Adora says the magic word. She says "fail," and we all know that Hordak cannot handle the thought of being a failure, of being a defective clone good only for death on the frontlines.

He loses his composure immediately upon hearing this word, and said composure loss leads to a flare-up of his condition. His armor sparks, he collapses to his knees, and he experiences what is not just a moment of weakness in front of an enemy, but essentially a confirmation of this failure.

I can imagine how he feels: beyond just the physical pain of the flare, I can imagine his shame, his self-loathing as his weakness is laid bare for this supposedly ineffectual young girl to see. I can imagine that little voice in his head telling him that she's right.

And because Hordak lacks any and all healthy emotional coping skills, he addresses these painful thoughts the only way he knows how: with anger. Now, you'd think he'd direct that anger at Adora, but he actually does something I've seen stressed, emotionally aroused, frightened animals do: he redirects the aggression.

Redirected aggression is a term describing what happens when an animal, displaying aggression towards a particular subject, cannot reach that subject, or is interrupted in some way, and instead redirects onto someone or something unrelated. Think of... oh... getting bitten while breaking up a dog fight. Or trying to comfort a cat hissing at a stray outside the window, only to have the cat bite or swat at you instead. The animal's aggression isn't meant for you, but you are the closest thing to vent their distress upon, so you end up getting hurt.

Now, Hordak is obviously not an animal (does this happen in humans? I have no idea), but he appears to behave along similar principles: angered by Adora's words, distressed by his health issues, he reacts violently toward the gentle touch of Entrapta's hair. Not because he's angry at her, or because he's trying to intimidate or hurt her, but because he's in a stressed state and snaps at even a slight stimulus. He likely would have reacted this way to anyone, and it's just bad luck that Entrapta was the one to provide that stimulus.

It's like a dramatic version of being grumpy after a bad day at work and snapping at your friend when they ask you what's wrong.

Is it a good thing, or even a neutral thing? No, obviously not. It hurts Entrapta and potentially leaves her wondering if perhaps he is rejecting her (especially, I think, once she’s been on Beast Island for a while). It’s something that he should apologize for, should he ever get the chance, because it was entirely uncalled for and hurt someone who only wanted to offer him comfort.

That said, is it a truly dangerous, abusive thing? Is it intended to hurt and control someone close to him? I don’t think so, really. I can’t see it as such. Rather, it’s an indicator of Hordak having poor emotional responses because he does not know how to handle his own sense of inadequacy and shame. And acting out because he has underdeveloped coping skills.

A bit of an aside: does Hordak need to learn to extinguish his anger? Well; I would say that that’s a bit more complicated.

While Hordak would certainly benefit from learning to handle his emotions in a less damaging fashion (eg. not lashing out at others), I don’t think the answer here is teaching him to suppress anger. Anger, healthily experienced, is a perfectly normal emotion; it should not be marked as a negative thing. More importantly, it’s not the root of his problem. The root of Hordak’s problem is his own dismal opinion of himself, the shame he feels when his body falters, or when he’s unable to immediately succeed in a task. This is what ultimately needs to be addressed; once that happens, I have a sense that these sorts of outbursts would diminish and eventually cease.

Now, I’m going to switch gears here and talk about some similarly unpleasant moments between Catra and Adora, mainly because these moments, to me, appear much more indicative of a dangerous relationship and serve as evidence of emotional abuse. They serve as a good counter-example of what I would consider abuse, rather than what Hordak does to Entrapta.

if I disappear in the next 24 hours it’s because the Catradorans have retaliated ;)

So. How are Catra’s interactions with Adora more abusive than Hordak yelling at Entrapta and swatting away her hair?

Actual physical fighting/clawing/legitimate bodily harm aside, when Catra taunts Adora, there is a sense that she is specifically targeting her in a way that she knows will hurt.

It’s difficult to read these moments as “Catra vented shame and self-loathing on someone who touched her at the wrong time.” In many of them, Catra is entirely in control of herself and the situation, not off-balance in front of an enemy, recovering from a shock as Hordak was. She takes her time to engage Adora in a very deliberate manner. She’s cunning. She’s practiced. She’s predatory.

She belittles Adora, focusing on aspects of the girl’s life that she knows cause insecurity and doubt. Aspects like failing her friends, failing the world, being at fault for other people suffering and dying. She does this with complex, thought-out dialogue, planned jabs at Adora’s self-esteem. There is a legitimate cruelty to how Catra speaks to her, for she appears to delight in watching Adora distress and doubt herself as a result of her taunts.

Comparing these moments to Hordak’s outburst, one can appreciate the difference: these calculated personal attacks are a world apart from someone briefly lashing out in an instance of sudden pain. There is no mistaking that there is an intent to harm here. Rooted in a traumatic childhood or not, there is no discounting that a targeted, focused emotional assault on someone, specifically picking out and using their deep insecurities, is an abhorrent thing to do.

So. Back to Hordak and Entrapta. Certainly not their finest moment, but it’s not something that makes me worry for Entrapta’s safety (while Adora’s safety in terms of Catra... hmm...). Rather, it makes me sad; I know that it stems directly from Hordak’s insecurities and, rather than being something he truly meant to do, likely contributes to his low self-worth. I would not be surprised if his snapping at her ended up being one of the things that led to him believing Catra’s lies: he was mean, he was aggressive, and so he didn’t deserve Entrapta’s friendship. He lashed out at her, so she left. She left, and it was his fault. Not true, of course, but I can see him rationalizing it like that.

My takeaway: he needs to work on this, of course, but like many of his issues, I feel that the key to resolution lies less in manipulating his specific behaviors (ie. there’s no reason to punish him for it) and more in addressing the root cause. Hordak needs to unlearn the shame and self-hatred he’s been taught to feel whenever he falters. At the same time, he needs to learn healthy ways of expressing his emotions. And while he may end up making further missteps along the way, I don’t worry for Entrapta or any future companions he might have. There’s nothing predatory, nothing cruel about this aspect of him. Rather, there’s further proof of deep-seated insecurities and inexperience that can be eased by patience and care.

#hordak #entrapta #entrapdak #adora #catra #anti-catradora #i'm not actually against catradora i just want to not get eaten by the catradorans #catradora is one of those pairings i do root for but really need to see properly done given some of its difficulties

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cococookiedraws · 3 years ago

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Congrats on getting an those followers here and on webtoon!!! Your Agrestes comic is really funny and helps me get over a bad day

Btw how did you learn to draw?? I've always wanted to but I lack the commitment XD

Aww thank you so much anon!

I'm so glad it helps you on a bad day :D

I kinda learned to draw from the internet, so I'm self taught. I always had an interest, but I did small things. When I was younger, I used to copy-draw things I liked, like Pokémon, Frozen, stuff like that. I started to draw more last year by making comics on paper. My style was mostly chibi at the time. What really helped was taking pictures of other art and putting them in a folder, referencing them to learn how to draw certain things (hands, feet, clothes, hair, etc.) I recently deleted the entire folder (of 1000 pics) so I could put what was REALLY important. I also watch JaidenAnimations and other YouTube animators, and copied the hairstyles and some poses I saw into my sketchbook so I could learn how things work. References are KEY. ALWAYS USE REFERENCES. I got an Apple Pencil (in February I think?) when I wanted to draw digitally (after trying it out with a cheap stylus), and got Clip Studio Paint (they have a free 3 month trial). Digital drawing really helped me because markers and pencil were annoying for me personally (other people like it tho).

If you'll look at my first Agreste comic compared to now, you'll see that it got a LOT better. Because I'm on 17 weeks now. That's almost 4 months wait I've been doing this for how long. For Coco Comics, my very first comic (that's unpublished) was a lot messier, and drawn in September. I also didn't want to draw hands before but then I decided to, and I like it.

If you're interested in drawing, I would say draw as much as you can. Look at other artists. Look at the world around you, nature is art. Use references. Most of all, it takes TIME. Over time, your art just gets better and better. And when it does get better, look at your old art happily, and look how far you've come. Learning a new skill is super fun and I highly recommend it. Perhaps to give some motivation I MIGHT post my old stuff. Good luck!

#this is really long lol #this ask was fun #if anyone has any art questions I'm happy to answer them

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patricia-von-arundel · 5 years ago

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A World on Its Side: Part 1 - Prisoners of Fortune - Chapter 1

Art by @zaaschila

Rating: M

Summary: It began with a simple mission: to rescue the Imperial children from beneath the palace in Enbarr. But when Jeralt brings home with him the sole survivor - Edelgard - he sets in motion a chain of events that will forever alter the course of the war to come in Fódlan. Soon, Edelgard and Byleth will find themselves joined by unlikely allies... and by ghosts from a past neither knew existed.

Prologue

Imperial Year 1180

Keep a close eye on that one, they said.

Don’t trust what you see. This animal is feral. Rabid.

Anaxi had taken it all very seriously, at the start. Checking upon the hour, every hour. Keeping logs of all that he observed, exactly how much food was consumed at each meal, the length of sleep cycles. He asked the questions his training had told him to ask, despite receiving no more response than cold, bright eyes briefly meeting his own. By the book, just as he had tried so hard to do in his magic training.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that it worked no better here than it had there. Maybe he just wasn’t a by-the-book kind of man.

He had been assured that this was a truly plum position, especially for one on such a tenuous second chance as he. He was in charge of guarding no ordinary prisoner, kept only to provide a means to gain influence and information - this one was somehow... different. And had once escaped, almost a year previously, killing two guards to do so. (This information had weighed heavily on Anaxi’s mind, in the earliest days of his posting. Now, he questioned the truth of it, honestly - it was rumored there had been accomplices. This one hardly seemed to have the will to move, much less kill.)

A plum position, yes. A very special position.

So why did he feel as if once more, existence had chosen him as the butt of some nasty, inescapable joke?

All he’d ever wanted was to be noticed - to be something more than just another cog in an army that seemed less a well-oiled machine and more some mighty automaton collapsed to ruin, pilfered for scrap and beginning to rust. The children of Shambhala were taught of their own great legacy - descendants of those who had brought down gods! - but Anaxi had very early found himself questioning if any of that greatness truly remained. What was the value of legacy if no one lived up to it?

As a naïve child, he had dreamed of being the one to do it - to rise up, and reclaim that glory his ancestors had called their own. False gods once more reigned across a beastly, primitive world, worshiped by vermin. He could bring them down. He could become the rebirth of true history. An end to stagnation! Words with meaning, more than parroting ideals, proverbs of steel left without bite!

But it was not to be, of course - beyond boyhood, he remained devoted to such a cause, but knew the war would never be his to lead. Instead, he watched as his dreamt-of reclamation nonetheless began, plans unfurling first as rumor, but soon as proud promises that the end of that world of primitive creatures and nefarious false deities would soon, finally, be at an end.

Anaxi was then in military training - the perfect place for lapping up every drip of information. Soon, the gossip all seemed to whisper. Soon, soon, soon.

Then they called for more mages - training for any willing to do what was necessary for the greater good. And once more, Anaxi felt a calling. There were moles on the surface now. Infiltrating. Risking everything. But they could do nothing without magic.

Anaxi was accepted.

Half a year later, he was dismissed.

There was no dramatic story to tell, no grand plot against his future - he simply proved to be, in a word, lousy at magic. Juggling words, his hands, and the direction of power, all at the same time, turned out to be more than he was able to handle.

A blow - and one that, at the time, had seemed likely to leave unfading bruises to his pride. He had believed in himself - believed he truly had something to give for the glorious future of this woefully maligned land.

But eventually he realized... He still believed it. He just had to figure out the true capacity by which he might show it. It wasn’t magic or leadership - so be it. But whatever it was, he would search until he found it. Deciding he needed a position that allowed time for rumination on the matter, and speaking to some of his former tutors in spellwork, he had received his current security position: monitoring the most valuable of prisoners. The advantage of it was that they were also the least likely to escape - far darker means than wood and iron kept them in their cells.

This one, though - this one was kept apart from the others. He could see the dark magic, writhing, powerful, that worked its way across the entrance to the tiny, bare room. There was a bed in there, a wooden bucket, cleaned twice daily (thankfully not by him), a small basin of water...

And the prisoner.

Face covered by a cowl, though he did not know if that was by order, or choice. Rarely moving - sitting on the edge of that narrow bed, most of the time, looking down. Lean, in those dark fabrics: more a wraith than a feral animal. Still and silent. And those cold, bright eyes...

He no longer bothered to do hourly checks - just the occasional one, and he scribbled “no unusual activity” in the log for each required entry at the end of each tedious session. He spent most of his time cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the wall and trying not to doze off. He wasn’t supposed to engage beyond official questions, but he really wished the prisoner would talk, even just a little bit. Babble or something, like some of the prisoners in the regular cells, where he had been before. Some sound, any sound; something besides his own bored sighs.

He told himself he was accustomed to the silence by now. It wasn’t true.

Still, he remained. Considering the future. Maybe he would see that outside world of beasts, when it had been taken. Maybe there was still a way he could assist in the taking. Maybe -

He jerked his head from the wall, sat up straighter.

A noise. Around the corner. Echoing - a cry, quickly silenced. A muffled thud.

The prisoner’s head turned.

That sharp face, beneath the cowl -

It was smiling.

Imperial Year 1159

For most of the journey, it had rained. Like the clouds were following them - a dark thought, but an amusing one. And rather appropriate - she felt a little cloudy still herself, though far stormier than the steady spring showers she watched through the window.

The distance was not great, but the entire journey was across craggy hill and mountain, and the rain did nothing to improve the conditions of the roads. Even calling them “roads” was being generous - they were often hardly more than muddy goat paths. The carriage made slow, steady, laborious way along them, a crawl that made what should have been a 10-hour journey become instead a day and a half. She spent the short night at the inn tossing and turning, wishing desperately that this part could be over with - that she could just get there, and be done with it.

Be done with him.

The pompous, self-righteous picture of perfect piety sitting across from her in the carriage.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting there myself,” she had said - multiple times.

“Of course you are. But it wouldn’t do for a young lady for your stature to arrive at such a place alone. Besides, I would like to pay my respects to the Goddess at her own eternal resting place.”

Of your stature - she should have laughed every time he said it. As if she didn’t know exactly why he wanted to accompany her. It had less to do with the Goddess or any “eternal resting place,” and far more to do with hoping to kiss the holy rump of the Archbishop and any powerful noble rumps that happened to be there besides.

She had wanted to go to Fhirdiad, to study sorcery. But no - no, to him, that was not good enough. Not after he had been denied his own place, over a decade before, their mother citing the stiff cost. Where the gold had been found now, she did not know. Perhaps the Goddess herself thought to give her a year’s respite from pious social-climbers, and had vomited money down upon them.

She smiled at the mental image, then quickly forced it away - but not quickly enough. “There’s a happier expression,” he said. “From what I’ve heard, it will soon be hard to hide that happiness. You’ll like it here - it is the heart of all Fódlan.”

She had her doubts, but said only, “Perhaps.”

The sun was trying to find its way out as they made the final, winding climb - he’d probably see that as some kind of sign. There were other carriages now, a few open wagons, and one small party on horseback. She envied the last; they had probably made the best time of any of those arriving.

Arriving at Garreg Mach Monastery.

She had been here once before, though she did not remember it. There had been border skirmishes that threatened to turn deadly, and her mother had brought her here for shelter until the situation was resolved. She’d been only two or three at the time.

Looking up at it now, she wondered how impossibly enormous it had appeared to a child so young. Even now, it was imposing... almost monstrous. What message was intended? If she asked, she was certain the answer would be “sanctuary.” But she felt no warmth, no comfort. She felt threat.

...Which even she had to admit to herself was ridiculous. Certainly, she did not view the Church of Seiros with the same blind devotion as some, but this was no more than a series of buildings. Large, looming buildings, but still just stone and wood for all that. The worst that might happen here was admonishment for her abysmal bow skills. No need to be over-imaginative.

How often had she been told that?

A lot.

They were stopped at the gates, and a knight with a long scroll of paper opened the door, bowing his head as he did so. “New student?”

She opened her mouth, but was not given a chance to speak: “Yes - my sister.”

She bristled, but only until the knight looked at her then, not him. She appreciated that. “Your name?”

She sat up a little straighter, head held high. “Anselma von Arundel.”

Whatever happened later...

This was how it began.

Her room in the dormitory was larger than her room at home - significantly so. For all the value of the Arundel lands compared to much of the rest of Adrestia, they might as well have been in Faerghus (and practically were), and the manor house reflected as much: low and long, with a thatched roof and small rooms built to retain as much heat as possible through long, cold, damp winters.

The room at the Officers Academy was high-ceilinged, bright, airy. She wasn’t about to admit it to Volkhard, but this offered a very positive first impression of a school she had fought tooth and nail not to have to attend.

She left the two trunks of her things beside the bed - she could unpack them later. For now, while Volkhard was off kissing rings and the toes of Saints’ statues, it seemed the perfect opportunity to come to know her new surroundings a bit better, before the welcome dinner to be held that evening.

(That, she was actually looking forward to - because it would offer her her first glimpse of her house leader. Alger von Vestra, cousin of the recently-recognized new marquis - even in the remote northwest of Adrestia, the Vestra family was... notorious. Infamous. Volkhard’s pursed-lip displeasure at the choice had alone been enough to leave Anselma intrigued.)

She closed and locked the door to her room - something she would have to try to grow accustomed to doing, though slipping her very own key in her pocket made her feel foolishly adult - and gave her new home a longer look around than she had coming in. Walls, and more walls. Paths, and more paths. Grass. A lot of grass. All very well-kept, attractive, but -

I’m going to get lost. Often.

Perhaps forever, and she could become the Eternal Lost Soul of Garreg Mach, a tale told to frighten new students and see that they were in their rooms come curfew. Better than a year here trying to woo some noble so she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of her life offering utterly sincere prayers under Volkhard’s thumb. Though lost souls probably couldn’t visit Enbarr, something she rather wanted to do, as long as she was this close. She’d never been anywhere bigger than the hamlets and villages scattered across the Arundel lands, and most of those had more goats than people.

From her left, a sudden crash - loud and close enough to make her jump. She whirled, startled, to find a girl of about her own age. The girl’s eyes were wide, and her face was flushed a brighter color than her rather-bright hair. She was already in uniform - Anselma only noticed because the collar was incorrectly fastened, and had come askew. At her feet, the source of the crash: a pile of large books that had to stack almost as tall as she was.

Their eyes met, and the girl’s face grew even brighter. “I... I’m sorry. I tripped on the edge of the path. None of them hit you, did they?” She held up a hand, almost as if offering something. “I can heal you. I mean... if you need it.” She looked almost hopelessly eager - like a naughty puppy trying to wag its tail to avoid trouble.

“They didn’t hit me. I’m fine.”

The girl’s hand dropped, and so did her shoulders. “Oh. Good. But... I’m still sorry. And sorry if it’s rude, but I... I need to pick these up. Quickly.” She gathered them with almost frantic hurry, hugging them to her chest with one arm in nearly as much disarray as they had been in on the ground.

They were just going to go everywhere again if she tried to get them all like that. “May I help?”

For a moment, the girl’s eyes met hers once more. “You... you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. All my things are already in my room.”

“I... it would be easier. If you’re sure you don’t mind. I would... very much appreciate it.”

“Not at all.” She got the rest before the girl could attempt any more herself, then followed her to her room - “Hey, it’s right next to mine!”

“Really?” The girl was fumbling for her key, her books in danger of going everywhere yet again. Finally, she managed to shove the door open with her shoulder. “But your clothes... I thought they said the nobles mostly take second-floor rooms? That’s... what someone told me, anyway. When I was applying.” She dumped the books on her bed, so Anselma did the same. “Are you a noble?”

She laughed - she couldn’t help it. “Theoretically. More like Lady of the Goats. I’m Anselma von Arundel, and I’d bet my last 100 gold the name means absolutely nothing to you.”

For the first time, the girl smiled. She really had a very eye-catching face, especially those heavy-lidded blue eyes. “I don’t think I should take that bet. I don’t have 100 gold. I’m Cornelia Arnim.”

“Cornelia Arnim, who likes to read.”

“Well... not just... I like to read, but -” She stopped abruptly, and turned to stare out the window. Her eyes once more went wide. “I... my apologies. I have to go. Right now. The wagon is hired, and I have to get the rest of my stuff - if the driver’s not back to Enbarr by sunset, he charges for another day. I’m sorry, I have to -”

“I’ll help,” Anselma said - and at the door, took off running. The gates were the one thing she knew how to find, and she’d been cramped in a carriage for nearly two days. “Come on, hurry! We can get it all!”

Cornelia’s voice, calling after her: “Are we allowed to run?!”

“Nobody said we couldn’t!”

Behind her, she could hear the quickening footfalls, hurrying to catch up.

He had never had the richest lands, nor the richest life. Nonetheless, Volkhard von Arundel had always felt blessed by the Goddess. Truly blessed. He had never lacked for food, or shelter, or clothing. Losing his parents - his father when he was 12, to an injury from a horse kick; his mother when he was 16, to an inflammation of the lungs - had been hard, and attempting to raise Anselma, only 5 years old when he became her guardian, even harder. He had become lord and parent, and in doing so forewent his lifelong goal - something he had never truly abandoned until then - of being the first Arundel to attend the Officers Academy.

Still, he felt he had risen well to one of the Goddess’ accompanying challenges - as lord, he had managed to arrange for increased sales of meats, furs, and cheeses across the border, into Faerghus. It not only allowed for fresher goods to be sold, it also meant less travel and higher prices - much of Faerghus still highly reliant on imported goods to feed and clothe its population, and paying a premium to do so - which in turn led, for the first time Volkhard knew of in recorded history, to significantly greater profit across the soil-poor Arundel lands. Anselma might complain of all the sheep and goats, but he suspected she would change her tune soon enough, when she truly understood all that those animals had brought her.

But that was the other challenge of the Goddess: Anselma.

Here, he feared his plans had not fared so well. Maybe it was losing her parents so young, and then being allowed too much indulgence and freedom as he focused most of his attention on their livelihood. She had had a nursemaid, of course, and later there were several young scholars willing to take low-paid positions in exchange for a recommendation to carry along with them at departure, but perhaps none of them had been firm enough, disciplined enough, for one such as Anselma. She had been pushing boundaries - if not outright leaping over them - her entire life, and showed little inclination to attempt to stop doing so even now. She spoke her mind even when her thoughts were highly unorthodox - even vulgar - then five minutes later refused to speak at all. She had a self-righteous pride the Saints themselves would find trying - and Volkhard was himself certainly no saint.

She accused him of sending her to Officers Academy solely to see his own dreams fulfilled, and perhaps there was an element of that. Certainly, the offer from the Central Church to pay for her time here had come as an unexpected, very pleasant surprise, after he had so long ago seen his own dream of attending dashed.

But there was also the hope that it might instill in Anselma more discipline - and, perhaps, a modicum of piety. She did not yet recognize the value of such things in arranging a successful marriage - nor, as yet, did she seem to recognize the value of a successful marriage in and of itself. It was a sign from the Goddess, surely: she had rewarded him as a faithful servant, for his increased donations each year to the church as his own wealth slowly grew, and now she had sent a sign she did not intend to forget him... nor even his wayward younger sister, difficult though she might be to reach.

He had never had the opportunity to visit Garreg Mach; when their mother had fled here with young Anselma, he had been 14 years old, and already lord in name if not in practice: he remained behind. This visit was not one he intended to squander, and he allowed Anselma to shoo him from her new dormitory with little protest. There were things he must do.

The cathedral itself: that was where he must go first. One of the oldest structures in Fódlan, and - as he could confirm for himself now, staring up at it with his own awe-struck eyes - very likely the most beautiful. It was a far cry from the squat little stone church he had attended all his life. He could only imagine the glory of seeing this place filled, hundreds of rapturous voices rising even above the rafters, all the way to the heavens and the ears of the Goddess herself... Back at home, it was usually only himself, Anselma (if she hadn’t woken up early enough to disappear first), and a handful of the oldest inhabitants of the nearly villages who attended worship. Much - too much - of Adrestia had seen the dissolution of the Southern Church as an excuse to turn their backs on the Goddess.

The money in his pocket - he’d brought it for just this visit to the cathedral. More than he could truly afford to give, but it wasn’t only for himself - it was also for Anselma, and her future, and the future of the Arundel name. Perhaps a husband in Enbarr, children to cure some of Anselma’s high-spiritedness, and security for the family beyond wools sold to Fhirdiad and the frigid borderlands to its north: that would be all and more Volkhard would ever ask of the Goddess. His final gift, then, would be himself. Should Anselma bear a son to take over the family lands, he intended to retire here, and dedicate the rest of his life to the Goddess as a monk.

(Yes, of course, some would call his desire for a male heir antiquated and ridiculous - Anselma likely among them. But he had no qualms about being viewed as old-fashioned, and as long as he was alive and serving as Lord Arundel, he would pick an heir as he saw fit.)

It felt satisfying, dropping the gold into the collection basket beside the entrance. He walked inside slowly, breathing deep of hushed, rarefied air. This was where the Archbishop herself came to pray. This was where the Goddess dwelled. This was where the Saints might watch over Fódlan, with all their holy wisdom.

He could feel them all.

The space was enormous - cavernous. His steps echoed now, as did many of the prayers offered from the pews. The nave was more filled than he would have expected - and many of those praying or sitting in silent contemplation were in the uniforms of students. Some with their families, but just as many were alone - here of their own volition? If so, it must bode well for their potential influence on Anselma’s faith... or lack thereof.

He allowed himself, very briefly, to have a seat and a prayer of his own: a prayer that he was making the right decision. A prayer that this was truly the will of the Goddess.

Then, he went to the left. Down the aisle.

Just as the letter had said - a courtyard. A knight stood in the doorway. He ducked into a quick bow. “My apologies - this area is currently off limits.”

“My name is Volkhard von Arundel.” The words, too, came from the letter. “I am expected.”

Like magic - the knight stepped wordlessly aside.

The man outside had his back turned, looking out over the wall at the world spread before them, so very, very far below. He was wearing robes and the distinctive cloth tri-cornered hat of a monk.

“You came, then, Lord Arundel,” he said - and only then turned to duck his head in greeting. “Well met. The Archbishop will be pleased at your willingness to come even this far.”

“I would do anything the Archbishop asked of me. As I have already put into writing. I would gladly do so again, and seal it with my own hand.”

The monk almost smiled - he had a youthful face, but something of his expression spoke of greater years. “I think your presence here is assurance enough. Your sister - she has also arrived?”

“Yes. Though she is probably more eager to nose around than to begin her studies.”

The monk laughed at that. Very briefly. “She is not the first such student, nor will she be the last. Worry not - there are eyes everywhere at Garreg Mach, especially as new students arrive. She will be kept to approved areas. For her own safety, of course.” He glanced around, as if to make certain none of those eyes he spoke of watched them. “Now - about the... small matter... I alluded to in my letters. Dangerous to all of the Church - and all of the people of Fódlan. You remember all of this, I presume?”

“Of course.” The letter - the second he had received - had come with instructions to burn it... and a chit for the full cost of Anselma’s time at the Officers Academy. From any other source, he would have of course immediately smelled a rat, but from the Church itself - “Whatever I can do to assist you in this matter, I give you my word, I will do it.”

A curt nod. “My thanks, Lord Arundel. Come, then - let us speak of his more privately. And perhaps over a cup of tea? I fear all I need to tell you may take quite some time...”

Imperial Year 1180

Anaxi scrambled to his feet, reaching for the shortsword at his belt. He could feel himself shaking - and he could feel the cold eyes of the prisoner still, staring at him through all that crackling, surging magic.

I probably just fell asleep. Fell asleep, and had one of those dreams that wake you right back up, like the one where you miss a step and your foot jerks in real life.

Then why had the prisoner been looking at him? Why that smile?

He could hear something new now. It sounded like... breathing.

Panting, eager breathing.

Just around the corner.

On the surface world, beastly creatures stalked their prey. They made a game of it - toying. Sending eyes wide, flesh quivering, hearts racing. Fear - they feasted upon it as surely as upon muscle and marrow.

He was prey.

Cold sweat, beading along his skin.

He drew his sword. As silently as he could. As if whatever lurked around the corner did not already know he was there.

He wished now, once more, for magic.

The heavy breathing had slowed. There was no other sound. His own breath had long caught.

Then -

A slow, sliding, heavy step closer.

Another.

He held the sword up. Breathing, suddenly, in harsh, erratic gasps. “Halt!” His voice shook, too - and suddenly, irrationally, he wondered if the prisoner would laugh at him. “None are permitted here!”

“Oh?” The voice was deep... sonorous... and very close. “I do not recall asking.”

“I have a weapon!”

“...Glorious.”

He was grabbed by a blur of movement and pain, the shortsword falling from his hand as he was slammed, hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs, into the cold stone of the wall behind him.

But colder still was the blade that speared his middle.

He heard his own desperate, choked groan.

Eyes. Colder even than the prisoner’s.

Then the blade was gone - jerked mercilessly from his belly - and he was released, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

Blood. Hot. It was so hot.

Something to give for the glorious future of Shambhala...

His life.

It was hard to focus - darkness dancing around his eyes. Inside his head.

The last thing he saw: the one who had killed him. Walking through that crackling wall of spellwork as if it was no more than cobwebs.

And the prisoner’s eyes, watching him die.

#a world on its side #what-if tales of the tiny emperor #fire emblem three houses fanfiction

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