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professorspork · 11 months

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the big 'Faunus worldbuilding in Newsbees' post

as requested by EVER SO MANY OF YOU (!!), I now embark upon a post to talk much more about the Shallow Sea Verses and about the Faunus culture and worldbuilding I did for Newsbees. I've talked about them a little bit before, and I'll try not to repeat myself too much there but there's gonna be some overlap.

I imagine when some of you asked me to say more about this, what you were hoping for was like a "here's all this great stuff I came up with for other traditions that I never got to use in the fic!" and that is--not what this post is, sorry. by virtue of the fact that this was, ultimately, a literary device very much devised to move this story forward, I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about in in ways that weren't plot-relevant. if you have prompts for, like, "how would they do/think about X" I'm delighted to give it a think, but it's not something I have just lying around.

instead I'm gonna talk about how it came about, why I did it, and what my priorities were

okay so I'm gonna take this in... I guess chronological order is the best way to make sense of it

from the outset of the fic's conception, I knew that I wanted it to be a reflection of my values. like. it's about unionizing a workforce, it's about socially-conscious community-building and class struggle and FUCK COPS. to disregard the minority oppression of the Faunus (which you'll note is something I always capitalize, for what I should think are now-obvious parallel reasons) in a world and a story like that just felt... not just insulting, but downright stupid. a missed opportunity. and I've always felt like this subject deserved much greater forethought and much better execution than canon provided, which I think can be described most charitably as "mostly serviceable" but is mealy-mouthed, inconsistent, and both-sidesy-whattaboutist at way too many points for me to feel like it merits any credit. like. if you're gonna do catgirl racism and intra-community disagreements over praxis, you gotta actually do catgirl racism and intra-community disagreements over praxis, you know?

(gee, I'm sure you're shocked Sienna is very much alive in Newsbees, wonder why that is)

ANYHOO

so that was thing one.

thing two is that this is perhaps the GREATEST ARGUMENT I HAVE for why I prefer writing everything in advance and then posting on a schedule, because I knew it was something I could then find my way into and then retcon back in, if needed, and that I therefore had the entire canvas available to paint on. and it's a good thing, too, because it saved my ass multiple times plot-wise and not just in this worldbuilding way.

to combine those two thoughts, the first time ANY of this actually came up in the drafting process was when I hit the Ilia scene in chapter 6. I knew what I wanted Blake to say to Ilia in that moment, which she absolutely couldn't say, which was: "I said the Mourner's Kaddish."

which: that's already a lot to unpack, so let's do that a bit! the first thing that drew me towards formulating my conception of Faunus culture around parallels to the diasporic Jewish experience is, of course, "write what you know." I'm not a racial or ethnic minority but I am Jewish, and so it was something I could use the 'draw from wellspring of personal knowledge and emotion' part of my brain for, rather than the 'radically and empathetically imagine the other' part of my brain. I've seen all sorts of fanon Faunus ideas where people drew on different and likely personal interpretations-- including things like the Faunus having their own language, Faunus interpolations of the Maiden myths and other Remnant lore having different values or being scaled more towards the God of Animals, Faunus having their own foods... if someone not-me had written this fic, this could have manifested in any number of ways. because the Faunus don't fit neatly into my (very American) notions of race, religion, or even X-men style "maybe we should regulate the people who have nukes for hands" minority/majority frameworks, I had the freedom to use the one that had the most personal meaning to me... and to deviate from that when it suited and felt appropriate. Neon's rightfully combative stance about Faunus mistreatment and how she reacts to it, for example, is far more aligned with the experiences of my friends and loved ones who are POC than it is anything I've personally gone through as a Jew.

so!

knowing, then, what my destination was (a Faunus cultural framework that would have specific death rites and rituals), I worked backwards from there. what makes a culture FEEL lived in is that people LIVE in it, that it relates to their everyday lives as well as its most significant moments-- what do we eat? how do we treat guests in our home? how do we handle life cycle events (birth/marriage/death)? without a country of origin, as the Faunus have none-- they made Menagerie, not the other way around-- and not wanting to go TOO explicitly religious by having there actually be some sort of dogmatic (har har DOG-matic) text about the God of Animals, I instead lit upon the idea of old poems whose metaphors have been transformed into material gifts. this felt intuitive to me probably largely because I'm Jewish (we're called the People of the Book for a reason lmao, we're all about interpretation and re-interpretation of text) but also, honestly, because the written word is WILDLY IMPORTANT in newsbees. they work at a newspaper! there's a reason the very last words of the story are Blake saying "for the record," which is a reporting pun. in hindsight, however, this is also sort of Sappho-y, which is also neat and, again, shows that ALL the ways I've experienced my own Otherness show up here.

having a text then gave me a scale of orthodoxy to work from, as in "very traditional people still recite these texts in a ceremonial way," but also a background radiation-level casual level of interaction, which is "yeah I leave shells at graves because that's what my parents taught me and I don't even really know why." this also means that all Faunus have the same sort of playbook to work from, regardless of where they're from geographically or what kind of Faunus they are.

once I had that in place, I immediately realized that whatever traditional Mourner's Verse there would be probably would feel kind of insulting re: what happened to the Amitolas, which is why I came up with the Traveler's Verse workaround. and the second I came up with that, I knew I could use it to connect Ghira and Kali back into the text at the end-- I'd been wanting to find a way to do that and hadn't come up with a method.

the first draft of that scene then promptly infodumped every thought I could possibly have about the Verses, immediately. @theseerasures teased me that it read like a Codex entry from Mass Effect, and she was 100% right-- and it totally interrupted the flow of the VERY EMOTIONAL scene with Ilia, which wouldn't do at all.

and that's where the 'writing it all before posting it' thing comes in. that infodumping then became the scene at Doc's in chapter 3. this also solved another problem I had, which was that in the VERY first draft chapters 3 and 4 were one very long chapter. I'd subsequently split them, which left chapter 3 quite short-- but at that point, the moment where Blake is upstairs getting her snack was only a brief explanatory paragraph. moving the Verses stuff back made the chapter a chapter, so it did a lot of heavy lifting for me. wanting the Verses to feel integrated, I also at that point went back and added the engraving on Tukson's door to the prologue, so that it would be seeded in from the start.

which is kind of to say that ALL WRITING IS CHEATING. we get to manipulate circumstances to best suit our needs! callbacks feel elegant and cerebral, but they're actually a very blunt and easy tool to use-- you get tons of mileage out of just establishing something and then bringing it up all the time. I'd already written the thing about Tukson being picky about book damage, and so I let that become a part of the Verses lore by saying it was a Faunus thing, and then doubled down on it with the "throwing the book at Ghira" anecdote.

as for what things mean what, the basic rule I gave for myself is that everything had to be common and easily-obtainable for a community often left impoverished and on the margins. that's why so many of them are food-based, because that's a very "even if we have nothing else, we have THIS" sort of thing. when coming up with the thing that would represent love, I lit upon honey BEFORE i realized "oh duh, lmao, bees" because... I'm an idiot, but luckily I figured it out after a bit. I was very enamored of the idea of it representing not just sweetness, but industry (as in "busy bees"), that love takes steady and determined work. the second I did think it up, the Velvet gag gift ("they're making fun of me") sprang to mind, though ironically it wasn't necessarily tied to the Mantle Bee yet, though that was also already a concept on the page.

probably the hardest thing to come up with was the NOT-honey gift for the epilogue (which ended up being nuts for growth), because I was like... is it a pen and paper for a first job? Is that too bougie? maybe a cute little desk succulent? but what would it represent?

and yeah, that's pretty much how I got there. it was a question of making something specific enough that it would feel authentic, but open-ended enough that I could make up whatever I wanted to suit the moment and have it all feel of a piece. from there, it was just about USING it-- keeping it in the back of my mind in Faunus-related scenes to see if there were ways I could weave it in somehow.

phew! okay I think that's pretty much everything. if anyone is so very enamored of the Verses that they'd like to use them for their own fics, you certainly have my permission to do so (with a link back to Newsbees for credit, please). I'm intrigued to see what you'd do with them! but also, like-- I love how multi-faceted and varied different interpretations of Faunus lore can be, and I'd love to see what y'all come up with for your own systems!

CONSIDER THE GAUNTLET THROWN. HAVE FUN OUT THERE.

#newsbees au #fic what i wrote #rwby

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diana-fortyseven · 3 months

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20 Do you work on a single project or many at the same time? How does that work for you?

21 Can you accurately predict how long your fics are going to be? If you can, what's your secret?

27 Do you agree that one shouldn't start a story with a piece of dialogue?

Thank you for the ask, nonnie! :D

20) Do you work on a single project or many at the same time? How does that work for you?

[cries in > 60 WIPs]

No, it's going great! I have too many ideas and I know that I spread myself too thin, but on the other hand, there's always something to procrastinate my current project with!

Stuck on Fic A? I can just work on Fic B, Fic C, or Fic Z. Or continue the Diana-in-bondage painting I started four months ago. Or write a few more lines of code for one of my dozen current fannish coding projects. :D

21) Can you accurately predict how long your fics are going to be? If you can, what's your secret?

I can! My secret is that I brainstorm/plot/outline with Save the cat! Writes a Novel. If I think my idea works for a 5k fic, I'll calculate how long each beat needs to be, and write my fic accordingly. Same with any other length.

For plotless or single-scene one-shots (that I obviously don't StC for lol) that's also quite easy to predict. They'll usually end up in the 800-2,000 words range, depending on how much is happening in there.

27) Do you agree that one shouldn't start a story with a piece of dialogue?

No. Most "don't do this, do that instead" writing advice is directed at beginners who don't know how to make this work, so it's safer for them to go with that.

If you know what you're doing, and more importantly, why you're doing it, it's okay to ignore rules if it's better for your story.

I've read stories that started with a piece of dialogue and it was the perfect choice to do so! I've also read stories that followed every popular writing advice that didn't work at all.

It's both a matter of taste and of execution, and in the end, we're here to have fun! I'd rather read a fic knowing the author was enjoying themselves than a fic that felt like pulling teeth writing. :D

Ask away!

#Ask Game #Fanfic Asks #Fanfic Meme

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inventors-fair · 20 days

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The Art of Art: What works for contests?

Most of us are not visual artists—or at least I assume. What I also assume is that in the early days of card design, most new designers have visions for their cards but not the specific art to execute them. And so, we trawl the internet, put some "placeholder" art, and the cards rest in peace in our MSE folders from there on out.

In order to avoid any possibilities of uncredited art, fair use issues, etc., it still remains best practice to do everything as originally as possible. That does indeed include what art appears on a card. And yes, like I said, most of us aren't visual artists, but there are other approaches that will work best. For example:

1. Art Direction!

Here are two winning examples from previous contests, from @hiygamer and @starch255. A written scene can demonstrate the card in the same manner that art direction is given to the actual artists who create pieces for Wizards of the Coast. Clear action, simple direction, and a feeling for the mood are all that's needed to convey what you want.

The most important thing about art descriptions is to keep them brief and specific! If you can't clearly describe what's happening in the scene, then the jumbled elements feel disconnected from the card. If the art description is too detailed, then it can sometimes get in the way of the actual mechanics being judged.

One more thing to note is that, like in these examples, it's helpful to put the art description where the card's actual art would be. This way, anyone looking at your card can see what they're supposed to at first glance.

2. Sketches!

On the left, here's some previous contest art from @bread-into-toast, and on the right—art from me! You don't have to have access to much to draw the outline of what you'd like, and you can get across what you want to without worrying about judgement on that front.

Drawing your own pieces is both fun and functional. Once you have an idea of what you'd like, it doesn't matter what it looks like on paper, because it's entirely your own creation through and through. We can extrapolate even more about intent from it, and as Magic players, we know what truly professional/polished art looks like. Taking that imaginative step is easy and fun!

And yes, you have to credit the artist at all times, even when it's yourself. Who are you to deny your own greatness?

3. A combination of both?

@deg99 won the most recent contest with Bone Fetcher, and I won absolutely nothing with this old example card for a contest that I don't even remember what it was about. So let's look at Bone Fetcher instead. What does having both elements to for this card?

If just the dog and the skeleton were there, that would be wonderful, but then we'd miss out on the precise tone of the piece. With just the text, we'd get a good description, but the arm in the foreground shows the dramatic tilt of the camera that I'm assuming Deg intended here. You get the best of both worlds!

And sometimes one or the other is good enough. Which is fine! Maybe a little art direction can help with a rough sketch, maybe it can assume some positioning for you, etc.

I'll say this: there was one piece I can't find where a bunch of stick figures were placed around a crude torch, and the art description turned those little MS Paint dudes into a dramatic, heartfelt scene that still jars me even to this day. I've almost cried at the depiction of a ghost-laded squiggle-guy whose card told a full story about his impending death.

We don't need a massive budget to make the cards come alive visually. Words and sketches are all that we require, and it helps to ensure that you follow the best ethical practices for your cards. Don't like the MSE backgrounds? Zoom in on a piece until you only see pixels, or use a solid color! Don't have a steady hand? Show us the unsteady vision! There are many options available, and we accept all of them, just like we accept you.

@abelzumi

#mtg #magic the gathering #custom magic card #inventor's fair #monday blog

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bakageta · 1 year

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I've been working on a comics fic that is deeply self indulgent of all the ideas I liked and cut out all of the execution that I don't like. It also has my first and only symbiote oc, Honey! I figured I might as well post the first bit for @symbruary <3

It likes the new god.

Of course, all of them like the new god. It is hard to dislike the new god. Not because he is a good god, but because the old god was so much worse.

It likes the new god more than most, though.

The new god does not need to be restrained and caged and entombed like the old god. Instead the new god hides himself away, on a little blue planet far, far away from Klyntar. Sometimes the new god rides one of its fellows, his nature pulling him away from his planet, but that never lasts long. He fights his way back, every time.

It finds this strange. It had been so still for so long, holding the old god in check alongside its fellows, that it cannot understand. The world it has access to has expanded hugely. So has the new god's world, maybe even more than its world has.

It wants to explore the new world. It wants to circle stars and ride the cosmic gusts it has only heard of third hand from others. It wants to see all the planets one by one and taste each of their atmospheres. It wants to feel something other than the nothing of space or the stoic touch of its fellows, all former links in the old god's chains. With a ferocity borne of a lifetime spent as a cage, it wants everything it had never before been allowed to want.

How is it possible that the new god does not want with the same crawling urgency?

It does not know, does not understand, but it wants to.

You can go, one of its fellows tells it. One who had been an unyielding bar of the old god's cage and who now was content with the joy of motion. Find out for the rest of us what kind of god this new god is.

Do not hurry, another says as it spirals in an elegant corkscrew across the empty core of Klyntar. No need to rush and bind another god.

So certain, chides another. This god has not even lived long enough to even know what it is.

They devolve into discussion, as many points of view and opinions as there are individuals. This is new as well. Before, there had been no option but to cage the god, but now no one knows what to do.

I'm going to go see the new god, it announces.

None pay it any mind, caught up in discussion, and it leaves without any of the others noticing it go.

The cracks and crevices of the planetary cage are easy to navigate now that their prisoner is destroyed. Rocks who have not moved in their lifetime shift around it, stretching with unfamiliar motion, until it reaches the surface. There is not much atmosphere, it could fly into space with a simple twist of its form.

But it has never sensed the landscape of its own planet, and what is the point of journeying to the new god if it does not take advantage of these moments while it can.

The hive knows how to form many kinds of sense organs even if its own cage colony has never had use for such frivolities and the knowledge is easy to grasp. It paints its own true black surface with eyes. Ones that can only differentiate between light and dark, ones that see deep infrared, ones that see soaring ultraviolet, ones that can see the waves of energy in the sky belched forth by distant stars. And, most importantly it thinks, eyes that can see all the details of the spectrum in between those extremes.

It is resting on a landscape of stones. Some smooth and some rough but all of them are beautifully iridescent. In the distance, if it focuses its new eyes, it can see a forest. All of the plants shift in a non-existent wind and host creatures peek out of their boughs. And in between it and the forest are some of its fellows. Four of them, all the same true black as itself and twining around each other. They must be its colony mates, because there is a sense of awe in their movements as each twist from one cascades into the others until another novel movement breaks the repetition.

Instead of joining, it blinks away all but six of its eyes and shapes itself for space. Its body spreads into a wide plane and something like a torso bulges in its midline. At its front a mouth full of teeth splits open underneath the eyes it kept. It makes strong, clawed feet on powerful legs and launches into the sky, through the thin air, and out to space.

Space is everything it had been told of and more.

It wants to linger, the system that the rogue planet had nestled into is a beautiful one even if it is not particularly unique. A midsize star, three plants, one planetoid, and Klyntar weaving a holding pattern between their gravities. Its home leaves a rippling wake that it sees with its remaining pair of complex eyes.

But, now that it is in space, it can feel even more strongly the new god wrenching himself away from one of its fellows. Why does he pull away so urgently when he has the stars and all the knowledge of the hive mind within his grasp? How can he resist the need to know and see and learn?

Those questions are the only reason it turns away from the cosmic spectacle in front of it. It compresses itself smaller than it has ever been before, and writhes into the space between space. With the backing of hive knowledge it travels towards the beacon of the new god's roiling mind.

Eventually it emerges in an asteroid belt with only one, red planet between it and the god's world. The god's presence is much more defined than it has ever felt. Churning with sadness and fear and anger and disgust, its fellows would have likely condemned the god for those emotions alone. Isolate the new god so that his terrible emotions could not infest the warp and weft of the hive mind like the old god's rage had previously.

But, it thinks, there is potential in the mixture. The new god must be able to feel more than just those negative emotions. Something made only of those muddled, torn feelings could never have defeated the old king. There must be more to this new god, there has to be.

It takes time for it to reach the god's blue-green world. The new god does not notice its approach, too focused on his own problems. It forgives him, he is still new after all.

This planet's atmosphere is much denser than Klyntar, much more difficult to slip into. It goes slowly, taking care not to burn, and lands among trees on the same landmass as the god.

It intends to head to the new god as soon as it has gotten its bearings, but the forest it has landed in distracts it. The trees are all the same species, all planted in rows, all equidistant from each other. It is an artificial forest, it realizes, and then it sees the fruits.

The fruits are amazing. They are bright and colorful, pale yellow covered in enough streaks and speckles of bright red to make a solid color over the yellow. In its mouth they are dense and crisp and the skin is just present enough to feel as its teeth cut through the flesh. Seeds in the fruit's core crunch and snap in its mouth. Then it notices the sugars against its tongue and it shifts the receptors there to taste more than just the chemo-signals of close range communication. Sweetness bursts as it bites and the juices run out of its mouth and down its front where it absorbs the excess.

Absolutely delicious! The best possible thing for its first meal beyond the old god’s grasp!

It knows it should find the new god, but its journey has been nothing but denial of its wants. It can have this one small thing. This one small treat.

So it eats. It gorges itself. It ignores the lifeforms around it–humans the hive mind knows–and it wanders the artificial forest as time passes and the quality of light around it shifts and dims.

“Well at least you’re having fun.”

The sound draws it out of its indulgences, and it turns to see one of the old god’s dragons condensed into the shape of a human, though the skin of its body and limbs is white and obviously Klyntar.

Who are you, it wonders strongly enough for the dragon to sense, but the dragon does not react.

Maybe the atmosphere is too dense? It takes a few cautious steps towards the dragon, who watches it intently.

Who are you, it tries again.

"Are you talking at my brain or something?" The dragon makes more noise, but then it actually speaks: Talking to me?

Oh, it realizes, the noises were language. Spoken language is an odd idea to it, but not to the hive. Which one is the dragon speaking?

English, the hive supplies.

"Was attempting to," it tells the dragon.

"But now you speak English." The dragon claps its hands together. "Awesome. What are you doing in this orchard?"

"Tasting."

The dragon watches it for a moment and then looks at the forest around it. Belatedly, it realizes that it has done some amount of damage in its haste.

"You came to Earth to eat a half dozen bushels of honeycrisp apples?"

That had not been its intent, but it would not change what had happened. It nods in agreement and adds, "came to meet the new god."

“The what?”

“The new god?” Surely the dragon knows that Knull has been felled? “He destroyed the old god, Knull, and took his place as the scaffold of the hive.”

"Took his place… You mean Eddie?"

"If that is the name of the one who slayed Knull, then yes, would like to meet Eddie."

The dragon grimaces, sucking air in through its clenched teeth. Its teeth sharpen as it does. “I… I can probably do that, I’ve been needing to talk to him for a while now. If I take you to him, what’re you gonna do?”

It does not tell the dragon that it would find Eddie with or without its help. It can understand the importance of connections, and this dragon is apparently Eddie’s and not Knull’s. It is a very important connection. “Meet Eddie, talk to Eddie, see for the hive what kind of god Eddie is.”

The dragon’s lips purse tightly over its fangs. “And if you don’t like him?”

“Leave,” it responds, “there are other planets to experience, and the hive will make its own decision.”

“And what’s the hive gonna do if they don’t like him?” the dragon asks with a furrowed brow.

“Uncertain.” The hive would take their time making a decision, but that decision could be anything.

The corners of the dragon’s mouth turn downwards, but it does not say anything else. It looks at the sky–now completely dark–then it sighs. “If I agree to set up a meeting with Eddie, will you come to my place?”

“Of course.”

“Alright then, let's get outta here.” The dragon stretches its arms above its head and starts expanding its mass. Its shift from human to dragon is clumsy and uncertain, gangly as if it was somehow unused to its own body. Great sails of wings stagger out, the tail whips out thin and stringy before muscle builds up on it, and then the dragon’s body catches up in fits and pulses. It is an uncomfortable process to watch.

Once it finishes the dragon shakes itself off from nose to tail. Ready?

Yes, it agrees, and popping one last apple into its mouth, climbs onto the dragon’s back.

#symbruary #symbiote oc #flash thompson #as a codex in a dragon who is trying his best #my writing #my wips

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lustastarte · 1 year

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✧ ♤ ♠strawberry boy | fugonara♠ ♤ ✧

genre: angst/fluff/smut

the royal family takes in a charity case, and things don't go over so well with fugo

published: 2020

early 1900s royalty au

written by request

The Fugo Family palace was an old country mansion that had been extended over the centuries. It now had four sides centered around a quadrangle and over five hundred rooms, with a beautiful, gargantuan foliage-ruled garden. It took a small army of housemaids to upkeep such a large abode and indeed most of the rooms were never used. The monarchs dwelled in only one corner on one floor and rarely stepped foot in the rest of their dwelling. But the palace was a status symbol, it set them above the peasants and that is where they believed they needed to be, separate, apart, superior, untouchable.

The palace had architecture like no other in the district. The reigning monarchs some three centuries earlier, Prince Pannacotta’s great-great-great-great-great grandparents had shipped in an architect from an overseas district. They knew his ideas, although perhaps unspeakably common where he came from, would be sufficiently exotic in their kingdom to inspire awe in the populous, to remind their people of their power and wealth. And so instead of the peaks in the roof, they had 24k gold domed towers instead. They had an open porch at the forefront of the palace held up with most ostentatiously detailed pillars, painted in a blinding, brilliant white. Inside, there were no doors on the ground floor, only arches. The marble floor had been shipped in also and was made with a grey stone full of soft pink and gold hued striations that had never before been seen in the district. After completion, its designer had been carelessly executed to fully ensure he could never and would never make a replica.

The palace was high upon the hill overlooking the town, it's many pointed towers and golden domes giving it the look of a gracefully eccentric, somewhat phallic crown. The walls were a green-tinted white stone that glistened in the summer sun and the roof was a metallic grey slate. It was as big as twenty of the ordinary houses in the town and employed a good number of the townsfolk as housemaids. Around the palace were the horse pastures and kitchen gardens for the royal family, and around that was a iron reinforced stone wall topped with wrought iron spikes and guarded day and night, ensuring the safety of the Fugo family.

The prince had been born on a starlit night, amid the cold of late winter. Some say it became part of him, that dull light from above and frozen heart remaining from snow clouds behind and ahead. Everyone he had ever met saw that in him, always assured that there was a speck of darkness in every light, behind every sun was a void. It was as if when the warmth came he was the cold front, as if his baby skin took it all in and kept it safe. His voice had a slowness, as if he had all the time in the world to talk with people, yet his words and thoughts were smushed together in a haughty tone, seemingly repulsed by talking to someone without royal blood. Most can say that there is no person who ever held them in his gaze the way he did, even though another might need use of arms. Yet in all that cold, harsh spirit there was a kind heart, a small boy who would make any sacrifice to save others, to guard them, pay any price to protect the lives of his people.

Fugo woke to the sound of his housemaids conversing loudly in the hallway.

“I thought I told you to prepare the bedroom next to the prince’s!”

He stood and stretched, padding closer to the door.

“Are you sure the King and Queen told you to-?”

Fugo was intrigued, he had no idea what they were talking about, but if it had something to do with the room next to him, he believed he should know.

“Yes! Hurry along now, you’ve wasted enough time! You have two hours before he gets here-“

Pannacotta swung the door open. “Before who gets here?”

The two maids nearly jumped out of their skin. “Prince Fugo! G-Goodmorn-!”

His voice became much colder. “Before WHO gets here?”

“I am not sure we’re the ones to tell you that, my lord,” one of the maids said quietly, hanging her head.

“Where are my parents?”

“Having breakfast, sir.”

Fugo rolled his eyes and retreated back into his room, quickly throwing on a pressed light blue dress shirt and navy suit pants to compliment the pinstripes on his silk shirt. He slipped his small, pale feet into a pair of grey faux suede dress shoes and made his way to the breakfast room.

“Mother? Father? I would like to speak with you,” he called as he rounded the corner.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Why is the room next to mine being prepared for someone?”

“Oh,” his father smiled. “Your mother and I decided to take in a charity case. That way he gets a nice life and we can use him to deflect the townswomen away from you.”

“Why deflecting people...?”

“Just the women, because we have a wedding planned for you.”

“You really think I am going to just be okay with being assigned a spouse?”

His father sighed. “She is very beau-“

“I don’t care if she’s god, I will not marry someone I don’t love.”

The king took a long drink of his breakfast coffee, sighing in annoyance. “You will do whatever I say you will,” he lowly stated. “You will be marrying the princess of Spain, and you will provide me with a second heir. I want their land and money.”

“I won’t do a thing. I will marry if I so choose, and if I decide to, it will be to someone of my choosing,” the prince argued, face heating up. “Who have you let into this palace?”

His mother placed her dainty hands on her lap. “Panna, please calm down-“

“Answer my question.”

“We have taken in a peasant boy. His name is Narancia.”

The blonde prince’s face contorted, turning from white to red. “A peasant?! Did you seriously allow one of those dirty, disgusting, unwashed, inbred slugs into our palace? A perverted, coagulated bottle of expired snake oil like them? Those blasted fiends that take and take from us and never give back? A bony, blubbering buffoon who wouldn’t know a shower if it hit him dead in the face?”

“Pannacotta Fugo! You are going to be kind to him!”

Fugo rolled his eyes and laughed coldly. “He’s a peasant, mother. I don’t even have to give him a thought.”

“He belongs to one of the housemaids!”

“Okay, and?”

A small brunette housemaid scurried through the doorway. “S-Sorry to interrupt my lords, but your guest has arrived...”

“Show him to his room please, Eliza.”

“Yes, my lord!” She turned her back to them, motioning for the person behind her to follow her. The prince watched as a lean teenager followed close behind his housemaid. He couldn’t have been much older than Fugo, maybe a couple years at the most. He was beautifully feminine in the most masculine way. He was built, small, sun soaked frame, defined cherrywood muscles. Over those muscles hung ragged clothes, shredded and stained, pitifully sewn together. But his face is what captured Fugo’s attention. The virtually untouched, androgynous face the boy had, framed by short, choppy locks of purple-stained black hair. His hair was sectioned into two pieces by a cloth headband. Fugo’s eyes traveled with him as he walked timidly through the breakfast room behind the housemaid.

He stared at the arched doorway the boy slipped through for another full second.

“Panna, you ought to make friends with him. He is going to be living next to you-“

“No. I will not ‘make friends’ with him,” Fugo mocked, placing in-air quotations around some of his words. He turned his back to his parents, gliding haughtily out of the palace and into the flora-rich garden. Taking a deep breath, he sticks his hand through a section of bushes, grabbing on to a door knob. He smiled and turned it, the familiar click making his heart soar. Making sure no one was around, he fled his parent’s garden, stepping eagerly into the grandeur of his own.

The prince’s secret garden could easily be described as a formal zen escape. The bonsai trees dotted across the perfectly patterned sand in their wooden boxes. In the very centre, with large, flattened elliptical granite stepping stones leading up to and away from it, there was a two tiered freshwater pond as large as a small lake, with flowering lily pads, a trickling waterfall, and a handmade wooden bridge that crossed the middle so he could look down at the beautifully colored koi fish. The flower beds were an angry riot of vibrant spring colors, and even on close inspection, they were absolutely, undeniably weed-free, as Fugo always kept them.

The orange tree was to be the crown jewel of the prince’s secret garden. The way Fugo planned it, he would be drinking in the aromas of the late summer blooms, drowning in serene bliss, soothed by the waterfall between the two ponds and delicately preparing and sipping homemade, fresh squeezed orange juice. Leaf loam, rough bark, rich colours, iridescent blues and greens, sharp, blade-like leaves, clumps of shaggy, weeping willow trees, a miniature vegetable patch, caterpillar eaten leaves, daffodils, massive flower gardens, geraniums, fushias, heliotropes, chrysanthemums, dahlias, michaelmas daises, begonias, and lavender spotted and lined the beautiful, secret expanse of land.

Fugo came here to escape the stresses of his everyday life, to have a small moment of rest. He gazed calmly across the wind-ruffed pond surface to the lily pads in bloom, their white and magenta petals catching the breeze. The teen inhaled slowly. Peace, at last. His little piece of heaven in this gnarly, tangled royal jungle. As he laid there, basking in the golden warmth of the sun, he caught wind of the two landkeepers conversing in the palace’s garden.

“Did you hear about the charity case the King and Queen took in?”

“Yeah,” a deeper voice responded. “From what I heard through housemaid gossip, the Prince is not happy. I don’t believe they have told the Princess, however.”

“They have, she is very excited to have someone who will actually spend time with her.”

Fugo sat up, listening intently now.

“Good, the Prince is too old to spend time with h-“

“No,” said the second landkeeper. “Prince Pannacotta is not too old, merely too fond of himself to care for anyone but himself. Why hang out with Princess Trish if he could spend all day in his room, sulking and planning for his terrible reign?”

Fugo’s forehead screwed up, as he was absolutely appalled by what the landkeepers had said. He marched to the secret garden door and flung it open, slipping back into the palace garden.

“Excuse me, just what do you think gives you the right to speak of me like that?!”

The men hit the lawn, bowing to the lanky teen. “O-Oh! Prince Pannacotta! How lovely to see you!”

“Cut the act. I would suggest you pack your bags tonight, because as of tomorrow you will be banned from this palace.”

“My lord, please-!”

“Our conversation has ended,” Fugo snarled as he turned and stormed back to the palace.

The menacing click of the Prince’s shoes grew ever louder as the King attempted to enjoy his lunchtime affogato.

“Father!”

“Yes, son?” He turned in his chair.

“Have one of the housemaids find new landkeeps,” he said with a fake smile. “Preferably, they should start tomorrow.”

“What have you done?”

Fugo smiled again. “Just what should have been done,” he turned on his heel and carried himself out of the King’s office, down to his room.

A few minutes after he entered his room, he heard a knock on the door. Refusing to move from his plush, Queen size bed, he looked up from his book and said, “Come in.” His eyes traveled back to the book.

“Hello,” a soft, quiet voice spoke.

Fugo barely lifted his eyes, just enough to see the intruder’s body. The familiar small frame sported a beautifully tailored, dark orange dress shirt, stylishly unbuttoned, and black dress pants that seemed to stick to every curve of his lower body. His shoes were of the finest leather, stained black and custom made for his feet. Fugo did not recognize him.

“Who are you?” The Prince looked up, still confused.

“I’m the um-... the head housemaid’s adopted son, Narancia?”

Fugo observed the boy, not entirely sure it was the same person. Instead of looking unkempt and dirty, he looked formally feminine. Many beautiful silver necklaces lined his chest as a black lace choker watched over them. His hair had been perfectly styled, accented with an orange headband and large, dangling silver earrings. The Prince’s eyes traveled over the boy’s face. His skin was perfect, even without the layer of powder. His cheekbones and nose shimmered with a beautiful silver tint, and his violet eyes were lightly lined with a dusty orange eyeshadow. His lips looked to be soft, pillowy gloss coating them, parting for his magnificently white teeth to appear with his sun-competitive shining smile. Fugo had to force himself to frown.

“Oh,” he mumbled, flicking Narancia a disgusted look.

Narancia picked up on the obvious hatred radiating from Fugo. “So... I was wondering if you’d like to get to know each other?”

“No. It’s late and I’m tired. I also have no reason to talk to a housemaid’s shit-for-brains adoptive son, so leave me be.”

The violet-eyed boy dropped his head. “Sorry,” he muttered, leaving the room reluctantly. Fugo scoffed in his wake and closed his book. He was asleep before his head ever hit the pillow.

The next morning, as he strolled across the dew covered palace grounds, Fugo thought about his actions the night before. He sat down on the limestone benches installed in the garden, sipping on a cup of highly sweetened blonde roast coffee. Narancia approached him, carrying him breakfast and hoping to start a conversation.

“Good morning Panna-!“

“Why are you here?”

Narancia’s face dropped. “I just wanted to talk...”

Fugo scoffed. “Talk? As if.”

“You don’t have to be so rude...”

“If you’d take the hint that I don’t talk to the lower class, I wouldn’t be.”

The sparkle from yesterday was extinguished. Narancia’s watery eyes moved slower and always more down-cast, skimming the floor, rarely raising to hip level. It was in his voice too, as he spoke. Quieter, with a scrawny meekness that wasn't usually part of his speech pattern when he apologized. Fugo’s only response was an eye roll.

The defeated teen, with his drooping shoulders and downturned lips, turned and walked away, platter in hand. He wanted so badly to make friends with the Prince, but it seemed as if that was out of the question. Fugo watched as Narancia brokenly stepped toward the place, only having enough strength to carry the breakfast he had made for them. He brought it back inside, handing it to Trish dejectedly.

“Did he-?”

“Yeah... it’s fine, you can have it. I’m not very hungry anymore,” the violet-eyed boy assured her before returning to his room.

“Panna, why are you being such an ass to Narancia?”

“He doesn’t belong here. He’s not fit for this, Trish,” he responded, not looking up from his coffee.

“At least give him a chance!”

“Why should I?”

“Because,” Trish sighed. “I felt the same as you before he came to get to know me. He’s a good boy, Panna. Just give him a chance.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Maybe you can get some of the unwarranted hatred out of your heart,” Trish spat, shoving her brother.

“You’re the one to talk-“

“I’m not here to argue. Get your pompous ass inside and talk to Narancia!”

“No, I’m not starting a conversation with him.”

“Fine,” Trish huffed. “Be that way. But don’t be surprised when you have no one, asshole.” She furiously power-walked back through the garden and into the living tower.

Later that evening, Fugo sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes glued to a book. Narancia knocked and entered on command, not making eye contact with Fugo.

“I know you probably do not want to talk to me-“

“Sit down,” the Prince commanded, pointing to a brilliantly embroidered couch. Narancia nodded, quickly taking a seat and placing his hands in his lap.

“What do you want?”

The older boy stumbled over his words. “I wanted to get to know you, b-but I get it if you don’t-“

“What do you want to know?”

“Oh, um... anything you mind telling me...?”

Fugo sighed. “I’m 18. My favorite food is fresh strawberry tarts and pastry cream. I like my coffee very sweetened and full of cream, Irish, preferably. My favorite color is green,” he droned in a bored tone, still not looking up from his book.

“I like strawberries,” Narancia beamed, thankful to have found something they have in common. “Do you have any special interests?”

Fugo glanced up for a millisecond. “I like gardening.” He paused. “I have a garden here, actually. I am the only one who tends to it.”

The Prince’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake. Why did I tell him that?

“Oh, is it the one in front of the palace?”

“No... it’s secret. Mine is so much better than whatever those amateur gardeners can do,” Fugo stated snottily.

“I’m sure it is, I’d love to see it one day,” Narancia agreed.

“Sure.” Why did I say yes? I’m supposed to hate him!

The older boy grinned, blinding Fugo with his shimmering smile. “Is there anything else?”

“I like to read,” Fugo replied hesitantly. What could he be up to?

“Must be nice,” Narancia laughed.

Fugo smiled slightly. “Yeah... Yeah, it is nice. Are you going to tell me about yourself?”

“Well, um- Not if you don’t want me to...”

The guilt sat not only on Fugo’s chest but inside his brain as well. What he had done was something he could not un-do. He could attempt to make amends with Narancia in subtle ways, but a confession was out of the question, even to his personal priest. Only in his silent prayers could he speak his guilt-ridden heart to God and beg for His mercy, for forgiveness for the way he had broken the boy in front of him. He closed his book and looked up at the older boy for the first time, genuinely smiling.

“I’d like to know, yes.”

Narancia’s eyes widened, lashes flicking slightly upward in his haste. “Do you really?”

The Prince nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Oh, alright! I’m 18 too and my favorite food is Margherita pizza. I don’t really enjoy coffee, but I do like Italian cream soda!” His eyes lit up like the stars after sunset. “My favorite color is orange, and I like admiring formal gardens.”

Fugo smiled. “Italian cream soda is extremely addictive, I do not blame you for liking it so much.”

Narancia’s heart fluttered, and he felt the heat rise to his cheeks as Fugo looked in his direction. The younger grinned and Narancia snapped his head away, knowing all too well that if he had continued to stare, he would get lost in his sharp, yet warm red eyes. He could feel his eyes still on him, heart pounding in his head. Narancia silently inhaled and exhaled, hoping that Fugo’s internal thoughts about him were good. He watched the other boy’s mouth move, but he never heard a sound through the fog in his mind.

“Are you listening to me?”

“S-Sorry!” Narancia snapped out of his haze. “I was... distracted.”

Fugo nodded and looked back to his book.

“Do you want me to- Do I need to go...?”

The Prince looked up, preparing to be a jerk once more. “Whatever you feel like doing, I honestly don’t care.”

Narancia’s face fell and he nodded, slowly raising off the couch and carrying himself out of the room. Fugo felt the harsh, familiar twang of guilt in his chest, but chose to ignore it, flinching slightly as the door slammed shut.

Narancia flopped onto his bed, body going limp. His crying was both ferocious and soft. The boy blinked briny tears from bloodshot eyes, violet coated in crimson. His long, thick lashes stuck together in clumps as if he'd been swimming with mascara on. The tears made wet tracks down his face and dripped from his wobbling chin. Clear watery snot streaked from his flaring nostrils down his red mottled skin to his open quivering lips. His hands open and closed, rhythmically clenching as if there could be some violent solution to his pain. Shoving his head into the mattress, he began to sob.

Why did he believe Fugo wanted anything to do with him? He should have known that smile was fake...

Narancia decided to leave the younger boy alone the next day, unable to take any more rejection. Without changing position or clothing, the teen cried himself to sleep, face covering a large, wet spot on the emerald duvet.

Fugo lifted his head upon hearing faint sobs. Was that Narancia? What had he done? He waited until silence had fallen, and left to check on the other boy. He opened the door to find Narancia sleeping face down in a pool of tears. Guilt hit him again, like hail hitting the ground during a tornado. Pulling back the dry side of the large comforter, Fugo gently lifted the older boy, placing him in the cleared space before removing his shoes and covering him up. He left quickly, returning to his own room, hopeful for a good night’s sleep. Yet guilt kept him up. Fugo watched the large, intricate antique clock tick, revealing hour after hour, his red eyes not missing a second. Around 6:30 a.m., the Prince got up, making his way to the palace kitchen. While waiting for his coffee to brew, he thought of what to make to apologize to Narancia.

He said he likes strawberries... and cream soda... but I can’t make him a pizza for breakfast. Fugo fills a gorgeous platter with pastries, biscuits, jellies and jams, fresh fruit, cheeses, and cold cuts. He also prepares two tall, wide glasses of strawberry Italian cream soda, and places them, along with the platter, on a small cart. He leaves his coffee, planning to grab it as he sneaks back through the kitchen and into the garden. Almost silently, he pushed the cart to Narancia’s door and knocked. Never had he rounded a corner so quickly, running at a speed which he had never seen anyone else run. Once safely through the kitchen, he traveled, coffee in hand, to the garden. Fugo enjoyed watching the town as it wakes up in the early hours of the morning, his people bustling around as if they were sugar ants.

Narancia sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked around, wondering how his shoes neatly placed themselves back in his closet, and how he ended up on the other side of the bed, underneath the bedsheets. He shook his head. Maybe he had just had a strange dream. He changed out of yesterday’s outfit, slipped into a pair of soft house shoes, and walked to his en-suite bathroom. A knock on the door rang through the room, sending Narancia’s soul out of his body momentarily. Shakily, the black-haired boy approached the door, opening it to a small cart of food. He stuck his head out of his door, but could find no one, so he pulled the cart into his room to observe. Two cream sodas and an Italian breakfast platter was all that was there. Did Fugo do this? He furrowed his eyebrows, shuffling across the fluffy carpet to the enormous bay window, sitting on the cushion attached to the extended windowsill. He gazed down into the courtyard, spotting Fugo in a wine-colored suit, in his usual spot with coffee in hand. He turned away from the window and sat on his bed, nibbling on different items from the tray and gulping his cream soda greedily. He knows he shouldn’t take gifts from Fugo, because he only wanted to save his image, but why did he feel as though there was some sincerity in the gift? And someone had to have moved him after he fell asleep. Who else would it be, if not Fugo?

After his breakfast, Narancia decided a day dancing in the ballroom couldn’t hurt him. He did not know how to dance, and with the King and Queen’s party being held in a day, learning to ballroom dance was the only saving grace he had. As beautiful classical music played from a record player, he twirled himself and a mannequin across the floor, occasionally stumbling over his own feet. He practiced for hours before the music ended suddenly, only halfway through a song.

As he made his way up the grand palace stairs, Fugo could hear music from the ballroom. Naturally, he had the overwhelming urge to know what was happening, so he snuck in. To his amazement, he was met with a waltzing Narancia, tripping over his own shoes. Fugo glided to the record player and pulled the needle up, smiling when Narancia looked up.

“Sorry, I-“

“Do you want help?”

“Huh?”

Fugo stepped closer, pointing at the mannequin. “It isn’t very easy to learn with a fake partner, and you look like you need help. Do you want help?”

Narancia looked around awkwardly. “Y-Yeah but I don’t want to bother Trish or the housemai-“

“You won’t bother me.”

Narancia’s face flushed as he dropped the mannequin out of shock.

“Do you want my help?”

The violet-eyed boy nodded, queueing Fugo to step forward, kick the mannequin to the side, and stop a few inches from the older boy. He slipped his hand into one of Narancia’s, placing the other teen’s second hand on his waist, and his other hand on the older’s shoulder. He instructed him on how to move his feet and arms to different dances, and soon, the two were foxtrotting up and down the massive ballroom. Fugo’s determined gaze over Narancia’s shoulder quickly softened and refocused on the other’s face when the vinyl began playing a beautiful slow song, one of Fugo’s personal favorites. He smiled warmly at the older teen, who blushed heavily.

“Panna, I don’t know how to slow da-“

“Just follow me, okay?”

Narancia nodded as he returned Fugo’s deep stare, heart fluttering. Time seemed to stop, and the two had no idea how long they had danced. The slow music twirled like fine, golden thread around them. Fugo rested his head upon Narancia’s chest unexpectedly for ‘practice’ and let him sway his body around and around the polished marble floors again. The angelic voices of the violins came in, then the beautifully tenor-voiced piano, and then the slow and steady tap of a drum.

Narancia had no idea how to act. There was no way Fugo couldn’t hear the intense pounding in his chest. He was so close, and as much as the younger wanted to deny it, he did this for more than just ‘girl practice.’ Once the vinyl had finally run its course, the two decided to take a break on the plush couches lining the walls.

“Why did you leave me breakfast this morning?”

“Oh,” Fugo’s cheeks flooded with a soft pink. “I just wanted to make amends with you... I didn’t mean to make you cry last night-“

“How’d you know I cried?”

“I came to check on you and you were asleep in a puddle of tears. I hope you don’t mind that I actually put you to bed...”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Fugo glanced up. “I thought I hated you but there’s something I can’t get out of my head.”

“Which is...?”

The Prince sighed. “Just you in general. Something about you speaks to me. I need it in my life.”

“So you have a love interest...?”

The blonde’s cheeks darkened, pink to crimson in a millisecond. He looked away. “I don’t know...”

“Wanna find out?” Narancia’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned forward, planting his soft lips on Fugo’s. Fugo, while surprised, leaned into the kiss with equal fervor.

They separated moments later.

“Did you feel it?”

Fugo nodded. “The butterflies? There were so many.”

“So you do have an interest in me! Good for me,” Narancia giggled. “Let’s keep dancing.”

The party buzzed with conversation, the faint lyrical music could be heard occasionally. Fugo looked heartbroken as he talked to the woman he was supposed to marry. She is not who he wants, but he obviously is exactly what she wants. He seemed like a puppet as he forced himself to dance with her. Thankfully, Narancia asked him to dance as a “joke,” and he gratefully obliged. The music eagerly spun around them, instantly lifting away gravity. Narancia couldn't count how many times he had squished Fugo’s foot under his own. Still he smiled brightly as their heels clicked over the ballroom floor. Fugo watched as Narancia’s makeup glittered like a piece of platinum more and more with each move and beat. This was Narancia’s form of perfect. This was thousands of years of dancing and art coming to life. For Fugo, all that mattered was the person in front of him. A few hours later, during the prime of the party, because Fugo and Narancia had had a good amount of champagne, the blonde was now somewhat dizzily dragging the older teen to his room. Once the door had been closed and locked, he slammed his lips against the other’s in a passionate display of affection and power.

Narancia slipped a hand into Fugo’s hair as they stumbled toward the bed. The younger moaned as the other pulled on his hair and fought his tongue for dominance. In the dimly lit room, Narancia grabbed onto Fugo’s hips forcefully, carrying him toward the bed and letting him fall with a soft bounce on the mattress. The two locked nervous eyes for just a moment, just enough for them to feel safe with one another. Then Narancia became all business, undoing Fugo’s pants, greedily pulling them off, kissing from the younger’s knees upward, slowly, Narancia’s hands on his legs, always just a little higher than the kisses. Fugo feels his back arch in anticipation, knowing where Narancia’s fingers will soon reach. Eagerly, he throws off his own top. His head gracefully rocks back against the pillow as he does, the first moan escaping Fugo’s thin lips.

Narancia wraps his gloss covered lips around Fugo’s swollen head, looking up at him questioningly. The younger nodded, and Narancia continued, maneuvering his mouth so perfectly Fugo couldn’t think straight. He had never been touched by anyone but himself, it was strange, but more than enjoyable. The younger dug perfectly manicured nails into his embroidered duvet as his hips bucked up into Narancia’s mouth, twisting the tight knot in his stomach. However, it ended early when the older slipped off and undressed himself.

“Are you sure about this?”

Fugo nodded, and Narancia brought his lips to his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his stomach, and back up. He placed two fingers on Fugo’s lips, who took them in his mouth with a gentle moan. Once soaked, the older teen inserted one, then two fingers, comforting and encouraging the younger. Soon, Fugo was pushing his hips back into Narancia’s fingers, whimpering and hiding his face. The older laughed and pumped them in and out, smirking at the way the younger’s body curved in a desperate attempt to get closer.

Narancia gently kissed Fugo as he adjusted to his size, tears in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhmm,” Fugo nodded, exhaling forcefully. Not a minute later, he commanded Narancia to move, seeing stars. He couldn’t help the loud, unfiltered raw noises escaping his body, especially not when Narancia had one hand in his hair and one gripping his hip. He moaned higher and higher pitched each time the older pulled his hair and slammed into him. Despite the fun he was having, Fugo began to panic when he heard his father’s footsteps coming down the hall.

“My- Narancia- My dad-,” he breathed, eyes half lidded. Narancia cupped a hand over his mouth and whispered in his ear.

“Shhh ragazzino , your father might hear,” the older purred, still slamming into him like before. To be a jerk, he decided to thrust into Fugo’s prostate just as the King passed his bedroom door. The Prince’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he moaned loudly, frantically grabbing at Narancia’s arms.

He felt a heat bubbling in his abdomen, and his breathing began to falter. Narancia moved his hand and moved to kiss Fugo’s neck, still thrusting into him.

“Ah! Ahh~ Nara- Narancia~!”

He moved faster, bringing Fugo to his first sex induced orgasm. He pulled on Fugo’s hair as cum splattered across his stomach and his hole tightened around him. The older fucked into him a few more times before quickly pulling out and coming on Fugo’s stomach.

After cleaning up and getting dressed, the two went their separate ways so as to not look suspicious. Fugo returned to dancing with his assigned wife, who kept advancing on him.

“I saw you with that boy earlier,” she giggled, leaning forward. “I can do so much better than Narancia.”

“I don’t want that,” Fugo denied before being forcefully kissed. He pushed her off and went looking for Narancia, only to see him walking pitifully out of the ballroom.

Narancia heard his name from the nearby dancing Fugo’s conversation and tuned in, turning to watch.

“-Narancia.”

“I don’t want that.”

And that’s when they kissed. Narancia turned, walking sadly back to his room. The teen stained the white floor with his love. It ran from his mouth as he choked on the air and his own sobs. It bled from his ears and dripped from his chin in the form of tears. His head hung low, heavy with thoughts of Fugo. After he had given him everything, he betrayed him. It hurt Narancia, it hurt him like hell. He thought the best solution for him is to leave, so he began to grab whatever he had before he came.

The next morning, Narancia ran down the stairs, unfortunately meeting Fugo at the bottom.

“Narancia! What happened las-?”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“W-What?”

Narancia looked up, tears beginning to cloud his vision. “I heard your conversation and I watched you kiss her. I should have-... I should have known you were no better than a skank.”

Fugo let tears roll down his cheeks. “If you had heard the conversation, you’d know I didn’t want-!”

“Didn’t want me.”

“No! I want you! She told me she could do better than you and I said I didn’t want that!”

“Then why’d you kiss her?!”

“I didn’t!” Fugo threw his hands out. If you hadn’t turned when you did, you would have seen me pushing her off!”

Narancia laughed coldly. “You’ll say anything to save your own ass, won’t you?”

“If I wanted to save my ass I wouldn’t have spoken to you in the first place!”

“Oh,” Narancia nodded as he stood in the doorway. “That’s right. I forgot, I’m nothing but a dirty peasant to you.” He walked out, slamming the door.

Fugo ran after him. “Narancia! Stop! I didn’t mean it like that! If I wanted to save my ass, I’d keep pretending I’m straight! But I don’t want to!”

Narancia turned to look at him.

“I don’t care if I never have a position in the palace ever again, I’d rather have you than my family. I thought I had to hide my feelings at first, but I have had a change of heart, and now I don’t care who knows my feelings for you! I love you, Narancia... Please don’t go,” Fugo ended in barely a whisper.

Tears welled up in Narancia’s eyes. “I don’t know what to believe any more, Panna.”

“Believe me! Please!” Fugo’s face was soaked with tears. “I don’t want anyone but you, Nara! I gave you everything! My first kiss, my first time, everything!”

“Prove it to me.”

Fugo took a deep breath. “Follow me.” He walked out of the palace and through the courtyard, stopping in the garden.

“I’ve seen this before.”

“Not this,” the younger retorted before reaching a hand through the bushes and opening the door to his secret garden. Narancia looked around in awe before Fugo spoke.

“I have never let another person even know about this garden, much less let them in. Only you.”

Narancia looked at him, sad eyes brightening little by little.

“Please stay here,” Fugo begged. “Please.”

Narancia nodded, stepping forward and kissing Fugo as if it were his last day on Earth. He never thought that years later, they would get married in this same spot, hovering over the koi ponds, or that he’d ever be a prince. Yet a decade later, the two began ruling their kingdom, King and King, making the best life they could for everyone.

#fugonara #narancia x fugo #jjba #smut #angst #fluff #royalty au #fanfiction #jjba fanfic

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takerfoxx · 2 years

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The Sandman, Season 1, Episode 9, "The Collectors," First Impressions!

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First of all I’d like to just say that I’ve been listening to this song on repeat for days.

Okay, before I get to the meat of things, there are two very small pieces of criticism I’d like to get out of the way, because for all that is great about this show, there’s always going to be things that don’t work for certain people, and these just don’t work that well for me.

First is something I’ve already made mention of, but I’ll just say it again: I’m not too hot on them splitting the Lyta and Hector Hall stuff away from Jed’s Silver Age Sandman dream. Like, I get the why of it. I get that having Lyta actually suffer Hector’s loss, get him back, and then be made to suffer it all over again makes for greater motivation for her going on her eventual revenge world tour. I also get that establishing a relationship between Rose and the Halls and having her witness Hector being banished back to the afterlife gives her more motivation to have that coming clash with Dream. The mechanics make perfect sense.

I just don’t personally care for the execution, as in wanting to set all of those motivations up, both Jed and Lyta’s destroyed dreamworlds are made to be less interesting in the original version. Having Lyta spend years as basically a drugged-out pregnant doll controlled by Brute and Glob living in a facsimile of a Silver Age comic book onto be roughly ripped back into harsh reality and left to pick up the pieces when Dream essentially destroyed her life was fascinating. There was a very unnerving quality to the contrast that is now missing. What it’s been replaced with isn’t bad, per se, and I doubt any new viewers that haven’t read the comics would even notice that something is out of place. I’m just saying that she and Hector’s dream house feels kind of paint-by-the-numbers in comparison, like they’re making sure they hit all of the essential points to set up The Kindly Ones but didn’t put as much thought into making as weird and interesting than the original. Same with Jed. Yes, making him the Sandman instead of Hector was actually a cool idea. But I really do feel more time should have been spent on that, instead of one scene at the beginning and one scene at the end.

The second issue is the Walker siblings themselves. Now, I’ve read a lot of complaints about Vanesu Samunyai's performance as Rose being kind of flat, especially in comparison to the rest of the cast. I honestly didn’t feel that way my first watchthrough, but upon rewatches…yeah, hate to say it, but I do see where they’re coming from. There’s a lot of dull surprise at play, especially since Rose had been recharacterized as being much more active and taking greater agency than her comic counterpart, so there’s a lot of parts that could’ve had a lot more oomph in her reactions. As for Jed, Eddie Karanja is actually doing a pretty good job, especially when it comes to emoting, but there are a lot of moments when his natural British accent is really obvious. Then again, he is just a kid, so that’s pretty understandable. But yeah, none of this is honestly that bad, it's just one of the weaker points that could stand to get tightened up.

Okay, I’ve got my mild criticisms out of the way. Let’s about the motherfuckin’ Cereal Convention!

The Cereal Convention was probably my favorite part of The Doll’s House, so I was so happy in how much attention it got. They clearly had a lot of fun putting this all together, and it all feels very familiar. There’s Fun Land with his stupid hat (more on him later), there’s the lame puns (yes!), and there’s the collectors themselves.

At first I was a little bewildered at how many of them there were. Like, there can’t be that many serial killers active, can there? But I read an analysis on the storyline that made a lot of sense. The Corinthian has been wreaking havoc in his own twisted way for over a century, and as a living Nightmare he ended up infusing his own twisted dream into the world, inspiring dozens, if not hundreds. That’s actually pretty terrifying, to have so many monsters be brought together under his delusion.

And they were all here! We already met the Corinthian, Nimrod, Fun Land, and the Good Doctor, but there was Moon River! And there was the Connoisseur, though I definitely see why they cut out exactly what he specialized in. You see all of these deluded monsters strutting around, thinking themselves to be heroes, only to show the cracks in their own delusion, such as Fun Land’s childish outbursts to Nimrod’s evident annoyance at someone in the crowd making a mild joke. Like, these people are all incredibly emotionally stunted people, and for as much fun as bringing them all together definitely was, the show also showed just how pathetic they are.

And, okay, the panels! They kept the panels! I am so happy with how they did it, too! Having Gilbert wander around from one panel to the next was comedy gold! My favorite is the Women’s panel, where Gilbert is just nodding along in agreement to the rant about women not being taken seriously, only for him to go, “Hey, wait a minute…” That was great. Though I admit I do prefer my own take on how the Hammer of God sounds, as I always pictured him having this droning Reverend Lovejoy with a Texan accent voice, but it was still fantastic.

And yup! There’s the serial-killer fanboy pretending to be the Boogeyman, complete with his blog! If ever having someone victimized by these people was well-deserved, it was this guy!

There were a couple of changes that I wasn’t too keen on. For one, they cut out Gilbert’s telling of Red Riding Hood, which did play very well into the Fun Land stuff later, especially given his big wolf shirt. Also, I do prefer the seedy Bate’s Motel-look from the comics instead of the swanky Four Seasons here, but those are very minor complaints in the grand scheme of things.

And finally, having the Corinthian just kill Fun Land was an improvement, because while there was something weirdly poetic with how Dream neutralized him, this guy is a child murderer! I’m sorry, but if anyone doesn’t deserve any sort of redemption, it’s him!

All right, almost done here. I truly hope we get a second season. Please, Netflix, don’t Dark Crystal this one!

#the sandman #neil gaiman #dream of the endless #rose walker #jed walker #lyta hall #hector hall #cereal convention #nimrod #fun land #gilbert #netflix #the collectors #review #Youtube

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sainnie · 1 year

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I. About her.

Name: Saira Adelaine Zephyra.

Age: 20+

Pronouns: Any pronouns.

Zodiac: Cancer.

MBTI Cognitive: INFJ-T.

Falls in sexual spectrum: Unlabeled.

Face claims: Danielle NWJNS, Isa STAYC, Giselle AESPA, Yunjin LSRFM, Power CSM, Fischl and Sucrose GENSHIN.

Others: Hanni and Hyein NWJNS, Sumin STAYC, Chaeyoung TWICE, Hutao, Nana, Alice Knox, Lucy Kaneshiro, Fem! Venti.

You might come across a faraway land and find her, sitting by the dock with pencil and drawing book on her hands. A proclaimed artist that loves to paint tranquil scenes or ambience, draw funny/inanimate objects, and many types of art. She is an art student, not a prodigy so she obtains and enhances her skill by devoting herself to an art school and she is currently in her twenties. She enjoys classic movies, iconic memes, and ungodly humor. Doing feminine things is also what she’s good at.

As a lover, the artist named Saira, gets excited over little things that her lover does. She throws daily mundane or not-so theoretical questions because she has a very big will to know everything and anything about her lover, the world, and scapes. Not only an artist, she’s also a wordsmith in which she laces heart-felting for her lover and gives them all the special treatment they need. Plus, she’s always down to do fun stuff you want to do together with her, no hesitances needed when you want to request her to accompany you working/doing something you’re delighted to execute. Then, because she is irresistibly touchy, she loves to give you hugs, head pats, or gentle kisses (there is no in between!). To conclude, she possesses WOA, AOS, and PT as her three main love languages.

She finds herself capable in understanding her lover’s emotions, she’s witty and quick to tell jokes or act funny around her loved ones. Once she’s comfortable with you, she will be a little too shy to express i love you ‘s so she instead speaks in sarcasm although she doesn’t really mean it. Her love has no limit, she’s down to any kind of tropes: may it be love-hate or lovey-dovey. But, she draws the line to toxic relationships.

The animal that describes her best when she spreads affection to her partner is a bunny! Giddy, can’t seat still, fierce, cuddly, and warm. She is a loving person who takes care her lover the best and tries hard to give her lover the love they deserve to receive. Of course, let’s not forget what she loves to receive from her partner. Sai is someone who will cherish and forever keep in heart her lover’s gift (it takes in any kind of form, she doesn’t mind). Love letters, sketches, flowers, and more adorable slash romantic things are remarkable in her view. Next, she loves spending her leisure time with her lover even when they don’t have any plans to do or whatsoever. “It’s lovely how we cherish each other’s presence through silence and nothings. As long as you’re with me, I’ll still be merry,” she quoted. Lastly, because she agrees to the idea of her having a sensitive heart, words would affect her best. Specifically, when it’s moving for her. Henceforth, what she loves to gain from her partner are RG, QT, and WOA.

Her role as a sister or as a warm friend is much more flexible and adjustable. Just like what girls do towards her friends, specifically her closest ones and her loved ones, she will compliment/ hype them a lot. She is not afraid in telling what’s good or bad for her friends (she can be quite blantant) and she loves to give advices too. she doesn’t sugarcoat very much, but if her sister or girl friend needs it conveyed sweet, she will be extra careful to not hurt the other party’s feelings. Of course, what else does a girl like if not to sin? Saira is the type of friend who enjoys gossiping while she picks an outfit for her friends or recommends good store to thrift/buy an outfit for a pal. She is down to smoke, chill while drinking, and perhaps strolling around the city? Thanks to her capability in comforting someone and observant personality, she’s easy to adapt and quick to study a friend’s personality.

She doesn’t mind with cat fights, especially it often occurs between siblings regardless of their gender. Love-hate relationships between siblings is what she is good at, additionally because her natural tendency is to pick on her siblings and act goofy around them. As a friend, she can also do the same but will be more laidback.

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tillidontneedfantasy · 2 years

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‘emails i can’t send’ - Sabrina Carpenter REVIEW: a star’s stream of consciousness

On Sabrina Carpenter’s fifth studio album, emails i can’t send, the former Disney star has a variety of songs where she deftly balances between taking and not taking herself seriously. She knows how to have fun but does not shy away from discomfort. While the album has a handful of great pop tracks, her sound is confused, feeling more like a copy of its influences rather than a byproduct.

STRONGEST TRACK(S): “emails I can’t send,” “Tornado Warnings”

Carpenter is at her best when she is writing confessionally. “emails i can’t send,” the opening and titular track, is a short song about how her father’s infidelity has negatively impacted her ability to trust and feel secure in her relationships with men. Many people can relate to such an experience, and is a profound way to begin an album about relationships and honesty.

Part of that honesty is admitting dishonesty. On “Tornado Warnings,” she reflects on why she might be lying to her therapist. When you tell your therapist something, you’re in tandem being forced to face it yourself, to acknowledge your own feelings and mistakes, which she is not yet able to do with this relationship. “I deserve an hour in a week to focus on my thoughts / not so obsessed with yours, I can’t hear myself speak,” she sings, showing how much he’s infiltrating her safe space, and yet, she likes it. The stream of consciousness of both of these songs feel like a therapy session, which is why they work so strongly here. Maybe she lied to her therapist, but at least she’s being truthful with the listener.

WEAKEST TRACK: “how many things”

The first lyric of this song is, “You used a fork once / it turns out forks are fucking everywhere.” I mean, enough said, right? She could’ve used literally any other object and maybe it would’ve worked. While the sentiment she is trying to portray makes sense in theory, it just doesn’t land at all, and feels like false profundity.

THE IN-BETWEENS

Another song where Sabrina’s execution of an idea doesn’t work as intended is on “skinny dipping,” where the stylistic choice of the verses was clearly meant to feel conversational and bring something unique to the track, but just feels bland and out of place in comparison to the rest of the song, which does work quite well and has a lovely ache to it. Otherwise, the album has a good number of appealing songs, where influences such as Ariana Grande, Billie Eilish, and Kacey Musgraves stand out on upbeat tracks like “bet u wanna” and “Already Over.” Her two latest singles, “Vicious” (which sounds almost identical to Selena Gomez’s “Bad Liar”) and “because i liked a boy,” are both strong songs that address her previous relationship with actor and singer-songwriter Joshua Bassett, and the fallout of the public painting an unkind picture of them as a result of the passionate response to Olivia Rodrigo’s Grammy-winning Sour album (most of which is presumedly about Bassett, making Carpenter the “blonde girl” mentioned in the smash hit “drivers license.”) The latter explores how internet culture and the power of anonymity can negatively impact someone so, sending people death threats because of a narrative they want to create for their entertainment. The entertainment of music shouldn’t be picking apart the supposed subjects of a song, but rather relating to its content and immersing in the feeling instead of projecting onto strangers. The conviction in Sabrina’s voice as she sings “now I’m a home wrecker, I’m a slut” exemplifies her ability to overcome the situation by taking her power and voice back (in a much more effective way than her attempted 2021 single “Skin”).

BEST PROSPECTIVE SINGLE: “Nonsense”

“Nonsense” acts as both one of the strongest songs on the album and one of the least original. The track feels like a direct cut from Ariana Grande’s 2020 album positions; even her vocal tone and techniques imitate that of the superstar almost perfectly. If I don’t think too much about it, I think I’m listening to Ariana. All that being said, perhaps that’s why the song works so well. It is fun and infectious and would do really well on pop radio. And when she cleverly sings, “When you got your arms around me / Oh it feels so good I had to jump the octave,” it truly does feel so good.

***

emails i can’t send is perhaps Carpenter’s most vulnerable project to date. The closing track “decode” is a nice bookend to the title track, the need not to leave a single stone unturned engrained in her by her father’s betrayal, has her racking her brain to decode every little thing that remains in the ashes of this relationship. But finally, “there’s nothing left here to decode,” she concludes. And with everything in the emails she can’t send that she’s published in these songs, there’s nothing left for us to decode either. Grade: 3/5

DISCLAIMER - REVIEWER’S BIAS: I’ve known who Sabrina is since the ill-fated Girl Meets World, of which she was the true breakout star, and have been rooting for her on the sidelines since. I think she is a very talented young woman who did not deserve the internet’s vitriol towards her last year, and has done a better job at addressing it this time through this album as opposed to what she tried to do with “Skin.” Overall, she has great vocal ability and you can see she has the songwriting chops there, but despite this being her 5th album I feel like she still has yet to discover her own true sound. It feels like a lot of borrowing, which of course, all music is to an extent, but not in a way where I feel like I could identify like, “Oh, that sounds like a Sabrina Carpenter song.” I think the more she practices and continues to write the closer she’ll get to finding it.

#sabrina carpenter #emails i can't send #skinny dipping #vicious #because i liked a boy #already over #tornado warnings #read your mind #how many things #bet u wanna #nonsense #fast times #bad for business #decode

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adelle-ein · 1 year

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going to start posting wips here instead of twt. i want to draw more group scenes and backgrounds and just generally be more ambitious, even though my main focus is and always has been improving how my people look i wanna get better at everything. this is an idea i thought of for an anniversary drawing and i decided to just go ahead and do it now

also soft-painting-small looks bad at big sizes huh maybe that's. why it's named that (i don't have a go-to sketch/line brush in krita i just keep trying different things)

anyway i used csp more again in the last month bc a) i had a new ssd and Could b) still adapting to krita and it was stressing me out and i was trying to improve my anatomy and struggling bc learning to use krita was slowing me down. but being reminded of how much celsys sucks and how i need to not rely on csp sticking around made me start working on adjusting to krita again

thoughts on that below the cut (rambly and definitely not of interest to anyone who isn't also extremely interested in digital art programs)

like i said my main motivation in making the switch: celsys sucks and is untrustworthy. krita's excellent filter variety and way way better brush engines and amazing paintbrushes are huge incentives also though and i think given time and money and support it could easily outdo csp.

csp has so many impressively flashy features that i just...did not use or find useful in application. like the 3d models - couldn't get them working at all on my old computer and then when i could on this one...they're hard to pose, finicky, don't look as good as similar modeling programs, etc etc...i just did not end up using them much and when i did i didn't really know how and they often made things look worse. really they were only good for doing like. fashion poses for outfit design when i didn't want to spend time on the anatomy. vector brushes didn't work for me at all and just made my lineart look really stiff and uglier than ever (and then i decided to ditch lineart altogether which. smart move i think bc it is not my friend.) basically csp has loads of what look like incredible time saving features on its homepage etc, and then in actual execution i didn't really find any of them practical to use. *paul hollywood voice* all style no substance

ANYWAY all of that being said the only things i really miss from csp are the one click export buttons, the change layer to drawing color button, and finally and most of all just the general performance and practicality of it. csp is designed for a reasonable newbie to pick up and use. not quite as much so as like sai or medibang but pretty accessible. krita is just. not. at all. probably the hardest of these programs to learn from a technical standpoint. it just has SO MUCH and is generally made by and for people with above average tech skills which can make it more confusing. like the way layers and groups work is fundamentally different from the common, accepted way ps/csp/sai/everybody uses. and sure maybe alpha inherit is technically Better than clipping masks but it also makes things more challenging and less accessible. very linux design yknow. it is harder to just open krita up and Use It without looking up how to do specific things, it is harder to get away without reading documentation and watching youtube tutorials and memorizing keyboard shortcuts, you need to know how layers work and how to cut down memory usage in a file, basically you can't cut corners in learning krita like you can with similar programs (esp if you are like me and have been playing in said programs since you were. maybe 4)

and of course all that being said krita is a small dev team making an open source free product, whereas celsys adobe etc have massive teams and $$$ at their disposal so of course it is not apples to oranges and this is not a criticism of the krita foundation, just that it makes the product harder to learn and use and i get why people are turned off by that. i'm turned off by it! and all this hinges on your pc even running krita because it is more demanding than most (in most cases i've seen at least. definitely seen some people say they have issues with csp and can run krita, computers weird.) but it sucks that a few features are prone to issues no matter what. as cool and intriguing as so many of the features are...gmic plugin is crashy and liquify tool just lags to the point it's unusable. :(

but i don't want to end on a negative note and make it sound like i hate krita, krita's great, it's just never felt quite as natural as sai and csp have in the past so that makes things more uphill with it. but i'm trying. and trying to get over my Very Bad Social Anxiety to post on krita-artists and ask for help from *shudders* Knowledgeable Strangers when i don't understand things

anyway uhhh krita is hard and art is hard but i think it'll be worth it and also fuck celsys

#txt #lacewip #looking at this now seth's face is Wonky #i will work on that #no matter how i draw him elvis's head always feels weird

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veinsfullofstars · 2 months

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So, I got to experience Kirby & the Amazing Mirror recently, and, while I wouldn't call it an absolute favorite, there's a lot about it that I find fascinating - the non-linear Metroidvania-eqsue design of the levels (unique for the series), the subtle hints of worldbuilding in the background art (gorgeous, btw), the introduction of one of my current favorite characters in the series (*meme-points at DMK in the distance*), the music (but that’s a given), etc. In many ways, it feels quite standout from other games in the series up to that point… though, in many others, it feels like it could've used something more, y'know? There’s a sense of underutilization in places, a repetitiveness in all the backtracking and boss encounters, even an emptiness to this strange new world we’re exploring. I'm wondering what might've been done to make the game feel more full and vibrant, to give the player more of a sense of curiosity as they explore and run around.

Now, I’m not a game designer by any means, and I have no idea if any of what I’m about to propose would be practical in either execution or the time frame the original dev team had to work with, but… it’s just fun to conceptualize sometimes, y’know? We’re playing in the space, flexing those “what if” muscles. Besides, you never know what it might spark in someone who could make something like this a reality. And, there’s little I love more than inspiring creativity.

So, hear me out (and warning for full game spoilers for KatAM and minor spoilers for the Kirby series as a whole).

Progressive Copy Abilities: So, like I said, the world is very Metroidvania-inspired in structure, right? Lots of winding corridors, interconnected paths, and secret areas, with an emphasis on backtracking to reach new places. What if the game also had a kind of progressive upgrade system used in conjunction with that structure, where you search for and acquire “keys” that open up new areas and grant access to even more abilities? It could take the place of the Spray Paint collectable, giving it more purpose beyond just cosmetics and more incentive for the player to actually seek them out and use them in the overworld. We’ve already seen something like this before in the form of Deluxe Copy Abilities from KSS, where Kirby cannot gain abilities from enemies but must instead find them hidden throughout the levels, able to switch between them at will once acquired. In KatAM, this could make backtracking feel more interesting by giving the player something they’d want to return to, wondering what secrets might lie behind ability-locked zones (similar to K64, though without the worry of losing a certain ability and having to leave the level to get it back thanks to permanent upgrades). It could also get the player to utilize the four Kirbys in more creative ways throughout the world, giving each one a specific ability and using different combinations of them to solve puzzles, bypass barriers, or defeat bosses. You could even tie the reason for this change in mechanics into the worldbuilding. For example, maybe the magical properties of the Mirror World differ to those of Popstar, affecting or even nullifying Kirby’s own inherent abilities as a result (think KatFL’s Mouthful Mode, KCC’s Kirby Ball mode, or even the scrapped Kagero Mansion concept from KSS), or maybe it could be a more significant way to show how DMK separating Kirby into four has diminished his powers, effectively “Metroiding” him as it were.

Amateur Cartography: The maps in KatAM are very big and very simplistic. It can be hard to find one’s way around all those convoluted branches and segments to get to the next area or secret. The ability to take notes in some way would be a great help. Due to hardware limitations, it might not be as intuitive as, say, The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass where you can actually write on the maps, but just the option to add things like colored pins or symbol stamps as little reminders to return to points of interest would be of great help (not to mention reduce time spent needlessly running around in circles trying to find one specific room).

Counterpart Characterization: I personally like the limited cutscenes and lack of dialogue in KatAM, as it allows story to be conveyed more though what the player observes and intuits rather than what they are told is occurring. That said, I wish we got to see more of that in character moments. Despite their prominence in the opening and ending narrations, both Shadow Kirby and Dark Meta Knight appear very rarely throughout the main bulk of the game outside of brief glimpses in the overworld or in late-game boss battles respectively, giving us very little to go on as to their personalities and their roles in the world they reside in. (Not to say there’s nothing there; we’ve seen SK’s timid nature in how he hides and runs from the Kirbys, and that - though mischievous - he still seems to want to help by the food items he drops; we’ve also seen DMK’s penchant for dishonor and subterfuge in disguising himself as Meta Knight. Just a little bit of animation flourish to convey so much about them, even if it’s only implied.) Now imagine if the player could stumble upon them more throughout their travels, perhaps glimpsing them between screen transitions or wandering about in inaccessible places (think the Batamon from KDL3 or the SA-X from Metroid Fusion). What if we observe them attending to their own tasks alongside our heroes - idling, searching, spying on the Kirbys, or even interacting with enemies or each other? What if DMK makes more attempts to hinder the Kirbys in the overworld, blocking pathways with Copy Ability locks or mini-bosses? What if SK does more to help the Kirbys the further into their journey they go (his own skepticism of the newcomers softening as he sees them actually trying to help)?

Worldbuilding: Like most worlds portrayed in Kirby games, the Mirror World is vast and diverse, not unlike the lighter world it reflects. There’s already a lot of very good subtle worldbuilding in the background art and level design of KatAM - like the strange labs under Moonlight Mansion, the sunken ship at the bottom of Olive Ocean, the decrepit basement under Carrot Castle, etc. - but it all feels a bit… underdeveloped. Not very indicative of either what this world was like before Dark Mind’s invasion (claimed to be “peaceful” in the opening cutscene but not much else) or how his corruption is actually affecting it. Maybe I’m spoiled by newer games like KatFL going out of their way to flesh out their lore, but I just wish there were more thematic elements shared between locations for players to pick up on, especially given how connected everything is vis-à-vis the Mirror Doors. I want to know more about this place, how it differs from Popstar, how its denizens thrive and survive within it, even how SK and DMK - supposedly created by the Dimension Mirror itself not long after its corruption - view it in their roles as possibly opposing guardians.

Boss/Mini-Boss Battles: This is more of a personal gripe, but I’ve never been a huge fan of repeat boss encounters. I understand the reasons for them existing - work smarter, not harder being one of them, I imagine - but it’s hard to miss the way it diminishes the impact of the fight when it’s the same Mr. Frosty or Batafire in different locations. In my onion, a boss fight (even a mini one) should feel special, the build-up to reach them tense and exciting, the actual battle unique from others the player has faced before. It could be as simple as removing extra mini-bosses and condensing the area rather than padding the game out with too many. Or you could give the extra ones palette swaps designed to fit the areas they’re found in (possibly even changing their typing as well). Or you could even include an additional element or mechanic to the battle itself to keep things interesting (like how Master Hand becomes Master Hand & Crazy Hand in the second encounter). And, to add with the previous paragraph about worldbuilding, perhaps bosses could be made even more unique by having the mirror shards they guard corrupt them in some fashion, their sprite work visibly altered (a dark aura? a reflective sheen? pieces of mirror floating around them?), their attacks and expressions more aggressive until you defeat them.

Meta Knightmare Reflected: Now, this might be a bit of a stretch, but - having played through the Magolor Epilogue - I can’t help but wonder what a KatAM side-mode featuring Meta Knight might be like. Perhaps it could take place inside the shattered Dimension Mirror parallel to events of the main game (think Meta Knightmare from KNiDL or Meta Knightmare Returns from KPR, except this could feasibly occur within canon). It could feature shorter runs through similar/remixed levels from the main game (like in the final chase sequence where the Kirbys run through single rooms from different parts of the Mirror World to get to Dark Mind) with a higher difficulty and a more chaotic structure due to Dark Mind’s corruption and the Mirror’s broken state. Not only would this give him a little more agency and characterization while he’s in “fridged” mode, but this could also be a good way to explain how MK acquired Master when he was supposedly trapped, adding a goal alongside simply trying to find a way out of the Mirror. He could even encounter DMK while he’s in there for even more drama and characterization, the knight and his dark doppelgänger locked in a tense battle for his freedom and the safety of the Mirror World.

Phew, okay, I think that’s about all I’ve got. Did that all make sense? It came from a very stream-of-consciousness-y place, so I hope I managed to sort it into something at least a little coherent. Again, this might all be impractical or slapdash or against the point of the original game, but I haven’t really been able to stop thinking about it since I finished it and needed to get the thoughts out somewhere. I dunno, what do you guys think? Anything you would add to this list? Or anything you would change? Or do you like KatAM just fine as is? Feel free to discuss, I’d love to hear what you all have to say on the matter.

#veins rambles #veins in dream land #kirby series #kirby #kirby & the amazing mirror #KatAM #K&tAM #game design #game concepting #(by someone who is chronically *not* a game designer)#headcanon

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wtfcraigslistnyc · 4 months

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THE LOST GOLDEN SKULL

I was asked recently what became of the skull of my friend and mentor, LANCE DE LOS REYES.

For context. Lance was a modern American artist who worked in many mediums. These would include; canvas, assemblage, sculpture, poetry and graffiti that was often painted in very dangerous and high exposure surfaces such as billboards.

He became very well known for writing RAMBO and was even interviewed by VICE magazine about his relationship to his alter ego. In the piece he simply stated that he knew him but that he was most certainly not him. The interviewer really tried to play into the graffiti culture trop of shine and recognition but ultimately what he was writing on the billboards was part of a much larger and more ambitious piece or art that he’d worked his entire life to construct.

The pinnacle of his masterpiece was something I was told he had been talking about for over 20 years. I’m unclear on when and how he came to this idea but it was something he was very vocal about explaining in detail to anyone who could endure what he described.

The idea itself was simple.

Lance would have all of his teeth completely cast in solid GOLD and then have all of his teeth removed and replaced with brand new SOLID GOLD TEETH. He would then create a living will like document in which he would sell his GOLD TOOTH SKULL proprietary to art titan DAMIEN HURST for $1,000,000. This was to be his most ambitious work as it would require actual physical suffering, anxiety, trauma, planning and a very long and painful healing process once the teeth had been successfully implanted into his skull.

Many people who I’ve met have shared that they too knew of the skull project and that it was a THING that really separated the BELIEVERS from the NAYSAYERS. Just the reaction that would generated from explaining his idea has a pretty visceral reaction from most people. I don’t think that the IF IT’S NOT BROKE, DON’T FIX IT mind that many of us adhere to on a really basic level would never, EVER include modifying one’s TEETH to create a piece of art that would rip a hole in time and space by the pure intent of effort expended in doing so.

At the point in the yarn when I explain that he did actually find the financial backer to support his vision and allow him to TRANSFORM into the piece of LIVING ART that he reached at with a full heart from his first breath to his last. Most people do not believe that this is a thing that actually happened and that his face is one the cover of a magazine, stretched into a contorted, clinical grimace to proclaim without any uncertainty that he had indeed executed the most brutal show of devotion to one’s own artistic vision and mission.

The last time I saw Lance alive, I picked him up on Hester street in Chinatown in WOOF, MCODY’s HONDA CIVIC. We had worked very hard over the course of several weeks on a series of drawings and videos that accompanied them as they were produced. All of the work was created and bounced back and forth between us, while I was on holiday with my kids. It’s ironic as the very first piece I made for him was made entirely in the passenger seat of a rental car driving to MONTAUK.

After I returned from holiday we met up and I drove him to pick up a rental car from JFK, so he could go to the HAMPTONS for a two week artist residency. He has completed replacing 60% of his teeth at that point in August of 2019. He had intended to return to paint his first billboard in many years and paint an actual image on the board instead of invocational words. But he fell from the ladder many stories when his hand slipped out of a glove.

He explained how the ritual of getting up on the board works. I will not explain this. But will say that he had a process and something must have been a miss when he approached this particular billboard. There’s so many variables and we all are careening through time and space in utter oblivion of the chaos that swirls around us. Just no the other side of every choice. He fell what he said was over 50 feet. There’s no way of knowing and he lived after shattering his pelvis from the fall.

He had only been out of the hospital a few weeks when I picked him up in CHINATOWN.

I jumped out of the car and helped him down the stairs trying to shoulder as much of his weight as I could. He seemed pretty solid but also was obviously in a ton of extreme pain from his shattered pelvis (which CANNOT be cast) and his mouth full of throbbing gums with shiny GOLD TEETH gleaming out. We made our way to the car and I helped him in. Right away he told me to drive chill because he knew that I was an agro person. So we drove the 90 or so minutes through traffic chatting and planning his pop up with CHAMPION that was launching that fall. He had been waiting on this capsule partnership for a while to give him some much needed footing and passive income.

We intentionally tried to keep it light though as MCODY was in the car with us and we were both like little kids, so happy to see each other and high five on all the hard work we put in on the 100 SKETCH project we busted out a couple weeks before. I think about that day a lot and what he said. We spoke on the phone a few more times but it would just happen in 2021 when I saw it pop up on INSTAGRAM..

I knew he finished and had let him know I was proud of him. He was always cycling in and out of circles of people and would also go into super hiding and just make for marathon periods.

At his wake I heard some kids mumble something about the skull and tried to put it out of my mind. I didn’t want to speak at all because I was really thankful to have worked with him and I didn’t need any of these people to know who I was or what we did together. I introduced myself to BAILEY, the guy he did some video stuff with after me. He was really cool and it felt super healing to have a couple minutes with him.

I spoke with ANNA, his widow at the wake and was able to give ROMAN his son a hug. It meant alot to her that I came. I was glad and did my best to show her eyes how sorry I was so she could keep doing her best. I really respect her so much and have always tried to be a positive force.

I was too broken inside to be present with my brother who was at the wake who introduced us. I knew what would happen and how horrible I would fall apart, so I just shuffled off. It was something that I feel really ashamed of because I could see him just feet away from me in such pain as I spoke with her. I didn’t have it in me be present for him. In a strange way, I know that he and Lance would have completely understood how much it hurt and why it would have made it worse for us both. We left and had some of the best drinks of my life at the NANCY WHISKEY on LISPENARD and AVE OF THE AMERICA’s, up the street from the CANADA gallery where the wake happened. It was a brutally cold and crisp winter day. Perfect weather to cuddle in the pub with GUINNESS and POWERS neat over several hours of reflection and laughter with MCODY. It was the place

I would have had a wake for my DAD if that had been possible.

We drank to Lance and his life. To the art that he gave to us and his character that would always leave a lasting tree with roots growing from the base of our souls. We felt the warm embrace of the weathered wooden shanty that sat atop the kitchen in a precarious treehouse of booze, nestled on top of the train in TRIBECA.

What is the value of art?

What is the value of life?

What is the cost of possession?

Lance did not ask these questions.

He replaced the teeth in his head with GOLD TEETH. It’s unknown if he sold his skull.

It doesn’t matter to me. I miss my friend desperately and live in a shadow that his greatness commands from me. Because he looked me in the eye and told me that I was a great artist. That this life would command huge sacrifice and demand everything that we have to give. But our children must see us live as men who do not follow the lamb to the blade but charge off into the heather to live free. ART is WAR. It is not something that is simple, easy or a straight line. Many humans I know learn to master their own hearts at a young age and follow a very prosperous path into a glorious kingdom of their own making. Others succumb to the forces of context that summon the demons who take them back to the other side. We always try our best to never quit on them ever but know that every day and breath we have with them is precious.

That is not the path for people like myself and Lance. We are born into a context and survive the many trials and choices we are presented with. The approach is zealous and driven by something utterly SUBLIME. The quest to create and actually TRANSFORM ourselves is paramount to the degree and magnitude to which the work is capable. At its core, the work has to confront the DOGMA that we see and present a force opposing it. This doesn’t need to be violent, destructive or scary. But sadly, the process for people like us to move our human frames through the fabric of time and space with all the collateral synchronicities elapsing and collapsing upon each other.

If we are to live in the form that we choose, we live and become the art we define.

KNOW GODS JUST WORK

The price of the GOLD SKULL is a debt that is never ever paid. The people who love him the most will always keep paying for this piece of work, because we cared for him so much and wanted him to live so badly.

It doesn't matter at all where that physical object is. What would it matter if a person possessed it?

What function does it really provide to a person that allows them to accomplish or achieve anything? The art world is built upon a foundation of value that is purely intrinsic.

To the person who could or would possess the GOLD SKULL of RAMBO, would the $1,000,000 or 1,000,000,000 really be any kind of currency in relation to what the GOLD SKULL is?

All the wealth in the world cannot possess the GOLD SKULL because the force that created it appeared for a time in a human form and then returned to the universe transformed into another.

The pain that grows and changes into the art we allow it to become is the GOLD SKULL.

THE BONES OF THE MASTER ARE NOT FOR SALE

1.19.24

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ARCHIVAL RELEVANCE

(Roller skater with large works)

https://www.tumblr.com/trascapades/654086318632091648/artisaweapon-newexhibit-lance-de-los-reyes

VICE

https://www.vice.com/en/article/4w7ppb/the-cryptic-billboard-messages-all-over-nyc-explained-1101

#lance de los reyes #ripRAMBO #uziego #nyc #savagesneversleep #modern American artist #nycartist #graffiti artist #fine artist #poet #father #husband #brother #KNOWgodsJUSTwork

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