#Main Features of Perpetual Futures | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iceunhie · 1 year ago

Text

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ⊹ unexpected development ! ꒱ ˎˊ˗

summary ⁠☆ you get transported into your favorite otome game’s world as a shitty side character with a raging death flag. you try to prevent your inevitable destruction... but it doesn't go according to plan as much as you'd hope.

notes ☆ of course it's another scaramouche fic except this time it's plot is manhwa inspired

“This trashy game!” you curse, watching the pitch black GAME OVER screen linger in your phone. Happy music plays despite the current cg of your character at the hands of the tyrant character slash love interest Scaramouche. You sigh, tapping on the back button. “I was so close to completing his route… stupid, stupid game, ugh…”

Teyvat’s Seven Stars was a new otome game that you'd tried out for fun, bored out of your mind. The amazing art and soundtrack garnered your interest, not to mention the male leads were totally your type!

It had an array of tropes and spared no expense of flowery scenes and fanservicey excerpts that made you play despite its massive cashgrab feature. Heart fluttering near death scenes! Action packed romantic scenes with the main characters! It was consuming you and you loved it.

Even if the Scaramouche route was testing your patience.

You get that he was the most difficult to conquer out of all of them, but really, one! wrong! move! ….and an immediate gameover. Life sucks when he's your favorite character, and when your favorite character was notoriously known for having a horrid and difficult complete clear route that no one has completed yet, of course you needed to complete it, no matter what!

Damn it, now you've run out of love points to restart another run. Fuck you, system! Stupid trashy money grabbing game! You put down your phone, closing it. An immediate heavy weight settles on your shoulders, making you feel sleepy as you clutch your phone to bed.

Tomorrow… you'll complete his route for sure…

[ TEYVAT’S SEVEN STARS SYSTEM ACTIVATED! RUNNING GAME FILE NOW ]

Ah. You should've known what was coming.

—

[ CHARACTER FILE: [NAME] [LAST NAME] - CROWN PRINCE KUNIKUZUSHI’S BETROTHED! ]

What the fuck.

You think you've lost feeling in your jaw when the glare of the system shines bright, mocking you.

“[Name], you're awake!” You turn to the sound, and you face probably the most beautiful person you've ever seen. No, what the hell. You've seen him before.

Beautiful silky dark hair, glossy electric indigo eyes, a perpetual aura of ethereal lightness…. the game descriptions weren't lying after all. yes, you weren't dreaming. This was Scaramouche, or should you say at this point in time… Kunikuzushi?

He immediately clings to you. Oh. Oh. Well fuck. “I… uh.”

Scara- ahem, Kunikuzushi’s eyes are littered with tears and oh no you're a weak hearted person for your favorite character. “I'm so glad you're okay! I'm sorry, my mother- I mean, I'm so glad you're okay.”

The rest of the moments is a blur when your… fiance? betrothed? fills you in on what happened. Your mind is fuzzy and you can only piece together just a rough summary of what point in the game you're in.

So, you are currently three years early from the main story. Unfortunately, you are not either of the main protagonists Lumine or Aether. No, the system apparently hates you for being a hater and gave you the most egregious role.

A side character. A side character who barely even appears in the story, left to be trampled on by the story's plot. What's more, you're in the timeline wherein the current Kunikuzushi doesn't take the name Scaramouche because his Mother, the lone Queen Raiden Ei left him when he could not pass the Inazuma kingdom’s test to be worthy of the gnosis.

He took the name Scaramouche after being trained by the shady organization known as the Fatui, the main villainous force in the game and usurped his mother. In other words, a blackened tyrant character!

...And you were the betrothed his mother set for him - executed in the future because he didn't want any trace of Ei’s influence. Amazing.

The future Kunikuzushi would be an arrogant, tsundere and soft-for-only-one-person type of character, but now, he was like a gentle, tucked away from the world young prince.

Wait…. wasn’t he also gullible before?! Very cute, but it's no wonder he blackened so quickly with such a naive personality!

You, well, technically, the character [Name] [Last Name] ended up in this situation after they threatened to leave Kunikuzushi because he was far too fragile for their taste. A side character who’d contributed to Scaramouche’s blackening and paid for it with their life. That was who you were.

Okay, now you pity this boy a lot. He already had a traumatic childhood with Ei not giving him enough love and therefore a plethora of issues, and he'd even end up being a crazy tyrant who stopped at nothing to get the main protagonist in his grasp! For your death flag not to happen, you HAD to do something about that.

You had no choice.

To survive this horrendous fate, you came up with a plan. And that would be Plan give-kunikuzushi-all-the-love-in-the-word-before-he-meets-the-protagonist-and-turn-into-a-blackened-dark-tyrant!

Okay, lengthy plan, but to plan ahead is to be smart, so you can take care of the name later.

—

So far so good, this plan of yours. Plan get-kunikuzushi-to-turn-into-a-sparkly-prince character and not his blackened self was going well! (You gave up on thinking of a cool name) Thank god for cliche romance novels.

So far, you've increased your proximity to him, including him to spend time with you, showering him with bouts of affection and care. And so far, it's been paying off. The once secluded Prince has become so cute and so sweet!

You have to pat yourself on the back for this. You were doing the protagonist a huge favor that now they had a wonderful love interest in their sights for future reference.

Although, if there was one nitpick you had on your conduct, it would be the fact that Kunikuzushi didn't take kindly to others aside from you, and would even be panicked, utterly devastated if you even brought up the mere mention of leaving.

“Break… our engagement in the future?” if it weren't for him looking shell-shocked and deathly pale, the furrow on Kunikuzushi’s face would've been cute. “No! I don't want that! You aren't planning to leave me, are you?”

He gives you the most horrendous god kneeling look of a plea, and of course you drop the subject immediately.

“It was a joke, of course. I'd never want to break our engagement!” you hurriedly reassure, gently taking his hands in yours.

Kunikuzushi looks at you, all puppy eyes and pink cheeks. So cute. Who wouldn't want to stay by his side? You reassure him, “Whatever happens, I'll always stay by your side, okay?”

He looks at your intertwined hands with an unreadable expression on his face. “Do you promise?”

You nod. “I promise, Kuni.”

He nods, gripping your hands tighter, and his expression rivals a blazing sun, brimming with conviction as he pulls you in for a huge hug.

And of course, who wouldn't turn down an opportunity to hug their favorite character?

Surely this time, you’ll definitely escape the death flag and horrendous side character ending, right?!

You don't notice the shadow on Kuni’s face when the mere mention of being separated from you comes up.

In the back of your mind, you wonder what would happen if your Kunikuzushi met the protagonist. Would he immediately fall for them? you wonder, and an uncharacteristic pang of discomfort tugs at your chest. Ah, what would it matter.

You smile at the gentle, pristine and kind Kunikuzushi that's currently excitedly telling you about how Ei praised his sword skills after he beat his younger sister. Even if the main protagonist would come here, you could keep this adorable Kunikuzushi for yourself for just a little longer.

You kiss his cheek, and he heats up. Yes, the future can wait for now.

How the hell did it come to this?

“You told me you'd always stay by my side, right?” a hand slicked with blood is resting on the side of your face. Electric indigo eyes, these ones now having a ruthless glint to them, stare up at your own. “I've removed everything else that can take you away from me. Now, you have no reason to leave.”

By remove, he meant the man who'd decided to make a move on you after you went to the gardens for some fresh air. Hence the blood on his hands and sword, hence the reason why there's a dead body by your feet.

The once adorable and fair-faced Kunikuzushi still turned into Scaramouche after all, and you failed to prevent his blackening. He was truly, undoubtedly the same game Scaramouche.

But… Why was he acting like this? Wasn't this the exclusive feature only the protagonist should be experiencing?

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then the back of your palm. You blush.

Yes, he is now an extremely dangerous individual capable of executing anyone he deems appropriate to just for the sake of it, and yes, this same man is kneeling before you as you're just about to leave after the main storyline cg act just started. And yes, like the protagonist, you should stay far, far away from him.

But could you really? When he was pleading you with such an expression of longing and yearning? He takes your hand to caress it to the side of his face, eyes haughty and grin unsettling, gosh was he so… so attractive, like that.

“You won't leave, right?” Why was he so…. so sweet? Why was this scene structured as if you were the one he wanted to be with, not the protagonist? “You promised me, after all.”

….And why on earth did your heart leap out of your chest when he said he wanted you to stay?

(It was hard to pretend you didn't know why when the smile on your face said otherwise.)

1.5k words, only the real ones know that ive been planning a cliche otome game au since day 1 I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED TO ME WHEN I WAS WRITING THIS FIC 😭 might turn this into a series if people like this though <3

@ MHIIEEE : do not repost, copy or plagiarize or claim my content or work as your own.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi x you #scaramouche drabble #kunikuzushi fluff #mhie's spirals #teyvat's seven stars ☆

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jolenes-doppelganger · 16 days ago

Note

ok official riza stavros request! riza x reader in her castle or whatever you want to call it. does it have to be smut? no. preferably

but idk…. i just feel like she has the same kind of sassy vibe as rose the hat. so maybe reader is a mib agent, going to capture riza or something she has (ig you could use the original story from the movie) and then they meet. and riza is a tease, flirt and lowkey a menace. would be kind of fun if she like grabs reader with that third arm, shocking reader.

anyway

🫡🫡🫡🫡

Time of MY Life

Riza’s Stavros x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lonely and caught up in conflict with the Men In Black, Riza finds herself going to desperate degrees to secure companionship. Manipulating the MiB was just the beginning…

Warnings: Contract marriage, mentions of genitalia but no smut

A/N: I tried to make this a smut fic, but I simply couldn’t get the momentum to do that while still making the one shot relatively size-appropriate. It's still cute, fluffy and with room for future one-shot spin offs!

Word Count: 4.7k

Intergalactic armistice between a Tribrachian weapon’s dealer and a long withstanding peace conduit of a remote solar system in the Milky Way should have been a simple, cursory endeavor. Few things were ever simple, or cursory when it came to weapons dealer Riza Stavros. Riza resented the Men in Black, loathed them and carried an eternal animosity that would not be settled by the promise of a ‘better commerce environment’. This wasn’t from previous history, or the tampering of trade in the past. Sure, they’d confiscated weapons, imposed intergalactic tariffs, and even overtly screwed with her business dealings, but that wasn’t why Riza refused to budge. Business was business, there were bound to be a few hiccups here and there. The straw that broke Riza’s arm-sprouting back was one simple negligence. The MIB had fucked with Riza’s love life.

Given the perpetual rivalries between species in the Virgo galaxy cluster, Riza always had business. Weapons were a hot commodity, and she spent every day selling, buying and distributing them wherever weapons were needed, assuming they were well compensated for. Being situated in the Milky Way galaxy had its perks, especially when her main business operation was situated on Earth. A beautiful climate, consistent access to communication lines, trade distribution centers and aliens aplenty kept Riza in a steady hum of both commercial and personal wellness. And if the Men in Black hadn’t removed her from her status as a ‘Red Level Threat’, she’d still be drowning in the luxuries of many, many lovers.

One feature the vast majority of intelligent beings inside the Virgo Cluster shared was the fascination for the ‘bad one’. A certain level of danger, a sultriness that only came from being connected to nothing good, that is what gave Riza her appeal. Eccentric fashion choices aside, three arms, a startlingly sexy accent, and a rough double life had kept her lovers enthralled. But being an Orange Class Threat? What a downgrade. Most aliens were flagged with a ‘yellow’, or minor misdemeanor at least once in their lifetimes. An orange was your average run of the mill criminal, and Riza had spent too long in this business to be considered ‘average.’

As the negotiation deals and unanswered calls began to pile up, the Men In Black grew desperate for a solution. They offered increasing levels of leniency in exchange for a simple, upfront answer from Riza regarding her connections to a particularly violent group of Tarantians. She wouldn’t budge. More weapons would be distributed amongst other gangs, each holding their own brand of oppressive disinterest in following the Men in Black’s regulations, and more chaos would ensue. Finally, after six months of no progress through digital means, a representative was sent right to Riza’s door.

A sweaty, beady eyed agent stood in Riza’s office, seeming to vibrate with anxiety. If it weren’t the pitying sight of such a puny, adrenaline-filled little imp of a man, Riza would’ve killed him before he stepped onto her porch. When she had finally set her eyes on the little agent, she felt… Amused. This was their plan? Personal contact?

“Eh… Ms… Ms. Stavros. I am here on behalf of the… The Men in Black. I am Agent B.” he choked, appearing to be visibly trembling.

“Relax. You’re an office worker, I can tell. That stun gun isn’t properly attached to your belt.” Riza hummed. “Now, what conditions are you offering?”

The little man seemed to seize up, astonished by her complete disregard for normal pleasantries. Adjusting his spectacles, Agent B pulled out a clipboard from his briefcase, beginning to read the offer. His voice shook as he read, a bead of sweat sliding right along the bridge of his nose, fascinating Riza.

“Following a small meeting with a former organization-designated associate of yours-”

“Just say Henry. Agent Henry.” Riza groaned, massaging her temple.

Agent B looked up, taking a long swallow. He’d tried to be subtle, and yet Riza remained stubbornly dismissive. Riza, for her part, didn’t care. She poured herself a large helping of whisky, not even feigning to offer the agent any.

“Well. Henry said that you were perhaps not upset by the business dealings, but upset with the organization for… Personal histories.”

Riza rolled her eyes in a long, fluid cascade, her lips pursed and upper lip pulled up in a haughty display of disgust. The little man’s information was correct, she was entirely consumed by the loss of her love life, but it wasn’t the loss of H that had done it.

“Sure, whatever. We’ll call it a grudge, I have a grudge against the Men in Black.” Riza drawled, taking a slow sip of whiskey in an effort to cool the rising tension in her stomach.

The little man nodded, one of his hands wavering as he turned a page. It would have been too easy for Riza to raise a gun and shoot. Truthfully she didn’t have much respect for humans, aside from how pleasurable they were in bed.

“We have an unconventional proposal for you.”

Riza’s silence was confirmation enough for Agent B to continue.

“Your fascination with human lovers is noted in our database. Following Agent H you dated four human females, all within rapid succession. We offer you… Committed companionship.”

A hoarse wheeze, what would have been a laugh if Riza hadn’t been so startled, clapped the assurance of safety Agent B had been working up to right out of his composure. The rapid trembling started anew, and the sweating, though it had been abating, returned.

“Well, well you see… I have these files… Potential ladies you’d be interested in meeting, to help the, well the stress of this ongoing armistice. I have the file right here.”

Riza slapped the file his trembling hand had been holding out of his grasp, snapping her fingers. Two large ‘yes’ men snagged the agent underneath his shoulders, dragging him out of her fortress. The madness that was Riza’s life had reached a level of abysmality that she couldn’t process. She finished the whiskey in a long gulp, pouring another immediately after re. Halfway into her pity fest, she walked back into her office to snag another bottle of wine, swaying a little from her previous consumption. A good night was about to turn into a better night when she slipped, falling butt first. Her third arm slapped against the ground and atop one of the scattered leaflets to break her fall, leaving her a shaking mess. Looking down and seeing what she’d slipped on, a new inebriated fury came over her. She snatched up the paper her third hand had found, preparing to crumple it.

A pretty human face greeted her, a simple color photo. It gave her pause. Perusing through the various leaflets, she took her time, examining each photo, skimming through the information on the women. Amidst all of the profiles, she saw a brief offer. A marriage contract to any of these women was offered in addition to several dates with all of them, if she was so inclined. It was absurd, blazingly pitiful, but she was lonely and sexually frustrated enough to want it. Especially when she saw the profile still hidden in the folder. Yes. That one. If Riza had a type, the woman in the picture fit it. And her personality description… It was enough to make her toes curl in delight. The flippant disinterest she’d had in the interview questions, the dismissive attitude peeking through her answers…

Riza liked her.

←→

Twenty five hundred thousand dollars in debt. That’s how much you had accumulated by skipping legal repatriation orders to return to Earth. The agent had made your situation clear, it was to be paid in full by the end of the month or legal action would be taken. You were a model, displaying looks for Chanel Galactica every year in rotating shows around the Milky Way. But even if you were a millionaire with galactic currency, the Men in Black was wealthy enough to smash the conversion rate into something abysmal, every one dollar the equivalent to six galactic credits.

“To put it simply, Ms. Radivayon,” Agent N began, using your clan’s name, “You won’t make enough money this month to cover this debt without accepting a secondary offer from the Men in Black.”

A secondary offer, a plea deal. It was common with the Men in Black to seek asylum under special circumstances, and yours was especially, being that you had fled from the Tarantian occupied TRAPPIST-1 system, completely ignoring the usual diplomatic steps of repatriating yourself to Earth. It had been that or… Death by terrorists.

“Alright, I was hoping we could make an agreement.” you smiled, adjusting your collarbones into something more elegant.

It was common to spend time dolling yourself up, and you knew your angles after half a decade in the business. Agent N seemed oblivious to these tactics, however.

“A key diplomatic arrangement with a particularly volatile Tribrachian has been continuously delayed by interpersonal conflicts. To put it simply, Ms. Radivayon, we were hoping with your connections to the TRAPPIST-1 system that you would be willing to fulfill a mission with the Men in Black.” Agent N said, delicately avoiding telling you too much too soon.

“… Which would be?”

“Riza Stavros. Intergalactic weapons dealer.” Agent N said, turning his computer monitor to show you her picture.

Her face was familiar, and you tilted your head, curious. But then you processed the second half of his sentence. Weapon’s dealer, intergalactic. This woman wasn’t just a criminal, but a monster ten times over. She was supplying the terrorists that had attacked your system, and he was… Asking you to do what?

“She likes pretty things,” Agent N gestured to you, “Is easily swayed by them. We would like you to entertain her for a period of weeks, perhaps elevate her mood.”

The look on your face probably singed a few hairs on Agent N’s mustache; the way his face cringed was spectacularly noteworthy. What he was proposing was hardly ethical, and definitely legally dubious, considering prostitution and escorting was widely outlawed across several neighboring star systems, including this one.

“We’ve already made an agreement of sorts with her, you would be handsomely compensated on top of the erasure of your debt.” Agent N said, displaying a currency order of three million dollars, well worth 18 million intergalactic credits.

The money wasn’t convincing enough. You’d been offered similar things in the past, and dating such a volatile individual could put your current and future career opportunities in jeopardy.

“So you’re telling me that you’ve promised, what exactly? That I date her?” you asked, voice rising in pitch.

“Well, this is… Date to marry.”

“Date to what?!”

Again with that insufferable cringe of his mustache. It seemed more of a disdain thing than a fear reaction.

“At least agree to one date, Ms. Radivayon. This is intergalactic peace we’re discussing!”

You stared up at him in absolute shock. You had barely wrapped your head around the idea when he dropped another bomb.

“I’m afraid that if you do not accept this deal, we will be unable to cancel your fine and you will be deported come the end of the month.”

Blackmail. Of course. You’d heard rumors of shady deals within the MiB, but considering how large its tourism and immigration sector was, you’d written it off as exaggeration. Large organizations didn’t last long if they were shady in other star systems. It appeared you’d been grievously misled.

“Now. We are not going to marry you off right away, Riza might not like you. There is hope yet, so don’t go all moping and wilting dreams on me just yet.” Agent N said in response to your shell-shocked expression. “You are a bright young lady, and we will not allow your career to be impacted in the adjustment periods.”

For as many words as this man routinely used, he said a whole lot of nothing.

“So. When is our first date?” you mumbled, leaning back into your chair with a dull glare.

The man seemed to brighten a little, completely ignoring the apathetic aura that hung over you like a dark cloud. You were screwed, not even just a little, but a lot. And if this Riza Stavros was as bad as she appeared to be, you’d be doing some literal screwing, regardless of how exploitative the dynamic was. Agent N gestured you up, opening a side door in his office.

“That is up to her.” he said, making a simple gesture towards a figure inside.

Standing tall and proud in a large meeting room stood the most humanoid alien you’d stumbled upon yet. She looked exactly like the picture, her appearance glaringly zany, and over the top, but she had such well placed features that it only made her natural beauty more prominent. If she hadn’t been labeled as a Tribrachian, you would’ve glazed right over her cape and assumed those visible limbs of two arms and two legs summed her up into a human. She turned slowly, conversation dying around her as her blue-gray eyes landed squarely on you, like she’d drawn a target right on your face.

The room was silent. She stepped closer, feet clacking audibly over the concrete floor. Riza wasn’t afraid to get close, stopping six inches away from you, taking a moment to look. You looked at her, noting the faint signs of freckles under what you assumed to be full coverage foundation. Her hair felt too tall for her head, and it might’ve been the straight line of the bangs, but it also could’ve been a wig. She looked human. This close and you couldn’t tell a single difference from a human face to hers. Given how aesthetically pleasing she was, given the appearance she put out, the care she seemed to take in the way she presented herself, it made sense. Riza was desperately, painstakingly trying to appear as familiar and alluring as someone from your own race would be.

“Yes.” Riza sighed out, one of her hands reaching up towards you.

The hand stuttered, suddenly withdrawing. You looked down, trying to see which hand had been the culprit, but the rush of her cape gave it away. Riza had reached out with her third hand, one of the most vulnerable parts of her body, being that it wasn’t attached to the front, where she could see it. The soft crumple of her brow gave away the anxiety that came with such an impulsive gesture. It was… Human. Or intelligent, you supposed.

“Sorry, Ms. Stavros, yes as in…?” Agent N asked.

“Yes, as in I want her.” Riza replied, squaring her shoulders, the faux pas forgotten.

She’d appeared to brush off whatever the brief moment of familiarity had been. But she didn’t look away from you, her eyes remained locked on you, analyzing your expression, gauging whatever personality she could distinguish from the unconscious cues of your body.

“Well, let’s schedule the date-”

“Maybe I was not clear, Agent N,” Riza abruptly turned, the edge of her cape brushing over your heels, “I want her. I want the marriage contract.”

The room went quiet again. Your breath stuttered in your chest, and you fought to maintain your composure, but it was all too sudden, too authoritarian for you to refrain from objection.

“Ms. Stavros, your eagerness is noted, but Ms. Radivayon is to be protected with diplomatic immunity, the period of dating is mandatory.”

All Riza did was pick up a contract from the table, tearing it right down the middle.

“Then it’s no deal.” she said, much to your immediate relief.

The other men in the room, all dressed in identical black suits converged, quietly discussing with themselves. Agent N turned, taking a fresh contract off of the printer. Time stretched on, and you felt awkward, entirely ignored by everyone, even Riza who made a point of keeping her back turned.

“An exception can be made, with limits. There will be an escape clause for Ms. Radivayon, but a pro bono marriage contract will be permitted.” Agent N cooley said, offering the both of you two crisp contracts.

You stared down, noting the ‘escape clause’ outlined. Only in the case of abuse, violent threats or special circumstances made at the Men in Black’s discretion could this contract end. Nothing about your career, about your freedoms, and to your horror, your signature was already printed. Beneath the line was an asterisk, “The above party has consented by assumption of citizenship.” Assumption of citizenship… Assumption of.. What? It was all too complicated and vague, it was happening too fast…

“Excuse me, but since when was there no ‘I do’ in this equation?” you snapped, voice betraying the barest twinge of anxiety.

The men in the room looked at one another, each displaying their own subtle signs of discomfort. Riza herself raised a brow, displeased. Agent N’s mustache twitched again.

“Your ‘I do’ is a stipulation of your sanctuary on Earth. Otherwise you will be deported without due process. You are now legally, intergalactically recognized as the lawful spouse of this Ms. Riza Stavros.”

Whatever words of protest you had, the clever, spiteful, colorful phrases you were about to throw at every single one of these agents died. You didn’t have a choice. Without due process you had no way of extending residency on Earth, of seeking political asylum. The intergalactic courts had limited jurisdiction over Earth, and a plea would take… This was simply your only choice, blackmail or otherwise.

Riza had turned, looking at you slyly as she signed the contract in front of her. Agent N took it, nodding at Riza to move forward. She turned, sauntering over towards you with a pleased expression on her face.

“Well. Let’s skip the doom and gloom, come on love.” Riza hummed, extending one of her front hands for you to take.

It was too much for you to process both your arranged marriage and now the expectancy of touch. You clasped your hands together, completely avoiding her eyes. Her hand could shrivel and fall off, you’d never take it anyways.

“I need to gather my things from the hotel.”

Your voice sounded as shaky and unsure as you felt. The excuse was weak, she knew it was weak. Riza’s face twitched. It could have been a tell for a thousand different thoughts and emotions, but you didn’t know Riza. Not one bit. But she, for better or worse, held the reins in your union; you were married until she got bored. You prayed it would be sooner than later.

“... You don’t seriously believe you’ll need anything, do you?” Riza’s face crinkled.

The face twitch was a tell of anger, a tell you picked up on too late.

“I understand you’re impatient-” you tried.

“I am. There’s nothing to wait for, no reason to delay.” Riza huffed, crossing her three arms in an almost pretzel-like shape.

Agent N gestured to Riza from behind her back, looking at you imploringly. Everyone was being affected by your delays.

“You can’t make one allowance for me? Everything I own is in that hotel. I am tempted to make an ultimatum.” you said, glaring up at her sourly.

Riza took a long breath in, her face set into an unblinking mask of consideration. She adjusted her cloak on her shoulders, reaching up to fix her bangs.

“Fine. Can her things be sent for?” Riza asked, pursing her lips.

“Yes. I will have them sent to your ship by the hour.” Agent N said, opening the door and departing.

The agents frantically shuffled out, leaving you alone with this perfect, dangerous stranger. The room grew awkward. You didn’t make conversation, both out of spite and sheer incompetence. What do you say to a weapons dealer that’s more or less bought your hand in marriage? Could you say anything casual, or even mildly conversational without growing sarcastic or cynical? Probably not. She must have felt that same barrier, because she just stared. Her blue eyes looked almost inhumanly piercing when they were framed in the dark kohl. It made the very action of opening your mouth to speak impossible. There was a five pound bag of sand atop your tongue, and it filled your throat with grainy substrate until the very act of breathing felt like defiance.

“This isn’t the ideal way to meet the person you’re supposed to be married to.” Riza drawled, examining her nails.

You let out a deep breath, letting out a tired laugh. She seemed moderately pleased with the reaction, stepping closer.

“No it’s not.”

Once again she sighed, making a motion for you to follow her as she made her way out of the door.

“Come on.” Riza tiredly gestured, hardly sparing a backwards glance.

←→

Riza lived in paradise. A beautiful island, tropical weather and enough employees to keep her fortress supplied with all of the necessities a girl could wish for. But since yesterday you hadn’t seen her. The marriage contract had been signed, you’d taken a residential air ship out to her island… And then she’d disappeared into her office. You were left to unpack your things, to fill a small section of the master bedroom you were to share with Riza. That was the only direction she’d given, to make yourself at home. Underneath a palm tree, sipping a mojito… It was as good as it was going to get for you. Riza’s voice broke the silence before her presence did.

“... Yes, I know. We had an agreement, I was to ship those blasters out last Wednesday, but supply is low, and I have to find new channels for weapons distributions. I’m in an arrangement with MiB and the Intergalactic councils… Well that’s not my fault is it?” Riza drawled, slipping beside you on the padded swingset without sparing a glance.

Her third arm snaked around your middle, pulling you close without even hinting at a request to do so. Her argument with her client had ripped whatever sense of relaxation from you, and the continued argument, the touching, the lack of boundaries was enough for you to start seeing red.

“No, I don’t do contracts by word of mouth. No. I said no. I’m forwarding you to my secretary.” Riza finished, hanging up her phone and dropping it a moment later.

The tribrachian gave a long, exhaustive sigh, slumping back into the cushions of the swingset. She finally turned to look at you, a pleased hum rumbling from her chest. The glare you were giving her didn’t seem to phase her one bit, merely giving a sympathetic frown in response.

“I know. I’ve been neglecting my little wife because of work.” Riza cooed, entirely assumptive regarding your feelings. “I’m here now. I promise we’ll be able to get in some time for a proper honeymoon in a month or two.”

Honeymoon. You almost gagged. Riza outright laughed at your disgust, curling closer to you instead of pulling away.

“You’re my wife, dear. Not my slave. I know it’s early yet to be having intimacies.” Riza said, taking a sneaky whiff of your hair. “And yet I’m quite impatient. You’ve been on my mind since I got the booklet.”

The booklet? Had the MiB given her a catalogue, some sort of ‘mail order bride’ in exchange for her cooperation with diplomatic relations? The thought felt both nauseating and ironic. She’d had a choice, so much so that you’d been her first choice. And yet what were you but a pawn? Choosing between death or arranged marriage.

“Darling, we are going to have the time of our lives here pretty soon.” Riza promised, trying and failing to counter your resistance against her caresses.

“The time of your life.” you snapped, abandoning your mojito in the hopes of slipping out of her unwanted clutches.

Riza let out a plaintative groan, something distinctly childish, spoiled.

“Come on, I just sat down!”

She followed you through the garden, making repetitive swipes at your arms until you were practically running from her. Birds cawed and screeched in alarm as you took a detour through a large cluster of foliage, navigating the bark dust in flimsy house shoes. She caught up quickly, practically outpacing you even with the various tree branches smacking at her face. Her arms encircled you, a growl of victory against your ear when a tree root caught your ankle, sending you careening into a patch of fancy azaleas. Riza’s desperate grasp, the unbalanced attempt to stop your running brought her crashing down with you, crumpled in a heap of fancy azaleas.

Her elbow, met your ribs, your skull her chin, and your leg her crotch. The two of you were left groaning, tangled in each other’s limbs as the world spun. Riza was the first to move, gently untangling her arms from you until she could rest on her side. Your head had smacked against a stone paver. Not hard enough to be concussive, but hard enough to hurt.

“Bitch. I hit my head.” you whined, trying to slip out of her arms.

“Yeah? You kneed my crotch. Asshole.” Riza wheezed, face scrunched up in immense pain.

You wanted to laugh, to find vindication at her complaint, but a part of you paused. There was something about the Tribrachian species, an old joke you’d heard about their culture. ‘Even if the men have strong arms, the women have bigger dicks to compensate.’ It had been vulgar, a bit weird and what you assumed to be a metaphor. But now…

“You don’t have anything… Delicate down there, do you?”

Riza stared up at you in pained anguish, letting out a laugh that turned into a moan of pain.

“Just… The family jewels.” she gasped, her third arm wrapped protectively around what you assumed to be her pubic bone.

It wasn’t a rumor, not at all. Tribrachian woman had… Penises. Full on appendages dangling between their legs. Riza’s breathing only got more labored, and she rolled you onto your side, slumping against you.

“Get… Get off!” you groaned, trying to push her off with no success.

Your head hurt like a bitch, and putting pressure on it lying on your side was making it worse.

“Stop, stop. Let me…” Riza groaned, finally adjusting her pelvis until your knee wasn’t poking into it.

An arm slipped beneath your neck, elevating your head. The pressure went away, replaced with only dull throbbing. The fight had left you, all that remained was exhaustion and a bit of pain.

“You hit your head?” Riza broke the silence, carefully bringing her third hand down, stroking over the tender spot.

Her voice was so low, genuinely concerned instead of performative. You met her eyes, looking beyond the dark kohl, beyond the strange hair… Riza was quite pretty. As pretty as the first glance, but now you were recognizing it again.

“Yeah.”

Riza gently pulled you closer, making herself comfortable in the patch of trampled flowers.

“I’m not as shallow as you think I am.” Riza began, gently tapping your nose. “I have an eye for beauty, for beautiful things, but I was given a choice between twenty beautiful humans. I liked the way you stare at the camera, like you’re challenging it.”

Every word spoken seemed to bring her lips closer, her eyes tender, but hungry. It filled you with a spike of excitement, seeing her so focused on you. The attention was flattering, at the very least.

“Your attitude is….” Riza began, breaking off into a flustered chuckle, leaning in until your foreheads were a few inches apart. “Don’t let me scare you away, okay pumpkin?”

You rolled your eyes, picking up on her desire for closeness. One gentle tilt of your head was all it took for Riza to finally kiss you, lips meeting in a tender, searching smooch.

“You gonna let me up now?” you whispered against her lips, opening her eyes to catch her staring softly. “Absolutely not.” she snorted, bringing you to straddle her lap as those three arms wrapped tighter around you. “I’m having the time of my life.”

#rebecca ferguson x you #rebecca ferguson x reader #rebecca ferguson #lesbian #wlw #rebecca ferguson/ you #rebecca ferguson/ reader #riza stavros/ reader #riza stavros/ you #riza stavros x you #riza stavros x reader #riza stavros #men in black international #lesbian fanfiction #fluff #aliens

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catt-nuevenor · 1 year ago

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The Future

Time to establish what's going to happen from this point forwards.

The vast majority of you have been exceptionally patient this last year, and for that you have my deepest thanks. You've given me the time to not only write a book, but edit it, and send it off to literary agents, something I would have long given up on doing without the continued support of those who enjoy my writing.

Now that the book is off doing the rounds independently, it's time I got back to Myrk Mire.

Originally Myrk Mire was built in ChoiceScript, a scripting language created by the Choice of Games company. Choice of Games control what is done with their script, understandably, they own it. This does pose some restrictions. I can't, for example, release any paid material built using ChoiceScript unless it is directly through their publishing label. If I do publish under their label, I maintain IP or Intellectual Property Rights, however I also grant them the exclusive rights under perpetual license to publish the multiple choice game 'electronically'.

Source: Choice of Games.com

As you can see from the outline above, they do make exceptions for stories published in non-competing formats, and for sequels, prequels, and spin-offs. However, traditional publishing houses might require stricter control over IP, distribution, and exclusivity. It will only become more and more complicated as things progress, and being locked into a perpetual license agreement of any nature is not a decision to make lightly.

As some of you may be sensing from the tone of all this so far, I'm going to be moving Myrk Mire away from Choice of Games and ChoiceScript, and into a new medium/format.

After tinkering, and trialling with a few alternatives, I've decided to go with Renpy. Renpy, while largely used for visual novel style games and stories, provides a very workable framework for interactive fiction, and is an Open Source script, it isn't beholden to publishing contracts, licence cost, or exclusivity.

I'm not going to be diving into transferring Myrk Mire right away, it's a huge piece of writing, in an entirely different scripting language, and as previously stated, there are a lot of changes I want to implement with the cast. Instead, I'm creating a trial story: One Háḟest Day. My Patrons have been aware of all this for about a month or so, and have already seen some previews.

One Háḟest Day takes place in Aldmirham before the events of Myrk Mire, around the time the Main Character and the Wanderers first arrived in town. The reader will have the choice to follow one of the romanceable characters through a single day, with opportunities to explore their lives and relationships before the Main Character and Child come along. I hope it will provide a proving ground for the changes that previously caused debate, and an opportunity for people to try out the new format and interface.

My plan is to distribute One Háḟest Day through Itch.io, working with their early access framework and voluntary payments for such as soon as one of the character routes is ready to play from beginning to end, updating regularly with the other characters as they too are completed, and with additional features as required. Once the full game is complete, I will release a separate full build with a set minimum price that can be discussed with the community as we move forwards.

At the second, I'm aiming for a web hosted format and a desktop/laptop downloadable format, with phone compatibility to come later down the line once things are stable.

I will post production updates and info when I can to tumblr, though a lot of what I'm doing now is very python coding heavy, so perhaps not that interesting?

I've included some screenshots below of very early development, featuring a Character Log and Word Log that I hope will allow readers to more easily navigate the story. I'm toying with the idea of having a Mysteries Log as well that will keep track of snippets of information gleaned from each character's route, but that can be a tinkering feature for now.

Let me know your thoughts, concerns, or excitement, though do keep all messages objective and polite.

#MyrkMire #Myrk Mire #writing update #Moving forwards #Future Plans #The Future of the story

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linka-from-captain-planet · 5 months ago

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wait by the light of the moon #1: Rana & Vesta - Selfish

this Femslash February, I got myself all in my feelings about the usual (women) and began working on a collection of loosely-connected short fics exploring life as queer women in Tevinter, emphasizing friendship, community, and culture. Being me, of course a fair amount of focus is on supporting and obscure characters, because all women are main characters to ME.

To that point, first up is a lesbro origin story, featuring Rana Savas and (future) Warden Vesta

Rating: T || Words: 1274 References to homophobia, misogyny, comp het, and class issues.

On the outskirts of the city, just inside the walls, the Templar training camp is a grey, cramped, shoddy affair. Shockingly, the Magisterium doesn’t allocate it much money in the annual budget.

To the caravan of recruits coming in, though, it might as well be an oasis in the Western Front. Three meals a day, a roof over their heads, money in the pocket on the last day of every month. People with other options tend not to choose this one, but as far as Tevinter goes, there’s always at least one option that’s always worse.

The mid-morning sun is hot overhead, steaming the formation of junior knights in full plate. Tradition has them, two and three years into service, greet the new recruits. The miserable, rundown first-year grunts would probably scare too many of them off.

At the front of formation, Knight-Templar Vesta Aquila watches two score bodies pour off a cramped wagon as one big mass, fanning themselves with their shirts and gasping the fresh air with relief. Looks like the usual assortment: mostly men, mostly hungry-eyed and raw-boned, some of them practically still with indents from chains on their ankles and wrists.

Some of them chatter and mill about excitedly; others stick with the pack, nervous and desperate not to be singled out. Before long, a sergeant comes blustering out of the office and barks at them to shut up, stand straight, and listen for their name to be called for intake, inspection, and kitting.

The crowd settles and spreads out a bit, and Vesta can’t help but notice one of the few female recruits sticking out like a sore thumb.

She looks like she got lost on the way to the Our Young Lady of Victory Pageant. A classic Tevene beauty: tall, slender, with shiny dark hair plaited all the way down to her butt, looking as out-of-place as Andraste herself would, standing stiffly in the perpetually ankle-deep mud of the Ferryman Training Temple courtyard. Her green eyes dart around nervously, but her pretty face is set determinedly neutral.

Couldn’t be a zealot, Vesta decides idly, or the daughter of such; the chantry would be the clear choice, there. This isn’t the South. Couldn’t be a Laetain’s ungifted disappointment, dumped into service to recoup some of the family’s lost esteem with medals and titles without any risk of being sent to fight the Qunari; they’re only a small bribe away from skipping right to officer school. Couldn’t come from much at all, or else she’d be able to afford schooling or vocational training. Couldn't be coming in off the streets or the market, what with her clean dress and impeccable grooming. Too prim to be a troublemaker who picked this place over jail. Too uncertain to be the latest in a long line of Templars. Too young and far too beautiful not to have marriage, at least, to fall back on.

The sergeant barks, “Rana Savas,” and the girl startles, but squares her shoulders and follows her assigned admin drone inside.

She takes about three steps before Vesta raises an eyebrow and thinks, ah.

----------------------

Hours later, just before lights-out, Vesta makes her assigned rounds shooing recruits to their bunks. She sticks her head into the women’s washroom, and there she finds the girl—Savas, she remembers—standing in front of the mirror, running her hands over and over through what remains of her hair.

The men get their heads shaved promptly after signing the papers, and the women, their hair chopped off messily above the shoulders. Hygiene, they say; hazing, they don’t. Savas’ hair wound up even shorter than most, hacked up almost to her ears. The barber must have been feeling greedy; hair as long and thick as hers fetches good coin. That pretty braid will make a magister’s wife a real nice wig, but what she’s left with looks like something from a joke shop, bone-dry and sticking up all over. The harsh anti-nit shampoo they make the recruits wash with in medical inspection might as well be enchanted to turn hair to straw.

Vesta came in with her hair already cropped short. She had someone to warn her.

Rapping softly on the wall to announce herself, Vesta calls, “Alright there, Savas?”

Despite being sneaked up on, Savas doesn’t flinch at her own name this time. Her eyes remain fixed on herself in the mirror, her expression wooden, and she keeps stroking her hair. Hoping to get some oil from her skin into it, Vesta figures.

Mechanically, Savas replies, “I’m well, thank you, Knight-Templar Aquila.”

“Good memory,” Vesta says, feeling awkward. It’s not really the point, but she adds, “Just ‘Aquila.’ I’m not an officer. All us underlings just call each other by name.” Savas seems like a girl who appreciates a good rule to follow. Maybe it’ll make her feel a little less helpless.

Savas nods, staring at the mirror two feet from her face like it’s as far away as the Archon’s Palace hovering up in the sky.

Sighing, Vesta leans out the door to listen for anyone coming. The last thing they need is the sergeant busting in on his own rounds.

Coming to Savas’ side, she grabs the younger woman—barely old enough to qualify as a ‘woman’, now that Vesta sees her up close—and pries her arms down to her sides, forcing her hands out of her hair, and briskly turns her away from the mirror so they meet eyes directly.

“C’mon, Savas. Snap out of it. Come tomorrow’s drills, you’ll be glad to have all that weight off your neck.”

It wasn’t meant to be patronizing, but something about it strikes a nerve and Savas’ eyes focus into a glare. So, it worked, anyway.

Wrenching away, jaw set, Savas gestures frustratedly at the mirror. “Glad, they made me look like a man,” she mutters ruefully, quiet enough that Vesta isn’t sure if she was meant to hear it or not.

Ah, Vesta thinks. It really doesn’t; it makes her look like a pretty girl with an ugly haircut. If she’s concerned about coming off mannish—about tipping off people who aren’t like them—, she should probably worry about adjusting that walk of hers first.

Needless to say, Vesta keeps that analysis to herself. She has a feeling it’ll be some time before Savas would be receptive to such feedback.

It hasn’t been too long since Vesta was in her shoes. She gets it.

But it’s not the kind of thing they could talk about in the open. There are no laws, no rules, no regulations against it; it’s just not what’s done. You don’t grow up in Minrathous without learning damn well that many Soporoti see themselves not as Soporoti, but as temporarily-embarrassed Altus; so even though there’s really no reason for peasants like them to mimic the highbloods’ delicate sensibilities regarding bloodlines, inheritance, proper marriage and the proper breeding of proper mage-children… it’s just the way things are done. Even though it smothers them all.

The chantry bell tolls, reminding Vesta that they need to hustle out of here if they don’t want extra laps tomorrow.

But, it’s easier when you have someone to help keep your nose above water.

Like Knight-Templar Bosc did for her two years ago, Vesta steps up to the mirror and knocks the side of her boot against Savas’. She receives an incredulous look in return.

Smirking and leaning in conspiratorially, Vesta says, “You’re not the only one with a bad haircut here, Savas. Don’t be selfish.”

At ‘selfish’, Savas’ eyes widen and her ears flush.

Good—that’s one less thing Vesta will need to teach her before camp ends.

#rana savas #warden vesta #wait by the light of the moon #the plan is for this to eventually become a ficlet collection to post on AO3 #but I'm very inconsistent so I want to make sure I actually finish the collection lol #naturally the overall title comes from our lesbian national anthem: Come to My Window #my fics #dragon age #femslash february

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thatndginger · 11 months ago

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Let's try this again, shall we?

I’m K (she/they), an overworked, perpetually exhausted cog in the corporate machine who's chosen method of staying sane is writing about queer idiots getting into trouble.

I've started a Patreon that is completely, 100% free while I finish the rough drafts of my first two wips! If you want somewhere with a more consolidated, easier to navigate repository of my work, that's the place to look.

I live in Wyoming, USA with my partner Cryptid, who features fairly often on this blog. Other featured family members are my four dogs and one cat. Since this is a personal blog as well as a writing one, you'll find posts about my interests outside of writing as well. Ye have been warned~

My primary WIPs are set in an urban fantasy world I call the Shapeshifter universe, or Shifter!verse for short.

Set in a modern-day version of our own world, Shapeshifter is a low-magic urban fantasy setting. Magic is a subtle force, incapable of knitting wounds back together or creating fireballs, but a force all the same. Werewolves, vampires, witches, and all manner of supernatural creatures exist openly in the world in small numbers. In the United States, the largest numbers congregate in the city of Moressau on the coast of Washington.

Morressau has all the problems of a major city and then some. Vampire queens and werewolf mob bosses vie for territory and political power while the powers that be turn a blind eye as long as they get a cut. The regular folk do what they must to get by, carving out lives for themselves in a city that only sees the sun thirty days of the year, determined to find happiness in the dark corners of a city that cares for them as long as they care for it.

Most of the current focus of Shapeshifter is on the first book of the Moressau series, Into the Storm, and its trio of main characters. As a bonus, I've started a second WIP following two characters in a tiny mountain town in Wyoming called The Runaway. You can find out more of both below.

General tags: #wip: shapeshifter, #shapeshifter vibes

There’s a routine to Kerr McKay’s life. Help his not-a-boss smuggle goods around the city, get into fights with vampires and werewolves, run from cops, go drinking with his best friends Jay de Lange and Warrick Salehrad. Oh, and occasionally turn into a dog. Just a day in the life of a shifter living on the fringes of society.

Until a new face appears at his favorite bar, a new gang starts trying to weasel it’s way into his territory, and his not-a-boss makes it clear that the last thing Kerr should be doing is getting himself involved.

Kerr has never been good at taking orders.

You can read the first six chapters on AO3!

Tag: #shapeshifter: into the storm

Temperance Maddox is running from his past.

All he wants is to forget. The things he's done, the things he's witnessed, the things he knows. And the best way to forget is to put a couple thousand miles between himself and the place that haunts his nightmares. Until Temperance finds himself stranded in a middle-of-nowhere town and relying on the kindness of strangers as he re-learns what it means to be a human being.

Dean Matthews is trying to build a future.

He's got people who depend on him, who love him despite all that he is. And he'll do whatever it takes to make sure he never lets them down. Even if it means learning how to be something he never thought he could be. Then a stranger finds their way into Dean's quiet, routine life and challenges everything he knows about himself and the life he's built.

You can read the first six chapters on AO3!

Tag: #shapeshifter: the runaway

#writer intro #writeblr introduction #writing masterpost

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castleofravens · 1 year ago

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a bpd reading of fitz vacker

any ableist comments will be deleted<3

one of the Main Features of bpd (if not the main feature) is difficulty managing/regulating emotions (some want to rename it to emotional regulation/dysregulation/intensity disorder instead)

this emotional dysregulation has made him act impulsively (particularly in not thinking before he speaks when he gets angry, being quick to feel emotions and letting them overtake him instead of letting it go, saying things when he's angry that he would typically never say otherwise)

the last part is something i think everyone does? but he has a pattern of it which is when it becomes an issue

he also sees things in a very black or white, good or bad view, which he also extends to other people. he idealizes certain people (such as alden, keefe, and sophie), which could be easily read as a favorite person attachment (especially with how he's shown to put sophie on a pedestal in his mind)

a favorite person is someone a person w/ bpd idealizes, looks up to, and/or relies on for emotional support/attention/affection/validation

he does not trust easily (telling sophie she's the only one he trusts, another thing tying into the "sophie's his favorite person" theory i have), and if/when his trust is broken, he can completely switch up his view of that person, either momentarily or for a very long time (alden, alvar, della, keefe, sophie)

i personally value communication and honesty, i get paranoid rather easily and if i feel like a friend or partner is hiding stuff it can send me spiraling, sometimes the threat is just a perceived threat and sometimes it is real, but regardless, i don't trust easily and that trust is easily broken

people with bpd have a not very stable/consistent sense of identity, and building it around a specific thing about yourself or about how other people perceive you is fairly common (examples from the text being "but we're cognates", attaching to the idea of him and sophie dating/being a good match, and leaning into the "vacker golden boy" label), and anything that disrupts that or could disrupt that being met with jealousy or seemingly irrational responses (arising from fear of losing that identity) is uhmm very understandable

also bpd is like... usually something you get from childhood trauma/the environment you were raised in and... the vackers are a Very Interesting family

i don't think that alden is 100% a bad guy, like i do agree that he has good intentions or intentions he thinks are good and i do disagree with the portrayal of him as a mindlessly cruel father

you can have good intentions and still mess up (which he kind of did) and having good intentions still doesn't excuse acting not great? but he's also a product of how he was raised and his world which we don't have like... canon evidence for what his childhood was like but since he's a vacker i cannot imagine it was very healthy and i think he's perpetuating that cycle onto his children ?? i think that a lot of the families just need therapy tbh (which...therapy's super important if you don't want to continue the "haha let's find new and exciting ways to fuck up my kids" cycle) (actually therapy is important in general go to therapy guys) (some therapists arent great but theres some really good ones out there too)

i will add onto this or revise this in the future when i think of more or think of how to better word this but this hc is very important to me and i've not really seen anything relating to it so i'm being the representation i want to see in the world 😔 also feel free to add onto this

#fitz vacker #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc headcanons #bpd fitz vacker #fitz vacker has bpd #kotlc thoughts #bpd headcanon #nobody understands the vackers like i understand them #this idea is so important to me

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where-the-flash · 1 year ago

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"The Golden Touch": Walt Disney's Actual Folly

Have you ever been tempted to own DVD sets, not strictly for their contents, but for the appeal of their packaging and presentation? Have you ever been tempted to own DVDs that were enclosed in a sturdy aluminum tin case, like they emerged from a cold vault buried thousands of feet beneath the earth's crust? Have you ever been tempted to fool your fellow schoolyard chums by placing these tin jalopies in a mini fridge and handling them with sterilized tongs like they were ancient jade necklaces that you sold on the black market? Have you ever been tempted to wave the DVD's 'certificate of authenticity' in some stupid nerd's face and tell them this is only one out of a limited 150,000 copies?

These hypothetical queries were directed toward myself and I answer all of them with an emphatic "Yes"!

These DVDs that I am belaboring-ly alluding to are the Walt Disney Treasures. The brainchild of film critic/perpetually well-groomed beard-man Leonard Maltin, the Walt Disney Treasures were a collection of historic (and even rarely seen) Disney content. It covered pretty much all the bases: old Mickey Mouse cartoons, World War II propaganda, and TV shows like The Mickey Mouse Club, Walt Disney Presents, and Davy Crockett.

One of these Walt Disney Treasures DVD sets that I owned and (I suppose) cherished were the Silly Symphonies, the musical-oriented Disney shorts that were made between 1928 to 1939. Beside the fact that these shorts were delightfully frothy bon-bons made for quick consumption, they were a sort of experimental testing ground for future Disney productions (Disney's ground-breaking work with the multi-plane camera would prove useful in their first full-length animated feature Snow White and the Seven Dwarves). They also provided a refreshing diversity of form and style. Audiences in the 1930's probably wanted a change of pace from the Mickey Mouse content they were subjected to monthly at the local movie station house.

(This is my copy of the Silly Symphonies DVD set, though I seem to have inexplicably lost the tin case, unfortunately exposing its contents to all manner of elements, including that red pepper flake lodged between the doubles L's in SILLY.)

I'd spent many hours watching Silly Symphonies as a young child and I've been revisiting them recently just to see if they still retain their, shall we say, symphonic silliness. And as I was watching old King Cole prattle on about how he was, indeed, a merry old soul and how a merry old soul he verily was, I reflected on how I use to frequently spin the Silly Symphony disk on the DVD turn-table and I suddenly remembered the first short I would watch as the needle dropped onto the disk, and that short was The Golden Touch. And, frankly, I'm not sure why. There were definitely better shorts than The Golden Touch, both visually and musically. But why did I gravitate toward this one, so much so that it was a first priority watch? Was it simply an aperitif before the main entrees of, say, a Music Land, or a Three Little Pigs, or a Who Killed Cock Robin? Or was it more than that?

The Golden Touch is an adaptation of the Greek myth of Phrygian monarch Midas (the son of Gordias, inventor of the most excessively over-tied rope knot in antiquity), who makes a wish, to the Greek deity Bacchus (also best known as Dionysus), that everything he touches transforms into a yellow-orange-colored soft metal with an atomic number of 79 (Midas is granted this request after he saves Dionysus' drunken satyr of an adviser, Silenus...actually, that's a lie....Midas found him passed out in his rose garden and politely drove him back to his Bacchic abode; no harm, no foul....at worst, a speck of vomit on the rose petals). Midas revels in his new gift, but later has the harrowing, if not unsurprising, revelation that comestibles of any kind can turn into gold as well. Unless his stomach doubles as a foundry furnace, he can't very well pass gold through his digestive tract and get any meaningful nutrients out of it. Fed up with this inconvenience, Midas decides to wash his hands of the whole thing...literally washes his hands in the Pactolus River and that's it.

That's the original version recounted by Ovid, author of the Metamorphoses (according to Edith Hamilton in her landmark 1942 text Mythology). It wasn't until Nathaniel Hawthorne came along that the fable developed a tragic angle by giving Midas a daughter that he accidentally turns to gold (from his 1852 children's book A Wonder-Book for Girls and Boys). For the purposes of brevity and a desire to not be a harsh vibe-killer for ten minutes, Walt Disney chose to stick to the safer self-preservation angle of the original.

The myth is iconic in its own right. The name "Midas" is synonymous with irresponsible, unchecked greed and its consequences....wait, is it? "Having the Midas Touch", is a common phrase that, ironically, obfuscates the tale's cautionary moral with a more generic definition of easy success. There's even a company named after that greedy bastard that installs car mufflers and they tell us to "trust the Midas touch."

I guess we haven't learned anything from this myth, have we? My guess (I almost said "theory" but that would imply that I'm smart) as to why there's still so much greed in this world is that there haven't been any real substantial King Midas adaptations in popular culture. How can we learn when the masses have not been exposed to this important myth by way of a giant, money-making blockbuster? Timothée Chalamet in a fat suit laying waste to nature and his fellow humans with garish CGI effects, throw in a couple of songs, and pad out the running time with a giant battle at the end with a golden terraforming laser shooting out of the sky and you have yourself a flop...I mean, a hit!

As much as movies, television, and pop culture in general have confronted the myth's themes of greed and isolation, direct wholesale adaptations of the myth itself are few and far between. The only half-way substantial adaptations I could find on YouTube (ones that were not cheap educational kid videos) was an episode of Mythic Warriors, an aggressively mediocre late-nineties Saturday morning cartoon show that retold Greek myths, and a fairly impressive stop-motion short film from the fifties (produced by none other than stop-motion animation pioneer Ray Harryhausen). TVTropes.org lists some animated series that have dedicated episodes to the Midas concept (Hercules: The Animated Series had an episode that depicted Midas as a Bond villian and there's an episode of Yogi Bear that has Yogi blessed with "The Pik-a-Nik Basket Touch"). And if you've ever frequented a elementary school library (assuming you were, at one point, a child), you'll probably remember seeing that horrifying book cover for The Chocolate Touch, where a young boy pecks his mother on the cheek and her upper torso turns a shade of cocoa-brown. Let's also not forget the middle school play that I co-starred in called "King Midas and the Touch of Gold" (written by Vera Morris, published by Pioneer Drama Service, the leading name in easy-bake, royalty-free community theater/primary school theatrical productions since time immemorial) where I played the pivotal role (or at least that's how I delude myself into thinking it was) of Prince Ajax, Midas' future son-in-law.

Disney's The Golden Touch, as far as I can tell, is the most well-known adaptation of the Greek myth (or at least the only one with a Wikipedia article, which is its own form of legitimacy), despite it also being one of the lesser known Silly Symphonies, one that was willfully obscured by its creator and director, Walt Disney. Snow White and the Seven Dwarves is often given the ironic moniker of "Disney's Folly" due to the fact it was a risky venture that was predicted to fail, but ended up being the highest grossing film of 1937. That's all fine and good and hopefully you get pats on the back for relating that anecdote at a future cocktail party, but if there is a project that could rightfully be deemed Disney's actual folly, it was The Golden Touch.

It was the first cartoon that Disney directed in five years (his last being 1930's The Cactus Kid, though he technically directed a couple of little things here and there, like Parade of the Award Nominees, a tiny short specifically made for the 1932 Academy Awards). There are varying interpretations as to why exactly Walt Disney returned to the director's chair. One of them was that he wasn't satisfied with his animators' work so he felt the need to show them a lesson on how it's really done. Another was that one of his head animators left and decided to take it upon himself to fill that space. Or he wanted to make important movies with strong social messages. I don't know. Who knows? So anyway, he utilized only two animators for his production (Norm Ferguson and Fred Moore) and it took about eight months to finish. And it flopped.

It was such a flop that Disney's animators would often use it as a riposte to any of Walt's nagging complaints. The animators could just say The Golden Touch and the sound of bellowing airhorns would pierce the air as a plum-faced Walt Disney left the room in silence.

And that was the last time Walt Disney directed anything. Ever.

It is not a highly-regarded short, though I would argue it gets way too much of a bad rep, which is why I will defend it in my typically over-rigorous way. Let's take a look, shall we?

(Keep in mind, this adaptation is set in a medieval setting, so don't expect Mount Olympus looming over the horizon.)

We open on a wide shot of a dungeon that serves as King Midas' treasury/counting room. The floor is covered with bags and chests of gold coins. Midas is at his desk, counting each individual coin (with no aid of abacus or feathered quill to keep track of his slow progress) as a black cat, wearing an Elizabethan ruff around its neck, looks on, rhythmically curling and uncurling its tail. The location is dour, with grey stone walls and a barred window casting a solitary shaft of light on our lone protagonist (one of the bars on the window is suspiciously bent, giving the scene a more sinister cast than is necessary). There's a garish sign over the stairwell passage that proclaims, "IN GOLD I TRUST", the kind of vulgar display you'd see displayed unironically at Mar-A-Lago. The gloomy mise-en-scène is starkly contrasted with the merry counting ditty Midas sings as he stacks each coin into unorganized piles.

One billion, two million, twenty-five-thousand, nine-hundred-and-eight,

One billion, two million, twenty-five-thousand, nine-hundred-and-nine,

One billion, two million, twenty-five-thousand, nine-hundred-and-ten,

One billion, two million, twenty-five-thousand, nine-hundred-and....

Before he can say eleven (cheekily nodding that eleven would break the syllabic count of the meter), he mightily sneezes, knocking over all the piles. He notices the camera, tips his crown to the audience, and launches into an introductory song about himself.

Before he starts singing, let's take a moment to describe King Midas' appearance (or at least Walt Disney's interpretation of him). Imagine the kind of fat, middle-aged slob you find haunting the dog track, or the local OTB, adorned in slovenly dress and a cheap stogie clamped in his teeth (narrow it down to a less lovable Uncle Buck). The kind of long shot loser that, if you even emerge within his eye-line, will chatter your ear off about how great a handicapper he is and how the so-called "experts" don't know jack-shit. A red drinker's nose, a bald dome with clownish tufts of black hair on the sides of his cranium, flabby arms, large hairy man-hands, and a stringy mustache that reminds one of a hairbrush if its bristles were made of insect-legs, all ensconced in a hourglass-shaped head. Top it off with a Jughead-like crown askance on his noggin and a ratty, oversized robe purchased from a thrift costume shoppe. It's a comically grotesque character design, like a lazy court jester posing as a king. It's like if the real king took the week off and handed off the reins to his shiftless, dead-beat brother-in-law.

The song goes as follows:

I'm known as rich King Midas,

And when you look at me,

You see a king who knows a thing

About his treasury.

I've never cared for women.

I've never cared for wine.

But when I count a large amount of money,

It's divine!

(giggle)

Gold, gold, gold!

I worship it! I love it!

Gold, gold, gold!

I wish I had more of it!

My love for shiny gold is such

That I could never have too much.

I wish that everything I touch

Would turn to gold, gold, gold!

(laughs uproariously)

It's not a good song and Midas is not a good vocalist, but it fits his boorish character and it's an efficient introduction. Being someone who is not musically inclined, it's the kind of song I would come up with in an unguarded moment.

Just then, a little man appears out of thin air. The stone walls turn golden, giving the room a warmer cast. The little man is a stereotypically androgynous elf character with bald head, big ears, pointy nose, green tights, and a feather in his cap. I'm reminded of those Santa's helper elf dolls my grandma used to stick in her Christmas tree.

A startled Midas cradles his gold doubloons and asks, "Who art thou, stranger?" The little man introduces himself as Goldie. Midas replies, "What do you want? My gold?" Goldie claims gold is "chickenfeed" to him. "Behold!" Goldie proclaims as he delicately places an index finger on the black cat's head. The cat, frozen in place, transforms into a golden statuette (an 18 K designation embossed on its torso). Midas' crown does a back flip. Seemingly unconcerned about the cat and its possible demise, Midas flicks the statuette for authenticity and it "dings" in reply. Midas begins to salivate. The Golden Touch!

There's a lovely moment of acting from Midas here. Midas lasciviously grabs the statuette but Goldie stops him. Goldie wags his finger like an adult scolding a child. A look of petulance, followed by a cocked eyebrow of suspicion clouds Midas' features. Then, he reluctantly lets go and sits back with this helpless expression on his face as Goldie snaps his fingers and claps his hands, and voila, the cat is back to normal. When the cat runs away, Midas looks briefly disappointed. In a performance dominated by broad strokes of acting (his performance is mostly ham-and-cheese with a side of big hairy mitts wildly gesticulating), it's easily the most humanizing characterization of Midas we get throughout the whole short. He's a fat, stubborn child, but not so stubborn to where he won't listen or be guided by a little reason. Underscored by Frank Churchill's lilting string section, it's a moment that gently nudges towards Midas' redemption.

Midas offers his gold and his kingdom for the Golden Touch. He even takes off his robe (leading to a funny reveal that he's not wearing a regal gown so much as a regal undershirt, exposing hairy, liver-spotted shoulders). Goldie warns of the perils of the Golden Touch, but Midas won't hear of it ("Fiddlesticks! Give me gold! Not advice!"). Goldie relents and blesses Midas with the Golden Touch. He hoots a little "toodle-oo" and disappears into the invisible ether from whence he came, the room returning to its original gloomy state.

Midas twiddles his large sausage fingers, now containing a terrible power. What can he test it on? Why, the cat, of course! This rotund fool chases the kitty around the castle, with his index finger stupidly pointing out in front of him.

When the cat runs out into the courtyard, we finally get to see the extent of Midas' kingdom. It's completely devoid of humans. No servants, maids, courtiers, or jesters in sight. It's emptier than the Queen's kingdom in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. At least she had a burly huntsman and a creepy mirror to keep her company.

The cat climbs up an apple tree, which Midas collides into headlong. The tree transforms into gold, as golden apples (due to the the sheer weight of this miraculous alchemy) fall on Midas' head (though some of the apples still retain their red hue, which never made sense to me. I presume Midas' initial collision with the tree shook some of the apples off the tree before the alchemy took effect). Unfortunately, the cat is transformed into gold as well. Midas, delighted, grabs the stiff tail of the golden cat and lifts it up like a scepter, proclaiming, "It works! It works! Whoopee!"

Midas launches into a giddy dance, holding up his robe like a maidens' skirt (why doesn't his robe turn to gold?), and sings a mindless ditty that seems, much like the first song, shot from the hip in a passionate moment:

The Golden Touch!

La La La La!

La La La La La La La!

Midas touches the flowers, each flower (well, they're golden flowers now) sounding like a tinkly bell in rhythm with the song. He approaches a bird fountain and twirls his finger in the water. Somehow, he is able to twirl the water upward as it turns to gold, creating what looks like a pile of excrement with a curlicue pig tail on top. The birds appraise it like studious art history majors.

He approaches a water fountain, places a hand atop the gushing water, and an avalanche of gold coins spurts out (the visual of this moment, coupled with the sound effect of the coins, reminds one of a big cash payout at a video slot machine). Then he turns the fountain into gold, mid-gush.

Then he turns two pan-flute-playing satyr statues into gold (you begin to feel the creative vitality of this sequence winding down if two boring satyr statues is Walt's idea of a victory lap).

Midas prances through a hallway before approaching a big mirror. Since he is a lonely monarch, he talks to himself. More specifically, he discusses the possibility of turning the whole world into gold. His reflection becomes a separate entity and applauds the king's lofty ambitions (a overused visual gag, but it's fine). The king smiles and gives himself a golden tooth.

After a long morning of touching things, Midas treats himself to a full banquet of food. This scene is the revelatory moment when Midas discovers the foolhardiness of his wish. He attempts to eat grapefruit but as he dips his spoon into the pulp, a stream of coins shoots into his face. Midas takes it in stride at first, affecting an aristocratic manner, using a gold coin as a mock monocle. Peeling back a banana, he gets a pile of coins rather than a sweet fleshy treat. He grabs his goblet. Mouthful of coins,

Midas is starting to get worried. He forks a succulent roast chicken from across the table. Just as his teeth touch the skin, the chicken is now a golden chicken. In petulant frustration, Midas touches all the dishes before flipping the entire table.

(The sound design is also quite interesting: throughout the short, when Midas turns things to gold, there's a tinkly, quavering bell sound that emanates. It's frothy and angelic, echoing Midas' glee at his newfound power. Now, when he's touching all the dishes in the throes of hunger, the sound is more hollow and cacophonous, evoking the gold's now chilly uselessness. When he's biting the gold-plated chicken, it sounds like someone hammering a slab of metal.)

Midas is pulling his hair out and laughing maniacally. He approaches the mirror from earlier and asks his reflection, "Is the richest king in all the world to starve to death?"

His reflection, now a golden skeleton, nods in assent. Frightened, Midas tries to flee the castle. Unfortunately, his long shadow serves as the veil for a giant golden Grim Reaper blocking the door. The sound that comes out of Midas is.....is it possible to call one's frightened gasp 'blood-curdling'? It's a gasp that has 'fatal coronary' written all over it. The skeleton makes a slashing motion across his throat and the king runs away. Probably my favorite moment in any cartoon.

A shaken Midas returns to his treasury and pleads for Goldie to return, all the while crying like a infant. Goldie, indeed, does return, mocking Midas' vanity. Midas begs Goldie to erase "this golden curse". He offers Goldie his entire kingdom for one "hamburger sandwich" (charmingly redundant phrase). A pretty drastic offer: a complete enunciation of all materialism and power, all for a sandwich whose existence would cease after three masticatory cycles of the lower jaw (it takes me three bites to finish a hamburger, a pleasant sight for anyone whose ever eaten in my presence). Being the maniacal sadist that he is, Goldie teasingly asks him, "With or without onions?" Midas says plain is fine. Goldie "toodle-oo's" back into the eighth dimension.

We get a wide shot of the dungeon treasury (if you notice, the desk is not centered in the shot like it was in the opening and the ceiling is way higher. Mainly because it's about to be used in an upcoming match cut where we see the massive dirt pit that was once the treasury, to show the overall scale of the castle's evaporation) as the castle begins to implode. Debris is falling and there's this putrid gold filter that flickers on screen (like a strobe effect) to simulate the implosion. It's not great.

Midas is now standing in an open pit that was formerly the treasury. His kingly robes disappear, replaced by a Depression-era railroad bum outfit with polka-dotted undershirt, striped boxers, and a tin can as a replacement crown. Then, as promised, a hamburger sandwich appears out of thin air. Midas is ecstatic, but hesitant. He slowly and nervously touches the hamburger sandwich (covering his eyes in the hopes that...well, his hopes won't be dashed). It remains a hamburger sandwich. He looks under the bun and exclaims with a toothless smile (the gold tooth is gone...little details do not go unnoticed), "With onions! Whoopee!" Midas voraciously gnaws at his hamburger sandwich. La fin.

So, why is The Golden Touch considered such an ugly duckling in Disney canon?

Backlash towards it, at least from the perspective of the animators, was either a case of expectations being raised too high (considering that Uncle Walt was behind it, you would think it would be the most amazing work of animation to have ever been farted out of that blessed studio), or just plain old schadenfreude (Walt was known to be a prickly pear, so animators rejoiced at this supposed "failure").

I don't have an opinion on what makes The Golden Touch strong or weak from an animation standpoint (I'm not an expert on the finer details of animation). You can't really go wrong with Disney in terms of technical craft, so all I can is say is that I like the animation. It's good....except for that palace destruction sequence.

A common criticism of The Golden Touch are that the characters are unlikable, with Midas being a loud man-child and Goldie being a snide rogue who harbors no sympathy for the king. It's also criticized for not being terribly effective as a fable either, with Midas' redemption hinging not so much on a moral realization of gold's inherent evil, but rather on the self-preservation instinct that starvation inspires in desperate, selfish people. Sure, Midas' hunger for gold is extinguished, but it just ends up being replaced by a different kind of hunger. And judging from his rotund physique, his whole existence is driven not by any sort of human compassion (since there's no one around for him to be compassionate towards), but rather by satiety. You could argue the ending has a Depression-era populist moral, relating to the common man and how to be content with little, but it doesn't seem to point in any hopeful direction in its otherwise hopeless protagonist.

And also, people didn't find it funny (well, Disney shorts were never that funny; they were just clever in a smirky way) and thought it was too long (The Golden Touch is ten minutes long, the longest of the Silly Symphonies). But that's subjective.

And if we want to be shamelessly nitpick-y about it, we could say it barely qualifies as a Silly Symphony. It only has two songs, and they're easily disposable. It leans more on the "silly" than the "symphony" and it falls short of the mark of being both at the same time and that's probably irritating for anyone who is that much of a literalist.

These are understandable criticisms, but they're also rather narrow readings. It's being judged too much through the lens of "meaningful fable" or "typically whole-hearted Disney fare".

The Golden Touch, at least to me, feels more like a farcical condemnation of privileged wealth. Its flippant tone and irreverent disregard for easy morality is more akin to a Warner Bros. cartoon. It doesn't have the same snide mean-spiritedness as Bugs Bunny torturing an opera singer, but there's a noticeable lack of sentimentality, especially compared to other Disney projects. This tonal flippancy can be seen as a failure of intent, but if it is, its unintended effect still works. It felt different from other Disney shorts and probably why I gravitated towards it the most. It had...edge. Well, about as much edge as a butter knife, but relative to other Disney shorts, it manages to draw a pink mark on the studio's lily-white skin.

I like King Midas. Midas is a larger-than-life clown whose childishness and slimy charisma are engaging in a mildly acidic way. This is all due to Norm Ferguson's amusing character design and Billy Bletcher's gargantuan baritone. It's a well-realized interpretation. I can't say the same for Goldie, who is basically a squeaky-voiced dime-store leprechaun with a mischievous countenance, but it's serviceable.

It's enjoyability is also enhanced by its visuals, especially when Midas is turning everything into gold. The golden touch is, obviously, the short's creative weapon and I'm still entranced by its various visual gags. The sequence when Midas is prancing around in his garden has a playful tone that is acerbically contrasted with his casual destruction of nature. The sequence with Midas at his banquet table is funny while also being palpably tense (you cam feel Midas' panicky frustration at not being able to eat).

The ending itself is a pretty bold reimagining of the blandly happy ending that often bookends the Midas myth. It often just ends with Midas learning his lesson and retaining all his worldly goods. In Disney's The Golden Touch, Midas literally loses everything. Sure, it's based on Midas' impulsiveness (he doesn't even think twice about what he's saying when making that fatal deal with Goldie; he's just an mindless animal blurting things out in desperation), but that impulsiveness and recklessness is just punishment for a man who has no business ruling over anybody, or anything for that matter. Uncle Walt is a much harsher critic of Midas than Ovid or Hawthorne ever were.

I also like The Golden Touch simply because I like the dark, suggestive undercurrent of the tale. The myth itself is already bathed in frightening implications. The eerie uniformity of a kingdom glazed in a dull sheen. And not being able to do...anything, let alone eat. It's crippling and isolating and would send even the most stalwart soul into the fetal position.

Granted, The Golden Touch doesn't morosely dip its head into the widening gyre of its scenario. It is ultimately a silly, harmless cartoon at its core, but it's the suggestion of that darkness that matters. It's only a ten minute short and yet, its conveys its world with brisk efficiency and surprising creativity. And though it might not feel wholly satisfying in its brief running time, it managed to fire up my young imagination.

Even its inconsistencies are engaging. Like, when he touches his cloak, why doesn't it turn to gold? When he touches the apple tree, why are some of the apples still red? When he forks the big chicken, why doesn't the chicken turn to gold right there since the chicken is touching the fork that he's holding? Why does the chicken turn to gold when it touches his teeth? Is it implying that other parts of his body have the golden touch? If that's the case, then why don't his slippers turn to gold? This infinite regress of nitpicks, far from being frustrating, are actually tantalizing and fun. It gives the viewer license to wrap their head around the thorny practicalities of having such a curse. Like, I'm just imagining one of Midas' servants (if he has any) dangling from a rope and dropping pieces of chicken into Midas' mouth, in the vain hope that none of the meat turns to gold if it touches his uvula.

Also, I like the golden skeletal specters of death near the end. It's always nice when a cartoon aimed for children reminds me of the finite time I have left.

Would it be trite to compare King Midas to Walt Disney for the purpose of a sassy put-down? Yeah. I'm sure one can't help but make that comparison. Were they both somewhat controlling bastards who got a taste of their own medicine? Sure. But that's just symmetrical poetical thinking.

If anything, I could almost see the short as being self-deprecation on Walt's part, playfully imagining himself the way he thought other people saw him. He purposefully created a demon so others could slay it, and hopefully inspire confidence in his animators to outdo themselves. But that's symmetrical poetical thinking on my part.

The simple honest answer is that Walt Disney sincerely tried to direct a short, and nobody liked it, and he remained wounded about it ever since. But I think ol' Walt might have been a bit hard on himself. The man tried and I think it worked. It was a noble attempt at something different after multiple cartoons tackled such tried-and-true subjects like cats, birds, flowers, trees, mice, pigs, kittens, bunnies, insects, fish, and other assorted nursery rhyme miscellany. Walt tried to tackle the inner darkness of mens' souls, and he did it with the kind of palatable whimsy that we can expect from the man. It's good. I like it.

Now, I will end on my own sassy critic blurb: "The Golden Touch? More like The Silver Touch."

Thank you.

Further Reading

Mythology: Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes by Edith Hamilton (the classic, go-to source for Greek and Roman mythology, although her section on Midas is listed in the section entitled "The Less Important Myths", which frankly kind of undersells my rigorous, pain-staking scholarship on the subject; how am I to be taken seriously on Tumblr with that kind of attitude, Ms. Hamilton?!?)

The TVTropes page on the Midas Touch provided examples of the myth's impact on pop culture; not an exhaustive list, I imagine, but it definitely answered my persistent queries on whether there have been any substantial adaptations of the myth.

When Walt Laid a Golden Egg by Jim Korkis https://www.mouseplanet.com/10214/When_Walt_Laid_a_Golden_Egg

Lastly, an interesting little article about the history of the short in question.

#disney #animation #thegoldentouch #king midas #movies #silly symphonies

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faelune-home · 9 months ago

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FFXIVWrite 2024 Finished Masterpost

The irony of using a DT themed banner when I didn't even write anything for Dawntrail this month XD Bar one prompt.

But yeah, I ended up with two main story threads I was writing with only a small handful of standalone pieces; the Endwalker role quest rewrites to feature a relevant Scion in each story, and a farming sim AU based off Fields of Mistria cos that game had a grip on me at the start of the month aha...

And even with the month finished I still have ideas I want to do for that AU, and I want to flesh out the rewrite works to post on Ao3 - mainly add more to the other, non-Magic questlines, get more interactions and hit more of the actual plot threads for each quest story. But that'll be after a break from writing.

Thank you for reading if you did~ Please look forward to future updates and Ao3 postings for the stories that hopefully won't be left till next year!

Standalone #2 Horizon - A final addition to last year's collection of writings for my second character Yuri meeting the Scions with the final character she didn't get to meet, Estinien #3 Halcyon - Post-Endwalker, contemplating what peace even means and especially for the Scions #23 On Cloud Nine - Dawntrail spoilers, looking at Sphene and the final area residents

Fields of Mistria AU #9 Lend an Ear - Fhara's settling in, ready for a new life in the valley to help out a poor town hit by an earthquake, with Minfilia to greet her #7 Morsel - Beginning the town introductions by meeting the inn runners, Thancred and Ryne #24 Bar - Meeting the general store owner, Tataru #16 Third-Rate - The Hext sisters Yda and Lyse running the combined forge-and-carpenters #30 Two Heads... - The clinic owner Y'shtola and her frequent assistant Urianger

Role Quest Rewrites Healer w/ Alphinaud #1 Steer - Arriving and chatting with Arenvald #4 Reticent - A late night talk about Fordola and their potential similarities #27 Memory - The mission begins, and some unfortunate encourters...

Melee w/ Estinien #10 Stable - Mission briefing with the Admiral #20 Duel - Training with the Company of Heroes #26 Zip - The old commander shows up

Ranged w/ G'raha #12 Quarry - Hunting for the blasphemy #21 Shade - Hien needs someone to share his woes with late at night without his usual companions

Tank w/ Thancred #25 Perpetuity - Thancred offers an ear for Kan-E's troubles

Caster w/ Alisaie #3 Tempest - Arriving in Ishgard #14 Telling - Searching for clues about the blasphemy #17 Sally - Confronting the Bishop #19 Taken - Alisaie and Artoirel have a talk while the inquiry goes on hold #28 Deleterious - The final confrontation with Profane Fafnir

(I will never deny my twin bias, but the magic quest being finished over all the others really is just cos the prompts worked with my brain and the plot points i wanted to hit, and Ali's just really fun to work with and her reactions with the cast there. I could still add more even for her story, but I do need to go back and add more for...everyone, really)

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2024 #masterpost #fufu's writing #role quest #fields of mistria au #scions of the seventh dawn

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internetgiraffekid1673 · 10 months ago

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Michael Darling Through the Ages:

Finally finishing off the Darlings with this post and making it so painfully obvious that I'm color coding these characters that I will assume you lack color vision if you miss it. This is post number 4 for this project! I am making a crossover for Peter Pan, Milo and the Phantom Tollbooth, Alice in Wonderland, and The Wizard of Oz. The story will focus on all the main characters from these stories moving to the same town and going to school and having fantastical adventures together.

More info and non-formatted drawings under the cut. Posts for Alice, Wendy, John, Dorothy, and Milo.

Chicken Scratch Translation (in the order the boxes should be read):

[Neverland Era. Age: 6. Source: Portraits in the Darling residence]

[Notes: a very sweet young child with a lot of energy and a big imagination. He might not come up with a lot of ideas or plans on his own, but he fully throws himself into whatever the current game is.]

[Chill Jock Era. Age: 13. Source: School yearbook photos]

[Notes: Star of the field hockey team (which he had to start). While he's a very talented player, he happy to run support and/or let others do the strategizing. He's a very matter of fact kind of kid who deals with the facts as they come. . . Although he is still a 13 year old boy.]

[Museum Curator Era. Age: 30. Source: Professional Website Photo]

[Notes: Michael discovered his love for learning about other cultures quite young and has since discovered that material preservation and keeping physical evidence of their cultures alive was quite important to him. While his perpetual baby face makes it look worse than it is, he is still impressively young for his career choice.]

AU Info:

This is a modern!AU taking place somewhere between the 90s and the 2010s

The AU takes place in America, mostly because I am an American and will have an easier time that way. That said, Alice and the Darlings were still originally located in England and relocated to America sometime after their original adventures. Dorothy is from Kansas and Milo is from Indeterminate American Suburbia.

The school is 7-12. During the time of the story, Michael and Alice are 8th graders, John and Milo are sophomores, and Wendy and Dorothy are seniors.

I am using book canon for Alice in Wonderland (I will be using both Looking Glass Land and Wonderland) and for Milo and the Phantom Tollbooth. I'm using Warner Bros Movie canon for The Wizard of Oz. I'm using primarily Disney movie canon for Peter Pan, but will be taking elements from the boon and the stageplay as I see fit.

The story will be equal parts high school AU , focusing on their mundane adventures, and fantastical story, and all of the original Magical Otherworlds will be featured.

While this will be a gen fic, ships will appear! Wendy and Dorothy are both some kind of sapphic and will be shipped (they don't really know their own sexualities, but they do know they like girls). John is gay and Milo is aspec (exact variety as of yet undetermined) and will be shipped in an aspec way. Michael and Alice will stay single, but Michael is straight and Alice is pan.

These information files exist in universe! Who made them? That's my secret! >:)

Other Notes:

I can do what I want. The Darlings are 1/4 Japanese from their maternal grandmother.

While I tried to extrapolate the kids' future jobs and interests from their stories, Michael is unfortunately too young to profile. He carries a teddy bear and really likes Nana, so I was going to give him an animal related profession, but I changed my mind and decided to do something dumb instead. Type Michael Darling into a search engine and see if you can figure it out.

Unformatted versions:

#Project: The CrossRoads #giraffe's ramblings #fanart #Peter Pan fanart #Michael Darling fanart #which isn't a tag because NOBODY cares about this child but me #Peter Pan #peter pan crossover #Peter Pan fanfiction #crossover fanfiction #crossover #michael darling #i am very curious if that tag will attract anyone who isn't supposed to be here #if it does #hi hello i'm sorry that every search you make is probably like this #you know who you are #digital art #highschool au #modern au #i again expect this to stay a 0 note post #but some Peter Pan fanart nut surprised me last time so we'll see what happens #sorry for rambling in the tags again #but it's me and ya'll should know by now that this is just what i do #also i have no idea who the hypothetical you i'm talking to is since all these posts have like 2 notes and it's different people every time #but i digress #Giraffe's Scribblings

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bigskydreaming · 11 months ago

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So back to finishing up the last of my data pages/graphics for getting my patreon started, which I was hoping to get off the ground at the start of this month but had to delay. But my original stuff is largely gonna be the focus of it, and though I have multiple original 'universes,' I'm leading with The Firmament: a giant space opera universe that intermingles over a dozen different human civilizations who all have their own unique advantages - some biological, some magical, some technology derived, some location derived, etc.

One of them features a kind of symbiosis between a human civilization and ancient, bodiless entities of pure force and will known only as patrons. The concept for this started out as a YA novel I was writing over a decade ago before shelving it for ages. It's morphed drastically since then, though the underlying rules of this particular civilization remain largely the same as when I first came up with it, just....the focus of the narratives shifted in very different directions that forced the ideas and themes to evolve in different ways than I anticipated, stuff like that. The novel set in this part of The Firmament is now an adult sci-fi novel called Starlight Sonata, with a wildly different premise, third person POV instead of first, etc. None of the characters from the original YA novel made the final cut at all, though I might revisit them in short stories or something like that.

Really only the setting of the Impossible Academy stayed the same, aside from the overall 'rules' of the civilization. Though in Starlight Sonata its in the background and not the focus at all, just part of the established worldbuilding. Anyway, just thought I'd toss this out there because I'm kinda bemused by all the ways the ideas in this morphed from their initial concept to what it is today. Which should be more clear once The Firmament data pages/graphics get up and posted (after the generalized ones about the entire Firmament setting, each civilization has their own specialized pages and I'll be starting with the Patron and Muse pages).

From the original YA novel and premise:

In this fairly isolated star system within the greater Firmament universe, there's a race of supremely powerful psychic entities known as the patrons. They don't communicate with humanity or interact with them except for when they can be persuaded to through art - the only thing humans create that they're at all interested in or intrigued by. And so in this particular galactic civilization, artists wield great power - they attend rulers and command armies, as with the backing of a patron, they can manipulate the weather, destroy cities, even confer immortality. But first they must train at the Academy, in the hopes of attracting a patron of their own. And where they learn, sometimes at a terrible cost, that the favors of their patrons are unpredictable and sometimes dangerous....and can vanish as quickly as they're granted.

In this excerpt, the main character Teela (a Musician) gets her first glimpse of the Academy, along with three of her future classmates, an Architect, a Painter and a Dancer.

The sky-ferry rounded the cliffs and I leaned forward over the railing, eager for my first glimpse of the Academy. I failed to realize doing so would put me partially outside the comfort of the ferry’s artificial atmosphere. Chill winter winds tore at my face, chapping my lips and numbing my cheeks. I gasped and shivered and most likely caught pneumonia, but then the towering spires of the Academy loomed up ahead of us and I forgot how to be anything but awed.

It crowned the red rocks of the mountaintop like a glittering, multi-faceted jewel, walls curving and climbing at dizzying angles that defied everything I thought I knew about geometry. Buildings shimmered like pearls beneath the haze of the Academy’s perpetual twilight, the grounds blanketed by lush, sprawling gardens said to bloom year round in an eternal spring. A spinning crystal orb balanced atop the tallest tower. Riotous displays of color boiled and shifted within it and splashed across the sky above, rainbow auroras crashing against banks of clouds like waves upon a shore.

“The Painter’s Moon,” Alars said. He leaned forward beside me, eyes following the same path as mine. His fingers twitched against the railing. “Imagine painting with the sky itself as your canvas.”

I was no painter, but I understood the hunger in his voice all the same. Then the temperature spiked in a span of seconds as we crossed whatever border kept the Academy in its own space and time, untouched by the outside world. The sky-ferry picked up speed as it skimmed along the side of the mountain. We darted past hanging tropical gardens, the air thick and heavy with their perfumes. Winds from our passage set delicate trees to swaying and howled through gaps in the cliffs, somehow turning into haunting melodies that I recognized: Ardakoff’s Requiem at Midnight, the Dosvai Dirges, Mariroja’s Pasionada ad Infinatum….great.

Even the rocks at this place played them better than I did.

We drew level with a waterfall thundering down the cliff-face. It drowned out whatever Mira was saying next to me. Spray misted our faces as the ferry rose to the Academy proper.

It was impossible to gauge just how big it was, but then, a good many things about it were impossible in general. Like the buildings that looked as though sculpted from ice and hovering above with no support whatsoever. Or the sweeping silver staircase that climbed so high in the air it seemed to end in the clouds. Or the bridge of water growing out of a fountain and supporting a handful of people as sturdily as one made from stone…but then, I supposed that’s why it was called the Impossible Academy. What do you expect from a place crafted from imagination, unfettered by physics?

“Wait, hold that pose!” Ezra shouted behind me. I spun to see him viewing me through framed hands. He pursed his lips in mock concentration. “I have my first masterpiece. Open-Mouthed Peasant Feasting Upon Flies.”

“Ezra, move away from the railing,” Mira said with an imperious eye roll I vowed to later practice in the mirror. She held a perfectly manicured hand between them and studied it, as though gauging its effectiveness as an instrument of fratricide. “I’m feeling dangerously justified in shoving you overboard.”

He scowled and sulked off.

“How are you related to him?” I wondered out loud.

“Some kind of cosmic joke is my best guess.” She sighed. “No idea what the punchline's supposed to be though.”

#kalen writes things sometimes #The Firmament space opera universe

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philok19 · 1 year ago

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Spinning: The Foundation of a Great Style

Introduction

In 2024, the skill level of the freestyle community is higher than it has ever been: the most incomprehensibly spectacular missed shots of 2022 and prior are now being casually scored without anyone's grandmother even lifting an eyebrow. The boundaries of the game are constantly pushed to their absolute limit, yet I have witnessed some form of negligence towards developing a particular style, one that feels unique to each individual. For the past few years, I have prioritised improving my spins, and through that experience, I have discovered many factors that contribute to a great, visually pleasing and interesting style. To aid others into acquiring better movement in the air — and mostly to see more variety in an otherwise incredibly stale noflip meta —, I shall define and showcase my personal interpretation of great spinning, and thereafter, detail advice to give directions to anyone looking to improve their spins.

Disclaimer: I will mostly be referring to wall freestyling, as it is the genre I am most familiar with, and I think its slow nature makes the spins' quality a lot more important. However, the contents of this post can definitely be applied to other categories.

How does one identify great style?

Spinning is at the forefront of freestyling. Whether it is the main focus of one of its subcategories or simply a tool to better control one's car, freestyling cannot exist without rotations. The first factor to consider when judging a freestyler's style is, therefore, their ability to keep spinning. In my opinion, finding a way to twist and tangle the car to adapt to a particular situation — as opposed to staying completely still and waiting for the ball — is primordial for visually pleasing movement. This description may be vague, but the following shots should clear it up.

Example of a shot with barely any spins and long pauses

Credit: Spen

Example of a shot with continuous spins

Credit: Storm

Furthermore, I think depth plays an important role when considering someone's style. I define depth as the measure of how much the spins deviate from the normal directional air roll axis. This is much better explained with visual support, so the shot below will act as a reference for future explanations.

My shot features both depth and simplicity

For the first two seconds, the spins are simple — which is a term I will use as an antonym to depth from now on —: they nearly mimic the effect of solely pressing the air roll right button without ever touching the joystick. Right before landing on the ceiling, however, the spins become a lot deeper and deviate a ton from the aforementioned effect. Additionally, the following backflip adds a lot to the shot's depth. In contrast, the frontflip afterwards brings back a sense of simplicity, as no air roll is added to break up its straight-forward movement.

I think simplicity has its place in one's style, but it cannot be relied on entirely to produce an interesting style that differs from the norm. Depth, however, can be used perpetually in a shot without negatively affecting its style — or at least, I have not yet seen any counterexamples —, but a style that relies on it a lot can drain boost very quickly, making latter sections of a shot very difficult or even impossible.

Lastly, I believe confidence can be a great indicator of good style. Confident spinning is a rather nebulous concept — and it could honestly warrant a whole separate post —, but to keep it short, a confident freestyler is able to make it seem like they are comfortable in any situation. Confidence is antonymous with hesitation, which ties into the first aspect (continuously spinning), as pausing during a shot is not the best display of comfort. Again, visual support is included below.

Novel displays confidence by seamlessly adapting to a precarious situation

It is totally possible to go against these rules and still produce an entirely new and interesting style, but as Pablo Picasso famously said:

Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist.

An example of a shot that breaks the rules while still retaining incredible value in a stylistic sense is the following shot by Storm:

Storm stops midair to contrast with the otherwise continuous spins

To take advantage of this out-of-the-norm movement, one must first be well-versed in everything I described above, otherwise the resulting style is likely to end up unappealing and poorly executed.

Which players can be relied upon for their style?

As the meta develops, it is increasingly clear to me that quantity is prioritised over quality, which may cast a shadow onto freestylers known for their style. I believe they deserve as much light as possible, and to recognise the artistic value of their spins, I shall provide a list of the freestylers that inspired me — and continue to do so! — the most.

Novel

It should not come as a surprise that arguably the greatest wall freestyler of all time is making it onto this list. From his early days until recently, Novel has been the king of confident and messy, yet clean spinning. His movement incorporates unpredictable direction changes — especially before landing on the ceiling —, and he has pioneered the use of the ''Novel catch'', as I like to call it (more on it in the advice section). No matter the situation, it seems like his car is always able to turn in an advantageous way. For that reason, I believe Novel is one of the few that is able to make it seem like he truly has complete control over his car. I do have to mention, however, that his latest videos, that being Freestyle Nonsense and cgt Freestyles were a bit disappointing to me when considering his style. When painted Dominus cars were made available, a shift in his style was immediately noticeable. While I quite liked the outcome of this change in Freestylering, his latter videos felt underwhelming.

2. Storm

If Novel's style is messy, Storm elevates it to the next level. With his tasteful changes in air roll directions and rough movement, Storm's style is the definition of unpredictability. I believe he is the only freestyler to really put emphasis on catching the ball in an abnormal manner, meaning that he is not afraid of throwing his car in odd directions before recovering perfectly to send the ball to the backboard. I would also describe Storm's spins as creative, since he is able to break the rules to produce unique visual effects. Adding onto that his peculiar flips, Storm is not afraid to get out of his comfort zone. If I had to point out a negative aspect of his style, it would be his relatively simple approach to the ceiling. He makes use of the same patterns in a lot of his shots, thus making them quite repetitive, which is only a negative point due to the rest of the shots feeling always so unique.

3. Sammy

In contrast to the previous entries, Sammy's style is methodical and risk-free. This may appear as a negative quality, but he delivers it with such a polished and refined execution that one can only admire it. Sammy never does unnecessary movements, meaning his shots feel extremely clean from start to end. Since this player does not strive to be creative, it is difficult to find many things to point out, but one can only gaze in awe at the sheer flow displayed in his shots.

4. Rasko

Much like Sammy, Rasko is another example of clean movement. His style is centred around ceiling play: both his landings and his jumps are rare sights in 2024, and they are typical of the time period he was most active in. As for the former, Rasko usually lands in a ''helicopter'' fashion, making sure his car does not stop rotating on the ceiling. When it comes to the latter, the majority of his shots feature jumping off of the ceiling followed swiftly by a stall or a flip, which is a rather old-school technique that is not used at all — or at least not to this extent — nowadays. Rasko has mastered both of the aforementioned concepts, and he has managed to combine them in a way that displays no hard catches and bumps nor any major interruptions, making his shots feel like long flowing motions. As this is a name most people will not recognise, I have included below a shot of his which, in my opinion, best demonstrates his style.

Rasko in Team Scope's Training Montage #1

5. philok19

I am aware that it is quite pretentious of me to include myself in this list, but I have received compliments for my style and I believe I am far from the worst example to follow. I would describe my style as an amalgamation of Novel's and Storm's spins, as my current goal is to stray away from my comfort zone as much as possible while retaining smooth movements. I have also worked on catching the ball in odd ways, akin to Storm's habits. To point out a negative trait of mine, I believe my confidence drops when using limited boost, and it is quite apparent when looking at my in-game shots.

Hopefully these examples were enough to inspire anyone interested in improving their style. I have tried looking for players from other freestyling subcategories, but my search has never amounted to anything substantial.

How does one improve their style?

To be able to work on their style, one must already be very familiar with the way their car spins. If this step is not taken into consideration, it will be impossible to unlock the entire range of possibilities freestyling can offer. Additionally, it may be difficult to tell if inconsistency is due to learning new movements or if the player's lack of control is to blame. However, developing a style does improve aerial control a lot.

1. The catch

Working on catching the ball in a more interesting way will singlehandedly elevate a shot above any other that uses the disgusting ''basic catch'' that has become too ubiquitous amongst wall freestylers nowadays. To eliminate any confusion, I define ''catching'' as redirecting the ball to the backboard while acquiring a jump reset.

To improve this skill, I would advise taking inspiration from other freestylers. Here are a few examples of catches that are effective:

The helicopter motion

The Novel catch

Stalls and flips

Other catches

The helicopter motion

This catch is the base for more advanced catches. The helicopter motion was especially prominent in 2017, and examples of it are plentiful in old Team Nytro montages. To perform this catch, one must first approach the ball while spinning, then stop using air roll once the car is close enough and the underside of the car faces the ball, and finally, start pointing the joystick sideways to perform helicopter motions while redirecting the ball to the backboard. It is important to note that only a single rotation — let alone half a turn — suffices to produce a pleasing effect. Any more rotations may induce a lack of control and unwanted visuals.

Slope uses the helicopter motion in Nytro's Freestyle Moments #9

The Novel catch

The Novel catch consists of doing a helicopter motion while leaning backwards:

Novel does his iconic catch in two different freestyle genres

This catch is usually done when the car does not have the time to complete another air roll cycle before reaching the ball.

To practice the catch, one may start by only leaning backwards into the ball. As experience for this motion develops, air roll can slowly be integrated to connect the spins leading up to the catch and the catch itself. Alternatively, one may also directly learn the inputs and adapt this newfound knowledge to a training pack until they are comfortable with the motion.

Stalls and flips

This category is quite broad, since there are many ways to include flips in catches. One may choose either to cancel their flip or to flip fully into the ball. Stall catches, on the other hand, are usually limited to heli-stalls (stalls with helicopter motions).

Example of a stall catch

When it comes to flip cancels (frontflips and backflips), there are a ton of subtle movements one can incorporate to make their catch more appealing. As a starting point, catches using flip cancels usually work best when they make use of helicopter motions. However, other methods can be just as appropriate depending on the context.

Example of a flip cancel catch

As for full flips, several options are available. These flips are usually found in messier styles where unpredictability dominates. A technique that works well visually — and is often unavoidable in certain situations — consists of stopping the cars rotation until it is in the perfect position (relative to the ball) to initiate the full flip. However, I believe a better effect can be achieved by spinning constantly before flipping, as the uncertainty of the situation may shock the viewer more easily. The former, in comparison, feels a lot more obvious and predictable.

Example of a full flip catch, #1

Example of a full flip catch, #2

Example of a full flip catch, #3

To practice these catches, one must already be comfortable with the prerequisite mechanics. Once this base is established, trial and error will slowly make the motions feel natural. Repetition and self-analysis are key to improvement.

Other catches

Even though most variations stem from the previous three catches, there are still many other options available. One may prefer inverting the inputs for a Novel catch and make the car lean forwards instead, or perhaps create an entirely new catching motion. At this point, the player's creativity is the limit. To practice or discover new catches, I would advise sending the car in the ball's general direction, then recovering in a way that feels interesting. Great finds often come by accident, but to accelerate that process, intentionally putting the car in odd situations can be quite favourable.

2. The approach

One of the most important parts of a wall freestyle is the one that precedes the catch, or in other words, the approach. For this section, I will exclusively give advice related to the very start of the freestyle, that being the starting spins and the following landing on the ceiling.

To start, one must consider the following: the type of spins a player uses strongly depends on the goal they are trying to achieve. For example, a freestyler with messy and unpredictable movement (flips, catches, etc.) will try to spin in a way that matches that description. Following the same line of thought, it would not make sense for Sammy, who has a clean style, to include a lot of depth or unnecessary movements before landing on the ceiling.

When it comes to cleaner styles, the best approach is often the simplest. There is no need to overcomplicate the matter, as basic movements are usually rewarded more than messier ones when done to perfection. A consistent and repetitive set of spins can work very well as long as their visual effect is properly taken advantage of. To improve the approach for this style, one should devote all of their efforts towards successfully executing each spin or motion without bumps or other oddities in the car's movement. The same concept applies to the ceiling part: one should always land perfectly on the ceiling, preferably keeping undisturbed the flow of the shot by doing a helicopter motion when landing. It should be noted that a difference exists between clean and uninteresting approaches: the former consciously uses simple motions that flow well when put together, while the latter only aims for the bare minimum without caring about the shot's aesthetic value.

In contrast, messy styles require a more intricate approach. One should therefore aim to make the car as unstable as possible in the air (depending obviously on the level of messiness) and to diversify their spin repertoire. Developing these aspects does not come without a ton of experimentation, as discovering interesting spins is not a skill one can easily acquire from watching others play. It helps a lot to try to understand the joystick and air roll combinations other freestylers use, but applying them can only be done through an extensive amount of practice. To improve, one should not fear of taking risks. Daring to try a different motion and failing often teaches much more to the player than any successful, yet safe attempt. As a starting point, I would advise exploring joystick positions that are unfamiliar and adding air roll at random intervals. Additionally, one may also frequently change air roll and joystick directions to produce a more chaotic effect. Again, practice will make these motion second nature given enough time. As for the ceiling landing, the possibilities are truly endless. Even rough landings have their place in messy approaches.

3. Depth of field

This section is arguably not as important, but I still chose to talk about it, since many freestylers nowadays do not seem to take this aspect into consideration. Similarly to the depth I described earlier, depth of field refers to the car's deviation from the pass' axis throughout the shot. In other words, it can be thought of as the distance travelled by the car during the shot. Below is attached a visual example of poor and great depth.

I have also included examples for both in the form of the following shots:

Reed's shot features great depth of field (Team Nytro Freestyle Moments #3)

Fadez' shot features poor depth of field (Wall Moments #2)

I believe a better depth of field creates more opportunities for a player's style to shine. After all, it is quite difficult to use more extravagant movement when space is a limiting factor. Additionally, I think having a sense of direction in a shot helps in making it interesting (the contrary can often bore the viewer, especially if the spins are lacking). I also have other reasons to believe great depth of field makes a positive impact on a shot, but these thoughts are still limited to superficial feelings. In the future, I may produce an entire post dedicated to depth of field once I understand my preference better.

I am uncertain whether ''too much'' depth of field is even a feasible option. From JHZER's frontflip double ceilings in 2016 to Novel's long ceiling shuffles, I have not seen any example that feels inappropriate. Obviously, some shots may appear poorly executed, but I do not believe depth of field is the cause of that. However, too little depth does affect a shot's appearance, whether it be the catch angle, the speed, the spins, the overall style, etc. In my opinion, the ideal location for the start of a wall freestyle is most likely located around the boost pill in the middle of the field, more specifically a few cars' worth of distance behind.

Conclusion

Style in freestyling is a vast world with endless possibilities. By defining and showcasing the knowledge I have gathered over the years, by providing examples of freestylers renowned for their style and by including detailed advice on many important aspects of a wall freestyle, I hope to have sparked a newfound interest in the artistic value of Rocket League shots. The community needs more variety, and this unexplored area is the perfect gateway for it!

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