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bonktime · 3 years

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Weather the Storm

Prologue: Lay of the Land

Ezra (Prospect) x f!reader (no y/n) 1861 Lighthouse au

Masterlist // Chapter One: Taken Aback

Rated: Explicit (bit of a slow burn but we’ll get there)

Warnings: Language for now (smut will come later)

Summary: Ezra travelled with the tides, let the sea carry him where it willed and never stayed long. The lighthouse keeper was the opposite. Where he moved she stood firm, defying the waves and the tide as if carved from the cliff herself. They’re drawn together, but opposing forces so strong are always destined to cause a storm.

A note: I kinda apologise for historical inaccuracies but 1861 was a proper shite time to be a woman so we’re mostly glossing over that. Also the lighthouses mentioned hadn’t even been built yet. Another thank you to @danniburgh who I threw ideas at to see what stuck. As of right now this is shaping up to be 7 chapters and an epilogue of sea puns, yearning, angst and definitely smut. I intend to update weekly but that may vary depending on work! I’ve put glossary at the end so you know what I’m talking about. Written in the third person.

Let me know if you wanna be tagged!

Wordcount: 851

~~~~~~~~~~

Everything Ezra could see was grey. Heavy clouds loomed above, threatening rain but not ready to give it up, their reflections transforming the sea into mercury. Even the huts in the bay appeared drab, colour sucked out by the beating of the weather. He wondered if the people would be the same, colourless and cold like the land that surrounded them. He had often found that humans adapted to their environment so well they almost became a part of it, blending slowly together until inseparable and indistinguishable. In a way he was envious of them, to go where the work was had never allowed him to stay too long and get too comfortable. It made him stand out, always a newcomer, an outsider unable to make real acquaintances. He liked it though, the freedom, the adventure of it. He was certain that he always left an impression when he’d gone: a bruising kiss, a couple missing teeth, a scar. He marked the places he'd been, like carving his name into a tree.

The North Sea was an apt name, he decided. He’d read that it had once borne many others, Morimaru, Oceanum, Mare Germanicum, but only North had stuck. There appeared to be no other words that could correctly depict it. North as in north of everything, north as in cold, north as in nothing else is important except it's northernness. It seemed curious that it had managed to shuck the title the Dead Sea, where floating freshwater stilled the waves and becalmed boats, where hidden reefs wrecked ships making it one of the deadliest coasts in the country. He supposed with the new technology, those aboard had ample warning to avoid getting dashed upon the rocks, only needing to keep a weather eye and ear out.

Finding work had been easy, the fishing season was starting, and with his experience the trawler ‘Mistress’ was all too eager to have an extra set of hands, willing and able to pay the devil. It was dangerous work that paid adequately and offered some compensation, money to a family he didn’t have if he died, a stipend should he be crocked into retirement. Enough that, if he scrimped a bit, he should have no trouble travelling wherever he wanted to go next.

"Four days at sea, three on land. You're lucky, we used to run six and one but tired men make mistakes that cannot be afforded." Ezra nodded in response, dead sea indeed. The man in front of him was writing the ledger and had barely glanced at him the whole time, giving Ezra ample opportunity to stare. He was probably in his sixties and had clearly known the sea well before taking to the books when his bones could no longer bear it. His face showed every year of hard work, of the wind and the salt but as much as he appeared like the jagged cliffs of the bay, his ruddy cheeks surprised Ezra and there was a twinkle of good humour in his eye. Not all cold and salt after all.

"Do you know of any pleasant lodgings in the local area? I'll need somewhere to find respite when on land." At this the old fisherman sat up and for the first time properly looked at Ezra. Sharp eyes scanning his face, focusing on the scar on his cheek and then his eyes, so intensely he could feel the man making his judgement. There was a moment's hesitation.

"3 miles up the coast there's a lighthouse, the keeper rents out a room in the cottage. You'll have to get there quick though, else you won't beat the tides" he stood creakily and stuck his roughened hand out for Ezra to shake "See you Monday, 3 hours before dawn. If you're late, you get left behind." Ezra shook it and, with a nod, left him to begin his walk up the coast.

The wind bit his face as he looked up at the looming tower across the causeway, from here the island seemed lonely, a last stand against the beating of the waves. The lighthouse itself had once been painted white but Ocean spray had dirtied it, turning it the same grey as the sky. The Old Salt had been right about the tide, it had begun its approach. Slowly covering the rough path to the island where the lighthouse and its cottages sat, cutting it off. Crossing it wet his feet and numbed his toes but guaranteed a room for at least the night. He would be stuck there until the water receded.

As if warding him away the water rose around him, appearing to speed its ascent and forcing him to lift him bag high as he waded, knee deep through the icy water. Reaching the island, a solitary figure appeared out on the rocks, it turned and headed towards him, sure footed despite the terrain.

Ezra hadn't known what he was expecting from a lighthouse keeper. Probably an old man with a large beard, weather beaten and bad tempered.

Whatever he was expecting, she certainly hadn't been it.

⧫⧫⧫

Morimaru: Celtic for dead sea

Oceanum: latin, literally means ocean ,you probably got this one

Mare Germanicum: latin for germanic ocean

Becalmed: stuck without wind or currant

Trawler: sailing fishing boat invented in Brixham 19th century

Pay the devil: tarring a part of the ship called the devil, known as one of the worst jobs

Crocked: injured, I dunno how rare this one is but I’m never entirely sure if I’m using geordie words or not

Old Salt: means old sailor, endearing

If I missed anything let me know. If you read all this I hope you enjoyed my love of research and homesickness coming together!

#ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra (prospect)#ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect smut #pedro pascal #ezra prospect victorian au #ezra prospect au #ezra prospect 2018 #ezra prospect fanfiction #victorian au #x reader #prospect #prospect 2018

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stubblesandwich · 7 years

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Return To Me

Emma Swan is dying. Her last remaining hope is a heart-transplant, and those aren't easy to come by. But, as luck would have it, fate finds her worthy, and on a stormy autumn night, Emma is given a second chance at life. Meanwhile, on the other side of the Boston hospital, Killian Jones has been devastated by the sudden loss of his wife.

Inspired by the 2000 film of the same title with Minnie Driver and David Duchovny. Author Note: Shout out to my home girls @welllpthisishappening and @bleebug for looking this over for me and being soundboards for my gushing feelings. They’re awesome. Find on A03 here.

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

Chapter One. “Care to dance, captain?”

Killian had been staring at his wife, not bothering to hide the adoring expression on his face. She'd noticed. For her part, Milah found it sweet. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, crow's feet well-earned throughout the seven years they had been together, and nothing made her heart leap quite like the smile that reached all the way to her husband's eyes.

He rose, gave a slight bow, and extended a hand to her. “It would be my honor, m'lady,” he said, and she laughed, shaking her head at his theatrics. She took his hand, letting him lead her to the dance floor, where a dozen couples were already swaying serenely along to an old, sweet love song.

The Boston marina had been decorated exquisitely, hardly an expense spared, for the gala that evening. Museum heads, entrepreneurs and business executives alike had all been invited to the black-tie event, whether they had donated in the past or potentially would in the future, in hopes of raising both funds and awareness for the ship restoration program Killian manned. It was his passion, and this gala was the highlight of his year, as far as his career was concerned.

His eyes flit around the room, trying to make out the faces scattered throughout the immense ballroom to see if he recognized anyone. The turnout was phenomenal. This was fortunate for him, as most of the funding for the grandiose event had come out of Killian and Milah's own pockets. But, by the looks of things, it had been well worth it. The marina, as expected, held a pristine view of the harbor and sea. The wall facing the ocean was nearly all window, from floor to ceiling, and as night had fallen, the effect was absolutely mesmerizing. A lighthouse in the distance flashed, and the moon cast its white light over the water, the dark waves nearly as beautiful as the stars looming over it.

Most of the lights had dimmed after dinner, once the dancing began. Only the grand, ornate hanging chandeliers spread throughout the ballroom were lit now, casting a warm glow over the guests as the dance floor began to fill. Milah was a sucker for this sort of music, those crooning, golden voices that seemed to capture an entire era and take their listeners back to a simpler time. It made her melt, and Killian was fully aware of this. The song playing faded into one they both knew well, and Milah couldn't help the happy little sigh that escaped her as Killian began to sing along softly for only her to hear.

She wrapped her arms over his shoulders, hands coming to rest at the back of his neck. Her fingers immediately found the hair that flipped out just a touch over his collar and began to toy with it gently.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” he asked.

Milah feigned thoughtfulness for a moment. “You know, I don't think you have. Not in a few hours, at least.” A devilish look came onto his face. “Allow me to show you.” He leaned in slowly, sweetly, and took her mouth in a kiss. The world around them melted away, fading into soft light and a slow song. Usually, she wore her hair down, letting it do whatever the thick, unruly curls were going to do that day, and he loved it. He loved the wildness of her hair, found it to be just a small glimpse into her spirit. It had been one of the first things he'd been drawn to when he'd met her. Next, her eyes. He was lost in them then, as they swayed across the dance floor. The twinkling white lights around the room made her blue eyes shine brilliantly, even with the main lights dimmed. On this night, she had gone all out, especially with her usually untamable hair. The curls he loved were twisted and tucked delicately into an elegant up-do, similar to the style she had worn for their wedding day. Of course, managing this feat hadn't come without its qualms. After several frustrating attempts to figure out a style for herself in the days leading up to Killian's fundraiser, she had eventually given up and made an appointment with her hairdresser the day of the event. It was, in Killian's opinion, well worth it. She looked stunning. A tea-length navy dress—one of his favorites—hugged her shape, accentuating all the right curves, and he couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself. Not that she minded. She certainly understood the sentiment, as her eyes had hardly strayed from him all night, glued to he tailored, blue-black suit he'd worn just for her.

“If you're trying to get laid tonight,” she'd said cheekily that afternoon, as they were both getting ready, “You're off to a great start.” He'd waggled his eyebrows at that and kissed the lipstick right off her mouth, despite her laughing protests. They were, undoubtedly, the most beautiful couple in the room, made only more alluring by the way they danced, and how they looked at each other. Eventually, the man of the hour was called to the microphone. With a swift kiss to his wife's cheek, Killian left her and made his way to the front of the room, where one of his event organizers was standing with a microphone. “Thanks, mate,” he told him, clapping him on the shoulder before he took the mic in hand. The lights had been raised, and he took a moment to find Milah in the large crowd. Once he did, he shot her a wink. Killian cleared his throat, testing the volume of the microphone. “Thank you all for coming tonight,” he began. “None of this would have been possible without my event coordinators, who secured this marina for us. I think we can all agree it's absolutely lovely.” There were murmurs and a few claps of agreement. He didn't have much more to add. The affair was extravagant, but its purpose was fairly simple. Donors who had given money to the ship restoration company in the past were profusely thanked and honored, potential donors were further wooed. Killian promised them all they would be able to see the fruits of their donations first hand, as some of the organization's more prestigious restoration projects—a gorgeous antique yacht, an old sailing ship circa 1800, and a small historical battle ship halfway through its restoration process—would be docked outside in the front of the marina within the next hour. This drew a few whoops of excitement and a raucous round of clapping. Killian beamed and found Milah's smiling face in the crowd again. “I wouldn't be standing here today,” Killian went on as the applause began to die down, “Without the constant love and support of my beautiful wife, Milah. Darling, you are the wind in my sails.” Her smile grew, stretching so wide across her face it threatened to split it in half, and he wore one to match. When he returned to her, he took her hand in his, issued it a kiss, and they danced the rest of the night.

+++ Emma lay nearly as still as death, face ashen, staring up at her hospital room's ceiling. It had been painted with that horrible “popcorn paint” that had been so popular in the 90s. Something about it made her smile. Her heart monitor sped up just a touch, its high pitched chirping picking up tempo. “What is it?” Mary Margaret asked, leaning in. She had been firmly planted by Emma's side since the moment she and David had brought her in a few days ago. She held her hand, stroking the back of Emma's with her thumb every now and then. Each brush of her fingers sent warmth spilling through Emma's terrible, useless heart.

Emma's voice was hardly above a whisper when she spoke, raspy and rattling and weak. She hated it.

“Remember...” she laughed, stopping to catch her breath. Mary Margaret smiled patiently. “... That time we—” A cough overtook her, and Mary Margaret squeezed her hand as she fought through it. “.. Tried to get that... stupid popcorn paint..”

“Off my ceiling!” Mary Margaret finished for her, and Emma gave her a grateful, albeit weak, smile. “Yes! What a horrible weekend that was!”

Emma chuckled as Mary Margaret sat back down in her chair, releasing her hand as she scooted it closer to Emma's bed. “Your worst idea,” Emma murmured, and Mary Margaret put her hands up in mock surrender.

“All right,” she said, “I'll give you that. But how was I supposed to know the popcorn was only painted on to cover that terrible salmon color?”

“Who paints their ceiling... pink?” Emma asked in a whisper.

“Crazy people,” Mary Margaret said, leaning back in her chair. They settled into a comfortable silence. The sound of Emma's monitors were oddly soothing, a rhythmic symphony of chirps and beeps helping to keep her alive. She had been listening to them for so long, attuned to the sounds each individual machine made in a day, that it was hard to remember what normal life sounded like without them.

It was a simple room, with outdated wallpaper and a sparse amount of pictures on the wall. The closest frame to Emma was an Anne Geddes original of a baby poking its head out of a giant tulip. The first time she had seen it, she'd found it creepy. Mary Margaret had loved it, naturally. After almost a week, it had grown on Emma, too.

Everything had grown on her. The hospital staff, with their infinitely perky attitudes, had been insufferable in the beginning. The room was drab, but after a few days, she had softened to its old-fashioned charms. The hospital itself was apparently one of the top in the city of Boston for cardiac issues. Naturally, with a heart that was practically useless, it was where she wanted to be.

Mary Margaret had suggested, quite rightly, that if the hospital was going to put their money anywhere, it should be in its doctors and technology, instead of updating its interior decorating. Emma agreed.

While she tried not to make complaining an unbecoming habit, internally it was a hard ritual to break. Life hadn't always been kind to Emma swan. Its knocks had turned her into something of a cynic. She had been born with a heart defect, a bleak prognosis looming over her life, a laughing villain threatening to come for her one day and take it all.

Eventually, she was told, her heart would give out on her. She'd had frequent checkups in her life, most of which she had attended. Some foster parents were better than others about getting her to her necessary appointments. Others took the extra funding they were allotted for taking on a terminally ill child and kept it for themselves.

She never found out what had happened to her birth parents, if they had given her up when they had found out about her condition, as so many would-be parents had done in the history of the human race, or if they had known from her conception they weren't going to keep her.

Eventually, she stopped wondering.

For all the horror stories she had accumulated throughout her time in the foster system, she had a few good stories to go along with them. If she hadn't liked a place, she ran. Her heart condition hadn't truly manifested itself until her teenage years, wherein running away from group homes was far less manageable.

Life had picked up a bit, though, when she was sixteen, and had been introduced to Ruth Nolan. It was her last home in the foster care system, and for everything she had endured throughout her life, she at least ended her time in the system on a good note.

With Ruth came David, her son. Ruth had been the mother of twins, David and his slightly older brother, James. Tragically, James had died as a baby, and the hole he left had never been filled in Ruth's heart. She doted on David, a sweet, hard-working boy who returned her affection ounce for ounce. When Mr. Nolan passed years later, Ruth opened her heart to foster care. She had a few children come and go, offering them a sanctuary in the only way she could, and Emma had been the last to come to her.

David was only two years older than Emma, but he eagerly took on the role of her older brother. She spent two years with the Nolans, and they became the closest thing to family she had ever known. David went off to college, returning a few years later engaged to a woman he had met in one of his childhood development classes, Mary Margaret Blanchard. They were sickeningly sweet together.

Emma had stayed in touch with both of them. But for all the support they had given her, she needed to go her own way. The pendulum swung, and with the good in her life inevitably followed the bad. She met a man she thought she loved, fell hard, and was let down.

As it turned out, most young men weren't interested in a woman with a death sentence.

Where Emma had begun to withdraw, David and his new wife, Mary Margaret, predictably sought her out all the more. They had both moved into Mary Margaret's apartment, a spacious loft just outside Boston she had been previously sharing with her college roommates, and promptly began begging Emma to come visit them.

Eventually, they wore her down. When her heart condition began to worsen to the point where she could no longer hide it from them, they were there for her, fussing like a pair of mother hens.

In time, she moved in with them. She was reluctant at first, but one night, as she was pouring herself her third glass of wine, Mary Margaret had let slip that she was terrified something would happen to Emma and they wouldn't find out about it until it was too late. Suddenly, their frequent check-in texts and daily calls weren't so vexing.

+++

Eventually, her doctor sent them all home.

The past week had proved a frightful scare. Emma's face, taut with constant, thrumming pain, pallid as a corpse, was enough cause for worry.

But, most alarmingly, was what had happened while she had been on a ride-along with David earlier in the week. They had just swung through a drive-through for coffee, and as David turned to his foster sister to get her order, Emma had gone into convulsions. With a flick of a switch, his sirens were on.

In the days she had spent under the hospital's care, they had made her comfortable. She would be sent home with a handful of new prescriptions she couldn't pronounce, some for the mounting pain, some for other things. There wasn't much else they could do; they told her as much. Most helpfully, her position on the heart transplant list had been moved to top priority.

While her doctor framed this as a good thing, it did little to assuage Emma's unease. She had just skipped over multiple others on the list, and it felt like cutting in line. The idea of getting a new heart more quickly was terrifying, in itself, and the fact that this jump in priority level was necessary in the first place was something she didn't care to think about. Mary Margaret, as expected, was thrilled at the news, clearly only honing in on the single detail that Emma could potentially be getting a new heart sooner, should the new donor arise.

Nevermind the fact that they had essentially issued her a death sentence. Make sure she's comfortable, were the unspoken words. She hasn't got much time left.

She's dying.

The wind whipped her hair as the hospital's automatic doors slid open, as air burst through the entrance like a reaper, its cold grip making Emma shiver violently. Tendrils of blonde hair kept whipping over her face, and she paused to tug a few pieces out of her mouth. David squeezed her shoulder gently.

"I'll get the truck and pull it around."

He jogged off, disappearing into the inky darkness enshrouding the parking lot. The nurses had insisted Emma be escorted out in a wheelchair. Mary Margaret stood just behind it, huddled into her tweed coat, chin tucked into her scarf.

"I feel really sorry for anyone who has to be out in this tonight," she murmured. "There's supposed to be a pretty bad storm coming in from over the water."

Emma squeezed the arms of the wheelchair anxiously, fingernails digging into the fake leather. They waited in silence for David to return, listening to the wind whistle around the building. After a few minutes, a pair of headlights came into view in the drop-off area, and David flashed his brights at them.

Mary Margaret nudged the wheelchair forward a bit, prodding the automatic doors to slide open. She offered an arm and helped Emma stand. David had come running up, clearly ready to help. Once she rose, Emma waved them both away.

"Guys, I got it. Thank you," she added, "But I got it. Let's just go home."

+++

"Keys, please."

Milah was watching him fondly, holding out her hand. Killian dug around in the pocket of his suit for a moment, fumbling a bit, before he looked up at her with wide, adorably panicked eyes. She scoffed playfully and reached into his other pocket, pulling out the keys to their car.

"Thanks, love." Killian said, with only a hint of a slur to his words. He put his arm around her shoulders as they walked, and she reached up to hold his hand.

She hummed. "You haven't had that much to drink in a long time."

"Mmm? Oh, yeah. Was a good party."

"Seemed like half the room wanted to buy you a drink."

A slow smile worked its way over his features, stretching languidly like a cat. She was absolutely right. His event had been a huge success, one likely to keep his chest puffed with pride for the rest of the week. Old donors were impressed, promising to keep their monthly donations to the program coming in steadily, and would-be donors were thoroughly wooed. Several had come up to him after he had unveiled some of their finished projects, pressing a drink into one of his hands and a check into the other.

The old ships stirred up something wonderful in people. Killian's love and passion for the projects was tangible, infectious. He spoke of them the way some men talked about women, their beauty unparalleled, potential untapped, taking people back centuries as he painted mental pictures of the ships in their prime. Even those who knew nothing about antique naval vessels and sailing ships wanted to see them brought back to their former glory.

"He would have been so proud," Killian whispered, his words almost lost to the sound of their footsteps as they made their way back to their car in the dark.

Milah had heard him. "Liam would be proud of you, Killian," she clarified. He only grunted in response.

Thunder rolled in overhead, low and ominous. They felt the first few droplets of rain as they slipped into their car. By the time Milah pulled out of the parking lot, it was pouring.

+++ The three of them settled back into the loft quietly, their only conversation a murmured, half-hearted debate about who would use the bathroom first. Emma won.

She was tired, could feel it all the way to her bones. When she caught sight of her face in the bathroom mirror, she gaped. There were dark circles cradling her eyes, her skin ghostly white.

Mummy, she thought in horror, I look like a mummy. The medicine cabinet door creaked as she jerked it open, and as its door swung out and away from her, so did the mirror attached to the other side of it.

An array of orange pill bottles met her eyes, seeming to stare her down, and she looked at them dejectedly, knowing she had more rattling around in her purse, fresh from her recent hospital stay, to add to her collection.

Pills for the invalid, given out like candy by doctors with pitying eyes and tight-lipped smiles.

The purple pills would keep it beating as long as it was meant to, the white ones would manage the pain, the round pink ones would keep the purple ones from thinning her blood too much, the long yellow ones would manage the nausea from the round ones, and so it went, in a diverse color wheel of prescriptions refilled at the end of each month.

This past week had been a scare, to be sure. The worst week of her life, in fact, as far as pain went. She could feel it getting worse, each beat of her crap heart thumping sluggishly and with more strain each day. There wasn't much they could do for her now, apart from sewing someone else's heart into her chest.

She took down a few of the bottles, uncapping them and setting aside the pills she was supposed to take before going to sleep. She brushed her teeth quickly, skipping the less vital parts of her night routine in favor of the soft bed she knew was waiting for her.

Mary Margaret shot her a sympathetic smile as she exited the bathroom. Emma didn't have the energy to return it. Mary Margaret had lit a candle, and its lavender scent wafted up and intertwined with the smell of chamomile as David steeped his tea. He worked nights most weeks, doing his time on third shift as a night officer before he could move up to first. It would be a while before he was ready to sleep, despite the late hour.

"Tea?" David asked, holding up an empty mug.

Emma shook her head, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn with the back of her hand. "No, thanks, though. I'd be asleep before it could even cool down enough to drink." Mary Margaret stepped up to hug her, and Emma reciprocated, leaning into her for a moment.

"Thanks for being there," Emma murmured, and Mary Margaret nodded vigorously. When Emma pulled away, she could see tears shining in her friend's brown eyes. "None of that," Emma said, pointing a finger at her in playful warning. "Crying isn't allowed."

Mary Margaret laughed, despite herself, and nodded. "No crying in baseball."

Emma smiled back at her, as she always did when they quoted one of their favorite movies. "Goodnight, guys."

"Night, Emma."

She made her way up the open staircase slowly, taking advantage of the railing, trying to keep her steps as steady as possible, as they were definitely watching her. As Emma tucked herself into her bed, she could hear the distinct sound of Mary Margaret's quiet crying. +++

It was still dark when she awoke. Someone was shaking her gently, and it took her eyes a few moments to adjust.

"Emma. Hey. Wake up, sis."

David, she realized. She squinted against the onslaught of white light as he turned on his cell phone's flashlight. It was better than cruelly turning on her bedroom light when she wasn't prepared for it, but only marginally.

Emma groaned and leaned back into her pillow, throwing her arm over her face to shield her eyes. "What," she croaked, "Where the hell's the fire? It's not even morning!"

David's voice trembled when he spoke next, and it grabbed her attention by the horns, forcing her to pull back her arm and look at him. "No fire, just listen. You're getting a new heart, Em. The hospital called. They have one for you, right now."

Emma gaped at him, mouth hanging open like a fish. "They... what? Heart?" She said eloquently.

David laughed and put his hands on her shoulders, shaking her lightly again. "A heart! There's a heart waiting for you!"

Emma felt her mouth go dry, and her stomach did a jerking little flip inside her. "I... oh, shit."

#captain swan #millian #milah #cs ff #cs fanfiction #captain swan fanfic #ouat fanfic #return to me #my writing #millian haters to the left

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reneeacaseyfl · 5 years

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How a small team of artists conceived Sony’s Concrete Genie

Concrete Genie is a kind of psychological journey, played out on the canvas of a video game. A young artist named Ash escapes his troubles by painting spectacular living landscapes in his abandoned hometown of Denska.

But the neighborhood bullies menace him and ruin his work. Ash’s internal drama is externalized as he fights to restore color to the drab world of Denska.

This heartwarming parable comes from an unlikely game studio, Pixelopus, a small team that has been working for 4.5 years on the title at Sony’s studio in San Mateo, California. I played the action-adventure game, which comes out on October 8 for $30 on the PlayStation 4.

You use the motion controller to paint the world, interacting with dream-like genies who live in the concrete and wood of the walls of Denska. It is a unique art-driven video game where you can express your own creativity. You can also enjoy a virtual reality version with the PlayStation VR.

After the demo, we got a tour of Pixelopus’ offices at Sony’s U.S. game headquarters in San Mateo, California. I interviewed Pixelopus creative director Dominic Robillard and art director Jeff Sangalli about the making of the game. They told me that the idea was born in their art department, from a visual effects artist named Ashwin Kumar. They were tossing around ideas after they shipped Entwined, and they came up with this concept of a young boy artist being bullied. And Sony liked it so much that they let the team run with it, and now here we are.

Here’s an edited transcript of our interview.

Above: Concrete Genie creators Jeff Sangalli, art director, (left) and Dominic Robillard, creative director.

Image Credit: Dean Takahashi

GamesBeat: How long have you been working on this now?

Dominic Robillard: We started the very first concept in the beginning of 2015, so four and a half years. Just over four and a half years by the time it comes out.

GamesBeat: Is the VR element part of your work, or is that another team?

Robillard: That’s a different team. We invited some friends of ours to come in a couple of years ago and look at the game. We had wanted to do VR, but at the time we had to make that decision, there were only 12 people on the team. It was too much for us to take on along with everything else that’s in the game. We showed these friends of ours, Jeff and Dave, the game, and they had this awesome pitch for what they would do if they had a chance to work on a VR version. What if I could paint and then step into the painting and go into the world of the genies and paint in 3D all around me in VR?

We loved that so much that we actually managed to hire them and built a small team around them. They’re just around the corner from the studio. They’ve been working on that for about two years now.

GamesBeat: I saw that first last time, the VR version. It looked very different from this more story-based adventure.

Robillard: It’s funny. When you have to describe all the painting in the VR version, it gets a bit confusing. But when you’re painting on the walls in VR, that’s all our tech. As we’ve been building the brushes in the main game, that’s piped through, because we all use Unreal and we share all the tools and the tech. That’s all the same. Also, in the free painting, as you get all the free paint locations in VR, all the brushes you find in the main game are the ones you can use in the VR free paint. It’s connected like that. But stepping into your painting and into the genie world, that’s all the new parts they’ve built, all those 3D VR brushes.

Above: Ash has to deal with the negativity in the town of Denska.

Image Credit: Sony

GamesBeat: Are the environments very different than the town you’re in, or where you’re out in the fields?

Robillard: When you’re in the world of the genies? That’s when you’re in their work. If you remember, where you start the VR version, it’s the lighthouse. In the bit you just played, where you picked up the brush, that’s the location where the VR begins. Then you step into their world, essentially. That’s why it looks so different.

GamesBeat: Where did the original idea come from? It seems like the kind of pitch that you couldn’t communicate to somebody in words.

Robillard: You’re on the money. It literally didn’t begin as a traditional pitch. When we finished Entwined, we had a moment to spend some time concepting what we wanted to do next as a team. One of our favorite things about working in small teams is you can have a completely flat hierarchy. We had a chance to say to everyone on the team, “Everyone come up with game ideas for what we want to do next.”

The original idea for Concrete Genie came from Ashwin Kumar, who’s our VFX artist. That’s why he’s called Ash in the game. The first thing he did to communicate this idea was painting a picture of a small boy being bullied and painting these huge characters in a wall. He was imagining that they were sticking up for him. That was the very first beginning. It wasn’t a written document or anything. It was just that picture. This concept — the bullying and the idea of an artist using art to cope with some of the things happening to him — was there from the first moment.

GamesBeat: What influenced how it came to look and play?

Jeff Sangalli: After Ash generated that first piece of artwork, the whole art department started to build imagery around that concept. At the same time we had decided that we would use Unreal as our game engine. We started to use more complex lighting in our concept art, trying to come up with a style that would be more dramatic lighting-wise and have, hopefully, a better emotional connection because of that.

Then we started thinking about — we were all inspired by the lighting in stop motion. We wanted the world to feel handcrafted. We tried to break down what we were responding to about stop motion. That was another big inspiration for the 3D world. That inspired some of the stuff you had a chance to see today: the keyframe animation, the face illustrations. The 2D world was really inspired by children’s book illustration, and by urban artwork as well.

Above: Ash’s face is hand-drawn on a flat piece of paper, and then wrapped around a 3D object.

Image Credit: Sony

GamesBeat: Cleaning up the city, is that something like Flower, or other games that are out there?

Robillard: We love all of those games. The other thing that was connected to that, there was an environmental theme in some of the other concepts that we’d developed when we were looking at doing Concrete Genie originally. It was the moment when Jeff and I realized that that group, that team, has a natural instinct for expressing ideas that have a heart or a message or a meaning to them. Every single — we came up with seven or eight different game ideas, and Concrete Genie was one. But all of them had that in there, which was really interesting, that there was this intuition for that from this group of kids. Or I shouldn’t call them kids anymore.

GamesBeat: You mentioned you have a pretty young team, though.

Robillard: Yeah, yeah. Most of that team, this is their first job in the game industry. But there was an environmental theme in one of the other ideas. When we were developing the painting mechanics, of which we did several iterations — the version you just played is the third version of the painting mechanics.

GamesBeat: With the motion controls, being the center of it?

Robillard: That was a part of it. The other versions were interesting, but they didn’t go far enough in terms of expression. We had some basic versions of stenciling. There were ones where you threw paint splats on the wall. But it wasn’t until we did this version where you could much more carefully author exactly what you wanted and grow that into something beautiful that we made that connection for players, to feel connected to their artwork.

The other thing that came with that was the ability to paint anywhere. That only came in the last version. This idea that suddenly everyone’s version of the town would be unique and different was where we started connecting it to an environmental aspect as well. Using that ability to paint everywhere and bring some of it back to life came from that. It was a natural fit for the story and the level progression in the game.

GamesBeat: Painting is, by itself, fun for some people. But how to you make painting fun all the time in a game like this?

Robillard: Nobody’s phrased it like that, but that’s exactly what we’re trying to do, make it fun all the time for everyone. From the moment that we wanted to try to have art as a mechanic, the idea that we would try to make anybody feel like they could be an artist has definitely been our central gameplay fantasy. In terms of how it’s meant to feel, we just knew that if we could use the motion controllers to let anyone make marks and gestures in the wall, and then just get the amount of assistance that the game gives, just the right amount so that it doesn’t feel like it’s doing too much — if you do that, it doesn’t feel like your artwork anymore.

Getting that balance from the gameplay, agency versus assistance, getting it in just the right place, and then having a lot of sophisticated stuff under the hood that layers everything correctly for you, or tries to connect the elements you’re painting together — we draw ground around the things that need ground. There’s a lot of light touches in there that help compose the image for you, but never change it or add too much so you feel like it’s not your artwork.

Above: Concrete Genie has spectacular art.

Image Credit: Sony

GamesBeat: It’s hard to mess up your art. It reminds of Spider-Man that way, where it was hard to mess up swinging around.

Sangalli: We wanted to make sure you didn’t feel like you were being penalized for painting the way you want to paint. We’ve seen some kids that just want to paint rainbows all over the entire city. It looks really beautiful, actually. Who are we to judge their paintings?

Robillard: The game never judges you. That’s why we have the light strands, because that’s just to say, “We want you to paint here.” We don’t tell you what to paint or how to paint. We never judge it as good or bad.

Sangalli: We spent a lot of time tuning the city as a palette, so that the paintings really look dynamic. The glow we spent quite a bit of time on, to make sure that they feel like they’re really an allegory for Ash’s imagination. They should be as dynamic as what he would see through his own eyes.

GamesBeat: At some point, I don’t know which act, all of this switches into something ugly and dark. You kind of start with something ugly in the beginning, but you get to darker creatures and stuff like that. Why did you want to make that kind of transition.

Robillard: That transition, that twist at the end, was there from the very first prototype we ever did for this game, all those years ago. We’ve been working on it ever since then. I think what happened when we decided that we were going to try and tackle bullying as a theme — we researched it, and we knew we wanted the finale, the climax of the gameplay and the narrative, to be focused on the darkness, that negativity itself. We wanted a way to synthesize and personify the emotion as a thing that you could tackle and deal with.

We always wanted to get that in there as a way of tackling the negativity, and not about the kids. One thing you’ll see when the game comes out is we do show the backstories of those kids as well, to try to explain some of the reasons why they’ve turned into the kids that they’ve become. That twist is really about keeping it focused on the darkness itself.

GamesBeat: It reminds me of Sea of Solitude, if you’ve seen that.

Robillard: We’ve been following that, but it was released while we were in Europe last week. I can’t wait to play it.

GamesBeat: It’s a unique name. How did you come up with that?

Robillard: It was there from the beginning as well. Originally it was a working title, but we fell in love with it. It does still describe one of the key things in the game, which is the moment when Ash touches the walls and the genies come to life. That was where that came from. It just seemed like — it’s catchy, and we liked it. We became very attached to it.

Credit: Source link

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velmaemyers88 · 5 years

Text

How a small team of artists conceived Sony’s Concrete Genie

But the neighborhood bullies menace him and ruin his work. Ash’s internal drama is externalized as he fights to restore color to the drab world of Denska.

Here’s an edited transcript of our interview.

Above: Concrete Genie creators Jeff Sangalli, art director, (left) and Dominic Robillard, creative director.

Image Credit: Dean Takahashi

GamesBeat: How long have you been working on this now?

Dominic Robillard: We started the very first concept in the beginning of 2015, so four and a half years. Just over four and a half years by the time it comes out.

GamesBeat: Is the VR element part of your work, or is that another team?

GamesBeat: I saw that first last time, the VR version. It looked very different from this more story-based adventure.

Above: Ash has to deal with the negativity in the town of Denska.

Image Credit: Sony

GamesBeat: Are the environments very different than the town you’re in, or where you’re out in the fields?

GamesBeat: Where did the original idea come from? It seems like the kind of pitch that you couldn’t communicate to somebody in words.

GamesBeat: What influenced how it came to look and play?

Above: Ash’s face is hand-drawn on a flat piece of paper, and then wrapped around a 3D object.

Image Credit: Sony

GamesBeat: Cleaning up the city, is that something like Flower, or other games that are out there?

GamesBeat: You mentioned you have a pretty young team, though.

GamesBeat: With the motion controls, being the center of it?

GamesBeat: Painting is, by itself, fun for some people. But how to you make painting fun all the time in a game like this?

Above: Concrete Genie has spectacular art.

Image Credit: Sony

GamesBeat: It’s hard to mess up your art. It reminds of Spider-Man that way, where it was hard to mess up swinging around.

GamesBeat: It reminds me of Sea of Solitude, if you’ve seen that.

Robillard: We’ve been following that, but it was released while we were in Europe last week. I can’t wait to play it.

GamesBeat: It’s a unique name. How did you come up with that?

Credit: Source link

The post How a small team of artists conceived Sony’s Concrete Genie appeared first on WeeklyReviewer.

0 notes

weeklyreviewer · 5 years

Text

How a small team of artists conceived Sony’s Concrete Genie

But the neighborhood bullies menace him and ruin his work. Ash’s internal drama is externalized as he fights to restore color to the drab world of Denska.

Here’s an edited transcript of our interview.

Above: Concrete Genie creators Jeff Sangalli, art director, (left) and Dominic Robillard, creative director.

Image Credit: Dean Takahashi

GamesBeat: How long have you been working on this now?

Dominic Robillard: We started the very first concept in the beginning of 2015, so four and a half years. Just over four and a half years by the time it comes out.

GamesBeat: Is the VR element part of your work, or is that another team?

GamesBeat: I saw that first last time, the VR version. It looked very different from this more story-based adventure.

Above: Ash has to deal with the negativity in the town of Denska.

Image Credit: Sony

GamesBeat: Are the environments very different than the town you’re in, or where you’re out in the fields?

GamesBeat: Where did the original idea come from? It seems like the kind of pitch that you couldn’t communicate to somebody in words.

GamesBeat: What influenced how it came to look and play?

Above: Ash’s face is hand-drawn on a flat piece of paper, and then wrapped around a 3D object.

Image Credit: Sony

GamesBeat: Cleaning up the city, is that something like Flower, or other games that are out there?

GamesBeat: You mentioned you have a pretty young team, though.

GamesBeat: With the motion controls, being the center of it?

GamesBeat: Painting is, by itself, fun for some people. But how to you make painting fun all the time in a game like this?

Above: Concrete Genie has spectacular art.

Image Credit: Sony

GamesBeat: It’s hard to mess up your art. It reminds of Spider-Man that way, where it was hard to mess up swinging around.

GamesBeat: It reminds me of Sea of Solitude, if you’ve seen that.

Robillard: We’ve been following that, but it was released while we were in Europe last week. I can’t wait to play it.

GamesBeat: It’s a unique name. How did you come up with that?

Credit: Source link

The post How a small team of artists conceived Sony’s Concrete Genie appeared first on WeeklyReviewer.

0 notes

roxannahuffman-blog · 7 years

Text

Eaze (Help Coming From An Illegal And Self.

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