#how the wrongs of fathers create minotaurs

[vintagegeekculture]

The 90s Hercules TV Movies

If you are only familiar with the comedic and lighthearted Hercules TV series, the tone of the seldom shown Hercules TV movies that aired on the Universal Action Pack, who’s success led to the series, should be a surprise. For those who are unaware, Universal had a block of programming that they used to show TV movies, including TekWar, Vanishing Son I-IV (essentially a remake of Fu Sheng’s Chinatown Kid, about a Chinese immigrant martial artist who’s brother becomes a gangster in San Francisco), and a remake of Smokey and the Bandit. Of these TV movies, the only ones that were really a hit were the Hercules, and it’s easy to see why.

Taking themselves as seriously as a Steve Reeves film from the 60s, the pre-series Action Pack Hercules TV movies had an interesting mission statement. As Hercules was something of an old fashioned type of hero even in the 90s, the first TV movie had to explain that this particular itineration of Hercules was a sensitive man who understands women. In the TV movie, Hercules in the Maze of the Minotaur, he’s even a single dad, trying to raise his kids. In other words, they wanted to create a hero who had strength and toughness, but also, had a social conscience, and ended episodes with speeches about how racism was bad. They wanted to create a sort of workable composite hero for the 90s, a no beard, long haired hippie Hercules who looked like he was 4/20 friendly. Kevin Sorbo is the only Hercules I can imagine blazing it with a satyr and centaur.

The culture is cyclical, and periods of progressive sentiment yield to reactionary eras of angry retrenchment. I’ve always thought that the 90s were actually two decades in one. The early part of the decade was full of proactive, environmental, moralistic earnestness, like Ted Turner’s Captain Planet and the Planeteers and corny hip hop acts that wore daishikis, and the later years of the decade were reactionary in spirit, with angry tatted up nu metal acts and really weird pop stars who liked to say they were virgins all the time and wear purity rings.

Hercules and the Amazon Women was very much in the spirit of the earlier part of the decade. For instance, the Amazon Women are hostile to men because they think men are monstrous and beat their wives, and Hercules argues that isn’t true – some are cool enlightened males, like him, who can learn to treat women right, and the genders can learn to live together based on mutual respect. The Amazon Women doubt this and use a magic candle to make Hercules flash back to his own life and remember all the times he was taught how to interact with women in his life, in occasionally very degrading ways (in other words, we get Hercules’s origin, so it’s exposition that doesn’t feel like exposition – very clever). Confronted with this, Hercules comes out of it saying that he was wrong, that he can do better and believes everyone else can, too. As a “mission statement” for a new take on Hercules as a new kind of enlightened guy for the 90s who has both strength and compassion in equal measure, it works pretty effectively. 

A lot of works try to be “ah, but this is not your father’s Hercules!” But I swear, this one really succeeded, and I think the reason these TV movies created an empire that dominated the decade was precisely because it was a completely different take that asked how it could do things differently. For instance, just like Kevin Sorbo’s Hercules is a longhair hippie and single dad who believes in peace and love who fights only when all else fails, Anthony Quinn as Zeus works exactly because he underplays it, plays Zeus as a regular guy, a normal schlub who might be a friend of your Dad at the pub, who doesn’t have a booming voice and comes off as normal…yet because this is Anthony Quinn here, he comes into the room… he’s in charge.

Another bit of casting that’s kind of impressive was Hippopolyta, Queen of the Amazons, played by Roma Downey. If you only know her from Touched by an Angel, her wearing a push up bra as a sexy evil queen villainess who knocks boots with Hercules is probably a hell of a shock. I truly believe that there is an alternate timeline where she becomes known for action roles as hot villainesses and would never play an angel in her life (quite the opposite), and maybe got the kind of career Lucy Lawless did. Yeah, she’s a Christian, which is why she did so well on that angel show she did, but that kind of thing isn’t disqualifying when it comes to action. After all, one of the most famous amazons of all, Lynda Carter (like many people of Mexican descent) is a devoted Catholic.

#hercules #90s #kevin sorbo

[musical-failgirl-fight]

Ariadne propaganda: the premise of Ulysses Dies At Dawn is a cyberpunk noir Greek Mythology heist story where the four "Suits" team up to break into Ulysses' vault and get filthy rich from the treasure inside. Each Suit is meant to open one of the locks on the vault, and Ariadne's job is to complete the "trial of love".

Jonny: [...] who better for it than Ariadne, famed for her love of Theseus? As it turns out, almost anyone. A small chamber beside the vault slides open.

Ariadne: "And what is my trial?"

Jonny: Her contempt is thick as Oedipus plugs in to analyse it. He lets out a short laugh.

Oedipus: "To open the door, one of our number must prove a love stronger than life, and sacrifice themselves without fear or hesitation.

[...]

I’m sure your fee will be paid to Theseus, whom you love so unreservedly.”

Jonny: Of course, Ariadne has no intention of dying, nor any feeling for Theseus save hate. Alas, no-one had known what the trial of love entailed, and she’d been playing the spurned lover so long she had believed herself up to whatever it might have been. But this?

Ariadne: "No."

Jonny: Theseus, as it turns out, was just a sap Ariadne had been using to try and regain the societal standing her family had quickly lost when it was revealed her parents had created the Minotaur: a beast that had stalked the City since its founding, plucking the still-living brains from its victims for the Acheron. Ariadne had given Theseus the deactivation codes, in the hope that openly righting her parents' wrong and marrying a hero of the people would make for some damn good PR. But Theseus had taken the credit and very publicly jilted her. No, she couldn’t die yet, not when the Ulysses job paid so well. She had a dynasty to rebuild. 

This leads to her song, "Ties That Bind," where she explains her backstory and motivations for taking the job.

You engineered the beast That stalks the streets Making deals with a monster so much worse Playing games with lives And bringing down his curse Mother, Father You brought our name down low Where the city once lay at our feet Now I’m working with these lowlifes just to eat I reap what you sow Your one true child

Ariadne's parents had created the Minotaur, which murdered people to put their brains in the Acheron (the computer network that keeps The City running). When the truth was revealed, her family and fortune were ruined by scandal, and Ariadne is disgusted by how far she's been brought low by her parent's crimes. Look at her, she has to work with these lowlifes to get by! Her reputation is in shambles! She has to work in administration (money laundering) instead of owning multiple businesses!

I mean, it's not like she's honestly doing comparatively better than the rest of the Suits since she has a job and isn't trapped in debt to her abusive father or mired in suicidal depression or best known for fucking her mom and stabbing out her eyes--OH WAIT.

My family will rise again We’ll reclaim the power that we used to hold The Minos name reborn From the ashes bright in letters made of gold For long we’ve remained in shadow And in far-forgotten tales never told The city shall be ours Once again, once again

And despite all the shit her parents caused, she's still hellbent on redeeming their family name and rebuilding their capitalist dynasty, because apparently that's what she's built her entire identity on. #cringefail girlboss right there.

So Theseus hunted for your Minotaur With the strings of code I gave it wasn’t hard To find it and deactivate its guard It tried to fight it But its programming won out after all Collapsing in a sparking metal heat My preening hero claimed all credit for the feat Completing my fall In dishonour I am tied

Oh yeah, and to add insult to injury, Plan A was to recruit Theseus to hunt down the Minotaur, then marry him and have the good PR of being the wife of the hero who brought down the beast thanks to her. Of course, he then proceeded to dump her at the altar and take all the credit for killing the Minotaur. However, she's still clinging to the image of the heartbroken bridge who's madly in love with Theseus, even though she hates his guts, in an effort to save face.

(And I totally think she's aromantic and performing heteronormativity for the public but that's technically not canon. Technically.)

Mother, Father, you’re both long dead I was betrayed by the one I was to wed There was no love there, my heartstrings long since cut The Minos noble name lies in the mud But not for long

Yeah, and how's trying to force someone else to be a human sacrifice in your place working out for you, Ariadne?

Oh wait, you were so busy trying to save your ass that you got shot in the heart in a thematically resonant manner by Ulysses and their impeccable laser geometry, that's how it worked out!

And guess what? Even if the Suits had gotten into the vault and she hadn't died in the process, she still would have failed because the treasure in the vault was the last tree in The City--impossibly valuable, but not really something she can sell to rebuild her wealth and prestige.

Also, the one behind the entire heist--Hades--is implied to have been able to get into the vault the whole time because they have a camera in there. They were just playing along so they could get an entertaining story and help Ulysses die in peace, and immediately after Ulysses perished they burned down the Acheron and left everyone in The City to die. So she was extremely screwed no matter what.

Anyway, vote for my awful wonderful girlboss failgirl Ariadne Minos!

oh my god

that sure is a cringe compilation of both a life and death . good on u girl

#ariadne minos #character propaganda

[gothamcityneedsme]

i did NOT expect the idea of the minotaur (and the house itself) to be connected to the brazen bull

#shitpost #hol blogging #the continuing themes father are also so interesting #what creature is this and who is its father #how the wrongs of fathers create minotaurs #etc #theres a lot here lol #back to the brazen bull and sound imagery tho....damn

[looniecartooni]

Durpleton and Stabby- Throwaway Characters made interesting

Warning: Spoilers for Centaurworld ahead and perhaps a cotraversal opinion and some run-on sentences. You have been warned.

I’ve seen a couple different people’s opinion on the relationship between Durpleton and Philip J. Bonecrusher (aka Stabby). Some people (like me) love their dynamic as it makes them both more interesting character than what typically characters like them would end up being. Also- when we learn more about both of them (especially Durpleton) we become happier for them finding their happiness in each other. Some other people aren’t really fans of Durpleton and some have expressed concern that a 43 year old has seemingly been coerced into accepting the role of being a baby to a 47 year old. However, given what we know about minotaurs and Durpleton, I’m going to try to explore my reason for how it might work out for the better.

Not often is something that started as a joke made into something fairly wholesome and used to explore what would be one off joke characters. It at first seems like a joke with Durpleton constantly trying to pretend that this seemingly dying minotaur that keeps getting stabbed in the back is his baby. But then when it comes to their songs, we finally see that their relationship is more than just a joke. Throughout season two, Stabby actually seemed relatively okay with being carried around like a baby other than a few times where he had to remind Durpleton he was 43 years old. On the surface, it seems strange that Durpleton was insistent on pretending someone just 4 years younger than him was a baby but I think it makes more sense to look it as:

Durpleton is self-projecting how he wished his father treated him. He says things about Stabby like “he’s an honors student” despite seemingly believing that Stabby can’t talk. Durpleton’s father kind of instilled in Durpleton that in order to receive his affection, he had to do what his father wanted (like not fart and do his homework which Durpleton perhaps struggled to get done as he says “he doesn’t want to be a dumb dumb”). Durpleton has indeed heard Stabby use full sentences and responded to them, but he’s either forgotten with his charade of trying to give the fatherly attention he’s always wanted or chose to actively ignore it (thus he ends up doing what his own father did to him). 

Stabby on the other hand, doesn’t like not being heard. He doesn’t entirely mind Durpleton caring about his well being as evidenced by his napping and sometimes agreeing with Durpleton saying things aren’t good for him. He also acts obedient when he’s shamed by him (like when he praised the Nowhere King and covered his mouth before willingly going to his room). He only finally snaps and runs away when Durpleton pretends he’s a baby and won’t listen to him when he says something is wrong. Then he actively asks Durpleton (or rather sings) if Durpleton would listen to him, reminding him that he can talk in perfect sentences. And then from there, the two of them begin to create what they both were missing ang craving...

At the Hootenanny, Durpleton tries to make sure to listen to and answer all of Stabby’s questions as well as do his best at being a dad. Meanwhile, Stabby finally feels free to express himself and have someone who actively cares for him. Thus, we gain the beautiful arc of an injured warrior who probably didn’t have a lot of people listening or caring for him being adopted by a possibly mentally unstable person who was abandoned by his dad for not being perfect. And despite their very limited age gap which Stabby constantly reminds Durpleton about, they were able to learn how to listen better to each other and become better people. And that’s why I think its ok. It’s weird and perhaps a bit inane, but so is most of Centaurworld. 

Stabby seemed like a one and done joke in the first seanon while Durpleton had struggled to really have compelling jokes for the kind of character he seemed to be. Having them be a seemingly weird joke and turn out for kind of a wholesome relationship is nice in my opinion. If you have a similar or different opinion, feel free to share.

#centaur world #centaurworld #durpleton #phillip j bonecrunch #durpleton and stabby #centaurworld stabby #centaurworld spoilers #centaurworld season 2

[gypaetus-barbatus-meridionalis]

I know this blog is mostly for spn and shitposts, but I’m too lazy to make a side blog so here is my headcanon for My Little Pony that no one asked for:

Discord is Chaos. You might say, “No shit Sherlock, he’s the god of chaos. In that one episode, Fluttershy literally said that he is a creature of pure chaos.” Well fuck you Watson, because that is not what I meant.  Discord is Chaos, as in the ancient being in Greek mythology. Some say Chaos is��either the primeval emptiness of the universe or the abyss of Tartarus, which is the lower of the two parts of the underworld *. Others say it is just the personification of nothingness, the first being to emerge form the void that was the universe back then.  So some say Chaos is concept, some say a deity. I am obviously thinking deity. We know that Discord is immortal (he says ”I haven’t walked that far in a millennia” in the episode where he, Trixie, Thorax, and Starlight save the Mane 6 from the changelings) but what if he had always existed? He knows pretty much everything about the ancient monsters the Mane 6 fight, and some of those monsters are from Greek mythology (The Minotaur and the sirens who technically were shown in Equestria Girls but they originated from the pony universe). If he was there as those creatures came into existence, he will know more about them than some horses in their 20s.  Now, according to The Creature World Wiki, “The six Draconequus Spirits are chaos elementals each embodying an aspect of destruction. The Draconequus Spirits are spread across the multiverse and vary in appearance and power. The most well known of the Draconequus Sprits is the spirit of chaos Discord, former ruler of The Creature World.” so you might think Oh well then your headcanon is wrong. Ahahahahahaha no. This is where I kind of stretch my hc a bit.  So Discord is in Witness Protection. No, hear me out. Chaos is the first being of the universe, which means there must be a LOT of people (ponies?) and creatures trying to take his power and/or kill him. Many creatures target the princesses of Equestria, why not target the first living being and its power? So he decided to disguise himself as Discord, a Draconnequus. He takes the form of this creature and limits himself to not showing anyone his full power. (Gabriel tried to do this when disguising as Loki in Supernatural, and he only failed because Castiel knew his shit.) Now about Grogar. Discord was temporarily disguised as Grogar, a ram who said he ruled Equestria long ago and created monsters to terrorize the ponies. He was known as the ‘Father of Monsters’. Interesting that Discord chose to present as Grogar. What if Discord started out disguised as a powerful ram sorcerer but after Gusty The Great banished him with the Bewitching Bell he decided to take on a different form? He may have stored some of his power in the bell so no one will realize he is too powerful to simply be a sorcerer. As for the ‘Father Of Monsters’ thing: In Greek Mythology, Chaos’s offspring are Erebus (Darkness) and Nyx, the personification of night. Night and Darkness would terrorize the ponies easily. Things would freeze much more easily without light. Also they would get no Vitamin D (which keeps bones, teeth and muscles healthy) if the sun was covered by darkness. But most importantly no light means no plants (they’d lose a third of the planet’s oxygen because of this), all herbivores would die because of no plants, and then all carnivores/omnivores would die because of no prey or plants. All living creatures would die. This obviously includes all of the ponies. Maybe Night and Darkness would cover the sun for days or weeks at a time, watching things get weaker, sick, and even die. Discord would be unaffected, being immortal. So yeah, Discord is actually Chaos, the primeval being from Greek mythology. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Note: One resource said Chaos takes the form of a female, and to that I say: genderfluid or trans :) Sources for Chaos: Source 1, Source 2, Source 3 Source for Draconequus: Source Source for Tartarus because it has been along time since I read Percy Jackson: Source Source for if the sun never rose again: Source

*(Fun Fact: Tartarus is where the gods locked up their enemies in Greek mythology, and we know the Main 6 go to there and see a bunch of locked up monsters. Maybe the gods locked up most of their enemies before the alicorns existed and a few escape from time to time and that’s how they reach Equestria. Or maybe the alicorns are just gods, and when a pony becomes an alivorn they become a literal god. They are immortal after all.) 

#my little pony #mlp #my little pony: friendship is magic #discord #greek mythology #chaos #mythology #took me forever to type this shit #long post

[outoftimewriting]

Imagine (inspired by the incomplete fanfic Son of Underworld) (1/5) (Son of Hades!Percy AU)

Hey! Check the masterpost after reading this - there's a whole collection after :))

TW: Racism, anxiety, social isolation

Percy is a son of Hades

His mother was charmed by both Hades and Persephone, so he has the goddess' blessing.

Percy has deep black hair, and dark skin that's darker than the night. His eyes are like looking at the abysm - even so, a hint of green appears beyond his irises, the shade of Persephone showing itself slightly.

Every year, they don't go to Montauk: They go to a subterranean little house in the middle of the woods that Percy has no clue how his mother has money to afford renting.

His mother reads him the Hobbit - its a hole in the ground, with a little round door. He is sure he is a Hobbit.

Weird things happen to Percy. His eyes go all black one day and his mom freaks out. He explodes a bus. Once, he makes a mess of the Egyptian section of the museum he is in - he has no clue how.

People don't like touching Percy. Only his mom hugs him, and sometimes, Percy feels so alone he thinks he will someday merge with the shadows around him.

His ADHD gets worse every year, but misteriously, he can read anything if it's related to history. He is the best at history and geography and math.

He does math instinctively. He know earth, he feels the dirt in his fingertips and knows, he just knows.

He feels history being whispered in his ears by people that aren't there.

Percy goes to Yancy Academy. He is not a irredeemable case. No. He gets a scholarship on math. He never got a grade bigger than a E+ in English bc of his dyslexia, and he will never get more than a C- in Science, but he is good in math.

Pre-algebra is easy, and his teacher is kind. It's the first teacher that passes her hand in his head and say "Here, honey" when he misses home.

Professor Brunner is cool, but he feels uneasy at his presence. Like the man is just waiting for Percy to do something, and it doesn't help that, weirdly, Percy is not awful at Latin.

Nancy Bobofit picks on him once. She touches his skin, but it feels like touching something dead. She never looks at him again.

Grover is a good roommate. He is a good guy, a good friend, and they spend lots of time together. He doesn't creep Grover, no. They share a love for flowers.

He doesn't touch Grover. He is afraid that if he does, he won't have a friend anymore. Percy gets used to sweaters and gloves, all blue.

Because Percy may be a child of Hades. But he loves blue and soft tones of pink. He has soft sunset fluffy sweaters and loose washed-out jeans.

Percy is twelve when a guy in his class turns out to have only one eye and a javelin. His algebra teacher saves him with a black sword.

Mrs. Dodds, or Alecto, tells him everything. Or everything she can. She tells him he is in danger. She tells him there are powerful beings in the world. She tells him he is the son of one of them, but more than that and he would be at risk.

He sits through his finals earlier at her urging. Grover does too, and Grover sticks with him.

Grover is, perhaps, his only friend, and Percy is desolated to discover that Grover wasn't really his friend - he was just a guy, a satyr, tasked to protect him. Grover insists that they are truly friends, but his fatal flaw this time is holding grudges, and it takes a part of his heart.

He doesn't turn his back to Grover though. He is bitter, and he wants to punch him. But it still is everything he has.

Apart from his Mom. So they go talk to his Mom and get his things, and she cries at his shoulder and insists on going with them until the borders.

It goes badly. Sally "dies" in a flash that looks like thunder, by the hands of a Minotaur. Grover says Hades is sending his monsters after them - But Percy knows where thunder comes from.

Percy doesn't break one of the monster's horns - he breaks both, and carries Grover through the barrier, doing his best to not touch the satyr.

Nectar tastes like his mom's blue cookies. He cries after Grover leaves the room.

Mr. Brunner is Chiron. Alecto is a Fury. The greek gods are the powerful beings she was talking about.

Mr. D looks at him once, and for a second, pity flashes in his eyes. Most people forget that before he was Dionysus, he was Zagreus.

They play in silence. Percy doesn't make difficult questions. The blonde girl looks at him once, and she opens her mouth to say something, but she just closes it with a conflicted expression.

People look at him weirdly. Some regard the horns he stuck at his belt, some look at his skin with disgust (he heard it all before, the slurs). Some regard his soft appearance, and names are thrown, Demeter and Aphrodite and Persephone and Eros, and Percy want to scream and melt into the shadows.

He has a mother. No one knows his father.

He meets Luke. Luke is everything he aims to be - he shines with warmth, like a beacon. Percy doesn't touch him. He is afraid he'll drain him empty of light.

Annabeth and he are cold towards one another - the girl doesn't like his aura, he doesn't like her snobbish behavior.

He settles at Cabin 11. He doesn't mix up with the Ares children, he steers clear of Clarisse. He spends his time studying greek, listening to whispers in his ears, and trying new things.

Percy isn't very good with a sword - not one of them is well balanced to him. He is good with daggers - but horrible at close contact because he doesn't get very physical. He is okay with a bow, but it still isn't his thing.

He tries the spear - definitely no. The javelin? No. Mace? Too close combat, not enough balance.

Turns out his weapon of choice is a giant Warhammer, and sometimes a fierce-looking ax on the other hand, and everyone starts looking at him again, questioning and questioning.

Canoeing is not for Percy. Two minutes, and he got water sick. They are in a river for gods' sake!

Pegasi hate Percy. He doesn't try again.

He likes running with the dryads, and they like him. He likes the strawberry vines, he can make them look shinier, flowers bloom, even though he can't raise vines or produce anything.

He tries to deal with metal. He is good at it. The metal feels like water under his hands: he can do anything with it. Metal, stone, gems. He ignores the shadows curling at his feet, the flecks of green in the midst of the red fire.

Hephaestus, they say. He is not muscled like some of the other Cabin 9 children, but again, he is probably a legacy of Persephone or Demeter or some minor harvest god. He looks a little like Charles - it's not only the skin.

Everyone is willfully blind. Percy Jackson must be a child of Hephaestus. He deals with metal and fire, he put Clarisse on the floor with his Warhammer last week, and the girl was impressed instead of pissed. What if he likes the shadows a little?

Charles takes him under his wing, almost part of the cabin.

Percy uses a long-sleeved orange shirt under his camp shirt, being the sun, or rain.

He doesn't touch people, and everyone is used with each other's little quirks, so no one questions him.

Some Apollo and Demeter children steer clear of him like the plague, the ones who work in the infirmary, the ones that tend to the gardens and create life.

Some Apollo and Demeter children stick to him like glue, the ones that can sing someone to madness and induce sickness, the ones that destroy and kill.

Some children in his cabin still give him glances. Alabaster, Ethan, Clovis. They feel in him what's inside of them.

Luke is glued to his side. Luke basks on the power.

He burns food. To Hermes, for letting him sleep in the corner of the floor. To Dionysus, he is doing what he can, so far away from his dominion.

He doesn't burn food to his father. He burns it to Hephaestus.

He makes a silent prayer that he won't be an unclaimed child. He wants a family, he wants someone, anyone to come and be and love him because the only family he had is gone now.

In his dreams, he sees a somber man with a crown of bones, skin just like his. He sees a dryad so beautiful, she must be a goddess, with her pale green skin and hair like a thousand vines, flowers sprouting beneath her barefoot feet.

He confides in Luke about Alecto. The boy looks ready to explode of happiness, but Percy doesn't understand.

Percy stays unclaimed a month. Then Capture the Flag happens.

It's not a hellhound - this time? It's a sea serpent. A Cerastes.

They get the flag. Percy gets a helm of darkness over his head, a dark glow around it.

Luke thinks he is the only one who saw the sweet green glow behind it, the soft smell of pomegranates. He is wrong.

'Hades,' said Chiron. 'Earthopener, The Silent One, The Rich One, Lord of the Dead. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Underworld God'

Percy does not have a family. He does not have a cabin. Percy has nothing, and he is alone.

Not much changes. People steer clear of him. The only people he talks to are Annabeth, reluctantly on his part (even though she seems equal parts resignated and scared, like it somehow affects her), Luke, Charles, Alabaster and Ethan.

Some children of Apollo, Demeter and Hermes look at him curiously. Pollux and Castor spend more time in his vicinity.

A lot of gods are connected to the Underworld one way or another. Ares can call upon skeletons. Athena can drawn upon years of forgotten history. Aphrodite has a son in the second coming of Eros, so she knows - she knows - that before he was his son, he was a son of what is under even the Underworld.

Percy is afraid. He doesn't know his powers, what can he even do? Can he make the earth tremble, can he raise the dead, can he kill people with a touch? Or does his powers relies solely in metal?

He doesn't touch anyone. Not even through gloves - he has a jacket now.

Dionysus calls to him and offer to transform him in a pomegranate tree - but his mom is somewhere, and if he is capable of raising the dead, he wants her back.

The prophecy is the same, and their journey is not that different.

He doesn't think his father stole anything. But he might - who is Percy to know? The man has never once spoke with him. He doesn't know who his father is, and no one is giving him good impressions.

Their bus is exploded by hyperboreans, who, in the end, like all creatures who have ice in their hearts, answer to Poseidon.

They kill the Medusa. Percy sends the head to Olympus. They follow a poodle, but this time, the attack of the Echidna is not in an Arch. Is in the Chalk Pyramids in Kansas, and Percy falls off a cliff only for the earth to welcome him with open arms, as he raises an army of skeletons to do his bidding.

They still meet Ares. Percy swarms the aquatic park with skeletons - and it's the first time he tries shadow travelling. It works - but they end up, all three of them, in Wyoming.

At least now they can prove Wyoming is real.

He ignores the televisions. He ignores the stories. He ignores Gabe - because if there is someone he wouldn't mind strangling with his bare hands, it's Gabe.

Ares meet them there - their ride this time is an abusive circus caravan, and Percy sleeps the whole day of the travel, he doesn't even remember Ares or the suspicious backpacks. They free the animals and flee in Las Vegas.

The Lotus Hotel is much harder to resist this time around, seeing Percy sleeps what looks like two hours but feel like two days, but someone touches Percy, he freaks out and gets the three of them out of there (without shadowtravelling this time).

They pass Procrustes. They go to D.O.A. Percy insists - he has to do this alone. It's his father, his home turf.

Grover and Annabeth became loyal friends. They won't let him go alone.

They pass Charon easily. Percy keeps producing money everywhere - and Charon folds. Cerberus wants to play, and Percy plays with him. It's just a doggy. Percy vows to come back. Annabeth doesn't cry alone.

Luke's shoes betray him. He thinks that's the last betrayal of this mission, because it hurts somewhere deep in him.

The confrontation with his father is the worst. Hades has no regard for him. Calls him a liar, a cheater. Says he shouldn't ever have claimed him. That he stole Zeus' bolt for hubris, and his Helm for vengeance.

Alecto looks at him sadly. She knows he didn't do anything.

"You know nothing about me"

Percy shadow travels away with his friends. Its easier, in the underworld.

He fights Ares in the Mojave Desert instead of the beach. The god bleeds gold, and the helm is his.

"Tell my... my father, to expect my visit"

Alecto looks apologetic. He, although, is not.

He makes a sob story for the police. Is difficult, because people look at his skin and see a delinquent. They look at his skin and sneer, but Annabeth is just tanned, and Grover is a ginger.

Percy gives back the Master Bolt. Zeus looks like he would be better as a puddle on the floor - Percy disagrees.

Poseidon looks less - less angry, less probable of smothering him on the floor. He claps a hand on his shoulder, and it sounds like an apology (or the best he is going to get).

He feels tired. He goes back to camp for the last bonfire - but he isn't sure he is coming back next summer. Some people like him - but he hated being looked at and proded. He wants to see the Underworld. He wants to find his place.

He hates the Cabin 11. It's humiliating. It's degrading. Nemesis turns the tides of wars. Hecate controls the Mist. Morpheus can drive someone crazy - they aren't gods, they are feelings, things above nature, sons and daughters of Nyx.

He feels detached. Luke asks him to a walk.

Perseus hate some of the gods. Perseus hates Zeus, who took his mother. Perseus hates his father, who called him a liar and tried to deny Percy's place. Perseus hates that they don't have more cabins. Perseus hates that they have cabins for gods who don't have children.

But Perseus loves Annabeth, and Grover, and Charles. He has dreams - dreams of Persephone that mingle with his dreams about Kronos. He wants to meet her, even if she hates him.

He doesn't go with Luke, no. But he doesn't say no. He teethers the line this time - half his friends at one side and half at the other, and he wants to scream.

Alabaster and Ethan leave, and he doesn't blame them. Luke doesn't poison him, and doesn't blame him for staying. He probably thinks Percy is going to sway Annabeth, and he can't fault him.

He leaves a golden drachma in his hand - for him to call when he makes a decision.

And Percy truly doesn't know what it will be.

Zeus gives back his mother and Gabe is now a statue at Persephone's garden - but he holds a grudge.

Perseus is only twelve, when he discovers he is Percy only to his mother, Annie, Charles, Grover and Luke. To the world, he is Perseus, the one who destroys.

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #son of hades #hades #AU #annabeth chase #luke castellan #ethan nakamura #alabaster #alabaster torrington #grover underwood #alone #sally jackson #persephone #touch starved #afraid to touch #gloves #is percy elsa? perhaps #idk where i'm going with this #thalia grace: poseidon is coming #nico di angelo: zeus is also coming #how will percy react to the nico situation? #don't know if I'll do ships this percy is clearly kinda gay #heroes of olympus #eventually #nicercy #jercy #pjoverse #pjo fanfic

[timeforelfnonsense]

Lost and Found

Astarion x Dafni 

Rating: T

Hurt/Comfort

TW for depression mention 

Ao3

I’ve been working on this bad boy for a month and it’s done at last!

 An important note: There is some reference to the Lolth Sworn drow in this and I feel the need to clear the air and state that I have some issues with the way WotC characterizes the drow as inherently evil. My house rules are that none of the races are inherently evil because the broad strokes in the source material as problematic af. So while the followers of Lolth might be evil I want to make it clear that doesn't equal all drow are bad. Dafni holds all varieties of elves in tender regard. As an eladrin of the fey wilds and a follower of Corellon she understands that fluid and changing nature of all living things. Life is messy and people do not fit into boxes, very few folks are all bad or all god. Not every elf worships the Seldarine and that’s ok. A fundamental part of Corellon is freedom and choice therefore it would be foolish to insist her path is the only right one. Her issue is with Lolth not the drow as a whole.

The Underdark was a horrid and forsaken place. A shudder ran down Dafni’s spine as she rubbed away the gooseflesh cropping up across her arms. Lolth’s influence hung heavy in the stale air. She would have to step lightly. A cleric of Corellon would be a great prize to the followers of the Spider Queen. She missed the warm sun on her face, the feeling of grass beneath her bare feet. She could feel herself wilting under the oppressive darkness that surrounded them.

Anxiety was a strange and forging feeling. The majority of her 160 years had been spent embodying the playful delight of spring. Perhaps it was on account of her relative youth. Or, maybe it was the influence of Corellon Larethian, whose wild and wonderful influence she had felt all her life. He had looked out for her. Cared for her as a father would his child. Truly, Corellon felt as much a parent to her as her mother, Thesmia did. A meek half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He had given her a reason to leave home when the wanderlust became far too much for her to contain. If she was to flourish as both an elf and a divine servant, Dafni would need to truly know herself beyond being Thesmia’s shadow. Absentmindedly her fingers reached for the familiar crescent moon that hung from her neck.

Her feet skidded to a halt, her trembling hand pulled away empty. Her blood turned to ice. An agonizing dagger of guilt pierced her heart and she felt as though the ground beneath her would open up and swallow her whole. Part of her wished that it would. She had carried the holy symbol since she was a young girl. Though she knew in her soul it had been her’s even before that. It had served as her connection not just to her god, but her heritage and primal spirit- The very essence of her being. 

“I lost it.” Her voice was less than a whisper, stunned and distant. Tears began to well up in her eyes. The world around her was growing colder by the second. “My amulet is gone.” Her breath began to come out in heaves and she began to sob in earnest. “It- It must have gotten lost when the minotaur tossed me!” 

 Her sharp cry stopped her traveling companions in their tracks. Each of their faces dressed in varying degrees of confusion and concern. Gale began to speak but his words were drowned out but the low ringing in her ears. A dizzy, sickening feeling bloomed in her gut and the edges of her vision began to blur as the darkness she had so feared gripped her soul.

They had doubled back to the old Selûnite fort. The others were still there setting up a temporary camp. Shadowheart hadn’t been able to find anything physically wrong with her aside from the normal bumps and scrapes that were to be expected on an active adventurer. 

Astarion felt truly helpless for the first time since he’d escaped Cazador’s clutches. It had been an hour and Dafni had yet to wake. He clasped her hand in his. A soft blue had slowly been spreading over her sage-green skin, creeping its way from the tips of her fingers to the crown of her head. Her locks were shifting at the root from rosy pink to a frosty teal. The flowers that wove through her loose ponytail had all weathered into dust. 

He squeezed her hand, “Come on Daffodil…”

Gale had been fairly positive that this was, to some extent normal for the eladrin of the Feywilds. Something about a book he’d read by some notable wizard? Truth be told Astarion hadn’t been paying much attention. He was too busy staring down Lae’zel, who’s paranoia filled gaze had been locked on Dafni’s sleeping form from the moment they’d returned. 

He should have been annoyed at her. The loss of some silly costume jewelry had caused her to swoon like a high born lady. He knew she was made of stronger stuff than that. Her little spell had put them all behind and left them without a healer the whole trek back to the fort. Yet, try as he might Astarion couldn’t seem to conjure up the ire he held for those too weak to survive hardship on their own.

 He groaned, letting his head hit the wall behind him with a soft thunk. There it was again- That damn sentimentality! By the Hells, he was a vampire, not a nursemaid! What had gotten into him? 

“You should rest.” Wyll placed a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll keep an eye on her for a bit.” 

His eyes went narrow, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The idea of leaving her while she was vulnerable made his blood boil. 

I’ll watch your back and you watch mine…

Her promise echoed through his thoughts. Dafni had held her end of the bargain with unwavering resolve. If he left now it would feel too much like betraying the one person he’d allowed even a fragment of trust in the past two centuries.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t an appropriate reaction.” He muttered while he whisked away an icy tear from her cheek. “I’m just a bit... Out of sorts.” 

Wyll nodded, taking a seat on the dusty floor beside him, “Hey, she’s tough. She’ll pull through, whatever this is.” The warlock gave him an almost smug look, “You really care for her don’t you?” 

“I hardly see how that’s any of your concern.” He sneered with a wave of his hand, “Besides, my concern is simply a matter of pragmatism. Our little band of misfits can’t afford to lose our best healer-” Astarion hesitated for a moment before adding, “Don’t tell Shadowheart I said that. We need not add my body to the pile- Should things go poorly.” 

“If I promise not to sell you out will you take a break?” 

For the first time since she had fainted, he noticed the scratchy dryness in his throat. Astarion scowled, there was little in the way of appetizing food that he had seen but he would just have to make due. He was loathed to leave her side but Wyll was a good man, a better one than him in truth. He would keep her safe. 

“What’s this? The legendary Blade of the Frontiers, stooping to common blackmail.” He tried to keep his tone flat but he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips, “Fine, I’ll take a break. I’m a bit parched anyway. I suppose I’ll try to track something palatable down here. Unless…”

 He arched an eyebrow towards Wyll who moved away with an overstated scoot. 

“Not a chance, now go!” 

Cold. 

A crushing, all-consuming chill wrapped its arms around her spirit. Spring had left her. Now she stood alone in the isolating melancholy of winter. She reached out for the familiar warmth of The Protector but here- In this cursed place his influence felt far and foreign. If only she had her holy amulet. It could have served as a compass leading her back to Corellon’s embrace. She would simply have to press on. She had put them behind already and there was no time for sentiment. She wouldn’t be able to cast spells until she found a replacement and the chances of a spare symbol of her god in the Underdark were laughable. Dafni tried to sniff back the tears pricking at the edges of her eyes but it was no use. They rolled down her baby blue cheeks freezing before they could fall to the ground. She glanced up at Astarion, who walked a few paces ahead. While Gale and Wyll had spent the better part of a day coddling her, he had remained distant. 

Maybe he didn’t want her like this? Her sadness threatened to consume anyone near her and he had enough grief of his own. He had admitted once that he enjoyed having her near. Whispered in her ear that she was sunlight and happiness made flesh as he took her in a flower patch of her own creation. 

The feeling of a gentle hand pulled her from her thoughts. Gale offered her a small smile before speaking, “Are you all right?” 

“Oh-” She sniffed, whipping away another frozen tear, “I’ll be alright. I just don’t feel much like myself right now.” 

Gale nodded in response, “Yes, I can see that. Perhaps we shouldn’t have brought you here. The Underdark does seem quite at conflict with the very core of your being.”

A mournful laugh escaped her aching chest, “I don’t think we’d have had any better luck with that shadow curse above ground. No, my sorrow isn’t a good enough reason to risk the rest of the group’s safety.” She brought an icy hand to Gale's cheek, causing him to shiver, “I appreciate your concern but really I’ll be alright. We eladrin are ruled by our emotions, a shift of season was inevitable at some point or another. It’s unfortunate for the rest of you it had to be winter. Things are dire enough without my sorrowful presence bringing you all down with me. Perhaps it would be best for all of you to keep your distance.”

 She sighed, her eyes falling on Astarion, who lingered just on the edge of the bitter cold her sadness created. While it pained her to say it, she knew he was right to keep away. The others should do the same if they were wise. Gale gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“He’s a funny one, Astarion.” Gale mused, “Wyll told me he had to resort to extortion to pry him from your side while you were out. Yet, today he acts as if you have the plague.”

A small snort of laughter broke past her tears, “Extortion?” 

“I believe comments were made comparing Shadowheart’s healing abilities to your own. Wyll offended his silence in exchange for Astarion taking a break.”

“That’s not fair to her.” Dafni sniffed, “She’s not a life cleric, she does her best.” 

“You have a good heart, Dafni.” Gale said giving her arm a squeeze, “My point is I think he cares about you, in his own odd way. At the very least he’s far more pleasant when you are around”

“You really think so?” 

“I do,” Gale assured, “he’d have to be the biggest fool in Faerûn not to see how wonderful you are.” 

Dafni felt a bit of warmth return to her heart. Not enough to thaw her sorrows but it was a start. Gale’s words helped her sort through the chaos of her mind as they had so many times before. He was a loyal and kind friend, as was Wyll. Shadowheart too despite her evasive and secretive nature. Even Lae’zel had warmed to her as best she was able despite their differences. There was a solace to be found in the support of her peers. She wasn’t so alone after all.

The sound of her laugh hit Astartion like a battering ram. She seemed to be in slightly better spirits since arriving in the Myconid Circle. She floated about the fungus folk with an easy familiarity. It seemed being among the vibrant plants and creatures of grotto had offered her some sense of normalcy. He looked over his shoulder to see what had coaxed a giggle from her (no matter how pitiful and melancholy it sounded). A sharp twinge of jealousy ran down his spine as he watched Dafni stroke Gale’s cheek with a somber smile. 

He bit the feeling back. It was better for them both if he kept his distance. Gentle kindness was hardly his strong suit. Gods, he was a disaster. How many times had she offered him comfort even when he spurned her? She had given so freely to him, her kindness, the warmth of her bed, the very blood in her veins. And there he was relying on someone else to comfort his lover.   

 Dafni was a resilient little thing. So optimistic and sweet it made his teeth hurt. It was disorienting to see her so morose. He had learned the boundaries of her emotional aura rather quickly. He had noticed an unfamiliar warm feeling that first night at camp. He found himself lingering near her as often as he could after that. Savoring the tender happiness that radiated from off of her. She had told him it was simply part of her nature. A charming quirk he’d grown to enjoy a great deal. But now he could feel her heavy sorrow as if it were his own and he longed to make her hurt go away.  

Damn sentimentality.

He had his own worries. He didn’t need to take on hers as well. She didn’t need him to coddle her. And more importantly, he most certainly was not beholden to her contentment for his own survival despite his halfwit heart’s insistence to the contrary. She was making him soft. It was ridiculous! He was far too old to be fretting over her like a lovelorn sprat. 

It must be the tadpole. Her compassion must have wormed its way into his brain somehow. That was the only logical explanation.

He needed to clear his head and get some distance between them so he could feel more himself. He wandered aimlessly about the grotto as he attempted to show away any feelings of softhearted sympathy but it was no use. He rubbed his temples and let out a frustrated huff. He should never have taken that first taste of her. She’d become an irresistible craving from that moment on. It wasn’t just her blood, but every aspect of her that called to him. Inviting him to take refuge in her affections. He could feel himself lowering his guard a little bit more each day despite his efforts to keep her at arm's length. She’d flash him that beguiling little grin, her topaz eyes brimming over with admiration and he would find himself tempted to let her just another inch closer. He’d known she was dangerous from the moment he clapped eyes on her in the wreckage of the crash. He’d prepared himself for a stake to the heart but the infatuation she had inspired in him was infinitely more frightening and possible just as deadly.

He made his way to the alcove where the Society of Brilliance had set up shop. The strange hobgoblin had mentioned something to the party about being a collector of magical items and oddities. Walking had failed to rid him of his frustrations perhaps shopping would. 

A glimmer caught his eye as he approached the cluttered stall. There, on the table was a familiar silver amulet. He was going to get it back for her and pray the gesture was enough to curb his need to see her happy. He could swipe it easily enough but he didn’t want to draw trouble to Dafni if she was spotted wearing it. No, charm and a dash of intimidation would be his best shot.

“Excuse me,” He smiled wide allowing for a slight flash of his fangs, “I was hoping you would be willing to part with that necklace.”

“A vampire interested in the acquisition of a holy symbol?” 

“Yes, it’s very ironic.” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Now, how much do you want for the damn thing?”

“Well, first time for everything.” the hobgoblin shrugged, “You have a good eye, this is very unique. It’s forged from mithral and inlaId with sylvan moonstones. The holy symbol of Corellon is more commonly depicted as an eight-pointed star these days rather than the crescent moon. Meaning this item is very old indeed! It was brought in just yesterday. I would be hesitant to sell it but my research does require more funding. How does 900 gold sound?”

“I hate to be the one to tell you but ‘very old’ is a relative term when it comes to items of elvish origin.” He kept his tone flat and unimpressed, “Long-lived people do tend to hold onto things.” 

“Ah, but you’ll find this is more than your average antique! Judging by the craftsmanship I would say it dates back to the time of the primal elves.”

Shit. 

Of course, her necklace had much more than sentimental value. He had hoped for a quick haggle but it seemed he was going to have to work for it. He really didn’t have that much coin on him, nor was he inclined to spend it on something that was not rightfully the hobgoblin’s to sell. He raffled through his mind searching for a thinly veiled threat or convincing argument to lower the price until the perfect mixture of the two dawned on him.

Astarion let out a droll hum as he checked his nails with casual disinterest. He spoke in a low, blasé voice, “You said before you weren’t much for combat? Don’t you think it’s risky, carrying around a holy item of Corellon in the den of the Spider Queen? It would be such a shame if something were to happen to you at the hands of a zealot. Really I’m doing you a favor by purchasing it. I’ve crossed swords with the Lolth sworn before they are merciless and skilled fighters almost as dangerous and bloodthirsty as vampires.”

He let a wicked bark of laughter. A bemused expression flickering across his face. He could smell the fear stirring in the timid merchant. It would seem he hadn’t lost his edge after all.  

Blurg swallowed hard before mustering a response, “ Ah- I hadn’t thought about that...”

Dafni sat cross-legged on the ramparts of the fort fletching a new batch of arrows. She’d need more to compensate for her lack of magic for the time being. She’d spent the whole trek back to their camp scanning the ground for her necklace but it had all been for not. She’d just have to accept the fact it was gone no matter how much it broke her heart. 

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

 The sound of Astarion’s voice caused her to jump, tossing her arrow down with a start. Dafni clutched her chest shooting him a sharp look. He only laughed, his infuriating gorgeous face fixed in a grin that reminded her of a satyr who stumbled upon a river of bathing nymphs. He dipped to his knees placing a hungry kiss on her scowling lips. He couldn’t be serious. All-day she had been desperate for his attention and he was completely uninterested but now that he had an itch to scratch he was searching up and down for her. Unbelievable! She shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn’t as if he’d ever promised her his undying love and devotion. Still, she had thought him tactful enough not to proposition her after the hell she’d been through that day. 

“I’m not really in the mood right now.” She scolded, “You’ll just have to entertain yourself tonight, you egotistical lecher!”

“That- Isn’t why I sought you out. But, if you truly don’t want my company I’ll leave you be.” He shrugged his tone flippant despite the flash of vulnerability in his ruby eyes.

“I- I’m sorry that was really mean and uncalled for. Please stay.”

Stupid impulsive girl.

She slumped forwards, hiding her face in her knees. She could feel the icy tears threatening to spill over for the hundredth time that day. He’d come to check on her and she’d cut him down because of her own insecurity. The bitterness had gotten the better of her and she had unwittingly discouraged his attempt at compassion. 

“If you think the accusation of being a rake is the most heinous insult that’s been hurled at me I’m afraid you’ve missed the mark by quite a lot.” 

He sat down beside her, placing a hesitant hand on her back. She could sense his uncertainty. He was nervous and clearly out of his depth but he was trying. His cautious fingertips moved slowly across the expanse of her back, tracing nebulas shapes and patterns as she drew short, shallow breaths. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She just knew he was staring at her with the same wide, gentle eyes he had when she’d offered her neck to him that night in the woods. If she saw him like that the dam would break and she’d be an utter mess. 

“I still shouldn’t have said it.” Her voice came out shaky and quiet as she peeked over the top of her knees at him. 

“I think I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you.” He leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “I have something for you. Now, stand up and close your eyes.”

She arched a questioning brow but compiled, hopping to her feet. He pushed her ponytail to one side. His touch lingered on her jumping pulse causing a shiver to run down her spine. A warm chuckle falling from his lips in response. The cool feeling of metal draped across her throat, an otherworldly comfort hummed all around her as the delicate weight of a pendant fell against her chest. 

“Where did you find it!!” Dafni gasped, “I thought I had lost it forever! You can’t fathom how much this means to me.”

“It’s a gift, to repay you for all the ones you’ve given me.”  

It probably seemed a small thing to him but he’d returned a missing piece of herself. Words felt woefully inadequate to express her gratitude. She threw her arms around his neck, sending him staggering back a bit. She hardly noticed. She stood on her tiptoes placing gentle kisses all over him. First over the bridge of his nose and then his cheeks and down his neck. Her fingers laced through his soft curls tugging him close, her lips brushed against his. Astarion’s hands fell to her soft waist, his mouth ever so slightly parting for hers. Dafni sighed, running her tongue along the warm seam of his lip earning her a satisfied purr. His hand ventured to the small of her back gently coaxing her closer. She took in a deep breath, the dizzying blend of leather and patchouli making her weak at the knee. She could have stayed like that forever, pressed safe and content against his solid chest. The feeling was big and terrifying but magical and perfect all at once. 

Drat...

She was falling in love with him.

#elf writes #bg3 early access #bg3 oc #bg3 #Wyll #shadowheart #gale #wyll and astarion are besties you can't change my mind #astarion #dafni of gwynneth

[player-1]

Anyone who’s been in the TMA fandom (or those who understand the bare minimum of the story) know damn well that whatever was going on with Michael D. Stortion and Gabriel/Worker-of-Clay was not just a simple Avatar/Entity partnership. No, in the twisted timeline of the Spiral itself, the Armageddon arms-race pales in comparison to the romantic tragedy subplot those two had long before Jon and Martin were in the picture.

(This is also going to be a long one, and with some MAG 101 spoilers, so buckle on in...)

Here’s what I mean:

Gabriel (or in this case, Gabe) works with Neil Lagorio (Web aligned special-effects dude) in the mid 1900′s on their first movie The Labyrinth of the Minotaur. Unfortunately for him, Gabe quits in 1972 just as the movie was released. 

Not much is known of this time after 1972 up until the dreaded sculpting class in 2004. Speculation-wise, Gabriel might have been corrupted by the Flesh during his movie-making times or earlier before he came into contact with the Spiral.

Reasons: -The Spiral connects with the unraveling of reality, question one’s sanity and eventually “spiraling” into insanity. -The Flesh, in its literal sense, connects to the fear of people or animals being killed for meat; even the appearance of flesh/bone being twisted, bent, or butchered. But it can also connect on a emotional level, such as being viewed weaker than others, mostly relating to a person’s body image. That’s also the reason why the nature of his death is completely unlike the Spiral simply letting him fade out of reality. -Gabriel displays more Flesh-like qualities in his appearance and work up until the end of MAG 126. He doesn’t want people to judge him by appearance alone (even if his entire body is made up of clay) but he makes up for it with his unassuming personality and amazing talent. In a literal sense, he wants to mold himself into the kind of person that gets praised for his clay-making abilities, not just from his creations alone.  

[Enter Ｔｈｅ　Ｄｉｓｔｏｒｔｉｏｎ: Stage Left] Of course, while there’s no evidence on how, when or why the Distortion would target him specifically, but there is one thing. Compared to all the other Spiral avatars and fear-aligned creatures, they all used to be humans in the past. The Spiral by nature is to cast aside their humanity and submit to the nature of insanity. But since most of the Spiral avatars either faded out of existence or just refused to do anything ritual-wise, how was it supposed to create a new world if all they ever do is destroy? It adopts an artist, of course. There’s nothing more chaotic than the struggles of a budding sculptor such as himself. But while that may be a convincing argument for the Spiral to get Gabriel to join the Dark Side, there could be more to convince him that it’s worth following the unknowable being of delusions. Long story short, there was no reason for Gabriel to judge himself so poorly if he knew how to reshape the world to how he sees fit. it would convince him that, like the archangel he’s named after, he could show the world the coming future; twisting the laws of reality so that there’s no room to judge how something should be right or wrong, imaginary or real.  As if they were said from the Lord himself, Gabriel heard the Distortion’s tell him about a new world and finally found inspiration in them.

Then comes the sculpting class.  It’s worth noting that, even with the angel symbolism for Michael and Gabriel, it could be implied that Gabriel is also a goody-two-shoes Christian boy who regularly attends church, as evidence of Michael having knowledge about Mass in MAG 20, assisting the Flesh in driving Father Edwin to cannibalism (so the Flesh and Spiral have an interesting partnership, huh?).  Besides that, this is where Gabriel takes the spotlight. From Deborah’s point of view, he was a strange little man from the beginning; eyes always jutted out of his face, appearing right in someone’s personal space and disappearing just as fast, and of course, his works of clay. (Also a random headcanon just because: Gabriel may be afraid of water, either because his entire body being made of clay, and since you need water to help shape the material, he does not want to get it melded into his own flesh. Could also be the reason why he has short and greasy hair, cause he would practically melt into a puddle if he was unfortunate enough to get wet.) And apart from Deborah and her friends’ growing discomfort over Gabriel in general, he’s just vibing in the back of the class, trying to make a shape for the unknowable form of the Distortion. And the second Deborah inadvertently gives him a break from his artist’s block, he quite literally takes control of the class; switching over the biweekly schedule it was before into every week, and even manipulating the space of the classroom to further support his artistic needs. 

“Ray told us the lesson was ‘faces.’ I put my hand up to say that sculpting faces was probably a bit advanced for where we were in the course, but he shook his head, and said that we were… a lot more talented than we thought. He said the key was that faces were twisted. All faces were twisted on the inside, and all you had to do was reach into the deepest part of yourself and put that twisted on the outside of the clay, and as soon as you can scream you’ll have your own face staring back at you.”  (MAG 126)

This is also the key to the Spiral itself. With Gabriel’s assistance, he will be able to let the spiral to insanity move in reverse, create the physical manifestation of that fear instead of letting it collapse and destroy itself. And in that lesson as well, Gabriel finally creates a fitting image of the Distortion...A door, the physical entrance to insanity itself.

Then comes the final stretch in Sannikov Land, the nonexistent island that was said to exist between the years 2009 and 2011. And as Michael D. Stortion explains in MAG 101, was the perfect place for their ritual, The Great Twisting. After everything Gabriel had done to appease his good “friend”, The Distortion seemed extremely invested in the Worker of Clay at that point. Nevermind the fact that its telling Jon how its identity was stolen away from Michael Shelley by merging with the Distortion, but there’s more to this origin story.

“Michael was protective of the frail old woman he believed her to be. So… so delicate, so forgetful, yet gently wise. He cared for her. He trusted her. And she fed him to me. She made him to destroy our transcendence. And she did not hesitate.” “And it was me they sought to stop. Me and the others of It-Is-Not-What-It-Is. Our Great Twisting. The-Worker-of-Clay had laboured for decades on that contorted, impossible edifice of doors… and stairs… and falsehoods… and smiles. A thousand staring morsels stood, and not one of them believed themselves sane to look upon it. And in the centre, the door that would open to all the places that were never there, was me.“ “Perhaps I should have realised what was happening; seen those two lonely figures approaching me, but I cannot tell you the existential joys of truly… becoming. Of an entireness finally crossing the threshold into your self. So ecstatic was my completeness, I did not even hear my own door creak open.“ “Even sharper than the joy of becoming is the agony of being opened and remade. To have your who torn bloody from your what, and another crudely lashed into its place. To become Michael. And to do so at such a crucial point in our Twisting, in our becoming, well of course it destroyed it. The impossible altar collapsed. The-Worker-of-Clay tore out his veins to dissolve himself in crimson mud. The others of us were cast to all the places that aren’t; some have still not found their way out again...My very existence tied to my pointlessness. Wearing my failure as the very fabric of my being. Reduced once again to feeding on the unsuspecting and confused. That is who I am.“ (MAG 101)

Even if all of this was to explain how the Distortion became the being it is in the series, it’s easy to see how overjoyed it was during the ritual. All that the Spiral ever did was bring the sense of unreality and paranoia unto people for ages, only breaking down the mind until they eventually spiral into oblivion. It wanted to be something, it wanted to make something twisted and nonsensical from the world, to shape the world itself to the nature of insanity. And after all that time, no matter how many avatars it had in its control, Gabriel was the only one who began creating the ritual. Even if it was for an ulterior motive, The Distortion was pretty giddy as Gabriel worked for years on end to create the meaning of insanity; to create something that the Distortion saw as the perfect vessel for itself. And even as it was explaining it, with all these feelings of joy and ecstasy and very human thoughts and emotions, this was before it was forced to become Michael. So much for not being bound by human nature, huh? But it’s pretty ironic that, as the embodiment of delusions, insanity and lies, it never considered the idea of having an avatar that could make something out of that chaos. Even if the Distortion was explaining how Michael-not-Michael Shelley came into being, it also can be interpreted as Michael just yearning for his best Avatar so far.  So instead of “I’m going to tell you my entire backstory.”, it’s more like “I’m going to tell you how a nosy old woman and her idiotic assistant ruined my chances to be with my Avatar of the Decade who may or may not be my boyfriend.”

In conclusion, Gabriel AKA The Worker of Clay AKA Igor with an art degree became the Hands of the Spiral because the nonbinary embodiment of delusion (who is also a door) gave a miserable struggling artist a shot of self-confidence (and a shot out of the Flesh’s control), eventually becoming its #1 Boyfriend Avatar of all time, and is the only person that would make the “hates gender and existence itself” Distortion yearn for years after his tragic death.

Takes notes people, this is what peak performance looks like.

#not kh #tma #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #tma michael #tma gabriel #tma michael shelley #gay shit #shitpost #rant post #text post

[sapphicwhump]

Co-Workers 1 - Chevauchée

[ Next | Read on AO3 ]

Fandoms: Destiny, Destiny 2 Tropes: Sci-fi setting, worldbuilding, female whumpee, non-human whumpee, minor whumpee, heavy angst, hurt no comfort, emotional whump TW: War crimes / massacre of civilians, parental death

        Miirha is six cycles old when the Lightbearers raze her village.

        At her young age, the Eliksni girl knows little of her village’s place in the grand scale of interplanetary war, and instead remains preoccupied with the mundane goings-on of her own daily life. What she knows is that she lives on a small barony loyal to House Dusk, located on a warm, lush planet called Viinis. Her family, like most others in the village, subsist by communally farming Ether on the land held by their Baron. The village itself is tiny, featuring only a single dirt road lined with squat wooden houses and shallow burrows below. Across multiple generations, her people have gradually slashed and burned away the surrounding jungle to create a swidden for their Ether farms, which now stretches several kilometers wide. Among the fields of Ether crop, Miirha spends her days both at work and at play.

        Her people still measure time in the long cycles of Riis, refusing to give up their traditions for the shorter Earth cycles more commonly used in this system. Viinis does not have significant seasons, and so their crop yields are not beholden to its motions, allowing them to keep time by whatever unit they wish. Despite this, at only six cycles old, Miirha is barely an adolescent when the Lightbearers arrive. The sun dips low above the treeline, and she's running through the fields of Ether crop when she spots the trio of four-limbed figures descending a distant hill.

        Her father has come out to see her, and she calls out to him, gesturing with a primary claw towards the figures. “Father! I see Humans over there!”

        Miirha thinks nothing of it, but from the way he suddenly goes stiff, she realizes something must be seriously wrong. Her father rushes toward her through the fields, getting down on all sixes to reach her as fast as possible. He stands to see the figures for himself, then grabs her by a primary arm and pulls her with great haste back towards the house.

        “Inside, now. Stay put and stay quiet.” His tone is severe, the one he only uses when she's in trouble. Miirha spikes with anxiety, and she wonders if she's somehow done something wrong.

        Inside, her mother and father speak quickly, in hushed whispers and confused tones. Miirha tries to catch some of what they’re saying, although from the way they whisper and turn away, it’s evident that their conversation is not meant for her.

        “—Lightbearers here? But why—”

        “—unsure. We have no warriors—”

        “—the Ether. They wish to starve out the House—”

        “—what will we do?”

        When Miirha hears the word “Lightbearer,” her immediate reaction is disbelief. Every Eliksni hatchling is raised on stories of magical undead Human warriors that can throw fire from their hands or raise themselves from death, but in her adolescence, Miirha has long since disregarded them as fairytales meant to keep her in line. The scariest thing she’s ever seen is a Vex Minotaur; it’s difficult to imagine how a mere Human could be any worse.

        The adults seem to be taking it pretty seriously, though. As her parents’ conversation grows increasingly frantic, Miirha feels a sliver of doubt growing within her. Both of them are old enough to remember the days of the barony’s loyalty to House Winter, until, at least according to their stories, the Lightbearers brought it to utter destruction. If their accounts really are from personal experience, the possibility that their stories might not be so far-fetched is enough to strike terror in Miirha’s heart.

        Her parents have finished their conversation. Her mother, always the larger of the two, straps on her armor and hoists her scorch cannon over her shoulder, like she does whenever Vex are spotted near the village. Her father says nothing as she prepares, but his expression and movements are deeply sorrowful for a reason that Miirha isn't quite sure of. Fully armed, she steps through the door into the warm solar glow, and that is the last time Miirha ever sees her mother.

        It isn't long before outside is a cacophony of gunfire. From the few Vex incursions she’s seen, Miirha can make out the distinctive vwoom-pop of wire rifles, and the ch-boom of her mother's scorch cannon. There's another noise mixed in with it though; a rapid pop-pop-pop that Miirha doesn't recognize. The sound reminds her of the fireworks they set off to celebrate the new cycle, but it comes much faster, like a whole rack of them going off in sequence.

        Gradually, the sounds of wire rifles become less frequent, and the scorch cannon falls silent entirely. The pop-pop-pop keeps on going, though. When the unfamiliar sound becomes so loud it's nearly painful on Miirha's eardrums, her father grabs her by an arm again and drags her to the back of the house, throwing open the trapdoor to their burrow and shoving her inside. 

        “Miirha… I need you to s-stay put and stay quiet.” he tells her once again. His you-did-something-wrong tone is still there, but it's different now; more scared and frantic. He slams the trapdoor shut, and she obeys, slinking back to a far wall of the burrow.

        Moments later, Miirha is startled by a sudden clamor above her; a heavy thud and the sound of splintering wood. Yellow-orange sunlight pours in between the cracks in the trapdoor. She has to contain a gasp when the POP-POP-POP-POP comes again, directly from the other side, so loud it utterly deafens her for a few moments.

        Another thud, and the shafts of light streaming into the burrow are partially obscured. Deep blue blood, dark as the evening sky, drips from between the boards and pools on the stone in front of her. Miirha has to clamp two claws over her mouth to contain her scream. Her father told her to stay put and stay quiet, so that's exactly what she'll do. In that moment, she knows with absolute certainty that if she screams, she'll die.

        Miirha isn't sure how long she hides in the burrow, curled into a ball in the furthest corner, trying with all her might to stay completely silent and hold in her crying. In the dark, she offers silent, weeping prayers to the Great Machine. At first, she does so out of desperation, pleading for her own survival and her loved ones’ salvation. But as the muffled pop-pop-pop only continues in the distance, her thoughts turn to anger. She curses the Machine’s fickleness, how it exalts the Lightbearers while leaving the Eliksni abandoned and broken.

        Eventually, the yellowish sunlight outside goes to a deep orange, then to blackness. She only dares to venture out once it has returned as a vibrant white.

        Miirha emerges from the trapdoor to find her village a smouldering ruin. The homes of her neighbors are unrecognizable, everything above the foundation reduced to charred piles of wreckage. When she checks the burrows beneath to search for survivors, she finds the entrances caved in. Even the Baron’s large house at the end of the road has not a single wall left standing, nor any signs of life within.

        The acrid stench of smoke burns in Miirha’s nostrils. Eventually, she stops bothering to look for anyone else who might have survived, and ventures out into the surrounding farmland. Stretching out from the village in every direction, the land that was once their Ether fields now lays barren and blackened. Kilometers in the distance, Miirha can spot a few fires still burning away the last bit of their former livelihood. Near the area where she’d played earlier that day, she scoops up a bit of the ash in her claw, and thinks it smells like salt.

        The village's single roadway is littered with bodies, and still more stick out half-buried in the rubble. Most are shredded or immolated beyond recognition. A massive one, far larger than any other, has fallen in the middle of the road; there’s no one it can be other than their Baron. As Miirha cautiously approaches, she can see there’s a charred, gaping hole melted clean through his head. At his side, there's the flaming wreckage of their village’s only Servitor, its spherical shell smashed open like an egg. This was the Servitor that refined the Ether crop for the entire village. Numbly, she supposes that with the fields burned, there wouldn’t be much use for it anyway.

        Miirha stumbles through the ruins in a dazed, dreamlike state, oddly numb to the sights and smells around her. There's a pervasive sense of unreality to this place, this destroyed, upside-down version of the village she's lived in her entire life. She tries poking a claw in between the segments of her shell, and yet she doesn't wake up. There are no indicators that she's dreaming, nothing to suggest that this is anything other than real. When she still doesn't wake up after losing count of the charred corpses of her former neighbors, she vomits up what little her stomach has left in it, and passes out in the least destroyed building she can find.

        A crew of traders from House Dusk arrive the next day. Usually, Miirha’s parents would go out and barter Ether in exchange for any goods that the villagers can't produce themselves, but upon seeing the houses in ruins, the traders quickly turn to scavengers. Almost everything has been destroyed by the fire, and the group leaves nearly empty-handed. They make a meager effort to search for survivors, and are genuinely surprised to find Miirha curled up amongst the wreckage. They quickly lead her back to their Skiff, where they wrap her in a blanket and give her a bit of dried food.

        The crew take her to meet the Captain of their Skiff, unsure of what to do with her. The Captain is big for an Eliksni, almost as tall as Miirha's mother. From the cockpit, he clambers out into the Skiff’s main compartment, moving to kneel in front of the distraught girl.

        “Hey there, little one. Can you tell me what happened here? Did you see any other survivors?”

        She gestures the negative slowly, not looking up at him. “L-lightbearers.”

        The Captain winces, clicking his mandibles together in dissatisfaction. “Blast. Terrible shame what happened here. Really needed that Ether deal.” he mutters under his breath.

        “Tell you what: my crew and I are feeling generous today, so we’ll offer you free transport to our next destination. Better than starving to death in this wreck, isn’t it?”

        Miirha simply gestures the affirmative in the same slow way, not really comprehending the Captain’s offer, but seeing no alternative.

        The Captain stands, his tone turning somewhat mournful. “Alright then. We’ll be off shortly.” Miirha finally looks up at him, but he’s already crawling back into the cockpit.

        The gangplank begins to retract, the Skiff’s main airlock gradually sliding shut along with it. As the landing gear lifts and the engines engage, Miirha turns back to the village, casting a final long look over the leveled remnants of her former home. She does her best to preserve an image of it in her memory: the bare foundations where houses once stood, blackened Ether fields, the bodies of her Baron and Servitor laying side by side in the road. She wants to cork this sight, put it in a bottle for safekeeping, so she’ll always have a reminder of where she came from.

        The airlock doors seal shut completely, cutting off the view. Miirha turns her eyes back to the Skiff’s floor, and she never sees her village again.

[ Next ]

#my writing #whump #lady whump #emotional whump #miirha #co-workers story

[bighousela]

MODERN ART chronicles a life-long rivalry between two mavericks of the London art world; the rebellious art critic Peter Fuller and Michael Minas the most expensive living artist of all time, as they cut their path from the swinging sixties through the collapse of modern art in Thatcher-era Britain.

WRITER’S STATEMENT Peter Fuller was my late father and I wrote this Biopic screenplay based on his memoirs, private letters and journals from the archive held at the TATE. This project has allowed me a dialog with the father I never knew. The story really came together when I created the character of Michael Minas out of Peter’s best friends and rivals, and my own adaptation. Comparisons have been made to two of the most popular streaming series this year; THE CROWN, which has brought a context to 20th Century British political and cultural history like never before. And breakout series QUEEN’S GAMBIT which has popularized the game of chess, an otherwise niche field, whose participants are obsessive and yet the story is entirely character driven. These are equally the aims of MODERN ART. 2020 has only proven we need art, now more than ever. Peter Fuller was like a punch in the guts to the art world from 1969 to 1990. I want for this film to reach the person walking into an art museum for the first time knowing nothing about the paintings in front of them and hit them emotionally just as hard as the collector with five Picassos on their wall. This is an inside look into a world that is a closed door to the average person, I want to kick that door down with this piece. Laurence Fuller, 2020

SYNOPSIS INTERVIEWER: Michael Minas, your latest piece, a car wreckage made of solid gold at Deutscher Galleries, has made you the most expensive living artist of all time. Can you tell our readers what you believe is the state of Modern Art? MICHAEL: This moment, as we all know, is missing someone. He was my oldest friend and greatest adversary. Thirty years on and we still feel his absence stronger than ever. He pulled himself to the centre of this carousel and watched the horses dance for his pleasure, wincing at the neon lights. PETER FULLER… This is all your fault. When my assistant found Peter’s journal in my studio this morning, there was no more hiding the origins of my work. The radical 60s; John Lennon plays guitar with Che Guevara, Vanessa Redgrave rallies a protest in Trafalgar Square, Peter and I were there for it all and we had the scars to prove it. Shaggy hair and anarchy everywhere. Art was the centre of this game and art was radical. It was time to question everyone and everything. And yet, Peter was struggling to find his voice amongst so many competing agendas. Peter was a terrible painter, I kept encouraging him to write instead, none-the-less he insisted on having a solo exhibition, for which he sketched his first wife the sensual COLETTE as the Venus De Milo. The show was a critical disaster in all the papers across England, I should know, I wrote one of them. Peter’s confidence as a painter was shattered, but it was that day a critic was born. Britain didn’t need another painter, it needed a writer. I connected him with the revolutionary journalist Tariq Ali who inspired him with the words “Write our revolution. Seize the time.” Peter’s fierce and prolific columns inevitably led him to JOHN BERGER. There was no greater critic at the time. After an invitation to join Berger at his home in France, they talked for days, Peter became fascinated by the man, who became his surrogate father. I am ashamed to admit it now, but I was jealous. The three of us locked in a power struggle: Two brothers fighting for the father’s approval. At Berger’s request to find out which side he’s really on, he asked me to keep an eye on Peter. I watched him in the hungry hours of the art openings. I watched him feed his demons at the late night whipping houses and horse tracks where he spent his last pennies on the strangest hopes. Little did I know, he was watching me just as closely. I took it upon myself to steal his journals. I could not do this alone. I had to enlist the help of the person closest to him, Colette. As I read them feverishly, of course I knew it was wrong, but what was he hiding? I was obsessed with trying to figure him out.

Anxiously I read in Peter’s journals how he wrestled with his father in the tormented dreams of his childhood where we first met at boarding school. The older boys could be unusually cruel back then. Failing to comply with their authority we were tied to a fence in a bull paddock and whipped within an inch of our lives. Reading his account again inspired me to create the exhibition MINOTAUR’S SONG in 1986. I knew I could never beat Peter with words, but my art would torture him and force him to rebel against us. And he did by publishing brutal columns. John felt as though he had lost his son, he turned to me. Colette could no longer bare Peter’s anguish and the marriage was ripped apart, she turned to me. Peter went mad with jealousy and confronted Berger and myself at the exhibition. Our next debate was televised and it was merciless. Peter turned his back on all of us. He was black listed across the entire art publishing trade, except for his own passionate glossy MODERN PAINTERS. The magazine tore the entire establishment apart on both sides of the divide. There, revealed at its centre, was Peter holding the curtain open to the dying light of beauty. At the launch neither Berger, nor I were spared in the most intense debate I have witnessed let alone been a part of, as nobody could use language as a weapon like Peter. Finally, he had undeniably found his voice. I did not see his final letter until after the car crash which claimed his life so abruptly. Of course Peter’s final move in this game is a crescendo which reveals the purpose of beauty and the preciousness of life. Who better to deliver me this message than my assistant, but did she know more than she was letting on? George Mackay Michael Minas MICHAEL MINAS - 30s Caucasian Male (British), Peter’s lifelong best friend, though rougher round the edges, the two are locked in a constant cycle of camaraderie and rivalry. The emotional rollercoaster of their relationship escalates from adolescence through the revolutionary 60s, into passionate televised debates of the 80s, sensational art openings and betrayals of love and loyalties, played out on the art world’s stage. LEAD JOHN BERGER - 40s-50s (British), a handsome man with a large presence and a wisdom that is expressed in the lines of his face and the openness of his heart. John Berger was the leading art critic in England throughout the 20th Century. Notorious and internationally recognized for his controversial perspective on art criticism which was also deeply personal and autobiographical. He was Peter’s mentor and over time his surrogate father as their intense relationship sent ripples throughout the art world. LEAD

Modern Art Script Trailer

[terror-billie]

House of Leaves Thoughts

First: the title refers to the book pages (leaves) and also the quote about Earth being a "house of leaves about to be hit by a gust of wind"… so, basically, something that is fragile enough to be destroyed by an oncoming force.

I'm most confident in my interpretation of the core theme: House of Leaves is about family. Family estrangement, family breakdown, repairing family bonds, the bonds of parents and children, the bonds of siblings. Family members hurting each other, and overcoming – or not overcoming – that hurt.

The primary focus is on the complicated and often negative impacts of fathers on characters' lives as well as the complexity of sibling relationships. Likewise, the house creates a physical space and backdrop against which to wrestle against one's demons. The nature of the house is definitely one of reflection, specifically of echo, one of the prominent symbols. And the house and minotaur both seem very involved in redemption or punishment relating to sins against the family. With the title, it could mean that a family is a fragile thing that could be blown apart at any moment.

Let's look at the fathers:

Johnny's father. Painted as positive and even a savior. A loving father. Absent but due to no fault of his own. By all accounts a loving husband but prioritized the well-being of his son above all. Died tragically.

Johnny's stepfather, the marine. Abusive. Disfigures Johnny.

Navidson. Loves his children and means well, but frequently prioritizes adventure over their well-being. Initially estranged from Tom until the house brings them together, but still continues to endanger his children by living in the house . Ultimately chooses love and family in the end and in doing so is finally redeemed and freed. (Also worth noting that Tom and Navidson had issues stemming from their own poor upbringing by their own parents, so there's definitely some nods to intergenerational trauma and cycles of toxicity)

Zampanò. Little information is given, but he indicates that he was a poor/absent father. He attempts to remove the minotaur from the manuscript entirely, but Johnny adds it back. Killed (?) by the minotaur (?). May have written the manuscript as a labyrinth to contain the minotaur. His emotional connection to his analysis of the minotaur myth is obvious.

Tom. Not a father, but a positive adult male role model in the house. Spends time with the children and prioritizes their safety, ultimately being responsible for Daisy being saved as he hands her out to Navidson. It is his sacrifice that wakes Navidson up to his failures, as a father and a brother. And yet, his sacrifice is confusing because it's the one time that the house punishes a "good father." Maybe it's not a punishment after all, though. If we think about Navidson's well dream, that bad people drown forever in the well but good people disappear and go to a better place, that might be what happened to Tom. Maybe he went to heaven, or maybe he went to the Real World… and is Zampanò. (I guessed early on that Zampanò was Tom, became even more sure upon noting the use of "me" in the text referring to Tom on page 320, but it doesn't really square with the characterization of Tom as a good father because Zampanò is a poor father and is punished by the minotaur)

Let's take a look at the mothers as well:

Pelafina, Johnny's mother. Duality, good and bad. A source of pain, abuse, disfigurement, trauma, overbearing in her unloading on him in her letters. Loves her son tremendously, encourages him, adores him, wishes she could protect him. Absent but not of her own doing. Suffers from psychotic mental illness such as paranoid schizophrenia, and/or some kind of dementia, it's not enough to diagnose what but she often hallucinates, misremembers, or otherwise errs in her perception of reality, to an extent that is deliberately left up to interpretation. The inheritance of her illness alongside trauma shape Johnny and how he presents himself to us the reader. She may have had a child who lived a very short time. (Some people think this is Johnny, but I'm thinking it's a younger sibling, the grief over the loss of which led to her attempted murder of Johnny… if that even happened, but it's not clear if it did. Considering how frequently it is referenced, and how Johnny's positive version of events comes on the heels of him making up a different nice story for the reader, I'm inclined to think it is true.) Considering that Johnny is notably without a sibling in comparison to Navidson and Karen, having a missing sibling would also make sense. On the other hand, the deformity of the infant mirrors the deformity of Johnny and the minotaur, but I'll expand on that in a bit.

Karen. Prioritizes her children's safety over adventure. Emotionally mercurial as a life partner but more stable as a mother. But largely at a surface level, she doesn't really know what her children are suffering.

As a note on both characters: women suffering rape/csa/incest is an occasional motif. While Karen brushes off the suppositions about what happened to her and her estranged sister as children as her source of trauma, no alternate interpretation is given, and the inclusion of rape/csa/incest as a motif indicates that her past trauma reverberates through the text.

On the topic of Johnny… he comes across most as Danielewski's "self" character, though I don't want to assume too much. Navidson could be equally or moreso his self-insert, or maybe Danielewski really doesn't have one. It's overly simplistic to assume that any one character is closest to the author when, in a well-crafted work, all characters have some piece of the author. But specifically what I see in Johnny is the struggle with seeing himself as a monster.

I don't want to focus too much on the author or make assumptions about what is or is not autobiographical, but it's not terribly surprising to me that the author has explicitly stated that his first book (Redwood) was written to make sense of his very complicated feelings toward his father (who raged about it and insulted him for it and almost made him quit writing forever), and his sister has been a source of strength for him in dealing with that (she salvaged the draft of Redwood after Danielewski destroyed it upon being rejected by his father).

Johnny has a father he idealizes, a stepfather he despises, and a mother about whom he has complicated feelings and tries to not think about too much. Blue, Red, Purple. Johnny's focus on his chipped tooth – a result of a savage beating by his stepfather that almost killed him, in a remote dark shack – and his scarred arms – a result of his mother's accidental (?) spilling of oil on him – fit neatly with Zampanò's characterization of the minotaur as a son who was reviled as a monster because of his deformity. The text explicitly has Johnny imagine himself as the minotaur multiple times. The minotaur-monster-self is how he channels his fury and rage. What's interesting, though, is that initially he sees the minotaur as a separate being that has put him in danger, and in their first encounter, he vividly experiences the time that his mother tried to strangle him – the incontinence, the swipes left on the back of his neck. Pelafina is not the minotaur overall, it doesn't fit with the abandoned/wronged son motif, but something of the fear in the darkness was her… maybe, along with Karen's intense fear of darkness, the darkness simply represents childhood trauma.

It's hard to pin down because there is a justice of the darkness that punishes those who harm children, but the darkness itself also harms Chad and Daisy.

There's also the roar. The roar, some assume, is the minotaur, the monster. Some assume it's the house. But I see a definite connection between it and the roar of love that Johnny remembers when his father saved him from his mother's attempt on his life. He doesn't remember the incident but at a primal level he remembers this roar, this roar of love and life from his father.

This is why I think Pelafina's attempt on Johnny's life came while Johnny's father was still alive, along with the fact that Johnny's father flew her to Whalestoe in his plane before he lost his pilot's license and died trying to make money as a single father. Not sure if this fits the timeline, as it's often interpreted that the attempted infanticide occurred after Johnny's father was dead.

Johnny and Pelafina both forget things that happened. Pelafina forgets Johnny's visits. This is why I think Thumper's real name is Ashley, that she did call him and that's why she thought it was funny that he said she hadn't called. Not sure if that all lines up though. It was honestly kind of hard to keep straight all the women in Johnny's life.

The house, as briefly mentioned, primarily functions in a reflective manner. Based on what Johnny muses about the true terror, and Navidson's and Holloway's experiences, and even Tom's, we can see that whatever the house is, it tests people on their true self. It strips away the things that let them keep living with illusions, by literally shrouding them in darkness until all they can see is their own true self.

Holloway desperately repeats surface-level facts about himself to keep himself together, and that doesn't work, because we are not a collection of facts. Tom uses humor, which is more effective, but ultimately creates a mask to protect vulnerability and doesn't allow ones true self to be fully revealed – perhaps this is why the house consumes him. Navidson allows the darkness to strip away everything but comes through unscathed after facing his true self and passing through the crucible; Karen, too, was able to face truth and come through, though not in the way Navidson did.

Johnny wrestles with this for the entire novel, for he has created an entire maze of lies built up around him to protect himself. He obscures – sometimes deliberately, sometimes not – which stories or memories are real and fake, the details of what happened. He is terrified to face his true self. We don't really know if he passes through the crucible or not.

To go back to Danielewski for a moment, I think that based on what he said about his writing during his father's cancer diagnosis, and his subsequent loss, he learned a lot about himself when dealing with his grief. The truth is, learning about yourself is difficult, and you're forced to do it most often when you're already going through difficult circumstances. It's frightening. Life gives us so many tools to build walls and ignore the truths we'd rather not face.

But ultimately life – god, the House, the Dark, the Nothing, whatever it is – will force us to face what we built walls around: our true selves.

On the topic of the house, there are several clues that it is Yggdrasil:

· The house's deepest materials are older than the solar system

· The house is God

· Yggdrasil is an Ash Tree

· Yggdrasil has a maze of roots that are the world

· Trees have leaves and this is House of Leaves

While I'm not big on interpretations that everything was made up by one character, I can appreciate interpretation that the House is a creation within the recursive ouroboros in which Zampanò may have created it and the world by dreaming it up and within its pages, Navidson reading it even as he's experiencing it, etc etc etc. Not that everything is one person's fever dream, but that somebody actually created alternate universes by writing them down.

#house of leaves #hol #meta #Mark Z. Danielewski #whalestoe letters

[shineonmalcolmbright]

Shine On, Bright: Chapter Twelve

Table of Contents

Past

There are better things to consider than murder.

No, wait, that came out wrong.

Malcolm stopped as if he were speaking to somebody and looked around. Nobody’s around. It snowed at some point between yesterday and today, not a lot. What little snow that did fall soaked up sound all around him. He stood between hedges in a maze that looped out behind the Overlook. Before heading out, Malcolm searched for a birding book to carry with him. Martin found him digging around the makeshift library and asked him what was up.

Malcolm said: Going outside.

To which, Martin reasonably asked: Where?

Already armed with a bird-watching book, Malcolm faced him as if he needed to really think about it. There wasn’t anywhere else to go but to the right at the Overlook or to the left. So he decided on a reasonable answer for a reasonable question: The hedge maze.

For some reason, this made Martin chuckle as he came close to exiting without a farewell. His father didn’t say goodbye or anything but instead: Careful, every labyrinth has its own Minotaur.

Malcolm armed then armed himself with the following:

Birding book

Pencil

Notebook

Pocket Knife

His pocket knife seemed reasonable. It didn’t quite fit right into his pocket but it was good enough for the time being because there wasn’t something right about this place. On his way out, Ainsley played in the lobby asking if he wanted to play with her friends. With a quick look, the area was pretty empty, which meant it’d be awkward if he attempted to play a game with her and her imaginary friends.

And that’s how he ended up crunching through the snow. It was colder than he thought and already needed a heavier coat. A thin sheet of ice-encrusted the snow. The ice kept breaking with each step he took. There didn’t appear to be any birds out and by the time he wanted to turn back which was about fifteen minutes into his walk, Malcolm turned around realizing he had no idea how to get back to the Overlook. Instead, it loomed over him, watching him while he was stuck on the ground unable to see past any of the hedges.

At least he left murder behind, but for what? Dying because of the elements. Malcolm put a hand out wishing he brought gloves with him. Jessica would be so disappointed. She always warned him to not leave without a scarf because the wind would chill him and kill him, something along those lines.

Malcolm stared at the hotel before looking at the hedges only, he could’ve sworn he came there on a straight path but an actual hedge waited directly in front of him. Forcing him either forward away from the hotel or to the left.

Left he went in hopes of making his way back there. At the corner, Malcolm used his pocket knife to cut some branches off. The moment though his knife sliced into bark the hedge seemed to screamed. Instead, a crow flung up from the hedges, startling him.

The knife slipped biting into his palm. Malcolm stood there looking at a strand of crimson blooming on his hand. He didn’t bring any first aid and even if he brought first aid, he didn’t know how to use it. The only simple thought he had to the situation was to stop the bleeding but with what?

Martin failed to mention where he went earlier. All he said was, Careful, every labyrinth has its own Minotaur, before leaving the makeshift library. When Malcolm woke up, his mother had been sitting in the kitchen smoking a cigarette by an open window. He walked into the kitchen and she quickly killed her smoke and tossed it out the window and smiled asking if he wanted something to eat. That she could find something for him to eat. She found nothing. They’d need to head to the supermarket for food if they were to pull through but Martin insisted it wasn’t necessary. Such a large kitchen meant there had to be food supplies somewhere.

Another crow disturbed branches knocking snow off and into Malcolm. He curled his fingers into his palm with the hope that’d help out. Except his hand kept bleeding and bleeding, staining the snow. He kept his fingers curled up as he touched his palm to his pants. Jessica was about to be angry to find stains on his pants. If he could find hydrogen peroxide before she spotted him, he could dig the stain off his jeans.

Malcolm pushed forward, moving faster. Only more birds flew up. About fifty of them struggled to break out of the hedges and darted into the clouds. Gone in a second or two. More feathers fell than snowflakes. A few tickled Malcolm’s nose while he stood there attempting to press his wound to his pants.

Pushing forward the snow crunch, crunch, crunched under his feet. He started to move even faster turning every now and then whenever it appeared he’d get closer to the hotel. Only the hotel never came closer or so it appeared. Had to be all in his head. Had to be an illusion. Buildings didn’t move and trees didn’t either unless there was a good gust of wind. Then it’d be just the leaves and branches.

Somewhere behind him something snapped and popped. Malcolm stood still while looking down. His whole hand was soaked in blood by that point. But whatever moved behind him, continued to move. It wasn’t birds anymore. Feathers no longer fell and snow couldn’t soak up such a sound. Without moving much, Malcolm only turned his head to look over his shoulder while his muscles remained taut.

Branches moved, scraping up the ice-crusted snow. He didn’t move as he looked up and up at the moving branches. They were all twisted together and bound up creating what almost looked like a large deer walking through the maze.

Careful, every labyrinth has its own Minotaur.

#shineonbrightfic #Prodigal Son #Prodigal Son fic #Prodigal Son fanfic #Malcolm Bright #Malcolm Bright whump #The Shining #Overlook Hotel

[pfenniged]

What books are you currently reading? :)

Some of these I’m currently reading are books I’ve already read/ started reading, but had to put aside or haven’t reread in a long time. Others are books I’ve read for the first time, but I’m trying to catch up on as well. Lastly, I’ve got some books coming in the mail. I’ll note all categories below.

(Note: Books I’ve already read and rereading have an asterisk next to them, so you know they’re really good. xD)

Books I’m Currently Rereading:

All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque*: ‘All Quiet on the Western Front is a novel by Erich Maria Remarque, a German veteran of World War I. The book describes the German soldiers' extreme physical and mental stress during the war, and the detachment from civilian life felt by many of these soldiers upon returning home from the front.’

Notes on a Scandal by Zoe Heller* (TW: As a novel and as someone who experienced underage sexual abuse, I acknowledge this could be very triggering and there are sections I have to skip by. However, the film starring Dame Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett is so fantastic, and the material provided here so dark and so twisted, it’s a fantastic example of a double-twist and a fucked-up unreliable narrator): Notes on a Scandal is a 2003 novel by Zoë Heller. It is about a female teacher at a London comprehensive school who begins an affair with an underage pupil. 

Jane Austen’s Persuasion* (Note: This is my favourite Jane Austen novel): ‘Of all Jane Austen’s great and delightful novels, Persuasion is widely regarded as the most moving. It is the story of a second chance. Anne Elliot, daughter of the snobbish Sir Walter Elliot, is woman of quiet charm and deep feelings. When she was nineteen she fell in love with—and was engaged to—a naval officer, the fearless and headstrong Captain Wentworth. But the young man had no fortune, and Anne allowed herself to be persuaded to give him up. Now, eight years later, Wentworth has returned to the neighborhood, a rich man and still unwed. Anne’s never-diminished love is muffled by her pride, and he seems cold and unforgiving. What happens as the two are thrown together in the social world of Bath—and as an eager new suitor appears for Anne—is touchingly and wittily told in a masterpiece that is also one of the most entrancing novels in the English language.’

Books I’ve Started Reading, But Had to Put Aside at One Point:

Dopesick: Dealers, Doctors, and the Drug Company that Addicted America by Beth Macy: ‘Dopesick is an unflinching look at the opioid crisis in the US, which is predicted to kill more Americans in a decade than HIV has since it emerged in the 1980s.'

Tesla: Inventor of the Modern by Richard Munson: ‘Nikola Tesla invented the radio, robots, and remote control. His electric induction motors run our appliances and factories, yet he has been largely overlooked by history. In Tesla, Richard Munson presents a comprehensive portrait of this farsighted and underappreciated mastermind.’

Me by Elton John: ‘In his first and only official autobiography, music icon Elton John reveals the truth about his extraordinary life, which is also the subject of the smash-hit film Rocketman.’

Circe by Madeline Miller: ‘In the house of Helios, god of the sun and mightiest of the Titans, a daughter is born. But Circe is a strange child--not powerful, like her father, nor viciously alluring like her mother. Turning to the world of mortals for companionship, she discovers that she does possess power--the power of witchcraft, which can transform rivals into monsters and menace the gods themselves.Threatened, Zeus banishes her to a deserted island, where she hones her occult craft, tames wild beasts and crosses paths with many of the most famous figures in all of mythology, including the Minotaur, Daedalus and his doomed son Icarus, the murderous Medea, and, of course, wily Odysseus.But there is danger, too, for a woman who stands alone, and Circe unwittingly draws the wrath of both men and gods, ultimately finding herself pitted against one of the most terrifying and vengeful of the Olympians. To protect what she loves most, Circe must summon all her strength and choose, once and for all, whether she belongs with the gods she is born from, or the mortals she has come to love.’

Intellectual Property by Siva Vaidhyanathan: ‘We all create intellectual property. We all use intellectual property. Intellectual property is the most pervasive yet least understood way we regulate expression. Despite its importance to so many aspects of the global economy and daily life, intellectual property policy remains a confusing and arcane subject. This engaging book clarifies both the basic terms and the major conflicts surrounding these fascinating areas of law, offering a layman's introduction to copyright, patents, trademarks, and other forms of knowledge falling under the purview of intellectual property rights. Using vivid examples, noted media expert Siva Vaidhyanathan illustrates the powers and limits of intellectual property, distilling with grace and wit the complex tangle of laws, policies, and values governing the dissemination of ideas, expressions, inventions, creativity, and data collection in the modern world.’

The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoyevsky: ‘The Brothers Karamazov is a passionate philosophical novel set in 19th-century Russia, that enters deeply into the ethical debates of God, free will, and morality. It is a spiritual, theological drama of moral struggles concerning faith, doubt, judgment, and reason, set against a modernizing Russia, with a plot which revolves around the subject of patricide.’

The Balkans by Mark Mazower: ‘Throughout history, the Balkans have been a crossroads, a zone of endless military, cultural, and economic mixing and clashing between Europe and Asia, Christianity and Islam, Catholicism and Orthodoxy. In this highly acclaimed short history, Mark Mazower sheds light on what has been called the tinderbox of Europe, whose troubles have ignited wider wars for hundreds of years. Focusing on events from the emergence of the nation-state onward, The Balkans reveals with piercing clarity the historical roots of current conflicts and gives a landmark reassessment of the region’s history, from the world wars and the Cold War to the collapse of communism, the disintegration of Yugoslavia, and the continuing search for stability in southeastern Europe.’

Books I’m Reading for the First Time:

Darling Rose Gold by Stephanie Wrobel (This is a guilty pleasure basically because I’m a True Crime nerd: It’s basically that Blanchard case in a novel form): ‘For the first eighteen years of her life, Rose Gold Watts believed she was seriously ill. She was allergic to everything, used a wheelchair, and practically lived at the hospital. Neighbors did all they could, holding fundraisers and offering shoulders to cry on, but no matter how many doctors, tests, or surgeries, no one could figure out what was wrong with Rose Gold.Turns out her mom, Patty Watts, was just a really good liar.After serving five years in prison, Patty gets out with nowhere to go and begs her daughter to take her in. The entire community is shocked when Rose Gold says yes.Patty insists all she wants is to reconcile their differences. She says she's forgiven Rose Gold for turning her in and testifying against her. But Rose Gold knows her mother. Patty Watts always settles a score. Unfortunately for Patty, Rose Gold is no longer her weak little darling...And she's waited such a long time for her mother to come home.’

The Plague by Albert Camus: ‘A gripping tale of human unrelieved horror, of survival and resilience, and of the ways in which humankind confronts death, The Plague is at once a masterfully crafted novel, eloquently understated and epic in scope, and a parable of ageless moral resonance, profoundly relevant to our times. In Oran, a coastal town in North Africa, the plague begins as a series of portents, unheeded by the people. It gradually becomes an omnipresent reality, obliterating all traces of the past and driving its victims to almost unearthly extremes of suffering, madness, and compassion.’

A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway: ‘A Moveable Feast is a memoir by American author Ernest Hemingway about his years as a struggling young expat journalist and writer in Paris in the 1920s. The book, first published in 1964, describes the author's apprenticeship as a young writer while he was married to his first wife, Hadley Richardson.’

Books Coming in the Mail:

The Outsider by Albert Camus: ‘L'Étranger is a 1942 novel by French author Albert Camus. Its theme and outlook are often cited as examples of Camus's philosophy, absurdism coupled with that of existentialism, though Camus personally rejected the latter label.’

Becoming by Michelle Obama: ‘Becoming is the memoir of former United States first lady Michelle Obama published in 2018. Described by the author as a deeply personal experience, the book talks about her roots and how she found her voice, as well as her time in the White House, her public health campaign, and her role as a mother.’

Things Fall Apart: A Novel by Chinua Achebe*: ‘Things Fall Apart is the debut novel by Nigerian author Chinua Achebe, first published in 1958. Its story chronicles pre-colonial life in the southeastern part of Nigeria and the arrival of Europeans during the late 19th century.’

E.M. Forster’s Maurice* (I accidentally ordered a copy when I already own one I couldn’t find and thought I had to donate moving home from uni. Whoops xD (But seriously you can never have too many copies of this book): ‘Maurice is a novel by E. M. Forster. A tale of homosexual love in early 20th-century England, it follows Maurice Hall from his schooldays through university and beyond. It was written in 1913–1914, and revised in 1932 and 1959–1960.’

Howard’s End by E.M. Forster: ‘Howard’s End is a novel by E. M. Forster, first published in 1910, about social conventions, codes of conduct and relationships in turn-of-the-century England. Howards End is considered by many to be Forster's masterpiece. ‘

War and Peace by Tolstoy: ‘War and Peace broadly focuses on Napoleon’s invasion of Russia in 1812 and follows three of the most well-known characters in literature: Pierre Bezukhov, the illegitimate son of a count who is fighting for his inheritance and yearning for spiritual fulfillment; Prince Andrei Bolkonsky, who leaves his family behind to fight in the war against Napoleon; and Natasha Rostov, the beautiful young daughter of a nobleman who intrigues both men.’

I’m also hoping to order The Skin We’re In by Desmond Cole and How to Be an Anti-Racist by Ibram Kendi next time I get some cash in my pocket; the fact that the library still isn’t open locally and shows no sign of opening soon is wrecking havoc with any budgeting I might usually do. xD But hopefully this gives you some ideas for books to search out! <3

#literature #personal #reading recommendations #anonymous

[darrowsrising]

HowlerPod interview with Pierce Brown:

Howler Rule No. 3: Never make fun of someone who shat their suit. 

A couple he married is still together and the Seattle leg tour is done in a church, so Pierce Brown thinks the Church of Darrow might really happen (sign me the fuck up, I’m worshipping Reaper since ‘I would have lived in peace, but my enemies brought me war.’)

He could never blame his dog, Eo, for anything. His rug can smell of piss and he would blame himself.

He wrote all the povs independently and then pieced them together.

He cosiders DarkAge the best book in the series and if you disagree, that’s fine, fuck you!

He had to write four chapters in three day, roughly 70 pages, because he realised he had gaps and he pulled all-nighters to meet the deadline. He said it the deadline was hard not to respect, because you can’t push a book 3 times, unless you are George R. R. Martin. Btw, GRRM’s Dance of Dragons is what got him to write: he pre-ordered the book three times and didn’t know, so he ended up with 3 copies plus the one he bought from the bookstore.

He said Mustang is the best (so, haters can eat their hearts out for all I care) and he loves her dialogue with Holiday, she’s just so sharp (he says he is bragging here, but he ain’t wrong). Creating her voice was interesting to him, as until now we see her as a projection of Darrow. The hesitation and difficulty he had about doing her pov was ‘can I do her justice?’, because she is a cypher, an enigma, she’s never been explained. 

His best friend says he doesn’t trust her, says ‘she shady, man’ and that he suspected her that she was going to kill Darrow and take over the Society and didn’t trust her until Morning Star ended. Pierce was like’I guess she didn’t...wasn’t up to anything...’.

To Pierce there are three ways to seeing Mustang: 

1 .expectations;

2. Darrow’s perspective;

3. how she sees herself; which isn’t an actual representation of herself, because that’s how we are, we don’t really see ourselves, we are biased, we’re insecure, we’re trapped in this echo-chamber of self-doubt. 

She, on the other hand, is a living, breathing character who has these self-doubts, but she’s a hottie (it was a thing Erin commented about her, that she’s a hottie, but the smartest person in the room and Pierce said she’s a hottie, but not condescending at the same time) and has all this wisdom, but is well aware of her motality and the things her father thought her. Which is sometimes contradictory as Nero often disobeyed his own rules.

For Mustang’s pov, he took away Darrow’s perspective and minded only her reflection of herself as well as what others think of her and juggled both. She is mindful of who she is and what people think about her which was interesting, because Darrow doesn’t give a fuck about what people say about him. And that’s part of the problem, but also part of who he really is.

People want to blame Darrow for shit, but Golds...there can be many people in a room, but when Darrow enters, everybody takes a step back. (Proud Howler right here!)

Apollonius au Valii-Rath, the Minotaur of Motherfucking Mars. (Yes, he said that!)

No, he has no idea how he created him. Apollonius never gets his dialogue edited. His grandiloquence is part of the show and just so fun to write. He gets to mess with a bad version of a Paradise Lost dialogue, from sentence structure to getting Apple to refer to himself in first, second and third person. The guy is a madman, but also so dangerous, because he has that mania behind his eyes. He’s also the guy that speaks three inches from your nose: ‘Wow,why are you so close?’ and Apple is like ‘Do you fear intimacy?’ (he said it in a cool af voice, just go listen to the podcast Pixies, I’m doing this for posterity). Pierce Brown’s favourite scenes include Apollonius at the feast table. He sometimes listens to violin concertos when he writes him. Someone asked him if he’s also naked while writing and listening and he says ‘how else do you think I write?’. The FedEx guy knows by now when he writes an Apollonius chpater. He can write Apollonius faster than most his characters because he is ridiculous and insane and doesn’t have to second guess himself. Apple just want to be the apex hunter of his world, the apex killer. He wants his legend to live on and his vendettas are good, but he’s never scheming, his motives are out there, while everyone else is scheming.

When it comes to death of the characters, he’s trying to strip away plot-armour. He also thinks it’s funny every now and then. But honestly he tries to make the world scarier, making the reader terrified. He also tries to balance it, not make it like No Country for Old Men hardcore and non-romantic endings. 

1. He loves Darrow, he wants to keep him alive

2. He wants to see him mince shite. (at least that’s what I heard, deal with it)

3. He wants to deal with his guilt complex.

4. He needs his story to go on

So Darrow has a bit of a plot armor, but the rest don’t, at least not to the same degree. Some survive really bad stuff, but that’s because this story is one that doesn’t take itself too seriously, he hopes.

He’s like ‘Go away!’ at people who talk about Darrow’s plot armor.( Someone needs to cut that part and send it to me as a gift for whatever occassion you can imagine. Because SAME!!!) Because he compensates by ptting him through hell (that the smmary of it, just go listen to the episode, you’ll love it)

MY QUESTION GOT ASKED FIRST!!! VALIDATION!!!

Howler Questions:

How do you rank Darrow in a top 50 razor fighters of all time?

He said this one is hard, but as his characters get better, this pops up a lot. It gets to a point where these guys can either get lucky or they might slip, make a risky move or mess up and lose. If they try something their master said not to do they can either lose or get lucky.

Darrow could lose to Lorn in his prime, but otherwise he might get him. Especially in 0 gravity, as Darrow is better in 0 gravity. Sevro is probably the best in 0 gravity as he could invert gravity, but there are characters in DA that can also do that. 

There was a laziness to a degree, a formality to dueling, because they were in a  period of peace. This new generation was raised in war, so now everyone is better, everyone knows their stuff. Everyone knows Darrow knows the Willow Way and because of that everyone practices fighting the curved blade. DArrow has to change up his razror style, he himself has to change, because his enemies expect his stuff now.

Right now, if Iron Gold!Darrow or Dark Age!Darrow would fight Aja (Morning Star), they’d probably kill each other. Aja was 60 or 50 in Morning Star, she just looks younger, because Golds. Octavia is over 110 and Lorn is pretty well over that age too.

Another question (not by me): What advice woul you give your teenage self?

Don’t be afraid to be weird.

Last Howler question: did you ever wrote charcters after people you don;t like and did you kill them?

No, because he writes books that go out of this world. He thinks there are better worlds out there than this one, even if they are terrible. And he thinks that the best way to deal with his enemies is to forget them.

Random thing that I found interesting:

If there was an olympics for everyday things, he’d get a medal at:

Cooking. He cooks anything italian, provecial french cuisine, he knows Julia Child books cover to cover...

Also at spoiling his dog.

His favourite Pixar movie was Up and he cried only when the dog slipped into the house and said ‘because I love you’. Otherwise he doesn’t cry at Pixar movies.

He cried do at Legend of the Fall when Brad Pitt comes home to find out his dad had a stroke.

He assumed he was the ArchPrimus of the whole series.

He’s into the book Rubicon by Tom Holland and The Boys on Amazon Prime.

He asked HowlerPod what are they into these days and Ben said The Boys too, but Erin said Dark Age. The she asked if that is alright or too on the eye, but Pierce said ‘Ben why didn’t you said that. Traitors comes from the front.’ But Erin admitted she was buttering him up in order to get some recipes from him.

Great interview! Also, my 2 seconds of fame! Thank you HowlerPod for this amazing interview!

Hail Howler 1!

Here’s a link: https://www.howlerpod.com/

#pierce brown #howler pod #red rising trilogy #iron gold trilogy

[waeziverse]

Royal Punch (chapter 10)

“Ladies and gentlemen... the age of magic is OVER!”

Aura snickered at Agate the Dwarf’s statement. “What, again?” The other creatures who lived in Jadedale who had gathered to watch the presentation snickered as well.

“HA! Laugh all you like!” Agate strapped her safety goggles on as the final touch of her flight suit. “But today is the day a dwarf defies gravity! The sky won’t solely be the domain of winged creatures like you. And the superiority of science over magic will be painfully clear.”

Ivan had finished checking that the flying machine, or Agate’s baby as he liked to call it, had no loose parts. “Alright, nothing should fall off.” Ivan said. “But are you sure you wanna try this again?” The bull-man looked concerned as the dwarf climbed up to the seat of her invention.

“Ivan, she who does not dare does not win. And don’t worry; once I become world-famous as the world’s first flying dwarf, I will make sure YOUR name goes down in history as well as thanks for all your help.”

“That’s generous of you.” Ivan felt regret over assisting the dwarf with building the dang thing, but he would rather try and help her make it work than just standing idly by as she tried to blow herself up. He went to the crowd in order to stand by the side of his wife Aura as Agate activated the heat crystals that were part of the machine’s function.

Amethyst and Dimi watched as the so-called flying machine began to make noises of several types. the two fourteen-year-old girls each held a bucket filled with water, just in case.

“Remember our bet?” Dimi asked the dwarf girl with ribbons in her beautiful beard.

“Absolutely.” Amethyst grinned. “No take-backsies. Those 30 coronets are as good as mine.”

The propel was spinning like crazy. The crowd of people stopped smiling as they realized that now was the moment. Agate ’s passion stopped being amusing as the vertical began to slowly move forward.

... and then it stopped moving. Aura smelled the scent of burning hair.

“I’M ON FIRE!” Agate jumped off the machine as the bottom of her beard was burning. “I’M ON FIRE, I’M ON-” The dwarf’s daughter and the human girl threw water in her face. “... Thanks girls.”

“Man, I was so sure she would fly this time.” Dimi grumbled as she gave Amethyst a small bag with coins.

Agate looked at amethyst with a judging look. “You would bet against your own mother?”

“Mom, don’t think of it as me betting against you.” The teen dwarf weighted the bag in her hand with a grin. “Think of it as me investing in your failures.”

Agate stopped looking at her daughter with annoyance as she turned her attention toward the flying machine that now burned. Ivan and the other townspeople helped extinguish the flames.

“Mom, seriously.” Amethyst looked concerned. “This isn’t funny anymore. Maybe you should try to create something less... extravagant? Everyone loves that toasting-bread machine you made.”

“Toasting bread is not enough to impress anyone.” Agate sighed. “I want something that actually makes creatures realize that advanced machines are the future and not just a temporary fad.”

"Wouldn’t it be better to make a machine that moves on land first and then work your way up?” Dimi asked. “Ah, no pun intended.”

“No, absolutely not. That would be a horrible idea.” Agate went to her machine to study it, hoping she could fix it instead of building a new one from scratch. “I already done the math and that would require that you made more roads, meaning the destruction of landscapes and nature in general. And it would be much easier to handle compared to a flying machine, meaning that any idiot could get one and drive around like a jerk. A land vertical would do far more damage than a flying one. AND it would harm the smaller businesses if creatures could casually travel around faster and farther than they can now. I refuse to be responsible for the creation of such a thing. Ah, DARN IT!” Agatha kicked the machine. “I have to get special parts from Onyxville.”

“Onyxville... crap!” Dimi slapped her face. “I almost forgot. Ivan! Aura!” Dimi yelled at her godfather and his wife. “I have to do a thing in Onyxville! I will be back in an hour, promise!”

Ivan was about to object, but the human girl had already left.

“Eh, we can survive without her for an hour.” Aura said. Then, a coy smile appeared on her face as she rested her head on her husband and began to draw circles on his chest. “We have the house for ourselves for an hour. Any ideas?”

“Yes, I have an order to finish before tomorrow and you are about to train a new griffin.” Ivan shrugged, looking as if he very much hated to be the wet blanket. “Sorry my love. Work before pleasure.”

Aura sighed and frowned. “By everything that is holy, you are no fun.”

***

Dimi was very satisfied with her purchase in Onyxville.

It was a vase with flowers painted on it. Once she got home, she would pick a couple of daisies to put in it and it would make an okay wedding day gift for Ivan and Aura. It hadn’t been expensive, but it hadn’t been cheap either, so Dimi felt good about buying it for her god-father and his wife.

Dimi stopped admiring the vase as she heard something. It was the sound of two or more people arguing. She followed the sound that brought her to the entrance of a blind alley. She took a peak and saw that in said alley were a dwarf, a satyr, a harpy and some sort of female green-skinned creature wearing a big, pointy hat. Dimi saw that the creature was armed with a kitchen knife, NOT the weapon of a mugger, meaning she was just trying to defend herself with what she had at the moment had on her possession.

Also, Dimi recognized the satyr.

“I swear, I will cut you if you get any closer to me, Hector!” The green woman said while aiming her knife at her three attackers.

“See? This is what I’m talking about.” Hector waved his hand at the woman as if he was showing his friends an interesting animal. “Her kind are violent. We would do anyone a favor by teaching this THING some manners and self control before she leaves Onyxville to infect some other town.”

“HEY!”

Hector and his turned their heads to see the human girl at the entrance to the alley as she carefully placed a vase on the ground and then proceeded to crack her knuckles.

“I don’t know what is going on here, but I can see you are ganging up on that girl. I’m a blacksmith AND a boxer, so I can kick your asses.” Dimi smiled. “Especially your ass, Hector. Or maybe you can’t remember what happened last Friday?”

Hector very much remembered last Friday where he had squared off against Dimi in the ring. Just looking at her made his ribs hurt again.

“You two, take care of the snake freak.” Hector tightened his fists as his hoof scrapped the ground. “The human is mine!”

Hector thought he had an advantage in a street fight since this wasn’t a boxing ring where he had to follow rules and wasn’t allowed to use his horns. But the goat boy had not considered that Ivan the Minotaur had taught Dimi how she should NOT fight. Like how she should NOT stick her thumbs in someone’s eyes to both partly blind them and cause them a lot of pain to disorient them. Or how she should NOT knee someone in the groin since that was more effective than trying to kick them in that area.

As Hector leaned forward in pain, Dimi placed a solid punch on his rips, mostly to hurt his pride. After watching him fall to the ground and whimper, she looked up to see if the green girl was okay. She seemed to be doing okay as she kicked the dwarf in the face and held her knife toward the harpy’s throat. Dimi noticed that the harpy’s wings were bleeding. This female creature knew to go for the wings first so the harpy would be forced to fight on the ground where she had a disadvantage. The green girl had tried fighting before, that much was clear.

The dwarf tackled the green girl from behind and made her fall to the dirt. The harpy was about to dig her talons in the back of her, but Dimi grabbed the dwarf by his arm and used his weight against him by shoving him into his winged buddy.

“Are you okay?” Dimi helped the green girl up. “Why are they... ah...”

Dimi blinked. The green girl had dropped her hat, revealing a head with snakes attached to it. the girl was also wearing a pair of sunglasses. She looked like she was a little older than Dimi, but not much older.

“Behind you.” The gorgon stabbed the dwarf in the shoulder as he had fetched a dagger. Dimi stopped staring at the snake-creature and turned her attention toward the harpy that kicked after her in the hope of scratching her. She was horribly unbalanced and Dimi knocked her over with a left hook.

Dimi and the gorgon watched as Hector and his friends limp away to lick their wounds. Once they were gone, Dimi returned her stare at the scaled girl who lifted an eyebrow at her.

“Something wrong?” The gorgon asked.

“No, I... no, I just never met a gorgon before. That’s what you are, right?”

The girl narrowed her eyes behind her shades. “Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

“No, I just never met one before, that’s all.” Dimi offered a handshake. “My name is Dimi.”

The gorgon hesitated before taking the human’s hand. “I’m Ruby. Thanks for the help.”

“Not a problem. I... Oh NO!” Dimi ran to see if her vase was still intact. It wasn’t. “DANGIT! They must have kicked it or something!”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Ruby watched Dimi as she looked at the broken vase as she wondered if she could somehow fix it. “Hey, look... how about I thank you by buying you a new one.”

“Oh, don’t do that, it was my fault for leaving it lying around.”

“Yeah, you left it lying around to back me up. Let me buy you a new vase! The ceramics shop is next to my home anyways. Or rather, my ex-home, I’m getting out of this lousy town and moving to Jadedale.”

“Hey, I live in Jadedale!” Dimi said excitedly.

Ruby grinned. “Well, I already have some hopes regarding that town now thanks to you. Know what? I’m opening a restaurant in Jadedale, stop by my place once I open it and I will give ya a free meal.”

“So it’s YOU who bought the closed-down bakery?”

“Yeah, I decided to keep a low profile before I actually moved to Jadedale. Was worried I would be met by a load of people who would run me out of town before I actually arrived.”

“No way, Jadedale is great! We accept each other, and cross-species marriage is not frowned upon. In Jadedale, we can’t even SPELL the word bigotry! Heck, my caretakers are a minotaur and a sphinx!”

Ruby laughed as she grabbed the bag she had to drop as she had gotten ambushed and stuck her kitchen knife in it. “Dimi, it sounds like Jadedale is my kind of town!”

***

Ruby and Dimi sat in the wagon that transported people from Onyxville to Jadedale. Dimi held her new vase while Ruby was wearing her hat again to hide her snakes despite only sharing the wagon with Dimi and the goblin coachman who minded his own business and had his eyes on the road.

“And that’s how my mom ended up marrying a grindylow and had me.”

“That is so sweet!” Dimi was moved by Ruby’s tale, but then realized something. “Wait, you are only part gorgon? Why don’t you have traits from your dad? And how do you live on land?”

“Eh, the gorgon genes are always the dominating ones. But I did inherit dad’s lounges, meaning that I can hold my breath for several hours under water. But I don’t have to stay wet to stay alive or anything like that.”

“Still, a gorgon and a grindylow... that’s pretty unusual, right?”

Ruby looked somewhat bitter. “Actually... not as unusual as you would think. There aren’t that many gorgons left, fewer and fewer are born after the massacre. Dad was lizard-ish like mom, meaning having a child was possible for them. There are more half-blood gorgons today than there are full-blood ones.”

Dimi blinked. “The... massacre?”

Ruby sighed. “Yeah, no wonder you haven’t heard of it since you are a human. My people were originally from an island not far from Nesredna. About one-hundred years ago, the queen of Nesredna decided we were too dangerous since the gorgons did not want to make an alliance with the humans, meaning we could side with a potential enemy, like the orcs I guess.”

Dimi felt as if she had just been punched in the guts by someone wearing a stone for a boxing glove.

Ruby’s eyes tightened as she went on. “Gorgons pride themselves as astounding hunters and illusionists, but we were not the greatest warrior nation. The gorgons were slaughtered once the humans attacked. Those who survived had to flee and we spread across the world. The gorgons never became one people again and our number has only dwindled with time.”

“Um...” Dimi was afraid to ask. “What was the name of the island where gorgons were from?”

A dark shadow came over Ruby’s face. “Ever heard about Ceto Island?”

Dimi bit her lower-lip. “Oh god, NO!”

“Yup. My ancestors’ home is now used as a holiday resort. Creatures are sunbathing on the graves of gorgons.”

Dimi was very familiar with Ceto Island. she had spent the summers there as a child while still living with her father. “Ruby... I had no idea.”

“Oh, please! I have no beef with you. It was a long time ago, and it was the royal human family who planned the slaughter of gorgons. They are the ones I’m really pissed at.”

Dimi felt as if she received a severe beating while being forced up a ring-corner. “Um... are you still mad at the human royal family? You said it yourself, it was a long time ago, right?”

“Eh, maybe I’m being unreasonable, but they never made it up for us, they didn’t even admit that what they did was genocide, not an act of war. Also, they made life harder for us by making laws to treat us unfairly, like the one about us having to wear shades all the damn time.”

“Wait, aren’t your eyes... you know... dangerous?”

“No, that’s just human propaganda. We don’t turn people into stone with simple eye-contact, we stun people for about a minute or so. And we have to want it, it’s not a handicap. But taking off my glasses, even to just nudge my eyes, is a criminal offence.” Ruby sighed. “It sounds like small potatoes, but it is just the top of the iceberg of injustice. And it is extra annoying since the human king Pater made promises he didn’t keep because he was a wuss.”

It was almost too much for Dimi. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“Dimi, no offence... but king Pater was a big wuss. He kept making speeches about equality among creatures and stuff, but he never did a damn thing to help gorgon, minotaurs, half-elves or other creatures humans has screwed over for who knows how long. Creatures who had it crummy kept having it crummy. I mean, if he was a douche-bag who hated us less-than-fortunate creatures, then I could at some degree respect it. But he never changed the laws because he didn’t want the humans he ruled over to be pissed at him. Seriously, such a little-” Ruby paused as she saw that Dimi looked uncomfortable. “Look, as I said, no offence. I mean, it is not like you are related to that wimp of an ex-king.”

Dimi felt great relief as they arrived in Jadedale. “I have to go home, work and stuff. I will see you later in your new restaurant.”

Ruby watched Dimi run for it with the vase under her arm. The gorgon felt stupid for hitting the human girl with such a truth bomb and made her feel bad about being a human since she had been nice to her. Ruby would probably feel even worse if she knew how much it hurt Dimi to hear about king Pater and why.

***

“ROOWR!”

“SQUEE!!!”

“ROOOOWR!!!”

“SQUEE!!!”

Aura roared at the newly-bought griffin that had been tied to the fence near her barn so it wouldn’t fly away while she proved her dominance to make it accept her as pack leader. She dropped her war-mask as she noticed that Dimi had returned home while carrying something packed in brown paper. She stopped smiling as she noticed how miserable the human girl was.

“Dimi, is something wrong?” The sphinx asked concerned.

“No...” Dimi’s face betrayed her words. “Where is Ivan? I have to talk to him.”

“In the forge.”

Aura watched the human girl go into the house first to leave the packet inside. Then she went to the shed that had been rebuilt to function as forge. Inside was Ivan who was busy with what would become a kitchen-knife.

"Girl, you've been away longer than you promised.” Ivan cooled the new knife in water and dried his face. “Were you occupied or-”

“Was my dad a bad king?”

Ivan knocked the bucket over and the not-cool-enough knife got bent out of shape. Ivan looked at Dimi as if she had turned into a talking tomato before his very eyes. “Ah... I’m sorry, what was the question again?”

Dimi looked at Ivan with annoyance all over her face. “I asked if my dad did not lift a finger to change laws that targeted different creatures even though they were unfair and only made to make their lives harder. Laws my ancestors made. Short version: Was my dad a bad king?”

Ivan just looked at Dimi. This was worse than when he tried to muster up the courage to explain the birds and bees to her. And he could see on her expression that every second he hesitated with answering her question just made it worse.

“Dimi...” Ivan began to clean up his mess on the floor so he had an excuse not to look her in the eyes. “Politics... it’s complicated. A delicate affair. Doing the right thing is... not without problems.”

Dimi scoffed. “Ivan, that’s a load of bull.”

“Dimi, the sort of language...Eh, okay, you are right, it’s a load of bull.” The minotaur sighed. “Dimi... Your father is a good man, he really is. But... he is not exactly a brave one. There were decisions he did not dare to take.”

Dimi tightened her fists. “Great. Just great. My dad is a coward.”

“Dimi, it’s not that-”

“Sorry I came home later than I promised.” Dimi left the forge. “I’m going to help out Aura.”

Ivan watched the human girl leave. She looked so angry that one would worry that getting near her would be life threatening. Ivan was unsure what to do.

So he went back to work.

#Royal Punch #RP #Dimi #Princess Dimi #Dimicatio #waeziverse #Ivan #Ivan the Minotaur #Aura #Aurauaakarusaank #Aura the Sphinx #Ruby the Gorgon #Agate the Dwarf #Agate #Amethyst #Amethyst the Dwarf #OC #Ruby

[rpgmgames]

April’s Featured Game: Folkloria

DEVELOPER(S): folkloriarpg ENGINE: RPGMaker MV GENRE: Adventure, RPG SUMMARY: Folkloria is a lighthearthed turn-based RPG set on a floating island inhabited by mythological creatures. You play as Weaver, a young and unassuming griffin determined to rescue his family from the clutches of Dr. Zeralidius, a shady businessperson from the world below the clouds who plans to modernize the peaceful island.

Our Interview With The Dev Team Below The Cut!

Introduce yourself! *Oi! I'm Domino, a wannabe artist. I've been drawing all my life, a passion I inherited from my father, but only recently I decided to publish my work online. Through the years I have tinkered with basically all iterations of RPG Maker, making silly short games with my friends before attempting to develop something full-fledged.

What is your project about? What inspired you to create your game initially? *Domino: Folkloria is a very simple, cartoony turn-based RPG which spices things up with timed hits, counters and a variety of partners. The game takes place on a floating island inhabited by anthropomorphized mythological creatures. The protagonist of the story is Weaver, a child griffin determined to rescue his family from the clutches of Dr. Zeralidius, a shady businessperson from the civilized world who wants to forcefully modernize the island. Along the way he will meet new allies like Lauper, a thousand-year old phoenix who needs his help to drive Zeralidius out of the island, and Akinai, a kitsune merchant who will supply them with the best items she has to offer. I still haven't shown all the party members, but among them are a buff minotaur lady, a shy but frightening wendigo and a sculptor gorgon. 

What inspired me to make a game was the indie scene in general. I have always dreamt of being a game developer since I was a kid, and when indie games first started becoming really popular I thought to myself "Hey, I could probably do that!". The folklore theme of the game was decided completely at random. When I first created the character of Weaver with my friends years ago, we wanted to make a traditional 2D platformer. We came up with a griffin character since being part lion and part bird he could fly, run fast and use its claws to attack. That decision alone basically shaped up the rest of the setting, and I started populating the game's world with different mythological creatures.

How long have you been working on your project? *Domino:  The game in its actual state was started at the end of 2015, but the basic setting and characters (specifically Weaver, the protagonist and Zeralidius, the villain) were conceived as far back as 2012. I didn't pay much attention to it during the following years since I was working on another unrelated project with some friends, but after things fell out with them I decided to revisit the concept and flesh it out.

Did any other games or media influence aspects of your project? *Domino: Of course! If it wasn't obvious enough, the game is heavily influenced by Nintendo RPGs, especially the Paper Mario series. I always loved the simplistic approach towards the RPG formula those games have, and I also adore turn based combat with timed button presses. I think it keeps the player engaged. Graphically, Mother 3 was a big inspiration. The art style of that game just resonates so well with me, with that colorful palette and the black outlines that make the sprites stand out so much.

Have you come across any challenges during development? How have you overcome or worked around them? *Domino: The biggest challenge was overcoming the limitations of the engine itself. I chose RPG Maker because it's very easy to pick up, as I'm mainly an artist and I don't know anything about coding. But as time passed, I noticed that even when using countless scripts I couldn't achieve the battle system I had in mind for my game, which required timed button presses and numerous character animations. So one day I decided to try making the battle system from scratch, using only common events and script calls, and it worked smoothly. In the end it felt extremely satisfying to see something like that work as intended, and by experimenting with script calls and variables I at least learned something about coding.

Have any aspects of your project changed over time? How does your current project differ from your initial concept? *Domino: Like I said before, the game was initially conceived as a 2D platformer. Then, when I picked up the project again years later, I envisioned it as a bare-bones boss rush RPG with Weaver as the sole playable character. As I started adding more features like partners and equipment, I felt those would be wasted in a boss-only game and I finally decided to include random enemies. Since then the game hasn't changed much, but to this day I always find myself revisiting minor stuff like the design of some NPCs (and I should seriously stop doing that!).

What was your team like at the beginning? How did people join the team? If you don’t have a team, do you wish you had one or do you prefer working alone? *Domino: I prefer to work alone, as I am very picky about how characters and gameplay aspects are handled, but I still enjoy receiving feedback. I have a very close friend who doesn't actively work on the game, but always tell me what I'm doing right or wrong, and I find his help invaluable. So far I'm doing well one-man-armying the project, I will have to find a composer sooner or later though, since making music is the only thing I can't realistically do by myself.

What is the best part of developing the game? *Domino: Animating the character sprites and seeing them interact in battles is incredibly satisfying to me. Being an artist at heart I'd say spriting in general is my favorite aspect of game development. Another thing I absolutely adore is worldbuilding, researching the mythical beasts from all around the world and trying to incorporate them in the game by giving them my own spin.

Do you find yourself playing other RPG Maker games to see what you can do with the engine, or do you prefer to do your own thing? *Domino: I haven't played many RPG Maker games, but I did enjoy LISA the Painful and OneShot immensely. I was impressed by how far these two games in particular pushed the RPG Maker engine to its limit.

Which character in your game do you relate to the most and why? (Alternatively: Who is your favorite character and why?) *Domino: Self-inserting isn't something I like to do in games, so this is a hard question for me, but I think I can relate with Weaver, he mostly keeps to himself but he's always willing to help his friends and family.

Looking back now, is there anything that regret/wish you had done differently? *Domino: Yes, I regret not having started working on this project earlier and wasting too much time during the planning phase.

Once you finish your project, do you plan to explore the game’s universe and characters further in subsequent projects, or leave it as-is? *Domino: Absolutely! I would definitely love to expand the game's lore further through comics and other side projects.

What do you look most forward to upon/after release? *Domino: The sense of accomplishment of having completed and released a game! But deep down, the thing I'd love the most is having fans of my work and seeing my characters drawn by other artists.

Is there something you’re afraid of concerning the development or the release of your game? *Domino: The whole marketing part scares me. I really don't know how to promote my game, so getting it noticed is going to be pretty tough for me.

Do you have any advice for upcoming devs? *Domino: Oh man I am bad at this. I'd say... when starting, keep the scope of your game small. Make something that you, as a player, would enjoy playing. Don't try to follow trends and, most importantly, value every bit of constructive criticism, but remember that you can't always please everyone!

Question from last month’s featured dev @plueschkatzeart: How do you keep yourself motivated?  *Domino: Sharing my progress on the blog for everyone to see is what keeps me motivated. Since I set myself the goal of posting at least once a week I've become more productive than ever. Of course, the positive response I receive from my followers also help. Another thing that encourages me to keep working on my game is seeing other developers succeed; that gives me hope and drives me to do my best!

We mods would like to thank Domino for agreeing to our interview! We believe that featuring the developer and their creative process is just as important as featuring the final product. Hopefully this Q&A segment has been an entertaining and insightful experience for everyone involved!

Remember to check out Folkloria if you haven’t already! See you next month! 

- Mods Gold & Platinum

#rpgmaker #pixel games #indie games #pixel art #rpg maker #rpg maker mv #gotm #game of the month #folkloria #folkloriarpg #interview #upcoming games #april #april 2018 #2018