#coalesce sans

[shelpilliz]

I like the undertale thing where your Oc speaks the same language as the creator

So for Pill, it speaks Japanese and for Esce, he speaks Lithuanian

Pill and Esce belong to me!

Facts are below if you're confused

So basically Pill is my OC. But, Esce is originally my friends OC, wish I just made an undertale Oc Out of it. I just really got into it and made two Aus (Runagatetale and Inspectiontale) and even collideverse which is just inside my head (planning to make a comic when I become more popular) and famous hehe)

Pill is a shapeshifter, he has no gender and goes by any pronouns. Even me the creator is having trouble figuring out what his gender is. Probably non binary or whatever. He can't remember his past self before the climax of his story, so yuh.

Also he likes to wear cute clothes and speak Japanese to mess June and Esce out. Just think of Pill as a Japanese gyaru, just young.

Esce and June is kinda like an adult figure to Pill, since Frisk in Pill's AU is pretty fucked up. He made Pill's age 13, which Esce is about 20+ and June? I have no idea. (Sorry Isobel if you're reading this ◉⁠‿⁠◉) Pill knows how to make Esce buy things he wants. Like for example, Pill, Esce, and June is walking down a road. pill finds a cotton candy stand. pill goes: "I want candy!! I want candy!!" To Esce. That's why.

Love you if you read it until here lol

[afterartist]

Here ya go,

Only the prologue so far but now you’ll actually know whenever it gets updated lol

Drew a Scene from a fic I’m working on :D

Idk if I’m ever gonna actually post the fic but meh, here u go anyway

‘Swap gasped, shoes squeaking against the rusty radiator as he clapped his gloves hand over his mouth, trying to stifle his breathing, the uncoordinated footfalls of the three strangers entering the room seconds after he pull himself flush against the wall, the five story drop a great insensitive to keep quiet,

If they didn’t kill him right here Fell most certainly would if he ever heard about this

“Where the hell did they go? Great job Kills, we lost all those supplies and your racket probably notified those things of our presence, Rorry, there ain’t a point in trying to find the freak thief, just grab what we have left so we can rendezvous with Cross,”’

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Middlemen without enshittification

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me next in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

Enshittification describes how platforms go bad, which is also how the internet goes bad, because the internet is made of platforms, which is weird, because platforms are intermediaries and we were promised that the internet would disintermediate the world:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel

The internet did disintermediate a hell of a lot of intermediaries – that is, "middlemen" – but then it created a bunch more of these middlemen, who coalesced into a handful of gatekeepers, or as the EU calls them "VLOPs" (Very Large Online Platforms, the most EU acronym ever).

Which raises two questions: first, why did so many of us end up flocking to these intermediaries' sites, and how did those sites end up with so much power?

To answer the first question, I want you to consider one of my favorite authors: Crad Kilodney (RIP):

https://archive.org/details/thecradkilodneypapers

When I was growing up, Crad was a fixture on the streets of Toronto. All through the day and late into the evening, winter or summer, Crad would stand on the street with a sign around his neck ("Very famous Canadian author, buy my books, $2" or sometimes just "Margaret Atwood, buy my books, $2"). He wrote these deeply weird, often very funny short stories, which he edited, typeset, printed, bound and sold himself, one at a time, to people who approached him on the street.

I had a lot of conversations with Crad – as an aspiring writer, I was endlessly fascinated by him and his books. He was funny, acerbic – and sneaky. Crad wore a wire: he kept a hidden tape recorder rolling in his coat and he secretly recorded conversations with people like me, and then released a series of home-duplicated tapes of the weirdest and funniest ones:

https://archive.org/details/on-the-street-crad-kilodney-vol-1

I love Crad. He deserves more recognition. There's an on-again/off-again documentary about his life and work that I hope gets made some day:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/09/free-sample/#putrid-scum

But – and this is the crucial part – there are writers out there I want to hear from who couldn't do what Crad did. Maybe they can write books, but not edit them. Or edit them, but not typeset them. Or typeset, but not print. Or print, but not spend the rest of their lives standing on a street-corner with a "PUTRID SCUM" sign around their neck.

Which is fine. That's why we have intermediaries. I like booksellers (I was one!). I like publishers. I like distributors. I like their salesforce, who go forth and convince the booksellers of the world to stock books like mine. I have ten million things I want to do before I die, and I'm already 52, and being a sales-rep for a publisher isn't on my bucket list. I am so thankful that someone else wants to do this for me.

That's why we have intermediaries, and why disintermediation always leads to some degree of re-intermediation. There's a lot of explicit and implicit knowledge and specialized skill required to connect buyers and sellers, creators and audiences, and other sides of two-sided markets. Some producers can do some of this stuff for themselves, and a very few – like Crad – can do it all, but most of us need some help, somewhere along the way. In the excellent 2022 book Direct, Kathryn Judge lays out a clear case for all the good that middlemen can do:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

So why were we all so anxious for disintermediation back in the late 1990s? Here's a hint: it wasn't because we hated intermediaries – it was because we hated powerful intermediaries.

The point of an intermediary is to serve as a conduit between producers and consumers, buyers and sellers, audiences and creators. When an intermediary gains power over the audience – say, by locking them inside a walled garden – and then uses that lock-in to screw producers and appropriate an ever larger share of the value going between them, that's when intermediaries become a problem.

The problem isn't that someone will handle ticketing for your gig. The problem is that Ticketmaster has locked down all the ticketing, and the venues, and the promotions, and it uses that power to gouge fans and rip off artists:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/20/anything-that-cant-go-on-forever-will-eventually-stop/

The problem isn't that there's a well-made website that lets you shop for goods sold by many small merchants and producers. It's that Amazon has cornered this market, takes $0.51 out of every dollar you spend there, and clones and destroys any small merchant who succeeds on the platform:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos

The problem isn't that there's a website where you can stream most of the music ever recorded. It's that Spotify colludes with the Big Three labels to rip off artists and sneaks crap you don't want to hear into your stream in order to collect payola:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/12/streaming-doesnt-pay/#stunt-publishing

The problem isn't that there's a website where you can buy any audiobook you want. It's that Amazon's Audible locks every book to its platform forever and steals hundreds of millions of dollars from creators:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

The problem, in other words, isn't intermediation – it's power. The thing that distinguishes a useful intermediary from an enshittified bully is power. Intermediaries gain power when our governments stop enforcing competition law. This lets intermediaries buy each other up and corner markets. Once they've formed cozy cartels, they can capture their regulators and commit rampant labor, privacy and consumer violations with impunity. That capture also lets them harness governments to punish smaller players that want to free workers, creators, audiences and customers from walled gardens. It also hands them a whip-hand over their workers, so that any worker who refuses to aid in these nefarious plans can be easily fired:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel

A world with intermediaries is a better world. As much as I love Crad Kilodney's books, I wouldn't want to live in a world where the only books on my shelves came from people prepared to stand on a street-corner wearing a "FOUL PUS FROM DEAD DOGS" sign.

The problem isn't intermediaries – it's powerful intermediaries. That's why the world's surging antitrust movement is so exciting: by reinstating competition law, we can keep intermediaries small and comparatively weak, so that creators and audiences, drivers and riders, sellers and buyers, and other groups seeking to connect will not find themselves made subservient to middlemen.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

[givemea-dam-break]

daughters of the evening

⭒⭒⭒⭒ in which luke’s descent from good may be found.

pairing: luke castellan x (fem) reader

a/n: hey guys!! first fic in a while and i know, i know, pjo book readers are disappointed in me… but i’m just a girl! i’m literally just a girl! please enjoy my brain baby i love her :) i love writing quests so much, so this was really nice to write for my first fic back on tumblr. i hope you guys enjoy! if anybody wants to be added to my pjo taglist, let me know!

warnings: canon typical violence, book spoilers, blood/injury description, rusty writing

words: 5.8K ⭒⭒⭒⭒

(y/n) couldn’t remember when the change in Luke became permanent.

She could remember the hints of something at the corners of his eyes, something that bit at the happiness that filled them, eating away at it like rot on wood. She could remember the slow decline in his respect for his father, respect that had barely been there for years, though was now bridging on outright disrespect.

She could remember the crux of it all, the very moment in which all of the little things began to coalesce into something ugly. A flash of claws, the deep scarlet of mortal blood followed by shimmering gold ichor. The horrible sound of screaming. Gleaming fruits of gold. Gorgeous, blooming green trees towering above them that concealed the violence below.

It was after the quest that Luke, her Luke, was never the same.

⭒⭒

“I don’t remember San Francisco looking like this.”

Luke’s lips curled into a smile. “You’ve never been to San Francisco.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen it in movies through which I have lived vicariously. It’s in one of the Indiana Jones’s, right? Looks different.”

“Those movies are from the eighties,” Luke said. “So, yeah, it’s going to look different.”

Charles Beckendorf, their questmate, heaved a sigh. “Do you guys ever stop?”

“Stop what?” (y/n) asked.

“Being annoying? Flirting? Whatever you want to call it.”

Her face felt awfully hot and she found herself unable to even look in Luke’s general direction. It was a comment that had been made many times in the past, one she was sure Luke was sick to death of, but she found herself yearning for comments like it. They meant that maybe she wasn’t dreaming up something between them.

Either way, she didn’t acknowledge it, rather stuffing her hand into her unzipped backpack and scrounging around until finally she found what she wanted. With a dramatic flair, she revealed three paper maps, each embellished with their names written in colourful pen at the top.

A moment of silence, then Luke said, “Why do we need a map each? Can’t we just share? And where did you even get those?”

“I got them back in Salt Lake City, before we happened upon that massive crab, you remember the one? All blue and slimy.” She pressed the maps into their hands. “There are multiple because knowing you both, you’ll lose them and I’m not buying any more. But, look! They’re colour-coded. Green for me because, duh, Demeter. Orange for Beckendorf, red for you. We can at least make this quest for some stupid apples interesting.”

Beckendorf raised a brow, giving her a strange look. “With glittery gel pen?”

“Glittery gel pen makes everything better,” she insisted. “I’m glad you acknowledge that. Now, come on. With all this talking you two have been doing, we don’t have much time to spare. You’re like a pair of gossiping grannies.”

The two shared a look over her head, one they thought she didn’t see, but it only made her hold back a laugh. They were a relatively upbeat group as it was, but she prided herself on keeping the mood light, especially when danger was looming. With the might of glittery gel pens, a travel-size game of Monopoly, and a cheesy puns book they had picked up off the side of the road, they would be unstoppable should their enemies need a good laugh.

It wasn’t that they weren’t capable of what was ahead of them that she felt the need to joke around, it was just her regular nerves. The three of them were experienced and powerful demigods, skilled fighters and strategists, the best of the best. Luke had his immense skill with a sword and the mind of a trickster; Beckendorf had the brains and strength of a blacksmith, and could sense a trap a mile away and disarm it in moments; (y/n) herself was a powerful daughter of Demeter and, though not to the standard of Luke, was also skilled with a sword.

They hadn’t faced much trouble before. They were a tried-and-tested trio, having been on multiple quests together in the past and finding themselves working well together. 

This time, it seemed like a match made by the Fates. A quest ordained by Hermes, Luke’s father, to retrieve the Apples of Immortality from the Garden of the Hesperides - gardens and plants being the domain of Demeter and, by extension, (y/n). And, no doubt, there would be many traps or the need for a strong mind, hence Beckendorf. He was a year or two younger than she and Luke, but had proved himself upon countless occasions. She trusted him with her life.

Almost a week now they’d been on this quest, and still she felt like a giddy child. Almost seventeen and, at her big age, she was holding back smiles and giggles befitting of a schoolgirl with a crush. Part of it was gratefulness that a demigod such as Luke had chosen her to join him on this quest, even after being friends for years and having gone on numerous quests together already. Part of it was simply that she was madly in love with the boy.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then, watching the way the afternoon sun gleamed on his face, setting his dark eyes alight with flame. There was a curious smile on his lips, one that concealed mischief and intelligence; one she had loved for as long as she could remember. His hair was messy after days of travelling and not bothering to fuss with it - she dreaded to think of what her own looked like, the only mirror she had being her sword - but there was something so extremely endearing about it. Wild curls that gave his lightly-freckled face even more life.

Their maps didn’t help their hunt for the Garden an awful lot. For what had to have been at least two hours, they stumbled around the city, turning this way and that, earning odd looks from strangers. 

“For being the son of the god of travellers,” (y/n) said, “you are horrendous at reading a map.”

Luke gave her a nudge with his elbow as he scanned the map. He was grinning. Her stomach was doing cartwheels. “Maps make sense enough, but I think these ones are out of date.”

“Maps don’t go out of date, stupid.”

Beckendorf was holding back a smile. “I think he’s right. I think our maps are too old.”

(y/n) glowered at them, plucking their maps from their hands. Fine. They didn’t deserve to hold maps graced with her glittery gel pens anyways.

“Well,” she said. “Unless either of you have any ideas, we’re going to be stuck wandering for hours. Come on, Luke. Use your magicky journey powers. They got us this far.”

His eyes shone, and her knees felt a little weak. She loved it when he looked at her like that, when she had said something funny. It was as though the heavens themselves had descended and flooded his face with light and beauty. She couldn’t look away.

“It’s a big garden,” he retorted. “Find the big garden, daughter of the mighty Demeter!”

She knew he meant it as a joke - the sarcasm was practically dripping from his voice - but there was something in his tone that she couldn’t identify. Something deeper than a simple sarcastic comment. This had been a pity quest, of sorts, she knew. Luke had been getting restless and his father had wanted to satiate him, but it wasn’t enough. He was displeased with the gods, to say the least.

But he kept a good lock on his expressions, on his words. She wouldn’t have suspected a thing had she not known him as well as she knew the feeling of grass beneath her feet.

Eventually, combining their powers and the single brain cell that seemed to be taken by Beckendorf, they found their way to the Mount Tamalpais State Park, which was not open to visitors now that the sun was setting.

They stared up at the distant mountain, the sloping greenland and towering trees that led towards it, and heaved a synonymous groan. Quests could never be even slightly easy, it seemed. Why would the gods let them head to a random park in the city when they could have them trespassing in a state park at night, lives in the hands of the monsters and animals alike that roamed the woods? The gods would rather have them arrested than have something be easy.

“You’re kidding, right?” Beckendorf said. “We don’t have to walk all that way?”

(y/n) frowned. She wished more than anything that they could just turn around and leave, a feeling she did not often get on quests. But something didn’t feel right. There was a twist in her gut, a deep intuition that told her something was going to go wrong.

But her gut was also pulling her towards the mountain. There was a power there, unlike any she had felt before, and she wanted to know what it was. 

“We’ll be fine,” she insisted, though she didn’t feel entirely sure herself.

She was the first to make the step towards their darkening fates. If she had known the outcome, she would have turned and fled immediately.

The three of them trudged up the path, flicking on torches when the sky grew darker and the ground in front of them too hard to see. It gave them an eerie glow, entirely unlike the warm glow of their weapons. All of their features were in stark contrast to the dark surroundings; Luke’s cheekbones, Beckendorf’s eyes, her brownbone. It was disconcerting, and it felt all too much like they were the lead characters in a ghost story.

She was considering turning back about halfway there. The tug in her gut was becoming stronger, almost unbearable, and her head was pounding, filled with the worry of the possible incidents that had not happened yet. 

The only thing that kept her going was Luke’s pinky finger wrapped around hers.

Maybe he felt her nerves, so acute that she feared her sinews and tendons and bones could snap at any moment. But Luke knew her. He had known her since they were barely teenagers. He knew her better than she knew herself: every habit she had; every face she made; every hint of a feeling before she knew it was coming. He had some deep understanding of her, one that would have made her feel vulnerable in any other situation with any other person. Luke was not any other person.

His pinky was wrapped around hers tightly, warmer than the rest of her body put together. It curled around hers just so, acknowledging her worry. His jacket sleeve brushed hers.

It wasn’t until they reached the Garden at the foot of the mountain that his hand wrapped around hers fully, encasing it entirely in warmth and comfort. His palms were calloused, fingers ribbed with light scars, but she could not imagine it any other way.

The Garden of the Hesperides was easily the most beautiful place she had ever seen and was likely the most beautiful place she would ever see. Stars hung above them in the night sky, glittering so brightly it was as though they could reach out and touch them with their outstretched fingers. Lush green grass coated the ground beneath their feet and beyond, speckled with flowers so bright they almost glowed in the dark. It was bristling with life, so full of it that (y/n) could feel it all deep in her bones.

But the source of the power lay further afield.

A tree, much taller than the rest, stood at the centre of the garden, boasting more golden apples than (y/n) could count. Its branches swayed in the faint breeze in mesmerising swoops, and the scent of fresh fruit laced with something that could only be described as addictive brushed over them. A faint mist swirled around the trunk of the tree, glittering slightly in the moonlight.

“Holy Hephaestus,” Beckendorf murmured, slack-jawed.

“That’s one big tree,” Luke said. 

“You certainly have a way with words,” (y/n) said.

His hand only squeezed hers in response. She could feel his heartbeat in his wrist. How was it so steady?

There was a shift in the wind, then, and a soft bite came into the air. Goosebumps prickled the skin of their arms, raising the hair there. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she swore she could hear the faintest lull of singing voices and could feel the weight of some large presence in the air. Nothing could be seen but the beautiful garden and the decadent tree in the centre.

“Luke Castellan,” said a soft voice. Luke visibly tensed, eyes narrowing at the usage of his surname. “(y/n) (l/n). Charles Beckendorf. We have been expecting you in our Garden for quite some time now.”

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. But, finally, after a few moments, the speaker emerged from the fine mist.

She didn’t look like much, appearing to be barely older than (y/n), but there was something about her surrounding aura that suggested she was much, much older. Dark, inky hair tumbled over narrow tawny shoulders, framing even darker eyes that shone with unknown magic. The woman seemed to blink slowly, as if bored or tired, and it looked as though she were merely floating over the ground rather than walking. It was hard to tell. Her Greek chiton covered her feet.

“We are the Hesperides,” she said, voice ever gentle, as four more women appeared, each almost identical in appearance. “Daughters of the Evening. Nymphs of the Sunset. Protectors of this Garden. What is your business here?”

There was a cockiness to Luke’s smile then, one that had (y/n) on edge. “If you’ve been expecting us, then surely you know our business.”

The lead Hesperide drew nearer, stopping a few feet away from their trio. Her sisters gathered at her sides, dark eyes sparkling with stars and cold curiosity and something overtly bitter. The demigods were clearly unwelcome here, but they intended to make a game of their quest.

(y/n)’s hand squeezed Luke’s in warning. He spared her a glance, her heart drawing still when his warm eyes met hers. His chin dipped slightly in a nod, and he gave her hand a squeeze before turning his attention back to the Hesperides.

“We’ve been sent here on a quest by my father Hermes,” Luke announced. His voice held more confidence than she felt. “We’re here to retrieve a golden apple.”

It was strange watching the Hesperides’ heads tilt in unison as if they were each an extension of the other. Voices lulled around them, soft and gentle, and the worry seeped from her very bones. Her hand fell from Luke’s. Something felt strangely at ease in her stomach despite their circumstances.

“You may try,” said the lead Hesperide. Her skin glimmered like marble in the moonlight. “Our dearest Ladon protects this tree with his life. He does not sleep. Every second of every day, he guards our gift from Gaea, the goddess Hera’s wedding gift. Do not think it will be easy to pass him.”

The Hesperides seemed to fade into the mist, then, their bodies becoming light and transparent as they slowly backed away until nothing was left but the faint singing swirling around them. The voices gave (y/n) a strange feeling, as though pulling her towards the tree.

“Who’s Ladon?” Beckendorf asked.

The three of them stood for a moment, watching the swirling mist.

“A dragon,” (y/n) said. “A big dragon.”

She could feel his presence, she realised. The heavy weight that had settled over them upon entering the Garden, it couldn’t be anything else. Even still, she could feel him through the ground, like an impending sense of death and doom. She’d had similar feelings before, an innate knowledge that the strawberry fields were close to wilting one year. Campers had called her crazy, but she knew. The earth knew.

And it knew now. She was horribly aware of the heaviness in her gut that surrounded the bright power of the apple tree. It could be nothing but Ladon.

“Any ideas, Luke?” she asked. “You’re our idea guy.”

He scoffed. “Since when? You’ve been dragging us around by our ears this entire quest.”

But he could see the nerves that she felt. He knew how strange this was for her, to feel so deeply worried about a quest. He knew something was wrong.

“I’ll get the apple,” he said, and his shoulders rose with confidence. His hand, the one that had held (y/n)’s moments ago, twitched just so. “I’m the fastest out of the three of us. You two, keep our friend distracted.”

There was a deep grumble at that moment, as if Ladon were making himself known. It shook the ground and the boughs of the tree trembled. Sweet-smelling apples tumbled into the mist.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to get the apples?” (y/n) asked. “You brought along a daughter of Demeter for a reason.”

He smiled softly at her. “That’s not the reason I brought you along.”

And, before either she or Beckendorf could protest his stupidity or question his statement, Luke’s glowing sword materialised in his hand and he was running into the mist.

The mist spread apart as his feet made contact, and (y/n)’s heart dropped. Beckendorf, one of the bravest demigods she had ever met despite his age, had a tremor in his hands as he pulled free his sword.

Within the mist was the largest monster (y/n) had ever seen. It was wrapped around the tree in a serpentine-like way, scales glimmering in the moonlight like molten copper and bronze. Massive claws sunk into the dirt surrounding the tree, at least the length of her forearm and as wide as Beckendorf’s. Every breath it released shook the branches of the tree as though caught in a gale.

The most horrifying part: the dragon had a hundred heads.

She had read about Ladon, had familiarised herself with the myths surrounding the Hesperides. Days before the quest, she and Luke had sat down at the canoe lake, poring over old history books that told the tale of Heracles and his Twelve Labours, one of which was the very quest they were being made to repeat. Luke had made a joke of it back then, unhappy with the quest he had been given and disbelieving that what they faced would be much of a threat.

But Ladon was no joke. It was an entirely different thing seeing drawings of the dragon and seeing him in real life. His hundred heads slithered through the air like snakes on the water, luminous yellow eyes watching the demigods with piqued interest. 

Even Luke faltered.

A deep breath came from all two hundred of the dragon’s nostrils, washing over them in a hot, acidic wave. The smell alone was horrendous, like an old, decrepit sewer filled with rotting rats, and it had the hairs on her arms standing and her eyes burning. 

She was worried that she may never be able to move again, frozen in place by the sheer might of Ladon, but when Luke turned to look at her, blood flooded into her veins again. He was counting on her. She wouldn’t let him down.

Ladon expected a frontal assault. He was waiting for Luke to attack, watching like a predator on prey, but he did not expect the very tree he protected to act against him.

With a heave of energy, (y/n) stretched out her arm and watched as the tree’s trunk began to swell as if filling with liquid. Ladon’s serpentine body writhed around it, twisting as he moved to accommodate the growing tree. The branches above him shook, dipping towards the ground slowly. Too slowly.

The dragon seemed to realise what, or who, was causing the change, and snarled ferociously. It was at that moment that Beckendorf grabbed a ball of Celestial bronze from his belt and, with a strong arm and remarkably good aim, threw it at the beast.

An explosion of green ignited before them as the ball slammed into Ladon’s thick hide. The dragon roared, whether in pain or fury, and set its bright gaze on (y/n) and Beckendorf.

Fear coursed through her body. She could hardly breathe. The branches wavered, pausing the pursuit to the ground. Beckendorf launched another one of his Celestial bronze bombs.

A pity quest, that’s what this had been. But, maybe, it was more than that. Maybe this was Hermes’ punishment for Luke wanting more from his life. Maybe this was (y/n)’s consequence for falling so irrevocably in love with Luke - for feeling the way she did, she would have to follow him to impossible circumstances.

But none of them deserved it.

It was at that moment that Luke took his leap.

With speed befitting a child of Hermes, he leapt onto Ladon’s mighty body, feet finding purchase on his rough scales, and launched himself upwards towards the descending branches.

For a moment, there was hope. Even Heracles had not retrieved the apples by facing Ladon, but maybe Luke would. Perhaps Luke would succeed where Heracles had not. Pride swelled in her heart, coated her tongue like warm honey, and she almost smiled.

Copper-coloured claws flashed in the moonlight. A chorus of soft, harmonising voices swirled around them like mist.

Mistake, they sang. The boy has made a mistake.

There was a cry of pain so guttural that (y/n) felt it in her soul. Her feet were moving before she could truly comprehend what was happening. The grass tried to reach for her ankles, tried to stop her in her mission, but nothing could. Had a god stood before her, she would have found her way past them. Nothing could stop her, not even this dragon that caused such fear in her bones.

She reached Luke as Ladon wound around the tree tightly, snarling protectively. Something in the beast’s demeanour hinted at pain beneath the danger, and when she saw the gold blood pooling just a few feet away, she knew why.

A claw, one of Ladon’s, severed from the knuckle down lay strewn in the grass. The dragon hissed as Beckendorf snatched it up, hefting his sword as (y/n) pulled Luke away.

He was bleeding badly. A deep gash ran from the tip of his brow down to the corner of his  mouth, somehow missing his eye but cutting just above and below. His skin was already becoming dangerously pale. Her hands were covered in blood. His blood. She was going to be sick.

“Hey,” she murmured, gently laying his head on her lap. Her hands trembled as she reached into her bag. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Luke shuddered, eyes half-lidded and struggling to find something to focus on. “Are you -?”

“I’m fine,” she said. After a terrible moment, one that took far too long, she pulled free a small vial of nectar, wrapped tightly in old face-cloths to keep it from smashing in her bag. Her hands couldn’t stop shaking as she tried to unwrap it.

Beckendorf knelt beside her, claw at his side, and took the vial from her hands. She didn’t know how his hands could be so steady. She could hardly breathe. Not with Luke so injured, not with Ladon eyeing them hungrily.

He handed the vial back, and she propped Luke’s head up slightly. With a hiss of pain, she managed to open his mouth just enough to pour the small amount of nectar in. He swallowed with a struggle.

There was no telling how long it would take the nectar to work, but they couldn’t stay there under the watchful glare of Ladon, who looked ready to attack again. (y/n) took a trembling breath.

“Beckendorf,” she said, “are you able to carry him? At least until we can get out of this place. I can try - I can clean the wound when we’re safe.”

He nodded and hoisted Luke up into his arms, careful not to jostle his head too much.

She didn’t realise she had been crying until they stopped.

Beckendorf set Luke down on a soft patch of grass beyond the Garden, and (y/n) tucked her jacket underneath his head. The nectar seemed to be working, albeit slowly. Some colour was returning to his skin, but it was hard to see under all of the blood.

“You’re okay,” she murmured again, but she wasn’t sure who she was telling. She wiped her tears with the back of her hands.

She grabbed one of the face-cloths the vial of nectar had been wrapped in, soaking it in water from her water bottle, and slowly brought it to Luke’s face.

His eyes seemed to have some ability to focus now, watching her beneath a glaze of pain. It tore her soul in half to see him in pain, wincing as she gently dabbed the blood from his cheek. Her fingers were stained. His cheek was, too.

“I’m going to keep watch,” said Beckendorf. “Those Hesperides gave me a bad feeling.”

(y/n) nodded, watching for a moment as he trudged a few feet away, just out of earshot, but her focus soon returned to Luke. She tried not to think too much about how his hand was gripping her knee as she cleaned the rest of the blood.

“Is the nectar working?” she asked when she saw his eyes drooping. “What does it taste like?”

His gaze found hers, warm and cloudy. A pained smile fought its way onto his lips despite the slowly-healing scar on his cheek. She could see the skin trying to sew itself back together with the aid of the nectar.

“That smoothie you made a few months back with the - with the camp’s strawberries,” he uttered. “And whatever those green leaves were.”

She found herself smiling despite the red coating her hands. “Mint. And it was that good, huh? Last I checked, nectar for you tasted like that weird concoction of Coke and Sprite you liked so much.”

For a moment, his eyes grew distant before refocusing on her face. They flickered over her features as if seeing them for the first time. His hand felt awfully warm on her knee.

“Anything you make is better,” he said. 

“Is that so?” She brushed his hair back from his face softly, cleaning the last bits of blood.

His skin was still stitching itself back together, but the nectar seemed to have stopped the bleeding. Second by second, blood flooded back into his face, giving him the colour that seemed to have been leached from his skin.

He nodded, his smile seeming as though it pained him less. His hand slipped from her knee, coming up to wrap itself around hers. The cloth fell from her fingers and onto the grass. Her fingers were still wet, though in the dim light she couldn’t tell if it was from water or lingering blood. She didn’t have the stomach to find out.

“You said you didn’t bring me on this quest because of my mother,” she said cautiously. Her heart was pounding in her chest. “So why did you?”

A soft squeeze of her hand. “This wasn’t a quest I wanted to do without you,” he said. “I like having you by my side. You give me strength.”

She was sure he could feel her pulse beating rapidly in her fingers, but he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t need to. It was entirely likely that he was able to read her mind, he knew her so well. And she was okay with that.

“You’re stupid, you know,” she said, but her voice wavered.

“Stupidly brave?” he suggested. “Stupidly handsome? Stupidly charming?”

“I’m supposed to be supporting you right now,” she grumbled. “Not the other way around.”

His cocky grin was back and her heart fluttered. “Which one is it?”

“Which what?”

“Stupidly brave, handsome, or charming?”

All three, she thought. All three and so much more.

“Stupidly stupid,” she decided. 

Her thumb grazed his cheekbone, the one without the scar, and a shiver ran through his body. His hand tightened on hers and his smile softened into something more personal. It was the kind of smile she would have leapt into Tartarus to ensure its permanence on his lips. Soft and kind and reserved just for her. If she'd been standing, her knees would have buckled.

“You give me strength, too,” she murmured.

A sliver of hair slipped in front of her eyes, and moments later, Luke’s free hand was there, gently brushing it away. His eyes sparkled. They seemed clearer now, less agonised.

The events of the last hour - gods, it had felt like much longer - came crashing back onto her at his touch, asphyxiating and terrifying. Overwhelming guilt filled her veins and arteries with terrible speed, sapping all the strength from her bones. Her fingers trembled once more.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her throat felt suddenly raw. “If I’d done a better job distracting Ladon, maybe you wouldn’t be hurt.”

Luke’s eyes were dark for a moment, swirling with something she couldn’t identify, but they softened seconds later. His hand rested on her cheek, warm and comforting, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at his eyes now.

“This is not your fault,” he said, and his voice was remarkably strong. “This is the gods’ fault. It’s my father’s fault. But it is not your fault.”

She tried to believe him, truly she did, but looking at the fresh scar on his face, even having been almost entirely healed with nectar, had her heart heavy in her chest. 

He knew this. Gods, he knew her every thought. His hand slipped from hers, cupping her other cheek and tilting her head so that she would look at him properly. There was a flush to his cheeks now - good, it meant he was getting better. 

“My father did this,” he insisted. “You hear me? This was not you. And, gods, believe me when I say that I’m glad it was me that went for the apples and not you. I couldn’t live with myself if you got injured.”

But you did, she wanted to say - no, scream. How do I live with that?

“I’m okay,” he said softly, cautiously, as if talking to a child who had just woken from a nightmare. “I’m okay.”

His hand fell from her face, taking hers in its grip once more, and placed her fingers on the newly formed scar.

She jerked back, terrified that the sensation would cause him more pain, but he just gave her that smile again, the one that made her knees feel like jelly, and pressed her fingers to it once more. Already, the skin was raised and slightly twisted, accommodating for the injury. She could faintly feel his pulse beneath his skin, slow and infuriatingly steady.

“It doesn't hurt,” he promised. His voice was so reassuring that she could feel it in her bones, and she was half-convinced he was secretly a child of Aphrodite, blessed with charmspeak. “I’m okay because of you.”

Her throat was achy. “And Beckendorf.”

He gave a small laugh. “And Beckendorf. But mainly you. You’ve given me strength.”

It was then that the world itself seemed to stop. He was leaning upwards, bringing her face close to his, and his lips brushed hers so softly that she feared she may have been dreaming the entire encounter.

She could taste the faint remnants of metallic blood, though it was easily brushed aside. Luke’s lips were slightly wind-chapped but she found herself uncaring when they slotted perfectly against hers.

This kiss was something she had been waiting years for, and it was better than she could have ever dreamed. The feeling of his hands on her, his lips against hers, it was something that could not be replicated in a dream, like flying for the first time and feeling the clouds beneath your fingers.

It was addictive, more so than the stupid apples that had caused Luke such pain, and she found herself wanting more. It was an effort to pull away from him, but eventually, she did. Beckendorf was only a few feet away and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. It would make for an awkward journey home.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Luke murmured.

Finally, there was a smile tugging on her lips again. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting.”

It took another hour or so before Luke was well enough to get moving. The dark trails gave all of them a bad feeling, and (y/n) wasn’t able to shake the almost hypnotic choral voices of the Hesperides until they were out of the State Park. Luke was shaky on his feet for a little while but his strength was returning.

And with it came anger.

Not anger at (y/n) or Beckendorf, no. He still smiled at them as usual, fingers entwined with (y/n)’s so tightly it was as though he was afraid she would slip away. Jokes still slipped past his lips despite the events of the evening.

But he was filled with fiery rage. It was hidden, but (y/n) could read him like a book. She had seen the inklings of it throughout the previous days of their quest, had seen it more clearly while she was cleaning the blood from his face - this anger, though, was pure. Harder to mask.

He had already been furious with his quest, a detail he had tried to keep hidden from her. He hated the idea of repeating history and the fact that this quest was simply made to satiate him, to prevent him from growing restless at camp and questioning the authority of the gods.

This was a breaking point.

It became clearer the more time passed. As the days and weeks went by, he would hold her hand like a lifeline and kiss her so softly it felt as though she was dreaming, but the anger never left. It ate away at him, dimming his smiles and reducing any respect he had left for the gods until there was nothing left but a shadow of what had once been there.

The scar never faded. It became a reminder of what he believed to be the gods’ failure. His failure.

He was still her Luke. The Luke she had known and loved since she was thirteen. She was just terrified of what he might become.

[mesetacadre]

When the Red Army entered Korea in early August, 1945, heavy battles took place in the north, but the Japanese rule remained tranquil in the south, for the Russians stopped by the Yalta agreement at the 38th parallel, while the Americans came several weeks after the surrender of Japan, and ruled at first through the Japanese and then through the Japanese-appointed Korean officials and police. So naturally all of the pro-Japanese Koreans – former police and officials, landlords and stockholders in Japanese companies – fled south to the American zone. The flight of all these right-wing elements amazingly simplified North Korean politics. The Russians did not have to set up any left-wing government, assuming that they wanted one. They merely set free some ten thousand political prisoners and said, by implication; “Go home, boys, you’re free to organize.” Under Japanese rule all natural political leaders either served Japan or went to jail. With the pro-Japanese gone, the ex-jailbirds became the vindicated heroes of their home towns. They were all radicals of sorts, including many Communists. Anyone who knows what a tremendous reception was given to Tom Mooney when he was released to come home to the workers of San Francisco, may imagine the effect on the small towns and villages when ten thousand of these political martyrs came home. North Korea just naturally took a great swing leftwards, and the Russians had only to recognize “the choice of the Korean people.” People’s Committees sprang up in villages, counties, and provinces and coalesced into a provisional government under the almost legendary guerrilla leader Kim Il Sung. Farmers organized, demanded the land from the landlords and got it in twenty-one days by a government decree. (Compared to the land reforms of other countries, this sounds like a tale of Aladdin’s lamp!) Ninety per cent of all big industry – it had belonged to Japanese concerns – was handed over by the Russians “to the Korean people” and nationalized by one more decree. Trade unions organized, demanded a modern labor code, and got it without any trouble from their new government, with the eight-hour day, abolition of child labor, and social insurance all complete. Another decree made women equal with men in all spheres of activity and another expanded schools. Then general elections were held and a “democratic front” of three parties swept unopposed to power. The natural opposition had all gone south, to be sheltered – and put in power – by the Americans. This is the, reason, I think, for the almost exaggerated sense of “people’s power” that the North Koreans express. Their real class struggle is coming; it hasn’t fully hit them yet. The reactionaries all fled south, where they are bloodily suppressing strikes. In North Korea the farmers are building new houses and buying radios because they no longer pay land rent, while the workers are taking vacations in former Japanese villas. The North Koreans assume that this is just what naturally happens when once you are a “liberated land.” “They aren’t yet liberated down south,” they told me. “The Americans let those pro-Japanese traitors stay in power.”

In North Korea: First Eye-Witness Reports, Anna Louise Strong, 1949

[lady-menrva]

I loved Reyna as a character in Heroes of Olympus, but in Trials of Apollo...

• Everyone deserves a break. Especially if you're a praetor who has been through a lot. But I don't know any sane person whose definition of a break is serving a goddess for all eternity, watching their loved ones die, while chasing (*hunting*) wild animals, and doing jobs/quests for said goddess (the last part sounds like Camp Jupiter/Camp Halfblood lite).

A much better closure for her could've been reclaiming her past at San Juan, now that she's moved on and overcome it, enjoying it's things and memories like she wanted too, catching up with her friends at the Greek camp (and her sister too).

Alternatively, she could fulfill her bucket list, enjoy her freedom, take time to know herself, just enjoy life... literally anything. But honestly, why do that when you can just shelve her in the Hunters of Artemis? /s.

• Since her closure was so botched up, the "needs a break" plotline, (inspite of it's brimming potential) coalesced with the romance schtick just seems like an indirect excuse to diss shippers. In canon, Reyna not having a relationship could've been a great decision, but the way it was executed left an unpleasant taste in my mouth.

See also: Reyna's "I'm tired of people shipping me" author insert *heartfelt* speech.

• Come to think of it, I'm also positive that Rick conflated aromanticism and asexuality.

It really hurts that Reyna is Rick's ultimate one-book wonder as a character. She could've been amazing in ToA too, but no...

[eurothug4000]

INTERVIEW WITH TOMM HULETT - SENIOR ASSOCIATE PRODUCER ON SILENT HILL DOWNPOUR

As part of my video on Silent Hill Downpour, Tomm kindly agreed to be interviewed! A big thank you to him for providing insight on the making of this title :)

Q1 - What led to deciding that open world aspects would be included in Downpour? Was it the trend of games at the time or was there something else that influenced this?

I had several aspects of the original SH games that I kept championing for the new ones, and one aspect was how much of SH1 was exploring the town itself. It was (relatively) huge! SH2 had a smaller more focused set of “town” areas, and then SH3 reused those. Origins brought it back to a degree but there wasn’t very much to do beyond the main quest.

Another thing I loved was how the notes in the original games would often mention characters or side stories that were not part of the main quest but definitely contributed to the atmosphere and creepiness. Lastly, as you said, open world games like GTA3 were cropping up all over. So these three factors all coalesced to become Downpour’s big explorable town filled with optional side quests that told little mini stories. But to be clear – we were not asked “can you put in something modern like Open World?” It’s more like what we wanted to accomplish with the town and sidequests made sense in an open world context, and then that created an exciting bullet point for marketing organically.

Q2 - Was there ever supposed to be a UFO ending? If yes, was there a rough outline for it?

We were not planning a specific “UFO” ending and I don’t actually recall why. We did plan for a joke ending, which turned into the happy birthday surprise. Or, it’s possible we planned for a UFO ending but someone came up with that instead and we just went with it, due to the nice escaping prison aspect of it.

I do know we wanted a wide variety of ending types, like the original games had, which is how we ended up with cool twists like the Anne/Murphy prison swap, etc.

Q3 - How did you get Korn on board for the theme?

When we got the unfortunate news we could not involve Akira Yamaoka, we knew that finding a worthy replacement for the game’s score was job # 1, and we were fortunate enough to be connected with Daniel Licht who did an amazing job matching the mood of Silent Hill with his own style.

But another big aspect of the SH music is the attract mode video, along with a rock song. Of course Yamaoka-san had always handled this as well, along with Mary Elizabeth McGlynn. Since this was kind of up in the air, our licensing department wanted to find a good licensing partner that might extend the awareness of Silent Hill beyond its core audience, but still sounded brand-appropriate.

A lot of different artists were discussed, but in the end, Korn made the most sense due to a variety of factors I can’t really get into. However one key factor was tailoring the lyrics to Silent Hill Downpour, rather than just being given an unreleased B-side as-is.

Q4 - The architecture (more so interior) style in Downpour feels very unique compared to the other SH games. Slightly gothic, almost like fancy buildings in New York - especially those apartments and office buildings! Although once I learned that the development team was based in the Czech Republic, I felt like maybe that was a big influence. What was the thought process behind going for this different style of environment?

I think a lot of this is, as you said, the Czech influence. Western Europe and North America have enough common threads I think it’s probably more similar than we realize if that is our whole sphere of reference. And obviously game players are familiar with Japan through games (Yakuza and Persona of course, among others) but Eastern Europe is far less represented. I think that Vatra “making what they know” had a positive effect on the games visuals and ambiance. It is the most unique and interesting of the Western SH games.

I think it’s generally accepted that as a whole, western gamers prefer the original SH games, made in Japan. And it turns out, there are a lot of Japanese fans who love the Western games most (going so far as to import Homecoming!), which was an interesting thing to discover. It tells me that an important part of Silent Hill’s creepiness is that sense that something is just OFF that you can’t put your finger on, and maybe it’s a result of unconscious cultural influences creeping into the design of the town itself, then being perceived through a different cultural lens.

Q5 - What were some of the most difficult parts of developing Downpour?

A minor challenge was the fact that fear is so subjective. Between two people sure, but let alone 2 teams in different cultures. So at times there was a lot of heated discussion about what the important parts of a scare or intense moment were, and what the audience would respond to.

The biggest difficulty though was external, just knowing the feelings and expectations of the fanbase at the time. The other Western Silent Hills had their fans of course, but nothing had made a huge splash like Silent Hill 2 (which itself wasn’t popular immediately but that’s a different story entirely!) We were very proud of Shattered Memories, but that was an unconventional entry and we just really wanted Downpour to be the “HD Silent Hill” that fans deserved. We all put a lot of pressure on ourselves. However even taking a quick peek at any forum there was so much cynicism it made the work challenging. And then at some point during the final year or so of development, an infamous series of videos released and sucked up a lot of air in the room as it were.

It also ended a lot of the spirited debate that Silent Hill fans enjoyed, as there were a lot of declarations of the “true” canon or “here’s what the game is REALLY about”. Those debates were always what kept the fanbase alive and vibrant, and it was rough seeing that go away. I don’t really feel like Downpour was given its fair shake in the indepth analysis department, which I was really looking forward to seeing, during development!

Q6 - What were some of the reasons behind the enemy designs of the game? Are their appearances all stemming from Murphy’s mind and experiences? Or Anne’s too? The prisoner types felt like they could be both, but the Dolls in particular made me wonder since they feel more related to her backstory!

It is kept purposefully vague. Obviously at first you’re supposed to assume this is Murphy’s Silent Hill, and the enemies need to support that. But then when you realize this is perhaps Anne’s story that Murphy is caught up in, they can’t betray that idea either. Fortunately the two characters have a lot in common. Murphy is a father willing to do anything to avenge his child. Anne is a child willing to do anything to avenge her father. Both have failed marriages because of their trauma, and so on.

Honestly this is one of the things I was hoping to see more debate about among the fanbase!

Q7 - For the Anne’s Story comics, was that originally supposed to be the basis for DLC for the game? I saw a mention of this online but wasn’t sure how true it was! Were there plans for other DLCs too?

In the very beginning, Anne and Murphy were conceived to be a 2-player experience, so each player could see situations from a different perspective, and we could play with that idea a lot. However after a very short time we realized that idea was a bit ahead of its time, and we focused on making a solid single-player horror game, but the overall story themes remained – but obviously you see less of what Anne is actually doing moment to moment.

As we were wrapping up the game for release, there were conversations about DLC and what form that might take, and Devin and I knew instantly it would be Anne’s side of the story. I wrote up a general structure of it for internal discussions. DJ Ricks had also had a more detailed story originally, so I tried to get some of those details back in as well (when this DLC fell through, I added his story in the Book of Memories DLC – if anybody still has a Vita and wants to delve into that!)

Right around the time I was leaving Konami, there were early discussions with IDW to release a companion comic to Downpour, since Tom Waltz was their SH guy (and has gone on to write their TMNT books and many other great things. Congrats Tom!) and had also written Downpour for us. I gave him a breakdown of my ideas for key moments in Anne’s story; things like Murphy and Anne operating in different chronologies (Murphy sees Anne in the clocktower otherworld BEFORE seeing Ricks, but Anne traverses that otherworld AFTERWARD), or a drowning Anne desperately reaching out for Ricks’s hand, only to find it’s a severed hand tied to his boat.

It took a few years for that deal to come together with the right artist, but thankfully it did! It’s a great companion piece to the game – there are some new details in there that weren’t in my treatment, but it was no longer my story to tell – I experienced it as a fan.

Q8 - What is something you’ve seen players rarely notice in the game which you think is a cool detail? Can be found in the world, story, gameplay or anything!

A tangible detail might be the road signs. I spent a long time figuring out where the other districts of Silent Hill would be, as well as Ashfield, and made sure they were properly charted on the large road signs. I made a map and measured distance and everything.

Story wise, I think Murphy’s role in the story is a bit misunderstood. Many players see it as a standard tale of the town punishing our protagonist but it’s a lot more nuanced than that. Anne, I feel, is being punished, because she is out for revenge right now. Murphy already got his revenge, and dealt with the consequences, and “did his time” as it were. Yes, he has to deal with the consequences of his actions – but those are consequences caused by Sewell, and they were already in motion outside of Silent Hill.

Murphy’s journey is more akin to “Born from a Wish”, or even Eileen’s role in SH4. While most of Walter’s victims did something wrong, Eileen was marked because she was kind to him. It’s basically circumstantial. The Orphanage level is meant to be something different from a standard Silent Hill construct. The town is almost rewarding Murphy for passing a test. It gives him a key that says “Freedom" and everything we weren’t being subtle. And if you watch during the boat scene, there are clear skies ahead of Murphy (and dark storm behind Anne).

And then of course the Silent Hill ambiguity – we all know the only thing on the other side of Toluca Lake is more Silent Hill, so that’s up for debate. Again I was really excited to see how the fans dissected our story and there was never a big discourse about it.

Q9 - There’s a big stretched face with a monocle at the end of the rollercoaster section in Devil’s Pit, I couldn’t wrap my head around it (ha) but who is that/what’s their backstory? I saw somewhere mention it was supposed to be a boss which appeared in a trailer (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZSSoIWJPL-4) but wanted to confirm what the deal was!

Originally there was a boss encounter with JP Sater which took the form of this hideous train man creature. The goal was to have characters such as Howard and Sater, who have both accepted their places in Silent Hill, but with drastically different results.  This would be something for players to ponder and explore.

For various reasons we needed to cut this encounter, and it isn’t exactly key to the story, but we didn’t want to waste the creepy model. So we extended the mine train sequence so it could end with the reveal and taunting by Sater. I guess Murphy can be thankful that he wasn’t part of Sater’s story, so he didn’t have to overcome an enormous steamengine behemoth.

Q10 - Always love hearing about any strong memories you have working on the game, feel free to share anything that comes to mind!

Devin and I both spent a lot of time in the Czech Republic during development, both together and alone. I think a lot "clicked" for both of us early on, when Andy Pang (Producer) took us on a trip to some of the sights around Brno, which included the Punkva Caverns – the inspiration behind the Devil’s Pit.

At the bottom of the caves is a river, and your group of maybe 20 tourists board a small boat and a guide navigates you through these dimly-lit caverns. The guide was discussing that this journey changes based on rainfall, as the water level in the caves may be too high to be safe, and as he said this, we noticed the ceiling was coming AWFULLY low. Especially on the left side of the boat, where we were. In fact, we had to lean over on our neighbors to avoid it. In fact, we scraped our shoulders a bit on the rock.

Afterward we both noted that in America, they would NEVER have sailed at that water level. In fact, there would be signs and barriers preventing you from touching the rock, and the boat might even be on a track or guide of some kind, to ensure maximum safety.

We understood a lot more about Downpour’s Silent Hill after that excursion.

[undertalethingems]

OH MY GOSH IMAGINE THE BLASTERS IN AN MTT MOVIE AHAHAHAHA-

It would be chaos, and not just due to the blasters--though they'd certainly be a large source of it!

Papyrus' attack would be more willing to listen, but it would be extremely excited by all the lights and action, and getting to participate in something so fun and new. It would be easily distracted and probably forget it's cues more than once, just because it gets so hyped up. And a hyped-up blaster is a zoomy blaster. There'd be little even Papyrus could do to calm it down--because he'd be excited too. Getting to star alongside mettaton, even by proxy, is a dream come true!

On the other hand, Sans' blaster would be nearly impossible to direct. It would be far more interested... in trolling. Messing up shots at the last moment, hiding props, scattering and shredding scripts, sneaking up on other actors and spooking them, pretending to sleep. Sans himself would only appear on-set to watch the chaos unfold, making no effort to put an end to his attack's nonsense unless papyrus demanded it. At that point, mettaton decides maybe his epic fantasy will have only one skeleton dragon in the castle's catacombs, because at least they can sort of work with papyrus' blaster.

And then there's mettaton himself. Glitter. Explosions. Glitter explosions. A truly ridiculous number of costume changes. A laser light show with accompanying opera halfway through the film. He plays the hero, the damsel in distress, and the wicked sorcerer who's the hero's evil twin. He chases sans' blaster off with a chainsaw more than once. He changes the script almost weekly because he keeps thinking of new lines for himself. He's trying to do better about sharing the spotlight, but most shots still center him.

Somehow, a film coalesces from the footage they manage to get. Papyrus frames the complimentary DVD mettaton sends him. Sans tries to use the fact his attack almost starred in it to get free stuff, mostly just to see if he can.

The blasters contiue their lives as normal.

[shelpilliz]

Mirror

This is a lore & comic practice lmao

Ig being a shapeshifter is hard

[utmvarchive]

Comic Papyrus: a summary

As I had the disastrous fortune to discover during my vessel assignment... humans are unique in their ability to contain such high concentrations of Determination. Without a human SOUL, DT is too difficult for common monsters to conduct and interferes with the body's ability to properly hold its shape... causing amalgamation.

Sans knows that... but in some AUs, the timeline deviates earlier than in other ATs, and whatever these deviations may be, they seem to affect his judgement... because sooner or later, he panics.

In this case, his brother was caught in the crossfire in a confrontation with the escaped vessel. He knew what would happen, but his sole focus was assuring he wouldn't lose Papyrus... and... maybe assuring Papyrus he wouldn't lose Sans either... because he injected himself too.

They would keep their hands clasped as an amalgamate...

...Though they were content with staying together, the brothers were still interested in helping me

Though they were content with staying together, the brothers were still interested in helping Alphys, keeping her focused on researching solutions for restabilizing amalgamates. Bringing them closer to having coherent expressions and solid outlines again. There were more setbacks, but together they did make a breakthrough.

The success' totality was partly due to Sans and Papyrus' relationship acting as a bonding agent, as the treatment would not separate them. In fact, it worked by advancing their coalescence.

They'd fused entirely, and when they reformed, they'd become someone new. Over time, Comic Papyrus' former identities as two separate people would become distant memories, but Sans and Papyrus weren't gone. They were both right there, staying together. As together as you can get.

Not to say that as Comic Papyrus, he had no further complications. His form would still exerience short periods of destabilization, and a chronic overcharge to the point of metamorphosis into a two-headed Gasterblaster, but these episodes are not permanent. It helped that supporting him through these difficulties were his companion Highway, his brother Halpy, the elemental Doppler, Curely and the rest of an adoptive family unique to this AU.

...This is just one example of what could be called a “Bromalgamate” AU, but the differences between each of its kind demand too much attention to elegantly fit more than one into a summary together. Sixbones for comparison to follow.

[see-arcane]

With Jekyll, it was a thing of vital instinct. He had now seen the full deformity of that creature that shared with him some of the phenomena of consciousness, and was co-heir with him to death: and beyond these links of community, which in themselves made the most poignant part of his distress, he thought of Hyde, for all his energy of life, as of something not only hellish but inorganic. [...] I, who sicken and freeze at the mere thought of him, when I recall the abjection and passion of this attachment, and when I know how he fears my power to cut him off by suicide, I find it in my heart to pity him. [...] Nor must I delay too long to bring my writing to an end; for if my narrative has hitherto escaped destruction, it has been by a combination of great prudence and great good luck. Should the throes of change take me in the act of writing it, Hyde will tear it in pieces; but if some time shall have elapsed after I have laid it by, his wonderful selfishness and circumscription to the moment will probably save it once again from the action of his ape-like spite. [...] Will Hyde die upon the scaffold? or will he find courage to release himself at the last moment?

All of this comes together to provide the most interesting part of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The battle between perceptions of just who and what Edward Hyde is.

Is he solely the primordial selfishly reckless id of an otherwise upstanding and deeply repressed man? If so, Jekyll's constant attempts at disconnection must be read as a sinner attempting to paint the self he becomes while intoxicated as another awful entity, a thing that delighted in cruelty while it could be gotten away with and is now an excuse to point fingers at the mirror or the Devil to keep Jekyll's own hands clean, if only in his mind.

Is Edward Hyde simply Henry Jekyll as he might have been in another life? One sans repression but still loaded with Jekyll's intelligence and most basic wants. If so, then he is not an impulse given flesh, but a doppelganger in all but appearance. The Self, made Other. He is not an imbecile or an inorganic flaw, just Jekyll himself pulled through a sieve until only the untethered Wants and Hates remain.

What if Edward Hyde began as inorganic, as no more than a bleak reflection of Jekyll, but eventually coalesced into an entirely separate thinking identity? A new soul that budded from the original like a branch? A mind-son or a conjoined twin revealed decades too late. If this is the case, only then might half of Jekyll's excuses and reasonings hold water--but only half.

Because Jekyll himself either cannot grasp or refuses to fully accept all of what Edward Hyde is. The amount of contradiction in Hyde's actions and Jekyll's attempts at defining him go in too many directions. He's a clump of wicked and delightful impulse who wears Jekyll as a costume. He's artificial. He's real. He's an it. He's a he. He is Jekyll. He is himself.

Even at the end, Jekyll fumbles with his initial estimate of Hyde's state. A coward who hides in him and the lab to avoid the death penalty! Yet in the last lines he admits to the possibility that Hyde will decide to end himself rather than risk further pursuit or a trip to the gallows.

He claims to fear Hyde ripping up the letter in a fury, assuming the document would only be spared because of Hyde's feverish focus on the moment-at-hand. But there was no doubt time to destroy it before chugging the poison. Hyde could have done both. He didn't. Implying the little imp of impulse felt no desire to.

Think back on Hyde's last moments alive. Right before the door was broken down. Pure despondency. Pure wretchedness. Pure grief.

“Utterson,” said the voice, “for God’s sake, have mercy!”

The far end of a fretting frantic animal of a man, trying desperately to save himself. Well, selves. There is no safety for Hyde without them both. ...But also no freedom. To save the beloved man who is the bandit's cave also means retreating into that cave permanently.

And if Edward Hyde is his own man? If Hyde is a man at all, whose core is impulse itself? Imagine the hell of such a life. A sentient tumor. Forever.

Of course he chose oblivion. But to do that last courtesy--to not spoil or destroy Jekyll's parting words to his friend--I have to wonder what it means.

Did it simply slip his attention as Jekyll assumed?

Did he relish in a last mote of bitter joy at the reputation due to be ruined by its reading?

Or was the impulse in him not all unvarnished evil after all? A callous, a brutal, a vicious character; but even the sinner cannot hold to sin as a constant. No villain genuinely dedicates every second of their life to committing cruelty outside of a comedy. Hyde didn't either. He was only ever impulse in its entirety; blunt and greedy as a brattish child. And the stamp of it was obvious! Enough to inspire hate at a glance. Just as we can sneer at strangers in the news when we know what loathsome acts they've been up to, inflicting pain on others for their own gain.

But they too are human.

In the end, I think Jekyll was happier going to his end without admitting Hyde was as much a human soul as he was.

And he left the letter untouched to make sure Utterson knew it.

[mystybelle]

World Seed SRD (WSRD) is intentionally built to be a pot you can throw a setting into, or reforge slightly so you can make any dish you want. And I'm working on the JJK setting right now, so we only care about pre-building the fantastic elements of the setting into World Seed, and the Jujutsu Kaisen universe only has 1

Cursed Energy

A pretty elegant addition to a world's laws, in my opinion. An aspect of reality that responds directly to the emotions of sapient and sentient creatures, capable of even giving birth to life itself. However malicious that life may be. Everything fantastic within the world Akutami-san has created, seems to flow from that, and these facts:

Cursed energy both comes from and responds to brain waves that correspond to negative human emotions.

It can be spent, no differently from electromagnetic energy, and interacts with matter similar to how light does. Being absorbed, refracted, reflected, radiating, etc

It can also coalesce into tangible matter, in high enough concentrations, made entirely from Cursed energy particles.

It seems to be some form of "W.I.M.P," on account of the fact it possesses all of these qualities, but remains invisible to most creatures and all but the most specialized detection tools. Likely absorbing all light outside of (or only interacting with) a very specific wavelength, beyond absorbing it.

So simulating it's behavior through WSRD means that cursed energy should -

Be present on all Character and Object sheets

Characters should have motivations that are related to a "curse" that colors their life. Some past, or ever present trauma that colors their existence

In Characters; standing Cursed energy levels should recover at a consistent rate based on their Stats (Rhyme), while the upper limit a Character can possess or infuse their body with at any one time should be controlled by another (Constitution).

In Objects; maximum Cursed energy levels should limited to that Object's Durability directly. But there should be a mechanism for determining an Object's progress towards "Cursed Tool" status, based on how often it's infused with Cursed Energy... It should probably be nearly identical to the way a body becomes permanently strengthened by cursed energy infusion, or the effects of Heavenly Restrictions that enhance the body.

Techniques just need to have a Cursed Energy cost attached, and that's simple enough.

Characters that are Cursed Spirits should exist first as a Character with a minimum personality and sentience (Motivation/Curse, REA, RHY). Then its current Cursed energy should determine -whether or not and by how much- it can manifest its physical form.

After all that is the Binding Vow, special laws that creatures can impose on themselves to control how their Cursed Energy flows and behaves overall. Usually by imposing a limit on themselves, in exchange for a boon. I think that's probably as simple as a Basic Action with a low cost, that creates an Event... Yeah, I think that's everything.

Now I've just got to put the numbers in after this mist has cleared....

[indigosabyss]

Stray Dogs in JJK Part 3 - Angel (of Death)

(Culling Game Arc Spoilers)

"So, we're helping you look for this Dazai guy. It's only fair that you help us find someone we're looking for, too." Megumi reasoned.

Akutagawa paused to slice a car in half, moving back to focus on the boy once it was certain that no one was there. He looked at Megumi carefully, before nodding, "Sounds sensible."

"Who're you looking for?" Atsushi asked.

Yuuji scratched the back of his head, "Well, we don't know anything about her real name or what she looks like. But they call her 'Angel', and she could bring the Culling Game to an end."

Surprisingly, that scant description made both of them straighten up slightly, exchanging hopeful glances.

"Actually," Atsushi smiled, "I think I know exactly who you're talking about."

---

[much ado later]

---

The group of five limped through the building, guided by a trail of illusionary snowflakes until they came out to a large room.

Judging by the rebar and debris sticking out from various spots in the floor, it hadn't always been this size.

There were four people in here, and their cursed energy was pretty strong. All Grade Semi-One, at the very least.

"Atsushi!" The first of the lurking figures to break the silence and pull their companion into a hug was a young teen with blond hair. He peered over at the others, "Are these guys friends of yours?"

"I... guess?" Atsushi replied, carefully pulling himself out of a rib-crushing hug, "Say, you know how Yosano-san used to go by Angel-?"

He was interrupted by a crack from the corner, and a sudden flare of cursed energy as a completely new person, previously undetected, stood up and stretched noisily.

"Thanks, Yosano-sensei." He groaned, opening a book as he glared at them, "I see we've got some potential allies to test."

A woman followed him into the light, eyes laser focused on Atsushi, "Talking about me? I think you forgot to mention my full moniker, Atsushi-kun."

"And that is...?" Itadori gulped.

She grinned at them, "The Angel of Death, naturally."

-----

Turned out that there was a small window of time between when a person's cursed energy dropped to zero and when they actually died.

Additionally, a death and the person behind it was logged when cursed energy dropped to zero, regardless of their state after that.

And on top of that, Yosano Akiko's ability/technique, 'Thou Shalt Not Die', could heal someone completely, but only if they were on the very brink of death.

These three facts coalesced into the ADA creating a loophole in the point system, to dodge around the requirement to kill at least one person every nineteen days, using Yosano's ability to wake up their target, while reaping the points at the same time.

"I guess you can use the same method to grind out hundreds of points, and make all the changes you want." Yosano considered, tapping her chin as she turned on the orange-haired guy, "Hey, Tanizaki, how do you feel about being the one getting murdered?"

"No!" He shrieked, vanishing in a blur of lights.

Kenji raised a hand, "I'll do it!"

"Kunikida-san, this has got to contradict your ideals." Atsushi muttered.

"Everyone here's insane." Megumi whispered harshly into Yuuji's ear, "Let's run when we can and find the real Angel."

[sketchyonlooker]

[ DMGBeloved has logged in. ]

[ BC Chat Room ]

---

[ The main screen of the stream shows an ominous ghostly green skull hovering above Sacramento City. A berth of destruction could be seen around the California Supreme Court, the only intact building in the area. The roars of monsters and cries of people echo through the thoroughly demolished city. A long wurm-like creature wrapped around the ruins of a skyscraper opens its maw towards the building. Light collects and coalesces into an orb within its mouth - its sweltering heat melts the concrete it's next to. It then swings its head back as if to fire - Only for a lance of neon green to nail the wurm's mouth shut, sending both it and the ruined skyscraper into the ground. The world shakes violently as the orb detonates within the creature's mouth - its light overwhelming the camera. Falling dirt rains from the sky with only a large broad crater to mark the creature's death. Hovering where the creature once stood was a man wearing a green hoodie with a skull similar to the one in the sky. His body glowed with an iridescent green. And in his hand was an ornate spear crackling with neon-colored lightning, the same spear that struck the wurm's mouth shut. With glowing eyes, he gives the remains a final look before zipping out of view in a surge of green. The camera moves to follow.

----

Boomer-oh (v): Okay. I can't watch anymore. Watching how many times I should've died might actually give me a heart attack before this whole thing is over. Thank you, mysterious green man / duel monster / whatever.

BanditKLives (v): God. You're in the Sacramento shelter too? Ugh. I know exactly how you feel.

KuriBoom (v): I'm telling you I saw the angel of Los Angeles in person. She has these like light wings and woooosh, smashing up all those dragons with her hammer like it's nothing.

LordofTheNight (v): Wait. You think that's impressive? We got a giant vampire defending the city in San Francisco. At least I'm pretty sure it's a vampire. Can't really tell because he moves so fast, but holy shit he's tall like small-building tall.

LordofTheNight (v): Anyway, fucking vampires fighting dragons. Still feels like I'm still dreaming.

[ A in-line video is posted in chat from LordofTheNight. A military installation with tanks could be seen in the background. An incredibly tall figure - almost a story tall - slams a tanbo underneath an even taller two-headed dinosaur's chin. The force of the blow lifts the creature up into the air. Despite the dinosaur's speedy snaps and slashes, the dinosaur fails to hit its elusive target every single time. And then a flurry of blows from the tanbo strikes the creature so quickly it seemed like they were all performed at the same time. A moment later, the creature collapses with broken body and shattered limbs. The moment it hits the ground, it shatters into shards of light. An enormous fireball strikes down where the humanoid figure just was immediately after, his figure still blurry from the speed which he moved. Briefly, the camera loses track of the speedy figure, only to hear the sound of another draconic roar. The roar is cut short with the sound of something cracking. And immediately in front of the camera, a long Eastern dragon falls onto the earth with a earth-rendering thud. It too shatters into light. On top of a broken skyscraper and under the backdrop of stormy skies, the tall gray vampire is seen in all of his glory, only to turn into a blur once more.

SunnyDay (v): You think that's crazy? I've got a literal skeleton army fighting dragons and lizards outside. And a freaky green-wearing necromancer controlling them all.

LordofTheNight (v): Don't necromancers wear black or something? Like they're all emo or shit?

SunnyDay (v): Well, clearly someone didn't get the memo. Besides I think if you own a skeleton army that can beat up a bunch of dragons, I think you can wear anything you fucking want.

[ An in-line video is posted by SunnyDay. It's clear that the video was taken from the BC Stream chat. A coastline and an air strip are seen. After a quick zoom-in, several skeletons wearing various sets of clothes are charging the dragons along the skyline. Colorful beams of light blast through the dragons attempting to make landfall, putting large holes into the creatures and shattering them into motes of light. The dragons retaliate similarly with fiery blazes and icy projectiles. Meanwhile, the apparent green-clad necromancer engages up close and dispatches several of the hostile monsters in a flurry of colorful red chef's knives. Another human-sized skeleton, tall and lanky and wearing an orange sweater, slams its foot straight into a scaly blue dragon diving face-first at it. The large dragon immediately contorts and flattens like a train slamming into an immovable wall with the sound of crunching bone accompanying it. The broken dragon begins to fall out of the sky before it shatters into motes of light. ]

ExodiaTheForgottenOne (v): Are we absolutely sure that it's not KaibaCorp's SolidVision gone haywire? Cause that whole shattering light thing is like SolidVision's thing.

BlueEyesBlondeDragon (v): For the last time, SolidVision is incapable of being physical like this. You should know better since you've been on the Sketchy stream for so long. And also if we're sharing end-of-the-world stories...

BlueEyesBlondeDragon (v): I was in an airplane that was headed back to Japan, but after all the monsters appeared, we tried to U-turn and fly back to California. Except we had a whole bunch of angry monsters after us. I'm pretty sure we got saved by the angel of Los Angeles.

BlueEyesBlondeDragon (v): One second.

[ An in-line video is posted in chat by BlueEyesBlondeDragon. The video is clearly taken from a phone camera. Quiet panicked murmurs and prayers could be heard. The camera is looking out the airplane window and at the plane's right wing. A large blue winged dragon, one that could be recognized as the Winged Dragon of Duel Monsters fame, is diving straight for the aircraft. Screaming could be heard within the airplane cabin as the plane attempts to futilely veer away from the quickly approaching monster. And then a yellow flash crashed straight into the creature, slamming it straight towards the sea. The figure hovers briefly with its bright wings of light, hammer in a two-handed grip. Surrounded by light and with stalwart frame, the redheaded angel of Los Angeles strikes a prominent figure against the stormy skies. Another approaching dragon dives for her but is suddenly struck down in a brilliant flash. Only when the thunder was heard did people realize that it was lightning that smote the dragon down. By the time the camera recovers from the glare, the angel of Los Angeles is gone. "We're saved!" "Praise the lord!" ]

[spoopy-action-at-distance]

It's been said repeatedly that the main cast of Dracula (sans the count) is like a mildly confused polycule. They're all puttering about like endearing ducklings, minding their business and being supportive of one another.

What I've not seen as much (yet) is the observation that when attacked, this puttering polycule coalesces into a driven and feral DnD party that will take the final boss down with extreme prejudice.

I love that for them (tragedy and all).

[jewwyfeesh]

The Entrance of the Labyrinth

Writer: Mitsuki

Character(s): Tenshouin Eichi, Sakuma Rei, Mikejima Madara, Saegusa Ibara

Translated by: jewwyfeesh

Eichi: Anzu-chan, do you know what day is it today?

this story is part of the 3rd anniversary campaign, and chapters are unlocked progressively.

on a somewhat related note, a translation of the enstars 3rd anniversary PV (featuring the four of them) was done by the mod of cnstars_EN (twt), and is accessible here.

Season: Autumn Location: Rose Garden Maze

Ibara: Welcome, Producer-dono! We are extremely honoured to be in your presence! We weren’t expecting you to arrive early – thank goodness I’ve already made the necessary preparations for your arrival!

Please do not say that! We did not wait long. Not to mention, this day was prepared just for you, Anzu-san, so your experience is our highest priority! Salute~ ☆

Eichi: My, another impeccable opening speech from Saegusa-kun. Ah, you don’t need to worry, so please, relax a little. We did not call you here to discuss work matters.

Rei: Hehehe… If you continue talking like that, perhaps it may only serve to stress the Little Miss more?

Madara: Yep yep, good kids like Anzu-san should be welcomed warmly, like how I, Mama, welcomes you home ☆

Ibara: I, for one, do not want Mr Mikejima to pass his judgment on me like this! Though, if you intend on fostering an environment where Anzu-san is free to discuss work, then I am more than happy to oblige ♪

Rei: In short, please relax. After all, the protagonist of the day is no other than the Little Miss… How about cutting to the chase, hm?

Eichi: Anzu-chan, do you know what day is it today?

Madara: That’s right, it’s a day for never-ending surprises and lively celebrations! As you can see, we are the idols’ representatives, waiting here to raise the curtain of this festival for you ☆

In the past, Anzu-san’s always buried their head in their work, uncaring of their health… but on special days like this, it’s our turn to plan a celebration just for you!

Eichi: Ahaha, Anzu-chan was able to guess that the celebratory stage has something to do with the flower field behind us. I suppose nothing really escapes your intuition as a ‘producer’, huh.

Rei: In fact, this is a hedge maze that’s been obscured by flowers, and is the ‘Special Stage’ that we’ve prepared just for you.

Ibara: There’s nothing to worry about. Even though the word ‘labyrinth’ might act as a deterrent, we’ve included quite a number of small surprises within that are meant to act as special clues — to keep you entertained and motivated, as well as a means of guiding you towards the exit!

Madara: Oh, you’re asking us if we’ll be going in with you? Of course! No matter what, we’ll always be by your side. We definitely won’t let you wander ‘round a big maze on your own, either ☆

Rei: In the past, you’ve quietly supported us from behind the scenes… but this time, we’ll stand by your side, and walk forwards with you. So you may make your way towards the labyrinth’s exit without hesitation and without fear.

Eichi: Haha, it’s somehow more exhilarating and surprising to search for and open a gift with your own two hands, is it not?

Just like the time we’ve spent together… little by little, it coalesces. Anzu-chan, take a step towards the ‘gift’ we’ve prepared for you ♪