#wait until the stem people find out that the humanities folks are way ahead of them when it comes to considering the impact of your emotion

[isalabells]

"No, not feel. This is not a place for feelings. Something is or it is not. That is science. It's about fact. You had the facts on your side, but you felt intimidated." FOR ALL MANKIND | 1.01 Red Moon || 4.10 Perestroika

[dzamie-oc]

15 - Floral

What’s so scary about a flower-breathing dragon? Well, the flowers, for starters. I rather like playing around with alternate breath weapons.

Length: 2100 words Rating: T (death, mild body horror) Summary: A man tells the tale of his failed expedition to slay a flower dragon, while a boy listens in.

-----

Isaac sat in the corner of the tavern, eating a sandwich his dad, the owner, had given him. He knew not to pester the customers - especially the well-armed ones - and in turn, he was protected by common decency and the knowledge that an adventurer who struck a child for no reason was on a fast track to get beaten up, themselves. So, he would often sit and listen to their tales of glory, and tonight was no exception. For now, he focused on one peculiar-looking fellow. His face was grizzled, and everything about him gave off an air of danger, and of experience with danger... with the exception of his left arm, which hung limply at his side, covered in wildflowers in all colors from the elbow down.

“Nice arm,” another patron had said, mockingly, “did you fist a dryad?”

“Like it?” the man growled, “the dragon of flowers is giving out free samples if’n you want one of yer own.”

This only seemed to spur the other fellow on, as he laughed and jeered, “you found a dragon that breathes FLOWERS, and you STILL got your ass kicked? I guess age catches up to everyone!”

They were joined by an elf. Isaac couldn’t tell if their ears were long enough to be a girl elf, but he could tell, even through their inhuman grace, that they were limping; a quick glance at their feet, and the boy saw one covered in flowers just like the man’s arm. “Appearances are deceiving,” they said. “Had we not taken its threat so lightly, perhaps we would not have left six corpses and a live dragon behind.”

The elf’s addition, at least, seemed to give the mocking man pause. “You lost six men? How?”

“Four men, two women,” the grizzled man corrected, “and it would’ve been five and three if the two of us hadn’t bolted before its second breath. As for how...

“The dragon’s lair was easy enough to find. Middle of the forest, suddenly there’s this huge, flowering... hedge of some kind. Only one way in, so we take it. It felt like being in a corn maze, except there’s flowers all over the place. Mildred, here (he gestured to the elf), suggested we use the old trick of sticking to one wall until we get through it, in case it is a maze. Turned out not to be, but it was a good idea nonetheless.

“So we’re walking through the dragon’s lair, or garden, or whatever, and we see this big, purple flower - seriously, like twice the size of my head - all closed up, like it hasn’t bloomed yet. The eight of us, we figure we should figure out what to do about it - cut it away, ignore it, or what. We don’t wanna burn it, because if the fire spreads, well, we’re right in the middle of it. But as most of us are standing around like clever people, this one hotshot - think his name was Tyrill or something - gets it into his mind that he should just go up and whack it. With his fist. And it’s not until he’s got his fist cocked back, readying a punch, that we see him, and before we can drag him away or even shout at him not to be stupid, POW! He smacks the flower. And it explodes! Well, it opens in an instant and a purple gas bursts out. Most of us are able to retreat back away from it, but Tyrill obviously gets a face full of it.

“Now, obviously we want to get him away from whatever that flower was, but none of us are stupid enough to run into the mysterious purple gas, so we just wait there. And Tyrill just turns to us, says ‘hey guys, I found the dragon!’ and then... plants his face into the middle of the flower. Not even like it’s a pillow. The petals close up around his head, and start dragging him through the hedge. None of us wanted to leave him to die, of course, but that gas made him do... whatever that was, so we couldn’t risk it. I assume he died, of course, but it’s not like any of us actually saw the bodies.

“We continued on, following the winding trail through the flowers, and then saw what looked like a pair of jaws, but plant. Or, if you held your hands like this (he pressed his forearms and hands together, then opened his hands and curled his fingers in - a venus fly trap, although neither Isaac nor the taverngoers knew of such a plant). This part here, this isn’t how we lost all those folks, but how to avoid losing more if you try to follow in our footsteps. Now, I don’t recall what exactly we used - Mildred, do you? No? Ah well, it’s not important - but we threw something small at it. A knife or a stick. The damn thing snapped shut faster than you could blink, in case someone had accidentally brushed it while walking by.

“There was also this one flower, growing easily a dozen feet up, with a thick, sturdy-looking stem. We rested for a while near it, and for some reason, one of the gang decided to lean against the plant. You’d think we would’ve known by then, but, well, I guess she was tired. None of us paid any heed until she said it felt itchy, and when she tried to move away, it had stuck fast to her - or she had stuck fast to it. Me and one of the other guys tried to pull her off of it, but it didn’t work - the guy planted his foot against the stem for leverage, but all that did was get it stuck, too. Poor dude had to keep going with only one boot. Still, a better fate than the lady found. I can’t say what, exactly, it was doing to her, but she started screaming in pain at some point and couldn’t stop ‘til she was hoarse. Healing magic helped for a while, but it would always start back up again, until she pleaded for us to not waste the magic and to stop making her suffer longer.”

The grizzled man finished off his drink and stared down at the table. “I’ll confess to some measure of cowardice, aside from fleeing the dragon,” he said, “she asked for a swift death, and I faltered. One of the others had to be the one to grant her that.

“...anyway, where was I? Right, well, it turned out that the dragon was waiting just further ahead, in a flower-covered clearing. Dozen feet long and a tail to match, white scales with yellow and green patches, a flower tucked under each horn, and at the end of its tail was a big, purple flow- oh, gods above. Mildred, I think I know what happened to Tyrill. The dragon, its tail ended in a purple flower, and it looked awfully lumpy, like there was something under its scales. I don’t know how, but I think its tail... ate him.

“It said... something. I think it asked us a question, but I don’t think any of us were paying attention to the words of a beast. I made sure no more strange flowers would somehow strike from behind us, Mildred drew her bow, and three of the others just charged right at it. The dragon took a deep breath, and a moment later, three bodies fell to the ground, covered in these flowers.” He held up his arm to show his botanical injury. His story had attracted the attention of several other people in the tavern, and someone had ordered the man another drink. “Even those who tried to shield themselves, all that did was cover their shield in flowers as well.”

One of the onlookers asked, “so, did you get caught on the edge of the blast?”

The man shook his head. “No, the first one only hit those three, but the other three of us quickly bolted before it could take a better shot. Unluckily for us, we had to run down a straight path away from it, and so it got off a second attack just as we rounded the corner. Well, Mildred and I. Samuel - I think it was Samuel who hung back as well - lost both legs, an arm, and a fair amount of his upper body. Last I saw of him, he shouted at us to leave him and run. And run we did, as quick as we could while not running into any more of those crazy plants. It was a stroke of luck that we didn’t find any other beasties as we fled back here.” His gaze swept around the table. “And that, boys, is why I’ve no shame in admitting I ran from a ‘flower dragon.’”

With his story concluded, a few of the others swore vengeance on the dragon, while others told them to stop fooling about. Isaac, however, made plans of his own.

Late at night, the boy crept out from his room and snuck out of his home. With a jar full of dirt, Isaac wandered through the dark woods, on a mission. Before long, he found himself before a hedge of flowers that bloomed even at night. The boy took a deep breath, put on his best serious face, and stepped inside.

He kept his eyes peeled for weird flowers, and, on seeing a big, red one, stopped well before it. “Mister flower dragon?” he called, though not too loud in case the dragon was asleep. “Or, miss flower dragon? The man didn’t say. Your flowers are very pretty.”

Something rustled in the hedge to one side. Isaac took a step away, just before a draconic head poked through a foot or two above his head. The dragon looked around, then noticed and focused on the boy. It tilted one way, and asked, “aren’t humans diurnal? It’s very deep into the night for a human.”

“I don’t think I’d be allowed to go if I tried during the day.”

“Ah, a young one. And what brings you to my home, little one?” The dragon stepped out of the hedge as though it wasn’t there, and laid down around Isaac. His way deeper and his way out were cut off by white, yellow, and green scales, but he found it didn’t scare him much. “I hope you aren’t thinking I’ll eat a bully for you. ...well, maybe if you can lure them here.”

Isaac shook his head, then held out the jar. “I saw the flowers you gave that man’s arm, and they were very pretty. May I have some? Only, not on my body, because my dad would freak out.”

“I would hope so, or I think he would not be a very concerned father. Set the jar down, and I’ll give you some flowers.” Isaac did so, and the dragon breathed over the opening of the jar. Colorful flowers immediately sprouted and bloomed in the jar, as well as on the ground around it. Isaac took another step back, just in case, and found himself nearly stumbling over the dragon’s tail. “Now, if you put just a drop or two of blood a week in the pot, they should stay nice and healthy. It doesn’t have to be yours, it doesn’t have to be human. Use a mouse if you like.”

The boy, however, was staring at its tail, which looked kind of lumpy on the underside. “Did you really eat that guy with your tail?” he asked.

The dragon shook its head. “My tail doesn’t eat, only holds. I will let him out in the morning, but for now, he is in a deep sleep. ...did you hear what to do with the flowers?”

“Oh, okay then. In the story, he didn’t really do anything, so that would have been very mean to eat him for just that.” The sound of the dragon’s claw tapping the jar drew his attention, so he nodded. “Do I have to water them, too?”

“No, although it won’t kill them.”

Isaac picked up the jar again and slowly climbed over the dragon’s body, taking care not to kick it. “Okay, thank you! I’m glad you’re really nice and aren’t gonna eat that guy.”

The dragon laughed. “Of course. Four is more than enough to keep me going for a week; this enthusiastic fellow can leave if he likes.” As it watched Isaac walk back towards the entrance, it began to slip back through the hedge. “Goodnight, little one.”

“Goodnight, flower dragon! Thanks again for the flowers; I’ll take good care of them.”

Unseen by Isaac, a scaly head with a flower behind each horn popped up above the tall hedge, watching him depart. If any creature got too close, it found itself beset by flowers.

[ships-for-you]

Anon Request

Hi! I’m incredibly sorry I got to this so late but I am so excited to get started on this, thank you for requesting! (Gifs are not mine)

Also warning, there may be the occasional swear words.

Mizuki:

Alright, Mizuki is known for having some sort of obsession over things and people that he likes.

Especially when he deems them cute.

Especially x2 when he knows that that they’re here to stay with him.

So when he meets his s/o for the first time, he immediately notices your height first. I mean you’re so cute???

He also imagines you as his own personal pocket pet that humans are always gushing about? Like, he’s tempted to turn you into one of them.

Then he realizes that’s creepy and he’s not trying to do that since he’s learning from Nanami so…

He’s very bubbly and openly shows his enthusiasm whenever you come around the shrine with Nanami.

He absolutely loVeS the height difference between you and him. I mean, he’s 5'8 which he doesn’t consider very tall so to find a guy that’s shorter than him with looks to boot? He’s in.

He tries not to get overzealous when talking about his life story since he doesn’t want you to get scared of him.

He purposely left out the part where he trapped Nanami in his own God’s shrine but you knew anyway.

He likes to hold your hand and compare their sizes because he finds that interesting that yours may or may not be significantly shorter than his.

He teaches you how to play the flute in the most cringeworthy way possible like when he puts his fingers on top of yours while he’s behind you?

Yeah, cringeworthy but slightly sweet.

He loves to hover over you when you’re doing something like cooking or reading a book without you noticing just so he can scare you.

That little shit

He occasionally likes to scoop you into his arms for a hug and then randomly lift you up because he’s feeling extra that day.

Or maybe he just had a bad day.

Speaking of bad days, he always likes it when his s/o clings to him for a bit and reassures him that they’re not leaving since, again, attachment issues.

Mizuki, although obsessive at times, doesn’t actually get too jealous of when you hang around other guys or girls.

I mean, he wouldn’t like it if you spent more of your time with them than him but he’s not stingy with you, if that makes sense lmao.

But he definitely wouldn’t allow you to hang around Tomoe and Kurama too much. Having Tomoe’s scent on you is enough, he doesn’t need that crow’s scent on you as well.

I don’t know, apparently scent is important to him and his scent on you also sort of repels other demons and/or akashi from getting too close.

Kanato:

Ok, hear me out.

Kanato is 5'4. I’m not saying there aren’t any guys under 5'4 but they’re rare to find

So if he does encounter any male below his height, he is immediately amused. (And somewhat interested, let’s be honest.)

If you aren’t, that’s ok. You still get his attention somehow. If you’re obnoxiously loud, your style is interesting, or you’re great in the art like writing or singing, you’ll get him interested to some extent.

I feel like Kanato is one of the last of the brothers to accept he’s even remotely interested in men in that regard. Like, borderline homophobic.

Honestly it probably stems from something incredibly superficial like he doesn’t find men, “conventionally cute.”

When he does eventually come to terms with it, he’d probably invite them over for a tea party with sweets and tea.

Given that it would be you playing butler because he’s suddenly found of having a cute guy serving him.

He’ll be the type of guy to ask you out by threatening you so…not entirely romantic but if you like the dude, I won’t judge.

The relationship is not so toxic(?) It’s just where one is more high maintenance than the other and so you kinda have to bend over backwards a lot.

I mean, he does like you but it’s just different? He either can’t show it properly or does not show it at all.

Admittedly, there are times where he just disregards teddy’s existence in exchange for cuddling you when he’s tired.

You also coax him into sleeping earlier so you could cuddle. (He’ll complain and thrash about like a child but he does it less the more you ask.)

He enjoys your body temperature way too much.

Might even sneak in a little nibble since he liked your warmth way too much to the point he wanted to feel more.

Plus, your size makes it perfect for him to cuddle you. To him you’re not too big and not too small, just right for him.

It will probably take a while before you can actually kiss him or anything.

When it does happen though, expect it to be messy and maybe one or two of his brothers peeping in his room to watch you two.

They’ll probably photograph that, just saying.

Tamura:

Warning, slight ns¿fw ahead

Lmao, you gave me the power of choice so here he is. (This entire post will probably get taken down because of this gif ffs.)

Since he’s gay in canon, or just generally is comfortable with guys in every sense of the word, I thought he’d be the most likely love to have a short s/o.

I feel like Tamura is the type of guy that absolutely loves anyone shorter than him and will tease the ever loving shit out of them. If they’re quiet and reserved or really loud, outgoing and a tease, you’ve probably got yourself a blue-haired shark after you.

He’s also a tsundere type so he definitely won’t be the one to initiate any type of conversation between you two.

Of course, let’s say you came to their, “after school club” during visiting hours, he’d be super over-protective because he feels like you probably didn’t know what their club was for.

And now that the other members know who you are, they won’t leave you alone since they know for a fact their little Tamu likes you.

Toono is probably a great friend for you since you’re in the same class.

So is Yaguchi.

You’ve known Yaguchi since you were kids so you know the real, “Yacchan.”

You also know Kashima which is pretty cool for you since he’s a great friend and confidant but not so cool for poor Tamu-chan.

If you do like Tamura, it would be an interesting scenario for the rest of Yaribu to witness.

You like Tamura and are jealous of Yacchan while Tamura likes you and is jealous of Kashima.

You hang around Kashima mainly because you’re both pretty new to the whole, “liking boys” scene and tell each other your insighits.

Tamura has no excuse to talk to you but with the help of Toono and Kashima, they both secretly pull the strings to make you see each other more than before.

When you do start going out, it’s a little hard for him since he wants to be loyal to you but he kind of needs to do his business in the club.

But if you assure him it’s fine, he’ll be wary but at least he has your consent.

He kind of abstains from sex? He probably only uses toys now on others instead of actually giving them a good pegging.

If it does start to get a little out of hand, like Tamura still doesn’t serve for the club properly, Akemi will probably force you to be recruited.

He doesn’t really like initiating a lot of the romantic or affectionate stuff but he does like it when you give him little kisses here and there throughout the day

or quick hugs,

Or just a simple affectionate touch on his face to assure him that the day will pass by fast and you’ll see him later.

There would definitely be a time where his s/o told them they’d have, “a fun time” when they got to their dorms.

Turns out they were just going to watch a movie.d

Is Tamura disappointed? Yes.

But will he wait until you’re ready? Fuck yeah.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

Thank you for requesting! This was so fun to write but it’s my first time writing for male readers. Feel free to critique it if you find something too off and I’d be glad to change it.

Requests are open folks!

[mikeydoodledandy]

what about one where they kees

First Kisses and Much More To Come

When the chaos had all died down and Kepler was left to lick its wounds and rebuild, the folks at Amnesty Lodge had found themselves in an interesting place. Their secrets were out, but now most of the townfolk had supernatural secrets of their own, with tales of fighting demons pouring from the rifts of the Quell into the streets told amongst themselves.

Everyone had a lot of catching up to do, but Barclay and Agent Joseph Stern especially so. Stern had stuck around to aid with the rebuilding, the pair often working together when they could. If the remaining residence of Amnesty lodge noticed the warm, longing glances between them and how frequently they made excuses to hang around one another, they didn’t comment. Whatever those two had going on, they’d have to figure out on their own.

Barclay knew they needed to talk. Talk about the fact he was bigfoot, yes, but also talk about all those moments they’d shared long before Stern knew the truth about him. Those moments of brushed fingers and tender words that he’d ultimately made sure didn’t lead to anything out of fear of being found out or letting himself get to close. Things that didn’t matter anymore.

So a conversation was definitely in order, but he just couldn’t find the time to do it, with Joseph being in and out, and how busy he’d been as well. That was, at least, until a quiet winter night when everything had finally slowed down. It had been snowing heavily, forcing everyone to take a break from their rebuilding, so many of the residence had opted for a quiet night inside.

Barclay was cleaning up after dinner, many of the residence retiring to their rooms. It was quieter with Aubrey and Dani gone, their absence felt keenly, but according to Mama being able to communicate with Thacker through his old crystal, he knew they were alive and well in Sylvain, doing good work to rebuild as well.

Finishing with the washing up and hanging up his apron, Barclay made himself a cup of tea and had a seat in front of the fireplace in the now-empty lounge area, letting out a contented sigh. Snow was still falling outside, flickering in the outdoor lights surrounding the hot springs as he lost himself in the warm glow of the hearth.

However, it wasn’t long before he heard a pair of footsteps behind him, the sylph craning his next to peer over the back of the sofa to see who it was. Joseph noticed him watching, smiling warmly as he padded towards the table where they kept the coffee maker and electric kettle for the guests. He was dressed down in a comfortable sweater and jeans, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He had his glasses on instead of his contacts, which Barclay always thought looks good on him.

“Ah, hello Barclay. I see we both had the same idea tonight.” The agent chuckled, making himself a cup of tea. Barclay knew exactly how the other man took it, watching with amusement as the man dumped at least three spoonfuls of sugar into his drink. It didn’t matter if it was coffee or tea of any variety, Agent Joseph Stern took his hot beverages very sweet. He had to assume the man brushed his teeth well, considering he’d never had anything but a dazzling white smile.

“Guess so, good night for it.” He nodded, scooting over on the sofa as Stern came over to join him, mug in hand. The agent sat beside him, perhaps closer than one normally would with someone who was just a friend, Barclay feeling him sink into the cushion beside him. “It’s weather like this that does a good job in reminding everyone to take a break every once in a while, y’know? Gotta stop all the rush and slow down to mountain time. At this rate, I reckon we’ll be snowed in for a day or two before they can get a plow up here.”

“Goodness, I hope that won’t be too dire of a situation.” Stern glanced at the falling snow out the window with concern, but Barclay waved his worry off.

“Naw, we’re pretty well stocked on food, and even have a generator if the power goes out. Barring a medical emergency, we can keep going for a week up here, especially considering that most of the folks here don’t even need to eat, as long as we have access to the hot springs and I don’t imagine it’s going anywhere. I’d like to see the weather try and freeze that thing over.” 

“That’s good. I suppose it’s really just myself and Ms. Cobb that require physical sustenance then.” Barclay had a sip of his tea as Joseph nodded, the cryptid almost able to see the gears turning in his head. He always got like that whenever he got new information on the slyphs, always looking like he was itching to get out a notebook and write it all down. “If you don’t mind my asking, why do you eat, if you don’t have to?”

Barclay smirked, shaking his head fondly. He loved how curious Stern was about everything, eyes bright with excitement in learning about the creatures he’d been trying to find for so long. It seemed like his goal had never truly been to hunt them, even though that was his original pretense; he just wanted to learn. 

“Why do people do anything that has no functional purpose? It’s fun and it’s delicious, simple as that. My love for cooking stems from just how interesting it is, and how much I enjoy it. Hunger might not factor into it for me, but that’s even more reason to make sure a dish tastes good if that’s going to be the only thing I get from it.”

“That makes sense. It’s more entertainment than anything then, and humans certainly enjoy their own forms of entertainment just as much.” Joseph nodded, leaning back against the cushions.

“For what it’s worth, we enjoy those forms of entertainment too.” Barclay mused, eyes sliding over Joseph’s form as he wet his lips. “We enjoy a lot of things that humans do.”

Joseph met his gaze, a dusting of pink rising to his cheeks from the attention Barclay was giving him. “I see. What um.. What sort of things do you enjoy then?”

“Oh, all sorts of things. Food, sports, books. Good conversation. Spending quality time with handsome FBI agents.” Joseph blushed more brightly, a ruddy hue coming to Barclay’s cheeks as well. Apparently, he was feeling bold and just a little cheeky tonight, but they’d spent so long dancing around each other, he just felt ready for this to go somewhere. “Though that last one might just be me.”

“Barclay, I…” Stern put his cup down, their knees bumping together. The agent bit his lip as Barclay followed suit so he could give Joseph his full attention. “I like spending time with you too. Very much so. All this time, I thought you.. I thought you redirected my interest in you because you didn’t feel the same way, but.. in retrospect, it makes quite a bit of sense why you did. God forbid I discover your secret, no doubt.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Barclay rubbed the back of his neck, sighing softly. “I didn’t think we could be a thing, even though I really wanted it to be. Despite being someone who claimed to be literally hunting me, you’re sweet and charming and after getting to know you all these months, I can’t help but… not have feelings for you, y’know?”

“I feel quite similarly. Admittedly, despite my hinting, I wasn’t sure if a relationship with you should be something I should have been pursuing, what with my work and how I thought I’d eventually be leaving. But, considering my new orders, it seems I’ll now be around for the foreseeable future.” Joseph hesitantly reached down, taking Barclay’s hand.

“Seems that way, yeah.” Barclay jumped when Stern took his hand, not expecting it, but didn’t pull away, running his thumb over Joseph’s fingers. “So.. the whole bigfoot thing doesn’t bother you then?

“Bother me? Goodness, no.” Joseph’s face was aflame, but he was grinning, having to look away with how flustered he was, perhaps a little overwhelmed. “If anything, it’s an added bonus. Here I am, having hunted bigfoot for most of my adult life, only for me to accidentally develop feelings for him without even knowing it. It’s like something out of a fairytale. Trust me, Barclay, this is hardly a hardship.”

“Good to know.” Barclay chuckled, the two of them grinning like love-stricken fools. Another pressing matter came to mind however, Barclay’s smile faltering slightly. “In a similar vein, um.. that’s not all you don’t know about me. And I’m really hoping it doesn’t matter to you, but it’s.. something you need to know if we’re gonna go anywhere with this.”

Joseph blinked, brows knitting together in concern, nodding slowly. “Alright, I’m listening, though I doubt there’s much you could tell me, short of you being a murderer that would make me think less of you.”

“Not a murderer, despite what you seemed to think about me when you got here and didn’t know I was bigfoot. I have a pretty good idea for where those missing persons reports came from, but that can wait until later if that’s alright.” Joseph grimaced sheepishly as he seemed to recall why he’d come to Amnesty in the first place, clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“I’d love to hear it, but you’re right, that can wait until later. What was it you wanted to tell me?” He met Barclay’s eyes, expression open, and understanding. Barclay shrugged, trying to calm his nerves.

“I’m um… I’m also trans? It’s not really a big deal in Sylvain since it’s really common among animal sylphs, but I know humans kinda put more stock into that sort of stuff.” He looked away, struggling to keep eye contact. However, he felt a gentle hand on his cheek, Joseph nudging him back to looking at him. He was smiling, eyes full of affection.

“Barclay, that doesn’t make a difference to me any more than you being bigfoot does. You’re perfect just as you are, and I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

Barclay felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes, overwhelmed by joy at Joseph’s words. Without wasting another moment of time, he leaned in and kissed the man, heart rejoicing as it finally got what it had wanted for so long.

It was the first of many wonderful nights ahead of them, the two men wrapped in each other’s arms as the world outside was blanketed with snow.

[kaile-hultner]

Dialogues With A Dreg, Part Four

Spoilers for Destiny and Destiny 2 ahead.

Hello, Guardian.

Let’s drop the allegory for a while. I don’t think it was working to begin with, and I prefer to speak plainly instead of in prose.

I love the game you serve as the protagonist in, at least mechanically. Part of the reason I’ve put nearly a thousand hours in piloting you around and clicking on enemy heads is because I’m chasing that satisfying “pop” when something’s brain explodes after I get them with a linear fusion rifle. I guess it’s better than being addicted to drugs or alcohol or video games with gambling mechan- oh shit god dammit wait, fuck, there’s Eververse here, I forgot.

Anyway, Destiny 2 has my full buy-in when it comes to gameplay, as I think it’s grabbed many folks in its three-year lifespan. I’m not as big a fan of the many modes to choose from in the game, and I think the story – when looked at holistically – is more-or-less a wash. But one aspect I can’t ignore is one I’ve tried to reason out in these Dialogues: Bungie, the game’s developer, wants me to live at least part-time in this world, and there are certain ramifications that come with that.

I first noticed these ramifications during the Faction Rallies in D2Y1, when it asked me to pick a faction and fuck shit up across the solar system. I picked what I thought was the coolest-looking faction, a group of (it turned out) thanatonautic, neoliberal warmongers calling themselves Future War Cult. They basically killed themselves over and over to see the future, and as a result they want Guardians everywhere to become absolute war machines. But as far as I could see, they were a “better” option than the other two factions: Dead Orbit, who just wanted to get the fuck out of the solar system and away from the Traveler, our slumbering charge, and New Monarchy.

New Monarchy is the MAGA hat gang of Destiny 2. They want to keep humanity safe by locking them inside the Last City, forming an eternal Guardian-led kingdom, and ruling with an iron fist. Yeesh.

In my first Faction Rally, I fought hard for FWC. I liked the gear they were giving me, not to mention the guns I could earn from them. They had an aesthetic I liked, and the story of thanatonautics is interesting enough for me to want to know more about how all that worked. But I didn’t like the insistence that we “reclaim” the far-flung reaches of the solar system, as if they belonged to us inherently. I didn’t like the ramping-up, constant drumbeat for war they were throwing out. Even if Lakshmi-2, FWC’s leader, seemed like the eye of a hurricane – calm, yet clearly still dangerous – the hurricane she was the center of was starting to irk me.

I’m sorry to say I didn’t drop FWC in subsequent Rallies, even if I wasn’t as enthusiastic about them as I was initially. If I could pick again, though, I know now I’d pick Dead Orbit. They had it the most right, plus Peter Stormare plays Arach Jalaal, the faction’s leader, which is just cool.

But the winner of pretty much every rally was New Monarchy. I couldn’t see the appeal, even if you stripped the clear trump-ass bullshit away. But a LOT of other Destiny 2 players fought for them, and they were the victors constantly. Bungie took the Faction Rally away in D2Y2, but it basically put me on an inexorable thought track to where we are today.

Simply put, I think the world that Destiny 2 is advocating for is at best a fascist one. At worst, we’re talking about reinstating the divine right of kings. Not only does mortal humanity lose in this bargain, but every other living creature inhabiting our solar system suffers for it as well.

Now, Guardian, I can see that this is an unwelcome statement to hear. I get it. After spending the entire five years of your existence thanklessly putting around the solar system and killing gargantuan, god-level threats to humanity and life itself, watching some nerdy, doughy writer cast aspersions on everything you do probably extends past irritation and into wishing you could shoulder-charge me into Glimmer particles. But I want to be clear: yours isn’t the only video game world – or even the only sci-fi world in general – that does this. As Nic Reuben (the original Destiny 2 fascism warner) put it in his 2017 post on the subject, Bungie writers are “blindly following a set of culturally encoded science-fantasy tropes”:

“‘True leaders are born. It’s genetic. The right to rule is inherited.’ Any time you play as a really, really ridiculously good looking person killing mobs of ugly things for a vaguely defined reason, you’re witnessing this kind of ideology first hand.”

One thing I would like to point out, though, before we continue: Guardian, I know you personally. I’ve fought as you across the stars. I know you don’t inherently want to rule over anything. You are intentionally a blank slate, you never voice your own desires except for that one time when a possessed Awoken prince killed your best ramen bud, and I want to believe that the only thing you want — which is the only thing I want — is to race Sparrows on Mars. But the version of you I play as is not the only version of you that exists. There are over a million of you. And aside from that million iterations of you that exist in this game world, there are others who absolutely want to rule. It’s high time to interrogate this world.

Fantasy Space Fascism: The Game

In his book Against the Fascist Creep, freelance journalist and Portland State Ph.D candidate Alexander Reid Ross defines fascism as “an ideology that draws on old, ancient, and even arcane myths of racial, cultural, ethnic, and national origins to develop a plan for the ‘new man.'” He continues:

“Fascism is also mythopoetic insofar as its ideological system does not only seek to create new myths but also to create a kind of mythical reality (ed. emphasis mine), or an everyday life that stems from myth rather than fact. Fascists hope to produce a new kind of rationale envisioning a common destiny that can replace modern civilization. The person with authority is the one who can interpret these myths into real-world strategy through a sacralized process that defines and delimits the seen and the unseen, the thinkable and the unthinkable.

“That which is most commonly encouraged through fascism is producerism, which augments working-class militancy against the ‘owner class’ by focusing instead on the difference between ‘parasites’ (typically Jews, speculators, technocrats, and immigrants) and the productive workers and elites of the nation. In this way, fascism can be both functionally cross class and ideologically anticlass, desiring a classless society based on a ‘natural hierarchy’ of deserving elites and disciplined workers. By destroying parasites and deploying some variant of racial, national, or ethnocentric socialism, fascists promise to create an ideal state or suprastate – a spiritual entity more than a modern nation-state, closer to the unitary sovereignty of the empire than political systems of messy compromises and divisions of power.”

Ross, A. R. (2017). Against the Fascist Creep. AK Press.

The Destiny franchise begins with you, a freshly-reborn Guardian, shooting and punching your way through a hive of vaguely-arachnid aliens your Ghost companion calls “Fallen.” You find a decrepit jumpship deep in the heart of the Old Russia Cosmodrome, which your Ghost fires up and uses to take you to the “last safe city on Earth,” a walled metropolis underneath the Traveler. You first meet with the Vanguard triumvirate, Titan Commander Zavala, Warlock Ikora, and Hunter Cayde-6, and then, after completing some tasks for them, you are granted an audience with the Speaker (voiced by Bill Nighy):

“THE SPEAKER: There was a time when we were much more powerful. But that was long ago. Until it wakes and finds its voice, I am the one who speaks for The Traveler.

“You must have no end of questions, Guardian. In its dying breath, The Traveler created the Ghosts to seek out those who can wield its Light as a weapon—Guardians—to protect us and do what the Traveler itself no longer can.

“GUARDIAN: What happened to it?

“THE SPEAKER: I could tell you of the great battle centuries ago, how the Traveler was crippled. I could tell you of the power of The Darkness, its ancient enemy. There are many tales told throughout the City to frighten children. Lately, those tales have stopped. Now… the children are frightened anyway. The Darkness is coming back. We will not survive it this time.

“GHOST: Its armies surround us. The Fallen are just the beginning.

“GUARDIAN: What can I do?

“THE SPEAKER: You must push back the Darkness. Guardians are fighting on Earth and beyond. Join them. Your Ghost will guide you. I only hope he chose wisely.”

Bungie. Destiny. Activision Entertainment, 2015.

This introduction to the world of Destiny is… shockingly reductive. Even playing the campaign when this happens, my first thoughts were, “wait so we’re not even smart or good enough to hear the children’s scary stories about the history of this world? what the fuck?” But over the course of years, we find out more and more about the so-called Golden Age of Humanity, the tools humans built with implied assistance from the Traveler, the various rich families and corporate megaliths that consolidated power over people across the solar system in the years and decades leading to the arrival of the Darkness and the ensuing Collapse.

Not only that, we start to get a pretty clear image of what life was like immediately following the Collapse. Humanity was almost driven to extinction, and the people left alive after this apocalypse soon wished they were dead. The Traveler “defeated” the Darkness but in the process put itself into something similar to an emergency reboot mode. It deployed the Ghosts, who resurrected people who could, as the Speaker put it, “wield its Light as a weapon,” but the first of these “Risen” were nothing short of horrific. They used their Ghosts’ regeneration and resurrection powers to become regional warlords, subjugating what few mortal people remained, draining the desolate wastes of what few resources they had, and basically sealing the deal on the “Dark Age” brought on by the Collapse. It wasn’t until the advent of the Iron Lords that these warlords were defeated and the “age of Guardians” could begin, but even the Iron Lords did some pretty heinous shit – like use a whole town of mortals as bait to lure in a band of warlords on the run.

But when it comes to creating a mythical reality, the Speaker has his formula down pat. Don’t get too bogged down with details, paint the conflict in stark good vs. evil, literal “Light vs. Darkness” broad strokes, and mythologize the actions of Guardians (but most importantly, our Guardian). And oh, what fodder for mythology we are.

By the end of the first campaign, we’re the hero who severed the connection between the Hive, the Vex and the Traveler and tore out the heart of the Black Garden. By the end of The Taken King, we’ve slain a god-king. In the Rise of Iron expansion, we stop the spread of a virulent nanoparticle with murderous intent called SIVA in its tracks, using nothing but our fists. In Destiny 2, we become the Hero of the Red War, the one who put an end to a Vex plot to sterilize all worlds, and who killed a Hive Worm God. We avenge our fallen Hunter Vanguard, we kill a Taken Ahamkara. We are the hub on which the spokes of history are turning.

In terms of video game power fantasies, I really truly can’t imagine a better-feeling one. It’s basically pure uncut dopamine being transmitted directly to the pleasure centers of the brain, one Herculean feat at a time. And if we were the only Guardian, if we were not part of a larger world, if everything around us was in a vacuum, I don’t know if I would be writing this article. But Bungie has been very clear about wanting to make a world where our actions do materially affect our surroundings. As such, we are essentially a walking propaganda tool for the Consensus, a pseudo-democratic government over the Last City, consisting of faction leaders, the Vanguard and the (now-presumed-dead, hasn’t been replaced) Speaker.

The Consensus wants badly to declare the advent of the New Golden Age, a time in which Humanity can finally emerge from under the shadow of the Traveler to pick up where it left off prior to the Collapse. The problem we supposedly face is the never-ending onslaught of Enemies. Four alien species showed up on our doorstep after the Collapse, all seeking to finish us off (according to the Speaker): the Fallen, the Cabal, the Hive/Taken, and the Vex.

Of the four-ish races of enemy, only one can said to be truly, deeply “evil” in the sense the Speaker intends: the Hive and Taken, led by Taken King Oryx and his sisters Sivu Arath and Savathun, the only force in the galaxy more fascist than the Guardians. The Vex are a race of machines whose only focus is on making more of themselves, a threat similar to SIVA. The other two alien forces, the Fallen and the Cabal, are certainly antagonistic toward Guardians but our initial reasons for fighting them are, frankly, butt-ass stupid. Basically, we fight them because they’re there. They have the audacity to land on planets that “belong to us” and scavenge resources from them. Until the Red Legion showed up on Earth, we basically only ever fought Cabal on Mars, and there’s really no reason as to why.

The Fallen, or Eliksni, on the other hand, end up coming off more as the tragic victims of our flippantly rampant genocidaire practices than actual “enemies.” They’re probably the weakest alien species we come up against. Their backstory involves them living in peace under the Traveler before their entire society was caught up in a Collapse-like “Whirlwind” and destroyed. Rather than give them Guardians, like it did with us, the Traveler instead just up and peaced out, leaving the Eliksni for dead against the maelstrom of the Darkness. The surviving “Fallen” got in their skiffs and desperately chased the Traveler across the heavens, stratifying the remnants of their society into “houses” and developing religious devotion to machines like Servitors in the process.

They tried to take the Traveler back at the Battle of the Five Fronts and Twilight Gap, and lost. Their armies were shattered, and we’ve been nonchalantly killing them en masse ever since. They are the “parasites” our Guardian must exterminate, along with the Hive, Cabal, and Vex. When we make friends with, or even simply allies with, a Fallen (like Variks the Loyal, Mithrax the Forsaken, or the Spider), it is made clear almost immediately that this 100 percent doesn’t change the relationship we have with the Fallen as a group. Variks is absolutely subservient to Mara Sov and the Awoken. Mithrax wants to create an Eliksni House that bows down to Guardians and Humanity for being “better stewards” of the Traveler than the Eliksni was. The Spider makes it clear that he only wants to grow his crime syndicate, but that we can help him out if we want. Never once does the Vanguard or the Consensus reach out to these allies and try to broker peace. And in-game, we simply don’t have an option but to fire on and kill Eliksni in droves. Kill or be “killed,” right?

When it comes to Humanity itself, while we never get a chance to actually leave the Tower and walk through the streets of the Last City, there are at least hints as to the deep class stratification at work here. You can’t get much more on-the-nose than an ivory tower of immortal beings overlooking an enclosed human race. Guardians atop humanity, the Speaker above the Vanguard over the Consensus over the people, and you, the very fulcrum on which history pivots, functionally over everything else. But in the mythical reality of this game, it’s really the Traveler über Alles, and humanity underneath the Traveler has become a wonderful, diverse melting pot without class, without fear. An ideal state where the walls keep Darkness at bay and humanity can discover the joys of tonkotsu ramen yet again.

A Light Story Vs. Lore Steeped in Darkness

Destiny has a reputation, unfairly earned, for being an okay game with a bad story, or at best a nonexistent one. The story isn’t really all that bad, it’s just poorly implemented up front, and I think my willingness to engage with the game’s world to the extent that I have is a testament to how powerful and evocative some of the beats in Destiny’s writing truly are. If we dissect the game we can separate the writing of the “story” from the writing of the “lore,” and in watching the plot develop over the past few years, we can see a gradual unification of these two areas start to occur.

This is helped greatly by third-party resources like Ishtar Collective, and by mechanical decisions Bungie made in D2Y2. Adding the lore back into the game with Forsaken was a good idea; choosing to fully integrate the lore into the world starting with Season of the Forge was a great one.

A side-effect of this lore-plot unification is a dismantling-in-real-time of some of the game’s most beloved and widely-spread legends, like the legend of Shin Malphur and Dredgen Yor. Even our personal legend is challenged in this way, and it’s a really neat way that Bungie writers new and old are critically engaging with their work. But it also really throws into stark relief some of the issues I’ve laid out in this article so far.

Take, for example, the lore book “Stolen Intelligence.”

Presented to us as intercepted secret Vanguard transmissions, “Stolen Intelligence” shows us exactly what the Vanguard really thinks of our actions, and what their goals really are. It was part of Season of the Drifter, which overall had a “trust no one” vibe to it, but some of the entries here are BLEAK, y’all.

Here’s an excerpt from the first entry, titled “Outliers.”

“Fallen armed forces continue to fall back from active fronts across Terra. Factions of House Dusk remain active in the European Dead Zone. Throughout the rest of the globe, refugee attack incidents have dropped by more than 70 percent since the conclusion of the Red War – largely attributable to depressed Fallen and human populations rather than any significant change in interspecies relations.

[…]

“The recent trending emergence of so-called “crime syndicates” (cf. report #004-FALLEN-SIV) is emblematic of the continuing destructuralization of Fallen society. Likely an artifact of multi-generational colonization of human strongholds, this agent believes that because these syndicates have no relation to indigenous Fallen culture, young Fallen are appropriating and imitating human mythology in absence of a strong cultural heritage of their own.

[…]

“VIP #3987, another former confederate of the Awoken, is a lesser-known personality known as Mithrax. Scattered field reports suggest that like #1121, #3987 styles himself a Kell of the so-called “House Light,” an otherwise unknown House apparently founded by #3987 himself. We have secondhand accounts that Mithrax has engaged in allied operations with Guardians in the field, though we have not as yet been able to corroborate these accounts with any degree of veracity. This agent is inclined to treat these reports with a healthy degree of skepticism until otherwise confirmed, as they may be propaganda from Fallen sympathizers in the Old Russian and Red War Guardian cohorts. We have requested intelligence records from the Awoken which may further clarify the matter.

“In addition, whatever the findings of said intelligence records may be, it should be stressed that one or two sympathetic outliers cannot be relied upon to erase the wrongs of past centuries, nor should their good-faith efforts to correct the sins of their forbears be taken as sufficient symbolic reparation.

[…]

“We have come too far to pull our punches now.”

Bungie. Destiny 2: Forsaken – Season of the Drifter. Lore Book: Stolen Intelligence. Outliers. Activision Entertainment, 2019.

Here’s another piece of “Stolen Intelligence,” about our relationship with Cabal Emperor Calus:

“Related to the above, #3801’s aggressive propaganda campaign appears to have been successful. Despite #3801’s recent inactivity, sentiment polls captured in the Tower at regular intervals over the last several months indicate that he has successfully swayed a significant percentage of the Red War cohort to believe that he may be a potential ally. Given our history with the Cabal as well as the events of the Red War itself, this is shocking and perhaps attributable to a case of mass traumatic bonding.

“It is my strong recommendation that the Vanguard pursue a reeducation curriculum before #3801 invites any Guardians of the City to defect to his service, a possibility which we have documented in multiple previous reports.”

Bungie. Destiny 2: Forsaken – Season of the Drifter. Lore Book: Stolen Intelligence. Passivity. Activision Entertainment, 2019.

Other entries detail the efforts of the Vanguard from keeping ostensible “conspiracy theories” from being published in the Cryptarchy’s journals; show the apparent oddity of mortal-Guardian “integrated neighborhoods;” and discuss the ongoing surveillance of the Drifter, a rogue Lightbearer who has survived since the early Dark Ages and who uses Darkness-aligned technology to run a PVEVP game called “Gambit”.

There are many other stories like these, scattered throughout the lore. Stories of Cryptarchy students being banished for making fun of New Monarchy’s leaders, of Guardians messing with Hive technology being burned alive and killed fully by the Praxic Order for their crimes of experimentation. Stories like these wouldn’t happen – couldn’t happen! – to our Guardian, because they’re too important, but are seemingly everyday occurrences to less consequential members of this society. In the real world, we’d call that an increasingly oppressive police state. In Destiny 2, it’s just flavor text.

There was a degree of narrative complexity added to Season of the Drifter that hadn’t been in the game prior. The entire season was essentially boiled down to “which side are you on, the Drifter’s or the Vanguard’s,” and in our path to make a choice, we heard from various bit players in our world. The Drifter told us his story in greater detail than perhaps we needed (and how much of it is true is debatable), but his story is also the story of a less morally-pure Guardian class. Everyone from the warlords to the Iron Lords did heinous shit to humanity while the Drifter watched, and it hardened him. The Praxic Warlock Aunor goes all in on her adherence to the City’s propaganda and ideology, trying to show us how untrustworthy the Drifter is. She ends up revealing more of her order’s goals than perhaps was wise.

This narrative complexity is nice, but it still betrays the game in a fundamental way. We now have the documents. We know what Guardians are actually about, and how they’re not exactly shining beacons of unwavering good like the Speaker would have had us believe. Regardless of declining Fallen activity, of a shift in Fallen culture, of actual living Fallen who want to ally with Guardians, the Vanguard is still adamantly pursuing “extirpation,” which is a fancy way of saying genocide (I’m not kidding, it literally means “root out and destroy completely”). We know the Vanguard and the Praxic Order have a hard-on for exile, reeducation and information suppression.

On top of everything, the narrative complexity was not met with any kind of mechanical complexity. Even with proof that the Vanguard wants to kill every Eliksni in the system, conscientious objectors don’t get to opt out. The narrative path that forks between the Drifter and Aunor converges again by the end of the quest. The “conspiracy theorist” that has been trying to publish paper after paper detailing exactly how the Nine worked with Dominus Ghaul to sneak his fleet into City airspace undetected was proven right by lore WE FIND IN THE GAME, but that doesn’t change our combat relationship with the Cabal remnants anywhere in the system, and homeboy still gets his papers rejected.

Ikora and Zavala, our remaining Vanguard members, insist repeatedly that Guardians are not a warfighting force, that the Vanguard and the Consensus is not an authoritarian organization. But everything we do says otherwise.

“A peace born from violence is no peace at all.”

Guardians do not get to choose their paths in the world of Destiny 2. The paths laid out before them lead to a life of warfare, of pain, of endless murder. Ostensibly, they are agents of good, trying to beat back the forces of evil, but if you look too close you see that really they’re just a bunch of indiscriminate killers with a mandate from the Orb God. Desperate to get out from under the heels of warlords, the Guardians created a fascist society, and adding insult to injury they pretend it’s a democratic, free one. Killing the Fallen is genocide, but you can literally never stop killing them because the game won’t let you. The only right way to play at that point is to turn off your console and go outside.

Destiny 2 isn’t the only video game to fall into this trap. As Nic Reuben said in the follow-up piece to his first story on how Destiny 2 is fascist, “I’m not saying Destiny is propaganda, just reliant on some of the same narrative tricks that make propaganda so powerful. At the same time, I don’t think that it’s too much of a stretch to say that games like Call of Duty make certain assumptions about what is justifiable, righteous slaughter and what is terrorism. Replace modern military hardware with future tech, replace terrorists with alien races that have traits synonymous with cartoon portrayals of traditionally marginalized social groups, and you’re effectively playing through the worst aspects of Call of Duty with a new coat of a paint.”

There is one glimmer of hope in the game. One sliver of lore that gives us pause and helps make the game bearable in its current state. It comes in the form of Lady Efrideet, former Iron Banner handler, youngest member of the Iron Lords, and a Guardian in self-exile from the City, the Vanguard, and its fascist dogma.

Lady Efrideet is one of the most fearsome Hunters in the Destiny universe. She is known as one of the best marksmen, if not the best one. She is impossibly strong, having once thrown Lord Saladin bodily off a mountain into a Fallen Spider Walker, destroying it. And she is also one of the only named pacifist Guardians who isn’t a member of the Cryptarchy. Her story is the story of the fall of the Iron Lords, as well as the beginning of the SIVA crisis, many years before our Guardian’s rise is documented.

But it isn’t SIVA or the Iron Lords that we’re interested in. Instead, we know that after SIVA was sealed away, Efrideet snuck away from Earth. She saw the deaths of everyone she knew and her will to fight was shattered. If this was the result of fighting for the Traveler, she didn’t want any part in it. So she took to the stars. In doing so, she ended up in the far reaches of the solar system, beyond even where we currently roam. It turns out, a small enclave of other Lightbearers, hesitant or unwilling to use their powers to kill, had also fled to this part of the system and had established a colony. It’s there that Efrideet resides, and it’s there I’d like to go.

Unfortunately, our Guardian is too “important” to the vast tidal forces at work in the Destiny universe for us to be able to leave for the outer reaches whenever we want. Because we are the hub on which the wheel of history turns, and there is no escaping that now, if ever we could. We are death, the flattening of a complex and intricate universe into one of simple shapes, the sword logic in a human/Awoken/Exo body. We are needed for the plans of the Nine/Mara Sov/Hive Queen Savathun to come to fruition. When or if the Darkness ever does come back, we will be the force that faces it and, win or lose, shape our future afterward.

Sometimes it’s nice having a video game place your character on a linear track. Games like Half-Life or Titanfall present to us simple choices in otherwise-complex story environments: progress, or die. Our characters are not immortal, but they have help from the technologies around us, are tenacious, are resourceful, are quick to adapt to changing situations. In Destiny, we simply exist. We can’t truly die. Even when it comes to the rules of the game, our immense “paracausality” causes us to shrug Darkness Zones off as mere inconveniences where other Guardians have died their final deaths. Because we are necessary. The Vanguard and Consensus need us to justify their horrific fascist policies. The great forces at work in the background need us to work as a pawn. Even Bungie itself needs us, powerful, trapped beings with a sense of right and wrong but no agency to actually act on those ethics, to continue its game.

I haven’t preordered Shadowkeep yet. For once I’m glad we’re not focusing on the Fallen or the Cabal. Going to the Moon means we’ll pretty much just be dealing with Hive, to say nothing of the unreal Nightmares we’re supposed to face. But I’m still undecided as to whether I even want to order Shadowkeep in the first place. If Lady Efrideet can go to the edge of known space and live peacefully with other pacifist Guardians, maybe I can put my controller down and step away, once and for all. It would be nice to have the extra space on my Xbox One’s hard drive. Other games exist to be played, and having the time and energy to do so would help me here, with No Escape.

But even then. I’m not expressing agency as a Guardian, but rather as the person who controls you, Guardian. While I go off to play other games, you sit and wait in stasis. Even if I don’t play, there are a million iterations of you willing to commit genocide daily for cheap rewards (shoutouts to the sixtieth Edge Transit drop in my inventory this month alone). Sure, it’s just a game. But this is what having a dynamic world means in practice. There are consequences to your actions. There always have been.

There is no reason why Humanity couldn’t share the Traveler’s gifts with, at the very least, the Eliksni. There is no reason why we couldn’t just ignore the Cabal in a state of mutually assured destruction, given how small a faction the Red Legion was relative to the Cabal army’s full size. Of the two remaining enemies, the Vex are less evil than they are simply a thing that wants the universe to be like it, and that’s threatening to diverse life throughout the universe, not just Humanity. The Hive/Taken are the true enemies in the game, but even they are directed, pawn-like, by their Worm Gods.

There is, likewise, no reason why the Risen had to organize in the fascist context they did. They could have created a society in which everyone could come and go freely, where ideas and actions could be given and received absent interference, where a true “golden age” could have sprung up naturally simply by living together harmoniously and using the Light the Traveler gave them to create, rather than destroy.

But that’s not how this story shakes out.

[cupcakezys]

Prompt Ten

I live! Sorry for disappearing, real life kicked my ass for a little while there. To make up for it, I present you a super long, two-part prompt! Hope you enjoy. Next chapter should be out soon - most of it is already typed up.

Prompt: "Ah. There seems to only be one bed."

Pairing: US Sans x SF Papyrus (Spicyberry/BBQTacos)

Word Count: 3598.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Mentioned Character Death, Mild Panic Attack.

Read on AO3: here.

First: here.

Previous: here.

Next: Let's aim for the 16th.

Blue had thought traveling to the neighboring kingdom would be a boring task, even with the strange new monsters King Asgore had sent to accompany him providing some violent conversation along the way.

Blue was wrong.

Shouting filled the air outside of Blue’s carriage, followed closely by the clang of steel on steel. Blue pulled himself up from where he had fallen, helping his dazed handmaid to sit. They had both gone flying at the sudden lurch of the carriage. Blue had crashed into the soft cushions of the other seat, though his ribs ached from the wooden edges. His handmaid seemed to have crashed into the wall, his height causing him to miss the cushions entirely.

“Pirates! Protect the King!”

Blue flinched at the loud cry right outside his door. Pirates. Of course this kingdom had pirates. Blue knew his own kingdom differed greatly from the ones surrounding it, but he hadn’t realized there were still pirates lurking around. Especially not this far inland!

He glared slightly at the door to his carriage. The quiet pleading of his handmaid to stay put went ignored as he summoned a small bone in one hand and opened the door with his other.

Utter chaos greeted him. The majority of his guard – six skilled fighters, all handpicked by King Asgore himself to bring him safely to the other’s castle – lay still on the ground. Only two remained fighting, a small skeleton like himself and a tall dog monster. As he watched, a human, so small they had to be a child, snuck up behind the fighting skeleton. Before he could do more than open his mouth the other was knocked down, the dog monster falling a second later. Both lay still.

A flash of red was all the warning he got before he was dragged from the carriage. He swung his bone attack upwards, slicing blue scales before it was wrenched out of his grasp. He gasped as his hands were forced behind his back by an iron grasp.

A strangled yell came from the other side of the carriage, and Blue watched in horror as his handmaid was dragged into the open by a tall human. The tall skeleton wasn’t even struggling, his gaze focused on the guards littered on the ground. Blue shook, refusing to look for fear of seeing dust and shattered souls in place of his guards.

His sockets widened when the human pulled out a sharp knife and rose it to the back of the tall skeleton’s skull. He shoved against his capture, managing to slip free of the hold.

“Stop!” He commanded.

He raised one hand as he ran forward, engulfing the knife in blue and wrenching it away from his handmaid’s skull. The human grunted as their hand was forced back, and he could hear the monster behind him cursing. The other skeleton finally turned to him, the smallest hint of tears in his sockets.

Blue stood as tall as he could between the pirates and the other skeleton. He could barely think straight, the only thoughts circling in his mind seemed to be an endless pleading of no, not another one, please let no one else die here, please-

The monster that grabbed him gave him a calculated look. He did his best to keep his face free of any expression, but it was hard with his soul churning in his ribcage. The human glared at him, rubbing their wrist where his magic still fizzed slightly. He refused to feel guilty, the knife still clutched in their hand a stark reminder of what would have happened had he not intervened.

“Leave him be. He’s no threat to you.” He stated, shifting slightly as more pirates gathered around them.

A shark monster, very closely resembling the monster that had grabbed him, laughed slightly under her breath. The human from before chuckled and shook their head, knife held firmly in their hand. Blue glared, and prepared to fight the pirates himself, despite knowing there was no way even he could take on this many alone.

The fish monster that had grabbed him snorted and gestured to the other pirates. “Enough. Take them both.”

Several of them looked shocked, but nodded easily at the orders. Blue glared as several pirates moved forward, all armed with rope. He sighed and relaxed from his battle stance, letting them roughly tie his hands behind his back. They did the same to his handmaid, and soon enough both skeletons found themselves with bags over their heads as they were forced into the back of a wagon.

*****

"I-I-I hope- I hope you don't mi-mind stay-staying with us u-u-until the guard arrives, your ma-majesty." The little yellow monster stuttered.

Blue smiled politely at the young couple in front of him. The smaller of the two was stuttering horribly, and he couldn't tell if it was because she was addressing royalty or if she was just always this nervous.

Either way, Blue smiled and nodded along, doing his best to follow her words. "It is perfectly fine Lady Alphys. I only hope I am not a terrible inconvenience to you. I know you and Commander Undyne were celebrating your recent engagement."

"It is an honour to have the neighboring King stay with us, your majesty." Undyne cut in, her hand gripping tight to the sword on her belt. "Especially after your ordeal."

Blue sighed, but nodded his agreement. "It will be nice to sleep in an actual bed again."

The woman both nodded, then Undyne pointed ahead of them. "There it is, your majesty. I know it is nothing compared to the castles you are used to, but it is the best house in the town."

The house was small for what was normally called 'the best', but then from what little Blue had seen of the small port town there wasn't much money to make anything better. The fact that the house was two stories and more than three rooms already made it better than two thirds of the rest of the town, but the sprawling garden was what really set it apart. Blue hadn't seen anything like it, not even in his castle back home.

"You own this house Lady Alphys?" He asked.

"Ye-yes, your majesty." She confirmed. "M-my father bought it wh-when I was a child."

"It's lovely." He murmured.

Alphys blushed bright red. "Th-thank you, your majesty."

The sound of footsteps echoed behind them. Blue tensed for the briefest of moments before relaxing as his handmaid rounded the corner with his chest of salvaged things. There hadn't been much left after the pirates were finished with it, but there were still a few of his things, plus whatever the knights had been able to return to him upon his rescue.

The tall skeleton stopped a few paces away, bowing slightly and staring at the ground. "my ladies. your majesty. i have gathered everything you asked of me. the knights will look after the rest until king asgore's elite get here."

Blue smiled happily, itching to open the chest and see what had been recovered, but managed to hold himself back. "Thank you Slim."

"Shall we go inside, your majesty?" Undyne asked, gesturing to the house.

Blue nodded and together they made their way into the pretty little house.

*****

"Th-th-there's not a l-lot of room I'm a-afraid, your majesty." Alphys stuttered as she led them around the house. "I-it was only meant as a h-holiday house f-for our family."

Blue smiled, admiring the little kitchen. "It's really alright Lady Alphys. Anything is better than sleeping on a bunch of straw on a pirate ship."

The young monster didn't seem to know what to say to that, so Blue waved his hand and pointed upstairs.

"Would you be so kind as to show me upstairs Lady Alphys? I assume that's where the bedrooms are." It had to be - he had already seen the rest of the house.

"Yes-yes, your majesty." Alphys gestured for him to follow.

Blue turned to Slim and waved him over. He'd lost track of Undyne, but he suspected she had gone back to the Knight's Corner, the little barracks of this town. She was a dedicated Commander, he wouldn't put it past her to make sure the knights were handling everything correctly.

Alphys lead him past a closed door to the end of a small hall. "This is th-the master bedroom, your majesty. I h-h-hope it's to y-your liking."

The room was plain, the walls a deep red and soft floor a dark brown. Blue’s attention was immediately drawn to the large bed in the centre of the room. He could feel his eye lights forming little stars at the sight of the soft bed, which was easily large enough for him to spread out on completely. It had been weeks since he had so much as sat on something so soft, and he couldn’t wait for night to fall so he could wrap himself up in those fluffy blankets.

“Ah.” Blue surveyed the room again, noticing something important. “There seems to be only one bed…”

He glanced from Slim to Alphys. The taller skeleton shifted uncomfortably, his gaze focused on the floor. Alphys was staring at him in surprise, and Blue had to fight the sad smile that wanted to pull at his teeth. He knew things were very different in King Asgore’s kingdom, one of the reasons he had been invited to visit his neighbours was so they could resolve multiple issues that had stemmed from those differences, but to actually see it was having a rather strong impact on the skeleton king.

The people here were harsh and cruel, a stark contrast to his own kingdom, where kindness was like second nature to everyone. To see people so desperate they resorted to kidnapping, to find workers being paid next to nothing and for it to be normal to treat the common folk as less than dirt- it was… distressing, to say the least.

“We-we, um, we weren’t expecting a-anyone else to be…” alive “with you, your majesty.”

Blue couldn’t keep the memories of scattered bodies surrounding him from bubbling to the surface. He grit his teeth together, fighting the nausea that boiled in his soul. He opened his teeth, wanting to say something, anything, to distract himself. His handmaid beat him to it.

“i’ll be fine, your majesty.” Slim murmured.

Blue studied the other, finally sighing with a nod. “Alright.”

It wasn’t alright, but Blue wasn’t about to argue with the other. At least, not now, in front of the nervous little monster. Later, when they were alone, he would be sure to bring it up again.

For now, he simply smiled and lead the other two downstairs for lunch.

*****

Lunch was quiet.

Undyne had reappeared at some point, and Slim had quickly retreated to the kitchen to make them all some sandwiches. The two noblewoman had seemed surprised when he insisted Slim sit and eat with them, but neither dared question the king. His handmaid settled next to him on the long bench, a small sandwich clutched in his hands. Blue saw Undyne raise an eyebrow, but still she said nothing.

Blue ate slowly, his mind going back to his time on the pirate’s boat. His side itched, as if he were still lying in a bed of straw. He shifted, trying to subtly scratch his arm. He could see Slim staring at him out of the corner of his eye, so he forced himself to stop and focus on his food.

Undyne finished first, and it quickly became apparent she couldn’t stand the silence. “Your majesty, forgive me, but is it true you don’t want the pirates killed? Or even harmed unnecessarily?”

Blue took a deep breath and placed the rest of his sandwich down. “Yes.”

Undyne’s face contorted into a frown. “Why?”

Alphys flinched at her fiancée’s blunt question. Slim stiffened at the mere mention of their kidnappers, his head down and sockets dark. The silence stretched for a moment too long, and Undyne had lost her frown for a more uncomfortable look, before Blue finally spoke.

“I wish to know why they kidnapped me. Only then will I decide what happens to them.” He said with an air of finality.

Undyne’s frown was back, and she opened her mouth to ask yet another question, but Alphys cut her off with a jab to the side. “O-of course, y-your majesty.”

Blue studied the two for a moment, before smiling and gesturing to Undyne. “You want to ask me something.”

The fish woman shuffled, not meeting his eyes as she mumbled. “It’s nothing, your majesty.”

Blue resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You don’t approve, Commander?”

“It’s not that.” She said fiercely. “Those pirates kidnapped you! They should be hanged for that alone, never mind what they did do your belongings, your guards-”

“I’m well aware of what they did, Commander.” Blue interrupted, voice tight. “However, it is in my experience that people have reasons for taking such drastic measures as to kidnap a king. And if I find out those reasons, I can remove them and make sure this doesn’t happen again.” He took a breath, and sent a grin to Undyne. “I find it is much more effective than just killing everyone.”

Undyne considered him for a moment, before nodding tightly. “Yes, your majesty.”

Blue sighed, feeling the weight of darkened sockets on him, and picked up his sandwich.

*****

“you know, the commander had a point.” Slim murmured next to him, tired gaze on the ceiling. “those pirates should be hung.”

Blue sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. “It’s not how my kingdom does things.”

“but it’s how this kingdom does things!” Slim growled. “they’re traitors, thieves and murderers. they don’t deserve to live!”

“Not even the children? Or the pirates that had nothing to do with our kidnapping? Should they be killed too?”

Slim grimaced at his question. “i- well...”

“See? Things aren’t always so black and white.” Blue shifted onto his side, sinking into the soft mattress as he faced the other skeleton. “As a ruler you have to remain open minded to all possibilities. It’s important to try and get to the root of the problem, rather than just kill everyone and hope for the best.”

Slim chuckled as his voice dropped to a whisper. “tell that to king asgore.”

Blue huffed and glared at the ceiling. “I intend to.”

That startled a laugh out of the other, and Blue silently celebrated in victory at the sound. Despite spending several months together, it was a sound Blue had only heard a handful of times. He relaxed into his pillows. The soft fabric cushioned his skull, and even though he knew he had slept in much grander bedding, right now it felt like the best thing in the world. His mind drifted, content.

Slim startled him out of his daze. “you were scratching at your arm earlier.”

Blue flinched, hand automatically reaching for his arm. “It was nothing.”

An unamused snort. “yeah, right. what was it really?”

He cracked one socket open, only to flush under the look the other was giving him. Rarely seen red eyelights were glowing in Slim’s sockets, bright and fuzzy with concern. His teeth were turned down into a small frown, and Blue immediately wanted to wipe it away. It wasn’t a look that suited the other, not at all.

He leaned forward, letting their teeth touch in a brief kiss. “I promise I’m fine Slim. It was just an unpleasant memory.”

“unpleasant memories can hurt more than the real thing.” Slim murmured, pulling him close and wrapping his arms around him. “are you sure you’re okay?”

Blue nodded, snuggling closer to his lover. “Just… please, can we stay like this?”

Slim’s sockets flashed to the door. “…okay.”

“It’s fine.” Blue reassured him with a yawn. “I told them they weren’t to come in here without permission. You can say you slept on the floor if they ask any questions.”

Slim smiled and pulled Blue as close as he could, his long body curling around the other. “okay.”

*****

“Finally.” Blue muttered, peeking out the carriage window at the castle entrance. “If I had to spend another minute in this carriage I would have gone insane!”

Slim hummed next to him, gaze unfocused. He had been strangely subdued the entire trip. Blue had tried what he could, but his lover seemed to barely be able to muster up a smile. It was troubling, but as worried as he was about the other skeleton there was a much more pressing issue that had to be dealt with first.

Guards filed out of the castle as they approached, forming a line to the giant open doors. Blue stepped out into the sunshine as his carriage door was opened. He straightened his dress, waited for Slim to step out behind him, and walked forward. The guards saluted him as he walked, arms crossed against their chests. Blue barely saw them, his gaze focused straight ahead.

King Asgore Dreemurr glared down at him from his raised throne. Blue kept his face neutral as he walked, his eye lights focused on the giant monster before him. He could hear faint rattling behind him, and without looking he knew Slim was trembling beneath the other’s ruby red gaze. He stopped at the base of the throne, Slim two steps behind him.

“King Asgore.” He greeted, inclining his head.

“King Blue.” Asgore rumbled, his voice like thunder. “I am relieved to see you well, despite recent unfortunate events.”

His mind flashed to his guards, dead on the ground while he was alive and well. His soul skipped a beat and there was a sharp burning in his chest.

“It is most fortunate.” His mouth was dry, throat horse.

“I heard you ordered the pirates to be captured and not killed.” Asgore leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “I find it a most curious decision.”

Red tingled his vision like a veil, but Blue forced his mouth to answer. “It is our way, King Asgore. Their punishment will be decided by our Judge.”

Something shifted in the other king’s eyes. Blue thought it was something like scorn, but it was quickly covered by a mocking type of glee.

“Ah yes, and how are your fathers bastards? I will admit I was quite shocked to learn you had given them such high ranking positions within your own castle.” A wicked grin revealed sharp teeth.

Blue could hear the mocking in the others tone, and it made his voice sharp. “Sans and Papyrus are doing just fine. Now, if you will excuse me, it has been a long journey. I will retire to my quarters for the night.”

“Very well.” He waved a servant over and gestured to the skeletons. “Take King Blue to his quarters, and make sure he is well taken care of.”

The servant bowed to their King, then turned and bowed to Blue. They led the way out of the room, head down and meek. Blue gave one last glance at the other King, and caught the glare he was being given before it dissolved. His heart hardened, and he knew instantly why his parents had always refused to make a pact with this certain kingdom. There was no compromising with a monster like that.

Slim followed behind him as they were lead through countless corridors, all seemingly the exact same as the last. How they knew where they were going was a mystery. The dreary grey walls seemed to stretch on forever. Blue knew he’d get lost in an instant, and was suddenly extremely grateful for their guide.

They came to a halt in front of a grand door, bigger than even Asgore himself. Flowers and vines were carved into the wood, dancing in an intricate pattern. It was one of the most beautiful things Blue had seen in this kingdom, and reminded him so much of home it nearly hurt.

“This is your room, your majesty.” The servant mumbled, head still bowed. “I hope it is to your liking.”

“Thank you.” Blue smiled, and watched as Slim stepped forward to open the door. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name earlier. I apologize, that was very rude of me.”

The servant squeaked, their head whipping up at his comment. Their face was flushed red in embarrassment, and it was only then Blue realized he was staring at a ghost monster. They were so rare he had to look twice. The cloak around them made it hard to see, but their body was indeed a pale white, almost translucent.

“My name is Nastablook, your majesty.” They mumbled, eyes once again downcast.

Blue nodded, smiling as he stepped a little closer. “Thank you Nastablook.”

The ghost blushed again, but Blue could see the small smile on their face. “I- if you need anything please just call, your majesty. There has been a hot bath drawn for you already .”

Blue nodded, turning to Slim as he reappeared from investigating the room. “Thank you. I will take my leave for the night Nastablook, so feel free to take the evening for yourself.”

Nastablook gaped at him, then they bowed deeply. “Thank you, your majesty.”

Blue nodded one last time, smiling as he watched the other float down the hallway. Slim huffed beside him, a small smile on his own face. Blue grinned at him, pulling him inside the room and closing the door behind them. Slim laughed, his wheezing chuckle quickly becoming one of Blue’s favorite sounds. He tugged on Slim’s sleeve, a mischievous smile pulling at his teeth as he lead his lover to the bath.

[artdjgblog]

​Innerview: Pete Dulin / Present Magazine​

January 2007

Art & Photo: DJG

Note: Interview for a Kansas City, MO art and culture blog.​

0​1) How long have you been designing posters and CD packaging/artwork?

If I were to say I’ve been designing this stuff since Mom gave birth, well you might think me to be pompus, new agey and bit queer. However, in the past few years I’ve come to the conclusion that everything I’ve experienced has brought me to this point. Information has been at a constant and consistently carried in the backpack(s). Though, it’s more the matter of channeling that. I’ve always been making things. To put things into a more professional, or “text book” answer, I’m in the sixth year developing a bad back of my own accord. And tack on another four and a half of formal training before that. In which two of those I was making things for people on the side. So, really about 7 or 8 years in a design sense, but only offically five under my DJG belt. So, I’m still a youngster. But, I feel design years add up like dog years. ​0​2) How would you describe your approach or design aesthetic? With certain I have my influences and I’ve had formal training. However, the majority of the time is spent not thinking, rather just doing. And I’m not trying to push athletic shoes. Each day my head gets up different. I am always hungry and eat food the same way. I always put my pants on the same way. I lock the door the same way. I walk the same way. That stuff is all automatic. It’s my head that differs. As the mush upstairs is assembling for the day, my thinking and process(es) tends to come different, though it can all be intuitive to me at the same time. True, somedays I’m not in any shape to win the pennant, nor even give a care about art or design. Yes, I do crank out the work by just doing…and my portfolio is always eating. But, I still feel I’m the laziest guy in my woom, even on a good day. I don’t really consider myself an artist or a designer. I just enjoy the act of making those things but there are moments I just don’t feel like it. When design isn’t doing “it” for me, I read or write or watch things. If I’m not doing anything, I have to be doing something. And I’ve quit the whole notion of actually being something other than just myself. And my self is not always in the mood for me. And I don’t think about a design being good enough to measure-up or anything silly like that. It just has to feel right and true within me. I can tell when something feels forced and without life. For me, the work has to be breathing and has to say something. Now, whatever it conversates to the viewer/audience is all up in the air. It’s always a hoot to hear what others think. Back on the subject of others’ talk of an aesthetic. This is one of the few times I truely think about how I’m doing things. I then start overthinking and that can be a dangerous place. People come to me all the time and say things like, “Oh, you are really great at this and are such a skillfull artisan of the such ‘n’ such…(more nonsense fluff ensues).” This is a complement I suppose, but I tend to take it as a way of them saying that it’s all coming to easy for me. I am my only competition so this is when I start to push myself a bit harder. I’ve got to stay ahead of myself. I like the silly idea of someone doing their best work every day. I don’t know how long I’ll be around, but I hope I’m always doing my best work from my perspective. ​0​3) Historically, society has shifted from the Age of Mechanical Reproduction since the advent of the printing press to the Age of Digital Reproduction. Why is it still important to make a man-made mark on something seemingly short-lived as a band flyer or poster? In taking foundation courses during my first year of formal education we did not use computers. Everything was very basic, hands-on cutting and pasting and drawing fundamentals of design. My friends were complaining about how they couldn’t wait to get on the computer. Personally, I was so naive and so in love with making things by hand (ever since I could remember working my fingertips as a child) that the idea of designing with a computer was not in my vocabulary. I stated to my friends how I was going to take the route of design that didn’t include the aid of computers. They simply laughed at my lunacy. Being that it was the late ‘90s, it was inevitable that we’d be using computers. What’s funny now is that for some odd reason I’ve been able to succeed a bit working with my hands and most of the people I went to school with tire of staring at their computer screen day jobs. I definately appreciate a computer and I use one. But, I think of it only as a tool. I use it as a way to ease production a bit and of course it can be a time saver for layout and print. The problem with computers, the internet and desktop publishing gear is that anybody can be a designer. It’s definately eased things I suppose, but we’ve got people cranking out the most obtrusive visual clutter. I don’t aim to sound arrogant. It’s just that everybody thinks they know what they are doing. Everybody wants the cliche in high-gloss makeup, filled to the brim and in suffocation galore. Why not? We over-consume everything else. It’s just sad to me. I even see trained designers doing it. And most everything just feels so fake and soulless. When I first saw those early cave paintings in grade school text books, something about those expressions just delighted me and it felt right and true. And now when I see graffiti on the wall or a shopping list or letter I just think about the heart and energy behind it all. One of the best things that ever happened to me (with design) is when my computer crashed about five years back and I lost the ability to use 2,000 some fonts. When I had them, I tried to use them appropriately and sparingly. But, they were nothing but a crutch to me. Rarely do I use computer fonts now. If I do there better be a reason or a restraint in my time. I just found it important to really speak honestly with my work. Each day is different and so is my voice and thought. Hand scrawls, handmade type and thumbprints bring forth the idea of a human identity and feels like thought and life was put into the expression. True, if we had the ability to actually see people’s verbal speaking expression there are some voices that would be just plain dull and in the same ol’ font and face over and over. And I suppose at times that would be appropriate. But, just think about the endless images bouncing from each other if everybody’s words, language, expression, feelings and breath stuck around in a clear visual form and of their own signature. That would be incredible. But, I’m sure it would do more harm than good. But, it would definately be something else for people to complain about so then there would be even more imagery because of it! The great artist Saul Steinberg communicated language as marks of visual expression in this way in much of his work. A poster to me is exciting because of the fact that it is short-lived, yet it can be very in-your-face and of the moment. A good poster to me is like a big zit. And a good one will pop and speak all over…let you know that it’s there. It boggles me when people don’t take advantage of this idea. It just seems like people push a duplicator button and paint with boringness and fluorescents over and over. It’s very zombie. (though, zombies could probably make more creative things). In this digital age of people getting information via the web and myspace and cell phones and music players and all that garbage, it’s even more important to get them to focus at things again. I’m all for the internet, but I feel hardly anybody under the age of 35 truely looks at anything in actual form anymore for more than 2 seconds. I am guilty of this too. And this possibly stems from perception of wanting everything bigger, better, faster and right now. These things that are supposed to make our lives easier, yet fill life to the brim and we’re still wondering where our time went. So, it does mean a lot to me when people actually stop and look and think…maybe come back to it again. It’s warming to me when something measley like a concert poster can get somebody to stop their busy life and take notice in a notice. Maybe even get a tickle out of it and a smile in their heart to make their day…maybe even take it home for their own wall. That just means the world. ​0​4) Do you have particular influences in art/design? I used to think you had to have a little man with flash cards or answers written in undershorts for quick draws whenever approached with this question. Anymore I don’t care about impressing people. I touched before on my influence of just existing and growing. I don’t understand it when people find or ape a “style” and milk that into retirement (unless it’s a true and pure speciality like most folk artists, Edward Gorey or Jean-Michel Basquiat). Gosh, I would cut off my hands as opposed to making the same thing everyday until I die. But, I would also do the same to be able to draw or paint like some people. What it is that I do is not something I punch a time card for, nor pound a keyboard to compute my solutions. It is a way of life and life is always changing. Silly, but the only way to stop it from my body is to spill my skull. And then have the bums burn my thumb prints to keep warm at night. I’m blessed to have been raised in a rural environment with a bit of old-fashioned and hands-on approach to things. I wanted so badly to get out of that environment when I was coming of high school age. Now, I really appreciate this aspect of my life. Don’t begin to ask me how I reached into the design grab bag and pulled out this funny-lookin’ rabbit i’m wiggling on. It just kind of happened. Most of it belongs to my always active imagination and having many acres to romp. There wasn’t really a drain plug on what I could do or absorb. Every day my siblings and I were into something new and building our own altered universe from the inspiration of television, movies, tractor pulls, rodeos, demolition dirbies, state fairs…you name it. A great aspect of all of this is that I never really shed any of it. If you could devise a way for me to go back into my time as an eleven-year-old, you bet I would. I feel so many shear that skin as they reach puberty and young adulthood. Even in my late teens when everybody was out dating and all that nonsense, I made myself go to my room and draw and make things. Shoot, I was still building tree houses and playing war (I still do at times). I am constantly fumbling back for it all. I’ve still got most of my childhood things all around me here in my basement club house. I don’t throw anything away. Everytime I go home another bag or two is brought back. The older I get the more I believe my streak stems a lot from my Grandmother on my Dad’s side. I still have many of the things she’s made by hand: fridge magnets, cat head pillow, blankets, book bag. As well as carry the images of wearing bread bags on my feet to school, creating toys out of thread spools, baking and cooking all the time, building forts in the living room, making pretty ladies out of flowers and especially sporting my beloved dead animal backpack (denim with plastic lining for easy blood clean-up). These things sound strange to others, but my world is built from them. She was constantly making or doing (as most of her generation did). I’m a big fan. It’s sad to me as nobody really just makes things anymore for the heck of it. And it’s really sad as she sits and bides her time in the nursing home, limited in her making and doing. I hope my engine breaks from making and doing before I get put in that point. If not, take me to the back forty and shoot me rotten. If somebody were to ask me to place my work in some sort of design bracket…well, I suppose it lands somewhere in the land of Henryk Tomaszewski meets Saul Steinberg meets Lester Beall meets Saul Bass meets Push Pin meets Ray Johnson meets Art Chantry meets Jim Henson meets Folk Art meets garbage in the street…or something like that. It’s really hard to answer that question. Anyway, I get bored with the look of a lot of current design and fashions. Though, there are a few great designers my age coming out of the woods more and more…doing fresh things and in creative ways. I think it stems from growing up in a time of the media of television, film, video games, computers, animation, graphic novels and just the overall mass consumerism of culture and language. And all of these things shaking hands with the idea of pushing boudaries and smothered with a glaze of technology. But, then again every generation is a little bit more ahead of the last…I guess to some degree. I love and appreciate my upbringing and even my access to the culture now. Still, I do wish sometimes I could have lived and designed some fourty, fifty or sixty years back. Though, I’m sure I’d still be in some basement, garnering enjoyment making things the way I want to make them. ​0​5) Does your work relate to the subject matter? For example, do you consciously try to create artwork that suits a band’s music or image? I think some people in the music industry don’t know how to take my work. For one, I feel most of the so-called scene takes itself way too seriously. It’s funny to me, all this playing dress-up and rock star…and especially when it extends into the late twenties and thirties. But, I do suppose some people were just born to be stars. My work isn’t for every person. But, there are a few out there who for some odd reason “get” it and it’s all very flattering of their attraction. It’s even spreading across the country and into other parts of the world. I don’t aim for cool points. I take it serious only to the point of being non-serious. However, when designing it’s important to be held accountable with your client, city, audience, environment, venue, peers and yourself. And I have morals with the world design community, art and design history and with myself. When it comes to marrying my work to a certain band’s music or image…well, what do I have to base on for an image? I have nothing but other designer’s interpretations of where to categorize the idea of what/how a sound or scene should register as. I have an appreciation for the past and present, but I really find it odd when somebody comes to a designer and says they want to play look-alike-dress-up to something already in existence. True, nothing is original anymore and I’m not saying that I’m anything special. Rather, I feel personality helps white wash things a bit and a lot of design these days lacks it (especially in the music industry). These days you can throw a rock and hit many kids making things (music and art). But a large chunk of it seems to be lacking proper development and form…and life. You can’t pick somebody else’s nose and expect to smear those boogers for yourself. You’ve got to earn them. You’ve got to get dirty along the way and find a way to bark, have fun, be yourself and just do things to do them…and then have Mom hose you off at the back door. ​0​6) Pick one of your favorite creations. What do you like best about its elements? First of all, my designs to me are like multiple babies to a mother. Yes, some may look more handsome and pretty and say all the right things and in the right way. Some may pay their own bills and some may be a pain in the rear. Each one is a favorite to me at the time of their creation and birth and in memory to the place that I was at the time of conception. You can point at every 300 and some poster I’ve made and it has a name, place and means something to me. If you said for me to create something for you like one I did back in 2001, well I couldn’t. It was in and of it’s place in my time. It won the race for that given moment. Shoot, sometimes I can’t even work within the same manner fifteen minutes ago. One creation that comes to mind for this question is a package design and identity for The Elevator Division. It’s one that I can call a significant and critical moment in my design sensibility. It’s one that garnered lots of attention and even though I plan to always be making my best work, the “Whatever Makes You Happy” EP CD will always be in my all-time top ten. I came up with the insane idea of cutting, spray painting imagery and making elaborate inserts for 250 packages (I vowed I’d never do it again, but funny how I work…and how I nearly exhausted my tank a month ago repeating this ridiculous process for another CD project). Anyway, so here I am the night before making all of these things and I end up changing my concept at the last minute. Thankfully, it still fit the real estate of the cardboard package, though It required spraying each cover three times as opposed to once. So, production time was tripled and time was not on my side but the design I felt was…and it worked and said a thousand time more than the original. What I had was an attention grabbing image of a hand shooting one of it’s fingers guised as a missle. The idea of shooting off one’s options…or, whatever makes you happy. It worked. It popped. It spoke exactly what the title and the band were speaking of in the music with relationships and with the political climate of war and post-terrorism America . And it came to me the night before (Anyway, I’m boring you with all that designer yap). So, my excitement of the new imagery, fueled my creation of 250 packages in less than a 48 hour period (and let’s not forget to mention i was working a day job). I was really smart and thought it was an awesome idea to spray paint in a basement with no ventilation. At the end of my final hour I erupted from the fumes and haze, with red, white and black paint caked to my hands and coming from my mouth and nose. I flung open the front door of the house as lightning crackled to find a hard rain falling. I was Noah and my boat was taking off…or landed, based on perspective of the event. In revival I jumped and slid head first down the steep grassy embankment and into the dirty, flooded street. I was washed clean. Sadly the design was so effective that it sold-out within a couple of shows and I had to do it all over again. But, the next round was adapted to a standard jewel case. ​0​7) What’s essential on a poster or flyer to grab a viewer’s attention in mere seconds? How does form and function come into play? I’ve touched upon this a wee bit in an earlier question. People tend to have short attention spans and walk with their heads down…and/or simply don’t look at things. Because of this a design has really got to pop, have immediacy and definately needs to say something. It’s funny because people have told me things like, “That is probably your worst poster.” It’s rare for people to be so honest in this way, but I love it when they are so passionate about it (and I love it when they say probably because that means they’ve really put some thought into it and have had discussions with themselves about it in comparable reason with my past efforts and wasted time wrestling with it). But, for some reason that poster really must have spoken to them to have so much feel for it. Normally these are the posters that end up being published and placed in traveling exhibitions. It’s really funny to me. At the time of creation I’m not trying to piss on anybody nor try to make something groundbreaking or award-winning. I just feel like doing things the way I do them in that moment and I feel I make them work. Form and function is an important application for design. Here is another thing I’ve already mentioned…I feel so many kids see something cool and just start cranking out these cool-lookin’ forms…hand-picking the way their things will look. There is a major lack of growth in most art-music these days…even outside of these areas…even just in someone’s persona. I’m not saying you can’t have influences, everybody’s got them and everything’s been done before and done better. I just long for things that speak of their own island. It’s like on “Jurassic Park”. You can’t go in and recreate the notion of copying dinosaurs for yourself. You can only get away with that for so long. Anyway, I also spoke about designs grabbing attention by way of having human elements and a definate soul behind them. I’ve come to compare a poster to a pop song. Sure they’ve been done a thousand times before…but, you can tell the ones that have a true sense of personality and heart to them. There is so much dead-beat fluff out there that can’t even be compared to something that’s alive…something that knows the rules but takes them and reassembles them to their own architecture. It’s very evident in music especially. For instance two bands can play on separate late night talk shows within minutes of each other. Both write pop songs. One speaks freshness and purity, even looks sincere, despite being just a pop band with another pop song. The other feels like actors assembled to play a song somebody else penned for an instant “fat wallet”. It just feels too perfect and calculated…and lifeless. Not everybody cares about this or sees this. It is subjective to a certain degree, but there is a true difference. ​0​8) In your opinion, are flyers and posters a low-brow form of art? People have really started holding posters in higher regard the past five or more years. Poster making is hotter than ever and it really hit a certain peak a couple years ago. The work is spreading farther than just within its respected cities. The artists are becoming just as popular as their art.A poster these days is living beyond it’s short life on the street, on a corkboard or at the venue. People are excited about it. Exhibitions, magazines, websites, books and design annuals celebrate the scene. Collectors and fans of art and music are snatching them up. True, the art of the poster has been around for a long time (and I’ll just reflect on it from my vantage point at the moment). But, I feel that it’s now (band posters in particular) really being taking seriously in the art world. At one time (and in some cases and by some people, still are) posters and flyers were being seen as litter and visual clutter. We can’t help but owe a lot of the commotion to modern pioneers like Art Chantry. He basically single-handily changed the way of the poster back in the ‘70s and ‘80s with experiments, lavish production methods and design aesthetics. He is considered a master artist to the trade and even in the arts in general. Shoot, seeing him lecture in college six years ago helped me decide to take that leap onto the starving artist limb-limbo, doing my own thing as opposed to working for another man. I spoke briefly to him after that lecture and told about my interest in independent music design. He was honest and said, “Expect to starve…several times over.” And I have. I still need to tell him that…and tell him thank you. Though, many poster artists these days no longer have to starve. It’s being taken so seriously and the quality of art is held so high that some can do it for full-time income…and do it rather successfully. A lot of them have full-fledged design studios and cranking out more than just posters. And there are a lot of guys like me with day jobs and coming home to moonlight out of basements and back bedrooms. For myself, I kind of hit the scene at the right time when it was really starting to explode..even though I didn’t really know what I was doing, other than just “doing”. I feel it defin​i​tely takes a certain mindset and you’ve got to make some sacrifices. I wouldn’t recommend it to everyone, but with poster art, anyone can do it…it’s easy to do and with limited resources. And then you’ve got the excitement of people bringing back almost deceased production techniques like the letter press. My only rant right now with poster art is that though the quality of work looks great, I feel there is a defin​i​te cohesive “look” and style to a lot of it right now. There are a few doing their own thing, but a lot of it is starting to look the same and almost becoming too easy and formulated for some. This is where I give my two cents of brain fart. What’s great about a poster is it’s actual short-lived life on the street. It makes all the more reason to try new things and really push the art form and most importantly gives reason to just be yourself. If it fails it will be gone or in the gutter within weeks and another will take its place. -djg