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cannibal-witchh · 3 years

Text

Reader(Fem) x Alcina Dimitrescu

(PART 3)

Written by cannibal_witchh

PART 2

⛓Trigger Warnings⛓

Story contains: Gore, sexual elements, vulgar language, violence, elements of some sub/dom behavior, and captivity.

Notes: This is the 3rd and final part of the story and it definitely is a slow burner, and the elements between the reader and Alcina will have finally become more intimate or slightly sub/dom. I want to add, I do not support in any fashion abuse, and or non consensual actions. ⚠️ I have clearly placed trigger warnings to indicate there may be elements that are not for every reader. I heavily gravitate with dominance and submission/gore so thats where the relationship in the story will go. I was struggling to write so if this seems a little less climatic or well written I apologize. I am also so sorry this one is shorter! ⚠️ Again, limited information so nothing in the story really is canon.

The reader is referred to as:

Y/N- Your name

She/Her- in italics and bold

Y/L/N- Your last name

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Drip.Drip.Drip. The sound of water splashed onto the ground, echoing loudly throughout the cold room. Something had changed, something felt very different. " Wake up, sleepy head.", a familiar voice teased as the sound of heels grew closer. Y/N opened her eyes, blinking several times trying to recover her awareness. After moments of awakening, it hit her, she was hanging upside down by a rusty chain. She felt pressure in her head and fingertips, it ached and felt fevered. How long had she been like this? The heels grew louder within the echos until Alcina revealed herself amongst the shadows of the corridors. " Ah, perfect you're finally awake, pet.", she smiled taking painfully slow steps, closer and closer towards Y/N. So much confusion bubbled in Y/N's mind, what was going on? How did this even happen? Alcina finally a few inches away from her, she crouched down until she was able to obtain comfortable eye contact with Y/N. She leaned forward allowing a direct view down her nightgown, dried blood outlining the curves of the top of her breasts. " Now, now, I know what your racing mind must think. How and why did I end up here? I was just in my bed...you were. But you got to taste me, and oh stupid girl, did you love it. Your mouth greedy for my blood. So desperate, and primal I must say. It ended up enhancing some of your....needs." she emphasized on needs as she reached a long hand out to caress Y/N cheek. Her thumb gently tracing the shape of her cheekbone, her palm cupping her face. " Now, pet, you are still under my influence and I want you to do everything I ask. Just like you have been. I want you to satisfy me. I have grown quite the craving for human pleasure, not just by blood but by touch."

There was an overwhelming sense under her skin, hot anxiety flooded her veins. What was Alcina's intentions? It was obvious but what would happen next? Alcina gripped the chain that held Y/N captive, slowly and steadily lowering the chain. With each sound of rattling she was getting lower and lower. " I smell your anxiety, it shivers and the fragrance is a delight. But you should relax, I have no intentions of hurting you and this i can assure you." She smiled as Y/N dangled and swayed slowly from the rusty chain. There wasn't much release from the worry, she still felt there would be some presence of pain. Within a few moments, with worrisome breathing filling the cold silence, Alcina began sliding her nightgown straps down. The silk falling down her shoulders, down her breasts, until it fluttered down her ankles. She was entirely naked, her large breasts outlined with dried blood, her nipples erect, her hips generous in width, and her thighs looked incredibly soft. Her skin looked of a smooth white marble. She was incredibly alluring, her figure incredible and shapely. She moved close to Y/N with a smirk on her face. " Pleasure me with your mouth Y/N Y/L/N." She politely commanded bringing her pussy to Y/N face. Her lips gently brushing across, she smelled wonderful, and of gentle lilacs and lavenders. She definitely took care of herself. Y/N obliged, what choice did she have anyways? There was some form of desire involved, especially after tasting her blood, and perhaps it gifted her with boldness. She began to trace her tongue along Alcina's pussy, gently brushing her tongue along the slit. She began making soft moans as Y/N continued the repetitive motion for awhile. She felt Alcina grow slick and fevered. She furthered the pleasure by prodding her tongue, eventually slipping between her lips, as Alcina let out another sigh of pleasure. She reached her hand down to her pussy, spreading herself to reveal she was drenched and glistening. Her juices visibly running down her thighs. Y/N continuing to lick and suck on Alcina. Every stroke of the tongue brought her muscles tension. Each second was a deliverance of a nearing climax. Her mouth dropping, letting several gasps and squeals escape her. Y/N began to taste the savory flavor of cum seeping between Alcina's pussy, she began to moan loudly as her body began to tremble as the climax fluttered through her body. Y/N took her mouth away, beads of cum stringing from Alcina to her lower lip. It must've been a long time since Alcina was tasted. Her cum was down her wide thighs and escaped onto the ground below her. Alcina still trembling returned to her normal stance. Towering at over 9 feet. Within a couple of minutes she gathered her composure and wiped herself off with her hands. A wicked satisfied expression returned to her face.

" Wow, I must say, do we have quite the harlot in this manor? Hmph, I tease! I know who you were then, you would never be found doing such provocative rituals. But guess what? Y/N, I don't care who you were back then, all I care is what I make of you now.", Alcina brought her hands back to the chain, tugging it until Y/N's thighs were near Alcina's face. She brought herself close to Y/N face for a moment, gripping her face in her long hands, and forcing her tongue into Y/N's mouth. She tasted her own flavor on Y/N's tongue and it only seem to give her more pleasure. She let out a sound of satisfaction as she broke away from the kiss and returned to standing up. " Mmm, now pet, this part you'll enjoy. Now, I am going to draw a little more of your blood but it will only feel a little like a cat scratch. After that...well, you'll see.", she chuckled. Her long black nails began to stretch from what once was normal finger nails. She delicately stroked the tip of her nail against Y/N's inner thigh. Goosebumps began to follow and spread all along her body. It was at this realization Alcina had removed Y/N's clothes before hanging her like this. Little circles were made at the end of her nail until gentle pressure was apply. Just like she said, it felt like a cat scratch, as she dragged from the top of her inner thigh down to the bottom of her thigh. Y/N let out a moan, as she felt blood escaping her cut. Surprisingly, a fair amount of crimson trickled down her thigh, it rushed down until she felt it spread down her stomach, down her butt, and some down her pussy. For such a delicate scratch, a lot of blood escaped it. Alcina returned her claws back to their normal form, and she brought herself closer to Y/N's body.

She inhaled the gorey aroma as if it was a wonderful dish. Her eyes sparking with desire as she took no time to do what she had anticipated for prior. She began to lick the cut and all the blood that trickled out. "Relax, you've been an obedient pet. I am not all a bad mistress, I can be gifting too.", she flashed a small smile as she dragged her tongue from the rivering cut, down to were the blood had traveled to her pussy. She began to lick the blood away, staining her tongue with crimson. She didn't move away though, once the blood was licked away from her trembling pussy. She decided to remain there for several minutes. She spread Y/N pussy apart with her fingers, burying her tongue along her entrance as she felt Y/N begin to leak with arousal. Her tongue wriggling and swirling, then traveling to the clit, and she began to gently flick her tongue against it. Y/N began to shake, as several moans escaped her mouth. Confused with the desire of submission but the conflict of this being her captor. She felt an undeniable attraction and want for Alcina. There was no emotional connection, just a primal desire to be used for Alcina's pleasure.

Alcina started to suck lightly on her clit, while using her tongue to continue stroking it as best as she could. She brought her fingers to collect the blood that had escaped the still flowing cut, blood tarnishing her finger tips with red as she spread the blood around Y/N's pussy and body. She brought her untainted hand to Y/N's slit digging her fingers slowly inside her wet cunt. Y/N yelped in absolute pleasure, arching her back while the chain dangled her. Alcina swirling, spreading, and curving her fingers along Y/N's walls while the sound of wet pleasure filled the dark room. Her mouth still focusing a few minutes more on her aching clit. Y/N felt her climax build up, muscles tensing, and pussy waving over with immense pleasure. Alcina picking up the pace with fingerings her, now begining just to curve her fingers back and forth. Thick juices began to flow out, Alcina continuing regardless of the salty welcome of her beginning climax. Y/N moaning heavily as the intense orgasm arrived. Alcina removed her fingers out but persisted with tasting Y/N's pussy. She began to move her mouth all over her lips, her wet slit, and back to her leaking hole. She lapped up all of her cum until her lips glistened with it. The moment was over, for several minutes this fucked up situation Y/N nearly was numbed and blurred by this opposing pleasure. Suddenly, it all went black.

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The sound of a shutting door broke the cold silence. Y/N began to awaken slowly with a stretch following. She blinked a few times and rubbed her tired eyes of the sleep. After minutes, she realized she was back in her room, dressed, and surprisingly, tucked away in bed. Did all of that not happen? She felt incredibly sore, her body feeling the weight of tense muscles scatter along her exhausted figure. Her head was pounding as if she had an agressive hang over. Abruptly, the door handle rattled open, Alcina made entrance entering the room and shutting the door behind her. She slowly walked over to Y/N with a blank expression. For a few moments no words were exchanged, she just glanced her eyes all around Y/N. " Pet, if you are wondering, yes, those things did happen. I wanted to test your submission and see if you would object me or submit to my needs. Within my surprise, you did follow through with my requests and I made the decision to reward you after that. I want to address to you now, this will become a more demanded request of mine. I won't always restrain you, you seem to be willing and you seem to understand your place as my pet. I will want more of your blood. But not just that. So expect more of this to occur. If you oppose me, there will be consequences just be aware of that." She informed as her words lingered in the dim lit room. " Yes, ma'am.", she responded looking at Lady Dimitrescu with hateful yet submissive eyes. She absolutely, despised her yet had this overwhelming need to fuck her. She was intoxicating and horrible yet her grace and beauty was a sickening desire. " Good, expect it to occur tonight. I will reward you with the freedom of no restraints but tonight will not be the focus of oral pleasures..." she hinted with a smirk. " Rest well, pet.", Alcina exited shutting the door with a laughter.

END.

#resident evil #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #re village #re8 #resident evil village #alcina #alcina x female reader #alcina x reader #alcina fanfic #sexy tall lady #tall vampire lady #lady alcina #resident evil 8 fanfic #resident evil fanfic #resident evil 8

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fictionaffliction · 3 years

Text

Better Forgotten

Chapter One

Pairings: Loki/OC

Summary: Dr. Ingrid Hansen is a respected psychologist struggling with the aftermath of the Snap as well as her own trauma from an accident she endured many years ago. Her world is thrown into utter chaos when she meets a dangerous man posing as a client. Dr. Strange is reluctantly tasked with protecting her, but in order to do so, he must first help her recover who she truly is. While she is grateful for his help, she has to wonder, are some things better forgotten?

Rated M

Warnings: Canon typical violence, eventual mentions of suicide and domestic violence (which will be tagged in the chapters in which they occur), memory loss, chronic pain

September 21, 2012

The brightly lit conference room was lively with chattering voices. Hundreds of scholars, dressed in the grey and beige that business casual dictates, wound their way through the rows of scratchy linen padded chairs. Some exchanged business cards, networking like their livelihoods depended on it, and for many of them, it did. Others were on their phones or had pulled out laptops and started furiously typing away, no doubt responding to messages from their various offices in the little time they had before the keynote speaker took the stage.

Ingrid Hansen had just finished responding to an email of her own before setting her phone to silent and tucking it back into her purse, trading it for a small leather-bound notebook and a pencil. She wrote the name of the keynote, “Neurosurgery as Treatment for Psychiatric Disorders” as well as the name of the speaker. She had double-checked the name on the itinerary when she wrote it down, shrugging off the unusual name. Certainly, he would have gotten his fair share of teasing as a child.

According to the short biography under his name, he was no less than a certifiable genius. He had been published in multiple medical journals, gotten his MD and his Ph.D. concurrently, and was now one of the most respected neurosurgeons in the country if not the world. People had been looking forward to his keynote the entire conference and Ingrid had made sure to come fifteen minutes early to get a good seat. She managed to get a seat in the middle of the second row. An older man with grey hair and glasses stepped onto the stage as the rest of the attendees found their seats. The man waited for a moment before speaking.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said as a respectful hush fell over the room, “thank you all for attending this evening’s keynote address. We are, of course, very excited to welcome our guest speaker.” The old man licked his dry lips with a smacking noise in the completely self-unaware way that only old men seem to be able to achieve. “He is an accomplished surgeon with a true passion for medicine and an apparent talent for music trivia.” He chuckled and the conference room laughed with him. “Please welcome to the stage Dr. Stephen Strange.”

The room applauded as a tall, slim man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties took the stage. His dark hair was neatly coiffed to frame his high cheekbones. He looked out over the crowd with discerning eyes and gave a tight smile. As the room quieted, his lecture began.

“Thank you all for the warm welcome. If only everyone greeted surgeons with applause,” Dr. Strange said in a voice that was deeper than Ingrid would have thought. The crowd laughed politely. “In the last one hundred years, neurosurgery and psychology have grown up together like distant cousins. Connections between the two have been known and studied, but never truly explored to such an extent as they are now. Now, technology is finally reaching the point where the two can be intertwined as they always should have been.” He gestured in a practiced manner as his gaze swept over the faces in the room.

Ingrid’s pencil was poised over her notebook, ready to strike down the moment he said something she wanted to remember. He went on for a bit about the potential for technological advancements to change brain chemistry without the need for medication, though it would require dangerous procedures to place implants on the affected parts of the brain. She dutifully noted his points, though she found the idea of experimental treatments morally precarious at best.

“Imagine the benefits for those suffering from dementia and other brain disorders that so deeply affect patients and their loved ones,” he said, turning his gaze to Ingrid as she leaned forward in her seat, her hand continuously taking notes. She stared back at him as he continued after giving her a small smirk. “Later this year, clinical trials for a pacemaker-like device for deep brain stimulation in Alzheimer’s patients will begin. This is an incredibly exciting time in medical history…”

She wrote her short-hand in a hurried hand as he soldiered through the rest of his speech. ‘ Brain stimulation for dementia-- recovery for amnesia?’ It stood to reason, though the mechanical differences for traumatic brain injury and dementia were vastly different. Still, there was hope.

After about an hour, Dr. Strange’s speech concluded and Ingrid packed away her notebook and pencil, her mind still mulling over the possibilities that he had proposed. As this had been the last speaking engagement for the day, a large number of people made their way to the hotel’s restaurant and bar.

She felt a bit sorry for the servers, who had been posted at the hosts’ desk like soldiers ready to rush into battle. They escorted several groups to tables and the noise escalated as menus were set out and drinks poured from glass pitchers reflected the low, golden light. Ingrid herself was content to get a drink at the bar and order room service later to go over her notes and make sure they were actually legible. She had just taken a seat on the soft black leather barstool when there was a small clamor of voices over the restaurant’s generic jazz music as a few people began to spout compliments nearby.

Ingrid turned to see Dr. Strange shaking a few hands as he passed a table of excited colleagues. He thanked them, though Ingrid noticed that his movements seemed stiff and impatient. The doctor passed the table as Ingrid turned back to face the bar. He took the seat next to hers. Not wanting to bother him, she kept her eyes on the drink menu as he reached for his own.

“Well, what did you think?” he asked, glancing at the list of cocktails.

Ingrid looked up. “Me?” she replied.

“Yes, you,” he replied simply, meeting her eyes. “You were taking a lot of notes. I thought you might have some intelligent feedback.”

Ingrid set her menu down and shifted to face him, straightening her navy blue pencil skirt and crossing her ankles. Dr. Strange raised his eyebrows as he waited for her to gather her thoughts. “Frankly, Dr. Strange, psychiatric surgery still has a long way to go before it’s practical, let alone ethical.” His eyes narrowed as he took in a sharp breath between his lips, looking ready for an argument. “However,” she continued before he had a chance, “I do think that it is a possible and even probable treatment in the future. It’s simply a question of how near that future is.”

He nodded, considering her answer. “Well, that is certainly a...diplomatic response.”

She shrugged off his somewhat curt reply. “The dementia treatments are certainly exciting though.”

“You think so?” he asked.

“I do.”

He considered this like he was measuring whether the conversation was worth pursuing. He seemed to deem it worthy of his time, because he asked, “What was your name again?”

“Dr. Ingrid Hansen,” she said, holding out her hand. His large hand enveloped hers in a steady grip.

“Dr. Stephen Strange, but I guess you already knew that,” he replied, keeping his hand on hers. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She smiled and took her hand back, brushing a stray blond hair behind her ear. “I’d like that.”

He signaled the bartender, who came over quickly, having been eyeing them while he waited for them to decide on what they wanted.

“Scotch on the rocks for me,” Dr. Strange said, and then gestured to Ingrid.

“And a Moscato for me, please,” she said. The bartender turned to the back of the bar to fetch their drinks.

“White wine?” he asked, raising a skeptical brow.

“I have a sweet tooth,” she replied simply.

He chuckled. “So, you’re a doctor, you have a sweet tooth, and you are evidently British.”

“I am indeed, though I graduated here in New York,” she explained. The bartender placed their drinks in front of them and left without a word to attend to other patrons.

“And what are you a doctor of?” Dr. Strange asked, taking a sip of his scotch.

“Psychology,” she replied proudly.

The man heaved a sigh as he swallowed. “Of course,” he said with a somewhat disappointed tone.

Ingrid’s eyes narrowed, but she kept the corners of her mouth upturned in a practiced neutral smile. “‘Of course’?” she repeated.

He took another sip before answering. She didn’t break eye contact. “Well, it isn’t that psychology isn’t a worthy pursuit, but psychology is such a soft science it’s about as good as an English degree. I thought you were at least a psychiatrist.”

Her smile slipped from her face as suddenly as a bookshelf collapsing under its own weight. “I beg your pardon, but I am every bit a doctor as I would be if I were a psychiatrist. It’s not like I bought a certificate online,” she snapped.

He held his hands up. “Hey, you don’t need to explain it to me. But I do find it interesting that you were so intent on my speech if you’re not a psychiatrist.”

Ingrid rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers, trying to suppress the indignation that rose up in her chest. “It’s still relevant to my field, Dr. Strange.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” he conceded. Ingrid took a drink, letting the light flavors of the alcohol warm her chest. “So what is it that you do with that degree of yours?”

“Counseling,” she responded shortly.

“What kind?”

“All kinds, but mainly relationship and family counseling.”

He considered this for a moment. “And why the interest in dementia treatment?”

She paused mid-gulp of wine, watching him as his eyes traveled over her face. “Call it a personal interest,” she replied coldly.

“Alright,” he said, rolling his eyes, “no need to be touchy about it.”

Ingrid snorted. “God, you’re arrogant. Do you know that?”

He pursed his lips. “I’ve heard it once or twice. Is that your official diagnosis, Dr. Hansen? Arrogance?” He was baiting her and she knew it.

“No Dr. Strange,” she said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. She took in the sight of him carefully, making note of every small movement he made, the way he presented himself, and how his breathing remained steady despite the conflict. “I cannot officially diagnose you at the moment, of course. Though I might wonder at your ability to maintain a relationship given your clear egocentric attitude.”

His mouth curled into a smirk. “Typical therapist. Non-committal answers and appeals to emotion. If you were a real doctor-”

The remainder of Ingrid’s wine doused his face. Sounds of surprise echoed about the bar area as she set her glass back down on the bar with a scowl and looked back at him with steely eyes. Dr. Strange didn’t say anything. He hardly looked phased as the wine dripped off of his long nose and down his cheeks.

“Thanks for the drink.” Ingrid turned to leave and a few sets of eyes looked between them curiously. Her black heels clicked against the tile as she strode out of the restaurant, fuming. Dr. Strange watched her go, assuring himself that he was not the least bit sorry for what he said as the bartender handed him a cloth napkin.

#Better Forgotten #my fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #fanfiction #loki x oc #loki x ofc #doctor strange #stephen strange #Marvel #marvel fanfiction #loki odinson #loki friggason #loki laufeyson #ao3 #Hurt/Comfort #Romance #Doctor Strange x OC #Doctor Strange x OFC #fanfic

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solynaceawrites · 4 years

Text

Wires [5]: Marie Walters

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

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“A void in my chest was beginning to fill with anger. Quiet, defeated anger that guaranteed me the right to my hurt, that believed no one could possibly understand that hurt.” —Rachel Sontag

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There’s a particularly gruesome quality to death in the daylight. It’s a stark reminder that everyone will eventually die, a brush with human mortality that leaves those who see it uncomfortable, and the fact that the sun now is hidden by clouds and rain does nothing to lessen the effect. The body is located in an open expanse next to a jogging path, tucked neatly underneath a statue of an angel in prayer; all around the scene, yellow tape is strung from tree to tree to create a barrier that keeps the gathering of curious onlookers at bay, even if does nothing to stop them from craning their necks, their whispers drowned out by the patter of water on leaves and grass. Lir takes in everything else: the blood, the slick, dark asphalt of the trail, the cops in jackets with Forensics emblazoned on the back picking carefully through the debris. So much for good forensics, she thinks bitterly, though he’s never left us much to begin with.

At her side, Dante stands with his hands in his coat pockets, his expression frustrated and thoughtful. “Couldn’t have picked a better day,” he says tightly. “We’ll be lucky to get anythin’ off of her now.”

Lir nods in agreement. Back up at the top of the hill, a cruiser is idling at the curb with an officer standing by the back door and a man seated within, his face drawn and miserable. “Witness?”

“Dunno. We’ll have to ask.” He cranes his neck, then shouts, “Simmons!”

The young officer walks over hesitantly, his wide eyes darting from Dante’s face to the body and back again. Lir remembers how upset he’d been by the first victim and feels a mixture of pity and annoyance; Homicide is always tough on rookies, but if his stomach is truly this weak, he’d be better off in another department. “Yessir?”

Dante gestures to the statue. “You gonna fill us in?”

“Oh! Right. Sorry, sir.” Simmons fumbles a notepad from his belt and flips it open. She notices how he favors his right arm, which is slightly odd looking: like it was broken once and never quite healed correctly, leaving his hand resting a little crooked. He holds the notepad close to his body to keep it safe from the rain, which by now is a soft drizzle. “The call came in forty-five minutes ago. A woman walking her dog heard shouting and what she described as a girl begging, and she thought it was a domestic until someone said, and I quote, ‘I’m going to fucking kill you, you bitch.’ That’s when she phoned 9-1-1.”

It doesn’t sound at all like their killer, and her shoulders tighten with a new frustration. A distraction is the last thing they need now. “Where’s the witness?” Lir asks.

“Officer Galstin is getting her contact information, but I already took her statement,” Simmons responds, not meeting her eyes.

“And the guy in the cruiser?” she prompts.

Simmons glances over his shoulder. “He was here when Officer Galstin and I arrived. There’s blood all over him, and he had a knife on him, but he clammed up as soon as he saw us and tried to run. I caught him,” he adds with a bit of pride, and Lir looks down and notices the mud on the knees of his trousers. “We cuffed him and read him his rights, but he hasn’t said a word so far.”

Dante places his hands on his hips as he surveys the scene. “You rope everything off?”

“Yessir. Put up evidence markers on anything that looked interesting and contacted the M.E., too.”

Lir feels a begrudging speck of respect. “You did good, Simmons. Go see if Galstin is finished with the witness, then take our suspect back to the precinct and get him settled in interrogation.”

“Yes ma’am.” He flushes. “Sir.”

She waves off the mistake, then turns to Dante. “Doesn’t look like this is our guy.”

“Nope.”

“Morrison said it was.”

“That’s my fault,” Simmons interjects. “When I heard there was a killing in the park, I thought . . .”

“That’s alright, Simmons,” Dante says before Lir can think of a way to verbalize her frustration at the false alarm without ripping him a new asshole. “Rookie mistake. From here on out, get your facts before you come to any conclusions. Go help Galstin.”

The youth snaps a salute and hurries off, and Lir lets out a slow sigh. “Fuck,” she mutters.

“Don’t hold it against him,” Dante advises.

“I’m not,” she replies sharply. At his raised brow, she shrugs. “Like you said, rookie mistake. Doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed that someone else is out here killing women, now.”

He snorts. “At least this one was stupid enough to hang around.”

“Yeah.”

Together, they cross the clearing towards the statue and the body beneath. At first look, it’s easy enough to tell that the man who did this is not the same as the one who mutilated Sophie Marsons: this victim is clothed, her knitted scarf knotted around her throat, the front of her white shirt ripped and soaked with blood. Dante lets out a low whistle while Lir leans down, pulling a pair of gloves from her pocket and sliding them on. Trish is standing nearby, talking to a man with a camera, and Lir calls out, “You got your pictures?”

“Yup. Look to your heart’s content, Detective,” Trish replies.

Lir lifts the girl’s arms, first her right, then her left, taking in the deep cuts to her palms and fingers. Then she carefully tugs the scarf to reveal the livid bruises and claw-marks beneath before reaching into the purse on the ground next to the body. Inside is a wallet that she opens, pulling out the driver’s license. “Marie Walters.” Lir rocks back onto her heels. “She fought, and she fought hard. There are defensive wounds on her hands, and the ground is churned like she was kicking.”

Dante nods. “Reads like anger to me.”

“The scarf, though . . .” she murmurs. “Why start with strangulation, then end with stabbing?”

The leaves rustle as he crouches next to her. “You gotta think like a pissed off man, Lir. Look around you. What do you see?”

She bristles at the coaching. “A struggle.”

“Walk me through it.”

“I’m not a rookie, Dante.”

“Humor me.”

Huffing, she pushes herself to her feet and moves from marker to marker, talking as she walks. “They came down from the road. There are skid marks up here, which means one of them slipped in the mud and the other probably kept them from falling. Somewhere around here,” she pauses by a cone next to a tree, “they paused for a bit. There’s a half-smoked cigarette with lipstick on it that matches the shade she’s wearing, so she was either comfortable enough to enjoy a smoke with him or nervous enough that she needed one to calm down.”

“Right.” He stands, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So, somewhere between the cigarette and here is where the argument started. It gets heated, probably somethin’ she says going by what the witness heard. Strangling someone carries a lot of different meanings, but . . .”

“It’s a silencing tactic,” Lir finishes.

“Mm-hm. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say, and didn’t want anyone else to hear it, either. You know how long it takes someone to die from suffocation?”

The casual way he asks the question throws her so that she can’t formulate a reply other than, “No.”

“Five minutes until brain death occurs, if consistent pressure is held.” Dante looks around. “Public park, people walkin’ their dogs, he needs her quiet so no one knows what’s goin’ on. Now, even if you know what you’re doin’, strangling someone with a scarf ain’t easy. They’re in pain, fightin’ back, scratchin’ you and themselves bloody to get you to stop. You lose pressure for a second, the screamin’ starts.”

Lir’s stomach twists, shoving acid up her throat. “He didn’t know that. That’s why, when she wouldn’t stop struggling, he used the knife.”

“That’d be my guess.”

“What a bastard.” She takes off her gloves, shoving them into her pocket. “I say we go talk to the guy Galstin and Simmons pulled in.”

Dante nods in agreement. Together, they climb the rain-slick slope back up to the road, and Lir bemusedly uses the towel he offers to clean mud from her boots before getting into his car. The station is only a few blocks away, but morning rush traffic delays them so that what should have been a ten minute trip winds up taking closer to forty, and in that time Lir’s mind stews. It flips back and forth between Sophie and their newest victim, Marie Walters. Two women, murdered by men, brutalized and terrified and left to rot. Her nails bite into her palms as bile flavors her mouth. Are they connected? Or did this new bastard just get enough courage from seeing someone else do it that he decided to take a life, too? She’s so tense by the time they arrive at the precinct that her jaw aches from being clenched, and Lir forces herself to relax as they head inside to avoid any probing from her partner.

At the back of the building, down a hallway lit with bright white fluorescents, are the interrogation rooms. The three of them sit on the left-hand side, each with two doors: one for the observation room, one for holding suspects for questioning, separated by a wall and a pane of one-way glass with recording equipment set up to capture the conversations that occur within them. Lir and Dante step into Observation 1, where they find Morrison waiting, watching the man through the window.

“His name is Jonas Miller,” Morrison tells them. “No prior arrests, lives in Hyde Park with his wife, Lucille.”

Dante makes a low noise of surprise that mirrors how Lir feels. Hyde Park is one of the more affluent neighborhoods in Red Grave City, a gated community with manicured lawns, neat hedges, and large houses that start out with six figure mortgages. “He give you anything?” she asks, stepping closer to the glass.

“No. Hasn’t even asked for a lawyer.”

“Huh.” Miller certainly looks like he could afford one without a problem. Even from here, she knows that the watch on his wrist is a Rolex, that the shoes on his feet are too nice to be anything other than genuine leather, probably Gucci. “I’ll take him.”

“You?” Dante doesn’t sound angry, just startled. “Why?”

Lir is already halfway out of the door. “Because he killed a woman. Being questioned by one is going to throw him off.”

The door shuts off his answer. She pauses for a moment outside of Interrogation 1 to put her thoughts in order and breathe deeply to fight off the anger that’s been getting sharper all morning, since she first spotted that guy in the alley where Sophie died. Then she opens the door and steps inside.

Miller doesn’t look up as she takes the seat across from him and pulls out a notepad and a pen. His eyes remain downcast, focused on his hands, and Lir takes him in. His hair is mussed, his eyes bruised and bloodshot, and there are deep scratches in the tanned skin of his face, neck, and forearms. His shirt is too dark for her to tell if there’s blood on it, and if there was any on his hands, he’d been allowed to wash it off, a fact that makes her frown even as she takes the cap off of her pen and writes the date and time at the top of the paper. “Jonas Miller,” she says. He flinches. “Want to tell me what happened this morning?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

Her fingers tighten on her pen. “You were found in Tellula Park with the body of Marie Walters. Officers Simmons and Galstin both stated that you ran from the scene with a knife in your hand.” Miller says nothing. “If we test that knife, do you think it will match the wounds on Marie Walters?”

Slowly, seeming dazed, he shakes his head. “I didn’t touch her.”

He’s lying, a voice whispers. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end at the sound of it, furious and grieving and not at all her own, and she takes a slow breath and counts to ten until the gray at the edges of her vision recedes. “We have a witness, Mr. Miller, one who will be able to identify your voice threatening to kill someone, we have your knife, which will match Marie Walters, and, going from the state of your face, there’s going to be enough skin under her nails to crucify you in court. If you cooperate with me, there’s a chance that the D.A. will work with you. If you don’t, then whatever it is you’re hiding is going to be blasted in the news. Do you understand?”

That gets his attention. He stares at her, his eyes wild, and stammers, “My wife, I-I have to get home to my wife—”

“I’m very sure Marie Walters would have liked to go home, Mr. Miller,” she says coldly.

“My wife is—”

“Why did you kill Marie Walters, Mr. Miller?”

“I never—”

“Did she threaten you, Mr. Miller?” Lir knows she should stop, that anything she gets out of this confession is going to be shit if she goads him any further, but, fuck, he’d been Mirandized and hasn’t asked for a lawyer, and it feels good to see him squirm. “According to her license, she was five foot five and weighed one-twenty. She was half your size, a college girl, so I’m struggling to see how she could have been so dangerous that you stabbed her eighteen times and strangled her with a scarf. What did she do to piss you off, Mr. Miller? What could a girl like that have possibly—”

“She lied to me!” he shouts, slamming his hands on the table. Lir refuses to let that frighten her, because there’s a gun at her hip and a knife in her boot, and he’d be an idiot to come after a cop with all the trouble he’s already about to get himself into. “She swore that she was on the pill, that she didn’t want anything other than a-a partner, and then she called me and said she was pregnant and demanded I leave my wife or she’d tell, and I . . . I . . .” He tapers off, hiding his face in his hands. “I just wanted her to shut up. Just once. She was such a bitch, always mouthing off, I just wanted her to shut the hell up for once.”

“So you killed her,” Lir states flatly.

Whimpering, he nods. A wave of revulsion rises within her; here is a man who looks no older than forty, with a million-dollar house and a wife, wearing designer brands, a man who had decided that he wanted to get his dick wet with a girl half his age, who had killed that girl like she was gutter trash when the consequences of his actions came to fruition, and he’s snivelling like an infant. “Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Miller, that it takes two to cause a pregnancy?” Her voice is ice. “Or did you simply assume that you were too good for a condom?”

His head snaps up, his mouth agape with shock. “What—”

“This is how it reads to me, and how it will read to a jury.” She pushes back her chair and stands. “You entered into a relationship with a college student, telling who knows how many lies to your wife. Did you promise Marie Walters that you loved her? That you would leave your wife for her? And then,” she continues, ignoring his sputtering, “when she, quite naturally, got pregnant—birth control fails, Mr. Miller, all the time—you killed not only her, but her unborn child, all because you were too much of a coward to deal with your actions. You are nothing more and nothing less than a repugnant, low-life, inexcusable—”

The door slams open, and Morrison steps inside, his face passive but his eyes furious. “Thank you, Detective. We’ve gotten what we need from him. The interview is now over.” To Miller, he says, “Officer Simmons will be along to book you while the D.A. decides which charges to press. Excuse us.”

Lir follows Morrison when he leaves, knowing that she’s fucked up but too wired to care. In the hall, Dante is waiting, and he gives a little shake of his head when he catches sight of whatever expression is on her face. Don’t, he mouths.

Morrison turns on her. “Are you out of your mind, Detective Thorne? Do you want that man to walk free? Because that is the only reason I can think of to explain why you’d behave so irresponsibly.”

“I got the confession,” she starts.

“A confession that we’ll be lucky to get admitted,” Morrison snaps. “One look at that and whatever defense attorney Miller hires will petition to get it thrown out on the basis of coercion! You didn’t question him, Thorne, you rode his ass and degraded him, and we’re lucky that he was read his rights and denied an attorney, because those are the only things that might sway a judge into keeping the confession intact.”

“He killed her!” Her voice raises despite her attempts to keep it under control, and she sees Dante wince from the corner of her eye. “It wasn’t some accident. He took a knife with him, he fucked her and then he stabbed her eighteen goddamn times! And you think I rode him too hard?”

Morrison’s mouth twists. “You might want to reconsider your tone unless you want to be working vice from now on, Thorne.”

She opens her mouth, only for Dante to step forward, his hands raised placatingly. “Chief, it’s been a long day. Hell, a long weekend. Neither of us have slept more than four hours, we lost a suspect this morning, and we’re getting nowhere with Marsons. Thorne’s a damn good detective, but even good ones have bad moments from time to time.”

Morrison cuts his eyes from Dante to Lir. “That true, Thorne?”

As much as it humiliates her to do so, she takes the lifeline Dante has given her. “Yessir.”

“Fine.” Morrison studies her a moment longer before turning away. “Even if we lose the confession, forensics will get enough to nail him. You go home and rest. I don’t want to see you for twenty-four hours, understood? I’ll need that long just to clean up this mess.”

She nods, and he glances at her over his shoulder. “I expected better from you, Thorne.”

Then he’s gone, leaving her to wallow in the unpleasant heat of chastised embarrassment, swallowing thickly against the tears that prick her eyes. A hand grips her shoulder, but she refuses to look at Dante, merely shrugging when he says, “Let me give you a lift home,” wishing, not for the first time, that her father was still around to give her advice.

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc dante #dante #dante sparda #dmc oc #lirael thorne #lir #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #writing #story #myfic #wires

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glumvillain · 3 years

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GlumReviews #10

If you’re like me then the year 2001 was just a shitty year to be alive. George Bush was president, Now That’s What I Call Music was on it’s 7th volume, Freddy Got Fingered and Bridget Jones’ goddamn Diary. The internet had transformed the landscape of music and the industry was pivoting to serve a customer base that no longer wanted to pay for the music they so enjoyed. Pandora internet radio would not be a public option until 2005. The ancient technology known as just the plain ol’ radio was a large factor in determining one’s career success. Yes, you could spend years touring on underground circuits garnishing a cult following from small town to small town, but nothing quite beats a radio single that can be played simultaneously for an entire nation. In other words, the general public still played a determining factor for your determined breakthrough.

It is with this in mind that I present to you the case for Nickelback’s 3rd studio album Silver Side Up. One cannot deny the societal connotations that come with just mentioning this band, and in my opinion, that horse has just long been laid to rest and I invite you to open your mind musically for just one second, as I have forced myself to in this series of truly eye-opening reviews. Taking the title as Canada’s most commercially successful band among many many other prestigious honors of a similar nature. Surely an entire generation doesn’t consider this band laughable and just a shitty shitty representative of rock music, especially in the year of our forsaken lord 2001?

Is Nickelback a prime example of male mediocrity failing upwards into superstardom? or is there a valid claim for their status as a “pussy band” (which sounds kinda cool to me tbh) among rock n roll aficionados and real cool dudes in the scene? We plumb the depths of a road at least 10 million have previously plumbed.

1. Never Again

I’m gonna have a difficult time saying this is a “shitty” band whenever their first song addresses something that (excuse the pun) hits so close to home. As an intro track they open up with a pretty heavy song about domestic violence “He’s drunk again, it’s time to fight/ She must have done something wrong tonight/ The living room becomes a boxing ring”. Told from the point of a view of a child growing up to see his mother abused at the hands of his drunken father. It’s a heartbreaking song that has a satisfying ending for those of us who don’t like to dwell too much on the downsides of life. Especially if one chooses to escape through music, but sad music in sad times is a personal habit I partake in. This is a great song, content wise. Kinda weird to have it set to such an upbeat sounding song but I guess it goes to serve the rage of a child being helpless in the face of his abusive father.

2. How You Remind Me

Does the lead single of this album really need a review? Yes, because this review is about taking a second look at shit you take for granted. This song is just poetry. In the fact that it’s just a perfectly executed song, lyrically. Being non-cryptic and just flat out honest about ones feelings. There’s thousands of songs about being down in the dumps or heartbroken and I can see why this is easily one of their biggest hits. It’s a song that doesn’t care about your preconceived notions of masculinity or what rock music should or shouldn’t be. Some people were put on this planet to make one song to connect the world to each other, and I think this is Nickelback’s song.

3. Woke Up This Morning

Now I wouldn’t exactly call this metal, but it’s too heavy to be pop-rock. But it easily straddles these fine picket fences of being almost too heavy for their own lyrics at times. There’s noticeable flavors of southern rock sprinkled throughout the album which I can see having a blue collar/WWF crowd appeal. Again another song consisting of being absolutely honest with the listener “I felt like shit when I woke up this morning, I’ve been a loser all my life I’m not about to change”.

4. Too Bad

With the events of Track 1 in mind, this song takes a remorseful shift into the story of the father. Now racked with guilt, the song title lays it out pretty evenly. It’s too bad. It’s too late. Despite the behavior of an antagonistic and toxic father, they made it out on their own without the breadwinner of the family. At the expense of the mothers time and love, at least they still had clothes on their backs and food to eat. Another heartbreaking but heartfelt song that is one of the first songs that I’ve reviewed in this series that actually gave me chills.

5. Just For

This is the typical male violent fantasy that could lean either way. It’s either about a girl he lost to another man, or given the past material in the album being about his mom, it could be pertaining to his relationship with his father. However you feel personally about this band, understand that lead singer Chad Kroger opened his soul up on a record which is rarely an experience put forth in an album. Now arguably you could tell me that’s what all bands do, and yes I’m inclined to agree. But it’s rare that it’s not wrapped up in sarcasm or a false sense of confidence. Usually such displays of anger and torment are disguised with metaphor and mystery. There’s none of that at play here. And usually I’d call that dumb music for a monkey brain audience. But this is just some of the most sincerest lyrics you could listen to.

6. Hollywood

Now listen I know I said all that stuff about his lyrics being pretty straightforward? Well I’ll eat my own words on this song, as I can’t really pickup the metaphor he’s laying down...correct me if I’m wrong but is this song about being in a mental hospital or going to a methadone clinic? Don’t beat yourself up if this track isn’t your cup of tea, I didn’t really vibe with it like other tracks.

7. Money Bought

Pretty straightforward song about a woman whose living off of her parents just being an all around Samantha . Songs like this I could really do without, heavy strong riff but if there’s one production complaint I have is that alot of the mixes are too guitar heavy and the drums get washed out.

8. Where Do I Hide

Feels like a continuation of the previous song with the too loud guitar mix, the lyrics themselves are pretty boring and not really worth going over as I can’t figure out if he’s making an outlaw fantasy song or something about his dad again. There’s a decent little guitar solo but I wouldn’t say to go out of your way to listen to this song.

9. Hangnail

I’ll give them this, they can kick out some pretty good riffs. But like good standard rock riffs. I couldn’t tell you they have their own sound musically. I think their sound is largely wrapped up in the lead singers voice. You could convince me it was 3 different bands if 3 different singers sang their songs. This song feels like a weak follow-up to “How You Remind Me”, and if that’s the case it really missed a mark in my opinion.

10. Good Time’s Gone

Nothing says “album closer” like acoustic guitar strumming away into a swaying jam. Definitely leaning more country western than most of their songs, but with a hard rock kick to it. It’s a nice revamp of energy from the previous couple of songs that just felt to get a little weaker as the album progressed. Kroger gives a powerful vocal performance to lead us out and I can’t help but think to myself, dear god I just listened to a Nickelback album several times today.

So where do you land on the spectrum of hate for Nickelback? For me, personally I see absolutely no reason why Nickelback is more hated than say Three Days Grace or Papa Roach, both of which have garnished their own cult followings respectively. No, I believe this to just be a meme that society has taken and ran with it by constantly making Nickelback be the butt of some non-existent joke. Are they the best band ever? Fuck no. Should people be mocked or made fun of for listening to bands they enjoy? Double fuck no. Because music becomes your personal experience, and we should let others bask in what little, small things bring them joy. Why gatekeep listening to music? Music is supposed to connect others and bring about the feeling of belonging, the act of belittling others for their choice in music isn’t only pointless, it’s just downright disrespectful of a persons identity and personal choices. And with that being said, Five Finger Death Punch is REAL garbage music.

I refrained from mentioning that this album was actually released on September 11th, 2001. Not wanting that to factor into my writing but it’s at this point that I argue the case that Nickelback was a relic of a time before shit got worse in America. Without 9/11 in the narrative of some of these tracks I feel like they don’t hit as hard and yeah, in some fucked up way I’m saying that if it wasn’t for 9/11 itself, I don’t think they would have had a breakthrough. As audiences scrambled to tune into something different I’m sure the radio offered some form of escape from a world ravaged by national news. I give the album:

⭐⭐⭐/5

This album begins pretty lively and begins to fizzle out about halfway with track #6, saved only by the ending track. This was a decent album and if you’re curious to check it out, I recommend tracks 1-5, then just skip to 10, the album makes more sense that way.

#music review #album review #nickelback #silver side up #rock music

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hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 4 years

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Super Heroes are a HUMAN power fantasy Part 2

Super Heroes are a HUMAN power fantasy Part 1

Master Post

There were several points a bit more tangentially connected to my arguments in part 1. As a result I decided to leave them until now and hit them up in bullet points.

These are arguments against the superhero genre chiefly perpetuated by the tryhard trinity of Osvaldo Oyola , J. Lamb and Noah Berlatsky.

On the topic of the genre portraying ‘might making right’, the truth is this is part of the ancient inspirational aspect of these figures and can be found in stories like Rama and Sita, Rama of course ultimately never giving up his quest to be reunited with his lover. Which was not a Western influenced story.

Yes the genre involves ‘punching as conflict resolution’. I’m sorry, but that is part and parcel of the genre and the wish fulfilment/fantasy/narrative entertainment value of the stories. If you DON’T like that then frankly it’s like complaining that a romance story involves kissing.

It has been claimed that a black hero wouldn’t punch someone but again, the genre is entirely about people with powers using them to help people by preserving their life. And if they have no other choice but to K.O. a mugger who’s going to stab someone then a black person, or any decent person, would/should do it. But examining the meaning and repercussions of that realistically given the fact that they aren’t white in a white society is something that could benefit the genre.

A common critique of the genre is that crime happens sometimes because of a racist system, therefore fighting crime innately supports racism. Look, obviously we should remove institutionalised racism from the law. At the end of the day though if someone of any race is committing a crime which HURTS people they should be stopped, the reasons which drove them to that should be taken into consideration, but Spider-Man shouldn’t NOT stop a mugger because they’ve been driven to do that through desperation. There is often no time for that and without being able to talk to or trust strangers he or other heroes need to act in the moment.

Superhero fiction on one level is childish, but on a deeper level they’re representative of universal truths and desires which are often boiled down to fairy tales or simple stories. The above shitheads also claims that superhero fiction is written and consumed by children, when the truth is that in the last 20-30 years the opposite has been more true. THAT is partially why sales have been dwindling over the years.

Superman’s values are innate to the heroic and altruistic desires and ideals ALL humanity has expressed throughout its history. They are not inherently ‘white’

Apparently superheroes are white constructs because they reinforce the ‘status quo’. To quote the Atlantic article (see part 1) again:

“What status quo do superheroes reinforce? These heroes fight because everyone is entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The only fascists here are the supervillains who disagree.”

Also Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman were created specifically to change the status quo of the fictional worlds they were created in. At the same time the entire Marvel pantheon were about changing the status quo of the genre by introducing people who were flawed and different and more human than the DC heroes

Superheroes, despite the assertions by the above fuckwits have at times interrogated the justice system. But generally their lack of interrogation is I think for the same reason their science is so wonky. They don’t know better. They just boil it down to the simplest terms. Muggings and villain threats abound. Hero prevents those. They don’t know enough to tackle something much deeper than that. This ties into the fundamentally flawed aspect of most critiques wherein they are looking to superheroes as intellectual pieces of academic and critical study when...that’s not what they are...at all…

One of the above douchebags once said:

An African American Superman, with kinky, close-cropped black hair, thick, half-reddened lips, high cheekbones, and wide nostrils all bathed in dark Lindt chocolate, resists White supremacist logic, negates Black inferiority mythology, and threatens the established order. Superman’s disconcerting physicality, tempered by his omnipresent cheerfulness calmed and invited White comic readers to imagine themselves as gaudy Caucasian perfection, the Anglo-Saxon ideal. Static in panel, without speech bubbles or thought balloons, Superman Black warps the absurdly developed skeletal striated muscle and eternal hopefulness fans rejoice into a clear and present danger to the American experiment, an unholy figure derived from Tea Party paranoia, Barack Obama’s calculation and Terry Crews’ musculature. Public Enemy’s prescience abounds – were Superman Black introduced on the game-changing Action Comics’ cover, White America would have yet another reason to fear a Black planet.

This entirely depends upon who is doing the perceiving. To someone of a different mindset a Black Superman could be just that. The same thing Superman is except he happens to have black skin.

Also, the author needs to take a major chill pill, Jesus Christ.

Here is another quote from one of them:

Only in White male power fantasies can people blessed with skin privilege and bodies carved from living marble wield heat vision or super speed or unbreakable claws against indigent criminals from broken homes who lack high school educations.

This is again grossly incorrect because the idea of individuals having superhuman abilities and using them to fight criminals predates American society, and if one accepts figures like the Hydra to be stand-ins for threats to human life then the superhumans have been fighting what the criminals represent for eons before the advent of American society. The criminals they use their abilities against are rarely stated to lack education or come from broken homes, but yes okay let’s say that they are that.

Having super humans go up against them and defeat them isn’t a white male power fantasy because their abilities are used to subdue and NOT kill. Injure perhaps but in real life sometimes force is sadly necessary and if someone is robbing a bank or holding a gun to someone in an alley it is justified no matter what skin colour anyone involved in is, or what society you find yourself in, for the perpetrator to be stopped in order to safeguard life. Just because the perp resorted to what they did due to social ills beyond their control, that doesn’t justify their actions at that moment. Stealing someone’s money or trying to murder them is never ever going to be acceptable no matter if we live in a white society or not.

Only in White male power fantasies would women display abundant porcelain cleavage or don starry microskirts to fight crime.

Yeah um, preeeeeeetty sure that actually that’s more of a male SEXUAL fantasy and less than a WHITE male POWER fantasy. That was never the topic of conversation.

Shuttle diplomacy or natural resource husbandry rarely bring metal-faced technological sorcerers to heel in superhero comics; superheroes often save planet Earth through fantastic violence judiciously applied.

Yeah, that’s part of the narrative FANTASY element of the genre that is intended to be escapist. Condemning it for being otherwise is asinine.

More than this, guess what, there are people whom Dr. Doom is a metaphorical stand-in for. And an awful lot of them legitimately can’t be negotiated with. I am of the belief that in the REAL world we should negotiate and use force when there is no other choice and even then only use what is necessary. But the Dr. Dooms and Lex Luthors of the comic book world represent grander themes of evil and social ills, whilst at the same time existing to challenge the heroes physically and mentally. They represent the unmovable types of evil that legitimately can only be dealt with via physical means.

This was the type of circular logic I talked about before. It is looking at the villains as stand ins for EVERY type of situation and therefore the super hero’s use of violence as ‘problematic’, when in reality the superheroes’ use of violence isn’t problematic because it is justified by the extreme circumstances they find themselves in.

Because those situations don’t exist in real life...like in World War II...which was literally about people using force in the face of failed negotiation to halt the advance of fascism…

I submit that the superheroic reflex to subdue evil with violence directly descends from Thucydides and Alexander, from Richard the Lionheart and Dwight Eisenhower.

Yeah...except it isn’t. Again...it came from the same place as Hercules and Sun Wukong, and those came from the natural human biological imperatives to survive.

Superheroic morality requires Western Civilization’s literary canon and political history to justify its callous disregard toward collateral damage. To be clear, superheroes routinely consider innocent noncombatants’ lives (if not their property) when they confront cosmic despots or sociopathic steroid abusers, but comics document the never-ending battle in colorful tomes largely sold after Nagasaki and My Lai, after the time when total ignorance of American military supremacy was vogue. When Wally West as the Flash pulls a hysterical single mother out of her overturned silver 2001 Honda Civic and carries her to safety from Apokoliptian cannons at breakneck speed, comic fans favorably regard his heroism; any dialogue from the frazzled thirty-something file clerk will remind readers how grateful she is to escape otherworldly horror with her life. Superhero comics don’t care about the destruction of this woman’s sole transport; when the gas tank explodes behind the Flash’s blurred strobe, this woman loses her credit cards, her driver’s license, her insurance documents, her six-year-old daughter’s vanilla birthday cake with its beloved artificially flavored strawberry icing. The comics don’t recognize the heroism of this brave woman’s seven-month struggle to rebuild her finances and maintain her identity following Darkseid’s incursion; all we know is for that poor woman, the Flash saved the day. He’s a superhero. Isn’t she grateful?”

Collateral damage and the disregard for it IS regarded. Hence the existence of Damage Control. Furthermore, that is AGAIN part of the escapism and fantasy element of it. THAT is the suspension of disbelief element of superheroes and taking it THAT realistically and criticising it for it is frankly just mean spirited and simply looking for an excuse to hate it.

Furthermore the reason the rescued woman isn’t focussed upon is because it’s not HER story. If you write a story about a protagonist THEY are your focus. Everything is for their benefit. That’s true of older non-white folktales as well.

And yeah readers are supposed to regard the Flash as heroic and the woman grateful because her kid’s birthday cake isn’t realistically as important as her life!!!!!!

This is criticising superhero fiction for being unrealistic even when it is being actively so The woman WOULD probably be grateful that she’s not fucking dead!

I wouldn’t mind seeing the survivors of something like this try to rebuild their lives. And superhero fiction has focussed upon that from time to time, but again...that’s not the point of the story. Criticising the genre fro this is like criticising Harry Potter for having the audacity to focus more upon Harry’s trauma in the wake of Cedric Diggory’s death than his parents’. Harry is the star. He gets the focus.

Superman is a White boy. Superheroes are White people. Superhero morality exacts the Melian Dialogue’s ‘might makes right’ overwhelming force realpolitik with every onomatopoetic Biff! Bam! Pow! gut punch and karate chop combo.

See what I’ve said before about how superheroes are not fascists and how force is often necessary

There exists no genetic propensity for group violence in the human genome. None.”

Er....yeah...there kinda is...that’s part of why wars happen.

racially-informed vigilantism.

This phrase in one of the articles itself sums up it’s own contradictions. Racially informed vigilantism is just one type of vigilantism, a type the superhero doesn’t subscribe to. A superhero would sooner join the likes of the Joker than the KKK style vigilantes and would be all too happy to apprehend them.

One of the articles seems to be conflating basically ALL criminals super heroes fight with people who’re labelled criminals due to racial profiling. Yes superheroes operate to an extent like police officers but you can’t truly complete the analogy whatsoever.

Few of them have legal sanction, which is partially why so many refrain from actually killing anyone as officer’s are allowed to do under certain circumstances. More than this when they take down criminals their methods are entirely different from regular cops. Apart from very loud and overt super villains who may or may not be on a rampage, most of the time when they tackle regular criminals it’s due to them either being informed of a crime that is going to happen (like a hijacking or something) or they literally see something happening whilst on patrol. They don’t profile people beyond what their super sensory abilities or logical observations tell them. Which is to say if someone is following someone else a little too closely then maybe, just maybe they are planning something. If their Spider-Sense or super hearing or something alerts them to something they will act.

Taking that, ignoring it, and then supplanting the superhero for a regular cop who would racially profile people and/or supplanting the criminals they tackle for racial minorities because those are the people who (stereotypically in the real world) would be targeted as criminals is very inappropriate. Not least of all since superhero comics obviously don’t present a wholesale realistic depiction of the real world so what they present isn’t entirely interchangeable with that. And what is more, erasure of minorities was so prevalent that overwhelming majority of all the criminals they ever encountered were themselves white, so again exchanging those for racial minorities who’re profiled as criminals is highly questionable.

It’s all just such a MASSIVE reach!

But I think the panels also work to point out that Miles himself “does not belong” in the superhero tradition. He, like most black and brown superhero characters in mainstream comics, is an outlier. In other words, people like Miles or Trayvon are unfortunately more likely to be victim of a “heroic” vigilante than to be one.

This is conflating the superhero vigilante with the majority of real world vigilantes who are overly violent (and frequently hard conservative) individuals who do take overly simplistic views of the law and use those to profile people. And it’s doing so whilst taking superheroes too literally, bringing their own personal interpretations to the mix and then overlaying them onto the superhero concept before finally accepting it as fact.

Police officers use violence against racially profiled people who exhibit unrest due to a societal system stacked against them. Well shit, Batman punches the Joker. It must be the same thing obviously!!!!!

Look. Without our stories, without the true nature and reality of who we are as people of color, nothing about fanboy and fangirl culture makes sense. What I mean by that is, if it wasn’t for race, X-Men doesn’t make sense; if it wasn’t for the history of breeding human beings through chattel slavery, Dune doesn’t make sense; if it wasn’t for the history of colonialism and imperialism, Star Wars doesn’t make sense; if it wasn’t for the extermination of so many indigenous nations, most of what we call “first contact” stories don’t make sense. Without us as the secret sauce, none of this works, and it is about time that we understand that we are the Force that holds the Star Wars universe together. We’re the Prime Directive that makes Star Trek possible. We are… in the Green Lantern Corps? We are the Oath. We are all of those things. Erased, and yet without us? We’re essential. This is an incredibly important project, because it puts front and center, not only a community that has long consumed and given power to these practices and consumer categories, but it’s a community without whose suffering and struggles, none of [these narratives] would make sense.

I agree with a lot of this but there are some problems with it.

a) X-Men makes sense also because they are a stand in for almost ALL marginalised groups. Racial minorities, disabled people, queer people etc.

b) Actually Star Wars makes complete sense with or without colonialism or imperialism, at least the kind which directly relates to the issues of racism. Imperialism, conquest, these are things which are much older than American society, dating back to even before Ancient Rome. It’s about freedom fundamentally and freedom is a desire shared by ALL human beings innately because at the end of the day we are animals who wish to be free and not caged. Being caged metaphorically within a tyranny is thus something we abhor

c) The Star Wars universe doesn’t begin and end with the story of imperialism. It’s about how Democracy can be turned into an dictatorship and how that has to be prevented, or re-addressed once it happens

When white comics readers claim that they did not need white characters to relate to and enjoy comics (as a way to argue against positive race-bending), that point to their love of Luke Cage or Spawn as evidence of their ability to enjoy characters across race, what they are failing to note is how black, Latin@, etc… identities in the superhero genre are framed by a system of white supremacy.

Again I don’t understand this one. I as a white reader can enjoy Luke Cage rescuing someone from a burning building because doing that is part of white supremacy????

It presumes a white power fantasy is inherently different to a black one. But the power fantasy element of the superhero relates to them having powers and using them to help others and defeat villains. A power fantasy by another race would still have that because it is inherent to the human power fantasy. Non-white power fantasies would logically have all that and more!

Much like Noah Berlatsky explains in his book Wonder Woman: Bondage and Feminism in the Marston/Peter Comics, 1941-1948, part of what made Marston’s original Wonder Woman stories so wonderful, was his expectation that girls and boys would identify with the heroine, to value and idealize her compassionate strength and victory through submission, rather than through cyclical and ultimately futile fisticuffs of male dominion.

Many female readers enjoy the action scenes. Action scenes are good because it enables us to have a healthy outlet for aggression without taking it out into the real world. It is also NOT an inherently male dominion thing. Again this is THEIR projection. Fighting and violence is innate to human beings because we are animals biologically programmed towards it for the sake of survival. That goes for males and females. Furthermore far from fisticuffs just being about male ‘dominion’ the Wonder Woman, Batman and Superman comics were a reflection of impending war. A war that sadly required violence to be solved. That’s what the superhero typifies. Wish fulfilment action in situations where violence was (usually) a necessity. Diplomacy is good and should be our first resort. In life though sometimes things do come down to necessary violence.

There are many ways to craft a racial minority superhero, but if we consider racial authenticity as a foremost concern, today’s Hollywood is simply not prepared for that intellectual labor. The real diversity conundrum isn’t how to include the minority metahuman in the existing comic framework; that’s an art project, a casting decision solved by calling Michael B. Jordan’s agent. The real question is how to write that superhero in a way that moves the medium forward, past the Reaganomics antiheroes of Alan Moore and Frank Miller and past the hyper-emotive Silver Age redux of Geoff Johns and Brian Michael Bendis. Respectable, authentic diversity in superhero comics should redefine the nature of the meta-protagonist to his powers and his audience, with exhaustive attention to cultural detail. I’m not convinced that a Black superhero would wear tights. I strongly doubt that a Black superhero would solve conflicts with his fists. The Black superhero knows that his community watches him religiously, and that any false move will have public repercussions he cannot expect or control. If anything, the Black superhero template plays out on our nation’s cable news channels at all hours. President Barack Obama, with all his clipped vocal inflections and measured language and natural equivocation and faulty dealmaking and perfect family and limitless patience is the closest public figure to a Black superhero America has yet experienced, an international celebrity unthinkable before his ascent. Watching President Obama today, one feels expectation crush into his bones like a gravity well. No matter the political stimuli, Republicans oppose him. The concept of the Obama Presidency struck American conservatives like a Bernard Hopkins’ kidney punch, and in return, President Obama absorbs the vitriol of our coarse public debates more than any President to date (and progressives never tired of calling his predecessor a National Socialist). The agony and the ecstasy of Grant Park has given way for many Americans to the sobering fact that American authority, her global military supremacy and international economic primacy, is controlled and represented by a Black man. Disliked, hated, or worse, the Establishment is Black. I need the Black superhero in print and/or on-screen to reflect that paradigm shift. Superheroes in the popular imagination are Establishment figures; if the Black superhero I’m presented can’t interrogate what it means when the Establishment is Black, of what utility is her story?

A minority hero wouldn’t wear tights or punch people...why?

What do tights have to do with anything? As for solving problems with his fists this is conflating the threats superheroes face with ANY threat, when they are almost always situations which legitimately do require necessary physical force to resolve. If the black superhero patrols an area and sees someone about to stab someone else, yeah he should punch the stabber to save the innocent person if there is no time for anything else.

This is basically asking for the core foundation of superheroes (which transcends racial constructs and is innate to human wish fulfilment and mythic tradition) to be scrapped in favour of something else entirely. Barrack Obama isn’t a superhero. He is many, many things but what Mr. Lamb here is asking isn’t so much for a different template but for something just wholesale different. He doesn’t actually WANT a superhero story in the first place!

Super heroes aren’t establishment figures. Superheroes don’t uphold the law regardless. They uphold the law in so far as a greater need to safeguard innocent lives. Conflating them as inherently establishment figures ignores their origins and over literalises what they do.

At the same time the utility of their story is first and foremost as a story: to entertain and inspire.

It is inherently worthwhile for a little black kid to sit down and open up a comic book where someone who looks like them is being a good person, is helping people, is defending the weak. I agree that minority heroes shouldn’t just be white heroes who happen to have different skin colours. I think they need to reflect the realities of what it means to be black or Asian or Pakistani in white society is necessary and a superhero should do that and should have that inform how they interact with their powers. It doesn’t mean the whole genre needs to abandon what it fundamentally is or that those minority heroes should not do the things a superhero fundamentally do.

Ultimately, yeah these characters were created within a white context, but my point is fundamentally the same thing was created in non-white contexts as well throughout history.

Super Heroes are a HUMAN power fantasy Part 1

Master Post

#Osvaldo Oyola #Noah Berlatsky #Marvel #DC #DC Comics #Marvel Comics #Super Heroes #Superheroes #Wonder Woman #Robin Hood

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fightmeyeats · 5 years

Text

Fantasy Racism™ Sure is Pretty White: A Critique of “Carnival Row”

One of the problems with the “politically relevant” fantasy genre is that it frequently offers “representation” and “relevant” critiques of social problems in ways which favor the representation of the oppressions people face, rather than of the people themselves--meaning metaphors which parallel fantasy races to people of color while using a predominantly white cast. Often times this further reifies the unmarked categories of the cultural context the work is produced in (ie whiteness as the dominant & default category), further marginalizes and dehumanizes people of color, and positions white folks as the victims of metaphorical white supremacy. Amazon’s new streaming original Carnival Row is an unfortunately clear example of this continued fetishization of white poverty/desperation/vulnerability at the expense of communities of color.

Spoilers below.

While one might rightly critique the “trauma porn” genre and the way that people of color are often brutalized on screen or depicted only as victims of violence in discussions of oppression, with the solidarity and resistance of communities of color erased from dominant narratives, substituting white bodies into these sequences of violence does not offer us a useful subversion. In her book What You Are Getting Wrong About Appalachia, Elizabeth Catte talks about the historical and contemporary use of a particular image of white poverty. The focal example of Catte’s book is J.D. Vance’s memoir Hillbilly Elegy (2016) where Vance consistently uses the image of the bad, dependent poor white to reify racist images of poverty and undermine the need for programs and systems to support poor folks--just one example of this is the way he insists that the “welfare queen” is real and implicitly argues that the use of this stereotype to undermine welfare programs is not racist because he has known white welfare queens. Outside of contemporary use, Catte also gives examples such as how in the 1960s “white poverty offered [white people uncomfortable with images of civil rights struggles] an escape--a window into a more recognizable world of suffering” (59), and the quotes Appalachian historian John Alexander Williams comments on the way that, in the displays of Appalachian poverty, “‘the nation took obvious relish in the white skins and blue eyes of the region’s hungry children’” (qtd Catte 82). This obsession with white poverty has little to do with addressing the actual problem; instead, it is a tool used to obscure oppression, resistance, and transformative solutions to these problems.

Carnival Row offers a discourse on colonialism, racism, and xenophobia intended to mirror the political climate of the real world, namely the violence experienced by refugees and undocumented immigrants. It also attempts to comment on the way that Global North/colonial nations often create or are implicit in the creation of catastrophes which cause Global South/colonized nations and regions to become unsafe and result in refugee migrations, as well as the subsequent way that many times when refugees end up immigrating to the very nations that played a role in the collapse of their homelands, they are met with violence on multiple levels and their traumas are ongoing. In this current moment, this kind of discourse/intervention is “relevant” (I use scare-quotes because while the treatment of refugees in many Global North nations is horrendous in this current moment, this is not a new problem the way it sometimes is imagined) and I’m even willing to concede that there are some things which I think are done well. However--and this is a big however--the choice to make a predominantly white non-human population the metaphorical stand in for real life people who are predominantly of color greatly undermines what the series is attempting to accomplish. The implicit message is that it is easier for general audiences to sympathize with and recognize the personhood in non-human white figures than it is to sympathize with and recognize the personhood in real life people of color who are actively experiencing the violence fictionalized in this series. Furthermore, even as the victims obscure the real role white supremacy plays in xenophobia and the violence experienced by migrants and refugees, it still is a form of trauma porn. The only real difference is that because of the dominant whiteness of the victims, this version of trauma porn allows for the voyeuristic participation in systems of violence wherein many who are passively complicit (or even actively responsible) in the very systems causing violence are able to relate to the victims and experience a sort of cathartic release which allows them to maintain their complicity, feeling “good” that they consumed “politically relevant” content which allowed them to “care” safely, without having to address the reality that they are part of the brutalizers not the brutalized.

One of the ways that the show attempts to somewhat skirt around this problematic of white victimhood is by giving many of the white refugees, namely the main character Vignette (played by British actor/model Cara Delevigne), Irish accents and setting it in a time period which ambiguously mirrors the time before (as Noel Ignatiev puts it) “the Irish became white”. Celtic whiteness is used both in Carnival Row and with the case of Appalachia, and seems to be a particular favorite flavor for the fetization of white poverty. My personal theory is that this is because, when used in this way, the British colonization of Celtic peoples works to simultaneously obscure the racialized realities of both poverty and colonialism--in this fashion, Celtic whiteness is Othered just enough to justify the creation of white victimhood as a fetish object, but still undeniably white enough to connect this victimhood to the universal construction of whiteness. While there is nothing inherently wrong with including Ireland (or Scotland or Wales) in discourses of colonialism/neocolonialism because Ireland and other Celtic lands were and are colonized by the British and this colonization has had a clear and lasting impact on these regions and these peoples, using it as part of the fetishization of white poverty does not further anti-colonial goals, and again is being used to displace and obscure the way racism and white supremacy are central to anti-refugee and anti-immigrant rhetoric, policies, and popular practices.

During the first few episodes, I tentatively imagined myself commenting on the only semi-positive aspect I saw in the show’s use of whiteness: while obscuring metaphors for white-supremacist politics are deployed in many fantasy works, they often position people (humans) of color as being members of the human-supremacist groups which are meant to reflect real life white supremacy, further obscuring the real stakes of the topic being discussed. For the first four episodes, Carnival Row avoids this problematic and gives a representation of the metaphorical anti-immigrant/“pro-Brexit” crowd exclusively through white humans--and bonus points, they can be found in both the political elite and the working class/poor. While the whiteness of fantasy races means that the real life targets of white supremacist violence (people of color) are obscured, at least this allows us to remain clear on who is responsible. That, unfortunately, changes in episode five. One of the major places where we can see this change is in the introduction of Sophie, a woman of color, who takes over her (white) father’s seat in parliament after his death. Sophie gives a speech where she mobilizes her status as a woman of color to further fantasy-racism, stating that her mother had “desert blood” and experienced racism, but that the city overcoming racism and recognizing the value of racial diversity does not apply to the “Critch” because “our differences are more than skin-deep” (ep 5, 34:15). While this is predominantly intended to differentiate real racism (which I guess has been solved?) from Fantasy Racism™, it also serves to undermine the dehumanizing politics of racism which are continuously deployed. It reassures audiences that real life racism can be solved because race is just skin deep and we’re ultimately all pretty similar. This obscures the historical and contemporary claims about “race science” and “racial difference” which often explicitly and implicitly justify racism. While in this present moment “race science” has become a more latent belief--most people laugh at the idea of measuring skulls--everyone with a White™ Facebook friend who's taken a 23-and-Me to prove they’re 0.005% African can speak to continuing beliefs in biological race theory.

Ultimately, like many other “politically relevant” fantasy works, Carnival Row’s use of a white washed Fantasy Racism™ as a metaphor for the systems of oppression that, in the real world, affect people of color remains highly problematic. In both our personal viewing practices and in our practices of creating and curating stories, we must think critically. Storytelling is a powerful tool in shaping how we perceive and consider reality, so when we choose to tell stories that represent marginalized communities exclusively by their oppressions, and especially when we choose metaphors that participate in the fetishization of white desperation and whitewash these communities we are doing real harm.

#carnival row #critical race theory #carnivalrow #amazon prime #essay #review #spoilers #i am white

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chokememrstark · 5 years

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Make Me Bad (Part 5) - Winterironspider

Words: ~ 1,7k

Summary: Tony knew the nature of Spider's and Winter's relationship, but actually witnessing it second hand gets to him in various ways. When Spider suddenly starts making advances to him too, however, he's more terrified than excited at first.

Warnings: criminal!peter, criminal!bucky (winter), psychiatrist!tony, manipulation, partners in crime, dark past, underage, murder, violence, winterspider, starker

Note: Sorry this one took so long! I hope you enjoy some more for this!

[read on AO3]

After finding out a bit more about both Spider and Winter, Tony kind of begins to understand why the two stick together the way they do and why Spider was willing to risk getting caught to make sure Winter wasn’t left behind when Tony freed him. He doesn’t fully understand it, probably because imagining a brainwashed assassin in his 30s and a 12 year old being on the run together seems to cause his brain to malfunction, but it’s clear that they are not just acting. Whether or not Winter brainwashed the kid after meeting him Tony can’t say, but it surely doesn’t look like it from what he can tell.

During the next day, Tony helps Spider tidy up the place, which collected quite a bit of dust after over a month of being abandoned, and they even free part of the wardrobe for Tony, who doesn’t really have any clothes at the moment and has to borrow ones from Winter, but he’s glad about the space he gets. They will get him some clothes to change soon, but it’s not urgent, as both Tony and Winter wear similar sizes and even though Winter’s clothes are a bit too big at times, they fit and are enough for the time being.

The second night, Spider doesn’t even seem to expect Tony to come to bed with them. He simply wishes him goodnight and climbs up the ladder, making the other actually believe he can sleep peacefully. As it turns out though, Spider is in a much better mood that night and it doesn’t take long before Tony hears very obvious and explicit noises coming from the bed. He gulps and pulls the blanket over his head, but there’s no way to muffle the noise completely.

Tony just lays there eventually, listening to Spider’s moans that are slightly muffled through a pillow or blanket, but still perfectly audible. It’s weird and it’s making him feel very awkward because he knows they are aware of the fact he can hear them, but obviously don’t seem to mind. What’s worse, though, is the fact that the sounds the boy makes are in no way appalling. In fact, Tony notices quickly that just listening to them makes him hard and he doesn’t like it at all.

When there is finally silence again, Tony sighs in relief and forces himself to think of car crashes and dead puppies to kill his erection before turning around and trying once more to sleep. This time, he succeeds, but those gorgeous and pretty moans Spider made follow him into his dreams and it’s as much torture as it’s a delight.

There is a certain tension in the air the following morning and it’s pretty clear both Spider and Winter know exactly that Tony heard them the night before, but neither of them addresses it. Tony offers taking care of the dishes after breakfast just to have something to do and when he finally comes back to the living room, he finds Spider laying across Winter’s lap, book in hands and the man’s fingers entangled in the boy’s hair.

Tony decides to take a shower to have some time for himself, which takes around half an hour, but when he comes back and sees the other two in the same position he frowns. There’s something rising in his chest that he quickly identifies as jealousy, even though he has no right to even feel this way. It’s very disturbing and Tony doesn’t like it.

“Is there anything to do?” he finally asks, simply because just sitting around was never something he enjoyed doing. Winter turns his head and looks at him, while Spider doesn’t even pulls his attention away from his book.

“We need some firewood,” Winter says and shrugs, eyes piercing through Tony as if to challenge him to go occupy himself with that. “Axe is in the shed.”

Knowing that he had the choice between chopping wood and watching Winter and Spider this close, Tony nods and decides to go with the wood. It will hopefully take his mind away from the other two for a bit.

It’s almost an hour later and Tony already piled up quite an impressive amount of wood - at least for his terms - when Spider suddenly walks over to him, seemingly happy and cheerful.

“You wanna take a break?” he asks with the sweetest voice and smiles at him. “I could need a hand cutting stuff for dinner.”

Tony nods and puts the axe back into the shed, washing his hands before joining Spider in the kitchen. Since he can’t spot Winter anywhere, he asks about him and Spider smirks.

“He wants to get a new laptop,” the boy tells him as he shoves over a chopping board, a knife and onions. “He doesn’t like silence, says it makes memories come back and such.”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Tony says, but doesn’t go into detail. It’s a common thing present in people with PTSD and similar mental illnesses and traumas, so he’s not surprised.

“He’ll be back later, but I figured we still need to eat, right?” Spider smiles as he works on chopping pepper bells himself for what is going to turn out to be the side dish to rice and chicken. “You want some wine to go with it?”

Tony thinks about the offer for a moment before nodding. A glass of wine won’t hurt after all, right? Spider seems to be happy about the response and goes through the cupboard for rice while Tony finishes up the onions.

When the food is done, both of them decide to sit on the couch to eat, simply for comfort, and Tony quite enjoys how it turned out and how well the wine matches with the flavors.

“You’re pretty good with this,” he says, giving Spider a smile. “Did you learn that yourself or did Winter teach you?”

Spider swallows down his bite and chuckles into his hand. “He taught me some things, but most of what I know I learned from books and videos,” he admits cheekily. “It got boring eating only the same things after a while, you know?”

“I guess that gets pretty annoying, yeah,” Tony grins and takes another sip from his wine. “If you want to, I can show you how to do some pasta dishes my mom taught me. She loved cooking a lot.”

“Really?” Spider asks, his eyes sparkling at him. “That would be awesome! Can we make it a surprise though? I want to make sure Winter won’t suspect anything.”

Tony laughs and nods with a grin. “Nothing easier than that,” he says with a wink. “I can also show you how to make homemade ice cream. It’s really easy actually.”

“I love ice cream!” Spider laughs happily and puts down his plate before hugging Tony tight. “You’re awesome!”

Tony takes the compliment without questioning it as it’s really lifting his mood and once they are done they clean the dishes together, making the whole ordeal last no more than ten minutes. After that, though, there’s not much else to do.

“Come, I’ll show you the area!” Spider eventually suggests, grabbing one of Tony’s hands and pulling him up. Tony can’t really fight against the boy’s eager and follows him outside, which leads to a walk through the surrounding forest that lasts for over an hour. Spider seems so happy to show him everything, including the lake he loves swimming in whenever he can and the clearing where a family of rabbits lives. They don’t see them that day, but Tony doesn’t mind. It’s still nice and they have a good time before returning to the cabin.

In the evening, Winter does come back and actually has a new laptop that he asks Spider to set up - Tony figures he can’t do it himself and he’s not wrong with that. While Winter takes a shower, Spider and and Tony set the laptop up, Tony not even asking how they have such a strong internet connection out here before he makes sure Netflix will run smoothly on it.

They watch a movie together that evening before going to bed, some horror movie Tony doesn’t like much, but it’s better than complete silence, he figures. It’s a bit of a template for how things are going from then on, something Tony gets used to rather quickly. They will have dinner, then watch a movie or a few episodes of a show Peter wants to see and then go to bed. Nothing special, nothing dramatic.

That is until Tony notices a change in Spider’s behavior, something that only shows when they are alone at first, but quickly happens all the time and with Winter being there, it really starts making Tony extremely uncomfortable.

From the first day already, Tony knew better than to try and get between Spider and Winter. It’s never been a problem, not until Spider suddenly begins actively seeking his company in a much closer way than Tony is used to. The boy will lean against him whenever he can, brush his hands over his arms, hook his foot in with his legs under the table - all things that look innocent at first glance but that clearly aren’t.

Tony tries to stay rational and not give into those attempts, but the more he ignores what Spider does, the more determined the boy seems to become. It’s not uncomfortable at all when they are alone and Tony finds himself allowing the boy more and more freedoms during those times, but when Winter is there, things are completely different and Tony does his best to gently deny Spider’s advances in any way possible, which unfortunately only fuels the boy to try even harder.

There is only so much Tony can take and only so long he can ignore Spider’s attempts at getting to him. Eventually, he gives in partially, at least when they are alone, and Spider is so excited, he immediately crawls into Tony’s lap and starts kissing him.

Despite his fear of Winter’s rage, Tony simply can’t resist the boy forever. He knows he shouldn’t do this, but it feels too good not to and as long as they only do it when they are alone, things should be fine. Or at least he hopes so.

#winterironspider #starker #winterspider #make me bad #myfics #myedits

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panticwritten · 5 years

Note

'anything, just call me, okay?'

Thank you!

I may. Have gone a little overboard with this.

This takes place in the superhero au, which was kind of devoid of world building details until I got to writing this. I’m still working the kinks out of how the powers work and I’ll get into that another time but I had a lot of fun writing this!

Content warnings: mild violence, mention of kidnappings

Let me know if you need anything tagged! I’ll add my tag list in a reblog in a bit.

Informational is my least favorite assignment.

Pick-ups are pretty low maintenance, and I’m normally told if it won’t be. There’s room for creativity in recon even if it can be boring. Even hits are pretty cut and dry, but I haven’t gotten those since I flipped.

But informational is different.

My mark bounces down the stairs to land flat on his back. He scrambles back to his feet before I catch up, but that’s precious ground I can monopolize on. Unless he’s developed new abilities or changed his habits since I last saw him, I have a little bit of an upper hand here.

The worst kind of mix between recon and a pick-up.

In the end, I don’t actually have to wait too long. He tries to force the wrong door open at the bottom of the stairwell, loses a second too much time. It gives me a chance to grab the back of his shirt and fling him at the other door, which pops out of its frame under his weight.

You can’t just observe or eavesdrop your info, you have to extract it from a mark.

I flick a switch on my wristwatch on my way in after him. The guy tries to push himself up the wall but he can’t in time to keep my heel from digging into his gut.

Sometimes it’s the same as a pick-up. Just add a lengthy interrogation after you grab the mark.

“Let it go, man,” I crouch down and draw a knife. Just in case. “Take the loss, tell me what you know, I let you go. Catch and release.”

When I have no choice but to chase them down, it can be hard to do that without getting marks dead. A knife in the back will stop them, sure, but even the best shot can’t guarantee they’ll miss the squishy necessary bits. Well, this guy might be able to if he wasn’t the one on the ground.

“That’s bullshit ‘n you know it,” he groans. He does stop trying to get up, slumped completely against the wall. “I recognize you, you don’t let people go.”

Then, there’s that.

I cock my head and smile. With the knife pointed lazily in his direction I dig in my inner jacket pockets until I find a slim injection gun.

“I’m under new management, haven’t you heard?” I hold it up so he can see the raised ‘Mr. Clean’ logo on the side. Mr. Clean’ll wipe all those nasty memories away, no one will ever know I was here. “We don’t kill people.”

“You’re branded.” He turns his gaze to the ceiling and breathes a nervous laugh. “Scout’s branded by Mr. Clean and you’ve got me at knife point.”

“The Collective’s branded, I just get what they give me.” I tuck the gun away and rock forward on my heels. “And I’m just holding a knife. Technically, I threw you through a door.”

I tighten my grip when he shifts. He just settles back in a more comfortable position, but uh. I don’t relax. I’ve been on the other end of this, compliance is a great cover for breaking out.

“The Collective, huh?” His eyes stay firmly on my knife. “Never would’ve seen you as a hero. No offense.”

“No, that’s completely fair.” My watch beeps. I don’t look at it, I just use his glance in that direction to move the edge of the blade at least an inch closer to his neck. “Will you answer my questions? This isn’t an arrest unless you make it one, I’m just after some information.”

“That depends.” His voice wobbles, but only for a second. “What are the questions?”

“Well, first, do you know anything about the kidnappings from the last few weeks?” I ask, rehearsed. I can’t be pulling out a sheet of paper to ask, come on. It’s unprofessional and it’s how you lose a mark. “The teenage girls going missing?”

He glances to the side, wary. “I don’t—”

“It won’t reflect on you,” I remind him. “I recognize you too, Veer. I barely believed it when I saw your name connected to this case.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Kids, Veer?” I push the knife closer until it brushes his neck. “Who has you by the balls to get you mixed up with disappearing kids?”

“You don’t want to know!” He snapped. He even leans forward, into the edge of the blade, and I see something change in his eyes. “You don’t want to know.”

I pause.

“You know me, man.” I push him back against the wall with my free hand. I paste a tired smile on and hope it’s good enough. “I’m just a mouthpiece. I’m not the one asking.”

He groans and rests his head back on the wall. “It’s not like you’ll kill me, why should I tell you?”

“Then I take you in and you have to deal with real heroes and the police. No one here wants that.” I sigh. “We were the same flavor of villain, weren’t we? We’re not here to hurt people!”

“But he is.” He lifts his head slightly to put eyes on me. “And I think you know who he is already.”

“You have to say it.” I try to keep my voice easy, but I can’t quite relax my jaw. “I need you to, for the recording.”

The air hangs heavy in the beat before he raises his head completely. And I do know. I knew the second I saw the case. I just hoped I would be wrong.

“It’s Tchaikovsky.” He says it like an apology. “Once he has you, you can’t just—”

“I know.” I shake my head slightly. “You can only ignore him if you want people to end up dead.”

“I told you you didn’t want to know.”

I shrug. What are you gonna do? “Do you know where he’s sending orders in from? It was Bulgaria before, is he—”

“Scout.”

I stop dead when his face changes. Too careful, too wary.

“What?”

He glances down at my watch, then back to my face. I shake my head. I can’t turn the recording off, I can’t risk that. He stares at me, that sad and tired gaze foreign for this kind of job.

“Are you confident the Collective could take care of him?” he asks, then turns his eyes back to the watch. “Will you stay on the case?”

“I don’t get to make that decision, but—” My watch beeps once, a pause, then again. Oh, that’s nice. “—oh. Yeah. I’m on the case, apparently.”

He closes his eyes and grits his teeth.

“He’s here.” He doesn’t react when I press the knife ever closer, only moves back with it. “He’s in the city and he’s mad.”

I stare at him. He opens his eyes after a brief pause. It takes me at least thirty seconds to figure out what to say.

“V, you think we could swing a parlay here?” I ask the dead air.

Veer’s brows furrow and I gesture for him not to say anything. After a moment’s wait, my watch crackles. “Yeah, if you can vouch for him I’ll sign off on immunity.”

I relax, but I don’t pull the knife back.

“I have to make a call. I’ll meet you back at zero.”

The watch beeps twice. I only break eye contact with Veer long enough to make sure I press the right button on my watch. He asks me a question I pretend not to see with his eyes while it rings.

“Hey, I thought you were still at work for another hour!”

Veer’s eyes widen and he mouths, “Is that—” before I shoot him a glare and cover his mouth with my free hand.

“Don’t kill me, but something came up.” I press harder on both his neck and his mouth when Veer snorts at whatever it is he finds so funny in that. “I probably won’t make dinner.”

“You’d better not be calling me on a literal chase.” Connor’s voice was tired but not without humor. “Did an escape or a rogue whatever ‘come up’ and now you’re letting me know you’re gonna be in the hospital or prison until someone comes and gets you?”

“That has never happened and you’re embarrassing me in front of my former coworker, please stop slandering my name,” I reply smoothly. Veer has the nerve to slap at my silencing hand while I have a knife to his throat. “No, I have a lead on a case that’s kind of important to me. I’m doing some follow up.”

“Ah.” He sighs. “Will you be home tonight?”

“Maybe?” I finally pull back the knife, if only so I don’t accidentally decapitate my friend when he snorts into my hand. “Can you heat up some pizza rolls for me before you go to bed, just in case?”

I get a snort laugh from Connor and a disbelieving look from Veer. “Yeah, anything. Just call me, okay? If you need anything, just call.”

“Thanks.” I try my hardest not to be embarrassed. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Veer, and he never got to see me be, uh. Happy, I guess. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I release Veer only for him to tip onto his side and howl with laughter. I rise to my feet and wait for him to get it out of his system with my hands on my hips, knife stowed away for now. He doesn’t have to know my fingers just barely brush the taser in my back pocket. I don’t quite trust him not to make a break for it.

“Are you done?” I ask once he rolls onto his back and eyes me with good humor. “We’ve got places to be.”

“Please tell me that wasn’t Replay,” he wheezes.

“His alias is Rematch and you know it,” I snap. I hate this job, I hate the Collective for thinking it’s a good idea for me to work my old crowd like this. They all know me and I hate it!

“You’re dating your old nemesis, but whatever. There’s plenty of time to tease you later.” Veer pushes up and holds a hand out to me. I hesitate before I grab it, but I do anyway. No shocks or traps or nasty tricks. He just drags himself up with my hand and gives me a bright smile.

“Where are we headed?”

I tighten my grip on his hand before I say, “Collective headquarters.”

His reaction is both expected and immediate. He jerks back and almost trips over the busted door. If I wasn’t holding his wrist, he’d have gone ass over teakettle over it.

“Calm down, I’m stealing you away and using my real superpower of—” I pause dramatically and tug him down the hall. I’m pretty sure there’s a door down there to the street. “—being one of them.”

“You’re gonna get me thrown in jail!” he hisses. The air around my hand distorts, but my powers have always canceled this particular one of his out. He can’t just jiggle my atoms to get away. It’s not like he’s trying to stop me physically dragging him or anything.

“I have a stamp of approval, so as long as you behave you have immunity.” I stop at a door and he doesn’t even try to tug out of my grasp. “Any time that I’m not with you, V will be and they head the Department of Ethical Assessment and Leniency.”

“Why are they the one camped out for you, then?” he demands. He lets me lead him into the cool night air without any resistance. “Department heads don’t do that!”

I give a dramatic sigh. “V and I are a special case. They can counteract whatever the fuck it is I do to the equipment when I work.”

“I always thought that was an excuse to not have to call in when you finished assignments,” he mutters.

“Anyway, when the case is over you’re out to keep doing your shit.” I cock my head to feel for the van’s vibrations. It’s closer than I thought it would be, and I lead Veer in that direction. “Illegal, life-saving tumor removals or whatever.”

“I started that after you left!” He shakes my hand and I think it’s safe to let go. I caught him once, I can probably do it again if I have to.

I sling a grin at him. “You should have seen my face when I first saw my file. V works their ass off to keep the Collective off of yours, I hope you’re grateful.”

He stares at me only long enough to almost trip on a crack in the sidewalk. We walk in silence for a minute, then: “Ethical Assessments, huh?”

“Yeah. And Leniency.” I stop suddenly and kick the side of our van, parked and desolate on the side of the road. It looks like V’s a little too comfortable even if they do pop the front doors open. “Get in, we’ve got a lot to do and not much time to do it.”

#writing #my writing #ask game #prompt game #superhero au

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youngerdaniel · 3 years

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Traditions in Turbulence: 2020′s Year at the Movies

If there’s one thing I think we can all agree on, it’s that movies have saved a lot of sanity this year. Well, maybe they’ve just preserved what little is left. Who knows anymore? To be honest, addressing the spiky red elephant in the room feels untenable. My drafts folder is mountainous with aborted previous attempts. There are tirades, there’s introspection, there’s a lot of anger... And, well, none of it seems like it’s productive or what I want to contribute to the zeitgeist what with a new solar cycle beginning and all that. “But wait!” you may be thinking. “A writer must summon a take, must have something to say, must make sense of the madness!”

Here’s my take:

Making sense of madness is like herding cats with a disco ball.

All I can really say -- with any authority, at least -- is that 2020 showed us the tremendous value of story. As a means of delivering information; as a portal to escape said information when it gets too hard to digest; as a means of connecting when we’re all on proverbial house arrest.

I’ve spent the past year digging into old favorites, rooting out forgotten sensibilities and shaping up a few stories of my own--the unchanging beat in my story. It’s been a flagrant fuckwad of a year, but not without some exciting variations on my usual plate spinning, word-slinging antics.

I’ve also gotten to see some pretty great movies and shows, and as is tradition, here's 10 of ‘em:

The Mandalorian: Season 2

By now, you’ve no doubt sampled the wonderful pairing of badass bounty hunter and adorable Force-wielding friend. Season 2 of Mando dug deeper into character, and doubled down on everything that made the first season work. The world building expanded in a way that rarely undermined the season’s focus. Was it a fan-service sandwich? Right up until the final moments -- then it kicks you in the gut and laughs at you with dramatic victory. You’ve seen the memes. You know it’s good.

The Invisible Man

The thing a lot of contemporary horror “remakes” fail to do is justify their own existence. Modernizations really only work as well as their thematic intentions -- and in a world teeming with films bereft of such a concept, it’s refreshing when a filmmaker comes along and finds a way to make what’s more or less a bogeyman story turn into something deeply psychological. The Invisible Man is less about the titular character than it is about toxic relationships and domestic abuse. It’s a hard film to swallow, but it also strikes a great balance between heavy themes and riveting action. It’s a technical marvel of a film, and is Leigh Wannell’s best. Check it out if you dare.

The Queen’s Gambit

The more I think about this show, the more perplexed I am. First of all, it’s insanely awesome. Performances and character arcs are just electric. It’s interesting, because fundamentally, there’s not much new in the notion of a tortured maverick whose bad behavior threatens to destroy their lives. Execution really is everything -- and from production design to the cinematic expressions of thought, this show is damn well-executed.

Bill & Ted Face the Music

If you know, you know. Bill and Ted is not for the intellectually stuffy, nor is it something that will appease the arthouse snobs... But what it is, is fun. There’s that trademark sentimentalism hiding behind the guise of time-traveling stupidity that made originals great. There are delightful callbacks and interesting developments, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen Alex Winter give such a killer performance. With themes of succession, unexpected surprises, and all the ridiculous antics you’d expect, this one’s bound to make you scream “STATION” and air-guitar your way into the new year.

Unless you’re a joyless sack. In which case...

1917

I hate war movies. There, I said it. But every now and then one comes along that elects to do something different than glorify the violence and paint the conflicting forces with cartoonish contrast. Obviously, 1917 is first and foremost a technical marvel of a movie. One take movies are rarely so clear-headed, and certainly struggle to sustain their tension... But 1917 is a fucking masterpiece in terms of writing as well. Want to see how to handle an entire movie’s exposition in 9 minutes? This one. Want to see a midpoint reversal that completely changes the direction of the story and deepens the emotional stakes? This one. Want to see a movie that shows just how hellish war is? This one. It’s great. It’s moving. It’s exciting. It’s a dang good picture.

The Vast of Night

One of the great things about movies going directly to streamers is you get to see indie gems that might otherwise never make it to a screen in your city. The Vast of Night is full of style and interesting characters. There’s a firm bedrock of nostalgia driving this one, and there’s so much to like conceptually. So if you’re feeling like taking a trip to 1950s, but you want something in the flavor of Contact... This one’s for you.

Mank

Every now and again, Fincher will really surprise you. This was one of those times. Following the troubled screenwriter of Citizen Kane as he struggles to turn in a draft and keep himself from falling apart, this movie’s a love letter to the Hollywood of old. When I think of why this one has stayed with me, it really all comes down to the characters. Gary Oldman is at his best, and the film never idealizes or sugarcoats its depiction of Herman J. Mankiewicz. It’s a weird narrative, with multiple timelines and occasional moments of cinematic delirium -- but it’s only fitting given the subject matter.

Palm Springs

Palm Springs is another one of those movies that on the surface seems fairly derivative, but through execution makes something that feels fresh. Maybe it’s watching Andy Sandberg give a muted, mopey performance that’s so opposite his usual choices. Maybe it’s just as simple as any genre convention that’s used to tell a story about real feelings works. Much like the mechanics of time travel, I don’t care to take this one apart. What I will say is, it was charming, it had heart, and it was weird. Watch it.

The Trial of the Chicago Seven

[Insert obligatory gushing about Aaron Sorkin’s writing.] You want snippy dialogue, important issues, and some of the most compelling courtroom drama you can find this side of the Social Network? Look no future. Literally everything about this movie blew me away. The performances were stellar. The dialogue was on fire. As a director, Sorkin left me underwhelmed with Molly’s Game (although it improves with every viewing), but the Chicago Seven was much more my speed. I guess despite the tongue-in-cheek gag that opened this section, I’m gushing about Sorkin. But I’ve got more gushing to do about another movie. So just go see this one if you haven’t.

Soul

This one ticks every single box that makes me happy. Musically inclined protagonist? Check. Hidden worlds? Check. This movie is basically three movies in one -- an afterlife musing, a body swap movie, and a follow your dreams narrative that comes to such a heartwarming conclusion. This is top Pixar. The animation is captivating, creative, and full of imagination. The story is full of heart, sentiment, and in a world dominated by hustle culture, its conclusions on how following one’s dream is more important than achieving it is profound -- maybe even a little too grown up for its target audience... And that’s exactly why it works. It’s a treat. So while 2021 won’t magically douse the world in hand sanitizer, and our problems are far from behind us, some traditions can be carried out from any distance. Maybe the year to come will yield more from me here; maybe somewhere else entirely.

What I’ve learned to say in such uncertain times is this: We’ll see what happens.

Stay safe. Stay sane. Hug your cat. Water your cactus. Grieve your grief. Do what you need to do if it keeps you going.

And keep hanging on -- we don’t feel it all the time, but this rock we’re on spins pretty fast.

#journal #yearinmovies #2020 #movies #writing

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rpgmgames · 7 years

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June’s Featured Game: Living Playground: The Witch’s Puppets

DEVELOPER(S): Meaka ENGINE: RPGMaker XP GENRE: Supernatural, Puzzle WARNINGS: Both implied and shown violence to the children, Emotional abuse, Blood SUMMARY: With what starts as a simple day at the park, siblings Tony, Pablo, and Octavio are once again caught up in a series of strange circumstances such as strange pocket dimensions, coordinated monsters, and more geese than anyone could ever want to see in their lives. Stranded with them are Haze and Seal, two witches who seem to be connected with whatever nonsense is going down. As witches tend to be.In the simplest of terms, this game is about friendship and relating to others, both the good and the bad. With an unfortunate focus on the bad. It will be mostly straightforward with only one ending.

Download the demo here!

Our Interview With The Dev Team Below The Cut!

Introduce yourself! *Hi hello I'm Meaka. I've been kicking around the RPG Maker scene since like 2012 with my first game release in 2014. Whether that makes me but a wee RPGM baby or a seasoned veteran is probably dependent on how "long" you'd consider that h-haha. I'm an animator and illustrator, so visual development is my strong suit.

What is your project about? What inspired you to create your game initially? *Meaka: The Witch's Puppets is best summed up as "a game about friendship." Part of my motivation for creating it was simply personal catharsis: it deals heavily with circumstances that impacted my own life greatly and affects how I interact with people to this very day. Beyond real-life experiences, a big inspiration is Hatoful Boyfriend: Holiday Star in terms of how emotionally raw and powerful it is while also carrying on its sense of humor.

How long have you been working on your project? *Meaka: Far too long oh man. As a reference, my first game took me maybe six to eight months on and off to complete. I'm. almost 3 years into The Witch's Puppets and while I can probably hope for the best in terms of my completion rate, it's been a wild ride. (Did you know I thought it'd only take a year? 2014 me, how innocent you were...)

Did any other games or media influence aspects of your project? *Meaka: I say this like everywhere and I'm sorry if I'm repeating myself, but a huge inspiration for my art in general is the Kirby series. It has such a flawless blend of cute-to-macabre that I absolutely love and hope to capture that same feeling in my own work! Living Playground was inspired by the usual "RPG Maker/ Wolf RPG Editor" games (mostly Ib and Alice_mare) which led to it's "kind of horror but not really" flavor.

Have you come across any challenges during development? How have you overcome or worked around them? *Meaka: In all honesty, just staying motivated three years into a project is difficult. I'm absolutely ecstatic to be making this game and bring it to people for them to play, but it's so easy to be excited about the cool parts and hit a wall production-wise when it comes to the mundane and tedious parts, particularly programming events that tend to be made up of a ton of conditional branches, variables, and occasionally will crash RMXP. So I give myself breaks on occasion and try to switch it up between whether I work on visual assets or RPG Maker programming, and sometimes I flip over to side projects (be it jam games or just other art).

Have any aspects of your project changed over time? How does your current project differ from your initial concept? *Meaka: From my initial concept, beyond certain themes and characters, they're two entirely different storylines. I actually gutted the entire script and started over at least twice during the course of production because of things not flowing well, weird writing choices by me, or just ideas that I slowly realized weren't that good. In particular, a very big part of some rewriting came from having some friends look over my script + game doc and pointing out some flaws that were from too much personal investment. If you're ever in a tight spot and not sure if stuff reads right, get some friends to beta read for you!

What was your team like at the beginning? How did people join the team? If you don't have a team, do you wish you had one or do you prefer working alone? *Meaka: In my first game it was just me until I threw it at some people to beta test. That was an interesting experience. For the Witch's Puppets, I commissioned music from the absolutely amazing ProjectTrinity and needing to consolidate my ideas and express them in a way for someone to create music for it helped me commit to my ideas and also helped me put into words what I couldn't really describe well beforehand. I haven't really had the chance to work fully on a team. I'd sure love to, but I fear my hectic life schedule would hold back whatever team I would want to join.

What was the best part of developing the game? *Meaka: I may be an animator and used to this by now, but there's something really magical about making your characters and putting them into a thing and then they move around. It just feels really nice. Also for me, I love telling stories and entertaining people, so I hope that my games allow me to do that! Whenever someone offhand mentions they enjoy something I make, it fills me with the warm fuzzies. (And don't even get me started on fanart. I literally cry.)

Looking back now, is there anything that regret/wish you had done differently? *Meaka: I absolutely want to 100% go back and remake Living Playground one day. It was the best I could do at the time, but now that I know so much more about what RPG Maker can and can't do, I want to go back and fix all those little things and make it more of what I wanted it to be. ... Also cut back on the ham-fisted attempts to be scary, maybe.

Once you finish your project, do you plan to explore game's universe and characters further in subsequent projects, or leave it as-is? *Meaka: I've already kind of done that! The Witch's Puppets is a sequel-but-not-really. And also Retail Hell, my Horror Funhouse jam project, is set in the same universe. As for the future, I can't say for sure that I'll make another game with the same characters, but I love the playground kids so I would never rule out the possibility of making something containing them again. Whether it's a game or not, that's a problem for Future Meaka to figure out.

What do you look most forward to upon/after release? *Meaka: It might be conceited of me, but I hope to see it give some sort of positive impact on people, even if just a little! I'd like to hope my little Friendship Game helps someone out if they're in a rough patch and at least makes them smile for a bit. Also I cannot wait to shitpost with wild abandon. Bad memes, here I come.

Is there something you're afraid of concerning the development or the release of your game? *Meaka: I always low-key fear my files corrupting and losing everything, but since I am paranoid and keep a ton of back-up copies, I don't think that's going to be an issue. There's also a small part of me that is worried about people completely missing the point, but at that point I guess it would fall on my writing...!

Question from last month's featured dev: Which of your characters do you feel like you'd get along with the most? *Meaka: Strong Pickle. There is no other answer.

Do you have any advice for upcoming devs? *Meaka: Google Drive, Dropbox, and Mediafire are good friends and back up your stuff! Also, there will be days when making your game will not be fun. You will open your version of RPG Maker and look at it with dread. Keep going. Even if it's just one event a day, one spriteset at a time, keep on poking at that game. It just seems daunting because you know what you want it to be and you're looking at the beginning of the beginning. You can do it!!!

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

Remember to check out Living Playground: The Witch’s Puppets if you haven’t already! See you next month!

- Mods Gold & Platinum

#rpgmaker #rpg maker #rpg maker games #games #game of the month #gotm #living playground #living playground: the witch's puppets #the witch's puppets #meaka #interview #dev interview #game dev

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bitchfromtheseventhhell · 7 years

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AU where Nymeria didn't come soon enough and Joffrey maimed (murdered?) Arya. What would've happened? How do you think the story would proceed?

well this ask is sure a punch to the gut so thanks for that.

but after that initial punch, i had fun with this. my goal was to keep major strokes of the plot largely the same but to justify them with different characterizations that precipitate from this different scenario.

this is also long bc i had fun so i’m putting it under a cut

trident:

arya:

first thing’s first--i’m not killing arya. sorry will not will never.

so let’s assume some maiming of some sort. joffrey’s got live steel and is swinging it, so my guess is he’d hit either her arm or her abdomen.

if abdoment, i’m going to assume a not deep strike/miraculously misses internal organs swipe--but one that bleeds a lot and one also that takes a while to recover from.

if arm or leg, there’s going to be muscle damage depending on where he strikes. in any case--how that would affect her permanently i’m not sure.

ned:

look ned was super fucked up by arya’s disappeareance to begin with after she fled the scene, my guess is he’s going to be even more fucked up by the fact of her being physically attacked. can you imagine arya being brought back somehow covered in blood and the lyanna flashbacks he would have been having? (especially if, given that arya disappeared for several days in canon, he may have already have been having lyanna flashbacks). he’s really not going to be ok with any of this.

while he can’t call for anything bad to happen to joffrey, i wouldn’t be surprised, actually, if he told robert he wouldn’t be hand, and then had robert cajole him back into it; i think he would likely break sansa’s betrothal to joffrey as well, or at least say that he was considering breaking it pending joffrey’s further behavior. i think he’d want to believe that “children fight” but i don’t think he’d be willing to accept that “children fighting” = joffrey turning live steel on his daughter.

if they continue to king’s landing, my guess is that guilt would wrack him a whole heck of a lot. if they turn back north, it’d probably be the same. ned carries guilt really intensely. for the sake of this au, i think they continue on south.

sansa:

sansa’s whole drunken experience on the banks of the trident is already 12 times of overwhelm for her. agot sansa--and agot-sansa-i-sansa which oh hey here she is!--especially is someone who does everything she can to believe that things are good, right, fair, just, perfect, etc. so there are two options for her witnessing joffrey swing and hit her sister with a sword:

blame arya for it--if she hadn’t gotten in the way and had just come to the wheelhouse with sansa the way sansa had wanted everything would have been fine.

be immediately disillusioned by joffrey--seeing him for the cruel boy he is.

i lied there’s a third option which is some combination of the two but

i, personally, am leaning option 2 laced with option 3 but really more option 2 than anything else: why? because lady’s still alive coming out of all this since it was nymeria who attacked joffrey and if nymeria didn’t attack joffrey both wolves get to stick around. since so much of the lady’s death symbolism is connected with the way that sansa engages with the truth and reality (among other things) but if lady’s alive that is a literal game changer for like all of sansa’s characterization. i def think it’s gonna be a “dragged kicking and screaming” kind of thing for sansa (see: secret option 3 maybe transitioning towards option 2), but i think it’s a major shock to the system: her perfect prince almost killed her sister because she tried to get him not to beat someone up. like imagine nymeria snuggling and being all protective of sickbed arya the way that summer is of bran, and lady keeping them company because pack!!!!!! and suddenly you’re going to have a very different world experience for sansa within a game of thrones because her wolf is choosing her pack for her and is not being severed from her symbolically or literally. that’s a big deal.

let’s say that sansa’s betrothal is on hold. let’s also remember that both lady and nymeria are alive and still with the party at hand.

lannisters/baratheons of a lannister vibe:

my guess is that cersei’s furious with ned to begin with and believes whatever it is that joffrey tells her.

i think joffrey, knowing he’s in deep shit, lies, and does a lot of blaming of arya, saying his same story that she and mycah set upon him with clubs. i think he sticks to this story.

because of this it’s likely that mycah is killed still. which means that arya’s likely going to still blame herself for the whole situation; the difference is that i think that she’s more likely to get support from sansa out of this because lady’s alive and a lot of sansa’s lash-out was about lady’s death.

i bet nymeria’s not thrilled with joffrey, but stays close to arya (playing more defense) and i bet lady growls every time he lies and, as septa mordane points out, sansa’s “as willfull...as arya” when it comes to lady. and while i do think she may well play that “i don’t remember everything happened so fast” card when people ask her what happened, i think that 1) ned being livid and potentially freezing her betrothal to joffrey and 2) lady growling all the time will keep the situation real for her.

but i think that there’s still a lotttt of love lost between lannisters & starks heading into king’s landing. it’s got a different flavor to it.

king’s landing (and beyond):

ned:

i think, for the most part, ned’s political actions and moves are going to be similar. he’s going to have a lot more open hostility for lannisters earlier on, but is also going to need to play it cool. he’s also going to be tetchier with robert sooner (which may mean no hand’s tourney? since robert doesn’t want to alienate him and ned can really push down on that “your son attacked my daughter” thing.) i think he is likely going to follow littlefinger down the road to hell as he does in agot, and is likely going to rat himself out to cersei, and is going to get iced. i don’t think this will change in its grander arc though details of it will change. the nature of his need to comfort arya will be different because nymeria will be there and she’ll be recovering from injury. syrio might be more of an active “self defense for the daughter” and less a “welp my dad was a dick to lyanna so i guess i won’t be a dick to you and get you a teacher” move.

sansa:

i think things will be rocky with joffrey for always. i mean they’re rocky in sansa ii (when the hound walks her back and freaks her out; this might not happen in this au bc chances are lady’s enough of a guard for sansa, if the tourney happens which as i said maybe it doesn’t), but i think sansa’s wary of him because she has seen his violence and has had to live with the ramifications of it rather than being able to compartmentalize them away and blame arya for lady’s death. i think it takes a long time (as mentioned above) for her to wrap her head around this, but it’s a very intense “life is not a song” thing for her earlier than it happens in canon. my guess is that, rather than getting meaner to arya as time progresses as she does in agot, she’ll get easier with arya. if life’s not a song, then she’s not “a lady in a song” at least not the way she thought she was at the start of the series and--lbr here--i think the fact that lady and nymeria are both present is going to drastically change the way that they engage because even if arya and sansa argue--which they will. as i said this characterization is different but that doesn’t mean that what we started with goes out the window--the wolves are pack and i think that’s an odd point of clarity for both of them amidst the “wtf is going on” that is 1) king’s landing and 2) pre-pubescence on sansa’s part coupled with the privilege she has of being the elder sister and the conventionally beautiful one.

i think that “shit hits the fan” moment is going to be different for sansa’s character more than for what happens. i don’t think she nec goes and tells on ned when he says he’s sending the girls north; this doesn’t change anything. she and jeyne are held hostage; jeyne is sold to littlefinger; sansa has lady with her.

i hate saying this: i think lady isn’t going to survive king’s landing. there’s no fucking way she doesn’t attack anyone who tries to hurt sansa, even if she’s the most docile wolf, and i think the first time she tries it ends her life. this, like ned’s death, is going to be deeply traumatic for sansa, esp if wolf-dreams began happening for sansa.

to me, the timing and the nature of that death for lady is everything. lady being killed in defense of sansa, rather than as collateral damage for something she didn’t do changes both sansa’s relationship with her death (ie she’s gonna hate lannisters even more intensely than she already did, and it’s going to be unequivocal, rather than her periodically blaming arya for it) and the symbolic nature of it. it’s not ned giving lady a northern death, and changing drasitcally the nature of sansa’s connection with the north and with her stark identity--it’s reinforcing i think, given everything that’s going on. they killed her daddy, they killed her wolf (and lbr here preliminary wolf-dreams are likely here which means ugh with lady dying), joffrey attacked arya, this is bad news bears. i think she’s terrified of all this, but i think lady has a deeper influence (and she already has a deep one tbh) on sansa and rolling forward i think that just changes the nature of her growth.

this puts sansa’s situation--if not her characterization--back in line with canon.

arya:

first of all hi please imagine arya carrying needle with her always instead of keeping it hidden in her room because she’s scared but doesn’t want to be scared so she keeps needle with her because it reminds her of jon and if she has needle and nymeria she won’t be afraid.

because getting maimed with live steel will make her frightened but she’s determined not to be frightened but, being 9, she is frightened.

she throws herself into her syrio lessons. i think that--given nymeria’s proximity--it’s possible that those’ll help kick off her wolf-dreams even sooner than canon because a lot of his teachings involve focus and mindfulness which is a lot of what jojen’s trying to get bran to do when he’s controlling summer; also given the sheer power of arya’s warg/skinchanging capacity hell yeah nymeria’s presence is gonna kick that off sooner.

the challenge we hit with arya is going to be the same challenge we hit with lady: nymeria’s presence is gonna be tricky to navigate when shit hits the fan. part of how arya is able to escape king’s landing is that she is able to hide and be a streetrat for a few days; that’s gonna be tricky when she’s got a direwolf. the main solutions to that i’m coming up with are:

she does the rock throwing thing now rather than at the trident. i think this is unlikely but it’s possible.

she has better control over her wolf than she expects and is able to get nymeria out of the city somehow. this also feels unlikely, more for the “while i think arya may have some control over nymeria, i don’t think it’s this much control” sort of way.

the most likely is: that you have the goldcloaks finding the wolf, nymeria beasting the shit out of them because i have a sense that they’re freaked out by her and also she’s the literal head bitch in charge of this series, and escaping the city on her own. i don’t think she goes far--the kingswood maybe at least initially?--but that leaves arya on her own so she can conveniently get picked up by yoren after ned’s beheading and then get boosted from the city.

what i think this means is that nymeria’s never toooooo far from arya. i think that she’s wary of those around arya, but arya’s dreams have her “safe” and so maybe as arya’s making her way north, nymeria is doing the same. i don’t think that nymeria is able to go and be at arya’s side again, but i think that--like in canon where she’s kinda helping arya out--she’s never toooo far, and does start her whole pack-building project.

tbh i think in asos they’d reunite??? which would change up arya’s going to braavos bc i don’t think she would if she had nymeria i bet she’d brave the wild and try to walk north to jon.

ok i’m tired and vaguely pleased with this upon a reread so i hope this all makes sense!

#anonymous #arya #sansa #ned #stark #au #Anonymous

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