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muddyorbsblr · 4 months

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slipping between future and past [SAS secret santa 2023]

View the full SAS Secret Santa 2023 Masterlist here! See my full list of works here!

Summary: You give your friend a few pointers on what to know about Yule, and come across a familiar looking stranger in your bookstore.

Pairing: Loki x Reader/OC Talia Williams

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers, please leave I'm asking nicely); unprotected p in v sex; cunnilingus; magical restraints; language; possibly wonky interpretation of time travel & timeslipping; possibly wonky understanding of Yule [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established relationship; still written in 2nd Person POV like my other 'x Reader' stories, but this time Reader has a name and it's "Talia Williams"; this is a secret santa request for @acidcasualties

Dick-tionary: smut starts at "the feel of your hands being brought" and ends at "as he marked your skin"

It was uncharacteristically slow today in the bookstore, barely a handful of people walking in, browsing for a few minutes, and then promptly exiting when they see that you didn't carry the middle school dystopia book series all the kids were raving over. It was a colossal waste of their time and yours, considering there would have been less effort had they just taken even a cursory look at the sign by the door.

You didn't carry children's books. Classics, Myths, and Romance only.

Of the number of people that walked through the doors that you could count on your two hands, you could only count those that actually made a purchase with one. Half of one.

The sound of the door chimes brought your attention to the entrance again, seeing your friend Ariadne bounding into the front area of the store with a frantic look in her eye. "Talia," she panted, headed straight for you. "Babes, I need your help. Are you busy? You got a customer back there?"

"Nope. Just me," you called out, stepping out from behind the counter. "What's wrong? What do you need?"

"Okay so…you know that guy I'm seeing?"

"Uhh…I think so? Lee, right?"

"Leif. Think trees, Babes. Anyways, he wants me to meet his family and apparently they're super into the ancient Norse traditions, so I need a crash course on how they celebrate Christmas." She paced back and forth by the table that held the New York Times bestsellers that you did hold stock for, picking up a copy of the stalker dark romance duology. "His sister likes to read, you think she'll appreciate this?"

You immediately rushed over to her, grabbing the book and nearly slamming it back down on the stack. "You gotta let them crawl before they walk. Let alone sprint," you explained, giving her Beautiful Bastard instead. "This should be a good enough in between, just in case she's not into guns being shoved up anyone's vagina--"

Up where?! she shrieked, grabbing the first book again, along with the sequel and the book you were handing her. "Okay I'll take that for his sister, and these two for me."

"This is exactly why we're friends," you quipped, ringing up her order. "Now about that other thing…you do know that just because I own a bookshop, it doesn't mean that I know everything about everything, right?"

She rolled her eyes at you. "Yeah, but I also know that you live for all these myths and folk tales, so I bet you know a thing or two about Viking Christmas."

"Alright fine. Find a chair and settle in," you said with an overly dramatic wave of your hand. "First things first, it's not called 'Viking Christmas', it's called 'Yule'. Immediately if you wanna get on his family's good side, you say Good Yule because it shows that you did at least a customary Google search before you stepped foot on their property." You handed her a small notepad and a pencil. "You're gonna wanna write this down."

When her scribbling down stopped, she perked up with a question. "Do they have a Santa Claus?"

"Yes and no," you answered her, prepping two cups of coffee and handing one over to her before plopping down on your own seat in the reading nook, your favorite one in the entire shop. "Santa Claus is what we call who the Brits refer to as 'Father Christmas'. The Brits got that from 'Yule Figure' from the Viking mythology and Mr Yule Figure himself is...Odin."

"Wait wait hold up." She shot up her hand like a kid asking questions in class. "So Odin is Santa? He goes around little Viking kiddies' neighborhoods and slides down the chimney to give them wooden axes and swords?"

"Hmmm not quite. The whole making a list and checking it twice to give the good little boys and girls presents on Christmas is...not quite how the Vikings do it. Instead they engage in something called the Wild Hunt, where Odin aka Big Yule Father Kahuna calls on his posse of gods and plays a game of non-consensual hide and seek with the living souls. So us being the 'living mortals', we have to find a safe enough hiding place that Odin and Thor and the rest of the Norse gods don't find us, because if they do…they drag us to the Underworld."

"Okay first of all, yikes." Ariadne made a big show of shuddering in her seat over what you just told her. "Can't it be something a little bit less morbid? Like if Thor finds you he drags you to his den of iniquity and has his wicked way with you?"

"I mean it's all myths and folklore anyway," you shot back with a small shrug as you finished off your coffee. "So maybe when the big girls are off in their own corner, we can smut it up and pretend that if someone other than Odin finds us, we can get some happy fun times." You both broke out into giggles at your wording. "And when we're telling the story to the smaller kiddos, we say that the gods only go after the naughty kids. Keep with the spirit of Christmas and all that." You wagged a finger in her direction, giving her another suggestion. "Or in the case of meeting Leif's family, just think which one's gonna have him more devastated, your soul getting dragged into the Underworld or your body getting dragged to Thor's man cave."

She wrote down some more notes on her little notepad before standing up, brimming with excitement. "Okay I think that's all I need. Hopefully…"

"Babes, you're there to meet the family, not get gatekeeper gamer boy levels of interrogated on what you know about Yule. As soon as you don't say 'Merry Viking Christmas', you're in the clear."

She squealed, rushing over to wrap her arms around you and give you a tight squeeze. "Thank you thank you! You just saved me from looking a total ditz meeting his family. I have a really good feeling about this one, you know?"

You gave her a squeeze back, happy that she was finally in a relationship that felt stable enough to start on that family she'd always wanted.

Maybe one day you could be so lucky with your own love life.

"I'm really happy for you, Aria. Let me know how it goes when you get back, okay?"

You worked on wrapping up the book she intended to gift Leif's sister as she asked you another question. "What about mistletoe? Do they have that in Yule?"

You scrunched her nose and shook your head at her question. "Yes and no again. Yes, they've assigned meaning to the plant but no, you don't kiss under it for fear of spending the next year all alone. They believe it to be a symbol for fertility, so it's been known for couples to hang it above their headboards so that their holiday fun times might lead to a child. It's also seen as a symbol for new life or resurrection because there's another folktale that says that Loki fashioned a weapon from the mistletoe plant to kill Baldur, and Frigga's tears turned the white berries red and resurrected her fallen son. Which if you ask me is a steaming pile of horse shit that's almost more ridiculous than how Siegfried was felled in the Nibelungenlied, but that's a story for another day."

"Hold up, but isn't Loki also a son of Frigga?"

You shrugged. "Who knows what's real and what's not at this point? These tales are thousands of years old. All we know right now is that Thor's real and he's friends with a billionaire that made a fancy iron suit and a soldier from the 40s that doesn't even look like he's hit his mid-20s. And that he dated an astrophysicist. Tell you what, if I ever meet him, I'll ask him myself. Maybe I'll even ask him what exactly goes down in the Wild Hunt if they still do it in this century."

"Ooh, if he walks into the store please text me?" You gave her a questioning look. "What? He's my hall pass. Leif knows all about it. Natasha Romanoff's his."

You handed her the gift-wrapped book. "Pinky promise, I'll tell you as soon as a 6'4 muscular Barbie looking dude from Asgard swinging a hammer and summoning thunder and lightning walks into my shop. Maybe I'll even text you if the Black Widow herself walks in so that Leif would owe a favor or two."

"Hey, it could happen," she quipped, sticking her tongue out at you like you were back in the sandbox. "We're in New York, after all. And Avengers Tower's just a ten minute walk away. You never know, you know?"

"Right," you breathed, waving her off as she neared the door. "Merry Yule."

"Merry Crisis," she shot back, blowing you a kiss as she stepped into the cold New York night.

You started cleaning the store so you could close up for the night when a new voice pierced through the quiet.

"I appreciate your refusal to believe that hokum about the mistletoe, darling. It warms my cold Jotun heart knowing that it's safe in your brilliant hands."

Large hands found themselves at your waist before your new visitor's arms wrapped around you from behind, your body going frigid at the action. "Who--?"

"Oh no..." He immediately released you from his hold, allowing you to come face to face with a towering man with onyx curls and a devastatingly handsome face that seemed vaguely familiar. "I must have gone back too far this time." He took a step toward you, his hands twitching in your direction as if he wanted to go back to where he was just a few seconds ago. If you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn't object. "Sweetheart, who am I to you?"

"What? This time?" You raised an eyebrow at him, confusion coating your words. "You trying to tell me we met before? Because trust me I'd remember meeting someone that looked like you."

"Who am I to you? What do you know of me?" he asked again, his brows upturned at the center of his forehead, his expression reminding you of a baby kitten pleading for affection.

"Not much," you admitted. "You look like the guy that tore up a hole in the sky and rode some space chariot while leading an alien army that laid waste on the city that I call home...and the guy that went up against Iron Man and his friends, including that big green scary monster looking dude."

He hung his head, looking down at the ground as he let out a long sigh. "I don't just look like that guy, darling, I--" He exhaled sharply before composing himself again. "I am that guy. Well, I was. And Banner's honestly not that terrifying once you get to know him." He looked at you again, seeing your hand and beginning to look emotionally deflated. "I went too far back."

"You know who else you look like?" you asked him, a smirk playing at your mouth as you reached for the chain around your neck, showing him the ring that hung in its center, closing the distance he put between you. "You look like my future husband."

The relief was written all over Loki's face as he eyed the ring he'd given you, a brilliant smile gracing his features when he pulled you into his arms and laid his lips on yours. You melted into the kiss, pressing yourself against him as the god's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer.

"My darling little mortal," he mumbled against your lips. "Somehow managing to fool a trickster god, for any amount of time, is a feat in and of itself." He kissed you again, lifting you off the ground and spinning you in a circle when you put your arms over his shoulders.

"Well you said it yourself, I'm brilliant," you answered him back when you pulled away, your fiancée keeping your feet off the ground. He adjusted his hold on you to hold you up by a single arm, making you giggle when he started walking toward the front door and made your keys materialize in his now free hand. "What're you doing, Mischief?"

"You're finished here for the night," he stated simply, all the lights turning off, along with the doors locking closed, and the sign in front flipping to "Closed" to indicate you'd retired for the night, with a simple wave of his hand. "I'm taking you home, little mortal. Close your eyes."

A breeze flew by your face and the next thing you knew your back was pressed against the familiar wooden column of your kitchen area. Loki crushed his lips to yours in a desperate kiss, both of you moaning into each other's mouths as he pressed your chests together, hands traveling down the sides of your body to wrap your legs around him.

The feel of your hands being brought above your head despite the god's hands still roaming and grasping at your thighs had your eyes snapping open, breaking the kiss with a little squeak from the back of your throat as you looked up. A thrill shot up your spine seeing a thick glowing ring of Loki's seiðr fastened around your wrists and keeping you tethered to the column behind you.

"I could not decide whether to reward you or punish you for getting the better of me earlier, my love," he rasped, latching his lips to your neck and sucking a bruise into your skin. He smirked against you when you started whimpering and arching into his touch within seconds. "So I shall do both."

You let out a whiny sound that had him lightly grasping your chin, running his thumb along your bottom lip to coax it into a pout. He kissed you again, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling away. Then another ring of his seiðr appeared at your hips, keeping them flush against the column as both rings began to lift you up, your feet soon leaving the ground until he was eye level with your pelvis.

He made a motion with his hand and suddenly you felt a breeze all over your body as he bared you to him, your clothes disappearing in a flash of green.

"Loki…" you whined, squirming under his predatory gaze as another ring of seiðr went around each of your legs, just above your knee, and opened you to him.

"I've not been home in ages, my darling mortal," he rasped, not taking his eyes off of your arousal as he licked his lips. "And I am famished." He took a step closer to you, lightly running his fingers up your inner thigh.

"Let--Let me down, then," you said shakily, feeling your walls quivering and clenching around nothing as he traced up your inner thigh again, only this time with the tip of his nose before pressing a tender kiss to your skin. "I can fix us something to--"

"Oh no, sweet Talia." He kissed you right below your belly button, groaning into your skin. "I do not crave food, my love." He continued to press kisses to your stomach, faintly chuckling when you tried to close your legs and his restraints kept you from moving even an inch. "Your reward is that I will not deny you any ounce of pleasure tonight. I have longed for you too much to deny you much of anything."

He moved his head lower, and you let out an obscene moan of his name as he ran his tongue along the length of your slit before slowly circling your clit.

"Your punishment…" he breathed, pressing slow lingering kisses and laving his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. "No touching."

"Loki, wait--Oh f-fuck!" The room filled with your moans as he proceeded to alternate between long licks at your entrance and close his lips over your clit for what felt like a blissfully torturous eternity. He kept his word on not denying you anything as he brought you over the edge over and over again.

Your throat was raw from your constant moans and screams of his name and various expletives, already having lost count of how many times you came for him when he slid two devastatingly long fingers inside you and curled up, brushing against the spot that had you seeing stars. "One more, sweet girl," he mumbled around your clit, the vibrations from his voice already bringing you to the brink of orgasm yet again.

He moved your legs to rest your thighs on his shoulders, moaning against you when your entire body tensed as you came for him again, your pussy quivering against his mouth as he lapped at your release with languid strokes of his tongue. The restraints around your wrists and hips moved you down the column until your face was level with his, a weak whimper slipping from you when you saw how his lips glistened with your juices.

You barely registered the sound of the zipper as he kissed along your chest, biting and sucking more bruises into your skin. He lined himself up at your entrance, sliding into you in a single effortless thrust and eliciting a staggered sigh of relief from the god. "I've m-missed this," he whimpered between thrusts. "Missed you." Thrust. "My precious mortal." Thrust. "My wife." Thrust.

He threw his head back, letting out a decadent moan when you clenched around him after what he'd just called you. It had you desperately longing for your wedding day. Desperately aching to touch him. Just desperate for him.

"Please…" you whimpered, feebly fighting against the restraints again. When the rings holding you to the column finally disappeared, you could only let out a sharp exhale, your hand immediately clawing into your fiancée's back, the other weaving into his onyx curls.

Loki pressed you harder against the column, driving himself deeper inside you, his hands roaming and grasping wherever he could, as if he couldn't get enough of you. Couldn't touch you enough. He slanted his mouth over yours, moaning into the kiss when your tongues tangled together and you could taste your release on him. He adjusted his hold on you, letting out another muffled obscene sound into each other's mouths when the motion caused you to bounce on his cock.

Once he held you securely in his arms he started walking you further into your home, each step making you bounce on him and further weakening you in his embrace. He eased you down onto your bed, breaking the kiss and rendering you completely speechless watching his clothes melt away and baring his godly physique to you.

All you could do was breathe his name as he moved to hover over you again, pressing his lips to your cheek as he picked up the pace. He wrapped his hand around your knee, raising your leg to wrap it around his waist so he could drive into you harder. When you felt his fingers rubbing over your clit, the only sound that came out of you was a sharp moan, your body weakly arching against his hand before squeaking out, "I can't--"

"Just one more, dear heart. For me," he grunted, latching his lips onto that spot between your neck and shoulder as he kept on rubbing tight circles on the over-sensitized nub. Your legs shook and your walls convulsed around him, bring him to his own release as he marked your skin.

Once you both came down from your high, you felt his seiðr wash over you as he pulled you into his arms, putting the covers over you both with another wave of his hand. "I gotta be honest with you, sweetie, that felt a little pent up," you exhaled, a tiny part of you finding it unfair that he'd already resumed his regular breathing as if he didn't just fuck you senseless.

Damn Asgardian endurance.

"Because it was, precious mortal," he told you simply, tracing his finger along your cheek. "How long has it been since last you saw me?"

"Three months…give or take a week?" You braced yourself, already dreading what he'd say next.

"I have not seen you for over a year, my love," he confessed, pressing another kiss to your lips. "At least not like this. Every time I had seen you, you were yet to know me. There were worlds where you even outright feared me, scurrying away once you'd realized where you recognized me from. When I got to your shop earlier, I nearly believed I landed in another iteration of that world."

Suddenly your 'prank' from earlier left a sinking feeling in your stomach. "Loki, I'm sorry, I didn't know." You wrapped your arm around him, pressing yourself even closer to him if that were even possible, resting your head on his shoulder. "I just thought it'd be a bit of fun--"

"You have nothing to apologize for," he reassured you, brushing the tip of his nose along your own before softly kissing the spot. "But I have missed you terribly. Getting to hold you, to love you. To simply be here with you and enjoy a moment with my wife."

"Future wife," you pouted. "We're still in the planning phase, sadly. I take it the last time you saw me was sometime in our…future? I'm sorry this still gets confusing for me." He nodded his answer, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Well then the timelines better fucking behave because I refuse to let you go anywhere. I get that you're a big powerful hero now, and knowing that you're out there making sure that everyone's safe and gets to come home to their families? I couldn't be prouder. But you should get to come home, too." You pressed a kiss to his chest, just over his heart. "Preferably for longer than a quickie with your fiancé."

His brows furrowed, shaking his head at your sentiment before pulling you to lay on top of him, chests pressed together with his arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace. "I've come from a time where we were married and I called you my wife. Regardless of our pending ceremony, that is what you are to me now and what I will call you moving forward. No more of those semantics."

You nudged his chin with your nose, a giggle escaping you when he pulled you up to capture your lips in a soft kiss. "Tell me about it. The future…"

"When I found you, you were a force to be reckoned with. Planning your friend Aria's wedding--"

"Ah, so she and Leif really are headed for the fairytale happy ever after?"

"No no, you were planning the wedding in Asgard." You eyes widened at the new information. "She was set to marry Thor."

"Wait she what?!"

A/N: I'm so excited to participate in this year's Secret Santa again! This has been so much fun to write for both times around, and hopefully the story did justice to the request 🥹💖

The request from @acidcasualties:

secret santa 2023 taglist: @joyful-enchantress @mochie85 @holdmytesseract @sailorholly @lady-rose-moon @superficialdomina @cultofcarter @coldnique @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @smolvenger @loz-3 @catsladen @lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @divine-knight-hand @quirkiest-turtle @glitchquake @nyxlaufeyson @fandxmslxt69 @holymultiplefandomsbatman

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #muddyorbs writes #sas secret santa 2023

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ieatstarsforaliving · 6 months

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Denial (1)

Summary: Hazel and (Y/N) are the tributes from District 12 for the 74th Hunger Games. Hazel doesn't want to see (Y/N) die. And (Y/N) just wants to live.

Pairing: Tribute!Hazel Callahan x Tribute!Reader

Warnings: Mature language, use of (Y/N), (Y/N) is kind of a bitch but aren't we all when facing death, I swear she gets better, mentions of death and suicide, lots of mentions of violence with pretty graphic descriptions but it’s just depressive hunger game shit

Word Count: 2614

Note: I KNOW I said I’d write part 3 of Spiderwoman!Hazel Callahan BUT I suddenly craved angst and had to write this. I had to. Just let me post this today and I’ll give you Spiderwoman soon– I SWEAR. Also this is lowkey bad cause I have not written angst in a while. Idk. It's not gut-wrenching enough. I'll make it work somehow. - Bia <3

No.

Not you.

Anyone but you.

Hazel knows what the Hunger Games look like.

Violent. Callous. Sadistic.

None of those words resemble you.

Hazel watches as you walk towards the stage, each step weaker than the other. She thinks you’ll fall over, but you manage to stand beside the extravagantly dressed escort, who claps cheerily in your honor with a guiltless smile. As he chatters about his appreciation for the games, you are expressionless. Your fists are clenched, your eyes fixed on the crowd, blankly staring at the faces of the people who know you.

Hazel has never seen you so scared.

“Well, then, shake hands!” The escort chirps, pushing Hazel towards you.

There’s a pause before Hazel takes your hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

Please, please look at me, she thinks. It’s going to be okay–

-But when you do look at her, it's automatic. Empty. Involuntary, as if meaningless to share eyes with a future corpse. Hazel recognizes the shift of the dynamic between the two of you. She is no longer your neighbor, your classmate— no longer the girl you once kissed in the grounds of the forest.

-She is your rival.

Her eyes flick away from you. It feels like you can read what’s in her head, both the shock and the anguish. Hazel is not ready to deal with either.

So she drops your hand and looks away, staring at the camera zooming in on her face.

But in the second of eye contact, Hazel does notice this;

Grief has already struck your eyes.

The train ride is silent. The District 12’s assigned escort, who introduces himself as Meyers, continuously attempts to make conversation with either one of you, talking about what a privilege it is to be traveling to the Capitol.

You choose to be speechless, sitting on the plump green velvet chair with your legs pulled close to your chest. Hazel sits opposite to you, persistently peering while contemplating on how to start up a conversation— or maybe, not to start one at all.

You’ve been subtly ignoring her gaze, trying not to look deliberate in your avoidance. Staring at the passing trees out the window, you’re forced to picture the forest back at home— A hug of browns, shelter of extended limbs, sunlight filtered through the overlapping leaves above.

Along with the images of forest, you’re forced to remember.

It was a particularly cold morning when Hazel first found you in the heart of the woods, the chilling air hanging heavy with the scent of pine and coal. In your hands was a bleeding bird, fragile body betrayed by your well-aimed rock.

It turned out to be a mockingjay, and as the crimson stain spread across its black and white feathers, the satisfaction of your hunt waned. Your hunger persisted, but found yourself frozen. The irony of the prey was a slap in your face. A mockingjay– Why did it have to be a mockingjay? The failed muttation, the insult to the dystopia— the only thing in the world that seemed to be resisting the Capitol— and here you were, unwittingly taking its life.

Hazel approached you, and you flinched– but you didn’t run. You couldn’t, not when her eyes had such softness within them, as if forgiving your savage hand in place of the bird. Without uttering a word, she knelt beside you on the forest floor.

Her fingers dug through the dirt, prodding into her nails until a hole was made. Her hands were soiled but warm as she took the mockingjay from your hands, placing it in the makeshift resting place amidst the roots of a towering tree. You watched as she covered the bird with earth. She then took your hand and guided you back to the fence, back to the meadow, to the bakery, where she bought a small piece of bread in exchange for the shabby jewelry off her neck. You learned later the necklace was a gift from her absent father.

That was the Hazel you became used to. She was strong. Stronger than anyone you ever grew to know– as if to acknowledge that she could one day be standing in the arena. Yet you found her kindness to be her weakness. She never harmed anyone. Anything. She was a refuge from the harsh reality of the televised Hunger Games. And you kept coming back to her, mistaking the comfort for a shield against the brutality of the world. As if being close with her could protect you from any fucking thing. Perhaps that had prompted you to kiss her on that day, the day before the reaping, and all you could think about was how she didn’t push you away.

You snap out of your memories, the weight of the past and the jarring truth of the present boring down on you. You can’t handle either of those. You can’t handle looking at her. You can’t handle being in the same room as her. But the intensity of her gaze has burned into the side of your head, and you feel demanded to meet her eyes once more.

When you finally look at Hazel, her eyes widen.

She starts to open her mouth, on a pathway to a ramble, but the compartment door swings open, revealing a rough man with scruffy braids holding an explicit magazine.

Hazel recognizes him– the only winner left alive from the Hunger Games from District 12. He’s notably muscular, with tattoos that circulate his stocky arms along with a rugged beard to match his image.

He is Hunger Games winner material, Hazel thinks, and feels considerably feeble in comparison.

The man looks around the room.

“Man, I got stuck with two girls this time?”

Hazel starts, “G–”

“-Mr. G to you. I may look like this, but I’m still your mentor.”

You stare at the man as he disappointingly analyzes his two mentees. He decides you’re not promising enough, not giving more than two seconds to consider you two before plopping on the green velvet seat and flipping through his magazine featuring a barely-clothed capitol woman.

“You’re supposed to give us advice,” Hazel mutters.

He scoffs in response, “I’ll give you advice; don’t die too quickly.”

“So you think we have a chance?”

“Hell no,” Mr. G laughs. “Look at you two.”

You and Hazel stare at him. He notices the angry silence.

“Alright. I’ll help y’all.” He shrugs, not looking up from the magazine. “When you arrive, you’re going to be grabbed by the most annoying sons-of-bitches who're gonna get y’all cleaned up and pretty to parade around the Capitol. It’s gonna suck. But you deal with it. No complaining. No resisting. You deal with it. Then you get in the arena, let them throw you around for a bit, and then find something visibly mild to kill yourselves with.”

Hazel stiffens at the line.

“What is wrong with you?” You shout, your voice laced with anger. “My life is on the line.”

Mr. G glances at you with a raised eyebrow, indifferent. “Welcome to the Hunger Games, darlin’. You think having a different mindset is gonna keep you alive?”

“You’re supposed to be our mentor,” Hazel says, her voice trembling. “You’re supposed to help us survive.”

“Survive? You kids from District 12 don’t survive. You endure. You endure and you die. There’s a difference.” He emphasizes on the words ‘die’ and Hazel wants to throw up. “It’s just like the year before this and the year before that.”

“So you’re just giving up?” You push yourself to your feet and step towards him. There’s resentment in your words, clawing at the lifeline that is supposed to be your mentor. “You’re pathetic.”

Mr. G gets up from his seat, looming over your frame. Unwavering, you glare at him. He lets out a chuckle, a brief moment of consideration flickering across his features. Then he pulls back his fist.

In an instant, Hazel rushes in front of you, her body bracing for impact. His fist swings towards you, but it doesn’t land on your face. Instead, it meets Hazel’s, sending her backwards to the floor. The collision makes Mr. G stumble back a step, surprise evident in his eyes.

Hazel groans, rubbing her cheekbone but gets up again, standing in front of you with a defensive stance.

“Ah, I understand now.” Mr. G gawks at Hazel, amused. “The fighter and her protector.”

Then he starts laughing, slowly staggering away from the two of you, walking out of the compartment with his dirty magazine still in his hand. Meyers quickly trails behind him, muttering something about tributes being barbarians and forcefully shuts the door with a resounding bang.

Hazel turns to you, hoping her face isn't red. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t.”

Hazel blinks, taken aback. You’ve pulled away from her, creating a perceptible distance, your face flushed in an unknown emotion.

“I–”

“-Don’t do that.”

Hazel recognizes the barrier you’re attempting to draw between the two of you. She refuses to accept it and steps closer.

“Don’t,” you insist. “Don’t come closer. Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. We’re nothing.”

“We’re friends,” Hazel protests.

“No,” you correct her, your voice cracking. “We stopped being friends when we were picked to kill each other. If we hadn’t—”

If we hadn’t kissed, killing you would be easier.

You stop.

Hazel shakes her head, her expression in disbelief. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

She steps closer. You retreat.

“Hazel, stop, please–”

She watches as your body begins to shake. A whimper escapes your lips, which is quickly covered by your hand. Then you’re sobbing uncontrollably, covering your reddened face as a means to hide yourself, but the tears manage to escape from the gaps between your fingers, soaking the condemned dress that you only wear on reaping days.

“I- I don’t–”

Hazel steps closer. “I know.”

“I don’t want to die,” You croak. “I want don't want to die. I don’t want to kill. I don’t–”

-I don’t want to kill you.

The unsaid words ring around the room as Hazel pulls you into her arms. You don’t hesitate to hide your face into her neck, crying earnestly, body burning and painful, teeth clenched as the tears drip off your jaw and you refuse to let your lip quiver like a child. Hazel holds you tighter and presses her hand against the back of your head.

Hazel wants to say something. She opens her mouth.

Then she starts to cry.

As much as she hates Mr. G, he is right about the clean-up process before officially entering the capitol; it sucks.

After arrival, the two of you were separated to different rooms with different stylists. Hazel’s stylist has been going about Hazel for two hours, scrubbing down her body with soaps of intense fragrance, trimming the nails into a smooth oval shape, rubbing makeup over her fresh bruise, painting on her eyelids, and primarily, getting rid of her body hair. She lays on the cold metal bed, barely clothed, as the hairs on her arms, underarms, eyebrows, nose– even places that shouldn’t matter being robbed of its hair. Hazel ignores the soreness of fabric being stripped from her leg, tearing out the hairs beneath it.

Instead, Hazel thinks about killing.

She thinks about the physicality of it. The impact of the blow, the act of stabbing, the struggle of choking someone. She assumes there would be weapons in the arena, there always is. But even back at home, she’s never crossed the line of killing even the smallest of creatures, not even when she was desperately hungry. But laying on the cold metal bed of the stylist’s office, she almost regrets the lack of practice. The visceral brutality, the raw and primal surge that accompanies violence— she’s unsure of it all.

Then she thinks about you.

She pictures a hand wrapped around your neck, slitting the flesh, warm liquid seeping through the fingernails— and the victim writhing, clawing, screaming— then finally falling limp.

Hazel pales at the image. At the same time, she feels a particular jerk at her leg once again, and the stylist squeals the words, “Perfection! You’re beautiful!”

She is ushered to sit up as the stylist grabs a cart filled with combs, bottles, and other products that Hazel doesn’t recognize. A mirror is passed, and Hazel blinks harshly at her reflection. She can see that she looks so… Capitol. Everything about her is enhanced; from hermetically coiffed eyebrows to her skin, perfectly shaped and painted, devoid of blemishes. The bruise from her mentor is gone, too. There's light bits of glitter on above her eyes, amplifying her blue eyes while giving her a much softened look.

She looks like a tribute.

“I really do wish you hadn’t cut your hair like this,” the stylist whines as she ruffles Hazel’s messy head with a sigh. A hairstyle she fearlessly trimmed with a pocket knife, now being sprayed by a sour, citrus themed liquid. “You are such a pretty girl. Perhaps we should glue a wig to your head.”

“Don’t.”

Hazel turns towards the voice.

It’s you. You’re peering through the doorway, your entire form stripped and peeled away just as she is. Hazel does a visible double-take when she sees you, swallowing hard while staring at your half-naked body. She gazes at you, taking in the transformation that the Capitol has imposed on your appearance.

If she thought you were beautiful before, she thinks you’re breathtaking now.

“I like her hair,” You murmur, walking towards the bed. Hazel instinctively reaches up to touch her trimmed mullet, as if to confirm that it’s still there.

“I suppose I can work with a tomboy image. Oh, I see a vision! I’ll be back,” The stylist sings to herself, running out of the room with a sudden enthusiasm.

Hazel is still staring at you.

You shrug. “How do I look?”

Like a lamb to slaughter.

“You… look different,” She says. “I don’t mean it’s bad. It’s good. But it’s also…”

“I know,” you sigh, sitting beside Hazel’s bed. “A true depiction of Capitol beauty.”

“It could be worse,” Hazel starts. “We could be naked and covered in soot for the opening ceremony.”

You laugh, knowing that the only thing District 12 is known for are coals. And there’s not many costumes you can be inspired by coals. Hazel smiles at your laughter, feeling instantly better. It’s a sound she hasn’t heard since the forest, as if a piece of home has been brought back to life. Although the room is cold and metallic, there’s warmth in between the two of you.

Her gaze lingers on your transformed appearance. With the grime and dirt from the District rubbed off, you seem so fragile, so innocent, so out of place in the cruelty of the Capitol. None of you belong in that arena. And all of a sudden anger rises in Hazel. She wants the Capitol to burn. She wants the Capitol to burn for what it does to innocent lives like yours.

Your laughter eases and you’re left staring back at Hazel. The forest and the Capitol are vastly different places. Even the silence is different. Back there, it was a pleasure to be silent. Here, silence is almost sickening. Still, your warmth persists.

“I’m serious about winning," You say.

Hazel holds your gaze.

“I know.”

She offers her hand. You take it. And for a long time, neither of you speak. You just breathe and cling to each other, lost in a moment that's become heavier with your words.

There is a brief pause before the full effect of everything comes barreling towards Hazel. She ignores it.

Instead, Hazel thinks about dying.

Next Chapter: Anger

(Guys I don't know how a taglist works so just comment "Tag me next chapter or" "tag me in all upcoming chapters" on THIS POST if you want to be tagged ok???)

@vster0769 @milktea-academia <333

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #bottoms movie #hazel callahan fluff #hazel callahan x you #the hunger games #hunger games au #hazel callahan angst

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dreamcatcher-roulette · 1 month

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Dystopia: The Tree of Language (V) - p.19

Dreamcatcher Roulette [782 / ∞ ]

#dreamcatcher #dami

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why-so-serious-lucifer · 5 months

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K-pop Discography Deep Dives: Dreamcatcher (Part TWO)

A Disclaimer: I was planning, when I first started Tumblr, to be a lurker, but then I began an office job and needed something to listen to to keep myself occupied. And then, I started going through entire K-pop groups�� repertoires, album by album, and jotting down my thoughts. And then, I stumbled into K-pop tumblr and decided, you know what, there’s at least four people on this hell site who would read in depth rants about these discographies and at least five who wouldn’t read it and then get mad because it’s kind of our job as K-pop fans. My lukewarm takes should be taken with an entire silo of salt and the knowledge that this is completely for fun and occupying my very bored, very neurodivergent brain. All this to say, for the love of god, I’m a sleep-deprived student and I don’t have time for internet hate, so don’t kill me. With that being said, enjoy!

Here are my credentials: I’m a huge fan of Dreamcatcher, and have been an Insomnia since mid-2021 or so, just after the release of BEcause. They were actually the first concert I’ve ever been to, and I couldn’t have asked for a better experience for that. They totally gave their all for those two hours and I ended up loving them even more afterward. I’m even considering going again if they have another tour.

So, we left off after the end of their nightmare arc and a few special singles. Scream begins their next work, the dystopia trilogy, focused on hate speech and cyberbullying. This was the first DC song I heard, and god what a starting point. Those flashes of angry guitar and drums that pound like a heartbeat lead into a soft pre-chorus that lulls you into a false sense of security before that chorus just destroys you. The song is just so done, fitting for a person driven evil by cruelty because they simply couldn’t take it anymore, and its expansive string section adds layers of drama, especially with the distorted (kind of demonic) voice that echoes throughout the post-choruses. Overall, one of their best, though I wish that Handong (who, as mentioned before, was on hiatus during 2020) was there too,

The Tree Of Language is their first full album, and it’s so tough to pick a hidden gem. I know a lot of people love Red Sun but it’s a bit too vibey and meandering for me; it’s never been my favorite. Sahara is a total head-banger and I hope that they take its harsher rock for a title track again sometime. Black or White has some great Michael Jackson energy with its sharp moves and equally sharp chorus, letting the rock take a backseat. Jazz Bar is softer than I expected, with the jazz being more of an undertone and a nice backdrop with the dancy piano for the “I think I love you, oh I love you.”

Paradise is the last song on the album and is a solo for Siyeon, which makes sense given that she’s their main vocalist. It’s a bit calmer of a ballad than usual for DC, who often favor power ballads, but her vocals bring some great depth and emotion to what could be an average b-side. Also, shout-outs to the distorted strings in In The Frozen and the great energy in Tension.

BOCA is part two of the trilogy, and focuses more on the cyberbullying part than the hate speech as Scream does. It’s probably their most popular song overall, breaking into a k-pop market that, in 2020, was much more willing to accept rock than it had been at their debut. BOCA starts muted with a common-for-the-time tropical house beat, which should feel out of place but doesn’t. It then begins to build, as all their best work does, to a power ballad above an insistent electric guitar. It wasn’t one of my favorites at the beginning, but there’s no denying that it’s grown on me in the years since. Coming right on the heels of two tragic suicides in the k-pop industry (Sulli and Hara), which were partially due to immense amounts of online bullying, the lines of “Why do you fill your precious time with hate?” and especially the soul-piercing belt after “Too many angels dying now, I’m gonna change your mind” never fail to get me emotional.

From Lose Myself, despite the sweetness of fan-song Can’t Get You Out Of My Mind, I can’t think of a better hidden gem than Break The Wall. In K-pop, it’s common to decry “ugh this should’ve been a single”, but this should’ve been screamed from every rooftop in the galaxy. From start to finish, it’s a full-on alt-rock anthem that riles up its audience to stand together, rise up, and break the walls of prejudice with all of their strength. Seeing this in concert and screaming the words with thousands of teenage girls and the assorted parents, partners, and siblings that they dragged along (who ended up loving it) was what I might call a transcendent experience. For a couple moments, one would be forgiven for thinking that we could’ve really saved the world.

Odd Eye is the final part of the trilogy, and the return of Handong! It’s a great song, especially in its building pre-chorus, its cathartic bridge, and its distorted background mixed with traditional rock elements, but it’s never been one of my favorites. Unlike with You & I, where I had a very specific reason for feeling meh? about it, I don’t really know why I’ve never connected with this one. Even so, I do love how it ends the series, with the phrase: “in the end, the Dreamcatchers couldn’t find the Utopia they were looking for”, a surprisingly dark finish. When asked about this, member JiU said that they were trying to communicate that a perfect world doesn’t exist, but that the imperfect one we have is still worth fighting for. So, I have to give the song massive props for that.

From Road To Utopia, my hidden gem was Wind Blows. It maintains Dreamcatcher’s essential energy, but both slows it down for a hand-clapping pre-chorus and then ratchets it forward with an EDM-driven chorus that decides to end with a chant-filled post-chorus (that I don’t hate? I know, shocking). I also liked Poison Love, although a lot of that is due to the absolute hilarity of its music video, which is basically a 4-minute soap opera. New Days returns to their early years’ anime soundtrack energy, which is always appreciated.

BEcause is a special single in between the Dystopia and Apocalypse trilogies. It’s technically a love song, but I really like how it plays into many k-pop cliches—cutesiness, love, doll-like aesthetics—but in keeping with DC’s dark concepts, it’s actually about a stalker. The verses are understated, quite upbeat, and poppy, before the pre-chorus figuratively (and literally, in the music video) turns that calm feeling completely upside-down. The vocalizing and the “Be…cause I like you” in the chorus is chilling, and the song goes from 0 to 100 so quickly but so well, as you immediately get the sense that something is very, very wrong.

This EP is, hilariously enough, called Summer Holiday, as though the title track wasn’t one of their most horrifying. It does have some very upbeat tracks that are a rarity in DC’s discography, most notably Whistle, which turns its namesake into a recurring underscore and makes a quite catchy hook. Overall, though, this isn’t one of my favorite albums of theirs.

MAISON is both the beginning of the Apocalypse trilogy and my first Dreamcatcher comeback as an Insomnia (since BEcause came out when I was just becoming a fan and I wasn’t really “aware” of it at the time). Full disclosure, this was the song that made me buy tickets to their concert, and in hindsight, I’m not surprised. Unlike many of DC’s songs, it comes out of the gate swinging. There’s no slow first verse, no ballad to be found, and no way of reading its message as anything other than it is: a vicious criticism of the leaders who stand there doing nothing while climate change ravages the earth (“Oh no, you can’t fool me anymore. It’s weirdly warm, right? The planet, and your conscience drying up”), (“Pretending not to know, you can’t make it disappear”). It ends with only a simple plea: “Please, someone fight for us.” This song remains, to this day, my mom’s favorite Dreamcatcher song. (Hi, mom).

Apocalypse: Save Us is another full album, and has a lot of great songs (some we’ll get more into in a minute). I particularly liked the fun, boppy synths of Starlight, the choppy jazz-meets-alt-rock energy of Locked Inside A Door, and the very sweet Always, which is a song written for fans that they performed near the end of the concert.

Apocalypse: Save Us also contains a solo song for each member, which each of them got to write, and I was lucky enough to see them perform a medley at the concert I attended. First is JiU with the bouncy, retro Cherry, which is a love song written for JiU’s pomeranian Cherry. Yes really. It’s utterly delightful. Second is SuA with the EDM No Dot, which totally fits her role as main dancer because she performs the hell out of it. Third is Siyeon’s traditional Entrancing, which is quite soft and lovely, and makes the best of her excellent vocals.

Fourth is Handong’s quiet Winter, which is a fairly standard k-pop ballad but gives Handong a chance to sing a short a-capella section in her native Mandarin, which, as a linguistics major, I really loved. Fifth is Yoohyeon’s smoothly jazzy love song For, which is the rare k-pop song in English that I don’t mind. Sixth is Dami’s pop-punk Beauty Full, which has some great 2000’s energy and always gets me head-banging. And seventh is Gahyeon’s upbeat and youthful Playground, which is about holding onto childhood. These are all good songs and reflect their own styles well, but my favorite would either have to be Beauty Full or Cherry. I’m a huge fan of artists writing their own tracks so I’m so glad they got to do this!

After that slight digression, next up is Vision, the second song in the Apocalypse series. This one builds on what Maison began, but is resolved to take a far more involved position and not simply wait around for someone else to save them. Instead, Dreamcatcher leads the charge, giving Vision a militaristic feel with its insistent drumline, very present electric guitars, salutes, and flags. It’s a call to action if ever there was one, and features a breaking point just as Scream does, but this time it’s for good. “For your bright tomorrow, and this beautiful place,” JiU announces on the microphone, “For ourselves, give it up tonight! March! Raise your flag and fight again!” And Siyeon’s power note at the end? Excellent.

From Vision’s EP, Follow Us, I liked the synth-pop-meets-chill-rock of Fairytale, which works way better than I thought it would. It’s a sweet love song, and honestly would have made a great single for them if their singles weren’t set on storytelling. It’s very Dreamcatcher while tying that rock to another genre, which is part of the reason why DC’s work always sounds both fresh and true to their core. Some Love is more straightforward rock and EDM, and the Outro is peaceful, steering us into the next song quite well.

Bon Voyage wraps up the Apocalypse trilogy, and begins in the exact opposite way to Maison. Its first minute sounds like a classic love song, and in a way it is one, to the Earth, but I was left slightly baffled. And then, of course, that pre-chorus takes off and we’re back to classic Dreamcatcher in its excellent guitar riffs and power ballading to the stars. The bridge strikes a middle ground, keeping up the energy as the song barrels to its conclusion in what may be Siyeon’s most incredible high note yet. It may be a love song, but it’s also a promise to keep fighting for the Earth, until the day we have to say goodbye.

From the From Us EP, I had trouble choosing between Propose & Demian. Propose at first seems to be this album’s obligatory ballad, but the background crackles with an odd sound and suddenly pulls away with the “Don’t run away, you can’t escape my love,” and I got flashed back to BEcause’s stalking concept. Propose takes that and runs with it, delivering what can either be read as a creepily obsessive song or a power ballad in the name of love. Demian, meanwhile, is very disjointed, going from a usual Dreamcatcher b-side to Dami’s scream-talk sections, sharper raps, and a full-throated run into metal with a guitar breakdown that they haven’t really reached since No More. (And, as a lover of Break The Wall, I of course appreciated the shout-out.)

Reason is a special single for DC’s 6th anniversary, and starts out delightfully sappy: “Because of Insomnia, Dreamcatcher exists”. Overlaid on adorable footage of DC’s journey throughout their years in the industry is a song that somehow manages to be both a rock-metal anthem and an incredibly sweet tribute both to each other and their fans. “I will go far away, I spread out my wings to fly, I have to go on…because you are the reason.” No, I’m totally not crying right now. What are you talking about? (Cue me blubbering into a handkerchief).

OOTD came out less than a week ago, and I admit I was a little wary with its teasers. And it turns out I was right to worry. The song starts with a good EDM smash and some great vocalizing right away, and its pre-chorus’ build reminds me of Vision. I’m intrigued by its choppier editing and its commentary on the fashion industry. Overall, though I think the song has some great ideas (the nu-metal mixed with hip-hop), it goes far too into sing-talk for me and I don’t like the chorus. Honestly, the most accurate thing I could say is it doesn’t sound like Dreamcatcher. It’s not a bad song, so perhaps it’ll grow on me, but for now…I’m afraid not. I think this is the first track of theirs (in an almost 7-year-career) that I haven’t liked to some level, and as long as the issues I had with it don’t continue into other releases, I’m willing to overlook it, like I did with Birthday by Red Velvet, as a “you can’t win them all”.

Versus Villain, the EP, is thankfully as strong as always. Rising carries that great alt rock energy and DC’s signature encouragement to keep going (“raise your arms up, with all your strength, shout!”), which is always nice to hear. I loved this one from the first chorus, and immediately wondered, why on earth was this not the title, guys? It would’ve been perfect!

This may be the most fun I’ve had in my reviews so far! Besides having an excellent discography in just sound alone, they’ve covered trauma, cyberbullying, stalking, climate change, depression, hate speech, love, and hope in under 100 tracks, all while waving pride flags on stage, writing special tracks about loving their dogs, and working their way up in the k-pop world from a tiny company. Their work reminds us all that it’s okay to have bad days but that one day, we will have the strength to accept ourselves, wake up from our nightmares, and start changing the world. And really, what’s more empowering than that?

My Top 5 songs are Break The Wall, What, Deja Vu, Bon Voyage, and Maison, with Wake Up and Fairytale as honorable mentions. Dreamcatcher gets a 10 out of 10 from me, which is no surprise. I can’t really think of anything I would change about what they’ve done, and even though I have my tiny gripes here and there, none of them are enough to make me change my mind. Maybe I’ll be eating my words in a few months, so we’ll see how this ages, but for now I don’t think that there’s any group out there whose work I would rate higher. For now, I’ll end by saying that I’m very proud to be an Insomnia.

Next time, we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming with another boy group of the week, this one one that I barely even know, so I’m looking forward to it! Tschüss!

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canmom · 11 months

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cog in what machine

So since the VR games industry is the agglomeration of technocapital that’s currently permitting me to ‘continue to exist’, I am wondering - where are these headsets actually made?

Honestly the chances of getting a conclusive answer beyond ‘probably Shenzhen or TSMC’ is pretty low, but surprisingly I did find an article that claims to have taken it apart and found out where various parts come from. Here’s a breakdown by the price of the parts:

And the final assembly is done (for the Quest Pro at least) at the Foxconn factory in Taiwan. [For some context, the Quest 2 is a standalone headset with mobile phone chips, and it became one of the best-selling headsets ever, while the more expensive Quest Pro proved unpopular, and will likely be completely obsoleted when the Quest 3 comes out.]

Of course, that’s just one layer down the tree. Where the raw materials come from is anyone’s guess - you’d have to do some serious journalism to track it all down. Just like in computer software we create abstractions and interfaces over the ‘lower level’ components, in economics, each company in the chain only wants to know where it can get the materials and labour it needs, and at what price.

This whole process is so opaque. By making software for this machine, I’m in a sense put into a relationship with people all over the world whose fates are also tied to this industry. Even within the company I work for there are people from multiple continents, and we can all fit in one virtual room. I have little to no idea what it’s like to work on the other side of the chain. Back in 2018, I read a translation (by Chuang) of a satirical Marxist pamphlet distributed among Foxconn workers, with a bunch of pictures. It’s not some lurid dystopia, we all play the same games, but it doesn’t look like a kind of work I could manage.

It is startling how big the divide is between ‘people who work in tech’ and ‘people who work in any other industry’ in terms of pay, work conditions, etc. I can work the crazy hours my adhd-addled brain comes online, as long as the work gets done; the work itself is varied and interesting and creative. These guys have to go to work at 7am and work all day on a monotonous assembly line task. And similarly, some other poor fucker has to go down a mine to get the rare earth minerals needed to make high performance capacitors and all that. The only difference between me and them is that I was born here and they were born there. We both ‘work in VR’, for similar reasons on the high level of abstraction: we need to eat, and we think we’ll have a better life if we work in this industry than some other. But the context of that choice and the capacity in which we work could hardly be different.

All of that is hidden. You see a white plastic shell, a logo, a cute little chime, a fantasy environment. But even if I knew the names and faces of everyone whose hands touched this thing before mine, what good would it do?

I don’t know what role tech workers have in changing all this. “Meta” (formerly Facebook) is the centre of this particular web, but if Meta were to go bust, someone else would pick up where they left off. Back in the day, when industries were less diluted across the world, a strike could be organised in person across a shop floor and shut down a whole industry. Imagine if this company - all ten people! - all decided to go on strike for some end (say, solidarity with a strike in China or something)... well, Meta would have less games for their platform but it would hurt us a lot more than it would hurt them. We’re all separated by physical distance, political borders, languages.

I think maybe it’s worth reciting the story of the current age of VR. This guy Palmer Luckley made a company to turn this extravagantly expensive sci-fi technology into consumer hardware like a games console. It’s not the first time someone tried (c.f. Virtual Boy) but this time the tech was just about good enough and there was a lot more money to throw at wacky ideas like that, so it proved to have legs, and other companies got in on the game, and now it’s a category of desirable technological object you can own, like a smartphone or gaming PC.

Anyway, the story goes, his company got bought by Facebook, who were fantasising about a vaguely-defined ‘metaverse’ which will be like Second Life but better, or maybe an omnipresent AR layer over reality, or who the fuck knows what else - but in practice mostly just ended up becoming a games console manufacturer so they could operate the kind of platform capitalism that e.g. Apple and Google do with smartphones. Luckley got fired; now the fascist cunt works in ‘defense’ and ‘border security’, manufacturing cameras and drones and shit to stop people entering the US. He made a VR headset that kills you as a bit. So funny. (He’s doing his best to make sure people actually do die on the border. But haha, it’s just like in my Sword Art Onlines!)

I don’t think ‘arm of the military-industrial complex’ the general character of the VR games industry as a whole. Or rather, it is to about the same extent as videogames in general. And I don’t think the technology we enjoy must come at the [social, environmental] price ‘we’ currently pay for it. Computer tech in a less distorted world would probably look very different, but I don’t think ‘making a rock do maths really fast’ inherently implies the rest of the structure that gave birth to it. I think the joy that I get from spending my days making art on the computer is something that most people should have the option to enjoy as well. But goddamn do I not see a way to get to that hypothetical better world from here :/

In the meantime, this is the survival strategy. I think the direct harm is about as little as can be gotten away with: most of these things are beyond my power to affect whether or not I work in VR games. But it does give me pause to think about it all. :|

#stinks of marxism-flavoured catholic guilt despite never being a catholic #introspective nightposting #this is the other side of the coin to like 'what are the exciting game design possibilities of this medium'

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