#redone in third person | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unlimitedtrees · 1 year

Text

making character sprites as a one-person indie game developer

(huh. turns out this post on cohost didnt have a “read me” section”. o well. i will put the read me section Here, before any of da actual text. click it if u dare !!)

so, i've been meaning on making a Big post talkin all about how i actually Make my games and my processes n such ,but also ive been procrastinating on making it for so long that i thought i might as well just make One part of that post now .. and its about making the Character Sprites for my games .

So. these images are the (mostly) full sprite sheets of the three characters from my game UNITRES Dreams, taken directly from the big giant 'charactersprites.png' image that i used for nearly every sprite for Most of the game's development. some quick things to make note of: First off, Trees (the first one) was one of the earliest things i made for the game, and had their sprite sheet redone Twice since then.. this first picture doesnt contain the latest sprite sheet as the new sprites were done on aesprite and im too lazy to make a sprite sheet out of them right now.

Secondly, the Second character (the pink one), had two different designs, being completely redesigned as i didnt like their first design all too much. their redesign's animations was done in aesprite, but i made a sprite sheet out of em before so i was able to just put them here. Lastly, the Third character (the blue one with the big silly hat) remained mostly unchanged as their original sprites and design were pretty good, but they needed to be cleaned up and given better colors so i ended up polishing all of their sprites.

Anyways. it's going to be hard for me to explain my actual process, as i am Bad With Words, but i will try my best.. So. for Most of my time as a game dev, I've used Paint.NET for Everything. This includes backgrounds, tilesets, and every animation ever in all of my games. For my character sprites specifically, i usually start with making the color palette (which is a whole different process where i mess around with the RGB values until i get a specific color that i think looks pretty ... its hard to describe). When making a new character, i usaully start with an Idle animation, just so i have a good base to make all the other sprites on. I just make a sketch of the character, then i do the flat colors (as my games dont have line art), and once i have the colors i start doing the rendering , where i try to pull off a sort of Sonic CD-esque , celshaded style while Also including a bit of anti-aliasing and other modern pixel art techniques to give the sprites more Depth and make them look Sharp. Idk. it's hard to describe my process in words ... i Did make a video Years ago showing off my process, but its old and my editing in that video isnt the Greatest.

So., that's my process Lol . the only thing thats really changed is that Now i use Aesprite for making the Actual Animations , as making animations with Paint.NET is Really Difficult and Annoying , as i have No Idea how the animation will Look until it actually appears ingame .. which results in the early versions of each character's animations looking a little weird (such as Trees' first two versions, the first version of the Pink character, and the Blue character's animations.. .though the blue character isnt as bad as the other two and i kept their animations mostly the same in the final game LOL).

Something that people have kind of criticized about UNITRES Dreams' animations is that some of em dont exactly ... Look Good. a lot of animations are pretty Inconsistent , with characters like Trees having inconsistent sizes in some animations and the movement in animations such as the Pink character's walking animation and various other animations (Especially the ones made in Paint.NET) looking Unnatural.

And Well .. here's the thing about making animations and sprites for something like this. When you're the Main person making an indie game, you have Tons of different parts of the game that need to be worked on while having Very little time to work on others. On Top of making every single animation for UNITRES , i had to make every single Tileset and background for every single level, On Top of making the Level Layouts , Programming , and even making sprites for things like the UI. And you have to constantly Test the game to make sure everything works and things Look good.

So. i had very little time to work on the sprites, and i Knew this. Something you have to consider is that, not only are you making the animations for the main character , you Also have to make Tons of animations and sprites for Literally Every Other Aspect of The Game . this includes Enemies , Level Gimmicks , NPCs, And the UI .. so you end up having to work on Thousands of sprites by yourself in such a short time.

I ain't the best animator , nor the best sprite artist . But , for this game I chose an art style which is Kinda simple and comfortable for me, which made making things like tilesets and backgrounds so much easier for me. The character sprites specificially only use a few amount of colors ,but also i tried my best to give them as much depth and make them as Colorful looking as i could. Also , something you might notice is that all of the playable characters dont actually have a whole lot of animations .. each of the characters only have the Exact amount of frames and animations necessary for them to Look Good moving around the levels. Aside from a few Gimmick Specific animations that arent in the sprite sheets i posted , there arent many Extra animations or animations with Tons of Frames that i wish i could have added .. and it Kind Of Sucks . Having to split my time across Three Different Characters , i had no time to make any animations Too Crazy or Too Smooth , and i couldnt include any extra animations that could add a bit of personality to the characters ... In Fact ,the Idle "animation" isnt an animation , its just a still frame. I didnt have time to even make a simple waiting animation !!

It Is What It Is. For what its worth , Ithink Im pretty proud of the animations i did for UNITRES Dreams. while i think ive become a much better artist and animator since then, i still think some animations and some of the frames look really good ..just looking at some of the still frames is really nice .. so i think i did a good job, especially for a game that was made in 2 years and is Free. And Hey, while the animations in UNITRES Dreams may not be the best or have the most smooth animations , i Did get to experiment with making more smooth animations for TREES' ADVENTURE. while ,now, i think some stuff could use some work, i am Really Proud of how some of the animations look .. ididnt get to make Too Many extra animations (there still isnt even an Idle animation), i Did get to make some cool extra animations , such as individual animations for your Jump that are based on how fast you're moving . (the original post on cohost had a buncha gifs of da animations but im Too Fuckin Tired 2 post em here LOL !!!)

So Yea . the moral of the story: making video games is kind of hard and time consuming , Especially when you're like , the Only one working on them. just make sure to plan ahead and try not to overwork urself .. make what you can and do it when you can. Thats what i think , anyways.

56 notes · View notes

bi-bard · 2 years

Text

Taylor Swift Songs That Would Describe Relationships with the Murder Husbands [Pt. 3 - Midnights Edition] - Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter Preference [NBC's Hannibal]

Title: Taylor Swift Songs That Would Describe Relationships with the Murder Husbands [Pt. 3 - Midnights Edition]

Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter

Word Count: 3,394 words

Warning(s): cheating, imprisonment, burnout

Author's Note: I've redone this four times. (However, High Infidelity was in all four versions)

----------------------

Will Graham:

High Infidelity

Do you really want to know where I was April 29th? Do I really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?

--Third Person--

It all kept going through Will's mind in flashes. Like lightning strikes. Just as blinding.

He could still feel the touches and kisses. He could hear every word and sound. He never knew how vivid his memories could be until he was truly haunted by them.

He wondered if (Y/n) was in the same state.

Lying in their bed at home, watching the movie of their night together. He wondered how they felt when they thought about it. Did they experience the same mix of guilt and longing that he did? Or maybe they were still angry at him.

(Y/n) and Will had a history that went back even further than his history with Hannibal.

The two of them had become everything to each other. (Y/n) had been with Will through everything. They stayed by his side when he got arrested, when he got locked away in his head, and everything in between. In his mind, they became a beacon. A sign of safety that may never be matched again.

Everyone else could see that too.

They saw the way that the pair of them looked at each other. It was easy to see how Will seemed to relax just a bit. How (Y/n)'s entire face just softened when they saw him.

Which is why it was more than shocking when Will left (Y/n) behind after Hannibal was arrested. He left town suddenly, leaving (Y/n) in the Wolf Trap house with a few dogs. No one knew why.

(Y/n) refused to go into detail about it. Instead, they would shake their head and say that it was for the best.

And then, Will came back.

After three years, the pair were meeting again in Jack Crawford's office.

Will kissed (Y/n) first. Back at the old house in Wolf Trap.

(Y/n) saw the wedding band on his finger. They just couldn't bring themself to care about it.

The rest of that night was contained to the blur of images. They ran through Will's head like images on a projector.

He wasn't sure how long he had spent lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling before he reached for the phone.

His body was moving faster than his mind was.

"Hey," Molly's voice almost caught him off-guard. "How you doing out there?"

"As well as expected," Will replied quietly.

"I see," she mumbled. "But you're doing some good, right?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "I hope so."

He didn't see it, but he could assume her eyebrows furrowed. "What's going on, Will?"

He closed his eyes. Every word, every thought was stuck in his throat. He couldn't think of something to say. He knew what he needed to say. What needed to be explained. He just couldn't.

In a way, Molly already knew.

She knew all too well about (Y/n) and their importance. Will still held onto the gifts they gave him. His hesitance to tell stories about them was sign enough to Molly that the wounds were all too fresh for him to discuss.

She couldn't find a way to be upset with them before then.

She only knew of the kind person that tried to keep the man she loved safe. She couldn't punish someone for being in love. She could only punish the actions that a person acted on. And even then, she found herself terrifyingly understanding.

"Did..." she didn't want to ask, but she knew that she needed the answer. "Did something happen with (Y/n)?"

Will's breath got stuck just as the words had mere moments before. "Yes."

Her eyes closed. "Did you sleep with them?"

"Yes."

She bit her lip and looked down. She was truly angrier with Will than she was with (Y/n).

She could've screamed at him. She had every right to do so. Will was expecting her to. Almost hoping that she would. Granted, he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was just in the hopes of knowing where he stood after it all.

But she didn't.

Molly stayed silent for a while, letting all of it sink in and settle under the surface of her skin.

"I'm sorry."

Will's words were a whisper. A desperate, overwhelmed, scared whisper.

He heard a sigh before Molly spoke, "I know."

It was just as quiet but sounded emotionless.

There wasn't another word spoken before the line went dead.

Will closed his eyes.

Nothing left to do now but deal with the feelings he still held for (Y/n).

Anti-Hero

I should not be left to my own devices They come with prices and vices I end up in crisis

If you had told me years ago that I would be visiting the man I loved in prison, then I would have scoffed at you.

If you had told me that I would find myself being constantly "confronted" (harassed) by the same "journalist" every day for God knows how long, then I would've questioned what the hell I had done to warrant such attention.

But here I was. Doing both.

Visiting Will was both the best and worst time of my week.

The best because I got to see the man I loved. The worst because it was in a hospital for the criminally insane.

I found myself sitting on a chair across from Will. He was in a cage. Locked away like a damn zoo animal.

I wanted nothing more than to walk closer. Just to touch his hand or press a kiss to his knuckles. But I couldn't do that because of the guard watching over us.

"I heard that you've been seeing a lot of Freddie Lounds," he said.

I nodded. "She got our address from somewhere. Don't know who would've known our address and willingly given it to her."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"It is," he corrected. "I'm the one being accused of murder, yet you're the one getting harassed. It's my fault that this is happening to you."

I shook my head.

"You're getting harassed and insulted. You have to come here just to see me. It's not fair to you. I have managed to drag you through hell without ever meaning to."

"I don't think so," I shrugged. He sighed. "You wanna know who I blame?"

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"I blame whoever decided to set you up in the first place," I said. "As far as the harassment, that's Freddie's fault. Not yours. You can't control how disrespectful some people can be."

He didn't respond.

"I love you, Will," I continued. "I love you so much that I sometimes can't even comprehend it. I am not going anywhere. I am staying right here with you. Through every moment of it. Got it?"

He slowly nodded.

I relaxed into my seat a bit.

"I love you too," he added after a moment.

I grinned. "I know."

I saw the start of a grin forming on his lips.

It brought me a sense of hope.

One way or another, we were both going to get through this.

Mastermind

What if I told you none of it was accidental And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me I laid the groundwork and then just like clockwork The dominoes cascaded in a line What if I told you I'm a mastermind?

There was something about watching Will do his work that was absolutely fascinating.

He could look at a single room and tell you what happened within the last twenty-four hours. I found all of it incredibly impressive. Granted, it also made me feel guilty watching his mind go to a place that he clearly didn't want it to.

We had been in the lecture hall that he taught in. He was looking over crime scene photos and mentioned that I could stay if I wanted to.

"What do you think," he asked, looking at me.

Oh. That. That's why he told me that I could stay.

I looked over the photos.

Will was standing right next to me. So close that I could've sworn that I felt his breath hitting me.

I frowned at the images. It's not like I actually knew what I was talking about.

"I... I don't know," I muttered. "I can't make sense of any of it."

"Well, that's because this killer is working very hard to make us see a message when there very well may not be one."

"Oh," I mumbled, not looking away from the images. I wanted to see what he did.

"Are you alright?"

I looked over to see his eyebrows furrowed. He genuinely thought that I was able to do half of what his mind could do. He was diving into the darkest corners of a person's mind and coming back with a jewel.

I was frantically flailing my limbs in the hopes of not drowning and revealing that I couldn't swim.

I nodded.

"Are you sure," he pushed. I offered another nod. "You are not as good at hiding your emotions as you think you are."

"Don't be an asshole," I muttered.

He chuckled, shaking his head a bit. "Don't lie to me."

I took a deep breath, scanning his face for a moment.

"I have been for a while," I confessed.

"Excuse me," he raised an eyebrow at me.

"I... don't understand an ounce of the stuff you've been telling me about," I explained. "I've been doing a lot of reading and listening to your lectures when I can. I don't actually know a lot about any of this."

Will's arms crossed over his chest. "Why?"

"It sounds really stupid," I replied. "I liked you."

He didn't respond.

"I... I liked you, so I thought that the best way to get your attention was to try to relate to you with some of this stuff," I continued. "Not that I'm trying to trivialize what you do. I understand that what you do causes you pain and I want nothing more than to be able to help with that.

"And I'm sorry for lying to you. I just... I wanted to get to know you. Properly. I thought you were intriguing and clever and sarcastic as all hell and handsome. I was just trying to get you to let me in. Let me spend some time with you."

I barely noticed Will's gaze shifting as I spoke.

"And, not to brag, but it did work," I motioned around me. "I'd... I'd like to think that my company isn't a complete annoyance if you let me sit and listen to your theories and deductions. If it hadn't had some benefit, then I wouldn't have done it."

I stopped myself at long last. It was like the pause button on the remote was stuck. I just hadn't been able to stop talking until I had gotten all of that out.

"Will," I said. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not... I'm not upset," he explained. "A little shocked, maybe, but not upset."

"Oh," I muttered. "That's good."

He nodded.

I watched him step even closer to me. My heart rate spiked up. My palms were becoming sweaty. I was certain that my pupil had devoured most of my iris as I looked at him. His eyes seemed to focus on every other part of me.

His nervousness wasn't clear until he moved.

He was hesitant. Like he was ready to back away at any time. Whenever I showed an ounce of discomfort. I stayed where I was, letting him decide what happened next.

His lips found mine carefully. I had never kissed someone that treated me so much like glass.

I kissed him back just as gently.

His hands slowly moved to cup the sides of my face. Kissing him back seemed to unlock something. His hesitance fell away. He kissed me more passionately. I grinned into the kiss.

I leaned back a few moments later, feeling like if I didn't stop kissing him, then I never would.

Will tried to follow my lips, making me laugh quietly as I pushed him back by his chest.

I think it's safe to say that my plan had been a success.

Hannibal Lecter:

Labyrinth

It only feels this raw right now Lost in the labyrinth of my mind Break up, break free, break through, break down You would break your back to make me break a smile

Hannibal's house was overwhelming.

It almost felt like a museum of sorts. Like if I touched anything, an alarm would sound, and I would be escorted off of the premises.

The dinners he crafted were no different. He treated every plate like a canvas. It felt like a crime to cut into any of it.

I was always so grateful for the invitations that he offered me.

It was a privilege to get to sit across from him and have such casual conversation.

I always assumed that I was the only one who had something to be grateful for. He always seemed so in control of what was going on. He guided the conversation. The dinners were in his domain. He seemed to know every detail of the night long before he decided that I would be the one he was sharing it with.

One night, Hannibal showed me that I may have been wrong.

"I must say," he started, "I have often found it difficult to form genuine connections with people. But with you, it feels like I have no choice other than to allow one to form."

I chuckled. "I hope that's a good thing. I wouldn't want you to feel like I'm twisting your arm."

"Not at all," he explained. "'It is simply difficult for me to find space to hide from you. It feels more natural to let you see every part of me."

I grinned. "I hope you know that the feeling is mutual."

He smiled back at me.

"May I ask what inspired that confession," I asked as I reached for the glass of wine in front of me.

There was a pause as he watched me take a sip before returning the glass to the place it belonged.

"I found myself thinking about it in between appointments today," he finally replied. "I have yet to find myself looking forward to dinner with others in the same way I look forward to dinner with you."

"I'm flattered. I thought I was alone in terms of anticipation."

His grin seemed amused. "Perhaps our next dinner should be under different circumstances."

I hummed. "Well, Hannibal, it sounds like you're suggesting a date."

"And if I were?"

He looked away from me as he asked. For just a moment, he seemed nervous. Like some part of him thought that I would be able to say no to him.

"I would be happy to accept," I said.

He looked at me again. "Well then, I'll be sure to make something truly special for the occasion."

I bit the inside of my cheek nervously.

And just like that, everything had changed.

Paris

I want to brainwash you into loving me forever I want to transport you to somewhere the culture's clever Confess my truth in swooping, sloping, cursive letters

I had no better word to describe that night than fairytale.

Hannibal and I were in the midst of building our new lives. This meant a new home, new names, whole careers to rebuild. Everything was different. The only constant was each other.

Part of Hannibal's path to gaining respect from the people he needed to respect him was going to fancy events.

As he led me into a grand hall full of people in fancy suits and dresses, all conversing and drinking and dancing, I found myself overwhelmed.

I stood off to the side, deciding to entertain the view from the large windows along the wall.

Hannibal walked over to me, touching my back in an act of comfort. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "It's all just... more than I'm used to."

"I see," he replied. "Would you like to leave?"

"No, no," I said. "It's okay. I just need to adjust."

Hannibal reached over and grabbed my hand. I watched as he pulled it up to his lips, pressing a kiss on the knuckles.

"This all feels too good to be real," I mumbled as he did. He tilted his head at me, lowering my hand again. "The grand party and the fancy people. Being in a place like this. Being here with you. It all feels like some romantic movie."

"But you're happy," he asked.

I moved my free hand to cup the side of his face. "Yes. You have always made me very happy. You are the reason this all feels like such a dream."

His grin grew before he turned his head to place a kiss on my palm.

As we stood by the window, in this space between the beautiful city and the grand party, I decided that there was absolutely no place I would rather be other than right by his side.

Sweet Nothing

Industry disrupters and soul deconstructors And smooth-talking hucksters Out glad-handing each other And the voices that implore "You should be doing more" To you I can admit That I'm just too soft for all of it

I never ignored Hannibal when he greeted me.

Every time I came home, he would be tucked away in the kitchen. I would hear him call "Welcome home" and I would reply with some kind of greeting before saying that I was going to change before dinner.

He must've known that something was wrong from the moment that I didn't reply to his greeting.

I simply went upstairs silently and changed my clothes.

I came back down to the kitchen a little while later.

I wonder how exhausted I looked to him. I would like to think that I hid it well from everyone else, but with him, I never could. I never felt like I needed to. He had this air of comfort and safety to him. One that pulled down my walls before I could fight it.

I sat in the armchair in the corner in silence. I watched him work.

"Would you like to discuss what happened today," he asked, looking at me.

I shook my head, eyes still fixed on his cooking.

I heard him sigh and place the knife down. "(Y/n)..."

I finally let my eyes meet his.

"You can talk to me about whatever is bothering you," he explained. "Hiding your thoughts and true feelings in a relationship can lead to a very unhealthy pattern of behavior. One that I don't wish to see you partake in."

I didn't speak up for a moment.

"Darling, talk to me, please. I would like to know what is wrong so I can think of some way to fix it."

I felt the tears building up in my eyes. I looked down at my hands again.

"It's been a long day," I forced a chuckle, hoping to make it seem like I simply overreacting.

I heard the water run as he cleaned off his hands. He was still drying them as he made his way to me. I looked up at the sound of his footsteps. He knelt in front of me. His hands touched mine.

"I am just so tired," I said, feeling a few tears fall. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he insisted.

He leaned forward to press a kiss to my forehead.

"Burnout, while unpleasant, is becoming very common," he continued. "I will help you through it. I promise."

I nodded.

"I hope you know that there are no circumstances in which you would need to keep this from me."

I nodded again. "I know."

He leaned in and kissed my lips gently. Just enough to put my mind in a state of calmness. Enough to allow my eyes to close and my shoulders to relax.

"I love you," I mumbled as he pulled away.

"I love you too," he explained. "More than I believe words could describe."

I smiled a bit at him.

How lucky I was to have someone that made me feel as safe as he did.

----------------------

Author's Note: That gif of Will was a choice and it was a choice that I made very carefully.

----------------------

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

#imagine #fanfiction #x reader #hannibal imagine #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal x reader #hannibal preference #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal lecter fanfiction #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #will graham imagine #will graham fanfiction #hugh dancy x reader #hugh dancy fanfiction #hugh dancy imagine #mads mikkelsen imagine #mads mikkelsen x reader #mads mikkelsen fanfiction

144 notes · View notes

devilry-revelry · 2 years

Text

Heart & Home | Male Ghost x Female Human {Part 1}

Mostly unedited rewrite of a thing I did way back when I was (happily) getting force-fed Red Dead Redemption 2 smut. It's a ghost cowboy. I'm not sorry.

: ̗̀➛

“Don’t need to be scared, girl. I’ll take good care of you—“

: ̗̀➛

The place had been on sale for nearly three years.

It was an old cabin resting on a rough half-acre space surrounded by mountains and farmland. The cabin was small. There were repairs that needed to be made to both interior and exterior, most of the electrical needed to be redone, and the plumbing needed to be updated. The bones were good though. The foundation was sturdy and unwavering. It just needed someone to show it a little bit of love – at least that’s what Maggie Whittaker, realtor, told each and every one of her clients after they drove the full 45 minutes out of town to see it.

“It just needs a little bit of love,” is what she told each and every single person that stared at the cabin and openly grimaced.

“It just needs a little bit of love,” is what she told the potential buyers that scoffed at the still-standing outhouse off to the side of the home.

No one took the bait though. Whether it was due to the commute time, or the plumbing issues, or the fact that the wiring threatened to burn the place down at any given moment. No one wanted to buy the place, but that didn’t stop Maggie from showing it at any given opportunity because she genuinely felt that the place held great promise. Every time she stepped onto the old wrap around porch she could imagine how inviting the space would be with a rocking chair, or a porch swing. She wanted to sit there with coffee and watch the sunrise above the trees in the morning, and watch as the stars came out at night. Maggie also liked to imagine how cozy the inside would be with a little bit of cleaning. She had decided long ago that the house would stay true to its rustic roots and she would salvage as much of the original materials that she could. She also decided that she would put a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace, and there would be old shelves with books, and a big bed with heavy blankets, and she would bake bread and cookies as fresh mountain air drifted through the kitchen…

Maggie could imagine all of those things, because that’s what she wanted. She wanted fresh mountain air, and cozy winters in front of a fireplace. Instead she had an awful third floor apartment sandwiched between a creep of a man and a nosy old woman. She had a cityscape that blocked the skyline, and the sounds of sirens and traffic accompanied by the acrid scent of piss and garbage. Meanwhile she sold people their dream homes. Homes with the backyard swimming pool, and the master bathroom with the male-height vanities and jacuzzi tubs and the shower with the six-plus shower heads that connected to wifi and Bluetooth. Even when she knew that no one in her clientele would show an interest in her cabin she showed the property every time she was able.

Perhaps it was because she hoped that someone would see the same potential that she did – or maybe it was just an excuse to spend more time at her own dream home. The cabin offered her a comfort that she couldn’t find surrounded by strangers at her apartment building. The cabin gifted her with the sense of belonging that she had been missing since she grew up and moved out of her familial home. When she wasn’t there she yearned to return, and when she had the opportunity, she often made the most of it she could. She structured her work schedule to offer her the most time at the cabin. If she could schedule the place for a showing, she saved the best for last, and when the not-so-potential buyers made their return trip to the city, Maggie often found herself taking up residence on the porch.

The little cabin offered Maggie all the comfort and warmth she craved, and she hated that every time she left, she didn’t know when or if she would be back; so she enjoyed what time that she had while she had it before leaving the one place she, somehow, considered home.

There were times where Maggie was lucky enough to return to the cabin weekly, if not daily but then there were times when business slowed, or a slew of clients steadfastly rejected the idea of living outside of the city, and so she didn’t get to return to her dream home for months at a time – and it was after one of those long stints of being away that everything changed…

During the winter months the already lackluster interest in the cabin waned. It was a long drive out from the city, and it seemed like all of Maggie’s clientele didn’t want to deal with the drive through the potentially inclement weather. It wasn’t until mid-spring when a potential buyer showed half-hearted interest and Maggie jumped at the opportunity to make the drive.

The buyer was a man from somewhere upstate. He was quiet, never really asking questions about the houses they visited, and never making a committal reply to any information she supplied. It served to make the day rather awkward, but when she mentioned the cabin overlooking the mountains he claimed that he wouldn’t mind seeing the place.

When they got to the cabin the man got out of his car with a camera looped around his neck with a strap, a camera that had been notably absent during the hours prior. Though it wasn’t uncommon for folks to snap pictures of the houses they toured, Maggie found the camera’s sudden appearance a little curious. A sudden and wholly unwelcome wave of paranoia washed away her excitement, and she found herself silently cursing the man for ruining her anticipated return to the cabin. She resolved to get through the showing as fast as she could for the sake of getting him to leave.

The building unease vanished the moment Maggie set foot on the porch, and it was very quickly replaced by a rush of warmth when she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“You really show this shithole?”

The comment kicked up Maggie’s ire, but she plastered on a bright and cheery smile, and forced an amused laugh as she said, “It’s got some great views. Right around back, you can watch the sunset.”

“One bedroom? No running water? Why bother.”

“It has running water; the pipes just need some updating. And I think someone will see the potential and spruce it up. I’m… um—“ she faltered as he reached out and put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back near the old fireplace. His fingers found a lock of hair and pulled it in front of her ear then stepped back. “— um, what are you—“

“Just getting a couple of pictures,” he said simply.

“Sir,” Maggie started, tucking the stray hair behind her ear. She stepped away from the fireplace. “I would appreciate if—“

“I told you I’m a photographer, right?” He stepped forward again, and moved her back into place. “Just let me get a few pictures. There is an interesting contrast between you and how rugged everything in here is,” he played with her hair, and went so far as to reach out to undo the top button of her cardigan.

Maggie’s hand shot up and smacked him away, feeling the bitter dredges of rage burn her throat.

“Calm down, it’s just a button—“

“Get out. Now.”

“I said I’m a photogr—“

“And I said get out. We’re done.”

He sighed loudly and pulled the camera from around his neck.. “Look, ok, I’ll put the camera away—“

“I believe the lady said to get gone, boy.”

The voice caused them both to jump. It was as sudden as it was forceful. It was a low drawl that wasn’t at all common to the area. Maggie and the so-called photographer both turned to the origin of the voice, but the room was empty. Just as Maggie’s brows began to knit together in what could only be the most confusion she had ever felt in her life (the perv clearly heard the voice too), the lights in the living room flickered. The faucet in the kitchen turned on full blast. The photographer turned yet again, his eyes darting from the lights, to the sink -- there was a loud creak from the floorboards near the front door and he spun around just before his whole body pitched forward.

The man dropped like a sack of potatoes, landing heavily on his hands and knees. The camera bounced to the ground in the tumble, the flash going off. The lights flickered yet again, the cabinets in the kitchen swung open and Maggie hid. She wedged herself between the fireplace and the wall, sinking to her butt and pulling her legs to her chest as the room around her came to life in a surreal show of hostility. The camera shot across the floor, skidding against hardwood until it met the toes of her shoes. The photographer scrambled, desperately finding purchase on his feet before he high-tailed it to the front door. He was leaving - leaving her alone in the crazy house… but the second he cleared the doorway, the activity in the house stopped. The cupboards closed, the lights stopped flickering, and the water shut off. It was suddenly, abruptly, eerily quiet. Maggie was afraid to move. In the quiet of the room, she held her breath. Even when she heard the man’s car start up, she remained rooted in place.

It wasn’t until the sound of the engine was long gone, did Maggie dare to take a soft breath and whisper, “Hello?”

Moments ticked by into minutes where there was no response, and as the silence dragged on, the fear and panic ebbed, and the familiar warmth returned. The tension that had gathered in her muscles eased. Her shoulders sagged and she released a heavy breath. Her eyes dropped to the camera.

The thing had moved on its own. Just like the fluttering cupboards, just like the water faucet. As she reached for it, she half anticipated it to shoot across the floor, but it remained in place, quiet and unassuming and hopefully not haunted. It didn’t move, which was great, but the screen that was pulled up on the display made her stomach flip uncomfortably.

It was a picture of her sitting in her car, sitting in front of the very first house she had met her client that day. She toggled the switch, flipping to the next image. It was her at the door to the cabin, her hand at the knob.

“Oh God,” Maggie grumbled, glowering at the image. Photographer? Right. A total creep, more like. She thumbed the switch again. The final image was nothing but a blur; likely taken when the camera had fallen. She was in the image, her figure crumpled in the corner like a scared child but there was something in front of her, partially cutting off part of her form but it was too blurred to really nail down what it was.

Her curiosity urged her to her feet. She moved a few paces from the corner, then turned to face the space, comparing the picture to the area she had vacated. There was nothing that could have been in the picture unless it had been the photographer, but the coloring was all off. Photographer was wearing bluejeans, the blur in the image was tan. It didn’t match with any of the colors in the cabin, either. The longer Maggie stared at the image, the easier it was to convince herself that she saw the blurry outline of a boot. Like someone had been standing between her and the photographer—

“Jesus, Mags,” she groused, turning the camera off. But even still, she was weary. She couldn’t explain away what had happened as easily as she could a blurry photograph. She could chalk up the photo as a searching and overactive imagination, but there was no explanation for what had happened. None.

Maggie started for the door, then froze when a loud creak sounded behind her. It sounded just like a tired door opening in an old horror movie. When she turned her head she could see the bedroom door slowly opening. Wanting to debunk the day’s strange events she dropped her things on the kitchen counter and marched towards the room.

Was there a draft? There had to be a draft. As soon as she got to the bedroom she grabbed the door knob and closed the door. It latched closed. It didn’t budge when she pressed against it. She turned the knob, pushed it open just a bit and waited.

Once again, the door didn’t budge. It was sturdy and solid and absolutely not swinging open ominously. She held up her hand towards the ceiling, feeling for any air flow and when that didn’t work she went into the bedroom. There was an old vent–

The door snikt shut behind her.

A flare of fear sent her whipping back towards the door. She scrambled for the knob but it didn’t turn. Didn’t budge.

“Hello!” She called out, silently swearing to God that if that prick came back to this house and decided to fuck with her that she would do what she could to beat the living crap out of him. “Hey, open the door! Come on—“

She felt the sensation of warmth at her back and it caused her to still. She smelled wood smoke. It was gentle and lingering, reminding her of summer nights and camping trips. The gentle sweetness of cigar smoke came with it. Maggie’s hackles softened as she closed her eyes and breathed deep. Despite the swelling fear she had felt moments before she was once again pulled into a feeling of comfort.

She shuffled a step towards the door, feeling pressure at her back, feeling a breath rustle her hair and tickle her ear. She closed her eyes and couldn’t stop her imagination from trying to summon the voice from earlier, the low drawl, right at her ear.

“Don’t need to be scared, girl. I’ll take good care of you—“

Heat pooled low in her belly, she started to lean back into the warm pressure. She had the urge to tilt her hips, to back her ass up against— her eyes shot open, and she turned. There was no one there. Despite being alone, her cheeks grew hot.

A cute house in the woods, and a ghost apparently. When she tried the door again it opened. She gathered her things, locked up the house, and after a final lingering glance she left.

She didn’t return to the cabin again for a whole three weeks.

This time she returned with a married couple. The circumstances of her last visit had been bizarre. While the events of that day didn’t exactly haunt her, she had spent plenty of time imagining what her return trip would be like. If strange phenomena happened again she would have to assume that the cabin was haunted, and if it didn’t… well, she would have to assume that she was crazy. When she pulled into the driveway, Maggie anticipated a bit of anxiety to flare up. There was no anxiety. Only a bones deep yearning to be back inside the cabin. So without the typical fanfare, Maggie unlocked the door and led the couple inside.

Maggie frowned, and despite her curiosity, she left, and didn’t return to the cabin for a whole three weeks. This time, she returned with a married couple. The moment she was on the property, she yearned to be inside. She sought the comfort the cabin seemed to give her, so without much prelude or fanfare, she unlocked the front door and led the couple inside.

The tour was quick, as it usually was.

Entryway drop zone. Hallway. Living room left, kitchen right. A wall separated the living room from the bedroom. Across from the bedroom was the bathroom and utility space. And there was the outhouse. Of course.

The couple seemed entirely uninterested, probably looking for something that was a bit more up-to-date.

“The land isn’t bad. Good space.”

Maggie nodded her agreement, “Great space. The owners live nearby. They’ve been maintaining the land, making sure it hasn’t gotten too overgrown. They offered to help with the upkeep after purchase.”

“Suppose I can tear down the cabin, do a custom build—“ the husband started.

“Wait, what—“

“Build a pool—“ the wife continued.

“This cabin was originally built in 18–“

“And it shows! It really shows. I’m not going to buy a one bedroom shack with an outhouse. But I can buy the space. Get rid of the cabin. Build a farmhouse and sell it for —“

Something happened then. Something that made the husband yelp. Maggie whirled around to see one of his feet dropping through one of the floorboards. When he stepped back to find his balance, he fell to the ground with a force that seemed to shake the very foundation of the cabin. Then the lights flickered. The front door snapped open then slammed shut. The wife shrieked at the sound. Maggie watched, detached from the fear she should feel. The husband vaulted to his feet. While the woman went to the door and tried to open it, the man yanked his foot from the floor. When the door didn’t open, the woman began to shriek and the man called after her to try and calm her down.

Maggie proceeded to view the unfolding chaos. She didn’t want the cabin to be torn down. She didn’t want there to be a frickin’ pool. She wanted the cabin to be fixed up, while maintaining its rustic charm. She wanted it appreciated by someone who could see the beauty it held. She wanted these two long gone. Maggie finally moved. With far more calm than she should feel, Maggie skirted around the hole in the floorboard, and joined the frantic couple at the door. The cabinets slammed and rattled in the kitchen. The lights had stopped flickering and had gone completely dark. Maggie squeezed her frame between the man and the door. She took hold of the handle and twisted it. The door unlatched and she pushed it open. The duo pushed their way past her making her stumble out the door with them. They practically raced to their car, and before she knew it they were driving away.

Maggie watched them go. Once the tail lights were out of view, Maggie turned to assess the cabin. She stood at the front door, pressing her hand against the hardwood frame.

“What was that about?” She asked the home, in a gentle coo.

There was a loud creak from the inside, like footsteps, and without an ounce of fear, she stepped back into the now quiet cabin. The place had yet to turn on her. Not once. With the photographer, it had defended her. With the married couple it seemed to defend itself. Maggie somehow immediately convinced herself that the cabin wouldn’t turn on her. No harm would come to her when she was there.

She moved with careful steps as if she were approaching a frightened dog. She navigated around the new hole in the floor, and once she came to a stop she heard the front door close softly.

The old flooring creaked. In one place, and then in another. Growing closer. As if someone was walking towards her. The wild scent of wood smoke tickled her nose. Maggie closed her eyes and breathed it in. The touch of sweetness that curled at the edges made her mouth water. The sensation of a presence at her back should have set her off, but all she knew was ease, comfort, and home.

“I ain’t standin’ by and lettin’ folks tear down my home.”

The voice was a low, accented drawl. The same voice that had told off that perverted photographer. The same one she had fantasized about more than a time or two as she lay in bed at night.

“And I’m through with all of the disrespect–”

“I-I never meant to disrespect anything–” her voice was quiet and ragged, but frantic. She turned towards her accuser and saw a man. Or the impression of one. It was hard to determine what exactly she was seeing, or not. The image only lived in her periphery and the moment she attempted to look directly at the figure, it seemed to shift out of view or vanish all together.

She thought she was seeing a man. Tall, and broad, with eyes so dark they looked black. His clothes looked old and worn, with hints of khaki or maybe canvas, an old linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and the buttons at his chest undone.

Maggie swallowed, closing her eyes hard. She repeated, “I’m sorry. I never meant any disrespect.”

“Nah, girl. Not you. Them. I built this cabin with my bare hands. I know these’re different times, but to come into a man’s home and call it a shithole…”

The man was edging closer, and Maggie matched his stride in the opposite direction. She wasn’t retreating out of fear, or she didn’t think so. She wasn’t scared. What she was feeling wasn’t fear. And yet, if what he was saying was true, if this was the man who built the cabin all those years back that could only mean one thing. She should be scared.

“You’re-you’re right—“ her back touched the wall. She trained her gaze to look away so she could see him better as he made his approach. His hair was dark, like charcoal. His skin was a beautiful sunkissed tan. Were those suspenders hanging from his hips?

“And then what that little pissant did to you…”

“He didn’t—“

A hand extended to her, brushing her wrist with warm, calloused fingers. The contact surprised her. He was warm. He was gentle. Weren’t ghosts supposed to be cold? He took her hand, dragging his thumb over her palm. Maggie’s eyes flickered to the point of contact. There was no more impression of a person dancing in her vision. There was indeed someone standing before her, touching her. When she chanced a look up at his face, his eyes were trained on their hands. He looked just as surprised as she felt.

His voice softened. “He did. He disrespected you. And that’s somethin’ I ain’t gonna tolerate, y’hear me Maggie Whittaker?”

Maggie nodded her head, slowly before she managed to find her voice. “Who are you?”

“Elias Jameson.”

“Your family owns this place.”

“They do.”

“Do they know about… you?”

“Nah. Tried to speak with one of the boys a few years back and he never came back…”

Again, Maggie nodded. Finding words was becoming increasingly difficult, and his proximity wasn’t helping. She was floored, she was stunned, and she was positive that she was dreaming. Elias’ eyes lifted from their hands to study her face. Christ, Maggie thought. That jawline is sharp enough to cut diamonds.

“Yer scared.”

“I’m… confused. If you’re a, well… how…?” She tried to gather her thoughts. “It feels like I’m dreaming.”

The rough pads of his fingers touched the skin inside her wrist. It probably would have tickled if the contact didn’t feel so sensual. She licked her lips as she recalled being locked in the bedroom, with the sensation of a presence at her back, and the urge to press and grind and–

“This ain’t no dream, Miss Whittaker.”

#paranormal romance #paranormal #romance #ghost romance #cowboy #ghost cowboy #cowboy ghost #monster boyfriend #cowboy monster boyfriend?#male ghost x female human #ghost cowboy boyfriend #shitty writing #unedited because im lazy and this has been sitting around for decades

77 notes · View notes

ccaptain · 4 months

Text

Despite H:SR Kaeya suspecting an involvement with the IPC, he has to admit- the circumstances that involve the deserted planet that hosts the amusement park in are weird. Weird, and suspicious.

He has filled three notebooks, sitting at the small table in the hut, with photos and his elegant, flowing handwriting to sum up what he has witnessed ever since he landed on it. Inside there are his theories and observations:

- The village houses have been deserted- not pillaged, not robbed clean, not damaged. Simply abandoned doesn't cut it either. There's photos of tablecloths still dressing tables, plates with rotten food, dishes to be washed in the sink that have long since crusted over. Glasses are still full with water or expired soft drinks. Photos of bedrooms reveal untidy beds left to be redone in a second moment- only that, for this planet, the second moment never came. Boxes of jewels and safes have not been damaged nor stolen, and in many pantries there was a normal amount of food for what he imagines to be a very normal weekly shopping, by now spoiled. Kids toys laid on the ground as if they were being played with a moment before. What Kaeya has extrapolated from this is that these people weren't expecting anything unusual to happen, and their days went by as normal until they all seemed to disappear.

- Whatever fauna there was, it has vanished along with the people. The food in the houses has not been consumed by ravenous animals- there are no nests birds could have made on windowshills, or abandoned zones of the houses. No apex predators have come around to damage or hunt anything, and even the rat bites on the cables and some droppings that he has found seemed to be fossilized, pratically. There's no sign of recent animal activity, and where there should be the singing of birds there's an eerie silence that surrounds the planet. Kaeya finds this alarming- a thing is for people to flee- but animals? He hasn't found a single animal bone around, that might have meant that the fauna perished due to not having enough to hunt. Bones cannot decompose so much as to disappear completely. Everything that was alive on the planet seems to have simply vanished into thin air without a valid explanation.

- So far, Kaeya was able to rule out the fact that people had been evacuated, as he previously thought: his logic tells him that, in case of evacuation, the entire planet would have been warned in advance and given time to prepare- he would have found even a ripped-up paper trail of an evacuation notice. But so far he has investigated every corner of the village and the park, and found nothing of the sort. Back in the houses, he has taken pictures of closets- untouched, with dust covering elegant and normal clothes alike. If people were evacuated and given enough time to prepare, there would most likely be empty spots in the wardrobes- to signal that people had taken personal effects away and had enough time to do so. No human bones have been found in his exploration either- and the small village store has not been ransacked in a panicked frenzy, everything left untouched but without electricity. Everything seems to have been, truly, perfectly normal up until the event.

At the end of the third notebook, the chilling conclusion Kaeya has come to:

Possible mass-abduction. Requires more investigation.

#from another realm ━ (ooc)#you no longer know me; shrouded in the fog of mystery ━ (H:SR V. Headcanons)#am i making a whole ass plot out of this? YUP #i have no idea what im doing or where this will go but. bats lashes #ask to tag ;;#implied animal death ;;

6 notes · View notes

sonkitty · 6 months

Text

The Sideburns Scheme Post #12 - LINK - Update

I found one of the posts I was looking for!

I linked it over in Crowley S2 Hair Post #8 Redone v2 where I thought most appropriate but otherwise didn't change much else since the last batch of updates. The post in question was It's a memory, and it's out of order.

That was the same post about the faces and recognition thing in post #12 where I do have a few other notable updates. I've gone ahead and added the link in post #12 here too.

...

Updated the following in the questions part of the Earthly Objects section, changes are in bold:

Crowley asks two questions during the scene with the opening for Beelzebub to answer them. These are dialogue points for Earthly Objects, but they are also a way to invite the conversation he is having into his personal space that he's managing with his sideburns. I think he leans forward off the back of the throne and stays in Hell for that reason when he asks them.

There actually is a third question as part of "It is? It is, yeah." Then Crowley actually leans back instead of forward, so that one is not an invitation to his space. The questioner answering the question before an interacting character can answer looks to nullify the question in Earthly Objects. Aziraphale uses this tactic during the ball invitations and even as the first thing he says to Crowley during the Final Fifteen. "What's that lovely human expression? Oh yes! Hold that thought."

...

Added some text that admitted to recognizing what I believe is an "It's a Wonderful Life" reference with the Book of Life:

There's an "It's a Wonderful Life" reference here, I realize. I hope it's not foreshadowing. With this concept of erasing someone from the Book of Life, I'm inclined to think that a person wiped from existence cannot learn "a lesson" because they don't exist anymore!

But wait. That is what happened in the movie "It's a Wonderful Life". The angel Clarence showed the human George Bailey a reality where he, George Bailey, no longer existed because he had never been born. George learned "a lesson" about the value of his own life.

That path for the Good Omens overall story doesn't strike me as particularly interesting but noted nonetheless.

...

I forgot to include this part from the version of my last post pointing out the red in Hell but not before or after summoning. I edited it some because I realized the lightning imprint is sometimes visible in Hell but not in the car either. I also re-worded how I think of the spaces existing with Crowley in them:

Why is the red back in Hell but not before or after summoning? Is that part of the possible story edit with suspicious continuity errors or does Hell being Hell just do that to Crowley? The angle of his head changes in the cut between being in Hell and being in the car. He was leaning back away from Beelzebub, then he is leaning forward toward where they were. In Hell, he looked like had a lightning imprint on the upper left side of his forehead sometimes too.

I maintain my theory on this space within Hell being the same as the Bentley, Crowley's own home base, when Crowley himself is there.

#crowley #good omens 2 #good omens #good omens s2 #david tennant #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens crowley #crowley good omens

10 notes · View notes

ellethespaceunicorn · 2 years

Text

Bright Like The Moon: Chapter 2

Chapter 2: It’s The Feelings I Wear

Rating: M for Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI

Fandom: Night Hunter

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Black!OFC

Word count: 6K

Summary: Kamaria Mansfield is hired at the Minnesota Police Department as an intern. Detective Walter Marshall is overworked and unsatisfied. Takes place post-film.

Chapter Summary: Kamaria’s first day is filled with confidence and realization. Walter’s day is filled with self-doubt and introspection. Their day ends in a noteworthy way.

Chapter warnings: Mutual pining, accidental flirtation, intentional flirtation, angst, police interrogation procedure (or what Law & Order and The Shield have taught me is perfectly normal police procedure during interrogation), murder investigation (no details), flashback to a fight, Faye’s opinion on Rachel, spicy texting, different POV at times

A/N: I like to write in the third person (omniscient) for the most part, but as a challenge to myself, I decided to try writing in the first person for Kamaria and Walter in this chapter. Let’s see how this works out and if I wanna do it again. Un-beta’d, we die like people trying their absolute best.

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Cross-posted on AO3 @ ElleTheSpaceUnicorn

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Kamaria’s POV

After a fun weekend of self-care, a mani-pedi in a cute baby pink with medium coffin-shaped nails on my fingers and getting my locs redone, I am ready for my week to start. I am happy to be woken up Monday morning to my alarm blaring ‘Her’ by Megan Thee Stallion. The catchy and inspiring song was a choice I made last minute on Sunday night, wanting to be roused from sleep with confidence and purposefulness in my mind.

Oh, Megan, if only I had your confidence…and that body-ody-ody.

Grabbing Beary from the crook of my arm and placing him back against the pillows, I pull the covers back over my bed. Making my way to the kitchen for coffee, I’m reminded that I need to pick up some more creamer this week. Black coffee is too rich for my blood and my colon. I turn on the coffee pot and end up in the bathroom ready to shower.

I turn on the shower, letting it warm up while I go grab my phone from my nightstand. Pulling up Spotify as I reenter the bathroom, I select the Shower Vibes playlist. Soon the soothing sounds of Solange’s ‘Don’t Touch My Hair’ is wafting in the air. This song always gets me in the right headspace.

I switch from my bonnet to my shower cap and step into the spray once it’s at the perfect temp. Just right to get squeaky clean and not enough to sweat and frizz up my hair. I put on my exfoliating gloves and pour on enough Apricot & Honey body wash to drown a small town.

Rubbing my hands together, the scent of it permeates my soul. Stepping back from the water, I begin to lather my body.

Before I know it, my mind goes on auto-pilot washing my entire body, top to bottom. I step back into the spray backward to feel the pulsating water on my neck and back. Bless my water pressure.

I turn around, allowing my front to be clear of the suds. I wring out my shower gloves and place them back in the shower caddy. I reach up and turn the nozzle to push water through the detachable showerhead to get my most delicate places nice and clean. I’m careful this time to not allow the powerful jets to lull me into a hazy state of arousal. The last thing I need to be is late to work for that.

I finish up and grab my towel from the hook, patting my skin dry and taking off my shower cap. I wind the towel around myself and turn off my music before walking back into the bedroom. Opening my closet, I see my first-day outfit looking back at me. A mustard yellow turtleneck sweater that makes my amber eyes pop and a pair of black skinny jeans to show off my curves. Not really sure what the dress code is but if all else fails, the jeans look sorta like dress pants so whatever.

I begin my skincare routine by applying face serum, moisturizer, and body lotion. Slipping on some underwear and a bra, I remember I started the coffee pot.

Throwing on my satin robe and house slippers, I head to the kitchen to praise the caffeine gods. The warm aroma of french vanilla wafts into my nose and I smile. Why have any other flavor if french vanilla is available?

Within a short time, I have a perfect cup of coffee and a decent breakfast in my system so I head back to the bedroom to get dressed. I put my butterfly locks in a high bun, leaving out the front two locs to frame my face. I’m not really a big makeup girl with the primer and the foundation and the contouring. However, I do have my essentials and it’s basically muscle memory to apply so what the hell. I sit at my vanity and turn on my lighted mirror.

“Hey, Siri?” I pause and wait for my phone screen to light up and for Siri to acknowledge me. “Play ‘Female Energy, Part 2’ by WILLOW, please.” Siri accepts the command and the song begins to play.

From the instant that I hear the melodic voice of a woman older than her years, I am transported to a state of pure emotional wonder, thinking of my position in the world around me. I begin with a medium line of black eyeliner, followed by some of my favorite Lash Princess mascara. Torn between a matte dark brown lip and a glitter gloss, I choose the gloss because it will reflect every bit of light it catches. Maybe he will notice that little touch? I shake my head to clear my thoughts and apply Shades by Shan in the color ‘Erika(https://sbscosmetics.com/products/new-erika-lip-gloss)’ slowly while the final verse plays.

‘Am I to feel bolder 'cause / All of my pumping blood? / I am human, I am woman / Drifting down my life / Light up this time, light up this time / Oh, oh, oh, oh’

I stop the song before it could play again and get up to check out my outfit in my long mirror. Everything is in its place, nothing too tight. Putting on my flats, I check my phone. Exactly thirty minutes til I start work, with a twenty-minute drive to work, which will allow me to freak out in the parking lot for a good chunk of time. Perfect!

In the living room, I collect my keys and purse and throw on my coat. Taking one final deep breath of unemployment, I exit my apartment and lock the door behind me.

I make my way to work and park my car near the end of the lot under a lamppost so that when I leave later, I’ll have the light for safety. I start to prepare myself for my specifically scheduled ‘freakout time’ when I hear the low rumble of a truck being backed up next to me. I wait until it's all the way in the spot before I look over at the same time the driver does.

We exchange smiles and it feels like the world stops. I turn off my car, grabbing my phone from the mount and my purse from the passenger seat. I go to open the door and he does the same, motioning for me to go first. I’m just closing my door when he exits mere inches from me. I turn around to properly greet him, smelling the clean scent of him in the wind, and try and hide the way it goes straight to my pussy. Down, girl!

“Happy Monday, Detective,” I say, my lips only quivering slightly in my attempt to appear confident.

“Please, call me Walter. I feel like Detective sounds too formal. After all, I’ve already saved your life, right?” His deep baritone radiates through me and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was flirting with me.

‘He’s not interested in someone like you. Think about it, sweetheart.’ The voice of my ex attempts to ruin my morning, I shake my head almost imperceptibly and continue to smile at Walter.

“How long are you gonna hold that against me, Walter? I swear to you, I didn’t stumble on purpose just to be caught by a handsome stranger.” Did I just fucking call him handsome to his face out loud where he could hear it? Don’t freak out. DON’T. FREAK. OUT.

The smile on his face goes from his mouth to his eyes, a slight blush creeping across those perfect cheekbones.

“Handsome stranger, eh? That just made my day, Kamaria. Thank you for that,” He winks at me and my pussy wakes back up at that gesture, “Dads aren’t used to compliments, ya know?” Oh, you have a kid?

“Oh, you have a kid?” Ok, I said that part out loud I guess.

“Yeah, a daughter,” he says, taking out his phone and showing me the lock screen with a picture of a curly-haired girl smiling at the camera, “This is Faye, the light of my life. She’ll be 16 soon.”

“Oh my goodness. She’s gorgeous and she has your curls. Got your shotgun ready?” I laugh, knowing what a Dad would do to protect his daughter, thoughts of my own Dad’s exploits cross my mind.

“Oh, I would love to say it’s primed and loaded. But she’s a pistol. Smarter than she gives herself credit for. And would run circles around any smooth-talking, pock-marked little shit who tried her.” He smiles, putting his phone back in his pocket after checking the time. “Where has the time gone? Let’s get you into your first day, eh?” He motions for me to take the lead and throws another wink my way.

I suddenly remember I had no time to freak out in the car before going in. No time to think about that now, maybe I’ll just freak out a little later. Or something more professional, like excusing myself to the bathroom to have a quick anxiety attack. Perfect plan.

We walk into the building together, Walter holding the door for me. As I am shaking the chill of the early morning off and instantly feeling overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of those in the office, I hear Walter say my name.

“Kamaria?” He tilts his head and shoots me a grin, “You’ll wanna check in with the Desk Sergeant over to the right and let them know it’s your first day, yeah? Along the left wall there, the last one down before the hallway ends is my office. If you need anything, I’ll be in there most of the day and it would be nice to break away from paperwork even if for a second.”

Ok, this man is most definitely flirting with me. At least, it feels like it. The winks, those smiles, basically inviting me to his office to distract him. What else is that, if not flirting?

‘He’s just being nice to the inept charity case, sweetheart. Stop dreaming.’ And that’s when the asshole creeps back into my head to try and pull me back down. I ignore it and smile back at Walter.

“Thank you, Walter. For everything,” I start to make my way over to the right, and he to the left, “I’ll be sure to stop by and save you from the paperwork demons.” We are still in eyeshot and walking backward from one another, “I’ll see you later?”

“Later it is, Kam.” That little nickname he throws my way makes my cheeks warm and before I can ask about it, he turns and makes his way to his office.

I end up standing in front of the Desk Sergeant, a burly bald man who looks like he could break me in half gives me a sweet smile and asks how he could help me. “My name is Kamaria Mansfield and it’s my first day as an intern and I have no clue where I’m supposed to be.” He takes pity on me and points to the intern pool and who has to be the manager giving an early morning meeting.

I rush over and give my name and the manager introduces me to the rest of the interns, none of them look to be starting on their first days as well. Awesome. Kind smiles and waves welcome me and I feel instantly calmed.

Today will be a good day, hold onto this feeling as long as you can.

Walter’s POV

Kam? Where the fuck did that come from? I gave her a nickname without her permission. Might as well have called her ‘Sweet Cheeks’. Just as I am berating myself, someone walks into my office.

“I need you in Interrogation Room 2 before I lose my shit and plug this asshole into next week,” Commissioner Harper starts a tirade before I even have my coat off.

“Good morning, Commissioner.” I deadpan and start to follow him out of my office.

“Yeah, good morning, is it?” The Commissioner raises an eyebrow and I get the hint.

I look to the intern pool as Kamaria is being introduced to her fellow gophers like starting at school late in the year. Her sweet smile stays on her face, her eye line focusing on those in her immediate vicinity so she doesn’t notice me walking out of my office and down to the hall.

Making it to Interrogation, the room’s atmosphere shifts as I notice Rachel behind the glass trying her best to stay in control while every other word out of our suspect’s mouth is cunt or whore. No matter how much she may dislike me, or our history, she doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.

I cross my arms and await her signal to come in and be the ‘bad cop’. She’s holding her own and I don’t want to interrupt that. Being a profiler, she knows what games to play and what tactics to use when it comes to hostile men. She’s not afraid in that room, she’s not submissive. She uses what she was blessed with, her feminine wiles and whatever training she can remember. It’s what any good cop would use when in this position, and she's damn good at it.

After the whole situation with Simon Stulls, I had to give her credit. She knew the tells, she knew there was more to the story. And she went after what she believed. After all, she did save my life. As much as I wanted to return the favor, I couldn’t. She was far too…in control of her own life. She wouldn’t allow herself to be in danger without knowing how to save herself. That’s just Rachel.

She doesn’t need me until she has no further tricks up her sleeve. And I have to be fine with that. I am fine with that. I, after all, have my sights set on another. While waiting for Rachel to look at the glass, I’m reminded of our last night together.

*Eight Months Ago*

Rachel was over at my house after work one night, we agreed to finish the casework outside of the office as another excuse to be able to spend time together.

She throws her pen down on the coffee table and turns to me. “Faye still hates me. And you do nothing about it. That sucks, Walter.”

“Faye doesn’t hate you. She can just tell that you and I are different people. I think she knows when I’m not happy and she knows I can’t hide that from her.” I catch her eye as she furrows her brows.

“If you would just realize that I’m not here to be saved, I think you’d be happier.”

“And if you would realize that I am not trying to save you, I think you’d be happier.”

“See, you say that. But all you do is open doors for me, and offer to help with every little thing and that makes me feel like I’m incapable. Like, I’m not in charge of my own life. And that shit goes against everything that I have been taught my entire life. I can do for myself. I don’t need you to help me do every little thing. Wait for me to ask for your help, once in a while. Don’t just…do.” Her voice raises as she gets up from the couch to walk over to the kitchen for a glass of water.

I stay where I am for a moment before standing up and leaning against the back of the couch to face her. “Look, I get it. You are your own woman. You don’t need me. And you have made that abundantly clear. You don’t need anyone. Until you do, and then here I am. Meant to pick up all your pieces. On your terms.” I move one step closer to where she stands. “Why do I never get terms? Why can’t I take care of you when I need to take care of you? Why do I have to wait until you’re ready to accept me as someone to care for you? How do you think that makes me feel? Knowing I’m nothing more than at your beck and call, for when YOU deem it necessary for me to feel helpful? How is that fair to me?”

“I don’t mean to make you feel as though you can’t help me, but you have to realize that 95% of the time I can do it on my own. I’m not your ward, I’m not yours for safekeeping. We should be equals in this relationship. Not owner and dog.”

“That’s not fair and you know it. I was never your owner, and neither did I want to be. And you’re not a dog.” I shift on my feet. “You’re much more like a cat, feral and wild.”

“Thanks for that,” she takes a sip of water before looking back at me, “I always liked cats more anyway. And I get it, you like being the protector. You like being the one to come to for help and reassurance and I just don’t need that right now.”

“Noted. Let’s get back to work and after this, I will stop trying to be your protector and start trying to be your equal, ok?” I nodded back at the paperwork as she nods at me.

Not long after that night, Rachel and I decided to call it quits. Luckily, we kept everything very close to the chest at work so no one ever asked about it. I had a terrible time trying to put the past behind me, no matter how I excelled at treating her as an equal. I wanted someone who needed me. Not someone who tolerated me. Perhaps, good things DO come to those who wait.

I guess I’ll have to thank Faye at some point for her opinion on the matter. She didn’t like Rachel. And she made it known that Rachel was never going to be in her life if she had anything to do with it. Rachel wasn’t exactly good with kids, let alone teens. I honestly can’t even say if she tried her best. She wanted to be looked at as an authority figure, not a mother figure. That is not the way to get a teen to like you, and she never found the way into Faye’s good graces.

The way into that girl’s heart is by showing her that you care. Care about her hobbies. Care about her favorite color. Or most importantly, as a child of separated parents, show her that you care about the well-being of the two people who brought her into this world. Don’t take anything too lightly, and she’ll give you a chance.

But, Rachel failed there. And there is no relationship when your child doesn’t feel comfortable around your partner. Angie learned that the hard way with Mick or Nick or whatever his name was. But Jackson, the one she’s dating now, he’s a good man. He cares about Angie and he cares about Faye. That’s all I can ask for. All I ever would ask for.

Well, I guess there are other things I can ask for, but I will be patient about those things. My mind retreats to Kamaria calling me handsome. I was dumbfounded at the time, and now I’m incredibly flattered that I flustered her enough for her filter to malfunction in front of me. I could tell she was instantly angry with herself for letting her cards show. But I enjoyed every bit of that interaction, quick as it was. She may have felt intimidated, but she didn’t seem scared and she didn’t seem like she minded my flirting. A good thing, because I plan on flirting with her as much as she will allow me to.

Rachel gives me the cue to step in, snapping me out of my thoughts and I’m slamming the door shut to the Interrogation room before long. Walking up behind the suspect slowly, I stand to the side of him and nod for Rachel to take a break. She collects her things, leaving the case file behind after closing it. But I won’t be needing it.

I pull her empty chair out from the small metal table and act as though I will sit down, but instead choose to throw it behind me. The intended emotion is felt by the suspect. Fear. If I didn’t thrive on that fear, I wouldn’t be able to get the job done. I reach over and grab the suspect by the collar and yank him to me over the table. This is where the fun begins for me and ends for him. I hold him above the ground, speaking to him lowly but still able to be picked up by the audio recording in the room.

“Tell us where the bodies are, and this can be over for you. I’m sure the public defender can get you some type of safety while you live out the rest of your days behind bars,” I tighten my grip on his coat collar before speaking again, “Give us nothing and we’ll feed you to the dogs. You do know what happens to men like you in prison right? Men who’ve done what you’re being accused of doing? They’ll string you up, they’ll castrate you, and if you’re lucky? They’ll make sure you die from your injuries.”

I set him on his feet and straighten his collar. I walk around him to where his chair is on its side and pick it up, nodding for him to sit down. Chancing a glance at the mirrored window behind, I motion for Rachel to re-enter. I pick up the other chair from the floor and let her sit back down. Ever the professional, Rachel opens the file again

“Now, can you tell me where the bodies are?”

The suspect wipes a hand over his face, eyes peeking up at me before nodding at Rachel. I leave the room and rejoin Commissioner Harper.

“Is it unprofessional to say I love it when you do that?” The Commissioner looks at me with genuine boyhood glee.

“Probably, but I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.” I let my sly smirk show and get back to watching our suspect give Rachel the locations of the five confirmed victims. Once done, a uniformed officer comes to collect him and take him back to the holding cell. Rachel exits and comes back to the room where Harper and I are.

“He gave us everything,” Rachel hands me the file and nods, “thanks for taking over, he was making me want to rip out his fucking throat. But, try and keep The Hulk at bay next time, maybe?”

“I enjoyed it thoroughly,” Harper quips, annoying Rachel to no end.

“Understood, Rachel,” I say, not meaning it at all and she knew it, “I’ll get to work on these. Have the transcript to me later?” I hold up the file and leave the room before she can say anything else.

Kamaria’s POV

I’m just getting up to lock my computer when I see Walter walking down the hall, his nose in a file. I head in the opposite direction to hit the bathroom before stopping by his office for a quick chat.

I stop at the door, his attention completely on the file at this point, and knock on it lightly.

“Hey, stranger,” I say, walking in and sitting in one of the chairs across from him. I notice without his coat on, he opted for an oceanic blue sweater today that hugs his biceps which seem even bigger than they did on Friday when I touched them for all of about three seconds.

Without looking up, he smiles and jokes, “I will only be answering to ‘handsome stranger’ from now on, thank you very much.” He finally looks up and I notice his eyes in the sunlight coming through the window, “How’s your first day going?”

“Ha ha, good one. It’s going quite well. I met a lot of nice people. I was taught how to get Spotify on my computer and how to get free snacks from the vending machine at the end of hall. And a couple of the girls are taking me out to lunch.” I guess that could be something friendly, right?

“Oh, they’re gonna grill you. I’ve seen them all go out to lunch a lot. They’re a close-knit bunch but they are also very territorial if they think you’re in a dangerous situation so make sure you play nice.” His tone, although joking, actually sounds serious. Almost like he is encouraging me to make friends with my coworkers, and I like that. I’m sure Yada would be high-fiving him right about now.

“I’ll keep that in mind, handsome stranger,” I chance a wink and him and there is that blush back on his face, “Well before they come to look for me, I better get back. I do wanna make sure I get all the hot gossip and find out where the best places for lunch are.”

“Enjoy your lunch, Kam. If anyone mentions going to Mitch’s Steak Shop, get the cheesesteak. You won’t regret it. I promise,” He smiles and goes to pick up the file again before looking back up at me as I get up to leave, “Actually, I did have something to ask you, if you don’t mind?”

He has a pensive look on his face so I sit back down and nod at him to ask.

“I started calling you Kam without your permission. And I, rather belatedly, would like to say if you don’t like that, I can go back to using your full name. It’s a lovely name, after all. And I would hate for you to feel like I’m getting too personal in calling you something that you didn’t ask to be called.”

“No, it’s fine. I actually used to go by Kam all the time. I haven’t used the nickname in a while and I’m not ashamed to say I missed it. So, please, call me Kam. I like it.” The smile on his face could light up the darkest of nights.

“Phew, good. I spent most of the day feeling like a complete tit. I swear I know better than to call a woman out of her name, but I just felt it in the moment and went with it.” He runs a hand through those curls, and I wanna follow that hand with my own.

“Don’t sweat it, it made me smile,” Just then my stomach grumbles and I remember I was supposed to be going to lunch, “Ok, it’s food time. I’ll see you later, k?” I raise up from the chair and play with one of my butterfly locs, putting it behind my ear.

“Sounds great, I’ll see you later, Kam.” We share a smile and he returns to his file as I walk out of his office.

I head back to my desk and notice the group at the front door is waiting for me. I scurry up to them and apologize for keeping them waiting. They all just smile and tell me that we are walking to Mitch’s. I guess I get to try the cheesesteak sooner than I thought.

Walter’s POV

The rest of the day moves pretty fast. Rachel has the transcript sent to me with enough time to go over it and plan the search teams. The bodies are located within about a five-mile radius. The teams will go out in the morning. The faster we can recover the bodies, the faster we can get these families closure on their loved ones. And that is what matters most of all.

Before I know it, it’s ten after five and I can hear the cleaning crew vacuuming down the hallway. It has been an interesting day for sure. The thrill of flirting with Kamaria, the excitement of an interrogation gone well, and leaving before the sun is all the way down? A splendid day indeed.

Putting on my jacket, I put my work away and lock it in my desk drawer. I turn off the lights in my office and close the door before turning around to see Kamaria putting on her coat. I walk up to her and offer to walk her out. She accepts and we start the short walk to our cars, taking our time.

“So, how was the rest of your day? Did you get all the hot gossip you could handle?” I ask, chuckling as she rolls her eyes.

“You’ll be happy to know I got absolutely nothing. Either there is no gossip or they’re still trying to figure out if I’m worth keeping their secrets. I understand it. But I did have a great conversation with two nice girls, Nina and Sophie. They’re hilarious. We exchanged numbers and I think they actually think I’m cool.” She rambles out, so excited that she made some friends. How is she so surprised someone thinks she’s cool? She’s amazing.

“Ah yes, the twins. They are nice. And they actually finish each other’s-”

“Sandwiches?”

“Oh my god, did you just quote Frozen to me?” I stop walking and look at her, not even trying to hold in my laughter.

“I took a chance that you might have seen it, thought Faye may have made you watch it. The music in that movie is too good for adults to not enjoy it too. And Olaf? He was so sweet!” Her face lights up remembering the children’s film.

“Olaf was great, I’ll give you that. But I loved Kristoff and Sven more. As a kid, when I found out reindeer were real, I couldn’t believe it. I actually asked her to get me one as a pet.” I can still remember my Mom informing me that instead of a reindeer, we could get a dog. I was upset about the reindeer, but I loved that dog.

I realize we’ve made it to the parking lot and are both leaning on our cars, but making no move to get in and leave. In a second of bravado, I try my luck.

“So I feel like I’m not imagining that we have some chemistry here. Or is my head in the clouds?” I remark, watching Kamaria’s smile widen even more.

“Definitely not imagining it.”

“Would I be too forward in asking for your number? I completely understand if that’s, like, awkward or something.” I shove my hands in my pockets, intentionally running my fingers over my phone.

“That depends. If I give you my number, that means I want to hear from you. If you give me your number, I expect that to mean the same. I ask for clear communication. And if you ever need space, don’t ghost me or just go radio silent. Tell me so that I don’t waste my time, or worse yet, worry. Is that something you can do?” She takes on a serious tone, and I can tell this is something that she needs from me and that she probably hasn’t gotten in the past. Clearly set boundaries.

I take her manicured hand and place it over my heart so she can feel my even heartbeat when I answer her. I hold her hand there, her baby pink nails digging in, and say, “You have my word that I will not only call you and text you, but I will let you know when my attention needs to be elsewhere. And when I can talk again, I will let you know as well.” I rub my thumb over the back of her hand and she honest-to-goodness giggles like some fair maiden in a storybook.

I let her hand go and she reaches into her pocket and grabs her phone, unlocking it before handing it to me. She then holds out her hand, palm up, to take my phone. I unlock my phone with my other hand and hand it to her. The light of my phone illuminates her face as she enters her information and I try not to stare for too long. I fill in my number and my full name because she might know another Walter.

Then feeling another spark of bravado, I hit the ‘Add Photo’ button and use the front-facing camera to take a quick selfie. I save my contact and hand her back her phone. She copies me and goes to take a selfie as well. But before I can tell what she is doing, she is standing next to me and taking a picture of us together. She saves the photo and then calls me so I can see the photo. My phone lights up and I see our faces, myself smiling down at her as she faces the camera. I can’t hide the smile on my face, and I wouldn’t dream of keeping that from her. She caused it after all.

“Ok, let’s get you out of the cold. Let me know when you get home safe?” I say, opening her car door for her to get in.

“Yes, Sir.” A low growl escapes my throat at that. Thank God, she was turned around, getting in the car because those words were almost too much for me not to want to turn her around and kiss the words right out of her mouth. I close the door behind her and step back.

She waves goodbye and I wave back, turning to get into my truck. I turn the key in the ignition and adjust my tightening jeans. I watch as she pulls out of the parking space and drives past me before I start to move the car. I notice she goes the opposite direction that I do and I watch her car in the rearview mirror until it’s no longer in sight.

The drive home is filled with me grinning to myself and thinking about all the little moments of the day. Kamaria. Kam. I can still feel her hand on my chest. I can still smell that fresh and sweet fragrance that lingers on her skin. I can still hear her sonorous laugh. If I could, I would burn that sound into my mind so I could hear it whenever I wanted.

I make it home, walking in the door before my phone dings. I hang up my coat and leave my shoes at the door. I smile, looking at the phone screen, knowing what to expect.

Kam: Made it home safe and sound 😁you home yet??

Me: Just walked in the door

Me: What’s for dinner?

Kam: Since I had a cheesesteak for lunch, I’ll be having a salad haha

Me: You had Mitch’s then, did you enjoy it?

Kam: Your recommendation was excellent! And the kettle chips? So damn tasty

“I bet you’re damn tasty,” I mutter to myself, quicker than I can stop it from escaping.

Me: I could write a sonnet regarding those kettle chips

Kam: I hope you know that means you’ll be reading that to me

Me: As you wish, Princess

Kam: And he quotes Princess Bride???

Kam: Ok, I’m gonna get off the phone before I start sweating 😥

Me: And I would just hate to see that 😉

Kam: Ha. Ha. Goodnight Walter 😴

Me: Goodnight Kam

I sit my phone down on the kitchen table and go to rummage in the fridge for dinner, hearing my phone ding again. I reach over and pick it up.

Kam: By the way…

Me: Yes?

Kam: I like it when you growl 🥺

Fuck.

Me: Eat your dinner and enjoy your night, Princess

Kam: Yes, Sir

I grab a beer from the fridge, and adjust my jeans again, willing myself to maintain control and not shove my hand inside. Then that nagging little voice peeks around a corner in my brain. Was I moving a bit too fast giving her a pet name? That might be too much. And this time, she saves me.

Kam: And yes, I do like to be called Princess so DO NOT think otherwise.

Kam: I can hear your brain gears turning from here

Me: Good to know Princess

Me: See you tomorrow

Kam: See you tomorrow

Guess I’m gonna beat this dick like it owes me money.

Chapter 3

**Tag List**

Henry Fanfiction: @enchantedbytomandhenry

Bright Like The Moon: @geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @liveoncoffeeandflowersss

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz! 😁

#walter marshall #walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall x black!plus size female #walter marshall x black!plus size female oc #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall x black!ofc #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall fic #night hunter #night hunter fanfic #night hunter fanfiction #bright like the moon

81 notes · View notes

skaruresonic · 1 month

Note

My question about remakes and their faithfulness was also about remakes of bad games, not just classics

It's easy to say that a remake should remain faithful when it's adapting a game that was already highly regarded, but what about when the source material is genuinely very flawed?

Of course throwing everything into the trash can and making something wholly different is a copout even then, but being too faithful in this case might result in a remake repeating the original's mistakes, which defeats the purpose of the original

Easy example, I know, but think about something like Sonic 06: if you were tasked with remaking a game of that level how faithful could you really be? Think of the art style: it's one of that game's biggest flaws, in some ways replacing it with something more in line with Sonic's general aesthetics would be an objective improvement yet by doing so you would effectively eliminate a core aspect of the game's identity, yet if the identity itself is so flawed is it worth preserving in its entirety?

What about the story? You can't leave it as it is, character motivations and characters like Elise are fine, but stuff like the time travel mechanic and characters acting dumber than rocks breaks the narrative, should it be redone mostly from scratch even at the cost of the original vision?

I ask this because the biggest issue with modern remake culture I think is the focus on remaking old classics due to the ensured success they bring, rather than bad or mediocre which you'd think would be more in need of a second wind

Personally I'm someone who, on average, would prefer a remake to keep itself anchored to the original vision as much as possible, but if I find that a remake does something (like a gameplay mechanic) better than the original, even if in a way that is not faithful to the original vision, then I can't bring myself to ignore that on principle alone.

I guess that at the end of the day I have a rather simplistic mindset about it: outside of some egregious example I'll mostly gravitate what I'll find the most fun within the context of what's being offered to me

It's easy to say that a remake should remain faithful when it's adapting a game that was already highly regarded, but what about when the source material is genuinely very flawed?

Why does even "flawed" source material need to be remade? Can't bad art be allowed to exist without necessitating that it be improved?

Sometimes bad art can be bad from the very premise, and there's no amount of polish that can turn a turd into a masterpiece. Nobody's going to turn Sharknado into a Martin Scorsese film with a billion-dollar budget. It's just not happening.

For another thing, how bad must something be to warrant a remake? Mid? Terrible? So bad, it's good? What about boring works? What about obscure works? What about works that appeal to no one? What about works that are technically sound, but otherwise too weird and niche to sell? What about works that are almost good but not quite? What metric do we use to determine which works deserve revamping, who will enforce those standards, and how?

For a third thing, what if the adaptation winds up fucking up something it should have improved? Will we need an adaptation to fix the adaptation?

I think we need to start making original art again, and if it turns out bad, oh well, we'll do better next time, instead of implying each work deserves a certain number of do-overs. Because then that lets creators off the hook for creating something of sufficient quality the first time around.

---

I don't really know about this. Bad art is worth studying in what it did poorly, and scrubbing away the flaws also risks erasing learning opportunities.

Not sure if bad games ought to be remade so much as given the black-box treatment.

---

Maybe I'm too reductionist but I would rather let '06 be.

It's not just that the gameplay was soul-suckingly terrible, it's also that the story itself was so forgettable I have to question whether it is indeed worth it. Especially given how it erases itself from continuity.

---

Okay, they could remake bad games too. But they don't. They don't because money. Even if they thought remaking bad games to be lucrative business - which it won't be since it's too much financial risk - that still doesn't solve the problem of treating games as expendable.

To be clear, I don't take issue with the platonic concept of remakes; I take umbrage with remake culture generated by corporate quest for profit, which influences the public to treat games as expendable and not a "real" art form in need of preservation.

Besides, it doesn't really matter whether big publishers remake good or bad games if the underlying idea they're still trying to peddle to you is that games, period, have an expiration date. Even the bad ones, but especially the masterpieces. Nothing is exempt.

It won't matter if you, the AAA studio, publish a dud, because in five years' time you'll just "fix" it in post with a remake, and people will throw their cash money at you. Future game devs have no reason to learn from your mistakes. Nothing progresses.

---

I guess I'm biased because I tend to find older games more solid in terms of gameplay mechanics, even if they are "clunky" and annoying in parts. They're a lot less hand-holdy. And what are games for, if not challenge?

When you're developing a game, you won't know whether a remake improves the original's mechanics until the horse has bolted from the stable. There's always the possibility the change turns out neither better nor worse than the original, just different.

This is what Takayoshi Sato was talking about when he said art direction accomplishes what technology alone cannot. Shiny tech isn't everything; you need to involve skill and craft as well. You can't just assume something will be better simply for being new.

---

I mean, that's valid. But at the risk of sounding pretentious, Silent Hill 2 is one of those games where people on both sides of the fence are a little wrong. SH2 cannot be anything other than a video game, and furthermore cannot work as anything other than a PS2 video game with PS2-era sensibilities.

The way it was designed is too deeply baked into the grain for a remake to even hope to be "faithful" to its idiosyncrasies. Not unless the PS5 has some ultra-awesome transparent fog tech we've not heard of yet, but even then.

The game parts matter more than the "play for the story, not the game" crowd will have you believe, because the game experience is the story. Your choices, the UI elements, the memos, the puzzles - they all are too carefully designed to not be deliberate.

This is a game where its... game-ness... was incorporated into the design in inextricable ways, down to the fact that saving represents lifing blocks from James' mind, so selling it as a game you play for story and nothing else discredits it.

More linear mediums would force one ending upon you, whereas being a video game means SH2 retains moral vagary with multiple, equally ambiguous, endings. You, the player, form just as much a part of James' character study as anything else; remove that interactive element, and a significant source of thematic resonance is lost.

Yet there's not much denying that playing on anything other than native hardware means you're not getting the full experience; James' motions map to pressure-sensitive buttons, and people playing on emulator frequently complain about the combat being "unresponsive" due to the emulator's inability to mimic pressure sensitivity.

Furthermore, I don't think SH2 is meant to be A Video Game(tm) in the sense that it's particularly fun to play. But that's kind of the point; what's fun about murder, trauma, mental illness, and suicide?

And yet, despite being disappointing in regard to traditional video game expectations, plenty of people have gleaned enjoyment from the experience SH2 offers. It's fun exploring the town, searching every nook and cranny for things you missed.

#asks #long post

4 notes · View notes

werdlewrites · 8 months

Text

masterlist - ao3 - kofi - twitter @ djomamma

share support through likes, comments, and reblogs!

summary: “Honestly, ma’am, I-” “January 1967,” she cuts in, earning a wide-eyed stare from the stranger at her side. She meets him halfway, smiling at his look of surprise. “Yeah, I was there. You’re not the first person t’ask. Just the first one that wanted t’talk, rather than shut me up.” warnings: missing persons? smoking, mentions of blackmail kinda, gov conspiracy, somethin' fishy is goin' on here wc: 2,177

If lying was so wrong, why did it come so easily? An excuse made up, barely thought out before it flew off of his tongue. It’s believable, and no one takes a moment to question it. What would the Chief of Police, Jim Hopper, have to hide anyway? A man who served his community with a firm hand and brutal words of punishment or encouragement as young rebels found themselves in his office for the third time that week. If lying was a sin, he’d be drowning in misery as the mortal line is finally severed. “It’s better this way,” he tells himself. Take the hit and act as a shield to spare others from the painful truth. A truth not everyone is ready for. So the pile of secrets grows tall like a tower, swaying in the breeze and threatening to collapse at any moment. He knows it’ll bury him someday, and it’s worth it if it means protecting fragile hearts. It’s difficult to ignore as he waits in his car, feeling the shadow loom like a heavy cloud on him while the neighborhood shines bright. It was almost like a beacon to guide him here—just outside of Hawkins, where no one knew his name. He was just another man on a morning drive. Receiving pleasant waves from strangers as they walk their dog past him. No one asks, and no one seems to care—they are too engulfed in their own stories, actively being written out. Hopper catches himself watching every individual pass through his rearview, checking for suspicious behavior or if they cast a second look. They never do, and it’s freeing. He allows his mind to settle, redirecting focus to the quiet house just down the street. A single-story home painted in pristine white with accents of gray and wooden beams to support the gable. It’s a stark contrast to the photograph in his hands—clearly redone in the years since the news article had been printed. No longer abandoned, but instead thriving with life.

A station wagon is soon slowing to a crawl before the house, climbing the small hill in the driveway. The doors are quick to open, and smiles are seen on happy faces as they linger in an unheard joke. The young couple reach into the backseats to pluck twins from their car seats, both seeming to have just woken from a long nap. Together, they seek comfort in their home and bask in the warmth of a growing family. It’s what he expects, yet it's still gut-wrenching. In the thin silver lining of hope, he had envisioned an older pair wandering in their lonesome, forever looking for their lost girl. But it was clear they were long gone, and he was back to the start. With a heavy sigh and a photograph in hand, he slips from the car and studies nearby houses. Some are more modern, while others remain stuck in the past. It was his best bet. Even if he left with nothing, the path would have narrowed by some. He starts with the house just next to the family, a simple introduction, and a quick question to follow. “I hate t’be a bother,” he would say with a nervous chuckle. “But I-I’m uh, working on a case. I just wanted t’see if you knew anything about the house next door and its previous owners?” A look of suspicion lights up in their eyes before they give only disappointing answers, shutting the door between them. He goes door to door, finding no clues, and it’s wearing him thin. He’s wasting time, knowing the longer he’s gone, the more worried his coworkers will become.

A final attempt is made as he stands on the welcome mat of a cozy home. The door was painted a dull blue to welcome you in closer, with flowers and other foliage all well kept and glowing. Various clicks of undone locks are heard one after another, piquing his interest with a raised brow. The door is barely cracked, with brown eyes peering through, studying the stranger in silence before widening the entrance. “Can I help you?” It’s an older woman—somewhere in her sixties and hardly dressed for the day. Her pajamas peeked through a thick and hastily tied robe, her lips still wet from coffee. “I’m sorry t’disturb you, ma’am. I just have a question about—" He takes a pause, suddenly finding himself uneasy under her stern stare. “Your home.” “My home?” she questions, brows pulled tight together. “Y-yeah, uh, how long have you lived here?” Her head tilts, and he can feel the uneasiness radiating from the woman—the lack of trust is painfully obvious. Hopper digs for his badge and offers it out to her in haste, hoping to keep her from running away. “I’m workin’ a case,” he defends. The unnamed woman slumps against the threshold, arms now crossed, as she finally gives in. “Since 1958,” A spark of warmth ignites in his chest, and he feels almost sickened by the race of his heart. “D’you know anything about a missing family? It would have been after you moved in. Just, uh, just down there.” Brown eyes follow after his pointed finger, and he doesn’t miss the way her arms tighten. Shoulders are now scrunched together, and lips are held in a thin line. “Nope.” It was a popular answer. No one seemed to know or care, despite singing their praises in reports. Well thought of and vanishing without any warning. Without hesitation, the Polaroid waits out in the open between two fingers, and she observes in silence. “Nothin’ comin’ t’mind?”

This time, there’s no response provided. Her stare lingers on their faces, and even after it’s been tucked away, she remains in their grip. The officer's posture sags with defeat, his heart slowing to a steady rhythm as the fire sizzles out into nothing. “Thank you for your time, ma’am,” he states with a nod of his head, already tracing over his steps to stand in the sunlight once again. By the time he’s halfway down the curved path, his hand wiping across frustrated features, she calls out. She stands where he was once, practically squirming in her skin with lips parting to speak yet unable to find the right words. “Y’look, uh, y’look like you could use a cup of coffee. Big mornin’ for you. Working a missing persons case, and all.” A heavy sigh meets his lips as he stands with hands purchased on tilted hips, pushing through the heartbreak to appear confident and stable. “I’m fine, thank you. I should really-” “I can get you a fresh cup. You could sit and relax for a few minutes.” “Ma’am, I really-” “I was just about t’do some gardening,” she interrupts with a step forward. “You could sit in the back with me.” The man remains frozen. Words have failed him, and the aggravation was building to a powerful force against someone who didn’t deserve it. She was just a lonely woman looking for someone to talk to. He’s seen it all before—until the atmosphere takes a sudden shift. “Really, officer. I��insist.” Dark eyes flicker towards the siding of her home, where a tall, white fence awaits, guarding her plants. It’s suspicious—enough to shut him up—and he nodded in acceptance at her offer. She seems satisfied, nearly relieved, as she instructs him to wait at the gate before slipping into the shadows of her home.

The wait is painful yet short-lasting. Picturing the woman frantically moving through her home just to meet him on the other side, chest heavy from a hidden burden she so clearly wanted to be free of. Whatever it was, he was willing to listen. She seems breathless at the gate, offering out a mug of fresh coffee like she promised before letting him slip inside. In the distance, he can hear her muttering, “The neighbors will love this.” He says nothing just yet, watching as she flits around her yard, continuing to mumble nonsense to herself. “Everything o-?” The man is cut short as she holds a single finger to tightly sealed lips, waiting impatiently for him to take the hint, and he does so with concern in his stare. She shuffles off towards a few stacked basins, purposeful details cut away, allowing running water to spill freely on an endless loop. That, paired with the high-pitched ting from dancing windchimes, is enough to settle her rattled nerves, and she sighs out, “There we are.” Her robe has come undone in the haste, seeming less put together as she takes a seat just near a small table. An ashtray rests at the center, just next to a pack of cigarettes. Her fingers are quick to snatch it up and stick one just between her lips. “You going t’just stand there, or what?” Her eyes dart towards the empty seat just on the other side, and he caves with reluctance. This change in her had struck his interest. The coffee remains untouched, hands falling to rest between parted knees while he drinks in the dying garden. There’s beauty, still. But winter weather comes fast, claiming vibrance and turning all too dull green. “Honestly, ma’am, I-” “January 1967,” she cuts in, earning a wide-eyed stare from the stranger at her side. She meets him halfway, smiling at his look of surprise. “Yeah, I was there. You’re not the first person t’ask. Just the first one that wanted t’talk, rather than shut me up.” She takes a long drag from her cigarette, eyes cast out at nothing in particular. “So, you lied?” “T’cover my ass, yeah. You would too if all you had was on the line.” The ash is flicked away, her stature seeming more relaxed than it had been only moments ago—finding some trust in the man from out of town.

“You were threatened?” he asks, watching as her lips form a faint smile. “Threatened, paid—anything t’keep my mouth shut.” It’s all too familiar—now understanding why they were outdoors, suffering mother nature's wrath instead of warm in the comfort of her home. The woman’s sanctuary may have been under surveillance the same way his had been or still is. “What can you tell me?” A look of disbelief falls on him, unimpressed by his bravery as he marches out into the unknown. “Why are you working a case from the sixties? That’s over and done with.” Chilled hands rub together as a strong gust sweeps through, goosebumps quickly trailing along his skin. “Personal interest,” he offered. He can’t tell if she buys it, but it captures her interest, and the once-dusty book from the past begins to unfold. “Not much I can tell you. No one knows what happened."“But you knew of them, right? Who they were?” “Everyone did,” she answers with a short laugh. You could almost see her mind flipping through the pages, reliving an old life. “Got along well with everyone. Made enough of an impression for people t’worry.” She’s taken notice of his mug; coffee is still at the brim. The woman doesn’t hesitate before stealing it away, letting it drown out the taste of tobacco on her tongue. “Pretty private, though. Always the guests and never the hosts. I assumed it was related t’their…’disappearance.’” She ends with quotes. “You don’t think they ran off?” “Oh,” her answer is strained, holding the smoke hostage in her lungs before it spills out in a flood. “I think someone made them run. Random cars showing up, parked right outside their house. Men in suits at their front door every other night,” she scoffs, finally stamping out the lit end in the glass tray. “Real spooky shit.”

Together, they sit in silence. Her mind retells every encounter crystal clear, like it had only been yesterday. Hopper could only conjure up possibilities, attempting to recreate the scenes of a man storming across the yard to scream at unwelcome visitors. “They were new parents. Just barely adjusting t’life before they went missing. Poor thing was only a month old. I hate t’even think about what could have happened.” The puzzle is becoming more complete with every confession she gives, yet it’s still hard to make out. Like it’s been pieced together in the dark, squinting to find the fine lines of a story. “What was the kid's name?” The woman doesn’t answer right away, lips pursed in thought, before hushed words dance through the November air. So soft, it gives chills worse than the cold winds to kiss his cheeks.

“Nature’s first green is gold. Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower, but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, so dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.” The poetry grips at her heart more than she anticipated, her eyes now sorrowful as she hears an old friend's voice recite lovely words from a book. “It was Lynn’s favorite Robert Frost poem. Said she would name her kid after it, whatever that means.”

12 notes · View notes