That's because he didn't write, nor intend to write, a horrible terrible disturbed woman beyond redemption. The genesis of Carrie (told in its entirety in the 1999 edition's introduction that you can read here, and in King's memoir On Writing), was this: sometime in high school, King read an article in Life magazine about supposed poltergeist activity in a home, which seemed to be associated with the teenage girl who lived there. The article included the hypothesis that poltergeist activity is, in some way, tapped into or manifested by girls at that critical and tumultuous age.
And some years before that, King had gone to school with a couple of girls he pseudonymously calls Tina and Sandra, who were bullied and shunned by the other kids—Tina for wearing the same clothes every day, Sandra for her epilepsy and extremely religious mother, but both really for having some undefinable Other quality that kids pick up on like blood in the water. Both of them were dead by the time King began writing Carrie: Tina by suicide, Sandra from her epilepsy.
Carrie was what King imagined might have happened if that explanation of poltergeist activity were correct, and if Tina and Sandra had been able to tap into such an energy. He started writing the story a few years after getting married (his wife Tabitha is also a writer), but abandoned the idea a few pages in; the raw, merciless adolescent cruelty the story called for was too much to deal with, and what did he know about teenage girls, anyway? But Tabitha dug the pages out of the trash and read them, and convinced him it was a story that needed telling.
Carrie is a story which, perhaps like poltergeist activity, could only happen to a girl on the brink of womanhood, when every emotion and sensation is excruciatingly vivid and nothing makes sense anymore and every single occurrence in your life is the most important thing that will ever happen to you. It's about being horribly powerful and vulnerable at the same time, and alienated from your own body. It's about the visceral, starved animal fear and rage of being a teenage girl, and it goes to show what an arcane and powerful craft creative writing is that a man could manage to capture that without having experienced it firsthand.
"Sometimes—quite often, in fact—I wish that Tina and Sandy were alive to read it," King says in the 1999 introduction to Carrie. "Or their daughters."
The ants go marching, one by one...
A nice little thing of Skitter, my G.I. Joe RPG character (y'all find a group and play, it's so fun). They're COBRA, ex-Arashikage, bug-obsessed, and joined here by some slightly more insectoid versions of the rest of their party.
I'll be posting their ref at some point with more information, but in the meantime if anyone's curious about them I'm happy to answer questions, I love talking about my OCs.
Stuff’s been going missing around COBRA HQ, and it looks like one of the organization’s newest— and most reclusive— operatives is to blame.
(Skitter belongs to me, Two-Step belongs to @peachy-wafflez, everyone else belongs to my other RPG buddies! I’ll add their credits once I know everyone’s usernames.)
I don’t get paid enough for this.
Dennis finally lifted his gaze from the newspaper, glaring none-too-nicely at the three Vipers invading his office. One Alley, one standard, and one Crimson. Delightful.
“So… you think someone stole your shit— why is that my problem? Just take the complaint to your officer.”
The standard Viper slipped their helmet off— Leonard, a first-year. Dennis had seen him around the break rooms once or twice, but they hadn’t spoken before; the most Dennis had ever noticed about him was that his shirt was always wrinkled. Even now, it looked like he’d pulled it from the back of his dresser and thrown it on last minute. Dennis’ frown deepened, and the Viper flinched.
“Not just someone, the new ninja! And we already tried to tell Brigsby. She’s never met them, she just thinks one of us is doing it as a prank. Last night they raided the supply locker and stole her goggles, now she’s saying if we don’t find the culprit ourselves, she’ll send a random dozen of us to the Scorpions. I’m not joining those assholes because of that stupid ninja creep!”
The Alley Viper nodded. “We’re not the only ones either, there’s been complaints all over the COBRAChat. Which you’d know if you bothered to check it.“
Dennis turned back to his paper. This was the first he was hearing about a new ninja, but it didn’t sound like anything that was his business. “Formal complaints are supposed to go through email—“
“Ohmygod, Dennis.” The Crimson Viper threw up her hands. “We don’t need you, there’s plenty of us to deal with this. But they’ve holed up in the boiler wing and none of us have a key. Surely the Commander gave you a spare for your inspections. We’ll bring it right back—“
That caught his attention. Dennis sat the paper down on the armrest and leaned forward. “Why are they in the boiler wing?”
Leonard shrugged. “I don’t know— secret ninja ritual or something? But they’ve been hanging out in there for a while, I know the Toilet-Vipers—“
“Ahem.”
“—the janitors said they’ve caught them in there a few times. For all we know they’ve hidden a body back there somewhere. So can we borrow your key? There’s a good number of us who want a word with them.”
Dennis was already lacing up his boots. “No, none of you can go in there. The Commander wants any complaints about our… more acrobatic associates handled by administrators. The last thing we need is to piss off the Clan when they could be needed for the next mission. I’ll handle it.” He gestured at the vest hanging by the door, and the Crimson Viper tossed it his way as he reached for the helmet tucked beside his armchair. Leonard and the Alley Viper both squinted around the room as Dennis finished gearing up.
“So… how come you get a whole office?”
“I’m Springfield’s one OSHA representative— department heads get offices. A perk for making sure nobody gets killed by anything structural.”
The Alley Viper was now reviewing a small sign posted beside Dennis’ computer. “But ‘incidental injury from mutagenic compounds, incendiary devices, weaponry, or any and all actions associated with COBRA military forces’ are… ‘exempt from coverage?’”
“It was in the fine print, man. I can help if a building falls on you— it’s not my job if you get stabbed or something. That’s under the officers.” Dennis was still working on his helmet- the hard hat was supposed to click into a slot on the main mask, but sometimes it took a bit more elbow grease… click! Finally. He shooed the other three towards the door, eager to get them out before someone moved something. “Alright, alright, everyone out. Let’s go see if we can get everything back without getting the Commander involved.”
***
In all honesty, Dennis had expected the Vipers to be fibbing.
Maybe not outright lying, but he’d been sure they’d been blowing things out of proportion. It was an unfortunate consequence of having hundreds of people all living together, working together, every second of every day in the same small-but-not-really town. People butted heads and sometimes property got stolen. He’d even had to file his own complaints before (though he’d always emailed them, like a proper Viper). So he’d guessed there was probably one or two other people involved, nothing too extreme, and he’d be able to retrieve everything within the hour so he could enjoy the rest of his lunch break in peace.
Instead, there was at least a dozen angry people crowded around the doors to the boiler, seemingly taking turns trying to bust the doors down. It wasn’t just Vipers either— he could see several other operatives grumbling to each other. The Commander’s bodyguard, Two-Step, was there tapping her foot beside a stranger in a white coat. The caduceus patch on their shoulder marked them as a member of the COBRA Health Corps, not one of Mindbender’s scientists; Dennis was relieved. He much preferred a doc— if Mindbender had been involved, the door probably would have been opened already, but the culprit would already be on their way to ‘disciplinary testing.’ Not even the worst of the worst deserved that.
Another stranger was leaning against the wall, rubbing her forehead. A small drone was hovering above her; it turned its camera to face him as the group approached, and the stranger looked up, revealing an insectile mask with no visible glass or eyeholes. He flinched, startled, but the drone and its owner both turned back to the door, seemingly uninterested.
“Hey, Dirt! You gonna open this door for us, or am I gonna have to ‘borrow’ your key myself?” Two-Step’s voice was light despite the threat; unlike the rest, she seemed to be at her usual level of cheery mild aggression, and she smiled as he walked up to her. “I’ve got a ninja that needs a wallopin,’ apparently—“
“No! No ‘walloping…’ god.” The doctor shook their head, then nodded to Dennis. “Ignore her, please. I’m MedKit, and that’s one of the Corps’ patients in there. They weren’t supposed to leave their room this early, but someone left their door unlocked… anyways, they’ll be an operative once they’re well. I know they haven’t exactly been making friends, but I’m under strict orders to return them to the medical bay in one piece.“
Dennis nodded, pulling out his pen and pad. The rest of the group had noticed him by now, and clustered around him as he began to take notes.
“Alright, I need to know everything that’s been taken or your complaints so I can address them with the ninja in question…” He paused, glancing back at MedKit. “What’s their name?”
MedKit shrugged. “No idea— I’m not entirely sure they have one. Current call sign is ‘Skitter,’ though. I’ve heard it was the Commander’s choice, word in the halls is that they like bugs or something. They’re a bit… eccentric.”
“Aren’t we all. Okay, I know about the goggles, what else? No, no, one at a time—“
By the time everyone was finished, Dennis had two pages’ worth of stolen goods to recover and he was deeply regretting his choice to participate. In a matter of days, Skitter had stolen food, weaponry, clothing, honey from the hospital’s first aid, and a drone, yet nobody had managed to see them, much less catch them in the act. Their photo also hadn’t been released yet, so nobody had any idea what they looked like or how they had managed to break into restricted areas.
It was borderline shameful. Dennis tucked his pen into his pocket, shaking his head. “You all should be concerned— security this slack is a problem that could attract the Commander’s attention. Fix it, pronto. Now, Skitter’s made a grocery store of the base and we’re all out of shopping carts, so I’ll need a couple of people to come with me and help carry everything. Any volunteers?”
For a crowd who’d been so eager a moment ago, there was a shocking lack of hands. Dennis rolled his eyes. “Alright, Two-Step. At least someone’s putting their money where their mouth is… and you. Call sign?”
“Panoptes.”
“Thank you. Those drones look like they’ll be useful in case they’re in a crevice somewhere. Not sure if you guys have been in this area before, but it gets a bit tight in places. And you, MedKit— you’ve got their files and they might be hurt. You’ll be joining us. Anyone else?”
The others had all backed away, kicking their feet or paying unusually close attention to the floor and walls. Lovely. Dennis sighed and pulled out his key ring; he had a copy of every physical key in the base, the only override for when the keypads busted— or in this case, someone locked themselves in. It took him a minute to find the right one, and another second to shimmy it into the old lock and get the deadbolt turned. He let Two-Step push the door open as he put his keys back.
“Hey Dirt, where’s the light switch?”
“There’s not a switch, it’s automatic.” Dennis looked back up to find the boiler room pitch-dark, with Two-Step nearly hidden in the gloom just a few feet beyond the doorway.
“…well then the lights are busted.” After a moment, an all-too familiar ksh-flick echoed in the gloom, and a tiny flame lit up her face. Dennie bristled, storming into the dark after her as he reached for it.
“Do not use your lighter, this is the last place you’d want to do that—!”
A bright beam of light lit up the pair; Panoptes’ drone slowly flew overhead, a flashlight on its underside illuminating the surrounding room. Each room in the boiler wing was at least two stories, large enough to accommodate the maze-like tangle of pipes needed to heat the COBRA base. The drone’s light wasn’t bright enough to reveal the ceiling or far corners, but Dennis could see well enough not to trip, and to spot a small smudge of rust-red on the floor. Then another. And another, a crooked path or drops that led to a door on the right side of the room. An empty jar was caught in the frame, keeping it from shutting completely. Dennis couldn’t quite make out the words on the label, but several yellow hexagons gave him a pretty good idea of what he was looking at.
“Sorry, MedKit. I think the honey’s a lost cause.”
The others followed him over to the door as he scooped up the jar, using his boot to wedge the door open. Just as before, the lights for the hallway beyond refused to come on, but there was a very faint, red glow from a doorway deeper in. Whatever Skitter had done to the wiring, they’d spared the emergency lighting in that area; if his memory served, it held one of the main pipe lines.
MedKit leaned past him. “…that looks… promising? It’s not like they can see in the dark either.”
“Don’t be too sure… ninjas can do some weird shit.” Two-Step squinted down the hall. “I feel like I’ve played games like this before— this is the part before the jump scare.”
“There won’t be any jump scares or ‘weird ninja shit.’” Dennis sat the jar back in the frame and gestured for the drone to move ahead. Panoptes had been watching them all, rubbing idly at one temple. Something seemed to be up with her, but he wasn’t in the mood to pry. “We’re gonna go in, ask them nicely to come back to the hospital and to give everything back, and then they’ll do that and everyone wins… Two-Step, you go first.”
She huffed, but took point as they all followed the drone into the hallway. The flashlight didn’t reveal anything of note besides a few dead roaches; Dennis made a note to tell the janitors.
“Alright, keep it quiet from here on out… maybe they’ll be sleeping or something, make our job easier…”
Back in the first room, something shifted in the shadows at the ceiling. A long, thin body rose, perched on one of the pipes that ran haphazardly across the space. It froze for a moment, watching until the door finally clinked shut against the jar, then slipped over to a nearby vent, its cover long since removed. In seconds, the figure had disappeared into the tunnel, leaving the room abandoned again as both parties headed deeper into the dark.
The ants go marching, one by one...
A nice little thing of Skitter, my G.I. Joe RPG character (y'all find a group and play, it's so fun). They're COBRA, ex-Arashikage, bug-obsessed, and joined here by some slightly more insectoid versions of the rest of their party.
I'll be posting their ref at some point with more information, but in the meantime if anyone's curious about them I'm happy to answer questions, I love talking about my OCs.
G.I. Joe: My Version #2, this time with everyone's favorite morally questionable ninja! I always thought the backstory from the live-action films was really interesting, so that's what I'm basing him off of. Since that means Zartan's gang is involved, my SS design takes inspiration from protective cyclist gear, which blends surprisingly well with the ninja armor styles of the series. He's also got a bit more of a punk-ish vibe to fit with his Dreadnoks origin. The face paint is to reference both Zartan’s mask(?) and Zander’s face paint, along with paralleling the cheek scar for backstory reasons.
I also thought it might be fun to include music that fits the vibes of these redesigns, so here's SS's:
(Backstory + extra stuff below the cut! Also, if anyone has any asks or anything for this, by all means ask away! It helps me figure out how I want things to go.)
Storm Shadow was an arrogant child who used his position in the clan to make enemies rather than friends, so when his uncle was killed with Storm's weapons, no one argued that he was innocent of the crime. He had no choice but to flee for his life... right into the path of the shapeshifting assassin Zartan (who was also, suspiciously in the area on "business." You can guess what kind). Having a ninja seemed useful, so SS was swiftly drafted into the Dreadnoks, where he became a loyal, if difficult assassin; he sees the bikers and their leader as his true family now, and he takes on a younger-brother-ish role in the group. It wasn't the most responsible way to grow up and his maturity reflects that, but he's still a powerful fighter, and through Zartan's machinations, another clan of ninjas has recently adopted him as their leader. Unbeknownst to Zartan, however, he's also got a secret weapon of his own he's been hiding, something he picked up on a trip to Arashikage territory...
Other things:
- He has a bike of his own; teaching him to drive is one of the Dreadnoks' favorite memories with him.
- He still has the dual katanas that can fuse, however, they are not Arashikage; they're from the Red clan.
- He is genuinely liked by the bikers, who will usually call him "Slash" (he's not too fond of the nickname but doesn't care enough to complain). Zartan is the only one that really uses Storm Shadow.
- He struggles with mixing ninja traditions with the biker aesthetics of the Dreadnoks, and will switch between outfits depending on who he's with.
- Occasionally uses British curses, then gets embarrassed over it.
stormborns
dailybridgerton
dededos
theartofmadeline
kaledo-art
romaincrisis
