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Summer 2021′s Movies - My Top Ten Favourite Films (Part 2)

The Top Ten:

10. WEREWOLVES WITHIN – definitely one of the year’s biggest cinematic surprises so far, this darkly comic supernatural murder mystery from indie horror director Josh Ruben (Scare Me) is based on a video game, but you’d never know it – this bears so little resemblance to the original Ubisoft title that it’s a wonder anyone even bothered to make the connection, but even so, this is now notable for officially being the highest rated video game adaptation in Rotten Tomatoes history, with a Certified Fresh rating of 86%. Certainly it deserves that distinction, but there’s so much more to the film – this is an absolute blood-splattered joy, the title telling you everything you need to know about the story but belying the film’s pure, quirky genius. Veep’s Sam Richardson is forest ranger Finn Wheeler, a gentle and socially awkward soul who arrives at his new post in the remote small town of Beaverton to discover the few, uniformly weird residents are divided over the oil pipeline proposition of forceful and abrasive businessman Sam Parker (The Hunt’s Wayne Duvall). As he tries to fit in and find his feet, investigating the disappearance of a local dog while bonding with local mail carrier Cecily Moore (Other Space and This Is Us’ Milana Vayntrub), the discovery of a horribly mutilated human body leads to a standoff between the townsfolk and an enforced lockdown in the town’s ramshackle hotel as they try to work out who amongst them is the “werewolf” they suspect is responsible. This is frequently hilarious, the offbeat script from appropriately named Mishna Wolff (I’m Down) dropping some absolutely zingers and crafting some enjoyably weird encounters and unexpected twists, while the uniformly excellent cast do much of the heavy-lifting to bring their rich, thoroughly oddball characters to vivid life – Richardson is thoroughly cuddly throughout, while Duvall is pleasingly loathsome, Casual’s Michaela Watkins is pleasingly grating as Trisha, flaky housewife to unrepentant local horn-dog Pete Anderton (Orange is the New Black’s Michael Chernus), and Cheyenne Jackson (American Horror Story) and Harry Guillen (best known, OF COURSE, as Guillermo in the TV version of What We Do In the Shadows) make an enjoyably spiky double-act as liberal gay couple Devon and Joaquim Wolfson; in the end, though, the film is roundly stolen by Vayntrub, who invests Cecily with a bubbly sweetness and snarky sass that makes it absolutely impossible to not fall completely in love with her (gods know I did). This is a deeply funny film, packed with proper belly-laughs from start to finish, but like all the best horror comedies it takes its horror elements seriously, delivering some enjoyably effective scares and juicy gore, while the werewolf itself, when finally revealed, is realised through some top-notch prosthetics. Altogether this was a most welcome under-the-radar surprise for the summer, and SO MUCH MORE than just an unusually great video game adaptation …

9. THE TOMORROW WAR – although cinemas finally reopened in the UK in early summer, the bite of the COVID lockdown backlog was still very much in effect this blockbuster season, with several studios preferring to hedge their bets and wait for later release dates. Others turned to streaming services, including Paramount, who happily lined up a few heavyweight titles to open on major platforms in lieu of the big screen. One of the biggest was this intended sci-fi action horror tentpole, meant to give Chris Pratt another potential franchise on top of Guardians of the Galaxy and Jurassic World, which instead dropped in early July on Amazon Prime. So, was it worth staying in on a Saturday night instead of heading out for something on the BIG screen? Mostly yes, although it’s mainly a trashy, guilty pleasure big budget B-picture charm that makes this such a worthwhile experience – the film’s biggest influences are clearly Independence Day and Starship Troopers, two admirably clunky blockbusters that DEFINED prioritising big spectacle and overblown theatrics over intelligent writing and realistic storytelling. It doesn’t help that the premise is pure bunk – in 2022, a wormhole opens from thirty years in the future, and a plea for help is sent back with a bunch of very young future soldiers. Seems Earth will become overrun by an unstoppable swarm of nasty alien critters called Whitespikes in 25 years, and the desperate human counteroffensive have no choice but to bring soldiers from our present into the future to help them fight back and save the humanity from imminent extinction. Less than a year later, the world’s standing armies have been decimated and a worldwide draft has been implemented, with normal everyday adults being sent through for a seven day tour from which very few return. Pratt plays biology teacher and former Green Beret Dan Forrester, one of the latest batch of draftees to be sent into the future along with a selection of chefs, soccer moms and other average joes – his own training and experience serves him better than most when the shit hits the fan, but it soon becomes clear that he’s just as out of his depth as everyone else as the sheer enormity of the threat is revealed. But when he becomes entangled with a desperate research outfit led by Muri (Chuck’s Yvonne Strahovski) who seem to be on the verge of a potential world-changing scientific breakthrough, Dan realises there just might be a slender hope for humanity after all … this is every bit as over-the-top gung-ho bonkers as it sounds, and just as much fun. Director Chris McKay may still be pretty fresh (with only The Lego Batman Movie under his belt to date), but he shows a lot of talent and potential for big budget blockbuster filmmaking here, delivering with guts and bravado on some major action sequences (a fraught ticking-clock SAR operation through a war-torn Miami is the film’s undeniable highlight, but a desperate battle to escape a blazing oil rig also really impresses), as well as handling some impressively complex visual effects work and wrangling some quality performances from his cast (altogether it bodes well for his future, which includes Nightwing and Johnny Quest as future projects). Chris Pratt can do this kind of stuff in his sleep – Dan is his classic fallible and self-deprecating but ultimately solid and kind-hearted action hero fare, effortlessly likeable and easy to root for – and his supporting cast are equally solid, Strahovsky going toe-to-toe with him in the action sequences while also creating a rewardingly complex smart-woman/badass combo in Muri, while the other real standouts include Sam Richardson (Veep, Werewolves Within) and Edwin Hodge (The Purge movies) as fellow draftees Charlie and Dorian, the former a scared-out-of-his-mind tech geek while the latter is a seriously hardcore veteran serving his THIRD TOUR, and the ever brilliant J.K. Simmonds as Dan’s emotionally scarred estranged Vietnam-vet father, Jim. Sure, it’s derivative as hell and thoroughly predictable (with more than one big twist you can see coming a mile away), but the pace is brisk, the atmosphere pregnant with a palpable doomed urgency, and the creatures themselves are a genuinely convincing world-ending threat, the design team and visual effects wizards creating genuine nightmare fuel in the feral and unrelenting Whitespikes. Altogether this WAS an ideal way to spend a comfy Saturday night in, but I think it could have been JUST AS GOOD for a Saturday night OUT at the Pictures …

8. ARMY OF THE DEAD – another high profile release that went straight to streaming was this genuine monster hit for Netflix from one of this century’s undeniable heavyweight action cinema masters, the indomitable Zack Snyder, who kicked off his career with an audience-dividing (but, as far as I’m concerned, ultimately MASSIVELY successful) remake of George Romero’s immortal Dawn of the Dead, and has finally returned to zombie horror after close to two decades away. The end result is, undeniably, the biggest cinematic guilty pleasure of the entire summer, a bona fide outbreak horror EPIC in spite of its tightly focused story – Dave Bautista plays mercenary Scott Ward, leader a badass squad of soldiers of fortune who were among the few to escape a deadly outbreak of a zombie virus in the city of Las Vegas, enlisted to break into the vault of one of the Strip’s casinos by owner Bly Tanaka (a fantastically game turn from Hiroyuki Sanada) and rescue $200 million still locked away inside. So what’s the catch? Vegas remains ground zero for the outbreak, walled off from the outside world but still heavily infested within, and in less than three days the US military intends to sterilise the site with a tactical nuke. Simple premise, down and dirty, trashy flick, right? Wrong – Snyder has never believed in doing things small, having brought us unapologetically BIG cinema with the likes of 300, Watchmen, Man of Steel and, most notably, his version of Justice League, so this is another MASSIVE undertaking, every scene shot for maximum thrills or emotional impact, each set-piece executed with his characteristic militaristic precision and explosive predilection (a harrowing fight for survival against a freshly-awakened zombie horde in tightly packed casino corridors is the film’s undeniable highlight), and the gauzy, dreamlike cinematography gives even simple scenes an intriguing and evocative edge that really does make you feel like you’re watching something BIG. The characters all feel larger-than-life too – Bautista can seem somewhat cartoonish at times, and this role definitely plays that as a strength, making Scott a rock-hard alpha male in the classic Hollywood mould, but he’s such a great actor that of course he’s able to invest the character with real rewarding complexity beneath the surface; Ana de la Reguera (Eastbound & Down) and Nora Arnezeder (Zoo, Mozart in the Jungle), meanwhile, both bring a healthy dose of oestrogen-fuelled badassery to proceedings as, respectively, Scott’s regular second-in-command, Maria Cruz, and Lilly the Coyote, Power’s Omari Hardwick and Matthias Schweighofer (You Are Wanted) make for a fun odd-couple double act as circular-saw-wielding merc Vanderohe and Dieter, the nervous, nerdy German safecracker brought in to crack the vault, and Fear the Walking Dead’s Garrett Dillahunt channels spectacular scumbag energy as Tanaka’s sleazy former casino boss Martin, while latecomer Tig Notaro (Star Trek Discovery) effortlessly rises above her last-minute-casting controversy to deliver brilliantly as sassy and acerbic chopper pilot Peters. I think it goes without saying that Snyder can do this in his sleep, but he definitely wasn’t napping here – he pulled out all the stops on this one, delivering a thrilling, darkly comic and endearingly CRACKERS zombie flick that not only compares favourably to his own Dawn but is, undeniably, his best film for AGES. Netflix certainly seem to be pleased with the results – a spinoff prequel, Army of Thieves, starring Dieter in another heist thriller, is set to drop in October, with an animated series following in the Spring, and there’s already rumours of a sequel in development. I’m certainly up for more …

7. BLACK WIDOW – no major blockbuster property was hit harder by COVID than the MCU, which saw its ENTIRE SLATE for 2020 delayed for over a year in the face of Marvel Studios bowing to the inevitability of the Pandemic and unwilling to sacrifice those all-important box-office receipts by just sending their films straight to streaming. The most frustrating part for hardcore fans of the series was the delay of a standalone film that was already criminally overdue – the solo headlining vehicle of founding Avenger and bona fide female superhero ICON Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow. Equally frustratingly, then, this film seems set to be overshadowed by real life controversy as star and producer Scarlett Johansson goes head-to-head with Disney in civil court over their breach-of-contract after they hedged their bets by releasing the film simultaneously in cinemas and on their own streaming platform, which has led to poor box office as many of the film’s potential audience chose to watch it at home instead of risk movie theatres with the virus still very much remaining a threat (and Disney have clearly reacted AGAIN, now backtracking on their release policy by instigating a new 45-day cinematic exclusivity window on all their big releases for the immediate future). But what of the film itself? Well Black Widow is an interesting piece of work, director Cate Shortland (Berlin Syndrome) and screenwriter Eric Pearson (Thor: Ragnarok) delivering a decidedly stripped-back, lean and intellectual beast that bears greater resemblance to the more cerebral work of the Russo Brothers on their Captain America films than the more classically bombastic likes of Iron Man, Thor or the Avengers flicks, concentrating on story and characters over action and spectacle as we wind back the clock to before the events of Infinity War and Endgame, when Romanoff was on the run after Civil War, hunted by the government-appointed forces of US Secretary of State “Thunderbolt” Ross (William Hurt) after violating the Sokovia Accords. Then a mysterious delivery throws her back into the fray as she finds herself targeted by a mysterious assassin, forcing her to team up with her estranged “sister” Yelena Belova (Midsommar’s Florence Pugh), another Black Widow who’s just gone rogue from the same Red Room Natasha escaped years ago, armed with a McGuffin capable of foiling a dastardly plot for world domination. The reluctant duo need help in this endeavour though, enlisting the aid of their former “parents”, veteran Widow and scientist Melina Vostokoff (Rachel Weisz) and Alexie Shostakov (Stranger Things’ David Harbour), aka the Red Guardian, a Russian super-soldier intended to be their counterpart to Captain America, who’s been languishing in a Siberian gulag for the last twenty years. After the Earth-shaking, universe-changing events of recent MCU events, this film certainly feels like a much more self-contained, modest affair, playing for much smaller stakes, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less worthy of our attention – this is as precision-crafted as anything we’ve seen from Marvel so far, but it also feels like a refreshing change of pace after all those enormous cosmic shenanigans, while the script is as tight as a drum, propelling a taut, suspense-filled thriller that certainly doesn’t scrimp on the action front. Sure, the set-pieces are very much in service of the story here, but they’re still the pre-requisite MCU rollercoaster rides, a selection of breathless chases and bone-crunching fights that really do play to the strengths of one of our favourite Avengers, but this is definitely one of those films where the real fireworks come when the film focuses on the characters – Johansson is so comfortable with her character she’s basically BECOME Natasha Romanoff, kickass and ruthless and complex and sassy and still just desperate for a family (though she hides it well throughout the film), while Weisz delivers one of her best performances in years as a peerless professional who keeps her emotions tightly reigned in but slowly comes to realise that she was never more happy than when she was pretending to be a simple mother, and Ray Winstone does a genuinely fantastic job of taking a character who could have been one of the MCU’s most disappointingly bland villains, General Dreykov, master of the Red Room, and investing him with enough oily charisma and intense presence to craft something truly memorable (frustratingly, the same cannot be said for the film’s supposed main physical threat, Taskmaster, who performs well in their frustratingly brief appearances but ultimately gets Darth Maul levels of short service). The true scene-stealers in the film, however, are Alexie and Yelena – Harbour’s clearly having the time of his life hamming it up as a self-important, puffed-up peacock of a superhero who never got his shot and is clearly (rightly) decidedly bitter about it, preferring to relive the life he SHOULD have had instead of remembering the good in the one he got; Pugh, meanwhile, is THE BEST THING IN THE WHOLE MOVIE, easily matching Johanssen scene-for-scene in the action stakes but frequently out-performing her when it comes to acting, investing Yelena with a sweet naivety and innocence and a certain amount of quirky geekiness that makes for one of the year’s most endearing female protagonists (certainly one who, if the character goes the way I think she will, is thoroughly capable of carrying the torch for the foreseeable future). In the end this is definitely one of the LEAST typical, by-the-numbers MCU films to date, and by delivering something a little different I think they’ve given us just the kind of leftfield swerve the series needs right now. It’s certainly one of their most fascinating and rewarding films so far, and since it seems to be Johansson’s final tour of duty as the Black Widow, it’s also a most fitting farewell indeed.

6. WRATH OF MAN – Guy Ritchie’s latest (regarded by many as a triumphant return to form, which I consider unfair since I don’t think he ever went away, especially after 2020’s spectacular The Gentlemen) is BY FAR his darkest film – let’s get this clear from the start. Anyone who knows his work knows that Ritchie consistently maintains a near flawless balance and humour and seriousness in his films that gives them a welcome quirkiness that is one of his most distinctive trademarks, so for him to suddenly deliver a film which takes itself SO SERIOUSLY is one hell of a departure. This is a film which almost REVELS in its darkness – Ritchie’s always loved bathing in man’s baser instincts, but Wrath of Man almost makes a kind of twisted VIRTUE out of wallowing in the genuine evils that men are capable of inflicting on each other. The film certainly kicks off as it means to go on – In a tour-de-force single-shot opening, we watch a daring armoured car robbery on the streets of Los Angeles that goes horrifically wrong, an event which will have devastating consequences in the future. Five months later, Fortico Security hires taciturn Brit Patrick Hill (Jason Statham) to work as a guard in one of their trucks, and on his first run he single-handedly foils another attempted robbery with genuinely uncanny combat skills. The company is thrilled, amazed by the sheer ability of their new hire, but Hill’s new colleagues are more concerned, wondering exactly what they’ve let themselves in for. After a second foiled robbery, it becomes clear that Hill’s reputation has grown, but fellow guard Haiden (Holt McCallany), aka “Bullet”, begins to suspect there might be something darker going on … Ritchie is firing on all cylinders here, delivering a PERFECT slow-burn suspense thriller which plays its cards close to its chest and cranks up its piano wire tension with artful skill as it builds to a devastating, knuckle-whitening explosive heist that acts as a cathartic release for everything that’s built up over the past hour and a half. In typical Ritchie style the narrative is non-linear, the story unfolding in four distinct parts told from clearly differentiated points of view, allowing the clues to be revealed at a trickle that effortlessly draws the viewer in as they fall deeper down the rabbit hole, leading to a harrowing but strangely poignant denouement which is perfectly in tune with everything that’s come before. It’s an immense pleasure finally getting to see Statham working with Ritchie again, and I don’t think he’s ever been better than he is here – he's always been a brilliantly understated actor, but there’s SO MUCH going on under Hill’s supposedly impenetrable calm that every little peek beneath the armour is a REVELATION; McCallany, meanwhile, has landed his best role since his short but VERY sweet supporting turn in Fight Club, seemingly likeable and fallible as the kind of easy-going co-worker anyone in the service industry would be THRILLED to have, but giving Bullet far more going on under the surface, while there are uniformly excellent performances from a top-shelf ensemble supporting cast which includes Josh Hartnett, Jeffrey Donovan (Burn Notice, Sicario), Andy Garcia, Laz Alonso (The Boys), Eddie Marsan, Niamh Algar (Raised By Wolves) and Darrell D’Silva (Informer, Domina), and a particularly edgy and intense turn from Scott Eastwood. This is one of THE BEST thrillers of the year, by far, a masterpiece of mood, pace and plot that ensnares the viewer from its gripping opening and hooks them right up to the close, a triumph of the genre and EASILY Guy Ritchie’s best film since Snatch. Regardless of whether or not it’s a RETURN to form, we can only hope he continues to deliver fare THIS GOOD in the future …

5. FEAR STREET (PARTS 1-3) – Netflix have gotten increasingly ambitious with their original filmmaking over the years, and some of this years’ offerings have reached new heights of epic intention. Their most exciting release of the summer was this adaptation of popular children’s horror author R.L. Stine’s popular book series, a truly gargantuan undertaking as the filmmakers set out to create an entire TRILOGY of films which were then released over three consecutive weekends. Interestingly, these films are most definitely NOT for kids – this is proper, no-holds-barred supernatural slasher horror, delivering highly calibrated shocks and precision jump scares, a pervading atmosphere of insidious dread and a series of inventively gruesome kills. The story revolves around two neighbouring small towns which have had vastly different fortunes over more than three centuries of existence – while the residents of Sunnyvale are unusually successful, living idyllic lives in peace and prosperity, luck has always been against the people of Shadyside, who languish in impoverishment, crime and misfortune, while the town has become known as the Murder Capital of the USA due to frequent spree killings. Some attribute this to the supposed curse of a local urban legend, Sarah Fier, who became known as the Fier Witch after her execution for witchcraft in 1668, but others dismiss this as simple superstition. Part 1 is set in 1994, as the latest outbreak of serial mayhem begins in Shadyside, dragging a small group of local teens – Deena Johnson (She Never Died’s Kiana Madeira) and Samantha Fraser (Olivia Scott Welch), a young lesbian couple going through a difficult breakup, Deena’s little brother Josh (The Haunted Hathaways’ Benjamin Flores Jr.), a nerdy history geek who spends most of his time playing video games or frequenting violent crime-buff online chatrooms, and their delinquent friends Simon (Eight Grade’s Fred Hechinger) and Kate (Julia Rehwald) – into the age-old ghostly conspiracy as they find themselves besieged by indestructible undead serial killers from the town’s past, reasoning that the only way they can escape with their lives is to solve the mystery and bring the Fier Witch some much needed closure. Part 2, meanwhile, flashes back to a previous outbreak in 1977, in which local sisters Ziggy (Stranger Things’ Sadie Sink) and Cindy Berman (Emily Rudd), together with future Sunnyvale sheriff Nick Goode (Ted Sutherland) were among the kids hunted by said killers during a summer camp “colour war”. As for Part 3, that goes all the way back to 1668 to tell the story of what REALLY happened to Sarah Fier, before wrapping up events in 1994, culminating in a terrifying, adrenaline-fuelled showdown in the Shadyside Mall. Throughout, the youthful cast are EXCEPTIONAL, Madeira, Welch, Flores Jr., Sink and Rudd particularly impressing, while there are equally strong turns from Ashley Zuckerman (The Code, Designated Survivor) and Community’s Gillian Jacobs as the grown-up versions of two key ’77 kids, and a fun cameo from Maya Hawke in Part 1. This is most definitely retro horror in the Stranger Things mould, perfectly executed period detail bringing fun nostalgic flavour to all three of the timelines while the peerless direction from Leigh Janiak (Honeymoon) and wire-tight, sharp-witted screenplays from Janiak, Kyle Killen (Lone Star, The Beaver), Phil Graziadel, Zak Olkewicz and Kate Trefry strike a perfect balance between knowing dark humour and knife-edged terror, as well as weaving an intriguingly complex narrative web that pulls the viewer in but never loses them to overcomplication. The design, meanwhile, is evocative, the cinematography (from Stanger Things’ Caleb Heymann) is daring and magnificently moody, and the killers and other supernatural elements of the film are handled with skill through largely physical effects. This is definitely not a standard, by-the-numbers slasher property, paying strong homage to the sub-genre’s rules but frequently subverting them with expert skill, and it’s as much fun as it is frightening. Give us some more like this please, Netflix!

4. THE SPARKS BROTHERS – those who’ve been following my reviews for a while will known that while I do sometimes shout about documentary films, they tend to show up in my runners-up lists – it’s a great rarity for one to land in one of my top tens. This lovingly crafted deep-dive homage to cult band Sparks, from self-confessed rabid fanboy Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, Scott Pilgrim), is something VERY SPECIAL INDEED, then … there’s a vague possibility some of you may have heard the name before, and many of you will know at least one or two of their biggest hits without knowing it was them (their greatest hit of all time, This Town Ain’t Big Enough for the Both of Us, immediately springs to mind), but unless you’re REALLY serious about music it’s quite likely you have no idea who they are, namely two brothers from California, Russell and Ronald Mael, who formed a very sophisticated pop-rock band in the late 60s and then never really went away, having moments of fame but mostly working away in the background and influencing some of the greatest bands and musical artists that followed them, even if many never even knew where that influence originally came from. Wright’s film is an engrossing joy from start to finish (despite clocking in at two hours and twenty minutes), following their eclectic career from obscure inception as Halfnelson, through their first real big break with third album Kimono My Place, subsequent success and then fall from popularity in the mid-70s, through several subsequent revitalisations, all the way up to the present day with their long-awaited cinematic breakthrough, revolutionary musical feature Annette – throughout Wright keeps the tone light and the pace breezy, allowing a strong and endearing sense of irreverence to rule the day as fans, friends and the brothers themselves offer up fun anecdotes and wax lyrical about what is frequently a larger-than-life tragicomic soap opera, utilising fun, crappy animation and idiosyncratic stock footage inserts alongside talking-head interviews that were made with a decidedly tongue-in-cheek style – Mike Myers good-naturedly rants about how we can see his “damned mole” while 80s New Romantic icons Nick Rhodes and John Taylor, while shot together, are each individually labelled as “Duran”. Ron and Russ themselves, meanwhile, are clearly having huge fun, gently ribbing each other and dropping some fun deadpan zingers throughout proceedings, easily playing to the band’s strong, idiosyncratic sense of hyper-intelligent humour, while the aforementioned celebrity talking-heads are just three amongst a whole wealth of famous faces that may surprise you – there’s even an appearance by Neil Gaiman, guys! Altogether this is 2+ hours of bright and breezy fun chock full of great music and fascinating information, and even hardcore Sparks fans are likely to learn more than a little over the course of the film, while for those who have never heard of Sparks before it’s a FANTASTIC introduction to one of the greatest ever bands that you’ve never heard of. With luck there might even be more than a few new fans before the year is out …

3. GUNPOWDER MILKSHAKE – Netflix’ BEST offering of the summer was this surprise hit from Israeli writer-director Navot Papushado (Rabies, Big Bad Wolves), a heavily stylised black comedy action thriller that passes the Bechdel Test with FLYING COLOURS. Playing like a female-centric John Wick, it follows ice-cold, on-top-of-her-game assassin Sam (Karen Gillan) as her latest assignment has some unfortunate side effects, leading her to take on a reparation job to retrieve some missing cash for the local branch of the Irish Mob. The only catch is that a group of thugs have kidnapped the original thief’s little girl, 12 year-old Emily (My Spy’s Chloe Coleman), and Sam, in an uncharacteristic moment of sympathy, decides to intervene, only for the money to be accidentally destroyed in the process. Now she’s got the Mob and her own employers coming after her, and she not only has to save her own skin but also Emily’s, leading her to seek help from the one person she thought she might never see again – her mother, Scarlet (Lena Headey), a master assassin in her own right who’s been hiding from the Mob herself for years. The plot may be simple but at times also a little over-the-top, but the film is never anything less than a pure, unadulterated pleasure, populated with fascinating, living and breathing characters of real complexity and nuance, while the script (co-written by relative newcomer Ehud Lavski) is tightly-reined and bursting with zingers. Most importantly, though, Papushado really delivers on the action front – these are some of the best set-pieces I’ve seen this year, Gillan, her co-stars and the various stunt-performers acquitting themselves admirably in a series of spectacular fights, gun battles and a particularly imaginative car chase that would be the envy of many larger, more expensive productions. Gillan and Coleman have a sweet, awkward chemistry, the MCU star particularly impressing in a subtly nuanced performance that also plays beautifully against Headey’s own tightly controlled turn, while there is awesome support from Angela Bassett, Michelle Yeoh and Carla Gugino as Sam’s adoptive aunts Anna May, Florence and Madeleine, a trio of “librarians” who run a fine side-line in illicit weaponry and are capable of unleashing some spectacular violence of their own; the film’s antagonists, on the other hand, are exclusively masculine – the mighty Ralph Inneson is quietly ruthless as Irish boss Jim McAlester, while The Terror’s Adam Nagaitis is considerably more mercurial as his mad dog nephew Virgil, and Paul Giamatti is the stately calm at the centre of the storm as Sam’s employer Nathan, the closest thing she has to a father. There’s so much to enjoy in this movie, not just the wonderful characters and amazing action but also the singularly engrossing and idiosyncratic style, deeply affecting themes of the bonds of found family and the healing power of forgiveness, and a rewarding through-line of strong women triumphing against the brutalities of toxic masculinity. I love this film, and I invite you to try it out, cuz I’m sure you will too.

2. THE SUICIDE SQUAD – the most fun I’ve had at the cinema so far this year is the long-awaited (thanks a bunch, COVID) redress of another frustrating imbalance from the decidedly hit and miss DCEU superhero franchise, in which Guardians of the Galaxy writer-director James Gunn has finally delivered a PROPER Suicide Squad movie after David Ayer’s painfully compromised first stab at the property back in 2016. That movie was enjoyable enough and had some great moments, but ultimately it was a clunky mess, and while some of the characters were done (quite) well, others were painfully botched, even ruined entirely. Thankfully Warner Bros. clearly learned their lesson, giving Gunn free reign to do whatever he wanted, and the end result is about as close to perfect as the DCEU has come to date. Once again the peerless Viola Davis plays US government official Amanda Waller, head of ARGUS and the undisputable most evil bitch in all the DC Universe, who presides over the metahuman prisoners of the notorious supermax Belle Reve Prison, cherry-picking inmates for her pet project Taskforce X, the titular Suicide Squad sent out to handle the kind of jobs nobody else wants, in exchange for years off their sentences but controlled by explosive implants injected into the base of their skulls. Their latest mission sees another motley crew of D-bags dispatched to the fictional South African island nation of Corto Maltese to infiltrate Jotunheim, a former Nazi facility in which a dangerous extra-terrestrial entity that’s being developed into a fearful bioweapon, with orders to destroy the project in order to keep it out of the hands of a hostile anti-American regime which has taken control of the island through a violent coup. Where the first Squad felt like a clumsily-arranged selection of stereotypes with a few genuinely promising characters unsuccessfully moulded into a decidedly forced found family, this new batch are convincingly organic – they may be dysfunctional and they’re all almost universally definitely BAD GUYS, but they WORK, the relationship dynamics that form between them feeling genuinely earned. Gunn has already proven himself a master of putting a bunch of A-holes together and forging them into band of “heroes”, and he’s certainly pulled the job off again here, dredging the bottom of the DC Rogues Gallery for its most ridiculous Z-listers and somehow managing to make them compelling. Sure, returning Squad-member Harley Quinn (the incomparable Margot Robbie, magnificent as ever) has already become a fully-realised character thanks to Birds of Prey, so there wasn’t much heavy-lifting to be done here, but Gunn genuinely seems to GET the character, so our favourite pixie-esque Agent of Chaos is an unbridled and thoroughly unpredictable joy here, while fellow veteran Colonel Rick Flagg (a particularly muscular and thoroughly game Joel Kinnaman) has this time received a much needed makeover, Gunn promoting him from being the first film’s sketchily-drawn “Captain Exposition” and turning him into a fully-ledged, well-thought-out human being with all the requisite baggage, including a newfound sense of humour; the newcomers, meanwhile, are a thoroughly fascinating bunch – reluctant “leader” Bloodsport/Robert DuBois (a typically robust and playful Idris Elba), unapologetic douchebag Peacemaker/Christopher Smith (probably the best performance I’ve EVER seen John Cena deliver), and socially awkward and seriously hard-done-by nerd (and by far the most idiotic DC villain of all time) the Polka-Dot Man/Abner Krill (a genuinely heart-breaking hangdog performance from Ant-Man’s David Dastmalchian); meanwhile there’s a fine trio of villainous turns from the film’s resident Big Bads, with Juan Diego Botta (Good Behaviour) and Joaquin Cosio (Quantum of Solace, Narcos: Mexico) making strong impressions as newly-installed dictator Silvio Luna and his corrupt right hand-man General Suarez, although both are EASILY eclipsed by the typically brilliant Peter Capaldi as louche and quietly deranged supervillain The Thinker/Gaius Greives (although the film’s ULTIMATE threat turns out to be something a whole lot bigger and more exotic). The film is ROUNDLY STOLEN, however, by a truly adorable double act (or TRIPLE act, if you want to get technical) – Daniella Melchior makes her breakthrough here in fine style as sweet, principled and kind-hearted narcoleptic second-generation supervillain Ratcatcher II/Cleo Cazo, who has the weird ability to control rats (and who has a pet rat named Sebastian who frequently steals scenes all on his own), while a particular fan-favourite B-lister makes his big screen debut here in the form of King Shark/Nanaue, a barely sentient anthropomorphic Great White “shark god” with an insatiable appetite for flesh and a naturally quizzical nature who was brilliantly mo-capped by Steve Agee (The Sarah Silverman Project, who also plays Waller’s hyperactive assistant John Economos) but then artfully completed with an ingenious vocal turn from Sylvester Stallone. James Gunn has crafted an absolute MASTERPIECE here, EASILY the best film he’s made to date, a riotous cavalcade of exquisitely observed and perfectly delivered dark humour and expertly wrangled narrative chaos that has great fun playing with the narrative flow, injects countless spot-on in-jokes and irreverent but utterly essential throwaway sight-gags, and totally endears us to this glorious gang of utter morons right from the start (in which Gunn delivers what has to be one of the most skilful deep-fakes in cinematic history). Sure, there’s also plenty of action, and it’s executed with the kind of consummate skill we’ve now come to expect from Gunn (the absolute highlight is a wonderfully bonkers sequence in which Harley expertly rescues herself from captivity), but like everything else it’s predominantly played for laughs, and there’s no getting away from the fact that this film is an absolute RIOT. By far the funniest thing I’ve seen so far this year, and if I’m honest this is the best of the DCEU offerings to date, too (for me, only the exceptional Birds of Prey can compare) – if Warner Bros. have any sense they’ll give Gunn more to do VERY SOON …

1. A QUIET PLACE, PART II – while UK cinemas finally reopened in early May, I was determined that my first trip back to the Big Screen for 2021 was gonna be something SPECIAL, and indeed I already knew what that was going to be. Thankfully I was not disappointed by my choice – 2018’s A Quiet Place was MY VERY FAVOURITE horror movie of the 2010s, an undeniable masterclass in suspense and sustained screen terror wrapped around a refreshingly original killer concept, and I was among the many fans hoping we’d see more in the future, especially after the film’s teasingly open ending. Against the odds (or perhaps not), writer-director/co-star John Krasinski has pulled off the seemingly impossible task of not only following up that high-wire act, but genuinely EQUALLING it in levels of quality – picking up RIGHT where the first film left off (at least after an AMAZING scene-setting opening in which we’re treated to the events of Day 1 of the downfall of humanity), rejoining the remnants of the Abbott family as they’re forced by circumstances to up-sticks from their idyllic farmhouse home and strike out into the outside world once more, painfully aware at all times that they must maintain perfect silence to avoid the ravenous attentions of the lethal blind alien beasties that now sit at the top of the food chain. Circumstances quickly become dire, however, and embattled mother Evelyn (Emily Blunt) is forced to ally herself with estranged family friend Emmett (Cillian Murphy), now a haunted, desperate vagrant eking out a perilous existence in an abandoned factory, in order to safeguard the future of her children Regan (Millicent Simmonds), Marcus (Noah Jupe) and their newborn baby brother. Regan, however, discovers evidence of more survivors, and with her newfound weapon against the aliens she recklessly decides to set off on her own in the hopes of aiding them before it’s too late … it may only be his second major blockbuster as a director, but Krasinski has once again proven he’s a true heavyweight talent, effortlessly carving out fresh ground in this already magnificently well-realised dystopian universe while also playing magnificently to the established strengths of what came before, delivering another peerless thrill-ride of unbearable tension and knuckle-whitening terror. The central principle of utilising sound at a very strict premium is once again strictly adhered to here, available sources of dialogue once again exploited with consummate skill while sound design and score (another moody triumph from Marco Beltrami) again become THE MOST IMPORTANT aspects of the whole production. The ruined world is once again realised beautifully throughout, most notably in the nightmarish environment of a wrecked commuter train, and Krasinski cranks up the tension before unleashing it in merciless explosions in a selection of harrowing encounters which guaranteed to leave viewers in a puddle of sweat. The director mostly stays behind the camera this time round, but he does (obviously) put in an appearance in the opening flashback as the late Lee Abbott, making a potent impression which leaves a haunting absence that’s keenly felt throughout the remainder of the film, while Blunt continues to display mother lion ferocity as she fights to keep her children safe and Jupe plays crippling fear magnificently but is now starting to show a hidden spine of steel as Marcus finally starts to find his courage; the film once again belongs, however, to Simmonds, the young deaf actress once and for all proving she’s a genuine star in the making as she invests Regan with fierce wilfulness and stubborn determination that remains unshakeable even in the face of unspeakable horrors, and the relationship she develops with Emmett, reluctant as it may be, provides a strong new emotional focus for the story, Murphy bringing an attractive wounded humanity to his role as a man who’s lost anything and is being forced to learn to care for something again. This is another triumph of the genre AND the artform in general, a masterpiece of atmosphere, performance and storytelling which builds magnificently on the skilful foundations laid by the first film, as well as setting things up perfectly for a third instalment which is all but certain to follow. I definitely can’t wait.

#movies 2021 #werewolves within #werewolves within movie #the tomorrow war #army of the dead #Black Widow #black widow movie #black widow mcu #wrath of man #fear street #fear street trilogy #fear street movies #The Sparks Brothers #gunpowder milkshake #the suicide squad #a quiet place part ii #a quiet place part 2 #awesome sauce

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ciggylungz · 4 years

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Worship me- chapter.2

Worship me- Chapter 2

Warnings: abusive family, arranged marriage, talk of sexual abuse/ child marriage, talk about religion and other triggering themes. (lots of angst as well)

Word count: 2.6k

Last chapter recap: Her fingers gripped her phone tightly as she typed in his number, writing him a text

‘Harry, it’s Y/n are you awake?”

His response was quick, maybe 30 seconds after she’d sent hers

‘yea, what’s up? You alright? Feeling better?’

A fresh wave of tears were building in her eyes, shaky fingers typing out her next message

‘no, Harry please help me. I’m scared please.’

The word that best describes Harrys current state is : panic.

As soon as he read her response his heart started to race, hands itching to clench into fists and his stomach felt like it’s been punched by Mike Tyson. He didn’t understand why he felt this surge of emotion, he’s not used to experiencing empathy or concern for people other than himself. He was a cold, confident and described as a ‘tough guy’ so he really didn’t know how to handle the way he was feeling right now, especially over his classmate. Harry was the type of guy who fucks and dumps a girl, he didn’t really care much but with y/n for some reason it was different and he didn’t know if he likes it or not.

‘what? What’s wrong Y/n?’

He was gnawing on his lip waiting for her reply, his forehead breaking out into a cold sweat from the stress when she took over three minutes to reply.

‘my parents hurt me Harry, please help me’

Immediately he was on his feet, marching towards his mothers room since she took his car keys at night, trying to prevent him from sneaking out at least on school nights. He didn’t care it was midnight, someone asked him for help and he was going to try his fucking hardest to do so.

“Mum! Mum please open the door! I need my keys it’s an emergency” Harry felt a bit guilty about pounding on his sleeping mothers door at such a late hour, but he has to focus on something else right now. When a sleepy confused Anne cracked her door open, squinting at the hall lights he took his chance to barge in, “Harry, what are you doing? What happened baby?” the boy plucked his car keys from the little bowl on her dresser turning back to his confused mum. “I’m sorry, I’ll explain later but my friend needs help. It’s Y/n, you know the girl I did a project with? The sweet one? She needs help. I love ya’ mum I’ll be safe I swear.” As soon as he entered the room, he left slipping his shoes on as he slipped out the door to rush to his car, fumbling with his phone to send another text to her.

‘I’m on my way, what’s the plan? Are your parents asleep?’

He cursed to himself when his nervous hands dropped his keys under his seat while on their way to be shoved into the ignition. His ringtone sounding deafening to his ringing ears.

‘They are still awake. This was a bad idea, I’m sorry for bothering you. I shouldn’t of overreacted.’

Y/n was shaking, her parents had come knocking on her door just as Harry texted her about his whereabouts and she immediately knew she wouldn’t be getting out of there and she was stuck doing damage control through a text while trying to stuff her phone under her mattress so her parents didn’t break down her door. She somehow managed to do it all in 10 seconds, swinging her door open to reveal her mother. Y/n shivered from the look her mother was giving her. She knew what was going to happen and she wanted to vomit from it. Her parents would force her to do ‘purity checks’ whenever they thought she was disobeying god. It was a humiliating experience, painful and it made her feel sick every time. she felt stripped of all security and privacy when her mother did a gynecologist type exam on the young girl to make sure her hymen is still intact justifying it saying, ‘when you disrespect god, we have to make sure you aren’t doing it from lack of purity’ ‘no husband will want a dirty girl’ ‘it makes god happy’, but it didn’t make Y/n happy. It made her scared, it felt wrong but she knew she didn’t have a choice and she was royally fucked if Harry was still on his way there.

Her tongue was numb from how hard she had bitten down on it, silent tears puddling at the side of her face while her mother did her ‘check’ on her daughter. Y/n was mortified, felt entirely violated and was trying to resist the urge to vomit. Y/n has started to disassociate during stressful times like this. She forced her mind to go else ware so she wouldn’t completely break down. If she let her mind convince her she was on the beach, wrapped in a warm towel with the sunsetting it made the reality less loud to her.

Her lucid state vanished as her mother removed herself from between her legs, noting she was still ‘pure’ and ‘valuable for trade’. The dehumanizing way of speaking, truly and deeply made Y/n feel like nothing more than an object. A possession that’s meant to be bought and sold, rather then the young woman she was growing to be. Feeling worthless was something she was becoming accustomed too even when it made her feel like maybe, life wasn’t worth living anymore. She didn’t like feeling like this.

The tears didn’t seem to stop while she walked into her bathroom, dipping her head down to take a sip of water from the faucet to try to soothe her pounding head.

When she was sure everyone else was asleep, she felt grabbed her phone from under her mattress finding loads of messages from Harry.

‘what? Love, you’re scaring me what’s going on?’

‘I’m coming anyway, I don’t care.’

‘I’m outside, whenever you see this let me know because I’m not leaving I’m parked by the end of the block.’

‘Y/n please, please answer me. you’re not okay I know it’

y/n was conflicted. She felt trapped, her way out was so close yet felt so fucking far. She didn’t know what to do, her head felt like it was going to explode.

‘sorry, my mum came in and did a purity check. Had to hide my phone. I’m sorry I scared you I shouldn’t have said anything. You can go home I’m sorry Harry.’

Harry lifted his forehead off his steering wheel when he heard his phone go off, a frown etched deep on his face while he read it. What the fuck is a purity check? Why is she defending her parents? Why is she apologizing for asking for help? It didn’t sit right with him, not one bit. Harry had met y/n’s father once at a school event and he didn’t like the vibe he gave off in the slightest. He reminded him of how the handsy priests looked at the young girls at school, her father had cold eyes was basically emotionless and spoke about Y/n like she was a dog or an object. It made his skin crawl then, and now more than ever his alarm bells were going off. Harry was good at reading people and energy they gave off. He was associated with drug dealers, and other not so savory characters and he had a good reader on for when they were sketchy, or untrustworthy and her father definitely gave that vibe.

‘no, y/n I’ll break into your house if I have to. You either come with me willingly or I come in and get you. I’m not leaving without you.’

His response woke Y/n up a bit. She was reminded why she asked for help earlier, the feelings coming back completely. And so, she listened. When she heard the soft snores start to grow louder coming from her parents’ room, she started quietly gathering up a small bag with her phone, a charger, her school bag and a toothbrush. She was still dressed in her school uniform from earlier, she never had a chance to change. Her knuckles were swollen, bruised and aching while she zipped the bag tiptoeing down the steps and fleeing through the door in only her tight clad feet dashing towards Harry’s car.

Harry jumped when he heard the sudden knocking on her car window, seeing Y/n he immediately unlocked the door breathing a sigh of relief when she hopped in the car. He felt better knowing she was with him now, she was safe for the time being, and as soon as he looked at her, she burst into tears. Big fat tears coming from her pretty eyes, rushing down her cheeks as choked sobs rattled through her throat. He felt a foreign pang in his chest seeing the usual sunny girl breaking down in front of him. “Here, hey c’mere.” He spoke softly to her, his hands moving to bring her over into his lap using his free one to pull a lever so the seat slides back to give them enough space for her to be held securely in the older boys embrace. “it’s okay, everything’s gonna be alright. You’re safe, I’m not going to hurt you. Not gonna let them hurt you either. Breathe Y/n breathe, god you’re shaking like a leaf darling.” He kept his tone level and soft while he spoke to her, stroking her back and hair trying to calm her down enough so he can drive them somewhere safer.

Y/n sat herself up a bit to wipe her eyes, only then did Harry see the damage on her poor hands. It looked horrible, how someone’s knuckles look after punching a concreate wall. He gently took her hands in his, looking over the injury sucking in a pained breath “Christ love, what did they do to you? Does it hurt? can you bend them?” she nodded and showed him how she could still ball her fists even with the bad pain, which showed him they weren’t broken.

“C-can we le-leave please? Y-you can drop m-me at the school and I’ll c-camp out there till we have class. I don’t have anywhere e-else to. I c-can go back home if yo-you want me to-“ she was rambling, she felt like a burden. Y/n really didn’t know where to go from here, where did she even have to go? Her sisters were hours away with their husbands, she didn’t have any friends and there was no where to go. “No no, you can come to my house. Not letting you sleep outside that shithole. Can come to my house, promise I won’t hurt ya’”

At this point she was too tired to fight, too upset to refuse so she simply nodded and let him place her back in her seat and make the drive towards his home.

“Here, drink some water. Do you want to change hon?” Harry had Y/n sit on the couch as they got into his home, handing her a bottle of water before sitting on the coffee table in front of her. “No, I don’t have any clothes. I’ll just keep this on since we have school in a few hours. I’ll just have to wait to get home before I can change.” Y/n wasn’t really understanding the situation at hand, she didn’t see the turmoil around her like Harry did. “No no, we’re taking the day off school and you’re not going back home till I know what the hell is going on there. you can wear some of my clothes. They’ll be big on you but it’s better than our shitty uniform.” He insisted, holding her chin to make her look at him. “Harry those are bad words, shouldn’t say that.” Her reply was soft, reminding him she still was y/n sweet and innocent. But right now, he needed to be the mature and brutally honest person for her because she was clueless.

With some gentle convincing Y/n finally agreed to change. He gave her privacy while she changed into the baggy sweat pants and hoodie that seemed to swallow her since they were so large. Harry thinks she’s never looked smaller, more fragile, or cuter. But right now wasn’t for crushes or cuteness, this was a time to take care of the girl. “Comfortable? Good, here finish the water and eat a few of these crackers. Can sleep in my bed, I’ll take the couch yea?”

She did as she was told, sipping the water till it was gone and munching on the saltines while she sat on his bed laying down when she was finished.

Harry took a blanket and pillow downstairs and started to situate himself on the couch, getting himself comfortable before a soft padding on the steps caught his attention and there was Y/n standing with misty eyes holding one of his blankets in her hand. “What’s wrong love?” “Scared…scared to be alone I’m sorry…c-can you stay with me please? Or i-I can sleep on the floor while you sleep on the couch so I’m not alone?” Harry took a few moments to think her words over, his mind slow from his tiredness but Y/n in her fragile state took this as a dismissal and so she nodded to herself and sniffled, “It’s okay, sorry for asking…sleep well Harry.” Before he could respond she had rushed back up the steps and into his room. She felt embarrassed, small and vulnerable. Her mind screaming, she was ‘stupid’ for even asking him that, she was convinced he only pitied her and that’s why she’s here. She couldn’t fathom the idea of anyone actually wanting her around or caring about how she feels. While in her current mental state with the loud thoughts banging on the inside of her skull, she started putting her things back in her bag, planning to leave so he could sleep without being bothered by her.

“What are you doing?” Harry’s voice seemed 10 times louder as he stood against his doorframe, rubbing his tired eyes while watching Y/n scramble to collect her belongings. Her movements halted instantly, nerves making her feel sick yet again. “W-was just gonna go home. I’m sorry I shouldn’t of come here, you did so much for me I just have to change and I’ll be gone, I’m sorry.” Her speech was frantic, fumbling her words a bit as she tried to rush it out. “What? Is this because of what you asked? Love I’m sleepy took me a minute to form coherent words. Relax put the bag down, lay down I’ll stay with you.”

When she didn’t react he took it upon himself to remove the bag from her shaky bruised hands, gently placing it on his desk and guiding her to lay in his bed moving in next to her before flipping the lights off.

“Harry?” her voice was mouse like, but he still heard it. “yea love?” his hand searched for hers in the dark, “Thank you for helping me…means a lot…i-I’m afraid Harry...” once he grabbed her hand he remembered it was injured, opting to wrap his arm around her shoulders instead. “Scared of what Y/n?” there was a few beats of silence before she timidly answered, “My parents…and God”

Harry took a deep breath before responding, “Well, you don’t need to be scared of God. You’ve done nothing wrong. Your parents are going to be punished by him, not you. And for your parents…can you please tell me what is going on?”

“what do you want to know?”

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic #harry styles concept #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles series #Worship me #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles dark #harry styles imagines #harry style drabble

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prismatica-the-strange · 3 years

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A Week at Universal with Daniel Jackson (Modern AU)

Day 2

A/N: let's hit the Parks Campers! I won't be featuring Volcano Bay since I don't know it too well due to my water park anxiety!! This might also sound like a long Universal ad or trip advise so there’s also that.

Previous: Night 1

Warnings: Sex mentions(mostly alluding to the first part) (Under 18 Do Not Interact!!), Food Mention, Fluff, Possible Ride/attraction spoilers if you’ve never been to Universal

You wake up to butterfly kisses trailing from your wrist, up your collar bone and then lips lingering over yours

“Good morning, beautiful,” Daniel smiles before finally kissing you

“g’morning,” you grin when he pulls away, “You ready for the parks?”

“In a bit,” He’ll cuddle back into your chest and you run your fingers through his hair, “had fun last night”

You hum in agreement, knowing there would be bruising from the night before’s activities, “Me too”

You kiss the top of his head and move to get out of bed

He’ll whine and try to pull you back into his arms, “No, no, no, come back”

“We’ve go a whole week for that Dr. Jackson,” You laugh, pulling one of the sheets with you to cover yourself

“But you look so exquisite in this light,” he’d try as you open one of your suitcases

You playfully toss a pair of boxers at him and he rolls his eyes before getting up to put them on

You feel his eyes wandering your skin when you let the sheet fall to the floor

“You’re staring,” You smile as you start pulling on clothes.

“I can’t help it,” He tells you, coming up behind you to rummage through the case of clothes.

Once you manage to get him into some decent clothes you both go down to the breakfast bar in the lobby, grabbing something quick to eat before heading out to the boat to City Walk

You took his hand and lead him off the boat

He’d squeeze your hand and won’t be able to help smiling at your excitement

It didn’t take long for you to get over the bridge and into Islands of Adventure (The best park in my opinion)

Assuming neither of you have been here before, you decide to go clockwise around the park

Making the first stop when you get through the Port of Entry is Seuss Landing, obviously aimed toward a younger audience, the Caro-Seuss-el is definitely worth a ride, but totally skippable

Then you get into Lost Continent, and you both think it would be fun to do Poseidon’s Fury (I fucking love the Character of Taylor!) as it is a nice easy start to the day

As an archeologist, Daniel find the attraction fun, and even though it’s an older show, the pyrotechnics and water features were cool

He takes a few pictures of you at the Mystic Fountain, one of which where you’re getting splashed

The Florida heat seems to melt away as you make your way into the snowy facade of Hogsmeade

If you’re a big Harry Potter fan and can’t wait until you’re in Diagon Alley to get your robes, then, after enjoying the beauty of Hogsmeade, you can stop into Dervish and Banges and pick some up

But if you plan on wearing them in park, I would recommend holding off, you can’t wear them on Hagrid’s Magical Creature Motorbike Adventure and you really shouldn’t pass up the chance to ride that

You also shouldn't get them wet and there are a handful of water rides you might want to ride

Speaking of Hagrid’s Magical Creature Motorbike Adventure, you two get in line as soon as possible, and even then it’ll be at least an hour wait

But the que is well decorated the whole way onto the ride so you always have something interesting to look at

Daniel’s hands are either un yours or on your hips the whole time

You hear a voice behind you scoff ‘Honeymooners’ an you manage to catch them in time for them to roll their eyes at you

Daniel’s face heats up at the comment, but he chuckles and brings your hand up to his lips

The Coaster itself was an amazing ride, super fast and smooth

You might as well leave your things in the Hagrid’s locker and make your way to Forbidden Journey in the castle

Since you have express pass with your room key, and don’t have to wait for a locker you get on the ride

Now it’s time for shopping and butterbeer!

Daniel is either a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw, but since he’s a nerd that looks so nice in blue we’re gonna go with Ravenclaw

I mean look at himmm

He also really wants an Elder wand so when you stop at Olivander’s he get’s one and you get one of your choosing, both interactive of course

You do a few interactive stops and then stop at the Butterbeer cart

Butterbeer foam mustaches!!!

Butterscotch flavored kisses!!!!

And what better to go with Butterbeer than a Pumpkin Pastie from Honeydukes? Or maybe a cauldron cake? 🤔🤔

You also send a couple chocolate frogs back to the room for later

If you're looking for a more savory snack then maybe it's time to head to the next part of the park... Jurassic Park

The Watering Hole has a small selection of snack and lunch foods

Now that you're in the tropical jungles of Isla Nublar, maybe it's time to cool off with the Jurassic Park River Adventure

You and Daniel decide that if you're going on a water ride you might as well go all out, so you aim for front row seats in the raft

Well now that you're both soaking wet (😏😏) You're feeling more of a sit down meal for lunch

So you double back to lost continent for Mythos

Don't forget to make a wish in the indoor fountain, I'm pretty sure it's actually magic so make it a good one!

Normally it would be difficult to get a table as a walk up, but you luck out and get a small booth to yourselves

The cold AC is a nice break from the humidity, and for a little while you forget the constant running for your life from murderous aliens during your day job

You said something particularly funny and you couldn't help but marvel at the way his eyes crinkled with his laugh

You couldn't stop yourself from leaning over the table and kissing him

What's next?

Well, you wander back around to Jurassic park, maybe ride River Adventure again? Or perhaps it's time for the next ride?

That would be Kong!

If you're not a fan of small spaces, this que may not be your favorite. Daniel is definitely excited for this one, but will skip it if it gets to be too much.

Other wise, he'll be the one pulling you along, and he'd be buzzing with excitement,

And oh lord that Kong animatronic is beautiful!

It's been a bit and you guys have finally dried off, so time for some more water rides!

Ripsaw Falls? Get ready to get absolutely soaked. There is no escaping the water.

Well you're wet again so you might as well ride Bludo's

Maybe you should invest in a copule comic strip themed beach towels (I know I would) (but maybe that's because I really love beach towels)

The next land is Superhero Island (one of the best places in the world!)

Time to dry of with a ride on Dr Doom's fear fall!

If you can't do heights I would recommend skipping this one, but if you can hype yourself up enough to get on you should! The view is incredible.

Are you a fan of Spider-man? That ride is my absolute favourite! Hagrid's coming in a close 2nd.

With Express pass it's easy to get on a three times in a row, then you could go across the street and mr. Parker

There's only one ride left (I know I skipped flight of the hypogriff but I think that one is lackluster at best)

If you're up for a coaster with inversions and the such get right in line for the hulk

Stay tuned for date night in Night 2!

Taglist: @mysg1spacemonkey @sgcprometheus @malcolm-reeds-pineapple

Masterlist

#dr daniel jackson #daniel jackson imagine #daniel jackson x reader #daniel jackson #SG-1 #sg1 #a week at universal with Daniel Jackson #prisma writes #prisma the pretend avenger #prisma-the-pretend-avenger #universal orlando

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alwaysahiccupandastrid · 5 years

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Some post!Battle Headcanons - Halloween Edition!

Halloween is really a sad day for Harry since it was the day his parents died but he has friends and loved ones who make the day less sad, and that’s what really matters.

While both Hermione and Harry grew up with Muggles and know about Muggle things, Hermione is actually the only one who’s seen a horror movie since Harry never really had the chance while with the Dursleys.

The Halloween after Hermione finishes her schooling, she suggests that Harry and Ginny come over to her and Ron’s flat to watch some horror films she borrowed from her parents - they’re not her favourites by any means, and she would really rather spend the evening with a book while curled up with her boyfriend, but she knows that Ron and Ginny are curious about muggle films, and so it seems like a good way to spend the evening.

They watch Alien first and Ron, frankly, nearly craps himself. Seeing movies on a television is a whole new experience to him, it’s fascinating in a strange way, but seeing a horror film with full sound and colour absolutely terrifies him. Ginny holds up slightly better, still creeped out, and Harry (who has heard about this film, of course, it’s very famous) sort of shares a slightly uneasy smirk with Hermione.

Right at the end, as Ellen Ripley is stripping down, Ron looks uncomfortable and mutters “did they really need to put this in?? The monster is dead” - until the alien reappears suddenly. Everyone jumps a foot in the air.

Ron pretends he doesn’t have nightmares about xenomorphs and face huggers for weeks - the latter are FAR too close to spiders for his liking.

Harry chooses the next one. Deciding it’s best to steer away from aliens or scary monsters, he considers the options before choosing Halloween. It seems fitting, after all.

None of them sleep after watching Halloween to be honest.

When Teddy gets old enough to trick-or-treat, Harry and Ginny take him out to do so. They help him pick a costume out every single year, reminding him to be polite when he’s given sweets, and they actually enjoy it quite a lot.

One year Harry is mad because he can’t make it to take Teddy trick or treating, something comes up at work, so Ginny goes with him alone. It’s a really nice bonding experience, and he shares his chocolate with her at the end of the evening. Harry comes home after working late and finds the two curled up on the sofa snoozing, surrounded by chocolate and sweet wrappers.

Not that he will admit it, but he’s more certain than ever in that moment that he wants to marry Ginny Weasley.

When Teddy is REALLY young, he even convinces Harry to come dressed up with him; Harry has never been trick-or-treating in his life, nor has he dressed up for it, but it’s worth having to wear an uncomfortable costume when he sees his godson’s face light up.

They always stop by Ron and Hermione’s place while trick-or-treating of course, and Ron makes sure to give Teddy extras of his favourite sweets. Hermione half-heartedly mentions how sweets are bad for teeth but she doesn’t stop him.

The Weasley kids start joining Teddy for trick-or-treating as the years pass. First Victoire starts coming with Teddy, usually in a less-scary-more-pretty costume; then Dominique is invited too, followed by Percy’s daughters Molly and Lucy, and then little Fred II (he dresses up his dad one year and it’s hilarious), etc.

The Potter children always love getting dressed up for Halloween; James Sirius loves dressing up as skeletons and clowns to frighten his siblings. Albus is a little more subdued, tending to choose costumes like a ghost or small vampire. At first Lily is adamant about going as stuff like a fairy or a princess - but then she gets more adventurous and starts dressing as a stereotypical witch (she’s sad she can’t actually fly the fake broomstick), as a cute little zombie, as movie characters.

Rose and Hugo love Halloween too; Ron helps them with their costumes each year, and his only limit is that neither of them have ANY fake spiders on their costumes. He knows they’re fake but he still has a heart attack just thinking about it.

Harry is really very bemused the first time Ron brings Rose trick-or-treating because he dressed her like a pumpkin, and it clashes terribly (or really well, depending how you look at it) with her red hair.

Ron definitely gets a share of the sweets from the kids - they’re more than happy to give up some given that he helps them a lot when it comes to getting ready.

Hermione enjoys being surprised by their costumes when she comes home from work, just before they all head out. Occasionally she has to help Ron paint their faces, but he gets good at it as the years go on.

The Potters and Weasleys obviously trick-or-treat together obviously, that’s a given. James always manages to terrify his siblings and cousins as well as other people’s kids beyond belief as they walk around in the dark, and his parents have to warn him a few times (even though they’re both definitely amused)

Some poor toddler sees James in his creepy clown costume and make-up one year, and it sets her off screaming.

After they’ve finished their rounds, they go back to either family’s house and spend some time together; the kids usually run off and start playing, occasionally stopping to eat their chocolate, whilst their parents enjoy some tea and talk.

#headcanons #harry potter #halloween #ron weasley #hermione granger #ginny weasley #i wrote this just because i watched alien again at the weekend #alien #rose weasley #teddy lupin #hugo weasley #romione #hinny #james sirius potter #albus severus potter #lily luna potter #victoire weasley

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nightwang96 · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson Characters: Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson Additional Tags: Blood, Biting, SladeRobin Week, Day 1: Highest Bidder Series: Part 1 of SladeRobin Weekend 2020 Summary:

Slade hasn't attended an auction in years, but apparently this year there's going to be something...special.

For the SladeRobin Weekend prompt Highest Bidder.

Slade didn’t usually go to these events. He had no real desire to mix with the kind of people they were aimed at and, frankly, he had better things to be doing with his time. He was only here now because he’d heard that there was going to be something special and, well, colour him interested. Interested enough to show up at least.

Leaning casually against the back wall, he scanned the huge room for anything or anyone that could potentially become trouble. Slade had only been to a couple of these in his time, but he was sure that this was the biggest crowd there’d been. They were crammed in like sardines, jostling and muttering excitedly. Even still, they were giving Slade a wide berth, a little pocket of space.

The only other empty space in the room was the stage. A clear delineation between the audience and the auction. Small and only slightly raised, but enough that even from his position at the back, Slade could still see it clearly.

The crowd was getting restless, the muttering now an impatient chatter that was grating on Slade’s nerves. Just as he was considering that maybe this wasn’t worth it, a woman stepped out onto the stage. All eyes were immediately on her as a hush fell over the room. Amelia Hart, the event runner, Slade recognised her from the few times he’d attended before.

She was a commanding presence, even Slade could admit that, tall and conventionally attractive with a confidence that rivalled Slade’s own. She spread her arms out to encompass the entire crowd and smiled.

“Welcome everybody!” She paused to scan the audience, her gaze catching on Slade and lingering for just a moment. “We have a treat for you tonight! I know you are all excited to see what surprise we have in store, but you will just have to wait until the end.”

She gave them a mischievous smile, dark eyes glittering and the crowd responded, swelling with anticipation.

“In the meantime we have some lovely pieces to auction off. First up this genuine Ming vase.”

Slade tuned her out. He wasn’t interested in whatever trinkets they were auctioning off. He watched the audience instead. Most of them were nobodies, new money with more cash than sense. Some though, Slade recognised. Drug kingpins and “business men” who’d gained their wealth through more...nefarious methods. Not a single honest person in the entire building.

Slade was forced to amend that statement as the last item was announced and an annoyingly familiar vigilante was dragged onto the stage.

Slade stiffened, pushing away from the wall. Nightwing had obviously been drugged, skin pale and sweaty, jaw slack but Slade could tell that he was coming around quicker than anticipated. He could see the subtle twitches of muscle under Nightwing’s scandalously tight suit as he tested the restraints.

The audience was silent for a moment before they burst into a flurry of cacophonous excitement. Amelia was playing up to it, twisting long fingers into Nightwing’s hair and pulling his head back to reveal the long expanse of his throat.

Her expression was one of smug satisfaction, almost gloating. Slade clenched his fists against the sudden surge of possessive jealousy.

“I knew this would get you all excited,” she laughed, winking at the audience. “This is your chance to find out who Nightwing really is,” she teased at the edges of his mask and, even drugged, Nightwing reacted, jerking his head back to snap his teeth against her fingers.

She snatched her hand back, her lip curling in anger briefly before suddenly remembering the audience and turning to smile widely at them.

“He’s a bit feisty, but I’m sure you’ll be able to handle him, and, well,” she stroked a hand across his tense shoulders, curled her fingers around his throat, “he’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

A ripple of laughter, some low murmurings of agreement. Nightwing’s jaw clenched.

“How about we start the bidding at a million.”

Slade’s wallet was about to take a very nasty hit. One billion to be precise. Slade knew that Harry Roswell at least would have kept bidding - had a personal grudge against Nightwing - but Slade has glowered him into submission. Dick Grayson was his and he’d be damned if he was going to let someone else get their hands on him.

They’d dragged Nightwing off stage and then Amelia had taken Slade’s arm and directed him into a back room.

“We’ve secured your purchase in the next room for you,” she met Slade’s gaze, “you are, of course, free to make use of the room if you wish. Or you can leave with him now. We can provide sedatives, for an additional price.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He stood, sweeping past her to push the door open.

“Take your time,” Amelia said as his hand closed on the doorknob. “Enjoy.”

Slade grunted in reply, stepping into the next room and closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sight that greeted him sent a rush of heat straight to his groin. Nightwing was chained spread eagled across the bed, completely naked except for his mask. His head snapped to Slade immediately, face set in a snarl.

“My, my, don’t you make a pretty picture,” Slade purred, leaning back against the door with a smirk.

“Very funny Slade,” Dick snapped. The drugs had obviously worn off. He was alert and flushed an angry red as he tugged viciously at the chains. “Get these off me!”

Slade hummed, tilting his head. “You’re not acting very grateful here Grayson. If it weren’t for me anyone could have found out your identity. Why don’t you say thank you.”

Dick scowled, gritting out a “Thank you,” that sounded rather more like a fuck you.

“We both know that I’m the lesser of two evils here. I already know your identity and I’ll let you go...eventually.”

They both knew that he was right. Slade could see it in the slump of Dick’s shoulders, the tension in his jaw. He stalked over to the head of the bed and ripped the mask off of his face none too gently.

“How’d you even get into this mess kid?”

Blue eyes blinked up at him. “It was a mistake. It won’t be happening again.”

Slade traced a finger gently across the red mark left by the mask almost absentmindedly, enjoying the uncomfortable look that flickered across Dick’s face.

“Slade,” he said, low and quiet. A warning. Not that he was in any position to be making threats. “Unchain. Me.”

Soft skin beneath his fingers, the burning, steady gaze. Slade couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this turned on. His armour was uncomfortably tight.

“I don’t think so,” he breathed out, savouring the look on Dick’s face - anger and underneath, a sort of uncertain fear. “I paid a lot of money for you pretty bird, I’m going to get something out of this.”

Dick’s eyes widened, his face twisting up and then Slade’s fingers closed around his throat, squeezing. Dick made a choked noise, his mouth opening instinctively, and Slade couldn’t help but lean down and seize that wet, pink mouth for himself.

It was like sparks across his skin. He groaned as Dick wheezed, squirming, and slipped his tongue into Dick’s mouth, licking into the heat of it. His fingers tightened convulsively and then Dick was biting down, blood spilling into both their mouths.

Slade jerked back at the sharp pain of it, releasing Dick who gasped in a desperate breath. He looked wild, chest heaving, eyes wide and blood on his lips.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dick croaked. He twisted against the chains but whoever had secured him had known what they were doing. These weren’t some low grade handcuffs you could just slip out of, they were heavy duty manacles, locked tight around his wrists. Dick wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m taking what’s mine.”

“I’m not yours!” Dick gasped, panicked. Blood trickled down his arm from beneath the manacle but he didn’t seem to notice. It was like watching a pinned bug, trying to flap its wings and escape, but only hurting itself further.

“For now? You are.” Slade brushed a thumb across Dick’s lips, smearing his own blood into the plush skin and Dick jerked his head away with a snarl. Undeterred Slade smoothed his hand downwards, across the flat planes of his chest, rolling a nipple between his fingers. It hardened beautifully beneath his touch. Dick hissed out an angry breath.

“I always knew you were gorgeous, but seeing you like this…” he flicked the nipple and whistled lowly.

“You’re a sick fuck,” Dick spat, “I never thought you’d stoop this low.”

Another flick, another angry hiss, like a cornered cat, or a snake before it struck. “Trust me,” Slade said, “I’ve gone much lower than this.”

If looks could kill Slade would have already been six feet under. As it was he only smiled indulgently and slid his hand lower. Dick sucked his stomach in instinctively, and Slade pressed down on it, feeling the soft give of flesh over muscle. He pressed harder until Dick made a pained noise. The sound of it went straight to Slade’s cock.

He stripped his armour off briskly, but left the clothes underneath. No longer constrained, he reached down and palmed himself, heat curling low in his gut. Dick was watching him, his face pinched, like he’d sucked on something sour. Slade’s cock throbbed.

There was a key to the chains on the desk. Slade picked it up and deftly unlocked the manacle on Dick’s left ankle. As soon as it fell away Dick kicked out, aiming for Slade’s face. But he’d been ready for it and with his other limbs still immobile Dick couldn’t get the proper leverage. He caught the ankle easily and folded his leg down until it was pressed against his chest in a position that looked uncomfortable, would probably be painful for anyone else.

It opened Dick up nicely. Slade pressed in against him, his weight trapping the leg and also forcing a startled breath from Dick. Slade rubbed his still clothed dick against him and enjoyed the brief flicker of panic that Dick wasn’t quick enough to hide.

“Get off me,” he grit out from between clenched teeth. Slade rolled his hips, wanting to get completely naked, to stretch out across Dick’s body and feel all that bare skin against his. But also enjoying the rush of power he felt, fully clothed whilst Dick lay naked beneath him, vulnerable.

Slade couldn’t help his groan, pressing his mouth against Dick’s collarbone. Dick grunted, trying to push his leg out from under him, squirming deliciously.

Despite what Slade had said, he’d never actually raped anybody before. Had never felt the need to hold someone down and force himself on them. And when he’d imagined fucking Dick it had always been consensual. He’d never expected to like this so much. Hadn’t expected the thrill at having Dick so helpless beneath him.

He reached between them, tugging his waistband down just enough to pull his cock out, hissing out a breath as cold air hit his overheated skin. He rutted forwards, his cock sliding across smooth skin and Dick jerked like he’d been struck.

“Slade please,” he said, desperation in his voice like it had only just hit him that this was really happening. Slade bit gently at his shoulder, sucking in a mouthful of flesh. He wanted to mark him up so that he’d never forget that he belonged to Slade.

More squirming, Dick’s voice louder, higher. “Please don’t do this!”

Slade shifted, pressing his hard cock against Dick’s limp one and lifted himself onto his elbows so he could look at Dick’s face.

“You beg so prettily,” he purred, thrusting down so that Dick was jolted across the sheets, the chains rattling. Dick’s face was a picture - desperation and animal fear.

Slade didn’t know what his own expression was, but Dick blinked at it and pressed his lips into a thin line, resignation and then a deep, primal anger igniting in his eyes.

“You’ll regret this,” he said, voice low and trembling. Heat prickled across Slade’s skin.

“I doubt that.”

He bent back over him and bit a deeper mark into the junction of neck and shoulder. Worried at it until Dick made a pained noise and then positioned himself against the soft heat of him.

Dick tensed, inhaling sharply. Slade pulled back enough that he could watch Dick’s face as he pushed in, see the pain and horror and disgust before Dick ground his teeth together, and squeezed his eyes shut.

It was tight. Tight and hot and so good and Slade couldn’t hold himself back from thrusting in hard, the dry friction almost painful.

Dick made a gasping, whining noise and then clenched his jaw so hard Slade was surprised he didn’t crack any teeth. Slade pulled out, pushed back in, groaned at the heat - the electric spark up his spine.

“Good,” he heard himself say, smearing the words into Dick’s skin, and was met with a breathless sob.

His hips were moving on their own, picking up speed. Heavy thrusts pushed Dick into the bed, jolting his body roughly, and Slade could feel a wet heat around his cock as something presumably tore. Dick choked out a cry and the sound spurred Slade on, urging him faster, harder.

The bed was hitting the wall with every thrust, the sharp bang accompanied by breathless noises that were being punched out of Dick. Slade was panting harshly, his own moans falling unbidden. He buried his teeth into Dick’s skin until he bled, over and over, the metal tang only heightening his pleasure. Dick was trembling beneath him, like a bird beneath a cat’s paw.

It rushed up on him, took him by surprise. He buried himself deep, held himself there as he came harder than he ever had before, his nerves singing.

Dick whined as Slade slumped down onto him, panting into his sweat slicked skin. Slade waited until the pressure around his softening cock became uncomfortable before pulling out and sitting back, surveying the mess he’d made of Dick.

He was pale and shaking, his face wet, and his eyes were still scrunched up. He was breathing heavily through clenched teeth, and he was covered in blood. It was dripping down his arms, painted across his neck and chest from the bites, smeared over the pale skin of his inner thighs. When Slade went to tuck himself away there was blood on his cock and speckled across his trousers.

Slade hummed, reaching forwards to brush his fingers over one of the deeper bite marks, still sluggishly bleeding. It was going to scar he noted with satisfaction and a warm, curling pleasure. Dick jerked at the touch, and finally looked at Slade, eyes bright against his washed out skin. Slade lifted his hand and licked Dick’s blood off of his fingers.

“Why?” Dick managed to croak out. He probably wasn’t thinking straight. Slade was a villain, and he’d never made his attraction to Dick a secret. The vigilante should have expected something like this.

Slade grabbed the leg that was still tucked up to his chest - now probably stiff and cramped in position - and tugged it straight. Dick groaned, his leg kicking reflexively but Slade pinned it to the bed.

“Why not?” He shrugged. “I want you, and this was the perfect opportunity to have you.”

Dick’s eyes were shiny as he looked away, his arms going limp in the chains. Slade bent and pressed his mouth against the soft skin of his throat, savouring the frantic flutter of his pulse. Then he pulled back and stood, moving away from the bed to pick up the key to the chains.

Dick watched him warily as the manacles dropped away, wincing as he pulled his arms and legs into a foetal position. Slade tutted and tugged an arm towards him to examine the damage to his wrists, rubbed raw and bleeding.

“You’re a mess kid,” he dropped the arm, and Dick pulled it against his chest, cradling it to him.

“Whose fault is that?” He hissed, glaring at him. Slade was glad to see that the kid still had some fight in him.

“Yeah, yeah, come on pretty bird let’s get out of here,” he stooped to pick him up bridal style and Dick gasped in surprise, shuddering at the contact and twisting away instinctively. He cried out as he fell back against the bed, squirming to get away from Slade.

“I can leave you here, if you’d like,” Slade growled, knowing that he wouldn’t. Dick was coming with him whether he liked it or not.

“I can walk!” Dick snapped, struggling into an upright position. He grimaced, panting, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress tight enough that his knuckles went white. Then he pushed himself up to standing on shaky legs.

“Where are my clothes?”

Slade shrugged, pulling his own armour back on. Dick scowled and wobbled forward a step, turning his face away too slowly to hide his wincing.

“I don’t have time for this,” Slade knocked Dick’s feet out from under him, catching the back of his legs and lifting him into his arms. Dick squawked and flailed against him. Slade could feel the sticky slick of blood where his arm was cradled under Dick’s thighs.

“Put me down!” Dick hissed, squirming angrily, but Slade was ready for him this time and clamped him tight against his chest. “Stop- stop touching me!”

As though Slade hadn’t already touched him, hadn’t claimed his body. Slade scoffed, gripping him tight enough that Dick let out a soft, pained breath.

“Settle down kid, I’ve had my fun,” he carried Dick over to the door, jostling him around so that he could pull it open. One last glance back at the blood-stained sheets sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. And then they were out of the room.

Amelia was nowhere to be seen, but her guards were everywhere. Dick was tense and shaking in his arms, his hands covering himself, and he flushed at the weight of their gazes. Slade bared his teeth at them, his gut heating with possessiveness, but also underneath, a smug sort of satisfaction. They could all see the mess he’d made of Dick, the claim he’d bitten into his skin.

He was glad he’d brought a car and not a bike as he leveraged Dick into the passenger seat. Dick winced as his ass met the leather, shifting in a vain attempt to get comfortable. He should have put a towel down Slade mused. Blood was a bitch to get out.

The area Slade intended as a drop off wasn’t far away. He sent the coordinates to a number he knew would get picked up by the Bat. He had to time it right so that he wasn’t there when Batman showed up but also so that there wasn’t enough time for anyone else to get their hands on Dick.

He pulled Dick out of the car and pushed him down to sitting - his back against a tree - tying his hands behind the wood with rope. Dick made a protesting noise, his knees curling up against his chest. The rope had to be hurting his wrists but his expression was fierce as he glared up at Slade.

“You can’t leave me here like this.”

“Sure I can. I sent Bats a message, he’ll be along soon.”

Dick‘s face pinched, his lip curling. “I meant- I don’t want them to see me like this, I need some clothes.”

Slade smirked, reaching down to cradle Dick’s jaw in one big hand. He looked down the length of his exposed body, causing Dick to shudder and draw his legs closer to him.

“I think you’ll be just fine like this.”

Something flashed in Dick’s eyes, his expression strained.

“Please,” he said and the desperation in his voice was so similar to how he’d sounded as he’d begged Slade to stop that it sent a pulse of heat straight to Slade’s groin. He was surprised to find himself half hard in his armour. He was almost tempted to untie Dick and just take him with him, to keep him for himself, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of an angry Bat on his tail, or trying to keep a determined Nightwing for any amount of time.

“See you soon kid,” he said, enjoying the look of defeat on Dick’s face. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get another chance to have some fun.”

Dick spat at him, eyes bright with fury. Slade only laughed and bent down to press one last, lingering kiss against Dick’s lips, his hand tightening on Dick’s jaw to keep him in place.

It was hard to pull away but the pay off would be worth it. Now there would alway be a little part of Dick that was his and, more importantly, Batman would know, would see it written all over his body.

When he got back in his car the smell of sex and blood still lingered, stains streaked across the black leather. He started the car, watching Dick through the rear view mirror. He’d visibly deflated as soon as Slade was out of view, face crumpling in a moment of vulnerability that Slade knew he wasn’t supposed to be witnessing.

And then Slade got to watch as it hardened, going carefully blank just as a black figure appeared in his mirror. Batman turned to Slade’s car and caught his gaze in the reflection. He started towards him - radiating dark fury - before freezing as Dick said something, his cape sweeping out to block Dick from Slade’s view.

He’d seen enough anyway. Batman would take Dick home and fix him up and Nightwing would be back on the streets in no time at all. Slade felt a low curl of satisfaction and anticipation heat his gut. The next time he saw Nightwing, he was going to have some fun.

#sladerobinweekend2020 #Day 1: Highest Bidder #fanfiction #my writing #dick grayson #slade wilson #sladedick #dcu #tw rape/non-con #tw blood #tw biting

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eerythingisshaka · 5 years

Text

Quit Playin

Yahya Abdul-Mateen II x Reader

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: Smut that makes you go huh?

This is my submission to @sonofnjobu WIP Fic Fest. It’s been sitting in my drafts for a little over a minute and I just hope it comes across as entertaining for you! Its setup is Yahya having the game from his Black Mirror episode and the things that occur because of it.

"It's not like that, i swear!" Yahya exclaims with a laugh he tries but cannot mask..

"Then what is it like!” You screech at him, wiping your face of the stray tear you hate. You aren’t gonna cry about this shit, you swear. But stress makes you teary regardless. “Cuz it seems like you don’t wanna be bothered with a damn thing about me!”

Yahya stares at you for a beat, leaning against the countertop in his relaxed olive green collared shirt tucked into his dark khaki slacks. With his little TWA, he looks like a vintage ad for Fridgaire appliances, square in the middle of a Sears Roebuck catalogue.

“I don’t NOT want you…” He says slowly with too much emphasis on the ‘not’. This revs you up more.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean? You out here doing shoots and shit all day everyday, no you’re back it’s like you on a whole other planet! Is it Nicole Beharie? Cuz I don’t blame you, I would even go after that but fucking tell me!”

Yahya purses his lips together, silently cupping his hands in front of them. He stands up straight and meanders over to you, kissing the top of your forehead.

Your palms smack his biceps, pushing him back off of you. “You not about to distract me, I’m serious!”

Yahya scoffs, rubbing his tender arms. “I see, ok! What else are you planning on doing to me to get my attention?”

You let out an exasperated yell. “Oh, nigga if you only knew what the fuck was going on in my head, you wouldn’t be tempting me.”

Yayha claps his hands twice, firmly planting his feet where he stands and bends over so his torso is almost parallel to the ground, facing you with his arms behind his back.

“Go ahead.”

You put your hands on your hips, pacing the floor. “Don’t fuck with me right now.”

“You have my full and undivided attention. And a face free for you to smack, and you talking yourself down? That’s disappointing, I gotta say.”

“But to what extent do I gotta go to get you here? How long have I asked you for this time? And now I’m angry, so this time is fucking worthless to me. I wanna chill with you, see shit, do new shit, not sit and the house and argue over you and your video games! Fucking hate whoever let you take that from the set.”

Yahya straightens up again, giving his lower back a little rub. “You wanna play me?”

You turn on him quicker than a blink. “You know I don’t give a damn about video games! If I wanted to play a game, I’d say ‘Yah, lemme play real quick. They got 2 player?’ But I haven’t! You know why? Cuz they dumb, repetitive and too complicated for me to find time learning worth it!”

Yayha walks down to the living room, like you haven’t said anything, toward the TV cabinet. “Oh, I see the problem.”

Walking over to the plush sectional, you plop down feeling imminent defeat. “You’re not listening to me at all, I can’t understand you.”

Yahya pulls out a small box, closing the cabinet and turning on the TV. “You just have to see me play, one time.”

He sits next to you, pulling out two clear dots from their container. “Here.”

He holds one in each of his hands out in front of him, eyes wide in expectation of you. If he was wearing black glasses and a trench coat, you’d think he was practicing for a Matrix reboot. You stare from his long hands to him, and back again, feeling yourself begin to soften. Maybe you could try bonding his way, just this one time.

You snatch one out his hands. “Gimme this shit. You stick em on your forehead or what?”

Yahya chuckles as you gets his pair out and puts them on. “You know I don’t have a damn dot on my forehead when I do this. Put it on the side of your face, in line with your eye kind of.”

Once you have the dot placed he takes his controller and pushes a few buttons to navigate to the Start screen.

“Now when I hit Start, we bout to be in the game for real.” Yahya looks over at you all wide eyed like he’s teaching a toddler how to hold their breath underwater.

“...nigga just push the damn button. I don’t get why you makin such a hu-”

You don’t get to finish you sentence before your mind begins to be sucked into a vortex that leaves you catatonic, body falling limply backward against the couch alongside of Yahya’s.

Before you know it, your eyes become accustomed to your surroundings. Looking around, you see many trees, vibrantly green and full of cherry blossoms blowing in the wind. The nearby waterfall fills your ears as your mind races to make sense of things.

“What th-”

“Hey! Whatchu think?!” A voice behind you yells. Your head whips around to see a woman in a blonde wig and an outfit that looked cute but avant garde enough to make you question your safety regarding their mental state.

You swallow hard. “I-I don’t know, I’m just tryna find my man.”

She huffs, working her hands in a circle creating a ball of energy before squatting in a fighting stance. “You’re the only man I see around here.”

You scoff. “I am NOT a man, girl, get your eyes corrected.” You go to do a hair flip for emphasis and find none on your shoulder. You feel the top of your head, expecting to find your wig gone, but you feel neither cap nor curl, only some bone straight short cut you have never had. When your hand shoots to your mouth in shock, the color makes you snatch it back again as it was not your shade of skin. Your hand looked meaty and was wrapped in tape. Your eyes travel to look down at your biceps, hulking and veiny. Strips of cloth hang of your broad shoulders and where titties once were, are now ample pectorals.

“Wh-what the fuck?? Who am I??”

The woman in front of you laughs. “You should see what you look like right now. Scared of your own body...when you should be scared of me.”

Without warning, she sails her energy orb at you, making you put your hands up without thinking. The force of her blow pushes you back making your feet slide against the rocky walkway you stand on. Your eyes slowly open as your heart pounds from the excitement.

The woman laughs, placing her hand on her hip in casual amazement. “Huh! I thought you didn’t pay attention when I played this game.”

You furrow your brow in confusion. “Wait…”

She nods, holding her arms out in a flourish. “Isn’t this cool!? We in the game baby! You see why I can’t stay out of it?”

She smiles widely, running towards you, quicker than humanly possible and takes your hand. “We can walk around and everything. Check this water out. It’s wet AND cold.” She dips down to wave her fingers in the nearby resevoir.

You still standby in amazement, slowly becoming accustomed to the situation. “Yahya?”

She looks back at you giving a nod that despite the racial and gendered differences, really reminded you of him. “It’s me baby. Come feel this water, ain’t it nice?”

You put your hands up. “No way. This is some Harry Potter/Neo bullshit that my Christian ass ain’t here for. Put me back in real life right now!”

Yahya’s character stands up, wiping their hands off on their costume before popping their knuckles. “What if this was my plan all along? Get you in here, and just...stay? Forever?”

You tighten your jaw, balling up your fists. “No way in hell would you do that.”

Yahya looks at you stone faced and still. “Well…”

“YAHYA!” You shout at him, losing every ounce of patience.

Finally they laugh, holding their stomach for emphasis. Another Yahya-ism. “I’m playing babe, you cute when you mad but it’s ridiculous as a dude. We not stuck here forever, I promise. You just gotta say the magic words and we out. Simple.”

You nod fiercely. “Ok, and? What are they?”

Biting their lip, Yahya says, “I’ll tell you...but you gotta fight me for it.”

“Pssh, boy come on and quit playing I’m ready to be done and here you go. I ain’t fighting.”

“You sure?” They shrug, walking towards you to poke your arm. “I mean, you could probably beat me easily. You a big strong dude. I’m the female here, so you got advantage.”

You swipe at them. “I’m not falling for that. You know how to play this game, that’s the problem!”

They reach out to ruffle up your hair. “You beat my ass mashing buttons before, just do that.”

You whip your head back, stepping away with your hands up defensively. “Aight, I’m sick of you pissing me off lately anyway. Come on with it, BITCH.”

The venom in your curse makes Yahya character smile as their hands swirl in a creating an energy orb. You run up on them, sailing through the air with a kick that travels their torso to their face, causing them to stumble.

You feel pretty good until you hear that damn laugh.

“Go off, baby! That was cute!” Yahya bites their lip, stomping the ground that loosens a rock in the pavement right under your feet, knocking you off balance. As you fall through the air, Yahya, sends fists and feet under your back 3, 4, 5, and 6 times until you fall down, clutching your back in pain.

“Fuck! What the hell you do all that for? I knew your bitch ass wouldn’t fight fair.” You curse as the pain begins to subside.

Yahya walks over shaking their head as the blonde hair falls on their face. “It doesn’t last, the pain. I could literally break all your shit, and never have to worry cuz it mends in like three seconds.” They hold their hand out to you to help you up. “You oughta feel fine now. I’ll leave you be if you done though, my bad.”

You sit up and take a deep breath. Just like he said, you feel brand new before you even exhale. You look up at them in their outfit: waist snatched, thighs strong and wrapped in elaborate garters, titties sitting high in their corset leather one piece.

“So now you kicking my ass, and you pick a character finer than me?”

They chuckle, squatting over you. “No way in hell do any fake shit come close to you baby. For all it’s worth, I’m glad I got you here to experience this with me. Complaining be damned.”

Having caught your breath, you feel this pull inside of you that brings your heart to a racing pace. A tug from within you never felt before but it made you ravenous for mischief. As you grabbed their hand, you in turn flipped into a somersault carrying them through the air onto the stone path beneath you both. Yahya gasps, having the wind knocked out of them but you don’t ease up. Before Yahya could get to standing, you straddle them using your newly acquired man weight to pin them down and send a fury of fists into their face. You feel like you’re watching a movie instead of experiencing it firsthand, but the comical pace of blows as Yahya’s character head bops back and forth like a speed bag made this whole experience worth it. That is until a pair of knees hit your back.

As you fly forward, you land face first and before their strong thighs come around your waist and an arm around your neck.

You feel your consciousness beginning to fade. “Yah….”

They breathe heavy in your ear. “Say Uncle.”

You raise your hand off the ground but it feels like a 100 lb weight. “I can’t-”

“Nah actually, say Daddy.” Even as a woman, his chuckle rang true, making you livid. You gather as much strength as you can muster to bring yourself to all fours, in a kind of parasitic piggyback ride. Their grip tightens as you move, but suddenly a force fills you. You grip the ground underneath you, clawing your nails into the stone as the energy boils.

“Come on, say-” Before Yahya could answer your back arches as a howl comes from deep within and your eyesight turns white. You hear a wretched thud behind you and use it to follow your prey. Yahya’s character sits limply against a boulder as you bound toward them lifting their head to make room for your hand against their throat. They feel weightless in your hand as you raise them up higher and higher as their feet hovers above the ground. Yahya’s character opens their eyes and you step closer to them, nose to nose as you grip their neck.

“How’s that feel now, Daddy?” You say, hearing yourself with a manly tone of voice sent shivers down your spine as you held control. Your muscles flex under your authoritative hold, arousing your interest at its highest point since you got in the game

Yahya’s hands grip your bicep as they wrap their legs around your waist tightly. “It feels...alright,” he chokes out with a small grin.

You snort as you study the face of his character: cheekbones riper than autumn apples, flush from the fight. They keep licking their lips and stroking your bicep before you notice the slow grind against your pelvis.

Yahya continues. “You wanna beat me up some more?”

Your grip weakens when a new sensation crops up between you two. It’s not like anything you’ve known before. Your mind kept getting distracted from the task at hand.

“Is the fight...over? Did you hit pause or- something?” You stutter as your hips move before your can think about it, making a gasp slip from your mouth. The soft warmth that rubbed against your groin was so tempting.

Your hand comes off their neck and rests against the rock you had Yahya’s character pinned against.

“It ain’t over until we say it is.” The character’s voice is raspier, breathy. You run your nose and lips across their clavicle. Their hand reaches for the sash keeping your pants up.

You wince as the fabric feels tighter in front. “I don’t feel so good. It’s like I’m cramping up or something.”

Yahya’s character bites their lip, shaking their head. “You ok, that’s just how it is for guys. Getting hard is fucking torture til you find something to do with it.”

As their hand reaches for it, you feel a sharp shock to your nerve endings, making you seize up and grip their thighs hard.

“Ohhh shit, why’d you do that?” You wail.

Their grip tightens as their hand runs the length of your shaft. “It’s ok, I swear it’s gonna feel nice.”

“It’s not that, I just...I don’t wanna wait no more.” You growl primitively as you find the garments between their legs and rip it apart, exposing herself to you.

“Fuck, babe, slow down!” Yahya’s character exclaims, grabbing onto your shoulder in surprise.

The whole lead up is a blur. You couldn’t think about what you were doing as a guy figure about to manhandle a woman who also happens to be your boyfriend because nothing would satisfy you more than diving into that pussy at that moment. You pull you character’s dick out with ease, lining up your head to their opening.

“Shit, Yahya. You better breathe bitch.” You scoff holding onto your member to ready yourself. Yahya’s characters breathing and moans in anticipation stoked your fire, making you way less patient for foreplay. Soon as you felt wetness, X marked the spot.

When you began to enter them, you swore your mind just went to another dimension besides the one you currently were in. You felt like you just flew into the center of a hot honey butter roll on Thanksgiving night while sopping up the leftover gravy. The warmth around you followed by the heartbeat of the pussy around your dick sent your knees to buckle.

“Fuuuck.” Yahya’s character exclaims as you push into them every inch you can must before hitting a barrier, making Yahya’s character tense up.

“It’s ok, go ahead.” He reassures you, kissing your neck and jaw while rubbing your back.

You needed no other encouragement as you pulled your hips back and began to swim. The sounds of you churning them out became your applause, goading you.

“You feel...like a fucking payday...a day early…” You gasp as your senses reach their peak. It felt so good, but you still didn’t feel peace. If anything, the more you stroked, the more erratic you became. You searched the rock for a grippable surface and when none was found you turned to their character instead. You wrapped your arms around their back, putting them into a bear hug as you bounced them off your thighs, gaining deeper access.

Yahya’s character is a blubbering mess, beggin you to go harder, deeper, faster, and that was a challenge you refused to back away from. You wanted them to feel you entirely, smacking their ass when they got too quiet, pulling their hair when they seemed too tired, picking up the pace when they were becoming too dominant. Nothing was going to keep you from waxing the whole level with their ass.

As any superhero, you began to grow weary. The ferocity that consumed you began to falter as a wave of pressure built in you, making you nervous.

“Yah, I’m feeling something different.” You moan as your stomach tightens up, feeling a throbbing pressure.

Character hair in disarray, Yahya pushes it back, speaking between gasps. “You about to cum, babe?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know, I don’t usually feel like this when I do.”

“It’s different as a guy....don’t fight it. That will hurt, promise you.”

You nod as you close your eyes, feeling them tighten around you even more.

“You feel so good in me baby, let me have all of you. I want it all baby, fill my pussy up baby.” Yahya kept giving you erotic Hallmark message to let you know just how they needed it. The pressure became overwhelming and like a lightning striking a tree, the roll of thunder barreling from your balls up your shaft and out left you stiff as a board. Your toes curled as you felt yourself being pumped dry as Yahya’s character squealed in satisfaction, hugging you tightly. You felt yourself move, but no more than a snail’s pace, out of fear you may fall over from weakness. Your sensitivity heightened you didn’t dare try to continue, opting to pull out once you felt yourself finish, putting Yahya’s character down before falling to your knees. Yahya’s character laid out right next to you, smiling joyfully.

“And THAT’s why I can’t get enough of this game. You experience shit you can’t in the real world. I never thought I’d get you to do that.”

You huff looking over at them. “That was so damn different...YOu never let me lead like that before...And you were so….vocal.”

They shrug. “I can’t help it when I’m like this. Female orgasms are damn drugs. My whole body lights up, and I don’t feel like vampire just took my soul after. Without a doubt good shit.”

You put your stuff back in your pants in awe of what just happened. “And I never knew I could take over you like that. Like...I was you just now. And you were me.”

Yahya smirks. “Exit game,” disappearing.

You look around in a panic. “Uh, EXIT GAME!”

Your body lurches forward as you catch your breath, feeling Yahya rubbing you back.

“You alright? It’s over I promise.” He says with concern. “I didn’t mean to shake you up like that.”

You feel relief hearing his real voice turning to give him a big hug, almost knocking him backwards.

Yahya’s laughs muffle into your shoulder. “Damn baby. Some of the game ain’t left you.”

You lean back and peer into his face. “I don’t want that part to leave me just yet.”

Yahya blinks in amazement as he grips your waist. “That didn’t turn you off from me? With the characters and me being a girl in there and-”

You shake your head. “It just showed me how much I can do to you and how good you can make me feel in a way I could’ve never asked you to show me.”

He licks his lips nodding slowly. “No limits to that.”

You smile, fitting yourself over his lap. “So we can fall off a mountain while I fuck falling to the ground? Or fuck you thru a glass window and roll you over in the shards and-”

Yahya quirks an eyebrow up. “I’m returning that thing tomorrow!”

#yahya abdul mateen ii #fic #black mirror #its my first fic posting in four months. be kind lo #wip fic fest #shakafic

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chwrpg · 4 years

Text

If you want your ear pierced, I'll do it. -- Storm Harris

Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold. -- Javier Castillo

A NOTE FROM ADMIN B: Erin, back at it again with bringing much wanted characters to the dash! We’ve been holding onto these apps for a long while now, so we figured it fair to let you loose with both of them.

OOC NAME/ALIAS, PREFERRED PRONOUNS, AGE & TIMEZONE:

whaddup it’s ya girl E$, i’m way too old but i’m still going by she/her and living in the EST

DESIRED CHARACTER:

Storm Harris

HOW ACTIVE WILL YOU BE?

at least an 8/10 unless otherwise stated

SECONDARY CHOICE:

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER:

Storm is someone who will survive regardless of the circumstances in her path. She found her way out of her childhood home when she needed to, a job that paid the bills and a little more, and now a house with a found family that isn’t perfect but is a good step above what she’d known before. Loyalty is important to her but only when it’s been earned. She wouldn’t feel loyal to her parents nor would she feel it toward anyone who proves to her that they don’t respect her or those she cares about. What she truly wants is to belong somewhere and to be loved in the way she always wanted her parents to love her, though they never could.

SAMPLE WRITING:

“Watch out for the asshole in section two. He likes to use his hands but not for tipping.”

Storm rolled her eyes as the dancers backstage gossiped about their customers for the night and how much they were or weren’t paying. There were assholes who felt entitled to tough the dancers every night the same way there were idiots looking to empty their wallets on a hands-free lap dance for the right dancer; they were working in a strip club and they’d all been there long enough to know this all came with the territory.

She’d given up on understanding the why behind everything and was simply focused on the what— specifically, what was coming home in her back pocket and how much of it there was. The only thing that perked her up and stopped her from touching up in the mirror was news of a big spender so she tuned out of the conversation until she heard her name cut through the white noise.

“Roger’s not here tonight, or he got beat to his seat if he is.” her friend told her. Another voice layered on top of that, “What the fuck? I try to dance for him every time he’s here and he’s never looked twice at me!” Yet another, “I’ve never seen him so close to the stage.”

It was too much to ignore. Storm set her powder brush down and peeked around the curtain to look where her regular Friday night high-roller sat. Indeed, Roger was not in his usual seat. Instead, Ace Claymore was in his spot looking too pleased with himself for her liking. He was always so smug and he loved to watch but never tipped. “Fuck this.” She groaned as she turned back to her vanity. “What did I do to deserve this shit?” She asked of no one in particular. Friday was one of her biggest nights and now it looked like she’d be going home with nothing to show for her work.

Her name was being called from outside their dressing room door and she knew it was still her turn to dance. Regardless of how much money she’d make she still had a job to do.

The cheers of her other regulars and some random additional voices had her skin vibrating and she pushed all negativity out of her mind, ignoring Ace while she danced for the ones she knew would tip her, paying special mind to those who couldn’t tip as high but still looked at her like she was god’s gift to the earth.

When she couldn’t avoid him any longer, Storm’s eyes locked with Ace’s. He was devastatingly handsome but this wasn’t the place for her to care about his looks. He was a wallet and nothing more. The audience clapped and cheered for her when the song ended and thus began her walk around the audience to try and sell private dances. So why was it she couldn’t seem to pull herself away from Ace Claymore once he struck up a conversation with her under the pretense of getting to know her better? He met each one of her verbal blows with a quick-witted response that seemed to only be able to make her smile instead of walking off like she knew she should.

ANYTHING ELSE?

1985, Bowling for Soup (2004), no awards of which to speak

---

OOC NAME/ALIAS, PREFERRED PRONOUNS, AGE & TIMEZONE:

y'already know what it is

DESIRED CHARACTER:

Javier Castillo

HOW ACTIVE WILL YOU BE?

8/10

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER:

Javier is mostly a pure, kind little bean who doesn’t want any trouble. He just wants to graduate college with honors and help the world– namely, people who grew up in similar circumstances as himself. With all of that said, he has proven time and again that he doesn’t back down when one of his own was threatened. He’s a sweet baby angel who will go to bat for every single person he loves which includes every member of the Greasers. They are his family just as much as his father are and much more than his mother was and they were there for him whenever he needed them regardless of the fact that he still refused to join up. He has a deep loyalty to those who he considers to be family and disagreements or differing opinions can’t get in the way of that.

SAMPLE WRITING:

It was a day Javier had been both dreading and looking forward to for over a year. When he found out he’d gotten accepted to Rosewood Academy on a full scholarship it was one of the proudest days of his life. It was also one of the few days he could remember his father cracking a smile and saying more than a few nods and grunts of approval for something he’d done. He apparently had high hopes for Javier to get out of the lifestyle he’d grown up living even though he’d never voiced them until that day. His father was adamant about not being ashamed of the work he did or the people he ran with and they would always be part of their family, but he thought Javier could do more with his life than he had with his. That conversation with him was running through his mind as he straightened his shirt for the thousandth time in the backseat of the Cruz’s car.

Perrie’s parents gushed about Diego’s time at Rosewood most of the ride there and told them they were going to love it so many times Javier almost forgot the reality of what they would be walking into. These kids – their new peers – were rich and stuck up and would most likely hate them simply because they came from the other side of the tracks. It would be an adjustment but for the opportunities a diploma from Rosewood presented it would be worth it. He looked over at Perrie and a small smile turned his lips upward just slightly. He’d be fine as long as he had Perrie with him.

“Thanks for the ride.” Javier smiled at the people who were like a second set (a more functional set) of parents to him, and he got out of the car. “You ready? How bad can it be, right?” Javier shrugged and tried to be optimistic as he looked at his best friend and they started up the path to the front doors. They had to take tours and had their schedules already handled during orientation so at least they wouldn’t be lost freshmen at the preppy school where most people would think they didn’t belong. They got some looks, more than a few, from people who sized them up. Most of them were older and bigger than the boys on the other ends of the glances so Javier was more nervous about them than anything. Once in a while someone looked their way with something closely resembling fear and Javi wanted to laugh.

The day was uneventful for the most part, his teachers seemed fine and the classes would be harder and more rigorous than he was used to but he was positive he could handle the work load. People had gotten over the shock of new kids they didn’t know or grow up with from earlier but he hadn’t exactly made any new friends either. Thankfully he and Perrie had the same lunch period so they sat together and Javier reasoned that they’d be fine if they kept low profiles and just hung out with each other here.

A couple of older jock-types hassled them toward the end of the period and Javier stayed quiet through it all. He thought he was in the clear when they gave up, laughing and looking back at them the whole way, but two of them caught up to him before he left that day and made sure he ‘knew his place’ by reminding him where he came from. It didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would but he’d been picturing a much worse first day so he still left in a good enough mood and he promised himself he’d make it through the next four years without ever giving one of those assholes the satisfaction of a response.

ANYTHING ELSE?

19-19-1985

#accepted #submission

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the-council-of-new-york-vampires · 5 years

Note

Okay so I keep rereading your Priya x Mc things and I just gotta say “I need more” Your writing is wonderful.

Out of Character:

Thank you so much!! ❤️

Your message was kinda special to me, and I love that pairing too. Therefore, I thought about the couple’s purely sexual dynamic, and wanted to write something special for you too. 😊

I want to see how this develops. It’s not sexual, but it’s a turning point in their relationship. 👀

Amy walked in confidently, feeling a hundred times more relaxed than she had felt the last time she had been here. Meeting Priya Lacroix - casually walking over to her house - had become more of a normality, and Amy was grateful for that. Actually, the two had even agreed on meeting this day!

However, when Amy was let in, she took in the chaos. While there were usually very few people in the foyer, there were now a bunch of them. Several dogs, houseboys, Priya even, standing around. Apparently, this wasn’t a normal day…

Carefully, she approached Priya, turned away from Amy, who was wearing a tight dress - as usual -, six inch heels - as usual -, commanding men around - as usual. “Hey, Priya.”

“No, not like that.”

“…Priya?”

“More to the left.”

“…Priya?”

“Ugh. Are you stupid?”

“Priya!”

Finally, she turned around to her guest. Priya’s critically raised eyebrow turned into a facial expression that displayed surprise. “Amy?”

“Hey.” Amy smiled - and hugged Priya. She had no idea how a hug could feel more intimate than sex, but with Priya it did, and Amy found that fascinating.

“What are you doing here?”

Amy’s eyes widened. “You invited me? Remember?”

“When, last year?”

Calm, Amy, calm… “Uh, no? Like, three days ago?”

“Ah well. I don’t remember that.”

Her face did show a bit of sorrow. “…Oh.”

Priya, however, seemed relatively careless. “Yea.”

It was then that a houseboy interrupted. “Priya? Is it good like that?”

She turned to him again, Amy as well… and the two were facing a man trying to adjust a massive picture - of a chihuahua.

Suddenly, Priya got angry. “I said not like that!”

He adjusted it slighty to the left. “Better?”

“No. It’s a disaster!”

“But-”

“You’re a disgrace, Sergio.”

Finally, Amy asked, “Priya, what is going on here?”

“It’s Jean-Claude’s birthday.”

Amy gaped. “No way.”

“Yes way. Obviously, I’m planning a party.”

“For today?”

“Nah, for the weekend.”

Amy grinned. “That’s so cute.”

It was then that someone rang the doorbell. Immediately, a horde of tiny dogs rushed forward, all of them barking! A houseboy opened to reveal a man, carrying a massive cake. “An order for Priya Lacroix?”

“Bring it in!” Priya ordered.

The houseboy by the door took the cake from the man, who saw it fitting to leave again, and tried to make his way to Priya. Yet, the dogs were blocking his way, still barking. “Out of the way!” he scolded them.

Priya was as patient as always. “Are you making it today or next week?”

He made it towards her with slow steps, the dogs seemingly demanding to inspect the cake.

“Ugh. Hurry up!”

Under pressure, he kept scolding them. “Out of the way!”

Then, it happened: In the wrong moment, as he was moving his foot, Jean-Claude was in the way - and he kicked him! The dog whimpered in pain.

It was then that Priya gasped! The whole room was suddenly silent.

He faced her with wide eyes, gaping. “I-I’m sorry. I swear, the little guy was in my way! I never meant to-”

In a heartbeat and with red eyes, Priya was on him! She grabbed him by his t-shirt and held him up, pressing him against the wall! “What did you say?!” Her sharp fangs were only an inch away.

“P-please… Don’t-Don’t kill me…” he begged, his facial expression as fearful as it could possibly be.

It was a sudden movement when Priya’s arm outstretched, throwing him into a corner!

He landed roughly, blood dripping from his head!

But Priya wasn’t done. She approached him with big steps and placed her high-heeled foot on his chest. “Who you think you are to kick my dog?!”

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I didn’t mean to.”

Her hand reached out for his throat and she held on to force him back up, onto his knees. “You despicable piece of shit!” She held him eye to eye. “If I ever lay my eyes on you again, I will rip your balls off and force-feed them to you! Understood?!”

He was shaking in fear. “Y-y-yes…”

“Good.” Priya dragged him after her until they were standing in front of the open door. “And now…” She turned him around… “piss the hell off!” and kicked his ass!

The young man was kicked onto the sidewalk!

It was then that Priya slammed the door shut, eyes on her houseboys. “Clean this shit up!”

Amy watched how the men were rushing forward to clean up the cake from the floor as well as the previous houseboy’s blood stains.

“Sergio, who’s next on my list?” Priya asked, still visibly annoyed, as she picked up her Jean-Claude.

“Uh…” He pulled out a piece of paper from his jeans. “Harry Ford.”

“Invite him. I want him here in an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When, finally, the aggressive atmosphere got a little calmer, Amy approached Priya who was petting Jean-Claude, his tail wagging. “Priya, uh… I think I should leave.”

Priya sighed, sitting down on a mini sofa. “Actually… You can stay. You can help me choose.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Choose what?”

“Henris Cord-”

“Harry Ford?”

“Uh, yeah. Whatever.”

“Who is he?”

“A candidate.”

Amy was in the obvious need of an explanation…

It was then that Priya grinned. “You think I choose my houseboys randomly or what?”

Amy gaped. “You have castings for them?”

“Of course.”

Wow. “Omg.”

“Omg is right.” Her grin was yet present.

Amy looked back at the men who were cleaning the past houseboy’s blood off of the floor… and wondered if Harry Ford really wanted this job.

About an hour later, Amy and Priya were sitting in the living room, alone, on two chairs. It was then that a man walked in. He was tall, handsome, muscular. “Hey, girls. Name’s Harry.”

Amy’s eyes widened. It were exactly those type of guys that had had three girlfriends at once in high school.

Priya grinned. “Sexy.”

He stood before them, asking, “So, what do I have to-”

“Strip.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Strip,” she repeated.

“Uh… okay…” He began to strip for them, taking his time. Harry took his shirt off, his pants… and stopped when he was only wearing underwear.

“I’d say, like, mediocre.” She looked at Amy.

“Uh… It was good, I guess?”

“Do you like what you’re seeing, Priya?” He flexed his muscles, wearing an arrogant smirk.

“I don’t know,” she said calmly. “I haven’t seen my fav part yet.”

He did seem a bit surprised. “You want me to-”

“Pants off.”

“Oh… Really? Okay.” He took his boxers off.

Amy’s eyes widened. She had expected her day to be spend in Priya’s bed. Now, she was actually sitting next to her, fully dressed, inspecting and rating a man’s dick. At least, Priya wasn’t making this embarrassing…

“How long is it?”

…Nevermind.

“It’s eight inches.”

Priya laughed. “No way!”

“It is.”

“I can recognize eight inches when I see them, sweetheart. That’s six at most.”

He grinned. “I know how to handle it.”

“No matter. I have my standards.”

Harry was shocked. “What?”

Priya faced Amy. “Seriously, would you fuck that loser?”

For a moment, Amy was silent. Then, she spoke her mind. “Priya, I… I think it’s wrong to rate them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shouldn’t you judge their personalities?”

Priya seemed utterly perplex. “Uh?? No?”

“I wouldn’t judge someone’s genitals. And, no, I wouldn’t have sex with him. Because I barely know him.”

Priya pouted. “That’s cute.”

The guy asked, smirking, “Where can I sign?”

“Uh, the door is there,” Priya pointed.

“Seriously?” He scowled at her. “Is that a joke?”

“You’re the joke. Bye.”

Angrily, he put his clothes on - and left.

“Priya…” Amy faced her. “Have men rated you like that?”

“Yea.”

“So, why are you- Wait. What?”

Priya’s pout was yet present. “Amy, life isn’t sunshine and rainbows. And if I’m a sexy, rich and powerful woman, I may as well allow myself the freedom to choose who gets to fuck me.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Have…?” She shook her head. “It almost sounds like men have rated your worth based on shallow criteria.”

“Men are pigs.”

Amy’s face was sad. “Not all.”

“Yeah, all.”

…Maybe she had collected bad experiences with one of her houseboys?

“Men just want to fuck. They are shallow as hell. So why are women judged when they want the same? Women have a sex drive too, you know? And they deserve to get their needs met.”

“I… agree.”

“See? It’s not that hard, huh?” Her usual grin was missing.

“…It seems like you have colleced bad experiences with men?”

“Nah.”

“No?”

“I just know what men really want.”

“Oh…” Amy was uncomfortable. Seeing Priya that serious was unusual, yet fascinating.

“Yea.” Priya grabbed a tiny cup of tea and started drinking. In a way, this woman was iconic.

Amy grinned. “That’s the tea.”

Priya laughed.

It was then that Amy remembered the annoyance of the sound… and how much she had missed it. She felt like she had started exploring an ocean… and now, she wanted to dive deeper. To see what was hiding in the dark. To find her sunken treasures. “Priya, are you… always in the mood for sex?”

“I’m not some kind of robot.”

Amy laughed. Never before had Priya seemed so humane. “And you think men are?”

“Men are selfish. Now it’s my turn to be.”

“Is that why you degrade them?”

Priya grinned. That predatory smile… it was back. “Degrade them, huh?”

“Yeah. Like… whip them, spank them… They are practically your slaves.”

“That’s the only thing they’re good for.”

Amy gaped. Even for Priya, that answer seemed harsh. “They’re human beings. With a dignity and soul.”

“I don’t care.” There was something cold in her eyes.

It was quiet until Amy asked, looking at Priya, “Did men traumatize you? Sexually?”

Priya rolled her eyes, seemingly annoyed. “Oh, Amy, you really piss me the hell off.”

“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked…”

“Then why did you?”

“I just… Honestly? I want to know why you are like that.”

“Like what? I am the way I am. Are you some psycho?”

“No…”

“Then leave me the hell alone.”

“I won’t ask again. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.”

Amy promised, “You can always talk to me.” She wanted her to know.

Apparently, Priya took offence in that. “I don’t want to. Why the hell would I talk to you?”

She faced the ground. “I… I just thought there was something. Between us. I don’t know what our past meetings were for you, but they meant so much to me. I was at home, thinking of you. Every day.”

For a long time, Priya was quiet.

Facing her, Amy pinned a hair strand behind Priya’s ear. This alone was meaningful.

Finally, an answer. “I thought of you too.”

Amy gaped. “Really?”

“Yeah. But I like to block feels out.”

“Priya…” She pulled her into a hug. It was the only right thing to do.

“You can’t change me, Amy.”

“No,” she said. “But I can try to heal you.”

#priya lacroix #bloodbound #choices: stories you play #choices #bb #priyamy

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marmelade-sky-reading · 6 years

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Book Recs: Queer Lit, pt. II (fantasy)

Here is part II of my lgbtqia+ book recs. Unfortunately, some of these books aren’t exclusively gay, but feature a main or very important side character who isn’t straight. We need more gay fantasy books!

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard Trilogy by Rick Riordan Magnus is a homeless teenager who’s been living on the streets of Boston ever since his mom died. His only living relative, Uncle Randolph, is the man his mother always warned him about- and so Magnus makes sure to stay away from him. But when a maneuver to avoid his uncle goes wrong, Magnus falls right into his Uncle’s hand. Soon, Magnus has to find out that his life is about to get even more tangled up... with Norse Gods, wolves and a bunch of the strangest people he’s ever met. I love Rick Riordan’s books A LOT. The Magnus Series is not only written in a way that will keep you invested in the disaster that is Magnus Chase’s life, but also super diverse. There’s several POC characters, muslim characters (hijabi, too), a deaf character, pansexual, gay and genderfluid characters. Magnus himself is a sweetheart, and his friends (and his love interest! ♥) are witty, funny and smart. The books are more on the middle-grade side of the spectrum, but they aren’t childish at all.

Trials of Apollo Series by Rick Riordan Another Riordan one. I just love his books. Apollo- god of music, healing and lots of other fun stuff- has angered his father, Zeus. It’s not like it’s the first time that has happened- but this time, Zeus has enough and casts Apollo down from Olympus. Apollo, now a lanky teenage boy with a face full of zits- lands in New York, where he has to survive on his own, trying to find people who can help him to regain his father’s favour and be allowed back into Olympus. It’s like every time Riordan writes another series, it gets gayer. Apollo is VERY bisexual- and it’s not just, like, mentioned in passing; no, it’s explained, and he keeps checking out guys the same way he checks out girls. And he isn’t just the only queer character in the series.

Carry On by Rainbow Rowell Simon Snow is the worst Chosen One to ever have been chosen. But if he won’t fight the Insidious Humdrum, the monster who leaves holes in the magical athmosphere, who else will? At least Simon has his know-it-all best friend Penny, and his girlfriend Agatha... even if she seems to grow more and more interested in Simon’s arch enemy Baz lately... Speaking of Baz, why hasn’t he shown up at the start of the school year? So, this basically reads like fanfic. But high quality, slow burn fanfic. It’s Rainbow Rowell’s take on the “Chosen One” trope- leaning especially heavy on Harry Potter. Simon is just... relateable as fuck, and the story is funny, magical and, in parts, heart-wrenching. Highly recommended.

Wolfsong (Green Creek Series) by TJ Klune Ox Matheson’s dad left when Ox was twelve. What Ox remembers best about him was one lesson his father taught him: Ox isn’t worth anything, and people will never understand him. Ox lives his life with that in mind- until he meets a strange boy on the way home- a boy with a lot to talk about, a stone statue of a wolf, and a family who is unlike other families. Okay so. The story is very unconventional in its set-up. The writing isn’t the most perfect I’ve ever read, but it’s fine. Some stuff in the book is a little cliché, and some things made me cringe a bit. But all in all, it’s a very entertaining book- what came to my mind when I had finished it was “basically the good parts of Twilight, just gayer”.

Captive Prince Trilogy by C.S. Pacat (Okay, I know some people have issues with this series- and I do understand why these issues exist. There is going to be a seperate post about this trilogy, so please don’t hate on me for including it.) Damen is a warrior hero to his people, and the rightful heir to the throne of Akielos. But when his half brother seizes power, Damen is captured, stripped of his identity, and sent to serve the prince of an enemy nation as a pleasure slave. His new master, beautiful, manipulative prince Laurent has to deal with his own country’s tangle of politics and intrigues, and soon, the two have to work together more than either of them would like to. Well. The writing, characterization and world-building is preeeeeetty good. If you’re okay with a story that is problematic in a lot of areas, and if you occasionally enjoy a bit of, well, trashy smut, this is the perfect trilogy for you. I read it in the summer, on vacation, which it was perfect for.

The Raven Cycle Series by Maggie Stiefvater Her whole life, Blue Sargent- the girl who lives with a family of psychics and likes to make her own clothes- has been told that her true love will die when she kisses him. His whole life, Richard Campbell Gansey III -the boy who wears boat shoes and whose mom is a republican senator- has been searching for a dead welsh king who saved his life. Then there’s Gansey’s friends Ronan and Adam, one sharp like a knife, the other one trying hard not to give up, and Noah, the boy with the smudged face. And it seems like their fates are tangled, in one way or another. AAAAAAAA!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!, is all I can say. Must read. I don’t want to say too much, but, like... no-one in this series is truly straight, I’m convinced.

The Rest of Us just live Here by Patrick Ness Ghosts, zombies, aliens- Mikey’s high school has seen it all. And of course, there’s always those kids who end up fighting the monsters. But what about the kids who are not? What about the ones who just want to graduate in peace? The ones who are just trying to live their lives? Another unconventional take on a popular trope- the teenage hero. Mikey is NOT a hero- he’s just a normal guy with OCD. Diversity is very high in this book: neurodiversity, racial diversity, sexuality. However, I have to mention that it’s not one of the books with a gay main character.

Shades of Magic Series by V.E. Schwab In four worlds with four different Londons- one black and dead, one white and dying, one red and alive, and one grey and unsuspecting- there once lived plenty of Antari- magicians who are able to change between those four worlds, those four Londons. But now, only two are left: Kell, who comes from Red London and is tired of being nothing but an ambassador, and Holland, who comes from white London and is tired of the ever-changing string of queens and kings trying to rule his world. Again, another one in which the main character isn’t queer- but as the story goes on, it becomes more and more gay via side characters who get their own POV. The writing is beautiful and has a great flow to it, and the story and worldbuilding is A+.

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kurojiri · 5 years

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How about a ballad or two (if you wouldn’t mind)

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Tom Riddle/ Luna Lovegood; Daphne Greengrass/ Pansy Parkinson Summary: When Luna Lovegood came to his life, Tom didn't want ever want to go back to the days when he didn't know her. A/N: @tunavibes Additional Tags: Muggle AU, No Magic, Modern AU, Rich society, arranged marriage, dysfunctional family, music, dance, secret romance, angst, happy ending, Musician Tom, Dancer Luna Word Count: 10,407 Or Read on Ao3 or ffnt

“I love you, I love you alone. Truth cannot be destroyed: time has no effect upon it.”— Simone de Beauvoir, from The Woman Destroyed, transl. Patrick O'Brian (Pantheon, 1987)

They had met before.

Sometime ago, when Tom had been a novice piano player. During the days when he had thought he had it all together. Tightly bound, and without any other reason to believe it would change.

His fingers had bled and ached. But he had remembered it; the frosty ice that plunged into his bare skin, when the night had been young, and she had been his light of hope. Her body had been shorter, younger, and somehow far wiser before her years even back then. Tom had not yet known what she meant when she told him that they would see each other more often.

He could, at the time, feel how her arms and body moved to hold him securely as they made their way to the closest convenience store. She had grasped his hands with care, while he had watched her clean them when she had bought a first aid kit with too much experience. It hadn't taken long for her chatty mouth to keep him company, even if he never asked for it. She just had been the kind of stranger that loved foolishly and completely for animals and stringing her empathy to people that greeted her. They had been younger, but Tom had always wondered why her. Why did he allow a stranger that could have been assumed to be loony to mend his wounds.

He didn't thank her that night verbally.

Not that it looked like she minded. She just had been funny in how she calmed his soul. So quickly, so randomly that it made him feel as if he was losing his rationality.

He didn't ask for her name, and she didn't ask for his either; they just heard the ice freeze the snow into place. They had made an odd pair. With Tom's custom dinner jacket dirty from blood, while, Luna's had been wearing common clothing with the material that had been aged by constant use. His black trousers and coat had not given him much warmth, he hadn't bothered to grab a thicker coat or a muffler when he had left the reception. He couldn't really regret it since his own bones felt numb. That had been his own saving grace that someone like her had turned up.

She had bought two cups of hot tea, and while he didn't like the quality his body did appreciate her efforts. Besides her one-sided conversation Tom had figured that he would have to call his parents soon. But back then and now, he would try to feel his body regain some purpose and focus.

It had started when he looked at her. Tom had known that in that day, she had come from out of nowhere. A total surprise and rarity from his life. That had been the very conception of his life pivoting into a new corner.

Back then, he hadn't known about it, but she had changed him. Gave a new concept of seeing his life as something more. It had reminded him about his childhood had that been vacated, with a mother that had obsessed in loving her husband and son. The same woman that had always monitored who he interacted with, how he talked, stood and behaved. How he had an estranged father that did not, nor would ever love him or his mother. The coldness he learned from him, and Tom had hated how vicious he had become with his emotions.

He had always known he was a monster. Even if his mother praised him. Or when he felt like his facade had felt like it had been working.

But the girl he met that night, she had poked, and ultimately had accepted his entire being. All before they knew each other's real friendship, mind you. (Or so, Tom had first thought when he had walked away from that night.)

She had graced her presence the following weekend. Her hair had been combed, maintained and had been transformed into a braided crown. Her skin, still pale, had a light blush. But when her lips had opened, her words had still evoked a breath from within his soul; it had frozen him. Her silver eyes had a sharp gleam in them, unlike the previous night.

(He liked it.)

Her parents had been dressed well, but Tom had known that his own parents hadn't been that impressed. The Lovegoods had been known in their circles for a couple of generations, just like how the Gaunt and Riddles had been. But they, Xenophilius and Pandora Lovegood had stripped some of their traditions that his mother and father did not agree with. It had brought some of the more gossip chatter to brew into his view. That night he couldn't stop looking at how lovely she had been.

The transformation had not been that drastic to cause him to lose all his breath, but it had only reinforced that she had been a lovely vision, regardless of her outfits or decor she kept within her body. A natural beauty that felt timeless and visionary.

Someone that intrigued Tom for unconventional pretenses.

When she had told him that her name was Luna, Tom couldn't help but agree to her naming. She had been pale, and lovely like the moon. She was dotty, but it had not bothered him like how other girls acted before. It had been a new different. A plane of existence that he could see to wrap his dull days. It could have been better if he had danced with her.

But when his mother gave him her infamous long glare he didn't push it. She never liked when he acted before her. Nor when they had been in the middle of an open room with too many eyes watching them. She clung to his father and kept Tom in a tighter invisible lease. He couldn't wait until his holiday was over.

School had been his only escape from her.

With the dancing portion still at play, Tom had made due with his time as few peers had walked over to his station. Small mercies were given when he had people around him. It had made it easier to pretend his role. And, for his mother to pay less attention to him when his father had to keep her company. That had helped him to breath temporally.

(Her dancing figure had flooded his dreams soon after their second encounter.)

He knew it had been trouble when he felt his mother's glare and his father's low voice to cease his daydreaming. It hadn't been like he meant to zone out.

It had been out of character of him to seem distracted, but somehow Tom had found his mind to be fuzzy. A blurry mess when he had watched the same group of people sit, eat and pretend to be superior to others. It had been a game Tom did not want to continue.

Maybe in another life he would have been ambitious to be the best heir of his family. To live accordingly by becoming a perfect Lord that his mother wanted and one his father expected; but in this one, Tom wanted to be fulfilled differently. His heart yearned for other pleasures.

To have meaning when he woke up. Or to feel vaguely satisfied in his future career. Instead, what he had been received were his parents' cold touches and a colder building that he been forced to call home. Tom wanted more. And if he wanted to be happy meant for him to be greedy, then so be it.

They had unofficially met for a thrice time in his school. The morning snow had almost blinded him when he stepped out of his ride. She had been in the midst of the early crowd, dressed in the same uniform he'd always seen for past couple years since he had been admitted. Her hair had been let down, and her shoes had been worn down. In the mix of rich girls that flaunted their jewelry and intricate hairstyles, Luna had still won over his time.

However, that did not mean that he spoke to her right away. He had noticed that she had carried a second bag, where a pair of flats had stuck out. The same ones that he had seen his fiance use when she had her dancing lessons.

Tom did not pursue her when he heard a call for his name to be repeated by shrill of girls coming closer to his person. Within them and sea of students, Tom could have sworn that she had learned of his presence too.

School had begun in the same manner he expected: dull, slow and tedious. The only few hours he had to himself, had been music. The piano had never actively started as a part of himself or as form of escapism; not purposely. It had always been just another task for him to master. Another form for him to be perfect in.

But it had come along. Once he noticed how his parents left him, Tom worshiped the keys. The melodies he could sing with his fingers had made it worth in his eyes. He grew up to be a performer. A strong voice came with it in his dreams when he learned a new key or a new combination. His youth had grounded him when he soon had been toured into competitions.

They may have started as a means for his competitive blood to chime in his awards, but strangely, it had given Tom an outlet.

Years later when they had pulled and strangled him Tom could still not hate music. He couldn't fully embrace his hatred either when his mother began to want more from him. The recitals, competitions and tutors had boiled to him losing feelings on his arms and fingers. (He could remember how they throbbed and ached until he couldn't stop feeling numb.) If it hadn't been his mother, then Tom's life went against his father's rules.

His father's own family had demanded for a stricter life too when they wanted him to stop dabbling in the piano. While Tom never liked both sides of his family, he had known the Riddle's more since his mother's brother and father were worse company. They always came to watch him. His looks had always made it feel as if it had been a cure to be the next generation of the Riddle and Gaunt Family. With one side happy he looked like a spitting image of his father, and to another that the Gaunt line did not appear so heavily in his eyes.

His aristocratic features had very little praise when each time both families scrutinized him when he kept playing. A Lord never had time to play an instrument. Only a dreamer with no future could waste his hours.

In a cruel twist of fate, Tom had been allowed to maintain his hours on the piano when he had been in the middle of meeting the Greengrass family.

It had been during a late winter when he had working on a new piece that his mother wanted him to play for small gathering she had planning for weeks. It had been a hush operation as the walls of his room twitched with anticipation. His skills among the rest of their family's circles had made his mother win the battle for him to continuing to improve his skills. And since then, his father still did not appreciate his efforts on proving to be a good son, even when he won more and more awards and recognition. That, had made Tom see that the piano was all his own, a piece where he never wanted to change, even if his heart had throbbed in loneliness.

Daphne Greengrass had always been a lovely image: hair always perfectly styled, flawless skin with no blemishes in sight, and a slim body that most guys would appreciate from his grade and school. She had a family history that his parents respected, as much as his mother could allow for him to marry. Her grades were close to his own. Tom had no real issues before when he had been told that she had been arranged to be his fiance. A few years too soon they would be wed.

Before he had met Luna Lovegood, Tom had thought he could promise himself to a loveless marriage without too much thought, concern, or belief that love existed.

He had lived with that kind of impression with how his father and mother worked alongside each other. (His mother may have been obsessed, but it had been his father that really showed how arranged marriages were all political. Cold.) His lineage had always been a talk, with Greengrass being one of the few ladies that had acquired some status for him to march in the same halls with her hand.

All before that night, he had thought he had figured how his life would entail.

But, like all chances were fabled to be, Tom had seen her. She had burned his blood, had made him corrupted by her pureness. It hadn't been fair. Lovegood had been something only stories could makeup. With her kindness and oddly charming riddles. She intrigued him. Had made him torn of how woven his life had already been with from his mother's shackles.

She made him want more than he could ever thought were possible for himself.

That reason alone, had been why he couldn't afford himself lose any more inches of himself. Never for a girl he had met on that bizarre night when all his sense had been bitter and torpid from use. He had a life already planned, with people expecting him to accomplish.

But life could never be that easy. Not when Lovegood had been involved. Her actions had made Tom cling to their encounters. The hallways were always crowded with numerous witness, but Tom had grown to welcome the few minutes of hearing her laugh. To see her healthy and enjoying her time with the friends she made.

(Although, Tom had wanted to be the reason why she smiled. To be the person she hugged. It never felt like it had been enough for them to be in the same school and not interact.)

It did not take long for him to figure and then accomplish a few stolen moments with. In those rare bouts of silence in the open corridors, Tom had found her figure sitting down on a bench. The trees and bushes of roses gave her cover and privacy.

As he walked over, Tom was hit momentary when his mind went completely blank mind unexpectedly. Right before he could recover, she sensed him. Her eyes sparkled with recognition when he stopped a couple of feet away from her.

"Hello." She had a thick jumper and muffler on. "It's good to you again." She didn't put away her writing material from her lap, but she had made the motion for him to sit down.

His body may have been cold from the weather, but he hadn't care then. The only thing he could clearly remember of that day had been the simpler things. The way she smiled at him, how he grew comfortable with her odd stories she loved to write or sketches of magical creatures her father and mother used to describe about. It had been a nice mid-afternoon all things considered when the campus had been quiet. The best thing however, had been she laughed at his horrible jokes.

He never did know why he had said them, only that he loved the sound of her giggling.

In the end, they didn't mention his hands that day they first met. And it didn't bother him one bit. Tom had just been relieved that she had been kind enough to understand to not touch that yet.

Greengrass had not ever really cared in the beginning, middle, or end.

Years ago, they had already established how reluctant both parties had been when they had been told of their future union. They each grown fond of each other as one could be for acquaintances. Their differences had been vast enough for them to realize early on that they knew they would never be a perfect match.

She was louder; Greengrass had often preferred riding on her horse and spending many hours either being physical or dressing like a proper Lady. Even if she danced because of her mother's background, she did not love it the way Lovegood did. There was unspoken coldness in her, the kind that made Tom see Greengrass struggle to put her emotions in way that could be described as delicate. She knew wrath, pride, and boredom, but she could never truly dance with a whimsical or soft manner like Lovegood. That had been why it all made sense.

Why Tom couldn't find himself to ever fall in love with Daphne Greengrass. There was no passion. He could never give himself to her, as she couldn't to him.

That had been why when he met Lovegood he saw how much he hadn't been alive. Music could only reanimate his body when he played. But it had been exchanged with new vigorous when Lovegood had walked up to him.

They both had reactions to make each other smile, and feel at peace when the silence pauses came forward. Nothing ever felt forced, and it had made Tom sense that his own happiness would trap him. He couldn't afford it, losing Lovegood, losing his name and his future. It all had been wrapped perfectly when his mother noticed his happiness radiating closely to his skin. His parents both had been suspicious when they learned that Tom had started to spend more time by his piano or in school than before.

"Tom, I see you are more passionate during your piano lessons lately." His mother's eyes were hard, charier when she noticed how his jaw tightened by her interrogation during dinner. "Should I worry?"

He did his best to maintain a placid tone when spoke. "No, mother." He touched the silverware close to him. "I merely am enjoying the current piece that I am playing."

She didn't fully believe him, but left the matter to drop when his father entered the room.

The dinner left him without a full appetite.

Greengrass had never objected when Tom escorted her to her dance classes before, and not much more when Lovegood became apart his life. They had that sort of system of them pretending to be a school's perfect couple. Their schedules had done enough for them to know each other's activities to be stifling.

But now, it had also made it easier for Tom to see Lovegood. There had few occasions of him seeing her abilities out in the open, and as he kept coming frequently, he didn't mind when Greengrass paid no attention. It hadn't been like he was there for her anyways.

She didn't disappoint; couldn't ever, when she looked at him. Tom had now learned what it meant to live a life with her. She would never cease to amaze him at how selfless she could be. To be pure of heart.

Luna never allowed their meetings to speak more, to invest in anything further. She had met his fiance, as they were in the same class and rank when they danced. That had been why Tom could stand the hours he spent when he could watch them practice. They both knew it had been a terrible reason for him to suddenly pick up more enthusiasm, but it hadn't been like his fiance cared. She, herself had been absent as she stayed closer to her own pack of acquaintances.

Tom didn't do anything else but watch Luna stretch her body, sing a song with her limbs and, Tom had been fine with the imagery she could create within a moment's notice.

Those hours had been his own personal grip of a reality he knew could not stay in.

As spring loomed Tom and Luna had grown closer. So much he couldn't go back to calling her anything else than her first name. It had been a journey for them to meet up without making others aware what they both wanted. From brief glances in hallways, to sitting at the same bench when the campus died down. It had inherently made Tom seek more hours, opportunities to be in the same room as her. (He still couldn't believe at the levels he did to have a justification for his affections and friendship he had with Luna.)

The crossfire he eventually found himself in had been acted on the simple coincidence of being in the same room as his music professor and the director for the dance section. They had wanted to bring in more cheer as the new season would come into view. A recital had been dubbed soon after they gained enough attraction from others.

Tom did not actively sign in; but, he had not said no when Luna asked him to perform with her. When he had been asked about it, he made sure that the people who asked had been aware of how he had ended up in the situation. How he couldn't refuse his professor when he agreed for their paired union for the recital. It hadn't been like he would perform with Greengrass, she already made plans to work with another girl, Pansy Parkinson. It all worked out in the end.

With Tom, he had more excuses to use the school's practice rooms, while Luna could actively, and freely talk to him about her ideas or music. It had been spur of joy when he could walk to school and have Luna be at his side. Greengrass hadn't said anything negative either as she accepted it and even provided him more time with Luna as they both covered for each other.

Tom at the time, hadn't bothered to question it when they worked together for those reasons. All he could be gratefully was how it worked out for the time being.

Through trial and error Tom eventually understood what Luna tried to say in her movements. She twirled with ease and hummed when she couldn't stop feeling happy. She had the knack of always being positive, it warmed his own heart when she told many stories of where her family visited during their holidays. It had been obvious that her life had been more loving and free.

But what really drove him was how she never pitied him when he gave her small insights of how much he wanted out. She had been born from wealth too and had some responsibilities, but unlike her, Tom could never strip away his name unless he took Luna's hand. Something had always guarded him, protested for him to stay away from making a huge mistake; but even when the danger hovered when he saw Luna he couldn't back away. He always took another step closer. He wanted to taste his freedom.

He never wanted his parent's life. Tom could admit that when Luna sat next to him as he played a tune. With every breath he took he knew how much he wanted to leave. He had been sure that she knew what he thought when he finished a song, with the keys ghosting a decrescendo in the air as his fingers lowered to his sides.

Fundamentally, they both knew where Tom couldn't venture, and where, more importantly, Luna wouldn't ever touch.

But they had both couldn't estimate how much stronger their youth and love was stronger, and more palpable when she danced, and he played the piano alone. Something made her lower her guard, and his heart. It was intoxicating. A slip from both their judgments when her skin was flush from her dancing and his mind whirling with finding the perfect song that could replicate how much he loved her when he thought about her. It had become intense.

With her so close, Tom couldn't stop himself from falling deeper.

It had been a mistake when she sat next to him, her hair had been pulled up into a messy bun making easier for him to see her flushed face. Her silver eyes gleamed when she lowered her head back.

"That was lovely."

The pile of music sheets had dwindled slowly, but it still hadn't felt like he found the right song yet. Not when he still wanted to discover and ultimately to find the right words and keys that could make her see how much brighter his life was since he'd met her. She, Luna's dancing was unworldly too as she painted the songs he played with more meanings.

He didn't know when time stopped, only that when she opened another folder the light beamed with more focus. His heart soared. It had occurred to him that Tom moved was when one hand touched the closest arm to him, she didn't pull away but nearly, did Tom felt like a dying man when her eyes searched for him to answer.

He didn't want to lose her, couldn't bare of the idea of ruining it and having her leave his side.

Tom knew that his eyes burned with longing. He could have kissed her, could have confessed more of his dreams, but he didn't. His heart swelled when he let—Tom died instantly and then came back to life when Luna kissed his cheek.

It had been a small opening, but Tom Riddle knew that they both made their graves when he kissed her back.

The recital practices had been the kick starter. It had unlocked something for Tom to rebel from within his confinements. It gave him the strength when he had still kept up appearances when he escorted Greengrass.

Neither spoke about their private hours, but Tom and Greengrass at least both shown that they could work together when they were watched by their own set of parents. In those days when they shared dinner or had to be chaperoned as they walked back and forth each other's gardens Tom noticed Luna's influence when he listened more actively to Greengrass' chatter. It had been different from Luna's happier and gentle tones, but Tom could at least acknowledge that Greengrass did not spend their own time of her talking about her clothes or makeup. They debated, but it had not been without any real heat. It had been friendlier; and it had caught him off guard how he had wasted some of his years of not better acquainting with her and the dry humor she used.

As they reared into one of the many water fountains Greengrass quietly lowered her head as she repositioned her umbrella. "While I do not care much of what you do in your own time, may I offer a few words of advice?"

Tom didn't slow down, but he had readjusted his arm that had been wrapped by hers. He didn't reply but she must have read on his face that he would allow her to say her peace. With the waters still their background she whispered to him.

"Our practice rooms are not soundproof or windowless. In case you forget yourself of who you are, I suggest that if you want to partake in that kind of behavior, you should pick a more private area."

Greengrass didn't sound partaken offended or repulsed that he found someone else for his affections, but it still made him wary of her assigned at times. As if, she knew from experience of keeping a lie to herself. (He wouldn't be surprised if she had a lover in the past to hide.) It still hadn't meant that he would ever expose her; Tom had known that their lives and happiness were limited. And if she were willing to help him, then he supposed he would help her if she ever asked for his assistance.

"I'll keep that in mind, Greengrass."

Her hands flexed and tighten on his arm, "Daphne." Her eyes locked to his. "At least call me Daphne. We have been betrothed for a while to at least be familiar with each other."

He resisted to roll his eyes as he heard her tone chip at being friendly, almost teasing. He didn't see another reason to not cooperate or humor her. "Daphne."

Her lips curled into a smirk when he finally said her name, as they walked another lap around the fountain. Mid-way to the rows of lilies it had seemed like they both unlocked another level for them to be friendly with each other. It felt had nice to have a friend in his secrets.

(Even if had been his fiance.)

It had always been gentle, the glide of her arms around his neck, the flutter of her eyelashes when she pressed her face at the crook of his neck. Sometimes, Tom liked how time slowed down when it had been just the two of them. Nothing else felt like it mattered, as if Tom had a moment to collect himself and feel free to reacquaint with thoughts he never got to finish before.

Luna had always helped with that, with him winding down and seeing what he left behind. Stolen chaste kisses had never been what he thought he would ever do, nor how much spirit he gained since she came to his life. It had strangled him when he had to leave the school and be away from the piano room they used. Even the bench that they used had become a spot he liked to visit. It had been one of those places where the world held more warmth than he was used.

It had become a second escape for him.

Those seconds and days had accumulated to an existence that harbored something far grander. Practically tangible. It had made Tom both weak and strong.

He hadn't at the time, thought Tom could ever he could ever experience what he had with Luna and be allowed to keep it. He had known that if he ever, that it would be temporary; but he hadn't planned to have been that alluring—promising to be in love. It had made him almost careless with his bundling emotions.

Luna's shape had engulfed him in his dreams.

Tom could stamp most of his dreams as that, images of warmth swarming into his blood and her own heart squeezing his own when she had tightly wrapped her arms around his torso. Both in reality and in his dreams, Luna had the exact talent of making him want to seek a new way to have more hours stolen by her presence. It seemed like nothing could be denied when she came to his quarters.

He needed her. More than the oxygen he breathed, more than all the power and influence his family were willing to give him one day. She had been his sanctuary.

And that had meant that Tom never wanted to let go of her.

It had been it had been easy to start the same cycle. Leaving his home, going to any piano and play a song or two until she would appear. She would either sit next to him or dance to mirror her emotions. Each song held a memory, an echo of something they each wanted to convey. And it made sense, for him and to her for them to tell each other their secrets, their whims and desires for their lives.

Tom had always been known for being cold and having walls, but when he had met Luna, she had been the real test. With her honesty and empathy she had been genuine with her words. With her actions, and love. She freely admitted it when Tom had been taught to guard his own heart from himself as much as the world.

Somehow Luna would never cease to stop smiling. It had been a silly song, one Tom had heard before his studies took priority when he finished primary school. The keys had come back into a hum, and her face had been too pretty and the lighting had made him move to capture her silly story she just finished telling him. The song did wonders. It filled his soul, and it had made Luna laugh and laugh in those holes he never stopped digging from.

She had made the difference.

In the same way that Tom had seen how his own life had started to tip out of balance. If it had been another year, Tom would have not welcomed how she kissed his cheek. How he bent down mid song to close his eyes and let his forehead touch hers as he kept the song flowing, filling the air with his love for her; for keeping the image of what she represented in his heart when she was so close—Tom didn't know if he could live another day without her. He would have been appalled before, for being so open to another person. But it had felt right.

To have Luna so close to his own body and have her own arms cup his face as she gave him butterfly kisses.

That sort of delicate touches had been lost before, but now, with her Tom had found his paradise. His own heaven on earth. Tom had always had a streak of being selfish, and with the introduction and addiction he had with Luna, he would do anything to keep her by his side.

Anything.

They had been laughing. A display that Tom would have never been able to afford before. Not with his mates or with his family.

Tom remembered that with clarity that never dulled with time. In those occasions Tom figured that had been a reason why he had felt so horrid, having clarity in some venues on his life and others he drifted without much fuss. It hadn't been healthy when it all crashed and burned; but he supposed, it had all made sense for it all. The clash of his happiness and his reality of losing everything he had never been supposed to have. It had hurt. Yet, it had also spoken for the miles he had been given before it all went to waste.

The grey and dreary skies had not bothered him that day. In a stroke of luck, Tom had watched most of his life slightly turning lighter, and in some ways, more naive when it came to his heart. He had been working on the piano when Daphne called for a small meeting. A causal day off, if his parents questioned it. They had been after all, teens filled with youth and always wanting to explore beyond their walls. His father had been the one that caught him leaving. They didn't share many words.

Tom ended up an hour away from his home and inside a larger community that bare resembled a small city between hills of suburbias. It had ached a part of his soul he never thought could call out. Walking, driving and escaping a part his life. Most of his life had never favored for him to have a Saturday afternoon where he did nothing productive. A lazy day. It felt so liberating.

Daphne had showed him to a small diner where Luna had been sitting in a lone booth. Tom stopped short, "What?"

Daphne's own eyes were shaded with a playful tint. "Don't worry, nobody we know linger here." She still had an arm linked with his as reflex. "Besides, I thought ahead of it."

When he looked back at where Luna was, he saw Parkinson sitting down next her. Her eyes didn't meet his, but Tom knew what she was saying to Daphne. In a silent, but meaningful way, he understood what she wanted. What, she had given him too as they sat down in the same booth as Pansy and Luna.

He had wanted to say more, but when Luna's eyes shined at him—Tom only wanted to remember the way his own soul sang when she called his name that day.

When they were all laughing.

They, meaning Tom and Daphne, had thought it would have been safer to continue the charade. Of them all being good friends, and that nothing else took place. They all laughed, joked and spoke to each other in the same beats. Luna may have of not liked lying to most of her peers and friends, but she had also longed for the days when they could just be themselves. Her own friends, in particular had been a hefty weight on his limbs. They watched him when he was alone, when he was Daphne and when Luna was talking to Pansy.

That had been a transition he couldn't really believe that took place. Pansy was glamorous, talkative and known to be a queen of information. She led the masses when she wanted. Had known a couple of blokes that made her like a modern version of a black widow. When Luna sat and danced next to her it felt like a small lamb was prancing around a lioness, where the line of death and life swept him. They made a quite a pair. One fragile-looking girl with a fairy goodness and another where danger lurked in passion that youth only could delve in.

It had made sense why Pansy had found a place in Daphne. They each complimented each other. Just like how Luna showed him how to live. Their own adventures had been hidden longer than Tom could have imagined, and in the sum of his own musings he wondered if he could have the same highs as them. If he could provide some strength in himself to finally break away.

There had been enough nights when he wanted to fight for his right to happiness. Money and influence didn't make him happy, had never granted him to smile or laugh the way he did when he was with Luna. Daphne had a lovely vision for many, but Tom knew what she really wanted. And he was not Parkinson; just like Daphne would never be Luna to him. They could be friends. Allies, if they were able to firmly establish that with their families. Marriage wasn't the only way to unite people.

It just became a sore topic when he went to school, or when he had been forced to watch how his parents kept on looking at his progress. He didn't want it. Couldn't care that he was becoming less than the person he was a year ago.

They didn't look overly pleased when the recital came. But his mother did persuade his father to not overly judge his performance like in the past. It had been strangely, a mute day; he had walked to his classes, and had talked to Daphne like normal. It shouldn't have been any different. And yet, it had been. A slow burning heat had touched him.

He could still eat calmly, could still answer each question his teachers asked him.

However, there had been a disconnection with him and the world. Had only been the one to restore some echos of what he had been cut off from when she called out to him. The static rose and then had been lifted when he touched a piano key. He knew what Luna had been thinking when they rehearsed for the final time. He didn't open his mouth, and she didn't either; because they knew that it wouldn't have last forever.

It had been (always) temporary.

Having the rush of people roaming, running and presenting themselves had been a means of seeing time pass. He had learned about the life behind the curtains. With it chaotic spirals and time ticking.

His dinner jacket had been dutifully pressed and perfect. He had fiddled with his fingers before he heard his mother.

She spoke with a clear brightness that always felt like fluorescent lights from a hospital, her eyes were always direct and wild. With few people watching them Tom wondered why she didn't stay in her seat with his father. She tutted for a second as she straightened his jacket, her icy form hadn't bore him any real smiles. Not with a tender love a mother would provide to her son either. She had always been a bit obsessive for him to act like his father, and when he showed some divergence it could go either way.

And as faithful as she had always been for wanting a good son, she put pressure in any form in his life. The recital winners would be granted a nice prize and more importantly, a sway in best higher level schooling. He wouldn't go to any higher arts school, but the title of being a winner nonetheless had been something she wanted him to achieve.

"Make us proud, Tom." Her eyes gleamed again, and Tom did his best to not flinch.

"Yes, mother." His voice had automatically answered her as she turned away from him. "Always."

Right before the storm, Tom had stolen his minutes with Luna. The girl that looked like a right princess with her slim body, her hair had been braided again by Pansy and Daphne's help. With light makeup and shoes on, she was ready to take the world. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to let her know she was lovelier than any pictures could ever capture. Her own natural blush when he escorted her had been enough to satisfy him then.

When they walked to their appropriate spots they shared one final look before they bared their souls together. He didn't consistently recall how the audience sounded like, or how his parents felt when they watched him and Luna perform together. But he did memorize how she glowed in the stage lights, how she enchanted him. The song they ended up with had a bit softness that made sense when he saw her in the early spring mornings, a tempo that carried how his heart bled for her voice. It could have been described as romantic, playful and whimsical; but Tom had loved how free she danced.

How she opened his eyes when she twirled and swam in the notes he pressed. They had told as many plot points in their story as they could in the limited minutes that they had, and Tom had felt breathless when they ended it. And, when the silence the stage and rows of people processing it had engulfed for a short breath, he smiled openly, when they cheered for her.

It had been a brief life, but Tom had loved playing the piano when its star featured her. He knew he would pay the price, but the flushed and happy face of Luna Lovegood had been worth it. Even if he knew it meant he had to brace the wrath of his mother, who, at the front row had seen his eyes never leave Luna.

Only a daft person couldn't see what Tom felt and wanted.

Backstage, Daphne and Pansy congratulated them. Their outfits had been expressful, and in contrast to Luna's delicate color and shape. It had suited them too. When the program ended and winners announced Tom had steeled himself as Luna's parents came first to pick her up. They had been kinder when he shook hands with Luna's father and mother. Both Lovegood's had sharp eyes as they hugged their daughter. He had known that they wanted to say something to him, but decided that it hadn't been the right place to. And as Luna left Tom halted his next thoughts when he caught his own parents coming along.

His mother did not openly say much when she caught Luna's figure; but he had sensed that they would talk in depth in their home. Her hands had been tight when they walked away from the school. His father still didn't say a word, unlike how his mother kept pursing her lips in order to not start a fit. It had been a colder ride back, with tense shoulders, deeper scolds and barely concealed fury. When his father opened the door Tom could hear the precise moment when his mother went straight for Tom's neck.

She didn't strangle him, but she had been furious. Her anger was always a hellfire; it left burning marks in Tom's memories. "Who said you could talk to her? Let alone spend any time with that kind of girl?"

Tom move an inch, not when she still had turned her body to have his father have a go at his opinion. He was not shocked when his father went straight to a disgusted murmur before leaving for a strong drink. He had always been against him playing music, and when it showed he had the capacity of loving anyone not his fiance, his father did not even coax his mother into not stopping her screaming for the rest of night.

She did not accept his apologies. Not that he expected her to even loosen any of her anger when he still kept his grades up or when he went to their joint lunches and dinners with the Greengrass family. In the wake of the recital, his mother did everything she could to reinforce his limitation towards Luna. She couldn't do much when it came the dancing lessons, but it had still festered for Tom to want to rebel. He couldn't go back to before when he didn't know who Luna was. To the days when he felt like a defeatist in the wake of his younger years.

Daphne's own romance with Pansy had been momentarily shaken too when Tom couldn't be there to help them. Rumors were awful and as iron clan when people wanted them to. It had made them all suffer the few times they could even talk to each other. Daphne couldn't rightfully ignore her duty any more than Tom could find the right hours to sit with Luna. The bench they used to have had been taken by another pair of stringed lovers. And without a legitimate excuse Tom and Luna had their own circles to maintain.

That didn't mean that it had fully stopped him from seeing Luna.

And, it had been because of that, that Tom didn't know what to say when his mother found him lounging with them. Her hair still, styled in a tight bun, and her lips in a glossy red. She didn't scream, quietly, she glided towards Tom and Luna.

Nobody said anything. Didn't look away from her the way one hand outstretched to Tom and Luna's linked hands. Luna's parents in the background soundlessly went to the rescue and plucked her out of his mother's radius. Tom, had too went to block her from Luna. He would shield her and her parents until they could safely be away from his mother.

In a tense, but firm quiet voice she looked at Tom. "In the car. Now."

Tom didn't want to leave without reassuring Luna that everything it would be okay. But when he saw Luna's sad figure leaving, he couldn't help but wonder if they would let him see her again. They had never shown that they disliked him, but when the few times he had met them he couldn't help but see how they compared him to his parents. Her father especially when he had caught him escorting her back to her home. Tom had grown to please many adults in his life, but when it came to Luna's Tom had genuinely wanted them to like him.

To approve of him of ever being in Luna's life.

It had once been a silly dream of moving away from his parent's lives and move into Luna's lifestyle. He had wanted to wake up with her being the first thing he saw. To have a set of parents that didn't care if he took business or music as a major.

He had wanted a simpler life with her.

But when they left without a second word, and Tom only seeing of the braver random strangers staring at him, he collected himself and walked away from the place. He didn't swear, didn't cry when he had been disciplined. In all, Tom had chucked some books when he had been locked in his room. He hadn't been allowed to touch the piano for the rest of the remaining year, unless for academic purposes. He later found out that after the spring holidays the Lovegoods moved away.

To where, he hadn't been given expressive permission to know.

His mother eventually regained the normal pale color back to her cheeks. She still had been strict with him, and the Greengrass had been cold to his presence. Daphne and her little sister were kinder, when they talked to him. School or not, he still checked in for Pansy to have her time with Daphne. In a way, the distance he had been given from Luna gave a better perspective of his life. She had been the push he needed, the ache that developed for him to gain thicker skin. His own emotions may have been still stuck in being rusty, but Tom had known that he would not stay still forever.

Not when he had seen what was beyond the walls he had been born into. As the year settled the Greengrass family had wondered about Tom and Daphne's dynamic. With Luna gone, and Tom barely holding on some days, Daphne had grown bolder. It had made sense, when Pansy and Daphne made plans, they always sparked with gambles when their rationalities shrank. Both families had been roaming an open garden museum.

Tom had Daphne's arm. They haven't chatted much of Luna since her departure, and that had been kind of her. The months since then had been rough. But he still had been able to hear her light steps in the corridors in school, hear her laughing when he sat down and closed his eyes.

But it had been in the deepest hours when he slept that he had Luna's ghosting kisses that made him feel lonelier.

Daphne's sister came around to them. Her hair and eyes mirrored her sister, but Astoria had always been a bit more delicate. Her eyes were warmer, her cheeks almost permanently flushed when she caught anyone's eyes. She had been a sweet girl, and when she heard of Luna and her erupt move she had been gentle too when Tom came over during his visits. It had been sweet for some time, but as they rolled closer to summer sometimes Tom wanted her to shut up with her sympathy. He couldn't heal when all the pity looks that were given to him.

He didn't remember most of that day. Just fades words of Astoria and Daphne giving him a crash course of what some flowers meant as they encountered them.

It had been a semi warm day when he had wanted to stretch his legs. Tom's few mates had come along when his feelings registered for him to stop moping outwardly. It had been uncharacteristic of him slipping his emotions, but he figured it had been due to his inexperience of falling in love. He didn't think he could ever stop loving Luna, but it had become easier in accepting that she was out of his grasps. For now, at least.

In that time period of his life, Tom Riddle had thought that one day he would have been able to trace Luna out, and ask what she did after. If she missed him the way he did to her, if she moved on faster and forgot about him. If their first meeting had crossed her mind as much as it did to him the older he got. He had never been much of a sentimental person, but there had been inches of his life when he did pay attention. When he wanted to recall each time she had touched his soul.

He reached his own conclusions when Daphne ran away from home on an early July day.

She didn't carry much on her person. With sunglasses hiding most of her face, the rest of her commoner clothes didn't shock him. Daphne had later told him how she always secretly preferred street wear than the dresses she wore during their parties. A couple of bags that weren't all that heavy were by her feet. From what he could see she seemed small; and when he grabbed the keys to his father's less used car he took her to the closest train that would take her away. Pansy had met them shortly.

Seventeen-almost-Eighteen and still children to many, Pansy and Daphne chose to leave what they had been offered when they had been born. He kissed Daphne in the forehead for luck and gave a small hug to Pansy. And as the train left, Tom stayed sitting down as he looked at the different places he could go too.

When he got back to his room he briefly jotted down a couple of places he wanted to see.

He didn't confess in helping his ex-fiance and her lover escaping until when he himself got disowned by his father when he refused another arranged marriage with another well-off family. Tom may have been placed into a tight corner when he had few pounds to his person, but he had felt freer, curious again since that night when he met Luna.

And that—that had more than enough for Tom when he restarted his life again.

The bareness of pale flesh of his arms had woken up. A dream from long ago that had reclaimed him had made Tom sigh. The coldness that only winter could bring made it possible for him to get up as routine. In his younger days, Tom had foolishly thought that his first taste of freedom would rekindle him with a life fitting for his troubles. But it hadn't.

It only brought him to his knees.

Without his family, going to uni had been a bit like strangling himself underwater while running a marathon. That didn't mean it had been all unpleasant. He had made acquaintances, friends and few short-lived links that could have been called lovers for some people. He made healthy connections, destroyed and sabotaged others. It all had been part of the cycles he went through. His practice at the piano had paid off. His name, in the barest parts did few turns.

Nonetheless, it had been his own work and practice that made him successful. Since he left his teens, his adult life paid off with the countless people he'd met after. They gave inspirations, had given him lessons and few had influenced him.

(But never like Luna had.)

When they tried to get closer to him it had become a problem; and one he couldn't easily solve. It had always felt like they went against a current that had been made of a maelstrom. Sometimes he had been forgiving when he didn't want to be alone. But loneliness was maddening, it had trapped him, engulfed him and Tom swam in their storms. He had lived before in the darkness. With its stifling air, or cold clutched when he tried to find a way out.

In rare moments, he had one or two lovers that were what he needed. But they couldn't work it out the longer they shared their dreams.

One of them didn't want children, and Tom at the time hadn't either; not until he one day looked and saw a happy family enjoying one of his concerts. One of the youngest children of three, barely ten, had been awed by his performance. He had curly black hair and brown eyes that shined, he had wanted to be a great musician like Tom. He had been such an innocent kid, and when his parents smiled and shook hands with him, Tom pictured a faceless child that danced gracefully as Luna, or played the piano with passion he had now. Tom couldn't go back to the days when he didn't want another family; and so, he parted with that person.

The other partner he had loved to explore and meet new people. It had been only six months or nine with that person. The time had flown with that one. The second longest partner that Tom ever had.

He went with his life. Eighteen to Twenty to Twenty-One. All short-lived epilogues of what Tom thought he wanted.

Then, like how life is meant to change, he was Twenty-five. With a career that had given him lee-way of seeing the world as he fancied. The flats that he had over the years had evolved throughout his life too, with photos he'd taken where he traveled and who he met. Of books, he bought when the hours weren't spent on the piano. And of course, the first piano he bought when he had been able to afford a good one. That one, had always been a fixture for him as he coasted the world and his years.

Right after a short shower and breakfast he looked back at the calendar on his wall. In a tight scribble, a date and place had been marked for that mid-morning for his upcoming job. He ended up inside a grand theater, where the golden details almost blinded him from the cravings the ceilings had. The music composition had been drafted and composed to fit an epic. Tom's own talent had drawn their views and a job had been secured.

As he stepped onto the stage, he admired the view of thousands of rows of chairs. Even in at the wake of dancers coming along, he couldn't help but feel at peace for those short minutes. Leaving the theater with his own notes and music sheets he saw a list of the cast and most importantly, the grand star he would play for, Tom smiled softly.

Her face and name were his lullabies during the times he couldn't breathe despite her time with him had been a short couple of months. When the hours didn't seem to move any faster other than to antagonize him. Past lovers couldn't hold a candle when he remembered her sweet face, or her softer kisses that had always brought him to life. Young and first loves were always that strong, precious, and difficult to forget. She had been the first that had held him, his soul and heart.

When Tom had been chased out, he thought he could one day follow the trails and see his own ghosts leave him. However, when he was haunted, they lingered. Firmly. Without any remorse or mercy.

Luna Lovegood had been his ghost.

And since that day, Tom still couldn't stop his fingers to dedicate songs for her, them. For his heart to yearn when they were both young, naive and together. In sober moments when Tom could see away from her, he had wished that he had said something earlier. He hadn't spoken to his parents when they disowned him, nor when his name became bigger as he sold out concerts. Not that they reached out to him, he was sure that his mother had been persuaded into not contacting him by his father.

The cold blistering night nipped his naked neck. It made it uncomfortable as the coat he had grabbed had been thin, made it nearly impossible for him to walk back to his flat without fearing he would turn into a solid pile of limbs. The night sky had been clear, with no clouds in sight.

It made him think back to that night. When Tom had been numb. Where his life had once been dictated, and he hadn't cared. At Twenty-five, he knew more or less what he wanted than compared to when he had been a young boy. Had decent mates to drink with and a career that had given a place to air his whims. It was more than he could have hoped when he first started to hope to dream.

He had been about to cross the street when he saw a lone figure sitting, or sleeping, on a fountain. There had been few snowflakes falling, and with fewer people mingling where a body of water was. The fountain hadn't been on, but there had still been a body of still water slowly turning frozen. Tom normally would have not reached out to a stranger, but in a case of dreamless sleeps he did. The bundle at least had the courtesy of wearing a thick jumper and coat. The muffler had been a faded green and so were her boots.

As he got closer, he could see a peek of white blonde hair, and pale, pale skin. She looked up at him. It felt like time stopped for that moment.

He didn't outright gasp, but he almost did in the end when he reached for where her fingers were left to turn red from the weather exposure. Tom knelt down slowly as she sighed when he placed them inside his own warmer gloved hands.

His breath ghosted between the distance of them. "Luna."

Her silver eyes shined brighter than the moon. "Hello, Tom."

They didn't kiss right away. But Tom hadn't cared when she had been close to him again. Where he could physically touch her again and not have her image didn't disintegrate from his fingers like how his dreams did.

He still couldn't reel back how speechless he was with her there. And from the years away from her, Tom had been glad that she could still read him. Her affinity of being a pleasant and thoughtful had calmed him. It had always made him curious and even as adult, she still seemed otherworldly. Mystifying as the fairies of bedtime stories.

With her hands still held by him, her eyes drew back to his own. "How are you?"

He thought back to when the first months of when she left. When he came to the city for work and the friends he'd made since then. How the music he worked and written had built him up again. Then, back to the night they met.

"Better."

And he was, because she was there again, alongside with a second chance for the two of them to start again in this new stage in their lives.

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preserving-ferretbrain · 5 years

Text

Quis Copyright Ipsos Custodes?

by Dan H

Wednesday, 06 June 2012

Dan rambles about copyright, DC, and the Watchmen Prequels~

Poking around the internets a couple of days ago I discovered the

following article

about the upcoming (or by the time this article is published, recently released) Watchmen Prequels.

I'm in two minds about this. Part of me says that this is a horrible shameless cash-in that pisses on the memory on one of the greatest graphic novels in history. Another part of me says that the first part of me is just being reactionary and fanboyish.

The Slate article I link at the top of this piece starts off with the oft-repeated observation that DC paid Siegel and Shuster $130 for the rights to Superman and went on to make a shit-ton of money out of the Man of Steel while his creators died in relative poverty. It also points out that the estate of Jack Kirby, who created most of the original Avengers saw nothing from the recent movie.

Now obviously there is a lot wrong with the comics industry. Comic book companies do treat a lot of their writers and artists like shit, and the comics fandom as a whole is as problematic as all fuck. But try as I might, I can't get angry about the fact that the rights to most comic book characters are owned by big companies, instead of by the people who created those characters for those companies.

Perhaps it's that my professional background is in Education while what limited creative background I have is in RPGs, so I'm very used to the idea that what I do in either my professional or my creative life ceases to be mine the moment I put it out into the world. If one of my D&D players wrote a book based on my campaign, I might expect a thank-you but I wouldn't expect royalties, and I obviously don't expect my students to cut me in on their future earnings just because I teach them things which help them get on in their lives (nor does it bother me that the various syllabus documents, schemes of work, and sets of revision notes I have produced as part of my work belong to my school and not to me).

Indeed thinking about it from the perspective of any industry apart from the creative media, the notion that somebody might deserve a share of the profits from a piece of work somebody else does based on work they did as part of their job ten years earlier is completely alien. It reminds me, tangentially, of that

SMBC

strip which suggests that the principle known in academia as “publish or perish” is known in the rest of the world as “do your job or get fired.” There's the same peculiar sense that something which is seen as the mother of all injustices in one industry is just par for the course in most others.

To put it another way, although like most human beings I'm prone to irrational and inconsistent ideas, I do make a vague effort to keep my beliefs consistent with one another. And I'm a big fan of Creative Commons, a supporter of fanfiction, and a strong believer in fair use and the value of transformative works. I am not sure that I could reconcile my belief that the Harry Potter Lexiconhad every right to compile information from the Harry Potter books into an accessible format, or that people have the right to write original stories using other people's characters and put them on the internet (fanfiction.net, for what it is worth, already hosts nine hundred and forty pieces of Watchmen fanfic), with the belief that it is unreasonable for the people who published the original Watchmen to publish sequels if they damned well want to.

I think what bugs me the most about this issue, and more specifically with the attitude that it is somehow self-evident that the person who “creates” a character is entitled to royalties in perpetuity, is that it seems grounded in a mindset with which I am all too familiar. I am, as I believe I have said in many previous articles, an overeducated underachiever. I am very, very good at coming up with ideas and very, very bad at following them through.

The reason people like me react so strongly to the story of Siegel and Shuster isn't that we have genuine sympathy for the hardworking Jewish immigrants who were screwed over by the cynical fatcats at DC, it's that we're all dreaming of the day when we will come up with that one “idea” that will make us millionaires without our having to do any actual work. We baulk at the idea of comic book companies making millions from an idea for which they paid $130 not because it was exploitative (although it probably was) but because we see no value whatsoever in all other work that went into turning a $130 character idea into a billion-dollar IP. This is particularly ironic since a lot of that work was, in fact, done by Siegel and Shuster themselves (and it was work for which they were in fact well paid, Wikipedia reliably informs me that while the pair were only paid $130 for the rights to Superman they were paid $75,000 a year to write Superman – and that was in the 1940s).

People like me love to pretend that ideas are all that matter, that because The Avengers was a pre-existing IP, that all the people who made the film had to do was show up and shuffle things into vaguely the right order. This is, of course, nonsense. Yes, The Avengers wouldn't have existed without Stan Lee or Jack Kirby, but nor would it have existed without Wayne T. Silva the assistant payroll accountant, or Nuo Sun the actor trainer, or Matthew Roper the set medic, or any of the literally hundreds of people who were directly involved in making the actual movie. Of course the original characters are part of what made the film successful, but so is the fact that the actors did their stunts right, or that the payrolls were correctly managed.

Valuable intellectual properties aren't created by individual geniuses – even when a single person owns the copyright the actual brand (and make no mistake about it, thats all a valuable artistic property is – a brand that people buy into and want to hear stories about) is created by a vast army of professionals. We might believe that Harry Potter was created by JK Rowling, but in truth it was partly created by Thomas Taylor (who drew the first cover for Bloomsbury), Mary GrandPre (who drew all of the US covers and seems to have created the distinctive “Harry Potter” font later used in the movies) and Daniel Radcliffe. Yes, the fact that JK Rowling started out as an unemployed single parent and is now one of the richest people in Britain makes for a lovely rags-to-riches story, but one could make the case that she is (in part) reaping the rewards of other people's work. Building a brand, after all, is the role of a corporate marketing department, not an individual artist.

To put it another way, Siegel and Shuster may have created Superman, but it was undoubtedly DC that turned him into a billion-dollar brand, and it is downright perverse to celebrate the success of that brand while at the same time condemning the company that created that success. Did the creators of Superman get screwed? I honestly don't know. Certainly DC negotiated a contract that was in the company's interests rather than the artists', but it is not inherently wrong to make a lot of money out of something for which you initially paid very little money. If DC had known for certain that the Superman property would make millions then it might have been immoral to encourage Siegel and Shuster to give up all rights to the character, but they almost certainly didn't. They took a punt on the property, and it paid off.

Of course money isn't the only issue here. Alan Moore is far more upset about control of his creations than anything else. But even this is a commercial issue. It's easy to be snooty about the way the comics industry exploits its IPs, but – well – that's kind of how they make their money. More than that, it's kind of what's good about the medium. As in, what's artistically good. If Superman had remained in the exclusive control of its original creators, it would still look

like this

. Batman, by a similar token, would still look

like this

. Enduring comic-book characters remain relevant to a modern audience precisely because they are continually created and recreated, and this is possible only because the rights to these characters are owned not by their individual creators but by corporations. This idea doesn't sit comfortably in the mind of the average comics reader, who I suspect likes to place themselves on the side of the artist (not least because so many of us believe ourselves to be artists), but the truth is that we benefit directly from the system being the way it is.

Which brings us all back to the Watchmen prequels. The instinctive reaction of, I expect, most of nerddom, will be to raise a hue and cry because blah blah capitalism blah blah integrity blah blah cash-in blah blah blah. Because apparently we've forgotten that doing new things with old characters is what comic books are all about. The question of whether they are actually any good or not will be entirely academic (as

this edition of Our Valued Customers

nicely illustrates).

The whole thing seems grounded in a kind of skeevy Great Man Theory. The prequels might be brilliant, or they might be terrible, but what people seem to be concerned about is the fact that they will no longer be the product of One Man's Genius, that the mere fact that the prequels will not be written by Alan Moore irrevocably taints them. The whole thing reminds me of the kerfuffle over the proposed (but I believe never realised) Buffy revamp, when people were up in arms about the idea of Buffy without Joss Whedon. Even more peculiarly, people were insisting that a de-Whedoned Buffy would be a terrible blow against feminism, despite the fact that the lead writer on the proposed revamp would have been an actual woman.

This last point – that taking a property away from its straight, white, male creator will be bad for women and ethnic minorities – was made quite explicitly in the Slate piece that inspired this article:

For example: Moore’s comics have often been concerned with feminism, and one theme of Watchmen is that the superhero genre is built in part on retrograde sexual politics and thuggish rape fantasies. And how does Before Watchmen address these issues? Like so. If this were some piece of fan fiction detritus—naked Dr. Manhattan, porn-faced Silk Spectre!—it would be funny. But given that this is an "official" product, it starts to be harder to laugh it off.

I'm not sure where to begin with this. The first thing I'd say is that I have no idea which version of Watchmen this person was reading if they (a) think that “naked Dr Manhattan” is in any way a deviation from the original text and (b) think it's remotely appropriate to describe the original comic as “feminist”. This is a comic in which the fact that Sally Jupiter had a relationship with, and became pregnant by, the man that raped her is the detail which convinces Dr Manhattan that humanity is beautiful and worth saving (this is a slightly uncharitable gloss to put on that moment in the comics, but only slightly).

The second thing I'd say is that I can't help but notice that the article not only assumes that you can deduce an entire comic's gender politics from the cover of one trade paperback, but also fairly deliberately chooses the only cover that could have remotely illustrated his point. You can look at all of the other covers

here

. Most of them don't feature women at all, but this is a consequence of there only being one significant female character in the original text, which is surely Moore's fault as much as anybody else's (and again, doesn't seem to say much for his “concern for feminism”). You might specifically want to take a closer look at the cover of the

Silk Spectre

prequel, which is not only a good not-especially-sexualised portrayal of the character, but which is also drawn by an actual woman.

I think what I find most ironic about the backlash against the Watchmen prequels is that it's grounded in the very same notions of heroism which the comic itself deconstructs. The only reason to believe that (as the Slate article puts it):

Rorschach and Nite Owl and Dr. Manhattan have been raised from their resting place, and Moore—and the rest of us—now get to watch them stagger around, dripping bits of themselves across the decades, until everyone has utterly forgotten that they ever had souls.

Is if we accept that Alan Moore is somehow so uniquely talented that nobody except for him is capable of writing decent stories with those characters. As if somehow Moore's talent was so great that unlike Superman, Batman, the X-Men, the Avengers, or all of the characters he purloined for League of Extraordinary Gentlemen his creations would be uniquely tainted if they were touched by lesser mortals.

Perhaps even more tragically, this really does seem to be Moore's attitude. In

this interview

he makes a number of almost embarrassingly self-aggrandising claims about how uncreative, miserable and talentless pretty much everybody working in the mainstream comics industry is. He also, inexplicably, insists that his use of the character of Allan Quatermain in League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is different from the Watchmen prequels because apparently nobody had heard of Allan Quatermain before he put him in a comic (whereas Dr Manhattan is – what – a literary icon?). And complains that the people who got his share of the money from the Watchmen and Extraordinary Gentlemen movies didn't ring him up and personally thank him.

Perhaps the most mystifying quote in the whole interview is the part where he claims that the people working on Before Watchmen are doing so because: “It will probably be the only opportunity they get in their careers to actually be attached to a project that anybody outside of comics has ever heard of”. Leaving aside the fact that one of the writers on the project is J. Michael Straczynski – who created one of the most respected (although perhaps also most overrated) works of TV SF ever made – what is Moore smoking if he believes that anybody outside of comics has heard of Watchmen at all other than as that movie that guy made in 2009.

The thing is, Alan Moore absolutely does have the right to be bitter and angry about this whole affair, because he did get screwed by DC. But whatever he might think, Watchmen is not some dazzling beacon that demonstrated to the outside world the true potential of the comic-book medium. It's an okay-but-slightly-dated long-form comic book which comics nerds (and only comics nerds) obsess about because they think it makes them look clever.

The Watchmen prequels are very likely to be dull and uninspiring, but that is because Watchmen is dull and uninspiring. And any spark or relevance they have for a modern audience will have come from the people who wrote and drew them, it will not have been reflected from Alan Moore's imaginary genius.

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Arthur B

at 14:31 on 2012-06-06I simultaneously have no sympathy for the "what about Alan Moore?" argument but also think

Before Watchmen

is highly likely to be an enormous waste of time.

On the first point, it's worth noting that originally Alan Moore

didn't intend to use original characters for Watchmen at all

. Moore wanted to use the characters from the Charlton Comics stable of superheroes, which DC had acquired after Charlton bit the dust. DC were like "ummmm... we'd prefer you didn't junk these characters, why not make some original ones anyway?", Moore acquiesced and cooked up the Watchmen we know and love as thinly-veiled re-imaginings of the Charlton chumps.

The important thing about this anecdote, vis-a-vis this discussion, is that

the entire concept of Watchmen came about as a result of the corporate ownership of characters created by people who were not Alan Moore, and Moore wanting to write a story very much at odds with the original intentions of the characters' creators.

So the idea that the

Watchmen

characters somehow get to be sacred and mustn't be tampered with when they owe their very existence to Moore wanting to tamper with other people's characters seems pretty hypocritical to me.

On the other hand, with respect to

Before Watchmen

itself, I can't see how it can really be very interesting.

Watchmen

was constructed like one of those really cool domino runs - the interesting thing is watching this very delicate setup collapsing as the result of one little push. Watching the dominos getting set up before the actual domino run is just going to be tedious and I'd rather not.

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Wardog

at 14:54 on 2012-06-06I'd have more sympathy for Moore in general if he was less of a complete dick...

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Arthur B

at 15:07 on 2012-06-06Theologically Moore says he believes that all fictions are real in some sense.

If that were the case it shouldn't matter that someone else is using those characters or messing with those stories because they were never Moore's in the first place, he just found them.

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 16:01 on 2012-06-06

The whole thing seems grounded in a kind of skeevy Great Man Theory.

This is a bit of a tangent, and I apologize if it goes too far off course.

I've been thinking about the Great Man Theory as it applies to capitalism and entrepreneurship, especially the popular notion that all great successes in business are the work of individual (male) supergeniuses. An entrepreneur has a Great Idea that works and makes him billions, he becomes a cultural icon, and he can then do no wrong until he does. Women can't have Great Ideas, because barefoot pregnant make me a sandwich.

The other day I hear a guy bring up that Sheryl Sandberg is the real brains behind Facebook, for taking that slack-ass Mark Zuckerberg's idea and finding a way to make it profitable. Another guy loudly counters that Zuckerberg was the "visionary" who had the "great idea" for Facebook and therefore deserves 100% of the credit and fame he's received at everyone else's expense.

Now obviously Zuckerberg's role in Facebook was much greater than simply coming up with the original idea, and his role in creating and running the company shouldn't be downplayed. And the second guy is a bitter, thwarted misogynist anyway, so if Sandberg and Zuckerberg's roles had been switched he'd be championing execution over ideas. It just strikes me that an idea rarely, if ever, starts out as a Great Idea, and only becomes so in hindsight. If we're not used to thinking of women's ideas as potentially Great Ideas, we're never going to get to the point where women have a reputation for Great Ideas to point to. And of course nascent ideas are a lot harder to judge fairly and objectively than, say, job performance.

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James D

at 17:35 on 2012-06-06

The important thing about this anecdote, vis-a-vis this discussion, is that the entire concept of Watchmen came about as a result of the corporate ownership of characters created by people who were not Alan Moore, and Moore wanting to write a story very much at odds with the original intentions of the characters' creators. So the idea that the Watchmen characters somehow get to be sacred and mustn't be tampered with when they owe their very existence to Moore wanting to tamper with other people's characters seems pretty hypocritical to me.

While you have a point, I think it's oversimplifying to some degree. I'm pretty sure that, had Moore been allowed to use those old characters, they would have been significantly and obviously different from the originals. They would have been almost totally reimagined. With the Watchmen prequels, they're supposedly about the actual characters themselves, so what happens in the prequels may directly relate to what happens in the original graphic novel itself.

Even so, I really just don't see what the big deal is, to be perfectly honest. It'd be one thing if Alan Moore were some poor downtrodden author whose works barely got any attention beyond a small but loyal cult following, and then some huge corporate giant came in and swindled him out of his rights and completely ran away with the man's franchise in a way he never intended and never credited him with anything. But The Watchmen is a very, very well-known graphic novel. There have been numerous sequels written to the Oz books by a variety authors, yet nobody really bitches and moans about those because the originals are firmly understood to be the originals. The millions of Star Wars tie-in books, games, action figures, etc. don't somehow warp the quality of the original movies.

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Arthur B

at 17:49 on 2012-06-06

Actually, as I understand it the point was to use established characters with an established history to sucker in readers with a cosy sense of familiarity before exposing them to just how vile the characters really are, so had that plan gone ahead I imagine it would have involved more than a few callbacks to the Charlton stable's original stories.

But it's impossible to say one way or another because DC didn't let Moore do it.

The millions of Star Wars tie-in books, games, action figures, etc. don't somehow warp the quality of the original movies.

Of course, in the case of Star Wars George Lucas has proved himself perfectly capable of ruining it all by himself...

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http://scipiosmith.livejournal.com/

at 18:09 on 2012-06-06

The whole thing reminds me of the kerfuffle over the proposed (but I believe never realised) Buffy revamp, when people were up in arms about the idea of Buffy without Joss Whedon. Even more peculiarly, people were insisting that a de-Whedoned Buffy would be a terrible blow against feminism, despite the fact that the lead writer on the proposed revamp would have been an actual woman.

Disregarding Buffy's feminism (I never interpreted Buffy as a show about feminism but rather about vampires, becasue I was 10) I don't think you can argue that it would have been different. Star Trek was very different after Gene Roddenberry's death to what it was before; which some people preferred and some people hated, but the difference is undeniable. So if you thought that Buffy was perfect just the way it was I can see the idea of someone messing it about might be upsetting.

Of course people ought to be honest and admit that they don't like the idea because they don't want their cherished memories polluted instead of trying to conjure politics, but that wouldn't sound as good in Slate.

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http://scipiosmith.livejournal.com/

at 18:09 on 2012-06-06Sorry, wouldn't have been different.

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http://barefoottomboy.livejournal.com/

at 18:40 on 2012-06-06Not being overly attached to Watchmen (or Alan Moore in general), I may not be best placed to make this call, but I just can't get too worked up about the prospect of a prequel that isn't/might not be as good as the original. As James D says, the existence of (a) prequel(s) doesn't negate the existence of the original, or somehow retrospectively reduce its quality.

Not to say that all prequels/sequels/extensions/whatever are always a good idea, of course. But if you don't like them, there's nothing stopping you ignoring them and sticking to the originals you liked in the first place.

In terms of creators getting screwed over by copyright & the comic book industry, I really don't know enough about either to comment intelligently. Though I must confess that my immediate/gut reaction to Jack Kirby's *estate* losing out on a share of the profit of the Avengers film is "so freaking what? Why should I care about Jack Kirby's estate - what did they have to do with the creation of those characters?".

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Arthur B

at 19:29 on 2012-06-06

Though I must confess that my immediate/gut reaction to Jack Kirby's *estate* losing out on a share of the profit of the Avengers film is "so freaking what? Why should I care about Jack Kirby's estate - what did they have to do with the creation of those characters?".

We care because it's the 18th Century and people's copyrighted works aren't just meant to earn them money, it's also meant to be a way for them to provide for their wives and children.

This is

literally

the only reason why copyright has this weird "until the author's death plus X years" duration thing going on.

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http://scipiosmith.livejournal.com/

at 20:25 on 2012-06-06You say that like its such a bad thing.

I must say I'm of the opinion that if you can live on unearned income you probably should- and free up a slot in the job market for someone who needs it.

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James D

at 21:15 on 2012-06-06

Of course, in the case of Star Wars George Lucas has proved himself perfectly capable of ruining it all by himself...

One might say the same of Michael Moorcock and Elric, or any number of other creators who went on to ruin their creations. Honestly, when it comes to shoddy sequels, I can't really think of any corporation that did as much damage to other people's characters as those two did to their own. There are plenty of shoddy corporate sequels out there, to be sure, but does Alien: Resurrection really tarnish Alien at all? I certainly wouldn't say so. It's much harder to be that sure about the Star Wars prequels, or Moorcock's ill-advised later Elric stories that he shoehorned into the original chronology, when new viewers/readers could very well go into those series and take them as a whole, without differentiating much between the old and the new.

An argument might be made that the comics industry is unfairly entrenched in the practice of forcing authors to sign the rights of their characters over if they want to be published, but as I mentioned earlier it's not like Moore and his family are starving while corporate fat cats reap the benefits of his ideas. It's not like they're spuriously attaching Moore's name to projects he has no part of. There may be an argument to be made here, but The Watchmen is hardly the ideal battleground for it.

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http://melaniedavidson.livejournal.com/

at 21:53 on 2012-06-06

He also, inexplicably, insists that his use of the character of Allan Quatermain in League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is different from the Watchmen prequels because apparently nobody had heard of Allan Quatermain before he put him in a comic

I think it's funny that he chose probably the most obscure character for that example. Because even if Allan Quatermain was "almost entirely forgotten" (I don't know if this is the case even though I personally hadn't heard of him), the others are all from pretty well-known classics. I'm sure he knew how ridiculous it would sound if he said Jekyll and Hyde were obscure and forgotten and only about six people had heard of the story.

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Arthur B

at 22:07 on 2012-06-06

You say that like its such a bad thing. I must say I'm of the opinion that if you can live on unearned income you probably should- and free up a slot in the job market for someone who needs it.

The number of copyrighted works which actually still rake in a substantial amount of royalties decades after publication is amazingly small. I don't know whether the Tolkien Estate rakes in enough loot from LOTR for Christopher Tolkien and his extended family to sustain themselves without working - I suspect not given the drip-drip-drip of unpublished works coming out from those quarters. In fact, a hell of a lot of the beneficiaries of properties which still rake in mad loot after decades aren't estates or widows or orphans at all. It's the Disney Corporation and people like them.

And of course anything we can say about the state of comics industry author contracts with regards to Watchmen applies mainly to contracts as they existed in the 1980s, when the rights were actually handed over, and offers us little insight into contracts as they exist now.

The situation in the 1980s isn't one I've investigated much, but today I'm really not bothered about it. We exist in an age when if a comic creator wants to publish their work online for everyone to enjoy, they can do so - and in fact make some money out of it. Enough to live lavishly? Probably not, but unless you're writing/drawing a big heap of stuff for DC/Marvel as well as your own personal pet projects you're not likely to be earning great cash from them either. There's no

reason

to even offer your all-original creations up to DC or Marvel in the first place unless think signing over your rights to them is a worthwhile price to pay to get wider distribution and a higher profile - and if you don't think that's a worthwhile price, don't sign the contract in the first place.

Conversely, if you want to write for DC and Marvel because you want to write stories using their characters, it's only fair that they should have editorial control over what you do and only fair that they get to play with any original creations you add to their universes. If you want to play in the big sandpit which is Gotham City (or wherever) it's silly to expect to be allowed to take your sandcastle home with you, and short-sighted to imagine that another kid won't kick over or improve your sandcastle once you leave.

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Dan H

at 22:44 on 2012-06-06

That's a good point and one I'd failed to notice.

(Sorry, I have no comment beyond that)

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https://www.google.com/accounts/o8/id?id=AItOawkWbOwQVOANXVz3Xs8lGIILC0qzTMuEKS4

at 13:13 on 2012-06-07

Leaving aside the fact that one of the writers on the project is J. Michael Straczynski – who created one of the most respected (although perhaps also most overrated) works of TV SF ever made

Wow, I didn't realise Jeremiah was so popular!

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Sister Magpie

at 02:54 on 2012-06-09

I'm sure he knew how ridiculous it would sound if he said Jekyll and Hyde were obscure and forgotten and only about six people had heard of the story.

I'm not that familiar with LoEG but the little I remembered from it was making me ask just this question!

I must say I'm of the opinion that if you can live on unearned income you probably should- and free up a slot in the job market for someone who needs it.

But what's funny about that is that it's actually not about giving all money to someone for having the idea. Once you're talking about the estate you're saying that it's somehow more ethical to pay someone for being related to the person who created the character than for being the person who had something to do with making the character famous.

I really think people's real fright when it comes to things like this is that someone's going to tell a story they really don't like that bums them out--and I can sympathize because I hate it when comics play around with backstory in ways I don't like. Luckily if a story sucks it usually gets quietly dropped from continuity anyway. (There's a name for it I can't remember, referring to a bizarre alien who visited the Flash...)

With Watchman it seems like it's got a lot to do with the importance that Watchman is supposed to have, even though it's not really that tremendous.

Also, not only is it ironic that Moore was originally planning to use someone else's characters for the story, but it's not like Moore hasn't made some major changes to other peoples' characters and left others to sort them out. For instance, by paralyzing Barbara Gordon in The Killing Joke. I know he says he never knew it would be in continuity, but it changed comics--and not because of his story (which gets imo overpraised) but because other people came in afterwards with an idea for the character.

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Sister Magpie

at 02:55 on 2012-06-09Oh, p.s. That reminds me, thinking of the TKJ that yeah, I am really confused by the idea that Watchman needs to be kept in the hands of AM because other writers--especially female ones--will mess up all the feminism.

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Arthur B

at 13:14 on 2012-06-09

I know he says he never knew it would be in continuity, but it changed comics--and not because of his story (which gets imo overpraised) but because other people came in afterwards with an idea for the character.

I think it would be incredibly short-sighted for any comics author to say "but I didn't know that this idea I put forward in a

Batman

story would become

Batman

continuity!"

I mean, I see that you genuinely wouldn't know whether any particular story of yours would become key canon, get banished to the outer darkness of non-canonicity, or linger somewhere in between. But to not at least consider the possibility that DC might declare that something you have done should stick seems to involve wilfully ignoring how comics continuity works in the first place.

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Adrienne

at 23:09 on 2012-06-09Arthur B: Not so much so, actually. There's a lot of stuff done by the major comix houses that's very specifically pitched and written from the start as not-in-continuity. All of the

Elseworlds

from DC, and similar "What If..." stories from Marvel are in this category, as are the "Ultimate [Whoever]" stories by Marvel that explore alternate origins.

I grant that a VERY FEW of the Elseworlds stories have eventually ended up with bits in continuity (they apparently wrote a sequel series to Kingdom Come, and brought bits of that timeline into continuity. Which makes me sad, mostly because i think Kingdom Come was a remarkably self-contained and lovely piece of storytelling!) But if Alan Moore was told that Killing Joke was Elseworlds, frex, it would not at all have been an unreasonable assumption that nothing in it was going to ever be in continuity.

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Arthur B

at 23:32 on 2012-06-09

Not so much so, actually. There's a lot of stuff done by the major comix houses that's very specifically pitched and written from the start as not-in-continuity. All of the Elseworlds from DC, and similar "What If..." stories from Marvel are in this category, as are the "Ultimate [Whoever]" stories by Marvel that explore alternate origins.

True enough, though

The Killing Joke

wasn't, to my knowledge, promoted as being any of these (and as you point out, if an idea in an Elseworlds thingy gets popular enough then it'll snake its way into canon anyway).

As you say, if Alan Moore was told that

The Killing Joke

was an Elseworlds but then it wasn't promoted as one that'd be kind of sucky on the part of DC, but I don't see any suggestion that that was the case. On the other hand, I don't see that this is one of the reasons why he's upset with his treatment by DC in any case. Surely any comics author would be

thrilled

to have a plot element they introduced become a major ongoing thread in Batman continuity rather than something retconned away within a story or two?

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Sonia Mitchell

at 13:08 on 2012-06-12I have to admit to feeling that Watchmen is a bit of a special case, not because of merit (although I do like it an awful lot) but because it's *specifically* about how characters interpret the past. The story's present is not the key date; it's the lead-up to the Keane Act that the narrative really revolves around.

Which does kind of mean that any 'glory days' Minute Men [II] prequel is going to be dipping into the same timeline Watchmen covers in the narrative, which to me blurs the line between 'prequel' and 'reinterpreting a story which has already been told'. Watchmen showed us the Minute Men days from a number of perspectives - either the prequels will show more of the same old thing (in which case why bother?) or they'll introduce something which will specifically challenge the parent narrative.

I'm sort of intrigued to see what they do, and I do agree that Watchmen can bear to be challenged, I just don't think it's quite as clear-cut as some other prequels. Yes, plenty of comics and other stories have had backstory added later, but I don't think all that many of them were specifically *about* backstory.

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https://me.yahoo.com/a/bpFlIkMVk4ZqOVtCOXzX2V_0665JvfqFHA--#af083

at 14:16 on 2012-06-13A thoughtful and thought provoking essay. Excellent stuff.

I wonder, though, if your focus on commerce and copyright doesn’t tend to swerve a bit around Alan Moore's concerns. I think that the argument is not that DC and the writers and artists involved can't produce Watchmen prequels but rather that, for aesthetic or artistic reasons, they ought to choose not to. And the question of who profits from the endeavour is, as far as I can see, neither here nor there for these purposes.

So Watchmen is, according to this view, a finished work of art, and by monkeying around with the characters and back story you monkey around also with the integrity of the work; you risk diluting its affect or altering its cultural resonance. You might legitimately argue that no amount of monkeying prevents Watchmen from continuing to exist as the thing that it is. However, there seem two reasonably valid counterpoints, both stemming from the basic assumption that art is rarely meaningful without context. First, as Sonia Mitchell very acutely pinpoints above, Watchmen is very much about time and continuity, the future and the past, and by filling in the backstory you almost necessarily, although perhaps in a limited sense, do damage to the extant work. Second, Watchmen speaks implicitly to comics as a medium, and part of its power may be that it remains separate from the usual retrofitting, rebooting, continuity errors and the associated slash and burn approach to narrative. These arguments still rather depend on a willingness to think of Watchmen as exceptional, I admit (although as far as US superhero comics go I think it takes a lot of work to say that it’s not).

What I suspect really gets Moore’s goat about this is the simple disrespect, in particular as evidenced by his fellow artists. Watchmen is his single best claim to cultural relevance and longevity, he has explicitly said he’d much rather they left it alone, and yet still a whole bunch of quite eminent comics dudes (many of whom seem to bang on about how much they like/admire/were influenced by Moore in general and Watchmen in particular) are happy to take a DC cheque to monkey about with a story which he feels is complete.

On Moore ‘the personality’ I tend to think that while he may be intemperate, a bit silly, creatively stalled and less unimpeachable on, in particular, gender politics than I’d like, he’s generally more consistent, principled, and intellectually interesting than his opponents.

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Arthur B

at 14:40 on 2012-06-13

What I suspect really gets Moore’s goat about this is the simple disrespect, in particular as evidenced by his fellow artists.

Again, though: is this really that different from Moore's original intention to take characters and stories from the Charlton stable and monkey around with

them

? The only substantive difference is that whilst we know Moore's feelings about

Before Watchmen

nobody seems to have asked the Charlton creators how they'd have felt to have their characters despoiled had Moore's original vision for

Watchmen

come about.

I have a simple stance on these things: if you don't want someone to slaughter your baby,

don't sell your baby to them

. If

Watchmen

really is Moore's best claim to cultural relevance and longevity*, then at least part of that is down to DC's promotion of the book as this big-time smart comic for smart people and in their efforts in keeping it in print.**

* I'd dispute this point too.

V For Vendetta

, surely, has attained a greater level of cultural ubiquity thanks to Anonymous.

From Hell

is arguably on a par with

Watchmen

when it comes to critical acclaim.

** I understand that Moore argues that DC swindled him by not letting

Watchmen

go out of print, thus ensuring that the "reversion clause" in his contract would never kick in (which would have caused the rights to revert to him and Gibbons). It's hard to say how truthful or accurate this statement is unless Moore or DC actually publish the contract. However, if that is the case it seems that Moore negotiated a contract with DC where they'd either have to keep his comic in print for perpetuity - which I would argue goes a long way towards reinforcing that cultural relevance and longevity shebang - or give the rights back to him. In other words, they have to do one of two things they wouldn't do for Joe C. Ordinarywriter, and they chose the first option over the second option. Who could blame 'em?

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James D

at 15:04 on 2012-06-13The difference between the Watchmen characters and the Charlton Comics characters is that they were conceived very differently. When DC discouraged him from using the Charlton Comics characters, he invented his own - not to be a series, but to be a one-off novel with a specific character arc for each that brings their stories to a close. Comics writers inventing series understand that their characters will be written by other people, and probably take great pains to introduce plotlines and conflicts that they know won't ever truly be resolved or will at least last a really long time - Batman vs. Joker, Darkseid's quest for the Anti-Life Equation, etc. Watchmen instead invents characters not for a series, but for a novel, and ends them decisively.

Had Moore used the Charlton Comics characters, it would have been clear that the Watchmen story was very separate from their original stories, and highly unlikely to be ever seen as 'canon' to the original series, especially since he permanently kills a lot of them. Instead, it would have been seen by those who knew about the characters as an ironic counterpoint to who they actually were - like if someone wrote a one-off graphic novel in which Batman and Superman were evil, or something. That's the difference as I see it.

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Arthur B

at 17:52 on 2012-06-13Well, Moore thought that there'd be scope for a prequel - back when the thing first came out he said he'd consider doing one if

Watchmen

did well enough.

Of course, that was under the assumption that it'd be Moore writing it rather than someone else, which he was always against. But again: if someone doing something with your characters is unacceptable, don't sign a piece of paper giving them the right to do that.

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James D

at 19:00 on 2012-06-13Yeah, no argument here. It's not like there weren't alternative comics publishers back then that might have offered him a better deal in terms of what rights he would retain, but that would probably have involved settling for smaller print runs, less distribution, and less money in the end too.

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https://me.yahoo.com/a/bpFlIkMVk4ZqOVtCOXzX2V_0665JvfqFHA--#af083

at 12:38 on 2012-06-15

Again, though: is this really that different from Moore's original intention to take characters and stories from the Charlton stable and monkey around with them?

I think it’s pretty easy to draw distinctions (see eg James D. above), even if only of nuance, and I don’t, in any event, have much interest in asserting that Alan Moore is a paragon of moral and philosophical consistency (although he may very well be). However, I suspect that the extent to which you find the distinctions convincing and the possibility of hypocrisy forgivable will in the end align with how highly you rate Watchmen.

I have a simple stance on these things: if you don't want someone to slaughter your baby, don't sell your baby to them.

I wonder if this simplification obscures more than it illuminates. Selling a baby might well reduce the stake you have in its future, but it doesn’t necessarily mean you have neither say nor interest in how the new owner treats it, and nor does it mean that they have no responsibilities towards it, particularly in a world where baby-sale is the standard means by which babies are encouraged to fulfil their potential. However, this just takes us into contract law, and as I say there’s no suggestion that DC are doing anything illegal.

If Watchmen really is Moore's best claim to cultural relevance and longevity*, then at least part of that is down to DC's promotion of the book as this big-time smart comic for smart people and in their efforts in keeping it in print.**

Sure, I suppose so - good work DC! But so what?

It’s not directly relevant to this issue, but I’ve always struggled with the characterisation of Watchmen as a smart comic for smart people, it strikes me as at its best if understood as a smart superhero comic for smart superhero comics fans.

You may well be right about V for Vendetta, and From Hell - it’s probably an indication of my age that I still think of Watchmen as a sacred cow.

I’ll set out my stall for what it’s worth (the paper it’s written on, ie): I don’t care very much about Watchmen prequels, although I’d prefer it if they didn’t make them and I suspect DC of being a creatively bankrupt shower; I don’t think the prequels will do harm to Watchmen but I do think there’s a genuine risk that they might; I don’t find Alan Moore’s response to the decision particularly edifying; but I think he’s earnt the right to the respect of his peers and to be heard sympathetically.

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Arthur B

at 13:25 on 2012-06-15

Sure, I suppose so - good work DC! But so what?

So then Watchmen as a cultural institution is not purely a product of Alan Moore's unfettered genius or Dave Gibbons' stylish art; it's also a product of the promotion that DC has provided it with and DC's custodianship over the franchise as a whole. DC has a stake in the thing's success, and has more than earned it with said custodianship, so the idea that DC has no place to decide whether or not a prequel series would be a good idea because AUTHOR UBER ALLES seems a stretch. You can quibble as to whether DC is

practically capable

of doing a good job or whether the particular writers they have are up to the task, of course, though the arguments Dan's objecting to in the article aren't about such specifics; they're about general, absolutist claims that the prequels

cannot possibly be good because Alan Moore isn't involved

You may well be right about V for Vendetta, and From Hell - it’s probably an indication of my age that I still think of Watchmen as a sacred cow.

I dunno, I can't think of

any

pop cultural work which I'd describe as a sacred cow these days whereas I was much more inclined to do so when I was younger.

I don’t find Alan Moore’s response to the decision particularly edifying; but I think he’s earnt the right to the respect of his peers and to be heard sympathetically.

I think he has the right to be heard but how sympathetic I hear him kind of hinges on how much what he says makes sense to me. If someone's talking whiny, self-serving crap then I'm going to call it that whether it's Alan Moore or Random McWebcomicartist.

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James D

at 14:19 on 2012-06-15

I think this is oversimplifying things. The roles Moore and DC fulfilled in the production of the Watchmen were totally different; as far as I know, DC had little to nothing to do with the creative aspect of the novel, and Moore's objections to the prequels seem to be purely creative in nature. If on the other hand the dispute were on the business side, that Moore didn't think Watchmen prequels would sell and DC did, the shoe would be on the other foot.

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Arthur B

at 14:31 on 2012-06-15Again, since Moore a) wanted to do prequels back in 1985 and b) has said he'd have gladly accepted DC's offer to do the prequels (which was going to involve giving him the rights to

Watchmen

back if he said yes!!!) if they'd offered in 1985, then it seems to me that the dispute is entirely on the business side and the complete collapse of Moore and DC's professional relationship (and more particularly, the fact that Moore would rather keep sulking than engage in any sort of constructive dialogue with DC, even one which would lead to him getting what he'd wanted all along).

Also, FWIW Dave Gibbons is 100% fine with the prequels, so at half the original creative team is cool with the project.

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James D

at 17:37 on 2012-06-15Ah, I didn't know Gibbons was down with them. That does change things a bit. Moore is pretty much handling the whole thing like a big whiny baby. If there were prequels coming out to a book I'd written and there was nothing I could do about it, the first thing I'd say was "let me do them." If he didn't have ridiculous demands, DC would probably jump at the chance to slap Moore's name all over them.

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at 09:39 on 2012-06-18

Setting aside the perplexing CAPITALISED ALLUSION to the German national anthem (or possibly the Dead Kennedys), this is a fair point, although it seems designed to address a binary understanding of this dispute - I think everyone who has contributed to this thread has expressed a fairly mixed view, despite tending one way or the other. Meanwhile, the fact that DC are going ahead with this, in the face of Alan Moore’s explicit disapproval suggests that their interests are fairly well protected and represented. Your implicit notion that DC have earnt a right to a say in the artistic content of Watchmen (beyond questions of marketing, design and the commercially relevant business of protecting, managing and exploiting lucrative copyrights, I mean) is one that hadn’t really occurred to me, and that I instinctively don’t like, but I ought to go away and think about it properly. Thanks!

You can quibble as to whether DC is practically capable of doing a good job or whether the particular writers they have are up to the task, of course, though the arguments Dan's objecting to in the article aren't about such specifics; they're about general, absolutist claims that the prequels cannot possibly be good because Alan Moore isn't involved.

I’m not sure who you’re arguing with here so I’ll leave it.

I dunno, I can't think of any pop cultural work which I'd describe as a sacred cow these days whereas I was much more inclined to do so when I was younger. I think he has the right to be heard but how sympathetic I hear him kind of hinges on how much what he says makes sense to me. If someone's talking whiny, self-serving crap then I'm going to call it that whether it's Alan Moore or Random McWebcomicartist.

Quite a nice unintended irony here, but perhaps I’m just reeling from the old school ‘... yeah, I used to think that too … but then I grew up...’ dis. Is it possible, do you think, to imagine an

even older, even wiser Arthur

? I can just about manage it: he’s grizzled and twinkly-eyed, smoking a pipe, and, with a wry smile, looking down the years at his younger self’s righteous withholding of sympathy from both the mighty and the meek, his fearless enthusiasm for detecting 'whiny self-serving crap' in strangers, and his habit of slaying sacred cows while denying their existence.

JK! Before this degenerates into us chanting 'no YOU'RE immature!' at each other, I should also say, Arthur, that your precipitous enthusiasm for getting stuck in with the minimal possible delay is one of the things that make Ferretbrain fun for me, a fond reader.

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Arthur B

at 10:00 on 2012-06-18

Actually, it's a CAPITALISED ALLUSION to the extraordinarily pervasive idea that authors are an exalted form of being and anyone else's contribution to the success of a creative endeavour is secondary. Putting DC aside, I'd say there's a strong case that Dave Gibbons' contribution to the art, which extended to more than simply drawing stuff Moore described to him, is a part of the final package which can't be ignored, so Gibbons' support for the prequel project ought to be weighed against Moore's disapproval. And yet, so often in discussions about the subject Gibbons isn't even mentioned.

Is it possible, do you think, to imagine an even older, even wiser Arthur?

I can imagine all sorts of things, but winning an argument by hypothesising a version of your opponent who will agree with you is a strategem I hadn't even begun to conceive of. Bravo, I guess. ;)

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at 10:16 on 2012-06-18Ha ha! Such a speedy reply, arguing so fiercely against points no one is currently making, is surely a nice intended irony!

I surrender the field to you Arthur - please continue to slag Alan Moore without any let or hindrance. I will instead exchange gentle, supportive imaginary emails with the imaginary future Arthur, who, you must concede, does at least seem like a jolly nice chap.

Good piece on the Soul Drinkers by the way.

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Arthur B

at 10:20 on 2012-06-18I anticipate being as confused by our future correspondence as I am by our present.

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 19:50 on 2012-06-18

I will instead exchange gentle, supportive imaginary emails with the imaginary future Arthur, who, you must concede, does at least seem like a jolly nice chap.

Best. Flounce. Ever.

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Fin

at 23:51 on 2012-06-18and now for the moment when it's revealed that you've been speaking with your future self all along.

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Arthur B

at 00:08 on 2012-06-19/decodes lottery numbers from posts in thread.

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Ibmiller

at 18:44 on 2012-07-02So, anyone check any of these out? I'm currently following Silk Specter, Minutemen, and Nite Owl, and liking them. Because his Superman story left me cold and his Wonder Woman story leaves me furious, I'm giving Azzerello's Comedian and Rorschach stories a pass. Plus, I'm not a huge fan of those characters by themselves - seeing a young Rorschach with a Nite Owl is much more interesting to me.

#Ferretbrain #Watchmen #Before Watchmen #Alan Moore #DC Comics #Copyright law #Dan H

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