#Also that John never got to edit it and take potentially more illuminating/not to be shared with the public bits out

[thewalrusespublicist]

I straight up don’t think that story in skywriting set in Paris ever even remotely happened, I think this is John working through the mix of complex feelings he has about Paul in some sort of semi autobiographical fantasy/thought experiment type thing? I think it’s undeniable it’s about Paul, but wether or not the contents of it are true is a little more suspect, the thing is it’s not the point to me, like, the fact that he’s fantasising about having passionate hate love sex with his boy bestie is the real convicting evidence 😭

Hi Anon,

Pretty much entirely agree! Not going to lie, I love this section of Skywriting as it’s so tantalising. Like what's fact and what's fiction? Where does fantasy overtake the narrative entirely and when does reality trickle through? The line between the two is often blurred in Skywriting as it is in most of John’s creative work.

As to it being an entirely fantastical thought experiment or a semi-autobiographical, I think I lean towards the latter only in the broadest sense.

*One sec, lemme adjust my tin-hat.*

I’m pretty much on the bandwagon that this section is a highly embellished, fantastical account of the summer of 66’ or a pastiche of trips to Paris. John, as he does elsewhere in Skywriting, obscures or replaces the real life event or word with clever wordplay and surrealist imagery. Instead of putting that he was acting abroad in Spain, he uses a play on ‘method acting’ to come up with ‘methodist acting’ and invents a more ‘exotic’ location of Jamaica. Instead of saying he met up with Paul and co in Paris, he gets a summons from Aime to go to Paris. Whilst the name Aime is obviously part of the allusions to homosexuality and the surreal angle, ‘aime’ nevertheless means ‘friend’ in french. Less discussed is the fact that Aime is also a comrade, which by definition is a friend or someone who works in the same organisation as you or is a fellow soldier. ‘Military buddies’ anyone? So he’s being summoned by someone he defines as being his friend and ‘brother-in-arms’. Pinning it down further to the summer of 66’ is the ‘God Only Knows’ reference. This to me is where I threw my hands up because well, wouldn’t you know guess whose favourite song it is and who played it to death in 66’:

(On the influence of Pet sounds on John)

PAUL: I played it to John so much that it would be difficult for him to escape the influence. If records had a director within a band, I sort of directed Pepper. And my influence was basically the Pet Sounds album. John was influenced by it, perhaps not as much as me. It was certainly a record we all played – it was the record of the time, you know?

To add to all this, you have:

staying at the George V, the same place John and Paul stayed at when they went to Paris the second time in 64’ (I couldn't find where they stayed in 66’ but it may have been the same hotel).

 ‘the underlying bastard’ of their relationship which has many possible meanings when it comes to John and Paul (jealousy, competitiveness etc.)

 dating of ‘three months’ before a big fall out. Three months takes us nowhere … but three years takes us to 1969 when things really started to go to hell for them

Then leaving in a seething rage but being like a force fed baby about them… a pretty great description of growing up loving someone and spending so much time with them from a young age or just being bombarded with information and memories about someone like John was with Paul in the 70s

Pure tin hat bollocks ignore me but the 'don't take me for granite Perry', 'Never' I sang reminds me so much of the Oh! Darling recording sessions.

The move from the third to first person in the last part of the section. It could be John acting as an omniscient narrator or revealing that there are certain truths to the story that affect him personally

 ‘To this day, his memories of her are clear and fresh.  Like a force-fed baby, he’ll never forget, and neither, I hope, will she.’’

So yes, whilst I am open to it being coincidental and just pure fantasy, I do think it is at the very least a little inspired by that summer or by his trips to Paris in general. But if the Aime is/is inspired by anyone real, it’s Paul. Aside from the history of Paris in their relationship and the God Only Knows reference, there’s also that John’s Mon Pau Pau demo:

Source: https://got-ticket-to-ride.tumblr.com/post/733073861959139328/john-chanelling-a-french-singer-in-an-audio-from (thank you @got-ticket-to-ride, I don't know how the hell you got hold of this but amazing you did)

I’m unsure with the transcription of the ‘garter … prod’ as Dogget could be right and it’s cartier … throat (though as an aside it’s always wild to me that his transcription removes the Pau Pau section, surely he knew enough about the Beatles + solo work to immediately get the reference and significance?) Nevertheless, John’s in this demo places Paul in the role of a coquettish women which would give the section of Skywriting precedence.

So if it’s potentially autobiographical, how true is the sleeping together bit? Honestly, I agree that I doubt they did it for too many reasons to go into here. But then why on earth has he written this? The tone of the passage is quite light-hearted so I don't think it's delving into any real feeling of angst or forbidden desire. The best reason I could think of aside from a personal joke about the potential boundary-crossing of their relationship is that John is describing their songwriting process. I can't find them right now (which is driving me crazy) but there are a few quotes from Paul which talk about John and Paul taking it in turns to 'turn each other on' with their music. Maybe John was riffing off that supplanting the intense, emotional act of songwriting with sex? Or maybe Paul was a very loose inspiration and the characters and their sexual relationships became their own. It's so hard to decide and discern but absolutely, the fact that he is potentially willing to go there in his mind indicates at least some acknowledgement that maybe feelings/ the relationship wasn't 1000 percent platonic or blurred the boundaries of a standard heterosexual male friendshipfor the time.

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

The Whore || John Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “11&19 with John boy? cause I miss him “ (I miss him too, my poor heart aches)

Summary:  n.11 & 19 from prompt list: “Please, please, please” + “I’ll burn this fucking place down” Warnings: swearing, a lot of angst, prostitution, nudity, violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, misogynistic talk, graphic description of signs of physical abuse

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

So, this request’s been in my mind for ages, and even though I’m not happy with its final part ‘cause it sucks, I’m literally obsessed with this idea, I love it so much that I’ll probably write a long fic about it, right after Contagio, but it will depend on you babes, because, first and froemost, I need to know what you think about this piece. ⤟ IMPORTANT

Please, if you’re a victim of any kind of abuse, talk to someone who can help you, nobody should go through something like that alone.⤟ IMPORTANT 

I edited the gif and added the text, it’s not an actual scene from the show, but I thought it could be a good idea, a small detail that could be added to my works. What do you think about it? Pls, let me hear your opinions babeees ⤟ 

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham was somehow silent that night, John noticed the unusually empty streets around him, as his feisty pace easily led him towards a well-known destination, his confident steps resounding in between the damp walls of those sordid blocks made of innumerable overcrowded flats. The unmistakable stench of stagnant urine viciously permeated his nostrils, soon causing a disgusted expression to taint his angelic face, while he avidly took the umpteenth drag of smoke from his Cuban cigar and finally stopped his unceasing walk in front of the most renowned brothel in the entire city. For about three years by then, day after day, his life had been perilously circling the drain: things had got totally out of hand, fate had pitilessly thrown him into profound despair, giving life to an apparently endless spiral of darkness and desolation, which was gradually corroding his fragile self, brutally strangling him, rapaciously plundering each of his already strained vital breaths. And, nevertheless, it was beyond hard to blame him for such catastrophic outcomes, after all, he’d scarcely survived the battlefield, only to find himself with a handful of nothing, left alone to deal with a dead wife and four children to raise on his own, while his guts crawled with excruciating grief and ravenous acrimony for the whole world, having him develop a tendency to self-destruction that was just as concerning as it was well concealed.  As a matter of fact, in spite of his private hell, he still remained a Shelby, and a Shelby wasn’t meant to be soft, nor weak, none of them could afford to succumb to their affliction, never, not for a moment. They had to be invulnerable. 

Or, at least, they had to look invulnerable, for truth was that John was scared, utterly frightened by all those unmerciful changes.  Deep inside he felt like a hopeless, undefended child, forsaken by God and discarded to wander that grim world without any destination other than death and misery, thus his blood boiled with virulence and venom, having his heart clench with blind wrath and his devastated young soul desperately long for sort of any distorted kind of unattached affection. That was basically the main reason why his bed was incessantly warm, or more accurately, warmer than it had always been before, because, needless to say, John Shelby had actually been an authentic ladies’ man since his first cry. His stunning beauty constantly teemed on everyone’s lips in Birmingham, there was not a single woman in the whole town who hadn’t dreamt of sleeping with him at least once in her life. Therefore, John was more than happy to please them all, literally, welcoming them with wide open arms, even during his past marriage; and, on those rare times when no girl went to knock on his door, he had now grown accustomed to seek relief into whorehouses, rather than sleep alone and become an easy prey for his ferocious demons.

So he eventually ended up dropping his smouldering cigar on the uneven asphalt of the most rundown place in Small Heath, “Le Belle Donne”, an Italian house of tolerance, quite dilapidated and about to fall to pieces, but which often happened to have his favourite prostitutes. Indeed, ever since the Peaky Blinders had defeated and subjugated Sabini’s clan, they’d occupied a prominent position among the country, to the point that several other Italian gangs on their territory, including the Changrettas who owned that brothel in particular, had finally given in to the Shelbys. As a direct consequence, to put it simply, John and all his brothers had, in a very real sense, earned the full right to abuse of whatever business the wops held.

“Hey, man!”  Johnny resonantly barked as he entered the hall, maintaining a pretty intimidating attitude and a menacing look on purpose, in order to strike even greater fear in his newest flunky. “C’mon, show me what you got” That rough order cunningly glided onto his lower lip, immediately followed by his hot tongue, while his famished gaze travelled around the room, examining the face of each harlot standing there with meticulous attention, without however finding something that could come anywhere close to seriously rapture him. Robert Turrini, the whoremaster, was a bizarre bloke, for his physical appearance could be probably described as both disturbing and amusing: his revortingly corpulent stomach wobbled and his short legs dangerously stumbled, when he made haste to stand up and accommodate his toughest client. “Mr. Shelby, what an honour and a pleasure to have you back!” Those sycophant words fled his moist and malodorous mouth, and nonetheless, his stubby fingers inexorably betrayed his true thoughts, since they were either nervously torturing each other or, as only alternative, convulsively running through his greasy, mangy bangs. “Please, sir, follow me, these are for yokels and boozers, nothing to do with gentlemen like yourself” Once again, Turrini’s shrill fawning tone relentlessly grated his ears, making clear reference to the bunch of second-rate whores who could be found at the entrance; thus the lame pimp quickly moved, his hand anxiously beckoning John to tread upon his heels, then headed towards an eerily narrow corridor, so scanty that it was almost impossible to cross, if not walking on the bias. The secret lounge was illuminated only in part by a squalid red light creating a gruesome atmosphere, a dull silence tyrannically reigned into that small space, although you were not alone, but practically glued to another girl; both sitting on a minuscle sofa, your elbows touching, still none of you dared emit a single sound. Everything felt like lead upon your papier-mâché ribcage, that horrible sensation forcing your traumatized brain to involuntarily keep counting the seconds until that heinous burden would’ve potentially staved in your sternum, definitively annihilating your splintered heart. As a result, when the ramshackle door opened and a high-pitched squeak scraped your skin, you really thought to be about to die. Your torturer made his entrance, and right after him, another man came in, yet you couldn’t spot his face, since the peak of his cap designedly casted a mysterious shadow on it. “These two right here, they're real young, real fresh” Robert flaunted his goods along with a nefarious grin, rubbing his soiled paws with evident greed. “Behold the finest offering of flesh and bone on the market” A sadistic snicker repugnantly accompanied his speech, instantly causing John to frown, visibly disgruntled with the way that man deliberately talked about human beings. Luckily, it was a known fact that the middle Shelby was used to treating his women with all due respect: whether he paid them or not, he always made sure they were comfortable with him and never shrank from giving them some good time as well; therefore, a vexed glare was shot in the direction of his gross interlocutor, before his crystalline eyes briefly fluttered around the place, then bumping into your elegant figure almost at once.

Your bloodstream seemed to benumb on the spot as the stranger’s confident stare entangled yours, his rawboned features being now fully displayed, for he had lifted his chin a little in order to properly look at you, and you only, despite Clarissa’s desperate and petulant attempts to get his attention with malicious smiles and ridiculous pet names. Even though your dazed mind had just been ruthlessly brutalized by the sudden, ablaze assault of his glacial irises, a few moments were enough for you to realize how profoundly different he was from all the low-down rats who usually came through that horrible place.

Each sharp, still somehow delicate, trait of his face was brimming with delicious youthfulness, a less keen eye might have even confounded his freshness with actual naivety, but not yours; you were far too clever to make such a coarse mistake. Furthermore, the midnight-blue posh fabric of the classy suit, remarkably folding his majestic body, left gaunt doubt that he was, in all likelihood, a considerably rich man, which was beyond disorientating you, since the price to pay for some tawdry delight in that brothel was outrageously derisory, to say the least. And ultimately, as much as it killed you to conceive it, he was without question one of the most enchanting men you had ever seen, to the point that you found yourself subconsciously wondering the possible reason why a heavenly creature of his kind would’ve needed to buy a miserable hour of dissembled love. 

“There she is” That malleable murmur, filled with longing and gratification, furtively sidled past John’s roseate mouth, as its corners seductively bent upwards and his gaze persevered in its praiseworthy commitment to scrupulously linger your finest shape in sheer adoration. Lace and organdy sublimely merged on the light crimson negligee you were wearing, your immaculate form appeared as a beguiling paradox into his dilated pupils, being your long legs lecherously left exposed, while every inch of your porcelain skin, from your lean neck to your groin, was painstakingly disguised by that unholy material, dark and inscrutable, albeit thin enough to allow him to glimpse the inviting turgidity of your nipples. His breath shuddered in awe when he went back to contemplate your aphrodisiac facial features, flushed cheeks and plump lips having him ache with desire, and then your doe eyes flooded by melancholy, strangling his soul with no mercy, entrenching into his brains the treacherous conviction that, at the end of the day, he would’ve gladly dilapidated his fortune, if only to venerate you from afar. “Oi, sweetheart!” His low voice finally rumbled within the walls of that small space, overwhelmingly vibrating into your abdomen, while you forced yourself to swallow the painful lump obstructing your throat and stand up, promptly responding to his command, aware as you had become that rebelling against your pitiable destiny would’ve served no purpose at all. Holding your client’s hand behind your back, but keeping your head down during the whole route, you silently guided him up the spiral staircase to the best room in the house, like you had previously been instructed by your pimp. His jacket and hat were quickly hung on the apposite coat-rack, leaving his muscular top covered with just his white shirt and blue vest, an alluring grin was flashed in your direction and you detected a libidinous sparkle in his irises, as he healed the rift between you at a slow pace. “What should I call you, sweetheart?” He knowingly used the same flattering pet name once more, whispering that barely audible question into your ear, for he was now behind you: his large hands laid around your waist, gently making your back and his vigorous chest fit together, while his skilled mouth brushed forthwith against your nape, drawing an ardent contrail of ephemeral pecks up until your jaw. “Just y/n” You gasped in response, the marked contrast between his warmth and your bitter cold body, along with crippling dread eating you alive, caused your scrambled stomach to squirm and your eyelids to distressingly shut into a frown. “Well, that’s a pretty good one, I’m John, by the way” A lovely, yet hinted giggle fleetingly filled your ears together with that little compliment; there was no record of mockery in his tone, though, it simply sounded like he wanted to be nice to you, without any aspiration of personal gain, and you almost blushed, caught off guard and no longer used to any form of kindness. Nevertheless, it was a matter of instants before another wet, long kiss was pressed on your jawline, making you startle with evident apprehension and, at a later time, definitively back away from him, as soon as you sensed his touch abandoning your hips only to climb your sides, till he reached for your nightgown’s collar and his fingers began to fiddle with its round buttons. “No, I’ll do it!” You curtly gave notice, as you temporarily lost control of both your speech and actions, placing your hands above his in order to shrug them off, then turning to face him with short breath, your open palms shielding you. “I got it” A noticeably softer voice supplanted your preceding rudeness once you gradually metabolised how much damage your incautious reaction could’ve done.

“Aye, aye, darling, as you wish” But John just chuckled, tenderly humouring you, while his forearms jokingly lift in surrender to your commands, although, truth be told, your strange behaviour had left him a bit bewildered, well-nigh confused. Carefully moving backwards, he cockily made himself comfortable on the edge of the double bed, sitting right in front of you with splayed legs, his yearning stare never deflecting from you, and started to unbutton his waistcoat along with his shirt and undershirt, until his statuesque torso was completely nude, in all its glory, as the moon transpired through the curtains and shed its faint rays on his every contour, superbly enhancing all of his muscles.

Without reprieve, he ogled up at you in pure adoration, devastatingly astonished afresh by your dazzling beauty, eager to feel your afire flesh around his, literally hanging on your every word or move, while a provocative smirk steadily rippled his lips. Still, he kept questioning why a seraphic vision like you was slowly withering away in that authentic hell on heart, adamantly squandering your blush of youth amidst that rabble of unrestrained putridity. It made absolutely no sense, and he couldn’t get rid of that pernicious thought haunting his mind ever since he had first seen you: you looked nervous, extremely defensive, almost paralyzed with fear; you seemed so different from all the whores he’d had before, hence his instincts, however obfuscated with cupidity, were screaming that something was wrong.  And when he watched you turn your back on him again, so to avoid his penetrating gaze as you reluctantly got undressed, it was enough for him to understand that his execrable hunch was right. Nevertheless, by the time his head managed to eventually reconnect to his mouth, it was already too late, the soft textile of your nightdress ineluctably fell to your feet, leaving you naked under his starving leer.

John choked on his own breath; for the very first time, he felt like a fledgling kid at his earliest experience, no matter if nothing could be further form the truth, in some turbid, cryptic way, you were able to make him vulnerable. His craw went hellishly dry while he continued to gape at you in awe, the sinuous curves of your flawless glutes, the meandering line of your superlatively arched back covered in part by your soft hair, your tensed shoulders and your refined legs, everything about you caused his mind to go entirely black, words stifling in his throat. Yet, as soon as you moved to face him and his sight was blessed with the full view of your voluptuous figure, something altered the light in his cerulean eyes, suddenly making it dark and gloomy. His jaw slightly dropped under the weight of that violent dismay: in conjunction, an obnoxious sense of nausea cruelly shot him in the gut and blind anger virulently assailed him, for your front bust was completely martyrized.

“What the hell...” That unmeant babble died in the gelid air, his shocked orbs demarcating the strokes of your damaged silhouette: your neck and collarbone were horridly plastered with several violet fingerprints, as if someone had mercilessly strangled you over and over, greenish bruises with the shape of full palms circled both your arms, there were conspicuous signs of ligature around your tiny wrists. Worse still, his eyelids had to squeeze a little in order to bring into focus the multiple oxblood dots stigmatizing your soft breasts, until he noticed in horror how those round specks were effectively cigarettes burns; all of the oxygen bluntly withdrew from his lungs, when he dwelled on the multiple blue and black marks barbarically desecrating the protuberances of your ribs. But what irremediably drove him over the edge were the two ghastly scars digging stretched grooves in your lower stomach, in parallel with your bulging pelvic bones and down almost to your livid groin.

Prey of that deleterious humiliation, you observed raw disgust contaminating his features and, with no apparent reason, the dormant hatred you had for yourself began to ferment inside your belly. “I-I’m sorry” you forced yourself to swallow your imminent tears, unexpectedly, the awareness of not being able to please him somehow inflicted more suffering on your mangled soul “If I’m not to your taste, y-you can...” The young man quickly stood up and, before you had the chance to finish your nonsensical sentence, he readily grabbed his shirt, approaching you with dispatch, his cold irises burning with an implausible mixture of fury and concern. “I don’t fucking care right now” His voice was unsteady, rolling down his tongue in fatigued panting, as his hands hastened to wrap his shirt around your shoulders, his trembling fingers struggling to put the buttons through the eyelets  “Who did this to you?” In truth, he was talking to himself rather than with you, noticeable impatience worsening his mad tone, yet you persistently steered clear of his inquiring look, more than determined to keep your mouth shut, forasmuch as your dizzy head was already helplessly spinning, along with your heart rabidly hammering against your sore ribcage. You were having a hard time figuring out what was going on, everything around you was so confused, you didn’t even know whether to trust him or not, you only wanted to close your eyes and forget about that lucid nightmare. “I’m not asking you, for fuck’s sake! Tell me who it was!”  That searing order tersely brought you back to reality and cleared how easily his rash temper could reemerge; indeed, all of a sudden, no trace was left of that kind, cheerful boy who earlier that night had succeeded in making you genuinely blush, on the contrary, when he cupped your cheeks and vehemently shook you, in a desperate effort to get your attention, his rough, authoritative command unbendingly hit you, and the sweet child within him ended up being thoroughly smothered by the scary, ruthless gangster that he truly was. That unforeseen contact had your feet automatically stagger backwards, your eyes fell to your tiptoes and your teeth started skewering your lower lip, while your exhausted brain resorted to its last ounce of strength, thereby obligating you to spit out a bit of your sorrow. “Three months ago, the man I once called father sold me to settle one of his debts with the Italians” Your thorax seemed to shrink to the point of absurdity once you became aware that it was essentially the first time you allowed yourself to say it all out loud. However, the presence of that compassionate stranger still represented for you a substantial barrier to surmount, leading your unquiet glance to franticly move from the grime on the floor, to the broken window on your left, anywhere, but never daring to meet his. “ I tried to run away, I swear I did, but they always caught me and-” 

A large knot callously plugged the bottom of your palate, causing you to hesitate for a minute, gently rubbing your own arms, in attempt to comfort yourself . “Robert has a short fuse, he g-gets pretty brutal when you don’t cooperate” Those disenchanted considerations carried an involuntary grin, it was nothing more than a spasm, but hid the unmistakable sign of an imminent cry, and John’s attentive irises certainly did not let it go unnoticed, yet he chose to stay quiet, because the last thing he would’ve wanted in that crucial moment was to scare you even more. “He beat me to death, each time harder than the time before, and then he let those men-... He-e kept me tied to that bed for days to teach me a lesson” Copious tears were now unremittingly streaming down your flushed face, your heart aching with raw affliction, preventing you from breathing properly, one of your palms instinctively went to cover the space between your breasts, in a vain whirl to ease that excruciating grief. “Oh, God” John simply sighed, he was precariously theetering on the verge of tears as well, thick veins untamedly pumped in the proximity of his temples, till his solid shape ruinously keeled over the longest side of the bed, his elbows piercing his own thighs, as he hid behind his clenched fists and finally permitted himself to indulge a couple of muffled sobs. Innumerable atrocities had clouded his eyes and soul during his brief life, he himself was capable of unspeakable acts of cruelty, still, that was absolutely intolerable, hearing your story was taking a terrible toll on him. Try as he might, he couldn’t conceive how somebody could have been so hopelessly evil, to abuse in such a heinous way a defenseless creature as pure as you were. That thought was irretrievably disturbing him, rancorously eroding his bowels, almost depriving him of his sanity.

“U-until I stopped fighting them”  Your last, indescribably anguished whisper struck the fatal blow, it unrelentingly plunged into his chest, sending an unbearable jolt of pain through his poisoned veins. For a brief instant, his expression, together with yours, harshly turned into a mask made of neat despair, as if your synapsis had been ravelled and both of you were enduring the exact same ache, at the exact same moment.

“I’ll fucking kill him!” Then, all at once, something apopletic inside him violently detonated, he berserkly stood up, roughly tripping over the beside table and everything placed on it. “Fucking kill that filthy bastard with my own two hands, bloody hell!” His hoarse yells made your bruised skin cringe and his furious steps covered the whole length of the room in the space of a scant minute; he was literally seething with murderous fits of rage, teeth grinding with irrepressible choler. “No!” your desperate voice erupted afresh and you hurried to reach for him, your hands unconsciously enveloping his cheekbones “Please, please, John, please, stop!” For the first time, his name slipped out of your aching throat in between those pathetic pleads, your wrists forced him to look at you, in attempt to dissuade him from his homicidal purposes; the mere thought of the potential disastrous consequences to his calamitous ire totally asphyxiated you, rampant panic assaulted your frail mind and, soon after, you found yourself hyperventilating and simultaneously rambling a bunch of incoherent words, your fingers gradually tightening their grip on him. “He’s gonna get so angry at me, he’s gonna- he-he’s...” “I’m a fucking Shelby, he does not draw a damn breath unless I say so” He firmly grabbed your chin with just two of his fingers, guiding your depleted pupils to entirely focus on his confident stare, and he growled that undisputable fact a span away from your nose. Petrified by that new awareness, you fell utterly silent, only gawking in his direction, while he put his undershirt back on with ease and rapidly grasped his cap. “Just stay here, do you hear me? Don’t move until I come back” An incandescent kiss was impulsively pressed to your forehead, no other words were spent, before he disappeared behind the door of your private hell. When your persecutor saw his special guest unyieldingly storming towards his desk with a truculent expression exuding fervent disappointment, he jumped on his feet, ready to find a solution to whatever problem had possibly arisen; one thing was sure, he never would’ve guessed what was about to happen. “Mr. Shelby, what’s wron-” John’s fist savagely collided with his jaw, nipping his cloying speech in the bud, without giving Turrini a second to process what was going on, another punch pitilessly smote him, and then another one, and then another, until hot, plenteous blood gushed from his multiple wounds. “You son of a bitch”   Animalistic groans left his rabid maws, sheer hate rushing through his brains, as he violently tossed him to the ground, immediately beginning to kick his torso with all of his brute force. “Mercy! I beg of you, sir, have mercy!” His victim’s prayers and harrowing screams barely titillated his ears, everything he could think about was your tragically marred body, hence an unbridled desire to give him a taste of his own medicine completely took over. “Where was your mercy when you were torturing her?”  Expertely holding his hat in the most efficient way, in a fury, John went down on his sacrificial lamb, promptly disfiguring just one side of his face, in order to take a quite theatrical pause from his wicked work.

“When she was imploring you to stop?”  Robert was now crying out loud, overwhelmed by that merciless agony, reduced to just invoke the glacial scynt of death, since nothing in his entire miserable existence had ever caused him more intense pain, than the coarse perception of a finely sharpened razorblade brutishly lacerating his flesh once more, inch by inch.

“Now bend your ear to this” despite his wrenching laments, John rudely lift him up by seizing the blood stained collar of his jacket “if anyone else but me goes near her fucking room again, I’ll burn this fucking place down!” And with that first, deadly threat the pimp’s head was brutally slammed into the wall, an umpteenth whine of contrition escaping his mouth filled with blood, nevertheless, no time was left for redemption.

“You lay a finger on her again” his skull was doggedly crashed into the bricks once again, a crimson spatter smeared the pale plaster covering them “I will break your neck” John’s knuckles clasped, having his red right hand effectively strenghten its hold on his neck, nearly killing him on the spot. However, fortunately for the whoremaster, Johnny would’ve not put an end to his sufferings, nor he could've simply taken you away, deep inside, he knew he needed to discuss it with his family, first and foremost, with Thomas, for the unstable equilibrium reached by the Peaky Blinder was far too fragile to start a new war against the Italians. Thus, with great difficulty, he forced himself to keep his mind clear and put a lid on his beastly instinct. “From now on, no one of you dirty swines is allowed to even look at her”  Throwing him to the floor, the middle Shelby delivered one last kick straight to his fat abdomen, and disrespectfully spit on him, marking with his salt slaver the end of his brutalized prey’s calvary. “By order of the Peaky Blinders”   As soon as the crackling door snapped open, your heart seemed to explode, your eyelids bolted with pure fear, whilst you pulled your knees closer to your clavicles, an ancient prayer lingering your lips together with heavy breaths, as you prepared for the worst. But the worst never came. “Y/n, hey, calm down. It’s all right” John’s husky voice echoed in your ears, and, you could’ve sworn it, that was, without the slightest doubt, the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Your head abruptly tilted in his direction, an oxymoric mixture of fear and hope twinkling into your watery irises, deep pants still rocking your tiny self. “It’s me, it’s just me” Keeping his arms up to indicate his innocuous purpose, he carefully approached you. Almost immediately, you noticed the several scarlet handprints staining his pale top, eloquent sign that he had tried to wipe his palms on that ivory material as best as he could. Yet, you were so profoundly relieved to see his friendly face, that, to be honest, the sight of fresh blood didn’t upset you at all. It was like you had fallen into a fugue state, every single thing around you was so distant, your numb senses were only able to concentrate on John’s lean silhouette kneeling in front of you. “ No one will hurt you anymore, darling” his hands gently went to caress your thighs, while his worried gaze tirelessly sought yours and he spoke those soft, reassuring words “You need to trust me”. And you did want to put all of your faith in that young man. His delicate flair easily awakened you from that ostensible slumber, building a rousing fire inside your belly; without a thought about your unforeseen actions, you threw your arms around his strong neck, your knees producing a dry sound as they collided with the wooden pavement, still you didn’t care and you held him tight, letting out loud cries and drowning into his muscular chest, finally revelling in the feeling of that warm embrace. Soon, he entangled his callous fingers with your velvety locks, subconsciously narrowing his solid shoulders, as to shield your frangible figure from the outside world. “I'll get you out of here soon, I promise”

tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress​​

[sportsnightnut]

I'm missing my dad a lot right now and I would love a little father-daughter moment between Mulder and baby girl if inspiration strikes you. The way you write them is sweet. ❤️

Oh, dear anon. I’m sorry to hear you’re missing your dad. I hope this little bit helps. ️❤️

(Also, as a heads up, I took some liberties in erasing anything that “happened” with Monica in the revival because as far as I’m concerned, CC can shove that storyline somewhere the sun doesn’t shine.)

Written on my lunch break, briefly edited/revised. Tagging @today-in-fic​ and a couple of my pals, @baronessblixen​ and @viceversawrites​. 😊

The room is dim, a soft glow coming from the light above the bed. The faint beeping of monitors and IV pumps can be heard from down the hall, but it’s quiet in this room, which makes this different from so many of their previous hospital stays. No agents stationed outside the door, no cops coming to ask questions about potential suspects, just nurses and doctors making their rounds.

The sweet L&D nurse, Lauren, comes to check on the trio in the early hours of the morning. She finds Mulder lying in the bed next to Scully, his right arm wrapped around her. His left hand is gently stroking the small patch of red hair on his daughter’s head.

“How are you doing?” Lauren whispers, tapping her ID badge against the reader to wake up the computer.

“We’re good,” Scully says, smiling. Caroline is asleep in her arms, having just finished feeding not long ago. “We’re really good.”

Lauren types a few notes into the chart. “I’m glad to hear that. Do you want me to take her to the nursery for a bit, let you two get some rest?”

Scully looks to Mulder, unsure. Uninterrupted sleep sounds incredible, but she doesn’t know if she can stomach the thought of being separated from Caroline. Mulder understands this from her expression; she doesn’t have to say a word.

“Nah,” he says. “We’ve got her. I’ll let her mama get some sleep and I’ll take her for a while.”

“You got it,” Lauren agrees as she heads for the door. “Just let me know if you change your mind or need anything, okay?” Scully thanks her with a sleepy nod.

Mulder untangles himself from Scully and from the blankets, happy for the opportunity to stretch his limbs. When he stands and gets a good look at his wife, he realizes she’s blinking back tears.

“Hey. Hey,” Mulder says soothingly, reaching over to cup her cheek in his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Scully sniffles, wipes the back of her hand across her nose. “I’m just a little scared to be this happy.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Mulder’s voice is soft, reassuring. “We’re okay. Everything is okay.”

“I know.” He’s wiping her tears away with his thumb when she smiles up at him. “I guess I had just convinced myself we’d never get to do this. Somehow it didn’t feel real until I actually got to hold her.”

“Yeah. Me too. But look at her, Scully. She’s perfect. And she’s ours.”

Mulder kisses her forehead before she gives Caroline to him. He paces back and forth with her for a few moments and adjusts the tiny knit cap on her head.

“Mulder?” Scully’s voice is soft, almost shy. She’s cast in that soft glow of the light above her bed, looking almost angelic in this moment. It’s a thought Mulder would never voice out loud, but one that makes his heart swell anyway.

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For everything.“

"You don’t need to thank me. You’re the one who did all the work.”

“Yeah, but…” Scully smiles. “I couldn’t do this without you. And I wouldn’t want to, either. I love you. I hope you know how much.”

Mulder smiles back and leans down to give her a kiss. “I love you, too.”

He flips the switch to turn the light off so that the room is now illuminated only by the sliver of light coming in from the doorway.  

As soon as Scully falls asleep (which is almost immediately), Mulder shifts his focus down to the baby girl in his arms. She’s awake now, but quiet and calm.

He takes a seat in the recliner and looks out the window next to him, the sky shifting from black to shades of deep purple as the sun prepares to rise in a couple of hours.

“Hey, pumpkin,” he says quietly. “While I’ve got your attention, there are a few things I need to tell you. First things first: that woman over there, your mama, is the most important person in the world to both of us. We wouldn’t survive without her. I will do anything to protect her, and you too, okay?”

Though her eyes are still open, Caroline yawns.

“I can’t be boring you already, can I? Nah. You don’t even know what boredom is yet. I’ll just keep talking. Here’s the second thing you need to know: in this family, we are Yankees fans. The Red Sox are scum. You are so lucky that you were born a fan of the best team in major league baseball.”

“I also have to tell you ahead of time that I might not always get this whole dad thing right. My father wasn’t good at it, and I’m a little afraid I won’t be, either. But I’m going to do my best. And when I mess up, you just have to let me know so I can fix it, because I want to be the best dad in the universe for you.”

Mulder looks over Scully and grins. “You’ll find this out really quickly, but your mama is very smart. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. You might decide someday that you want to be a doctor like her. Or maybe you want to be a psychologist like your old man. Or maybe you’ll be a writer, or a teacher. I don’t know, pumpkin. But I do know you’ll be the best at whatever it is you choose, and we’re going to love you and support you no matter what.”

Mulder rocks gently back and forth in the chair. “Let’s see…what else do you need to know? Oh. Here’s something. If a man or a woman ever breaks your heart, you come to us right away, okay? We’ll take care of them for you, no questions asked. This is just one benefit of your parents being FBI agents.” He chuckles to himself.

Caroline yawns again as her eyes start to close. “Tomorrow you’ll get to meet your godparents. Your godmother’s name is Monica. Monica is one of the nicest people you will ever know. She’ll always be there to have movie nights with you and cheer you on in life. And your godfather’s name is John. He only wants the very best for you, so he’s gonna want to grill your significant others, too. I wasn’t so sure about John at first, but I warmed up to him eventually. You’ll learn quickly that I’m kind of stubborn, baby. But Monica and John were there for your mom at a time when I couldn’t be. They helped her and took care of her, and I know they’ll take care of you, too.”

“I really want to tell you more about your grandmother. Her name was Maggie. Oh, she would have loved you so much. We miss her every day. But you’ll get to see the best parts of her in your mama. And I promise we’ll try to make banana bread just as good as she made it.”

“I think that’s a good start for now, don’t you? We should get some sleep. Well…I should get some sleep,” he corrects himself, as Caroline has already been asleep for a few minutes. “We’ve got plenty of time to teach you everything you need to know. The only thing you really need to know right now is that you are by far the most loved little girl in the entire world.”

Mulder places a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “Oh, and aliens are real, honey. Don’t ever let anyone try to convince you otherwise.”

[creative-type]

Good vs Great: Details Matter

So with the release of the new Thor movie I thought it would be appropriate to write a post celebrating one of the greatest superhero movies of all time. Released before the genre really got popular, it has everything one could hope for in an action flick: Strong character and story, tense action, and timeless themes. The movie wasn’t produced by Marvel,  DC, or even Fox.

It was Pixar. Pixar made the best superhero movie, and I will fight anyone who disagrees.

Like most things I write about, I absolutely love this movie. I remember seeing the trailers for it way back in 2004 and was obsessed even before it was released. As a middle schooler I sought out reviews and merchandise, and even clipped out an interview with director Brad Bird out of a newspaper. I got the two-disk special edition as soon as it came out and watched every special feature and both commentaries...more than once. 

So usual disclaimer: I will try to keep my clearly unhealthy bias under control, but no promises.

Before going too deeply into why I think The Incredibles is such an, er,  incredible movie I think it would help to compare it to another animated family film that covers a lot of the same narrative themes but without the same emotional weight.

To be clear, I don’t think the first Despicable Me movie is bad, but many (myself included) consider The Incredibles to be one of Pixar’s best movies and a classic in its own right. The question here is what elevates The Incredibles from good to great, and I think the devil’s in the details.

Pushing Boundaries   

One thing that becomes clear when watching the commentaries for The Incredibles was that it was freaking hard to animate. Remember, this was back in 2004. Pixar had never made a movie starring humans. They had no idea how to do long hair (Violet) or heavy muscle/feats of strength (Mr. Incredible). Budget constrictions limited the number of “universal men” the animators could use for crowd scenes. In fact, Bomb Voyage actually shares a character model with Frozone, albeit slightly modified. 

That’s just the human characters. Water and fire are both difficult to animate, and The Incredibles has its fair share of both. And remember the opening montage, when Mr. Incredible’s car transforms into the Batmobile? That was difficult, time-consuming animation and it shows up twice, and never outside of the opening (it would have been once, but the animators felt if they were going to go through all that effort they might as well make it worth their while.)

And behold, one of the most technically difficult scenes to animate in the entire movie

I know, I was surprised too, but it seems the act of Bob and Edna putting their hand through the ripped suit gave the animators fits. Apparently they asked Bird if there was a way they could cut around actually showing the action itself because it was so damned hard. 

I will be the first to admit that being technologically innovative does not always lead to a good movie, but there’s something to be said about pushing the boundaries and just seeing what happens. With a budget of $92 million it wasn’t as if Bird and his team were working with peanuts, but they did everything they could to make the best use of their money.

Despicable Me does have a strong aesthetic that separates it from Pixar or DreamWorks, and these visuals are a good fit for the tone of the story. The exaggerated proportions of the characters is right at home in the zany world that they live in. I don’t think Gru’s daft plan to steal the moon would have worked as well in a film with a more traditional Pixar look.

But as far as animation quality goes, there’s nothing particularly special with Despicable Me. To some degree this makes sense. Despicable Me had fewer resources to work with. It was Illumination’s first feature film, and a flop could have sunk their studio. 

Despicable Me is a fun little romp, but it also plays it very safe. The story is by the numbers, and it does enough for the warm fuzzies at the end to feel earned. It is very much a kid’s movie, without ever thinking too deeply into its characters or the natural consequences of their actions.

The Incredibles is an animated film, but it doesn’t really feel like a kid’s movie - and in fact Brad Bird caught some flack for some of the violence and dark implications of the film. It does not pander to children.

With that in mind, look at this scene between Helen and Bob

I bring this up to show some of the nuance that goes into visual storytelling. Any married couple could tell you that Bob and Helen are not really arguing about Dash here. This is a long-standing conflict that’s been simmering for years, and it highlights the effects Bob’s major character flaw has on the family. 

All of that is found in the script. It’s a scene that could be found in a movie, book, or play. While well-written, there’s a universality to it. It was up to Bird to add something to this scene that I think only works in an animated film.

Look again at the end of the scene. When Helen shouts “It’s not about you!” she uses her stretchy power to tower over her more physically imposing husband. It’s such a tiny detail, but it completely changes the dynamic of the argument and their relationship as a married couple.

And apparently figuring out this scene was so memorable that producer John Walker mentioned it in the commentary and Edwin Catmull (current president of Pixar animation studios) specifically brought it up in his book Creativity, Inc

(I have somewhat...eclectic tastes in literature)

And this is what I really mean about pushing boundaries to bring out the best of a story. You don’t need millions of dollars to animate a husband and wife arguing, but you do have to pay attention to what they’re saying and how they’re saying it to 1) make sure it fits the plot/tone of the movie you’re going for, and 2) have it feel real/authentic to the audience.

I didn’t ever get this feeling of authenticity from Despicable Me, and it’s not just because of it’s overall more light-hearted tone. Kung Fu Panda was loaded with humor and had its protagonist voiced by Jack Black and it still managed to have more emotional depth. The world and the majority of the characters who live in Despicable Me are flat and one-note.

The biggest example can be found in the girls Gru ends up adopting. For one, Edith has no impact on the movie whatsoever. She could have been cut and nothing would have changed. To me that proves that the girls could have been given more depth.

Secondly, the effects of Miss Hattie’s abuse are never really explored. If anything it’s played for dark comedy  

With this scene alone Illumination had the setup for a truly despicable, Dolores Umbrige-style villain, but nothing ever comes if it. The movie wastes run time with a montage of the minions going out shopping, but it can’t be bothered to tell us that Margo, Edith, and Agnes aren’t actually blood siblings or how they came to be as inseparable as they are.

The Incredibles is a movie about a man reconnecting with his family trapped in the guise of a superhero flick. As Brad Bird said, it’s the fantastic and the mundane smashed together into something that’s both awesome and very human.

Despicable Me had the potential to do the same, this time exploring a non-traditional family structure, foster care and adoption, and the difficulties of being a single parent. And don’t get me wrong, it does do some of those things, but often they take a back seat to the more superficial aspects of the story. Illumination didn’t plum the depths of their concept like Pixar did with theirs, and that’s the difference between being good and greatness.

[homesception]

May 30th, 2013 - Part 1: Wherein Lobac writes a book

I am constantly humbled by my own peerless capacity to capture Lobac’s sublime essence in the form of Homestuck panel edits.  This one is, if anything, my finest work yet, an exquisite realization Lobac’s deepest and most fundamental inner truths, the very core of her personal being.

lobac said:

Right then, I was gonna say stuff about those weird destiny/mythology/title/element/RPG class thingies!

Ok, so... this page is just a huge text post of classpect speculation, plus some troll chat name discussion, and I’m not really sure what to do with that, or what commentary I could add that wouldn’t be confirming or denying her guesswork in a spoilery way.

Eh, we’ll just wing it.

(By the way, this is all more about what I’d LIKE to see, story-telling-wise, and about what I WANT to be true because this could potentially be a really neat system It’s less about what I think is LIKELY to happen)

Fair enough

Oh MAN I am so excited about this though

Classpectulation was always very popular among the fanbase.  Some people got way, way into it.  Me not so much, though, actually.  Not sure if there’s any reason behind that, just wasn’t really my scene.

So much speculation to be done!!! (*~▽~) So many things to be confused about!!! (~▽~*) SO much disappointment in my future once I realise that everything I guessed was wrong!!! (*T▽T*)

I mean, I can see why Lobac and others found it exciting.  

Ok, first of all, we’ve finally shed some light on the whole “Title fits player? Title… doesn’t fit player??? Title challenges player????? No????” debacle (Finally I will be able to sleep peacefully again)

Oh, yeah!  The light thing!  Hahaha, that’s, that’s still pretty funny.  :p

SBURB tells players what their general role in the grand scheme of things is, their “destiny” if you will, and assigns them in a way that makes their party likely to succeed It’s like wanting to have a healer, fighter and wizard in your party I think? Offense and Defense and stuff all need to be strong and work well together if you wanna get anywhere, so SBURB balances things out and makes sure every angle of the game is covered by someone

Eh, I don’t know.  I mean, by this point in the story we know there are parties / player groups of different sizes, and the troll group includes elements that the human group doesn’t have, like Blood and Mind, so not every angle can be accounted for in every group.

(I still don’t know what the actual POINT of SBURB is supposed to be, and why we’re even doing all of this to save a world that the game created in the first place… Why do you even need the kids? Why do you need them to go on a journey of character growth and self-discovery??? There’s obviously some bigger purpose but??? I don’t think we got any hints toward what it is)

Can’t comment on this bit

However, these are HYP3R FL3XIBL3, meaning that you’re supposed to decide what your title means for yourself and how to utilize your powers in a way that fits your personality and the path you choose So, it’s not quite as simple as everyone’s title being purposely unfitting and challenging, or everyone’s being unproblematic and fitting perfectly, it’s all about personal growth, it’s all about how the individual interprets their role

There was a lot of theorizing trying to create a one size fits all model o how Sburb assigns classpects to players, but I always sided with this interpretation, that some players are challenged, others not so, that not just the class and aspect but the experience is tailored to individual players and varries arbitrarily.

What I mean by this is that, at least for now, since it’s up to the kids to both grow into their roles and shape them, there’s no point in making any “general” statements about any elements, it’s probably a better idea to look at what they might mean for the specific character they were assigned to

This is a good approach, I think, and Lobac goes on to break down her thoughts on some of the asspects and classes, but before we jump into that I’d just like to point out that there’s a third axis as well, even if it doesn’t make it into the kids’ titles, of prospit vs. derse.  I don’t think its too much of a spoiler to say we don’t get to see any examples of players with the same class and aspect but different moon assignments, mostly because I don’t actually remember if it’s true or not, but I do remember thinking it would have been interesting for comparison purposes to see what difference that would make.

BREATH ~~

Ability to (subconsciously??? seriously what even was that) manipulate the wind and conjure up storms, of course! I imagine John will not be very, precise, or subtle, when using his powers, so he probably won’t be able to make himself “fly” by redirecting the air around him? Or rather, it’ll take him quite a while to get there, the kid needs some kind of challenge

seems straight forward enough.

Maybe he’ll fall of a cliff

NO COMMENT.

Storms can also be fucking terrifying and destructive - John could possibly be like that if something awful enough happened? His father’s death, maybe

What, like a break the woobie kind of situation?  I guess the plot could go that direction.

I’m already seeing the whole “flexibility” thing here, you can interpret this any way you want to

Basically.

BLOOD ۵۵۵

I’ve no idea who’s supposed to be the Knight of Blood, which means there isn’t that much to say but of course there’s the obvious implication, and also… Eh I’ll get to that later

There’s probably spoilers on that page somewhere.

LIGHT ☼

I don’t have any good commentary on Lobac’s speculation, here, possibly because I’m getting pretty tired, it’s about 9pm as I’m writing this and it’s been a long, long day.  But it’s all really good stuff, and I highly recommend you just follow the ‘lobac said’ link above and read it for yourself if you haven’t in a while.

SPACE   ҉

Yeah, this one and Time are pretty much the odd ones out I mean, is there any way to interpret Space other than, well, space?

Well, there’s like personal space, or when people are breaking up they might say they need some space...

I don’t know, I got nuthin.

TIME ⏳

Travelling through time! Stopping time! Seeing the past and/or future! We’ve had an entire act full of random-ass time powers I don’t think there’s even anything left to say (Except for POOR FUCKING SAWBUCK. That can never be said enough)

Homestuck has lots of great time shenanigans and a positively silly number of examples of distinct weird and amusing (if not always useful) weird time powers, mostly thanks to the Intermission’s Felt.  Even if in all the Felt’s cases time still just meant literal time and not a metaphor for some other more abstract concept, it still gives an idea of the range that, Breath or Light powers or whatever could take, even if they were restricted to just blowing and illumination.

MIND ⍰ (Yeah no clue how to put a symbol to that)

AAAAaaand apparently there’s a limit to the number of videos tumblr will let me embed in a single text post?  Boooh, that’s no fun.  Bluh.  Was gonna put that samurai jack clip here, the “I knew that you knew that I knew you would cheat” bit, but... eh.  oh, well.

Right, GC is a Seer of Mind! Mind probably just refers to the ability to understand other people, and use it against them or help them with that knowledge in any way you see fit It does make her really good at trolling people, by definition

It does make sense that she, at least, isn’t an abject failure in that regard.

And now onto the classes...

...

..

Actually, I’m too tired to go on, so I’m going to cut this one short here, and put her discussion of classes and troll handles in another post later.

[aion-rsa]

Tell Me A Story: 15 Weird Superhero Comic Book Formats

Over their several decades of existence, American superhero comics have had to adapt to changing market conditions and changes in reader habits. Anthologies were more popular in the Golden Age but dwindled away as the Silver Age ended. Early Marvel superhero books incorporated continuing subplots to create super-soap operas, and DC naturally followed suit. Today, even as the individual issue with 20 story pages still dominates as the standard comic book format, many readers wait for collected editions.

RELATED: The 15 Weirdest Comic Book Swimsuit Specials

And yet, every now and then there are isolated instances of experimentation in which a publisher bends those dominant formats to either stretch storytelling possibilities or just to attract attention. Never mind the menagerie of 1990s-era cover gimmicks or the modern effects that digital and motion comics can achieve; good old-fashioned print had some surprising tricks. Today, as the “Kamandi Challenge” revives an old DC experiment, we look back (in no particular order) on some odd and unusual ways to present superhero stories.

ROCKIN’ ROUND-ROBIN

If you think creative teams don’t stick around as long as they used to, then you need to consider the round-robin format used in 1985-86’s “DC Challenge” miniseries and currently in use by the “Kamandi Challenge.” Each issue has a different creative team and the only real rule is to end on a cliffhanger for the next team to resolve. Notice that the rules don’t include “tell a coherent story,” because as much fun as the “DC Challenge” teams apparently had on each of their issues, boy-howdy was it hard to follow!

It started with Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Adam Strange and some demons in Mark Evanier and Gene Colan’s “DC Challenge” #1, but before it was over, Nazis had won World War II, Superman had a red sun for a head and the JLA Satellite was full of confused super-people. Nevertheless, the round-robin can stretch the capabilities of both readers and creators, and it truly shows off comics’ limitless potential.

A BIG DELIGHT

Likewise, we include the ubiquitous one-page Hostess Cupcake ads of the 1970s for the only rule they appeared to have: Make sure the product is the star. That was the point, of course; but for readers used to Batman and Daredevil fighting ninjas and serial murderers in their regular books, the ads were a bit jarring to read.

Although they featured even wilder plots than the regular comics (birds stealing the Statue of Liberty, for example) and used ultra-powerful characters like Green Lantern and Captain Mar-Vell, the day was always saved by the timely appearance of Twinkies, Hostess Cupcakes or Fruit Pies. Granted, who among us can resist rich chocolate taste and/or creamy filling. But the ads were so prevalent that, after a while, one got the impression that the Justice League and Avengers could have saved themselves a lot of trouble by stuffing the Anti-Monitor or Thanos full of sweet treats.

COMICS WITHIN COMICS

In the early 1980s, DC previewed new series with 16-page stories bound into the middle of selected single issues. The “Amethyst” preview was in “Legion of Super-Heroes” #294, “All-Star Squadron’s” was in “JLA” #192, and a little series called “New Teen Titans” was first seen in the middle of “DC Comics Presents” #26.

These previews didn’t have anything to do with the titles they appeared in, but later in the decade, “Bonus Book” inserts tied in more closely and featured up-and-coming talent. Today, the format is back, sort of, through “Dark Knight III’s” bound-in mini-comics. Basically they’re backup stories, but since they’re physically in the middle of the issue, you have to get around them in order to finish reading the main story, and then circle back and hope you read everything in the right order. Whatever you do, though, don’t risk your comics’ value (or its staples) by removing the inserts.

HEARD ANY GOOD PICTURES LATELY?

Another staple of the 1970s, Power Records specialized in book-and-record sets where kids could read along with an audio dramatization. Along with superheroes, the label featured sci-fi franchises like “Star Trek” and “Planet of the Apes.” While Power adapted existing issues, like September 1972’s “Fantastic Four” #126, December 1973’s “Captain America” #168 or January 1974’s “Incredible Hulk” #171, Neal Adams’ Continuity Studios also produced original stories for the label.

These included the Batman tales “Stacked Cards” and “Robin Meets Man-Bat” (reprinted in “Batman Illustrated By Neal Adams” volume 3); Superman stories by Cary Bates, Elliott S. Maggin and Ross Andru; and a 1976 Conan adventure by Len Wein, J.M. DeMatteis and John Buscema that was reprinted as November 1980’s “Conan” #116. Although the novelty comes from hearing an actor screech like Man-Bat or roar like the Hulk, we imagine “writing for the record” is a skill set all its own.

NEXUS IN STEREO

Sometimes the soundtrack is part of the main series. “Nexus” was a superhero series set 500 years in the future, initially published under Capital Comics and now owned by Dark Horse. Writer Mike Baron and artist Steve Rude’s independent sci-fi superhero classic started out as a magazine-sized black-and-white comic.

Bound into its third issue was a “flexi-disc” with the “Nexus” theme song (co-written by Baron) and an audio dramatization. An editorial explained the benefits: “The intonation of a character’s voice, background music to set the mood and electrifying sound effects all add new depth and dimension to the printed words and art.” While flexi-discs wouldn’t be in every issue, the editorial promised “next time we do this it’ll be even better.” However, there was never to be a “next time,” unfortunately, as the flexi-disc doesn’t show up in reprints and there weren’t any future issues that came accompanied with flex-discs to enjoy. However, “Nexus” turned out to be memorable enough without the audio accompaniment.

INDEPENDENT VOICES

Although it’s not really a distinct format to pair mainstream, corporate-controlled characters with comics creators from more of an independent background, anthologies like the “Bizarro Comics” and “Strange Tales” series are often both entertaining and illuminating.

“Bizarro” allowed DC to reprint Kyle Baker’s instant-classic “Letitia Lerner, Superman’s Babysitter” and “Strange Tales” gave us Kate Beaton’s take on Rogue and Kraven. Tom Scioli and John Barber’s “Transformers vs. G.I. Joe” series, which merged the superfans’ knowledge with their unique styles and filtered it through a ’70s Jack Kirby lens, is also a good example of combining the best of both worlds. Of course, with the Internet, it’s become easier than ever to find cartoonists’ “unsanctioned” takes on superheroes, but the official sanctioning of a DC or Marvel anthology may sand down some rough edges. Still, the freedom these creators normally enjoy usually transfers pretty well, and we’re all better for it.

NEXTWAVE EXTRAS

Warren Ellis and Stuart Immonen’s 12-issue cult-classic “Nextwave” (2006-07) took shots at a lot of superhero-comics targets, but it also used some memorable gimmicks to grow an audience. Mixed into Fin Fang Foom’s pants-related anger, the filthy half of the Captain’s codename and Machine Man’s contempt for fleshy ones was the “Nextwave” theme. So too were things like issue #5’s “Crayon Butchery Variant.”

Yes, quite a while before adult coloring books became a thing, “Nextwave” encouraged its readers to cast off the shackles of hues imposed from on high and color the issue themselves. Granted, this was a variant, so readers had to make an extra effort to get it. So unsurprisingly, the non-colored version of the issue hasn’t been reprinted in any “Nextwave” collection. As a further incentive, though, Marvel conducted a coloring contest, and the winner’s name (Matthew Keegan, whose entry can be seen here) was forever immortalized in said collections.

EASY LIKE SUNDAY MORNING

The 12-issue weekly “Wednesday Comics” was designed to emulate the classic comics pages of Sunday newspapers, when adventure strips like “Prince Valiant” and “The Phantom” got ample room for their Sunday-continuity installments (Feel free to ask your grandparents for more details.). Each issue of “Wednesday Comics” folded up into a standard 7″ x 10″ comic-book size, but opened into 15 gigantic 14″ x 20″ broadsheet pages.

The features included DC’s A-listers as well as Kyle Baker’s “Hawkman,” Dave Gibbons and Ryan Sook’s “Kamandi” and Paul Pope’s “Adam Strange.” Neil Gaiman and Mike Allred’s “Metamorpho” even did two pages which combined to form the Periodic Table of the Elements. “USA Today” also published John Arcudi and Lee Bermejo’s “Superman” strip. The collected edition is similarly impressive, and includes a “Plastic Man” short feature; but nothing beat the love-of-reading experience from picking up each issue as it came out.

EVENTS PUBLISHED IN REAL TIME

One series which demanded to be read as it came out was 2006-07’s sequel to “Infinite Crisis,” the year-long weekly “52.” Since all of DC’s ongoing superhero comics had gone through a one-year time-jump, only “52” chronicled the missing year. Its brain trust, which included writers Geoff Johns, Mark Waid, Grant Morrison and Greg Rucka, and layout artist Keith Giffen, further imposed a strict real-time rule that each issue would cover one week. The only cliffhanger involved one issue ending at 11:59 p.m. and the next starting at midnight.

The method was popular enough, with some fans reportedly waiting to read each day’s events as they “happened,” meaning a fan on a Tuesday would stop reading on when he or she reached the part of the issue dealing with a Wednesday. There had been real-time comics before (the “Batman: No Man’s Land” epic played out over the course of a year, for example, from January to December 1999), but with elastic timelines a staple of superhero storytelling, “52’s” adherence to its internal rules was both a clever gimmick and a steadying influence on its pacing.

TRIANGLE TIME

Some superheroes are simply too big for one book, but when a hero has multiple comics titles being published, those books don’t necessarily have to flow together. When they do, however, the results can be quite engaging. In the early 1980s, Bat-writer Gerry Conway structured issues of “Batman” and “Detective Comics” so that “Detective” continued “Batman’s” stories, and vice versa. The format ended with 1986’s “Batman” #400, but not long afterwards the three Superman books (“Action Comics,” “Adventures of Superman” and “Superman”) picked it up.

To keep everything straight, the Super-titles put the reading order in a little triangle on each issue’s cover. It lasted about 10 years, before including the addition of a new monthly series (“Man of Steel”), as well as incorporating a new quarterly book (“Man of Tomorrow”) for the months that had five Wednesdays in them. It could be overwhelming at times, but the four series combined to tell some true epics, including the “Death of Superman,” “Funeral For A Friend” and “Return of Superman” story arcs.

PAGE-HOPPING

We’ve already talked about comics within comics, but Walt Simonson’s “Fantastic Four” #352 (May 1991) presented a story within a story, and the “inner” story was out of sync with the “outer” one! The main (“outer”) story involved Doctor Doom, Ben Grimm reverting back to the Thing, and Ben’s girlfriend Sharon Ventura giving up her own career as the Thing in her absence.

Doom had captured the FF and challenged Reed Richards to a duel using time-jumping devices. Their fight, which was waged across increments of minutes and seconds, was the “inner” story, and it unfolded in out-of-sequence vertical panels that ran alongside the in-sequence main story. Readers had to follow the timecodes in both stories in order to keep everything in order, and could check their work with the occasional panel where the two timelines intersected. It was a great use of single-issue real estate and the kind of innovative technique “FF” helped pioneer.

DIAL “R” FOR READER

Created by Dave Wood and Jim Mooney for January 1966’s “House of Mystery” #156, “Dial H For HERO” was one of Silver Age DC’s crazier concepts. It involved a magic “H-Dial” which would turn its owner into a randomly-generated superhero and, more often than not, a one-off character created specifically for the story.

The feature ran until issue #173 (March-April 1968) but was revived in February 1981 via a special insert (remember those?) in “Legion of Super-Heroes” #272. (It then moved to “Adventure Comics” and was a backup in “Superboy.”) This time, writer Marv Wolfman and artist Carmine Infantino’s gimmick was using characters submitted by readers, who both received credit for the idea and had a T-shirt sent to them in exchange for their intellectual property. While it was probably a time-saver for the creative team, no doubt they also wracked their brains trying to figure out how to work Lawnmower Lass, or whomever, into the stories.

THIS COMIC CAN KILL YOU

In “Animal Man,” Grant Morrison famously broke the fourth wall to introduce himself to the main character, Buddy Baker. Over 20 years later, Morrison would revisit the idea of characters addressing the reader directly in his “Multiversity” miniseries, especially in the “Ultra Comics” one-shot, which was an installment about a character named Ultra from the “real world” of Earth-33, who was a comic book come to life.

In other words, “Ultra Comics” was about itself, and by reading the issue, readers participated in the character’s life, including his birth and (very short) career. At the end of the issue, Ultra sacrificed himself by trapping his foe within the pages of the comic, begging readers not to let it out. To that point, “Multiversity” was already pretty meta-textual, so “Ultra Comics” was over the top on a number of levels. Nevertheless, the reader-participation angle gave the miniseries an entirely new dimension.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE COMICS

One of the many tools in Ryan North’s utility belt is a knack for choose-your-own-adventure storytelling. Besides his great mostly-prose Shakespeare adaptations (“To Be Or Not To Be” and “Romeo And/Or Juliet”), he’s also written a couple of chooseable-path comics. In November 2012’s “Adventure Time” #10, he and artist Shelli Paroline crafted a labyrinthine tale about the Ice King putting our heroes under the control of a mysterious force (guess who) which got more and more twisted as the issue played out. The ending even depended on the sheer number of options the story eventually encompassed.

More recently, in June 2016’s “Unbeatable Squirrel Girl” #7, North and artist Erica Henderson allowed the reader to guide Squirrel Girl to victory against Quoggoth, Swarm, and/or Doctor Yes, with Galactus himself as your host. Chooseable-path comics aren’t new (see “The Unwritten” #17, for example) but North has brought them back into the limelight and made them a one-man trend.

TITANS SEPARATELY

Superhero comics of the early ’90s get well-deserved attention for the cover-enhancement craze. Therefore, to stand out from all the chromium and foil, DC promoted September 1992’s first issue of “Team Titans” with — wait for it — alternate interiors. That’s right, not only did “Team Titans” #1 feature variant covers for each of the five Titans, each variant also included the 18-page origin of its cover-featured hero.

Accordingly, if you wanted to get the whole story, you had to buy five different issues (all of which were written by Marv Wolfman). That was overkill, since the variants all shared the same 22-page main story; and on top of that, the main story was Part 3 of a Titans-franchise crossover! Those of you doing the math will realize that if you bought all five variants, you got 4 extra copies of Part 3 of the crossover. Needless to say, DC decided to keep the variants on the covers only from then on.

Got a favorite storytelling strategy or comic book gimmick? Tell us in the comments!

The post Tell Me A Story: 15 Weird Superhero Comic Book Formats appeared first on CBR.com.

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