#and the director was clearly like 'lets combine these two things'

[notoneglance]

HIkawa: Are you and Ryou good friends now?

Shouichi: yeah!

Hikawa, aggressively licking his ice cream: >:( He punched me once! He attacked you!

[moralesmilesanhour]

Hi, hope you're doing well. I was hoping to request Earth 42! Miles with a SO that's really into art. Like fashion and films and literature and all that and knows a lot about art history.

Hell yeah! (I'm an art history major and my mom did fashion design so I got rlly excited at this)

Warning: vague spoilers for 'NOPE' (2022) if anyone cares about those lmao

"...Do you need sumn?"

Miles gave you a weird look. You had been looking him up and down for the past ten minutes, and not in the good way. Your eyes narrowed.

"Your 'fit is bothering me."

The fit in question? A sleek, structured leather jacket paired with swampy-green basketball shorts. The horror.

Miles looked down, then looked at your own monochromatic ensemble as you stood with your arms crossed. Somehow you had made a large belt with a blue tracksuit make sense. Clearly you knew something he didn't.

He tilted his head in curiosity. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's..." your made wild gestures with your hands, "...the silhouette. I don't like that jacket with the shorts, it creates a weird shape to me."

Miles blinked. "I don't follow."

You shook your head, "Just lemme getchu a different pair of pants."

As you threw open and rummaged through your closet, the boy sighed.

"I'm not wearing any of them tight ass skinny jeans."

"I know, that's not what I'm looking for...ah! These could work!"

Miles yelped as he dodged the two folded pairs of jeans you tossed at him.

You turned and pointed him towards the bathroom.

"Try em' on, 'cuz we not going out with you looking like this. Claro?

"Claro," Miles grinned with his hands raised in surrender before making a beeline for the door.

He made no attempt to defend his sense of fashion because, frankly, it was funnier when he let you rant about color combinations and "silhouettes". And he got free stuff out of it.

Miles re-entered not more than five minutes later, shifting uncomfortably in a pair of faded bell-bottoms.

You clapped your hands together excitedly.

"That's so cute!"

The boy's upper lip curled up in distaste, and your face fell.

"You don't like 'em?"

"Yeah, not happening."

"Ugh, fine. Lemme see the other ones, then."

Another trip to the bathroom, and Miles returned in a pair of boot-cut jeans of a much darker wash. The way he leaned against the door frame told you that he was far more satisfied with these. You nodded in approval.

"You need some boots with those," you said, visualizing the ensemble in your head.

The grin on Miles' face immediately dropped at the word 'boots'.

"Absolutely not."

"Come on! They're called 'boot cut' for a reason!"

"The converses stay. Those are off-limits."

He crossed his arms, and you relented.

"Fine. You're so boring."

"I'll be that," Miles shrugged. "Movie starts in fifteen. Let's bounce."

-

You smacked your boyfriend in the arm as you exited the theater.

"You fell asleep?!?"

"I'm sorry, okay? They took mad long to show the alien!"

"To show the--that's not even the point of the movie!"

Your arms had begun to flail around, and it was taking all of the strength Miles could muster not to laugh.

"Cálmate," he gently brought your arm down before taking your hand. "Tell me everything you liked about it at my place."

"Don't tell me to 'calm down'," you muttered.

-

"So?" Miles plopped down on his mattress, patting a spot next to him. "What happened while I was knocked out?"

You rolled your eyes, but sat down anyway.

"So like, the whole thing's about spectacle, right?"

"M-hm."

"So they get the weird film director guy to help them film the alien, 'cuz OJ figured out that the alien is a animal, like a horse. Then this guy from TMZ comes and puts his life in danger tryna get footage..."

Miles rested his chin in his palm as he watched your eyes light up.

"...Miles, are you listening? And then she did the motorcycle maneuver from 'Akira'!"

"Yeah, I'm listening. Still need to watch that one."

"...then the movie ends with the sister about to get swarmed by reporters, 'cuz the whole point is that, like, everyone's just tryna make money off of the story even though people literally died."

The boy leaned in and pecked you on the cheek. "Very succinct analysis. Now can we play some UNO?"

-

Miles shoved his cold hands into his pockets and shifted from one foot to another. You gazed into the painted-on eyes of the ancient African headdress encased in a cube of glass.

"Look, Miles! Cool right?"

He snorted, "Looks like one of your wig heads."

"It's bad bitches in every time period," you parried back. "You like that one?"

Miles had moved to your right to get into a staring contest with a mask in a similar display case. It was round with prominent, low cheekbones and jagged fangs to complete its frightening expression.

"Yeah, this shit hard. Can we take pictures in here?"

"Yup. It's a Sachihongo mask. Mbunda style."

He took out his phone and snapped a photo; He had that look in his eyes that he got when he was about to build something for the robotics club. Miles smirked.

"I think this is my favorite section."

-

This was fun to write! Made me wanna hop on a train and visit the MET again sdfghjk I just had to scroll through they website to make sure my descriptions were accurate. Thanks for requesting!

[t1gerlilly]

I’ve seen a number of posts dismissing discussions of racism in the new storyline out of hand. To the point where I have no idea what the original criticisms were. And I think that’s really unfortunate. Partly because it feels like there’s a part of our community we’re not listening to and partly because I have some questions on the subject and would really like to hear what people are saying about it, but I’m clearly not following the right people.

I think folks forget how important Eddie is as Hispanic rep. Although 25% of the US population is Hispanic, only 3.3% of lead roles in TV are played by Hispanic actors (source) They’re also only 1.6% of showrunners and 1.9% of directors. And they are also under 5% of executive or management roles in media (source). So there is clearly a systemic problem.

But how does that apply to 911? Well - Carlos on lone star is notorious for having the least screen time of any character, despite the fact that his character is the closest to Athena in terms of role. And Eddie? Well, the latest I could find was season five totals - and Eddie and Chim, the non-white or black men, were bottom of the barrel. To really establish a pattern, you’d want more than two shows, but at least across half a decade of shows, the pattern is pretty consistent. I’m not making an argument about the reasons for that, but those are just the numbers. If I were to speculate, I’d assume it was a combination of who the network exec, showrunner, and executive producer was, since they have the power to make decisions. Just coincidentally, their racial identities mirror the screen time of the characters? Hmmmm

So then let’s look at who does press for the show - making themselves more visible…yeah, that’s largely Oliver. And you can say that’s because he’s a POV character- but you might be surprised to learn that in many seasons either Hen or Athena had more screen time than Buck. Yeah. Really. But you NEVER see Aisha put out to do press the way that Oliver is.

Why is that? Is it because she’s a black woman? Because she plays a queer character? And who is making that decision and why? Because that lack of visibility impacts her personal career. Same thing with Ryan Guzman and Kenneth Choi, who both have less screen time AND less press.

But in particular- and this is the rub - Ryan has CLEARLY been making intentional acting choices FOR YEARS to shape his character and his dynamic with Buck as queer. Oliver played into them, thinking of them as natural chemistry- but it’s clear that other creators on the show - notably the directors and writers, picked up on Ryan’s choices and fan reactions to reframe the dynamics and the characters.

And it’s really clear that Tim originally intended to have Eddie come out, but the poor reaction to Natalia and the fact that the actress was unavailable led him to switch the storyline to Buck. All of which is perfectly understandable.

But if there’s one person most responsible for the reason we ultimately got bi!Buck, it’s Ryan Guzman - for the bravery and perseverance of his choices as an artist. It’s amazing to me that in all the praise for Oliver saying that he “would have” leaned into Buck as queer even without the go ahead…no one has thought to praise the actor who actually DID THAT - for YEARS- when he was in a much more precarious position as a character and an actor. Like really take a minute to look at what that took…he was risking his livelihood with that choice.

And then, when the show DOES finally make it canon…who gets the praise? The buzz? The support? The white guy who was mostly oblivious for the past five years. Like…how is THAT fair?

And OK, the original plan was for the helicopter pilot to be Lucy, and that fell through so they reached out to Lou, because Tommy was a former character- but also quite likely because he looks a good deal like Buck - and the SL was supposed to have that character be a stand-in for the other half of Buddie. When they switched to Buck, they had to make Tommy have similar hobbies to Eddie to establish the similarities, since they couldn’t rely on looks.

But that meant they totally whitewashed the story line. And if you want to talk about firsts - when has a Hispanic lead come out as gay or bi? And how many of them were men? And how many were over 21? And on a mainstream show?

And no, it wasn’t intentional (just a function of having so many more white characters than Hispanic characters), but it was unfortunate. Not to mention the intersectionality of it all.

So…I honestly think there’s a decent basis for critique there. Not a “these people are terrible” critique, but a “not paying attention to diversity systemically” in a way that lets unconscious bias have the same impact as deliberate bias.

And I really wonder at the people who just dismissed the entire discussion - how hard did you listen? How willing were you to hear what people were saying? Because this is an issue that has to do with real people, their careers, their hopes, dreams, and identities. And you should be willing to listen.

[racefortheironthrone]

Any chance you have seen and/or have thoughts on Across the Spider-Verse?

I literally just got back from Across the Spider-Verse and sat down at my computer, so this is about as fresh as a take as I can manage.

Short version: it's an astonishingly and relentlessly ambitious film that aims to outdo every other Spider-Man movie, every other multi-verse movie, and even its own first entry in the Miles Morales trilogy. And it succeeds.

Full spoilers below the cut. You have been warned.

The Visuals

Before I get into anything about the story, I want to first give full credit to the directors Joaquim Dos Santos, Kemo Powers, Justin K. Thompson, and the entire team at Sony Pictures Animation. If you saw the first Spider-Verse movie and aren't an animation nerd, you probably were impressed but didn't realize how revolutionary it was. I'll let Movies With Mikey explain the details, because it's easier if you can see what people are talking about:

When your first entry wins an Academy Award by thumbing your nose at Pixar, the reigning king of animation, and the principles of animation set down by the Nine Old Men, you have every right to sit back on your laurels.

For Across the Spider-Verse, the Sony Pictures Animation team clearly decided: fuck that. If the first film had wowed audiences by combining a half-dozen styles of animation on the screen at the same time, the second film would drown you in dozens and dozens of Spiders-Men and -Women (and -Animals) drawn in every style imaginable: Da Vinci's yellowing parchments and sketchy penicls, harsh cell-shading, punk rock collage art, 90s-style comic panels full of impossibly rippling muscles, crappy hand-drawn animation from the 1967 tv show, and then for a tip of the hat to Who Framed Roger Rabbit and the man who should have been Spider-Man - live action.

The backgrounds show the same love: from the off-set printing of Miles' world (my favorite detail is that you know that Miles gets sent to the wrong Earth when the color scheme shifts from purple to green), to the dripping painterly pastels of the Gweniverse, to the riotous greens and yellows of Mumbattan, to the clean Pixaresque light blooms of the Spider-Society's technological utopia (which looks a hell of a lot like something out of Brad Bird's dreams).

I am thoroughly in awe of the mentality behind the animation in this film, the absolute determination to challenge one's own limits and exceed one's past accomplishments.

The Story

If there is a single world that defines Across the Spider-Verse, it's "canon." The moment Miguel O'Hara uttered that word, my spidey-senses started tingling and I realized that Lord & Miller came to this film with a sermon. See, if there's one message from the first Spider-Verse movie it's that "anyone can be Spider-Man." But if there's two messages is that "you can't save everyone" - the idea that the thing that unites all Spiders-Folk from across the multiverse, it is a common understanding of loss, a tragic origin that drives each hero to impossible efforts to never let it happen again.

Across the Spider-Verse's message is: "why?" I cannot begin to explain the absolute vibranium balls it took to question not just a core premise of your previous movie, but one of the core premises of the entire multi-media multi-corporate franchise. And yet, Lord & Miller show nothing but confidence executing this turn.

FULL SPOILERS OF THE BIG TWIST AHEAD in 3:

3

2

1

At the beginning of the film, which makes the brilliant move to start by telling Spider-Gwen's story since we already know Miles, we are introduced to Miguel O'Hara (the Spider-Man from 2099) as a badass who leads a secret organization dedicated to protecting the mutliverse...but who secretly is also here to protect "canon."

At the turning point of the film, when Miles is finally invited to join the Spider-Society, we are let in on a dark truth: the safety of the multiverse depends on the suffering of Spiders. Just as Uncle Ben must die, so must a gallant police captain - although almost subtextually, Spider-Gwen hints that so too must the Gwen Stacys who "fall for Spider-Man" - to keep Spider-Man emotionally isolated and solely dedicated to his mission of protecting New York. Trying to avert this lonely fate, to live a happier life, brings about the destruction of all that is.

Through an act of unabashed heroism in Mumbattan - saving the life of a gallant police captain and an innocent child - Miles has inadvertently endangered an entire universe. And unless he allows his own father, the gallant captain, to die as well - the same fate will befall his own. Miles, being a good son and a good person, refuses to accept this and takes on the entire Spider-Society to get home and save his father.

In the chase, we are let in on a second, dark truth: Miles wasn't invited to join the Spider-Society because he is one of the anomalies they hunt, because he was never supposed to be Spider-Man. (You see how this builds on both the speech from Miles' mom about not letting white society tell him he doesn't belong AND the message from the first film?) The Kingpin's collider experiments allowed an Alchemax spider to cross over from Earth-42 to Earth-1610...and as a result, Earth-42 never got a Spider-Man.

When Miles accidentally is sent to Earth-42 instead of his actual home, he learns what that meant. Without Spider-Man, Captain Jeff Davis (Brian Michael Bendis is a real mensch like 99% of the time, but man did he fuck up with that one) died instead of his brother Aaron. Because the intended Spider-Man of Earth-42 was...Miles Morales. Instead, he has become a dystopian Brooklyn's Prowler, a living reminder of the damage the accident of Earth-1610's Miles' creation has caused. This is why you don't violate "canon."

Except...as we learn, Miguel O'Hara is wrong and our Miles is right. When Gwen is sent back to her own universe, which she has been running away from because she knows that it means confronting both her father the gallant captain and the inevitability of his death, she learns that George Stacy quit the force rather than take his promotion: Captain Stacy doesn't have to die. Nor did Captain Singh. Nor does Captain Davis. (For that matter, Miles doesn't have to lie to his family and live a double life as Spider-Man, as we see from his accidentally-misdirected confession.)

We are not the prisoners of the "canon."

Ever since Amazing Fantasy #15, "with great power there must also come great responsibility" has been the indisputable truth of Spider-Man. At this point, it's become a meme: "the Parker luck." Over and over again, Peter Parker must suffer for our sins - Uncle Ben dies, Captain Stacy dies, Gwen Stacy's death ushers in a whole new era of comics and the phenomenon of "fridging," his marriage to Mary Jane has to be done away with because the Spider Office are apparently psychological eternal adolescents, Aunt May has died and almost died so many times everyone's stopped caring.

And that's the problem: we've been playing the same hit for 61 years and it's gotten old. In the process, creators and audience together have condemned Spider-Man to a Sisyphean existence of eternal backsliding, unable to move on, build a life for himself, mature, die and give way to new Spiders. Hell, the best thing that's happened to Peter Parker in the last several decades was an AU in which he has a super-powered wife and daughter and can settle into a middle age of teaching at the Xavier School.

That's the sermon that Lord & Miller came to preach: just as in 2018 it was time for a new Spider-Man, now it's time for new stories that have the courage to try something different.

A Side-Note About the Multiverse

As with the animation side of the story, Lord & Miller could have sat back on their laurels when it came to the concept of the multiverse. After all, they were the ones who made it cool and sent Marvel Studios scrambling to catch up (still haven't succeeded at that, by the way). I don't think Everything Everywhere All At Once needed the creative help, but it absolutely helped sell the movie to producers that a multiverse movie could make millions and win Oscars. (Funny how that works.) Instead, Lord & Miller took it up a notch by asking "what is the purpose of a multiverse?"

Hot take: I don't like the Spider-Verse events. For all that they've given us some amazing Spider designs - and we saw them all up on screen in Across the Spider-Verse - no one cares about the stories. That's because the naked purpose of the comics was to market test Spider designs, see which ones generated buzz, and then make spin-off comics about those Spiders.

Across the Spider-Verse uses the concept of a multiverse, the shiny Macguffin that multi-billion dollar corporate conglomerates will hope will the ticket to riches, to strip Spider-Man down to the essentials by showing every conceivable variation and asking us what they all have in common. Is it suffering, or a commitment to doing the right thing?

Conclusion:

Holy shit, is firing Lord & Miller the biggest mistake Disney has made since Walt refused to recognize the animators' union in 1941.

[wonderlandleighleigh]

The cooking show in ‘78 is a big hit, which doesn’t really surprise Midge, much. She’s always been a whiz in the kitchen, and she’s funny as hell on top of that, and so the combination of her quick humor and delicious food winds up being an irresistible one-two punch.

Susie is happy, too. It’s keeping Midge in the public eye without having to send her on tour. Abe isn’t doing all that great now that Rose is gone, and the kids are a fucking mess, apparently, with Esther’s genius starting to make her life much harder, and Ethan is still trying to decide whether he wants to do his rabbinical studies here in the states or in Israel.

Shit’s nuts, in short.

But the show is fun. It’s low stakes, and every once in a while they have a celebrity guest come on to make one of their own dishes. Gordon Ford came on once for a steak au poivre recipe where he just hit on Midge the entire time. It made for good TV, but Midge left set annoyed as fuck and the two women drank their way through a couple of bottles of wine that night.

Shy Baldwin came on for an episode to make paella and Midge makes lots of jokes about Jewish people and shellfish, while Shy complains about the fact that when he does cooking shows everyone wants him to make fried chicken.

“My fried chicken is terrible,” he laughs. “I gave Reggie salmonella once.”

Midge laughs at that. “You did not!”

“I did! He’s never let me live it down!”

It’s a great episode, two old friends who have mended a long-broken fence giggling their way through a half hour of television, talking about the tour in 1960, and having a frank discussion about Shy’s coming out the year before. Shit gets rave reviews TV Guide, and even Variety picks up a blurb about the two’s warmth and effervescence on screen.

Susie is happy.

“I booked Lenny Bruce for next week.”

Susie is less happy.

“Mike!” she snaps. “What the fuck?! Seriously!? She hasn’t spoken to him since his overdose in ‘66!”

Mike blinks. “I thought they were friends.”

“Before he fucked his life, yeah,” Susie tells him. “They haven’t spoken in years.”

“Do they hate each other?” Mike asks. “Should I cancel?”

Susie blows out a breath and thinks for a moment. Midge doesn’t hate Lenny. Quite the opposite. They just...never got it together. “Let me talk to her. See what she wants.”

“The guy’s been clean since he almost kicked it,” Mike shrugs. “And he’s mostly working behind the scenes producing documentaries these days. I thought it’d be a nice ‘hello, old friend’ kind of episode.”

Susie squeezes her eyes shut. “Just...lemme take her temperature on it.”

*****

“Oh.”

Susie observes her oldest friend quietly as the comedian absorbs the information. Her eyes look sad and wistful for just a moment before she takes a breath and sits up straight.

“It’ll be fine,” Midge says. “It’ll be...nice. To see him.”

Susie eyes her suspiciously. “Will it?”

“I uh...yeah,” Midge nods. “I think the last time we spoke, we ran into each other at a Grammy party he stopped in at right after he got clean. He was...it was nice.”

Susie sighs softly. She likes Lenny. She, too, has run into him here and there, and since getting his shit together and winning his appeal, he’s been good. He was downright sweet the last time, buying Susie a drink. Thanking her for trying to drag his dumb ass out of that hole he was in.

It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if Lenny wound up being husband number five.

“Okay, then. Lenny is on next week,” Susie confirms.

*****

He gets to set a little early to prep, and say hello. He’s quiet now, which Midge finds strange, but he’s clearly happy to be there. They share a friendly peck in greeting and then the work starts.

Susie hovers, whether to keep an eye on him or to keep an eye on her, Midge doesn’t know, but they run through what they’re doing (chicken soup - she can’t believe she hasn’t made it on the show yet), and the director does his usual shpeil, explaining how things work, where to look, where to stand.

Once the cameras are rolling, that old chemistry comes roaring back like a tidal wave. Their banter is fast and funny, and they laugh together. They shamelessly flirt, and Lenny drives her nuts by adding too much chili powder to the soup.

“You like spicy food,” he accuses.

“But chicken soup isn’t a spicy dish, Lenny.”

“Why not? We’re adults. We’re not committing murder. We can make spicy chicken soup.”

It goes off the rails from there, and suddenly they’re adding an entire jalapeno to the soup, and Lenny goads her into doing a party trick she’d mentioned to him long ago; eating an entire hot pepper without incident, which she does. 

They eat the soup, and declare it delicious, surprisingly, with all the spice.

They end the episode with their arms wrapped around each other, and Lenny laughing and trying to avoid her spicy breath as she giggles her way through the outro of the show. Once she gets out her “thank you and goodnight!” she turns to him and huffs in his face, making him jerk back, still laughing.

Susie can’t remember the last time Midge lit up so much with anyone other than Susie herself. It looks good on her, and since her mother died, she’s been down.

“You still out in LA?” Susie asks him as he’s getting ready to leave.

“I just moved back,” Lenny admits. “There are three docs shooting here in the next year I’m working on, and I’ve been asked to be more active, so I got a little place.”

Midge hears and perks up, but doesn’t say anything.

“Well...don’t be a stranger, then,” Susie tells him, patting his arm as she walks off, leaving the two comics to talk, though listening as she goes.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were moving back?” Midge asks.

“We don’t talk very much anymore, I didn’t think you’d care to know,” Lenny offers helplessly.

“You’re so dumb,” she accuses. “Of course I care to know. We should throw you a housewarming party.”

“No.”

“Lenny.”

He sighs heavily, as unable to say no to her as Susie is. “Fine.”

Susie smirks and heads for the offices to get a bead on last week’s ratings.

*****

After that, Lenny guests on the show once a month, and even when he’s not there, Midge brings him leftovers. 

END

[kevinsreviewcatalogue]

Review: Terrifier 3

Terrifier 3 (2024)

Not rated

<Originally posted at https://kevinsreviewcatalogue.blogspot.com/2024/10/review-terrifier-3-2024.html>

Score: 4 out of 5

With Terrifier 3, the little indie splatter horror franchise that could has entered "franchise mode". On top of its advertising, its merchandising, its tie-in single by Ice Nine Kills, and its staggering box-office success, the movie itself makes Art the Clown as much the main character as its returning heroine Sienna Shaw, with nearly every kill now a horrifying set piece of explosive carnage and Art's sidekick from the last movie, the ambiguously demonic Little Pale Girl, upgraded to a co-villain in her own right as she possesses somebody and joins in on the action herself. The best comparison I can think of is A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master, though I'd argue that this is the better movie of the two by a wide margin, one that not only cleans up the biggest flaw that held back its predecessor but also manages to be a twisted, explosive celebration of practical effects work unbound by the MPA (as in, they just up and released this unrated knowing damn well it would've gotten an NC-17 the second they showed up at the MPA's offices). It's a big, swaggering splatterfest that's as bonkers as its killer clown villain, and while it does unfortunately introduce some new flaws that leave me wondering if Damien Leone, the writer, director, and main visionary behind this series, is getting lost in the weeds a bit with his creation, this is otherwise one hell of an experience.

Set five years after the events of the last movie, our protagonist Sienna Shaw, who has spent her time in and out of psychiatric care thanks to what she experienced in her last encounter with Art the Clown, has just left the hospital to live with her aunt Jess, uncle Greg, and little cousin Gabbie. The idea of a slasher sequel focusing on how traumatized the final girl has become is not a new idea (all the way back in the '90s, Scream 2 and Halloween H20: Twenty Years Later built their heroines' arcs around it), but this movie does it well, in its characteristic fashion. Lauren LaVera gets another great opportunity to play Sienna as more than just the "tough chick" horror heroine, somebody who can undoubtedly still kick Art's ass but has also been left a psychological wreck by all the things she's witnessed. She has visions of her dead friends blaming her for their deaths, the last movie's implications that she was going insane all but spelled out in the text now, and she recoils when Gabbie goes snooping in her diary and reads about some of the things she described in there. We get a flashback to Sienna's childhood, her father played by Jason Patric in a cameo, illustrating how she loved him and driving home how much his decline and ultimate death broke her. I find it amusing how the Terrifier films, with their in-your-face violence and lack of subtlety, are sometimes seen as a rejoinder to the "elevated horror" boom of the last ten years, particularly how many such films use their monsters and demons as metaphors for some trauma in the protagonists' pasts, because Sienna's arc in these movies treads very similar waters -- and, for my money, more or less pulls it off. In two movies, Sienna Shaw has become one of the all-time great horror heroines, and LaVera is central to why.

It also helps, of course, to have a real monster for your heroine to face off against. And here, we have not one, but two of them. I've already sung David Howard Thornton's praises for his performance as Art the Clown before, and he largely sticks to what worked in the past, combining great physical comedy with a mean streak a mile wide to make for a sick, sadistic villain who treats everything like one big joke and is clearly enjoying himself as he hunts and torments his victims. At times, Art feels almost like a silent slasher version of Deadpool, a guy who's in on the joke and feels like he wants to let everybody else in on it too. The Little Pale Girl also makes a return, in a sense, this time possessing the first film's lone survivor Victoria Hayes, who begins the film institutionalized after Art had mutilated her face and driven her insane only for Art to break her out. If Art is a slasher version of the Joker, then the possessed Victoria is his Harley Quinn, a female counterpart who is not only just as vicious and terrifying but also serves as his "voice" throughout the film, being the one who directly taunts people through words as opposed to just gestures. Samantha Scaffidi is playing a character almost wholly different from what she was in the first movie, unrecognizable both literally due to her mangled face and figuratively as she partakes in the violence rather than trying to survive it, and she turned out to be the film's secret weapon, somebody who kept the scares grounded even as Art takes the Freddy Krueger route of becoming a more overtly comedic killer. Victoria brought most of the film's genuine scares here versus Art's more cartoonish carnage, and she proved to be a very welcome addition to not only the lore but also, more importantly, the movie as a whole.

That's not to say that Art isn't scary anymore, though. As I've said when discussing the prior films, sheer visceral excess has a weight to it all its own, and when paired with the more comedic elements of his character, that lends him the feeling of a sick, degenerate troll for whom nothing actually matters except his own amusement. This is a movie that happily crosses lines that other slashers wouldn't dare tread near, a gross display of viscera that offers Leone another chance to show off his special effects craftsmanship with the kind of set piece kills that feel like they were concocted by a schoolyard full of kids in a contest to come up with the sickest ways to die. We get a guy getting the skin on his head ripped off, liquid nitrogen being used to freeze a man's flesh before it's smashed off with a hammer, live rats being shoved down a woman's throat and then eating their way out through her neck, a shower scene to rival the infamous bedroom scene from the second film (...who says that doesn't fit there?), beheadings, dismemberments, the works, as well as Art actually "going there" when it comes to one of horror's biggest taboos. These movies are being hyped up at this point as gauntlets for seasoned horror fans to run (and shock others with), and while the tone is too lighthearted for it to really hang with the grossest examples of splatter horror, make no mistake: the warnings that theaters are putting up for this are there for a reason.

The pacing is tighter this time around, showing that Leone has learned from one of the main criticisms of the last movie. It's still just over two hours long, but it moves a lot quicker than before, each hour respectively feeling like the first two acts of a movie that's setting up for a smashing finale but still delivering the goods where it matters. The plot builds on the second film's implications that there was something more cosmic going on than just a simple slasher story, explicitly naming the Little Pale Girl as a demon and strongly implying that Sienna too has an angel in her corner, ultimately ending on a cliffhanger and leaving a lot of open questions that the fourth movie promises to answer. The added lore did a lot to flesh out the story, put some fun twists on a lot of slasher tropes (the final girl, the killer coming back from the dead), and got me interested in seeing the next one. That said, not only does it create a risk of continuity lockout for people who haven't seen any of the other films, especially with how the opening hinges so much on characters and events from the second film, it also naturally means that this movie's own story is incomplete. A lot hinges on whether the fourth movie sticks the landing, and right now, all I can say is this: at least they didn't try to expand on Art's backstory the way the Nightmare sequels did Freddy's or the Halloween sequels did Michael Myers'. His whole deal boils down to the fact that he was such an evil fuckin' bastard in life (which, if you've seen any of these movies... yeah) that the forces of darkness took a liking to him and revived him as their champion to keep killing. It's a simple explanation that preserves his mystique and doesn't detract from what makes him so enjoyable to watch, the kind of thing you'd expect a slasher fan to come up with if they were asked to develop the lore around a slasher villain, and I appreciated it.

The Bottom Line

Terrifier 3 isn't without its flaws, but it's still the best film in the series thus far. If Art the Clown isn't a bona fide horror icon at this point, then it's only because he's still fairly new. Check it out if you've got the stomach.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Is It Really That Bad?

Dreamworks has such a stellar reputation these days thanks to things like the reappraisal of Megamind as a subversive superhero masterpiece ahead of its time and The Last Wish being one of the single most epic animated films ever made, but there was a time where the studio got very little respect. You see, the studio found solid footing a lot quicker than you’d think, with the first two Shrek movies becoming smash (mouth) hits and The Prince of Egypt being an animated Biblical epic for the ages. Sure, Sinbad is the fourth biggest confirmed loss in box office history, losing Dreamworks $125 million, but they could definitely rebound with some of that Shrek money, right? Maybe, but when you bomb that hard, you’re probably in need of a little bit more cash. Clearly the best way to go about getting that is to recapture that Shrek magic with a star-studded snarky comedy full of pop culture references! What could possibly go wrong?

Well, you’ve got the lowest rated Dreamworks Animation film on Rotten Tomatoes, uncanny valley CGI that was derided even back at the time, a star-studded cast that seems overly excessive even by animated studio standards of the time, a nonsensical combination of animated fish and gangster movie tropes, accusations of racism towards Jamaicans due to the two jellyfish characters, competition from The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie and Finding Nemo, and even one of the own stars looking back on voice acting in the film as bad. That’s what could go wrong.

Still, some people look back on this movie fondly. You go to places on the internet where this movie is talked about and you’re bound to find some people saying how this movie was their childhood, and how it’s a riot, and how Will Smith is great… There has to be something to this, right? Shark Tale must have something to it if people still sing its praises, right? Is it… really that bad?

I mean, take a look at Oscar and you tell me.

Alright, alright, I’ll actually give it a fair shake. Here goes.

THE GOOD

Look, when you have this much talent in a film, you’re bound to accidentally stumble onto a few good things.

Easily the best thing in the movie is Martin Scorsese as Sykes, Oscar’s boss and the fish who most has to put up with Oscar’s boneheaded antics. The acclaimed director really shows off his funny side with this one, and the fact he has to deal with the problems of an obnoxious Will Smith fish make him surprisingly sympathetic. He’s genuinely a lot of fun, and the movie gives him plenty of screentime so you don’t have to worry about him being underutilized, and he manages to make any scene he shares with Oscar more tolerable.

Then we have the sharks. Specifically we have Robert de Niro playing the mob boss Don Lino; despite this being the most basic de Niro role you could possibly give the guy, he still manages to make it entertaining. In a broad sense, the entire shark mob gets a fair share of solid jokes, which is compounded by the bumbling octopus lackey Luca, who gets a few chuckles with his comic relief antics. Overall, our antagonists are pretty solid… and more enjoyable than our hero.

Then we have Lenny. I think Jack Black’s vegan shark is a bit of a divisive figure, but rewatching the movie, I honestly liked him and his storyline. For a movie from the early 2000s (and a comedy at that), it surprisingly tackles the topic of homosexuality in a tasteful manner. Yes, it is blatantly obvious and heavy-handed, and it’s not executed in a way that the film can make better use of it, but I think it’s a pretty bold and resonant message. If only the film had focused on Lenny and had it be his story instead of letting Will Smith’s stupid “Shark slayer” plot steal all the screentime; the movie is literally called Shark Tale, why is this not the story of the gay shark?! Why are we spending so much time with some whiny fish who lies, cheats, and acts like a dickhead to everyone around him?

Oh yeah and there’s a shark voiced by Peter “Columbo” Falk. That kinda rules.

THE BAD

Hey, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I do not fucking like Oscar.

Oscar is easily one of the worst protagonists ever conceived. He’s selfish, self-centered, stupid, egotistical, oblivious, obnoxious… It’s honestly mind-boggling that they cast one of the most charming and charismatic actors of all time and had him play a character antithetical to everything that he is as a performer. The entire movie is founded on him lying and taking credit for something he didn’t do, scamming multiple corporations out of brand deals in the process, gambles away his best friend’s precious heirloom and loses all the money, rarely takes responsibility for his actions… Honestly, this whole segment could just be listing all of Oscar’s negative traits and actions. And all of this could be forgivable if he was funny, but he’s not! He is utterly cringeworthy every time he attempts humor, and don’t even get me started on the romance.

Actually, no, let’s get started on the romance! Oscar and Angie’s relationship is fucking awful and toxic. This is the original Reylo right here, an unpleasant romance between characters with zero chemistry that is just overwhelmingly miserable and unhealthy. Angie refuses to communicate her feelings to Oscar and gets mad and jealous when he remains oblivious, and Oscar s just pretty callous and oblivious to Angie. There is no way any relationship with these two would actually last.

And then there’s Lola, the Angelina Jolie fish. Now, I ain’t saying she’s a gold digger… But she ain’t messing with no broke fish. Her relationship with Oscar is so blatantly telegraphed from the start as being manipulative and superficial, but he goes for it anyway. And while that is basically shoved in your face from the word go, you know what isn’t? The fact she’s able to pull some strings and work with the mob to kidnap Angie! How the fuck did she get in league with the sharks? Why did this not come up before? Why is this movie trying to frame this fish as a sexy femme fatale?

And there’s another thing: The animation in this film is abysmal, even for the time. The Shrek movies have aged more gracefully than this, and have you seen how Puss looked in Shrek 2 lately? This movie was bad even back then, with all of these fish designed to resemble their actors. Funnily enough, the more tolerable characters like Sykes and Lenny are a lot easier on the eyes (relatively speaking at least), while the worst characters are just unbelievably ugly. Angie, Lola, the jellyfish, and of course our old pal Oscar. It’s just really weird and awkward.

And maybe all of this would be easier to deal with if the film wasn’t so relentlessly unfunny and generic. When you get down to it, this is the most by-the-numbers mob movie and “liar revealed” story you will ever see. And while it’s trying to be funny, it’s generally failing miserably. Almost every joke is either a reference or an incredibly lame pun; there’s even a point where, while hamming it up, Oscar just rapid-fire spouts off movie quotes. And on top of everything else, the characters being fish really adds so little to anything that changing everyone to humans would improve things exponentially. Like it still wouldn’t be great, but we wouldn’t have to look at the aquatic version of Cats.

THE UGLY

Okay, I decided to save this for last. Ernie and Bernie, the two jellyfish, are widely viewed as Jamaican stereotypes due to their designs, voices, and singing of a Bob Marley song. They are probably the least-liked characters in the movie, and are seen by some as racist stereotypes.

The way I see it, while I don’t particularly like them, it’s not an Apu situation we have going on here, these aren’t two white guys putting on offensive accents. This is full-blooded Jamaican Ziggy Marley (the literal son of Bob Marley) and part-Jamaican Doug E. Doug playing stereotypical characters. Are they instantly not bad or offensive just because the actors match the ethnicity the jellyfish are stereotyping? No, of course not! But I do think a little context and nuance is needed here. They’re more annoying and stereotypical than outright offensive, but if you see them as offensive I can’t say I blame you. I just don’t think Marley and Doug were intentionally trying to offend.

IS IT REALLY THAT BAD?

Look, if you were hoping I’d be the shining beacon in a sea of mockery, here to tell you Shark Tale is an unsung Dreamworks masterpiece, I’m about to disappoint you. This movie is bad. Like, really, genuinely bad. You have to be seriously blinded by nostalgia to think this movie is good. It is basically “How Not To Make An Animated Film 101,” committing every single crime that made 2000s animation awful, from the bloated celebrity cast to the excessive pop culture references to the poor world building to the dance party ending.

That being said, this is an utterly fascinating bad movie. This is a film that’s fun to talk about, fun to mock, and like I mentioned above there’s still some genuinely good elements that keep this from being truly painful. This film is many things, but boring is not one of them. When it comes to “So bad it’s good” animation, this film is top tier, though your enjoyment of it will definitely hinge on how well you can stomach the terrible animation. That solid 6 is a little bit generous if I’m being honest, but at the same time, as far as bad movies go this one is an enjoyable one. I mean, what’s the Disney equivalent to this, a pop culture poisoned shitty, generic animated movie? Chicken Little. Shark Tale is a million times better than Chicken Little, so if it has one thing going for it, it’s that.

[denimbex1986]

'This feels like a Macbeth for the digital age, one perfectly tailored for fans of its star David Tennant. It’s stylish, evocative – and slightly distancing. But never for a moment can you tear your attention away...

When Tennant’s Macbeth appears on Rosanna Vize’s raised white stage, he is washing the blood of battle away. Behind him, like ghosts, the rest of the cast and three musicians line up behind a glass screen, talking quietly. The headphones let us into secrets. Macbeth has only to whisper his darkest thoughts and we are there, with his vaulting ambition, inside his head. As he talks quietly to Banquo, he is surprisingly sinister.

Cush Jumbo’s Lady Macbeth arrives full of sadness, accompanied by a soundtrack of children laughing �� the only English woman in a Scottish court, dressed in white rather than the grey tops and black kilts of the others. This is someone who is clearly already almost unhinged by grief, haunted by a child who has died and Jumbo makes her a remarkable combination of steel and softness.

Meeting Tennant’s conversational Macbeth, she provides the driving force towards murder, fierce to his weakness. Yet as they do their bloody deed, she is struggling to convince herself that “the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures”, while Tennant’s Macbeth has already donned the mask of nihilism that propels him deeper and deeper into blood.

Both performances are wonderfully observed, Jumbo finding nuanced depths that are only hinted at, holding the hand of her lost child in the sleepwalking scene for example. Tennant discovers new meanings in familiar lines, playing on a sardonic sense of weariness as Macbeth hurtles towards his doom.

Director Max Webster stages the whole thing with great flair and makes many intriguing interventions. It is clever, for example, to make the boy who plays Fleance (a serious faced Casper Knopf) also play Macduff’s son and Young Siward; in the second two instances, Macbeth slays him, wrapping him in his arms in a distorted fatherly love, literally killing his hopes. The banquet scene benefits hugely from the fact that Tennant is centre stage throughout; we only hear a suggestion of Banquo...

The final image of the dead butcher lying in a pool of his own blood as the world around him suddenly becomes full of colour and life is another example of the production’s technical inventiveness. This is a cool, studied Macbeth, with a clear view of where it’s headed. It didn’t move me, but in its own chilly way, it strikes deep chords.

****'

[sarahowritesostucky]

Red one was a piece of shit movie.

I don't disagree with the OP's statements here, in that Seb and Chris are two different actors who approach their profession differently. Sebastian clearly thinks more about the craft of it, but I don't think Chris is choosing projects just for the paycheck. Let's examine what he's done since Endgame came out in 2019:

The Red Sea Diving Resort - I liked this movie. I know it was a little too white-saviory for some people's tastes, but I didn't mind it. It was interesting to me and felt balanced. It dealt with an interesting and at times heavy historical topic, so it's not like the story was boring or typical blockbuster fodder. And Evans was the only main character played by a big-name celeb. With those things combined, I don 't see how it it would've been a guaranteed success and therefore paycheck. I think it was a neat project to sign on for.

Knives Out - This movie was fantastic! It was an oddball genre-bender, but it had a lot of big stars in it and an outstanding screenplay. I can only praise Chris for jumping on this role, and I'd never claim that he chose this one for the money. It was just an excellent project to be involved in - and as a villain, no less! *see note in Gray Man

Defending Jacob - This was Chris' baby. He was excited to be an executive producer on it. This was a somber legal drama that, again, does not scream paycheck to me. It's likely the story and characters that drew Chris in. It gave him a chance to act in a more grounded, serious role. This was definitely not a paycheck project.

Buzz Lightyear - Come on. It's Disney. If somebody was gonna give Chris a chance to be the voice for the main character in a friggin' Disney animated movie, no way was he going to turn that down!

The Gray Man - This project had both 1. directors he's worked with and knows well, and 2. costars he's worked with and liked. And having that familiarity is enticing to all people, let alone people who struggle with anxiety as Chris does. But I believe Lloyd is the main reason Chris joined this project. Think about it: it's a dudebro spy action thriller. Not much is that unique about the plot itself, but I can definitely see Chris being excited to play the wacky nasty character of Lloyd. This was an excellent role for him to demonstrate that he is more than capable of playing the villain. I think this, along with his character of Ransom in Knives Out, was part of his attempt to ensure that he wasn't typecast for the rest of his life.

Ghosted - I haven't seen this one, so I can only go on what I've heard, which is that the movie isn't great. I thought it looked cute and fun, from the clips I've seen. But, going on the assumption that it was a bit of a dud, I think it's pretty obvious that having Ana de Armas as his costar was a big factor in him accepting the role. The impression that I get is that those two get along famously and work well together. I can totally see someone selling Chris on the genre shake-up of the man being the damsel in distress, and then Ana was the cherry on top. It probably sounded like a fun project to do with a friend.

Pain Hustlers - Again, this one deals with a heavy topic (the opiod Crisis) that is worth talking about. I don't see it as obvious blockbuster fodder. I haven't seen the movie, but it is certainly a role worth taking, given that the subject matter is so relevant. I also want to note that Chris is taking roles in projects put out by various streaming services. This one is through Netflix, others through Hulu, Apple TV, Disney, and Prime Video. He may be trying to build relationships with all of these distributors, to help him in his career endeavors/ambitions in the future. It's a valid motivation and a smart move--especially if he wants to open up more avenues for him possibly directing and/or producing in the future.

Deadpool and Wolverine - I doubt he needed to show up for more than a day to shoot his scenes for this. No brainer! It's funny, the pressure of being the leading man is off his shoulders, and he gets to do that hilarious monologue! What's not to love? If I could make a million dollars just by showing up for a day of work, I'd do a lot worse things than a curse-laden comedic cameo to earn that 🤑🤑🤑

Red One - I wanted to like this movie, because I love Chris and I love Dwayne Johnson. But let's be real: this movie sucked. I watched it yesterday night. Other than a few cute details, it really did not impress me at all, and at some points the plot (mostly when involving Kiernan Shipka) had me wanting to turn it off altogether. It was a bad script, and it didn't embrace the ridiculous elements in the right way. But I mean, this one should be obvious too: Chris loves Christmas. He's always wanted to be in a Christmas movie, and I can so see him dreaming of being in a film that becomes a solid member of the bundle of heartwarming Christmas movies that families re-watch every year, like Elf and The Santa Clause. Unfortunately, this wasn't one of them. Chris probably made the mistake of jumping on the first big-budget Christmas movie that came around on offer. He should've waited for something else.

Let's not forget that Chris is worth hundreds of millions of dollars: He could retire now, no problem, and raise a family in luxury with his wife and still die rich. I seriously don't think he's in it just for the paycheck. I think he's choosing roles in a variety of types of films - some of them easy, some of them not. I think sentimentality and the comfort of familiarity have gotten the better of him a time or two, but he hasn't been choosing tons of super shitty projects just for a big payout.

As to his return to Marvel, my first thought is that it could signal his desire to stay with something he knows and is comfortable around (genre, plot, filming setup, fellow actors, friends, directors, etc.). This is something you do see in people who struggle with anxiety, which we know Chris does. But on top of that, if the fan theory floating around that he's going to play a bad-guy shapeshifter in the form of Steve Rogers is correct, then maybe he thinks the role sounds fun.

And lastly, not to be mean, but Chris simply isn't as good of an actor as Sebastian is. I think that's pretty evident if you watch a few of their movies. You can see the qualitative difference, overall. Sebastian takes roles to learn something new. I'm not certain that Chris always does. He doesn't take the craft of acting as seriously as Seb does, he's less cerebral about it - and that's okay!

I think both Chris and Sebastian have done the most important thing, which is to find what work makes them happiest. They're both lucky enough to have found success in a notoriously difficult industry, and now each have the star power required to be able to pick and choose which roles they take on, rather than accepting anything they can get. I do understand OP's point about the actors being a big driving factor in what films get made, but if I had to pick a top five list of actors who sell out for 'blah' roles just for the money, Chris Evans would not be on that list. With this new "detective comedy film" Honey Don't! in the works - wherein Chris purportedly plays a cult leader - I have high hopes that another quirky mystery film might be on the horizon for Chris.

Time will tell!

💖Sarah

[femtober]

FEMTOBER BLOG: Shorts 2024

Every year for Femtober, I watch up to 5 short films. Shorts are always kind of a mixed bag for me. I’ve watched some really interesting shorts from up-and-coming directors like Chloe Okuno, Mariama Diallo, and Nikyatu Jusu. However, shorts tend to also be some of the weaker entries year to year. When it comes to low budget short films, unfortunately horror seems to be the biggest weak spot. Many filmmakers also tend to fall into the trap of creating parts of a narrative film instead of a fully fleshed out story and idea. Let’s take a look at the shorts I watched in 2024.

Junior dir. by Julia Ducournau

Junior doesn’t reinvent the wheel when it comes to puberty body horror, but as an early Julia Ducournau project, it is fascinating to watch. Like Raw (2016) and the Palme d’Or winner Titane (2021), Junior doesn’t shy away from being…well, disgusting. It’s an unflinching look at a teen girl’s body, told in an appropriate, relatable way. And its themes definitely carry over into her later works, though Junior never feels incomplete. In fact, unlike Ducournau’s feature-length works, Junior finishes with a surprisingly sweet conclusion. An acceptance of one’s body, like in Raw and Titane, but also a new beginning. This was my second favorite of the shorts this year…

Marta dir. by Lucía Forner Segarra

…and Marta was my favorite. As I stated in the intro, horror shorts can be so difficult, and so can comedy. Forner Segarra smartly and succinctly combines the two genres with ease. Often when it comes to horror comedy, the comedy tends to win out. This is not the case in Marta, which delivers an appropriate gut punch of terror at the end. Forner Segarra hasn’t yet made any feature films, but I’m definitely interested in seeing what she puts out later in her career. She also has made two other shorts starring Thaïs Blume, so I’ll absolutely be checking those out in a later Femtober as well.

The King and Queen of Halloween dir. by Anna Maguire, Stuart Spears

I thought this was going to be a cute little short, something sweet and Halloweeny while also being fun. This is not what that was. The King and Queen of Halloween is fine if you’re into more meanspirited Halloween fare, but I can’t say I’m always a fan. It also lacks a lot of substance, and ultimately feels generic. Very middle-of-the-pack in this year’s shorts.

Used Body Parts dir. by Venita Ozols-Graham

I don’t want to be too harsh on Used Body Parts, but I also don’t have anything positive to say about it. Watching the film and looking at the rest of her filmography, it’s obvious Venita Ozols-Graham has a passion for the genre and filmmaking as a whole. But creativity sometimes means pulling back when you know your own limitations. I get the Texas Chainsaw reference when I watch Used Body Parts, but its bad acting and nonexistent story don’t really do its decent special effects work any favors. Clearly Ozols-Graham likes blood and gore, which is no crime, but the rest of the film just hasn’t caught up yet with that vision.

Seeing Green dir. by Chelsea Stardust

Lastly is Seeing Green, directed by a name you may recognize, Chelsea Stardust. While I haven’t seen Stardust’s feature length debut Satanic Panic (2019), which I’ve heard good things about, I have seen her Hulu Into the Dark anthology episode, which I was…less than impressed with. It’s obvious what Seeing Green is paying homage to with its not-so-subtle Evil Dead dialogue and imagery. The problem, once again, is the lack of complete storyline or impressive effects. Most of the short is three women sitting on a couch talking, which is not interesting in the least. I’ll likely check out Satanic Panic at a later date, and I’ll keep an eye out for whatever Chelsea Stardust may have planned in the future. You may also know her as Jason Blum’s former personal assistant. So while I have no love for everything I’ve seen from her so far, I do think Chelsea Stardust has worked hard, and I would like to see her succeed!

[esters-notepad]

Here we go, day seven of @chrumblr-whumblr! I think it's still the seventh in Alaska... The chrumblr-whumblr prompt was blame/guilt, and the Johnny Cash song "Cocaine Blues". This was the first prompt combination where a story idea immediately popped up in my head, more or less complete and just needing to be written down. I hope you like it!

That bitch only has herself to blame. Yeah, I shot her. What did she expect, cheating on me like that? Only thing I regret is getting caught. I hope she rots in hell, like I'm rotting in prison. Stupid good-for-nothing bitches.

---

It's true, I shot her. But it wasn't really me, you know? I was so hopped up on whiskey and cocaine, I barely knew what I was doing. I've been clean for two years now, ever since I got to Folsom, and let me tell you: I'm a new man. I'm not touching any more of that stuff, no sirree. Not even if they were to let me out. I'll admit, it was a good thing they put me here and broke my cocaine habit. That stuff is vile. It poisons your mind and makes you helpless to resist it on your own. But now, I really don't think it's fair to keep me locked up any longer. Like I said, I'm a new man. I've been cured. I won't shoot anybody now that I'm of a sound mind. And Annabell isn't coming back, no matter how long I sit here. It's pure revenge, I tell you. Primitive revenge, all of it. You'd think we'd have gotten more civilized than that.

---

Yes, yes, I killed Annabell, but that's not the issue here. Have you looked around here at Folsom? Have you seen what kind of people are sitting here? Poor people. Black people. Most of us poor, Black people. This clearly points to a bigger problem. A systemic problem. Society never gave us a chance. They took our money, they denied us education, they took our dreams and gave us drugs instead to keep us quiet, and then when we lashed out, they locked us in here. I'm every bit as much of a victim as poor Annabell. We need a revolution, to tear down the old, oppressive structures. We need a society without racism and without poverty. Where every child can go to the best schools. Where everyone can follow his or her dream. Where nobody is locked up for years and years over one single mistake. I've been imprisoned here for eight years now, can you imagine? And they don't intend to let me out before I'm dead. Let me ask you: does that seem like justice to you? Really?

---

I killed Annabell. ...fuck, I really did it, didn't I? I told her that I loved her, I thought that I loved her, and then I shot her dead. First degree murder. I'm a murderer. I, William Lee, am a murderer. And Annabell is dead because of me. I wish I hadn't killed her. I wish I'd never taken any cocaine. I wish they had sentenced me to death, back then, and not a life in prison. Because how the fuck am I gonna live with myself?

---

Of course I'm supposed to be here. I murdered a woman twenty years ago. I'm only receiving the due reward for my deeds. If you think I don't seem like a murderer, it's thanks to the mercy of Christ. He forgave me when I couldn't forgive myself. He sent me people who showed me that I'm loved and valuable, even though I've done so many evil things. And he gave me a reason to keep living, and peace of heart. These days, I'm just trying to pass on a little of all this mercy and love and peace I've been given. He loves you too, you know. He loves everybody in here, prisoners and guards both. Yes, really, the guards too. We have these meetings every Sunday in the chapel. The prison director won't let us sit with the guards, but we still pray and sing and take communion together. It's the only time here at Folsom that guards and prisoners do something together. Do you want to come? Maybe another time, then. May I pray for you?

[maskspurpose]

mika ^_^ asked: for a ficlet/drabble prompt, maybe some post-canon wtng? no specifics, but an idea I had was wataru sneaking off to see nagisa (with some theatrics of course) have fun!! -mika

// tysm i hope you like this!! i got a bit focused on the sneaking out so... yeah. //

Hibiki Wataru is a professional and as such, he neither begrudges his fellow actors their success nor does he get bored, waiting for his cue to start yet another minor scene. Wataru does, however, get jittery, unable to stay still and seated in their chair on the sidelines, periodically seeking the clock on the wall to confirm the time.

They're familiar with the rhythm of filming by now, they know their cue won't be called, likely not for the rest of the day, with the way this specific director has focused in on the main character, an older actress who keeps shooting Wataru warning glances, clearly disappointed by their lack of focus. 

Yuzuru next to them, cast in an equally minor role, similarly keeps shooting them pitying glances, though he seems much more aware of the actual cause of Wataru's distraction. When the scene ends and the director calls for another redo, he leans over to them. "Hibiki-sama, I doubt your absence would be noticed for another half hour at least." 

Not a dismissal, but an opening. Wataru nods, attempting to still the rush of butterflies and rise of heat to their cheeks. To be seen, they remind themself, means to be cared for. They slip away from the soundstage with a grateful nod to Yuzuru, unseen by the rest of the cast, making their way quickly to the building just next door. 

Truly, the difficulty is not in drawing the ire of the director, who seems to have little interest in Hibiki Wataru, and more in avoiding the attention of Saegusa Ibara, Vice-President of Cosmic Production, who would not be amused to see them sneak into the studio currently used to film Eden's newest music videos. Snake-san is, however, blessedly busy directing the director of Junkun-san's apparent solo section, which means the only people who notice Wataru slipping into the shadows of the studio building are Hiyori and Nagisa, who give an understanding nod and small smile respectively upon seeing them.

It's a well-practiced dance by now, Hiyori jumping to his feet to continue to distract Snake-san to let Wataru avoid any accusation of corporate espionage (as though they would leave such an action to anyone but Yuzuru, who seems to delight in bothering Snake-san more than anyone else) and Nagisa at least a few minutes to join Wataru in front of the building. 

"I thought you were working today," is the first thing Nagisa tells them, voice soft before leaning in to kiss Wataru on the cheek. 

Their lips are even softer than their tone, and Wataru finds themself unable to respond, turning to kiss Nagisa properly on the mouth. "I thought so were you, it appears both of us were met with a lull in work. How fortitous~ don't you think so too?" 

Nagisa nods, leaning forward until they are both pressed close to each other in an embrace. It's noon, the sunlight bright and warm enough to make a comforting combination with the rush of emotion Wataru still cannot help themself from whenever the two of them touch. Nagisa too, is warm, in the ways human bodies are warm, in the way love is warm, spreading out from the stomach into cheeks and fingertips. Unable to help themself, Wataru combs their fingers through Nagisa's long ponytail and it's slightly uneven curls and waves, adding their own little braid to it while Nagisa's gentle silence settles them, washes over them as a warm ocean. 

They're not talkative, not in moments like this, preferring to hold on kiss, to exploit a stolen moment like this, the few minutes of companionship before either Wataru's phone buzzes with a message from Yuzuru, or Ibara notices Nagisa's absence inside. Until then, the moment is theirs. 

[Smile or comment on the answer here]

[dreamersparacosm]

austin butler - kissing in the bathroom

warnings ; intoxication, oral (f receiving)

request ; anonymous’ ask linked here

prompt ; in which austin takes it upon himself (with a bit of liquid courage) to help relieve your urges.

a/n ; there is clearly something wrong w me bc i got this request and literally wrote it in under 12 hours. it’s all over the place but that’s my life these days so please enjoy also this takes place during dune 2 filming and i used the cast so some things may be inaccurate but whatever

les - childish gambino

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

realistically, you’re not an irrational person. you like to think that you make decisions based off of facts, and that your brain is wired in a way where you don’t normally partake in things that are considerably risky. however, later, when you let austin butler go down on you in the bathroom at a crowded club in budapest, the pads of his fingers leaving bruises on your hips, dress hiked up to your belly button, you’ll start to question if you’re actually mentally stable.

realistically, you probably should’ve just seen a therapist for all your troubles instead.

“okay, wait, so run me through why you won’t go out tonight again,” florence pugh pesters you for the thirtieth time that day, puppy-dog eyes filled with hope piercing through you. somehow, when you look at her, you feel no guilt whatsoever.

you sigh, rolling your eyes, “dude, i’m not going to a club. i’m literally 25, i’m past that point of my life —“

“i’m 26.”

“and, you’re mentally ill. see, this is why i don’t hang out with you on set more often,” you tease, taking a bite out of the cookie you had snatched earlier from the snack cart. it tastes like cardboard, but you had no choice but to swallow it, seeing as your other options were the moldy sandwich from the shop nearby or day-old coffee from the cart. combined with your recent sleeping habits, you might as well have chosen death.

“no, you don’t hang out with me because you’re too busy being a director’s pet,” she sticks her tongue out at you, taking a bite out of the lunch she had packed herself earlier that morning. you two are cozily perched in director’s chairs you had stolen from set, hiding from the bustling commotion that is your reality. you had signed on to film dune 2 earlier that year, and although you thought you would be able to handle the adrenaline and stress that came along with filming an action movie, to be quite honest, you were utterly and entirely exhausted. every waking moment was spent running over lines with co-stars, and if not that, you were going through stunts with the coordinators.

your limbs ached and your eyes were bloodshot, but despite all that, you couldn’t imagine doing anything else. so, you did take advantage of that cookie that tasted like cardboard, because who cares? you love your job, isn’t that enough? fuck the sleep, fuck the mental health! your body is begging, screaming, for a break, but instead, you fuel it with red bulls and cardboard cookies and bandage it up to make good as new. so, you resolve to tell florence that that’s really why you’re not going to the club tonight.

but, because she’s florence, and she can’t keep her mouth shut for a second, she keeps going. “what’ll it take to convince you?”

“literally nothing,” you smile sarcastically, crumbs littering your shirt as you take another bite.

“nothing?” she questions exasperatedly, something between a groan and a sigh exiting her lips. “what if i told you everyone was going?”

you blink twice at her attempt to coerce you into spending time with your co-stars. sure, they were great people, but your bed was calling your name “you… really think that would make me want to go?”

“nah. it was worth a shot, though.”

you laugh at the relinquishment of her efforts, “but, i do want to know what happens tonight when everyone gets drunk.”

“oh, please,” she snorts. “nothing’s gonna happen. zendaya is so far up tom’s ass, we’re gonna see her text him all night.”

you chuckle at the truth of the statement, but a twinge of jealousy still makes its way through you. you hadn’t been in a serious relationship since your last one — the 6-foot-something athlete you dated, needs no name — and it ended so horrifically that you swore off men for the rest of your life. sure, you had frivolous flings with hollywood men, but nothing of importance enough to break down the wall that you guarded yourself with. “god, must be nice,” you mutter, playing with the hem of your shirt.

florence’s eyes light up, as if a lightbulb was powered on above her head. “okay.. hear me out. what if, we go out tonight and get you laid?”

the word sounds ridiculous rolling off her tongue, something you hadn’t thought about in months. you were comfortable with two people; your right hand, and your left hand. those were the only things you needed to get off and have a great time on your own. but, seeing the look on her face, you know she won’t take that for an answer. “in budapest?”

“tell me i’m wrong! a nice european man with an accent,” she’s now leaning forward in her chair, eyes sparkling as she goes on, “and he’ll buy your drinks all night. i mean, we were planning on getting a table tonight but at least this way, you can get drunk off whatever he buys you.”

“we haven’t even found a man yet, and you’re talking about him like he’s my boyfriend.”

“i have high hopes!” she exclaims, hands clasped together in delight, “you’re literally gorgeous, [y/n]. i’m sure that won’t be an issue.”

“i don’t want a random guy, though. it feels slimy,” you grimace. it really does sound unappealing to you, the thought of having to speak to someone for several hours before finally getting drunk enough to succumb to the animalistic urges you’ll inevitably feel.

“okay…fair. but, what if it’s not a random guy?” she raises an eyebrow, and you stare at her quizzically. surely, she can’t be headed with this where you think she’s going with this. “what about… someone we know?”

“no.”

it’s firm and it slips off your tongue before you even have a chance to let her finish. god forbid you let her even say the words, or you’ll wring her neck.

“but —“

“literally, no. like, who even would i possibly get with?”

“timothee?” the name almost makes you giggle, but you could only smile as to not embarrass him (even if he’s not present).

“definitely not him. he’s not my type,” you shake your head in disgust.

she taps her finger against her chin, pretending to look lost in thought, “okay, how about the cameraman everyone says is hot?”

“easy steve? are you kidding, flo? that’s your choice for me?” you cross your arms over your chest, staring at her in disdain. she couldn’t possibly be talking about the 20-something year old who had hooked up with half of the crew already.

“yeah… i felt bad even saying it. he’s definitely got something by now,” she goes back to her train of thought, list of men dwindling by the second as she realizes you two really don’t work with as many hot men as you think you do. but, just as she’s about to rest her case and close the conversation, she has an epiphany. “wait, what about austin?”

austin butler was what everyone referred to as an overachiever. not on purpose — no, he was too humble for that — but because he worked so hard to perfect his craft. you had to commend him for it, because you were willing to give it the old heave-ho and just let things be as is. he was a bit of a superstar on and off set, riding on the coattails of his newfound success from elvis, the movie he had filmed that had been released just a few months back. you were lying if you said you hadn’t seen the movie and nearly creamed yourself twice at his performance.

he was attractive — you could at least give him that — but he almost seemed too pretty to be real. despite all that, you weren’t even sure if you two had a full conversation before. the most you had gotten out of him was hey, how are you today? and they’re ready for you on set. you weren’t sure if he was scared of you, or just genuinely found no interest in getting to know you; regardless, it didn’t bother you. he seemed to fade into the background every time you came around, and you had already accepted that that was your working relationship with him.

“eh, too pretty for me.”

“really?” florence seems shocked by your statement. “you did see elvis, right..?”

“yeah, who didn’t?” you shrug, “i don’t know, i feel like he’s just there.”

she chortles at your statement, “what? he’s so cool, he makes the funniest jokes.”

okay, now you’re slightly offended. you could accept that maybe he was just a shy person all around, but if he was talking to everyone except you — including putting up with florence’s constant chatter — there had to be something severely wrong with you. “well, he’s never told me any jokes.”

a sneaky grin makes its way onto her face, and you can almost see the wheels turning in her little pea brain. “what, you jealous?”

“shut it. he just literally does not speak to me,” you don’t give in to her antics. “like, he’ll see me come across the way and then he’ll go mute. i’m fine with that, honestly.”

“fine, fine,” she raises her hands in defeat. “but, i still think you need to get laid. it’ll solve all your problems. and, plus, i’m offering to buy you a bottle of vodka for you to drink all by yourself.”

she knows she’s making offers to you that you can’t refuse.

“whatever,” you stand up from the chair, “i’m not going.”

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

maybe it’s the sleep exhaustion making you delusional, maybe it’s the two tequila shots you took by yourself in your hotel room, or, maybe it’s the conversation you had with florence earlier, but, somehow, you find yourself sandwiched in between your co-stars and crew members at a sweaty club in budapest, hungary.

it’s all florence’s fault.

you’re supposed to be tucked into bed, reading a book, possibly, or even lazily watching a netflix show while sipping a cup of tea. but, the rap music pounds into your ears, strobe lights casting colorful illumination across the dance floor. you clutch the vodka bottle closer to your chest, watching as sweaty bodies collided in a mere attempt to feel something. florence can sense your fear and desire to leave, and while you’re still staring intently at the crowd, she creeps up next to you. “so.. are you gonna drink the bottle i bought you, or are you gonna hug it all night?”

you look around the table, bottles being kept cool in ice buckets and napkins strewn messily across the wood, locking eyes with a few of your cast members. zendaya and timothee seem deep in conversation over something, probably a drunken talk about how zendaya hated crowds and more specifically, non-casual drinks. you’re debating on how you answer her question, following up with “well, eventually gonna drink it. soaking it all in now.”

“you need to catch up,” she says, but you can already smell the alcohol on her breath. there’s not much catching up to do; she’s probably already near obliterated. “i don’t wanna be drunk alone.”

you roll your eyes at her exaggeration, popping open the bottle of vodka that had been gifted to you, “fine, fine. if i have no choice,” and with that, you tilt the bottle back to meet your lips, your first sip of alcohol touching the back of your throat and causing you to gag repeatedly. you were no stranger to it; you had quite the party girl phase between the ages of 21 and 23.

with shaky hands, you bring the bottle back down to arms length, “happy now?”

“ecstatic,” she grins widely.

“hey, guys.”

you’re about to sputter out the alcohol you swallowed previously, but you manage to keep it together at the sound of austin butler’s voice echoing in your ear. despite the volume of the music, you still manage to hear him, which was the first time in a while you had actually noted the raspiness in his voice. he’s speaking to the group, not just you — definitely not you, poor boy has had his tongue tied around you for months — and everyone greets him excitedly. you clench your jaw at their reaction, rolling your eyes and taking another swig from your bottle. sure, tears are brimming your eyes from the burn of the vodka, but you rather that happen than have to watch everyone ogle over austin gracing them with his presence.

he doesn’t really acknowledge you, just raises an eyebrow in your direction, and you give a half-smile in return. all in all, you’re not ready to admit he looks surprisingly better than he normally does. he has on a white button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows, dress pants and all. his hair looks messy, but not in the way where you can assume he put no effort in his appearance, but that he clearly did try and tousle it a little. he still fits the description from earlier; too pretty to be real. like, who even wears that to a club? you feel whorish, slutty, raunchy, with your skin-tight red dress and black heels.

florence is now deep in conversation with easy steve, and you take the time to take another sip from your bottle. really, she must’ve been onto something, because leaving you alone with a bottle of vodka and your thoughts was lethal. you’re left to look around the table and see who else you could possibly strike up a conversation with. for some reason, timothee is fist-bumping, and your lips curl up in a smile at that. you decide that maybe you and your thoughts could have a good time on their own. you’re slowly swaying your hips in tune to the music, not concerning yourself with how much vodka you’re actually inhaling.

“having fun there?” one of the crew members smiles over at you, and you return the expression. he’s trying to be sweet, so why not entertain him?

“oh, yeah,” you nod, fingers gripping the neck of the bottle tightly as if it were your life jacket. “can you tell it’s my first time out in forever?”

“with the way you’re drinking?” he shakes his head, laughing, “you look like a veteran, honestly.”

out of the corner of your eye, you see austin reach out to pour himself a drink, while he’s also deep in conversation with another crew member; a girl. she giggles at something he says, and you’re about to bend his neck in half. the man must have some kind of vendetta against you, because really, he can’t stand to be around you or something? you turn your attention back to the man you were talking to, but you realize soon enough that you had been staring at austin for so long that he had found someone else to pay attention.

and, then it’s really just back to you, the bottle, and your thoughts.

you opt to take a few sips of cranberry juice from the carafe that is placed strategically on the table, knowing that’ll help ease the buzz the alcohol you’re sweeping through is giving you. you’re drinking at an alarmingly fast pace, and if everyone wasn’t so indulged in their conversations, they might have noticed you going through the bottle as if it were water. but, your feet remain in the same spot, swaying to the music calmly, not a worry in the world.

there’s shuffling around the table, people moving to talk to others they hadn’t gotten the chance to before, and you’re still humming with intoxication. you were way past tipsy, definitely drunk to the point where if florence had asked you to dance amongst the mosh pit of people, you would’ve said yes. you make small talk with a few, exchange jokes with zendaya, and you let yourself flirt with timothee. you know you’re not attracted to him, but you’re just so bored and drunk and alone and he did, in his drunken state, let his eyes roam over your body, so why not?

you abandon the bottle of vodka at some point, as it’s halfway done and serves nearly no purpose to you anymore. you’re at the perfect point of the night, where anything can happen and if someone were to dare you to do something idiotic, you would. it’s like this: every part of your body aches to do something absolutely stupid, and your brain is consistently egging you on, and your lips are flapping to make words that don’t even really make sense. you’re still coherent — they would’ve sent you home if you weren’t — and you rely on your senses to realize just who is standing next to you after the next round of shuffling around the table.

austin butler is awkwardly standing near you, words no use to him anymore as he just looks down at his feet. you’re already annoyed; no, not because of the alcohol, or because of the way his curls fall over his forehead, or the way he’s not speaking to you, but because of the fact that he’s not even trying to hide that he could care less to make conversation with you. or, well, that’s what you assume it is, because alcohol is invading your bloodstream.

you sit down on the couch behind you, leaning back to rest against the cushion. everyone seems to follow suit, their legs tired from moving around ever so slightly to engage in more talk. austin carefully sits down next to you, and you move your knees to point in the opposite direction, making sure to not let your skin come into contact with his.

“[y/n]!” florence squeals, and she’s stepping on austin’s toes as she squeezes herself on the other side of you. she’s so, so drunk, but she’s your closest friend on set and you love her dearly, so you find it endearing.

“hi, flo.”

okay, you’re so, so drunk too.

“i… love this place,” she gushes, taking a sip of her vodka cranberry that is clearly melted ice at that point. “like, i just love hungary. every time i go out in the u.k, i hate it. hate, hate, hate it.”

you giggle at her words, “what? i thought you loved going out there.”

she scrunches her nose as if your words were poisonous, “god, no. all those pricks out there aren’t half as fun as here.”

“you know, australia’s pretty fun too.”

the man of the hour finally speaks. you’re almost shocked to hear his voice so close to your ear, and you turn to look at the source. austin’s hair is considerably more messy than before, stains from his previous drinks littered across his shirt. his voice hugs you, and you feel a tingle in your core that you push aside because you’re so, so drunk and there is no way you’re letting his voice irritate you. if anything, you’re more shocked at the fact that he finally found a way to speak around you.

“really?” of course, florence is encouraging him on. “i haven’t been in ages, i’ve been meaning to go out there. you were in queensland, right?”

“yeah, we mostly went out ‘round there,” he now turns his body towards the two of you. “we did that for a good few months, before covid hit and everything.”

“oh, wow, where did you guys go out there? i might know a few,” florence says excitedly, giddy to have someone to converse with that wasn’t with your debby-downer attitude. you cross your arms over your chest like a toddler who hadn’t gotten their way, letting them tire themselves out with their chatter. they had stopped acknowledging you completely, just leaving you to listen in as if their talk was more important than anything in the world.

“i like sydney better,” you finally chime in — in a very snotty tone that throws florence off guard — and austin’s eyes widen a little, his head swiveling to face you.

“really?” he asks softly, almost coming out as a whisper against the rap music that blares from every corner. he’s lucky you can read lips. not that you were staring or anything.

“yeah,” you confirm, arms still glued to your chest. “just not really a fan of queensland.”

luckily, no one can tell that you’re literally lying through your teeth, because one: you have never been to australia in your entire life and two: if someone asks what clubs you’ve been to there, you were thoroughly fucked.

“no way! where in sydney have you been to?”

you were going to strangle florence pugh.

you smile, a shaky one that nearly falls off your lips, and your words are a little slurred as you speak, “oh, ya know, where didn’t i go? i can’t even remember the names, it was just so wild.”

that seems to be a good enough answer for the two of them — or, they’ve sussed out that you have no clue what you’re talking about — because they don’t push the issue any further. they move on to another topic, talking about filming and europe. you tune in and out of the conversation before reaching for your bottle once more. taking another swig, you hug it to your chest, replacing your arms.

“you know, [y/n], i’m soooo happy you came out tonight,” florence has finally reached the i love you speeches part of the night, but lucky enough for her, you’re more than capable of partaking in that.

“me too,” you grin goofily, tucking your hair behind your ear. “i love alcohol. and you. and budapest.”

“you weren’t gonna come out tonight?” he speaks directly towards you, and it takes you aback more than you’d like to admit, because for once, he’s not asking how you are or how’s the weather.

“yeah, wasn’t feeling it, honestly,” you shrug, still avoiding eye contact and playing with your hands that gripped the bottle.

“what changed your mind?” you can tell he’s drunk. god knows, he’s drunk because there is no way he’s actually speaking to you. he can’t even believe it himself, since he couldn’t muster the courage to say more than four words to you at a time.

“i don’t know,” you admit, “i really haven’t gone out in a while. felt like maybe it was overdue.”

“yeah, i felt the same,” he says, running a hand through his hair. you can’t help but notice how it descends perfectly onto his temple, and you finally look up to meet his eyes. they are ice-blue, something you had noticed before, but when you peer into them, you notice how they stare into your own, causing you to squirm in your seat. “haven’t been out in a while after my last movie. i don’t know if you saw it or anything.”

maybe it’s the alcohol creeping up on you, or the way his eyes are still gazing into yours, but you feel the need to keep the conversation going, uttering, “i saw elvis. you look—did good. did good.”

you were praying for a sink hole to open up in the middle of the dance floor to swallow you up whole.

thankfully, he spares you the embarrassment and doesn’t note that you almost confessed your attraction to him. no, no, not attraction. what the hell were you feeling? it was bizarre, he had spoken more than four words to you and you found yourself like putty in his hands. you were starting to see why everyone was laughing at his jokes on set; they probably weren’t even funny, his eyes were just piercing into them. “thanks. i saw your last film too.”

somehow, he keeps managing to shock you with everything he says. you chalk it up to liquid courage, because now this man is speaking to you as if he’s talked to you his whole life, with confidence and ease. “that piece of crap? god, i hated it.” it was entirely true; it was a netflix original that had you playing a high schooler at the grown age of 25.

he chuckles at your words, and you sit up straighter at the sound. for a moment, your heart almost betrays you, beating faster than its normal resting rate. “i get it. i was a nickelodeon star for a little. worst. years. of. my. life.”

your eyes widen a little as you come to a realization, your knees fully swiveling towards his body, “oh my god! yes! you were in zoey 101, weren’t you?”

“i was,” he smiles at you for the first time, and you’re overcome with a whirlwind of emotions; desire, attraction, possibly anger at the fact he waited that long to talk to you. and, so, you keep talking, because he’s good company and he likes hearing what you have to say. florence has fully disengaged from your conversation, entertaining herself with easy steve once more. you and austin talk about clubbing, what you enjoy to do in your free time, how you managed to get a college degree before becoming an actress, and he’s thoroughly hanging onto every word you say. liquor is still flowing, and you two even take a shot together before continuing to talk about nothingness.

you’re so enthralled in your conversation that you don’t notice when he rests his arm right above you on the edge of the couch, not touching your skin but enough to mark his territory. you’re not cognizant of his body fully facing you, knees touching yours as he watched your lips move with every word you spoke. “but, yeah, that’s why i moved to new york city. i feel like i made the right choice, ‘ya know?”

“oh, i get it,” he nods, “i’m trying to move from california. i think i like the city, did the broadway thing for a while and fell in love with it.”

“really?” your eyes are sparkling, and he takes a mental picture just for himself to envision later. “i love broadway. i used to see shows all the time.”

“what’s your favorite show?” he asks, genuinely interested in what you have to say, and it makes you feel seen, for once. men tended to look over you, and that might have been due to the people you were choosing, but you chalked it up to just them being disinterested.

“that’s a tough one,” you tap your nails against the 75% empty vodka bottle, “i would have to say wicked.”

“good choice,” his lips curl upwards into a smile once more.

“oh, i know my choice is impeccable,” you say sarcastically, and he throws his head back in laughter. you like the sound of it, to the point where you’re about to whip your phone out secretly and record it to listen to as a lullaby.

the nagging feeling of having to urinate is still pressing against your bladder, but your body refuses to get up. you’re captivated by the conversation you’ve partaken in, and the idea that if you move away from him might change anything is enough to keep you glued to your seat. but, you’re almost tempted to see if he would keep it going, to see if he would reciprocate the tension you’re feeling. florence’s words from earlier ring in your ear like a siren, and you have to clench your thighs to stop yourself from getting carried away. no, he definitely is just being nice. he’s drunk and wants someone to talk to, and frankly, so do you.

so, you decide to stand up, placing the vodka bottle down on the table and smoothing out your red dress. “hold on, i’ll be back. i just have to pee.” he answers with a slight nod. he misses the feeling of your knees pressed against his, and notices as soon as the contact is gone.

as you try and find your way to the bathroom, you let your delusions get the best of you, and you begin to hope, pray, that he follows you in there.

you actually really do have to pee, and you do sit down on the toilet, but some sickly part of you wants him to walk in there and tempt you. you don’t even know what you’re thinking — this man has continuously ignored you for months. but, florence’s words just haunt you as you think that maybe you do need to get laid, and austin isn’t the worst option out there. he’s tall, he smells good, he’s got a gorgeous laugh and stunning eyes. jesus christ, get a grip.

you’re about halfway out the bathroom door, drunkenly stumbling over your heels, before you fall right into someone’s arms.

upon contact, you know exactly who you landed into.

but, to confirm, you look up through hooded eyelids to make eye contact with austin, his arms still holding your biceps. “shit, my bad,” he says softly, swallowing the rest of the saliva that pooled in his mouth.

“yeah, no worries, i was just, um, going back out there.”

“yeah, no, of course.”

he says that but still makes no attempt to let you go.

“is it still fun out there?”

“it’s alright. florence went home.”

“oh.”

quit the small talk, you’re hoping he’s telepathic and hearing every word you’re yelling at him in your brain.

he finally releases you, and you fall back a little. he scratches the back of his neck nervously before asking feebly, “can i ask you a question?”

you’re hoping your eyes don’t look as if they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “what’s up?”

“uh — well, i, um,” all his confidence from earlier dwindles into thin air, “uh, was just wondering if —“

you raise an eyebrow, “yes?”

“i, uh, heard you earlier talking to florence.”

“and?”

“…ya know, about needing to hook up with somebody.”

where was that sinkhole to swallow you up?

“how’d you even hear us?” you manage to muster out in horror. it was more disbelief, but he must’ve moved with so much stealth that you didn’t even notice him, the way he hadn’t noticed you.

“i-i was just walking by, and then, heard my name and all —“

“oh, yeah, ‘cause that’s not creepy,” you say sarcastically.

“right,” he avoids your eyes now, focusing on some stain on his shoes. in all honesty, you’re not sure what he’s even getting at, because now that he was back to being unable to formulate words around you, you weren’t even sure you were attracted to him any longer. but, you were intoxicated, so that thought lasted about two seconds. “listen, i’m just gonna be honest.”

“okay.”

“would you… want to hook up?”

you’re stunned. you had never been so stupefied in your entire life, and you feel as though someone just yanked you off the spinning planet, leaving you to float in space. your jaw fell slack at his suggestion, silence overtaking the two of you despite the music that still blasted through the speakers. “what?” you have to ask, because there’s no way he’s being serious.

“we don’t have to — i mean, you don’t have to do anything. plus, i think i kinda have whiskey dick, but i could eat you out or something —“

he is being serious.

“you… want to go down on me?” you’re almost intrigued, because no man had ever offered to do something without getting some form of stimulation in return. you’re thinking back to all the horrible things you said about him, and discarding every last one.

he nods.

“you don’t even… you barely talked to me.”

“yeah, i-i’m sorry ‘bout all that, i just get nervous,” he draws his lips in between his teeth, and you think you might collapse then and there and someone’ll have to scrape your body off the floor. “kinda had a little crush on you.”

“are you serious?” you ask incredulously. “we exchanged four words.”

“yeah, i-i know, listen, i feel bad about all that, i just literally —“

you’re not even about to let him keep going on with his ramblings, and you find yourself dragging him by his shirt collar into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. you lean against the wood, cooling your body that seemed to warm up from his words. he faces you, lips parted and cheeks blushed. “okay, this is crazy.”

“i know —“

you held up a finger, pausing him mid-word before he could utter anything else that barely resembled a full sentence. he was so lucky there was even an ounce of alcohol flowing in your system, because all those feelings of desire and longing are lingering in your brain, demanding that you listen to them. “this is crazy. and, the fact that i’m even slightly considering it is concerning me more.”

his mouth parts as he’s about to respond before you shake your finger, indicating that there’s more left to your sentence. “if, if we do this, you cannot tell anyone.”

he nods again, this time like a lost puppy.

“i’m not kidding, austin. no one can know about this,” you repeat, hoping the words drill into his brain.

“no one will know.”

“i’m only doing this because it’s been a while, okay, like a good few months.”

“okay.”

he’s looking at you eagerly, as if he were ready to devour you and you’re suddenly overcome with every bit of desire for him, wetness pooling between your thighs and soaking your underwear. your heart thumps loudly in your ear as you mull over his offer. weirdly enough, he is your best option at that point in the night. it was either austin butler, the man who apparently has pined for your affection the entire time, or some sweaty stranger plucked from the dance floor. you repeat the same word he had, because what else is there to say when austin butler is begging you to let him eat you out? “okay.”

he blinks twice, an expression full of shock and a tad of confusion plastered on his face as he realizes you’re consenting to it, to him. he moves towards you, and your eyes are locked into his. you’re not even sure if you’re breathing properly as he reaches out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, his thumb tracing over your jaw.

you take the moment to really, finally, look at him. his nose juts out at the perfect angle, blue eyes calming you as if they were waves melting into rocks, his plump, pink lips parted slightly as he exhaled. he was angelic, and you nearly shot yourself from the thought of ever looking past him. he’s doing the same with you; taking note of every single freckle, every mark that adorned your face. he was irrevocably entranced by you. he leans in towards you, hand cupping your chin, “‘m gonna kiss you now.”

you’re still nodding as he pulls your chin towards his to meet his warm lips that taste like alcohol, and you’re immediately paralyzed by the way your lips collide with his, meshing perfectly as if they were always meant to. he’s kissing you fiercely to make you want more, but not to be sloppy. your wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his body closer into you, back firmly pressed against the door. surprisingly enough, despite the drunken state you’re both trapped in, you move in sync and the arousal in your panties only escalates, burning your entire body.

you pull away for a moment of air, inhaling and exhaling at a sharp rate, and he doesn’t miss a beat, only going down to your neck to press light kisses, then suck. he continues the pattern, and you find yourself running your fingers through his curls, soft moans slipping from between your lips. you’re too blind to even realize what’s actually going on, that you’re really in a bathroom at a club in budapest, hungary, making out with your co-star. you hope your alarm clock doesn’t suddenly go off.

his tongue swirls around a sweet spot on your neck, and you bite your lip to contain the moan that’s begging to be let out.

and before you’re really going to protest or say anything remotely coherent, he sinks to his knees, the cold tiles grounding him as his hand roams up your thighs. you’re just watching, in complete and utter disbelief, as he slowly bunches up your dress to around your belly button, revealing your pair of panties that were absolutely dripping. you should be embarrassed — in fact, you definitely are — but he only looks up at you submissively, eyes interlocking selfishly. “can i?”

you nod, lip still stuck in between your teeth. you watch as he slips your underwear right down your legs, pressing a light kiss to your thighs. he looks back up at you one last time, for that one last confirmation he needed, and you give it to him, your hand entangling in his hair as you push his head to where you need him the most.

his hands make their way around your hips, pressing into the bone as he steadies your body against the door. just when you think you’re about to beg for him, that you might have to embarrass yourself further, he presses his tongue, flat, against your folds, and you whimper at the contact. he licks carefully, deliberately, as if he knows just what to do to make you unfold, as if he’s done this his whole life.

his lips slip around your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves and causing you to throw your head back and slam it on the wood behind you. he’s encouraged by your response, working faster as his tongue flicked against your clit repeatedly, the stimulation almost too much to bear. “o-oh,” you moan out, tugging at his hair and moving your hips against his face, nearly riding his lips at that point.

it had been a long time since you had someone go down on you, but never like this. your eyes are squeezed tight, strings of profanities amongst his name coming out your lips like the only words you ever knew. your juices ran down his chin messily, and he moves one of his hands from your hips down to your folds, parting them to get better access to your core. “fuck, austin,” is all you can say. he’s just watching, admiring you from down there as he works feverishly against your pussy, lapping up your juices.

your eyes meet for just a flash, and you suddenly feel shy, as if he wasn’t really eating you out on the floor of a bathroom, as if you hadn’t known for him for a good six months. his lips are coated in your juices, fingers soaked as well, blue eyes now darkened as he sloppily devours you. he wants you to cum, right onto his face, to feel you come undone because of him. he hooks two fingers into you, reaching a spot you had only ever done yourself, and you jolt forward. your body is trembling as he just fucks you with his finger, nose pressed against your lower body as he buries his lips, tongue darting at your clit.

just when you think you’re already down for the count, that he already was going to make you cum harder than any other man ever could, he reaches out to hoist one of your legs on his shoulder, and you instinctively push him further into you, as if it were even possible. his tongue is circling your clit, and you can feel it, the sensation you’d been dreading bubbling in your abdomen, because indisputably, you do not want this to end. you’re a moaning, screaming, shaking mess and austin is pinning you down against the door, fighting to get you to your release.

his fingers work desperately in and out of you, and he moans against you at the feeling of your walls tightening around his fingers. you can’t even fight the feeling, or try and delay it, because it’s overwhelming you to the point where you’re screaming his name and begging for more, to take you to the edge. “austin, oh my god, please, i’m so fucking close —“

“come on, baby. i want you to cum on my face,” he speaks against your core, hot breath waning over your aching entrance as he rapidly continues to stretch you out with his digits, and you’re done fighting; you want nothing more than to release all over his stupid pink lips, and his stupid perfect face that you can’t believe is at your mercy right now.

this could possibly be the most toe-curling, back-arching, mouth-foaming, eyes-rolling orgasm of your life, and it washes over with so much power you’re shocked you’re even still standing. his fingers are still inside you as your walls spasm and contact around them, hands reaching out to grip onto his shoulder in desperation. you let out a choked sob, as white washes over your vision, your body completely shattering into little pieces. he pulls his fingers out of you, hypnotized by the way your cheeks flush, eyelashes fluttering as you struggle to recover.

and, you’re still quite not sure you’re alive moments later, balancing yourself against the door as you try to contain your breathing. you look down at him, and you observe as he utilizes his fingers to wipe the remaining juices off his chin and lips, licking every last drop clean.

you’re rendered speechless, useless to him as you can’t even formulate a word, just one measly word to say to him. he gets up, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you’re still standing there, panties still draped around your ankles. “you good now?” he asks, almost coolly, as if his tongue wasn’t buried inside of you mere minutes before.

“i-i — yeah, i, uh, guess so. thanks, i guess,” you swallow, eventually gathering your last ounce of strength to pull your panties back up, pulling down your dress to your thighs. “you go out first, i’ll catch up. don’t want anyone to suspect anything.”

he just nods, looking like he’s about to say something but instead swallowing thickly before walking back out into the club. you hear the sound of the music for just a second when he opens that door, before you’re engulfed by the silence as soon as it swings closed. you look over at yourself in the mirror, makeup partially ruined and hair matted from the sweat. you’re not even sure you can walk properly, scared to even try. you feel like a baby bird who’s trying to leave the nest for the first time.

with one last exhale of oxygen, and the little resilience you still have left in your body, you swing open the bathroom door, flattening out your dress again and meeting the bustling crowd of people that happened to remain at this hour.

you’re hoping it’s not obvious that you just had the best orgasm of your life in that bathroom.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

yeah, you’re going to need to see that therapist.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[shititbe]

Anyway, HSM2 is about internalized homophobia, and no one can tell me otherwise.

High School Musical is one of the most beloved franchises in the world. Teenagers all over the world grew up watching Troy and Gabriella harmonize together. Three movies, and nearly a decade later it’s still beloved by all. The first film easily forgotten in the ashes of the early 2000’s, the third film stuck in a purgatorial limbo of the rather unfortunate late 2000’s. The second film on the other hand sticks out between the ruckus. 

The second High School Musical film takes place at Sharpay and Ryan’s family country club, during the summer between junior and senior year. The Wildcats are working summer jobs on the country club, often forced to the beck and call of Ryan and Sharpay themselves. Sharpay uses all her prestige to help Troy with college instead of starting at the bottom ( or rather, in the kitchen washing dishes) with his friends. In the time she’s helping Troy, she is also pushing her brother away; replacing him with Troy in their musical number for the talent show, and refusing to hang out with him in preference for Troy. Ryan becomes vengeful to his twin and starts hanging around the Wildcats in the kitchen. At first, he was met with some distasteful looks and words (most of which from Chad). With the help of Kelsey, and her neutral party, Ryan fits in smoothly with the other teenagers, eventually giving the WildCats all dance lessons.

 Throughout the movie, the main conflict continues to be the internal conflict of Troy Bolton. He debates over and over again if he should go through with Sharpay’s shenanigans, or if he wants to “listen to my own heart.”  This of course involves Gabriella, as she is Troy’s love interest. She’s not in the second film except for the beginning, then, where she leaves in the middle of the film - in order to create angst for Troy - then when she shows up again in the finally to sing/rejoin Troy. 

The conflict in the second film  is the combining of Troy’s two worlds. His first - his main world in the first movie, that hence became his secondary world - which is represented by Chad. Then his secondary world - which becomes his main world in this movie - which is represented by Ryan. Chad represents Troy’s masculinity, or his more idealized version of himself. Ryan represents Troy’s femininity or his current version of reality. These two worlds collide in the iconic song “I don’t dance”.  

Since this movie - and hence this scene - came out in the early 2000’s, a lot of the innuendoes went over people's heads. Luckily, as the children who watched this movie grew older and more experienced, and the world became more accepting, we’re able to see this song for what it is. 

Before getting into the lore and symbolism of the iconic “I Don’t Dance” sequence, context is needed. For most of human history, homosexuality was seen as a sin in all places except ancient times (see: Greece and Japan). The modern age is the most accepting on all fronts, such as sexual orientation, race, and religion. In the early 2000’s, High School Musical director Kenny Ortega was not publicialy out yet. He wouldn’t be till 2014. 

Originally, while writing this, my first thought was  that Kenny - the director - would be using Troy as a y/n type character to project his insecurities and struggles with masculinity, and what that means in defining his orientation and societal views that would be placed upon him. Then, it came to me later that this is in fact not the case, Troy (and Gabriella - who is in fact a y/n character for the female audience) is more of a character for a man of his time, confused with his own ideals of masculinity and the views of society because, “oh god, I can’t like theater/drama because only queer people and girls like it!” The second point is pushed further with the Troy and Sharpay sub-plot. Sharpay tries to further Troy’s career as a basketball player, though that’s not what he wants anymore, and Troy is no longer sure if that is what he ever wanted to begin with (enter the song “Bet on it” and the hilarious meme “no dad, I’m giving up on your dream”). 

Keeping these things in mind - Kenney’s queerness, and Troy’s struggle to realize you can in fact sing and be a heterosexual, wow, revolutionary - it became clear to me that Kenney’s y/n characters were Ryan and Chad. 

For those who aren’t into the arts, or find them too difficult after a singular attempt thinking they could write a world class novel on the first go, let me be the first to tell you every author has a y/n character. First, for those who don’t know what y/n stands for, it’s a popular fanfiction trope where a writer will write a story about a character dating, being friends, and so on, with the reader. The y/n stands for “your name” so anyone can be the main character in this story at any time. For a writer of mainstream fictional work, such as High School Musical, Game Of Thrones, Lord Of The Rings, Pride and Prejudice, Harry Potter, Hunger Games, even most comics. Now, most writers or directors aren’t going to be as obvious as having a character not named (or named y/n) or even named Jane (looking at you Jane Austin), the y/n character of many mainstream authors/directors/comic artists and so on is usually the character they feel or have given the most attributes similar to themselves. 

It’s the same reason people have favourite characters. You see a fictional character and you either 1. Want to Bob the Builder them, 2. Some sort of weird sex thing, or 3. See more/the most of yourself in this character. Number three - thankfully - is usually the main reason. Some people just create their own favourite characters. An even easier way to think about this, is just projection baby, that’s psych 101.   

Before I went off on a small tangent of fictional works and how human emotion plays into creating them (except anything Disney has made in the past decade, and no you can’t change my mind on that) I mentioned that Chad and Ryan are Kenney’s y/n characters. As a queer person myself, it’s clear for me to see the different struggles each of these characters face and how these reflect the queer experience. 

So, let’s finally get into it. 

Ryan, without it being explicitly said is clearly a character of what people in the early 2000s think a gay man is. He is effeminate, wearing bright coloured outfits with lots of accessories - namely his signature hats - he is also in the theater department doing musicals, and passive/subservient to any of his twin sisters' wills. Yes, now we know gay men aren’t just feminized men, but in the early 2000’s a gay man who can do "masculine" things like change their car oil, like sports, and so on, break the "effeminate" stereotype thus confused many cishet people. Sharpay is painted as more confident - or, for sake of comparability - masculine to her twin in the first movie, and most of the second movie. Making Ryan a bit of her dog who would do anything to get by - painting Ryan as lesser than human, once more, playing into the homophobia of the early 2000's.     

Despite the clear stereotypes playing into his character, Ryan is consistently one of the most confident characters in the movie. The other, being his sister of course. This confidence in himself is what gravitates the other characters towards him, either by being intimidated (Troy, thinking Ryan and Gabriella were a thing), or admiration (Chad, by the end of “I don’t dance”). 

Chad, on the other hand, is a whole different ball game. While he is confident in the first movie, and the first portion of the second movie, he begins to break more and more when Ryan becomes a more integral part of the Wildcat group. To keep in mind, Chad is also the most vocal about his distaste for Troy’s artistic past-time. When the other Wildcats join Ryan and begin learning how to dance for the talent show at the end of the movie, Chad is also the most vocal about his distaste. The baseball game where “I don’t dance” takes place, is the climax of Chad’s arc and his turn towards acceptance to Ryan/Troy’s hobbies. 

Of course, there is more to the “I don’t dance” sequence than just Chad’s realization - the exact one Troy comes to terms with in the second movie as well - of “oh my god I don’t have to be gay to enjoy stereotypical ‘feminine’ things.” That is the main part of the song though, that and all the sexual tension. 

Going back to what I’ve stated previously, Chad and Ryan are Kenney’s projection or y/n characters. Let me do a small recap before we get into the nitty gritty of the famous “I don’t dance” video. 

Thinking back to the first few paragraphs, I stated that Kenney wasn’t publicly out till 2014, about 7 years after the second movie came out. This could be due to the fact that a) it’s the early 2000’s and everyones still very homophobic, or b) self-doubt that comes with the queer experience. The most likely reason is a mixture of both of these. Because of this, Ryan is the more self-assured version, or idealized version of Kenney that he wants to be. Ryan is confident, never being swayed about his lifestyle (could be read as: sexuality) even though Chad - and most of the wildcats in the first movie - put him through relentless “teasing” and humiliation. He’s confident, almost to a fault, he’s sure of himself, and yet still reaches out a hand to Chad and the other wildcats to show them that they’re just being, kinda dick-ish. 

Every queer person wants to be Ryan. Despite his heavily stereotyped characterization, I personally believe he is one of the stronger written characters in the movies, mainly due to Kenney putting the time in to really make Ryan feel like a real person, to give himself some sort of relief of his own anxieties, a chance to see the world through a person who truly has no fear. Unlike Kenney himself. 

This is where Chad comes in. 

Chad is seen as “confident” in the first movie, the second Troy “leaves” basketball though, all that confidence comes crashing down. His best friend has another hobby - one he thinks is “not right” (it’s okay, you can say gay), - they wont be spending all their time together (first, can you say dependent relationship much, yikes).Chad’s defining characteristic up until their fight that instigate act three of the second movie, is being Troy’s best friend. I’m going to take this as if this were truly the case, and not a decently written character arch. Some people base themselves around their friends and their whole identity on being a friend, that they lose sight of themselves, this mainly in high school of course, when your whole world is really nothing but school, and friends. Newly developed independence is there, but that’s scary, so instead of worrying about the future, cling to something that’s reliable. I’ve seen this happen, mainly at the end of high school, when the “real world” is coming a bit too close for comfort. This could generally be the case if a person is lonely, but for timeline sake I’m going to say Chad has got some anxiety about graduating (considering the second movie takes place the summer of junior year). 

His lashing out at Troy’s hobbies and at Troy’s neglectful friendship, make more sense with that background, and are seen more in the second movie where Troy begins spending all his spare time with Sharpay (trying to collect that BAG!). Chad - and others (read: father) - insists that music is not a feasible career option, and Troy should just stick with basketball (like...that is a feasible career option). The tension Chad creates in the studio only grows when the other wildcats decide to take up Ryan’s offer for dance lessons and move from the kitchen, to helping out with the talent show. (Next essay idea: how high school musical two was really about class all along, cause Jesus). 

 Chad is the less obvious option for a y/n character. Though again, the 2000’s were not as cool people like to pretend they are. Chad - for Kenney - represents what he actually feels, this fear of being rejected for how he is and how he chooses to live his life/lifestyle, so he sticks to something reliable. Ryan is new, and exciting, and confident in a way that Kenney/Chad wish they could be, but in order for that to happen they need to understand that maybe people are complex creatures, and can enjoy multiple hobbies (aka: the same lesson Troy is teaching the viewers, but far less boring). But, for Kenney/Chad facing that thought and that realization is scary, and thus, they lash out at anyone (read this paragraph as: Chad mad jealous of Ryan cause Ryan bomb as fuck). 

All this build up, finally comes ahead in the employee baseball match 

                                                       ******

The baseball game is probably the most memorable scene in the whole High School Musical franchise (minus Sharpay’s “Fabulous” solo, but that’s also from the same movie, and it’s kinda rude to give what’s already the best more points); the tension in the scene, and what it implies makes it the best written segment of all three movies, let alone the most entertaining. 

Some things to keep in mind from our background information: Chad is missing his bestie and struggling with what being “masculine” really means for him and others. Ryan of course makes this confusing, because the traditional method is being thrown out the window. In short, Chad has internalized homophobia, and Ryan being open - or as open as Disney would let him - is causing all sorts of problems. 

Despite the song, “I don’t dance” being logged into our collective skulls for all eternity (you’re probably humming it right now, sorry about that), the very brief interaction of Ryan and Chad before the game is lost on the public consciousness. The two are clearly comfortable with each other, though the distaste seems to be on Chad’s side more than Ryans. So, the two start playfully jabbing at each other before deciding to do a bat toss to see who will be in the outfield first. 

Before they begin the bat toss, Ryan says “You don’t think dancing takes some game?” Chad then very clearly checks him out, doing a simple but effective ‘drag-your-eyes-over-them-top-to-bottom-then-smile’ and says “you got game?” (Seen in gif below) 

I don’t know how much you know about sex metaphors and how many of those baseball has in it (seriously though, it’s a lot), but with the bat toss, Ryan’s hand ended up on top, and Chad’s under Ryan’s. Let’s ignore this for now, it’ll be implied again later. Ryan’s team starts out in the outfield because he won the bat toss, and hence, the song officially starts. 

The first lyrics (ignoring the chores of “hey batter batter, hey batter batter, swing”) is 

I'll show you that it's one and the same

Baseball, dancing, same game

It's easy

Step up to the place, start swingin  

This part is sung by Ryan, who is taunting Chad out in the outfield. Before the game, as stated, Chad was taunting Ryan about his lack of “game” (both sexual and not sexual metaphor are implied), and now, Ryan has turned those tables around. Baseball - is seen as more masculine than dancing, not as masculine as football or basketball, but it’s up there. Chad is someone who cares about his masculinity, enough to the point that Ryan playing baseball makes him loose his mind. Makes him question his own personal definition of masculinity, if you will. 

Ryan says, “baseball, dancing, same game,” impyling that, to him, baseball and dancing are one and the same. That is baffling to Chad, cause well, how can something meant for girls even be close to something meant for boys. 

Chad comes back with: 

 I wanna play ball now, and that's all

This is what I do

It ain't no dance that you can show me, yeah

This only proves my previous point. 

I had a conversation with myself about this, and I’ve decided not to include it in this essay, but a second essay may or may not be possible. Basically the premise - the dancing/”musical” moments of High School Musical are conjured up images by those meant to see them (ie: like a visual hallucination, but, not really) but this scene kinda poo-poos that idea. 

Now, the thing I am talking about is Ryan and Chad’s  peacocking at each other during the time they sing these lyrics. The movements they’re making could be mistaken for dancing - as we automatically assume it is because of the title and themes of the movie - or it could be them just getting ready for the baseball game. Ryan swings his leg over the pitcher's mound, tossing the ball up and down into his glove, making wavy hand gestures, etc. Chad brushes off his gloves, swings his legs, hits the bat on each foot, and so on. 

For the peacocking, Chad makes a mock of the ballerina foot stance before strutting over to the home plate. Ryan laughs at this, which earns quite the smirk from Chad himself (see gif below). 

This is when it becomes a conversation.   

You'll never know - R

Oh I know - Ch

If you never try - R

There's just one little thing - Ch

That stops me every time, yeah - Ch

Come on - Ch

When Chad says “Come on” it’s when Ryan throws the baseball at him, starting the game, and giving Chad’s team their first strike of the game (get it, it’s funny). Now, obviously we need to talk about the “there’s just one little thing that stops me every time.” As a queer person, I assure you, two of the things that kept me from living my Best Life were 1) my own ignorance of what asexuality was and 2) the fear that everyone I love would hate me for who I am, and what I have no control over. 

Sorry to get deep like that on main, but, can any other queer person say different? Obviously, your first point may differ, but my point still stands. In the video/scene there is a very short moment (to which I have condensed into a gif for you all, you’re welcome, and I’m sorry about the quality in advance), of the camera moving over to Chad’s team (or his friends in this case since it’s an employee baseball game) as he says this line (gif below). 

I will not be explaining the use of subtly in this essay, but I’m sure you get the metaphor Kenney is trying to use. If not, let me spell it out for you in very simple words. This song has a lot of sexual innuendos (as mentioned pervious with the baseball bat scene and still, more to come), with that in mind, and clearly queer themes at play (as mentioned before, again), this scene only shows Chad isn’t as straight as he leads on. His fear/phobia of Ryan/the arts come from a much deeper place. 

In shorter, and much simpler terms: Chad queer. 

But, let’s get back to the boy's conversation. 

I don't dance - Ch

I know you can - R 

Not a chance, no - Ch 

If I could do this, well, you could do that - R 

Translation: “If I can do this weird, sweaty, dirty, Male thing without blowing a fuse, you can and should be able to dance just fine.” 

But I don't dance - Ch 

Hit it out of the park - Both 

I don't dance - Ch

I say you can - R

There's not a chance, oh - Ch

Slide home, you score, swingin on the dance floor - Both

I don't dance, no - Ch  (This is just the chores, you’ll see it multiple times throughout the essay, I just figured if the song is going to be in your head, go all the way right). 

Two-steppin, now you're up to bat - R

Bases loaded, do your dance - R 

Here we are with the baseball metaphors you’ve all been waiting for ladies and gentlemen. Girls, gays, and non-binary pals. For those who have somehow managed a sheltered existence with access to the internet, lemme help you. Ryan is talking about “loaded bases” both in the context of the game (where it shows each base has one person from Chad’s team on them) and in the term of sex. While you go out there dating - while it’s mostly douche bags and people using it ironically - your nosey friends may ask you how far you got. 

“First, second, or third base?” They may ask. Or something like, “oh wow, did you get to home plate/base?” These are simply the rankings of the stages of a sexual relationship. First - kissing, sometimes just handholding, Second - making out, some light groping, Third - full on groping, no clothes come off, but it gets close. While each person has different boundaries, these are the general accepted definitions for the bases. 

Home base is obviously full blown sexual intercourse. Since Chad has his “bases loaded” it means he’s done all these things before, just never gone completely to sexual intercourse with someone - in the terms of the song and the history we’ve already established, it’s most likely a male character. This is only proven by Chad’s uncomfortable nature towards Ryan (internalized Homophobia, thank you, returning theme) but his easy, and cocky personality towards everyone else. “bUt thAt DoEsnT pRovE” hush, that’s the final cherry on top. Remember this conversation. 

It's easy - R  

Again. Previous points have been made.  

Take your best shot, just hit it - Ch 

I've got what it takes, playin my game - Ch

So you better spin that pitch - Ch 

You're gonna throw me, yeah - Ch 

I'll show you how I swing - Ch

Ah, the famous “I’ll show you how i swing” a very strong baseball metaphor for everyone. Keeps queer people from defining themselves to dangerous (straight) people, and, well, that’s it actually. This term is mostly used by bi/pan people, though if you want to stay in the closet or are in a dangerous place, it is also used to subtly tell other queer people you are in fact, not straight. My favourite is when this term came into play when President Buchanan got elected in 1856 (for those that don’t know, he’s the first and only gay president). 

You'll never know - R

Oh I know - Ch

If you never try - R 

There's just one little thing - Ch

That stops me every time, yeah - Ch 

This is again, the same lyric as before it doesn’t pan, and the tone is much different. The camera stays on Chad as he says this line, meaning he’s reflecting, he is now his own problem, the person that is keeping him back. His friends are not on his mind anymore, which is good, Ryan’s Gay Propaganda has been working. 

Come on - Ch

I don't dance - Ch

I know you can - R

Not a chance, no, no - Ch

If I could do this, well, you could do that - R

But I don't dance - Ch

Hit it out of the park - R

I don't dance - Ch

I say you can - R

There's not a chance, oh no - Ch

Slide home, you score, swingin on the dance floor - Both 

I don't dance, no - Ch

Lean back, tuck it in, take a chance - R

Swing it out, spin around, do the dance - R

I wanna play ball, not dance hall - Ch

I'm makin a triple, not a curtain cal - Chl

I can prove it to you til you know it's true - R

'Cause I can swing it, I can bring it to the diamond too - R

You're talkin a lot, show me what you got - Ch

Again, like the beginning of this song, this is a heavy base for flirting and sexual tension, which this song is drowning in. 

Stop swinging - both

Hey - both

This is the part where they all start a flash mob in the middle of the baseball diamond. Again, alluding to the conversation I had to myself earlier, this only proves my own theory as no one takes notice of this. But, that’s not this essay, this is where I mention how close Chad and Ryan are at the end of the group dance.  

Come on, swing it like this - both

Oh, swing - both

Jitterbug, just like that - both

That's what I mean, that's how you swing - both

You make a good pitch but I don't believe - both 

Here is yet another (and the final) sexual innuendo. This is actually a rather quick one. Pitching in queer culture is considered the person who tops (because queer people even had to straight-ify their sex lives to “top” and “bottom”), this is the person who is giving, if you know what I’m saying. 

I say you can - R

I know I can't - Ch

I don't dance - Ch

You can do it - R

I don't dance, no - Ch 

 Here is where that mosh pit ends, and how they get a little too close to comfort. 

Nothing to it, atta boy, atta boy, yeah - both

The rest of this song is simply a mash-up of the baseball game being finished, and this lovely gem. 

Now, clearly, Chad’s self conscious nature towards his sexuality is gone, he’s sitting close - if not squishing - Ryan, and talking to him like they’ve been friends forever. Take note of the change of close, most likely due to all the tension at the end of the song, and maybe a little of Chad’s own natural human curiosity built in. Now, I leave you with this note: 

If there is anything that confirms all this more, its Chad’s girlfriend wearing the pride colours. 

Also note: this could also be seen as a friend helping his bro discover his sexuality and fighting internalized homophobia, but, that’s ignoring the sexual tension, so go off I guess. 

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.  

Watch the full thing here

[andypantsx3]

shoto and 'when i find out who is responsible for this...' IM A SUCKER FOR OVERPROTECTIVE SHO LMAO

This one was one of my faves to write, I really hope you like it!

Damage | Todoroki/Reader

Prompt: “When I find out who is responsible for this...” Word Count: 1600 words Tags/Warnings: SFW, ye olde quirk accident trope Notes: Special thanks again to my lady love @bobawithpomegranate for beta-ing me!! Also, for anyone who hasn’t suffered a corporate job: KPIs = key performance indicators, which are a set of business metrics used to measure success in certain areas.

The first sign that something was wrong should have been in line for security. 

Ayako—your favorite member of the Todoroki Agency security team—was waving a detector wand over your clothes when she asked casually, “How’s it going?”

Any other morning, your response was something along the lines of, “Oh, it’s going. How are you?” This morning, however, you blurted, “Good! Except that I bumped someone on the train and spent ten minutes trying to get a coffee stain out of this shirt, and I feel a little sick when I think about leading the KPIs review because Shouto’s property damage numbers are up again which doesn’t look great, so I skipped breakfast but honestly I’m super hungry right now, that was a bad choice, and—”

You cut yourself off, utterly bewildered. Ayako looked similarly nonplussed, raising a slim brow. 

“Uh, nevermind. I’ll just be going,” you said, and hared off to the rest of the security checkpoints before she could give commentary.

So you might have known that something was wrong even before you let yourself into Shouto’s manager’s office, armed with your monthly spreadsheets and performance slide decks. But you hadn’t given it more thought since then, a move which proved to be a complete mistake.

Shouto was already there, lounging in the set of chairs in front of his manager’s desk, looking less like a hero waiting for a meeting and more like some airbrushed ad for his dark turtleneck or his close-fit grey slacks. Your heart shot into your throat at the sight of him, like it usually did, and you had to remind yourself to relax.

Though he was unbearably handsome to the point of distraction, Shouto was relatively easy to get along with, something that should have made you calmer in his presence. He was straightforward, possessed of very little ego, thoughtful, and a very linear and strategic thinker—you’d worked extremely well with him the past couple of years, and Shouto, though he had less to do with the daily operations of the agency, had helped push your promotion last year to Director of Public Relations. It should have added up to an easy and uncomplicated work partnership, but his personality only made your unfortunate crush on him even worse.

He was so horribly, horribly perfect. And you were an awful little metrics gremlin, called in to roast him over the open flame of public opinion once a month. Really not something Shouto might be interested in.

“Y/N,” he said, looking up from his phone and fixing you with an intent look. Your heart stuttered under those heterochromatic eyes.

“Hi, Shouto,” you said, setting down your bag and digging out your laptop for something to take your attention off of him. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” he answered in his deep tone. “How are you?”

And that was it. The damning question that sent it all to hell.

“My heart feels like it could explode any second, and I feel kind of faint, weirdly weak, and incredibly distracted,” you answered, naming the symptoms of his very presence.

There was a beat of silence. You froze, crouched over your bag, laptop halfway out of it. Then it hit you what had just been said, and you slapped a hand over your mouth in horror. 

Shouto was up out of his chair in the blink of an eye, kneeling in front of you with cool fingers on your face, angling it towards him.

“You’re not well?” he asked, those eyes locking on you with an alarming intensity.

His attention only made things worse. “I feel like I might pass out,” you said, cringing even as the words left your mouth.

Fuck, what the hell were you saying? You were making it sound like you were some Victorian maiden, ready to swoon in the mere company of a gentleman. And why were you saying this shit? You’d worked with him for years and you’d never let slip the effect he had on you—what was wrong with you this morning?

You thought back to the coffee incident on the train this morning, the way the girl whose drink you had spilled had startled, the way she had weirdly apologized to you even as you were in the midst of your own apology.

A sense of foreboding settled over you. 

Oh.

Oh fuck.

“I think I’ve been hit with a quirk,” you blabbed.

Shouto’s features shuttered, a hard look you’d never really seen before entering his eye. He went over to his manager’s desk, dialing a number on her office phone, and then he was talking in low tones, asking someone from medical to come up to her office immediately.

Then he was back at your side, easing you carefully to the floor like you actually were in danger of passing out, and not just a huge idiot with an incredibly fat crush that made you say the world’s most ridiculous things.

“When I find out who’s responsible for this,” he uttered, low and dangerous, “they might never be able to use a quirk again.”

For some reason, the threat warmed you, even as it sent a little shiver down your spine. Was it weird to find him hot when he was angry?

You clamped your mouth firmly shut, lest you tell him exactly what illness prevailed you, but your silence was all for naught.

Because when one of the medical staff made it up to the office, pressing a quirk testing strip to your skin, she pronounced, “A truth quirk.”

Shouto caught your hand before it could smack into your forehead, looking surprised that he had done so. And then even more surprised at the pronouncement.

“A truth quirk,” he echoed, looking down at you curiously. His fingers were gentle where they held your wrist.

You squirmed uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“But then, you’re still not well,” he said. He looked up at the medical staffer. “She’s feeling faint, and having problems with her heart.”

“She’s fine,” the staffer confirmed, holding up a scanner with your vital readings. They were embarrassingly perfect—incredibly, perfectly, damnably normal.

You could have died. You literally could have died.

Shouto looked down at you with a little wrinkle on his perfect brow, obviously wondering how you could admit symptoms like that given a truth quirk, only for there to be no physical sign of them. You tried to hold down the truth, but another question from him doomed you.

“But how?” he asked, clearly concerned, cool fingers smoothing over your cheekbone.

“I have an insanely huge crush on you,” you blurted. Then you unleashed a string of colorful swears, flushing so hot you thought you might catch fire.

Those heterochromatic eyes went a little round at the edges.

The medical staffer looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh as she bade a quick farewell. She was out the door before you could catch her sleeve and hold her like a shield against Shouto’s incredibly penetrating stare.

“I’m. Um. You know, sorry and everything,” you added. “I won’t let it interfere with work. I mean, I haven’t, any of the past couple years—fuck, oh my god, I just said that—”

Shouto was watching your mouth like he couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of it.

“Say it again,” he said.

You paused, staring at him. “What?”

“Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“My heart feels like it could explode any second, and I feel kind of faint, weirdly weak, and incredibly distracted,” you answered obediently.

“Because of me,” he said, like it was a wonder.

You gave him an annoyed look. Obviously because of him, who the fuck else did he think wielded that combination of attractiveness and straightforward appeal like an S-class quirk of its own?

Shouto choked on a laugh, and you realized with some horror that you’d said all of that out loud. 

Damn the fucking truth quirk.

“I don’t know,” Shouto said, sounding amused. “I think I rather like it. When I find out who is responsible for this, I might have to thank them instead.”

This stopped you short.

He what now?

“I’m sorry, what?”

Something a little like a smirk curled the corner of Shouto’s mouth. “It is generally gratifying to know one’s feelings are returned, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I wouldn’t know—” you started, feeling annoyed with him again. Then you choked when the implication of his words sank in.

Shouto’s fingers slid down to cup your chin, and suddenly it felt like every nerve ending in your body was concentrated there, the touch magnified a thousand-fold into an all-consuming sensation. 

“Would you like me to kiss you?” he asked lightly, looking smug.

“Oh my god yes—” The answer was out of your mouth before he’d even finished the question.

Shouto laughed, and then he was leaning in. You could feel the smile still on his mouth when it met yours. Shouto’s kiss was careful and attentive, but you could sense something deeper beneath, the same kind of restrained sort of passion that underlaid his quirk. Having that kind of controlled intensity turned on you was something you could have never prepared for.

The kiss became deeper and more heated, and Shouto was just easing you backwards again, still pressed firmly to you, when the door opened and his manager blew in.

“This is a fucking office,” she said, stepping over the two of you like you were a grimy puddle in the street. “Now hurry the fuck up, we have KPIs to review. Shouto—don’t think this will derail me from your property damage numbers increasing.”

Shouto huffed into your mouth, slumping against you.

You couldn’t do anything but laugh.

Current event masterlist in pinned!

[maverick-werewolf]

Modern Dragon Designs - Where they came from

Your regularly scheduled werewolf facts will return soon. For now, we provide this special, because you may not realize this, but I love dragons. There’s a reason one of my protagonists is basically obsessed with dragons.

Once upon a time, there was a movie - I don’t see anyone talk about it, I’m not even sure how many people are familiar with it...

It’s called Reign of Fire.

This movie shaped the modern Hollywoodian concept of dragons. Seriously, it did. Hear me out.

Released in 2002, Reign of Fire was a movie about - essentially - dragons as that age-old trope of “let’s take one monster and turn them into an overpopulated zombie plague so we can use them to tell a story about humans and make the monster just this brainless evil locust swarm backdrop.” This has happened to a lot of monsters by now.

But wait, these dragons aren’t like the dragons you might be used to: these dragons were completely redesigned from the ground up by the filmmaker(s) in order to make a more “realistic” and “animalistic” dragon that was acceptable by Hollywood, who generally views “dragon movies” (like so many other fantasy things...) as cheesy and silly. Market your movie as a film about dragons and you probably won’t get a deal. Well, turns out, coming up with your own gritty dragon designs worked!

Doesn’t this remind you of every other dragon you’ve seen in a movie for the last, you know, 18 years? Although it actually looks quite a bit cooler than those other ones that came after it

Please note that while I may sound sarcastic, jaded, and often maybe a bit scathing, I mean nothing against the creators of Reign of Fire or director Rob Bowman. I watched the movie in theaters when it released. I applaud Bowman for coming up with unique and interesting dragon designs, in order to have a different take on the creatures, so that they fit the story he wanted to tell, instead of doing what so many people do and completely co-opting concepts without trying to alter them to fit anything and... yeah... okay, I’m not going to talk about werewolf things in this post. Getting back on track:

What I don’t applaud is everyone ripping off Reign of Fire for their own dragons, doubly so because most of these people didn’t even take into account the reasons why it was designed that way. They should have left his dragons alone and come up with their own thing, but at least I guess Bowman can go down in history as the man who designed every Hollywood dragon for over a decade to come - with no signs of stopping - even down to the tail shape.

On Vice, you can find an article and interview with Rob Bowman, the director of Reign of Fire, discussing how he came up with this dragon design and how influential it has become. I highly recommend giving it a read.

Please note the Vice article is clearly written with the bias of someone who “can’t take dragons seriously,” so it’s also a good look at the Hollywood mindset about dragons and how much Hollywood treats fantasy in general like garbage (jerks).

It’s impossible to pretend this movie didn’t basically reshape modern dragons. Let’s get to the details...

Animalistic Design

Dragons in popular culture are generally - or at least they were generally - assumed to be powerful, intelligent creatures, often of a higher nature than humans and other mere mortals. They may be good or evil, but one can’t understate that traditional fantasy dragons are regal and majestic either way.

Reign of Fire wanted to usurp the majestic, intelligent dragon image, creating a smaller, hunched, knuckle-dragging sort of dragon that looks more like an animal - like a pteranodon. This is because the dragons in Reign of Fire are not exceptionally intelligent, noble beings that speak and hoard gold and have the wisdom of the ages. They are brutal hunters that set things on fire and eat everything smaller than them. So this design choice was a conscious one and a smart one.

The dragons in Reign of Fire are meant to be more scientific, more plausible, and also simpler, in a manner of speaking. They are not colorful, magical, ancient fantasy dragons...

Trouble is, everyone took cues from this design for their talking wise noble fantasy dragons, and it... doesn’t really work, at least if you ask me.

The dragon design in Reign of Fire looks like an ancestral throwback, an evolutionary ancestor to the intelligent, talking fantasy dragon, although they are smaller. They’re hunched, they haven’t evolved forelegs independent of their wings... you get the idea. Take a look at the “proto-drakes” in World of Warcraft versus the ordinary drakes, which have tiny dangly T-rex forelegs that haven’t fully developed yet, so they walk like the Reign of Fire dragons.

A proto-drake in World of Warcraft - also say hi to my worgen warrior

So many things taking this design for their intelligent, “higher being” dragons seems kind of... odd to me, to say the least. Unfortunately, Hollywood decided that’s the only way moviegoers can “take dragons seriously,” so here we are.

“Wyvern” - Two Legs vs Four

Municipal arms of Stjørdal, Norway

In medieval heraldry, there came to be a creature called a wyvern. Now, the etymology on the term “wyvern” is a little shaky. It originally didn’t specifically refer to a “two-legged dragon.” It is thought to mean/be derived from words meaning anything ranging from “asp” to “light javelin,” and essentially boils down to a flying serpent. It is noteworthy, of course, that the word “dragon” basically just means “serpent” too.

In heraldry, though, “wyvern” came to refer to a two-legged dragon - at least, if you ask the English, Scottish, and Irish; elsewhere in Europe, they may not be so picky. And now, in modern pop culture (such as Dungeons and Dragons), we often use it in the same sense.

Wyverns weren’t really a “thing” in folklore, just as dragons in folklore didn’t look like our modern idea of a dragon. It’s debatable whether the father of our modern concept of dragons, Fafnir (from whom Tolkien drew inspiration for Smaug), even had wings at all; he was essentially a serpent, perhaps with legs. Point is, wyverns come from heraldry, especially the specificity of two legs versus four.

So now you know why you might see a lot of people (myself included) referring to this design as a “wyvern design” for a dragon.

Dull Coloration - Grey and Brown over Red, Blue, Green...

There’s something else - something very important - that Hollywood took from Reign of Fire... the concept that dragons aren’t pretty colors and are, in fact, various hues of grey and brown, and any more contrasting colors are just vague indications instead of bright red scales.

Now, Reign of Fire obviously did this because - again - they were going for the more animalistic, natural look as opposed to the mysterious majestic magical being look. Okay, that’s fine. But then Hollywood decided that fantasy, too, has to be devoid of dragons with bright colors.

The green dragon in Game of Thrones

There are countless examples of this in modern media. Any dragon that was previously brightly colored has been dulled pretty much to an extreme. Sometimes you might catch a fleeting glimpse of them looking like a brighter shade, but it was probably just a trick of the light. Why? Because all dragons are desaturated to the point of being almost indistinguishable by color.

The golden dragon in The Witcher Netflix series

This is also why you see so many mods on the Skyrim Nexus called things like “true red dragon.”

There are plenty more examples of this - I’m sure you can see the difference when you look at those dragons and other modern film dragons over, say, something like this...

Red dragon in D&D

And now we move on to...

The Fire Breathing - Chemicals, not Magic

Bowman insisted on ditching traditional fire breathing (you don't want the audience wondering whether the dragon's mouth is being burnt up with every flame) and again looked to the animal kingdom for inspiration. The king cobra, once again, was a great starting point. It doesn't spray fire, but it can spit its venom. Even more useful was the bombardier beetle, which shoots two chemicals from its abdomen that, once mixed, create a hot, burning spray. Bowman used these real-world examples to inspire his own dragons. They don't breathe fire exactly, but rather spit chemicals from two different sacks in their mouths that, when combined, ignite. "That's anatomy. That's already been designed, so we're going to draw from there," he said.

(quoted from the Vice article linked to earlier in this post)

The Hungarian Horntail in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - fire is streaming from two separate organs in the mouth, but they aren’t chemicals mixing together like in Reign of Fire...

The director of Reign of Fire wanted his dragons to be more natural in that they breathe fire through organic means, based on chemical reactions, instead of the usual dragon magic. But lots of people loved this “mouth flap”/”mouth organ” design with “streams” of fire coming from the mouth instead of fire flowing directly from the dragon’s throat, so now you see it pretty dang often.

Horns? Brow Ridges!

Another thing that is basically out now in dragon designs is the real horns of many traditional dragons, like Spyro, and like the dragons in Dungeons & Dragons used to have.

These days, it’s all about brow ridges and big spiny scales that aren’t separate horns, they’re just big pointed scales or piles of scales or bone ridges - and they aren’t a different color than the dragon’s scales, either, pretty often. And, in general, dragon’s horns have become much smaller and far more numerous, and more like spines/ridges, as opposed to the great, sweeping horns of classical dragons.

Firkraag, the red dragon, in the D&D video game Baldur’s Gate II, from 2000

Firkraag is a very traditional dragon. Now, while Dungeons & Dragons has generally kept more traditional dragons (yay!), they did fall into the brow ridge horn thing - although they, thankfully, didn’t make the horns smaller and subtler and more numerous little spikes, like so many other modern dragon designs. They also went with the brow ridge horns for tieflings (once humans with demon blood, then some weird thing in 4E, and now I think they’re humans with demon blood again), as opposed to the ordinary horns of the tieflings in previous editions of D&D.

Skyrim dragon head concept art

The Desolation of Smaug(’s design)

Here is... a big one. Here, we’ll talk some about the production of The Hobbit films over time, so we’re going behind the scenes.

Alright, so we all know Smaug, probably, by pop culture osmosis if nothing else. He is the quintessential dragon. He’s basically the founder of all Western dragon concepts: he’s big, he’s red, he hoards gold, he’s extremely intelligent and talks, etc. You get the picture. Every dragon that we have borrowed at least something from Smaug. And, in turn, he was inspired by Fafnir, the father of all our dragon concepts, from Norse mythology - but Tolkien took it all a step further and created the concept of dragons that we have today. Or, well, the not Reign of Fire ones. The fantasy ones.

A map drawn by Tolkien: notice the winged, four-legged Smaug over his mountain

During the first Hobbit movie, An Unexpected Journey, we see Smaug attack the Lonely Mountain...

In this clip, you can plainly see that Smaug has four legs. This was actually edited slightly for later editions of the movie, or so I’ve heard (I haven’t watched any later editions).

I can tell you for certain that when I saw the theatrical release, it was like this, too. It is apparent throughout the scene that Smaug has four legs and wings, separately. I know because I was paying very, very close attention, because I was going to be very upset if Hollywood turned Smaug into a wyvern.

Well, they did - later.

Smaug the wyvern looking like just another slightly different take on the bog-standard Hollywood dragon

Apparently, some studio exec decided that having a traditional fantasy dragon, even if this dragon happens to be frelling Smaug himself, would not be okay in this modern Hollywood world. So we ended up with a dull reddish spiney hunching knuckle-dragging wyvern with an angler mouth (I’m sorry; I really am sorry if you like the design, that’s totally fine, it’s a fine design, I am glad you enjoyed it, but Smaug shouldn’t have looked that way IMO and forgive me but I am still in pain over it) in place of a more traditional dragon that held more to things like, I dunno, how Tolkien himself drew Smaug. Smaug’s movie design flies right in the face of that and destroyed our chance to finally see a proper traditional dragon done justice on the big screen.

Tolkien’s art of Smaug - note the position of the forelegs, separate from the wings, like in the earlier map

This is all just one big example why we should be thankful that The Lord of the Rings films were all shot in one go, so no one could alter important things like the design of the fantasy genre’s father of all dragons, in the middle of production. Of course, the production on The Hobbit movies was a nightmare at best, as you can read about in assorted other articles, and Peter Jackson was very unhappy with what the studio had him do to the series. All of that is just another story, I suppose.

Dragons Redesigned by Reign of Fire: Example List

Now that we’ve gone over just a few of the talking points about Reign of Fire’s dragon designs (although I didn’t even get into the flat, spaded tail look in detail), here’s an undoubtedly incomplete list of several examples that have either entirely taken the design and/or were massively influenced by it...

(please note that not everything in this list held entirely to Reign of Fire’s design, obviously; some have the fire, some don’t; some have horns, some have head/brow ridges; but all of them are wyverns and most are darkly-colored)

Skyrim - Obvious influence with the general design, skin/scales and ridges design, as well as coloration; however, it is noteworthy that the Elder Scrolls has had dragons with no forelegs since at least 1998, in the game Redguard - though that dragon was also very brightly-colored (also of note: Peryite, while technically a Daedric prince and not a dragon, had four legs at least as far back as Daggerfall in 1996)

The Hobbit films, specifically The Desolation of Smaug onward - as mentioned before

Harry Potter movies - Wholesale. Two streams of fire from mouth flaps in Goblet of Fire, generally dull greyish and/or brownish colorations, no forelegs, short/simple horns that are mostly ridges...

Gods of Egypt - The giant fire-breathing cobras have the mouth flaps

Game of Thrones - This one’s pretty obvious too.

Disney’s Maleficent - In the new live action Disney movie(s), the dragon falls right into this design (though the fire doesn’t come from mouth flaps)

Netflix Witcher series - Villentretenmerth is very much a wyvern design and a dull shade, and he in fact has no horns at all, even though dragons weren’t portrayed this way in any previous Witcher adaptations

Stargate SG1 (season 10) - In the episode series “The Quest,” a dragon appears and... well, it looks just like all those other dragons, though the fire does come from its throat.

Beowulf (2008) - I try not to ever talk about or think about this film, but I have to just throw out there that the dragon is very much Reign of Fire, especially with that wyvern design.

Seventh Son - If you can call Malkin a dragon  - she was called one, I think - she definitely also has the same kind of dull-colored wyvern design.

Sucker Punch (movie)

Lots and lots of B-movies and direct to DVD/streaming films - Dawn of the Dragonslayer, Dragon (2006), Dragon Crusaders...

Something to note, also, is that cartoons, anime, and other non-film media is mostly - but not entirely - free from this influence. Cartoons especially are free from it, partially because they aren’t influenced by Hollywood producers who want “serious” and “realistic” dragons. Cartoons are allowed to have magical, colorful, four-legged dragons. Unfortunately, we are deprived of those in live action film and television, by and large.

There are still other exceptions - most notably things that were created before this influence, like Dragonheart and its spinoffs and sequels, which have thankfully kept their dragon designs consistent instead of erasing their forelegs.

Of course, why dragons are depicted as four-legged and winged in the first place - and when this depiction arose - is another topic entirely. I’m not going into that right now, seeing as how this post is already preposterously long.

Long story short, I was rewatching the movie Gods of Egypt and, when I saw the giant cobra monsters breathe fire, I was possessed to write this article. Because Reign of Fire’s influence is something I have always noticed ever since its release, and something my brother and I talk about a lot (and everyone who knows me has surely heard me talk about it, too) - because, frankly, it’s always bothered me. My favorite dragons are traditional dragons: four legs, bright colors, wings, horns, breathing fire, the works.

So, although the original creator of these design ideas did something cool and different because he wanted to do his own take on dragons, Hollywood decided that these design cues should be taken to dumb down all dragons forever, the same way that Hollywood has dumbed down so many monster designs so that the only acceptable ones just a bunch of near-replicas of each other, including werewolves.

I think it’s very sad that film producers think you can’t take something like dragons or werewolves seriously unless they are dull, nontraditional, and ugly. And I say ugly in the sense of these are not pretty, majestic fantasy designs - they are, many of them, intended to be ugly. Though I personally also hold the opinion that most of them are ugly regardless of if they are intended to be ugly.

So - now you know! If you haven’t seen Reign of Fire, go check it out to meet the father of modern dragon designs, from the color of their hides to the shape of their bodies, the smaller horns, and - sometimes - even their tails.

(Special thanks to everyone on my discord who helped me compile this list, as well as of course my brother and all our ranting at/with each other on this topic over many years)

If you like this post, maybe you’ll enjoy the rest of my blog, where I post a lot about folklore and all kinds of monsters (especially werewolves)!

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