#i kept (and still have) misgivings as to how good the characterisation is

[dalesramblingsblog]

Brief Thoughts on Judge Dredd Novels, Part VI: Dread Dominion by Stephen Marley

If Stephen Marley's second and final contribution to Virgin's Judge Dredd line feels less polished than his first, then it probably only speaks to just how well-oiled Dreddlocked was.

This is, admittedly, a novel which starts and ends absolutely fantastically. The beginning, featuring a Mega-City One haunted by the intrusive presence of an alternative timeline, sings with the usual literary Marley weirdness, perhaps best exemplified by an extended sequence at the very start featuring an imperilled citizen by the name of Edgar Allen whose misfortune turns out to have been witnessed by a "Judge Corman."

Which is about as unsubtle as you can get, really, unless you were to have three clone versions of Lord Byron named Mad Byron, Bad Byron and Dangerous to Know Byron. Just... speaking hypothetically.

Also nice is the way in which the evolving status of Chief Judge McGruder, tying into contemporaneous developments in the comic from around this time, manages to reinforce the sense in which these novels have actually been surprisingly welcoming to any non-afficionados of the 2000 AD lore. Y'know, like myself.

Obviously all the big, cataclysmic developments in McGruder's arc are kept firmly to the comic strips, but even without having read a single Prog, the status quo as of Dread Dominion feels like a totally logical extrapolation from the steadily building characterisation of McGruder ever since Deathmasques.

Sure, these comic continuity ties are occasionally a double-edged sword - take a drink every time the events of Judgement Day and Necropolis are mentioned, and while you're at it, here's the number of a good rehab centre I know downtown - but by and large, it really helps contribute to the notion that the world of Mega-City One is a constantly evolving tapestry.

Once the action shifts to Dreadcity... well, issues do start to present themselves here. As with a lot of attempts at alternate timelines in a medium like novels where you're always a bit pressed for time, the necessity to establish how this realm is a departure from its counterpart leads to some rather brutal exposition in the book's middle portions.

This being Marley, I was never outright bored, and it helped that there were a lot of gonzo ideas to hold my attention. At the end of the day, Dread Dominion is still a book which opens with an Acknowledgment to the Emperor Caligula himself, so you're certainly in for a wild ride.

Still, it's perhaps quite telling that Marley's next big attempt at a bizarre and inventive world with Managra was very much framed as a discrete construct that isn't defined in opposition to an existing timeline, which does rather cut down on the excruciating exposition.

Things pick up quite a bit once we reach the climax, what with Caligula's complete breakdown and a pitched aerial battle between various flying marble heads and fists, however, and it's just about enough to overcome any misgivings I might have had to that point, so I'd still broadly call Dread Dominion a success, albeit a qualified one.

(Although I'll also point out that Marley's ominous literary quotation game isn't quite as polished here as it was in Dreddlocked, or as it will be in Managra, feeling a bit too much like the occasional and haphazard dropping of an arbitrarily chosen Shakespeare line in an effort to impart a deeper meaning.)

Tough to rank this one, but I'd probably do it like this:

Dreddlocked

Deathmasques

The Medusa Seed

Dread Dominion

Cursed Earth Asylum

The Savage Amusement

[curlewsteph]

COVID THERAPY VIEWING

It’s been a year indeed and a struggle, but when I’ve needed an escape I’ve found solace in some brilliant tv series this year that I want to take a moment to remember. Immersing myself in characters, online discussion, podcasts and more, has kept me going and allowed me to block out everything that 2020 has been when I’ve needed to. This is my first and possibly only Tumblr post but here, the place where I’ve found so much great conversation, fan fic, gif sets and more to add to my enjoyment of my favourite things to watch, seems the best place to leave my own thoughts. So here goes from the year’s beginning to its welcome ending:

TURN - Washington’s Spies

I’ve got a thing for moody Jamie Bell (The Eagle 😍) and discovered TURN last New Year looking for other historical dramas he’d appeared in. These characters completely captured me and drew me into a historical period I’d done my best to avoid since flunking it during A Level history. Abe made quite the most useless spy but his passion and compassion sold him to me. The Culper Ring story is fascinating and the show brought to life the real lives and conflicts of those involved. Intriguing portrayals of morally corrupt characters (Simcoe, Andre etc) who surprise you at every turn kept me gripped and props to some extremely fine acting and characterisation. The found family dynamic of the Culper Ring was a real joy and Brewster will forever be one of my most favourite characters. I wanted more personal development and not really being able to ship Abe with anyone especially was a let down but it was a fine series that really kept me company.

PEAKY BLINDERS

I’ve no idea why it took me so incredibly long to watch this series but having eventually succumbed I was hooked from the very first episode. Brooding, oppressive, threatening yet full of charm and humour with characters that jump out of the screen and take your heart without asking, made it addictive viewing for me this year. The next series is light years away but I’m waiting for you Tommy.

THE 100

Thank all the stars that we had good weather during lockdown because the final series of this post-apocalyptic drama almost ruined my summer. I’ve followed every twist and turn over the past six years, had my Bellarke heart broken time over time, shared the pain and angst of an array of brilliant characters and watched through my fingers when the creators treated legions of fans of all factions, worse than mortal enemies. But the end was coming and I stuck with it - despite my misgivings since the overturning of the Writers Room - buoyed by some hopeful S6 content, but I should have listened harder to my guts. Despite some flickers of promise in S6, it was beyond clear to me that the new writing team simply didn’t have the same connection to the characters and history of the show. Instead of wanting to resolve arcs and reunite characters we’d become inexorably entwined with, the lure of the new and an opportunity to reinvent and take a detour sparkled more brightly to them - something I will never ever be able to fathom. Fans forgotten, long running storylines dropped and characters - including our leads - essentially abandoned and made for a horror show of a final act. S7 broke my heart and I should have seen it coming. When I’ll feel ready to rewatch The 100 again I don’t know, but I’ll end my run when the show should have at the S5 finale and save the CPR scene for an occasional treat. Farewell and May We Meet Again.

THE MUSKETEERS

Salvation comes in leather and 18thC lace. I ADORED this so much! Again I was incredibly late to the party because it seemed such a frivolous show but a Youtube fan vid drew me in and I’m so thankful for it. The plots are mostly light but tackle some important issues, the tension is chest heavingly dramatic and everyone looks astonishing and oh my was this the antidote to an anti-climactic apocalyptic obsession that I needed. There’s humour, kindness, compassion, daring do and a huge dollop of care and an emphasis on the value of friendship too. Clever dialogue, confident female characters, wry humour and some seriously good acting healed my heart. And yes the outfits helped. I loved it all and was transfixed by Tom Burke’s Athos.

STRIKE

...which led me to Strike. I don’t do whodunnits and crime fiction as a rule is just not my thing, usually because the core cast is always too small and I miss the found-family dynamic and they often feel claustrophobic, plus the predictable focus on difficult but supposedly fascinating men in the lead can be dull. In some regards, Strike is no different but Tom Burke’s performance and more significantly Holiday Grainger’s skill in playing Robin and how she transforms the usual “gritty detective with attractive sidekick” dynamic on its head, is really superb. I’ve read the books now too - my first JKRs. Honestly, parts are overwritten and a little indulgent but elements are breathtaking and as she’s so involved in the series too it’s a tie up I became incredibly invested in and the actors on screen are the characters on the page for me too. One does not lose out to the other, which is often the case with dramatisations. I can’t wait for the next instalment.

THE LAST KINGDOM

#TeamUhtred #TeamUhtred #TeamUhtred that’s it, that’s all there is to say, although it’s not obviously. TLK has been a slow burn for me and I began it several times when it was first aired by the BBC. The early series felt small, focussed on a pretty hateful hero who I failed to connect with, but I loved Aethelflaed and her story with Erik and Uhtred’s growing maturity was intriguing too. And then Netflix came in and the show exploded! Better scripts, more than the same 3 locations, impressive costumes and set-piece battles with characters that grew and grew. I rewatched S3 in preparation for S4’s release which I binged in style in lockdown 1 and cried when it ended. Utterly brilliant and a cast of characters that came closest to replicating the joy of my first fandom experience with the outlaws of Robin of Sherwood. Uthred has become a leader, has had to reckon with his responsibilities and shows a tenderness as he’s aged that the young callous warrior lacked. But if it weren’t for his bunch of faithful arselings I wouldn’t be watching at all. Without Finan there is no TLK for me. He’s my favourite character to have emerged in years. It’s the humour, the humanity of him that makes me cheer for him every time - as well as the arms 😍 Long live TLK. Or a final season at least.

VIKINGS (*spoilers for S6b)

2020 ended another long standing favourite series that I’ve followed for years. Unlike The 100 I’m not as deeply invested in this saga but Vikings has kept me company for so long now that the show feels part of me. It’s certainly lost it’s way over time but my favourite characters still shone brightly and those we lost were sent off triumphantly. I’ll forever miss Ragnar and the show lost a lot of its appeal with his passing, but the homage paid to such a talisman of a character was always done well. Later series did feel repetitive and the drama between the Ragnarsson brothers diluted. But Ubbe - my love - stayed true and the ending for him and Hvitserk (I always felt so heart sick for him) both felt fitting. And Bjorn’s final climax was awe inspiring (I do wish the tomb had stayed closed though). I’d have absolutely loved more time to have been spent on Ubbe’s future adventures instead of the endless hours in barren wastelands and storm lashed ships, but what we got was good. As for Ivar... an utterly unforgettable character (performed superbly) who became human again was a journey to behold. I’m glad it went that way but honestly I lost touch with him with all the time spent on the Rus storyline that repeatedly ate its own tail. Getting back to Wessex brought the show full circle and I loved it for that. Farewell Vikings. I hope Ubbe and Torvi are still doing ok in their new Valhalla.

[magpiefngrl]

Cornflower and Marigold: A ScotSwap gift

Dear @dharjeeling,

Happy ScotSwap day!

Unfortunately, I couldn’t use your prompts as I’ve only read the first two books so far, but we do share a love for Will and Francis :) Hope you like what I did with them! 

My gratitude to @bixgirl1 for the beta and to @kerowyn-ankh for organising this lovely exchange!

Read (kudos/comment) also on AO3 

Btw, for the users of AO3, there is a ScotSwap collection that you can post your works to (on? in? Why does English have so many prepositions?!)

Cornflower and Marigold 

           Returning to Peel Tower after the Hume Castle debacle, Will made a point of getting immediately and grossly drunk. The arrival of the food supplies and, most significantly, the beer barrels prompted the rest of the men to follow suit and to attempt to surpass each other in achieving a sozzled oblivion. It wasn’t long before the tower filled with the smell of lamb on the spit and spilled beer; other unsavoury odours of piss and vomit floated in the courtyard.

Some hours later, finding his cup empty once again, Will staggered towards the barrel, his bruised body aching with every step. Even the simple act of drinking hurt, the cut on his mouth smarting with every sip, but it was preferable to sobriety. The revelry had descended into a cacophony of snores and coarse laughter, accompanied by the melodies of the Cancionero de Palacio that Lymond was singing, strumming the guitar with soft fingers, utterly sockered if his slack face and slurred words were any indication. Dark and contemplative eyes caught Will as he was refilling his cup, and Lymond put down his guitar and stood.

‘Barbarossa! Bleeding still?’ Lymond threaded through the sprawled men and approached him. He held Will’s chin with elegant fingers, pulling it towards him and examining the black and blue skin. His breath ghosted on Will’s battered face, beer-soaked and warm. ‘Let’s get you fixed and proper, my gorblin.’

He climbed the stairs, trusting Will to follow him.

A neglected fire lit the Master’s room and Will hovered by it, his heart beating a tattoo on his aching ribs. Through the alcohol fumes and the haze of a heady cocktail that might be called shame or envy or admiration, Will could also sense danger. Or perhaps danger masked another, more lethal feeling. His heart beat faster.

‘Undress.’ Lymond threw the words casually behind his shoulder and Will’s hand tightened around the cup. He drank heavily, sloshing some beer on his shirt.

‘Undress?’ he repeated.

Lymond approached him with a clean cloth, alcohol, and bandages. ‘Are all my commands too difficult to obey?’

Will said nothing, not that he could respond as he’d like after the events at Hume Castle. He removed the shredded shirt and let it fall on the floor. Lymond kicked it behind him and came closer.

‘A waste,’ he murmured and Will wasn’t sure which his Master meant: him or the shirt.

Lymond guided Will to his desk, where he placed his medical supplies and where the redhead sat on the edge of the scuffed wood, making Lymond his equal in height. The dying fire lit Lymond’s face, casting half of it in deep shadow. In the other, rosy half, the cornflower blue eyes danced over Will’s chest, taking in his injuries. Fine hands gently dabbed each cut on Will’s torso with white wine. It was slow work. The sounds from downstairs reached Will as if from a far shore, distant and otherworldly. Lymond hummed under his breath, while his fingers traced the purple skin of Will’s bruises, causing his stomach to draw in, his breath to hitch.

The calmness Lymond exuded as he treated him filled Will with an impotent rage, because he was drowning in dark, swallowing waves of frustration and desire. He searched the other man’s expression for a hint of a corresponding turbulence, finding nothing more than a malicious indifference. This was a punishment of a different sort to the ones he’d received so far today. Will wanted to take the mirror-smooth calmness and smash it into pieces. His palms sweated and he dropped his cup on the rushes.

Lymond continued humming.

He’d left Will’s face for last and Will braced himself for the sting.

‘This will hurt, Marigold.’

The hoarseness of Lymond’s voice finally gave Will the satisfaction he’d been denied so far, but Lymond gave nothing more away. He cupped the back of Will’s head and touched his swollen lips with the alcohol-soaked cloth, making Will flinch. But Lymond held him tight and Will suffered the sting in his mouth and the warmth of Lymond’s body so close to his. A daring hand, out of its own volition, rose to rest on Lymond’s arm. Lymond ignored the questing hand, which travelled lower and found his waist.

A pause when his Master finished treating him. Lymond stood back, a sardonic smile on his lips, and extended the same invitation he’d offered the day Will entered his service. ‘Are you willing to be wooed, sweet Marigold?’

Will swallowed in response. For a moment, he could only stare, mouth dry and head fogged and stomach churning.

He was given no other chance to reply. Lymond’s expression changed in an instant and he took another step back. ‘You’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time, my innocence. Now: the night is young and the beer is plenty.’

Lymond discarded the rest of the bandages along with whatever had been happening in the quiet room, and descended into the riot of song below, while, behind him, a breathless Will resented the cool air on his skin where Lymond’s fingers had been.

                                                                  ⚔                                

 A day and a half of booze and food and mayhem, and the party showed no signs of abating until the early hours of the following night. Finally, snores filled the starless night, the songs petered out into incoherent mumblings, and many of the men slept in the inventive positions the drink had put them in. Still as a cat and still sozzled, Crawford of Lymond stared at the sky in the courtyard and Will, sore and aching from a variety of wounds, some of them mysterious even to him, found him there, leaning on the stone wall of the tower.

‘Ah, my Pyrrha… Standing on your own two legs: an admirable feat at this point. Is the beer running out?’

Will, trembling but determined, came close. He’d needed a day and a lot of beer to work up the courage, but he made sure he was half-sober for this. He wished to remember, either way. ‘You asked me something.’

Lymond’s eyes narrowed in dark amusement. ‘Are you here to give me an answer? An ultimatum? A diatribe of my shortcom—’

Allowing Lymond to run with his mouth was always a mistake and Will knew it, so he silenced him. He closed his lips with his own, swallowing his words whole, and relishing that—for once—he’d amazed his Master. He could feel the surprise in the way Lymond’s body stiffened for a quick moment before relaxing, and he could feel something else, something that made him press even closer.

Will lost himself in the sensation of Lymond’s vicious mouth, now tender and eager and impossibly warm, pleasure mixed with the pain from his cut lip. He’d kissed girls before, in France, but never a man, and he’d never dreamed he’d kiss him. The fact he had his hands on Lymond’s back and his tongue inside Lymond’s mouth, the fact that it was his Master’s body, warm and willing against his, thrilled him down to his bones. He didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from kissing Lymond ever, but some notion that they might be seen in the dark courtyard made him pull away; though not far: he rested his forehead on Lymond’s and breathed. The reality of what they were doing kicked at the back of his mind, and he kicked it back out of sight.

Lymond must have realised what Will was thinking. His voice was light, teasing. ‘Did you stop to consider the time and the place, my flors di biauté, or did you — in typical Scott manner — rush headlong into this?’

Will’s cheeks heated, and Crawford laughed. ‘Rush it was, then.’

‘Everyone else has passed out,’ Will protested.

‘So they have,’ Lymond agreed and his lips sought Will’s.

He wasn’t gentle this time. Lymond kissed him with the same commitment and determination he showed in everything, a tour de force of kissing, and even though Will’s skin burned, his blood boiled and he shuddered to his toes, it still didn’t suffice, because Will hungered for more. Pressing flush against Lymond, he fumbled with the laces of his borrowed velvet doublet and breeches, and sought and found more.

‘Sweet Marigold,’ the soft voice gasped in his ear. ‘And here I was thinking you’re too sore after your adventure for any exertions.’

Will replied with his hands and, to his delight, he discovered he could make Lymond shut up just with a firm stroke of his hand, a canting of his hips, or a lick of his neck. He wasn’t fool enough to think he had the upper hand at any moment, but he liked to pretend he did; that he was in control of Lymond.

One day he wanted to leave his mark to the world. A mark as deep and devastating as Lymond’s. But for now, he was happy to watch Lymond come apart under his hands and see the marks Will left on him.

FIN

(Author’s notes on AO3)