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llycaons · 2 years ago

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I may have watched only five new movies this year, but I started or finished at least ten new shows. what can I say, I'm a TV gal*

SHOWS I've watched in 2022 (scored but unranked)

Breaking Bad: 9/10

everyone was obsessed with this show in 2012 or whatever and my older brother still raves about it so I thought, what the hell. and what do you know, it was really good! it was funny! I watched in fascination as a story about an egotistical, immature maniac destroying his own life and the lives of the people around him continued to be a comedy for much of its run

definitely not perfect (treats its Latino characters horribly, kills off too many women, and it got a bit clumsy by the end plotwise) but overall writing is absolutely incredible. I may or may not ever rewatch

Better Call Saul : 6/10

this was a very well-written, critically acclaimed show that for various reasons, I didn’t like as much as I had hoped to. I found the main character whiny and insufferable, some of the scenes were incredibly boring and drawn-out, and some of the acting for minor characters was so bad as to genuinely disrupt the experience (looking at you, stacy). and somehow it took characters I really enjoyed from brba (saul/jimmy and mike) and made them so unlikeable as to be unwatchable

despite my personal tastes not really gelling with the show, I really loved seeing more gus, and new characters like kim, lalo, and nacho were a delight. rather mixed on this one, but I’m ending it with higher than a 5 because I think the ending was pulled off really well

Extraordinary Attorney Woo: 7/10

I’m only halfway through this show because I haven’t had time to go to the gym, which is where I watch it, but it’s a very beautiful story with a strong aesthetic and I’m enchanted by the main character

I‘ve hit a very slow series of episodes with cases I do not care about at all (the railroad through the town) and I’m finding it hard to get the motivation to continue. I’m neutral on most of the side characters. I do really like the love interest, though. and I think I’ll cry when I hit the ending....I saw some gifs and 🥺 I love you woo young-woo

I will have a more complete review when I finish it, but I think the fact that it’s scored higher than bcs is very funny

The Bear: 6/10

this show could have been so much better than it ended up being. ah, what potential! the concept was interesting, the acting and chemistry was great, the stress and misery of a kitchen disaster was very well-executed, the core cast was (mostly) engaging, the humor was (mostly) on point, and the plots were genuinely very compelling

what let the bear down was 1. having an extremely shitty guy in the main cast but not really dealing with how shitty he was beyond well, he sucks but he’s a good dad and he’s one of the guys! he gets it! 2. the ending. instead of an earned, bittersweet, realistic finale appropriate to the story of a man losing his brother and feeling tremendous guilt and responsibility over it, and struggling with both substance use and keeping a small business afloat, there’s this....fairytale wish-fulfillment at play in which all problems are solved through an implausible discovery of hidden treasure. like....what? there’s also some minor character elements that I found were done clumsily, but these were the big two flaws for me

Interview with the Vampire: 10/10

ohhhh WHAT a show. yes, I’m ranking it higher than breaking bad. I think I actually personally enjoyed this one a little less than brba because I don’t love the storytelling structure or the themes of unreliable narration/storytelling/memory. also I was let down by the armand bait-and-switch and I don’t know why the show kept in louis’s family’s history of owning a plantation at all, but in this case I think that the rest of the show was good enough to make up for it

what can I say that hasn’t already been said? the bold reimagining of a racist old book series into a contemplation on race and identity centered on the experiences of a Black man in 20th century New Orleans, the explicit and very well-executed sexual and romantic relationship between the leads, the lighting, costuming, and set design, the research into the setting, the chemistry between the leads, the dialogue, the incredible acting of all cast members, especially JA and SR, the drama, the gore, the horror, the tragedy, the ending, the perspective from the future - wow! wow!

the best possible type of adaptation from a series with compelling aspects but many issues - I feel grateful to everyone involved that that this show was created and I cannot wait for season 2

Our Flag Means Death: 0.5/10

yeah, I did watch this show, and hated almost every minute of it. followers may remember me forcing myself to just get to the next episode because it was so popular and beloved, I figured there must be SOMETHING there and I felt bad for being a killjoy. TW’s comedy really doesn’t do it for me (I didn’t love WWDITS movie and never watched the tv show), I disliked the acting, the romantic dialogue was overrated and clumsy, and I hated the lead character very deeply

I ended up liking some things about it, but by the end some things were coming to light about the character that TW based the show off of and the most important consideration here is that it’s a rosy, ahistorical view of literal plantation owners and slave traders, and I hope it falls into obscurity as fast as possible. also TW is antiblack so I’m not going to be supporting any of his projects in the future anyway

Kinnporsche: 0.5/10

dear reader, do not watch this show

Can Lan Jue (Love Between Fairy and Devil): ?/10

ohhhh boy. this one is a challenge for me. the main character is a marvel. the humor is phenomenal. the set designs are rich and indulgent, and the costumes are varied and interesting - a feast for the eyes. in many ways, it’s a lovely and relaxing show to go to sleep to, and I have a lot of fondness for it

this current plot I’m in (shenanigans in the mortal world) has plenty of twists to keep it interesting, and surprisingly heartfelt dramatic performances from mainly comical characters

where I really struggle is the plot and character interactions. it had a decently paced beginning, but it slowed down afterwards, and at 23 (of 38) episodes, the plot is finally picking up again. I only watch this show once every few days, so the pacing probably isn’t as glacial as it feels, but it’s still slower than I usually like

the romance has had a very rough start, which I’m looking forward to improving, but which upset me so much that I quit the show more than once, because I find it difficult to be comfortable with couples who have such a history between them

also I want the leads not to date each other and instead get into gay relationships with the mortals they’re trying to set up. but alas. this romcom scenario will end in het marriage (or death? remains to be seen)

final ranking: we’ll see

Mó dào Zǔ shī: 7/10

I cannot remember when I watched this and my search function is failing me, but it’s going here

edit: I watched this in 2021 but fuck it, it was december so close enough

this is also a mixed bag because the first and third season were very strong, but the second season was so bad that there must have been some kind of production issue so I’m not going to hold it against the creators even if it was really comedic in how poor the quality was

right off the bat - I know the characters look like that and I don’t like it either, but you stop noticing after a while. I am much more bothered by the animal designs. like those rabbits??? kind of freaky. the in-show ads for cornetto ice cream were honestly quite funny so I don't mind them. they added to the character of the show

anyway, the donghua was mostly quite good and a fun experience. it captured a lot of the powerful moments from the novel while maintaining more of the original plot than cql did, which made it arguably more coherent than the drama. the animation allowed it to really go ham on the effects like glowing red eyes and flocks of green crows without looking incredibly silly like it would in a live action, which would have marred some of the dramatic tension

the music was absolutely stunning, the backgrounds were meticulously painted, it was well-paced (with exceptions), and the character dynamics were organic and engaging. although censored, there was palpable romantic and sexual chemistry between the leads, and it gave them a sweet ending with a slight twist on the novel. many of the choices for lwj surprised and pleased me (like smiling instead of getting jealous in that one scene). I enjoyed the characterization choices for myu and jc, and the added details for wwx, which were often quite charming (like when he welcomes little apple back with open arms saying how much he missed her, aww)

on the other hand, due to the faithfulness to the novel, some of the scenes come off as confusing or downright silly without proper context, and there are still several homophobic jokes and uncomfortable scenes. jyl is barely a presence, I feel neutral on wen qing’s different personality, and for the most part the characters outside the core cast where pretty blah. and as I said before, the second season is such a disaster that it really hampers the entire story. I don’t know how much sense the plot would make to someone not familiar with the story because so much was cut out and the rest was so rushed and clumsy. but it’s something I would watch again for sure (though it is unknown how much I’d like it)

The Great: 9/10

this one is wild. you really need to be prepared for a LOT (animal cruelty, burning people alive, gore, eye horror, abuse). it’s very good, and I enjoy the acting, costuming, plot, and humor quite a lot. but I haven’t finished it so this ranking is premature, and I feel strangely reluctant to do so now that catherine has actually gained power. it’s emotionally quite draining.

Hunter x Hunter: 8/10

please don’t ask me to talk about this show anymore. I’ve been doing it for over a year now. it was good and I liked it but it had some flaws. I will likely not watch it again. read the manga. that is all <3

*gender-neutral

#cor.txt #this is fun I should do it every year

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septembersghost · 2 years ago

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tío was a piece of shit but honestly i can absolutely see why gus decided to keep him alive purely out of sadism. you know when gus said that a shot to the head would be far too humane? i know he's a piece of fuck too and a shot to the head would be far too humane for him too but honestly i get it lol

we love (if that's even the appropriate word) and are fascinated by gus, but gus, when examined closely, is truly a disturbed individual - undeniably tragic, but that man is twisted. and the coati story (along with other allusions) implies he was that way long before what happened to max, max just metastasized it. it's completely understandable why he makes the decision to keep hector like that, to get the satisfaction of it, and at the same time, it's like...if he could be reasonable, at all, he'd have let him die, and look at the mess he'd have saved himself. walt could never have gotten the upper hand, it was gus' one weakness. the achilles' heel of it all. that's such a great line, though - hector's so horrible that the narrative convinces us with gus' conviction that he has earned that torment.

i'm a bit haunted by where we left gus in bcs - it's smart, but it's so bereft. there's a loneliness to it that i can't properly articulate (i have half a post about this in my drafts that i never fleshed out, and i couldn't bring myself to watch fun and games again, which has left it sitting there). he has, for the briefest of moments, almost an escape hatch. a connection to another human being. this is something we rarely, if ever, see. gus is very adept at his persona (we talk about jimmy's saul persona all the time because it's omnipresent and colorful and loud, but gus has one too! the courteous benefactor of the community with a welcoming business), but in that scene with the sommelier, there's a hint of something more real, neither the fastidious, calculating drug lord nor the faux considerate businessman, and he immediately shuts it down. we see the shutters close across his face (even as he's opened the curtains at home). he converses with mike, and continues on his path of revenge, and we already know. we know he'll get it, in many measures, and we also know that way leads to ruin. the last image we have of him in brba is so gruesome and somehow iconic now in its gore, almost elevated beyond reality as he straightens his tie before collapsing, and the explosion is startling, and walt gets, "i win." but in bcs, gus can't have a real conclusion, everything is still unfurling, so what we get is instead this minuscule glimpse under the mask, and then a small death all its own, a spiritual one, as that mask slips back into place.

fun and games was like a psychological horror episode on some level, and it's...such an ending. i know i've said this, but in hindsight it's even more clear - it IS the ending to bcs in so many ways, to the story we were in, and it's so contrasting. it's intimate (almost claustrophobic in a few places), it's mostly quiet, it's all character driven, and everyone seals their fates, everyone dies a little. gus at the restaurant, and mike with manuel, and...fundamentally, jimmy and kim, who will never be the same...and they're all closing doors on choices. it's inexorable, we can't help them or stop them.

a bullet to the head would be far too humane...that humane exit is left to nacho, but all the rest of them plunge so much further into darknesses of their own construction. they keep having to live (at least for a while). it's the harder and more tortuous path.

#i got SO off topic in this answer sorry #this has been swirling around my brain for weeks and weeks #anonymous #letterbox #gus fring #+ everyone else #better call saul

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renaroo · 5 years ago

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Telescopes and Ladders

Disclaimer: Batman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics Warnings: lighthearted nonsense Rating: K+ Synopsis: Alfred leaves for England on business and leaves the Manor to Bruce and a young Dick for a week. Bruce realizes he doesn’t know how to Adult for a child on his own.

A/N: I’m honestly fascinated by the time between Bruce taking Dick in/solving the Grayson family murder and when Dick became Robin. I always tend to lean on the B:TAS tradition of there being a gap of years between the two (8 for Dick’s adoption/guardianship and 12 when he became Robin officially), but that leaves a lot of very important years of development. Not just for Dick but for Bruce and Alfred, too. That really doesn’t have that much to do with this story because I also am a pushover for family fluff and there’s not enough of accidental!parent Bruce fluff ever.

Few things could strike fear into the heart of a man who had faced some of the world’s greatest evils and come out to the other side. Few things could make a shudder break through the rigid back of a man who had already lived through losing absolutely everything.

But the prospect which faced Bruce Wayne was too horrible, too frightful to fully comprehend.

By the time Bruce realized the full gravity of what he was about to face, it was too late to make any changes.

He stood, helpless, in the doorway as Alfred finished packing up his things. The number of clothes was a staggering reminder that this was a two-week-long trip.

Losing Alfred for any amount of time was hard enough for Bruce, even as a man in the prime of his life. But losing Alfred after the last six months of drastic changes was an inconceivable terror.

“Master Richard prefers his sandwiches cut into triangles,” Alfred reminded Bruce as he folded his fourth identical suit. “The crust remains, but the triangles are essential.”

Bruce squinted at Alfred and then looked down to his notepad, jotting down the detail. “He never mentioned that to me before.”

“I don’t imagine he ever saw you in a kitchen, Sir,” Alfred said dryly.

Unable to repress it, Bruce felt a frown tug at the corners of his mouth. One day he would have a witty retort that Alfred would not be prepared to immediately smackdown. Not in the foreseeable future, but one day.

“His school uniforms are pressed and hung up for the coming school week, but there is not a rotation for two weeks in a row,” Alfred continued. “I would recommend laundering them over the weekend.”

“I am fairly certain I could have figured that one out, Alfred,” Bruce replied, writing it down all the same. He slowed his pencil toward the end, thinking. “By launder—“

“I have put the name, address, and phone number of my preferred local dry cleaners on a note on the fridge, along with other contact information,” Alfred answered.

Crinkling his nose, Bruce looked at Alfred. “Alfred, it couldn’t possibly be that difficult to just… leave instructions for the machine, could it? It’ll look ridiculous to take all of our clothes to a dry cleaner for two weeks. I think I should be capable of at least doing that much.”

Never once in all the time that Bruce had known Alfred — which had been his entire life — had the man rolled his eyes while still within Bruce’s line of sight. However, the careful and methodical way that Alfred slowed his packing to a crawl and slowly looked into Bruce’s direction was about as humanly close as one could get to a full-body eye roll.

“I had once thought, in all the time it took for one to travel the world, train in a hundred forms of combat, perfect studies of chemistry, art, and history… that in-between moments of developing an engineer’s penchant for invention and a detective’s mind for compulsory criminal actions, that penciling a laundering cycle into the schedule could have happened,” Alfred mused out loud. “The fact that it hadn’t should be evidence enough of why, should you touch the washing machine before my return, I will take it upon myself to never touch your unclean wears again.” His mustache twitched almost testily. “Including a particular rancid suit. I should like to see that taken to the dry cleaners with a proper explanation.”

Bruce’s eyebrows could not have reached further for his hairline. Nodding slowly, he then looked down and dutifully wrote in his notepad as he said out loud, “Don’t… touch… Alfred’s… washing machine.”

Alfred’s gaze did not drop until Bruce had finished punctuating the machine, then he snapped shut the final suitcase. He seemed satisfied.

There was not much left on the particulars. Even if Alfred hadn’t left detailed notes on how to run the washing machine, it was one of the few parts of the Manor’s livable space that didn’t have precisely written notes on it. Alfred’s were taped to the relevant surfaces. Bruce’s were in his notepad, carefully inscribed and yet still leaving him woefully underprepared for whatever came next.

The air was stiff, and they were seemingly out of stalling tactics.

“Dick is going to miss you,” Bruce said, filling the silence.

“I imagine nearly as much as he does you during your travels, Sir,” Alfred said.

Bruce furrowed his brows. “That isn’t fair.”

“It seems our lives never are,” Alfred admitted.

They weren’t that far apart from each other. Perhaps arm's length for Bruce.

But Alfred didn’t come forward and neither did Bruce.

Instead, he hoped Alfred understood what was there. That Bruce would be missing him too.

Dick was a good kid. And saying even that really seemed to sell him short.

There was hardly anything Bruce had to say to him during the time Alfred was gone and Dick knew his times and appointments for everything, and even how many times to remind Bruce. Which, given, was more than it should have been. On instinct, Bruce’s responses tended to be rather unhelpful.

“There’s a school thing in thirty minutes,” Dick called from the top banister, standing on his hands without care.

Bruce, who had been walking through the foyer on his way to the kitchen for a snack paused and looked up at his young ward. It had been six months and his heart would still seize when he saw Dick using the Manor as a jungle gym. Dependent on the stunt it was either for Dick’s safety or for the Manor’s.

“Is that necessary?” Bruce asked.

Dick blinked owlishly and tilted his head, albeit upside down. “The school thing?”

“No,” Bruce said before gesturing unhelpfully, “the…”

Without really emoting, Dick shifted to a one-handed headstand and Bruce thought of all the bones that could break from a fall at that height depending on the angle of landing.

“So it’s in thirty minutes,” Dick reminded him again.

“Okay,” Bruce answered, not following because his ward — his responsibility — was dangerously close to paralyzation. If Bruce closed his eyes he could practically see it unfolding before them.

After another agonizing moment, Dick lowered his free hand and then somersaulted easily backward onto the third floor’s top stair. He didn’t even take a moment to pause as he looked over Bruce with severe skepticism and judgment.

“Do you want me to take a cab?” he asked seriously.

Smacking his own forehead, Bruce cursed under his breath and shook his head. “You need me to take you.”

Rolling his head to one side, Dick shrugged. “Not really. I can take a cab.”

“You’re eight,” Bruce reminded him like he needed to.

“I used to ride in the back of a truck with a petting zoo,” Dick argued back.

Bruce squinted at him, considering the option. “Is it normal for eight-year-olds to take cabs to school?”

“I don’t know,” Dick answered honestly. “Should you call Alfred and ask?”

It didn’t take more than one iteration of that phone call playing out in Bruce’s head for him to realize that it was a poor idea. And that Alfred would be very disappointed in the world’s greatest detective for his deductive reasoning skills.

He preferred keeping the phone calls short and reduced to good reports. On both sides.

“I think I should drive you,” Bruce said far more decisively than the precluding conversation should have allowed.

Dick casually walked down the long staircase of the foyer. He was walking down them upright, but Bruce had the terrifying feeling that even a blink would allow Dick to slip into another acrobatic feat that could endanger lives and fancy artisanship that Bruce pretended to pay homage to.

“I’m okay with that,” Dick reported as if it was up to him to provide permission for it. “Do you have time for it?”

Bruce Wayne had all the time in the world, but Batman was in between important and pressing cases that the commissioner had given him to look over the night before. There was also a new APB out for Poison Ivy the was concerning. A stack of forensic science publications had been delivered that morning which covered technology and theories that Bruce was hoping to pilfer through to keep up to date on his own methodologies and equipment. Not to mention the tune-up that the Batmobile desperately needed he had put off in favor of working on the training facility he was putting together for Dick.

Dick’s school was a fifteen-minute drive one way, which meant at least thirty minutes lost to taking him, dropping off, and coming back to the manor. And that was only if Bruce threw Dick out of the window while looping past the school.

“What is this thing?” Bruce finally asked, realizing it was something the start of their conversation properly required.

“Stargazing,” Dick answered, beaming. “I joined the astronomy club! Remember?”

A faint recollection rested on the horizon of Bruce’s memory. “Yes,” he answered instead.

“Tonight’s the first night. Jimmy’s dad is making hotdogs while we watch, and Mrs. Gupta is giving extra credit to everyone who comes!”

“They give extra credit in third grade now?” Bruce asked, genuinely surprised.

Dick raised an eyebrow at him. “Your third grade didn’t?”

Despite his best efforts, Bruce couldn’t help the automatic withdrawal he felt. He bit back on his molars and glanced away from Dick’s earnest gaze. He couldn’t remember much about the third grade at the end of the day. He didn’t finish it in regular school with other children, he was homeschooled. By Alfred.

Alfred who left him with another little boy that had his time as an eight-year-old changed forever. One that Bruce, admittedly, took in himself without any clue what he was doing for the boy other than “more.”

It was six months, and Dick was going to a school thing. Perhaps it was working.

“Okay,” Bruce said again. “How long are we going to be at this school thing?”

Genuinely surprised, Dick shook his head. “You don’t have to go. You’ve got the stuff.” He glanced around cautiously before bringing up his index fingers to poke out by the sides of his head. His fingers wiggled. “You know. Your stuff.”

“I’m aware,” Bruce said. “I’ve got some folders I’ll be taking with us but… We’ll be fine.”

Dick’s entire face lit up. “Oh! Okay!”

Alfred would have thought to bring blankets, like many of the other parents had. But Dick liked laying in the grass, and Bruce didn’t mind it, too.

After a long, wet night on patrol, Bruce collapsed into his bed for what he felt was a much-deserved sleep. He had positively no intention of waking up.

Until an alarm went off on the other side of his bedroom, of course.

At first, Bruce only vaguely recognized the noise. It was a dull throbbing that was interfering with the only thing he could think to desire — sleeping in. But as it persisted, his disbelief gave way to anger. He threw his pillow at it. Then another pillow. Then another.

It wasn’t long before the noise was continuing and there were no more pillows within Bruce’s reach.

Throwing his sheets off, Bruce leaped to his feet and stormed over to the alarm clock, ripping it out of the wall with the same force he had used just hours ago to punch out one of the Riddler’s neon green question marks. That, at least, had been enjoyable and profound in its moment. The alarm clock’s cord nearly jerked the socket out of the wall.

Having never been one for alarms before, Bruce tried to fight through the fog of early morning to figure out why he had set the damn thing to begin with.

Then he noticed, on the dresser beside the alarm’s former place, was the notepad full of Alfred’s instructions.

He was supposed to take Dick to school. The school started in fifteen minutes and was a fifteen-minute drive from the manor.

A string of Not-Dick-Friendly words escaped Bruce as he grabbed sweat pants lying on the floor and rushed out the door.

Bruce had one leg into the sweats and was struggling with the second as he slid down the hall. “DICK!” he called out loudly, facing down the dark hall. He should have set it earlier — should have known he needed to wake Dick up and get him ready. Did he dry clean Dick’s uniform? Did they have extras?

He should have picked up the notepad while he was at it, too.

“I think I’m going to be late,” Dick yawned from the opposite end of the hallway.

Skidding to a halt, Bruce turned with relief to see that Dick was standing, backpack already over his shoulders, rubbing his eyes wearily.

“We’ll be fine,” Bruce declared, finishing putting on his sweatpants. Without even a thought of getting more than that for his attire, Bruce raced down the hall, scooped up the third-grader, and was headed down the stairs and through the foyer. They would use the Maserati still parked in the circle just outside the main entrance. That would be quick — and the drive quicker given Bruce’s lead foot.

“I can walk,” Dick grunted, unhappily squirming in Bruce’s arms. “I’m not a baby!”

“I’m faster and we’re getting you to school,” Bruce snapped a little harsher than he meant to come off, pushing the entry door open with a broad shoulder. “Good,” he muttered as he began down the stairs, “it’s not raining—“

Perhaps it was Dick’s squirming, perhaps it was the distracting way the sunlight was peaking out from the approaching dawn.

Maybe Bruce was off his game from no sleep.

Regardless, his shoeless heel hit the edge of the stone step’s puddle at an angle just so. The water, pouring over the gutters just above the eaves of the entrance, was running over the steps and Bruce’s entire body went running with them before hitting hard on the cement that he and Dick tumbled down together. Bruce more than Dick after the barrel roll he maneuvered them into.

They landed at the base of the stairs, Bruce flat on his back and Dick on his chest, feet from the wheels of the Maserati.

“Dick,” Bruce said, shirtless and cold.

“Um, yeah, Bruce?”

“You’re not going to school today,” Bruce informed him. “We’ll come up with something.”

By noon, the water had stopped pooling around the grounds of the manor. Instead, they stayed collected around the bushes and shrubbery that Alfred had kept expertly in line like a moat.

The moats were not a part of Alfred’s design. Or, if they were, it had been a request made when Bruce was distracted and noncommittally responding to requests from the butler. Both were likely, despite Bruce’s discomfort with the latter upon some self-evaluation.

Going on the leap of faith that his mind had not been so distracted in the last few weeks that he wouldn’t completely forget a request like building moats in the garden, Bruce began examining how the morning’s incident came to be.

It took nearly an hour to finally realize that in some areas of manor’s roofing, water was still pouring over the concrete gutters.

That was not how they were designed. Bruce was certain of it.

Going out to the uninhabited stables, Bruce found a fifty-foot ladder collapsed together. He folded it under his arm and carried it out promptly to the sites of the manor where water had escaped the gutters the most and set to work. He unfolded the ladder, secured its every latch, leaned it carefully against the manor walls, and began to ascend the great height between himself and the eaves of his home.

Halfway up the ladder, he wondered, idly, why he hadn’t just used a grappling hook. It seemed far more practical.

Reaching the gutter, Bruce glanced down both ways. There was not much of an inspection needed to see it was backed up with debris from the storm.

Curious, Bruce looked around for where the branches and leaves could have come from nearby, but the largest trees within twenty feet were spruces. That didn’t match his culprit in the gutters at all.

For a brief, irrational moment, Bruce thought of Poison Ivy and wondered if she had a reason to be near the manor during the storm. It wasn’t nearly as logical as the winds carrying tree limbs from the further trees in the rather large and sprawling Wayne estates, but it at the very least made it more of a Batman problem than a Bruce problem.

Bruce was really wishing, the longer he went without Alfred, that there were some less Bruce problems in the world.

“What’re you doing?”

Bruce startled with surprise. Then, as he glanced down below the eaves and toward the third-floor window nearest him. He could see it was opened with a curious eight-year-old hanging out of it.

More Bruce problems.

“Dick, get down from the windowsill!” Bruce snapped.

Dick blinked at him, almost surprised at the tone. “Are you still mad about falling?”

“I was never mad about falling,” Bruce lied through his teeth.

“I won’t ever tell anybody,” Dick offered, a genuine smile on his face. “Even though it was really funny.”

Bruce felt a strange and worrying tightness in his chest as Dick leaned out further and craned his neck to look up and down the ladder. The eight-year old’s feet dangled on the inside of the window as Dick’s center of balance migrated toward his hips. He was teetering back and forth — closer to forth and the perilous drop to the shrubs and impromptu moat with each moment.

“I don’t care!” Bruce yelled, thinking of cervical vertebrae and swelling brains. “Get back in the house — feet on the floor.”

Dick gave him a look. “That’s the least interesting place for feet to be.”

If Dick wasn’t so precariously close to getting himself killed, Bruce could have sworn that the boy was trying to get Bruce killed of a heart attack.

“It is the only place your feet are going to be in the next ten seconds or I’ll ground you from everything,” Bruce strained to get out. Then, thinking the threat wasn’t making much of an impact, added, “For life.”

It must have sounded as lame as it felt for Bruce to say because Dick looked at him, rather unimpressed. All the same, he dipped back into the manor and out of Bruce’s line of sight.

Exhaling strongly through his nostrils, Bruce forced himself to calm down. His heart really had felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest for a moment there. It was arguably more exhilaration than he had received from even his grandest case.

Unlike cracking a case, he hated every moment of that particular moment.

Shaking his head, Bruce tried to think of his task at hand again. The gutters.

Even though his gloves were thick, the cool splash of murky stagnant water felt uncomfortable for Bruce. He hadn’t realized that rainwater was capable of collecting so much soot and rust in its travels. There was positively nothing clear with the gutters’ collection.

Bruce could only assume that was normal for gutters. He honestly had no idea.

He was elbow deep in dragging his gloved hands through the gutters, clearing out leaves and branches with a splash before he was interrupted again.

“You never said what you were doing,” Dick’s voice came like an accusation.

“Clearing the gutters,” Bruce grunted in reply, less taken by surprise that time around.

At least, there was less surprise until it registered where the voice was coming from. Then Bruce looked not down to the window, but up over the gutters and toward the rooftop itself. Dick was sitting on his haunches, balanced in the middle of the roof itself.

For a moment, Bruce’s mind short-circuited as he stared at Dick. He couldn’t register when Dick got there, how Dick got there, why Dick got there. His mind was entirely consumed with vivid images of the sweet little boy tumbling out of reach, falling to certain doom. Forget cervical vertebrae, there were punctures and broken things and cracked skulls and subcranial hemorrhage—

No words came out of Bruce’s mouth but a wide range of noises ripped their way from his throat.

In return, Dick tilted his head to the side with the innocence of a labradoodle. “You okay, Bruce?”

There were many things Bruce could have said to inform Dick that he needed to get down, that he was in a dangerous position, that he was doing something bad and unspeakable, or that Bruce was back on the brink of a heart attack. But they involved words and Bruce was short on them.

Instead, without a second’s reflection, Bruce flailed out his free arm and brought it down on Dick’s knee.

The boy jerked in surprise, looking at Bruce’s hand, but was unprepared for Bruce to use his vice grip to drag him down the roof and tuck him under his armpit. Instead of a physical escape, Dick hung like a sack and called out a muffled, “Bruce!” that his elder hardly detected with the blood pumping in his ears.

With all the swaying and lunging and panic-inducing, the ladder began to sway uncomfortably beneath Bruce’s feet.

“What’re you doing?” Dick demanded angrily.

Bruce didn’t answer, his attention shifted to holding onto the ladder with his free hand while looking down to the ground where the feet of the ladder were. The ladder continued swaying further and further to one side, aided by its rapid sinking into the muddy moat below.

“You didn’t close the window?” Bruce demanded sharply, already in motion hoping for the best answer.

“Huh?” Dick answered unhelpfully.

Leaping from the ladder, Bruce aimed for the third-floor window which was still open. It was at least one less window to replace.

The momentum that carried them into the window forced Bruce to tuck into another roll with Dick — his second for that day — and it took them across the entire stretch of the guest room Bruce was fairly sure he’d never been in before.

By the time they came to a stop, hitting the opposing door, they could hear the timely crash of the ladder outside.

Bruce was panting, still keeping Dick coiled up against his side.

Dick was quiet for a long time before finally uttering, “You sure have a lot of accidents, Bruce.”

Alfred had said he would be back in the morning, and Bruce had honestly never felt such relief in his life.

There was no mention of the previous day’s watery catastrophes. There was a hint of detecting something based on Alfred’s line of questions, but he was never specific enough that Bruce had to outright lie. And, therefore, Bruce didn’t have to offer up any stories either.

Dick had not said anything either. Perhaps he had meant it when he said he wouldn’t tell anyone.

Bruce squinted at the bottom of the takeout box and poked at it with his chopsticks. The Thai food had been satisfactory, the portions had not after a rough week.

Perhaps he was simply missing Alfred’s food.

Dick was staring at him. Then, slowly, Dick lifted up his own box and began poking at it with his own, much messier, chopsticks. Of course, without the finesse of an experienced takeout consumer, Dick did poke rather hard, ripping a hole through the bottom of his takeout container.

If the eight-year-old noticed he didn’t say anything before setting the box down.

Feeling a small smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth, Bruce set his box down as well. “Are you happy Alfred is coming home?”

Dick’s eyes shown brightly for a moment. “Yeah!” He then glanced away, pressing his mouth closed.

Curious, Bruce raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked.

“I kind of liked it being us,” Dick sighed.

Bruce took a moment and then furrowed his brow. Everything that had happened in the past week had felt like a fairly unmitigated disaster in his book. He had only assumed how much worse it had been from the place of a lonely, fearful child.

“Really?” he asked.

Looking mortified for a brief moment, Dick straightened up in his seat. “I miss Alfred a whole lot,” he assured Bruce. “But you’re lots of fun, Bruce.”

That only served to confound Bruce even more.

“No one called me fun. Ever,” he told Dick. “Not even in kindergarten.”

That seemed to take Dick by surprise. “Huh,” he said. “I guess they didn’t get you like I do.”

“No,” Bruce said slowly, “I suppose not.”

When Bruce glanced over again, Dick was searching his face carefully, eyes shining with some gentle curiosity. “Did you have fun this week?” He asked timidly.

It was a remarkable question because of the timidness. Timidness was not something Bruce saw in Dick often.

The boy had climbed up to the roof of a three-story manor without blinking.

“Fun in what sense?” Bruce caught himself asking.

Immediately, there was some deflation of Dick’s esteem as he settled back into his seat. And Bruce knew he had made a mistake that needed to corrected immediately.

“Obviously it has been fun in every important sense but one,” Bruce made up on the spot.

Dick’s disappointment gave way almost immediately to bright curiosity again as he sat up in his seat, wide-eyed and attentive toward Bruce. “What way?”

“The Alfred kind of way,” Bruce answered. “Hard to do that without Alfred around.”

A warm smile spread across Dick’s features. “But he’ll be back tomorrow,” Dick took his turn to comfort Bruce. “But I do hope we get to do more Bruce and Dick stuff in the future. Just us two.”

“You know, Dick,” Bruce chuckled, “I have the feeling we will.”

The rain returned on the same day that Alfred had.

Trips back from England were not abnormal for Alfred to take, which meant he and Bruce had worked out a rhythm even in their care. Namely, Alfred took a cab back to the manor and Bruce met him there. The butler positively protested any other arrangement.

Which meant, with rain pouring, Bruce and Dick sat in the manor. Waiting.

Dick’s eyes followed the hands of the grandfather clock in Bruce’s den. He was laying on his stomach with his chubby cheeks propped up by tiny fists. His interlocked ankles swayed to and fro to the rhythm of the clock.

Bruce was thumbing through his forensic magazines at long last, pretending to be buried in their knowledge and development. It took a great effort to not simply join Dick in staring at the grandfather clock expectantly.

“I think we should get a dog,” Dick announced without prodding.

“No,” Bruce answered easily enough, flipping the page.

“Well, what if we want to have Bruce and Dick adventures while Alfred’s still here? Wouldn’t that be lonely for him?” Dick whined keenly. He looked away from the clock just long enough to make pleading blue eyes in Bruce’s direction.

In what could only be considered a mistake, Bruce made eye contact. It was too late, even as he immediately ripped his eyes away from Dick’s gaze.

“Maybe,” Bruce answered.

“What’re we gonna name the dog?” Dick asked, satisfied.

“Dick,” Bruce said, a smirk on his lips. “He’ll be your replacement.”

“You can’t replace me,” Dick snorted.

“Maybe,” Bruce conceded. “But Dick the dog wouldn’t get on the roof.” He thought for a moment, then flipped another page. “Probably.”

“He would if I taught him to before I left,” Dick said eagerly. “I’m gonna teach him how to cut his sandwiches like Alfred, too. Help him out.”

“Alfred would like that, a dog touching all his food,” Bruce mused. He glanced over to Dick. “Remember—“

“Don’t tell Alfred about forgetting school,” Dick listed off on his fingers, “or falling, or the gutters, or the roof, or the broken ladder.”

“Or the takeout boxes,” Bruce added. He had taken the pains of driving their trash bags to the dumpster at the far end of the estate himself to prevent any unfortunate discoveries. Surely if they were at the dumpster already, Alfred would have no reason to inspect them.

Though, Bruce supposed that had never stopped him as Batman from digging through the trash before.

A slight panic traveled through him.

“Are we forgetting anything?” Bruce asked, more rhetorically than anything else.

All the same, Dick gave him an honest shrug. “Did you brush your teeth?”

Bruce began to respond to that when there was a buzzing sound from his desk. Both he and Dick glanced at it, though it was not necessary to confirm what the two of them already knew.

The buzzer was to the main gate for the estate, which meant that Alfred had buzzed himself in.

“He’s here!” Dick exclaimed.

“Don’t get too excited, he hates that,” Bruce warned, as though he wasn’t already on his feet.

He and Dick were neck and neck out of the doorway to the den, though Bruce regained his composure and remembered himself once through it. He had a demeanor and expectation to fulfill, after all, no matter his excitement.

With the bliss of youth, Dick exploded out of the den, ran through the hall, and was flipping onto the banister before even a word could be uttered. “Alfred!” He yelled out.

Bruce’s heart warmed as he heard the main entrance open then close to the howling winds and rain. Alfred, in his trench coat and bowler hat, stepped through, tipping slightly as he closed his umbrella under his arm and looked confidently into the manor.

The old man’s smile could not be hidden by his tidy mustache as it reached up into his soft eyes, looking up from the foyer floor to the stairs where Bruce slowly descended.

He looked good and cheerful. Bruce wanted to run over to him and wrap him in a hug then and there.

Dick, sliding down the banister and leaping at Alfred, had the pleasure of acting on Bruce’s hidden impulse. “Alfred! Welcome home! We missed you! But everything was great!” Dick’s words were hurried and calculated to cover all the bases he and Bruce had discussed.

Had Alfred not been known for his keen eye, Bruce would have offered the eight-year-old a thumbs up in approval.

“My, my, Master Richard, I do believe you have grown a hair since I left you,” Alfred chuckled, patting the boy wrapped around his waist.

“I hope it’s on the top of my head so I can get taller,” Dick joked back.

By the end of Dick’s hug, Bruce’s careful approach finally brought him to Alfred and he was able to regard the man who raised him. He took a deep breath and then, carefully, hugged around Alfred’s shoulders.

“You were missed, old friend,” Bruce got out, his voice strained beyond exception.

“As were the both of you,” Alfred said, hugging Bruce back. “Now,” he broke the hug and held Bruce’s shoulders at arm’s length. His mustache twitched as a twinkle grew sharp in his eyes. “I noticed my ladder was broken in the yard.”

Bruce tightened his smile into a small frown and glanced toward Dick whose eyes were approximately the size of their takeout boxes from the previous night.

“I am sure it’s an entertaining story,” Alfred tutted, releasing Bruce and beginning to take off his hat and coat. “I expect you both will share it with me eventually.”

Dick didn’t break his eye contact with Bruce and neither did Bruce back, but the energy shifted and both were able to breathe.

“I don’t know, Alfred,” Bruce said somewhat jovially. “Some adventures are just… between Bruce and Dick.”

Immediately, Dick’s grin spread from ear to ear and he leaped back to his feet with a flip.

“Oh! But Alfred! I can tell you about the astronomy club!” Dick crooned, taking off after the butler.

Bruce released a breath and felt a calm in the manor that had been gone for a long time.

It was good having the entire family home.

#writing #batfic #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Alfred Pennyworth

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criticaloldme-blog · 8 years ago

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pre-golden globe *judgements*

The Golden Globes are on Sunday and a few days ago my brain registered that I’ll be setting sail that same evening on a family vacation, with no television, no phone and minimal Wi-Fi. This presents an issue for an entertainment industry freak like me, so I’d like to take this opportunity to make some predictions and put in writing some of my hopes and dreams for Sunday night.

Let me preface this with a very important fact. While I love movies and television, I don’t love them enough to pay to see movies that I don’t want to see, just so I can talk about them. I also don’t watch TV shows that I fall asleep to while watching the pilot. So, a lot of my assumptions below have absolutely no real research or data behind them, but I don’t need to watch things to have an opinion and like I’ve said before, I have good taste, so here are my thoughts.

It is my assumption that La La Land is going to sweep every category it’s nominated in (Best Musical/Comedy Picture, Best Actress in a Musical/Comedy Picture, Best Director, Best Actor in a Musical/Comedy Picture, Best Screenplay, Best Original Score, Best Original Song). I’m just not okay with this (except Damien Chazelle for Best Director because the man gave us Miles Teller in Whiplash and for that I am forever grateful). I love a good show tune here and there, and sure, sometimes I break out into “Goodbye Love” from Rent in the shower, but I don’t need a modern day musical in my life. Especially with Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling who both have HORRIBLE voices. I know this! I also don’t feel their chemistry at all because he’s straight fire and she’s bony and awkward. Harsh, yet true. Not feelin it. Did I see it? No. But I know I’m not feelin it.

These are the films and performances that I want to receive the recognition they deserve on Sunday night, but probably won’t because people are dumb and believe the hype of La La Land.

- Deadpool. Yes, it’s a mainstream as hell superhero movie. But I hate superhero movies and this one made me pee in my pants a little on several occasions. Ryan Reynolds LITERALLY IS Deadpool. His humor is my humor. His loss, and this film’s loss, is my loss come Sunday night. - Hailee Steinfeld. Wow, did she get less annoying since Pitch Perfect 2! Edge of Seventeen was so nostalgic even though I wasn’t a friendless loser in high school. That’s how good it was. Hailee was so genuine and authentic, especially when sending that text to her far-fetched crush. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t type freaky shit like that to crushes in high school, only I had the good fortune of NOT pressing send. She’s young and this movie lost traction a few months ago but she deserves it. So I am acknowledging that.

These are the films and performances that I want to be praised Sunday night and are lucky enough to not be up against La La Land!

- Manchester by the Sea. I’ve never seen such a deeply depressing movie and not cried before. I think that’s a wonderful testament to how Kenneth Lonergan completely caught me off guard with such a horrific tragedy, that I was too shocked by to shed a tear. It hit me when I was laying in bed that night how royally fucked up Uncle Lee’s life was and then I didn’t sleep that much. But that’s the sign of a great movie. Let’s reward it on Sunday! - Nocturnal Animals. I didn’t see it but the trailer made it look so erotic and intense and I want it to be rewarded for that alone.

These are the films and performances that I really hope lose because there were just awful, if we’re being honest.

- Jonah Hill in War Dogs. It takes a lot for me to declare a Miles Teller movie as awful but here I am. This movie was TERRIBLE. Jonah hill was annoying and laughed like Goldmember from Austin Powers. I’m extremely confused by his nomination and hope no one acknowledges it ever again. - Michelle Williams in Manchester by the Sea. I need to be clear: her performance was fantastic. But the term “supporting role” is used loosely here as I think she was on camera for a total of 7 minutes in this movie. She shouldn’t win. - Meryl Streep and all things Florence Foster Jenkins. I despise any movie in which Meryl Streep sports an extremely over-acted and obnoxious accent (ex. Julie and Julia). Give the trophy to someone else.

Film rant over. Television is much easier for me to talk about because I watch a lot of it from the comfort of my own bed, for free. I’ll be quick in sharing my opinions.

- Westworld. Was. Epic. It honestly was. There were so many characters and storylines and unlike Game of Thrones, they all kept my attention for the entire season. Thandie Newton’s Maeve was extremely badass and sexy. Evan Rachel Wood’s Dolores was heartbreaking and strange and the chick’s got unbelievable control over her tear ducts and made giant tear droplets shoot out of her eyes. Jimmi Simpson’s William was kind and then not so kind but I still love him! I love Westworld! Give it all the awards!

- Veep. It’s as funny as television comedy gets. Julia gets better with age in so many ways. HFP: let’s give this lady recognition for that! (Though I applaud them for awarding Rachel Bloom last year. Girl is TALENTED.)

- The Americans. This KGB drama is extremely underrated and all of the performances in it are incredible. I also have strong feelings about that fact that Matthew Rhys and Keri Russell are together off-screen and it makes me feel warm on the inside.

Here are some final quips about the last year in television, or at least the shows and performances deemed great by the Hollywood Foreign Press Association.

- The Night Of. Not that good. Riz Ahmed. Great! - This is Us. This is the worst show of 2016-2017 season. So corny, so politically correct, so BAD. Make the praise and attention stop! I beg! - Transparent. YOU’RE NOT FUNNY. YOURE ACTUALLY QUITE DEPRESSING. - The People v O.J. You lost me after you made the Kardashian’s chant their names. That was a hard no. - Riley Keough. The Girlfriend Experience. I saved this note for last because it’s really important to me. I literally don’t know one person who watched this masterpiece, which breaks my heart. Although slightly (read: extremely) pornographic, this season was dark and fascinating and too much emotionally for me to have seen in one day, but I binged it anyway. Why am I so interested prostitutes? I don’t know. Despite the high volume of titties Riley shows, I think Elvis would be proud. I hope she can pull out a W here and give this show the PR it deserves.

Monday morning when I sign onto the Wi-Fi at sea (which takes about 30 minutes dial-up AOL style) I will read the list of winners and probably be disappointed. But I hope by writing this, the universe will send positive (or negative) vibes to those I wish them upon, and I hope Miles Teller attends the awards show looking dead sexy, and I hope I inspired someone to watch The Girlfriend Experience because I need someone to talk to about it!

#golden globes #television #movies #entertainment #blog #nyc #hollywood foreign press

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