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heyktula · 4 years

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Closer, Chapter Three: Consensual - Bonus Features

Chapter three of Closer, the first installment in Somewhere in Canada (the Terror kink AU)... is now up! It's a long one again! The author continues to not be sorry!

Same deal as last week--technical notes first, story notes after, line notes to finish it all up.

Alright, here we go.

Technical Considerations:

Language: Phew, okay. So, I've written plenty of "hard kink written hard" (and arguably some "soft kink written hard"), but with this piece, I specifically wanted to do "hard kink written soft" so, uh, language is a thing! Ie, the sentence "Edward curled his hand into a fist and punched Jopson" does not belong in this fic, because there is nothing soft about that sentence no matter how much Edward loves him positive regard Edward is feeling toward his play partner.

So in order to make this fly the way I wanted to (ie, softly), I tried to avoid over-use of words like "fist", "hit", "punch", and that type of thing. I ended up in a really interesting rabbit hole that I think helped me get further into Edward's head, because the narrative had to become more focused on the technical aspects of what he's doing, and the physical results it's having on Jopson. It also emphasizes the continual assessment of how things are going that's necessary to do this kind of play safely--especially when it's the first time doing this type of play with a partner. And, it's in-character--Edward is an over-thinker anyway.

(I think the scene would have been softer, and probably more romantic, in Jopson's POV, but it would have been far blurrier as well, because he's pretty deep in subspace.)

While I'm talking about language, I'll just mention one other thing--Edward's knowledge of trans men has been academic up to this point, and he's approaching it the same way he approaches everything else, which is listening, learning as fast as he can, and taking Jopson's lead. It also means he's using--and will continue to use--the same language for Jopson as he would for any other man.

Capitalization of Sir: There's a whole entire thing in some subsets of BDSM about capitalization. At the extreme end, all references to the dominant are capitalized, all references to the submissive are lower case, and all references to both are split-capped (is that how it's referred to? I have no idea, but it describes what I mean, so I'm going with it.). It can lead to sentences like "In the dungeon, My pet, michael, always follows the rules W/we have agreed on".

I can't see either Jopson or Little going for that, so we have the more casual version of it going on here--"Sir" is capitalized, but everything else is conventionally capitalized. In a (hypothetical) situation where Jopson was collared to Edward, but referred to someone else in a casual "yes, sir" way, "sir" would be lower case. But then, for extra confusion, for someone like Sir John, where the sir is part of his scene name, it'd stay capitalized, even though Jopson's not collared to him.

(For some reason, I can't picture Sir John not using Sir John as a scene name. James Clark Ross, on the other hand, I feel can take or leave the title unless he's entered into a formal arrangement with someone, in which case that's between him and Ann and whoever else to sort something out.)

Hard Cuts: That's right, I put a hard cut in the middle of the dungeon scene. In my defense, it takes a while to bruise someone whose skin is resistant to bruising, and it's a very repetitive process. Jopson and Edward had a perfectly nice time without us, and I documented most of the good bits for you. (I do feel a bit bad for skipping the majority of the aftercare, but imo, the story arc is fine as it is, and we see enough to know that Jopson has his jacket around his shoulders the way he wanted it, so we can assume Edward bossed it out for the rest of the aftercare too.)

Story Considerations:

Bootblacking: I am not a bootblack. Ideally, this isn't obvious, because I did Online Research, but for people who do bootblack, I'm sorry if I fucked it up.

Also, one thing that I learned in the course of my research is that there's two different kinds of boots--regular boots, which need to be polished, and then oil-tanned boots, which need to be conditioned instead. I gave Edward oil-tanned boots, because that involves a hell of a lot of leg massage via rubbing conditioner into the boot, and I wanted Edward to have a nice tactile experience. (Okay, fine, I also wanted Jopson to be able to show off his skillset.)

Consent Negotiation: I love consent negotiation. I think it's great foreplay, a great way to build hype for a scene, and I think it gives you a sense of a person before you go in and do intimate and/or dangerous stuff with them. I think Edward's initial plan for having the consent negotiation once they'd moved over to the mats was good. I think Jopson's plan of doing the consent negotiation while Edward was a captive audience getting his boots conditioned was better.

There's so many bits and pieces to consent negotiation as well--there's the physical bit (like medical conditions and whether you've had food/water recently--after all, you're putting your body through something challenging, and if you're dehydrated or fasting, that's not ideal conditions), there's the mental bit (like not liking to be humiliated, and any trigger words or actions that should be avoided), and then there's the actual activities that you're going to plan on doing. Typically, there would be an additional bit, and that would be the sharing of STI results. Edward skipped that during this negotiation for two reasons--firstly, he generally just does dry play, ie, no body fluids exchanged. And, secondly, no sex in this particular dungeon. As it turned out, it wouldn't have hurt to have done that.

(Jopson clearly did his own risk assessment on the barrier-free blowjob, and was fine with his chances--but, then, I suspect if you read between the lines on Edward's blog, the lack of a fluid-bonded partner, or an intimate partner of any kind, would have been apparent.)

Dungeon Monitors: Dungeon monitors (DMs) are present in most dungeons, except the play-at-your-own-risk-in-someone's-basement type (and sometimes even those have them). Their general function is to make sure that people are safe, that equipment is being cleaned properly after use, that medical treatment is provided if it's needed, and that type of thing. I figured the medical team was a good translation, so between Goodsir and McDonald, they're splitting the dungeon between themselves for the first chunk of the night. (Presumably Peddie and Stanley are on the later shift, or maybe Bridgens is assisting, but either way, Edward was not paying attention and did not care.)

(I bet Stanley hates dungeon shifts.)

DMs generally wear vests or some sort of gear that makes them easy to spot, which is especially important when they're almost always members of the community as well, meaning that they need to distinguish between when they're on duty, and when they're playing. The radios are handy in case an ambulance needs to be called, which does sometimes happen, but it's also good to allow them to communicate with each other.

For the majority of play, it's not necessary to talk to a DM beforehand. (YMMV, consult your dungeon rules, etc.) In Edward and Jopson's case, since they're going fairly hard, it's a good idea to give a heads-up to your DM to let them know that the scene is happening. McDonald would have been watching them pretty sharply as the play got going, and then probably less so once they settled into it.

Edward noticed exactly zero of this, because he didn't care.

(I guess an additional note there is that sometimes there's a "fear factor" involved in physical play, where the dominant/top partner is specifically and consensually trying to instigate a fear reaction in the submissive/bottom partner. So in that case, having a DM aware of what's happening and what the safewords are is real important to make sure that everything is above-board, ie, the safewords aren't being deliberately ignored.)

Dungeon Rules: They totally would have fucked if they hadn't been in Canada.

Sorry to both of them, but sorry to Jopson in particular.

Subspace: So subspace is basically an altered state of consciousness that can be dropped into during BDSM play. Every submissive/bottom gets there at different speeds and through different methods. Jopson is a masochist, so pain will get him there--but he's deeply into ritual as well, and so just the act of bootblacking for an hour prior to Edward getting there has already gotten him started on that path--though, as he notes, not far enough that he can't pull himself back out of it if it's no longer appropriate to be in it. It's sort of like a hot bath, in that way--if you've just dipped your toes in it, fine, you can go answer the doorbell. But if you've been submerged in the tub for an hour, you're not getting out unless something really pressing happens.

The general, uh, fuzzy nature of subspace means that Edward's call not to discuss facefucking was a good one, because Jopson would have just said yes, and Edward would have derailed himself wondering if it was an honest yes. As it was, Edward got the unprompted deepthroating, and I don't think he has any regrets whatsoever about that one.

Line Notes:

There’s no way for Jopson to know that Edward purchased two collars for him, but he’s showing off his neck like he’s trying to make a point of it, like he’s trying to bring out all the possessive bits that Edward is trying to keep tamped down.

That's exactly what he's doing, Edward. He's trying to gently coax you into going feral on him.

He should have adjusted his dick before he sat down, but it’s too late to do that now without being territorial about it.

Tozer wouldn't hesitate for one moment. He adjusts his dick when he feels like it. Just as an aside.

I don’t see you, Edward wants to say. How have I lived my entire fucking life without ever having seen you?

It's because you and Tozer go to the shittier clubs with louder music and younger people, and I don't think Jopson has been to a club like that in his entire life.

(God, I have, like, an entire essay worth of headcanons about Jopson and his Terror and Erebus experiences.)

“Safeword,” Edward says, after some time has passed.

Jopson looks up at him, eyes wide, and says nothing.

So, we were talking about Jopson's risk assessments earlier, re: the blowjob, and here's another point where Jopson is flirting with the possibility of playing with Edward irresponsibly. I think there's a couple different things to observe here--and the first is that the ideal response is the one that Edward gives, which is essentially "absolutely fuck that, we'll play with a safeword that you're going to use when you need it, or we won't play at all". The other responses are...less than ideal, but Jopson might have still played with Edward under those circumstances anyways, and that's on Joppie to justify, cuz I'm not gonna bend over backwards to justify that for him. I do think, though, that there's a couple points that happen over the course of the weekend where nobody would blame Jopson if he was doing an assessment and figuring out--is there the possibility of a long-term thing here, or is this a one-weekend-only thing? And in every case, Edward is coming down solidly into the long-term possibility category.

Jopson frees the laces, runs them between his fingers. “I’ll get chatty before I get quiet. When I stop responding verbally when you speak to me, pull me back out, please—speak to me, get me something to drink. Drape my jacket back over my shoulders.” His mouth twists a moment. “I may get…affectionate, but you shouldn’t—”

There's so much here that I want to talk about! First of all, Jopson is highly comfortable with and cognizant of his own response to this type of play, and he's able to articulate that response very clearly--which is something that comes with experience. He's communicating to Edward the point where he wants the play to stop--ie, when he no longer responds verbally--and he's also clear about what needs to be done to gently tug him back out of it. (Coming back out of it isn't always required, but in this case, since they're sleeping separately and working in the morning, it's for the best.)

If Jopson had finished his last sentence, it would have been along the lines of "I may get affectionate, but you shouldn't take it seriously if I do". I pulled directly from Jopson's abandonment issues in canon for that one, and it hurts my feelings to put it here, but it's here so that Edward can respond appropriately this time. I think any feelings that Jopson has during scenes are legitimate--but I also suspect, based on this, that Jopson has been affectionate during scenes before, and had that affection rebuffed, or had it indicated to him that the affection wasn't welcome or needed, so he's used to disclaiming it. Which, ouch.

“Good job,” he says, voice low and right next to Jopson’s ear. “Pack your things. I’m coming back for you.”

Speaking of AU!Edward Littles that didn't fuck up their decisions, here's one right here.

His hand is pleasantly tingling, his mind starting to fuzz out with endorphins, and he wants Jopson to feel the same—

So Edward puts literally zero thought into his own headspace throughout this scene, because that's the kind of POV character he is, but you can see the beginning of his...actually, I don't even know the word for it. Whatever the equivalent of subspace is for doms, Edward is getting into it.

I like symmetry

Says the man with the tattoo on one arm. Alright, Ned. Alright.

"Mrf." Jopson swallows, the movement of his neck something Edward can actually feel, now that he's carrying Jopson fully. "Don’t want to derail the scene—I just—a minute—your cock is quite distracting."

I love that all the physical play was just fine, but it's being nestled against Edward's hardon that makes Jopson need a minute. (Which, fair.)

“Yeah,” Edward manages. “I can—I can do that. You, uh, the safewords?”

One of the things I really love about Edward here is that when he gets overwhelmed with how awesome something is, he reverts back to safety and checking in with his partner. (I'm pretty sure you could contrast that with Tozer, who I'm pretty sure would just talk filth until he'd gotten a grip on things again, and Crozier, who I see as pretty unflappable during play considering that he hasn't met a certain "online guy" yet.)

“I can’t believe we can’t fuck in here,” Jopson mutters grouchily.

Couldn't get ploughed in the dungeon the way I wanted, 0/10 on TripAdvisor.

Edward puts his hands behind his head, tugs at his own hair a moment to ground himself, and then curls his hands into fists where Jopson can’t see them, brings them down and around, quick and sudden, thumping the sides of his hands into Jopson’s ribs.

The very first time I was in a rough play workshop, this move was demonstrated. The demo bottom was facing the audience, and the presenter was sitting on a table behind him. They had him put his hands behind his neck and just stand there and wait while they was talking about something else, but from our position in the audience, we could see them raise their hands above their head, and knew what they were going to do, because they mimed it out for us first. I think that's where I fell in love with this kind of play, because they made it fun.

“I’ll go faster for the rest,” Edward promises. “Keep counting, and you’ll get your reward on five.”

Or, you know, on six, because one of you wanted five hits in a row and restarted the count on purpose, and the other one of you stuck to your promise of going with a verbal command of five because there wasn’t enough time to go through the whole ‘what is the correct response here’ and muscle memory won out over anxiety domming. (You can save your “oops”, Jopson, we all know it’s insincere.)

Jopson doesn’t scream. His entire body goes stiff, breath sucking quick into his lungs and his fingernails digging sharply into Edward’s bare back, legs clenching around Edward’s thigh, and it’s like time just fucking stops for one ecstatic moment until Jopson goes limp, his hands patting randomly on Edward’s back, over the scratches he’s just left in Edward’s skin that Edward is going to treasure forever, because he did that to Jopson and he’s going to wear these scratches with fucking pride.

Y'all, Edward "so excited about the part where he scratched me that I completely missed the part where he came" Little. He'll be here all weekend.

Jopson blinks, slow and easy. “Quite lovely, thank you. Everything cleaned up?”

I'm deeply in favour of doms who look after cleaning up the space while their subs recover. I'm not convinced that Little and Jopson will fall into that pattern permanently, but I think it's a sweet gesture on Edward's part that he looks after everything for their first time. It's also a very encouraging thing for Jopson--because, say, if he was trying to make sure that he wasn't going to have his service taken for granted, this is a good indication that it won't be.

Edward feels vaguely like he should demur, out of manners, or, uh. Concern for Jopson’s knees, or—or his, um. Aftercare. Or. Or something.

I love deep POV.

Edward raises his eyebrows, deliberately puts his hands flat on the wall behind him. He’s suddenly very, very hard. “I’m not gonna stop you if you want to do it yourself,” he says, voice rough. “That’s hot as fuck.”

*eyeballs emoji*

(And we can make a note of that particular detail for the next chapter, when Edward awkwardly discloses something that Jopson already suspects--or, at least, would suspect if he weren't currently high as fuck on happy endorphins.)

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” Edward says. He swallows. “I—uh. Sorry, this is stupid, I forgot they were there—I generally do, you know, warn people in advance, this isn’t how I normally—I, uh.”

I suspect the actual issue here is that the last time Edward had his dick sucked, there wasn't nearly as much metal in it, so "hey my dick is heavily pierced" isn't a conversation that he's used to having, but Edward can excuse this however he likes.

...it’s just—he’s just—he’s never—not without his partner gagging, and there were always other things they could do, there were always—fuck—this was never a priority...

Little refuses to think of his own dick as big, because it's the dick he's always had, so unfortunately, this is the closest we're gonna get to confirmation of his dick size in his POV.

Edward can feel—oh, fuck, no, that’s not just his cock, he can feel his own piercings in Jopson’s throat, the hard balls of the barbells firm under his fingertips, and Edward’s balls tighten.

I don't want to admit how much time I spent trying to figure out if this was a legitimate thing, but it was more than an hour, I couldn't find an answer, I have no one to ask, and I liked the mental image too much to let it go, so now we're all stuck with it.

I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not.

Edward takes a deep breath, steps into the hotel room, and shoulders his responsibilities.

Edward, sweetie. Sol would be the first one to tell you that he can handle himself.

I mean, we can all agree that he clearly didn’t handle himself particularly well tonight.

But he’d be the first one to tell you to fuck off.

Phew. That's it for this week! Chapter four, Kink, goes up next Friday, and we'll touch on Solomon Tozer's no-good very-bad day then.

And if you have questions or anything in the meantime, you can always drop me an ask on tumblr or Curious Cat. I know I didn't cover everything, even in this long-ass entry, cuz there's a fuck of a lot of stuff going on in the foreground, much less the background. I honestly don't mind if you ask, it's totally cool. :)

See you next week!

#the terror #the terror fic #fic: closer #joplittle #fic breakdown #ktula writes #fic: the terror kink au

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sapientiaethumanitas · 4 years

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In Continuation of this II @elara-the-bootblack

You don't care about her, you don't have to care about her, she doesn't care about you, so get your mind off her.

Ezekiel was caught up in a constant change of thoughts and emotions. Like nilfgaardian gladiators pulling on a rope, hoping that one would fall over the line, marking the end of that one. For them it was a fight, where they showed their strength and their survival instinct. Ezekiel had to show much more than that in this case.

He also had the hope of quickly renouncing her. Vampires were known to cast a spell on humans, so that they would do anything for them. But Elara had such an influence on the ancient sage even though she wasn’t one of them. Maybe she was a sorceress? A witch in a sense...

He racked his brains over the two scenarios henow faced: If he would not give in and leave Elara to her fate, he would have a bad conscience for decades, if not forever. At that time he had sworn not to kill humans, on the contrary: he wanted to heal them, to protect them.

And someone like Elara had least deserved to leave this world so early. She was to fall asleep happily on her bed at the age of over a hundred, thinking of her full life of knowledge, family, her children and wonderful moments.

Only good things should happen to her... the world should be at her feet and... No. You won't help her.

All of a sudden his emotions went the other way again: If he would help her, he would be a traitor of his own kind once again. She had insulted him; not only his nature, but above all his dignity. After all the thousands of years of pain, he was allowed to ask for dignity once in a lifetime, wasn't he?

Is it really so important to you now - your honour? A human being is in danger of her life, someone you really like much. More than like. Shame on you, that's why your own kind hates you. That's why humans hate you as well. It's disgusting to stand between the worlds and in none of them you feel right and are accepted.

Suddenly everything had been driven out of Ezekiel's head: his rationality had returned, his honour had become irrelevant to him. He would never be accepted, no matter how hard he tried. And that was exactly the reason why he should help Elara. She did him good and vice versa. And that was all that counted.

He changed as fast as he could into dark green fog, flew him out into the whipping wind, which made it not easy for him to reach his target quickly. That was probably one of the disadvantages of dematerializing.

Hopefully it was not too late - that was Ezekiel's only thought accompanying him. He hoovered briefly over the wet forest floor so that he could find their traces on the ground. The earth was muddy, the traces of Elara's little feet slowly smeared under the water that was building up in them.The rain was getting heavier, making it difficult to follow her scent.

Ezekiel cursed inwardly: Why do I have these powers when nature can cut them off? Elara, be strong. Just give me a few moments longer...

How must the poor thing feel? She had to be cold from the storm and she had run - Ezekiel could tell from her tracks. Only half an hour had passed since their quarrel;

My goodness, she ran fast!

It was not far to the camp of the fiend. Elara's scent became stronger - she was actually in the cave. But he heard her heartbeat, he smelled her fear. Or no: it wasn't real fear. She even seemed to have come to terms with her death. Such courage.

As much as Ezekiel enjoyed her smell, a pungent stench came into his nose: the fiend was there too. He had to be careful. Of course he could have stormed into the cave, cut it up with his own claws and thrown its head at Elara's feet.

Then he would have spontaneously decided how he would deal with the young woman. Not in that sense of course - whether if he would let her sit there when the danger was over or whether he could forgive her and take her back to Oxenfurt.

Maybe she doesn’t want that, maybe she doesn’t want to forgive me...

He remembered Sethra's lesson about fiends and other horned monsters. They could be tamed - even if Ezekiel had never tried it before. The first time he encountered this creature here, he just stood in the woods while collecting mushrooms, it saw him and returned to its camp grunting.

He flew into the cave and what he saw there sent a shiver down his spine. Elara crouched on the ground while the fiend stood before her, roaring loudly but otherwise standing motionless.

The young woman had her eyes closed. But she seemed calm, resigned to her approaching end. Ezekiel seized his chance before the fiend would smell him, too. He materialized between the monster and Elara, his hands held out to calm it down.

"You are full, I know it. A brown bear roamed these woods - until yesterday. I won't hurt you, this is your home. As you respect mine, I respect yours. I know many of your sisters, the beautiful, reasonable ones. They are my sisters too, so let go of that woman and let us leave. You can stay here, no humans will come here. Never again. I promise." Ezekiel's illusory heart beat a little faster, he put his hands down.

Elara had opened her eyes again, even if he didn't want to look at her now, he could feel her look in his back. The monster showed no reaction - for a few moments. Ezekiel was just about to take a step back to turn to the young woman when the fiend stood on his hind paws, roared loudly and hit the ground with his front paws, so that it whirled up the dust and small stones.

The vampire placed himself completely in front of Elara, fiends actually only killed when they were hungry, they did not kill just to play. This one growled, gnashed his teeth, his three eyes glowing dangerously.

"It's all good." Ezekiel didn't know if he had said this to himself, the monster or Elara. He was not afraid for his own life, but for the life of the beautiful woman behind him. She had pressed herself close to him, he felt her breath on his neck. A last sound from the animal's mouth, this time quieter, it almost sounded hurt. The vampire looked down at the fiend's leg and indeed: a huge branch had pierced through his right hind paw.

"Let me help you." He reached out for his paw, the fiend snapped at him once. "Well, don't you do that. I'll pull the branch out, you'll feel better." It puffed, Ezekiel stroked the bridge of his nose to calm it.

The branch had become stuck, blood had glued the fur around it. Ezekiel bent down, took the branch in his hands and carefully pulled it out of his paw. The fiend howled, poked Ezekiel in the side with his nose, howled another time. "I'll have it in a moment," said the vampire, and with a quick jerk, he had the branch in his hand.

"That wasn't so bad, was it? And it'll heal on its own." The fiend grunted once more, turned away from them and lay down in a corner of the cave, fell immeditely asleep and snorted peacefully.

The humanist finally turned to Elara: "Well, I guess it was worth spending a lot of time with the Succubi in Zerrikania - you know, it’s sisters. They would have pulled my ears out if I had killed it - and let's be honest: who doesn't mind having a splinter in the finger?"

He laughed to lighten the mood - but Elara's legs folded away and he could barely catch her...

#°I remember the night I've counted your freckles [Elara]#°stories have to be told or they'll die [RP Threads]#elara-the-bootblack #this thread is better than the most netflix shows #I LOVE ITTT #oh goodness #I actually feel ezekiels emotions everytime I write him

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mst3kproject · 7 years

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816: Prince of Space

In a lot of ways this is one of the more daunting reviews I've taken on. There are various reasons why I might not want to review a particular movie. Maybe, as in Last of the Wild Horses, the movie just doesn't interest me. Maybe, as in Hobgoblins, I just hate the movie that much. Maybe, as in Swamp Diamonds, I have a hard time coming up with anything to say about it. Prince of Space falls into none of those categories. Instead, like Pod People or Manos: the Hands of Fate, this is one of the classic episodes, the ones that have been so thoroughly watched, discussed, and destroyed by the fandom at large that I'm not sure I can really contribute anything.

The goal of this blog is completeness, though, so here I go. Phantom, Dictator of Krankor, has come to Earth to steal the secret of Professor Maki's advanced rocket fuel (or Professor Macken, or Professor Marken... the dub actors cannot seem to agree). Fortunately, Earth has a secret weapon – the invulnerable Prince of Space! Prince of Space steals the formula back from Phantom and chases him away, so Phantom falls back on Plan B. He kidnaps the world's leading scientists and takes them to Planet Krankor so they can see just what a mighty empire they are up against. Once again it's up to Prince of Space to save the day!

Prince of Space was originally a TV show, Yūsei Ōji (Planet Prince), which was made to capitalize on the popular Super Giants film series – yeah, you read that right, Prince of Space is a ripoff of Star-Man! The series proved popular enough in itself that two movies were made based on it, and it was these that were edited together into the Prince of Space we all know and love. They did a surprisingly good job, actually. The resulting film feels only slightly bifurcated, mostly because the three children pretty much vanish for the second half, and I'm guessing the original Prince of Space movies were intended as 'part one' and 'part two' of the same story. It's also the rare MST3K movie that remains entertaining even without Mike and the Bots at the bottom.

This is kind of surprising, because Prince of Space has basically the exact same plot as Invasion of the Neptune Men: a z-list superhero and a bunch of little kids try to stop an alien invasion too incompetent for even Godzilla to take notice. But while Invasion of the Neptune Men was an unmitigated pain parade, Prince of Space is silly, over-the-top fun. Why the difference? Prince of Space still isn't what anybody would call a 'good' movie, but it gets right a great many of the things Invasion of the Neptune Men got wrong.

For starters, Prince of Space has characters in it. There are the three kids: scientist's son Johnny Maki, and Wally the Bootblack's two wards, Kimmy and Mickey. They have names, lives, and interests – these are minimal, but they exist. Johnny likes to watch boxing on TV and worries about getting in trouble. Kimmy and Mickey are proud of their jobs as Wally's assistants. They talk about the problems presented to them, instead of just pointing and running around like the kids in Invasion of the Neptune Men. Their familial connections to Dr. Maki and Wally mean there is an actual reason why they keep getting involved in these events.

Similarly, Wally/Prince of Space is himself a character. I'm not sure how a guy who makes his living shining shoes finds the time or money to be a superhero on the side, but his secret identity is actually relevant and in danger of discovery. He, too, also has a bit of personality – he's the type of person who is kind to a fault, often to his own detriment. He takes in the two orphans even though he really can't afford to. He returns forgotten items to his customers even though it takes him away from his work. Tips the kids earn shining shoes are explicitly stated to be theirs, not his, even though he could use the money.

The Neptune Men were nothing but singing humanoid buttplugs – faceless, nameless, and devoid of personality. The Chicken-Men of Krankor have faces, which allows them to react to things, and Phantom at least has a distinctive look and personality, with his arrogant attitude and obnoxious laugh. What's more, the aliens of Prince of Space have a goal. While the Neptune Men seemed to just be throwing stuff at the Earth at random, Krankor is specifically after Professor Maki's rocket fuel and at first his attempt to conquer the world is focused on that. Later, after Prince of Space thwarts him over and over, he becomes increasingly obsessed with destroying the hero by any means possible, whether it benefits his invasion plans or not.

There is one kind of cool idea in this, actually. In one scene a reporter asks Dr. Maki why Phantom would be after his formula, when the technology of Krankor is so far advanced over Earth's. Dr. Maki replies that Krankor is advanced in some ways but not in others, and they happen to be lagging behind Earth in the development of rocket fuel. This is a neat concept. We don't know, after all, what constitutes a 'level' of technological development because we have only one example of a technological civilization, and that's our own. Maybe somewhere out there are aliens who have made enormous strides in mathematics but still believe the body is composed of humours that must be balanced. If that sounds unlikely, think again: it was the actual state of things in Europe when Newton and Liebniz invented calculus. Or maybe the inverse is true: maybe the aliens are skilled doctors who can perform life-saving operations we wouldn't dare attempt, but they don't understand things like logarithms at all.

If this were a good movie, the stuff humans are good at and Chicken-Men not would be a key to their final defeat. But this is Prince of Space.

The entertainment factor here is also upped by the fact that Prince of Space is not afraid to be ridiculous. Invasion of the Neptune Men was often rather restrained. Prince of Space has a big-eared, matronly giant who destroys Phantom's enemies with weaponized halitosis. The Chicken-Men themselves are delightfully ridiculous, with their pointed noses and hoods that suggest their heads and chins are pointed too, and their spaceship looks like a roast turkey. Prince of Space's own ship looks like a modified bumper car and he has a magic wand that deflects death rays. It makes the movie enjoyable in a way Invasion of the Neptune Men never even approached.

Finally, it's always possible to tell what's going on in Prince of Space. While there are endless shootout scenes, those are always connected with something in the story. Wally flees Chicken-Men through a graveyard after they discover his secret identity – will he be able to transform into Prince of Space before they catch him? Laser fire is exchanged as Prince of Space leads the captive scientists through Phantom's fortress. Will they make it to the ship to return to Earth? Invasion of the Neptune Men had none of this, just spaceship models shooting at each other without even anything to tell us how far apart they were. An action scene in which we really can't tell what's happening is dull. The director and editors of Prince of Space had at least some idea how to do it right.

I actually really wish this movie were in colour. According to the posters, Prince of Space's costume was red, green, and white, while the Chicken-Men of Krankor wore pink and purple. I'd love to see what colours were on the walls of the Great Hall, or that the giant was dressed in. It must have looked gloriously ridiculous.

Remember Invaders from Space, in which the bad guys were Kappa-People? Well, Prince of Space is less explicit about it, but I think the Chicken-Men are supposed to be Tengu-People. The Tengu is a birdlike demon in Japanese folklore who is supposed to be a harbinger of war. They are often depicted with unnaturally long, sometimes beaklike noses. Such noses are also featured in Japanese caricatures of white people. Hmm... they come promising peace and prosperity and then they blow your shit up. Sounds about right.

Wikipedia doesn't have an antique woodcut of anybody farting on a Tengu, but this watercolour of one getting yelled at by a monk is kind of fun.

This is another movie that is difficult to analyze, because it doesn't really have any higher ambitions. The original goal of the Yūsei Ōji TV show was to make money off Star Man fans, and the movies were intended to make money off fans of the TV show. Fortunately, enough effort and good fun were put into the result that it stands on its own. Of all the Japanese-Superhero-Versus-Stupid-Aliens movies I've seen, Prince of Space is undoubtedly my favourite... and the fact that I can talk about those as a genre is... well, it's sadder than talking about the Nazi Zombie genre, but not as sad as talking about the Bela Lugosi vs Gorilla Suit genre. So there's that.

The other wonderful thing we got out of Prince of Space is the 'temporally displaced chicken puppet' sketch, which is probably the funniest single skit in the entire Sci-Fi Channel era. Gypsy's burrito makes me laugh every single time.

#mst3k #reviews #prince of space #50s #just fuckin weird #starman and friends

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zacharybosch · 7 years

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here it is, the third and final part of my bootblacking series, a little baby i bashed out mostly yesterday called Wound Patterns. i wanted to be fancy so i made this header

what does it feature? a nice house in cuba, a little bootblacking, a lot of smoking kink, and a bonus fuckchapter because i’m always disappointed when there aren’t any dicks in my fics. it was meant to be super sexy and ended up just being a bit feelsy instead, but there are dicks, so it counts

is it depressing af like the other 2 fics in the series? not completely!!!

are the other 2 fics essential reading? not super duper essential, but it might help just to give some context (also i really like parts 1 and 2 and they need more love)

part 1 tumblr / ao3 / fabulous book cover made by @byk23

part 2 tumblr / ao3

tagging any interested parties that i can remember:

@insanereddragon @tigsmulii @@fragile-teacup @hannibatchsmuse @tentoriumcerebelli @thesilverqueenlady @weconqueratdawn @theseavoices

read a snippet of Wound Patterns below or on ao3

Will acclimated to the Cuban weather remarkably well. The endless procession of hot, sultry days harked back to his childhood, skipping along the coast from Louisiana to Alabama, and he found himself possessed of some of the wildness of his youth. His skin turned from sallow to creamy to honey-burned rich, and he shed the weight of years like dead hair. His white linen shirts offered generously unbuttoned collars, and the cigarillos he’d smoked as a teenager while skulking in French Quarter doorways found their way back into his pocket.

Smoking had been an affectation when he was young, an attempt to make some kind of superficial connection with the kind of oddball clique that might accept him. At the back of the football field, or the swampy patch behind the running track; goth girls with their clove cigarettes, stoner boys with their sticky green joints, and Will with his cigarillos. It worked to some degree, and the first time he’d had sex had been in the back seat of a car that was filled with heavy, twisting smoke.

It was a more refined affair these days, but the smell remained the same now as it was then, and one breath took him back to cutting class and the first flush of burgeoning desire. Typically after dinner, Will would walk outside onto the balcony overlooking their small courtyard, bare feet on sun-warmed stone tiles. He would sit back in the ridiculous wicker peacock chair that Hannibal had placed out there, light up, and let himself go.

Some weeks or months since installing themselves in Havana, on a day that was marked only by how ordinary it had been in every other way, Will sat on the balcony and placed a cigarillo between his lips, reaching for his lighter and finding himself stopped by a hand on his arm.

Hannibal appeared before him with a small box of matches and an unreadable expression. “Allow me.”

Silence between them as Hannibal leant in, struck the match in one smooth motion, and held the flame to the cigarillo tip. Silence as Will took a long drag until the cherry was burning bright. Silence when Hannibal remained afterwards, standing impassive against the railing, watching Will watching him.

Will had a fairly sure idea of what Hannibal was angling for, although he hadn’t expected him to come at it from this angle. It wasn’t anything Will had indulged in much in the past, but he could see the appeal of it now that Hannibal had chosen this way to ask for it. He had thought, more often than he would admit but not so much that he was ashamed, of the things they had done in Baltimore. Evidently Hannibal had been thinking of them too, and why wouldn’t he? It had always been Will who talked himself out of taking it further. Hannibal would’ve done so much more, had Will just said the word.

Instead of saying any of this out loud, Will simply said, “I thought you didn’t like the smell?”

Hannibal gave one of his infuriatingly tiny smiles. “I’ve found myself becoming accustomed to it.”

***

Hannibal came out onto the balcony after dinner to light Will’s cigarillos every day for the next two weeks. Will began to associate the sound of a match being struck with the amber of Hannibal’s eyes, and the fall of his hair as he leaned in. Hannibal made his own associations; the touch of the match to the paper was the dark sweep of Will’s eyelashes as he looked down, coy; the rip and crackle of the striking match was Will’s breath, the quick intake and controlled exhale. The smouldering cherry of the cigarillo was Will’s lips, tension and release.

Sometimes he lingered, leaning against the wrought iron railing, just watching Will smoke. Other times he would light and leave, retiring to his bedroom or study for the remainder of the evening. It was not lost on Will that Hannibal’s rooms were in the west wing of the house, offering good views of the balcony from behind sheer twitching curtains.

It was strange, the things about Will that Hannibal seemed to be entranced by. It didn’t map to anything Will knew about the way he thought Hannibal worked. Then again, maybe Hannibal himself didn’t entirely understand or anticipate any new aspect of his desire for Will until he was confronted with the reality of it. Hannibal had said himself that he could never entirely predict Will, and perhaps that extended to predicting the things in Will that he was drawn to.

To be fair, the bootblacking had been a fairly linear train of thought to follow, once Will tried to approach it from Hannibal’s perspective. It wasn’t the filthy boots that Hannibal loved, but rather the careful skill required to restore them back to beauty; the grace needed to consciously lower yourself, to serve with elegance and restraint and messy abandon if it was asked for, the willing submission to someone who deserved it and understood what it meant.

It was this new development that left Will casting his mind back over years and miles. He’d seen no evidence to ever indicate that Hannibal had a goddamn smoking kink, and plenty to the contrary. One of the first things he had ever known about Hannibal was that he took extremely good care of his body, letting in nothing that wouldn’t nourish it. Smoking served no purpose but to let in disease.

No, he could tell that this was a new development. Will had a knack for pushing Hannibal to recklessness in a number of peculiar ways. Before, it was girls on stag heads and bloody hearts in Sicilian chapels. Now it was cigarillos and smoke, almost amusing in its banality.

continued on ao3...

#hannibal #hannibal fanfic #my fic #YAY OK HERE WE ARE #hope you all like it #tbh i typed 'cigarillo' so many times during this fic that the word has now lost all meaning and looks ridiculous #i intended to have a longer/more involved bootblacking scene buuuut tbh i spent so much energy on the smoking bits #and i just couldn't be bothered #anyway ENJOY

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sapientiaethumanitas · 4 years

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In Continuation of this II @elara-the-bootblack

It warmed his heart that Elara understood him. For him it was not about getting pity from someone - to be honest he hated pity. He wanted to be understood, nothing more. And he was even more pleased that she not only understood him, but also guaranteed that he could rely on her. At the moment there was no one of his own kind, nor on the human side, on whom he could rely so much as on this young lady. She was there for him - and that was what counted.

"You know you're someone very special, right? It doesn't matter where you came from, it doesn't matter who you were. The past shapes us, but it's who you are now that matters. And you're perfect." He wiped a tear away, that mixed with the pouring rain.

"I will send someone tomorrow to deal with the problem in your room - I will not tolerate that. I have told the building management that this room is of special importance! It's killing me..." He ran his fingers through his wet hair.

Then he turned around, gave her a warm smile and the two of them separated for the evening.

...

The next day Ezekiel could not keep his faculties under control. He had suppressed anger, sadness and fear within him, which had developed into a ball of fire that he could no longer carry within him. Unfortunately it hit the caretaker of the academy, Pjotr.The chubby guy didn't know what happened to him when the tall vampire came sweeping through the door to his office:

"I didn't gave you the job back then so that you could sit around lazily and not do your work. I think I made myself clear enough when I said that Elara's room is of the utmost importance. Then how is it possible that water is leaking through her ceiling?" He gestured wildly with his arms while Pjotr made himself a little pile on his chair.

At this sight Ezekiel took a deep breath, stroked his hair once and then apologized to the poor man. The caretaker just nodded as he rushed out of the room and the old vampire was immediately tormented by a guilty conscience - he would have to pay him extra for the month...

Even if Ezekiel had wanted to do anything else but to make a mess of the good soul of the academy, he felt better afterwards. He had put a small bag of coins and a bottle of wine in front of the office and had flown home to prepare everything for Elara's arrival.

When he arrived home he first had to rest for a moment or two. At his age, stress was anything but good - it always left unsightly wrinkles on his face... His hut was always of perfect cleanliness - an old memory of his days in slavery. But even so, he enjoyed the fact that he could always receive visitors without anyone feeling uncomfortable. That's why he leaned back on his bench and even dozed off.

He seldom expected such a beautiful visitor - even though he already had many female students with him to answer their questions. Only Elara was special...too special. It would be difficult to reveal his true nature to her - but she was extremely intelligent and would hopefully not panic.

He stared into the forest in front of his hut - it was lush green, the birds chased each other through the pine trees. Would he lose a loyal friend with his secret or would that strengthen the bond that bound them together? He could speculate a lot about that, but then he decided to prepare dinner instead.

The time he had between work and Elara's arrival was limited, but a good vegetable stew and fresh bread - there was always time for that. Peeling vegetables also relaxed him and he loved to watch the yeast dough flourish.

Although he took great effort in preparing the meal, he forgot his own constitution. As if bitten by the catacan, he stormed into his bedroom, changed his clothes, combed his hair (if that was possible) and put on perfume. That was better and not a second too late. He had made it back upstairs just in time, when there was already a knock at the door. He hadn't been so excited in centuries.

When he opened the door it was as if the sun had risen. Elara's smile under her freckles was simply magnificent. Maybe he put one on too wide, because his teeth must have seen her clearly... "Please come in, my dear. My home is humble, but I have everything I need."

With a wave of his hand he invited her warmly into his home, took the cloak off her shoulders and hung it gently on his wardrobe. "I hope I can get you something to drink. No alcohol comprehensible, but juice, tea or water?"

#°I remembered the night I've counted your freckles: elara #elara-the-bootblack #oh these two are giving me life atm #I missed writing with youuuu #and therefore I escalated a bit on the thread xD

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