InsaneJournal

Still alive. Yep. Kicking, even.
Sorry I've been so silent again. There's something wacky going on with my health (specifically, my intense lack of a sleep schedule and my ever-so-unstable moods) again, and I've been spending my time working against it. Still, I'm 190,000+ words into that Jason story I mentioned a while back, and the end is in sight.

Also, one of the things that happens when I'm a moody bitch of a Te? Watching stuff. Here's my thoughts in brief, for those of you what care about such things.

Ah, television:

Criminal Minds: Some improvement from last season's train wreck, but still nowhere near as good as the first two seasons. I'm just not feeling Joe Mantegna. On the other hand, I'm more and more interested in Hotch's character, and that helps pulls me along. Still works as great valium television. Mm, lack of critical thought.

Sons of Anarchy: It's really hard for me to pin down what *exactly* it is about the show I like, plot-wise, but Ron Perlman and Katey Sagal are fabulous actors, I rarely if ever cringe at the writing, I'm pulled along for every episode, and there's a wide range of excellently-realized female characters for me to sink my teeth into. Add to that the fact that it really *doesn't* come off as a 'boy-soap' (see Sarah T.'s opinion of The Shield) despite the fact that the set-up is practically made for it, and you've got a Te who's pleasantly surprised -- and entertained -- every week. Though I expect it to tank at any time.

True Blood: Always walking the line between tasty, tasty Alan Ball emo-roller-coaster romp and turning Anna Paquin into the Mariest of Sues. Still, it makes me laugh, it turns me on, and any show with a character like Lafayette is bound to get my attention. I'm interested in Jason Stackhouse's downward spiral, the mystery of Sam Merlotte, and Tara has begun to twist my heartstrings week after week. The actress playing her mother ought to get an Emmy.

Dexter: I had my doubts after S2 started making things too easy for Dexter (in terms of freeing him of responsibility for the shit he does), but it definitely seems to be back on track -- though the slashiness between Jimmy Smits' character and everyone's favorite serial killer is disturbing as all *hell*. In that way I'm pretty sure *wasn't* intended. Still makes me scream and flail on a weekly basis, still has a fabulous supporting cast I'm wildly interested in, still pulls me in on a weekly basis.

The Daily Show and The Colbert Report: I think I might die if these shows are ever canceled. Just to put that out there.



Movies, in no particular order (watch for spoilers):

Hard Candy: mildredmilton turned me on to this one, and, you know, I'm honestly not sure *how* I feel about it. I mean, there's the primal satisfaction that comes from watching the tiny girl kick ass all over the place, and there's the intellectual satisfaction that comes from watching something that contains any number of fantasies taken to their logical conclusion, but...

Hm. I wanted there to be more unanswered questions, I think. I wanted to not be *sure* about the pedophile character, because the movie does such a good job of setting Hayley up to "just" be a special kind of psychotic. In the end, I'm not sure what the filmmakers wanted from me, as the audience. Did they want me to be disturbed by what I want to do child predators? If so, I don't think they went far enough.

Syriana: What? Seriously, what? Jack and I *really* wanted footnotes for this one. And, you know, I talked to tzikeh about it, and I get that the filmmakers wanted the audience to really *think* about everything that was going on, but... oy. There's a difference between making the audience think and making the audience *confused*. Still, though, it was a beautifully made film that had my interest from the word go, and it's not the filmmakers' fault that what I really wanted was something closer to a fictionalized documentary about petro-politics, something that *told* me what was going on and *then* asked me to think about it.

Also, I *strongly* disagree with the decision not to use subtitles. It just made the middle eastern characters seem alien, despite showing them living their lives in other ways. It left me *wanting* a film that apparently doesn't exist yet, and *that* sort of thing puts a bad taste in my mouth.

For a Lost Soldier: Good *god* that child was young. Like, *young*. Like -- that soldier is really fucking a *kid* up the ass, isn't he? Yes, yes, he is. I remember hearing good things about this movie a few years ago, and wikipedia reminded me of it a few weeks ago, and --

Okay, yeah, I'm stuck on young. Because I'm almost sure I heard the kid in question was 15-16, when, in fact, he was about 12. So, if you want to see a gay historical romance featuring a guy in his late twenties and a *12 year old* -- this is the movie for you!

But seriously, there are other things to recommend this movie. It's a great look at life in Holland at the end of World War II, with lots of little fascinating tidbits about a culture which is and isn't alien to our own, and also a great look at the mind of a young boy on the cusp of adolescence --

Dear God, that child was young.

Um. I liked the movie? It had kind of a weird ending? There were wooden shoes? It was an interesting look at an ephebophile who was neither apologetic nor pathetic in any way? Thing? Yo make the call.

Righteous Kill: Those are two hours of my life I will *never* get back. Just, okay, normally when I'm about to see something, I check out the reviews. It's just a thing I do, because I'm not one to take pleasure in bad movies unless I'm watching MST3K -- I need them pre-mocked for my convenience. But, you know, I looked at the cast. Deniro. Pacino. Leguizamo. Wahlberg. Dennehy. We know these names. We know they make, on the whole, good movies. Packing them all into one film -- it's gotta be at least watchable, doesn't it?

No, it does not. It was stupid, boring, pretentious, the 'twist' ending was both predictable *and* raped everything that come before, and, speaking of rape? GRATUITOUS RAPE. Fuck you guys. ALL of you. 50 Cent was good, though. I always like it when rappers are watchable actors. Which brings us to --

The Woodsman: What a fantastic film. Just -- seriously. There was a big article in the NYT magazine when it came out a few years ago, but I only just got around to seeing it. Wow. I mean -- wow. Bacon should've *cleaned up* in awards for this one, because his performance managed to be warm, human, disturbing, pathetic, and *chilling* all at once. I *believed* that he was a pedophile who'd just gotten out of prison. Just -- he sold it amazingly. So much so that he almost outshone all of the other fantastic performances. Kyra Sedgwick, Benjamin Bratt, Mos Def, Eve -- awesome flick. Highly recommended -- especially since it offers no easy answers whatsoever and *really* makes you think about the issues it raises.

Persepolis: I've never read the comic, but it's hard to imagine it could be any better than this wonderful, beautiful film about growing up female and Iranian. It's more of a biopic than a documentary, but that's just fine because you're bound to be deeply interested in the characters and their lives. It's moving, it's scary, it's uplifting, it's feminist, it's fabulous. It left me wanting more, and I think you'll probably feel the same.

L.I.E.: You're probably sensing a theme here, and all I can say? Is that I blame wiki and their dangerously helpful categories. *shakes tiny fist* Anyway, I believe it was debchan who recommended this movie to me way back when, mostly by showing me pictures of the disturbingly pretty Gary. *shakes it off*

Anyway, it follows a somewhat awkward and aimless teenager named Howie through friendship (with Gary), family dynamics, and suburban purgatory. He's a rich White kid, but I actually care about his problems -- and I have to admit that it takes a *lot* for *that* to happen these days. You've also got the interesting addition of the Sympathetic Predator character, who takes Howie under his raddled and problematic wing and actually causes a little good to happen in his life. It's *not* apologia for pederasty by any stretch of the imagination, but it does an excellent job of muddying the hell out of the waters. Just -- seriously. Not the most comfortable movie to watch by a long road, but who needs comfort?

The Last King of Scotland: Overrated. Seriously overrated. Whittaker is awesome as Idi Amin, and I do hope he took home at least a few awards for that performance, but if I'd known that the film was *about* the misadventures of a stupid and wildly irresponsible White boy, I really would've taken a pass. By the end of the movie, I was rooting for him to be beaten and tortured, and I'm pretty sure that's not what was supposed to happen. Again, though, it's not really the movie's fault that it didn't give me what I was hoping for -- which was a hard and honest look at Idi Amin and what he'd done with his country.

Hellboy II: The Golden Army: Too cartoony. Or possibly I mean too 'shippy. Or possibly I mean too... something. It was pretty, it was sparkly, Nuada was sexy as all hell... *sigh* I don't know. The ending was too easy to predict, and it just didn't seem to have the *meat* of either the first live-action Hellboy film or the two animated features.

Batman: Gotham Knight: I think it says a lot that I haven't been able to get up the oomph to finish watching this since Jack passed out in the middle of it. Bishie-Bale-y!Bats = GAG me. And they *did* the "kids with different views of Batman" thing so *damned* much better in the Timm/Dini toons. And bleh. And ick. And ptui. (My GOD, I'm such a fangirl. I know it, you know it, the world knows it. What amuses the fuck out of me is the fact that I can still be this picky about my -- "my!" -- DCU some 2.5 years after I stopped reading the comics. Oy.)



Snippet:

He *should* be sleeping -- it's fucking *day*, and Drake will *be* here, unless he chickens out --

And the image is right there, the sense memory of a wiry little body against his own, *lifted* against his own while he held a knife to the kid's throat. He hadn't made a sound, then. Just kept trying to get clear and get a shot in of his own. Just --

He'll be here.

Which -- Jason's not sleeping. He's gone over and over the equipment Drake won't be good enough to even *look* at for fucking *weeks*, he's checked the evenness of the mats, stared in fucking *despair* at the gi he'd gotten for a Drake who was *bigger* than the one he actually has --

He'll grow *into* it. If he has to force-feed the kid protein shakes and get him HGH on the black market.

Drake is going to *be* worthy enough to be a partner to Bruce, the kind of partner Bruce *really* needs. He can't do it -- at this point in his life, he can't see himself being a partner to anyone save all the little voices in his own head -- but.

But.

The Drake he knows had barely given Bruce six months of Robin time before he was flitting off on his own. He had a team *before* the Titans, and he'd been all over the fucking world, instead of in Gotham where he *belonged*.

He's going to *teach* this kid Gotham, show him how to love it, how to hate it so much it got under your skin and *stayed* there. And, in return, Drake is going to give *him* the *right* kind of Robin, the kind Dick could never be, the kind Jason had been too scared and fucked-*up* to be.

Yeah.

In the end, he settles for resting by the computers he'd set up a few days ago with the information he'd taken from Talia. He's somewhere between meditation and a doze, and, if necessary, he could *move* in a heartbeat.

But he's drifting now, and mourning a little for the way he hadn't had time to put more of an effort to get Bruce's own files -- if never Babs' -- before the anomalies had started popping off all over the place. Before he knew what he *had* to do in order to make the world a better --

To *remake* the world, and Talia *and* her father were fucking nutbars, but they had a lot of good ideas. Things he couldn't help but listen to and want -- in his *own* way.

This is the way to do it. This -- will get him what he needs. What the *world* needs.

Are you sleeping yet, Bruce? Are the nightmares making you sweat through the sheets and tangle yourself up the way you used to?

Do you ever think about the way I taught you that it was okay to turn the heat up and just sleep on *top* of the sheets?

Are you naked? Hungry? Wanting me?

Fucking *wait* for it, then, you perverted asshole. Just -- fucking wait.

He's coming up out of his doze on his own when the doorknob rattles, and really, he's going to have to do something about the fact that there's nothing but a *door* between this place and the world.

Soon.

For now --

He moves to open the door, and there Drake is, shorter than life and twice as terrified, going by the way he's actually *trembling* a little bit.

"Get here sooner tomorrow."

"I -- yes, okay. I. I put on workout. Clothes --"

"There's a gi for you over by the bathroom," he says, and points. "Get in here, strip down and put it on."

Drake swallows and moves past Jason without so much as brushing him, looking around as he moves -- quickly and quietly -- to the bathroom. Jason *wants* to find something else to criticize, but the kid isn't giving him anything, yet. And that's -- he has to be a little careful with this. He doesn't *think* Drake is the kind of kid to balk for the sake of balking, but you never really know. He can really put things in the *toilet* if he decides to seek out Bruce or Dick, and it's not like Jason can just kidnap him and keep him locked up here.

Though it's not like he hasn't had that thought. Heh.

Jason takes off his shoes and starts stretching casually, and that's how Drake finds him when he comes out with the gi perfectly situated on his small, small frame. Jason sighs to himself. "We'll get you a smaller one soon. For now, show me how you stretch for karate."

"Oh. You -- know."

"Yeah, I do. And don't you forget it, kid -- I know more about you than your damned mother, and I'll use every last bit of that knowledge if I have to."

Drake stares at him for a long moment, searching and scared.

Jason stares right back -- and then taps the watch he isn't wearing.

It's clear that the kid had gone to a *good* dojo, probably the best that money can buy. He knows a great deal of the stretches he needs to, even if he's not getting as much out of them as he could --

A split-kick that had only *just* missed Jason's jaw --

He *will* get more.

Jason pushes and pulls on the kid, waiting for the whimpers and grunts and getting them, letting them guide him -- oh, that was a loud one --

"Sorry, I -- sorry, I'm just -- need a moment --"

Jason checks the kid's quad reflexively and it's as tight as a *rock*, pulled the wrong fucking *way* -- he growls and starts working it.

"Ow -- I mean, sorry, I'll do better --"

Motherfucking *idiot* -- "You're *supposed* to let me know if I take you too *far*, Drake."

"I don't -- I didn't know. What was too far."

Jason -- doesn't growl again. Of course he didn't -- but. "The *pain* didn't tell you anything?"

And Drake looks like he's about to fucking *cry* -- but something tells Jason it doesn't have a damned thing to do with the pain.

Fucking A. "Kid --"

"I just thought -- I'm not flexible enough. But I will be. I can keep working --"

"No, you *can't*," Jason says, and keeps working the scrawny little muscle until it starts feeling like it's supposed to. "Not today, anyway. Jesus."

"I'm sorry --"

"Yeah, you *really* are. Stop saying it -- and *remember* this little lesson, kid."

"I -- I will," Drake says, and when he looks up, there's a promise in his eyes that Jason... really doesn't know *what* the fuck to do with.

Other than using it.

He leaves off the kid's leg and goes through the upper body stretches -- a lot more slowly. Now, every time he's about to cross the line, the kid speaks up, quiet and unsure but *there*.

He's not getting what he *wants*, but the foundation is there -- to a kind of scary degree, because the kid only makes two mistakes when Jason tells him to show all the stretches he'd been taught. All right, then. "Do these stretches *every* day. Once when you wake up, once before you crash. I don't care how tired you are -- you do them."

"I -- yes."

A little hesitation? "What?"

"Will I -- I was just wondering if I'll be doing them here, too."

No, he wasn't. There's *more* there, somehow, and it's making Jason's knuckles itch. "No. You *don't* lie to me. Not now, not ever."

"I wasn't -- I was just --"

Blushing like a fucking fire truck. Jason nods to himself and grabs the kid by the jaw. "What. Was it."

A brief moment for the kid to look miserable again, almost *pleading* -- but that's *not* aimed at Jason.

"Spill it. Now."

"I was -- wondering. About whether I'd still be able to go out. At night."

Oh. To take his little fucking *pictures* of them all, and what kind of shit does he have on *him*? Jason shakes his head --

Drake squeezes his eyes shut. Just for a moment, but -- there.

"That's all over now, kid. In fact, you're going to *bring* me all of your pictures tomorrow --"

"Please, I --"

"*Relax*. I don't plan on burning them," Jason says, and wonders if he means it. "They're not safe at your place --"

"*This* place isn't safe. The door -- I was going to pick the lock, and the windows are old and thin, and --"

"And you really want your vigilante porn?" Jason smiles and squeezes Drake's face just a little too hard. He can *feel* the heat of that blush. "Listen up, kid. Maybe I wasn't clear last night, but I *own* you. From now until I say you're ready to hit the streets, you're *mine*. And that means when I give you an order, you fucking well hop *to*."

"Why. Why aren't you going to B -- to Bruce? He thinks you're *dead*, and he --"

The rest of that is a pained little grunt, because Jason really is squeezing *too* hard -- he eases up. "I already *told* you, kid, and every time you make me repeat myself, I get a little more pissed *off* --"

"You're changing the timeline *now*, with *me*. If I'm not supposed to start training until --"

"I *told* you," Jason says, searching those ice cold fucking blue eyes and finding only a mind that's thinking too hard and too *fast* for right now -- Jason shakes his head. "You don't get it. You don't know what's *coming* for this comfortable little world of yours --"

"Then. Then tell me," and Drake looks determined, suspicious, and yeah, just a little balky.

Because of his fucking *pictures*. Unbelievable. "All right. It won't be long before Two-Face gets out. He's going to wire up too many parts of this city to count, and I *still* don't know where his base is going to be. He'll capture Batman *and* Nightwing, and the only person who's going to be able to save them is *your* skinny ass."

"But -- if you were to go to. To Alfred, and the base --"

Jason shakes him a little, but -- he doesn't know it's a Cave. That satisfies something in Jason that he can't really name *and* scares the shit out of him, but it's a fact, and he has to deal with it. "And maybe I put on my old suit and save the day? Heh, no. I'm not going to *be* here forever, kid. I've got other universes to get to, other places to *fix* --"

"Jason, I -- it's just that you seem to expect me to be able to do things I can't, that I don't know --"

"Chickening out on me?"

"I -- no, but -- I don't know --"

"Fucking *grow* a pair, kid," Jason says, and shoves Drake back lightly enough that he only stumbles a little bit. He shouldn't have stumbled, at all. "You've spent your whole fucking life watching, but now? It's time to *do*."

"I don't. I don't want to fail," and Drake's looking down at his feet, and God, even *they're* small, like maybe this one won't even grow as much as Jason knows he *should*.

"Yeah, well, I? Didn't want to get beaten senseless and then blown the fuck up. You could walk under a fucking Mack truck tomorrow, kid. But first? You're going to *train*."

And Drake looks up, searching again -- "I was really... Robin?"

Jason *doesn't* grind his back teeth. He crosses his arms over his chest, instead. "Yeah. You were." Whether or *not* you ever should've been. "And if you do what I say? You can be Robin again." The real way. The *right* way.

Drake nods and stands straight again, favoring the hurt leg -- and then not doing anything of the kind. "I -- I'll bring in the pictures," he says, and it sounds like he's promising to murder his fucking parents...

But it's what Jason needs. Obedience. "And you *won't* be going out at night until I fucking tell you."

He clenches his jaw -- and nods.

"All right, then. Give me some push-ups."

"How many?"

"As many as you can."

And it's not enough, but he'd already known it wouldn't be. He has his memories of how Bruce had trained him, but he knows, now, that it had been all about getting the most out of a basically *strong* kid with no chance of ever developing serious acrobatics.

Drake is *different*, and so he's going to have to treat him differently, and, yeah, learn as he fucking goes. The stuff from the assassins will help -- most of what he'd learned from them doesn't have a damned thing to do with body type -- but the kid will almost certainly want to know what the strikes and pushes will *do* to a human body, and he's definitely not ready for that, yet.

Making him ready, now...

Well, he has some ideas about that.

*




Okay, so I have three sequels written -- two of them even edited and ready to go -- for "A way so familiar." Why haven't I posted them? No one *wants* them. They're all for the *first* ending, filling in some of the things that happened during the years between Tim finding out he was stuck in the past and Dick starting to train as Robin. And, well, okay, a little bit after that, too. I love them. I think they're pretty great -- if probably not as good as the original story. But -- everyone seems to like the second ending better, and to want sequels to *that*. And, you know, maybe I *will* write one or two of those one day, but that's not where my heart is.

It's my own fucking fault for falling in love with yet another impossible AU, but there you go. So those sequels wait. And sit. Because every time someone talks about the second ending? I cringe inside.

Now, if you're actually reading this? Now is *not* the time to pat my head and tell me that of *course* you'll read the sequels when I post them, that you're interested, that you *care*. I won't *believe* you. It's just... I had to whine. Because, yeah, I'm *exactly* pathetic enough that this is one of the reasons I've been depressed lately, and maybe I'll feel better now that this bile is out of my system. Over and out.