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Because they're now available to me in a format I actually kind of like, and because anonymous trolls are awful:
Daniel is never going to admit it, but he prefers talking to Laurie - eating dinner with her, walking down the street with her, window shopping and playing the "what would I buy if I hadn't spent all my money on repairing Archie" game, bouncing an idea for modifications to his costume, or his gear off her and seeing what she thought -- to the sex.
He prefers fighting or saving people next to her, too.
Sex is... Only with adrenaline pumping through his veins is his need raw enough, intense enough to overcome the fact that her body, even muscled as it is, is soft where it should be hard, smells of women where it should smell of semen and musk, that even though he likes her, even maybe loves her, she's not what his body really wants.
Women aren't what his body really wants.
But right now, Archie is humming around them and they've only barely escaped the most recent fight with their lives, and Laurie is wearing nothing but her high-heeled black boots, writhing against him while he still has his mask on, and things are good.
And if he thinks of freckles dotting pale skin like ink blots when he kisses her shoulder, hears someone else's voice growling "Leave mask on," when she runs her hands over his cowl and breathes "Leave the goggles on. I want you to see me," sees blood spattered across snow and hears the sound of his own screaming when she climaxes with a choked-off little scream of her own, he's very careful never to tell her.
It feels too much like a betrayal, though he's not certain of whom.
Daniel is never going to admit it, but he prefers talking to Laurie - eating dinner with her, walking down the street with her, window shopping and playing the "what would I buy if I hadn't spent all my money on repairing Archie" game, bouncing an idea for modifications to his costume, or his gear off her and seeing what she thought -- to the sex.
He prefers fighting or saving people next to her, too.
Sex is... Only with adrenaline pumping through his veins is his need raw enough, intense enough to overcome the fact that her body, even muscled as it is, is soft where it should be hard, smells of women where it should smell of semen and musk, that even though he likes her, even maybe loves her, she's not what his body really wants.
Women aren't what his body really wants.
But right now, Archie is humming around them and they've only barely escaped the most recent fight with their lives, and Laurie is wearing nothing but her high-heeled black boots, writhing against him while he still has his mask on, and things are good.
And if he thinks of freckles dotting pale skin like ink blots when he kisses her shoulder, hears someone else's voice growling "Leave mask on," when she runs her hands over his cowl and breathes "Leave the goggles on. I want you to see me," sees blood spattered across snow and hears the sound of his own screaming when she climaxes with a choked-off little scream of her own, he's very careful never to tell her.
It feels too much like a betrayal, though he's not certain of whom.
From: (Anonymous)
no subject
marginally stable person/colossally fucked-up violent person who needs someone to hold their leash is one of my pairing kinks from way back
NO FUCKING KIDDING. I feel kind of ashamed about how predictably this turns me on.
It's good to see you around this fandom. Hope you'll write more.
From:
no subject
The director is the same guy who did 300, which already had the violence dialled up to at least 9. My guess is that he felt the need to try and top his previous comic-book-adaptation project.
It was beautifully shot violence, though, I have to give it that -- the fight scenes were gorgeous. The bit where the guy was cut apart in order to open the cell door was too squicky for me, though (I actually found it harder to watch than the infamous dogs scene, which is one of the few times I'll seriously give Alan Moore props. The bit where Rorschach looks over at the dogs and finally realized exactly what they're eating is one of the better moments of stomach-turning horror I've read/seen).
NO FUCKING KIDDING. I feel kind of ashamed about how predictably this turns me on.
I try not to interrogate this kink too closely, for fear it will reveal uncomfortable things about my psyche.
I sadly don't think I'll be writing all that much for this fandom, though -- Steve/Tony still owns my soul, plus I have this nagging fear that a serious attempt to write Watchmen fic of any length would morph into a mutated JLU AU about The Question and Blue Beetle.
That said, I do have some kink meme prompt fic here (http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/813.html?thread=59949#t59949).
From:
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