And more meme answers
Still answering stuff off this list, now for both acitymadeofsong and ataslightangle this time. Thanks again for the prompts, I appreciate it. <3
3. Is there a trope you wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole?
MPREG. Or regular pregnancy/baby/kiddie tropes in general, TBH. Or infantilist fetishes like that adult baby nappies crap *shudder*. And I think that squick is also partially behind my aversion towards the RL-typical straight male sub stuff where the guys basically act like whiny children. I should probably write an essay on the differences between that and little girl/older man ageplay and why one squicks me and the other attracts me, but yeah, these would be the tropes. Also most typical chick flick tropes, I guess. I just had someone complimenting me on the way I wrote Yassamin in Defy Not The Stars as not being too insecure the way many female romance characters are, although I don't think she's that radical a departure, TBH. I didn't set out to write her as some super-strong character, though, but in the end, I don't want to write characters into useless idiots either. So I'd say you wouldn't find me writing the superhuman ball-busting heroine who is always right and always in charge, nor would I ever want to write simple, bumbling guys who would be completely useless without said heroine either just to make a point or something. And while my fic is inherently feminist and queer in many ways, it's never going to be ~representative~ or about some paragons nor is it going to be politically correct either. So, yeah. There are so many other tropes that come to mind, but I'm veering off topic already.
7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you've written and explain why you're proud of it.
Fucksticks. This is difficult, because so many of them are so long and need context. And there are so many to choose from, because I hone everything so thoroughly that I have reason to be proud of many of them. Like, I'd want to use the entire pier scene from the first chapter of Devilry, but it'd be way too long to use here. And I could use something beautiful and lyrical and poetic and profound and spiritual from the Falcon stories, but fuckit. I'm going to choose porn. So you get the scene of Torsten and Laura on the train from the very start of the first story when he first initiates her into their favourite fetish. Because I'm proud of the shock it still carries and of the rush of it, the movement of the train, the haste, the speed of it, the sheer overwhelming WHATTHEFUCKARETHEYDOING-ness of it and the general gobsmackingness of Torsten's madness. When she first realises exactly how hardcore he is, and also her immediately matching that perversity of his, too, showing him she is just as bad as he is--or worse, as it turns out. So, yeah, here we go. Long, but it's still one of the most shockingly intense and most erotic and most power-dynamic-y scenes I've ever written.
He clinked his glass against mine. "To Satan." He downed his drink in one swallow; his eyes glittered with dark mirth as he licked his lips. "And to all deeds deemed evil, wicked, wrong."
I followed suit, the whisky burning my mouth and my throat, sweet as hellfire.
We sat there for the two hours, chatted, smoked, drank. He drank mostly whisky, I drank mostly soda, wanting to avoid a hangover the next morning. By the time it was five to midnight, the whisky had made me slouch and I had rested my head on his lap. I was curled up on the seats, facing his stomach. He was wearing a suit of dark wool, pinstriped, warm. He smelled wonderful, of patchouli and musk, and I wanted to fall asleep in his lap, nevermind the sleeping car.
He petted my hair and tutted. "You're pressing on my bladder. I need to piss."
I moved my head onto his thighs. "Delicate as ever. There's a toilet in the next car; I saw it on my way here."
He ground his cigarette into the ashtray. "I don't think you understood me, my dear. I need to piss." He unzipped his trousers and took out his cock. "Open your mouth."
I stared at him, at his cock, then back up at him. "Are you joking?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" he tightened his hand in my hair and put on a mocking, girlish voice. "I want to be perverse," he whined, throwing my own words back at me. "If you want it so much, what's keeping you?"
I had wanted to see his cock, feel his cock, take it into my mouth, but not like this. I stared at it, fat but limp, the foreskin drooping like the skin at the end of a sausage. It was ugly, wrinkled, not at all like the bold and beautiful hard phalluses I'd seen in books both artistic and pornographic. But had my desire to fondle it, mouth it in the usual context been normal, too normal?
He let go of my hair with a tug and pushed me off his thighs. "Get on your knees."
My heart was pounding. It was a fetish he was now offering me, an act not normally considered sexual sexualised, turned into an act of power. This, I'd read about, talked to him about in our letters; why, this very night in this very compartment we had discussed the concept. But not this act, nothing this extreme--I never could have imagined he would begin my education with this. He stared into my eyes, looking at me as if he was giving me one last chance. The train was slowing down and the lights from inhabitation were already flashing past us. It was three minutes to midnight, three minutes until we pulled up at the next stop.
I slid down to my knees and took his cock into my mouth.
He let out a deep sigh, a laugh, as if he was watching a dream come true--perhaps this was one of the thwarted dreams he had been talking about. With a groan, he let go. His piss tasted sharp, bitter, salty, stinging my mouth as I swallowed it down. Every last golden drop of pleasure, I thought and moaned around his cock at the realisation. This was what I had wanted, this, this sharp, salty sin now pouring down my throat. What could be more perfectly perverse than this? My uncle--no, my Daddy, now pissing in his sweet little daughter's mouth in public.
As I knelt there I felt a flash of power, of my own power in what I was now giving him, since it was I who allowed him to get away with this. Us not being caught depended on me: on how fast I could swallow his piss, on how well I could tighten my lips around his cock so as not to spill a drop. He went slow, slow, the panic rising in me as the train approached the station. I counted seconds and was past sixty when the train's whistle blew. I screamed around his hardening cock in alarm, sucking it as fast as I could, but he had finished. I swallowed, panted, watched as he tucked himself back into his trousers.
Hastily, I climbed back onto the seats and realised my pussy was so swollen sitting down hurt. I was wet, wetter than I had ever been in my life. I shook, and now understood the concept of the fetish the way I had wanted to understand it, not on an intellectual level but on a bodily one. My pussy was aching, heated and I groaned in pain as I moved on my seat, straightening out my dress, hiding my dishevelled hair with my scarf. I was yearning to be fucked, needed to be fucked, needed to be taken by him.
I looked into his eyes and without a word, he kissed me, tasted his own piss from my mouth and moaned, shuddering in lust just as much as I did.
"Laura Erika Barring, you are magnificent," he laughed into my mouth and pulled back just in time before the conductor arrived.
8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it.
I still don't think I'm that great at dialogue, although I've improved at it in the past few years. I used to avoid dialogue like the plague, because it's so hard to try and get the characters to sound like themselves and I'm much better at internal reflection. But let's see... I originally wanted to choose the scene where Laura slaps Torsten out of his piano emos, but wanted to try something else. Namely, Stratagem. This one was hard as hell to write because Renault is one of the most famously witty little shits in movie history, but I think I managed to capture him in bits. This is long, but anyway:
"Do you like her?" I asked, lighting another cigarette.
"Well, I--" flustered, he busied himself stumping his.
"I thought you might," I said breezily. "All blonde and Aryan. Very good at obeying men's wishes, by the looks of it."
"Quite," Strasser said diplomatically, lighting another cigarette with shaking hands.
"I must apologise for not having had a chance to offer you the hospitality befitting your rank, Major," I crooned. "I hope this will make up for it. Do you know why I chose a Frenchwoman, and a refugee at that?" I asked, moving my hand to rest in my lap, stroking my erection blatantly, now.
"Well?" Strasser all but croaked, his eyes wide, now, as he followed my fingertips.
"Pregnancy would be such an inconvenience to a girl on the run, so they are familiar with... alternative methods of taking a man." I waved my hand dismissively. "Oh, but you're a man of the world, Major; I need not elaborate. Besides, I must profess a certain fondness for the derrière." I blew a ring of smoke into my dramatic pause. "How about you, Heinrich?"
Well, I had been expecting the whimper, but not what followed it. His knees hit the floor and there he was, Major Strasser of the Third Reich with his head between my legs, nuzzling my erection. God, he was pathetic, more pathetic than I could ever have hoped for, sniffing, mewling, so ashamed of himself he couldn't look me in the eye and I loved that. Oh, I can't lie: there is a touch of the sadist to Louis Renault, too, and my cock ached as I sunk my hand into what was left of Strasser's hair.
"So soon, Heinrich?" I tutted, forcing him to look up at me. "Only on the second date, too?"
He dug his cock out of his trousers, huffing, snarling through his moustache. "You little bastard."
"Not so little where it counts, as you can see," I grinned and swatted his hand away from my fly. God, his own cock--from what I could see from his pumping of it--was purpling, so packed with blood he must have been in pain. And look, there, even a little dribble at the tip, sliding over his white knuckles! Helpless arousal, or advanced venereal disease? I placed my hopes on the former instead of the latter.
"Do you want it, then, Heinrich? Hmm?" I asked him in my most saccharine voice.
"Yes," he barked, trying to undo my fly again, and once more I had to force his hand away, tighten my fist in his hair. And oh, the way he winced! The filthy bastard was clearly enjoying it, even if his voice was now but a low, metallic creak. "Stop playing games."
"But I need you to tell me what you want, Heinrich," I said in a calm, ever-patient teacher's voice. "Do you want to suck my cock?" I asked him, a jolt of heat pulsing through my erection as I said the words.
"Yes," he spat, struggling, panting in my grip.
"Yes, what?"
His eyes flashed with delicious hatred, his entire body shivering from humiliation and arousal. "Yes, I want to suck your cock. Happy, now?"
I reeled, drunk from my power, drunk; yet I wanted to milk this moment for all its worth. "Ask nicely."
He whimpered through his nose, closing his eyes in shame, clawing at my thighs, now. "Stop making this into something more complicated than it is!"
"No, no, no, my boy. Didn't you hear me?"
And upon the most suicidal of impulses, I slapped his cheek. The vilest of insults, enough to send me in front of a firing squad, yet he allowed it--the sheer outrageousness of this made my balls jump. You see, it was the lightest of taps, yet the shock of it made him drip onto the floor. He only stared at me, the big cat I had just poked with a sharp stick, so desperate for his piece of meat he would do anything to get it. Oh, but this was beautiful.
"Look me in the eye and say it," I said, lightly, raising my hand again, and God, God, he actually considered it. He thought of disobeying, that's how much he craved not just the cock, but punishment. The famous German fetish for discipline, perhaps? Or maybe it was the guilt he felt for his leanings? It was quite likely both, yet I wasn't going to let him have his cake so easily.
Oh, no. This was just the apéritif in what I intended to make a full four-course meal.
"I am waiting, Heinrich," I sing-songed.
"I can have you thrown into a concentration camp for this," he snarled.
Ah--a phrase so automatic I knew it for but the dying spasm of his defiance. Yet there was no time for hesitation, here; therefore, I slapped him again. "But you won't. Say it."
He looked up at me, his forehead scrunched up in a thousand wrinkles, his cornflower-blues watering, his tongue trembling in his mouth. "Please," he lisped. "Please let me suck your cock." With a dry sob in his throat, he let his lashes fall to his cheeks. "Captain."
Ten thousand volts hit my balls in that word, and groaning deep from my guts, I pressed his face into my crotch and rubbed. I clutched his head with both hands and thrust, dizzy from his sobs, letting him smell all that he wanted to smell on me, the pussy and the sperm and the piss. "You can have all of it, my dear Heinrich," I snarled, "all of it, God--"
15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?
So many of them are all about what happens inside the characters' heads and how they feel, so it'd be impossible to film that. I've said it before, but Ghazal would look great. Even though even that wouldn't be as beautiful without the internal reflections. And of course, I'd love to see some of my favourite erotic scenes filmed, if only to see Jaffar licking the Princess while fingering her arse and the Princess squirting all over his face |-{) Or the shadows of the leaves flitting over Jaffar's face as he looms over the Princess in the forest in the wilderness sex scene... hnnfngbhgh. And I certainly wouldn't mind seeing Basil Rathbone and Connie giving her DP in The Cloven Tree and and Torsten bouncing on cocks and screaming while tarted up in drag, or Torsten in his corset dominating Laura while they're in Paris and Bonita Granville in a tight white suit with a fox tail buttplug and-- x____x
Yeah. I mean, some of the visuals would be super-exciting, but mostly, they would never be able to capture the inner depth of those things, and that sucks. Actually, Stratagem is so straightforward and so emotionless and more about snark and dialogue and bitching and revenge that it might actually work as a short sex movie? But would it be filmed in Technicolor or B/W? How much pussy do we have to ply Claude Rains with so that he'll agree to do it? Connie would do it for free if he could a) make the Nazis look as dumb as they are and b) get bummed by Rains, so we would have no trouble there.
17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?
I can't really write out of order. Sometimes, I have to type down some small snippets that will happen in forthcoming chapters (in Devilry 3, that meant some notes on the orgies they had just before dying and writing down the gist of their farewell letters), but I can never write out of order because it'd drive me nuts. That, and the story keeps changing as it goes, so I would have even more hard work ahead of me trying to get the other stuff to fit afterwards, and I can never sacrifice a scene and hate changing things too much once they're written down, so urrrfghnnfgh. No. That'd just be nightmarish and hellish and all kinds of other awful things.
23. If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?
I think I'd rewrite Falcon so that it'd be chaptered and more like a proper pair of novels. I'd probably expand the first one to make it a bit larger and vaster and novel-y and that it'd have a better rhythm. It's hard to find bits where to pause right now, which is lame when you're reading a longfic. I really didn't know how to write chaptered fic back then, and it bugs me, as the Falcon series is my best work anyway. But it sure as hell could use better... not pacing per se, but just breathers.
P.S. STILL taking questions over on the original post, so don't hesitate to ask. I'm running low on fic fuel and need to be distracted by things.
3. Is there a trope you wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole?
MPREG. Or regular pregnancy/baby/kiddie tropes in general, TBH. Or infantilist fetishes like that adult baby nappies crap *shudder*. And I think that squick is also partially behind my aversion towards the RL-typical straight male sub stuff where the guys basically act like whiny children. I should probably write an essay on the differences between that and little girl/older man ageplay and why one squicks me and the other attracts me, but yeah, these would be the tropes. Also most typical chick flick tropes, I guess. I just had someone complimenting me on the way I wrote Yassamin in Defy Not The Stars as not being too insecure the way many female romance characters are, although I don't think she's that radical a departure, TBH. I didn't set out to write her as some super-strong character, though, but in the end, I don't want to write characters into useless idiots either. So I'd say you wouldn't find me writing the superhuman ball-busting heroine who is always right and always in charge, nor would I ever want to write simple, bumbling guys who would be completely useless without said heroine either just to make a point or something. And while my fic is inherently feminist and queer in many ways, it's never going to be ~representative~ or about some paragons nor is it going to be politically correct either. So, yeah. There are so many other tropes that come to mind, but I'm veering off topic already.
7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you've written and explain why you're proud of it.
Fucksticks. This is difficult, because so many of them are so long and need context. And there are so many to choose from, because I hone everything so thoroughly that I have reason to be proud of many of them. Like, I'd want to use the entire pier scene from the first chapter of Devilry, but it'd be way too long to use here. And I could use something beautiful and lyrical and poetic and profound and spiritual from the Falcon stories, but fuckit. I'm going to choose porn. So you get the scene of Torsten and Laura on the train from the very start of the first story when he first initiates her into their favourite fetish. Because I'm proud of the shock it still carries and of the rush of it, the movement of the train, the haste, the speed of it, the sheer overwhelming WHATTHEFUCKARETHEYDOING-ness of it and the general gobsmackingness of Torsten's madness. When she first realises exactly how hardcore he is, and also her immediately matching that perversity of his, too, showing him she is just as bad as he is--or worse, as it turns out. So, yeah, here we go. Long, but it's still one of the most shockingly intense and most erotic and most power-dynamic-y scenes I've ever written.
He clinked his glass against mine. "To Satan." He downed his drink in one swallow; his eyes glittered with dark mirth as he licked his lips. "And to all deeds deemed evil, wicked, wrong."
I followed suit, the whisky burning my mouth and my throat, sweet as hellfire.
We sat there for the two hours, chatted, smoked, drank. He drank mostly whisky, I drank mostly soda, wanting to avoid a hangover the next morning. By the time it was five to midnight, the whisky had made me slouch and I had rested my head on his lap. I was curled up on the seats, facing his stomach. He was wearing a suit of dark wool, pinstriped, warm. He smelled wonderful, of patchouli and musk, and I wanted to fall asleep in his lap, nevermind the sleeping car.
He petted my hair and tutted. "You're pressing on my bladder. I need to piss."
I moved my head onto his thighs. "Delicate as ever. There's a toilet in the next car; I saw it on my way here."
He ground his cigarette into the ashtray. "I don't think you understood me, my dear. I need to piss." He unzipped his trousers and took out his cock. "Open your mouth."
I stared at him, at his cock, then back up at him. "Are you joking?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" he tightened his hand in my hair and put on a mocking, girlish voice. "I want to be perverse," he whined, throwing my own words back at me. "If you want it so much, what's keeping you?"
I had wanted to see his cock, feel his cock, take it into my mouth, but not like this. I stared at it, fat but limp, the foreskin drooping like the skin at the end of a sausage. It was ugly, wrinkled, not at all like the bold and beautiful hard phalluses I'd seen in books both artistic and pornographic. But had my desire to fondle it, mouth it in the usual context been normal, too normal?
He let go of my hair with a tug and pushed me off his thighs. "Get on your knees."
My heart was pounding. It was a fetish he was now offering me, an act not normally considered sexual sexualised, turned into an act of power. This, I'd read about, talked to him about in our letters; why, this very night in this very compartment we had discussed the concept. But not this act, nothing this extreme--I never could have imagined he would begin my education with this. He stared into my eyes, looking at me as if he was giving me one last chance. The train was slowing down and the lights from inhabitation were already flashing past us. It was three minutes to midnight, three minutes until we pulled up at the next stop.
I slid down to my knees and took his cock into my mouth.
He let out a deep sigh, a laugh, as if he was watching a dream come true--perhaps this was one of the thwarted dreams he had been talking about. With a groan, he let go. His piss tasted sharp, bitter, salty, stinging my mouth as I swallowed it down. Every last golden drop of pleasure, I thought and moaned around his cock at the realisation. This was what I had wanted, this, this sharp, salty sin now pouring down my throat. What could be more perfectly perverse than this? My uncle--no, my Daddy, now pissing in his sweet little daughter's mouth in public.
As I knelt there I felt a flash of power, of my own power in what I was now giving him, since it was I who allowed him to get away with this. Us not being caught depended on me: on how fast I could swallow his piss, on how well I could tighten my lips around his cock so as not to spill a drop. He went slow, slow, the panic rising in me as the train approached the station. I counted seconds and was past sixty when the train's whistle blew. I screamed around his hardening cock in alarm, sucking it as fast as I could, but he had finished. I swallowed, panted, watched as he tucked himself back into his trousers.
Hastily, I climbed back onto the seats and realised my pussy was so swollen sitting down hurt. I was wet, wetter than I had ever been in my life. I shook, and now understood the concept of the fetish the way I had wanted to understand it, not on an intellectual level but on a bodily one. My pussy was aching, heated and I groaned in pain as I moved on my seat, straightening out my dress, hiding my dishevelled hair with my scarf. I was yearning to be fucked, needed to be fucked, needed to be taken by him.
I looked into his eyes and without a word, he kissed me, tasted his own piss from my mouth and moaned, shuddering in lust just as much as I did.
"Laura Erika Barring, you are magnificent," he laughed into my mouth and pulled back just in time before the conductor arrived.
8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it.
I still don't think I'm that great at dialogue, although I've improved at it in the past few years. I used to avoid dialogue like the plague, because it's so hard to try and get the characters to sound like themselves and I'm much better at internal reflection. But let's see... I originally wanted to choose the scene where Laura slaps Torsten out of his piano emos, but wanted to try something else. Namely, Stratagem. This one was hard as hell to write because Renault is one of the most famously witty little shits in movie history, but I think I managed to capture him in bits. This is long, but anyway:
"Do you like her?" I asked, lighting another cigarette.
"Well, I--" flustered, he busied himself stumping his.
"I thought you might," I said breezily. "All blonde and Aryan. Very good at obeying men's wishes, by the looks of it."
"Quite," Strasser said diplomatically, lighting another cigarette with shaking hands.
"I must apologise for not having had a chance to offer you the hospitality befitting your rank, Major," I crooned. "I hope this will make up for it. Do you know why I chose a Frenchwoman, and a refugee at that?" I asked, moving my hand to rest in my lap, stroking my erection blatantly, now.
"Well?" Strasser all but croaked, his eyes wide, now, as he followed my fingertips.
"Pregnancy would be such an inconvenience to a girl on the run, so they are familiar with... alternative methods of taking a man." I waved my hand dismissively. "Oh, but you're a man of the world, Major; I need not elaborate. Besides, I must profess a certain fondness for the derrière." I blew a ring of smoke into my dramatic pause. "How about you, Heinrich?"
Well, I had been expecting the whimper, but not what followed it. His knees hit the floor and there he was, Major Strasser of the Third Reich with his head between my legs, nuzzling my erection. God, he was pathetic, more pathetic than I could ever have hoped for, sniffing, mewling, so ashamed of himself he couldn't look me in the eye and I loved that. Oh, I can't lie: there is a touch of the sadist to Louis Renault, too, and my cock ached as I sunk my hand into what was left of Strasser's hair.
"So soon, Heinrich?" I tutted, forcing him to look up at me. "Only on the second date, too?"
He dug his cock out of his trousers, huffing, snarling through his moustache. "You little bastard."
"Not so little where it counts, as you can see," I grinned and swatted his hand away from my fly. God, his own cock--from what I could see from his pumping of it--was purpling, so packed with blood he must have been in pain. And look, there, even a little dribble at the tip, sliding over his white knuckles! Helpless arousal, or advanced venereal disease? I placed my hopes on the former instead of the latter.
"Do you want it, then, Heinrich? Hmm?" I asked him in my most saccharine voice.
"Yes," he barked, trying to undo my fly again, and once more I had to force his hand away, tighten my fist in his hair. And oh, the way he winced! The filthy bastard was clearly enjoying it, even if his voice was now but a low, metallic creak. "Stop playing games."
"But I need you to tell me what you want, Heinrich," I said in a calm, ever-patient teacher's voice. "Do you want to suck my cock?" I asked him, a jolt of heat pulsing through my erection as I said the words.
"Yes," he spat, struggling, panting in my grip.
"Yes, what?"
His eyes flashed with delicious hatred, his entire body shivering from humiliation and arousal. "Yes, I want to suck your cock. Happy, now?"
I reeled, drunk from my power, drunk; yet I wanted to milk this moment for all its worth. "Ask nicely."
He whimpered through his nose, closing his eyes in shame, clawing at my thighs, now. "Stop making this into something more complicated than it is!"
"No, no, no, my boy. Didn't you hear me?"
And upon the most suicidal of impulses, I slapped his cheek. The vilest of insults, enough to send me in front of a firing squad, yet he allowed it--the sheer outrageousness of this made my balls jump. You see, it was the lightest of taps, yet the shock of it made him drip onto the floor. He only stared at me, the big cat I had just poked with a sharp stick, so desperate for his piece of meat he would do anything to get it. Oh, but this was beautiful.
"Look me in the eye and say it," I said, lightly, raising my hand again, and God, God, he actually considered it. He thought of disobeying, that's how much he craved not just the cock, but punishment. The famous German fetish for discipline, perhaps? Or maybe it was the guilt he felt for his leanings? It was quite likely both, yet I wasn't going to let him have his cake so easily.
Oh, no. This was just the apéritif in what I intended to make a full four-course meal.
"I am waiting, Heinrich," I sing-songed.
"I can have you thrown into a concentration camp for this," he snarled.
Ah--a phrase so automatic I knew it for but the dying spasm of his defiance. Yet there was no time for hesitation, here; therefore, I slapped him again. "But you won't. Say it."
He looked up at me, his forehead scrunched up in a thousand wrinkles, his cornflower-blues watering, his tongue trembling in his mouth. "Please," he lisped. "Please let me suck your cock." With a dry sob in his throat, he let his lashes fall to his cheeks. "Captain."
Ten thousand volts hit my balls in that word, and groaning deep from my guts, I pressed his face into my crotch and rubbed. I clutched his head with both hands and thrust, dizzy from his sobs, letting him smell all that he wanted to smell on me, the pussy and the sperm and the piss. "You can have all of it, my dear Heinrich," I snarled, "all of it, God--"
15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?
So many of them are all about what happens inside the characters' heads and how they feel, so it'd be impossible to film that. I've said it before, but Ghazal would look great. Even though even that wouldn't be as beautiful without the internal reflections. And of course, I'd love to see some of my favourite erotic scenes filmed, if only to see Jaffar licking the Princess while fingering her arse and the Princess squirting all over his face |-{) Or the shadows of the leaves flitting over Jaffar's face as he looms over the Princess in the forest in the wilderness sex scene... hnnfngbhgh. And I certainly wouldn't mind seeing Basil Rathbone and Connie giving her DP in The Cloven Tree and and Torsten bouncing on cocks and screaming while tarted up in drag, or Torsten in his corset dominating Laura while they're in Paris and Bonita Granville in a tight white suit with a fox tail buttplug and-- x____x
Yeah. I mean, some of the visuals would be super-exciting, but mostly, they would never be able to capture the inner depth of those things, and that sucks. Actually, Stratagem is so straightforward and so emotionless and more about snark and dialogue and bitching and revenge that it might actually work as a short sex movie? But would it be filmed in Technicolor or B/W? How much pussy do we have to ply Claude Rains with so that he'll agree to do it? Connie would do it for free if he could a) make the Nazis look as dumb as they are and b) get bummed by Rains, so we would have no trouble there.
17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?
I can't really write out of order. Sometimes, I have to type down some small snippets that will happen in forthcoming chapters (in Devilry 3, that meant some notes on the orgies they had just before dying and writing down the gist of their farewell letters), but I can never write out of order because it'd drive me nuts. That, and the story keeps changing as it goes, so I would have even more hard work ahead of me trying to get the other stuff to fit afterwards, and I can never sacrifice a scene and hate changing things too much once they're written down, so urrrfghnnfgh. No. That'd just be nightmarish and hellish and all kinds of other awful things.
23. If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?
I think I'd rewrite Falcon so that it'd be chaptered and more like a proper pair of novels. I'd probably expand the first one to make it a bit larger and vaster and novel-y and that it'd have a better rhythm. It's hard to find bits where to pause right now, which is lame when you're reading a longfic. I really didn't know how to write chaptered fic back then, and it bugs me, as the Falcon series is my best work anyway. But it sure as hell could use better... not pacing per se, but just breathers.
P.S. STILL taking questions over on the original post, so don't hesitate to ask. I'm running low on fic fuel and need to be distracted by things.