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thelastchair · 4 years ago

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Powder Magazine

(Written by Sam Cox - December 28, 2020)

Growing up in Montana, my winter free time was consumed by skiing. Big Sky was the destination when I was barely old enough to walk. Eventually we made the move to Bozeman and Bridger Bowl became my second home. During the early years, my family made the trek to a handful of Warren Miller movies when they were on tour in the fall and Snow Country was the magazine subscription that landed on the coffee table. I was vaguely aware of Jackson Hole, Snowbird and Squaw Valley and my father would occasionally regale me with tales of skiing (read Après) in Germany when he was in the Army. At some level, I already understood that there was something special about Bridger, but realistically, my sphere of outside influence was quite small. Christmas of 1989 turned my entire world upside down. My aunt and uncle are longtime Salt Lake City residents and Brighton skiers. Typically they would send a package each year with the customary cookies, toffee and a card. However, this year they sent two VHS tapes and a magazine - Ski Time, Blizzard of Aahhh’s and a copy of Powder. Things would never be the same for me. Scot Schmidt became my hero, Greg Stump was taking skiing into uncharted territory and above it all, Powder created an eloquent voice for our sport and was the fabric that held things together. Even at my young age, everything that I’d intuitively sensed before was distilled into a potent desire to devote myself to the simple pursuit of being a skier.

Johan Jonsson, Engelberg, Switzerland - Photo: Mattias Fredriksson/POWDER

Powder was founded in Sun Valley by the Moe brothers in 1972 as an annual portfolio of The Other Ski Experience. After several years of running the magazine, Jake and David Moe sold Powder to the owner of Surfer Magazine. A repurposed aircraft hangar in San Juan Capistrano became the new home of skiing’s most prestigious publication. Over time, there was an ebb and flow to the size of staff and cast of characters, each person leaving their unique mark. For decades Powder weathered corporate acquisitions, office relocations and the constant metamorphosis of the ski industry - never losing its voice, Powder remained the benchmark. It was a source of creativity, inspiration and a defacto annal of history. For many it was also a shining beacon, a glimpse into a world filled with deep turns and iconic destinations - even if this world could only be inhabited inside the constructs of your imagination.

My story and the impact Powder had on the direction I would take is hardly unique. The magazine left an indelible impression on countless skiers. When the news broke this fall that operations were being suspended indefinitely, a heartbroken community took to social media to pay homage to the magazine and how it changed their lives and in some cases, careers. This is my version of a tribute and it’s definitely not perfect. In order to gain some perspective, I reached out to former staff members - a collective I admire and respect. It’s an attempt to articulate the essence of Powder, capture its influence on the skiing landscape and give credit to the people who made it come to life.

Bernie Rosow, Mammoth Mountain, CA - Photo: Christian Pondella/POWDER

HANS LUDWIG - The Jaded Local

“Skiing has always been really tribal and one of the last vestiges of having an oral history. Powder was a unique concept, because they weren’t really concerned with the family market. They were just concerned about being really into skiing. Growing up in Colorado and skiing moguls, my coaches Robert and Roger were featured in the early Greg Stump films. Being in their orbit, I knew a little bit about skiing culture and what was going on out there, but didn’t have the whole picture. The Stump films resonated with me, but Ski/Skiing Magazines didn’t really do it for me. Powder was the door that opened things culturally, it was the only entry point before Blizzard of Aahhh’s.”

“Something that nobody gives Powder credit for, is sponsoring the Greg Stump, TGR and MSP movies and giving them full support right from their inception. It legitimized those companies and helped them become one of the catalysts for change and evolution in skiing. Ultimately this change would have happened, but at a much slower pace without the support of Powder. Getting support from Powder meant they’d weeded out the posers and kooks and what they were backing wasn’t something or someone that was “aspiring” they were a cut above.”

“Powder brought a lot of things into the mainstream, raised awareness and helped to legitimize them: Jean-Marc Boivin, Patrick Vallencant, Pierre Tardivel, telemarking, monoskiing, snowboarding, the JHAF, Chamonix, La Grave, Mikaela Shiffrin, fat skis pre McConkey, skiing in South America….the list goes on.”

“I had some rowdy trips with Powder. Writing “Lost In America,” I went Utah-Montana-Fernie-Banff-Revelstoke via pickup truck, only backcountry skiing and camping in the mud. It was a month plus. I did another month plus in Nevada, which was after back to back Jackson and Silverton. Total time was two plus months. That was fucked up, I was super loose after that whole thing. So many sketchy days with total strangers”

“People forget that Powder was around long before the advent of the fucking pro skier. Starting in 1996, the magazine was in the impact zone of the ski industrial complex. There is limited space for content each season. It was a challenge to balance the pressure coming from the athletes and brands to cover something that was going to make them money vs. staying true to the Moe brothers original intent and profiling an eccentric skier, a unique location or even fucking ski racing.”

Full Circle - Photo: MJ Carroll

KEITH CARLSEN - Editor

“When I was young, Ski/Skiing didn’t do anything for my spirit, but Powder lit me up. It ignited a passion in diehard skiers and gave them a voice and community. It was focused on the counter culture - the type of people who rearrange their lives to ski. This was in direct opposition to other magazines that were targeting rich people, trying to explain technique, sell condos or highlight the amenities at a ski area.”

“Skiing has always been my outlet and mechanism to get away from things in life. My two talents are writing and photography, so I enrolled at Western State with the direct goal of landing an internship at Powder. Even at 19, I had complete focus on the direction I wanted to take. If it didn’t work out, my backup plan was to be a ski bum. 48 hours after graduating, I was headed to southern California to live in my van and start my position at Powder. When the decision was made to close the magazine, it was really personal for me. Powder had provided me direction in life for the last 30 years and I needed some time to process it. In a way, it was almost like going to a funeral for a good friend - even though it’s gone, the magazine lives on in all of us and can never be taken away.”

“It was, and will always remain, one of my life’s greatest honors to serve as the editor-in-chief for Powder Magazine. It was literally a dream that came true. I’m so grateful for everyone who came before me and everyone who served after me. That opportunity opened literally hundreds of doors for me and continues to do so today. I owe the magazine a massive debt of gratitude. Every single editor was a warrior and fought for the title with their lives. They were doing double duty - not only from competition with other publications, but the internal struggle of budget cuts, staff reductions and trying to do more with less. Powder never belonged in the hands of a corporation. The magazine spoke to an impassioned community and never made sense to an accountant or on a ledger.”

Trevor Petersen, Mt. Serratus, BC - Photo: Scott Markewitz/POWDER

SIERRA SHAFER - Editor In Chief

“Powder celebrated everything that is good and pure in skiing. It highlighted the old school, the new and the irreverent. The magazine also called bullshit when they saw it. It was a checkpoint, a cultural barometer and an honest reflection on where skiing has been and where it’s going.”

“My involvement with Powder came completely out of left field. I was never an intern or established in the ski industry. My background was strictly in journalism, I was a skier living in Southern California and editing a newspaper. I knew that I wanted to get the fuck out of LA and Powder was that opportunity. It was a huge shift going from my job and life being completely separate to work becoming my life. Literally overnight, Powder became everything - friends, connections and part of my identity. It derailed my trajectory in the best possible way.”

Brad Holmes, Donner Pass, CA - Photo: Dave Norehad/POWDER

MATT HANSEN - Executive Editor

“Keith Carlsen was a man of ideas, he had tremendous vision and influence. He came up with the ideas for Powder Week and the Powder Awards in 2001. In some respects those two events saved the magazine.”

“Powder was the soul of skiing and kept the vibe, it changed people’s lives and inspired them to move to a ski town. As a writer I always wanted to think it was the stories that did that, but in truth it was the photography. Images of skiing truly became an art form, 100% thanks to Powder Magazine and Dave Reddick. Dave cultivated and mentored photographers, he was always searching for the unpredictable image from around the world and pressed the photographers to look at things from a different angle.”

“It sounds cliche, but writing a feature about Chamonix was the highlight for me. Sitting on the plane, things were absolutely unreal. I linked up with Nate Wallace and the whole experience from start to finish was out of my comfort zone. Ducking ropes to ski overhead pow on the Pas De Chèvre, walking out of the ice tunnel on a deserted Aiguille du Midi right as the clouds parted, late nights in town that were too fuzzy to recall. The energy of the place taught me a lot. I didn’t have a smartphone and there was no Instagram - I had time to write, observe, take notes and be present with who I was and with the experience. As a writer it didn’t get any better.”

“The true gift of working for Powder, was the once in a lifetime adventures that I wish I could have shared with my family, I was so lucky to have had those opportunities. It almost brought tears to me eyes.”

Peter Romaine, Jackson Hole, WY - Photo: Wade McKoy/POWDER

DAVE REDDICK - Director of Photography

“Just ski down there and take a photo of something, for cryin’ out loud!” “I’ve found that channeling McConkey has been keeping it in perspective. Powder’s been shuttered. That sucks. What doesn’t suck is the good times and the people that have shared the ride thus far and I’m just thankful to be one of them. There’s been some really kind sentiments from friends and colleagues, but this must be said - Every editor (especially the editors), every art director (I’ve driven them nuts), every publisher and sales associate, every photographer, writer, and intern, and all the others behind the scenes who’ve ever contributed their talents get equal share of acknowledgment for carrying the torch that is Powder Mag. There’s hundreds of us! No decision has ever been made in a vacuum. Always a collective. At our best, we’ve been a reflection of skiers everywhere and of one of the greatest experiences in the world. It’s that community, and that feeling, that is Powder. I’m not sure what’s next and I’m not afraid of change but” “There’s something really cool about being scared. I don’t know what!”

Scot Schmidt, Alaska - Photo: Chris Noble/POWDER

DEREK TAYLOR - Editor

“Powder was the first magazine dedicated to the experience and not trying to teach people how to ski. It was enthusiast media focused on the soul and culture. It’s also important to highlight the impact Powder had outside of skiing - today you have the Surfer’s Journal effect where every sport wants that type of publication. However, prior to their inception, everybody wanted a version of Powder.”

“Neil Stebbins and Steve Casimiro deserve a lot of credit for the magazine retaining its voice and staying true to the core group of skiers it represented.”

“Keith Carlsen is responsible for the idea behind Super Park. This was a time when skiing had just gone through a stale phase. There was a newfound energy in park skiing and younger generations, this event helped to rebrand Powder and solidify its goal of being all inclusive. Racing, powder, park, touring - it’s all just skiing.”

Joe Sagona, Mt. Baldy, CA - Photo: Dave Reddick/POWDER

JOHNNY STIFTER - Editor In Chief

“What did Powder mean to me... Well, everything. As a reader and staffer, it inspired me and made me laugh. I learned about local cultures that felt far away and learned about far away cultures that didn’t feel foreign, if that makes sense.”

“But I cherished those late nights the most, making magazines with the small staff. Despite the deadline stress, I always felt so grateful to be working for this sacred institution and writing and editing for true skiers. We all just had so much damn fun. And it didn’t hurt meeting such passionate locals at hallowed places, like Aspen and Austria, that I once dreamed of visiting and skiing. The Powder culture is so inclusive and so fun, I never felt more alive.”

Doug Coombs, All Hail The King - Photo: Ace Kvale/POWDER

HEATHER HANSMAN - Online Editor

“Powder is a lifestyle and an interconnected circle of people. It’s about getting a job offer at Alta, opening your home to random strangers, locking your keys in your car and getting rescued by a friend you made on a trip years ago. Through the selfish activity of skiing, you can create a community of people you cherish and can depend on through highs and lows.”

Ashley Otte, Mike Wiegele Heli, BC - Photo: Dave Reddick/POWDER

The contributions of so many talented individuals made the magazine possible. I would like to express my sincere gratitude to everyone who shared their experience at Powder with me. Also, I want to thank Porter Fox and David Page for crafting inspiring feature stories that I enjoyed immensely over the years.

After the reality set in that the final issue had arrived, a void was created for generations of skiers. I’ve been focused on being thankful for what we had, rather than sad it’s gone. It’s a challenging time for print media and I wholeheartedly advocate supporting the remaining titles in anyway you can. In a culture driven by a voracious appetite for mass media consumption and instant gratification - I cherish the ritual of waiting for a magazine to arrive, appreciating the effort that went into creating the content and being able to have that physical substance in my hand. Thanks for everything Powder, you are missed, but your spirit lives on.

Captain Powder - Photo: Gary Bigham/POWDER

#skiing #powder #last chair #powder magazine #the other ski experience #the skiers magazine

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discovisiondreams · 4 years ago

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Top 15 First Watches of 2020

I’ve never been good at staying current on pop culture, and that became especially pronounced in 2020. A year where most of the anticipated theatrical releases were pushed to VOD (and the price nearly tripled) meant that a lot of flicks I was excited for got added to the end of the “Maybe Someday” watchlist.

But in this strange year, I did manage to watch 245 movies- and 195 of those were first-time watches. Some were new, only available on the (virtual) festival circuit. Some were Criterion mainstays, films I’m horrified to admit I hadn’t seen before. But this year, when movies cemented themself as my biggest joy, I began to really track what I watched- including a “top 5 first watches of the month” roundup for every month. These top 5s weren’t ranked, and weren’t even based on technical ability, strength of dialogue, or critical acclaim. They were just the 5 I loved the best.

So without further ado, here are my top 15 of the year- one selected from the top 5 of each month, with some bonus entries thrown in as well. As a general rule, I only included features on this list- I was fortunate enough to catch shorts that streamed at Chattanooga Film Fest, Celebration of Fantastic Fest, and more, but to add them to the running would have made writing this listicle absolutely impossible.

HONORABLE Honorable Mention: The Holiday. Inspired by the fine folks at Super Yaki, I finally watched this Nancy Meyers classic. Why is it two and a half hours long?! Why is that two and a half hours so significantly lacking in Jack Black?! The scenes that Black is in, though, really shine. This one is going to be a Christmas mainstay in the Disco household (and not just because I spent money on the DVD).

15: The Love Witch (Honorable Mention, April). This one came highly recommended to me by friends of all sorts, and like most of my 2020 first watches, I’m deeply embarrassed that it took me this long to get to it. Upon finally watching it, on a rainy Sunday, I described the movie in general (and the color palette, specifically) as “sumptuous,” which is one of the most complimentary visual descriptors I can bestow upon a movie. The plot felt a little convoluted at times, but I still found The Love Witch incredibly enjoyable and am hoping to explore more of writer-director Anna Biller’s filmography in 2021.

14: The Guest (Honorable Mention, October). The Guest is one of the few movies I watched multiple times this year- and the only one I watched twice in one week. From the sultry industrial soundtrack selections to the numerous visual nods to Halloween III: Season of the Witch, The guest was Extremely My Shit. The casting here is truly tremendous- especially Maika Monroe, who was similarly brilliant in It Follows. Also of note: Lance Reddick, one of my current favourite character actors.

13: The Fast and The Furious (Honorable Mention, May). 2 Fast 2 Furious (and its bespoke theme song, Act A Fool, by Ludacris) came out when I was in the 6th grade. Do you remember the music and movies that entered the world when you were in 6th grade? Do you have an inexplicable zealous love for them? 2F2F was the only film in the Fast Cinematic Universe I had seen for a long, long time. Then I saw Fate of the Furious. Then I bought the series box set, as a joke?? And then, slowly but then also all at once, I genuinely started to love this franchise. Some of them are truly ridiculous. Some of them are genuinely bad. But the first one? The Fast and The Furious (2001)? Timeless. Point Break updated and adapted for the early-aughts, The Fast and the Furious walked so The Italian Job (2003) could run. Without The Fast and The Furious, Paul Walker would just be “the guy from Tammy and The T-Rex” to millions of casual cinemagoers. The cultural impact of The Fast and The Furious simply cannot be denied!!

12: Come to Daddy (Top 5, July). Honestly, this is the exact flavor of bonkers bullshit I’ve grown to expect from Elijah Wood, and that is not an indictment. Wood’s genuine love for genre film is evident here, in what can only be described as an uncomfortable film of family, reunion, and redemption. The tense and abrasive first half gives way to a surprisingly relieving wave of violence and exposition in this critically-acclaimed flick.

11: The Stylist (Top 5, September). The feature-length debut of writer-director Jill Gevargizian, based off her short of the same name, is female-led horror that pays homage to genre mainstays like Maniac and Psycho while still being decidedly singular. Not only shot in Kansas City, but set in Kansas City, The Stylist made my midwestern heart happy. This is one that I really, really would have loved to see in a crowded theater auditorium, were this year a different one.

10: In The Mouth of Madness (Top 5, March). Despite being the beginning of pandemic awareness, March was a slow month for me, movie-wise (even though it’s not like I had anything else going on??). But I finally made time for this Carpenter classic, and I’m so happy I did. I’ve long been fascinated by stories about stories, and the people who find themselves trapped within those stories, and this one is truly, in the most basic sense of the word, horrifying. Sam Neill proves that he belongs in horror here, making his role in Event Horizon seem like a natural fit. Also a highlight: noted character actor David Warner, best known (to me) as “Billy Zane’s bodyguard guy in Titanic,” who never ever fails to be unsettling.

9: Profondo Rosso (Top 5, April). Before this year, my only Argento exposure was Suspiria (which is phenomenal), but Deep Red goes off the deep end in all the best ways. The score (by frequent Argento collaborators Goblin) is truly groovy. The number of twists and turns the plot takes is kind of mind-boggling, but also delightful. Daria Nicolodi (RIP) is at the top of her acting game here. This quickly became one of my beloved background movies- if I opened Shudder and Profondo Rosso was playing on one of their live-streaming channels, it stayed on while I was cleaning or cooking or paying bills. Profondo Rosso is a must-watch for those hoping to get into giallo.

8: Crimson Peak (Top 5, November). This one was definitely not what I was expecting, but it was GORGEOUS. I loved the world immediately (a Del Toro trademark, to be honest). As a longtime Pacific Rim stan, it made my heart happy to see Charlie Hunnam and Burn Gorman reunited under Guillermo Del Toro’s vision.

7: Palm Springs (Top 5, August). I am not typically a time-travel movie enthusiast- but I am a sucker for witty repartee and Andy Samberg. This one made me ugly-cry, which I should probably be a bit more ashamed to admit. August had a lot of really great first watches, but the Hulu exclusive takes the cake due to its novel premise, some truly heart-wrenching reveals, and the amazing casting (is there anything JK Simmons cant do?).

6: Scare Package (Top 5, May). Is there any format I love more than the horror anthology? While there have been so many over the years (Creepshow, All the Creatures Were Stirring), Scare Package might be my favourite of them all. A variety of fun and inventive stories combined with a genre-lovers dream of an overarching narrative make this one a must-see- in fact, it was the whole reason I bought a pass to this year’s online version of Chattanooga Film Fest. There’s a cameo here that absolutely knocked my socks off (and continued to do so even on repeat viewings). While the scares here are honestly minimal, Scare Package is a great love letter to the genre at large.

5: Do The Right Thing (Top 5, June). Yes, it took me until 2020 to watch Do The Right Thing for the first time. The palpable tension, the interwoven stories of Bed-Stuy’s residents, all seem timeless. Giancarlo Esposito is, as always, a joy to watch.

4: Knives Out (Top 5, February). “It’s a Rian Johnson whodunnit, duh,” states the SuperYaki! T-shirt famously worn by Jamie Lee Curtis, star of Knives Out (2019). This one has received worlds of critical acclaim, I truly do not know what I could even hope to add to the conversation. I want more old-school murder mystery cinema.

3: The VelociPastor (Top 5, January). It should be testimonial enough that The VelociPastor beat out Miss Americana, Netflix’s Taylor Swift documentary, as the top pick for January- but in case it isn’t, let me end 2020 the way I began it; by evangelizing the HECK out of this movie. Written and directed by up-and-coming triple-threat (Director/songwriter/prolific cat-photo-poster) Brendan Steere, The VelociPastor is a true love letter to genre cinema, complete with a big wink to the criminally underloved Miami Connection. Alyssa Kempinski shines as Carol, a doctor/lawyer/hooker with a heart of gold. The VelociPastor premiered in 2019 but gained tons of attention in 2020 (thanks in part to YouTube sensation Cody Ko)- attention that it truly deserves. A sequel is rumored to be in the works, but mark my words, anything to come from the imagination of Brendan Steere will be worth a watch.

2: Dinner in America (Top 5, October). I genuinely feel sorry for the other movies I watched in October (there were a lot) (they were all SO GOOD). Dinner in America, which I caught during the Nightstream hybrid festival, was not at all what I was expecting. While the other features were all very solidly genre flicks, this was…. A comedy? A modern love story?? I’mn honestly still not exactly sure, but I do know I loved every second of it. I laughed. I cried. I threw my hands up in the air exuberantly (in front of my laptop, looking like a true fool). I did not shut up about this movie online for weeks. I told anyone and everyone that Kyle Gallner is the most underrated actor of my generation and I still believe it! Dinner in America, the story of a punk band frontman who unwittingly takes refuge from the police in the home of his biggest fan, was an unexpectedly heartwarming tale of family, young love, and arson. Watch it as soon as you can.

1: Promising Young Woman (Top 5, December). This last-minute debut from Emerald Fennell, originally scheduled to hit theaters in April of this year, finally made its way to the big screen on Christmas Day, and became the 2020 entry on my annual “Christmas Day Trip to the Theater” list.* Carey Mulligan is an icon and deserves all of the awards for this. The soundtrack is sublime. The casting choices are truly incredible. While I have no doubt that the general themes of the movie will be polarizing, I absolutely loved this one- I sat in my car in the theater parking lot for a WHILE, considering just buying a ticket for the next showtime- that’s how badly I felt like I needed to see it again immediately. I look forward to writing its inevitable Criterion essay.

*Nobody else in rural iowa was interested in seeing this movie at noon on Christmas Day. I’m shocked.

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wiiired · 4 years ago

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Season 2 Awards

We’ve finished Season 2! Like last time, I thought it’d be fun to make a bracket of my favorite and least favorite moments, once again relying on Way Down in the Hole for the categories. So, without further ado, the best and worst of Season 2.

Best and Worst Boss: I’m going to give both of these to Frank Sobotka. There’s nobody more invested in the well-being of his union -- from bribing politicians to ratting on the Greeks to keep his men away from criminal charges, Sobotka was willing to do anything to protect IBS Local 1514. Over the course of the season, we see him be incredibly generous with union workers, gifting them cash when they’re in a hard spot, and drinking with them at the local bar. But Frank is also the reason that police attention falls on the union; while you can’t blame him for Stan Valchek’s personal grudge, he’s absolutely blameworthy for getting in deep with a criminal organization. Ultimately, Frank was too short-sighted to be a good boss, and his insistence in maintaining the status quo rather than looking for ways to adapt was ultimately his downfall. Of course, his downfall also cost the union its freedom -- in the final montage of S2E12, we see that IBS has been taken over by the feds.

Best Couple: My favorite couple is one that never happened -- Frank and Beadie (making my case: 1, 2). I’m a sucker for yearning looks, and there were definitely some looks traded between the union boss and local cop. They seemed to genuinely care about each other, beyond a friendly smile at the port or in the bar. One of the most memorable scenes of Season 2 is when Beadie confronts Frank and asks him to talk to the cops. Frank confesses to her that he thought he was doing the wrong thing for the right reasons, and Beadie says, “There are different types of wrong.” I feel like they could’ve been a couple that mutually supported each other -- Frank the stable union presence for Beadie’s kids, giving Beadie more flexibility to find the career she’s looking for. Alas, the Greeks ruined that one for me.

Worst Couple: Nick Sobotka and Aimee. Nick just isn’t ready to settle down. He isn’t making enough money to support a family, and while he loves his child he isn’t enough of a presence to be there for her. Not to mention, he abandons Aimee in his parents’ home and spends the night with Prissy rather than seeking comfort from his significant other. Aimee deserves better than this man who brought trouble onto himself, and consequently made her life more difficult (the three of them got dragged into Witness Protection thanks to Nick’s Greek connections). I say time to move on.

Favorite Quote: Any of the nicknames for Jimmy while he was riding the boat. Sailor Boy, Little Man in the Canoe, Captain Chesapeake, McNulty the Sailor Man, and my favorite, Prince of Tides.

File This Away for Later Moment: Stringer’s encounter with Brother Mouzone. The way that Brother Mouzone sees straight through Stringer -- remember that. Mouzone will be making an appearance in Season 3.

Rookie of the Year: Ziggy. On Way Down in the Hole, Van Lathan pointed out that Ziggy is a character who always provokes an emotional reaction; love him or hate him, you feel some kind of way when he shows up. Personally, I found my growing tolerance for Ziggy growing over the course of the season, and on a rewatch I was more attentive to the way he’s treated by Nick and Frank. It’s hard not to feel sorry for the class clown who just wanted some respect, and couldn’t get it, stuck in a job where he couldn’t succeed and ignored by his own father. Over a single season, Ziggy evolves from union jester to booster extraordinaire to convicted murderer, all because he couldn’t find his spot. Hopefully he’ll have time to change in prison, and he’ll be able to start over once he gets out.

Six M(e)n of the Year: Jemele Hill and Van Lathan picked Herc and Carver, and I have to agree. No one was a more consistent B plot than Police Brutality 1 & 2 (Jemele’s nickname for them): Herc’s pestering of Kima to join the team, and then getting Daniels to bring Carver on board, too; the bug-tennis ball-Fuzzy Dunlop subplot; those brief seconds where the two of them struggled to bring that air conditioner up the stairs; constant car surveillance and that amazing scene with the french fries (”You think I’m fat?”). I’ve always liked Herc and Carver because I think they’re funny, but I felt guiltier about it last season because they were unquestionably the cops most likely to beat someone up. This season, they’re the perfect combination of scheming yet inept and well-positioned as comic relief.

Favorite Scene: It’s either D’Angelo’s death in S2E6 or the scene in S2E11 where Beadie asks Frank to talk to the cops. First, D’Angelo’s death is dramatic because it’s so sudden -- everything is going well, and then thirty seconds later D’Angelo’s on the floor with a belt around his neck. The first time I watched S2E6 I didn’t actually believe that D’Angelo had died -- it wasn’t until the next episode that I understood he’d actually been killed off. Not to mention, D’Angelo was season 1′s moral compass, so losing him was pretty upsetting. Second, the scene between Beadie and Frank -- well, I’m just a romantic for them. Whether they should’ve been together or just good friends, you can’t deny how well Amy Ryan and Chris Bauer act emotional. I felt Frank’s regret for everything he’d done, even more so because I knew what was going to happen to him. And, yes, I think this scene is proof why Beadie and Frank would’ve been a good couple. While Beadie was there for a reason, she was the only person who was able to comfort Frank and understand why he made the choices that he did, and Beadie was the only person Frank was able to open up to. Maybe in an alternate universe, Frank comes clean, helps the cops nab the Greeks before they sail off on fraudulent passports, and Beadie drives him home, where with Ziggy in jail he decides he’s going to start anew. The two of them load his truck with suitcases, pick up Beadie’s kids, and drive off into the sunset.

Best Performance: Nick Sobotka. It’s hard to make a thieving, racist dockworker sympathetic, but Pablo Schreiber did it. Jemele Hill points out that Nick is the most openly racist of the dockworkers; despite working with and seemingly befriending black fellow dockworkers, Nick consistently uses the n-word, and in S2E7 gives an infamous speech to Frog, reminding them that they’re both white. Yet we also see Nick struggling to survive: living in his parents’ basement, giving money to his girlfriend when he can, and being affectionate with his daughter. He turns to crime because he can’t make enough money at his straight job. Nick Sobotka’s character is a masterful ruse to get white audience members, who may have resisted empathizing with the Barksdales, to see drug sellers as human. I also have to shout out Pablo Schreiber for being (a) very cute, (b) 6′5″, and (c) apparently very talented at playing believably nasty characters -- he won an Emmy for Orange is the New Black as George “Pornstache” Mendez, an abusive corrections officer who exacts sex from inmates in return for drugs he smuggles in. I guess post-Emmy he’s in demand, most recently playing Mad Sweeney on American Gods.

Stringer Bell Fuckboy Award: There are two options, both of them defensible. It’s either the scene where Stringer seduces Donette, or when he’s over there later playing with D’Angelo’s kid while Donette makes him dinner. Personally, I’d pick the latter. Not only are Stringer and Donette holding hands in front of D’Angelo’s son, but Stringer actually picks up the (world’s cutest) baby and bad-mouths D’Angelo to him! Classic fuckboy.

Favorite Trivia: Apparently, Lance Reddick (Cedric Daniels) hated Dominic West (Jimmy McNulty). In real life, Reddick and West are somewhat like their TV personalities -- Reddick is quieter and more reserved while West is very chatty and extraverted. In All the Pieces Matter, Reddick admitted that he found West rather annoying and avoided him outside of work.

MVP: Beadie Russell. Instrumental to the plot, growing exponentially from day-jobber in S2E1 to certified good police in S2E12, and maybe the kindest character on the show. A single mother supporting herself and two kids, it’s hard not to root for Beadie, who became a cop after realizing she couldn’t feed her family on a toll-taker’s salary. She also gets a disproportionate number of the season’s most quotable lines, from “What they need is a union” to “World just keeps turning, right?,” probably because she represents the viewer’s perspective (taking over from gone-too-soon D’Angelo Barksdale). While her weakness for McNulty will get her in trouble, I’m glad we’ll see the return of Beadie in Seasons 4 and 5.

That was fun y’all. Here’s my bracket for Season 1.

#season 2 awards #s2 #mine #text #the wire

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thenerdparty · 5 years ago

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John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum - Film Review

Written by Shawn Eastridge

Five years ago I heard about an action movie in which Keanu Reeves played a master assassin seeking revenge on the men who killed his puppy. I thought it was a joke. Turns out, it was one of the best action films of the decade. Two years later, John Wick Chapter 2 rolled around, taking things to the next level with more amazing action sequences and an impressive amount of worldbuilding. While it wasn’t as fresh as its predecessor, it still got the job done and ended with a thrilling cliffhanger that left me excited for more.

Now here we are with John Wick Chapter 3: Parabellum, which might very well be the best of the bunch. Everything great about the first two films is amplified and refined to perfection. At a little over two hours, Chapter 3 never out-stays its welcome thanks to outstanding choreography and a wide variety of settings and scenarios for the brutal carnage on display. There’s plenty of breathing room to allow for this world’s finer details to shine through. These moments provide some relief, but for the most part the film is relentless in its divvying out of one adrenaline rush of an action sequence after another.

One of the great joys of cinema is when an action scene is executed with flawless finesse. Chapter 3 gives us multiple action set pieces that would serve as the showstopper for any one action film. It’s an embarrassment of riches. Even more impressive I rarely felt fatigued. Each fight is carefully choreographed and staged based on John’s surroundings, bring something fresh to the table each time. That this freshness is maintained through the entire runtime is impressive to say the least.

Part of the key to the film’s success is Reeves himself. Reprising this role for the third time, Reeves exudes an aura of effortless cool and world-weariness tinged with bits of humor and an undercurrent of tragedy that makes him so endearing. His willingness to throw himself into these stunts, to fully devote himself to the action only helps. Note how many fight sequences play out in wide shots and long takes so you can clearly see Reeves is the one doing the fighting.

Returning cast members Ian McShane, Lance Reddick and Laurence Fishburne are a delight, as are the new additions. First and foremost, Mark Dacascos is an absolute treat to watch. He makes for one of the most lovable baddies this franchise has offered up as of yet. Anjelica Huston shows up, lending her elegant gravitas to a small but effective role. Also joining the fray is Halle Berry, and to say she kicks ass in this movie is an understatement. She holds her own, matching Reeves’ penchant for amazing stuntwork. And hey, wait a second, is that Yayan Ruhian and Cecep Arif Rahman from The Raid films? Yes, PLEASE.

Of course, another vital ingredient to the film’s success is Chad Stahelski’s masterful direction. The guy made his feature debut with the first John Wick and his talents have only grown more refined which each entry. His direction on Chapter 3 feels even more confident and assured. He knows exactly how to frame these fight scenes to ensure they’re at their most effective and he trusts his insanely talented stunt team to deliver the goods. Boy oh boy, do they. Aiding the visual appeal is returning cinematographer Dan Laustsen (The Shape of Water, Crimson Peak), whose sensibilities create a neon, comic book style world that feels both fantastical and totally grounded. He outdoes himself here.

Some might complain about the lack of stakes. I get it. John Wick is, after all, seemingly unkillable. But he doesn’t earn his victories without immense struggle. You feel every bone-crunching blow and that effort, plus the brilliant choreography and staging, kept me engaged. And perhaps the most pleasant surprise? This franchise doesn’t show any signs of stopping. Thank God for that. Maybe someday these films will start to overstay their welcome, but that day seems a long way off. I, for one, am ready for another go. Long live Mr. Wick.

#John Wick #Keanu Reeves #John Wick Chapter 3 #Parabellum #Halle Berry #Mark Dacascos #Chad Stahelski #Film Review #Film Appreciation #Films #Movies #The Raid

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angelofberlin2000 · 6 years ago

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Scott Mendelson Senior Contributor

Hollywood & Entertainment

I cover the film industry.

Photo by Niko Tevernise - © Lionsgate

The question at the heart of Thunder Road and 87Eleven’s John Wick: Chapter 3 – Parabellum, opening courtesy of Summit and Lionsgate next Thursday night, is “Why bother?” That’s not a critical statement, but a thematic acknowledgment that we’re watching a man who probably deserves to die run, fight and kill for his life. You can (and perhaps should) enjoy this third chapter, in what the arguably the best “new” action franchise of the decade, on a purely visceral level. However, the screenplay, courtesy of Derek Kolstad, Shay Hatten, Chris Collins and Marc Abrams, doesn’t ignore the pivotal questions. Does John Wick deserve to live? Why does the famed hitman, who came out of retirement to avenge a puppy, continue to fight with so little left for which to live?

Once again directed by Chad Stahelski, this third and not-necessarily-final chapter in the John Wick saga (no spoilers, but it’s not like the world implodes at the end) continues to peel back the layers on our protagonist. The first film offered the easy fantasy of a reformed hitman slaughtering countless men to avenge a dog (and, implicitly, to avenge his wife who had just succumbed to cancer), while the sequel expanded on the worldbuilding while crafting a story where Wick’s targets were less conveniently diabolical and his thus vengeance was less morally absolute. This time out, it’s almost entirely self-defense, as Wick’s reckless actions have put a bounty on his head. Even so, there is collateral damage and cruel judgment awaiting those willing to help our anti-hero.

Courtesy of cinematographer Dan Lausten (who shot John Wick Chapter 2), this is once again a gorgeous-looking motion picture. The film may have cost around $55 million (compared to the $30 million-to-$40 million budgets of the first two), but it looks every bit as polished as the biggest-scaled James Bond or Mission: Impossible movie. This is digital photography at its finest, offering blinding richness and a polished European high-art palette for what is arguably a grindhouse actioner. The mix is intoxicating. The original John Wick distinguished itself from its VOD peers partially by the sheer beauty of Jonathan Sela’s compositions, and that continues here on an even more mouthwatering scale. If you have a trusted IMAX or Dolby Cinema auditorium available next week, spend the money.

If it’s action you crave, well, the first 30 minutes are as relentless and punishing as you can imagine, albeit delivered in a way that emphasizes the choreography and geography over sheer bloodshed. More so than any other film save for maybe Edge of Tomorrow or Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle, this film looks and feels like a living video game. That’s not a criticism, as the fluid action sequences benefit from a relative lack of trickery. Evan Schiff’s editing emphasizes, rather than hides, the actual actors and stuntmen performing often insane feats of violence. While there is plenty of gunplay, there is also a bit more variety to the carnage. Along with shootouts, we get knife fights, chase sequences fisticuffs and animal-assisted murder.

There is, especially in the first act, a certain video game sensibility, as John encounters one distinct group of opponents and dispatches them only to run into a different batch of assassins in a different location who must be taken out in a slightly different manner. It’s not quite Double Dragon, but that’s what came to mind. Yes, there is a bit of character work here and there, including a few visits with folks (Angelica Houston and Halle Berry among others) from Wick’s pre-retirement past. Berry shows up in the second act and the big middle-of-the-movie action sequence (involving at least a few dogs) is a triumph of intricate action staging and editing that is a wonder to behold no matter how thin the narrative justification might be.

Ian McShane and Lance Reddick return while Asia Kate Dillon (as a ruthless “adjudicator”) and Mark Dacascos is a trip as the primary antagonist. He’s not necessarily a villain, as he just wants the same $14 million bounty as everyone else, but he’s a true John Wick fanboy and he’s overjoyed to be taking on the infamous “Baba Yaga.” The notion of a new wave assassin gunning for an over-the-hill legend has shades of The Shootist. The notion of why Wick even wants to live gives the film its emotional kick. Whether or not the film works as a parable for its globally famous but famously isolated star, or a more generic meditation on fame, that Reeves looks his age for once only adds to the pathos.

Yes, the third act set pieces go on a bit too long, and they are so physically draining that you’ll probably burn a few calories just watching them. But John Wick: Chapter 3 is a genuinely great action-adventure movie, filled to the brim with jaw-dropping set pieces, imaginative violence and scrumptious visuals, all buoyed by a stacked cast (including Reeves, again showing himself to a wonderful actor and an all-time-great action star) and just enough story and subtext (Wick is still newly grieving for the wife he buried less than a week ago in the film’s continuity) to make it more than just a hollow spectacle. The story can go on, be it in sequels or TV shows, but this works as a conclusion for Wick’s current arc.

#keanu reeves #john wick 3 #forbes

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witchqueenofthemoon · 6 years ago

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BODY AND SOUL Part 10 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: This part sort of stretched itself a lot further than I originally anticipated, there was so much I wanted to elaborate on that consequently, it’s Part 11 that will feature Mackenzie’s dinner for Duncan, and the fulfillment of his morning promise (hot sex y’all) & the revelation of the special gift (I also decided I wanted everyone to witness that part through Duncan’s perspective, so we’d be privy to his thoughts and feelings regarding what Kenzie did for him and how worried he is about her safety/his desire to soothe her, among other things, and I’m trying to stick to the dual perspective pattern, so). I know this part doesn’t have smut and Duncan isn’t in it very much, but it’s very important to the development of Duckenzie’s emotional trajectory, and it took a long time for me to write it and it was emotional for me. I really loved spending this time with Mackenzie; I did my best to give her room for doubt while also being clear that she is fiercely individualistic and does indeed have a core of strength, even if she can’t necessarily always see that about herself. A lot of new AU versions of AHS APOC characters crept into this: Ben Wilder is obviously Billy Porter/Behold, Precious is Queenie/Gabourey, Zadie is Zoe/Taissa, Anchaly is Ariel/Jon Jon, Candice (my Cordelia AU)’s lost love Mia is Misty/Lily. I’ve toyed with the idea of making Samuel canonically an AU several times, but even though I think of Lance Reddick’s Papa Legba for him sometimes, he’s not really Papa; he’s someone else, my own character. If anyone wants to make fake Instagram edits for Duncan and Kenzie, I’d fucking love that. Please humor me with all the clothes in this one; I modeled the stuff Kenzie picks after things you can actually get on Madewell’s website, for what it’s worth, and I tried to plot out her Georgetown shopping as accurately as I could; there’s both a Sephora and a Dean and DeLuca within short walking distance of the Georgetown Madewell. The prints in Duncan’s living room are Bouguereau’s Dawn, Day, Twilight (Evening Mood) and Night. I made an edit representing the statues of Dike, Nike and Athena Duncan has in his living room here. Here is Ella Fitzgerald’s BEWITCHED, BOTHERED AND BEWILDERED. Nirvana Rose is a scent I wear in the spring; I always planned for it to be Kenzie’s scent of choice (vetiver, geranium and rose are the notes). I have to admit I put a lot of my own thoughts and feelings about money and the fantasy of money in this part; I struggle a lot with feeling guilty about wanting luxurious things in my life, so I sort of channeled that for Kenzie’s shyness about spending money that Duncan wants her to have. Had to finally bring in the fact that Cody and Billie are both Cancers. Kenzie’s lifelong imagining that Persephone loved Hades is my lifelong imagining.

Kenzie ran into the Post, her heart fluttering around in her chest like a butterfly trapped in a net. At home. At home. Her parting words to Duncan danced around in her brain, spinning and swaying. See you tonight--at home. She vaguely registered that she and Duncan had had their breathless conversation, between passionate kisses, on the open sidewalk in view of at least fifteen people milling around outside Franklin Square. At least, she thought. Probably a lot more than that, if I’m being realistic. She remembered the blonde woman snapping pictures of them; remembered the eyes of everyone in Emissary staring at her and Duncan as the woman made a scene. Fuck. She rushed into the elevator, her boots clicking in her ears, her bag smacking against her hip. Fuck, she was late. Fuck. At home. See you at home. I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard. Baby. Angel. His breath on her ear as she woke to his touch, the overwhelmingly hungry look in his eyes--storms, thunder--as she sucked his hard cock, the way he’d grabbed her hand holding the water glass and pulled her close to him, his hands on her thigh and against her ass, looking up into her face with that worshipping glint in his sapphire eyes--

FUCK, Kenzie, focus! You’re late for work!

Kenzie just made the elevator, smacking the button for the 10th floor, squeezing in between four other people as the doors slid shut behind her; she glanced down at her phone, dazed, as she heard it trumpet: Clairebear.

MACKENZIE LOUISE, oh my FUCKING GOD! Duncan is fucking beautiful! I see what you mean about his eyes, they’re like jewels?!?! He’s so tall and his hair like WHAT, how does it do that?? Those women in line ahead of you, what the fuck was that all about? I was absolutely STARSTRUCK with how beautiful you looked together, no wonder they noticed you right away, you were like two movie stars or something. He was so lovely and polite, who the fuck knew??? I’m just speechless!!!! You looked so happy, you were LUMINOUS, like you were glowing, bitch, love looks so fucking good on you!!! And the way he looked at you, like you were made out of moonlight or gold or something, fuck! He’s got it fucking BAD for you, I felt like he was singeing the ends my hair with that energy, I had to drink a glass of water when you guys left, WHOO

Kenzie felt the smile spreading across her cheeks as she read her best friend’s ecstatic text. Oh Claire, she thought, you’re so wonderful. She looked up to check the floor (5) and quickly typed:

Clairebear, I was SO HAPPY you were there, oh my god, I’m just so happy, I never knew I could feel so happy, I’m so glad you liked him, I can’t wait for us all to have dinner!!! He said he liked you immediately! Those women took a picture (I think more than one) of us without asking? It was really weird. They recognized Duncan and got shitty when he asked them to delete whatever they took and that’s when they left. I feel weird about it but we couldn’t really do anything?? Oh Clairebear. I’m in love. I really am. I love you, I’m sorry we had to leave so quickly, I’m so late for work. She added a distraught-faced open-mouthed emoji at the end.

She sighed, as if to let out the weight of the emotion that was enveloping her, threatening to crush her, bouncing on her feet a little as she looked up again; 9th floor. Almost there. She checked the clock on her phone. 9:26. Oh fuck. So late. The doors finally slid open and she jumped out, eyeing her little desk in the corner; glancing from side to side. No Candice in sight. That was good. She started to make a beeline to her desk, head down to avoid eye contact with anyone she might see, when someone stepped in front of her, blocking her path--someone wearing wildly colorful, meticulously tailored pants; she looked up into the severe, unimpressed face of Ben Wilder, the Executive Features editor. He was wearing oversized black-framed cat eye glasses and a blazer made of some kind of iridescently shiny, cobalt-red material, a vintage Hermes scarf tucked meticulously into the black pointed hem vest he wore under it, and he was glaring at her with narrowed eyes behind his spectacles. His dark skin was flawless; Kenzie wondered absently for the hundredth time what kind of moisturizer he used. She doubted he told people secrets as important as that one.

“Miss Stone, I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Hi Ben, lovely morning,” she answered nervously, hand coming up to fiddle with her rose quartz. Ben’s lips were pursed and he looked at her with that appraising, Anubis-weighing-the-scales severity that so unnerved every journalist in at the Post. As Executive Features editor, Ben was in charge of surveying that the quality of the Post was always at a high standard; some at the office said an impossibly high standard with Wilder as the critic. His real passion was for the Entertainment and Arts features, however, and he was infamously thorough and up-to-speed with everything happening in the DC art scene. He also knew every hot bit of gossip about every politician in the District; his knowledge was encyclopedic, and exhaustive. And he was giving her a very knowing look indeed.

“I’ve heard a rumor, dear,” he went on, ignoring her hello, “that you had a very busy weekend.”

Kenzie swallowed, her eyes darting from side to side, plotting an exit, her heart slamming into the bottom of her throat, like a dumbbell was suddenly clattering up and down her esophagus.

“On top of some very interesting photos found on certain online rags since yesterday--photos that have begun to trend on Instagram, I might add--a few more photos have materialized on Instagram in the past hour.”

He was silent for a moment, pursing his lips again, staring at her, his eyes unreadable. Kenzie looked up at him; she knew innately that the time for lies was long past, but she thought, wildly: maybe if I don’t say anything he’ll just disappear in a puff of smoke--

“Care to guess what these photos feature, Miss Stone?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

He pursed his lips further at that, lifting his arm and cradling the elbow against the hand pressed across his torso, holding the fingers out in an open gesture toward her that reminded her of Anubis holding some poor mortal’s heart, about to crush it into dust in his claw. Hers. He leaned down, bringing his face close to hers, his voice lowering conspiratorially, though as he had said himself: there wasn’t much of a secret left to keep, was there.

“Who knew a little thing like you would catch Duncan Shepherd’s eye.”

Kenzie pressed her lips together, trying to keep her expression neutral.

“I want an interview.”

“Ben, I--we’ve only been seeing each other for a few days--”

“Get me an interview and I will make sure your editorial gets to the top of the pile. I’ll ensure that when reviews come up, you’re considered very carefully for opportunities.”

“My editorial--my editorial is--” Kenzie suddenly realized wildly: my editorial is the kind of thing that’s going to make Annette Shepherd’s head turn on her shoulders. For real this time.

“You’re in the hot seat now, Miss Stone. You can’t smooch the heir of Shepherd Unlimited--a 3.5 billion dollar global enterprise trying to unseat the President of the United States--on the open sidewalk in front of a posh bistro and expect everyone to turn a blind eye. I suggest you take a look at the narrative unfolding online and get back to me. Promptly.” He stepped away from her, waving his hand a little behind him with infuriating sass, as if to say: see you soon, honey.

Kenzie watched his cobalt-crimson back retreat, her heart still pounding, her head fuzzy. An interview? Her temples throbbed against her skull harshly. How the fuck am I ever going to convince Duncan to do that? And my fucking editorial, FUCK, I didn’t even think about that. As if I need to add more reasons to the pile that is Annette Shepherd’s fuel to hate my guts.

“Mackenzie.”

Kenzie turned at the sound of her name; Candice stood outside her office in the short north hallway, hand resting on the door frame from whence she had just emerged, appraising Kenzie’s flushed face; today her boss wore a long, rose-colored pleated satin skirt, and a high-collared white blouse with a black ribbon tied in a neat knot falling down the front. Her dark eyes met Kenzie’s, framed by her wavy blonde hair that fell around her shoulders, shimmering in the overhead light; their concern sent an icy dagger coursing down Kenzie’s spine. Oh, here we go.

“Come into my office for a minute, please.”

Kenzie swallowed again as Candice vanished through the doorway, stepping up in resignation. I guess this was inevitable, Kenz, she told herself. Ben isn’t wrong. Clearly you’ve underestimated the difficulties that come with dating a man who is wildly rich, handsome, and reputable. And from a family known for stirring up controversy. Suck it up, buttercup.

She timidly stepped through the doorway of Candice’s office; a long window stretched along the back wall of the room, small ferns and falling ivy on the ledge of it, framing Candice’s golden head in a white glow where she sat behind her desk, which was meticulously neat. Kenzie’s eyes fell down to the gold plaque at the front of it, two gold paperweights shaped like open hands on either side of it: Candice Owens, Editor in Chief, The Washington Post.

“Shut the door and sit down, Mackenzie. Please.”

Kenzie carefully set her satchel down beside one of two lemon-colored upholstered chairs facing Candice’s desk, sitting slowly, her hands coming together in her lap. She felt resigned to whatever Candice was about to say; her brain felt fuzzy and faraway, as if she was observing all of this from someone else’s body, uncaring. At home, a voice whispered behind her ear. See you at home.

Candice looked at her for another long moment, her eyes unreadable. Then she spoke.

“I’m sure you’re aware of this already, but your relationship with Duncan Shepherd is about to become public knowledge.”

Kenzie couldn’t find it in herself to tell Candice anything but the truth.

“It’s only been a few days, but...yes. We’re dating.”

“Then I assume, or I want to assume, that you’ve considered the consequences.”

“I won’t let it get in the way of my work, Candice.”

“As you were late this morning, I’m not sure you’re doing a very good job at convincing me of that so far,” Candice replied, her tone even. She turned her head a little, questioning. “You do realize that Duncan Shepherd is a very controversial figure from a very controversial company led by a very controversial, very manipulative, very wealthy family?”

“Yes.”

“Whether you intend it or not, your relationship with him will bring scrutiny on the Post, and it’s going to change your personal life in serious ways as well. It’s only a matter of time before your name and occupation are spread around online. I anticipate that we’ll need to increase security in the building, which is already tight. Your mother being who she is--a staunch and very public opponent of Annette Shepherd’s political agenda--that’s going to cause a real controversy.”

“I’m sorry, Candice. This was all really unexpected...I didn’t expect us to...”

“Fall in love?”

Kenzie swallowed, blinking at her lovely, poised boss, feeling like she was unraveling under her dark-eyed gaze, feeling as though she were a sparrow under the eye of a falcon. Exposed.

“Anyone looking at those pictures could see it, easily. It’s clear that you are in love.”

Kenzie felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes, to her deep dismay. The idea of crying in front of Candice made her feel mortified; her respect for her boss was all-encompassing, akin to the deep admiration she felt for her mother; she was surrounded by so many incredibly strong women. And here I am, she thought, frustration seeping under her skin. A fucking mess.

“We are,” she whispered, her eyes looking down at her hands, afraid to look into Candice’s face again; unsure she could maintain her composure if she did.

“Mackenzie. Does Madeline know?”

Kenzie nodded; she tried to stifle the sniff that came out of her, but failed. She saw Candice lean to a box of tissues behind the desk, pulling a few out quietly. Her boss leaned over her desk, holding them out to her.

“She’s meeting him tomorrow. I haven’t met Annette yet. I’m terrified.”

Silence hung in the room for a moment; a little bonsai fountain in the corner of Candice’s office mingled with the sounds from the street outside; cars beeping and buses rushing by, pigeons outside the window, vague music, drums coming from the park across the street.

“I loved a woman once,” Candice said, surprising Kenzie, “who was the daughter of a prominent Republican Congressman. Her name was Mia. When I asked her if we could be together, she told me she could never disobey her father’s wishes; like we were living in feudal England. That she loved me; that she wanted to be with me; but that she couldn’t, because it would be a betrayal to her family. And she chose them.”

Kenzie wiped at her cheek, her wet eyes lifting up to her boss’ gentle face. She could see the vague shine that had cast itself over them; Candice too was on the edge of tears, but they didn’t fall; they hovered there, trapped in Candice’s resolve. I’m such a crybaby, Kenzie thought. Candice is so beautiful and so strong.

Her boss paused, then went on.

“Professionally, I have serious doubts about the advisability of your attachment to someone so infamous. Men in this town; they want power, and most of them are willing to crush anyone who becomes an obstacle to that power, Republican and Democrat alike. I don’t know Duncan Shepherd; but I know Annette and Bill Shepherd want one thing and one thing only; complete control of Washington D.C. and by association, the trajectory of this country.”

She paused. Kenzie lowered the tissues to her lap, now damp with the whisper of tears that had threatened her. She looks so beautiful this way, Kenzie thought. She thought of Duncan’s statues; Justice, victory, wisdom; all women. To Kenzie, Candice was a higher being, surveying all of humankind with an omniscient eye; like Cassandra, oracle of Troy, all-knowing, perceiving truth and future alike, cursed with her own sorrow and knowledge.

“But personally, I know what it’s like to be torn away from someone you want more than anything. And I would never presume to dictate the love that extends from one heart to another. Love is boundless and obscure, and it does not follow the petty rules set down by human philosophy.”

Kenzie felt her lip tremble again.

“If you need help, Mackenzie: come to me. Don’t hesitate. Promise you’ll do this.”

Kenzie felt another tear fall down her cheek.

“I will. I promise. Candice...thank you. I...I feel overwhelmed by all of this. I never expected this to happen to me. It feels like I’ve been living inside a dream for days.”

She hesitated, sniffing again. “I can’t help but feel...afraid. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and it frightens me.”

Candice stood; moved around her desk, sat in the chair across from Kenzie, and reached out, her hand grasping around Kenzie’s in her lap, clutching the tissues. Mackenzie immediately felt a small wave of warm comfort wash over her, as thought Candice had lit a match and held it close to her skin; close enough for her to feel it, but not to burn her. The tears immediately dried from her eyes, as though someone had held a blowdryer against her cheeks for a moment.

“Fear? What has a man to do with fear? Chance rules our lives, and the future is all unknown. Best live as we may, from day to day.” Candice smiled at her, squeezed her hands a little, her eyes still shining with that hidden sheen. “Sophocles. Oedipus Rex. I was Jocasta in a production in college. I was awful. But I always loved that line.”

Kenzie smiled back at her, finding herself speechless. I still feel as though you know the future, she thought. I wish you could tell me.

“Back to work, Miss Stone. That’ll be all for now. Keep your wits about you,” and Kenzie thought of her mother, their words clashing together, echoing against each other.

Kenzie nodded, clutching Candice’s hand for a moment. Candice held it, and Kenzie felt that warmth spread through her fingers again; felt flashes of light behind her eyes. And then Kenzie stood, grasping the handle of her satchel, and walked to the door, looking at her boss over her shoulder.

“Leave the door open,” Candice said, and turned away.

Kenzie went to her desk, falling into her swivel chair with a heavy relief. She pulled her Macbook out of her satchel, setting it on her desk and opening it, her article coming up as the screen illuminated. She went to type towards the end of it, and balked. I guess I need to look at Instagram, she thought with another twinge of apprehension making its jagged way through her mind and stomach. She pulled her phone from her satchel, tucking the bag under her desk; as she lifted the phone to her face, the lock screen illuminated and she saw a text from Duncan.

I meant to mention it a few times, but keep getting distracted in you (Kenzie smiled at that). The Shepherd Freedom Foundation Gala is next week. It’s a huge event for the company every year and it has a strict dress code and a theme...my mother wants you to go to her personal stylist to find a dress for it. If you hate whatever he picks out, you don’t have to wear it. But my mother’s being really insistent about you doing a fitting with her. Is that okay?

Kenzie couldn’t stop smiling, despite her twinge of annoyance at the idea of someone else telling her what to wear; Are you asking me to be your date to the Gala, Mr. Shepherd? She typed.

She saw the telltale text bubbles appear under her reply almost immediately.

Yes, please? The theme is Gold in the Darkness: the juxtaposition of light and shadow in the works of the Pre-Raphaelite movement. I chose it, because it reminded me of you.

Kenzie breathed in sharply. Duncan had created the theme around her. The thought stunned her, made her skin feel hot, made her legs and the back of her head tingle. More to get used to, I guess. Whew, Kenzie Lou. Whose life are you living now?

That’s beautiful, baby, she replied. I can’t believe you did that.

Since you’re the only thing I can think about, it seemed natural. His reply popped up immediately. Kenzie imagined him sitting in the back of the BMW or in a meeting or in some gilded interview chair, staring down expectantly at his phone. She loved to think of him so distracted by her, though she felt a twinge of guilt. The drug that was his attention, his gaze, his touch; she wanted more, she couldn’t help it. She wanted him, all of him, his beauty within her sphere always.

I think those women from the coffee shop posted something on Instagram already, she typed, biting her lip. My coworker said something to me as soon as I got into the office. She left her talk with Candice out of it. She felt worried Duncan would be upset about her boss’ concern; there was a part of her that wanted to keep her conversation with the other woman between the two of them for as long as she could. I have to talk to him about it in person, she thought. When I feel less...unhinged.

Fuck, I had a feeling they wouldn’t waste any time, Duncan replied. My mother doesn’t want me to talk about you in interviews yet. She’s worried about the “optics”, her personal obsession in all things. But I don’t care. I love you. Let me know if anything else weird like this morning happens again. I have a feeling it will and I want you to feel safe. I can hire you a private escort as soon as you feel like you need one. And I’m going to send you Samuel’s contact right now; I sent him yours already. Please text him when you’re done with work, he can take you anywhere you need to go. I can take an Uber later. I don’t think you should take the train as often, at least, not for a little while, until the media stuff dies down. And I don’t think it’s going to for a little while.

The distinct iPhone contact bubble appeared under Duncan’s text; Samuel Adebayo.

A wave of dizziness washed over Kenzie again. I don’t think you should take the train as often. She thought of the way the woman had snapped pictures of them, the photos of them on the gossip website. A private escort? It was as if she’d been sucked out of the normal world and sucked into another one, a different timeline where nothing made sense.

Okay, baby. I feel overwhelmed.

Duncan: I’m here. Anything you need or want from me, tell me right away. This will get easier in time, baby. I promise. I’m already dreaming about how hard I’m gonna make you come tonight. At home.

Her nerves thrilled again. At home. The thought of living at Duncan’s penthouse even sometimes was too dreamlike to even really consider. The fact that she was going to go there tonight with her own key made her feel like her stomach was trying to turn over inside her. She felt goosebumps on her arms again.

I’m dreaming about you too, baby, she typed. She left the lipstick stain emoji at the end.

Kenzie opened the Instagram app on her phone, squinting in apprehension. An alert flashed at the bottom: 2,457 new followers, 1,345 new comments, 567 new likes. Her eyes goggled. What. She hit the outlined heart at the bottom of the screen; she scrolled down; mention after mention of her handle (@kenzielouwho) on several posts made by other accounts. Oh god, they found my Instagram, she thought, closing her eyes for a moment in horror. We found it she’s @kenzielouwho her mom is Madeline Stone omg omg one said. Holy shit remember this this is @kenzielouwho’s mom ripping @duncanshepherd’s mom a new asshole another one said, accompanied by a link. Kenzie clicked it; it led to the infamous YouTube video of Annette storming off the air at C-SPAN after Madeline’s comments. Kenzie went back to Instagram. I don’t know why @duncanshepherd would even be interested in her she’s not even that pretty another one said. Kenzie made a face. Because I guess he should date you instead, she thought, and then immediately felt guilty. Ugh, this is weird. Kenzie went to one of the photos that many of the comments seemed to originate from. It was clearly the account of the woman who had taken the photo of them at Emissary earlier that morning; her handle (@greatpatriotjane, Kenzie winced) was a dead giveaway, accompanied by a photo of her in an American flag bikini and a spray tan. The latest photo was Kenzie and Duncan, of course; they were looking to the side of where she’d pointed the lens, probably towards the other woman in pinstripes, Kenzie tucked under Duncan’s arm, her hair pressed into his leather jacket and falling against her cheek, a tiny frown crossing her features; one of her hands was at her breast, fingers around her rose quartz, the other hand disappeared behind Duncan’s back. Duncan’s hand was around the crook of her elbow, holding her close to him, his expression concerned, his brow furrowed; his black phone rested, forgotten, in his other hand, which was raised slightly, at his torso. We do look nice together. He looks so tall. His hair falls so perfectly. He’s holding me so gently. He’s so handsome. I look scared. That’s accurate. I felt scared. I hated it. God, he’s so beautiful. And he’s holding me.

He’s your boyfriend, Kenzie, of course he is.

Saw @duncanshepherd with his newest girlyfriend at the coffee shop this morning!!! The woman had written below. He’s so sexy in person it’s RIDICULOUS, probably has a new girl on his arm every day!!! Kenzie snorted, biting into her lip. I guess this could be worse, she thought. We look annoyed but we look really good, at least, Duncan does, and I don’t look hideous, and she didn’t know my handle...I guess someone else found that. She went back to her mentions; there was another prominent post that lots of people seemed to have commented on that was more recent; Kenzie went to it (the handle was @geminibabiered; the account photo was a selfie of a girl with long, dark, very straight hair and heavy eye makeup taken in a bathroom mirror). There were several shots of--oh my god, already--she and Duncan standing on the sidewalk outside One Franklin Square a mere hour or so before now, wrapped in a passionate kiss, clearly taken in succession; this one a true kiss, of course, unlike the photo that had been captured of them outside Le Diplomate; Duncan’s hands were around her, in her hair, at her cheek, their mouths open against each other, eyes closed. He’s so much taller than me, Kenzie marvelled. At Franklin Square and @duncanshepherd runs after this girl who just got out of his BMW ahead of him and MACKS ON HER LIKE CRAZY in front of like 20 people, they said something to each other and then she like RAN away from him into the Post building, omg I bet she works there, DUNCAN SHEPHERD fucking a girl who works for the Washington Post like I am REELING the caption read. Fuuuuuck, Kenzie thought. This one is a lot worse. She noticed the comment proclaiming excitement at having found her handle was under this post; couldn’t have been that hard, my photo’s up on the Post website.

She noticed that Duncan had followed her, though, a small silver lining, she thought, smiling at his profile picture. It was professionally shot and black-and-white (he looks like a classic movie star, she thought dreamily), his hair tossed back from his forehead in a perfect cascade, his eyes illuminated but looking off-center, his expression calm and serious, that constant five o’clock shadow prominent (I love that, she thought, I love that stubble, pressing my mouth along its prickly curve, clutching his face there as we’re fucking), wearing one of the high black Oxford collars he was so fond of. Kenzie hit the follow button on his account, scrolling down; some of his posts had to do with the company and the TV show, but most of his posts were a plethora of professionally-shot images, including some from a recent profile he’d done for Esquire (one of him in a long black coat, lounging lazily in a throne-like chair, his hair even more artfully tossed than it normally was, his blue eyes staring off toward unseen subjects, one of him in a thick, dark gray Irish Fisherman sweater, eyes squinted, hand at his lips in that tick he did when he was thinking or nervous, one of him in a well-tailored blazer and band-collared shirt, adjusting his cuffs facetiously, a silver band, like a very simple crown, across his forehead; Duncan Shepherd: Heir Apparent, Prince Presumptive the editorial read). She double-tapped them, the heart floating in front of her, dizzily admiring how ridiculously beautiful he was yet again; I still can’t believe any of this. 7.8M followers, 124 following. She inhaled sharply. 7.8 million followers, holy shit. Millions of people to critique her. Millions of people about to leave a comment that said she “wasn’t even that pretty”. Fun shit, Kenzie, a real hoot. You’ve really put your foot in it now.

She noticed he’d gone through the past few months of her photos and liked most of them; especially the ones of her laughing or smiling, or of her outfits or her plants, anything that was really her. On one photo of her (one Claire had taken of her at Emissary at the end of the previous summer, on a balmy September afternoon, under the canopy of their outdoor seating; Kenzie wore a white sundress and a light gray sweater that was falling off one shoulder in it, looking off to the side, a frosty Aperol spritzer in front of her, her hair down and wind-tossed, a little rose-gold moon pendant at her throat, a faraway smile on her face; Clairebear always takes the best pictures of me, she’d written for the caption, followed by the celestial sun face emoji), Kenzie noticed he’d left several heart-pierced-by-an-arrow emojis. She realized this was the first time she’d seen him use emojis; they were never in his text messages. His comment already had hundred of likes; she didn’t dare look at the comments under it. But it was as if she could feel the tenderness with which he’d looked through her posts, and it made her chest feel warm and hazy. She felt her cheeks glowing; she brought a thumb to her mouth, teeth biting her nail in her shyness. Deep into the funnel of love, she thought, unprompted. She shivered a little. The last time she had looked at her profile, she’d had 400-some followers; now, she had over 3,000, and counting. Fuuuuuck. Don’t even look at the comments, Kenz. Don’t do this to yourself.

Kenzie set her phone down on her desk, pressing her fingers into the corners of her eyes where she’d started to feel the low pressure of a migraine. Suddenly, she turned her phone over and shoved it away from her, shaking her hair back. Fuck this, she thought. I have work to do. To hell with Instagram. And to hell with Annette Shepherd for that matter. I refuse to be afraid of her. And fuck any-fucking-body who wants to try to tell me I’m not good enough, pretty enough, or ENOUGH for Duncan Shepherd. I am. I’m fucking great. Sun shines out of my ass. She turned to her Macbook, reading the last few lines she’d written: the prevalence of PAC donors manipulating political narratives and candidates is a serious problem in American politics, and new policies must be enacted to ensure upcoming elections are just and fair to all candidates, regardless of their ability to receive funding from wealthy donors. Good, Kenzie thought. Now, keep going. She got to work, leaving her phone face-down, determined not to look at it again until her article was finished. Or maybe never again, she thought, feeling a wave of nausea climb up the wall of her stomach. Maybe social media isn’t going to be fun anymore. So to hell with that too.

------

Kenzie rubbed her eyes. She’d just hit send in the email containing her finished article to Ben and Candice. She looked over at her phone, which was still face-down, hesitating. She’d eaten lunch without looking at it; gone back to writing without looking at it; left it on her desk every time she took a bathroom break. It’d taken all her resolve (what if Duncan texts me), but going on Instagram had shaken her badly; it had made a realization sink into the pit of her that she hadn’t really come to terms with yet. Your life is going to be different now, Kenzie Lou. And she wasn’t sure how to deal with that. She had always loved and appreciated privacy; had decided on a tiny apartment so she could avoid living with roommates; felt shy when she was the center of attention, and cried easily. How am I going to be this other person, she thought. This person dating the heir to billions of dollars; this person with thousands of Instagram followers, this person who has her picture taken by strangers in public places. I should call Momby. But as soon as she had the thought, she pushed it away. If she called her mother already, Madeline would say I told you so. I told you this man wasn’t right for you. And Kenzie couldn’t listen to that. Duncan was right for her; she felt that in her bones, in the pit of her gut, in the center of her heart. It was all this other stuff that was frightening and upsetting to her; not him. Not Duncan. He was her calm oasis in the scorching desert; her little island on a stormy sea, her blanket to hide under in the thunderstorm. When he was near her, her soul nestled into peace and joy and desire. It’s the best feeling I’ve ever had, she thought. Like going home after a long day and falling into bed, listening to rain fall outside your window. Only, it’s a person. My person.

She turned her phone over. Two texts. One from Duncan, one from Clairebear.

Duncan: I love the photos on your Instagram, they’re so beautiful. Almost as beautiful as you are. I saw the video and the photo that woman took. It doesn’t matter; don’t read the comments if you can help it, it’s all nonsense. This will all mellow out soon, don’t worry too much about it, it’s just something new for people to latch onto, and people get distracted easily. Let me know if you need anything from me. I can’t wait to see you in a few hours. I love you.

Kenzie felt a wave of warmth spread over her as she read it. Beloved, she thought, the word seeping into her as if it had drifted out of a dream. He is my beloved. I can see his hidden soul and it’s beautiful beyond all description. Her hands shook as little as she replied. I’m okay, it’s just disorienting. I love those Esquire photos of you so much (here she inserted the heart-eyes emoji). I finished my article, I’m going to send Samuel a message in a minute and go to Georgetown to get some stuff to make for dinner and some clothes and toiletries to keep at your house. It will be such a relief to see you...at home. I love you too.

She read the other text from Claire.

Clairebear: You’ve probably seen Instagram already, but holy shit, what a hot mess. Just don’t look at it if you can help it, some people are insane. I love you and I’m here if you need anything from me.

She felt another warm hand clutch around her heart. I’m so lucky, she thought. To be loved so genuinely by the people in my life. I’m so lucky to have these people to love. I’m grateful.

Thanks, Clairebear, she replied. You are a darling to me and I appreciate you every day. I’m gonna stay off Instagram for a few days, I think. I looked at it this morning and it freaked me out, haha. Duncan seems to think it’ll calm down eventually, so I’m following his lead here. He’s way more used to stuff like this than I am. He gave me a key to his apartment and an expense account, I’m just...he wants me to keep stuff at his penthouse. I still feel like I’m trapped in a dream. This is all so surreal.

Kenzie texted her mother next.

Momby, Duncan and I would like to have dinner with you tomorrow night at Busboys and Poets. Is 7 PM okay? We can pick you up or we can meet you there, whatever you want to do. He’s really looking forward to meeting you. I love you to the moon and back, she added; a phrase they’d used with each other since she was a little girl.

She took a deep breath, setting the phone down. She closed her Macbook, slipping it into her Margaux satchel; she noticed as she did that she must have put Duncan’s cardigan absently into her bag at some point between last night and today, because it was stuffed in the bottom. She pulled it out carefully, shaking it a little, pulling it around her shoulders. You can do this, Kenz, she thought. Just pretend it’s a game, like when you were little. You’re Princess Diana; you’re calling your magical car to take you to the movie theater, the imaginary one with endless pizza.

She was about to text Samuel under the number Duncan had given her when she noticed some of her coworkers milling around by the windows against the east wall of the office; staring down onto the street with curiosity on their faces, whispering to each other, some of them glancing over at her. She stood up and walked over to them; Ben gave her another coy, perturbed look with his lips pressed, as if he knew something she didn’t; he walked away from her as she approached him, waving a hand behind him again, before she could ask him what everyone was staring at. She looked after him, frustrated, an exasperated noise falling out of her. She noticed Precious and Zadie, two of her coworkers, talking in low voices to each other a few feet away, both of them staring out the window in concentration.

“Hey, Precious, hey Zadie--what’s going on? What are you looking at?” She felt suddenly afraid to peer out the window from the way Ben had reacted to her.

Zadie didn’t say anything, giving Kenzie an odd look, one that was sort of a mixture of pity and nervous excitement, her long, straight hair falling down her shoulders, her arms crossed under her little breasts, her lips closed. Precious gave Kenzie a look of vague annoyance and disbelief, one of her hands coming around to play with the big golden lion pendant around her neck. She nodded at the glass. “Kenzie, see for yourself. This is obviously for you.”

Kenzie bit her lip, set her nerves, and looked out.

Near the entrance of One Franklin Square, she could see the clustered heads of a group of probably twenty reporters with recorders and microphones, huddled on the sidewalk as if they were a pride of lions gazing carefully on unsuspecting antelopes at a waterhole, laying in wait. Oh shit. The press had found her.

“Fuck,” she breathed.

“Unfortunately, it would seem, kissing Duncan Shepherd in full view of a Tuesday morning crowd at one of DC’s busiest parks has some consequences,” Precious said, not unkindly. She looked at Kenzie knowingly, then turned, walking back to her desk, the graphic tee she wore flashing its cheeky mantra at Kenzie as she went; If you can’t handle the heat, the front said, and Kenzie watched her back retreat; get your face out of my oven. Zadie gave her another quiet, sympathetic look. “Maybe Candice will know what to do?” she said. Her brown eyes flickered over Kenzie with that same mixture of pity and odd thrill. It was clear Zadie couldn’t help but find this sort of exciting, and Kenzie envied her coworker’s ability to see it as an outsider; they aren’t here to follow you out the door, Kenzie thought. You get to observe and go home as usual. She wasn’t upset with Zadie for this; on the contrary, she felt a wave of envy wash over her. That sense of anonymity seems to have slipped away from me overnight, she thought. And now I’m not sure who this new girl is; the girl these reporters are waiting for.

She walked away from Zadie, feeling oddly disembodied, towards Candice’s office; Zadie’s eyes followed her as she went, curious. Kenzie rapped carefully two times. “Come in,” she heard Candice’s kind voice call out.

“Candice, I’m sorry,” Kenzie said, stepping into her boss’ office for the second time that day, meeting Candice’s warm eyes with alarm seeping out of her own. “But...I need your help already.”

------

With Candice’s help, Kenzie had managed to slip out through the back entrance; this one was usually reserved for delivery trucks, with a long ramp that slanted down, trash and recycling bins lined up against one side of the concrete. She’d texted Samuel less than ten minutes before; and here he was, to her vast, wild relief; the BMW idled on the corner quietly, its tinted window betraying nothing of the tranquil interior to the occasional pedestrian on the side-street. Kenzie stepped quickly down the ramp from the backdoor from whence she’d just emerged, looking carefully from side to side, hoping against hope; she’d almost made it to the car when she heard a loud voice to her left, a bark of sound that made her jump, her eyes darting in the direction it had come from.

“Miss Stone, Miss Stone! Mackenzie Stone!” A man in casual clothing, a smattering of beard around his face and the shiny pate of his balding head reflecting the late afternoon sunlight, was walking briskly in her direction, holding a camera carefully on his shoulder; he was flanked by a woman in a tight champagne-pink pencil skirt and blazer, and it was her sharp voice that Kenzie had heard; she was holding out a microphone, the kind Kenzie had used herself for press conferences and soundbites outside courtrooms, but the image of one being pushed towards her was odd and alien, and she balked, her eyes freezing on them. Her blood froze, and she suddenly felt as though she couldn't move; the microphone came under her and she shied away from them, her body singing with adrenaline almost immediately; she felt nauseous and panicked for an instant, and then she saw Samuel stepped out of the car, oh thank god, and his strong, warm arm was coming around her, and he was opening the backdoor of the BMW and pushing her gently inside, the man with the camera still trying to angle it onto her (“Miss Stone, are you and Mr. Shepherd romantically involved? Are you privy to the Shepherd Unlimited corporation and its assets? Are you engaged? What are your feelings about President Underwood?”, the woman’s sharp voice was ringing in her ears), and Samuel barked at him to step back (he did with an alarmed look; Samuel was at least a foot taller than him); the door shut with a sharp click and she could see them pressing against the dark window, trying to see inside, the woman still pressing the microphone into the window, the man still angling the camera on it; she could still see them but they could no longer see her through the tinted glass, and Samuel was suddenly, with supernatural swiftness, back in the driver’s seat, his foot on the gas, accelerating away in a blink.

----

“Miss Stone, are you alright?” Samuel’s eyes peered over the rearview at her, his brown eyes concerned and full of empathy. He was driving carefully, smoothly now; the last few minutes had been a blur as Samuel weaved through the narrow streets with an alarming agility; he was losing anyone who might try to follow us, Kenzie thought in a daze, but they were now heading south towards Georgetown, according to the GPS, at a much more measured, casual pace.

Kenzie was breathing slowly in the backseat, her fingers clutching the strap of her satchel with white hands; staring off into space. Her attention floated back from the nether into which it had drifted; adrenaline crashed down through her, and she noticed she’d started to shake. She noted, vaguely, that soft music drifted from the speakers; bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I / couldn’t sleep and wouldn’t sleep….when love came and told me, I shouldn’t sleep…

“I...I think so…” she murmured softly. She put her satchel at her feet, feeling for her phone; her hand closed around its smooth rectangle, and she felt relief flood through her. She held it in her lap, gazing down at it in a stupor; Duncan had texted her again.

Did you text Samuel? I’ll be in a meeting for another hour or so, and then I have to pick something up. I should be home by 7:30. I’m so excited to have dinner. At home. With you.

Kenzie looked dazedly at the time; it was just after 4:30.

There were a bunch of reporters waiting outside the building when I tried to leave work, she replied. My boss helped me through the back door, but two of them still found me. Thankfully Samuel was there, but I think they got me on camera. I don’t know who they were with. I’m okay. Samuel was wonderful. I’ll be so relieved to see you, baby.

“Samuel?”

“Yes, Miss Stone?”

“Please call me Mackenzie.”

“Of course, Miss Mackenzie. I would love to. Where should we go, Miss Mackenzie? This car is yours now, like it is Mr. Shepherd’s. I’m at your service, as I am at his.”

Kenzie hesitated, feeling disoriented. Her head was pounding.

“Miss Mackenzie,” Samuel went on, softly. “This will get easier. Duncan cares very deeply for you. I have seen it; I know it is true. You can trust him. He is cradling your heart in his hands. You have kindled the desire for life in him. Through love, all things are possible.”

Kenzie closed her eyes for a moment; Ella’s voice washed over her. I’m in love and don’t I show it / like a babe in arms…

“Thank you, Samuel. Thank you for your help back there. I was absolutely terrified.”

“I am here for you now, Miss Mackenzie. There is nothing to fear. Now, where do you want to go? I will take you anywhere.”

“Georgetown is okay, Samuel. I just need to go to Dean and DeLuca to get some things for dinner, and some of the clothing shops. It shouldn’t take too long. Thank you so much.”

“Miss Mackenzie, whatever you want, it is a pleasure. Mr. Shepherd is lucky to have you; I will do whatever I can to help him make you happy.” Kenzie smiled at him sweetly through the mirror; she felt full to the brim with emotion, far beyond words.

“I wish I could talk to him now,” she whispered softly.

“He’s with you. You will bring each other strength. This time of turmoil will be brief; your life will be long.”

Kenzie nodded a little, feeling the telltale stinging of tears in her eyes again. Someday, she mused, I’ll have cried enough. Someday, I’ll be done crying. But not yet.

-------

Samuel was an excellent chauffeur (of course he is, Kenzie thought); he pulled up smoothly to the side of Wisconsin Avenue, hopping out of the driver’s seat and opening the door for her, holding out his hand. “Miss Mackenzie, do you want an escort?”

Kenzie shook her head, as much to decline as to clear the residue of tears from her head and her cheeks, and stepped from the backseat of the BMW, clutching her satchel and his hand as she got out. “No thank you, Samuel. I really want to do this alone, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it is, Miss Mackenzie. Please let me know when you need me; I’ll be nearby.”

She smiled up at him, nodding. He smiled back at her, giving her hand a little squeeze before he let go, stepping back around the car into the driver’s seat, and accelerating away from her slowly. She slipped her phone into one of the pockets of her long skirt, bringing the strap of her bag around the crook of her elbow. The sun was still out, steady and strong in the late May sky; dreamy cumulus clouds scudded over it every now and then, and the sapphire of the heavens behind them reminded her of Duncan’s eyes; everything reminds me of him now, she thought. Colors, smells, the touch of his cardigan against her arms. I want to feel his faith that everything will be fine. So I’ll pretend I feel it. I’ll pretend I’m confident, despite all of this. I will pretend I’m strong.

She breathed deeply; then she stepped toward the open entryway of the nearest shop; it was a Madewell, the May breeze coasting behind her through the blue doors which were thrown wide to the perfect weather. Kenzie knew her own style and taste well; it didn’t take her long to find outfits she loved that she knew would suit her; of course, the idea of an unlimited budget was one she wasn’t familiar with, and she couldn’t deny it was thrilling. A girl could get used to this, too. She perused the brick-lined walls with a careful precision. She’d loved clothes all her life; she could see how much Duncan loved and appreciated them as well, and her skin tingled thinking of the way he’d gazed over every outfit she’d worn around him thus far; the thought of him admiring her in anything she chose today was electrifying; the memory of his eyes on her like that made her feel drunk. She thought of the clothes she was choosing hanging in his walk-in closet, beside his perfectly pressed, perfectly tailored black clothing, and shivered a little. Together. She found a strappy, hemmed denim dress that fell to her ankles; a slip dress in a color that reminded her of grapes in sunlight; a long black chiffon dress with short sleeves and a slit up the side, covered in tiny flowers; a sweater dress with buttons down the sleeves; her thoughts drifted towards oncoming summer, choosing short denim skirts and velvet cami tops, a denim bell-sleeve top with a wrap around the middle that reminded her of a shirt her mother wore in a photo (taken in the 70’s) that was tucked into Kenzie’s bathroom mirror; a black top with a front-tie, and several mock neck crop tops with long sleeves in several colors; gray, mulberry red, dark brown. She picked up a pair of black suede boots and a pair of darkly tan leather Reagan boots; boots go with everything. She found a long necklace with tiny stars; two tiny chain bracelets with moons; little rose-gold earrings that reminded her of her succulents, and a slim black convertible bag with a gold-button clasp that she thought would be perfect for going out on evenings. Everything she picked was personal; a reflection of her.

She piled the things on the counter; the girl behind it had long dark hair tied back in a casual braid, and a warm stare. She was looking at Kenzie with a funny expression, though her smile was friendly.

“Did you find everything okay?” She asked.

“Yes, thanks,” Kenzie smiled back at her. She pulled her long black wallet from her satchel; suddenly, she felt nervous about using the card Duncan had given her. Ever since she’d gotten her job at the Post as a staff writer, she’d gained a sense of pride in using her own money; money she’d earned herself, with her writing. Using someone else’s felt strange. Then, Duncan’s voice floated into her head. Everything is okay. It makes me happy to give you these things. Please, accept them? She pulled the card out of her wallet, gripping it firmly.

The girl quoted the price to her; it was over $900 for everything she’d picked out. Kenzie handed her the card, her lips pressed firmly together. The girl swiped the card, but not before Kenzie noticed her eyes go wide from glancing at the name, a long receipt printed out.

“I thought you looked familiar.”

Kenzie felt her blood chill in her veins.

“I--I saw that video on Instagram,” the girl said, putting Kenzie’s clothes carefully into two white shopping bags with Madewell in black lettering along the side. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be so nosy, shit. You’re so lucky. He’s, like, the hottest guy ever. Good luck with everything, really.”

Kenzie blushed deeply, unsure of what to say. Today is the weirdest day of my life in a long string of weird days, she thought. “Um, thank you.” The girl passed the bags to her, shyly looking back at the register, clearly embarrassed. Kenzie turned, feeling disoriented again, and walked out of the shop. Back on the street she let the sun fall on her, warming her skin; just breathe, Kenzie Lou, her mother’s voice drifting into her mind again. She draped the Madewell bags over her arm, her satchel slung over her shoulder. She felt dizzy with the money she’d just theoretically spent. Don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this, she thought. And every piece of clothing in Duncan’s closet costs as much as I just racked up.

Kenzie turned the corner, walking up to where she knew she’d find a Sephora; make-up is so fucking expensive, she thought. I’ve lived on ramen for days to buy hair products and foundation. She perused the perfect lines of lipstain and eyeliner, picking out her standards; it would be a relief to have makeup and face wash and a hairbrush at Duncan’s penthouse, at least, if she was going to be there constantly (in various states of undress and dishevelment, she thought, unable to suppress the giggle that bubbled up). She picked up a full-size bottle of Nirvana Rose, her favorite scent, relishing the feeling of it in her hands; she only ever bought the roller-balls, it was so expensive. She imagined it sitting beside Duncan’s bottles of cologne in his giant bathroom with a thrill. Together. She imagined her hairbrush on his sink, her toothbrush next to his, her shampoo and conditioner in his (fuck) shower beside his. Together. It made her feel absolutely high. Knowing he wanted her things there. Knowing he wanted her there.

Kenzie had one more stop to make; she carefully perused the shelves of Dean and DeLuca, the fanciest grocer’s she had ever been to and normally could not begin to afford. She had been planning the dinner she’d make in her head since she came up with the idea to cook for Duncan; cooking was something that gave her a lot of peace of mind and comfort, and she felt, somehow, that she wanted to give this to him; she wondered how long it had been since someone who loved him had made him food. It was something her mother did for her all the time; something that made her feel close to her mother, something that gave her comfort, soothed her. She could see the ways that making food for someone was like telling them she loved them; this is for you. I made it for you, because I love you. It will nourish your body and bring you joy and I made it. Despite the difficult trajectory of her day, Kenzie felt innately that having a meal together would be healing for both of them tonight; unlike the prying eyes of the patrons of Le Diplomate, this would be just the two of them, with no one to spy. The thought filled her with relief, flowing through her body like the first hit of a bowl of good weed. Alone, together.

Once she was finished, she texted Samuel, trying to juggle a half a dozen bags in her arms now; as was his way, he pulled around within minutes to where she stood on the sidewalk outside the posh grocer’s. He immediately jumped out to help her with all her bags; she smiled at him, thanking him warmly. This man is so wonderful, she thought, sending out all the warm energy she could muster towards Samuel’s back bent over the BMW’s trunk, where he carefully placed her assorted bags. I already trust him with my life.

It only took a few scant minutes to make it back to Duncan’s high-rise from where she’d been shopping; its glittering facade was very still in the afternoon sun, and the street was surprisingly quiet. Samuel pulled up quietly to the curb, hopping out again to pull her door open; “Miss Mackenzie, please go inside, I will be up with the bags shortly. Don’t you worry.” Kenzie hesitated, feeling self-conscious, tucking stray hairs behind her ear; she glanced at her phone. It was almost 6.

“Okay. Do I need to tell the doorman anything?”

“Miss Mackenzie, they will know who you are. Duncan has told them everything.”

She balked at that. Told them everything. I hope not. She blushed.

----

Kenzie stepped into the building; a tall, portly, middle-aged doorman opened it for her, nodding to her politely. She felt odd, being there alone. The foyer was spotlessly clean, everything in gilded gold and polished marble. Another man sat at the front desk; he was short with closely-shaved hair and a tiny moustache, his slender eyes indicating his Asian lineage. He was deeply absorbed in a copy of Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. Kenzie approached him quietly, one hand clutching the strap of her satchel against her shoulder, the other buried in one of the pockets of her long skirt.

“I’m...going up to Mr. Shepherd’s penthouse.”

He glanced up at her, a gentle smile falling across his face. “I’m Anchaly. You must be Mackenzie Stone. Very good, Miss Stone. If you ever need anything, please let me know.”

“I’m a Cancer, you know,” she replied.

“I’m sorry?”

“That book you’re reading. My zodiac sign is Cancer.”

“Ahhhh. Children of the moon.”

She laughed at that, surprised. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Mr. Shepherd is also a Cancer. How fortuitous. Two moon children in love.”

She blushed. Two moon children in love. “Today has been a very strange day.”

“I find that strange days are often the best days, in retrospect.”

“It was nice to meet you, Anchaly.”

“Likewise, Miss Stone.”

Anchaly leaned back down towards his book; she stepped away from the counter. I’m not one to disturb a reader twice, she thought, walking over to the gold-embossed elevators and pressing the up arrow. She thought of the night she’d first come here with Duncan; both of them locked in a passionate embrace, locked in the passionate feeling of each other’s energy, locked in the moment. Who would have thought it’d become something so real? She thought. Who would have thought something so impulsive would become...what it’s becoming. Her heart shivered. Who would have thought I’d fall in love with him this way. She stepped inside, letting the doors slide shut behind her; staring at herself for a moment in the full-length mirror against the wall; her eyes looked tired, small dark circles vaguely visible under them, her eyeliner beginning to smudge. She brought a hand to the rose quartz at her neck for the hundredth time that day; for love, she thought. Duncan’s penthouse was at the top of a 30-story high-rise. She pressed the 30 button (it was silver with black numbers), knowing full well his penthouse was the only residence on that floor. It made her shiver a little again. She pulled her wallet out again, fingers falling over the credit card he’d given her for a moment before moving on to the keycard; she pulled it out, studying it. It had a another silver 30 on it, and the name SHEPHERD, DUNCAN in silver Garamond lettering beside the numbers. The card was jet-black with a strip on the opposite side; other than these features, the card was blank. It was heavy in her hand, made of some kind of metal (titanium, maybe...like that Black AmEx Duncan has). It felt expensive, like the card alone had cost a lot of money. It probably did. She was gazing at it still in the elevator’s warm golden light when the doors slid open on the 30th floor.

Kenzie stepped out towards Duncan’s long black door, thinking again of a few nights ago when he had fumbled the key there; her arm reaching out to steady him, her lips pressing against him. Where did all that bravery go? She wondered. I could use a bourbon now, honestly. She held the card out to the slot beside Duncan’s door, annoyed with herself when she saw her hand shaking; as if you’ve never been here, she said to herself. She pulled at the small gold knob and stepped inside as a low beep rang out; closing the door behind her, breathing out slowly, carefully, her eyes falling on the pristine quiet of Duncan’s apartment.

Being here alone was odd; she felt like an intruder, as though she was here without anyone’s permission, though she knew deep down that wasn’t true. She was struck yet again by how beautiful everything he owned was; how elegant and pristine and quiet and exquisite. She moved past the vast kitchen, the diamond-drop chandelier winking at her; into his huge front room with its low leather couch and the silent, watchful eyes of the three statues (Dike, the goddess of Justice, lifting her scales, Nike, goddess of Victory, headless and winged, Athena, goddess of Wisdom, in her battle armor) on three separate corbels, two against the wall of the study, one against the wall leading to the bedroom; the wall that she faced there was made entirely of one long sheet of weather-proof, bullet-proof glass, the view she’d neglected to admire the last few times she’d been in this room, too lost in the weight of Duncan to care about anything else. She walked up to it now, gazing out on the nation’s capital city. In the daylight, it was mostly smatterings of white and cream with patches of trees, gray against the blue and white of the sky. She supposed that if she ever remembered to look, it must be magnificent at night, with the city spread out in glittering electric lights. She turned to look at Nike, who was closest to her; she trailed one hand over the back of the statue’s left wing, loving the coolness of the marble stone under her hand. Three women, powerful and wise. She loved these statues; that Duncan had them displayed so prominently in his home was of some comfort to her. She had no doubt that he admired strong women; his fierce love for his mother most evident. Having been raised by a mostly-single mother herself, she wondered if it wasn’t so much of the reason he had turned out the way he had; with a hidden depth of feeling, a hidden shine of the soul, one that extended beyond his (admittedly overwhelming) physical beauty. She hoped again, in her own silent way, that she and Annette could find a way to be friends; find some meeting of the minds, at least when it came to Duncan. We both love him, she thought. At least we have that in common.

On the wall that faced opposite Duncan’s study was a series of four paintings of identical size in gold frames, and unlike The Youth of Bacchus, these seemed to be high-quality prints rather than the originals (I guess most of these paintings actually hang in museums, she thought); she had noticed them before, that first morning, (Pre-Raphaelites, she had thought then, and they were), but studied them more carefully now; each was a woman who appeared to represent a different time of day, the first with long red hair, bathed in soft lights with plants growing behind her (the morning, Kenzie thought), the next floating in sunlight, holding a branch out to a bird, leaves in her hair (the day), and then next, she with her pose of ecstasy, the waters of the sea at her feet, a moon rising behind her (twilight) and then she bathed in shadow, her mantle black, storm clouds behind her (the night). Kenzie loved them immediately and fiercely; goddesses of nature and time, she thought, a hand reaching out towards she of the Twilight; towards the moon that hung over her head. For women create all things.

Kenzie moved through the door to Duncan’s study, holding her breath; then she turned and gazed, eyes widening, at the beauty that was The Youth of Bacchus, in all its real splendor. Looking at it sober, she still somehow felt drunk on it. She could see the ridges and bumps of Bouguereau’s paint; see the brushstrokes around the eyes of the revelers, the skin of the maiden in the center, white and bare. Oh for the hundredth time today, she thought, feeling her tears. But she couldn’t help it. It was perhaps the most beautiful object she had ever seen. The thought of seeing it every day; of being near it, living beside it, moved her utterly. She turned away from it, toward his bookcases stretching along the walls behind the desk; they encompassed all genres, but she noticed that many of them were mythology books. Of course, she thought. I can see how much it means to him. I can see it in his house and behind his eyes and I can feel it. Justice, victory, wisdom. Three women; trios are always a pantheon of power. Like the Fates. Like Hecate in her shades. Like the Moon; waxing, full, waning. She thought back on her own studies of Greek mythology; she’d poured over the book by the D’Aulaires’ in the library for months the year she was 13; she’d read Bullfinch’s Mythology in high school and The Odyssey in college. She thought (drifting) of Hades stealing Persephone from the earth, bringing her down to the dark Underworld; in many versions of the tale, they called it The Rape of Persephone, an act against her will. But Kenzie had often imagined that secretly, hidden in the annals of time, lost somewhere, Persephone loved Hades; loved his dark sadness and his eyes like blue fire, loved his crown of curls, his dark cloak, his hands, his gentleness. As a girl she often imagined Persephone didn’t return to the Underworld because she had eaten Pomegranates; but that she returned because she loved him, loved him and could not choose between her mother and the bright flowers of the living, and her husband and the dark flowers of the dead. She thought of Duncan; his serious gaze, his eyes piercing through her like thunder; his lips pressed to her like the fervent whisper of a prayer; my own Hades, lost in his Underworld, only this one hovers above the masses in its own special limbo. And in that moment she did feel torn; torn between him and the world she felt she was leaving behind, whether she meant to or not. She went over to the little polished mahogany bar cart beside the wine case that stretched along the corner, admiring the Tiffany lamp on the shelf beside it, Duncan’s spotless turntable; she took one of the crystal tumblers and her eyes traveled over the bottles there, eventually choosing the spherical shape of Angel’s Envy bourbon, pouring a finger into the tumbler, bringing it to her lips, and sipping, slow, savoring the taste, moving it under her tongue. It coursed through her, down her throat; it filled her tired mind with heat, soothing her, and suddenly, she ached for the night to come and her lover to return to her. Today was a long day, she thought. And I long for him. She went to the turntable; a Beethoven record was sitting on it, the needle hovering just above. She pressed a button on the side of it, and the needle dropped; Moonlight Sonata, she thought. I love this one. I love that he was listening to this.

She gazed for a moment longer at Bacchus, bathing in the silence, relishing the sound of the music; the curtains in this room were light-tight, the better to preserve the priceless painting, she assumed; then she heard the front door of the penthouse open, and she went out of the study, the tumbler still cradled in her hand, to see Samuel stepping into the kitchen with her many parcels; he set the Dean and DeLuca bags on the kitchen counter, then moved through the living room to set her other bags on Duncan’s low leather couch; he nodded to her, smiling, then turned to leave.

“Samuel.”

He turned back, his brown eyes dancing.

“Yes, Miss Mackenzie.”

“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. For everything.”

“Miss Mackenzie...it is my honor. Be well and be happy. I will see you again soon.”

He smiled a little; his eyes seemed to fall into him, deeper, stranger, like a universe unfolding and widening; Moonlight Sonata resounded in her ears, extending the moment. Than he nodded a little to her, turned, and walked to the door, closing it softly behind him.

Kenzie sipped from the tumbler again; lost in thought, in the fading light. Then, she went into the kitchen, flipping the switch on the wall so the diamond-drop chandelier burst into luminescence; she set the tumbler on the counter, and got to work on the grocery bags beside her; she reached up into Duncan’s cupboards, struck with excitement at his beautiful kitchenwares; only a man who cooks for himself has all of this, she thought. She hummed as she worked; and slowly, the light of day faded, and the light of the city came up, in the evening mood.

#millory #millory au #duncan shepherd #cody fern #billie lourd #duncan shepherd au #collie au #collie #cody x billie #house of cards au #body and soul #my fic #michael x mallory #duncan x mallory #duckenzie #duncan x mackenzie #duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone #ahs apocalypse #house of cards

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

Text

A Touch of (March) Madness (1/2)

Emma can't quite remember how it started or why it happened, just that it did and she wants to win. Desperately. To prove something. Probably.

Or just to beat Killian. Either or. It doesn't matter.

She's picked her teams and her upsets and she's got a string of trash talk ready for any potential on-court situation. They're not playing the game, but they're playing a game and this one might change everything.

Rating: Teen’ish. Trash talking requires swearing. Word Count: 9.1K HA. AN: I owe @laurnorder my fic-writing soul, so when she texted me a couple weeks ago and was like...”It’s March, I think you should write basketball fic,” I was like...ok. And because I cannot rationalize Killian Jones playing basketball unless he’s some kind of JJ Reddick-type asshole, here are a lot of words about over-competitive friends and brackets and (maybe my very specific, personal) college basketball opinions. I will be honest and tell you guys this is definitely the most sports niche’y thing I have written and you probably need a general working knowledge of what the NCAA Tournament is, but there’s banter and eventual makeouts because of who I am as a person. Thank you, as always, to @distant-rose & @katie-dub for being endless sources of support and general fantastic’ness. Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

Selection Sunday

“Can you just pick?”

“No.” “No? Did you tell me that you can’t pick? Are you physically incapable of making your picks then? Because that would almost explain some of your choices last year.” Killian doesn’t lift his head up, keeping his eyes trained on the small stack of papers in front of him and Emma cannot sigh loudly enough. His lips twitch slightly.

“This is not that hard,” she says and it’s hardly the first time she’s told him that, but it doesn’t seem to be making much of a difference and it’s nearly eleven o’clock at night.

“You say that like you’ve got a title to defend, Swan,” Killian mutters. “This is a tried and true system with several minutes of actual research put into it and long-standing biases that have helped shape the sport for what it is.” “Overflowing with controversy?” Emma asks glibly, jumping onto the edge of the counter and kicking out towards him. “Deception? Disgrace?” “You’re trying to goad me into quoting something, it’s not going to work.”

She sighs, but she absolutely was and his pen sounds impossibly loud in the otherwise relative silence of the apartment. Mary Margaret fell asleep hours ago.

“That’s stupid,” Emma grumbles, drawing a quiet laugh out of Killian and she probably should have left already. She’s not sure why she hasn’t. Well, no, that’s a lie, but her apartment is far enough uptown that it’s probably better if she takes an Uber and she’s fairly certain they’re doing construction on the 2-train anyway.

Killian will probably make her take an Uber.

David’s probably got it on speed dial already.

“You really haven’t picked yet?” Emma continues and Killian shakes his head slowly, eyes darting up and she’s glad she’s already sitting down. “That’s also stupid. What’s your system, then?” “Excuse me?” “You said you had a tried and true system, explain it then, o ye master of competition.” Killian smirks, one eyebrow pulled dangerously high and Emma knows she’s not going to get an answer. “You know, I’m starting to think your compliments are ringing a little hollow there, Swan. I’ll admit that’s disappointing, but, again, I’ve got a title to defend and I’ll probably feel a lot better when I beat you all this year. Again. As per usual.”

He tugs a different pen from behind his ear – Emma dimly remembers something about color coding and possible upsets getting a different ink, but she’s fairly certain that it’s all conjecture just to annoy her. His tongue is pressed into the corner of his mouth and it’s as infuriating as it is distracting because he’s absolutely right.

They’ve been at it for what has felt like actual days, crowding, as tradition dictates, onto the couch in Mary Margaret and David’s apartment for the selection show

And, as tradition dictates, they complain about every single seed and the pros and cons of Syracuse making it again – ”They finished tenth in the ACC, that’s just insulting to the rest of the field. “We know, David.” “What even is an Orange? That’s a fruit. That’s not a mascot. That’s not intimidating me at all.” We know, David.” “If I were Mt. St. Mary’s, I’d sue.” “We know, David.” – and eat a questionable amount of Indian food from the place that is, technically, closer to Killian’s apartment, but he knows their orders by heart now and he got Emma an extra samosa, so she’s not ever going to complain.

Unless it’s about how goddamn long it’s taking him to fill out his bracket.

It’s March and there’s still, somehow, snow on the ground in New York, but Emma’s just brought in some perp she’d been trailing for the last month and she’s got the next week off. It is, officially, the most wonderful time of the year.

And she can’t even really remember how it all started.

Technically, it probably started when she landed in the Nolan house several decades before, a vaguely jaded orphan no one had ever really wanted until Ruth Nolan did and decided, quite quickly, to give Emma the world.

And a brother she didn’t ask for.

Emma and David didn’t get along at first. They argued and bickered and they were the same age and he had that annoying, incredibly nice friend who lived down the street in Storybrooke who, at one point, Emma was convinced could talk to birds.

Emma was a frustrated, bitter eleven-year-old and the new girl again and Storybrooke, as far as she was concerned, was the absolutely worst. Until she tried to run away – and Mary Margaret found her.

It was Mary Margaret’s birthday and Emma couldn’t stomach the idea of another party and another town event at Granny’s and she slipped out the backdoor and...couldn’t get any farther. Mary Margaret showed up, exactly, twenty-seven minutes later to find Emma huddled in the corner of the alley, shoulders shaking and disappointment looming over her like a storm cloud and she did the single most Mary Margaret thing that Mary Margaret had ever done.

She hugged her.

And then went to bring her a slice of ice cream cake.

It got better after that.

Mary Margaret kept smiling and, presumably, talking to birds and Emma stopped picking fights with David just because he was there.

They were some kind of three-headed monster – never more than a few feet apart and speaking in blinks and tilts of heads when they had to and no one was surprised to discover that all three of them applied to the same school.

Xavier.

Naturally. They were already like the three musketeers.

And it was good and great and a slew of other adjectives for three musketeers who’d never really experienced the world, until David got assigned a new roommate second semester freshman year and Emma Swan hated Killian Jones with a passion strong enough to rival several suns.

He hated her right back.

Loudly. With a string of curses that regularly made Mary Margaret blush and left David smacking Killian’s shoulder, mumbling that’s my sister, man under his breath.

He was smug and far too good looking and he did that thing with his eyebrow that made Emma’s stomach twist and she would show up in his room unannounced and laugh when he couldn't quite scrape by a passing grade in that one business class they both took together.

The good looking thing wasn’t important.

And the bracket thing had been Mary Margaret’s idea.

Naturally. Again.

“Maybe if we’re doing something fun, you won’t hate him so much,” Mary Margaret reasoned and Emma hadn’t argued, much, because it was a chance to beat Killian Jones at something and then make sure he never forgot about it for the rest of his life.

Only Killian Jones was, actually, really, really good at picking teams in the goddamn NCAA Tournament.

“He’s some kind of soothsayer, I swear,” Emma shouted, her own bracket torn to shreds and she still hated him, but he was always around and Mary Margaret and David had started acknowledging the longing looks they kept sending each other’s way that January.

“I think he’s got an algorithm or something,” David muttered.

Emma spun on the spot, glaring metaphorical daggers because she didn’t have any real daggers, and Killian held his hands up in mock surrender.

“There’s no algorithm,” he said. “Just a very good gut instinct and proclivity to being right.”

“God, you’re such an ass,” Emma groaned. “I bet you’re the only person in the country who picked that upset.” He shrugged.

And defended his inaugural title. For three years straight.

No one ever asked if they wanted to keep going, even after college and jobs and life, but no one asked if they all wanted to move to New York City either.

It just kind of happened.

And Emma just kind of stopped hating Killian.

He got under her skin. Or something less disgusting.

“Swan,” Killian says, jerking her out of memories and back to reality and she has no idea where she actually put her bracket.

“Yeah,” she mumbles and he’s smiling at her. Not smirking. No stupid eyebrow thing. A real, genuine smile and she wonders when that started making her breath catch and her eyes widen just a bit. “Here,” she adds when he stands up, eyeing her like she’s lost her mind. She might have. It’s probably with her bracket.

“I can see that. Although here seems a bit more physical and a hell of a lot less mental.” “Was that an insult? That sounded incredibly insulting.” Killian shakes his head, crossing the tiny space masquerading as a kitchen in three steps and his hand lands on her knee like there are magnets involved. “Not an insult,” he promises. “A genuine show of concern when you look like you’re trying to teleport back home.” “None of these words are making sense the way you’re saying them.” “Sounds like a sign.” “And an insult,” Emma hisses, kicking him in the shin. That feels a bit more normal. “Are you finally done?” “Mmhm.” “That’s awfully smug.” There’s the eyebrow arch.

“You’ve got quite a few opinions on my bracket, Swan,” Killian says and he’s started tapping his fingers on her jeans. Emma swallows. “I think it’s a defense mechanism.” “I think you’re refusing to talk about your so-called methods for picking teams because you know your good luck has finally run out and you’re nervous about what will happen if you don’t live up to expectations.”

She regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth, Killian’s fingers going deathly still when her mouth snaps closed and Emma bites her tongue to stop herself from doing anything else quite that stupid – like crying while sitting on the counter in David and Mary Margaret’s apartment.

And maybe she knows exactly when she stopped hating Killian.

“Purdue,” he says, ducking into her eye line and Emma has to blink, at least, sixty-seven times because the whole thing is ridiculous.

“What?” “Purdue. I picked Purdue to win.” “For real?” Killian tilts his head. “Why would I lie about that?” “I honestly have no idea, “ Emma admits. “But I’ve kind of lost track of the conversation and...honestly, Purdue though?” “You have something against Purdue, Swan?”

“No,” she snaps, shoving lightly at his shoulder and his gasps like it actually hurt. His hand is still on her knee. “But, like, why?” “That seems to fall decidedly in the realm of giving away my plan.”

Emma groans loudly, drawing a set of footsteps that were absolutely eavesdropping on the conversation and David hands her the bracket she filled out hours ago as soon as he’s within arms reach.

Killian’s hand is gone.

That’s fine. It’s fine. Cool. Totally cool. God, she can’t believe she just thought that.

“You’re going homer again, this year, huh, Em?” David asks, phone already out and she nods so he can order her the goddamn Uber.

She scowls, eyes darting Killian’s direction before she can stop herself and he’s trying very hard not to smirk at her. It’s not really working.

“I am going with a potential winner this year,” Emma corrects archly. “If it just so happens that I pick our alma mater, then, you know, so be it. It’s their year.” “Did the boosters get you to say that?” “How far do you have them going?” "Far.” “That’s not an answer,” she mutters, but it sounds more like a growl and they’re definitely going to wake Mary Margaret up at some point. “When did we all decide to descend into secrecy over our brackets? M’s told me as she was filling hers out.” “That’s because Mary Margaret is not trying to win,” Killian points out. One of the pens is back behind his ear, arms crossed lightly over his chest and there’s really not enough room for all of them in this quasi-kitchen.

Emma rolls her eyes, but it’s probably true and Mary Margaret regularly makes her picks based on nicknames, color schemes and the overall creepiness of mascots.

She’s never picked Providence. Ever.

“Whatever,” Emma mutters. “We’ve all reached a brand-new level of super strange competitiveness. I picked Xavier to win, not just because we all possess degrees from that school and they’ve now started calling asking for money, which I think is a sign of actual adulthood, but because they’ve got a good team this year and I genuinely believe they can win a national championship.”

“Because it’s their year, right?” David asks and he can’t quite keep the laughter out of his voice. Emma flips him off. “Honestly though, Em, tell me something. Did you...did you rehearse that?” “Oh my God, you’re even worse than him.”

She jerks her hand in Killian’s direction and he makes a good show of being affronted, but there’s something lingering just on the edge of his expression that makes her wonder all sorts of things she shouldn’t even be thinking.

“These insults, Swan,” Killian grins. “And you do remember that Xavier lost to Villanova twice this year, right?”

“Villanova lost to St. John’s. At home. When they were the top team in the country.” “That’s a good point,” David mumbles, but Killian and Emma both wave him off and this is almost, painfully, normal. “Xavier still won the Big East outright,” she argues. “First time in like...I don’t know, whatever it was historic.” “Not the tournament and if you’re going to bring up facts, you need them to be accurate. That’s arguing one-oh-one..” “Why are you so against a Xavier run?” “I’m not,” he says. “I’m simply pointing out that Xavier has a habit of fucking up once they get to the later rounds. It happens every year.” “If you say tried and true I will get off this counter and punch you right in the face.”

Killian laughs, head thrown back and shoulders shaking and Mary Margaret makes noise from wherever she fell asleep. Hours ago. “I wasn’t going to,” he says lightly and maybe Emma’s got food poisoning from that extra samosa. It would explain whatever is going on with her brain and her thought processes and whatever her whole being does as soon as Killian’s hand lands on her knee. “These are just facts, Swan. And David picked Arizona.” “What?” Emma gasps, laughing as well when David starts cursing Killian to several different underworlds. “Oh my God, David, seriously? You want to talk about a team that disappoints regularly. Plus all that off-court shit! No way they even make the Sweet 16.” “They’ve got the best freshman in the country,” David reasons. “This is a sound choice. And I’m doing some kind of thing this year.”

Mary Margaret pads into the kitchen when Emma can’t bring herself to stop laughing, a blanket tugged tightly around her shoulders and sleep clinging to every one of her movements. “It’s a Wildcat movement,” she mumbles. “He’s picking Wildcat teams this year.” “What?” Emma asks. Killian is barely standing up.

“Wildcats. He's picking as many Wildcats teams because he thinks it’s funny.” “And because it makes sense,” David adds sharply, rolling his shoulder when Emma grips it to try and stay upright. “Or it would have if I’d been able to get it to work, but Midwest doesn’t have any Wildcats--” “What team,” Emma interrupts and Mary Margaret drops her blanket when she starts laughing, shouting back Wildcats on cue.

David rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” he continues pointedly. “I got three of four, so that’s a majority and it’s totally going to work because an Arizona and Villanova final is not only probable, I’m guaranteeing it.” “Wow, talking a big game.” “I’m confident. That’s all. And I’m tired of Jones winning every goddamn year, so I’m willing to do whatever it takes. “It’s not going to work,” Killian says easily and the other pen is in his back pocket. Emma can feel Mary Margaret staring at her. “I’ve got a system. And I’ve got consistency on my side. And nicknames or mascots or whatever don’t have anything to do with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, so you’re always saying,” David grumbles. “You know what? Get out of my apartment and take your research with you because I’m not walking down the hall to put that in the garbage disposal.” “I mean, it should probably be recycling, right?” Emma asks, sliding off the counter and she’s suddenly far closer to Killian that she anticipated. She’s ninety-two percent positive he moved.

“You can get out of my apartment too. Your car is here, anyway.” “Ok, well, that’s rude, but thanks for the ride. Go back to sleep, M’s.”

Mary Margaret salutes, already halfway down the hallway and Emma glances Killian’s direction before she can lose her nerve. “You want a ride?” He blinks, like he’s trying to make sure he heard her right, and Emma chews on the inside of her lip, willing her stomach to act like an actual part of human anatomy.

He nods before he answers.

“Yeah, sure, Swan,” Killian says, grabbing his stack of paperwork and his ridiculous number of pens and they both sit in the backseat of an Uber on their way uptown.

They don’t say anything for the first dozen or so blocks, a companionable silence Emma never would have considered possible when she was a sophomore in college and spent most of her free time trying to figure out what Killian’s deal was.

She’s still not entirely sure she knows.

It’s a work in progress.

Or something.

Whatever.

“I can hear you thinking,” Killian says, gaze flitting her direction. “It’s very loud.” Emma bites her lip – mostly so she won’t smile and he won’t lord that over her for the rest of time. “Is it distracting?” she asks, but it feels like a much bigger question.

“No. Just general curiosity.”

“Because you claim to hear my thoughts. That’s...you know that’s weird, right?” “Only because you’re making it weird,” Killian challenges and they’re at his apartment already. Emma’s not disappointed by that. God, she needs to sleep for the entire week she’s off. She can’t. She’s got basketball to watch.

And a bracket to defend.

“God,” Emma sighs, rolling her head on the back of the seat and top of her hair is damp from resting on the window. “Do you have to be right about absolutely everything? Or do you just get a kick out of arguing with me?” “Did you just use the phrase get a kick, Swan? That’s...did we teleport in this Uber?” “Get out.” “I’m asking a genuine question.” “And I’m telling you to get out.”

He blinks, lips pressed together tightly enough that it’s difficult to make them out in the dim light from the street lamps and the Uber driver is getting more and more pissed off by the second. And suddenly it’s like that day and Killian’s face does something stupid, softens or settles more into him, like he’s seeing Emma for the first time and pleasantly surprised to find her there.

She’s going to bite her lip in half.

“You know I’ve got Friday off,” he says and maybe they did teleport.

Emma lowers her eyebrows, tilting her slightly and if he doesn’t stop smiling at her she’s going to get out of the Uber and walk the rest of the way home. “What does that mean?” “Are you confused by the words or…” “God, stop being a dick!”

The Uber driver snorts.

Killian glares at him.

“I’m saying that I know you caught that guy last week and now August requires you to take at least five days off to recoup or make sure you actually get the kind of sleep a human being needs to function. Which means that you, presumably, will be home screaming at your TV--” “--I don’t scream at my TV.”

“Swan, sometimes you get up and actually try and play defense with the team. It might be my favorite thing you do.” “Ok, well, if this is just some twisted way for you to make fun of my questionable interest in college basketball then…”

Emma trails off when she notices the look on his face – another expression she’ll probably file away in that metaphorical file she’s absolutely, positively not keeping because they’re kind of friends now and that’s cool.

She can’t believe she just thought the word cool.

“What?” Emma asks, the word coming out like a whisper and her lip is bleeding.

“I wouldn’t do that, Swan.

“Anymore.” He shakes his head, the muscles in his throat moving when he swallows and maybe whatever place they’ve teleported to has slightly brighter street lamps because the blue in his eyes seems to get sharper when he looks up at her.

“No,” Killian says. “Not anymore.” “So...was there an offer or an invitation in there or…” He grins. “I’ve got Friday off and I know you’ve got Friday off and I’ve got a better takeout selection than you do.” “See, you’ve just gotta add in those last, little insults don’t you?”

“You blink quicker when you get angry, did you know that?”

Emma shoves at his shoulder, like that will do anything at all, but he’s always had impossibly quick reflexes and she’s not even surprised when his fingers wrap around her wrist. She’s a bit more surprised by whatever her heart does in response and she’s fairly certain it’s the most he’s ever touched her in a 24-hour span. Or, like, a two-hour span.

“You want me to come here on Friday so we can watch basketball together?” Emma asks skeptically. Killian’s nodding before she can get the question out, eyes a hint wider when he tries to speak without actually speaking. “I think your team plays on Friday.” “I’m aware of the schedule, Swan. Xavier does too.” “It’s weird that you’ve memorized it already.” He hums noncommittally, but he really does have better takeout near his apartment and an exceptionally good coffee maker that Emma will undoubtedly use several times and, well, it might be kind of nice.

They’re friends now.

They spend time together. On their own. It’ll be fine.

Cool. It’ll be cool. Cool, cool, cool.

“Was anyone actually going to get out of the car or….” the Uber driver starts and Emma can’t quite mask her laugh. “Because I’ve got other fares I could be taking and…” “Yeah, yeah, I’m leaving,” Killian promises, twisting behind him to open the door and it’s fucking freezing outside. He glances back at Emma, one leg on the sidewalk already. “Friday?” There’s something just on the edge of that too, but Emma can’t quite figure it out and the Uber driver is the single most impatient person on the planet. She nods before she can come up with any of the reasons it will not be cool.

“Yeah,” she says. “Friday.”

He flashes her a smile, rolling his eyes at whatever noise the Uber driver makes when he kicks at the door and Emma’s fairly positive she doesn’t mishear him when he leaves, the quiet see you later, love ringing in her ears for the rest of the night.

The Play-In Games

David Nolan, Tuesday, 7:53 p.m.: Did we know that LIU Brooklyn was in the tournament? Emma Swan, 7:54 p.m.: It’s a play-in game it doesn’t count.

David Nolan, 7:55 p.m.: Also, what channel is TruTV?

Emma Swan, 7:55 p.m.: I’ll repeat myself.

Mary Margaret Blanchard, 7:56 p.m.: They’re playing a game, it definitely counts! They’re doing their best. And almost winning, kind of. Emma Swan, 7:57 p.m.: They are not almost winning. Where is LIU in Brooklyn? Shouldn’t it be...on Long Island.

Emma Swan, 8 p.m.: ????

Killian Jones, 8:01 p.m.: It’s right near Barclays.

Emma Swan, 8:03 p.m.: Why do you know that? Who knows that? No one. No one knows that.

Killian Jones, 8:04 p.m.: I know everything. You know this, Swan.

David Nolan, 8:07 p.m.: Guys. Seriously. This is a group text.

Emma Swan, 8:08 p.m.: Did you pick them?

Emma Swan, 8:15 p.m.: ……. Honestly, Jones? The tournament has started you can tell us who you picked.

Emma Swan, 8:17 p.m.: Killian, seriously!

David Nolan, 8:18 p.m.: This. Is. A. Group. Text.

Emma scowls when LIU Brooklyn shoots like garbage in the second half and loses its opening-round game and she’s already picked one team wrong, which doesn’t seem like a very good sign. Her phone dings almost immediately.

Killian Jones, 8:59 p.m.: I didn’t pick them. Did you?

Blackbirds are stupid mascots.

David Nolan, Wednesday, 11:37 p.m.: WHAT THE FUCK IS AN ORANGE, ANYWAY?!?

Killian Jones, 11:38 p.m.: Bahahahahahahahahaha.

David Nolan, 11:40 p.m.: Screw you, Killian.

Emma Swan, 11:42 p.m.: Did you put a period after your maniacal laughter?

Killian Jones, 11:44 p.m.: Proper punctuation is important when you’re lording your basketball-picking ability over your lesser competition, Swan. And I take offense at maniacal. It was reserved, at worst.

Emma Swan, 11:44 p.m.: Think very highly of yourself, don’t you?

Killian Jones, 11:45 p.m.: The Pac-12 is garbage. ASU was never going to win. Syracuse plays in the ACC. Strength of schedule is important.

Killian Jones, 11:45 p.m.: Plus, no college kid knows how to play against a zone.

Emma Swan, 11:46 p.m.: You shoot out of it. That’s just...that’s basic.

Killian Jones, 11:47 p.m.: Tell Arizona State that.

David Nolan, 11:49 p.m.: This. Is. A. Group. Text.

The First Round, Thursday, Day One

Emma sinks into the corner of her couch, hair still a bit damp from the shower she probably should have taken hours before, but she’s officially in basketball mode and basketball mode requires her to be as lazy as humanly possible while watching college-age kids be the exact opposite for the next twelve hours.

It sounds weirder out loud than it does in her head.

LIU Brooklyn was the only misstep in her First Four picks and, really, that was more of a technicality because most brackets don’t require First Four picks, but they’re all a bunch of over-competitive weirdos and they do it anyway.

She still has no idea what Killian’s bracket looks like.

It’s probably frustratingly accurate, but there are sixteen games that day which means there are sixteen chances for him to be wrong, which is really all she wants.

And maybe she’s the most competitive weirdo of all.

Because Emma really, really likes winning and she liked it a hell of a lot more the one time she beat Killian the first March after undergrad, but she doesn’t hate Killian nearly as much as she did before.

It's a very confusing sentence and a very confusing thought and she needs to watch some of these games to distract her from whatever her mind has been doing over the last few days – replaying that Uber ride and the slight shake in his voice when he asked about Friday, like he was scared she’d say no or like, maybe, it meant something good and big and important and it felt a bit like déjà vu because his voice had done the same, exact thing when she decided she didn’t hate him.

He’d just defended his championship, making sure to point it out as often and loudly as possible, a few days into April and Emma desperately needed the Benadryl she knew David kept in a box under his bed in the apartment just off campus.

She considered going back to her own room – only a few blocks away with her own stock of Benadryl because pollen seemed to exist only to ruin her life every April – but Emma was fairly convinced her nose was about to fall off and she was walking through the door before she even realized she’d taken her key out.

And Killian nearly ran her over as soon as she walked through the threshold.

“Swan,” he slurred, eyes a bit glazed and an actual bottle in his hand. He wobbled when he stopped to glare at her, a sneer to his lips that had become almost too familiar at that point. “What are you doing here?” Emma shook her head, kicking back to close the door and Killian winced when it slammed into its frame. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked, reaching out to tug the bottle out of his hand. He tightened his hold. “It’s like...two in the afternoon.” “Ah, well, then we’ve clearly fallen behind schedule. You want a drink, love? There’s a few options in the kitchen, although I’m not willing to share the rum.” “Not your love,” she said, mostly out of habit and he stumbled when she took another step towards him. “Seriously, what the hell is going on with you? You can’t even stand up straight.”

“That, my dear, is the point.” Emma glared, pressing her tongue on the inside of her cheek and it probably would have been intimidating if she didn’t sneeze very loudly two seconds later. It shook through whole body, leaving her sniffling and red-nosed and Killian was staring at her like she’d been replaced with a cyborg as soon as she lifted her head up.

“What?” Emma grumbled, sniffling again.

Killian opened his mouth, only to close it three more times and Emma realized, rather suddenly, that they’d never really had a conversation about….anything. They’d circled around each other for more than a year and had almost gotten the hang of small talk when David and Mary Margaret started making eyes at each other, but there was no depth to any of it.

She’d never asked about his hand – the prosthetic at the end of his left arm catching her attention the very first time she met him, but David had glared at her and the questions got caught in her throat and no one ever gave her an explanation. She’d never even really asked how he ended up at Xavier or why he was a year older than all of them with far fewer credits and he kept taking six classes a semester.

She hadn’t really ever bothered.

That felt decidedly….wrong.

Killian had, simply, come blazing into their lives like some kind of dying star or possibly a comet and Emma didn’t know enough about space to make those kinds of comparisons, but the dying part seemed particularly apt at the moment.

“David’s not here,” Killian said softly, a note of something that might have been disappointment in his voice. “He and Mary Margaret had class and then they were going somewhere to be painfully adorable so…” “So you decided to drink your entire alcohol supply?” “No, no, that had nothing to do with their proclivity to romance. Quite the opposite, in fact.” “That was a lot of very fancy words for a guy who’s having a difficult time staying upright,” Emma pointed out, tapping her finger lightly on his chest and it looked like he’d frozen. “Honestly, you’re really not going to tell me what’s going on with you?” Killian tilted his head, gaze a hint sharper than it had been a moment before and Emma bit her lip. Tightly. “It’s not exactly like we’re friends, Swan. Or even acquaintances, really. You tolerate at me, at best.”

“Ok, well, you don’t really like me either,” Emma argued. “You think I’m…” “What? Please. Tell me exactly what I think about you.”

She stomped her foot, growling low in the back of her throat and Killian did something absolutely ridiculous with his eyebrows. “Fine, fine,” she hissed. “You want to get blasted in the middle of the afternoon, fine. I couldn't care less. I came here to steal some of David’s allergy medicine because the world is attacking me. So I will go get that and then you can get back to your one-person pity party of whatever it is you’re being pitiful about.”

Emma nodded once, like that had won whatever argument they’d been staging, stepping around him towards David’s room, but she barely made it one step before Killian’s fingers wrapped around her shoulder.

“Did you say the world was attacking you?” he asked and it was the last question she expected.

“Yeah. I’m, uh...super allergic to pollen. Spring is, like, my own personal brand of hell.” Killian hummed, taking another swig of whatever was in the bottle – the label had peeled off at some point – before offering it to her. “It’s almost better than Benadryl,” he said and it felt like a much bigger offer.

She took the bottle and the rum – it was rum, incredibly good rum that probably cost a questionable amount of money – shivering when it burned the back of her throat and settled in the pit of her stomach and it almost felt like she could breathe a little better.

“He really never told you?” Killian continued softly. “David, I mean. He knows...the whole thing.” Emma shook her head. “David wouldn’t do that. Not if you didn’t want him to.” “Well, I mean, they’re dead, so it’s not as if they’re going to be offended by me talking about them behind their back.” “What?” “There really is almost a reasonable explanation for the alcohol.”

“Ok,” Emma muttered, nodding in the direction of the second-hand couch in the corner of the room. “But we really should sit down for this because you honestly look like shit and I don’t know that I’ll be able to do anything if you fall over.” Killian scoffed, but he didn’t argue and they spent the next forty-six and a half minutes sitting on opposite sides of the couch, passing the bottle back and forth and he told her everything.

He told her about Liam and Milah and the accident that took both of them at the same time and how he was fairly positive it was some kind of absurd joke when he woke up in the hospital bed, eighteen years old with one less hand than he expected.

He told her about getting out of that town and trying to decide what do next and how to honor both of them without living in the past.

It wasn’t easy, but there were classes and loans and his brother always thought Killian could do anything, so he figured he might as well. He ended up at Xavier by chance, a scholarship that just sort of landed in his lap and a business program that was good and great and a slew of other adjectives that might have included insane because--

“Liam would have been thirty today,” Killian said, taking his time on the words and he kept staring at a piece of string on the one couch cushion in between them. “And he would have hated that I did…” He waved his hand through the air, as if that was enough description, smiling softly when Emma pulled the bottle back to her side of the couch. “But I woke up this morning and I got another shit grade in that marketing class and I can’t…” “So then don’t,” Emma shrugged. Her words felt heavy, hanging on the tip of her tongue and jumbling in the air and Killian stared at her like she was that cyborg again.

“What?”

“Don’t,” she repeated. “Do something else.” “Like...what?” “Anything. You’re minoring in something, right?” Killian nodded slowly, groaning when she wouldn’t relinquish control of the bottle. They’d put quite a dent in it. “Classics,” he said. “You know...Greeks and myths and that kind of thing.” “So do that.” “That’s not really how it works, Swan. And this is sounding incredibly out of character. I wasn’t aware you were so positive.” “Ok, first of all, that’s rude and, second of all, I have known Mary Margaret for nearly a decade now, so some of that is bound to rub off. And third of--” “--There’s a third thing?” Killian asked incredulously and he grinned when Emma stuck her tongue out.

“There would be if you’d let me finish,” she muttered. “Everything you’ve just told me about your brother makes it seem like he was Mary Margaret levels of supportive, right?” Killian hummed again. Emma rolled her eyes. “So then he thought you should major in business because, what, there were careers in it?” Killian shrugged.

“God, you’re the most frustrating drunk in the world, you know that? We’ll go with that theory for now because there are also jobs in the classics and you could...I don’t know, you could teach or something.” “What?” “We are going in circles.” Killian shook his head, like he was trying to work through some more fog or metaphorical cobwebs and Emma felt the muscles in her face shift. She was smiling.

She was smiling at him.

“I just think you could do it,” she said, absolutely ignoring whatever Killian’s entire being did as soon as the words fell out of her. She took another swig of rum. “And I bet your brother would have too. You shouldn’t have to be worried about a marketing grade.”

He didn’t say anything for several days, at least, and Emma had never been particularly good at patience and she wasn’t entirely prepared for--

“I’m sorry,” Killian whispered, leaning forward to rest his hand on one of her knees. Emma suddenly felt far more drunk than she was. “For, well, for all of it. Being a dick and...being a dick.”

Emma’s smile widened, ducking her head and she sneezed when her hair brushed her nose. “Yeah, me too,” she said. “Truce?” She stuck her hand out and, eventually, she’d blame the rum and whatever he was doing with his face, but in the moment it made a hell of a lot of sense and Killian’s fingers were warm.

“Truce,” he echoed.

Emma never got the Benadryl, but they finished the rum and Mary Margaret’s laughter woke both of them up where they’d fallen asleep on the couch.

He changed his major two days later.

And, now, Emma can’t stop thinking about that day and what it meant or, maybe, means because things got better, but Killian is still David’s friend and Emma is still David’s sister and she’s definitely thinking about this way too much.

Particularly when there’s an upset brewing.

“Oh shit,” Emma breathes, reaching for her phone because she totally picked this one. She absolutely picked this one. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she mutters and patience is still not one of her strong suits.

He picks up on the third ring.

“What?” Killian whispers. “Is someone dead?” Emma nearly drops her phone. “No, what? Why?” “Swan, it is four in the afternoon. I have class. I am in class.” “Why did you answer your phone, then?” “You called me, love,” he says like it’s obvious and it kind of is and it makes every single one of her internal organs do something stupid. “So just to double check. No one is dead? David and Mary Margaret are fine?” “Presumably.” “Swan.” “Yes,” Emma sighs. “David and Mary Margaret are both fine. I just...well, it sounds stupid now. Are you actually in class? Aren’t there rules about that?”

“In a normal class, sure, but I’m a fantastic professor and my rules are much cooler than a normal class. And,” he adds, ignoring her not-so-quiet laughter completely. “It’s March, Swan. Early’ish March. There are midterms, you know.”

“Is that why you have tomorrow off?” “Mmmhmmm.”

“Oh, shit, does it make me a bad friend that I didn’t know that?” “I don’t expect you to have my schedule memorized, love.”

That’s two loves in the same conversation and, maybe, three in the last week and it’s not like Emma’s counting, but she isn’t not counting and--

“Yeah, but I feel like I should know that,” she continues. “Are you talking on the phone with me in the middle of a midterm? Because that’s also kind of shitty.” “I went outside. Figured if there was some kind of death notice imminent then I should be away from the prying eyes of undergrads.” “That is...morbid.” Killian laughs and Emma’s organs are just, like, on fire at that point. “I’ve been reading a lot of essays about the Underworld recently. It’s put me in a mood.” “Maybe I should bring more alcohol tomorrow.” “I wouldn’t say no, although we probably should wait until the later games for that, don’t you think?”

“Look at you, a picture of responsibility,” Emma says and her cheeks are starting to ache. She refuses to acknowledge the symmetry of her thoughts and their current conversation and he never brought it up again.

He just changed majors and started taking more classes and went to grad school and he had a satchel now. She teased him about it mercilessly.

“Sometimes,” Killian admits. "Why’d you call, Swan?” “Did you pick Loyola Chicago?”

“Excuse me?” “First-round games. Loyola Chicago. Did you pick them beating Miami because they just beat Miami. I know you didn’t pick this so--” “--Of course I did.”

Emma blinks. “What?” “I definitely picked them. I think they could make a run. How’d they win?” “No, no, you don’t get that,” Emma mutters and he’s laughing again, free and easy and she wishes he were there. So she could kick him. Or something else. Whatever. “You can’t be serious. What the fuck is Loyola Chicago even?” “Presumably it’s a school,” he reasons. “And you might want to watch that, Swan because my research shows they’ve got some kind of nun on their side and I don’t think you want to jinx yourself like that.” “I’m going to murder you.” “You’ve just jinxed it.”

Emma makes some kind of noise in the back of her throat and it’s not particularly human, but it draws another laugh out of Killian and at least she also picked the upset. “I can’t believe you researched Loyola Chicago,” she says. “Why?” “Swan, we’ve been over this, there’s a system and it’s tried and true and I’m sharing it with you. Also Miami has been streaky all season. That was an easy upset.”

“Of course it was.” “Anything else to report?” “Don’t you have some kind of internal update that lets you know when your bracket stays perfect? That way your ego never takes a hit?” “That’s rude, Swan. And, no, I don’t. C’mon, update me.”

She does – spends the next five minutes giving him a run down of the early games and the pros and cons of Trae Young leaving Oklahoma after his first year, of which there are many because his jump shot is off sometimes, Killian, you know it, I know it, NBA front office knows it and she’s almost surprised when he mutters that he has to actually go acknowledge his class eventually.

“Oh, right, right, right,” Emma stammers, but she’s ninety-nine percent positive Killian is still smiling. “And I think Collin Sexton is a better freshman than Trae Young and whoever that Arizona kid David was talking about.” “I’ve got no doubt you’re right, love,” Killian says. Her body, possibly, explodes. “You want to tag-team David when Arizona gets upset later on tonight?” “Arizona’s not going to get upset later on tonight.”

Her phone dings as soon as the Arizona game ends and Emma’s watched enough basketball that her brain is starting to get a bit muddled, but she can still spot a monumental sporting moment and Arizona got upset.

By Buffalo.

Mary Margaret Nolan, 11:57 p.m.: Please do not say anything. He threw the remote.

Emma Swan, 11:57 p.m.: Uh oh.

Mary Margaret Nolan, 11:59 p.m.: I’m serious, Emma.

Emma Swan, 12 a.m.: I said no words.

Killian Jones, 12:02 a.m.: I will gladly say words. Off-court issues are on-court problems and Sean Miller is a terrible coach. Go back to Dayton.

Emma Swan, 12:03 a.m.: Were you...just talking to Sean Miller? Via text?

Killian Jones, 12:03 a.m.: Yes. Also I will repeat myself from the First Four. The Pac 12 is terrible. You picked the wrong Wildcat, David.

Emma Swan, 12:04 a.m.: It’s unfortunate, but you know, someone’s got to be out first, David. It just so happened you were first on the first day.

Emma Swan, 12:04 a.m.: The very first day.

Emma Swan, 12:04 a.m.: The first one.

Killian Jones, 12:05 a.m.: As early as possible.

David Nolan, 12:11 a.m.: THIS. IS. A. GROUP. TEXT.

The First Round, Friday, Day Two

“It’s freezing and I’m here and I bought really expensive rum!”

The lock to his building clicks and Emma doesn’t exactly race up the stairs, but she doesn’t just walk up the stairs and by the time she makes it to the third floor there’s a stitch in her side that leaves her just a bit breathless.

Killian’s eyebrows are doing something ridiculous.

“You ok, Swan?” he asks, stepping out of the doorway and grabbing the bottle before she can object. “Did you run here?” She sticks her tongue out in response, pushing lightly on his shoulder and she really does lose her breath at the sight in front of her. There’s already a pre-game show on TV and two more screens and some kind of projector thing hooked up to his laptop and Emma can feel Killian behind her, something that feels like nerves rolling off him.

“Wow,” she breathes. “That’s just...wow.” He makes a noncommittal noise, more nerves and caution and Emma wonders if her week-long thought process makes a bit more sense than she originally thought. But that’s only more confusing and she kind of wants to drink some of the rum now.

“It’s really not that impressive,” Killian promises, dropping into the corner of his couch with forced casualness. “The laptops are mine and I borrowed the projector thing from school and there are a lot of games, so I figured…” Emma nods slowly, trying to take it all in and it might be the nicest thing that’s happened to her in several years. “You figured right,” she promises. “You going to let me see your bracket then?”

It’s enough to break the tension or the nerves or anything else that isn’t the sort of normal she and Killian have settled into and the couch creaks when she sits down.

“I think you’re obsessed with my bracket, love,” Killian says. She’s still not counting. “And, no, you can't look yet. Not until it's over.”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't really argue because there's a game starting and she doesn't really want to argue. They’re both more than vocal when Cincinnati plays, shouting a string of insults that gets progressively more crass throughout the game.

And they’re somewhere in the middle of the schedule, debating when they should order food and how qualified Emma is to operate the coffee maker on the other side of the apartment, when she decides fuck it, she’s going to ask.

Or something a little less crass.

“Why’d you pick Purdue?” Emma asks. “Honestly?” The question catches Killian short, eyes widening until there’s far too much blue there and it looks a little like the Creighton uniforms on TV, which is, honestly, the single most absurd thing she’s ever thought.

“And please don’t make a quip about being obsessed again,” Emma adds. “It’s stupid and a deflection and--” “That’s where Liam wanted to go,” Killian cuts in, voice scratchy and emotional and she knows her mouth drops open. She’s not sure she’s breathing.

Her lungs have been through the wringer all day.

“I have no idea why,” he continues and he’s not looking at her anymore. “It makes no sense whatsoever because Purdue is several states away from where we grew up, but he did and he thought a Boilermaker was some kind of fantastic mascot and I think he kind of wanted to be an engineer? But then my mom died and he had to take care of me so--” “That wasn’t your fault.” They need to stop interrupting each other. They need to stop having these emotionally-charged conversations in the middle of a basketball marathon with takeout menus everywhere.

They probably should have done this before.

“That sounded suspiciously like a compliment, Swan,” Killian grins. “And you didn’t even make a joke about Purdue’s top kid getting hurt.” “You think I’d make jokes about kids getting hurt?” He sobers for a moment, eyes darting to hers immediately and the whole word seems to shift when he shakes his head. “No,” he mutters, but it sounds like several admissions and some kind of major sporting moment and Emma tries to remember how important oxygen is to the human body. “I know you wouldn’t do that.” “You’re kind of a sap, you know that?” Killian chuckles softly, leaning forward and his hand is on her knee again. Time, it seems, is some kind of twisted circle.

“Sometimes,” he agrees. “I’m glad you’re here, love.”

Emma’s mouth goes dry at the sincerity in his voice, the hint of hopefulness on the edge of his gaze, like he means it and has been waiting to tell her for several years. She can feel the flush in her cheeks, teeth digging into her lower lip and his hand tightens a fraction of an inch.

He doesn’t flinch when hers lands on top.

She considers twisting their fingers together, but there have already been enough upsets and that team with the nun mascot was all over social media the night before, so Emma figures the world only allows so many surprises in a twenty-four hour span.

“Yeah, me too,” she says instead and she might think about his answering smile for the next week. “You want to order some food?”

They order way too much food and eat way too much food and Emma almost expects Killian’s cheers when they both start yelling during the Xavier game.

It’s easy and simple and they watch every single moment of every single game, only pausing a few times to answer David’s manic texts once UMBC takes a lead into halftime against Virginia.

“He thinks they’re going to win,” Emma mutters, but she’s standing and pacing, mumbling instructions under her breath.

Killian arches an eyebrow. “Do you not, love? As predicted, you’re playing defense. And rooting against your own pick.” “Aren’t you? I thought we determined you were a giant, sentimental sap?” “I’m not sure we settled on that turn of phrase, particularly, but to answer your question, of course I am. A little bracket chaos never hurt anyone.” “Plus you’re a great, big history nerd.” “You know none of these compliments sound much like compliments.”

Emma flashes him a smile, but her gaze darts back to the TV when Jim Nantz’s voice reaches a previously unachieved register and she’s not sure she’s ever heard of UMBC before.

They’re up double digits.

“I’m definitely complimenting you,” Emma promises. “And you know…” She waves her hand towards the screen, rolling her eyes when her phone makes more noise. Killian hasn’t blinked since the takeout got cold. He’s staring at her like he’s trying to read her mind or figure out what league UMBC plays in and they’re equally disconcerting and exciting because there’s more history to be made.

Maybe.

Emma hates her own metaphors.

“I don’t,” he mutters, gaze steady and just a hint imploring. Like he wants to know. Desperately.

“Well, maybe you deserve some compliments,” Emma starts. “And, you know...maybe I’m kind of a sap too. Rooting for the underdogs and upsets and picking the alma mater because there’s some history and...cut me off whenever.” He shakes his head, standing up slowly, and he’s in her space a moment later, one hand on the curve of her shoulder – as if he’s trying to make sure she’s there or keep her there and there are only a few minutes left in the game.

“That’s not a bad thing, Swan,” Killian says. “You’re allowed to care about things.”

“Yeah, sometimes those have a habit of blowing up in my face. The underdogs disappoint. That’s just how it works.” They are drowning in metaphors.

And he showed up on her doorstep a little over a year ago when she and Neal dissolved into whatever they weren’t, got her to let him into the apartment and brought her an entire box of samosas. He slept on her couch.

The buzzer on the TV goes off.

UMBC won.

History made.

Or something less sentimental.

“Not always,” Killian breathes, but Emma hears him perfectly and she’s, at least, seventy-six percent positive he’s going to kiss her when her phone dings, at least, seventy-six times.

She’s not sure which one of them groans louder.

“David needs a hobby,” Emma grumbles.

“This is his hobby.” ‘Well, then he needs a new one. This is just…” “Yeah, exactly.” “Why did that sound like an insult?” Killian makes a dismissive noise, an air of frustration lingering around him and Emma needs to go home. She doesn’t really want to go home. “It wasn’t,” Killian says. “It was just…” He’s going to do damage to his neck if he keeps shaking his head, but Emma’s forgotten how to hold a conversation and she’s too busy being stunned by the next words out of his mouth to be worried about saying anything except--

“What?” “It’s late,” he mumbles. “And you’re going to get surge pricing and you can just stay here.”

That’s what she thought he said.

Huh.

“Oh,” Emma blinks. “That’s um...are you sure?” That’s not what she expects to say.

Huh.

Again.

Killian nods. It’s a nice change of pace. So is the smile and that one lock of hair on his forehead and his hand is still on her arm.

“Yeah, yeah, it makes sense, right?” he asks. “And then you can raid the coffee again in the morning. It’s a win-win for you.” “Ok,” Emma says, a quick agreement that seems to rush out of her and into the air molecules where it lingers for several history-making, relationship-changing moments. “Ok.”

He absolutely refuses to let her sleep on the couch and Emma doesn’t argue, just smiles and lets herself be silently charmed by it and of course he has extra toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet. She falls asleep under the questionable number of blankets on his bed, a smile lingering on her face and in her soul or something equally ridiculous and he doesn’t say anything when she drinks four cups of coffee the next morning.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs #cs fic #captain swan ff #a touch of (march) madness #spoiler: i have a lot of college basketball thoughts #like...more college basketball thoughts than hockey thoughts

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highfalvtin-blog · 7 years ago

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round two, alternately known as: pearl never shuts up about her muses or their families, ig. :/

- ̗̀ ❛ KIANA LEDE, SHE/HER . ❜ ̖́- is that michaela rosser getting out of their car blasting body & blood by clipping ? i heard they’re twenty-one and they’ve been living in scarsdale for three months. i mean, i’m not surprised –– i hear their family’s networth is 950k. everyone’s always said they’re pretty ardent and audacious, but rumor has it they can be obstreporous and histrionic, too.

i’m not gonna lie, she’s based off of sam from dear white people :/

so her family are pretty much based off of reddick, boseman and kolstad from the good fight; ergo, a highly successful african-american law firm that takes on police brutality cases, amongst others ( they’re also notable for their criminal law and corporate law cases ). notoriously selective, but also notoriously hard to defeat in court. they rarely lose their cases.

she was raised to be very aware of her position in society and that she had to fight for what she wanted

her parents genuinely stuck to this ; they made her work for everything she ever wanted and it’s v much shaped the way she views the world and how she doesn’t take wealth as a privilege but moreso as a symbol of how hard her parents worked and fought

always the most opinionated, loud, sassy kid in yr class ; she probs argued with the teachers 24/7 and although her schools didn’t appreciate it, her parents sure the fuck did

they lived on the upper east side for ages bc that’s where the main firm was located but her parents decided that it was time to move ??

they’ve pretty much just moved from the upper east side of manhattan so kayla’s still v much the new kid on the block

and the whole new kid on the block thing would work out so well if the new kid on the block wasn’t so insistent on getting into verbal sparring matches and arguing with everyone

studying law at nyu, and is def getting a job with her family’s firm the minute she graduates

writes an extremely opinionated blog on civil and political rights that she’s super proud of

just . a super determined, focussed, intelligent girl who wants to fight for what she believes in

she either loves u or hates u and there’s literally no in between

WANTED CONNECTIONS !

a fling she’ll never admit to in a thousand years.

her lil tribe of friends that she’d die for.

the poor fucks she terrorises on a daily basis.

maybe ppl her parents defended / prosecuted against.

a study group or smth because we love cute dynamics.

her absolute ride-or-die.

#◜ 🌸 ⁞ michaela jane rosser. ━ ( v. intro. )#scarsdale:intro

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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Upcoming Must-See Movies in 2021

https://ift.tt/2XPPY8Z

It’s 2021. Finally. If you’re reading this, it means you’ve hopefully gotten through the wreckage of last year unscathed and are ready for a brighter future. And if you’re also a movie lover, this certainly includes a trip (or 20) back to the cinemas.

Sure, theaters were technically open in some places last fall, but the moviegoing season has largely remained dormant since March 2020. Yet given good news about vaccines starting to become available, and an absolutely stacked 2021 movie release calendar, we have reasons to be cautiously optimistic.

Indeed, 2021 promises many of the most anticipated films from last year, plus new surprises. From the superhero variety like Black Widow to the art house with Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch, 2021 could be a much needed respite. So below is just a sampling of what to expect from the year to come…

The Little Things

January 29

One of the year’s earliest high profile releases is also the first of WB’s film slate on HBO Max. The Little Things is a serial killer thriller in the old school mold. It also boasts a brutally talented cast that includes Denzel Washington and Rami Malek as the detectives, and Jared Leto as the killer. As the latest movie from John Lee Hancock (The Founder, The Alamo), this looks like the type of star-led seediness that used to dominate the multiplex.

Maclolm and Marie

February 5

Assassination Nation writer-director Sam Levinson returns for a decidedly stripped down and intimate character study about two people on the threshold of their lives changing–and perhaps splitting apart. With Zendaya and John David Washington in roles unlike anything we’ve seen the pair in before, they play a couple returning home after the premiere of Malcolm’s (Washington) first movie. He’s on the cusp of life-changing success as a director, but when confronted by Marie about past secrets and hard truths… the night takes a turn.

Judas and the Black Messiah

February 12

It’s kind of hard to wrap one’s head around the annual “Oscar race” in a year when little trophies don’t seem so damn important, but Warner Bros. feels strongly enough about this movie that it’s getting it into theaters and on HBO Max right in the thick of the pandemic-delayed awards season. And judging by the marketing, it’s bringing heat with it.

Shaka King directs and co-writes the story of Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya), who became the chairman of the Illinois chapter of the Black Panther Party in the late 1960s and was murdered in cold blood by police in 1969. LaKeith Stanfield plays William O’Neal, a petty criminal who agreed to help the FBI take Hampton down. This promises to be incendiary, relevant material — and it’s almost here.

Minari

February 12

Lee Isaac Chung directs Steven Yeun–now fully shaking off his years as Glenn on The Walking Dead–in this semi-autobiographical film about a South Korean family struggling to settle down in rural America in the 1980s. Premiering nearly a year ago at the Sundance Film Festival, where it won both the U.S. Dramatic Grand Jury Prize and the U.S. Dramatic Audience Award, Minari had a quick one-week virtual release in December, with a number of critics placing it on their Top 10 lists for 2020.

Its story of immigration and assimilation currently has a perfect 100 percent score on Rotten Tomatoes, with critics lauding its heart, grace, and sensitivity. A few of ours also considered it among 2020’s best.

Nomadland

February 19

Utilizing both actors and real people, director Chloé Zhao (The Rider, Marvel’s upcoming Eternals) chronicles the lives of America’s “forgotten people” as they travel the West searching for work, companionship and community. A brilliant Frances McDormand stars as Fern, a woman in her mid-60s who lost her husband, her house, and her entire previous existence when her town literally vanished following the closure of its sole factory.

Zhao’s film quietly flows from despair to optimism and back to despair again, the hardscrabble lives of its itinerant cast (many of them actual nomads) foregrounded against often stunning–if lonely–vistas of the vast, empty American countryside.

I Care a Lot

February 19

A solid cast, led by Rosamund Pike, Peter Dinklage, Chris Messina, and Dianne Wiest, star in this satirical crime drama from director J. Blakeson (The Disappearance of Alice Creed). Pike plays Marla, a con artist whose scam is getting herself named legal guardian of her elderly marks and then draining their assets while sticking them in nursing homes. She’s ruthless and efficient at it, until she meets a woman (Wiest) whose ties to a crime boss (Dinklage) may prove too much of a challenge for the wily Marla. It was one of our favorites out of Toronto last year.

The Father

February 26

Anthony Hopkins gives a mesmerizing, and deeply tragic, performance as Anthony, an elderly British man whose descent into dementia is reflected by the film itself, which plays with time, setting, and continuity until both Anthony and the viewer can no longer tell what is real and what is not. Olivia Colman is equally moving as his daughter, who wants to get on with her own life even as she watches her father’s disintegrate in front of her.

We saw The Father last year at the AFI Fest and it ended up being a favorite of 2020; Hopkins is unforgettable in this bracing, heartbreaking work, which is stunningly adapted by first-time director Florian Zeller from his own award-winning play.

Chaos Walking

March 5

This constantly postponed sci-fi project has become one of those “we’ll believe it when we see it” films until it actually comes out. Shot nearly three and a half years ago by director Doug Liman, Chaos Walking has undergone extensive reshoots and was at one point reportedly deemed unreleasable.

Based on the book The Knife of Letting Go, it places Tom Holland (Spider-Man: Far From Home) and Daisy Ridley (The Rise of Skywalker) on a distant planet where Ridley, the only woman, can hear the thoughts of all the men due to a mysterious force called the Noise.

Raya and the Last Dragon

March 5

Longtime Walt Disney Animation Studios head of story, Paul Briggs (Frozen), will make his directorial debut on this original Disney animated fantasy, which draws upon Eastern traditions to tell the tale of a young warrior who goes searching for the world’s last dragon in the mysterious land of Kumandra. Cassie Steele will voice Raya while Awkwafina (The Farewell) will portray Sisu the dragon.

Disney Animation has been nearly invincible in recent years with other hits like Moana and Zootopia, so watch for this one to be another major hit for the Mouse.

Coming 2 America

March 5

The notion of whether nostalgia-based properties are still viable has cropped up repeatedly in the last few years. However, streaming, which is where Coming 2 America finds itself headed post-COVID, makes golden oldies much safer. This sequel—based on a 32-year-old comedy that was one of Eddie Murphy’s most financially successful hits—sees Murphy back as Prince Akeem, of course, along with Arsenio Hall returning as his loyal friend Semmi.

The plot revolves around Akeem’s discovery, just as he is about to be crowned king, that he has a long-lost son living in the States (we’re not sure how that happened, but let’s just go with it). That, of course, necessitates another visit to our shores—that is, if Akeem and Semmi presumably don’t get stopped at the border. The film reunites Murphy with Dolemite is My Name director Craig Brewer, so perhaps they can make some cutting-edge social comedy out of this?

The King’s Man

March 12

This might be a weird thing to say: but has World War I ever seemed so stylish? It is with Matthew Vaughn at the helm.

An origin story of sorts for the organization that gave us Colin Firth and the umbrella, The King’s Man is a father and son yarn where Ralph Fiennes’ Duke of Oxford is reluctant about his son Conrad (Harris Dickinson) joining the war effort. But they’ll both be up to it as the Duke launches an intelligence gathering agency independent from any government. It also includes Gemma Arterton, Matthew Goode, and Aaron Taylor-Johnson as charter members.

Oh, and did we mention they fight Rasputin?

Godzilla vs. Kong

March 26

Here we are, at last at the big punch up between Godzilla and King Kong. They both wear a crown, but in the film that Warner Bros. and Legendary Pictures have been building toward since 2014, only one can walk away with the title of the king of all the monsters.

Admittedly, not everyone loved the last American Godzilla movie, Godzilla: King of the Monsters, but we sure did. Still, Godzilla vs. Kong should be a different animal with Adam Wingard (You’re Next, The Guest) taking over directorial duties. It also has a stacked cast with some familiar faces (Kyle Chandler, Millie Bobby Brown, and Ziyi Zhang) and plenty of new ones (Alexander Skarsgård, Eiza González, Danai Gurira, Lance Reddick, and more).

It’ll probably be better than the original, right? And hey with its HBO Max rollout, questions of a poor box office run sure are conveniently mooted!

No Time to Die

April 2

Nothing lasts forever, and the Daniel Craig era of James Bond is coming to an end… hopefully in 2021. In fact, delays notwithstanding, it’s a bit of a surprise Craig is getting an official swan song with this movie after the star said he’d rather “slash his wrists” before doing another one. Well, we’re glad he didn’t, just as we’re hopeful for his final installment in the tuxedo.

Director Cary Joji Fukunaga is a newcomer to the franchise, but that might be a good thing after how tired Spectre felt, and Fukunaga has done sterling work in the past on True Detective and Maniac. He also looks to bring the curtain down on the whole Craig oeuvre by picking up on the last movie’s lingering threads, such as 007 driving off into the sunset with Léa Seydoux’s Madeleine Swann, while introducing new ones that include Rami Malek as Bond villain Safin and Ana de Armas as new Bond girl Paloma. Yay for the Knives Out reunion!

Mortal Kombat

April 16

Not to be deterred by the relative failure of Sony’s Monster Hunter in theaters at the tail end of 2020, Warner Bros. is giving this venerable video game franchise another shot at live-action cinematic glory after two previous tries in the 1990s. Director Simon McQuoid makes his feature debut while the script comes from Dave Callaham (Wonder Woman 1984, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings) and the cast includes a number of actors you’ve seen in other films but can’t quite place.

The plot? Who knows! But we’re guessing it will feature gods, demons, and warriors battling for control of the 18 realms in various fighting tournaments. What else do you want?

A Quiet Place Part II

April 23

The sequel to one of 2018’s biggest surprises, A Quiet Place Part II comes with major expectations. And few may hold it to a higher standard than writer-director John Krasinski. Despite (spoiler) the death of his character in the first film, Krasinski returns behind the camera for the sequel after saying he wouldn’t. The story he came up with apparently was too good to pass up.

The film again stars Emily Blunt as the often silenced mother of a vulnerable family, which includes son Marcus (Noah Jupe) and deaf daughter Regan (Millicent Simmonds). However, now that they know how to kill the eagle-eared alien monsters who’ve taken over their planet, the cast has grown to include Cillian Murphy and Djimon Hounsou. While the film has been delayed due to the coronavirus outbreak, trust us that it’ll be worth the wait. Is it finally time for… resistance?

Last Night in Soho

April 23

Fresh off the success of 2017’s Baby Driver (his biggest commercial hit to date), iconoclastic British director Edgar Wright returns with what is described as a psychological and possibly time-bending horror thriller set in London. Whether this features Wright’s trademark self-aware humor remains to be seen, but since the film is said to be inspired by dread-inducing genre classics like Repulsion and Don’t Look Now, he might be going for a different effect this time.

The cast, of course, is outstanding: upstarts Anya Taylor-Joy (Queen’s Gambit) and Thomasin McKenzie (Jojo Rabbit) will face off with Matt Smith (Doctor Who), and British legends Diana Rigg and Terence Stamp. And the truth is we’re never going to miss one of Wright’s movies. Taylor-Joy talked to us here about finding her 1960s lounge singer voice for the film.

Black Widow

May 7

Some would charitably say it arrives a decade late, but Black Widow is finally getting her own movie. This is fairly remarkable considering she became street pizza in Avengers: Endgame, but this movie fits snugly between the events of Captain America: Civil War and Avengers: Infinity War. It also promises to be the most pared down Marvel Studios movie since 2014’s Captain America: The Winter Soldier, and that’s a good thing.

In the film, Scarlett Johansson’s Natasha Romanoff is on the run after burning her bridges with the U.S. government and UN. This brings her back to the spy games she thought she’d escaped from her youth, and back in the orbit of her “sister” Yelena (Florence Pugh). Old wounds are ripped open, old Soviet foes, including David Harbour as the Red Guardian and Rachel Weisz as Nat and Yelena’s girlhood instructor, are revealed, and many a fight sequence with minimal CGI will be executed.

How’s that for a real start to Phase 4? Of course that’s still assuming this comes out before The Eternals after it was delayed, again, due to the coronavirus pandemic.

Spiral

May 21

Chris Rock has co-written the story for a new take on the Saw franchise. Never thought we’d write those words! The fact that it also stars Rock, as well as Samuel L. Jackson, is likewise head-turning. It looks like they’re going for legitimate horror with Darren Lynn Bousman attached to direct after helming three of the Saw sequels, and its grisly pre-COVID trailer from last year.

Hopefully this will be better than most of the franchise that came before, and given the heavily David Fincher-influenced tone of the first trailer, we’re willing to cross our fingers and play this game.

Free Guy

May 21

What would you do if you discovered that you were just a background character in an open world video game—and that the game was soon about to go offline? That’s the premise of this existential sci-fi comedy from director Shawn Levy, best known for the Night at the Museum series and as an executive producer and director on Stranger Things. Ryan Reynolds stars as Guy, a bank teller who discovers that his life is not what he thought it was, and in fact isn’t even real—or is it? We’ve seen a preview of footage, so we’d suggest you think Truman Show, if Truman was trapped in Grand Theft Auto.

May 28

Just when you thought this never-say-die franchise had shown us everything it could possibly dream up, it ups the stakes one more time: the ninth entry in the Fast and Furious saga (excluding 2019’s Hobbs and Shaw) will reportedly take Dom Toretto (Vin Diesel) and his cohorts into space as they battle Dom’s long-lost brother Jakob (John Cena, making a long-overdue debut in this series). Michelle Rodriguez, Tyrese Gibson, Chris “Ludacris” Bridges, Jordana Brewster, Helen Mirren, and Charlize Theron all also return, as does director Justin Lin, who took a two-film break from his signature series. Expect to see the required physics-defying stunts, logic-defying action and even more talk about “family” than usual.

Cruella

May 28

Since Disney has already made an animated 101 Dalmatians in 1961 and a live-action remake in 1996, it is apparently time to tell the story again Maleficent-style. Hence we now focus on the viewpoint of iconic villainess Cruella de Vil, played this time by Emma Stone. She’s joined in the movie by Emma Thompson, Paul Walter Hauser, and Mark Strong, with direction handled by Craig Gillespie (sort of a step down from 2017’s I, Tonya, if you ask us).

The story has been updated to the 1970s, but Cruella–now a fashion designer–still covets the fur of dogs for her creations. This is a Mouse House joint, so don’t expect it to get too dark, and don’t be completely surprised if it ends up as a premium on Disney+ in lieu of its already delayed theatrical release.

Infinite

May 28

This sci-fi yarn from director Antoine Fuqua (The Equalizer) stars Mark Wahlberg as a man experiencing what he thinks are hallucinations, but which turn out to be memories from past lives. He soon learns that there is a secret society of people just like him, except that they have total recall of their past identities and have acted to change the course of history throughout the centuries.

Based on the novel The Reincarnationist Papers by D. Eric Maikranz, this was originally a post-Marvel vehicle for Chris Evans. He dropped out, and the combination of Fuqua and Wahlberg hints at something more action-oriented than the rather cerebral premise suggests. The film also stars Sophie Cookson, Chiwetel Ejiofor, and Dylan O’Brien.

The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It

June 4

James Wan is already directing a new horror film this year so he’s stepping away from the directorial duties on the third film based on the paranormal investigations of Ed and Lorraine Warren (Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga). That task has fallen to Michael Chaves (The Curse of La Llorona), so expect plenty of the same Wan Universe touches: heavy atmosphere, superb use of sound, and shocking, eerie visuals.

Details are scarce, but the plot—like the other two Conjuring films—is taken from the true-life case of a man who went on trial for murder and said as his defense that he was possessed by a demon when he committed his crimes. That’s all we know for now, except that, intriguingly, Mitchell Hoog and Megan Ashley Brown have been cast as younger versions of the Warrens.

Ghostbusters: Afterlife

June 11

With the 2016 Ghostbusters reboot criticized (fairly) for its lack of imagination and castigated (unfairly as hell) for its all-female ghost-hunting crew, director Jason Reitman–finally cashing in on the family name by returning to the brand his dad Ivan directed to glory in 1984–has crafted a direct sequel to the original films.

Books

Ghostbusters: Afterlife – Who is Ivo Shandor?

By Gavin Jasper

Movies

The Greatest Movie Sequels Never Made

By Jack Beresford

Set 30 years later, Afterlife follows a family who move to a small town only to discover that they have a long-secret connection to the OG Ghostbusters. Carrie Coon (The Leftovers), Finn Wolfhard (Stranger Things) and Paul Rudd (Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania) star alongside charter cast members Dan Aykroyd, Ernie Hudson, Sigourney Weaver, Annie Potts, and, yes, Bill Murray.

In the Heights

June 18

Lin-Manuel Miranda’s first Broadway hit musical gets the big screen treatment (by way of HBO Max) from director Jon M. Chu (Crazy Rich Asians). Set in Washington Heights over the course of a three-day heat wave, the plot and ensemble cast carry echoes of both Rent and Do the Right Thing. While a success on the stage—if not quite the cultural phenomenon that Miranda’s next show, Hamilton—it remains to be seen whether In the Heights can strike a chord with streaming audiences.

Luca

June 18

Continuing its current run of all-new, non-sequel original films started in 2020 with Onward and Soul, Pixar will unveil Luca this summer. Directed by Enrico Casarosa–making his feature debut after 18 years with the animation powerhouse–the film tells the story of a friendship between a human being and a sea monster (disguised as another human child) on the Italian Riviera. That’s about all we have on it for now, except that the cast includes Drake Bell and John Ratzenberger.

Pixar’s recent track record has included masterpieces like Inside Out, solid sequels like Toy Story 4, and shakier propositions like The Incredibles 2, but we don’t have any indication yet of what to expect from Luca.

Venom: Let There Be Carnage

June 25

Can anyone honestly say that 2018’s Venom was a “good” movie? A batshit insane movie, yes, and perhaps even an entertaining one in its own nutty way, but good or not, it made nearly a billion bucks at the box office so here we are.

Tom Hardy will return to peel more scenery down with his teeth as both Eddie Brock and his fanged, towering alien symbiote while Woody Harrelson will fulfill his destiny and play Cletus Kasady, aka Carnage, the perfected hybrid of psychopathic serial killer and red pile of vicious alien goo. Let the carnage begin!

Top Gun: Maverick

July 2

It’s been 34 years since Tom Cruise first soared through the skies as hotshot pilot Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, and he’ll take to the air once more in a sequel that also features Val Kilmer, Jennifer Connelly, Miles Teller, Jon Hamm, and more. The flying and action sequences from director Joseph Kosinski (who worked with Cruise on Oblivion) will undoubtedly be first-rate, but the studio (Paramount) has to be nervous after seeing one nostalgia-based franchise after another (Blade Runner, Charlie’s Angels, Terminator, The Shining) crash and burn recently.

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

July 10

With Shang-Chi, Marvel Studios hopes to do for Asian culture what the company did with the groundbreaking Black Panther nearly three years ago: create another superhero epic with a non-white lead and a mythology steeped in a non-Western culture. Simu Liu stars in the title role as the “master of kung fu,” who must do battle with the nefarious Ten Rings organization and its leader, the Mandarin (the “real” one, not the imposter from Iron Man 3, played here by the legendary Tony Leung). Director Destin Daniel Cretton (Just Mercy) will open up a whole new corner of the Marvel Cinematic Universe with this story and character, whose origins stretch back to 1973.

The Forever Purge

July 9

One day nearly eight years ago, you went to see a low-budget dystopian sci-fi/horror flick called The Purge, and the next thing you know, it’s 2021 and you’re getting ready to see the fifth and allegedly final entry in the series (which has also spawned a TV show). Written by creator James DeMonaco and directed by Everardo Gout, the film will once again focus on the title event, an annual 12-hour national bacchanal in which all crime, even murder, is legal. How this ends the story, and where and when it falls into the context of the rest of the films, remains a secret for now. Filming was completed back in February 2020, with the film’s release delayed from last summer by the COVID-19 pandemic.

Space Jam: A New Legacy

July 16

There are two types of folks when it comes to the original Space Jam of 1996: those who were between the ages of three and 11 when it came out, and everyone else. In one camp it is an unsightly relic of ‘90s cross-promotional cheese; in the other, it’s a sports movie classic. Luckily for kids today, NBA star LeBron James was 11 for most of ’96, and he’s bringing back the hoops and the Looney Tunes in Space Jam: A New Legacy.

The film will be among the many Warner Bros. pics premieres on HBO Max and in theaters this year, and it will see King James share above-the-title credits with Bugs Bunny. All is as it should be.

Uncharted

July 16

An Uncharted movie has been a long time coming. How long you might ask? Well, when the idea of an Uncharted movie first started getting bandied around Hollywood, the earliest game in the series just launched to rave reviews in the PlayStation 3’s first year. We’re now on PlayStation 5(!), and Mark Wahlberg has gone from angling to play young hero Nathan Drake to starring his wisecracking sidekick, Victor “Sully” Sullivan.

Still, we’re here with an Uncharted movie finally in the can. Directed by Ruben Fleischer (Zombieland, Venom), the video game movie stars everyone’s favorite web-head, Tom Holland, as Drake, a pseudo-modern day Indiana Jones. Whether it lives up to that older franchise’s storied legacy remains to be seen (especially given its gaming roots), but one thing’s for sure, Holland will get to show off more gymnast skill thanks to Uncharted’s famous parkour iconography.

The Tomorrow War

July 23

An original IP attempting to be a summer blockbuster? As we live and breathe. The Tomorrow War marks director Chris McKay’s first foray into live-action after helming The Lego Batman Movie. The film stars Chris Pratt as a soldier from the past who’s been “drafted by scientists” to the present in order to fight off an alien invasion overwhelming our future’s military. One might ask why said scientists didn’t use their fancy-schmancy time traveling shenanigans to warn about the impending aliens, but here we are.

Jungle Cruise

July 30

Disney dips into its theme park rides again as a source for a movie, hoping that the Pirates of the Caribbean lightning will strike once more. This time it’s the famous Adventureland riverboat ride, which is free enough of a real narrative that one has to wonder why some five screenwriters (at least) worked on the movie’s script.

Jaume Collet-Serra (The Shallows) directs stars Dwayne Johnson and Emily Blunt down this particular river, as they battle wild animals and a competing expedition in their search for a tree with miraculous healing powers. The comic chemistry between Johnson and Blunt is key here, especially if they really can mimic Bogie and Hepburn in the similarly plotted The African Queen. If they can sell that, Disney might just have a new water-based franchise to replace their sinking Pirates ship.

The Green Knight

July 30

David Lowery, the singular director behind A Ghost Story and The Old Man & the Gun, helmed a fantasy adaptation of the Arthurian legend of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. And his take on the material was apparently strong enough to entice A24 to produce it. Not much else is yet known about the film other than its cast, which includes Dev Patel, Alicia Vikander, Ralph Ineson, and Kate Dickie–and that it’s another casualty of COVID, with its 2020 release date being delayed last year. So this is one we’re definitely going to keep an eye on.

The Suicide Squad

August 6

Arguably the most high-profile of the WB films being transitioned to HBO Max, The Suicide Squad is James Gunn’s soft-reboot of the previous one-film franchise. It’s kind of funny WB went in that direction when the first movie generated more than $740 million, but when the reviews and word of mouth were that toxic… well, you get the guy who did Guardians of the Galaxy to fix things.

Peacemaker: Suicide Squad Spinoff With John Cena Coming to HBO Max

By Mike Cecchini

Movies

The Suicide Squad Trailer Promises James Gunn’s “1970s War Movie”

By David Crow

Elements from the original movie are still here, most notably Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn and Viola Davis’ Amanda Waller, but the film promises to be weirder, meaner, and also sillier. The first points are proven by its expected R-rating, and the latter is underscored by its giant talking Great White Shark. Okay, we’ll bite.

Deep Water

August 13

Seedy erotic thrillers and neo noirs bathed in shadows and sex are largely considered a thing of the past—specifically 1980s and ‘90s Hollywood cinema. Maybe that’s why Deep Water hooked Adrian Lyne (Fatal Attraction, Indecent Proposal) to direct. The throwback is based on a 1957 novel by the legendary Patricia Highsmith (The Talented Mr. Ripley), and it pits a disenchanted married couple against each other, with the bored pair playing mind games that leave friends and acquaintances dead. That the couple in question is played by Ben Affleck and Ana de Armas, who’ve since become a real life item, will probably get plenty of attention close to release.

Respect

August 13

Respect is the long-awaited biopic of the legendary Aretha Franklin, with the Queen of Soul herself involved in its development for years until her death in August 2018. Authorized biopics always make one wonder how accurate the film will be, but then again, Aretha had nothing to be ashamed of. Hers was a life well-lived, her voice almost beyond human comprehension, and the only thing now is to see whether star Jennifer Hudson (Franklin’s personal choice) and director Liesl Tommy (making her feature debut) can do the Queen justice.

Candyman

August 27

In some ways it’s surprising that it’s taken this long—28 years, notwithstanding a couple of sequels—to seriously revisit the original Candyman. Director Bernard Rose’s original adaptation of the Clive Baker story, “The Forbidden,” is still relevant and effective today. Back then, the film touched on urban legends, poverty, and segregation: themes that are still ripe for exploration through a genre touchstone today.

After her breathtaking feature directorial debut, Little Woods, Nia DaCosta helmed this bloody reboot while working from a screenplay co-written by Jordan Peele (Get Out). That’s a powerful combination, even before news came down DaCosta was helming Captain Marvel 2. And with an actor on-the-cusp of mega-stardom, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, picking up Tony Todd’s gnarly hook, this is one to watch out for.

The Beatles: Get Back

August 27

Peter Jackson seems to enjoy making films about what inspired him in his youth: The Lord of the Rings, King Kong, his grandfather’s World War I service informing They Shall Not Grow Old. So perhaps it was inevitable he’d make a film about the greatest youth icon of his generation, the Beatles. In truth, The Beatles: Get Back is a challenge to a previous documentary named Let It Be, and the general pop culture image it painted.

That 1970 doc by Michael Lindsay-Hogg zeroed in on the band’s final released album, Let It Be (although it was recorded before Abbey Road). Now, using previously unseen footage, Jackson seeks to challenge the narrative that the album was created entirely from a place of animosity among the bandmates, or that the Beatles had long lost their camaraderie by the end of road. Embracing the original title of the album, “Get Back,” Jackson wants to get back to where he thinks the band’s image once belonged.

Death on the Nile

September 17

Murder on the Orient Express (2017) became a surprise hit for director and star Kenneth Branagh. Who knew that audiences would still be interested in an 83-year-old mystery novel about an eccentric Belgian detective with one hell of a mustache? Luckily, Agatha Christie featured Poirot in some 32 other novels, of which Death on the Nile is one of the most famous, so here we are.

Branagh once again directs and stars as Poirot, this time investigating a murder aboard a steamer sailing down Egypt’s famous river. The cast includes Gal Gadot, Armie Hammer, Letitia Wright, Tom Bateman, Ali Fazal, Annette Bening, Rose Leslie, and Russell Brand. Expect more lavish locales, scandalous revelations, the firing of a pistol or two, and, yes, more shots of that stunning Poirot facial hair.

The Many Saints of Newark

September 24

The idea of a prequel to anything always fills us with trepidation, and re-opening a nearly perfect property like The Sopranos makes the prospect even less appetizing. But Sopranos creator David Chase has apparently wanted to explore the back history of his iconic crime family for some time, and there certainly seems to be a rich tapestry of characters and events that have only been hinted at in the series.

Directed by series veteran Alan Taylor (Thor: The Dark World), The Many Saints of Newark stars Alessandro Nivola as Dickie Moltisanti (Christopher’s father), along with Jon Bernthal, Vera Farmiga, Corey Stoll, Ray Liotta, and others. But the most fascinating casting is that of Michael Gandolfini—James’ son—as the younger version of the character with which his late dad made pop culture history. For that alone, we’ll be there on opening night… even if that just means HBO Max!

Dune

October 1

Could third time be the charm for Frank Herbert’s complex novel of the far future, long acknowledged as one of the greatest—if most difficult to read—milestones in all of science fiction? David Lynch’s 1984 version was, to be charitable, an honorable mess, while the 2000 Sci-Fi Channel miniseries was decent and faithful, but limited in scope. Now director Denis Villeneuve (Blade Runner 2049, Arrival) is pulling out all the stops—even breaking the story into two movies to give the proper space.

Movies

Dune Trailer Breakdown and Analysis

By Mike Cecchini

Movies

What Alejandro Jodorowsky Thinks of the New Dune Trailer

By Mike Cecchini and 1 other

On the surface, the plot is simple: as galactic powers vie for control of the only planet that produces a substance capable of allowing interstellar flight, a young messiah emerges to lead that planet’s people to freedom. But this tale is dense with multiple layers of politics, metaphysics, mysticism, and hard science.

Villeneuve has assembled a jaw-dropping cast, including Timothée Chalamet, Rebecca Ferguson, Oscar Isaac, Josh Brolin, Stellan Skarsgård, Dave Bautista, Zendaya, Charlotte Rampling, Jason Momoa, and Javier Bardem, and if he pulls this off, just hand him every sci-fi novel ever written. Particularly, if relations between the director and WB remain strained…

Morbius

October 8

Following the monstrous (pun intended) success of Venom, Sony Pictures is making its second attempt to mine Spider-Man’s universe of villains with the dark tale of Dr. Michael Morbius (Jared Leto), whose efforts to cure himself of a fatal blood disease turn him instead into a blood-drinking anti-hero. Morbius has been lurking around the Marvel Comics canon since 1971, often either sparring or teaming with Spidey, and it remains uncertain whether he’s got the cache to carry a movie on his own. In addition, can Leto wash away the bad taste left behind by his tattooed and grilled Joker in Suicide Squad?

Halloween Kills

October 15

2018’s outstanding reboot of the long-running horror franchise—which saw David Gordon Green (Stronger) direct Jamie Lee Curtis in a reprise of her most famous role—was a tremendous hit. So in classic Halloween fashion, two more sequels were put into production (the second, Halloween Ends, will be out in 2022… hopefully).

Movies

Halloween: A Legacy Unmasked

By David Crow

Movies

How Jason Blum Changed Horror Movies

By Rosie Fletcher

Curtis is back as Laurie Strode, along with Judy Greer as her daughter, Andi Matichak as her granddaughter, and Nick Castle sharing Michael Myers duties with James Jude Courtney. Kyle Richards and Charles Cyphers, meanwhile, will reprise their roles as Lindsey Wallace and former sheriff Leigh Brackett from the original 1978 Halloween (Anthony Michael Hall will play the adult version of Tommy Doyle). The plot remains a mystery, but we’re pretty sure it will involve yet another confrontation between Laurie and a rampaging Myers.

The Last Duel

October 15

What was once among the most anticipated films of 2020, The Last Duel is the historical epic prestige project marked by reunions: Ridley Scott returns to his passion for period drama and violence; Matt Damon and Ben Affleck work together for the first time in ages as both actors and writers; and the film also unites each with themes that were just as potent in the medieval world as today: One knight (Damon) in King Charles VI’s court accuses another who’s his best friend (Adam Driver) of raping his wife (Jodie Comer). Oh, and Affleck plays the King of France.

With obviously harrowing—and uncomfortable—themes that resonate today, The Last Duel is based on an actual trial by combat from the 14th century, and is a film Affleck and Damon co-wrote with Nicole Holofcener (Can You Ever Forgive Me?). It’s strong material, and could prove to be one of the year’s most riveting or misjudged films. Until then, it has our full attention.

Snake Eyes: G.I. Joe Origins

October 22

While the idea of a Hasbro Movie Universe seems to be kind of idling at the moment, corners of that hypothetical cinematic empire remain active. One such brand is G.I. Joe, which will launch its first spin-off in this origin story of one of the team’s most popular characters. Much of his early background remains mysterious, so there’s room to create a fairly original story while incorporating lore and characters already established in the G.I. Joe mythos.

Neither of the previous G.I. Joe features (The Rise of Cobra and Retaliation) have been much good, so we can probably expect the same level of quality from this one. Director Robert Schwentke (the last two Divergent movies) doesn’t inspire much excitement either. On the other hand, Henry Golding (Crazy Rich Asians) will star in the title role, and having Iko Uwais (The Raid) and Samara Weaving (Ready or Not) on board isn’t too bad either.

Eternals

November 5

Based on a Marvel Comics series by the legendary Jack Kirby, the now long-forthcoming Eternals centers around an ancient race of powerful beings who must protect the Earth against their destructive counterparts (and genetic cousins), the Deviants. Director Chloe Zhao (fresh off the awards season buzzy Nomadland) takes her first swing at epic studio filmmaking, working with a cast that includes Angelina Jolie, Gemma Chan, Kit Harington, Salma Hayek, Richard Madden, Brian Tyree Henry, and more.

Movies

Upcoming Marvel Movies Release Dates: MCU Phase 4 Schedule, Cast, and Story Details

By Mike Cecchini and 1 other

Movies

The Incredible Hulk’s Diminished Legacy in the Marvel Cinematic Universe

By Gavin Jasper

In many ways, Eternals represents another huge creative risk for Marvel Studios: It’s a big, cosmic ensemble film introducing an ensemble that the vast majority of the public has never heard of. But then, it’s sort of in the same position as Guardians of the Galaxy from way back in 2014, and we all know what happened there.

Elvis

November 5

Obviously we’ve all seen musical biopics before—too many after Walk Hard broke the formula down—but Elvis promises to be something different. A new passion project from Baz Luhrmann, the filmmaker behind Moulin Rouge!, Romeo + Juliet, and The Great Gatsby, Elvis is expected to be a radically stylized account of Elvis Presley’s rise to all shook up fame. With an impressive cast that includes Tom Hanks as manager “Colonel” Tom Parker and Kelvin Harrison Jr. as B.B. King, and with up-and-comer Austin Butler as the King of Rock and Roll himself, it should be a hell of a show.

King Richard

November 19

Will Smith’s King Richard promises to be a different kind of biographical film coming down the pipe. Rather than being told from the vantage of professional tennis playing stars Venus and Serena Williams, King Richard centers on their father and coach, Richard Williams. It’s an interesting choice to focus on the male father instead of the game-changing Black daughters, but we’ll see if there’s a strong creative reason for the approach soon enough. The film is directed by Reinaldo Marcus Green (Monsters and Men, Joe Bell).

Mission: Impossible 7

November 19

Once upon a time, the appeal of the Mission: Impossible movies was to see different directors offer their own take on Tom Cruise running through death-defying stunts. But then Christopher McQuarrie had to come along and make the best one in franchise history (twice). First there was Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation and then Mission: Impossible – Fallout. Now McQuarrie and company have set up their own separate quartet of films with recurring original characters like new franchise MVP Ilsa Faust (Rebecca Ferguson) across four films.

Movies

Audio Surfaces of Tom Cruise Raging on the Set of Mission: Impossible 7

By Kirsten Howard

Movies

Mission: Impossible 7 – What’s Next for the Franchise?

By David Crow

Thus enters M:I7, the third McQuarrie joint in the series and first half of a pair of incoming sequels filmed together. The first-half of this two-parter sees the whole crew back together, including Cruise’s Ethan Hunt, Ilsa, Benji (Simon Pegg), Luther (Ving Rhames), and CIA Director Erika Sloane (Angela Bassett). They’re also being joined by Hayley Atwell and Pom Klementieff, but really we’re all just eager to see what kind of insane stunts they can do to top the HALO jump in the last one.

West Side Story

December 10

Steven Spielberg has just two remakes on his directorial resume: Always (1989) and War of the Worlds (2005). While the former is mostly forgotten and the latter was an adaptation of a story that has been filmed many times, his upcoming reimagining of West Side Story will undoubtedly be directly compared to Robert Wise’s iconic 1961 screen version of this classic musical.

A few numbers in previous films aside, Spielberg has never directed a full-blown musical before, let alone one associated with such powerhouse songs and dance numbers. His version, with a script by Tony Kushner, is said to stay closer to the original Broadway show than the 1961 film—but with its themes of love struggling to cross divides created by hate and bigotry, don’t be surprised if it’s just as hard-hitting in 2021. Certainly would’ve devastated last year….

Spider-Man 3

December 17

Sony has finally gotten to a “Spider-Man 3” again in their oft-rebooted franchise crown jewel (technically though this film is still untitled). That proved to be a stumbling block the first time it occurred with Tobey Maguire in the red and blues, but the company seems undaunted since Tom Holland’s third outing is expected to bring Maguire back—him and just about everyone else too.

Movies

Spider-Man 3: Charlie Cox Daredevil Return Would Redeem the Marvel Netflix Universe

By Joseph Baxter

Movies

Spider-Man 3 Adds Benedict Cumberbatch’s Doctor Strange

By Joseph Baxter

With a multiverse plot ripped straight from the arguably best Spidey movie ever, 2018’s Into the Spider-Verse, Holland’s third outing is bringing back Maguire, Andrew Garfield’s Spider-Man, Alfred Molina as Doc Ock, Jamie Foxx as Electro (eh), and probably more. It’s a Spidey crossover extravaganza that’s only missing a Spider-Ham. But just you wait…

The Matrix 4

December 22

Rebooting or continuing The Matrix series has always been a tough proposition. While the original Matrix film is one of the landmark achievements in science fiction and early digital effects filmmaking in the 1990s, its sequels were… less celebrated. In fact, directors Lily and Lana Wachowski were publicly wary about the idea of ever going back to the series. And yet, here we are with Lana (alone) helming a project that’s been a longtime priority for Warner Bros.

Movies

The Matrix 4: Laurence Fishburne “Wasn’t Invited” to Reprise Morpheus Role

By John Saavedra

Movies

The Matrix 4 Already Happened: Revisiting The Matrix Online

By John Saavedra

The Matrix 4 also brings back Keanu Reeves, Carrie-Anne Moss, and Jada Pinkett Smith. This is curious since Reeves and Moss’ characters died at the end of the Matrix trilogy—and also because Laurence Fishburne’s Morpheus did not, yet he wasn’t asked back. We cannot say we’re thrilled about the prospect of more adventures in Zion after the disappointment of the first two sequels, but we’d be lying if we didn’t admit we’re still curious to see the story that brought Lana back to this future.

The French Dispatch

TBA

Wes Anderson has a new film coming out. Better still, it is another live-action film. While Anderson’s use of animation is singular, it’s been seven years since The Grand Budapest Hotel, which we maintain is one of the best movies of the last decade. Anderson is working with Timothée Chalamet and Cristoph Waltz for the first time with this film, as well as several familiar faces including Saoirse Ronan, Willem Dafoe, Tilda Swinton, Léa Seydoux, Adrien Brody, Owen Wilson, Jason Schwartzman, and, of course, Bill Murray.

The French Dispatch is set deep in the 20th century during the peak of modern journalism, it brings to life a series of fictional stories in a fictional magazine, published in a fictional French city. We suspect though, if Anderson’s last two live-action movies are any indication, it’ll have more than fiction on its mind–especially since it’s inspired by actual New Yorker stories, and the journalists who wrote them! We missed it in 2020, so here’s hoping it really does go to print in 2021!

Other interesting movies that may come out in 2021 but do not yet have release dates: Next Goal Wins, Don’t Worry Darling, Nightmare Alley, Antlers, Blonde, The Northman, Resident Evil, Red Notice, Those Who Wish Me Dead, Army of the Dead.

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