#but it just gets so much funnier when they’re an age that’s not even plausible to write off the fact that they don’t grow older

[interstate35south]

listen. i like a good “hualian adopts wwx” au as much as the next guy. but do y’all ever think abt the fact that appearance wise. xie lian and hua cheng are supposedly like. 17-19

i forget about it until i’m consciously reminded of it but there’s comedic potential in there somewhere

like i imagine they could probably get away with it when wwx was a young child but it’s all fun and games until visibly 34 year old wei wuxian is still calling apparently 17 year old xie lian dad

[unproduciblesmackdown]

let's get those Multiples Of Four for the lihn asks

Thank Yoy here i gooo

4) Favorite exchange(s)?

i like the conversation when sheila stays behind with susannah while the latter gets changed into the uniform skirt or whichever costume piece lol and susannah is clearly like trying to Fit In as she would with the girls as a whole group re: just sheila but that's not really what sheila herself is about so it's not going anywhere at first. it was very funny when judith just smacks susannah's lunch tray straight down onto the floor rip. and of course i love kitty Addressing susannah leading into masochist

8) Favorite costume(s)?

hmm not great at noticing these details (especially the first time around and in non-hq footage lol) but i Did notice (and appreciate) how all the characters were costumed quite differently in a very Personal Style sort of way, v helpful to characterize them each and help distinguish them earlier on. i did like susannah's costumes a lot with the yellow / purple and patterns and vests and carefully styled hair and her post-timeskip look was fantastic as well

12) Favorite background moment(s)?

again i was pretty focused on the foreground stuff really lol and i don't really remember anything where i was noticing something happening only in the background. but a more Literal background moment, i too really enjoyed the silhouettes of the girls striking poses being projected onto the bg behind susannah at the beginning of the show, very effective and Dramatic

16) Underrated moment(s) in the show? 

i don't think i have a real answer re: what's Underrated mostly b/c i've already seen so much good analysis & appreciation from people about pretty much everything........so a vaguely tangential answer is about wishing it was just a Little more evident that Kitty And Dorothy Have Their Own Thing Going On, which like, yeah maybe it's easier to tell in person watching the show, but......and i Do like that kitty's connection to susannah is so clearly more general than their Relationships (or potential ones / wanting one) b/c of course susannah's dilemma around goes beyond Just the particular forbidden romance with this particular person

i also found judith's character like, nonzero engaging, which is just like i hadn't heard much about her  prior i don't think. not as though she's at all Likeable in the sense of like if you were in the show you would not like this character who is both a bully and a narc but it's still like, good for her eventually realizing the error of her ways even if it'd've been good to realize it Before miss asp made it clear she was only ever intending to use judith, and like, maybe if your snitching on a girl had indirectly led to her death you'd stop narcing on everyone instead of just setting up the same situation again. but at least she comes around and threatens francis and even her awfulness can be funnier than the awfulness of other characters who are being awful

20) Headcanon(s) for what happens before the show?

oof that's tricky since so much stuff in the show is unveiling ppl's Backstory / what's happened prior.....idk i was gonna say i wonder how kitty got makeup kits into nation but maybe they're allowed / it's allowed for her b/c her parents are paying so much. not very exciting

24) The Other One or Oh Well?

did have to confirm which one The Other One is but i guess that one lmfao i just have a great time with sheila going off on those verses and it's fun how it's this playful song about them bonding over being rejected.....the "and i guess i don't know how to feel about it" delivery is v funny. much respect and appreciation for Oh Well though of course

28) Something you like/have noticed about the show that you haven’t seen anyone else mention yet?

i'm not sure there Was much that i noticed that i hadn't heard about prior......tbh i think there were just a few Plot Points i hadn't already heard discussed but they weren't exactly Fun ones so i was like hm yeah i can see why ppl wouldn't necessarily specifically address this for kicks

32) If only one could happen, would you prefer a cast recording or an Off-Broadway run?

i agree w/ p much everyone, gotta love the increased availability of a cast recording.....will be around for more than a few weeks, will cost less to obtain the experience, and around here Who Knows what cast recordings will spark. love how plausible it is that lihn Will get a cast recording, here's hoping

36) Favorite song(s) off the Hits of Nation/character playlists?

seeing as i forgot these playlists exist, f, and i have never heard music i just checked for which songs i know i know off the top of my head lol. s/o to each of the girls having iko iko by the dixie cups on their playlists, guess that's some required listening

[susannah: l.e.s. artistes by santigold], [rat: one way or another by blondie, i got a rocket in my pocket by jimmie lloyd (which i've only partially heard b/c it plays in the bg of a The Iron Giant scene lmao so this only counts like 1/3 of the way)] [kitty: diamonds are a girl's best friend by marilyn monroe, la vie en rose by edith piaf, anthems for a seventeen year old girl by broken social scene] [ya-ya: sugar sugar by the archies] [miss asp: i THINK i've heard "straighten up and fly right" and "if i knew you were comin i'd've baked a cake" but i don't especially wanna look them up and confirm lmao. know "i'm proud to be an american" and "god bless the usa" lol ew. "comfortably numb" by pink floyd and "whatever will be will be" by doris day et al and "my heart will go on" by celine dion] [first of all interesting that francis and buzz share a playlist but i guess really all of the roles by The Guy are pretty functionally similar lol. accentuate the positive by perry cuomo, blowin in the wind by bob dylan, i Think i've heard hang on to your ego by the beach boys but i think i forget how it goes]

40) What does LIHN mean to you? 

hmm well classic iconis content around here with the shows celebrating misfit weirdos and him always trying to write a show about people who usually wouldn't get a show written about them and creating this material for an all-girl show with only one token The Guy and the Lead specifically being a black girl and there being a specifically trans role as well.....love how much people have been enjoying it even as it took me ages to get around to Consuming it myself, and it's been v cool for it to be so like, here's Totally New Material. even prior to me having actually seen it, it was also definitely nice to have This in the wake of august to interrupt the [lying facedown], and again it was fun to even secondhand have ppl having a great time w/ the show and getting to appreciate the Content and Analysis happening hell yea

44) Favorite non show/cabaret performance of a song?

oop i might've only seen the non-show video for "oh well" so guess it wins! fine by me

48) Favorite time Francis was wrong?

it's pretty classic / all-encompassing when he very strongly implies that susannah has no choice but to marry him / no Hope for her Future otherwise

[anarchist-puppet-on-strings]

“You See Him Too, Right?”

SUMMARY: After his kids ask him to check for monsters under their bed, Chase begins to notice weird things.

Chase thought Stacy had been half kidding when she had warned him that the kids had been more skittish than usual. They’re abnormally quiet and their eyes are often drawn to the opposite sides of the room. It's only when bedtime comes when he realizes the extent of the problem.

Trey’s the one who asks.

“Daddy, can you check under our bed for monsters?”

“Kiddo, this is my room. I sleep here every night.” He shoots him an amused glance. “I can guarantee there's no monsters here.”

“He follows us,” Sam squeaks out.

That earns a raised eyebrow.

“He?”

Trey shrugs self consciously, picking at the threads of a cheap blanket. “We dun know his name.”

He pauses. It's odd Trey is telling him this. Trey is ten now. He's surprisingly mature and clever for his age. He seemed a bit old for the whole “monster under the bed” thing.

“Well, I’ll check anyways if that makes you happy.”

He could feel the two’s eyes on him as he knelt down and looked under the bed. As he expected, there was nothing there.

Chase gave a reassuring thumbs up from below. "Nothing down here, kiddos!"

"Can you check the closet too?"

The closet yielded the same result as underneath the bed. Both of his kids looked more at ease. Sam had latched onto Trey already, using him in lieu of a teddy bear. He had tried to push her away but eventually gave in and allowed it, appearing tired and disgruntled.

After the two had gotten their bedtime forehead kiss and the light had been flipped off was when Chase was able to relax on the couch with tv turned down low as background noise.

At one point, something out of the corner of his eye shifted in the darkness. He couldn't make out an exact shape but it moved quickly and silently. When he turned and looked out where the thing had been, there nothing but a small, dark kitchen.

It's nothing. He's tired and the dark plays tricks on the eyes.

He couldn't help the prickling unease that brought all his hairs on end from washing over him though.

Call Chase paranoid but he's been on edge the past few days after his kids left to return to their mother's house. There's nobody else in his apartment but the feeling of somebody's eyes on him wouldn't go away. It's infuriating!

It left sometimes—disappearing for anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours—but it always came back. It's hard to sleep under the impression you're being watched. He'd get drunk and ignore it but he's wary of getting drunk in case there actually was someone. But hey, that's the anxiety talking.

So instead of turning this into some big kinda thing, he talked to thin air. His hopes to dispel the tense atmosphere worked—kinda. He had to admit it's much funnier dealing with a problem when he didn't take it seriously.

It's easier talking and joking with an unseen presence than going to therapy and going on meds.

As much as he's convinced the anxiety is amping up his paranoia, he had an odd feeling someone else was hearing all the bullshit he talked about to himself.

It's been one of those weeks. The weeks where everything blurs together and his brain is mushy. Chase sleeps way too often because he's constantly tired no matter how much tea or coffee he drinks and how much sleep he gets. It's been the kind of week where he sleeps so much he forgets to eat and drink until he's forced to do it when it becomes unbearable. The one where he's holed up inside his house because he'd been calling in sick for the past few days. The kind where he isn't sure he'd been sleeping or just zoning out.

Basically, he wanted to die.

Chase squinted, eyebrows knit together in confusion as he struggled to remember whether he left the tv on or not. It's on a channel he didn't even have, loud static blaring from the speakers. It's entirely plausible he'd done it while intoxicated or just couldn’t remember it. He shrugged and muted it before switching it off.

When the power cut out with a dying hum, Chase couldn't help but groan.

This is stupid. It's so stupid and it's annoying. He hates it.

His power has been going out sporadically for the past week and apparently it's just his apartment. He's been paying his rent, so his landlord concluded there must be something wrong with the wiring, and they're sending over an electrician in a few days.

He blinked when the power flickered back to life.

Huh... that's faster than usual. Oh well.

The electrician found nothing wrong but the power had gone out while she was over. She's baffled.

He may not have the greatest memory (in fact, his is really shitty) but he's certain he's turning off lights. The whole point of turning off lights is to save power, but either he's sleepwalking or this is a part of the shitty power situation!

Every night it's the same. He flicks off all the lights and heads to bed. In the morning... or whenever he wakes up really, a light—or all of them—are turned on.

It’s confusing. He’s even started writing down that he turns them off before crashing. At this point, he’s given up turning the lights off before going to bed.

Now they’re turning themselves off.

When he hears the whistle, he nearly drops his glass of water. He spun around, met with nothing but the darkness around him. It had been brief and sharp with no tune or melody at all.

"What the fuck?" He breathed to himself.

Chase flips on the lights and walks around the kitchen, trying to find the source of the noise.

He scratched his head with a frown.

Trying to recreate the whistle had no success either. He simply couldn’t match the lack of tune it had. That rules out the possibility of him whistling without realizing it.

Besides… it came from a few feet behind him.

He'd been staring at his water stained ceiling for over two consecutive hours when one of the floorboards creaks out in the hall. Like the kind of creak when he walks down the hall. He stiffens up and his eyes flash over to the closed door. A shadow passes by the crack under his door.

He waits another minute or two, fully expecting whoever was waiting outside to barge in and kill him already. But nothing happened.

He’s not ashamed to say he nearly screamed when something brushed against the back of his neck. It’s featherlight and the touch zapped him like static electricity. Of course, when he whirled around, eyes wild, there’s nothing.

It's totally possible he could be hallucinating or something. His paranoia has been through the roof with every little thing that happens. But it just felt too... real. Like somebody had actually been there and reached out and brushed their fingers against his neck.

Chase can't help but wonder if he's going insane.

Sometimes when he’s teetering on the edge of consciousness and falling asleep, he hears things. Things like low hissing and heavy, wet breathing. Something tapping in an inane rhythm against the hardwood flooring as weight shifts outside in the hall. Scratching—like his ex’s cat used to do when he got bored but louder.

And… and a weird voice? A distorted one warped beyond recognition that jumps high and low. He’s never picked up on any words—it’s all just nearly inaudible whispers that barely reach his ears.

He isn’t sure why his brain chooses to latch onto these bits of information. Your brain makes up weird things when it isn’t fully working properly.

Maybe it’s because he’s staring at deep gouges in the floor out in the hallway. It looks like some angry cat from hell got bored and destroyed his floor in a fit of rage.

Chase gets closure when his kids come back to visit a month after their first visit.

Quiet noises from his room caught his attention and his parental instinct kicked in. He needed to make sure his kids were fast asleep and undisturbed. Cracking the door open to allow the hall light to spill in and then peering in, he’s met with a ghastly sight.

Trey and Samantha are both sitting up, staring at the same spot as their father.

Something that nearly reached the low ceiling of the apartment while hunched over with big teeth, lots of glowing neon eyes, and a second mouth on its neck.

Trey turns to him with wide eyes and whispers, “You see him too, right?”

(A/N) Wow... two in a day huh...

Tag list: @assbutt-of-the-readers, @stuck-in-a-l-o-o-p, @bloodsoakedheretic

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 4

Ok, but actually, just..............this.  Just..............get in on this

Ao3

Hiccup and Heather found the Johann connection while she was helping him research his book.  It started, like most of his best ideas, as a joke while he was sifting through Sergeant Johanssen’s notes on the Grimborn case.  Johann was by all metrics, insufferable and attention-seeking, and as hard as it is to define the character of people who’ve been dead over a hundred years, the sheer number of mostly useless anecdotes he made officers sit through speaks for itself.  It was late in his Dad’s office when Hiccup flopped back and griped that if Johann was sadistic enough to make the Sergeant sit through one more tale about morality and cattle, maybe he was sadistic enough to murder and mutilate a series of prostitutes.  

Heather laughed, but something about it stuck with both of them because they kept looking into it anyway, as silly as it was, pulling the string to see what was there.  There are no shortage of primary sources citing Johann using the murders to sell more bibles, aiming to cleanse the streets of moral filth by educating them about the might of the lord.  

As a theory, it holds out further than most.  In fact, there’s nothing to disprove it.  Johann was in Berk during all of the Grimborn murders.  A couple of the Grimborn letters even have phrases in common with notes taken on Johann’s witness accounts.  It’s entirely plausible that a bible salesman in the late eighteen eighties killed a string of loose women in a violent campaign to impose morality on Downtown Berk, but there’s absolutely no way to prove it.  

That’s where Hiccup and Heather started fighting about it, she couldn’t take the open end.  She found random slayings in downtown Outcast Island, no mutilation, not even all prostitutes or obviously morally destitute people, and tried to start pinning them on Johann based on the fact he wasn’t noted to be in Berk that month.  She was ready to pull the trigger on something definitive and she started pushing it in tours, adding in leading pauses in front of the church, where Reverend Svenson encouraged Johann to lower prices as a form of aid, rather than expanding efforts to feed the poor.  

Just because there’s nothing wrong with the Johann theory doesn’t mean there’s anything right. Knowing things too well gets in the way of learning more about them, and Hiccup is in this to learn, not know.  

At least, that’s a very polite and summarized version of what he yelled at Heather and quit, calling her tour a stolen heap of sensationalist garbage that warps the facts for her own vanity.  

It’s ironic now that he’s approaching her out of his own vanity.  After a night of bugging Snotlout about how Astrid possibly could have known about Johann and getting nothing more than grumbling, it occurred to him that maybe she took Heather’s tour to have something new to shout down at him.  And well, since she already made it clear how she feels about him looking in her apartment, asking about her whereabouts in reference to Heather’s tour seems like a good way to press that harassment charge.  

He gets to the Ripped Tavern a bit early a couple days after Astrid’s Johann revelation and looks for Heather.  She’s at the bar, talking to her brother, and Dagur steps away when he sees Hiccup approaching, presumably warning Heather, because she turns and raises an eyebrow.

“Can I do something for you, Hiccup?”  She cocks her head, “I thought I was too sensationalized for a rational person like you to need anything from me.”

“I just wanted to ask if you’re still talking about Johann.”  He adjusts his bag on his shoulder, fidgeting with his laser pointer in his pocket.  

“Why wouldn’t I?”  She sets her jaw, “since we discovered the idea together—”

“Has anyone been particularly curious about it lately?”  He cuts her off, uninterested in rehashing the fight.  As long as she doesn’t publish anything without his notes, he’s content to trim the sides of Berserker tours’ profits as long as she holds out.

“Why?  Did you tell someone who wanted to finish figuring it out?” She rolls her eyes and Hiccup sighs.

“She’d be about our age, blonde, moved into Elizabeth Smith’s apartment and umm, well, she’s not a fan of my tour route—”

“No blonde women have asked me about Johann while complaining about your trespassing habits,” Heather shakes her head, “I swear, if Snotlout wasn’t looking out for you—”

“Well, he is.”  He doesn’t need this lecture from Heather, of all people.  Back before she took herself so seriously, she’s the one who dropped through the boarded-up window at Number 31, Harbor Road to examine the third site before it got torn down to make room for condos.  “And I was just wondering if anyone asked, but it sounds like no, so…thanks, have a sensational tour.”  His fake bitterness doesn’t do much to her and he wishes he hadn’t said anything at all when she frowns, concerned.  Hopeful. “Don’t even—”

“What if someone else figured it out?  I’m not the one being too petty to publish anything, I still have all my notes.”  

“Yeah and mine, how do they fit into the version of reality you tour?”  He doesn’t expect an answer to that and he doesn’t get one.  Letting Heather keep the notes is letting her have the last word without having a verbal WWE match in Victorian Garb, and his hat has been through enough lately already.  

Heather’s tour leaves on time and Hiccup’s slips out the side door fifteen minutes after.  It’s a foggy night and the girl on the spot where Mary Johnson was found squeaks and jumps into her boyfriend’s arms when she realizes.  He’s a little ahead of schedule when he approaches the first site, talking a little too fast and trying not to hope that Astrid will have something to say today.  Maybe something that reveals her methods or reasons.

Maybe she’ll lean out the window again and argue with him, shivering in her pajamas.  He shouldn’t have noticed, and he definitely shouldn’t have remembered, especially given he had to spend the rest of that tour fending off someone asking after her theories.  That should have been annoying enough for him to wish she’d stayed inside, but well, he didn’t.  

It’s worse that she’s pretty in a way that makes looking directly at her difficult.  Funnier for Snotlout, but worse for him.  

The lights are out in her apartment though, like she’d rather find somewhere else to be than argue with him, and he steps to the side of the sandstone wall, rubbing his hand over it and remembering the first time he came here.  It was the first place he stood that he knew that at some point, Viggo Grimborn stood in the exact same spot.  

“Before we get a little closer to the site of the first Grimborn murder,” he pauses when he looks at the group and sees Astrid at the back of it, arms crossed and keys dangling from her hand, like she caught him on her way home.  “Where we won’t enter or peek in at all, because that would be creepy.”  He gives her a thumbs up and she shrugs.  

“You’re talking about the ‘All Safe’ message, right?”  

“Well, I was going to,” he pats the wall, focusing back on the group and remembering where he was, “right, this wall, on the morning that Elizabeth Smith’s body was found, there was a message on it, presumably left by the murderer.  The officer on his morning patrol assumed it was meant for him from the officer on watch the night before, but when questioned, the night officer didn’t know anything about it.”  

“And because there were no pictures taken of it, because of a rainstorm later that afternoon, the main source for the message has always been the notes from the officer who was called by a witness to discover Elizabeth Smith’s body.”  Astrid excuses herself unnecessarily because the group is already splitting to look back at her, confused but used to being talked at by this point in the tour.  She could thank him for the warm up, maybe, but he doesn’t think he’ll be that lucky. “So, the message, ‘All Safe’ has always been understood to be a statement, as in, behind this wall, everything is safe.”  She steps up next to Hiccup, in front of the wall, fiddling with her keys like she’s nervous even as she gestures at the bricks.  

“Oh, are you going to give my tour?”  He doesn’t mean for the sarcasm to shut her down, necessarily, but he doesn’t expect her to shove it off, standing up straighter and looking between him and the tour group.  

“I was going to fix it, if that’s ok with you.”  

“Fix it?”  

“The ‘All Safe’ message was not officially photographed as part of the crime scene on the morning that Elizabeth Smith was discovered murdered,” she reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of paper that unfolds to an eight and a half by eleven, slightly smeared, freshly printed scan of the Berk Enquirer. Judging by the font, it’s copied from a paper issued in the late eighteen hundreds, but Hiccup doesn’t recognize it.  He tends to stay away from the Enquirer, because he got done with stories about Viggo Grimborn running away with the Loch Ness monster.  “But, a back-page story broke in the Enquirer on the same day as the investigation began, and the ‘All Safe’ message is clear in the background.”

“What?”  Hiccup stops short, reaching reflexively for the paper, but she holds it over her head away from him, eyes flicking between his and his hat.  

“Well, if you didn’t know about this, I guess I am going to have to give the tour.”  She offers him the picture and when he takes it, snatches his hat off of his head and puts it on herself.  “Which means I need the stupid tour outfit.”  

“Hey!”  Hiccup reaches for his hat back but looks at the picture at the same time, his indignance and his hand pausing in unison when he angles the grainy image under the street lamp and clearly sees the chalk text of ‘All Safe’ written on the wall where they’re standing.  “Oh my God.”  

“As I was saying, when you actually see the famous ‘All Safe’ message, it’s obvious that it’s something else entirely.”  She nods decisively, the too big top hat tilting forward over her forehead, “it doesn’t say ‘All’, it says Al, I. It’s a signature.”  

“How did you find this?” He traces it with a fingertip.  

“Aren’t you going to pass it around to the group?”  She adjusts his hat, and he swallows hard, nodding a little too quickly and exhaling a suddenly obvious puff of steam into the cold air.  

“Sure, yeah.”  

“Anyway, as I was saying, presumably it’s a signature apparently announcing that one Al, last name starting with I, was safe at the wall the morning of November eleventh, eighteen eighty-three.  And the assumption has always been that it was connected with the Grimborn murders, because Elizabeth Smith was automatically considered the first Grimborn victim.”  She starts pacing a couple of steps back and forth, hands clasped behind her back, and she’s mocking him, sure, but she’s teasing him too.  

And she brought him new Grimborn evidence and it makes him wonder if she figured out about Johann herself, and that thought makes it kind of hard to breathe.

“But, I’d like to present an alternate hypothesis,” she turns to Hiccup, in particular, blue eyes on fire and he feels like he can’t move.  Not his foot, not his expression, which is somewhere between rejected, stunned, and thrilled.  “The same night that Elizabeth Smith was killed, there was a robbery in the downstairs of 324 Harbor Road.  It’s glossed over, because of the murder, but all signs point to it being a two-man job. One lookout, one person casing the basement apartment belonging to Elizabeth Smith’s brother-in-law, who she could have easily been visiting.  A week later, one Alfred Ireland was caught with that brother-in-law’s monogrammed knife and arrested for breaking and entering.”  

“What are you saying?” Hiccup passes the picture to the nearly forgotten tour group and the first girl looks at it with only casual interest.  

“I’m saying that a man, whose name could easily be abbreviated to ‘All’ was caught after stealing a knife the very night that Elizabeth Smith was stabbed, in the upstairs of the house where her brother-in-law lived.  I’m proposing that she’s not a Grimborn victim at all, but a casualty of a robbery that wasn’t meant to be anything more.”  Astrid reaches up for his hat, taking it deftly off of her head and setting it back on his.  Her thumb grazes his ear and he swallows hard.  “So, my apartment was just unfortunate enough to be the location of some casual, run of the mill violence, and does not belong on a Grimborn tour.” She exhales and nods, obviously pleased with herself as points at the circulating picture.  “You can keep that.”  

“Thanks,” Hiccup’s voice cracks and he clears his throat, “thank you, umm, but—”

“Don’t you have an actual tour to start?”  She waves him off as she walks to the front door of the building and lets herself in, “since this isn’t a location on it, I mean.”  

“I’m confused,” a guy in the tour group cuts across Hiccup’s thoughts, “is this a location of a Grimborn murder or not.”  

“I don’t—Ok, I don’t know why you guys chose my tour.”  Hiccup scratches his face, feeling flushed and off kilter again, brain flitting between Astrid and Johann and evidence he’s never imagined actually seeing.  “Or I do, it’s because it’s cheaper, but I like to pretend it’s because it’s less sensationalized and less…like I’m trying to spoon-feed you my own opinion of who Viggo Grimborn was or might have been.”

“It’s also longer,” a woman offers helpfully, “longer and cheaper.”  

“Great.  Thanks,” he laughs, “longer and cheaper, I’ll add that to the website.”  He looks up at Astrid’s apartment, the light turning on behind closed blinds, her shadow moving in front of it like she’s pacing.  “I’ve been studying Viggo Grimborn for about five years, I’ve read police notes and fictionalized accounts and theories that the murder was committed by anyone from the crown prince of a now defunct Scandanavian monarchy to a gang of rogue Free Masons.  Most sources point to one person, most likely a man, committing at least four murders, starting in that apartment with Elizabeth Smith in November eighteen eighty-three.”  He resists the urge to snatch the picture back and stare at it, to run home and compare it to his scans of letters and detectives’ writing.  

“But you don’t know?” Someone else asks and Hiccup shrugs.

“I don’t, and no one ever will.  There’s nothing in my knowledge saying what she just said isn’t correct, but there’s no DNA, there’s very little evidence left.  Sure, the case was foundational to modern forensics, but like all foundational things, the police work was flawed and riddled with mistakes.”  He gestures down the road, “let’s go to the second site, maybe the Grimborn fairy will come inform me that it was actually committed by…I don’t know, an escaped circus dragon.”  

Hiccup is a little surprised that anyone follows him, but then again, he is giving them a real bang for their ten bucks.  He manages to find his rhythm again at the second site, showing the gruesome pictures people love to cringe at, and walking too fast to illustrate the complicated timeline of the proposed double event.  But he’s glad when it starts raining, a veritable deluge cutting off the last ten minutes of the tour and sogging the brim of his hat by the time he gets home.  Usually, he hates cancelling, but tonight he’s fumbling his phone out of his pocket to update weather concerns on his site before he’s even up the stairs to his apartment.  

“I thought I smelled wet goat,” Snotlout catches him in the entry way, shrugging into his uniform jacket and zipping it up.  

“Good to see you too.”

“You know, because your coat is made of old goat fur or whatever.”  

“Wool,” Hiccup takes off the offending coat, hoping that Snotlout doesn’t notice him sniffing it. It doesn’t smell great, he could dry clean more often, but Astrid would have assumed that’s just the smell of murder sites, right?  “You’re looking for wool.”  

“Whatever,” Snotlout pats his holster and checks how secure his badge is, “are you in for the night?”

“Probably,” Hiccup shrugs, “Astrid actually umm…delivered some new evidence to me, I’ve got a lot to dig into.”  

“She seemed so normal, I can’t believe she’s shouting weird shit out the window at you.”  

“Grimborn-ology is cool,” Hiccup dodges when Snotlout tries to put him into a headlock, laughing and shuffling backwards towards his dad’s old office, “I always told you.”  

“Yeah, but I never thought it would start attracting hot girls,” he says goodnight and leaves and Hiccup lays the photo Astrid gave him out on his desk, next to his most recent, half full notebook.  

The fact is he’s not good with data he didn’t find himself, he always wants to see the paper it came from or the notes themselves.  The obsessive double checking of everything Heather found drove her crazy, but when he was having to back track from theories to the facts themselves, it was even more necessary.  He drums his fingers on the desk for a minute and his eyes dart to an old book on the shelf, the only one he has duplicates of.  

He still doesn’t know how Astrid found out about Johann.  Or the chalk message.  

She hasn’t come through on the harassment threat yet, and now she’s researching.  And Snotlout isn’t here to tell him that going to see her is a horrible idea, and maybe it’s not, they have a shared interest.  

He grabs a copy of the book, second edition, the one he found first, on the way out of the office and changes into an actual raincoat before heading out, hood pulled low over his forehead against the rain.  It’s a Saturday night, chances are she won’t even be home.  Maybe he could leave the book with a  note in it.  His number maybe, that would be a better way of communicating than her occasionally taking over his tour or shouting out windows.  That’s a good way to phrase it, not too presumptive, just as a way of sharing evidence.  

He’s so busy thinking through what he’s going to say and the rain is loud enough on his hood that he almost runs into two people on the sidewalk, one in an official looking black uniform that he’s really learning to hate and the other huddled under an umbrella with a heavy looking backpack.  

“It’s past curfew,” the man in the uniform says, blocking an alley that the woman with the umbrella is apparently trying to walk through, “the courtyard is closed to everyone but residents.”  

“I’m not trying to go through the courtyard, I’m just cutting through to the shelter.”  The woman shivers, “please, it closes in ten minutes.”  

“The courtyard—”

“Hi, what seems to be the problem here?”  Hiccup cuts in, doing his best Snotlout’s-cop-voice impression and standing up straight.  

“Neighborhood Watch Force concern,” the man in the uniform tries to brush him off, showing a pseudo-official badge that Hiccup knows to mean nothing.  Snotlout complains about these guys enough, the private security employed by the condo developers to keep the streets a certain brand of clean are really starting to think they’re cops.  

“I live in the neighborhood.”  Hiccup points over his shoulder, “one of the brownstones back there, what’s the neighborhood concern?”  

“The other side of this building is visible from The Docks,” he uses the pretentious name of the ugly condos he apparently works for, “I’ve been instructed to keep the streets empty past curfew for the safety of the neighborhood.”  

“Well, I feel safe,” Hiccup turns to the woman, who’s scared and probably homeless, “I’ll walk her to the shelter, I know the guy who runs it, I can get him to open the door even if we go the long way.”  

“Good, you’ll have to,” the uniform brings gravitas that doesn’t hold water and if Hiccup weren’t worried about scaring the woman further, he’d point it out.  

The woman’s name is Jennifer and it sounds like she’s trying to navigate a difficult divorce, but Hiccup doesn’t pry.  He delivers her to the back door of the shelter, texting Gobber to open up.  His usual lecture about being late ends abruptly when Hiccup mentions his conversation with the NWF.  

“No one will tell me what those pushy bastards are supposed to be allowed to do,” he shakes his head.

“They’ve been driving Snotlout crazy too,” Hiccup shrugs, “I just thought you’d want to know they’re blocking people crossing town, you might want to loosen up when you close the doors.”  

“Right, like I’m not already up against their curfew laws,” Gobber rolls his eyes, “thanks lad, great advice.  Oh, and by the way, speaking of driving people crazy, are you still harassing my tenants?”  

“You say harassing, I say stimulating their curiosity,” Hiccup grins, “it seems I have a new source of Grimborn info.  I’m heading over to talk to Astrid now.”  

“She invited you?”  

“She stimulated my curiosity,” he winces, stepping backwards out of the range where Gobber could cuff his ear with a cold, metal hook.  

“I’m sure she did,” Gobber shakes his head, “you know, maybe I could get that NWF to keep my tenants safe too.  Keep the riff-raff out of my courtyard.”  

“Hey, that’s what I’m for, you want me out of a job?”  

“Maybe then you’d be into a real one,” Gobber grumbles as he goes back inside and Hiccup yanks his hood back up, heading towards Astrid’s apartment the back way to avoid any more run ins.  He cuts across the street at the second murder site, patting the book in his inner pocket to make sure it’s still dry and ringing the visitor bell on the front door of Astrid’s building to get temporary access.  

It gives five minutes for an interior door to open, and if none do, Gobber is alerted and tonight, would know to call Snotlout, so keeping this under five minutes if necessary is probably for the best.  He really just wants to drop off the book and ask Astrid a few questions, if she seems receptive.  If not, there has to be another way to track down her sources, there are only so many collections with hundred year plus old Berk Enquirers.  

He knocks on the door and takes a step back so that she can see him clearly through the peephole, checking his watch and vowing to leave in three minutes, no matter what.  She opens the door almost immediately, wearing sweatpants with her hair braided over her shoulder and the suspicious glare he’s starting to think of as typical on her face.  

“What do you want?”  

“Hi,” he brushes beaded up water off of the front of his coat before unzipping it to get out the book.

“Hi, what are you doing here?”  She blocks the doorway with a confidence that shows she’s not really worried about him fighting his way through, and looking at her, that’s probably fair.  “You don’t have a troupe of people who want to see my living room with you, right?”  

“No, I cancelled my last two tours,” he shakes his head, wet hair dripping onto the floor, “weather.”

“But you couldn’t skip your pilgrimage?”  She steps back, gesturing at her mostly empty living room.  

Hiccup can’t help but impose the tenant house walls over it, the pre-remodel door about six feet behind her, eternally immortalized in those first crime scene photos.  There were three apartments on this floor then instead of two, and the kitchen plumbing had to go through an external add on that made the window on the far wall wider.  

“I brought you a book,” he holds it out to her and she stares at it, suspect.  

“Viggo Grimborn Solved: The Admiral Haddock Connection.”  She reads the title and her hand twitches towards it, curious even as her face betrays nothing.  

“You asked a couple weeks ago what my theory was.  I told you I liked the mystery, and that’s true, but this is my favorite theory.” He waits a beat and almost pulls his hand back, but she takes the book and starts flipping through it, leaning her shoulder on the door frame.  

“Admiral Hiccup Haddock?” She raises an eyebrow, “so that’s not your real name?  It’s an alias or something?”  

“No, it’s my real name, I’m named after him.  He’s my great-great-great-great grand uncle or something, I’m not exactly sure what you call your great-great-great-great-grandfather’s brother, I probably miscounted greats—”

“Did he do it?”  She frowns, looking at the publishing information. Second edition, nineteen forty-five underlined.  

“Oh God no,” he laughs, “his dad had been the crown prince before the republic and then raised a son who had an esteemed navy career and retired to police work, but this guy, A. M. Mildew was absolutely sure that he spent the summer he was twenty-four murdering prostitutes in Downtown Berk.  Absolutely none of it makes sense, there’s a whole passage hinting at a victory song at The Academy actually referring to this complicated web of forbidden, gay, masonic relationships.”  

She raises an eyebrow and flips through, skimming his notes in the margins, “so it’s bullshit.”  

“An utter, steaming pile of it.”  He nods, “my favorite theory, it has my name all over it.”  

“Funny,” she snorts, a dry little laugh that reaches her eyes more than the rest of her expression. “Why are you telling me this?”  

“You showed me a picture I’ve been wanting to see for about five years, a picture I didn’t think existed.” He tucks his hands in his pockets, his jeans damp almost through from the rainy walk over.  “And Johann was kind of my pet theory, for a while, I didn’t tell anyone but my old partner.  At first, I thought you must have talked to her, but she said no.  And well, it seems like you’ve been doing your own research, I was guessing—hoping, maybe—that you were curious.”  

“I work part time at the archives at the university,” she sets the book inside on a shelf or table he can’t see, and it feels like a win, if not a definitive victory.  “If it was all about the mystery, I thought maybe if I solved it, I could diminish some of the allure.”  

“But then I come here and tell you that my favorite theory is the absolute nonsense one that I happen to be named after…”

“Any chance we could compromise on you buying me soundproof curtains?”  She smiles then, not quite friendly, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes as she takes half a step forward, almost into the hallway.  

“Let me give you a private tour,” he blurts, gesturing at her living room and down the stairs beside him in a combination that’s probably more jazz hands than anything else.  “The real tour, the three in the morning tour, with the good stuff I leave out most of the time.”  

Her brows knit together as she stands up straight, arms crossed and instantly closed off again, “no, I don’t think so.”  

“Oh,” he flushes, “I thought you were maybe umm, warming up to me a little there, guess I misread that. I’ll go—”

“No, as in ‘no, I’m not going on a serial killer memorabilia tour at three in the morning with a guy I don’t know’.  That sounds like a really good way to get murdered.”  

“When you put it that way, that makes sense,” he looks at his shoes for a second, “you have a gift for framing things.”  Which is the lamest compliment that anyone has ever given anyone and he winces.  

“You keep needing me to remind you of really obvious things.”  She looks like she might be about to smile again, and Hiccup can’t help but push his luck, tapping at his watch.  

“Let me try, you know how time is circular?”  

She frowns, “I’d say time is linear, last time I checked.”  

“Ok, sure, but our understanding of a repeating twenty-four-hour day is circular.”  He waits for her to nod, one shoulder shrugging slightly, “so if we follow that theory, at some point, really late becomes early.  So, while staying up to meet someone to go on a Grimborn tour with some guy you barely know at three in the morning might be creepy, starting your day outlandishly early by meeting a guy who gave you a book on his family’s fake sordid history for a Grimborn tour might be totally fine.”  

“Oh, so mornings I have to be at work at four-thirty, you’re saying it’s normal to add a Grimborn murder tour detour to my morning commute?”  

“Four-thirty?  The private tour is at least two hours.”  He assures her, “and by that point it’s getting light out, which makes it even harder for it to be creepy.”  He can see her thinking about it, biting her lip and looking over her shoulder at the book.  “And if worse comes to worst and I default to my obviously genetic tendencies towards murder, I bet you can totally take me.”  He flexes, “noodle arms.”  

“I’ll…” she sighs, “I’ll let you know if I ever have a morning that early.  Give me your number?”  

“Yeah, sure, that’s—here,” he hands her his phone, “put yours in, I’ll text you.”  

“One condition,” she passes the phone back and forth between her hands, “you aren’t going to start a daily Grimborn facts text service, are you?”  

“Not until you ask me to,” he nods, “which you will, after my private tour.”  

“Sure.”  She hands his phone back and stares at him another second, taking a slow step backwards into her apartment.  “So, I’ll let you know.”  

“Right.”  He nods, rezipping his jacket and steeling himself to go back into the rain, even though he doesn’t think keeping warm will be a problem this time.  “Looking forward to it.”  

[thecorteztwins]

Ok so I don’t use real-people FCs for my muses on Tumblr (except Shin, he has one) just out of a general personal preference. I typically use scans of them from the comics, or from my own art. But I like having an FC on hand that I could use, just in case, you know? So, lemme tell ya how impossible that is with Haven. Firstly, she’s pretty dark in the comics, she and Monsoon are easily the same tone as Storm; heck, sometimes darker. Indian media has a huge colorism problem, most of their celebs and actors and models are gonna be as light-skinned as possible. Secondly, Haven’s canonically 40 during her canon appearances, and I write her as around 42 (since I’m guessing only a few years have actually passed in the comics since the 90s, because comics-time) so that narrows it down even further. A lot of the dark-skinned models and actresses are going to be younger, because it’s only just become at all possible for them to break through. I decided it was plausible/likely she looked younger though, like in her 30s. Because Guido/Strong Guy describes her as looking like a “Babe of the Month” (NO, REALLY) and while of course it’s totally possible for a woman to look her age and be beautiful, I don’t think most super total dudebro types like Guido share that sentiment, he would probably only say that if she looked like, well...a Babe of the Month, who is NOT going to be 40. Which I have mixed feelings on, because on the one hand I like that she can be both canonically 40 and canonically beautiful, but I also dislike the idea that 40+ women seem only allowed to exist in media if they DON’T LOOK 40+, whereas guys can exist (and even be considered hot!) with wrinkles and gray hair and stuff.  But so anyway, I’m like “ok, I’ll look for women in their 30s-40s” figuring I’ll use some 35 year old or something. Not a huge difference from her actual age. And I keep finding women who look way too young to be her....and then finding out these women are actually A FEW YEARS OLDER THAN SHE IS.   I...I don’t think Indian women age, you guys 0_o This gets even funnier when you consider that Fabian is probably around the same 20s-30s age range that most of the X-Men are, likely towards the younger end of the spectrum because he’s part of the Upstarts and they’re consistently emphasized/described as young, but the 90s art style uses SO MANY LINES he frequently looks 35+ so like pls picture someone mistaking them for a couple (GAG, I KNOW, BUT BEAR WITH ME FOR THE JOKE) and someone saying something to Fabian about how they knew he was the type to bag a much younger girlfriend and his jaw just dropping because this woman is 10-15 years older than he is LIKE HOW OLD DO YOU THINK HE LOOKS?!

[topweeklyupdate]

TØP Weekly Update #28: “What’s a Blurryface?” (3/5/17)

The US Roadshow wrapped up this week as the TØP Hiatus looms ever closer. Let’s celebrate all of the fun stuff from this week first before we get too bummed out about it. Catch you guys under the ‘Read More’.

This Week’s TØPics: 

Recapping Performances, Trees Speeches, and Some Amazing (and Amazingly Bad) Interviews

The American Roadshow Comes to an End (Kinda)

Two Community Spotlights: Listen to the Pop Song Professor Interview a Church Youth Group That Uses Blurryface to Help Kids Struggling with Depression, and Hear About AndySign’s day with Twenty One Pilots

Major News and Announcements:

Really nothing big in news, other than maybe them getting nominated for Best Group by Radio Disney. So... that’s cool, I guess. Sure ain’t no Kids Choice Awards. Next!

Interviews, Performances, and Other Shenanigans:

Whoof, another very busy week on the “not really news but still need-to-know” front. Let’s just go down the list city-by-city. Someone bloody proposed at Charleston during “Tear In My Heart”, and the video is so perfectly done that my shriveled heart believed in love. The Tampa show was attended by a lot of the boys’ family members (who Tyler humorously acknowledged before “WDBWOTV” in order to get some folks on the upper floors to stand up- I can’t imagine a Twenty One Pilots concert where anyone would need to be asked, I’m so shook). The band’s long-running relationship with the city was acknowledged in the Trees Speech. After the Tampa concert, the boys hung out around Florida with buddies, riding bikes with Mark at night, hitting up the beach, and, in Josh’s case, swinging by Orlando to hit up Disney World again. 

They continued their Southern vacation in New Orleans, taking the chance to walk around and absorb the music of the city (and also allegedly hitting up a Gamestop for the midnight release of the Nintendo Switch). The New Orleans show had some technical difficulties before the encore that led to an extended delay and the cutting of “Goner” from the setlist, but that just gave Tyler a chance to dish on One OK Rock apparently getting a massage before their encore at the show they opened for them. (Also, Jon Bellion got to hop in the ball.)

As for interviews... man, there was a great crop this week. Lots of in-depth, thoughtful, funny sit-downs with they guys. ...And, you know, the other one (sort of).

107.5 KZL, Greensboro

They discuss the general admission line and how people have been camping out for four days. Tyler acknowledges that they’re fans are tough and he would have tapped out after a few hours.

They can respect someone who prefers the Kidz Bop version of “Stressed Out”.

The interviewer talks about the age range of their fans and mentions someone outside who’s “70 years old, wearing an “I Am Twenty One Pilots” shirt and crocs”, and I just immediately laugh so hard crapping my pants because that could literally only be one person. Tyler and Josh both burst out laughing when they see the picture, because that’s their bud David the Dad and he’s definitely not 70 years old.

Hot 101.5, Tampa

The first of three really great interviews from Tampa, these hosts are simply very fun and accomodating. One of the interviewers is from Ohio and shares some chocolate buckeyes with the excited Columbus boys, and the two pairs laugh and joke through the whole thing.

Josh got rejected from one of the post-Grammy parties (actually, the party got shut down by the fire marshall and he eventually got in, but the story’s funnier the other way).

Tyler and Josh never got near anyone “really important” at the Grammys because they’re usually surrounded by bodyguards and they “don’t want to hurt them”.

Tyler misses his own shower and towel- he’s stepped in a lot of people’s hair, while Josh misses knowing where a microwave is at all times. They still recognize that they have it pretty darn good, because they’re at least not sleeping in a van (and also living the dream).

The only things Tyler and Josh really disagree on are the little things like where to eat. Tyler says that and their quality legs are the main reasons for their success.

93.3 FLZ, Tampa

Scotty Davis is one cool dude. He is so passionate about the band, so dang supportive. He possibly(/plausibly) talked a little too much, but he clearly respects them very much, not just in a fanboy manner, but as a huge fan of music, particularly live music.

His first question conveys his passion for their craft: he asks about how they stay in shape to maintain their athleticism and consistency of sound. Tyler responds with a very detailed answer about how their growth as a band has correlated with a steady growth in the runtime of their shows, and how that has allowed them to figure out how to conserve their energy (and, in Tyler’s case, his voice) throughout the day so that they have enough to make it, down to needing to avoid drinking water to keep himself from burping and putting on a good poker face to cover up being out of breath.

When asked about the technicality of his drumming, Josh says that his goal is more to inspire people like his younger sister to be inspired to make their own craft more than just be technically proficient.

The next technical question goes to Tyler about songwriting. Tyler confesses that, while the intimacy of making music with someone is truly great, he hates having people be in the room when he’s working on something. He’s talked before about tailoring songwriting to the live show, but the bit about even getting the bpm to try to match the jumping in the pit is really cool.

Tyler still has the numbers of fans from Columbus from the early years when they were hustling to get people to shows and my heart is on the floor look at it I’m dead.

Mix 100.7, Tampa

This interview isn’t quite as passionate/in-depth as the other one from Tampa, but it’s still very, very good.

The interviewer opens with some standard basic Grammy stuff, but he starts to get real after that with some questions about what their goals as artists were, which is appreciated even if they answers are stuff we’ve heard before. 

The next question is very interesting: it regards their competitive spirit. I’m not certain just how much research/knowledge the interviewer brought to the table, but he seems to recognize from how Tyler and Josh hold themselves that they have a pretty unique drive to be the best that not all artists really have. Tyler even calls their competition the band’s “biggest kept secret”. Tyler calls the musician community a “we’re all in this together” lovefest. “And that’s fine. But I want to win. I want to destroy.” More than just winning, Tyler hates losing, and that has played a big role in pushing them as far as they’ve gone.

Continuing on the theme of competition, Tyler firmly blames it on his parents; he claims that they called him after winning the Grammys and asked what was up with them losing four of them. “We’re competing against his parents’ band,” Josh jokes.

Mix 100.7 is an iHeart affiliate, they were talking about awards, the iHeartRadio Music Awards are coming up this weekend... makes sense that they were asked about their eight noms for the ceremony, specifically which award they most want to receive. Tyler knows off the top of his head the answer, without even having to go through the noms- Best Fanbase.

Next question involves the question of genre, specifically which they most identify with. Tyler says that he doesn’t always feel like he belongs in the pop world, while the alternative (he makes a point not to call it rock) road of making your own music, connecting to fans, and emphasizing live shows is more them (though the exposure of pop is always nice).

Tyler says that their next goal is just to succeed with the next album. “Anyone can do it once.”

B97, New Orleans

Whoo boy.

So... this one had some controversy because the hosts tried to be... cute, I guess? The interviewers both asked demeaning and even hostile questions (”How old were you when your mother stopped singing you to sleep?”, “Let’s go back to talking about Arthur Miller, that’s exciting.”), ignored and shouted over responses, and lightly tossed around insults (”you’re sassy”, “you’ve got a mouth on you”, etc.); one interviewer even spent the whole thing lying down on a table. It was obviously supposed to be funny, and the boys might even have been in on it, but it just wasn’t funny at all. It took me nearly an hour to watch barely four minutes.

Regardless of whether they were in on it or not, Tyler and Josh’s solid “no” reactions were great. Tyler just refusing to answer a question about Blurryface while the interviewer was laying on the table was great, as was his his sarcastic rebuttals to their ‘humor’ (“You guys are killing it”, “You can just keep saying lyrics I wrote all day”). 

The best fire, however, was easily Josh’s response to the male interviewer asking if Tyler ever got on his nerves. Josh stared him dead in the eyes, with as little humor as I think I’ve ever seen from him. “Never.” I’m dead.

It was so bad the station took it down. Dayum.

Finally, there’s this nifty interview with Brad Heaton, the photographer who has so blessed us these last few years with countless concert shots. I really hope the guy comes back for the next tour- he delivers some incredible photos, and he’s generally just a rad dude. There’s also this one from New Orleans, which has pretty bad audio and is just the interviewer telling dad jokes.

Upcoming Shows:

Tonight marks the end of the American leg of the Emotional Roadshow. It’s been a heck of a ride with a great crew of people, but it’s not the end just yet; the band has just under three weeks of a break before they venture out for the final leg of the Roadshow in Australia/New Zealand (more on that next week). It's not even the last chance for Americans to see them, as they've still got at least three summer festivals across the country lined up. But then... well, again, let's tackle that subject when we get there, this update's gone on long enough. 

As a result of tonight's show, the band sadly will not be able to attend the iHeartRadio Music Awards in L.A., but I think it’s safe to say that we’ll be seeing at least one video message from them. They’ve already won a few Alternative awards, it just remains to be seen if they’ll take home the big ones. We’ll also just have to see if they attend the Kids Choice Awards on Saturday (please, Lord, I know we haven’t talked in quite some time, but make it so).

Show 33: KFC Yum! Center, Louisville, Kentucky, 3/5

Capacity: 17,500

The final stop on the Roadshow is in the great state of Kentucky, the home of bourbon, Muhammad Ali, and great baseball bats. The boys have played the city twice before, but both of those shows were in 2014. It's always a good thing when cities that tend to get overlooked by bigger neighbors (in this case, Indianapolis, Cincinnati, Nashville) get direct service. The KFC Yum! Center (which is definitely in the Top 3 Worst/Best Named Arenas on this tour leg) is used by the sports team of the University of Louisville, so the show should attract a sizable college crowd.

Community Spotlight:

Today’s community spotlight will be cast on the Pop Song Professor, a YouTube channel that, surprise surprise, analyzes the lyrics of pop songs. The guy loves Twenty One Pilots and has multiple videos about their tracks, but I regardless hesitated to put him in the Community Spotlight because his opinions could potentially be polarizing- the guy’s an outspoken Christian, and thus usually interprets the songs in the most God-centered way possible. However, I don’t think that should be a reason to ignore his channel: the guy presents substantial textual evidence to back up his interpretations, and I think we can all agree that it can be both fun and fulfilling to find new ways to think about our favorite songs. Furthermore, he’s really passionate about thinking critically about the music we consume for both the listener’s benefit and the proliferation of more thoughtful music in the future, which is definitely TØP as frick.

The thing that really pushed me to include the Professor on this week’s spotlight, however, was this podcast I discovered on his website in which he interviews some youth pastors who study pop music lyrics with their students to teach Biblical messages, including an entire series where they went through every song on Blurryface. While, again, that might alienate people who may have bad experience or personal opposition to organized religion, I really think that the interview is worth a listen and some serious consideration. I, for one, can’t think of anything that would make Tyler and Josh happier than knowing that there is an organization that supports kids dealing with depression, self-harm, drug addiction, and personal pain by directly using the rhetoric of acknowledging your own Blurryface to help them see how much they really matter. 

Finally, following up on a story we’ve followed for a couple of weeks, here’s Andy’s full testimony about meeting Twenty One Pilots, signing “Ode to Sleep” with them, giving the guys their sign names (apparently, Jenna took ASL classes in college and Tyler gets to brag about getting a name first), and having to host his own impromptu meet-and-greet now that he’s super Clique famous. He’s an amazing person, and I’m so glad the Clique has helped him get a bigger platform to make art.

That's all I got in me during finals season. Check back next week for one last interview round-up and a look at what might be to come, which will hopefully be enough to get us through a brief hiatus. Power to the local dreamer.

|-/

[justinmoviereviews]

The Class of 2016

This will be updated, and reviews are subject to be totally meaningless. Sometimes I just don’t feel like writing about a movie, ya know?

Free State of Jones - Gary Ross

This movie looks amazing. I’ll be honest, I didn’t pay a lot of attention. It’s really long. Matthew McConaughey frees the slaves, or something. It looks and sounds great. It made me want to live in the south. Anyway, with this I’m done obsessively watching movies from 2016. I don’t think there were any masterpieces from last year, but it definitely popped out a couple really solid movies. I'm not so into rankings, but here are my top six, and they are truly in no order at all. These are just the six movies from last year that I would hang on my wall:

The Lobster Manchester By The Sea Everybody Wants Some! Green Room Hell or High Water Moonlight

Hacksaw Ridge - Mel Gibson

You can skip the first hour of this--we probably don’t need another movie where a guy falls in love with a girl and then holds firm to his convictions, especially when it’s done in a way as hackneyed as this one is--but the second half is awesome. The ultra-bloody war movie you’d expect from the guy who made a snuff film about Jesus.

Hidden Figures - Theodore Melfi

Say this for these kinds of movies: they’re getting better. The black characters have more agency, the white characters are less benevolent. At the very least, this movie seems like it was edited by someone with a good handle on why inspirational Hollywood stories about black people so often feel like they’re designed to make white people feel good about themselves. In this movie a black character flips out at her unfair treatment in a room full of white people, the titular figures solve their own problems without the help of benevolent crackers, and Kevin Costner’s colorblindness stems less from some future anachronistic moral code than from his being too obsessed with his project to notice anything else. This is a perfectly adequate crowd pleaser, and it’s not offensive. Take your girlfriend.

Suicide Squad - David Ayer

Comic book origin stories are so stupid. In the real world, government agents don’t pitch presentations on recruiting super heroes, because in the real world there aren’t super heroes. I might like these movies better if they didn’t try to take place in the same planet where people file w-4s. Maybe it’s Christopher Nolan’s fault for doing it semi-plausibly. Whatever. I’m not a comic book guy. At all. An airplane is the only setting in which I will ever watch this movie from beginning to end. But I like Will Smith a lot, and I like Margot Robbie.

The Accountant - Gavin O’Connor

Ignore the haters. This movie rocks. 

Ghostbusters - Paul Feig

Ignore Milos Yiannopoulos’s pedophile ass. This movie rocks.

Florence Foster Jenkins - Stephen Frears

Eh, they’ve made worse. Stephen Frears really seems to like old ladies.

The Magnificent Seven - Antoine Fuqua

Any movie that has Chris Pratt avoid death by performing card tricks is not going to be as cool as it wants to be, but this is a fun movie to watch. I’m always gonna go with the half-assed western over the half-assed comic book movie. And Denzel Washington can still do this shit better than anyone even when it’s in between takes of Fences.

Hell or High Water - David Mackenzie

Killing Them Softly is a movie about a bunch of underworld criminals tightening their belts and pumping their auditor to save money in a down economy. It’s soundtracked by political speeches from the 2008 Presidential election. It’s one of my favorite movies in recent memory. I’m a sucker for flicks that foreground the sociopathic nature of the banking industry as a regular feature in American life. I’m also a sucker for westerns, and for manly movies where everyone is an alcoholic. This is so much smarter and more controlled than it needed to be. It’s a minor masterpiece.

The Founder - John Lee Hancock

Nobody is better at playing a regular-ass uncharismatic scrub than Michael Keaton. Not Matt Damon in the Informant! Definitely not George Clooney in the Descendants. This might be the first straight biopic I’ve ever actually liked. A middle class striver opportunes himself into a goldmine, and eventually becomes successful enough that he can start acting like a shithead.

Nocturnal Animals - Tom Ford

This movie starts to fall apart about 20 minutes after you finish watching it--a dark thriller about a guy standing up his ex-wife on a dinner date? But in the world where style trumps substance, this is a masterpiece. Dark, foreboding, atmospheric, with a great cast and a killer score. Was a strong contender for trailer of the year. Michael Shannon should be in every movie.

Everybody Wants Some!! - Richard Linklater

Linklater splits the difference between his love of the pseudo-intellectual conversation and his unparalleled ability to show young adults hanging out. The baseball team’s voluntary summer practice is easily the best scene of the year. His best movie since Dazed and Confused.

The Lobster - Yorgos Lanthimos

The dialogue--and the movie--is like someone breathed life into stick figures and forced them to fuck or face unspeakable consequences. There’s a lot of “do you like the beach? I like the beach because I like looking at the ocean. I’m glad you also like the beach,” like these characters aren’t human but are desperately trying to fake it. Too weird and too singular to be the movie of the year, but I had a huge grin on my face during every batshit second of this.

Sausage Party - Conrad Vernon and Greg Tiernan

Let’s be honest, no one gets a freer pass than Seth Rogen. Once upon a time studios considered the big budget comedy a viable genre, and gave careers to people like Adam Sandler and Jim Carrey and Will Ferrell and Mike Judge, all joke-writers who, at their laziest, were pound-for-pound funnier than Rogen is (except for Sandler, who for the past 20 years has been less funny than the average Geico commercial). For better or worse I spent my teenage years quoting movies like Super Troopers and Detroit Rock City. Does anyone quote Superbad? Or This Is The End? The funny thing about my back is...I guess.

Having Judd Apatow’s affection didn’t used to be enough to monopolize a genre, is what I’m saying. And yet, there’s a pretty huge but coming. Because I thoroughly enjoyed this movie. Seth Rogen has a gift for premises that none of those other joke-writers did. At heart he’s a very smart art nerd. He’s not really that funny. He relies way too much on dick jokes and swearing. But he’s figured out how to lean on his funny friends. And with Sausage Party, he’s figured out how to emulate the topsy-turvy cleverness of Pixar, and turn it into something as watchable as any of the movies they make.

The Birth of a Nation - Nate Parker

There are better movies, but it’s never gonna get old to watch slaves murder slave owners in the antebellum south. 

20th Century Women - Mike Mills

A movie of tiny moments that point to a specific moment in the lives of five people and the intricacy of their relationships. It identifies the profundity of little moments better than Boyhood, and the characters are as well sketched as any others in any other movie I can think of. So Jesus, why do I feel so cold about it? Is it because there’s a political sourness I can’t shake away? Because it feels kinda like Mike Mills wants points for being a real feminist? When this movie feels like a coming of age story, or a story about five people bouncing off each other in well-meaning but not-entirely-beneficial ways, it’s as good as it gets. When it feels like the next step in men writing deep female characters so the Huffington Post genuflects to them, I’m out. Or maybe I just don’t always give a shit about coming of age stories anymore. It’s one or the other.

Sully - Clint Eastood

Sooner or later, after he’s alienated the last living millennial by campaigning for President Trump in 2020, Clint Eastwood is going to shuffle off this mortal coil into whatever Valhalla awaits his generation of stoic American men, and we’re really going to miss him. He tells unfussy stories about uncomplicated heroes living in a decent world with clear cut moral guidelines. Here he turns a high-stakes true event into a medium-stakes story about a guy doing his job well. This is his best late-period movie.

Love and Friendship - Whit Stillman

Fans of Comedy Central may be familiar with a show called Another Period, where comedian Natasha Legerro plays a comically horrible social climbing society woman from some manored century, in a send up of Jane Austen costume dramas that nonetheless carries a feminist streak because of how put upon the women are. I occasionally have it on while I do other things, and I don’t dislike it. Like many late-night alt-comedy shows, it could be great with a bigger budget and more ambition attached to it. As I was first typing this review up, I accidentally wrote Another Period at the top instead of Love and Friendship.

Cafe Society - Woody Allen

Woody Allen has so mastered the epiphany that life doesn’t exist on a moral plane that even when he is on the autoest of autopilots he still handles the observation with profundity (Hannah and her Sisters is his philosophical masterpiece, and I would say unquestionably his best movie). This movie is very much on the autoest of autopilots, and Allen still is a writer first and a director second, but this is good territory for him. On the acting: Steve Carrell is funny and charming and seems like a great guy, but he’s not always a good actor, and he’s miscast here. Jesse Eisenberg is ehhh as the moderately more handsome young Woody Allen character (he kills the movie’s comic highlight, where he meets a first-time hooker). Kristen Stewart is the best actor here, handling second-rate Woody dialogue not as an Annie Hall or as a Kristen Stewart, but as a character of her own creation. 

The Neon Demon - Nicolas Winding Refn

Refn wants to make sound and light shows. He doesn’t want characters, he wants mannequins. He doesn’t want plot, he wants to set up perfect shots. I ultimately came out high on Drive, but made fun of it for being Eurotrash. Now I realize it was more like his version of a studio compromise. This is the kind of movie Refn wants to make--the kind of movie so devoid of external input that Keanu Reeves showing up as a pedophile murderer qualifies as fan service. I can see Refn thinking this is his masterpiece. I can’t imagine a single other person on earth actually riding for it.

The Witch - Robert Eggers

Religion is more fun to ponder than to hate on, which is why Silence is a more interesting movie than the Witch. This movie can and should be weirder and scarier than it is, but it spends too much time showing it’s family devolve into superstitious madness and not enough time bringing home that fucked up bacon. It needs more bleeding goats, is what I’m saying. But stay for that ending, because it’s a good one.

Silence - Martin Scorsese

There are times, during some of Andrew Garfield’s narration, or when the camera flashes to a photo of a suffering Jesus, when this movie starts to veer into Bergman territory--Silence is the most Bergmanish movie title since Shame--but Scorsese doesn’t really make art films in that way. His movies are more literal, more grounded in plot, their darkness is violent and visceral. One could argue that a movie like this is more subtle than anything made by the Swedish depressive. One could also argue that it just has less going on. It’s a tough one, not that it’s hard to watch, but it’s hard to comprehend. As for the easy stuff--it looks great, the acting’s great, the writing is smart as hell (and I can’t emphasize that enough. There’s a character who serves as both a figurative mind-fuck and as goofy comic relief). Still kickin’ around at 74, nobody is better at making these things than Marty is. The question the movie asks, I think, is that it’s easy to die on the cross for God, but letting other people die for him? That’s a whole lot harder. And if he isn’t even there? Well then, you’re a terrorist.

La La Land - Damian Chazelle

If this weren’t the runaway Oscar favorite, I wouldn’t have seen it. The question is, would anyone have? If something is getting raves from smart people I assume it’s good, and if it doesn’t look good than I assume it’s subversive somehow. So what is this? A throwback. Damian Chazelle is the only guy right now making movies inspired by “Singin’ in the Rain.” I mean, see this one a theater and yeah, it’s a good time. But don’t buy it or call it the best movie of the year or anything. That’s crazy.

Moonlight - Barry Jenkins

If we weren’t starved for movies about black people, would this movie be so canonized? And if it wasn’t so canonized, would anyone have seen it? Kind of this year’s boyhood, where seemingly random moments in a person’s childhood may or may not be key life-shaping events. What’s most impressive is how the moments depicted are both good and bad. This isn’t Precious. It isn’t some poverty-life horror show. Here’s a kid burdened by vulnerabilities living a sort-of normal life told in vignettes. Poignant. Kinda boring though.

Fences - Denzel Washington

Denzel Washington reading the phone book would be a good movie, which is good, because this movie is basically him reading a phone book. Just kidding! The first hour is perfect--immaculate acting, phenomenal writing, compelling story-telling. The second hour lost me. This is a movie (or play) where the main character tells his wife that he’s impregnated his mistress and that he plans on staying with her. Okay. Then, after his mistress gives birth she dies on the operating table. The main character is devastated, but truthfully, for both him and the story, what incredible good luck!

Allied - Robert Zemeckis

This is a bad movie for two reasons: the plot and the acting. The plot--what if my wife’s a spy? Oh no! She is!--is surprising, but not in a good way. The acting is a bigger problem. Brad Pitt is the coolest guy in Hollywood, probably one of my five favorite actors, and capable of really good stuff, but when you give him traditional leading man roles and don’t figure out how to make him be interesting in them, he’s incredibly dull. Benjamin Button had this problem. Allied has it even more.

Manchester by the Sea - Kenneth Lonergan

I don’t think a single person reads this blog but I still don’t want to spoil this movie so I won’t talk about the ending. But holy fuck. The definition of a slow burn, as in you’re gonna fall apart in the car halfway home from the theater. Best Oscar bait movie of the year for sure. Maybe best movie of the year.

Inferno - Ron Howard

I have never read a Dan Brown book, but the Da Vinci Code is my favorite TBS movie, and Angels and Demons is probably my second, so it gives me no pleasure to tell the truth here, which is that this movie sucks.

The Girl on the Train - Tate Taylor

I am still baffled by Gone Girl the movie, mostly because it isn’t good, so give this one credit for being the pulpy garbage Gone Girl pretends it isn’t. But the more I thought about this movie, which I very much enjoyed at the time, the more sour I got. It’s pulpy garbage, redeemed in part by Emily Blunt who pulls a Jake Gyllenhaal in Nightcrawler and crushes this role like Steve Smith crushed the Panthers after they cut him.

Arrival - Denis Villeneuve

Oh no, I’m already getting bored of writing these. The New Yorker’s review of this movie is perfect and I wouldn’t disagree with any of it. This is a movie that sets its premise up perfectly and then yada yadas over the entire substance of its plot. I still score it very high though, because the twist is borrowed from my favorite Kurt Vonnegut novel, and because I love the way the aliens look.

Midnight Special - Jeff Nichols

Jeff Nichols hasn’t made his masterpiece yet, but he’s in danger of becoming my favorite director. If he turns Michael Shannon and Joel Edgerton--two guys great at exploring the decency of masculinity--into his regular acting troupe the danger gets even greater. I watched this one on a plane, which is the worst setting possible to watch a movie with a substantial portion of its budget devoted to its special effects, and the ending rings a little underwhelming (would be better on a normal-sized TV) but nobody does male characters as well as Nichols. Also, and look for this refrain whenever he shows up in a movie, nobody in Hollywood right now is more interesting or exciting than Adam Driver, even in this role, which kinda short-changes him.

10 Cloverfield Lane - Dan Trachtenberg

Another airplane watch, and another movie I come to praise for its acting and then complain that the special effect ending didn’t work on me. There are questions without answers in this movie which bugs the hell out of me, but I’m glad to see my man from the Newsroom and the girl from Scott Pilgrim getting work. Mostly, I’m glad to see one of our finest actors, John Goodman, play someone other than a dad. Let me explain to you something the Coen brothers already know: It is long, long past time for the Goodmanaissance. He should have five Oscars for his performance in the Gambler alone.

The BFG - Stephen Spielberg

Classic kid’s book becomes movie kids will like.

Our Kind of Traitor - Susanna White

Dud Le Carre novel becomes forgettable, poorly directed movie. High point: Stellan Skarsgard, and you get to see his penis.

The Shallows - Jaume Collet-Serra

Hollywood is as snobby and irrationally biased as anyone, but take away the budget and the spectacle and this movie isn’t that different than the Revenant. I mean that is a compliment, I liked both movies a lot. But while the Revenant won Leo his Oscar--something not even Scorsese could do--this one is never going to escape its proximity to Sharknado and its T&A qualities. Blake Lithely, last seen trying to score Oxy from Jon Hamm, equips herself very well.

Sing Street - John Carney

Irish mise-en-scene is great, music’s even better, the older brother relationship is fun and sweet and might even choke you up. There are plot issues you’re a dick for bringing up, but they’re there. Apologies. Also, if you haven’t, go see the Commitments.

The Nice Guys - Shane Black

Ryan Gosling was the revalation here which is weird to me because he’d already showed off all these tricks in the Big Short. He’s better there, in my opinion, and Russell Crowe as the pudgy decent badass is who really carries the day. Hannibal Burress shows up as a bumblebee in the greatest cameo since whenever the last time Tom Waits showed up in a movie. This one starts with a ton of promise, and gets increasingly rote until by the end the heroes are in the same shoot out Shane Black’s been making for 30 years. Funny though, and if they make a sequel I’ll see it.

The Forest - Jason Zada

I briefly belonged to a gym with a big dark room where a bunch of treadmills pointed towards a giant screen TV, and they’d show movies. Sometimes they’d show real movies like A Force Awakens and Concussion (which I never caught all of so I won’t review here but the parts I saw were surprisingly damn good), and sometimes they’d show cheap direct to video horror movies, like a movie about a house break-in that I’m positive was financed by a home security company, and this one. I actually liked this one, purely because it looks real good and it takes place in the Aokigahara Forest in Japan, which I’d never heard of before but got really interested in.

Green Room - Jeremy Saulnier

A grindhouse flick with Patrick Stewart nicely underplaying a psycho neo-nazi, this isn’t as good as Blue Ruin--one of the best movies of the past five years--but it’s pretty damn good.

The Jungle Book - Jon Favreau

There’s a scene in this movie where Scarlett Johansson plays a snake that alone is worth the price of admission, even at the bumped up 3D price. The movie doesn’t ever get that dark again, but the fact that someone had the idea to Dark Knight up the Jungle Book, and it worked as well as it did, is flabbergasting. 

Hail, Caesar! - Joel and Ethan Coen

I don’t know how people who aren’t inclined to like every Coen brothers movie feel about this one--my mom and sister hated it--but I loved it. Weird, goony, centered around a bizarre communist subversion subplot that ultimately means nothing, this is the Coens at their not-giving-a-fuck best. In fact, skip La La Land and watch this subversive throwback to Hollywood’s gilded age instead. It’s way more fun and way more evil, and stars the god Josh Brolin.