#in actuality i will work on christmas presents and then maybe play some low stakes single player something or other

[warlordfelwinter]

what if i made a new guardian (<- guy who's flailing around for an oc to fixate on)

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 4

The band in the Senator’s ballroom was playing a slow dirge-like version of “In the Good Old Summertime” and Buster had half a mind to kick the lead singer in the seat of the pants so he’d shut up. The head of the Chamber of Commerce was there, the mayor too, and he was pretty sure he’d met a few of the eponymous senators. He’d glad-handed for as long as he could stand it (about an hour) before slinking off into a protective circle of familiar faces. He used his stature to his advantage, concealing himself behind the screen that Joe, Fred, Sandy Roth, and other members of the company made. There was plenty to talk about; namely, the picture. And also, the picture. But now he was bored of talking about the picture and this positive funeral march that they were playing wasn’t helping matters. Although Sacramento was rumored to be open, the hotel was pretending tonight that it was dry and he regretted leaving his flask in his room, but they were feting Buster after all and it would have been rude not to be fully present for every single excruciating second.

Still.

“Think they’ll notice if their esteemed guest goes AWOL?” he said to Fred. 

Fred laughed. “Count on it.”

Buster pulled his packet of cigarettes out of his slacks pocket, pinched one out, struck a match, and lit it. He didn’t like crowds of people he didn’t know or being expected to care about Sacramento’s economic situation, whether Coolidge was to be president again, and what was to be done about the decline of morals in young people. He especially didn’t like airs and this crowd had plenty. The truth was, he’d been made to do very few things in his charmed life, fewer still as he’d become a bona fide star, and his tolerance for formalities was at an all-time low. They were much more Nate’s speed. With her at his side at these functions, he never had to do more than answer the usual stupid questions (“Do you ever smile?”; “Do your pratfalls hurt?”) before Nate filled the uncomfortable silence with gay chatter and put the questioner at their ease.

Unlike with The General , however, Natalie had expressed no desire to be on location during the filming of Steamboat . He liked to think it was because she couldn’t bear to be away from her magnificent Villa for very long, but he had a sneaking suspicion her absence had simply to do with the fact that she didn’t care to be around him any longer.

“At least one more hour,” Joe said. “Then you can go back to your room and cut loose if that’s what you want.”

Behind Sandy, Buster spotted a man and his wife encroaching. 

“Excuse me,” said the man, tapping Sandy on the shoulder. “My wife’s an awful big fan of Mr. Keaton and I was just wondering if we could introduce ourselves for a minute.”

Taking a deep drag from the cigarette and blowing the smoke out in such a way that it temporarily obscured his face, Buster looked at the woman and said, “I never smile and the pratfalls don’t hurt.” 

She looked shocked. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

  “Hi.”

Nelly startled just as badly as she had when Buster had crept up on her a few days prior. She knew the voice wasn’t his, though, even before she looked over her shoulder and found herself locking eyes with Tommy, the blonde-haired workman. 

“Hi yourself,” she said, turning around and smoothing down the skirt of her dress. She’d been going through a jumble of skeleton keys in one of the smaller rooms in the prop house. 

Tommy was extraordinarily tall, almost sequoia-sized. He leaned against shelves. “How’d you like to go to a blind tiger tonight?” he said, without preamble. “A few of the fellows and I are going. We invited Mr. Bert. Oh, and Buster too.”

Buster, she thought, accustomed as he was to rubbing elbows with the upper crust, was not going to attend this rustic soirée, but she didn’t want to puncture Tommy’s evident pride at the scheme. She had never been to a blind pig, a blind tiger, a blind anything. She and some girlfriends would pass around hooch some Saturday nights back in Evanston, but she’d never actually drunk alcohol in an establishment. So naturally she said, “What time?”

Tommy grinned. “Oh, we were thinking maybe seven o’clock or something.”

She knew that Sacramento wasn’t as dry as other cities, but she paused to consider whether this was such a good idea nonetheless. A brief flash of the place being raided by police and her getting carted off to jail and losing her gig on the film occurred. The sybaritic part of her threw the doubts aside. Her decision was only strengthened by Bert, who came through the prop house doors.

“This jackass bothering you?” he teased, craning his head to look up at Tommy. 

“I invited her to the party tonight,” Tommy said. 

“What makes you think she’d go with the likes of you? She has taste, y’know,” said Bert. 

“What makes you think I have taste?” Nelly said, making both men laugh. When the laughter died away, she said, “Sure. Where?”

Tommy told her it was on 2nd Avenue next to a Chinese laundry. By day, it masqueraded as a five- and ten-cent store. “One of the bricks is painted a sort of yellow,” he said. “Just the one, though. There’s a side door off the alley. Knock four times.”

It all sounded so alluring and mysterious that Nelly couldn’t wait. 

A quarter past the appointed hour, Joe dropped her off in front of the store. She expected it to have a dingy air, but it looked perfectly clean and presentable, not at all the sort of place that would draw attention. Joe waited for her as she crept into the alley, feeling her heart race with the illicitness of it all and the promise of seeing Tommy again. She gave three rhythmic knocks. A man in a tweed cap whom she vaguely recognized opened the door and she waved to Joe to let him know it was okay to drive off before she stepped into the tiger’s den. 

There were slightly more than a dozen men crowded into the place, which was an apartment at the back of the store consisting of one main room, a water closet, and a couple doors that appeared to belong to bedrooms or closets. Everything from the stove to the sofa was in the main room. An old gramophone in the corner played ragtime jazz. She knew at once that Buster would not be coming. The set-up and the company were far too humble and she wondered if she’d made an error in judgement showing up. She was the only girl in sight and overdressed in nylon stockings and her best black dress with the belt. She felt ill at ease until she saw Bert and Tommy. Bert was in conversation with one of the men who was frequently in and out of the prop house. Tommy was standing near a bar, behind which stood various libations. 

“Nelly!” he cried, striding toward her. His eyes crinkled and he looked ecstatic to see her. “C’mon, come pick your poison.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the bar. Bottles lining the shelves behind it contained liquors of light ambers, deep browns, and clear silvers. There were even bottles of beer, not near beer, but real beer. She’d never seen so much booze in her life. She selected a bottle of beer. Tommy didn’t take his arm away immediately. It was heavy and he smelled good, woollen and mannish. She tilted the bottle back to her lips, feeling as though she was in good hands. It didn’t take long before she was warm and happy. 

Tommy conversed with the other men about the week’s events on the set—one man had nearly lost a finger sawing a board, another had given himself a good electric shock from a wire—and talked a good deal about a poker game he had recently won $100 in. She and Bert spoke for a while, mostly about work and what they expected shooting to look like next week. When her beer bottle was empty, Tommy slid a generous glass of bourbon into her hand. It stung going down in a way she didn’t quite care for, but as she got warmer still, she became used to it. About an hour or so into the party, Tommy’s hand crept around her waist and she didn’t mind a single bit. He talked to her about his childhood in Indiana and how he’d trap raccoons for fur to bring in money for the family. With his height and looks, she figured he was trying to break into pictures too, but it transpired that he thought he’d make his real fortune as a high-stakes poker player. The ambition seemed a little silly, but she wasn’t one to trod on other people’s dreams.

“Let’s dance,” he said, bending down to yell it in her ear over the conversation. The man who was in charge of the gramophone put on a song of medium speed in which a guitar plunked quietly in the background and a clarinet and trumpet took turns in the foreground. They danced in a small circle around the room and she had to crane her neck when he talked. 

They were three songs in when a workman in his fifties approached. He was missing several bottom front teeth. “Here.” He pushed a small glass of something clear in her hands.

“What is it?” she said, laughing.

“Gin.”

“I’ve never had gin before,” she said.

“Never had gin before?” Tommy said, holding her at arm’s length in mock incredulity.

She giggled and shook her head, trying to keep the glass steady as he pulled her back under her shoulder. She sipped and there was that sting again, this time tasting like Christmas trees. 

“No, you don’t sip it,” said the workman. “You swallow it down all at once.”

He and Tommy watched as she gamely tilted the drink to her lips and disappeared the gin down in one gulp. She gasped, wrinkling her nose as they laughed uproariously. “That was awful!”

“Try this one,” said another workman, younger and heavier. He extended a rocks glass containing a chestnut brown liquor. “Whiskey.”

She sipped and contorted her face. This was the worst one yet. “I’ll take my time,” she promised, setting it on a nearby table.

It didn’t take long before she was warmer and looser and gayer than she’d ever felt. Tommy passed her into the arms of the toothless workman. To her surprise, he was an incredible dancer and they did a foxtrot around the room to the next song, winning the applause of the other men. Bert took the next dance and they attempted a tango, but the music wasn’t the right tempo and they couldn’t stay in step. She was having the time of her life. She reached for the whiskey and barely noticed the sting as it went down. 

Tommy took her back and someone put “Steamboat Bill” on the Victrola, which caused everyone to erupt into laughter.

Oh, Steamboat Bill, steaming down the Mississippi.

Steamboat Bill, a mighty man was he.

Steamboat Bill, steaming down the Mississippi.

Going to beat the record of the Robert E. Lee!

She grinned, hot and breathless. Tommy’s big hand on her waist was beginning to feel more and more exhilarating. She began to entertain thoughts of asking him to slip out into the alley with her, but whenever a song ended, another workman was waiting with a drink or a request for a dance. At some point, the fat workman stole her away from Tommy and tried the Turkey Trot with her, but her feet were no longer cooperating. She was thirsty, but the only thing available to quench her thirst was beer.

She became dimly aware that her head and limbs had turned clumsy and heavy and she had completely lost track of time. It didn’t worry her. She was young and could dance and drink all night if she wanted.

(Image source.)

[anythingspossible-foraposs-blog1]

Octopus || Octoclam ft. Ana

Kim goes to Urs’ to give her a Christmas present only to find Urs in a compromising situation. Awkwardness Ensues. Nothing is solved. There’s an octopus named Gerald. 

A/N: This is backdated to like before Christmas because Kirby and I are terrible with completing terrible, hurtful things in a timely manner

Kim

It was a bright Saturday morning, the first of the Christmas break. Kim had just finished getting ready. Urs had texted Kim yesterday about hanging out this morning and maybe ordering food to her place (of course this also came with the assumption that they wouldn’t be leaving Urs’ flat for the day, which was fine with Kim. They had plenty to do. And by plenty, it was mostly just each other).

She was pretty casual today, plus the fact that they lived down the hall from each other was pretty convenient in not having to deal with the burden of outerwear choices that came from the snowy weather. Clad in a dark v neck with her flannel over it and jeans, Kim grabbed the rectangular package all neatly wrapped in wrapping paper holding Urs’ Christmas present (well, at least one of them. It was kind of more of a decoy present from the real thing) and tucked it under her arm. She’d spent quite a while crafting it, and it was kind of dumb and a little childish but she figured Urs would appreciate it or at least get a laugh from it.

The redhead made her way down the hall, stopping at the familiar door and knocking. She couldn’t help the smile on her face that she got when she was with the painter. Honestly, it was a little bit embarrassing. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, present behind her back as she waited for Urs to open the door. After a few moments, she decided to try the door, a lot of times Urs just kind of left it unlocked when she knew Kim was stopping by. Sure enough the door was unlocked and she pushed through, shutting it behind her. When she turned, to be honest, she almost dropped the present in shock. She wasn’t ready for what she saw.

 Urs

Sometimes, after the street lamps had come on, Ursula would call someone for company. Most times, that company came in the form of one of two people: Kim Possible or Anastasia Tremaine. If someone were to ask the artist her reasoning for texting one girl the same night she had made a kind of sort of date with the other, her answer would have been very frank:

She was horny.

It was truly amazing to Urs that her body could keep up with her sex drive, and Kim’s strength, and Ana’s teeth. Nevertheless, Urs trucked right along, keeping her hand down someone’s pants at least four times a week. And what was most disturbing was that wasn’t even nearly as often as she wanted it. Sometimes if she squinted at herself in the mirror or counted all of the scratches or bite marks on her skin, she could hear a voice in her head telling her that she might have an actual problem. And then she would stifle that voice by shoving her head between someone’s thighs

Sunlight had only just begun trickling through the blinds when Ana removed herself from beneath the paint smeared and resewn comforter. Urs had groaned, reached out to try and pull the girl back. You know, for the warmth. Not long after, Ana had pulled the warm blanket completely off of Ursula’s body, much to the painter’s dismay.

“Just because you have to leave doesn’t mean that I have to get up,” she’d protested, swinging her bare legs over the side of her once warm bed. The flannel she’d worn the night before draped over her shoulders, each button left undone. Ana had quipped back with something that Urs hadn’t quite registered before sauntering across the room to kiss the half-sleeping girl.

And, just as Urs thought that things would get steamy again, she heard her door open.

The painter groaned as Ana pulled away quickly, assuming it had been Gogo barging in for a movie or something. But then Anastasia chuckled. The sound made Urs’s eyes widen a little, because it had been low and rumbling and a bit scary. Hot, really, but it meant horrible things in the moment. When she poked her head around Ana’s body and her eyes fell on Kim’s wide eyes, she felt her heart drop to the soles of her feet.

Because she had forgotten. Maybe twenty, thirty, hell maybe even ten minutes after asking Kim to hang out, Ursula had forgotten and called Ana to hook up. If she’d thought it a thousand times before, this was the time that it rang the loudest in her mind- Ursula had a problem.

No amount of charisma could save this situation, especially not since Ana, spying a prime opportunity to- stake her claim? Mark her territory? Intimidate someone?- be a right bitch, glided right up to the girl in the doorway, muttered the word “Red,” and brushed past Kim. She physically bumped her shoulder into the girl as she left the room, and Ursula thought that that marked the end of everything.

For one of the first times in her life, Urs felt like curling up in her bed and dying. This was, quite obviously, some kind of joke or nightmare or hallucination. Maybe Ana had slipped her something in her sleep. But the way that Kim was staring at her now was very solid evidence that this had not, in fact, been a dream.

It was too early for this.

“Um… Wow. Morning?”

 Kim

Kim Possible was not one who got flustered or surprised easily. And yet, here she was flustered and surprised. This was how she and Urs were. Kim didn’t understand why she could never actually find any balance or footing between them, not that she should, they were supposed to just be having fun, Kim had no claim to anything. But as her heart dropped down into her stomach, falling from the shining optimistic pedestal it sat on in her chest, it certainly seemed to point to something more than just fun.

Kim had no words, she just watched in shock. She really shouldn’t be shocked though should she? She was aware of Ana. She knew who she was. She knew Urs had a sexual connection with her almost as much, if not more, than with Kim. She didn’t, however, know how ridiculously beautiful Ana was until the girl was practically up close and personal in her face.

She had walked in on a moment. A private moment in which Kim saw the way Urs looked at Ana. The way her body moved to get more of Ana. The want she had for the blonde. And it made her feel very second fiddle in it all. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She hadn’t felt like this either until she saw her competition materialized in front of her. She wished she could just fade back into the ignorance of not knowing all of this. Wipe the slate clean again. Unsee the way they were together, but that was impossible even for a Possible.

The redhead wasn’t one to back down from a confrontation, but when Ana purposely bumped into her, she wasn’t herself. The nickname she’d so commonly heard from Urs’ lips fell from hers, and it somehow just tarnished the whole thing. It sounded wrong. Stupid. Childish. That Kim would let Urs call her that. And she became increasingly aware of how stupid and childish it was that she was holding a gift wrapped present to give to Urs rather than some form of lingerie or something. She was just embarrassed and all she wanted to do was throw the package as far away from her as possible and claim it wasn’t hers, but Urs had already seen her with it. So she was stuck.

And then Urs spoke. Honestly, it may have been the voice that wrapped everything up for Kim. It was the same voice she heard in the morning after they’d been going at it all night. Raspy, sleep filled, adorable. And Kim just felt a crack in her armor form, one she wanted to immediately repair.

“I..” She tried to search for the words in this awkward situation. Her voice was kinda squeaky so she cleared her throat. “Um, I guess you forgot huh.” She smiled at her, though it really wasn’t as genuine and sparkly as they normally were. She was trying to joke about it, when really all she wanted to do was throw this experience as far away as possible along with the present in her hands. She fidgeted with the gift wrapped package. Her childish little Christmas present to the girl she knew didn’t have much of a Christmas most years. She had to give it to her now, obviously. She’d seen it. She knew it was there. Kim couldn’t play it off. So she held up the present and added weakly, trying to still seem excited about her opening her gift. A gift she’d worked pretty hard on. “I.. Merry Christmas?”

Urs

In fear of sounding overly dramatic, Ursula kept to herself just how soul-crushing it felt when her eyes found Kim’s. So many times she had seen those eyes, those blue-green oceans of kindness and care and, sometimes, lust, and now they were verging on stormy waters.

Urs felt like her heart was kind of breaking, if she had one of those.

But she didn’t want to show that, didn’t want to prove to herself that maybe, just maybe, she’d had feelings before now. Because she didn’t, she couldn’t. If she did that then she would hurt Kim. She’d hurt herself. And neither of them deserved that. They were just friends. Friends with really fun benefits.

Benefits like Christmas gifts, it seemed.

Ursula had planned from the very first time Kim had, ahem, hung out at Ursula’s place that her Christmas gift would be the first painting that she’d ever done of the cheerleader. There had been others she’d done, arguably, better than that one, but the first had been special to Ursula. And, in turn, she’d hoped that it would be special to Kim. Because Kim was special to her, too. Really and truly she was, whether Ursula, with her stunted emotions and complete lack of communication skills, was good at showing that or not.

The painting had been completely finished a day or two after the day Kim had ripped her blanket (which, by the way, was something that Ursula thought fondly of. Being so good in bed that your partner literally rips the blankets is hot, super strength or lack thereof). It had been a near casualty in the Great Paint War, leaving a bright yellow glob of pigment on the bottom left side.

Now, the spot held a little message: “for Red” and her signature above the date “21 November, 2016.” Kim’s face was tilted down, bright hair falling over her face slightly, a brilliant pink spread across her cheeks and nose. The background had been one of Ursula’s favorite things to paint that year (second to her private investigator friend’s bag of gummy bears). It was a wall of ivy, all deep and light and bright shades of green, some brown and faded, some dark bricks peeking through the vines.

It was beautiful, Urs knew, but it did Kim no justice. And, now, seeing that face in such a different scene, Urs wanted to break into a run. Maybe she should leave Swynlake now. She bet that, if she played her cards right, that Nameless Goddess of hers would run off with her.

And then, Kim had handed her the gift. It was wrapped up neatly, in just the way that Kim would wrap a gift. Urs glanced at the painting, unframed (because artists so oft are poor), with a little red bow stuck onto the top corner. She should have wrapped it, she’d thought, but she hadn’t really considered it until the wrapped box was in her hands.

She held the package for a moment, really telling herself that crying would not make this any better. “Uh, yeah,” she mumbled, gesturing toward the painting leaning against the wall on her desk. “Merry Christmas.” Her smile was small, still ashamed a bit. Suddenly, without disturbing the pretty paper folded around the box she stood, set it back on the bed behind her.

“I’m… gonna shower. Please…” Teeth sunk into her bottom lip, brows furrowed. “Stay. I’m sorry I forgot. I’m sorry.”

 Kim

Kim always felt to innocent and childish around Urs. Like she wasn’t ever really on an equal playing field. Kim Possible was no prude, that’s for sure, but something about the way Urs spoke and acted made her feel like she just wasn’t quite there.

Ana was there though.

Just by the dazed look she saw on Urs’ face and the way she seemed to not want to let the girl go (because she very obviously had been leaving, her clothes were all in the right place and Urs was still in a state of disarray), Kim could tell that she wasn’t where Ana was. And for once, the thought crossed her mind that maybe she never would be.

Instantly she swatted that away and told herself that she shouldn’t care. She knew Ursula and Ana were hanging out just as frequently as she and the artist were. Urs had others too. Kim wasn’t deaf. She heard plenty around down about the painter flirting in hallways and coffee shops and all sorts of other places. It was a small town, Urs got around and the news of her getting around travelled even faster than she did.

So why did it send a weird pang of hurt and embarrassment through Kim’s body and straight to her heart at the sight of the two of them? She didn’t want to find out.

She handed over that present in the end, because what else was she going to do? She’d spent so much time on it and Urs had already seen the gift wrap that she was stuck giving her the gift. Her carefully crafted and gift wrapped present that kind of took her a whole week to make given her ridiculously busy schedule and balancing her free time between making the present and their romps in Urs’ flat. She watched the way Urs held her present as if it was going to shatter into a million pieces at her touch and then Urs looked at her the same way before gesturing to the painting in the corner.

Kim’s heart ached from being jerked in a million different ways. She looked at the painting and didn’t recognize the beautiful woman in it. A beautiful mature woman with the same hair as her. It couldn’t be her, she was just a kid. She looked back to Urs mirroring her small smile and nodded reassuringly, “Yeah… don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. Go shower.”

As Urs slipped off towards her bathroom, Kim moved to where the painting was. Her fingers grazed over the bow in the top corner with a certain fondness, Urs had thought to at least give it a bow which was a nice touch. She sat down in front of the painting, head on her hand as she stared at what was supposed to be her reflection. Kim didn’t recognize it. The beautiful coloring of the hair, the vines that wound down along behind her, the rosy blush of her cheeks. If she hadn’t seen the beginning stages of the painting and known this was done by Urs who made no painting mistake in her opinion, she would’ve said it wasn’t her.

Artists paint what they feel. What they see out of people. And so, Kim ran her eyes over the woman in the painting. Trying to figure out what Urs saw in her. Not that Kim didn’t know she was a catch. Obviously she knew that. She knew she was attractive and had a good personality and ambitious and all of that. But so was Ana (well, minus the personality bit but maybe when she wasn’t being a total bitch she was decent, Kim didn’t really know how Ana acted around Urs. It could be totally different). And so her eyes wandered across every brush stroke and drop of paint looking for an answer.

She didn’t know how long she spent staring at the painting, seeing the personality and craftsmanship of her more than friend. Her eyes came to the bottom of the painting and she bit her lip, smiling fondly at the paint splotch and their first time. Red. Urs had insisted on calling her that. Normally, she didn’t like it, but from Urs? It just sort of seemed to flow. And at least it was better than Kimmy or Kimmy cub. She touched the lettering of Ursula’s signature, fingertips moving along grooves and indents like she was reading braille. It was all just very Urs, so no wonder Kim loved her gift.

She just hoped that Urs didn’t laugh too hard at hers.

 Urs

Steam filled Ursula’s senses as she tried, desperately, to wash Ana off of her. It was like the girl’s scent was stuck, lingering inside her nose or settled just beneath her skin. Urs didn’t want that, not while Kim was around. Maybe if the water was just a little hotter. She turned the knob further toward the red side.

Normally, Ursula wouldn’t have cared if someone had caught her at the tail end of a hook up. It was normal for her. Sure, since it was Ana she had been worried (couldn’t have everyone finding out that they were bed buddies), but that hadn’t been what threw her off her game so much.

It had been the look on Kim’s face.

Urs had kept her fingers gripped into Anastasia’s hips for a moment too long, her eyes glazed over in both want and need, and Kim had seen in that moment that it was different for her. And it had been clearly spelled out in Kim’s features. Which, really, was unfair. Kim knew that she and Ursula were just friends, and the same went for Ana. So why had her face bloomed with all those emotions? Upset and shock and a brief second of disgust, before giving in to a certain confused sadness that Ursula hadn’t been ready for. And then the artist’s heart had hurt.

The water was still not hot enough. She twisted the knob again.

What was she doing? Why did she care if Kim thought that she wanted Ana more? Why did she care that she might want Ana more? Kim was just a friend, and Ana was just a friend, and neither of them were allowed to cross that line. Sex was nothing more than a biological process, a way that animals knew to make themselves feel good. For Ursula there were no feelings that got mixed up into it.

What was she doing? Typically if she thought that someone she was sleeping with was going to cause problems for her she would cut the loose, set them free. There were plenty of people that could hold on to platonic feelings for someone and have sex with them. Why would that be any different for her with Kim or Ana?

As fingernails scraped against scalp harder than normal, she twisted the knob again.

Why was she doing this to Kim? She knew that Ana didn’t give one flying fuck about her, only used her as a plaything. But Kim was sweet, she was stable and she was good. Why would Urs put her through this? She could have anyone she wanted, someone that didn’t dangle it over her head that they were friends, someone that could give her those feelings that Urs saw in her eyes sometimes.

Ursula couldn’t do that. She didn’t know how to. But more than anything she didn’t want to hurt Kim. That wasn’t what she deserved.

This time, the knob wouldn’t move. Urs realized now how the water stung against her skin.

Muted colors mixed with water and a few arrant tears around her feet. Ursula couldn’t remember a time that she’d ever been this angry at herself. This disgusted with herself. This ashamed of herself. She stayed there for a while, watching the dye run out of her hair and into the bottom of the shower, telling herself that she didn’t deserve someone like Kim.

The redhead didn’t notice when Urs slipped back into the room, and Urs was unsure of what had gotten her into this trance. It made for a good sketch, Kim’s chin rested in the palm of her hand, fingers laid gently against her cheek. Ursula committed the image to memory to draw out later.

When she spoke, she stayed a few feet away.

“Hope it looks alright.” She gave the other girl a small smile before moving back to sit on the edge of her bed, next to the wrapped box. It was light, so light in fact that she almost thought that it was empty. But she heard something; something slid against the bottom of the box, something inside clicked together softly. As she pulled the paper away, her heart hurt a little more.

“You know you really didn’t have to get me anything.”

 Kim

Though it had probably looked like she hadn’t noticed Urs step back into the room, she did. It was impossible not to. Especially for someone like Kim who was extremely observant in any sort of environmental change.

What tipped her off the most was that the room’s temperature increased briefly, the steam from the shower she took billowing out into the room in a wave that Kim felt. It was almost like Urs had wrapped her warm body around her again, blanketed before it slipped into the cooler air of the room and dissipated as she sat in front of Urs’ rendering of herself.

Kim turned just before Urs spoke, her eyes wandering over the damp haired barely clothed artist. The smile just about broke her heart. It was soft. As if Urs had seen her innermost thoughts and was trying to make up for them. But why? They were just friends. There was nothing to atone for. “It’s amazing, Urs. Really.” She gave a small, soft smile, one that actually met her eyes this time because she genuinely loved it, even if it was hard for her to believe sometimes that that was actually her.

Kim missed their closeness as Urs stood feet away from her. She’d grown used to touching Urs in the smallest of ways and to keep her distance in this moment was extremely trying, but the moment called for it.

The crinkling of paper caused Kim’s heart to start racing, she rarely got nervous but with Urs it was like she was never on equal footing. She got up from the floor, replying simply and readying herself to explain this gift that was already making her cheeks blush a deep red. “Well… I know I didn’t have to… and so I made it instead.”

Inside the box, which the artist opened in moments, was a stuffed octopus. Not only was it a stuffed octopus but it was an octopus made by the one and only Kim Possible, grey and complete with buttons sewn onto its tentacles for suction cups.

Urs had teased her about having a few stuffed animals, Cuddle Buddies, which were collectibles actually as she had explained to Ursula. Most notably her Pandaroo. And so, Kim thought it would be funny too give her a stuffed animal for Christmas. However, when discussing this project, Ann Possible thought it would be an even better idea for her to make the stuffed animal as it would be more personal. And so Kim began to think about what animal Urs was most like and she settled on an octopus. Why? Well, that was going to be explained in a moment.

“I--Listen, I know it’s ridiculous and silly and kind of childish but I swear there’s a much more adult meaning behind it.” She was already trying to dig herself out of the hole she thought she’d caused.

Kim ran a hand through her hair and sighed, “You know, initially I thought Octopus suited you because you know, you’re all arms and legs. You’re skilled at what you do with those arms and hands, and you know it.” She blushed an even deeper red trying to hold onto what she was trying to say. “I, um, then I--well I thought about it as I was stitching it up and thinking of you--not that I think of you a lot but I mean I kind of do but also I mean I was working on your present so you can’t blame me.” Smooth. This was going well. “Anyways, I thought to myself how much an octopus fits you, because to have so many arms shows what you can do all at once. You can paint a picture one moment and roll on the floor with me in the next. You can sketch something and then effortlessly use chopsticks on our cheap takeout.” And now we were getting towards the deeper stuff. “But also... “ She bit her lip, looking over at her. “Also you use their length not to pull people close to you, but to push them away. Tentacles wrapping around them so that you can use those arms to propel yourself off and away, sinking deeper into the sea.” She scratched the back of her head, “Just like the subject of your family and whatever.” She didn’t really look at Urs anymore, still bashful and still trying to get all of this out and she was worried that if she looked at the girl in front of her she’d forget what she was going to say. “But also, people underestimate you. Because aside from being all arms and legs, Octopi are ridiculously cunning with large heads caring even larger brains and I think people don’t give you enough credit for that.” She played with her hands, attempting to not pace all over the room as she spoke. ���As for the different colored buttons, they stand for the the endless possibilities of what you could be, who you could be and also you know, what hair color you might change to next.” She looked up at her this time, trying to joke a bit about it a small smile on her lips. Her cheeks still were pink with embarrassment, but she forced herself to look at the girl. Eyes meeting eyes as she spoke her last little bit of speech.

“You’re so much more than just an artist or whatever term you use to define and narrow yourself, Urs. You’re an octopus.”

Urs

She was an octopus.

Ursula wanted to laugh and cry and yell at herself all at the same time, wanted to crawl back into her underwater cave and use all those arms to protect her squishy little heart.

At the first comparison she had smiled down at the grey thing staring up at her. This was payback for teasing the girl about her panda thing, she figured, and all those other weird little animals that she was sure Kim cuddled with at night.

She cradled the octopus in her hands, legs dangling limp as she set the box aside. As Kim spoke, the artist didn’t know what to do or say or think, all she could manage was to rub a thumb over the soft (wow, was it soft) fabric, over the colorful buttons. Kim had made this with her own two hands and had thought of a meaning for every part of it. She’d never really thought about that before, about other people spending their time thinking about her. Course she spent a lot of time thinking about her subjects, sometimes weeks on end. She’d thought about what had made Kim’s cheeks blush the first time, about what had made her hair look just slightly out of place. She’d considered how years of cheerleading and superhuman strength only made the girl’s muscles look lean. She’d spent a couple of days trying to decide if her underlying freckles had more of a brown tone or a red tone.

Something about a person spending that much time thinking about Ursula made the painter very uncomfortable.

And that was exactly what Kim had meant. She was using her tentacles to shove Kim away in her mind, simply because she had spent time analyzing Urs and thinking about Urs and she had mentioned Urs’ family and-

It took the painter a few long moments to decide what to do here. Her brows were stitched together as she stared down at her gift, her lip gnawed on between her teeth. On one hand, Kim had put way too much thought and time and effort and sentiment into this little stuffed animal. This was the kind of thing someone was meant to keep forever, forever. Urs could scoff at the thought. She couldn’t keep one hair color forever, much less all the feelings someone had sewn into a toy octopus. A part of her wanted to settle the grey thing back into its box. She’d hand it back to Kim and shake her head. You’ve got the wrong girl, she’d say. And she did; Kim had gotten all tangled up in Ursula’s tentacles and Urs was a monster, dangling her just out of reach and shoving her away each time the girl made her heart stir. She’d gotten involved with entirely the wrong girl, and Ursula the octopus really and truly felt bad about it.

Is this what happened with others, as well? Did other people realize that she toyed with them like this?

On the other hand, Kim had done probably the nicest thing for the orphan girl that she had ever experienced.

Ursula fought very hard against the urge to cry. She felt like she was fucking up. Like she was always constantly perpetually fucking up. Especially with Kim. Or maybe she was fucking Kim up. Either way she didn’t want that. She had a choice to make, here in this moment. But first she wanted some answers.

“Why are you still here?” She had looked up suddenly, eyes glistening with the threat of tears. “Why do you do things like… like this,” she said, gingerly holding the stuffed animal out, “and… and like taking me to America to spend Christmas with your family? You shouldn’t… shouldn’t do things like this, not for someone like me. Not for someone that is too afraid to not hold you at, you know, tentacle length.” She looked back down to the octopus, afraid that she might really start crying. She loved it, this damned stupid little stuffed animal. She absolutely loved it. “Anyone else would have left me and my bullshit in the dust by now. So why have you not?”

 Kim

Former teen hero and all around bad ass Kim Possible was officially scared of something. Of being rejected. By Ursula Yamada. As Urs looked over her present, the one she’d put so much effort into for the past week, she was basically holding Kim’s heart in her hands.

And those glistening eyes just about broke her, her body instantly reacting before her brain could keep up with what she was doing. She needed to comfort her. Why? Urs spoke and asked that very same question along with a few others like it. “Because I’m a Possible.” She said softly, her arms wrapping around Urs’ neck and pulling her in. It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t a come on as a means to kiss her or anything. It was just the need to be close to her to let her know that she wasn’t going anywhere. “We kind of take in strays.” She smiled reassuringly at the girl she had her arms wrapped around. “Despite whatever they’ve done to get themselves in their situation, cat, dog, octopus, we still find the good in any one. And there’s so much good in you, babe.” She brushed her nose softly against the other girl’s. “You just don’t see it yet.”

She ran a hand through damp neon colored locks, massaging into her scalp gently in an attempt to calm her down and talk her off the crying ledge. “You got dealt a shit hand, Urs. And I--and my family--want to help fill in a few missing pieces. I know it won’t be a perfect fit or anything but, it’s better than the big gaping hole right?” Her voice was soft, her words spoken with emotion she didn’t like to show around Urs because she was easily spooked.

Kim leaned up, pressing a small kiss to her nose. It was so gross and cute, Kim couldn’t even believe she did it. She couldn’t believe she did a lot of things around Ursula. She made her a fucking stuffed octopus for crying out loud.  “You can hold me at tentacle length, but I’m pretty ferociously strong. Don’t think I won’t fight and climb right up those tentacles. I can do anything you know.” She joked with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood for everyone involved and to keep herself from babbling more as her heart raced over what Urs’ reaction would be to all of this. Did she even want to go to the States with her anymore? Was it too much?

Urs  

Feelings weren’t something that Ursula Yamada handled well. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d really had them before. Of course that was an emo, middle school lone wolf way of thinking, but it was how Ursula had dealt with things her entire life.

No one had wanted her. She wasn’t a stray that people just decided to take in. She was trouble, even if she was good at school. She was broken, even if she tried to hide it with jokes and smiles and laughter. From the age of five she had bounced around, foster family to foster family, hell hole to equally as terrifying hell hole. She’d heard stories of people who hadn’t been sent to families that used kids for money. Unfortunately she’d never been one of those kids. She’d been tossed around and called worthless and ignored. That’s all people did. People used other people for selfish gain. She used people for sex and for muse and for money, sometimes. Love was not real. Love did not exist. It was a fairytale told to children as bedtime stories to keep the monsters in their heads away.

No one had helped keep the monsters in her head at bay.

She had learned to keep them away with sex. She filled the emptiness with brief moments of touch from another person. When she was twelve she’d filled herself that way, when the painting had become just a tool for her foster mother to milk more money, more funds, more attention. It became more frequent, just as frequent as she finished pieces of art that people hoarded away from her. Pieces of art that fake mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters never complimented.

People complimented her when she slept with them. They liked her body and they liked her mouth and they liked the way she felt wrapped around them. She knew how to make art with her body. That was what fulfilled her, even then.

Now it seemed that the thing she was so good at had become the monster in her head. Was this how she was supposed to overcome it? By letting an innocent girl get all tangled up in her mess of a life, her mess of a head? What if she was just like her mother? What if she ended up causing three deaths just because she couldn’t keep it in her pants? She couldn’t do that to people, she could do that to Kim.

Kim deserved better. (Ana deserved better. Her friends deserved better. Everyone deserved someone who wasn’t Ursula. Everyone. Full stop.)

But Kim was here. She acknowledged that she had gotten tangled up here with someone who was just a sea monster. Ursula felt like Hamilton, complete with foreboding warning: “Will do what it takes to survive.”

But Kim was here. Kim was holding her and asking to help put pieces together and giving her a place to rest her head in the vacant space in her heart. Ursula didn’t know what this was like. She didn’t understand what she had done (nothing, she had done nothing for this), she felt like she was pulling the wool over Kim’s eyes. Her tears were ernest, hot against her skin and seeping into the fabric of Kim’s shirt. I’m not worth this, she wanted to say. I’m not worth this time and these feelings, I’m not worth you fighting to get close to. She wanted to jump up and run, wanted to propel herself into the blackness of the sea, somewhere where it was far too dark for Kim’s light to find her.

Instead she clung to Kim’s frame, one hand bunched into the fabric of Kim’s shirt and the other holding the octopus against her chest. She didn’t want Kim climbing up her tentacles. She didn’t want Kim to get hurt. But in the end, she knew that she couldn’t stop her.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m just gonna hurt you.” It was all that Ursula could squeak out past the thickness of tears in her throat.

 Kim

Arms wrapped around the girl who’d stolen her heart without even trying to it (hell, it seemed like she didn’t even want to do it), Kim just listened to the poor girl’s tear filled voice acknowledge essentially between the lines that she truly did care about her, truly did feel something whether that be friendship or something entirely more, but also attempt to back away from that. It was a pretty weak attempt of course, she didn’t physically push her away or even give the stuffed octopus back to her. It was Urs still fighting against emotions and feelings, ones Kim thought would really eventually bring her happiness once she accepted them, maybe not with her, but eventually.

Kim’s heart ached listening to her voice fill with tears, feeling them seeping into her shirt as Urs hid her face away. Kim didn’t back down though. She wouldn’t give up just because things were tough or Urs wasn’t willing to accept her feelings yet. She was patient. She’d wait for whatever came her way. Truly she could convince herself that it would be a decent arrangement, right? They’d still fuck and cuddle and kiss and hang out and the two of them could still sample the single pool of Swynlake without a worry right? Totally perfect. It could be that easy. She’d be that easy for Urs.

Kim leaned down a bit, pressing her forehead against the painter’s and looking into tear filled eyes. “I’m not scared.” That was a lie but one she didn’t even really know herself. “No one ever got anything done without trying, Urs.” She caressed her cheek softly, brushing her thumb over a tear stained cheek to wipe it away. “Also I’m like practically invincible. You’ve seen me like lift like a 5 gallon bucket of paint with a finger.” It was true. She was strong. She always had been both physically and emotionally and whatever was in store she’d survive. She always did. “I’ve been warned ya know, it’s my own fault if I get hurt.” She joked softly, trying to get the girl to give her a smile, anything really. She hated that she’d done all of this. Why did she have to go and be punctual? Couldn’t she have been like 5 minutes late today? But she supposed this was the universe’s way of telling her that she’d need to deal with this sitch eventually. She just didn’t want to today. She wanted to keep Urs to herself for the rest of the day. Make her forget all the pain she was currently feeling.

“Ya know, you gotta name her/him.” Kim smiled softly at her, motioning to the octopus clutched in her hand. She was trying to maybe lighten the mood just a little bit. “Every stuffed animal needs a proper name if you aren’t up to date on all the stuffed animal rules and guidelines. So what’ll it be?”

 Urs

Kim kept saying that she was strong, that she was invincible, but all Urs could do was wonder if she really was. She wasn’t stupid; she saw the way that Kim looked at her sometimes, she knew what was going on. She noticed the way she looked at Kim, late at night when the once teen hero was falling asleep and when she threw her head back in fits of laughter and when she was laser focused on something. All things considered, Kim might have very well been strong enough to make it through something like this virtually unscathed. But, really, Ursula was not.

But that was… fine. Good, even. It would hurt and Ursula would learn to keep to herself, maybe, if the world was lucky.

She gathered herself, peeled her body away from Kim’s so that she could feel the space. So that she could think clearly, obviously. Settling the smiling octopus into her lap she brushed the tears away from her face, coughing away the thickness clogging in her throat. “Right,” she croaked, “a name.” The painter moved to scoop the stuffed animal up again, her nerves and slight embarrassment settling over her skin making her begin to fidget. She needed to paint, or fuck, or both. She could sketch while they watched a movie or something, could play in Kim’s hair.

“It’s Gerald,” she said finally, matter-of-factly. “He’s obviously a Gerald, you should know this.” With a nod she stood, settling Gerald on her pillow gently. “Let’s watch a movie, yeah? The more mind-numbing the better. I sketch better that way.”

[savefarris124-blog]

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

Words To Live By: “Do more of what makes you happy.”—a ceramic owl I received during a Secret Santa gift exchange.

Owls are wise, and the purple ceramic one given to me by my former assistant manager Paula was especially so. Yet I have a bad habit of taking on too many things all at once, usually in an effort not to disappoint people. This leads to stress because I feel my time is not my own. To decompress I will then take on a side project I enjoy for the hell of it. Ultimately I end up doing everything half-assed and balls drop. So this holiday season I’m changing some things around, including doing less of what makes me unhappy and more of what makes me actually happy.

I really had to think about this. As I get older the highs are less high. Last week my friends and I went to Harry Potter night at Lifted Spirits Distillery, and one thought stuck with me in the days to come—if I had to face a Dementor right now what sort of memories could I call on to summon a Patronus? So much of life seems bittersweet to me, but dwelling on that never did any good. Instead I want to take a moment to acknowledge the things that send pure jolts of unadulterated joy through my body.

I thought this would make a great subject for a blog post. After all people love it when Oprah talks about her favorite things, and Oprah and I are practically the same person. This entry also works on another level. Christmas is coming, and soon after that comes my birthday. Now really, you don’t have to get me a gift. I’m not expecting any gifts. No gifts please. However if you do insist on a gift I have hidden ideas throughout these entries. See if you can spot them!

1) Comedians and Their Audiobooks

Let’s be real; I will never meet my idols. I could pack my things, sell my house, and move to L.A., but I’m quite sure there is a person in Hollywood paid to misdirect wide-eyed rubes like me if we ever get within 50 feet of a celebrity. Probably the mayor or something.

Alas, there will be no brunch dates with Mindy Kaling, no hilarious text chains with Amy Poehler, and Tina Fey will never want to hear about how I took a screenwriting class in college that was mainly devoted to just watching 30 Rock and learning how to be funny. I mean, even if she did by any chance care about that, there is no way she would be interested in the fact that our final assignment was to write a 30 Rock spec script, and mine had a great plot about how Jenna gets a new boyfriend who is just dating her for her fame, how Liz worries about Jenna’s eventual reaction to this news, and how everything turns out okay in the end because once Jenna discovers the truth she is flattered that someone would think she is famous enough to use for status. And surely Tina Fey wouldn’t care that I probably still have a copy of this script of stashed away someplace and I would consider it a privilege to tear through all my belongings until I could find it for her, would she? WOULD SHE?

Where was I? Ah yes, audiobooks. So much better than regular books. I like to listen to them while driving because one day I realized I didn’t recognize half the songs playing on the radio. Now after two years of listening to thoughtful, inspiring books on my commutes I can proudly say I know zero songs on the radio.

I like memoirs by funny people because the comedians read their own works, so it’s almost the same thing as having them in my car. Currently I’m listening to My Squirrel Days by Ellie Kemper aka Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt aka my spirit animal. Ellie has a way of infusing low-stakes situations with such high amounts of drama so everyday life turns into a picture of pure absurdity. Her personality comes across so genuinely sweet and down-to-earth that you can almost forget that her family built Kemper Arena, meaning she grew up with enough money to try and fail at pretty much anything and still turn out just fine. That was a compliment Ellie; please be my best friend.

2) My Old 90s Christmas Tape

It’s true that the holidays burn me out. I still have slight PTSD from working retail, so whenever the halls get decked and the carols start playing I always look out of the corner of my eye for the person about to yell at me for ruining Christmas. I have morphed into Charlie Brown at the beginning of A Charlie Brown Christmas except it takes more than 30 minutes to solve my problems and my therapist insists on charging more than 5 cents.

There is only one part of the holiday season that brings unquestioned joy, and that is the totally awesome Christmas Tape my mom made for me as a child. Remember the days before streaming when if you wanted to watch something you either had to watch it live or pray Blockbuster had it in stock? Well my mother never let “the man” at Big TV dictate her viewing habits. She let a screaming 6-year-old who wanted to watch Christmas cartoons in July do that for her, thank you very much.

Yes, my awesome mom recorded over 6 hours of your favorite holiday specials onto VHS. You want A Charlie Brown Christmas? We’ve got that, plus the lesser known It’s Christmastime Again, Charlie Brown which comes first on the tape because we don’t care about things like “chronological order” and maybe also because the classic one aired later in the month. From Frosty the Snowman to Inspector Gadget Save Christmas to Winnie-the-Pooh and Christmas Too this tape is made of nothing but pure nostalgia, and my only complaint is that we couldn’t fit even more holiday specials on it. Specials like A Miser Brothers’ Christmas or the epic Pac-Man: Christmas Comes to Pac-Land.

I could end on that heavy hint, but I need to say something more about this tape. Yes I love the specials, but what takes this tape from “nice gesture” to “prized possession that must be saved in case of fire” are the commercials. 90s advertising at its absolute finest. For instance:

This Cool Whip classic that wants you to believe non-dairy whipped topping is the new ranch dressing: 

The toy I’m still waiting for Santa to bring me:

Watch advertisers show that the quality of the product doesn’t matter if you can blatantly market it to children:

And finally I present Macauley Culkin’s entire reality falling apart: 

3) Raw Cookie Dough

Look, I know all about the CDC’s warnings against eating raw cookie dough. The flour could be contaminated with E.coli, the eggs could be festering with salmonella, and spending 12-15 minutes in the oven infuses the dough with enough magic power to grant a wish. Well guess what? I don’t care! That fudge I made for Hanukkah called for uncooked flour, raw eggs gave Rocky the physical edge needed to lose his big fight against Apollo Creed, and I just made that last one up. Remember folks, you can’t believe everything you read on the internet.

Still, because I occasionally listen to medical advice and am also too lazy to whip up batches of cookie dough on a whim, I sometimes like to indulge myself with a treat from The Cookie Dough Café. This wonderful company knows that I demand my vanilla butter sugar in its purest form, and is proud to offer a product both delicious and healthy. I mean it totally counts as a health food if I’m avoiding the CDC death ingredients, right? Right.

4) Sunny Days

I won’t knock the gym. I joined Planet Fitness last year and from then until now I lost 25 lbs. Not a staggering amount over the course of a year, but it does mean that for the first time in a decade I weigh less than what I put on my driver’s license. I don’t mean to humble brag here. I mean to brag brag.

I couldn’t have done that without a place to workout in the wintertime. That being said you will never, ever, ever convince me that a workout in the gym is even a quarter as good as a walk outside. A walk outside offers you sunshine and fresh air. The gym offers you harsh fluorescent lighting and the lingering stench of recycled body odor.

Outside my house there is a walking trail. Sometimes I pass deer grazing and I slowly, slowly creep toward them, pretending that I myself possess the gentle grace of a forest creature. “I am Snow White,” I tell myself. “If life gets too scary I will face it with a smile and song, and the sun will shine down on me and all of my new animal friends that will help me clean my house.”

Inside the gym I pass neon painted elliptical gliders that loudly beep at me if my heart rate falls outside selected parameters. Ke$ha blares from an overhead sound system, and my attempts to drown her out by streaming Disney music are all for naught.

Belle sings, “Little town, it’s a quiet village.”

Ke$ha screams, “He’s going down! I’m yelling timber!”

Belle coos, “Every day like the one before.”

“You better move! You better dance!”

Belle continues, undeterred, “Little town filled with little people, waking up to say…”

“SWING YO’ BUTT ROUND AND ROUND! END OF THE NIGHT IT’S GOING DOWN!”

Belle gives up, and we both grab some of that edible cookie dough to ease our disappointment.

My roundabout point here is that the gym sucks, and half of my time spent writing is an excuse not to go there. Also if someone wants to buy me a trip to Disney World right about now, I won’t say no.

[brentsotherblog]

Top 15 Films of 2016

Hey, I’m still doing this!

Living in Chicago (and working at a job with flexibility for occasional film streaming) means better access to films, and I saw 63 of the films released last year (er, if “released last year” is loosely defined). As always, this is a list of my favorite films—the ones I connected with most or couldn’t stop thinking about. I’m stretching to 15 films this year, because I couldn’t narrow it any further, and because does anyone read this?

Different year, same disclaimer: We all have different standards and tolerance for material, so if you’re wary of certain kinds of content, I’d recommend perusing reviews or ratings before trusting my recommendations.

(I really struggled to narrow this down! #22 is La La Land, #21 is Paterson, #20 is One More Time with Feeling, #19 is Kubo and the Two Strings, #18 is The Handmaiden, #17 is The Lobster, and #16 is Cemetery of Splendor.)

15. Swiss Army Man

I had to watch this twice to make sure it deserved a spot on my list—was there really as much heartfelt sweetness as I initially perceived?—but I can confirm that if you don’t mind more than a handful (an island-full, more accurately) of fart jokes and boner jokes, Swiss Army Man offers a heartfeltly sweet story about friendship and what happens when our intricately constructed inner worlds are exposed for the world to see.

14. Loving

This is the film that 2015’s Freeheld wanted to be: Poignant, gentle, and lovely, Loving seems mostly unconcerned with reminding you that it’s a film about a major social issue or a major Supreme Court case. Instead, it’s a film about a couple whose connection to a major social issue finds them at the center of a major Supreme Court case, but most of that exists in the background: Watch Mildred and Richard tend to each other, take care of each other, be husband and wife to each other.

13. Captain Fantastic

Wickedly funny and concerned with two of my favorite themes (i.e., whether those who withdraw from society might actually be better off, and a la #15, what happens when our private worlds are publicly exposed), Captain Fantastic was unlike anything else I saw this year. This is the opposite of a movie that doesn’t know what it thinks about its protagonist and his decisions—it cares deeply for Ben Cash (a nuanced performance from Viggo Mortensen) and his family and presents them as complex humans worthy of our time and consideration.

12. Manchester by the Sea

Okay, it bummed me out that so much of the discussion about this movie focused on how sad it was, as if it were created merely to win sad-movie Oscars: It is a profoundly sad story, but it’s also bleakly funny and boldly straightforward, a sort of workman’s examination of grief less concerned with pompous soliloquies than with the sort of humdrum triggers and decisions that grief is actually made of, like: When is it warm enough to bury a body in Massachusetts?

11. OJ: Made in America

The documentary that finally scratched my Serial-shaped itch! OJ: Made in America earns its nearly 8-hour runtime by showing exactly how Simpson’s trial captured so many contemporary dynamics in American culture: race, policing, celebrity, sports, marriage, abuse, economics, etc., etc. It says a lot that I was hooked 30 minutes in, at which point the film is still mostly only talking about Simpson’s football career.

10. Moana

I saw Moana with my family over Christmas, and there was a specific moment about two-thirds of the way in when I stopped thinking, “This is a beautiful film, and I’m so glad my niece and nephews are getting to see such a great female hero,” and realized, “No, forget the kids, forget progressive politics—Moana is a badass character, and this is a genuinely entertaining and movie story.” I could write pages about this film, from its wonderful subversion of kids’ movie tropes to its rich theological themes to its beautiful visual style, but I’m too busy crying at the part where the ocean gives Te Fiti’s heart to Moana.

9. Sing Street

Sing Street has all the elements of a coming-of-age classic (breakout performances from two young leads, a self-aware sense of humor, moments of surprising darkness, and an ambitious ending that reaches for the mythic) and ties them together in a toe-tapping, catchy package. What elevates Sing Street is its subtle forays into the imaginary, like the slow pan around the room as the band assembles for “Up” and the heartbreaking fantasy of “Drive It Like You Stole It.” If nothing else (and there’s so much else!), this film gave us the sublime “Riddle of the Model.”

8. Hidden Figures

Listen, the worst thing I can say about this film is that it’s somewhat low-hanging, feel-good fruit; but if you want to feel good after watching a movie, you could do much, much worse than a story about the unsung black women heroes of NASA in the 1960s featuring perfect performances, deft pacing, and dialogue that sizzles. The film subversively suggests that one of the worst dangers of systemic injustice (among many) is its sheer mathematical inefficiency, and the subplot about Katherine’s difficulty finding a bathroom for (so-called) colored women is one of the best portrayals of the slowly exhausting burdens of invisible (to some) discrimination I’ve seen.

7. Krisha

Imagine a horror movie where the villain is the anxiety induced by large family gatherings, or maybe the demons that accompany you to those gatherings. Though I usually look forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas with my own relatives, Krisha was the kind of film that grabbed me by the shoulders and wouldn’t let me exhale till the credits rolled. The unfamiliar cast (composed of mostly real-life friends and family) and house setting help this film feel like a small peek into the dynamics of a real family system. How is this Krisha Fairchild’s first prominent role (at least in a long time), and when can I see her on screen next?

6. The Fits

This year’s “I don’t know exactly what to say about it except that it’s doing something brilliant, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it” entry! The Fits is undoubtedly up to some interesting things in terms of gender and social pressure, but this film spoke to me primarily on a visceral-aesthetic level, due primarily to Royalty Hightower’s commanding, stoic (and, undoubtedly, career-launching) physical performance as a young boxer-turned-dancer.

5. I Am Not Your Negro

In a year that gave us more than a handful of compelling, tightly-constructed documentaries about various issues concerning race in the United States (including #11), I Am Not Your Negro had the greatest effect on me. The film’s clever, gut-wrenching juxtaposition of protest and police footage (What year was that clip from, again?) and pop culture history is elevated a few steps by searing narration from James Baldwin’s typewriter and a smart, poignant structure highlighting the deaths of three Civil Rights Movement giants.

4. The Witch

I only watch horror films if they get buzz like The Witch got, and the buzz did not mislead me: This is a gorgeous, haunting, disturbing film, one that meticulously crafts a self-contained world as a means of isolating us in that world with its isolated protagonists. As a result, the dangers menacing the family—from the surrounding forest, but more pressingly from each person’s heart—feel truly menacing, and we may not know any better than the characters what they should fear most. Don’t let any critic tell you what the ending means; it’s much more fruitful to argue it out with fellow viewers. The second-best film on faith I saw this year.

3. Silence

Admittedly I was rooting for this film out of the gate as a huge fan of Endo’s novel, but I think the adaptation succeeds on many fronts: The brutally patient pace, the fully-realized (and stunning) recreation of 17th-century Japan, and the sheer power of every interaction between Neeson’s Ferreira and Garfield’s Rodrigues. It was a growing frustration of mine to see how poorly (and inevitably) Silence performed at the box office compared to 2016’s God is Not Dead 2; suffice it to say that I consider the former film a much more compelling exploration of the question of God’s absence. (It’s rare that a film adaptation of a character so matches my imagination that I actually recognize the character, but thus was the case with Kubozuka’s snivelling, tormented portrayal of Kichijiro.)

2. Arrival

I loved this film for a few reasons. It’s absolutely the most gripping experience I had in a theater all year, with each of the film’s high-stakes revelations unfurling slowly and organically with a pleasantly slow burn. It’s a perfect marriage of form and function, in terms of how the story plays with familiar tropes (including cinematic depictions of grief) to foreshadow and surprise us. It’s firing on all cylinders, including a powerhouse performance from Amy Adams, an unforgettable score, and breathtaking, expansive cinematography, to deliver a story that’s equally satisfying as both an alien encounter film and a personal family drama. More than anything, though—and I shouldn’t spoil too much here—it’s a wholly imaginative exploration of the age-old question of whether you’d live your life differently, if you had the chance. The last ten minutes of dialogue are nearly perfect.

1. Moonlight

I knew this would be my favorite film of the year about 10 minutes in. It’s become cliched to call the film “empathetic,” but it’s true that I can’t remember a story so concerned with letting its characters speak on their own terms as Moonlight is. Each performance is masterful: See if you can count how many times Juan (Mahershala Ali) or Paula (Naomie Harris) shifts between vulnerable and withdrawn (”soft” and “hard,” in the language of the film) in any given scene, or all the near-imperceptible ways Kevin and Chiron admit to themselves and signal to each other what they hope will happen. My second viewing revealed many of the film’s brilliant structural touches, like the way each act ends with the moment that effectively concludes each chapter of Chiron’s development, or the subtle visual motifs that tie his life together; notice, for example, the way Kevin heating up water on the stove to make Chrion tea recalls young Chiron heating water for his bath, or the colors of the shirts the two leads wear in the final scene. What else? The film contains both my favorite line (”I cry so much sometimes I think one day I’m gon’ just turn into drops.”) and my favorite scene (the transcendent baptism-via-swimming-lesson sequence) of the year, and I haven’t talked to anyone who was unaffected by it. Moonlight is a timeless masterpiece and my favorite film of 2016.