#its like the worst of history is being repeated in slow motion

[kittenboom]

Not to mention Guiliani's absolutely abhorrent remarks!!!

[brownhairedbookworm]

Jack In!! Ch3 - Sword of the Witch

Okay... just breathe. Yuri tightly grips her PET in her hand. The break is still in effect. She doesn't need to be in position, yet, but she also needs to be in position. Yuri takes a lock of her violet hair into her free hand and rolls her thumb over it. Breathe. Relax. Everything will be fine...

"Lady Sakuraba? Do you need my assistance?" A sharp, dignified voice calls to her from the purple PET in her deathgrip. BladeMan...

"Ah... P-please, BladeMan. I..." Yuri curls in on herself, looking down at the screen.

"Worry not. Simply look toward me. Breathe in time with the size of the circle." Blade Man loads a simple black and white animation. He keeps an eye on Yuri's motions as her position rises and falls with the slow, guided breathing. "All will be well, as I'm sure you've been telling yourself. There are no high stakes in today's activity. We are out with our friends, and they will protect us if it's needed."

"In...hhhhhh... out... hoooo..." Yuri repeats the breathing exercise with closed eyes. She knows the timing like the sight of her own hands at this point.

"There. Your heart rate has decreased. Do you need to proceed with a sensory evaluation?"

"No... Thank you, BladeMan."

"It is my absolute pleasure, Lady Sakuraba." BladeMan bows at Yuri from his screen. His knife-shaped head could nearly cut its way through, if he weren't a virtual being.

"Simply 'Yuri', today, BladeMan. After all, we're partners in battle. Not a knight and his master." Yuri smiles down at him.

"As you wish, Lady Yuri."

"Thank you, again, BladeMan. I always know I can count on you." Yuri takes another deep breath. Now that her nerves are better under control, she has time to take a look at her surroundings and Dr. Hikari's presentation.

She isn't surprised to see her passive synchronization with BladeMan is just about as high as Lan and MegaMan's. Though they've left the room for now, they're still connected to the readers and the SciLab network.

The pairs have a similar amount of history between them. Even among those who aren't privy to Dr. Hikari's experimental designs, everyone knows of "The Hikari Brothers" and their exceptional friendship and cooperation that they love showing off. Slightly less believed by the public are the claims that the pair of them are largely responsible for the dissolution of the infamous cyberterrorist group, the WWW.

Nearly as long as those two have worked together, BladeMan has been helping Yuri manage her anxiety and now-only-occasional compulsions. His sharp design is a darkly comedic reminder of her previous mental state, but now? She trusts him as not only a guardian and assistant, but a friend.

Yuri takes another deep breath. She smiles as she looks over at her friends.

Natsuki is grumbling about her loss and pouting into her arms. The poor girl did her best in the fight against MegaMan. The bruise to her ego will fade with time, but she's welcome to be upset about it.

Sayori's rubbing Natsuki's back in circles. Her gentle smile is chipping away at Natsuki's stony sadness. She's infectious, like that. Yuri can't help but recall Sayori's efforts in keeping Yuri with her club. Smiling, gentle, and understanding, and oh so patient.

Monika is fidgeting with her hair and clearly doing her best to encourage Natsuki, but she's out of her element. The President of the Literature Club is organized, thoughtful, and has the best of intentions. However, navigating volatile emotions is a skill she hasn't had any chances to train.

Yuri looks back to the Netbattle terminal. She hopes she can put on a good show for the girls. While she's not the worst in the world, Yuri lacks confidence in her Netbattling skills. She just happens to have a strong bond with her Navi.

She starts spreading her chips out on the machine. Plenty of swords and melee attacks fill her library. BladeMan works best with those. Yuri holds up her final choice, examining it closely.

Muramasa... Tactically, it's a revenge device. Do she and BladeMan have enough stamina to make good use of it...?

"BladeMan, what do you think our strongest plan is, for this battle?" She sets her PET down on the terminal for BladeMan to look over their chip folder.

"Hm... Sirs Lan and MegaMan are fast opponents, to be sure, and their teamwork is outstanding. Their raw strength isn't to be underestimated, either." BladeMan hums, holding the tip of an arm-blade to where his chin might be. "... We will most likely not need the elemental swords, Lady Yuri. Against Lady Natsuki and Siren, I would recommend keeping our ElecSwords, but our battle with MegaMan will not be one of the classical elements, but of the element of surprise!"

"Ahh... You recommend Invis chips to replace them, then."

"Quite correct, Lady Yuri." The Navi nods. "In addition to those, perhaps some trap chips? AntiSword will likely be quite valuable."

"Ah, as well as the others. A BodyGuard wouldn't go amiss, certainly~" Yuri giggles as she swaps out yet more chips.

"Clever, Lady Yuri. I would also like to address Dr. Hikari with a question, if you don't mind?"

Yuri shakes her head. "Not at all, BladeMan. Ask him whatever you wish."

"Thank you, Lady Yuri." BladeMan jacks himself into the Netbattle terminal and shortly begins accessing the projectors. His imposing violet form appears above the machine, red eyes and sharp edges looking out into the room.

"Pardon me, Dr. Hikari? May I make a request?"

The scientist looks toward the projected Navi. "I'll have to make a judgement, once I know what it is, but I can hear you out!"

"To confirm my understanding of this experiment, the battles between MegaMan, Siren, and myself are to be considered part of your 'control' group, yes?"

Dr, Hikari nods in response. "Correct, BladeMan."

"And to that aim, the results of the battles themselves are not as important to your research as our ability to synchronize with our operators?"

"Once again, correct." Yuichiro adjusts his glasses.

"Thank you. I don't believe my request will cause any trouble, in such a case. May I alter the environment of our arena to suit our tactics? While it is clearly not fair to our absent opponents, I don't expect there will be any problems with the experiment if I am to do so."

Dr. Hikari leans back and strokes his chin. "Lan might complain, but you're definitely right. An advantage for an opponent doesn't actually cause issues with my experiment. Lan will probably be back from the break late, as well, so you have plenty of time."

"Thank you, sir." BladeMan raises his arm to his chest and bows. "I'll get right to work." The projector turns off, and the pair of purple people at the machine begin to put together their full plan.

---

"We're back. Sorry for the hold-up! I swear I need a new map for this place every few months..." Lan skates into the room, sliding to a stop at the Netbattle terminal.

Yuri nods and adjusts her position on the seat she's brought over to the machine. "It's no trouble for me. I can always use a few extra moments to prepare." She certainly won't complain about some extra seconds of peace. Keeping herself collected before the fight properly begins is important.

"I even predicted your late return, son." Dr. Hikari chuckles from his desk. "The penalty will be something you quickly discover, when you jack in."

"Awww, come on! Doesn't that make the experiment less viable?" Lan grumbles.

"Not in the slightest. We're only measuring Synchronization Rates." Yuichiro clears his throat. "In any case, if you're ready, Yuri and BladeMan are also ready."

The scientist stands up properly to do his limited duties as a tournament announcer. "NetOps, Jack in."

Yuri stands up from her chair. She nods, BladeMan is already in the machine, and they're both ready to battle.

"Jack in!! MegaMan, Execute!"

~ Vs. BladeMan.EXE ~

BladeMan stands in the forested arena with his eyes turned to the sky. He follows MegaMan's entry into the machine and stands at the ready to receive his "guest" in the shadows of the facade of his manor. "Are you prepared, Lady Yuri?"

"Yes, I am. I am focused and prepared for our battle."

BladeMan nods. He hears the slightest tingle of Yuri's voice inside his head, rather than coming to his ears. She's ready, and they'll be as much of a challenge as they can. His charge's nerves are only from the coming clash, now, and they'll quickly synchronize to the point where speech is unneeded.

MegaMan steps casually into the clearing at the center of the forested arena, standing before BladeMan. "Giving us an uphill battle, huh?"

"It could be said." BladeMan chuckles. "I hope you don't take too much offense. I simply made the request for Lady Yuri's sake, as we ended up having extra time for preparations."

"You have a good sense of doom built into it." The blue Navi nods with a friendly smirk. "Good luck backing that up!"

"Worry not, Sir MegaMan. I may have certain mannerisms, but I assure you," BladeMan raises his arm blades and swipes them along each other, "My name is not SwordMan or KnightMan. Fitting my designation, I am one of my Lady's many blades in the dark."

BladeMan grins as Dr. Hikari's voice booms in the sky. "Synchronization Experiments, Observational Battle Number 2, BladeMan.EXE versus MegaMan.EXE. Battle routine, Set."

MegaMan's face mask appears on his face and he draws his buster. "Execute!"

"Best of luck, Sirs Lan and MegaMan. Here's to a grand clash." BladeMan silently steps backward into the thick of the trees. He all but disappears from view.

Lady Yuri. I recommend a strong opener. Are you prepared with Bodyguard?

Yes. AntiNavi, AntiSword, AntiDmg, all in. Program Advance: Bodyguard. Yuri silently slides the chips into her PET.

BladeMan sighs softly as he feels the trap trigger load itself into his body. Perfect. Shall I begin the feint assault, Lady Yuri?

Proceed, BladeMan. Yuri can't help but chuckle to herself as she imagines this ploy going off almost perfectly. After all, every new tactic will earn a strategist at least one free hit.

BladeMan twists one of his arm blades around backward. He skulks behind MegaMan, ready to strike down at his spine. A slash upward after a stab in this position will cause plenty of damage, if he can pull it off.

MegaMan is swinging his buster around in a calculated motion. Good, he's being careful. But it won't be enough. "This place is giving me the creeps, Lan... I know it's not h-haunted, but the atmosphere is making my spine tingle..."

With his blade aimed for MegaMan's back, BladeMan slinks up to his opponent. "Perhaps I can be of assistance with that sensation?" He thrusts his blade downward toward the short, blue Navi's neck.

"Holy-?!" MegaMan twists around. A glowing blade materializes from his arm and he takes a swing at BladeMan even as the violet steel of the sneak attack slashes across his arm.

"Boo." BladeMan vanishes with a cackle as the sword flies right through him. Massive shurikens fly at MegaMan from the shadows of the forest.

BladeMan watches MegaMan dance around the shurikens. Even with the speed he's shown, he can't dodge forever.

"Gah!" MegaMan clutches at his side. Two of the shurikens managed to cut into him. He might be swift and powerful, but BladeMan knows he can't take too many big hits.

Of course, BladeMan doesn't expect the fight to end so early. Their stealthy tactics have been exposed, so their opponents will be properly on guard. It wouldn't surprise him if they got a bit trigger-happy, either.

Initial strikes successful, Lady Yuri. We have them at a disadvantage, for now.

The game is afoot. Yuri nods, focused on her chips and BladeMan's positioning. Not quite in range for a proper sneak attack, plus MegaMan is on guard for one, now. Her Navi remains still in the treetops as they both keep an eye on MegaMan for a proper opening to strike again.

The blue boy winces and shuffles backward. His buster is still held up high, a defensive position that won't be of any use. His jerky, panicked motions won't serve him, either.

Hm. Perhaps another of our easy hitters? AssassinSword should work on this field. Yuri holds the chip in her fingers. And you won't even have to do anything but drop onto the ground to make use of it.

I recommend using one of our Invis chips, first, Lady Yuri. After all, MegaMan is sure to look much less predictably through the trees after yet another surprise strike. BladeMan silently climbs down his chosen tree. He looks over to their opponent.

MegaMan is scanning much more erratically. He steps slowly along the grass-covered ground with a 360 degree spin of his buster with every cautious, fearful motion. His eyes dart about wildly.

In his panic, he’s become the perfect target for an invisible strike. If MegaMan doesn't think he can trust his eyes, he'll surely be even more shaken and begin leaving more openings. BladeMan crouches down and watches his prey cautiously move along.

Yuri inserts the Invis chip, and then AssassinSword. Chips all in. Make your move.

BladeMan fades from view and raises his bladed arm. Even without being able to see it, he feels the sword sharpen and change to a more razor-like shape. He swipes downward into the grass.

Like a properly cast spell, the blade appears behind MegaMan and takes a hard swing across his legs.

MegaMan yells in pain and drops to the ground. He keeps his buster up, sweeping around to try and catch BladeMan's motions. "Lan, I think we need to bust out an old trick, for this one..."

Lady Yuri, shall we attempt to bring an end to this? The fewer "tricks" they pull off, the better. BladeMan runs forth. His invisible form certainly isn't silent, but he should survive so long as MegaMan can't see him.

NeoVari in! SuperSonic blade mode! Yuri inserts the battlechip and taps out a code on her PET. Fire!

BladeMan's arms glow with a mystic energy. He makes a big swipe with both of his arms to launch a wave of the energy toward his target. "Goodbye, Sir MegaMan."

"DoubleSoul, SearchSoul!" MegaMan lays flat on the ground to dodge the shockwave. A flashing image of another Navi seems to superimpose over MegaMan. His form changes to mimic the image, sprouting bulky green armor along his limbs and torso.

The final change, and the newest danger to BladeMan, is a sniper rifle that forms over his Buster arm. A viewfinder pops down over MegaMan's left eye. "...Gotcha." He lowers his rifle and begins aiming for BladeMan with ease that shocks the sharper Navi and his partner.

"Ah, I see that invisibility has lost its advantage. Drat." BladeMan ducks behind a tree as a heavy bullet flies past his ear.

Lady Yuri, we may need a new plan. The stealth approach to this battle has become unusable. BladeMan ducks down. It won't be long until the next shot, and he had better not stay still.

Shit. Shit shit shit. Yuri drags her fingers along her chips, running through her mental index. Invisibility is out. What other blades do they have that can stand up to a sniper's aim? They got rid of the elemental swords for the invisibility and BodyGuard. Basic swords won't do anything to get them closer, even with a Program Advance!

Her finger strikes the solution. Yuri lets out a weak sigh of relief. StepSword, thank fuck... It's only one hit, but it might just be enough to get in and reach past the inner range of MegaMan's gun.

StepSword in. Get ready to rush him, BladeMan! Yuri slams the chip into her PET. It's do or die, now.

BladeMan waits just a second for the next shot to fly over his head. The top half of his cover tree has been obliterated. He leaps over the shredded wood and begins running for MegaMan. The warp takes him over into slicing range for a solid hit.

A blade parries his own, knocking his arm aside. MegaMan's rifle is lifted up into the air, and his left arm now sports a sword. The Navi smiles back at BladeMan. "We came ready for a sword fight! Just has to be off-handed, now!"

The dance of blades begins.

BladeMan has the numbers advantage in offense. Two blades against one would ordinarily lead to an easy advantage. Unfortunately, MegaMan can still block with his rifle. He can't use it to strike back meaningfully, but it's a barrier to BladeMan's progress. Every forward swing is easily redirected away from vital areas or completely absorbed by the rifle. The proper-mannered Navi swears under his breath as MegaMan continues to push him back and chip away at his blades.

As BladeMan blocks MegaMan's sword strikes with his arms, his synchronized NetOp twitches. Her arms are starting to... Oh no. Every "blocked" strike sends a spark along her nerves. The scars on her flesh feel like they're burning. They need to wrap this up, before she has an episode. Damn it, damn it, this started out so promising! Yuri grits her teeth and clamps down a scream of primal frustration.

Lady Yuri, calm yourself. Focus on the battle, not your physical body. BladeMan ducks into the foliage and begins retreating. He knows he can't lose MegaMan's sights at any range. But he also doesn't know how many more blocked sword strikes Yuri can handle.

Not an option. Fuck, we need to end the fight, right now! Then I can take care of... this. Muramasa in! Yuri quickly grabs her PET and stuffs the intimidating chip in. Finish this, Muramasa should have plenty of energy!

BladeMan's arm begins shimmering with dark energy. As you command, Lady Yuri. He'll have to rely on his natural speed against MegaMan's sniper aim. Their defense is half gone with only one normal arm. He holds his arm in front of his body for his best chance at guarding.

BladeMan leaps out of the brush and starts to zig-zag toward MegaMan. Maybe adding more motion can thwart the eagle eye of his opponent? His synchronization with Yuri is higher than ever. Even if it isn't quite up to Lan and MegaMan's level, it must be worth something. BladeMan raises the Muramasa and takes a swing with the evil blade as he barely enters melee range-

Kapow!

The shot slams through BladeMan's arm and chest and he falls to the ground. The dark shine of the Muramasa disappears after he tumbles forth a few meters past MegaMan. He digs an arm blade into the ground to lift himself up and face the other Navi. "Well-fought, Sir MegaMan. I have no regrets with this defeat."

Yuri clutches her chest with a massive shudder and wince. She leans onto the terminal and has to stiffly hold herself up with her free arm. The connection between Navi and Operator is intense when it reaches the heights that she and Lan have with their respective partners. As she pants and groans, she watches her Synchro Rating with BladeMan plummet. "Nn- B-BladeMan, jack out... We concede."

MegaMan gives BladeMan a playful salute as his green armor and rifle fade away. "Good fight, BladeMan. I'd love to take you on, another time."

BladeMan nods as he begins to fade away. "Another battle, some other day, would be splendid, Sir MegaMan. If you'll excuse me, I need to repair myself." He jacks out, disappearing from the field.

MegaMan follows BladeMan's example and exits the arena. The darkened forest and dimly lit manor backdrop disappear as the reset process leaves no evidence of the battle.

Dr. Hikari claps for the end of the match. "BladeMan.EXE defeated, MegaMan.EXE is the winner. Impressive tactical displays, all of you."

Yuri leans against the wall. She looks over at Monika with a tightened jaw and near-crazed eyes. "Monika. Stress balls. Please!"

Monika wastes no time grabbing them out of Yuri's school bag and handing them over.

"Thank you." Yuri squeezes the foam spheres in her hands. Her black nails dig in and nearly pierce their outer layers. She repeats the motion of squeezing and digging her fingers into the balls. Her arms feel so cold and itchy. But she can't give in, not here.

Yuri stares at her bag. She can swear she sees the ceramic knife glowing in its pocket. It's right there, she can just take her bag to the bathroom and-

A sudden warmth and weight press into her. Yuri gasps softly as the ringing in her ears fades away. How long has she been staring into space? What's holding her? She turns her purple eyes downward, to see...

"Sayori?" Why is her voice so hoarse? How hard has she been breathing?

"Yurrrrri~" The shorter girl smiles from her uncomfortable position of "chin against breasts". "I'm here to ground you! Is it working?"

"Y-yes, actually, um. Thank you. W-wow, your 'hug energy' is really something..." Yuri's posture sags a bit, and she returns the tight squeeze to Sayori. The urges have melted away, somehow, and Yuri is forever going to be grateful to her friend.

"You know it!" Sayori laughs, patting Yuri's back. "Let's go sit down. I'll get you some extra water and we'll all just sit together for a while, yeah?"

Yuri nods. "Sounds divine... I wish I'd brought my heating thermos, I would make everyone some tea."

"I could go find a kettle for you." Dr. Hikari calls from his desk. "It's the least I can do, during our second break in the experiment. To say nothing of whatever you might be currently dealing with, you took a shot to the chest at over 180% synchronization." He gestures at the experiment's data display.

Indeed, those are the numbers. MegaMan and Lan managed to reach 220%, the naturals that they are. Seems they didn't fully synchronize, like the last match, but they got very close. Lan is clearly also in need of a break, rubbing at his arm where BladeMan cut across MegaMan's.

"If you would, Dr. Hikari, I would greatly appreciate it." Yuri smiles as Sayori nudges her into a seat next to the other two girls. "I'm... Well, now that I have a moment, I can tell how exhausted I am. I can't do any brewing myself, but I'll be happy to contribute my own tea. I brought some bags of orange blossom tea today!"

"That sounds wonderful, Yuri! I'll go get the kettle. For now, you kids just rest. We'll take a lengthily extended break to recharge, and then we'll get down to business again." Dr. Hikari exits the room.

Yuri deflates into the back of her seat. "Oough... Someone wake me, when he returns. I need to," A yawn loudly interrupts her sentence, "Ohhh... I need a nap.."

"Sleep good, Yuri! We'll get you back up, when we need you." Sayori strokes Yuri's shoulder. Monika and Natsuki pipe in with some quiet sounds of agreement.

And so Yuri falls into a deep slumber. At least, as deep as she can get in a government lab's office chair.

Monika and Sayori smile at her as her body melts into the chair.

"Guess this means we're next, right Moni?" Sayori grins, excited to take part in her little section of scientific history.

"That we are. Are you ready to do this?" Monika smiles back at her.

"Always, with you!"

"Oh, get a room, you two." Natsuki snickers from behind them.

The two girls can't help but laugh along with her.

[threemothsinsweaters]

A list of unusual quirk ideas!

Alright, so I have been collecting unusual quirk ideas for around half a year now - maybe a few months more Now, I’m ready to share the list with the world in case anyone ever needs any inspiration for their fanfics, be it for background characters of fics or maybe used for actual ocs 

All of those ideas are free to use without any credit or anything, but I would appreciate reblogs! ^-^

(If any of them repeat or are written wrongly then I’m sorry, I will try to fix that and edit the post every time I come up with new ideas)

1.Density control

2.Liquid multiplier

3.Heat-level vision

4.Creating objects out of light

5.Radiation

6.Super hearing

7.Entering/moving through electronics

8.Cursing objects

9.Transporting through mirrors

10.Speaking any language

11.Super strength, speed and healing but lost of self-control

12.Wild magic - giving random effects

13.Being able to determine worth of any object by touching it

14.Being able to irritate and annoy someone just by existing

15.Memory manipulation

16.Giving people a disease 

17.Being immune to any sickness

18.Compass - always knows where they are

19.Silence - make someone deaf momentarily

20.Medical intuition - knows what's wrong with the person hurt immediately

21.Never leaves a trail behind, untraceable

22.Reflection - can reflect powers of others at them

23.Survival instincts

24.Changing flesh into plants

25.Perfect imitation of animal noises

26.Killer instincts 

27.Ultimate stamina - can keep going for many hours without the need to take a break

28.Entering people’s dreams

29.Best liar - all lies sound like truth and the person is immune to lie detectors and truth serums

30.Crazy but smart - can come up with a solution to any problem, but the solution is always extremely dangerous and straight-up crazy

31. Making people itchy

32.Doesn’t need oxygen/doesn’t need to breathe to survive

33.Instant artist - able to draw anything with perfect photo-like accuracy extremely fast

34.Emotionless - can turn off feeling emotions 

35.Making all weapons they use stronger

36.Selective hearing - can hear things they want to and completely tune out anything else, even if it's louder than what they want to hear

37.Use senses of animals that are near (see through their eyes, hear what they hear)

38.Turn liquids solid by touch

39.Slow motion vision

40.Voice changer - can change their voice completely

41.Producing huge amounts of energy constantly

42.Draining energy from surrounding them people

43.Improved ability to track down anyone if there’s any scent/hints to follow

44.Perfect aim

45.Hyper-aware of their surroundings

46.Able to operate any vehicle 

47.Able to use any weapon

48.Can confuse people using words

49.Insomnia - they don’t need to sleep and suffer no bad effects from it

50.Ability to feel emotions of others

51.Can see true intentions of anyone they look at

52.Learning a history of an object by touching it

53.Emotion manipulation

54.Ability to eat anything without any bad effects

55.Astral projection - ability to leave the body as a “spirit”

56.Echolocation

57.Ability to overload someone’s mind causing pain, headaches, memory loss

58.Ability to locate any thing they touched in past 24 hours

59.Temporary merging two beings together

60. Pheromone manipulation

61. Skin expansion - creating more skin

62. Bubbles - turning all liquid touched into foam

63. Double jaw like an eel

64. Becoming someone’s shadow and following them around

65. Blood can work like drugs

66. No photos - being blurry on all photographs and in people’s memories

67. Fusion - can fuse with certain objects for short amounts of time

68. Crocodile tears - ability to cry many different choosen liquids and cry whenever they want to (could work well to make people believe their story and stuff)

69. Writing just by touching the paper and thinking about what they want to be written

70. Multi-eyes - let’s the person open “eyes” on any part of their body and see through them

71. Silence - can make everyone around them unable to talk or make any sounds at all

72. Detachable limbs

73. Control of the temperature of air around them

74. Elastic bones

75. Turning into a swarm of insects

76. Ability to sound really convincing

77. Ability to create huge amounts of glitter and sparkling lights out of their hands

78. Fast learner - very fast learner, being able to do a lot of things on the first or second try

79. Ability to shrink things

80. Ability to control all of their body functions fully consciously (hunger, heart-beat, blood flow etc)

81. Ability to change someone’s eyesight/eye structure 

82. Waking up with a completely different temporary ability every time after they go to sleep

83. Control of the growing of nails 84. Control over hair fibers

85. Boiling any liquid with touch

86. Copying any handwriting 

87. Superpower making them unable to die from falling off heights

88. Undestroyable bones

89. Changing the humidity of things/air

90. Skin has the properties of a nettle

91. Ability to lay eggs

92. Ability to make things expire instantly

93. Extended lungs

94. Changing the taste of things  

95. Changing the smell of things

96. Changing colors of things

97. Hibernation - the ability to sleep for really long amounts of time without the need to eat, drink, go to the bathroom or anything in between. 

98. Ability to know people’s worst fears/phobias

99. Ability to copy objects and multiply them

100. Spine extension - having more discs in the spine so the spine is more flexible

101. Ability to know when someone is thinking about them

102. Ability to know if a living being or a human is near them at the moment

103. Ability to know someone’s age instantly 

104. Ability to swap the probability of things happening if the probability is higher than 1% (if something has the 20% chance of happening, swapping it would make 80% - if something has 0.1% of happening the power cannot be used on it. The power, however, does not let the person using it know what the probability of certain things is

105. Ability to make your parents proud

106. Ability to make people sing instead of talking

107. Knowing the phone number of literally everyone they want

108. Real life filters - ability to make things look much nicer than they actually are

109. Ability to predict the exact probability of something happening

110. Immortal soul but mortal body - soul can enter the body even if it’s not actually functioning anymore, body can be “repaired” so it doesn’t fully fall apart

111. Ability to make images/holograms out of smoke (controlling its shape and turning it into images)

112. Ability to make people misspell words and stutter uncontrollably

113. Ability to make all insects around them drop dead instantly

114. Ability to change the direction in which things are moving

115. Eliminating or absorbing light

116.Turning off body functions without actually dying (or at least permanently - mind also still works)

117. Hearing every word someone said in past 24 hours

118. Shift person’s attention at will

119. Activate/deactivate adrenaline at will

120. Blur person’s logical thinking, making them less reasonable

121. Infinite patience

122. Loosen the tension in the air

123. Ability to bite through everything

124. Friction control 

125. Evolution mutation - body changes to adapt to certain situations

126. Ability to generate darkness/make shadows even if there’s strong light

127. Ability to make people see the mistakes they made

128. Ability to change into objects

129. Ability to create spiders that crawl out of the mouth of the person with the power

130. Ability to find the weak points of things

131. Extremely good sense of balance

132. Extra fast reading

133. Ability to make anything they touch glow

134. Becoming indestructible for a few minutes after receiving a fatal injury which could kill them

135. Ability to temporarily turn animals into monsters

136. Ability to sing any song no matter the language nor the difficulty as long as they heard it at least once

137. Fungus - 5 finger contact makes area around the hand grow with many different kinds of fungus, mostly mold but over extended contact bigger mushrooms grow as well

138. Marble statue - ability to turn into a statue without the need to eat/drink/sleep for long amounts of time, but the body structure is pretty weak

139. Ability to make someone allergic to certain things for short amount of time

140. Ability to make things poisonous with touch

141. Everything is cake - ability to make things they touch cake

142. Sharp air - ability to turn air into invisible knives that dissolve the moment they let go of them

143. Cockroach - ability to turn smaller by compressing the mass and turning it into strength, making the user indestructible while in small form

144. Ability to make people trip

145. Ability to make their hands have magnetic effect 

146. Ability to make things spin (even air or water)

147. Ability to know what material something is made out of

148. Ability to make most surfaces reflective

149. Ability to make things half-transparent 

150. Ability to stick things together

151. Ability to make things grow fur

[tanoraqui]

I am a huge sucker for one character being chill about a situation while everyone else is freaking out, so if you’re up to it would you tell us about This Is Normal?

@tolrais​ asked: Sizhui genii locorum!

okay so i must disappoint bc that wasn’t actually a jesting “This Is Normal” - let’s talk genii locorum, known more commonly in the singular: genius loci, the “intellects of [the] place”. In this case: what if it was perfectly common that if cultivation was practiced in roughly the same way in roughly the exact same place, by roughly the same bloodline, for long enough, power built up in the land itself? Power and something resembling thought, in the slow way of geography? (That’s why it tends to attach to a bloodline - individual humans, even cultivators, disappear so fast on a geological scale.) 

Say that each generation, the land picks a favorite to bestow its power to - one person, one generation, at a time, only. Others of the blood may access it, but to a far lesser degree. Petty effects. More if the land is partial to them. The true wielder of the land is, of course, traditionally the sect leader - and if they’re not at first, they’re probably gonna be appointed as such.

Say the powers are elemental, roughly, Say their personalities are shaped by the land itself - lakes or mountains, hills or plains - and the continuous philosophy of those who cultivate (upon) them. They choose their favorites based on who most matches what they are, and the strongest sect leaders are those with the greatest affinity for their land.

Or, lemme put it like this: 

Lan Wangji was always GusuLan’s favorite, unwavering and fastidious, aloof and righteous and eternal as the cool mountain peaks. Its cool shrouded him; its ice turned Bichen’s edge even sharper. Even though he was far away in a land of fire, it flowed to him like a high-speed glacier when his father died - and he, panicking and desperate, denied it. 

It wasn’t the refusal that turned it away - though it’s true, one must actively accept a land’s power; it cannot be forced upon a person. But usually, in such a dispute, the wouldn’t-be recipient dies - in a fight between one human and an entire countryside over that human’s soul, it is acceptance or destruction. Instead, it was...well, the fact of refusal. The fact that he broke, that his gut instinct - resolute as ever - was the shirking of responsibility. That, GusuLan could not tolerate. It didn’t press the issue to destruction, because Lan Wangji wasn’t its chosen after all.

There was nothing, to be clear, wrong with Lan Xichen. He was a little warmer, but still beautiful and distant. He would bend, but his core was upright and unfaltering. He followed the rules to the letter. He was even closer, physically - and in that little cabin in which he was sleeping, hidden, he woke sharply from a restless sleep as the air around him turned to welcome ice.

Or like this:

Jiang Cheng was never YunmengJiang’s first choice. He wasn’t even its second choice. The lakes of YunmengJiang - bright and warm with sunlight, loud with the chatter of market crowds, sweet and beautiful with lotus seeds and petals, all over drowning-dark depths...how could they not fall in love with the boy their Jiang Fengmian bought home? How could the water not leap to follow his every gesture, whenever he went out upon it?

(Except that when he first felt it pressing at him with not just curiosity but love, he thought of Madam Yu’s clenched fist and Jiang Cheng’s yearning gaze, and he shoved it away as hard and fast as he could.)

Failing that, how could they not adore their eldest daughter, sweet and kind and welcoming to all, and protective enough to wield words like deadly blades? Once the land is cultivated to its own sentience, it doesn’t need to be a cultivator who bears its power...

(Except it does still need to be someone whose heart the doctors don’t worry over every time she does something more spiritually strenuous than meditate. And she cannot stay, she’ll explain one day, weeping, on a boat she’s rowed out to the middle of the lake herself. If it was just a matter of love - but they also need the alliance, or Lotus Pier, Yunmeng, YunmengJiang itself might be lost - )

So. Jiang Cheng wears all his deadliness on the surface and all his joy and welcome deep beneath, and YunmengJiang is the opposite. But at least he stays. Land moves on a geological time, and YunmengJiang more than most loves all its people, not just a select family. It can leap readily to the will of someone who stays and looks after them.

Or:

Agreement was universal that Nie Mingjue was a perfect bearer of QingheNie, mighty and stern and stubborn as the mountain granite. As tall, too, some would joke. It’s traditional for a Sect Leader to wear at all times a symbol of their land’s blessing - Lan Xichen’s headdresses always sparkle with a thin coating of ice; a lightly jeweled hip flask has been passed from Jiang to Jiang in which to hold lakewater. Upon taking title and land from his father, Nie Mingjue wears a circlet of rock on his brow, hard stone crafted with his own hands as though molding clay. 

Agreement was equally universal that Nie Huaisang was possibly the worst bearer of QingheNie in the clan’s entire history. Flighty where he should be staunch and stern, barely able (much less willing) to lift a blade, as flappable as one of his fans...as Sect Leader, he set a chunk of granite into the base of each one of those silly fans, but it was a public secret that the stone had been carved and smoothed by a stoneworker, not the Headshaker.

The mountains of Qinghe shook with grief on the day Nie Mingjue died, as they had for his father; grief and rage. The Unclean Realm itself shifted and nearly collapsed in several places - some of its famous defensibility came from being set into the mountainside itself, the back halls giving way to twisting tunnels running through the rock. Can you imagine how long one fighter with a saber can hold a single slim tunnel? Hidden ways, their secrets known only to the inhabitants; the deeper an enemy goes, the less likely they are to come out...

A single chip of granite launched across the room with fury can drive through a man’s eye and into his brain, killing him instantly, even with a fan trailing behind. Fortunately, it never needed to come to anything that gauche.

(It would have preferred Nie Mingjue, it really would, but even more than GusuLan, the last thing QingheNie has ever done is falter.)

So...

If the Burial Mounds had once been cultivated to a benevolent sentience and their power then corrupted, it’s been forgotten. But resentful and spiritual energy are two sides of the same coin, and the Burial Mounds yearn for company, for lives to call their own, just like any other land...but what sort of person has enough rage, vengeance, heartache, and loss to match them? Who could have enough strength of spirit to bear the touch of a land whose elemental power is death itself?

Trick question, we all know the answer to that. 

Good thing we got him, too, because defeating Wen Ruohan at the heart of the volcano he commands is a bitch and a half. (He wears a jagged crown of obsidian glass and Nie Mingjue will walk away with a burn on his face from the man’s touch.)

LanlingJin’s power is invested in light. Their Sect Leaders - or in Jin Ling’s case, Sect Heirs - carry a lantern at one hip, representative more than anything (one cannot cage light.) Or, you know, they just lowkey glow all the time - but that’s not convenient on a night hunt; you need something coverable. Jin Ling would have inherited it from his father, but instead it came directly from - you know, I so, so want to say his grandmother? But I don’t think Meng Yao, Jin Guangyao, would turn out quite the same were Jin Guangshan not exactly as Sect Leader as he in canon, and I’m loath to say Jin Sect is, like, particularly sexist or something to let both be true. So, grandfather it is, unfortunately. 

Jin Guangyao is jealous, but Jin Guangyao has too many secrets for bright LanlingJin. Maybe it would twist to suit him, with another couple generations dark and poisoned beneath the pretty lights, but not yet. Not even with how easily it’s gift can flow into illusions. Fortunately, LanlingJin is also the most gentle of the Great Sect Lands - perhaps weak, with how its family has been failing it, recently, in their stated intent. So Jin Ling can withstand its sudden flood even at the ripe age of two and a half.

It makes up for a little, for Jin Ling to have no memory of a time when he didn’t have the fierce, warm, bright affection of a coastal tower, busy city, and sun-drenched skies curled possessively around his soul. YunmengJiang bristles at the intrusion and mourns another loss (oh, YunmengJiang...at least it’s in accord with Jiang Cheng); and LanlingJin doesn’t like that its favorite so often strays so far. But family is important, both lands can reluctantly agree (in the manner of circling tigers, wary and territorial, thoughts not quite human.) They both want him loved.

...oh yeah, I was supposed to talk about Lan Sizhui, wasn’t I.

GusuLan would love that boy. It does love him, in its cold, discreet way. But it’s...complicated. It’s not Lan Sizhui’s fault. (Of the three, this is very much the AU least about Lan Sizhui.)

It’s the second battle of the Burial Mounds, as the second horde of corpses approaches. Wei Wuxian paces, mutters to Lan Wangji, "If I still had the land...but I don't know where it is. I can't hear it at all. I don't understand it."

This is not how Lan Wangji wanted to do this - though in fairness, he had no idea what would be a non-awkward way. He still doesn’t. Just a little louder than to be an answer to Wei Wuxian, he says, "Lan Sizhui."

"Yes, Huangang-jun?" The boy is at his elbow in an instant

Lan Wangji turns a little to include him in the conversation. He'd be gesturing if he was a man who made unnecessary motions. "Lan Yuan."

"Yes?" he repeats. 

Wei Wuxian stares at the both blankly.

"A-Yuan," Lan Wangji clarifies. He draws his guqin but he can't quite make eye contact with either of them.

Wei Wuxian gasps. He cups Lan Sizhui's very baffled cheeks (except something is a little familiar...) and peers at his face, turning it this way and that to check for familiar features. He peers deeper in a way that would be stunningly rude in anyone else (it’s still stunningly rude; they’ve all just come to expect that of Wei Wuxian) and likely impossible if there wasn't a shared affinity for what he seeks - but the bond is distant, so distant. Buried, smothered, bound.

(Lan Yuan, now Sizhui, has always felt like there was something he was missing, something he couldn't remember that was just out of reach. He thought it was the concept of parents or something like that, or maybe just a natural ennui that everyone had and didn’t speak of for propriety’s sake. He discarded it, because of course he had everything he could ever want.)

"A-Yuan..." Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Wangji, wondering, smoldering with love - and just the tiniest bit of reproach.

Lan Wangji looks away. It's a terrible thing to block someone off from their spiritual power, and it's a worse thing yet to block them off from the any power of a land they may bear. One is an insult to an individual, the other to the earth itself, almost as heretical as demonic cultivation. Su She, of course, has done both today, but only temporarily...and that’s a low bar to which to be compared.

But there was too much roiling in Wen Yuan when Lan Wangji found him, death and -

(You know what, I can’t decide: Did QishanWen’s smoldering lava pass to Wen Qing when no one closer was available, ceaseless fire matching ceaseless fire? Or were the Dafan Wens sufficiently distinct for long enough, far enough, that she was already taken? Is there DafanWen in its own right, high hills with the power of growth, from dainty flowers to ancient trees, twisting vines to healing herbs? 

...yes, I think so. 

But I also think they were close enough in blood, had spent enough time in the heart of the Nightless City, for some inheritance. So the reason no one stepped forward, at the Yiling Patriarch’s demand, to admit to killing Wen Ning was that...Wen Ning knew he was too weak, insufficiently greedy/ambitious for things to burn and build anew; he knew QishanWen was too quenched and dormant after its defeat to the Sunshot Alliance, and he was too far away and it was literally raining. He knew that to fight back would only bring pain down on more of their people. But even so, there was no one to step forward, because the man who dealt the killing blow burned screaming to ashes.

There were sparks left in the souls of each member of the blood left alive, but not enough to burst to flame. With that last death, QishanWen lay...dormant.)

(Until, maybe, almost all the rest of them were killed in the space of about 10 minutes. That must’ve sent a couple sparks flying.,,)

- so there was too much roiling in Wen Yuan when Lan Wangji found him. Verdant DafanWen was barely settled, still reeling from the loss of its favored daughter, the best healer in three generations. QishanWen sparked with new loss and ire, driving a fever. And the Burial Mounds, whose touch was death...

It is possible, for two lands to share a host. Boundaries are a human invention; the Earth is all one thing. Pride and territorialism are taught. And even if those have set in, they can certainly fight, in the infinite space of a human soul.

And the Burial Mounds loved that child. He wasn’t raging, he wasn’t mourning (except he was just starting to, now); but he wasn’t scared of them. Why would be be? The dead things that roamed it belonged to his Xian-gege; the living were his family; this land was his home.

But the Burial Mounds’ was the power of death itself, and A-Yuan wasn’t a teenager filled with enough determination to burn down the sun, he was three years old and scared. The extremely forbidden hasty ritual to (not cut it off, to late for that) hide it, bind it, bury it - this wasn't just for concealment. It saved his life.

Back in the present day, Lan Wangji says this with reluctantly raised eyes, and Wei Wuxian nods. Because oh boy does he know about that roiling spirit of death.

There's a horde of corpses approaching; they don't have time to be tender. 

"A-Yuan," says Wei Wuxian, swiping a thumb over his cheek as though to clear away a tear, and then dropping his hand. "Lan Sizhui, you trust us, right?"

"Of course?" Lan Sizhui glances uncertainly at Lan Wangji, head aching with memories about to surface.

Lan Wangji nods imperceptibly and starts to play - and it only takes a few strong chords, precisely chosen. It's always easier to break a wall than build it.

It's in QishanWen's nature to erupt but it's weak, dormant; it hasn't been home in over a decade and this boy has been trained to ice, not fire. It’s in DafanWen’s nature to flourish but it, too, is far from the earth of its body, and this is a place of death, not life. 

They are in the Burial Mounds, fifty steps from the blood pool that may as well be its heart. So the volcano stays dormant the grassy hills are quiet as ever, and the raging, too-long-stifled spirit of the Burial Mounds pours forth in whirling shadows that double Lan Sizhui's height. He gasps a scream at the weight of the sudden flood, at the tearing sensation in his soul (tearing open in a way that is right - last child of a dead clan remembering; lost child of a dead land coming home.) Several other people scream and point at the family meeting that had previously gone mostly unnoticed, in a corner of a Demon Suppression Cave. What is the Yiling Patriarch doing to that Lan disciple?!

The Burial Mounds are starting to turn on their only-just-realized child, whether they mean it or not, because their nature is death to all they touch. The Yiling Patriarch is standing forth, spreading his arms, and shouting, "Hey, jackass! Get back in here, we have more vengeance to wreak!"

The cultivation world watches (Lan Wangji catches a staggering Lan Sizhui) as with a sound like the rushing wind, shifting earth, screaming dead, it pours back into Wei Wuxian.

It’s just like before. It’s rage and pain and loss and vengeance and heartache. It’s Madam Yu’s hard eyes and the way Jiang Fengmian’s face shuttered when he heard the Core-Melting Hand was in Lotus Pier, before he even shoved them back in the boat; it’s Wen Ning’s broken form and Jin Zixuan’s, not fifty feet and ten months apart; it’s Wen Qing’s soft, I’m sorry, and thank you, and Jiang Yanli’s blood dripping down his arm. It’s the crack as the Tiger Seal shattered in his hand, or was that his own neck...

Wei Wuxian might be laughing, as he greets death like an old friend. But when he opens his eyes, it’s to a soft, “Wei Ying,” on the lips of his...Lan Zhan. Mourning whites sullied with the Burial Mounds’ (Wei Wuxian’s) dirt and blood. He’s holding up Lan Sizhui - A-Yuan, their son - and maybe Wei Wuxian is closer to a land spirit than human right now, or maybe he’s just hallucinating, but he swears he can see leaves uncurling behind the boy’s wide eyes. Wen Qing would be proud - if they get out of here alive, he’ll grow the most amazing things.

[fatefulfaerie]

Night

First post of 2020. Pre-Calamity. I shouldn’t even try to call this a oneshot because it’s really long and I honestly don’t know what else to do with it except dump it here and see what happens. Might be chaos. You know what, it’s a longshot, I’ll embrace the pun just this once because it works. Making history over here. 

What have I become?

A starry night glistened in the darkness, the sun long set and the moon high. The noises of insects and nocturnal animals were left unheard within the castle walls, the calm night rather unsettling.

Link breathed a sigh as he looked out the window, his hands drifting down to its’ sill. He bowed his head as he stared at his hands, calloused and worn from training.

A battle, that which, he knew not of. He trained endlessly for a fight that seemed both near and distant all at once. More and more he wished it would never come, that the Sheikah who prophesied the Calamity was fluent in gibberish.

Suddenly, Link heard three knocks at his door, his head popping up and his blue eyes alarmed.

He strode to the door cautiously, wondering at length who in Hyrule would call on him at this hour. His eyelids already had some weight, his fatigue creeping upon him like the impending threat to Hyrule.

Link opened the door lethargically with a creased brow until his eyes widened.

He felt paralyzed as the Princess entered his room with a distressed exclamation, the wild gesture of her arms showing her frustration as she walked further into Link’s quarters with an odd urgency.

“H-h-hi,” Link stammered in shock as he held the door open for no one.

She had never been in his quarters before, and surely there were tons of protocols that dictated against it, especially at this hour.

“Unbelievable!” she exclaimed as she started to pace back to forth. “I just...ugh!”

Link closed the door, his concern melting his expression.

He stepped towards her in her chaos, her anger steaming and rushing her to and fro.

“Hey,” he said gently, placing his hands on either of her shoulders. “Look at me.”

Zelda settled as her eyes found his.

“Tell me,” Link said. “What happened?”

The Princess gave an exhale. Her hands gestured surrender, giving in to the calm that Link was encouraging.

Link’s hands slid off her shoulders as a result.

“My father was waiting for me,” she started in a slow way, apparent that she was trying to keep her anger at bay. “I dismissed you for the night, walked in the library, and there he was.”

Zelda crossed past Link as he winced at the thought. The Princess sat on his bed in such a comfortable way that it didn’t seem improper at all.

Link followed suit, sitting next to her with a look of concern in his turned head.

“I just stood there as he yelled at me...I didn’t know what else to do. I had spent half the day away from praying to Goddesses, riding around a Hyrule with the Yiga Clan surely in wait. He had his work cut out for him as disciplinarian with me as his daughter.”

“He had called it gallivanting, scolding me for such frivolity. He couldn’t understand that...I just wanted a break.”

Zelda’s voice broke as her shoulders went up, her fists clenching the fabric of her pants.

“I’ve been trying so hard to unlock the sealing power...he...he can’t see it.”

Link placed a hand on her shoulder when he heard the change in her voice, how the coming tears warped her words.

“All he sees is my failure...and I...I can’t fix that when that’s all there is to see.”

“Zelda, you know that isn’t true,” Link implored, insisted, in fact.

“It’s what he told me,” Zelda said as her eyes met his, the green swimming with waves of new tears.

Link shook his head.

“I’m sure he didn’t,” he said, his hand coming off her shoulder.

Zelda nodded with a sniffle of her nose.

“How can you be so careless?” She relayed, her head going downcast.  “No daughter of mine would try so little. Your failure can only be a fault of yours.”

Link felt something inside him completely sink, like some part of his body was torn from him.

He inhaled to speak, wishing to find words in a way that had eluded him in the past.

“He didn’t say anything after that,” Zelda said, speaking before Link could. “I could tell he wanted to, but the anger in his eyes told me that I didn’t want to hear it.”

“What did you do?” Link asked.

Zelda sighed.

“So much less than I wanted,” she replied. “I wanted to shout and scream, with the same anger that was in his privilege. I envied his candid rage as I stood there in the library, alone. I…didn’t know what else to do but stand there.”

“I felt directionless as I exited the library,” Zelda continued. “Weak...vulnerable...his words ringing in my ears, clouding yours and mine. I started to believe him.”

“Zelda…” Link replied. “You can’t. Nothing he said is true. You are so much more than a goddess reincarnate, than a weapon for Hyrule.”

“Like you are?” she retorted as she looked up.

Link was bewildered by her response, at a loss for words.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I just feel like that’s all we are here, tools and toys to be used and played with. Destined to be discarded in the wake of failure.”

Link was silent as he stood up, pacing to the opposite wall before stealing a glance at the Master Sword. It was resting on a wooden chest, sheathed and away.

Sometimes, Link preferred it that way.

Yet his train of thought shifted quickly as something came together in his head. He turned around swiftly to face Zelda, studying her hesitant expression.

His brow furrowed in contemplation, his head tilted slightly as his concern grew.

“You were angry when you came in here,” he said. “Not sad and despondent.”

Zelda’s eyes met his.

“Something else happened,” Link ascertained as he stepped forward. He focused greatly on the rising anger in her green eyes.

“He must have been looking for me...I don’t know how else he found me.”

“Who?” Link asked.

Zelda didn’t respond.

“Zelda, you’re starting to scare me,” Link said. “Who found you? Were you attacked? There should have been guards posted—”

Zelda waved her hand to stop him.

“Do you remember that Sheikah bard?

Link searched in his memory as a crease developed on his forehead.

As far as Sheikah went, there was Impa, Purah, Robbie...but they were all scientists and historians…

“He gave me flowers last week,” Zelda prompted, hoping that would be enough to jog his memory.

Link was the worst at remembering things sometimes. Zelda joked with him often that he would contract amnesia in his old age. To which, of course, he would refute her claim that he would need her help to reclaim his memories.

Mostly as a sense of pride, somewhat as a sense of playing along with the banter.

And a small part of him didn’t want to think about how much he wanted to be by her side in his old age, and all the ages before.

“Oh yeah,” he said as the memory overcame him. “I didn’t like hi—”

He stopped himself, realizing why he was the topic of their conversation.

“I wasn’t in the mood,” Zelda started. “My father had already taken everything out of me. I tried to tell him that I was tired, but he insisted on having a word with me.”

Link pulled up a chair, sitting across from Zelda and leaning his elbows on his knees.

“He...apologized for being so forward, attributing it to my early departure tomorrow. And then he...he…”

Zelda took a deep breath.

“He told me that he was...in love with me,” Zelda said, Link’s heart sinking and an anger rising within himself. “And that he wishes to court me.”

“What did you say?” Link asked timidly.

“I…didn’t get a chance to say anything before…”

“Before what?” Link inquired, his anger now showing.

“He...he tried to kiss me,” Zelda said, Link standing up in his reaction, resisting the urge to grab the Master Sword and track him down.

“I pushed him away before he did,” Zelda continued, Link’s hands balling into fists, “rejecting his proposal...but he was so angry…he didn’t understand that I had a mind of my own, that being a reputable target for men to fawn over didn’t lower my standards...that asking me warranted giving me a choice, and therefore respect.”

“It angered me how little he must think my opinion is worth, the way he tried to convince me of his own merit, I...I was fed up with once again having to stand there and listen to someone devalue me...my opinion…I...I snapped.”

Link turned his head to her in a fast motion.

“I told him something,” Zelda said. “That I shouldn’t have...loudly and improperly, without thinking. And...it made him more upset.”

“What could you possibly tell him that would upset him so much?”

Suddenly there were three more knocks on the door, Link and Zelda’s eyes widening as they met.

She stood up quickly, in her expression a building panic.

“I can’t be here.”

“You can’t be here,” Link repeated.

“They’ll think we…”

Zelda stopped at the inference, and Link shook his head at the thought.

He strode towards the closet, judging it’s size.

“It’s too small,” he said as he looked behind him.

But Zelda was already crouched near the bed, looking underneath.

“I think I can fit under here.”

Three more knocks came at the door, alarming Link and Zelda.

“O-one second!” Link called out.

“For goodness sake,” Link said quietly as she crawled under. “If whoever it is finds you here.”

“They won’t,” Zelda whispered, retreating further backwards into the space under the bed. Now on her stomach, she stopped moving completely, knowing she’d have to live with the discomfort.

The Princess heard the door open, Link exclaiming a suspiciously nervous,

“Hi!”

If Zelda could move, she would have buried her face in her palms.

“Hi…” the mysterious guest said slower.

But, soon enough, it was no mystery to Zelda, the tones of the Gerudo chief ringing in her ears.

“I don’t know where Zelda is,” Link said, Zelda wincing.

“I know,” Urbosa said as she let herself in. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh...Oh...kay..?”

“Close the door, Link,” Urbosa said as she crossed her arms. “Unless someone else is joining us?”

“Y-yes, of course,” closing the door.

“You seem more...talkative than usual, knight,” Urbosa commented, glaring down at the short-statured champion.

Link chuckled nervously.

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” Urbosa said. “I wanted to talk to you about Zelda.”

“What about her?” Link prompted.

“I’m just concerned,” she said with a sigh. “You probably spend the most time with her nowadays...I just want to make sure that you aren’t afraid to truly be there for her.”

“Y-yeah totally,” Link replied.

“Especially tomorrow,” Urbosa continued. “If her powers don’t awaken, she’ll surely blame herself...and I’d hate for her to feel that way.”

“Of course,” Link said sincerely.

“She’s like a daughter to me, and if I can’t be there for her...I need your promise that you will. I know it’s not technically part of your duty, but...she needs you.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” Link replied. “I...actually don’t know how I couldn’t support her like that.”

Urbosa narrowed her eyes slightly.

“So, you like her, huh?”

“Of course I—oh you mean like like...uhmm…”

Urbosa raised an eyebrow as Link gave a nervous chuckle.

“It, uhh...it isn’t...”

Link cursed that he could never quite find the words. Now would be a great time.

“...appropriate to talk about her in such a manner,” Link finally said with relief. “L-let her be her own person, you know.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“Wait, what?” Link asked, panicked.

Urbosa laughed, the type of hearty laugh that only Gorons or Gerudo could brandish.

“I’m just kidding,” she said as she headed towards the door. “Lighten up a bit, hero.”

“And get some sleep,” she said as she departed, closing the door behind her.

Link gave an exhale of relief before kneeling to look under his bed.

And, sure enough, a pair of green eyes met his pair of blue.

“I imagine you don’t want to stay there all night,” he said with a smirk.

“I’d rather not,” Zelda said as she crawled out. Link watched as she stood up, dusting herself off.

“Never a dull moment, I suppose,” Zelda added, trying to fake a smile as she sat back down on the bed.

“Are you okay?” Link asked with concern in his eyes, sitting beside her.

Zelda sighed, closing her eyes.

“I’m just so tired of everything.”

“Except you,” she said, opening her eyes to see Link’s, their longing gazes piercing into each other as they stared.

“Sorry,” Zelda said averting her glance. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that.”

“It’s okay,” Link replied. “Honesty is good.”

Zelda met her back to the bed quickly with an exasperated sigh. Her hands entangled by her fingers, resting them on her forehead.

Link only looked to her over his shoulder, resisting following her actions.

“Have you ever thought about what you are going to do after?”

“After?” he asked.

“After all this,” she clarified. “Calamity Ganon...after we are done. What do you think you’ll do?”

“I don’t know,” Link replied. “I guess I haven’t thought about it.”

“I envy you,” Zelda said.

“Why?” Link asked, turning to her fully as Zelda propped herself up by the shoulders.

“You could do anything you want afterwards,” Zelda explained. “Go back to Hateno, settle in Lanayru, travel as you please. My father would surely understand if you wanted to resign your commission and would pay you handsomely for your deeds as the hero and as my attendant.”

Link turned away from her, leaning his elbows on his knees.

“I would give up much for that freedom,” Zelda added.

“Hyrule needs you,” Link countered.

“My father would disagree.”

“Your father isn’t the future,” Link said as he turned, locking eyes with her and putting a hand to his knee. “You are.”

There was a silence as Zelda looked down, pondering his words.

“Would you mind humoring me,” she said quietly. “Please? Just this once.”

“You say that a lot, you know,” Link said with a slight smile, turning to face her completely and crossing his legs.

Zelda only looked up, those pained green eyes apparently all he needed to be convinced.

Link shrugged before looking down, running his fingers along the bedspread.

“I’d probably stay here,” he said, his voice almost a mumble.

“You’d be promoted,” Zelda said, Link pursing his lips in response. “Is that really what you want?”

Link looked right to her at the question, his piercing blue gaze staying long enough for her to look at it skeptically.

“Yes,” he said, averting his glance. Zelda sat up as she did the same.

“But…” he started hesitantly. “There are other things I would love if I had the freedom you so described.”

Zelda eyebrows furrowed.

“Link...what are you talking about? You could do anything you want...I don’t understand.”

Link gave a small smile.

“It’s nothing,” he said as he stood up. “And if you are in here any longer, they will send search parties after you.”

“Oh come on,” she pleaded, also standing up. “I can keep a secret. Tell me what you want, m-maybe I can help.”

Link looked to the ceiling and whispered,

“Goodness sake.”

“Do you want to get caught in here?” he asked normally, turning her around to face the door.

“No.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Zelda turned around excitedly with a pointed finger.

“And then you’ll tell me what it is you want?”

“Sure,” he said, teasingly. “If you unlock your powers I’ll tell you all about it.”

Zelda scoffed, punching him playfully on the shoulder.

Link laughed, holding his hands weakly in surrender.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Link said with a continued laugh, before he forced a seriousness, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry.”

"I know,” Zelda said with a smile, slowly heading to the door.

“Hey, umm...Zelda?”

“Yes?” she asked, turning back around.

“When we get back from Lanayru, I...I know it’s against protocol, but...I want you to know that you’re welcome in my quarters anytime.”

Zelda smiled, Link eyes widening in response.

“Oh goddesses,” he said as he panicked running his hand through his hair, “I didn’t mean it like that, I...I swear...I just meant any time you need s-someone to talk to, I-I’m here, well not here specifically, I could be other places, you know, knight attendant...stuff...with you! You’re there! You know!”

Zelda was trying so hard not to laugh, her hands now over her mouth.

“No! N-not with you specifically, I meant…”

His words faded.

“You’re laughing.”

“Yes?”

Link chuckled.

“I suppose my embarrassment is worth it if it gets you to smile.”

“I suppose so,” Zelda said with a shrug.

“Goodnight,” he said, opening the door wider than he likely should have.

“Goodnight,” she replied before he closed the door with a respectful nod.

Yet, he lost all countenance once it latched close, his back and his head meeting the door.

“You,” he said. “It’s you I want, you silly girl.”

[artycloudpop]

1hey are u bored at home, wanna chill and netflix....... but just can’t find some thing nice to watch? here’s a list of movies for u watch

A Ghost Story (2017)

Director David Lowery (Pete's Dragon) conceived this dazzling, dreamy meditation on the afterlife during the off-hours on a Disney blockbuster, making the revelations within even more awe-inspiring. After a fatal accident, a musician (Casey Affleck) finds himself as a sheet-draped spirit, wandering the halls of his former home, haunting/longing for his widowed wife (Rooney Mara). With stylistic quirks, enough winks to resist pretension (a scene where Mara devours a pie in one five-minute, uncut take is both tragic and cheeky), and a soundscape culled from the space-time continuum, A Ghost Story connects the dots between romantic love, the places we call home, and time -- a ghost's worst enemy.

Airplane! (1980)

This is one of the funniest movie of all time. Devised by the jokesters behind The Naked Gun, this disaster movie spoof stuffs every second of runtime with a physical gag (The nun slapping a hysterical woman!), dimwitted wordplay ("Don't call me, Shirley"), an uncomfortable moment of odd behavior ("Joey, have you ever seen a grown man naked?"), or some other asinine bit. The rare comedy that demands repeat viewings, just to catch every micro-sized joke and memorize every line.

A24

American Honey (2016)

Writer/director Andrea Arnold lets you sit shotgun for the travels of a group of wayward youth in American Honey, a seductive drama about a "mag crew" selling subscriptions and falling in and out of love with each other on the road. Seen through the eyes of Star, played by Sasha Lane, life on the Midwest highway proves to be directionless, filled with a stream of partying and steamy hookups in the backs of cars and on the side of the road, especially when she starts to develop feelings for Shia LaBeouf’s rebellious Jake. It’s an honest look at a group of disenfranchised young people who are often cast aside, and it’s blazing with energy. You’ll buy what they're selling.

Anna Karenina (2012)

Adapted by renowned playwright Tom Stoppard, this take on Leo Tolstoy's classic Russian novel is anything but stuffy, historical drama. Keira Knightley, Jude Law, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Domhnall Gleeson, Alicia Vikander are all overflowing with passion and desire, heating up the chilly backdrop of St. Petersburg. But it's director Joe Wright's unique staging -- full of dance, lush costuming, fourth-wall-breaking antics, and other theatrical touches -- that reinvent the story for more daring audiences.

NETFLIX

Apostle (2018)

For his follow-up to his two action epics, The Raid and The Raid 2, director Gareth Evans dials back the hand-to-hand combat but still keeps a few buckets of blood handy in this grisly supernatural horror tale. Dan Stevens stars as Thomas Richardson, an early 20th century opium addict traveling to a cloudy island controlled by a secretive cult that's fallen on hard times. The religious group is led by a bearded scold named Father Malcolm (Michael Sheen) who may or may not be leading his people astray. Beyond a few bursts of kinetic violence and some crank-filled torture sequences, Evans plays this story relatively down-the-middle, allowing the performances, the lofty themes, and the windswept vistas to do the talking. It's a cult movie that earns your devotion slowly, then all at once.

Back to the Future (1985)

Buckle into Doc's DeLorean and head to the 1950s by way of 1985 with the seminal time-travel series that made Michael J. Fox a household name. It's always a joy watching Marty McFly's race against the clock way-back-when to ensure history runs its course and he can get back to the present. Netflix also has follow-up Parts II and III, which all add up to a perfect rainy afternoon marathon.

NETFLIX

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018)

The Coen brothers gave some big-name-director cred to Netflix by releasing their six-part Western anthology on the streaming service, and while it's not necessarily their best work, Buster Scruggs is clearly a cut above most Netflix originals. Featuring star turns from Liam Neeson, Tom Waits, Zoe Kazan, and more, the film takes advantage of Netflix's willingness to experiment by composing a sort of death fugue that unfolds across the harsh realities of life in Manifest Destiny America. Not only does it revel in the massive, sweeping landscapes of the American West, but it's a thoughtful meditation on death that will reveal layer after layer long after you finish.

Barbershop (2002)

If you've been sleeping on the merits of the Barbershop movies, the good news is it's never too late to get caught up. Revisit the 2002 installment that started Ice Cube's smack-talking franchise so you can bask in Cedric the Entertainer's hilarious wisdom, enjoy Eve's acting debut, and admire this joyful ode to community.

NETFLIX

Barry (2016)

In 1981, Barack Obama touched down in New York City to begin work at Columbia University. As Barry imagines, just days after settling into his civics class, a white classmate confronts the Barry with an argument one will find in the future president's Twitter @-mentions: "Why does everything always got to be about slavery?" Exaltation is cinematic danger, especially when bringing the life of a then-sitting president to screen. Barry avoids hagiography by staying in the moment, weighing race issues of a modern age and quieting down for the audience to draw its own conclusions. Devon Terrell is key, steadying his character as smooth-operating, socially active, contemplative fellow stuck in an interracial divide. Barry could be any half-black, half-white kid from the '80s. But in this case, he's haunted by past, present, and future.

Being John Malkovich (1999)

You can't doubt the audacity of screenwriter Charlie Kaufman (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Anomalisa), whose first produced screenplay hinged on attracting the title actor to a script that has office drones discovering a portal into his mind. John Cusack, Catherine Keener, and Cameron Diaz combine to create an atmosphere of desperate, egomaniacal darkness, and by the end you'll feel confused and maybe a little slimy about the times you've participated in celebrity gawking.

A24

The Blackcoat's Daughter (2017)

Two young women are left behind at school during break... and all sorts of hell breaks loose. This cool, stylish thriller goes off in some strange directions (and even offers a seemingly unrelated subplot about a mysterious hitchhiker) but it all pays off in the end, thanks in large part to the three leads -- Emma Roberts, Lucy Boynton, and Kiernan Shipka -- and director Oz Perkins' artful approach to what could have been just another occult-based gore-fest.

Bloodsport (1988)

Jean-Claude Van Damme made a career out of good-not-great fluff. Universal Soldier is serviceable spectacle, Hard Target is a living cartoon, Lionheart is his half-baked take on On the Waterfront. Bloodsport, which owes everything to the legacy of Bruce Lee, edges out his Die Hard riff Sudden Death for his best effort, thanks to muscles-on-top-of-muscles-on-top-of-muscles fighting and Stan Bush's "Fight to Survive." Magic Mike has nothing on Van Damme's chiseled backside in Bloodsport, which flexes its way through a slow-motion karate-chop gauntlet. In his final face-off, Van Damme, blinded by arena dust, rage-screams his way to victory. The amount of adrenaline bursting out of Bloodsport demands a splash zone.

Blue Ruin (2013)

Before he went punk with 2016's siege thriller Green Room, director Jeremy Saulnier delivered this low-budget, darkly comic hillbilly noir. When Dwight Evans (Macon Blair) discovers that the man who killed his parents is being released from prison, he returns home to Virginia to claims his revenge and things quickly spin out of control. Like the Coen Brothers' Blood Simple, this wise-ass morality tale will make you squirm.

WELL GO USA ENTERTAINMEN

Burning (2018)

Some mysteries simmer; this one smolders. In his adaptation of a Haruki Murakami short story, writer and director Lee Chang-dong includes many elements of the acclaimed author's slyly mischievous style -- cats, jazz, cooking, and an alienated male writer protagonist all pop up -- but he also invests the material with his own dark humor, stray references to contemporary news, and an unyielding sense of curiosity. We follow aimless aspiring novelist Lee Jong-su (Yoo Ah-in) as he reconnects with Shin Hae-mi (Jeon Jong-seo), a young woman he grew up with, but the movie never lets you get too comfortable in one scene or setting. When Steven Yeun's Ben, a handsome rich guy with a beautiful apartment and a passion for burning down greenhouses, appears, the film shifts to an even more tremulous register. Can Ben be trusted? Yeun's performance is perfectly calibrated to entice and confuse, like he's a suave, pyromaniac version of Tyler Durden. Each frame keeps you guessing.

Cam (2018)

Unlike the Unfriended films or this summer's indie hit Searching, this web thriller from director Daniel Goldhaber and screenwriter Isa Mazzei isn't locked into the visual confines of a computer screen. Though there's plenty of online screen time, allowing for subtle bits of commentary and satire, the looser style allows the filmmakers to really explore the life and work conditions of their protagonist, rising cam girl Alice (Madeline Brewer). We meet her friends, her family, and her customers. That type of immersion in the granular details makes the scarier bits -- like an unnerving confrontation in the finale between Alice and her evil doppelganger -- pop even more.

THE ORCHARD

Creep (2014)

Patrick Brice's found-footage movie is a no-budget answer to a certain brand of horror, but saying more would give away its sinister turns. Just know that the man behind the camera answered a Craigslist ad to create a "day in the life" video diary for Josef (Mark Duplass), who really loves life. Creep proves that found footage, the indie world's no-budget genre solution, still has life, as long as you have a performer like Duplass willing to go all the way.

The Death of Stalin (2017)

Armando Iannucci, the brilliant Veep creator, set his sights on Russia with this savage political satire. Based on a graphic novel, the film dramatizes the madcap, maniacal plots of the men jostling for power after their leader, Joseph Stalin, keels over. From there, backstabbing, furious insults, and general chaos unfolds. Anchored by performances from Shakespearean great Simon Russell Beale and American icon Steve Buscemi, it's a pleasure to see what the rest of the cast -- from Star Trek: Discovery's Jason Isaacs to Homeland's Rupert Friend -- do with Iannucci's eloquently brittle text.

Den of Thieves (2018)

If there's one thing you've probably heard about this often ridiculous bank robbery epic, it's that it steals shamelessly from Michael Mann's crime saga Heat. The broad plot elements are similar: There's a team of highly-efficient criminals led by a former Marine (Pablo Schreiber) and they must contend with a obsessive, possibly unhinged cop (Gerard Butler) over the movie's lengthy 140 minute runtime.  A screenwriter helming a feature for the first time, director Christian Gudegast is not in the same league as Mann as a filmmaker and Butler, sporting unflattering tattoos and a barrel-like gut, is hardly Al Pacino. But everyone is really going for it here, attempting to squeeze every ounce of Muscle Milk from the bottle.

NETFLIX

Divines (2016)

Thrillers don't come much more propulsive or elegant than Houda Benyamina's Divines, a heartwarming French drama about female friendship that spirals into a pulse-pounding crime saga. Rambunctious teenager Dounia (Oulaya Amamra) and her best friend Maimouna (Déborah Lukumuena) begin the film as low-level shoplifters and thieves, but once they fall into the orbit of a slightly older, seasoned drug dealer named Rebecca (Jisca Kalvanda), they're on a Goodfellas-like trajectory. Benyamina offsets the violent, gritty genre elements with lyrical passages where Dounia watches her ballet-dancer crush rehearse his routines from afar, and kinetic scenes of the young girls goofing off on social media. It's a cautionary tale told with joy, empathy, and an eye for beauty.

Dolemite Is My Name (2019)

Eddie Murphy has been waiting years to get this movie about comedian and blaxploitation star Rudy Ray Moore made, and you can feel his joy in finally getting to play this role every second he's on screen. The film, directed by Hustle & Flow's Craig Brewer, charts how Moore rose from record store employee, to successful underground comedian, to making his now-cult classic feature Dolemite by sheer force of passion. It's thrilling (and hilarious) to watch Murphy adopt Moore's Dolemite persona, a swaggering pimp, but it's just as satisfying to see the former SNL star capture his character at his lowest points. He's surrounded by an ensemble that matches his infectious energy.

The Edge of Seventeen (2016)

As romanticized as adolescence can be, it’s hard being young. Following the high school experience of troubled, overdramatic Nadine (Hailee Steinfeld), The Edge of Seventeen portrays the woes of adolescence with a tender, yet appropriately cheeky tone. As if junior year isn’t hellish enough, the universe essentially bursts into flames when Nadine finds out her best friend is dating her brother; their friendship begins to dissolve, and she finds the only return on young love is embarrassment and pain. That may all sound like a miserable premise for a young-adult movie, except it’s all painfully accurate, making it endearingly hilarious -- and there’s so much to love about Steinfeld’s self-aware performance.

FOCUS FEATURES

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)

Romance and love are nothing without the potential for loss and pain, but most of us would probably still consider cutting away all the worst memories of the latter. Given the option to eradicate memories of their busted relationship, Jim Carrey's Joel and Kate Winslet's Clementine go through with the procedure, only to find themselves unable to totally let go. Science fiction naturally lends itself to clockwork mechanisms, but director Michel Gondry and screenwriter Charlie Kaufman never lose the human touch as they toy with the kaleidoscope of their characters' hearts and minds.

The Evil Dead (1981)

Before Bruce Campbell's Ash was wielding his chainsaw-arm in Army of Darkness and on Starz's Ash Vs. Evil Dead, he was just a good looking guy hoping to spend a nice, quiet vacation in a cabin with some friends. Unfortunately, the book of the dead had other plans for him. With this low-budget horror classic, director Sam Raimi brings a surprising degree of technical ingenuity to bear on the splatter-film, sending his camera zooming around the woods with wonder and glee. While the sequels double-downed on laughs, the original Evil Dead still knows how to scare.

The Firm (1993)

The '90s were a golden era of sleek, movie-star-packed legal thrillers, and they don't get much better than director Sydney Pollack's The Firm. This John Grisham adaptation has a little bit of everything -- tax paperwork, sneering mobsters, and Garey Busey, for starters -- but there's one reason to watch this movie: the weirdness of Tom Cruise. He does a backflip in this movie. What else do you need to know?

A24

The Florida Project (2017)

Sean Baker's The Florida Project nuzzles into the swirling, sunny, strapped-for-cash populace of a mauve motel just within orbit of Walt Disney World. His eyes are Moonee, a 6-year-old who adventures through abandoned condos, along strip mall-encrusted highway, and across verdant fields of overgrown brush like Max in Where the Wild Things Are. But as gorgeous as the everything appears -- and The Florida Project looks stunning -- the world around here is falling apart, beginning with her mother, an ex-stripper turning to prostitution. The juxtaposition, and down-to-earth style, reconsiders modern America in the most electrifying way imaginable.

Frances Ha (2012)

Before winning hearts and Oscar nominations with her coming-of-age comedy Lady Bird, Greta Gerwig starred in the perfect companion film, about an aimless 27-year-old who hops from New York City to her hometown of Sacramento to Paris to Poughkeepsie and eventually back to New York in hopes of stumbling into the perfect job, the perfect relationship, and the perfect life. Directed by Noah Baumbach (The Meyerowitz Stories), and co-written by both, Frances Ha is a measured look at adult-ish life captured the kind of intoxicating black and white world we dream of living in.

NETFLIX

Fyre: The Greatest Party That Never Happened (2019)

Everyone's favorite disaster of a festival received not one, but two streaming documentaries in the same week. Netflix's version has rightly faced some criticism over its willingness to let marketing company Fuck Jerry off the hook (Jerry Media produced the doc), but that doesn't take away from the overall picture it portrays of the festival's haphazard planning and the addiction to grift from which Fyre's founder, Billy McFarland, apparently suffers. It's schadenfreude at its best.

Gerald's Game (2017)

Like his previous low-budget Netflix-released horror release, Hush, a captivity thriller about a deaf woman fighting off a masked intruder, Mike Flanagan's Stephen King adaptation of Gerald's Game wrings big scares from a small location. Sticking close to the grisly plot details of King's seemingly "unfilmable" novel, the movie chronicles the painstaking struggles of Jessie Burlingame (Carla Gugino) after she finds herself handcuffed to a bed in an isolated vacation home when her husband, the titular Gerald, dies from a heart attack while enacting his kinky sexual fantasies. She's trapped -- and that's it. The premise is clearly challenging to sustain for a whole movie, but Flanagan and Gugino turn the potentially one-note set-up into a forceful, thoughtful meditation on trauma, memory, and resilience in the face of near-certain doom.

A24

Good Time (2017)

In this greasy, cruel thriller from Uncut Gems directors the Safdie brothers, Robert Pattinson stars as Connie, a bank robber who races through Queens to find enough money to bail out his mentally disabled brother, who's locked up for their last botched job. Each suffocating second of Good Time, blistered by the neon backgrounds of Queens, New York and propelled by warped heartbeat of Oneothrix Point Never's synth score, finds Connie evading authorities by tripping into an even stickier situation.

Green Room (2015)

Green Room is a throaty, thrashing, spit-slinging punk tune belted through an invasion-movie microphone at max volume. It's nasty -- and near-perfect. As a band of 20-something rockstars recklessly defend against a neo-Nazi battalion equipped with machetes, shotguns, and snarling guard dogs, the movie blossoms into a savage coming-of-age tale, an Almost Famous for John Carpenter nuts. Anyone looking for similar mayhem should check out director Jeremy Saulnier's previous movie, the low-budget, darkly comic hillbilly noir, Blue Ruin, also streaming on Netflix.

The Guest (2014)

After writer-director Adam Wingard notched a semi-sleeper horror hit with 2011's You're Next, he'd earned a certain degree of goodwill among genre faithful and, apparently, with studio brass. How else to explain distribution for his atypical thriller The Guest through Time Warner subsidiary Picturehouse? Headlined by soon-to-be megastar Dan Stevens and kindred flick It Follows' lead scream queen Maika Monroe, The Guest introduces itself as a subtextual impostor drama, abruptly spins through a blender of '80s teen tropes, and ultimately reveals its true identity as an expertly self-conscious straight-to-video shoot 'em up, before finally circling back on itself with a well-earned wink. To say anymore about the hell that Stevens' "David" unleashes on a small New Mexico town would not only spoil the fun, but possibly get you killed.

THE WEINSTEIN COMPANY

The Hateful Eight (2015)

Quentin Tarantino has something to say about race, violence, and American life, and it's going to ruffle feathers. Like Django Unchained, the writer-director reflects modern times on the Old West, but with more scalpel-sliced dialogue, profane poetry, and gore. Stewed from bits of Agatha Christie, David Mamet, and Sam Peckinpah, The Hateful Eight traps a cast of blowhards (including Samuel L. Jackson as a Civil War veteran, Kurt Russell as a bounty hunter known as "The Hangman," and Jennifer Jason Leigh as a psychopathic gang member) in a blizzard-enveloped supply station. Tarantino ups the tension by shooting his suffocating space in "glorious 70mm." Treachery and moral compromise never looked so good.

High Flying Bird (2019)

High Flying Bird is a basketball film that has little to do with the sport itself, instead focusing on the behind-the-scenes power dynamics that play out during an NBA lockout. At the center of the Steven Soderbergh movie -- shot on an iPhone, because that's what he does now -- is André Holland's Ray Burke, a sports agent trying to protect his client's interests while also disrupting a corrupt system. It's not an easy tightrope to walk, and, as you might expect, the conditions of the labor stoppage constantly change the playing field. With his iPhone mirroring the NBA's social media-heavy culture, and appearances from actual NBA stars lending the narrative heft, Soderbergh experiments with Netflix's carte blanche and produces a unique film that adds to the streaming service's growing list of original critical hits.

PARAMOUNT PICTURES

Hugo (2011)

Martin Scorsese hit pause on mob violence and Rolling Stones singles to deliver one of the greatest kid-centric films in eons. Following Hugo (Asa Butterfield) as he traces his own origin story through cryptic automaton clues and early 20th-century movie history, the grand vision wowed in 3-D and still packs a punch at home.

I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House (2016)

A meditative horror flick that's more unsettling than outright frightening, I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House follows the demise of Lily, a live-in nurse (Ruth Wilson) who's caring for an ailing horror author. As Lily discovers the truth about the writer's fiction and home, the lines between the physical realm and the afterlife blur. The movie's slow pacing and muted escalation might frustrate viewers craving showy jump-scares, but writer-director Oz Perkins is worth keeping tabs on. He brings a beautiful eeriness to every scene, and his story will captivate patient streamers. Fans should be sure to check out his directorial debut, The Blackcoat's Daughter.

NETFLIX

I Don't Feel at Home in This World Anymore (2017)

In this maniacal mystery, Ruth (Melanie Lynskey), a nurse, and her rattail-sporting, weapon-obsessed neighbor Tony (Elijah Wood) hunt down a local burglar. Part Cormac McCarthy thriller, part wacky, Will Ferrell-esque comedy, I Don't Feel at Home in This World Anymore is a cathartic neo-noir about everyday troubles. Director Macon Blair's not the first person to find existential enlightenment at the end of an amateur detective tale, but he might be the first to piece one together from cussing octogenarians, ninja stars, Google montages, gallons of Big Red soda, upper-deckers, friendly raccoons, exploding body parts, and the idiocy of humanity.

Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)

With a bullwhip, a leather jacket, and an "only Harrison Ford can pull this off" fedora, director Steven Spielberg invented the modern Hollywood action film by doing what he does best: looking backward. As obsessed as his movie-brat pal and collaborator George Lucas with the action movie serials of their youth, the director mined James Bond, Humphrey Bogart, Westerns, and his hatred of Nazis to create an adventure classic. To watch Raiders of the Lost Ark now is to marvel at the ingenuity of specific sequences (the boulder! The truck scene! The face-melting!) and simply groove to the self-deprecating comic tone (snakes! Karen Allen! That swordsman Indy shoots!). The past has never felt so alive.

Inside Man (2006)

Denzel Washington is at his wily, sharp, and sharply dressed best as he teams up once again with Spike Lee for this wildly entertaining heist thriller. He's an NYPD hostage negotiator who discovers a whole bunch of drama when a crew of robbers (led by Clive Owen) takes a bank hostage during a 24-hour period. Jodie Foster also appears as an interested party with uncertain motivations. You'll have to figure out what's going on several times over before the truth outs.

DRAFTHOUSE FILMS

The Invitation (2015)

This slow-burn horror-thriller preys on your social anxiety. The film's first half-hour, which finds Quarry's Logan Marshall-Green arriving at his ex-wife's house to meet her new husband, plays like a Sundance dramedy about 30-something yuppies and their relationship woes. As the minutes go by, director Karyn Kusama (Jennifer's Body) burrows deeper into the awkward dinner party, finding tension in unwelcome glances, miscommunication, and the possibility that Marshall-Green's character might be misreading a bizarre situation as a dangerous one. We won't spoil what happens, but let's just say this is a party you'll be telling your friends about.

Ip Man (2008)

There aren't many biopics that also pass for decent action movies. Somehow, Hong Kong action star Donnie Yen and director Wilson Yip made Ip Man (and three sequels!) based on the life of Chinese martial arts master Yip Kai-man, who famously trained Bruce Lee. What's their trick to keeping this series fresh? Play fast and loose with the facts, up the melodrama with each film, and, when in doubt, cast Mike Tyson as an evil property developer. The fights are incredible, and Yen's portrayal of the aging master still has the power to draw a few tears from even the most grizzled tough guy.

NETFLIX

The Irishman (2019)

Opening with a tracking shot through the halls of a drab nursing home, where we meet a feeble old man telling tall tales from his wheelchair, The Irishman delights in undercutting its own grandiosity. All the pageantry a $150 million check from Netflix can buy -- the digital de-aging effects, the massive crowd scenes, the shiny rings passed between men -- is on full display. Everything looks tremendous. But, like with 2013's The Wolf of Wall Street, the characters can't escape the fundamental spiritual emptiness of their pursuits. In telling the story of Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro), a World War II veteran and truck driver turned mob enforcer and friend to labor leader Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino), director Martin Scorsese and screenwriter Steven Zaillian construct an underworld-set counter-narrative of late 20th century American life. Even with a 209 minute runtime, every second counts.

It Comes at Night (2017)

In this post-apocalyptic nightmare-and-a-half, the horrors of humanity, the strain of chaotic emotions pent up in the name of survival, bleed out through wary eyes and weathered hands. The setup is blockbuster-sized -- reverts mankind to the days of the American frontier, every sole survivor fights to protect their families and themselves -- but the drama is mano-a-mano. Barricaded in a haunted-house-worthy cabin in the woods, Paul (Edgerton) takes in Will (Abbott) and his family, knowing full well they could threaten his family's existence. All the while, Paul's son, Trevor, battles bloody visions of (or induced by?) the contagion. Shults directs the hell out of every slow-push frame of this psychological thriller, and the less we know, the more confusion feels like a noose around our necks, the scarier his observations become.

WARNER BROS. PICTURES

Jupiter Ascending (2015)

Jupiter Ascending is one of those "bad" movies that might genuinely be quite good. Yes, Channing Tatum is a man-wolf and Mila Kunis is the princess of space and bees don't sting space royalty and Eddie Redmayne hollers his little head off about "harvesting" people -- but what makes this movie great is how all of those things make total, absolute sense in the context of the story. The world the Wachowskis (yes, the Wachowskis!) created is so vibrant and strange and exciting, you almost can't help but get drawn in, even when Redmayne vamps so hard you're afraid he's about to pull a muscle. (And if you're a ballet fan, we have some good news for you.)

Jurassic Park (1993)

Perhaps the only movie that ever truly deserved a conversion to a theme-park ride, Steven Spielberg's thrilling adaptation of the Michael Crichton novel brought long-extinct creatures back to life in more ways than one. Benevolent Netflix gives us more than just the franchise starter, too: The Lost World and JP3 sequels are also available, so you can make a marathon of it.

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Killing Them Softly (2012)

Brad Pitt doesn't make conventional blockbusters anymore -- even World War Z had epidemic-movie ambitions -- so it's not surprising that this crime thriller is a little out there. Set during the financial crisis and presidential election of 2008, the film follows Pitt's hitman character as he makes sense of a poker heist gone wrong, leaving a trail of bodies and one-liners along the way. Mixed in with the carnage, you get lots of musings about the economy and American exceptionalism. It's not subtle -- there's a scene where Scoot McNairy and Ben Mendelsohn do heroin while the Velvet Underground's "Heroin" plays -- but, like a blunt object to the head, it gets the job done.

Lady Bird (2017)

The dizzying, frustrating, exhilarating rite of passage that is senior year of high school is the focus of actress Greta Gerwig's first directorial effort, the story of girl named Lady Bird (her given name, in that "it’s given to me, by me") who rebels against everyday Sacramento, California life to obtain whatever it is "freedom" turns out to be. Laurie Metcalf is an understated powerhouse as Lady Bird's mother, a constant source of contention who doggedly pushes her daughter to be successful in the face of the family's dwindling economic resources. It's a tragic note in total complement to Gerwig's hysterical love letter to home, high school, and the history of ourselves.

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The Lobster (2016)

Greek style master Yorgos Lanthimos' dystopian allegory against romance sees Colin Farrell forced to choose a partner in 45 days or he'll be turned into an animal of his choice, which is a lobster. Stuck in a group home with similarly unlucky singles, Farrell's David decides to bust out and join other renegades in a kind of anti-love terror cell that lives in the woods. It's part comedy of manners, part futuristic thriller, and it looks absolutely beautiful -- Lanthimos handles the bizarre premise with grace and a naturalistic eye that reminds the viewer that humans remain one of the most interesting animals to exist on this planet.

Mad Max (1979)

Before Tom Hardy was grunting his way through the desert and crushing tiny two-headed reptiles as Max Rockatansky, there was Mel Gibson. George Miller's 1979 original introduces the iconic character and paints the maximum force of his dystopian mythology in a somewhat more grounded light -- Australian police factions, communities, and glimmers of hope still in existence. Badass homemade vehicles and chase scenes abound in this taut, 88-minute romp. It's aged just fine.

Magic Mike (2012)

Steven Soderbergh's story of a Tampa exotic dancer with a heart of gold (Channing Tatum) has body-rolled its way to Netflix. Sexy dance routines aside, Mike's story is just gritty enough to be subversive. Did we mention Matthew McConaughey shows up in a pair of ass-less chaps?

The Master (2012)

Loosely inspired by the life of Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard -- Dianetics buffs, we strongly recommend Alex Gibney's Going Clear documentary as a companion piece -- The Master boasts one of the late Philip Seymour Hoffman’s finest performances, as the enigmatic cult leader Lancaster Dodd. Joaquin Phoenix burns just as brightly as his emotionally stunted, loose-cannon protege Freddie Quell, who has a taste for homemade liquor. Paul Thomas Anderson’s cerebral epic lends itself to many different readings; it’s a cult story, it's a love story, it's a story about post-war disillusionment and the American dream, it's a story of individualism and the desire to belong. But the auteur's popping visuals and heady thematic currents will still sweep you away, even if you’re not quite sure where the tide is taking you.

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The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected) (2017)

When Danny (Adam Sandler), Matthew (Ben Stiller) and Jean (Elizabeth Marvel), three half-siblings from three different mothers, gather at their family brownstone in New York to tend to their ailing father (Dustin Hoffman), a lifetime of familial politics explode out of every minute of conversation. Their narcissistic sculptor dad didn't have time for Danny. Matthew was the golden child. Jean was weird… or maybe disturbed by memories no one ever knew. Expertly sketched by writer-director Noah Baumbach (The Squid and the Whale) this memoir-like portrait of lives half-lived is the kind of bittersweet, dimensional character comedy we're now used to seeing told in three seasons of prestige television. Baumbach gives us the whole package in two hours.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)

The legendary British comedy troupe took the legend of King Arthur and offered a characteristically irreverent take on it in their second feature film. It's rare for comedy to hold up this well, but the timelessness of lines like, "I fart in your general direction!" "It's just a flesh wound," and "Run away!" makes this a movie worth watching again and again.

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Moonlight (2016)

Chronicling the boyhood years, teenage stretch, and muted adult life of Chiron, a black gay man making it in Miami, this triptych altarpiece is at once hyper-specific and cosmically universal. Director Barry Jenkins roots each moment in the last; Chiron's desire for a lost lover can't burn in a diner booth over a bottle of wine without his beachside identity crisis years prior, blurred and violent, or encounters from deeper in his past, when glimpses of his mother's drug addiction, or the mentoring acts of her crack supplier, felt like secrets delivered in code. Panging colors, sounds, and the delicate movements of its perfect cast like the notes of a symphony, Moonlight is the real deal, a movie that will only grow and complicate as you wrestle with it.

Mudbound (2017)

The South's post-slavery existence is, for Hollywood, mostly uncharted territory. Rees rectifies the overlooked stretch of history with this novelistic drama about two Mississippi families working a rain-drenched farm in 1941. The white McAllans settle on a muddy patch of land to realize their dreams. The Jacksons, a family of black sharecroppers working the land, have their own hopes, which their neighbors manage to nurture and curtail. To capture a multitude of perspectives, Mudbound weaves together specific scenes of daily life, vivid and memory-like, with family member reflections, recorded in whispered voice-over. The epic patchwork stretches from the Jackson family dinner table, where the youngest daughter dreams of becoming a stenographer, to the vistas of Mississippi, where incoming storms threaten an essential batch of crops, to the battlefields of World War II Germany, a harrowing scene that will affect both families. Confronting race, class, war, and the possibility of unity, Mudbound spellbinding drama reckons with the past to understand the present.

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My Happy Family (2017)

At 52, Manana (Ia Shughliashvili) packs a bag and walks out on her husband, son, daughter, daughter's live-in boyfriend, and elderly mother and father, all of whom live together in a single apartment. The family is cantankerous and blustery, asking everything of Manana, who spends her days teaching better-behaved teenagers about literature. But as Nana Ekvtimishvili and Simon Groß's striking character study unfolds, the motivation behind Manana's departure is a deeper strain of frustration, despite what her brother, aunts, uncles, and anyone else who can cram themselves into the situation would like us to think. Anchored by Ia Shughliashvili's stunningly internal performance, and punctured by a dark sense of humor akin to Darren Aronofsky's mother! (which would have been the perfect alternate title), My Happy Family is both delicate and brutal in its portrayal of independence, and should get under the skin of anyone with their own family drama.

The Naked Gun (1988)

The short-lived Dragnet TV spoof Police Squad! found a second life as The Naked Gun action-comedy movie franchise, and the first installment goes all in on Airplane! co-star Leslie Nielsen's brand of straight-laced dementia. Trying to explain The Naked Gun only makes the stupid sound stupider, but keen viewers will find jokes on top of jokes on top of jokes. It's the kind of movie that can crack "nice beaver," then pass a stuffed beaver through the frame and actually get away with it. Nielsen has everything to do with it; his Frank Drebin continues the grand Inspector Clouseau tradition in oh-so-'80s style.

The Notebook (2004)

"If you’re a bird, I’m a bird." It's a simple statement and a declaration of devotion that captures the staying power of this Nicholas Sparks classic. The film made Ryan Gosling a certified heartthrob, charting his working class character Noah's lovelorn romance with Rachel McAdam's wealthy character Allie. The star-crossed lovers narrative is enough to make even the most cynical among us swoon, but given that their story is told through an elderly man reading (you guessed it!) a notebook to a woman with dementia, it hits all of the tragic romance benchmarks to make you melt. Noah's commitment to following his heart -- and that passionate kiss in the rain -- make this a love story for the ages.

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Okja (2017)

This wild ride, part action heist, part Miyazaki-like travelogue, and part scathing satire, is fueled by fairy tale whimsy -- but the Grimm kind, where there are smiles and spilled blood. Ahn Seo-hyun plays Mija, the young keeper of a "super-pig," bred by a food manufacturer to be the next step in human-consumption evolution. When the corporate overlords come for her roly-poly pal, Mija hightails it from the farm to the big city to break him out, crossing environmental terrorists, a zany Steve Irwin-type (Gyllenhaal), and the icy psychos at the top of the food chain (including Swinton's childlike CEO) along the way. Okja won't pluck your heartstrings like E.T., but there's grandeur in its frenzy, and the film's cross-species friendship will strike up every other emotion with its empathetic, eco-friendly, and eccentric observations.

On Body and Soul (2017)

This Hungarian film earned an Academy Award nomination for Best Foreign Film, and it's easy to see why. The sparse love story begins when two slaughterhouse employees discover they have the same dream at night, in which they're both deer searching the winter forest for food. Endre, a longtime executive at the slaughterhouse, has a physically damaged arm, whereas Maria is a temporary replacement who seems to be on the autism spectrum. If the setup sounds a bit on-the-nose, the moving performances and the unflinching direction save On Body and Soul from turning into a Thomas Aquinas 101 class, resulting in the kind of bleak beauty you can find in a dead winter forest.

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The Other Side of the Wind (2018)

Don't go into Orson Welles' final film expecting it to be an easy watch. The Other Side of the Wind, which follows fictional veteran Hollywood director Jake Hannaford (tooootally not modeled after Welles himself) and his protegé (also tooootally not a surrogate for Welles' own friend and mentee Peter Bogdanovich, who also plays the character) as they attend a party in celebration of Hannaford's latest film and are beset on all sides by Hannaford's friends, enemies, and everyone in between. The film, which Welles hoped would be his big comeback to Hollywood, was left famously unfinished for decades after his death in 1985. Thanks to Bogdanovich and producer Frank Marshall, it was finally completed in 2018, and the result is a vibrant and bizarre throwback to Welles' own experimental 1970s style, made even more resonant if you know how intertwined the movie is with its own backstory. If you want to dive even deeper, Netflix also released a documentary about the restoration and completion of the film, They'll Love Me When I'm Dead, which delves into Welles' own complicated and tragic relationship with Hollywood and the craft of moviemaking.

Pan’s Labyrinth (2006)

Guillermo Del Toro’s dark odyssey Pan’s Labyrinth takes a fantasy setting to mirror the horrible political realities of the human realm. Set in 1940s Falangist Spain, the film documents the hero’s journey of a young girl and stepdaughter of a ruthless Spanish army officer as she seeks an escape from her war-occupied world. When a fairy informs her that her true destiny may be as the princess of the underworld, she seizes her chance. Like Alice in Wonderland if Alice had gone to Hell instead of down the rabbit hole, the Academy Award-winning film is a wondrous, frightening fairy tale where that depicts how perilous the human-created monster of war can be.

Paranormal Activity (2007)

This documentary-style film budgeted at a mere $15,000 made millions at the box office and went on to inspire a number of sequels, all because of how well its scrappiness lent to capturing what feels like a terrifying haunted reality. Centered on a young couple who is convinced an evil spirit is lurking in their home, the two attempt to capture its activity on camera, which, obviously, only makes their supernatural matters worse. It leans on found footage horror tropes made popular by The Blair Witch Project and as it tessellates between showing the viewer what’s captured on their camcorders and the characters’ perspectives, it’s easy to get lost in this disorienting supernatural thriller.

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Poltergeist (1982)

If you saw Poltergeist growing up, chances are you’re probably equally as haunted by Heather O’Rourke as she is in the film, playing a little girl tormented by ghosts in her family home. This Steven Spielberg-penned, Tobe Hooper-directed (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre) paranormal flick is a certified cult classic and one of the best horror films of all time, coming from a simple premise about a couple whose home is infested with spirits obsessed with reclaiming the space and kidnapping their daughter. Poltergeist made rearranged furniture freaky, and you may remember a particularly iconic scene with a fuzzed out vintage television set. It’s may be nearly 40 years old, but the creepiness holds up.

Pride & Prejudice (2005)

Taking Jane Austen's literary classic and tricking it out with gorgeous long takes, director Joe Wright turns this tale of manners into a visceral, luminescent portrait of passion and desire. While Succession's Matthew MacFadyen might not make you forget Colin Firth from 1995's BBC adaptation, Keira Knightley is a revelation as the tough, nervy Lizzie Bennett. With fun supporting turns from Donald Sutherland, Rosamund Pike, and Judi Dench, it's a sumptuous period romance that transports you from the couch to the ballroom of your dreams -- without changing out of sweatpants.

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Private Life (2018)

Over a decade since the release of her last dark comedy, The Savages, writer and director Tamara Jenkins returned with a sprawling movie in the same vein: more hyper-verbal jerks you can't help but love. Richard (Paul Giamatti) and Rachel (Kathryn Hahn) are a Manhattan-dwelling couple who have spent the last few years attempting to have a baby with little success. When we meet them, they're already in the grips of fertility mania, willing to try almost anything to secure the offspring they think they desire. With all the details about injections, side effects, and pricey medical procedures, the movie functions as a taxonomy of modern pregnancy anxieties, and Hahn brings each part of the process to glorious life.

The Ritual (2018)

The Ritual, a horror film where a group of middle-aged men embark on a hiking trip in honor of a dead friend, understands the tension between natural beauty of the outdoors and the unsettling panic of the unknown. The group's de facto leader Luke (an understated Rafe Spall) attempts to keep the adventure from spiralling out of control, but the forest has other plans. (Maybe brush up on your Scandinavian mythology before viewing.) Like a backpacking variation on Neil Marshall's 2005 cave spelunking classic The Descent, The Ritual deftly explores inter-personal dynamics while delivering jolts of other-worldly terror. It'll have you rethinking that weekend getaway on your calendar.

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Roma (2018)

All those billions Netflix spent paid off in the form of several Oscar nominations for Roma, including one for Best Picture and a win for Best Director. Whether experienced in the hushed reverence of a theater, watched on the glowing screen of a laptop, or, as Netflix executive Ted Sarandos has suggested, binged on the perilous surface of a phone, Alfonso Cuarón's black-and-white passion project seeks to stun. A technical craftsman of the highest order, the Children of Men and Gravity director has an aesthetic that aims to overwhelm -- with the amount of extras, the sense of despair, and the constant whir of exhilaration -- and this autobiographical portrait of kind-hearted maid Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio) caring for a family in the early 1970s has been staged on a staggering, mind-boggling scale.

Schindler's List (1993)

A passion project for Steven Spielberg, who shot it back-to-back with another masterpiece, Jurassic Park, Schindler's List tells the story of Oskar Schindler, a German businessman who reportedly saved over 1,200 Jews during the Holocaust. Frank, honest, and stark in its depiction of Nazi violence, the three-hour historical drama is a haunting reminder of the world's past, every frame a relic, every lost voice channeled through Itzhak Perlman's mourning violin.

A Serious Man (2009)

This dramedy from the Coen brothers stars Michael Stuhlbarg as Larry Gopnik, a Midwestern physics professor who just can't catch a break, whether it's with his wife, his boss, or his rabbi. (Seriously, if you're having a bad day, this airy flick gives you ample time to brood and then come to the realization that your life isn't as shitty as you think.) Meditating on the spiritual and the temporal, Gopnik's improbable run of bad luck is a smart modern retelling of the Book of Job, with more irony and fewer plagues and pestilences. But not much fewer.

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Shadow (2019)

In Shadow, the visually stunning action epic from Hero and House of Flying Daggers wuxia master Zhang Yimou, parasols are more than helpful sun-blockers: They can be turned into deadly weapons, shooting boomerang-like blades of steel at oncoming attackers and transforming into protective sleds for traveling through the slick streets. These devices are one of many imaginative leaps made in telling this Shakespearean saga of palace intrigue, vengeance, and secret doppelgangers set in China's Three Kingdoms period. This is a martial arts epic where the dense plotting is as tricky as the often balletic fight scenes. If the battles in Game of Thrones left you frustrated, Shadow provides a thrilling alternative.

She's Gotta Have It (1986)

Before checking out Spike Lee's Netflix original series of the same name, be sure to catch up with where it all began. Nola (Tracy Camilla Johns) juggles three men during her sexual pinnacle, and it's all working out until they discover one another. She's Gotta Have It takes some dark turns, but each revelation speaks volumes about what real romantic independence is all about.

The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

The late director Jonathan Demme's 1991 film is the touchstone for virtually every serial killer film and television show that came after. The iconic closeup shots of an icy, confident Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins) as he and FBI newbie Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) engage in their "quid pro quo" interrogation sessions create almost unbearable tension as Buffalo Bill (Ted Levine) remains on the loose, killing more victims. Hopkins delivers the more memorable lines, and Buffalo Bill's dance is the stuff of nerve-wracking anxiety nightmares, but it's Foster's nuanced performance as a scared, determined, smart-yet-hesitant agent that sets Silence of the Lambs apart from the rest of the serial killer pack.

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Silver Linings Playbook (2012)

Jennifer Lawrence, Bradley Cooper, and David O. Russell’s first collaboration -- and the film that turned J-Law into a bona fide golden girl -- is a romantic comedy/dramedy/dance-flick that bounces across its tonal shifts. A love story between Pat (Cooper), a man struggling with bipolar disease and a history of violent outbursts, and Tiffany (Lawrence), a widow grappling with depression, who come together while rehearsing for an amateur dance competition, Silver Linings balances an emotionally realistic depiction of mental illness with some of the best twirls and dips this side of Step Up. Even if you're allergic to rom-coms, Lawrence and Cooper’s winning chemistry will win you over, as will this sweet little gem of a film: a feel-good, affecting love story that doesn’t feel contrived or treacly.

Sin City (2005)

Frank Miller enlisted Robert Rodriguez as co-director to translate the former's wildly popular series of the same name to the big screen, and with some added directorial work from Quentin Tarantino, the result became a watershed moment in the visual history of film. The signature black-and-white palette with splashes of color provided a grim backdrop to the sensational violence of the miniaturized plotlines -- this is perhaps the movie that feels more like a comic than any other movie you'll ever see.

Sinister (2012)

Horror-movie lesson #32: If you move into a creepy new house, do not read the dusty book, listen to the decaying cassette tapes, or watch the Super 8 reels you find in the attic -- they will inevitably lead to your demise. In Sinister, a true-crime author (played by Ethan Hawke) makes the final mistake, losing his mind to home movies haunted by the "Bughuul."

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Small Crimes (2017)

It's always a little discombobulating to see your favorite Game of Thrones actors in movies that don't call on them to fight dragons, swing swords, or at least wear some armor. But that shouldn't stop you from checking out Small Crimes, a carefully paced thriller starring the Kingslayer Jaime Lannister himself, Nikolaj Coster-Waldau. As Joe Denton, a crooked cop turned ex-con, Coster-Waldau plays yet another character with a twisted moral compass, but here he's not part of some mythical narrative. He's just another conniving, scheming dirtbag in director E.L. Katz's Coen brothers-like moral universe. While some of the plot details are confusing -- Katz and co-writer Macon Blair skimp on the exposition so much that some of the dialogue can feel incomprehensible -- the mood of Midwestern dread and Coster-Waldau's patient, lived-in performance make this one worth checking out. Despite the lack of dragons.

Snowpiercer (2013)

Did people go overboard in praising Snowpiercer when it came out? Maybe. But it's important to remember that the movie arrived in the sweaty dog days of summer, hitting critics and sci-fi lovers like a welcome blast of icy water from a hose. The film's simple, almost video game-like plot -- get to the front of the train, or die trying -- allowed visionary South Korean director Bong Joon-ho to fill the screen with excitement, absurdity, and radical politics. Chris Evans never looked more alive, Tilda Swinton never stole more scenes, and mainstream blockbuster filmmaking never felt so tepid in comparison. Come on, ride the train!

The Social Network (2010)

After making films like Seven, The Game, Fight Club, Panic Room, and Zodiac, director David Fincher left behind the world of scumbags and crime for a fantastical, historical epic in 2008's The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. The Social Network was another swerve, but yielded his greatest film. There's no murder on screen, but Fincher treats Jesse Eisenberg's Mark Zuckerberg like a dorky, socially awkward mob boss operating on an operatic scale. Screenwriter Aaron Sorkin's rapid-fire, screwball-like dialogue burns with a moral indignation that Fincher's watchful, steady-handed camera chills with an icy distance. It's the rare biopic that's not begging you to smash the "like" button.

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Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)

In this shrewd twist on the superhero genre, the audience's familiarity with the origin story of your friendly neighborhood web-slinger -- the character has already starred in three different blockbuster franchises, in addition to countless comics and cartoon TV adaptations -- is used as an asset instead of a liability. The relatively straight-forward coming-of-age tale of Miles Morales (Shameik Moore), a Brooklyn teenager who takes on the powers and responsibilities of Spider-Man following the death of Peter Parker, gets a remix built around an increasingly absurd parallel dimension plotline that introduces a cast of other Spider-Heroes like Spider-Woman (Hailee Steinfeld), Spider-Man Noir (Nicolas Cage), Peni Parker (Kimiko Glen), and, most ridiculously, Spider-Ham (John Mulaney), a talking pig in a Spider-Suit. The convoluted set-up is mostly an excuse to cram the movie with rapid-fire jokes, comic book allusions, and dream-like imagery that puts the rubbery CGI of most contemporary animated films to shame.

Spotlight (2015)

Tom McCarthy stretches the drama taut as he renders Boston Globe's 2000 Catholic Church sex scandal investigation into a Hollywood vehicle. McCarthy's notable cast members crank like gears as they uncover evidence and reflect on a horrifying discovery of which they shoulder partial blame. Spotlight was the cardigan of 2015's Oscar nominees, but even cardigans look sharp when Mark Ruffalo is involved.

The Squid and the Whale (2005)

No movie captures the prolonged pain of divorce quite like Noah Baumbach's brutal Brooklyn-based comedy The Squid and the Whale. While the performances from Jeff Daniels and Laura Linney as bitter writers going through a separation are top-notch, the film truly belongs to the kids, played by Jesse Eisenberg and Owen Kline, who you watch struggle in the face of their parents' mounting immaturity and pettiness. That Baumbach is able to wring big, cathartic laughs from such emotionally raw material is a testament to his gifts as a writer -- and an observer of human cruelty.

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Starship Troopers (1997)

Paul Verhoeven is undoubtedly the master of the sly sci-fi satire. With RoboCop, he laid waste to the police state with wicked, trigger-happy glee. He took on evil corporations with Total Recall. And with Starship Troopers, a bouncy, bloody war picture, he skewered the chest-thumping theatrics of pro-military propaganda, offering up a pitch-perfect parody of the post-9/11 Bush presidency years before troops set foot in Iraq or Afghanistan. Come for the exploding alien guts, but stay for the winking comedy -- or stay for both! Bug guts have their charms, too.

Swiss Army Man (2016)

You might think a movie that opens with a suicidal man riding a farting corpse like a Jet Ski wears thin after the fourth or fifth flatulence gag. You would be wrong. Brimming with imagination and expression, the directorial debut of Adult Swim auteurs "The Daniels" wields sophomoric humor to speak to friendship. As Radcliffe's dead body springs back to life -- through karate-chopping, water-vomiting, and wind-breaking -- he becomes the id to Dano's struggling everyman, who is also lost in the woods. If your childhood backyard adventures took the shape of The Revenant, it would look something like Swiss Army Man, and be pure bliss.

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Tallulah (2016)

From Orange Is the New Black writer Sian Heder, Tallulah follows the title character (played by Ellen Page) after she inadvertently "kidnaps" a toddler from an alcoholic rich woman and passes the child off as her own to appeal to her run-out boyfriend's mother (Allison Janney). A messy knot of familial woes and wayward instincts, Heder's directorial debut achieves the same kind of balancing act as her hit Netflix series -- frank social drama with just the right amount of humorous hijinks. As Tallulah grows into a mother figure, her on-the-lam parenting course only makes her more and more of a criminal in the eyes of... just about everyone. You want to root for her, but that would be too easy.

Taxi Driver (1976)

Travis Bickle (a young Bobby De Niro) comes back from the Vietnam War and, having some trouble acclimating to daily life, slowly unravels while fending off brutal insomnia by picking up work as a... taxi driver... in New York City. Eventually he snaps, shaves his hair into a mohawk and goes on a murderous rampage while still managing to squeeze in one of the most New York lines ever captured on film ("You talkin' to me?"). It's not exactly a heartwarmer -- Jodie Foster plays a 12-year-old prostitute -- but Martin Scorsese's 1976 Taxi Driver is a movie in the cinematic canon that you'd be legitimately missing out on if you didn't watch it.

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The Theory of Everything (2014)

In his Oscar-winning performance, Eddie Redmayne portrays famed physicist Stephen Hawking -- though The Theory of Everything is less of a biopic than it is a beautiful, sweet film about his lifelong relationship with his wife, Jane (Felicity Jones). Covering his days as a young cosmology student ahead of his diagnosis of ALS at 21, through his struggle with the illness and rise as a theoretical scientist, this film illustrates the trying romance through it all. While it may be written in the cosmos, this James Marsh-directed film that weaves in and out of love will have you experience everything there is to feel.

There Will Be Blood (2007)

Paul Thomas Anderson found modern American greed in the pages of Upton Sinclair's depression-era novel, Oil!. Daniel Day-Lewis found the role of a lifetime behind the bushy mustache of Daniel Plainview, thunderous entrepreneur. Paul Dano found his milkshake drunk up. Their discoveries are our reward -- There Will Be Blood is a stark vision of tycoon terror.

Time to Hunt (2020)

Unrelenting in its pursuit of scenarios where guys point big guns at each other in sparsely lit empty hallways, the South Korean thriller Time to Hunt knows exactly what stylistic register it's playing in. A group of four friends, including Parasite and Train to Busan break-out Choi Woo-shik, knock over a gambling house, stealing a hefty bag of money and a set of even more valuable hard-drives, and then find themselves targeted by a ruthless contract killer (Park Hae-soo) who moves like the T-1000 and shoots like a henchmen in a Michael Mann movie. There are dystopian elements to the world -- protests play out in the streets, the police wage a tech-savvy war on citizens, automatic rifles are readily available to all potential buyers -- but they all serve the simmering tension and elevate the pounding set-pieces instead of feeling like unnecessary allegorical padding. Even with its long runtime, this movie moves.

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Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)

If a season of 24 took place in the smoky, well-tailored underground of British intelligence crica 1973, it might look a little like this precision-made John le Carré adaptation from Let the Right One In director Tomas Alfredson. Even if you can't follow terse and tightly-woven mystery, the search for Soviet mole led by retired operative George Smiley (Gary Oldman), the ice-cold frames and stellar cast will suck you into the intrigue. It's very possible Oldman, Colin Firth, Tom Hardy, John Hurt, Toby Jones, Mark Strong, and Benedict Cumberbatch are reading pages of the British phone book, but egad, it's absorbing. A movie that rewards your full concentration.

To All the Boys I've Loved Before (2018)

Of all the entries in the rom-com revival, this one is heavier on the rom than the com. But even though it won't make your sides hurt, it will make your heart flutter. The plot is ripe with high school movie hijinks that arise when the love letters of Lara Jean Covey (the wonderful Lana Condor) accidentally get mailed to her crushes, namely the contractual faux relationship she starts with heartthrob Peter Kavinsky (Noah Centineo). Like its heroine, it's big-hearted but skeptical in all the right places.

Total Recall (1990)

Skip the completely forgettable Colin Farrell remake from 2012. This Arnold Schwarzenegger-powered, action-filled sci-fi movie is the one to go with. Working from a short story by writer Philip K. Dick, director Paul Verhoeven (Robocop) uses a brain-teasing premise -- you can buy "fake" vacation memories from a mysterious company called Rekall -- to stage one of his hyper-violent, winkingly absurd cartoons. The bizarre images of life on Mars and silly one-liners from Arnold fly so fast that you'll begin to think the whole movie was designed to be implanted in your mind.

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Tramps (2017)

There are heists pulled off by slick gentlemen in suits, then there are heists pulled off by two wayward 20-somethings rambling along on a steamy, summer day in New York City. This dog-day crime-romance stages the latter, pairing a lanky Russian kid (Callum Tanner) who ditches his fast-food register job for a one-off thieving gig, with his driver, an aloof strip club waitress (Grace Van Patten) looking for the cash to restart her life. When a briefcase handoff goes awry, the pair head upstate to track down the missing package, where train rides and curbside walks force them to open up. With a laid-back, '70s soul, Tramps is the rare doe-eyed relationship movie where playing third-wheel is a joy.

Uncut Gems (2019)

In Uncut Gems, the immersive crime film from sibling director duo Josh and Benny Safdie, gambling is a matter of faith. Whether he's placing a bet on the Boston Celtics, attempting to rig an auction, or outrunning debt-collecting goons at his daughter's high school play, the movie's jeweler protagonist Howard Ratner (Adam Sandler) believes in his ability to beat the odds. Does that mean he always succeeds? No, that would be absurd, undercutting the character's Job-like status, which Sandler imbues with an endearing weariness that holds the story together. But every financial setback, emotional humbling, and spiritual humiliation he suffers gets interpreted by Howard as a sign that his circumstances might be turning around. After all, a big score could be right around the corner.

Velvet Buzzsaw (2018)

Nightcrawler filmmaker Dan Gilroy teams up with Jake Gyllenhaal again to create another piece of cinematic art, this time a satirical horror film about the exclusive, over-the-top LA art scene. The movie centers around a greedy group of art buyers who come into the possession of stolen paintings that, unbeknownst to them, turn out to be haunted, making their luxurious lives of wheeling and dealing overpriced paintings a living hell. Also featuring the likes of John Malkovich, Toni Collette, Billy Magnussen, and others, Velvet Buzzsaw looks like Netflix’s next great original.

COLUMBIA PICTURES

Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story (2007)

Oscar-baiting, musician biopics became so cookie-cutter by the mid-'00s that it was easy for John C. Reilly, Judd Apatow, and writer-director Jake Kasdan (Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle) to knot them all together for the ultimate spoof. Dewey Cox is part Johnny Cash, part Bob Dylan, part Ray Charles, part John Lennon, part anyone-you-can-think-of, rising with hit singles, rubbing shoulders with greats of many eras, stumbling with eight-too-many drug addictions, then rising once again. When it comes to relentless wisecracking, Walk Hard is like a Greatest Hits compilation -- every second is gold.

The Witch (2015)

The Witch delivers everything we don't see in horror today. The backdrop, a farm in 17th-century New England, is pure misty, macabre mood. The circumstance, a Puritanical family making it on the fringe of society because they're too religious, bubbles with terror. And the question, whether devil-worshipping is hocus pocus or true black magic, keeps each character on their toes, and begging God for answers. The Witch tests its audience with its (nearly impenetrable) old English dialogue and the (anxiety-inducing) trials of early American life, but the payoff will keep your mind racing, and your face hiding under the covers, for days.

Y Tu Mamá También (2001)

Before taking us to space with Gravity, director Alfonso Cuarón steamed up screens with this provocative, comedic drama about two teenage boys (Diego Luna and Gael García Bernal) road-trippin' it with an older woman. Like a sunbaked Jules and Jim, the movie makes nimble use of its central love triangle, setting up conflicts between the characters as they move through the complicated political and social realities of Mexican life. It's a confident, relaxed film that's got an equal amount of brains and sex appeal. Watch this one with a friend -- or two.

PARAMOUNT PICTURES

Zodiac (2007)

David Fincher's period drama is for obsessives. In telling the story of the Zodiac Killer, a serial murderer who captured the public imagination by sending letters and puzzles to the Bay Area press, the famously meticulous director zeroes in on the cops, journalists, and amateur code-breakers who made identifying the criminal their life's work. With Jake Gyllenhaal's cartoonist-turned-gumshoe Robert Graysmith at the center, and Robert Downey Jr.'s barfly reporter Paul Avery stumbling around the margins, the film stretches across time and space, becoming a rich study of how people search for meaning in life. Zodiac is a procedural thriller that makes digging through old manilla folders feel like a cosmic quest.

13th (2016)

Selma director Ava DuVernay snuck away from the Hollywood spotlight to direct this sweeping documentary on the state of race in America. DuVernay's focus is the country's growing incarceration rates and an imbalance in the way black men and women are sentenced based on their crimes. Throughout the exploration, 13th dives into post-Emancipation migration, systemic racism that built in the early 20th century, and moments of modern political history that continue to spin a broken gear in our well-oiled national machine. You'll be blown away by what DuVernay uncovers in her interview-heavy research.

20th Century Women (2016)

If there's such thing as an epistolary movie, 20th Century Women is it. Touring 1970s Santa Barbara through a living flipbook, Mike Mills's semi-autobiographical film transcends documentation with a cast of wayward souls and Jamie (Lucas Jade Zumann), an impressionable young teenager. Annette Bening plays his mother, and the matriarch of a ragtag family, who gather together for safety, dance to music when the moment strikes, and teach Jamie the important lesson of What Women Want, which ranges from feminist theory to love-making techniques. The kid soaks it up like a sponge. Through Mills's caring direction, and characters we feel extending infinitely through past and present, so do we.

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Ripped: Part 24

Guys. This is...this. 

Ao3

000000

The ride to the station in the back of Grisly’s unmarked car is a blur that smells like the heavy stink of Hiccup’s anxiety, blood, and the new car scented air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. Grisly hums continuously, a tune that elevator designers would find too festive, and Hiccup can’t decide whether he’s better off thinking or not thinking, not that he seems to have a choice aside from staring wide eyed at the back of the passenger seat, arm throbbing from being wrenched behind his back.

He stumbles when Grisly half shoves him in front of a wall striped in foot wide increments, nearly smacking his forehead on a crisp number 6 before regaining his balance. Grisly produces a plastic board displaying a six-digit booking number and Hiccup’s name in block letters, the roman numeral ‘III’ included at the end like this is some kind of cosmic déjà vu, before handing it over and stepping behind the ancient mugshot camera.

Hiccup’s dad was arguing about funds to get that camera replaced when he died, and his presence haunts the room like a poltergeist too disappointed to step in as Hiccup’s savior.

“Say Guilty,” Grisly teases, canines sharp and somehow bright even though he’s standing outside the circle of garish light from the halogen lamp dangling above Hiccup’s head. “My boy, at least try not to look so stunned, I will be bringing Astrid a keepsake when I see her next. Not that she’ll be keeping anything for long.”

Astrid.

Her name snaps him out of his daze and his heart thuds back to life, slamming so hard in his chest he’s worried about it making him throw up what he kept in at her apartment. Grisly’s going to go after her, he has to stop him. There has to be a way to stop him, and Hiccup drops his booking number, reflexively struggling against the handcuffs.

“Now, Hiccup, this still has to look good in the system,” Grisly shoves the board back in his hands and he elbows the wall hard enough that it sparks up his arm, like the time he got caught trying to twist out of his dad’s stolen handcuffs and had to talk fast. “Some of that stubbornness you’re so famous for.   Show me how brittle that strong chin is.”

Grisly taps his own chin and Hiccup grinds his teeth, standing up straight and holding the board at a coquettish angle in front of his chest.

“Be sure to get my good side.” Hiccup is in the system. He’s stuck here as long as it takes to process him, and as long as he’s not in a cell, as long as he can see Grisly, Grisly can’t get at Astrid. She is safe as long as Grisly is with him.

Ask a few hundred Trip Advisor reviews averaging a solid four point two, he can fill dead space and captivate an audience.

“Right profile then,” Grisly indicates that he turn and he sighs, anything to keep sound coming out because if it stops, the paralysis might set back in.

“Wait,” he says as the camera flashes, heartbeat too fast and off kilter, like a hummingbird in a slowly tipping cage, “All Right, in the creepy comic sans note that you obviously wrote—”

“I thought it sounded like you,” Grisly steps into the light, only serving to wash the last ghost of color out of his cheeks, “blathering on like you do, saying nothing of substance.”

“Comic sans?” Hiccup snorts, breathing deep and leaning into his longest, best known role.

His dad used to say that he talked like his life depended on it, but Hiccup never anticipated the real test would be other people’s lives. People he loves.

“It’s easier to read.”

“Choosing Comic sans might be the worst thing you’ve done.” He watches Grisly’s narrow nostrils flare, the first crack in his manic veneer, and the little lively Snotlout in the back of Hiccup’s mind brags that antagonizing Grisly was the right thing to do all along.

It got real Snotlout shot, of course, but for Grisly to take the same tactic now he’d have to get Hiccup away from the cameras, which he can’t easily do mid-arrest.

Grisly starts patting Hiccup down by the desk in the intake room, thin, dry lips quirking when he touches the dried blood at the neck of Hiccup’s shirt and Hiccup turns his gag into a laugh.

“Are you dyslexic? I thought that was a myth.”

Grisly pats his front pocket before shoving his hand deep enough inside that parts of Hiccup retreat as far as they’re able.

“Do you want to hear that I was bullied? That I was small and slow in school and that made me cruel? Does it make your situation easier to deal with if you pity me?” His grin spreads slowly across his face, the only part of him that seems alive, and his fingers curl in Hiccup’s pocket.

“What happened at Astrid’s apartment might be your thing,” Hiccup makes eye contact with the outdated, image only security camera in the corner and takes a deep breath before glaring down at Grisly, “but it’s not mine.”

“I’m doing this because I want to. Because it’s fun to make you and your friends and the police run around like scared chickens in their coop while the fox locks himself in with them.” He stands up, pulling a ring of keys out of Hiccup’s pocket with a self-satisfied chuckle. The keyring reads ‘Benson’ and Hiccup’s blood runs cold. “And as much as you frustrated me, all of it makes catching you so much better.”

“Well Mr. Benson definitely has enough money to sue me for identity theft,” Hiccup clears his throat, “so that’s not…great.”

“This is…brilliant,” Grisly’s breath smells like death. Not rot. Not the cloying, tired scent of road kill in the sun. The moment of death itself, when the electric impulses that used to be human evaporate into the air in a cloud of static and pain. Like he breathes that in and lets it seep slowly through him, preserving him in its singular, inevitable eternity. “That idiot woman is still looking for these, I can’t wait to tell her I found them in evidence.”

“Ruffnut got a fax from the condos,” Hiccup whispers to himself, and Grisly’s eyes sharpen, grin deflecting to grimace.

“I thought you were smarter than this.” Grisly steps away, rooting through a locker for a jumpsuit and shoving it at Hiccup, who drops it. “Your clothes are evidence. You can change behind the curtain.” He points at a small corner of the room separated from the rest by a shower curtain and Hiccup holds his hands up to be uncuffed.

Hiccup takes his time changing, pausing with his shirt off to scrub as much of the dried blood from his neck and jaw as he can, trying not to inhale. He waits for Grisly to make a run for it, to go after Astrid and Snotlout and leave him in the hands of another officer, but he just paces the room, his footfalls padded like a predator on the cusp of making prey aware of their presence.

The floors creak though, cheap rubber-backed rug squeaking against peeling linoleum, the decay of the room protecting Hiccup like history always seems to.

The jumpsuit and the underwear issued along with it are too big, threatening to fall down as he adjusts the orange cuff around his metallic left ankle. Grisly must see what he’s doing because he comments, voice smooth enough to highlight how rough it was before the pause.

“Usually I’d take something that could so easily be used as a bludgeon,” he sneers when Hiccup pulls the curtain back, “but in your hands…”

“If I’m so scrawny, why me?” Hiccup doesn’t pick up his own clothes, instead waiting as patiently as he can feign for Grisly to re-cuff him, far too tight this time, and add the pile of fabric to his evidence bag.

“It doesn’t take bodily strength to wield a knife,” Grisly points at his temple, “only strength of mind.”

“So that’s why you chose to frame me?”

“What does it matter? It’s done.” He checks his watch, which is impossibly immaculate given what the shiny band spent the morning reflecting. “Or almost done. It will be soon.”

“Then what’s the harm in telling me why you chose me?”

“I never had children—”

“Thank God,” Hiccup rolls his eyes and Grisly tries to ignore him, jaw twitching. He’s not a man used to being antagonized and the cracks are spreading.

Snotlout is smart, Astrid is brilliant, if Grisly is loud. If he’s off kilter, maybe they’ll react quickly enough. Maybe it’s about knocking him off his game while he’s still flying high from his morning indiscretions.

“Clingy, slimy little vermin—”

“Right, kids are slimy, not blood or—”

“But I was under the assumption that at some point they stop with the incessant questions.” Grisly’s voice trembles as his volume expands and Hiccup shrugs, forcing the motion flippant.

“I didn’t.” He exhales, “what came first, the Admiral Hiccup Haddock collection or you choosing me as your prime suspect?” He can’t help but be curious and given everything else going on, he hates himself for it. Or at least he tries to, maybe some hate manages to wedge itself in his brain next to everything else.

“Like I said Mr. Haddock,” Grisly doesn’t like repeating himself but seems compelled to tie off loose ends, “I’m in the business of making money, you and your tour are not.”

“But Heather…” Hiccup can’t help but laugh, a real shocked laugh that makes him worry that part of his brain is floating away with the controls and his confident ruse, “are you saying you framed me for murder because Heather is more marketable than me?”

Grisly doesn’t like being laughed at and his expression darkens, like he’s burning through his morning’s effervescence faster than he’s used to, and Hiccup wonders how long the camera will really protect him.

Not that it matters. Snotlout matters. Astrid matters. It’d kill him if he didn’t get to tell her how he feels, but in the context of this situation, that’s kind of a moot point, isn’t it?

“When I told you not to pity me, I meant it,” Grisly growls, rough as his grip on Hiccup’s arm. A purposeful, strangling grip that’s too practiced to make an empty threat. A grip that promises. “I crawled from under the weight of everything that made me pitiable. Born in a country that had no use for me? I made myself indispensable. I took the chances others would not, I made the choices that coddled, weak people could not, and I took control. I didn’t beg in the streets like a dog, I caught the dog, ignored its squeal and made the streets better.” He hisses, a fine mist spraying across Hiccup’s face as Grisly leans in, practically primed to bite, “I take control.”

“Dead people don’t really have a say though, so is it really control?” Hiccup’s voice doesn’t shake even as his knees do.

“Yes,” Grisly checks his phone with the hand not cutting off circulation to the part of Hiccup’s arm not already deadened by cuffs, the bright screen illuminating his face at an angle that questions the humanity of his features. The sharp jaw, the thin lips, the hollows of his cheeks still shadowed like every kill he makes drags him halfway down after the victim, “the judge is ready to see me about your bail.”

“So I wait in a holding cell,” Hiccup’s throat tightens at the thought of letting Grisly out of his sight. At different blonde hair in his hand, blood soaking a different floor.

“No,” the superficial cracks on Grisly’s veneer spread outward along his geometric edges and for the first time, Hiccup sees something like hesitance mirrored in his usually blank eyes, “he wants to see you too.”

“What’s to stop me from telling him all of this?” Things aren’t going according to Grisly’s plan, for maybe the first time since Hiccup stumbled across a body he wasn’t supposed to yet, and he dives in this time with his eyes wide open. “Maybe it doesn’t need to get to trial—”

“Go ahead,” Grisly’s smirk is cruel now instead of indifferent, like the lock is broken off of the predator’s cage and he doesn’t care that the zookeeper has a gun, “if you want to assume I’m the only one capable of cleaning up the rest of this mess.”

He’s not working alone. There must be NWF members willing to step in and Hiccup thinks of Snotlout, vulnerable in a hospital bed. Astrid, vulnerable in his apartment, finally soft after fighting it for so long. After twenty-five long years, Hiccup finally has motivation to be quiet.

He must nod and something in his numbed expression must look like understanding because Grisly practically drags him out of the door and down the hall to a small office sometimes used for legal rituals when the county courthouse is full. No one has to tell Hiccup to sit on the small plastic chair inside. He isn’t surprised when the door locks behind them.

He is, however, surprised to see the judge.

“Honorable Judge Treacherous,” Grisly tilts the title into something pedantic as he takes the floor, pacing back and forth with steps as even as the heartbeat Hiccup saw him stop couldn’t have been. “I understand you wanted to see the suspect in person to set bail, an unorthodox decision for a man in your…lofty position—“

“Captain Stoick Haddock was an old friend of mine,” Judge Treacherous leans his elbows on the desk and looks at Hiccup over his glasses, down his repeatedly broken nose. Hiccup knows his dad can take posthumous credit for at least two of those breaks and he swallows hard, fidgeting in the too tight cuffs on his wrists.

The jumpsuit makes him feel guilty, but not as guilty as his bloody clothes would have.

“Friend?” Hiccup asks, over-used voice croaking around the question until he clears his throat. “I didn’t quite get that impression.”

Judge Treacherous laughs, “I didn’t get the impression dear Stoick was raising a serial killer.”

“Me either,” Hiccup blurts, fingers numb with instant regret.

“Is that a confession?” Grisly’s eyes sparkle, somehow reflecting blood no longer in front of him.

“This isn’t a trial, Mister…Gruesome, was it?” Judge Treacherous curls his lip and Grisly stands up straighter, rigid like a scarecrow itching for dawn. “When will the officer…Ah, here, Detective Eretson,” Treacherous skims through a stack of papers in front of him, “when will I be meeting this Detective Eretson?”

“Well, as I’m sure you can see from the entire case history I’ve presented to you, Eretson has proven ineffective—“

“Sorry I’m late,” Eretson’s accent cuts through the creak of the poorly hung door as he walks inside, smoothing his suit jacket and standing shoulder to shoulder with Grisly, “train ran slow.”

Hiccup never though Eretson’s presence could be comforting, but the way he glares at Grisly seeks to change that. Grisly’s suddenly tense shoulders back the notion up as he turns around, blood leaching from his face like it leached into Astrid’s carpet.

Astrid.

Panic grips his heart like a steel vice and he repeats the mantra of his morning to himself. Hiccup is in the system, he’s not going anywhere, and as long as he can see Grisly, Grisly can’t get at Astrid. She’s safe as long as Grisly is with him.

Eretson must see his panic, because he catches Hiccup’s eye and nods, his expression as unreadable as always and maybe Hiccup is lying to himself but there’s something comforting there. Something solid. And while Hiccup knows that the detective’s solidity isn’t necessarily rooted in his favor, it’s clearly planted against Grisly and that has to be good enough for now.

“Good old Berk public transportation,” Judge Treacherous attempts small talk, skimming through the file in front of him, “I thought you’d called me here for an offense you caught Mr. Haddock committing this morning.”

“Yes—”

“Where is that information in the case file?” Treacherous slides the manila folder towards Grisly, who bristles.

“I haven’t had a chance to include it,” his voice is mellow even as the hands folded behind his back twitch. “but the rest of the file is—”

“Very thorough,” Eretson cuts in, “it’s been my case for months—”

“And yet I’m the one lucky enough to stumble on the answer,” Grisly grins too bright, his façade slipping another inch under Eretson’s even stare.

“Stumble, right,” Eretson raises an eyebrow, “lucky.”

“Mr. Ghastly, I have to say I’m a bit confused to be summoned so early in the morning to set bail for a case I’ve been seeing discussed on the news for months.” Treacherous folds his hands, “if you honestly believe Stoick’s boy is the Grimborn Copycat killer, I couldn’t in good conscience let him back on the streets.”

If Grisly was pale before, he’s chalky now, complexion abandoning its noble cause to cling to the last dregs of life as his expression freezes into place like a wax effigy stretched over limestone.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if there’s even a chance that Mr. Haddock is connected to everything in this file, I’ll be making the decision to hold him without bail until a trial can shed proper light on the situation.”

“If there’s a chance—shed light—” Grisly sputters, “more than enough light has been shed, I saw him with my own two eyes, holding a girl up and slitting her throat—”

“I’ll need details for the report,” Eretson cuts in, voice level, and if Hiccup weren’t sworn to silence, he might laugh. Or cry. Or hug Eretson’s leg like the child Grisly accused him of being and hide.

“And I have those details,” Grisly struggles for his composure, a predator walking on wet tile for the first time, a janitorial bureaucracy rendering millions of years of evolution useless, “but to issue a remand without bail—to put this boy’s disrespect of the law on our taxpayers—”

“Taxpayers who pay taxes for the legal system to keep them safe from alleged serial murderers,” Treacherous would bang a gavel if he had one, but he doesn’t so he thumps a meaty hand on the desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“You haven’t even read the file! And you call yourself a judge,” Grisly’s voice cracks like his composure did as he flicks through the file, dropping half the pages on the floor, “the assailant worked backwards through the Grimborn murders, I caught him in the act of the first this morning. It stands to reason that he’s done with his spree—”

“You’re assuming someone reasonable doing the reasoning,” Treacherous looks to Eretson and then to Hiccup, his tone almost apologetic as he digs in his heels. “Letting a proposed serial murderer out on bail would be the end of my career.”

“House arrest then,” Grisly tries, “he lives with a cop, it’s perfect, there’s no sense in using the city’s resources to hold him at an overpriced jail.”

“Overpriced?” Treacherous snorts, “I picked out the bathroom tile myself, it was very reasonable.”

“Also, your Honor, the officer that lives with Mr. Haddock is currently suspended and on medical leave,” Eretson adds and Treacherous laughs before signing a piece of paper, presumably with his official recommendation.

“Held without bail until the trial,” he sets his pen down, “if the boy has already killed four people, I don’t trust an injured, suspended cop to keep him contained if he decides to work backwards through Bundy.”

“Look at the file!” Grisly shouts, the predator’s paw caught in a trap as he fought to remove a thorn, “it’s immaculate, from his research to the timing of the murders. Everything points to him! Every last drop of blood—”

“Mr. Garish, that is enough!” Treacherous stands up, towering even over Eretson, Hiccup’s dad’s ghost finally stepping into a pair of familiar if un-ideal shoes.

“It’s Grisly, your Onerous.”

The silence rings like high pitched static, the fire alarm between beeps.

Eretson clears his throat, “On second thought, maybe this case is better suited to Mr. Grisly’s particular talents.”

Hiccup’s stomach falls out from under him, and he looks around for confirmation that his ears aren’t making up worst case scenarios, like his actual situation isn’t bad enough. Eretson is patient in professional silence but Grisly’s face is contorting in confusion and rage as Judge Treacherous raises a doubtful eyebrow.

Grisly talks first, voice small, “You do?”

“Seeing how this is going, your Honor, I agree with Mr. Grisly, I might have been over my head with the unique complexities of the case.” Eretson gives Hiccup the barest ghost of a nod as he defers to Grisly with a subtle duck of the chin that’s anything but reverent.

“Well, finally someone is seeing sense,” Grisly attempts to regain his quiet, stealthy tone but instead his voice wavers, something uncouth bleeding into the edges.

“You can see my commanding officer about the transfer paperwork,” Eretson points vaguely down the hallway then turns back to Treacherous, “Captain Anderson, I know you two have worked together in the past.”

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘together’ quite so loud, Detective,” Treacherous chuckles, “that was off the books.”

“Apologies.”

“And if that is your decision, Eretson, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave the courtroom.” Treacherous looks between him and Grisly, reacquainting himself with the changing situation.

“I think it’s what’s best moving forward.” Eretson nods, looking every shade as competent and a hundred times more mysterious than Hiccup has ever seen him.

“Once the transfer paperwork is complete and the file is updated,” Treacherous slides what’s left in the folder pointedly at Grisly, who trips over his own feet to bend and pick up the mess on the floor, looking more like the Ms. Moore, the condo manager, than Hiccup ever could have imagined, “then we can move forward discussing any warrants your investigation might need. Anything else?”

“No.” Grisly clutches the disorganized file to his chest like someone just used it to bludgeon him and he’s still recovering from the shock.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Eretson clears his throat again, approaching the desk with a natural sort of ease, “I was wondering if Grisly selected a public defender.”

“No, he did not, as he completely violated protocol.” Judge Treacherous laughs again and Eretson’s smile is slow and reserved, but unmistakable.

“I’d like to offer to represent Mr. Haddock moving forward.” Eretson presents the solution like it’s not impossible and Hiccup and Treacherous trade confused glances. “Is that a problem?”

Treacherous starts slowly, “Are you…”

“I’ve passed the bar, yes, I’ll have my paperwork faxed over.”

“Obviously,” Treacherous nods to himself.

“I’ll be taking the back interrogation room to speak to my client then, I’ll address having him moved to the county jail when we’re through.”

Grisly wants to kill Astrid and Snotlout, Grisly is on the case now. Grisly framed Hiccup. Eretson turned over the case to him, even though Eretson has never shown anything like trust in the man. Eretson has gone from savior to traitor to…lawyer in the most confusing five minute span of Hiccup’s life, and that’s saying a lot for someone who is currently being framed for a slew of violent murders.

Eretson sits down across the table in the interrogation room and starts babbling in legal-ese, the words going into Hiccup’s ears like the strumming of an out of tune base guitar until he opens his mouth, unsure what’s going to fall out until it does.

“You’re a lawyer?”

Eretson pauses, eyebrow raised, ghost of a grin haunting the corner of his mouth, “That’s what you’re asking? You should be asking my rate.”

“What’s your rate?” Hiccup parrots back at him and Eretson folds his hands on the table.

“You help me bring Grisly down,” he starts, deadly in a way that makes Hiccup want to hide behind him again. “And whatever you can get Jorgenson to throw in. Now, let’s start with what actually happened this morning.”

“Ok, ok…let me think,” he tries to pull back the veil of blood separating then from now and blushes when he succeeds, “so I was with Astrid—”

“I know,” Eretson surprises him by blushing himself, the pink in his cheeks exactly at odds with the rest of his appearance, “after that. Let’s start when you left the apartment.”

“Oh. Right.” He rubs the back of his neck, “wait, you know? How do you know?”

“I was—in the interest of full disclosure regarding the case,” Eretson clears his throat, tone more formal as his face reddens, “at your residence along with Jorgenson this morning—”

“Snotlout?” Hiccup frowns, “is he ok? Is Astrid ok? I have to—Grisly’s going to go after them—”

“They’re somewhere safe,” Eretson nods, all business again, “now back to the beginning, tell me what happened when you left the apartment.”

00000

The county jail stands on the corner where Big Top 24/7 Video used to, in direct sight of the back of the police station. Hiccup can see his dad’s office’s window from the tiny, barred window of his cell and he remembers being nine years old visiting his dad at work and wondering why his dad couldn’t make time to take him to the circus.

After the rumors that the pollution in Berk’s shipping lanes was deforming whales were scientifically corroborated in the mid-nineteen-seventies, trucking took over. Of course, trucking companies were worried about carjacking in the largely impoverished downtown Berk, so a beltway smeared a swath of unpopulated buildings into a slick semi-circle of asphalt. And with all freeways come truck stops and motels with flickering Vacancy signs, and Big Top 24/7 sprung up between them like a necessarily evil lovechild woefully holding the family together.

Big Top 24/7 Video opened off of the first exit within the city limits, a round brick building with a conical fiberglass roof, painted in garish red and yellow stripes that allowed a circus motif to almost veil a secret. The advertisement of private rooms and VHS sales likely did nothing to fool passing motorists looking for a reason to take their eyes off the road for even a second, but it fooled Hiccup.

When he was a teenager looking for something—anything—worth fighting with his dad over, he used to wonder how his dad was ok with circus animals being caged and made to perform for people’s entertainment right in the station’s backyard, especially given his dad wouldn’t even let him get a dog on the grounds that he was ‘irresponsible’. Hiccup threatened to do something about it once when he was about thirteen, but his dad assured him if he even so much as tried to run in that direction, he could spend the afternoon in the holding cell.

Again, Hiccup thought that was pretty rich coming from a guy who met his wife at an illegal protest to protect Berk’s last resident population of hibernating black bears.

Big Top 24/7 Video was torn down about seven years ago for the new jail to go in, and Hiccup wasn’t talking to his dad enough to gauge any sort of reaction. He imagines now that it was something like relief, if only because it was one less thing to answer his son’s ever instigating questions about, but he never got a chance to ask.

His dad died before Hiccup put together the truth that the untouchable circus of his youth was actually a dingy but surprisingly long-lived scheme to bring truckers together in the homosexually word-playing name of VHS porn and other so-called erotic novelties.

But from where he stands now? Well, he’d prefer cheap, fuzzy handcuffs to the ones that bruised his wrists as Grisly dragged him in front of a judge who invoked his father’s name like a bar he’d never meet. He’d love a ground floor ‘private’ suite with a VHS player as old as he is in the corner that he could rent by the hour over the cell he’s stuck in now, especially because a glory hole might provide a means of escape more viable than the bars on the window.

Plus, he knows for a fact he looks better in largely ill-fitting themed-garb than he does in oversized, itchy orange.

By early afternoon, even he can’t conjure enough detail about the dreary view to distract himself any longer.

What if Eretson is wrong? What if Grisly isn’t spending the day tied up with paperwork and in fact, he’s already caught up to Astrid?

Grisly would gloat, Hiccup knows that. He knows it in more blood-spattered detail than he cares to remember, but the only thing worse than remembering it is foreshadowing a repeat performance, this time with the ghost of the blood of someone he loves thrown in his face.

He’s never planned a murder, obviously, so he doesn’t really have a handle on how long it might take.   He assumes it might take longer given that Grisly is surely going to try and make it look like an accident, since framing Hiccup while he’s literally incarcerated is sure to be a bit harder than framing him while he’s walking around alleys talking about murder.

But no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it could take days or weeks or even months for Grisly to clean up his mess, he flinches every time he hears footsteps in the hallway.

The stairwell door at the end of his floor creaks open and he wonders if Grisly will go for Astrid first, using the address he sent Dave’s foot to and cornering her. Another cell door swings open, scraping across the linoleum floor, and he wonders if maybe Snotlout is an easier or mouthier target to go after first.

A key turns in the exterior door to his solitary cell and he freezes, plastic slipper squeaking against his plastic foot and tearing the silence like wet paper.

No matter who it is, he’ll be stuck, for the first time in his life, with wishing he had said more even sooner and more often.

The door opens and he braces himself for Grisly’s maniacal grin, almost stumbling from the strength of his refusal to show shock when he sees Heather instead, pale and wide eyed, hair disheveled under a crooked police uniform hat.

“Thank fuck I guessed the right room,” she shuts the door quickly behind her and leans back against it, breathing hard. She’s wearing a police uniform jacket too, one that’s simultaneously way too big for her and way too short in a disarmingly familiar combination of borrowed hoodie and crop top.

“Heather.” Hiccup says dumbly, forgetting how to ask questions when he’s so busy trying to force the answers.

“I knew you were on this floor and I had to guess it’d be a smaller cell since Grisly said you were by yourself, but—“

“What are you doing here?” His second attempt at a question goes better, not that Heather gives any impression that she heard him.

“But I guessed right, so now it’s just…keys, I guess, which one of these is for the cell gate thingy.” She starts rifling through a ring of a few dozen keys, trying a couple of them in the barred gate between them but having no luck.

“I didn’t realize you’d officially joined the force.”

“Unless the cell key is on the other ring in the office that I can’t get into—“

“Was the official police tailor unavailable when they assigned you a uniform?” Hiccup laughs at his own half joke, shoulders so stiff they feel brittle, like he’ll shatter if she keeps looking through him like he’s not here.

“It’s Snotlout’s spare,” she pauses, swallowing hard and shoving one stretched cuff back up her arm from where it was covering her hand. He doesn’t need to ask if she heard about Snotlout getting shot, the sympathy almost verging on apology in her expression is enough.

“Ah, could have guessed that,” he nods, “I swim in his crop tops too. Or shirts, I mean shirts.” The joke falls so flat he almost thinks Heather is going to cry, but he’s glad she swallows it back, since it would probably make him cry too and he’s not going to give Grisly that satisfaction.

“I’m not here to chat, I’m here to get you out of this cell.” She goes back to sifting through her key ring and Hiccup frowns, nearly collapsing onto the hard, metal bench against the wall of his cell. “Just give me a second—“

“You can’t break me out of jail.”

“I have Snotlout’s badge too,” she flashes him the shiny shield in her pocket, “that’s how I got in here.”

“Yeah, I’m in jail for murder, remember? You might have heard the judge said ‘no bail due to serial killings’?” He presses the heels of his hands against closed eyelids, “you can’t just let me out.”

“But you didn’t do it,” she says with such conviction that he wants to ask if she knows who did and he resents the distance she put between them more than ever.

No, they’re both to blame for the distance. He had what he thought were better reasons at the time, but they both said things they shouldn’t have and now they’re on either side of a barred cell wall.

“I got arrested for it.”

“Yeah, but that’s—I know you didn’t do it—”

“It doesn’t matter what you know!” He shouts, louder than he knows he should, suddenly full of resentment for even the implication that she could help him. It’s easier to know that no help is coming than it is to shove off insufficient help in the name of the ill-fitting position of ‘voice of reason’. “You can’t exhume Johann for a confession and you can’t just let me out of jail.”

“Johann?” She snorts, but she gives up on the keyring too and Hiccup’s heart falls even though it’s what he was hoping for, “you think this has anything to do with Johann?”

“Doesn’t everything?”

“I…” She deflates the rest of the way, hugging Snotlout’s jacket tighter around herself and leaning back against the wall, yanking at her braid in frustration, “Admiral Hiccup Haddock.”

“You know my military career wasn’t quite that successful,” he rests the back of his head against the cold brick and stares at the ceiling, “and since when do you call me by my full name?”

“Grisly played me for Admiral Hiccup Haddock,” she continues, slumping down to sit cross-legged on the floor, keys forgotten in her lap. Maybe she just needed to talk.  

As much as he’d like to, he can’t find it in himself to blame her.

“I know the feeling.”

“Do you?” Heather snorts, “he had me go on the news and talk about how absurd the whole theory is, I—any credibility I had—“

“Right, Grimborn credibility,” Hiccup cuts her off, gesturing at his jumpsuit, “I guess I’ve got that in spades now, you know, since Grisly framed me for a series of modern copycat murders.”

“I guess you get it then.” She has the sense to look at least a little sheepish and Hiccup sighs, rubbing his face.

“I’m sure that misogyny makes it worse.”

“Absolutely,” she nods, “I’d look way less stupid decrying the now practically proven Admiral Haddock theory on the news if I were a man.”

“Right, men get to make mistakes like that without it ruining their reputation.” He sighs, “I have to ask, ok? Just…when you say you know I didn’t do it, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” she winces like she always has when she lies, looking up through her eyelashes, “you put spiders outside—“

“You’ve worked closer with Grisly than anyone.”

“And I’m sorry for that, if I knew—”

“That he’d play you?” Hiccup hangs his head, running a hand through his hair and trying not to think about the crust near his face. “He only chose you because you’re more marketable than me, he practically admitted it. It could be you in here.”

“The name doesn’t help your case,” Heather twirls the keys around her finger, “there has to be some way to fix this, I—you have to have an alibi, or something.”

“An alibi,” he shakes his head, “not this time, I—I can’t bring Astrid into this. Not again, especially not now.”

“She’s been involved the whole time! Hell, she was just a suspect—”

“I just can’t.”

“What’s so different about now?” Heather looks like his friend when she’s worried and there are a million logical ways to answer that question. He could start with Grisly and end there, but instead the day catches up to him and his resolve breaks, his last important secret falling out of his mouth.

“Because I love her.”

“Oh.” Heather bites her lip, uncharacteristically quiet as she fidgets, scraping some gum off of the sole of her boot with a fingernail.

“Oh?” He prods.

“Does she—I mean does she know?” She continues before he can answer, slouching a little further against the wall, “as in does she know there’s a possibility of it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does she know that she’s your alibi for last night in particular?” Heather gestures at nothing, verging on frustrated and Hiccup frowns at her.

“Considering she was in my apartment with me all night and we slept together, I’m pretty sure she’s aware that we were together. Why do you ask?”

“Ok, ok, no need to be so defensive,” Heather holds her hands up.

“No need? Not like you just inferred I was stalking Astrid—”

“You hang out in a lot of creepy alleys near her apartment,” she laughs, “I had to check.”

“Your confidence in me—or lack-there-of is…” He trails off, “I missed it. I—friends? Please? I don’t need any other enemies.”

“Yeah,” she nods, “no one will believe me if I publish Johann now anyway…” Something in his expression wards her off of the topic like even she’s hesitant to rock a newly patched boat. “If we’re friends again, does that mean I get to give you relationship advice?”

“No—”

“Shouldn’t it be up to Astrid if she wants to be involved or not?”

“I just…Not this time, it’s too much to risk, I can’t…of course she’d want to be involved and—”

“Well then, what the hell else am I supposed to do? You won’t let me break you out, you won’t let me find your alibi, I’ve been working for the guy that got you into this mess and defamed me and there’s nothing I can do to redeem myself?”

He likes that she phrases it in terms of redeeming herself, not helping him. It makes it distant, comfortable, and gives him analytical breathing room he hasn’t had all day.

What could Heather do?

What hole exists in Grisly’s perfect plan that Heather could bore into? Hell, how’d he get so much right about Grimborn going off of Heather’s sensationalized tour information and an Admiral Hiccup Haddock book?

“That’s it!” Hiccup sits up straight, lowering his voice at Heather’s alarmed expression. “He had to fuck up somewhere. Not on the framing for murder, obviously, he’s good at that, but at the Grimborn. If he’s saying I did it to mimic Grimborn and you find somewhere in my Grimborn research that I disagree with what the modern case says—”

“Then it points to someone with a different Grimborn theory than you,” she stands up, tucking the stolen keys carefully in Snotlout’s jacket pocket. “It’s something, I can do that.”

“It might be enough, I think Grisly’s starting to crack under the pressure.” Hiccup lets himself hope for a second, not so long that he can’t shut it down before the long, lonely night ahead, but enough to make the dull light through the window seem livable. “Get in touch with Eretson, he seems to know where Astrid and Snotlout are, they can help.”

“Right, like I’d ask Snotlout for help with research this important.”

“No, I mean Astrid, she’s…she’s brilliant, ok?”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Heather scoffs, voice soft as she reaches for the handle to the room’s outer door, fingers lingering on the knob for a second, “take care of yourself, don’t drop the soap or—”

“Don’t remind me, I already had Grisly in my front pocket today, just…go. Don’t get caught stealing Snotlout’s keys.”

“Right,” Heather nods, somehow leaving the room a little more hopeful, if lonelier, than she found it.

[dellebecque]

Looking for RP--Aden Dellebecque

In-game: Aden Dellebecque Alias: Aden Aubeaux Race: Miqo’te Seeker of the Sun (X tribe/C tribe) Profession: dragoon, scout/surveyor, hunter

History

Of the Sky

They came many generations ago, sisters and cousins, and the Tias and Keeper men they had met along the way, or if not the men then heavy with the children the wandering men had left them with.  Desperate to break out of their tribal life, full of youthful rage against their lot in life as mothers and hunters and little else, they struck out to find a new way. And find it they did--nothing could be more different than Ishgard.  They set about learning a new way, building a new life, one with dreams of comfort and riches rather than long hunts and far horizons, and even taking on new names: the Aubeaux family, one branch called themselves. In their children’s children no tribal outcast lingered: patriots born, through and through, and obsessed with the social climb as many of low status in Ishgard must become.  And one cage was fully traded for another.

Yet you may take the miqo’te out of the tribe, but you cannot beat the tribe out of him.  Daughters were raised in grace and manners, to catch eyes with their tamed exoticism and curry favor with silver tongues.  Sons had too much wandering blood, too much of the drive to fight for supremacy--which made them perfect candidates to go to war, to seek glory or knighthood in deed.  Sons die young in the Aubeaux family, ground up in the bloody crucible of endless war, and daughters inherit the legacy.

And Aden’s father might have too, if not for a wandering woman of the C tribe, a thief and ne’er-do-well who had been a mercenary for many years before finding employ on some secret errand in Ishgard.  What became of her remains a mystery, but her lover raised their son alone for a few years until he sent him away and disappeared himself.

Serenity

When someone delivered a young child to Nadine Dellebecque and Arild Brewster's farm in the Black Shroud, they knew the worst had befallen a dear friend from their mercenary days. Aden, a letter said his name was, and they took him in and raised him as their own.

Aden had a good life with his adoptive mothers, growing up safe and loved. But he paid too much mind to tales of their time as adventurers, and to Arild's beloved travelogues. He took a little too keenly to Nadine's self defense lessons. He remembered the gleam of his father's lance, even if he insisted he didn’t--he’d seen their disapproving looks when they caught him jumping from the hayloft with a pitchfork, and abandonment had made a naturally quiet, thoughtful child reticent.

But Aden hadn’t forgotten.  He grew up obsessed, asking at every opportunity when his mothers might let him join the lancers guild--because this was all that was left to him.  In pursuing the spear he could be with the father who had sent him away, in spirit if nothing else. Finally he proved a danger to himself if they denied him any longer, and Aden went to Gridania to pursue his heart’s desire.

From the Sky

In his time with the lancers guild Aden caught the eye of a semi-retired dragoon, Flynt Knoltross, who saw in him a shadow of his younger self and perhaps a chance to make things right.  He saw too a familiar face, finally putting truth to the secret Aden had carried for years--his father had been a dragoon, though he had disappeared before Flynt knew him well. Aden pursued his training at a punishing pace, obsession merely growing when the lance offered him a sense of purpose and belonging, a more tangible connection to the place of his birth.  Despite the prejudices of his countrymen Aden meant to prove his worth in the spear, never realizing he was repeating the cruel cycle his father had sent him away to break.

Prove himself he did during the end of the war--but politics forestalled his advancement proper to the ranks of the Knights Dragoon the day of.  He has instead been classified as a reservist, and done everything from scouting and surveying in dangerous territory, to diplomacy and leading reconnaissance teams during the Alliance offensive in Gyr Abania. 

Hooks

Must Love Chocobos

Aden grew up on a chocobo farm, and as such he’s an experienced rider and an expert in caring for them.  He loves chocobos, especially his rather possessive and ornery destrier, Keva. He occasionally returns to the farm to help his mothers as they’re getting on in years, and can be found there at times.  Whenever Keva is stabled somewhere that the grooms don’t already know him, Aden takes care of Keva himself, and it’s another situation that might be easy to encounter him in.

Knives and Lanterns

Aden is a member of the Wandering Tonberry hunt lodge, and when he’s not busy with his duties to Ishgard he’s often taking care of hunts for them or doing other work that needs doing.  He can be found in and around the lodge, or out in the field on hunts.  They’re his found family, and he’s very loyal.

Bookworm

Aden is well-read and consumes books at a rapid pace around the rest of his activities.  The only time he slows down is when he’s in a bookshop or a library, and he’ll easily lose track of time.

The Wanderer

Aden has wanderlust deep in his soul thanks to Arild’s travelogues, especially after an eye-opening moment on the Azim Steppe.  If there’s somewhere strange or wild to explore, he’ll be there.

For the Sky

Aden spends most of his time in service to Ishgard, and those who interact with military elements--particularly with dragoons, military intelligence, or certain sorts of politicians--might have a reason to know him.  Being a miqo’te makes him an excellent scout in locations where someone being visibly Ishgardian might be a problem, but it also leaves him open to the prejudices of his countrymen and makes deploying him on any mission of high visibility a political act.  Those who have benefited from his service have set events in motion that will soon lead to his promotion into the position and title he should have had for years now, and potentially something truly far-flung and dangerous For the Sky….

But for now he remains a dragoon in everything but name, and on familiar shores.

OOC

Playtime: Weekday evenings and weekend days, schedule RP ahead of time (I don’t do walkup unless I’m at an event).  Eastern US time.

FC: Wandering Tonberry Trading Co.

Server: Balmung

Looking for: Friends, adventuring partners, fellow Ishgardians, chocobo fanciers, nerds, travelers, rivals, and enemies.

Tips: Aden is quiet, reserved, and usually very polite.  He’s awkward, anxious, and has trouble speaking to strangers (unless he’s working--but how he got that way is a story all its own).  Persistence pays off, though what lies beneath is not entirely like what you see on the surface--Aden is driven, passionate, and full of a long-held, slow-burning anger.  He’s philosophical and intellectual but a violent adrenaline junkie at the same time. He’s spent a lot of time living inside his own head, observing the outside world and thinking, and a lot of time with his head shoved in a book or alone in the wilderness.  He has abandonment issues and struggles with depression and social anxiety. Rather than a fanatic or obedient loyalist, Aden is a warrior-philosopher.  He’ll follow orders, sometimes without question, but he’ll seriously challenge his superiors when it’s appropriate to do so.  He has a reputation for thinking too much, but still getting the job done. Slice of life isn’t really my thing unless the character is already established as a friend or ally of Aden’s, in which case, sure! I am deeply uninterested in quick romance or uncomplicated relationships.  If reading over all of this calls to you in that regard rather than as a friend, contact, or rival, we can talk, but be warned that I have an extremely low tolerance level for bullshit, and Aden is a complicated person who is not here to play house, and will not tolerate someone who cannot keep up with him in the field--whether that be by force of arms or force of aether is irrelevant.  He’s grey-ace and homosexual/homoromantic.  However, people who are down to get punched in the face for making an advance are always welcome--it could be the start of a beautiful friendship! I’m also very busy IRL, hence being forced to schedule RP in advance.  I have a full time job that sometimes requires overtime, a loving partner I’ve been with for 15 years, a house to take care of, two D&D games, part-time work on a friend’s farm, a HUGE extended family, and am an avid outdoorsman.  There’s a lot to squeeze in there! If we start RPing, please be patient with me. I will do out of game RP on a rare case by case basis.  It used to be my bread and butter, but I’ve discovered as I get busier I’m too unreliable and forcing more realistic expectations on myself as a result.

Contact: Aden Dellebecque or Merrick Lockwood in game; Stormcalled#5187 on discord; or my ask box!

[aion-rsa]

Doctor Who: Ranking the Cybermen Stories – Which is the Best?

https://ift.tt/2ZLI4i2

The Cybermen are really camp.

They’re meant to be cold, logical, emotionless cyborg vampires, but mostly they’re just silly. They do slow fist-clenches and macho posturing. They wail and flap their arms around. They get killed by glitter. They make insanely convoluted plans and pretend they’re very clever. They are ridiculous and this is as entertaining as it is frustrating.

They are also a terrifying spectre of death. As a child, you know when you see them that death is near, so their mere appearance induces tension. Nearly every Cyberman story combines these elements of death and camp (two of life’s certainties) with a minority of them remembering that they’re ludicrously tragic rather than tragically ludicrous.

This isn’t necessarily a problem, it just means that you’re short-changed if you want very serious and intelligent stories about a dark mirror of humanity, but if you’re after endearingly silly robots sassing around Sixties’ visions of the future, then have you hit the goddamn jackpot.

Don’t expect many classics, and above all take this incredibly seriously. This ranking has been decided using a clever clever clever system* that only people who take sugar in their tea will understand. It’s what the Cybermen would have wanted.

* The ranking is based on whether it’s a good Cyberman story first and a good story second. 

18. Nightmare in Silver

Is their plan to convert people? No. Is it logical at least? Also no.

Trying to decide which of the bottom two should go where was tricky. Both attempt to do something different with the Cybermen, but in so doing veer too far from their actual concept. Both suffer from thinly sketched supporting casts. Both are dull. Focussing purely on their use of Cybermen, ‘Nightmare in Silver’ is worse. While the Cyberiad’s plans in the Lone Cyberman trilogy underwhelm, they are at least extrapolated from potentially interesting ideas. Here, they’re simply a misunderstanding of what makes the Cybermen work.

Part of this story’s reputation is down to the prior excitement about Neil Gaiman writing a Cyberman story, especially one hyped as a reinvention to make them scarier by harking back to Gaiman’s childhood memories of them. The resulting script was scaled back from an interesting but unachievable concept, rewritten by Steven Moffat, and helmed by a director who didn’t manage to elevate the material to something at least visually interesting. Fundamentally though, the script is inherently flawed.

The idea of the Cybermen being powerful is a fallacy that ignores their standard modus operandi: sneaking around in the shadows and using traitors to break in. They only mount assaults when they’re sure of an advantage. They’ve never adapted before, or seemed such a threat as to require a galaxy being destroyed. What we have here is Shiny Borg. They’re robots. We even see one take off its head and there’s no organic matter within.

Gaiman, by focussing on the fast-paced evolution of contemporary technology, leads the story away from eery stillness and the shadows of childhood memories towards a leaden wackiness, and the misreading is exacerbated by the other contributors.

You can see how there might be a good story in here, but because a lot happens very fast nothing is given room to breathe and the characters are barely sketched. The Cybermen of Gaiman’s memory (that monochrome spectre of death) is replaced here by dull visuals shorn of both camp and horror. There’s no slow build of dread, or sense of tragic inhumanity: just a series of tricks that would never be repeated.

Matt Smith gets some good moments (telling the intentionally annoying children not to wander off, offering his two cents on a marriage proposal) but also, with the line about Clara’s skirt, gets given one of the worst lines in the history of Doctor Who.

17. The Haunting of Villa Diodati / Ascension of the Cybermen / The Timeless Children

Is their plan to convert people? No. Is it logical at least? Also no.

‘The Haunting of Villa Diodati’ is good until Ashad, the Lone Cyberman, arrives.

The idea of someone wanting to be converted is interesting (there’s potential to tap into the weaponising of emotion and frailty) but instead we get Tim Shaw’s angrier brother. Being told rather than shown Ashad’s backstory doesn’t help, but we’re presented with a one-note zealot. Why is he fanatical? We don’t know. Rather than tap into any nuance or pathos we have another of Chibnall’s overly nasty villains who delights in telling us, not merely that he killed his children, but that he slit their throats.

Ashad’s fanaticism, combined with the knowledge of all Cybermen, has the ultimate aim of turning the Cybermen into robots then wipe out all other life in the galaxy. This plan is so bad that the Master takes the piss out of him for it (“Oh you mean robots. You’ll be robots”). Ashad is then killed for McGuffin reasons, an anticlimax to an anticlimax. We then get the Cyber Lords, which is partly another potentially interesting concept dismissed quickly, but mostly a hilarious visual.

Focussing purely on the Cybermen, these stories are at best frustrating, at worst they feel like they were written by the Media Chaos Collective from The Adam & Joe Show.

16. The Wheel in Space

Is their plan to convert people? Nope. Is it logical at least? No.

The Cybermen’s plan here isn’t as silly as their one from ‘The Moonbase’ but it’s more convoluted and not unlike building an elaborate marble run before checking if you even have a marble. According to the Doctor, they’re determined to invade Earth for its mineral wealth, because if there’s one thing that frightens children it’s the prospect of not having enough hematite. As the plan involves a lot of things sliding into place before everything kicks off, it’s a long traipse through Base Under Siege cliches to the Cybermen being repelled when someone remembers to turn the force field on. It’s not especially bad, it’s just dull.

Amidst this are some memorable scenes. The characterisation is strong. Zoe is introduced well as a human computer, an interesting counterpoint to the Cybermen. Troughton is excellent, which goes without saying. The ‘You know our ways’ confrontation, for example, is a great encapsulation of his Doctor: a bunched up, quiet performance giving way to a formidable presence.

15. Revenge of the Cybermen

Is their plan to convert people? No. Is it logical at least? Yes.

In which co-creator Gerry Davis writes for the Cybermen again, and as with Terry Nation’s mid-Seventies return, his approach to Doctor Who hasn’t changed since the Sixties. This story sticks out in Season 12 as a result. The confident production of ‘Genesis of the Daleks’ is replaced here with an apologetic slog that relies on the regulars’ chemistry to enliven it. Fortunately the regulars are Tom Baker, Lis Sladen and Ian Marter, which counteracts the tepid political intrigue on Voga.

The Cybermen are notoriously emotional here and memorably dismissed by the Doctor as being a bit rubbish. On the other hand, this is a rare example of them using stun guns. Given the whole ‘we must survive/you will be like us’ concept you’d think they’d use them more often.

Christopher Robbie’s performance as the Cyberleader is, like David Banks’ later performances in the role, not a little silly. Unlike David Banks, this doesn’t appear to be deliberate.

14. Attack of the Cybermen

Is their plan to convert people? Not their main plan, but there is a fair bit of it. Is it logical at least? A bit.

A solid first episode gives way to a very poor second: there are good ideas here but there are also very bad ones and a hollow ending, resulting in something full of sound and fury but signifying nothing.

It does have some good dialogue and actors, and a great central performance by Colin Baker: still unpleasant, but nowhere near as much as his debut story. He plays the final scene with enough conviction that you don’t immediately question the lack of internal logic involved. The Cryons look like someone tried to make a chrome Doctor Zoidberg mask, but also have distinct characters and some great dialogue. That one of their last lines is ‘We will survive’ is a nice touch.

Unfortunately the Cybermen here are rubbish. The story harks back to their previous stories but the sets pale in comparison to what they’re meant to evoke. They’re killed surprisingly easy, especially in comparison with ‘Earthshock’, and every actor playing one seems to be going for a different approach. They visibly panic at times, and imprison the Doctor in a roomful of explosives and then make ‘Leggit!’ motions when they discover he’s made a bomb. Cold. Logical. Ruthless.

13. Silver Nemesis

Is their plan to convert people? No. Is it logical at least? In so far as any of ‘Silver Nemesis’ is logical, yes.

A story where the Cybermen are only involved because they’re metallic, and it was the Silver Anniversary of Doctor Who. Despite this contrivance, they start off well here by arriving impressively for the cliffhanger with a chrome makeover, casually destroying some Nazis and hanging out in a tomb getting confused by jazz.

However, they finish it by getting taken out by Ace firing gold coins at them (it’s like taking out vampires by shining a torch on them) and having their entire fleet destroyed. There’s no great reason for them to even be there.

‘Silver Nemesis’ as a story is a mess, and its extended VHS edit doesn’t make that much more sense than the televised version, but it’s mostly a fun mess and breezes by quickly. Sylvester McCoy and Sophie Aldred are having a great time, David Banks is always good value, and Fiona Walker’s Lady Peinforte is a hoot. It works well when viewed as a parody of the McCoy era.

12. The Five Doctors

Is their plan to convert people? No. Is it logical at least? Yes.

There’s an episode of the Imaginary Advice podcast where Ross Sutherland and John Osborne are taking turns rewriting Four Weddings and a Funeral but each of them is trying to take it in a completely different direction. It’s really good.

Meanwhile, in 1983, Eric Saward kept adding squads of Cybermen to Terrance Dicks’ ‘Five Doctors’ script, and Dicks responded by blowing them up in memorable ways (a nonsensical chessboard trap and an astonishingly violent robot attack). On the one hand this undermines the Cybermen, especially after their bombastic return in ‘Earthshock’, but as Doctor Who has been undermining the Cybermen since 1967 (and ‘Earthshock’ is no exception) it seems in keeping for the anniversary story to continually dump on them too. And yet, somehow their presence as cannon fodder here is not their weakest moment.

Special mention to the posh Cyberman who asks ‘Hwhy was the main gate lehft unguarded?’

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11. Army of Ghosts / Doomsday

Is their plan to convert people? Sometimes. Is it logical at least? Yes.

Having been revealed as the titular ghosts, the Cybermen use their dominant position on Earth to… stand around in people’s living rooms doing nothing. Meanwhile four Daleks arrive to steal their cliffhanger and confirm the Cybermen’s role as the second-best monster, then then the story gets rid of them all when it needs to engineer the separation of the Doctor and Rose. They provide spectacle, certainly, and a great argument scene with the Daleks, but not much beyond that. A popular story, for sure, but not a good Cybermen story.

10. Rise of the Cybermen / The Age of Steel

Is their plan to convert people? Yes. Is it logical at least? Yes.

The return of the Cybermen for the new series was an exciting prospect, with ‘Caves of Androzani’ director Graeme Harper returning and rumours of the story being inspired by Big Finish’s Cybermen origin story ‘Spare Parts’. It is clear fairly early on that this is not like ‘Spare Parts’, and to be fair it was used more as a starting point than a source for adaptation. Instead this story feels like it’s trying to homage everything that’s gone before, and so we have get a heady combo of action, nonsense and body horror.

The first episode keeps the Cybermen to the peripheries and is mostly setup for the season finale. Meanwhile we have Roger Lloyd Pack’s endearingly barking performance as John Lumic, the creator of the Cybermen in this world, delivering his dialogue like the lovechild of Anthony Hopkins and the dog from Pixar’s Up, and laughing at his own quip with a hearty ‘BAHAHAAGH’. ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’ plays during a conversion scene. The Cybermen arrive late to the party, announcing their presence with a big light and stomping loudly. They grab their heads and gyrate before they explode, like they’ve got the same choreographer as Kylie. To be fair, this is only as camp as every other Cybermen story.

The second episode zips along, and occasionally pauses to actually let the horror sink in effectively (the Cybermen staring through the fence after they kill Ricky, the Jackie reveal, Sally the bride-to-be), but it also feels like the production team have decided to make an Eighties action film (for a family audience) in Cardiff (for £700,000).

9. The Tenth Planet

Is their plan to convert people? No. Is it logical at least? If you’re on board with the whole Vampire Planet thing, yes.

The first episode is mostly setup, a lot of close-ups of astronauts, and the occasional inkling of the uncanny. It’s not exactly gripping, and demonstrates precisely why pre-credits sequences came in. The second episode is dominated by the full debut of the Cybermen, which is much better.

It should be stressed how weird the Cybermen are here with their mouths agape as their hands grip still-warm bodies, their vampire planet flying through space, their dead eyes peering through mesh. Their dispassionate nature is contrasted with Ben’s troubled reaction to killing something for the first time, and General Cutler’s fear for his son leading him to extreme actions. While this leads to some tension, episodes 3 and 4 are very similar to 1 and 2.

It’s a shame that the story is so repetitive as there are some great concepts in play, but these are abandoned in favour of a shoot ‘em up, with Ben no longer having any qualms about killing. This would be higher if it had stuck the landing.

8. Closing Time

Is their plan to convert people? Yes. Is it logical at least? Yes.

‘Closing Time’ is a strange one, because it’s mostly a tonal continuation of ‘The Lodger’ set mostly in a bright department store, but in many ways the depiction of the Cybermen here is on point: a small weakened group trying to survive, patiently building up their power. They are strange monsters lurking in the dark beneath the ground, and the idea of them haunting a shop basement is inspired. However they are on the periphery of returning character Craig Owens Trying To Be A Doctor Who companion, so the potential horror of this idea is unexplored.

While the comedy is hit and miss (there are some good gags but some very tired tropes too) this breezes along divertingly enough throughout its running time. Matt Smith is great here, and my issue with the resolution is not that Craig avoids conversion through a powerful emotional response, but that 30 seconds later this has somehow become all the Cybermen and their ship blowing up. A lot of people wanted a character played by James Corden to die though, so you can see how they’d be disappointed.

7. The Next Doctor

Is their plan to convert people? No. Is it logical at least? Christ no.

A Christmas special, and so accordingly a mix of froth, grief and attempted infanticide. If you go with it then it’s an involving and entertaining yarn for the most part, only to fall apart in its resolution. This involves the Doctor using the Cybermen’s magic USB sticks to set off a rapid burst of unsatisfying contrivances, whereupon Dervla Kirwan’s character suddenly feels bad and screams at the Cybermen til they explode.

There’s also the Cybershades and Cyber-King, both of which only appear here. They work as disposable one-offs, and while there’s some sense of having a mobile conversion unit it feels like a colossal juggernaut is overkill. It’s a barmy idea that either makes you laugh or Log On. The Cybershades, which look like the Yetis from The Mighty Boosh, are apparently converted from small animals, which conjures up images of the Cybermen trying to wrangle cats, or Cybershades knocking vases from windowsills and refusing to eat the food that’s already in the bowl.

The Cybermen are here as spectacle rather than substance, and in that respect Andy Goddard directs them well. They’re shot from low angles marching out of the darkness. This story looks great in its daytime scenes, and the graveyard massacre’s stark monochrome with burst of red is a great burst of horror. Russell T. Davies continues to give the Cybermen appropriate yet funny dialogue.

David Morrissey and Dervla Kirwan are great guest stars, and while the journey is diverting enough the destination isn’t worth it, and doesn’t really deliver much in the way of substance.

6. The Tomb of the Cybermen

Is their plan to convert people? Yes, as long as they’re clever. Is it logical at least? No.

This story contains iconic images, scenes and dialogue, but also quite a lot of nonsense in between. Here we have legendary lines like the chilling ‘You belong to us. You will be like us’ and the plaintive bleat of ‘We will survive’ (which should be their mission statement but rarely is). However, contrast these with the line ‘How would you know honey?’ (a bewildering quip delivered in a hokey American accent) and we have ‘Tomb’ neatly encapsulated: a high concept horror meshed with a B-movie, and the latter is ultimately dominant.

This is initially fun but peters out, and is a classic example of ‘Everybody involved has to do something stupid to keep the story going’ (indeed, the Doctor has to do something stupid just so it can start). The Cybermen are included in this, and while the shots of their leaving their tombs are rightly famous, their actual reasons for having the tombs are nebulous at best. A story where its highlights work better as clips in isolation.

5. The Invasion

Is their plan to convert people? Yes. Is it logical at least? Yes!

As often happened in the late Sixties, this was extended to fill a gap after another story fell through, but fortunately the padding in the case of ‘The Invasion’ is mainly provided by Tobias Vaughn and Packer (one of the all-time great Villain/Henchperson combos), and before the Cybermen turn up half way through we have an industrial espionage thriller. If anything this is more fun than the finale, which consists mainly of army bods narrating missile attacks.

This is perhaps the peak of the Cybermen’s strength as a visual: the images of them marching unchallenged through London are iconic despite being incredibly brief. We also have the endearing trait of every bit of equipment they use being prefixed by ‘Cyber’ (eg. Cyber-hypnotic force, Cyber-invasion, Cyber-megatron bomb). 

Also unintentionally kitsch: The Cybermen are sometimes depicted as a planet-conquering power requiring galaxies be destroyed to stop them, but they’re defeated here by UNIT. That is to say: UNIT successfully attack and repel them. UNIT.

4. Earthshock

Is their plan to convert people? No. Is it logical at least? Sometimes.

An interesting production: Eric Saward’s scripts could easily have bombed in the hands of any other directory working on the show in 1981, but Peter Grimwade turned them into gripping television. It’s fair to say the story doesn’t quite hang together but the shock moments landed with the audience, and it takes you along on the ride sufficiently to gloss over the cracks (Adric’s line about why a space freighter is now able to time travel is one of Doctor Who’s all-time great moments of Absolute Bullshit Delivered with Utter Conviction).

Like ‘Day of the Daleks’ though, the Cybermen are here purely for their legacy and impact. The story would work if you replaced the Cybermen with almost any other monster, and through repeat viewings the veneer of credibility is removed, but you can’t deny the momentum it builds and rebuilds.

Also I need to mention David Banks: this is his first of his four onscreen appearances as the Cyber Leader, and he establishes his grand tradition of being nothing like the popular conception of a Cyberman but no one cares because he’s relentlessly entertaining. His performance, along with Beryl Reid, brings a level of camp that makes this feel more like a Cyberman story than anything else in the mix. No one else can deliver a ‘Verb the Noun’ line like him, and ‘Earthshock’ not only has ‘Activate…the device’ but also ‘EXPLODE THE BOMB’. Lovely stuff.

3. The Moonbase

Is their plan to convert people? No. Is it logical at least? Absolutely not.

On the one hand, all the potential, the novelty, the Cybermen as something distinctive within Doctor Who, it ends here. Here they are simply big shiny robots who want to destroy life on earth for no obvious reason. Their plan is as nonsensical as the science in this story.

For better or worse the Cybermen become themselves here (although they were on the way there by the end of ‘Tenth Planet’) and what they are is a generic monster with generic motives. They no longer look like they’re cyborgs, and the voice is accordingly more robotic, and despite the variations in costume and voice these two traits persist.

On the other hand, the Cybermen are delightfully sarcastic. The truculent base commander says ‘I don’t care who you are, you can get off the moon now!’ Jamie moans deliriously about a phantom piper. A tea tray saves the day. As Cybermen are defeated they float off into space and everyone yells ‘Hooray!” Resistance is useless: ‘The Moonbase’ is a blast. If you want to embrace the Cybermen at their camp and preposterous best this is the story for you.

2. Dark Water / Death in Heaven

Is their plan to convert people? Well it’s not really their plan, but yes. Is it logical at least? Yes.

Here Steven Moffat tries to reconcile the Cybermen’s association with death and the air of tragedy that hangs around them – their recurring crying motif and doomed planet origin story – by playing up the vampiric angle. The Cybermen can now use dead bodies, making the creatures of decay aspect clearer, and convert you into someone like them. They can fly. They mull around graveyards looking lost, which is a fantastic piece of imagery (if the Cybermen must survive at all costs, graveyards must really challenge their emotional inhibitors; the pull of death must be quite strong).

As you can see from this list, it’s rare for a Cyberman story to actually explore these angles. Most Cybermen stories simply have something shaped like Cybermen in them, but who are conceptually indistinct from (for example) the Kraals or War Machines. This is a Cybermen story that actually explores the idea of the Cybermen as is more interesting as a result.

1. World Enough and Time / The Doctor Falls

Is their plan to convert people? Yes. Is it logical at least? Yes.

The Cybermen don’t make sense. Their onscreen appearances don’t provide anything like coherence. Here, Steven Moffat casually turns the Cybermen into a repeatedly actualised meme, a concept that reoccurs throughout history, taking out whole civilisations. In doing so Moffat turns their disparate depictions into a strength, making them an insidious threat that always returns. In doing so they become both physical and historical waves of violence.

Moffat, having thought carefully about how he uses the Cybermen, also nailed something most writers haven’t noticed: iconic Cyberman scenes are mostly visual (their leaving their tombs, walking down St Pauls, advancing in three ranks in ‘Earthshock’), but the best scenes in Cybermen stories are about the extremes of human behaviour, not the Cybermen: here we have the dying civilisation performing inhuman operations, and Bill’s struggle for her selfhood after being converted. In ‘Tomb’ we have the Doctor and Victoria’s conversation about loss, memory and adventure. In ‘The Invasion’ we have Tobias Vaughn goading Watkins into shooting him then chuckling as he survives. In ‘Spare Parts’, Big Finish’s origin story for the Cybermen, we have a partially converted woman returning home to her father. Upon realising that this cyborg is in fact his daughter he reacts not with fear, but with love. Indeed this is what ‘The Doctor Falls’ does so well, it makes it a story about people’s response to the Cybermen, and about opting for kindness, whether this be through emotional support and care or blowing the bad guys up.

This is all connected with Moffat depicting the clinical inhumanity of conversion in the face of extinction, while maintaining the Cybermen’s legacy as a spectre of death (their relentless march up the spaceship to find the survivors). In contrast to this he also uses Bill, as he did Danny Pink, as a lone figure retaining more humanity than other Cybermen (that he does this twice with black characters is presumably well-intentioned – both are ultimately heroic after facing the horrors of conversion – but also careless). Indeed it’s not clear whether Moffat intentionally puts the Doctor in a position of white Patriarchal authority here. His depiction of the Doctor covers both an idealised vision of masculine intellect – “The Doctor” – and a more obviously flawed ally who gives in to fury. Indeed here he journeys from the latter to the former.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Peter Capaldi’s Doctor started off as abrasive and alien, and the Cybermen work as an important contrast to him here: he’s the defence against an oncoming storm, sacrificing himself and restating his ideals strongly enough to kill the Master. This story ties up loose ends in a way you don’t see coming. Moffat, as you can see throughout his series, tends to explore ideas a few times before really honing in on what makes them work on the second or third try. The first few times he tries bigger changes, then reigns those in, and then finally starts adding to what’s already there in order to make it fit with the larger mythology. Here his ideas about the Cybermen, the Master and the Doctor all strive to make sense of what’s gone before and advance it. The result is incredible.

The post Doctor Who: Ranking the Cybermen Stories – Which is the Best? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[dreamwritesimagines]

How To Get A Guy To Like You

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary:Sometimes, internet can be helpful with love problems. Warnings: Swearing Word Count: 2.441 A/N: Thank you so much for the notes on the imagine before this one, people! They make me so happy, and I hope you’ll like it too! Friendly reminder, I absolutely love feedback! :)  Gif’s not mine!

Growing up as a hunter sure had its disadvantages. Aside from the constant danger, being overall socially awkward due to not having time to get to know people, and always having to be on alert, you also made your peace with having to accept you didn’t know everything, especially when it came to humans, but you knew that you had to look for help when you needed it.

“Sam, I need help.”

Sam’s head shot up and he put the book down, sitting up straight almost immediately, “Sure. Are you in trouble?”

You cleared your throat as you sat down across him, and his eyes searched yours,

“Is this about Lucifer?”

“No-“

“Angels?”

“No-“

“Is it-“

“How do I get a guy to like me?”

He stopped talking and stared at you for a couple of seconds, his frown deepening,

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re a guy, right?”

“…Yeah, last time I checked.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “So, what do guys like?”

“Are you seriously asking me-“

“Yeah. I spent my high school years hunting monsters instead of flirting with boys, okay? I’m your girl if you need to kill something, but I need help with the guys. So, help.”

He shot you a weird look, “I’ve seen you flirting with people on a case.”

“Yeah, for a job! But I don’t know how to get a guy to like me!”

“Why would you need a guy to like-“ he paused, then held his breath, “Who is this guy?”

You gulped, then waved a hand, “Pfft, some- some guy, who-who is a guy.”

He narrowed his eyes, “Is it Cas?”

“Cas is like a cute puppy, I’m more into bad boys.”

“Crowley?”

“Not that bad!” You exclaimed, “There’s a difference between a bad boy and king of Hell, Sam, what the fuck?!”

“Then who-“ he suddenly froze, gawking at you, “No way.”

“Yep. Exactly my reaction when I realized it.”

“Dean?!”

“Shh!” You kicked him under the table, “Not so loud!”

“Oh my God, Y/N, what are you thinking?!” he asked you, “Dean!? Have you lost your mind?!”

“My theory is that we’re hunted by whatever is the opposite of a djinn, so instead of living our ideal lives, we’re trapped in this nightmare where I lust after your brother.”

He made a face, “Can you at least not say that?”

“Nope, if I’m suffering, you’re suffering with me.” You stated, “So?”

“I don’t think you need help with Dean.” He stated, “I mean you’re a breathing girl who’s not a monster, so you already match all the expectations. Good talk.” He stood up but you sat him down by grabbing his arm and pulling him down. “What?!”

“What do guys look for in girls?” You insisted, “Like… what is your number one expectation from a girl?”

“That she doesn’t die.” He stated, and you nodded slowly,

“Don’t die. I feel like that’s a fair point.”

“Thanks, can I go then?”

“No.” You pointed at him, “What else? What’s his type? Blonde, brunette, dark..?”

“I don’t think he has a type.”

“Everyone has a type, now tell me!”

“Tell you what?” Dean asked from the doorway, then made his way to the living room, sipping his beer, “What type?”

You felt your heartbeat getting faster as he sat beside you, then smiled at you, his green eyes crinkling a little.

“I- uh… I was just telling Sam I’d make a great wingwoman if he told me his type.” You stammered, “I mean everyone has a type, right? Take you for example.”

Dean shrugged, “What’s my type?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” You said, nervously laughing and he thought for a second, then shrugged again.

“I dunno. Sam likes monsters though.”

“Dude!”

“What? You have like a fetish.” Dean tilted the bottle towards him, making you laugh like a high schooler with a crush, “There’s something obviously wrong with you.”

“Yeah, and Y/N likes bad guys.” Sam stated, making you glare at him and Dean frowned for a second.

“Like Crowley?”

“What the hell is wrong with you two?!”

“No judging.” Dean held up his hands, and you pinched his arm.

“So anyway, types? I’m pretty sure you have a type. I mean, don’t make me look through your internet history.”

“Nah, you’re too pure for that world.” He ruffled your hair, making you frown and bat his hand away before he chuckled and left the living room. Sam shot you a sympathetic look as you felt your mood drop, and your lips pulled into a thin line while you looked down at the table, dragging your fingernails on it.

“I could talk to him.” He offered and you shook your head, a plan forming in your head.

“No, I-I’ll figure it out. If I didn’t give up after my first day of doing squats, I can succeed anything.”

                                                      *

Thank God for the internet.

Because thanks to internet, you could now write “How to Get A Guy To Like You” and get billions of opinions and articles. So after spending hours, you finally had an idea about what to do.

Get a fancy dress, smell nice, flip your hair, act confident and find a passion you both share.

You took a look at your reflection in the mirror. The little black dress fit you snugly while the heels already fixed your posture. You had already spent an hour perfecting your cat eye and red lip, and basically drowned yourself in the perfume, so based on what all those websites told you, you were ready to go.

And it was the perfect timing. Dean said he would go out to ‘have fun’ while Sam stayed in the bunker to do research, so it would mean it would be just you and him, and plenty of time for your moves. Your phone buzzed, letting you know he was ready and by the car, so you took a deep breath and left your room.

As you walked out of bunker, Dean was busy with the car keys, so you cleared your throat when you approached him, making him look up.

“Finally-“ he stopped talking as soon as he saw you and eyed you up and down, suddenly making you insecure about the whole thing.

“What?” You said when he didn’t say anything and he cleared his throat, looking elsewhere.

“Nothing. You ready?”

You felt your stomach doing an unpleasant flip, but didn’t let it discourage you, so you nodded.

“Yeah. How do I look?”

Dean nodded, still making himself busy with the keys, “Nice. You look nice.”

You got in the car as Dean started the car and you fixed your skirt, the heels already giving you hell. The road went in silence aside from the music from the radio and soon Dean pulled over in front of the bar.

“Stay where I can see you, okay?”

“I can take care of myself.” You said as you left the car and Dean shook his head.

“Guys can- they might get the wrong impression with you looking like…this.” He motioned at you and you frowned,

“With me looking like this?” You repeated and he nodded.

“You know, they’d think you’re looking for a hook up.”

“Oh.”

“You’re- you’re not, right?” He asked lowly and you let out a shaky breath, then turned to look at the people in the bar. You flipped your hair but then heard a groan and turned on your heels to see Dean rubbing his eyes hard.

“Are you okay?!”

“Yeah, you basically stabbed me with your hair.” He blinked a couple of times, “Not blind. That’s a good sign.”

“Jesus, I’m gonna get a drink.” You shook your head at yourself, already annoyed at yourself and made your way to the bar to order a beer. It wasn’t long after the bartender placed the beer in front of you that you felt someone sitting beside you.

“Hi.”

You turned to look at him and smiled slightly. The guy had brown eyes and brown hair, and a nice smile, for which you were always a sucker for.

“Hi.” You said, “I’m Y/N.”

“Heath.” He introduced himself “Can I join you?”

“Sure, go ahead.” You sipped your beer “Just a…just a warning though.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not here for a hook up or anything.” You said and he held up his hands.

“Just wanted to meet.” He said, making you smile, “To be honest, I just went through a break up, so… I’m- I’m good with that.”

“Bad break up?”

“The worst breakup.” He nodded, sipping his drink, “How about you?”

“I actually-“ You turned your head to find Dean and a girl talking cozily and you clenched your teeth, a fire spreading through your heart to your whole body. You blinked back the tears and tried to pull yourself together.

“I actually like that guy who’s talking to that girl over there.” You pointed at him, then turned to Heath, “The whole point was to look great for him, but all I got was a ‘You look nice’.”

Heath hissed in a breath, “Sorry. Harsh.”

“Yep.”

“You do look nice though.” He said, and you toasted,

“Yeah. Doesn’t make him see me more than a friend though.”

He shrugged, “Did you try making him jealous?”

You frowned slightly, then shrugged, “I don’t really think that works.”

“That’s how I got with my ex from hell.” Heath said, “I didn’t have the guts until she got comfortable with a friend of mine in a party.”

“Dean doesn’t get jealous. Not me, of all people.”

“Yeah but did you try?”

You shook your head, “What, like… kissing a guy? I don’t know a guy that I can kiss. I mean there’s his brother, but I see him like a brother so no-“

“I could help.”

You shot him a look, “If this is some sort of a play-“

“Just want to help.” Heath said, “No offense but um… I can’t do complicated right now, and you sound seriously complicated.”

You let out a laugh, then shrugged, “What harm could it bring?”

“That’s the spirit, okay- he’s looking, you ready?”

“Bring it on.” You giggled, and he leaned in to press his lips to yours. You felt yourself getting closer to him but soon was snapped out of it when you heard your name.

“Y/N.”

You pulled back and licked your lips, looking at Dean who looked absolutely furious.

“Dean, hey. Having fun?”

“Time to go.”

“We just got here-“ You followed him when he grabbed your arm and pulled you towards the door, then walked outside. “Dean, I- I’m wearing heels, would you slow down?!”

Dean let go of your arm and took a deep breath, with his back turned to you and you frowned.

“We just got here, I didn’t even finish my beer-“

“Too bad.”

You couldn’t ever dare to think that Heath was right, that he was jealous, so you crossed your arms.

“What’s going on?”

“You-“ He turned to you, fuming, “You deserve better than a guy in a sleazy bar.”

“Yeah, and who’s better? You?” You asked him, your heart beating in your throat and a painful look crossed his features before he gulped and took a deep breath.

“We should get back to bunker-“

“Great, Dean. Yeah, avoid the subject, perfect.” You heard your voice crack and he clenched his jaw, then looked you in the eye.

“No, Y/N.” he said forcefully, “No, you sure as fuck deserve better than me.”

“What’re you even talking about?!” You exclaimed, “I seriously don’t understand you! If you don’t like me back, fine, but don’t insult me and pull that shit!”

He gawked at you as the silence fell upon you, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

“What..?”

“I literally didn’t eat dinner because I can’t eat a fucking thing in this dress, that’s how tight it is, and I’m pretty sure I just broke my ankle on these heels when you dragged me out, and also I’m pretty sure I poisoned myself because I accidentally swallowed a lot of perfume while spraying the fucking thing to my hair, I did everything every website told me, and you wanna go with You deserve better than me?! Like, are you for real?! I don’t want better, Dean! Wake the fuck up, I want you!”

Dean opened and closed his mouth, as if at loss for words and you nodded.

“And now you look like a fish. I have a crush on a guy who looks like a fish when I proclaim my love. Figures. Like what the fuck, Karma, is this because of that time I tripped that girl because she stole my prom date?! Move on, they got married!”

“Y/N-“

“No, okay, you don’t get to speak.” You pointed at him, “Do you know how much time it took me to look like this?! 3 freaking hours, Dean! My eye hurts so bad because I wiped off my eyeliner way too many times. And all I got was ‘You look nice’. I accidentally burnt my finger while trying to do my hair, and I look fucking nice?! Like-“ You stopped yourself, then sniffled, “You know what, never mind. I’ll walk back to the bunker.”

You turned around without taking a look at him, desperate to get away from him and that bar and that night, but you stopped when you heard him speak.

“You do look nice like this.” He said and you rolled your eyes, then turned to look at him.

“Heard you the first time.”

“And you look really pretty when you wake up.” He said, “You look beautiful when you read a book and get into it too much. And you look fucking gorgeous after a hunt. And you look amazing when you’re sleeping. But I never say anything, because I have to control myself around you. Because you do deserve better.”

You shook your head, a tear escaping from your eye,

“Then stop controlling yourself.” You whispered, and that seemed to be all it took to make him move, because he walked to you in three fast steps and pulled you closer to lock his lips with yours. You felt the electricity shooting through your whole body as you ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, smiling into the kiss before he pulled back.

“Yeah…” he smiled and pecked you on the lips once more, “Let’s lose control a little.”

You nodded and looked up at him,

“Does that mean I’m your type?”

He chuckled before kissing the top of your head.

“You’re definitely my type.”

[kpopfanfictrash]

Addewid (X)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Kai (Jongin)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 4,111

Genre: Fey!AU + Series

Summary: “You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”

You’ve always known you were different. You’re able to see them, after all, able to see the Others. You’ve also always ignored them. Until the day comes where you’re forced to make a choice - one that throws your world into chaos. And sends you down a path you might never return from.

It’s as though I’ve awakened a sleeping part of him and Kai can’t quite control it. Neither can I, though – I’m ravenous. Pressing closer, wanting more. Needing him, gasping when his lips disappear, moaning when they reappear at the base of my throat. Kai sucks gently, making me shiver before his tongue flicks that same spot. A scrape of his teeth before pulling back to my lips, thumb stroking my bodice while his mouth finds mine once more.

I kiss back, savoring the moment when his motions slow against me. The kiss turning to something sweeter, something almost painful before Kai softly pulls away. His forehead falls to mine, eyes opening to stare back at me. “Y/N,” he says, waiting until I nod. “Please.” His voice cracks, only slightly. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” I breathe, surprised to find it’s the truth.

X - The Queen 

It's funny how the same words said in different times, at different places can mean the distinct opposite of each other. Yesterday, I said I wouldn’t leave Kai because I couldn’t. Today, I won’t leave Kai because I won’t. Can’t, won’t – what's the difference? I know the difference, though. The difference lies in that now I’m choosing to stay. Now I know how much it would hurt to leave and I know remaining here is partly by choice.

I didn't promise Kai anything when I said that I’d stay. I didn't feel the shiver, that lock which means an Addewid has occurred. I still feel chained though, still know there are ties because this is what I want, being here. I want to exist here, want to be here with Kai. This fact kills me, because it wars with the nagging voice inside my mind which says that Kai won’t let me go.

He won’t break my first Addewid, and I don’t know what to make of that.

The next morning, Kai throws open my bedroom door. I don't react at first, simply cracking open one eye to look at him. “Why is this becoming a regular occurrence,” I grumble, rolling over.

Kai grins – the first I've seen on his face. It transforms him, making him look several years younger. “Get up, get dressed,” he declares. “Meet me outside in twenty minutes.” Kai throws something down on my bed, heavy enough for my mattress to sink from the weight.

I sit up, pushing myself on my elbows as I recognize the weapons belt. This, along with two metal knives thrust through its loops. I stare at this for a long moment before glancing at Kai.

He smiles, laughing before turning around. “Twenty minutes. Bring the knives.”

He closes my door and I sit there for one more minute, attempting to process the situation. But then, knowing Kai, he'll probably come barging through that door in exactly twenty minutes. Brandishing his sword or whatnot, so I scramble quickly out of my bed to change. I braid my hair away from my face, buckling the belt about my waist in the same maneuver Kai has done a hundred times. Despite my previous hesitancy, the main emotion I feel opening my door is excitement.

Kai gave me a weapon. Kai wants to teach me to use that weapon. When I exit my room, I find Kai leaning against the wall. He doesn't have a watch, though his eyebrows lift expectantly. “Ten minutes,” he announces. “If we were under attack, you'd be dead.”

“If we were under attack,” I counter, following him down the staircase. “I wouldn't have bothered to wash my face. There, that’s three minutes back.”

The corner of Kai’s mouth lifts. “Follow me,” he orders, ignoring my previous statement.

We step into cold sunshine, winter wind whipping my hair as we continue to walk. Kai passes rows of evergreens, turning left to enter a trail I've never seen before. It's quieter here, peaceful and the trees meet overhead to block out the wind. It feels warmer, though I'm glad I wore my heavier training clothes. At least, that's what I assume they are – I put on the clothes I found folded neatly at the bottom of my dresser. Leather vests, close-fit tunics and sturdy pants to adhere to my frame. I'm wearing these as I step out into the clearing, and Kai’s eyes widen in response.

His gaze trails my body, lingering in certain places and I shiver for reasons completely unrelated to the cold.

“Today is about training,” Kai announces, quietly redefining the look he just gave.

I offer my best attempt at an innocent smile. “Oh? Is that all?”

Kai’s gaze drops, finding my hips as my weight shifts. “Yes. That’s all,” he maintains, gaze moving upwards. “I want you – need you to be safe. And you won’t be, unless you learn to protect yourself.”

His sudden sincerity stifles whatever comeback I was going to say disappearing as I nod. “Alright,” I sigh. “What’s first?”

Kai’s brow lowers.

As I should have realized, the Unseelie Prince is a brutal teacher. Kai is patient, thorough – but he expects the highest quality, and is disappointed when he doesn’t receive it. The first day is technique. Explanation of various maneuvers and the different kinds of combat. In close quarters like this, I should use knives. In open combat – if my opponent has a sword, I should use a sword. Otherwise they’ll slice me apart before coming in reach of my weapon.

His lessons are accompanied by a series of drills, yelled at me over and over at me from the edge of the clearing. I’m exhausted by the time I’m trudging back to the manor, Kai having left several hours prior. Instructing me to stay and practice, not to come back until I’d mastered a particularly difficult fighting sequence. As I walk, I find myself weary both physically and mentally – the worst of it’s kind. I practically collapse on my bed, not moving or waking up until the morning. 

And so this repeats. I dream during that time of little but Kai’s exercises. Over and over, drilled into me until they’re nothing more than muscle memory. Block, feint, strike. Under, over, over again.

Each morning passes this way. Hours of practice, Kai pushing me to the very brink of exhaustion with his merciless, stony expression. In the afternoons though, he teaches me other things. The history of Faery, the origins of magic. Not how to use magic, of course – but about its properties.

“You likely have some magic,” Kai informs me, ignoring my surprise. “Not a significant amount, not enough to use. Just a drop or so of fairy blood, which makes it possible for you to see us in the human realm.”

I never thought about this before. Never considered there might be an explanation for why my father and I can see the Fey. “Not enough to be useful?” I ask, disappointed. “Does this mean I can't use magic?”

Kai nearly smiles. “Be careful what you wish for,” he warns. “But no, likely you can’t use magic. You can give it your best shot, though.”

I nod, moving to stand before him. Attempting for ten solid minutes to control an element I can't feel, much less manipulate. All the while Kai tries – and spectacularly fails – to hide his laughter, over in the corner.

“You,” I grunt, sweat sliding down my brow. Gaze moving to where Kai leans against the wall. “If you laugh at me one more time at me, I’ll gut you.”

Smirking, Kai pushes himself from the stone. “First,” he maintains, walking closer. “Gutting me would mean you’ve mastered your weapons. Which you have not. Second – watch me,” he says, twisting a tendril of flame about his fingertips. “Magic itself is raw. It can be shaped, molded into something useful by its wielder. Each fairy has certain preferences, ways of manipulating magic they excel at.”

I watch, amazed as the flames coil and flicker against his skin. “Like Sehun,” I ask, following his fingertip with my gaze, “and persuasion?”

Kai inclines his head. “Sehun is talented with persuasion. A fairy’s talents depend largely on their mood, their temperament and situation.”

“Ah,” I sigh, watching the flame sputter and die. “What about you?” I ask, gaze moving to the silver-haired prince. “What is your talent, Kai?”

His answering smile is wicked. “Talents,” Kai corrects. “I have many. These days though, I prefer not to use magic at all.”

“Why?” I ask, confused why someone would ever willingly give up that kind of power. “Having magic seems like a wonderful thing.”

Kai takes a step forward, a tendril of wind tracing my jaw. “I prefer using my body to fight,” he informs, his voice dull. “My body is worn and used. I am a tool, a symbol of what I serve. My magic though,” Kai says softly, hesitating. “That is a part of me I can hide.”

His words weigh heavily, forcing me to remember something Muriel once said. Kai does not heal often. But how can he, I realize, when Kai himself is broken? Maybe that’s the truth of it, though. Perhaps we’re each broken in different ways and the whole pieces we do have lend themselves to another.

When I look back up, Kai is before me. The sight of him inspires such strange feelings, so unsettling in their intensity. The presence of his body so close to mine is painful. His gaze is stark, scanning my face and leaving me breathless.

I can't stop thinking about his kiss. How his mouth moved against mine and the sounds he breathed into my body. Kai’s hands twining in my hair, the small sigh he made when he pulled away. These sounds repeat themselves, over and over until they entwine with the rhythm of his training exercises.

He's still staring, his want obvious. It’s truly remarkable for Kai to display any sort of emotion at all. When I first met him, I found Kai a cold, unfeeling being. I called him as much, I thought him a monster. That wasn’t him, though. That was a mask, a front meant to protect Kai. To conceal him, though from what or from whom – I don’t know. Maybe from Maeve, maybe from himself.

“Kai,” I exhale. “What happened? How did Maeve learn your true name?”

Kai withdraws, his expression shuttering. “I don't want to discuss that.”

“You don’t.”

“No.” The pain which accompanies this is so very obvious, I quickly look down. Kai’s finger brushes my chin then, making me look at him. “I’m sorry. I know,” Kai starts to say, then stops. “I’ve been alone for a very long time. It’s hard for me… to open up.”

“It’s okay,” I nod. My hand raises to wrap around his wrist.

Wrapped around his flesh, around blood and bone – I let him feel my touch, let him know that I’m here. Here despite the darkness, despite his nightmare. Despite all that Kai must hide and maybe I’m stupid for feeling this way. Perhaps I’m out of my mind, but I can no longer ignore these feelings which bind me to him.

Kai continues to look, expression desperate while sliding his thumb against my skin. “Tell me one of your talents,” I say, as his expression lightens.

Kai smiles, glancing overhead. Slowly, soft flakes fall about my shoulders.

I look up, snow sticking to my lashes as I laugh. “This is it?” I smile, looking back down. “This is the fearsome power of the Unseelie Prince? What,” I joke, taking a step back. “Are you next going to challenge me to a tickle fight?”

Kai moves so fast he's a blur, hands suddenly cupping the sides of my face. Fingers splayed over the edge of my cheeks, tilting my head to his. “Snow,” he smiles, nodding. “And ice. The wrath of winter, the command of the elements. That is my talent.”

I barely understand what he's saying, so distracting is his touch. So cool are the tips of his fingers along my scalding skin. When he bends, touching his lips to mine – I melt. Arching upwards, heart soaring at the press of his mouth. At the sound of his heartbeat, nearly as loud as my own. When Kai withdraws to kiss the corner of my lips, the edge of my temple – it’s almost too much for me to bear.

I lean forward. Wrapping my arms and resting my head against his chest. “Kai,” I murmur, guilt twisting my insides.

My next words freeze on my tongue. I mean to ask him why he won’t let me go. Why he won’t release me from my promise. Why he kisses me, when I’m still his prisoner. If he cares for me at all – why keep me here? I mean to ask him, truly I do – but the door to the library flies open.

It bangs against the wall, sending us both apart. I recognize the shape of San, striding towards us and smile, though my stomach sinks when he doesn’t return the gesture.

“Master,” San skids to a stop. I watch his chest rise and fall, note the sweat on his brow and realize something has happened. Something large, to make San this wild-eyed.

Kai seems to have arrived at the same conclusion. “What’s wrong?” he asks, gaze scanning the hallway beyond. His head tilts and I know that he’s listening. “I hear nothing. What’s happened?”

San swallows, shaking his head. “It’s too late,” he whispers. “She knows, she knows about her and she’s sent people this way.”

Kai stills. Only his lips move – barely so – when he asks, “How long?”

“Twenty minutes,” San swallows. “Maybe less, once they’re within earshot.”

A word leaves Kai’s lips, one I don’t recognize. He stands frozen for a moment before coming to and nodding at San. “Go,” he demands, gaze flickering. “Take Muriel and get out of here. They can’t find you.”

San turns on his heel, pausing once to look back from the door. “We’ll help,” he says softly. “We’ll help, in any way that we can.”

Then he’s gone, door swinging shut and leaving us in absolute silence. Kai still doesn’t look my way.

“Kai,” I say, trying and failing to gain his attention. “Kai. Kai!”

Finally, his gaze shifts. “Yes?”

I grit my teeth, staring back at him. “What the hell is going on?”

Kai pushes his hands through his hair, seemingly at a loss. “Maeve,” he says simply. “Maeve has learned you are here and has sent an emissary this way.”

I feel as though I’ve been punched in the stomach, as though the world has somehow stopped turning. I search, grasping for something – anything – to get us out of this.

“Okay,” I breathe, touching Kai’s arms and turning him to face me. “We don’t know why she’s coming, do we?”

Kai shakes his head mutely.

“Then maybe it’s just curiosity,” I stare up at him. “Sehun said you don’t normally keep humans. If she knows I’m here, perhaps she wants to know why. Which – ironically enough, I’ve been wondering myself – but we’ll put that aside for now.”

Kai’s eyes flicker, something like humor in his gaze. “You’re right,” he admits, brow lowering. “It’s been awhile since I was a part of the Unseelie Court. Perhaps Maeve just wishes me to return.”

“We’ll play the part,” I remind softly. “That’s all.”

Kai’s hands close around my wrists, drawing attention upward. “I will keep you safe,” he says, his gaze intensifying. Then Kai exhales, shaking his head. “Y/N, I have so much to say. So much to tell you, but I can’t – I,” his teeth grit together, gaze moving sideways. “They’re already here.”

Though I can’t see, I can feel the change in the air. Perhaps it’s a part of Kai’s magic but when he becomes aware of their presence, the room darkens. Its temperature drops and very quietly, Kai steps away. His gaze remains on mine though, full of pain while the mask of the Unseelie Prince lowers in place. Gone is his joy from earlier, gone is his smile and wit. In his place stands a stranger. One whose hand rests upon the pommel of his sword, whose lip curls at the sight of me.

“Sit there,” he instructs, head jerking to the velvet ottoman. “Don’t move unless I say otherwise.”

I do as he commands. Walking over and sitting – touching nothing while staring blankly into space. Kai wanders towards his desk, sitting on the edge to pick up a book. He flips absentmindedly through the pages, stretching his neck – as though bored by the very idea of soldiers on his premises.

The first knock is loud, it echoes throughout the manor. Kai doesn’t move, continuing to read. A second knock sounds, this louder than the first but Kai barely looks up. I remain still as well, silent while staring ahead.

That’s when I hear the door kicked open.

Loud voices enter, guttural while echoing throughout the entryway. The door to the library slams open as I watch, wide-eyed, while five Fey nobles walk in. Unseelie, by the looks of them, though I note Sehun is not amongst them.

Kai looks up. “Gentlemen,” he drones, lowering his book to the table. “What gives me the pleasure of hosting today?” Despite his cordial tone, Kai’s lip curls. Practically a snarl as he meets their gazes.

It gives me no small satisfaction to see four of the five Fey take a step backwards. Not the fifth one, though. The fifth Unseelie looks at Kai with displeasure, glancing at me before saying, “Direct orders from Maeve, Prince. You are to return to court immediately. You are to bring the girl.”

It might be my imagination, but I think the collar around Kai’s neck gleams. The other Fey seem to notice this as well, eyes flicking to his body before pointedly looking away.

Kai hesitates for a moment before nodding, the gesture swift. “By all means,” he replies, voice silken. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen her Majesty. Tell me,” he intones, hopping lightly down from his table. “Kyungsoo, have you been the one in my absence to warm her bed?”

Kyungsoo doesn’t move, something unspeakable in his gaze as he looks beyond. His head tilts to one side and as he does so, the fabric of his shirt falls forward. It’s then that I see – an identical, silver collar to Kai’s.

Kyungsoo steps forward. “That’s neither here nor there,” he replies, tone stiff. “Her Majesty has requested you return, requested you bring the girl and requested I ensure both incidents occur. That is all.”

Kai stares for a long moment before nodding. “Understood. Little one,” he smiles, the gesture cold. “We are to go and meet the Queen. Aren’t you happy?”

Looking up, I nod. “Yes, Master.”

Kai waves a hand. I yelp, barely controlling myself when his magic lifts me to stand. Pulling me closer and surveying me, frowning at my appearance. “No. This won’t do,” Kai sighs, waving his hand once more. I grit my teeth, annoyed when my clothes transform. They extend, flowing down to a long, ebony gown. This, paired with a silver overcoat and pinned hairdo. “There,” Kai nods, stepping back.

“Thank you, Master,” I incline my head.

My heart pounds as I curtsey, because it’s then I feel what no one else sees. Twin knives, strapped to the top of my thighs. Their touch is silent, deadly – Kai has given weapons, armed me for the Unseelie court.

“Thank you, Master,” I say again, looking upwards.

Kai’s eyes glimmer before looking away. “Now we may go,” he intones, nodding at the entryway. “Lead the way, Lord Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo does not look once at me before leaving. Retracing his steps down the hall, exiting into the snow without looking back. “We’ll ride to the palace,” he nods, looking at Kai. “You’ll need to get your own horses, Prince.”

Kai grabs my wrist. “We’ll meet you here,” he drawls, pushing me towards the edge of his grounds. As we turn the corner, Kai pulls me close. Continuing to walk while his lips find the shell of my ear. “Do everything I say. Do not speak in the Unseelie court, for it is expected I speak for you. Do not trust anything anyone tells you. Do you understand?”

I nod, just once.

“Good.” Kai’s voice drops, even lower to add, “I meant what I said. I will get you out of here alive.”

I don’t trust myself to nod, so I just look up. Whatever Kai sees there softens his gaze and he reaches out, tracing one finger over the underside of my palm before pulling away. Clearly not trusting himself with more than that. When we turn the corner, I see the stables before us and Kai continues to walk right through them.

“This one,” Kai nods, back to his previous insolence. “Go on, hop up,” he says, pulling forth a horse of chestnut and gold, placing the reigns in my outstretched palm.

For himself Kai picks a steed of dappled silver, one which trots as I’m attempting to swing my leg over mine’s side.

“Onwards,” Kai points towards the door. “Follow me.”

We ride out to the courtyard, where Kyungsoo and the others are already waiting. Seeing us exit, Kyungsoo clicks his tongue. Turning to trot towards the edge of the forest, leaving the other Fey to circle behind. Now there’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to run – even if we once considered that an option.

Kai’s expression is stone, unfeeling as Kyungsoo’s horse breaks into a gallop, then a cantor. Our own horses follow and soon the forest steaks past in a blur of green and white. Every so often I catch glimpses of things in the undergrowth. Other monsters and beasts, attracted by our commotion – though none of them dare exit the safety of the woods

Our cohort seems notorious, terrifying enough for every monster in Faery to think better of showing their face. Magic must spur these horses, since we’re moving faster than even Kai can run. I don’t know how anyone sees where we’re going – it’s far too much for my human eyesight. At some point I decide to close them entirely, squeezing shut and gripping tightly to my saddle. Refusing to open them until I feel my horse slow beneath me.

When this happens, I open one eye. The other springs open as well, and I gasp at the sight of the gates. The entrance to the Unseelie court is a great, towering thing built of stone and ice. Or perhaps diamonds, I realize, passing underneath. Cold, hard diamonds which glint in the sun. The second the last of our party passes, the gates slam shut behind us. I stare over my shoulder, wondering if I’ll ever see the other side of them again. Kai said he’ll get me out, but I find this hard to believe given his situation.

If Maeve ordered Kai to hurt me, leave me, kill me – Kai would be forced to obey.

Which is why dread pools in my stomach entering the palace. Why my stomach churns, as Kyungsoo motions for us to stop. He dismounts, handing reigns over to help while Kai follows, motioning for me to do the same. When my feet find snow, I wrap my overcoat tighter. Hurrying forward to stand in Kai’s shadow as we walk through the doors.

He barely looks at me, maintaining that cool exterior of detachment. His face is indifferent, uncaring while mahogany doors swing open before us. Kyungsoo is the first to enter. Striding into the hall while paying little attention to the ornate splendor all around. Me, though – I can’t help but stare. Never in my lifetime – never in ten lifetimes – could I have imagined this.

The Unseelie palace is wondrous. Its walls smooth, white stone the color of freshly fallen snow. The floors are black, a polished form of onyx or obsidian. Above us is a chandelier of glass, or maybe diamonds again. Either way, it catches the light and sends prisms across the pristine white staircase.

I stare at ornately carved swirls and spirals, awed by the railings curving about one another. The immaculate detail of the steps, engraved with stories I’m too far away to see.

It’s while I’m staring she appears.

One moment I see nothing, a blank space in the middle of the room. And then she’s there – appeared from nowhere, as though born of the shadow itself. Maeve steps forward fluidly, arching a brow to look down at us all.

Her face is beautiful. Heartbreakingly so – it hurts just to look at. The unbound tresses down her back are midnight in color. Her dress white, invoking purity, innocence. Her eyes though, these are completely and utterly black. Black of starlight and velvet, but also death and destruction. Cold, unfeeling eyes which fix on mine taking her first step forward. I find myself trembling, tumbling and for a brief, terrifying moment I lose my mind. Lose myself in her power – because oh gods, her power.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt and it’s only a flicker of movement which breaks me from her gaze. Kai turns his head to look at me. I somehow see, from the corner of one eye and am reminded of where I am. What I am. I straighten, belatedly remembering to look down at the floor.

Maeve’s lip curls, looking at Kai. “So,” she murmurs, her voice deceptively soft. “We all meet at last.”

[Master List]

[pinknerdpanda]

Don’t Speak - Part 1

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader, Cas (Mentioned) 

Word count: 2600 words

Warnings: Bad karaoke, Smut, NSFW, language, angst

A/N: This is part 1 of 3 of a series I wrote for @fandommaniacx​ (also tagging @becs-bunker​) Beckii’s 21st Birthday Challenge. My prompt for this challenge was “Don’t Speak” by No Doubt. Happy Early Birthday present, Becs! I hope that you don’t hate me for like this! :)

Master beta’d by the incomparable @wheresthekillswitch.  Thank you for all of your guidance and wisdom. Also thanks to @hannahindie for beta’ing this as it was birthed - you are such a great sounding board and support. 

Tags are down at the bottom - if you would like to be added to my tag lists, please send me an ask! :)

Your feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!

Don't Speak

“This might be the worst song ever in the history of worst songs!” Dean practically shouts over the din of the crowded bar, as the last strains of “Achy Breaky Heart” roll through the speakers. A round of pity-applause sounds as the inebriated Billy Ray Cyrus wanna-be stumbles off the small stage.

All you’d wanted was a drink. It had seemed like a simple request. Unfortunately for you there’s only one bar in this town and apparently it’s karaoke night. The only saving grace were the drink specials - $10 got you 10 refills of beer in your hideously colored 32 oz mug, and as you swallow the last of mug number three, the tension you’ve been feeling the last few days finally begins to loosen.

The hunt was the worst one you’d been on in ages. The damn demon you’d been hunting had been doing too good of a job covering its tracks. The days wore on, each one ending as unsuccessfully as the one before and Dean growing edgier and grumpier from his lack of monster ganking. Or at least, that is what you’d kept telling yourself, because it seemed easier to digest than the truth. A truth that had been ignored for months.

-----

“Y/n?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. This is Sam. Sam Winchester?” The scowl on your face eased and quickly became a smile as Sam’s handsome face played through your mind.

“Sam! Hey, it is good to hear from you! What’s up?”

“Well, I am heading down that way, just got wind of a case near you and I wondered if you would be interested in helping out?”

Apprehension bloomed in your gut at the thought of working closely with Dean, but quickly faded as you realized he’d said “I” and not “we”.

“Sure, where’s ol’ Dean-o?” Your attempt at nonchalance was ridiculous to your own ears, and you hoped Sam didn’t pick up on it.

“He decided to hang back this time. He said he needed a break.” Relief filled you and you shook your head, chiding yourself for being so childish.

“Ok, well you know where I am, come on over. I have a spare bedroom, so don’t bother with a motel room.”

“Thanks, y/n.” You could hear the smile in his voice, and you happily busied yourself putting clean sheets on the spare bed and tidying your house in preparation for his arrival. You had just turned the burner off on the stove when the doorbell sounded, and you rushed to the door.

Sam greeted you with a smile almost as wide as his shoulders and he leaned down to hug you, pecking you lightly on the cheek before straightening back up and adjusting the strap of his bag on his arm. Your cheek tingled lightly where his lips had just been, and you turned away quickly to hide the flush you felt fill your cheeks.

“Come on in, Sam. I just made some spaghetti. It’s not fancy, but it isn’t take out.” Sam’s dimples deepened.

“You are the best!”

The rest of the night was spent eating, discussing the case, and drinking beer. You had forgotten how much you’d enjoyed spending time with the youngest Winchester, his presence in your small kitchen was a welcome addition.

You cleared the table, and Sam set to washing the dishes, both of you wordlessly fell into an easy rhythm. You dried the last plate and set it in the cabinet. A smile crossed your face as you shut the door.

When you turned around your breath caught in your throat. Sam's large hands came to rest on each side of your body, his muscled arms caged you against the counter.  His hazel eyes drifted lazily from your eyes to your mouth, as he dragged his teeth across his full bottom lip. Your head spun partially from the alcohol, but largely because Sam’s hulking frame was pressed so close to yours, his scent overwhelmed your senses.

When he kissed you, it surprised both of you. You’d known the Winchesters for years - laughed, hunted, and mourned together - and aside from the regrettable dalliance with Dean, there had always been an unspoken understanding that you were off limits from each other. Yet there you stood, fingers twisted into Sam’s long brown locks, your tongues glided purposefully against each others, sharing breath as you desperately pressed your bodies closer together.

Sam pulled back slightly, his hooded eyes searched yours as you sucked in a breath.

“Sam.” His name was an urgent, whispered plea from your lips and it was all the permission he needed to crash his lips against yours again. His nimble fingers worked the fabric of your shirt up and he pulled back long enough to yank it over your head and toss it aside. His mouth found yours again, and then traveled down the column of your neck, peppering kisses and nips and licks across your skin. Your hands moved to the front of his shirt, hurriedly popping the buttons and pushing it off his broad shoulders, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

Sam wrapped his hands around your waist and drew your body to press against his. A flash of heat rippled through your body when you felt his hardened length, trapped beneath his jeans, against your stomach. He flattened his palms against your hips before gliding over the curve of your ass and down the backs of your thighs. He lifted your effortlessly, his strong arms shifted to support your weight as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

He turned to set you down on the kitchen table. His large hand cupped your breast before he slipped his long fingers under the edge of your bra, the pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You gasped as he rolled the hardened tip between his thumb and forefinger. His free hand slid to your back, unhooked the clasp of your bra and pulled it from your body, his mouth roamed over the newly exposed flesh. Your hips ground against Sam’s, groaning at the sensations his mouth lavished upon your pert nipple.

Sam lifted his head, his eyes darkened with desire as he tugged at your thin lounge pants and pulled them down your legs along with your panties. He urged you to lay back by pressing gently against your shoulders. His fingertips trailed  across the outline of your body, his gaze drank you in.

“You are so beautiful, y/n.”

Sam nudged your knees apart and moved to stand between them. Sparks rippled across your skin as he dragged his nails lightly, but painfully slowly from your knees back up toward your throbbing core.

One long finger stroked your folds, you gasped and arched your back in response. Sam growled and repeated the motion, applying only faint pressure. The tip of one digit teased your entrance as his thumb found your clit and rubbed slow circles. You threw your head back, a string of incoherent curses and moans bubbled from your lips.

You glanced down the length of your body, surprised to see he’d gone to his knees without missing a beat. The top of Sam’s head was nearly at eye level. He met your gaze with a heated glint in his hazel eyes before he leaned forward and nipped the inside of your right thigh. You moaned in response and he repeated the action on the other side. He continued to nibble and kiss as he slid one finger inside you. After a few pumps he added a second finger, scissoring them and groaning when your walls clenched around him. When his tongue lapped at your clit, you nearly jumped out of your skin, your hips bucked and met the thrusts of his fingers.

He smoothed his free hand up your thigh and over your stomach before it came to rest on your breast, he pinched your nipple and twisted gently. You moaned his name as the sensations overwhelmed you. It spurred him on and he moaned against you as he pumped his fingers faster. He flicked his tongue hard against your tiny bundle and you came, screaming and clutching handfuls of his long chestnut hair. He whispered encouragingly against your mound as you rode out your high.

He stood, towering over you and you blushed at the way his chin glistened in the light. You covered your face with the crook of your arm as you gasped for air. You looked up just as he leaned down, and kissed you gently.

“I have wanted to do that since I met you,” Sam said as he pulled back, and traced your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

“Sam, please?” You shimmied your hips against him and he groaned as he straightened. You sat up, and ran your fingertips under the waist of his boxers, clawing at his ass before you shoved them down along with his jeans. Sam’s cock bobbed and without a second thought you had leaned down, and closed your lips around him, quickly swirling your tongue against his head.

“Fuck, y/n!” Sam’s voice was harsh when his hands tangled in your hair. You rolled your eyes up the hard lines of his body, transfixed by the way his chest rose and fell.

One of your hands wrapped around the base of his length and stroked him languidly, while the other gently massaged his balls. You hollowed out your cheeks as you sucked, drawing a growl from him. Using the grip he had on your hair he pulled your head back. When his cock popped from your swollen lips, the sound was nearly obscene.

His fingers dug into your hip as he gripped you tight and pulled you to the edge of the table. You reached for him, and ran his velvet head through your slick before you lined him up with your entrance. He covered your hand with his own and stilled your movement. He rested his forehead against the curve of your neck with a sigh.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was low and when it vibrated against your ear it sent shockwaves through your body. He lifted his head and his eyes searched yours. You smiled before you wrapped your free hand around his neck and pulled his lips to yours.

“You won’t.”  

“Lie back,” he said against your lips, one hand shifted to your back as he guided you down.

A quick breath helped steady his nerves and he gripped your hip again. He pushed into you slowly, stopping halfway as your body stretched around him and adjusted to his length. You breathed deeply and rolled your hips ever-so-slightly, an invitation for him to continue. The feel of him inside you was incredible and you cried out as your pelvic bones met. Sam froze, one large hand cupped the side of your face, concern wrinkled his brow.

“Sam, it feels so good. Please? Move!” you dug your nails into his shoulder with a whine.

With hesitation, he pulled out almost completely before sliding in again. A few more slow thrusts and you were about to lose your mind. You rolled your hips urging him on. He grabbed one of your legs and placed it over his hip. He trailed kisses down your neck before he picked up speed.

Moans and curses flowed between you as he drove into you. A familiar heat built in your belly as you rocked your hips against him. Your arms snaked around his back and you pressed him as close as possible to you, while he continued his fevered pace.

Every drag of his length along your walls sent sparks through you, the base of him brushed against your clit with each drive of his hips.

“Sam! Oh...god….ohhh…yes.” You threw your head back. When his teeth grazed against that sweet spot behind your ear, that was it. You clenched around him as your orgasm exploded from your core and splintered through your body. You shouted his name over and over as your release rippled through you.

Sam fucked you harder, chasing his own release until he grunted, and you felt him cum inside you. His body went rigid for a moment before he collapsed on top of you.

The kiss that followed was different than it had been before, and you knew when he pulled back that something had changed between you.

You went to bed that night with his large body draped across yours. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. The sound of his light snore was almost deafening to you as a pang of guilt washed over you. You brushed the thought aside quickly. He didn’t need to know about you and Dean. It would only put a rift between the brothers that was unnecessary.  

That night was the beginning of it all. Soon, you and Sam had become inseparable and moving into the bunker had seemed like the most logical next step. Days were spent studying lore and researching cases, while the nights were spent in each other’s arms. The days and nights turned into weeks. The same insipid thought lulled you to sleep every night. Dean.

Of course a relationship with Sam meant a considerable amount of time spent with Dean. You’d been worried that things would be uncomfortable with him, but you’d been pleasantly surprised to find you were wrong. So much so, that you’d begun to wonder if your triste had even been real.

In fact things were so relaxed with Dean, that as the weeks turned into months, the two of you fell into an easy friendship filled with laughter and inside jokes. Any thought of what had happened so long ago faded into nothing more than a distant memory.

That is, until two weeks ago. Jody had called asking for Sam’s help on some case up north. Dean had just returned from a hunt with Castiel and had gotten a little banged up. He said he wanted to hang back at the bunker, take a day or so to recover.

The morning you and Sam had planned to leave you woke up feeling like shit. He’d insisted you stay and get some rest, despite your fervent protests to the contrary. Long story short, you’d lost and wound up in you and Sam’s bed, buried neck deep in a sea of blankets. For the entire day you barely moved, except for the occasional bathroom break. You spent the day alternating between catching up on the newest episodes of a British murder mystery show you enjoyed and napping.

A knock at the door startled you from your binging and you sat up and paused the show before glancing at the clock. It was later than you’d thought. The door swung open and Dean stumbled through. You smiled warmly at your friend, his cheeks were rosy and the smell of whiskey lingered on his breath as he got close.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Don’t you ‘hey’ me, y/n.” You frowned at him, confused.

“What crawled up your ass, Winchester?”

“Nothing, but I know what’s been up yours!” His words were sloppy and he rocked back on his heels, nearly losing his balance before gripping the edge of the bed.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Your head hurt and having to deal with this mess did not seem like the rest and relaxation Sam had had in mind when he’d left that morning.

“I am talking about you and that asshole brother of mine,” he narrowed his eyes at you, flicking one finger back and forth between you. “I am talking about you and I.”

Read Part 2 HERE

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[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: As Long As You Love Me -- Murder Angel

Hey, how about some actual fic from me today too? I’ve had this one waiting in the wings for a bit -- the next part of the “As Long As You Love Me” AU! If you recall, when we last left our heroes, they’d suffered a mysterious blowout during radio sing-along time. As we rejoin them, we find that -- well, they’re roughly in the same state Ken and Bart were in this clip: Angel of Death Victor’s not taking it well...

"The universe never allows you to get hurt, huh?"

"Technically, they didn't hurt us," Alice replied, tugging at her bonds. "And it is very odd hearing sarcasm coming from you."

"I think I'm allowed to be sarcastic, given the circumstances," Victor grumbled, looking up at the hot, cloudless sky. He could feel the sun boring into his skin – much longer out here and he'd have an awful sunburn. "Can't you do anything?"

"Do you think I enjoy being duct-taped to a fence in my skivvies?" Alice responded. "Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. We have to wait for the target. At least that's what Caterpillar tells me."

"Tell Caterpillar that if this 'target' doesn't hurry up, I'm going to put him into a bug box."

Alice was silent for a minute. "He says you wouldn't," she finally replied. "That's its antithetical to your very nature. Apparently you cried the first time you heard what making a bug box meant for the butterfly."

Victor went still. "What – h-how do you–"

RRRRRRMMMRRRrrmrmrmrmrmrmrrrrmmmm. . .

A familiar set of Harleys roared into view, quickly rendering Alice's sudden attack of psychic power unimportant. The gang rolled up and spread out, parking in a circle around their captives. Victor did a quick headcount – nine now, instead of eight. The newcomer was an older man – short, and on the heavier side, but in a way that suggested power instead of one too many large dinners. The rest of the gang scurried around him deferentially as he dismounted and walked toward the fence. Victor gulped. Suddenly he was almost missing his closet.

The man stopped and stared at them, one eyebrow raised. "These two?" he said. Medusa nodded. "You're shittin' me. These are the guys that killed Icarus?"

"It's them, Riggins," Marzanna said from somewhere behind Victor. "Shark and Kitten saw 'em at the diner."

Alice twisted her head around. "Riggins?"

"I think he's their leader," Victor told her. He offered Riggins a shaky smile. "L-look, I think there's been some s-sort of – of mix-up–"

"You don't look like professionals," Riggins continued, ignoring him. He stepped forward, scowling. "So who sent you? The Horsemen? New Children of the Old Gods? Those weirdos the Hitchhikers Of The Galaxy?"

"No one! She killed him on her own! She just – does that!" Victor yanked ineffectually at the duct tape. "We are not trying to start a gang war here!"

"No, we're ending one," Alice said softly. "Target acquired." Out of the corner of his eye, Victor saw her look up. "Now, Cheshire, I don't suppose you could put those claws of yours to good use and cut me down so I could do my job. . ."

Riggins shook his head. "This is all so much noise," he muttered. "Screw it." He waved to the rest of the gang. "Burn 'em. Dump 'em with the others."

Victor felt Alice stiffen behind him. "Oh no. . .oh, you shouldn't have said that," he groaned. "She has a – history with fire."

"Awww, what? The little lady don't like the heat?" Kitten mocked, shaking the fence. Victor grimaced as hot wire rattled against his back.

"Not fond of it, no," Alice said through clenched teeth.

Riggins chuckled. "You're gonna like it even less soon." He licked his lips. "Maybe me and the boys will make s'mores."

Victor decided he really did not like Riggins. But, well, even the worst asshole deserved a warning. "Look – I will be the first to admit that I have no idea what's going on," he said slowly. "But I do know Alice. When she gets it in her head to kill someone. . .well – they die. You and your men are the ones in danger here." Although how the hell she's going to get us out of this one is beyond me. . .

Riggins smirked. "You really believe that?" He moved a step forward, like a cougar stalking its prey. "We're Blackwing, loser. Nobody fucks with us."

Victor looked over his shoulder at Alice – in naught but her bra and panties, no knife or gun, taped in place as securely as he was. She looked as helpless as him. . .but then, he'd thought she was a goner when Tannen had shoved his gun into her forehead too. "She's the one who killed Icarus," he replied, meeting Riggins's smug gaze head on. "Hasn't she already?"

That got a scowl. "You gotta mouth on you," Riggins declared, reaching down for something in the dirt. When he stood back up, Victor saw it was a baseball. "Time to shut you up, I think."

Oh shit, oh shit, why on earth had he decided to go for the pithy one-liner – Victor jerked his head back around. "Alice?!"

"Wait for it," she replied, eyes on the sky, looking supremely unconcerned.

"Wait for it?!" Victor threw himself against his bonds in a panic. He was about to take a baseball to the face, minutes before Blackwing turned them both into Guy Fawkes dummies, and she told him to wait for it?! Oh God, why didn't I run for it when I had the chance?! A bullet to the back of the head would have at least been quick! Now I'm going to cook to death, probably with a broken jaw, back to back with – "Ow!"

Victor's head clanged against the fence as the baseball met his forehead in an instant of blinding pain. He screwed his eyes shut, fireworks briefly flaring behind his closed lids –

bonk! rippppp – clunk – CRUNCH!

And then, suddenly, his left hand was free.

Victor's eyes snapped open. The fence was sagging now, the old length of pipe holding it up having fallen. Had the baseball knocked it out of place? Did he dare do anything?

"Kitten!"

Shark raced past them, toward where the pipe had fallen. Victor followed his path to see – Oooooh. . . He hastily averted his eyes again. The unfortunate Kitten had been directly under the pipe when it fell, and thanks to the nasty-looking chunk of concrete on top of it. . .well, he wasn't getting up again. And I thought I'd seen the worst of what could happen to a human head when Tannen got pistol-whipped to death. . .

The rest of the gang hastily closed ranks, drawing guns and eyeing the captives suspiciously. Victor heard Marzanna hurry towards them. "Don't you fuckers even think of trying – ah!"

The barrel of a shotgun jerked through the fence, right next to Victor's head. He flinched as it fired – BANG! Medusa hit the ground, a bullet in his forehead. BANG! Incubus dropped, blood spraying from his skull. BANG! Cerebus collapsed, felled by the same impossible accuracy. Victor risked a glance behind him. Sure enough, Alice had also been freed by the falling pipe. Her hand was currently wrapped around Marzanna's, struggling for control of the gun. Then her knee came up, catching him right in the sternum. Marzanna gasped for breath as she tore her other arm free. "Get her!" Riggins demanded, staring at his downed compatriots in shock.

Wilson promptly started firing – Alice spun and grabbed Marzanna, letting him take the hail of bullets. Her hand snatched his pistol from his waistband – bang! Wilson flopped over, missing a healthy chunk of his skull. Shark ran at her, screaming – bang! One bullet, right through the gullet. Moloch desperately took aim – bang! He hit the ground, less one eye and one life. Alice let Marzanna's corpse drop and pointed the gun at the stunned Riggin's head –

click, click.

Alice blinked. "Oh for – are you kidding me?" she demanded, snapping open the cylinder. "With one left?"

Riggins, mouth opening and closing like a fish, saw his opportunity and went for his boot. A wicked-looking knife appeared in his hand. He took aim and threw as Alice as Alice dropped the gun and looked for a fresh weapon. thwip-thwip-thwip –

The handle bounced off her shoulder. Alice looked down, then picked up with a shrug. "That works." With barely a moment's pause, she flung it back.

It landed with a heavy thunk right in Riggins's heart. He stared at it a moment as blood began to pour from his mouth. His terrified eyes found hers – merciless and pitiless.

Then, in slow motion, he collapsed to the ground. Alice surveyed her work with cool professional pride. "There. That about does it." She returned to the fence and tore the tape off Victor's right wrist. "I think you ought to get some clothes on before you end up looking like an overdone steak."

Victor nodded vaguely, eyes traveling over the bodies of the men. Nine people. Nine hardcore, violent, unforgiving people. And she'd slaughtered them all in her underwear. Without even her trademark knife. All because a baseball had gone the right way.

A baseball. . .

"Wait for it."

He stumbled off the junk pile as she took Riggins's jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "You – you knew, didn't you?"

Alice looked back at him. "Knew what?"

"About this. That – that this–" He waved a hand to encompass the carnage. "–was going to happen."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Alice said, examining Shark's corpse. "But I knew the universe would provide, once I had my target." She started undoing his jeans. "He's pretty thin – I think these will fit you. At the very least, you won't be swimming in them."

Victor barely heard. "It's real," he whispered. "What you said before – it was the truth. You are exactly who you say you are. Some sort of – of murder angel."

He wasn't sure what possessed him to put it that way. Judging by Alice's surprised stare, neither was she. "Angel?" she repeated.

Victor shrugged. For a half a second, he was sure he saw her blush – then she dropped her head and went back to her task. "I am what I say I am. I know it, the universe knows it, and now you know it. Congratulations."

"And I really am with you for a reason." Victor found himself smiling, fear drowned out by a wave of exhilaration. "My life – it – it actually has a purpose!"

Alice glanced up with one of those genuine smiles. "Nice feeling, isn't it?" She yanked the pants off Shark and tossed them to Victor. "Catch!"

His hand grabbed a leg on autopilot, his mind racing. Ever since he was little, he'd listened to Pastor Galswells preach that everyone had a purpose for being – a reason God had put them on this earth. For years, he'd wondered if that was true – and, if it was, whether his was really just helping his society-obsessed parents move further up the heap via a good marriage. But now. . .he stepped into the jeans, awash in possibility. Perhaps being the companion of a holistic assassin wasn't really better, per say, than forwarding Nell and William Van Dort's social-climbing dreams – but it was a hell of a lot more interesting. "So – where to now?" he asked, zipping the fly.

"Search me," Alice replied, throwing him the shirt. "But Wonderland will lead me – us in the right direction soon enough." She felt in her jacket pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "Do you know how to ride a motorcycle?"

"No," Victor admitted, pulling on the shirt. Ugh, it was all greasy. . .but any port in a storm. "Do you?"

"No." Alice grinned like a shark. "But I'm willing to learn."

[emma89uk]

Finally! I hope you guys still can find a little Christmas spirit in your hearts. You can either read it here after the break, or over on Ao3 =) (And yes, I’m working on The Meetings, have patience with me!)

Chap 2/3

"Clawhouser, you tell me where he is right now!"

Gideon stood motionless with the coil of cords between his paws as Judy shrieked into her cell phone. Tears were beginning to stream down her face, and Gideon was becoming increasingly worried.

"Oh gosh, I don't know which hospital- I just now heard the call over the radio, was going to wait to call you until they had gotten him in- but then I thought you'd have my tail for not telling you right away. Judy I'm so sorry"

Clawhouser was rambling on the other end of the line, doing nothing to calm Judy down. She could feel her breath beginning to border on hyperventilating, the images of Nick lifeless and bleeding on the cold streets of Zootopia flashing through her mind. Clawhouser was right about one thing though, she would have had his tail if he had not told her.

"I'm coming in. You find the name of that hospital ASAP!" Judy had to focus; she needed to get to her partner.

"Now?” Clawhouser said in disbelief. “The roads are a mess, nothing but accident reports for the entire evening-"

"I DON'T CARE!" Judy screamed into the phone before hanging up. Her head snapped up at Gideon, and she had a desperation in her eyes that nearly made Gideon back away at its intensity.

"Gideon, I need to borrow your van- or if you could drive me home, I could take the truck- but I need to get to the precinct, I need to get to Nick-I-I-" Judy had to cover her mouth with her paw to stifle the sob that surfaced.  

Gideon had not gotten much out of the conversation, but if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that Judy was not driving anywhere in this weather in the state she was in if he had anything to say about it.

"Judy?" He said softly, putting the coil of cords down on the ground. "Judy, what's goin’ on?"

He took a few cautious steps towards her, worryingly searching her face for any sign that might tell him what had put her in such a state.

"Nick-" She began, having to take a moment to steady her voice. "Nick's been shot, and I need to get to him, but I don't know which hospital he’s in. I need to get back to him. Should never have left him alone, I should-" The tears cut her off, and she leaned back against the side of the van, closing her eyes against the steady stream of tears.

"This ain't your fault" Gideon knelt down in front of her and put his paw on her shoulder. He wanted to do more, but could not think of anything. Instead, he just let his thumb stroke back and forth over her shoulder in a soothing motion.

What could he say anyway? What he knew about cop partnerships he had from TV-series. He could only imagine what Judy was going through at the moment, and not knowing was probably the worst bit about it.

Officers Wilde and Hopps had become quite the household names after the whole Nighthowler affair, and the first fox and rabbit on the force were predicted to have promising careers in front of them.

Gideon would never admit this to anyone, but he had read every article, seen every news-clip on znn.com involving Judy. As a result, he had also seen a lot of street hustler turned police officer Nick Wilde. Though he tried very hard to like him, he could not.

One picture especially, taken right after Bellwether’s arrest, still held the power to ruin his day if he happened upon it while scrolling through the news. Journalists loved to use it in anything remotely related to the pair or the Nighthowler affair.

Nick and Judy were walking out of the Natural History Museum, the Chief of the ZPD and an entire squadron of large mammal police officers behind them. Nick had his arm around Judy’s waist, keeping her steady as they made their way down the stairs. She had her paw on his shoulder, holding on to his shirt. The lucky photographer had caught them sharing a warm smile, and it always left Gideon with a hollow feeling inside his chest.

"I-I need to get to Nick" Judy pleaded again, her big teary amethyst eyes on his. "Please Gideon"

Those eyes were going to be the death of him some day. He knew it. Nevertheless, he was not going to risk her safety by allowing her to drive alone on snowed down roads through parts of the Burrows that did not even have cell phone coverage.

"I'll drive ya" As if on que, a harsh gush of wind swept through the streets, making the door at the back of his van slam shut. "I honestly think it ain't safe ta-night. But I'll drive ya"

Deep down Judy knew Gideon was right. It was promising to be quite the blizzard tonight, and old Mack would not be out with his snowplough until morning. They risked becoming snowed in in the middle of nowhere, but the thought of Nick wounded and alone made her nauseous.  

She glanced up at Gideon still kneeling in front of her, his icy blue eyes concerned searching her face. Judy suddenly realised she really needed a hug, and Gideon’s warm sweater and concerned expression made him look more inviting than ever. She was just about to give up and let herself fall forward into his chest when Gazelle’s voice once again cut through the air.

Gideon let go of her shoulder, but remained on his knees in the snow in front of her as Judy answered the phone.  

"Clawhouser?" She failed to keep her voice from trembling. "He's at Zootopia General, it was the closest one, but pleeeease tell me you're not driving right now?" Clawhouser asked anxiously. "No, no, not yet" Judy said, feeling the initial desperation settling somewhat.

"Thank goodness. Nick's in surgery, Grizzoli says it’s not life threatening, I've told him to call you as soon as he's out. Please: Don’t drive tonight" "Thank you Clawhouser" Judy said, purposefully ignoring the last part. "Judy, I'm serious. I've got nothing but accident reports for the last hour. And I don't know how, but I'm pretty sure Chief big B will find a way to blame me if two of ZPD's finest wind up in hospital on the same night." "Claw-" "I repeat: Do.Not.Drive.Tonight" the cheetah said insistently.

“But-” Judy begun, glancing up at Gideon still kneeling in front of her. She had never understood how his icy blue eyes managed to look so warm.

“I’ll drive ya to the city first thing in the mornin’, I promise, please Judy…” Gideon said pleadingly, clearly agreeing with Clawhouser regarding the driving conditions.

The initial fire from when she had first gotten the news had completely died down, and Judy felt the cold winter air beginning to seep into her bones.

“You promise me it’s not life or death?” She asked into the phone, pulling her jacket closer around herself with a shiver as another gush of wind rushed through the streets.

“Grizzoli told me himself”

Grizzoli was one of those types that always told it as it was. Never more, never less. The Chief had a great respect for him, and if there ever were a case in court, you would bet on him sending Grizzoli if he had the chance. He would never lie to protect anyone’s feelings, for better or worse.

Judy nodded silently. “Ok” she finally said. “But I’ll be there as soon as the weather clears”

She glanced up at Gideon who nodded, giving her a reassuring smile.

“Thank you” Clawhouser sighed with relief. “I’ll call as soon as I know more, if not Grozzoli calls you first. You take care, alright?”

“Yea” Judy mumbled.

She stood motionless with her phone in her paw after Clawhouser hung up. Her fingers were going numb, and she could feel the numbness slowly spreading through the rest of her body.

“Let’s get ya home” Gideon said silently, carefully leading Judy to the passenger side of the van. She followed with him without protest, her eyes distant, looking at nothing in particular.

Gideon was quick to crank up the heat in the van, the warm air blasting noisily as he drove down the narrow cobblestone streets. He glanced over at Judy whenever the visibility allowed it. Her silence and apparent apathy made him uneasy. Just minutes before she had been all fired up and demanding to drive back to the city. Now she just seemed emotionless, filling the van with a thick silence that made Gideon uncomfortable on top of everything else.

At least it provided him with an opportunity to concentrate on the road as they drove out of town. There were no streetlights out here along the dirt roads, and it neared an almost complete whiteout outside as the snow began to fall in earnest.

“Ya get yourself some hot cocoa and some sleep, and I’ll pick ya up first thing in the mornin’” Gideon said as he drove painstakingly slow towards the Hopps’ driveway. Hoping that reminding her of his promise to drive her back to Zootopia would garner some positive reaction.

Judy could just catch a glimpse of the lights in her parents’ house at the end of the driveway through the thick curtain of falling snow. They were probably still up, including most of her siblings since school was out. The thought of being surrounded by her family suddenly made her feel claustrophobic. In fact, the van itself felt like it was beginning to suffocate her. Judy tried to take a couple of deep calming breaths, but it felt like there was not enough oxygen in the air.

Nick was shot. Nick was bleeding. Nick was in surgery. With scalpels cutting into him while he lay there unconscious.

“Gideon, stop.”

Gideon barely had time to pull over on the shoulder of the road before Judy flung the door open into the black and white night.

Judy took the cold air down in gulps, breathing in more than a couple of snowflakes in the process. She supported herself on the hood of the van, bending over as she heaved for air. The road in front of her was pitch black, save the headlights of Gideon’s van lighting up the snowflakes as they hurled around in the wind.

Gideon made his way around the front of the car, finding Judy sobbing and gulping for air. Hunched over with an arm around her middle as if she was in pain.

“Judy, Judy, calm down” Gideon put both his paws on her shoulders in an attempt to soothe her.  He felt incredibly ill equipped to handle this situation, and searched her pained face for any sign of what he should do.

“I can’t breathe” Judy managed between sobs. Instead of leaning on the hood of the van, her paws now closed into tight fists around the sleeves of Gideon’s sweater, tugging at the fabric. That was all the encouragement Gideon needed, and he carefully pulled her away from the van and into a warm hug, wrapping his tail around the back of her legs to shield her from the cold.

He began to take deliberately long and steady breaths, feeling his chest rise and fall against hers. Slowly, but surly Judy’s breathing began to match his own, her desperate sobbing gradually dying down.

“At’s it, deep breaths. ‘Ere ya go darlin’, everythin’s gonna be just fine” Gideon whispered into the fur on the top of her head. Judy was clinging to his sweater as if he was the only thing that kept her from drowning, burying her face against his shoulder.  

Gushes of cold wind ruffled his exposed fur, but Judy was warm in his arms and the sensation of her small body against his almost made Gideon sigh with satisfaction. He could not help but take a couple of deep draws of her scent, reveling in the moment. A wave of guilt came crashing down on him as soon as he did.

Here he was, actually enjoying the fact that Judy was heartbroken because her partner, a police officer who risked his life in the line of duty on a daily basis, had been shot and lay fighting for his life right at this moment.

When was the last time he had risked his life for anything? That was right, never. Gideon closed his eyes in self-resentment for a second, before carefully patting a paw against Judy’s back.

“Ya can’t stay out here. Ya gonna freeze solid” he muttered, carefully loosening his hold on her. Judy kept her arms around his torso, holding on to the back of his sweater with tight fists, showing no sign of wanting to let go. “I can’t go home, I just- I just can’t handle it all right now” Judy seemed like she would begin to hyperventilate again, and Gideon was quick to put his arms back around her.

“At’s alright, at’s fine” he assured her, searching his mind for another option. “How ‘bout your grandparent’s?”

Old Mr. and Mrs Hopps lived just up the road from Judy’s parents. He would have to turn and drive back, but it was not further off than he would be able to manage in this weather.

“No..” Judy meekly shook her head against his chest.

Judy knew she was probably being audacious, but for some reason she could not bear the thought of being surrounded by her family right now. Though they meant well, it could all become a bit much.  

Gideon’s big warm arms around her felt like the only thing holding her together, his steady breathing calming her own. Judy realized she needed him, needed him to make her feel warm and safe.  

“Could… Could I come with you?”

Gideon stopped breathing. He tried to tell himself not to read anything into it. Her partner had been shot and she was trapped here by the weather, unable to go see him as she desperately whished too. Judy just needed a shoulder to cry on, to be somewhere quiet and calm, and he had an entire farmhouse to himself. In spite of his efforts, the sensation of her paws gripping the back of his sweater, holding him against her, made his ears grow hot in spite of the freezing wind.

“ ’Course” Gideon managed. “Whatever ya want”

---

Gideon had continued to live in his old home after his mother had passed away, though he had sold off most of the farmland to surrounding farms. He had needed the money for his bakery, still in the startup-faze back when he had inherited the place. The house sorely needed work done, the kitchen and bathroom were dated and the exterior could use a coat of paint.  

Thankfully, the weather camouflaged the latter as Gideon and Judy hurried to the front door. It was not as if the his home was in bad shape, he kept it well, just as his mother had, but he spent most of his time working, and when he was home he was either sleeping or eating, seldom finding time to do anything else.

Standing in his cold living room though, he wished he had taken some time to brighten the place up a little. His parents’ old couch were older than he was by almost a decade, but at least it was comfortable, and he was grateful for the plentiful knitted blanket he had left out. Judy had wrapped herself in it, curling up against the cushions. She was not sobbing anymore, and her breathing had calmed, but tears were still trickling from her eyes. Her beautiful amethyst eyes.

Gideon resolutely turned his back to her, instead concentrating on stacking wood in the fireplace. He was not going to be that tod, would never be a tod who took advantage of someone’s emotional state to get what he wanted. But God help him, Judy looked so tiny and alone on his big couch, making him want nothing more than to curl up around her, embracing her entirely.

Despite his distracted mind, he soon had a fire going in the fireplace. It was the centerpiece of the living room, were his stocking had hung every Christmas when he was still a kit. It looked quite empty without it; he should probably have hung something there to make it more festive. Then again, he had not found the time.

“You don’t have a tree”

Gideon glanced up as Judy spoke unexpectedly. She still sat wrapped in the large knitted blanked, looking around his living room with curious interest.

“Pardon?” “A Christmas tree” Judy clarified, drying her tears with the back of her paw. “You don’t have a Christmas tree” “Nah” Gideon said in an apologetic tone. “Didn’t really see a reason ta get one, just me in ‘ere anyway” Judy got a look of pity in her eyes, and Gideon was quick to change the subject.

“How ‘bout that cocoa? It’ll prolly do ya good right ‘bout now”

With that, Gideon quickly left through the kitchen door before Judy could begin to ask what he was doing on Christmas Eve. He despised it when mammals felt sorry him, and it especially felt wrong coming from her. He did not deserve it from her.

 Judy was still sitting in the same spot on his couch, absentmindedly watching the fireplace when Gideon came back out with two steaming mugs of cocoa. The flames played across her fur, bringing out the dark purple in her eyes. As he silently offered her one of the mugs, she shot a small grateful smile at him, making his heart melt.

“Thanks Gideon” she said, holding the hot mug in both paws, feeling the warmth spread through her fingers.  “I’m sorry for imposing on you like this, I just-”

“Don’t ya start apologizin’ ”Gideon cut her off, sitting down on the couch next to her. “At’s what friends are for, ain’t it?” He said with a smile, feeling confident that he managed to hide the sting the word friends caused.

Pulling out a drawer from under the coffee table, he took out a pocket-sized steel flask, gingerly unscrewing the cap. It was one of the few things he had kept after his father; he even kept it in the same drawer. Gideon did not drink much, but a swig of something strong was sometimes the best remedy for heartache.

He poured some of the liquor into his mug, giving it a stir before offering it to Judy.

“Here” Gideon held out the flask to her. “It’ll take the edge off”

He had to admit he had an ulterior motive with offering her a drink. Gideon still worried Judy would take off into the night, attempting to drive back to the city in spite of the weather and poor driving conditions. However, Gideon knew her well enough to know that the up standing and law abiding Officer Hopps would never attempt to drive under the influence.

Judy hesitated for a moment before accepting the flask, pouring a healthy amount of the golden liquid into her cocoa. She took a large gulp, grimacing as the whisky hit the back of her throat.

“Yea, it’s an acquired taste” Gideon apologized, taking a sip of his own mug.

“Mhm” Judy swallowed and shook her head against the burn. “No, I needed that, thank you”

Gideon nodded in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes on the fireplace. There was not much space between them on the couch, and with the memory of the embrace out in the snow still fresh in his mind, Gideon did not want to risk looking at her too much. He was still conflicted about feeling happy about finally having Judy so close, and the circumstances that had resulted in it happening in the first place.

He took a large swig of his mug; nearly downing its entire contents in one go.

I don’t want a lot for Christmas There is just one thing I need

Judy jolted upright at the sound of her ringtone, nearly spilling her cocoa.

I don’t care about the presents Underneath the Christmas tree

His large knitted blanket fell to the floor in a pile as Judy untangled herself from it in an attempt to get to the phone in her pocket.

I just want you for my own More than you could-

“Grizzoli?” Judy almost shrieked into her phone.

“Caaaaarrotssss” a voice slurred from the other end of the line.

“Nick!?” Judy jumped in her seat, a spontaneous smile spreading across her muzzle. “Oh Nick! Are you alright?”

“Shhhh, not so loud. I’m fine, very fine. Fantastic ackschually” Nick said blissfully “I haven’t had drugs this good since that one time with Finnick in-”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear that” Judy interrupted, her voice bordering on a laugh. Tears were beginning to trickle down her cheeks again, but happy ones this time. “Nick, what happened?” She asked in a more serious tone.

“Me and Grizzy happened on a break in” Judy thought she could hear the big polar bear in the background blowing air through his nose at the unwanted nick name. “I chased after one, he after another. Mine had a gun. Pow! Shot in the leg”

“Oh Nick-” Judy gasped, holding a paw over her mouth.

Gideon chose that moment to get up from the couch. The way she said her partners name sounded too intimate, and it did not feel right for him to sit beside her during this conversation. Better give her some privacy, and spare himself in the process.

Gideon could live with the fact that their species made any hope on his part about anything more than friendship impossible. Him being a fox was a perfectly acceptable reason for Judy not to see him in any romantic light, and he could have lived with that, however painful it was. But the thought that that was not the reason at all, and that another fox had laid claim to her heart already, was straight out agonizing.  

“Shhh, I’m fine! The other guy though, thought Grizzy was gonna grizzle him. Wait-” Judy heard some shuffling as Nick moved in the bed. “Is that what you call it? Grizzle, is that even a word, like maw and maim and grizzle?” She heard him ask.

“Wilde….” Grizzoli’s warning voice carried through to Judy.

“Alright, alright, just asking” Nick shuffled back to the phone. “Point is Carrots; I’m fine” he lowered his voice, probably in an attempt to keep Grizzoli from hearing the last part of the conversation. Not that it would matter since Nick’s slurred whisper was quite loud.

“Do you know how much game this gets me with the ladies? I swear, this nurse is giving me the bedroom eyes”

“Nick…” Judy slipped her paw over her eyes. At least he was still his usual tod-self, though a little high on anesthesia. “Can you put Grizzoli on the line please?”

“Right, right, one moment” Judy heard him turn back around in the bed. “It’s for you big guy”

“Hopps” The big bear greeted as he put the phone to his ear.

“Hi Grizzoli, how bad is it really?” Judy insisted, hoping to get a straight answer from the more experienced officer.

“Removed a slug from his thigh, 9 mill, missed the main artery” He said matter of factly. “He’ll be on crutches for a while, but it’s not serious” he added, remembering who he was talking to.

“I can be there by morning” Judy said, catching a glimpse of the old grandfather clock in Gideon’s living room; it was almost midnight already.

“Visiting hours’ not before noon, and he’ll be fine”

Nick’s voice cut through from the background. ”Hey Nurse, you wanna know how I got this scar?”

“He’ll be fine” Grizzoli repeated dryly. “Trust me Hopps, he’ll be discharged in a matter of days”

Judy hesitated, glancing over at Gideon who were politely pretending to get a refill in the kitchen. His back was turned, but she could tell from the angle of his ears that he was listening in. Judy felt torn; Nick sounded all right, and Grozzoli would never lie to her. What was more, Judy found herself not as eager to leave as before.

“Thanks Grizzoli. Could you put Nick on the phone again please?” Judy finally asked.

After some fumbling and ruffling sounds from bedsheets, Nick finally managed to hold the phone steady to his ear.

“Nick, are you sure you’ll be alright? I can be there in the morning already, as soon as the snowplow has been out”

“Relax Carrots, this isn’t my first time getting shot” Nick said nonchalantly.

Judy frowned. “Yes, yes it is”

Judy knew everything there was to know about her partner and his past, and though he had had some narrow escapes in his time, he had never been shot before. Save the blueberries in the National History Museum, which Judy was pretty sure did not count.

“Shhh, play along with me here” Nick whispered not so quietly, before continuing in an obnoxious tone: “This is nothing like the gang shoot-out we helped break up back in… That one time” Apparently hospital drugs inflicted his usual quick thinking and smooth talking abilities.

“Nick” Judy sighed. “Is there by any chance a nurse in the room?”

“Indeed” Nick replied, trying his best to sound like he was answering another question entirely. “Vixen?” “Affirmative” “Attractive?” “Very”

“Nick, you helped solve the political criminal plot of the century, I don’t think you need to lie about your achievements” Judy said with a chuckle, rolling her eyes.

“Oh” Nick actually sounded surprised. “I forgot about that”

Judy could not help the laugh that escaped her. “Listen Slick, take my advice and wait until the anesthetics wears off before you make the next move. Alright?”

“That might be a good idea, yea” she heard him clear his throat, apparently sobering up a little already. “Hey Carrots?” “Yea?” “Don’t come running to my bedside like some emotional bunny. I’m fine, serious. And that’s not the drugs talking.”

“Nick…” Judy began, once again finding herself looking into the kitchen at Gideon’s broad shoulders.

“I’m serious Carrots. I’ll still be here by noon tomorrow”

“You promise? Because getting shot on your first stretch without me watching your back is not doing much to convince me” Judy retorted, feeling her wittiness returning.

“I know, I’m useless without you” Nick said sarcastically. “But hey, at least I get Christmas off right?”

“That’s not funny” Judy said, laughing regardless.

“You know you love me” Nick said teasingly. “You’re not making it easy” “That wouldn’t be any fun” he snickered, making Judy fall back against the couch cushions with an annoyed sigh.   “I’m fine, really. I practically walked myself to the ambulance” Nick said, sensing her annoyance.

“You sure?” “Positive, now go roast some carrots or whatever you do around Christmas, and I’ll see you tomorrow” “Apples” Judy corrected, knowing full well Nick knew that and only said it to annoy her. “Whatever” she could hear the smile in his voice. “Just don’t bring me flowers”

“Can’t promise anything” Judy chuckled, before adding sincerely “You take care Slick” “You too Carrots”

Judy looked down on her phone in her lap with a permanent smile on her face for several minutes after Nick hung up, feeling the relief wash over her, erasing the previous turmoil of worry and desperation from her mind.

“How’s he doin?”

Judy glanced up to find Gideon leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen door, a mild look in his eyes as he waited for her response. She wondered how long he had been standing there, watching her, and was a little surprised to find that she hoped it had been a while.

“He’s fine” she smiled, beginning to feel light headed by the relief. Or maybe that was the whisky in her cocoa taking effect. “A little high on hospital drugs, but he’s fine”

“At’s good ta hear” Gideon said, resuming his place beside her on the couch, pouring more whisky into his refilled cocoa. “He-” Gideon cleared his throat, quickly glancing over at her. “He seems ta mean a lot ta ya”

The warm smile that spread across Judy’s face as she nodded in confirmation felt like a stab to the chest. There it was, he was going to have to hear her say it, and then he would put a lid on his emotions and move on. Gideon clenched his teeth as he readied for the blow he knew was coming with her response.

“He does” Judy agreed, affection in her voice.

“Nick truly taught me to see past my own prejudice, to realize that foxes aren’t just shifty and untrustworthy” she gave Gideon an apologetic glance at the last words. But Gideon did not notice, he was looking into his cocoa, a melancholy expression in his eyes. “I guess I have a lot ta thank him fer” he said.

“Nah” Judy smiled at him. “You took care of that yourself, with your well-rehearsed apology two years ago” “Ah, that” Gideon chuckled embarrassed. “I was just repeatin’ what my old therapist said ta me” he took a long sip from his mug, enjoying the extra heat the whisky provided. “I thought it sounded a lot better ‘an what I coulda come up with myself”

Judy hid a smile in her own mug, remembering the stuttering and finger-twisting fox apologizing to her by her parents’ booth. “I’m sorry, I was a jerk would’ve worked just fine” she said, shooting him a teasing glance over the brim of her mug. “Yeah” Gideon laughed. “Recon it would”

Gideon glanced at the soft grey fur covering Judy’s cheeks, his eyes searching as they did almost every time he saw her. Maybe it was the spiked cocoa taking effect, or the fact that she had seen his scars that gave him the last push.

“Hey Judy?” he asked in a low voice, cupping his mug in his paws. “Mind if I ask somethin’?” “What?” Judy asked, her pulse starting to beat a little faster as Gideon moved closer to her on the sofa.

Gideon had thought about it a lot after he grew up. First, he had thought he did not want to know, that he was better off not knowing, but he could not stop thinking about it. Sometimes, just before he fell asleep, it hit him with a pang of guilt, and he had finally come to terms with the fact that he would need to know for sure to finally close that chapter of his life.

He slowly sat his mug down on the coffee table, drawing one long breath before speaking again.

“Did- did I leave a scar on ya?” He asked, dreading the answer. “Back when we were kids?”

“Oh” Judy put her paw over her left cheek, feeling the three narrow scars hidden beneath her fur.

“Don’t think about it” she tried to avoid answering directly. It probably would not have scarred anyway, had she just managed to keep from picking at the scabs, as her mother had told her too. But she had been nine, and it had itched.

“Please, I wanna see fer myself, if- if ya don’t mind? Ta get it outta my head” Gideon turned to face her on the couch, hesitantly raising his paw in front of him as he waited for her response.

Judy knew it was no use lying about it, though she could not help but worry that Gideon would not react very well to the three narrow scars on her cheek. Which she, to be honest, never gave much thought.

Finally, she nodded, letting her own paw fall back into her lap with a sigh.

Gideon swallowed audibly, carefully lifting his paw towards her. Judy gave him a careful smile, tilting her head slightly, allowing him to run his fingers over the soft fur on her cheek.

At first, he brushed his knuckles gently down towards her jaw, making her involuntary shiver. Then he cupped the side of her head with his large paw and ran his thumb back up towards her cheekbone. She could not help but lean her head into his paw, enjoying the feeling of his careful fingers against her fur.

Judy could tell when he felt the scars. Gideon went perfectly still, even his breathing stopped for a moment. Then he brushed his thumb over them again, and again, slowly lifting the short fur on her face and letting it fall back down. Revealing the narrow scars on her skin beneath the fur with each careful caress.

“Gideon…” Judy tried to lock her eyes on his, but he was fixated on her cheek, his eyes never moving away from the thin pale lines.

“I did this to ya” He whispered. Judy could see his jaw tightening and his eyes beginning to glace over.

“Gideon, we were nine” Judy insisted, putting her paw over his on her cheek, keeping him from brushing over her fur again. “It doesn’t matter”

“It matters ta me” He said intently, his clear blue eyes looking into hers.

Gideon had a pained look on his face that made Judy’s heart ache. Under her paw, his fingers were still carefully caressing her fur in small circles. Hesitantly, Judy began mimicking the gesture, slowly tracing circles on the back of his paw.

Gideon was slowly drowning in her eyes, every little movement on the back of his paw sending tingles up his arm. He felt himself leaning in, helplessly drawn towards her. At that moment, Gideon was as close to her as he had ever been, and it made him want her so badly it hurt.  

Judy’s heart began to pound as Gideon inched forward, slowly closing the small space between them. She knew what would happen if she closed her eyes, and she found herself longing for it, needing it just as she had needed his arms around her out in the snow. With the pain and worry from earlier gone, all that remained was the slow burning flame of newfound desire.

Resting the full weight of her head against his large paw, Judy let her eyes flutter shut.

His mouth was on hers not even a second after, the intensity of it surprising her enough to make her eyes fly open again for a moment. His lips were hot, pressing down on hers almost desperately, while his free paw came up to cup the other side of her face, holding her firmly against him.

Judy closed her eyes again with a soft sigh, feeling herself grow warm as Gideon continued to lean into her, causing her to lean back against the armrest behind her. Testily, Judy parted her lips just a fraction, feeling her heart race in anticipation.  She was not disappointed.

Gideon eagerly deepened the kiss, shifting to rest his forearm on the armrest by her head. He was completely on top of her now, resting on his knees and forearm, fervently pressing her into the cushions.

Judy instinctively bucked her hips up against the warm body of the male above her, letting go of a muffled moan when she felt a prominent bulge press back.  She was slowly beginning to burn, feeling it surge through her body and settle in her lower belly.

The soft sound of Judy’s moan brought Gideon back up from the feverish state he had fallen into, making him jolt upright. Panting, he looked down on Judy still laying on the couch; her lips looked swollen and her shirt had traveled up to expose some of the creamy white fur on her stomach.

Judy began to get up on her elbows, but before she could ask what was wrong, Gideon had gotten off the couch.

“I’m sorry. Judy I’m so sorry” Gideon backed away, his eyes wide and pleading. “I- I’ll go. I won’t come outta my room, I won’t-” he shook his head, casting his eyes down. “I’m sorry” he said one final time before hurrying out, slamming the door to the hallway behind him. Leaving a confused and more than just a little frustrated Judy alone on the couch.

[dippedanddripped]

Cauliflower was nowhere, and then all of a sudden it was everywhere. This is because cauliflower is mostly inedible unless you pretend it is pizza, and it took civilization until around the mid-2010s to realize people could make lots and lots of money by doing exactly that.

Plenty of other items have been plucked out of relative obscurity and into the diets and wardrobes of millions of Americans over the past few years: oat milk, anything with CBD in it, intentionally hideous sneakers such as Fila Disruptors, alcoholic seltzer, the concept of “millennial pink,” for example.

All of these things are, in short, trendy, which you probably already knew, because trends are an inescapable part of being a human. Where those trends come from is a more difficult question — a question that a particular group of people is paid a great deal to try and figure out.

They’re the subjects of a new book by Temple University advertising professor Devon Powers, On Trend: The Business of Forecasting the Future. Through interviews with 72 trend forecasters — or futurists, as they’ve more recently taken to calling themselves — Powers shows the ways trend professionals “read” culture by talking to thought leaders and listening to social media and in turn shape it, and how they bring the culture of the fringes into the mainstream.

She offered insights into how trends work and evolve, and the ethics of the trend business: Where do futurists look to find out what’s next, and how do those people and places inform the future they’re ushering into being? How do we study trends without replicating the often unequal systems they stemmed from? If the rich and powerful adopt to a trend first, how do we avoid simply following their lead and repeating the past? Powers, for her part, has some ideas.

Was there one trend that made you interested in studying them as a whole?

In 2012 or so, I started being very interested in when things got really, really popular and triggered a backlash. Rebecca Black was really interesting to me. There was this almost allergic reaction people had, [as though it was] the worst thing ever, and yet people could not stop talking about it. The engagement was driven by dislike. It felt like a different cultural phenomenon where there was real value to be gotten from something being popular, whether it was liked or not liked.

At the same time, “trending” was a word that people were starting to use to describe popularity in general. I totally discovered by accident that there was a trend industry. The first book that I found was [original trend forecaster] Faith Popcorn’s Popcorn Report, which came out in 1991 and introduced me to the whole idea that there are people who study trends for a living, who sell trends to companies, and who work to anticipate and forecast the future.

Can you walk us through how professionals “read” culture?

Professionals read culture basically the way that many of us read culture, but kind of on steroids. One of the companies I researched says, “We eat culture for breakfast.” What that means is they’re reading all of the news, doing social media listening, market research, ethnography, focus groups.

Many companies don’t have the time to digest all of that information. What forecasters do is they digest it for you, and then they use that information to see patterns. Those patterns may be really overt; for instance, in fashion you see animal print popping up everywhere, that tells you something. Or they may be more subtle that occur across different sectors. But once you’ve found those patterns, you use those patterns to read them for what they might be signaling about where culture might be going.

What are the times in history when trends became really important, and what do all those time periods have in common?

The first was around the turn of the 20th century with the rise of the social sciences, and the rise of different forecasting professions like economic forecasting, weather forecasting, and also early color forecasting in fashion.

The other important period is the late 1960s and early 1970s. Again, we see lots and lots of social and cultural upheaval, changing technologies, and an abundance of new information about markets and market segmentation.

We are in a very, very similar moment in our current period. A lot of technological changes are taking place, [we have] dramatic abilities to monitor information and data about what people’s desires and preferences are, and [we’re] using that information again to extrapolate what might be coming.

All these times share in common massive technological change, massive social change, and a fear and excitement about the future that makes people want to figure it out before anybody else.

For a period in the ’90s, this was often called “coolhunting.”

Coolhunting is a very interesting story. It started with marketers being really quizzical about Generation X, and so advertisers were going out and using handheld video cameras and talking to young people to try to figure out what they like, and then feeding that information back to companies to make decisions.

Right as these dynamics were happening, Malcolm Gladwell wrote an article called The Coolhunt in 1987, which really set the train in motion, and made other companies that weren’t doing these practices sit up and say, “We need to be doing this too.”

Companies still do exactly these same kind of processes. Part of what happened is by virtue of its success, it became a generic practice that people didn’t think was anything special anymore, so it didn’t need a special name. But then there was a bit of a backlash to this idea, that if you could farm cool, then you were somehow destroying cool — you’re chasing it into obsolescence. They didn’t want to be conquistadors.

Much of the book centers around how trend forecasting creates a cycle: There are people doing something cool, and then the trend forecasters come in, and by naming it and disseminating it, it accelerates the spread of the cool thing. How has that cycle sped up so much in the past couple of decades?

One of the things people ask me is, “Do trend professors make up trends?” My answer to that is always no. What they do is they observe things that are legitimately happening in culture, and they press the gas on them.

They help those things to be more present in our environment, so that people who are observant start to see things in stores and see them on social media and be attracted to them and want to do them. The metabolism of culture is a lot faster.

What are some of the effects of that very fast cultural metabolism?

People get whiplash. We’ve seen, at various moments, backlashes to that: slow food, slow music, and these ideas that keep percolating up about how to press pause on this constant push to change. I think all of that has a psychic cost and an economic cost, even if it’s just as simple as constantly feeling like you need to purchase new stuff. It obviously has an environmental cost, if you think about the quick cycles in fashion.

And despite the fact we have so many trends going on at once, it also can flatten cultural difference. Sometimes those trends emerge from marginalized people who don’t get the opportunity to actually profit from their own cultural developments.

You can go to pretty much any city in the world and find an Airbnb with the exact same light fixtures and mid-century modern furniture because everyone is pulling from the same trends.

It’s so boring. I live in Fishtown in Philadelphia, and how many craft beer bars do we need? I can throw a stick and hit seven of them. It’s like, somebody just bring me a Bud Light, please!

One of the things that’s happened over the last couple of decades was technological change with how much information we’re digesting all day long, with how many new products are being launched all the time. It just expedites these processes.

You write about how trend forecasters are good at organizing patterns so that they tell a story about the world. Is that why people love reading about trends, because it helps us make sense of things?

The world is a very chaotic place. We all want to find a way to carve some sense through the madness. I think that trend forecasting offers one really key way and really easy way to say, “here’s what’s happening.” That’s true not just for the corporate trend forecasting and futurists that I’ve talked to, but also any journalist or commentator. So many of us like to think that we have a handle on what is going on.

There’s a certain cachet that comes in being able to identify something and feeling like you’re right, and feeling like other people say, “Oh, yeah, that — that’s what I was trying to put my finger on.”

You mention how so much of trend forecasting is looking at what wealthy white people in coastal cities are doing. What are some of the ethical questions that you hope trend forecasters should keep in mind when they’re working off of these obviously flawed systems?

The future belongs to all of us, and yet the people who have the most control over the future are the people with the most money and the most resources. They often have the ability to take the status quo and push it forward, or the capacity to maintain the things they don’t want to change, or [refusing to] question things they don’t want to question. But they also have the possibility of making their versions of the future the ones that we all have to pay attention to.

If you’re Jeff Bezos, and you work on Blue Origin and you say we’re all going to go to Mars, I have to pay attention to that. Trend forecasters end up having to accommodate and appease these elite versions of the future, and not pay attention to both futures for other people.

Often we hear people talk about the future and imagine a world where racism is just magically solved by an algorithm. We all know when you look at machine learning and AI that they actually reproduce and accentuate a lot of the biases and racism that exists. They’re not better. In some ways they are worse, because they have this veneer of objectivity and perfectibility. So that’s the concern that I have. When you are imagining a particular future, who is that future for, and who are you leaving out of that vision?

[jennaschererwrites]

Emmys 2018: 20 Best, Worst and WTF Moments – Rolling Stone

Mondays, right? It’s a rough day to try to do anything, period, and an even rougher day to throw a major awards show. But that didn’t stop NBC from airing the 70th Annual Emmy Awards a day later than is traditional, to make way for Sunday Night Football, the only thing American viewers eat up even more eagerly than hot red-carpet goss.

Whether it was beginning-of-week malaise or something else that was afflicting the ceremony, there’s no denying that this year’s Emmys felt more than a few steps off its game. Hosted by SNL “Weekend Update” co-anchors Michael Che and Colin Jost, the 2018 edition looked and sounded like the mutterings of an exhausted industry — especially in the wake of last year’s fired-up broadcast, presided over by an energetic (and actually funny) Stephen Colbert. And though the ceremony quite literally made a production number out of its commitment to honoring diversity, 22 of 26 Emmys were snatched up by white performers, creators and producers — proof positive that lip service only goes so far.

Top honors this year went to HBO’s Game of Thrones for Outstanding Drama, Amazon’s The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel for Comedy and FX’s The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story for Limited Series. Meanwhile, national treasure/light of our lives Betty White was honored for her decades in the industry, and critical darling The Americans took home a long-awaited pair of statuettes for its final season (Matthew Rhys for Lead Actor in a Drama and showrunners Joe Weisberg and Joel Fields for writing).

But even a surprise marriage proposal — or Leslie Jones’ fabulous opalescent pantsuit — couldn’t do much to liven up a ceremony that seemed to be simply going through the motions. We may still be in the Peak TV era, but this year’s Emmys made us wonder if we’ve started the long downhill climb.

Worst: Michael Che and Colin Jost’s bland hosting job From the moment they walked out to deliver the opening monologue, Che and Jost looked vaguely uncomfortable, as if someone had just farted and they were standing in the stink-cloud. Their low-key, above-it-all “Weekend Update” formula didn’t translate to the Emmys stage; everything was delivered with an air of bored detachment as they plodded through stilted jokes about the #MeToo movement, the primacy of Netflix and Roseanne Barr’s self-immolation. “With the amazing contributions from everyone in this room tonight, I think we can keep television going for another five, six years tops,” Jost quipped at the end of the intro. It didn’t reallllly sound like a joke.

Best: ‘The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’ makes history The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’s title heroine would be the first to tell you that being a woman in comedy is frequently a thankless business, but last night’s ceremony proved there are at least a few things that have improved since the 1950s. Amy Sherman-Palladino‘s period piece about housewife-turned-stand-up comedian cleaned up, nabbing five wins including Best Comedy and Best Actress in a Comedy for its uber-talented star, Rachel Brosnahan. Remarkably, Sherman-Palladino became the first woman to net a double Writing and Directing win in Emmy history. (“My panic room’s gonna be so pretty!” she declared, hoisting her twin statuettes.) Though it’s only one season old, Mrs. Maisel came out of the gate a fully-formed spitfire of a show — and it more than earned this freshman sweep. 

WTF: The Emmys go light on big issues Ever since the 2016 election rocked the world on its foundations, pretty much every major awards show has worn its politics on its sleeve (or pinned to its lapel, as the case may be). But with a few exceptions — like Ryan Murphy citing hate crime statistics in his American Crime Story speech, Evan Rachel Wood rocking a blue ribbon and Rachel Brosnahan encouraging women to vote in the midterms — politics and social issues were not a major point of discussion. The #TimesUp movement, which is currently making major waves in the TV industry, was barely mentioned; diversity, while it was much joked about, was never seriously grappled with. The T-word (you know the one) wasn’t uttered once all night. All of which isn’t to say that awards shows have to get political. But in the wake of Oscars, Golden Globes and past Emmys ceremonies that were charged with moments of awareness, the 2018 ceremony felt a little toothless. Are we all just really tired?

Worst: ‘Game of Thrones’ wins big for weak season Look. We’ll be the first to say that when Game of Thrones is running on all cylinders, full dracarys ahead, it’s one of the most thrilling things on the small screen — a full complement of gut-wrenching dramatics, whizbang action sequences and Queen of Thorns side-eye. But this latest truncated season was D.B. Weiss and David Benioff’s water-cooler fantasy series at its worst, resting on the good faith the show has built up over six previous seasons to trot out a series of episodes that were, frankly, just kind of dumb. So we rolled our eyes a bit when the series nabbed the most Emmy noms this year (22!), and even more when it won Outstanding Drama in a year when there are much more interesting things going on (many of which weren’t even nominated). Even the show’s creators looked nonplussed as they accepted Thrones’ third win in the category since 2015. Yawn. Wake us up when the ice dragon gets to Winterfell.

WTF: Jeff Daniels goes on a horse rant Plenty of actors talk about their costars at length in their speeches — but Jeff Daniels took it to a whole other level. When he accepted the Supporting Actor in a Limited Series statuette for his turn in Netflix western Godless, the actor didn’t care so much about making sure to thank all the right people as he did about … talking about horse stuff? Yeah, we were also confused. He spent most of his time at the podium descanting on all things equine, encouraging young actors not to lie about their horseback-riding abilities at auditions and recalling his harrowing experience with his steed Apollo. “He was Jeff Bridges’ horse on True Grit, and I felt he was making unfair comparisons,” Daniels quipped. Apollo apparently threw him three times, breaking his wrist in the process, to which the actor responded by hoisting his Emmy with the now-healed joint. Living well is the best revenge, we suppose.

Best: ‘RuPaul’s Drag Race’ gets a long-awaited win The Reality Competition Series category has historically been one of the Emmys’ dullest, with the same few shows (The Amazing Race, The Voice and Top Chef) winning year after year since its inception in 2003. It’s about damn time that the statuette went to VH1’s (formerly Logo’s) genuinely groundbreaking RuPaul’s Drag Race, after a whopping 10 seasons and counting on the air. Reality shows aren’t generally a space known for enacting anything like positive change, but with its fabulously inventive queens and policy of radical acceptance, the show has proven itself to be a force for genuine good in the world — not to mention a plain ol’ good time. RuPaul accepted the award “on behalf of the 140 drag queens we have released into the wild,” and, we’d like to think, the generation of LGBTQ kids who have 140 high-profile role models. Can we get an amen?

Best: Claire Foy wins for ‘The Crown’ For our money, there wasn’t a more fierce category this year than Lead Actress in a Drama. The field boasted past winners Elisabeth Moss (The Handmaid’s Tale) and Tatiana Maslany (Orphan Black), repeat nominees Keri Russell (The Americans) and Evan Rachel Wood (Westworld), plus fierce category newcomer Sandra Oh (Killing Eve). And while pretty much any of these heavy hitters deserved the win, we’re quite chuffed it went to Claire Foy for her nuanced, luminescent star turn in Netflix’s The Crown. All depth and no flash, Queen Elizabeth II isn’t an easy role to take on — but Foy’s performance is painterly in its precision. “I dedicate this to the next cast,” she said in her speech, passing the royal vestments on to Elizabeth-in-the-wings Olivia Colman. To which we say: Long live the Queen.

Best: Regina King’s heartfelt speech “Oooh! Regina King!” presenter Leslie Jones exclaimed with delight when she announced the winner for Lead Actress in a Limited Series in Netflix’s Seven Seconds. King may already have two Supporting Actress Emmys under her belt (for American Crime in 2015 and 2016), but that didn’t stop her from being endearingly shocked and flustered over her win for her searing turn in Veena Sud’s crime drama. From the look of total disbelief on her face when the winner was announced to her dumbfounded admission that she’d just cleaned lipstick off her dress, King provided one of the night’s rare emotional moments. “Thank you. This is amazing. I wanna curse right now,” she declared, and we don’t blame her. Sadly, the systemic racism that Seven Seconds tackles was reflected in the fact that King was one of only a handful of non-white honorees (along with Thandie Newton and RuPaul). Take note, Emmys.

Worst: Was everyone on tranquilizers? You could almost hear the yawns both onstage and in the audience last night, in a ceremony that proved to be as high-energy as a bag of Quaaludes. Hell, there was one part where Will Ferrell ran up to the mic in slow motion just to … kill time, we guess? Blame Che and Jost’s lethargic hosting, blame some less-than-inspiring nominees, blame Monday, blame a television industry rocked by scandals and exhausted by its own self-mythologizing. Whatever it was, it’s clear that the Emmys needs a bracing shot to the heart before it’s too late. And that starts with shaking up its own clearly tired formula.