#saw other people mention eb's hit and i think its VERY TELLING that he DID reach out to apologize right after it happened and agreed it was

[deceptionpasses]

since we're all talking the booing tonite. i do think its also worth mentioning that he defended it/showed no remorse, and, according to jared, never apologized. so yes, it's petty, but that was such a major dick move to a beloved player in our first ever playoffs that absolutely affected the trajectory of that postseason run like sorry you have rocks for brains and cant understand why????

[fleetingpieces]

My One in a Million Chapter 8

Hiiiii! I'm back from the dead and finally got back to writing again <3

Sorry it took ages—and sorry it's not a great chapter— but thank you so much everyone for the patience and support, it means so much!

Thank you @inloveoknutzy @donttouchmycarrots and @knittingdreams for beating, love y'all! <3

Tag list: @whataboutmyfries @justdyingontheinside @heyoitslysso @sunflowerfox87 @hereforwolfstarr @potterlocked24-7 @ttylfedora @domesticatedbeetlenamedjorge @lovemeleo @im-lana

CW: Mentions of food

Ao3

Masterlist

Chapter 8 - The morning after

Remus woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. He blinked a few times to get the tiredness out of his eyes—which seemed to want to stay glued shut—and stared at the ceiling for long moments.

His first thought was that, for a second, he thought he could hear Padfoot’s laugh. Vague images of a dream he’d had came flooding back to him; long corridors, empty beds and his gaming console. The sound must have been a remnant of that.

The second thought was that the ceiling of his room was weird. He couldn’t quite pinpoint where the bugging sensation came from, but something was off and he was way too tired to figure out what it was. Maybe he should just go back to sleep. Groaning, he turned around to do just that, and that’s when he got a good look at the rest of the room.

He sat up with a start, regretting it instantly when nausea hit him like a wave. Closing his eyes, he stayed still until the feeling ebbed away, then opened them again slowly.

This wasn’t his room. There was no sign of any of his stuff; instead, he saw a big mirror, a dark wood chest of drawers, and a trail of scattered things that either belonged to different people or to someone with diverse tastes: a blue hair tie, a black snapback, t-shirts that at a glance he could tell were of different sizes, with stamps that varied from Disney to Strand.

One by one, memories from the night before popped up as the fogginess from sleep left him completely. That’s right, Sirius had offered his home to him after he’d found Remus outside of his flat; he’d come in to take a shower and had sat on the couch as they watched a movie and drank. Things were a bit hazy from that point on.

Had he really pouted and asked Sirius to stay with him like a little kid? Fuck, please let that be a part of the drunk hallucinations. He turned around slowly, glancing to the other side of the bed with his heart beating fast in his throat, but the spot next to him was empty.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Remus threw the blankets to the side and planted his feet on the floor to get some resemblance of stability, but frowned when he stepped on something. Looking down, he noticed a pillow and a blanket lying rumpled on the floor, next to his side of the bed.

A pang of guilt made its way to his chest when he realised Sirius must have slept on the floor while Remus was on the bed, covered from head to toe and warm. Sirius had been so careful with him. Every touch had been gentle, not invasive but rather trying not to overstep, trying to comfort. So, so very careful.

Remus felt slightly ashamed for thinking Sirius would take advantage of him. Not to mention for the way he'd bawled his eyes out in front of the man. He’d made a fool of himself yet again, something that kept happening a lot as of late and to which he wasn’t used to.

“Oh, God.” He remembered how he’d felt his mother’s hand brushing his hair before he fell asleep and he desperately hoped he hadn’t called out for her in his dream. Bringing a hand to his forehead, he could almost feel that phantom touch, tracing fingertips over his hairline.

He rubbed his face in embarrassment. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to face Sirius after all that, but there was no way he could fall asleep again and a quick glance at the clock on the opposite wall told him it was barely eight in the morning. It was still too early to call Leo or go back to the clinic, plus he didn’t know how everything had panned out.

Remus glanced at the bedside table where his phone was lying face down and stretched over to grab it. He flipped it from hand to hand, back and forth, the small thing weighing him down every time it fell on his palm with a soft thud.

He could call.

He should call.

But what if something had gone wrong? What if Cocoa had had a complication during the night? Would they have notified him already if that was the case? Did he want to find out like this, far away from him and helpless to do anything? He didn’t want to show any more weaknesses in front of Sirius, he’d already shown more of his vulnerable side than he’d ever intended to.

Nodding to himself, Remus got up and threw the phone on the bed. He took two steps towards the door. The doctor had told him to go in the afternoon; he could wait a couple of hours before going back to the clinic and then he would know and—

A huff escaped him as Remus hurried back and dialed the number, plopping down on the mattress.

“Thank you for calling Mercy Animal Clinic. This is Jennifer, how can I help you?”

“Yes, hi, my name is Remus? I brought my dog in last night for chocolate poisoning and I—I was just calling to check on him?”

“Of course, Sir. What is the patient's name?”

“Cocoa,” said Remus, gripping his phone a bit tighter. Jennifer hummed and asked for a few more details to confirm his identity, to which Remus replied on autopilot, his mind going blank in a subconscious attempt to protect himself.

“Just a second, please.”

Remus busied himself counting the floorboards while he waited, trying to calm his nerves, but it had the opposite effect as he became very aware of how long Jennifer was taking to find what he wanted to know. He’d started tapping his foot when the receptionist finally came back on the other end of the line.

“Yes, everything was ok during the night and Cocoa will be ready to go home after lunch,” they said cheerfully.

Remus’ breath stopped completely and then he exhaled loudly. He could have sworn he felt his heart unclench, invisible fingers letting go of their painful grip and allowing blood to stream freely again. His shoulders dropped, releasing all the pent up tension that had been building there since he’d stepped into his apartment the night before, and he laid down, covering his eyes with his free arm.

“Sir?” Jennifer said hesitantly.

“Yes. Ok. Ok. Thanks, I’ll be there.” He hung up and let the phone fall at his side.

The silence of the room was an echo of his own head as Remus tried to let the words sink in. He peeked at the ceiling from under his arm. Cocoa was fine. The phrase repeated itself a few times until Remus took a deep breath and swung himself up.

The hall was quiet outside of the room, but he could hear some noises coming from ahead. Remus bunched the sleeves of the jumper he was wearing, not too willing to admit how comfy and warm he was in Sirius’ clothes. Especially not when he was assaulted by memories of Sirius helping him walk through this same corridor the night before and Remus almost gave in to the embarrassment. Sirius probably thought he was pathetic.

Groaning, he steeled himself as he padded the rest of the way, but his step faltered before going into the kitchen, a hand rising to settle on the wall. Something smelled amazing in there. Like melted butter and Saturday mornings back home, with his mom humming as she stood by the stove and the sun streamed in through the open windows. The sound of the sizzling pan was accompanied by a rock song playing in the background, a cool guitar distortion filling the room, followed by a gravelly voice singing a capella.

And there was Sirius in the middle of it all, moving around the kitchen gracefully, head bopping and singing into a ladle. He slid across the floor like Tom Cruise in that old movie as he moved to the fridge and a chuckle bubbled out of Remus’ chest, taking with it most of the heaviness still clinging to him.

Sirius jumped up, accidentally closing the fridge door with a bang, and turned to face Remus fully. It was only then that Remus realized what he was wearing: he had black ripped jeans and a black tee, his hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail; and on top of all that, he had one of those aprons that had a buff man printed on the front, that read “Kiss the chef”.

Remus stared for so long that Sirius followed his gaze and looked down, only to look back up quickly with a blush. “It was James’ idea of a joke.”

James, as Remus was quickly learning, took special pleasure in teasing his friends, although Lily claimed he always failed when it came to her. But Sirius clearly treasured anything that came from his best friend, no matter how silly or awkward.

Clearing his throat, Remus stepped into the kitchen and peered at the stove. “What are you making?”

“Pancakes!” Sirius exclaimed, seemingly glad for the rapid move of the subject. “I thought you could use some hangover breakfast,” he added with a shrug before turning back to the mixing bowl on the counter.

“Oh,” Remus said dumbly, taken by surprise. He scrambled for something to add. “Did you get the recipe from the same place as those cookies?”

Sirius spluttered and threw an offended look over his shoulder. “Mon Dieu, I’m never going to live that down, am I? I’ll have you know, these are my speciality. But I won’t give you anything if you keep that attitude up.”

Laughing quietly, Remus breathed a sigh of relief that Sirius wasn't looking at him with pity or mentioning his sorry state from the night before. So much had happened between them in just one day, he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to act anymore. He shuffled awkwardly to the island and, as he leaned on it, the name of the song Sirius had been dancing to dawned on him.

“I can’t believe you’re actually listening to Black Dog,” Remus said, covering his face, not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“Hey,” Sirius turned to point at him with the batter-covered ladle, “Plant speaks to me on a spiritual level. I’m sending good vibes to Cocoa.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, making an effort to keep the corners of his mouth down. “You do know that the lyrics have nothing to do with dogs, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s the feeling that counts,” he waved his hand dismissively, sending a few vanilla-colored drops flying, “and the song title.” Smiling at that logic, Remus shook his head—as weird as it was, he found it reassuring. Sirius peered at him as he flipped the golden pancakes easily. “I’m glad you look better. How are you feeling?”

Remus tensed up, but it didn’t look like Sirius was making fun of him. Focusing on some point by his feet, he rubbed at his neck. "Yeah, um. Thank you for your help. And sorry about...everything. I guess it was one thing after the other and it was just too much.”

“We’ve been through this, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Sirius smiled tentatively. “Have they contacted you from the vets?”

“Actually, I called just now.” His heart rate picked up as excitement coursed through his body. Saying the words aloud made them even more real, allowed them to settle in and gave way to tiny pinpricks of impatience. “They said everything’s good. I can bring him home after lunch.”

Sirius turned to face him fully and his hand went to grip Remus’ forearm, his smile turning so bright it was almost blinding. “Remus, that’s great.”

Remus smiled too, staring straight at him. “Yeah,” he breathed. After a second too long, he coughed discreetly and moved back. “I just feel like I won’t be able to relax fully until I see him, you know? I wish I could go over now.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Sirius said as he leaned back too, fingers moving to play with the strings of his apron. “Just a few more hours, eh?” Remus hummed noncommittally and, sensing that he needed a bit of a distraction, Sirius turned his attention back to the food. “In the meantime, can you get the plates from over there?” He pointed at a cabinet as he got the pan out of the stove.

Remus did as he was asked and brought them over to the counter, where an array of toppings were waiting. His stomach grumbled as he watched Sirius cutting up some strawberries to place over the pancakes and then drizzling chocolate on top of everything, singing under his breath to the next song on his playlist. It was all oddly domestic. It was nice.

They sat in the living room to eat, though instead of sharing the couch like they had last night, Sirius—now without the ridiculous apron—sat across the coffee table on one of the armrests. Remus took a bite of the fluffy sponge and closed his eyes with a hum. “Ok, you were right. These are awesome.”

Sirius had just taken a mouthful himself, but he beamed before he swallowed and licked some of the chocolate off his finger. “Glad you like them, Re. I don’t think my reputation could have survived another fiasco.”

“Are you sure this wasn’t just a lucky mistake?” Remus joked, if only to ignore the way his stomach jumped at the nickname, prompting Sirius to throw a napkin at him.

For the next two hours or so, the conversation was light and easy while the music kept playing at a dim level. But, as time went on and the plates got piled up on the coffee table, Sirius started getting distracted.

He kept glancing at his phone like he was checking the time or waiting for a call. Remus would have thought that he was overstaying his welcome—Sirius had a life to get back to, after all—if it weren’t for the fact that the man kept the conversation going and going, asking questions and gesturing excitedly when he was telling a story about how he and his friends had once managed to get a flock of pigeons inside a train full of passengers. At this point, Remus was pretty sure that Sirius was not capable of lying.

A lazy breeze drifted in from the open window, bringing in the smell of morning dew and ruffling Sirius’ hair so that a few strands fell in front of his face. As he brushed them back, he raised his eyes and pinned Remus with a look that was slowly becoming very familiar. That look that said he wanted to say something but he was choosing his words carefully.

Remus was pretty sure he knew what that meant. So far, everything he’d blabbed about the night before had been skillfully avoided—mostly by Remus averting his eyes every time Sirius looked at him like that. He wasn’t looking away now though. Wasn’t sure he could, honestly; not with such intensity and thinly-veiled concern directed his way. Sirius opened his mouth, the words starting to form at the back of his throat when Remus’ phone pinged.

He jumped slightly and went to quickly fish it out of his pocket, holding on to the getaway it provided. Talking about his behaviour or the few hints he’d let slip about his past was not something he was ready to tackle. A quiet sigh dropped from Sirius’ lips as he got up to take the plates back to the kitchen, while Remus stared at the notification flashing on his home page. “Oh, Padfoot just uploaded a new video?”

The sound of ceramic banging in the sink startled Remus into looking up. “Um...you ok?”

“Yes! Too much soap,” Sirius’ voice came back, muffled slightly by the running water.

Remus snorted and got comfortable on one end of the couch, resting his back on the side and pulling his knees up. He wiggled his toes as he waited for the page to load, digging them into the plush sofa and then tapping his feet when the video finally started. It began like usual, with the starting screen of a game and Padfoot’s cheerful voice.

“Hello everyone and welcome! You’ve all been nagging at me to play with Prongs more often, so I hope you appreciate how much effort it took to get his ass out of bed.”

“That’s so not the introduction I was expecting,” another voice complained.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want to do it?”

“Why, yes, thank you. Hello y’all! By popular demand and because I know you like me more than this silly goose, I am here to play some games and have fun! Mostly at Padfoot’s expense.”

“You’re the only person in the world who could say ‘silly goose’ and not have everyone laughing at them.”

“I know, it’s a skill I honed for years.”

“What the hell,” Remus laughed, shaking his head fondly.

Sirius came back into the room, drying his hands absentmindedly on his pants as he took his seat back. He sat at the very edge of the cushion, leaning slightly forward with his hands clasped between his knees, eyes down.

Remus made a questioning sound, waving the phone in front of him. “Do you mind?”

“No,” Sirius croaked, gesturing with his hand for him to go on as he cleared his throat.

A small line of confusion pulled Remus’ brows together. Something was definitely going through Sirius’ mind. Deciding to give the man some time, Remus focused his attention back on the video and made a note to ask later if something was bothering him.

Padfoot was talking about the game they were going to play and Remus could feel his energy even through the screen. He always got like this when he was trying something new. Remus pictured him bouncing on his chair, waiting impatiently to start playing, tapping the buttons in anticipation. “He’s like a kid on sugar, isn’t he?” he said without thinking.

A cough came from Sirius’ spot. “Well, I… I think it’s...nice? He sounds happy.”

The corners of Remus’ lips tugged up in a small smile at that. “Yeah. That’s good.”

“Huh?”

“He didn’t seem his usual self in the past few streams. I’m just glad he’s ok, is all.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus saw how Sirius’ hands gripped his knees tightly, slipping through the holes in his jeans. Remus watched in silence but, just when he was about to ask what was going on, the video changed. A small square appeared on one of the corners, showing a man sitting in a chair, not much to see in the background, his face covered with the black dog that was his signature logo. Remus sat up straighter. It wasn’t often that Padfoot appeared in his videos and he couldn’t help the interest that sparked inside him whenever it happened. He scanned the small image until something caught his eye.

“Huh? ...Wait. That’s—” Remus froze for a second before promptly throwing his phone to the other end of the couch. “Oh my God.” He covered his mouth, feeling the pull of his mouth as a grin lit up his face, his wide eyes not leaving the small device lying innocently face up. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

“What happened?”

Remus turned to see Sirius looking at him with a confused little smile, probably wondering if he was still drunk or just bonkers.

“He...he’s wearing my merch. My merch.” And one of his favourite hoodies from the collection, at that. “How—How does he even know about me? I know he likes to keep in shape but…”

The faintest blush crossed Sirius’ cheeks. He rubbed his hands together, looking down at them and then back up at Remus’ still astounded face. He took a deep breath and exhaled in one go. “You know, I’m...” He trailed off, mouth opening and closing a few times.

Remus tried to bring his thoughts back to the room, to the man in front of him and not the one on the screen. He bent forward to grab the discarded phone, his mind still reeling as he paused the video. “Yeah?” he prompted Sirius to go on when he straightened back up, smile still in place—he wasn’t sure he could wipe it off even if he wanted to.

Sirius’ grey eyes roamed his face, then went to the phone in his hands before they finally settled on his bright expression and he sighed, smiling and shaking his head. “No, nevermind.”

Remus tilted his head, but Sirius simply shrugged. “Are you sure? You can say it, whatever it is.”

“I don’t think it’s the right time,” Sirius admitted, letting his head fall back as he worried his lip.

Curiosity flared up, dazzling and hot, and Remus tried to water it down, unwilling to trespass Sirius’ boundaries. Instead, he looked down and tried to organise his whirring mind, eyes going to the clock on his phone. “Fuck,” he muttered. He really wanted to finish watching and keep talking with Sirius, but it was getting late. “I should probably get going.”

“Oh,” Sirius blinked as he raised his head up. “You can stay if you want to.”

“No, I…” Remus stood up. “I should go get the key from Leo. I will probably see both his mom and mine, which means it won’t be a short visit and I’d like to be at the clinic as soon as possible.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Stopping midstep, Remus turned to look at Sirius, eyebrows raised. “Come with me?”

“Yeah, to the clinic? You are not too fond of them.”

It wasn’t a question, but Remus replied anyway, surprised that Sirius had caught on to that at all. “No, I’m not,” he said, dumbfounded. He shook his head. “But it’s ok, you did a lot for me already.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Remus, anyone in my place would have done the same.”

No, they wouldn’t.

“It’s fine, really. Leo will probably come with me,” he said. He wasn’t sure how Sirius could think that everyone was that selfless, that any person would have helped an almost stranger without thinking it was too much effort. Remus chose not to say anything about it, knowing fully well that was not the case.

[nicknellie]

Context so people who haven’t seen Ghosts can still read and enjoy this: Alex is the ghost of a WWII Commanding Officer. In this fic he relives his army days before he died, telling Julie all about it, focusing on another soldier in particular - Lieutenant William Havers.

Sidenote for people who have seen Ghosts: Alex is the Captain, Julie is Alison (because I would pay real money for them to have a conversation like this in the show), and Willie is Havers.

This is the saddest thing I’ve ever written. I wanted to include Willex in the longer Ghosts AU I’m writing but I couldn’t find a natural way to fit it in so I wrote this as something completely separate. Every interaction between Alex and Willie is taken from BBC Ghosts and is very gay.

Here’s to Buried Secrets

Alex could remember it like it was yesterday. Late June in 1940 – hazy spring had bled into a dazed summer, his troops were getting restless after going on a year of work, and he was just about ready to lose his mind. That day had been one of startling revelations and hard-hitting truths, painful decisions that felt like betrayals, stagnant silences and hurt.

With the war dragging on endlessly, his troops had been getting complacent. They did critical work at their base, top secret and crucial to the war effort, but there were times where nothing would happen for days at a time and the troops would get bored. Their behaviour was beginning to waver, and though he wasn’t too against it overall (he understood why they were acting up, he was bored to death too) Alex had to do the right thing and set them straight.

“Now,” he said, “that brings me neatly to point sixteen. There is still a great deal of noise going on at night – laughing, giggling, horseplay. Now, we all get bored – that’s inevitable in our circumstances – but may I remind you, we are at war. I wo…”

He had let his sentence trail off. At that moment, the doors at the back of the room had swung open and in walked Willie. Lieutenant William Havers was Alex’s right-hand man and close friend. There couldn’t always be much room for friendships when at war, and living in such close quarters with everyone in the house could make bonding difficult, but there was something about Willie and Alex that had allowed them simply to click. They understood each other – they cared for each other. Perhaps a little too much.

“Ah, Lieutenant,” Alex greeted, interrupting his own speech.

Willie walked towards him, hand outstretched, holding a small, folded piece of paper. “Communique for you, sir, from HQ, marked urgent.”

“Ah,” Alex returned, taking the note. “Finally! This’ll be my requisition for a service revolver.”

Willie smiled gently as Alex unfolded the note, and Alex suppressed his own. But as soon as he read the note, there was no smile left to hide. This was that first striking blow, that devastating loss; the note brought with it the news of a surrender.

“Good God,” Alex exclaimed, skimming the note over again, making sure he’d read it correctly.

“Sir?” Willie prompted, sounding concerned.

“France has surrendered,” Alex explained.

“My God,” muttered Willie. The troops, still assembled to the side of the two men, began murmuring amongst themselves, the tension in the room much higher now than when Alex had been telling them they needed to go to bed on time.

Alex looked out the window, scanning the sky for any sign of attack. It was silly, he knew – nothing could have happened so quickly – but as it was wont to do, his anxiety began to overwhelm him.

“The Germans are coming,” he said, breath hitching in his throat.

“I don’t think they’ll be here just yet, sir,” Willie told him.

Alex shook his head, regained control. Willie was always good at doing that; he could sense when Alex needed help to calm down, and he could do so with an easy joke, a clever quip. Coming from anyone else, talking to a commanding officer that way might have been a sign of disrespect, but from Willie it was just what Alex needed.

“What? Right,” Alex agreed.

Willie could see he was still distressed. “May I suggest we initiate the emergency lockdown protocol, sir?” he said easily.

“Yes!” Alex exclaimed. He was eternally thankful for Willie – God only knew where he would be without that man by his side. “Yes, jolly good.” He turned to address his troops. “Now, it’s vital that nothing fall into enemy hands.”

“You heard the CO,” Willie said to the troops as Alex turned to watch out the window again. “Get to your duties.”

The troops dispersed in a cloud of excited but nervous chatter, getting to their stations, hiding their work. Alex was left alone with Willie, his only comfort. As Willie came to stand by the window with him, that easy, dashing smile on his lips, Alex felt himself both tense and relax. His worry ebbed away, but it was replaced with the hammering of his heart and a shortness of breath.

“Er… exciting times, Willie,” he ventured. He knew he should have called Willie by his proper title, or at least his surname, but when in private the two were much more open and colloquial with each other. Besides, in the wake of such a bombshell using his first name didn’t seem so scandalous. “If they do invade, we might get a proper pop at Jerry.”

“Yes,” Willie said through a chuckle. But the smile on his face dropped after a moment. Alex felt his heart plummet – Willie was usually all smiles and it was never good when they fell away. “About that, sir… I know we do vital work here, sir… but I want to get involved in the fighting. I’ve put in for a transfer.”

Alex felt like his breath had been stolen from him. Here again, that blow to the gut, that crushing feeling of betrayal. He knew distantly that Willie wasn’t betraying him and he could understand why he wanted to go. What stung was that he was only finding out after the fact. Though he knew also why Willie hadn’t told him: because they both knew that Alex would have done everything in his power to stop him, and it would have been too painful for either of them to bear.

Neither of them had ever mentioned it, but there was something magical about the bond they had. It was like they shared a soul, improved each other, completed one another. Alex didn’t want to think too hard about it. The thought of what he and Willie could have been was painful in innumerable ways.

He still didn’t voice those thoughts now, even though he knew it may be one of the only chances he had left. Instead, through a hitch in his voice, he said, “You’re leaving?”

Willie didn’t reply for a moment, a pregnant pause growing between them, pushing them apart. It stung, and Alex couldn’t feel anything.

But then Willie gathered himself and said, “There’s talk of a North Africa front.”

“Yes,” Alex replied, nodding like it all made perfect sense, like he didn’t feel as if he were going to die. “Yes, well, I totally understand, of course. Carry on.”

He ended it like a command, an order. It wasn’t because he wanted to be apart from Willie - no, he wanted to keep him close by forever - but he needed to grasp some semblance of control and giving orders, doing his job as CO let him do just that - be in control, understand what was happening.

“Thank you,” Willie replied, excruciatingly quiet, ducking his head.

He left the room and Alex in musty silence, the air heavy with revealed secrets and suffocating like gas. Alex’s mind was swimming, fogged with hopeless fantasies, weighed down by the knowledge that the one person who kept him going would soon be leaving him.

*

Alex had almost forgotten that Julie was there until he looked around and saw her watching him. He was dragged back down from his own mind, his own dredged up memories, and instead reminded himself that he had been telling her all that, not reliving it for no good reason. Perhaps he’d got a bit too caught up in it all, lost in his own head.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Willie was wonderful. A very fine soldier. I never found what became of him, though, after he left for North Africa. We exchanged letters for a while, but it was difficult – what with the top-secret work I was doing, we couldn’t have addresses being traced and whatnot. We soon fell out of touch, and then… well, I died.”

Julie reached out as if to take his hand, but then seemed to remember they couldn’t touch, so rested it in the space between them on the sofa. Alex smiled weakly, laid his own hand beside hers. He tried to avoid looking her in the eye – her expression radiated pity and it was the last thing he wanted to see.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” she said gently. “It must have been awful.”

“Luckily, a true soldier like me becomes adept at hiding his feelings,” he said, trying for light and joking but clearly missing his target. “Besides. I couldn’t worry my troops. Had to keep morale up, which was difficult enough in itself. It was… it was rather a lot to come to terms with.”

“What happened when he left?” Julie asked softly.

Alex sighed. “Well…”

*

Alex had been in his office just a few days later. He was staring down at an envelope, carefully sealed. In it was the blueprints for a new limpet mine, a prototype bomb that would perhaps revolutionise the war had it not been so unstable – Alex and Willie had been trying to create a version that was safer, easier to use, but so far had come up empty. They had been instructed to dispose of the bomb and its blueprints; the mission would be dropped.

The envelope was marked simply with the word ‘William’. That was what the operation was called, its codename. Alex had been the one to decide upon it, uncreatively naming it after the first thing he saw, which just so happened to be his lieutenant sat by his side. Willie was the only other one to know about Operation William and when he left it would just be Alex.

Alex had imagined many a time that the contents of the envelope were something entirely different, that the name on the front was to address someone rather than to hide something. In his dreams, there was a letter inside written in his own handwriting and it spilled every deep dark secret he was keeping. It would be addressed to Willie and for his eyes only. In his dreams, Willie would write his own letter in return, addressed to Alex.

He would never write that letter, he knew. It could get him killed.

He was snapped out of his reverie by a knock at his office door.

“Come,” he called, tucking the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket.

The door opened and Willie let himself in, shutting it behind him, standing to attention.

“Ah, Willie,” Alex greeted, glad to see him as usual. “At ease, at ease. I was just thinking about you, actually. How’s the emergency lockdown coming?”

“Very good, sir,” Willie returned, smiling sweetly. “Most items have been squared away, as per the order.”

“Excellent,” Alex returned, beaming. He moved to stand behind his desk, closer to Willie but with a barrier between them. As he tried to speak, Willie began too. “I see–”

“I’ve come to tell you that–”

Both laughed, nerves buzzing between them. Alex knew what his were about – he could only guess and hope as to why Willie seemed a little on edge. The space between them felt charged with expectation, though what it was for Alex didn’t know.

“Sorry,” he said, returning Willie’s genuine but faltering smile, “you first, Lieutenant.”

There was a pause. Uncomfortable, excruciatingly anticipatory. The last remains of Willie’s smile crumbled and he swallowed before he said those few words that would tear down the last of Alex’s resolve and ruin him forever, haunting every dream and nightmare and waking moment. The words that would echo in his head whenever there was silence. The words he would fall asleep thinking about every night from that day forward.

“I’m afraid I’m leaving you, sir… At eighteen-hundred hours this evening.”

The world stilled. Alex wasn’t sure his heart was beating anymore. The part of their shared soul that was Willie’s was torn away from him. He came up blank.

“So soon?” was what came out of his mouth, weak, desperate, small. He hated himself for it, so tried for light-heartedness and gestured to the shining new gun on Willie’s belt. “That would explain your new service revolver. I don’t suppose they sent one for me, did they?”

“Only for front-line personnel at this stage, sir,” Willie said, a light but forced smile on his face.

“Of course. Yes.”

“It’s North Africa, sir,” Willie said. There was something like hope in his voice – it felt like he was asking Alex not to be too upset. Be proud, he was asking. Be happy. For me. “I’ll be able to have a proper swing at Fritz!”

“You make sure you give them a bloody nose,” Alex joked.

He answered Willie’s silent plea for his blessing, his reassurance, his pride, and he tried hard to be positive. He attempted a half-hearted fake punch, throwing it in Willie’s direction and was delighted when Willie responded (if only subtly) as if he’d been struck. Willie was grinning, looking happy, looking excited. Alex had to try and be excited for him too.

But still he said, “I shall miss you, Willie.”

Willie’s face fell again. Alex half-hoped his meaning hadn’t been easy to decipher. He knew what he meant, he knew why he’d said it, but it was a stupid and dangerous thing to say – a stupid and dangerous thing to hope for. Willie swallowed heavily, his throat bobbing, and Alex couldn’t read his expression. Though he was fairly certain it was something similar to his own.

He had always known that Willie felt it too, this forbidden and electric thing between them, whatever it was. This shared soul that was now breaking in two, never to be repaired, never to be recreated. It was this moment that Alex realised he and Willie could never have what they wanted.

So he backtracked.

“By which I mean, of course, that we shall miss you. And I know the Wilson House XI will certainly miss your cover drive.”

Willie’s smile came back too slowly. Alex knew his lie hadn’t come quick enough. He knew the unspoken words and unwritten messages were still there between them, heavy and quaking and full of fear, sadness, silence, and things neither wanted to put a name too. They danced around it, though they wouldn’t have to for much longer. Just a few more hours and whatever they had would be shredded forever as Willie said goodbye.

“Thank you, sir,” Willie said. “Well… if that’s all?”

Alex collected himself, simply looked at Willie for a moment before making himself reply. “Yes.”

Willie nodded, took it as his cue to leave. He pulled the door open and was on his way out of the room.

There was so much Alex wanted to say, so much he wanted to do. He wanted to spend a hundred more sleepless nights with Willie, working on secret projects and perfecting weapons. He wanted a thousand more late night conversations spoken in metaphors and riddles, deciphering each other, growing closer, learning more about their relationship than was permitted. He wanted a million more moments just to look at Willie’s face, to dream of what he couldn’t have.

All he wanted was to speak this silent truth that hung between them like a noose – damn him if it killed them both.

He called him back. “I say, Willie?”

Willie turned faster than lightning, hand rested on the doorknob but eyes trained on Alex like his face was all he ever wanted to see.

He tried to say all he wanted to, but knew he could never. It appeared he just had time for one last metaphor, a final riddle, one last waltz around their dire and doomed reality.

“It’s a bally shame we won’t get to finish the operation together,” he said.

Judging by the look on Willie’s face, the message was received loud and clear. Willie offered a smile, genuine but bittersweet. And without a word, he left the room.

Alex took the little envelope out of his pocket again, stared down at it. He had wanted to bury Operation William alongside Willie – they had both worked so hard but for nothing and it seemed only right they should rid the world of this failure together. But Alex would have to do it alone.

If only he could write that imaginary letter now, he thought. There was so much he could say, but not enough words in the English language to say it. There weren’t words to describe the abject loss he found himself steeped in, the gaping hole that had opened in his chest, the weeping wound that would never quite heal.

That night, alone, he went into the garden with the blueprints and the prototype bomb and he buried them both. With it, he buried all memory and evidence of himself and Willie, all their hard work, all they had built and experienced together.

He bottled those emotions to never let them out.

*

“He left that night,” Alex said to Julie, “six o’clock on the dot. The rest of our crew saw him off, waving from the doorway, but I stayed in my office. I told them I had paperwork to do.”

“Did you get to say goodbye?” Julie asked.

Alex sighed. “That conversation… well, that was our goodbye. The rest of the house was in chaos so I didn’t have another chance to speak with him alone, everyone needed either my assistance or his.”

Julie’s eyes were brimming with tears; Alex didn’t look at her, or his own eyes would have watered too. “So that was it? That was the last you saw of him?”

“Sort of. I watched him leave from my office window. He… he gave me one last wave from the gate then disappeared, off on his own adventure. Without me.”

“Don’t you wonder what happened to him?” Julie asked, shuffling closer to Alex on the sofa.

“All the time,” Alex breathed. “I looked for his name in every newspaper and every message I received after we lost contact but I never heard of him again.”

“Would you like me to Google him?” Julie suggested. She had explained this whole ‘Googling’ thing to him a while ago and from Alex’s understanding she simply had to type Willie’s name into the little search bar and all his information would come up in an instant. It was quite remarkable, really, and perhaps it would give him that last little bit of closure. And yet…

“No,” he said, “no, thank you, Julie. It’s quite alright. I… I have this version in my head of who he became and I shouldn’t like to spoil it. I shouldn’t like to taint what memory I have left of him, should his life have turned sour.”

Julie smiled softly. “What’s the image in your head like?”

Alex cleared his throat. “Well… I suppose I like to imagine that he was the best soldier out there on the North Africa front. He rose to a position of command – that was where he thrived, really, but good Lord was he good behind a gun. He was well-respected and kind and his men adored him. And I pray that he survived the war, that he made a living for himself, that he got everything he could have ever wanted in life. Really, I suppose… I suppose I just imagine him to be happy. That’s all I could have ever wanted for him. And if I were to find out he were not happy, well… no, I quite like the Willie I remember.”

Julie left a pause before she spoke again. Alex could see the cogs turning in her mind, could see her wondering if she should say whatever was on the tip of her tongue. He knew what was coming the moment she opened her mouth.

“Did you love him, Alex?”

Alex stood, crossed the room and stood by the window. His hands clasped behind his back, swagger stick gripped tightly, he looked outside, eyes trained on the gate. How many times had he stood here during the war and after, waiting for what he had lost to return, hoping in vain that by some miracle he could be granted his happiness? How many times had he wished for what he could not have? How many times had he replayed those final moments in his head, watching Willie wave goodbye?

It happened again as he stood there. It was as if a cloud came over him, throwing him back decades, putting him right back where he started. Willie stood by the gate, thick coat donned, hat atop his head, his bag slung over his shoulder. He waved up at Alex, and Alex smiled back.

“Yes,” he said at last, so quietly that he thought Julie may not have heard him. A great weight was lifted from his shoulders, decades of repression undermined in that one admission of his true feelings. It wasn’t enough – it never would be because he’d never said it to Willie – but acceptance was a start.

Slow as death, Willie – Alex’s version of him – ceased his waving and walked through the gate, disappearing into the darkness to where Alex would never follow. And for the first time after reliving that agonising memory, Alex let himself smile.

[agoodgoddamnshot]

Glamour - Geralt/Jaskier

[Gif isn’t mine]

Originally posted on my AO3 account.

Geralt is observant. His job calls for it, Jaskier supposes. He’d be a pretty shit Witcher if he was killed by a monster who managed to sneak up behind him in the thickets.

It was probably something ingrained into him during the trails and mutations. Travelling around the Continent together only gave Jaskier an insight into how sharp the Witcher’s instincts really were. He heard things that Jaskier didn’t. In taverns, he would be able to tell what people were talking about at each table: even those who would give them side-eyes and keep their whispers to themselves. The noise always got to him. Jaskier noticed how Geralt could only be in one place for a certain amount of time before the noise grew deafening.

And on most nights, he doesn’t even think that Geralt sleeps. He has every ability to sleep. After a particularly long trek in between towns and cities, or even after a round of lovemaking, Geralt sleeps. But sometimes, noise keeps him awake: the creaking of a floorboard, crows cawing outside, or even the distant hum of conversation floating up to the upstairs rooms of inns.

So Geralt could be one of the most observant people that he’s ever met.

But, gods divine, could he be dense.

Emotional constipation and an incredibly short temper aside, it’s the little things that manage to slip by.

Though, in Geralt’s defence, Jaskier has been wearing a glamour for most of his life. In fact, the more he thinks about it, he isn’t entirely sure when the glamour was placed in the first place. He can remember the first time he saw a mage in his mother’s drawing-room, pouring over some old, leather tome on his lap. He remembers his mother beckoning him over, explaining that the mage was a friend. That Jaskier was ill, apparently. And the mage was very good at making sure that Jaskier would always be healthy and safe.

It wasn’t until he got a bit older, when the glamours started to flicker and fail, did he realise what his mother meant by all of that.

He imagines how the whole thing would have sounded: the Viscountess de Lettenhove had, at some point, fallen into an elf’s bed. The union produced a halfbred bastard – something entirely concealed at Jaskier’s birth, when the Viscountess demanded that the mage be in the room with her, when an army of midwives requested that he stay well out of the business of ladies.

But he understands now.

She just wanted to keep him healthy. And safe. For all that his father knew, Jaskier was his, and that was that. How could he have thought any differently? Especially with the help of the mage who, for all he knew, was only there to monitor the health of his son.

It’s only for his ears. That was the only thing abnormal – though, Jaskier never really liked that word. But he could never find a word that did match how he felt about the entire thing. The faintest arch of the top of his ears: too faint to be belonging to an elf, but enough of an arch to set him apart from human men. Enough of an arch to earn looks.

And he definitely wasn’t the only one who wore glamours. If people actually paid attention and looked, they would be able to see them everywhere.

And it’s not like Geralt hasn’t seen him bare. If anything, he knows the plains of Jaskier’s body better than most. People he had only spent nights with, he didn’t care much for them. They only saw what they were interested in seeing and that was it. Lovers he kept for longer started to scout, but Jaskier never kept them around for long enough to actually map.

Geralt is the only one that holds that kind of information.

And not once did he ever think, or give the inkling of a thought, that Jaskier might have been something else than human.

His ears stayed covered, glamoured to have a rounded arch – a human arch – for most of his life. That was one thing he could hide. Other things were more complicated.

Then Jaskier arrived at the conclusion that Geralt of Rivia was either very bad at acknowledging the passing of time, or he knew what Jaskier was, and made no mention of it.

And Jaskier, knowing Geralt for as long as he has, he’s absolutely convinced that it’s the former.

He met the Witcher when he was starting to claw his way out of his teens. And ageing had kept up well with him; he might have looked like a young eighteen-year-old, but he was eighteen years old nonetheless. And his half-elven blood allowed him to trudge through the years, gaining small little tokens with each year that passes. His skin does start to dull, after a time, and albeit not too noticeably. The faintest of lines scratch at the corners of his eyes and lips. But his blood kept him just out of the reach of whatever claimed other people his age. Or other people that should have been his age. He watched as other people gained white hairs and their muscles starting to slink away. He’s not going to lie and say he didn’t feel a modicum of joy at seeing Valdo Marx squinting at a tome in the middle of Oxenfurt library, adjusting his spectacles, and then huffing when he couldn’t make out anything no matter how close he pulled the book to his face.

Hiding what he was only became complicated when he found himself injured.

Something he can’t hide is how well his body can knit itself back together again. Elf blood is good at extending a life – either through shooing away the effects of time, or making sure that the body it inhabits doesn’t do anything too stupid to kill itself.

He’s never sustained an injury for something like that to be shown. If anything, it’s a very good testament to how well Geralt protects him. The most he’s ever gotten while out on the Path are collections of cuts and bruises – all of them disappearing within a couple of days.

This, though. Jaskier grunts as Geralt lifts him up the last couple of stairs. This could be more difficult.

Then again, it’s the last fucking thing on his mind at the moment.

“Thank you for your help, Witcher!” their contractor calls up the staircase. He’s still covered in rainwater, dripping it on to the floorboards at his feet. Rubbing some manticore blood off of his brow, he offers them both a grateful smile. “I’ll be sure to tell the town about how your deeds here tonight!”

Geralt grunts and takes Jaskier further down the landing, towards their own rented room for the night. As soon as he drags the bard inside, he ushers them both over to the bed. Geralt pulls at the blankets, tossing them down towards the foot of the bed. On the dry mattress, he sets Jaskier down. “Stay here,” he says firmly before wandering over to his bags.

If his lungs didn’t feel like they were caved in, Jaskier would muster up enough air to shout at his Witcher. Where the fuck would I be going? A manticore corpse fell on me. Because of you and your hunting partner not looking where you’re going. Do you know how disgusting that is: a corpse falling on you? Do you know how heavy those fuckers are?

He can’t verbalise it: so staring at the man across the room will have to do. It could have been worse. He’ll give the Witcher that. He could have been pierced by teeth or claws. But gods divine, his right side feels like Roach kicked it. There’s a hefty and deep bruise. He’s sure of it. And possibly a cracked or broken rib.

Or a punctured lung.

Geralt gathers what he needs; a collection of salves and ointments all encased in glass vials and bottles. He sets them at the edge of the bed. As soon as one of the vials is uncapped, Jaskier nose wrinkles. A pungent scent of tea tree coats the roof of his mouth. He turns his head away, staring at the wall at the other side of the room.

Geralt gathers some of the salve in his palm, warming it up a bit, before smearing it along the worst of the bruise. A sharp hiss leaves Jaskier. It might be nothing, but he’s sure that he hears Geralt mutter a soft sorry under his breath.

His blood will knit himself back together again. But it never dulls pain. A design flaw if ever he saw one: living with Geralt is a hazard to his health and wellbeing.

Night fell quickly. Though, winter has long since settled over the Continent, shielding the land from the sun for the past couple of weeks. Any light that does manage to fight its way through the thick, grey, heavy clouds doesn’t last long. The days have grown shorter and the nights stretch out longer. The hunt started when a sun still sat high in the sky. But rainclouds tumbled in, and soon night fell and in all, it has just been a wholly unpleasant day.

With their room only lit by the hearth’s fire and candles sitting on tables, Geralt works mostly in darkness. His eyes aren’t back to their normal gold just yet. Some small trace of black still clings on. Jaskier stares at the wall, holding his breath when Geralt’s hand drifts over a spot that took most of the hit.

Time drifts by. Jaskier blinks when the lip of a glass vial is suddenly set at his lips. “Drink this,” Geralt says gruffly. Jaskier can smell it. Poppy’s milk. It’ll dull the pain, and possibly put him in a coma for the next few days if he takes too much. He lets Geralt tip the vial, judging how much of the potion the bard needs.

Jaskier only tastes a drop of it on his tongue before the vial is gone. He makes a sound in the back of his throat. “This stuff is addictive,” Geralt frowns, putting the vial away completely.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I know that,” he sighs, wincing slightly when Geralt prods at the bruise at his side. “Bards are rarely sober. Especially when they’re in college.”

At that, Geralt lifts an eyebrow. “Did you raid your professors’ opium gardens yourself, or?”

A light laugh leaves Jaskier, though he quells it when his lungs start to tighten. “Gods, no. We would have been found out. They had those gardens on lockdown. We...just became very friendly with passing traders.”

Geralt snorts. He works silently, offering the occasional apology whenever Jaskier’s face screws up in pain. It’s been ebbed with the potion, but it still hurts when Geralt presses his fucking fingers into his ribs—

“It’s not broken,” he says after a time. “But it could be cracked.”

“Then stop poking it.”

“Are you like this with physicians?”

“I never see physicians so I wouldn’t know.”

A small frown creases Geralt’s brow. “You don’t see physicians?”

Jaskier’s tongue swells in his mouth. “...No?”

“I can’t say I’ve met a human with such a strong immunity then,” Geralt goes back to his work. There’s a new ointment now; crushed arnica petals, with a strong scent of pine wafting off of it.

You love the Witcher, something in his brain whispers to him. In an otherwise quiet room, he flinches. The thought seems loud enough that it could be heard within the room. But Geralt offers another apology, before smoothing out the last of the salve. You love him. And he loves you. Shouldn’t you tell him?

And it occurs to him, just then, that outside of his mother, a long-since passed away mage, and himself, that no one knows. He’s never told anyone.

Swallowing a lump clawing up his throat, Jaskier rasps. “Maybe it’s because I’m not human.”

Geralt’s hands still over Jaskier’s skin.

He rushes to amend. “Well. I’m half-human. My mother is human.” Jaskier chews the inside of his cheek. “My father...I don’t know who he is. By all accounts, I suppose, Father is my father. He didn’t suspect anything else. But in a biological sense,” why is Geralt staring at him, “Mother told me that he was an elf. But...I don’t know who he is.”

And if the room wasn’t quiet before, it’s certainly quiet now.

“Say something,” Jaskier breathes. “Please. Stop staring at me and say something. Anything.”

And he swears he can see pieces fitting together in Geralt’s brain. It’s a long time before anything resembling a word leaves Geralt’s mouth. “We’ve known each other for so long. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Jaskier lifts a shoulder – as much as he’s able without his ribs hurting. “It never came up, I guess.”

“It never-” Geralt’s mouth opens, but no more words manage to come out of it. The Witcher catches the bridge of his nose between his fingers before sighing heavily. When he’s finally composed himself, he looks back to Jaskier’s body. “So you’ll heal?”

“Quicker than most,” Jaskier nods, “but not as quick as your lot, I imagine.” He hasn’t dashed out the room yet, or jumped out of the window. That’s good.

Geralt hums. His eyes still run over every stretch of exposed skin lain out before him. The bruise really only takes up one side, spreading from the peak of his hip bone to the foot of his ribs. It’s been almost an hour and it’s already beginning to change colour. What was once red and blue is now turning yellow around the edge. His body is starting to knit himself back together again. And with whatever salves Geralt smeared on him, he’s sure that the worst of it will be gone in a few hours.

Jaskier lifts a hand to Geralt’s jaw, skimming his fingers along the ridge of the Witcher’s jawline. “I’ll be fine,” he assures him. “When the sun rises tomorrow, I’ll be right as rain.”

Geralt stares at him blankly for a moment before nodding. “Alright, then.”

It’s not the nicest inn they’ve stayed the night in. But he didn’t expect much for a small trading town on the axis of a crossroads. But the pillows and mattress are soft, and the sheets are clean. And these days, that’s all he ever asks for.

Geralt has every capacity to be gentle with him. He lifts Jaskier just enough to fluff the pillows behind him, and sets him back down again. He gathers the sheets from the foot of the bed, bringing them up to Jaskier’s shoulders. “Do you want the furs too?” he asks, nodding to a collection of pelts.

Jaskier smiles. “If you wouldn’t mind. The nights are getting darker and colder.” So Geralt gathers them, spreading them out across the whole bed, but making sure that they cover Jaskier from chest to toe.

Jaskier stifles a yawn. The poppy’s milk loosens his muscles. If the bed was any softer, he thinks it might sink deeper and drown. Eyelids become heavy, making them difficult to stay awake. He does though, because Geralt is still padding around the room doing menial tasks. He stokes the fire, placing a spark-guard against it. He strips down to his underclothes and sets his armour, shirt, and breeches over the backs of two chairs.

Jaskier must mumble something that resembles a Geralt. Suddenly the scent of the Witcher is all around him. The bed dips by his side and warmth follows. “I’m here,” gentle words mumble against the shell of his ear. When they’ve settled, a peaceful sort of silence blankets over them. Geralt lies on his side, an arm folded underneath his head. His other hand sits in between them both, twitching to reach out but unsure.

“I have a cracked rib,” Jaskier mumbles, rolling his head to look down at Geralt’s hand. “I don’t have the pox.”

And the Witcher reaches out, fingers gentling along the crest of Jaskier’s collarbone. He shuffles closer, and Jaskier only hums with how warm his Witcher is. The last of the winter chill is chased away.

He’s almost asleep when he hears it. “You know what I am,” Geralt’s voice rumbles out of his chest. “And yet you still stay with me. You love me, despite all of that. Why do you think I would be any different with you?”

Jaskier sighs. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I guess even those who are prejudiced against by others can hold prejudices of their own against something else.” He hears Geralt click his tongue, shushing him. Sleep tugs at him. His body is lax and warm, and Geralt knows where to skim fingertips so sleep can creep up on him more quickly.

“Sleep now,” Geralt gentles, his thumb smoothing over Jaskier’s cheek. He drifts off to sleep like that; a chest suddenly, despite being crushed by a beast, lighter than before.

[reasonablespeculation]

submission re: EB & more anon reviews below

I thought maybe I can give my review of endings, beginnings that nobody asked for because well I'm seeing so many biased reviews on twitter of ppl who already decided they hated it before watching it.

Starting off, I would like to say that I expected it to be much more worse than it actually is based on all the exaggerated reactions to the clips and some of the shitty reviews.

Style - I have personally always liked drake's style. Dialogue playing over their body language enforces the idea that what they say is something and what they want to do is something else specially in the bar scene between Frank and daphne. I loved the colour palette used, although it's a bit too dark at times and I ended up watching my own reflection at the screen lmfao. I don't mind jump cuts but the jump cuts at the very beginning were too much.

Dialogue - I'm not a fan of completely improvised dialogues. I prefer a script to be pinned down and the actors are given the freedom to add or take from it. The dialogue is lacking for a movie! But if we compare it to real life it's very realistic and I assume this is what drake was aiming at yet this made the film lose its cinema charm.

Actors - I feel like everyone did absolutely great with what they were given. The process shailene described seems like hell for an actor, going into the scene and saying whatever and expecting the other to say whatever and you have to respond on the spot. Frank and Jack's characters were one dimensional because I assumed they are seen through daphne's eyes and she is not interested in them beyond what they can give her (one gives her security while the other gives her passion). Daphne's character is annoying yet you can clearly tell that was the purpose. She's messy, she makes dumb decisions, she craves to be wanted yet claims she wants to stay away from men, her self righteousness when she saw Frank doing coke shows utter contradictions with her own messiness. I felt like there are a lot of ppl who can resonate with her...she's not your typical heroin. Regarding frank, I felt like he was initially even more one dimensional than what was seen on the screen, but sebastian gave him more character. The last dialogue in the diner felt very real and it made me sad. His chemistry with daphne is one of the things I found to be very real too, when he stared at her during that game It felt so intimate that I wanted to look away and give them some privacy (a choice bart didn't have)

Sex scenes - fans have really exaggerated the sex scenes in the movie because in all honesty for a romantic drama 4 sex scenes is not much and they are not long either or too raunchy. You can tell frank and daphne are very attracted to each other which made the intimacy in the scenes super real and had the viewer squirm in their seat feeling weird for watching it. I'm used to sex scenes being very theatrical in American cinema and that often makes them lose the intimacy required for the scene to be considered "hot" much like fifty shades with it's cold approach to sex and nudity.

Ending - I liked how none of the men tried to chase her to the ends of the world, its realistic and if this was real life all of us would be saying they can do better. Drake didn't exaggerate the love stories and he kind of deployed these relationships as self exploration rather than love. What I hated is how she magically went through character development as she got pregnant (this is such a Male perspective that it made me annoyed) I get how he's trying to promote self love but it just didn't resonate with me because it was associated with pregnancy (yet another person to love and be loved by) her journey towards self love should have started solo and I found it incredibly unrealistic for her to not want to know who the father is and even more unrealistic that none of them demanded to know. No one can live their lives knowing their kid must be out there, even if they don't want kids. And it was so ooc of Jack to say "oh that's great" when she told him she's pregnant and he thought it's his because he clearly stated so many times he doesn't want kids.

Overall I liked the movie, its chill, its decent, and it's not cringey it just has a narrow view of what its trying to prove. It's not a movie you can't take your eyes off of when watching but it's one you are interested to know what happens at the end. Many seb fans expect too much after itonya that they are now criticising sebastian's filmography as if opportunities like itonya happen every day and are just waiting for him to hop on. It's much more complicated than that. Endingsbeginnings is a decent movie, we're just looking too much into it because seb is in it.

RS: I agree with you, great review.

anon1: I j watched eb and I still have no idea what happened to frank where did he go - ghosted, bb. went and had more wild adventures and totally ignored Daphne trying to get in touch.

anon2: I remember fans saying there's a sex scene that lasts 20 min in the movie and clearly there was not, which is one example of people exaggerating the hell out of everything about this movie including how bad it is. Shailene mentioned that they shot a 20 minutes long TAKE of the floor sex scene and drake ended up choosing the bits he wanted - yeah I’ve seen a few reviews from other people on tumblr and the reviews Drake is posting in his stories and nobody has any goddamn chill. it’s either the most heartbreaking movie they’ve ever seen (??????) and dug deep into their psyche and replaced the need for a therapist for the next ten years OR it literally came into their home and called their mom a wh*re and stole their cat and peed on their favourite pair of jeans. LIKE?

anon3: So, I still can’t figure out why Seb, Sha, and Jamie were like, kissing the ground Drake walks on because of how great a director he is. While I didn’t thing E,B was awful, nothing about the style or direction of this film makes me want to see any other of his work? I didn’t think it was that profound and found that his writing (especially Daphne’s character) wasn’t that great 🤷🏻‍♀️ maybe I’m just uncultured lmao - I feel like Drake had a big hit with Like Crazy and has been riding that reputation into the sunset

anon4: Watched the movie. Frank is a pathetic guy with no morals and a very low self-esteem. Shailene acting is painful to watch. The plot is prosaic and inane, the characters are unconvincing and the dialogues are dull.

anon5: I agree that the film didnt have a lot to say. Also i didnt hate Daphne like i thought i would and definitely related to her struggles & sadness. But really, apart from Seb the movie didnt make me feel anything much like you. Which is okay i guess if you're into that sorta thing. Also, did anybody else get the feeling she only really wanted Frank but was with Jack cos she didnt wanna be alone? - yeah for sure

anon6: I am somewhat confused about the film's premise. Was Daphne always so messy and the assault was just a catalyst for her or is she simply dealing with the trauma of being assaulted? The film does suggest the former with the mommy&Daphne cuts, but i am not entirely sold on that. And i fail to see how being *thatbigtwist* helps with her self-loathing? Whats happening there? - I agree with you that it seems like the former... but maybe with the assault kinda kicking off the latest round of messiness and exacerbating certain negative habits in she was dealing with people? Andddd idk... magical healing pregnancy trope?

[guesswho-mp3]

[ Lady Luck ]

Au: twoface!baekhyun | Pairing: character x reader | Warning: language, death, gore/body horror, sexual references | Rating: 16+ | Word Count: 1.6k

This is: Visage One | Visage Two

“Rough day?” A light voice questioned. Baekhyun could feel the pent up tension in his body ease, his shoulders slightly slumping as he turned around while loosening his tie. The last of his worries left him, like waves flowing from shore, ebbing away at the sight of her leaning against the hallway.

“The worst,” he mumbled, hands circling her waist, nuzzling against her neck to inhale her scent. “There’s enough as it is, trying to clean up the G.C.P.D with the corruption scandals pouring in and Moon isn’t complying. The Gazette is more interested in my dating life than my plans for the future and I just have to smile and wave like an idiot. Did you know that they started calling me Two Face down at the precinct?”

“Oh my poor baby,” she dramatically sighed, laughing in admiration when he raised his head to reveal a pout. She thumbed at his bottom lip and his hand fell to her ass, giving it a light squeeze. Arcing her eyebrow at him he just hummed, taking her thumb into his mouth, wet tongue lapping at the digit. She grasped his tie and started pulling him towards their shared bedroom.

“Come on then, Mr. Hahm. Let me see what I can do to make it better.”

When he came to the world was blurry, the only clear sensation he could feel was a splitting pain on the left side of his head. His right hand crept up to pick at the bandages on his face, starting to peel the edges back.

“Uh uh uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you boy-o.” Baekhyun’s neck snapped in the direction of the voice, neck straining to the far left in order to be able to look out of his right eye.

The Crown Prince of Crime sat in the cushy hospital chair in the corner of the room, dressed in a white nurse’s uniform. The reaction was immediate, a coarse yell for help escaping his throat as his body jerked back and forth, the burning of his limbs too great to actually get up.

“Scream all you want. I shot the doctor and the police are running around like headless chickens at the Court House. They’re not coming.” The clown’s voice was unemotional, the lackadaisical way in which he said his words even more terrifying.

He kept still even after five minutes of watching Baekhyun struggling to lift himself up, frustrated yells and curses leaving his lips, a cracked image of the sophisticated and put together DA candidate that graced Gotham News. He was thoroughly enjoying this. He knew the Bat wouldn’t, and that thought made him laugh.

The attorney finally quieted seeing as the clown had yet to do anything. He leaned back in the bed, his right eye still furrowed at the figure in the corner.

“Why are you here?” Baekhyun accused, his right nostril flaring. The burn tape that covered half of his face still didn’t stop the wince at the burn of his torn cheek tendon stretching.

“To see you of course. Now I’ve done a lot of bad things to a lot of good people, but I have to admit, I think I really outdid myself on this one.” A proud smile strained his visage, his eyes slightly glazing over.

Baekhyun scoffed. “So what, you’ve come here to mock me?” He could feel an angry tear forming in his waterline, turning his head at the last second so the clown wouldn’t see it, he couldn’t give the madman the satisfaction. But it didn’t go unnoticed as he’d hoped, snake tongue passing over red stained lips at the sight of the liquid pain. If only his Lady Luck were here. Baekhyun didn’t see what happened to her after the attack.

White hot fury engorged Baekhyun’s pupil as he scrutinized the Joker, body trembling. “Wait. Where is she? What did you do to her?.”

Joker abruptly rose from the chair, like a marionette brought to attention, and got up close to Baekhyun, leaning in as if telling him a secret. “Oh, you don’t know?” He chuckled, a humorless, caustic sound.

“She's dead.”

The air was knocked out of Baekhyun’s lungs, the unshed tears forming a hurricane as he wailed and twisted in the hospital bed. The desperation he felt was mutating into something else. It was growing claws and gnashing teeth. His psyche was cracking like concrete, straight down the middle, his heart shattering along with it. He wanted blood. His paralyzed state prevented him from seizing a hold of the clown who just raised his hands up and backed away in mock surrender, his own figure buckling under the crazed cackles that wracked his body. This was going so well.

“I get it you know ehehe, it must be difficult to lose your other half. Especially aha, when it was y-your ahaha,” he wheezed,” prettier one.” Baekhyun felt like he was in hell, the previous screams reduced to a mixture of helpless sobs and infuriated growls, as if his soul were being split in two. Rage, earth-quaking, blind vengeance overcame him.

The Joker wasn’t done though. He had to push him, make him his pawn, his raving mad dog.

“May I ask a question?” He took the severe glare and snarling he received as his sign to continue. “You were squirming in your sleep, like you were having a very pleasant dream.” The grin that appeared on his face was predatory. He came closer from the foot of the bed, fingers skipping along Baekhyun’s left leg.

”Though I wonder, with the acid dripping down your body can your little friend still…” His eyes trailed down the blanket, whistling like a bird while raising his pointer finger up. In a sudden show of strength, Baekhyun grabbed the jester by the collar, pulling him eye level, seething at him, foaming at the mouth.

“Ok ok, aha, touchy subject, though I’m sure nobody is going to touch that anytime soon,” he tittered. “Especially since, oh what’s her face—”

Baekhyun barked out her name, spittle flying from his mouth and onto the corner of the clown’s, who licked up the drop before he continued, “Yes right, especially since she kicked the bucket. But that’s not important. Look, I wanna help you, Hahm.”

“Help us?” He grunted, skeptical at how the madman’s switch. His right eye roved across the clown, voice suddenly hushed, eye wide and desperate, “You want to help me?”

“Yes, help you. Listen, Baek, I may have pulled the trigger, but Batman and the Commisioner loaded the gun,” he said in a comic lilt. “You put your trust in a corrupt order. Am I right? You put your trust in the Bat, of all vermin, and where did that get you? A dead girlfriend and a fucked up face?” The Joker’s hand ghosted over the bandage.

Traitors, a voice spat. We have to make them pay. Punish them.

But they promised. They deserve a fair trial.

Deserve? The pigs deserve a bullet in their heads after what happened. They promised to protect you. But they just screwed us over. They screwed her over. Now we’ve lost everything because of them.

But they really tried—

Tried? Tried?! Give the Bat a gold fucking star than, get on your knees and blow Moon to thank him for the brilliant job he did. After that you can go tell the love of our life to go fuck herself and spit on her grave.

Oh God, please stop, don’t mention her. She didn’t deserve to die. It’s not fair. Baekhyun hit the left side of his head as he sobbed, a wet squelch being released from under the surgical tape with each bout of pressure.

Joker just watched on, transfixed, as Gotham’s White Knight started cracking, one part of him maliciously attacking and the other cowering. Two identities forming, one a tiny show poodle, charming and gentile. The other a rabid rottweiler, eyes rolling and teeth gnashing. The madness was being let loose. That acid must’ve really done a number on him. And boy was he gonna run with it.

“Doesn’t it ever bother you that Batman is always the one that crosses the line but never seems to lose anything?” Baekhyun bristled.

Joker pulled a gun out of the waistband of his nurse uniform, placing it in Baehyun’s hand and wrapping his fingers around it. “With life so merciless, the only thing that will forever remain faithful is chaos. Ok? Chaos is clean. Pure. Chaos doesn’t play favorites. It just kills and spares. Life. Death. Balanced. It’s fair. ”

“Fair?” Baekhyun trembled, weighing the glock in his grip.

“Yes,” the devil falsely soothed, voice grating and sinister. He lightly stroked the bandage on Baekhyun’s head, “Now are you just gonna let them get away with it? After what happened to her?”

The monster was back, rearing its ugly head. “No,” he snarled, fingers grasping the metal hilt, thumbing at the hammer, “we’re not.” He used his other hand to rip off the bandage, hissing as some pieces of skin went with it, flinging specks of blood onto the pillow.

“I’m glad you see it my way. It’s time to turn over a new leaf in this city. After all, like your slogan says,” Joker grabbed a mirror from the bedside table, turning it towards the fallen attorney.

He saw gnarled oozing skin. Part of his cheekbone and mandible were uncovered from stringy red muscle, surrounded by crusted and flaking gray skin. Patches of hair were singed off and one side of his mouth was curled in, revealing pearly white teeth hidden behind cheek tendon. Something flashed in his dead eye, nearly hanging out from the socket, the Joker staring back at his twisted grin in the smoke and tar of his clouded orb. There was a hunger there. Cereberus waiting to be let off the leash with an appetite for anarchy— to watch cities burn and symbols to fall. The Dark Knight to fall.

“The new face of Gotham, is Baekhyun Hahm.”

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 37)

Jaig Eyes (37/?)

Summary: Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she's involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?

-------------------------------------------------

Chapter Thirty- Seven: Jabba’s Palace

I watched from my table in the corner as the band made of seven Bith played their upbeat music. I’d seen them performing in cantinas around Mos Eisley before, and wasn’t surprised they’d made their way to Jabba’s Palace. They were good. And clearly threw a good party.

The finest scum of the underworld mulled about the throne room, downing far too many drinks than was wise, even for the more alcohol-tolerant species. A particularly grungy looking Weequay seemed to have a bit of powder beneath his nose. It seemed alcohol was not the only recreational substance being used at this particular party.

That didn’t matter to me, though. I was content in watching the partiers from my place in shadow, slowly nursing a Tatooine Sunrise. And the party-goers were more than happy to leave me in my solitude. The few who had wandered over to try and entice me for a drink or a dance had backed away swiftly when my pistol appeared from the shadows of the corner.

Many still stole glances, but they were for reasons other than fancy now. 

Their eyes were looking over the kyr’bes that was still painted in 501st blue, despite my having been departed from the GAR for almost a month now. My heart twinged a bit, my own stare sliding down to see the top of the painted skull fading. 

I should repaint it. Maybe I’d do red this time.

I leaned back in my seat, trying to force myself to relax. A long drag of the Tatooine Sunrise helped a bit in that. Though I was craving some of Jango’s rarely shared black ale. Of course, that wasn’t something Jabba kept in his stores.

Jabba, though pleased to see me again, was distant. Despite him not filling me in, it didn’t take much prodding for some of the regular working girls to tell me what was going on. I’d heard about Bane taking the senators hostage a week or so before--which included Padme. Aurra had been part of Bane’s crew. She just couldn’t seem to find it in herself to stay dead and leave me alone.

I half expected her to be on Tatooine, considering it was apparently Jabba’s doing that released Ziro from prison via the hostage situation. Of course, if we happened to cross paths, we likely wouldn’t fight in respect to Jabba.

At least, not in the open where he could find out.

Still, Jabba was apparently supposed to be at a Hutt Council meeting on Nal Hutta, but elected to stay in his palace with his son. I wondered why, but none of the workers seemed to know.

Despite the Hutts being a bit hard to read, I could still sense great fear in him. 

From what I could surmise from my gentle prodding of the staff...Ziro had information on the Hutts. And knowing Ziro for the slimy scum he was, I understood Jabba’s fear that his uncle would try and undermine him.

I watched the massive crime lord as he took a long drag of smoke from his hookah, letting the steam swirl from his wide nostrils. His protocol droid stood beside him--in the position I once held as a slave--still as stone. Jabba was nervous, but there was also a smug, content air about him. 

As if he knew of a plan that no one else did. Which was so often the case.

My gaze pulled to the doorway as a shaggy form with gray fur and glowing yellow eyes stalked down the stairs. I couldn’t help the small grin that tugged the corner of my mouth upwards. I didn’t move as the anooba raised its massive head, sniffing the air, its huge ears twitching as it surveyed the bustling room.

A few people--those who weren’t used to the anooba’s presence, shuffled away uncomfortably. They were rather dangerous beasts, after all. And very difficult to train. 

My eyebrow raised slowly from my place in shadow as the anooba’s head tilted to the side. It would have been cute, had anoobas been anything close to cute looking. His nose twitched before his glowing eyes zeroed in on me across the throne room floor. 

I was more surprised by the screaming working girls who flung themselves out of his way than the fact that the anooba was bounding towards me at top speed. Some criminals even drew their weapons, but they knew better than to shoot a hunter’s pet. Especially with this particular hunter.

So instead, they drew their weapons to defend themselves if need be as the anooba practically plowed over the party goers. They didn’t care what happened to me, though. Or they figured I’d handle myself.

They were likely all sure I was dead meat, since anoobas were rather deadly. Of course, I knew from the long tongue that hung out of the side of his mouth and the flapping ears that he meant me no harm. Jabba, having known me for a good portion of my life, knew this too. He let out a loud, boisterous laugh as the anooba leapt onto my table, standing over my propped feet and breathing hard in my face.

With a loud bark, he finally leaned forward and gave my face a long lick.

I let out a groan, pushing the anooba away with a laugh. “Marrok, that’s disgusting! Stop it!”

The tension in the room ebbed as the anooba’s long tail swished back and forth happily. I pulled my feet off the table, careful not to tip my drink, before giving the anooba a hard shove to bring him back down to the ground. He obeyed, thankfully, but his massive stature kept him able to reach my face even from the ground.

A short whistle finally pulled the anooba off of me, but even his obedience couldn’t control his excitement. Marrok’s long gray tail thumped happily against the ground, his wide mouth hanging open with his tongue dangling out. Slobber dripped from his jaws.

It was gross, but I’d seen those jaws dripping with various shades of blood, so I guess slobber was a lot more pleasant.

“Nice to see you,” I greeted without looking up, my hand mindlessly scratching Marrok’s neck.

Embo let out a small grunt in response as he took a seat across from me. He earned a few concerned glances, considering the silent threats I’d given to all others who approached my table. Of course, I didn’t mind Embo’s presence. He wasn’t trying to hit on me, for starters. And I doubted that he would even buy me a drink. He wasn’t really like that.

He babbled in Kyuzo at the droid that approached him. Thankfully, the droid knew languages, so we didn’t hit the usual frustration of a server not knowing what Embo was asking for. As much as he appreciated my translations, I think his language barrier pissed him off sometimes.

Of course, he understood the common tongue. He just didn’t use it. He’d once mentioned something about how it was ineloquent and brash. I understood. There were words in Kyuzo that didn’t translate to basic well, if at all. For someone with a native tongue so unique, finding words in a simpler language was frustrating to say the least.

After ordering, Embo’s eyes returned to mine from beneath his wide brim hat. He jabbered at me in his native language.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I responded with a smile. “And my employment with the Republic was temporary. That contract has...ended.”

Embo, being a hunter of few words, merely watched me while his beverage was sat before him. He took a swig while I turned to Marrok, giving the anooba a deep scratching behind his big ears. 

Silence between us was common. It was honestly soothing...usually. But something was still bothering me. I still hadn’t gathered the courage to pursue Moraband. My dreams were filled with the voice in my head...as well as images of the swamp world I’d seen Qui Gon on. I never saw the late jedi again, but in my deepest of dreams, I felt something like him trying to get into my thoughts to no avail.

Embo broke the silence first, pointing out Jabba’s absence at the Hutt Council. He said it was probably for the best, considering.

I paused, my drink barely touching my lips. “Considering what?”

Embo’s brows lifted. He explained in his curt and to-the-point manner that Ziro had escaped his prison on Nal Hutta and that the remainder of the council had dispatched Cad Bane to bring him back.

I hummed in thought, touching the pads of my gloved fingers to my lips. “With Ziro’s recent releasing from prison, I have no doubt the Republic are pursuing him too.”

Embo hummed in agreement before revealing that two jedi were present before Ziro’s escape. 

“The jedi don’t have him?” 

Embo shook his head in response. I glanced over at Jabba, seeing the powerful Hutt puffing at his hookah without a care in the world.

“He knows something we don’t,” I expressed, nodding my head in the crime lord’s direction. Embo turning in his chair to look, before grunting in agreement. Of course, we had no way of knowing what was going on. And to be honest, I knew it was just small talk. Neither of us were being paid to get involved, so we didn’t really care so long as Jabba remained in a position of power to keep paying us.

Thus, brought me back to my original musings. “Embo,” I said softly, Marrok’s ears perking at the familiar name before nuzzling my hand for more scratches. “If I asked you something, could you swear to keep the matter a secret?”

The Kyuzo watched me silently for a moment, likely doing his best to read my mind. He couldn’t do that, of course, but he had known me for as long as I’d been a hunter. Silent types often read others better, since they were watching rather than speaking.

He nodded slowly before speaking in his native tongue. He didn’t bother to be quiet, since no one but the protocol droids and myself would understand him, but I blanched and shushed him anyways.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, doing my best to school away the blush that was flushing my face. Embo repeated his words, still no quieter than before. “What do you mean ‘who is he’?”

Embo’s head tilted, not unlike Marrok did sometimes. He was skeptical of me. He reinforced that suspicious with his next spiel of words.

I forced a nervous laugh. “Love is for idiots, Embo,” I teased gently, despite my chest seizing up. Even a month after leaving, it was still hard to think about Rex and what he’d said to me. 

And how I hadn’t said it back.

I cleared my throat, pushing the thoughts away. “Jango never found a spouse because of this job. You know that.” I leaned so I could meet Embo’s eyes under the brim of his hat. “What kind of life would we be bringing someone into?”

His face rippled in a frown, but he let the subject fall away. He asked what I could possibly want from him.

“Hey now,” I scolded gently, taking another long drink of the Tatooine Sunrise. “You owe me a debt.”

He responded that I owed him a bounty, so we were even.

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. It was true, in a way. His bounty for killing Padme all that time ago would have likely been enough to retire. Of course, Anakin would have hunted him down and ended that retirement rather quickly, but still.

Finally, I sobered, watching the bounty hunter--my friend--as he swirled his drink mindlessly. “Do you know about Moraband?” I decided to keep the question vague. I had a feeling it was a planet, but then again, the voice had only chanted it. A city, maybe?

Unfortunately, my recent evacuation of the Republic premises made my access to records a bit tricky.

Embo seemed a bit surprised by my question, leaning back in his chair as Marrok put his big head in my lap. At least some of us were relaxed, I supposed. He mumbled gently that he did.

“What do you know?”

He asked why I couldn’t just look it up myself. Public databases were free, after all. 

I scowled. “My contract with the Republic ended a bit...prematurely,” I allowed. “I seem to have pissed them off.”

Embo chuckled--a nice sound, if you knew it wasn’t at your expense. He understood that I couldn’t risk the Republic being able to track me. I had a feeling the jedi weren’t going to let my case go easily, so I needed to stay off their radar and out of their way for as long as I could. 

Finally, Embo allowed that he knew Moraband was a planet in the Outer Rim. He rambled off some details, like how it was mostly desolate and abandoned, considering the past wars fought there, but there were trading posts there.

“The Commerce Guild?” I asked, earning a nod. “If it’s a popular trade off point in trade, why is it abandoned?” I thought through his words again. “What wars, Embo?”

His brow lifted under his hat as he mumbled his next words. “Korriban,” I heard within his Kyuzo words.

My breathing stilled, Marrok even noticing my change in demeanor by letting out a low whine. I’d heard that name before, when I’d spoken to Hydan on Nal Hutta. That had been so long ago, when I was first discovering my heritage...the heritage that immediately branded me a threat.

Though, considering my frightening outburst with the Force when I fought Dooku, maybe that branding was validated.

“Why is it called Moraband if it was originally Korriban?” I asked.

Embo shrugged, mentioning something about Republic databases changing the name. He wasn’t sure why.

I had a feeling it was an influence from the jedi, considering the wars between sith and jedi that had occurred on that dark planet. I swallowed slowly. “You don’t happen to have access to those coordinates, do you?”

My friend stared at me in silence for a long moment before grunting a single word in Kyuzo. “Why?” he’d asked in his native tongue.

“Does it matter?” I responded immediately. 

His eyes narrowed as he explained that Korriban was a dangerous world. He’d been there only once and didn’t fancy another visit.

“I can handle myself.”

He went on to describe the planet as deadly, filled with destroyed remnants of the old society that once bred fear and death. He told me about dangerous creatures the Commerce Guild had warned him about upon his arrival--terrible creatures that were corrupted by the dark side that had been flowing through that planet for so long.

“Embo,” I cut him off gently, trying my best not to lose my nerve. “There are things I need to understand. Questions I have...that can only be answered by going there.” 

He was suspicious, I could tell. But he trusted me, so sighed lowly. He admitted that he could get me the coordinates from his ship’s database, thought he disagreed with my going still. After a moment of appreciative silence and another sip of his drink, he stopped and looked at me. He asked if he wanted me to come along.

It was the nicest thing he could have said, especially considering his usual detached demeanor and reputation of being brutal, not to mention, lethal.

I couldn’t fight the gentle smile on my face. “Thank you, but no. This is something I need to figure out on my own.”

Embo finished his drink as he stood, leaving the empty cup at my table. Around us, the party was dying down a bit, the lights dimming as they milled about to other parts of the palace. Jabba remained however, glancing expectantly between his protocol droid and the door.

Hmmm… he was expecting someone. 

Embo whistled, Marrok pulling away from my hands with a small whine of protest. The bounty hunter gave me a nod, explaining that he had to leave for a job on Ryloth--Tatooine had just been a resting location to fuel up his ship. He promised to send the coordinates to me when he got back aboard his vessel.

I gave him a small smile and a nod, rolling my eyes as he grumbled something about my being like Jango, having to do things alone all the time.

I brushed off the comment easily, since I knew going alone was for the best. I trusted Embo, but I trusted Obi-wan once too. Yet, he’d done very little to defend me to the Jedi Council. How would Embo’s perception of me change if he saw what awaited me on Korriban?

Even I wasn’t sure what I’d see there. Wasn’t sure what would happen. But I knew it was connected to the Force.

And I was scared out of my mind.

I sat in silence, finishing off the remainder of my drink as the throne room finally quieted. There were only a few of us left, and apart from Jabba, I was the only one coherent enough to watch a Pa’lowick brush past Embo as he ascended the stairs, casting him a look full of batting eyelashes and pouting lips.

I rolled my eyes, watching her long legs carry her into the throne room. In the better lighting, I recognized her. She was part of a band that played in Jabba’s Palace on occasion. Sy Snootles, I believed her name was. She was a good performer, from what I remembered.

Jabba let out a loud laugh, all tension that he had hidden so well beneath the surface melting away as the Pa’lowick approached him. His laughter only turned more victorious and boisterous as Sy leaned forward, handing him an object that had been tucked under her arm.

It looked like a holodiary.

He chuckled out some words in Huttese to his protocol droid. “Jabba thanks you for delivering the holodiary,” it translated, shuffling forward to offer a handful of unmarked credits to the Pa’lowick. 

Sy snatched them immediately, popping her hip to the side with sass. “No one would suspect that a lovely creature such as myself could do a bounty hunter’s work.” 

My eyebrow arched, my fingers tapping at the rim of my empty cup while I put the pieces together. The holodiary, which now cast a faint glow over Jabba’s face as he examined its contents, likely contained the information Ziro had on the Hutt Council. And by Sy’s prideful demeanor that masked a broken, vengeful heart, I figured that Ziro was dead.

So...both Bane and the jedi had failed, then.

The protocol droid gestured for Sy to follow it, likely leading the Pa’lowick to where she’d be staying. I waited until they left the room to stand and approach Jabba’s throne. I gave him a respectful bow of my head before smiling gently.

“Ziro is dead, I take it, considering you seem much happier than you were earlier.”

Jabba looked away from the holodiary with a small frown before chuckling. He scolded me in Huttese, claiming I was too inquisitive for my own good.

I wasn’t put off by that comment. “It’s my nature, you know. A nature that has made a few of your more difficult jobs successful.” Jabba let out a laugh, closing down the holodiary for now, but cradling it at his side. “Anything juicy?” I asked, nodding towards the diary.

Jabba gave me a scowl, explaining that he would destroy the diary personally and finally put the Hutt Clan at ease.

I smirked. “No, you won’t.” He seemed taken back by my words, but I plowed on, unafraid. “You’re smarter than that, Jabba. You’ll delete information on you, but you’ll keep the information on the rest of your family. You need the insurance, as one of the most powerful members of the Hutt Clan.”

For a moment, I half expected Jabba to drop me into the rancor pit. Realistically, even if I could enter the rancor pit when I was younger without dying...I wasn’t sure if that particular oddity would continue all these years later.

I didn’t really want to test it.

To my relief, Jabba laughed, expressing that my nature would get me into trouble one day. If only he knew how true that was.

My wrist gauntlet beeped, drawing my gaze. Coordinates flashed on the screen. 9254.62, 6991.44. That was where I’d find Korriban, according to Embo. And I trusted the Kyuzo with my life.

Jabba’s words interrupted me, asking if I had a job.

“Of sorts,” I responded vaguely. “It’s more a personal matter, really. Don’t worry. I won’t be interfering with anything in your jurisdiction.”

Jabba laughed, giving me his blessing to leave. As I walked out of the palace and across the sand that was beginning to cool with nightfall, I felt my heart creep into my throat.

I was finally going to the place the voice had come from. I would finally see its source. And that thought terrified me so much...that I almost turned around. But no, I had to know. I had to understand who I was. What I was.

And then maybe...I could find a new meaning. And forget everything I’d lost.

[jezfletcher]

Oscars 2018

Can you believe that this year I managed to see every single Oscar-nominated film? I'm actually kind of impressed with myself. It's no small undertaking, especially because due to schedules of a toddler-related nature, in 2017 I had much less opportunity to watch films regularly. I did get out every now and again, and I took time off work to attend the Sydney Film Festival, which was a helpful event, in the end, with regards to my Oscars viewing. But mostly, these 44 feature films and 15 shorts were watched in the past month or so. Anyway, for the first time ever, here's my writeup of all the Oscar-nominated films of the past year, in order from my favourite to least favourite:

1. On Body & Soul (A Teströl és Lélekröl)

Directed by Ildikó Enyedi

Leading the pack this Oscars year is perhaps something of an unexpected entry. This is Hungary's submission for the Best Foreign Language Oscar, which I happened to see at the Sydney Film Festival earlier in the year. At that festival, it both took out my own personal Film Of The Festival, and was awarded the top competition award, the Sydney Film Prize. And there's a strong reason for that, because this is a wonderful, haunting film. It tells the story of two emotionally lost, and perhaps incomplete individuals, who connect when they discover that they've been sharing dreams at night. It's an odd premise, made odder by the unconventional nature of the characters, but it's utterly endearing and compelling at the same time. A lot of this is to do with director Ildikó Enyedi's style. She manages to make the film seem both ephemeral and engaging—I was drawn into the world with a kind of unforgiving compulsion, and yet when I was there it was alien, pushing me away. And so I revelled in it. The cinematography helps here too, with DP Máté Herbai finding beauty in both the dreamscape of the snowy forests where the two protagonists meet, and in the industrial brutalism of the slaughterhouse where they work. Overall, I found it a truly quite brilliant film, and it holds a very worth place at the top of this list. It might be a bit outside the tastes of the Academy voters, but for me I think it would be an excellent winner of the Foreign Language Oscar.

2. Lady Bird

Directed by Greta Gerwig

This had so many promising elements to me, and it was with something of a sigh of relief that I finally saw it and enjoyed it as much as I did. This is indeed a great film made of great parts, and there's much to be said about how good it is in its depth. The eponymous Lady Bird (Saoirse Ronan, an actress I always love on screen), is a high school senior, looking to escape from Sacramento when she goes to college next year. But she faces the fact that this is a less financially viable option than going to nearby UC Davis, and incredible pressure from her borderline abusive mother (Laurie Metcalf). There's so much to unpack in what could easily be a mediocre coming-of-age story. The layers in the family dynamics are rich, as is the development of the school world around Lady Bird. Her on-screen relationships, with first Danny (Lucas Hedges) and then Kyle (Timothée Chalamet) are achingly real, and touched with nostalgic regret. It feels like Greta Gerwig has put something really personal up on screen. Whether or not that's true is beside the point—she has managed to craft something that feels so real anyway. Nothing is out of place, and the characterisation is so believable that you feel following any one of these people would result in a fine film. That's honestly such a sign of quality for me. So yeah: I loved it. I'm aware it's the kind of film (black comic family drama, anyone?) that I'm kind of destined to love. But the fact that it ended up so good is wonderful—it really beat my expectations.

3. Get Out

Directed by Jordan Peele

I was so pleased when this got a nod for Best Picture at the Oscars this year. It's the kind of cult hit that could very easily be overlooked. Perhaps not without some consternation from fans; but it's the kind of thing that could happen and it would fit neatly into the Academy's narrative. If you don't know the story, I won't say much except that it starts off with a young black man (Daniel Kaluuya) travelling to meet his girlfriend's parents for the first time (played brilliantly by Bradley Whitford and Catherine Keener). It's a satire of race relations in a really quite astoundingly way, unpredictable to some extent because, oh yes, it's a horror movie too. This is the kind of film that you feel breaks down some kind of invisible barrier in filmmaking—something that's been there and has stopped films like this being made before, just because you didn't realise there could be a film like this. Now to be fair, what I probably call an "invisible" barrier is probably very apparent to someone with a different cultural background. Which is why we need films from diverse directors, and Jordan Peele's first effort here is genuinely, genuinely brilliant. (Just as an aside, I notice that my top three films this year are from two women and a person of colour—so it's not just that I feel like diversity should be improved for its own sake, although it should, it's just that I really, really like films like these. What else are we missing out on for the sake of another reboot of King Kong?) Anyway, long story short: this is a fabulous film, and one that you really just need to see to experience. It was probably one of the most clever things I've seen on screen this year, or in several years, and it's well worth your time.

4. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Directed by Martin McDonagh

I feel like the top four films have each been brilliant in their own inimitable way—like they're very much the top contender each in a different category. The way that they've ended up sorted is more about the intrinsic value in each category than comparing like-for-like films. Three Billboards probably falls into something like the "fun" category, which to anyone who's seen the film might consider an odd choice, since it deals with the aftermath of a murder, and explores themes of racism, grief and anger. But there's so much to enjoy here in Martin McDonagh's brilliant screenplay, which I feel is easily the equal to his previous hit In Bruges, a film that was one of my very favourite films the year it came out. It not only establishes a complex interaction of characters in this small town, but it provides a brilliant vessel for his stars to shine. Frances McDormand is rightly considered the frontrunner for Best Actress this year, and she gives an uncompromising performance as a woman driven by grief-fuelled vengeance. Sam Rockwell is also extremely good, oozing into his character with a charm that's compelling and disturbing. It feels like he's having a really good time with this character, which is equally enjoyable and worrying. This is not to mention amusing digressions from the likes of Peter Dinklage, John Hawkes and Caleb Landry Jones. Most importantly though, there's an arc to the tale here which manages to swing around the attitudes and motivations of these characters, while never letting them be anything other than anti-heroes. The character development is undeniable, but even as you empathise with them onscreen, you're constantly aware that they are still at heart horrible people. Compelling, undoubtedly, which is what makes the film so enjoyable, but morally corrupt in some way or another. This is true almost up until the very end of the film, when just a sliver of something human is tantalised. Yeah, I really, loved this film. Apparently, it's seen a fair bit of backlash since its release—I've read some of the critiques of it, and I just have to say I disagree. But that's the good thing about movies right? I'm going to love some, you're going to love others. For me, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri was a treat.

5. The Insult (L'insulte)

Directed by Ziad Doueiri

It was a good year for the Foreign Language oscar this year, and in another iteration, a film like this could well be on top. It tells the tale of two men, one a Lebanese Christian, deeply into fundamentalist and nationalistic politics, and the other a Palestinian refugee living in Beirut. After a minor incident involving one of them splashing water on the other, a series of escalating encounters pushes them into the courts, and finally onto the national stage. It's almost a comic film. It's certainly some kind of dark satire at least, which allows you to forgive the almost ridiculous ways in which it progresses, eventually becoming a lightning rod for simmering racial tensions in Lebanon. It's almost requisite of films coming out of the Middle East that they deal with tensions such as these, but often they are not done nearly as well as in Doueiri's work here. Moreover, for a film that's mostly set in a courtroom, it manages to plumb great emotional and narrative depths. It launches into politics, history and racism. It feels like an educational as well as an entertaining experience. This is only possible because it's always grounded in a kind of empathetic portrayal. While one of our players is clearly the Good Guy, and the other the Bad Guy—there's always enough light let in to the performances such that you can at least see the Bad Guy's point of view, which makes the redemption of sorts towards the end seem like a possibility. Overall, this was a really well crafted and very engaging film. As I said, it's up against some stiff competition this year, but overall, it was a thoroughly worthwhile experience, even if it's not going to get my nod in its category.

6. The Big Sick

Directed by Michael Showalter

A fine film, with a really sparkling script taken right out of the lives of the two screenwriters, Emily Gordon and Kumail Nanjiani (who stars, effectively, as himself in the film). Kumail is a stand-up comedian who meets Emily (Zoe Kazan) after a set, and the two embark on a torrid relationship. But when Emily is forced into a medically-induced coma, Kumail has to deal with his emotions regarding what could have just been a fling. Add to the mix Kumail's efforts in avoiding his traditional Pakistani family's attempt to find him an arranged bride, and his wavering relationship with Emily's parents and you have a fine film. Emily's parents, by the way, who he meets for the first time at Emily's hospital bedside while she's comatose, are genuinely wonderfully portrayed on screen by Holly Hunter and Ray Romano. It's an unusual kind of romantic comedy, which is stronger for the fact that it's based in such a true and fertile emotional place. They can layer on the comedy as much as they like, because there's such a perfect tragic core at its heart. It's never going to be seen as flippant. And this allows for those wonderful moments where scenes turn on a dime—one minute you're laughing uproariously, the next you're wincing in pain. It's a fine film to be able to do all of this, and I very much appreciate the skill with which this is executed. This is one of the films that I'd be very happy to get a surprise nod for screenplay, notwithstanding I probably have other films above it that I liked more overall.

7. Blade Runner 2049

Directed by Denis Villeneuve

I was extremely impressed with this film. It's a fine film in its own right, but more impressively, it was a film that managed to survive the weight of expectations from being the sequel to a science fiction classic. This is undoubtedly due, at least in part, to the work of the always fine Denis Villeneuve, who is a director I will follow into battle nowadays. He's doing such interesting work, and conducting an ensemble like this is no mean feat. He has excellent assistance, of course, and there's a reason why this is nominated in categories like Production Design and Cinematography. It manages to be both a coherent part of the original film's ethos, but also a bolkd new step. In many ways, I actually found this to be a more enjoyable film than the original. And this is despite the fact that close to three hours in length, this film is undoubtedly slow in places. But you forgive it. You wallow in this world. You wallow in the characters and the andante-paced story. This is a better filmn for its world-building than for its plot (much, I might add, like the Phillip K. Dick source material). I enjoyed it a great deal in any case, and I was perhaps a little awed at how they managed to so pull off something like this. I feel like I'm deeply skeptical of the recent Hollywood tradition of launching remakes, reboots, sequels and spin-offs. But a film like this shows that occasionally, maybe it works. I just hope that they see that as a testament to the crew involved in this film, and not the intrinsic quality of just reheating the old.

8. Coco

Directed by Lee Unkrich and Adrian Molina

I think this is the best Pixar film in some time, and as always when a Pixar film is good, it's due to its emotional depth. This tells the story of a young boy who wants to be a musician, and is accidentally sent to the land of the dead right before Diá de los Muertos. He has to find a way to return to the land of the living before the celebration. It's a fine film, and one that feels like it respects and embraces the Mexican traditions of the festival. Indeed, it has a depth that, to me as an outsider, felt like it was honouring these traditions, in a way that allowed me to understand them better. It manages to do this with a family-friendly story, and plenty of style, drawing on the skeletal folk traditions of the festival. It's also an emotional film, and by the end, you feel as though it's been building up everything for the emotional sucker punch. This is something that Pixar can do extremely well when the elements are right. A fine return to form after a few films that I don't think I even saw, and by all accounts were not very good. Pixar is a long way from the time when everything they produced was a hit, but with films like Coco, they show that they've still got it in them when they want it.

9. I, Tonya

Directed by Craig Gillespie

The story of Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan is one that I vaguely remember from my childhood. It was a big news story at the time, but one that just got morphed and twisted over time. I, Tonya is the film that plays very much on the mythology of the attack on Nancy Kerrigan, providing a fractured but painfully sympathetic portrayal of its title character. I honestly found this film quite distressing in a bunch of ways. This is the second film on this list with an abusive mother-daughter relationship, but this is significantly more challenging, especially thanks to the powerhouse performance of Allison Janney as Harding's mother. This relationship is brutal, but so is Harding's co-dependent relationship on her violent husband Jeff (played by an unrecognisable Sebastian Stan). Margot Robbie too is extremely good in the lead role, although she makes the (perfectly valid) choice to make Harding less than ideally sympathetic. It's the right choice for the film, but it does add more of a grind to watching it. But it's a better portrayal, you feel, for who Harding was. When I first came out of this film, I wasn't actually sure if I'd liked it or hated it. But it's stuck with me to such a degree that I can't help but elevate it to a position like this in the list. I think, in the end, it's a very clever film, and manages to portray Tonya Harding in a way that might be very difficult to do in a more traditional milieu.

10. A Fantastic Woman

Directed by Sebastián Lelio

A really quite wonderful film, A Fantastic Woman tells the story of an aspiring singer (Daniela Vega), who struggles with the death of her partner, 30 years her senior, and the suspicion with which she is viewed by her partner's family after his death. In many ways, it's a fairly straight down the line drama. It uses the conflict between Marina and her partner's family as the backdrop to explore some issues, especially around transgender identity, but it's not shoving messages down your throat. Instead, it takes Vega's performance as Daniela in a very staid and understated way. This is all very intentional of course. It emphasises the fact that all Marina wants to do is to live her life. To be able to grieve over the death of her partner. To be not treated with suspicion, or subjected to brutality and degradation. She's just normal, but that makes her fantastic. Overall, I very much enjoyed this film. It was extremely well made, and fills out the field in an already packed and genuinely very good Foreign Language category this year. Again, this could have done well in another year.

11. The Florida Project

Directed by Sean Baker

I quite enjoyed Sean Baker's debut film Tangerine, but this film is a broadening of his artistic style, and ends up being a much better film for it. It once again focuses on a group on the edges of society, this time a community of people who live in gaudy motels on a highway strip just outside of Disneyworld in Florida. It's largely told through the eyes of the children who live here, in particular Moonee (Brooklynn Prince), who are left to explore their surroundings without much in the way of supervision—providing a surprisingly raw look at where a child's imagination will take them without boundaries. Supporting are the characters of Moonee's mother (Bria Vinai) and the manager of the motel in which they live (Willem Dafoe, who rightly earned his Oscar nomination for this film). It's in turns depressing and uplifting, as we see the struggle of the parents (who are by no means the sugar-coated ideal of noble poverty), and the ways in which the children learn to survive and to flourish. It does have the same kind of jerky cinematography that characterised Tangerine, although that was filmed on iPhones, but here there's still a sense of weird, garish beauty to the uber-kitsch motels and strip-malls of Florida. Somehow it works. It's a really interesting film, and certainly one that I feel as though I can recommend wholeheartedly—something I couldn't necessarily do with Tangerine. Sean Baker has certainly shown with this film at least that he's a director to watch in the future, and I'll certainly be doing that.

12. Loveless

Directed by Andrey Zvyagintsev

This was the very last film I saw for the Oscars this year, so had the honour if wrapping up all the feature films. Like Zvyagintsev's other films, it's a chilly, minimalist affair, but like all of his previous ones it has an emotional impact that you'd not expect from its spare production. In this film, a family is undergoing a divorce. Both husband and wife have new partners waiting for them—one pregnant, one rich, aloof and used to their life as it is right now. Custody of their son would be a burden on either of them, and neither of them wants to accept him. Then, the son disappears. What follows is a typically emotionally bare and brutal undertaking from the director. It's almost merciless in its depiction of characters without warmth of spirit, and the consequences this eventually brings upon them. It's eerily beautiful too, set in the starkness of Moscow highrises and long snowy banks. Like the emotions it conjures, there's a bleakness to it, ably assisted by a minimalist soundtrack. I think this is maybe not as good as Zvyagintsev's pervious film Leviathan, because I enjoyed the more overt political overtones there. This is still a political film, without a doubt, but its politics are more cached in the environment that creates characters like this. That is, it's one level removed from an explicit exploration of societal corruption. But it's still an excellent film, and a film which shows the Foreign Language award this year as an extremely strong category. Whichever film ends up winning, it's had to take on some impressive competition.

13. The Post

Directed by Steven Spielberg

I won't spend a lot of time on this film, but suffice it to say that I found it an enjoyable, by-the-numbers outing from Spielberg, helped by the always competent performances from Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks. I feel like Meryl Streep has a common thread running through her performances, and yet in every one I've seen she seems unlike all the others. Here, her performance as the insecure publisher of a major newspaper manages to tap into that sense of inner strength she always has, but layers it with a timorous quality which is surprisingly engaging on screen. It helps as well that there's a good story to tell here—it's not the story of the breaking news of the Pentagon papers, but more how it was specifically dealt with within the Washington Post. This is more entertaining than it would have been to see how the story was originally broken open (the Post was not the paper to originally get the story). But yeah, it's a fine film, very enjoyable and very by the numbers. With a cast of such established actors, and an old-hand director like Spielberg at the reins, it was unlikely to be anything else.

14. Call Me By Your Name

Directed by Luca Guadagnino

This was a fine, very stylistic film, which used its setting to great effect, and tells a tentative love story in an oblique way. Timothée Chalamet is Elio, the son of a classics professor (Michael Stuhlbarg). Over the summer, a student of his (Armie Hammer) comes to work at their Italian villa, and a romance ensues between Elio and the much older student. It's set as a love story, and it mostly manages to avoid the questionable nature of the relationship by showing it in a very sympathetic and delicate light. Elio pursues Oliver, not the other way around. Oliver and Elio embrace consent at every step of the way. And they have the tacit approval of Elio's parents. Indeed, the absolute highlight of the film is Stuhlbarg's speech to his son towards the end of the film, where he shows wisdom and compassion that made me hope that I could one day be as good a father as he is. The fact that Stuhlbarg is not nominated for an Oscar for supporting actor, for that speech alone, is a travesty. Overall, it's a fine film, if not one that rocketed to the top of my list, which I feel a very similar film in style, tone and content could have. But a very worthy film nonetheless.

15. Mudbound

Directed by Dee Rees

This was a quite beautiful film, surrounding two families, one white, one black, in rural Mississippi after World War II. It's a well-crafted portrayal of racial segragation, but also of surprising friendship in the younger generation. This is, of course, contrasted with the older tensions, especially the savage portrayal of the elderly patriarch of the McAllan family from Jonathan Banks. The film doesn't shy away from the harsh truths of this world. It's also exquisitely shot, with broad vistas of the rural landscape, and claustrophobic interiors, used to great thematic purpose. It's no wonder that this managed a nomination for Best Cinematography. Overall, I enjoyed it a great deal. It was a very skillfully crafted piece of cinema that is very much worth your time.

16. Star Wars: The Last Jedi

Directed by Rian Johnson

Undoubtedly more divisive that the film that came before it, The Last Jedi is also a film that I found myself embracing less wholeheartedly than I did The Force Awakens. But it's one of those films that you most likely have to let percolate. A film that you should probably watch a second time and appreciate more than the first. Like its predecessor, it does follow a lot of the same storyline as the original trilogy. Rey, separated from her friends, and seeking the ways of the Jedi with an old master. But also like The Empire Strikes Back, this seeks to break new ground, and it certainly manages to do that. Much has been said about the humour in this film, especially about whether it detracts from the mood of the franchise. But this is just one of the ways in which this film succeeds. More than anything, it needed to break from The Force Awakens. TFA was the film it needed to be. It needed to soothe nerves after the prequels. It needed to get back to the traditional lore. And it did this in a very safe way—too safe in some ways, in that it almost copied the exact storyline of A New Hope. The Last Jedi manages to avoid that. It is at least the first steps into doing something different, and that is what was needed from this film. Rian Johnson may be facing some backlash now, but I think in the course of history, this will be seen as a necessary and pivotal film in the franchise.

17. Marshall

Directed by Reginald Hudlin

This was just good old-fashioned filmmaking, and I genuinely enjoyed it a good deal. A courtroom drama, set in the civil rights era, it focuses on one of the early cases of Thurgood Marshall, who goes on to become the first African-American Supreme Court Judge. It's a serviceable but predictable kind of plot, but it's told with style and charm, and pulled off with good performances from Chadwick Boseman and Josh Gad. The production design is also quite lush—it pulls together a sense of period in a kind of effortless way, more like the films released in the 90s and 00s than the fussier style of today. I enjoyed it a good deal. It's not a truly great film, but it's certainly one which entertained me for its length. And honestly, there are a great number of films, like many of these below, which fail to do that.

18. The Shape Of Water

Directed by Guillermo del Toro

This is a very odd film to be getting the kind of reception it has. Let me say straight off the bad that it's an exceptionally well-crafted film. It has an amazing ensemble cast. del Toro has an excellent sense of style, and an undeniable eye for the unusual. But I did find myself equivocal about the film overall. To some extent, this comes down to the plot, which is a little like a cross between a 50's sci-fi B-movie and Oh No, Willy Didn't Make It And He Crushed Our Boy. But this is hidden behind layers and layers of production design, and of del Toro's sense of fantastical whimsy. Disappointingly, I like all of the actors who are up for Oscar nominations for this film, but I didn't particularly like them all that much in this particular film. Sally Hawkins is perhaps more of the exception, as she manages to put together a remarkable performance without speaking a word. Still, I think that if this film does take out Best Picture, I'll be scratching my head a bit. It's not only that it's not the pick that I would have chosen, I feel as though it's really not the pick that the Academy would have chosen. So, who knows, maybe that's a good thing.

19. Roman J. Israel, Esq.

Directed by Dan Gilroy

OK, speaking of odd films, here's a corker. Directed by Dan Gilroy as a follow to his excellent debut Nightcrawler, this is something of a vessel for Denzel Washington to show his range. He plays the titular Israel, a socially awkward man, but a brilliant lawyer, who struggles to find a place for himself after the death of his legal partner. It's a weird film, but one that I found myself enjoying in spite of myself. Partially, this is due to watching Denzel Washington. He's a fine actor in any role, but in one with such neuroses to play with, it's something of a master class. But the film surrounding this performance is in some senses not worthy of it. You get the feeling that without Denzel Washington, this film would have just been a stinker. Plot-wise it's somewhat pedestrian, and it kind of meanders only as much as it needs to to create new situations for this character to react to. It's nowhere near as plot driven or engaging as Gilroy's previous outing. But that's what it's here at the Oscars for, right? For Denzel Washington, as always. And here, at least, I'm very happy to see him. This is indeed a fine performance from him—indeed, despite everything, it might be one of his better performances. And he does carry this film enough to get it this high in my list. Despite its flaws, I did like it.

20. Strong Island

Directed by Yance Ford

So here, finally, we have the first documentary feature. And it's a fine film, and a deeply personal one, surrounding the investigation of the murder of a young black man, who, it turns out, was the filmmaker's brother. Usually, I'm less likely to enjoy documentaries that don't have a sense of journalistic detachment to them. But here, the pain and the intimacy with which we are told this story through Ford's eyes, and the eyes of his family, more than makes up for the lack of perspective. This is an emotional journey, but it's one that's told with a firm hand on the tiller. Ford never relinquishes that sense of objective filmmaking in order to editorialise. He's well aware that the story itself is evocative enough. In the end, it's a good documentary. It's not one of the best documentaries I've seen in recent years, but it's certainly the best of this year's bunch.

21. Victoria & Abdul

Directed by Stephen Frears

I enjoyed this film a great deal. It's a surprisingly charming film about the relationship between an elderly Queen Victoria and a young Indian Muslim whom she takes on to teach her Urdu and about Islam. It's a sweet film in many ways, and lavishly produced, with good performances from Judi Dench and Ali Fazal in the title roles. It paints a rather sympathetic portrayal of Victoria as well—as someone who is fascinated by the Indian subcontinent, which she is Empress of, but of which she is largely ignorant. In this, there's a touch of cultural imperialism though. We see the favour with which Victoria treats her Indian friend without seeing the implications of the British Raj on the people of India. It's very much a film for a white audience, that chooses not to engage very much with the more difficult topic. But as a piece of fluff disconnected with these things, it's quite enjoyable. It was a film I saw on a plane, and it's just the right kind of film for me in that situation. It doesn't require a lot of attention, and it's somewhere between light-hearted and truly emotional. In the end, it is what it is, and that was fine.

22. Dunkirk

Directed by Christopher Nolan

It's undeniable that this was a fairly impressive outing from Nolan. But to me this was a technical achievement more than it was a great film. Telling a sequence of only peripherally related tales surrounding the British evacuation of Dunkirk, it very much manages to illustrate the epic scope of the operation. But that's pretty much all it is. I really didn't much at all get the sense of compelling narrative in this. I mean, it's there, in each of the individual threads, and to some extent you do care about these characters. But it's all done with such an eye for the broader scope that none of the individual stories seem to matter all that much. To some extent, that's probably the idea, or at least the inevitable end result of such a film. It is about the larger picture much more than it is about the individual stories, even though the tapestry is woven from those stories. Sadly, it failed a little as an engaging picture for me, even though the visuals and the technical expertise required to put a film like this on the screen is quite extraordinary. So I'll continue to respect Nolan as a director. He definitely has the skills to pull off difficult things. But I'm kind of hopeful that this trend of his to the wider and wider epic won't mean that he's given up on the more engaging, intimate and plot-driven films of his early career. We'll wait and see.

23. The Square

Directed by Ruben Östlund

An interesting but ultimately overly precious film, about the curator of a major Swedish art museum as he prepares for a new installation, while also trying to track down his stolen wallet and phone. It has a number of different threads, and there's a bunch of rather bombastic pretention thrown into the mix, including an extended scene at an art fundraiser where a man acting like a Bonobo ape is let loose on the crowd as a piece of performance art. These are all stylistic choices that Östland makes which imbue the film with a sense of added pretense. All of this makes the film less immediately engaging than it might be. It deliberately obfuscates at times, becoming more like the art you feel it's satirising than it does a coherent picture itself. But there's still things to enjoy in it. Overall, I found it relatively engaging. I feel some of the choices were made for the wrong reasons though, and it ended up being a worse film than it might have been.

24. Loving Vincent (animated)

Directed by Dorota Kobiela & Hugh Welchman

Another impressive technical achievement, this is a gorgeous film, with every frame of animation a separate oil painting, painted by one of a massive team of artists. It tells the aftermath of Vincent Van Gogh's death, as investigated by the son of one of Van Gogh's friends. The narrative is pretty much not the point of the film—they do manage to craft something that is enough to keep things plodding along, but really you can enjoy this film just by looking at it. Interestingly, the film had to be produced pretty much twice, because the action is performed first by live actors (the likes of Douglas Booth, Saoirse Ronan, Aidan Turner and Chris O'Dowd), was then printed on canvas, and overpainted with oils, all in the style of Van Gogh. It's a mind-boggling effort. In some respects it's not a film that should ever have been made—the fact that it has been, no matter what the half-baked plot was, is the really interesting story here.

25. The Breadwinner

Directed by Nora Twomey

This was another quite beautiful film, traditionally animated in beautiful form from the same studio that did The Secret of Kells and Song of the Sea, both of which were also nominated in the Best Animated Feature category. This film is set in Afghanistan, between the war with Russia and the US invasion, when the country is under Taliban control. Parvana is a young girl who has a gift for telling stories, one of which runs through the film in pieces. When her father is arrested by the Taliban, she disguises herself as a boy so as to be able to perform work and support her family. It's a sad film in many ways, but it shows a great deal of what's good in life as well, even in pretty dark circumstances. Parvana's gift of story is an illustration of the way such tales can invigorate, and sooth. The animation is good, as it has been in all this studios films, traditionally animated, or at least animated in a 2D style. And the story here is both more mature and engaging than in their previous efforts that I've seen. Overall a good film. My limited engagement with animated films drops this as low as it is, but honestly, there are many animated films that would not do nearly as well as this has.

26. Phantom Thread

Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

I was quite disappointed with how low this has ended up, but it's a position that it warrants, despite the fact that it has much of Paul Thomas Anderson's charm and craft all over it. Daniel Day-Lewis plays Reynolds Woodcock, a prominent but eccentric fashion designer who lives in a difficult co-dependent relationship with his sister (Lesley Manville). When he begins a relationship with a waitress, Alma (Vicky Krieps), she has to adapt to his eccentricies, the rancour of his sister, and life in the tortured world of fashion. It's an elaborately crafted film, and to some extent feels like an academic exercise that PTA has given himself. It's fussy in its production, in a way that matches well the personality of its leading man. The music is a highlight from Johnny Greenwood, and stands apart as one of the films greatest strengths. The other strength of course is the presence of Daniel Day-Lewis. He's a chameleonic actor, to the extent that I honestly don't at all know what a base-level Daniel Day-Lewis performance is like. He completely reinvents himself for every role, and this one—a difficult one, no doubt—is performed with that same complexity and grace. It's disappointing in some ways that it so failed to connect with me. There were lots of good elements, but they did not combine into something holistically interesting. It was, altogether, too particular, too pleased with itself, or too exacting of its audience for me to embrace.

27. Wonder

Directed by Stephen Chbosky

Wonder tells the tale of a young boy with facial deformities (Jacob Tremblay) as he makes the transition from home schooling to being integrated into a traditional middle school. It looked like absolute shchmaltz. But in fact, there was a surprising amount of depth and heart to the film, and a sophistication of thought that made it rise above its shonky premise. There's something surprisingly human about the whole thing, not due to the pathos, but due to the combination of pathos and humour. It is rather optimistic throughout, but it steers away from melodrama and sentimentality. In some senses it rides above its premise, to provide more of a straight family drama. This is accentuated by good performances from Julia Roberts and Owen Wilson, and in particular from Jacob Tremblay and Izabela Vidovic as his sister. The focus on other members of the family, and the wider ensemble helps to promote this. Indeed, the film ends up bearing some resemblance to Chbosky's previous film, the excellent The Perks of Being A Wallflower. It doesn't have the same depth, or the same fluency of character, but Chbosky obviously knows what he's doing in this domain. So it's a surprising effort for a film I expected to dislike a great deal. It's a better outing than it sounds, and ends up, while still not an excellent film, quite good at delivering on its premise.

28. Icarus

Directed by Bryan Fogel

This is a very, very odd film. It's a documentary that starts out with the filmmaker, Bryan Fogel, trying a social experiment to see if he can get away with using performance enhancing drugs for an amateur road cycling race. In pursuit of this, he meets Grigory Rodchenkov, a Russian scientist in charge of his country's anti-doping agency, and the two devise a doping schedule for the director. But the director doesn't know what he's found, because in the middle of filming, Russia's anti-doping scheme is revealed, and Rodchenkov is unveiled as the mastermind behind it. From that point, the documentary pivots and becomes the first-hand story of Rodchenkov turning whistle-blower against his former colleagues, and the revelations of the conspiracy which seem to go to the very top of the Russian government. Fogel is thrown in the deep end to this one. This is not the documentary he was going to make, and neither is he the right director for it—he's hanging on for dear life as the story unravels in front of him. To his credit, he manages to ride it out, and we get a credible and quite engaging story out of it. But there are places where it's quite dicey. He does have the unfortunate habit of trying to put himself too squarely into the middle of the action, a fault that seems common in mediocre documentarians, but given the initial premise of the film, we can at least see why he does it. In the end, there's a really very compelling story in this documentary. The fact that it's told the way it is is the result of luck more than skill on the part of the filmmakers. But it's also luck for us—we get to see the story unfold in a way that we would have missed otherwise. And that's worth something.

29. The Disaster Artist

Directed by James Franco

I'd seen The Room several years ago, and if you haven't it's worth the hype. It is truly a masterpiece of appallingly bad cinema. So I was quite intrigued to see the story behind it, however it was filtered by James Franco. And it is a rather interesting, if quite silly story. The main event here is the characterisation of the star of The Room, Tommy Wiseau. He's a man steeped in mystery—somehow exceptionally wealthy, destined to be an actor, but with very little talent, and zero sense of self-awareness. Somehow though, Franco manages to make him a sympathetic character—the central figure in a tragedy perhaps. It's a soft touch, and easily the best thing about the film. The rest, however, is serviceable but never inspired. The script is only mediocre as far as I'm concerned, despite its nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay, and only manages to provide the main beats of the plot without a great deal of humour or panache. In the end, it's an okay film. I certainly had some fun with it, but it's hard to recognise it as much of a sterling piece of cinematic history. That honour remains solely with The Room.

30. The Boss Baby

Directed by Tom McGrath

By any account, this should have been the worst film of the Oscars. This is surely one of the most awful premises for a movie ever, right? Secretly, our protagonist Tim's new baby brother is a business executive, sent on a secret mission to infiltrate his family, and steal secret plans on a new kind of puppy. Can you hear me gagging already? So how does this manages to twist itself into a heartwarming parable about family, and in particular brotherly love? I suspect this is because it draws on the source material, a picture book by Marla Frazee, a medium not suited to convoluted backstory of the kind that sickened me in this film. But the emotions it evokes are relatable. A new child is brought into the family, which disrupts the status quo in a way that the existing child resists and resents. But over time, almost without realising it, they grow to love one another. The way this tale is framed within the film is almost inconsequential. Yeah, there's some silly plot involving stealing secret plans from PuppyCo. And there are a number of set pieces surrounding the chase and execution of this plot. But that's certainly not what got me. In the end, admittedly, this is still something of a silly film, and its position here isn't great. But for a film that should have been a Giant Novelty Shoe-in for worst film of the Oscars, it endeared itself to me in a way I really wasn't prepared for.

31. Faces Places (Visages, Villages)

Directed by Agnès Varda & JR

A fairly interesting but also perplexing documentary about the surprising friendship that arises between veteran French director Agnès Varda and young photographer JR, whose shtick is pasting massive versions of his photography on forgotten architecture. Together, the two of them travel around France, finding unusual places to exhibit JRs next piece of artwork, which Varda muses on her life, and reflects on her many triumphs and regrets. Largely the film revolves around the friendship that blooms between the two co-directors. But it's a very understated piece, with little in the way of conflict, or even much that's revelatory. The only real human emotion which sneaks in is saved until near the end of the piece, when Varda takes JR to meet her old friend Jean-Luc Godard. The rest is staid, and a little perplexing, but never unbeautiful. It's more a pictorial of JR's art though than anything really resembling a story. And that makes it a harder film to swallow than it really should be. As a result, this is languishing towards the back end of the list, and honestly, that's a bit of a shame.

32. Logan

Directed by James Mangold

People kind of raved about this film, calling it an impressive departure from the regular superhero storyline. While it's true that it is a departure from the regular superhero fare, it doesn't necessarily follow that it hence deserves a rave. The world has changed from the X-Men universe we know. The mutations which caused superhero powers have seemingly stopped, Professor Xavier is now crippled by his mental powers, and is cared for in a bunker by a bitter, resentful Wolverine. But of course, their life is not destined to just peter out without a sound, and they get dragged into a conspiracy that requires their intervention once again. Don't get me wrong: this is significantly more interesting than most of the superhero films that are trotted out year after year. But after the unusual set-up, and some bleaker than normal cinematography, this really does become a lot like another superhero film. At its core, it can't escape that, and when it devolves into long tracts of choreographed fight sequences, I'm much less interested. So yeah, I can perhaps see why this was regarded with critical interest. But at the same time, it didn't do much for me.

33. Beauty and the Beast

Directed by

Not a great film, admittedly, and to some extent warranted some of the criticism thrown at it. It is, after all, not far from a shot-for-shot live-action remake of Disney's classic animated version—a version which is rightfully regarded as a triumph. But because it's based on such solid material, there is a good deal of charm to it. Emma Watson's Belle is engaging in her role, although as people have said, she's not an incredible singer, meaning that her songs are only so good. The rest of the cast (which is surprisingly good), do a serviceable job, but at every moment you're comparing them to the animated versions of themselves, and the comparison is rarely favorable. Perhaps the exception is Luke Evans as Gaston, who manages to be suitably and consistently smarmy, and Josh Gad as LeFou, who manages to elicit some sympathy from the audience. In the end, it was better than it might have been. And it's not as good as the original. While you might look at it and say "it didn't fail in its attempt", you might equally ask "why was the attempt made in the first place?".

34. Darkest Hour

Directed by Joe Wright

I had a bunch of problems with this film. Telling the days of the early turbulent reign of Winston Churchill's prime-ministership, it focuses on the difficult future facing Britain in WWII, when victory was so far from assured that a Nazi invasion seemed inevitable. Notwithstanding Gary Oldman's believable mimickry of Churchill, the film concerned me in a bunch of different ways. It sought to give insight into the difficult decisions of government—which in this case involved outright lying to the people of the country, and nationalist propaganda designed to help the war effort at the cost of transparency. But in so doing, the film seemed to canonise such efforts. This is the cost of winning a war, it stated, and the ends justify the means. Worse is the fact that the seeming pivotal moment when Churchill seeks the approval of the common man (a sappy sequence set on the London Underground) is played off as the moral basis of the film. Everyone, it seems, approves of the job Churchill is doing. They support the war effort. They support the need for austerity. They are optimistic about Britain's chances, because Britons have the backbone to win a fight, jolly what. The film portrays Churchill as buoyed by this, despite the fact that in the narrative of the film these people only think this due to the propaganda Churchil himself is spouting. The whole sequence made me very cynical, and it underlined all of the thematic issues with the film elsewhere. If it were a better made film overall, I'd perhaps even consider it dangerous to some extent. But I think that it might only be remembered as a vessel for Gary Oldman, who's apparently one of the favourites to take out the Best Actor nod. And maybe that's fine as its legacy.

35. Abacus: Small Enough to Jail

Directed by Steve James

This wasn't a terrible documentary, but it was one that was drawn out for too long. It tells the story of the Abacus bank, a small American operation set up to appeal to the Chinese community in that country. Unlike any of the other banks which were caught up in the aftermath of the global financial crisis, Abacus was the only bank whose directors and management were charged with crimes. The documentary follows the trials, and tells the story of the how they ended up in the situation they did. It focuses less on the impact of the GFC on all the other banks, and I think misses an opportunity to take more of a swing at the big players. Instead, it focuses on how unfair it is that Abacus was targeted, rather than how unfair it is that Abacus was the only bank targeted. The other issue I have with the film is that the middle section is severely over-extended. To be fair, if it were not, the film itself would be much shorter—and it's not an overly long film as it is, so it may have not even been classified as a feature film if it were not extended in this way. But there's a great deal of time spent focusing on the family's and directors musing on what's going to happen in the trial, without much in the way of narrative thrust. In the end, it's only so good. I liked the concept behind it, but the delivery and execution meant that this fell a long way down the list.

36. Baby Driver

Directed by Edgar Wright

A rather silly film, directed with panache and a sense of style, but ultimately one which really just had me giving a bunch of sideeye. Let's talk about the good bits. The music, which provides almost the rhythmic thrust of the film, is universally excellent. It's an eclectic mix of any number of pieces, usually drawn from the lesser-known back catalogues. And there's a kind of anti-establishment style to the film, especially the driving sequences, which are, in turn aided by the pumping soundtrack. But the story is weak, and the characterisation is even more so. These folks are comic-book cutouts—which, you feel, would fit the style of the movie—but instead it just creates a sense of detachment which means that I personally never felt involved in the world. I just didn't care about anyone. It's also not aided by the performances of the leads. Kevin Spacey phones in a "look, I'm Kevin Spacey" doddle, and Ansel Elgort is just numbingly bland in the title role. Some pleasingly uncharacteristic menace comes from John Hamm and Jamie Foxx, but they're not the main focus of the film, so their presence is only sporadically helpful. I ended up just feeling alienated from the film. It didn't do anything to really draw me in at all, and as a result, I ended up not caring. Worse, the stylistic embellishments ended up feeling a bit like an ego trip for Edgar Wright—the film hadn't earnt them, and given it had fundamental problems, it came across as wank.

37. Last Men in Aleppo (doc)

Directed by Feras Fayyad

This film suffered a lot from the fact that I'd seen The White Helmets the year before, which covered the same group of Syrian volunteers whose job is to rescue survivors from bombed buildings. The two films were produced by different people, so there's not necessarily the sense that one is just a richer adaptation of the other. This one, however, does have the advantage of being able to delve more deeply into the lives of the people around the White Helmets. In particular, there's a fair amount of time spent looking at the children who are rescued, often finding themselves orphaned, and their ongoing relationship with the people who rescued them. But I'll admit my attention was wavering at points through the film, largely because I felt like I'd heard about this before. This probably means that I was missing out on a deeper experience than I got from The White Helmets. That's probably a shame.

38. War for the Planet of the Apes

Directed by Matt Reeves

I've really enjoyed this film series. I particularly liked the original, which had a really wonderful exploration of the worldbuilding in the first Planet of the Apes film. And I was then very pleasantly surprised by the follow up Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, for adding an interesting moral ambiguity into the inevitable conflict between the apes and the humans. But this film I found to be easily the weakest of the lot. In some ways, that's not unsurprising. The trilogy needed a cap at the end of it, and it was trying to wrap things up in a way that was meaningful. But that, to some extent, came at the expense of this particular film—it may have helped the series as a whole, but not this specific episode in it. It's also much less a film that's interested in exploring the ethos of the world, or even necessarily the development of the relationship between the humans and the apes. It's a war film, by necessity, and that has a limited appeal to me. There are good parts, as there have been throughout the series, including the visual effects, and Serkis's performance as Caesar. But there's only so much that can help. This is not one of the big picks for me.

39. The Greatest Showman

Directed by Michael Gracey

This is this year's La La Land, the high concept musical (with songs from the La La Land team, no less), that ends up being very silly at times. And while it would be very easy to eviscerate this for all that's wrong with it, there were enough good parts to it that I'm infiriatingly feeling the need to defend it. Really, in broad strokes, this is not good. The concept and script are very poor, and so obvious in places that I thought I was going to do damage to my optic nerve by rolling my eyes so much. Hugh Jackman is predictable, and Michelle Williams is actively bad in this. But whereas La La Land rode or fell (it definitely fell) on the performances of its two leads, this is much more of an ensemble piece, and parts of the ensemble save it. In particular in this film, the subplot surrounding the romance between Zac Efron and Zendaya is told with an emotion and subtlety that has no place in a film like this. These two actors are easily the best thing about the film, and they really provide some heart to a film that's otherwise lacking it. It's also true that the set pieces and the musical numbers are put on the screen with a style that other recent musicals have severely lacked. That's not to say it survives its overall crumminess, but there are a lot of people (not including the leads) who are working very hard to make this film a success. And apparently, it is indeed a success. This has been a surprising hit at the box office, despite the panning it's got critically. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. There's definitely a place for films like this, and musicals in general. And who knows, perhaps if they keep making them, eventually we'll get one that's actually good.

40. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2

Directed by James Gunn

I really don't much see the appeal of this film franchise. I think partially it's due to missing the appeal of the now blandly handsome Chris Pratt. He used to have a kind of schlubby charm in the days of Parks & Recreation and Her. But now he's just conformed to the mould of vague action-hero leading man. This is particularly true in this volume of Guardians of the Galaxy, which I found much more lacking in the humour that at least set the first episode apart. It's possible that this is just due to the fact that the first episode was different from the other standard comic-book films being churned out, and this is not significantly different from Vol. 1. But still, it matters because our expectations were somewhere for this film, and the end result is something that's just not that innovative any more. I still think that the best part of both of these films is Dave Bautista's Drax, who this time has an amusing relationship with an empathic alien. The dynamics between the rest of the group is less interesting this time—there's manufactured tension, but very little of the natural friction you got when this rag tag bunch were thrown together. And the story? Was there much of a story? Yes and no. Yes, there was a story. No, I didn't care about it, and to be honest, the story is not what this film franchise's strength is. The fact that they tried to ratchet up the plot to impossible levels with excessively high stakes is testament to the fact that they kind of know it too. So yeah, I didn't much like this, and to be honest, I'm actually going to groan if I have to watch the third instalment. There's definitely going to be a third instalment, but if possible, I'm going to give it a miss.

41. Ferdinand

Directed by Carlos Saldanha

You know what was bad? Ferdinand was bad. It's also the kind of film that I'm really skeptical about. Despite the fact that it's built on an apparently beloved children's book, it has all the hallmarks of a film that was designed by a committee. It tells the tale of a bull who decides he doesn't want to fight in the arena, despite the fact that that's what he's been bred to do. Yeah. And it kind of does that. I guess. But it's really quite bad in everything perhaps that kind of idea. There are just so many parts that stand out as the handiwork of some producer who said "we haven't had anything funny in a while, could we maybe add a dance competition for no reason at all?". The animation is also halfway between the beautiful and the comic, but it's neither one nor the other. As a result, it feels as though it's just half-baked. I understand the desire to have a slightly less realistic vibe to a cartoon, but it gels poorly with the backgrounds, for instance. The best part of the film is the characterisation and performance from Kate McKinnon's neurotic goat Lupe, who is genuinely quite amusing and endearing in equal measures. But having a bright spot like this just kind of makes things like the trio of stereotyped Swedish horses stick out as awkward all the more. Yeah, not a big film. This is the kind of animated film that for quite a while made the entire category my least anticipated section to sit through. But films like Coco, Loving Vincent and even god-forbid The Boss Baby have shown that the kind of film like Ferdinand really shouldn't cut it any more.

42. All the Money in the World

Directed by Ridley Scott

What a disappointing film. It's a disappointing film because it's so unconscionably dull. Telling the story of the kidnapping of the grandson of J.P. Getty (Christopher Plummer, taking over the role that had been completed by Kevin Spacey), and Getty's refusal to pay the ransom, I'm kind of bored just thinking back on it, to be honest. Once again, we have Michelle Williams in a role that's just yawningly pedestrian. She fails to breathe any life into it at all aside from doing her vague stony-faced monologuing. And across from her is Mark Wahlberg who at least inhabits his role—but it's a role he's done so many times before that we don't really care about seeing him do it again. But mostly, I just found this film chilly, cold and overly boring. It's unpleasant in other ways too—it has that feeling of ennui that envelops me when watching the excessively wealthy. I just don't care. Moreover, it's the kind of indulgent thing that people like Ridley Scott probably thinks people like me want to watch. Which I think just means the producers of films like this are out of touch. Mostly, this feels like it only even got a nod for an Oscar as a giant Fuck You to Kevin Spacy. Plummer is fine in the role that earns him his Best Supporting Actor nomination, but not better than a bunch of other people that could have taken his place (Michael Stuhlbarg in Call Me By Your Name should be kicking some walls watching this performance). And had it not been for that I probably never would have watched this. I suspect I would have been the better for it.

43. Kong: Skull Island

Directed by Jordan Vogt-Roberts

Now we're into the serious garbage. Second bottom film of this year's Oscars is this mess from director Jordan Vogt-Roberts. You know him, right? He's exhibit 12 on Hollywood's parade of let's give a major Hollywood franchise to some white male director who's had one successful indie film, while women with illustrious careers are still seen as too much of a risk. He's the next version of Colin Trevorrow in other words, which should strike fear into your heart. Also stacked against this is the fact that it's a(nother) reboot of King Kong, just focusing on the attempts to investigate his home of Skull Island. Like many reboots of classic action films, it misses all of the moral questions of the original, and instead puts on screen a story which is a loosely connected selection of Things Blowing Up Sampler Pack, Vol. 12. The plot? It almost doesn't matter. A bunch of shit happens on Skull Island. Kong is an enemy, but then not an enemy. John C. Reilly pulls out an inappropriate Dewey Cox impersonation, while the story devolves into worse than B-movie territory. OK, to be fair, this is only nominated for visual effects. And these are indeed good. But that's like saying that this is a beautifully decorated cake made of dogshit. All of the pretty piping work in the world doesn't make you want to consume it. Worst is that this was apparently both a commercial and critical success, and is feted to launch yet another shared-universe franchise. That's kind of awful, because I don't want to have to watch another film like Kong: Skull Island.

44. Molly's Game

Directed by Aaron Sorkin

Bottom of the pile this year is a film that's probably not technically the worst film I've seen (Kong: Skull Island owns that), but the one that just pissed me off the most. And it was Aaron Sorkin's directorial debut Molly's Game. It was awful. In fact, it got more awful the more I thought about it. It is almost completely, 100%, unrelatable in any way shape or form. Telling the true story of a young woman (Molly Bloom, played by a lacklustre Jessica Chastain), who starts a high-stakes poker game for the rich and famous, and is subsequently indicted for it. I mean, are we meant to have sympathy for this character? Are we meant to identify with the group of soulless people she surrounds herself with, in particular the callous movie star played by Michael Cera, who's supposedly based on Tobey Maguire. They're all completely unpleasant in one way or another. But the worst part of this train wreck of a film is the fact that you can sense Sorkin's fawning admiration for Molly Bloom. Sorkin has shown himself to be kind of a nasty character in real life, and the fact that he picked this as his directorial debut is telling. And the way he puts in on screen just emphasises all of the ways in which I found the story deeply unpleasant. I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if in real life, a slimed-up Sorkin found himself a regular at Molly's table. It would then make this whole films something of an ego-trip (or moreso than it is already), and that very much fits in with my impression of Sorkin nowadays. Yeah: I hated this film. It's the kind of hatred that can only really mature and develop over time. It's a rich and full-bodied kind of hatred, that has had the benefit of reflection and deep thought. It's the kind of hatred that easily beats out the kind of knee-jerk hate I have for films like Kong: Skull Island. It's kind of beautiful in a way. Well, there you have it. A full rundown of all the feature films at the Oscars. But we're not done yet. We also have the truly wonderful short films to look at. I'm not going to write these up individually, but here they are in order from my favourite to least favourite:

DeKalb Elementary (live action)

The Silent Child (live action)

Heaven is a Traffic Jam on the 405 (documentary)

Watu Wote (live action)

The 11 O'Clock (live action)

Garden Party (animated)

Traffic Stop (documentary)

Revolting Rhymes (animated)

Lou (animated)

Heroin(e) (documentary)

My Nephew Emmett (live action)

Negative Space (animated)

Knife Skills (documentary)

Edith & Eddie (documentary)

Dear Basketball (animated)

As always, these were excellent, and a set of films which are honestly worthy of as much time as the Best Picture nominees. I highly recommend watching the Short Film categories at the Oscars every year, but this year's were particularly good. The top film, DeKalb Elementary, is honestly the most affecting piece of cinema I've seen at this year's Oscars, in either the short or long form. And of course, it wouldn't be my write-up without me giving my hot tips for the winners. I say hot tips, but don't rely on these for predictions. These are how I would vote if the Academy would answer my damn phonecalls and give me a ballot for the awards. As always, I've limited my votes to just the nominees in each category, so while I would like to vote for Ferdinand for Best Foreign Language Film, I can't. Best Picture: Lady Bird Best Director: Greta Gerwig (Lady Bird) Best Actress: Frances McDormand (Three Billboards) Best Actor: Daniel Kaluuya (Get Out) Best Supporting Actress: Allison Janney (I, Tonya) Best Supporting Actor: Sam Rockwell (Three Billboards) Best Original Screenplay: Lady Bird Best Adapted Screenplay: Mudbound Best Animated Feature: Coco Best Foreign Language Film: On Body and Soul Best Documentary Feature: Strong Island Best Documentary Short: Heaven Is A Traffic Jam on the 405 Best Live Action Short: Best Animated Short: Garden Party Best Original Score: Phantom Thread Best Original Song: "Mystery of Love" (Call Me By Your Name) Best Sound Editing: Blade Runner 2049 Best Sound Mixing: Dunkirk Best Production Design: The Shape of Water Best Cinematography: Blade Runner 2049 Best Makeup and Hairstyling: Wonder Best Costume Design: Phantom Thread Best Film Editing: Dunkirk Best Visual Effects: Blade Runner 2049

[beautifulramblingbrains]

Bound By Honour - Chapter 3

Pairing: Eric/OC *Sarah* Fandom: Divergent/Insurgent Rating: M -

Eric has the best hand in all the factions, but can’t seem to get to grips with his life as a parent to two grown Dauntless members. The honour is passed to Sarah as she battles with the woes of an unruly daughter and a wayward son. Balanced with a intricate web of personal struggles and outsiders, can they stop their family from falling apart?

A/N: Here to bring your daily portion of drama.

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The factionless camp is a plot just outside of Amity. It’s pretty large, spread with brick houses from old buildings as far as the eye could see. It had its own guarded entrance, the dauntless camps made from dark green tarpaulin tents starting from either side of it and running parallel to a flimsy wire fencing. Jack remembers the debate on whether they needed to be fenced in anymore. It seemed as though anyone could scale it if they tried; even a small child, and the factionless plowed the fields of Amity freely during the day anyway.

The reason why Eric hadn’t authorized to lower the fences, is because he thought that if the did, it would give the Factionless ideas on becoming a whole independent unit - and he didn’t want that, not from people who he saw as wastes of space. He said ‘oppression with a society like theirs was vital’, and stuck by it. Though, he could agree that their help in Amity made the seasonal weather changes and the forever increasing requests on produce far easier to maintain and reach each year.

“Assholes and elbows, everybody out!” A senior officer commands at the back of the truck once they come to a stop. It’s every man for himself, everybody rushing to grab their equipment and exit without being the last.

Jack is marched with the other new faces to a freshly bleached-smelling tent with cots of beds lined symmetrically either side. Men and women shared; not that that was unusual. Everything is basic, everything is bland, and it is cold. Jack breathes in deeply, trying to forget the ebbings of homesickness already cursing him, and locates a bed.

“Consider yourselves lucky with having the rest of the day off. We rise at zero-six-hundred hours!”

Next to each bed, they are given a small line of drawers for their things and a dim lamp which was already on for their arrival. Jack decides it’s best to settle himself in, make it as comfortable as possible, put his clothes away at the very least. Dumping his rucksack on the bed, he begins unfastening the straps.

“You’re the Coulter’s boy.” An unfamiliar voice has Jack peer up to a guy probably younger than him. He appears to be claiming the cot directly next to his, but facing him from across his bed, nonchalantly copying with unpacking.

“It that obvious?”

The guy studies him closer. “Your shoulder-width sure says so.”

Jack smiles to himself. If only he knew though how much he loathed his father’s influence over him. “You already know who I am then, is there any point in introducing myself?”

“No, Jack,” the guy jokes. “The names Ryan but I go by Chip too.” Jack’s frown is so unique to his father and it urges Chip to continue. “Chipped my bottom tooth when I hit the net the moment I jumped into Dauntless. It’s quite a funny story actually. As I landed, my first flew up weirdly into my mouth with the momentum and tapped my bottom tooth. Usually it’s the top, but no, nothing is ever normal for me.”

“I can relate to that,” Jack mentions.

“I called out something like ‘I chipped my tooth!’ and they wrote down Chip. Voila.”

“They didn’t let me choose a new name. It was already Jack the moment I jumped.” And if he had his second chance, he’d call himself Ardvard to really piss his dad off. He keeps himself concentrated on folding his clothes and putting them in the drawers so he couldn’t show his frustration.

“You also didn’t choose to be here, did you?”

Jack doesn’t like the fact his emotions must be so readable, narrowing his eyes at this chatterbox next to him.

“Fine, I’ll keep my mouth shut.” Chip puts his hands up in apology. “I won’t talk anymore and let you fester.”

At the bottom of Jack’s rucksack, he pulls out his headphones at long last, placing them over his ears and playing music while falling back on top of the sheets, covering his eyes with his forearm.

Chip merely scoffs and shakes his head. If he wanted to sulk for his entire time here, it’s going to be a really long month for him.

Sundays are usually Eric’s day off. He’d maybe go to the gym for a little longer than usual, eat with his family at lunchtime, cut his hair, watch Sarah in the shower, maybe toss himself off afterward with plans to screw her later. But no. It’s different today, and for the first time, he doesn’t know whether he should continue on with the usual by the way Sarah blanks him 

He doesn’t like it.

He watches her flit through the kitchen, cleaning each surface twice; even after she touched or moved anything. He even watches her fill the washing machine with annoyance while his coffee grows cold on the table in front of him.

Eventually, April brings the distraction he needs. In baggy sweats, she places herself next to him with some terribly pale face. He pushes his cold coffee towards her. “Heat it for me,” he commands. She does groan in agitation but does it none the less, only to slouch back next to him straight after.

“Mom, I need something to eat.” April uses her whiny, soppy voice full with hopefulness.

Sarah barely looks at her. “Do it yourself.”

Eric and April share a glance. He then lifts his chin, taking a breath before speaking. “I think the kitchen is clean, sweetheart.”

“It won’t clean itself. And April, before you go anywhere, you will tidy your room.” Sarah still doesn’t acknowledge them when she passes, disappearing into Jack’s vacant bedroom.

“Don’t tell me she’s sulking over Jack actually doing something with his life,” April whispers, beginning to lean forward tiredly on her forearms. Eric whacks her to make her sit up straight.

“You were drinking last night?” he asks.

“Of course.” She yawns and it pisses him off. “It was Saturday night.”

“Cut your shitty attitude, go shower, and then go to the gym. You’ve missed breakfast which is your own damn fault.” He sips the coffee quickly. “And that means now, blondie.”

Whether his daughter sensed the tense atmosphere or not, he’s more than happy she doesn’t serve him backchat. He couldn’t deal with her mouth and a wife that has legit gone crazy, and by the sounds of it - throwing the vacuum against any solid surface she could possibly find.

April doesn’t shower, leaving the apartment exaggeratingly yawning no more than five minutes later with her hair in a bun and a large sweatshirt, casually mumbling, “Chow for now.”

Still festering in domestic annoyance, he notices the cable of the vacuum is plugged in the hall, so he casually strolls over and kicks it out, ceasing the endless white noise. As Sarah appears, he smiles viciously. “It’s me.” She doesn’t share his enthusiasm and as she turns he grabs her arm. “What are you doing, Sarah? You’re stressing over nothing.”

“I’m keeping myself busy.” Her cheeks are flushed pink, hair stuck to her forehead. It’s in her eyes though that he can see everything that she’s not saying. She actually looks kind of repulsed by him - that’s not entirely unusual...

“You want to-”

“Haven’t you got somewhere to be?” Sarah’s so blunt it takes him by surprise. She plugs the vacuum back in and he pulls it out like a spoilt child.

“You don’t want me here, fine. I get it. Be angry at me all you like but it’s not going to change anything. Fucking deal with it.” She ignores him, the worst thing she could possibly do. “I’ll go fucking somewhere else!” He flings his hands up exaggeratedly in the air while storming to the bedroom to grab his jacket and collect his phone. He’s still putting it on when he reappears, just as, she again, plugs the vacuum in and disappears into Jack’s room.

That’s when he loses it.

This was always a problem. He was two sides of a coin; one shiny, one in absolute filth that no amount of soaking could clean. He never thought about what he did before he did it, and could never confess the guilt he would feel afterward.

Eric yanks on the stretched cord that lead into the room, not realizing his strength as the vacuum comes crashing out of it, and Sarah lands on all fours in the doorway.

She was fucking holding it.

“Sarah, shit I-” He steps closer as she rolls back onto her ass and leans against the inside wall.

“Get out.” It’s whispered so low he doesn’t know whether he thought it instead. She wipes at her face, still not able to look at him. “Get out, Eric.” The calmness of her voice is more threatening and telling than her words.

He wanted to stay and argue. He wanted to try and get through to her that this wasn’t anything to be worried over. He wanted to say he was sorry and imagined them forgiving each other and moving on. Instead, he does nothing and leaves his little wife be, along with a small fearful voice nagging in one ear that perhaps this was beginning to spiral out of control - out of his control. And he had no idea what he could do about it.

Wedged into a communal shower, the water running black beneath their feet, Jack still finds himself chuckling from time to time. The steam creates a mist high above their heads, voices echoing. He couldn’t have found better people to be with if he tried. Their team effortlessly formed a unique friendship in just one day alone 

“It’s supposed to be the introductory day, instead my ass has been flogged worse than my initiation. In fact, worse than anything I’ve done yet.” Chip scrubs at the thick lines of dirt under his chin with a bar of soap. “I can take beatings, yelling, gun practice for hours on end, but those fields are something else. Those Amity’s must be ripped.”

Jack lets the water pour over his head for a long while as Chip continues rattling on next to him. His eyes slide to the right feeling eyes on him. He’s being watched unsubtly by a girl maybe a year younger, freely letting him see everything; the way her hair drenched over her shoulders and leading to her breasts, the toned abdomen glistening under the water. She smiles at him once he realizes he is staring a little too long and he forcibly smiles back before turning his head to the wall in front of him.

“You have interest…” Chip whispers suggestively.

Jack merely rubs a hand through his short hair, clearing any shampoo left. “Nah…” he drawls. “I need to focus.”

“She really likes you.” Chip is making this conversation too obvious by continuously glancing over to her as he turns under the water. “Jennifer or Jenny, I think she goes by.”

“She could be called ketchup for all I care.”

“You got a girl back home?”

Jack shuts off the shower, grabbing his towel hanging next to him and wrapping it around his waist. “No,” he snaps a little harshly. “I wasn’t sent here to pick up girls.”

His friend shrugs. “May as well have some fun while you’re here though, right? Maybe you should-”

“Maybe you should keep your mouth shut.” Snatching up the bottles of his shampoo from home, he looks Chip right in the eye. “Concentrate on your own business, not mine.”

Again, his friend finds himself holding his hands up. “Jeez, okay…” And Chip watches Jack leave. “Chill…” He shrugs to the girl who disappointedly looks away.

Sarah’s too busy in her preparation for her second meeting with Erudite; papers fanned around her in the boardroom, to notice Blake Hammond watching her from the open doorway. 

There’s a bit of a ruckus from the other meeting rooms and offices; people skimming past, so she doesn���t have the sense to look. But he does. He watches her bite the end of her pen, then down to a flattering pair of heels, letting his eyes run up her patterned stockings to the hemline of the classical A-cut dress she wears that had risen up ever so slightly.

“Knock knock.”

Sarah jumps, her head jerking over towards him. “Oh, Mr Hammond!”

As she stands to shake his hand, he smiles pleasantly at her, closing the door behind him. “Please, call me Blake.”

“Betty was supposed to fetch me when you had arrived. I’m sorry…” she trails off as he rushes to pull out the chair for her to sit back down, grabbing the seat closest to her for himself.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I told her not to bother. Seemed a little too formal.” He remembers the folders in his hand and places them in front of him. “The plans have been drawn.”

“That’s brilliant.”

“It took a while as something far more important came to my attention. Regardless, I tried to get them drawn up as soon as I possibly could because of the issues we had in the last meeting; a lack of information, and I didn’t want it to appear any less important or as if I am wasting your time.”

Sarah shakes her head. “I wouldn’t worry.”

“Good. Well, I’ll dive right in. Of course, I am here for the preparation of the expansion, but also-”

“It still hasn’t been decided if this is actually going to go ahead yet,” she reminds him. The last thing she wanted was him to ride too high on his horse.

She expects some sort of subtle tantrum, but instead, he graces her with one of his unique smiles and unnerving her to no end with a confident stare. “That’s a given.” His words are too smooth, too low. She eventually has to clear her throat and focuses on the papers in front of her. “What I was going to say, is that there is a more damning problem I’ve stumbled across. It’s not the most pleasant of subjects, but I think you will agree that is indeed the most urgent.” Blake pulls out a small-scale map and passes it to her.

It’s a complete maze of runways and the layout of the factions. It’s hard to distinguish exactly what he is referring to. She hates to admit it. “What am I looking for? You can’t expect me to see what you see by handing me an unnoted map, Mr Hammond.” Sarah lays it flat to allow him to clue her in.

A smirk plays on his lips that she doesn’t see as he leans closer. “Our three factions; Erudite, Dauntless, and Candor have the same waste system under the cities grounds. Abnegation’s is veered off on a single system on a much smaller scale, and Amity runs with the land in the opposite direction.”

“...Okay.”

“The system has sat underneath us for countless years, adapted to our city.” With his two index fingers, he positions off a section on the map. “The problem is here. This is the evacuation.”

“That’s beyond the wall.”

“Yes. It’s collapsed,” Blake states clearly. “We need to close it off and redirect it… here,” he points it out. “Before we have a sanitary crisis.”

Sarah now believes she is not fit to deal with Erudite and wishes Eric took this damn project on. “This is a state of affairs that needs to be considered by all the factions. This isn’t an individual problem we can head all the decisions for.” It’s the best response she can come up with under the pressure.

“Your husband, Mrs Coulter, is certainly one person who can head this movement, or at the very least brandish it vital. I mentioned this in a briefing, and it’s actually humorous if I think about it, but the people of Erudite are calling for me to front the repairs and take over some of the cities responsibilities.” He leans back in his chair and puts a hand to his chest. “I don’t want to encroach on your husband's domain. Believe me, I really really don’t. I’m new to this game and my persistence was fighting for what my faction wanted. But this is beyond what we want. This affects multiple factions. I’m just the nose who stumbled upon it.”

Sarah swallows dryly. “So, what do you want me to do about it?” With such a harsh question, she still manages to make it sound pleasant. “Surely if it was that important you would insist on meeting with Eric?”

“I just assumed Erudite business is run through you now. You were both adamant.” Blake is leaning so far back in his chair with a look of expectancy; as if she was about to suggest something completely miraculous. Sarah only feels like she is floundering.

“I will speak with Eric. I’ll make it a priority.” Even she doesn’t recognize her own voice, and with his twitching lips, he also knows that she is at a loss.

“Photos!” Blake suddenly remembers. “I took the opportunity to gain photographic evidence so there is no delay - unlike the last problem we had. A lady like yourself shouldn’t have to venture to the source of the sewers, ma’am.”

“That’s very considerate of you.” As she studies the photos of what looks the mouth of a cave crumbling on one side, she feels his stare.

“Myriad…” he suddenly mumbles causing Sarah to slowly peer up at him.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m going to name the expansion and new parts of the buildings Myriad. I may even name the entire project that. Has a better ring to it, wouldn’t you say?” he asks. She is at a loss for words. He chuckles before adding, “...Almost like the shade of your eyes, what a coincidence. All the myriad shades of blue.” She can’t help but blush, her cheeks tinging noticeably pink. “I’m sorry if I have embarrassed you. I just found it quite fitting. Screams Erudite, don’t you think?”

“Shall we concentrate on the blueprints for the expansion?” Sarah rushes.

“Certainly.” Blake flicks through his papers. “And shall we name the sewer problem Roses?” he mumbles with his eyes still downturned to the sheets in front of him. “I have never been taken with the smell of them.”

“That’s a matter of perception.”

While she is blunt; her tone anything other than amused, he seems to be. “You’re very much right.”

“This guard malarky is a piece of piss,” Chip comments while they watch the buzz of factionless life from inside the pathetic excuse of a fence. “Do you ever think, when the factions were being made, Amity was truly the leftovers; you know, like factionless, so they made another faction to accommodate. 

Chip still peers off into the distance as Jack snaps his head over to him. “You know what, you think too much, that’s your problem.”

“But who really decided that? ...This is the factions, we shall name them this and stuff them with people with these traits.”

Jack kicks a stone out in front of him. “I… mate, I really don’t care. What’s done is done.”

“What do you care about?”

Now that is a tricky question. All of Jack’s thoughts had been on showing he was just as capable as Eric thought. That he could survive without being close to home. And that he was eager to follow his father up the ladder to leadership like he always wanted.

That was a farce. Really in his mind, he’d gone along with it because after initiation and the build-up, life wasn’t so planned out and simple as he thought. He wasn’t satisfied. He didn’t like the idea of leaving home at first but came to see it as a chance to find himself.

However, he still felt lost. “Surviving the month,” seems to be the only logical reasoning he had at the moment. Steeling his jaw, he keeps his sight out in front of him.

“What’s it like being a Coulter kid?” Chip continues regardless of his friend's hostile appearance.

“Privileged.”

“And your mom’s a Stiff. That’s unusual-”

“Don’t talk about my mom.” He’d heard it all before; all the provoking insults, all the slurs against her, and it was partly why he said privileged; intentionally mocking himself over something that had been said before. They couldn’t be any more wrong. “I’m out of here,” he says suddenly, sauntering off towards the main gateway.

Chip looks to and fro between their small chosen group, signaling for them to stay there as he races to catch up. “That’s against protocol! Jack, stop!”

“Stay here then. I’m still patrolling. I’m just doing it over there, through the woods.” He smirks so much like his father over his shoulder. “Taking in the scenery.” He thinks for a moment before adding, “Need a piss too.” As long as Mark or their intakes instructor didn’t see them, no one would bat an eyelid. They were too busy splintering the groups on different activities to pay much attention anyway.

While Jack walks calmly, Chip keeps throwing a look back to the camp, stumbling to keep up and steadying the gun hanging from his shoulder. “I swear, I will point fingers if they find out. I’m not lying, so don’t expect me to.”

“Whatever.” Jack shrugs. They reach the tree line and he thunders straight through, finding a spot to unzip his flies. Whilst he’s pissing, Chip is still a nervous wreck.

“What if there are people out here?”

In annoyance, Eric’s son leans an arm against the tree, still occupied. “ We shoot ‘em. I don’t know, depends.”

“On what?”

Jack smiles to himself, zipping his flies and turning to his friend. “If they shoot at us first.” He begins hacking his way through the undergrowth, ascending a natural bank with the sound of Chip clumsily following. Reaching the top, they come to a lazy pace and Chip soon begins to relax, only occasionally mumbling to himself.

Amity had it good, and so did the factionless now. Jack’s mesmerized by the very tops of the trees swaying above him. Through the parting of them, small dashes of light were thrown down, highlighting bright blue and purple wildflowers. Below him, by his feet, moss grew on fallen logs, some type of mushroom clinging to the base of trees. In passing, he dipped his finger in the sap of a tree, memorizing the feel of the bark under his hand, the waxy layer on small leaves or the furs of the stems. Finally, he crouches down to the track of an animal, a content, honeyed smile on his face from the relaxing atmosphere around him. “The animals are still free, even behind the wall,” he murmurs, completely forgetting that Chip is behind him.

“Thanks.” Confused, Jack peers over to his laxed friend still standing, steadying his gun from swinging as he turned. His face must say ‘For what?’ because Chip runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair before continuing. “You made me remember that there is more than just us here.” Jack doesn’t reply, turning back to measure the size of the print to his outstretched hand. “That we’re lucky to be here now. Well, I’m lucky. If you hadn’t of wandered off I’d still be watching a dusty track road and rubbish skimming the floor.” Jack stands up to look for a trail in hopes of finding whatever it was that had passed through there only shortly before they arrived.

“Stop talking. All anybody and everybody does these days is just talk; nonsense, shit, who has more than me, the weather. Be quiet.”

“Be quiet and listen to nature,” Chip suggests with a blissful sigh.

“No, just shut the fuck up. You don’t have to listen or see or feel what is around you. A quiet mind brings it.”

“Is that why you use headphones?” Chip asks.

“Does it matter at all why I really do anything?”

“You are the most wayward person I’ve ever met.”

“And yet, you still talk endlessly to me.”

Chip shrugs this time, peering down to the ground. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” Jack’s eyes are a deep ocean when he decides to look back up from the forest floor to him, his expression altogether smothering what really rippled through his vast mind.

“We should head back.” The tall Coulter boy stands to his full height but decides to walk side by side this time then trailing off ahead. They walk wordlessly, Chip having taken some incentive from their conversation. Descending the bank they had traveled across for a change of scenery, the break in the trees is ahead of them that would expose the furthermost corner of the factionless camp.

Jack turns his head to Chip as they walk out into the warm rays of the sun, and briefly smiles.

A few shots ping from the floor and off a nearby tree that startles them both, Chip throwing his hands up to a group of Dauntless they hadn’t noticed. “Friendly!” he shouts at the top of lungs. “Jesus Christ!” he pants, nervous laughter breaking his composure, turning to Jack to comment.

Jack Coulter isn’t looking at anything other than his hand pressed to his right shoulder, bringing it away to look at the crimson spilled between his fingers. “I’m hit. I’m hit. They shot me.” His face blanches and he tips backward, losing his footing at the same time Chip grabs him.

“Man down!” Chip calls out to the Dauntless patrol, pulling the strap of Jack’s gun from him and applying pressure, using most of his weight. “You’re good, man, you’re good.” He pleads with the other patrol to hurry up with a swift glance then back to his fallen friend. “Just a flesh wound…” he comforts him.

Sarah doesn’t know the people Eric is talking to. She allows distance between them while waiting for whatever conversation they are having to end. It’s also not the first time in her life she has peered through the window of the gym and training room. Many years ago, when she was just a girl of eighteen, she remembers coming to find Eric here. It’s a weird sensual feeling; a fleeting moment of familiarity, all that might have lived before deemed itself suddenly brand new. She wanted to believe the fingerprints in the dust of the small lip of seal of the window were hers. It was a strangely comforting idea 

When Eric dismisses the conversation, that’s when she makes her break. It’s a sullen, sweaty smell and lighting, various grunts from around the room that she ignores. Eric sees her coming, opting to drop the weights into their holder after only seconds of using them and shows his broad back and admirable lines that she knew of that still managed to pang the small muscles in her stomach.

He’s somewhat breathless when he turns and puts balled fists onto his hip, his vest considerably loose around his neck and a stain of sweat looping down his chest. “Wife,” he addresses her, but it’s not exactly kind.

“There’s… some things we need to talk about. I was hoping to catch you in your office but…” Her brows furrow, glancing at anything but him and crushing the folders to her chest. “...you weren’t there, so I thought you’d be here. So now I’m here.”

“Well, that ain’t obvious,” he snorts to himself.

“It’s something very important. Erudite want some answers-”

“Fuck Erudite. I’m not in the mood to talk right now.” He casually bats the air, opting to sort through the weights and lifts one in practice. “I’m done with work today. I actually thought you may just want to speak to me in general because you’ve barely uttered a word for a day or so. That was a stupid fucking idea obviously.”

“I’m trying-”

“It seems I’m always fucking trying but it’s like hitting a steel gray wall.”

Sarah sighs through her nose. “Please don’t talk over me.”

“Well, I’m getting bored of it. I’m bored of this - shitty tip-toeing.” He scoffs to himself. “In fact, I can’t even tip-toe, my shoulders are too bogged down with other people’s shit and attitudes, along with your…” He flicks a hand up and down her. “Personal issues, or whatever the fuck this is. A day is enough. This is enough.”

“This is enough?”

“Yeah,” he calls out over his shoulder. “It is.” But he’s beginning to sound less confident, trying fruitlessly to distract himself with a plain stand of weights.

Sarah drops the folder from Erudite to the floor. “Then I have had enough of this.” As she turns he’s quick to close the distance and grabs her arm, dragging her back as she fights feebly, her heels scuffing the floor.

“Don’t walk away from me.”

“Then don’t expect me to deal with things the way you do. This may not be a big deal for you, but you could respect me enough, at least, to comprehend exactly how I’m feeling.” She shrugs his hand off of her in a final act of defiance. But before she can fathom what he’s doing, he bends down and scoops up her foot, removing her heel and forcing her to cling onto him with her balance off. “Eric! What!”

“I don’t like these.” He inspects the shoe, then flippantly lobs it over his shoulder. 

Sarah purses her lips, poking at his piercings above his brow while kicking off the other shoe to regain her balance. “I don’t like that!”

Eric pulls her hair out. “I don’t like that fucking bun, never have, and you still wear it more often than not.” He smirks incredibly close to her face, probably intending to intimidate her.

“Your hair looks stupid longer. Cut it,” she pants with the command, blowing hair from her face.

“The thing you do with your eyebrow is condescending,” he mentions and she has no idea what he’s talking about. What thing?

“Oh, you’re a fine one to talk! Your nostrils flaring are.... are.” Her nose scrunches up and she continuously stutters.

“Sarah syndrome strikes again,” he claims. “But while we’re being utterly honest…” his voice drops low and he leans more into her space. “I have to admit, I like it when you do that.”

“Don’t patronize me! Don’t glide your way out of this with your scrambled words…” She looks to his arms. “...and body. That’s not how these things work.”

“How do these things work? What fucking things?” Only minutely he glances behind her, then licks his lips. “...You, er, you checking me out?” Sarah glances behind her to a group of people leaving, and then at the clock above the door. The large room has grown vacant, probably completely aware of Eric and his wife bickering and opting to leave.

“No, Eric.” She waggles a finger, backing up, still barefoot and hair loose. She knew what he was doing; he was twisting this conversation, distracting her. “Don’t!” Sarah hits a stand of exercise equipment behind her. Scrabbling around it, she makes it only to the nearest pillar that ran parallel throughout the large room.

She would gasp if she had time. His hands clamp onto her upper arms, spinning her, pushing her hard enough against the pillar to keep her pinned, but not enough to hurt. “I saw your email about whether I’d spoken to Jack. I have.” He eases up a little, his words softer than before and eyes searching; a sense of normality settling as they stared at each other. “You could’ve asked me that yourself.”

“But we had a fight…” She says delicately, tilting her head in a way Eric loved. A fleeting image of a time when Sarah was younger ignites his blood.

“I don’t know whether this is obvious to you by now or not, but I fight with everybody.” He twirls a strand of her hair around his larger fingers, stroking the side of her cheek, then neck and shoulder, brushing down her cleavage for a moment. “You trust me, don’t you? You trust me to look out for our son and do what’s best? Let me take some pressure away from you.”

Sarah tries to look away but can’t help fluttering back up to him. “That’s the thing, Erudite-”

“Fuck Erudite for tonight. Tell me first thing tomorrow. Just tell me what I want to hear now.”

She rubs her lips together before answering, “Okay, I trust you.” And his smile is radiant. But as she leans towards him, her head cradled sweetly against his chest with strong arms binding around her, that radiant smile drops.

Maybe he should have mentioned that it wasn’t really Jack who he spoke to, but Mark. That there had been an incident where Jack was shot from friendly fire and their son was extremely lucky that the bullet went straight through, missing his vitals, and currently residing in Amity’s infirmary.

Instead, Eric stares out from over the top of her head with a dead expression, knowing that he lied so dishonourably, and says nothing.