#guess who marathoned all the john wick movies

[ruben-rawbone]

yellowjackets assassins au idea

After freelance hitman Travis Martinez is betrayed and murdered by the crime family he was working for, Natalie Scatorccio, a former co-member of the now-defunct elite assassin group, the Yellowjackets, declares a vendetta on the family, swearing to hunt all of them down to the last man, woman and child.

She can't do this alone, not without risking grievous harm on her person, so she calls up every favor she has from her old surviving teammates, who have all long since retired and left the life of contract killing behind... or have they?

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Eight: Heat/Ice

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Playing hooky leads to more delicious food (Sy cooks! Swoon!), some deep conversation, and new revelations about Shane’s past.

What? You’re behind? Don’t worry! CLICK ME to catch up before reading this chapter!

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, more food sluttiness, shameless nerd speak, unfettered and shameless sappiness.

Author’s Note: So, guys, I’m sorry. I really wanted to get this chapter to you Sunday. Life has just been a bit disheartening of late. Between being upset over some personal turmoil some friends are going through (two of my oldest friends are getting a divorce!) and coming home from work utterly exhausted on all possible levels, it’s been hard to write about lovey dovey things. As I said in my recent reblog of my masterlist, though, I’m working on some prologues, one for each character. I don’t plan on them being terribly long, but I want you guys to have some more back story.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags: 

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

@speakerforthedead0

@tumblnewby

@suavechops

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

It was hard to feel guilty for calling out of work for the afternoon under false pretenses when she was curled up on the sectional in Sy’s “nerd lair” with his head in her lap as they watched John Wick on the massive TV he had down there.

“You mean to tell me we watched the entire Bourne franchise upstairs on that…that iPod Touch, by comparison, when we could have watched down here on this majestic monolith!? In what is essentially a theater!?” She’d asked immediately, derailing the grand tour of the museum of things she would soon find amazing.

“Hey, I haven’t been coming down here a whole lot since I hurt my knee. Stairs haven't exactly been easy or, ya know, possible. I had my gaming computer down here for weeks, too, couldn't do a damn thing about it, because I didn't trust a'one of my buddies or my neighbors to haul her up the stairs for me. Leia's a custom machine worth thousands a' dollars. If she's getting' broke, it's all gonna be on me."

"You named your gaming computer? Leia?" So many emotions were flooding her. Adoration, sympathy, lust, and just a sheer need to squeeze the bejeezus out of him.

"Yeah, it's a common thing. And…not to be that guy, but…you do know who Leia is, right?

"If by Leia, you mean Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, true daughter of Darth Vader, adopted by Bail Organa at birth, sister of Luke Skywalker, hero of the Rebellion against the Empire?"

"Hey, I thought you wanted to take things slow, sunshine." he pulled her close, flush with his body. "Then you go talkin' all sexy to me like that." he lingered at her cheek with light kisses.

"Well, you did the same with your baseball talk the other night." she moaned into the contact with relish.

"I can't help it if certain sports terms have made their way into everyday speech. Your…exposition there, about my boyhood crush was intentional."

"You had a crush on Leia?" he nodded, shyly. "I had a crush on Han! Heck with Cap and Widow, THERE'S our couple's costume for next Halloween!" she said, excitedly!

"Oh, I didn't know you were talking about costumes for public use." he said, a naughty smirk in his eye.

"Stop it, you. Finish your tour. I want that soup on the stove." she said, patting her tummy.

He showed her the various memorabilia he'd procured over the years. Posters from a few of her favorites, and a few others that she recognized but wasn't as excited about. Die Cast models of several famous film vessels and vehicles, and a "life size" LEGO R2-D2 which would have had her salivating even if she hadn't been hungry. Apparently it took him almost a month to assemble the droid, but he did it all by himself.

"Aww…I wish I could have helped." she lamented.

"Maybe I'll pick up the Death Star and we can do that one together."

She nodded excitedly, eyes wide, rubbing her hands together in front of her chin with greed.

"Okay, little mouse." he chuckled. "Let's fill that belly and start this movie."

They filled massive bowls with generous portions and took the crackers down stairs so they could start the marathon. If they wanted to get through all three films tonight, they'd best get started.

They were both fairly quick eaters out of habit given her often truncated lunch breaks and his typical ten minutes in the mess hall. Even savoring the delicious creamy, cheesy concoction, as she tried to do, it was hard to slow down on. It did give her something to focus on during the first, emotionally devastating part of the film though. Once she finished, she expressed a final  groan of delight and thanked Sy, kissing him on his cheek as she held the other. She felt the smile bloom across his face as she prolonged the contact.

They were about halfway through the movie, a big fight scene in a night club, when something dark and grim hit Shane in the chest. Watching Keanu Reeves pretend to beat up and kill all of these actors and stunt men, it occurred to her that the man with his head resting gently on her lap, long body taking up the rest of that side of the sectional, had fought and killed. The man letting her play her fingers through his hair and beard had shot and blown up people. He was told to do it. Ordered to do it. But even though he was doing it lawfully and by military order, as far as she knew, it was still his job…at least some of the time. She knew that was an oversimplification of the function of the armed forces, but…sometimes, it was an apt description.

She had never thought of Sy like that before. Someone other than the strong but gentle teddy bear that had come to be such a comforting presence in her life. She needed that, after all she'd been through…she tried not to think about the hurt of her last relationship. She hadn't discussed it with Sy. It was history. Ancient history. But she was, after all, a believer in the fact that those who knew nothing of the past were doomed to repeat it. She'd tell him…one day. Everything that Elliott had done to her…had put her through. But not tonight. Suddenly, she thought being on the arm of a soldier, someone who'd lived the kind of life that Captain Logan Syverson had lived, might make her feel more safe than she had in ages.

"You're awful quiet, sunshine." he said, cracking a beer open and handing it to her before doing the same for himself and sitting down with his thick arm around her.

"Just…trying to be respectful of the movie experience. You know." she smirked at him as the menu music to the second movie played.

"It ain't that. I know this is still new, what we're doin', but I've watched enough movies with ya over the last few weeks to know that you don't keep quiet for a full length feature." Shane worried the tab on her cold Miller Lite. She wasn't sure how to bring this forward. "Spill it, sweetheart. What's eatin' ya?"

"What…what do you think about when you're watching movies like this, Sy?"

"Guess, same as anybody. How awesome the fighting and driving is. Wondering when Keanu got to be a badass. And if there's really an underground society of assassins. Why, hon?"

"I, umm, I only wondered if it…it doesn't make you miss…your job?"

The smile he gave her was both bemused and amused. "Come 'ere." he prompted her to lean her head into him, and sat his beer down on the buffet behind the couch so he could better hold her. "Do we need to go over the function of a captain of the Army of These United States? Because as flattered as I am that you think so highly of me, I'm no John Wick, nor do I know anyone like John Wick. Or five guys that would make one John Wick. Ten guys. Maybe twenty."

"The fighting doesn't bring anything back?" she smoothed the creases in his shorts as she tried not to act like she was over thinking his past.

"That fightin’s…it's like dancing. It's choreographed, precise, and the outcome is predetermined. Real fights are the exact opposite. They're chaos, unpredictable, and the right guys don't always win. Trust me, I've seen a lot of them go south in a big way." they both let a moment of silence pass before Sy broke it. "What’re ya really askin’, Shane?"

She wanted to ask so many things. The questions seemed to clog the ventricles of her brain like leaves in a rain gutter. Bottlenecked traffic.

"I just…couldn't help but think…about things you must have had to do when…when you were active, and I just…if you need to talk about anything, I'm here." She imagined that taking someone's life, no matter how personal or impersonal the act itself seemed on the surface, would create some level of emotional scarring.

“Oh, sweetheart." he kissed the top of her head, making her feel as warm and cozy as the soup had…perhaps more so. "You are important to me for so many reasons. You've shown me how to smile again. Laugh. Real, genuine happiness. No sarcastic shit like I had to use on my men in my squad. But although I'd feel comfortable talkin' to ya 'bout near anything, there's a counselor on the base who's specifically trained to help guys like me. Who've seen what I've seen and been through…similar situations. He makes sure I don't feel like less of a man for what happened to me. You make me feel…like more than a man…something stronger than I thought possible."

She was straining hard to corral the tears within her waterline, but they broke free when he squeezed her tightly to him with both of his massive arms.

"So…that HEP I gave you is working?" she laughed, knowing full well that his home exercise program had no bearing on the strength he meant.

"Come on, Shane." he raised an eyebrow at her, challenging her to see herself the way he saw her. "Them handouts you give me don't mean a hill o' beans in this conversation and you know it. The way you hold yourself, speak to others. There is so much quiet strength in your kindness that comes right out of your beautiful little heart. Some days I'll see you working with kids, if I get in early, and I know they annoy you and freak you out, but you never let that show." He looked into her eyes, misty from emotion, and he wiped away the tears from her cheeks. "I'll never be able to explain it right, the way you inspire me to be a better and stronger man. And my heart just breaks to hear you put yourself down. And don't say you're just kidding, because I know you think you are, but behind every one of those jokes is a truth, at least as you see it." He'd seen her make to argue and knew her tactic before she had attempted it. "Give yourself some credit, Shane."

"I'm too busy blaming myself for the bad stuff to give myself credit for anything good." she sniffed. "You're the first guy I've…I've been involved with that's acted like I was worth anything more than a meal ticket. Someone who was only suitable for enough sex to make it an official relationship just so they could have a place to live, and do whatever quasi-job was a thing. First serious boyfriend was a freelance writer, but he never seemed to be writing. Then there was the guy with the internet start-up…but he could never tell me in a satisfactory way what the company actually did…so that was brief."

He seemed to know she was bracing for something big. Something difficult. He gave her silence and stroked her shoulder in encouragement to continue. She took one of her deepest ever breaths.

"Then came Elliott. Elliott Thomas. My last boyfriend. The worst of them all. Most useless and greatest offender. I ignored all of the signs, of course. He had a YouTube channel and an Instagram that he was trying to gain followers on and become a so-called "influencer." she rolled her eyes. "He had no life skills. He had a bit of an eye for photography and he could find humor in uncommon places, which he thought made him insta-famous and vlog-worthy."

"I hate him already." Sy growled.

"Well, maybe I shouldn't tell you the rest, then." he asked her to go on. "He always seemed to find these ways to cheat on me and lie to me that I couldn't quite prove, but I was just certain of. But I just…I didn't want to believe it. I wanted THAT one to work. Well. I came home one night after work, and he had another girl in our bedroom. I told him he had until the next day when I got home to leave. Things got a little physical, but I can hold my own." she said, proudly, "and I bolted with my purse. I stayed with Heather, our evening secretary, and we hashed it out, and got a little blitzed on moscato, and cried together."

"Wow."

"He was gone the next day. All I heard from my landlord was, 'you shouldn't be hearing from him anytime soon.' so I guess he had his cop buddies send him a message. He blocked me on all social media and I haven't heard a peep from him since. That was five years ago."

"What a scum bag." he stated, obviously.

"Yeah, I haven't been able to really think about a relationship since then…until…" she let the word hang there, knowing they both knew what the end of the sentence was. "Until I met you." Drifting unsaid in the ether of the unspoken.

"It's been a long time for me too. I mean…I haven't quite been a monk, but I haven't…I haven't cared for a girl since…actually, I've never felt this way about anyone."

"I didn't mean to unpack all of that tonight when we're only a third of the way through our marathon. I really wasn't even going to bring it up at all. It's just…been on my mind. Ya know. I once heard a very poignant parable about keeping your mouth shut if you're warm and happy. I was attempting to do that." she chuckled.

"Yeah, but we need to be able to open up to people in this life. Keeping a bottle stopped under pressure ain't no good for the bottle. Or what's inside."

"Such wisdom. You know just what to say to me." she grinned into him.

"Just seen what keeping yourself closed off can do to a person. And the people they love."

Love…there was that word in the air. Not officially said, but felt in all ways. They held each other close as the opening to the second movie played.

Up Next: Chapter Nine-Group Therapy

[queenbirbs]

the open door | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC

Warnings: swearing, some brief mentions of corpses and body horror, spooks and possible spectres 

Word count: 7.7k

Premise: Bryce invites Sloane, Sienna, and Aurora on a tour of a haunted estate on the night before Halloween. What could go wrong?  

Notes: I’m super bummed that we didn’t get a Halloween-themed chapter for this book, especially since it’s my favorite holiday. Takes place post chapter 11, though I’ve played with the timeline a bit to include Halloween. Re-post because it fell out of the tag, as posts seem to want to do as of late. 

Taglist: @maurine07 @caseyvalentineramsey

 ------

“You are aware there’s no such thing as witches, right?” 

“Well, yeah,” Bryce scoffs. “Maybe. Besides, I said she was rumored to be a witch. That’s a whole different thing.”

“Oh, right, of course it is.” In the backseat, Aurora rolls her eyes. “Just tell that to all the people killed during the Salem witch trials due to mass hysteria.”

“Hey, now -- it’s not like she was killed for being a witch.”

“Right. She pulled a classic Rose for Emily,” Sloane mutters while Sienna makes a gagging noise.

“What?” Bryce asks. 

“It’s a short story by Faulkner.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. Sloane wonders if he even knows who that is. Then: “Is he the dude that had a hard-on for the Civil War?”

“Yeah,” Aurora snorts. “Basically.” 

“Yeah, never read any of his stuff. I think I used SparkNotes for one of his books in undergrad.”

“Same,” Sloane admits, to which Bryce shoots her a look of faux-surprise. “Yeah, yeah, we all had to skate by sometimes.” 

“Well, well, well,” he crows. “Looks like the ‘next generation of medicine’ isn’t so high and mighty after all, huh?” 

“Wait, how did you--”

“Ramsey was four drinks deep at Donahue’s the other day, and one of the interns came up and bothered him about a possible spot on the team. Which meant we all overheard the twenty-minute spiel about what a great doctor you are.” He snickers as she puts a hand over her face and groans. “Yeah, it was real sweet. Real obvious, but sweet.”

She’s saved by the GPS on her phone, cutting through the music playing over the car speakers; Bryce takes the next exit as instructed. The off-ramp spits them out onto a two-lane county road.  Posted across from the solitary stop sign, the blue services sign offers nothing but blank, white squares. 

“There’s a bathroom, right?” Sienna asks. “Because I’m not seeing a gas station.”

“It’s a house, you guys,” Bryce scoffs, “not a cave.” 

“A haunted house,” she clarifies. 

“Well, I mean, I don’t think the toilets are haunted.”

For several miles, there’s nothing but sweeping woodlands and the occasional passing car. Long squiggles of tar decorate the asphalt, snaking across the empty, leaf-strewn road. The setting sun casts a golden hue over everything, spears of light cutting through the tree trunks. It would be a nice, evening drive if it weren’t for where they were headed. 

Forty minutes north of Boston lies the small, nondescript town of Angler. Even under the cover of dusk, Sloane can tell that it’s one of those towns. Pretty Tudors line the main street, their porches decorated with smiling scarecrows sitting on bales of hay; banners along the telephone poles advertise the annual apple festival. The bank and the post office and the dry cleaners are all tucked together in the refurbished general store. It’s the stereotypical, pleasant, all-American town. Which means that it’s the perfect place to hide a dark stain of history. 

Why Bryce signed up for such a thing and how he won the tickets is beyond her. When he asked them all to join him for a haunted house, Sloane expected the typical theme: some dingy warehouse refurbished enough to meet modern building codes, full of tight mazes and masked actors with chainsaws.

“Nah, guys, this is the real deal,” he gloated over lunch the previous afternoon. “Back in the 1800s, this woman -- uhh Margaret, or Maggie, I think, yeah Maggie Angler -- she was one of the Boston Brahmins, owned this estate out in the country, blah blah blah. No one knows a whole lot about her because she was a little weird and she kept to herself. At some point, this dude woos her and they get married. But then, a few years later, he dies. Neighbors drop by to offer casseroles or whatever, but she won’t answer the door, so they give up and leave her alone. A few months go by, and suddenly this dude from town goes missing. Then a year, and another goes missing. This continues for several years and--” 

“So, what, she’s some kind of black widow?” Elijah asked. 

“No, this isn’t one of those Marvel--” Bryce’s brow furrowed and then lifted, realization striking his handsome face. “--oh, heh, yeah, sorry. But yeah, sort of. It wasn’t until word got around that the latest dude was seen talking to Maggie at the store that people got suspicious of her. So, they gather up some people and storm the house, where they find a Satanic Bible and other spooky shit. But that’s not the only thing they find.”

They all glance around at each other, waiting to see who will encourage Bryce to break his silence and finish the damn story. “They also find... the missing dudes.”

“What, buried in the backyard?” Sloane asked, and frowned when Bryce shook his head. 

“No, not buried. She killed them and then kept them in the house. Supposedly, they were posed at the table or sitting on the couch, rotting away.”

 Sienna made a show of pushing her plate away. “That’s disgusting.”

“I know there’s a group of people in Indonesia that keep their dead relatives at home,” Aurora said, “but they’re preserved and cared for. This doesn’t sound like that.”

“Nope.” Elijah shook his head. “Definitely not the same thing.”

“What happened to the woman?” Sloane asked.

“No idea -- get this: they never found her.” Bryce lifted his eyebrows for dramatic effect. “But the story goes that she still haunts the place, searching for her lost lovers, and maybe… trying to get some new ones.”  

Jackie, who had been busy scrolling away on her phone through the tale, snorted into her salad. 

“And you want us to come with you to some evil witch’s house on the night before Halloween to go ghost hunting? I may not believe in any of this shit, but no fucking way.” 

“Yeah,” Elijah sighed, cringing at the crestfallen look on Bryce’s face. “Sorry dude, but I’ll pass. My idea of fun is a John Carpenter movie marathon, not a tour around Jane the Ripper’s house.” 

“Okay, understood.” With that, Bryce looked to the remaining three and turned on the charm, draping his arm across Sloane’s shoulders. “C’mon, ladies, whaddaya say? Hard to pass up the prospect of touring a bona fide haunted mansion with one of the most handsome men you know -- second only to Elijah here.”  

Tapping at her chin, Sienna nodded and grinned. “Sounds fun. I like scary things.” 

Aurora, on the other hand, shot him a skeptical look. “Are you going to shout at the air and act like you’re possessed, like I’ve seen that one ghost hunter do on TV? The one with the spiky hair?” she demanded to know. 

“Uhhh no to all of those things, but especially to the spiky hair.”  

“Okay, then,” she shrugged, “I’ll go.” 

Every eye at the table turned to Sloane; Bryce squeezed her shoulder in encouragement. 

“Alright,” she agreed. “It’d be fun to get spooked, I guess. I’m down.”

Which is how she comes to be in the passenger seat of Bryce’s car, leaning forward onto the dashboard as they take the final turn onto a hidden lane. A thick tunnel of trees swallows them up as they drive deeper into the woods. After several miles, there’s a break in the pines, and then: sprawled atop a hill, looming above them, is the house. Even if she hadn’t heard the backstory, Sloane feels like the place would still give her the creeps. With its filmy lace curtains and its tall windows glowing yellow in the approaching darkness, the house looks like it’s been pulled from an Edward Hopper painting. Worn pavers lead from the semi-circular driveway and up to the front porch. Framing either side of the steps, thin, brittle blades of tufted hairgrass shift in the wind. Two people turn from the front door and raise a hand in greeting.

Bryce kills the engine and twists around in his seat to grin at his compatriots. 

“You guys ready to get scaaaared?”

Sienna wraps her hands around Sloane’s seat and leans forward, her eyes wide as she stares out the windshield. 

“Why does it look like The Amityville Horror house?” 

“Is this a bad time to mention that the Blair Witch Project’s producers used this place as inspiration?”

“Yeah,” she hisses, “definitely a bad time.”

Shouldering open her door, Sloane lets in the cool October air in an attempt to corral their attention. It works; the rest of them pile out of the car with her and approach the couple. 

As the current owners of the property, Jack and Nancy Bell guide them through the main floor of the house, pointing out spots of reported activity. The interior is lovely -- one of those Sloane would see in a Pictagram post of a wedding venue, with all those carved banisters and original wainscoting. Her brother, a successful carpenter in the Twin Cities, would have a field day in here. Most of the furniture is original to the house, as well, and in surprisingly good condition.  

The only aspect setting the house apart from any other on the historical registry are the props. In the front hall, a bulletin board hosts an array of newspaper clippings. The earlier articles blame a serial killer, dubbed the ‘Butcher of Angler,’ for the mens’ disappearances. Then, starting on October 28th, 1892, the headlines change to the ‘Wicked Witch of Winthrope County.’ In the drawing room sits an Ouija board, surrounded by melted candles. A cauldron and a Satanic Bible share space on the kitchen counter; corked bottles of what look like cooking spices and herbs clutter the open cabinets. Mannequins lounge at the dining table or on the sofa, dressed in dusty clothes, their jaws slack, their painted eyes still and dull. Beside them, framed in cheap plastic, are the grainy photographs of the corpses as they were found. To Sloane, it all feels hokey, like a regular haunted house with the strobe lights turned off. 

There’s something else, though, something underneath the fine layer of dust and the creaking floorboards and the shrouded furniture. It skitters across her neck and down her back, making her shiver, which she discounts as a wayward draft in the old house. 

It’s the distinct feeling of being watched.  

“Aside from the big house, there’s a carriage house to the left there. We rent it out in the summer and fall for overnight stays.” Jack gestures to the east as they step out onto the back veranda, where, just beyond the slope of lawn, a smaller house sits with a solitary porch light glowing. “And back down the path there will lead you to the lake. When we bought the place, the deed stated that there was a cabin out near the state park line, but we’ve never been able to find evidence of it.”

“Maggie’s been seen down by the lake, too,” Nancy chimes in. “People say they see her there, inside the boathouse, or walking along the shore with her head down, as if she’s searching for something.” 

“We’ve got lanterns here if you want to use them as you go about the grounds, though you’re welcome to use your flashlights.” Jack nudges a neat row of antique lanterns with his sneaker. “For the optimal experience, though, we recommend turning off all the inside lights and using secondary light sources instead.” He chuckles when Sienna makes a throaty noise of dissent. 

The couple leads them back through the house and into the front hall to finish the tour. While Jack goes over the various rules, Nancy motions for Sloane to follow her out onto the front porch. 

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of your friends,” she starts off in a whisper, “but I wanted to talk to you about our son, Ben.”

For a fleeting moment, Sloane thinks that she’s going to get questioned about his bowel movements or a mysterious rash, that Bryce must have told them he was bringing along his doctor friends. “When he was seven, he nearly--” Nancy cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her heart, “--he drowned when we were at the beach in Florida. I did CPR until the EMTs got there, and they were able to resuscitate him, thank God.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane murmurs, “that must’ve been awful.”

“It was. But I’m -- the reason I’m telling you all this is because, after that, Ben seems to be more… open. More open than the rest of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloane says again, though this time out of confusion, “but I don’t--”

With a huff, Nancy shakes her head and waves her hands. “No, no, I apologize. I must sound crazy. I just wanted to warn you that, due to what happened to you, you might see things or experience things that your friends can’t. That’s all, dear.” 

Sloane opens her mouth to question her further, but they’re interrupted by the rest of the gang filing out beside them. “We’ll be back at one a.m. to lock up behind you,” Nancy says as she follows her husband down to their car. 

With a cheery honk, the little Subaru rumbles down the winding driveway and disappears. The sun having set during the tour, the landscape before them is now draped with the heavy blanket of night. The moon peeks at them from just above the treetops, as if still deciding on whether or not to come out. The only lights are far-off, unmoving: porch lights of the houses back in town; cell towers with their red stars blinking lazily against the dark. A cold wind moves through the trees, rustling the leaves and scattering them across the front walk, the dried edges hissing along the brick. 

“Can you believe he said no alcohol?” Bryce breaks the silence with a whine. “I read about this fun séance thing you do with tequila shots and--” 

“No séances!” Sienna declares. “And definitely no tequila!” 

“Can we argue about this where it’s warmer?” Aurora suggests and steps back into the house. 

As she and Sienna wander off into the drawing room, Sloane wraps a hand around Bryce’s arm and pulls him back. 

“Did you tell her about me?”

His nose scrunches up to meet his furrowed brows. “Tell who about what?” 

“The-- Nancy, did you tell her about what happened to me? With… with the senator, and…” it’s embarrassing how much of a struggle it is to get the words out, even now, even after three weeks and two therapy appointments. 

His face falls from confusion to concern. Bryce reaches up and lays his hand over her own. 

“Slo, I didn’t tell them, I swear. I would never,” he promises. “Did she say something to you?”      

She loosens her hold, frustrated at herself that she even considered he would do such a thing. He’s one of her best friends, the man who handed over the reins to a cutting-edge surgery just to be by her side. 

“Yeah, no, listen: it’s fine,” she stumbles through a paltry reassurance. “She was probably trying to scare me, that’s all.” 

He gives her a quick once-over, lips twisting into a frown as he debates on whether or not to push. She bites back a breath of relief when he relents, his hand releasing hers.

“Okay,” he says, and nudges her into the house ahead of him. “C’mon. Between the two of us, I think we can convince them to turn off the lights.”

------

Although he puts up a good fight, Bryce loses on the no-lights front. 

Which is just as well, because by the time they reach the second floor, Sloane is glad for the light from the antique lamps. To be fair, nothing actually happens: no spooks, no spectres, and no signs from the former resident. Nothing she can point to with any amount of certainty. Whatever it is hovers out of reach, just on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t seem to give it a name. Maybe it lies -- like any good, scary movie -- in the setting. For as grand as the house is, time and dereliction have taken its fine features hostage. Thick, gray dust coats the wooden spindles and curled handrails of the antique staircase. The corridors are tight, the shadows gathering in the space where the lights can’t seem to reach. Small curls of peeling wallpaper look like fingers reaching out from the wall, backlit by the sconces. The cloying scent of wood rot and mold fills the air, like a pile of papers left to curl and yellow with age. The rooms are small, cluttered with furniture and trinkets and artwork. 

Sloane stares at such a portrait in the master bedroom, where a couple stares down at her from above the fireplace. The man sits in a chair, the woman standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder. It would be any other family portrait, if it weren’t for the unsettling glaze over the man’s sunken eyes. 

“Bryce, please don’t-- aaaand he’s sitting on the bed.” 

“You do know that’s where they found her husband, right?” Sienna points out. “That’s why there’s a mannequin on it. And a picture of his dead body on the nightstand.”

“Maybe Maggie will see what a catch I am if I’m laid out for her. I’ve never met a woman over the age of sixty who could resist my charms.” Bryce waggles his eyebrows as he bounces once, then twice on the mattress before stretching out. “What’s up, bro?” he asks the mannequin beside him before doing a double-take. “Hey, it’s Annie!”

He snatches off the ugly wig and fake beard, and lo and behold, an old CPR dummy gapes up at them all. Sloane snorts and shakes her head. 

“Looks like the years haven’t been kind to her.”   

“Probably saddled with student loans just like the rest of us,” Aurora mutters as she wanders over to inspect the photograph. “Had to get a second job here.”

“Hey, that was a joke!” Bryce commends. “And a pretty good one at that.”

“I do jokes.”

“You so do not.” 

A muffled bang from somewhere in the house stops their banter. Everyone glances at each other, verifying that everyone in their group is indeed in the room. 

“What was that?” Sienna whispers. 

“Probably the pipes,” Aurora says. “It is an old house.” 

As if on cue, the lights flicker once, then switch off, sinking them into complete darkness. There’s a flurry of noise as everyone digs out their phones; the bedroom seems even creepier, now, under the white glow of their flashlights.  

“What do we do?” Sienna hisses, scurrying from the window to latch onto Aurora.  

“We could always search for the breaker,” she suggests. 

“Which would be where?”

“In the basement, most likely.”

“Um, no,” Sienna balks. “Hell no.”  

“Are you guys serious right now?” Bryce hops down from the bed and pokes his head out the open doorway. “This is so cool! Who wants to go downstairs with me and grab the Ouija board?”

“If you bring that thing near me, I will break it in half.”

He grimaces at Sienna’s threat. 

“You’re not really supposed to do that with them. It’ll keep the door open for the spirits to come in.”

“It’s a toy made by Hasbro,” Aurora scoffs. “It’s not going to ‘let in’ anything. And the planchette doesn’t actually move on its own. That’s due to the ideomotor effect.”

Moving over to the window, Sloane presses her temple against the pane’s edge and squints. Just past the eastern wing, she spots a faint halo of yellow light on the lawn. 

“Hey,” she raises her voice over their bickering. “It looks like the carriage house still has power.” 

“Great!” Sienna squeaks and pulls Aurora with her towards the door. “Let’s check it out. I… love carriage houses.” 

They push past Bryce and start back down the hall. Turning from the doorway, a coy smile spreads across his face, a single eyebrow lifting at his wordless request. 

“Oh, no.” Sloane shakes her head as she crosses the room. “I’m not staying up here so you can play Twenty Questions with a ghost.”

She ignores his good-natured grumbling and leads him to the staircase, where Aurora and Sienna are waiting on the landing. Aimed at the ground, their flashlights slice at the hand-carved walls; dustmotes dance in the twin beams, kicked up by their feet. The air feels heavier, mustier here, too, like breathing through wet wool. They tromp down the stairs and across the first floor to the kitchen. Being at the back of the group, Sloane can’t help but glance back now and again at the shadowed recesses, searching for the source of her uneasiness. That she finds nothing amiss doesn’t seem to curb her anxiety. 

The sensation wanes when she closes the door behind them, sealing up the house once more. 

“How is it warmer outside than in there?” Sienna asks as they start cutting across the lawn for the carriage house.  

Bryce zips up his coat and shrugs. “I’ve heard that ghosts tend to suck the energy out of a room, creating cold spots when they mani--”

“Please stop talking,” she begs. “At least until we’re somewhere with electricity that actually works.” 

“Aw, come on, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ve seen enough scary movies in your life to know that we’re safe if we travel together. Besides, everyone knows the funny guy goes first.”  

“I think that honor belongs to people of color, now, sorry.” Aurora chuckles when he spins around to wince at her. 

“Yeah, fair point.” 

Coated in fallen leaves, the ground crunches loud underneath their shoes, blocking out the night sounds as the four of them approach the smaller house. “But for real, I don’t think we have much to worry about from Maggie here. I mean, almost all ghost stories are about little white girls from Victorian times named Sally or Sarah or Kate.”

“That’s because of the spiritualism boom in the late nineteenth century,” Aurora answers.

Bryce sighs and quickly changes the subject, uninterested in a history lesson. 

Converted into a proper guest house sometime after the turn of the twentieth century, the carriage house lacks the severe decay of the main house. Though not as grand, the wallpaper here is intact, the dust not as heavy. It might just be the comforts of amenities such as central heating and electricity, but the inside of the house feels much more benign. As they complete a loop around the building, though, Sloane realizes that the feeling of being watched still remains, growing stronger when she passes or glances out one of the windows. With the glare of the lights, though, it’s hard to see much of anything past the panes. None of the others seem to be frightened -- or if they do, they keep quiet. The same can’t be said when Sienna flips the light on in the parlor.  

Toddler-size dolls lean against the walls, their porcelain hands cupped around their faces. Each wears a pretty, pastel dress trimmed in white lace, their hair falling down their backs in long, springy ringlets of dark brown, cherry red, and honey gold. Bryce makes a noise of disgust when he spins one around, its face blank: no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Time-out dolls, Sloane tells them, remembering her grandmother’s friend who owned several back in the early nineties -- though hers were all dressed as clowns. 

“People actually rent this place out? They pay money to stay here?” Sienna shudders. “I’d rather sleep in the other house, even with all the cobwebs and mannequins.”

“And the ghosts,” Bryce adds. 

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Aurora says. 

“Okay, Scully, that’s enough out of you.”

------

As the clock ticks closer to ten, Bryce votes to go check out the lake. Aurora and Sienna, however, vote to stay in the warm, well-lit kitchen. The plan is decided to split up and then meet back at the main house in time for midnight. 

“You know,” Bryce explains as he and Sloane make their way across the lawn, “because it’s the witching hour.”

“I thought it was three a.m.” 

“It is if you’re taking into account REM cycles and all that, but I’m not. All the legends I’ve read say…” he trails off, frowning as he jogs up the main house’s back steps. “Hey, you shut the door when we left, right?”

Her phone’s flashlight sweeps up the French doors; one of them is ajar, standing open several inches. She reaches for the handle and shuts it, listening for the snick of the latch.  

“I guess I didn’t pull it closed enough.”   

“Or,” he taunts as he grabs two of the lanterns from the porch, “something else opened it.” Ignoring her scoff, he pockets his phone and hands one of the lanterns to her. “These are nice. Do you think they’re original?”

“Bryce, they bought these from a Cracker Barrel. And besides, they’re battery-powered.” 

“Oh.” 

The back of the estate has been left to run wild. Overgrown swath rolls along the ground like dunes, snagging dead leaves between the dry blades. Thickets of barren shrubs creep out from the distant tree line. The path to the lake is marked by an old fence post, tied with a tattered ribbon. They make their way across the wide expanse of lawn, the trees ahead towering higher and higher the closer they get to the forest. Sloane can’t help but check over her shoulder. The house is just as they left it, though the moonlight is too weak to see if the door is still closed. 

Gravel crunches under their feet as they step onto the trail. The quiet night is broken by a ding from her phone. 

How goes the ghost hunting? 

She hooks the lantern in the crook of her arm and taps out her reply: Fun so far, lights went off by themselves. Very spooky 10/10

Ethan: What do fractions have to do with what you’re doing?

Sloane: Nvm 

Ethan: This isn’t 2002. You do have a full keyboard under your fingertips. 

Sloane: so?

Ethan: So there’s no excuse for using T9 acronyms.       

Sloane: Never thought I’d see the day you reprimand me for texting 

Ethan: I’ll spare you the lecture and let you get back to your witch hunt. Text me when you get home, please, so I know you returned safely. 

She hits send on the next message. Several seconds later, a red bubble appears beside her will do!, informing her that it refused to send. A quick glance at the top of the screen shows the one measly bar of service her phone is clinging onto. With a sigh, she tucks it away.   

“How’s Dr. Ramsey?” Bryce asks.

“Preparing a TEDtalk on prehistoric cell phone etiquette.” 

His nose scrunches up. “What?”

“Nothing,” she chuckles, exhaling through her mouth just to see her foggy breath. 

The light from the lanterns casts an eerie, yellow glow across the tree trunks and underbrush. Creaks and knocks echo up out of the dark -- branches smacking against each other as a cold wind sweeps through the area. The last vestiges of October skitter along the ground; the leaves almost sound like footsteps, dragging across the dirt behind them. The trail tightens as it winds down a small embankment and into a hollow. Their pace seems to pick up, though neither of them mention it. Sloane burrows into her scarf at the sudden dip in temperature.   

“How’s Keiki?” she asks, more so out of need to make conversation than actual curiosity.  

“Probably eating her way into a food coma with the pizza money I left for her, and beating all my high scores on Need for Speed.” He’s grinning as he says it, though, which Sloane finds encouraging. “I invited her to go with us, but she said no.” 

She doesn’t miss the crestfallen expression that crosses his face for a moment. 

“Trust me when I say this, because I speak from the experience of having a younger sibling, but she didn’t say no because she doesn’t like you or anything. It’s because she thinks you and your friends are dorks.” 

He sputters at the insult. “I’m not a dork!”

“You so totally are.”  

“Am not.” 

“Are too!” she argues. “Ethan thinks I’m bad, but you -- you come in on your days off and you like it.”

“That’s called dedication to the craft.” 

“That’s called being a dork.” 

What little she can see of the path ahead is more winding turns, more endless seas of bark and brushwood. But just when she thinks that they’ll never reach the end, that they’ll wind up stumbling upon Elly Kedward’s house -- there’s a small dot of light and then a break in the trees, where the path spits them out onto a rocky shore. The lake glints under their lanterns, the pearlescent gleam of the moon dancing on its surface. 

“Oh, hey, that was nice of them.”

Sloane’s gaze tracks along the shore and over to where he’s gestured. A solitary lantern sits in front of an old boathouse, illuminating the weathered cedar shake.  

“Too bad they can’t install lights along the path,” she mutters as they make their way to the structure. 

“What part of ‘bona fide haunted mansion’ did you not understand? This is the thrill of it!” 

Bryce shoulders open the door to a dim room with a half-sunken rowboat in the center. 

“Thrilling,” she drones, side-stepping his attempt to whack her arm. “Right.” 

They poke through the dirty raincoats and rusted tackle boxes. The wooden planks under their feet jostle and flex. Everything smells of wet and mold, the walls slick with grime. “I can think of several better places to haunt.” 

Bryce hums his agreement as he prods at a stack of old hunting magazines, the pages sealed together. Sloane steps over to look down at the boat, where minnows dart underneath the oars to escape her light. 

“Watch where you step,” she tells him as she crosses to the starboard side. “Some of these boards are really falling apa--”

The rest is lost to her shriek as the floor underneath her snaps. Her foot goes through the wood. She drops the lantern and scrambles to stay upright. The soggy planks slip from her grasp as she falls backwards, and then: water, the icy rush of it closing over her head. 

She fights back a gasp at the sudden cold. With her knee trapped in the joists, she can’t get her feet under her to kick to the surface. Her hands sweep out, flailing desperately. Something hard slams against her neck. She twists at the waist; the sunken lantern illuminates the long shadow of the boat. She digs her fingers into the wood. The cold saps at what strength she has, her muscles refusing to work as she tries to push herself out of the water. Her lungs ache; her heartbeat thuds inside her skull. Down in the murky depths below, a long shadow reaches towards her. Fingers, then hands seize her waist; her skin hits the cold air. Sloane blinks away the muddy haze that coats her eyes and sucks in a lungful of blessed oxygen. 

“Sloane!” Bryce shouts, as if he was expecting to pull out someone else. He ropes an arm around her back and helps her up out of the water. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of--” the rest of his words are lost to an undignified oof as Sloane wraps her arms around his neck. 

“Thanks.”

His hands come up to rest along her back, gently rubbing there to warm her frozen skin.

“I would say don’t mention it, but please do. The notoriety of me saving your life needs to make its way back to the hospital, so Rahul will finally go on a date with me.” 

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. 

“You would be concerned about getting a leg over while mine is still stuck.”

“Oh, whoops. Sorry, here, I’ll...” Sitting back on his heels, he steadies her against him and helps her shimmy out of the hole she’s made. Despite how saturated the planks are, her jeans are torn along her knee, where blood wells across several scratches. “Ouch,” he hisses. 

“Nothing a few bandages and a tetanus shot won’t fix,” she assures. Wobbling as she stands, Sloane limps over to the storage chest in the corner. The blanket she finds is tattered and smells of mold, but it’s better than braving the night’s chill in just her soaked sweater. “Alright, I want out of this place like yesterday.”

Bryce picks up his lantern and nods, following her out onto the shore and back onto the path. 

------

“And, I don’t know, he’s also distant with me sometimes, ya know? He’s hot, then he’s cold. He’ll flirt with me and agree to a date, but then he bails at the last second.”

“I get you.”

“That’s why I’m coming to you, oh wise one,” Bryce says with a grin. “Teach me your ways of dealing with difficult guys.”

Sloane laughs, the sound echoing through the quiet forest. Tucking the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she shakes her head. 

“Trust me, if I knew how to, I wouldn’t have such problems with my own.”

The cell phone in her pocket burns at the reminder of Ethan -- not that she could contact him if she wanted, given that the freezing water had zapped the last of its battery. 

“Yeah, but you could at least give me some pointers on how to wear him down.”

“Oh, my god, Bryce--”

“Okay, okay, not… ‘wear him down’... more, like, encouraging than that, I guess....” he trails off with a shrug. 

Humming as she thinks over her plan of attack, Sloane slows her pace to drop behind Bryce to skirt around a fallen tree -- until she can see it no more. “Fuck!” Bryce curses from in front of her, rattling the lantern as if abuse will bring it back to life. “Batteries must be dead. Let me…” There’s a rustling of clothes, a brief, hopeful inhale, then: “Fuck. Phone’s dead too. Must be the cold or something.” 

Sloane closes her eyes and opens them again, hoping that they will have miraculously adjusted to the dark -- but no such luck. With what little moonlight seeps through the canopy and the dusting of fog that’s rolled in, it’s hard to see farther than a few feet ahead. It will make this slow-going trek of theirs even slower. She scans the woods surrounding them and stops when she sees a pinprick of light back down the trail.

“I have an idea,” she says, “but you’re not going to like it.”

He does not, in fact, like her idea. But even he can’t argue against it. Besides, they’d only made it about a half-mile up the path, and the boathouse wasn’t that far back. 

Which is how Sloane comes to be sitting on the log, trying her best to ignore the darkness pressing in on her from all sides. If Aurora were here, she would be explaining that being afraid of the dark is just a concept carried over from early hominid days. Then again, if Aurora were here, she wouldn’t have had to send Bryce back for the other lantern, and they’d be back at the house by now. Sloane knows she should keep moving to stay warm, but she’s cold and wet and her knee is throbbing something awful. 

She’s uncertain of how much time passes before that silly bundle of nerves in her stomach morphs into the proper weight of worry. Bryce should be back by now. She knows he made it to the boathouse because the light through the trees is gone now. Her eyes have since adjusted to the night, which means it’s been at least thirty minutes. Maybe that lantern died, too, she reasons. Sloane listens for his familiar cursing, or his footsteps on the path -- but there’s nothing. The nighttime noises of the forest are gone: no animals, no birds, no wind. The stillness is nothing short of eerie, especially when she feels that now-familiar sensation of being watched.   

“Bryce?” she chances. 

From out of the black, she can hear someone walking down the path.  

“Bryce!” she shouts, struggling to her feet. “Sienna? Aurora? Is that you?” 

Whoever it is doesn’t respond. She starts down the trail towards them, cursing when she nearly trips over a rock. “Seriously, guys, I’m not in the mood--”

An awful sound echoes out of the dark, like a high-pitched whistle played over radio static. 

She freezes, pebbles and twigs skidding across the dirt at her sudden halt. Every hair on her body stands on-end, her muscles locked as adrenaline races through her. Sloane swallows and clenches her blanket tighter.  

The high-low tone of the whistle sounds again. Whatever’s out there is just beyond the reach of her vision. Sloane wheels around, her gaze darting across the shadows, as if she’ll be able to even see-- a light. It’s several hundred feet out in the forest, back in the direction of the house. It’s too far away to make out who’s holding it. It has to be Bryce, though -- playing a prank on her, as if she’d find this sort of thing funny in the state she’s in. 

She bites back a curse and hurries after him as best she can, keeping low to the ground in an effort to hide from whatever animal is out here with them. The trail becomes rougher, more overgrown as she trudges through the leaves and shoves away sticker bushes. Forced to waste precious time watching where she’s going, she glances up only to keep track of the light that grows closer every second. 

The whistle comes again -- louder, closer now. Whatever it is, it’s still following her. Sloane pushes through a thicket and stumbles into a clearing. Tucked between a small grove of pines in the center is a cabin. With the caved-in roof, sagging porch, and front steps that form nothing more than a woodpile, it’s obvious the place has long stood abandoned. Sitting on the porch and casting a glow into the open doorway is a lantern -- the same make as the others. Approaching the steps, she slowly leans up and snatches the lantern from the porch.  

“No fucking way,” she mutters to herself. “I don’t care if it is a bobcat out here, I’m not hiding in the Evil-Dead-looking-ass cabin.” 

The dark silhouettes of the trees rustle under the cold wind that blows through the glade. Carried with it is a different sound: voices, all slurred together, but forming one syllable. She steps away from the cabin and back towards the forest, straining to make it out. Her name, she realizes with relief. They’re calling her name.        

She sucks in a breath to yell back when movement catches her eye. Something dark curls away from the tree line, only to dart into the tall grass when she swings the lantern in its direction. Sloane squints at the underbrush it disappeared into, waiting for it to appear again. For a few, blessed moments, she thinks it’s run off, that it’s finally given up.   

Until a black shadow crawls out of the underbrush towards her, shrieking, braying like an animal in pain. It’s an ear-splitting cry, echoing across the clearing. Sloane tightens her grip on the lantern and bolts. Ducking back into the trees, she heads in a single direction, knowing that she’ll either hit the lake or the house -- of, if she runs far enough, the town. 

Shoving through low-hanging branches, she glances over her shoulder to see the shadow chasing her, peeling itself out of the shadows as it moves between the trees, somehow darker than the black surrounding them. Her foot hits a patch of wet leaves and she slips, skidding down the hillside and tumbling out onto a stretch of asphalt. She grits her teeth against the pain in her leg and crawls forward into the middle of the road. With no time for hesitating, she pushes to her feet and runs, hoping she’s picked the right direction. 

It wails again, in the trees to her left, scurrying across the hillside after her.   

“Fuck off!” she screams.

Another noise comes roaring out of the dark, drowning out her cry. Lights -- searing, blinding -- swing around the curve. Brakes squeal as the car swerves, narrowly missing her; glass shatters as Sloane staggers to the roadside, her lantern cracking as it hits the pavement and rolls off into the grass. The guard rail is like ice beneath her palm where she clutches it, using it to stay upright as her heart threatens to vacate her body through her throat. The hillside is drenched in red from the car’s tail lights. 

“Sloane!” 

Ethan -- it’s him, his car, he’s here, but he should be in Boston, shouldn’t he? He was when he texted her and that was only an hour ago so why is he here and how did he-- all of her panicked thoughts cease when he folds her into his arms and hugs her tight. The night around them is still, save for the purr of the engine and the soft dinging of the door ajar warning. 

“What the hell were you thinking, standing in the middle of the road like that?” he hisses, pulling her back to pin her down with his glare. “You could’ve-- I could’ve killed you.”

“You’re here,” she whispers. 

Her lips are numb from the cold and shock. She reaches up for the blanket, then realizes that she must’ve lost it somewhere along the way.

“Of course I’m here. You really need to stop scaring the hell out of me, you know that.” His brow furrows as he frowns, taking in the state of her. He slips off his own coat and bundles it around her. “Honey, you’re freezing. Let me--”

“We have to go,” she urges, remembering what’s waiting for her, out in the forest. Grabbing hold of his hand, she starts tugging him towards the car. “There’s -- in the woods, there was -- I don’t know, this thing, and it kept screaming, it was horrible--”

Ethan shushes her rambling and guides her into the car, buckling her seatbelt when her hands won’t stop shaking. She tucks her nose into the collar of his coat, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he backs the car up and turns back towards the estate. With one hand on the wheel, the other finds hers and holds tight. 

“Your friends called me when they couldn’t find you, wanted to know if I’d heard from you, in case you’d made it to somewhere with a working phone. I called you-- well, more than I’d care to admit, though it was obvious your phone was dead.” 

“How did you get here so fast?” she wonders aloud. 

“I got here around twelve-thirty, did a sweep of the woods. Around one I started driving around, hoping that I’d come across you in case you made it to the road.” He gives her a worried glance before returning to the road. “The others have been out with the sheriff’s office and the owners, searching the woods.” 

“But I… that doesn’t make any sense,” she tells him with a shake of her head. “It wasn’t even midnight when me and Bryce started back, and he was gone for twenty, maybe thirty minutes. And then I saw him-- well, not him, but at the time I thought it was him being an asshole-- and then that… thing chased after me and I got turned around, sure. But it couldn’t have been more than an hour.”

“Sloane, it’s nearly three in the morning.”

Her immediate reaction is to protest, but the concern in his tone and the clock on his dash render her mute. Which is for the best, she realizes later after pulling up to the house and seeing the driveway choked with cars: Bryce’s, the Bell’s, and several police cruisers. Modern floodlights tucked below the eaves turn the dark house into a bright beacon. Blue and red lights of the cruisers swirl across the lawn. As soon as they pull up, her friends race over to the car and wrap her into a hug. One of the cops takes her statement, ignoring Ethan’s insistence about getting her home and taking it over the phone instead. 

“Must’ve been a coyote,” the cop tells her after she’s finished. “We get a lot of reports of them out here, being so close to the state park.”

“A coyote,” Sloane repeats. 

“Well, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Unless you think it was something else?” 

She doesn’t have an answer for that. Having dealt with her fair share of wildlife coming down from the mountains and into her backyard growing up, she can’t remember ever hearing anything similar. Even her grandfather’s tales about the Wampus cat, her favorite spooky story as a kid, didn’t hold a candle to… to whatever was out there. 

After the cops leave and the Bells lock up, her friends pile into Bryce’s car for the ride home. Though not before Bryce shares with her his own experience with the mysterious shadow. However, he’d gotten a good look with the lantern. 

“It wasn’t an animal,” he whispers to her. “It was her. It was Maggie, I swear it.” 

Sloane didn’t know what to say to that. So she hadn’t said anything, just squeezed his hand and hugged him goodbye. Returning to Ethan’s car, she settled into the passenger seat, thankful for the change of clothes he had in the trunk -- and the first aid kit, of course.  

With the classical music floating out of the speakers and the warmth of his hand in hers again, it would’ve been easy for Sloane to close her eyes. She can’t help it, though, when they back out of the drive. She looks up to the long row of windows. It could be a trick of the headlights, but something watches them from around the lace curtains. As they start to pull away, it slinks back into the shadows of the house. 

------   

Author’s notes and what-have-yous: 

The inspiration for the Angler Estate is the abandoned Uplands Mansion in Baltimore, MD. If you like urbex stuff, I highly recommend looking up some videos of it on YouTube. It’s a gorgeous place, despite all the vandalism. The owners’ surname being Bell is a fun nod to the Bell Witch Cave, my state’s claim to supernatural fame. The mention of The Evil Dead cabin is another poke, since the 1981 original was filmed an hour away from where I live. 

The “watch where you step” line is pulled directly from Uncharted: Drake’s Fortune. 

[angrylizardjacket]

too old to trick or treat (too young to die) // charlotte&lola (penny&jupiter)

Summary: Two Halloween costumes Tommy witnesses the creation of, twenty years apart. His cousin’s, and her daughter’s.

A/N: 4001 words. knocked this out in literally 3 hours. okay so The Road Warrior didn’t come out until December of ‘81, and Supergirl didn’t come out until ‘84, but whatever, the timeline has been massaged for a number of reasons, bare with me, suspend your disbelief abt halloween costumes. ANYWAYS this came to me very suddenly and i had to write it. i’ve had enough angst, so have cute charlie & penny halloween moments now instead please and thank you. @misscharlottelee as always owns my heart w/ her characters. also mild sexual references in the first part bcos of mishearing something/misunderstanding a situation.

[ part of the charlotte&lola au of Run to Paradise ]

----

In 1981, Tommy dresses as Mad Max for Halloween; all pulled back hair, and a truly awful attempt at an Australian accent. He’s even butchered a leather jacket he’d found second-hand, much to the rest of the household’s horror. He’s pretty proud, despite Mick telling him to shut up since Tommy refuses to stop using the accent. 

Mick’s not wearing a costume, and isn’t going out with the rest of the band and the girls, he’s only here to give his opinions on their costumes, and drink with them until they leave. 

Nikki’s made no secret of the fact that he’s going as that guy from A Clockwork Orange, which, okay, is actually surprisingly subdued for his usual going out attire, and Vince would not shut up about the all-white suit he bought to be John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Something about both Vince and Nikki in all white makes Tommy think everyone’s going to ask if they’re both the same character, regardless of their various accessories, and they’re both going to be mad as all hell by the end of the night; if he had to hazard a guess, Tommy’s pretty sure he’s going to find it incredibly funny, and Nikki’s going to chase him down The Strip for laughing.

Lola’s had her hair in rollers all day, and came home the other week with a legally obtained, sparkly, black, singlet, which was kind of a big deal when Lola either lives in the bands’ clothes, or steals herself pants that actually fit. Her actual costume, however, is escaping him, right up until Tommy walks into the bathroom, to see Lola, in said singlet, black underwear, and nothing else, sitting patiently while Charlotte diligently applied dark eyeshadow further up lola’s brow than he’d been expecting.

“Frank N Furter?” Tommy asked, pleased and amused, still in his attempt at an Australian accent. Both Charlotte and Lola made a face at that, but Lola confirmed after a beat, lips overdrawn, shiny, a deep berry red. The idea that Lola had ever seen Rocky Horror Picture Show in cinemas enough to dress up as it’s main character was a strangely humanizing idea for the often-seemingly feral roadie. 

After a moment, however, Tommy takes in his cousin’s attire; she looks incredibly pretty, of course Charlie’s naturally pretty, but she’d gone out of her way to highlight it tonight. White dress, little tiara atop her head, makeup understated and still somehow glamorous, her hair’s still dark from where she and Lola had died it a few weeks ago in the wake of her split with Duff. Maybe they’d re-dyed it.

“You look pretty, Charlie, who are you meant to be?”

“You know you sound British, right, not Australian?” Charlotte doesn’t look up from where she’s working on Lola’s face.

“Shut up, you don’t even know anyone British,” Tommy counters, nose in the air, “and you haven’t even seen Mad Max, so shut it, you don’t know what an Australian accent sounds like.” And he’s haughty for all of a minute before he’s coming back with, “but seriously, who are you?” 

A wicked grin spreads across his cousin’s lips.

“That’s for me to know -”

“- us to know.” Lola corrects quickly.

“Us to know,” Charlotte agrees, “and you to find out.”

Super ominous. Charlotte’s been cagey about her Halloween costume since they’d decided to hit The Strip on Halloween as a group. Usually, Charlotte’s overflowing with excitement about her costume, back in high school, she’d roped him, Vince, and a few of their friends into being the Scooby Gang. She’s been various animals, movie characters, and last year, she’d spent almost a month putting together a truly gorgeous Cinderella costume. For all that she was detailed about her costumes, he’d always known her to play it safe.

But this year she’s been quiet. It’s unusual. Tommy blames Lola entirely.

The girls allow Tommy to stay in the bathroom until Lola’s face is done, and then, instead of leaving, they both demand he get out, closing the door after him, giggling conspiratorially like teenagers. 

“What’s their problem?” Nikki asks, attempting to apply eyeliner, though the only reflective surface he had was Mick’s sunglasses, and Mick looked about ready to throw him through a window for getting so close, and so Tommy moves on instinct, snatching the stub of an eyeliner pencil from Nikki’s grip, beckoning him out of Mick’s personal space.

“Not sure; they’re either hooking up, or plotting to kill us,” Tommy muses, trying his hardest to not poke Nikki in the eye. 

“Hot?” Nikki sounds like he’s not quite sure about that sentiment himself.

They can hear Lola and Charlotte talking in low voices, indistinctly in the bathroom, and clattering, and then - Take off your fucking heels! - Charlie, loud and nervous, followed by some begrudging grumbling from Lola. Scuffling, more clattering, and grunting.

“They’re definitely hooking up,” Nikki mutters. Tommy’s turning red. He’s not a prude, Christ, not even close, but... Charlie wouldn’t... right? Not when she knew how thin the walls were... Not with Lola, surely!

“Let go of me, I don’t need you to steady me -!” Lola now, and Nikki’s stepping back, laughing at the look on Tommy’s face. He’s not quite sure how he feels about the idea of him and his cousin both having -

“You’re shaking, you’re going to drop it!” 

What?

Silence, a few more indistinct, now muttered words, far quieter, far calmer, then - a loud, strange rush of liquid, like the shower being turned on, but much more immediate and shorter. 

“Holy shit, dude!” Lola’s yell radiates through the whole house, followed by a loud clatter, like something empty being dropped on the tiles, and Charlotte’s response is too quiet to hear. It’s followed by what is distinctly the sound of the hair dryer, and by now, all three men in the living room are just confused. 

Vince finally surfaces from his and Tommy’s room almost ten minutes later, hair appropriately slicked back, white suit impeccable, making a beeline for the fridge, equally confused.

“What the fuck is happening in there?” He asks, joining the other three, currently cutting up lines of coke on a plate, in the living room.

“I still think they’re hooking up,” Nikki says, frowning down, as if the intensity of his gaze will keep his hand from shaking where he’s trying to cut the coke. 

“Wishful thinking,” Mick grumbles, sitting back and taking a long sip of his vodka.

“Pretty sure lesbian sex doesn’t involve hairdryers,” Vince has to agree, and Tommy’s frown deepens.

“They’re not -”

“Fuckin’ semantics, man, sex without guys, you know what I meant,” he headed Tommy’s protests off before he could properly speak them, and Tommy’s own frown deepened. Mick looks like he wants to protest, but also knows all three men far to well to have any illusions about the abhorrent range of pornography they had consumed. 

The hair dryer turns off.

“You wouldn’t have half a fuckin’ clue about what real lesbian sex was like,” is what Mick chooses, instead, to say, and Vince flips him off, right as the bathroom door bursts open, and Lola, comically wide-eyed, stumbles out, what looks like blood splattered on her shins and thighs, high heels in one hand.

“Holy shit,” she’s gasping, laughing, disbelieving, “you guys are not fucking ready for this,” she’s looking altogether like a delighted Frank N Furter about to reveal and revel in her latest creation. The guys are so caught up in seeing Lola in her costume, that seeing Charlotte coming out after her is like being hit by a train.

She’s covered in blood. Head to toe, apart from her face, which she must have been covering with her hands. Bright right. Face serious and eyes wide and Tommy knows that expression, that look, that blood -

“Carrie!” He exclaims, “Fucking Hell, Charlie!” He announces at the top of his lungs, and Charlotte’s expression cracks to a bright smile, to delight at being recognized. 

“It’s paint!” Charlotte announces, giving a spin, and suddenly the hairdryer, the chatter, the confusion made sense. 

“Charlotte, you look fucking killer,” Nikki’s got a look in his eyes that reads as both intimidated and turned on, a look usually reserved for Lola, but Charlotte doesn’t seem to notice.

“Peach and Eileen are going to fucking scream,” Lola was absolutely delighted at this prospect, doing a line of coke when Nikki offered it, before pulling on her heels. 

Charlotte is beaming, looking cool as hell, and delighted with how the whole costume turned out. 

Only later that night will any of the boys discover the murder-scene the girls had left behind in the bathtub in their excitement to hit The Strip. Tommy feels like he’ll never get the image of the blood splattered tub out of his mind.

Which is why he finds it so baffling that he’s blindsided by it exactly twenty one years later.

In 2002, Charlotte’s daughter, Penny, now all of twenty years old, the exact age Charlie had been that iconic Halloween, and Tommy’s kid, Jupiter, eighteen and a half, the pair raised practically as siblings, had been marathoning mostly-trashy horror movies all through the month of October in anticipation for the night itself, and Johnny Hudson’s Halloween party. 

Jupiter had announced their intention to dress as Nancy from The Craft for the third year in a row, which ties it with the costume they’d chosen for the three years prior to that, which was Eric Draven, the main character from The Crow.

“Yes, it’s because I have a thing for Fairuza Balk in that movie,” Jupiter had announced defiantly when they’d made their intentions known at a dinner that Lola fortunately had time enough to attend, in between tours.

“That’s how I picked all my Halloween costumes at your age,” Lola had admitted with a shrug, though that just made Tommy frown as he goes to take a sip of his drink -

“Tim Curry as Frank N Furter -?”

“Lola did you go as Frank N Furter one Halloween?” Penny, delighted at the concept, leans forward over her pasta, eyes alight with mirth at the idea, looking so much like her mother that it almost stings. Lola herself has gone red, trying to suppress a smile.

“Tom, that’s not a discussion I want to have right now, but yes,” she says, slight warning in her voice, and Tommy chokes on his drink, both because he doesn’t quite know what she means by that, and because it’s rare for her to call him Tom, but then she’s looking up at Penny, smiling enough that it creases by her eyes, “and yes,” she deliberates, before adding, “I’m pretty sure that was the year your Auntie Eileen surprised everyone and dressed up as Uncle Mick, top hat and all,” Lola said, voice warm and fond at the memory, “he had no clue how to take it, shocked him enough that he actually came out on the town with us; I think it’ll always surprise him when people think he’d be a cool Halloween costume.” And she looks to Jupiter at that, while Jupiter themselves made direct and unwavering eye contact with their own pasta, while Penny nudged them, voice turning teasing, picking up on Lola’s cue, gently ribbing her cousin about the time they’d dressed up as Mick for Halloween, if only to spite the rest of their family. 

The conversation moves on, and Tommy thinks fondly of the memory of how bright Charlotte’s smile had been after she’d come out of their bathroom, looking as thought she was covered in blood. 

So this year, Tommy’s hit with a strange sense of deja vu in the lead up to Halloween, with Penny being cagey, and obviously in cahoots with his own child.

“Looking badass, as always,” Tommy grins, showing off his cheap, vampire fangs, as he leans in the doorway of his kid’s bedroom. Penny’s applying lip-gloss atop their black lipstick, but gives pauses as they both turn to him, scrutinizing his party-store vampire costume. With his own kids going away for the night, Tommy had been more than happy to host a Halloween party of his own for friends still in the business.

“I feel like you used to put more effort in,” Jupiter says slowly, looking from the too-small, satin cape, back to his face, and Tommy shrugs.

“I guess I could always put on one of my old eighties stage costumes,” he muses, playing like he’s seriously considering it, acting as though he couldn’t see Jupiter and Penny’s expressions both turn horrified, “I’ve still got them somewhere in the back of my closet -”

“Oh Jesus, dad,” Jupiter hisses, “you know we all know too much about how Lola felt about that weird fetish shit you guys would wear on stage, please don’t -”

“It’s not fetish shit, Jup,” but Tommy’s grinning at how embarrassed they both were, “it’s hair metal, it was hip!”

“It’s a red and black leather harness at best, and tights; I’ve seen more conservative outfits at a BDSM dungeon -”

“Dude!” Penny’s eyebrows shot up, and Tommy’s mouth dropped open. Penny, horrified, looked to her uncle; “it was one time-” she says, trying to make things better, but doing the exact opposite right as Jupiter tries to tell him it was a joke. Penny and Jupiter look to each other, both horrified at what the other had said, how it must look.

“Pen!”

“It was Johnny’s idea!” Penny blurted out, and looked to Tommy, as if realising she was digging herself deeper, “we went there as a joke!”

“That part is true,” Jupiter conceded, but Tommy kept his mouth shut, raising his hands in surrender, as if to say ‘that’s your business, as adults, but I’d rather not know’, and he’s quick to leave them to their mutual, horrified bickering. 

He hadn’t even thought to ask what Penny was going as. All he knows is that she and Jupiter had been arguing because ‘it’s a trashy movie, Pen’ - ‘I love it, so shut up; you get witch powers from being an angry loner, I get them from being prom queen’ - ‘did we even watch the same movie? That’s not -” - “then just picture the original, you liked the original!’ - ‘oh, I’m past the movie itself, it’s the - they’re both angry loners, Pen,’ - ‘yeah, okay yeah, but it’s a cool aesthetic, Jup, come on -’. That was a few weeks ago, Tommy still isn’t quite sure what it could be, beyond witchy powers. Usually Penny’s costumes were straightforward, or she’d at the very least announce them in advanced...

Tommy finds himself blaming his own, erratic and mischievous child entirely; just as Lola had been known to be a bad influence on Charlie, so too could their children mirror this dynamic almost uncannily. 

It only gets stranger when, an hour after doing Jupiter’s makeup, they both seem to be in full costume, and should be ready to go, they’re nowhere to be found, but they haven’t said goodbye.

Penny comes rushing past Tommy in a whirlwind, carrying something bulky in her arms, making a beeline for the downstairs guest bathroom.

“Pen, whaddya got there?” Tommy calls out, and Penny stops dead. She’s in a pretty, white dress, with her hair all done up, and a tiara sitting on top. It’s... familiar. 

“Glue?” Penny’s obvious lie has Tommy frowning.

“Glue?” He asks, with a huff of disbelieving laughter. When she swivels towards him, he can see that she’s holding a large, white, pourable bottle, the label of which, Penny is conveniently covering. 

“We’re sniffing it?”

“Penny, what the fuck?” Jupiter calls from the bathroom, and Penny takes off at a run, avoiding Tommy’s further questions, and Tommy himself, who, with a sudden nervousness at whatever the real situation was, follows quickly. All he can see is large, clear plastic sheets covering every single surface and every wall, like the lair of a murderer in a movie, and then Jupiter’s face with all it’s dark makeup and sprayed up hair, as they’re apologizing, and slamming the door in his face. He’s pretty sure he read the word blood on somewhere on the bottle that Penny had put down.

“Jupiter Carlotta Lee, I’ve told you before that we don’t fuck with real witchcraft!” Tommy jiggled the handle, but the door was firmly locked, “not after what happened with Nikki and Lita!”

“It’s not witchcraft!” Jupiter calls back, and Tommy can hear Penny groan about how he’s still going to kill them.

“Don’t murder your fuckin’ cousin in there, you hear me?” He jiggles the door handle again, harder this time, not quite sure of what was happening in there, but concerned nonetheless. 

“Hey!” Penny shouts back, “why do you think I’m the one getting murdered in here?”

“I was addressing both of you,” Tommy sighed, leaning his forehead against the door, defeated, “what are you doing? What’s so bad that you have to keep me locked out?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re done -”

“Jupiter!”

“It’s messy,” Jupiter explained, and followed it up with a quiet, “okay, get in the bath, take off your shoes,” clearly not aimed at Tommy, before yelling back to him, “I’d rather do it, clean it up, and then beg for forgiveness in that order before you decide whether or not you want to murder us.” 

“Are you sure it’s safe to stand up there?” Comes Penny’s soft question to her cousin, followed by a phrase burned into the back of Tommy’s mind, somehow still there after everything it’s been through.

“Let go of me, I don’t need you to steady me -” 

And everything clicks into place, the blood, the outfit, the mess -

“Are you pouring fake blood on your cousin right now?!” Tommy’s tone is disbelieving, and he’s met with silence, and then the slow sound of liquid being poured.

“No?” Penny calls back, before spluttering a little, “it’s in my mouth.” She hisses.

“Then close your mouth!” Jupiter hisses back.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Pennylope; Jup?” Tommy squeezes his eyes shut as he remembers exactly how much scrubbing he and the rest of the occupants of the Motley House had to do over the next week, and even then the bathroom was never quite the same. 

But he’s met with silence, and then he starts to hear what can only be the excess fake blood dripping into the tub. And then the sound of a much emptier bottle being put on the bench.

“No, I am not currently pouring fake blood on my cousin,” Jupiter announces; Tommy thinks he can feel a headache forming with each moment that passes. There are moments exactly like this one, in which he is reminded that Jupiter is without a doubt his and Lola’s kid, which is both a blessing and a curse.

“Penny, stay in the tub,” he calls, “make sure you wash your feet off once you’re dry; a hairdryer helps it dry faster.”

Despite their confusion at how he would know such a thing, the pair in the bathroom know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tommy, for his part, breathes a sigh of relief; this, at least, he knew how to handle. At least they put more thought into it than Charlotte and Lola had back in the day. 

Heading upstairs while they let the fake blood dry, he finds the photo Lola had dug up from her archives in her and Nikki’s garage. 

Eileen, Charlotte, Lola, and Peach, all in a row outside the Starwood, all grinning from ear to ear. Eileen as Mick, Lola as Frank N Furter, Peach as Supergirl, and Charlotte, beaming, covered in blood red paint, as Carrie.

By the time he resurfaces from the wave of memories that had overwhelmed him, Tommy gets downstairs to see the guest bathroom door open.

“How messy is it?” He calls, concerned. Jupiter sticks their head out. The hairdryer is still going. 

“Not as bad as I thought, should all just wash down the drain; the plastic on the walls was probably overkill,” they admit, and Tommy gives a thin-lipped grin, remembering the splatter that came up to knee height on the walls by the bathtub in the Motley House. Though, to be fair, Lola was simply pouring an entire bucket of thinned house-paint over Charlotte’s head - it was neither Lola nor Charlotte’s brightest idea, in hindsight - Jupiter, with a bottle of screen-grade fake blood from the looks of it, would have a much more controlled pour. 

And Penny would definitely have a much easier time getting it off.

When Tommy sees Penny, it’s like looking into a window from the past, the way she’s beaming, pleased and bright and covered in blood, she looks so proud to be horrifying.

“What now?” Penny asks, fond but exasperated, and Tommy snaps out of his thoughts, “what exactly about this,” she gestures to her whole self, blood soaked and standing in the tub, being hairdryed by Jupiter, “reminds you of mom?”

“What do you mean?” Tommy asks, playing dumb, and Penny’s expression softens, but she still rolls her eyes, arms out while Jupiter dries her.

“You get a look in your eye when I do something that reminds you too much of mom, and yeah it’s sweet, but this specifically is a really weird thing to get emotional -”

“This is your mom on Halloween, nineteen-eighty-one,” Tommy holds out the photo so she wouldn’t have to touch it, incase the blood on her hands was still wet, interrupting his niece.

“Oh,” Penny’s voice is so quiet, “for real?” She asks, eyes wide and misty when she looks at Tommy, and he gives a fondly amused look, and nod in response. “I didn’t even know,” Penny gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh, her own gaze turning adoring as she takes in the photo once more. 

Jupiter twists to look at the photo, still drying Penny, then looks in the mirror, then back at the photo, and scowls, but keeps quiet about how they’ve just realized, at least in terms of makeup and overall pallet, how similar their costume is to their mother’s. But they’re well aware that this isn’t their moment.

“Did Lola own pants?” Jupiter does mutter, more to themselves than expecting a response, and not getting one anyhow.

“Lola poured a bucket of red paint over her head in the apartment we shared, took five of us a full week to clean it all up after,” Tommy explained to Penny, smiling.

“No wonder you were worried about us doing the same thing,” Penny snorted, and leans in, looking at her mother’s smiling face; almost the same face she sees in the mirror, if not for the blue of her eyes.

“Yeah, but I should have known you two would be smarter about it, much as I love your mom, Jup, when we were young, she wasn’t exactly known for her common sense,” and as Tommy says it, even the quietly resentful Jupiter cracks a smile. 

“She looked so cool,” Penny muses, “they all do; that’s Aunt Eileen and Peach, right? The other two?” And Tommy confirms as much, also making sure to note that all four women were always better at Halloween than the rest of the band; in a move that Tommy’s seen Charlotte do a thousand times, Penny rolls her eyes, smirks, and says ‘yeah, obviously’ all smug and amused.

Tommy just smiles, asks if he can take a photo once Penny’s all dry, reminds them to call Lola and Nikki if they need a lift home, and waves goodbye to them when their taxi arrives.

The minute the taxi is off the property, Tommy’s cracking open a beer, and dialing Lola’s number in the minutes before his own guests are due to arrive.

“Lols, you’re never gonna fuckin’ believe what just happened.”

[thatfoxnamedfinley]

[SPOILER ALERT FOR POST] ok so I marathoned the John Wick series over the course of 3 nights (one per night) and SOMEONE TALK TO ME ABOUT THIS SERIES I;M FUCKING **EXPLODING** FROM WITHIN

 ok first of all 

SPOILERS FOR ALL THE JOHN WICK MOVIES OK’

ok so Keanu Reeves, I’m fucking dead. What a fucking movie star. Like. I remember listening to a podcast where they said he reminds them of John Wayne, Cary Grant. Just real leading men with gravitas and pathos of such intensity....his presence evokes sympathy.

John Wick is an amazing character. He’s conflicted. Torn between the violence of the job that he is so good at. The best at, actually. So much so that there are stories about him. A lot of stories. Stories meant to scare. True stories. People stop when he walks in. He gets respect wherever he goes.  The Baba Yaga. 

When he comes for you, you run. I remember this one scene in John Wick 3 when he was fighting Zero. It pans behind Zero to darkness. And, while wearing his signature black suit, he spins and emerges from the darkness like a real monster. I LOVEEEEEEED that shit.

ok so wait

John Wick Chapter 1:: Viggo was hilarious. YOU STRUCK my SON. Why? uh bro he stole john wick’s car and killed his dog. OH.

I WAS SCREAM CRYING AHAHHAHAHHAHAH

introduction of the “He once killed 3 men with a pencil. A FucKInG PenC iL.”

SO YOU CAN EITHER HAND OVER YOUR SON OR YOU CAN DIE SCREAMING ALONG SIDE HIMMMM

chills ~~~

THE PUUUUPPPPPyYYYYYYYY

When he read the letter from his wife, actual waterworks, I was hiccup crying when his puppy died.

Winston (IAN MCSHANE aRG) looking so so happy to see John and then buying him drink. I guess we know who the favorite is now...

AND LANCE REDDICK THATS MY BOI FROM FRINGE!!

The fight in his house then the cop was like “uh yeh, noise complaint”

“you....working again John?” The dark humor was greattttttttttt

BODYCOUNT? ANYONE?

John Wick Chapter 2:: yo Santino exerted massive bisexual energy. Just me? like WOAH. lookin at John with bedroom eyes

For half a second during their initial meeting I thought Santino was going to reach out and put his hand on John’s but he was just sliding his Marker to him. I was like

This was a REALLY great sophomore entry. So good. 

THE FIGHTINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

Uh the scene with Gianna understanding the meaning of why John has to kill her; CONSEQUENCES. Her brother has a Marker. He has to honor it. The Marker is what got him out of the game. And the woman he loved was worth it. Her understanding of that and then proceeding to kill herself was a GREAT scene.

“I lived my life my way” I was like DAMMMMNNN GIRLLLLLL yeah okkkkk

Oh right Common was in this too as....Cassian. I think was his name. He as interesting. The fight was cool. I like that they had a weird respect thing going on. I love world building in this way;; there are rules and they must be followed. 

No business on Continental grounds. They have a drink together to understand the other’s motivations.

Ruby Rose was the weakest link imo but she was fine. She used sign language but I just didn’t find her convincing enough to perceive her as a threat. 

LAURENCE FISHBURNE BABBBYYYYYYYYYY and he was playing a dope character that actually helped John too! “SOMEONE **PLEASE** GET THIS MAN A GUN” lololuolololololololol

THE ENDING HAD ME LIKE

John Wick Chapter 3:: *folds hands* I watched this one last night. First of all, John Wick throwing knives is one of the greatest things ever. ALSO. The camera LOOOOOOVES Keanu Reeves. He just holds the entire screen with ease. He’s a true movie star. I really mean that. He invokes sympathy. He has an overpowering magnetic quality that makes him so fascinating. 

((And honestly don't even speak to me about the fact that he is in Cyberpunk 2077 coming out later this year I CAN NOT WAIT FOR THAT SHIT, DAY 1 BABY AND IM GETTING THE PS5 TOO)

ok anyway

ThE KnIFE FiGHT and HE REALLY TOoK On The WHoLE ASSASSIN GuiLD HuH

Then when Winston decided not to step down and John decided not to kill him and they both turned around to look at The Adjudicator like

**DUCK LIPS** WHAT NOW BITCH

and she was like “no cool, that's fine. ima deconsecrate your hotel”

boi

I want him to FUCK UP the High Table in John Wick 4

HALLE BERRY WITH HER DOGS FAMMMMMMMM when that guy shot her dog and then she shot him and she was like HE SHOT MY DOG BRUH

And John was like *sympathetic nod* I get it

I was like THIS IS FUCKING GENIUS WHAT THE FUCK

then she backwashed into his water lol what

tHE ENDING MorPHeUS and NeO A TeaM aAGaiN??????!?!?

This series is so good. Consistent. PLEASE Let me know any thoughts yay have on this or want to talk about this shit.

ok that’s all I feel for now

[dweemeister]

The Happening (2008)

Some of my favorite movies are B-movies. Whenever titles like Beach Blanket Bingo (1965) and The Tingler (1959) air on Turner Classic Movies (TCM) during convenient hours for me, I sit down and usually tune in for at least a few minutes. Neither film is ever challenging to be the Great American Movie, but it is hard to tear myself away from the campiness of ‘60s kids frolicking on a Southern California beach without parental supervision or one of the silliest premises ever seen in a horror movie. Before the release of The Happening, director M. Night Shyamalan said that he wanted to, “mak[e] an excellent B movie.” His intentions – premeditated or otherwise – aside, The Happening will receive no such goodwill from me.

Two years before a crime against art known as The Last Airbender (2010) and five years before the shambolic After Earth (2013), a film like The Happening should have put the director into the cinematic sin bin. If there is anything redeeming about this horror-thriller, it is somehow not terrible enough to be noxious to the senses. Instead, first-time viewers should prepare for laughter – you won’t even need certain recreational substances (depending where you live, perhaps legal substances!) to enjoy the kick this movie provides. Laissez les bons temps rouler!

The Happening opens in Central Park as an inexplicable mass suicide strikes the surrounding area. Initially, an airborne chemical toxin is suggested as the cause. Philadelphia-based high school science teacher Elliot Moore (Mark Wahlberg; whose character comments about a student’s appearance and accepts the most quasi-intellectual answer any student has ever bullshitted) has learned about the supposed bioterrorist attack and decides to leave for Harrisburg with his wife, Alma (Zooey Deschanel), teacher friend Julian (John Leguizamo), and Julian’s young daughter Jess (Ashlyn Sanchez). Julian, hearing that his wife is in trouble in Princeton, New Jersey, leaves Jess to the care of Elliot and Alma – parental figures in Shyamalan’s films are awful. It is up to Elliot, Alma, and Jess to survive the unknown, unpredictable chemical menace stalking the American Northeast.

Other important characters include the reclusive Mrs. Jones (Betty Buckley), a plant nursery owner (Frank Collison), the nursery owner’s wife (Victoria Clark), and teenagers Josh (Spencer Breslin) and Jared (Robert Bailey, Jr.).

Usually my synopses do not end that early in a film’s plot, but considering that The Happening reveals the plot twist about a quarter-ways into the runtime and the fact that I am averse to spoiling movies, that will have to do. The trademark Shyamalan twist seems not to be the twist itself, but the timing of the twist. Shyamalan’s screenplay is a disaster of organization, imagination, and characterization. Already packed with sharp turns in mood, some of those tonal shifts are distractingly arbitrary – such as when Elliot teases the vice principal about being a wicked lady before receiving the news of the events (something bound to see any other teacher disciplined), Julian relinquishing Jess to Alma before seething at her intentions (”Don’t take my daughter’s hand unless you mean it.”), and an aside about packing and the deliciousness of hot dogs just after the twist is revealed. Elliot and Alma are dreadful judges of imminent dangers and mystifying behavior that a viewer can draw one or both of the following conclusions: that the leads are socially inept or that everyone in this film – by virtue of being proximate to the titular happening (or perhaps just by being in a Shyamalan movie) – is socially inept.

What happened to all of the characters in Shyamalan movies from here to The Last Airbender to After Earth? No one in any of these three movies – and the only three Shyamalan movies I have seen in their entirety – possesses even a whiff of charisma, good humor, or likability. If surviving a cataclysmic event means that we have to be devoid of all these qualities, almost everyone who is reading this is probably doomed. Did Shyamalan save all of those personalities for a rainy day so that he could use them in Split (2016)? Spare a thought and a silver lining for some, however, as awkward teenagers and nerds looking to exact revenge on jocks should rejoice! Unlike the characters in The Happening, you can take the simplest of hints!

Now, the lead actors; neither of them assisted by the screenplay.

This movie contains the worst performance in Mark Wahlberg’s hot-and-cold career – worse than Planet of the Apes (2001) and the two Transformers movies he has appeared in (admittedly, I haven’t seen the entirety of Age of Extinction or a second of The Last Knight, but I can – by betting the farm, the barn, the silos, and the livestock – almost certainly guarantee you those Wahlberg performances cannot be as bad as this). Wahlberg always looks worried, his face never relaxing, his eyebrows and wrinkles curved downward. Wahlberg’s dialogue delivery is some of the poorest within the last decade. The most infamous example of which happens just before Elliot and Alma sleep over at Mrs. Jones’ house for the night. Any child – not even a child actor – could convince Mrs. Jones about their intentions better than that. Who in their right mind (Wahlberg? Shyamalan? thought those lines were delivered as well as they could be?

Then there is Zooey Deschanel, also providing audiences with the entertainment of a most disastrous, inhuman performance. She has the most nonsensical lines in the movie (”We’re not gonna be one of those assholes on the news who watches the crime happen and not do something! We’re not assholes!”) and is found too often blankly staring at someone or something – her eyes like saucers at a Thanksgiving dinner. Prepare to be hypnotized by her eyes; not romantically, but curiously and eventually devolving into unintended hilarity. She has no chemistry with her co-star, as Elliot and Alma are sniping at each other with the aftermath of an unexplained marital conflict. But, of course, they get back together by the film’s end. Regarding her dialogue delivery, Deschanel’s timing is only slightly better than Wahlberg’s, but not by much.

Instead, it is Betty Buckley as Mrs. Jones with the creepiest performance in The Happening, as the tonal inconsistency of the screenplay actually helps her character. There is a lesson to be learned here: whenever a movie sees a plastic plant act better than the top-billed star, it probably sucks. So if Hollywood ever produces a new version of Paint Your Wagon, I fully expect Mark Wahlberg to be cast as Pardner, so he can sing “I Talk to the Trees”. If any other actor is cast as Pardner, I will consider a twenty-year sabbatical from watching any movie.

Is there anything redeeming about The Happening? Barely. Tak Fujimoto’s (1991′s The Silence of the Lambs, 1999′s The Sixth Sense) cinematography, though blandly lit, provides audiences with a handful of harrowing images: the opening scenes in Central Park and the construction site in particular. Again, I must be careful of spoilers by walking on tiptoes in noting that something about the weather proves important to the movie. Some of the greatest director-cinematographer collaborations have made sunlight oppressive, the rain foreboding, the wind terrifying, the snow ominous. Fujimoto and Shyamalan fail to make that terrorizing aspect about the film’s weather a character, though I suspect most of the fault here lies with Shyamalan

Also, is The Happening trying to be a horror-thriller hybrid? Because it barely registers the frights needed for the former, nor the excitement expected for the latter. It inspires enough eye-rolls and laughs for a comedy, but nothing in The Happening suggests the film wants to be interpreted that way. Away from strict genres now, is The Happening a veiled message movie? If so, Shyamalan has never spoken about it in that way. One suspects that this film might be commenting on how people react after a mass catastrophe, like a terrorist attack or a natural disaster. There are references to the bystander effect (a psychological phenomenon where people are less likely to help an individual in distress if there are others around) and social situations that should raise questions about what is the right thing to do – but these depictions do not inspire controversy or personal inquiry.

Movies like The Happening make me wonder how do producers and executives allow calamitous films to be released. Shyamalan’s film has a workable premise left in tatters the moment Wahlberg’s character is introduced. It never recovers the lethal momentum of its introductory scenes’ framing. Thus, The Happening should be a staple of movie marathons where the theme is hilariously bad movies. I guess there are Shyamalan movies worth watching – recall that I’ve only seen this, The Last Airbender, and After Earth in their entireties – and that I will get to them someday. I will let you know when that happens.

My rating: 2/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here. 

[a-fluffer-nutter]

3,7,8,11,16,44 and 74

Do you watch anime subbed or dubbed?

I don’t watch anime, though if it’s ever on for some reason, it’ll probably be dubbed.

What is your favorite tv show? 

Steven Universe, Game of Thrones, Penn and Teller: Fool Us, Sherlock, some other shit. I don’t watch tv much anymore.

Do you marathon shows or watch a few episodes at a time?

If I am actually watching shows, I normally see them when they air so a few at a time, I guess.

Favorite Disney movie?

Moana, Lilo and Stitch, Pirates of the Caribbean

Favorite Youtuber?

Cr1tikal or Mystic7

Who is your favorite Disney princess?

Moana, Esmeralda, Nani

What is your favorite song of all time?

Well shit...um, here is a list of a few I love more than life itself:

Nothing Else Matters - Metallica

House of the Rising Son - The Animals

Tiny Dancer - Elton John

Burn - Hamilton

Phantom of the Opera - Phantom of the Opera

No One Mourns the Wicked - Wicked

Afire Love - Ed Sheeran

Losing My Religion - R.E.M.

The Winner Takes it All - ABBA

Thanks for these! Send me more!!

[pepperf]

Tagged by @bethanyactually, like whom my answers are mostly 'both'. :) I'm, like... pathologically agnostic.

Rules: Answer all questions, add one question of your own and then tag as many people as there are questions.

Coke or Pepsi? Mehhhh... Coke, I guess, but I'll drink either, so long as they're not diet. (That's the real question, right - diet or regular? I feel like diet is in fact not-so-secretly poison.)

Disney or Dreamworks? I have liked and disliked movies from both studios. I've probably liked more Disney movies, on balance.

Coffee or tea? I have coffee in the morning because otherwise I won't be awake, and green tea for the rest of the day because otherwise I can't sleep.

Books or movies? Read a book with a movie on the TV. :P

Windows or Mac? Both. :) That's seriously going to be my answer to about 90% of these questions. I prefer the customisability of Windows, and I prefer writing in Word, but you'll have to pry my iPad from my cold, dead hands.

DC or Marvel? I've liked each at different times in my life. Currently DC seems to be being less awful, but honestly I don't really read/watch either very much. Last comics I bought were Matt Faction's Hawkeye series. Next thing I intend to watch when I can tear myself away from The 100 is Supergirl.

Xbox or Playstation? What Bethany said - I don't play games so I don't really care.

Night owl or early riser? Oh, this is the one thing I am definite on, I'm a night owl for sure. Fuck mornings.

Cards or Chess? I really don't play games. I cannot emphasise this enough. Games are not my thing.

Chocolate or vanilla? Chocolate, but I like vanilla too.

Vans or Converse? I've never owned either, I hate their flat soles. And they look the saaaaaaame. Doc Martens for me.

Star Wars or Star Trek? Oh, both. Star Wars was my childhood, Star Trek was my teenage years.

One episode per week or marathoning? I marathon if I have the option, because I have no self-restraint, but I'm currently enjoying watching The 100 week by week and squeeing with people afterwards.

Gandalf or Obi-Wan? Eh... I guess Gandalf. I had more of a sense for him, whereas Obi-Wan was a bit of a cypher. Oh, until Ewan MacGregor, of course... but those movies were so terrible that none of the characters really hold a place in my heart (sorry Padme, you were great, if only you didn't have to fall in love with Anakin for stupid plot reasons).

Heroes or Villains? It depends! Antiheroes, reluctant heroes, villains on the horns of an ethical dilemma... give me shades of grey.

John Williams or Hans Zimmer? John Williams.

Disneyland/Disney World or Six Flags? Not been to any of them, sorry. I have been to Universal Studios and loved that. :)

Forest or sea? Yeah, probably forest. I'm more of a land mermaid.

Flying or reading minds? Ugh, flying for sure, I don't want to know what people think.

Twin Peaks or Northern Exposure? I liked both... uh... god, I don't know. Twin Peaks was more innovative but Northern Exposure was much more likeable. Okay, Northern Exposure. I don't think I could sit through Twin Peaks again, a lot of it was incredibly tedious, even at the time (did anyone actually care what happened with that guy who thought he was James Dean?).

Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings? Lord of the Rings. I'm really not a Potter fangirl. :) However, I prefer HP fanfic to LotR fanfic, and I kind of love that HP AUs are a thing in almost every fandom - although they make more sense in some than others.

Cake or Pie? I made a pie in a cake once, trufax. It was great - cherry pie in chocolate cake. YOU CAN'T MAKE ME CHOOSE.

You are banished to a desert island, which Benedict Cumberbatch character would you choose to take with you? Ugh, has he ever played a character with whom I'd want to spend an extended period of time? Which one is likely to get me rescued sooner? Sherlock would probably get me killed, and would be seriously annoying in the meanwhile, so fuck him. Um... hell, I guess Alan Turing, because he was an actual genius so maybe he can figure a way off the island, or if not, all efforts will be made to retrieve him because he's essential to the War Effort. And because I read Cryptonomicon once, so at least I've got the start of a(n entirely awkward) conversation (that would go rapidly beyond my understanding).

Train or Cruise ship? Trains. I love trains. And I went on a Nile cruise when I was 16 and had an awful time, a combination of food poisoning, not being allowed to spend much time on things I wanted to see, and the maitre d' developing an obsession with me in a scary way I was not equipped to deal with at the time. He phoned me crying, and then tried to give me all his books in a way that suggested he was going to kill himself later. I spent most evenings with the door bolted, phone unplugged, and headphones on. I didn’t tell my family how bad it was because I didn’t want to make it a big deal, hahaha, so they thought it was funny. Ikd, maybe cruises aren’t bad if you’re not being stalked, but they’re not really my scene.

Brian Cox or Neil deGrasse-Tyson? Sorry, I was a teenager in 90s Britain so I have to go for Brian Cox, although Neil deGrasse-Tyson is clearly awesome.

Wizard of Oz or Alice in Wonderland? I kind of dislike both, they're creepy and unpleasant. Um. Can I choose Wicked instead?

Fanfiction or fanart? Fanfic, but I am in awe of fanartists, I don't think they get enough credit.

The Hunger Games - Books or movies? Book for the first one, movies for the rest.

Be able to see the future or travel into the past? Travel into the past. Seeing the future would be dismal. No more surprises. Boring.

Han Solo or Luke Skywalker? Aww... Han was my crush, so I guess him, but Mark Hamill is just the best.

Lilacs or sunflowers? Sunflowers come out slightly ahead for me, but they're both lovely.

Spring or autumn? Autumn - and thank you for calling it that and not Fall. ;)

Campfire or fireplace? Hmm... fireplace, because indoors for preference, but, again, I like both. Setting fire to things is fun!

Watch a gory horror or a family-friendly animation? (My question, but I'm answering it.) Animation, almost every time - I've come to embrace the fact that I prefer anthropomorphic animals to chainsaw massacres.

No-pressure tagging @strivia, @shinewithalltheuntold, @rashaka, @bending-sickle, and anyone else who wants to play. 

[chrismaverickdotcom]

The Logan Supremacy.... (no spoilers)

I’ve kind of gotten sidetracked away from doing movie reviews for a bit here. Sorry about that. I’m still not quite sure if anyone cares. People say they want my take, but it always feels like there’s far more people interested in my political stuff. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to write one for Split for a while (saw it a few weeks ago) and didn’t get to it. So now I’m not sure if anyone is interested anymore. Let me know.

That said, there’s a new superhero movie out. Logan. And of course I have to review that one. So here we go.

I’m kind of wondering if the post award season hard-R superhero movie spot is just going to become a thing with Fox. After last year’s Deadpool (which I liked a lot) and this year’s Logan, Fox seems to have something. Certainly something beyond what they did with Fant4stic and X-Men: Apocalypse, both of which pretty much royally sucked. I’m actually quite happy to say that with Logan, they actually had something going here.

I always try to avoid spoilers in these as best I can. Here it’s going to be quite easy because my thoughts on what made Logan work really don’t have much to do with the movie at all. It’s more about what they DIDN’T do that really works for me.

I’m actually kind of starting to hate movie franchises. It’s not just that they’re cash grabs. All movies are cash grabs. All products are cash grabs. That’s just how it works. Everyone wants to make money. And I understand that you need big tentpole films in order to make Hollywood work. And that’s the honest truth of it. For anyone who likes to say that they don’t care about these big budget extravaganzas, you need to understand that they keep Hollywood running. Without big budget superhero films, there is no La La Land or Moonlight. It’s a sharing of the wealth. That’s just the business. And movie franchises have always been a big part of that. I mean literally always. Go all the way back to the Golden Age of Hollywood. We have Casablanca, Citizen Kane and Singing in the Rain because your great grandparents sat through a shit ton of really godawful Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan movies and that’s not to mention Ma and Pa Kettle or Andy Hardy. Because no matter what you like to remember about the Golden Age of cinema… no matter what La La Land and Hollywood want you to believe… most of it was basically a big shit show. Just like now. In fact, in those days — Code Era Hollywood — it was even worse.

But one of the things that the franchises understood back in those days was that they weren’t TV (or maybe more accurately they weren’t radio). The Tarzan films are not high art, but they all stand alone. They are related, but only nebulously. The order of them doesn’t even really make all that much difference. So long as you saw the first one and know the origin story, you’re good to go with any of the. Frankly, if you missed the first one, you’ll basically figure shit out. White dude with the accent of a caveman, swings from vines and yells a lot. Hell, if for some reason you want to make a Tarzan movie without Johnny Weissmüller, just throw in Buster Crabbe. Who the fuck will know the difference?

And this is how franchises have always worked. After the days of movie serials (which were weekly, like TV shows), Hollywood learned that you couldn’t expect everyone to see every film in the franchise and certainly not to wait a year or two for the next installment of a story. This has been the way of franchises for movie history. Even serialized films like Star Wars didn’t require all the parts to tell the story. That’s why they were able to start with EPISODE FUCKING FOUR and most people never even noticed. James Bond is theoretically one ongoing franchise, but it doesn’t make sense in the slightest. Actors change. Events contradict each other. There’s a soft reboot for the most recent Daniel Craig films which takes them back into being prequels to most of the other ones (or a replacement in the case of the Casino Royales) but even those don’t make sense, because they retain the M (Judi Dench) that was hired in the final Pierce Bronson pictures. But it all just kind of works. Because there’s just an understanding by the viewer that continuity in the Bond Universe only matters when it does. The individual films are consistent in themselves and that is is enough. You can watch any Bond film and its fine. The others may or may not have canon that happened. It doesn’t matter. No one cares. If you’re doing a Bond marathon and you happen o hate Octopussy. Just skip it. I doesn’t matter. The same is true of Tarzan, Andy Hardy or (to a lesser extent) even Star Wars.

But somewhere along the way, this broke. Maybe it was Empire Strikes Back that broke it. Even though i remains the best Star Wars movie, it really doesn’t have a beginning or an end. It’s all middle. But it was certainly broken by he time we got to Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. Hollywood figured out that they could make us pay to see episodic TV in theaters. And frankly it kind of sucks.

Not all franchises are like that. The success of the Marvel films is that even though they’re sort of episodic, they don’t really rely on each other much. At least not really Avengers: Age of Ultron kind of did, and it’s one of the things that I really don’t like about that movie. It’s one of the big problems with Batman v. Superman. That’s not really even a movie. It’s a lot of set up for other movies that hasn’t been earned yet. What makes the Marvel films work is that when I walk out of the theater, I (usually) feel like I’ve seen a complete and conclusive story — even if it is a story that is part of a larger one. What makes a franchise not work is when each installment is more concerned with locking the viewer in for the next installment OR PREVIOUS ONES than it is with telling it’s own story.

What made Logan work is that it just didn’t give a fuck.

And it was great because of it. Like Deadpool, this is a movie that exists within the X-men universe. But only in the most superficial of ways. It matters in the same way that it matters that any Bond films related or any Tarzan films. Instead of trying to tell an X-men franchise story, James Mangold directed a simple and compelling action movie that happens to be set in the X-men world. In effect it isn’t really an X-men movie at all. It’s a Jason Bourne movie. It’s a John Wick movie. It’s Léon, The Professional, where the part of Léon will now be played by Wolverine.

And it was fucking awesome.

Ot at least it was awesome for what it was. If you like Jason Bourne style action movies, you should love this. It is the story of a reluctant hero, put into a situation which he didn’t choose, where his only way out is to kill a lot of people. REALLY a lot of people. And kill them… like a bunch. Like so much killing. Like if you’re into a movie where dead fuckers are stacking up left and right. This is the movie for you. If you don’t want to see that, you will not enjoy this. Because there is so so so so so so very much killing going on.

And I’m trying to review this for what it is. This is a franchise movie. It is not high art (which The Professional inexplicably is). It doesn’t want to be. It is trying to be the best franchise movie it can be and the best killing spree movie it can be. I am judging it on that merit. The action was fun. The killing was gory. It gives movies like Bourne and Wick a serious run for their money. At the same time, there is enough of a compelling story to gesture towards something like The Professional to make it something more than a mindless action spree. It has heart and soul in a way that most movies in this genre really don’t. There are real stakes for the character and between the killing… oh so very much killing… the film gives you a reason to care for the characters and want them to succeed. I mean, a reason beyond wanting to see them survive to kill some more.

But it didn’t rely too heavily on it’s franchiseness. What you need to know about the other X-men/Wolverine movies. Logan is a guy with claws and a healing factor. Professor Xavier is a guy with mental powers. They’re mutants. Nothing else matters. These things aren’t explained. Much like it’s never explained why Tarzan is in the jungle or talks funny after the first movie. Why does John Wick have a gun? Cuz he’s a dude with a gun. That’s who he is. Let’s move along.

Beyond that, the other movies don’t matter. Frankly, a lot of the events of the other movies are kind of contradicted by this one. And that’s fine. It just doesn’t matter. Like Bond, continuity only matters in this film when it does. And when it doesn’t, Mangold just doesn’t give a fuck. In fact, probably my least favorite part of the film are the time (relatively few times) that Mangold tries to address the ongoing X-men continuity just to keep the geeks off his back. It’s done with a bit of a wink. He lets you know that the film doesn’t really “fit” and he doesn’t care. The Wolverine character pretty much tells you that directly. It’s too much. I don’t need it and it took me out of the movie. It’s a double edged sword I guess. If he didn’t do it, there’d be a bunch of assholes on Twitter saying “but this doesn’t work, because the events of X-men: The Last Stand say this other thing. Mangold is explicitly saying “I know. I don’t care. That movie fucking sucked and this one is better. Deal with it!” And he’s right. He did make a better movie. But it would be even better still if he didn’t have to say that in the film itself. Bond films never apologize for being Bond films.

The particulars of the film are pretty good. Hugh Jackman and Patrick Stewart are excellent in their characters… and they should be since they’ve had 17 years of practice. Dafne Keen is also very good in the role of Laura. She’s not going to be getting Natalie Portman/Mathilda style accolades… but she was good and I hope she has a future in it. Seeing her fight as an 11 year old girl was cool, though there were some points where it was kind of obvious that she was stunt doubled or CGI’d out in a way that it isn’t as much so with Jackman and that makes her seem a little more artificial in an otherwise very gritty film. The rest of the cast is basically “okay.” I don’t feel like there is anyone else I can really rave about, but no one is offensively bad (and that’s a positive in a movie like this).

So I recommend seeing it. Especially if you’re a fan of Bourne style movies. It is an excellent entry into that genre (generally not one of my favorites) and, assuming this really is Jackman’s final time in the role as he has said, a great send off to his version of the Wolverine character. Just don’t look for much else out of the film than that. Instead, appreciate it for all he things that it doesn’t do.

And it is the best there is at what it doesn’t do… well… maybe not the best… but pretty damn good.

★★★★☆ (4 out of five stars)

Related articles

Logan ‘Sunseeker’ Promo: Wolverine Drives a Limo Now

The new ‘Logan’ trailer shows off female Wolverine with Hugh Jackman

Logan review: Hugh Jackman’s last turn as Wolverine is the real, shotgun-toting, limb-lopping deal

‘Logan’ Won’t Have a Post-Credits Scene After All, But May Still Have Something Extra

Every ‘X-Men’ movie ranked worst to best

LOGAN Review: Farewell, My Lovely

Logan Continues to Mutate into Johnny Cash Music Video With Possible B&W Version

Logan Photos: Hugh Jackman Says Goodbye to Wolverine

Asriyati liked this post

(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "//connect.facebook.net/en_US/all.js#xfbml=1&appId=1449198322001470"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, "script", "facebook-jssdk"));

The Logan Supremacy…. (no spoilers) was originally published on ChrisMaverick dotcom

[hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff]

Back to Sundance we go for another year of discovery. What's on the line-up this year? Out of the 110+ films showing at the 2019 Sundance Film Festival, I've chosen 10 that I'm looking forward to seeing the most. To keep things well balanced, I've chosen 5 feature films and 5 documentaries from the line-up. There are so many films playing at the fest, and so many I'll end up seeing (30+), that this is a quick list to get everyone acquainted with some of the work premiering in 2019 (I just want to go see everything). There are new films from filmmakers like Ritesh Batra and Lulu Wang, and incredible documentaries that are also worthy of our attention, plus many other films. You never really know what will good or bad, but here's my first few picks.

This is my 13th year in a row returning to Sundance, starting back in 2007. I'm so excited to be attending Sundance once again, and can't wait to dive into the films more than anything. There's so many I am curious to watch from this year's line-up. For now, here's my Top 10 most anticipated films before the fest begins.

Alex's Most Anticipated \Sundance 2019/ Feature Films:

Hala Directed by Minhal Baig

I've been following filmmaker Minhal Baig (mostly on Twitter @minhalbaig) for a while now, and she is ready to finally break out big and show everyone how talented she really is. Hala is her second feature film following her debut 1 Night, and it's much more personal this time. The story is about a Muslim teenager named Hala - played by Geraldine Viswanathan - who lives in Chicago with her immigrant parents from Pakistan. There she copes with the unraveling of her family as she comes into her own. It's a coming-of-age story but told from an entirely different angle that we rarely see, as Sundance explains that Baig "brings a vital and layered female perspective to the coming-of-age genre." They add that she "crafts a character and story with immense relatability and unexpected consequence." I've been looking forward to seeing this ever since I first heard about it, and I'm excited that it's finally ready to premiere at Sundance. Congrats, Minhal.

Photograph Directed by Ritesh Batra

Back in 2013, I fell in love with a little film called The Lunchbox, starring Irrfan Khan and Nimrat Kaur. After making two other English-language films, Our Souls at Night and The Sense of an Ending (both from 2017), filmmaker Ritesh Batra returns to his roots and his hometown in India with Photograph. Set in Mumbai, the film is about a struggling street photographer, pressured to marry by his grandmother, who convinces a shy stranger to pose as his fiancée. The pair develops a connection that transforms them in ways that they could not expect. As a photographer myself, I'm already intrigued. But I've also got a good feeling this might be a magical, lovely new film from Ritesh Batra and I'm looking forward to seeing where he takes us. If it's anywhere close to as sweet and as honest as The Lunchbox was, it will be another instant favorite.

Little Monsters Directed by Abe Forsythe

There's always one or two films in the Midnight section that I have to see, just because they sound so crazy and fun. Little Monsters is exactly one of those that I'm going to stay up late to watch. Described as a "film dedicated to all the kindergarten teachers who motivate children to learn, instill them with confidence, and stop them from being devoured by zombies." The massively talented Lupita Nyong'o stars as that teacher, taking on an extra bloody role that will hopefully allow her to show off more of her badass side. Plus there's always room for more zombies movies, right? Why not, they're always entertaining. "Armed only with the resourcefulness of kindergartners, [they] must work together to keep the monsters at bay and carve a way out with their guts intact." I'm fairly certain this will be a good one, especially with the late night audience.

I Am Mother Directed by Grant Sputore

One of the few sci-fi films playing at Sundance, which means I have to see it no matter what. But it also looks and sounds compelling. I Am Mother features a robot designed by Weta Workshop in New Zealand, and marks the directorial debut of an award-winning commercials director from Australia named Grant Sputore. And yes, the story seems quite promising. A teenage girl is raised underground by a kindly robot "Mother" - designed to repopulate the earth following the extinction of humankind. But their unique bond is threatened when an inexplicable stranger arrives with alarming news. This reminds me a bit of Moon (which premiered at Sundance 2009) mashed up with other sci-fi concepts. The robot's design is familiar but sleek, and the handful of images they've released so far all look better than expected. Don't let me down, Sputore.

Velvet Buzzsaw Directed by Dan Gilroy

So, this looks awesome! And totally insane! And weird, and captivating, and funny, and twisted, and sly, and wicked, and frightening. Velvet Buzzsaw is the latest film written & directed by Dan Gilroy, a screenwriter who turned director (or perhaps became a true auteur) making his debut with Nightcrawler in 2014, and following that up with Roman J. Israel, Esq. in 2017. This time he attacks the art world, with a film that seems to be about pieces of art coming to life and killing people. Something like that. The cast also is quite impressive: Jake Gyllenhaal, John Malkovich, Toni Collette, Rene Russo, Daveed Diggs. And this looks like the perfect follow-up to Ruben Östlund's Palme d'Or winning film The Square, with both films mocking and lambasting the absurdity of the modern art world. I'm so there. Watch the official trailer here.

More Feature Films I'm Looking Forward To Seeing: Lulu Wang's The Farewell, Rashid Johnson's Native Son, Paul Downs Colaizzo's Brittany Runs A Marathon, Nisha Ganatra's Late Night, David Wnendt's The Sunlit Night, Makoto Nagahisa's funky We Are Little Zombies, Noble Jones' The Tomorrow Man, Bert&Bertie's Troop Zero, JD Dillard's Sweetheart, Patrick Brice's Corporate Animals, Tayarisha Poe's Selah and the Spades, Daniel Scheinert's The Death of Dick Long, and May el-Toukhy's Queen of Hearts.

Alex's Most Anticipated \Sundance 2019/ Documentaries:

Memory: The Origins of Alien Directed by Alexandre O. Philippe

A documentary about the making of Ridley Scott's original Alien! Say no more, I'm already there, I wouldn't miss this for anything. This is the latest doc film made by Swiss filmmaker Alexandre O. Philippe, who has been making docs about cinema and filmmaking for a while - including The People vs. George Lucas, and 78/52: Hitchcock's Shower Scene just before. I'm curious how much this will cover and how much it will uncover. It seems to focus more on how they came up with the original ideas and designs for the film, less so the filming or release. "Philippe's real interest lies in the deep resonance of myths and our collective unconscious. The strange symbiotic collaboration between Alien creators [Dan] O'Bannon, Scott, and H.R. Giger suggests a greater synchronicity across history, art, and storytelling, a synchronicity that gives us the Furies, creatures of Renaissance painting, and even chest-bursting aliens." Sounds damn good, right?

Moonlight Sonata: Deafness in Three Movements Directed by Irene Taylor Brodsky

Another documentary that sounds exceptionally unique. The short Sundance description grabbed me right away: "A deeply personal portrait of three lives, and the discoveries that lie beyond loss: a deaf boy growing up, his deaf grandfather growing old, and Beethoven the year he was blindsided by deafness and wrote his iconic sonata." It's a multi-generational portrait of people dealing with deafness, capturing the complexity of silence and hearing. And I am more than intrigued to find out how filmmaker Irene Taylor Brodsky (of Hear and Now previously) examines these themes and weaves these three stories together. Sundance talks it up even more in their description of the film: "Brodsky explores the meaning of deafness, loss, and the power of silence as her son discovers his unique voice and her parents confront a new chapter of their lives," adding that it's "buoyed by a perceptive soundscape and luminous animation." I really want to see this doc.

Midnight Traveler Directed by Hassan Fazili

There's always a remarkable doc discovery, or two, hidden in the Sundance line-up telling an unforgettable story from somewhere else around the world. Read about this film and you'll instantly get a feeling that it's going to be something special. Midnight Traveler is a documentary made by a filmmaker from Afghanistan, Hassan Fazili, who flees his home country and takes us on a perilous journey with his wife and two young daughters as they travel as refugees across Europe searching for a new home. It seems to be a very personal, inside look at the life of a family just trying to surviving on the run from certain death. "Chronicling every step from inside the action", Fazili's camera captures "not only the danger and desperation but also the exuberance and tenderness of this irresistible, loving family." Just look at that shot of them all in the snow above! They seem so loving, wonderful, and authentic. I want to see this just to meet and learn about them.

Apollo 11 Directed by Todd Douglas Miller

I'm a space nerd. I'm a big time fan of NASA. I'm surprised we haven't seen a documentary like this before, but I guess In the Shadow of the Moon is close (focusing on all of the Apollo missions). And I loved Damien Chazelle's First Man, which is also about Apollo 11, so I'm totally ready for this next. The documentary is purported to be an exhilarating cinematic experience, something that demands to be seen on the big screen. NASA has been digging out old footage and photographs and other artifacts from the vaults, putting all of the original footage from the Apollo 11 mission online + uncut audio recordings and more. Produced by CNN Films and Statement Pictures, this film "features never-before-seen, large-format film footage of one of humanity's greatest accomplishments." Oh yes. Can't wait to experience this. Watch the teaser trailer here.

Hail Satan? Directed by Penny Lane

A documentary about the rise of the Satanic Temple religious movement? I'm certainly curious. And it's the latest doc film made by Penny Lane - a quietly talented, quirky, fun filmmaker behind other fantastically weird documentaries like Our Nixon, The Pain of Others, and Nuts! (about a guy who sold people a goat-testicle impotence cure - it premiered at Sundance 2016). I don't know how deep this is going to go, but I am intrigued to find out. Sundance references this eye-brow-raising part of the Satanic Temple's history in their description: "Through their dogged campaign to place a nine-foot, bronze Satanic monument smack dab next to the statue of the Ten Commandments on the Arkansas State Capitol lawn, the leaders of the temple force us to consider the true meaning of the separation of church and state." Sounds like something I have to see for myself, at the very least because no one else is making films about this fascinating topic anyway.

More Documentaries I'm Looking Forward To Seeing: Kenneth Paul Rosenberg's Bedlam, Steven Bognar & Julia Reichert's American Factory, Ben Berman's Amazing Johnathan Documentary, Ljubomir Stefanov & Tamara Kotevska's Honeyland, Petra Costa's Edge of Democracy, Garret Price's Love Antosha, Hepi Mita's Merata: How Mum Decolonised The Screen, Karim Amer & Jehane Noujaim's The Great Hack, Ursula Macfarlane's Untouchable, and Alex Gibney's latest The Inventor: Out for Blood in Silicon Valley.

For all of Alex's Sundance 2019 reviews and updates: Follow @firstshowing

For more Sundance 2019 previews around the web, highlighting early picks and potential breakouts, see: The Film Stage's 20 Most-Anticipated Premieres, and Indiewire's 21 Must-See Films At This Year's Festival. You never know what might be a big hit, and it's vital to have a pulse on the buzz – even before the festival starts. There's plenty of exciting and hopefully superb gems hidden in the 2019 line-up, bring on the films.

You can follow our Sundance 2019 coverage and updates in this category. The festival kicks off January 24th and runs until February 3rd, with lots of films to see every day. Let's jump right in and start watching.

from FirstShowing.net http://bit.ly/2FGN8w1