#murray gold is going to make us SUFFER

[fomagranfalloon]

Murray Gold reworking Ten's theme for Fourteen into something softer and sweeter = 🥰😍

If that motherfucker chooses violence and reworks Four Knocks when Fourteen regenerates = ☠️🤬

[allhailthemightyquattro]

Got around to watching The Star Beast, so thoughts:

The good:

Donna Noble is back!

Murray Gold is back!

Love the opening credits. Best they've been since Matt Smith (Capaldi's credits weren't bad, but this sequence is better).

Beep is so cute! The special effects department/props department deserve all the praise.

Beep is so evil! Love to see my little war criminal embrace their megalomania.

Sylvia's reaction to hearing the Doctor's voice was priceless!

I love how they addressed trans issues. It didn't feel like a tv show telling us that they support trans people and that we should too. It felt like a tv show showing us trans issues. They had a trans character and their family facing problems that a trans person and their family could (and do) face in the real world, and they let the audience decide if they are okay with that happening or not. Showing people a particular side of an issue will always be more helpful than simply telling people that their side is wrong. The hardcore transphobes won't be swayed either way (and probably would only be watching to authenticate their hate) so addressing the issue with them in mind would have at best alienated the audience and at worst insulted them (looking at you last few minutes of Orphan 55).

I particularly liked that they included Sylvia's difficulty with knowing what to say to Rose. It's clear she loves her granddaughter exactly how she is (a great contrast between her treatment of Donna in series 4) but she doesn't know if she's doing things right. It's something that I don't often see addressed in internet fandom spaces, where every small slight is condemned as a terrible offense. Changing cultures is a learning curve.

I think they had a shot of Rose at Donna's wedding at the beginning, which helps (but doesn't really solve) the age issue. Donna started dating Shaun in 2009 and is not visibly pregnant at the end of that year, meaning 2010 is the earliest possible year Rose could have been born, making Rose 13 if this episode is set in 2023. Having the wedding scene from the End of Time be set after Rose was born helps with believing Donna could have been pregnant during that story.

The TARDIS looks pretty cool. I love the call back to the classic TARDISes.

The Doctor proudly proclaiming that Beep was defeated by the DoctorDonna as he holds Donna in his arms 🥹

Shirley Anne was awesome.

Donna's little speech about Wilf when convincing Sylvia to let her go, reminding us that Wilf also suffered a loss when Donna lost her memories.

The psychic paper not catching up and listing the Doctor as a "mistress".

Rose inheriting the metacrisis. There is a catch to this that will be explained in the next section, but by and large I loved the idea.

The not-as-good:

I was hoping for a few more non-RTD references considering it's the 60th anniversary. I know we still have two more specials to go, so I should be patient, but it's still a little disappointing.

I'd hoped they would do something a little different than the comic. The comic is great, so this isn't really a bad thing, I'd just hoped for something more.

Having the metacrisis be a reason for Rose's transness (is that a word?) wasn't great. Everything else about the reveal was great - the toys, the shed, her name - but her gender being part of that just cheapened the issue they were doing so well with. Just for the sake of being clever. I suppose you could say they were making a point about time lord gender, but that point has been made. It got made years ago. It wasn't needed.

For most of the episode, Finney being older than her character didn't bother me... except when they showed her friend, who was played by someone much closer her character's supposed age. The age difference was very hard to ignore in those scenes.

Beep mentioning "the boss". Very menacing and very foreboding... but the Most High does not have a boss. The Most High is the most high and death upon whoever says otherwise!

Donna and Rose just letting the metacrisis go kind of ruins her goodbye in Journey's End and is somehow both lazy and overthought. Sharing the metacrisis between two people would have been a convincing enough reason for it to not kill Donna. They had their fix it already. And it was a good one! They didn't need to add another, much worse one.

[ajokeformur-ray]

Hi there! 💕 I'm not sure if you're taking asks. I wanted to know if you could do a match-up between me and Arthur/Joker? I'm 5'0 with medium length blonde hair, brown eyes and large black/red glasses. I'm introverted, very emotional and suffer from an anxiety disorder. Empathic.. I've always tried to stay hidden from the world. I have a huge affinity for animals. Call me weird, but I connect better with animals than people. They understand me. I love reading and movies. Thanks love! 🥰

Hi, my love!💚 I hope you enjoy this. @call-me-harley-quinn

Total word count: 1,575.

Arthur // wc: 769.

There’s a good eight inch height difference between the two of you so Arthur is... rather protective of you. He adores coming home from a long and exhausting day at work and being able to fold you into the safe cage of his embrace; he can almost fold himself in half when he does so. Nothing makes Arthur feel safer than knowing that you’re being held against his chest, his arms tightly around you, his lips in your hair or his nose nuzzling into your neck, his hands running up and down your back...  Arthur also loves running his hands through your hair. When you’ve just had a shower or when it needs to be brushed, he’s mesmerised by the way you run the bristles through your hair and he always wants to take the brush from you and do it himself, to feel your hair fall through his fingers like liquid gold. But afraid of rejection is he, scared to be told no is he, and so he never asks. Arthur is also very careful with your glasses. It’s not unusual for him to clean them for you when he notices that you’ve left them laying around and if you put them down somewhere, Arthur does not move them until it’s somewhere silly, like the back of the toilet. If you leave your glasses on the coffee table or the kitchen counter, he’ll leave them there because he wouldn’t like someone moving his stuff, either. Arthur is very conscious of you and he’ll do everything he can to protect you and to look after you, which leads rather nicely into my next point. 

Arthur is in awe of you and how deeply you experience emotions. It’s easy to get overwhelmed by others’ emotions and sometimes it becomes too much and you just need the entire world to stop and go away. Arthur knows and understands better than anyone that sometimes you just need to breathe and he always does what he can to make sure that you get time to yourself every day to just unwind and to be by yourself, or with him if you would prefer. You’re introverted and Arthur enjoys spending time at home with you; coming home to you is the very favourite part of his every working day and it gives Carnival an extra pep in his step when he catches the subway home. You try to stay hidden from the world and Arthur does what he can to help you. Sometimes he can’t be there for you because he’s too tired in his own right or he’s too worn down or just... can’t for whatever reason, but the two of you have an equation of give and take which varies in percentage either way every day, depending on whose emotional needs are greater on any given day. Sometimes you both comfort each other and on those nights are you only brought closer together, over your shared pains. Arthur loves you so, so deeply and he always does what he can to look after you and to protect you. 

To say that you’re an animal person is an understatement. Arthur’s always wanted a cat of his own, or just some kind of pet that he gets to come home to every night, and when he found out that you adore animals, well... He thought for months about moving in with you and getting a pet with you, about whether you would have a cat or a dog or maybe even some other kind of creature, like a tarantula, and when finally does he build up the courage to ask you is he almost shaking. Arthur gets on well with animals, too, he loves them, and one of his favourite pastimes is to watch you interact with an animal. Leaning against the doorway is he with his arms folded over his chest and the sharp angles of his chin illuminated by the lamps which are strategically dotted around the room, the softest of smiles on his face as he watches you. You also enjoy reading and watching films and the two of you often cuddle up on the sofa or in the bed to watch Murray together, or Arthur writes in his journal and works on his comedic material while you read, and the like. The evenings are for the two of you only; no one else and nothing else is allowed to intrude on this time together, which is yours and Arthur’s. No exceptions. You’re his entire world and he loves you so much; as deeply and as richly as you love him!

Joker // wc: 806.

One thing hasn’t changed, no matter what he calls himself or what he’s done, and that’s Arthur’s undying and unconditional love for his Megan. He loves you so, so much and nothing and no one will ever change that. For every thing he discovers about you, he only loves you more. He adores wrapping you up in his embrace just as much as he always did, only now does it hold just a bit more weight. It has a bit more of a bittersweet tang to it because with all he’s ever said and all he’s ever done, you still love him just as fiercely, just as strongly, and you still do everything that you can to be there for him, to love him and to keep him safe within himself and the things he has done. Where he used to be highly respectful of where you store your glasses and he never did anything you wouldn’t want him to, he’s now not afraid to tap the arms of your glasses with a smirk. “Can I, doll?” and if you say yes, he’ll pluck them off your face (held carefully and lightly in one hand) and kiss you so securely that you almost forget your own name. If you say no, he only smiles and kisses you anyway; being able to remove your glasses (always with your permission) is just another way in which Joker is free in all the ways he interacts with you and there’s nothing he won’t do for you, especially if it means keeping you safe. Which, again, leads me nicely into...

By this stage in your relationship, Joker knows exactly how to help you with your anxiety disorder. He knows all of the warning signs, all of the physical tells that you have, all of the small habits you have... Joker knows you. He knows you so well and for everything new which he discovers about you, he only loves you more. Joker loves coming home to you, knowing that you’re safe and at home, knowing that you’re alive and well. You’ve always tried to stay hidden from the world and most often is that now what he has to do, too, so nights in with only the two of you are still just as common as they used to be when it was you the unseen and unknown Arthur. You’re very emotional and Joker is as there for you as he has always been; that’s one thing that would never, ever change. You stayed with him through it all, you stayed, and it’s the most beautiful gift you could have given him. There is nothing Joker wouldn’t do for you and in all ways but legal does he consider the two of you partners in life (and in crime, if you would like to be). Joker is also still so in awe of you and how deeply you feel. Everything that he ever was and ever has been and ever will be was vented out one night on national television in the form of a violent and explosive mental breakdown. But you; you’re still so you no matter what you go through or what you feel and your inner strength is very much something which he admires. He turned cold, almost, but you... oh, but you don’t shy away and he sees so much of himself in you. 

You adore animals and if you don’t already have a pet together then one night, Joker came home with a wriggly pocket. Small meows emitted from the closed space and with a high pitched giggle did Joker dip a hand elegantly into the pocket and extracted a tiny, flea ridden and definitely hungry kitten. You can tell by the tears swimming in those expressive green oceans that Joker can see so much of himself in this tiny, helpless creature. He can’t turn away any suffering creature, even now, and the two of you work together and bond ever closer over the care of this tiny kitten. He allows you to name it because he has everything he could ever want right here, with you. Joker loves watching you interact with animals. It’s one of the few things which still causes heat to bloom in his chest and spread strongly through his veins, You are the best part of him, the best part of his life and the best part of Gotham and he will always, always, protect you. No matter what. Film nights are still very common and you do them nightly. It’s a special time for the two of you and nothing and no one else is allowed to get in on this time, which is still just for the two of you. Joker would rather die than ever jeopardise everything which he has built up with you.

[mophobia]

So I finally did decide to watch The Woman Who Fell to Earth and... wow. I know I’m way late on the train but I just wanted to share some of my thoughts just from this first episode because why the heck not

First of all, just all the clear fuck you’s to Moffat (intentional or not). The fact that this single episode already has better representation than Moffats entire run, each of those characters have more development already in just their pinky fingers than pretty much is seen in Moffats entire run, the simple plot, the deep care and not asshole-ness of the Doctor. Just like top notch stuff

Still missing that extra mmmph of just pure weirdness I loved from RTD, but also new showrunner new rules and I can live with that

I felt like there were a lot of parallels to RTD era stuff, maybe just in my head maybe meant to be. But none of it copying yay! idk I just got the vibes of something I haven’t seen or felt in a while. Also got some 10 vibes from 13 which I love

I sooo want to believe that 13s appearance is a tribute to Rose, although maybe that’s just my Doctorxrose shipper coming out. But also... come on... that blonde with brown roots thing 13 has got going... when was the last time we saw that? I’m not asking for it to be addressed or talked about or acknowledged in any way (don’t get me wrong I’m always a slut for rose references but this is 13s time to shine) but I just hope it’s even a little true

I do still really miss the soundtrack from RTDs and even some of Moffats run. Just those dramatic moments with that wonderful score still gives me chills. And I’m always a slut for a good theme. Don’t know if that‘ll change as the series goes on cuz I was starting to get that music towards the end of the episode but we’ll see (I hope Murray gold is still composing... I should look that up.

“I matter, I am valuable...” just a bit of a clue I loved showing us were back in for that theme in Doctor Who that you don’t have to be “special” to matter (which I think the character the alien is hunting and just this story itself encapsulates very well just in general)

I honestly almost cried after the security guard got killed after that call with his granddaughter... I honestly don’t think I cried at anything in Moffats run so to come back to Doctor Who and feel actual emotion is just... I have no words I’m so happy

Wilfred and Graham would be bickering BFFs you can fight me on that

Another thing I do still miss is the noise from from RTDs era. I can’t think of exactly how to put it but there’s just that hustle and bustle of the world you feel in those first few seasons and it stil feels very secluded and... idk quiet here? Again though it’s only the first episode and the setting didn’t really call for large crowds so we’ll see how that transforms over time

Also on the subject of things I miss... just that slightly softer, warmer, lighter feel of the world you see in RTDs era. But also I don’t know how much of that has changed just due to technology evolving and getting better? Maybe that’s just more of a nostalgia thing.

13S LITTLE SPEECH BEFORE JUMPING! AND THE JUMP ITSELF! FUCK YES!

Love love love the fact that 13 is treated the same as any other Doctor in this episode. She doesn’t need to prove herself to any of her team at any point (other than she is in fact an alien which is just a Doctor thing in general), she lifts herself onto the platform after hanging on (can you imagine the upper body strength? 11 could never), and the fact that she never comments on how her abilities are different because she’s a woman now. I almost thought there was gonna be a boob joke when she couldn’t run after the alien after first finding it, but then it was just a comment on how her regeneration was affecting her!! The Doctor knows how strong women are, after all ze’s seen their strength first hand on MANY occasions traveling with them so why would she think negatively on being a woman. Although I do hope we get to maybe acknowledge new struggles she might feel from society looking at her as a woman and working to prove them wrong at some point. Thank you Chibnall for giving us something Moffat never would (and never could!)

I loved 13s reaction after the guy who was being hunted pushed the alien off the bridge. “You didn’t have to do that” and so disappointed. All I could think was the Doctor’s finally back.

I really did cry by the ending when the Doctor was facing the alien. At first it was just because I was feeling like Doctor Who back which made me so happy I couldn’t help but crying. But then Grace died and it really made me sad. But then the thought that something in DW actually gave me enough of an emotional reaction to cry again just made me start to cry for happiness all over again.

Also people are dying again! There’s seriousness and consequences again!! Not that I want people to die and suffer in every episode, but again that return to the core of Doctor Who is making me happy.

13 talking about how she keeps her family with her in her heart and as reminders of who to be. So beautiful (and just fuels my belief that her look is a reminder/whisper of Rose). I really hope this new era might be able to include an old companion or two from RTD era even (I know Jack is back? Kinda? And maybe he’s coming back again? But can you imagine the powerhouse of Mickey and Martha returning and working with 13??? I would DIE)

That outfit? ICONIC!!!

I think I still need to get used to the Doctor traveling with a pack. I’m happy for all the real characters were getting considering it’s pretty much just been the Doctor/half-baked Companion show since Moffat took over. But also it’s a different group feel than from RTD just cuz even then there was the Companion and their family that were more supporting characters. And even with Jack, he only popped up after we already knew the Doctors/Rose relationship. But I’m excited to see how this team of companions works!

All in all... still don’t know if I’m quite ready to believe 13 will top 9/10 for me, but as far as I’m concerned it’s already better than 11/12. And at the end of the day, I’m just happy to feel like I can love Doctor Who again.

So... after watching into skyfall not sure my original predictions on how this series/era went have stayed true. While I still love the 13th Doctor and Jodie.... I am already feeling let down by what’s to come. And it’s weird cuz there are certain parts I love, but the ones I hate are just far outweighing the positives. Why does every writer now need to alter the entire doctors life in a way that ruins RTD and, hell, even Moffat’s plots. I hated Moffat but Jesus. Even I’m beginning to think I’d rather watch 11-12 over this.

[madewithonerib]

Absolute Surrender — Andrew Murray

1 Kings 20:1-4 | Now Ben-hadad king of Aram assembled his entire army. Accompanied by thirty-two kings with their horses & chariots, he marched up, besieged Samaria, & waged war against it. Then he sent messengers into the city to Ahab king of Israel, saying, “This is what Ben-hadad says: ‘Your silver & gold are mine, & your best wives & children are mine!’”

And the king of Israel replied, “Just as you say, my lord the king: I am yours, along with all that I have.” 

What Ben Hadad asked was absolute surrender; & what Ahab gave was what was asked of him — absolute surrender.

I want to use these words: "My lord, O king, according to thy saying, I am thine, & all that I have," as the words of absolute surrender with which every child of God ought to yield himself to his Father.

We have heard it before, but we need to hear it very definitely — the condition of God's blessing is absolute surrender of all into His hands.

Praise God! If our hearts are willing for that, there is no end to what God will do for us, & to the blessing God will bestow.

Absolute surrender — let me tell you where I got those words. I used them myself often, and you have heard them numberless times. But in Scotland once I was in a company where we were talking about the condition of Christ's Church, and what the great need of the Church and of believers is; and there was in our company a godly worker who has much to do in training workers, and I asked him what he would say was the great need of the Church, and the message that ought to be preached. He answered very quietly and simply and determinedly:

"Absolute surrender to God is the one thing."

The words struck me as never before. And that man began to tell how, in the workers with whom he had to deal, he finds that if they are sound on that point, even though they be backward, they are willing to be taught and helped, and they always improve; whereas others who are not sound there very often go back and leave the work. The condition for obtaining God's full blessing is absolute surrender to Him.

And now, I desire by God's grace to give to you this message — that your God in Heaven answers the prayers which you have offered for blessing on yourselves and for blessing on those around you by this one demand: Are you willing to surrender yourselves absolutely into His hands? What is our answer to be? God knows there are hundreds of hearts who have said it, and there are hundreds more who long to say it but hardly dare to do so. And there are hearts who have said it, but who have yet miserably failed, and who feel themselves condemned because they did not find the secret of the power to live that life. May God have a word for all!

Let me say, first of all, that God claims it from us.

God Expects Your Surrender

Yes, it has its foundation in the very nature of God. God cannot do otherwise. Who is God? He is the Fountain of life, the only Source of existence and power and goodness, and throughout the universe there is nothing good but what God works. God has created the sun, and the moon, and the stars, and the flowers, and the trees, and the grass; and are they not all absolutely surrendered to God? Do they not allow God to work in them just what He pleases? When God clothes the lily with its beauty, is it not yielded up, surrendered, given over to God as He works in its beauty? And God's redeemed children, oh, can you think that God can work His work if there is only half or a part of them surrendered? God cannot do it. God is life, and love, and blessing, and power, and infinite beauty, and God delights to communicate Himself to every child who is prepared to receive Him; but ah! this one lack of absolute surrender is just the thing that hinders God. And now He comes, and as God, He claims it.

You know in daily life what absolute surrender is. You know that everything has to be given up to its special, definite object and service. I have a pen in my pocket, and that pen is absolutely surrendered to the one work of writing, and that pen must be absolutely surrendered to my hand if I am to write properly with it. If another holds it partly, I cannot write properly. This coat is absolutely given up to me to cover my body. This building is entirely given up to religious services. And now, do you expect that in your immortal being, in the divine nature that you have received by regeneration, God can work His work, every day and every hour, unless you are entirely given up to Him? God cannot. The Temple of Solomon was absolutely surrendered to God when it was dedicated to Him. And every one of us is a temple of God, in which God will dwell and work mightily on one condition -- absolute surrender to Him. God claims it, God is worthy of it, and without it God cannot work His blessed work in us.

God not only claims it, but God will work it Himself.

God Accomplishes Your Surrender

I am sure there is many a heart that says: "Ah, but that absolute surrender implies so much!" Someone says: "Oh, I have passed through so much trial and suffering, and there is so much of the self-life still remaining, and I dare not face the entire giving of it up, because I know it will cause so much trouble and agony."

Alas! alas! that God's children have such thoughts of Him, such cruel thoughts. Oh, I come to you with a message, fearful and anxious one. God does not ask you to give the perfect surrender in your strength, or by the power of your will; God is willing to work it in you. Do we not read: "It is God that worketh in us, both to will and to do of his good pleasure" (Phil.2:13)? And that is what we should seek for -- to go on our faces before God, until our hearts learn to believe that the everlasting God Himself will come in to turn out what is wrong, to conquer what is evil, and to work what is well-pleasing in His blessed sight. God Himself will work it in you.

Look at the men in the Old Testament, like Abraham. Do you think it was by accident that God found that man, the father of the faithful and the Friend of God, and that it was Abraham himself, apart from God, who had such faith and such obedience and such devotion? You know it is not so. God raised him up and prepared him as an instrument for His glory.

Did not God say to Pharaoh: "For this cause have I raised thee up, for to show in thee my power" (Ex.9:16)?

And if God said that of him, will not God say it far more of every child of His?

Oh, I want to encourage you, and I want you to cast away every fear. Come with that feeble desire; and if there is the fear which says: "Oh, my desire is not strong enough, I am not willing for everything that may come, I do not feel bold enough to say I can conquer everything" -- I pray you, learn to know and trust your God now. Say: "My God, I am willing that Thou shouldst make me willing." If there is anything holding you back, or any sacrifice you are afraid of making, come to God now, and prove how gracious your God is, and be not afraid that He will command from you what He will not bestow.

God comes and offers to work this absolute surrender in you. All these searchings and hungerings and longings that are in your heart, I tell you they are the drawings of the divine magnet, Christ Jesus. He lived a life of absolute surrender, He has possession of you; He is living in your heart by His Holy Spirit. You have hindered and hindered Him terribly, but He desires to help you to get hold of Him entirely. And He comes and draws you now by His message and words. Will you not come and trust God to work in you that absolute surrender to Himself? Yes, blessed be God, He can do it, and He will do it.

God not only claims it and works it, but God accepts it when we bring it to Him.

God Accepts Your Surrender

God works it in the secret of our heart, God urges us by the hidden power of His Holy Spirit to come and speak it out, and we have to bring and to yield to Him that absolute surrender. But remember, when you come and bring God that absolute surrender, it may, as far as your feelings or your consciousness go, be a thing of great imperfection, and you may doubt and hesitate and say:

"Is it absolute?"

But, oh, remember there was once a man to whom Christ had said:

"If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth" (Mark 9:23).

And his heart was afraid, and he cried out:

"Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief" (Mark 9:24).

That was a faith that triumphed over the Devil, and the evil spirit was cast out. And if you come and say: "Lord, I yield myself in absolute surrender to my God," even though it be with a trembling heart and with the consciousness: "I do not feel the power, I do not feel the determination, I do not feel the assurance," it will succeed. Be not afraid, but come just as you are, and even in the midst of your trembling the power of the Holy Spirit will work.

Have you never yet learned the lesson that the Holy Spirit works with mighty power, while on the human side everything appears feeble? Look at the Lord Jesus Christ in Gethsemane. We read that He, "through the eternal Spirit" (Heb.9:14), offered Himself a sacrifice unto God. The Almighty Spirit of God was enabling Him to do it. And yet what agony and fear and exceeding sorrow came over Him, and how He prayed! Externally, you can see no sign of the mighty power of the Spirit, but the Spirit of God was there. And even so, while you are feeble and fighting and trembling, in faith in the hidden work of God's Spirit do not fear, but yield yourself.

And when you do yield yourself in absolute surrender, let it be in the faith that God does now accept of it. That is the great point, and that is what we so often miss -- that believers should be thus occupied with God in this matter of surrender. I pray you, be occupied with God. We want to get help, every one of us, so that in our daily life God shall be clearer to us, God shall have the right place, and be "all in all." And if we are to have that through life, let us begin now and look away from ourselves, and look up to God. Let each believe -- while I, a poor worm on earth and a trembling child of God, full of failure and sin and fear, bow here, and no one knows what passes through my heart, and while I in simplicity say, O God, I accept Thy terms; I have pleaded for blessing on myself and others, I have accepted Thy terms of absolute surrender -- while your heart says that in deep silence, remember there is a God present that takes note of it, and writes it down in His book, and there is a God present who at that very moment takes possession of you. You may not feel it, you may not realize it, but God takes possession if you will trust Him.

God not only claims it, and works it, and accepts it when I bring it, but God maintains it.

God Maintains Your Surrender

That is the great difficulty with many. People say: "I have often been stirred at a meeting, or at a convention, and I have consecrated myself to God, but it has passed away. I know it may last for a week or for a month, but away it fades, and after a time it is all gone."

But listen! It is because you do not believe what I am now going to tell you and remind you of. When God has begun the work of absolute surrender in you, and when God has accepted your surrender, then God holds Himself bound to care for it and to keep it. Will you believe that?

In this matter of surrender there are two: God and I -- I a worm, God the everlasting and omnipotent Jehovah. Worm, will you be afraid to trust yourself to this mighty God now? God is willing. Do you not believe that He can keep you continually, day by day, and moment by moment?

Moment by moment I'm kept in His love;

Moment by moment I've life from above.

If God allows the sun to shine upon you moment by moment, without intermission, will not God let His life shine upon you every moment? And why have you not experienced it? Because you have not trusted God for it, and you do not surrender yourself absolutely to God in that trust.

A life of absolute surrender has its difficulties. I do not deny that. Yes, it has something far more than difficulties: it is a life that with men is absolutely impossible. But by the grace of God, by the power of God, by the power of the Holy Spirit dwelling in us, it is a life to which we are destined, and a life that is possible for us, praise God! Let us believe that God will maintain it.

Some of you have read the words of that aged saint who, on his ninetieth birthday, told of all God's goodness to him -- I mean George Muller. What did he say he believed to be the secret of his happiness, and of all the blessing which God had given him? He said he believed there were two reasons. The one was that he had been enabled by grace to maintain a good conscience before God day by day; the other was, that he was a lover of God's Word. Ah, yes, a good conscience is complete obedience to God day by day, and fellowship with God every day in His Word, and prayer -- that is a life of absolute surrender.

Such a life has two sides -- on the one side, absolute surrender to work what God wants you to do; on the other side, to let God work what He wants to do.

First, to do what God wants you to do.

Give up yourselves absolutely to the will of God. You know something of that will; not enough, far from all. But say absolutely to the Lord God: "By Thy grace I desire to do Thy will in everything, every moment of every day." Say: "Lord God, not a word upon my tongue but for Thy glory, not a movement of my temper but for Thy glory, not an affection of love or hate in my heart but for Thy glory, and according to Thy blessed will."

Someone says: "Do you think that possible?"

I ask, What has God promised you, and what can God do to fill a vessel absolutely surrendered to Him? Oh, God wants to bless you in a way beyond what you expect. From the beginning, ear hath not heard, neither hath the eye seen, what God hath prepared for them that wait for Him (1 Cor.2:9). God has prepared unheard-of things, blessings much more wonderful than you can imagine, more mighty than you can conceive. They are divine blessings. Oh, say now:

"I give myself absolutely to God, to His will, to do only what God wants."

It is God who will enable you to carry out the surrender.

And, on the other side, come and say: "I give myself absolutely to God, to let Him work in me to will and to do of His good pleasure, as He has promised to do."

Yes, the living God wants to work in His children in a way that we cannot understand, but that God's Word has revealed, and He wants to work in us every moment of the day. God is willing to maintain our life. Only let our absolute surrender be one of simple, childlike, and unbounded trust.

God Blesses When You Surrender

This absolute surrender to God will wonderfully bless.

What Ahab said to his enemy, King Ben-hadad — "My lord, O king, according to thy word I am thine, and all that I have" — shall we not say to our God and loving Father? If we do say it, God's blessing will come upon us. God wants us to be separate from the world; we are called to come out from the world that hates God. Come out for God, and say: "Lord, anything for Thee." If you say that with prayer, and speak that into God's ear, He will accept it, and He will teach you what it means.

I say again, God will bless you. You have been praying for blessing. But do remember, there must be absolute surrender. At every tea-table you see it. Why is tea poured into that cup? Because it is empty, and given up for the tea. But put ink, or vinegar, or wine into it, and will they pour the tea into the vessel? And can God fill you, can God bless you if you are not absolutely surrendered to Him? He cannot. Let us believe God has wonderful blessings for us, if we will but stand up for God, and say, be it with a trembling will, yet with a believing heart:

"O God, I accept Thy demands. I am thine and all that I have. Absolute surrender is what my soul yields to Thee by divine grace."

You may not have such strong and clear feelings of deliverances as you would desire to have, but humble yourselves in His sight, and acknowledge that you have grieved the Holy Spirit by your self-will, self-confidence, and self-effort. Bow humbly before him in the confession of that, and ask him to break the heart and to bring you into the dust before Him. Then, as you bow before Him, just accept God's teaching that in your flesh "there dwelleth no good thing" (Rom.7:18), and that nothing will help you except another life which must come in. You must deny self once for all. Denying self must every moment be the power of your life, and then Christ will come in and take possession of you.

When was Peter delivered? When was the change accomplished? The change began with Peter weeping, and the Holy Spirit came down and filled his heart.

God the Father loves to give us the power of the Spirit. We have the Spirit of God dwelling within us. We come to God confessing that, and praising God for it, and yet confessing how we have grieved the Spirit. And then we bow our knees to the Father to ask that He would strengthen us with all might by the Spirit in the inner man, and that He would fill us with His mighty power. And as the Spirit reveals Christ to us, Christ comes to live in our hearts forever, and the self-life is cast out.

Let us bow before God in humility, and in that humility confess before Him the state of the whole Church. No words can tell the sad state of the Church of Christ on earth. I wish I had words to speak what I sometimes feel about it. Just think of the Christians around you. I do not speak of nominal Christians, or of professing Christians, but I speak of hundreds and thousands of honest, earnest Christians who are not living a life in the power of God or to His glory. So little power, so little devotion or consecration to God, so little perception of the truth that a Christian is a man utterly surrendered to God's will! Oh, we want to confess the sins of God's people around us, and to humble ourselves. We are members of that sickly body, and the sickliness of the body will hinder us, and break us down, unless we come to God, and in confession separate ourselves from partnership with worldliness, with coldness toward each other, unless we give up ourselves to be entirely and wholly for God.

How much Christian work is being done in the spirit of the flesh and in the power of self! How much work, day by day, in which human energy — our will and our thoughts about the work — is continually manifested, and in which there is but little of waiting upon God, and upon the power of the Holy Spirit! Let us make confession. But as we confess the state of the Church and the feebleness and sinfulness of work for God among us, let us come back to ourselves. Who is there who truly longs to be delivered from the power of the self-life, who truly acknowledges that it is the power of self and the flesh, and who is willing to cast all at the feet of Christ? There is deliverance.

I heard of one who had been an earnest Christian, and who spoke about the "cruel" thought of separation and death. But you do not think that, do you? What are we to think of separation and death? This: death was the path to glory for Christ. For the joy set before Him He endured the cross. The cross was the birthplace of His everlasting glory. Do you love Christ? Do you long to be in Christ, and not like Him? Let death be to you the most desirable thing on earth — death to self, and fellowship with Christ. Separation — do you think it a hard thing to be called to be entirely free from the world, and by that separation to be united to God and His love, by separation to become prepared for living and walking with God every day? Surely one ought to say:

"Anything to bring me to separation, to death, for a life of full fellowship with God and Christ."

Come and cast this self-life and flesh-life at the feet of Jesus. Then trust Him. Do not worry yourselves with trying to understand all about it, but come in the living faith that Christ will come into you with the power of His death and the power of His life; and then the Holy Spirit will bring the whole Christ — Christ crucified and risen and living in glory -- into your heart.

[whifferdills]

i’m not a meta but i got some dr who thoughts

after a run that by and large tried to pick apart the Dr’s callousness (12 wasn’t really any meaner than any other Dr Who, it’s just that the show was self-aware of that assholery and at its best didn’t gloss over it) and gave us a flawed but beautiful character arc that ended with the importance of kindness, this new Dr Who who remembers names and has a quiet respect for humans they barely know is. V good. i get the sense that 13 is who 12 wanted to become, yanno?

the color grading bless. I HAVE SUFFERED THROUGH YEARS OF BLUE-GREEN-ORANGE all those pinkish tones give me LIFE

THE MILLENNIALS. Yasmin who tries working with the system (and it’s not e-fucking-nough), and Ryan who can’t so much no matter how hard he tries. They’re relatable and now-ish and exactly what i’d like to see from DW in [current year]

Ryan tho! this episode is all about him so obvs he’s my fave but i love that whole Struggle Vlogger, My Phone Is My Life thing. bc it’s not framed as ‘kids these days and their iPhones’, it’s ‘the internet is a validating place and people can speak their truth there when they’re beaten down in real life’. literally the only character where if you do an Instagram-themed edit i will not cringe. of course he touched the damn button, like share and subscribe

the random dude who is also a lost lonely kid. his bits work well enough on their own but this episode got SOMETHING to SAY

also fuck that fridge (GRACE NO WHY i mean it was telegraphed but NO) and i had vaguely hoped graham would be gay but @everyone who continually asks for alien companions from other time periods : check it out, a widower oldhead is companion, that’s new and interesting. or did you just want Attractive Victorian Space Children moreso than variety idk

man New Who loves its broken homes. makes sense i guess? to explain why someone would just....go off into space like that to join a new found family but it deffo creates a certain Vibe

i barely know what Sheffield is but it feels like a character here? that’s probably the main thing that made me go ‘oh it’s chibbers here he is’

thank you Segun Akinola for ushering in a new era where we can all finally admit that Murray Gold was competent but not, like, unreplaceably good. now hmu with some bops a la The Human Body

did 13 just manifest ear piercing holes or are the earrings part of them or

love that trans dr who

[duran-duran-less-official]

Going over some of the old Moffat episodes of Doctor Who

that were judged poorly at the time by the audience.

I remember not being especially fond of them myself, but GOD I miss them in retrospect.

Sure, maybe The Bells of St. John formally introduced us to the least likeable companion of Moffat's tenure, and sure, there are some absurd and corny moments in it, like the sequence in which The Doctor and Clara stop an entire plane from crashing into Clara's house while yelling their dialogue over incredibly loud Murray Gold Trademark Action Music,

but by God, there was action. There was intrigue. There were plots and schemes and battles of wits. There was banter. There was the fiercely moral playing seamlessly into the sublimely ridiculous.

I would give my left lung to have moments like this back in the show once more.

Miss Kizlet (speaking through a passerby): Really Doctor? A motorbike? It hardly seems like you.

The Doctor: I rode this in the Anti-Grav Olympics 2074. I came last...

Miss Kizlet: The building is in lockdown. I'm afraid you're not coming in.

The Doctor: Did you even hear the word "Anti-Grav"?

[The Doctor drives the motorbike up the side of The Spire]

And while I'm on the subject, because the new series made me angry,

I was trying to articulate with my girlfriend why the show had become Not Doctor Who anymore, and she put it way better than I ever could have.

Doctor Who is a fiercely moral show. That's part of why so much of its charm lies in the iconic villains and monsters it creates. When you see the Daleks - however overused you think they are - you are confronted by a killing machine that knows only how to hate. The Cybermen - an army of unfeeling automatons which have the singular purpose of enacting conformity on the universe. The Master/Missy - a vision of what the Doctor might be like if, granted all the abilities of a Time Lord, they went mad with power.

And always, unfailingly, you have had The Doctor on the opposite end of that spectrum. A fiercely moral character who made mistakes, and had flaws, but in the end always tried to do the right thing by people.

My recommendation? Don't watch Doctor Who for the hard sci-fi, because it never will be. Don't even think about watching it for the consistency of its time travel mechanics - realistically, the only consistency is that it's still there after 55 years. Don't watch it because the writing is overwhelmingly more clever than anything else on TV.

But do watch it because it is a fundamentally compelling conflict to see the moral character of the Doctor - the fundamental, unchangeable parts of the character that persist no matter which actor plays the part - come into conflict with the most horrific and fantastical monsters in the universe.

(also, villains aside, the alien designs and concepts are generally pretty cool anyway)

... All of this is true of Doctor Who up until Series 11.

Let's take a look at how the universe's most beloved and morally righteous time traveller dealt with the immorality and moral conflicts she faced this past season:

The Woman Who Fell To Earth: Exploded the villain's own bombs inside his body... then berated a would-be victim for pushing said villain off a crane while that was happening.

Ghost Monument: Error 404 - Moral Conflict not found. She just kinda tags along on someone else's adventure.

Rosa: Actively participated in racist practice of sitting on the bus to the exclusion of Parks, just so history could be the way it was 'meant to be'. This one bugs me, because the Doctor has a sincere and documented precedent for changing history to be kinder to people (Fires of Pompeii, Waters of Mars, The Day of the Doctor...), but not once does THIS one stand up and think "Hey! Maybe I could make this whole 'suffering from institutional racism' thing a little bit easier for her in some small way?" I don't know if the knee-jerk reactionaries ever got on Peter Capaldi's case (S10E3: Thin Ice) for saying everyone should keep a cool head, then punching an Obvious Racist two seconds later, but... where was that Doctor?

Arachnids in the UK: This one's a doozy. The Doctor fiercely defends the giant spiders against Not Donald Trump, because he wants to shoot them all with guns, and guns are bad. Then she reveals her alternative plan for dealing with them is... locking them all in a room to suffocate to death. You know, the humane option. When Not Donald Trump shoots one of them anyway, she doesn't so much as confront him about it as he walks off. Then with an unknown number of spiders still at large in the UK, she leaves for the next adventure.

Tsuranga Conundrum: Moral conflict not found. Also generally a very boring episode. Contains Mpreg. No I'm not kidding.

Demons of Punjab: Again, The Doctor literally does nothing while atrocities are committed against people right under her nose, and with her implicit endorsement - all in the name of 'preserving the timeline' for one of her companions. Nuts to that.

Kerblam!: Overall the most competently written episode of the bunch. The villain, for the first time in the season, arguably gets his comeuppance, but she still lets an all encompassing corporation get away with worker exploitation, and a sentient computer system get away with murdering like... at least half a dozen people?

Witchfinders: Okay so we established that the lady was finding witches in everyone because she was torn apart by the guilt associated with the disease crawling up her arm, but like... King James was also hunting witches, with arguably LESS reason to do so, and the Doctor just kinda says a sassy goodbye to him.

It Takes You Away: Again, she solves the PROBLEM, but what kind of moral lesson does the abusive father learn about treating his daughter? Again, he gets off scott free for no particular reason.

The Battle of Rancid Avocados: Another doozy. The Doctor doesn't want Graham to kill someone she thought she'd already killed. Later, Graham shoots the villain in the leg - still acts as though the Doctor would think that was the wrong thing to do. Even later, they put him into cryogenic stasis, which is morally better than killing him somehow. Also, Tim Shaw explicitly calls out the Doctor for failing to kill him and instead putting him in a position where he can ascend to genocidal godhood. This is never explored or developed upon.

Resolution: The Doctor tries, with an absolutely straight face, to reason with a Dalek - i.e. give it a chance to leave Earth peacefully without exterminating anyone. This is exactly as pointless as you would expect.

TL;DR she's not a moral character anymore - in fact she's largely a passenger in other people's moral quandries - sometimes solving the immediate problem but eschewing moral arguments in favour of practical ones. This makes her a boring, depthless character with only the superficial appearance of The Doctor. Where are her big speeches? Her "these people are under my protection" moments? Her "screw the rules, I'm a Time Lady" attitude? Gone.

And I'm positive Jodie could play that character very well - but it's not the character she's been given.

[decantae]

11/11/11 Tag Game

Tagged by @dimitrisoneeye! Thank you so much for it! <3 I’m ready for some of that sweet, sweet procrastination:

1. What was the inspiration behind your current WIP?

Since I’m a scatter-brainted mess, I have several WIPs on the go at once (at varying stages of progress, obviously...)

Wanderlust was conceived at the very beginning of my forever-friendship with @pens-swords-stuff and @autofoebia as self-indulgent play-by-post roleplaying, but eventually became a serious writing project;

Morsmordre (also w/ @pens-swords-stuff) was meant to be shameless fluff, but ended up inspired by some ‘bad end’ Harry Potter headcanons and becoming fanfiction in its own right;

For Queen and Country is sort-of drabbly, sort-of disconnected shorts and more of a universe than a single story, inspired by BBC’s Being Human –– I use it as an excuse to stretch my comedy (and angsty) chops while writing for supernatural creatures and referencing British culture/politics...

Those are the main ones for now!

2. When you write, do you tend to write chapter by chapter or scene by scene? Neither?

I’m definitely a scene-by-scene person in my personal writing. Sometimes I just get the urge to write x, y, z, even if I’m not actually at that point in a continuous story. Sometimes that’s all I can write.

In collaborative works, I'm a chapter-by-chapter person, just by necessity.

3. Do you prefer sprawling casts of characters or small groups?

Big ensemble casts! Sometimes drawing in characters from other personal projects just to make cameos. I’m a firm believer in the more characters, the better (at least for those I’m currently writing for).

4. Do you listen to anything in the background while you write (i.e. music, movies, podcasts, OSTs, ambiance, nothing)? Why or why not?

Sometimes I listen to character playlists (which I will post at some point separately!), but that’s more to get me in the mood of the character or scene. I will often listen to The Last of Us OST when making an effort to sit down and write for a whole hour, as it’s 55 minutes on youtube, or the Murray Gold’s Doctor Who soundtracks (only the ones for Seasons 1 & 2, 3 and 4, though.)

5. Who is your favorite OC to write?

I like writing them all for different reasons. I think I find Caerwyn the most fun to write overall, but Alistair’s banter (in letter-writing form) is also fun, and Casimir’s prophetic dreams/Tarot readings are exciting to design.

6. Your OC shows up at your doorstep. What is the first thing you do?

Apologise for their suffering, and offer them some tea. Oh, and take a selfie.

7. What is the first thing your OC does in the above situation?

Drink tea, I presume. Most of them are British (with the exception of the Wanderlust cast).

8. What is your favorite opening to a book/story?

Since there’s a bunch of different openings that have left a mark on me, here’s a couple:

Books - Slaughterhouse 5, Jane Eyre Video Games - Mass Effect 2, The Last of Us TV Shows - True Detective

9. Favorite soundtrack? Can be to anything—movie, TV show, videogame, etc.

Doctor Who (2005) Season 3 OST from Murray Gold. It’s some good shit!

10. You get to take over writing a book series/TV show/game series you love. What series is it?

This is the Twilight Renaissance, so––

No, I don’t think I will. Maybe Mass Effect. I don’t really think I’m good enough to rewrite anything I love (though someone should definitely take HP away from J.K. Rowling, the sooner the better...)

11. What led you to become a writer?

I don’t know, actually! I remember loving writing stories in Primary School, and when I started playing video games, I used to write Sims 2 stories using the in-game tool and upload them to the exchange. Eventually that sort of developed into a love of writing, and being a writer––not just creating.

And now for eleven more questions:

1. What character archetypes do your OCs fit into, if any?

2. Other than their main universe, what other universes (of your own creation or found in media) would you like to see your characters in?

3. What is the best plot twist you’ve ever read/seen/played?

4. Have you/would you ever kill your darling characters? Why?

5. What is your favourite obscure word in the English language (or whatever language(s) you write in)?

6. What song’s on the soundtrack for the major motion picture based on your WIP?

7. How did you come up with the title for your WIP?

8. What time of day do you prefer to write at?

9. Have you ever scrapped a big plot point you had planned? If so, what was it, and why?

10. How do you pick your character names?

11. Who on writeblr would you like to get to know better? (Tag ‘em, mayhaps.)

Finally, tagging 11 people:

@pens-swords-stuff, @autofoebia, @confunderewrites, @altheathewriter, @kit-tells-a-story, @writersloth, @silas-fenderson, @unwriter-sc, @littlelcnterns, @reining-in-the-fire-writing,  @gelfs

its 4am and this was fun <3

[feelieking]

Season 11

Season 11 of the modern Doctor Who has now wound up, and I’ve been trying to collate my thoughts about it.  (Not to mention actually making myself write them down – gods, I hate the process of typing things up!)  It’s been an odd beast – pretty much any other season, I could tell you what I loved and what I hated, but I don’t think I loved or hated anything here.  Bear in mind that this post will have spoilers for the entire series and the New Year special.

 First thing’s first – Jodie Whittaker was a controversial casting choice (although I feel that a lot of the controversy was manufactured.)  She’s fantastic – right from the moment she falls through the train roof, she *is* the Doctor.  

 The three companions are all great but, as many other commentators have said, there are too many; character development – especially that of Yas – has really suffered.  Compare with season 10, when the first three episodes focussed hugely on Bill.  By the end, it really felt like we knew her.  (And as an aside, with no disrespect intended towards the current cast, how amazing would a series starring Jodie Whittaker and Pearl Mackie have been?)  While Graham, Ryan or Yas never spent a whole story locked in the TARDIS doing a science experiment, it still feels like we know them a lot less as people.  

 Possibly the most successful of the three companions has been Graham, whom we’ve seen dealing with the death of his wife and trying to build a relationship with his step-grandson.  A lot of commentators were sceptical about the casting of Bradley Walsh, but he has turned in a subtle a nuanced performance.  Ryan’s main character hook was his dyspraxia which, after the first episode, barely seemed to feature – a dyspraxic friend of mine has commented that he’s still waiting to see Ryan fall up the stairs.  Yas… has a frustrating family and wants more out of life.  That’s about as much as I can think of to say.  It’s a shame, because all three actors are fab – although it feels sadly ironic that, of the four main companion figures in the first episode, the most intriguing and well developed is the one who falls to her death.

 Visually, this series has looked gorgeous.  The cinematography is beautiful, especially the overseas location filming.  But most episodes have barely any guest characters, which oddly makes them feel empty and cheap.  Occasionally the lack of guest cast suits the tone of the episode – the Ghost Monument being the prime example – but oftentimes things feel pretty barren.  One visual element which I do feel disappointed by is the new TARDIS set – there are lots of fantastic ideas there, but over all it’s just not doing it for me.  The previous set, more than any other, felt like a space where people actually lived; this feels far emptier and, while there are lots of great individual elements on the console, the big chunk of “crystal” in the middle looks cheap and nasty.

 On the plus side, I love the new title sequence and theme tune.  The incidental music has been excellent as well, in spite of fears from some corners of twitter that there was some how an inverse relationship between melanin and musical ability(!)  Murray Gold was extremely talented and wrote some truly magnificent pieces, but sometimes his incidental music got too bombastic and intrusive. Segun Akinola has been a real breath of fresh air.

 As for the episodes themselves, the ones set in the past have tended to be the best.  The Withfinders was my favourite episode of the season, with a strong plot, proper emotion, and some meaty guest roles.  It was let down by the last ten minutes, where everything suddenly got really schlocky, which was a shame; it would have been nice if the fantastical elements of the script could have been given the same degree of care as the human elements.

 Rosa presented us with someone trying to subvert the course of history, and our heroes having to keep it on track, something that I don’t really think the series has done since the Meddling Monk stories back in the 60s. It was a novel approach that worked really well.  Some commentators have said that the episode was too heavy handed with its anti-racism message, but I’m not convinced that “racism is bad” is a topic that either could or should be approached with much of a degree of subtlety.  

 Demons of the Punjab was a beautiful episode, filled with emotion that could have easily been mawkish, but never was.  I feel it could have been made even better, however, if they’d been brave enough to do it as a pure historical, without any alien or sci-fi elements.

 The modern day and futuristic episodes were a mixed bag. The first two were probably the most successful, focussing on the Doctor and her companions and running them through the gauntlet.  Arachnids in the UK started off well, but fizzled out towards the end, and I don’t remotely buy the idea that slowly starving to death is a “humane” end.  I enjoyed Kerblam! and It Takes You Away a lot – the latter succeeded for me with its lovely moments between Graham and Grace, but suffered by abandoning its eerie haunted house plot and style a bit too early. 

The season finale was… underwhelming.  The Doctor saving the day with technobabble and throwing lots of levers in the TARDIS is always going to be disappointing, and Tim Shaw, despite having a really great voice, is a mediocre villain at best.  One of the big failings of this series that that there hasn’t been a really strong villain or monster for the Doctor t play against; the alien threats have either been schlocky, generic (hello Sniperbots), forgettable, or not a threat in the first place.  The return of the Dalek on New Year’s Day felt like a real step in the right direction in that regard (I loved the junkyard casing) but that was undercut by, again, too much of the episode involving the Doctor throwing levers in the TARDIS to sort things out, and the inexplicable deus ex microwave.

 Overall, the word I’d use to describe this season is mediocre – nothing sang, and nothing stank.  For me, Season 10 was the strongest series of modern Who by a country mile, so Season 11 had a tough job to follow it up.  There’s clearly a lot of potential here and, again, Jodie and the cast are superb, so I really hope that that potential is properly seized up for Season 12.  

[junker-town]

Lakers-Nets is the NBA Finals matchup the world needs

The Lakers and Nets feel like they’re on a collision course for the NBA Finals

There was something nice about seeing new teams and young stars competing deep into the NBA playoffs this past season. Trae Young stamped his superstardom by leading his Atlanta Hawks to the Eastern Conference Finals, Chris Paul and Devin Booker resurrected the Phoenix Suns to steer the franchise to the NBA Finals for the first time since 1993, and Giannis Antetokounmpo powered the Milwaukee Bucks to their first championship since 1971 while reminding the world he just might be the best player alive.

While it was fun to celebrate some fresh faces, the biggest story of the playoffs was still the injuries. Here’s a short list of the players who missed all or most of multiple games due to injury in the postseason: Anthony Davis, Kawhi Leonard, James Harden, Kyrie Irving, CP3, and Mike Conley. That doesn’t include Joel Embiid, who played on a torn meniscus, Luka Doncic’s nerve damage, or bum ankles from LeBron James and Donovan Mitchell.

A new season is now right around the corner with the draft behind us and every major free agent signed. Opening night will feature two games on Oct. 19: the Lakers vs. the Warriors, and the Nets vs. the Bucks. As the 2021-2022 season moves closer, the way last year’s playoffs ended feel more and more tied to the unique circumstances of the season.

If we don’t get a Lakers vs. Nets matchup in the 2022 NBA Finals, it’s going to feel like a massive upset.

The Nets are the heavyweight favorite entering the season

Before training camps open, Brooklyn has already emerged as the odds-on favorite to be the best team in the NBA. The Nets’ championship odds of +220 are the best of any team, and they’re also projected to win the most regular season games with a win total set at 55.5.

We never got to see the Nets fully unleashed last season. The team traded for James Harden a couple weeks into the season, meaning he never went through a full training camp with the team and had limited practice time during a schedule condensed by the pandemic. Harden hurt himself in the first minute of the first game of Brooklyn’s second round matchup with the Bucks, and when he returned in Game 5 he clearly didn’t have the same explosiveness.

Kyrie Irving also went down in the playoffs against the Bucks, suffering a leg injury in Game 4 that kept him out the rest of the postseason. Irving is the most overqualified third option in the league, and he’s going to be even more dangerous with two superstars diverting defensive attention away from him.

Then there’s Kevin Durant. KD was incredible in the postseason, and might have powered the Nets to a championship if his foot wasn’t on the three-point line in the final moments of Game 6 vs. the Bucks. Giannis called him the best player in the world, and that feels like a majority opinion at this point. Since that series, Durant willed Team USA to a gold medal at the Tokyo Olympics and looked completely unstoppable as a scorer.

The Nets have depth, too. Joe Harris, Blake Griffin, and Bruce Brown is a solid trio of role players around the stars who each bring something different to the table. Offseason additions Jevon Carter and James Johnson should bolster the defense. There’s also some young talent on the roster with Nicolas Claxton and first round pick Cameron Thomas, who was great in Summer League.

The Nets came a few inches away from the conference finals last year even with one of their superstars out and another one seriously hampered by injury. The rest of the league has to pray that happens again.

Who is going to beat the Lakers in the West?

The Lakers have been the most active team this offseason following a first round loss to the Phoenix Suns. LA has totally reshaped its roster starting with its bold trade for Russell Westbrook. Westbrook’s arrival brings obvious spacing concerns in the halfcourt, but he gives the Lakers another ball handler to take pressure off LeBron James and an added boost in transition.

The moves the Lakers made after the Westbrook trade are almost as jarring. LA stacked the roster with wing shooters and defenders: Malik Monk, Kendrick Nunn, Kent Bazemore, Wayne Ellington, Trevor Ariza, and Carmelo Anthony are all new to the team. Dwight Howard is back for a third go-around in LA, too. Talen Horton-Tucker was re-signed. The Lakers know they have LeBron, Anthony Davis, and Westbrook as crunch-time lynchpins. The other two players in those closing lineups will be determined by matchups and who has the hot hand.

The Lakers have the second best championship odds in the league at +350. The next closest team in the West is the Warriors at +900.

It’s anyone’s guess to who will be the Lakers’ biggest challenger in the West. Kawhi Leonard’s status for the season is unknown after suffering a partially torn ACL in the playoffs. Jamal Murray may not be ready to go until late in the season coming off his own ACL tear. Those two injuries would seem to knock the Clippers and Nuggets from serious contention before the season even begins.

The Phoenix Suns might be the most likely pick to become the Lakers’ biggest challenger. Devin Booker, Deandre Ayton, Mikal Bridges, and Cam Johnson are all young players who should keep improving. Chris Paul will be another year older, but it’s easy to believe in the Suns after what they showed in last year’s playoffs. The Utah Jazz, who had the best record in basketball last year, could also be a force in the playoffs if Mike Conley and Donovan Mitchell can stay healthy. The Warriors didn’t even make the postseason last year but will eventually get Klay Thompson back after missing two straight seasons with injury.

Someone will emerge in the West as a major challenger to LA. But for now, the Lakers sure seem like the conference favorites coming into the season.

A Lakers-Nets matchup in the NBA Finals could have stars on stars on stars

LeBron James, Anthony Davis, Russell Westbrook, Carmelo Anthony, and Dwight Howard have 52 All-Star appearances between them for the Lakers.

Kevin Durant, James Harden, Kyrie Irving, and Blake Griffin have 33 All-Star appearances between them for the Nets.

Only Davis will still be in his 20s by the time the playoffs roll around, but both the talent and the veteran experience in this matchup would be off the charts. Both of these teams will consider their season a failure if they don’t win the championship.

Of course, a Nets-Lakers Finals isn’t a sure thing

While both teams look stacked entering the season, each of the stars is at a point in their careers where injuries have to be a major concern.

Davis has a long injury history, and the Lakers can’t afford to miss him in the postseason. James will be in Year 19 as he turns 37 years old, and he’s coming off a bad ankle injury last year. Harden, Irving, and Durant are injury risks, too. We saw what could happen to the Nets’ superteam when injuries piled up last year.

Here’s another issue: the rest of the top contenders are really good! The Bucks just proved themselves on the biggest stage, and could easily repeat as champions. It’s possible the Suns keep getting better and better given how young the team is outside of CP3. The Warriors and Jazz will enter the season thinking they have a legit shot in the West, too.

Two months before the start of the season, anything less than a Nets-Lakers Finals feels like it would be a surprise. What a matchup it would be.

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 308

I’m an Eeyore, blah, blah, blah, whatever, sorry. Ramblings under the cut but seriously maybe just keep scrolling. Why am I even here.

Oh cool. More voiceovers. They’re bugging me way more this season than they used to and I’m not sure why. Maybe because they’re not used as much so when they show up again it’s more jarring?

Young Ian being proud of his skills as a criminal is adorable. Young Ian being proud that Fergus thinks he’s a good criminal is adorable. Young Ian in general is adorable. I’m basically just hanging on to how much I like Young Ian because I’d like to be positive about something.

Ok, I’m sorry, I want to like Jenny. But jfc. Calling Claire a stray? I get that she has complicated feelings about the situation or whatever but can people please stop treating Claire like she’s a piece of crap who no one wants around? It’s getting old. And annoying af.

Also, can Claire please stand up for herself? Like Claire. You suffered enough and were shit on for so long. You don’t need to put up with this crap anymore. You didn’t fucking kill a guy in cold blood. A guy tried to fucking rape you, you defended yourself, he fell, and you tried and failed to save him. That’s a far cry from the fucking murder they’re making it out to be. And it took all of one fucking sentence to explain.

Although good on Jenny for seconding how Claire called out Jamie last week for how he was with Young Ian. Because wtf, Jamie.

Oh hey, Jamie remembers how he learned that beating people isn’t the best form of “punishment.” The smallest of gold stars for you, JAMMF.

Ok I don’t get why they didn’t just have Janet be Kitty. Like we’ve been introduced to Young Jamie, Maggie, Kitty and Ian. Why bother even introducing another rando Murray kid?

Also, did the Murray kids start having babies at like 16? Because the smols running around are pretty old considering Maggie and Young Jamie are like in their early 20s.

Also if Claire and Jamie lived at Lallybroch for a year that the show basically skipped over in season two, Young Jamie would probs definitely remember Claire. But cool that the show needs literally everyone to make Claire feel unwelcome. *eye roll*

Not sure how I feel about Jenny acting like she was entitled to Jamie sharing his grief. Like that’s his call? You’re not entitled to anything? I get wanting to help your brother and stuff, but idk. She seems to be making it about her and what she needed and I’m not here for that?

“I barely wanted to breathe, let alone speak of it.” Cool, Jamie, then maybe start acting like you actually want Claire around? Because last week you were a douchenozzle of epic proportions to her.

Good on Jenny for knowing Jamie’s full of shit when he tells her the BS about where Claire went. The story like isn’t really believable.

Yes, Claire. Tell Jenny the truth. Dooo it.

But fuck Jamie for thinking Jenny wouldn’t be able to accept the truth about Claire. Literally everything in this episode makes it seem like she’d believe them. And it’d work so well if they’d just tell her. If they tell her next week, fine, but I’ll still be mildly annoyed because like why drag it out unnecessarily?

Also, they bring up Murtagh and Jamie forgets to tell Claire he’s alive? Because if she knows and they had that conversation off-screen I’ma be pissed.

The shots of Jamie climbing up to the tower thing are so overly dramatic I can’t even. Like when his hands come up over the wall thing but then he just like casually steps over it. Like wat? What am I watching.

Also the jewels in that box look like the plastic stuff I had in my dress up box when I was a kid.

Caitriona Balfe’s face during the whole greylag thing kills me. Basically Caitriona Balfe’s face during this whole episode kills me. *throws awards at Caitriona Balfe’s face*

Glad they didn’t have the kiddos interrupt sex because Joan is basically a fetus, but the “daddy” thing is still so weird. Especially from Marsali. An 18 year old who calls her stepdad “daddy” is fucking weird. Especially if that stepdad only lived with them for a couple months.

Good to see Laoghaire is still just as fucking terrible as ever. *eye roll* Seriously. After ep. 208, I was like cautiously optimistic that maybe Laoghaire would have some character growth. Like yeah, she’s still fucking insane, but to have her just barge in with the same old over the top “my whole purpose in life is hating Claire because I’m unhealthily obsessed with Jamie” nonsense is annoying af.

Claire’s reaction during this terrible nonsense, though... *throws more awards at Caitriona Balfe’s face*

Ok Joan’s adorable and Da!Jamie is lovely, but like, did we really need to spend this much time on this scene? I get it, Jamie loves the girls. Jamie really loves being a dad. But I’m just getting really annoyed that literally anything and everything keeps taking precedence over Claire, and fixing the relationship between her and Jamie.

“Well there are other redheaded men in Scotland, Claire.” Jfc, dude. Read the fucking room. Does this really look like the right time for sass? He’s been so hot and cold toward her it’s like fucking whiplash since she came back and now that his other marriage is out there he like can’t stop for a minute and fucking be serious with her? Fucking asshole.

“You’re the one that told me to be kind to the lass!” Go fuck yourself, Jamie. Do not throw this back on Claire. Claire asking Jamie to thank Laoghaire could be part of how Jamie rationalizes it being ok to marry her to himself, but to throw it on Claire like somehow that’s the equivalent of her giving her blessing is not a good look. Fucking own your damn choices, Fraser.

“I’m a coward. I couldn’t tell you, but I’ll totally twist your words so I can feel good about myself for marrying someone I know tried to kill you.” Yes. Jamie. You’re a fucking coward. Own that cowardice. Sit in that fucking cowardice. Don’t fucking say you’re a coward and then immediately try to throw the blame for the situation back on Claire. Own your fucking mess, dude. You fucked up. You need to work to fix that. Jfc.

Yaaas Claire, call him on his bullshit about leaving him. Call him on ALL THE BULLSHIT. Seriously her face though. *throws awards*

Ok don’t you mansplain your manpain at Claire, bro. She had 20 fucking years of manpain being mansplained at her and my girl deserves fucking better.

Really wish Claire would throw more back at Jamie. She still hasn’t gotten across to him just how hard things were for her. It really does seem like Jamie thinks he won the pain and suffering contest. (It’s not a contest, but it’s getting super old that he seems to think she just went back to this cushy life and sure, was sad, but because he was in prison and a cave and stuff he somehow has the moral high ground now.)

Claire spent 20 years not being able to speak. She spent 20 years just enduring a terrible situation and not being allowed to feel or grieve or be herself. Jamie needs to fucking hear that. Because how dare he think that she doesn’t know what it’s like to live without a heart. How fucking dare he. Fucking drag him, Claire. He needs to hear it and you need to say it. But of course we don’t get that. Because have you seen this season? Why would they start treating Claire well now. It’s only 8 episodes into a 13 episode season. Ugh.

I know Jamie’s like insecure and jealous and whatever but at some point who gives a fuck about Jamie’s manpain. Claire needs to say her piece and she still hasn’t been able to and I’m really annoyed about it apparently.

Also I really wish they cut them starting to rage bang and instead just had them yell more. Because they’re definitely not done yelling. Yes. They use sex to communicate, but rage banging isn’t going to make things better. Especially rage banging that isn’t welcome on Claire’s side at first. They haven’t done enough actual communicating yet. And by they, I mean Claire. Let Claire fucking speak, show.

Like oh hey, Jamie says he loves her, but like I’m distracted by Claire not wanting him to touch her and him still touching her? And you haven’t been acting like you love her, Jamie, so this line feels like the same lip-service as you saying you were a coward and then immediately punting blame?

Ok fuck Jenny very much for her little rant at Claire. Yes, it’s fucked up that Claire dropped off the face of the earth. And I get she had to see Jamie go through a ton of shit. But to just automatically be this much of a dick to Claire? Jfc. I’m so over everyone being a fucking dick to Claire. Claire needs a fucking spa weekend or some shit.

But ffs, why can’t they just tell Jenny and Ian the fucking truth. (If it happens next week I’m just going to be annoyed. They’ve set it up like 23985230589 different ways this week to do it. Just fucking do it.)

“I’m still the same person you fell in love with.” But you’re really fucking not, Jamie. That’s the whole fucking point. Ughhh, wtf.

Ok but where the fuck did Laoghaire get this gun? Like who gave her a pistol? (Yes, I know, it’s from the book. It’s still fucking stupid.) There has to have been a way to do the Laoghaire stuff in this episode that isn’t like dialed up to 11 on the crazy meter. Because this is just absurd.

Also wtf is with Claire’s like body check thing? Like push her away or something if you have to but like full on hockey checking her or whatever is dumb af?

Oh hey, Young Ian is being a cinnamon roll again about Claire’s surgical tools. Just going to enjoy that for a minute. Keep being adorable, Young Ian.

“You’re the only one who calls me [Auntie].” “Uncle Jamie’s lucky you’re here.” PROTECT YOUNG IAN AT ALL COSTS. GET HIM A WOLF PUP TO ASSIST WITH THIS.

Ok but wouldn’t Claire feel that Jamie has a fever when she’s checking his bandages? No? Ok, whatever. Moving on.

Jamie’s face when Claire’s giving him the cup makes me want to smack him a little. Like, dude, do you not know how much shit you’re in? Like his little smile and heart eyes or whatever he’s doing there makes it seem like he’s not taking the situation as seriously as he should be.

Making Jamie agreeing to marry Laoghaire be all about the kids is the only way it could possibly work even a little, I guess? Because yeah, Jamie wants to be a dad. A lot. But still, two minutes with rando children at a party is really not enough to then say you’ll spend the rest of your life with the crazy bitch you know tried to kill your wife in an effort to get you to love her. Also, there are approximately 29358238923598 smols running around Lallybroch and I’m guessing a fair number of other widows out there who aren’t fucking insane. Whatever. Jamie’s reasons for wanting to get married are all legit. But I’m still side-eyeing the choice of woman given what he knows about her. (Yes, it’s in the book. Yes, I still get to side-eye it. Yes, he’s still a fucking coward for not telling Claire sooner.)

“To care for Willie...or Brianna.” Cool that Bree’s still the afterthought. Cool cool cool.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of someone being afraid of my touch.” I still wish they would have found a way for the marriage to fail that didn’t involve Laoghaire being a victim of abuse, but given what Jamie went through at Wentworth, that’s a legit reason for him to leave. But like, if the whole thing was about the kids and him being a dad, wouldn’t he fucking move somewhere closer than fucking Edinburgh? I guess the kids don’t actually matter that much? This whole thing is a fucking hot mess.

OK BUT THIS CONVERSATION ON THE STAIRS WITH JENNY WHEN SHE’S TALKING ABOUT NOT KNOWING WHERE CLAIRE CAME FROM AND HOW SHE SAVED THEM WITH THE POTATOES IS THE PERFECT FUCKING TIME TO TELL JENNY THE FUCKING TRUTH AND GAH, WHY CAN’T YOU JUST DO IT. THIS IS APPARENTLY THE HILL I’M WILLING TO DIE ON.

Ned Gowan gets the award for having the correct reaction to seeing Claire again. Gold star for you, Ned Gowan. Ned Gowan, Young Ian and Fergus should start a club for people who aren’t dicks to Claire.

I’m here for Jamie not wanting Laoghaire transported because of the girls. I’d side-eye him like whoa if he wanted to go that route. But jfc, they can’t use that as leverage to lower the alimony? Like sure, send them some money so you don’t leave the kids hanging, but not the insane amount she was apparently asking for?

“I’m just not sure if we belong together anymore.” I hate that they end the episode like this, with no actual resolution between them. Like I’d like to think that Claire would never believe what she says, but jfc, she’s been treated basically like how Frank had treated her by pretty much everyone except Fergus and Young Ian since she got back. To the point where she’s fucking romanticizing the 20 years she spent just going through the motions and being basically emotionally abused by a vindictive husband. The fact that it doesn’t seem out of character for her to say she thinks it was a mistake kills me because jfc, sorry, but she deserves better than she’s gotten.

“I had a life.” Yeah, one where you were constantly told that you weren’t enough and that you were a horrible person.

“I didn’t hate Boston.” Girl. Listen to yourself. That’s how you phrase it when you’re trying to convince yourself it’s true. Not how you say it when you actually believe it’s true. (I know, she didn’t hate everything 100% of the time, but she’s still just trying to convince herself that what she had was better than it actually was because now that she’s back, she’s just getting more of the same BS thrown at her.)

“I had a career.” Yeah. You did. And you deserve to be around people who respect that and see how important it was to you.

“A home.” You really want to keep those rose colored glasses on about that, Claire? Seriously, I needed her to like lash out at Jamie about what it was really like for her because I still don’t think he fully gets it. Whatever. Le sigh.

“Friends.” Girl you had one friend. Which I guess is more than you have back here... #TeamJoe

Noticeably missing from Claire’s list? Fucking Bree. Wtf?

Can I just give Claire a hug? Because jfc, if someone has ever needed a hug in the history of hugs, it’s Claire.

“It wasn’t so bad, really, was it?” Yes. Yes it was, Claire. And fuck the show for dragging this out for yet another episode. Everything is still somehow Claire’s fault and Claire’s still just like flailing around, trying to be fucking seen and heard for once.

“When has it ever been easy.” Jamie, ffs, don’t brush off her pain like that. Can you just listen for fucking once to what she’s telling you. But nope. He gets like one romantic line per episode and apparently that makes everything cool? Blergh.

Oh hey, a random book line followed immediately by them getting interrupted so lol who cares about that failed emotional beat. I’m sensing a pattern, show. And it’s not one I’m enjoying. At all.

Also there’s no way that fucking ship pulled up its sails or whatever the actual term is that quickly and then dropped them again in the span of like two minutes.

So now we’re off to start the shipnanigans but still no fucking resolution between Jamie and Claire. Because why would you spend part of this episode with them actually working through their shit and coming to a new normal while they’re home at Lallybroch when you can save it for when they’re on a fucking ship in the middle of high seas adventure nonsense? Because lol #angst. Whatever. This is fine. Le sigh.

This show is fucking exhausting.

[the-desolated-quill]

The Angels Take Manhattan - Doctor Who blog (The Statue Of Liberty is a WHAT?!?!)

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Remember when the Weeping Angels used to be scary? Good times, right?

Blink was one of the few Moffat stories that I genuinely liked. It was a simple story with a simple gimmick. Statues that could only move when you weren’t looking at them. It was ostensibly a most lethal version of Grandmother’s Footsteps, and it was bloody terrifying. There was however one problem with the Angels. A problem that soon became apparent the more the Weeping Angels reappeared in the show. They’re really just one trick ponies. Once you’ve seen Blink, you’ve literally seen everything they have to offer. From that moment on, the Angels suffered from the law of diminishing returns. They just weren't scary anymore, and I believe even Moffat was semi-aware of this, hence why his timey wimey crap became more ridiculous and why he kept changing the established rules of the Angels in an effort to keep them fresh. Of course it didn’t work. All it did was mangle the Angels beyond repair and now they’re a shadow of their once scarier selves.

Which brings us to The Angels Take Manhattan. The complete polar opposite of Blink. Whereas Blink was simple, clever and scary, The Angels Take Manhattan is convoluted, stupid and about as scary as a basket full of kittens. As far as I’m concerned, The Angels Take Manhattan serves as a very harsh lesson on learning when enough is enough. Some monsters just don’t work as recurring villains, and the Weeping Angels are most definitely one of them. If Moffat had learnt to keep his massive ego under control, he wouldn’t have turned his greatest creations into the limp, nonsensical and utterly pathetic non-threats they are now.

Let’s stick with the Angels for a bit. Aside from their lack of scariness due to us knowing their MO off by heart now, Moffat also can’t help but change the rules again. Remember in Blink it was established they would turn to stone if anyone looked at them, including each other? Well we’re supposed to forget about that clearly as there are loads of moments where Angels are clearly looking at each other, but can still move. There’s also a really odd moment where a Cherub manages to blow Rory’s match out, but... the Cherub is frozen as a statue. How the fuck was it able to do that? Odder still, Amy and Rory get zapped by the Angels at the end, but on those occasions people were still looking at the Angel, so how did it manage to do it?

And then there’s by far the weirdest part:

The Statue Of Liberty is a Weeping Angel?!

This raises so many puzzling questions. Isn’t the Statue Of Liberty made of copper, not stone? How the fuck did it get from Liberty Island to Winter Quay without anyone noticing? And what is even the fucking point of that?! It’s not as if it actually does anything. It doesn’t even look like an angel. Nor do the statues of the woman and the boy who come chasing the guy who had the Angel chained up (and what was the deal with the guy who had the Angel chained up? We never find out what that was all about).

And we’ve only just scratched the surface here. There are loads of things that don’t make sense here. Take this ‘farm’ the Angels have made. So they send people back to a hotel in 1938 and send them back in time repeatedly to feed off of the time energy. But... why hang onto their victims afterward. Once they’re done feeding, they keep the victim locked in a room until they die of old age. What for? What’s the point? Why not just feed on them and let them go like they usually do?

Rory ends up becoming the latest victim and vows to escape, creating a paradox that will kill the Angels. But for some reason the Doctor doesn’t want to do that and I honestly don’t understand why. He says Rory’s death has been predetermined now, but that’s never stopped the Doctor before. It certainly didn't stop him in the previous series when he himself was destined to die. So why is saving Rory suddenly impossible? And I definitely don’t buy all that bullshit about how once you’ve read something, it’s destined to happen no matter what. That’s just bollocks and the show has contradicted that loads of times in the past. Moffat is once again just making shit up as he goes along and it’s not even consistent. Just look at the whole wrist breaking scene. The Doctor says River needs to break her wrist in order to escape (I don’t even understand that. The Angel has its hand wrapped around her wrist. The only way she could possibly escape is if she were to crush her entire hand down to a circumference smaller than her wrist) because the book says so. Except the book doesn’t say so at all. It just says the Doctor breaks something. Her wrist is never even mentioned and the Doctor doesn’t even break it in the end. (Also why would River lie about her wrist later on? I understand the metaphorical significance of hiding the damage, but it’s just plain daft).

Since I’ve brought up River Song, let’s talk about her. She reappears in this episode wearing a really stupid hat that’s pulled down over her eyes presumably in an attempt to make her look cool and mysterious, but in reality just makes her look like a tit. You’d think considering this is post Wedding Of River Song and we now know everything about her, she might behave a little bit more like an actual human being, but nope. She’s still just as smug and unlikeable as she was before. Actually The Angels Take Manhattan really highlights all the problems with her character, especially her relationship, or lack thereof, with the other characters. They keep insisting she, Amy and Rory are really close now, but I can’t see any evidence for that. It still feels just as strained and awkward as ever to me. As does her relationship with the Doctor. I just don’t buy the supposed ‘romance’ between the two whatsoever as their dialogue only seems to consist of bad sexual innuendo. There’s no genuine emotion or chemistry whatsoever.

Early on it soon becomes apparent how Moffat actually sees her:

Amy: “She’s got ice in her heart and a kiss on her lips and a vulnerable side she keeps well hidden.”

Yeah, turns out Moffat views her as being a noir dame. That’s something that never occurred to me, and that’s because ever since her first appearance in 2008, she had absolutely nothing in common with a noir dame. I mean come on! Ice in her heart? Since when? The Silence In The Library two parter alone contradicts that completely. It’s about as accurate a description as calling her a psychopath, which Moffat does again here by the way. He also describes her in the Melody Malone book as ‘packing cleavage that could fell an ox at 20 feet’. Okay, two things Moffat. One, no woman would EVER write something like that, and two, stop perving over Alex Kingston’s boobs, you colossal fucking creep.

But of course the big thing about The Angels Take Manhattan is that it’s Amy and Rory’s last ever episode. Is it a good farewell?

Credit where it’s due though, the scene on the roof was extremely good. It’s both tragic and emotional in equal measure, and both Karen Gillan and Arthur Darvill really go for it, giving truly incredible performances. It’s hard not to be moved by Amy’s decision to jump off the building with Rory and if Moffat and everyone had just left it at that, it would have been an extremely powerful ending. Instead they seem to go out of their way to ruin it. For one thing, rather than just have Amy and Rory jump off the building and have the performances of the actors be what drives the shock and tragedy of it all, they decide to over-egg the pudding by having Amy and Rory fall in slow motion whilst Murray Gold’s stupid choir performs a slushy melody, which just made the whole thing feel mawkish.

Also it’s hard to be emotionally invested in their sacrifice when it makes no sodding sense. I can understand the paradox killing the Angels, but un-making the hotel? How does that work? What’s Rory got to do with the construction of the hotel? How would his death affect it? And if the hotel never existed, it would mean Rory could never jump off the roof of it to create the paradox in the first place, so wouldn’t we just end up right back to where we started?

Then it just gets worse when we’re suddenly pinged back to the present day and a lone Angel zaps Amy and Rory. Hold on a fucking minute! I thought the paradox killed the Angels! Where the fuck did this one come from?!

The biggest problem with this is that it doesn’t have nearly the same impact the roof scene had because we’ve already done all this a few minutes ago. So why are we doing it again? As far as I’m concerned, it would have worked so much better if Amy and Rory had just plunged to their deaths and that was the end. This just doesn’t make sense. The Doctor says he can’t visit 1938 New York again or it’ll destroy the planet or some such bollocks, but then River says she has to visit Amy in order to write and publish the Melody Malone book. Why not just use her Vortex Manipulator to get them out? Or get them to drive to New Jersey or somewhere and the Doctor can pick them up. It doesn’t make any sense.

And then, as the final turd in the water pipe, we see on the gravestone that Amy has changed her last name to Williams, showing that at last she’s fully committed to her marriage in a way no woman who kept her own name could ever be.

The Angels Take Manhattan is fucking awful. The story makes no sense, the Weeping Angels have been completely and utterly defanged by this point and what could have been a really emotional farewell for Amy and Rory is utterly botched thanks to Moffat putting more emphasis on outsmarting the audience rather than writing a satisfying goodbye.

So let’s end with my final thoughts on Amy and Rory. I’m not going to lie. i wasn’t very impressed. Rory faired slightly better I feel. While his character arc is pretty much the same as Mickey Smith’s from the RTD era, at least Rory actually got to grow and evolve during his time in the TARDIS and Arthur Darvill did a good job overall. Amy on the other hand is definitely one of the weakest companions I’ve ever seen, not just in New Who, but in general. I’ve made it no secret over the course of these reviews how much I dislike her. She’s selfish and obnoxious, and she exhibits a lot of the problems present in all of Moffat’s female characters, namely her lack of agency and proper characterisation. Over two and a half series, she hasn’t actually grown or evolved in any meaningful way and we’ve learnt basically nothing about her outside of her relationship with the Doctor. This was most apparent in Series 6 where she gives birth to and loses her child and at no point does Moffat ever address how she feels about that, and the reason for that is because he doesn’t view her as a character. He views her as a plot device in a mini-skirt whose sole contribution to the story is her legs, her sass and her womb. That’s not to say I don’t like Karen Gillan. I think she’s a great actor and episodes like Amy’s Choice and The Girl Who Waited have demonstrated that when you actually give her some good material to work with, she can give a truly amazing performance. It’s just such a shame that Moffat never fully utilised her.

So goodbye Amy and Rory. You could have been so much more, but at the end of the day... you just weren’t.

[letterboxd]

Loopy.

Andy Siara, writer of time-loop romcom Palm Springs, talks to Ella Kemp about having one foot on a banana peel and the other in the grave, and the expansive magic of being a ‘desert person’.

If you could re-live a perfect day again and again, would you do it? Would you be alone, or would it be better if your favorite person in the world was with you? Would the endless company, repetitive and increasingly claustrophobic, make you snap?

There’s a reason that time-loop movies tend to favor loners: watch as the hapless hero has to figure out the meaning of life! Harold Ramis’ 1993 comedy Groundhog Day is the gold standard for the device—Bill Murray trapped in a bizarre national holiday that’s become a universal adjective (which feels especially apt now). But Palm Springs, the new film from The Lonely Island comedy team, finds a way to dismantle the genre, play around with the ingredients, and cook up something entirely new.

There is still a time loop, we’re all still stuck, but here’s the thing: we’re stuck with two people now. Andy Samberg and Cristin Milioti are wedding guests Nyles and Sarah—he, someone’s random boyfriend people pretend to know; she, the reluctant maid of honor and sister of the bride. Through one freak twist of fate involving a cave, they end up reliving the same wedding day, taking advantage of the daily ‘reset’ to throw as much life at the wall as they can, while probing every possible escape route.

It’s a first for the genre, and a first film for the writer-director team (Samberg produces the film alongside his Lonely Island brothers Jorma Taccone and Akiva Schaffer, who have years of glorious Saturday Night Live sketches and comedy specials under their belts). Director Max Barbakow cut his teeth making short films for the past decade—just like his closest collaborator, debut feature screenwriter Andy Siara.

Barbakow and Siara developed the story together over five years, and then Siara turned it into the fast-paced, razor-sharp, at once feather-light and often deeply moving script that became Palm Springs.

Cristin Milioti and Andy Samberg in ‘Palm Springs’.

A quick scan of Letterboxd activity finds plenty of fans already. Jacob recognizes the paradoxical brilliance of the film, calling it a “high-concept romcom that wears its influences on its sleeve”, while still praising how it’s “so smart moment to moment that it absolutely feels like its own original story”. What makes this so special, so fresh—a movie about one day on repeat, released during, you know, a global pandemic, that neat event that makes so many homebound days blur into one—is just how much heart it has. “The little moments, the little cues, the timing,” Neema Sadeghi points out. “Everything felt so right and my heart was so so warmed.”

The following interview contains discussion of plot points and soundtrack choices, and has been edited for clarity.

Could you tell me about your relationship with Groundhog Day, before and after writing Palm Springs? Andy Siara: Before and after, I still consider it one of the greatest, if not the greatest comedy of all time. Doing a time-loop thing in this movie was never initially the idea, five years ago when Max and I first started talking about it. It organically evolved to that point. What was helpful to me was thinking about how at the end of Groundhog Day, Bill Murray’s character figures out the meaning of life, to a point, and it ends with the time loop breaking. In our film, Nyles figures out whatever he thinks the meaning of life is, and at the end, nope, the time loop doesn’t break, you’re still stuck here for eternity. So then what do you do? That became the jumping off point. Palm Springs is potentially a sequel to a movie that doesn’t exist, and that helped free myself of repeating too much of what the time-loop genre, and especially Groundhog Day, has done so well.

If the time loop wasn’t the starting point, what was? Nyles. Max and I knew we wanted to do a tiny-budget movie in Palm Springs. We didn’t know what that was, but the first idea was of this character of Nyles. We never outlined anything, so we let the character lead the way. In doing that, I got a full grasp of who he is on a deep level and everything else built from there. We never once were like, “This is a wedding time-loop romcom about two lost souls!” Max and I joked that the earlier version of this was our version of Leaving Las Vegas. The story grew from Nyles, thinking: ‘What is the best way to deeply challenge this flawed character?’ And that’s where we came up with Sarah, who became even more fully realized. And the best way to challenge her was Nyles. Putting those two characters together and seeing the friction it causes, the story grew around that.

Their dynamic, and the film more broadly, feels very philosophical. I’m thinking of a line like “Your best bet is to learn to suffer existence”. When you were writing, were there any conscious thinkers you wanted to incorporate? Max and I talked a lot about Albert Camus, and Jorge Luis Borges… but when I got to actually writing, Max gave me his copy of Be Here Now by Ram Dass. His copy, when he gave it to me, had over 100 Post-it notes. We’d talked in abstract ways in a philosophical sense, about individuation and what not. But every day before writing I’d take Be Here Now and open up at any page, read a page to kickstart the day. I think even that idea of suffering existence, that might actually be in Be Here Now…

Quyen Tran (operating camera) and director Max Barbakow (right) on the set of ‘Palm Springs’.

It felt so refreshing to see these characters delivering such epic lines seriously, but the film never becomes somber or dramatic. It stays light. Comedy is balanced with sincere emotion so well—especially when it comes to romance. In a scene outside the cave, when Nyles is giving his big speech, he says, “I’d rather die with you than live in this world without you.” Reading this out of context, it could be from an epic romance. How did you manage to marry the wit with such big feelings? That is one of the lines that, read out of context, could feel heavy-handed, so I appreciate that! From the get-go, it was important to set the tone of this movie, that we will never take ourselves too seriously. Max and I would joke about having one foot on a banana peel and the other in the grave, being able to go from slapstick to serious was always an important tonal shift for us. There’s a silliness to the movie, and so therefore with those lines, my hope is that even in reading the script, by the time you get to a line like that, you as a reader would know what Nyles is like in your mind. Also, I credit Andy Samberg for knowing how to deliver lines like that without them feeling cheesy. When we first met Andy and the Lonely Island guys, he understood this character, by the end better than I did. The character was just words on a page, a figure that existed in my mind. He created this character.

What did you learn from working with the Lonely Island guys, in terms of taking inspiration from their comedy experience while creating something brand new? By the time it got to them, the script was finished to a point that I was happy with. But Max and I didn’t know that much! So those three guys, and Becky Sloviter who was the producer for them, they know so much more than we did. We were able to not only on the practical side make people want to make this movie, but also on the other side, I’d say primarily in third-act stuff, they helped me dig deeper, and find a satisfying conclusion to the movie where the earlier version of the script just wasn’t as satisfying—you still got to the point, but we were able to mess with the mechanics a little bit more. And they got me to dig deeper on the science part too, where I let this journey into the subconscious via a Jungian, individuation approach maybe take hold a little too much!

I’m not very familiar with Palm Springs as a place. What was the appeal to build everything around this specific location? Both Max and I grew up in Southern California, and since the late 1980s I’ve been going to Palm Springs every year—my aunt had a condo out there. The place is a primarily LA retreat, with golf courses and retirement communities. Over the years, it’s just become a place for a lot of weddings to happen. So there’s that side, my own personal history of having seen the change and having gone there so many times over the past 34 years. I remember camping trips to Joshua Tree [National Park]—and I also got married in Palm Springs and went out to countless friends’ weddings there. But then also, I think there are mountain people, desert people, city people. I think I’m a desert person. There’s this mass openness that I find has a magical quality to it. Even if I don’t believe in magic, there’s somehow a magical solitude that comes in the desert. And there’s all sorts of literature, even going into pseudo-science, that is centered around the desert. Specifically the one surrounding Palm Springs.

Andy Samberg and Cristin Milioti in ‘Palm Springs’.

It feels like a blank canvas on which anything can happen—and if anything, having more space can make you more anxious about being trapped there. I agree. And I had written two Gram Parsons songs into the script, and he was also drawn to the desert in the 1970s, [the] Joshua Tree area. He wrote a lot there with Keith Richards. There’s some kind of draw to the desert that I don’t totally understand to be honest, it’s on a deeper subconscious level that it strikes that chord for me.

Speaking of the music, the film has so many satisfying needle drops. I’m thinking of Leonard Cohen’s ‘The Partisan’ and then Kate Bush’s ‘Cloudbusting’ in that amazing final scene. Were these written in from the start? A lot of songs were written in from the start that didn’t make it in for various reasons. ‘Cloudbusting’ came up in our first or second meeting with Andy—it was his idea and we were like, that’s perfect! Andy and Max [and I] all wanted to make sure Palm Springs didn’t use songs we had seen a million times in other movies. It was so important to us. And then we also wanted songs that spoke to a more magical quality too. I think the Leonard Cohen one was Cristin’s idea, so it was a very collaborative field, but we all knew what kind of stuff we wanted. It was about thinking, let’s try and find a sonic happy place.

What film first made you want to be a filmmaker? Jurassic Park is my number one. It made me want to do everything.

Related content

A list of films set in and around Palm Springs.

More films produced by The Lonely Island

A list of time loop, paradox and causality movies

‘Palm Springs’ is streaming on Hulu from July 10 and screening at select drive-ins. With thanks to NEON.

[nutritiousinsightsusan]

Gluten: Eat it or Leave it?

Gluten has been in the human diet for thousands of years, yet remains one of the most confusing and frustrating dietary topics in modern nutrition. Should you eat it or avoid it? Is a “gluten-free” diet really better for you or is it just the latest diet fad? Well, that depends….and this is what I’ll discuss today.

 What is gluten?

Gluten is the name of the storage proteins found in the seeds (grains) of grass, and there are over 1,000 sub-fractions which have been identified. Yes, all grains contain gluten, because these proteins, along with starch in the endosperm, are necessary to help nourish a germinating seed.

 And yet, only one sub-fraction of gluten, alpha-gliadin, is considered to be gluten when it comes to identifying the gluten-containing grains in the US. By this definition, only wheat, barley, rye, spelt, and triticale are on the list.

 But this is incomplete. Other sub-fractions of gluten are found in oats, rice, corn, and millet, but since they don’t contain alpha-gliadin, they are not on the list of gluten containing grains. This is not scientifically sound and misleads consumers.

 What does the “gluten-free” label really mean?

The “gluten-free” label is an interesting label. Although there are over 1,000 sub-fractions of gluten, only one sub-fraction matters in the current regulations – alpha-gliadin. When it comes to labeling, only items which DO NOT contain wheat, barley, rye, spelt, and triticale will carry the “gluten-free” label.

 However, knowing that gluten includes many other proteins in many other grains, a more accurate description of the current “gluten-free” label would be “alpha-gliadin-free”. It is worth discussing the idea of labeling products as “grain-free” vs. “gluten-free”, since the definition of “gluten-free” remains limited.

 Why does gluten in the diet matter?

Gluten is a protein, so it can elicit an immune response in the body, and this can have serious consequences on our health. It depends on genetic, environmental, and lifestyle components for each individual, but it is estimated that up to a third of the population has some sort of negative response to gluten. Consuming gluten may not be in your best interest for general health and may even be life threatening. Having an accurate understanding of how you react to gluten is important for protecting health.

 How do I know if gluten might be a problem?

If gluten is a problem for you, it is defined as either an allergy or a sensitivity. There are four categories of gluten reactions:

 1.     Allergy

2.     Celiac Disease

3.     Non-Celiac Gluten Sensitivity

4.     Non-immune malabsorption Syndrome

 The first category is a traditional allergy to wheat. This is determined by a blood test or the traditional allergy skin prick, developed in the 1950’s. A traditional allergy to wheat will trigger a histamine immune response known as IgE and is easily detected. This is similar to a peanut allergy.

 The other three categories are not allergies because they will not elicit an IgE response. Instead, other immune responses occur, including antibody production, and may involve IgA(lungs and intestine), IgG (systemic), and IgM (initial) responses. These are known as gluten sensitivities and are the major source of gluten-related disorders.

 The most familiar category of gluten sensitivity is specific to the intestinal tract and the alpha-gliadin sub-fraction. This is known as Celiac disease, a life threatening autoimmune disorder. This can produce bloating, abdominal pain, irritable bowel, weight gain, malabsorption of nutrients, intestinal lesions, villous atrophy, and internal bleeding. It is generally diagnosed by the presence of antibodies to alpha-gliadin and a positive test for transglutaminase 2 (IgG). But sometimes Celiac is so subtle in its course that it isn’t correctly diagnosed until there is extensive and irreversible damage to the intestinal tract and other organs, including the liver, brain, and thyroid.  It has been shown that it can take up to eleven years to receive a correct diagnosis.1,2

 Why the difficulty? Because gluten sensitivity isn’t reliably specific to alpha-gliadin IgG test. Some Celiac patients will never test positive for antibodies to alpha-gliadin using the IgG fraction, yet their intestines will exhibit the end stage damage seen in those with antibodies to alpha-gliadin. They know they feel better when not consuming gluten, but their blood work testing for IgG responses doesn’t indicate a problem.

 Despite the possibility of no IgG antibodies, alpha-gliadin reaction is clearly the “gateway” to understanding gluten sensitivity, as it is the most likely to be identified based on current laboratory testing. As more research is conducted, though, we are learning that people who tend to react to the alpha-gliadin commonly also react to the other sub-fractions of gluten at some level. And this creates inflammation not only in the gut but also outside of the gut, begging a deeper understanding of gluten sensitivity and other immune responses.

 Gluten sensitivity really is an autoimmune disease with diverse manifestations, meaning it may produce symptoms outside of the intestinal tract.3 And this brings us to the next type of reaction: Non-Celiac Gluten Sensitivity. It can manifest as joint pain, arthritis, brain fog, ataxia, neuropathy, headaches (migraines), depression, eczema, skin rashes, carpel tunnel, Hashimoto’s thyroid disease, Schizophrenia, anxiety, ADHD, autism, hair loss, weakened vessel walls, and liver cirrhosis.3-13 Symptoms that manifest outside of the intestinal tract have been less likely to be recognized and diagnosed as being related to gluten since they may produce responses with IgA and IgM as opposed to IgG, and patients can suffer for years before understanding the role of gluten in producing these inflammatory responses and problems.

 The last type of sensitivity is identified as Non-Immune Malabsorption Syndrome and occurs because gluten sensitivity has destroyed the villi lining the intestinal wall responsible for nutrient absorption. This may be the only sign of a gluten intolerance.

How can you test for gluten sensitivity?

The least expensive and easiest way to test your sensitivity to gluten is to COMPLETELY avoid it for at least two weeks and then see how you feel. This refers to avoiding alpha-gliadin, so it would be anything containing wheat, barley, or rye. After two weeks, you can reintroduce these grains and see how you feel. This can be pretty dramatic for some people. For others it can be subtle, but the longer you abstain, the better you feel. The gold-standard for trying this is six months, because some patients have really inflamed systems that need to heal from other infections and toxins, including mold and glyphosates from pesticides which can produce symptoms similar to gluten sensitivity. Those who find they’re sensitive may want to go a step further and eliminate all grains from the diet in order to truly assess their ability to optimize their health.

 Eliminating gluten becomes easier with practice, but it may initially feel like there’s a lack of options for eating. Resist the temptation to buy processed “gluten-free” products as these often contain hydrogenated oils and sugars and are no better for you than other processed foods. There are some options for pasta and bread products without gluten, but try to break the bread and pasta habit altogether and substitute other foods. Make “gluten-free” bread or pasta an occasional food rather than a staple food since many of these can raise your blood sugar substantially.

 The best way to understand your gluten tolerance is to combine an elimination diet with blood and DNA testing. Using only a blood tests to determine gluten tolerance is limited because it will only analyze immune response related to IgG, IgA, IgE, and IgM pathways known as the T Helper 2 response (TH2). It will not account for those whose sensitivity takes the T Helper 1 pathway (TH1), which will react to gluten as a toxin and try to get rid of it, producing inflammatory damage but no Ig cell response. Both pathways can lead to autoimmunity but only one will be detected by the blood test. This is where DNA testing can be helpful.

 1.     DNA:

Checking for the HLA DQ on chromosome 6. There are two genes but lots of different alleles which present on the genes. The Celiac variant markers are DQ 2, DQ 2.5, and/or the HLA DQ8 genes. The other markers, which are not indicative of Celiac but gluten sensitivity, are the DQ1 or DQ3 genotype patterns, and these are associated with neurological symptoms such as depression, neuropathy, Schizophrenia, arthritis, anxiety.  Not all DNA tests will go beyond the DQ2 and DQ 8 SNP’s related to Celiac. The DQ1 and DQ3 may also need to be tested. The full test is available at www.glutenfreesociety.org

 2.    Blood Test

Array 3 from Cyrex Labs. This test looks for 12 different peptides to gluten, not just the gliadin fraction that is the traditional lab test. More information can be found at www.cyrexlabs.com

  REFERENCES

 1.      Van Heel DA, West J., Recent advances in coeliac disease. Gut. 2006 Jul;55(7):1037-46.

 2.      Goddard CJ, Gillett HR., complications of coeliac disease: are all patients at risk? Postgrad Med J. 2006 Nov;82(973):705-12.

 3.      Hadjavassilios, M. Gluten Sensitivity: from Gut to Brain. Lancet Neurol 2010; 9: 318–30.

 4.      Marietta E, Black K, Camilleri M, Krause P, Rogers RS 3rd, David C, Pittelkow MR, Murray JA. A new model for dermatitis herpetiformis that uses HLA-DQ8 transgenic NOD mice, J Clin Invest. 2004 Oct;114(8):1090-7.

 5.      Lindqvist U, Rudsander A, Boström A, Nilsson B, Michaëlsson G., IgA antibodies to gliadin and coeliac disease in psoriatic arthritis, Rheumatology (Oxford). 2002 Jan;41(1):31-7.

 6.      Humbert P, Pelletier F, Dreno B, Puzenat E, Aubin F, Gluten intolerance and skin diseases, Eur J Dermatol2006; 16 (1): 4-11.

 7.      Selva-O'Callaghan A, Casellas F, de Torres I, Palou E, Grau-Junyent JM, Vilardell-Tarrés M., celiac disease and antibodies associated with celiac disease in patients with inflammatory myopathy, Muscle Nerve. 2007 Jan;35(1):49-54.

 8.      Hadjivassiliou M, Grünewald R, Sharrack B, Sanders D, Lobo A, Williamson C, Woodroofe N, Wood N, Davies-Jones A., Gluten ataxia in perspective: epidemiology, genetic susceptibility and clinical characteristics, Brain. 2003 Mar;126(Pt 3):685-91.

 9.      Hadjivassiliou M, Aeschlimann D, Grünewald RA, Sanders DS, Sharrack B, Woodroofe N, GAD antibody associated neurological illness and its relationship to gluten sensitivity, Acta Neurol Scand. 2010 Apr 15.

 10.    Eaton W, Mortensen PB, Agerbo E, Byrne M, Mors O, Ewald H., Coeliac disease and schizophrenia: population based case control study with linkage of Danish national registers, BMJ. 2004 Feb 21;328(7437):438-9.

 11.    Hadjivassiliou M, Grünewald RA, Chattopadhyay AK, Davies-Jones GAB, Gibson A, Jarratt JA, et al. Clinical, radiological, neurophysiological and neuropathological characteristics of gluten ataxia. Lancet 1998;352:1582-5.

 12.    J Neurol Neurosurg Psychiatry. 2006 Nov;77(11):1262-6., Hadjivassiliou M, Grünewald RA, Kandler RH, Chattopadhyay AK, Jarratt JA, Sanders DS, Sharrack B, Wharton SB, Davies-Jones GA, Neuropathy associated with gluten sensitivity.

 13.    Gluten sensitivity: from gut to brain., Hadjivassiliou M, Sanders DS, Grünewald RA, Woodroofe N, Boscolo S, Aeschlimann D, Lancet Neurol. 2010 Mar;9(3):318-30.

 14.    http://www.acupunctureintegrated.com/articles/malabsorption-syndromes-and-celiac-disease

 15.    www.glutenfreesociety.org

 16.    www.thedr.com

[qqueenofhades]

The Rose and Thorn: Chapter XXVII

summary:  Sequel to The Dark Horizon. The New World, 1740: Killian and Emma Jones have lived in peace with their family for many years, their pirate past long behind them. But with English wars, Spanish plots, rumors of a second Jacobite rising, and the secret of the lost treasure of Skeleton Island, they and their son and daughter are in for a dangerous new adventure. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 previous: chapter XXVI

For the first hour, even as the higher ground above them turned pale gold, the sunlight slowly climbing from behind the bulk of the trees, the path that Liam, Regina, Matthew, and the men walked remained shrouded in shadow. The morning was very still, not quite hot and not quite cold, but more of that lukewarm mist that was perpetually on the wrong side of whether or not one’s jacket was on. Billowing towers of fog glided past like shapeless spirits, sometimes breaking to reveal a crack of colorless sky. The narrow track along the bottom of the ravine looked, in Liam’s opinion, like a fine place to be hit with a flash flood if there was a sudden squall, and he kept eyeing up potential escape routes. But the ground to their right was steep and almost vertical, choked in a labyrinth of impenetrable trees, and the ground to their left broke off into jumbled, muddy stones, a long tidal plain that was mostly bare at the moment, except for beached crabs and strewn seaweed. The message, he supposed, was clear enough. They were going to hope they could take whatever came at them head-on, and pray.

Breathing hard, Liam wiped his forehead. He had insisted on taking the lead, but the old wounds in shoulder and back were unsure that they liked all this grubby tramping, and the stitch in his side felt like an extra one. As Matthew trotted up behind him, with the annoying sprightliness of a twenty-three-year-old compared to a fifty-eight-year-old, the younger captain raised an eyebrow. “Would you like me to go ahead?”

“I’m fine,” Liam said reflexively. “I can – ”

“Seeing as neither of us know exactly where the second eye of the skull is, you don’t have a tactical advantage,” Matthew pointed out. “And it will not do us much good if you drop on the spot, attempting to get one up on me. Men are mortal, Mr. Jones. It happens. Surely you and Mrs. Jones have been married long enough that you no longer feel the need to impress her?”

Regina snorted. “Liam will stop trying to impress everyone when he’s dead.”

“Which,” Matthew repeated, “would not be productive for anyone, especially given as you were the one to have personal acquaintance with Lady Fiona Murray and know the most about her. As well, you have done an admirable job assisting in the operation of the Griffin. So  yes, I would prefer for you not to topple over in the jungle. I can manage this.”

“I… have no doubt you can.” That at least Liam could not deny. “But – ”

“If we are going by seniority of age,” Matthew said, “then yes, you would outrank me. If we are going by active command, however, I still hold that, whereas I recall that you lost your captaincy on the Imperator many years ago.”

“Yes,” Liam said, half in a growl. “Thanks to your benevolent patron Lord Robert Gold, in fact.”

There was a tense moment as they stared at each other; Matthew was almost as tall as Liam, though more thinly built, and did not have to tilt his chin back to meet his eyes. As they had already encountered quite enough trouble from unnamed members of their family punching Navy sailors (and for that matter, each other), Liam did not intend to break into a repeat round of fisticuffs, but still. They were only interrupted by Regina scoffing loudly. “God’s sake, are you two finished? Can we keep going, or should we hold an actual pissing contest first?”

“No,” Liam said politely, turning away. “We can go, yes. Would Captain Rogers perhaps like to lead the way?”

Matthew gave him one more stare, then nodded, with the same determinedly cordial air. He hitched his musket up on his back and strode to the head of the party, pushing aside the tangle of vines and starting on. After feeling a final significant glare from his wife on the back of his head, Liam swallowed his pride and followed.

They did make somewhat better time in this manner, until it was late morning and the indistinct sunlight had finally climbed most of the way over the island. Then they tramped down into a sandy clearing, at the end of a small inlet. It didn’t look big enough to be the second eye, and besides, there was no ship in it. Matthew took out his compass and attempted to reckon their most probable direction of travel, but apart from them being reasonably sure that east was on their right-hand side, the needle spun uselessly without settling anywhere. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse and shook it. “Is this some added delight of the place, that navigational instruments do not work here?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” Liam eyed the rocks around them, wondering if they had a particularly high iron content that was playing havoc with the compass’ inner mechanism. That, however, might be too prosaic an explanation. “Speaking of which, we’d better use something to mark the path we just emerged from. I don’t want to get back here and then have no idea which way we’re supposed to go.”

Regina tore a strip off her sleeve to tie around a branch of one of the trees, and checked the knot to be sure it couldn’t blow away. They took a drink at the spring that bubbled through the rocks; it tasted slightly brackish, but not bad. Then Matthew stood up, thought hard, and pointed at the track that led back up the beach and into the woods. “The first eye is inland,” he said. “I imagine the second one is as well. Let’s go.”

Regretfully, Liam had to admit that this made sense, and they headed across to prepare for a second forage into the dense underbrush. Indeed the greenery was thick enough that Matthew could not whack it aside by himself, and was compelled to call upon Liam for assistance. As they did their best to cut a path, sap glistening stickily on the edges of their sabers, Matthew said quietly, “So have you missed it at all? The Navy?”

“I…” Liam was caught by surprise. He concentrated on hacking a particularly stubborn vine, then ducked through. “I don’t… I don’t know. It was familiar, aye, and during our various crises on the journey here, it helped that I knew what to do. But how I left it, everything that it took from me and Killian… it gave us a great deal, I cannot deny that. That was the first place we mattered, where we felt that we could do well and serve decently and honorably. But there were some compromises we were not willing to make, between what we believed and what they did, and ultimately, that was why we were marked to be destroyed. Gold did that. Even as much as he doubtless has advanced and patronized your career, he ruined mine and Killian’s, and all for his own reasons. Once again, I have to warn you. It is very unwise to rely on that man, or think he will be your friend forever. He wanted your father to serve him, and your father never did. I imagine Gold is taking considerable pleasure in collecting the son instead.”

Matthew glanced at him briefly, then away. “Your family does keep saying that,” he allowed at last. “Your nephew, then your sister-in-law. But you were pirates, of course Lord Robert felt obligated to deal with you to the extent of the – ”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Liam interrupted. “Killian and I weren’t pirates. We were a respected captain and lieutenant aboard a ship with a reputation for decency and fairness, which – much as it chafed the Admiralty, especially our objection to slavery – was nonetheless something they couldn’t actively punish. Without Gold’s interference – well, it is impossible to say if we would have come across some other conflict that tore us apart in the same way. But there is no doubt that he was the one responsible for orchestrating our downfall. He needed a monster in Captain Hook, and he made it, among others. You’re a smart young man, and you have thus far, like a loyal servant, done everything he asked of you. What about when you don’t?”

“That won’t happen,” Matthew said, but he sounded slightly less than sure. “I am a captain, my own man, I can accept or reject a course of action on my own merits, and if Lord Robert was to ask something distasteful – then yes, I would take account of what you have said. But I have seen no evidence of that as yet.”

“Have you not?” Liam cut down another vine. “Of course you don’t see the distaste, because you are the one benefiting from it. Those wounded by it, those damaged, those destroyed can tell you all they wish, but you still won’t believe it until it happens to you – because from your safe place, of course it is not real. That is a position common to many powerful men. The suffering of others does not trouble them, and when it does trouble them, it is too late.”

Matthew frowned. “But you are a powerful man,” he said, as if he did not quite see how that followed. “Why would you – ”

“I’m flattered you think so. But Killian and I were born dirt poor in Ireland, baptized Catholic, and sold into servitude by our father as boys. We grew up aboard a variety of ships, with masters that ranged from indifferent to deep-grained sadistic. I took drastic measures to secure our freedom and our entrance into the Navy as young men. So no. I have not grown up powerful, or with the luxury of turning a blind eye to how the system is built, and what feeds it. Even if your father was disgraced and indebted, you were born into a genteel and respected merchant family and raised in all the confines of so-called polite English society. I do not blame you for not knowing or believing any differently, but I challenge you to do so now. Your mother – ”

“I am aware of the difficulties surrounding my mother,” Matthew said, more than a little shortly. “It’s why I’ve had to work so hard to prove myself, to show them that I do belong, that I – ”

“Lad.” It wasn’t very formal, but Liam couldn’t help himself, turning in the path and putting a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Tell me something. If you’ve had to fight your whole life to get the people who imprisoned your father, judged your mother, would not receive them in their social gatherings, and looked down their nose at you before they ever knew anything about you to respect or like you… why do you want them to respect or like you?”

Matthew opened his mouth as if he had his answer all prepared, then stopped. “I… polite society has its peccadilloes, of course,” he said, sounding as if he was attempting to steer the conversation back to safer ground. “But if the alternative is savagery, then civilization, even with its distastes, must be viewed as the preferable of the two states of nature in which mankind – ”

“Which only holds true if you believe the choices are savagery and civilization.” Liam resumed his whacking, after glancing over his shoulder to see how Regina and the others were holding up. “Once more, I thought much the same as you. That the only alternative to the dismal misery and dispossession of slavery was the order and structure of the Navy. And in forcing that course, I very nearly lost Killian for good. We’ve still not entirely recovered from that, after twenty-five years living on opposite sides of the Atlantic.”

Matthew’s gaze flickered. “I’ve heard of Captain Hook,” he said at last. “That was why I took Mr. Bellamy and your nephew to Lord Robert. You seem a sane and sober man of sense, I will give you that, and Kill – your brother, he did not quite fit the profile of the villain I imagined either. But if you cared for him so much, why did you not save him from that piracy?”

“I tried with everything I had in me. I nearly died more than once in the course of it. I did everything possible, and then some. But my own mistakes had already poisoned the well between us too deeply for me to be the thing that brought him back. Killian changed on his own, for Emma and for himself and for the family they found, despite all the destruction. And as I said, I’ve not even been much part of it. Regina and I have lived in Paris for over twenty years. We do not have children of our own. Letters have been infrequent. I have paid, and paid, and paid again, the cost of failing to save Killian. You may believe me on that.”

Yet again, Matthew did not quite seem to know what to say to that. His lips tightened, he slashed aside a hanging tangle of vines, and ducked onto the overlook beyond. Then he paused, raised a hand, and beckoned Liam to approach, pointing down.

Liam clambered up after him, shaded his eyes, and – while he’d guessed it might be this – still felt his stomach turn an unpleasant flip. A hundred feet below them, as seen from their eagle’s-eyrie perch, was what had to be the second eye of Skeleton Island’s namesake skull. The circular, blue-watered lagoon was sheltered to one side by cliffs, to left and right by more jungle, and the narrow passage must be the approach from the sea. Furthermore, the Titania, which Liam recognized at once, was anchored in the middle of it, looking as if she had taken quite a decent pounding from the Griffin’s guns. Liam and Matthew glanced at each other in brief, proud acknowledgement of a job well done. It was clear enough that she would like to avoid returning to the open sea, since she would be swamped in heavy weather, and indeed, something about the scene pricked Liam uncomfortably. Something was wrong.

“Wait,” he said, as Matthew untwisted his spyglass. “Can I borrow that?”

Matthew looked as if Liam really should have thought to bring along his own spyglass, but after a pause, shrugged and handed it over. Liam focused it on the distant ship, trying to place more precisely what had unsettled him, until he said, “Her gun ports are all open. Why would they anchor her and leave her gun ports open? There’s nobody on deck. It doesn’t look like they left a crew behind to guard against an attack, so…”

“Can you see the longboat?” Matthew asked. “Did they go ashore?”

Liam scanned the deck again. “Boat’s not on board, it could be concealed in the jungle. There’s a spit of beach just there that could make for a landing, but I can’t tell.”

“Should we go down and look?” Matthew stood up, clearly hankering for action, now that the ship of their objective, and Lord Robert’s captivity, was right in front of them. “I can call for the men if you think we could make an expedition of – ”

“Stay down!” Liam grabbed a fistful of Matthew’s shirttail, as the young fool made a fine target silhouetted on the clifftop, but Matthew didn’t budge. “I… no, something’s wrong here, something’s wrong.” He sniffed. “Do you smell something burning?”

“No.” Matthew looked at him, frowning, as if wondering if Liam’s elderly mental faculties had been unduly taxed by all this effort. “Why would you – ”

At that moment, he was cut off by a sound as if all the air had been sucked out of the world, an instant of pure and perfect silence, followed by an almighty explosion. The Titania went up in a huge fireball, belching flames and smoke and splinters, as Liam dove at Matthew and tackled him flat in the nick of time. Burning chunks of debris began to hail out of the air around them, sparks guttering in the grass and threatening to set the whole island on fire, as Liam beat them out with his free hand. He started to get up, but was knocked flat again, listening to the madness go on and on, a distant roaring and groaning and crashing as if the entire gates of Eden were coming down. And then, in the forest, he heard Regina scream his name.

“Jesus.” Liam wasn’t even sure if he’d said it aloud, as he rolled to his feet, dragged Matthew with him, and they barged back into the jungle, still smoldering. He couldn’t see the Griffin men, but he could see two – no, three – others. One was his wife. The latter pair –

“Good morning, Captain.” Lady Fiona Murray turned toward him with a bright smile. “So good to actually see you again, isn’t it? Since you so unchivalrously quit my hospitality in the middle of the ocean? We’ll get that straightened out, never mind. In the meantime, shall we catch up?”

“You – ” Liam skidded to a halt. Regina had been backed up against a rock, but she didn’t seem to be trying to move, which was rather unlike her. She was looking down at something in front of her in horrified fascination: a gaping, ragged hole. “You mad, dangerous – what did you – ”

“After your lot blew a hole in my ship, it wasn’t going to be suitable for the return journey, now was it?” Lady Fiona shrugged briskly. “So I gave orders for it to be left behind and set to blow, I thought that would give you a nasty little surprise if you came poking about, as you were almost sure to do. You’re going to take us out on the Griffin. With, of course, the treasure, once we collect it. Aren’t they, Robert?”

At that, Liam, Matthew, and Regina turned to look at the fifth person present, who had been lurking behind Lady Fiona as if hoping not to be noticed. His clothes were scruffy and torn, he looked as if he had not bathed or eaten properly in some time, and for once, he had nothing glib or sarcastic to say. Lord Robert Gold opened his mouth, shut it, and then nodded jerkily.

“My lord?” Matthew blinked hard. “My lord! We’ve been – I’ve been looking for you! I’m sure it’s been a bloody nightmare, but – ”

“You promised me,” Gold said, speaking not to Matthew but to Fiona. “You promised me that I could see my son.”

“Did I?” Lady Fiona looked arch. “Well, I suppose you still might, if he’s managed to bungle his way here after all. He’s not very bright, you know. Must take after you. Is this your pet Navy captain, Robert? Very pretty. Tell me, my dear, have you been with a woman yet? Carnally?”

“I…” Matthew spluttered. “I fail to see, madam, what business of yours that is in the least degree. Where are my men? What disgraceful action have you visited on Lord Robert and – ”

“Your men are down there.” Lady Fiona nodded at the chasm in the earth in front of Regina. Her eyes were sparkling with delight. “The ground isn’t very stable. Broke off a mudslide when the Titania blew, and then that sinkhole. They’re very disciplined, they went right in like good soldiers. Don’t move, Mrs. Jones. It could still get you, now couldn’t it?”

Regina had in fact been hanging tightly onto the rock, looking down into the hole. Liam couldn’t tell how deep it was, or if the Griffin men had survived the fall only to be slowly smothered in mud, but he was in no hurry whatsoever to have his wife serve as the test case. “Hey!” he called to her. “Are they still alive in there?”

Regina glanced down. “I can’t – I can’t see them.”

“Hey!” Matthew shouted, louder. There was a note of something close to panic in his voice. “Hey! Men, can you hear me? Answer me, that’s an order!”

“They’re not going to, sweetheart.” Lady Fiona put her head to the side, regarding him appraisingly. “Hmm. Either way, you are rather fresh, aren’t you? And I could do with a spot of refreshment after all this bother. Come over here, won’t you?”

Matthew didn’t. He reached for his pistol instead. It was clear that it would be quite against his ideals to shoot an aristocratic older woman, yet he might have tried it anyway, until Gold broke in. “Do as she says, Matthew.”

“What?” Matthew wheeled to stare at his patron. “Did I – I was under the impression that you had not gone with her willingly?”

“It’s complicated.” Gold did not quite seem able to meet his eyes. “But I need you to listen to me. Come over here.”

Matthew looked flummoxed, unsure what to do, as the sinkhole heaved abruptly, Regina jerked her feet away from it, and Liam tried to see if there was enough solid ground for him to get to her. Maybe if he could break off a branch, or see if a large piece of the Titania’s timbers had landed up here. “Matthew,” he said. “Matthew, I told you, don’t – ”

Matthew glanced at him, then back at Gold, as if struggling to decide. Then he took one uncertain step, and another, in the direction of Lady Fiona and Lord Robert. “I must warn you, my lady,” he said. “I have no intention of taking you aboard my ship after you yourself blew up your old one, and especially if you are intending some further malice to – ”

“That’s quite adorable.” Lady Fiona took a small flask out of her pocket and flipped it open, causing it to smoke slightly. “Just stand right there, won’t you?”

Matthew opened his mouth, then let out a sharp hiss of startled pain as steel flashed in Lady Fiona’s hand: a small, elegant dagger, the blade now gleaming red from the slash along the underside of his arm. Lady Fiona shook the droplets into her cordial, frowned at it with a connoisseur’s air, and moved to cut at him again. “Bit more.”

“I – ” Matthew ripped his wounded arm back. “Are you trying to drink my blood?”

“Well, yes,” Lady Fiona said, as if puzzled that this was not immediately obvious. “It’s the chief ingredient in my restorative potion. Special brew of my own invention. Stand still, won’t you? I don’t want to accidentally cut anything else. Not yet, at least.”

“Tell her – ” Matthew shot a frantic look at Gold. “Certainly you are not privy to this demonic – my lord, this cannot possibly be – ”

Still Gold did not answer, acting as if he could not hear him, as Liam thought that he had never seen Gold like this – and for that matter, he had never seen Gold in a situation with his own neck so clearly on the line. Bereft of his burly bodyguards, his comfortable mansion, easy victims to manipulate and mistreat and torment, his extensive network of favors paid and favors owed, hidden assassins, loyal stooges, all the strings he could pluck and tangle, all the gold from straw that he could conjure, he was just an old man in a jungle, standing there and doing nothing, lest he be next. The emperor without his clothes, indeed. A coward.

Matthew was so occupied in staring at him that he forgot to jerk his arm away when Lady Fiona made her next slash, and she got quite a bit of blood to splash into her drink. She made a satisfied sound, stirred it, and took a long sip, shuddering from head to toe in apparent delight. “Oh yes. That was just what I needed. Robert, do you want some? It’s quite effective.”

With that, she held the flask out to Gold, who looked momentarily suspicious that it might curdle to poison the instant that he touched it. Matthew pulled his cut arm to his chest, trying to wrap it in his cravat, which quickly drank up and turned crimson. “My lord,” he said. “This is madness, this is rank madness. I don’t care what she promised you, surely it cannot be worth – ”

Gold reached for it. Took a breath, as if steeling himself, and a long drink.

For a moment, for two moments, more, Liam prayed fervently that it had in fact poisoned both of them. But then Gold performed the same sort of satisfied shudder, as if feeling his strength return at last, and the sensation was apparently agreeable enough that he took another top-up sip. “There,” he said to Lady Fiona, in a hiss. “Still want to play, do you?”

“Oh, yes.” She did not seem disconcerted by this development as she took the flask back, the two of them staring each other down. “Now, get your pet to take us to the Griffin, won’t you?”

Liam drew out his pistol, not remotely certain which one of them he should try to shoot, and the angle was bad; he could hit Gold, but he could also just as easily hit Matthew. Besides, Regina was still stuck at the brink of the slurping sinkhole, losing her grip on the rock, and the ground felt less than steady under Liam’s feet as well. The entire clifftop could slide loose at this rate, cascade over the edge all the way down to the burning wreckage of the Titania below. Doing his absolute best not to think about how many of the Titania’s crewmen might have been trapped aboard the ship when it blew, if it was their bones sifting out of the sky to join the other skeletons, Liam kept crawling toward his wife. Just a little further. Just a little further.

Behind him, Matthew Rogers said, sounding choked, “No.”

“No?” Gold took a menacing step. “We are getting off this island. With the treasure. On your ship. You are my loyal servant, Matthew. I’ve always been generous to you. Patronized your career from the start, smoothed any difficulties over for you. Without me, you’d never – ”

“So you have.” Matthew sounded almost drunk, and Liam wondered exactly how much blood he was losing. “But this – my lord, surely you can understand this is – ”

Behind them, Liam reached Regina, or at least a few feet from her, the closest he could get without risking a plunge into the sinkhole himself. He looked down, but she was right; it was impossible to tell if anything stirred in the muddy depths. He strained out his hand as she reached back, and their slippery fingers slid and struggled without being able to hold firm. He leaned out further as she grabbed again, nearly lost hold of her, and snatched her wrist hard enough that he almost thought he’d break it. Braced his feet, feeling as if the world was about to go out from under him in any number of senses, and managed to drag her bodily over the rock; it would leave her incredibly scraped up, but that was the least of their concerns. Pulled with one great heave, and the two of them toppled together onto firmer ground, clinging to each other.

A few yards away, Lady Fiona, Gold, and Matthew had barely taken any notice of this. The silence hung heavy, except for the continued bubbling and boiling of the unstable mud and the distant hiss and groan of the burning ship below. Then Matthew said again, “No. I’m – I am not doing this. I refuse.”

“Unwise.” Lady Fiona’s gaze had lost its amusement, turning flat and cold and black. “You know, Robert, a disloyal servant is worse than an enemy. Are you going to do the honors?”

Gold hesitated. “I need to get to my son,” he said to Matthew, as if in explanation. “I’m sorry. You’ve been a useful acquaintance – far more so than your father ever was, to be sure. I’ll write to the Admiralty and tell them you had a massively heroic death, so you will get what you wanted after all. The Rogers name will be redeemed. Everyone wins.”

And with that, he threw something into the sinkhole just behind them, from whence an echoing boom and a blast of flame issued. Lady Fiona and Gold scrambled one way, Liam and Regina the other, but Matthew was caught in the middle, in no-man’s-land, arms outstretched and blown backward by the force. He turned an almost graceful somersault in midair, and plunged. One moment he was there, the next he was not, swallowed up by the depths without a trace.

Liam heard himself yelling, but only halfway, in a distant, muffled way. His ears were still ringing from the explosion, as he swung his pistol down onto his arm, braced, sighted, and fired. The shot ricocheted off the trees and went wide, Gold and Fiona ducked, and ran off into the trees on the far side. Branches cracked and rustled, and then the jungle gulped them up.

Liam threw himself onto his stomach and crawled toward the edge of the hole. He couldn’t see Matthew, or anyone else. Gusts of sulfur scorched his throat, until he wondered with no exaggeration if this was in fact the mouth of hell. Matthew could have survived the fall, he could be down there, it might have broken an exit shaft lower in the hillside. Or he could be trapped in hot mud with no way to get out, condemned to the same slow, dark, suffocating death as his men. Even that, even the wound in his arm would be nothing besides the betrayal. I just saw Gold do to Matthew what he did to Killian and me, once upon a time. I couldn’t stop Killian, I couldn’t save him. I can’t do that again, and I can’t walk away. If Matthew does survive and turns into some new Captain Hook –

There was only one way to find out. If he was wrong, it was death for him as well. And yet. Somehow, after all these years and all these regrets and all these failures, this was something he could genuinely do, and do without flinching. To make it right for the older generation and the younger one alike. That, perhaps, was all he needed. All he had ever needed.

“I love you,” Liam shouted to Regina. “Get back to the Griffin. Warn the others! Stop Gold and Fiona. Tell Killian – if I don’t see him again, you know what to say, I did what I had to.”

“Liam?” She stared at him, white-faced, which then turned to horror as she understood what he was going to do. “Liam – Liam, no!”

Too late.

Liam pushed off, let go, and fell.

The first few times Killian looked back to mark their progress, the Griffin was still in sight below, anchored a few hundred yards from the blackened shell of the Walrus. The juxtaposition of the two, the living Navy fifth-rater and the ghostly ruin of the pirate ship, gave him a chill, though why he couldn’t quite say. Perhaps it was the bridge between their old and new lives, all the many years gone by from violent past to uncertain present, or the tangible presence of the ghosts that hung thick on this island for all of them, in whatever shape or form. But the next time he looked back after that, the trees had closed in. It was just the four of them, and the jungle.

Killian shook his head, reminded himself that distraction was likely to be very costly in this place, and almost had to jog to catch up. He had never seen Miranda this possessed, striding ahead and barely remembering her cane, climbing the long, steep, narrow path without much more difficulty than the rest of them. She might be forced to remember her limitations later, but for now, they clearly could not be further from her mind. “Hey,” he panted, pulling alongside her. “Don’t overdo it, eh? We could be in for a bloody long search.”

“I know.” Miranda gave him a half-smile. “But I don’t care. I am getting to James, and to Jack, and to Sam, and we are getting them all off this damnable island, no matter what. I’ve spent almost twenty-five years missing Sam’s namesake and Jack’s uncle, and I am not losing the lads like that. I simply refuse. If Jack never wants to have anything to do with the lot of us again… that is his prerogative, I cannot change his mind. But we are going to save them.”

“I hope so,” Charlotte said. She still looked red-eyed and wan, but the same steely determination was visible in her expression. “And that Jack hasn’t done anything he – that he can’t take back. Do you think there’s any chance, if Billy took your son, that they stumbled into Flint and Jack?”

Emma, at Killian’s side, went pale, as any confrontation between Flint and Billy would end with one of them, and possibly any nearby bystanders, not walking away from it. “I don’t know,” she said. “Flint clearly didn’t take them down the main passage, so they could have landed anywhere on the island. And if Flint and Billy were here for at least a year together, and didn’t cross paths then, they could avoid doing it again. Just look at this place. It could lead you in circles forever.”

Everyone tried not to catch each other’s eye, as the fact was that they too could fall prey to Skeleton Island’s disorienting and dangerous effects. Killian had been aware of a strange buzzing in his ear, like an irritating insect that wasn’t there every time he moved to swat it, and while he, as an excellent navigator, was normally impeccable with directions, he kept struggling with any sense of which way they were headed or where they should keep going. He had been using the checks back to the Griffin more than he wanted to admit, and he had to fight off a certain sensation of being totally lost. “Billy and Flint both know the island, as much as you can know it. I don’t think either of them would stumble anywhere, at least not accidentally.”

“Maybe not.” It was Charlotte’s voice from up ahead, sounding strange. “You  might want to have a look at this, though.”

Killian, Emma, and Miranda glanced at each other, then sped up, climbing over the earthen berm and into the treed perch beyond. It looked as if it had been fortified and disguised with branches, foliage, and bits of bracken, and it had a clear line of sight down to the harbor. While it was momentarily reassuring to glimpse the Griffin again, at least only for proof that it had not mysteriously sunk while it was out of view, this had clearly been set up to have a good vantage point on anyone coming ashore. It was also just as clearly not intended to make sure that they landed safely. It was Emma who said first, “This is a sniper’s nest.”

“No guns, though.” Charlotte frowned. “Unless whoever set this up had an unexpected change of plan and had to abandon it. In which case, I imagine, they took their guns with them. If Jack and Flint didn’t come this way, I don’t see how it could be them. I think – I certainly damn well hope – Jack wouldn’t put together something like this, and he only had one pistol with him, anyway.”

“No,” Emma said quietly. “This looks like Billy’s work.”

There was a pause, as Killian wondered if they should scout for bloodstains or signs of a struggle, and yet could not bear to voice the possibility. If Billy had somehow lost Sam, his valuable hostage, or if Sam had escaped, Billy might have felt it worth leaving his meticulously constructed murder hole in order to recapture him. There was no way to know if he had in fact succeeded, if Sam was alive or dead, and Killian felt a strange, clear, almost surreal conviction settle over him: that if Billy or anyone else had touched a single hair on his son’s head, he was going to burn and raze this entire godforsaken place to the ground, after first murdering the culprit in the most awful way he could possibly think of. He could feel Captain Hook banging on the bars of his cage, demanding to be let out, and he only half wanted to keep expending the energy to hold him back. Killian bent over, bracing hard and gulping air, reminding himself that it availed nothing to make assumptions and fly off the handle completely. There was simply no acceptable world where this cost them Sam, another Sam. Not after everything.

Emma put a hand on his back, their eyes meeting in shaken and silent accord. At least it didn’t look, to a preliminary inspection, as if anyone had been shot here, and there was no blood on the underbrush. No body either. It did look as if something or someone had blundered through the bracken, breaking a trail, and after a final pause, Killian jerked up his hand. “This way.”

The four of them proceeded very cautiously, single file, trying to keep noise to a minimum. Killian got a firm grip on his pistol, expecting every moment for Billy or some other mad avenger to leap out of the bushes, but the trail led to a fast-rushing stream, the bank broken and scuffed as if someone had lost their footing and plunged off it. It was impossible to tell which direction they could have gone; in fact, the most likely option seemed to be that Sam (as it almost had to be, since nobody else would be running away from here) had fallen in the water. Killian stared at it for a long moment, debating the merits of jumping in as well and letting it sweep him away, but he was aware that that was a stupid idea. There was a path that led up on the far side, and he wanted to get high enough for a vantage on the island, see if there was any disturbance – or for that matter, another ship. “Come on,” he managed. “We have to go up.”

They crossed the stream and started to climb. The slope tilted more and more steeply, almost vertically, and they had to use all fours, which was a bloody inconvenience for a one-handed man. Killian wished devoutly that he’d worn his hook, not least because he wanted to bury it between someone’s eyes if necessary, and instead had to bat clumsily with the gloved wooden fingers of his false hand. Captain Hand sounds a deal less threatening, but I can make do in a pinch. He could see a clearing of the trees above, so perhaps they were almost to the ridge of the island’s central mountain. That should give a decent spot for reconnaissance.

Charlotte had climbed ahead, as she was the youngest member of the group by a good thirty years, and Killian saw her waving frantically down at them. That impelled him to go still faster, as Emma and Miranda did the same, and they clawed their way out of the last tangles of trees and onto the exposed crest of the ridge, which switchbacked back and forth a few miles to the distant green summit. The view was stupendous, but that was not what had attracted Charlotte’s attention. On the eastern side of the island, tiny enough to be just visible but nonetheless unmistakable, was another ship.

“Is that the Titania?” Emma, still getting her breath, clutched hard at Killian’s arm. “Do you recognize – ?”

“I don’t think so.” Killian frowned. “I’ve never gotten much of a proper look at her, since she fired on the Nautilus at night, and then on the Griffin in the fog, but that doesn’t look the same. Besides, we thought they would be making for the other eye of the skull, and that ship approached from the open sea. Wrong look, wrong position. It’s someone else.”

Emma opened her mouth, doubtless to ask who he thought it was instead, but at that moment, a distant, mammoth blast tore through the eerie silence, rumbling and rolling until Killian briefly thought that the island’s mountain was a volcano, and it was exploding (such additional calamity was in no way unlikely). A column of thick black smoke began to rise from the trees to the north, and all of them got a whiff of a sour, acrid burning scent. That was far too large for a single cannon shot, or perhaps even several. It was wrong for the last known position of the Griffin, but they couldn’t be sure, as the angle from here was too sheer to see into the eye of the skull. Perhaps it could have sailed north, but that would require a long, delicate reverse navigation down the channel without them, leaving its captain ashore.

“I…” Emma looked shaken. “Do you think that was from the Titania?”

“It’s highly bloody likely,” Killian said grimly. “Doing what, though?”

“Blowing up something large, clearly.” Charlotte shaded her eyes and tried to get a better look, but the origin of the smoke was completely obscured by the steep, jungled bluffs. It was from up here that you could appreciate just how much of a maze Skeleton Island actually was. The high ground cut back and forth as if by a drunken tailor none too cautious with the shears, and visibility kept dropping away into cuts and cliffs and other dead ends, where you knew the sea should lie just there to the south but were completely unable to spot it. The trees jammed together without a break or measurable clearing apart from where they ran up against the shore, and certain patches were even darker than the rest, as if grown and overgrown to the point of total inescapability. Even if you did climb up here with the intention of getting the lay of the land, as they had, it was no guarantee that you could actually do a damn thing about it. Flint’s (and Billy’s, Killian supposed) survival and escape seemed the more and more impressive the longer they stayed here. Which, in fact, reminded him. Smoke or no smoke, they needed to be getting on with things.

“Well,” he said, trying to sound authoritative. “It would be a dangerous scramble to get to the source of that, and it wouldn’t be very useful anyway. Charlotte, if Jack saw another ship here, would he approach them, make some sort of deal? Billy might have, I don’t know. We should at least make damn sure we know who it is, if we have company. All in favor?”

There was a brief pause, and then Emma, Charlotte, and Miranda raised their hands in unison. As he only had one, it was reasonably plain that Killian could not take the lead down the rock-choked, near-vertical descent, and he turned to Charlotte. “You first, lass?”

She paused, then nodded, swinging both legs over the edge and bouldering cautiously out of sight, picking a path through the tumbled, towering stones. Killian came next, then Miranda, and Emma brought up the rear, all of them determinedly not looking down as they put hands and feet only where Charlotte had. About halfway through the descent, they heard a distinctive rush and roar, and realized that it turned into a waterfall for the last fifty feet. Killian was ludicrously tempted to suggest that they just take the express way down, but there was no way of knowing what was at the bottom. If it was a deep pool with no stones, they might have a shot, but expecting this place to be benevolent when it could instead come up with yet another way to kill you felt almost criminally naïve. There could be – had to be – another way.

Charlotte yelled for them to stop, and they came to a halt on a relatively broad, secure ledge, looking down at the white-frothed veil of the falls. There was the possibility of an alternate route to either side, but it would require quite a bit of daredevil climbing out over wet rocks that, to Killian’s eye, did not look terribly steady. Or they could climb back up the way they had come and try for another line of descent, but the cliffs turned sheer almost at once. This was the only narrow corridor where there were enough boulders and debris to allow for handholds, and as Charlotte stared at the brink, Killian could see the decision forming on her face. Then she turned to them. “I’m going to have to try going over.”

“No,” Emma said. “No, that’s much too dangerous.”

“There’s enough water in the flow that I shouldn’t hit the rocks on the way down, too much,” Charlotte pointed out. “I can’t see all of the landing, but I did glimpse a bit of something that looked like a pool, and if I can go in mostly feet-first, that will help. It will take too long to climb back up, and I don’t think we can get around anyway. A fall from either side of here would definitely kill us, so…” She took a deep, rattling breath. “I’m going to take the risk. If I – well, if you don’t hear anything, then… find another way down, but I can do this. I think.”

“What about us?” Killian asked. “Aye, you’re a resilient young lass of twenty-something, but for the rest of us elder statesmen – ”

“If I can take it,” Charlotte said, “I think you can. If it’s a butter churn on the way down but no serious injuries, well then, that’s not too – ”

“I’m going with you,” Miranda said.

Everyone blinked, turning to stare at her, and Emma grabbed her arm. “What? No. No, no.”

“If Charlotte grabs hold of me,” Miranda said, “and I use her as a sled, our combined weight is more likely to keep the other on course. We will also shield each other from the worst of the bumps. One of us might have a chance, yes, but two have a better one. Then if we make it to the bottom, you two – ” she nodded at Emma and Killian – “can go over in the same way, and we will additionally be there to pull you out. Does that not make sense?”

Killian could not help but gape at his mother-in-law. “Miranda – ”

Her brown eyes burned back at him. “We are wasting time. I said I was facing anything you were. We don’t have another option. I’m willing. Charlotte?”

“I…” Charlotte blinked. “If you’re sure, but if I’m wrong – ”

“I trust you,” Miranda said. “We are getting both of our husbands back, and my grandson.”

Charlotte paused once more, then nodded. Killian thought there might be a brief brightness of tears in her eyes, but perhaps that was just the spray. They climbed off the ledge and into the calf-deep water of the waterfall’s outrush, the edge just a few feet away; the pull was strong enough that they had to brace hard to avoid being sucked over. Charlotte floated on her back, gripping hold of a pair of rocks, and Miranda climbed on top of her, locking her arms around Charlotte’s neck and her legs around Charlotte’s thighs, tucking her head under Charlotte’s chin. Then Charlotte let go of the boulders to wrap her own limbs around Miranda, and Emma and Killian pushed them slowly toward the brink. “Miranda,” Emma said. “I… I love you.”

“I love you too, my dear.” Miranda smiled at her. “And you will have a chance to tell me again, in a few minutes. Now do it. Give us a good push. Let go.”

Emma struggled visibly to unclench her fists from their death grip on Charlotte’s left arm, as she and Killian were still the only thing that was holding them back from going over. “I – ” she gasped. “Miranda, no, I can’t, I can’t – ”

“Come on, love,” Killian urged her. “I’m here. Look at me. Miranda wants it, we’ve decided on this together. We’re doing this as one, you can, you can. Look at me. Look at me, love, and just let go. I know you can. I know you can. We have to, Emma. You have to.”

Emma shuddered a brief, miserable breath, trembling from head to toe. She lifted her head, eyes fixed on Killian’s as if looking at him was the only thing that would give her the wherewithal to do this. Then she swung her arm back as he did the same, and in unison, they shoved Miranda and Charlotte over the edge. There was a roar and a splash, and they were gone.

Emma swayed on the spot, almost losing her balance in the continued rush of the current, and Killian caught her, pulling her into his chest and boosting them up onto one of the slimy boulders. They sat there, clutching each other, listening to the unabated tumble of the falls, every single nerve on twisted, twanging, desperate edge for a sound, any sound. Killian likewise felt that he was about to be sick from the tension, when he finally heard a shout. Faint, but distinct. Then again.

He scrambled as close to the edge as he could, but as Charlotte had said, he couldn’t see the landing. Leap of faith, eh? But someone was down there, someone was calling for them, and it was time to take the same chance. He slid back into the water and held out his hand to Emma. “Come on, love. Trust me. Trust us.”

Her mouth continued to quiver, but after a pause, she reached out and put hers into it. He gripped hard, drawing her close, as he lay down as Charlotte had and pulled her atop him. “Well, Swan,” he said in her ear. “Never let it be said that being married to me is not exciting.”

Emma shuddered a brief, terrified, annoyed giggle. “Speak for yourself, pirate.”

“Which would entail you as well.” Killian kissed her ear. “Close your eyes.”

Emma looked as if she was thinking about arguing, but after a moment, she did, arms wrapped so tightly around his chest that Killian briefly wondered if he would die of suffocation before he got anywhere near the waterfall. He linked his good arm over her in turn, and pushed them off with his false hand. Then locked them both tightly over her back, felt them hit the edge, and prayed.

The next moment, there was water to every side and to every angle and up every orifice, including some that Killian had not been previously aware existed. They fell at full speed, almost in space (at least, he thought, Charlotte had been correct, and they were not hitting the rocks). He was aware of the need to keep pointing them down, feet-first, even as the glissade improbably seemed to go even faster, and he had a brief, confused sense of the world, momentarily detached, now smashing up at them. He grabbed hold of Emma even harder, thought the only prayer that came to mind and which seemed appropriate for this bloody place – Blessed Michael, defend us from demons – and braced.

They slammed into the pool hard enough to daze him and send the shock of impact crashing up his legs, but at least he did not crash into anything else – which, considering the circumstances, was a major victory. They bobbed wildly as a cork, struggling to right themselves, until his head briefly broke the surface and was promptly pummeled under by the force of the water above. For a moment, he did in fact fear that they might drown, until a hand seized him by the collar and hauled him toward the bank. They bumped up into shallower water, Killian opened his stinging eyes, and saw Charlotte, blood running down her face from a gash across the bridge of her nose, but otherwise intact. Both of them were breathing too hard to speak, but they managed a battered, relieved grin.

Killian lay in the shallows for several moments as Emma slowly unlocked herself from him, raising her head as her soaking hair trailed in her eyes. She seemed stunned and euphoric that they were in fact alive, then immediately scrambled off Killian and ran, splashing and dripping, to where Miranda was recovering from her whirlwind water thrill ride on the bank. “You see, my dear,” she said, as Emma reached her and threw herself to her knees in front of her. “Never too old for a bit of adventure, now are we?”

Emma didn’t answer, gripping Miranda’s face in her hands as Miranda did the same, and they gazed into each other’s eyes, resting their foreheads together. Killian himself looked gratefully up at Charlotte. “Bloody hell, lass, that’s one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen anyone do. From here – how much farther to that ship? Did you get a look?”

“Not far.” Charlotte wrung out her sopping brown curls. “We should be able to make it, but our powder will be quite wet after that little excursion. If we’re planning to shoot anyone – ”

“I’d hope not,” a voice said, close at hand. “Fancy seeing the lot of you here.”

Killian and Charlotte whirled around, with Charlotte pulling one of the pistols from her bandolier and cocking it – wet powder or no wet powder, she had good reflexes – as Emma and Miranda let go of each other and jumped to their feet as well. A brown-haired young man in a torn, dirty black velvet jacket had just emerged from the neighboring thicket, pointing guns at them with both hands, as Emma went white to the lips. Her voice, when she spoke, was icily cool and cordial. “Lord Gideon Murray.”

“That’s him? The pissant who caused so much trouble for us in Charlestown? Gold’s…” As Killian stared at the young man, he could see the resemblance. “Gold’s son. Aren’t you.”

“Unfortunately,” Gideon snapped. “It is most… instructive to lay eyes on you for the first time, Mr. Jones. You were supposed to be well out of the way.”

“Yes, I know,” Killian said heatedly. “You had Rufio and his squad of junior thuglets snatch me and whisk me off to France. For your information, I killed Rufio in Le Havre, and God knows what happened to the rest. I heard all about how you were intending to twist the family’s arm with the prospect of my safety, in order to force them to carry out your Jacobite errands in Philadelphia, so don’t worry, I’m all caught up. But how the bleeding Jesus are you here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Gideon kept both guns trained on them. “That ship you seemed so interested in – it’s mine, the Hispaniola. I met your daughter out at sea, by the way. Very… charming girl. Quite a bit like you.”

Both Emma and Killian jerked forward. “You – Geneva? Where is she? Did you – I swear, if you laid a single finger – ”

“She’s fine,” Gideon said curtly. “At last knowledge, she was threatening to kill me. I just needed John Silver to navigate us here, but he and one young Mr. Hawkins have regretfully eluded my custody. I don’t suppose you’ve spotted a one-legged man and his accomplice?”

“Like we’d tell you.” Emma drew herself up. “Where is my daughter? What did you do to her?’

“I said, nothing.” Gideon was clearly irritated by the topic. “Even helped her out, I’d say, and if your bloody family would just have cooperated from the start – ”

Emma looked to be on the very verge of punching Gideon in the face, a course of action that Killian would have thoroughly supported in any other circumstances, but as it was, the two guns and the general precarious nature of things gave him pause. He laid a hand on her arm, thinking fast. “So let me guess. You’re here in search of the treasure stash, so you can cart it off for James Stuart and friends? Given your previous actions, I’d take that as the most likely.”

“What of it?” Gideon’s trigger finger appeared to be getting itchy, and Killian edged in front of Emma and Miranda, just in case. “Does it matter? You’re going to help me, or – ”

“I think,” Killian said, “there’s something – someone – on this island you’d rather see first. If I am not much mistaken, that is. We could help you with that.”

“Oh?” Gideon scowled. “And what could possibly be more important to me than the – ”

“Aye.” Killian stared him down. “How about your father?”

Sam was aware that he was on the ground before he was aware of any conscious decision to do so, which was just about how everything had been going recently. After Grandpa had rescued him last night, and that thing had happened with Jack that Sam very much did not want to think about, he had the ever-increasing sense that he was merely a detached bystander bobbing along for the ride, pulled like a kite on a string, which might have something to do with the fact that his fever was definitely getting worse. The gash on his arm was red and raw and hot, darker red streaks shot through the flesh, and while Sam was not an expert in the medicinal arts, it did not take one to see that the damn thing was quite well and thoroughly infected. Lady Fiona’s dagger was probably not a paramount specimen of cleanliness to start with, and after his nightmare boondoggle through Skeleton Island, Sam was only amazed that it hadn’t yet been stripped to the bone. He had avoided mentioning it to Grandpa, partly because he didn’t want to be a bother and partly because as long as he didn’t, he could focus on that instead of Jack. He had recently become aware that this was a bad strategy, but, well. Now they had other things to worry about.

As another shot ripped across the clearing, Sam belatedly pieced together that he was on the ground because Grandpa had pulled him down, and Grandpa had been pulled down in turn by the one-legged man, evidently the infamous Long John Silver himself, who had dived at them when the first gunshot went off. The other young man, whose name Sam was still not clear on but who appeared to know his sister, had been included in this, so they were taking dubious cover behind a large rotted log. A third shot ripped off the bark, inches from Sam’s ear, and he fought through the haze in a desperate attempt to focus. “What the fu…”

“I can’t tell.” Flint tried to raise himself on an elbow far enough to get a good look at their attacker. “He’s on the far side, well hidden in the trees – I’ll have to sight the muzzle flash on the next one and see if I can – ”

“I bet I know.” Sam coughed painfully. “There’s only one man who has that many guns, who must have spotted you both here and thought it was too good an opportunity to pass up. And is probably also mad at me for cracking him on the head. That’s got to be Billy Bones.”

Flint looked as if he had just found a very large slug in his soup, but could not demur. He and Long John exchanged an almost inadvertent look, as Silver tried in turn to get a glimpse over the top of the log, and had to dodge again as a bullet drilled into the soft, rotten wood. After a pause Flint said, “We have two rifles and no extra ammunition, so no matter if that’s Billy or not, we have exactly two shots to kill him. You over there, what was your name – you also had that pistol you stupidly threatened me with, give it over – ”

“My name’s Jim. Jim Hawkins.” The young man stared back at Flint with impressive composure. “And I thought Sam was in danger.”

“Well, he is now,” Flint muttered grimly, whisking the pistol out of Jim’s hand without further ado and bracing it on his arm. He tried to sight over the log, then cursed. “No good. No fucking good. I can shoot at the leaves, but – ”

“Hold on,” Silver said. “Let me – let me try something.”

There was a hideous pause as Flint stared at him, as Sam was well aware that this was the last thing in the entire world that his grandfather wanted to do: trust another big plan of John Silver’s on Skeleton Island itself. But they were pinned down and under heavy fire, Sam had seen for himself how many guns Billy had and the supplies to reload them, and there was nowhere for any of them to move without getting shot. Quietly Silver said, “I will not ask if you trust me. You know what that answer is. But do you know who I am?”

There was another, slightly longer pause. Then Flint said, “Yes. I fucking well know that.”

“All right.” Silver seemed to be counting in his head. Then he said, “About thirty seconds between shots. That must be how long it takes Billy either to reload or to cycle between guns. Which means the next one is – ”

Another bullet splintered the wood, close enough to Jim to make him roll away into Sam. Good bloody thing, Sam thought bitterly, that Billy was bloody punctual.

“Now. Now!” Silver, assured of twenty-eight seconds or so before the next shot, vaulted clumsily over the log and stood up, both hands raised, in clear and easy view of the trees across the way. “Billy!” he bellowed. “BILLY! I know you’re there!”

No answer. Billy, of course, knew better than to give away his position, especially when John Silver had just popped up like a mole out a hole and was seemingly volunteering to be shot. Flint’s knuckles went white on the stock of his forcibly borrowed pistol, and Sam edged up to get a better look. Stalemate. Billy wouldn’t reveal himself or Flint would shoot him, and Flint couldn’t shoot him until Billy revealed himself, which he would do if he shot at Silver. A strange, echoing, eerie silence fell after the crack and strafe of the gunshots, until all at once, Sam had a bad idea. Most likely it was the fever delirium talking, but they were not exactly spoiled for choice. “Grandpa,” he whispered. “Grandpa, grab me. Act like you’re using me as a human shield. You and Silver have to stage an argument, you – Billy thinks you’re Flint, you’re the monster, and he needs to see you threatening me. I think it’ll throw him.”

“What?” Flint stared at him. “Sam, are you – ”

“No,” Sam said. “I know I’m not a pirate, and I’m not terribly good at this. But I have spent a bit of time with Billy recently. He’s still automatically thinking that you and Silver are in cahoots and Silver’s trying to draw him out. Come on. Please, just do it.”

Flint kept staring at him. Then all at once, he came to a decision. He reached over, grabbed hold, and pulled him up over the log – that was, pulled Jim Hawkins, who was quite alarmed at this turn of events and struggled to break Flint’s iron grip. Flint, however, paid no attention. He swung Jim toward the trees and shouted, “Billy! You want to see me? Here I am! Go on, have a try, shoot us both. What’s one more innocent man’s life?”

Sam, now the only one remaining behind the log, inched up far enough to get a better look. Flint had the pistol jammed under Jim’s chin, and Jim looked sharply sidelong at Silver, as if to say that he had not signed up for this and had no idea which one of them to trust, or if both of them were playing competing games to some dangerous, vengeful end. Silver himself had clearly been taken off guard. “James – Captain – ”

“Shut up,” Flint warned him. “Or I’m shooting your companion right here. I might call him your friend, but we know you don’t have any friends, don’t we? Eh? BILLY!”

There was a final pause, and then the leaves rustled. Like a tall, silent specter of the wood, Billy Bones emerged from his concealed position, holding a heavy blunderbuss cocked and ready. Sam’s whack across the temple had left a fairly impressive red weal, but it only served to make Billy look more towering and dangerous than ever, several more guns slung in reserve over his shoulders. Aiming the blunderbuss dead at Flint’s head, he said, “Let Hawkins go.”

“You’ve met, have you?” Flint grinned. “You know, that makes this doubly satisfying.”

“In Bristol, yes.” Billy kept the muzzle pointed unwaveringly at his oldest enemy, the man he had blamed for destroying his life, had concocted this entire plan in order to hunt down. “Look at the two of you, once more at each other’s throats. Or at least that’s what you want me to think, isn’t it? I know you, remember. I know both of you. Silver is out here playing the fucking bird with the broken wing, fluttering and flapping to distract me, so you can draw me out and shoot me. Even after years spent insisting you hated each other, you just fall right back into it, don’t you? Two sides of the same coin, just as ever. What did you do to Sam?”

“Sam?” Flint said, not missing a beat. “No idea. Why, did you misplace him?”

Billy shook his head, almost looking amused. “You know, he vouched for you. Tried to insist that you had actually changed. That there was some possibility you would have let this go by now – which, it goes without saying, you haven’t. And you, Silver. You’re fucking pathetic. Desperately panting at Flint’s heels for any scrap of kindness or grudging atonement he feels like throwing to you, when the one useful thing you did in your life was to draw a line in the sand and give him what he deserves. Even if he shot Hawkins right here, right in front of you, no doubt you’d find some way to rationalize that away as well. So, then. It seems I’m just going to have to kill you both. Who wants to go first?”

Nobody moved or spoke. Sam, still hidden behind the log, felt his heart banging painfully against his ribs, as well as the realization that one of the rifles that Flint had taken off Hands was within his reach. Billy was standing right there, he clearly hadn’t realized that Sam was here as well, and thus thought that all the threats were accounted for. That he had both Flint and Silver essentially at his mercy, with the minor obstacle of Jim, and a man who had gone to the Navy to sell out his old shipmates, and then helped Woodes Rogers kill them, was not going to be terribly constrained by that annoyance for long. Sam crawled toward the rifle, ignoring the now-agonizing pain in his arm, and wondered if he could do it. It was Gold he had really wanted to kill, in revenge for Nathaniel’s death. Then he had realized that was going to lead him nowhere good, wouldn’t bring Nathaniel back anyway, and wasn’t something he was truly prepared to do. But Billy… Billy had kidnapped him, lied to him about Jack (though Jack had done plenty of lying on his own), and was now threatening to carry through on his long-standing threat. Yet he had also saved Sam from Lady Fiona’s attempted heart-eating, and he had once been Mum’s friend, a long time ago. Was Sam going to be able to do this, when he had never killed anyone else before, and not completely lose some vital part of himself?

Slowly, clumsily, Sam lifted the rifle. It felt heavy and alien in his hands, even though he knew quite well how to use it. Again that memory of shooting at Jack, before knowing it was Jack, back at the battle of St. Augustine, flittered to the surface like goldfish in a pond. He cocked the rifle and raised it, sighting down the barrel at Billy. If he didn’t kill him with the first try, Billy could shoot Grandpa or Silver or Jim Hawkins, and Sam was decidedly sure that he did not want that to happen. He felt cold all over, in a way quite distinct from his fever. Come on, you have to.

For a moment more, the silence remained absolute. Then Billy swung his blunderbuss around on Flint, Flint shoved Jim away and snapped back to face him with the pistol, and Silver and Sam took matters into their own hands at the same instant. Billy pulled the trigger of the blunderbuss, and Sam pulled the trigger of the rifle. The stock rocked painfully back against his shoulder, he couldn’t let go because his hands had somehow frozen, and among the haze of gun smoke, he could only make out a lot of confused figures, blundering and shouting. Billy staggered, dropping his gun. There was a slow, spreading red stain in his side, which he stared at as if not sure where it had come from. Then he looked up, locked eyes with Sam, who had started to shake so hard that the barrel of the rifle rattled loudly against the log, and understood. Reached for one of his other guns and struggled to point it, on the verge of doing it, of actually killing Sam, Emma Swan’s son or not. But for a final hairsbreadth, a moment, he didn’t. Then he gathered himself, and fired.

Sam dove away, just as he heard another pair of gunshots, and did not know if he could bear to see what these ones were. The world was somersaulting badly, his ears kept ringing and ringing, and for some reason when he looked at his hand, it was red. At least his arm was suddenly not the part of him that hurt the worst, which he could not figure out. Then he looked down at his shirt, and saw that it appeared to be stuck to a hole just under his last rib. The fabric, which had been filthy before, was now also turning red to boot.

Well, Sam thought, with his keen and penetrating powers of insight. That’s definitely not good. But he could not pay attention to that, not yet. Not now. Instead, he struggled to haul himself upright, peered over the log, and into the clearing.

Flint was slowly lowering the pistol, staring at Billy, who had fallen just a few feet from him. By the looks of things, it was Flint’s shot that had finished him off, but there had been so many flying and colliding bullets that it was hard to be sure. Flint kept staring at him for a long moment, as if waiting to see if he was going to get up. When he didn’t, Flint took an unsteady step backward. Despite all the men he must have killed, his hands were shaking uncontrollably, and he wracked them across his face, struggling to master himself. Then he looked up, and saw Sam. “Jesus fucking Christ, was that – did you – ”

“I did, yeah,” Sam said. It was hard to talk; he felt breathless and punched. “I think.”

“Are you – ” Flint stopped, completely discombobulated, as if he had no idea where to turn or look or what to do first. “Are you – ”

“I’m fine,” Sam lied. “What – where did Silver…?”

“He’s there.” Jim got a stick and prodded Billy, but he definitely appeared to be dead. Then he dropped it and ran across the clearing to where Silver was half-sitting, half-sprawling against a tree, looking the same as the rest of them felt. Jim knelt next to him. “Hey. Are you – did you get hit?”

Silver took his hand away, revealing the wound that he had been keeping pressure on. Sam’s focus of the world was starting to fritz and spin out, but it looked as if Silver had been shot – of all the ironies – in the thigh of his bad leg, catching the bullet intended for Flint which he had leapt in front of. He swatted weakly at Jim as Jim tried to get a better look. “It doesn’t matter. What are they going to do, hack it off a little higher this time? Leave it. Leave it.”

“No.” Jim looked around. “You – James – do we have something to make a bandage?”

Flint jumped, as if not sure that he had heard correctly when addressed by his Christian name. Then he pulled off his jacket and tossed it to Jim, who commenced tearing it into strips, binding up Silver’s leg as Silver continued to grumble feebly. Sam, for his part, was gazing up at the sky and feeling almost comfortable, which was a guaranteed combination of high fever and sustained blood loss. He supposed he could call for them, tell them that he had been shot too, but he was not sure what good it was going to do. He didn’t know if he had actually killed Billy, and didn’t want to think about it. This was all ridiculous. He wanted to go home.

A moment later, a shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Flint, staring down at him as an aghast expression on his face. He leapt down and crouched next to Sam. “Fucking – Jesus, you’re hit. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t wanna,” Sam mumbled. “Didn’t wanna be a burden.”

“The fuck you mean, you don’t want to be a burden?” Flint had already sacrificed his jacket for Silver’s bandage, but he held up a hand and shouted, and Jim threw him back the remainder. “You’re not a burden to us, you idiot. You’re not. Jesus, you helped me kill – ”

With that, he stopped. Then he pulled away the shirt from the wound and began to fold up strips, pressing them hard against it. Sam observed in drowsy, detached semi-interest. “Grandpa,” he said. “Grandpa. Look, my arm is – it doesn’t matter if you – it doesn’t – ”

“No,” Flint said, in the closest thing to outright panic that Sam had ever heard from him. “I am not letting you – Sam. Sam, open your eyes. Sam, stay awake. Stay awake!”

“It hurts,” Sam said, in what sounded close to a whimper. “I don’t want to.”

“No. No, no, no, you are not.” Flint’s tone was halfway between snarling and pleading. He kept working, folding up more strips of his torn jacket and binding them tightly around Sam’s side, until some of the bleeding had slowed. Then he carefully slid an arm under his shoulders and lifted him up, as the world rushed in blinding, blackening cartwheels around Sam’s head. “Hey. Hawkins! Hawkins!”

“What?” Jim was just hauling Silver to his feet; Silver’s arm was heavily around his shoulders and he couldn’t put any weight at all on his injured leg, hopping and skipping. If they met any more old enemies with murder on their mind, or any major obstacle at all, they were done for. Silver at least was walking wounded, but Sam was, as he knew in that same abstract fashion, in a very bad way. This should possibly concern him more than it was, but that took too much energy. He might not mind falling down that dark well. Might not mind drowning.

“We need to get them help,” Flint said, taking a better grip on Sam. “You said my granddaughter was coming. Didn’t you?”

“I – ” Jim was pale under his tan, but he did his best to nod resolutely. “Yes. Geneva is on her way with the Rose, I’m sure of it. But I don’t know if we could make our way down to where she’s most likely to land, if she’s coming from the east, without being spotted. We have two badly injured men and only one gun. If we’re caught up – ”

“Aye.” Flint looked as grim as winter. “But as it happens. I may know a way.”

Long after the night had fallen silent and they were gone, Jack Bellamy stood on the beach and did not move, regarding Israel Hands’ stiffening corpse with a sort of remote, academic interest and not entirely sure that he should not just lie down next to him and wait for a similar fate. It seemed about the only thing he had left, with no Howe and no revenge and no Charlotte and no Sam and nothing else among the few things he had ever grasped for and tried to build anything on. It was a mistake, it was all an immense, turbulent, impossible mistake that had stretched on and on far beyond when it should have had the decency to end. But nothing else had ever had decency, and nothing else had ever ended, so why this?

He had no idea how long he remained there. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. Long enough to become aware of the tide lapping around his boots as it came in, making Hands’ body twitch and sway grotesquely, and that, somehow, made Jack decide that no matter how he died, as he was going to do one way or another, he didn’t want it to be like this. He might as well walk for a while, walk forever. Walk until he was worn down to a skeleton, like whatever else of the buggers were on this island, and never even notice when he turned to dust.

Jack hunched his shoulders against the wind and took a step, then another, and then another, wading out of the tide rush and up onto the beach. Some of the clouds had cleared, and the panorama of stars above was breathtaking, reflected in the dark water like fat, brilliant crystals. The wind scoured against his face, thin and cold and sharp, whisking the tears away before they could come close to falling. Movement felt better, made the pain duller, pushed it back to the remote, boxed-up corner of his head where he kept it. He was more used to putting physical pain there, rather than emotional, but it served the same purpose.

Jack walked steadily along the coast, following the jagged twists and turns of the shore, until it crumbled off into a mess of broken stones and he had to go inland. He clambered on all fours up the bank, eyeing the pitch-black trees. Doubtless there was something dangerous in there, but he really, truly could not bring himself to care. Yet as he remained where he was, staring at nothing, he thought he heard something further in. Something that sounded like crying. Like a boy crying.

Despite himself, Jack’s heart skipped a beat. Had something – if something had gone wrong and they had been separated, or – it was stupid, it was stupid, but he couldn’t stop it. “Sam?”

No answer. The distant, heartbroken sound continued, drifting through the trees, as Jack shifted from foot to foot, debating furiously with himself. Louder, he called, “Sam?”

Still nothing. The crying seemed to be getting further away. If he was wandering around in there alone – of course, trust Captain fucking Flint to be terrible at childcare or looking after his own grandson or anything else, but –

Jack swore furiously under his breath a few times and started in, hands before his face to prevent himself from walking straight into a branch and putting his eye out. The darkness was as thick as soup, and almost as impenetrable. He felt gingerly with his foot before each step, so he didn’t plummet off a sudden drop or awake a vengeful spider god or whatever else might be lurking here and waiting to snap him up. He seemed to be going uphill, roughly, but it was impossible to tell. The clearest way forward meandered up and down, only incidentally in concord with whichever direction the crying was coming from. Jack followed it as best he could, until he sensed the presence of something still darker and cooler in the hillside in front of him, a breath of damp air on his face. A cave. He was fairly sure the crying was coming from inside.

He paused, disconcerted for the first time. Made his way to the low opening, bent over, and called, “Hey!”

It echoed away, and the crying briefly stopped. Jack considered, then grabbed a broken branch, a nearby stone, and scraped it against the rock long enough to get a spark. It took a few more tries after that, but he finally fashioned a makeshift torch, which wouldn’t last very long and which kept guttering as if threatening to go out altogether, but which would hopefully enough to light his way to find whoever was in there. A cold finger of doubt pricked him; what if it wasn’t Sam? Not that Jack could think who else might be abandoning children in this godawful place, but now that he was here, he couldn’t quite countenance turning back. He coaxed his torch to as much glow as he was going to get from it, bent almost in half to fit through the entrance, and then straightened up in the narrow passage beyond.

He walked in silence for several minutes, until the crying started up again, just past the next turn. He put on a burst of speed and hurried around the corner, only to discover that sound in this place was deceptive; there was nobody here, and the crying in fact originated from the next turn. It was only after the third or fourth repetition of this, thinking for sure that he would find it this time, that Jack realized that it kept moving. There wasn’t a child here, or Sam. It was something else, some sort of weird trick of the cave, the way the wind blew through, to make it only sound like crying. But if that was the case, why had he also heard it in the woods?

Jack came to a halt, unnerved and uncertain whether he should keep chasing it deeper. It seemed loud now, and close, and with a sudden thrill of horror, he realized as well that he knew what it reminded him of. Not a lost child, not Sam, not a trick of the cave. It sounded like him, the way he used to cry when he was about five or six, for hours and hours up in his drafty garret bedroom of the Howes’ respectable townhouse in London. Crying like that after another pitiful supper, another backhand from Howe or a withering remark from Mrs. Howe or the way his half-sister, Laura, would occasionally give him timid, pitying looks but had been long trained out of even thinking of intervening. Had sobbed like that until Mrs. Howe came up one night and informed him that the neighbors were asking funny questions, and if he didn’t stop that hideous wailing immediately, she’d switch him until he learned to mind his manners. How old was I when I learned to suffer silently? Seven? Eight?

Jack remained rooted to the spot, arms crawling with gooseflesh, listening to that terrible sound. He wanted to run out of this cave and keep running all the way back to the beach, row back to the bloody Griffin or further away if that was what it took to escape it. Yet somehow, he couldn’t. “Hey,” he managed, in a husking whisper. Had no idea what he was doing, or if it would help. It hardly seemed comforting, since after all, he’d managed to destroy everything he had acquired as a result, but still. “Hey. You’re – you’re going to get out of there, all right? You’re going to get out. You’re going to figure it out and you’re going to leave and… you won’t get to kill your father, but Charlotte does, and Charlotte…” He struggled over the words. “Charlotte’s your wife, and you loved – you love her, and you escape together. She lies to you, and she… I don’t know what’s going to happen, but she… she kills him, all right? Howe. He’s going to die, and you’re going to get out of there.”

He couldn’t tell if that did anything or not. Felt tremendously foolish talking to a strange echo, to some memory of his own, wondered if he was actually hearing this out loud, or only in his head. “You’re going to get out of there,” he said again, as loud as he could. “Jack, listen to me.”

It seemed further away, or quieter. His torch was burning low, and then, a breath of wind sighed through the cave and put it out altogether, plunging him into total darkness once again. He listened as hard as he could, but he couldn’t make out the crying any more. Only silence. Cessation. Stillness. It was just him in here. It was just him.

Feeling as if all the strength had drained out of him, Jack sank onto the floor of the cave. He lay down, curled up onto his side, and wondered if the ghosts were here, but he couldn’t see them. He was exhausted beyond rhyme or reason. He closed his eyes, and fell fast asleep.

He had no idea how long he slept, but he finally awoke with dim light on his face. Squinting and grimacing, he peered up at the roof of the cave and saw that there was a small hole in the ground above, admitting a streamer of wan, dusty daylight. He was thirsty as a bloody desert, and by scouting around the chamber, found a pool of water that was so clear he could see ten or fifteen feet straight down to the bottom. Glad that he had not gone blundering after his torch burned out, Jack splashed a little on his face and hands and drank until he felt somewhat refreshed. Said torch-snuffing gust had come from deeper inside the cave, so it had to have another opening, further up. And it was odd, but he wanted to get out of here. He wanted to find Sam, even if Sam wanted nothing to do with him, and – well, Jack didn’t have the slightest clue what one would ordinarily do next, but an apology was likely to be involved somewhere. He wanted to see Charlotte too, for that matter, even if he had even less idea what would proceed after that. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to try again.

There wasn’t anything to make another torch with, but there was just enough murky light for him to mostly find his way. He took another bracing drink of water, then started back into the passage, climbing carefully. Small stalactites serrated the low ceiling, so that Jack had to keep his head down if he didn’t want one of the wee bastards to split his skull, and other intricate, twisted speleothems glittered from hidden nooks and crannies. Sometimes it went completely dark again, but at least not for long. This cave had to extend fairly far under the island. He’d been going for several hours since waking, and still not hit the end of it yet.

At last, slowly, the passage began to tilt up, and the light grew stronger. Jack could make out that he was standing at the bottom of a steep-sided natural cistern, and he had to puzzle for a few minutes about how he was going to climb up. But the rainwater that had fallen down here over years had worn grooves and pockmarks into the walls, and as long as he was careful, it was fairly easy to make his way up. He hauled himself out at the top, and saw that he was standing in a long, low-ceilinged, narrow tunnel, rather like a lava tube. Another fork of it led in a different direction, back under the hill, but Jack started for the light at the end. Never thought that was something you’d see in any sense of the word, now was it, Bellamy?

He had almost reached the opening when he tripped headlong over something, causing him to bark his shins and swear profligately. He thought it was a rock, but after looking down and brushing off the dust, he realized to his surprise that it was a large old chest. The lock on it was broken, and it had been wedged in a small hollow near the entrance of the cave. Jack stared at it, at a loss to work out what it was doing there, until he caught sight of something that he, due to his recent choice of employer, was intimately familiar with. The royal seal of the House of Bourbon. By the Grace of God King of Spain, His Catholic Majesty Philip V –

– anno domini 1715.

A lightning bolt went through Jack from head to heel. All at once, he understood. Of course. Of course. It would have taken hours for one man to dig a hole large enough to bury that chest, and by all accounts, Flint had not had nearly that long to spare. He had come ashore, found this cave, and stashed the chest down it, a quick and almost childishly simple hiding place. But because everyone was so caught up on the idea of buried treasure, at least the very few who managed to find the bearings for this place and survive the trip, they must have honeycombed the island, digging and digging in search of it, and all in vain. You diabolical bastard. Jack couldn’t help but admire it. Never bothered to set the story straight, and why would you?

He paused a final moment. He didn’t think he was wrong, but he wanted to be sure. He knelt down, removed the broken lock, and opened the trunk.

A cloud of dust rose from inside, thick as a sandstorm, and Jack coughed and batted it away. But as it dissipated, a strange golden glow reflected on the stone, and he stared in, completely mesmerized. It wasn’t full, as otherwise it would have been too heavy for Flint to carry, but it was certainly comfortably occupied. Stacks of fat golden doubloons, heaps of silver pieces of eight, several raw ingots of both. Jewels of every size and color: rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds, opals, topaz, black and white pearls, turquoise, aquamarine, and other semi-precious stones. A few rolled-up pieces of paper, half-rotted, that must be bank notes, property deeds, written bonds, or the like, and corked, wax-sealed pottery vials that must be expensive spices and perfumes, perhaps even still good after almost twenty-five years lost in the jungle. Chunks of cobalt, pieces of ivory, bronze collars and bracelets and other jewelry, and that was just what Jack could see. There was doubtless more if he wanted to dig in and have a proper look.

He continued to stare at it, spellbound. This trunk had been worth a small fortune in its own day, and by now, it was impossible to put a figure on its value. If he wanted to haul it out, back down the passage or somewhere else – well, he could likely do that. There wasn’t exactly anyone present to register an objection. He had ordered Flint to take him to this cache so he could trade it for Sam, but even one or two of those doubloons was worth more than your average ransom. And yet, it didn’t matter. Jack would still have been willing to hand over the whole thing.

After a pause, he rocked back on his heels and tried to think if he was going to try to dislodge it from its hiding place. What he would next do with it, he had no idea, but it seemed almost criminal to walk away and forget it was there. He thought excitedly of the money he could bring back for Charlotte and Cecilia, before remembering that he still had no idea if he was actually ever going to speak to Charlotte again. He wanted to, he hoped he would, but –

Jack was still occupied in rapt contemplation of the chest, vainly reminding himself to get back to – well, whatever he was going to do – when he was distracted by a sound in the jungle outside. Several sounds, actually, and coming closer at speed. This finally made him shut the lid, much as it pained him, and climb the dozen or so feet up to the entrance, peering out into the thick trees. If this was more mysterious crying, he wasn’t going to –

It wasn’t. It was a small group of people, moving fast and looking harried. Two men – no, three. One of them had a peg leg, his arm slung heavily around his younger compatriot’s neck, and a bloody bandage tied around that thigh. Both of the men almost seemed familiar, though for the life of him Jack had no idea why. The third one –

Jesus. It was Flint. And in his arms, unconscious or dead –

Oh, dear God.

[glenngaylord]

MY MOMENTS OUT OF TIME IN FILM 2019

Instead of a Top 10 List, every year I like to honor a long-discontinued but influential annual column from Film Comment magazine. I couldn’t wait for my father to come home from work with the “Moments Out Of Time” issue.  The writers would cite their favorite scenes, images, or lines of dialogue, even from films they may not have liked, because let’s face it, even bad films may have a great moment or two.

The year brought us so many wonderful films.  Parasite wowed me with its ability to surprise while telling an important story about class divisions.  I think Once Upon A Time In…Hollywood will stop me in my tracks over and over again with its immersive deep dive into late 1960s Los Angeles.  The female-on-female gaze gets a workout in the stunning Portrait Of A Lady On Fire, while Jojo Rabbit masterfully walks a tightrope between hilarious and moving.  Watching Eddie Murphy return firing on all cylinders in Dolemite Is My Name remains one of the most joyous movie experiences of the year. Yet, even I can’t see them all, but here, in no particular order, are my Moments Out Of Time in film for 2019:

A door opens, someone calls out “Honey?”, as the plot veers off in a jaw-droppingly unexpected, biggest WTF of the year direction, turning a light class comedy into something far, far, deeper- Parasite

Upon the assassination of JFK, his enemy, Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino) orders the half mast flag in front of the Teamsters' Union to be raised back to its standard position.  As Hoffa looks up at the flag, this chilling, diabolical scene feels like the end of civil society as we know it - The Irishman

“Climb in my fur” - my favorite line of dialogue last year, cementing Jennifer Lopez’s Ramona as an iconic film character who can take sexual innuendo and turn it into an invitation for friendship - Hustlers

“That was the best acting I’ve ever seen in my whole life” - dialogue runner up as a young actress (Julia Butters) whispers into the insecure but committed actor Rick Dalton’s (Leonardo DiCaprio) ear, causing him to weep uncontrollably and giving him the recognition he’s always craved - Once Upon A Time In…Hollywood

A boy spies a flitting butterfly and stands up to get a better look, notices a pair of shoes next to him, and in an instant his entire life heartbreakingly changes - Jojo Rabbit

A vacationing family looks out their window to see…themselves…lined up and waiting to invade their home - Us

A gate which will no longer close on its own.  Two estranged parents and their child manually slide it shut with the barrier separating them from each other.  The battle lines have been drawn with deft precision - Marriage Story

A woman stares at another across a theater.  They have a history.  The symphony plays a striking, propulsive piece which both women know so well.  A searing two minute close-up of the women she sees betrays her anguish, the pain, the missed opportunities, and the suffering of a woman who society demanded could not be herself - Portrait Of A Lady On Fire

Best final scene of the year: Two best friends sit in a car curbside at an airport.  They awkwardly exchange awkward pleasantries even though we can tell they’re really going to miss each other.  A delicate cover of “Unchained Melody” plays over stellar performances of Kaitlyn Dever walking away and Beanie Feldstein looking forelorn, both conveying that painful moment when high school besties part.  Then, suddenly remembering it’s a hilarious comedy, Feldstein almost crashes into Dever, who gets back in the car and they decide they have enough time to get pancakes.  Feldstein yells, “F*ck yeah!” as we smash cut to black - Booksmart

While he’s wanted inside at his premiere, Rudy Ray Moore can’t walk away from the fans waiting outside the theatre, choosing instead to give himself over to them and melting everyone’s hearts, including mine, in the process - Dolemite Is My Name

Wait!  This guy is at your Passover Seder?  You’re related to him?  Now I’m scared - Uncut Gems

A milked cow.  A barn.  A dogfight up in the skies above.  A knife. Two soldiers foraging for food, safety, and a chance to survive the next minute.  Everything changes. - 1917

Matthew McConaughey as Baker Dill (!) spends most of his time howling to the heavens or completely naked, and for these reasons, I will never forget this terrible, amazing film experience - Serenity

When she forgets the words to her signature song, the audience sings them for her, making us all realize that even though she was close to death, the memory of her will never fade away - Judy

Normally, I’d be delighted to open my window and see Isabelle Huppert staring at me from across the street, but here, it’s a hauntingly nightmarish image - Greta

Julianne Moore sings along to an Air Supply song in her car and somehow manages to make her lapse in taste seem heartfelt - Gloria Bell

I love comedic moments built from repetition or missed connections.  When Jack (Himesh Patel) can’t get his parents to sit still for a moment so that he can convince them he wrote the song “Let It Be”, his incredulousness and frustration strikes comedy gold - Yesterday

A young writer negotiates her terms with a publisher, gloriously finding her voice and her power at a time where such bravery seemed impossible - Little Women

A drunk, lonely, middle-aged woman dances alone in a small town honky tonk to Leon Russell’s “Out Of The Woods”, giving us a glimpse into her less austere past - Diane

A dildo with a retractable switch blade - Knife + Heart

What do the sounds of Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s songs look like?  A man crashing out of a window and joining a dancing flash mob at a carnival to “Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting” felt alive and electric, Yet, even more so, in a moment achieving some level of transcendence, Elton (a fantastic Taron Egerton) falls sideways off of a diving board into a pool where his boyhood self plays the title song on a piano at the bottom.  That we somehow end up at Dodger Stadium where a sparkly Elton greets his fans and flies up into the stratosphere makes his classic soar - Rocketman

A grunge pop star/recovering addict (Elizabeth Moss), not too dissimilar to Courtney Love, sits at a piano and performs a sober rendition of Bryan Adams’ “Heaven”, stripping away the outrageous bravado to quietly break out hearts - Her Smell

“Agency” seems to be on everyone’s lips when describing dynamic, plot-driving lead characters, but Leo’s (star in the making Félix Maritaud) choices don’t fit into a standard box.  His decision, like it or not, is all his. - Sauvage/Wild

In a film filled to the brim with unforgettable, emotionally-laden images, its final shot of a man rowing a boat across turbulent waters moved me to tears - The Last Black Man In San Francisco

To learn from a documentary that the Ten Commandments monuments on display in front of many City Halls across the U.S. resulted from a Charlton Heston-led publicity tour for his 1956 movie epic is to realize, painfully so, that sometimes Hollywood and not the Churches, ruins everything! - Hail Satan?

Although, sooner or later, most of us will end up in a patch of dirt, some long for that moment more than others and find beauty in it - High Life

Watching Laura Dern pull off one of the most notorious literary scandals of modern times gives us one of the most original kicks of the year in a scene with an interviewer.  She hides in plain sight as a novelist pretending to be the terribly British Manager to Kristen Stewart’s fake face of the same novelist in order to build mystique and sell more books - J.T. LeRoy

Who knew that a CGI-animated film for the whole family would have the most bone-chilling sequence of the year?  But there it was in an antique store with Gabby Gabby and the creepy ventriloquist dummies - Toy Story 4

A woman enters her drab Chinese hotel room only to be asked if the U.S. is better by the anxious bellboy.  Afraid to offend him, she merely tells him it’s different.  The things we do to ease the pain of the less fortunate. - The Farewell

Three women.  An elevator on its way to the chairman’s office.  The sideways glances.  The knowledge they all have of what awaits them.  A silent sisterhood until Nicole Kidman’s Gretchen Carlson awkwardly comments, “Hot in here”.  The year’s best calibrated scene - Bombshell

An out gay actor, Mark Patton, confronts the writer of the film which ruined his career and gets an apology.  The years of pain written across his face don’t go away, but a little weight of the world gets lifted from his very relieved, very courageous shoulders - Scream Queen!  My Nightmare On Elm Street

While Tarantino played around with historical revisionist wish fulfillment, director Mary Herron and writer Guinevere Turner tapped into female rage in telling the story of the Manson murders.  When Hannah Murray as Leslie Van Houten carries out one of the murders, screaming as she plunges a knife into someone, we get a rare glimpse into finally understanding what brought her to that point - Charlie Says

After Lily Collins’s Liz demands, “ Release me…what happened to her head?” as a way for doomed serial killer Ted Bundy (a chilling Zac Efron) to admit his guilt, he finally writes with his finger on the glass prison visitor’s window which separates them, one frightening word, “Hacksaw” only to wipe it away immediately - Extremely Wicked Shockingly Evil And Vile

A gay white man and his straight, non-English speaking Latino handyman bond over Madonna’s “Borderline” in the back seat of an Uber.  Matt Bomer’s angsty character finally relaxes and connects with this adorable man (Alejandro Patiño) doing ridiculously cute seated dance moves - Papi Chulo

A young woman rushes to her apartment bathroom and in a seamless transition, she emerges down the aisle of a plane headed for Sweden - Midsommar

Sometimes one can derive great pleasure from a film by simply listening to how Adam Driver says the word “ghouls” - The Dead Don’t Die

An actress known primarily for her own murder gleefully watches herself on the big screen in a Westwood Village movie theater, and in that moment, we finally experience the gorgeous humanity and not the horrendous end of this lovely person - Once Upon A Time In…Hollywood

When you have an icy, almost robotic main character, you need Alfre Woodard to masterfully play drunk and show you all of her other shades - Clemency

I don’t care if the film felt like a xerox copy of the original or if the CGI ruined everything, because Billy Eichner’s Timon arrives at a now barren, picked apart Pride Rock and blurts out,  “Talk about a fixer-upper. I think you went heavy on the carcass.”  - The Lion King

When was the last time you saw a film where a character stops the action to demand of another, “I want you to know about me!”? - The Peanut Butter Falcon

A young Irish indentured servant in 1825 Tasmania watches helplessly as a soldier kills her baby just to stop its crying, and that’s only the beginning of a long line of justifications for her rage - The Nightingale

Nothing like a well-placed coffee mug to illustrate your main theme in the final image of your movie - Knives Out

Tracy Letts’ Henry Ford II feels the sheer power of one of his race cars and provides the most beautiful, unexpected crying scene of the year - Ford v. Ferrari

The funniest crossing a busy freeway scene since Eddie Murphy attempted it in 1999’s Bowfinger - Good Boys

A split second choice at what should have been a routine traffic stop changes the lives of our unlucky, racially profiled, sweet, smart but “not a match” Tinder date protagonists - Queen & Slim

A passport inspector asks, “Purpose of your visit?”  The young man replies, “I’m going to see Bruce Springsteen’s hometown.”  As he stamps his papers, the inspector responds, “I can’t think of a better reason to visit the United States than to see the home of The Boss” - Blinded By The Light

A horribly brutalized gay man wafts to shore only to see the haunting image of a scary clown reaching out to perhaps save him?  Nah, he’s a midnight snack - It Chapter 2

A young child, caught between his parents arguing over the phone, conveys painful messages to the supposed adults in the equation - Honey Boy

Sometimes an unreturned text can send you spiraling so far out of control that you ruin your life and everyone else’s around you - Waves

That last moment of bliss between a husband and wife right before their quiet mountaintop hamlet gets invaded by the sounds of planes overheard and the Nazis arriving to recruit them - A Hidden Life

You may have gotten in shape, but without true growth, the fat girl inside you won’t hesitate to shame another - Brittany Runs A Marathon

Gabriel Luna wins the award for sexiest performance in a terrible movie as a new killing machine decked out in tight pants and a killer stare - Terminator: Dark Fate

A mentally disturbed aspiring comic turned homicidal maniac disastrously makes his late night talk show debut, posing ominously backstage, skipping out with a bizarre tap twirl flourish, and then…well…like a true comic…he kills - Joker

Alec Baldwin, in a stunning monologue, basically shows us the early rise of people like Donald Trump, as all sense of hope gets sapped away - Motherless Brooklyn

An old sailor and his new charge stare down the camera right at us, somehow letting us know that we have no idea what bleak is, so hold on tight - The Lighthouse

A farmer (a never better Bill Camp) barges in on a corporate lawyer to get him to investigate the dying cattle in his hometown.  From such humble beginnings comes something which affects every single one of us - Dark Waters

An aspiring Scottish country singer sneaks away from her Grand Ole Opry tour group to sing alone on the main stage and perhaps get discovered. When she learns that everybody does that, she realizes she isn’t that special after all - Wild Rose

Biggest cinematic moment of dread: When a Chinese billionaire reopens a shuttered Ohio GM plant and hires back some of the workers at half their salaries and without benefits, you know you’ve just boarded a slow moving train to hell - American Factory

Did he do it?  Is he a terrorist?  Or is he a good guy?  How much of his tragic past is still present within him?  That final image will keep me guessing forever - Luce

A devoted Chinese Communist Party Member and abortion specialist knows she can never redeem herself from the part she played in ruining so many lives - One Child Nation

You may take issue with the implications that her real life character traded sex for intel and that she’s no longer alive to defend herself,  but Olivia Wilde gave one of the most vivid, exciting, ballsy performances of the year - Richard Jewell

An actual minute of silence in a film would normally be its death knell, but when Tom Hanks as Mr. Rogers demands it, we rethink our own hurried, impulsive lives - A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood

Sure she overdid it.  Yes she had an odd, hairy, uncanny face and strangely manicured nails for days.  Overwrought doesn’t even begin to describe it, but when she hits that big note and belts out, “Touch me / It’s so easy to leave me / All alone with the memory / Of my days in the sun”, damned if I didn’t snot cry right along with her - Cats