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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 1 year

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Twst with a very little twist

Part 2 - Riddle's chapter/Rules are made to be broken

Summary: Local baby appears in a coffin in a different world with no identification or way home. Prevents several mental breakdowns accidentally. More at 11.

(Masterlist)

Riddle looked up at Crowley in mild horror. For Crowley had just shoved a child into his arms, claiming that taking care of them was ‘his duty as a Housewarden’. And he would never doubt a rule, but he was reasonably sure of the fact that there was no precedent for what would happen if a random child appeared in their school without any means of identifying them or getting them home, because why would there be a precedent for that?

But here he was, holding a baby as Crowley fled, for lack of a better term.

The baby – ‘Curly’, as they said their name was – squirmed in his arms and it was this that pulled him back to the current moment. His eyes flicked away from the door Crowley had just sprinted through (he claimed he needed to get supplies to make sure the kid’s night went smoothly, but Riddle secretly had his doubts), to where Curly was struggling to get comfortable on his hip.

Riddle took a long, deep breath.

He turned back to everyone else in the ceremony room. It had been a particularly eventful day, and he could tell that all of his new dormmates just wanted to go to bed.

Frankly, Riddle felt the same. Carrying the kid was surprisingly difficult, and he could only imagine how tired he would be by the time he reached the dorm.

But a hedgehog had sneezed today, so it seemed he would be introducing more of the Heartslabyul traditions to the new students than he had previously expected.

He sighed and tried to fix them all with a stern look, but he was pretty sure that the effect of it was dampened by the kid he was struggling to hold. “New students. Get this through your head now: at Heartslaybyul House, I am the law. Break the rules, and it’s off with your head!”

He moved to turn abruptly and walk out, keeping his pace brisque, but he realized quickly that that wasn’t going to happen. It had been hard enough to hold the kid while standing still, but taking a step forward was akin to torture. How could someone so small be so heavy? How was that fair? Surely, it had to be a problem with their diet. He would make sure to sort that out.

Later.

Now, a couple of people were suppressing laughter.

His eyes landed on Ace Trappola. A first year that had snuck out of the ceremony. He was the most open about his amusement, snickering into his hand loud enough for Riddle to hear him despite his spot at the back of the line.

Riddle narrowed his eyes at him. “You. Come here.”

The redhead’s eyes widened briefly. He made his way over, a slightly infuriating smirk still playing across his lips despite his obvious concern.

“If you think it’s so easy, then I suppose you can take care of them until we get there.”

Riddle unceremoniously pushed the kid into Ace’s chest, and he only just reacted in time to keep them from falling. Curly gave him a betrayed look as they were detached from him, and he felt a little bit guilty about leaving the kid with a known troublemaker, but perhaps the child would make Ace behave a little more. Out of a sense of duty.

Nevermind. He was choosing to carry the kid on his shoulders. Like a heathen.

Curly gasped, hands braced on the top of Ace’s head as they stretched themself out, trying to get as tall as possible.

Ace, in contrast, looked as if he wanted to die.

“It’s drooling into my hair,” Ace mourned quietly.

Riddle suppressed the smile that threatened to come over his face, instead opting to turn around and lead everyone to the dorm. He gave them a few moments to ooh and aah over the building. He himself had spent several hours admiring the place over his first year, with all of its perfectly sculpted hedges and chiseled statues – and that wasn’t even going into how majestic the dorm looked, towering over them all in gorgeous reds and blacks. There were smaller details, too, like the strange design made up of three circles in the vague shape of a hydrogen atom that littered the entire school for a reason he couldn’t quite decipher. But the first years wouldn’t notice that for quite some time, if at all.

Especially not today. For, despite the fact that Riddle wanted to leave everyone to their own devices, collapse into bed, and try and forget the eventful night he’d had… a hedgehog had sneezed.

So, he led them all into the room where they kept the hedgehogs. It was themed after the courtroom where the Queen of Hearts was said to sentence people to death. The hedgehogs were at the front of the room, in the spot where the Queen of Hearts was supposed to sit, and Riddle had always quite liked that little detail. As if the tiny, fuzzy creatures were the ones that were telling people of their terrible fates. Maybe they would sentence people to death by snuggles.

Riddle turned to the rest of the room, who were currently looking understandably confused.

“In Heartslabyul, we follow the rules of the Queen of Hearts. Today, a hedgehog sneezed,” he said, pointing at the offender, a little guy that curled up into a ball under all of the sudden attention. “Rule #304 dictates: On the day a hedgehog sneezes, all card soldiers must gather and perform a song.”

A couple of particularly tired people glared at the new public enemy number one.

He motioned for everyone to find a place to stand.

Ace tried to take a spot in the very middle of the group. Admittedly, a good plan for a troublemaker such as him. Moving to the back instantly drew suspicion, and sitting at the front would allow Riddle to see any shady behavior instantly. In the middle, he would blend in. He would be able to hide behind others, and perhaps attempt yet another escape.

If it weren’t for the kid adding to his height.

Speaking of the kid, Curly had other plans.

“Fluffies!” they ordered, pointing at the hedgehogs at the front of the room.

Ace sighed. “Listen –.”

Curly slapped the top of Ace’s head.

“Ow! Son of a – gun!” Ace said, reaching up to pull the toddler from his shoulders. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to hit?”

“Mom?”

But they didn’t seem sad, just confused. As if they had never heard the term before.

Ace’s eyebrows knit together. “The lady that… takes care of you? Or your dad? The man that takes care of you?”

Curly stared at him for a minute.

And then pointed at him. “Dad.”

Ace made a sound that was somewhere between choking on his own spit and wheezing. It was very gross.

“Um – I – no, I am not –...”

Now Curly was looking sad. Tears gathered in the baby’s eyes, and they tipped their head back, preparing to wail.

Ace's face drained of color as he looked around frantically for help. Everyone was pointedly avoiding eye contact, unfortunately, so he was forced to come up with a solution on his own. His eyes landed on the hedgehogs, and he immediately rushed to find the front, turning the baby in his arms to let them look at the animals.

“Look! Fluffies!” He said.

Instantly, Curly forget about all of the terrible things the world had to offer. They gasped and started waving both hands at the animals. The hedgehogs, having never seen a human so young before, moved toward the front of the glass to inspect the toddler. Curly looked like they were having the time of their life, cooing over the pets. Have you ever heard a baby attempting to do a baby voice? It was darling.

Ace’s shoulders visibly slumped in relief.

The boy beside Ace looked over curiously.

The baby seemed to feel his gaze. They looked up, and smiled at him, turning one of the waving hands onto him.

“Hi, Mistah.”

The boy waved back with a tiny smile of his own. “Deuce,” he said lightly.

“Doos.”

“Juice,” Ace chipped in, a sly grin making its way over his face.

Deuce’s eyes narrowed at him. He opened his mouth to retort –.

“Juice! I like juice!” Curly offered his opinion on juice. Or maybe his opinion on Deuce. Honestly, it was kind of hard to tell.

Deuce certainly took it the second way, because he visibly melted a little.

Riddle woke up to a tiny hand slapping him awake before his alarm.

Perhaps hitting was Curly’s preferred form of communication. Riddle could respect a possible cultural difference. However. Ow.

Also ugh, mornings.

He turned over in bed, rubbing his hands down his face, before forcing himself to sit up. It was probably a good thing that the kid had woken him up earlier than normal, because Riddle would have to stumble his way through getting them both ready. He could call Trey, and probably would if he couldn’t figure out the buttons on Curly’s onesie again (why were they so hard to use?!), but for now he would do what he could.

The kid was potty trained, thank the Seven for that small mercy, Riddle just had to help him up onto the sink while they washed their hands.

After that was done, though, he figured that he might as well use the fact that they were already at the sink and brush the kid’s teeth. Especially since they would likely end up with quite a lot of toothpaste on their clothes. Might as well ruin the clothes that would be going straight into the wash instead of the ones they would be wearing all day.

Riddle ended up, for the most part, brushing the kid’s teeth for them. But there were things even he couldn’t do.

Riddle demonstrated how the kid should gargle.

“Guhguhguhguhguh,” Curly said before spitting the water out.

Well. As long as Trey didn’t see, it would probably fine. Besides, baby toothpaste is made with swallowing in mind.

That done, he changed the kid and got dressed himself (done in the bathroom, with the kid’s tiny hand scrabbling under the door for him to hold as they whined for him to come back).

Which was where the real problem came in:

Hair.

Curly’s hair was… curly. No big surprise there. But Riddle had never truly understood the difficulties that were associated with curly hair. His hair was always easy to brush out, save for the two pieces that always fell in front of his face despite his best efforts, but he had learned how to gel those into thin strands that looked more purposeful.

Curly’s hair refused to be gelled into submission.

There was only one person Riddle could trust with this.

“Cater, we have a problem!” Riddle yelled, throwing the door open.

Cater jumped to his feet, eyes wide, the diamond on his cheek little more than a smear thanks to the forgotten paintbrush in his hand.

“I can’t do his hair!”

Cater stared at him, blankly, for just a moment.

And then he laughed.

“Alright, Riddle-kun, I’ll see what I can do.”

Cater ended up taking the kid to the sink to give the kid’s hair a quick wash. Riddle sat on the rim of the tub as he waited, looking around the bathroom idly to have something to occupy himself. Despite the fact that they hadn’t yet had much time to unpack their things, the bathroom was filled with different assorted items. Most of them were beauty products, lining the sides of the shower and half of the sink. However, there was an assortment of toothbrushes and toothpaste taking up the other half of the sink.

Truly, this pair of roommates was a disaster for their shared bathroom. Riddle couldn’t imagine the arguments they must have had their first year.

Actually…

“Where’s Trey?” Riddle asked, glancing past Cater, into his room, as if doing so would make the boy appear.

Cater looked up from where he was entertaining Curly by showing off all of the suds that had rubbed off onto his hands. “Making Curly breakfast. He said something about babies needing nutritious meals for growth.”

Riddle nodded. That made sense to him.

But Curly seemed to disapprove.

“‘M not a baby,” they said, frowning. “‘M three.”

“Oh,” said Cater, failing to suppress a smile. “I see. That’s very big.”

Curly nodded, their lips pursed in a curt look that looked adorable on their tiny face.

Cater worked the lather out of the baby’s – sorry, the big kid’s – hair, and then set them on the ground so he could towel off their hair. Instead of rubbing their head with a towel (something Riddle knew the kid found funny, after their own sudsy adventures), though, Cater instead took the towel and started slowly patting the water out, strand by strand.

“If you rub their hair it’ll just get tangled and frizzy,” Cater explained absently. “I could probably use my hairdryer, but I’m not completely sure that’s safe for kids, and I don’t want to introduce them to heat damage anyways.”

The kid squirmed slightly, clearly getting impatient. They gave Riddle an annoyed look. Probably because they couldn’t really see Cater at the moment, with the towel largely blocking their view of the boy. Riddle did not like being the subject of a baby’s ire.

So, he sighed and shook his head. “Maybe I’ll go get those two first years from last night. They seemed to bond with the kid.”

Instead of singing the crocodile song like they were supposed to, Riddle thought bitterly.

Though… he eyed the toddler thoughtfully. Curly had clearly never heard the crocodile song before, just looking around in vague amusement as everyone else sang it. Riddle had specifically chosen the crocodile song because it was particularly well-known, a nursery rhyme that everyone had either heard from their parents or at a daycare/preschool. But the kid hadn’t recognized it at all. So, where were they from?

And the kid hadn’t even understood the concept of a mom and dad…

He was jolted from his wonderings when he felt two tiny hands plant themselves on his knees, snapping back to attention to find a kid staring at him intently. Their hair was still a little wet and curly, but much less wild. And they looked like they were going to start crying if he didn’t entertain them soon.

So, he glanced back Cater’s way. “Do you want to help the first years paint their symbols?”

Cater laughed lightly and pointed to the smear of paint on his cheek. Riddle had, quite frankly, forgotten it was there but, apparently, he hadn’t. “I don’t think they’ll want me to teach them looking like this. Give me a minute to fix this mess and I’ll head down, okay?”

Riddle picked up Curly. “Thank you. After meeting the freshmen yesterday… I think they might need your expertise.”

Cater shot him a grin. “They could surprise you.”

They did not.

The freshmen had been woken up early (Ace Trappola kept complaining about how tired he was, as if none of his seniors were awake with him) to give themselves time to practice, and moved sluggishly because of it… but that wasn’t really the problem. The problem was much more simple than that:

Most teenage boys don’t have much practice doing makeup. Or, at least, they don’t have much practice painting their own faces, as Ace Trappola definitely looked like the kind of guy to draw on his friend’s face if he ever caught them sleeping.

Regardless, makeup is hard. It takes a kind of fine motor movement that you would think is transferable from writing but is definitely not the same. Especially since you don’t get to look directly at the area that you’re ‘painting’ on. Hence why freshmen tended to paint larger markings on their faces than seniors. Seniors had enough practice to go with smaller, less obtrusive, and time-consuming paintings, while freshmen were still getting the hang of the broad strokes.

The boy from the night before, Deuce, had particular trouble with it. So much trouble that Riddle almost wanted to snatch the pen from his hand and do him himself.

But he didn’t. People need to learn things on their own.

No whining from Curly was going to change Riddle’s mind on this. The kid was definitely bored to death. They had long since finished their breakfast. Trey’s food was amazing, and the kid had rushed through eating it all because of that… and a good half of the food Curly had clumsily raised to their mouth had ended up staining the makeshift bib the students had made out of a napkin, which definitely lessened the eating time.

Now that they had been cleaned by Riddle, they had nothing to do. But they could handle waiting just a few minutes more.

And, since it didn’t seem like Crowley was going to come and collect the kid before classes, the kid would need to get used to boredom regardless. It wasn’t as if Riddle would be able to do much to entertain him while taking notes and doing schoolwork.

Ace, however, had other plans. The eye he had painted a heart over – he had been one of the first ones to make a decent enough shape to go outside without being too embarrassed, shockingly – was seemingly permanently closed, still unused to the feeling of heavy makeup pressing down on it, but he smiled at the kid.

“Do you want a design of your own?”

Curly gasped, their eyes lighting up. They nodded feverishly.

“Now, I’m not sure if you know the name of all of the options, so I guess we’re going to have to find a way for you to describe it to me…” he said, with the kind of theatrics you would expect of an actual children’s entertainer. He hummed, tapping a finger against his chin. Then he knocked his fist against his palm. “I’ve got it!” When he separated his hands, a deck of cards lay in his palm, looking for all the world as if it had always been there. “Literally.”

Curly was enthralled. He clapped his hands together. It was hard to tell whether they were trying to replicate the feat, or just that impressed.

Ace smiled and pulled out four cards. One of each suit. He set them all down in front of the baby – he put the heart down with a particular kind of flourish – and then told them to choose their favorite.

Curly looked down at all of the cards. They looked up at everyone else, apparently realizing that they represented the cards in some way (or, more likely, they thought that the cards represented them, but that wasn’t far off enough for Riddle to feel the need to correct it, not when the kid was this age). They squinted a little, clearly thinking hard, before pointing at the three of clubs.

“Yep, should have expected that,” Deuce said, sighing sadly.

(Which caused him to mess up the attempted spade on his cheek again. He sighed again, with even more resignation, as he started to rub makeup remover onto already raw skin.)

Trey looked mildly surprised, but pleased all the same. He smiled a little, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s only natural. I gave them their food. And I have experience in this kind of stuff.”

“Yeah, Trey, exactly. You don’t get this one,” Cater joked, leaning to rest his chin atop the kid’s head. “Save a cute younger sibling for the rest of us.”

And then he turned the kid around in their chair, lifting a paintbrush to hover by their face.

“It’s going to tickle a little, okay?”

“Won’t move,” they promised, their eyebrows furrowing in determination.

Riddle was a stickler for rules. Anyone could see that. If he were a character, say in a game or something, it would be called his ‘main character trait’, while everything else was secondary. He followed the rules.

But… it was hard.

Because his dorm members insisted on breaking the rules.

Ace was the worst. Which wasn’t surprising, considering his nature, but still annoying. If Riddle ever happened to get distracted – which happened a lot, considering he was running a dorm, going to school, and studying for four hours a day on top of that – he would snatch Curly up and take the kid out to have fun.

Sometimes, Deuce would tag along, too, but that seemed to be more out of a desire to spend time with Curly than to disobey.

But he disobeyed, too. Deuce was prone to giving the kid his phone to play video games. Not fun, educational games that would help with Curly’s development, either. Seemingly pointless ones, with goals that were either indecipherable or nonexistent. Curly loved the game about placing blocks in strange patterns, and Riddle could see it possibly helping the kid creatively, but being creative wasn’t necessary. You don’t need to be creative to succeed, all you need is structure.

Though the kid seemed to lean towards creativity regardless of what they needed. The stuffy Heartslabyul suits were almost always thrown off piece by piece. But the kid loved the outfits Cater made for them, was happy to wear the colorful little dresses and comfortable onesies. Riddle could justify the kid wearing the outfits on the weekends, or at night, but if Curly was to be attending school with him then they should be properly dressed. It was only polite, only proper.

But they were miserable.

None of this had swayed Riddle, though. He understood that not many had the upbringing he had, wouldn’t get why he was doing this, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t right. Look at how Ace, Deuce, and Cater had all turned out. A troublemaker, an idiot, and a vain influencer. If Riddle were to allow the kid to follow their teachings, he would be a failure as a temporary parent. He would teach Curly to become a proper, functioning part of society.

The rules were absolute. The kid would thank him when they were older.

And that was how he had thought about it.

Until Trey.

Trey, who was sneaking the kid little extra pieces of food when he thought that Riddle wasn’t looking. Trey, who was lying about the amount of calories he would give the kid despite the rigid schedule that Riddle had provided. Trey, who was spending hours making desserts that looked like normal food in hopes that Riddle wouldn’t notice the extra calories the kid was getting until a few bites in.

Trey, at least, was supposed to understand. He had been there for a large part of Riddle’s childhood, he had seen firsthand how far rules had gotten him. But there he was, actively going against Riddle’s mother’s teachings.

And Riddle…

He remembered.

How Trey had done the same thing for Riddle when they were kids.

How Trey had become the only part of Riddle’s day that he had ever looked forward to.

How Trey had been shut out by Riddle’s mother.

Which meant that Riddle would have to shut Trey out of Curly’s life, surely. It was the only logical conclusion. Trey was a problem to be solved, a wrench in the clockwork. And you must remove those.

But Riddle wasn’t his mother. He found that he was weaker than her.

Because he also remembered how he had felt when he could no longer hang out with Trey and Chenya. He had continued working, but not without feeling this heavy weight settling on his shoulders. Not without tears building behind his eyes. The tiny walls of his room had felt like they were closing in around him, slowly squeezing tight, and he had been suffocating. Perhaps it had always been that way, but he had, temporarily, had something else. An hour a day that he could leave that all behind. And, without it, he had thought that he just might die.

Simply put, it had hurt.

So, he looked the other way.

And his mother was right. Breaking one rule opened up the possibility for millions of other rules to be broken.

If Ace were to take Curly out of class, then wasn’t that a good thing? Curly would no longer distract Riddle and the other students, and they would get to have fun, too. Their school didn’t take attendance, Riddle could give Ace remedial work later.

If Deuce wanted to let the kid play a few non-educational video games, that wouldn’t subtract from the educational ones Riddle gave them, would it? Sure, they would have less time to do them, but kids have nothing but time.

If Cater wanted to dress the kid up in fun clothes, was being in uniform that much important for a child? They weren’t an official student, and weren’t really meant to be in classes, anyways. Besides, having them tear off their clothes in the middle of classes was distracting for everyone, so, really, this was for the best.

Rule after rule was broken.

His mother was right.

But he couldn’t bring himself to stop it.

And it started bleeding into his job as Housewarden.

He would reprimand people and Curly’s face would flicker in his mind’s eye. He just couldn’t bring himself to be mad. Not about things as senseless as not having a hamburger on a Tuesday.

They were older, but everyone under him were still kids.

… Riddle was a kid.

And, as a kid, he didn’t want sugar cubes in his tea. He liked honey. It was soothing while it went down your throat, and more flavorful.

(He had almost gotten sick afterward, the nerves making it hard for him to stomach anything, but… baby steps. He had learned a lot about those recently.)

#twst with a very little twist #twisted wonderland #heartslabyul #riddle rosehearts #ace trappola #trey clover #cater diamond #deuce spade #twst mc #mc twst #twst oc #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland fanfic

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deancaskiss · 3 years

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2k Followers Celebration Content Creator Event, Day 1: Beach

This is a special birthday gift dedicated to @castielstolemyheart! To my favorite cute person, happy birthday, ilysm! 💜

Being a bartender at a 360˚ open bar right on the beach had many perks. Dean couldn't complain. Sun and sand, free and fun. He'd only meant to take a couple week vacation here after Sammy had gone off to college, and yet here he was, many years later, still in Hawaii and loving every second of it.

The company wasn't bad either. Tourists with fun stories and coworkers who were actually awesome to work with. Everything was easy and laid-back, until a certain someone had caught Dean’ eyes, and suddenly he had no interest in the casual hook-ups offered by the tourists.

"You're the king of confidence and you can't walk over there and ask him out?" Charlie asked, leaning over Dean to grab one of the little umbrellas before popping it open and placing it in a Pina colada for a customer.

Dean snapped his eyes to Charlie before looking back out towards the beach. Towards Cas; local surfing instructor and the guy Dean had been crushing on since the gorgeous man had moved to town six months ago.

Dean had been caught breathless the first day he'd met Cas; casually making him a drink while desperately trying to make words come out of his mouth, which had gone sticky and dry at the sight of Cas.

Things had only gotten worse, or better, depending on how you looked at it. Five days a week, after finishing his surfing lessons (which Dean definitely didn't watch from his spot at the bar, eyes glued to Cas as he elegantly surfed the waves and pushed his wet hair from his dazzling blue eyes), Cas would come over and order a drink. He'd stay sitting at the bar, sometimes for half an hour, sometimes for a couple hours, just talking to Dean. They'd struck up an easy friendship, and it had fast become Dean's favorite part of the day.

On days when the rush was crazy, customers angrily demanding more Hawaiian-esque vibes to their drinks, Dean all but counted down the seconds until Cas was done with his lessons so he could unwind listening to Cas' molasses thick voice.

But the best days were the quieter ones, when Dean could let Charlie handle the few customers and he'd make himself a drink and sit down on the other side of the bar with Cas, discussing the pod of dolphins that swam past earlier that day, or a new trail just up past the coast that would be perfect for a hike.

Sighing, Dean finally tore his gaze away from Cas in his wetsuit to look at Charlie as she handed a drink to the last customer in line. "I can't, Charlie. Have you seen him? He's like an Angel fell down from Heaven, and I'm just me," Dean said, gesturing to himself vaguely. "He's so far out of my league it's unfathomable."

“You really don’t see it, do you?” Charlie asked, jutting her hip against the counter and tying her fiery red hair into a loose ponytail.

“See what?” Dean asked, reorganizing the bottles of alcohol just for something to do with his hands.

“The way he looks at you. I swear the two of you spend all day every day looking at each other when the other one isn’t looking,” Charlie said, picking up a strawberry and hurling it at Dean’s head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean huffed, plucking the strawberry and plopping it in his mouth.

“For God’s sake, Dean. Ask him out. I’ve watched you two make heart-eyes at each other for six months now. Anytime you have a day off and he comes over here looking for you, he sulks and spends the entire time telling me about you, as if I don’t have to work with your insufferable ass all day every day.”

“What’s your point?” Dean asked, finally turning and facing Charlie.

“My point is- his lessons just finished for the day, which means he’s gonna be over here any minute. Please, for my sanity, ask him out on date. Maybe then you two can stop making bedroom eyes at each other over the counter. Your drooling over each other scares the customers away,” Charlie huffed, even though there was nothing but teasing fondness to her tone. “Here’s your chance, Romeo. Go get your Prince Charming.”

Dean winced. “That wasn’t a horrific clashing of references.”

“Don’t care,” Charlie called, moving around the circular bar to serve the next customers.

“Hey, Dean,” Cas said, plopping himself down in his usual bar stool.

“Heya, Cas. Good waves today?” Dean asked, even though he knew the answer. The waves had been gorgeous, but not nearly as breathtaking as Cas had been catching the last few waves.

“Yeah, they were some of the best in weeks. In fact, I was going to ask if you wanted to go out and catch some waves with me before the sun sets?” Cas asked, looking up at Dean expectantly.

Dean froze midway through making Cas’ favorite drink- a Mai Tai- and he felt the air leave his lungs in a sharp rush. “Wh-what?”

“Unless you don’t know how to surf? I can teach you, if you don’t. Private lessons, just you and me,” Cas offered almost shyly.

Dean blinked, swallowed, and blinked again. Had Cas just asked him out? Was this a date? It was a date, right? Going surfing was a date, wasn’t it? Or maybe it was just a buddies thing? Who offered private lessons on a not-date-date? Oh God. Dean’s head was starting to spin.

“Unless you’re not interested in… this…” Cas said, gesturing between them with a nervous sound. “I um… I might have read things wrong and I-“

“No!” Dean cried. Oh shit. Wait. “No, I mean. Wait. Shit. Wait, hang on. No, you haven’t read this wrong. Yes, yes I want to go on a surfing date,” Dean stuttered, words coming out in a rush.

Cas bit at his lower lip nervously, and he looked up at Dean through his lashes. “Really?”

Dean nodded, then realized he was nodding far too quickly, and he cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, really. Although, I’ve only been surfing a couple times, and I’m pretty crap at it.”

“I’ll teach you if you want,” Cas said with a smile.

“I’d like that,” Dean replied, feeling the butterflies flutter in his stomach.

“So it’s a date, then?” Cas asked, looking up at Dean hopefully.

“God, yes,” Dean grinned. “Been wanting to ask you out for months.”

The way Cas’ eyes sparkled electric blue outshone the ocean a million to one. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Tearing his eyes away from Cas, Dean peered around the bar. “Hey Charlie, mind covering the rest of my shift? I’ve got a date,” Dean called.

Charlie immediately darted around the bar, bumping into Dean and punching his shoulder. “‘Bout damn time, Winchester.”

“Shut up,” Dean flushed, shoving at Charlie lightly but grinning widely.

“Did he finally ask you out?” Charlie asked, turning her attention to Cas.

Cas shook his head. “Nope,” he said, throwing a little smirk at Dean. “I asked him out.”

“Oh hell yes,” Charlie said with a laugh, reaching out to high-five Cas.

“Alright, we’re leaving now,” Dean muttered, slipping out from the bar before Charlie could embarrass him anymore than she already had.

“I’ve got a spare surfboard if you want to borrow mine?” Cas asked as they walked down towards the ocean.

“Yeah, that would be great,” Dean said, bumping his hand against Cas’ a couple times before finally sucking up the courage to link their fingers together. They walked the rest of the way with their fingers intertwined, sneaking glances at each other the whole time.

They spent the next hour out in the ocean, with Cas surfing several waves like an actual God, while Dean wiped out twice and refused to get back up out of sheer embarrassment. Even though he’d made a fool out of himself, it was by far the best date of Dean’s life; splashing water at Cas and the two of them laughing together at Dean’s desperate need for private lessons.

Sitting comfortably on his board, Dean watched in awe as Cas caught another wave, gliding across the water as if he belonged there. It was captivating and mesmerizing to watch from this close; to be allowed to stare at his date in wonder.

By the time Cas had paddled back to him, Dean had dropped himself down in the water to cool off, arms resting on the board as he looked up at Cas. The way the setting sun caught Cas’ profile was enough to cast a halo around his head, making Dean’s heart skip a beat in his chest. God, Cas was breathtakingly gorgeous.

“Let me help you up,” Cas said, pulling Dean out of the water until they were both sitting on one board, hovering in each other’s space; both of them darting looks at each other’s lips. As the sun set, creating the most romantic setting Dean had ever been in, Cas leaned forwards and kissed Dean. It was like fireworks bursting into the sunset; dizzy and electrifying and completely captivating. Teasing flicks of tongue, and yet gentle brushes of lips.

With the bright orange and pink sunset lighting the sky, and Cas’ hands sliding into Dean’s wet hair, it was the absolute best kiss of Dean’s life.

Tag List Part 1 Below- (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list!)

Tag List: @cas-deserved-so-much-more @hello-x-sunshine @bibelphegor @likepurplemuses @expectingtofly @neo-neo-neo @shadowywerewolfqueen @a-sweet-indisposition @feraladoration @xojo

@oganizediguana @paintdriesfaster @adsp-destielcockles @destielangst @ivydean @justa-crayon @dea-stiel @superduckbatrebel @destielfactory @miluiel-erynion

@y-yo-a-ti-cas67 @cockleslovesdestiel @toxic-nebula @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @enchantinghairdoherringwombat @proudace @galaxymysteryelephant @aelysianmuse @ramennoodles-dean-cas @you-changedmedean

@welcome-to-crowleys-hellhole @deansotherotherblog @trekkie24 @geo-val @dizzypinwheel @hermionevaldez9 @gimmeprozac @iamsherlockedondoctorwho @dickspeightjrs @imbiowaresbitch

@destielle @hopefuldreamers-world @organicpurplepants @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @shut-up-dean @sapphirecobalt-1 @eshaninjer @spnobsessed50 @mishka @holygoddessofvictory

@jayus-fandom-writer @2musiclover2 @rainbowscas @bennedict @cassiecasyl @jensenacklesruinedmylife @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @chaoticdean @destiel-trash-asf @tlakhtwritesdestiel

@bri-winchester @50shadesofcockles @trasherasswood @spittingpagan @castielstolemyheart @becky-srs @phoenix13 @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @deancasology @top13zepptraxx

@love-neve-dies @good-things-do-happen-dean @tearsofgrace @thedirtytrenchcoat @a-porno-with-the-russian-mafia @on-a-bender @moi-the-bard @one-more-offbeat-anthem @naturallyathief @queen-rowenas

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #beach #dailydestieldelights #au #bartender dean #surfer cas #fluff #first kiss #supernatural #rambleoncas #deancas #meet cute #destiel fic #spncreatorsdaily #friends to lovers #tearsofgrace #bluefirecas

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moveslikebucky · 3 years

Photo

12 Days of Blasphemy Day 11 - “And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that goeth down sweetly,” (Song of Songs 7:9)

The roaring 20s are in full swing in New York, and Crowley puts on her best and shortest dress to take advantage of the party scene. She isn’t expecting to see Aziraphale, nor is she expecting what follows.

[ Previous Prompt | Next Prompt ]

Catching up on posting these, as I fell behind on twitter and Tumblr; the final one will be posted on Tumblr tomorrow!

This one is for my dear friend @cassieoh, who I love with my entire heart. Your art is gorgeous and your soul is even more beautiful, I’m so glad to count you as my friend <3

Snippet as always below, full fic on AO3 <3 (heads up, this is an angsty one)

---

Crowley’s borrowed (or stolen, more accurately) car swerves around traffic, keeping pace with the other cars and their paths. New York in the Decade of Decadence: the perfect place for a demon to lie low. The big Seven are in full swing here, nothing for her to do but sit back and watch the commendations roll in. Prohibition helps, makes them desperate for more alcohol than they should be able to physically drink. Alcohol begets lowered inhibitions, begets bad decisions, and on and on they go, with barely a whisper of suggestion from her.

And now she is headed for the epicenter of it all, West Egg. Everyone in New York went there on the weekends, and she had avoided it best she could. But Hell was interested in what was going on at these large parties, and felt it was an opportunity that Crowley was missing.

She pulls the car to a screeching halt near the fountains with the rest of them, all bright colors and shiny chrome. They’re fun, these new things. The old runabouts never could quite get the speed these new ones do. Bit of a thrill if she’s honest; clever humans and their machines.

Crowds of people, already drunk before even entering the mansion, shuffle towards the entrance. Crowly blends in with them, ready to charm her way inside with a bit of temptation. She’s in a slinky red number, barely long enough to graze her knees. The beadwork on it taps pleasingly as she saunters towards the entrance. Her eyes are lined in thick kohl, eyelashes curled high. Her red hair is chopped short, a sleek bob that accentuates her high cheekbones. The look is topped off with a brush of blood-red lipstick, dark as the night.

She charms her way past the doorman, into the main hall of the manor house. The people are loud, the jazz music louder. A drink is shoved into her hand without her even asking, and she downs the Sidecar in one gulp, already riding the elation and electricity of the evening. Everywhere people are dancing, in tuxedos with tails and dresses that leave nothing to the imagination. It’s intoxicating, the level of vice in the air. The bankers greedily trading money over craps tables, the men drooling over the young women who won’t give them the time of day, the absolute sloth of shirking away a whole weekend to drink and party.

Crowley could get used to this.

She winds through the dancers, wanting to scope out a better view of the party from the mezzanine. Someone rushes past her, a hint of suggestion on the air. A hint of heavenly suggestion, to be exact, carried on the unmistakable scent of Earl Grey and book dust. She spins around, looking for the source; searching out a tuft of blond curls or an outdated coat, a glance of hazel eyes, tinted with gold at the edges. But there’s no sign of Aziraphale. Probably for the best, given their last interaction.

Crowley continues to sway to the heavy beat of the jazz music, slithering through the crowd towards the staircase. Winding past the governors and the movie stars; the tennis players and the waitstaff. Crowley has always loved a good shindig, and this is no exception. She flashes her brightest smile at a group of politicians as she reaches the large and ornate staircase.

When her heel clicks on the first marble step, the world stops moving.

Above her, turning slowly to look down from on high, is Aziraphale. She’s in a gorgeous deep green floor-length dress, gold embroidery like ribbons trailing down the front. It catches the chandelier light and glitters like emeralds and diamonds. Her hair is in pin curls, pressed close to her forehead and temples. She’s done it with soap, the way the humans do, not a miracle. It’s topped with a brilliant sparkling gold headband nestled just above. Her eyes are lined darkly, making the hazel all the brighter for the contrast. As she turns to Crowley, she smiles.

[ Read it on AO3 ]

#good omens #ineffable wives #aziraphale #crowley #angst this time #photo #link #my fic

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marril96 · 5 years

Text

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 24: Want, Take, Have

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Inhibitions lower and sparks fly.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

You showed up at the MacLeod residence at nine o'clock sharp. The cold of the night bit at every inch of your exposed skin. It seeped into your bones like poison, made the blood in your veins run frozen.

Luckily, Rowena was quick to let you in. She locked the door while you hung the coat. The house was warm like a summer afternoon; you melted in it, basked in the pleasantness, in the sweet, welcome comfort it provided.

It felt like home.

"God, it's cold," you commented, rubbing your trembling palms together.

"Like death," Rowena agreed.

It was then that you looked at her — really, truly looked at her; into her eyes; head to toe — and all thoughts about the killing cold vanished from your head as if they'd never existed.

She was clad in a gown, a blue one with sparkles that looked as if the night sky had wrapped itself around her lithe body. The fabric was thin, soft even from the looks of it. It hugged her every curve as if it were molded on her, a second, beautiful skin, the color of it a perfect contrast to her natural paleness.

Her hair was curled. Eyelids painted a blend of pink and blue that would've looked ridiculous on anyone else, but on Rowena it just fit. As if the colors, however dark in contrast to her skin, however conspicuous, were created solely for her. Her lips sparkled pink, a shade of innocence that, on her, was everything but.

She was beautiful.

Truly, genuinely beautiful.

The — dare you say — most beautiful girl you'd ever seen.

Not even her bruises, faded, healing nicely, concealed but still slightly visible, marred the perfection.

God, you thought. Jesus fucking Christ!

She was so damn beautiful!

"Looks like I'm underdressed," you said, struggling to keep your voice from breaking. Willing the gasp that threatened to break free to stay down, to not embarrass you.

She'd invited you over because she owed you. Because you were her friend and she wanted to show her gratitude, however much you insisted she didn't have to.

This was a friend date.

Just a friend date, you reminded yourself. Repeated it a few more times for it to sink in.

She was gorgeous and your body reacted to her in unpredictable ways, but she was still just your friend.

A friend who'd, up until a few days ago, been in an abusive relationship. Who'd been beaten so badly she could barely walk and still bore the marks as reminders.

The last thing she needed was you drooling over her like a hormone-ridden fangirl at a boy band concert.

You knew better than that.

She deserved better than that.

"Nonsense," Rowena chided. She looked you over, took in your jeans and shirt that, while far from fancy, were clean and neat. The nicest ones you had. "You look fabulous." You blushed. "Besides, this is our wee party. Just the two of us."

She had a point.

"You're in an awfully good mood."

"How could I not be? It's my first party with a real friend." A flicker of something sad passed her face for a moment, quickly smoothed out by a bright, happy smile. Honest to the bone. "We are going to have so much fun!"

You knew you would.

Hell, even sitting in silence with a math textbook in your lap would be a good time as long as she was there.

Nothing could possibly be boring with Rowena around.

She led you to her room, and this time you did gasp, embarrassingly loud. Candles covered every corner, every surface, every naked piece of furniture. Even with the lights out, the room was lit up as if sun itself were shining through it, filling it up with its warm light.

"Jesus," you said, unable to hide your surprise. "You really are making this a date."

Rowena shrugged, feigning innocence. "I thought, why not go all the way?" She winked. "Only the best for my friend, aye?"

Friend.

Right.

Just a friend, you reminded yourself. Just a friend.

"You're sure Crowley and your mom won't come home early or something? I don't want them to take this the wrong way."

Like that you were on a date date.

Which this was not.

"Positive. And even if they do come," she said with a shrug, "so what? Let them think what they want."

"I know, but Crowley… he's not really the biggest fan of our friendship. What if—"

"I'll deal with Fergus, if necessary," she cut in. "What we do in the privacy of my bedroom is none of his business."

You gulped.

Why did she have to say it like that?

"As for my mother, don't worry. She likes you."

The few times you met her she certainly did leave that impression, but still. What if she wasn't okay with her daughter being on a date with a girl? Would she believe it was only a friend date? Would she care?

"I know. I just…"

"You're nervous," Rowena guessed. Correctly. "Don't be. This is our night. Let's have some fun, shall we?"

You gave a nod, and she grinned.

"Have a bite." She pointed to the bed, where several bowls of different snacks laid, full to the brim.

You took a chip. "Since when do you like snacks?"

"I don't. But I know you do."

Warmth swelled up in your chest.

"What kind of a host would I be if I didn't feed my star guest?"

"Oh, now I'm a star?" you joked.

"Aye. This is your night. Can't let you go hungry, can I?" She scrunched up her face adorably and added, "As disgusting as those things are."

"Shut up!" You grabbed a few and shoved them in your mouth, prompting her to gag. "They're awesome."

"You're a pig."

It was an obvious joke, a quip that was pure teasing, no malice behind it.

Once upon a time she would have meant it. Would have called you that and looked at you as if you were a filthy peasant.

My, how far the two of you had come.

"Is that any way to treat a guest?" you asked, feigning offense.

"Just being honest, dear."

"Mean."

She shrugged nonchalantly and walked over to her bedside table that was lined with bottles that didn't look like juice and glasses that definitely weren't for juice. "Up for a drink?"

"What you got?"

"Scotch. Wine. Champagne." She poured herself a glass of yellow liquid that you assumed was scotch. It certainly wasn't iced tea.

"I dunno. I don't really drink."

"Come on! Live a little, lass! It's not every day that you celebrate New Year with me."

When she put it like that…

You sighed. "Fine. Give me whatever you're having."

She smirked. "Excellent choice."

"How'd you get all this?"

"Mother got it for me." She handed you your glass. "She thinks the drinking age in this country is ridiculous. In Scotland I wouldn't even have to ask for permission." She scoffed. "I'm a bloody adult. I should be allowed to drink if I want."

She wasn't wrong.

"Does your mom know I'm here?"

She nodded. "I told her I was in need of a friend. She was very understanding."

"And she's cool with it?"

"Why wouldn't she be?"

Because you were in love with her.

Because this date looked way too romantic for it to be just friendly.

Because, as hard as you worked to keep yourself in control, you still wanted her, badly, madly, wildly, and you couldn't stand the thought of someone — anyone, especially her mother — figuring it out by sheer luck.

Because… she was a girl, and so were you, and you didn't know what her mother would think if she were to realize you had feelings for her daughter.

The world was still a dangerous place for people like you. Unpredictable. You never knew what to expect.

You shrugged.

Rowena sighed. "Like I said, she likes you. She thinks you're a good influence."

You had to chuckle at that. "Me?"

You may not have been as wild as Rowena, but you were far from an innocent flower.

"Well, she's not wrong," Rowena said, a teasing smirk playing on her mouth. "You're a good girl."

Far from it.

Good girls rarely existed. Most of them were bad in their own ways; by following their own rules, living their own lives.

Being tamer didn't make you good — it just made you better at pretending.

"Have you met me?" you asked and took a sip of your scotch. Your face twisted with disgust as you swallowed the bitter liquid, even more so as it burned its way down your throat like molten fire.

"Case in point," Rowena said smugly.

"Oh, fuck you," you said, coughing, and lowered your glass next to the bottle. "You know I don't drink." She quirked up an eyebrow, another gotcha. Shit. "Just because I don't drink doesn't mean I'm a good girl."

"Are you saying you're bad?"

"Shades of grey."

"Right."

"If I was oh-so-good, I wouldn't hang out with you," you pointed out in irritation.

"Even good girls experiment," Rowena said nonchalantly.

"Trust me, honey," you said, "if I was experimenting, it wouldn't be with you. You aren't exactly my type."

A lie you had to say for the truth was, as much as you didn't want to admit it, she was exactly your type. Fierce. Sassy. Tough. Gorgeous. A little bit damaged. Imperfect, which made her perfect in your eyes.

"Och?" She didn't seem convinced, stepping over towards you and getting in your face. She was so close you could feel her breath in your skin; fresh, minty, a cool, misty dance over your skin. It made you shiver. "And what is your type?"

You.

Everything about you.

Her hair, always tamed, every strand in place. Red as the fire in her soul.

Her eyes, green as forests, sly as a cat's.

Her hands, so little, sprinkled with protruding veins, nails always glittering a different color.

Her accent that was charm personified.

Her patience.

Her kindness.

Her hidden depths.

In one word — her.

All of her.

But you couldn't admit that. It was too soon. It would always be too soon, the wrong time.

A classy girl like her could never possibly be interested in a nobody girl like you.

In a feigned burst of confidence, you said, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I'm a woman of knowledge," Rowena purred deliciously, the words melting on her mouth.

Shit.

You licked your lips. "A girl, you mean."

"A woman. Of knowledge and needs. So many of them."

You gulped. Heat pooled in your belly, sliding lower, itching at places you couldn't — didn't dare — touch for doing so would expose your secret, your feelings, and, if that were to happen, you would be screwed — and not in the way you wanted.

"Well," you said, hoping to high heavens your voice wouldn't betray you, "I'm a woman of secrets."

"That's naughty."

So are you, but you don't see complaining.

"It's a fact," you said with a shrug. "Deal with it?"

"Should I?" She licked her lips, her tongue a bright pink against the lipstick. Taunting. Inviting."Or should I do something about it?"

Was she flirting?

Were you imagining it, or was she flirting?

She was.

The realization hit you like a slap straight across your face, sharp and precise.

Rowena MacLeod; the girl of your dreams; the one you'd been wanting for so long was flirting with you.

Openly.

Without a touch of shame, of hesitation.

It was as natural to her as breathing was.

But… why?

Aside from kindness, you had nothing to offer. You weren't popular, and neither were your friends. You had no money. No power. No influence of any kind. Your family wasn't rich. You weren't ugly, but you were far from beautiful; plain as day, one could say. A girl with the body and face that blended in with the crowds, no different, no more special than a random passerby. Average in everything, from grades to looks.

Far from the glamor Rowena craved.

So why?

Was she messing with you?

Or was she flirting to get her mind off what she'd gone through; the beating, the breakup, the loss of a girl she'd considered a friend?

Yes.

That was most likely it.

She was still hurting, and she wanted the pain to go away, wanted to forget all the bad and horrible.

She wasn't really interested in you.

She was in pain, and you were there.

That was all there was to it.

"How about we watch a movie?" you suggested, trying to hide the hurt in your voice.

You wanted her, so badly your heart ached, but you couldn't give in. She was hurting and flirting was her way of getting it under control. She probably wasn't even into you; you were just here, and you were safe. Someone she knew wouldn't harm her. So she went for it.

As much as you loved her, craved her like she was a drug, you had to stand your ground. Had to resist, no matter how hard it was. The last thing you wanted was to take advantage of her in this fragile state.

Rowena sighed, exasperated. She rolled her eyes. "Fine. If that's what you want."

Her tone made it clear it wasn't what she wanted.

"You promised me there'd be a movie," you reminded her.

"I suppose I did." She took a sip of her scotch before lowering her glass next to yours and grabbing her laptop. "I know you don't like classics. And I don't like horror. So I thought we could compromise."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you heard of a wee movie called Nosferatu?"

"Yeah."

Who hadn't?

She smirked. "That's our movie."

Nice.

Not exactly what you expected, but nice.

"You sure you're gonna be fine?" you taunted. "I heard it's very scary."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, dear. I can take care of myself."

Or she would be scared and grab your hand again, as if her life depended on it.

You were okay with that.

Maybe you got scared as well and squeezed her hand.

Maybe this time she could be your savior.

Rowena placed the laptop on the foot of the bed. She moved the bowls of snacks on the floor and crawled on the bed, then motioned for you to join her.

Your heart thundered as you took a seat next to her. The bed was small, and you had to snuggle against one another. Her skin was warm against yours, the fabric of her dress soft as the gentlest caress.

She leaned into you and you reciprocated, linking your arm through hers. As the movie started, she tightened her hold and pressed further against you.

You held her tightly.

As a friend.

Wishing she were your lover and knowing she couldn't be.

As expected, Rowena got scared. She twitched and gasped, dug her nails into your arm as she held on as if for dear life. At one point she buried her head in your chest, and you threw an arm around her and held her close. It didn't matter that the danger wasn't real; you arm remained around her, a wordless promise of safety, of protection.

"Scaredy cat," you teased.

"Shut up," she retorted, voice muffled as her face remained pressed against your chest.

There were a few times when you flinched. She noticed each and every one and held on tighter, her own little assurance that you were safe.

You kept sipping on your drink throughout the movie. Rowena did the same, when she wasn't hiding in your chest. She seemed to be handling it well for her size; a lightweight she was not. You, on the other hand, started feeling the buzz after finishing your second glass.

By the time the movie ended, the two of you had pushed your glasses aside and instead took swigs straight out of the bottle, passing it between you like a volleyball.

"You'll turn me into an alcoholic," you said after taking a large pull. The drink burned at your throat as strongly as the first time, but by now you were used to it. You were almost craving the sensation of fire sliding down your throat, scorching your insides, setting you alight.

Alight you were!

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, skin tight on your bones. Hot. Too hot. Words jumbled in your head, twisted, split apart and flew back together until they lost their meaning. The room was spinning, running in circles.

It felt as if you were in a dream, one that was both good and bad. A perfect mixture of a nightmare and a pleasant fantasy.

Drunk.

That was what you were.

And, unusual as it was for you, you kind of liked it.

There were no rules tonight. No laws. No regulations. Just you and Rowena alone in her room, living the best life.

It was only for one night, but you intended to live it to the fullest.

"I never put the bottle in your hands," Rowena said, taking the bottle from you and gulping down. "That's all on you, dear."

You took the bottle back and drank some more. "You offered me drinks."

She reclaimed it. Hissed as the liquor bit at her throat. "It's a New Year celebration, for goodness' sake! Not a bloody slumber party!"

You laughed, an unexpected outburst. "You say 'bloody' really funny."

"Shut up!" She smacked your arm.

It only prompted you to erupt into giggles. "Your accent is funny. And hot. Really hot."

You may have crossed a line there, but who cared?

As she said, it was the New Year celebration.

No rules.

No lines.

No holding back.

Rowena snickered at your comment, then, smirking, said, "I know." An idea suddenly popped into her mind. "You know what we should do?"

You had an inkling of what you might do and you didn't like it one bit. "If you say 'watch another movie,' I'll kill you."

Nosferatu, however scary at times, was a bore fest for the most part. If it weren't for her snuggling with you and your mind constantly coming up with rather raunchy images every time her hold on you would tighten as if to remind you she was there, that she needed you, you would have fallen asleep.

A classics lover, you were not. Not even when it came to horror.

Rowena pouted. "I planned for us to watch Dracula."

"The Bela Lugosi one?"

She looked at you as if you were slow. Which, considering the amount of alcohol flooding your veins, you probably were. "Which else?" Before you could bring up a few other — modern — incarnations, she said, "That's not what I meant."

You frowned. "What then?"

"Dance!"

She sounded so happy, it hurt to turn her down. "I can't dance."

"But I can."

"Ballet."

"Aye. Up until—" she looked you in the eyes, remembering the lie she'd fed you "—eighth grade."

"It's fine," you said in what was supposed to be a comforting manner, but, due to you slurring your words, it came off curt. Almost rude. "Crowley told me ages ago."

Normally, that would have led to a discussion, but now Rowena just narrowed her eyes suspiciously, looked you over, and, finally, nodded. "My brother needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. Anyway, I didn't do just ballet. I used to attend dance classes when I was younger. Still got the moves."

She purred the last bit deliciously. You couldn't resist a grin.

"Look at you! Tiny dancer." You burst into laughter at your own horrible joke. "Literally."

She smacked your arm lightly.

You pouted. "Ow."

She gave you a look, one of those judgmental ones that made you straighten up your act. Then she held her hands up to you and said, "Come on."

"Fine, Tiny Dancer."

It wasn't like you had anything to lose.

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Och, hush."

You took her hands, allowed her to pull you to her, to hold you against her. Her arms wrapped around you and she leaned her head on your shoulder as if to rest. She was warm. Soft. Fit perfectly into the curve of your body, like a piece of puzzle created solely for you. Her heart beat against your chest; soft, gentle little patters. Yours beat along; same rhythm, same pace, as if synchronized.

Your arms slid around her to reciprocate. You melted into the embrace, into the warmth she gave off, radiant as a sun. Your little shining star in the candlelit room.

Rowena started swaying, and your nerves exploded like fireworks. Tingles washed over your body as if a million fire ants were crawling underneath your skin, hot and cold all at once.

"What kind of dance is this?"

You were expecting something faster, wilder. More tango than waltz.

"Ours," she replied.

"What about the music?"

"We'll make our own."

Giving a slight nod, you followed her movements, slow, careful, gentle as the way she held you. Music sounded in the distance, followed be screeches and shouts. The town was celebrating, full of life. Ready to welcome the new year in all its glory.

You ignored it; ignored the noise, the needless distraction. Instead, your foggy mind focused on Rowena. On her skin on yours. On her lips, gentle, plump, pressed into your shoulder. On her hands, so small, so delicate, on your back. On her fingers tracing lines over your shirt. On her soft breathing and the beats of her heart.

It was as if nothing else existed but the two of you. All alone, drunk out of your minds, arms tight around one another. You, head over heels in love. Her, in desperate need of a friend, of affection.

Birds of a feather.

Made for each other.

ONE…

The exclamation shook you from your thoughts. The New Year was getting near, the town starting its counting, leading you to it.

TWO…

"Already?" you asked. Time had gone by so fast. It still felt as if it was nine o'clock and you were freezing your ass off out at the door.

"Mmhm," Rowena muttered.

THREE…

"This was a wild year, wasn't it?"

"We've become quite fond of each other, haven't we?" she said in agreement.

I fell in love with you, you wanted to say, and it took everything for your drunk mind to keep it to itself for it wanted nothing but to blurt it out, loud and clear for the entire town to hear.

FOUR…

"Yup," you said, tongue itching to spill the truth that was driving you mad. "Quite fond."

Rowena pulled back. Her eyes locked with yours in a gaze so intense you got lost in it. A moment passed by in silence, maddening, deafening, before she uttered, "I'm very fond of you."

FIVE…

What was she trying to say?

Was she…?

No way!

No way in hell!

Your forehead fell to hers, the contact sending electric sparks through you. "Rowena…"

SIX…

She fluttered her eyes. Licked her lips like she was daring you to kiss them.

God, you were tempted!

"Very, very fond."

She was.

Good god, she was flirting.

She wanted to kiss you.

Panic shot through you, urged your heart to rush. Should you give in? Should you kiss her? Or should you push her away?

What were you supposed to do?

SEVEN…

You wanted to kiss her.

You'd been wanting it for what felt like ages.

But was it right?

Did she really want it, or was she just trying to get over Lucifer?

Would she use you as a sort of a rebound?

Would you let her use you?

Would it be right?

"I…"

I love you. I love you so much, it hurts!

Did she love you, too?

Did you care?

You wanted her — god, you wanted her so much. Your heart hammered with it, the need growing stronger with each beat.

It was too soon to pursue her. She was still vulnerable, still bore the bruises both physically and mentally.

But if she pursued you…

Would it be wrong to give in? To let her have you the way she wanted?

EIGHT…

You looked her in the eyes again. Stared straight into the very depths of her soul.

"Are-are you sure?"

"Aye."

There was power in that one word. Conviction beyond doubt.

You believed it.

Believed her.

Believed the honesty in her eyes

NINE…

She wanted you.

Really, truly wanted you.

Out of confusion or genuine affection, you couldn't tell.

To your surprise, you found you didn't care.

She wanted you.

You wanted her.

That was all that mattered.

What did it matter why?

She was here. Offering what you'd been craving on a silver platter.

She was drunk, yes, but so were you. And, unlike you, she knew how to handle her liquor.

The whiskey, along with making you woozy, had given you a burst of courage.

You would be a fool not to take it.

But what if you were taking advantage?

What if she was?

TEN!

Who cared?

It was a one time only chance.

Your dream come true.

Your fantasy come to life.

So what if you were inebriated?

You wanted her — loved her — all the same. More even.

And she was yours for the taking.

Why give her up when you could finally have her?

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Sucking in a breath for courage, you gripped Rowena's shoulders, pulled her to you, and pressed your mouth to hers.

The consequences be damned.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @tasyahilker @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock

#rowena #rowena macleod #spn #supernatural #spn family #rowena x reader #my fics #fanfiction #high school au

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preraphaelitepunk · 5 years

Text

Fictober19 Day 13: All Creatures Small and Crotchety

Prompt #13: I never knew it could be this way

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley, minor human OCs, various OC dogs (including one of mine)

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Crowley is not good with animals. Not for lack of trying, but somehow most non-human animals — horses, dogs, cats, capybaras, etc. — seemed to sense his inner snakiness and see him as a threat, no matter how friendly he tried to be. Or maybe demons smelled slightly off, or it was his aura or something. They just were skittish around him, and defensive.

He accepted this fact long ago, after he greeted a small, fluffy handful of a puppy in Uruk and wound up having to pry her sharp teeth from the fleshy bit of his hand. Honestly, it didn’t bother him. Much.

Except around the angel.

It wasn’t fair. Aziraphale didn’t especially like animals who were not currently on his plate and accompanied by a complementary wine and sweets for afters. He loved them, in that generic angelic way of dutifully loving all creatures, but he didn’t really like them. Yet they flocked to him like cats to the lap of a dedicated cat-hater.

Currently, a gorgeous silvery Weimaraner was resting her chin on Aziraphale’s lap, gazing up at him adoringly as her human chatted with them in the park. Crowley kept his distance; he’d found that about a metre and a half was usually enough to keep most dogs below their stress threshold.

“She absolutely adores you,” the human was saying. “I mean, she’s usually friendly enough, but I thought she was going to pull my arm off if I didn’t let her come over to you. Thank you for being so nice about it.”

“Oh, my pleasure.” Aziraphale’s fists were pressed against his worn waistcoat, though, and he made no move to stroke the soppy dog’s head. “She’s clearly a very good girl, I’m sure.”

The human finally coaxed her dog to give over worshipping Aziraphale and said her goodbyes. Before she was entirely out of earshot, Aziraphale grimaced and moaned, “The line of my trousers is completely ruined now. The wretched thing left hair all over me — and is that drool? It’s drool. I have been drooled on by a dog, Crowley.” He turned plaintive eyes up at Crowley, who sighed and snapped his fingers.

“All gone, angel.” The blindingly bright smile he got in return never got old, no matter how many times he saw it. He’d spend the rest of eternity trying to win more of those smiles.

“Sorry,” another voice interrupted, “but do you mind if we come over to say hello? Tillie here really wants to meet you.” Indeed, another dog was straining at the lead, dragging her human over to their bench. For such a small dog — smaller than Dog, even — it seemed she could put out a surprising amount of force.

Aziraphale sighed. “Just for a moment, perhaps. We need to leave very soon.” They didn’t: they had nothing planned until a late lunch several hours from now, but clearly this was a very doggy morning and the angel was getting fed up with all the intrusions upon his person.

“Thanks. We won’t keep you; usually she just wants to sniff and get a pat, and then she’s done.” The scruffy little black dog sniffed Aziraphale’s trouser cuff and wagged her frond of a tail.

But then the impossible happened: Tillie continued on past Aziraphale and padded up to Crowley. She gave him a sniff as well, then sat and gazed up lovingly at him, tongue lolling. Crowley was frozen with shock.

“Wow, she’s normally done by now,” the human said. “She must really like you.”

Crowley was afraid to move lest he break the spell. “C-can I touch her?”

“I think she’d like that.” Impossibly, Tillie had shifted so she was leaning on Crowley’s leg. His actual leg.

Slowly, cautiously, Crowley crouched down and reached out to touch Tillie’s shoulder; that seemed safer than touching her head. Brown eyes gazed meltingly into golden yellow, and Tillie began licking his hand as he gently stroked her coarse, long hair.

“I never knew it could be this way,” Crowley murmured, awestruck. “Most animals don’t like me at all.”

The human chuckled. “Well, Tillie has always been a little weird. She’s very persnickety and judgy, and doesn’t like most people. I mean, she’s friendly enough, but usually she’s done with them after a few sniffs and maybe a pat. This is really unusual for her.”

“It’s really unusual for me, too.” He moved his hand up to behind Tillie’s ear, and she leaned into the rubbing. He was definitely not tearing up. The choking feeling and watery eyes were probably just allergies from his stupid corporation.

“She’s clearly a very good girl.” Aziraphale’s tone was very different this time, warm and fond. Crowley could see the blue eyes shining with growing understanding, and he cleared his throat.

The human seemed to misread this as a cue to leave. “I’m sorry we’ve taken so much of your time. Thank you for letting us say hello — we’ll let you get on with your day.”

Crowley didn’t trust himself to speak, but Aziraphale said, “Oh, we don’t have to leave just yet.”

“That’s very kind of you, but we’ve intruded enough. Come on, Tills: let’s let these nice gentlemen get on with their day.” As Tillie reluctantly tore herself away from Crowley’s ministrations, the human waved. “Thanks again, and sorry for interrupting!”

As Tillie was led away, casting longing glances over her shoulder, Aziraphale got up from the park bench and slipped an arm around Crowley’s waist. “She’s a very good girl indeed,” he murmured. “And has excellent taste.” His smile was soft and uncomfortably knowing.

“‘Course she does,” Crowley said with forced nonchalance. “Stands to reason that, in an infinite multiverse, there’d be at least one dog who could tolerate me.”

“Looks like she did a lot more than just tolerate you, my dear. She adored you.”

The angel was about half a second away from saying something even soppier, like “almost as much as I adore you,” and Crowley didn’t think he could take that. Not in public. Time to change the subject. “Yeah, well, as you said: she has good taste. And speaking of taste, how about we get an ice cream? We’ve got a few hours until lunch, unless you want to go now.”

Aziraphale clearly wasn’t fooled, but his smile turned indulgent and he kissed Crowley on the temple. “An ice cream sounds divine, darling. A perfect addition to an already remarkable day. Lead on, my love.”

#fictober19 #good omens #good omens fanfic #gomens #my fanfic #fluff #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #crowley is soft for animals but they don't like him #except for tillie #tillie may or may not bear some resemblance to one of my dogs #all right she's a straight-up doggie insert

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justjessame · 4 years

Text

Hellfire and Angelic Grace Chapter 11

John was holding Lilana, the light fading outside the bedroom windows, feeling a contentment he hadn’t felt in so damn long he’d almost forgotten how it could feel. Her lips were making a map of his chest and he was shocked at how his body was STILL responding. He’d lost count of how many times and how many ways they’d come together since he walked in to comfort her.

She glanced up from beneath her eyelashes, kissing the hair covered chest that she wanted to touch and taste forever. “I want more,” she whispered and he chuckled, his voice hoarse. Lilana moved so she was straddling him, moving lower until he was back inside her heat and then, once again, it felt like the world stopped. “Dear fucking-” she moaned, and it broke whatever spell that hit when they joined. She rocked, letting him feel every slick inch of the inside of her and John’s moan met hers.

“Lilana,” he rolled and was on top of her moving hard and fast, the way he had quickly learned she loved. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck you’re tight,” his head found her shoulder, and his lips were tasting her skin as greedily as she had his. “You taste amazing, fuck, Lilana, right fucking-” and with a roar, he came again, deep inside of her as she bit into his shoulder to keep from screaming loud enough to breach the well insulated walls of her bedroom.

He stayed cradled between her thighs, their breathing coming down together, their hearts syncing. Her stomach growled and he laughed. “I think I’m hungry.” She giggled. “Which is weird, because I feel so fucking full.” She wiggled and he knew exactly what she meant. He was still inside of her, still coming down, still filling her perfectly. John’s eyes met hers and he saw everything he was feeling reflected. “Think the boys are gonna let us do the walk of shame quietly?”

His thumb brushed her lower lip, that lip that begged to be tasted again. “I think they will if they know what’s good for them.” He dipped his head and gave into temptation. She tasted like every damn thing he couldn’t live without. Her laughter bubbled up when his stomach rumbled against her. “Damn, guess I’m a little hungry too.”

Lilana’s hands were sliding through his hair. Her eyes studying his face, the scar along his eye, the scruff on his face that burned just right on her skin, those eyes of his that burned and twinkled at the same damn time. “You’re fucking gorgeous, John Winchester.” She tugged his head back to hers and licked into his mouth. “I don’t know why I finally found you, but I will die before I lose you.”

It was full dark by the time they came out of her bedroom. Lolly laying against her door, looking like she’d been abandoned. Lilana’s hand reached down automatically and slid through her fur. John’s fingers linked with her other hand, and smiling they walked down the hallway. They could hear the voices of the boys, and another voice, one that made John’s hand tighten in hers.

“John?” She asked, looking up, but the new voice cut in.

“Ah, Papa Winchester,” what accent was that? Lilana tried to place it. “Why don’t you bring Lilana in here and join us?” Ut oh.

Entering the living room, Lilana’s eyes landed on a man in a well made dark suit. He was smaller stature, but so was she, and she had a feeling that wasn’t all they shared. Dark hair, dark facial hair, and a look like he’d really enjoy tearing the wings off of flies in his spare time. Daddy? She wondered, with an internal snarkiness that she felt he heard because of the smirk he flashed at her.

“Lilana, my dear, come, come.” He was gesturing as though he owned her house and she shot him a look. “My apologies, sweetheart, habit.” He took the chair she’d sat in the previous night. Looking very much like the King of Hell, if she were being honest. Fuck.

Pulling John by the hand to the sofa, she sat and drew him down next to her. She kept his hand in hers. “Crowley, I suspect?” Lilana was happy to note that her voice was steady. Good. “Wait,” she leaned forward studying him. “I know you.” She did. She knew him, she’d seen him on the worst night of her life. “You pulled me from the car.” His eyes widened. “You took me from the wreckage, you were at my bedside.”

“I thought you were-” he stopped, his voice had gone breathless. A sign of weakness, and clearly Crowley didn’t want to sound weak. “You were unconscious.”

“I saw you from above.” John glanced at her. It was the same voice she’d used in the dream, almost hers, but not quite. “The corner of the room. You spoke to me.” Crowley’s eyes met John’s. “You said you’d get them, that they’d watch over me.” Her head tilted and John could see the reflection of the glow of her eyes in the wall of glass behind the King of Hell. “Thank you.”

Lilana’s eyes closed and she sighed, and then sat back as though exhausted. “Winchester, explain.” Crowley was unnerved. What had just happened? Her eyes, had anyone ever seen that type of bright light before? So blinding, so white and blue tinged.

John’s hand tightened on Lilana’s, drawing her back to the conversation. “Sorry, I think I might have zone out for a moment.” She took in the tension in the room. “Shit, did I-” she sighed and felt all four sets of eyes zero in on her. Lilana sighed. “Yeah, OK, so sometimes I seem to channel something or someone.” She made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. “What? He’s the KING OF HELL.” She gestured at Crowley like he won this round of weirdo Olympics.

John’s eyes landed on Crowley with a raised eyebrow. “Want to weigh in, Father Dearest?”

Crowley snorted. “Hark who’s talking.” He sighed and sat back in his chair. “I don’t know, Winchester, how would I?” He studied his daughter’s face. “How long has this been happening? The ‘channeling’?”

Lilana settled into the sofa. “Forever?” A shrug. “Mom mentioned it when I was sixteen like it was a family joke.” Her eyes met Crowley’s. “You know the type, ‘remember the time Li-Li talked in that weird voice and freaked out her nanny so bad she wet herself’, the nanny not me.” She rolled her eyes. “My life has been FILLED with weird. The pool guy who hit me with the net, nearly drowning me in our old house. He didn’t realize he’d touched me, he swore, but before he did it Lolly wouldn’t let him in the gate, and afterward she snuggled him. Weird.”

John and Crowley’s gaze met for a split second. “What else?” Dean, from behind her. She tilted her head and grinned.

“Forgot you were hovering there, why don’t you grab a seat. You too, Sam?” Once everyone was settled in, she continued. “More freaky weird? There was my friend Annie’s mom. She kept badgering Mom and Dad to let me have a sleepover, but when they gave in and I insisted Lolly come along, she backed out.” She bit her lip. “The guys who wanted more, but when they arrived at the house, took one look at Lolly growling and drooling and darted away.” She felt John shift with irritation. “Not all of them, clearly. I don’t know, up until the other night, it was just weird stuff over and over, interspersed with me spouting off cryptic shit in a voice sort of mine, but not.” Her eyes squinted. “And the light. Mom swore that sometimes it looked like my eyes glowed.” She rolled her eyes.

“It’s true, Lilana,” John’s voice was quiet and she turned to look at him. “They glow.” What?

“Lilana,” Crowley’s voice drew her attention back to him. “I’m not sure you understood everything they told you-”

“Half angel, half demon?” She snorted, who would understand that? “I don’t.”

“Your mother, Abigail, was-” He closed his eyes. “She and I weren’t supposed to-” Not enough strength, not by a mile. “What we had was forbidden.” His eyes opened to her watching him. “Our love, you, it was beyond forbidden. She-”

“Evaporated.” Lilana’s voice was hushed, but sure. “She ceased to exist. All because of me.” The pain he heard was real and it was echoed inside of him. “Maybe I shouldn’t-”

Four voices shot that idea down. “Darling, no.” Crowley took up the argument easily. “You mother, she was a great deal like you, she said things, knew things, that she shouldn’t. You were meant to be.” He sounded as certain as she had. “It hurt to lose her, I won’t deny that, it’s a loss I feel to this second.” Li-Li’s eyes were shining with tears. “But YOU? You are supposed to exist. You make her loss at least mean something.” His eyes flicked to John’s hand in hers. He growled. “Could you stop mauling my daughter right in front of me, Winchester?”

Li-Li’s eyes glanced down at their linked fingers. “Mauling? We’re holding hands-” she searched for something to call him. Damn it. “What do I call you?”

Crowley came up short at the question. Call him? Father? No, too formal. Dad? No, too casual. Daddy? No, too cringe inducing. He shot Winchester a look. Please, all that is unholy, do not let her be calling Papa Winchester ‘daddy’. “I’m not sure, Lilana.” They sat and studied one another. “What would you like to call me?”

Another moment of silence. Father? Ugh, that would sound like he was her priest, which would be hilarious, but weird. Dad? Nope, she had one, he was dead. Daddy? Eww, there was an amount of ew that couldn’t be un-thought, and that word brought them all to the surface. Papa? She shot a look at John. Yeah, no, not after he’d called John that multiple times. “Can we play it by ear?”

A nod. Great. “Back to the issue at hand-” he shot their linked hands another sharp look. “Mauling.” Lilana rolled her eyes.

“Mauling?” She held up their hands for a better look. “This is mauling?” John could hear the playful bent in her voice and shut his eyes against the thought of what may be coming. “Damn, guess we should be happy he didn’t come straight into my bedroom earlier, right, honey?” She blinked at John, his eyes opened and he had to fight a laugh. “I mean, not to brag, but that was MAULING.” She dragged the word out and felt the sofa on her other side shake. Turning she saw Dean turning almost blue from holding in some type of emotion. “You OK, Dean?”

That did it. Dean let out the breath he’d been holding, a combination of deflated squeak toy and horror left him and Sam was laughing from his own chair with abandon. Crowley and John were staring at one another and Lilana could almost feel the heat.

“Oh stop it.” It was directed at Crowley, because of course, he rolled his eyes. “You don’t get to throw your parental weight around here, mister.” She stood up, releasing John’s hand reluctantly. “I don’t KNOW you, and whose fault is that?” He opened his mouth, but she kept going. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, my protection and forbidden love, bullshit. YOU’RE King of Hell, right? Well, toss your weight around and do supervised visits or something.” She threw her hands up in the air and headed for the kitchen. “Now, since I just experienced MIND BLOWING marathon sex with the sexual wizard that is John Winchester, I’m starving. Anyone want dinner?”

#supernatural fanfiction #alternate universe #crowley/daughter #john winchester x ofc #angel/demon #Dean Winchester #sam winchester #Smut

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 5 years

Text

Hold Me Close and Love Me True

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 3750

Summary: Simon asks Baz to sleep over for the first time. Baz is his anxious self and overcomplicates it. Based on spooning request.

Read on AO3

AN: Shoutout to @carryonmylovelies for helping with the title. She is literally the best, love you dude <3 Also I've just realised this is the third fic in a row in Baz's POV and about his fears. Sorry if it feels repitive, I didn't mean for it to happen. The boy just has a lot of different fears to explore and I like to write about it lol. I promise the next fic will be different. For now, enjoy this one :)

———————————————

Baz

I don’t know how Snow does it, but he’s gorgeous even when he’s disgusting. He’s dozing on the couch, arm hanging off the edge, snoring loudly, drool dripping from the corner of his lip (mouth breather), and he’s still the most beautiful thing in the entire world. I’m sitting on the floor next to him, playing with his hanging fingers. I’m technically watching the end of “UP” but I’m more focused on him. Simon Snow, a snoring, drooling, handsome Disney prince.

I shouldn’t be surprised he passed out so easily. Greek takeaway always makes him slip into a food coma. But I know he can’t sleep on this couch. It’ll hurt his neck and give him a headache. Then he’ll be all mopey tomorrow, calling me to ask if I can come over after school to comfort him. Of course I would come over, but I’d rather him not be in pain.

Carefully, I shake his shoulder. “Snow,” I whisper. “Snow, wake up.”

His face scrunches up and he grunts with annoyance. “No.”

“You need to go to bed, Snow.”

He groans low and deep. “Don’t wanna move.”

I sigh. “You have to get up, or you’re going to have a crick in your neck again.”

“That happened once.”

“And it will happen again if you sleep here. Get up.”

He groans again even louder. With dramatic effort, he rolls onto his side, slightly crushing his wing. I expect him to swing his legs off the couch and slouch his way to his bedroom. But instead, he lifts his arms up, flexing his hands.

“Carry me?” he asks sleepily.

I cross my arms. “Seriously? Are you five?”

He whines in that utterly pathetic, utterly adorable way and keeps grabbing at empty air. I sigh very dramatically, so he knows this is under reluctance. “You’re so lucky I love you,” I grumble.

Carefully, I put one arm under his knees and the other around his back. He’s easy to lift up (hooray vampire strength), but the wings are a bit more of an issue. They smack me in the face at first. I grumble and try to push them out of the way. I usually quite like the wings (not that I’ll admit it out loud), but right now I have to strain up to see what’s in front of me. Aleister Crowley, this is a bad idea.

Snow’s arms wind around my neck. Suddenly, I feel his nose nestle under my jaw, sending a shiver down my spine. He curls into me like an affectionate cat. His warmth overwhelms my hypersensitive body. Okay, maybe this is somewhat alright idea.

Very slowly, I make my way down the narrow hallway. I do my best to keep Snow’s limbs and dragon appendages from hitting anything but it’s difficult with my lack of vision. His foot bangs sourly on his bedroom door frame, and he hisses into my skin.

“Sorry, love,” I say.

“S’fine,” he replies. Lucky for me he’s more forgiving when he’s tired, and he’s more forgiving of me now that we’re dating.

We reach Simon’s very messy bed. I lower him down on the rumpled sheet, careful to not crush his wings and tail. I don’t bother with the blanket. Snow, despite his name, runs incredibly hot. After getting both his legs on the mattress, I lean down and press my lips to his forehead. He’s so warm, like the soft glow from a fireplace.

“Goodnight, Simon,” I whisper against his skin.

I start to stand, but Snow’s arms suddenly tighten around my neck, keeping me kneeling and choking me. “No,” he whines quietly, “stay.”

My blood suddenly goes even colder than it already is. That word sends me into an odd sort of panic. What does he mean by that? Stay here uncomfortably kneeling? Kiss his forehead again? Or, stay the night, in his bed...

Fuck. That’s not something we’ve done before, not really. I slept in his arms at Christmas, but I don’t really count it. I was restless for an hour then panicked and went to my bed. And in the month Simon and Penelope have had this flat, he’s never asked for me to stay. I may have shared a room with Simon Snow for years, but I’ve never slept in his bed, and the idea of doing so is both exhilarating and terrifying.

“What do you mean?” I ask with only a little quiver in my voice.

“Stay,” he says again.

I sigh heavily. He’s even more inarticulate when he’s sleepy. “Please elaborate, Snow. Do you want me to stay kneeling on this cold floor? Because it’s very uncomfortable.”

“No.” He pulls me closer, forcing me to nearly bend in half. “Sleep here. With me.” His eyes slide half open, nervously biting his lip. “I-If you want, that is...”

Bloody hell, what do I want? Obviously I want to stay. I always want to stay with Simon. But I’ve never really shared a bed with someone in a romantic context, except that one time where I freaked out. What if I do it wrong? Is there a way to do it wrong? There has to be, and I’ll probably do it. I’ve done quite a lot wrong in regards to Snow, romantically and otherwise. But I want to. If he wants to.

“If you really want me to,” I ask quietly.

He presses my nose into my cheek, sighing against my skin. “I really do.”

Fuck, guess he does want to. That’s not scary. Not at all. “Okay.” I start to stand up, but Snow keeps his arms tight. “Snow,” I chuckle, “I have to get up to change. I’m not sleeping in jeans.”

“Mm, fine.” He lets his arms fall like limp noodles.

“May I borrow some of your pyjamas? They are mostly clean right?”

“Yes,” he grumbles. “Tosser.”

I chuckle as I walk to his dresser. It looks like a tornado hit it, sleeves and pant legs spilling out the sides, but that’s normal. Luckily they do smell clean. I pick out a long sleeve shirt and some trackies. I look over my shoulder, just to check that Snow still has his eyes closed. Good. We may be dating, but he still hasn’t seen me in my pants. I’m already sleeping over and that’s enough for me tonight. Baby steps are necessary so I don’t completely panic.

I quickly take off my clothes and replace them with Simon’s. They’re soft, and warm, and they smell like him. I press the shirt collar to my nose and quietly sniff. Fresh baked cinnamon rolls, pulled straight from the oven. Yes, that’s definitely Simon. Not sure I’m going to give this shirt back. I walk to the bed, where Snow is all spread out like a starfish. I sigh heavily.

“If you want me to sleep here, Snow, you have to make room,” I say. Snow makes an annoyed noise then rolls on his side, leaving a space for me. Problem is he’s still on top of the blankets my much colder body needs. I sigh, then try to pull the quilt down. Snow, tired as he is, offers minimal help, lifting his legs and hips slightly. I eventually do get under the covers, laying my head on the pillow. And I freeze.

Fuck, this is actually happening. I’m in Snow’s bed, under Snow’s too thin blanket, head resting on Snow’s lumpy pillow. This is incredible and absolutely paralyzing. Literally. I’m completely still, like a statue. Body straight, hands over my stomach, staring up at the patchy ceiling. I can feel Simon’s heat radiating off him right next to me. I want to reach out and touch him, but I don’t know if I’m allowed. I’m not even sure how to ask.

“What’s wrong?” Simon whispers. I turn my head, and he’s looking at me. His eyes are only half open but his brows are pulled together.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I reply.

“Bollocks. You look more high strung than your violin.”

I don't know how he’s this articulate when he’s tired, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to let this go. His furrowed brow isn’t settling. “It’s not that bad,” I say quietly. “I’ve just, never slept over with someone I was dating, obviously. I’m not sure what to do.”

He frowns slightly. “You slept in my arms at Hampshire.”

I chuckle quietly. “Yes, for an hour before I got uncomfortable and scared and went to my own bed.”

He frowns even more. “Are you scared now?”

“No, love, no. Just, nervous. You’re my first boyfriend, all of this is new for me.”

Simon’s eyes open wider. He still looks concerned. He shuffles a bit forward, then reaches out and taps hand against mine, something we do to reassure each other. It started when Simon was first recovering from the Mage debacle. He would lay in bed for days not speaking, and I was unsure what I could do to help. So I started just brushing my hand against his, silently letting him know that he wasn’t alone. Eventually, he started brushing my hand back. Now it’s our nonverbal way of saying, “I’m here for you.” I smile softly at him, and tap his hand back.

“Thank you, love,” I reply.

He smiles back, the worry finally melting from his face. “I do get it,” he says, so quiet the words only fill the space between us, “it was freaky for me too. But I promise you sleeping next to someone isn’t that freaky. It’s nice, really.”

I have to suppress the sting of jealousy in my gut. Yes, he would know, because of Wellbelove. Who he slept next to and fawned over while my heart broke. I can’t really blame him, he didn’t know how I felt. In fact, I did everything in my power to make sure he didn’t know. But he knows now, and he’s good to me. So the sting fades quickly.

I firmly grab his hand, his heat spreading over my palm. “I’ll take your word for it, Snow.”

His lips twist in thought. I can see him trying to sort through the beautiful tornado that is his brain. “You can, uh,” he starts, “we could, try stuff.”

I inhale sharply. Oh fuck. We just started snogging on the couch occasionally. Anything more definitely requires more time and discussion. Simon must see my panic because he immediately moves closer and starts shaking his head.

“No! Not like that, definitely not like that.”

“Okay, good,” I sigh. “Even if we were ready for anything like that, I think the Greek food wouldn’t be happy.”

He giggles. It’s such a beautiful sound. “Yeah, you’re definitely right.”

“So what in Merlin’s name are you talking about, Snow?”

“I mean, mostly what I like about sleeping next to someone is like...touching and stuff. So we can try that, if you want.”

That makes my heart pick up in a completely different way. “So, essentially, you want to cuddle.”

He smiles and squeezes my hand. “Yeah, pretty much. I’d like that a lot. Would you?”

I chew on my bottom lip, running my thumb over the back of his hand. Why is this so frightening? Why do I make things so hard for myself? I can do this. I won’t mess it up. “Yes, I do.” He grins. “I just don’t know how it’s going to work.”

“It’s just cuddling, Baz, not rocket science.”

I give him a pointed look, then reach up to flick the corner of his wing. He hisses slightly. “I mean your extra appendages, Snow. You’ve said they make sleeping alone hard, so I can’t imagine adding me into the mix will help.”

“Hm, yeah, I guess.” I watch him think about it. Well, I assume he’s thinking about it. I’ve always assumed his thoughts resemble his disjointed rambling, if he thinks it over at all. Usually he just does the first thing that pops into his big beautiful head. But right now he’s taking awhile. I lose some interest and look back up at the ceiling.

“Oh,” he says, and before I can ask what “oh” means, I have an entire teenage boy on my chest.

“Oof!” All the air is suddenly forced out of my lungs. Snow has decided to sprawl himself on top of me. His head is on my shoulder, our chests are half pressed together, and the rest of his body is just straight up crushing mine. I flinch when his wing joint gets nearly hits my face. I can’t even revel in the fact that Simon Snow is on top of me because I’m just struggling to breathe.

“Snow,” I say, voice strained, “I can’t breathe.”

“Oh, sorry!” He rolls back onto his side., and I take a deep breath. “Sorry, I thought, you know, vampire strength and all.”

“Vampire strength doesn’t negate the need for oxygen. What even was that?”

He shrugs, obviously embarrassed. “I don’t know. I usually sleep on my front, and I wanted to be near you, so I thought maybe...sorry...” He shrugs again and I sigh. Typical Simon. Nice thought, poor execution.

“It’s alright. Let’s just find a way that’s not going to crush me.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “that sounds like a good idea. How do you want to?”

It’s my turn to shrug. The habits you pick up from your partner are astounding. “I don’t know. You’re the expert.”

He scoffs. “I’m hardly an expert, love. Me and Agatha didn’t get much alone time with the Humdrum and all that.” He looks me over again, then just throws his arm over my side. It’s a nice sort of comfortable weight. But that’s all he does. “How’s this?”

“It’s...alright. But, I wouldn’t mind if you were closer.” Fuck, I had enough blood earlier to let me blush, and that was a mistake. I’m more red than a tomato. Snow, the bastard, is grinning at me with utter amusement. He shuffles closer so our bodies are lined up, throws a leg over mine, and tucks his head under my chin. It’s kind of like he’s climbing me. He moves my arm so it’s over his side. Our other arms are somewhat uncomfortably tucked between us.

“How’s that?” he asks.

Well, it’s nice having him this close, of course. His warmth wraps around me like a cocoon. I can feel him playing with my t-shirt. I like the way his hair smells, all fruity because of his shampoo. This is similar to how we slept at Hampshire. But, it’s still paralyzing in a way. We’re so intertwined, no space between us, no room. I’m scared to move a muscle in fear of breaking the moment. I don’t think I can sleep like this.

“It’s nice,” I whisper, “but it’s not ideal for sleeping, sorry.”

Simon shakes his head. “It’s alright. How about, uh, you hold me from behind?”

“You mean spooning?”

“Is that the word for it?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Snow. That’s the word according to the dictionary.”

“Then yeah, that.” He lightly flicks my side. “Also, you’re a dickhead.”

I snort. “Yes, we’re both very aware of that.” My fingers run up his back, and I brush the base of his wings. Snow jolts slightly. Hm, okay, that’s something to investigate at another time. “Though spooning you sounds nice, these might get in the way.”

Snow flapped the wings slightly in annoyance. I will say, inconvenient as they are, they do look quite majestic. “Hm, yeah, I guess. What if I, uh, held you from behind?”

“So, you want me to be little spoon.” I can’t help my blush spreading at that thought. There are so many things I assumed I’d never get to do with anyone, let alone Simon. It’s incredible. Nerve wracking, but incredible.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says. “Spooning is a weird word...”

I scoff though it’s halfway to a chuckle. “It’s just a word, Snow.”

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t get it. Like why do you need a weird word for cuddling? It’s like- I don’t-”

“Simon,” I sigh, cutting off his rambling, then turn in his arms, “shut up and spoon me.”

I hear him laugh, then feel his arm flop down over my side. Slowly, Snow shuffles closer, figuring out how to arrange himself around me. His chest presses against my back and fits one leg between mine. It’s nice, though I have to actively not think about how close his crotch is to my arse. There’s an inch or so but still, we’re quite close. His arm tightens around my stomach. He’s a long line of heat on my usually cold back, and I like it quite a bit.

“This good?” he asks.

I reach down and fit my fingers in the spaces between his. “Yeah, this is good.”

I inhale sharply when I feel his nose press against my neck. He rubs it against my skin, small exhales tickling me. “Good. Let’s finally sleep.”

“Agreed.”

I let my eyes slide shut, sinking into Snow’s heat and soft skin. The nervousness fades away with every breath I feel against my neck. This is still a lot for me, but I don’t feel as overwhelmed. I have room to breathe and adjust while Simon is surrounding to me. Maybe we could sleep like this again sometime.

Just as I’m just about to drift off, something brushes against my shoulder. I crack open my tired eye. Simon’s wing is draped across me, covering a good portion of my torso. Luckily his wing joint is on my shoulder with little risk of it reaching my face. It’s more like an extra blanket than anything. Right, Snow’s wings relax more when he sleeps. But that doesn’t seem to apply to his tail. I almost yelp when I feel it slither between our legs and wrap around my ankle. It’s sort of adorable, both are. And I’m smiling as I drift off to sleep.

———————————————

I wake up feeling warm. That’s unusual. I tend to wake up being a bit chilly. As I return to the world of consciousness, I feel something on my side. My eyes slowly open. There’s an arm draped over me, a leg on top of mine, and a leathery tail loosely holding my ankle. It appears Snow has rolled onto his front in his sleep. I’m on my side, hand on Snow's upper back. I've got a lovely view of his beautiful visage, smushed into the pillow and drooling. Crowley, I love him.

I don’t move for a little while, just watching him. Fucking sappy, I know. But I've spent years watching Snow sleep, and I've come to enjoy it. It’s so much better now that I’m allowed to. Eventually I can’t help but reach out and run my fingers through his bedhead. He stirs slightly, tilting up towards my hand, and I can feel his arm tightening.

“Mm,” he says into the pillow, the corner of his lip pulling up. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I whisper. It’s so bloody soft I should be disgusted with myself. But it’s Simon. I can let myself be soft with him.

He slowly runs his hand up and down my back. Even through the shirt it feels like sparks on my skin. “I like this.”

“What, the shirt? It’s your’s, Snow, I hope you like it.”

“No, arsehole.” He moves closer, our noses are nearly touching. “I like you sleeping here, and waking up next to you. In a good way, not like back at Watford. Do you? Like it?”

I reach out and trace a single finger on the base of his wings. Snow inhales sharply. I feel the deep shiver that reverberates down his spine. “Yes, I certainly like it too.”

“Bastard.”

“Yes,” I move even closer while rubbing his back, “but you like me.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. He rolls fully onto his side, wing stretched out and covering us both, “I do.” He pulls us so we’re pressed together, legs tangled, his tail firmly holding my calf. “I love you, Baz.”

Those words don’t shock me like they used to. It’s not a secret or a surprise, just wonderful. He loves me. Simon Snow, the chosen one, the centre of my universe, loves me. I cup his pretty face, covered in beautiful moles and awash in sunlight bleeding in through his wing. “I love you too, Simon,”

I’m not sure who kisses whom, but it really doesn’t matter. We both want to. How could we not? There’s absolutely no urgency to it, our lips lazily sliding together. I twist a few of his soft curls. I revel in every time Simon sighs between our mouths. He rubs my back and stomach. His fingertips dance just under the hem of my shirt (his shirt). I think it’s his silent way of asking permission. I’m seriously considering pushing his hand fully under it, when there’s a loud knock at the door.

“Simon?” Bunce asks. “Are you up? I’m making tea.”

I sigh as I reluctantly pull away from Simon’s mouth. “Yes, Bunce, we’re awake.”

“Oh. You’re here, Baz?”

“Obviously.”

Snow pokes my stomach. I hope he doesn’t notice the way it makes me shudder. (My stomach is so bloody sensitive, and if Simon knows just how much he will exploit it ruthlessly.) “Ignore him, Pen,” he calls out. “Earl grey tea would be lovely, thanks. We’ll be out in a bit.”

“Alright, will do.”

I crane my neck “Aren’t you going to ask what kind of tea I like, Bunce?”

“You’re assuming I care.”

Her footsteps fade away. I huff and flop down again. Snow’s arm is still draped across my side. I expect him to smiling smugly, making fun of me. But he isn’t. He still looks all soft. My heart melts in my chest.

“I liked you staying,” he whispers.

I sweep my thumb over his rosy cheek. “Me too.”

His smile somehow gets even brighter. It’s a miracle I don’t go blind. “So, could we make it a more regular thing? And maybe I could stay at your place too?”

This man is so adorable it’s criminal. Any fear or nerves are gone now, part of me wondering why I even had them in the first place. I lean forward and kiss my favourite mole on his neck. “Absolutely.”

He tilts his head, pulling me into another soft kiss, and the world fades away, completely condensing down to our bed.

———————————————

AN: This is so sweet my teeth are rotting. I wanted to show just how awkward firsts in a relationship can be, especially with two people so unused to intimacy. But they're good now, they're figuring it out, and they're super cute. Hope you all liked this! Next chapter of Black Swan should be up soon, and I'm already onto the next request :)

#carry on #snowbaz #baz pitch #simon snow #penelope bunce #fluff #cuddling #post canon #spooning #mysnowbazfic

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seljepw · 5 years

Text

Sleeping With the Enemy: Part 3

A/N: My beloveds. Thank you for your unending patience with my slow-ass story crafting. This one has been in the works for a long time, and I’m so freaking happy to share it with you. Sláinte.

When last we left our heroine: A year ago, Crowley and the reader came to an agreement. Since then, they’ve fucked seen each other twice, and it’s no longer as cut-and-dry as it once was. What is going on, here? Just great sex? Just business? Or something more? (Catch up on previous chapters HERE)

Menu Warnings: HERE THERE BE SMUT. Demon power kink, unprotected sex (you know this is pretend, right??), public sex, orgy, Crowley’s dirty mouth, etc.

Weighing in at: 7,780 words. I’m not even sorry.

The King of Hell had been fucking with you for months.

Note: fucking with you, not fucking you. Therein lay the problem.

It started the morning after his last visit. You had dragged yourself, sore and sleepless, to the shower. You spent much longer under the hot water than usual, hoping it would wash away some of your confusion. By the time you got out, the huge bathroom was full of steam. In the condensation on one of the mirrors was a large heart, around your first initial and a capital C. Crowley’s voice echoed in your mind.

“I didn’t expect you to pine away, doodling our names in little hearts on you chemistry notebook…”

You hastily wiped your hand over the drooling lines, and hoped that neither of the Winchesters had wandered in in the last hour.

A month later, you had opened the shitty motel room door in po-dunk nowhere, Arkansas, to find the entire room covered in flowers. Every kind, every color possible. On the pillow, tied to a black rose with silk ribbon, was a note. “Your favorite must be here, somewhere.” When you climbed in the car the next morning in your FBI duds, Dean asked if you were wearing a new perfume.

You managed to keep the boys out of your room for the remainder of the case, and every night when you “went to get ice”, you discarded another bin full of flowers.

You did keep your favorite bloom, though. Pressed in your hunter’s journal with no other context.

The fancy underwear had shown up next. Scraps of red lace that looked like they had been made to be taken off almost immediately, but would disintegrate with normal use. When you left them in the box, the next day they were replaced with soft, clearly expensive pajamas. Those you wore. But not out of your room. Sam and Dean were observant enough to notice when you got new clothes, and you didn’t want to have to come up with a groggy, pre-coffee lie, one morning.

It went on for months. Pizza you didn’t order arrived at the library where you and the guys were pulling an all-nighter. On laundry day, your clothes were magically folded and arranged in a C on your bed. A box of bandaids in Baby’s backseat, the day after you put down a rugaru, with a note inside that said “Just protecting my interests…”. It was getting infuriatingly difficult to explain away or hide the evidence of demonic visitation from the Winchesters, despite the fact that you hadn’t actually seen your demonic visitor, at all.

And then there were the dreams.

Every few nights, you would dream of Crowley’s hands on you. Burning fingers on your thighs, breasts, wrists, pussy… one night, you woke up coming. Most nights, you just woke up frustrated, flipped the pillow to the non-sweaty side, and tried to get back to sleep.

You (ahem) filled the void with a few guys here and there, but mostly, they just took the edge off enough that you didn’t literally claw your way up a wall. Nothing quite matched the intensity that you had experienced with Crowley. Eventually, you gave up on outside help, and invested in a large pack of batteries.

It had been almost six months since your last… what to call it?

“Encounter”? Too spaceshipy.

“Assignation”? Too romance-novely.

“Date” was flat-out wrong.

Whatever it was that you and Crowley had indulged in, it had been too long since it happened.

October came again. You hadn’t heard from Crowley for two months. No semi-intrusive gifts, no cryptic notes, not even a bathroom mirror doodle. You tried not to think anything of it. So, he had gotten tired of toying with you, and moved on. Fine. Good riddance. You would just have to compartmentalize and move on with your own life. It wasn’t like he owed you anything. This all started as basically a business deal for an ancient, witch-fighting talisman. Nothing personal, right? In fact, it was a relief not to have to hide the evidence from Sam and Dean. You definitely did not miss him. Or, so you told yourself at least twice a day, when you caught sight of the Luisgeàrd as you changed clothes, or felt it pressed between your breasts under your shirt. Despite yourself, though, you never took it off.

~~~

Another vampire, another hunt, another po-dunk nowhere. Two lane blacktop and spanish moss-layden oak trees whipping by the open window. Unseasonable heat that was sticking to your skin, making you itch from the inside out. Dean singing and drumming on the wheel. Between the sexual drought and the muggy air, you had to concentrate hard on not throttling him.

When you and the boys finally tracked down the vamp, you spent a little longer than normal beating the shit out of it before the killing blow. Sam had given you A Look, but said nothing. Dean offered to buy you a drink.

The town bar was a standard Southern-American dive. The kind of place where a night had never passed without at least one drunken sing-along to “Friends in Low Places”. Women and men in ass-hugging jeans and tank tops bumped around like bubbles in a kettle. Dean was in heaven. Soon, he was hustling pool in the corner, a blonde woman giggle-whispering in his ear, a huge grin on his face. You saluted each other with your respective drinks through the neon light and loud voices.

“You good?” his raised eyebrow asked.

Your smirk and sip responded, “Not as good as you, but I’ll keep.”

His head tilted a bit to your left. “Heads up, lame pickup line at 9 o’clock.”

You turned to face the guy just as he slid into the stool next to yours. In the time it took for him to smile at you, you gave him a once-over. Not bad. Cute, in a Friday Night Lights kind of way. No outward display of “southern gentleman” that really covered up misogyny. And the lack of a rebel flag on his shirt was a welcome change from the other customers. He’d do.

Before he could say anything and ruin the moment, you spoke first.

“Buy me a drink.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, ma’am!”

A beer and a half later, things were right on track. His hand on your thigh and his mouth on your neck and your thoughts most definitely not on the King of Hell, thankyouverymuch.

“Let’s get out of here,” you murmured in his ear.

“Aw, fuck, yeah!” was his charming response. This guy was lucky you were so hard-up.

“Just gimmie a minute to freshen up.” You extricated yourself from his grip, slid off the stool, and headed for the bathroom. As you passed the pool table, you and Dean had another silent conversation, where you assured him you had things well in hand, and would call him if needed.

You actively didn’t think about Crowley. You didn’t think about Crowley while you checked to make sure you had a condom in your bag. You didn’t think about Crowley while you sat on the toilet. You didn’t think about Crowley while you washed your hands. Then you glanced in the mirror and saw the note.

“Enjoy the junk food, Love. He’s cute. You deserve a treat. -C”

In your shock, the only thing you could think was, So, the King of Hell uses Post Its. Good to know. Then the rage hit. How dare he pull something like this? Months of radio silence, and then suddenly popping up and implying that he was giving you permission to sleep with what's-his-name, out there. Fuck. That. You were not going to give him the satisfaction of feeling like he could control you.

“Fuck you, asshat!” you snapped to the empty bathroom. Then you were through the door, pushing past drunk rednecks, not hearing Dean calling your name, not seeing the confused look on “junk food’s” face, until you were out in the humid parking lot, the Post It crumpled in your fist.

Dean had the good sense not to press you. The drive back to the hotel, breakfast at a diner in the morning, and then the whole way back to Kansas, he didn’t ask what had happened in the bar. He didn’t ask about as loudly as a person could, in fact. Sam kept giving you the patented Winchester Look Of Concern™ when he thought you couldn’t see. But they knew you. They knew that when you had shit to deal with, you did it alone. The only one who’d ever meddled in your all-alone shit-dealing was Crowley. Damn him. You twitched angrily and turned up the volume to your headphones, closed your eyes, and ignored the Winchesters all the way to the Bunker. It wasn’t until Dean killed the engine that you opened your eyes and realized your fingers were tangled in the Luisgeàrd’s leather cord.

~~~

You almost didn’t open it. The box on your bed. Large, white, and tied with blood red ribbon. You were considering how to get it to the garbage chute without Sam or Dean seeing it when you read the note attached.

“Please wear this when you yell at me. -C”

“At least he said please this time…” you grumbled. Curiosity got the better of you, and you opened the box.

It was a dress. A white silk gown that poured over your hands as you rustled it out of the tissue paper. You held it up for inspection, and stared. Simple. No frills, no lace. Just artfully draped white silk that fell to the floor. Despite your anger- which hadn’t abated, by the way- you were enchanted. You thought back to last Halloween as you kicked out of your jeans and flannel, and then slithered the silk over your head.

The gown you’d worn to Crowley’s masquerade ball, when this whole thing started, had been uncomfortable and heavy. Swathes of red velvet that left you restricted and off-balance. Undoubtedly gorgeous, but so not you. The leather mask that hid your features and cut off your peripheral vision hadn’t helped, either. The foreignness of your costume that night had lent an overall feeling of Other to that whole experience. And that feeling had colored everything that came after. Added to the confusion. Was still adding to the confusion.

This dress was exactly the opposite of last year’s getup. You regarded your reflection, spinning slowly. It fit you well. More than that, it suited you. You could move easily in the lightweight fabric. It didn’t get caught under your feet as you walked, and the sleeveless bodice gave you full use of your arms. The glowing white of the silk played with the tone of your skin, making you glow, too. The Luisgeàrd, in it’s constant position around your throat, nestled comfortably in the neckline, which looked like it had been cut specifically to show off the talisman.

“Sneaky fucker,” you murmured, fingering the wooden disk.

“I prefer to think of it as, ‘Romantically Mysterious’,” rasped a familiar voice in the corner.

You’d been expecting this, but you still flinched. Whirling to face him, months worth of angry thoughts stampeded to get out of your mouth and bottlenecked, leaving you working a jaw around silent fury.

“You look radiant,” was all he said.

All the trapped words coiled in your throat like an about-to-cry lump. You managed to gasp in a breath, then blurted out, “Where have you been?”

Seriously? You berated yourself. ‘Where have you been?’ Like you’re some neglected housefrau confronting an errant husband at 2:00am. Fuck, get your fists off your hips. You don’t care, remember?

You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling foolish in the gorgeous dress. Still, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t back down. Crowley unsettled you, and that was unacceptable. You weren’t unsettled. Ever. You couldn’t be, in your line of work. You put on your fight face and looked him squarely in the eye.

He just stared at you for a moment, something like sadness around the corners of his eyes. “I was watching,” he finally said, quietly.

“You were watching? Well, thank you. That’s not creepy at all.”

“It occurred to me that we both might need some space, after…” he stopped and looked away. His glance fell to your bed.

The memory surfaced. You and Crowley, face to face, sweaty and sated...

“What the fuck are we doing, Crowley?” You’d asked. “What is this? I mean, I barely know you. Half the time, I don’t trust you... What are we doing?”

You remembered the feeling of his palm on your cheek and his forehead pressed to yours. The way he had whispered, “Y/N, I-”

...And that was when the boys had come home, and everything had gone to shit.

You took a small step forward. His eyes darted to the silk rustling around your feet, clinging to your thigh as you moved. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked… scared. It was unheard of to see Crowley, King of Hell and consummate cocksure ass, off his game. Maybe this dress was exactly what you needed. Leveling the playing field, so to speak.

“After what, Crowley? After last time, in this room, in that bed, when you almost said something you’d regret?” You’d closed the distance, now. If either of you reached out, you could grab the other.

“I need your help,” he said, finally meeting your eyes, again. There was no guile. No half-smile in the words. Just fear and perhaps a little shame. “All right? There it is. I need your help.”

You were stunned. “You… what?!”

“There are some rumblings in my kingdom. Pissants who think I’ve lost my edge; that Hell’s not what it could be under my rule. ‘Make Hell great again’, and all that twaddle. I’ve made a shaky alliance with a coven-”

“A coven? Of witches?! Crowley, do we need to have another talk about what I do for a living?”

He continued speaking as though you hadn’t. “-A coven that’s powerful enough to sway the dissidents. If I can show that I’m strong enough to forge a treaty like this, it would go a long way to restabilizing my reign.” Somewhere in that statement, he had rested his hands on your hips. He gave you a gentle shake and looked at you through his lashes. “A delegation from this coven is coming to the Halloween ball, tonight, but they’re old-school. They respond favorably to symbols and archetypes. Pomp and circumstance. They may not like dealing with me alone. I need backup, Love.” He hooked a knuckle under your chin and lifted your face to his. “I need a Queen... for the night.”

“A…. a queen. You mean… me? Me, queen?” Great, now you had devolved into Tarzan sentence structure. Get a grip, woman!

He smiled at you. A real smile. You weren’t sure you’d ever actually seen Crowley smile, before. It was gorgeous. His hands were still on you- hip and chin- and he used the leverage to pull you forward into a kiss.

Warm and soft and gentle, this was one of those kisses that seemed to wrap around you, raising goosebumps and relaxing every tense muscle. You wanted to swim in it. Drown in it.

Crowley’s sulfur/incense smell was everywhere. His hands whispered around your waist and into your hair. You signed into the warm solidness of his chest pressed to yours. The feel of his suit coat under your fingers. It went on forever. It was, ironically, pure heaven.

When he reluctantly eased his lips off of yours, your face felt cold. It took you a moment to resurface and open your eyes. Crowley’s earnest face stared back.

“Please, Y/N. Will you help me? Just for tonight?”

You stayed silent for a moment, slowly working your fingers through his hair, not looking at his eyes. Letting yourself enjoy the feeling of making him squirm, for a change. You carefully wound his tie around your hand; got a good grip. That’s when you met his gaze. With a deliberate tug, you command his full attention.

“I’ll make you a deal, Crowley,” you said, low and only a little breathless. “I’ll be your Queen for the night. And afterwards, you will owe me a conversation. About feelings.”

A hint of terror darkened the corners of his face, but his overall expression was one of hunger.

“It’s a deal.”

There was a lurch somewhere in your guts, and suddenly you found yourself standing in a dim alcove, like a theatre box, overlooking a familiar black marble ballroom.

Hell’s Halloween Ball was in full swing, already. The assortment of attendees echoed last year’s. Fae, vamps, and even a djinn or two wound their way around and through the crowd of demons, all decked out in elaborate costumes.

You looked down from the shadows of your hiding place, and once again, the feeling of being so terribly human overwhelmed you. Like a goldfish in a school of sharks. That was when you realized that Crowley had zapped you here before you’d had a chance to grab a single weapon. Or shoes. ...Or underwear. That off-balance, othery feeling took hold of you. You shivered.

“Something wrong, darling?” Crowley rumbled from behind you.

“Just feeling a little underdressed, all of a sudden.” You kept your voice down, even though you were so high above the dance floor, no one could possibly hear you.

Crowley hummed low in his throat and pressed himself to your back, snaking his hands over your silk covered hips and nipping slightly at your earlobe.

“Underdressed is exactly how I like you,” he growled.

Your whimper was purely instinctual. So was the way you arched back, rubbing against him and offering your neck for kisses.

Crowley groaned and bit down on the junction of your throat and shoulder. A slight keening sound happened somewhere in the vicinity of your vocal chords without your permission, and you ground against him again. You had just a heartbeat to enjoy the feeling of Hell’s most impressive cock rolling against you before that feeling was replaced by a sharp slap on your ass. You pulled a breath through clenched teeth and gripped the railing in front of you.

“Careful with that. It’s loaded,” you said, and shook your ass at him.

“And who’s fault is that?” He retorted.

“Who’s fault?” You huffed a laugh. “Yours! It’s been a while, you know.”

“You didn’t listen to me- I tried to steer you towards that little snack back in Alabama. You chose not to take the offer.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you said without any real anger. “Like I’m gonna do what you tell me.”

“Cheeky.” Another sharp spank, softened by a kiss behind your ear. “We can-and will- play later. Now, it’s time to work.”

He stepped back and let you turn to face him. At some point, he had donned his costume. It was the same from last year, you saw; a red cape draped over his impeccable black suit, a multi-horned devil mask covering the top half of his face. Standing in the shadows of the alcove, the flickering lights from the ballroom below picking out the lines of that mask, Crowley was back to the mythical dark figure you’d encountered a year ago. A wolf-in-the-woods kind of shadow that made all the animal parts of you quiver. The devil that had fucked you senseless in the dark above his library. God, you wanted him to do it again.

He must have known how his appearance affected you, because he licked his lips, smirked, and crooked a finger in your direction. His eyes flared red as you took an involuntary step forward.

“That’s it, my Queen,” he murmured low, “Come to daddy.”

You snorted in quiet amusement as you crossed the carpeted floor to him. “Ass.”

From behind his back, Crowley produced a mask for you. It was white filigree, not solid, so it wouldn’t cut off your vision like the last one, the metal swirls were wrought to dip low over your nose and high on your brow, almost horse like. The antlers that sprouted from the top gave the appearance of a crown, much like the demonic horns on his own mask. You reached a tentative hand out to touch one of the points.

“A deer?”

“A hart. A White Hart.” When you looked askance at him, he continued, “The White Hart, in stories, is a traveler from another world. An emissary of sorts. And the bestower of blessings upon Kings. I told you- symbols and archetypes.”

“So this is a political move, not an aesthetic one?”

He rolled his eyes. “Sweet missionary on a spit, woman. Have you seen yourself? It’s both.”

He helped you settle the mask in place- it was much lighter than you thought it would be- and offered his arm in a courtly gesture. “I think we’ve reached ‘fashionably late’, by now. Come on, Pet. Let’s give them a show.”

~~~

The ballroom fell silent when you walked in. The music died away, dancers stopped swirling, conversations ceased, and everyone turned toward the King of Hell as though it were choreographed. You looked out over the sea of supernatural faces and tried to slow your heart rate. If Crowley needed you to be a Queen, and it got you an honest conversation from him, by fucking Hell, you would be a Queen. A deal’s a deal, after all.

“Friends, demons, countrymen,” Crowley addressed them, a little sardonically, “Welcome to my annual ball. As always, until sunrise, the legendary hospitality of Hell is open to you. Enjoy yourselves!”

The music rose again, and the party resumed. A path opened in the crowd, and Crowley led you to the dance floor. Although the fizzle static of a few hundred conversations filled the huge room, it seemed that every eye was still on you. Your bare feet, blessedly hidden by the liquid swirling of the dress as you moved, made no sound on the cool marble floor. A lack of shoes allowed more maneuverability than last year’s heels, but it made you feel even more venerable. And you still didn’t know how to waltz.

But Crowley wasn’t King of Hell by chance, and he played his role flawlessly. As he swung you into into his arms, you felt the familiar hot pressure of invisible hands lifting you just an inch off the floor. You fought a gasp and smirked at him. The hands in question had lifted from just under your ass.

“Bastard,” you murmured.

“Oh, darling, you say such lovely things,” he retorted, and began swirling you around the floor.

With the whirling motion blurring the world around you, it was easier to forget that you had entered the room as the center of attention.

“So, this is a yearly thing, huh? I didn’t know it was such a big deal.”

“Well,” he tilted his head conspiratorially, “It’s not like we’re the types to have a company Christmas party. This lets everyone mingle, drink, blow off steam…” At that, one of the manifested hands under your skirt reached a little deeper, running a finger of heat through your folds. You hissed through clenched teeth, to keep from crying out. Crowley continued in a conversational tone, but low enough that only you could hear, “Have I mentioned how gorgeous you look, tonight, Y/N? I can’t bloody wait to have the business bit over and done with. I’m going to eat you alive.” His eyes flared red as you moved through a small shadow on the edge of the floor, and an ethereal tongue joined the fingers under your skirt, lapping at the juices there.

“Fuck, Crowley, you fucking asshole… shit…” You whispered and writhed, trying to ease the pressure. But his power just moved with you, and you couldn’t get away. Your vision went white around the edges and your breath came in shallow pants. The King pulled you closer, to keep you from swooning back, and never broke stride.

“Oh, there she is. Hello, darling,” he crooned, “Did you miss me?” The spectral tongue never relented, and a sucking pressure was added to your clit. You bit your lip in a desperate fight to keep quiet. Crowley kept going. “This is the version of you I like best, Love. All flustered and pliable and dripping.” The disembodied tongue pushed deeper, writhing inside. You couldn’t bite back all of your pleasure and a small Aaaaah! Slipped out, buried in Crowley’s neck. He continued, “That’s it, Love. Let your King take care of you. You like when I play with you, don’t you? My squirming, soaking wet little toy. I wonder how long I can keep playing with you until-”

The music died again and Crowley broke off mid-sentence with a whispered curse. He stepped away from you, to greet the intrusion. The invisible mouth abruptly stopped its torture, as well. But the hands remained, more to keep you upright than anything else. Which was a good thing, as you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own. Again, the occupants of the room turned toward the main doorway, in which stood three women in glittering black gowns.

The witches had arrived.

~~~

To help get your heart rate down and your brain back in working order, you took mental notes of the new guests. Queen-for-a-night or not, you were still a hunter. The blonde one was young. In her early 20’s, if you had to guess. She wore a white mask over her eyes. On the other side of the doorway, there stood a statuesque brunette that seemed to be nearing 40. Her mask was red. The one in the middle was a head shorter than the other two, but was unquestioningly In Charge. She was old. Middle 80’s maybe? You hardly ever saw a witch owning her age, like that. Her black mask and black dress made her white hair stand out against the dark marble room.

“Ladies,” Crowley’s tone was friendly, if a little cautious, “I’m so glad you could join us. Please come in.”

A new path cleared, and you saw a small dais set at the end of the hall, on which sat two empty thrones facing the crowded room. That was where Crowley led you. He didn’t even look behind to see if the witches followed- just took your hand and proceeded to the thrones.

You had regained most of your composure from his mid-dance teasing, and though you were still a little short of oxygen, you were able to tread silently on your own bare feet, once more. You tried not to think about how many eyes were on you- you just focused on Crowley’s warm, steady hand in yours, and followed his lead. You moved on autopilot until you were both seated, Crowley on your right side. You must have made an imposing sight. Crowley all in black and red, you in glowing white, and both masked faces staring down at the assembly.

The witches stood at the foot of the dais, looking up at the King and Queen of Hell, and remained silent.

You swallowed quietly and rested your hands on the throne’s armrests. Queen. You are a fucking Queen. Get yourself under control. Head up, shoulders back. It’s showtime. Think Queen, damnit. You tried not to dig your fingernails into the carved, dark wood.

“We have some illustrious guests,” Crowley addressed the assembled creatures, “The Exalted Coven has sent a delegation to Hell, in hopes of forming an alliance. Isn't that right, ladies?”

The white haired woman inclined her head a fraction.

“Then you are welcome. Let’s talk business, shall we?” From some hidden pocket, Crowley produced an ornate scroll. The parchment scratched and fluttered in the silent air as it unfurled, stretching from his lazy hand to the old woman’s feet. She would have to stoop to pick it up and read it.

“Just a boilerplate agreement, of course,” Crowley continued, “You are granted the protection of Hell, blah blah, and we gain your fealty, with tithes due every seven years, etc etc.”

Your hunter brain went into overdrive. Protection of Hell? Tithes? What would this mean for you and the boys and your work? What parts of that contract was Crowley glossing over to make a quick sale? You were so busy speculating that you almost missed when the old witch spoke.

“Your Queen seems very quiet, Crowley. She doesn’t speak?” Her voice was strong and resonant, not at all the voice of a little old lady. You also clocked the use of Crowley’s name, not “your majesty” or whatever.

Everyone turned to you. Fuck. Shit, fuck, damnit, pissing hell. They expect you to talk, now? For a heartbeat, you thought terror would overwhelm you. But suddenly, you felt a warm hand on the back of your neck. Crowley’s demonic power applying reassuring pressure to the spot in your spine that he had repaired so many months ago. That feeling of Otherness washed over you, and the world took on the fuzzy edges of a dream.

“She speaks,” you said, mildly amazed that you sounded so calm, “She just doesn’t speak merely to fill silence.” Where did that come from? Astounding yourself even more, you continued, “The King has made an offer. Do you accept?”

She regarded you for one long, agonizing moment that was probably only a heartbeat. Her eyes dropped to the rowan wood disk on your chest. You couldn’t be sure, with masks obscuring all faces, but it looked like the old woman cocked an appreciative eyebrow at you. In the corner of your eye, you saw Crowley’s mouth twitch as if trying not to smile.

The witch then nudged the air with her chin, which was apparently some kind of signal, because the two women at her sides stepped forward quickly. The youngest picked up the trailing end of the contract and held it steady, the other ran her hand slowly down the parchment, muttering under her breath. The Luisgeàrd grew slightly warm against your chest, as it always did in the presence of witches’ magic. When she reached the end of the contract, the red masked witch murmured a few words in her leader’s ear. Wrinkled lips pursed at Crowley in a decidedly “we are not amused” sort of way, the old woman flicked her fingers towards the contract. A few words and phrases blazed red, changed, or disappeared altogether.

So this is how the supernatural elite negotiate? You thought. It was a far cry from beers and pizza and yelling in the Bunker’s war room.

Crowley shrugged and grinned like a precocious child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Can’t blame a bloke for trying, now can you? The changes are acceptable. We have an agreement.”

The witch smiled, stepped forward, and dragged a finger along the bottom of the contract, leaving a thin line of crimson behind. Signed in blood.

Crowley’s grin widened, and the contract vanished with a flick of his wrist.

“Now, then,” he announced, “You ladies are welcome to share our hospitality, but I understand if you have more pressing matters to attend to, tonight.”

“The Maiden will stay,” said the witch, and the young blonde stepped forward, “The Mother and I will go to our own festivities.” Crowley gave a half bow of acquiescence from his throne.

And with that, they swept out, the music rose, and the party resumed. The blonde witch- The Maiden, apparently- was swept up into a dance by a demon in a wolf mask. At least, you hoped that was a mask.

As you contemplated that, Crowley pressed his mouth to your ear and whispered, “You were bloody magnificent, Y/N.”

You turned to face him. “Really? I thought I was gonna pass out when she put me on the spot like that. I just said the first thing that came to mind that sounded… I don’t know… Queenly.”

“You were perfect! Fuck, that was perfect!” And there, in full view of the movers and shakers of the monster world, he grabbed your arm, swung you into his lap, and caught you up in a devouring kiss.

As if the guests had been waiting for this signal, the tone of the room changed. A throbbing beat threaded through the music, the lights dimmed a bit, and the air seemed to take on a crackle of energy. When Crowley moved from your lips to your throat, nipping and sucking and kissing, you stole a glance around the room.

In an alcove, two vampires were busily feasting on a faerie. One on her neck and the other… Oh. Definitely not on her neck. The faerie looked like she was having the time of her life.

On the dance floor, waltzes had given way to spinning, grinding couples and thrupples, costumes shoved aside so hands and mouths could access the flesh underneath.

“Crowley...” You gripped his shoulder to get his attention on your words and not your uncovered skin. “What the fuck is going on?”

He looked out over the ballroom and it’s writhing occupants with a proprietary smile.

“I told you, Love. We like to blow off some steam at this party.”

“But… I mean… This is looking like an orgy!”

Crowley smoothed a hand over your hair and gave you another genuine smile. Damn, you could get used to that smile. It made you all wobbly in all the right places.

“Bugger me, you’re adorable,” he said, “You left before the good stuff, last year. Or, should I say, we jumped the gun on the good stuff, last year…” The grin turned predatory, and his eyes flared in the candlelight. “What do you say, Pet? Want to give them a display of what they missed, last time?” He guided your hand to the considerable bulge in his lap.

In another involuntary response, your fingers wrapped around the suit-covered shaft, pulling a groan from Crowley that he didn’t bother to stifle. You glanced over your shoulder again, at the assembled hosts of Hell.

At the end of the buffet table, the Maiden was laid back among the champagne glasses, the wolf-faced demon hovering over her. She reached down to undo his pants.

Tearing your eyes away, you focused on the King, once more. He was palming your breast- the silk sliding delightfully against your nipple. He licked his lips once again. His eyes were unwavering bonfires of red light, fixed on your face. You hadn’t stopped stroking him, you realized. You kept stroking, almost absentmindedly, hypnotized by the look Crowley was giving you. An equal mix of quiet disbelief and ravenous hunger.

Over the roar of blood in your ears, you began to hear unmistakable sounds from the crowd behind you. It was like being immersed in porn. Fuck, it was hot. You stared into those red eyes and tried to think coherently. Crowley’s hand that wasn’t on your chest began to inch under the hem of your dress. Slow and deliberate and easy to stop if you wanted to.

Just then, a crash of glass behind you drew your attention away. The champagne glasses had been jostled off the table by the force of the wolfman’s thrusts. The Maiden wallowed back, emitting small gasps and squeals. You stared.

The heat between your legs was throbbing. Your face was flushed. This was unlike anything you’d ever seen. The dreamlike feeling hung over you as you slowly worked Crowley’s dick in your hand and gazed into the crowd. You noticed not only the writhing masses of flesh and cries of pleasure, but several grinning faces turned in your direction. Hell was watching.

“People are staring at us.”

“Of fucking course they are.” Crowley bucked into your hand and growled appreciatively when you tightened your grip. You turned back to face him.

“I… I don’t know how I feel about that, Crowley.”

He released his hold on your breast and took a moment to straighten his tie. The gesture was so refined, the turn of his neck so fluid, that it became obscene against the backdrop of intimate noise that filled the air. You squirmed against the wet heat at your core, trying to figure out if you were actually about to fuck the King of Hell- on his throne- in full view of hundreds of witnesses.

He leaned forward to kiss you, moving from your mouth to your jaw and up to your ear.

“This night is ours, Love,” he murmured, “And as much as I would love to make you scream for me right here, I think you like to watch more than be watched. Besides, I’m in the mood to have you all to myself...”

You felt the tug in your gut once more, and again found yourself in the alcove high above the ballroom. From here, you had a bird’s eye view of the orgy- and that’s exactly what it was, at this point. Piles of limbs tangled on the dance floor, humped backs and arched breasts undulating in the candlelight, bare flesh and flashing teeth and holy shit- the sounds. It was enough to make your head spin, even without the supernatural teleport.

Crowley pressed against your back, hands braced against the railing on either side of your body, trapping you. You melted back against him and watched the display on the dance floor. The band hadn’t stopped playing, but there was now a driving, drumming beat hanging over the melody, and people fucked in time with the music. You felt drunk. Drunk and dizzy and more turned on than you’d been in a long time.

“Crowley?” you said, twisting around to ring your arms around his neck and look squarely in his burning eyes.

“Mmm?”

“I need you to fuck me. Right now.”

“My Queen!” he exclaimed through grinning teeth, and yanked you back into the shadows.

In a tangle of kisses and hot grasping hands, you managed to rip away each other’s clothes.

Soon you were flat on your back, nothing between you and the deep red carpet below you, the Luisgeàrd resting on your bare chest, the King of Hell between your legs.

When he reached up to dislodge your mask, you gripped his wrist to stop him.

“No,” you gasped, “masks stay on.”

He chuckled. “We’ll make it a Halloween tradition, then.”

As the music and screams and groans drifted up from below, Crowley reached between you, grasped his cock, and slowly began dragging himself through your folds. Teasing your clit with the blunt head, dropping back down to press against your clenching core, then back up again. Over and over, with agonizing gentleness, never stopping his methodical torture, never looking away from your face.

“Crowleeeeeyy…” you whimpered, trying to buck up and catch him.

The burning, invisible hands clamped onto your hips, holding you still and helpless against the floor.

“Tsk tsk tsk, Y/N,” he whispered, “Look at you. Soaking wet and desperate to be fucked. Mewling and panting like you’re in heat. My little toy. You think you’re ready for me?” He nudged at your opening, again, applying just enough pressure to slide in a fraction of an inch.

“Aaa! Fuck, yes, Crowley please... please…” Your vision wouldn’t focus. You couldn’t lift your hips to meet him, so you arched you back and rolled your head from side to side in desperation. He didn’t move at all.

“Can you hear them, down there? All those screams and wet slaps?” You nodded emphatically. “That is nothing to the noises I want you to make for me.” Then he slid backwards, away from your throbbing center. It undid you.

A scream of frustrated agony ripped out of you- bouncing off the marble walls of the hall and momentarily drowning out the din below your alcove. But before that scream died away, Crowley slammed into you full force, and a new scream took its place. The distinctive stretching burn that always accompanied the arrival of that cock inside you was shocking after so long an absence. You roared with pleasure at the sensation.

“That’s my girl! That’s my Queen!” Crowley exclaimed into the cacophony, grinding his hips against you, buried to the hilt.

When you ran out of air, the King took advantage of the relative quiet and backed out of you a bit, then shoved back in with a groan. You were only dimly aware of your own noises, at this point- too focused on the hymn of obscenity that the masked, looming devil with glowing eyes was pouring into you as he slowly dragged out, then snapped back into your quaking pussy, again and again.

“Fuuck, you’re so wet, Love! That’s my Queen! So wet and hot and tight- oh, yes! I’ve waited months for this… Dreamed of getting back into this cunt!”

“It’s yours,” you gasped, reaching up to grab the horns on his mask, all reservations gone, just lost in the feeling of fucking the King of Hell, again, “It’s all yours! Oh my god, you feel so good!”

With a roar of his own, Crowley yanked himself out of and away from you, leaving you empty and sprawled on the floor. Before you could do more than squawk in protest, he jerked you up and spun you towards the railing.

“I told you before. God’s not here,” he snarled.

You landed against the barrier, chest and shoulders hanging over the rail. The festivities hadn’t died down. In fact, it looked like they were gaining steam. A swirling, pulsing mosaic of skin and colorful costumes spread out across the ballroom. Anything that could be done for carnal pleasure was being done, somewhere in the room. Still in the throws of your own passion, you took in the display, gasping for breath.

Crowley was behind you again. His fingers stroking in and out of the dripping, aching spot between your legs. He pressed you forward, leaning out over the ballroom. The Luisgeàrd swung back and forth, as if to draw your attention to the spectacle below.

It was the kind of thing that would have made you blush and look away, any other time. Hanging half over the railing, looking down at a kaleidoscope of sex, breasts dangling in the air- so exposed. But not tonight. Tonight, you weren’t you. Tonight, you were the White Hart. The Queen of Hell. And God wasn’t here.

Crowley fisted one hand in your hair and gave a sharp tug, the other hand guiding his cock back where it belonged. Wet as you were, he slid home smoothly, to a chorus of groaning from both of you.

Slowly, methodically, almost reverently, he fucked you against the railing as you watched the show.

“Look at that, Pet. Look at all the fun they’re having down there. But they all wish they were here with you, you know. They all wish they were right here, deep in this gorgeous cunt… Aren’t I lucky? Fuck, I love this pussy! You glorious thing…”

The stream of his words, the slow, exquisite drag and thrust of him against your swollen inner walls, the delicious sting of being suspended from his fist by your hair; it was all too good. The moans fell out of you in one long note, and you felt the tightening in your belly that meant release wasn’t far off. Still, it stayed maddeningly just out of reach.

“Crowleeeeyyy… Crowley, pleeease… I need to come… please!”

Once more, the King maneuvered you effortlessly. In a swirl of motion too quick to follow, he had you facing him, perched on the railing. Somehow, he was still buried inside you. Ruling another dimension clearly came with some physics-bending perks.

“Look at me, darling.”

You stated into those cigarette red eyes, set in the demonic mask, glowing in the dark alcove. The intensity in those eyes made you even more light-headed. Almost to the point of fear. But if you’d learned anything in the past year, it was that when Crowley was fucking you, you could trust him.

Gripping your waist to hold you steady, he aimed a powerful thrust right to your center. You swooned back a bit, eyes fluttering closed with pleasure, grabbing Crowley’s arms and wrapping your legs around him for stability.

“Ooooh, yes!” You cried. So close… you were so close…

“No, Pet. You keep your eyes on me, now.” You brought your focus back to him. “That’s right,” He crooned and ground against you, “You watch me fuck you. Watch me fuck you until you come.”

And you did. You kept your eyes locked with Crowley’s as he pounded into you over and over. All his words were gone, now. His bottom lip clutched between his teeth as he concentrated on you. The demonic power manifested again; this time a merciless vibrating heat against your clit.

You forgot where you were. Forgot who you were. The entire world narrowed to the sensations shooting out from between your legs and the burning points of light hanging in the gloom before you. Somewhere, far outside your senses, someone was repeating, “Fuck! Yes! Fuck! Yes!” over and over. Was it you? Finally, that internal cord snapped and you came, screaming, shaking apart from the inside out, still staring in Crowley’s eyes.

He didn’t slow down. Just kept fucking you through it until you were spent and limp. Then he gathered you to him, buried his masked face in your neck, and with a few more shuddering thrusts, spilled himself deep inside you.

You stayed like that for a long while; locked together, lazily running fingers over each other’s skin, dropping gentle kisses on ears and necks and shoulders. Not speaking. Not needing to. The King and Queen of Hell.

You both managed to get safely to the floor before Crowley slid free. You were exhausted. You just puddled in his arms and drifted in and out, kissing deeply and trying to catch your breath. Swimming in that dreamlike Otherness.

After what may have been days, for all you knew, you felt that lurch in your guts, and realized that Crowley had zapped you back home. He lowered you into your bed, smoothed back your hair, and with another kiss, rose to leave.

“You.. you owe me…” you slurred through sleepy lips, “conver...sation. You said.”

“Next time, Love. I’m a demon of my word, don’t you worry. You sleep, now. My Queen.”

As Crowley pressed one last, gentle kiss against your brow, you finally fell into unconsciousness.

~~~

Tags: @mamaredd123, @motleymoose, @emilyymichelle, @singingphoenix, @cassiopeia-barrow, @roxy-davenport, @fuschiarulerinthebluebox, @generalgoldfishldrm, @sunnysaysbookreviews, @kittennovak

#sleeping with the enemy #spn fanfic #crowley smut #crowley fanfic #crowley x reader #spn smut

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seijuurouxryuu · 6 years

Text

Disaster Gays

Author: Shiro (TeitoxAkashi [AO3]/ seijuurouxryuu [tumblr]) Rating: G Pairing: Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch/ Simon Snow Salisbury, Penelope Bunce/ Micah Character: Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, Simon Snow Salisbury, Penelope Bunce, Micah Tags/ warning: None

Simon and Baz were in the library, one doing his homework while the other reading a book. Neither were paying attention to what they were doing, but very well aware of the other's presence despite sitting far away from each other.

(Or, Simon and Baz are both disaster gays that thought they were nemesis but are actually in love with each other and both pine so hard.)

AO3

Every evening, he would be there, sitting and hiding in the library’s most deserted corner by the shelves of books that none of the students would touch. He would be there, sitting on a chair and leaning against the window with his back, face deep in the book he would be reading. He was beautiful.

Simon had always watched him. He had never approached him, only staring as he sat at the table, far away but just enough to clearly see the teen. (If he did, hell halt no fury that he scorn.) Pale, tall, dark and sinister.

Simon had fallen hard.

He had fallen for the teen called Tyrannus Basilton ‘Baz’ Grimm-Pitch. He didn’t know why, but he was just so attracted to him that it was driving him insane. He had thought that he hated the teen for a great deal of time until Penelope slapped the truth into his brain.

(“Merlin, how can he just sashay out of there like a beast?! Gorgeous, graceful beast but still!” He vented to Penelope, tearing through his mountain of scones. Penelope watched him, bored to her brain. He rambled on and on about how unfair that Baz could get away with everything just because of his look and that he was the headmistress’s son.

Penelope twitched, finally had enough and groaned loudly, cutting Simon’s rant. “Crowley, Simon! Are you sure that you aren’t in love with this bloke?”

Simon froze and broke.)

It was honestly insane of him. Why was he so obsessed with him? Sure, he fell for this stupidly handsome teen who hates him – Gods above, he loathed Simon – but he didn’t have to keep staring at him! Simon just didn’t know what was wrong with him. He just couldn’t stop staring.

Every time in class, his eyes would find Baz’s back effortlessly. Hell, even in the field, or in the midst of the students that bumbled around during break or changing class, he would find Baz no matter how hard he tried not to. Someone needed to seriously punch him. (Preferably Penelope.) He couldn’t survive like this.

It doesn’t bloody help when they were roommates.

He was so hopelessly gay with the one person who hated him the most.

Whimpering silently at that, he looked back at his homework – math – and tried not to think about the boy who made him silly. Biting his lips, he forced himself to focus on the equations. Hah. As it that was so easy.

…. He should had probably leave the library in the first place.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

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

Simon had been staring at him for quite a while, Baz know. He had been staring at him since their 6th year and Crowley, Baz wanted nothing but to burn his eyes out because he was so distracting. Whenever Simon was around, he would stare with those bright blue eyes that Baz loved, stare with so much hatred in them.

It was painful, but it was also distracting because whenever he saw those blue orbs, it was like the whole world had stopped moving and there was only the both of them.

Mental. Absolutely mental, Baz was. He had to fucking kill Simon.

He had to, but he couldn’t. How Baz wished that he didn’t had a sexual awakening during their 5th year. He had almost wished that he could time travel back and stab himself for being such a dumbass. Falling in love with your nemesis? Ridiculous! Blasphemy!

But Baz did fall, that is. So. Damn. Hard.

He looked up and saw Simon, sitting by the table alone, squinting at his homework while biting his lips. Merlin, those plum, pink lips. They looked so damn delicious Baz didn’t know if he wanted to punch Simon for it, or kiss him. Maybe punch him first then kiss him. Maybe.

Out of nowhere, Simon looked up and their gaze met. Baz jolted and his heart started to race. It was electrifying each time their gaze met, but bloody hell, it had never been so intensive before. Simon narrowed his eyes at Baz and frowned.

Baz, out of habit, sneered. He snapped his book shut and stood, sauntered over with a cocky smirk. God, someone please punch Baz. Preferably Penelope because hell, that girl sure could pack a punch.

“Like what you’re looking?” He said sardonically, whispering as they were in the library after all. He wasn’t going to get himself kicked out just because of a small, stupid crush.

Okay maybe it was a huge one.

Simon’s nose scrunched up as Baz waited for his hateful reply. At least it would keep him at bay. Except, it didn’t come. The hateful reply, that is. Oh no, it didn’t.

“Maybe.”

Fuck, Baz was going to have a heart attack. He just knew that Simon would kill him someday. Fuck.

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

Simon started panicking. He didn’t know what came to him but he had not meant to say that. He wanted tell Baz to sod off but that came out! Of nowhere! Okay maybe not out of nowhere because when Baz walked over, he was already panicking. He couldn’t take his eyes off Baz, that would mean submission and losing and he hated losing to Baz.

Fuck, where was Penelope when Simon needed him! Wait scratch that, he was fortunate Penelope wasn’t around. She would tease Simon for life if she heard this.

Immediately, Simon looked around, trying to find an escape route when he heard the soft yet hopeful words from Baz. It was baffling because Baz never sound hopeful, to Simon at least – no. Especially to Simon.

“You meant it?” Simon looked up and met Baz’s gaze again, seeing both disbelief and want in them. Simon swallowed and immediately, Baz’s eyes looked at his throat, like he was some sort of a thirsty vampire. (He might bloody as well be given how pale the teen was.)

“Uh– I got to go!” Simon quickly gathered everything and fucking hightailed out of there before Baz could stop him.

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

“Penny! Help!” Simon screeched and leaped over to Penelope, who yelped loudly as he almost brought the both of them down to the ground. She was sitting with Micah in the courtyard, chattering silently about god knows what but it was not important as of the moment. “Simon!” She scolded, pushing him back and brushed her shoulder that he had rammed into.

“What the hell, Simon? Are you chased by a chimera again?” Simon shook his head like a dog and whined, explaining the whole incident. It was dramatic with all the hand gestures and stutters and blushes. Penelope didn’t last until the last part and burst out laughing like a banshee. “Oh my god, you’re such a disaster gay, Simon!” She choked out, slapping the wooden bench as she hugged her stomach.

“Penny, stop laughing!” Simon groaned into his hand. Micah, who they both had somehow conveniently forgotten, snickered. “Sorry, Simon, but it is damn hilarious.” Simon glared at them. “Fine,” He pouted. “Go on, laugh at my misery.”

Penelope, finally stopped laughing, wiped a stray tear from her eyes. “Oh god, Simon. That was the best thing ever. Bless you.”

“I’m leaving.” She reached over and grabbed his sleeve, tugging him down. “Sorry, sorry. It was a joke.” She snickered, however. It didn’t make Simon feel any better as he pouted, lips jutting out hard and he folded his arms. He harrumphed.

“So, what did you say?”

“’What did I say’? I said I got to go and fucking ran!”

Penelope gave him a deadpanned stare. “You didn’t.”

“I wished!”

Penelope groaned, all the tease disappeared. “God, Simon, you idiot, just confess to him!”

“No!”

“Why not?! You obviously are so in love with him you practically drool all over him twenty-four seven!”

“Wha- I did not drool all over him, Penny-“ She levelled him with a stare that left him stuttering. “I can’t just do that! He hates me!”

“How sure are you that he hates you? He’s practically heads over heels for you, you dumb bloke.”

“He loathes me! I’m pretty sure he was plotting for my death! He was practically glaring daggers at me whenever he was around!”

“More like heart-eyed you.” Micah chirped in happily but Simon did not pay any attention to it.

“H-he took me as his sworn enemy! How can I just go up to him and say; Hey, I’ve been in love with you since, I don’t even fucking know and I cannot stop staring at your stupidly gorgeous face and stupidly breath-taking eyes!”

Simon breathed out heavily before his breath hitched at the voice that came from his behind him, surprised laced in them. “You do?”

Simon paled, blood drained from his face. “Tell me he is not behind me.” He squeaked at Penelope and Micah, who gave him a pair of devilish smirks. “Oh yes, he’s behind you.”

Simon stiffly turned to see Baz, ruffled and sweating, panting as though he had run a marathon, eyes wide. Simon screeched and ran. “Oh no you fucking don’t!” Baz American football-tackled him. His arms wrapped tightly around him as they dropped onto the ground, with Simon crushed underneath the teen.

“Did you seriously mean it, Snow?”

Simon was sure he was going to set himself on fire, then subsequently Baz, with how hot his cheeks, neck, and ears felt. “Snow,” Baz called again, urgent in his voice, impatient. “Simon,” Simon shivered. “Are you really in love with me?”

Whimpering, Simon nodded, giving up. “Merlin, yes. I’m in love with you. Are you happy now?” He went slack in Baz’s strong arms. He had resigned to fate. That was it. Baz was going to tell his mother to expel him. He would no longer be able to see Penelope and the others, no longer be able to stare at him all he wanted.

“Oh Crowley – yes!” He jolted and looked at Baz, eyes wide at how big his grin was, how happy Baz was. “You have no bloody idea how happy I am, Snow.” He leaned down and nuzzled his face against the crook of his neck. “Holy shit, I can’t believe this.” He laughed before looking up, leaning his forehead against Simon’s, arms winding tighter. “I’m in love with you too, Simon.” He said so gently, so sweetly.

So lovingly.

Simon felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes as he stuttered. “R-really?”

“As real as Bunce laughing her brains off over there.”

Moment ruined.

Simon couldn’t help but elbowed Baz at that, but he himself was laughing and crying at the same time. Baz grunted at the jab but he did not let go of Simon. He smiled, snuggled closer as Simon leaned back. His heart leaped in joy as they stared.

“I love you, you disaster gay.” Baz grinned, teeth and all. Simon rolled his eyes and leaned up, kissing Baz on the lips fervently. “I love you too, disaster gay.”

A/N= Rereading Carry On was probably the best yet worst decision of my life because my mind is filled with SnowBaz I'm dead.

Funny, Carry On is the first fandom where I wrote the f word in this - and the other fic I'm. Paranoid, yet exhilarated.

I didn't really think through the settings lolol. Baz's mother is still alive because I love her.

Penelope is having the day of her life lolol XD Disaster Gays *shakes head in exasperation*

[I apologize for any grammar, spelling, etc. etc. mistakes]

#Carry On #Rainbow Rowell #SnowBaz #MicahPenelope #Simon Snow Salisbury #Simon Snow #Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch #Baz Pitch #Penelope Bunch #Micah #My Writings

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blushingjared · 6 years

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The Honest Truth

Title: The Honest Truth Pairings: Crowley x Reader Warnings: Insecure! Reader, mentions (although vague) of sex, Crowley totally had a thing for Dean, and a lot of cuddling Word count: 900-ish Prompt: There are two here. One for the @spnkinkbingo, Cuddling. And Two for @sixtysevenandwhiskey ‘s 300 follower challenge. Square filled: Cuddling Author’s Note: I’ve had the worst writer’s block but I need to get back to writing. Plus my first real Crowley fic, it’s about damn time.

“Darling, I assure you. No one else in my life is more important than you are.” Crowley’s voice rang out through your head. He had his arms wrapped around you in a classic big/little spoon position. There had been some tension to say the least, and not the good kind.

You still huffed and rolled around to face him. “Oh c’mon Crowley. I may be a hunter but I’m not as daft as you make us out to be.” Crowley shook his head as he traced his fingers along your arm. Moving from your bare shoulder all the way down to your fingers.

“You’ve got it wrong. You are in no way like any other hunter, Y/n.” At the compliment, your face scrunches up.

“You know, like, three hunters. Me, Sam and Dean.” Your eyes closed as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Though you were still mad at him, the feeling had provided you and Crowley with the opportunity for some amazing angry sex. Now you could watch as the king of hell in all his muscular glory, highlighted by his glorious fucking tattoos. His body literally had you drooling.

“You are nothing like those idiots. Otherwise I’d have pulled Dean into this bed a long time ago.” Right as the words left his mouth, he knew that he’d said the wrong thing.

“Oh really?” You asked, sitting up now too. “Now you wanna fuck Dean too?”

“No. No love. I don’t want to sleep with Dean fucking Winchester, Y/n. I don’t want to do anything close to having sex with anyone other than /you/.” Crowley wasn’t sure why you two were even having this conversation. “Love, will you please tell me what’s going on with you? You’ve never been like this before, so untrusting of me.” He moved closer towards you, a hand extended so he can cup your face.

Of course there had been something bothering you, but you were scared to voice your worries. “Crowley, I’ve thought a lot about your past. A lot about how you’ve been with different people and it just worries me.” A knowing smile forms on Crowley’s face but he doesn’t say anything, simply letting you speak. “I’m allowed to be worried because you’re fucking gorgeous as hell and you’ve got power. Two things people find attractive in a partner.”

Crowley simply pauses, he doesn’t say anything for a while. When he does, he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses for cheek. “Completely understandable. And so because of that, I will tell you anything you want to about my past life. In return though,” His head dipped below your jawline, and his lips sealed around your pulse point. “I get you back in bed, Y/n. Let’s kiss and seal the deal.”

You couldn’t roll your eyes hard enough but you relented, like you always did. “Deal. Now kiss me.” Which he does eagerly, his lips press to yours in a desperate kiss. You know in your heart and in the back of your mind that he loves you. He’s told you that more than enough, it’s your stupid and insecure mind that makes you worry.

Crowley eventually pulls away from the kiss and sits down on the bed with you. “Alright then Y/n. I’ll tell you everything. What do you want to know?”

“I guess I wouldn’t get an honest answer to who your best lay is?” Crowley pulls you into his arms, he must have some need to make sure he was always touching you.

“Why would I lie? Of course it’s you.” His hands come up to run through your hair.

“Ok so that’s a big fat lie, but let’s move on. Who was your most famous lay?” Crowley grinned and ran his fingers over your waist, probably a trick to distract you. “Back in the day, I used to know a lot of older movie stars. I’ll leave it up to your imagination which ones.” The honesty from him made you feel so much better already. Question after question made every worry you had before disappear. By now the two of had moved back into the position you started in.

“Alright, one more. Who was the last person you slept with before me?” You’re eyes are heavy, as you glance at the clock on your beside. Almost midnight. You yawn softly and feel yourself wanting to fall asleep.

“Do you remember that hunt in Alaska? I had to bring you three up there to try and find a wendigo?” The vague details of the case come back to you, including the nice lady who gave you free rooms at one of Juno’s nicest hotels for saving her grandson. You nod your head slowly.

“That lady at the hotel was the last one. She was dynamite in the sack, by the way.” The news gives you a good wake up call, literally and figuratively.

“…She was eighty-four!”

“I’ve had older.” Crowley laughed a bit at how you stated to wrap your brain around that. “Don’t worry love.” Crowley buried his face into your shoulder and you could feel him smiling into your neck. “You’re the only one I want.”

The words settle into your chest and burrow their way into your heart. “I love you Crowley.” The words come out as a whisper, finally feeling sleep win over.

“I love you too.”

#grand budapest hotel challenge #spnkinkbingo #crowley x reader #crowley fic #crowley spn #spn imagine #supernatural

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thing-you-do-with-that-thing · 7 years

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Ties That Bind - Part 1: At First Sight

Characters (first names are as in the show renaming a few last names to fit my story): Reader (Y/N Harvelle), Crowley McCloud, Castiel Novak, Dean Winchester, Benny Lafitte, Ben Braeden, Asher (OC), Mike (OC),

Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually)

Warnings: Violence, robbery, gun shot wound, language (I think that is it for this one)

Word Count: 3500ish

A/N: Thanks to @blacktithe7 for betaing and helping me rework this series.

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

MASTERLIST

You were practically hopping on one foot across the room, trying to catch your 6 month old german shepherd pup that had chosen to run off with one of your shoes just as you were about to leave the house. You were already late and in no mood for any of his shenanigans. Being late what not all that unusual for you though. You were a busy person, but when you were in a moment you gave yourself to it fully. No matter if it was the kids you worked with needing attention, your puppy needing love or a file you needed to read over. The last was what had slowed you this morning before everything started going wrong.

“Drop it Santo,” You pointed at him and spoke in a firm tone when you finally managed to get him cornered. Santo stared back at you for a few seconds before he reluctantly did as he was told.

“Good boy,” you mumbled as you retrieved your shoe and put it on. You led him out back and into his pin. You checked to make sure he had plenty of fresh water before you petted him goodbye and practically ran for your car. Even if you were busy and he was a brat, he still deserved your love. He was a sweet puppy and he was going to grow up to be an amazing dog.

Just as you put your key into the ignition, your phone rang somewhere down in your purse. “Damnit.”

To say it had been a shitty morning would be an understatement. You had woken up late. You had managed to drop Santo’s kibbles all over the floor, not that he had minded. After you had finally shooed the puppy out of the way and got it all cleaned up, you realized you had turned on your coffee machine without filling it with water so that smoke was now covering your kitchen. It was a lousy morning, and now you were late and about to get scolded by Crowley McCloud.

“Hey boss. I am so so sorry,” you started as you picked up the phone, but he quickly interrupted you.

“I need you to drive down town. We got a call from the police station. Ben and two other kids are holding up a convenient store. Cas is on his way down there, but I need you to go too.”

Damnit. This day just wasn’t getting any better was it?

“On my way. Text me the address,” you replied and hung up the phone. You connected your workplace app your GPS and a few seconds later you had the directions from Crowley. You pulled the car out of the driveway and sped downtown while you thought about Ben.

Ben Braeden had arrived at The Clouds a few months ago. He was 17 years old, and everyone knew The Clouds would be his last home before adulthood. Ben had been shipped through the system and bounced from place to place ever since his mother OD’ed when he was 11. Ben was a good kid, but he was easy to influence- If he ended up in the wrong crowd, things could go sideways fast. That had happened in the past. Actually that was the very reason why Ben never found a steady home. Still he seemed to be doing better at The Clouds, and everyone had been hopeful for him. Until today. You had no idea what had happened or why Ben was in that store, but you knew if he was to have any hope of a future, you would have to get to the cops and fast. You had seen episodes like this before. They tended to spiral out of control quickly because the officers forgot they were dealing with scared kids and not rationally thinking adults.

As you pulled into the parking lot, you breathe a sigh of relief when you saw one of The Clouds’ vehicles was already parked among the cop cars. Cas was already here, and hopefully he had managed to get some sense of control over the situation. You jumped out of the car and ran across the lot towards the store. A uniformed officer quickly approached you and tried to hold you back. “Ma ’me, you can’t be here. I am going to have to ask you to get back to your car.”

You quickly went through your pockets and pulled out you ID. “I am a social worker up at McCloud’s. My colleague is already here, and one of our kids is in the store. I need you to let me pass.”

The officer stared at you ID for a few seconds before looking back at you. He seemed a bit unsure of what to do, so you proceeded. “Look I know the kid, and I can help. I need to pass.”

The officer slowly nodded, and you ran past him before he had a chance to change his mind.

The space in front of the small cozy convenient store was swarming with cops, and you stopped and looked around, trying to locate Cas. You gulped when you saw the SWAT team gearing up. They weren’t really planning on going in guns blazing were they?

“Y/N?” You spun around at the sound of Cas voice and saw him rushing towards you.

“Fill me in.” you quickly commanded, and Cas pulled you to the side.

“There are three kids in there. 2 of them have guns, and from what I can gather, they are part of some local gang. One of them is already wanted by the police. I tried to get through to the SWAT officers earlier, but I can’t seem to make them understand that Ben is no treat. They see them all as armed and dangerous. Y/N, I do not for a second believe Ben knew what he was walking into. He may be easy to influence, but he would never point a gun at anybody.”

You nodded as you listened to Cas story while you kept looking around, trying to get a feel for who might be in charge. Your gaze landed on two tall burly guys without uniforms. The one with a beard was talking to the commanding SWAT officer while his partner’s eyes were resting on the front of the shop. You looked around and saw a few officers blocking your path to get to the SWAT car, and you knew you and Cas were already pushing your luck. There was no chance they would allow you to get even closer to the store, so you smiled knowingly up at Cas.

“I need a distraction.”

Cas followed your line of sight and immediately knew what you were thinking. He always did. He had been your teacher and mentor for a long time. A friendship and partnership had grown between the two of you, and now you worked pretty much all of your cases together. You trusted and admired him, and you knew he respected and believed in you. You were a good team.

Cas winked at you and walked straight up to the uniformed cops and started yelling at them, demanding their full attention. You smiled and watched him for a few seconds before you rushed across the street unnoticed by the officers who were busy trying to keep Cas calm.

You approached the detective that wasn’t currently in deep discussion with the SWAT officer. “Excuse me? Can I talk to you for a moment detective?”

The man turned around, and for a few seconds, you forgot what you were saying and even where you were. He had seemed like a good looking man when you had watched him from a distance, but up close he was almost god like. He stood tall, towering over you on strong, thick bowed legs and with muscles that were evident even through the three layers of clothing he was wearing. His eyes were green. Like, forest green. He had a strong jawline and full lips that almost made you wanna lick them.

His deep growl brought you back to reality. “You shouldn’t be back here lady.”

You shook yourself loose when he tried to grab your arm and lead you back across the street. “I am a social worker. I know one of the boys in there. If you would just listen to me for a second before you send a freaking army in there.”

The man’s eyes opened wide, and you actually thought you saw a glimmer of admiration in them before he spoke again. “I wasn’t really planning too, but if you think you can give me some insight into what I am walking into before I walk into it, I would appreciate it.”

The detective rested his hand on your back and led you back towards a big shining black car. “Talk to me?” He offered as he opened the car door and pulled out a vest.

It took all of your will power not to drool when he started stripping down to his t-shirt in front of you. You took a deep breath and started focusing on Ben rather than the gorgeous man in front of you.

“Ben Braeden lives up at McCloud’s. It is a group home for troubled kids and teens. Many of them have abusive backgrounds,” you started explaining making Dean chuckle.

“I know what it is. So how did… Ben you said?” You nodded, and the detective continued. “How did Ben end up in there?”

The detective started putting on his vest, and you began explaining Ben’s story to him. You told him how he had been in an unstable home with lots of men coming and going for the first 11 years of his life. How he was easy to influence, especially by older boys and men. He had never had a dad, so he needed someone to look up too. He just have a tendency to pick the wrong people.

“Are you ready Winchester?” The other civilian dressed detective walked up behind you as you finished your story and nodded towards you. “Who is this?”

“She’s a social worker up at The Clouds,” the green eyed detective explained. “One of the kids in there is from the group home.”

The green-eyed detective returned his attention to you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name sweetheart?”

You cringed at his choice of words. You felt as if he was talking down to you, but you decided to let it go. “Y/N Harvelle.”

“Okay Miss Harvelle. I am Detective Dean Winchester, and this is my partner, Benny Lafitte. Shots were fired in there recently, and apparently one of the boys was hurt.” You sucked in a breath, which didn’t go unnoticed by the man in front of you. He put his hands on your arms and gave you a reassuring squeeze. “I am going in there on my own to try and talk them down. I am not letting anyone else get hurt okay?”

You looked into his eyes. You saw and determination, but also a kindness there, that made you believe him. You didn’t have the best experience with cops in these kinds of situations, but there was something different about Dean. You nodded, making him smile as he returned it. “Alright. You are staying out here with Detective Lafitte.”

Dean’s PoV

Dean turned his attention to Benny. “Okay let’s do this.” Benny proceed to make sure his partner had his phone on and that they both knew the code word in case the SWAT team needed to come in.

“I got it man. This isn’t my first rodeo.” Dean winked at his partner before disarming and laying down his gun on the hood of his car. “Hold on to that for me will you?”

“Dean that’s a bad idea.” Benny argued, but Dean just shook his head.

“There are 3 kids in there and one scared store owner. I am not giving them more fire power. I am getting everyone out safely.”

Benny nodded, knowing after partnering with Dean for well over 2 years, that arguing in this moment would be pointless. “Be careful brother.”

“Always am.” Dean smiled before turning around and putting his hand over his head as he headed towards the store and the hostage situation.

As Dean slowly approached the store, he thought about the young woman who had approached him. The way she had spoken to him had impressed him. She had balls, and she was fucking beautiful. He remember the way the sun had made her Y/H/C shine and the sparkle in her Y/E/C eyes as she had spoken passionately for the kid he was about to walk in and arrest. That part weren’t going to earn him any popularity points that was for sure, but he had no choice.

Dean pushed Y/N out of his thoughts as he reached the door. He carefully knocked twice before pushing it open. He held up his hands defensively, showing the kid that stormed forward holding two guns that he was unarmed. “We asked for a doctor. You aren’t a doctor. You are a freaking cop.” The kid yelled at him, waving one of the guns at him.

Dean stayed calm as his eyes quickly searched the room. The store owner was tied up in the corner, seemingly unharmed aside from a bump on his head. In the middle of the room a blond boy was lying on the floor in a pool of blood and a dark haired one was kneeling down next to him, pressing a shirt against his friend’s stomach.

Dean quickly returned his attention to the slightly older kid holding the guns. “Yes, I am a cop, but right now I am that boy’s best chance of making it out of here alive. You gotta let me take a look at him.”

“NO.” The kid pointed the gun at Dean’s head. “You are leaving. I don’t want any damn cops in here.”

Dean sent the boys a trying smile. “Okay… I can do that, but if I leave there will be a hell of a lot more cops busting down those doors in a few minute. I am just here to help… Let me help?”

The boy with the guns hesitated for a few seconds, and the dark haired boy spoke from behind him. “Asher needs help, Mike. I don’t know what to do. Maybe he does.” Dean quickly committed the names to memory and gathered the dark haired boy trying to help his friend had to be Ben.

“Alright.” Mike waved Dean forward with one of the guns, “but don’t try anything, or I will shoot.” Dean nodded and kept his hands up as he moved across the room. “I’m only here to help man.”

Dean knelt down beside the wounded boy. He was in a lot of pain, and he looked like he was scared shitless. So Dean sent him a reassuring smile. “I am going to have a look at you okay? Just stay still. I’m Dean.”

“Asher…” the boy coughed, and Dean smiled. “Nice to meet you Asher.” Dean slowly removed the shirt from the boy’s abdomen. He was bleeding badly. Dean looked up at the boy next to him. “I am going to need your help. Ben right?”

Ben nodded, confused. “How do you know what my name is?” Dean smiled at him as he tried to earn his trust. “You got a social worker that cares a lot about you outside. Y/N Harvelle.” Ben’s eyes opened wide, and an ashamed look spread across his face. “She is here?”

“Yes right outside. Waiting for you. But right now I need to check Asher for an exit wound. Can you help me do that?”

Ben nodded. With a little coaching from Dean, the two of them managed to flip Asher onto his side, and Dean silently swore when he didn’t find anything. “Okay Ben.” Dean helped a screaming Asher back onto his back. “We need to find some alcohol, a tweezer, tape, and some bandages.” Ben nodded, but when Dean tried to get up Mike quickly pointed his gun at him again.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he screamed.

Dean felt his patience slowly starting to slip, but he calmly addressed the kid above him. “Your friend is going to die if I don’t get the bullet out of him and get him to a hospital. Do you really want that on your conscience?”

“You can try and help him,” Mike seemed, unaffected by Dean’s words. “Ben will go get the stuff you need, and Asher ain’t leaving until we all are.”

“You do realize he could die right?” Dean growled at the kid in front of him as Ben disappeared back into the store, but Mike just smiled. “It beats jail. I’m 20, and Asher is 18.”

A loud bang sounded from the other end of the store as a flustered Ben probably dropped something. The sound distracted Mike for just long enough for Dean to react. He jumped, overpowering the kid. He knocked one of the guns from his hands and grabbed the other before cuffing him to one of the shelves.

A smiled slid across Mike's face just as Dean backed of him.

“Shoot him Ben.”

Dean quickly turned to face Ben, who were pointing the before discarded gun at his chest. “You don’t want to do that Ben.” Dean tried, but Mike shouted again.

“Shoot him before he shoots you.”

Dean saw the terror in Ben’s face and he slowly bent down, laying the gun he was holding on the ground. “No one else is getting shot here today. We are just going to talk okay?” Dean didn’t take his eyes off Ben as he stood back up. He smiled when the kid slowly nodded.

“That’s it. Ben, your friend is going to die if we don’t get him help soon. We need to get him to a hospital. You don’t want him to die do you?” Dean asked and took a step forward as he reached out for the gun. Ben’s hands were shaking, but he let Dean take it.

“That’s it. It’s over.” Dean spoke calmly. “I am just going to call my partner, and we are getting your friend some help.”

Dean let the clip from the gun fall to the ground before finishing his cell out of his pocket. “Did you hear that? All clear. Get a medic in here.” Dean ordered just as Mike whistled beside him. “You are an idiot Braeden. You are going to jail.”

Dean looked up to see the panic on Ben’s face, and he didn’t have time to react before Ben’s fist connected with his jaw. Ben ran for the back door, but Dean wasn’t far behind him. He slammed the boy against the wall, making him cry out as he cuffed his hands behind his back.

“Sorry kiddo,” Dean mumbled as he pulled him back towards the store just as Benny and a few other cops busted through the door. “What took you so long?” Dean sent his partner a reassuring smile as he saw him breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of Dean still standing.

Your PoV

You had been waiting anxiously outside the store preparing yourself for the worst, but now you were furious. Detective Winchester had dragged a crying and scared Ben out of the store, and he wouldn’t even let you talk to him before shoving him into the back of a cop car.

“I told you. He didn’t know what he was walking into. You need to release him into our custody.” you spat at him, following him back towards his car.

“And I told you, Miss Harvelle, that is not within my power. Besides, the kid pulled a gun on me, and he punched me trying to escape.”

You stared daggers at him, but he just stared right back. You realized he wasn’t going to give, so you spun around on your heels, mumbling your thoughts out loud, and within seconds, Dean was in front of you, looking pissed. “What was that?.”

He was menacing. He towered over you. His green eyes had become 3 shades darker from his anger, but you didn’t care. You were furious. “I said you probably deserved it, and that he should have hit you harder.” you spat at him, and you watched his eyes narrow before he shook his head.

“Tell McCloud he will hear from us, and you should probably find a new job. That bleeding heart of yours is going to get you killed or burned out.” The venom in his words made you freeze for a second before you twirled around and yelled after him as he was walking away

“Don’t you dare tell me how to do my job.”

“Then don’t tell me how to do mine.” the man yelled over his shoulder without giving you as much as a second look.

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Best Music Videos of the 21st Century: Billboard Critics Pick 100

At the dawn of the 21st century, the music video was in a boom period: The TRL era was still at its zenith, CDs were flying out of the stores, budgets for music videos were still regularly in the seven-digit range, and MTV was the place you turned to in order to see the latest clips from pop's best and brightest.

Flash forward to 2018, and none of those things are true anymore. Album sales have been depleted by the rise of downloading and then streaming, MTV has been supplanted by the Internet as the video's primary home, and attempts to reboot TRL only prove how different times are now than when Backstreet and Britney ruled the world. But with all that's changed, the music video still reigns paramount in the pop world, as a conversation-starter, as a starmaker, as a cementer of legacy. Though the ways we consume music videos in 2018 would've been almost unthinkable at century's start, the impact they have on our lives and pop culture remains relatively similar.

But of course, it's been an interesting ride for the music video to get to this point: From the tail end of MTV's peak to the introduction of YouTube and the minting of the viral star to the rise of social media and the countless different forms the video can now take in 2018. This week, Billboard is reflecting on the evolution of the music video with a week's worth of content about the form's past, present and future -- starting, today, with a list of our staff picks for the 100 greatest music videos of the century so far, essentially telling the story of the form during its middle-age period, and a potential crisis ultimately averted.

See our staff favorites below, with a YouTube playlist of all available clips at the bottom, and get lost in the recent greatest hits of an artform that continues to be among popular culture's most vital.

100. Fall Out Boy, "Sugar We're Goin Down" (dir. Matt Lenski, 2005)

From Under the Cork Tree’s lead single was much of the world’s introduction to these former hardcore punks from the Chicago burbs, and for their first video with a big ol’ Island Records budget, they indulged their mission statement: a full-on underdog’s folk tale. Our small town teenaged protagonist is a sort of Napoleon Dynamite with -- get this! -- deer-like antlers, an effective stand-in for just about any condition that could have left a young Fall Out Boy feeling socially alienated. His love interest’s shotgun-wielding father doesn’t approve, but in the end, let’s just say he’s behooved to sympathize. -- CHRIS PAYNE

The video for Shakira’s first English-language hit is not her most seen; those honor belong to the Maluma-featuring “Chantaje" and World Cup anthem “Waka Waka (This Time for Africa)," both with around two billion YouTube views. But “Whenever, Wherever” was the video that introduced Shakira’s swiveling hips to the world, as well as her “small and humble” breasts. The minimalist production, which memorably featured Shakira dancing alone without props, musicians or other dancers, was enough to catapult her to international stardom. -- LEILA COBO

Ana Matronic, Jake Shears, and the rest of the crew served up a brilliant DIY instructional dance video for their unlikely viral hit, which became their third No. 1 hit on the U.S. Dance Club Songs chart in 2012. The smartly staged and creatively choreographed one-take clip is as unpolished, campy, and full of energy as the Scissors themselves. -- PATRICK CROWLEY

The room full of glasses of water gently quaking to the bass drum heartbeat of "Rolling in the Deep," like Jurassic Park to the tenth power, was appropriately foreboding for what Adele's 21 ended up being, a commercial behemoth the likes of which was supposed to have long gone extinct. It all starts here: Director Sam Brown capturing the once-in-a-generation vocalist at simultaneously her most vulnerable and her most powerful, unclear if the wreckage surrounding her is representative of her internal turmoil, or a direct result of it. -- ANDREW UNTERBERGER

96. Frank Ocean, "Pyramids" (dir. Nabil Elderkin, 2012)

Opening with color bars, liquor shots, and gun blasts, this Nabil-directed 8-minute odyssey follows a zonked-out Frank Ocean as he zips across the desert on a motorcycle, giggles his way through a strip club, and runs into John Mayer in the middle of nowhere for a woozy, bluesy guitar solo. Landing somewhere between Lost Highway and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, "Pyramids" is a dusty, neon-drenched vision quest that's hard to shake. – JOE LYNCH

Music videos can sometimes feel unimaginative when they simply translate a song’s lyrics into a four-minute clip, but for the Avalanches’ “Frontier Psychiatrist,” the literal approach also happened to be the wildest one. The Australian electronic group’s mishmash of vocal samples is acted out as theater, with dueling therapists, chattering dentures, an old guy with a turtle body, and a ghost chorus comprising a visual representation both surreal and enduring. -- JASON LIPSHUTZ

94. Ariana Grande feat. Zedd, "Break Free" (dir. Chris Marrs Piliero, 2014)

“Brace yourself for something so fantastically fantastical that you’ll soil yourself from intergalactic excitement" reads part of the tongue-in-cheek Star Wars-style scroll that introduces Ariana Grande’s video for “Break Free." The stakes in this outer space-based video are as high as Grande’s ponytail, as she uses her blaster to shoot down guards and free prisoners. But wait! Ari herself has been taken captive! Will she... break free?! Yes, and then she will board a spaceship where Zedd is both captain and DJ. Phew. -- CHRISTINE WERTHMAN

The video for Aaliyah’s sinuous “Rock the Boat” might have easily gone down as just one of the many examples of the beloved singer’s preternatural cool and low-key sex appeal, featuring Aaliyah leading an all-female ensemble in understatedly sexy moves mirroring the song’s hypnotic, undulating melody. But it’s impossible to watch without feeling a deep pang of sadness: Directly after filming this video, Aaliyah and eight others were killed in a plane crash over the Bahamas. “Rock the Boat” begins with an in memoriam of sorts, and as the video starts, Aaliyah walks on a deserted beach beneath a sky so beatifically sunlit, it could very well be heaven. The video ends with a gorgeous shot of her swimming alone, trailed by billowy silk, toward a surface that seems contiguous with the clouds. In between, we’re reminded of an artist who was an effortlessly entrancing dancer and singer, a happy young woman with so much ahead of her -- before she floats off to somewhere else. -- REBECCA MILZOFF

92. Girls' Generation, "Gee" (dir. Cho Soo-hyun, 2009)

One of the biggest K-pop hits ever, Girls’ Generation’s saccharine electro-pop anthem “Gee” was key to making the nonet one of South Korea’s biggest pop acts, largely thanks to its video’s living mannequins, viral “crab” dance, and brightly hued outfits. The success of it led to the group releasing further videos that rank among K-pop’s all-time most recognizable, including “Genie” and “I Got A Boy,” but nothing will ever replace this 2009 music video for its critical spot in the genre's history. -- TAMAR HERMAN

It would have been understandably tempting to make a video that interpreted the song as literally as songwriter Lori McKenna intended: As a message to her children. But instead, the clip -- with assistance from OWN’s series Belief (thanks, Oprah!) and McGraw’s understated delivery -- turns the tune into a grander prayer that celebrates our universal humanity and diversity through scenes of people from all ethnicities and religions. -- MELINDA NEWMAN

90. Marina & The DIamonds, "How to Be a Heartbreaker" (dir. Marc & Ish, 2012)

Six years ago, Marina Diamandis gave us a video with six showering Calvin Klein models juxtaposed with a clothed woman, gloriously flipping what is unfortunately still the modern standard. (Each guy is wearing a Speedo, mind you.) As she sings about her guide to breaking you-know-whats, Marina alternates between cozying up to different gentlemen, dancing in the shower, and presenting a severed, bloodied mannequin head on a platter to the camera. It’s hard to know who you’re supposed to be drooling over in this visual -- Marina, or the male models? -- and that’s the whole point. -- GAB GINSBERG

Mitski’s songwriting is often spiked with a dark, sharp sense of humor. The visual for her shrugging, contemplative Puberty 2 single “Your Best American Girl,” directed by longtime collaborator Zia Anger, brings that wit to the forefront, trapping the Japanese-American artist in a love triangle with an all-too-familiar cute white hipster and his Coachella-ready girlfriend as the song’s lyrics muse on cultural clashes and ethnic identity. It’s hard not to roll your eyes as the couple cuddles naked under an American flag (seriously, guys?), leaving our heroine to make out with her own hand like a lovesick middle-schooler, channeling rage into electric guitar. Not too much subtlety here, but the video’s almost uncomfortably on-the-nose references are exactly what make it so brilliant, with just the right dose of funny. -- TATIANA CIRISANO

Kanye West would be the first to tell you he’s more than just an artist -- he’s an innovator, on the same intellectual playing field as Walt Disney and Steve Jobs. And when it comes to visual manifestations of or companion pieces to his music, well, he’s not always totally wrong. The video for “Flashing Lights” isn’t as dazzling or frenzied as videos for hits like “Gold Digger” and “All of the Lights,” but the tension between the thump of the song and the slow-mo, one-shot portrait of a beautiful woman committing heinous acts of violence makes the clip as unsettlingly hypnotic as the trance-like intonation of its chorus. -- STEVEN J. HOROWITZ

87. David Bowie, "Lazarus" (dir. Johan Renck, 2016)

Shortly after David Bowie succumbed to liver cancer on Jan. 10, 2016, his longtime producer and friend Tony Visconti wrote in a Facebook tribute, “His death was not different from his life – a work of Art.” He most certainly was referring to “Blackstar” and “Lazarus,” the haunting and bleak final two music videos that the legend left behind. Both are rich with references to Bowie canon -- Major Tom, Station to Station -- and optimally should be seen in tandem. But “Lazarus” delivers the bigger gut punch because it is Bowie’s acknowledgement that he is not long for this earth, a video cut with scenes of the gaunt artist writhing on what could be his deathbed, his head wrapped in a bandage with buttons for eyes. Watch the video, then venturedown the rabbit hole of Bowie-ologists deconstructing the video’s meaning: The Starman may have left the building, but he did so in a way that insures his artistic immortality. -- FRANK DIGIACOMO

"Lazy Sunday" has the distinction of being the only video on this list to originate from television -- the historic first official Digital Short on SNL, preceding future classics like "I'm On A Boat" and "Dick in a Box," and setting the template for the first wave of YouTube viral videos. "Lazy Sunday" lives on in infamy because of the sheer ridiculousness of their investment in the song's mundanity: Andy Samberg and Chris Parnell rap about going to see The Chronicles of Narnia, but not before "macking on some cupcakes" from Magnolia Bakery and shouting out answers to movie theater Matthew Perry trivia. Part of the video's allure is its low-production quality -- it looks like it was shot by high schoolers in an afternoon -- going to show that you don't need a million-dollar budget to make a classic music video. Perhaps all you need is a camcorder and smartly dumb lyrics. -- XANDER ZELLNER

Grimes made all our cyberpunk dreams come true with the “Kill v. Maim” video. The singer previously explained that the song’s inspiration was for a fictional movie that was “a mixture of Godfather and Twilight,” but the video itself transports the viewer into a wild post-apocalyptic world: Imagine if Final Fantasy took place in the Mad Max universe... but was also shot in Harajuku in the ‘90s. And what better way to end this giddy mix of cult-film homages than with an ode to Blade’s bloody rave scene? -- BIANCA GRACIE

It's as vivid a straightforward rendering of song narrative as 21st-century music video has produced, with Alicia Keys and fictional love interest Mos Def acting out Keys' Songs in A Minor melodrama as a brilliant blur of fantasy and reality. Director Chris Robinson's sumptuous New York visuals make the theatrics pop with both pleasing familiarity and near-uncomfortable intimacy, lifting you into Keys' daydream -- right up to the crushing ending, when it turns out that Mos never will know just how different she looks outside of her work clothes. -- A.U.

Residente -- and prior to him, Calle 13 -- has long been known for his gritty, graphic, often violent video material. But his softer, romantic side is even more compelling, and the second video from his 2017 self-titled solo outing is drenched in love, the kind that sends shivers down your spine. Filmed in Paris' iconic Crémerie-Restaurant Polidor bistro and starring Charlotte Le Bon and Edgar Ramirez, "Descencuentro" (directed by Residente himself) is a mini-film about a man and a woman whose inevitable encounter inside the restaurant is delayed by a string of happenstance that goes from accidental to comical. “I wanted to stay away from clichés, but stay close to hope, to what motivates you to keep on trying in the midst of so many setbacks,” Residente told Billboard. The end result is breathtakingly (and unexpectedly) lovely. -- L.C.

If a music video can leave you with one indelible image, it’s done good work. The video for “Papi Pacify" is one of the most erotic clips in recent memory, opening with a silent shot of a tall, brawny man with one hand around twigs' throat and the other curling at her mouth. “It’s meant to ask questions of the viewer,” co-director Tom Beard told The Guardian. “Who’s got the control in this relationship? Who’s got the power?” There’s no unbraiding the sexual charge from the discomfort, just as there’s no forgetting the shot at 2:23, when twigs holds your gaze as the man takes his fingers from her mouth and pulls her into his chest as she continues to stare, looking nothing if not serene. -- ROSS SCARANO

81. A$AP Rocky, "Peso" (dir. Abteen Bagheri, 2010)

The low-budget street video, shot in the artist’s neighborhood, is a hip-hop staple, and one of the best 21st century entries in the genre drops you in Harlem for an annunciation. Is there a more invigorating entrance in contemporary rap than Rocky busting through a sticker-covered bodega door wearing a black baseball cap that reads FUNERAL, while rapping, “I be that pretty motherfucker”? The money spent shows up in the form of Rick Owens, Raf Simons and Supreme, but the swag is priceless. -- R.S.

80. Miley Cyrus, "We Can't Stop" (dir. Diane Martel, 2013)

There’s tiptoeing into a new era, and then there’s diving in headfirst: Following her underperforming Can’t Be Tamed album, Miley Cyrus chose the latter in 2013, reinventing herself in the first video from the Bangerz campaign and boldly kickstarting her adult career. The “We Can’t Stop” video features a house party full of debauchery and twerking, but for all of the hip-hop excess Cyrus was clearly cribbing from, Diane Martel's clip also provides several uniquely off-kilter set pieces, from the giant-teddy-bear-backpack dance sequence to the game of kick-the-french-fry-skull. -- J. Lipshutz

79. Madonna, "Hung Up" (dir. Johan Renck, 2006)

Faced with relationship trouble, a pop queen doesn’t cry it out -- she dances it out. Madonna’s ‘80s-infused video for the ABBA-borrowing Confessions On A Dance Floor smash “Hung Up” turns the star’s sweaty, solo aerobics workout into a therapy session where all you need to squelch anxiety is a pink leotard and a boombox. The visual only gets better as it expands to scenes resembling a Los Angeles street corner, a subway car, and a Chinese restaurant, where crowds of all ages, races, and ethnicities erupt into fiery dance battles of their own. Meant as a tribute to John Travolta’s ubiquitous dance roles in film, the whole thing ends (how else?) with Madonna breaking it down on an arcade Dance Dance Revolution machine -- not bad for a star who broke several bones in a horseback-riding accident just weeks before shooting. -- T.C.

These days, it might be hard for many viewers to get past the first word of the title when watching the video for Toby Keith's highest-charting, least-resistible Hot 100 hit, especially considering the cameo-strewn close featuring fellow Red-alligned rocker Ted Nugent, among others. But the 2011 clip is such a clever and pure distillation of the forever unpartisan joys of filling your cup, lifting it up and proceeding to parrr-tayyyyyy that it'll make you seethe with nostalgia for a time, perhaps only imagined, when a superior brand of kegger supplies was all you needed to reach across the aisle for. -- A.U.

Behold one of the few instances in which a music video helped launch a relatively unknown act to No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100. Gotye's haunting "Somebody That I Used to Know" visual shows the frontman and duet partner Kimbra naked in front of a blank backdrop, then slowly painted over via stop-motion animation, a living artifact of what used to be a relationship. The design, inspired by an actual work done by Gotye's father, Frank De Backer, took 23 hours and helped the video surpass the 1 billion-views mark on YouTube. -- X.Z.

ANOHNI’s 2016 solo debut Hopelessness combined dazzling experimental pop with the sort of radical social activism most prominent musicians are too timid to approach. For this Hudson Mohawke- and Oneohtrix Point Never-produced song, ANOHNI sings from the perspective of a nine year-old Afghani girl whose family has just been killed by a drone bomb, her despair sending her atop a mountain to demand she be taken next. In the gripping, exquisitely produced video (bankrolled by Apple in a move ANOHNI later regretted), a teary-eyed Naomi Campbell gives a sublime performance, lip-synching and tantalizingly dancing along to the this glistening dirge while a team of dancers contorts around her. -- C.P.

75. Kendrick Lamar, "i" (dir. Alexandre Moors, 2014)

If this video had come out even two years later, the dance that Kendrick rolls out throughout the visual might have spawned enough challenge/meme copies to send it all the way to the top of the charts, rather than the mere No. 39 it topped out at on the Hot 100. As it stands, the video is a clever nod to both the song's influences -- sampled artist Ronald Isley is in on the party throughout, while George Clinton makes a nonchalant cameo reading a copy of his own autobiography outside a club -- and to the darker forces underlying the song's self-love ethos. -- DAN RYS

74. Dua Lipa, "New Rules" (dir. Henry Scholfield, 2017)

Some new new rules: 1. Launch a thousand Pinterest boards with a beachy pastel color scheme and an enviable hotel slumber party. 2. Take unlikely inspiration from the animal kingdom with head-bobbing choreography meant to evoke the fidgety movements of a pack of flamingos. (No, really!) 3. Embrace the storytelling power of repetition for a dance routine whose third-act twist still delights as much as it did the first time. Follow those steps, and you'll earn admission to YouTube’s billion-views club — and maybe fast-track yourself to a level of international superstardom that half a dozen prior singles couldn’t snag. -- NOLAN FEENEY

73. Janelle Monáe feat. Big Boi, "Tightrope" (dir. Wendy Morgan, 2010)

To those who are just discovering the genius of Janelle Monae with her Dirty Computer rollout: Where have you been? From her futuristic "Many Moons" video to her uncomfortably direct "Cold War" clip, Monáe has consistently delivered on the visuals. "Tightrope" showcases Monae's swagger-for-days as she gyrates through an insane asylum, rocking her early-career androgynous style and delivering some impressive soft-shoe. -- P.C.

72. Sum 41, "Fat Lip" (dir. Marc Klasfeld, 2001)

From its opening beatbox freestyle to its closing tongue wag, "Fat Lip" couldn't have been a better encapsulation of the pop-punk '00s if it had been directed by a sentient Hot Topic bracelet: It's all shaved heads, half-pipes, convenience stores, and four-star frosted tips, as the snottiest bunch of snots that ever snotted perform from a literal pit of dirt. For extra flat-sole kicks, check the hair-metal-homaging "Pain for Pleasure" outro that often played with "Fat Lip" on MTV, proving that adolescent rawk brattiness knows no generation gap. -- A.U.

No music video director works sleight-of-film better than Michel Gondry, the guy who turned a countryside train voyage into Chemical Brothers sheet music or a theatrical Björk drama into a cinematic matryoshka doll. But his greatest cinematic achievement may remain Kylie Minogue's four-lap trek around the streets of Paris, with Kylie and her universe's neighbors somehow layering on top of themselves each time she passes Go. It's a marvel that remains magical 16 years later -- though one that might make you reticent to accept her titular invitation, since it seems like her World barely has room for one of you, let alone four. -- A.U.

70. Ozuna, "Se Preparo" (dir. Nuno Gomes, 2017)

Ozuna is Latin music’s current master of the video universe: The Puerto Rican reggaeton/trap star has so many great videos to his name, it’s hard to settle on a favorite. But “Se Preparo,” with its mix of whimsy and edge, is as fun as the song is compelling. Directed by Venezuelan video master Nuno Gomez, who delights in storytelling, it sets the stage for the wronged girl, who, to forget her boyfriend’s infidelities, preps for a night on the town with the girls. Except it’s actually an elaborate ruse to get even -- one that keeps you watching till the hilarious end. -- L.C.

A theme of Jay's work of late has been taking stereotypes and tropes about the black community and forcing them right in front of his audience's faces. Seldom has that ever been more clear than in the "O.J." video, which lifts its inspiration from a set of racist Looney Tunes cartoons from the '40s, casting himself and others in blackface and hammering home the message of the song's lyrics through the visual. It's among the best examples of this in his catalog. -- D.R.

68. Kesha, "Blow" (dir. Chris Marrs Piliero, 2010)

"She was adamant you can't back away from the crazy" was how director Chris Marrs Piliero summarized the Artist Formerly Known as K-Money's approach to the "Blow" video, which sounds about right: Lasers, unicorns, muenster cheese, no-soap-radio jokes, a pre-meme James Van der Beek, and a whole lot of glitter (natch) combine in the "Blow" video for a visual of singular early-'10s lunacy. That the era's cheekiest director and most game pop star only worked together once remains a bummer, but their sole collab remains a slice of pure lactose gold. -- A.U.

“Blood, Sweat & Tears” is the thesis for BTS as a K-pop group whose work is rich for interpretation. The grab-bag of high-art references makes this music video ripe for fan theories. Cut to a museum filled with European Renaissance replications: Michelangelo’s Pietà explodes! Van Goghian sky swirls abound! V jumps off a balcony in front of a painting of the fallen Icarus! Amid this lavish portrait of BTS at the height of their game, one thing is clear: the septet makes K-pop for the thinking fan. -- CAITLIN KELLEY

66. Ludacris feat. Shawnna, "Stand Up" (dir. Dave Meyers, 2003)

The clip for Luda's first Billboard Hot 100 No. 1 is more bizarre than it has any right to be. A kiss from 'Cris makes a woman's ass expand to cartoonish size, after which Luda puts on a Sideshow Bob-sized sneaker to start stomping the dancefloor and bring the house down (literally). At the end of the video, Luda and Shawnna's faces are superimposed onto baby bodies, and we're treated to Baby Luda dancing Ally McBeal-style, before an unlucky woman changes his soiled diaper. Why? Who knows! But when he moved in 2003, we followed, just like that. -- J. Lynch

65. Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Californication" (dir. Jonathan Dayton & Valerie Faris, 2000)

The Red Hot Chili Peppers' video for "Californication" features the quartet navigating everything from the Hollywood Walk of Fame and movie studios to San Francisco and the Sierra Nevada Mountains -- only as avatars of themselves in an imaginary video game, racking up high scores and eventually meeting at the center of the earth. As fun as the stunning and innovative visuals are, it's the juxtaposition with the song's melancholy lyrics that still lingers well after it's Game Over. -- DENISE WARNER

Most everything seems a whole lot more fun in the crazy-colorful, twisted realm of Missy music videos: Even the gossip-fueled, bully-ridden hallways of high school. Back in a pre-social-media 2002, Elliott heard all the whispers about her recent and somewhat drastic weight loss, her sexual orientation, and more, so she channeled her frustration into an eminently danceable track and classic video. Ludacris and Ms. Jade make stellar guest appearances; Tweet, Eve, and Trina keep score as the coolest clique ever in the cafeteria scenes; even Darryl “DMC” McDaniels shows up for a late cameo as a school bus driver. But then there’s the real stars of the video -- three little girls with better moves than most grown-ups (including now-pro Alyson Stoner), and a closing image that might be Elliott’s most brilliant touch of all: a mural depicting the late Aaliyah, Lisa “Left Eye” Lopez, and Jam Master Jay, reminding her audience that, just maybe, the industry could focus on more important things than gossip, folks. -- R.M.

63. Ciara, "Promise" (dir. Diane Martel, 2006)

Ciara has spent much of her videography trying to defy gravity — consider the Matrix-style back-bend she first debuted with “Goodies” and later honed in clips like “Gimme Dat” and “Like a Boy.” But with a little movie magic, Ciara actually pulled it off for 2006’s “Promise,” turning a microphone stand into a worthy dance partner through a G-rated pole workout that shook its butt in the face of laws of physics. Ciara’s legacy as an artist is as much about her dancing as it is her music, and “Promise,” with its magic mic and the sheer athleticism of Ciara’s hypnotic hip rolls, is the most entertaining distillation of all her talents. -- N.F.

Dougal Wilson directed this single-shot video in which Natasha Khan takes a late-night bike ride with some of her best pals, a foreboding brood of hoodie-wearing guys in creepy animal masks, a la Donnie Darko’s Frank. According to a 2009 interview, Khan wanted the director to model the video after films like E.T.,The Goonies, The Karate Kid, and even the aforementioned Gyllenhaal cult classic, movies that she dubbed “hoodie movies,” because they featured boys wearing hoodies and riding bikes, “a symbolic reference to breaking out of their suburban trappings and going on this journey of self-discovery." Wilson nails the sentiment, only this journey comes with more sick bike tricks. -- C.W.

A year before labeling herself a savage, Rihanna had already proved she was the baddest gal in town with 2015’s “Bitch Better Have My Money” video. The murderous affair, co-directed by the singer and Megaforce, is a menacing “don't fuck with me” message to her real-life former accountant, portrayed here by Hannibal's Mads Mikkelsen. Rihanna and her badass female sidekicks play the stars of their own revenge fantasy film as they torture his rich white wife, and the final scene is nothing short of chilling, with a blood-soaked Rihanna lighting up a joint while resting in a trunk full of cash. -- B.G.

60. Justice, "D.A.N.C.E." (dir. Jonas & Francois, 2007)

Who knew that the video for a song called “D.A.N.C.E.” could be built around two guys… walking… for the entire video… and still be a huge win? Justice’s Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay stroll through the duo's most popular clip as their t-shirts morph into mesmerizing pop-art displays, capturing the crossover hit’s effervescence through a series of slogans and cartoons. “D.A.N.C.E.” was nominated for video of the year at the 2007 MTV VMAs, turning Justice into dance headliners (pun intended) years before EDM took over every American festival. -- J. Lipshutz

In one continuous three-and-a-half minute shot, Robyn manages to hold your attention in the music video for "Call Your Girlfriend." The video simply shows Robyn dancing and singing in an empty soundstage, wearing a furry top and looking like her own heart has just been shattered, but it feels impossible to look away. The clip was often parodied and recreated after its release, most notably by former SNL cast member Taran Killam, in which he filmed a near-perfect recreation of the video in the show's writers room at 4:00 a.m. -- X.Z.

58. Christina Aguilera, "Beautiful" (dir. Jonas Åkerlund, 2002)

Christina Aguilera eloquently touches on insecurity in the Jonas Åkerlund-directed “Beautiful," as the dark-lit scenes underscore the decimation that occurs when someone is ostracized for being less than perfect: too fat or skinny, ugly, gay. Alone in a sparsely furnished room, Aguilera zeroes in on songwriter/producer Linda Perry’s affirmation that everyone is beautiful, no matter what people say. “Words can’t bring me down,” she sings as the video’s characters conquer their insecurities: one woman bashes in her mirror, another tosses beauty magazines into a fireplace while a gay couple publicly kiss and hold hands. The video won a GLAAD Media Award for its positive portrayal of gay and transgender individuals. -- GAIL MITCHELL

In the pantheon of music videos capturing some sort of ceremonial celebration, UGK’s “Int’l Players’ Anthem” stands as one of the all-time best. The absurdity of it the clip -- including André 3000 in a kilt, a wedding party that counts Lukas Haas, and some of the best wedding outfits of all time (including Pimp C in head-to-toe white fur) -- is nothing compared to how seamlessly the video captures the ebullience of the accompanying song. -- S.J.H.

56. Beyoncé, "7/11" (dir. Beyoncé, 2014)

As we all know in 2018, The Carters love a production -- but travel back with us to a Friday night in November 2014, when Beyoncé proved that she could go low-budget and still make a high-quality music video. The grainy, iPhone-looking footage of “7/11” features Beyoncé and her dancers goofing off in their underwear in various hotel-room settings. They twerk. They drink from red plastic cups. They turn hair dryers into props. Beyoncé uses someone’s butt as a surface for throwing dice. Quick-cut edits and scene jumps give the video a playful, frenetic energy, while choreography and costume changes make it pro without being overly polished. It’s safe to assume that the peak into this informal world is highly curated, but “7/11” has the intimacy of a selfie: Even though it doesn’t look like anything you've actually ever shot on your phone. -- C.W.

55. Justin Bieber, "Sorry" (dir. Parris Goebel, 2015)

The Bieb brought choreography -- and women -- to the forefront of his "Sorry" visual, with the singer enlisting New Zealand’s all-female troupe ReQuest Dance Crew to bring his upbeat Purpose chart-topper to life. The colorful visual immediately racked up millions of views, with the wildly funky outfits inspiring Halloween costumes (just one week after the vid’s Oct. 22, 2015 release) and the ReQuest girls' impressive moves sparking plenty of twerk-filled tributes across the Internet. Nearly three billion views later, “Sorry” proved that the heartthrob doesn’t even need to make an appearance to make one of his videos special. -- TAYLOR WEATHERBY

54. Iggy Azalea feat. Charli XCX, "Fancy" (dir. Director X, 2014)

For Iggy Azalea’s biggest pop moment, the ‘90s throwback love of the 2010s was in full swing, with the Australian rapper and her hook-slinging co-star traveling back to the set of classic teen comedy Clueless. Iconic scenes -- the classroom debate, the house party, the near-car crash on the freeway -- are reproduced with no-expense-spared flair, the cinematic set design and hordes of in-costume extras vaulting this 2014 good-life anthem straight into 1995 and all its plaid-clad pizzaz. Millennial Mean Girls babies nodding to their era’s spiritual forerunner — it’s game recognizing game in a music video that should similarly endure. -- C.P.

53. Bruno Mars & Cardi B, "Finesse" (Remix) (dir. Bruno Mars & Florent Dechard, 2018)

Everyone loves a good dose of nostalgia, and Bruno Mars served up a giant splatter-painted platter of it with his “Finesse” video. Recruiting Cardi B for a remix of the high-energy 24K Magic track, Mars emphasized the song's punchy ‘90s-style hip-hop beat with an homage to the era’s sketch-comedy classic In Living Color, using smooth moves and neon outfits to create an awesome spitting-image tribute. And the shout-outs were reciprocated: “Finesse” immediately drew praise from show stars Damon, Marlon, and Kim Wayans, and even sparked a reaction out of Jennifer Lopez, who got her start dancing as a Fly Girl on the show. Just as ILC was a cultural moment of the ‘90s, “Finesse” helped Bruno Mars and Cardi B solidify their place as icons of 2018. -- T.W.

A pivotal video in Taylor Swift's pop mythology, "You Belong With Me" saw the burgeoning superstar still playing the underdog, whose cartoonish glasses, school-pride wardrobes, and goofy dance moves made her the idol (and/or go-to Halloween costume) for a generation of unsatisfied overachievers. But don't forget she plays the bad girl in the video, too, and with equal aplomb; listen closely as she marks her territory with the boy next door in her red convertible, and you can hear the snakes from the Reputation Tour hissing impatiently in the distance. -- A.U.

All of Lana Del Rey’s music videos are cinematic -- it’s kind of her thing -- but “National Anthem” has a movie-quality plot to boot. Del Rey stars first as Marilyn Monroe in a reimagined staging of the icon’s 1962 performance of "Happy Birthday, Mr. President," then as Jackie Kennedy alongside A$AP Rocky’s suave, handsy JFK. Through Del Rey’s eyes, we see familial scenes unfold between one of the most fascinating couples in American history, culminating in a re-enactment of the Kennedy assassination. When Del Rey’s castle crumbles, you feel it in your chest, too, and her monologue at the end never fails to bring chills. -- G.G.

50. The Diplomats, "Dipset Anthem" (dir. N/A, 2003)

Twenty-plus Harlemites in their baggy, early-2000s best rocking at canted angles away from the camera, arranged on courtyard steps -- this is a movement. This is what power looks like. This is what’s really good. That image primes you for Juelz Santana’s opening line: Today is a new day. And if you haven’t got the message, the beat shifts midway through the video into the magisterial “I Really Mean It” to drop an immaculate Cam’ron into your living room, stepping out of an Escalade in custom pink Dipset Timbs. Truly, did we dream this? -- R.S.

One of the most memorable and instantly accessible tracks in Snoop's extensive oeuvre got a similarly delectable video to match, shot in black and white on a blinding background with Pharrell supportively in tow as his head-nodding sidekick. The video's sleek and casually surreal aesthetic was as ubiquitous at the time as the song itself, and now 15 years later it remains a blast to re-watch, particularly for its cameos by the similarly-ageless Pusha T, Chad Hugo, and Lauren London, not to mention Snoop's young sons at the time. -- D.R.

Orange Caramel have never been bound by K-pop conventions, and “My Copycat” represents the pinnacle of the trio’s out-of-the-box thinking with its interactive game. The full visual experience requires repeat viewings to scope out all of the Easter eggs hidden in each frame, as the sweeping Where’s Waldo shots turn a simple concept into a grandiose design. So this is what Orange Caramel meant when they sang, “Play games with my heart tonight.” -- C.K.

47. Drake feat. Lil Wayne, "HYFR (Hell Ya Fucking Right)" (dir. Director X, 2012)

More than any of us Jewish kids would have ever dared daydream about during Hebrew School: the biggest rapper in the world documenting his own adult Bar Mitzvah, replete with the requisite torah reading, hora dancing, and ever so many popped bottles of Manischewitz. Did three-and-a-half minutes of Drake and Lil Wayne going HAM -- err, going smoked salmon -- on the former's special day do more to get kids to their local congregations on Saturday morning than every rabbinical sermon this century combined? Impossible to say for sure, but chances are the JTS wouldn't wanna see the box score of that showdown. -- A.U.

46. Christina Aguilera, Lil' Kim, Mya & Pink, "Lady Marmalade" (dir. Paul Hunter, 2001)

This clip from the Moulin Rouge soundtrack was more than a music video; it was a pop culture event. And while several groups of lady titans have recently tried to recreate the magic (see: "Girls" and "Bang Bang," to name a few), none have come close to conjuring up the spectacle that was "Lady Marmalade." With Mya's hyper-feminine feathers, Pink's rocker-chic top hat (a possible nod to Slash?), Kim's blinged-out statement necklace, and Xtina's ginormous, crimped mane, the video let each soul sister showcase their own personality without stealing the attention from the ensemble. -- P.C.

45. Tierra Whack, "Whack World" (dir. Thibaut Duverneix and Mathieu Leger, 2018)

Philly rapper Tierra Whack’s 15-track, 15-minute debut is the perfect example of what a full-length visual can, and more importantly should, do for an audio body of work. She delivered a multi-part video so striking it demands attention be paid to the music, and vice versa. Each colorful and often jarring clip -- one (literal) minute she’s getting a manicure with a brutally busted face, and the next she's kicking back in a pet cemetery -- shows the ingenuity of an artist unfamiliar with boundaries. Let’s hope she never finds them. -- LYNDSEY HAVENS

This 2015 remake of Vives’ original video and recording from 1995 is an achingly beautiful love letter to Vives’ native Colombia, where he enlisted help from multiple fellow Colombian stars -- including Fanny Lu, Fonesca and Maluma, each hailing from a different region in the country -- for a stunning, sweeping trip through his homeland. Meanwhile, the evocative lyrics and melancholy, yet danceable melody, bring to mind memories of Gabriel García Marquez. -- L.C.

43. Johnny Cash, "Hurt" (dir. Mark Romanek, 2003)

Whether you knew that country Jesus was knocking on heaven’s door in 2002 or not, this 2003 Mark Romanek masterpiece hits like a slow-motion mule kick to the gut. With his Mt. Rushmore face ravaged by time and hard living, Cash plucks a black guitar in a baroque living room overstuffed with the junk of life, as a montage of snapshots from his younger, hell raisin' years flash across the screen. The devastating, funereal cover of Nine Inch Nails' '90s hit about decay oozes over the unshakable image of a frail Cash pouring out wine at a Last Supper and quick-cuts of Jesus being nailed to the cross. If this final reckoning doesn’t give you shivers, maybe you’re already dead inside. -- GIL KAUFMAN

Intended as his pre-retirement swan song, JAY-Z’s 2003 opus The Black Album gave fans several striking visuals, from “Change Clothes” to “Dirt Off My Shoulders.” But Hovito’s most visceral clip came when he and director Mark Romanek conjured up the black and white video for “99 Problems.” With "Problems" producer Rick Rubin riding shotgun, Jay masterfully illustrates his volatile relationships with the New York streets, the boys in blue and, ultimately, his own demise, as he is violently gunned down at the end of the video. Though Hov never really “faded to black” and continued to release more albums, the video for “99 Problems” had every rap fan petrified at the sheer thought of losing the culture’s most revered hero. Luckily for us, Superman is still taking out rap villains for a living. -- CARL LAMARRE

“Dude, you wanna crash the mall?”

--Avril Lavigne, in the first ten seconds of her first music video for her first single

Can you and your skateboarding friends/bandmates who look like a generic-brand Sum 41 (Sum 31?) really “crash” a mall if it’s daytime and already open? The premise is shaky, but whatever: From her first moment on MTV screens, Avril Lavigne established her extraordinary brand of PG-13 coming-of-age tomfoolery with a music video that’s almost too 2002 to function. The ties! The food court! The Jackass-style stunts! Life gets complicated when your friend starts getting all two-faced and trying on NFL jerseys and jewelry store bling, but finally, suburban early-'00s teens had their keeping-it-real heroine. -- C.P.

40. Lady Gaga, "Paparazzi" (dir. Jonas Àkerlund, 2009)

With the music video running double the length of the song, Gaga's Jonas Åkerlund-directed "Paparazzi" covers a lot of ground: Attempted murder by Alexander Skarsgård, the successful murder of Alexander Skarsgård, old movie homages, Mickey Mouse-esque flip-up glasses, and some of the fiercest looks from Stefani's early avant-dance diva days. The image of crutch-bound Gaga staggering across a purple carpet like Evil Robot Maria from Metropolis -- while her dapper backup dancers vogue behind her -- made it clear that unlike most pop stars on the planet, Gaga was here to get weird. And in 2009, we devoured it like the fame-obsessed monsters she was sending up. -- J. Lynch

39. Kanye West feat. Pusha T, "Runaway" (dir. Kanye West, 2010)

More short film than music video, the genius of "Runaway" comes from its stark simplicity, and the meaning seemingly imbued within it. After the solo repetitive piano note that opens the song summons a troupe of black-clad ballet dancers, West begins to deliver each line with an increasing look of urgency and desperation on his face, ultimately climbing on top of the white piano before giving way to Pusha T's verse and the dancers' graceful stoicism. After building the song to its highest intensity with almost Christlike posture, West then cedes the floor to a ballet showcase as the song's coda wrenches to its conclusion, ultimately ending with the rapper placing hand over heart, somber in one of the most quintessential images of his career. -- D.R.

Ah, “Hollaback Girl:” a video that contains multitudes. This is prime Love.Angel.Music.Baby content, which means the Harajuku Girls -- Stefani’s “super kawaii” but disturbingly silent Japanese girl squad -- are front and center, riding through Van Nuys and Reseda in an Impala behind fearless leader Gwen, twerking, and (quietly) helping her spell “bananas.” The minimalist-meets-marching band sound, courtesy of the Neptunes, is in nearly every frame -- along with Pharrell himself, blessing Stefani with a brief cameo and his ineffable brand of cool. But this video, in the end, is really all about Stefani and the charming ball of contradictions she has increasingly revealed herself to be: a magnetic-enough presence to make us consider her motives, and then abandon any semblance of logical thought to scream “This shit is bananas!” at the top of our lungs. -- R.M.

37. Nicki Minaj, "Anaconda" (dir. Colin Tilley, 2014)

The Sir Mix-a-Lot sample "Anaconda" is built around may have been met with a collective eye roll for its obviousness, but Minaj fully redeemed herself by pairing it with her most memorable visual to date. Between a bikini-clad aerobics session and an unforgettable lap dance (one that Minaj bragged left guest-star recipient Drake, ahem, "excited like hell"), the colorful clip solidified Minaj's superstar status, helping "Anaconda" slither to No. 2 on the Billboard Hot 100, still the rapper's highest peak yet. -- P.C.

36. Rihanna feat. JAY-Z, "Umbrella" (dir. Chris Applebaum, 2007)

A waterfall of sparks, umbrella-based choreography and -- best of all -- an iconic silvered silhouette of one of the biggest pop stars both then and now makes the recipe for this timeless video. It’s the perfect blend of sexy, playful, and artistic -- risqué without being raunchy, thematic without being tacky. But the video’s biggest feat of all is proving that, even if only for Rihanna, it is possible to look that good with an umbrella. -- L.H.

Starring a blonde Lauren Holly as the badass Mary Ann, pre-30 Rock Jane Krakowski as the helpless Wanda, and NYPD Blue star Dennis Franz (outfitted in a purposefully terrible wig) as the title villain, "Goodbye Earl" is a delightfully campy and colorful video from the Dixie Chicks about "the best of friends" who poison the titular character after he beats up Wanda. It's a tale that highlights the power of the female bond, without making light of its serious subject matter. Yes, "Earl had to die," but the clip shows us just how sweet revenge can be -- and by video's end, even a zombified Earl has joined in on the hoedown. -- D.W.

Like the song itself, the 2002 music video for “Without Me” is a fragmentation grenade of rapid-fire images designed to level Eminem’s critics -- most of which he plays in the video himself. The rapper uses battery cables to fry a quasi-mechanical Dick Cheney lookalike and flips off his mother Debbie (Em in a blond metal wig, natch) as she appears on a When Sons Go Bad talk show. And Shady Records lieutenant Obie Trice, in a cameo, body slams Em-as-Moby, who called Shady’s music homophobic and misogynistic. But the real thrill of this clip is watching Shady and partner-in-crime Dr. Dre dressed, respectively, as comic-book characters Robin and Blade, head-bouncing with abandon as they rush to save a minor from purchasing a copy of The Eminem Show, which carries a Parental Advisory sticker. -- F.D.

Think of another outfit that’s had such decades-long legs. Everyone who's seen this spacey Nigel Dick-directed mini-space epic -- the follow-up to the equally one-of-a-kind “… Baby One More Time” -- can instantly picture Brit’s second-skin red pleather catsuit (which was her idea, as was the concept of dancing on Mars). The whole experience is a crash course in Britney 101: seductive, if a bit wooden, group dancing; hard-core eye contact with the camera; requisite bare mid-riff squirming; and a silly comedic bit, all of which remain key parts of the star's rust-free brand blueprint to this day. -- G.K.

32. Tyler, the Creator, "Yonkers" (dir. Wolf Haley, 2011)

Tyler, the Creator had a vision: “‘I’m sitting on a chair rapping, I’m playing with a bug, I eat it, I throw it up, my eyes go black, and I hang myself.’ That was his treatment,” explained director Anthony Mandler (Beyoncé’s “Get Me Bodied,” Rihanna’s “Man Down”) in a 2011 interview. Mandler, along with director of photography Luis “Panch” Perez, gave Tyler the guidance and equipment he needed to self-direct the black-and-white, tilt-shifted video for “Yonkers." In the breakout clip, Tyler does exactly what he outlined: He sits in a chair, lets a giant cockroach crawl over his hands, appears to take a bite, pukes, blacks out his eyes, and hangs himself. Effective enough to make stomachs the world over turn -- and earn Tyler one of the all-time least-likely nods for a Video of the Year VMA. -- C.W.

Fittingly, one of the century’s most beloved No. 1 hits arrived with a timeless visual. Carly Rae flips the male gaze of voyeuristic videos past and becomes the behind-the-blinds observer snooping on a backyard hottie, her giddy enthusiasm matching the lyrical tone perfectly. She’s fanning herself from the heat of the shirtless car-washing hunk a little too vigorously, fantasizing herself into the cover of the kitschy romance novel that’s sitting on her coffee table. She eventually musters the courage to make it out of the living room and into the steamy driveway scene, where the iconic “here’s my number” exchange leads to one similarly expectation-subverting final plot twist. -- C.P.

30. Fountains of Wayne, "Stacy's Mom" (dir. Chris Applebaum, 2003)

"We looked at a lot of treatments and some directors were trying to be kind of arty and subtle with it, but Chris Applebaum went completely for the jugular,” Fountains of Wayne guitarist Adam Schlesinger said of the Applebaum-directed “Stacy’s Mom” clip in a 2004 interview. In retrospect, there was no better approach for the surprise pop smash: the broad, brightly colored comedy here -- driven by model Rachel Hunter in the titular role -- accentuates the song’s storytelling while mixing in some fantasy elements and highly appropriate Ric Ocasek references. Special kudos to Shane Habouca as the teen protagonist, so nimbly capturing the weird, confusing wonder that is male puberty. -- J. Lipshutz

29. Luis Fonsi & Daddy Yankee, "Despacito" (dir. Carlos Peréz, 2017)

The most-watched video in YouTube history, directed by Carlos Perez, is an unabashed celebration of all things Latin, from the opening guitars and the vistas of Puerto Rico to the brightly painted homes of La Perla with their religious icons and chickens on the porch. And finally, there’s the dancing. Clichéd? Maybe, but totally real, and so expertly realized, we couldn’t help but watch. Ultimately, 5.3 billion viewers can’t be wrong. -- L.C.

You can ask Kendrick Lamar, and he'll tell you that one of his early inspirations was Missy Elliott. In the late '90s and early 2000s, Elliott bloomed into a music video savant because of her audacious attempts to do the impossible in under five minutes. In '01, Elliott wiped the competition with her Dave Meyers-shot visual for "Get Ur Freak On." The funky track included a starry cast, with appearances by Ludacris, Busta Rhymes, and Eve. Meanwhile, Missy rhymes inside of an underground sewer, glides on top of a chandelier -- and just when you thought the fun was over -- she even sneaks in a quick verse from her Miss E LP highlight "Lick Shots" to restart the party all over again. -- C.L.

27. Charli XCX, "Boys" (dir. Charli XCX & Sarah McColgan, 2017)

If you came for “Boys,” it’s boys you’ll find in this genius self-directed visual by Charli XCX -- approximately 60 of them, in fact, from Diplo bench-pressing puppies and Joe Jonas seductively feasting on pancakes to Charlie Puth hosting a car wash. Did we mention the whole thing is bathed in millennial pink? The idea, Charli told BBC Radio 1, was to reverse traditional music video gender roles, making dudes do “all the sexy things that girls usually do in videos.” Whip-smart, thought-provoking, and fun as hell -- not to mention providing fans with enough GIFs to last a Twitter lifetime -- “Boys” set the Internet into mayhem, and left it with a message. -- T.C.

26. Christina Aguilera feat. Redman, "Dirrty" (dir. David LaChapelle, 2002)

In the world of pop divadom, frequent reinvention isn’t just a choice, it’s practically a rule. But back in 2002, Christina Aguilera, loathful of her prefab pop princess persona, committed to one of the most explosive image resets in history with a red thong, a pair of chaps, and a dance move that would come to be known as “the slut drop.” You can only imagine the kind of language her critics used against her, and, indeed, there was plenty of outrage, vitriol, and mean-spirited mocking flung her way. Still, Aguilera seemed to weather the attention like a pro, and outlets that gave the young singer a chance to explain herself were treated to a brief lesson in sexual agency that was years beyond the general public’s understanding back then: “I may have been the naked-ass girl in the video,” she told Blender in 2003, "but if you at it carefully, I’m also at the forefront. I’m not just some lame chick in a rap video; I’m in the power position.” Guess Bionic wasn’t her only work ahead of its time. -- N.F.

What better way to play up the youthful sensation of a first love than with LEGOs, a classic toy for a classic rock song. The toy of choice works in a surprising way here, as the figurines capture the similarly unclear mindset of a boy so confused by love he believes “the two sides of my brain need to have a meeting.” But, most impressive of all is how the video turns something seemingly so simple into something much more complex -- reportedly, the video was shot frame by frame, requiring the LEGOs to be rebuilt each time -- a situation that anyone who has ever fallen in love is likely all too familiar with. -- L.H.

There’s a long and tired history of Justin Timberlake using Britney Spears as a punch line, and, sure, the concept of of a disgruntled ex breaking into his former girlfriend’s house and lurking menacingly while she showers hasn’t aged well. But the kind of pettiness on display in the captivating “Cry Me a River” is an extinct breed: a revenge fantasy that doesn’t bother with plausible deniability or subtle shady references, and instead lets its darkest impulses curdle in the open for all to see. It wasn’t pretty, but it swung big -- and everyone grabbed the popcorn and gave in to the twisted voyeurism of it all. -- N.F.

A bold, candy-colored cornucopia of delectable delights from start to finish, the 2010 Mathew Cullen-directed clip features Perry -- sometimes covered only in strategically placed cotton candy, other times in a whipped-cream exploding bra, and always in a day-glo wig -- as a pawn in Snoop Dogg’s Queens of Candyfornia board game, though of course she escapes Snoop's clutches to lead a dance party on the beach. The only way the video would be better were if it were actually edible, especially Snoop Dogg’s army of bird-flipping gummy bears. -- M.N.

M.I.A. and director Romain Gavras had already proven that they could make an unforgettable video with 2010’s highly controversial “Born Free" -- and two years later, they did it again with “Bad Girls.” Shot in Morocco, the video depicts Saudi drifting, where cars ride on their sides on only two wheels. Scenes of stunt men and women sitting on the outside of the tilted rides are juxtaposed with shots of M.I.A. and a glam posse of women covered in animal prints and metallic fabrics. Not one to be a bystander, M.I.A. even gets in on the drifting action, as she’s filmed lounging on the passenger door of a white BMW, filing her nails as the car cruises along sideways. How could the duo top that? “The next video needs to be shot on the moon,” Gavras mused in a behind-the-scenes video. “With hookers.”

This is a boy band video with a complex dramatic setup: We open in a dimly lit vaudeville theater, where the boys of *NSYNC hang from strings, manipulated from above by a diabolical but very pretty lady, who then cuts each of said strings to set one beautifully-coiffed *NSYNC member at a time on his very own mini-action adventure, racing cars through the desert or running across the top of a locomotive, Bond-style. But let’s be honest: That’s not what we’re here for. We’re here to see baby-faced J.T. mean mug for the camera! We’re here to see J.C. torturously belt his “Byyyyye baaaaby!” ad-lib. And above all, we are here to see the dance moves --- the steps that would go on to be repeated at countless school dances and house parties, and that will certainly go down in music video history as some of the most classic choreography ever captured. Even if they were doing it in some sort of intergalactic vacuum, as *NSYNC appear to be in the “Bye Bye Bye” video, it was impossible to look away -- and easy to imagine, as we followed those moves in our living rooms, that we could transcend the screen and live in their magical world, too. -- R.M.

20. OK Go, "Here It Goes Again" (dir. Trish Sie, 2006)

In 2006, long before Kim Kardashian broke the Internet, this Chicago band went viral with what is otherwise known as “the treadmill video,” a self-choreographed DIY affair -- with the help of lead singer Damian Kulash’s sister Trish Sie, who was working as a ballroom dancer at the time. The clip features the band executing a series of (mostly) precision dance moves on six moving treadmills, and if you’ve ever fallen off one of those things, the video is as thrilling as it is entertaining, helping it rack up a reported 900,000 views in a single day. It wasn’t the first ambitious video the group had recorded -- see 2002's “C-C-C-Cinnamon Lips” -- nor would it be the last, as the band would only scale up with subsequent visuals, most recently culminating in 2016's “Upside Down & Inside Out,” shot in a plane that simulated zero gravity. How they’ll top that one remains to be seen, but we'll probably find out soon enough. -- F.D.

19. Miley Cyrus, "Wrecking Ball" (dir. Terry Richardson, 2013)

“Wrecking Ball” was not the lead single for the all-grown-up coming-out party that was Miley Cyrus' Bangerz, but nothing from that era, not even her controversial MTV Video Music Awards performance, forced viewers to recognize Cyrus on her own terms more than this Terry Richardson-directed clip. In it, Cyrus doesn’t push buttons -- she, well, uses a sturdy tool often found at constructions sites to smash them, doing whatever she can to inspire feeling, any feeling, in those watching. There’s the raw play for emotion with the tearful close-ups, which Cyrus has said were meant to evoke Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares 2 U." And then there’s the more polarizing attention-grabs -- Cyrus licking a sledgehammer, appearing naked atop the title object as it swings around. Cyrus did whatever she could to get a reaction, and she didn’t care what kind she got as long as people were looking. “I think people are going to hate it,” she told Rolling Stone at the time, “and then when we get to the bridge, they’re gonna have a little tear and be like, ‘Fuck you!’ … It’s something that people are not gonna forget.” -- N.F.

18. Sia, "Chandelier" (dir. Sia & Daniel Askill)

Ever the elusive star, Sia opted to sit out the videos for 2014’s 1000 Forms of Fear. It yielded some of the most exhilarating visuals of the time, with a notable assist from then-pre-teen dancer Maddie Ziegler, then known for starring on Lifetime’s Dance Moms. Clad in a white, tight-cropped wig that resembles Sia’s signature coif, Ziegler stepped in for three of the videos from the set, most notably “Chandelier,” a clip with over 1.5 billion YouTube views, which tracks her as she dances through a dilapidated apartment, breathing life into the drab and mundane surroundings around her -- and making a star out of its absent singer. -- S.J.H.

17. My Chemical Romance, "Helena" (dir. Marc Webb, 2005)

It wasn't supposed to rain on set, but of course it did: My Chemical Romance and Marc Webb brought the emo downpour for "Helena," and the elements simply responded in turn. One ofthree brilliant video collaborations between band and director for MCR's starmaking Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge album, "Helena" was both the simplest and the most affecting: Its balletic funeral proceeding made for the best high-concept rock melodarama since Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris were doing feature-film dry runs with Smashing Pumpkins a decade earlier. But for all the elaborate choreography and staging, the most indelible moment remains the curl of lead singer Gerard Way's lower lip as he sings the final tearjerking chorus -- a reminder that the song was inspired by Gerard and bassist brother Mikey's late grandmother, and thus the video held far more weight than just the prop coffin they were carrying. -- A.U.

16. Drake, "Hotline Bling" (dir. Director X, 2014)

The dorky dad moves, the Sean Paul references, the pastel lighting reminiscent of artist James Turrell, the slightly passive-aggressive lyrics, the D.R.A.M. "Cha Cha” controversy, the parodies, the endless memes! There was no way that anyone could escape the pop culture phenomenon that was Drake’s “Hotline Bling” video. Helmed by Director X, the video catches you off guard by beginning with a bunch of Drizzy-approved women working at -- what else -- a call center. As the camera zooms into the water cooler just 20 seconds in, the dancing that sparked a thousand GIFs begins. No matter how hard you try to look away, Drake keeps you lured in with every corny salsa step, cell phone-imitating hand wiggle, and agonized facial expression. Being the cultural mastermind that he is, Drake had to have predicted the video’s outcome. And somehow that makes it all the more brilliant. -- B.G.

15. Kendrick Lamar, "HUMBLE." (dir. Dave Meyers & The Little Homies, 2017)

Kendrick Lamar’s Grammy-winning video for “Humble” is a lesson in irony: While the song is a finger-wagging anthem about modesty, the video itself is overflowing with wealth -- both physical and metaphorical. Opening with Pope Lamar in a vacant church, the video rapidly shifts through scenes of the rapper playfully toying with a money machine, enjoying Grey Poupon, and teeing off atop a car’s roof. But the more memorable parts highlight black-centric symbolism. With Lamar recreating Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper with all black men and and a woman fearlessly displaying her stretch marks, the video becomes yet another celebration of the culture in the rapper’s visual armory. -- B.G.

14. Lady Gaga feat. Beyoncé, "Telephone" (dir. Jonas Åkerlund, 2010)

What happens when you pair up two of the most influential female pop stars in recent history for a music video? That would be “Telephone,” the gloriously ridiculous, nine-and-a-half-minute spectacle from director Jonas Åkerlund that involves a women’s prison, Beyoncé (ahem, “Honeybee”) feeding Lady Gaga a pastry, a murder at a diner, a poison sandwich-making tutorial, Quentin Tarantino references aplenty, and a dance sequence that has spawned dozens of YouTube tutorials. If all that’s not enough to make “Telephone” an instant classic, consider that the video is actually a continuation of Gaga’s “Paparazzi” video from the year prior, with the same director -- which ends with Gaga in the can -- and let your mind be blown. Could a third installment be in our future? We can only hope. -- T.C.

13. Taylor Swift, "Blank Space" (dir. Joseph Kahn, 2015)

After years of receiving criticism for writing songs about her exes, Taylor Swift stuck it to the haters with a visual portrayal of just how “insane” she seems to former suitors and critics alike. The result is the singer’s best video to date, as “Blank Space" makes a mockery of the crazy-ex persona while entrancing viewers with imagery that’s both fanciful and harrowing. The video sets up a classic romance with a handsome guy, a breathtaking mansion, stunning gowns, and white horses (plus a cameo from her celebrity cat Olivia Benson), turning the seemingly perfect relationship on its head once infidelity and jealousy strike. Swift’s acting is brilliant as she takes a knife to painted portraits of her beau, chops up his clothes, and sings with mascara streaming down her face — almost making it believable that she’s as crazy as naysayers make her out to be. Whether you think she loves the drama or it loves her, Taylor Swift always makes sure her videos tell a story, and “Blank Space” could be its own damn novel. -- T.W.

12. PSY, "Gangnam Style" (dir. Cho Soo-Hyun, 2012)

It's hard to believe that it's been over half a decade since the satirical dance track "Gangnam Style" took the world by storm to become the first-ever video to be viewed over 1 billion times. With its over-the-top antics aimed at mocking the denizens of Seoul's Gangnam neighborhood, numerous cameos from local comedians and pop stars, and its easy-to-learn equine choreography, PSY’s video became a surprise global sensation that turned all eyes to South Korea’s music industry. Though it’s no longer the world’s most-viewed music video, the legacy of “Gangnam Style” remains. -- T.H.

11. JAY-Z & Kanye West, "Otis" (dir. Spike Jonze, 2011)

What part of 2011's impossibly joyful video for "Otis" feels the least likely in 2018? That it had a world premiere on MTV (like, MTV the cable TV channel) with a rebroadcast on MTV2 a couple hours later? That the most controversial thing about it -- the thing that necessitated a disclaimer at the end -- was that the needless deconstruction of the vehicle used for the clip's joyriding would be seen as financially irresponsible? That the big celebrity cameo comes from a silent Aziz Ansari? That Kanye appears to be having an absolute blast? That Jay and Kanye act like they genuinely love each other? Or is it that there's a gigantic American flag plastered on the wall behind the duo, with no message seemingly attached to it except to ask, "How could you not love a country where we get to do shit like this?" At the time, the point felt like a strong one. -- A.U.

10. Childish Gambino, "This Is America" (dir. Hiro Murai, 2018)

We get the music videos we want, but also sometimes the ones we need. Amid racial strife stirred up by a president who blames “both sides” and endless uniformed violence against minority men and women came actor/rapper Donald Glover’s funky, neck-snapping surprise statement. As Gambino, Glover -- dressed in Confederate Army grey pants and no shirt in a possible nod to Afrofunk godhead/provocateur Fela Kuti -- busts hip-cracking African Gwara Gwara dance moves while shooting a hooded black man and striking a pose straight outta Jim Crow imagery. Yes, it’s a lot. Released as Glover rebooted intergalactic schemer Lando Calrissian in Disney’s Solo, the sight of the Atlanta star grabbing his suddenly global platform and gunning down a church choir with a machine gun (à la the Charleston church massacre) then sprinting away from the Sunken Place tells you everything about the current state of the nation. -- G.K.

9. Fatboy Slim, "Weapon of Choice" (dir. Spike Jonze, 2000)

"Weapon of Choice" predicted the viral video as well as any other clip released in the pre-YouTube era, down to the fact that a lot of the people who remember the video probably couldn't name who its song was by: Undoubtedly, at least half of the clip's Internet traffic comes from "Christopher Walken hotel dancing" searches. "Choice" was a good song but a sensational video, one that brings the aforementioned four-word concept to such improbable three-dimensional life that it remains compulsively watchable even after the 57th time you're seeing the guy who played Max Shreck doing the hands-in-pockets shimmy. The key? Those beginning and closing shots of a silent, still Walken seated in deep contemplation, with only the whirring sounds of hotel maintenance showing signs of life around him, as existentially haunting as anything Beckett ever staged. -- A.U.

8. Beyoncé, "Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)" (dir. Jake Nava, 2008)

Kanye West nearly committed career suicide when he crashed the MTV VMAs stage in 2010 to interrupt Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech for Best Female Video: “I’ma let you finish,” he infamously commented, “but Beyonce had one of the best videos of all time!” He wasn't wrong, though -- directed by Jake Nava, the stunning, breathless visuals for “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” marked a turning point in Beyoncé’s career: She had proven herself so talented, so enrapturing, that all you really needed to pull off a milestone video was to simply train the camera on her in an empty room and let her handle the rest. The resulting clip is an unstoppable assailing of the senses: Bey, clad in an over-the-shoulder leotard, is joined by two backup dancers, all in heels, hitting a for-experts dance routine and making it look simple. As the background gradient shifts colors and the cameras circle her, she never breaks focus for even a split second, keeping the energy on full throttle. It’s no wonder West put his name and rep on the line for the sake of the video -- Beyoncé earned it. -- S.J.H.

7. Britney Spears, "Toxic" (dir. Joseph Kahn, 2004)

Britney Spears gifted the 21st century with a number of indelible looks, and the "Toxic" video boasts an embarrassment of them: Britney the Mile High Club-bound stewardess whose kiss turns a schlubby passenger into a stunning model; Britney the laser-tripping secret agent with fire engine-red hair; and of course, Britney in the buff, covered in diamonds and writhing around the floor like the Bond Girl to end all Bond Girls. Whether prancing down the aisle of an airplane or poisoning her boyfriend (five years before "Paparazzi") and jumping off a balcony into the night, "Toxic" Britney wiped clean the schoolgirl imagery and set the tone for the next 15 years of her career: Breathtaking, flawlessly executed camp that was closer to drag culture than fashion week. -- J. Lynch

6. Rihanna & Calvin Harris, "We Found Love" (dir. Melina Matsoukas, 2011)

Anyone who wondered if pop stars had lost their ability to excite, to surprise, to unnerve with their music videos had to feel the "We Found Love" clip like a bolt of lightning to the chest. Melina Matsoukas' dizzying visual for Rihanna's career-recalibrating smash Calvin Harris collab was a tale of a toxic relationship starring RiRi and a pouty, peroxide-blond gentleman who looks a lot like oh-take-a-guess, edited like a light-speed four-minute relationship montage that recreates the shock all music videos must've delivered to fans of classic Hollywood back in '81. Like Trainspotting, what makes "We Found Love" really frightening is how palpably electric the highs are, enough to make it plausible that its star would do what it took to feed her addiction initially. But that doesn't mean you don't still breathe a sigh of relief when she decides to choose life at the end instead. -- A.U.

5. OutKast, "Hey Ya!" (dir. Bryan Barber, 2003)

Coming up on the 15th anniversary of its release, “Hey Ya!” remains an infectious slice of pop culture -- as does its video. A twist on the Beatles’ own era-defining appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1964, “Hey Ya!” finds OutKast turning the British Invasion on its ear, complete with black & white footage, a screaming female audience, a black family viewing the momentous TV performance at home, and Ryan Phillippe in the guise of host Sullivan. Speaking of guises, Big Boi acts as the band manager, while André 3000 portrays all eight band members, including background group The Love Haters -- all garbed in eye-catching green finery. During the two-day shoot in Los Angeles, André reportedly performed “Hey Ya!” 23 times. Beyond introducing the phrase “shake it like a Polaroid picture” into the pop lexicon, OutKast also single-handedly revitalized the camera company’s public image. The Bryan Barber-directed video later won a bevy of awards, including video of the year at the 2004 MTV Video Music Awards. -- G.M.

4. Beyoncé, "Formation" (dir. Melina Matsoukas, 2016)

Beyoncé stopped the world for the umpteenth time when she dropped the explosive song and video for “Formation," just a day before performing the anthem at Super Bowl 50. Frequent collaborator Melina Matsoukas may have shot the video in Los Angeles, but every second is deeply rooted in Louisiana and its Creole background -- the ancestral origin of Beyoncé’s mother, Tina Knowles Lawson. The historical references are overwhelming: the Antebellum-style houses, Beyoncé’s Victorian hoop skirts and petticoats, the now-legendary wide-brimmed hat suitable for American Horror Story: Coven, Blue Ivy happily rocking her fluffy afro, the singer being submerged underwater while on top of a police car as a nod to Hurricane Katrina , the inclusion of New Orleans stars Big Freedia and the late Messy Mya. At one point in the video, a young boy is seen dancing in front of a line of gun-clad officers, who respond by putting their hands up. In a time where racial tensions were climbing to new, uncomfortable heights, “Formation” served as an active reminder that black people could not be silenced. To top it all off, the “Formation” video dropped just a few months before the singer’s second Super Bowl halftime performance, which further shoved its socio-political message in the face of America. -- B.G.

3. D'Angelo, "Untitled (How Does It Feel?)" (dir. Paul Hunter, 2000)

Naked as the day he was born, save for a gold chain and bracelet, D’Angelo is the entirety of the simple, single-take video for “Untitled.” The song asks how does it feel. and the video attempts to answer what it looks like, and it does so with such candor that the song and video have become inseparable. You see parts of this man’s body move, tense, and ripple in ways that must’ve been previously only available to his romantic partners. From the vantage of 2018, the self-scrutinizing gloom that it cast on his career, the way it fueled his performance anxiety as fans showed up to the post-video tour dates expecting total access to Adonis each night, feels safely in the rearview. D’Angelo returned in 2014 with Black Messiah and toured successfully after its release, allowing us to once again to just admire the physicality and emotion of one of the greatest sex jams ever made. -- R.S.

2. Missy Elliott, "Work It" (dir. Dave Meyers, 2002)

While most of her contemporaries settled for music videos that made them look tough or sexy, Missy Elliott got strange with hers, and "Work It" is a perfect distillation of her idiosyncratic vision of warped world. From upside-down dance moves on a post-apocalyptic playground to Missy swallowing a Lamborghini whole and donning a dunce cap for the deliciously goofy "why you act dumb?" segment, Elliott pushed imagery into the mainstream that most rappers, rockers, and pop stars wouldn't dare go near in an era before being "weird" or "nerdy" had cultural cache. Sure, someone else might have a Prince parody or a split-second Halle Berry cameo in their clip, but would they also have a U.S. Marine mouthing "give you some-some-some of this Cinnabun" or the lead artist lip-syncing to camera while bees swarm their face? Like its forward-thinking Under Construction parent album, Missy's "Work It" video made it clear that what was normal was boring, and the future belonged to those who weren't afraid to defy expectations, conventions, and even gravity on occasion. -- J. Lynch

1. Lady Gaga, "Bad Romance" (dir. Francis Lawrence, 2009)

By the time she crawled out of your mom’s Volvo roof box to deliver her first rah-rah-rahs, Lady Gaga had already hosted a poolside orgy, transformed the subway into her debaucherous lair, and sought poisonous revenge on Alexander Skarsgård for throwing her off the edge of a castle. Her ideas were big; her budgets were catching up. But the video for “Bad Romance,” the lead single from 2009’s The Fame Monster, went beyond the kind of spectacle that rising superstars like her had the resources to pull off. It offered a glimpse into an entire cinematic world that thrilled and disturbed in equal measure, expanding the possibilities of what a music video could achieve -- and challenging other stars to step their game up at the same time.

“Bad Romance” features some of her most gorgeous music-video looks -- as silly as it seems now in the post-Joanne era, the video was praised by some critics for the “stripped-down” and “normal” makeup on display -- as well as her most unsettling. The white crowned bodysuits look like Max from Where the Wild Things Are hit up a fetish club. The bathtub-bound Gaga with CGI-enlarged eyes beckoned to the uncanny valley. And despite all the glossy, sterile exteriors abound, an element of body horror lurks underneath the surface, from shots that linger over dancers’ exaggerated bony spines to the emaciated Gaga-monster hiding in a cage during the second verse. Pause the video at any moment and you’ll probably find yourself starting at something worth dissecting; even the briefest scenes and cutaways -- Gaga suspended in a cloud of diamonds, Gaga covering her face with razor-blade sunglasses, Gaga stomping around in alienesque Alexander McQueen heels -- could have sustained their own storylines as standalone videos.

Those mini-moments were mostly in service of a bigger story, one in which Gaga gets kidnapped and drugged by models, sold into some kind of sexual slavery via an ominous pack of Russian men, and eventually enacts a fiery revenge plot. Considering how “Bad Romance” cemented the branding and iconography of her “Little Monster” fanbase -- witness the birth of the monster claw! -- it’s a little ironic that Gaga has described the video’s plot as an allegory about the entertainment industry, one that asks viewers to examine their relationship to their idols, what they ask of them, and at what cost they get it.

Of course, Lady Gaga would go on to make more elaborate music videos than “Bad Romance” -- the mini-movie that was “Telephone,” the space opera that was “Born This Way,” each weaving in social commentary in both obvious and subtle ways. But more than providing any one look, dance move, or message, "Bad Romance" was a supernova reminder that there was still so much room to push the art form -- and that no one was more game to lead the charge than the free bitch herself, baby. It’s fitting that the video ends with the singer torching the place and everything in her path, lying among the embers and shooting sparks out of her pyro-bra. With “Bad Romance,” she took the old standard for great music videos and set it aflame, then got to work building a new one. -- N.F.

This content was originally published here.

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marril96 · 5 years

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The Distance Between Us

Chapter 9: Witch’s Familiar

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: The time for the Halloween dance has come.

Editor: @cherrypierowena

You loved Halloween, you really did, but your idea of it was more sitting in front of the computer as the latest horror movie played on screen than a dance full of people you couldn't stand clad in cheap costumes and getting blackout drunk.

Yet here you were. At school. At seven PM. Dressed up as a cat; furry suit, fuzzy ears, and fluffy tail, all black as night.

You looked ridiculous.

No more ridiculous than the girls dressed as slutty nurses, but still ridiculous.

Your friends begged to differ, but then, they looked no better than you so it wasn't like they had any place to comment.

Sam and Dean had showed up in plaid shirts, worn jeans, and brown boots. Basically their everyday attire, but they claimed to be monster hunters. They carried ridiculous looking plastic knives (which still earned them odd looks from teachers at the entrance, one of whom had demanded to inspect said "weapons" despite their quite obvious fakeness) and had painted on some scars and tattoos on their arms. Dean had given himself a scar over his entire face, stretching from the right side of his forehead to his left cheek. Claimed it made him look more badass. Which was actually, strangely, true.

Castiel was an angel, dressed in all white (including the trench coat). He'd stuck a fluffy halo atop his head, and had on a pair of wings, big and feathery. You were tempted to rip out a feather or two. His glare at having seen right through you stopped you in your tracks.

Meg was clad in black leather from head to toe. Her eyes were full black, courtesy of contacts, and she had on wings that looked identical to Castiel's, only his were white while hers were ink black.

And Crowley…

Crowley had on a suit, one that almost looked tailored specifically to him. A crown was perched on his head, black with blood-red crystals. He wore red contacts, making his eyes look like menacing rubies.

"Lemme guess," you'd said the first thing you saw him. "A demon."

He'd looked at you with such offense, as if you'd just insulted his mother. Throwing a quick glance Meg's way, he'd made a face and told you, "King of Hell."

Because of course he was.

What else would he be?

Stupid you.

You didn't exactly have many ideas for your costume. Dressing up wasn't your thing, especially when it came to school-related events.

Browsing the local costume shop, nothing stood out to you as special, as you. You were there more as a courtesy. You weren't even sure if you would show up to the dance.

Then you remembered Rowena. Remembered her smile, so happy, so bright, as she showed you her dress.

You had to see her in that dress.

You didn't know why. Didn't understand the euphoria that went through you at the image of her clad in it, of the fabric hugging every curve of her body.

That was when it occurred to you that you could be a cat. A black one.

Witch's familiar.

You wondered if she would get the reference. If anyone would, for that matter.

It was silly, really, but oh, well. It was a school dance, not a castle gala. Silliness was basically law.

"Drink?" Crowley asked. He looked around to make sure the coast was clear, then pulled a flask out of his inner pocket and took a big swig.

Whiskey most likely.

You made a face. "No, thanks."

He shrugged. "More for me."

He took another swig. Then another.

Nice.

The dance had just started, and he'd already started working on getting drunk.

"Easy there, your majesty. Leave some for later."

With a sly smirk, he opened up his suit jacket, revealing three more flasks neatly stashed in each pocket. "A king always comes prepared."

Of course he did.

"I'm not driving you home because of your preparations," you threatened.

He held his hands up in a placating manner.

"And I'm not helping you walk. You're not drooling on my shoulder. Again."

One time, a few months ago, was more than enough.

"Thanks for the warning, love, but I can handle my liquor," he said in a modest tone that was faker than his title.

You laughed out loud, right in his face.

"What's up?" Sam asked, breaking through the crowd of costumed bodies with Dean in tow. Both held plastic cups filled to the brim with foamy amber liquid that didn't look like juice.

"Crowley's a drunk," you said. Before the king could utter a response (which earned you a middle finger from him instead), you asked, "Where'd you get that?"

"Some seniors snuck in a six pack," Dean said with a shit-eating grin. He took a sip of his beer, then another before finally downing half a cup.

Beer. One of Dean Winchester's weaknesses, right alongside hot chicks, porn, pie, and Jack Daniel's.

You stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. How did one sneak in a six pack?

You decided you didn't want to know.

They were seniors. It was explanation enough. Just like that time Garth Fitzgerald did something that got the entire school evacuated and guys in hazmat suits called in. How? It didn't matter. All that was known was that whatever he'd done occurred in the chem lab and it was an honest to god accident.

It had happened, and everyone had gotten a day off.

And tonight, everyone who wanted would get to party properly.

Crowley opened up his jacket again, flashing the goodies right in the Winchesters' faces. "Amateurs."

Dean's face lit up. "Crowley, my man!"

Crowley held up a hand. "No."

"Come on."

"You get nothing."

"Don't be a dick."

"I'm proud of the title."

He looked it.

"I'll pay you," Dean said.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "How much?"

The elder Winchester peeked into his wallet. "I got two bucks."

Crowley looked offended. A flicker of amusement flashed over his face. "Generous, but no."

"You're an ass!" Dean whined.

Crowley sighed. "Need I remind you what happened last time?"

Dean, drunk out of his ass, had stolen and then drank his entire stash. And had gotten so sick he'd almost ended up at the ER.

Crowley knew better than to let his guard down around him. Fool him once and all that.

"I was wasted back then," Dean said.

"And you'll be wasted this time. Not on my account." Crowley shooed at him as if he were a pesky stray. "Off you go."

Dean did, in fact, go away, became one with the crowd, but not before holding up a middle finger.

"Charming," Crowley quipped with a smirk.

"You guys should just fuck and get it over with," you teased.

You knew Crowley would happily take that option. He never said anything, but you could tell he was attracted to Dean. And Sam. And Castiel. Maybe even Meg and you.

Crowley was attracted to everyone. Flirted with everyone. And, if given the chance, slept with everyone.

You still loved him to bits, but only as a friend. He was attractive, and funny, and could be sweet when he wanted to, but he was your friend. That was what you loved him as. Nothing more and nothing less.

"I'm in if he's in," Crowley said suggestively.

You laughed. If he were a girl, it most likely would have happened yet.

Sam, through a laugh, said, "I'm gonna go find Eileen. See if she wants to dance."

Eileen Leahy was a cute and sweet Sophomore girl Sam sometimes saw in the library. They would make an adorable couple.

"Leaves just you and me," Crowley said, cocking up a teasing eyebrow. "Up for a dance?"

"I can't dance," you pointed out.

"You can stand and watch me dance."

An offer you couldn't refuse. "Sure."

It wasn't like you had anything better to do.

Grabbing your hand, he dragged you into the crowd. People were drinking. Dancing. Moving and swaying to the rhythm of the loud, deafening music blasting through the speakers. So many different costumes surrounded you; some good, some terrible, but, despite the quality of their attire, everyone seemed to be having an amazing time.

Without warning, Crowley took your hands into his and started dancing. He was a great dancer. A rather sophisticated one. He moved just the right way. No mistakes, no slip ups. Just good, old-fashioned dancing.

What the hell.

If he could do it, if all these other kids could do it, so could you.

Talent didn't matter.

It was all about enjoyment.

You let Crowley spin you around. Let him pull you in and out. You were stiff, more robot than human, but you moved alongside him, copied everything he did to the best of your — rather limited — ability.

No one paid attention.

No one pointed and laughed.

Everyone was lost in their own joy.

"Where did you learn how to dance?" you asked, shouting to be heard over the music.

"Dance school," Crowley said.

Seriously?

He didn't seem like the type.

But then, it was Crowley. Everything was possible.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"You don't look like the type to go to an extra school."

Or school in general.

"Mother signed me up," he said, shrugging. "Quit when I was ten. Seemed like a waste of time."

Now that was more like him.

You chuckled.

"Still got the moves."

"They're great moves," you said.

He spun you around again.

Right into someone's back.

Shit!

"I'm so sorry," you said.

The person you'd crashed into whipped around, pissed to high heavens.

Then your eyes met and all anger vanished in a blink, replaced by surprise. A quite welcome one.

"Y/N?"

"Rowena," you breathed out.

It took everything in you to regain your composure. She was gorgeous. Stunning. Mesmerizing. The sparkly black dress fit her perfectly, hugged her every curve as if molded on her body. Her nails were painted black, and she wore a pointy hat adorned with spider web patterns.

Dear god!

She was the most beautiful witch you'd ever seen.

"I didn't think you'd come," she said, flashing a bright smile.

Neither did you.

"Thought I'd have some fun, after all the math," you said.

She gave a small laugh.

"How's that going for you?"

"Good. When I'm not crashing into people."

"Och, it was nothing."

Right.

That was why she wanted to rip your head off — until she noticed it was you.

Did that mean you weren't on her shit list anymore? That her mean girl persona didn't apply to you?

What a privilege.

Rowena narrowed her eyes at her brother. "Fergus."

"Sister," he retorted in a rather uninterested tone.

Such sibling love.

"It's so nice to see you guys," Lucifer said cheerfully.

He was dressed in all red, with red contacts and horns stuck atop his head.

The devil.

Fitting.

You flinched, having not noticed him. You were too distracted by the beautiful witch to notice the garbage that came with the package.

Rowena may have become nicer to you, but that didn't make her choice of boyfriends any less disgusting.

"The feeling's not mutual," you said, then turned to Crowley. "Come on, I wanna get something to drink."

"You're leaving?" The devil pouted. "What did I do?"

"You exist," you replied.

He dramatically slammed a hand over his heart. "Ouch. That hurt my feelings."

Good, you thought. Fucking awesome!

Rowena gave you a polite smile on your way back. A tad… apologetic.

No.

You were seeing things.

She loved that asshole and, despite the recent change in your relationship, hated you.

And, for some strange reason you couldn't put your finger on, it made your heart feel like it was being picked apart by dull knives.

*****

#rowena #rowena macleod #rowena x reader #spn #supernatural #crowley #sam winchester #dean winchester #lucifer #spn family #my fics #fanfiction #high school au

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getyourgossip0-blog · 6 years

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The 100 Greatest Music Videos of the 21st Century: Critics' Picks

New Post has been published on https://getyourgossip.xyz/the-100-greatest-music-videos-of-the-21st-century-critics-picks/

The 100 Greatest Music Videos of the 21st Century: Critics' Picks

Flash forward to 2018, and none of those things are true anymore. Album sales have been depleted by the rise of downloading and then streaming, MTV has been supplanted by the Internet as the video’s primary home, and attempts to reboot TRL only prove how different times are now than when Backstreet and Britney ruled the world. But with all that’s changed, the music video still reigns paramount in the pop world, as a conversation-starter, as a starmaker, as a cementer of legacy. Though the ways we consume music videos in 2018 would’ve been almost unthinkable at century’s start, the impact they have on our lives and pop culture remains relatively similar.

But of course, it’s been an interesting ride for the music video to get to this point: From the tail end of MTV’s peak to the introduction of YouTube and the minting of the viral star to the rise of social media and the countless different forms the video can now take in 2018. This week, Billboard is reflecting on the evolution of the music video with a week’s worth of content about the form’s past, present and future — starting, today, with a list of our staff picks for the 100 greatest music videos of the century so far, essentially telling the story of the form during its middle-age period, and a potential crisis ultimately averted.

100. Fall Out Boy, “Sugar We’re Goin Down” (dir. Matt Lenski, 2005)

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From Under the Cork Tree’s lead single was much of the world’s introduction to these former hardcore punks from the Chicago burbs, and for their first video with a big ol’ Island Records budget, they indulged their mission statement: a full-on underdog’s folk tale. Our small town teenaged protagonist is a sort of Napoleon Dynamite with — get this! — deer-like antlers, an effective stand-in for just about any condition that could have left a young Fall Out Boy feeling socially alienated. His love interest’s shotgun-wielding father doesn’t approve, but in the end, let’s just say he’s behooved to sympathize. — CHRIS PAYNE

99. Shakira, “Whenever, Wherever” (dir. Francis Lawrence, 2001)

The video for Shakira’s first English-language hit is not her most seen; those honor belong to the Maluma-featuring “Chantaje” and World Cup anthem “Waka Waka (This Time for Africa),” both with around two billion YouTube views. But “Whenever, Wherever” was the video that introduced Shakira’s swiveling hips to the world, as well as her “small and humble” breasts. The minimalist production, which memorably featured Shakira dancing alone without props, musicians or other dancers, was enough to catapult her to international stardom. — LEILA COBO

98. Scissor Sisters, “Let’s Have a Kiki” (dir. Vern Moen, 2012)

97. Adele, “Rolling in the Deep” (dir. Sam Brown, 2010)

The room full of glasses of water gently quaking to the bass drum heartbeat of “Rolling in the Deep,” like Jurassic Park to the tenth power, was appropriately foreboding for what Adele’s 21 ended up being, a commercial behemoth the likes of which was supposed to have long gone extinct. It all starts here: Director Sam Brown capturing the once-in-a-generation vocalist at simultaneously her most vulnerable and her most powerful, unclear if the wreckage surrounding her is representative of her internal turmoil, or a direct result of it. — ANDREW UNTERBERGER

96. Frank Ocean, “Pyramids” (dir. Nabil Elderkin, 2012)

Opening with color bars, liquor shots, and gun blasts, this Nabil-directed 8-minute odyssey follows a zonked-out Frank Ocean as he zips across the desert on a motorcycle, giggles his way through a strip club, and runs into John Mayer in the middle of nowhere for a woozy, bluesy guitar solo. Landing somewhere between Lost Highway and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, “Pyramids” is a dusty, neon-drenched vision quest that’s hard to shake. – JOE LYNCH

95. The Avalanches, “Frontier Psychiatrist” (dir. Tom Kuntz & Mike Maguire, 2000)

94. Ariana Grande feat. Zedd, “Break Free” (dir. Chris Marrs Piliero, 2014)

“Brace yourself for something so fantastically fantastical that you’ll soil yourself from intergalactic excitement” reads part of the tongue-in-cheek Star Wars-style scroll that introduces Ariana Grande’s video for “Break Free.” The stakes in this outer space-based video are as high as Grande’s ponytail, as she uses her blaster to shoot down guards and free prisoners. But wait! Ari herself has been taken captive! Will she… break free?! Yes, and then she will board a spaceship where Zedd is both captain and DJ. Phew. — CHRISTINE WERTHMAN

93. Aaliyah, “Rock the Boat” (dir. Hype Williams, 2001)

The video for Aaliyah’s sinuous “Rock the Boat” might have easily gone down as just one of the many examples of the beloved singer’s preternatural cool and low-key sex appeal, featuring Aaliyah leading an all-female ensemble in understatedly sexy moves mirroring the song’s hypnotic, undulating melody. But it’s impossible to watch without feeling a deep pang of sadness: Directly after filming this video, Aaliyah and eight others were killed in a plane crash over the Bahamas. “Rock the Boat” begins with an in memoriam of sorts, and as the video starts, Aaliyah walks on a deserted beach beneath a sky so beatifically sunlit, it could very well be heaven. The video ends with a gorgeous shot of her swimming alone, trailed by billowy silk, toward a surface that seems contiguous with the clouds. In between, we’re reminded of an artist who was an effortlessly entrancing dancer and singer, a happy young woman with so much ahead of her — before she floats off to somewhere else. — REBECCA MILZOFF

92. Girls’ Generation, “Gee” (dir. Cho Soo-hyun, 2009)

91. Tim McGraw, “Humble and Kind” (dir. Wes Edwards, 2016)

It would have been understandably tempting to make a video that interpreted the song as literally as songwriter Lori McKenna intended: As a message to her children. But instead, the clip — with assistance from OWN’s series Belief (thanks, Oprah!) and McGraw’s understated delivery — turns the tune into a grander prayer that celebrates our universal humanity and diversity through scenes of people from all ethnicities and religions. — MELINDA NEWMAN

90. Marina & The DIamonds, “How to Be a Heartbreaker” (dir. Marc & Ish, 2012)

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Six years ago, Marina Diamandis gave us a video with six showering Calvin Klein models juxtaposed with a clothed woman, gloriously flipping what is unfortunately still the modern standard. (Each guy is wearing a Speedo, mind you.) As she sings about her guide to breaking you-know-whats, Marina alternates between cozying up to different gentlemen, dancing in the shower, and presenting a severed, bloodied mannequin head on a platter to the camera. It’s hard to know who you’re supposed to be drooling over in this visual — Marina, or the male models? — and that’s the whole point. — GAB GINSBERG

89. Mitski, “Your Best American Girl” (dir. Zia Anger, 2016)

88. Kanye West feat. Dwele, “Flashing Lights” (dir. Spike Jonze, 2007)

Kanye West would be the first to tell you he’s more than just an artist — he’s an innovator, on the same intellectual playing field as Walt Disney and Steve Jobs. And when it comes to visual manifestations of or companion pieces to his music, well, he’s not always totally wrong. The video for “Flashing Lights” isn’t as dazzling or frenzied as videos for hits like “Gold Digger” and “All of the Lights,” but the tension between the thump of the song and the slow-mo, one-shot portrait of a beautiful woman committing heinous acts of violence makes the clip as unsettlingly hypnotic as the trance-like intonation of its chorus. — STEVEN J. HOROWITZ

87. David Bowie, “Lazarus” (dir. Johan Renck, 2016)

Shortly after David Bowie succumbed to liver cancer on Jan. 10, 2016, his longtime producer and friend Tony Visconti wrote in a Facebook tribute, “His death was not different from his life – a work of Art.” He most certainly was referring to “Blackstar” and “Lazarus,” the haunting and bleak final two music videos that the legend left behind. Both are rich with references to Bowie canon — Major Tom, Station to Station — and optimally should be seen in tandem. But “Lazarus” delivers the bigger gut punch because it is Bowie’s acknowledgement that he is not long for this earth, a video cut with scenes of the gaunt artist writhing on what could be his deathbed, his head wrapped in a bandage with buttons for eyes. Watch the video, then venture down the rabbit hole of Bowie-ologists deconstructing the video’s meaning: The Starman may have left the building, but he did so in a way that insures his artistic immortality. — FRANK DIGIACOMO

86. The Lonely Island, “Lazy Sunday” (dir. Akiva Schaffer, 2005)

“Lazy Sunday” has the distinction of being the only video on this list to originate from television — the historic first official Digital Short on SNL, preceding future classics like “I’m On A Boat” and “Dick in a Box,” and setting the template for the first wave of YouTube viral videos. “Lazy Sunday” lives on in infamy because of the sheer ridiculousness of their investment in the song’s mundanity: Andy Samberg and Chris Parnell rap about going to see The Chronicles of Narnia, but not before “macking on some cupcakes” from Magnolia Bakery and shouting out answers to movie theater Matthew Perry trivia. Part of the video’s allure is its low-production quality — it looks like it was shot by high schoolers in an afternoon — going to show that you don’t need a million-dollar budget to make a classic music video. Perhaps all you need is a camcorder and smartly dumb lyrics. — XANDER ZELLNER

85. Grimes, “Kill v. Maim” (dir. Claire Boucher & Mac Boucher, 2016)

Grimes made all our cyberpunk dreams come true with the “Kill v. Maim” video. The singer previously explained that the song’s inspiration was for a fictional movie that was “a mixture of Godfather and Twilight,” but the video itself transports the viewer into a wild post-apocalyptic world: Imagine if Final Fantasy took place in the Mad Max universe… but was also shot in Harajuku in the ‘90s. And what better way to end this giddy mix of cult-film homages than with an ode to Blade’s bloody rave scene? — BIANCA GRACIE

84. Alicia Keys, “You Don’t Know My Name” (dir. Chris Robinson, 2003)

It’s as vivid a straightforward rendering of song narrative as 21st-century music video has produced, with Alicia Keys and fictional love interest Mos Def acting out Keys’ Songs in A Minor melodrama as a brilliant blur of fantasy and reality. Director Chris Robinson’s sumptuous New York visuals make the theatrics pop with both pleasing familiarity and near-uncomfortable intimacy, lifting you into Keys’ daydream — right up to the crushing ending, when it turns out that Mos never will know just how different she looks outside of her work clothes. — A.U.

83. Residente, “Descencuentro” (dir. Residente, 2017)

Residente — and prior to him, Calle 13 — has long been known for his gritty, graphic, often violent video material. But his softer, romantic side is even more compelling, and the second video from his 2017 self-titled solo outing is drenched in love, the kind that sends shivers down your spine. Filmed in Paris’ iconic Crémerie-Restaurant Polidor bistro and starring Charlotte Le Bon and Edgar Ramirez, “Descencuentro” (directed by Residente himself) is a mini-film about a man and a woman whose inevitable encounter inside the restaurant is delayed by a string of happenstance that goes from accidental to comical. “I wanted to stay away from clichés, but stay close to hope, to what motivates you to keep on trying in the midst of so many setbacks,” Residente told Billboard. The end result is breathtakingly (and unexpectedly) lovely. — L.C.

82. FKA twigs, “Papi Pacify” (dir. Tom Beard & FKA twigs, 2013)

If a music video can leave you with one indelible image, it’s done good work. The video for “Papi Pacify” is one of the most erotic clips in recent memory, opening with a silent shot of a tall, brawny man with one hand around twigs’ throat and the other curling at her mouth. “It’s meant to ask questions of the viewer,” co-director Tom Beard told The Guardian. “Who’s got the control in this relationship? Who’s got the power?” There’s no unbraiding the sexual charge from the discomfort, just as there’s no forgetting the shot at 2:23, when twigs holds your gaze as the man takes his fingers from her mouth and pulls her into his chest as she continues to stare, looking nothing if not serene. — ROSS SCARANO

81. A$AP Rocky, “Peso” (dir. Abteen Bagheri, 2010)

80. Miley Cyrus, “We Can’t Stop” (dir. Diane Martel, 2013)

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There’s tiptoeing into a new era, and then there’s diving in headfirst: Following her underperforming Can’t Be Tamed album, Miley Cyrus chose the latter in 2013, reinventing herself in the first video from the Bangerz campaign and boldly kickstarting her adult career. The “We Can’t Stop” video features a house party full of debauchery and twerking, but for all of the hip-hop excess Cyrus was clearly cribbing from, Diane Martel’s clip also provides several uniquely off-kilter set pieces, from the giant-teddy-bear-backpack dance sequence to the game of kick-the-french-fry-skull. — J. Lipshutz

79. Madonna, “Hung Up” (dir. Johan Renck, 2006)

Faced with relationship trouble, a pop queen doesn’t cry it out — she dances it out. Madonna’s ‘80s-infused video for the ABBA-borrowing Confessions On A Dance Floor smash “Hung Up” turns the star’s sweaty, solo aerobics workout into a therapy session where all you need to squelch anxiety is a pink leotard and a boombox. The visual only gets better as it expands to scenes resembling a Los Angeles street corner, a subway car, and a Chinese restaurant, where crowds of all ages, races, and ethnicities erupt into fiery dance battles of their own. Meant as a tribute to John Travolta’s ubiquitous dance roles in film, the whole thing ends (how else?) with Madonna breaking it down on an arcade Dance Dance Revolution machine — not bad for a star who broke several bones in a horseback-riding accident just weeks before shooting. — T.C.

78. Toby Keith, “Red Solo Cup” (dir. Michael Salomon, 2011)

These days, it might be hard for many viewers to get past the first word of the title when watching the video for Toby Keith’s highest-charting, least-resistible Hot 100 hit, especially considering the cameo-strewn close featuring fellow Red-alligned rocker Ted Nugent, among others. But the 2011 clip is such a clever and pure distillation of the forever unpartisan joys of filling your cup, lifting it up and proceeding to parrr-tayyyyyy that it’ll make you seethe with nostalgia for a time, perhaps only imagined, when a superior brand of kegger supplies was all you needed to reach across the aisle for. — A.U.

77. Gotye feat. Kimbra, “Somebody That I Used to Know” (dir. Natasha Pincus, 2011)

Behold one of the few instances in which a music video helped launch a relatively unknown act to No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100. Gotye’s haunting “Somebody That I Used to Know” visual shows the frontman and duet partner Kimbra naked in front of a blank backdrop, then slowly painted over via stop-motion animation, a living artifact of what used to be a relationship. The design, inspired by an actual work done by Gotye’s father, Frank De Backer, took 23 hours and helped the video surpass the 1 billion-views mark on YouTube. — X.Z.

76. ANOHNI, “Drone Bomb Me” (dir. Nabil Elderkin, 2016)

75. Kendrick Lamar, “i” (dir. Alexandre Moors, 2014)

If this video had come out even two years later, the dance that Kendrick rolls out throughout the visual might have spawned enough challenge/meme copies to send it all the way to the top of the charts, rather than the mere No. 39 it topped out at on the Hot 100. As it stands, the video is a clever nod to both the song’s influences — sampled artist Ronald Isley is in on the party throughout, while George Clinton makes a nonchalant cameo reading a copy of his own autobiography outside a club — and to the darker forces underlying the song’s self-love ethos. — DAN RYS

74. Dua Lipa, “New Rules” (dir. Henry Scholfield, 2017)

Some new new rules: 1. Launch a thousand Pinterest boards with a beachy pastel color scheme and an enviable hotel slumber party. 2. Take unlikely inspiration from the animal kingdom with head-bobbing choreography meant to evoke the fidgety movements of a pack of flamingos. (No, really!) 3. Embrace the storytelling power of repetition for a dance routine whose third-act twist still delights as much as it did the first time. Follow those steps, and you’ll earn admission to YouTube’s billion-views club — and maybe fast-track yourself to a level of international superstardom that half a dozen prior singles couldn’t snag. — NOLAN FEENEY

73. Janelle Monáe feat. Big Boi, “Tightrope” (dir. Wendy Morgan, 2010)

To those who are just discovering the genius of Janelle Monae with her Dirty Computer rollout: Where have you been? From her futuristic “Many Moons” video to her uncomfortably direct “Cold War” clip, Monáe has consistently delivered on the visuals. “Tightrope” showcases Monae’s swagger-for-days as she gyrates through an insane asylum, rocking her early-career androgynous style and delivering some impressive soft-shoe. — P.C.

72. Sum 41, “Fat Lip” (dir. Marc Klasfeld, 2001)

From its opening beatbox freestyle to its closing tongue wag, “Fat Lip” couldn’t have been a better encapsulation of the pop-punk ’00s if it had been directed by a sentient Hot Topic bracelet: It’s all shaved heads, half-pipes, convenience stores, and four-star frosted tips, as the snottiest bunch of snots that ever snotted perform from a literal pit of dirt. For extra flat-sole kicks, check the hair-metal-homaging “Pain for Pleasure” outro that often played with “Fat Lip” on MTV, proving that adolescent rawk brattiness knows no generation gap. — A.U.

71. Kylie Minogue, “Come Into My World” (dir. Michel Gondry, 2002)

No music video director works sleight-of-film better than Michel Gondry, the guy who turned a countryside train voyage into Chemical Brothers sheet music or a theatrical Björk drama into a cinematic matryoshka doll. But his greatest cinematic achievement may remain Kylie Minogue’s four-lap trek around the streets of Paris, with Kylie and her universe’s neighbors somehow layering on top of themselves each time she passes Go. It’s a marvel that remains magical 16 years later — though one that might make you reticent to accept her titular invitation, since it seems like her World barely has room for one of you, let alone four. — A.U.

70. Ozuna, “Se Preparo” (dir. Nuno Gomes, 2017)

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Ozuna is Latin music’s current master of the video universe: The Puerto Rican reggaeton/trap star has so many great videos to his name, it’s hard to settle on a favorite. But “Se Preparo,” with its mix of whimsy and edge, is as fun as the song is compelling. Directed by Venezuelan video master Nuno Gomez, who delights in storytelling, it sets the stage for the wronged girl, who, to forget her boyfriend’s infidelities, preps for a night on the town with the girls. Except it’s actually an elaborate ruse to get even — one that keeps you watching till the hilarious end. — L.C.

69. JAY-Z, “The Story of O.J.” (dir. JAY-Z & Mark Romanek, 2017)

A theme of Jay’s work of late has been taking stereotypes and tropes about the black community and forcing them right in front of his audience’s faces. Seldom has that ever been more clear than in the “O.J.” video, which lifts its inspiration from a set of racist Looney Tunes cartoons from the ’40s, casting himself and others in blackface and hammering home the message of the song’s lyrics through the visual. It’s among the best examples of this in his catalog. — D.R.

68. Kesha, “Blow” (dir. Chris Marrs Piliero, 2010)

“She was adamant you can’t back away from the crazy” was how director Chris Marrs Piliero summarized the Artist Formerly Known as K-Money’s approach to the “Blow” video, which sounds about right: Lasers, unicorns, muenster cheese, no-soap-radio jokes, a pre-meme James Van der Beek, and a whole lot of glitter (natch) combine in the “Blow” video for a visual of singular early-’10s lunacy. That the era’s cheekiest director and most game pop star only worked together once remains a bummer, but their sole collab remains a slice of pure lactose gold. — A.U.

67. BTS, “Blood, Sweat & Tears” (dir. Choi Yongseok & Ko Yoojeong, 2016)

66. Ludacris feat. Shawnna, “Stand Up” (dir. Dave Meyers, 2003)

The clip for Luda’s first Billboard Hot 100 No. 1 is more bizarre than it has any right to be. A kiss from ‘Cris makes a woman’s ass expand to cartoonish size, after which Luda puts on a Sideshow Bob-sized sneaker to start stomping the dancefloor and bring the house down (literally). At the end of the video, Luda and Shawnna’s faces are superimposed onto baby bodies, and we’re treated to Baby Luda dancing Ally McBeal-style, before an unlucky woman changes his soiled diaper. Why? Who knows! But when he moved in 2003, we followed, just like that. — J. Lynch

65. Red Hot Chili Peppers, “Californication” (dir. Jonathan Dayton & Valerie Faris, 2000)

The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ video for “Californication” features the quartet navigating everything from the Hollywood Walk of Fame and movie studios to San Francisco and the Sierra Nevada Mountains — only as avatars of themselves in an imaginary video game, racking up high scores and eventually meeting at the center of the earth. As fun as the stunning and innovative visuals are, it’s the juxtaposition with the song’s melancholy lyrics that still lingers well after it’s Game Over. — DENISE WARNER

64. Missy Elliott, “Gossip Folks” (dir. Dave Meyers, 2002)

Most everything seems a whole lot more fun in the crazy-colorful, twisted realm of Missy music videos: Even the gossip-fueled, bully-ridden hallways of high school. Back in a pre-social-media 2002, Elliott heard all the whispers about her recent and somewhat drastic weight loss, her sexual orientation, and more, so she channeled her frustration into an eminently danceable track and classic video. Ludacris and Ms. Jade make stellar guest appearances; Tweet, Eve, and Trina keep score as the coolest clique ever in the cafeteria scenes; even Darryl “DMC” McDaniels shows up for a late cameo as a school bus driver. But then there’s the real stars of the video — three little girls with better moves than most grown-ups (including now-pro Alyson Stoner), and a closing image that might be Elliott’s most brilliant touch of all: a mural depicting the late Aaliyah, Lisa “Left Eye” Lopez, and Jam Master Jay, reminding her audience that, just maybe, the industry could focus on more important things than gossip, folks. — R.M.

63. Ciara, “Promise” (dir. Diane Martel, 2006)

62. Bat for Lashes, “What’s a Girl to Do” (dir. Dougal Wilson, 2006)

Dougal Wilson directed this single-shot video in which Natasha Khan takes a late-night bike ride with some of her best pals, a foreboding brood of hoodie-wearing guys in creepy animal masks, a la Donnie Darko’s Frank. According to a 2009 interview, Khan wanted the director to model the video after films like E.T., The Goonies, The Karate Kid, and even the aforementioned Gyllenhaal cult classic, movies that she dubbed “hoodie movies,” because they featured boys wearing hoodies and riding bikes, “a symbolic reference to breaking out of their suburban trappings and going on this journey of self-discovery.” Wilson nails the sentiment, only this journey comes with more sick bike tricks. — C.W.

61. Rihanna, “Bitch Better Have My Money” (dir. Rihanna & Megaforce, 2015)

A year before labeling herself a savage, Rihanna had already proved she was the baddest gal in town with 2015’s “Bitch Better Have My Money” video. The murderous affair, co-directed by the singer and Megaforce, is a menacing “don’t fuck with me” message to her real-life former accountant, portrayed here by Hannibal‘s Mads Mikkelsen. Rihanna and her badass female sidekicks play the stars of their own revenge fantasy film as they torture his rich white wife, and the final scene is nothing short of chilling, with a blood-soaked Rihanna lighting up a joint while resting in a trunk full of cash. — B.G.

60. Justice, “D.A.N.C.E.” (dir. Jonas & Francois, 2007)

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Who knew that the video for a song called “D.A.N.C.E.” could be built around two guys… walking… for the entire video… and still be a huge win? Justice’s Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay stroll through the duo’s most popular clip as their t-shirts morph into mesmerizing pop-art displays, capturing the crossover hit’s effervescence through a series of slogans and cartoons. “D.A.N.C.E.” was nominated for video of the year at the 2007 MTV VMAs, turning Justice into dance headliners (pun intended) years before EDM took over every American festival. — J. Lipshutz

59. Robyn, “Call Your Girlfriend” (dir. Max Vitali, 2011)

In one continuous three-and-a-half minute shot, Robyn manages to hold your attention in the music video for “Call Your Girlfriend.” The video simply shows Robyn dancing and singing in an empty soundstage, wearing a furry top and looking like her own heart has just been shattered, but it feels impossible to look away. The clip was often parodied and recreated after its release, most notably by former SNL cast member Taran Killam, in which he filmed a near-perfect recreation of the video in the show’s writers room at 4:00 a.m. — X.Z.

58. Christina Aguilera, “Beautiful” (dir. Jonas Åkerlund, 2002)

Christina Aguilera eloquently touches on insecurity in the Jonas Åkerlund-directed “Beautiful,” as the dark-lit scenes underscore the decimation that occurs when someone is ostracized for being less than perfect: too fat or skinny, ugly, gay. Alone in a sparsely furnished room, Aguilera zeroes in on songwriter/producer Linda Perry’s affirmation that everyone is beautiful, no matter what people say. “Words can’t bring me down,” she sings as the video’s characters conquer their insecurities: one woman bashes in her mirror, another tosses beauty magazines into a fireplace while a gay couple publicly kiss and hold hands. The video won a GLAAD Media Award for its positive portrayal of gay and transgender individuals. — GAIL MITCHELL

57. UGK feat. OutKast, “International Players Anthem (I Choose You)” (dir. Bryan Barber, 2007)

In the pantheon of music videos capturing some sort of ceremonial celebration, UGK’s “Int’l Players’ Anthem” stands as one of the all-time best. The absurdity of it the clip — including André 3000 in a kilt, a wedding party that counts Lukas Haas, and some of the best wedding outfits of all time (including Pimp C in head-to-toe white fur) — is nothing compared to how seamlessly the video captures the ebullience of the accompanying song. — S.J.H.

56. Beyoncé, “7/11” (dir. Beyoncé, 2014)

As we all know in 2018, The Carters love a production — but travel back with us to a Friday night in November 2014, when Beyoncé proved that she could go low-budget and still make a high-quality music video. The grainy, iPhone-looking footage of “7/11” features Beyoncé and her dancers goofing off in their underwear in various hotel-room settings. They twerk. They drink from red plastic cups. They turn hair dryers into props. Beyoncé uses someone’s butt as a surface for throwing dice. Quick-cut edits and scene jumps give the video a playful, frenetic energy, while choreography and costume changes make it pro without being overly polished. It’s safe to assume that the peak into this informal world is highly curated, but “7/11” has the intimacy of a selfie: Even though it doesn’t look like anything you’ve actually ever shot on your phone. — C.W.

55. Justin Bieber, “Sorry” (dir. Parris Goebel, 2015)

The Bieb brought choreography — and women — to the forefront of his “Sorry” visual, with the singer enlisting New Zealand’s all-female troupe ReQuest Dance Crew to bring his upbeat Purpose chart-topper to life. The colorful visual immediately racked up millions of views, with the wildly funky outfits inspiring Halloween costumes (just one week after the vid’s Oct. 22, 2015 release) and the ReQuest girls’ impressive moves sparking plenty of twerk-filled tributes across the Internet. Nearly three billion views later, “Sorry” proved that the heartthrob doesn’t even need to make an appearance to make one of his videos special. — TAYLOR WEATHERBY

54. Iggy Azalea feat. Charli XCX, “Fancy” (dir. Director X, 2014)

For Iggy Azalea’s biggest pop moment, the ‘90s throwback love of the 2010s was in full swing, with the Australian rapper and her hook-slinging co-star traveling back to the set of classic teen comedy Clueless. Iconic scenes — the classroom debate, the house party, the near-car crash on the freeway — are reproduced with no-expense-spared flair, the cinematic set design and hordes of in-costume extras vaulting this 2014 good-life anthem straight into 1995 and all its plaid-clad pizzaz. Millennial Mean Girls babies nodding to their era’s spiritual forerunner — it’s game recognizing game in a music video that should similarly endure. — C.P.

53. Bruno Mars & Cardi B, “Finesse” (Remix) (dir. Bruno Mars & Florent Dechard, 2018)

Everyone loves a good dose of nostalgia, and Bruno Mars served up a giant splatter-painted platter of it with his “Finesse” video. Recruiting Cardi B for a remix of the high-energy 24K Magic track, Mars emphasized the song’s punchy ‘90s-style hip-hop beat with an homage to the era’s sketch-comedy classic In Living Color, using smooth moves and neon outfits to create an awesome spitting-image tribute. And the shout-outs were reciprocated: “Finesse” immediately drew praise from show stars Damon, Marlon, and Kim Wayans, and even sparked a reaction out of Jennifer Lopez, who got her start dancing as a Fly Girl on the show. Just as ILC was a cultural moment of the ‘90s, “Finesse” helped Bruno Mars and Cardi B solidify their place as icons of 2018. — T.W.

52. Taylor Swift, “You Belong With Me” (dir. Roman White, 2009)

A pivotal video in Taylor Swift’s pop mythology, “You Belong With Me” saw the burgeoning superstar still playing the underdog, whose cartoonish glasses, school-pride wardrobes, and goofy dance moves made her the idol (and/or go-to Halloween costume) for a generation of unsatisfied overachievers. But don’t forget she plays the bad girl in the video, too, and with equal aplomb; listen closely as she marks her territory with the boy next door in her red convertible, and you can hear the snakes from the Reputation Tour hissing impatiently in the distance. — A.U.

51. Lana Del Rey, “National Anthem” (dir. Anthony Mandler, 2012)

All of Lana Del Rey’s music videos are cinematic — it’s kind of her thing — but “National Anthem” has a movie-quality plot to boot. Del Rey stars first as Marilyn Monroe in a reimagined staging of the icon’s 1962 performance of “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” then as Jackie Kennedy alongside A$AP Rocky’s suave, handsy JFK. Through Del Rey’s eyes, we see familial scenes unfold between one of the most fascinating couples in American history, culminating in a re-enactment of the Kennedy assassination. When Del Rey’s castle crumbles, you feel it in your chest, too, and her monologue at the end never fails to bring chills. — G.G.

50. The Diplomats, “Dipset Anthem” (dir. N/A, 2003)

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Twenty-plus Harlemites in their baggy, early-2000s best rocking at canted angles away from the camera, arranged on courtyard steps — this is a movement. This is what power looks like. This is what’s really good. That image primes you for Juelz Santana’s opening line: Today is a new day. And if you haven’t got the message, the beat shifts midway through the video into the magisterial “I Really Mean It” to drop an immaculate Cam’ron into your living room, stepping out of an Escalade in custom pink Dipset Timbs. Truly, did we dream this? — R.S.

49. Snoop Dogg feat. Pharrell, “Drop It Like It’s Hot” (dir. Paul Hunter, 2004)

One of the most memorable and instantly accessible tracks in Snoop’s extensive oeuvre got a similarly delectable video to match, shot in black and white on a blinding background with Pharrell supportively in tow as his head-nodding sidekick. The video’s sleek and casually surreal aesthetic was as ubiquitous at the time as the song itself, and now 15 years later it remains a blast to re-watch, particularly for its cameos by the similarly-ageless Pusha T, Chad Hugo, and Lauren London, not to mention Snoop’s young sons at the time. — D.R.

48. Orange Caramel, “My Copycat” (dir. Digipedi, 2014)

47. Drake feat. Lil Wayne, “HYFR (Hell Ya Fucking Right)” (dir. Director X, 2012)

More than any of us Jewish kids would have ever dared daydream about during Hebrew School: the biggest rapper in the world documenting his own adult Bar Mitzvah, replete with the requisite torah reading, hora dancing, and ever so many popped bottles of Manischewitz. Did three-and-a-half minutes of Drake and Lil Wayne going HAM — err, going smoked salmon — on the former’s special day do more to get kids to their local congregations on Saturday morning than every rabbinical sermon this century combined? Impossible to say for sure, but chances are the JTS wouldn’t wanna see the box score of that showdown. — A.U.

46. Christina Aguilera, Lil’ Kim, Mya & Pink, “Lady Marmalade” (dir. Paul Hunter, 2001)

This clip from the Moulin Rouge soundtrack was more than a music video; it was a pop culture event. And while several groups of lady titans have recently tried to recreate the magic (see: “Girls” and “Bang Bang,” to name a few), none have come close to conjuring up the spectacle that was “Lady Marmalade.” With Mya’s hyper-feminine feathers, Pink’s rocker-chic top hat (a possible nod to Slash?), Kim’s blinged-out statement necklace, and Xtina’s ginormous, crimped mane, the video let each soul sister showcase their own personality without stealing the attention from the ensemble. — P.C.

45. Tierra Whack, “Whack World” (dir. Thibaut Duverneix and Mathieu Leger, 2018)

Philly rapper Tierra Whack’s 15-track, 15-minute debut is the perfect example of what a full-length visual can, and more importantly should, do for an audio body of work. She delivered a multi-part video so striking it demands attention be paid to the music, and vice versa. Each colorful and often jarring clip — one (literal) minute she’s getting a manicure with a brutally busted face, and the next she’s kicking back in a pet cemetery — shows the ingenuity of an artist unfamiliar with boundaries. Let’s hope she never finds them. — LYNDSEY HAVENS

44. Carlos Vives, “La Tierra del Olvido” (dir. Carlos Vives, 2015)

This 2015 remake of Vives’ original video and recording from 1995 is an achingly beautiful love letter to Vives’ native Colombia, where he enlisted help from multiple fellow Colombian stars — including Fanny Lu, Fonesca and Maluma, each hailing from a different region in the country — for a stunning, sweeping trip through his homeland. Meanwhile, the evocative lyrics and melancholy, yet danceable melody, bring to mind memories of Gabriel García Marquez. — L.C.

43. Johnny Cash, “Hurt” (dir. Mark Romanek, 2003)

Whether you knew that country Jesus was knocking on heaven’s door in 2002 or not, this 2003 Mark Romanek masterpiece hits like a slow-motion mule kick to the gut. With his Mt. Rushmore face ravaged by time and hard living, Cash plucks a black guitar in a baroque living room overstuffed with the junk of life, as a montage of snapshots from his younger, hell raisin’ years flash across the screen. The devastating, funereal cover of Nine Inch Nails’ ’90s hit about decay oozes over the unshakable image of a frail Cash pouring out wine at a Last Supper and quick-cuts of Jesus being nailed to the cross. If this final reckoning doesn’t give you shivers, maybe you’re already dead inside. — GIL KAUFMAN

42. JAY-Z, “99 Problems” (dir. Mark Romanek, 2004)

Intended as his pre-retirement swan song, JAY-Z’s 2003 opus The Black Album gave fans several striking visuals, from “Change Clothes” to “Dirt Off My Shoulders.” But Hovito’s most visceral clip came when he and director Mark Romanek conjured up the black and white video for “99 Problems.” With “Problems” producer Rick Rubin riding shotgun, Jay masterfully illustrates his volatile relationships with the New York streets, the boys in blue and, ultimately, his own demise, as he is violently gunned down at the end of the video. Though Hov never really “faded to black” and continued to release more albums, the video for “99 Problems” had every rap fan petrified at the sheer thought of losing the culture’s most revered hero. Luckily for us, Superman is still taking out rap villains for a living. — CARL LAMARRE

41. Avril Lavigne, “Complicated” (dir. The Malloys, 2002)

“Dude, you wanna crash the mall?”

–Avril Lavigne, in the first ten seconds of her first music video for her first single

Can you and your skateboarding friends/bandmates who look like a generic-brand Sum 41 (Sum 31?) really “crash” a mall if it’s daytime and already open? The premise is shaky, but whatever: From her first moment on MTV screens, Avril Lavigne established her extraordinary brand of PG-13 coming-of-age tomfoolery with a music video that’s almost too 2002 to function. The ties! The food court! The Jackass-style stunts! Life gets complicated when your friend starts getting all two-faced and trying on NFL jerseys and jewelry store bling, but finally, suburban early-’00s teens had their keeping-it-real heroine. — C.P.

40. Lady Gaga, “Paparazzi” (dir. Jonas Àkerlund, 2009)

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With the music video running double the length of the song, Gaga’s Jonas Åkerlund-directed “Paparazzi” covers a lot of ground: Attempted murder by Alexander Skarsgård, the successful murder of Alexander Skarsgård, old movie homages, Mickey Mouse-esque flip-up glasses, and some of the fiercest looks from Stefani’s early avant-dance diva days. The image of crutch-bound Gaga staggering across a purple carpet like Evil Robot Maria from Metropolis — while her dapper backup dancers vogue behind her — made it clear that unlike most pop stars on the planet, Gaga was here to get weird. And in 2009, we devoured it like the fame-obsessed monsters she was sending up. — J. Lynch

39. Kanye West feat. Pusha T, “Runaway” (dir. Kanye West, 2010)

More short film than music video, the genius of “Runaway” comes from its stark simplicity, and the meaning seemingly imbued within it. After the solo repetitive piano note that opens the song summons a troupe of black-clad ballet dancers, West begins to deliver each line with an increasing look of urgency and desperation on his face, ultimately climbing on top of the white piano before giving way to Pusha T’s verse and the dancers’ graceful stoicism. After building the song to its highest intensity with almost Christlike posture, West then cedes the floor to a ballet showcase as the song’s coda wrenches to its conclusion, ultimately ending with the rapper placing hand over heart, somber in one of the most quintessential images of his career. — D.R.

38. Gwen Stefani, “Hollaback Girl” (dir. Paul Hunter, 2005)

Ah, “Hollaback Girl:” a video that contains multitudes. This is prime Love.Angel.Music.Baby content, which means the Harajuku Girls — Stefani’s “super kawaii” but disturbingly silent Japanese girl squad — are front and center, riding through Van Nuys and Reseda in an Impala behind fearless leader Gwen, twerking, and (quietly) helping her spell “bananas.” The minimalist-meets-marching band sound, courtesy of the Neptunes, is in nearly every frame — along with Pharrell himself, blessing Stefani with a brief cameo and his ineffable brand of cool. But this video, in the end, is really all about Stefani and the charming ball of contradictions she has increasingly revealed herself to be: a magnetic-enough presence to make us consider her motives, and then abandon any semblance of logical thought to scream “This shit is bananas!” at the top of our lungs. — R.M.

37. Nicki Minaj, “Anaconda” (dir. Colin Tilley, 2014)

The Sir Mix-a-Lot sample “Anaconda” is built around may have been met with a collective eye roll for its obviousness, but Minaj fully redeemed herself by pairing it with her most memorable visual to date. Between a bikini-clad aerobics session and an unforgettable lap dance (one that Minaj bragged left guest-star recipient Drake, ahem, “excited like hell”), the colorful clip solidified Minaj’s superstar status, helping “Anaconda” slither to No. 2 on the Billboard Hot 100, still the rapper’s highest peak yet. — P.C.

36. Rihanna feat. JAY-Z, “Umbrella” (dir. Chris Applebaum, 2007)

A waterfall of sparks, umbrella-based choreography and — best of all — an iconic silvered silhouette of one of the biggest pop stars both then and now makes the recipe for this timeless video. It’s the perfect blend of sexy, playful, and artistic — risqué without being raunchy, thematic without being tacky. But the video’s biggest feat of all is proving that, even if only for Rihanna, it is possible to look that good with an umbrella. — L.H.

35. Dixie Chicks, “Goodbye Earl” (dir. Evan Bernard, 2000)

Starring a blonde Lauren Holly as the badass Mary Ann, pre-30 Rock Jane Krakowski as the helpless Wanda, and NYPD Blue star Dennis Franz (outfitted in a purposefully terrible wig) as the title villain, “Goodbye Earl” is a delightfully campy and colorful video from the Dixie Chicks about “the best of friends” who poison the titular character after he beats up Wanda. It’s a tale that highlights the power of the female bond, without making light of its serious subject matter. Yes, “Earl had to die,” but the clip shows us just how sweet revenge can be — and by video’s end, even a zombified Earl has joined in on the hoedown. — D.W.

34. Eminem, “Without Me” (dir. Joseph Kahn, 2002)

Like the song itself, the 2002 music video for “Without Me” is a fragmentation grenade of rapid-fire images designed to level Eminem’s critics — most of which he plays in the video himself. The rapper uses battery cables to fry a quasi-mechanical Dick Cheney lookalike and flips off his mother Debbie (Em in a blond metal wig, natch) as she appears on a When Sons Go Bad talk show. And Shady Records lieutenant Obie Trice, in a cameo, body slams Em-as-Moby, who called Shady’s music homophobic and misogynistic. But the real thrill of this clip is watching Shady and partner-in-crime Dr. Dre dressed, respectively, as comic-book characters Robin and Blade, head-bouncing with abandon as they rush to save a minor from purchasing a copy of The Eminem Show, which carries a Parental Advisory sticker. — F.D.

33. Britney Spears, “Oops!… I Did It Again” (dir. Nigel Dick, 2000)

Think of another outfit that’s had such decades-long legs. Everyone who’s seen this spacey Nigel Dick-directed mini-space epic — the follow-up to the equally one-of-a-kind “… Baby One More Time” — can instantly picture Brit’s second-skin red pleather catsuit (which was her idea, as was the concept of dancing on Mars). The whole experience is a crash course in Britney 101: seductive, if a bit wooden, group dancing; hard-core eye contact with the camera; requisite bare mid-riff squirming; and a silly comedic bit, all of which remain key parts of the star’s rust-free brand blueprint to this day. — G.K.

32. Tyler, the Creator, “Yonkers” (dir. Wolf Haley, 2011)

Tyler, the Creator had a vision: “‘I’m sitting on a chair rapping, I’m playing with a bug, I eat it, I throw it up, my eyes go black, and I hang myself.’ That was his treatment,” explained director Anthony Mandler (Beyoncé’s “Get Me Bodied,” Rihanna’s “Man Down”) in a 2011 interview. Mandler, along with director of photography Luis “Panch” Perez, gave Tyler the guidance and equipment he needed to self-direct the black-and-white, tilt-shifted video for “Yonkers.” In the breakout clip, Tyler does exactly what he outlined: He sits in a chair, lets a giant cockroach crawl over his hands, appears to take a bite, pukes, blacks out his eyes, and hangs himself. Effective enough to make stomachs the world over turn — and earn Tyler one of the all-time least-likely nods for a Video of the Year VMA. — C.W.

31. Carly Rae Jepsen, “Call Me Maybe” (dir. Ben Knechtel, 2012)

30. Fountains of Wayne, “Stacy’s Mom” (dir. Chris Applebaum, 2003)

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“We looked at a lot of treatments and some directors were trying to be kind of arty and subtle with it, but Chris Applebaum went completely for the jugular,” Fountains of Wayne guitarist Adam Schlesinger said of the Applebaum-directed “Stacy’s Mom” clip in a 2004 interview. In retrospect, there was no better approach for the surprise pop smash: the broad, brightly colored comedy here — driven by model Rachel Hunter in the titular role — accentuates the song’s storytelling while mixing in some fantasy elements and highly appropriate Ric Ocasek references. Special kudos to Shane Habouca as the teen protagonist, so nimbly capturing the weird, confusing wonder that is male puberty. — J. Lipshutz

29. Luis Fonsi & Daddy Yankee, “Despacito” (dir. Carlos Peréz, 2017)

28. Missy Elliott, “Get Ur Freak On” (dir. Dave Meyers, 2001)

You can ask Kendrick Lamar, and he’ll tell you that one of his early inspirations was Missy Elliott. In the late ’90s and early 2000s, Elliott bloomed into a music video savant because of her audacious attempts to do the impossible in under five minutes. In ’01, Elliott wiped the competition with her Dave Meyers-shot visual for “Get Ur Freak On.” The funky track included a starry cast, with appearances by Ludacris, Busta Rhymes, and Eve. Meanwhile, Missy rhymes inside of an underground sewer, glides on top of a chandelier — and just when you thought the fun was over — she even sneaks in a quick verse from her Miss E LP highlight “Lick Shots” to restart the party all over again. — C.L.

27. Charli XCX, “Boys” (dir. Charli XCX & Sarah McColgan, 2017)

If you came for “Boys,” it’s boys you’ll find in this genius self-directed visual by Charli XCX — approximately 60 of them, in fact, from Diplo bench-pressing puppies and Joe Jonas seductively feasting on pancakes to Charlie Puth hosting a car wash. Did we mention the whole thing is bathed in millennial pink? The idea, Charli told BBC Radio 1, was to reverse traditional music video gender roles, making dudes do “all the sexy things that girls usually do in videos.” Whip-smart, thought-provoking, and fun as hell — not to mention providing fans with enough GIFs to last a Twitter lifetime — “Boys” set the Internet into mayhem, and left it with a message. — T.C.

26. Christina Aguilera feat. Redman, “Dirrty” (dir. David LaChapelle, 2002)

In the world of pop divadom, frequent reinvention isn’t just a choice, it’s practically a rule. But back in 2002, Christina Aguilera, loathful of her prefab pop princess persona, committed to one of the most explosive image resets in history with a red thong, a pair of chaps, and a dance move that would come to be known as “the slut drop.” You can only imagine the kind of language her critics used against her, and, indeed, there was plenty of outrage, vitriol, and mean-spirited mocking flung her way. Still, Aguilera seemed to weather the attention like a pro, and outlets that gave the young singer a chance to explain herself were treated to a brief lesson in sexual agency that was years beyond the general public’s understanding back then: “I may have been the naked-ass girl in the video,” she told Blender in 2003, “but if you at it carefully, I’m also at the forefront. I’m not just some lame chick in a rap video; I’m in the power position.” Guess Bionic wasn’t her only work ahead of its time. — N.F.

25. The White Stripes, “Fell in Love With a Girl” (dir. Michel Gondry, 2002)

What better way to play up the youthful sensation of a first love than with LEGOs, a classic toy for a classic rock song. The toy of choice works in a surprising way here, as the figurines capture the similarly unclear mindset of a boy so confused by love he believes “the two sides of my brain need to have a meeting.” But, most impressive of all is how the video turns something seemingly so simple into something much more complex — reportedly, the video was shot frame by frame, requiring the LEGOs to be rebuilt each time — a situation that anyone who has ever fallen in love is likely all too familiar with. — L.H.

24. Justin Timberlake, “Cry Me a River” (dir. Francis Lawrence, 2003)

There’s a long and tired history of Justin Timberlake using Britney Spears as a punch line, and, sure, the concept of of a disgruntled ex breaking into his former girlfriend’s house and lurking menacingly while she showers hasn’t aged well. But the kind of pettiness on display in the captivating “Cry Me a River” is an extinct breed: a revenge fantasy that doesn’t bother with plausible deniability or subtle shady references, and instead lets its darkest impulses curdle in the open for all to see. It wasn’t pretty, but it swung big — and everyone grabbed the popcorn and gave in to the twisted voyeurism of it all. — N.F.

23. Katy Perry feat. Snoop Dogg, “California Gurls” (dir. Matthew Cullen, 2010)

A bold, candy-colored cornucopia of delectable delights from start to finish, the 2010 Mathew Cullen-directed clip features Perry — sometimes covered only in strategically placed cotton candy, other times in a whipped-cream exploding bra, and always in a day-glo wig — as a pawn in Snoop Dogg’s Queens of Candyfornia board game, though of course she escapes Snoop’s clutches to lead a dance party on the beach. The only way the video would be better were if it were actually edible, especially Snoop Dogg’s army of bird-flipping gummy bears. — M.N.

22. M.I.A., “Bad Girls” (dir. Romain Gavras, 2012)

M.I.A. and director Romain Gavras had already proven that they could make an unforgettable video with 2010’s highly controversial “Born Free” — and two years later, they did it again with “Bad Girls.” Shot in Morocco, the video depicts Saudi drifting, where cars ride on their sides on only two wheels. Scenes of stunt men and women sitting on the outside of the tilted rides are juxtaposed with shots of M.I.A. and a glam posse of women covered in animal prints and metallic fabrics. Not one to be a bystander, M.I.A. even gets in on the drifting action, as she’s filmed lounging on the passenger door of a white BMW, filing her nails as the car cruises along sideways. How could the duo top that? “The next video needs to be shot on the moon,” Gavras mused in a behind-the-scenes video. “With hookers.”

21. *NSYNC, “Bye Bye Bye” (dir. Wayne Isham, 2000)

This is a boy band video with a complex dramatic setup: We open in a dimly lit vaudeville theater, where the boys of *NSYNC hang from strings, manipulated from above by a diabolical but very pretty lady, who then cuts each of said strings to set one beautifully-coiffed *NSYNC member at a time on his very own mini-action adventure, racing cars through the desert or running across the top of a locomotive, Bond-style. But let’s be honest: That’s not what we’re here for. We’re here to see baby-faced J.T. mean mug for the camera! We’re here to see J.C. torturously belt his “Byyyyye baaaaby!” ad-lib. And above all, we are here to see the dance moves — the steps that would go on to be repeated at countless school dances and house parties, and that will certainly go down in music video history as some of the most classic choreography ever captured. Even if they were doing it in some sort of intergalactic vacuum, as *NSYNC appear to be in the “Bye Bye Bye” video, it was impossible to look away — and easy to imagine, as we followed those moves in our living rooms, that we could transcend the screen and live in their magical world, too. — R.M.

20. OK Go, “Here It Goes Again” (dir. Trish Sie, 2006)

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In 2006, long before Kim Kardashian broke the Internet, this Chicago band went viral with what is otherwise known as “the treadmill video,” a self-choreographed DIY affair — with the help of lead singer Damian Kulash’s sister Trish Sie, who was working as a ballroom dancer at the time. The clip features the band executing a series of (mostly) precision dance moves on six moving treadmills, and if you’ve ever fallen off one of those things, the video is as thrilling as it is entertaining, helping it rack up a reported 900,000 views in a single day. It wasn’t the first ambitious video the group had recorded — see 2002’s “C-C-C-Cinnamon Lips” — nor would it be the last, as the band would only scale up with subsequent visuals, most recently culminating in 2016’s “Upside Down & Inside Out,” shot in a plane that simulated zero gravity. How they’ll top that one remains to be seen, but we’ll probably find out soon enough. — F.D.

19. Miley Cyrus, “Wrecking Ball” (dir. Terry Richardson, 2013)

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“Wrecking Ball” was not the lead single for the all-grown-up coming-out party that was Miley Cyrus’ Bangerz, but nothing from that era, not even her controversial MTV Video Music Awards performance, forced viewers to recognize Cyrus on her own terms more than this Terry Richardson-directed clip. In it, Cyrus doesn’t push buttons — she, well, uses a sturdy tool often found at constructions sites to smash them, doing whatever she can to inspire feeling, any feeling, in those watching. There’s the raw play for emotion with the tearful close-ups, which Cyrus has said were meant to evoke Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares 2 U.” And then there’s the more polarizing attention-grabs — Cyrus licking a sledgehammer, appearing naked atop the title object as it swings around. Cyrus did whatever she could to get a reaction, and she didn’t care what kind she got as long as people were looking. “I think people are going to hate it,” she told Rolling Stone at the time, “and then when we get to the bridge, they’re gonna have a little tear and be like, ‘Fuck you!’ … It’s something that people are not gonna forget.” — N.F.

18. Sia, “Chandelier” (dir. Sia & Daniel Askill)

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Ever the elusive star, Sia opted to sit out the videos for 2014’s 1000 Forms of Fear. It yielded some of the most exhilarating visuals of the time, with a notable assist from then-pre-teen dancer Maddie Ziegler, then known for starring on Lifetime’s Dance Moms. Clad in a white, tight-cropped wig that resembles Sia’s signature coif, Ziegler stepped in for three of the videos from the set, most notably “Chandelier,” a clip with over 1.5 billion YouTube views, which tracks her as she dances through a dilapidated apartment, breathing life into the drab and mundane surroundings around her — and making a star out of its absent singer. — S.J.H.

17. My Chemical Romance, “Helena” (dir. Marc Webb, 2005)

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It wasn’t supposed to rain on set, but of course it did: My Chemical Romance and Marc Webb brought the emo downpour for “Helena,” and the elements simply responded in turn. One of three brilliant video collaborations between band and director for MCR’s starmaking Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge album, “Helena” was both the simplest and the most affecting: Its balletic funeral proceeding made for the best high-concept rock melodarama since Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris were doing feature-film dry runs with Smashing Pumpkins a decade earlier. But for all the elaborate choreography and staging, the most indelible moment remains the curl of lead singer Gerard Way’s lower lip as he sings the final tearjerking chorus — a reminder that the song was inspired by Gerard and bassist brother Mikey’s late grandmother, and thus the video held far more weight than just the prop coffin they were carrying. — A.U.

16. Drake, “Hotline Bling” (dir. Director X, 2014)

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The dorky dad moves, the Sean Paul references, the pastel lighting reminiscent of artist James Turrell, the slightly passive-aggressive lyrics, the D.R.A.M. “Cha Cha” controversy, the parodies, the endless memes! There was no way that anyone could escape the pop culture phenomenon that was Drake’s “Hotline Bling” video. Helmed by Director X, the video catches you off guard by beginning with a bunch of Drizzy-approved women working at — what else — a call center. As the camera zooms into the water cooler just 20 seconds in, the dancing that sparked a thousand GIFs begins. No matter how hard you try to look away, Drake keeps you lured in with every corny salsa step, cell phone-imitating hand wiggle, and agonized facial expression. Being the cultural mastermind that he is, Drake had to have predicted the video’s outcome. And somehow that makes it all the more brilliant. — B.G.

15. Kendrick Lamar, “HUMBLE.” (dir. Dave Meyers & The Little Homies, 2017)

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Kendrick Lamar’s Grammy-winning video for “Humble” is a lesson in irony: While the song is a finger-wagging anthem about modesty, the video itself is overflowing with wealth — both physical and metaphorical. Opening with Pope Lamar in a vacant church, the video rapidly shifts through scenes of the rapper playfully toying with a money machine, enjoying Grey Poupon, and teeing off atop a car’s roof. But the more memorable parts highlight black-centric symbolism. With Lamar recreating Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper with all black men and and a woman fearlessly displaying her stretch marks, the video becomes yet another celebration of the culture in the rapper’s visual armory. — B.G.

14. Lady Gaga feat. Beyoncé, “Telephone” (dir. Jonas Åkerlund, 2010)

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What happens when you pair up two of the most influential female pop stars in recent history for a music video? That would be “Telephone,” the gloriously ridiculous, nine-and-a-half-minute spectacle from director Jonas Åkerlund that involves a women’s prison, Beyoncé (ahem, “Honeybee”) feeding Lady Gaga a pastry, a murder at a diner, a poison sandwich-making tutorial, Quentin Tarantino references aplenty, and a dance sequence that has spawned dozens of YouTube tutorials. If all that’s not enough to make “Telephone” an instant classic, consider that the video is actually a continuation of Gaga’s “Paparazzi” video from the year prior, with the same director — which ends with Gaga in the can — and let your mind be blown. Could a third installment be in our future? We can only hope. — T.C.

13. Taylor Swift, “Blank Space” (dir. Joseph Kahn, 2015)

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After years of receiving criticism for writing songs about her exes, Taylor Swift stuck it to the haters with a visual portrayal of just how “insane” she seems to former suitors and critics alike. The result is the singer’s best video to date, as “Blank Space” makes a mockery of the crazy-ex persona while entrancing viewers with imagery that’s both fanciful and harrowing. The video sets up a classic romance with a handsome guy, a breathtaking mansion, stunning gowns, and white horses (plus a cameo from her celebrity cat Olivia Benson), turning the seemingly perfect relationship on its head once infidelity and jealousy strike. Swift’s acting is brilliant as she takes a knife to painted portraits of her beau, chops up his clothes, and sings with mascara streaming down her face — almost making it believable that she’s as crazy as naysayers make her out to be. Whether you think she loves the drama or it loves her, Taylor Swift always makes sure her videos tell a story, and “Blank Space” could be its own damn novel. — T.W.

12. PSY, “Gangnam Style” (dir. Cho Soo-Hyun, 2012)

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It’s hard to believe that it’s been over half a decade since the satirical dance track “Gangnam Style” took the world by storm to become the first-ever video to be viewed over 1 billion times. With its over-the-top antics aimed at mocking the denizens of Seoul’s Gangnam neighborhood, numerous cameos from local comedians and pop stars, and its easy-to-learn equine choreography, PSY’s video became a surprise global sensation that turned all eyes to South Korea’s music industry. Though it’s no longer the world’s most-viewed music video, the legacy of “Gangnam Style” remains. — T.H.

11. JAY-Z & Kanye West, “Otis” (dir. Spike Jonze, 2011)

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What part of 2011’s impossibly joyful video for “Otis” feels the least likely in 2018? That it had a world premiere on MTV (like, MTV the cable TV channel) with a rebroadcast on MTV2 a couple hours later? That the most controversial thing about it — the thing that necessitated a disclaimer at the end — was that the needless deconstruction of the vehicle used for the clip’s joyriding would be seen as financially irresponsible? That the big celebrity cameo comes from a silent Aziz Ansari? That Kanye appears to be having an absolute blast? That Jay and Kanye act like they genuinely love each other? Or is it that there’s a gigantic American flag plastered on the wall behind the duo, with no message seemingly attached to it except to ask, “How could you not love a country where we get to do shit like this?” At the time, the point felt like a strong one. — A.U.

10. Childish Gambino, “This Is America” (dir. Hiro Murai, 2018)

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We get the music videos we want, but also sometimes the ones we need. Amid racial strife stirred up by a president who blames “both sides” and endless uniformed violence against minority men and women came actor/rapper Donald Glover’s funky, neck-snapping surprise statement. As Gambino, Glover — dressed in Confederate Army grey pants and no shirt in a possible nod to Afrofunk godhead/provocateur Fela Kuti — busts hip-cracking African Gwara Gwara dance moves while shooting a hooded black man and striking a pose straight outta Jim Crow imagery. Yes, it’s a lot. Released as Glover rebooted intergalactic schemer Lando Calrissian in Disney’s Solo, the sight of the Atlanta star grabbing his suddenly global platform and gunning down a church choir with a machine gun (à la the Charleston church massacre) then sprinting away from the Sunken Place tells you everything about the current state of the nation. — G.K.

9. Fatboy Slim, “Weapon of Choice” (dir. Spike Jonze, 2000)

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“Weapon of Choice” predicted the viral video as well as any other clip released in the pre-YouTube era, down to the fact that a lot of the people who remember the video probably couldn’t name who its song was by: Undoubtedly, at least half of the clip’s Internet traffic comes from “Christopher Walken hotel dancing” searches. “Choice” was a good song but a sensational video, one that brings the aforementioned four-word concept to such improbable three-dimensional life that it remains compulsively watchable even after the 57th time you’re seeing the guy who played Max Shreck doing the hands-in-pockets shimmy. The key? Those beginning and closing shots of a silent, still Walken seated in deep contemplation, with only the whirring sounds of hotel maintenance showing signs of life around him, as existentially haunting as anything Beckett ever staged. — A.U.

8. Beyoncé, “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” (dir. Jake Nava, 2008)

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Kanye West nearly committed career suicide when he crashed the MTV VMAs stage in 2010 to interrupt Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech for Best Female Video: “I’ma let you finish,” he infamously commented, “but Beyonce had one of the best videos of all time!” He wasn’t wrong, though — directed by Jake Nava, the stunning, breathless visuals for “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” marked a turning point in Beyoncé’s career: She had proven herself so talented, so enrapturing, that all you really needed to pull off a milestone video was to simply train the camera on her in an empty room and let her handle the rest. The resulting clip is an unstoppable assailing of the senses: Bey, clad in an over-the-shoulder leotard, is joined by two backup dancers, all in heels, hitting a for-experts dance routine and making it look simple. As the background gradient shifts colors and the cameras circle her, she never breaks focus for even a split second, keeping the energy on full throttle. It’s no wonder West put his name and rep on the line for the sake of the video — Beyoncé earned it. — S.J.H.

7. Britney Spears, “Toxic” (dir. Joseph Kahn, 2004)

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Britney Spears gifted the 21st century with a number of indelible looks, and the “Toxic” video boasts an embarrassment of them: Britney the Mile High Club-bound stewardess whose kiss turns a schlubby passenger into a stunning model; Britney the laser-tripping secret agent with fire engine-red hair; and of course, Britney in the buff, covered in diamonds and writhing around the floor like the Bond Girl to end all Bond Girls. Whether prancing down the aisle of an airplane or poisoning her boyfriend (five years before “Paparazzi”) and jumping off a balcony into the night, “Toxic” Britney wiped clean the schoolgirl imagery and set the tone for the next 15 years of her career: Breathtaking, flawlessly executed camp that was closer to drag culture than fashion week. — J. Lynch

6. Rihanna & Calvin Harris, “We Found Love” (dir. Melina Matsoukas, 2011)

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Anyone who wondered if pop stars had lost their ability to excite, to surprise, to unnerve with their music videos had to feel the “We Found Love” clip like a bolt of lightning to the chest. Melina Matsoukas’ dizzying visual for Rihanna’s career-recalibrating smash Calvin Harris collab was a tale of a toxic relationship starring RiRi and a pouty, peroxide-blond gentleman who looks a lot like oh-take-a-guess, edited like a light-speed four-minute relationship montage that recreates the shock all music videos must’ve delivered to fans of classic Hollywood back in ’81. Like Trainspotting, what makes “We Found Love” really frightening is how palpably electric the highs are, enough to make it plausible that its star would do what it took to feed her addiction initially. But that doesn’t mean you don’t still breathe a sigh of relief when she decides to choose life at the end instead. — A.U.

5. OutKast, “Hey Ya!” (dir. Bryan Barber, 2003)

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Coming up on the 15th anniversary of its release, “Hey Ya!” remains an infectious slice of pop culture — as does its video. A twist on the Beatles’ own era-defining appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1964, “Hey Ya!” finds OutKast turning the British Invasion on its ear, complete with black & white footage, a screaming female audience, a black family viewing the momentous TV performance at home, and Ryan Phillippe in the guise of host Sullivan. Speaking of guises, Big Boi acts as the band manager, while André 3000 portrays all eight band members, including background group The Love Haters — all garbed in eye-catching green finery. During the two-day shoot in Los Angeles, André reportedly performed “Hey Ya!” 23 times. Beyond introducing the phrase “shake it like a Polaroid picture” into the pop lexicon, OutKast also single-handedly revitalized the camera company’s public image. The Bryan Barber-directed video later won a bevy of awards, including video of the year at the 2004 MTV Video Music Awards. — G.M.

4. Beyoncé, “Formation” (dir. Melina Matsoukas, 2016)

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Beyoncé stopped the world for the umpteenth time when she dropped the explosive song and video for “Formation,” just a day before performing the anthem at Super Bowl 50. Frequent collaborator Melina Matsoukas may have shot the video in Los Angeles, but every second is deeply rooted in Louisiana and its Creole background — the ancestral origin of Beyoncé’s mother, Tina Knowles Lawson. The historical references are overwhelming: the Antebellum-style houses, Beyoncé’s Victorian hoop skirts and petticoats, the now-legendary wide-brimmed hat suitable for American Horror Story: Coven, Blue Ivy happily rocking her fluffy afro, the singer being submerged underwater while on top of a police car as a nod to Hurricane Katrina , the inclusion of New Orleans stars Big Freedia and the late Messy Mya. At one point in the video, a young boy is seen dancing in front of a line of gun-clad officers, who respond by putting their hands up. In a time where racial tensions were climbing to new, uncomfortable heights, “Formation” served as an active reminder that black people could not be silenced. To top it all off, the “Formation” video dropped just a few months before the singer’s second Super Bowl halftime performance, which further shoved its socio-political message in the face of America. — B.G.

3. D’Angelo, “Untitled (How Does It Feel?)” (dir. Paul Hunter, 2000)

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2. Missy Elliott, “Work It” (dir. Dave Meyers, 2002)

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While most of her contemporaries settled for music videos that made them look tough or sexy, Missy Elliott got strange with hers, and “Work It” is a perfect distillation of her idiosyncratic vision of warped world. From upside-down dance moves on a post-apocalyptic playground to Missy swallowing a Lamborghini whole and donning a dunce cap for the deliciously goofy “why you act dumb?” segment, Elliott pushed imagery into the mainstream that most rappers, rockers, and pop stars wouldn’t dare go near in an era before being “weird” or “nerdy” had cultural cache. Sure, someone else might have a Prince parody or a split-second Halle Berry cameo in their clip, but would they also have a U.S. Marine mouthing “give you some-some-some of this Cinnabun” or the lead artist lip-syncing to camera while bees swarm their face? Like its forward-thinking Under Construction parent album, Missy’s “Work It” video made it clear that what was normal was boring, and the future belonged to those who weren’t afraid to defy expectations, conventions, and even gravity on occasion. — J. Lynch

1. Lady Gaga, “Bad Romance” (dir. Francis Lawrence, 2009)

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By the time she crawled out of your mom’s Volvo roof box to deliver her first rah-rah-rahs, Lady Gaga had already hosted a poolside orgy, transformed the subway into her debaucherous lair, and sought poisonous revenge on Alexander Skarsgård for throwing her off the edge of a castle. Her ideas were big; her budgets were catching up. But the video for “Bad Romance,” the lead single from 2009’s The Fame Monster, went beyond the kind of spectacle that rising superstars like her had the resources to pull off. It offered a glimpse into an entire cinematic world that thrilled and disturbed in equal measure, expanding the possibilities of what a music video could achieve — and challenging other stars to step their game up at the same time.

“Bad Romance” features some of her most gorgeous music-video looks — as silly as it seems now in the post-Joanne era, the video was praised by some critics for the “stripped-down” and “normal” makeup on display — as well as her most unsettling. The white crowned bodysuits look like Max from Where the Wild Things Are hit up a fetish club. The bathtub-bound Gaga with CGI-enlarged eyes beckoned to the uncanny valley. And despite all the glossy, sterile exteriors abound, an element of body horror lurks underneath the surface, from shots that linger over dancers’ exaggerated bony spines to the emaciated Gaga-monster hiding in a cage during the second verse. Pause the video at any moment and you’ll probably find yourself starting at something worth dissecting; even the briefest scenes and cutaways — Gaga suspended in a cloud of diamonds, Gaga covering her face with razor-blade sunglasses, Gaga stomping around in alienesque Alexander McQueen heels — could have sustained their own storylines as standalone videos.

Those mini-moments were mostly in service of a bigger story, one in which Gaga gets kidnapped and drugged by models, sold into some kind of sexual slavery via an ominous pack of Russian men, and eventually enacts a fiery revenge plot. Considering how “Bad Romance” cemented the branding and iconography of her “Little Monster” fanbase — witness the birth of the monster claw! — it’s a little ironic that Gaga has described the video’s plot as an allegory about the entertainment industry, one that asks viewers to examine their relationship to their idols, what they ask of them, and at what cost they get it.

Of course, Lady Gaga would go on to make more elaborate music videos than “Bad Romance” — the mini-movie that was “Telephone,” the space opera that was “Born This Way,” each weaving in social commentary in both obvious and subtle ways. But more than providing any one look, dance move, or message, “Bad Romance” was a supernova reminder that there was still so much room to push the art form — and that no one was more game to lead the charge than the free bitch herself, baby. It’s fitting that the video ends with the singer torching the place and everything in her path, lying among the embers and shooting sparks out of her pyro-bra. With “Bad Romance,” she took the old standard for great music videos and set it aflame, then got to work building a new one. — N.F.

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