#ch: wren matthews

[theboywithburninghands]

It’s time. The sequel to my first fic set in @rottentricks’ Murder Mystery Universe. First chapter is a go. Enjoy!

T/W: Blood and gore, mentions of suicide, mentions of drugs and alcohol, profanity

Beasts Ch. 1: Knock Knock

I am the beast that cuts the meat!

Now that they’re dead, you can sink in your teeth!

———

“Hello and good evening to all you listeners out there in Autumnvale! It is currently 7:15 PM on this dark and snowy February night, a brisk 19 degrees and 8 minutes before sundown, which means you should be home and your doors should be shut tight. I’m Matthew Laney and joining me as always is my partner in crime, Arnold Zorelli…”

The radio continued playing on the dash of a silver Jaguar S-Type, the driver a gray haired fellow with square, amber-rimmed glasses and a $350 black suit jacket. He reached for the volume control knob, but paused and looked at his passenger.

“You mind if I turn it up?” he asked.

His passenger, a beautiful brunette woman perhaps 15 years younger than he was, turned her gaze away from the treeline rushing past them. In the light of the headlamps, the trunks were dim and gray and mausoleum-like. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black in the low light.

“No, go ahead,” she answered, turning to look back out the window. The driver increased the radio’s volume a few notches.

“…coming up on the one month anniversary of the bugnuts insane Wren case. If you’ve been living under a rock, first of all, how cheap is the rent? But secondly, our town’s own shrink Dr. Cole Wren got busted for tampering with a patient’s antidepressants until he killed himself, then framed the butcher Jax Kingston when the patient took his own life, so he could take to the streets and protest against racial discrimination.” The jock, Laney, recounted.

“I don’t think Batman could have pulled off something like that,” the color commentator said.

The jock laughed. “And Wren couldn’t either! Because he got busted by a grad student on live TV!”

“Oh yeah, I remember, ‘You’re not a hero, you’re a freak!’”

“I want that on a t-shirt,” Laney said. “But we here at WVRT hopefully will have the grad student, uh, her name is Pomni Freeman, on the show for the anniversary to discuss her experience.”

“Pomni? Never heard a name like that,” Zorelli said.

“Uh, it’s Russian I think. I kinda like it, it’s elegant,” Laney replied.

“Beats what people used to name their kids in the 60’s,” Zorelli chuckled.

“Oh, what, like ‘Starlight’ or ‘Coast’ or ‘Zephyr?’”

“I knew a girl named Zephyr.”

“Man shut up, you did not!” Laney exclaimed.

“No, hand to God, there was a girl in my 4th grade class named Zephyr Tomlinson,” Zorelli declared.

The Jaguar pulled into the driveway of one of the new McMansions that had been built on the edge of town, one of three at the end of Roche St.’s cul-de-sac. An eccentric architect from another country, who had already made millions building “mansions” quickly and cheaply throughout the state, approached Mayor Caine Mason with plans to turn some of the disused housing on the edge of the woods into a high-end neighborhood. These “mansions,” built with outsourced construction crews and supplies, were considered a way for more middle class folk to break the barrier into high society.

Most in Autumnvale agreed that those who bought the McMansions were either rich already, needed more space for their families, or were incredibly insecure about their already upper-middle class status and wanted to look even more well-to-do. Even Mayor Mason, who allowed the architect to build the “mansions,” hated the way they looked. Blocky and uneven like a four year old’s Duplo building.

“Tammy, you’re doing that thing. What’s the matter?” the man asked.

“Nothing,” Tammy replied.

The man pulled his Jaguar into the garage, closing the door behind it. Tammy exited the car as soon as the engine was cut off. The man walked after her, locking the Jaguar with his key fob and unlocking the deadbolt to the back door. The door was mahogany, or at least a reasonable imitation of mahogany, with one of those ornate floral patterned oval windows of frosted glass in the middle of the door. The back door opened into the kitchen, Tammy hanging her brown lambswool peacoat on one of the clothes hooks.

“Can I make you a drink?” the man asked. He went into the kitchen, where a small bar had been set up on the island. Black Thistle, Woodford Reserve Double Oaked, The Glenlivet, Gray Goose and Rémy Martin XO, with the appropriate lowball and highball glasses, wobble snifters and shot glasses on a silver tray, next to an ice bucket and a few bottles of Schweppes Tonic Water.

“I’m fine,” Tammy said, removing her high heels and putting them on the shoe rack, rather than in the closet. “I’m just tired after all that.”

“After all what? Standing in a corner staring at your nails?” the man said, pouring some Black Thistle into a lowball.

“Amos, I don’t know anyone at those ‘mixers,’ okay? What am I supposed to talk about, anyway? I don’t know shit about international trade. All those guys look like they want to slip something in my drink, anyway…”

The man, Amos, added a few ice cubes to the gin in his glass.

“Just about all ‘those guys’ are business partners who I’ve known for decades. They’re married or gay,” he said, completing his drink with tonic water. “I took you out because I figured you would appreciate a bit of fresh air, not just sitting around the house all day watching Desperate Housewives.”

Tammy, heading up the stairs, glared down at Amos. “If you want to hang out with a girl, try dinner or a movie somewhere. Frankly, I’d rather stay home and watch tv than stand around like a bimbo while your rich friends ogle at me.”

Tammy went up the white carpeted stairs, walking by the balcony overlooking the sitting room on the ground floor. The full grain black leather couch faced a 42” plasma screen television on the brown particleboard console.

Amos looked down at his drink, tempted to throw the lowball at the wall. He instead tipped the contents into the sink, ice clanging on the bottom of the basin, rinsed the lowball glass and dried it, placing it with the rest of the set on the black granite counter. He took out a small present, wrapped in pink paper with a fuschia bow, and set it on the counter.

“Happy three month anniversary to you too. Cold bitch.”

The security lights flicked on at 7:30 on the dot.

—

Tammy entered the master bedroom, the walls a pleasant mustard yellow and the carpet creamy white. The powder room door stood shut on the left wall. Amos always got on her case for leaving it open since it blocked the bedroom door from opening. That was the fault of the stupid architect that built this place. Corners cut everywhere.

She stripped to her underwear. Black lingerie Amos got her that was worth about $400. It made her look good, but it was itchy. Designer clothes were a waste of her money, but if she wasn’t the one paying for it, she’d wear it. She unhooked her bra and tossed it into the laundry basket. She opened the walk-in closet door and took a moment to look in the mirror hanging on the opposite side. She checked the alarm clock on the nightstand. Its dim red LED lights said 7:32.

She pulled on one of her sleep shirts from the walk-in closet, a plain white T made of some sort of cotton blend that was soft on the skin. She would have checked what kind on the collar tag, but it got torn off a while ago. She itched the red impressions that her bra left behind on her skin.

The bathroom door opened, just a crack.

Tammy went to the California King Bed, its black medallion-patterned sheets and plush gray comforter neatly made. The housekeeper must have stopped by. What was her name? …She didn’t care all that much.

She laid on her side of the bed, checking the clock again. 7:34. She grabbed the stereo remote from the nightstand and pressed play. The big black machine on Amos’s dresser whirred as it spun the CD in its tray. A song by Lou Reed began to softly play over the surround sound speakers set up in each corner of the ceiling.

“Just a perfect day…

Drink sangria in the park…”

She cranked the volume up a few notches. A single wild eye watched her from the crack in the bathroom door. Amos called out from downstairs.

“Tamika! That’s a bit loud, doll!”

She rolled her eyes and didn’t touch the remote. The music continued:

“Just a perfect day…

Feed animals in the zoo…

And then later a movie too,

And then home…”

The bathroom door crashed open. A heavy black combat boot kicked it hard enough for the prong knob to dent the adjacent wall. Tammy sprung up on the bed. A hulking figure in a red hoodie and a featureless chrome mask like the back of a spoon stomped towards her, clutching something in their

right, latex gloved hand.

“Oh it’s such a perfect day!” Lou Reed sang.

“What the hell are you doing? You’re not- GET OFF! GET OFF! AMOS!”

The figure grabbed Tammy by the neck with their off hand and slammed her back onto the bed. They raised the object in their dominant hand over their head, a handaxe glinting in the lamplight.

“Tammy?!” Amos called out from the sitting room, rocketing up the stairs. Even at this dead sprint, there was no way he could reach her in time.

“I’m glad I spent it with you!” Lou Reed continued.

The figure swung their handaxe with barbaric force, Tammy raising her left arm to defend herself. The first strike cut a red and white fissure through flesh and bone, the second swapt her arm off at the elbow. The appendage tumbled off the bed with a heavy thud, the stump spouting. Tammy let out a scream more beast than human.

“Oh just a perfect day, you just keep me hangin’ on…”

Amos twisted the bedroom doorknob and barged the door with his shoulder, only to be met with a dull thunk. The bathroom door was open. The bathroom door that he had told her a million BILLION TIMES NOT TO LEAVE OPEN AND SHE WAS GETTING KILLED OH GOD-

“Hey,” came a voice behind him.

Amos turned to see a figure in a chrome mask and black hoodie behind him. They stood with a wooden baseball bat, and swung it at Amos’s head like a delinquent kid swinging at mailboxes. Amos managed to block the swing with both hands, stumbling backwards over the railing. He plummeted fifteen feet straight down into his own sitting room. He smashed into the leather couch, breaking off the front legs and snapping a spring with an almost musical TOINGGG. The chrome-faced assailant peered over the railing at him, almost childlike in their curiosity. Gee, mister, that sure was a nasty fall…

“You just keep me hangin’ on…” Lou Reed continued.

Amos, dazed but unharmed, lurched to his feet off the now cracked leather couch, making for the front door. He heard rapid footfalls on the stairs behind him, unlocking the front door and sprinting out onto the tiny lawn, leaving Prada shoe prints in the new fallen powder snow. He thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t taken his shoes or coat off. He looked over his shoulder to see the intruder watching him from the doorway, bat held in both hands. He must have known he couldn’t catch him, or else-

Something cold and heavy collided with him, knocking him to the street. His glasses skittered across the pavement and his head bounced off the cement. Before the tiny synaptic fireworks had a chance to stop flashing in his vision, a set of teeth sank into his neck, puncturing his larynx like a knife through Saran Wrap and rendering him unable to scream. He could only rasp as another set of teeth clamped down on his right leg, thrashing it about the way a dog would play tug of war.

The intruder watched the two Nightwalkers devour the man, two others emerging from the dark of the woods, eager and silent, hungry for good meat. The Nightwalker that had a hold of Amos’s leg ripped a bloody wedge of flesh free, walking a few paces away and then laying in the road, tearing at its keep like a sirloin steak. The other Nightwalkers chose their cut of meat with no hesitation, one biting into Amos’s right elbow and the other his stomach. The first Nightwalker that had a hold of his neck continued to chew, determined to sever his head.

The intruder in red came downstairs, sticky with blood and carrying their blood-soaked handaxe, their jacket pockets crammed with jewelry and wads of hundred dollar bills.

“Fuckin’ hell, did you make her into a smoothie?! Ugh.” The intruder in black said. “I told you to try not to kill her, you stupid asshole. We just needed her to get the safe open. Ugh, whatever. You got it open?”

The intruder in red nodded, patting their lumpy pockets.

“Good. Nightwalkers took care of Gramps. Let’s wrap it up before those things finish their food.” the intruder in black said, slamming the door shut.

“Just a perfect day…

You made me forget myself…” Lou Reed sang.

The two of them grabbed whatever valuables they could find, Tammy’s purse, Amos’s wallet, the anniversary gift, and a laptop from the office. They emptied their spoils into a pillowcase and tied it off.

“Where’s the important thing?” The intruder in black said.

The intruder in red pointed up the stairs.

The duo hurried to the master bedroom, the intruder in black groaning upon seeing what was left of Tammy on the bed and the floor and the wall.

“God, you fuckin’ animal… come on.” The intruder in black scolded.

“Oh it’s such a perfect day…” Lou Reed repeated.

The pair of assailants went into the closet, the one in red pulling an ornate wooden box from the floating shelf on the back wall, tucked away inconspicuously with other shoeboxes.

“You’re sure that’s it?” the intruder in black asked.

The intruder in red opened the box and showed their partner the contents.

“Looks real enough to me. Let’s go.”

“You’re going to reap just what you sow…” Lou Reed warned.

He repeated this warning several times as the men went outside, hurrying across the cul-de-sac and tossing the pillowcase into the back seat of their nearby pickup truck. The box was set down carefully on the seat and secured with the seatbelts.

The Nightwalkers, now six in number, watched them with mild interest as they ate, having torn Amos into multiple pieces of varying size and shape. A specimen with boar-like tusks approached, clutching a fibula in its teeth with a few strings of muscle still attached. It almost looked friendly. The intruder in red knew better and took a swipe at it with their handaxe, the Nightwalker skirting backwards a ways with the bloody leg bone still in its maw. It stepped off, laying in the road and tugging the last bits of meat off the fibula.

The two intruders climbed into the truck, the one in black gunning the engine without turning on the lights. The intruder in red rolled their window down and tossed the handaxe out beside the Nightwalkers with a clatter, and the truck sped off into the night. One Nightwalker, a single, cyclopean eye on its skull, walked over, sniffed the blade of the handaxe and licked it clean.

The door to the McMansion having been left open, a Nightwalker with six legs and an elongated, aardvark-like muzzle went into the house. Lou Reed’s song had ended and another song by Great White began. Nightwalkers generally abhorred light, but Amos and Tammy had only managed to turn on a few lights before their ends, so it was tolerable for this intrepid beast. The Nightwalker sniffed, loping carefully up the staircase. It tripped and fell onto its belly a few times, having never encountered steps before in the woods. Once at the top, panting, it nosed the bedroom door open, and found a delectable feast lying unclaimed inside. It laid down by the arm on the floor and tore into it without hesitation.

“My, my, my!

Once bitten twice shy, babe!”

—

Pomni Freeman, seated in her studio apartment, added the finishing touches to a tree on her landscape. She used her smallest brush to add some shading to the leaves, leaning back to see how it looked from a distance.

“Hmm… that looks…” she said, closing one eye and chewing the end of her paintbrush. She shrugged. “It’ll work.”

She set her small brush down on her collapsible work table, picked up her larger brush and swirled it in the milky blue paint on her pallet. Her painting was almost done, about 80%, only the top right corner being blank white canvas, the rest a (if she said so herself) gorgeous mountain landscape with a river running through it. This painting was due the first of February, but due to… extenuating circumstances, she was given as long as she needed to finish it. It’s difficult to paint if you can’t raise your arm too high, after all.

Her wounds healed up well after the stitches were removed. It took a week or so, but she could eventually reach up and down without the risk of tearing anything. Then it was back to the grind as usual.

Well, no. Not quite. She did have something else new.

Jax Kingston. 22, butcher by trade. Her boyfriend. She and him had only been dating for a little less than a month now, but she was pretty certain she loved the big lug. Not only did he save her life, he was everything she wanted in a partner. Soft-spoken, funny, strong in every way… hot. Sure, he was rough around the edges. He could be kinda gross sometimes. Pomni had seen him put a claw to his nose and shoot a snot rocket into the snow, and some of his jokes were so dark they were horror stories… But he loved her, and she loved him. So, there wasn’t much to complain about.

They had gone on a few dates since she had her stitches out. Autumnvale was a small burg, so there weren’t a tremendous number of destinations to go to. They had been for walks around town, had breakfast at Ragatha’s café, they even went to the premiere of A Winter’s Tale at Gangle’s playhouse. Jax had a very difficult time understanding the elevated language, but enjoyed it regardless.

“It was kinda like watching a movie in another language. You could sorta tell what was going on just by watching their faces, you know?” he had said.

Pomni was always impressed at how clever he could be, despite him never graduating high school. She knew that was incredibly elitist of her to even think about, since plenty of people didn’t do well in school and later turned out to be geniuses. Einstein threw a chair at his teacher for God’s sake.

She had also spent a few nights over at his house. And as much as she loved Ragatha’s cooking, Jax was an artisan with meat. He made her pork chops with mint sauce one night, the pig cut just right so there was plenty of meat on the bone and cooked until perfectly thick and juicy. Another night, he slow-roasted some ribs that were so tender the meat was falling off the bone, combined with a tangy, sweet homemade barbeque sauce that his mom taught him how to make. And another night, he made her some smash burgers, the beef seasoned to perfection with just a hint of Worcestershire sauce, topped with cheddar cheese, relish, sautéed onions and sliced Beefstake tomato, all on a lightly toasted Kaiser roll.

Pomni was used to being just a little bit hungry most of the time due to mostly eating peanut butter sandwiches and Nature Valley bars rather than an actual proper meal. But she always felt like she was gonna pop after dinner with Jax, and it was such an enormous relief to not feel the gnaw of hunger for once.

They watched movies on Jax’s VCR. Jax’s collection was an odd assortment of horror or sci-fi films and older romance films. Films like Lake Placid and Tremors right next to Harold and Maude and Casablanca. Apparently his parents let him have all of their tapes since their VCR broke ages ago and they didn’t feel much need to replace it. Pomni sat in the rabbit-wolf’s lap, both of them wrapped in a thick flannel blanket, watching a movie while the bitter winter wind howled outside, rattling the window panes and slightly stirring the fire in the hearth.

It was one night, when they were watching Men in Black, that Pomni looked up in the middle of the film and looked her boyfriend in the eyes.

“Hey, you don’t have to sleep on the loveseat tonight.”

Jax looked down at her, lupine eyes inquisitive. “What do you mean? I don’t mind the couch. You’re not hogging my space or anything…”

“I didn’t say I wanted to sleep on the couch, did I?” Pomni said. In the firelight, her pale skin shined and dusted with pink.

“Oh,” Jax said, his ears sticking up straighter. “Uh. Well, sure. Yeah. We can do that.”

Jax didn’t sleep on the loveseat again. His rather bulky frame took up most of the mattress space, but Pomni hardly noticed. She spent her nights in bed with Jax nestled against his side or in the crook of his arm. Cuddling up with him was a surefire way to keep warm on those frigid nights, sometimes even too warm, as she had woken up with sweat-dampened clothes on a few occasions, but that was a minuscule price to pay if it meant being close with him.

Jax was a good bedfellow, although he had woken Pomni up a few times with some quaking snores. She could fall back asleep fairly easily, but on nights where he was particularly congested, she had prodded him awake and asked him politely to try blowing his nose. He always did, and Pomni was usually sound asleep by the time the groggy rabbit-wolf climbed back into bed.

Pomni was filling in the single blank corner of her landscape with cyan-white paint when her phone rang.

“Gaaah…” she grumbled, setting down her brush on her pallet and wiping the her hands on a washcloth while the phone rang again. Probably her parents calling for the squintillionth time. The caller ID’s robotic voice blurted out a name;

“CALL FROM— KINGSTON, K.”

Oh shit. Jax’s dad. She hurried over to the phone before it finished its final ring and picked it up.

“He-Hello?” Pomni asked.

“Hey, Pomni, it’s Jax.” replied a familiar growly voice. He always used the same phone greeting.

“Hey, babe! What’s up, are you with your dad?” Pomni asked, her tone brightening immediately.

“Uh yeah, how did-? Oh, caller ID. Right. Uh, ahem, yeah, I’m with dad. I was wondering if you wanted to come over and visit?” Jax asked.

“Now?” Pomni asked. She looked at her painting.

“Uhhhhh yeah. We’ll make you breakfast. Mom’s gonna be getting back from vacation today and I was hoping she could meet you.”

Pomni hesitated. …She couldn’t say no to breakfast.

“Okay, sounds good.” Pomni answered.

“Cool. Uh, the address is 2927 Dover St. It’s about a half mile walk from Ragatha’s place, from the main intersection? Just follow Dover St. and it’ll be on your right. You’re gonna be warm enough, right?”

“Yeah. I can be there in about… half an hour, give or take. I can’t stay too long though, since I have a painting I gotta finish, okay?”

“That’s fine. You want to come over tonight?” Jax asked.

Pomni smiled. His enthusiasm was so cute.

“We’ll see, okay? I really want to get this finished, and it might be dark out by then. But if I do, I’ll let you know. Did you get your phone set up yet?”

“Oh sh- crap… No, I haven’t, the phone people haven’t been out yet.”

“Jax, the whole reason we got you that thing is so I can call you at home. It’s getting kinda frustrating.” Pomni put a hand on her hip.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Jax apologized. “The landline people just haven’t gotten out here yet, honest. They have to dig a trench for it and everything.”

“Look, hun, if I can come over tonight, I will, but if I’m not there by sundown, just assume I had to stay behind, okay? That doesn’t hurt your feelings, does it?” Pomni asked.

“Oh, totally, I’ll dump you on the spot.” Jax drawled. “‘Course it doesn’t. I get it, you’re busy. I work for a living too. We got other nights if this one doesn’t work out.”

“Thanks for understanding… I love you, see you in a bit, okay?” Pomni said, her cheeks warming a bit.

“…I love you too. Dress warm.” Jax said, a smile in his voice.

“I will. Bye-bye.” she replied, pressing the End Call button. She put the phone back on its charging dock and stretched, popping her elbows and back, before untying the old apron she had repurposed into a smock and hanging it on her easel. She took off her pajamas, taking a moment to look down at her scars.

Two deep crescents on the right side of her belly, the taut scar tissue having turned reddish-brown over last month. They looked kinda cool, sort of like a tattoo. Two moons… Hm, that gave her an idea for a drawing. A vast, starry expanse with two moons, big and all encompassing like twin planets… Wasn’t there some crackpot theory about there being two moons at one point?

She ran the tip of her finger on one of the scars and felt an echo of that night’s numbing terror. Agonizing pain and hot, sticky blood and frigid concrete… The night she should have died. She hadn’t uncovered any damning clues, but… she did meet the person she loved. And, to credit herself a bit, she helped catch the guy who tried to frame him the very next day.

She slipped on some fresh underwear and began to dress in her new snow clothes. Her parents bought her two outfits “just in case.” In case of another Nightwalker attack? Yeah. When monkeys flew out of her ass. She wasn’t letting that happen ever again.

She put on the red outfit. Nothing against the blue one, but red was her favorite lately. It looked neat, a rose-red puffer over a black fleece and black snow pants with a red beanie. Her gray university beanie went flying off her head when she took her tumble down the steps, and it was gone when she finally made it back to her apartment. Someone might have taken or thrown it out. No big deal, it would’ve been snowed over and soaking wet anyway. She also didn’t enjoy being pegged as a “city girl” whenever she wore it.

She pulled on her black wool gloves, black scarf, and brown galoshes, double checked to make sure her radiator was on (she wasn’t about to let her painting freeze), and grabbed her purse.

She opened the door out onto the balcony, the cold February air ghosting over her as she shut her apartment door and locked it. Her keys went into her front pocket, and only her front pocket from now on. It seemed that winter still had some air left in its lungs, as it showed no signs of slowing. It had snowed another half an inch last night. She looked at the stairs.

Pomni’s mother had gotten in contact with the landlord and given him a piece of her mind for a good half an hour. She told him, in no uncertain terms, the only way to avoid litigation was to make sure the steps were ice-free every time it snowed. Period. No asterisk.

So they were ice free, sprinkled with little beads of rock salt. Even as she took them, she took care to grab the railing anyway. That was part of the reason why she fell down the stupid things in the first place.

As she maneuvered her way down the steps, the high pitched whine of a siren rang through the air. Cops. The station wasn’t that far from her apartment (although, nothing was too far from anything in a town this small), so she heard them whenever they were called out to stop a bar fight or domestic dispute. Seemed like they were really in a rush this morning, as she soon saw two cruisers, red and blue lights flashing, turn onto the road her apartment was on. Pomni instinctively ducked under the stairs as the APD flew past her. Her opinion of the cops hadn’t improved much at all since January…

Once they were gone, she expelled a plume of steam and continued down the road into town. Autumnvale had been awake for a while, little communities like this got started around the asscrack of dawn, or, at the first sign or reliable sunlight, when the Nightwalkers fled to whatever pit they came from to avoid the sun. She waved to a farmer, a bull-man, passing by on his green and yellow tractor. He doffed his baseball cap.

“Mornin’, Nancy Drew.” he called over the engine.

“Morning,” Pomni replied. She cringed a bit at the nickname. Sure, she had helped solve a mystery, but that didn’t make her a detective. She wasn’t even much of an artist, the trade she was actually good at. Still, it was nice to see the townsfolk actually smile and wave at her now.

As she turned left onto Main Street, she saw a few unfamiliar faces looking around town for what was clearly their first time. They had to be tourists. No locals would be out right now, they had jobs to do, not to mention it was too damn cold to just putz around.

Autumnvale had seen a small spike in true crime tourism ever since the Wren case made the national news. While this was good for local businesses, Pomni hated it. Nothing against the people, but, come on. They had to have known better than to approach her while she was just trying to get home and bombard her with a million questions. Why yes, complete stranger, she did almost die a month ago. Oh of course, she would love to go into graphic detail about how a wild animal almost pulled her guts out of her belly like hot spaghetti. No issue reliving those experiences, no sir.

She pulled her scarf up over her nose and mouth and hurried over to the opposite side of the street from this crowd of strangers. If they tried to get her attention, she would just answer back in the paltry amount of Russian that her grandpa Nikolai taught her. Hopefully “Где продуктовый магазин?” would sound convincing enough to get them to back off. Luckily, they seemed preoccupied looking at the now vacant property that was once Dr. Wren’s office. The sign above the door that had previously said “Dr. Cole Wren, Licensed Practitioner” had been removed after someone threw cow shit on it, and the burgundy front door had been taken off the hinges and replaced with a plywood board after someone, possibly the previous offender, spray painted “MURDERE” across it in silver. They probably would have added the second “R” had they not been spooked by a passing car and ran off into the alleys.

Pomni found Dover St. and began to follow the sidewalk. It led past a few apartment buildings into a more suburban area on the edge of town. The houses were a good deal further apart than most suburbs one might see around the country, and the houses were cute. Usually simple little cottages big enough for two or three people at most, the occasional two story house looking as though it was built back in the eighties, yet still standing tall despite two decades going by thanks to skilled craftsmanship and a sturdy skeleton. It made her happy that all these places weren’t getting torn down and replaced by those stupid Mcmansions that were popping up in the southern outskirts of town. No charm or character to those things, just a focus-grouped blueprint that looked just like hundreds of other focused-grouped blueprint. They were ugly to boot.

Eventually she reached 2927. She checked her watch. 10:08 AM. Not too shabby for an on-foot trek. The house itself was quite cute, a simple but functional one story house that must’ve come right out of the 70’s. It had been kept clean and orderly despite its age, a relic from the past that bravely refused to go anywhere. The backyard brushed up against Lake Sausalito, the 71 square mile freshwater lake where most of the cold winter air came from. That was Pomni’s theory at least, she was no meteorologist. Apparently the lake was great for bass fishing in early summer, and if you could stomach the chilly water, a good place to cool off. But in the winter, it was a black, rippling mirror, probably frigid enough to render an active volcano extinct if you could somehow dump all that water into it.

Pomni approached the front door. She pressed the doorbell and rubbed away any wetness that had accumulated on her pink nose. There was a brief exchange of voices, and the door opened.

“Pomni, hello!” Kinger exclaimed. He had on a blue t-shirt, depicting an obese cartoon fellow sitting in a rowboat with a small pyramid of beer cans next to him, a line cast out of sight on the opposite side of the boat, reading “Gone Fishin’” in black beneath it. Without his usual bucket hat, Kinger’s little cross on the top of his head was on full display.

“Hi Mr. Kingston, thanks for inviting me over.” Pomni replied with a smile, taking off her galoshes.

She quite liked Kinger. He was the definition of a good ol’ boy, he worked his ass off and had a story for every occasion, and he got along with pretty much anybody. He and Pomni’s parents had gotten breakfast together the day before they left town, and they had nothing but good things to say on their (second) goodbye phone call. He was the perfect guy to raise someone like Jax, a poor little kid abandoned in the wilderness…

Pomni stepped into the house and was met with the warm, rich aroma of eggs with the faint zest of sausage. Her stomach immediately jumped for joy. She followed Kinger through their sitting room, a cozy, wood-paneled place reminiscent of a log cabin, complete with a brick fireplace and a deer’s head hanging on the mantle. Jax stood in the kitchen at the end of the main room, in his usual white dress shirt, suspenders and black tie. He turned from his griddle of sausages and smiled his razor-toothed smile.

“Good morning, Pomni.” he said, offering a salute with his free hand.

“Hey babe,” Pomni replied. She put a gloved hand to her mouth, the term of endearment just slipping out. She wasn’t sure if Kinger was alright with that…

“Aw, look at that! She’s already using pet names! You’re moving up in the world, aren’t you, my boy?” Kinger chortled, patting his son on the back as he opened the cabinets to get out some plates. Jax rolled his eyes but maintained a small smile.

Pomni was made to sit at the table after she took off her layers, Kinger serving her a plate of eggs with two smoked apple and turkey sausages. She went for the sausage first, and it was heavenly. The skin broke with a satisfying pop and the meat within was tender, hot and perfectly seasoned. The sweetness of the apple balanced out the savory flavor of the turkey perfectly. She finished both sausages before even touching her eggs.

“Shit, Pomni, don’t forget to breathe.” Jax snorted.

“Jax, you better clean up that mouth. Your mother will be home any minute now.” Kinger scolded, brandishing a fork at him.

Jax rumbled and put his ears down. “…Right. Sorry, dad.”

Pomni looked up from her plate. “Oh yeah, your mom! I was going to ask, Mr. Kingston, where has your wife been? You said she was on vacation, right?”

Kinger nodded. “That’s right. Every year, right before winter, Queenie goes on a week-long trip with her girlfriends to Pelican Point.”

“Pelican-?” Pomni almost choked on her mouthful of egg, swallowing it and coughing. “Pelican Point? You guys can afford that? I mean, no offense, but…”

Pelican Point was a beach resort town on the West Coast, known for being the retreat for many politicians, media moguls and trust fund babies. It was a common joke among blue collar workers that they would one day steal all the cash from their boss’s safe and run off to Pelican Point. Multiple gossip magazines told stories about the debauchery that went on there as well. A tv star had once been found wandering the beach tripping on datura, frothing at the mouth and mumbling about plastic men and cables plugged into the Earth’s core. A star tennis player was caught with a prostitute, but in his rum and cocaine-induced fervor, mistook the private detective sent to expose him for a burglar and chased him down the hall with a shower rod,

naked as the day he was born.

“That’s right! Pelican Point.” Kinger said proudly. “I covered her airline tickets and she and her friends covered the hotel fees. We’ve been saving for a good vacation somewhere sunny for a while now.”

“What about you? Don’t you want to go?” Pomni asked.

“HA! Are you kidding? Nothing for me to do but dodder around the beach and drink Mai Thais at the bar. There’s not even any good spots for ocean fishing. It’s so heavily regulated, you have to sign paperwork to blow your nose.” Kinger shook his head and had a sip of coffee.

Jax smirked. “Kinger likes to keep busy. I guess I get that from him. I’d hate it there too.”

A thought popped into Pomni’s head. Jax, all six feet three inches of him, lounging on a folding beach chair in a hibiscus-print shirt and sunglasses, sipping a tropical beverage out of a coconut shell with a crazy straw. She bit her lip to keep from giggling.

The sound of tires grumbling across snow made the three of them look towards the window, Jax’s ears pricking up. A pair of headlights winked from the window for a moment before pulling up beside Kinger’s pickup.

“Ah, that’ll be her! Let me go help her with her bags!” Kinger pulled on his red and black flannel jacket that hung over the back of the chair, grabbing his bucket-shaped fishing hat from a hook on the wall.

“Here dad, I can help,” Jax got to his feet, the table shifting outward a bit from his bulk.

“The heck you will, son. You sit and enjoy your food. Your old man may be getting a bit long in the tooth, but I can still manage heavy lifting.” Kinger said, pressing a thumb to his chest. He then opened the door and headed outside.

“…So what’s your mom like?” Pomni asked. She finished the last bites of her eggs.

“Uh…” Jax scratched behind his ears. “She’s nice? She looks out for me and… does mom stuff. I don’t know, I’m not really a great introduce-r.”

“Well, she raised you, and you’re amazing, so I’m sure she’s great.” Pomni smiled and held Jax’s paw. The rabbit-wolf squeezed it delicately, his paw large enough to completely encase her petite hand in a fist.

“Thanks… uh, did you want the rest of my food?” asked Jax, offering Pomni his plate of half-finished eggs.

The door flew open just as Pomni accepted the offer, nearly making her drop the eggs. Another chess-piece shaped person, this one a darker brown than Kinger and with a head-shape resembling a queen, stomped into the room. She had on a violet mink coat and a pair of matching earmuffs. She just about threw her keys onto the counter and balled her fists, letting out a growl that would make any pitbulls nearby tip their hats.

“Oh that fucking QUACK! If he wasn’t behind bars I’d choke the life out of him myself!”

Kinger followed behind her with a rolling suitcase, also violet.

“Jax! Oh, my baby, come here…” Queenie hurried over to Jax and threw her hands around him.

“Hi mom…” Jax hugged the chess-piece woman right back.

“Honeybunny, are you okay? You’re not hurt? I swear to God if that weasel hurt even one hair on your body I’ll burn the station down!” Queenie declared.

Kinger hurriedly stepped into an adjoining room to put her suitcase away, but Queenie called after him, still hugging Jax. “Kinger, don’t think I’m done with you! Why didn’t you call me?! I would have been on the first flight back to The East Coast if you told me what was going on.

As Kinger shouted back a muffled excuse, Queenie looked over at Pomni. She blinked and let go of her son.

“Oh. Hello. Jax, who is this young lady?” she asked.

Pomni stared with large eyes, holding up an open palm. “Hi.”

“This is Pomni Freeman, mom. She’s a grad student from the big city. She’s… my girlfriend.”

Queenie looked rapidly from Jax to Pomni for a moment.

“You… have a girlfriend?” Queenie whispered.

“…It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” Pomni said, managing a tentative smile.

Queenie held up one finger at Jax. “Alright, I know you were framed and put behind bars, so you get a pass this time. Your dumbass dad not communicating with me is another pretty good excuse. But oh my God Jax, you have a girlfriend?!”

Queenie practically squealed this last bit of her sentence, going over to Pomni and shaking her hand. Her grip was feverish but not too hard, thank goodness.

“Hi, honey! I’m Queenie Kingston, I’m Jax’s mother! Oh, give me just a second to get out of my coat and we can chat!”

She went into her and Kinger’s bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Pomni listened to the muffled arguing behind the door for just a moment before looking at Jax, a small smile on her lips with an eyebrow arched.

“You didn’t tell her anything?” she asked.

“Ehhh… it was dad’s idea, really,” Jax shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “He kept saying he wanted her to have a good time and not worry about home. Pelican Point ain’t cheap, she might not ever get an opportunity like that again, you know?”

“I’m not mad or anything, babe. Don’t sweat it.”

Pomni scooted forward on her chair and smooched the rabbit-wolf on the lips. He returned the kiss timidly. Pomni finished up her boyfriend’s leftover eggs, and soon Queenie exited the bedroom with Kinger. She had dressed herself in a pastel yellow concert tee for a pretty okay country-western group that was big in the nineties. She took a seat across from Pomni as Kinger strategically went to the kitchen to work on making her some breakfast.

“So, Pomni, you’re a grad student. That means you probably got that scholarship the Mayor created a few years ago, hm?” Queenie asked.

“That’s right ma’am, uh, I got selected by The Fine Arts department for my high grades…”

Pomni told Queenie just about everything. How she got her scholarship, how she met Jax, her encounter with the Nightwalker and Jax’s rescue, everything with Dr. Wren… It must have taken almost an hour to explain everything, but it flew by so quickly. So much happened in just three days.

Queenie, who was pretty much finished with her breakfast at this point, shook her head in disgust at Dr. Wren’s crimes. She swallowed her last bite of food and waggled her fork between her thumb and forefinger.

“I know Hindsight’s 20/20, but I never liked Dr. Wren. Doesn’t surprise me he’d do something so scummy. He was no help at all for Jax when he was a boy. Just slapped him with a “hyperactive” diagnosis and put him on pills that turned him into a robot. It broke my heart seeing him just sit and stare at nothing.”

“Yeah… I feel like shrinks are always quick to give a kid adderall or concerta or something…” Pomni said grimly. “It’s why I’m glad I only have to call my shrink once every three months.”

Jax huffed. “I remember how it felt. My stomach hurt so bad I wanted to puke, and I just… didn’t feel anything. It was creepy. I wanted to laugh or smile but I would, like, have to force my body to do it.”

“Oh, bless your heart, you poor thing…” Queenie cooed.

Kinger, who had been listening tacitly, finished his cup of coffee and placed it in the dishwasher. He went over to the television, sat on a sturdy wooden table painted shades of aqua and cerulean, with different colored fish whittled into the side. Purple, seafoam green, salmon pink (appropriately) and cyan. He sat himself on a brown leather recliner, turning on the boxy CRT tv, hitting the mute button so as not to interrupt the conversation in the kitchen. However, what he saw when the screen warmed up to full brightness made him break his silence.

“Ho-ly smoke!” he exclaimed, sitting up and pressing both hands onto the recliner’s armrests.

“Kinger, what’s the matter?” Queenie asked as she rinsed her plate off in the sink.

“Come look at this! The Cyclones made it to the playoffs!” Kinger unmuted the television, a deep-voiced narrator discussing an upcoming showdown.

Queenie rolled her eyes. “Since when do you care about sports?”

“If they’ve made it to the playoffs, they’re gonna start up the betting pool at the pub again! Ha!” he clapped his hands together. “If I play my cards right I can probably send you back to Pelican Point this time next year!”

“Dad, didn’t you lose like, 2K last time you tried betting on games?” Jax asked with a smirk.

“Aw, I just got greedy is all, Jax. This year I’ll be more careful, for sure.”

“Yeah, you’ll be careful, alright. You aren’t putting a damn penny in that betting pool.” Queenie said, one hand on her hip and the other pointed at Kinger. “It’s too risky! I’d like to be able to keep the gas on for the rest of the winter.”

The channel finished playing ads and played a quick screen wipe transition for ADC News. It then cut to some live footage of the police pulled up outside of the McMansions on the south side of town. The voice of Robert Watts spoke over it.

“Welcome back to ADC News, if you’re just now joining us, a grisly scene discovered just two hours ago at this Autumnvale residence. A neighbor out for an early morning walk discovered what she described as a ‘bloodbath’ on the road outside 51-year-old foreign investor Amos Halloran’s countryside home, the door wide open and snow having drifted into the house. Police arrived moments later to discover bloody animal tracks leading away from another body in the upstairs bedroom.”

Pomni leaned forward to get a better look at the screen. Queenie set aside the kitchen sponge and rapidly dried her hands on a washcloth so she could come watch as well. Jax cleaned his dagger-sharp teeth with a plastic toothpick, leaning forward ever so slightly to watch as well.

The tv cut back to the cougarman sitting in the newsroom. “Police have identified the body out front as Mr. Halloran, as well as his 32-year-old girlfriend Tamika Pryce upstairs. Both bodies show heavy signs of a Nightwalker attack, but Autumnvale’s police are now questioning whether this was a simple fatality, or something more calculated. Misty Reynolds is on the scene now with more details, Misty?”

The picture cut to the same on-site news anchor that ADC always used, that thirty-something brunette woman. Pomni always thought she was cute. She stood center frame in her trademark white parka with the hood drawn up, wearing a red scarf, about a house away from the crime scene. Her nose was slightly pink from the cold. A few cops could be seen milling around out of focus in the background, and a black van that could only belong to the coroner had arrived.

“Thanks Rob, this quiet neighborhood was shocked to find what was initially thought to be the aftermath of a fatal Nightwalker attack, but upon the police investigating the house behind me-” Misty pointed with her thumb. “-they found signs of a robbery.”

The picture cut to a police officer that Pomni faintly recognized from around town, an older guy. He always looked sort of droopy, like the years working as a cop had gradually tugged his face downward. The text scroll on the bottom identified him as Deputy Sterling Hunt.

“A personal safe was opened and emptied of its contents, and there were signs of a violent struggle in the house.” he said.

“Oh my god…” Queenie said, shaking her head.

The footage cut back to Misty.

“Police have yet to discern if these were merely opportunists looking to take advantage of an empty house, or if this was a more calculated effort. All Autumnvale residents have been implored by the mayor to be absolutely, positively certain that their houses and apartments are locked up tight.”

It cut to the mayor, Caine Mason, at his desk. Same impeccably pressed red suit, same serious as a heart attack expression on his face.

“Winter is already our most dangerous season. We can’t allow any unnecessary bloodshed for the sake of our citizens.” he said.

“No shit…” Jax mumbled. Queenie shot him a look.

“Did you know them..?” Pomni asked Queenie.

“I only met the husband a few times at church.” she said. “I never liked him. He’s… He was the type to look down on you if you didn’t have some suit-and-tie job. Didn’t mean he had to die though. No one deserves to die.”

“Not even Dr. Wren?” asked Jax with a tiny smile.

“One person deserves to die,” Queenie said without looking away from the tv.

Jax put a paw on Pomni’s shoulder.

“Y’okay?” he asked.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine I-I didn’t know them.” Pomni replied.

“I know, but…” Jax trailed off, scratching the back of his head.

“I’m a big girl, Jax,” Pomni said with a faint smirk. She motioned him closer and whispered in his ear. “If you’re worried, I’ll stay over with you tonight, okay?”

Jax smiled, but it vanished quickly. “Wh-What about your painting?” he asked.

“You’re more important than some painting, hun. I got the rest of the afternoon anyway.” Pomni whispered. “It’ll be fun.”

Pomni gave Jax another discreet kiss on his furry cheek. She then got up from the table and began putting on her layers.

“You heading out?” Jax asked.

“Yeah, I better mosey on. Thank you so much for having me over, Mr. and Mrs. Kingston.” Pomni smiled.

Queenie came over and gave Pomni a quick hug. Pomni normally would have flinched, but she had been quietly expecting a hug from this jovial woman, so she took it in stride. It wasn’t too bad, maybe a little heavy on perfume.

“You be safe now, pumpkin. You’ve got our number if you need anything, okay?” Queenie said.

“Yes ma’am. You be safe too,” Pomni said. She pulled her gloves out of her coat pockets and tugged them on, wiggling her fingers, then zipped herself up.

“Pleasure to have you over, Miss Freeman. Don’t work too hard, okay?” Kinger said with a good natured chortle.

“I’ll do my best,” giving her best laugh back.

Queenie gently but deliberately swatted Jax on the arm, who was still seated at the table.

“What are you doing? Go see your girlfriend to the door like a gentleman.” she chided.

Jax got to his feet a bit too quickly, jostling the table with his lap. He walked Pomni to the door, tied on her scarf for her as she put on her hat, then unlatched the door.

“Call when you get home, okay? I’ll still be around here, I gotta help dad with some furnace stuff…” Jax said.

“Sure thing,” Pomni said as she pulled on her boots.

Jax opened the door for her, then leaned down hesitantly. He clearly felt a bit awkward about PDA in front of his parents, especially since both of them were pretending not to watch. Pomni slung her purse over her shoulder, then stood on her tiptoes and pressed a smooch to his lips.

“I love you,” she said. “Bye.”

Queenie put a hand over her heart.

“…I love you too, see you soon.” Jax said, his ears sticking straight up and a bashful smile on his wolfish face. Pomni waved to him and stepped out onto the porch, walking carefully out onto the road. Jax watched her for a little while longer before closing the door.

Pomni took a deep breath of the cold and crinkly air before expelling it in a cloud of steam. She felt full and warm. She set out on her trek back to her apartment.

A crow croaked on a nearby branch, preening its oil-black feathers. It shook its head and watched the girl on the road, jostling a small dusting of snow from the branch it perched on.

[sethkate]

Danielle Campbell via Instagram (2019)

[latoyarubalcava3546]

Guillermo del Toro's Shape Of Water Is The BAFTAs Frontrunner Thanks To 12 Nods! See The Full List Of Nominees HERE!

Awards season is certainly in full swing.

On Tuesday morning, Natalie Dormer and Letitia Wright announced the nominees for the 2018 BAFTA Film Awards. Now that the Golden Globes have come and gone, all eyes are on the British awards show to see who might be a REAL contender at the Oscars.

Related: Oprah Inspires With EPIC #MeToo Speech!

And the answer??? Guillermo del Toro's Shape Of Water is clearly the current frontrunner, as the drama walked away with 12 nominations. Bravo.

Joanna Lumley was also named the host of the industry event, as Stephen Fry recently announced that he'd be stepping down from the role.

Anyhoo, be sure to ch-ch-check out the complete list of nominations for yourself (below)!!

BEST FILM CALL ME BY YOUR NAME Emilie Georges, Luca Guadagnino, Marco Morabito, Peter Spears DARKEST HOUR Tim Bevan, Lisa Bruce, Eric Fellner, Anthony McCarten, Douglas Urbanski DUNKIRK Christopher Nolan, Emma Thomas THE SHAPE OF WATER Guillermo del Toro, J. Miles Dale THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI Graham Broadbent, Pete Czernin, Martin McDonagh

DIRECTOR BLADE RUNNER 2049 Denis Villeneuve CALL ME BY YOUR NAME Luca Guadagnino DUNKIRK Christopher Nolan THE SHAPE OF WATER Guillermo del Toro THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI Martin McDonagh

LEADING ACTRESS ANNETTE BENING Film Stars Don't Die in Liverpool FRANCES McDORMAND Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri MARGOT ROBBIE I, Tonya SALLY HAWKINS The Shape of Water SAOIRSE RONAN Lady Bird

LEADING ACTOR DANIEL DAY-LEWIS Phantom Thread DANIEL KALUUYA Get Out GARY OLDMAN Darkest Hour JAMIE BELL Film Stars Don't Die in Liverpool TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET Call Me by Your Name

SUPPORTING ACTRESS ALLISON JANNEY I, Tonya KRISTIN SCOTT THOMAS Darkest Hour LAURIE METCALF Lady Bird LESLEY MANVILLE Phantom Thread OCTAVIA SPENCER The Shape of Water

SUPPORTING ACTOR CHRISTOPHER PLUMMER All the Money in the World HUGH GRANT Paddington 2 SAM ROCKWELL Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri WILLEM DAFOE The Florida Project WOODY HARRELSON Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

OUTSTANDING BRITISH FILM DARKEST HOUR Joe Wright, Tim Bevan, Lisa Bruce, Eric Fellner, Anthony McCarten, Douglas Urbanski THE DEATH OF STALIN Armando Iannucci, Kevin Loader, Laurent Zeitoun, Yann Zenou, Ian Martin, David Schneider GOD'S OWN COUNTRY Francis Lee, Manon Ardisson, Jack Tarling LADY MACBETH William Oldroyd, Fodhla Cronin O'Reilly, Alice Birch PADDINGTON 2 Paul King, David Heyman, Simon Farnaby THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI Martin McDonagh, Graham Broadbent, Pete Czernin

OUTSTANDING DEBUT BY A BRITISH WRITER, DIRECTOR OR PRODUCER THE GHOUL Gareth Tunley (Writer/Director/Producer), Jack Healy Guttman & Tom Meeten (Producers) I AM NOT A WITCH Rungano Nyoni (Writer/Director), Emily Morgan (Producer) JAWBONE Johnny Harris (Writer/Producer), Thomas Napper (Director) KINGDOM OF US Lucy Cohen (Director) LADY MACBETH Alice Birch (Writer), William Oldroyd (Director), Fodhla Cronin O'Reilly (Producer)

FILM NOT IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE ELLE Paul Verhoeven, Saïd Ben Saïd FIRST THEY KILLED MY FATHER Angelina Jolie, Rithy Panh THE HANDMAIDEN Park Chan-wook, Syd Lim LOVELESS Andrey Zvyagintsev, Alexander Rodnyansky THE SALESMAN Asghar Farhadi, Alexandre Mallet-Guy

DOCUMENTARY CITY OF GHOSTS Matthew Heineman I AM NOT YOUR NEGRO Raoul Peck ICARUS Bryan Fogel, Dan Cogan AN INCONVENIENT SEQUEL Bonni Cohen, Jon Shenk JANE Brett Morgen

ANIMATED FILM COCO Lee Unkrich, Darla K. Anderson LOVING VINCENT Dorota Kobiela, Hugh Welchman, Ivan Mactaggart MY LIFE AS A COURGETTE Claude Barras, Max Karli

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY GET OUT Jordan Peele I, TONYA Steven Rogers LADY BIRD Greta Gerwig THE SHAPE OF WATER Guillermo del Toro, Vanessa Taylor THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI Martin McDonagh

ADAPTED SCREENPLAY CALL ME BY YOUR NAME James Ivory THE DEATH OF STALIN Armando Iannucci, Ian Martin, David Schneider FILM STARS DON'T DIE IN LIVERPOOL Matt Greenhalgh MOLLY'S GAME Aaron Sorkin PADDINGTON 2 Simon Farnaby, Paul King

ORIGINAL MUSIC BLADE RUNNER 2049 Benjamin Wallfisch, Hans Zimmer DARKEST HOUR Dario Marianelli DUNKIRK Hans Zimmer PHANTOM THREAD Jonny Greenwood THE SHAPE OF WATER Alexandre Desplat

CINEMATOGRAPHY BLADE RUNNER 2049 Roger Deakins DARKEST HOUR Bruno Delbonnel DUNKIRK Hoyte van Hoytema THE SHAPE OF WATER Dan Laustsen THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI Ben Davis

EDITING BABY DRIVER Jonathan Amos, Paul Machliss BLADE RUNNER 2049 Joe Walker DUNKIRK Lee Smith THE SHAPE OF WATER Sidney Wolinsky THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI Jon Gregory

PRODUCTION DESIGN BEAUTY AND THE BEAST Sarah Greenwood, Katie Spencer BLADE RUNNER 2049 Dennis Gassner, Alessandra Querzola DARKEST HOUR Sarah Greenwood, Katie Spencer DUNKIRK Nathan Crowley, Gary Fettis THE SHAPE OF WATER Paul Austerberry, Jeff Melvin, Shane Vieau

COSTUME DESIGN BEAUTY AND THE BEAST Jacqueline Durran DARKEST HOUR Jacqueline Durran I, TONYA Jennifer Johnson PHANTOM THREAD Mark Bridges THE SHAPE OF WATER Luis Sequeira

MAKE UP & HAIR BLADE RUNNER 2049 Donald Mowat, Kerry Warn DARKEST HOUR David Malinowski, Ivana Primorac, Lucy Sibbick, Kazuhiro Tsuji I, TONYA Deborah La Mia Denaver, Adruitha Lee VICTORIA & ABDUL Daniel Phillips WONDER Naomi Bakstad, Robert A. Pandini, Arjen Tuiten

SOUND BABY DRIVER Tim Cavagin, Mary H. Ellis, Julian Slater BLADE RUNNER 2049 Ron Bartlett, Doug Hemphill, Mark Mangini, Mac Ruth DUNKIRK Richard King, Gregg Landaker, Gary A. Rizzo, Mark Weingarten THE SHAPE OF WATER Christian Cooke, Glen Gauthier, Nathan Robitaille, Brad Zoern STAR WARS: THE LAST JEDI Ren Klyce, David Parker, Michael Semanick, Stuart Wilson, Matthew Wood

SPECIAL VISUAL EFFECTS BLADE RUNNER 2049 Gerd Nefzer, John Nelson DUNKIRK Scott Fisher, Andrew Jackson THE SHAPE OF WATER Dennis Berardi, Trey Harrell, Kevin Scott STAR WARS: THE LAST JEDI Nominees tbc WAR FOR THE PLANET OF THE APES Nominees tbc

BRITISH SHORT ANIMATION HAVE HEART Will Anderson MAMOON Ben Steer POLES APART Paloma Baeza, Ser En Low

BRITISH SHORT FILM AAMIR Vika Evdokimenko, Emma Stone, Oliver Shuster COWBOY DAVE Colin O'Toole, Jonas Mortensen A DROWNING MAN Mahdi Fleifel, Signe Byrge Sørensen, Patrick Campbell WORK Aneil Karia, Scott O'Donnell WREN BOYS Harry Lighton, Sorcha Bacon, John Fitzpatrick

EE RISING STAR AWARD (voted for by the public) DANIEL KALUUYA FLORENCE PUGH JOSH O'CONNOR TESSA THOMPSON TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

Congrats to all the nominees!!

[Image via Fox Searchlight.]

[sethkate]

Olivia Moon + Writer’s Block (2.02)

[sethkate]

Danielle Campbell in Ghost Light (2018)

[sethkate]

Danielle Campbell in Tell Me A Story (2018)

[sethkate]

Danielle Campbell in Tell Me A Story (2018)

[sethkate]

Danielle Campbell in Tell Me A Story (2018)

[sethkate]

Danielle Campbell in Ghost Light (2018)

[sethkate]

Danielle Campbell in Tell Me A Story (2018)

[sethkate]

Danielle Campbell in Tell Me A Story (2018)

[sethkate]

Danielle Campbell in Tell Me A Story (2018)

[sethkate]

Wren Matthews + Instagram

[sethkate]

40-50 for wren :)

 ( SEND ME A # TO LEARN AN UNUSUAL HC ABOUT MY MUSE! )

do they have a big family or a small family? no family?

small immediate family – mom, dad, twin sister avery. very large extended family. lots of aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. 

where would they want to live if they could live anywhere? why?

wren likes colorado, but she would probably prefer to live somewhere with a bigger arts scene. maybe new york or los angeles? 

are they happy in their current living situation? why or why not?

yessss. she has a neighbor above her that likes to practice guitar at like 2:30 am and there’s an ally cat that always hangs out on her fire escape. but overall, she’s happy where she’s at.

do they like living alone or with another person / other people?

wren likes living alone. the only person she would consider living with at this point is probably her sister. but she’s afraid it would ruin their closeness because of how different they are. then of course she’s always got theo as a temporary occasional roommate which is more than enough for her lmao. 

did they go to college, or are they attending? did / do they like it?

she’s currently enrolled! she has a love/hate relationship with it. there’s a lot of stuff she has to do that she doesn’t enjoy and thinks is pointless for her art degree. but obviously everyone has to jump through the same hoops so she doesn’t think much of it. 

what’s their dream job / profession? do they have one?

i think her dream job would be to own her own art studio. open a cute little place somewhere downtown where she could feature and sell all of her art and represent other small time artists who are super talented but maybe don’t have connections in the industry and get them noticed and up on their feet??

if they could control one thing in the world, what would it be?

probably how other people see her? i think she feels misunderstood a lot of the time and she’s grown up always having others question her. so if she could control that narrative and get people to see where she’s coming from i think she would be a lot happier of a person. 

do they like tv shows or movies? or neither?

movies. she doesn’t have the best attention span to watch episode after episode of something. it would take her years to finish a series lol. 

do they have social media? do they like it or hate it? obsess over it?

i’d say she has a snapchat and an instagram. but probably not things like a facebook or twitter. she isn’t obsessed, but she uses each of them regularly. 

do they have a creative outlet? if so, what is it?

wren has like 100000 creative outlets. sketching/drawing, painting, photography, sculpting, anything that gets her artistic juices flowing. what she does kinda depends on her mood and how she can channel it the best. 

where do they see themselves in 2 / 5 / 10 years?

in two years she’ll be done with school and hopes to have a reliable job doing what she’s passionate about. five years, obviously still growing as an artist. potentially settling down with someone, maybe traveling the world with them??? ten years... i don’t think she thinks that far ahead honestly. even if she can’t say where she wants to see herself that far down the line, i feel like in general, she would just want to be happy regardless of where she’s at, what she’s doing, who she’s with, etc. 

[sethkate]

Wren A-Z

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

if it’s like a one night stand or a casual thing, she probably lays there for a little bit anxiously awaiting until the guy falls asleep and then she’ll sneak out of bed to get dressed before raiding the fridge for a snack to eat on her way home lol. if it’s someone she’s in a relationship with, i think it’s hit or miss because it depends on the guy. if he wants to cuddle or whatever, she’d be down for that. but if not, she’s fine with just rolling over and going to sleep. 

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

wren’s favorite body part on herself is her lips and her favorite body part on her partner would probably be their hair. she likes a lot of thick hair that she can play with or tug on. and also their torso. the more abs the better tbh. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

wren has to really like a guy to swallow his cum. i mean reeeaallllllly like. so unless they would prefer her to spit it out, they’d be smart to put it elsewhere. she doesn’t mind inside of her since she’s like really neurotic about taking the pill @ like the same exact second every day. but if a guy’s not into that usually on her chest or stomach are fine.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

she has a sex position bucket list... like a ton of different ones, some that are whack as hell, some that are probably going to result in an accident, some for only her pleasure, some for only the guys, etc.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

wren is definitely well experienced and has been around the block a few times. she’s had her fair share of boyfriends, friends with benefits, one night stands, etc. so she knows what she’s doing. 

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

it honestly depends on the guy because some are incapable of performing well in certain positions lmao but if all the circumstances are right her favorites are probably (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

i feel like with most guys, it tends to be a little bit more on the serious side because she knows it’s only happening for like one purpose. so she doesn’t see a point in being funny when she just wants to get off and then get out lmao. but if the right guy came along and got her to crack her shell open a bit, i definitely think she’d be a little bit more willing to be playful. hint hint @ theo 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

wren’s very big on good personal hygiene like to the fact where she might shower even twice a day??? so everything’s always maintained well because of that. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

usually not very intimate. even with her boyfriends, there’s a certain level of trust that has to be there in order for her to behave this way and most of the time, she’s just not there. a guy can be cute and sweet to her and she’s fine with it (might only throw up in her mouth a little), but it’s usually not reciprocated fully. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

one way to tell if a guy is actually doing a decent job of pleasing wren in bed.... if she isn’t simultaneously trying to masturbate while a dude is inside her. like if she puts her hand between her legs to take the situation literally into her own hands, then you better try a little bit harder because what you’re doing isn’t cutting it. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

nothing too out of the ordinary. hair pulling, scratching, biting, sensory deprivation, food play, mild choking. stuff like that.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

she doesn’t mind hooking up in cars if they aren’t super small and offer enough space to get the job done without getting injured in the process. but mostly she’d prefer just a bed or the couch. the place itself doesn’t need to be super exciting because there’s sooo many things to do that make the act far from boring.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

a good, long make out session featuring lots of grinding, rough grabbing and maybe a lil dry humping. she also likes to have her neck kissed/sucked on. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

other than nasty bodily fluid stuff, wren’s not really into the whole daddy kink. she also doesn’t like to be blatantly disrespected. getting a little rough is fine and sometimes encouraged, but if you’re hurting her and she tells you so, if you don’t stop, she’s calling it quits. wren also isn’t big on getting called misogynistic names during sex (dirty slut, filthy whore, dumb bitch, etc.)

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

welllll since she’s a lil bit selfish, she def prefers receiving lmao. but if she’s into the guy enough, she’ll be generous to give him a little action too. and if she ends up with a guy who like refuses to eat a girl out, she’ll probably lecture him for a solid five minutes while getting dressed and then never talk to him again. bc it’s 2019 i mean come ON

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

usually fast and rough. slow and sensual most of the time for her is too much like ‘making love’ and she’s just like ehhh about that whole bit lmao. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

wren doesn’t mind them as long as everybody gets to orgasm. if she has a quickie with a guy and he cums real fast but then literally doesn’t do a damn thing to help her finish, she probably won’t ever see him again needless to say. she’d prefer a more drawn out experience though for obvious reasons. sometimes if guys feel under pressure they have a tendency to rush and have poor performance so....

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

i think wren is fine with experimenting to a certain extent, but it would only happen with someone she’s truly comfortable with. the idea of making herself vulnerable to certain things that she doesn’t know the outcome of how it’s going to go gives her too much anxiety. i also think she’s risky, but knows when to dial it down. she’s not trying to get fined or thrown in jail for doing something that’s completely foolish. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

most guys are lucky if they get more than 1 round out of her cause she can lose interest pretty fast lmao. but if she’s into you, she can definitely do multiples. as for how long she can last, it’s never been an issue. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

she only has one... and it’s like the holy grail of vibrators. obvs to use on herself when she’s annoyed with the male population and needs a release. sometimes it’s just easier to do the job yourself y’know??/

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

oh wren loves to tease. she’ll do absolutely everything she can to make sure that you’re pretty much begging for it before she gives it to you. she likes to push people’s limits so she teases as much as she can get away with.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

i wouldn’t say that she’s loud, but she’s definitely not quiet. she’s vocal, but not to the point where she would wake up the whole house. as long as her partner can hear her, that’s enough for her. usually, it’s a combination of moaning and a few dropped curse words. nothing too vile though. sometimes there’s whining a bit if you’re special enough to have that kind of effect on her.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

wren’s never had sex with someone that she loves... mostly because she’s never been in love. usually because she shuts herself off emotionally whenever things even start to head in that direction. so all of her experiences that she’s had have been purely physical, and very shallow and superficial when it came to connecting with the other person on a deeper level. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

(x)

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

i’d say moderately high?? like if she’s not having sex at least once a day, she’s probably using her vibrator so

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

this usually only happens when she’s dating someone and she can fall asleep pretty quickly depending on her exhaustion level. sometimes it’s easier than others. but again, also depends on how comfortable she is around you.