#he gets to watch the breach spit out a person shaped something and find that person shaped something (surprise! its a person)

[swordtit]

once again daydreaming about the dai fic i havent written

[hopelesshawks]

History of Us Part 35- The Storm

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Masterlist Kofi

The plan, both that of the reunion squad and that of the pro heroes, goes to shit almost immediately. Your father is a smart man and the compound reflects that. Almost immediately upon breaching the entrance, the pros realized that the information they had on the building’s floor plan was incorrect. They were also wrong about the compound solely being occupied by you, Dabi, and your father. Several lower level villains have been kept on retainer precisely in case of a situation like this. Not only had Shoto and the others not been able to sneak past the pros to try and find you but the pros had actively requested their help as things rapidly devolved.

Then your father finally made his appearance in dramatic fashion, and that’s when things really went downhill. Literally half the compound was blown sky high as your father released a massive flurry of shadows racing out to push back the heroes. Several of the pros on scene are immediately knocked out of commission, leaving the smaller villains to run into the city and cause trouble. Tamaki is one of the first to recover, quickly organizing some of the remaining heroes and sidekicks into squads to track down the villains now racing towards the more densely populated commercial area nearby. “I’m trusting you to handle Black Storm,” he tells Endeavor. The older man only gives him a nod before Tamaki is off to try and minimize the damage being done.

Shoto starts to worry as he realizes he still hasn’t seen you but before he can begin searching properly a familiar voice stops him in his tracks. “There you are little brother, I was worried you might not show,” Touya grins. Shoto’s eyes narrow at his brother, his quirk itching to be released as he stares him down. “Where’s (y/n)?” Shoto all but growls. “You sure she even wants you to find her?” Dabi teases, his amusement at the situation palpable. “Absolutely,” Shoto replies without even a hint of hesitation or doubt. “Tell you what, prove you really are dad’s perfect little experiment and beat me. If you can do that much I’ll lead you right to her. I’d hurry if I were you too, her daddy dearest didn’t take too kindly to finding heroes at our door and poor (y/n) is his favorite punching bag,” Dabi grins. “With pleasure,” Shoto growls before lunging forward.

This is a disaster. You’ve managed to only bump into one sidekick who’d made it deeper into the remains of the compound but even that small fight had been enough to aggravate your injuries. Your vision swims as you rush towards the sound of the fighting. You know your dad’s been using quirk enhancing drugs lately and the pros aren’t prepared for that kind of firepower. You want nothing more than to just sit down, close your eyes, and try to heal yourself, maybe even take a nap, but there’s no time. You’re the only one who can stop your dad now. You know it in your gut. So you push through the pain and the slight dizziness to keep moving. You’re nearly knocked off your feet as a series of explosions shakes the compound, followed by an all too familiar battle cry of “DIE!” Fear surges through your veins like ice. You’d recognize Bakugo’s voice anywhere and even if you couldn’t there’s not exactly a ton of explosive heroes who threaten to murder villains out there. Bakugo would never come alone, which means more of your friends are surely in the fray and in danger. You grit your teeth, focusing on them and your determination to save them, and start running towards the commotion glowing only faintly but enough to hold you together.

Shoto has never fought this hard his entire life. He lands hard on his side but quickly rolls to recover and get back on his feet. He throws up a wall of ice, partly to slow Dabi’s progress as he comes surging towards him, but partially to stave off the after effects from using his left side so much. Sweat pours off his forehead as he desperately tries to hold off from overheating. As Dabi burns through his ice, Shoto launches himself forward to meet his brother halfway. He’ll be damned if he loses this fight. He has to get to you, especially if what Dabi said about your condition is the truth. For a single moment Shoto manages to pin Touya down but before he can do anything more he notices Dabi’s gaze is focused not on him but something off to the side. “Your girlfriend finally joined the fray,” Dabi grins, causing Shoto to immediately snap his head that direction to find you. Relief floods him at seeing you alive but he’s snapped back into the moment as Dabi suddenly engulfs the two of them in flames, causing Shoto to rear back with a curse. “Don’t get distracted baby brother, this fight isn’t over,” Dabi taunts as he uses Shoto’s momentary distraction to get the upper hand. Fire and ice both emerge as Shoto is filled with another wave of determination. He’s so close to getting you back, he won’t let you slip through his fingers again.

The chaos is even worse than you thought when you finally get to where all the fighting is. All around you your friends and various pros are battling villains. Buildings further down the street are burning where Tamaki is trying to keep the villains contained to a smaller area. To your right Shoto is locked in combat with Dabi and frankly it takes your breath away. Shoto is magnificent. You’ve never seen him look so resolute before and you distantly wonder if that’s the real reason Dabi exposed your location: to see this side of his younger brother. You probably could have stood there just watching the two of them forever but a loud crashing noise to your left jerks your attention away as you watch Endeavor hit the ground hard after your father had thrown him. Your stomach sinks when you notice what rough shape he’s in. You knew this would happen the moment you found out your father was using quirk enhancers but it’s still unnerving to see the number one hero struggle so much. You look up to see your father grinning like a mad man, clearly delighting in the pain of a man he once claimed to love like family. More importantly, however, you also can see the characteristic black veins crawling up the side of his neck. Steroids or not, your quirk still comes with a price. Your father is just about to deal what looks suspiciously like a fatal blow as he gathers a large mass of shadows into both hands but before they can reach Endeavor you jump in front of the fallen hero and unleash your own blast of shadows to dissipate your father’s.

You think you hear Endeavor say something behind you but the words fall on deaf ears as you watch your father’s face twist into a grimace of betrayal and rage. “I should’ve known you’d choose them,” he spits before unleashing another torrent of inky blackness shooting towards you. You widen your stance to brace yourself and then unleash your own torrent back with your right hand, using your free hand to brace it. “After all I did for you, this is how you repay me? You traitorous bitch,” he accuses, his voice roaring over the sounds of battle around you. Rage burns through you at his words and you embrace it wholeheartedly as you continue to push back against him. “All you did was abuse and traumatize me,” you bite out. Your head is throbbing but you can’t let up, not now, not when you’re so close to ridding yourself of your father for good. “I did it to make you stronger! You could’ve been the most powerful person in all of Japan, we could’ve built an empire together!” he responds, as if somehow that justifies how he’s treated you; as if that empire wouldn’t be built atop the corpses of innocents. “I am strong. Stronger than you. In spite of you, not because of you,” you shout.

After that final declaration, you’re done talking. Instead you close your eyes, grit your teeth, and you think of every single time your father abused you, every time you lashed out at those you loved because of the trauma he ingrained in you, every time you suffered because of his crimes. You think of your poor mother who works double and triple shifts so she can provide for you. You think of that fateful day your father brought you into work and traumatized you out of his own selfish desire to mold you into what he wanted you to be. You think of all of the pain and hurt and anger and you pour it into your quirk even as black veins start to crawl up on your own skin, even as they climb up your forearm, then your shoulder, then your neck, and onto the right side of your face. Your entire right side feels like it’s on fire but you push and push through until you finally start to feel the resistance from your father giving way as his quirk overwhelms him. You hear yelling and it takes a minute to realize that the raw, pained sound is coming from you as you push and push and push until finally you feel the resistance fade completely and the shadows you’d sent out connect with your father. You gasp as you finally release your quirk although you notice the right side of your body is still on fire. Your head feels fuzzy and your vision is definitely swimming but you push through it. You have to make sure it’s over. Your father sways on his feet, eyes empty and black veins completely marring his face. After a moment his body collapses to the ground completely limp and relief floods through you.

It’s over.

It’s finally fucking over.

As the adrenaline slowly starts to drain out of you, you hear someone call out your name. They sound panicked. Why do they sound panicked? You turn to the source of the voice slowly as the world starts to spin around you. You vaguely recognize Shoto’s alarmed face as he sprints towards you before everything goes black and you collapse.

A/N: This took me literally all of yesterday to write and was difficult to start but holy shit am I happy with how it turned out. We’re entering the home stretch ladies and gentlemen.

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @shot0stea @todoplusultra @oliviasslut @lapysllazuly @immah0e4fictionalmen @cinnamonruts

(Bold means I couldn’t tag you)

[cr33pyp4st4-th1ngs]

I’d like a romantic matchup with a creepypasta

Looks: I have short brown hair, round glasses and I’m between 5’4-5’5 and fairly skinny with semi pale skin

Eye color: Brown

Hobbies: Drawing and gaming

Likes:

Drawing

Video games

Writing

Dislikes:

Mushrooms

Mathematics

Privacy breaching

Hobbies:

Drawing

Writing

Pet peeves:

Getting asked too many questions

Being annoyed too much

Not knowing certain things whether it’s about my schedule or something important

Turn on: (NOT SEXUAL)

-People who share similar interests as me

-Accents

-Messy hair

Turn off:

-People who make fun of someone for liking something

-Drug or alcohol addictions

-Rude behavior

MBTI preference: ISTP or ENTJ or ISFJ

I MATCH YOU WITH…

BEN DROWNED

WHY HE WOULD BE A GOOD MATCH

I imagine BEN being an ISTP-T, so that’s a good start if it’s in your preference.

BEN is a huge animation fan, so if you can animate, he’ll always want to watch and see how it works. If you do traditional animation, he’ll be amazed on how you’re able to do it on paper. You have to draw every frame by it’s own and he finds that so magical. If you do it digital, he’ll most likely pop into your device and watch up-close.

BEN is a huge sucker for all types of fiction, but if you write adventure stories, he’ll beg you to let him read them. He’s the spitting image of a character from an adventure video game, so he’ll be able to connect with the stories more than he probably should.

BEN is also bi-curious! You guys can talk about the confusion together and make your adventure over figuring it out much more bearable.

BEN is a simple man with an appreciation to more unnoticed parts about a person, such as “less desirable” eyes! Whether that be eye colors, eye shape, pupil size, clouded eyes, lazy eyes - he just appreciates the more hidden parts about a person.

BEN can’t take care if himself well (he doesn’t really need to either), so his hair is mostly messy. It’s somewhere in between chin length and shoulder length, but it’s not a mullet, so you can run your hands through it if that’s what you like.

He’s taken on the form of one of the most popular video game characters ever and loves them himself! He has tons of games you can play together and is good at pirating them, so you don’t have to worry about never having a game to play.

BEN likes a partner similar in height with him (he’s like 5’3-5’4.) This makes it easier to get clothes that fit him, since he can just take your’s!

WHY HE WON’T BE A GOOD MATCH

BEN gets into video games way too easily. This can lead him to ignore you for extended periods of time without even noticing. However, if you confront him honestly, he’ll do his best to pull away from his video games more in favour for spending time with you.

He sucks at respecting privacy. He’s literally part of a computer program, so he will even unintentionally snoop in your stuff.

[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

Cori's Tale (Pt.2)

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

We sat there for a few minutes, I exchanged stories with Patton about the surface world. His expression of sadness and anger at the notion of the other children sending us down the mountain as sacrifices was one I wouldn't soon forget. I learned a lot about him, to, he had a cat allergy, he took care of six children before I got here. That last line stopped me in my tracks.

"What. . . Happened to the other kids?" I asked, Patton's face seemed to fall.

"They. . . Left. . . That's all you need to know for now, dont dwell on it ok kiddo?" Patton rested a hand on my shoulder for a few seconds before getting up.

"I think we should head off now, yeah?" He said, holding a hand out. I merely nodded and accepted it. I walked with Patton into a narrow hallway. On one end was a sign, on the other a lever and pressure plates. Patton stepped a pattern on them, his hooves clicking against the stone, before flipping the lever. A door opened and he walked through it. I chose to read the sign before following.

"Only the fearless may enter here, brave ones, foolish ones, both walk not the middle road," I read aloud before crossing. The words bounced in my head for a bit, fading to the background as my attention turned back to Patton.

"This next puzzle you can do on your own,  I've labelled all the levers for you," he said, I watched him cross a few bridges to the end of the room, the second doorway was blocked off by a set of spikes on the floor.

I walked over to the first lever, light blue words were scrawled on the walls next to it, telling me this was the right one. This repeated with about two more levers before I heard a clicking sound and noticed the spikes behind Patton retreating into the ground.

"This next puzzle is dangerous, take my hand," Patton said, holding it out. I took it, not paying attention to much until I realized what we were walking on. Rows, and rows, of sharp, silver, spikes. The spikes seemed to retreat under Patton's hooves, I found this matter interesting.

"Now, as you go through the ruins, you may encounter monsters, and they may try to attack you, I want you to know you should just talk to them and I will come to resolve the conflict," Patton smiled and gestured to a dummy at the center of the room. I walked up to it and noticed the heart that had been established as my SOUL appear in front of me again. I saw something behind the eyes of the dummy, something I couldnt quite place.

"Hi, I'm Cori, she/her and they/them pronouns, what's your name?" I said, not really expecting the dummy to respond. The mysterious aspect of its eyes seemed to evaporate, my SOUL retreated back into my chest, I looked to Patton for guidance, but he merely smiled and clapped in approval.

"Now, follow me kiddo," he said, walking to another room. We'd nearly gotten there when a small frog-like creature appeared in front of me. A barrage of flies aimed straight for my SOUL, I narrowly managed to avoid them by spinning out of the way.

My mind seemed insolent on two options, threaten, or compliment. I was never very accomplished at threats, so instead I decided to compliment the symbol scrawled on its chest. The frog began to blush, it was seconds away from preparing its next attack when Patton stepped out onto the scene. With a glare that could freeze even the toughest child in their tracks, he shooed away the frog creature.

"You did wonderful kiddo," he said, smiling as he lead me to a much longer corridor.

"This test is going to be very difficult, I am going to leave you alone, and you're going to have to walk to the end of the hall, do you think you can do it?" He said. I nodded, I'd been on my own plenty of times before this.

I watched him disappear down the hall and began walking myself, I'd almost reached the door when I felt a hand on my shoulder once again.

"Its alright kiddo, I didnt really leave, but this was a very important test of your independence, I need to make sure you can be alone, I have to handle something," he said. He dropped what looked like one of the old phones the guardians back at the community talked about used to have.

"I will call you periodically to make sure you're alright," Patton walked away from me and I stood there.

He did, in fact, call several times before his phone was stolen by a dog. After about twelve calls I decided it might be best to venture out on my own, after all, I already knew how to talk to and spare the monsters. I packed my art supplies and sketchbook back into my bag and set off.

The ruins were relatively calm, with only the occasional froggit or molsmal to interrupt my walking, though my complimenting and flirtation skills were advanced enough that I could pass them easily. The first real problem presented itself in the form of a ghost, laying on the floor and sulking. It was a sort of faded purple color, and it seemed to be pretending to sleep.

I elected to nudge it slightly with my foot, resulting in a retaliation from the ghost.

"Oh. . . Oh no. . . They noticed. . ." Lavender, as the words appearing above the ghost called it, seemed rather upset.

"I'm sorry- I just needed to get past, I've got somewhere to be," I said.

Tears rained down from the ghosts face, I held my hands up to block them, but they seemed to float back upwards, changing shape the closer they got to my outstretched palms.

"I really didnt mean to frighten you, you seem rather nice," the ghost seemed surprised by this statement.

"I want to show you something," she said. I merely nodded and watched as she cried, her tears floating up and beginning to form what looked like a flower-crown on her head.

"Woah- I wish I could do that," the ghost retreated out of battle.

"I met someone today. . . And they were actually really nice. . . Wow," the ghost disappeared without another word, needless to say it was a uh- different experience, but I didnt mind it. I kept walking on, solving puzzles as I passed them, fighting all manner of strange monsters. I left some money in a web of spiders, each seemed to be wearing their own small hoodie, I decided to write a note complimenting them on it, hoping they would find it sweet. I put the donut they gave me in a ziploc bag of other food items I'd collected, hoping that would keep it from messing up my backpack.

I finally managed to reach what looked like a small house, out of which Patton walked, phone in hand before he noticed me.

"Oh my goodness gracious how long was I gone! Come here kiddo- I'll heal you," he said, trapping me in one of the biggest bear hugs I'd ever experienced. I felt a calm wash over me. Patton let go and guided me into the house.

"The pie isnt cool just yet, but I'll let you know when it is, feel free to explore," said Patton. I, however, had had enough of exploring that day, and decided that I would rather draw at the table.

I began to get tired later in the day, and elected to go to bed. I woke up later in the night with the smell of pie filling my nostrils. I merely set it in another ziploc in my bag before going back to bed.

I wasnt sure how long I was in the ruins before I began to feel homesick, but soon enough I'd plucked up the courage to ask Patton about leaving.

"Stay here kiddo, I need to handle something," I watched as Patton disappeared around the corner before following him. We walked all the way down the stairs before he stopped at an archway, turning to me.

"This is the exit to the ruins. . . I am going to destroy it. . ." He said.

"I have seen five children pass through these doors, and never return, one who didnt even make it through the ruins themselves, I cannot let it happen again," I was frozen, processing the words to slowly to interrupt.

"If you cross, they, Logan, will kill you," Patton said, something about the way he said Logan's name resonated with me. He sounded distraught, as though he were talking about someone personal to him.

"But you cant keep me here forever, it's not right," I said. This seemed to breach the silence.

"You are right. . . You would just be unhappy here. . . Very well. . . Prove yourself to me, and I will let you go," this time, two hearts appeared. My own ever-changing one, and an upside-down white one on Patton's side.

I barely had time to comment before facing a barrage of fire and flames. I narrowly managed to dodge it, holding my hands out as a barrier.

I wanted to talk to him, but I couldnt seem to find the right words.

The fire kept coming, I held my hands out, envisioning it in my head as changing shapes, which it soon obeyed. I watched as the fire molded itself to the images in my head. Soon enough the spitting image of Patton was in front of me, made of fire, before it split off into separate whispers of smoke. I could see the surprised expression on Patton's face as he watched.

Soon enough his attacks became less calculated, almost as if he was actively avoiding hitting me.

Finally it was over, Patton sighed, defeated.

"I am so sorry kiddo. . . You're right. . . You would just be unhappy, my expectations, my loneliness, my fear, I will put them all aside, for you," he said. He opened his arms for a hug, which I embraced in full. As he let go I could see the tears making their way down his face. I watched him leave, turning his head slightly and giving me a small nod.

Then it was just me and the door. As I walked through, I was met with a long corridor. At the end if it, a familiar orange face.

"Well done! You spared the life if one innocent person!" Said the tree.

"What do you want with me." I growled under my breath.

"I am the prince of this worlds future, but do not worry, my plan isnt regicide, this is so much more interesting,"

I stomped my foot into the ground "What. Do you want. From me." I repeated.

"You interest me, human, sparing even those who would kill you without hesitation, but what will you do if you meet a relentless killer? Will you kill out of frustration? Or will you continue to die, because you would rather rely on magic than murder," the tree seemed to disappear abruptly, leaving me alone with the words echoing in my head.

I continued down the path, and was met with an overwhelming sense of cold at the end.

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

Tag list:

@nerosdayinhell

@that-artsy-gay

@official-lucifers-child

@spooky-scary-virgil

@misunderstoodshadowling

@youtuberswithalex

[thedemonkingganon]

BEST PICTURE NOMINEES (2018) AESTHETICS.   repost, don’t reblog. bold whatever applies. tag whoever you want and feel free to add to the categories.

THE SHAPE OF WATER : early mornings. art on an easel. being trapped. flashy cars. self-righteous intolerance. speaking volumes without a word. being submerged. learning and adapting. raindrops on windows.  bubbles rising in water. cats. taboo desires. tanks of water.  kitschy nostalgia. kissing underwater. silence.  isolation. golden age hollywood.  sign language.  scales.  egg shells. jell-o. the smell of cleaning supplies. creature features. the space race. red coats. monstrous fairy tales.  lab coats. lunches in brown bags. the click of shoes. smog.  dance routines.  slices of pie. toxic masculinity. chains. government secrets. seeing past flaws. floating aimlessly. needles. greens and blues.  deep, inexorable scars. gills.  music from the 30′s.  retro-futurism. bloody handprints.  routines. record players. old movies. love in unexpected places.

PHANTOM THREAD  :  a doll in a gilded birdcage.  butter to bread. the death of a mother . cycles .hidden messages.  a disruptive presence.  longing. wedding gowns.  posh control. post-war. brightly colored socks. inner turmoil. poison. an air of quiet death.  hallucinations. family dysfunction. rich fabrics.  curses. soft piano music. restrained anger. spinning out of control.  artist and muse. dark love.  pastels. peace in the countryside. clockwork dynamics. perfection.  wild mushrooms.  giving up every piece of yourself.  rags to riches.  ghosts.  new year’s.  lingering gazes.  needle and thread. fine dining. hearing every sound.  being ambushed. ego. flowing dresses.  a person out of place. defiance.  ink to paper.  an artist tortured by their art.  obsessive personalities.  peepholes.  soothing elegance.  silk. spiral staircases.  driving at high speeds. high society.

THE POST : typewriters. newspapers.  tense climates.  distrust of authority. internal battles.  a legacy at stake. secrets.  cover-ups.  defending what you believe. peering through windows. melodrama. political corruption.  behind closed doors.  sniffing a scoop. ringing phones. lying for over a decade. cramming and crowding.  cold grays.  war.  fluorescent lights.  treason.  shuffled papers.  the jungle.  a weight on your shoulders. fresh coffee. thousands of deaths. burglary.  finding your voice.  risking everything.  propaganda.tough choices. exposure. type being set by hand. workplace rivalries.  abuses of power.  security breaches. hierarchy. a bed strewn with papers and books. paranoia. orders. clicking keys. redacted files. desk clutter.  cigarette smoke.  precious cargo.  vanished technologies.  suspenseful conversations. facing charges.  courtroom battles.  suits and ties.

DARKEST HOUR  : never surrendering. duty.  countless negotiations.  the flash of cameras.  beaches. historic buildings.  guzzling booze. resignation. utter catastrophe. bunkers. radio broadcasts. going against the odds.  bathed in red light. a sense of humor.   allies. shouting matches.  small square windows.selfishness. walking with a cane. war rooms.  chandeliers.  dust floating in air. righteousness.  a poor reputation.  an elevator surrounded by darkness.  a world at war. needing a miracle.  interruptions.  a last hope. cigar smoke.  quoting poetry. photos of a loved one.  a single sunbeam. monarchy. vanity.  rescue missions. refusing peace.  pallid chambers.  military uniforms. taking a stand. common folk.  suicide missions.  drums of war. tears down sullen cheeks.  reluctance.  complete collapse. evacuations. enveloped by fog.  changing history. blood, toil, tears and sweat.

THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI  :   severe burns.  police uniforms.  sirens. the calmness of a deer. strumming guitars. grieving. horrifying memories. sucker punches. a lack of respect.  facing threats. skin under fingernails. flicking cigarettes.  awkward dates.  nasty rumors. claustrophobia.  lush green pastures.  molotov cocktails.  the fire of anger and revenge.  strangers. no remorse. bashing in windows. the midwest.  provoking a fight. pointing fingers. being pressed for time.  rundown old houses. grey morality.  dark undercurrents. insurmountable losses. cruel laughs.  the american flag. dive bars.guilty no matter what.   buildings in flames. ambulances. coughing up blood. spitting.  chewing on fingernails. one versus many.  black and red. not understanding another’s feelings.  a mother and child. the pain of others.  a quest of justice. abandoned billboards.  a hardened gaze.  driving to nowhere.  small towns. last letters. absurd violence.

CALL ME BY YOUR NAME  : heartbreak.  unbuttoned shirts.  fields of flowers. having to say goodbye.  cobblestone streets. rendezvous at midnight. battling temptation. academic paperwork. peeling an orange. 80’s nostalgia. classical music. long walks. ancient artifacts.  abundant orchards.  shoulder massages. expressive sexuality. remembering everything. staring into a fireplace.  dipping your feet in cool water. uncertainty. villa vacations. curly hair.  longing gazes. riding a bicycle around. mystery of love.  balconies. swimming naked. first times.  bathing suits.  roman statues.  secret sensuality. peaches.  piano music.  sun-soaked summer. having your nose in a book. just rooms apart.  crystal blue water. growing attractions.  changing your name. intimacy beyond physical.  love affairs. rich wines.  finding pleasure in grief. daring to desire. european lyricism.  loving father figures.  dancing to disco. laying in green grass.  awkward adolescence. hands interlinked.  sentimental jewelry. connection through identity. the magen david.

DUNKIRK  : burying a body.  warm cider.  narrow escapes. a race against time.  a small boat. all hope lost. being unable to come home.  taken prisoner. shipwrecks.  assuming the identity of someone else. setting fire to it all.  smoke rising from a crash. sea foam.  seaports. rendered blind. dropping to take cover. land, sea, and air. entangled in chain.  toast with jam.  suspense.  waiting for escape.  wounded men. lying in the sand. trauma. blank spaces.  sinking ships.  commended a hero.  cocking a gun. swallowed by darkness.  bullet holes. obstacles and delays.  a hero’s welcome. planes overhead.  the sounds of a ticking clock. bullets ricocheting off metal. people by the thousands.  shell-shocked.  the explosions of shells on shores.  the sound of destruction. rising tides.  head injuries. target practice.  compressed time and space. the perennial threat of death.  oil ignited into flames. lying for the greater good.   blocking out the noise. primal dangers. taking command.  sole survivor.

GET OUT  : deer antlers.  suburbs.  hypnosis. strange behavior. familial tension. chopping wood.  uneasy stares. tears and a smile. deception. fight or flight.  blindness.  survival.  sinking into the floor. watching but powerless. strapped to a chair. plugged ears. a failed handshake. car accidents.  sunken places. something out of a nightmare. going hysterical.  bingo cards. smoking cigarettes.  static on a television set.  doing more harm than good. a hint of a smile.  a stranger in any environment that is foreign to them. waiting for someone to come when they never will. overturned candles.  wealthy garden parties.  constantly looking over your shoulder. silence no matter how hard you scream.  trances.  catharsis.  a battle of wills. layers being peeled back. a cup of tea.  nosebleeds.  addiction.  last bits of life leaving a body.  black and white photography.  sprinting at high speeds. conspiracies. surgery. blankly polite speech. noise of a spoon scraping across a teacup.   a deer in headlights. staring at your own reflection. unable to sleep. loyal friends.

LADY BIRD : california landscapes. budding romance.  uniforms. consolation. plain and luscious colors.  apologizing.  boorish sex. prom dresses.  secondhand dresses.  strong personalities. the theatre. being simultaneously warm and scary.  battling depression. 90’s fashion.  dreaming of elsewhere. partying. signatures on a cast. living on the wrong side of the tracks.  not being bound by any era. rejection.  sparklers.  thrift stores.  high school.  identity crisis.  a place that looks like a memory.  going behind backs.  disappointed parents. catholicism.  poverty.  busy new york city streets. monotonous hometowns. shitty bands.  teenage anarchy. drifting in and out of friendships. menial jobs. red hair. self-given names.  coming-of-age.  a broken arm. excessive drinking.  first kisses.  cupcakes.  smudged eye makeup.  strained relationships.  screaming in the middle of the street. thoughtful letters. standing out. decorated bedroom walls. having a change of heart. expressing individuality.

Tagged by: stole it from @electricea​ Tagging: you, and you, oh and you, and yes you too.

[swhurtcomfort]

Fall Apart, Fall Together --- Chapter 5

Chapter 4      AO3

.......................

While Obi-Wan meditates, grappling with the Force for a clue as to Anakin’s whereabouts, Padmé takes matters into her own hands. She digs up the visitor log from her own medical file and finds the identity of the person who dropped off the note for Anakin. A quick holonet search informs her that it is one of the Chancellor’s personal assistants. There’s no doubt in her mind that that’s where Anakin has gone.

“Come on!”

She drags Obi-Wan by the wrist, startling him out of his trance.

They arrive at the Senate complex, running past the sounds of ambulance speeders in the street.

Padmé heads straight for the commotion in front of the main entrance to try to see what happened. Obi-Wan follows, scrunching up his face as if it were too loud.

“Padmé,” he says, his voice strained in a way that scares her. “He’s inside. And he’s in pain. I—”

Obi-Wan breathes in sharply. The color starts to drain from his face.

“What, Obi-Wan?” Padmé demands. He doesn’t answer. “Screw it, just come on then, I know a back way in.”

Obi-Wan allows himself to be led along, holding his head. Padmé takes them around a corner and uses her access chip to open a side door

Once inside, Obi-Wan slumps back against the wall, grimacing.

“Are you ill? Is it some kind of Force thing?”

“The fourth floor,” he chokes out. “Go, hurry,”

He looks like he’s in pain. He’d said Anakin was too. Padmé promises to return soon with Anakin, then hurries towards the lift.

On the fourth floor, the hair on Padmé’s arms starts to stand up. She wishes suddenly that she’d brought her blaster. Then, just as quickly, she is thankful that she didn’t.

It isn’t hard to find Anakin. He is waiting by another lift, wobbling impatiently on the balls of his feet. He doesn’t appear to be suffering as Obi-Wan was. When he hears her approach, he turns stiffly, and Padmé’s blood runs cold.

“Ani!”

“Padmé,” he says in a low voice. He accepts her hands into his. “E-Everything is going to be alright now.” He doesn’t sound sure.

“Yes,” she says. “It is. Ani, let’s go somewhere far away from here.”

“No. Masters Windu and Fisto are upstairs. They’re going to arrest the Chancellor.”

Padmé freezes, caught off guard. “On what charges?” Anakin doesn’t answer. “What do you know?!”

The lift opens, and he steps inside. “Wait for me here.”

“No.” Padmé throws her arm across the automatic doors so they won’t close. “Ani, are you going up there to help them, or stop them?”

He trembles, jamming the door-close button even though it’s futile. “I-I don’t know.”

“Anakin, don’t be rash,” says Padmé. “The Jedi Council is…often misinformed, but they aren’t dictators.”

Anakin takes a small step towards the platform. Padmé needs to get him out of that lift. She continues, “Whatever’s going on, we can entrust to the republic. To justice.”

“I’ve had enough of the Jedi Council’s justice!” he spits. Just for a moment, a strange light flickers across his eyes.

“What do you mean? Obi-Wan wants you to speak with them tomorrow, he said he thinks he can reason with them on your behalf. You’re lucky to have an ally—”

Anakin’s eyes flicker again, decidedly yellow this time with renewed rage when she says his name. “Obi-Wan was in favor of what they’ve done to me—”

“What have they done?” Padmé asks. “And what do they think the Chancellor has done?”

“—and I didn’t see him sticking his neck out for Snips, either did you?”

Padmé shakes her head. On that they can agree. “He wants to help us, Ani. Something is happening, something in the Force and it’s hurting him. Is it hurting you too? Is it Dark?”

Anakin steps out of the lift onto the platform, holding Padmé’s hand. But he looks back over his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter. I need Palpatine’s help—it doesn’t matter what he is. That’s how we’re going to save the babies.”

“They don’t need saving,” says Padmé. “And neither do we.” She lets go of the doors, and lets the lift shoot upwards without them.

……

Bail gives Padmé the full story, but even if he hadn’t, it’s all over the holonews. Three Jedi died in the Senate complex that day, and a fourth—Windu, according to most sources—is under investigation for his role in the Chancellor’s death. Most believe he will be held guiltless, security tapes clearly showing his actions to have been in self-defense.

Obi-Wan had recovered his faculties by the time Anakin had made up his mind, and rushed to help an injured Windu to the Jedi Healers while Anakin and Padmé slipped off unnoticed. There are rumors that Obi-Wan and the 212th were almost immediately sent off-planet again. Bail’s informants can’t agree on where they have gone—at least, until a new story breaks and the holo footage of him discharging a blaster neatly into Grevious’s heart is playing on every channel, practically on loop.

The galaxy is in tatters. The tide of the war has turned on a dime, and the majority of its citizens don’t understand why.

Several days later, Obi-Wan finds his way back to the medcenter. Padmé supposes it was inevitable.

“Are you ever going to pick up your comm, Anakin?” he asks, entering the room without waiting to be invited.

“Depends who’s calling,” Anakin retorts.

“They’ve grown quite a bit,” Obi-Wan gestures to Luke, lying on his stomach on Anakin’s bare shoulder.

“That’s what babies do.”

They lapse into uncomfortable silence.

“The Council…” Obi-wan begins, and Anakin stiffens. He soldiers on. “The Council wants to commend you for finding the Sith, Anakin. There will be no more talk of disciplinary action for any breach of the Code that might have occurred. It is an invitation, no questions asked.”

Anakin lifts his gaze, almost daring to hope. But he sees Obi-Wan watching him hold his infant son, and he knows it isn’t going to be that easy.

“They are my family,” he says simply.

“The Jedi are our family,” Obi-Wan counters, a note of frustration slipping through his façade.

“What do they want me to do, abandon them?”

“Arrangements can be made to ensure that Padmé and the twins are comfortable. You would do best to formally request not to be assigned to any more missions in the Senate, moving forward.”

When Anakin doesn’t immediately respond Obi-Wan continues, “And in a few years, if Padmé wishes them to be raised in the crèche, I’m sure the Order will be enriched by their talents, but you will limit your contact. Or at least be inconspicuous about it. Attachments fade, Anakin. I know it is painful.”

Bitterness wells up in Anakin. He wants to have it both ways, but he knows he can’t – Obi-Wan doesn’t have to be so obtuse. Luke starts to cry.

“You say you know, but have you ever found something worth leaving for? Do you know what that feels like?”

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “There have been times…but I was wrong, Anakin. There have been times I’ve considered it—wanted it desperately, but I have always chosen the Order.”

“I guess we can’t all be perfect Jedi.”

“Anakin,” says Obi-Wan, tears brimming in his eyes. “You are a fine Jedi—”

“Not anymore,” he says quietly. "I can't be, and I don't want to be." There is a different path before him now. He braces himself for the incoming lecture, but there is no anger flowing from Obi-Wan’s Force presence, only deep sorrow.

“Then you are lost,” says Obi-Wan.

Anakin turns to hand the sobbing Luke to a nurse, because his own hands won’t stop trembling. 

Obi-Wan slowly pulls two objects from within the folds of his cloak and leaves them on a table before he turns to leave, averting his gaze. They’re two little beanbag toys in the shape of tiny bantha.

Anakin shuts himself in a closet and allows himself to break down in angry tears.

……

The war is over. They have a chance to breathe, and a chance to grieve.

Anakin’s sleep is deep and dreamless these days, but he lies awake wrestling with questions, and with choices. Wonders if it’s okay to miss Obi-Wan and be so unfathomably angry with him at the same time. Wonders whether it’s okay that he kind of misses Palpatine. He misses the idea of a benevolent grandfatherly confidant, even if the logical part of his brain understands that that person never existed—that Sheev Palpatine was always Sidious in masquerade. Wonders how it could have all gone differently.

Padmé is quickly realizing how many complicated questions this shift has created, and she’s itching to do something about them. Bail is heading up a subcommittee on the legal rights and future settlement of the clone troopers, Mon is appointed interim Chancellor and hard at work organizing a referendum, and Padmé hears news from Sola about sticky situation of filling Palpatine’s seat back on Naboo. But there are also more pressing concerns, starting with her own health. The first month of the babies’ lives has been so regimented and clinical, Padmé and Anakin both mourn the loss of all the ‘normal’ rituals of new parenthood. But the medcenter staff encourage them to be as involved as possible in feeding and changing and caring for the twins. They hold them whenever they can, and read and sing to them when they can’t.

The day finally comes that the little family is ready to leave for Naboo. They do so in a free galaxy.

Padmé has been watching Anakin all morning. She knows he is hoping Obi-Wan might come to see them off, but privately she wishes he wouldn’t get his hopes up.

“You’ve checked the transport half a dozen times, love. Come sit down.”

Anakin sinks down into the seat next to hers. The babies are sleeping, buckled safely into their seats.

Padmé takes his hand and squeezes it. He sighs and kisses the top of her head.

...

Go to Chapter 6

[celoica]

in the morning light

characters → billy hargrove/steve harrington

rating → mature

tags → underage (steve is early 30s, billy is 17), possessive behaviour, mentions of past child abuse

notes → inspired by how to get away with murder. sequel to fetish. for the cheerleader of this entire series, @granpappy-winchester.

other links → ao3. full series on tumblr can be found here.

summary → there’s a fine line between right and wrong, and steve obliterates it with yet another really bad life choice.

Early morning light glittered through the frostbitten window, sparkling like a thousand diamonds splattered across the glass. Steve clamped his eyes shut, turning away from the light. His nose brushed against Billy’s temple, mouth caught in the tangle of his hair.

Billy made a noise in his sleep, unhappy and deep, and shuffled closer, lips pressing tight against the line of Steve’s jaw. He settled after a moment, falling back into undisturbed rest.

He was naked, pressed tight to Steve’s body, legs tangled together, Steve’s knee fitted between his thighs. If he wanted to—and he did, the urge there, hot and rushing to the surface of his sleep-thick mind—he could rut against Billy’s cock, press skin to skin and get him hard. It probably wouldn’t take much. Morning and teenage hormones made for a dangerous combination.

He should get up. Leave Billy to his bed and go downstairs, drink an entire pot of coffee to himself and sort out the fuck up he’d made. It was a violation of trust, a breach of whatever precarious relationship he’d built with Billy in the past few months. He was his lawyer, his technical guardian, the person who made sure he did his homework and didn’t violate his bail terms.

He was fucked. Extraordinarily fucked. The kind of fucked that got him fired and ruined the careful reputation he’d built for himself. The kind of fucked that could land him in prison.

Swallowing, he cracked his eyes open, squinting until they adjusted to the brightness. Billy breathed against his jaw, warm puffs of air that felt comforting in a way it shouldn’t. Warm and solid, tucked against the curve of Steve’s body. Bringing Billy home had felt good. Having him safe in his bed felt better.

Gently, he extracted himself from Billy’s grip, pausing on the edge of the bed when Billy murmured something unintelligible and rolled onto his front, face buried in Steve’s pillow. The sheets had rucked down in their sleep, blue fabric caught under the swell of Billy’s ass.

Steve studied him, following the curve of his spine, the slope and flare where it met his hips, the strength in the shape of his thighs. Dark blond hair dusted his thighs. Scars, small and innocuous, splattered across his sun-kissed skin, white lines and dots marring smooth skin. He could connect them like stars on a map, use the tip of his tongue, lick off the taste of them and swallow them whole.

He tiptoed across the room, closing the door gently behind him. Downstairs, he pulled a sweater from the laundry room and started a fire, watching flames flicker across old newspaper. It crackled to life and warmed Steve’s skin from where he crouched. It felt like a chill compared to Billy’s skin.

By the time Steve was halfway through his third cup of coffee and debating between an omelet and toast, Billy trudged down the stairs.

Naked.

Steve blinked. “You own clothes.”

“I do,” Billy said around a yawn. He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, stretching his arms above his head, spine arching. Steve watched, enthralled.

“You could put them on.”

“Why?”

“Normal people wear clothes when it’s this cold out.”

Billy grinned, soft around the edges, sleep still in his eyes.  “Lose the pants and we can go back to bed.”

Steve wanted to reach out and draw him close, breathe in his scent and work a mark onto his throat for the world to see. Instead, he turned away and topped up his coffee. “I have work.”

When Billy didn’t respond, Steve hazarded a glance over his shoulder. Naked still, arms crossed over his chest, a scowl fixed firmly on his mouth, Billy looked less soft, more sharp and angry.

Jerking his eyes back to his coffee, he said, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You can’t take it back,” Billy said, as sharp as the look on his face. Hard, ground out. Steve hadn’t forgotten what Billy could be like when he was mad.

Maybe he should have hidden the chairs before Billy woke.

“I’m not taking anything back.” He set the spoon down against the edge of the sink and left his cup on the counter. He turned to face Billy. “We need to talk about last night.”

“You’re trying to take it back.”

“No, I’m not,” Steve said, soft and careful.

Billy sneered, hackles raised like a wayward street dog cornered. “Don’t lie to me. You know I fucking hate that.”

“I said we need to talk.”

“Yeah, so you can take it back.”

Steve leaned his hip against the counter and sighed. “I can’t take it back any more than you can. You got a time machine I don’t know about?”

His scowl deepened, hands dropping to his sides and he took a predatory step forward. “You know what I mean. You’re gonna say it can’t happen again.”

“It shouldn’t. I’m your lawyer and your guard—”

“So?” Billy interrupted. “It’s not like you’re my father.”

“That’s not the point—”

“It is.”

“It isn’t!” Steve snapped, and then sighed, rubbing a hand down the side of his face. “You’re a kid. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t pull that shit on me. I haven’t been a kid in a long time.”

Steve laughed, listless. “You say that now, but in a year? Five? You’ll know differently.”

Anger radiated off Billy like a flame. It was what he was—a spark, full of heat and energy, friction that set everything around him on fire. His father, his grades, Steve’s entire life. He’d set every inch of Steve Harrington on fire from the moment they’d locked eyes.

The worst part was he probably didn’t even know it.

Billy took angry steps forward, hands balled into fists at his sides. Steve eyed them warily, leaning back against the counter.

“What do you want me to do, huh?” Billy demanded, stopping an inch from Steve. “You wanna wait until I’m eighteen? I’ll be in prison before that. Or, better yet,” he said, a grin that bordered on hysterical spreading across his face, “why don’t I go find someone else to fuck me? I bet there’s someone in this backwoods fucking town who’d wanna. Would that be better? If it’s not you—”

Fisting a hand in Billy’s hair, Steve yanked his head back, exposing his throat, spine arching with the shock. Steve slanted his lips across his, hard and rough, teeth clacking together with the force. Fingers cradling the base of his skull, he kissed Billy until he was breathless, until the tension wringing through his body had loosened a notch and he fell against Steve’s chest, hands settled on his hips.

He kissed him after, too, slow and easy, sucking on his bottom lip, teeth scraping over the flesh.  When Steve drew back, spit slicked Billy’s lip. He licked it off, dropping a kiss as soft as butterfly wings where his tongue had been.

Hand still cradling his skull, Steve slipped his thumb down to rub slow, tight circles underneath Billy’s ear. “Don’t do that,” he said, as soft as the kiss he’d laid on Billy’s lips. “Don’t fuck with my head like that. You touch someone else—you let someone else touch you—and I won’t ever touch you again. I won’t let you near me. Got it?”

Billy swallowed, eyes glassy, a haze of calm. He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, husky. “I got it.”

Steve smiled and kissed him again, cupping Billy’s jaw with his free hand, the pad of his thumb sliding across the cut of his cheekbone. Billy leaned into him, fingers playing with the hem of his sweater, dipping beneath to touch across Steve’s belly, trails of liquid heat across his skin. He caught the trail of hair leading down between his fingers and tugged.

Steve laughed against his mouth. “Go put some pants on.”

“Why?”

“We need to talk.”

Nose wrinkling, Billy leaned back, pressing his palm flat to Steve’s stomach, thumb dipping into his navel. “Why?”

“It’s not bad,” Steve assured him, setting a kiss to the corner of his mouth, hand sliding free from his hair. He cupped the back of Billy’s neck and squeezed. “We gotta talk about last night. About what we did.”

“Why?” Billy asked again, hand making a slow crawl up Steve’s chest. Steve pinned his hand, leaving it immobile.

“Because I want to do more of that to you, but we gotta talk about it,” he said, and then added, “And you’re very distracting when you’re not wearing clothes.”

Billy grinned. “We could go back to bed instead.”

“We can do that later. Clothes,” Steve said, and pulled Billy’s hand free from his shirt. “I’ll let you sit on my lap if it makes you feel better.”

Billy laughed, head tipping back, white teeth gleaming under the kitchen lights. He kissed Steve, hard and quick, hand tight on his hip. Pulling back, mouth still full of joy, he walked off to the stairs, taking two at a time.

Steve put on a fresh pot of coffee, a hint of a smile on his face.

[botanistlester]

Sweet Pea (15/34)

Summary: A nickname that goes bitter in your mouth. Cries for help that no one listens to. Gentle hands that make you quake on the ground you’re standing on. When Phil first met Nico, he thought he was a gift from the heavens. But behind the mask lies something daunting, something unnerving, that Phil never foresaw. Through his journey, he finds solace in Dan, the regular at his workplace, who seems to be the only one who sees through Nico’s mask to the darkness underneath. Warnings: Abusive relationship, violence A/N: warnings for this chapter are violence (a hole punched in the wall), slut shaming, verbal abuse, manipulation. this chapter went down a bit differently than it happened irl, but i did base this off of a real experience id learned about from a friend. The way this part of my story went down involved self harm and multiple people telling me to kill myself, and i really did not want to put that sort of thing into this fic because i dont think i could write about that in detail tbh. thanks to @snowbunnylester for editing this for me! The lyrics at the beginning of this fic are from the song The Summer by Citizen!

I have started a patreon account for those of you who would like to support me and my writing endeavors! You can find my patreon account here, and also find more information about perks of this here!

Previous | Masterlist

Read it on AO3 Read it on Wattpad

-

Chapter Fifteen

I watched you burn and I felt it. You're spitting words like you're someone else. And I watched you run, I was screaming and following you down.

-

“It’s been four days,” Nico told Phil, making him cringe and gnaw harshly at his lip.

“Yeah,” Phil agreed. He swallowed, tried again. “It has.” That wasn’t what he’d wanted to say at all. What he’d meant to ask was if Nico had found someone else in the meantime, if he’d found someone who was actually worth his while. If he’d found someone better.

He didn’t want Nico to have found someone better. He wanted Nico to love him and only him. He wanted to be Nico’s one and only, but- wait. Didn’t Phil want him to leave? Didn’t he want Nico to pack his shit up and never look at him again? There was a bruise on Phil’s cheek and a dull ache in Phil’s chest, and shit, what should he do? What should he do? What could anyone do in this sort of situation?

Nico let out a chuckle of disbelief, shaking his head. He sounded so mad at Phil, so disappointed, that Phil felt nausea raise in his throat once more. “I have to admit, I didn’t exactly think you’d find someone else so quickly. Or that you’d… change your appearance.” Nico grimaced at this, and Phil grimaced too. He didn’t think Nico had noticed his tongue piercing yet, but clearly, the nose ring had been enough.

“Dan is just a friend,” Phil told him. “I couldn’t replace you that quickly.” Phil froze, realising how that sounded. It sounded as though Phil had decided to break up with Nico, and that wasn’t what he’d wanted to come across as. He still was unsure of what he wanted, but he knew that he could never truly replace Nico. With anyone.

For a split second, Nico went completely silent. Phil held his breath, wishing more than anything in the world that he could just disappear. He couldn’t deal with this right now. He didn’t think he could physically handle this.

The second of silence was gone before Phil could blink, and then, it happened in a flash.

Nico had been standing completely still, but in the next moment, there was a fist colliding into Phil’s wall, leaving a giant hole in it’s wake.

“Wha-?!” Phil exclaimed, jerking violently backwards in fright, but also distracted by the fact that he now had to pay for that hole.

Nico silenced him by grabbing his jaw with that same hand that had just breached the drywall. Phil froze at the touch, his body on fire, confused and twisting this way and that. What did he want? What did he want?

Nico lifted Phil’s head until their gazes were connected and Nico’s green stare was burning a hole through Phil’s head. Phil felt more nausea raise in his throat, his stomach twist in agonizing pain. “I’m not a fucking idiot, sweet pea.”

That nickname. Was it even Phil’s anymore? Did he deserve such a nickname after everything he’d done to their relationship? After he’d lied and snuck around and bailed on the only person who’d truly loved and cared for him? After he’d hurt Nico in the one way he’d always promised he never would, by leaving him?

He wasn’t so sure anymore.

“I swear,” Phil whimpered, quivering in Nico’s grasp. His jaw was hurting slightly where Nico was gripping him, but it was nothing in relation to the pain he had felt in his chest since less than a week ago. He didn’t know if Dan had heard the way Nico had punched the wall, but judging by the way his bedroom door stayed firmly shut, he assumed that Dan hadn’t heard. “I swear I didn’t find anyone else. I couldn’t. Not when you mean so much to me.”

“Then how do you explain your piercings, hmm?” Nico hummed, and Phil had no explanation for that. In Nico’s eyes, tongue piercings were for sluts, and he had just gotten one out of spite. So what else could that make him other than a huge whore? “I thought you were better than everyone, sweet pea. But I guess I was wrong again.”

Phil inhaled sharply and flinched. He tried to control his emotions, to stand up for himself, but it was hard. He could feel himself crumbling underneath the accusations, underneath the mere proximity of Nico’s body to his own. He was sinking into a dark abyss, one that he didn’t know how to dig himself out of. “I- I am better than everyone,” Phil gasped out. “Ple- please don’t leave me. I can’t do this without you. I don’t…” his eyes welled up with tears. What was he saying? “I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

Nico leaned a bit closer so that Phil could feel his breath fanning across his face. His lips were so close that Phil could probably press his own against them it he wanted to, but he held himself back because he wasn’t sure he was allowed. Nico’s eyes were green fire when he replied. “It’s already been three days, though. Shame. I was ready to take you back, but you didn’t want me.”

“I do!” Phil said desperately, even though his brain was screaming at him to run away and never look back. “I do want you! Please, Nico. Please don’t leave me!” He was begging now, panicking. How would he be able to survive without Nico? Nico was the only person who would love him, the only person who made him happy.

These past four days had shown Phil that he couldn’t live without him.

“Prove it, then,” Nico told him. “Take out those dumb piercings and stop behaving like a slut. Stop talking to Dan. I want you to keep your eyes on me and only me.”

Phil was nodding along with every word, his eyes tracing the way Nico’s mouth shaped each sentence. His body was thrumming with nerves and adrenaline. He was high on it, his head all over the place. Truth be told, he didn’t know exactly why he had been considering leaving Nico in the first place. “Anything for you,” Phil told him, and Nico smiled.

“Good boy.”

Just then, Nico pressed his lips against Phil. His lips were rough and chapped, more so than Phil could remember. At first, he sank into it, relieved that he could have this once more after those four long days without - it was familiar and felt a little bit like home - but Nico was being harsh. He bit and pulled and tugged at Phil’s new piercing hard enough to make it bleed. Phil cried out a little bit, and all he could taste was blood as Nico tried to deepen the kiss. Suddenly, it wasn’t so nice anymore. The pain cleared his head a little bit.

His lips went numb.

His brain went into overdrive.

There was a hole in the wall. There was a healing bruise on his cheek. His friend was in the other room, worried for his safety. He was sobbing into the kiss, his tears staining his cheeks. The kiss tasted of tears and blood, when it should honestly be the happiest moment of his life.

Suddenly, Phil couldn’t feel a goddamned thing anymore.

Phil pushed Nico off of him with all of his strength without thinking, ignoring the fact that Nico had been biting him so harshly his lip actually tore as well. “Get the fuck off of me,” he said lowly.

“Phil, what the fuck?” Nico exclaimed, his voice raising an octave or two. His eyes were wild, angry, confused… scared.

In that moment, Phil didn’t give two shits about anything. He couldn’t feel anymore, couldn’t feel the blood dripping from his lip, couldn’t feel the usual tingles from the close proximity to Nico. All he could feel was emptiness, a numbness that wouldn’t seem to disperse no matter how hard he tried.

“Don’t touch me,” Phil ordered Nico, adrenaline rushing through his bones. He could feel a sob rising in his chest but he tried to hold it back, tried to stay strong for once. He couldn’t live like this. He shouldn’t have to live like this. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Nico sneered at him, and Phil dodged it just in time before Nico could grab at him again. He kept his gaze on everything but Nico. The wall, the floor, the ceiling. Anywhere but the man who had smashed his heart into pieces. “Make up your mind, sweet pea,” Nico growled, and his voice wasn’t warm at all anymore. Had it ever been? “You either want me, or you don’t. Is it really that hard of a decision?”

“Yes!” Phil said, and the sob escaped from his throat. He started backing away, shaking his head, although he didn’t know why. “Just- just stay away from me.”

“So what, then? You’re having trouble deciding if you want me ,but you want me to stay away from you? Is that how that works? You don’t make any fucking sense, sweet pea.”

Each time Nico used the nickname, Phil felt a little part of him shrivel up and die. He was hyperventilating at this point, unable to capture his breath or help himself try to gain some strength again. For such a long time, he had felt as though that nickname was a part of him. It used to make him feel whole, feel wanted. Now, it felt like a taunt. It felt like chains wrapping around his ankles, forcing him to submit, forcing him to lose his independence all over again. He didn’t want this. He felt nauseous and he didn’t want this anymore.

But he was scared. He was so scared that he couldn’t move. Nico’s gaze was terrifying, cold, almost like he didn’t recognise who Phil was at all. Instead, Phil was suddenly a piece of food that Nico had dropped and didn’t want anymore. He was used and impure and he felt so dirty, like he needed another hour long shower where his skin burned off and blistered under the heat.

He didn’t want this anymore.

He steeled himself, tried to swallow down the bile in his throat, tried to look into Nico’s eyes and not waver under the glare. He took a breath.

“I don’t want this anymore,” he said as firmly as he could, even though his voice was wobbling and he was terrified. “I’m keeping the piercings. I’m going to keep being Dan’s friend. You don’t own me anymore.”

For a moment, the room was completely silent. For a moment, Phil actually thought that Nico was going to leave. For a moment, it didn’t really hit Phil that the silence might just be that he’d pissed Nico off even more, but then, Nico spoke up through gritted teeth, his hands balled into fists, and Phil realised that maybe he’d acted a bit fucking stupid.

“You… fucking slut,” Nico growled, and he raised his fist in the air, making Phil cower into the wall behind him. He was going to get hit again, and he braced himself for the flash of pain.

It didn’t come.

Instead, Nico’s fist went through the wall again and Phil heard the door to the other room open.

“You worthless piece of shit. Do you think you’re better than me? Do you think you can just leave me like I’m nothing? After everything you’ve done to me? After everything I’ve done for you?” He pulled his fist back again and slammed it into the wall again, right next to Phil’s head.

“Stop!” Phil gasped out, ducking out of the way and trying to run around Nico, but Nico grabbed his arm, held him in place, and now Phil was really terrified. What was he going to do to him? What should Phil even expect when his perception of Nico had so drastically changed in only a few short weeks?

In that next moment, Phil thought he was going to get hit. He braced for the feeling of Nico’s fist in his face, of his hands around his neck, suffocating him the way he’d done with the pillow so long ago, when he’d pressed the sharp edge of the knife to his throat, but nothing came. Instead, Nico was being roughly shoved away from him, pushed so hard that he stumbled backwards and nearly fell flat on his face. Phil turned his head, and gaped at Dan who’d suddenly appeared in front of him, a wall between Phil and the man who was threatening him. Phil had always thought Nico was so big despite his stature, but now, next to Dan’s intimidating aura, he was small, so miniscule that Phil felt like he had to squint to see him.

“If you dare lay a hand on him, I will fucking kill you,” Dan growled, and never before had Phil found Dan actually scary before, but today all of Phil’s previous perceptions were being turned on their head and Phil found himself trying to hide the way he flinched at the dangerous tone to Dan’s voice, his blood roaring in his ears.

In only a millisecond, Nico was standing tall once more, squaring his shoulders as if he could make Dan back down. For a moment, they were the same height and Phil was just an ant on the ground.

“Oh really?” Nico laughed harshly. “I’d like to see you do anything to me. You mean nothing to me and I could easily crush you in my palm.”

“If that’s what it takes to keep Phil safe, then I’ll take you up on that offer,” Dan told him sincerely, never losing the threatening tone. He didn’t move from where he was standing strategically in front of Phil, his arms crossed over his chest, keeping a space between Nico and Phil.

Once again, Phil was reminded of how lucky he was to have Dan as a friend.

Phil watched as Nico’s hands turned to fists at his sides, his mouth curling into an angry grimace, darker and more terrifying than Phil had ever seen before. He watched as Nico took a step forward, and his mind flashed to the stories Nico had told him about his father. For a moment, just one moment, Phil felt bad for Nico, and then the feeling was gone and Phil felt his heart clench in fear for what was about to happen to him and Dan.

That’s when the sound of sirens exploded throughout the flat. Normally, Phil wouldn’t think anything of it, except now, there were flashing lights reflecting in his flat, on the furniture, the ceiling, and they weren’t going away.

Phil shot Dan a confused glance, and Dan shot Phil a shrug and a wide-eyed glance right back.

“Did you call the fucking cops?” Nico asked, faltering in his movements towards Dan, lowering his fists, and instead clenching his hands tight at his sides. Phil thought he was probably digging his fingernails into his palm.

His glare was on Dan, accusing him of something Phil wasn’t entirely sure of himself.

Dan shook his head. “No, but I fucking should have.”

An urgent knock came at the door, followed by a man shouting to open up, that it was the police, and that he’d break the door down if he had to. Nico kept his glare on Dan and Phil as he slowly backed away, inching his way towards the door, trying to reach it before either Dan or Phil could react, could say anything, or get it for him. Dan glared right back, and Phil looked at the floor, shaking like a leaf, and terrified of what was going to happen next.

He heard Nico open the door.

“What can I help you with?” he asked.

Phil glanced up briefly to see that he had wedged himself between the door and the frame so that the cops couldn’t see inside. Phil didn’t know why he’d done that. Didn’t that make him even more suspicious?

“We’ve gotten complaints about loud banging noises and screaming coming from inside. Is everything alright in here?”

“Everything is just fine, no need to worry,” Nico said sweetly.

The blatant lie made Dan laugh, and Phil’s head shot up so that he could give Dan a wide eyed stare, begging him not to do anything drastic. Everything was just fine. Phil didn’t even know why someone had called the cops. Didn’t they know nothing was wrong? Phil could handle this. They could handle this. They didn’t need the police to get involved. Nico wasn’t like his father. There was nothing dangerous going on… right?

But Dan spoke up anyways, taking a deep breath, and then shouting, “Help us, please! He’s trying to hurt us!” before Phil could do anything to stop him.

“Dan!” Phil hissed, but he stayed rooted to the spot, terrified, unable to speak up any louder and try to defend the man he’d once professed to love, the man he still loved. Didn’t he? He could feel Nico’s fury wafting off of him in waves, could feel the weight of his glare on his skin, and Phil wanted nothing more than to melt into the floorboards.

“Who was that?” the police officer asked.

Nico’s head snapped back around to the police officer on the other side of the door, and Phil watched as he worked a pleasant expression on his face and laughed so easily that Phil suddenly wondered if everything about Nico was a complete and utter lie.

“Nothing, officer. Just my mates having a good laugh,” he explained.

But Dan wasn’t having that. Phil’s eyes darted back and forth from Dan to Nico and back to Dan, watching as Nico tried to close the door more tightly against himself, as Dan’s face went a deep, angry shade of red, and then Dan was calling out all over again.

“He’s lying! Please! Help us, he threatened to kill us!”

There was a brief scuffle at the door, a muffled, “Step aside, son,” and the loud sound of the door banging open, but Phil had long since closed his eyes. His heart was in his throat, and all he could think was, if Nico hadn’t been planning on killing them before, he sure as hell was now.

Would he take the police officer down with him? Would they all be slaughtered? Some deep, dark place inside of Phil laughed and thought good, I don’t want to live without Nico anymore.

But nothing of the sort happened. Instead, there was the sound of static from a radio, the gentle touch of Dan’s hand on Phil’s arm, the voice of a confused police officer asking for back up, the movement of extra feet and boots on the floor. Phil’s eyes were squeezed shut in terror, and before he could even think it through of what it would look like, he was slamming his hands over his ears and cowering in on himself, shaking his head as tears started to run warm down his cheeks.

Everything was happening too fast. Everything was moving too quick. Phil could hear his head screaming. There was mutters of holes in the drywall, bruising on cheeks, blood dripping from lips, and then Nico was being read his rights. Phil opened his eyes just in time to see Nico being cuffed, and more police officers trailing into Phil’s apartment with steady footsteps and glares as they took a look around.

As Nico was being turned and led away, Nico turned to give Phil a nasty look. Phil watched in horror as Nico suddenly got a twisted smile on his face, how he let out a loud, booming laugh.

“I didn’t need you anyway, sweet pea,” Nico told him, and he was smiling despite the way he had to twist his body to turn and look at Phil. “Chandler was a much better fuck than you ever were.”

In just a single sentence, Phil felt himself break. He tore his eyes away from Nico and tried to calm the way his heart felt as though it were going to collapse. Dan came to sit beside him, putting a hand on his back and rubbing it soothingly, but it didn’t do anything for Phil. He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around what he had heard, what Nico had just disclosed.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

The text messaging. The way Nico wouldn’t hold his hand in public. Chandler’s jealousy. Sweet pea.

Phil was a fucking idiot, and maybe he did deserve what had happened to him after all.

One of the other officers came over to talk to Dan and Phil while they were getting Nico situated, and it was Dan who gave the statement, talking about how he had come out of the room to the sound of a loud banging noise, only to find Nico with his fist raised and his hand wrapped firmly around Phil’s arm to keep him in place. The man asked Phil for his statement, but Phil was too shocked, too upset to speak, so they told him that he would be able to do it a little bit later if he wanted to. The police officer's voice was soft and gentle, and he got down on one knee to tell Phil that he was not alone, that he could testify if he wanted to, that Nico wouldn’t ever be able to touch him again if he said so, but Phil was hardly listening. He didn’t know why the police officer was speaking to him like that; Nico had done nothing wrong, other than break Phil’s heart.

Phil just wanted to sleep. He was exhausted, felt as though the energy had completely drained from his body. He felt numb. His lips were still tingling from where Nico had kissed him, and he could still feel his tears dripping down his cheeks, but he felt as though he were a ghost, watching from outside his body as the police jotted down notes and Dan ran his mouth about Phil’s apparently unhealthy relationship.

He mentioned the word abuse, and Phil ended up puking on the floor.

Things happened. Phil was laid down on the couch by some paramedics, checked for bruises, checked for any sign of physical harm. They didn’t really find much. Just swollen eyes from crying and a faded bruise on his cheek. They didn’t find the mental scars that had taken over his brain and decorated his ribcage. He decided then that emotional pain was worse than the physical.

You could always have doctors patch up the bruises and the cuts, but no doctor would be able to patch up the painful memories that haunted Phil everywhere he went.

Chapter Sixteen

[aquasoared]

BEST PICTURES NOMINEES (2018) AESTHETICS.

THE SHAPE OF WATER.

early mornings. art on an easel. being trapped. flashy cars. self-righteous intolerance. speaking volumes without a word. being submerged. learning and adapting. raindrops on windows. bubbles rising in water.  cats. taboo desires. tanks of water. kitschy nostalgia. kissing underwater. silence. isolation. golden age hollywood. sign language.  scales. egg shells. jell-o. the smell of cleaning supplies. creature features. the space race. red coats. monstrous fairy tales. lab coats.  lunches in brown bags. the click of shoes.  smog. dance routines.  slices of pie. toxic masculinity.  chains. government secrets.  seeing past flaws. floating aimlessly. needles.  greens and blues. deep, inexorable scars. gills. music from the 30′s. retro-futurism.  bloody handprints. routines. record players.  old movies. love in unexpected places.

PHANTOM THREAD.      

a doll in a gilded birdcage. butter to bread. the death of a mother. cycles.  hidden messages. a disruptive presence. longing. wedding gowns. posh control. post-war. brightly colored socks. inner turmoil. poison.  an air of quiet death. hallucinations.  family dysfunction. rich fabrics. curses. soft piano music. restrained anger.  spinning out of control.  artist and muse.  dark love. pastels.  peace in the countryside.   clockwork dynamics.  perfection. wild mushrooms. giving up every piece of yourself. rags to riches. ghosts. new year’s. lingering gazes. needle and thread. fine dining. hearing every sound. being ambushed.  ego. flowing dresses. a person out of place. defiance. ink to paper.  an artist tortured by their art.  obsessive personalities.  peepholes. soothing elegance.  silk. spiral staircases.  driving at high speeds. high society.

THE POST.    

typewriters.  newspapers. tense climates.  distrust of authority. internal battles.  a legacy at stake. secrets.  cover-ups.  defending what you believe. peering through windows. melodrama.  political corruption.  behind closed doors. sniffing a scoop. ringing phones. lying for over a decade. cramming and crowding. cold grays.  war.  fluorescent lights. treason. shuffled papers. the jungle. a weight on your shoulders. fresh coffee. thousands of deaths. burglary. finding your voice. risking everything. propaganda. tough choices. exposure.  type being set by hand.   workplace rivalries. abusing power. security breaches. hierarchy. a bed strewn with papers and books.  paranoia. orders. clicking keys. redacted files. desk clutter. cigarette smoke. precious cargo.  vanished technologies. suspenseful conversations. facing charges.  courtroom battles.  suits and ties.

DARKEST HOUR.

never surrendering. duty.  countless negotiations. the flash of cameras. beaches. historic buildings. guzzling booze. resignation. utter catastrophe. bunkers. radio broadcasts.  going against the odds. bathed in red light.  a sense of humor. allies. shouting matches. small square windows. selfishness.  walking with a cane. war rooms. chandeliers.  dust floating in air. righteousness.  a poor reputation. an elevator surrounded by darkness.  a world at war. needing a miracle.  interruptions. a last hope. cigar smoke.  quoting poetry.  photos of a loved one. a single sunbeam. monarchy. vanity.  rescue missions. refusing peace. allied chambers. military uniforms.taking a stand. common folk. suicide missions. drums of war. tears down sullen cheeks. reluctance.  complete collapse. evacuations. enveloped by fog. changing history. blood, toil, tears and sweat.

THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI.

severe burns. police uniforms.  sirens. the calmness of a deer. strumming guitars.  grieving. horrifying memories.  sucker punches.  a lack of respect. facing threats.  skin under fingernails.  flicking cigarettes. awkward dates. nasty rumors.  claustrophobia.  lush green pastures. molotov cocktails. the fire of anger and revenge.  strangers.  no remorse.  bashing in windows.  the midwest.   provoking a fight. pointing fingers. being pressed for time. rundown old houses.  grey morality.  dark undercurrents. insurmountable losses.  cruel laughs. the american flag.  dive bars. guilty no matter what. buildings in flames.  ambulances.  coughing up blood. spitting.  chewing on fingernails. one versus many. black and red. not understanding another’s feelings. a mother and child. the pain of others.  a quest of justice. abandoned billboards. a hardened gaze. driving to nowhere. small towns. last letters. absurd violence.

DUNKIRK.    

burying a body.  warm cider. narrow escapes. a race against time. a small boat.  all hope lost. being unable to come home. taken prisoner. shipwrecks.  assuming the identity of someone else. setting fire to it all. smoke rising from a crash. sea foam.  seaports. rendered blind. dropping to take cover.  land, sea, and air.  entangled in chain. toast with jam.  suspense.  waiting for escape.  wounded men. lying in the sand.  trauma. blank spaces.  sinking ships.  commended a hero. cocking a gun.  swallowed by darkness.  bullet holes.  obstacles and delays. a hero’s welcome.  planes overhead.  the sounds of a ticking clock. bullets ricocheting off metal. people by the thousands .shell-shocked. the explosions of shells on shores.  the sound of destruction. rising tides.  head injuries.  target practice.  compressed time and space. the perennial threat of death.  oil ignited into flames. lying for the greater good. blocking out the noise.  primal dangers.  taking command.  sole survivor.

GET OUT.

deer antlers.  suburbs.  hypnosis.  strange behavior. familial tension. chopping wood. uneasy stares. tears and a smile.  deception. fight or flight.  blindness. survival. sinking into the floor. watching but powerless. strapped to a chair. plugged ears.   a failed handshake. car accidents.  sunken places.  something out of a nightmare. going hysterical.   bingo cards.   smoking cigarettes. static on a television set. doing more harm than good. a hint of a smile. a stranger in any environment that is foreign to them. waiting for someone to come when they never will. overturned candles. wealthy garden parties. constantly looking over your shoulder. silence no matter how hard you scream. trances. catharsis. a battle of wills. layers being peeled back. a cup of tea. nosebleeds. addiction. last bits of life leaving a body.  black and white photography. sprinting at high speeds. conspiracies.  surgery. blankly polite speech.  noise of a spoon scraping across a teacup.  a deer in headlights. staring at your own reflection. unable to sleep. loyal friends.

LADY BIRD.        

california landscapes.  budding romance. uniforms.  consolation.  plain and luscious colors. apologizing.  boorish sex.  prom dresses. secondhand dresses. strong personalities.   the ups and downs of adolescence.  the theatre. being simultaneously warm and scary. battling depression. 90’s fashion. dreaming of elsewhere. partying.  signatures on a cast. living on the wrong side of the tracks. not being bound by any era. rejection. sparklers.  thrift stores.  high school.  identity crisis. a place that looks like a memory.  going behind backs.  disappointed parents. catholicism. poverty.  busy new york city streets.  monotonous hometowns.  shitty bands. anarchy. drifting in and out of friendships.  menial jobs. red hair. self-given names.  coming-of-age.  a broken arm. excessive drinking.   first kisses.  cupcakes.  smudged eye makeup. bruises gained unknowingly.  strained relationships. screaming in the middle of the street. thoughtful letters. standing out.  decorated bedroom walls. having a change of heart. expressing individuality.

stolen from @ofalsehoods tagging anyone !

[helmade]

BEST PICTURE NOMINEES (2018) AESTHETICS.    repost, don’t reblog. bold whatever applies. tag whoever you want and feel free to add to the categories.

THE SHAPE OF WATER.    early mornings. art on an easel.  being trapped. flashy cars. self-righteous intolerance. speaking volumes without a word. being submerged.  learning and adapting. raindrops on windows. bubbles rising in water. cats. taboo desires. tanks of water. kitschy nostalgia. kissing underwater. silence. isolation. golden age hollywood. sign language. scales. egg shells. jell-o. the smell of cleaning supplies. creature features. the space race. red coats.  monstrous fairy tales. lab coats. lunches in brown bags.  the click of shoes. smog.  dance routines. slices of pie. toxic masculinity. chains. government secrets. seeing past flaws.  floating aimlessly. needles. greens and blues. deep, inexorable scars. gills. music from the 30′s. retro-futurism. bloody handprints. routines. record players. old movies.  love in unexpected places.

PHANTOM THREAD.     a doll in a gilded birdcage. butter to bread. the death of a mother.  cycles.hidden messages. a disruptive presence.  longing. wedding gowns. posh control. post-war.  brightly colored socks. inner turmoil.  poison.  an air of quiet death. hallucinations. family dysfunction. rich fabrics. curses.  soft piano music. restrained anger.  spinning out of control. artist and muse.  dark love. pastels. peace in the countryside. clockwork dynamics. perfection. wild mushrooms.  giving up every piece of yourself.  rags to riches.  ghosts. new year’s. lingering gazes. needle and thread. fine dining. hearing every sound.  being ambushed.  ego. flowing dresses.  a person out of place.  defiance. ink to paper. an artist tortured by their art.  obsessive personalities. peepholes. soothing elegance. silk. spiral staircases. driving at high speeds. high society.

THE POST.      typewriters. newspapers. tense climates. distrust of authority.  internal battles. a legacy at stake. secrets.  cover-ups. defending what you believe. peering through windows.  melodrama. political corruption.  behind closed doors. sniffing a scoop. ringing phones. lying for over a decade.  cramming and crowding. cold grays. war.  fluorescent lights. treason. shuffled papers. the jungle.  a weight on your shoulders. fresh coffee. thousands of deaths.  burglary.  finding your voice. risking everything. propaganda.  tough choices. exposure. type being set by hand. workplace rivalries.  abusing power. security breaches. hierarchy. a bed strewn with papers and books. paranoia. orders. clicking keys. redacted files. desk clutter. cigarette smoke. precious cargo. vanished technologies. suspenseful conversations. facing charges. courtroom battles. suits and ties.

DARKEST HOUR.   never surrendering. duty. countless negotiations. the flash of cameras. beaches. historic buildings. guzzling booze. resignation. utter catastrophe. bunkers. radio broadcasts. going against the odds. bathed in red light.  a sense of humor. allies. shouting matches.  small square windows.  selfishness.walking with a cane. war rooms. chandeliers. dust floating in air. righteousness. a poor reputation. an elevator surrounded by darkness.  a world at war. needing a miracle. interruptions.  a last hope. cigar smoke. quoting poetry. photos of a loved one.  a single sunbeam. monarchy. vanity. rescue missions. refusing peace. allied chambers. military uniforms. taking a stand. common folk. suicide missions. drums of war. tears down sullen cheeks.  reluctance. complete collapse. evacuations.  enveloped by fog. changing history.  blood, toil, tears and sweat.

THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI.      severe burns. police uniforms. sirens. the calmness of a deer.  strumming guitars. grieving. horrifying memories. sucker punches. a lack of respect. facing threats.  skin under fingernails.  flicking cigarettes. awkward dates.  nasty rumors. claustrophobia. lush green pastures.  molotov cocktails. the fire of anger and revenge. strangers.  no remorse.  bashing in windows. the midwest. provoking a fight.  pointing fingers. being pressed for time. rundown old houses. grey morality. dark undercurrents. insurmountable losses.  cruel laughs.  the american flag. dive bars.guilty no matter what. buildings in flames. ambulances. coughing up blood. spitting. chewing on fingernails. one versus many. black and red.  not understanding another’s feelings. a mother and child. the pain of others.  a quest of justice. abandoned billboards. a hardened gaze. driving to nowhere. small towns. last letters. absurd violence.

DUNKIRK.   burying a body.  warm cider. narrow escapes. a race against time. a small boat. all hope lost. being unable to come home. taken prisoner. shipwrecks.  assuming the identity of someone else.  setting fire to it all.  smoke rising from a crash. sea foam. seaports. rendered blind. dropping to take cover. land, sea, and air. entangled in chain. toast with jam. suspense. waiting for escape. wounded men. lying in the sand. trauma. blank spaces. sinking ships. commended a hero. cocking a gun.  swallowed by darkness. bullet holes. obstacles and delays. a hero’s welcome. planes overhead.  the sounds of a ticking clock. bullets ricocheting off metal. people by the thousands. shell-shocked. the explosions of shells on shores.  the sound of destruction. rising tides. head injuries. target practice. compressed time and space.  the perennial threat of death. oil ignited into flames. lying for the greater good.  blocking out the noise.  primal dangers. taking command.  sole survivor.

GET OUT.      deer antlers. suburbs. hypnosis. strange behavior.  familial tension. chopping wood.uneasy stares. tears and a smile. deception. fight or flight.  blindness. survival. sinking into the floor. watching but powerless. strapped to a chair. plugged ears. a failed handshake. car accidents. sunken places. something out of a nightmare.  going hysterical. bingo cards. smoking cigarettes. static on a television set. doing more harm than good.  a hint of a smile. a stranger in any environment that is foreign to them. waiting for someone to come when they never will. overturned candles. wealthy garden parties. constantly looking over your shoulder. silence no matter how hard you scream. trances. catharsis. a battle of wills. layers being peeled back. a cup of tea. nosebleeds. addiction.  last bits of life leaving a body. black and white photography.  sprinting at high speeds. conspiracies. surgery. blankly polite speech. noise of a spoon scraping across a teacup. a deer in headlights. staring at your own reflection.  unable to sleep.  loyal friends.

LADY BIRD.        california landscapes. budding romance. uniforms. consolation. plain and luscious colors. apologizing. boorish sex. prom dresses. secondhand dresses. strong personalities. the ups and downs of adolescence. the theatre.  being simultaneously warm and scary.  battling depression.  90’s fashion.  dreaming of elsewhere. partying. signatures on a cast. living on the wrong side of the tracks.  not being bound by any era. rejection. sparklers.  thrift stores.  high school. identity crisis. a place that looks like a memory. going behind backs.  disappointed parents. catholicism.  poverty. busy new york city streets.  monotonous hometowns. shitty bands. anarchy.  drifting in and out of friendships. menial jobs. red hair.  self-given names.  coming-of-age. a broken arm. excessive drinking. first kisses. cupcakes. smudged eye makeup. bruises gained unknowingly. strained relationships. screaming in the middle of the street. thoughtful letters. standing out. decorated bedroom walls. having a change of heart. expressing individuality.

tagged by:  stolen tagging: anyone who wants to do this

[deluca-demigods]

BEST PICTURE NOMINEES (2018) AESTHETICS.  

repost, don’t reblog.

THE SHAPE OF WATER.   early mornings. art on an easel.  being trapped. flashy cars. self-righteous intolerance. speaking volumes without a word. being submerged.learning and adapting. raindrops on windows. bubbles rising in water. cats. taboo desires. tanks of water. kitschy nostalgia. kissing underwater.  silence. isolation. golden age hollywood. sign language. scales. eggshells. jell-o. the smell of cleaning supplies.creature features. the space race. red coats.  monstrous fairy tales. lab coats. lunches in brown bags. the click of shoes. smog. dance routines. slices of pie. chains. government secrets. seeing past flaws.  floating aimlessly. needles. greens and blues. deep, inexorable scars. gills. music from the 30′s. retro-futurism. bloody handprints. routines. record players. old movies.  love in unexpected places.

PHANTOM THREAD.      a doll in a gilded birdcage. butter to bread. the death of a mother. cycles. hidden messages. a disruptive presence. longing. wedding gowns. posh control. post-war. brightly colored socks. inner turmoil. poison. an air of quiet death. hallucinations. family dysfunction. rich fabrics. curses. soft piano music. restrained anger.spinning out of control. artist and muse.  dark love. pastels. peace in the countryside.clockwork  dynamics. perfection. wild mushrooms.  giving up every piece of yourself. rags to riches.  ghosts. new year’s. lingering gazes. needle and thread. fine dining.  hearing every sound.  being ambushed.  ego. flowing dresses. a person out of place. defiance. ink to paper. an artist tortured by their art. obsessive personalities. peepholes. soothing elegance. silk. spiral staircases. driving at high speeds. high society.

THE POST.      typewriters. newspapers. tense climates. distrust of authority. internal battles. a legacy at stake. secrets. cover-ups. defending what you believe. peering through windows.  melodrama. political corruption.  behind closed doors. sniffing a scoop. ringing phones. lying for over a decade. cramming and crowding. cold grays. war. fluorescent lights. treason. shuffled papers. the jungle. a weight on your shoulders. fresh coffee. thousands of deaths. burglary. finding your voice. risking everything. propaganda. tough choices. exposure. type being set by hand. workplace rivalries. abusing power. security breaches. hierarchy. a bed strewn with papers and books. paranoia. orders. clicking keys. redacted files. desk clutter. cigarette smoke. precious cargo. vanished technologies. suspenseful conversations.  facing charges. courtroom battles. suits and ties.

DARKEST HOUR.   never surrendering. duty. countless negotiations. the flash of cameras. beaches. historic buildings. guzzling booze. resignation. utter catastrophe.bunkers. radio broadcasts. going against the odds. bathed in red light.  a sense of humor. allies. shouting matches.  small square windows.  selfishness. walking with a cane.war rooms. chandeliers. dust floating in air. righteousness. a poor reputation. an elevator surrounded by darkness.  a world at war. needing a miracle. interruptions.  a last hope. cigar smoke. quoting poetry. photos of a loved one. a single sunbeam. monarchy. vanity. rescue missions. refusing peace. allied chambers. military uniforms. taking a stand. common folk. suicide missions. drums of war. tears down sullen cheeks. reluctance. complete collapse. evacuations.  enveloped by fog. changing history.  blood, toil, tears and sweat.

THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI.      severe burns. police uniforms. sirens. the calmness of a deer. strumming guitars. grieving. horrifying memories. sucker punches. a lack of respect. facing threats. skin under fingernails.flicking cigarettes. awkward dates.  nasty rumors. claustrophobia. lush green pastures.  molotov cocktails. the fire of anger and revenge. strangers.  no remorse.  bashing in windows. the midwest. provoking a fight. pointing fingers. being pressed for time. rundown old houses. grey morality. dark undercurrents. insurmountable losses.  cruel laughs. the american flag. dive bars. guilty no matter what. buildings in flames. ambulances. coughing up blood. spitting. chewing on fingernails. one versus many. black and red.  not understanding another’s feelings. a mother and child. the pain of others. a quest of justice. abandoned billboards. a hardened gaze. driving to nowhere. small towns. last letters. absurd violence.

DUNKIRK.    burying a body. warm cider. narrow escapes. a race against time. a small boat. all hope lost. being unable to come home. taken prisoner. shipwrecks.  assuming the identity of someone else.  setting fire to it all.  smoke rising from a crash. seafoam. seaports. rendered blind. dropping to take cover. land, sea, and air. entangled in chain. toast with jam.  suspense. waiting for escape. wounded men. lying in the sand. trauma. blank spaces.sinking ships. commended a hero. cocking a gun. swallowed by darkness. bullet holes. obstacles and delays. a hero’s welcome. planes overhead.  the sounds of a ticking clock. bullets ricocheting off metal. people by the thousands. shell-shocked. the explosions of shells on shores. the sound of destruction. rising tides. head injuries. target practice. compressed time and space.  the perennial threat of death. oil ignited into flames. lying for the greater good.  blocking out the noise.  primal dangers. taking command. sole survivor.

GET OUT.      deer antlers. suburbs. hypnosis. strange behavior.  familial tension. chopping wood. uneasy stares. tears and a smile. deception. fight or flight. blindness. survival.sinking into the floor. watching but powerless. strapped to a chair. plugged ears. a failed handshake. car accidents. sunken places. something out of a nightmare.  going hysterical. bingo cards. smoking cigarettes. static on a television set. doing more harm than good.  a hint of a smile. a stranger in an environment that is foreign to them. waiting for someone to come when they never will. overturned candles. wealthy garden parties. constantly looking over your shoulder. silence no matter how hard you scream. trances. catharsis.  a battle of wills. layers being peeled back. a cup of tea. nosebleeds. addiction. last bits of life leaving a body. black and white photography.  sprinting at high speeds. conspiracies. surgery. blankly polite speech. noise of a spoon scraping across a teacup. a deer in headlights. staring at your own reflection. unable to sleep. loyal friends.

LADY BIRD.       california landscapes. budding romance. uniforms. consolation. plain and luscious colors. apologizing. boorish sex. prom dresses. secondhand dresses. strong personalities. the ups and downs of adolescence. the theatre.  being simultaneously warm and scary. 90’s fashion. dreaming of elsewhere. partying. signatures on a cast. living on the wrong side of the tracks.  not being bound by any era. rejection. sparklers.  thrift stores.  high school. identity crisis. a place that looks like a memory. going behind backs.disappointed parents. catholicism. poverty. busy new york city streets.  monotonous hometowns. shitty bands. anarchy. drifting in and out of friendships. menial jobs. red hair. self-given names.coming-of-age. a broken arm. excessive drinking. first kisses. cupcakes. smudged eye makeup. bruises gained unknowingly.  strained relationships. screaming in the middle of the street. thoughtful letters. standing out. decorated bedroom walls. having a change of heart.expressing individuality.

TAGGED BY. nobody — but i grabbed it from @brokenbow TAGGING.  

[kurokoros]

Title: Incandescent | Chapter Four

Rated: T (language/violence)

Summary: There are monsters in the world. Demons that crawl from the blackest pits and breach the Earth, murdering and feasting on the bones of humans. Lucy has spent her entire life training to fight the skeletons in her closet. Natsu has spent his life running from them. Unfortunate circumstances find the pair of them at Saint Katherine’s Academy, a school of black magic and demons. (Monster Hunter!AU)

Word Count: 3100

FF.net | One | Two | Three |

Lucy’s head hits the ground roughly, cracking against the cement hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs and make her see stars. A low whine tears from her throat and she squeezes her eyes shut, biting back a curse as her skull throbs. Above her, Natsu murmurs a quiet word that’s lost in the chaos. Another gun goes off, closer to her this time, and Lucy can only hope that it’s Gajeel and not someone else.

They’ve been having trouble with Ivan for months now. Lucy wouldn’t put it passed him to follow the two of them out here and have them killed while Makarov isn’t around. It’s something he would do, especially if he caught word about them looking for new recruits.

Ivan thinks everything is a declaration of war, never mind that they’re trying to keep people alive.

Though, that always has been a foreign concept to Ivan. He’s never cared about anyone but himself. Not his son, not his sister, not his ailing mother.

An arm slips around Lucy’s back, Natsu lying heavy on top of her as he shields her from whatever’s attacked them. She rolls her eyes and shoves at his chest harshly. He pulls back, frowning down at her. She hooks a leg around his hip, using his surprise to flip the pair of them over so that she’s resting against his hips, a hand braced on his chest, the other going for the knife shoved into the back of her boot.

Below her, Natsu grunts, his hands settling against her thighs. Lucy ignores him, her lips pursing as she glances around the parking lot, looking for whatever it was that attacked them. Nothing moves around them, the shadows still, not a sound coming from the darkness surrounding them. She grits her teeth, flicking open her pocket knife and brandishing it in one hand, already knowing they’re being watched. She can feel eyes on her, waiting.

“Now’s not really the time for that, Bunny.” The gravel crunches as Gajeel steps up beside them, his gaze on the shadows as well, his jaw clenched and gaze focused. There’s a lilt of amusement in his words, but they’re gruffer than usual, a testament to Gajeel’s growing rage. He never has liked surprises.

Lucy glances up at him briefly, slipping off of Natsu’s lap and rising slowly to her feet, dragging him up with her. He comes willingly, only a step away as she grips his arm tighter than she means to. Natsu merely steps closer, until she can see the way his throat bobs and his arms flex, ready for a fight.

She tears her gaze away from him, staring at Gajeel. “What is it?” she asks through clenched teeth, the words coming out as a hiss. She straightens her back, squinting through the darkness. The boys settle on either side of her, also looking to the shadows.

Gajeel doesn’t spare her a glance. “Hellhound,” he snarls back, gun trained in the direction the creature must have run off to.

Lucy frowns, wanting to ask if he’s sure, but knowing Gajeel wouldn’t take kindly to her second guessing him. It’s not that she doesn’t believe him, Gajeel has never given her a reason not to trust him, but Hellhounds are a rare breed. Most don’t allow themselves to be summoned, least of all by dumbass teenagers playing around with witchcraft. Lucy herself has only ever seen one Hellhound summoned, and that was for a class at Saint Katherine’s.

Because Hellhounds aren’t just summoned, they’re sent.

There’s always a purpose for them being there, and usually it’s not a good one. People die when Hellhounds are summoned. It’s why they stopped using them for practice at the school.

“Dammit,” Lucy snarls under her breath, her nails digging into Natsu’s arm roughly, hard enough to leave little crescent shapes against his skin. He doesn’t flinch though, merely glances between her and the shadows. She wonders how much he knows about this world, how much Igneel told him. Hopefully, enough to keep him from getting killed tonight.

She’ll protect him if she can, of course, but she won’t put his life about Gajeel’s, not when he was never supposed to be here in the first place. Lucy would venture to guess that Gajeel wouldn’t save him over her either, less because he doesn’t care about outsiders and more because he cares too much about the ones he does let in.

A low snarl spills from the shadows, a shiver creeping up Lucy’s spine at the low, wicked sound. Gajeel raises his gun, snarling back at the creature, and Natsu swears under his breath, unflinching even as a large, black dog shuffles out of the shadows, snapping and growling at the three of them.

Gajeel glances sideways at her, looking more annoyed than anything else. She can’t be sure if it’s because of the sneak attack or the fact that he didn’t get to finish his crappy dollar store sandwich, and frankly she doesn’t care much.

“Do you remember the incantation to dispel it?” he asks, low and gravely, gaze shifting between her and the Hellhound, who’s just staring at them, snuffling at the ground and growling at them, but otherwise ignoring them completely.

Lucy frowns, feeling something off about the situation, but she shakes the thought away. Even if the Hellhound isn’t attacking them, it doesn’t mean the beast won’t attack anyone else. They need to handle this before anyone gets hurt or worse.

She wets her lips. “I think so,” she finally tells him, gazing curiously at the black dog. It’s shaggy, lupine in the face and as large as a horse, but it’s hardly paying them any attention. Lucy knows that if it wanted to kill them, they’d all be dead by now. It’s just waiting through, practically ignoring them.

She can tell that Gajeel doesn’t like it, but she figures that has more to do with him being a dog person than it does the Hellhound ignoring them. All things considered, that’s rather good luck. They could already be dead by now, but they aren’t.

Gajeel snarls at her suddenly, catching the dog’s attention quickly. “You think?” Gajeel snaps, more frustrated than angry. It grates on her nerves more than she’d like to admit. He means well, but he’s also being a dick. There’s really no winning when it comes to him, she learned that a long time ago.

“I’m a bit rusty on hell beasts,” she tells him, rolling her eyes as best she can without looking away from the black dog. It blinks back at her, tongue lolling, and then leaps towards them.

Gajeel swears something awful and grabs her by the back of her shirt, practically throwing her at Natsu. The pair of them hit the ground hard, Lucy on top of him, and she sees Gajeel dive in the other direction as the beast lands where they were just standing. It howls, long and low, then bounds off into the shadows, drool dripping from it’s jaws as it snaps at the air where they were just standing.

Natsu hooks an arm around her waist, hauling her up with him as he stands, but says nothing. Gajeel glares after the dog, teeth bared threateningly. She doubts it will do anything to scare it off, but she doesn’t tell him this.

He looks over at her, scowling. “Well, maybe you should practice more,” he tells her scathingly, something bitter dripping from his tongue.

Lucy rips herself away from Natsu and stomps towards her friend. Gajeel, for his part, doesn’t back down, simply glares right back at her. He’s crossed a line and he knows it, they both do, but Gajeel is too stubborn to apologize and Lucy doesn’t have the patience to forgive and forget. It puts them at an impasse, and that’s a dangerous thing for hunters. They never know when they’re going to die, so it’s best not to hold grudges.

She grabs him by the front of the shirt, dragging him down to her level.

“Gajeel,” she snarls in his ear, low and warning. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, though his free hand clenches into a tight fist. She forces him to meet her eyes, watches as something like an apology stirs in his gaze. She doesn’t care. “I will take that gun and shove it straight up your ass, so help me—”

A throat clears behind her, cutting her off, and Lucy twists on her heel, glaring at Natsu. He looks almost sheepish, but also confused and more than a little angry. “What the hell was that?” he asks them, glancing between them rapidly. His eyes stop on her, imploring, and Lucy bites her lower lip, not sure what to say.

Her job was to bring him back to Makarov and let him explain, that was it. She’s not supposed to be dealing with this crap, least of all in the middle of a damn fight. Natsu’s eyes are honest, though, and they make her pause. He deserves to know what he’s getting into. It’s more of a choice than Lucy ever got, and she knows this all must be horrible for him, the not knowing, the monsters in the dark.

She takes a deep breath, stepping away from Gajeel slowly.

Gajeel speaks before she can, snorting at Natsu, his shoulders shaking with a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, great!” he spits, his smile bitter as he glares at Natsu. “The civilian’s trying to be helpful.” His snark isn’t appreciated and they all know it, but Lucy doesn’t have the energy to get angry with him again so soon.

Instead, she grits her teeth and swallows down her anger. “He can fight,” she reminds Gajeel. They both know he can. Lucy also knows that that’s not nearly enough. His fists won’t save him in a fight like this, but at least it’s something. They could have been dealt a worse hand against a Hellhound, could have left the gun behind or could have been killed already.

But they’re alive and that’s what matters. They can handle a black dog from Hell. They’ve done so before, if only once in a controlled environment. Lucy managed to send it back then, and she can do it again.

Gajeel isn’t nearly as optimistic. He snorts, rolling his eyes, practically glaring at Natsu over her head. “Yeah, a couple street fighters,” he agrees, smiling though it isn’t friendly at all, “not a damn Hellhound.” For some reason, Gajeel laughs, his shoulders quaking, and then he lets out a short, amused bark. “We’re all going to die out here,” he murmurs, more defeated than she’s ever heard him.

Lucy bites her lip and looks away, her shoulders drooping as she curls her arms around herself, squeezing tightly. She never should have let him come with her, should have just told Makarov “no” and damned the consequences. Makarov wouldn’t have been happy with her, but at least Gajeel wouldn’t be in this mess.

She wanted to help him out, let him make up for the last mission, not get him killed.

Natsu tenses, his lips pulling back over his teeth as he glares at Gajeel. The fighter takes a step forward, straightening to his full height. He towers over her, but is still several inches short of matching Gajeel. This, however, doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. What Natsu lacks in height he certainly makes up for in raw determination. He locks eyes with Gajeel, not threatening, but not friendly either. “I’ve got this,” he says lowly, hand drifting down to the hem of his shirt and yanking it upwards, revealing a shiny, silver pistol tucked beneath his waistband.

It gleams in the darkness, pale against his tanned skin, and Lucy finds herself unable to look away from the sliver of skin revealed at his hip, gaze locked on the gun that she hadn’t noticed before. A shiver runs down her spine, and she glances up at him almost nervously.

Gajeel looks almost impressed though. Almost. It’s there in the quirk of his brow and the slight gleam in his eyes. Other than that, his expression doesn’t change. Still pissed. Still frustrated. Still unbelievably pessimistic.

Her gaze snaps back to Natsu, to the gun, and she swallows thickly, chewing the inside of her cheek. She can hear the Hellhound circling them, pacing just out of sight, but near enough to let them know he’s still there. She wonders if it’s a threat or if it’s toying with them. Possibly a bit of both. Either way, she’s almost more concerned with the gun than she is the dog.

Demons she can handle.

“What were you planning on doing with that?” she asks him gently, suspicion in her tone. She’s not usually one for mistrust, but there’s something off about bringing a gun to a meeting, especially considering he thought she would be alone. Maybe her perception was off after all.

Natsu wets his lips, holding her gaze. “Nothing,” he tells her quietly, voice low as Gajeel takes a step away from them, trying to pinpoint the circling Hellhound as best as he can. Natsu swallows thickly, pulling the gun from his waist and letting his shirt drop back down. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything.”

She believes him.

“Lucy!” Gajeel snaps, drawing her attention back to him. He stares out into the darkness, teeth pulling at one of the two rings in his lip. She stares back, waiting for him to speak. “What do we have?” he asks suddenly, looking at her only briefly.

It takes her a moment to understand what he means. Lucy frowns, then begins looking around the area for anything they might have on hand. “Two guns,” she tells him, “a knife, a half-eaten ham sandwich.” Gajeel shoots her a nasty look, but says nothing is response. “Cellphones,” she continues, pausing when she catches sight of her car several yards away, “a car if we can get to it.” She mumbles the last part, but he hears her anyway.

It would be risky, making a run for the car, but it could also buy them time if they really need it. It’s better than being out in the open like this.

Gajeel isn’t nearly as excited about the list as she is. “How is the car going to help us?” he asks her, snorting. If it were any other time, she would rip that condescending look right off his face, but now isn’t the time.

She loves Gajeel, she really does, but sometimes she wants to toss him out of a very high window and watch him fall. Not high enough to kill him, but just enough to leave a couple of decent bruises. Lucy supposes that’s cruel of her, but she also knows that Gajeel wouldn’t respect her if she was easy on him.

“Well,” Lucy starts, frustration clear in her tone. Her words drip with venom and she sees the boys exchange a nervous look. Good, she thinks, let them be afraid. Lucy may not be physically stronger than either of them, but she damn well knows that she can be twice as intimidating if she wants to. At the academy, most people have learned not to piss her off if they can help it. “Do you have a translation book in the car?” she asks her friend, smile tight, more teeth than anything.

The only reason she bothers to ask is because hers seems to have disappeared from her room. On the off chance that Gajeel tossed the damn thing in her car she might be able to get them out of this mess quicker than anticipated. It’s a long shot, but they don’t have many good options.

Gajeel looks at her like she’s sprouted a second head, then laughs. “Hell no!” His shoulders shake as he tries to compose himself, but it’s futile. Gajeel isn’t one for laughing in desperate situations unless he’s being ironic, but when he really starts laughing it’s hard to get him to stop. “You know I don’t study that shit,” he grumbles between snorts of laughter, seemingly amused at her suggestion.

Oh, she definitely does. Gajeel certainly isn’t being kept around for his prowess when it comes to anything that requires finesse. Latin studies, charms, summons, Gajeel is as useless is about as useless with them as they come. He’s more of the “hack and slash beat it until it’s dead” type. He’s the muscle, if only because he can’t do much else. Actually, that’s unfair of her to say. He’s better at classifications than most. He can name nearly every type of demon right down to the smallest subclass, and that’s certainly nothing to sneeze at.

Unfortunately, that particular skill isn’t going to do shit for them right now.

She sends him a thin-lipped smile, “Well maybe you should start.” There’s poison in her words and Gajeel turns to her and snarls, practically hissing at her.

“Hey!” Natsu barks, drawing their attention to him. He gives a sharp nod with his chin, gesturing to something in front of them. “If you two are done fighting, maybe we should pay attention to the giant dog.”

The pair glance passed him, watching as the dog creeps out of the shadows. Lucy chews her lip roughly, shoulders going tense. The weapons are useless to them. Her knife is steel and so are Gajeel’s bullets, and she doubts Natsu would be carrying around iron bullets with him.

They hadn’t thought to pack for a demon, not tonight. The bullets might slow it down, but they won’t stop the Hellhound. Lucy needs to check the car for her book. If she can find the right incantation, she can send it back and they’ll all be on their way.

She needs that damn book.

“Distract it,” she tells Gajeel, flicking her knife closed and shoving it back into her boot.

He frowns down at her, going very still suddenly. “What are you going to do?” It’s more of a demand than a question. There’s a flicker of something nervous in his gaze, and for a moment she thinks he might grab her.

Lucy wets her lips. “Something stupid.”

She turns on her heel before either boy can stop her and bolts towards the car. Behind her, Gajeel screams her name, absolute horror in his tone, but she doesn’t stop, just keeps running. There’s a snarl, then cursing and shouting. She’s only made it a dozen feet when the dog gives chase, growling and snapping at her.

[whifferdills]

for @kibblesnbutts who wanted whouffaldi fluff with swimming. i may have given Clara my exact childhood trauma, but really isn’t that what fanfiction is for?

Twelve/Clara, Teen for Implied Stuff and Kissing On the Mouth, ~1.2k words

Come quick, the Doctor yelled.

Clara pulled her mobile away from her ear and winced. "Is everything alright?"

Just come. Follow your GPS, I've done a clever thing to it. Chop chop.

The TARDIS obligingly parted its walls for her, laying down corridors as she jogged deeper into it, following the blinking path on her mobile's map application.

Two minutes and a few bursts of feedback from the speakers later, she skidded to a stop in front of a plain grey door, the placard reading 'POOL'. She braced herself and pushed the door open.

It was a swimming pool. She wasn't entirely sure what she'd expected. She stepped gingerly out onto the wet tile as the ship sealed herself back up.

There was something moving in the water. She panicked, briefly, before the darting, almost preternaturally graceful creature popped up, coughed, splashed around, and swept the hair plastered to their skull into a spiky mess.

"I thought it was an emergency," she said. "Remember what we talked about? Different sorts of important and how to communicate which one of them it is?"

"Yeah, sorry." The Doctor tread water, grinning widely. "It's just. I'd lost this! Been missing for ages. And now it's here. Swimsuits are in the - wherever, over there?" He didn't bother to point.

"Thanks, but no thanks," she said. She took her shoes and socks off, rolled her trouser cuffs up, and walked carefully over to the edge of the pool, sitting down and dipping her toes in experimentally. Of course there was a pool. Not enough to have a lake and at least twenty bathtubs, any good time-space ship obviously needs an entire, slightly-grimy, rec center pool.

It might have been just her imagination, but it felt like the TARDIS was winking coyly at each other.

"Not gonna join?" the Doctor yelled.

She shook her head.

"Too far away to interpret facial expressions and gestures, sorry."

"Nope!" she yelled back. She watched him slide back under the surface and sort of ooze his way towards her. Whatever bizarre thing he was doing with his body, it was oddly beautiful.

He came back up a few meters away from her. "Are you, you know." He waved an arm expansively, splashing her and briefly sending himself under.

"Use your words."

"Shy," he said, rolling his eyes and gracelessly spitting out water. "Because you weren't last night, and you were fine, I suppose, body-wise I mean, but anyway I remember all. Of that, and this would be nothing new."

She was torn between wanting to blush and failing to connect anything at all about the previous night with the drowned rat currently bobbing around in front of her. Third option: evade the situation entirely. "It's not that."

"But it's something, yeah?"

"Mmm." Evade, stay noncommittal, eventually he'll get bored and forget about it.

The Doctor sighed and sort of slid, like an eel, to the edge of the pool, and hauled himself out onto the tile - probably not much like an eel. Eventually he managed to get into a sitting position next to her, legs dangling in the water. He plucked gingerly at the fabric of his tragically old-timey striped swimsuit, where the legs ended halfway up his thighs, apparently rearranging his own modesty.

So much squelching. Again, she had - done things, with this man. Thing. Person. He scrubbed at his hair until it popped back into something vaguely resembling its normal poof.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay." He nudged her leg with his foot, possibly meaning it as a comforting gesture.

"I just don't swim, right?" She might want to talk about it.

"Right-o." He edged closer to her, and to her credit she didn't flinch at his clammy moistness getting all over her dry clothing. "Scared? It's all right if you are, large bodies of water are terrifying for a wide variety of reasons."

She turned and glared. "I'm not scared. I'm just not any good at swimming. So I don't." She turned back, watching the ripples reflect on the wall.

"Clara. Clara. Look at me."

She looked, after a measured pause. He had the most awfully earnest expression, staring directly but softly into her eyes.

"You're not any good at most things-"

"Oh, my god."

"-But you do them anyway and that's one of the things I lo...uh, like. About you. So." He gestured at the pool. "Do it anyway."

She sighed, he shrugged. They sat in companionable silence, the splish-splash noises of the Doctor kicking his feet back and forth echoing.

"It's just the smell," she said abruptly. "The chlorine. Reminds me of being twelve years old and awkward and - human children can be cruel."

"Humans don't have a monopoly on cruelty," he said softly. She got the sense that he was staring at her again.

"Had a swimming unit in P.E.," she said, zoning out slightly, half-aware she was sharing a level of information she might later come to regret. "All my classmates quickly passed the test to be able to swim in the deep end. Took me months. The instructor very kindly let me know that I just wasn't shaped right for swimming. Too short, too...I dunno."

"They're all probably dead by now, if that helps." He popped his index finger in his mouth then held it up in the air. "Definitely all dead. Barring some bizarre robotic enhancements or advanced cross-temporal movement."

That did not help in any way. He gamely tried again.

"You can float, yes?"

She nodded.

"So there you go. That's all swimming is. If you can successfully not drown, then you're well on your way. And it's okay to be bad at things. I've never been good at much, and look at me."

"I thought you weren't supposed to be my role model."

"I'm not. But that's a different argument, right. Don't - stop changing the subject. The important thing is that I've finally found my pool, and I'd like for you to enjoy it with me, if you want to. Or if you'd rather go find your childhood tormentors and torment them back, we can do that instead."

"I'm good on the tormenting, but thanks."

He smiled, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling back, and then she kissed him. It was nice, even if he tasted like chlorine and was wet and slippery in a not-fun way.

"Pool noodles," he said breathlessly, staring at her mouth. His eyes flicked up to hers, and then down to the ground. "Also flotation devices that look like animals. And a slip 'n' slide, I think, though that one seems a little dangerous. And a floating bar, with margaritas, although I forgot the salt, so."

She kissed him again, deeper this time. "I'll take one of those floating animals," she said, leaning back and watching the pink flush spread up and out to his ears.

He grinned, and snapped his fingers, and then she was astride a miniature elephant-shaped floatie in the middle of the pool. A small motor buzzed somewhere inside it, pushing her gently forward.

"Last one to the bar gets a margarita with no lime because I only remembered to bring two of those and I may have been here for a while," the Doctor yelled.

Clara flipped him a V, then revved her elephant and spun around in the direction of what she hoped was the bar. She wasn’t above using all available resources to win. Besides, a margarita wasn’t even really a margarita without lime, and she’d more than earned a refreshing beverage. She tossed a wink over her shoulder, and squeezed the elephant’s ears, and zoomed headlong into the breach.

[thewomenofthedas]

When Fantasy Becomes Reality

Chapter 4: Unto The Breach

“Maker it’s the end of the world!” A soldier screamed as he ran past the women paying them no mind.

 “Well that’s cheerful.” Aurora muttered to her sister. Blaire shrugged as they continued their jog. Another bridge came into view just as the marks on the woman’s hands spit causing that unbearable pain to crawl up their arms again. Their knees buckled underneath them as screams tore from their throat and once again collapsed into the snow.

 “The pulses are coming faster now,” Cassandra stated as she helped them up. Blaire fought the urge to roll her eyes. “The larger the breach grows the more rifts appear; the more demons we face.”

 “How did we survive the blast?” Blaire asked genuinely confused and interested. They made their way onto the bridge.

 “They said that both of you stepped out of a rift then fell unconscious. They say there was a woman in the rift behind you two.” Cassandra said just as a green energy hit the bridge causing it to cave in. Blaire and Aurora were sent rolling and then were left sprawled out on the ice Cassandra on their left. A black figure was making its way towards them when they stood up. A look of panic crossed the girls face as they looked at each other however the seeker was already charging at a second one that they just noticed.

  “Stay behind me!” Cassandra shouted.

 They scanned the area when their eyes landed on some daggers and a sword and shield. Aurora and Blaire lunged for the weapons. Aurora had grabbed up the sword and shield as Blaire was left with the daggers. Aurora charged and smacked the shade with her shield and then slashed at it as Blaire snuck up the flank and sunk the weapons deep into the demon. Suddenly a hiss filled their ears as the demon crumpled to the ground. They made their way to their jailer as she yanked her sword free from the now dead shade she was facing.

 “Drop your weapons!” She screamed turning towards them sword still drawn. A panic filled the girls’ hearts for a second.

 “Do you honestly think you could protect us!?” Blaire growled.

 “We need these weapons!” Aurora stated at the same time. Cassandra’s shoulders sagged in defeat, a sigh leaving her lips.

 “You’re right.” She sheathed her sword. “You need them I cannot protect you both. I should remember that you have come willingly.” She popped the snap open on a small bag on the side of her belt. “Take these potions. Maker knows what we will face.” She said handing some potions to each of them. They made their way up the hill, and down onto some more frozen water. Where surprise they faced more demons.

 “Where are all your soldiers?” Aurora asked.

 “At the forward camp fighting. We are on our own for now.” They ran up the frozen steps and then down a hill where it was surprisingly clear. A blast of green energy hit the ground and some demons materialized out of it just as they almost passed the area.

 “AH!” Cass screamed.

 “They’re falling from the breach!” Blaire yelled. Aurora and Cassandra handled the shades while Blaire slipped up behind the wraiths effectively taking them out. They sprinted up the staircase, and up a hill to another staircase.

 “We’re getting close! You can hear the fighting!”

 “Who’s fighting?” Aurora asked

 They came upon a group of people fighting demons that seemed to be pouring out of what the girls knew was a rift. It looked so much more daunting in person. They couldn’t waste any time though so they charged into battle beside Cassandra, a dwarf archer, and an elven mage. Blaire hacked and sliced dancing around demon claws, and side stepping others. Aurora charged others shield bashing, and sword swinging proudly. It was as if their bodies were made for combat considering they were only in London hours before. As the last demons were dispatched the elven man’s hand snaked around Blaire’s wrist.

 “Quickly! Before more come through!” He screamed as he held her hand up towards the rift. A tingling sensation lit her nerves on fire, arm shaking in the man’s grip slightly as the others watched the mark knit the rift closed and pop out of existence with a small explosion. The elven man left her arm go albeit slightly roughly as Blaire jerked her arm away arm tingling albeit the explosion hurting only slightly. The feeling was mostly pleasant.

 “What did you do?” She breathed.

 “I did nothing. The credit is yours.” He stated.

 “At least it is good for something.” Aurora stated looking at her and her sisters marks.

 “Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky also placed those marks upon your hands. I theorized the mark may be able to close the rifts that have opened in the breach’s wake and it seems I was correct.”

 “Meaning it could also be used to seal the breach itself.” Cassandra replied coming up behind the two girls.

 “Possibly.” Solas replied. “It seems you both hold the keys to our salvation.” The girls gave him a look.

 “Good to know here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.” A semi gruff voice sounded from somewhere behind them. “Varric Tethras. Rogue, story teller, and occasional unwelcome tag along.” He smirked and winked at Cassandra. Cassandra was glaring daggers at him.

 “Are you with the Chantry or..?” Blaire asked. The elven man chuckled.

 “Was that a serious question?” He asked laughing slightly. Blaire felt her cheeks turn pink slightly embarrassed.

 “Technically I’m a prisoner just like you.” Varric replied adjusting his gloves.

 “I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine.  Clearly that is no longer necessary.” Cassandra replied.

 “Yet here I am. Lucky for you considering current events” The dwarf teased.

 “It’s good to meet you Varric.” Blaire replied.

 “You may reconsider that stance in time.” The elven man said to Blaire.

 “Awe I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.”

 “Absolutely not!” Cassandra chimed in. “You help is appreciated Varric but-“

 “Have you been in valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.” He smirked. Cassandra sauntered away with a disgusted noise left in Varric’s wake.

 “My name is Solas if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you both still live.” The elven man chimed.

 “He means I kept those marks from killing you while you slept.”

 “You seem to know a great deal about it all.” Aurora said.

 “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the fade. I came to offer whatever help I could give to help with the breach. If it is not closed we are doomed regardless of origin.”

 “That’s a commendable attitude.” Aurora stated.

 “Merely a sensible one, yet sensibility seems to be in short supply right now. Cassandra you should know the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoners are no mages, indeed. I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

 “Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

 “Well Bianca’s excited.” Varric tried to lighten the mood as she gestured to his crossbow. The prisoners followed the small party over some wood planks to a small path.

 “We need to get to the forward camp.” Cassandra said.

 “We need to move quickly.” Solas replied glancing to the women whose lives were in danger. They all began to jog down the embankment. “Demons ahead!”

 “Glad you brought me now, Seeker?” Varric called as he sent an arrow into a greater shade demon. Aurora and Blaire hopped into the fighting on the ice as Solas and Varric fought from the ledge.

 Aurora and Blaire were working on the same demon, as Cassandra tried to cut down the other. Varric and Solas shooting spells and arrows at the wraiths. The shade the girls were working on was finally cut down, so Blaire turned around to rush the demon that was battling with Cassandra when her heart skipped a beat. Not even a step behind her was a third shade, and before it could maul her she watched it turn into ice before her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as Aurora cracked the ice with her sword. She looked towards the embankment where she noticed the mage watching her intently. A shiver ran down her spine as he hadn’t even tried to look away.

 “I think we should scout that cabin, see if any supplies are in there.” Aurora replied.

 “Good thinking.” Varric clapped her on the back. The small group entered the cabin to find nothing but a couple gold pieces. Aurora shrugged and pocketed them.

 “It’s more than I had.” She smiled. Everyone began the trek up the snow covered staircase.

 “So are you two innocent?” Varric piped up

 “I don’t remember what happened,” Aurora stated.

 “As neither do I.” Blaire shrugged.

 “That’ll get you every time. You should’ve spun a story.” The dwarf replied.

 “That’s what you would have done.” Cassandra sneered disapprovingly.

 “It’s more believable. And less likely to end in premature execution.”  Varric shot his cross bow at a wraith perched on a boulder. Cassandra scowled and charged the demons her irritation at the storyteller flowing through her veins. Aurora charged after Cassandra. Blaire was left to her devices of shimming out of the way of demon claws, and twirling out of the way of wraith energy bursts as she quietly and swiftly took down some demons.

 “I hope Leliana made it through all of this.” Cassandra worried as they dispatched the last demon.

 “She’s resourceful, Seeker.” Varric uttered trying to sound reassuring.

 “We shall see when we get to the forward camp, we are almost there.”  Solas chimed.   It didn’t take long for the party to advance to the next group of soldiers securing a door. With a rift blocking the way. “We must seal it quickly!”

 “They keep coming help us!” A soldier cried. Just as the mark sputtered and more demons poured out of it. The four demons were easy enough to kill. Suddenly the rift changed shape, and had no known shape. It was just an open hole.

 “Quickly! Use the mark!” Solas urged as Aurora held her hand up. Instantly a connection was made between her palm and the rift. Once again it closed with a tiny explosion. “We are clear for the moment! Well done!” the mage praised as he looked between the women.

 “Whatever those marks are on your hand they’re useful.” The dwarf added as he was almost cut off by Cassandra demanding the guards to open the gate. They joined some more soldiers on the bridge until they had all caught sight of Leliana and some man who looked like a church official.

 “You have already caused enough trouble with- “The man’s voice carried before he caught sight of the prisoners. “Ah here they come. “

 “You made it!” Leliana simply greeted them. “Chancellor Roderick these are-“

 “I know who they are! As grand chancellor of the chantry I hereby order you to take these criminals to Val Royeaux to face execution!”

 “Order me?! You are a glorified clerk! A beaurcrat!” Cassandra exclaimed outraged.

 “And you are a thug! But a thug who supposedly serves the chantry.”

 “We serve the most holy Chancellor, as you well know.” Leliana argued.

 “Justina is dead! We must elect her replacement and obey her orders on the matter.”

 “Isn’t the breach a more pressing issue?” Blaire asked rolling her eyes.

 “You! You and your sister! You brought this upon us in the first place!” Roderick roared. “Call a retreat, Seeker, our position here is hopeless.”

 “We can stop this before it’s too late.” Cassandra stated.

 “How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple not even with all of your soldiers.”

 “We must get to the temple it’s the quickest route!”

 “But not the safest. Or forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains” Leliana replied.

 “We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky!”

 “Listen to me!” Roderick demanded with the grace of a father scolding his children. “Abandon this now before more lives are lost.” Suddenly both marks flared up again.

 “How do you think we should proceed?” Cassandra asked turning her attention to the prisoners.

 “I say we charge! We won’t survive long enough for your trial. Whatever happens happens now. ” Aurora answered.

 “Charge!” Blaire agreed. Cassandra told Leliana to bring absolutely everyone left in the valley in.

 “On your head, be the consequences, Seeker.” Roderick sneered. Blaire just wanted to punch him in the face. Aurora I’m sure did too but had a better control over her facial expressions. The thoughts were bouncing around Blaire’s head as they trudged uphill to meet with the soldiers. They made it just as a burst of fade energy killed a soldier. The girls looked around the number of bodies on the ground made their breath hitch. If they failed how many people would die?

They couldn’t dwell as Cassandra hopped right into the action. This rift had the most demons spilling out of it so far, and had two waves of demons. It was a good thing they had such a good party and a number of soldiers with them. Blaire sealed the rift as Aurora made sure Cassandra was okay.

 “Sealed as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.” He nodded.

 “Let’s hope it works on the big one.” Varric sauntered over.

 “Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift? Well done.” A blonde man said as he made his way over to the Seeker.

 “Do not congratulate me, Commander. This was the prisoners’ doing.”

 “Is it? I hope they’re right about you two. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”

 “You’re not the only one hoping that.” Aurora replied.

 “We’ll see soon enough won’t we? The way to the Temple should be clear, Leliana will try to meet you there.”

 “Then we best move quickly. Give us time, Commander.”

 “Maker watch over you- for all our sakes.” He muttered backing away and then running to help an injured soldier to safety. Aurora watched him go. She pondered what he said as the group hopped down into what appeared to be a pit of smouldering bodies. She tried not to look at them directly. Although she swore she saw Blaire wipe a tear from her eye.

 “The Temple of Sacred Ashes.” Solas breathed.

 “What’s left of it.” Varric muttered kicking up some ash.

 “That is where you walked out of the Fade. They say there was a woman in the rift behind you two, nobody knows who she was” Cassandra added.

  They continued to a small hall that lead into what used to be the sanctuary of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. They all took in the massive hole in the sky above them.

 “The breach is a long way up.” Varric mused. The prisoners looked at the daunting task set before them. They didn’t get too long to dwell on that before they were interrupted.

 “You’re here! Thank the Maker!” Leliana exclaimed from behind them with a volley of soldiers on her heels.

 “Leliana have your men take up positions around the temple.” The red head nodded and went to give her men orders.

 “This your chance to end this. Are you ready?” Cassandra asked turning her gaze to the concerned women.

 ‘We’ll try. But I’m not sure if we can reach that, much less close it.” Aurora answered as Blaire nodded.

 “No, this rift is the first, and it is the key. Seal it and perhaps we seal the breach.” Solas added.

 “Then let’s find a way down and be careful.” The seeker said looking around. The ragtag group made their way around the temple.

 Bring forth the sacrifice.” A booming disembodied voice echoed around them.

 “What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked looking around her.

 “At a guess, the person who made the breach.” Solas replied coolly. There were shards of deep red looking rock veins bursting through the ground.

“You know this is red lyrium, Seeker?” Varric asked concern etched upon his face.

 “I can see it Varric,”

 “I know but what is it doing here?”

 “Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it “Solas answered.

 “It’s evil whatever you do don’t touch it.” The dwarf warned.

 “Keep the sacrifice still!” The disembodied voice boomed as the group raced down a stair case and then jumped to the bottom of the sanctuary. As the prisoners approached their marks vibrated with magic. Another voice rang out from the rift.

 “Someone help me!”

 “What’s going on here?” Aurora’s voice hung clear in the air, Blaire’s following immediately after.

 “What is this?!”

 “Those were your voices. Most holy called out to you, but..!” Cassandra began before a vision was filling the air around them. Divine Justina was suspended in the air by some shadow man with glowing eyes.

 “Someone help me!” She cried. Suddenly the prisoners jogged through the doors.

 “What’s going on here?”

 “What is this?!”

 “Guards we have intruders! Slay the humans.” The shadow man answered pointing to them.

 “So you were there!” Cassandra yelled. “What happened? Who attacked?!”

 “We told you we don’t remember what happened!” Blaire replied as she watched the mage get closer to the rift,

 “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed temporarily. You could use the marks to open it, but I suspect this will draw attention from the other side.”

 “That mean’s demons! Stand ready!” Cassandra barked at the soldiers.

 The girls nodded at each other before each raising their hands, the rift popped open and a huge demon sprang out of it. Arrows wouldn’t effectively penetrate it’s hide. Swords were better but not much better.

 Blaire and Aurora disrupted the rift and discovered it weakened the demon, what others had called a pride demon, but also drew more demonic attention. Blaire was slashed by a shade demon when she disrupted the rift for a second time, as Aurora thrust her sword into said shade. The group working on distracting pride. Cassandra sank her blade in between the demon’s scaly, plated hide as they worked to weaken the giant demon. Varric was sent crashing to the ground by the demon’s electric whip, Aurora cursed as she narrowly missed it. She took her turn disrupting the rift this time. Pride was almost defeated when some of his siblings came leaking through the rift.

 She barely side stepped a shade when Varric sent a couple arrows into it. She added that to a long list of thank yous she had to give. Solas and Cassandra along with Leliana’s men focused on big bad, and soon the girls heard Cassandra yell:

 “Quickly! Disrupt the rift!” The girls lifted their hands disrupting the rift that seemingly had sucked pride’s essence back into it, and effectively knit back together. The explosion however sent them flailing backwards. Their vision began to blur at the edges before the darkness consumed them completely.

[lacrimosienne]

BEST PICTURE NOMINEES (2018) AESTHETICS.  

repost, don’t reblog.

THE SHAPE OF WATER.    early mornings. art on an easel.  being trapped. flashy cars. self-righteous intolerance. speaking volumes without a word. being submerged.  learning and adapting. raindrops on windows. bubbles rising in water. cats. taboo desires. tanks of water. kitschy nostalgia. kissing underwater.  silence. isolation. golden age hollywood. sign language. scales. egg shells. jell-o. the smell of cleaning supplies. creature features. the space race. red coats.  monstrous fairy tales. lab coats. lunches in brown bags.  the click of shoes.  smog.  dance routines. slices of pie.  toxic masculinity. chains. government secrets. seeing past flaws.  floating aimlessly. needles. greens and blues. deep, inexorable scars. gills. music from the 30′s. retro-futurism. bloody handprints. routines. record players. old movies.  love in unexpected places.

PHANTOM THREAD.      a doll in a gilded birdcage. butter to bread. the death of a mother.  cycles. hidden messages. a disruptive presence.  longing. wedding gowns. posh control. post-war.  brightly colored socks.  inner turmoil.  poison.  an air of quiet death. hallucinations. family dysfunction. rich fabrics. curses.  soft piano music. restrained anger.  spinning out of control. artist and muse.  dark love. pastels. peace in the countryside. clockwork dynamics. perfection. wild mushrooms.  giving up every piece of yourself.  rags to riches.  ghosts. new year’s. lingering gazes.  needle and thread. fine dining.  hearing every sound.  being ambushed.  ego. flowing dresses.  a person out of place.  defiance. ink to paper. an artist tortured by their art.  obsessive personalities. peepholes. soothing elegance. silk. spiral staircases. driving at high speeds.  high society.

THE POST.      typewriters. newspapers. tense climates. distrust of authority.  internal battles. a legacy at stake. secrets.  cover-ups. defending what you believe. peering through windows.  melodrama. political corruption.  behind closed doors. sniffing a scoop. ringing phones. lying for over a decade.  cramming and crowding. cold grays. war.  fluorescent lights. treason. shuffled papers. the jungle.  a weight on your shoulders. fresh coffee. thousands of deaths.  burglary.  finding your voice. risking everything. propaganda.  tough choices. exposure. type being set by hand. workplace rivalries.  abusing power.   security breaches. hierarchy. a bed strewn with papers and books. paranoia. orders. clicking keys. redacted files. desk clutter. cigarette smoke. precious cargo. vanished technologies. suspenseful conversations.  facing charges. courtroom battles. suits and ties.

DARKEST HOUR.   never surrendering. duty. countless negotiations. the flash of cameras. beaches. historic buildings. guzzling booze. resignation. utter catastrophe. bunkers. radio broadcasts. going against the odds. bathed in red light.  a sense of humor. allies. shouting matches.  small square windows.  selfishness. walking with a cane. war rooms. chandeliers. dust floating in air. righteousness. a poor reputation. an elevator surrounded by darkness.  a world at war. needing a miracle. interruptions.  a last hope. cigar smoke. quoting poetry. photos of a loved one.  a single sunbeam. monarchy. vanity. rescue missions. refusing peace. allied chambers. military uniforms. taking a stand. common folk. suicide missions. drums of war. tears down sullen cheeks.  reluctance. complete collapse. evacuations.  enveloped by fog. changing history.  blood, toil, tears and sweat.

THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI.      severe burns. police uniforms. sirens. the calmness of a deer.  strumming guitars. grieving. horrifying memories. sucker punches. a lack of respect. facing threats.  skin under fingernails.  flicking cigarettes. awkward dates.  nasty rumors. claustrophobia. lush green pastures.  molotov cocktails. the fire of anger and revenge. strangers.  no remorse.  bashing in windows. the midwest. provoking a fight.  pointing fingers. being pressed for time. rundown old houses. grey morality. dark undercurrents. insurmountable losses.  cruel laughs.  the american flag. dive bars. guilty no matter what. buildings in flames. ambulances. coughing up blood. spitting. chewing on fingernails. one versus many. black and red.  not understanding another’s feelings. a mother and child. t he pain of others.  a quest of justice. abandoned billboards. a hardened gaze.  driving to nowhere. small towns. last letters. absurd violence.

DUNKIRK.    burying a body.  warm cider. narrow escapes. a race against time. a small boat. all hope lost. being unable to come home. taken prisoner. shipwrecks.  assuming the identity of someone else.  setting fire to it all.  smoke rising from a crash . sea foam. seaports. rendered blind. dropping to take cover. land, sea, and air. entangled in chain. toast with jam.  suspense. waiting for escape. wounded men. lying in the sand. trauma. blank spaces. sinking ships. commended a hero. cocking a gun.  swallowed by darkness. bullet holes. obstacles and delays. a hero’s welcome. planes overhead.  the sounds of a ticking clock. bullets ricocheting off metal. people by the thousands. shell-shocked. the explosions of shells on shores.  the sound of destruction. rising tides. head injuries. target practice. compressed time and space.  the perennial threat of death. oil ignited into flames. lying for the greater good.  blocking out the noise.  primal dangers. taking command.  sole survivor.

GET OUT.      deer antlers. suburbs. hypnosis. strange behavior.  familial tension. chopping wood. uneasy stares. tears and a smile. deception. fight or flight.  blindness. survival. sinking into the floor. watching but powerless. strapped to a chair. plugged ears. a failed handshake. car accidents. sunken places. something out of a nightmare.  going hysterical. bingo cards. smoking cigarettes. static on a television set. doing more harm than good.  a hint of a smile. a stranger in any environment that is foreign to them. waiting for someone to come when they never will. overturned candles. wealthy garden parties. constantly looking over your shoulder. silence no matter how hard you scream. trances. catharsis.  a battle of wills. layers being peeled back. a cup of tea. nosebleeds. addiction.  last bits of life leaving a body. black and white photography.  sprinting at high speeds. conspiracies. surgery. blankly polite speech. noise of a spoon scraping across a teacup.  a deer in headlights. staring at your own reflection.  unable to sleep.  loyal friends.

LADY BIRD.        california landscapes. budding romance. uniforms. consolation. plain and luscious colors. apologizing. boorish sex. prom dresses. secondhand dresses. strong personalities. the ups and downs of adolescence. the theatre.  being simultaneously warm and scary.  battling depression.  90’s fashion.  dreaming of elsewhere. partying. signatures on a cast. living on the wrong side of the tracks.  not being bound by any era. rejection. sparklers.  thrift stores.  high school.  identity crisis. a place that looks like a memory. going behind backs.  disappointed parents. catholicism.  poverty. busy new york city streets.  monotonous hometowns. shitty bands. anarchy.  drifting in and out of friendships. menial jobs. red hair.  self-given names.  coming-of-age. a broken arm. excessive drinking. first kisses. cupcakes. smudged eye makeup. bruises gained unknowingly.  strained relationships. screaming in the middle of the street. thoughtful letters. standing out. decorated bedroom walls. having a change of heart. expressing individuality.

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