dust floating through air

A World of Color

Originally posted by thelongwindedblues

Request: “ This idea came from new-fanfic-order’s Marvel blog, but I think it would be really good! A soulmate fic where your soulmate is the only person you see in color, but since kylo’s clothes are monochrome, only he knows you’re meant for eachother.”

Summary: Soulmate AU: (Y/N), princess of Lysatra, has been cursed from a young age by the infamous Supreme Leader Snoke. In hopes to end the last of the Resistance’s allies he happily awaits the day for his curse to enter the last phase. With all things going according to plan Snoke sends his most trusted knight and apprentice, Kylo Ren to finish the job. Little do either of them know however, that things are going to take an unexpected turn.

A/N: I really seriously love this concept haha, I hope I did it justice. I also remember someone requesting something along the lines of a Sleeping Beauty AU (I unfortunately cleared it cause my requests are closed but it’s meshing into this one) and it seemed so perfect for this. Hope you all like it!

In the dim light of the seemingly grand but bare hall Kylo stood with all his attention focused before him. Despite Starkiller’s destruction, Snoke assured he still had a space in which he could speak to his apprentice. Though rather than a hologram, Kylo was looking directly into the sunken eyes of the humanoid he called master. 

Snoke shifted his boney hand slightly, observing it for a moment before he spoke.

“Do you know why I have called you here today?”

Opting not to nod Kylo simply stared at his master, “Yes.”

Snoke smirked as he turned to face Kylo. Though Kylo was accustomed to his masters appearance, the sight would send chills down anyone else’s spine. 

“As I knew you would. …Today is the day in which we get one step closer to destroying the Jedi, as well as the Resistance.”

Snoke straightened himself in his seat as a more mischevious but subtle smirk settled onto his face.

“Lysatra has long been a sympathizer for the Resistance and a known home to force users and former padawans alike.”

Instantly Kylo stopped the horrid memories from playing in his mind once again. It was as if his subconcious was programmed to replay the fateful evening every time the word was uttered. What was done was done and he was onto a far greater path. Wasn’t he?

“Their beloved princess is not only intelligent, but a rare force user. A balance within herself. Mastering both the light and dark without claiming either as a refuge. Word has already surfaced that they wish to send her to Skywalker, further train her in her abilities. With her Skywalker would double his odds of defeating us. That is where you come in, my wise apprentice.”

Kylo straightened his shoulders, as if in an interview for the first time.

“As you know, in my own ability, I placed a curse of the force upon her through a tainted kyber crystal. Now after years of waiting, she has finally fallen into a deep, unshakeable sleep. That, however, is not good enough. We need to be sure Skywalker gains no more assets whatsoever. She must be rid of.”

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Human Shield - A SuperCorp fic

I don’t always have time to make complete comics. I work. A LOT. But this was a really interesting idea I wanted to explore. And @luthoring​ encouraged me, sooooo… here you go.

Beyond the cut is the result, expanding on this comic. Written entirely from Lena’s perspective.

Fair warning: there is violence, injury, and angst. 

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God of Destruction

Words: 7434

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Light Smut. 

Summary: Everything he touches breaks; except for you.

Once upon a time…

There was a witch who fell in love with the King and some say the two were deeply in love. But for the throne and for riches, the King instead married a beautiful girl, a princess of a nearby land. Angered, the witch returned years later and cursed their only son for eternity; an infant whom the town was celebrating the birth of.

She looks at the innocent child in the cradle. “For your father who was willing to give up love for the touch of gold…” She turns to the King, boring eyes into his. “This child that was born a day before the ides; everything that it lays its hands on will be withered, destroyed, turned to dust and ashes.”

The townspeople gathered around the castle hall, screech in horror. “GUARDS!” The King shouts ruthlessly, pointing to the witch. “KILL HER!”

The witch sends a fleeting smile to the King, tears in her eyes as she murmurs past parted lips.

“The only cure…is true love’s death.”

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Miserable Joy

When he found her he didn’t make his presence known although he had a feeling he didn’t have to. She was shinobi and so he doubted that she had not heard him, his steps had not been hushed on purpose. 

Instead of saying anything he stood with his hands folded tightly within the fabric of his black cloak and he tried to breathe as normally as possible. 

She was laying on the grass, her smooth pale calves and the backs of her knees glowing by the light of the evening sun. The dress she wore every time she visited was made of a combination of lace and something smooth and white and silky beneath it. It made her a piece of snow in the summer day, laying there on the grass with her head in her hands and her black hair a curtain to separate her from the world. 

In the stillness he could see the particles of dust and pollen and summer cotton floating in the air through the gold of the sun’s light. It sparkled and glimmered and he wondered that something as distasteful as dust could look so beautiful. 

And that was the truth of life, he knew it. Because even blood when shed in the snow had a startling jaw dropping quality and the eyes of the dying always took on a hue he could never find the words to describe and Hinata laying there with the angles of her shoulder blades elegant and breath taking and her hips smooth and pleasing was a thing of beauty even laying on top of the grave that housed her Sun. 

For her, there was no warmth on the anniversary of his falling. It was always winter, right in the middle of July. He knew it because like her he could not feel the sweltering touch of the summer day, only the ice in his bones and the ache of missing him, his longest and strongest bond. 

When finally her shoulders stopped shaking with tears and the shadow of his tombstone stretched to cover her bare feet Sasuke whispered, as he always did. 

“It’s late, Hyuuga.”

And like every year since the first year when she didn’t move he walked forward, pulling her first to a sitting position on the grass, leaving stains of green on the lace dress that Naruto had given her last. 

Her eyes were dull and unseeing. It was the only day of the year when a Hyuuga was blind to the world, fixed instead on memories within her mind that haunted. 

Wordless Sasuke slid her freezing arm over his shoulder and around his neck, tucking his arm beneath her knees and hoisting her up with ease. 

Head lolling tiredly she closed her eyes, red and painful from weeping through the day. 

“I’m sorry.” she always apologized, because it was unfair for him to see this. 

And he always shook his head, starting the walk back home from the cemetery in silence, his strides long and fluid. Letting her head rest on his shoulder she closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of him rocking her as he walked. 

“I know.” He said this time, and her eyes opened as he spoke. “I know you love him.” His pace didn’t change as he moved, and his grip didn’t shift on her body but with her lips near his jugular she could feel the pulse of his heart thumping blood at an increasingly quickening pace. 

Eyes half closed she watched the warmth of the sun through the rest of the tombstones of the fallen, among them her cousin, and now too her husband. 

“…past tense.” she whispered. And this made him pause, staring straight ahead towards the exit of the the cemetery where he would take a right turn to the village outskirts, to where the Uchiha Compound now grew. He would enter the house and lay her on the couch and she would let him kiss her, and kiss her until the heat began to flow back into her body and warm her skin. And her warmth would seep into his bones and fight away the chill that overtook him from missing his best friend. 

And they would moan and sigh and move together to forget, if only for a few moments their sadness. 

But she had never said this before. Never called it her past. It was always her present, even more so on the day of his passing, it was always fresh. 

Still without looking at him her lips pressed warm despite her tears to his neck, feeling the pulse of his heart on her mouth. Pulling back she whispered. 

“I loved him.”

Finally daring to look down at her in his arms he studied her face, not as pale as it usually was after so much weeping, so much feeling, so much misery. 

Breathing in softly and shakily as she often did after heavy tears she smiled and it struck him as the most painfully beautiful thing he had seen since the dying hue of blue that had come over Naruto’s eyes as he faded away. 

“He told me… to be happy.” She whispered again, and her fingers, warmed as they touched his lips, sliding smooth over the curve of his mouth. “I love someone else now.”

And he continued walking then, unable to say anything. 

He had told her more than once the depth of what he felt for her, and so there could only be one person she meant. 

He was glad that with certainty he knew she could only mean him.

#146 - For anonymous x3

Filling the prompts “a fluffy fic where the reader is nervous about getting undressed around Van because of their old self harm scars and just Van being comforting about it?” and “Being pregnant and uncomfortable in your skin and Van reassuring you/being a sweetheart” and “a fic about trying for a baby with van for ages and it never succeeds until about a year later and you’re both over the moon and he’s picking out baby clothes and helping you with everything being super protective and so on”

Warning: The fic contains discussion of self-harm, and imagery of cutting and scars.

Note: Another one in which I’ve tried something a little different with structure and style. Specific feedback would be really appreciated. 

One: Scars.

Cut to rays of sunshine warming skin. Fluffy dust particles floating through the air. Hands reaching out to try to catch them. Unsuccessful. Cut to lazy kisses. Teeth knocking against each other. Lukewarm tea. A boy in black, full of love. Cut to romance and dates and happy parents. Jump straight to that part of the story. Nevermind the years before. The prologue. Long and painful. Images of red dripping to the bathroom floor. Seeping through clothes in lines. Ignore all of that. Doctors. Psychologists. Medication. Late nights. Healing skin. Doesn’t matter. Cut to Van McCann. Human perfection. In love and loved. That’s where the good bits are.

By the time Van walked into your life in a cloud of music and dope and warmth, you were well on your way to recovery. You’d told him about before, about the depression. He was good and understood and didn’t say stupid shit like ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ Instead, he just listened and asked if there was anything he needed to do to keep you safe and happy. You told him he was already doing it.

A drunk night out reached its pinnacle in your bedroom. His hands were under your shirt, and you were undressing him as fast as you could. Then, as his hands brushed over your thigh, you sprung apart from him. You moved with such force you threw yourself against your wardrobe and felt the handle jab into your back. Van looked at you with confusion. 


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anonymous asked:

5 & 44 please? :)

5. hold my hand          44. puppy love

He stands by the kitchen doorway watching as she struggles to reach the coffee, which has left its current home in the bottom shelf and climbed to the second. It’s too early for her to catch on to the fact that he’s moved it on purpose. He enjoys the way her t-shirt inches up to expose the soft skin on her lower back where he likes to settle his fingers. Or in this particular case, when his shirt inches up so that he can see the sweet swell of her ass peeking out from underneath the faded cotton.

The sun is filtering in through the windows, lighting up the dust specks floating in the air like birthday glitter. He watches her make the coffee and thinks that maybe it is somehow October in June. The radio changes songs to Paul Anka’s Puppy Love and he has an overwhelming urge to ask her to dance, but chuckles and shakes his head instead.

She turns when she hears him, holding a mug of steaming coffee in each hand. Her lips are still swollen from how he suckled on them a few minutes previous, her hair still wild and mussed. He watches her closely as she leisurely studies his bare torso, the grooves on his chest and abdomen, and feels like blushing, still. Again.
To be under Scully’s careful sexual exploration, when her scrutiny isn’t medical…it’s exhilarating.

She sets the mugs down and extends her hand to him while he closes the gap, pressing her against himself.

“I’ve always been more partial to the Donny Osmond version,” he says and feels her grin against his collarbone. 

“Growing up, I was always more partial to Donny Osmond, period,” she admits and he wonders how far her partiality led her towards satisfying her teenage needs. If it was just a couple of daydreams or if there was some exploratory fingers involved. He feels himself get hard at the thought and kisses the top of her head.

They start swaying to the music and he waggles his eyebrows at her suggestively, while offering his feet for her to step on. 

“Hop on, Scully.”

She throws her head back and laughs. She will never hear the words again without feeling a joyful surge of desire. Whenever he tells her to get in the car, alone or in front of other people, and uses this particular phrase she will always remember that a few minutes ago he was lying on his back, fully erect, and had said the exact same thing before she had lowered herself on him, gasping, and had ridden him to oblivion.


Chapter 5: Form

Word count: 4367

Rating: T

Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi / Midoriya Izuku

Summary: Shinsou realizes that, even after waking up, he is still not alone.

This chapter is a little bit longer because I missed my deadline and because it’s Shinsou’s birthday! Happy birthday, you sleepy dork! Here’s hoping for an exciting year of heroics!

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Hate That I Love You (Steve Rogers x Reader) Part 2/3

The silence that settled over the two of you then was tense and thick, and had you worriedly chewing on your lip.

Why in the hell was Steve walking so close to you?

Why in the hell did you keep wishing he’d accidentally bump into you?

And why in the hell did your body ache for his hands to be all over it?

Because they would’ve been if he’d not let that boy die instead of you.

The images of that small, frail boy struggling through his last few breaths had you pulling back from the Captain, your heart sinking into the pit of your stomach as anger and hatred for him coiled tightly around your chest. How had you ever let him touch you?

“I couldn’t lose you!” He’d shouted, distraught as you sobbed and pulled yourself away from him. “I know what you wanted me to do…I know what I should have done…But I can’t lose you (Y/N).”

“You should have let me die!” You’d screamed, sobs escaping you as you tightened your hands into fists, the skin on your knuckles glowing white. “He was just a child! I wanted to die for him!”

“We’re almost there.”

Steve’s voice cut into your train of thought and you shook your head lightly, your gaze landed on his as he peered down at you. His expression was soft, but you simply glowered.

“Yeah, alright.”

He frowned a bit at your suddenly cold state, but moved further away from you anyhow, his once relaxed posture no stiff.

You’d tried to understand Steve’s decision, tried to imagine what you would have done if it had been you who had to choose, but the more you’d struggled to understand him the more you had resented him. You’d locked yourself away for days, the insides of your eyelids burning with the image of the dead boy.

“He was only five Steve!”

He’d tried so hard to fix things…but the two of you grew bitter and resentful of one another, and thus the hatred between the two of you was born.

“You can’t save everyone (Y/N)!”

“We’re here.”

You stopped then, hip cocked to the side as you surveyed the rundown house before you. A cracked, dirtied littered with stains and dead grass led to house that should have been condemned. The siding was falling apart, shingles littered the yard, patches missing from the roof and the house itself was a dirtied, neglected yellow. All in all, it was disgusting.

“I’ll go in the back,” You started, already moving towards the house when Steve grabbed your arm.

“No, it’s too dangerous.” His voice was stern, commanding and downright annoying. “If anyone’s in there, I’m certain they’ve already seen us.” He paused for a moment, lips pursed as he turned his stare towards the house. “We’ll just have to go in the front.”

“Are you stupid?” You drawled, eyes rolling. “If anyone is in there, they’ll know we’re not whatever disguise you’re thinking of right now. They’ll see right through it and shoot us both in the damn head.”

“Well it’s better than having someone prepared at the back window and shooting you in the head before you can even break the lock,” Steve shot back.

“Stop telling me what to do all the damn time,” You hissed, wrenching your arm away from his grasp. “You’re not my god damn boyfriend anymore, so stop acting like I give a damn about what you have to say!”

You turned from him then, stalking down the broken pathway and towards the front door. You could hear Steve cursing quietly under his breath as he stomped behind you, his calm demeanor broken.

You paused though when you’d reached the porch. It was falling apart, sagging in the middle with rotting boards and missing beams, weeds having crept through the cracks. Cigarette butts and ashtrays lay scattered across it. All in all, no part of you wished to step onto it. You were more likely to fall through it than make it to the door.

Steve didn’t say anything though; he simply sighed beside you before gingerly leaping onto a seemingly stronger part of the rotting porch, before sidestepping to the front door.

“You coming?” He snapped, face devoid of emotion.

Rolling your eyes, you muttered a few choice names under your breath, ignoring the clench in Steve’s jaw as you leapt up the porch, avoiding the questionable beams as you paused next to the larger man, your arm nearly brushing his. “You gonna knock or should I?” You demanded, eyebrows raised.

Steve knocked on the door three times, his knuckles scraping against the rain rotted wood. You both paused then, straining to hear anything from the other side of the door.

Silence greeted you.

“Welp,” You sighed, shifting as you pulled your jeans higher around your waist. “I’m going to kick the door in-”

“No you’re not,” He cut in, blue eyes alight with dismissal as he gazed down at you. “Are you that rash? Honestly (Y/N)…”

“Well it’s better than standing here,” You shrugged, swinging your foot up before Steve could say anything else. Your foot collided with the door with a loud crack, the already damaged wood snapping and swinging open.

Steve cursed, leaping to the side of the door frame so that he remained out of sight, a hand wrapped tightly around your arm as he yanked you with him so that you were pressed against his chest.

You blinked, eyes wide as you held your breath. Steve’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, his heart beating heavily against your back. You could feel the heat of his body through your thin jacket and as much as you hated to admit it, your skin had erupted in goose bumps.

“Don’t ever do that again,” He growled in your ear, and a shiver slid down your spine.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” You hissed, ignoring the way your body was responding to his being pressed against you. “No one’s there and I’d like to get this mission over and done with.”

Shrugging away from him, you stepped back in front of the doorway, eyes peeled for any movement. However all that greeted you was the soft sound of creaking wood and crisp brown leaves scratching against the floor as they slid across it.

“There’s nothing, its fine,” You whispered, rolling your eyes at him as you gingerly took a step into the house. “The place is empty.”

Steve was slow to move behind you, ears straining as he crept into the doorway. You ignored him though, continuously scanning the area as you began to move around the dingy looking room. A staircase stood to your right, its carpet stained and torn, the fibres worn with age. The railing was broken in multiple places, the wood having split from something or other. Wallpaper was peeling off of cigarette smoke stained walls, the floors littered with stray garbage and leaves that had drifted in.

“This place looks like it’s been empty for ages,” Steve muttered, frowning as he inspected the backdoor which had been left open, a sheet of clear plastic swaying lightly in the wind.

“They could’ve bailed days ago,” You sighed, carefully pressing a foot onto one of the stairs, weary that it might break under the pressure. When the wood held, only emitting a soft creak, you continued to make your way upwards, listening carefully for any other creaks or groans.

“Be careful,” Steve called after you, his face turned away from you as he continued to move around what should have been the living room.

“Ay ay Captain,” You grumbled, raising your hand in a sarcastic salute before disappearing upstairs.

You didn’t think it was possible, but the upstairs was in worse condition than the downstairs was: floorboards were torn up and broken, the wood splintered and sharp. Drywall had been torn apart, revealing the beams that were once hidden beneath it, though some of them appeared to be broken as well.

“Idiots,” You grumbled, side stepping a questionable board in the floor. There were two rooms a few feet ahead on the right and you made sure to stay close to the wall, out of sight. You didn’t believe that anyone was in here, but you’d rather you were safe than sorry.

You could still hear Steve wandering around downstairs, the sound of heavy footfalls easily drifting up through the damaged floors of the small house. You could hear him rummaging through drawers, papers being scattered and things tossed aside as he hunted for clues.

You peered into one of the rooms, heaving a sigh of relief when you found it empty. The window was broken, the glass having been smashed, and sunlight lit up the room, crisp autumn air drifting in and snaking around your ankles. There was nothing here, not even a closet to go through.

Sighing, you straightened your jacket and you pulled out of the room, gently closing the door. There was nothing here. What made Fury think that a bunch of lowlifes were somehow attached to any suspicious activity going on with the government anyway?

Whatever, you had to do whatever the hell he wanted you to do anyway or you’d be bloody well fired. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about quitting though.

Grumbling, you continued down the hallway, dragging your sneakers across the floor as you moved. The door was only a few feet away and you sighed, tugging the sleeve of your jacket over your hand before wrapping it around the knob. Dirt and grime smeared across the fabric and you shuddered, suppressing a gag. Whoever had lived here was disgusting.

The hinges squealed as you pushed it open and you winced, cursing under your breath before stepping inside. You could see dust floating through the air, illuminated by the light coming through the windows on the far wall. This room was much smaller than the last, though it looked much more inhabitable.

“There’s nothing here Steve!” You shouted, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “There isn’t even-”

You yelped when there was a loud scuffle from behind you, eyes widening in alarm when a man you didn’t recognize darted out of an unseen closet that’s door resided directly behind the one you had just entered from.

He was tall, much taller than you, although he appeared to be much younger. Your hands were at your pocket in an instant, ready to reach for your knife, but he was already far too close and moving far too fast. He struck you once in the jaw and you nearly toppled backwards, caught off guard, and then suddenly there was a sharp, burning pain in your side. You gasped, stumbling backwards as your eyes snapped up to this. He seemed frightened, his pupils blown wide as he backed away from you.

You could hear Steve somewhere, his footsteps echoing loudly as he sprinted up the stairs, shouting your name.

“I’m sorry,” The man blurted, backing out of the room before he was running. You could hear Steve shouting, at him you supposed, and there was shuffling before someone grunted. You remained still though, shocked as you gingerly pressed a hand to your side.

You whimpered in fear, gaze moving downward as you hand came into contact with whatever he had struck you with. Sickened and nauseous, you slowly let your gaze shift downwards until your (E/C) eyes landed on your wound.

It was glass. The asshole had stabbed you with a shard of glass.

“Shit,” You grumbled, noting how large it was and how darkened your shirt was becoming with blood.

Steve was suddenly in the doorway, out of breath as he paused to stare at you in surprise for a moment.

“What in the hell happened to you-“ He started, already moving towards you. His hands were on you in an instant, his eyes raking over your shaking form.

“There-there was a guy,” You started, lip trembling. Your skin had started to ache, and you were terrified to move for fear that it may cause more damage. “I-I didn’t know Steve-”

He cursed quietly under his breath then, before one of his hands was curling around the back of your neck and he was forcing you to look at him.

“What did I tell you about being careful?” He demanded, blue eyes dark with worry and anger.

Your lip trembled, side now beginning to ache. “I’m sorry, it was so quiet, he was hidden and then-”

Steve just sighed then, bringing his hand away from your neck to inspect the piece of glass.

“Don’t pull it out,” You started, raising your hands to push him away. “It’ll do more damage than good, it’s jagged and I could bleed out anyway.”

“I know,” Steve snapped, scrubbing a hand down his face. He’d hooked an arm around your back, keeping you upright in case you decided to lose your balance and you moaned in pain when he shifted and you stumbled.

“I’m getting us out of here,” He said and suddenly he was bending to hook an arm under your legs. Alarmed, you stumbled away from him and teetered, about to lose your balance before he was moving to catch you.

“Stop it!” You shouted, struggling to suppress an agony filled expression as you backed away from him. “I can take care of myself, I don’t need your help!”

Steve stood still for a moment, staring at you in disbelief before a flurry of emotions passed over his face. First appeared to be shock, then a lack of understanding, before anger settled over his fine features and he was stalked towards you. His hands were suddenly wrapped around your uppers arms and he shook you lightly, ignoring your wide eyes and exclamation of pain.

“I am getting my girl the hell out of here!” He shouted, his face a near inch from yours.

“I am not your girl Steve!” You snapped, though your voiced sounded weak. Your muscles were beginning to ache, and you honestly didn’t know how much blood you had lost.

“Yes, you are,” He spoke slowly, through gritted teeth. “I don’t give a damn if you hate me (Y/N), you’re still my girl. I don’t care if we haven’t spoken in six months and I’ve no damn idea what’s going on in your life, you are still my girl.”

You stared at Steve in shock, eyes wide as your heart leapt into your throat. Where in the hell had all this come from?

“I don’t care if you move on, and marry another man for Christ’s sake, you are still my girl!” It was a near shout this time and Steve took a few shaky breaths before continuing. “I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of your life because of what I did, I won’t regret it. I will never regret choosing your life over someone else’s.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to defend the small boy he was referring to but Steve cut you off again.

“He was dying and you damn well knew it, you damn well knew it and I love you for trying to save him, but I was not going to sit there and lose two damn people when I could have my own damn children with you. I was not about to stand there and watch you die.”

His shouting had caught you off guard and you blinked back tears, your mind a blurred mess with confusion. What in the hell did all of this mean?! Why in the hell was he doing this to you?!

“I-I don’t understand-” You started, voice unsteady.

“I don’t give a damn about anybody else, not the way I do about you, I never have and you know it. So listen, you don’t ever have to speak to me again after today,” Steve continued, eyes boring into yours. His grip on you was bruising as he stooped down so he was eyelevel with you. “But know that you are still my girl, I never stopped loving you and I am getting you the hell out of here.”

You didn’t even time to react after that before he was scooping you up, mindful of your injury as he held you against his chest. Your body felt numb, mind aching and reeling from everything that had just happened.

Steve still loved you?

He didn’t hate you?

He had wanted to have kids with you?

You struggled to suppress tears then, overcome with shock, pain, exhaustion and confusion as Steve tore out of the house, a call for help having been sent by him some time ago. He’d insisted you stay awake, that you’d lost so much more blood than he had thought, but your eyes were so damn heavy.

What if you didn’t love Steve anymore?

my dream

The sun was gleaming through the windows setting the room aglow. Dust particles could be easily seen floating through the air. Everyone else had gone home but the door was locked anyway. He sat at his desk, cluttered with papers yet to be graded, with a book in his hand. He could barely focus, however, because of the most beautiful creature he had ever seen sitting on his lap.

She had a pen in hand but couldn’t seem to focus on the work in front of her. She looked up towards the back of the room. She smiled to herself at the posters on the walls. He had a love for foreign films and bands from the ‘80’s. She looked at the plants in corner remembering the times she’d come in to water them but that was just an excuse to see his face. Back then, she never thought she’d be in the position she is now. She briefly looked back at him. Glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. His fingers scratched at his scruff. He licked his lips as he turned the page. She never felt so at ease.

He could feel her young eyes on him. He peeked out of the top of his glasses and smirked. “What?” He questioned her gaze.

Her smile grew, “Nothing.” She said and turned back around to focus on her homework.

Minutes passed in silence but she just couldn’t stop moving. Part of it because she couldn’t get comfortable but also because she loved to tease him. She felt his hand fall on her bare thigh. He drew circles with his index finger as a way to calm her down but it only made her squirm more.

“It’s awfully hard to focus on Kierkegaard when you’re constantly moving.” He said.

She let out a quiet laugh, “I’m sorry. I just can’t focus on my Spanish homework. I’ve been staring at it too long and it just doesn’t make sense.”

He closed his book and set it on his desk. “Take a break.”

She mimicked his actions and closed the book. He wrapped his arms around her waist as she leaned back into him. He peppered kisses on her shoulder. She couldn’t believe how incredibly lucky she was to have someone so intelligent, so gentle, so mature to give her love.

She readjusted herself so she sat facing him. Her thighs sat on either side of his hips, and his hands immediately found their place low on her hips. Her arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

There was a soft glow that illuminated around her. Her deep brown eyes seemed to glimmer. Her freckles were speckled along her cheeks like the galaxy. He couldn’t help but look at her soft, pink lips. How he dreamed of kissing those lips for so long. He couldn’t believe how incredibly lucky he was to have someone so beautiful, so delicate, so bright to give him love.

He brought her in so their lips could finally touch for the first time that day. He kissed her slow, but put everything he had into it. He squeezed her hips as she lightly ground on his lap. He let out an involuntary groan and he could feel her smile against his mouth. She pulled back and ran her thumb along the outline of his bottom lip.

He looked at her in awe. She was an absolute dream. He had trouble thinking about all the things that had to go right in order for this perfect angel to be sitting in his lap in that exact moment. She let out a giggle, and buried her face his neck. He held onto her tighter and whispered, “What are you doing to me?”



I know that the whole Rev!Pines thing isn’t everyone’s jam, so I’m going to try to provide some Pinecest one-shots while I work on the Rev!Pines story. Rev!Pines is still happening, and the next chapter will be up tomorrow.

This is based on a prompt suggested by shego1142 a few days ago in a post that ended up getting reblogged across the tumblrsphere. My take is below the jump.

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Poetic Harmony: Explore Andrei Tarkovsky’s Cinematic Style

One of the masters of cinema, Andrei Tarkovsky was on the quest to answer what cinema as an art form could achieve. His films urge us to see the artistic nature of cinema. The opening of Poetic Harmony by Channel Criswell asks and elaborates, What words would best describe a Tarkovsky film. Haunting? Ethereal? Hypnotic? Serene? Tarkovsky was a one of a kind artist whose works have become instantly recognizable through their masterful spellbinding imagery and the atmosphere oozing from their pause. If I were asked who makes pure cinema, one of the first names that would spring to mind is Andrei Tarkovsky. Cinema possesses its own language, believed Tarkovsky, and it is through the creative use of that language that a filmmaker can create a distinct cinematic style. Through Poetic Harmony, we explore Andrei Tarkovsky’s cinematic style and arrive closer to what qualities make his images stand out, the meaning behind his works, and more. As Lewis Bond narrates in the video essay, If there’s one thing I want to achieve with this video, it’s to give people a greater understanding and appreciation of Tarkovsky’s approach.

If you ask me what influence I have received from names like, for example, Bresson, Antonioni, Bergman, Kurosawa, Mizoguchi…I must say none. I have no desire to imitate them. Because it would be impossible to do so, And more, if my goal was the imitation of great directors, I would be distancing myself from the true goal of cinema, since the main goal of any kind of art is to find a personal means of expression, a language with which to express what’s inside of you.

When we think of pure cinema we think of a stylistic approach to film that emphasizes film’s unique devices like visual composition and motion, the relationship between sound and image, and rhythmic editing in order to engage the audience in an experience that only films can give you: a cinematic experience. Visual means over dialogue to create impact. Tarkovsky’s approach to filmmaking was to utilize techniques that are uniquely cinematic in order to communicate emotions, to do with cinema and its film language what can not be done in other art forms, and it is through this method that he too directs himself towards an important quality of his filmmaking philosophy.

By focusing on the language of film throughout his filmmaking career, Tarkovsky gave rise to a specific signature, a cinematic style all his own, and we realize how important this was to him when he says, despite his admiration for great filmmakers: If during my work I find that a shot or a take might resemble what has already been done by another great director, I modify the scene to prevent that it may happen. An inspiration to artists and filmmakers, Tarkovsky believed that artists and filmmakers give to their respective art forms and pioneer them by establishing and maintaining their individuality and personal visions.

Let’s explore Andrei Tarkovsky’s cinematic style.

On the Elements of Tarkovsky’s Film Language

Tarkovsky’s visual language was consistent across his career. Recurring elements in his images were frequent. Composition was often one of Tarkovsky’s most captivating trademarks, possibly due to his background as a photographer. But the first thing I notice about the Tarkovsky look is an element in composition that is referenced less than framing, staging, or balance: texture. Sometimes images are most effective when they draw you into their world, and if I can visually feel something, that world instantly becomes tactile. Tarkovsky likes to project the real world, so many of his textures are made through naturalistic components–the embers of a coal fire, a water log home, the elements. Textures add great visual interest to a scene. Something as simple as dust floating through the air can make what was a basic shot more dynamic.

But not only do rusted walls and marshland gain our attention, they intensify the emotions inside the image. The settings that Tarkovsky shoots include some kind of rhythmic pattern, like a rugged backdrop or an even ground. He utilizes some sort of alien material that surrounds the character, and when you include an element encapsulating the subject that contains a certain grit, subconsciously all emotion feels heightened. That’s why we see moments of high drama take place in the rain. Or if you want to give a particular item a sense of gravitas, crinkled pages and jagged bombs will remain in the mind of the viewer. Any subject in the frame has this effect. Making it feel real makes it feel relevant. Tarkovsky uses textures in a way that they develop these associations to the viewer. Rising smoke and tattered fabric may look good but the emotional intensity that an intangible ingredient can bring is far greater.

Most of Tarkovsky’s methods above else were used to create atmosphere, and his moods can not only be seen, they can be heard. One thing about Tarkovsky films is that they’re some of the quietest films you’ll ever see. Silence is a great way to build anticipation for something, and a contrast of silence with noise is a terrific juxtaposing technique, but Tarkovsky typically settles on a middleground between the two. When creating a scene, Tarkovsky isolates one sound and enhances it. It could be the dripping of water or the crackling of fire…He chooses the elements that have great significance to his subject at that time. The character may not remember everything about a single event, but they may remember the sound of their heartbeat.

On the Meanings of His Films

Tarkovsky’s films are mostly assembled through intuition. The notion of order in life is an abstract one, and this is reflected in his cinematic streams of consciousness. His films don’t come with prepackaged deductions. In there lies truth but one that must remain unknown to audience and artist alike.

Tarkovsky’s aim was to have the audience discover meaning for themselves, and when the methods of a director remain a mystery to the audience, they’re inclined to find significance in that reality. We think further on that which we don’t understand.

It’s the way Tarkovsky brings the real world into the film to garner an immediate emotional response from the viewer. We’ve been taught to search for answers but sometimes a scene is what it is. The question isn’t why does something happen but what does it mean to the character. Tarkovsky isn’t asking us to find a definite answer in his work. He asks that we embrace the emotions that the subject feels. Rain doesn’t mean anything, but it might to the character.

Tarkovsky tells his stories by having the emotion of cinema manifest itself to us directly and did this by building character through action. Without a word spoken, what makes us understand helplessness better than a woman sitting on a well watching her livelihood burn in front of her eyes. Once it’s understood that Tarkovskian cinema is instinctive rather than logical, whose events simply show us what resonates with the characters, his techniques become much clearer. In the words of David Lynch, “I don’t know why people expect art to make sense when they accept the fact that life doesn’t make sense.”

On Camera-Work and Editing

Tarkovsky rejected the theory of montage put forth by Eisenstein. It focused too much on the intellectual and interferes with cinema’s emotional side…All the events we see are merely what the character deems significant to oneself…This is why the past, the present, dreams, and reality all coagulate into one another in Tarkovsky’s work. They’re all scenes that don’t have immediate relevancy. They’re simply a mist, a collection of significant moments that were vital in shaping our character.

Most of Tarkovsky’s techniques demonstrate the importance of showing what is significant to the character. This can even be seen in his camera-work. In many scenes, the camera takes on a subjective role whose movements practically mimic the viewers. In moments that peak our interest, the camera will slowly begin to track inwards, as though it’s leaning in due to interest. It is as though the camera is the physical form of our character’s train of thought.

But perhaps the most notable aspect of Tarkovsky’s visual style is his use of long takes…Tarkovsky was adamant in making the audience feel the importance of each passing moment–give a shot enough time and meaning will be formed of its own accord but editing can disrupt this.

Tarkovsky edits individual scenes based on what he referred to as the pressure of time within a scene. Different to shot length, think of pressure as the atmosphere within a scene. As more time passes, the atmosphere builds, and once the atmosphere as reached its zenith then you cut. But if lingering on a subject longer will continue to build pressure within a scene, then do so…Through forcing the audience to be aware of the fabric of time itself, Tarkovsky elevates his powerful atmospheres.

Tarkovsky asks that we embrace a style of storytelling that reflects a state of mind, a refractive layer of consciousness, to conjure an emotion and let the camera do the talking.

One and the Same chapter 6

Hey guys! Could you please let me know what you all think of this fic? Thanks loves!

Chapter 1: Food Source                 Chapter 4: The Brink

Chapter 2: The Rogue                   Chapter 5: Dates & Damnation

Chapter 3: Blood Troubles             

Reckless Behavior-

“What do you mean going on a date? We have to-”

“Lou Ellen!” Will barked. “Will you stop? So we found out the blood is the same, what can we do about that right now? All it does is back up the idea that it’s a vampire. If you want to do something useful, figure out what vampires live in the area.” He turned away from her and started for his room.

He grabbed another shirt and messed with his hair a moment before she barged into the room with him. “He’s making you reckless,” she accused. “It’s just a crush and you’re already throwing your responsibilities out the door!”

Will growled and clenched his fists. “Lou Ellen, I’ve never been on a date, okay? I’ve never been liked back especially by someone like him. I want to be a teenager for once, a normal… gay teenager. Instead of an alpha werewolf freak that has to hunt for vampires and go to wars started by witches and warlocks. It’s just a few hours.”

“The vampire could kill someone else in ‘a few hours,’ Will.”

“You need to rest,” Will said. “When’s the last time you even slept?” He left the room and she started after him, yelling about how irresponsible he was being. Finally, he turned, towering over her. “I’m the alpha,” he yelled, the undertone of a wolf’s growl in his voice. “Stop berating me. I know what I’m doing. Go home.”

Lou Ellen stepped back, her head lowering a bit in submission. He felt a horrible twist in his gut. He never snapped at his pack like that. He never snapped at anyone like that. But an apology didn’t seem fit at the moment. With a last rueful glance over his shoulder, he left the house and started for the mall.

Nico was already there by the time Will got there, dressed in his usual dark clothes. The leather jacket gleamed under the fluorescent lights outside the bookshop, as well as the metal buckles on his boots. He looked relaxed and statuesque. As he stepped closer, his head came up and his brown eyes met Will’s, causing him to flush. He smiled easily, like he always did.

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Blindspot Secret Santa!...

This is for the lovely and patient @charloedrama !!! I hope your Christmas was everything you hoped for!!! This fic was written just for you:) I do hope you enjoy!!

The Morning After-

She sips her coffee while she watches the morning rays of sunlight push through the blinds, and play with the dust floating in the air. She’s got one bare knee pressed to her chest, arms wrapped around it at she lifts her cup, the other is bouncing under the table in a rhythm that speaks to the anxiety battling the joy in her blood. She turns her cheek and let’s the collar of his shirt wrap her in his scent. She’d picked it up off the floor where she herself had tossed it some time late last night.

She woke just before dawn, the habit unbroken even by the presents of the soft, strong, male body in her bed. She had tried to bask in his warmth but couldn’t sleep, couldn’t lay there any longer and worry about the repercussions of her actions.

They’d been stealing time lately. Finding ways to be together. Late night TV and Thai food, a Sunday drive out of the city, a second (much better), dinner with Sarah and Sawyer. He’d shown up last night with nothing but a smile and mouth full of kisses.

He’d kissed her breathless every time, but nothing more.

She knows he would have continued their pattern of quiet nights and soul shattering make out sessions if she hadn’t pushed him last night. She knows he’s been burying his needs under the respect he has for her. He wears it like shield; protecting both of them; she knows he’s been using it to keep himself from falling too far, too fully without knowing what she could possibly be to him. She’s grateful for his restraint. Knows they’re friends before they’re anything else and that friendship is what’s kept her afloat through everything that’s come their way so far.

She doesn’t want to be the reason she can no longer turn to him.

They’ve kept it quiet at work, have made a habit of staying out of each other’s way, of keeping the need out of their eyes when they’re forced into the field together. It’s not an easy feat and she’s pretty sure they aren’t fooling anyone.

If she’s picked up anything along the way it’s that life is way too short to waste time wishing and wondering. And yet here she sits; wishing for clarity and wondering if she’s ruined the single greatest friendship she’s ever had.

There’s also a smaller, much softer voice in the back of her mind hoping for another opportunity to get him naked. She can’t fight the smile that pulls her lips as she sips the now tepid coffee and remembers how she’d been the one to bring her to this exact moment. How he’d done his best, been a true gentleman, and held back from her advances as best he could.

They’d been on the couch, just like the night before; his hands under her shirt, hers in his hair. His mouth a masterpiece of passion and patience, his body braced, muscles taught under her roaming hands. Somehow she’s in his lap, her knees flanking his hips and she can feel how much it takes for him to keep from taking them somewhere they both want to go but are too afraid to attempt.
She has no idea why but all of a sudden she couldn’t find a single reason of any relevance to keep them here in this moment, to keep them from making something more of all the emotion and need and passion that’s been building between them. She remembers rocking her hips against him, remembers the way the air vibrated out of his chest and into her mouth and how he couldn’t not push back. How he lifted his back off the cushions, how his hands ended up at her throat, than her face and how he’d buried them in the hair at the at top of her spine. How he pulled his mouth from hers when she took the top two buttons of his shirt in her shaking fingers and started to part the soft cotton.

“Jane,” he’d said it like he couldn’t catch his breath, as if his heart was beating too fast and too hard for him to fully wrap his tongue around the single syllable. She knows exactly how that feels.

She’d lifted a hand to take his face, to pull him in until their foreheads bumped, met his eyes as she continued to slowly open the small, pearly, buttons down his shirtfront. He’d taken her hand and his eyes had gone still, they’d hardened instantly, giving off that defiant edge that she’s learned to love and hate in equal parts.

“Kurt,” she says his name and takes his mouth, once, twice, and pulls herself back before she can take them back under, “I wont hurt you, and I trust you not to hurt me.” His grip tightens in her hair, on her hand, his eyes close as his almost even breathing picks up again. “Nothing I can think of, nothing I can remember, has ever made me feel the way you do.” Her words are all but a whisper at the end, the gentle lift in her voice lacing them in faith and a touch of persuasion. “You can’t tell me you don’t want this.”

He’d dropped his hands to her waist and his thumb had found her hipbone, fingers spread across the scroll inked on at her waist. When she’d started the pull his shirt apart again, he did not try to stop her.

And now here she is; lukewarm coffee, a hummingbird heart and the mans shirt wrapping her completely in him. He’ll wake at any moment and who knows what tone he’ll take on the events she’d single handedly started. She instantly doubts herself and every decision she’s made since she’d gotten him naked last night. She’s so wrapped up in her own worry she doesn’t hear him until he’s made it halfway across the room.

He’d pull his jeans on but hasn’t bothered with the button so they hang on his hips and she’s appalled with herself when her mouth waters at the sight of him. He crouches down beside her chair, one hand reaching for the coffee cup in her hands, the other starts off in her hair and slowly makes its way down her back. It’s a gesture of comfort, of affection and it’s more reassuring than any declaration of undying love could ever be. His face is soft with sleep and his eyes are full of questions, and she’s almost positive his mouth is smiling but she can’t see it behind the coffee cup he’s stolen and lifted to sip from.

She rests her cheek along her lifted knee, wraps her hands around her shin and threads her fingers together above Ana’s owl.

He makes a face and sets the cup back down, this time out of reach. “Coffees cold, Jane.” He drops his hand to the arch of her foot where it rest of the chair, lets his thumb and his fingers play across the rise of her ankle. His other hand is rubbing circles along her back, small, soft motions that make her want to close her eyes and just lean on him. “Come back to bed,” he whispers, “your feet are cold.” He stands and waits for her to follow, holds a hand out for her to take, and he knows she understands he’s offering more than just a lift up from her seat. Knows he’s giving her a part of himself, and asking her to do the same, all without having to say a thing.

Last night was her choice, and this morning is his.

She reaches for his hand and sets all her worries aside. Knows he’s the most important person in her life; her greatest friend, and greatest love, knows she will do whatever it takes to keep that friendship first and to make sure that love has room to grow.

When she stands, steps towards him, meets his eyes in the morning light, his smile blooms across his face and she knows she’s spent the better part of the morning worrying for nothing.


The nightmare was always the same. Her mother screaming at her to stop, the wind in her ears as she ran forward. Young and carefree for the only time in her life. And then the sharp rocks against her knees. A cane across her back. Sharp inhale and she swallowed icy, salty water. It thickened and turned to blood in her lungs.

Elektra woke with a strangled sob, hand pressed over her scarred side. Like she expected the blood to still be pouring from the wound. For a long moment, all she could do was lay there and try to breathe around choking, panicked sobs. Trying to remember where she was, how she got there. Every inch of her ached and the only thing she could make sense of was the light floating through colored glass. Dust motes floating on the air. All she could remember was…

Dying. Matt’s arms, his tears on her face. The coldness crawling through her.

“Is this hell…?” she whispered to herself, voice hoarse.

Bite Me

“Ahh… fuck,” Dipper hissed from his position on the floor. His hands were wrapped around his throat. Dust motes floated through the air, disturbed by his panicked gasps. “Wh…what is happening to me?” He pressed his forehead against the floor; even the wooden floorboards felt cool against his feverish skin.

His stomach felt hollow, but the thought of food was making him feel ill.

Night breezes filtered in from the open window, and the presence of the outside air was almost too much for him to bear. There was too much, too many scents, too many sounds; it had him sweating and gasping for breath.

One of his hands clawed at the floor, and he screwed his eyes shut. His hair was matted to his forehead, “F…fuck.” Dipper took a hungry gulp of air. His throat burned. “Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop…”

The presence behind him snickered, “And why should I do that, Pine Tree? I am having so much fun watching you squirm! Oh, boy, I should have done this sooner.” The tip of his cane pressed against Dipper’s back. “Keep going; this is hilarious.”

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Tangles (Vernon- Angst)

Title: Tangles
Band Member: Vernon (Seventeen)
Genre: Angst
Summary: You and your best friend have a crush on the same guy.

Part 2 is here

Originally posted by the8ght

Golden sunlight filtered through the misty windows, illuminating the library. The miniature particles of dust were visible floating through the hot air. The sound of pages rustling were comforting and the musty smell of books were like home to you. You looked up at the sound of footsteps, frowning to see a person approach your corner of the library. It was a small secluded area, concealed by high shelves of old books on Latin literature, ignored and forgotten in the hidden depths of this literary heaven.

The person happened to be a handsome boy, probably in his late teens. His honey-coloured hair fell into his almond-shaped eyes, his long lashes shadowing on his clear creamy skin. He sat down at a far table, the sunlight bronzing his skin and he took out a notebook and headphones. Nodding his head in time to his music, he began to write words you couldn’t see. In fact, you couldn’t see anything about this enigmatic boy. The only thing you did know was that he was handsome and mysterious, handsome and mysterious enough for you to fall for him.

You began to visit the library more regularly in hopes to see him. The universe was on your side; whenever you went he was there, beautifully and gracefully writing away. He didn’t speak to you a lot except when he told you his name, and he kept to himself. That didn’t help the flutter of butterflies that swarmed in your stomach, attacking your nerves and confidence every time you locked eyes with his mesmerising, hazel You really like this boy, Vernon.

He soon drifted into your mind all the time. Vernon was the only one you thought of at school, at home, when you were with your friends and when you were alone. The image of him, the smothering feelings you had for him ate away at you.

It was only a matter of time till one day your friend accompanied you to the library. She was beautiful and kind, intelligent and sassy and bursting with confidence. You were both sat in your corner, you reading your book quietly and your friend, Mei, scanning through the books on the shelves when you heard the familiar footsteps. Your stomach twisted and you looked up hesitantly to see Vernon enter. He nodded at you, acknowledging your presence when he froze, his eyes landing on your friend. His handsome eyes scanned her body, his lips parted as she smiled nicely.
“Hi.” She said. Vernon didn’t reply, merely glancing at you before seating himself at his table.

You were aware of Mei watching Vernon with interest as he took out his headphones and notepad. Her eyebrows were raised, her lips curved in a smirk and her fingers playing with her silky locks- all clear indications that she had a romantic interest in Vernon. The jealousy was unbearable. It burned you, made your hands shake uncontrollably and you swallowed, trying to concentrate on your book. It didn’t work; all you could think about was Mei and her crush on Vernon.

She sat down beside you, leaning close and smiling.
“Well, he’s interesting.” She beamed. There was a giggle to her voice and your throat grew dry. “You should’ve told me about him before. What’s his name?” You wanted to scream at her that you already liked him, they wouldn’t suit and that she should back off. You already liked Vernon more than you could even describe. But you couldn’t say that. Instead you smiled and quietly told her his name.

Mei wrinkled her nose, glancing back at the focused boy before turning back to you.
“Vernon? Vernon?” She repeated. “That’s an old man’s name!” She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Whatever. He’s hot, I guess.” You remained silent. You couldn’t say anything. You knew how possessive Mei could get over crushes, and you knew she’d be possessive over Vernon. You just had to bite back any words. Perhaps she’d get over it soon?

However, Mei didn’t. She became more and more obsessed with Vernon: she came with you to the library every time; she tried to make conversation with him; she doodled his name over her books and even told the rest of your friendship group about how much she admired him.

And you. You were drifting in and out of anger, sadness and hopelessness, trying to find somewhere to stand. You wanted Vernon, you wanted Mei, you wanted to be happy but you wanted her happiness. You had to make a choice. That choice was to put yourself forward- did she care about your happiness in any of this? Did she even wonder once why you didn’t tell her or anybody else about Vernon? Did she ever wonder why you pretended to feign no interest in her crush on him?

Excitement buzzed in your stomach as you made your way into the library one Saturday. You looked beautiful with your hair styled nicely, your clothes a brand-new outfit and your make-up done nicely. It was all an effort for Vernon so he could see how much you really liked him.

Voices were audible from the corner of the library. As you came closer you realised they belonged to Mei. She was talking in a higher purr, a clear sign she was flirting with someone she likes. It was like your insides had turned to lead. You felt heavy, your heart thumping and your stomach twisting as you edged closer and closer to the gap in between the shelf and the wall. Beads of sweat were appearing on your body and you gripped your books so tightly your trembling knuckles turned white.

You heard it.

“I really like you, Vernon.” You couldn’t hear the reply as tears stung your eyes. The books fell from your hands with a clatter but you didn’t care if they heard you; you had heard them. Perhaps it muffled Vernon’s reply, the reply you didn’t want to hear. After all, who would turn down Mei? Vernon definitely wouldn’t, especially when he had no feelings for you. You turned away, gasping as you heard Mei call your name behind you. It was so distant, like your head was pushed under water and you were being drowned. She was the one who had pushed you, and you were dying and gasping for air but she was closing it off.

You ran.

CinemaVariety's Top Favorite Films of 2014

Well my fellow friends and film lovers - another year has passed. And that means it was another year filled with cinematic possibilities. Foreign films seemed to dominate the market this year (Goodbye to Language, Norte, Force Majeure, Mommy, Winter Sleep). It was refreshing to see so many films from other countries gaining widespread appeal in the U.S. I feel as if last year was a much stronger year for films, but after taking a poll it seems as if most of you disagree and found 2014 to be the better year. Either way, it was a great year. The following list is comprised of the my favorite 17 films that were released this year. I understand that a few titles on this list are classified as 2013 releases according to IMDb. However, they only went through some festivals last year. They didn’t get wide distribution until 2014.

Honorable Mentions:
Guardians of the Galaxy
The One I Love
Maps to the Stars
Force Majeure
The Sacrament
The Immigrant

** This list is in order. **

#17 - X-Men: Days of Future Past
Directed by Bryan Singer

Action is probably one of my least favorite genres. I don’t find entertainment in exploding buildings or all the other cliches that are found in most action films. However, Days of Future Past is an exception. I really enjoyed First Class and found it to be the best X-Men movie made (at that time). I was disappointed when I found out that Matthew Vaughn wouldn’t be directing this one. The man obviously knows how to direct a good action film (Kick-Ass). However Bryan Singer improved on the last film, making Days of Future Past the best X-Men movie ever made.

#16 - The Two Faces of January
Directed by Hossein Amini

I went into this one knowing that it was based on a book by author Patricia Highsmith, who also wrote The Talented Mr. Ripley which was a great film. This film was pretty divisive among viewers and critics but I found it to be a rewarding experience. Kirsten Dunst and Oscar Isaac are two of my favorite actors and their performances in this film brought it to life. Tensions rise as Dunst and Isaac’s characters grow close in the midst of tragedy while Mortensen’s character attemps to fix the mess they all have gotten themselves into. Filmed on location in Greece, the landscapes are beautiful and you cannot help but lose hope for these characters as their circumstances become more dire.

#15 - Whiplash
Directed by Damien Chazelle

Wow, was this film an electrifying experience! Who knew that a movie about jazz drumming could be so intense? Miles Teller kills it in his role that literally brings about blood, sweat, and tears. But the real talent here is J.K. Simmons as the conductor. I began to fear his character more than some of the most evil villains in film. His bursts of rage caused me to wince - however, he also has a real humanity to him that shines throughout. The last ten minutes of the film is the real reason why Whiplash made its way onto this list. I literally wanted to just get up and start dancing as the credits rolled.

#14 - A Most Violent Year
Directed by J.C. Chandor

This was the very last addition to this list. All I can say is is that I’m glad that I watched it before posting my final decisions. I had read many things about A Most Violent Year, ranging from countless praise to disappointed viewers who found the story to be a bore. The heart of this film is simply about people searching for the American dream. This is an essential theme explored in countless films. The setting is New York in 1981 - the year with the highest recorded amount of murders and rapes. The city is living in a paranoid fear and Oscar Isaac’s character must navigate through this panic in order to help his business flourish. Jessica Chastain, who is probably my favorite actress at the moment, brings a heated ferociousness to the screen like I’ve never seen in her before. She literally steals every scene, it’s just too bad she was underutilized. 

#13 - It Felt Like Love
Directed by Eliza Hittman

Eliza Hittman has made one of the most powerful coming-of-age stories of the year. I have a soft-spot for films about troubled/destructive youth and It Felt Like Love was all that and more. It was like watching a much more quiet and introspective Larry Clark film. The film focuses on the awkward stage of adolescence and the pains of puberty. What I loved most about it is how quiet it was. Not much dialogue is used. In place of talking we hear the crashing of waves, the rustling of foliage, and the whispers of breeze. This is some real poetic cinema. The director was able to make an important statement without endless dialogue. When the last shot appears on screen and the credits began, I felt like I just got punched in the gut - but it felt so good.

#12 - Starry Eyes
Directed by Kevin Kolsch & Dennis Widmyer

I’ve written about this film before, it earned the number one spot on my top horror films of the year list. It is so much more than a horror film. To be truthful, it probably wouldn’t even be classified under the horror genre if it wasn’t for the brutal last 25 minutes. I greatly enjoy films about the nightmares of Hollywood (Mulholland Drive, Inland Empire). There are some obvious style similarities to David Lynch, but it didn’t bother me a bit! Lynch doesn’t direct anymore so it was nice to see a film that resembled his work in some way. The score was brooding and the cinematography was impressive as well. Alex Essoe brought it all to the table as the main character. I even read that she actually put real bugs in her mouth for one of the stomach-churning sequences. That’s commitment right there.

- Birdman
Directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu

Birdman or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance was one of my top awaited films of 2014. I mean, the fact alone that Iñárritu was stepping away from making devastating films to tackle a comedy was enough to get my excited. With Lubezki on board to shoot it, and knowing that it was going to simulate one long take, I was brewing with excitement. I ended up loving it, maybe not quite as much as I anticipated, but all in all it was quite an experience. The camerawork alone caused me to actually see it twice in theatres. The constant tracking shots and not cutting away from the characters gave the audience the mad panic that was constantly running through Michael Keaton’s character. The incessant drumming gave the project this manic energy that shone through the entire film. One of my favorite parts was this surreal sequence near the end, we see: an empty theatre set with dust particles floating through the air and a neon glow coming in through the window, a lone lamp glowing bright in the dark room, and a beach at sunset with tons of dead jellyfish lying about. This is evoking a feeling, this is cinematic poetry at its finest.

#10 - Under the Skin
Directed by Jonathan Glazer

The trailer for Under the Skin is what really peaked my interest. I love psychedelic cinema (Beyond the Black Rainbow, Enter the Void, The Holy Mountain), so I knew that this was going to be a real treat. After seeing it my first time, I left the theatre puzzled and disappointed. Yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about it for months afterward and that’s when I realized the effect that the film had on me. I was under its spell and it required a rewatch - and I must say I fell in love with it after a second viewing. It’s a totally meditative and aesthetic film all about the human experience - viewed through an extraterrestrial’s eyes. I really appreciate Glazer for making this because you just don’t find films like this anymore. The fact that it even was made and got a widespread distribution is surprising enough. Glazer tells the story through striking images: waves crashing down on a family, a cyclone of mist rising from the ocean, motorcyles weaving their way through the fog, and human flesh gently undulating in a black abyss.

#9 - Beneath The Harvest Sky
Directed by Aron Gaudet & Gita Pullapilly

I can say with certainty that Beneath The Harvest Sky was one of the most underrated films of this year. How is no one talking about this? The movie was made by two documentarians and this is apparent by the realism in the film. It touches on deep and personal subject matter such as broken homes, drug addictions, insecure youth, and friendships that hold strong even when tested. Emory Cohen (who I recognize from Place Beyond The Pines) plays a character who can easily be detestable - but his earnest loyalty to his best friend makes him come across as just another human being suffering from an array of emotional trauma. The film really did warm my heart, even through all the darkness that is displayed. Check this movie out, it’s not one to be missed.

- Enemy
Directed by Denis Villeneuve

Denis Villeneuve put out two great films in the course of a year - Prisoners and Enemy. I enjoyed them both, but my love lies with the latter. To tell you the truth, I would never guess that the same director made those two films. They are on opposite sides of the film spectrum but that goes to prove Villeneuve’s originality and diversity as a director. Don’t ask me what this movie was about, it cannot be explained. I love films that raise more questions then they answer. Artistic interpretation is needed for Enemy, and I have read various different explanations by viewers and they all are interesting. I can say that this is the far superior doppelganger story compared to The Double, which I found to be slightly mediocre. Jake Gyllenhaal’s performance, the eerie washed-out yellow look, and the spider symbolism made Enemy one of the best films released this year.

#7 - Kill Your Darlings
Directed by John Krokidas

I added Kill Your Darlings to my watch list after discovering that one of my favorite actors, Dane Dehaan, was cast in it. After watching it, not only was I impressed with his performance but I was almost equally impressed with Radcliffe’s. He proved that he has range as an actor in this project. I have a huge interest 1960s counter-culture such as the beat generation. Kill Your Darlings documents the rise of the beat poets. We have portrayals of Kerouac, Ginsberg, Carr, and Burroughs all on board here. The relentless drug use and loud jazz music brings the time period to life.

#6 - A Field in England
Directed by Ben Wheatley

I’ve already mentioned my love for psychedelic cinema - and A Field in England meets all the requirements. Nonsensical storyline? Check. Characters coming back from the dead? Check. Flashing mirrored images resulting in an epileptics worst nightmare? Check. Ultimately, insanity ensues throughout the run time of A Field in England. This marks British director Ben Wheatley’s most experimental and unconventional film yet. I absolutely adored his spine-tingling sophomore effort, Kill List, which struck a nerve in me. I consider it to be one of the scariest films ever made - what can I say, cults freak me out. A Field in England is shot gorgeously in black and white and the beautiful landscape offers some sinister surprises for the characters. This film is the epitome of psychedelic - let’s just hope you don’t have a bad trip.

#5 - The Signal
Directed by William Eubank

William Eubank released his second film this year, The Signal, and I found it to be the best science fiction film of 2014. The first time I laid eyes on the trailer I just knew that I needed to see this film. I read reviews comparing it to District 9 - all the more reason I needed to see it. I drove an hour away to watch the film and it was sure worth the gas money. I even ended up seeing it again a second time on the big screen when it eventually screened in my home town. The Signal is a complex and head-scratching journey. Every time you think you know what is happening - something disproves that and you are left stumbling to find other answers. The film doesn’t heavily rely on action - and most of the action sequences are shot using incredible slow motion FX. Some people said that this style was overused in the film. But after reading how little the budget was, it made sense that Eubank utilized slow motion to achieve these special effects. In fact - the visuals in this film are spectacular - and the ending left my jaw hanging open.

#4 - Noah
Directed by Darren Aronofsky

Let me start by stating that Darren Aronofsky is one of my favorite directors of all time. In fact, Requiem for a Dream is one of my top 5 favorite films. I was a little discouraged when I discovered that Aronofsky was going to cover a biblical epic. After reading that the budget with this film was more than all of his previous works combined - I questioned whether Darren would fall victim to the Hollywood system. Thankfully he didn’t, and his hypnotic style and vision carried through in Noah. The film was panned by both critics and audiences alike. It found more support by non-religious fans compared to the Christian community. The second half of the film is where all the power lies. The characters find themselves in ethical and moral dilemmas resulting in a much more dark and depressing environment than I ever imagined. Noahis depicted as a pretty miserable human being and by the time the flood arrives - all hell breaks loose. No pun intended.

#3 - I Origins
Directed by Mike Cahill

Mike Cahill took my breath away in his feature debut, Another Earth. The work was so profound and raised all these existential ponderings about humanity and identity. So I obviously had high hopes for his second film - I Origins. This time, Cahill focuses his efforts on bringing about ideas such as past lives, reincarnation, and the human eye. I find it fascinating that his films blend science with religious thought and spirituality. Why can’t the two co-exist? Cahill managed to touch my soul and bring tears to my eyes (just like Another Earth). The ending for this film is abrupt, and leaves viewers with so many questions that aren’t clearly explained. But hey, that’s life right? We don’t have all the answers. Instead, we only have parts of the puzzle and all we can do is try to piece them together to see the bigger picture. Let me just say, Brit Marling knows how to pick great roles!

#2 - Frank
Directed by Lenny Abrahamson

Frank was everything I love about a movie. This marks my second Michael Fassbender film on this list. The man can do no wrong in my eyes. Fassbender is like some kind of shapeshifter. He has played a supervillain, an intelligent robot, a sex-addicted New Yorker, a slave owner, and now he graces us with his character Frank - a socially awkward and mentally ill musician who wears a giant plastic head. Frank is everything I love about a movie: eccentricity, madness, mentally disturbed characters, and avant-garde musicianship. I have a strange sense of humor, and this film made me laugh a lot. This is mostly due to Maggie Gyllenhaal’s absolutely bat-shit crazy performance. But above all, Frank is much more than just a comedy, it is just as dramatic as it is comical. Many people were letdown with the tonal shift that occurs halfway in the film. But I loved it. It’s not presenting mental illness as some sort of thing to laugh at. It shows the devastation that it causes these characters, while they also get to confront their inner demons. 

#1 - Interstellar
Directed by Christopher Nolan

I feel as if Interstellar was the film I have been waiting for my whole life. I am a big sucker for space dramas (Gravity made the number one spot on my top films of 2013 list). My anticipation grew after finally discovering the plot - mankind using a wormhole to access different galaxies to find a planet habitable for human life. Nolan is an ambition filmmaker, but even this seemed too good to be true! I have a fascination with the cosmos and I’m always looking up and questioning our place in the universe, what our significance is, and whether or not some entity is out there looking up and asking the same questions. I saw this film in an IMAX dome theatre, and the experience was a physical one. The seats were literally shaking when the rocket takes off. This was the perfect film to see in this setting because the curvature of the screen made it look like I was actually staring into space. The screen was so large that I had to move my head when objects traveled across screen. Nolan mounted IMAX cameras to the end of military fighter jets in order to capture some of these visuals - another awesome technique from a master who tries to use as little CGI as possible. The visual grandeur of Interstellar caused my jaw to drop and the hairs on my arms to rise. This is an intelligently made science fiction film which is always changing direction - never becoming predictable in any sense. The idea of relativity, and space-time being much different, definitely messed with my head. Above all, Interstellar touched me on a deeper level. Tears rolled down my face both times I saw this, and it proved to be a spiritual experience as well. After exiting the theatre, I was left with a renewed appreciation for my life and the Earth I inhabit.

Coming Home

Word Count: 7,953
Pairing: Bechloe

Beca sighed as she looked around her new apartment. The early morning sun illuminated the dust floating through the empty air. Piles of boxes towered over her small frame. Unsure of where to start, she glanced at the clock sitting on the floor. 9:17 am. Chloe left to arrange a pickup for their new couch over an hour ago. What was taking so long? Frustrated, she picked up her phone and instinctively dialed Chloe’s number— straight to voicemail.

Keep reading

Barely churned out this short Easter fic in time!  It’s hastily prepared but wanted to be written, so here it is!  Mostly Steroline.   Just a hint of Bamon.  Some Delena (which I’ve never really written and it felt so wrong) but nothing good, I promise. :P

“Because, Damon,” Elena explained, “We’re trying to reintroduce your mother back into society and Easter dinner is a good place to start.”

“No, I know WHY you’re doing it, Elena,” Damon replied, “I just think it’s extraordinarily STUPID.”

Elena exhaled loudly in frustration and continued setting the table.  Stefan listened to them bicker, nursing a tumbler of whiskey while sitting on the couch.  The dishes clanged angrily together.  The cabinets slammed loudly.  Stefan narrowed his eyes at the noise, his head still sensitive after his recent blood binging.  

He turned to the stairs as his mother descended into the living room.  His mother.  It was so strange. He still wasn’t making the connection that the woman now throwing him a polite smile as she crossed into the kitchen was actually his mother.   She was dressed in modern clothes but she still looked like she didn’t belong here.  He smiled back.  It felt empty.  Everything did.  He tossed back the last of his drink.

The heavy front door creaked open then, drawing Stefan’s attention.  He stood as Bonnie walked in carrying pans of food, followed by Caroline, juggling wine and more food.  He hustled over to help them, taking half of Bonnie’s load and the awkward wine bottle that was about to fall from Caroline’s grasp.

“Thanks,” Bonnie said as she made her way to the kitchen.

Stefan and Caroline froze as their eyes met in the now empty living room.  

“Hey,” Stefan finally managed to awkwardly mutter.

“Hey,” Caroline answered, in barely a whisper.

She was quiet.  And small.  In flat shoes and a baggy sweater over her dress.  Her hair in her face.  Trying to hide.  Trying to disappear.  He knew because he felt the same.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he admitted.

“Well, Elena wouldn’t really take ‘no’ for an answer, so…” Caroline attempted to joke, but the smile didn’t quite make it to her face.

“Matt and Tyler…?” Stefan asked, the question loaded.

“Couldn’t make it, I guess” Caroline answered quickly.  Answering the question that was on Stefan’s mind…which was, had Caroline talked to either of them since the….incident at the bar.  And the answer seemed to be no.

Stefan nodded and allowed her to walk past him into the kitchen.  The mood in there was no less heavy.  Everyone was sitting down to dinner.  Chairs sliding across hardwood floors.  Silverware clattering as napkins were placed upon laps.  The sounds of food and chewing masking the silence.

Damon’s eyes nervous on their mother.  Their mother’s eyes hungrily on Bonnie. Bonnie’s eyes nervous toward Damon.  Elena’s eyes darting between the three of them.  Caroline’s eyes toward her plate, watching her fork chase a pea around with no intention of catching it.  And Stefan’s eyes on Caroline.

After what seemed like hours, everyone was done pretending to eat.  Lily excused herself to her room, after a last lingering look at Bonnie.  Who then immediately turned her eyes to Damon in horror.

“So, did you invite me for dinner, or AS dinner?” Bonnie whispered angrily.

“Don’t look at me, Witchy!  It was her idea!” Damon shot back, pointing in Elena’s direction.

“I just thought we should give her chance to prove that she’s changed,” Elena pouted, batting her lashes at Damon, who softened immediately.

“Unbelievable,” Bonnie muttered.

Stefan, the tension becoming too much for him, abandoned the sink full of dishes he was working on while listening to his brother argue with his two girls, and made his way back to the living room.  

Caroline was sitting on the couch, fiddling with her daylight ring.  Stefan didn’t remember ever seeing so awkward.  So out of her element.  He sat next to her wordlessly.  She had the decency to look up at him as he did.  

More clattering dishes and splashing water, then more arguing.  Doors slamming.  Caroline scrunched up her nose at the noise. Stefan couldn’t help but smile a little at the adorable sight.  

“Sorry, kids,” Damon’s voice interrupted, “It looks like the egg hunt…is cancelled.”  

He gestured toward the front door where Bonnie had stormed out and to the back door where Elena had stormed out, before dropping his arms in defeat and walking back to the kitchen.

Stefan and Caroline exchanged a look, and for a second, it felt like it used to.  When they were allies against the world.  

“He’s got a mess,” Caroline commented, talking about the dishes from dinner.

“I’ll say,” Stefan replied, talking about the increasing tension between Damon, Elena and Bonnie.

Caroline smiled all too briefly before her face fell again.  Silence settled back around them.  

“You’re quiet,” Stefan commented, “You, know, for you.” He teased.

Caroline didn’t have the energy to shove him, just rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, I feel…” she struggled to find the words, “I guess I just feel…”

“Like a ghost?” Stefan finished for her, knowing the feeling because he was feeling the same.

“Yeah,” she admitted.  

Stefan watched her eyes fall back to her hands, twisting her ring around her finger again.

“I’m not ready to do this yet, Stefan,” she said suddenly.

The words stung him but he kept a straight face.  He swallowed hard and nodded.  He had hoped that they would pick up where they had left off, moving away from friendship and toward something more.  Hearing that she didn’t want the same, hurt even more than he expected it would.

“Talk, I mean,” she clarified, seemingly reading his mind, “About what…happened.”

Stefan tried to hide his relief.  He reached out to cover her fidgeting hands with his own.  She seemed to calm immediately.  He hadn’t forgotten the calming effect that they had on one another.  The self-imposed exile from one another they’d been torturously carrying out didn’t make sense.  They needed each other.  They had for so long now.

“I get it,” he said, squeezing her hand just a bit, “But, I’m here.  I told you I would be here when you let it all back in.  And I’m here.   Whenever you’re ready.”

She looked up then, finally.  Tears glittering bright in her already shimmering blue eyes.  An actual smile playing at her lips.

Elena stormed back in then, slamming the heavy door behind her, sending dust floating through the air and candlesticks rattling on the mantle.   Stefan and Caroline winced in unison.

“Headaches?” Stefan asked.

“Yeah, all the time since….well,” she stopped, sticking by her resolution not to talk about it yet.

“Do you wanna go up to my room?” Stefan asked suddenly.

Caroline raised an eyebrow at him.

He chuckled nervously.

“I mean, do you want to come hang out in my room?  Listen to music?  Play cards?  Drink until we’re no longer conscious of whatever the hell is going on in my kitchen?”  The last sentence was punctuated with the sound of a glass shattering.

Caroline giggled, wiping her eyes, “Yeah, that sounds great.”

Stefan stood, extending his hand down to her.  He felt relief flow through him as she laid her hand into his and allowed him to pull her from the couch and lead her up to his room.

“Going to hang out in a boy’s bedroom,” Caroline mused, “I feel so…seventeen.”

Stefan looked back at her with a smile and realized that she had that effect on him.  

“Me too,” he said sincerely, squeezing her hand tighter.  Grateful that she was giving him a chance to make good on his promise to her.

“Well have to leave the door open.  My mom’s home,” Stefan said with straight face.

Caroline erupted into a fit of surprised giggles, tinged with the newness of her returning emotions and it was the most beautiful sound Stefan had ever heard.