emma phillips.

how did i lose myself in everyone around me? but, oh god, i have never felt alive like this.

[emsphillips-blog]

detler, jack.

       he gnaws against his cheek, a futile effort, because really, no brilliant idea has ever come from bothered gums. he’d suggest a trip, but it seems like a cop-out, a last resort only for when they’ve exhausted all the fun that black springs has to offer. ‘   you’re talking like a defeatist, emma.    ’ a poignant tinge laces his retort, downturned lips accompanying the thought that the last time he broke a rule was when he forgot to bring his own shopping back to the grocery store and had to get a paper one. a deep breath realigns his posture, forcing himself to persevere with the impenetrable positive attitude. ‘   okay, say we are the most interesting people here. heck, we might even rank pretty high up in the whole town. i mean, that immediately makes us eligible to like, i don’t know, start a band. or a business. or a protest. the possibilities are endless !   ’

She’s already halfway slumped over the bartop in a relatively ‘ defeatist ’ position, cheeks pressed into palms and eyes cast downward when he finishes, and she’s ready to lament more, but the idea of them starting a BAND without a fraction of musical talent, or a BUSINESS without the monetary tact, or a PROTEST without anything worth fighting for seems so ridiculous  to her that she has to laugh: bright and reenergizing and somehow bringing her a modicum of hope that maybe the night isn’t so dead. But as giggles that coat his less than desirable ideas subside, she looks halfway to forlorn again, the heaviness of nostalgia settling on her like a blanket of thick snow. It’s the strange type, one where the feeling of missing something is not a memory that’s attainable — something locked away, perhaps never reached. “ Yeah, well, if we could have met and had that lovely revelation a decade ago, Jack, we might be getting somewhere right about now. ” Missed opportunities threaten to swallow her attachment to the past whole, catching the forlorn reflections she clings to in the belly of the beast. She’d never been too keen on letting go. But words aren’t mean or bitter, and a FAINT smile still traces her features — words are instead sad. Perhaps teenage years gone more fulfilled and introductions to a world of possibility would have done her better: but not when she’s settled into her life, and waiting for something BETTER to come along 

[clintbartons]

favorite outfits → jules thomas 

[blond-shell]

Aimee Garcia as Ella Lopez in Lucifer Season 4

[jadeamelia]

Is that what you say to yourself? That you’re so sorry for yourself that you can’t just fault your own behavior?

[snowhitesarchive]

#BIG MOOD

[pirozhenka-deactivated20210926]

#mood

[humorblr]

[watson-emma]

Caroline Forbes [best underrated scenes] ♔ 11 / ∞

[samcarpnter]

the 100 rewatch ♡ the other side

Raven, what makes you think that the future will be any different than the past? Even if you live, the pain will still be with you.

[magicwithcolors]

[android1000]

yea mood

[dwight-schrutes]

#me

[nicholasbritel]

[emsphillips-blog]

talbot, mickey.

     his impulse control had never been  GOOD,  but under the usual circumstances  –  there was a buffer of common sense   (   however fleeting.   )   and alcohol dismantled it. piece by piece, mikhail lost good judgment and gained compulsion to act on every whim. it’s a miracle he keeps his balance for as long as he does, and another wonder he lands on the grass below safely. he gestures for emma to  FOLLOW  his lead  –  giving her the audience he himself demanded, and he steps back.   “   you know what they call people like you, ems?   ”   he starts, arms folded above his chest.   “   BULLIES.   ”   melodrama at its finest, but had mickey been known for anything else, perhaps that would’ve been the contents of his dialogue.   “   yeah, that’s what you are.   ”   a dig, albeit childish, made in hopes of juvenile provocation, and as pre - school teacher, emma of all should be equipped to handle it.   “   just a big, mean––   ”   a she slips then, and instinctively, despite inebriation, mickey steps  FORWARD  –  catching her as she meets the ground, being as sturdy as he can.   “   ––… bully.   ”

In the split second it would have taken her to fall, Emma’s sole thought was that she REALLY doesn’t want to break her arm — and then, before her body makes the decision between landing on grass or concrete, Mickey is there. He catches her, and she isn’t sure if it’s adrenaline or the feeling of him being so close there to stabilize her, or the silence of late night letting her hear nothing but them: she’s nearly overcome by the urge to kiss him, lips to his and closing the gap that’s felt like centimeters and felt like miles. NEARLY. Instead, she’s completely still, not drawing away from him, not going closer. It feels as if she CAN’T move, but maybe she just doesn’t want to. “ A bully? ” There’s a smile, faintly, and her eyes are lit with taunting as they connect with his. “ Yeah, maybe. But ... what are you gonna do about it? ”

[emsphillips-blog]

ruiz, odette.

    context barely keeps her  AMUSEMENT  in check, the sight of a folded thumb and a weak stance the catalysts to a growing smile. she needed to take it  SERIOUSLY   –   despite a buzz, and despite the comedic attributes of the situation.   “   hold your thumb like that and you’ll break it.   ”   she warns.   “   here.   ”   emma’s hand is grabbed, odette unclenching the first and re - doing it according to script.   “    turn to the side,   ”   she instructs, circling the brunette.  “   left hip in front of the right, one foot in front of the other.   ”    and with hands on her friend’s hips, she twists them for her. closeness goes ignored in favor of the  LESSSON,  odette herself not particularly bothered. regaining her grip of emma’s wrist, she continues.   “   you wanna punch with these two, okay.   ”   she points to the middle of her first, the knuckles of her index and middle fingers.   “   bend your wrist down, too. packs it better.   ”   there’s no need for the vocal tutorial, really, not with odette altering emma’s every move, but she continues   –   skimming over the part where a linear wrist had the possibility of breaking, as well.   “   don’t go straight on,  CURVE  it   –   and aim for the soft spots. nose, jaw, chin, temple…   ”   beat.   “   bend and tuck.   ”   final adjustments of moving her arms closer to her chest made, and odette steps away.   “   then you swing. quick, full force.   ”   standing in front of her now, she admires her handiwork. not half bad, but far from perfect.   “   GO AHEAD.   ”

Emma’s not a fighter, plain and simple. She adopted the same virtues of helping others and ‘sharing is caring’ that she taught to pre-schoolers — she figured more ADULTS needed to take them into account. Smiling and hugging and warm greetings: those were what made sense, not possessing the knowledge of how to throw a solid punch. BUT YET, Odette made some sense that Emma was essentially indefensible. Long limbs wouldn’t help her if she didn’t know where to swing them, and she wasn’t certain that polite conversation and 911 on speed-dial would do much to shield her from becoming the first victim of the next Ted Bundy. Odette moves her body for her, but she hangs on to each word still, nodding after every command. Punch with the middle fingers, curve it, go for softer parts of the face. She swings lamely forward, arm not extended fully, hitting nothing but air. It’s rather OBVIOUSLY not out of a lack of comprehension of the instruction — Emma could perhaps be a little ditzy or naive, but she wasn’t a complete idiot — but lack of certainty in what exactly she was supposed to be aiming for. “ Get a ... pillow or something from the couch and hold it up so I can hit something, ” She says, motioning with the hand not still wrapped in the fist of Odette’s curation. “ It’ll be like one of those karate boards, but I won’t break my hand. ”

[emsphillips-blog]

ODETTE RUIZ.

     satisfied with her contribution, odette falls back against the dining chair. she might not be the  GO-TO  for advice on the romantic, the platonic, the financial, and the list goes on and on and on… but this–THE VIOLENT–she had down to a T. never much for sports, odette’s physicality was directly derived from outrunning lifted tourists and the occasional officer  (  more than occasional.  )  she didn’t go to soccer practices and she didn’t take lessons in ballet, she was a product of her environment  –  the bad, the good, but ultimately the violence benefited her in more ways than kicking a ball around ever could. she laughs, at the image of emma fighting anyone–as most did odette in her youth, scrawny and built like a pole–but it wasn’t so funny in the context it could be given, so she rises from her chair.  “  stand up,  ”  she orders, late-night dinner forgotten, and greasy hands wiped against jeans.  “  and make a fist.  ”

Emma, for lack of a kinder word, was a KLUTZ. She’d never succeeded in sports — though in FAIRNESS, the most she’d ever attempted was gym class, unable to climb the rope provided and smacked in the face with a dodgeball — and her only occasional exercise was a hike, which she attributed her taste for mostly to the fresh air and the appearance of an occasional bunny rabbit. She tripped over her own two feet more often than not, and she was grateful for lanky stature, because high-heeled shoes were a rarity in her closet. So at the prospect of Odette possibly teaching her anything remotely aggressive, she balks. And with surprise taking over, she can’t help but laugh. “ You’re — you’re joking, right? PLEASE tell me you’re joking. ” She stares at Odette through wide eyes, laugher ceasing as she realises the older is still standing, and expecting Emma to follow her command. Shit. Wordlessly, she pushes back her chair, stands and tentatively makes a fist, thumb tucked inside. 

[emsphillips-blog]

JACK DETLER.

       there are only scrapbook snippets of his time spent at church, years and years ago. it’s uneventful, memories of relentlessly FIDGETING with the cuffs of too-tight sleeves and an abundance of stolen gazes in the midst of prayer to make sure he was reacting right. how to attend church is not taught in schools, and he had found it easier to learn how to ride a bike. ‘   except at christmas time. i’m pretty sure they sing carols then.   ’ he notes, although really it’s a guess, he just thinks it makes sense. ‘   huh. three hours ? maybe there’s something in the shed and she’s trying to WARN US.   ’ katherine’s subjected to his fictions time and time again, traits tacked onto her like pinning a tail on a donkey. today, she plays the role of ignored hero, who knows what tomorrow could bring. he tips the dregs of beer settled at the bottom of his empty glass, the drudgery of he bar infecting him with a short sigh, one that’s stifled before it can reach emma completely. ‘   if you do, teach me. i’ve always wanted to know how to crochet.   ’ he says, though the accompanying smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘   well this, as the kids say, is killing my vibe. i love us, but the fact that we’re the most INTERESTING people here right now is not a good sign.   ’

“ Other than Christmastime church services, there has to be something more exciting for us to do, ” Emma continues, IGNORING Katherine comments. It isn’t that she has a disdain for the Black Rock Witch — but the thought of her makes Emma uncomfortable, as does anyone in favor of her or invested in harassing Katherine. She prefers to ignore the ISSUE — and thank god for whatever the witch wants in that shed. “ Maybe this is it. Maybe we are SAD, boring people, Jack, who play the Game of Life more than we live ours. When’s the last time you’ve broken a rule? I don’t even KNOW my answer. I have like — no impulse control. My coffee is half creamer. WHY is my uninhibited spirit going towards that? ” She’s rambling now, but in spite of comical nature, she’s serious. Maybe they were the most interesting people in the bar — but it wasn’t saying much. Any two people who brought up crochet in casual conversation needed to spice things up a little.