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20 December 2011 @ 05:13 pm
Better off Calling the Ghostbusters: an Attack the Block Comment Ficathon  
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Welcome to Better off Calling the Ghostbusters!
This ficathon arose from the situation Attack the Block has created in all our lives, as well as a desire to dive deeper into the characters and a need for Attack the Block fic in general.

What does this ficathon encompass?
Anything and everything. Because the film is set in such a short period a time, feel free to branch out and prompt AU settings, prologues and epilogues; anything is allowed, as long as it's related to Attack the Block.

How do I prompt?
Comment with a character or ship, a setting and timeline, and a prompt. Feel free to do all three, or even just one. Prompts can be song lyrics, a poem, a quote, basically anything you want to see fleshed-out in writing.

How do I respond?
Simply reply to the comment with your work, making sure to link to it in the "filled" thread! If a prompt has already been filled, feel free to fill it again! There can never be too much fic!

Trigger Warnings
Always, always make sure to trigger warn in your responses if necessary!

Promote
Please, promote as much as possible! It'd be great to see more people here!

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Banner link (just use this code and copy/paste the source URL for any of the below images!)

all of the below images were made by yon_lougawou





 
 
Current Mood: ecstatic
Current Music: Attack the Block soundtrack
 
 
 
leah rebeccabloodofpyke on December 20th, 2011 10:20 pm (UTC)
Fills Here!
Leave a link to your filled prompt here, making sure to specify in the title the character/ship and prompt you filled.
o little icarusyon_lougawou on December 21st, 2011 12:06 am (UTC)
Re: Fills Here!
prompt: Sam, post-movie, on seeing her boyfriend again on his return from Ghana. (He got a nice tan.) (pellucere

fill: "songs that say goodbye"
Re: Fills Here! - inksplotch_ed on December 21st, 2011 04:57 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Fills Here! - bloodofpyke on December 21st, 2011 06:47 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Fills Here! - bloodofpyke on December 21st, 2011 07:13 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Fills Here! - bloodofpyke on December 21st, 2011 08:41 am (UTC) (Expand)
sam/moses, "you fit into me" - (Anonymous) on December 21st, 2011 08:53 am (UTC) (Expand)
sam/moses, "these are the dreams" - (Anonymous) on December 21st, 2011 08:55 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Fills Here! - bloodofpyke on December 21st, 2011 09:15 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Fills Here! - bloodofpyke on December 21st, 2011 04:45 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Fills Here! - bloodofpyke on December 22nd, 2011 12:47 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Fills Here! - yon_lougawou on December 24th, 2011 06:10 pm (UTC) (Expand)
leah rebeccabloodofpyke on December 20th, 2011 10:27 pm (UTC)
Any Questions?
Leave them here!
o little icarusyon_lougawou on December 20th, 2011 10:33 pm (UTC)
Moses/Sam, future, I knew it was wrong but I palmed it; I saved it, I waited, I called it



(yes my otp is gross shhhh.)
leah rebeccabloodofpyke on December 20th, 2011 10:37 pm (UTC)
Moses, Why am I fighting to live/If I'm just living to fight
o little icarusyon_lougawou on December 20th, 2011 10:37 pm (UTC)
Moses, during or post-film, what if what you do to survive kills the things you love?
leah rebeccabloodofpyke on December 20th, 2011 10:41 pm (UTC)
future, I'm missing the war/Till beads of sunlight hit me in the morning (and I forget)
sol eidaninksplotch_ed on December 21st, 2011 04:54 am (UTC)
We Faced the Dusk, We Faced the Dawn [1/2] (Moses, Pest, Biggz)
It's gonna get easier, it's gonna.

It's gotta.

--

It's not as bad as it could be, but it's still worse than they could have imagined.

Fallout with the feds is minimal; between Sam and Tia, they manage to navigate the legal bullshit and point out that with no witnesses, no evidence, and actually, testimony to the contrary, Moses and Pest couldn't be held for the murder of the officers or of Hi-Hatz's guys. The weed and the joyride couldn't be proven. The explosion and the cut cuffs were harder to handle, but Sam spun an elaborate story about mistaken identity and arson and somehow, magically, they were off the hook.

But not really.

--

Pest and Biggz talk to Jerome's mum and sister. They think between the two of them, they can hold it together long enough to -

They think between the two of them, the agony will be a bit less.

They think wrong.

Jerome’s sister starts yelling, incoherent curses in a high-pitched voice which twine together with the wordless, shrill whine Jerome’s mother emits as she slowly sinks to the ground. She slides down the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees as she roughly lands and continues keening, broken. Jerome’s sister continues to let the threats and profanities fly as she kneels and hugs her mother. She isn’t looking at Pest and Biggz anymore, neither of them are looking at Pest and Biggz. They curl in on each other, sobbing, alone with their grief.

Pest and Biggz let themselves out. They stumble to the stairwell blindly clutching each other’s jacket sleeves.

--

Moses talks to Dennis' dad. It's worse.

He steels himself, sets his jaw and looks at Dennis’ dad’s forehead the entire time they’re talking. He never sees any of his friends’ parents, doesn’t know how adults acts, doesn’t know how to talk to them. He only has his uncle to judge from, and, well - that’s not much.

He expects awkwardness. He expects anger. He expects yelling. He expects tears.

He doesn’t expect silence, a bunched-up fist in a strained pocket and a flexing tendon in Dennis’ dad’s jaw. He finishes saying what he came to say to silence in response, mumbles out his feeble closing ‘young Den was a right hero,’ and gets out of the flat as quickly as possible.

As he hurries down the corridor he hears a plate shatter behind the closed door, and another, and another. The echoes follow him all the way down to the elevator and up to floor 19.
o little icarusyon_lougawou on December 20th, 2011 11:08 pm (UTC)
Moses/Sam, during or post-film

You fit into me
like a hook into an eye

a fish hook
an open eye
(Anonymous) on December 21st, 2011 08:52 am (UTC)
later that night (or, well: the next morning. but it’s not as if his cell has windows), once the police had broken up the crowd and tidied away most of the blood and dead creatures, she visits him.

he’s sprawled on the bench in his cell, his knees wide and his cuffed wrists loosely curled between them. he’s resting, possibly asleep, the back of his ballcap leaning against the wall. the cuts on his face reopened at some point in transit to the station, leaving a few uneven smears of damp red to curl across his cheek.

sam wants to get moses out of there, steal him away and stitch him up, dab away the tacky blood and swaddle him in neosporin and gauze.

instead, she nods a hello to pest in the next cell over, and he leans forward to wrap his hands around the bars and call out to her.

“hey, sam,” pest says, half a frightened grin plastered on his face. “you here to doctor him up this time? or are you just visiting the block’s criminal element,” and he gestures between himself and moses, makes his hand into a gun and points it at her.

sam doesn’t have it in her to laugh. she doesn’t even smile, or really react at all, just stares blankly until pest’s expression falters. she’s still wearing that terrible too-large sweatshirt. for a dizzy second she can’t find where she put her knife. then she remembers what she did with it.

“shut up, pest,” comes from the next cell, and sam startles, full-body. moses hasn’t moved but his eyes are open now.

pest rolls his eyes and curls up on his own cell’s bench, facing the wall with his jacket over his head.

sam smiles at moses, and he smiles back.

“it’s not fair, you know” she says. she’s trying to say the right thing. sam is entranced by the curves of his eyelashes, mouth, wounds.

he closes his eyes and it’s a dismissal. her gut feels hollow, not the light emptiness of the moment before a first kiss but the scooped out sluggish slash of teeth to the gut and intestines spilling out onto the grubby station floor. sam doesn’t know how to fix this kind of thing. she’s just graduated.

“yeah,” he says. “i know.”
(no subject) - yon_lougawou on December 21st, 2011 01:25 pm (UTC) (Expand)
pellucerepellucere on December 20th, 2011 11:09 pm (UTC)
Sam, post-movie, on seeing her boyfriend again on his return from Ghana. (He got a nice tan.)
o little icarusyon_lougawou on December 21st, 2011 12:05 am (UTC)
"songs that say goodbye" (sam, pg)
Charlie comes back to England five days after the alien attack, panicked by the news. Sam doesn’t meet him at the airport; he comes to the little hotel room she’s staying in. The Block’s been evacuated, and she wouldn’t want to be at her apartment anyway.

Charlie’s got a nice tan, she notices as he hugs her tight; she barely recognized him when she opened the door, and she doesn’t know who’s changed: him or her.

“It’s so good to see you, Sam,” he says, hands on her shoulders. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“You didn’t need to come. Really.”

His smile fades a little. “Sam—“

She steps past him, shuts the door; her hand goes instinctually to the deadbolt. She hasn’t slept since the attack, but she locks everything she can anyway, as if that would protect her if the aliens came back. As if anything could protect her.

Her thoughts jump briefly to Moses and Pest and the others, but she forces herself to pay attention to the man in front of her, the man who looks surprised and a little wounded, the man who she doesn’t recognize anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and tries to smile. “I haven’t been able to fuc—to sleep. I’m not in the best mood.”

“It’s okay.” He looks at her earnestly. “I understand. Something like that—I don’t think anyone could sleep after that.”

“Mm.”

He pulls her into an embrace, and she leans her head against his chest in an approximation of the way she used to. But that affection seems like it belongs to another Sam, the Sam that stopped existing the day an alien fell from the sky and crashed into a car.



They turn on the news that night, on the crappy hotel TV; Charlie went earlier to get Chinese and Sam curled up in the narrow bed and tried to believe that things could be normal again. And maybe they can be, she thinks. This feels normal, watching the news with your boyfriend, his arm around you and his chin on your head. But maybe this isn’t really normal anymore.

As she watches Charlie watch the news, she remembers Pest, remembers what he said: Why can’t he help the children of Britain?

She wants to ask, but she doesn’t. She keeps her mouth shut and the TV on.



Charlie tries. He tries really hard. He buys her meals, he looks for apartments, he calls her work to explain that she can’t come back just yet. He tells her he missed her when he was in Ghana, he tells her he loves her.

And then he asks her if she’ll marry him, right as she’s debating whether or not to break up with him.

She loved him once, is the problem; she loved him before he went to Ghana, before the aliens came, before the Block was attacked. But everything changed that night, and she doesn’t know if she wants to try to make things the way they were, because when she looks at him she doesn’t feel anything anymore.



So when he says, “Sam, I have a question for you,” she looks at him with panic.

They’re at a restaurant, one they used to go to all the time before he left; the food isn’t there yet and she’s playing with a napkin on her lap, trying not to look at him, trying not to think about anything but static.

“Sam,” and everything goes slow, “Sam,” she’s trying to tell him not to keep going but no sound is coming out of her mouth, “Sam, will you marry me?”

The world rushes back in with a bang, noise exploding around her; her head’s in her hands and she’s crying and he looks so confused, so desperate. “I can’t, Charlie, I can’t,” she wails. Before he can say anything, she stands up and rushes out of the restaurant, into the cold London night.



He comes by the hotel room that night, his knuckles rapping soft on the door. Sam doesn’t want to let him in, but she does anyway, because he’s got a few things here and it’s not like he can get them back otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” she says hoarsely as he walks in. She’s sure her face is well and red; she can feel the tears coming back. She’s been crying for hours, and she has no idea if it’s from guilt or relief.

“It’s okay, Sam.” Charlie picks up a book he’d left last night. “You did tell me I shouldn’t have come back.”

She stares at him, stunned, as he smiles wistfully at her and leaves the room.



She never sees him again.

She wishes that she cared.
Re: "songs that say goodbye" (sam, pg) - pellucere on December 21st, 2011 12:09 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: "songs that say goodbye" (sam, pg) - bloodofpyke on December 21st, 2011 12:57 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: "songs that say goodbye" (sam, pg) - inksplotch_ed on December 21st, 2011 02:11 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: "songs that say goodbye" (sam, pg) - jezibabas on December 21st, 2011 04:28 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: "songs that say goodbye" (sam, pg) - jhiqui on December 21st, 2011 09:23 am (UTC) (Expand)
pellucerepellucere on December 20th, 2011 11:13 pm (UTC)
Probs and Mayhem, post-film. Growing up after the invasion.
sol eidaninksplotch_ed on December 20th, 2011 11:15 pm (UTC)
Biggz breaking the news about Jerome to his family.
leah rebeccabloodofpyke on December 21st, 2011 08:40 am (UTC)
He had been dreading this. His feet felt heavy, clumsy as he trudged to the door, and he thought about leaving. About simply turning and walking away. As if not telling could reverse the events, could bring him back. Biggz knew better by know. He lifted a hand and knocked on the door.

Jerome’s sister answered, a book her hands, her finger marking her spot. She was smiling; she was expecting someone, a friend perhaps, someone to speed up the act of studying. She opened her mouth, the closed it, staring at Biggz, confused.

“Honey, who is it? Is Jerome home?” Jerome’s mum walked up, slinging a hand over her daughter’s shoulder, looking to the doorway. Her lips curved into a smile, hesitant but bright nonetheless. “Biggz? What are you doing here? Isn’t Jerome with you?”

He had still not said a word. He stared at them, mother and daughter, unable to break the news, unwilling to shatter their world. He shook his head and turned to go, willing it all to go back to normal. “Why don’t you come in?” Jerome’s sister said gently, looking, worried, at her mum.

Afterward, there was only silence. The book had fallen to the floor, the spine cracking, the words all but sliding off the page. His mother gasped into the silence. “We-we thought he was with you. We never worry when he’s with you. You protected him.” The last sentence tumbled out of her mouth, the letters sharp and cutting. Biggz found himself unable to hold her stare, unable to find the words to explain. The truth wasn’t enough, but neither were the words Biggz had stumbled to get out. “There was an accident and Jerome, he-he’s dead.” He didn’t know what to say; he hadn’t been there. When Jerome died, he was in a bin outside the Block, cursing his friends for not answering their phones. I should have been there, he wanted to say, but didn't; he knew they wouldn’t understand, couldn’t understand. It’s my fault, I could have saved him.

His hand reached for his chest, for the gaping hole Jerome had left. Glancing around, his eyes landed on a school photo of Jerome from last term. He was wearing his glasses and smiling, his tie slightly askew. His mum followed his gaze and, just like that, the silence cracked. They started sobbing, wailing sounds coming from deep within their chests, mourning the boy Jerome had been, the man he would never become. And slowly, silently, Biggz stood up and walked away. Out of the kitchen, out of apartment, out of the Block. He walked until their cries no longer rang in his ears, until his mind felt numb. Only then did he break down.
(no subject) - jhiqui on December 21st, 2011 08:51 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - bloodofpyke on December 21st, 2011 08:54 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - yon_lougawou on December 21st, 2011 01:53 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - bloodofpyke on December 21st, 2011 03:29 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - inksplotch_ed on December 21st, 2011 04:57 pm (UTC) (Expand)
pellucerepellucere on December 21st, 2011 12:06 am (UTC)
Moses/Pest, post-film: But if you think there's something else / Well, you're right / There is, there's something else.
emilyforprezemilyforprez on December 22nd, 2011 04:15 am (UTC)
Pest thinks about it a lot. What it would've been like if he had died in place of Dennis, in place of Jerome. If he had died along with them, even, leaving Moses alone with Biggz, sitting in Ron's weed room deliberately not talking about the empty spaces on the floor.

He bets Moses thinks about it too. That's probably why he's gotten so quiet all of a sudden, staring off at a distant spot in the wall. Thinking. Tragically analyzing every frame of memory.

"If I had just been one step closer..." Moses sometimes says, and he never finishes the sentence.

Pest sits beside him, and they don't talk about the last time they were here, Moses versus the monsters. Not talking about it makes it feel like a dream. They don't have to even accept the reality that Jerome won't come in whining about his sisters, and Dennis won't show up grumbling about his dad being a cunt. And Biggz. Biggz still sits at home, listening to Dennis' voicemail over and over again. He doesn't even talk anymore.

Moses shifts uncomfortably next to Pest, who had started to doze off with the cigarette still fitted between his fingers. "Hey, cuz."

"Mm?"

"When do you think we'll move on?"

Pest thinks about it for a moment. "Don't think we ever will, bruv, trust."

Moses laughs, hollow and fake. "Believe." His voice is taking on the tone it does when he's heavy in thought, as if the bodies and their blood don't ever leave from behind his eyes. Maybe he still hears Jerome's screams when he's alone, or sees the look in Dennis' eyes right before his throat was ripped out.

Pest doesn't remember details. His nan sent him to a therapist, which did fuck all for him. Now he can barely talk about it without his throat closing up.

Subconsciously, he touches the scar on his leg, where the bitemarks haven't disappeared. He presses until it hurts, blinds him with pain, and takes in a shuddering breath. The doctors say it will never heal. He'll walk with a perpetual limp for the rest of his life.

"It's a bit rubbish, innit," he thinks aloud, "but you ever think, if it had been you instead?"

Moses looks at him, looks right through him, to a memory that hasn't left his eyes. "All the time, cuz."

"I wish it had been me," Pest says, in a way he doesn't really mean. He doesn't look Moses in the eye, but he gently touches the ripped skin just above Moses' left eye. Another wound that won't heal all the way.

Moses is so close that Pest can feel the heat from his breath. "Don't you be saying shit like that, man."

And that's what it is.

They feel guilty, both of them, because while Biggz can barely move out of the grief that seizes him, there's that unmistakable, sick sense of relief. Maybe that's why Moses can't stop thinking about it, or why Pest still wakes in cold sweats from nightmares. Like they're being punished.

The truth is that if it had been Pest that died instead, Moses wouldn't have made it. He would've stopped to grieve. He would've made the mistake of not moving on. He'd have been killed.

And if Moses had died -- if Pest had to watch Moses breathe his last breath, if he had to watch him choke on the blood bubbling out of his mouth -- he thinks he'd have been Biggz. Calling his voicemail and never leaving his room, turning pale and wan with sickness and making that mistake of never moving on. He would have lived in the memory forever.

Pest doesn't look quite at Moses but they're both thinking the same thing, hating themselves for thinking it, and the sound of their silence fills the empty room.
(no subject) - inksplotch_ed on December 22nd, 2011 04:18 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - pellucere on December 22nd, 2011 04:36 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - bloodofpyke on December 22nd, 2011 05:19 am (UTC) (Expand)
pellucerepellucere on December 21st, 2011 12:07 am (UTC)
The five boys pre-film: if we can call them friends then we can call them on their telephones, and they won't pretend that they're too busy or that they're not alone, and if we can call them friends then we can call, holler at them down these hallowed halls.
leah rebeccabloodofpyke on December 21st, 2011 12:58 am (UTC)
the five boys becoming friends, pre-film
pretzelpunk on December 21st, 2011 02:21 am (UTC)
Hi-Hatz (also featuring Hi-Hatz 's ... mate? if possible, doesn't have to though)

there's a place in the dark where the animals go
you can take off your skin in the cannibal glow

...I know these are MCR lyrics. Don't judge me.
sol eidaninksplotch_ed on December 21st, 2011 05:49 am (UTC)
Moses/Pest, post-movie, Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake / and dress them in warm clothes again.
leah rebeccabloodofpyke on December 22nd, 2011 12:46 am (UTC)
(okay, i apologize for how shitty this one is, and i'm going to stop filling all the prompts now)


They smoked a lot now. They had always smoked a lot, of course, the short trip to Ron’s weed room being too unbelievable to resist, but it somehow seemed necessary now.

Ron had gotten off on a mere technicality, but still elected to move house, choosing a more secure housing complex a few streets away. Biggz never came with them; he didn’t do much these days, just sat in his room playing Fifa and staring off into space. His mum worried, but was at a loss as to how to fix her broken son, how to bring him back to her.

And so Pest and Moses would pack themselves off to Ron’s almost daily. He never said anything, never charged them, just stood back and let them in with an undistinguishable glint in his eyes. Brewis was there sometimes too, filling the space with his awkward comments and spindly limbs. The smoke would plug up the holes, permeating the air until even Brewis’ voice stopped short.

That was how Pest and Moses coped, how they were able to exist in this new life.

“Hey, Pest,” Moses would say.

“What up, cuz,” Pest would reply, a cough hidden in the tremor of his voice. He never could handle smoking as well as the other boys.

“Do you believe it?” Moses would ask, his voice distant.

There was always a pause, as Pest tried to figure out what Moses was referring to this time. It could be the alien invasion they had staved off or their friends that had never made it out, Ron’s new digs or Sam’s solid place in their lives. It was up to Pest to discern the meaning behind Moses’ question, and he usually pointed for the innocuous, the innocently mundane. Talking about the past made it tangible, turned it into a stark reality they couldn’t hope to push past.

But today, something was off; Brewis wasn’t huddled in the corner, and Ron had disappeared into the weed room to do some business. And, for whatever reason, Pest had chosen the palpable, the the concrete. “I can’t,” he replied softly, the softest Moses had ever heard him. “Dennis would have loved this, you know. Nice digs, free weed, the works. He’d have been happy.”

The words hung between them for a moment, untouched and precarious. Pest waited in the fog of smoke, uncertain, suddenly wishing he had just made a joke about Brewis, about Sam, anything but this. But then Moses smiled, his teeth winking in the murky half-light. “Can you imagine Jerome in here?” he asked, rolling his head to look over at Pest. “He’d be polishing his glasses, just looking out the window, making a crack about Dennis.”

Pest laughed, a foreign sound. “Dennis would round on him, cuz, believe. And the Jerome would dive behind the couch and try not shit himself.”

Moses hooted with laugher, and Pest looked over at him and smiled. And, for the first time, this new life didn’t seem so scary.
(no subject) - inksplotch_ed on December 22nd, 2011 02:39 am (UTC) (Expand)