The  Irritation  That  Drips  Off  Nadia  Only  Serves  To  Amuse  Salvador further.  He 

"WELL SHIT ─  i  don't  know.  let  me  get  a  good  look  at  you."  it's  not  the  smartest  move  to  remove  her  sunglasses  with  the  hangover  she  was  currently  battling,  but  joey  will  do  anything  for  a  bit.  a  bloodshot  and  squinted  gaze  lands  on  carlos,  taking  a  moment  to  analyze  him  before  offering  a  slow  nod.  "oh  yeah.  you're  fucked,  kid.  got  a  big  ol'  target  on  that  pretty  forehead  of  yours.  you  better  watch  yourself  out  there  .  .  .   would  hate  to  be  down  an  act."  with  that,  she  places  her  sunglasses  over  matted  curls,  now  fixing  her  eyes  on  the  lake  before  them.  “you  know  what?  i  think  you  might  be  on  to  something.  whoever  is  responsible  for  this  has  got  to  be  a  real  nasty  son  of  a  bitch.”  and  ugly.  down  to  their  very  fuckin'  core.  “ so . . . is  this  everything  you  hoped  for  when  moving  to  this  shitty  little  town?"

𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲.　deer lake, late afternoon on the day of kirby's death. 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵.　anyone! ( capping at five replies. )

〔　🐿️　〕　　...　　“  𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗻,  𝘄𝗵𝘆  𝗶𝘀  𝗶𝘁  𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝗵𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀  𝘄𝗵𝗼  𝗱𝗶𝗲?  ”  carlos  remarks,  a  plume  of  smoke  from  their  cigarette  and  the  cold  air  escaping  their  lips  with  every  word.  he didn't know the girl well, if at all, really, but it's all anyone could talk about today and if he didn't bring it up, it would be a little weird. it  isn't  that  he  doesn't  care  —  of  course,  the  whole  situation  is  unsettling  and  there's  a  inkling  perturbation  that  swirls  within  them  at  the  notion  of  a  killer  on  the  loose in such a small town,  but  it  seems  easier  to  pretend  that  this  is  all  one  big  joke  than  have  to  face  the  reality  of  it. it's all he can do.  “  is  this  guy  fucking  ugly  or  something?  are  they  trying  to  reverse  pretty  privilege?  should  i  have  to  watch  out?  ”

Yeo-reum & Ahn Dae-beom 1.08 |  Summer Strike

"you know i was trying to flirt?" vikram is totally butchering this. it's painfully obvious he doesn't do this often. a mental note is made to run this scenario by his therapist next time he sees them. 'i approached this lady but she thought i was flirting and i was not, not flirting but she called me out and i made it awkward. so how do i do that better next time?' something like that. "to be fair... it was a good hiding place. i don't think anyone would have thought to look down there." he wipes whatever debris was left on his knee from bending down, a chuckle escaping them once more at kirby's words. to think that the phantom's sins could be washed away by finding someone their candy bucket is nothing short of amusing. "i'm glad i could help." he looks around, noticing they’ve wandered onto one of the less populated streets. "can i walk you home? or... back to the main road, maybe?"

was  her  flirting  off  ?  no  ,  she  was  good  at  this  ,  so  good  she  did  it  on  accident  sometimes  even  .  “  i  know  you  were  ,  i  was  trying  to  -  ah  ,  forget  about  it  .  ”  she  followed  him  ,  a  dumb  move  to  follow  a  masked  man  but  he  was  looking  for  her  pumpkin  and  that  made  him  a  halfway  decent  guy  in  her  book  .  “  oh  great  ,  holy  shit  ,  why  did  i  put  it  under  a  car  ?  ”  she  racks  her  brain  trying  to  make  sense  of  the  rationale  there  .  what  if  the  person  whose  car  it  was  decided  to  back  up  over  her  candy  or  just  drove  off  ?  was  she  as  smart  as  she  thought  she  was  ?  clearly  the  fuck  not  .  “  thank  you  so  much  ,  i  was  gonna  spend  the  whole  night  just  moping  around  my  apartment  ,  wishing  i  had  a  fuckin'  snickers  or  something  .  see  ,  the  phantom  was  the  good  guy  all  along  !  ”

the shock of the impact jerks their shoulder back, causing them to stumble against the wall. it's was a narrow hallway, clearly not meant for much traffic. “ow!” a hand shoots up at her own shoulder, fingers clutching at it like she received a mortal wound. damon retreats like a wounded dog but kennedy? kennedy bears her teeth like a feral cat. “fuck off!” her hand now balling into a fist, fully intent on striking if he moves closer. it’s reflexive — her body reads his frantic movements as a threat before her mind processes the apology spewing from him.

there’s a tense pause between them in which kennedy’s glare slowly morphs into a look of recognition — and concern.  “damon? oh my god, are you okay?” obviously not, kennedy! they are about to approach him to when another body bulldozes between them, this one not so keen on apologizing and it serves as a reminder that there are still people out there frantic and maybe some itching to start another fight.  they turn towards the figure leaving, catching a door just up the hallway with the worn out 'employees only' plaque. "there's probably a first aid kit in there. do you want to check?" and in case there is room to hesitate, they add, "you're looking god awful right now, d."

FOR : open, come on in ! LOCATION : redstone bathroom ( or just coming out of it for accessibility ) TIMESTAMP : 2:43am

" great fucking job, damon. hilarious, really ! why not start a fight on the night someone's fucking murdered. genius ! " loud nonsense from a split - opened mouth. they're not speaking to anyone in particular, but their own reflection in the dirty mirror. they're not sure how bad they look, but they're definitely going to feel it in the morning. head, swimming. knuckles, aching. " gonna have a blackeye ... christ. " they smack their own face just to feel the sting. spring themselves from the disorientation of adrenaline and mixture of alcohol.

this is their cue to stop mulling and find a place to sit until the crowd settles down. slip away with an opening. otherwise, who could say they wouldn't start another fight? with their unsteady movements ... a threat of this already appears. shoulders knock into someone and they're immediately scrambling back like a wild animal. " shit — " their hands move in a sporadic manner of surrender. palms up, moving around in a circle in front of them. " sorry. i'm sorry — not trying to start anything else. swear it. "

FROM  YOUTH  VIKRAM  HAS  always  had  a  knack  for  sneaking.  a  light  step  paired  with  a  preference  for  skulking  in  the  background  made  it  easy  to  go  unnoticed.  still,  it  was  rarely  his  intention  to  scare  anyone  so  as  he  approaches  mina  he  makes  the  attempt  to  announce  his  arrival  with  a  cordial  “good  evening”  .  .  .  only  to  startle  her  regardless.  of  course  she  would  be.  there's  a  goddamn  murderer  on  the  loose.  “oh!  no,  i  wouldn't  dream  of  bugging  you  about  my  computer  problems  outside  of  business  hours  ──  sorry."  he  offers  a  faint,  awkward  smile.  “i  didn't  mean  to  spook you.  i  just  came  to  uh,  look  at  the  scenery.  it's  nice,  isn't  it?”  when  there  isn't  body  being  fished  out  of  the  lake,  that  is.

♡ 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 ─── starter for anyone / open. ♡ 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ─── near deer lake clubhouse. ♡ 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ─── around sunset time.

a deep inhale and smoke fills her lungs, nothing in particular on her mind; exactly the way she likes it. she does realize it's maybe not the best idea to stand all alone, with the light of the sun going away, when there's a killer on the loose but... what else is there for her to do? stay cooped up at home while her parents attempt to poke at her psyche? oh no, she's choosing the faster way out instead.

at least that's what she thought until a sound suddenly startled her and made her look back. a hand coming to rest on her chest ─── willing her heart to calm down ─── as she zeroes in on the approaching figure. " can i help you? "

My dad, he’s like, a financial planner. And I think he’s in trouble.

THE OC (2003-2007) 1.02 | The Model House

“you are just so…” frustrating. annoying. disrespectful. hurtful. “…typical.” the detachment in his gaze sends a wave of déjà vu over them. a memory flies by them, an afternoon where they cried to their mother on the way home from school, distraught over some playground injustice made against them. ‘that’s awful, sweetie. how did you do on your math test?’ it was then that kenny came to the realization that their existence is only ever recognized when they do something exceptional. it’s why they’re always, reading and writing. why they make time to work out no matter how exhausted they are, why they never left the house without looking presentable — they were an accessory, something to be bragged about. they played into it, but acceptance did not equal contentment and the more they molded themselves the more they felt a rumble within—a simmering anger that had taken root in their chest and now lodged itself at the base of their throat, itching to break free. if they were to finally snap, would people be inclined to listen or laugh at them? they think ricardo would fall under the latter.. it was stupid to think the two would see eye to eye. no, it’s embarrassing and kennedy should have known better.  after all these years, could there still be a corner of their heart that yearns for someone—anyone—to just understand them? stupid, stupid, stupid! 

they told their head back with a sigh, deep with an exhaustion stemming from years back. this time it’s their turn to look up at the sky and for a brief moment, they are distracted by a thought… when was the last time they saw stars? have nights at red creek always been devoid of them or is it just the one time they look that they decide not to show themselves? is this the price one has to pay for defying them? the mention of effie brings them back to earth, the sting of yet another jab at their ego anchoring them. ricardo doesn’t need to remind kennedy they are not the only writer worth a damn in this town — they are already painfully aware of it, thank you! but he does, and it feels intentional, like he's baiting them.  they don’t know what their expression is, right now. if they look like they want to laugh or cry or both. it doesn’t matter. they shrug the blazer off their shoulders, gathering it in their hand and pushing the fabric toward his chest—not shoving, because the last thing they want is for him to add ‘aggressive’ on top of his ever-growing determination to belittle them. “i said, five.” they spit back. "i’ll have something at your desk by five.” they were going to write this piece and they were going to do it well. if the story does happen to take off then they will be damned if they allow ricardo to be anything more than a footnote in its success. if ricardo has nothing else to say, they will turn on their heel and continue to make their way to red stone. with or without him

this is what ricardo is good at - ruining things . he was born to destroy . why else would he have been left at such a young age ? he's never quite been able to understand how to connect or converse or enjoy , much less love . he shakes the thoughts away , ignoring the feeling within him that reminds him : THIS IS WHAT YOU ALWAYS DO . this is all you're good for . kennedy's annoyance only vaguely amuses him . his brain is sinking back into its own comfort of a black hole . he finds himself barely paying attention as they speak , instead focused on his steps , and on REDCREEK . what is he doing here ? what on earth did he expect to happen ? sometimes he is that little boy all oven again , reaching up his arms to nobody , an empty kitchen .

he takes a long moment to readjust , realising they've stopped talking but seem to seethe on the spot . he blinks at them , genuinely puzzled for a moment before deciding that it probably wasn't anything CRUCIAL anyways . " sure , sounds great . " ricardo dismisses , with a small wave of his hand . he thinks of the countless times he's received blocks of angry , tirades of text . his ability to gloss over them is par to none . i'm not reading all of that , he'll often think to himself , with an eyeroll . it seems he can do the same when people talk too incessantly to him for too long about things he simply doesn't care about . " so . 6am , yes ? or is effie less . . . emotional about this than you are ? " ricardo chooses his words with faux - carefulness . he understands emotions are running high , hence why kennedy may have decided to start ranting - but ricardo doesn't have time or care factor for that . he just needs the best writer on this . he thought it was kennedy , but now he's beginning to feel he was more than wrong .

The Addams Family (1991)