Their Eyebrow Twitches At His ‘no’. How Absolute It Is. He Leaves Little Room For Debate And While

Monkey Man (2024) dir. Dev Patel

DEV PATEL in MONKEY MAN (2024)

CYNTHIA ERIVO as Elphaba and JONATHAN BAILEY as Fiyero in Wicked: Part One (2024)

which hot priest are you today 

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. "

“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 .

while micaela studies her wine, vikram keeps his gaze on her. solely on her. he doesn’t rush to fill the spaces she leaves open, doesn’t move to urge her to speak again. never one to push for someone to reveal more of themselves than what they were comfortable with. when her eyes finally lift to meet his, he offers a small, almost imperceptible smile—not cheerful, not trying to fix anything. just there. present. he holds her gaze, something he normally struggles with, but not in moments like this. not with her. he takes notice of how the candlelight further softens her features, adding warmth to her mournful eyes. it's beautiful. it's devastating.

vikram has seen grief in every form—raw, quiet, angry, numb—a tangled mix of it all. he’s seen how it hollows people out. how losing someone also meant burying fragments of yourself with them. mourning both the past and the future. memories lost and never gained. “grief doesn’t have a handbook,” he says, his voice quiet, steady. “not really. there are tips, things to try, stories from people who’ve been through it so you don’t feel so alone... but a guide?” he shakes his head slowly, “it’s too layered for that. it doesn’t follow rules, doesn’t care about time or logic. one moment, it lets you breathe, the other it just... knocks the wind out of you. that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.” he shifts forward slightly, his hands resting lightly on the table, his voice dipping lower, gentler. “it’s okay not to know what to do with it mic. really. sometimes, just feeling it—letting yourself feel it—is enough.” if there is anything he can offer micaela, it's the affirmation that she is doing her best and that he sees it. "—and if i can be someone to help you carry it, micaela. i would gladly do it." he hopes she knows that.

𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖢𝖤   :   lakeside   grill. 𝖶𝖨𝖳𝖧   :   vikram   shah,   @brntout.

               micaela   stared   into   her   glass,   watching   the   light   from   the   candle   flicker,   the   soft   glow   bouncing   off   the   red   wine.   she   let   her   fingers   trace   the   rim,   trying   to   focus   on   the   rhythm   of   the   motion,   anything   to   distract   her   from   the   heaviness   of   the   conversation,   the   burden   of   the   grief   she   carried   so   quietly.   she   hadn’t   expected   it   to   feel   like   this   ┈   so   easy   to   let   her   guard   down,   so   easy   to   be   honest.   with   everyone   else,   she   had   to   keep   the   walls   up.   she   had   to   keep   moving   forward,   smiling,   pretending   everything   was   fine.   but   with   vikram,   it   felt   like   the   air   was   different.   it   was   like   he   understood,   even   when   she   didn’t   say   a   word.   his   silence   wasn’t   uncomfortable,   it   was   ...   safe.   she   didn’t   have   to   fill   it   with   explanations   or   forced   words.   for   the   first   time   in   so   long,   she   didn’t   have   to   fake   anything.                her   eyes   flicked   up   at   him,   his   calm   presence   holding   her   steady.   “   i   still   can’t   believe   she’s   gone,   ”   she   said   quietly,   the   words   heavy   on   her   tongue.   she   felt   her   breath   catch,   but   there   was   a   strange   comfort   in   just   saying   it   out   loud.   “   some   days,   it   doesn’t   feel   real,   ”   she   continued,   her   voice   faltering,   a   lump   in   her   throat   she   couldn’t   swallow.   “   and   other   days,   it   feels   like   everything’s   too   much   to   bear.   ”   the   words   were   raw,   but   they   didn’t   feel   like   they   were   ripping   her   open   the   way   they   did   when   she   kept   them   locked   away.   she   thought   about   the   days   since   her   mom’s   death,   all   the   days   she’d   carried   it   alone,   trying   to   be   strong,   to   keep   it   together   for   everyone   else.   and   now,   with   vikram,   she   didn’t   have   to.   she   realized   she   hadn’t   allowed   herself   to   truly   feel   it,   not   until   now.   she   wasn’t   sure   if   it   was   his   quiet   understanding   or   the   fact   that   he   didn’t   expect   her   to   have   the   answers,   but   she   suddenly   felt   the   freedom   to   just   ...   be.   “   i   don’t   know   what   to   do   with   all   of   it,   ”   she   murmured,   her   voice   barely   above   a   whisper,   her   gaze   dropping   back   to   her   wine.   “   but   i   think   i’m   learning   that   it’s   okay   to   let   someone   else   carry   some   of   it,   even   if   just   for   a   little   while.   ”

his  smile  widens  at  the  sight  of  hana  rolling  her  eyes,  always  a  sucker  for  that  type  of  banter,  especially  when  it  came  from  someone  as vivacious as  hana.  always  smiling,  always  sunny.  salvador  couldn’t  help  but  wonder  what  she  looks  like  when  she’s  annoyed.  would  she  be  the  type  to  yell  or  silently  plot  revenge?  can’t  really  picture  her  slashing  a  tire,  but  he  is  convinced  that  she  has  to  be  some  type  of  crazy  to  work  here.  to  base  her  reply  on  what  a  playing  card  has  to  say. he  was  a  sucker  for  crazy  too.  his  gaze  only  flickers  to  the  image  when  she  presents  it,  a  lazy  attempt  to  feign  interest  before  landing  back  on  hana.  “the  fool?”  he  repeats,  an  airy  chuckle  escaping  her  as  he  does.  “didn’t  even  know  they  had  a  card  named  that.  i’ll  take  it,  i  guess.”  he’s  been  called  worse.  mostly  deserved.  honestly,  she  could  have  told  him  anything  and  he  would have  accepted it. knew better than to question a woman with witchy inclinations.  “fresh  starts  and  taking  risks…  think  it’s  talking  about  you?  you  got  some  danger  attached  to  you,  han?”  he  asks,  taking  a  step  back  to  look  her  over,  as  if  he  could  find  an  answer  on  sight  alone.  “what  are  you  doing  this  weekend?” // @repentulant

☾ ⋰ hana rolls her eyes as she stands upright, although she isn't entirely annoyed. any attention is great, positive attention even better. she bites the inside of her cheek to keep an excited smile from spreading across her features. head tilts like she's heavily debating the answer. ❝ hmm... let's see what card has to say about that, yes ? ❞ she flips the card & shrieks out a little laugh : in her hands sits the fool. she can think of more than one person that would love to know the card he pulled. she turns it to him like a gift. ❝ so, this one isn't bad. it was just funny to flip around. it's all about fresh starts & taking risks. ❞ and also warns of the dangers of blind optimism & delirium, but she can tell him about that later. ❝ lucky for you, it also means yes. ❞