Latest Posts by brntout - Page 2

Barbie (2023)

location : redstone bar

time : evening

for: nadia(@hypnotiscd)

"you know, i was actually watching love is blind with june the other day." he has his designated spot on the couch of her apartment— the side with the missing leg, where he remains still as a rock until it's time for him to leave out of fear of it buckling under his movement. "she thinks it's a load of bull but... i don't know. there's something kind of sweet about it." did the experiment have it's flaws? sure. did he become embarrassingly invested in everyone's journey? of course. he glances over at nadia, an easy smile present as he speaks. with how heavy redcreek was feeling recently, the levity gained from grabbing a drink with her and talking mindlessly about something so silly was relieving. "maybe i should apply." it's only a half-joke, emphasized by the sheepish laugh that escapes him. he brings the bottle of beer to his lips for a swig before offering a shrug, "i don't know. beats whatever i've been doing." which has been sitting pretty at the funeral home, waiting for love to knock at his doorstep like some sort of hallmark movie.

salvador  emerges  from  the  heavy  back  doors,  both  hands  clutching  oversized  black  trash  bags  that  reek  of  grease  and  kitchen  waste.  the  shift  from  the  suffocating  heat  of  the  kitchen  to  the  sharp  chill  of  the  night  air  sends  a  shiver  up  his  spine,  making  him  painfully  aware  of  the  sweat  clinging  onto  his  brow.  he  exhales  sharply,  annoyed  that  his  hands  are  too  occupied  to  swipe  it  away.  then  his  gaze  lifts—and  locks  on  her.  henrietta  nivan.  the  woman  of  the  goddamn  hour.  salvador  had  clocked  the  moment  she  walked  into  the  diner,  could  hear  the  commotion  of  surprised  patrons  through  the  sizzling  of  the  stove  and  the  blaring  baseline  of  his  coworker's  shitty  playlist.  even  he  couldn't  resist  peering  through  the  ticket  window  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  as  she  left  the  diner.  she’s  back.  he  doesn't  expect  to  see  her  out  here  though.

her  greeting  is  quick  to  fill  the  silence  between  them  and  a  laugh  from  him  shortly  follows.  "please."  he  scoffs,  the  corner  of  his  lip  twitching  upwards  as  he  turns  away  from  her  to  finish  his  task  of  hauling  trash  over  a  grimey  commercial  garbage  can.  "nah,  hen.  no  kids."  none  that  he  knows  of  anyway.  he  shoots  a  sideways  glance  her  way,  full  of  feigned  expectancy.  "⏤  unless  you  have  news  for  me?"  the  last  bag  is  tossed  over  and  the  lid  is  closed  with  an  echoing  thud  against  the  metal.  he  wipes  his  hands  on  his  apron,  uses  his  forearm  to  finally  clear  his  forehead  before  stepping  back  towards  her.  “i’d  give  you  a  hug  but  i’d  hate  to  ruin  that  fancy  blouse  you  got  on.”  an  outfit  he  never  once  saw  her  wearing  if  he's  honest.  prim  and  proper  and  so  unlike  the  girl  he  remembers  fooling  around  with.  it  wasn't  a  bad  look.  just...  different.  “are  the  city  cops  after  you  for  raiding  hilary  clinton’s  closet  or  something?  that  why  you’re  back  in  town?”

ꜜ ﹙ 🪞  ﹚ ﹕ homecoming was its own specific kind of hell⸻ sat on the corner booth of dolly's, the cracked leather of the seat pinching at the back of her thigh with every shift. the clatter of forks & plates punctuated the low hum of conversation that seemed to crescendo with each passing minute, whispers and glances sliding off the walls and settling right on her shoulders as they finally recognized her. church friends of her parents, high school classmates who had never left town, people well-aware of the nivans name, all of them orbiting, pausing at her table with bright smiles and the mind-numbing idle chit-chat. do you remember me ? you've grown so tall now ! is that a wedding ring on your finger ? didn't think we'd see the day, hen ! fingers drummed against the chipped tabletop until the small talk finally clogged her throat, jaw finally hurting from her everlasting polite smile, appetite shriveling beneath all the tedium of smalltown reunions. henry excused herself to attend some imaginary business, throwing down enough money to cover the pancakes, lukewarm fires and watery cola ﹕ the door's bell shrilling her departure. but henry didn't get anywhere too far, the alley behind dolly's was cooler, quiet, gravel crunching underfoot as she leaned into the rough brick wall and reached for her lighter. that silence didn't really last very long however, smoke curling from her lips as she noticed the backdoor swing open ﹕ and there he was, salvador, an apron splattered with grease tied around his waist. “ so, ” hard stare pressing against him, lips slowly tugging into a smile, almost as if trying to formulate a theory on salvador's life during the last eight years she had been away. “ did you ever manage to knock someone up ? got all sorts of welcome, only thing that's really missing is someone telling me i'm the godmother of a child i haven't met. ” @brntout

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.   ”

"you're preaching to the choir, kingsley. i know he's bad news. " they reply, dry and unamused, arms crossed over their chest. "for what it's worth, i think there's something seriously wrong with him. like, he didn't get enough hugs as a kid so now he's making it everyone's problem. or maybe he got held back in the fourth grade like that everett kid did. if only he had been born with the same sense of humor. " they gesture with their chin for him to scoot over so that they can settle themselves next to him on the booth. "that's cus we're old school, man. have filing cabinets dating back to the eighties or something. i bet you that website hasn't been updated in the past decade." kingsley moves to justify his intrusive and illegal way of investigating and kennedy can't help but smile at him. reminded that kingsley tau always one to move to the beat of his own drum. then claim the drum was planted by the us government to attract alien life forms. "oh so you were just looking out for me, is that it? how chivalrous." they pause then, a thought suddenly blooming in their mind. "hey..." they begin, voice lowering more to a whisper. "what are the chances you would be able to hack into his email for me? ricardo's."

○    NOW DELIVERING TO . . .    ⏤ @brntout !

kingsley looks down at his laptop , which is open to the backend admin access for the register's official website ( he'd wanted to stretch his fingers and mind with this hack - but there isn't much to look at in there , sadly ) . then , he looks at kennedy . a flash of guilt writes its way onto his face . a silent : BUSTED . " the register is owned and operated by a man who is pro - authoritarian , pro - establishment and pro - consumerism . " he pauses , wondering if his usual FUCK THE WORLD rant will work with kennedy . he doubts it . kingsley sighs and closes his laptop . " i wasn't finding out anything that people don't already know . for a newspaper slash gossip mag , y'all don't have many skeletons in the closet . " he shrugs . " think of it not as hacking , but more like a public service and audit of your security , job and background . " he clicks his fingers together , nodding as he picks up steam . " i'm protecting you , kennedy . "

RYAN DESTINY via tiktok

quality advice from jeremy allen white

Sabrina the Teenage Witch – 2.15: Finger Lickin' Flu

the silence between is heavy and the house seems to settle within it, wind whistling through the room as if to cut the tension. a shiver runs through them once more, the chill more physical than mental this time. kennedy is hyper-aware of their surroundings. of the dust particles floating in the air, the stray moonlight peeking into the room from poorly boarded-up windows, and kieran talbot. standing as the centerpiece.  illuminated by a warm light, lips parted slightly, a small twitch in his brow, dark eyes trained on them with a reflected caution. he almost looks like a painting. like something they would see in some museum, drawn by an unknown tragic artist, toeing the line between beautiful and unsettling. so kennedy does flinch when kieran moves closer, all instinct, eyes narrowing into daggers— a silent warning.

the mention of their book is unexpected and the wary glare softens into something kennedy can’t quite place, somewhere between amusement and surprise. they were sure that their parents did their best to spread the word about kennedy's achievement around town but they didn’t actually expect anyone care enough to pick up their book. they haven't spoken to anyone about it, not even santiago. so under kieran's mention of it, they suddenly find themselves thinking back on their time in italy.

a small church yet beautifully ornate with stained glass windows depicting idolized saints and dutiful angels. their eyes meeting his— the priest in their story. father caruso. the last murderer they were in a room with as far as they know .  the man who had the whole town wrapped around his finger. kennedy remembers looking around the cathedral, catching glimpses of the people in the pews looking up at him with teary reverence, clinging to his every word.

kieran’s voice pulls them back to the present, directing their attention to the battered bed nearby. sybil thorne’s bed. kennedy’s flashlight follows instinctively, skimming over the surface before snapping back to kieran, unwilling to lose sight of him. they feel disoriented, trapped between two worlds—the cathedral in their memory and the decaying thorne house.

kieran’s words settle in the room like the dust swirling in the faint light. more lamb than butcher. the phrase plays over in their mind, the weight of it heavier than they expect. "yeah?" they finally speak up, canting their head slightly, a slow-growing smile making its way to their features. "so what's a sweet little lamb like you doing out here then? hoping to find a purpose to bleed yourself into?" kennedy wasn’t fully convinced, they would be foolish to be, but they’ve never been the type to look to god or the universe for guidance. their gut was their bible and right now, it’s telling them that the kid who spent years buried in old articles and cold cases might be better used as an asset than dismissed as a suspect. they lower their flashlight some, and perhaps their guard as well. for now at least. "'cus i might just be on the same boat as you. " there's another pause then, only this time it doesn't feel so daunting. "do you think this place is actually haunted?" a sudden ask. they just can't help but shake the feeling that they were being watched. was it paranoia? god?

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ the questions hung heavy in the air for a few moments, met with kieran's silence as the thorne house creaked and groaned with every cold autumn breeze, almost as if the very walls were an audience reacting to this confrontation. he held his stance even against the blinding light of kennedy's flashlight, expression caught somewhere between surprise and something more akin to indignance against the returned accusation. it should be expected ﹕ he probably checked off multiple boxes in some litmus test for serial killers, but allegations felt like smoke sometimes ⸻ it could be suffocating if left unchallenged. he let the silence stretch out between them just for a few more beats, the weight of it pressing down on him like the dust that covered this old rotten place, before finally taking a small step forward. just to see if it would rattle them, just to see if they would flinch, just to see how much kennedy actually believed him to be red creek's newest murderer. then, a smile as he shook his head. “ i read your book, y'know ? great work you did there. but people look at it like it was an exposé on that priest, the oh so terrible things he did to maintain people's faith ... but the way i see it, it's more a revelation of the lies people tell themselves. ” kieran shrugged nonchalantly, casting his light on the bedside table, where sibyl thorne's weathered bible remained after all these years. and he wondered if she believed god would save her son from the misplaced wrath of this town. “ they need something to believe in, something bigger than their own insignificance. faith healing, prayers to some god, a big dose of hope and dopamine from the bible— because to live in a world without that, without the illusion of purpose, of salvation, would be too much. it's easier to believe in that whole weird apocalyptic scifi literature than accept we're just specks of dust drifting in a universe that doesn't really give a damn. ” and finally another step forward, hands raised in feigned surrender. he didn't always say much, sometimes not even enough, but kieran felt an affinity for kennedy ﹕ both of them only trying to make sense of what was happening in their town. “ guess what i'm tryin' to say is, i may not look like it, but i give too much of a damn to be an indifferent killer like this goddamn universe. i'm really just like all those people, ken. more a lamb than a butcher. ” a mess of belief, fighting too hard for meaning to ever be an empty murderer.

kennedy does one better than closing the door. they lock it. in one sharp motion, unwilling to let anyone get wrapped up in the shit storm that is about to ensue... they turn back to face him, expression a melting pot of emotions— anger, disdain, disgust, and just when it's about to flicker into something more vulnerable... he opens his goddamn mouth. "don't—" they raise a cautionary finger. the smug calmness in his response only serves to stoke the fire burning inside them, their pulse pounding in their throat. "don't act like you have the situation under control.   dimwit officers? don't trust the sheriff?" it wasn't that kennedy didn't share the sentiment. they're certain they've made a passing comment about the incompetence of most police departments to ricardo. but in the world of journalism, there were rules to play and pissing off the most reliable source of information had rookie mistake written all over it. "you fucked us. you fucked me." and he doesn't pay her enough for that. "where did you even get this information? why didn't you share this with me? or effie?"

ricardo knew this was going to happen . he's never been an idiot , but he does move fast enough that sometimes it makes people consider he COULD be an idiot . cunning always is worn in a certain way when it comes to him . WHEN HE GOT THE PHOTOS - he did think of kennedy . he thought of them straight away . he knew exactly how they would have looked at the photos in reverence and awe . kennedy would have known exactly the way to deal with it . the best way to write it . the PUNCHIEST statements to click ' enter ' on . ricardo hates to admit that he needs anyone , let alone kennedy . but if she had been in the office with him that morning , things might have turned out differently . ALAS SHE WASN'T . he was as alone as he was born , and like wolves do - he struck as quick as he could . RICARDO CLOSES HIS EYES AS SOON AS HE HEARS KENNEDY ENTER . the rage within her in imminent , it vibrates through the walls of the register . " close the door behind you . " he greets back , pleasantly . he doesn't need to look down at the newspaper to see his own typed words and the photos BLINKING BACK AT HIM . he's spent enough time with them . " you're mad . " he notes .

location : the register

time : early afternoon

for : ricardo( @inadeqcies)

in response to this

it was kennedy’s day off. they had plans to unwind. do some grocery shopping. take themselves out on a date to the movies like they had been meaning to. maybe even try not to think about the murder that had been weighing on their mind since halloween. the last thing on their todo list? a literal manhunt... yet there they were, storming into register, stomping past familiar cubicles and any coworkers that might still be lingering in the area. if anyone had said anything to her, kennedy couldn’t hear them over the blood roaring in her ears. “what—” the door slams behind them as they barge into his office. they knew ricardo was in there—could practically smell his cologne from the moment they walked into the building. intrusive. out of place. like the rest of his presence in redcreek. . “—in the ever-loving fuck—” a copy of the newspaper is slammed on top his desk, the sides wrinkled from where they had dug their nails into it, red ink scattered angrily across the print. almost like a bloodstain. “—were you thinking? quickly.”

High School Musical 2 2007 | dir. Kenny Ortega

9-1-1 (2018-) S08E06 ★ 'Confessions'

location : redstone bar

time : evening

for : taylan ( @ofvolatile )

there were two things the town seemed to be in silent agreement on when it came to the yalçınkayas. one, their kid was bad news. two, they weren’t talking about the daughter or their 20(?) cousins. wherever taylan went, trouble seemed to follow and it didn't take kennedy much convincing from their parents to keep their distance from him. and yet, it always felt like like taylan was always lingering somewhere in the periphery of her upbringing—as selin’s problematic brother, santiago’s troublemaking friend, and a thorn on redcreek's side. but with the recent murder of one alaina price, taylan's return to town was beginning to feel less of a coincidence and more like an omen. was alaina's downfall the wrath of a boy who never quite grew out of his rage?

he was a recognizable figure, even from behind. a head of brown messy waves sitting on top of broad shoulders and an aura that just screamed for someone, anyone, to just give him a reason. against carefully developed instincts, she approaches. the stool beside him creeks against hardwood as she settles herself onto it, announcing her arrival to both taylan and the bartender. “tequila soda, please.” her gaze darts over to taylan, as if to size him up, before turning back to the bartender and tipping her head towards him. “—and whatever he‘ll have.”

location : deer lake

time : early afternoon

for : selin ( @inlustre)

"don't make fun of me." he starts, tone light despite his aversion to meet her gaze as he spreads the blanket out for them to sit. "i did get one of the precut fruit trays from your store but it's because i ran out of time. i uh, tried my hand at baking croissants for the first time and..." the laugh that escapes him is nothing short of sheepish as he sets the basket down between them. "next time, i'm just grabbing us something from the bakery." is it bold of him to already be hoping for a next time? perhaps. he just feels fortunate to have managed to steal this moment of selin's time.

if people watching were a sport, vikram would be a medalist. years of observing people—how they moved, what they said, how they reacted to one another. and selin, well, she was like the sun. bright and warm with a natural orbit of people surrounding her everywhere she went. then there was vikram, who never quite knew how to navigate the world of casual socializing. had to admit he was a little in awe of her. at how simple she made it look. “i’m glad you could make it out today,” vikram says, finally settling himself beside her. “it’s nice, being outside of work for once. i don’t get to do this much, but—well, you probably know how it is. i'm sure the store keeps you busy." lord knows he’s done his fair share of taking up selin's time when he's there.

VIKRAM SHAH'S POLICE INTERROGATION

can you state your full name and age , please ?

"vikram shah. thirty five." he replies, voice steady despite the nervous bouncing of knee. it's clear that he is uncomfortable, has his hands resting on top of the interrogation table, his left thumb and index pressing on the valley point of his right hand. a pressure point known to reduce stress and migraines.

are you aware of why you're here today ?

"i'm assuming it's because of the knife right?" he looks between the two officers, frantic eyes hoping for validation. answers. anything. "does it have anything to do with... with the body that was reported?"

when was the last time you saw or spoke to alaina price ?

vikram doesn't like that they answer his question with one of their own but he tries to push past it. tries to focus on giving good answers rather than how clammy his hands suddenly feel. "alaina price?" he frowns. "i don't remember." a pause "please don't look at me like that. i really don't. "

what was your relationship with the victim ?

he looks away. hates feeling like he is under a microscope. his gaze lands on the corner of the table. uninteresting in every way but it's better than meeting the officer's analytical gaze. "i um, didn't have much of one. i don't have any kids so i never needed her services. i would see her around town sometimes but i rarely spoke to her."

were you aware of anyone who would want to hurt the victim ?

"no." he answers firmly, a sigh escaping him as he does. "no. as far as i know, everyone loves her. she is—" was? "—a valuable member of the town."

can you describe your whereabouts on the night of october 31st , 2024 ?

"i was um, out and about with everyone else in town."

is there anyone who can corroborate this ?

"i was with hana for a good portion of the night. before the warehouse shut down. then i spoke to kirby for a bit. made sure she didn't stray too far from the crowd." he closes his eyes then, knee still shaking, trying to recollect who he spoke to. "and in redstone uh, i think the only person who saw me was avery. everyone else was too preoccupied with their own shit." never one to throw around curse words, the profanity feels dirty on his tongue. reminds him of his younger, rougher days.

did you see and or hear anything unusual on the night of october 31st , 2024 ?

"aside from a body being found?" vikram scoffs and for a second it almost sounds like it might turn into a sob. death, he was accustomed to. but murder? "god, i was walking home when i saw azizi... standing over a bloody knife. it was behind the diner, so there wasn't a lot of light there. for a second it almost looked like.. i don't know. like he planted it there." it's all word vomit now, the stress of the situation settling in, heavy against his chest. if the officers exchange a look at that, vikram doesn't notice. hasn't looked back at them yet. "i don't think he did. it just, looked like it. i thought it was a prop at first. even made a joke about how real it looked. azi was the one who suggested we call the cops and so— here we are."

Anyways🤔

vikram’s mind hasn't stopped racing since the news of alaina price's body. there was too much to do. preparation to make, unwanted visitors to turn away, worried townspeople to ease. it wasn't just a death. it was a murder. a horrendously obvious act of violence that vikram somehow had cover up for the wake. but how do you make tragedy look presentable? a familiar voice echos down the hallway, pulling vikram from his pacing around the office to look up and meet pleading eyes. “oh! of course.” he’s quick to take the cup of coffee from greers hand, frantically looking around for a safe place to place it as if he didn't own the place and settling for an empty coffin left on its side that he has yet to bring to the main room storage room. it was next on his to-dos he swears! “wait— let me help.” he reaches for the smaller hand, fingers carefully prying open the clamped grip that threatens to tear dark locks out of greer's head. new target acquired, vikram can feel blair’s sticky fingers grab hold of his index and middle, keeping him locked by greer’s side. a chuckle escapes him then, as he leans slightly towards blair. “hi.” a whispered greeting, paired with a nervous smile as he playfully waves their tiny first. he turns to greer next, meeting the younger man's warm brown with tired, sleep-deprived black. “good morning, greer. it's really good to see you.” and he means it. "would you like some breakfast? i was about to whip myself up something." vikram doesn't have the stomach to eat yet but if greer and blair joined him then he would be more inclined to try.

𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱      :   greer    &    vikram    (  @brntout ) !

𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿:   6:43am.

𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻:  funeral home.

* ❪ ⛓️ ❫ ﹕ 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀   𝗻𝗼   𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴   𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸   𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁   𝗱𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀   which   of   the   rare   locations   the   world   has   to   offer   is   classified   as   inappropriate   for   children,   especially   those   in   redcreek   that   stay   stagnant.   save   for   the   trickle   of   new   industries   that   try   to   make   a   mark   in   the   rural   town.   unfortunately   for   the   one   of   them   today's   plus   one   isn't   nour,   despite   her   still   persistent   &   blunt   nature.  this morning's    guest   is   his   ten   month   old   niece.   chubby   hands   are   reaching   out   toward   greer's   face   as   they   walk   through   heavy   doors,   splintered   wood   creaking   underneath   them   as   he   tries   to   avoid   getting   his   eyes   poked   out.    ❛  i   know   baby. ❜     blair's   got   one   of   his   curls   now as she bounces in her chest carrier,   tugging   with   the   strength   that   most   toddlers   acquire:  the   brute   force   of   a   hundred  fucking  lions.   greer's   stifling   the   cuss   word   that   threatens   to   cross   his   tongue   by   simply   biting   it   &   letting   out   a   wince.    ❛  vik,   you   mind   takin'    this  while i get mauled for a sec ?  ❜    he   calls   out,   hoping   the   man   will   save   the   boiling   coffee   that   threatens   to   overspill   with   blair's   movements   &   singe   his   hand   to   bone.  an   added   bonus  ?   it   serves   as   this   morning's   gift   for  the   absolute   hell   he's   undoubtedly already   enduring   with   the   news.   greer   can   only   guess   the   diversity   of   company   that'll   be   searching   the   home   &   cemetery   an   equal   opportunity   to   sniff   out   the   investigation;   journalists,   wannabe   crime   sleuths,   police,   even   spunky   tourists   who   take   murder   scenes   as   fun   museum   tours.

ABBOTT ELEMENTARY 4.03 ✐ᝰ Class Pet

the message behind rafael’s words only deepens kennedy's amusement. it’s such a stark contrast to everything she’s ever known. she’s used to plotting, to blending grit and determination with a little bit of elbow grease to get what she wants. the simple idea that sometimes all she had to do was ask? that feels almost foreign to her— even for something as inconsequential as having rafael buy her a drink. “careful— give me too much power and i can't promise i won't let it go to my head” she replies, a hint of mischief finding its way in their eyes as they tap a cautionary finger on his chest. when rafael leans in, kennedy does too, smiling at his critique. “you’re only saying that to make me feel better!”  they holler over his shoulder, allowing themselves to be pulled in by rafael's familiar and ever so careful lead.

the bar is not nearly as loud as the dance floor but it’s still lively enough to warrant them staying close. any more yelling as kennedy fears they won't be able to use their voice tomorrow. “wait— that is the cutest thing ever!" fondness flickers in her expression at the mention of rafael's parents. "i’ll have to hold you to that dance another time, then. preferably when we’re less likely to get elbowed in the face. oh— i'll just have a tequila sunrise or something." they should probably follow rafaels lead and stick to nursing a beer for the night but they have never been a fan of them. prefers their flavored cocktails.   their index finger hooks onto the strap of his wings, careful not to snap the elastic as she fixes it over his shoulder. “nice costume, by the way. … icarus? no — wait, don’t tell me.” their eyes narrow as they try to place it. “the guy from saltburn?” the one that people swear looks like kieran but kennedy thinks it's just the height.

"all  you  need  to  do  is  ask  and  i'll  obey,  kennedy.  i'm  only  semi  -  oblivious."  he's  always  been  a  compliant  person;  the  spotter,  the  watcher,  the  willing.  won't  put  himself  into  a  risky  position,  but  won't  let  his  friends  walk  into  danger  alone,  either.  almost  too  eager  to  accompany  them;  like  it's  his  duty.  rafael's  smile  only  widens  as  kennedy  laughs,  his  gaze  drifting  upwards  as  purple  and  orange  hues  wash  over  them.  "and  between  the  two  of  us  -,"  leans  in,  eyes  falling  onto  her  again,  "-  i  don't  think  half  the  people  in  here  know  how  to  dance  -  to  anything.  but  -"  his  hand  finds  her  wrist,  gentle  as  he  guides  her  away  from  the  floor  and  towards  the  bar.  always  delicate  -  always  cautious.  "-  your  wish  is  my  command.  personally  -  i'd  love  to  waltz  across  the  room  with  you.  i  know  a  thing  or  two,  y'know  -  my  parents  were  big  on  that  stuff.  probably  didn't  want  me  to  embarrass  them  at  my  first  school  dance."

redcreek was a small town, which meant running into him was practically inevitable, she just didn’t expect it to happen like this. inside the grim little police station, with elliot wearing a uniform they never once envisioned him in. "sorry." they dip their head with a small laugh, realizing they were hovering by the door for a moment too long, "i didn't expect to see you here. wow. deputy mayers, huh? you always were...full of surprises." the words spill out before they could stop them, a poor attempt to defuse the tension, to break the awkwardness that had already started building.

fuck, they knew they should have prepared for this. done their due diligence of unblocking him on social media to check up on his life the moment they made it back to town. now they're they were, blindsided by the sight of him. stuck between two worlds— getting down to business or slipping into memory lane. their gaze flickers to his left hand, instinctively searching for the answer to their most pressing question... had he found someone to give him what kennedy couldn't? he isn't wearing a ring, but that's not enough to give a solid answer. they quickly shift to his badge, needing something professional to anchor themselves to.

kennedy finally sits down, their back straight, a practiced composure taking over as they pull the journal from their bag. "right. alaina price." they pause. the room felt smaller now. they want to think ahead, to push past the unease in the room, but their thoughts keep drifting back to the past. to elliot. "look," kennedy sighs, allowing themselves the momentary lapse in focus. "i’m not here for… anything personal. i just need information on alaina." they aren't sure why they're even telling him this. "i know you can’t share everything right now, but anything would help. the town’s already asking questions, elliot. starting rumors. they need something to hold them over." her words hung in the air, heavy and pointed, as she searched his face for any crack that might offer a clue, a sign of what he was willing—or able—to say. it wasn’t just about the case anymore. she knew that. but right now, it had to be.

IT'S REALLY NO SURPRISE that the moment elliot comes back from his coffee break, he's nearly accosted by the office secretary barreling through his door. there's someone from the press here, and the sheriff is out, she tells him. can i bring her in ? elliot figured they both knew that demetrius probably didn't want anyone in the office speaking to press without him—least of all elliot—but he's been on the job long enough to know the answer to give : no comment at this time. " fine, " he sighs. he's sipping his coffee when there's a knock at his opened door, eyes glancing over the coffee cup as he finishes his sip—and chokes on his drink. " kennedy. " oh, fuck. he'd been doing so well not running into her, and now here she is, looking like this is the last place she expected him. at least right now, the feeling is mutual.

coffee on the table, he finds himself standing out of his chair, a jolt of adrenaline hitting him harder than the caffeine so far has. " um, take a seat, " he motions to the chair in front of his desk, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. fuck, his uniform has never felt two sizes too big until now—not even when demetrius is giving him one of his deep sighs. " what can i do for you ? " he asks once she's sat, hesitantly sitting back down as well. maybe talking business is the way to get through this moment.

Hercules (1997) dir. John Musker & Ron Clements

"already? i'm not done smelling the candles." he's been at it for fifteen minutes now, moving from one jar to the next like he was shopping for a new scent at a home goods store, not browsing the shelves of a psychic shop. "you know," he says, "i used to see this girl a couple years ago that was seriously obsessed with this shit? had a rock collection and everything. kept saying she was going to curse me if she ever found me cheating." clearly in no rush to leave, he looks up from the displayed candles to flash nadia a grin, amused by her accusation. "you're still here aren't you?" there it was again, that playful challenge in his voice, the same air of flirtation he always slipped in, whether or not she acknowledged it. "locking me up isn't the only way to have fun with me, nadia." his grin lingers. always hinting, always offering. he has yet to make a move to leave. instead, he resumes the task of sniff testing every candle the sisters of the moon has to offer "hurry up and close up then. i'll give you a ride home." his tone gives little room to argue but he'd never turn down an opportunity to. "unless you have plans after this?"

○    NOW DELIVERING TO . . .    ⏤ @brntout !

" we're closing up . " nadia announces to salvador , looking him up and down as she flips the sign on the door . if anyone should know sisters ' moon hours , it'd be HIM . nadia rests a hand on her hip , jutting it out as she turns to face him properly . " and there's nobody here left for you to hit on , which i know is the real reason you're here . " her voice is drier than ever . she knows salvador , because he is everywhere , all the time . with a smile , a glint in his eye . HE'S A FLIRT and not even a good one . the amount of times nadia rolls her eyes while hearing him try his way with hana could make her eyes permanently stick . " chop , chop , salvador . locking you inside here does sound fun but i need this job , and something tells me holding you hostage inside would get me fired . "

any mention of marie never fails to make kennedy advert their gaze from santiago. it's subtle, usually under the pretense of being occupied with something else, like inputing a password into a laptop. "thank you." they say, not willing to comment on the two reminders that passweord held. 3126— the house the two grew up in. marie—that house was never meant for kennedy and their mother to begin with.

it takes them back to one of their earliest memories as a new 'family'. at the time kennedy was certain their mother's attempt of uniting their two families was just a ploy to make her own father jealous. a classic move: mom and dad split. mom and dad introduce new partners. mom and dad get back together again. but suzanne's affinity with jonathan herrera was of a different beast. when suzanne wasn't with him, she was daydreaming about him—his wealth, his gifts, his home—3126. the future he would provide her and by extension, his daughter... and kennedy absolutely hated it. so the first time santiago mentions his mother and how she was not coming back, kennedy responds with. 'well my father isn't dead so he is.'

an apology had been given. indignantly. from behind her mother's legs. an 11 year old who knew the cruelty in their words but was too overwhelmed by their own emotions to worry about anyone else's. though the years had slowly managed to mend the bad foot in which the two started their sibling relationship, there is a part of kennedy that still replays that moment. they can still picture santiago's expression—the hurt in his brown eyes, raw and clear in their memory. he deserved a better apology and maybe tonight was the best night to finally give it—

"that's so depressing, santi. don't say that." they say instead, brows pinching together both at his words and at their own internal cowardice. "the city could suit you too, you know." now that they secured access to a laptop, kennedy's shoulders visibly relax. "you know what? after crashing in that disgusting dumpster fire that june, finch, and avery like to gaslight everyone into believing is an actual apartment... the guest room doesn't feel too bad." they say with a chuckle. if a zombie apocalypse hits kennedy swears that their apartment will be ground zero. "i was thinking of renting something closer to work for the time being." closer to santiago too.

then maybe jon's requests to 'talk some sense' into santiago would lessen to the occasional text or phone call. kennedy knew coming back to town would revert them back to the role they often played within the family— the devils advocate. if the oldest can't lead by example, they're expected to play the role of a third parent. "he doesn't mean it." there they go. "he’s just saying that cus he thinks it’ll... i don’t know. stir something in you.” a sigh escapes them then as they go pinch the bridge of their nose, the wright of the night settling in. "sorry, i know i brought it up but... can we not talk about our parents tonight? i don't want to fight." not when their chest still aches from the panic that gripped them earlier—the panic at the thought that the body found tonight might have been his.

⁑ he rolls his eyes at the comment, all in good fun. ❝ yup. i'm, uh, so well - versed in it, didn't even open the laptop to clear it out. ❞ all said while the dust on the laptop cover tells an entirely different story. as it hums to life, he presses the back of his hand to his temple – like added pressure could stop the pounding in his head. as an afterthought, he adds, ❝ password's marie three - one - two - six. ❞ ( small reminders of his late mother are constants throughout his daily life, if one was to look close enough. )

❝ sorry, freshly accepted i'm doomed to red creek livin' forever. the city suits you, though. ❞ a tired laugh escapes him. just 5 years ago, santi would've shrunk away from the thought. now, it's met with bittersweet acceptance. a life in red creek is— well, it's exactly what he deserves. a small sting ignites in his chest at mention of his own father's excitement. for all intents and purposes, kennedy was his child too. she probably saw his fatherly side more than santi ever would. ❝ noooo. just makin' sure they haven't roped you into a permanent residency of the guest bedroom or somethin'. ❞ he exhales sharply through his nose at the invitation, not quite in him to have a laugh over it. ❝ tell jon he can ask me himself. last i heard from him, i'm not welcome at the table. ❞

it had been years since kennedy last stepped foot in the thorne house. nostalgic and new all at once,  pictures tucked inside smashed frames, their spot on the wall replaced by old graffiti.  murderer. burn in hell. boogeyman. so and so was here. the house had been around too long, access made all too easy for the town’s angsty youths and wannabe detectives. the chances of kennedy finding anything of note were practically slim to none but unfortunately for them, this was the only lead they had. the past thirty minutes had been spent digging through the drawers of a beat-up dresser, only to come up empty. “really fucking did a number on this place ” they mumble under their breath. the house creaks in response as if to share their sentiment. on to the next room,  kennedy was beginning to feel ill-prepared for this endeavor, having only brought a flashlight and their phone, which they had been using to record from the moment they entered the house. handy for snapping photos and collecting thoughts.  “check county records to see if jacob thorne owned any property other than — fuck!.” 

the assault of yellow light landing directly in their line of vision makes kennedy stumble back a bit, a hand instinctively rising to shield their face. they hear him before they can see him and while it only takes them a second it takes them to adjust to the added source of light, it’s a second too long. his words cause kennedy’s face to pinch further, confusion lingering for a second before recognition hits. a killer who deflects—of course he would. it’s a bluff, and kennedy is quick to clock it, straightening their posture while ( bravely )  clinging to the wall.  a small laugh escapes them, humor masking the adrenaline still pumping in her veins.  “from cold case enthusiast to hot-blooded killer—how does that sound for a headline?” ever so critical of their own work, kennedy mentally answers their own question with ‘you can do better’. still, not a bad start. “did you come here to feel inspired, kieran?” they ask, their own flashlight trained directly on his person, steady despite their shivering breath. it makes his height look that much more imposing, serving as a reminder that the chances of him being stronger and faster than her are uncomfortably high. they want to look around, to find an exit that wouldn’t require them to just run out the front door or jump out of the second-story window but they refuse to let their guard down… just in case. the room is perfectly still as the two stand off. "you always did have a fascination for the macabre, didn't you?"

…                      he had been here a thousand times before, a place for solace and rumination, for youthful rendezvous and misdeeds. here, he smoked his first cigarette with taylan and thought of himself as some kind of anarchist for tarring his lungs. here, he tried to speak with the ghost of jacob thorne, trying to understand him with every mark of growth on the door frame, every old photo abandoned, and every tall tale unburied. it was a place filled with ghosts, though nothing could harm him here. but with alaina price disemboweled, her organs bagged and sewn back in, thorne house now felt like an ancient beast disturbed ⸻ spreading its teeth and devouring him, gnawing on his autonomous nervous system until all his synapses could relay would be pastpresentpastpresent. it must all be connected somehow, and kieran couldn't think of another place the boogeyman could have gone after slipping away from his sight. so he searched and searched and searched for some trace, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the dust-cloaked darkness of sybil thorne's room. the house felt more alive than ever, but kieran did not flinch when he heard the creaking floorboards the first time, only natural for old houses like this to breathe every now and then. but then he heard it again, closer this time, his body tensing as he was reminded that the ghost he chased was more flesh than memory. and at the indication of the third time, the beginning of a drawn-out groan of wood shifting under pressure behind him, kieran immediately pivoted ⸻ flashlight slicing through the darkness, illuminating another trespasser. he expected a knife, he expected a mask, but the absence did not necessarily mean innocence either. “ huh ... ” he began, heart slowing into a more deliberate rhythm, probably should known that he wouldn't be the only trying to find answers here. “ i didn't expect the boogeyman to be just some journalist trying to create her own headlines. ” he deadpanned, a half-joke, a half-accusation, head canted to watch kennedy with wary fascination. @brntout

matilda's offer to let him stick by her side is sweet and a man with vikram's disposition can't help but immediately lean to decline the offer. "i wouldn't want to get in the way of your fun." then he remembers what his therapist who may or may not look like gabriel luna and be played by flea said, about allowing himself to be open to new experiences. "–but i might actually take you up on that... uh, if you'll have me." awkwardness and all. her laugh encourages one of his own, as he shifts a little in place, as if to settle more into the conversation. "no whispering tonight– i can do that." he's gonna have to if she has any hope of hearing him talk over the music. "yeah, wasn't he in that jumaji remake? i haven't watch it but i like the original."

vikram nods along as matilda explains the reference, trying not to show any confusion that would expose how chronically offline he is. has no idea why the local teens have taken a liking to calling him demure recently. "i don't think i've seen the picture. you'll have to show it to me when i see you tonight. get the side by side." vikram feels like his costume is not as clever or relevant in comparison. "i'm dressing as the phantom. from phantom of the opera? figured it was an easy enough costume to put together last minute." he already had the suit and the broodiness that came with the character. all he really needed was the mask. he wants to ask her if she's read the novel but instead thinks it would be better to take advantage of the fact that they rarely get to meet outside of the library to focus on a topic other than books. "are you heading home right now? would you like some company?"

“You know, if you want, you’re more than welcome to stick by me, since I’ll be doing the same. But either way, I’ll gladly take you up on that drink, if it means talking to you at a level above a whisper,” she said, a laugh bubbling out of her. She’d planned on chatting with him at some point that night anyway, but the realization that she had a Pavlovian effect on the volume of Vikram’s voice only made her more determined. “Um, yeah. Do you know The Rock? Like, the actor?” She stumbled over her words, suddenly very conscious of the idea that she could be explaining her costume all night. “There’s this picture of him with a fanny pack, in a turtleneck. I was gonna do that, but maybe switch the jean pants for a jean skirt and some heels.” Matilda made a mental note to save the picture to her phone, for easy access if anyone wanted to see it. “What about you?”

"hmm that you did." they muse, a smile tugging at the corners of their mouth. "man, you always had the best stuff." she was discreet too, which was something kennedy always appreciated about nadia. they can't even imagine what trouble they would have gotten in if their parents had ever caught wind of all the times the two smoked beneath the school bleachers, giggling about whatever nonsense was relevant at the time. they were a match made in heaven. nadia needed their book smarts to pass class, kennedy needed her street smarts to make this godforsaken town remotely bearable. an unlikely duo, but a friendship that kennedy didn't realize how much they've missed until tonight. distance ihas a watt of testing relationships and kennedy, of all people, knew that all to well. despite the years apart they still felt a little corner of their heart reserved for nadia. they didn’t know how to navigate moments like this, though. they knew she wasn’t the type to look for sympathy and it didn't feel right to bash her parents when nadia still clearly held some attachment towards them. would kennedy feel the same if they were in nadia’s shoes?

so they don’t say anything. instead, offer a solemn nod. they are sure they will ponder this later, when their brain finally manages to come up with something remotely wise. the glamorized pictures that nadia paints of their job description are far more exciting than the reality that is a gray cubicle and the sound of typing filling the air like elevator music. a laugh breaks out at nadia’s anchor-like voice and they follow suit, unhooking their arm from nadia’s to sit up straighter, raising a fist to their lips as if it were a microphone. “thank you nadia, for the local hottie report. we cut back to announce that unfortunately for everyone back at home, the glamor will end the moment the liquor leaves your system. we recommend thinking twice before sending that ‘u up?’ text.” not exactly the type of reporting kennedy does, but definitely more amusing on a night like this. kennedy’s smile falters a little as they cheer once more, nadia’s words stirring something inside kennedy. something they don't particularly want to put a label to yet. the pause between them is brief, but heavy and it seems they are both happy to choke it down with the tequila rather than addressing the unspoken truth – that despite rekindling their friendship, the years have placed them on different paths, two worlds apart. “you wanna go dance?”

kennedy's reaction is exactly why nadia finds it as indulging to tease them about santi . nadia would be lying if she didn't inwardly cringe at it , too . her grin stays large and present on her face as the two laugh . she feels like a teenager again , which is only elevated at the mention of study guides . " did i not offer you weed and alcohol aplenty in return ? " she pretends to scoff , as if the exchange wasn't still WHOLLY UNFAIR to kennedy . " i wouldn't have passed any classes without those study guides . " nadia's grades were as abysmal as anything else that requires her to spend time on it .

the warm contact of their arm around her makes her smile , almost abashed , down at the floor . they're both not huggers , but there's familiarity there . " i hear from her every now and then . " nadia replies and hopes to god they leave it at that . her phone burns in her pocket , silent and abandoned . a reminder of how her parents view her generally . " i mean your duty in the same way the royals talk about their crown . " in a way , kennedy and their job is comparable to the monarchy . nadia offers them her sweetest smile and is pleased when it works when kennedy eases up . " a fluff piece , huh ? what will that constitute of ? the night was young , and the town people were hot . . " she fakes a news anchor tone . honestly , nadia can't remember the last time she read the register , but she'd be more prone to pick it up now if it meant supporting kennedy . nadia beams , all teeth , as she clinks her second shot glass against kennedy's . " cheers to us drinking together again . who woulda thought that would happen ? 22 year old us would refuse to believe it . " it's meant to be said in a positive way , but it sounds like a horrible REMINDER OF FAILURE even to nadia's ears . she busies herself with clinking the shot glass again , with more determination this time , and swiftly downing it .

it will come back, hozier / you first, paramore

SUCCESSION — 1.02 Shit Show at the Fuck Factory

her compromise still threatens to leave vikram outside of his comfort zone but he appreciates her willingness to meet him halfway. he's never particularly felt like he was someone easy to be around—too quiet, too meek, too hesitant. sometimes, he wonders if he is deserving of hana's patience or the gift of her company and as often happens, guilt starts to creep in. surely there are better things, better people for hana to invest her energy in. but then she laughs, and the warmth that radiates from her is enough to melt those pesky fears. the last thing he wants is to diminish her enthusiasm with his lack of it, so he nods, a newfound determination to enjoy the festivities settling into his bones. “deal.” he says, smile obscured by his half mask.

her enthusiasm on his silly suggestion, paired with the reality of their height difference earns a laugh from vikram, nose scrunching slightly in endearment. "oh— that would probably help, wouldn't it?" arms still locked, he begins to bend his knees until they are as close to eye level as they can be. he shakes his head at the mention of her tiktok account. "miss sayoc, sometimes i think you might be the death of me." there's a fondness as he says that because they both know vikram could never say no to her. not fully. "ready?" he asks, eyes darting from the shot back to her.

☾ hana bobs her head in agreement: she's having a perfect night. moving back from los angeles made their hometown seem impossibly dull. but on nights like this, when the town convenes for something fun, she can almost pretend there's a comparison to be made. as expected, his reaction to her nightly chores is as amusing as ever. she laughs. ❝ you'd probably be surprised, but i guess i could rework the to - do list for you. let's say ... a dance, three drinks minimum, annnnd– no bailing until at least 12:30 ? ❞

an excited hum of approval leaves her at his suggestion. ❝ ooohh, you are so smart ! ❞ hana cheers, instantaneously moving to link their arms together. their heights make it look a little impractical. ❝ —you might have to bend down just a little, so we don't spill everywhere. ❞ just to tease him a little further, she adds, ❝ next one's going on tiktok for sure. ❞