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           "you broke my heart." rowan whispers faintly, knees pulled up to her chest as her eyes avoid the other. then, a laugh releases from her, a little shake of her head as she leans it back against the wall. "and now you come back here... expecting us to be friends?"

SHE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. It’s what Lyla thinks as she stares at Rowan, hurt and avoidant, clearly triggered by her presence. Lyla inhales and exhales, letting her frustration slip from her lips slowly. “I know.” It’s all she can muster. She was selfish—someone who gave up when the excitement faded or when things became too much. And still, she’s here, forcing herself to face it, because she selfishly wants her friend back. “Yes,” she starts, her voice unsteady, “because… well, I broke your heart as a lover, and I—” She stammers, catching herself. “I was a better friend.” A brief pause. “So… can we try that again?”

"why are you looking at me like that..?"

THE LATE AFTERNOON LIGHT spilled through the blinds in soft, dusty stripes, catching on the loose strands of Charmaine’s hair as she hovered in his doorway. The room smelled faintly of motor oil, old vinyl, and whatever cologne he claimed he didn’t wear; warm, familiar, annoyingly comforting.“As if you even have to ask.” Her lower lip puffed out in a practiced pout, that dangerous mix of cute and troublesome she always used on him. Charmaine clicked her tongue, braiding her hair with deliberate slowness like she was giving him extra time to cave. “Why don’t you let me take you out?” she said, tilting her head, eyes narrowing. “We haven’t done a single road trip. Which, if we’re being brutally honest, is tragic, and frankly reflects terribly on you.” She paused mid-braid, letting the unfinished plait fall over her shoulder as both hands found her hips. “As Oli's number one bestie,” she continued, leaning forward just enough to make her point sting, “you sure treat me like crap. I can’t even remember the last time we hung out, you mean old man.”

If anyone knew Lou (and who really took the time to?) it would be expected, the freak out. The idea of having to scrouge together a semblance of consistency within her life. Why couldn't she be like most nepo babies and at least do ads on Instagram? Instead, she wasted her days by smoking weed and being utterly in love with her girlfriend. Who had her shit together. Who definitely shouldn't want to marry someone like Louise LeBlanc. "But .... I mean, come on, Leslie. Marriage? Is that really something you want? A piece of paper that binds us together legally for the rest of our lives?" She was afraid of the velvet box. She felt unworthy of it. "You are, like, too fuckin' good for me to want to marry me. Like, I'm gonna be a lazy piece of shit my entire life. And, somehow, you find that endearing. But, like, wives? I don't know if I have it in me to be a fuckin' wife. A-And we haven't even talked about kids! Do you want kids? Do I want kids? Who's gonna get pregnant? Are we gonna adopt?" She was speaking quickly, throwing her hands round.

Watching Lou talk probably looked like a spectacle to Leslie. She always scrunched her little pipsqueak features and drifted off mid-conversation, thinking about everything except the words coming out of Lou's mouth. Leslie knew she’d freak out, think of every unplanned decision imaginable, before actually facing the one Leslie already made for this trip. “I know what I want, Lou.” Leslie smoothed out her frizzled hair and stepped closer. “Would you just stop thinking so much?” Her hands reached out, pressing gently against Lou’s head before pulling her in, forehead to forehead. She inhaled slowly, exhaled slower. It wasn’t just to calm herself, it was for Lou, too. “Please,” she whispered. “I want you to be my wife. If you don’t want that because you don’t love me like I love you, fine. I can understand that. But—” she paused, voice tightening, “if it’s about this crap you keep saying, the whole I’m too good for you thing, then I’m forcing you to marry me, consent or not. Okay?” Her nose brushed against Lou’s, her affection bleeding through even as Lou’s thoughts spiraled. “Let’s just focus on one thing, okay? Like letting me have my way with you forever.” Maybe that last part didn’t help. She didn’t care. Kids or no kids, plans or no plans, Leslie knew what she wanted. Lou. For as long as she could have her. What she loved wasn’t that Lou was still figuring herself out, it was that she was there, beside her. And that was enough.

"holy fuck, dude. what the..." the velvet box fell out when lou was trying to show off the very little muscles she had. lately, she thought it'd be fun to pretend to be a buff, butch lesbian but it didn't work when she wasn't really butch and she surely wasn't buff. and then she had to see the ring box, and her heart started beating three thousand times faster. "uh." she held it up. she didn't know why she held it up, but she should've pretended not to see it. but she was also having a panic attack. "you're not planning to propose, right? like, this isn't .... you're not going to marry me, right?"

No one, and she meant no one, was more extra than Lou. Well, maybe her sister, when it came to putting on a damn show. Leslie swore she could hear the violins the moment doubt filled the room, right around when Lou started talking like some skater dude who’d just wiped out on a California ramp. Oh, why did she have to place the ring so lazily? Her hair was a wreck, she hadn’t slept, and all she wanted was to look halfway decent before having this conversation. To ease into it. To tell achy-breaky-hearted Lou the truth without her doing exactly what she was doing now, freaking the hell out, "Why would someone like me be proposing to you?"Leslie asked, her words coated in sarcasm as she rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m not proposing to my girlfriend, the one I, I don’t know, love having in my life?" She tilted her head back, a tired sigh escaping as her fingers combed halfheartedly through her tangled hair. “Shit’s for the birds, no?”

"hmmm let me guess... you live thousands of miles away." it's only the most predictable yet unfortunate assumption he can come up with at the moment, playing twenty questions at breakfast with the one person he's been practically glued to since the first night. "why else would you be at an esports tourney in the middle of nowhere?" hell, he's not even from there, which makes matters worse.

Raya/Convenience Store Worker / YouTube Gamer / Van Lifer

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤit’s    hard    not    to    watch    her    spiral    as    she    swats    her    arms    in    the    air    as    if    pestered    by    some    invisible    fly,    voice    doing    that    thing    he’s    grown    accustom    too.    it    would    be    funny    if    his    stomach    weren’t    flopping    around    inside    ;    he    still    tries    for    a    light    hearted    laugh.    ❝    you    always    do    that    thing    with    your    arms    when    you’re    lying,    ❞    he    states    matter  -  of  -  fact,    brow    hooked    up.    ❝    no,    connor    is    a    dumbass,    i    know    we    agreed    to    that,    but    —    ❞    but    he    can’t    help    but    wonder    if    the    claim    has    some    validity.    especially    with    the    way    features    morphed    with    fluster.    there’s    never    been    a    time    where    he    hasn’t    taken    what    she    says    for    face    value,    but    hesitation    scribbles    over    his    gaze    as    he    eyes    her    from    the    side.    ❝    so    it’s    just    some    connor    bullshit    he    made    up    in    his    head    ?    ❞

"It's—it's all bullshit, exactly." The words fell flat, softer than she intended, stripped of the bite she’d been clinging to. "What does it matter anyway? It's not like you and I have ever shown interest in one another. Why would anything Conner says make a difference?" Her eyes lifted to his, forcing herself to hold the contact even as her pulse quickened. fully believing they were nothing more than friends. Best friends. That was safe. That made sense. This wasn’t about some grand confession or secret longing, she told herself. It wasn’t because she had admitted to feelings that might very well be fleeting. It was because she was lonely, and Conner, damn him, wasn’t wrong about that. But the idea that she might be confusing loneliness with attraction gnawed at her. It made her stomach twist with the weight of uncertainty. And that, more than anything, was why she wanted to put the conversation to rest before it unearthed more than she was ready to feel.

open to all, early to mid thirties only character krish patel (36, funeral director) information our characters were survivors of the summer camp massacre that happened back in 2004. alongside the news of the camp's grand reopening after 21 years, each survivor got a personalized letter in the mail inviting them back for a first look before anyone else arrived. they'll soon learn that accepting would be their greatest, perhaps final, mistake.. note feel free to assume what their dynamic was like when they were teens!! additionally, also feel free to assume whether or not they stayed in touch afterwards

"You're telling me," he starts, looking up at the sign, the redesign of a nightmare. "Like I regret ever coming back to this fucking God forsaken place."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝    you    don’t,    uh,    have    feelings    for    me,    do    you    ?    connor    said    that    you    did.    ❞

OF COURSE FUCKING Conner starts yapping his gossip girl lips about things said in private. Whatever happened to 'what's said in the dark stays in the dark???' "Oh!" she chuckles, waving her hand at the accusation like swatting a fly, "Conners' a-a a, pfft, bum, okay?" Her arms are doing that weird, praying mantis thing she always does when she’s cornered, gesturing way too much for her own good. "He's always teasing me about being the perpetually single one, and now he's trying to play the love shack guru, or some shit." Mooney’s lips curl, finally meeting his eyes, exasperation flickering across her face. Yeah, she may have suggested during a random night out walking that if there was anyone in the world she'd give commitment to, it'd be Jace. But, like, where did you get feelings from, out of that? "Anyway, I thought we agreed giving a penny for Conner's opinions was the last thing we'd do this semester."

"i would have married you, if you had stuck around."

Her gaze didn’t waver now. “And I was terrified you’d see it and walk away, so I did first. Call it cowardice if you want. I won’t argue.”

Kathryn Newton as Jessica Hurney, aka "Sammy" in ABIGAIL (2024) dir. Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett

BRIDGERTON (2020—) S3E2 // S3E3

her movements were far too calculated for this to just be a random thing, sure to be spurred on by some external factor to kick in her fight or flight. turns out his intuition was correct and that flight was the option she went for. ❝ i.... it's fine, just a normal reaction to someone sneaking into my home, someone i've never spoken to before. ❞ sure, he'd seen her in passing and flashed the occasional smile but it was all formalities. never did he think it would lead to this, feet still soaked in cold milk that had him prickly all over. he shakes his head and sighs, knowing that she had a relatively good reason for it. ❝ relationships make people do silly things, i'm sure. if you're really sure about helping me clean this up then uhh... ❞ upper half twists just enough to catch line of sight to his kitchen, where he points arbitrarily in the direction of. ❝ there are paper toilets on the counter, and the bathroom is across the way if you want to grab the towel that's on the rack. ❞

HER EYES FOLLOW HIS DIRECTION, shuffling quickly to retrieve the paper towels, only stopping momentarily as she gazed at the chairs. He's probably tired. She reached for the stool and partly carried it over to him, "Rest—please." She asked, taking a step back. Although they weren't even considered acquaintances, Lola knew who he was. She's never formally introduced herself or stuck around for small talk. But their mail got mixed up a few times. Atlas was his name. She didn't think she'd ever need a reason to know him, even though it was told to her many times to have some kind of relationship with people you live next to. Maybe this would be the start. "You're being nice; if some neighbor whose name I didn't know barged into my home, it wouldn't be fine." She was grateful he was nice, though. The last thing she needed was to have her ex spot her avoiding him. She'd never hear the end of it, even though he ghosted her first. She kneeled before him, removing and wiping his shoes before setting them aside. She cleaned up the mess, soaking up the milk as best she could."Lola," She starts, "You can call me Lola." Her eyes trail up, only to flash a small smile before rising. "I'll get the towel, too." She announced before disappearing momentarily, returning with a dampened towel to wipe at his feet before wiping up any residue left on the floor. "There," she murmured, balling her fist up in a victory pose before standing back up. "If you'd like, I have milk. It's rice, but um, if you want to have some today or anything, don't hesitate to ask me." She offers, "It's the least I can do for what you've done for me today."