a violent mourning!

a cloud of smoke, the crunch of soil underneath a pair of feet. akihiko has a black wool coat wrapped around them as they leave the main building of the cemetery, heading towards the grounds. the weather is cold enough that their breath fogs up where they part, and they search their pockets for a pack of cigarettes. shaking one off, they put it between their lips, followed by a flick of lighter, a long, deep breath of relief. as if they were not breathing before, and now oxygen can finally reach their lungs. it takes them a few minutes of quiet smoking to hear a pair of steps, and they ponder for a minute more whether they will remain far away. it doesn't seem to be the case, and they watch the other near the section where they are. it's likely they are visiting a grave here, as is ninety-five percent of the time, no one else comes to the cemetery otherwise. and while they would take a bet that people prefer being alone here, they still ask— wanting to smoke a bit more. could they do it elsewhere? sure. but this is their favorite section with the best view of the forest and the town. "do you have to be alone or can i continue smoking here?" it's blunt, although they don't try to be, that's how it usually comes out. a beat later, "did you come because of what happened?" death reminds people of death. you hear of someone dying, and you remember someone close to you who died. it's as easy as that - at least, for someone in akihiko's line of work.

she stepped into their peripheral like someone half – summoned, half - drifting — coat too thin for the cold. her eyes hazed over the graves, and then finally … them. “ smoke, i guess, ” she muttered, monotone and entirely apathetic. “ it’s whatever. ” she crouched beside the nearest headstone — one that wasn’t hers, not her mother’s — and pressed her gloved thumb into the rim of thawing soil like she was grounding herself. when she looked up again, there was a strange stillness to her, like she’d been listening to something that wasn’t there. “ and no, ” she added, slightly piqued by their continual interrogation. “ didn’t come because of what happened. ” and you’ve said too much already.

the tears clung to her lashes, cold tracks down her cheeks, but she held herself with the same detached slouch, shoulder against the brick like she was stapled there. he walked up with all that nostalgia weighing down his boots, trying to hand her the shape of his past like she’d asked for it. she kept her eyes half - lidded. “ congrats. gold star. ” she muttered, fingernails digging into the palm of her hand. when he offered a cigarette, she took it with a shrug, brushing her cheek with the back of her hand as if it were sweat or rain — something meaningless. she lit it off her own, the flame catching. “ if something changed, ” she added after a long moment, “ it wasn’t this place. ”

charlene watched with a sense of detachment . watched through the lens of a camera . a shot of people laughing before panning to nyx crying in the corner . the praise of the metaphors and the contrast and the unspoken words in the video buzzed against her brain . a small shake of her head and her predatory gaze shifted into a look of empathy . she'd become infected during her stay in california and coming home to red creek was her quarantine . " you're joking , right ? you cannot be saying no to a candied apple . it's a red creek delicacy . that's basically a crime . "

nyx drags a sleeve across her cheek like she’s erasing something inconsequential from a chalkboard. she looks at charlene the way someone looks at a noise they can’ t locate. “ charlene, ” she says, barely a breath, “ i’m not eating a fucking candied apple. ” a beat. her mouth twitches. she shifts her gaze away again, already done with the conversation before it’s started.

Jenna Ortega x Instyle ImageMaker Awards.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024) dir. Tim Burton

“whaddya  think  bout  that  fat  one?”  he  said  to  the  person  nearest  to  him.

the crowd’s noise folded inwards — cheap music, laughter, the dull clatter of coins — and she stood in the middle of it all, detached, scrolling through something that didn't even fucking matter. when he spoke, her response was delayed, like the words had to travel a long way to reach her. “ which one ? ” she muttered, not glancing up. he gestured toward the bag, but she only lifted her eyes for a second, long enough to catch a glimpse of scales and cloudy water. “ … yeah, ” she said eventually. “ it’s fine. ” her voice was dry, without conviction. she shifted her weight, thumb flicking over the screen again.

serendipitous  timing,  as  always  —  smoke  break  turned  awkward  interaction,  with  heath  eternally  grateful  that  nyx  was  more  so  absorbed  in  her  own  misery  to  see  his  stumble.  a  one-two  glance,  teeth  pulled  and  a  slick  inhale  between  them.  but,  his  presence  had  been  noted  already  —  unwanted,  perhaps,  but  acknowledged  nonetheless.  he  didn't  crouch,  seeking  stability  with  his  back  to  a  steel  beam,  leaning  against  it  as  a  singular  joint  plucked  from  the  depths  of  its  denim  home.  a  silent  offering,  the  inaugural  smoke,  substance  over  sadness.  “  just  wondering  if  you  wanted  something  to  distract  you.  waste  of  a  night  to  be  hiding  by  yourself.  ”

eyes cut toward him, slow and heavy — like wading through something sticky, like she’d forgotten what it felt like to look at something that might still hurt. she didn’t bother straightening up. just let her shoulder melt into the harshness of the wall, that thin film of damp running through her jacket, grounding her entirely. he held the joint out, and she took it without thinking — the faintest graze of flesh, a ritual they’d worn down to instinct. one drag, two. the silence between them pulsed — almost safe, if you didn’t breathe too hard. “ yeah, ” she muttered, exhaling toward the concrete. “ whatever, heath. ” but she didn’t tell him to leave. she never did. just watched him fade, like maybe if she waited long enough, it would take them both.

In a Year with 13 Moons (In einem Jahr mit 13 Monden) 1978, dir. Rainer Werner Fassbinder

outfit request for anon- will graham but he’s a skate boarding teen in santa monica

Jenna Ortega as Lorraine X (2022) dir. Ti West