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Laggies (2014)

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#same

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Young Adult (2011) dir. Jason Reitman

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♔ / fel & ethan, make it sappy xo

       it’s not often that neither of them are working, even more rare that they allow themselves a day in an ignorant but blissful reverie. lazing on the bed, a laptop haphazardly strewn across the covers with a random episode of the office on pause. he revels in the normalcy of it all, how if he takes the scene at face value, they’re a couple in love and this, well this is a very good day. he knows it’s harmful, even dangerous to live in dreamland, but reality can come knocking for it’s due tomorrow. she returns from the kitchen, two mugs of tea in hand and adorning a white collared shirt that she’s claimed as her own. his smile holds no reluctance, besotted and full. though he adopts an air of cool, clearing his throat for dramatic effect. “ you know it suits you. ” he begins, anticipation rising. “ but it would look better on my bedroom floor. ” a singular brow quirks, because he’s absolutely nailed it. “ please tell me that line hasn’t been used on you before. or if it has at least tell me i’m your most very favourite-est person to have ever used it on you, and the pure confidence in my delivery has never turned you on more. ” 

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♟ : Patching up a wound ( bobby ! )

      he has a fair bit of expertise in this, what with all the times wes bypasses the hospital in favour of bobby’s quick & dirty macgyver-esque style of treatment. though with wes, he doesn’t care for delicacy, he’ll thread a needle through him like he’s a piece of fabric. with ro, he cautions himself to be a bit, a lot more careful. he even goes as far as to use a numbing cream on her knee. “ we ain’t gonna get in the habit of doing this alright ? ” it’s just that it’s late, she’s tired, he’s tired and his civic responsibility as the older adult in this situation wanes in favour of a quick fix that’ll tie them through until morning. “ and i drive you to the medics right in the morning. ” he pours her a drink ( which is the equivalent of several drinks ), and pushes the glass towards her. “ to ease the pain, it might sting a little. but i know you ain’t a pussy. ”  

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“How much doubt is reasonable?” (harlow & frances)

     she thinks long & hard on the question, and she becomes fraught with intense concentration. brows pulled together, and teeth sinking into her bottom lip, thankfully with not enough force to draw blood. she has no authority on the matter, most, if not all of her worst decisions were made without a shadow of doubt. “ if you’re having doubts … ” she begins, “ you should trust them. ” which is to say, no amount of doubt is unreasonable. she offers a look which anticipates a reaction, of validation or further inquiry - she doesn’t mind, it’s quite likely she’ll be pondering about it for the rest of the night now.

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We’re partners.

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pssionfrvits‌:

   ‘  they can try, though i think we’re at a point of diminishing returns. people like to come here with reasons to excuse the awful things they do. family, love, duty, the usual suspects … and it’s easy to say that you do such terrible things for those reasons. the ends justify the means or whatever. i wonder how many of them really believe that.  ’  she cares little of who lies to her, which she’s certain occurs regularly enough, but to live a life that requires lying to yourself ? might as well rot in the ground with the others.  (  she wonders if youthful eyes betray her morbid thoughts, but it’s impolite to ask.  )  ‘  how many lies do you think you tell in a day  ?  ballpark.  ’

     “ i hope they do. believe it. ” there’s a horrible thought that prods at him, the idea that if motive were taken away altogether, the same acts would still occur. valdez, it seems, has an unnerving ability to put his own conceptions of human nature under interrogation, dismantling them further with every bullet he removes and gash he staples back together again. so it’s a potential act of cowardice that he gives himself entirely to her question, amusement peeking from his features. “ a few. well, maybe a bit more - just to play it safe. little things mostly, to myself, to cope. ” he feels a touch discontented with his answer, as if she were looking for something specific and he completely underperformed. “ you ? ”

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cvmillas‌:

SHE LISTENS …. leaning into every word offered.    she cares for her friend: deeply.    and her empathetic nature longs to soothe any hurt.     especially if caused by her and her own doing.     one thing certain — she can’t loose him.    no she’ll fight for that…. for him.    he had an aura that bled into hers, their colors weaving and mixing.    they’re the same yet worlds apart.    and here he stands before her and yet, a vast spance between them.    her features cast downward at his question as visible emotions wash over her features in waves.    she’s water ; constantly shifting ; emotions always visible.    her forehead creasing with natural distress, thick lashes fluttering as tears dance before her horizon.    “ don’t overthink it. i don’t want to loose you. ”    —— days without bobby would be more dull.      in him, some kind of understanding through drugs is found.     and she’s clinging to it in these fragile moments.    “ bobby….. of course. ”     camilla confesses quickly, honestly.     “ i’d be lying if i said i hadn’t. ”    a pause. her gaze focused on the floor.    she knows she’ll crumble if she looks to him.     “ i just thought…. you and…. zazie. ”      swallowing she takes a small step closer, missing him, missing their normality.      ( no matter how fucked up that was )       “ so i put it out of my head early on. i didn’t want to mess it up. ”    didn’t he see how zazie looked at —— him?     she supposed how she did.     with affection.    & seeing something greater, something different, something to marvel at.     the glass gives a visible clink as its set down, and finally, she glances up.    tall frame shifts and her eyes trail slowly up his form to find his gaze.    she doesn’t retreat, she owes him that much.   the rush of emotion is overwhelming as it often is, and tears finally ….. break free.    she’s terrified of loosing him.    yet, guilty of hurting him.    “ please don’t leave me. i’ll fix this. ”      it seems to be the best offer she can muster.    though, he deserves more.     because she knows the plea is entirely selfish.    there’s always the possibility that he doesn’t need her as much as she needs him.      “ this sucks, huh? ”   a choked sniffle now audible, having got caught on a laugh she stifled.      arms wind around her chest as she manages her own small embrace at a attempt of comfort.    *

      their simplicity had been mercilessly taken for granted and now they’re left with jagged shards that long to be put back together. her pleas are dull to a buzzing mind that lingers on her words, but leaving her ? that was just never in the cards. his grip is vice-like, the curve of a hook, lodged and unforgiving. so it should seem that the pair would be complementary, she wants him to stay and he won’t leave, but it’s all just a bit ... messy. their chaos isn’t burgeoning flames and destruction, it’s muted, stilted. he doesn’t like this type of chaos, it makes him feel bad. “ zazie. ” he says, contemplative - an air of calm residing over the shock he feels. to claim the feeling altogether is it’s own form of masquerade, because maybe he’s known, here and there. the inflections of harboured feelings that dance in the space he and zazie occupy. her attentions warm him, and her love for him is the only one believes. he won’t give it up, selfishly, even if it takes and takes. he turns away from camilla, forearms resting against the wall to prop his wearing body up. he’s certain that all he needs is a moment, he has an uncanny ability to snap out of sadness if he really tries. eyes squeeze shut, and a hand that’s curled into a fist thuds slowly against the wall. “ zazie & i, s’hard to explain you know ? ” it’s a muddled response, presented to the wall. he could talk endlessly about the brown eyed girl, how his love for her could move universes, but it could only be explained in comparison to his feelings for the girl that stands behind him, emotions that he doesn’t know how to verbalize ( or rather, in the realm of three little words that he’ll never say ). no revelations come to him, stuck in a limbo of heaviness, hushed murmurs and flutes of champagne. so he turns back around, surrender on his features and he wishes he were all sharp edges and biting quips in times like these. instead, his lips tug, ever so slightly and without his consent because he’s plainly head over heels. he hates it. “ pretty fucking terrible. ” he agrees, before eyes catch sight of an open door. “ join me for a smoke ? ” he asks, with a disparate gaze that tries in spite of an unyielding discomfort. he blatantly misses the opportunity to just leave, letting his craving for slivers of attention pave the way instead.

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The Woman Who Fell to Earth (2018)

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