Vikram Was Feeling Tad Out Of Place Here. His Therapist Was The One To Suggest He Wear A Mask To The

"you know i was trying to flirt?" vikram is totally butchering this. it's painfully obvious he doesn't do this often. a mental note is made to run this scenario by his therapist next time he sees them. 'i approached this lady but she thought i was flirting and i was not, not flirting but she called me out and i made it awkward. so how do i do that better next time?' something like that. "to be fair... it was a good hiding place. i don't think anyone would have thought to look down there." he wipes whatever debris was left on his knee from bending down, a chuckle escaping them once more at kirby's words. to think that the phantom's sins could be washed away by finding someone their candy bucket is nothing short of amusing. "i'm glad i could help." he looks around, noticing they’ve wandered onto one of the less populated streets. "can i walk you home? or... back to the main road, maybe?"

was  her  flirting  off  ?  no  ,  she  was  good  at  this  ,  so  good  she  did  it  on  accident  sometimes  even  .  “  i  know  you  were  ,  i  was  trying  to  -  ah  ,  forget  about  it  .  ”  she  followed  him  ,  a  dumb  move  to  follow  a  masked  man  but  he  was  looking  for  her  pumpkin  and  that  made  him  a  halfway  decent  guy  in  her  book  .  “  oh  great  ,  holy  shit  ,  why  did  i  put  it  under  a  car  ?  ”  she  racks  her  brain  trying  to  make  sense  of  the  rationale  there  .  what  if  the  person  whose  car  it  was  decided  to  back  up  over  her  candy  or  just  drove  off  ?  was  she  as  smart  as  she  thought  she  was  ?  clearly  the  fuck  not  .  “  thank  you  so  much  ,  i  was  gonna  spend  the  whole  night  just  moping  around  my  apartment  ,  wishing  i  had  a  fuckin'  snickers  or  something  .  see  ,  the  phantom  was  the  good  guy  all  along  !  ”

"UH,  HARD  DISARGEE."  kennedy  is  quick  to  refute.  they  always  found  smoking  to  be  a  nasty  habit,  convinced  it was something  only  a  masochist  would  enjoy.  they  tried  once  in  college,  shortly  after  starting  their  internship because they figured  it  would  make  them  look  and  feel   more  grown  up  in  the  room  full  of  journalistic  big-shots.  men  who  took  their  jobs  and  themselves  WAY  too  seriously.  smoking  might  not  have  stuck  with  kennedy  but  the  underlying  pretentiousness  that  came  from  it?  that  was  still  up  for  debate.   "chicken  and  waffles  with  a  side  of  lung  infection  does  not  sound  like  an  appetizing  combo  to  me."  now settled in the stool, they  turn  their  head  to  witness  the  full  display  of  soren's  theatrics,  elbows  propped  on  the  bar  in  front  of  them.  they  observe  him  carefully,  making  no  move  to  interrupt  his  performance.  a  respectful  audience,  one  that  makes  sure  to  wait  the customary  extra  beat  to  ensure  the  show  is  over  before  offering  their  reaction.  “wow."  there's  a  hint  of  a  smile  there,  perhaps  the  closest  they  have  come  since  the  news  of  the  recently  departed  –  or  rather  – recently  SNATCHED.  they  lean  ever  so  slightly  in  his  direction,  nose  scrunching  up  as if they are about to deliver some harsh news. "sounds  to  me  like  you  might just have a  little bit of an addiction there.”

location: dolly's diner time: late afternoon status: open!

something about diners. greasy leather seats. overheard secrets tangled up with the clatter of forks. bitter, often stale coffee -- unless you got lucky enough to walk in when the place was mostly empty. unlikely. the kind of place where time hangs heavy, like it got tired and sat down to rest in the corner booth. red creek felt the same, like it had long surrendered to time’s weight instead of running alongside it. no reinvention, no salvation -- just a stubborn place clinging to people like mud after rain, or maybe quicksand, tugging until they sank without a fight. soren didn't have to imagine dark things haunting its bones when its effect where already laying there, sprawled out for anyone willing to see. maybe ancient spirits seeking revenge after having their forever homes suffocated with asphalt and cement. maybe nothing at all, just the weight of a town folding in on itself, vanishing into a fog you didn’t know you’d entered until it was too late. soren wouldn't flinch if someone shattered the silence with a lynchian scream -- sinister close-ups, faces trembling under the pressure of things better left unsaid -- right there in the diner, right as he staed at his gone stale coffee. and perhaps it was his obsession with intricate stories that blurred the line with reality, but twin peaks really didn't feel like fiction anymore; it was a blueprint, a warning for places like this, where the mundane teetered on the edge of surreal, where time sagged, like peeling wallpaper in a room sealed off for too long, and good people stumbled into band endings. even diners -- those greasy churches of familiarity -- could warp into confessional booths. soren let his face fall into his hands, elbows propped at the sides of the cup of coffee. if it had been steaming, it would've made a perfect shot. “ you know what's bullshit, ” he spoke as soon as he felt a presence next to him finally glad to push his inner monologue onto someone else, anyone unlucky enough to hear. he continued as his hands dropped to his lap, revealing a face worn thin by restless nights. “ the fact that they made it illegal to smoke in public places. especially diners. ” though it wasn't just diners. it was also cinemas, trains, pubs.... a beat. then two fingers lifted to his lips, mimicking the pitch of a cigarette between index and thumb. soren inhaled theatrically, face tilting upward as though savoring the hit. then, just as theatrically, he ground the phantom amber into an imaginary glass ashtray, the kind with ornate edges. clock. sound design coming from his tongue against his palate and he swat the phantom ashtray away, still dipped in his interactive daydream.

CHURCHES  MADE  KENNEDY  UNCOMFORTABLE.  anything  that  has  to  do  with  divinity  or  a  higher  power  did.  her  guard  has  been  up  since  the  moment  she  stepped  foot  into  the  chapel,  sharp  gaze  set  on  the  praying  priest  just  a  couple  pews  ahead  of  them.  a  stark  contrast  to  her  more  doleful  stepbrother  beside  her.  "if  it  makes  you  feel  any  better,  i  doubt  that  was  what  KILLED  her."  the  words  are  delivered  in  a  deadpan  tone,  making  it  hard  to  decipher  if  that  was  a  callous  attempt  at  a  joke  or  an  inside  thought  that  was  not  meant  to  see  the  light  of  day.  perhaps  it  didn't  truly  matter.  not  when  the  possibility of  another  tragedy  was  beginning  to  feel  less  like  a  threat  .  .  .   and  more  like  a  promise.  with  so  much  to  lose,  how  could  she  possibly  give  herself  the  space  or  even  the  time  to  mourn?  “i  think  it's  one  of  the  newcomers  or  –  no.  maybe  someone  who  was  around  for  the  original  murders.  someone  old  enough  to  remember.  or  maybe  it's  both.  maybe  jacob  thorne  has  a  long  lost  sibling  that's  come  to  town  to  take  revenge."  too  many  questions,  not  nearly  enough  answers.  “what  do  alaina  price,  daniela  estrada,  and  kirby  sloane  even  have  in  common?”  aside  from  being  a  couple  of  bad  bitches. 

🗝️ open to all. 📍 redemption chapel, jan 24th.

the news breaks, as does half of red creek alongside it. there's an unfair lump lodged in santiago's throat. he wasn't close to kirby ; her death was not his to mourn, and yet ... he sits in the back pew of redemption chapel, hands wound in his hair. it was between here & the cemetery— the weather chose for him. he breathes in, has a hard time breathing out. halloween night plays through his mind. ❝ i asked about her name. ❞ he wants to laugh at the memory, but doesn't have the heart. a puff of frustration leaves him instead, ❝ grow up in a box like red creek & i still had to ask for her name. jesus– ❞

#me

❝ 𝙸𝙵  𝙸𝙼  𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃  𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃  𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂,  𝙸  𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳  𝚂𝙰𝚅𝙴  𝙰  𝙼𝙰𝙽'𝚂  𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴.  𝙳𝙾  𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴  𝙰𝙽𝚈  𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙰  𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳  𝙳𝙾  𝚃𝙾  𝙼𝚈  𝙱𝙾𝙾𝙺  𝚂𝙰𝙻𝙴𝚂?  ❞

 // (  destiny  ryan.  non-binary.  she/they  )  . ⸻ KENNEDY  STUART  ,  a twenty  eight  year  old,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have  lived  for  eighteen  years  and  has  been  back  a  couple  of  months . THE  PRODIGY  is   known   for   being  ambitious  and calculative and  is  often  associated  with  murmured  self-affirmations,  a  creeping  curiosity,  doing  whatever  it  takes  to  exceed  expectations,  picture  perfect  smiles,  pristine  trophies  on  full  display .  in   a   small   town   where   they   work   as  a  journalist at  the  register  and  an  author,  word  travels  fast  .     it’s   hard   to   keep   a   secret   ,   and   it   looks   like   the   boogeyman  knows   that   [  REDACTED  ] 

 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝚂 | 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂 | 𝙼𝙸𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁 | 𝙴𝙳𝙸𝚃𝚂 | 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝙿𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃

𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐍: being the golden child, a gnawing ambition, restless nights, being a pawn in your parent’s game, the need to be ten steps ahead, doing whatever it takes, always comparing yourself to others, when will it ever be enough? 

[ Ⅰ ]  .  .  .  𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 

full  name.  kennedy  noelle  stuart.  nicknames.  ken,  kenny, .  age.  28.  race.  black. nationality.  american.  birthday.  may  20th.  zodiac.  taurus.  gender.  non-binary.  pronouns.  (  she  /  they  ).  sexual  orientation.  pansexual.  birthplace.  redcreek,  michigan.  occupation.  journalist

[ Ⅱ ]  .  .  .  𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘

mother  :  suzanne  stuart  herrera father  :  marcus stuart   stepfather:  jonathan  ‘jon’  herrera stepbrother:  santiago  herrera

[ Ⅲ ]  .  .  .  𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓

∗  kennedy  was  marcus  and  suzanne's  last-ditch  effort  to  stabilize  the  marriage  between  a  narcissist  and  a  small  town  primadonna.  the  attempt  lasted  for  a  few  years  on  and  off  which  resulted  kennedy  having  to  spend  their  early  years  alternating  between  two  homes ∗  kennedy  was  the  spitting  image  of  the  both  of  them  and  the  two  were  painfully  aware  of  it,  pushing  the  young  kid  to  be  the  best  version  of  themselves . .  .  they  just  had  different  definitions  of  what  that  was. ∗   for  marcus,  it  was  a  sharp  mind.  days  with  him  usually  consisted  of  activities  that  involved  intellectual  improvement  -  playing  chess,  reading  books,  watching  documentaries.  as  for  suzanne,  she  preferred  more  physical  charms  -  sports  &  beauty  pageants  mostly. ∗  the  combination  resulted  in  a  kid  who's  learned  quickly  that  they  earn  most  praise  when  they  are  not  only  good  at  something...  but  better  than  expected.  a  mindset  eventually  turned  to  a  desire  at  being  the  best  in  whatever  they  set  out  to  be. ∗   in  2006  suzanne  started  seeing  a  local  man  named  jon  hererra  and  before  kennedy  had  a  chance  to  process  their  mother's  new  relationship,  they  were  asked  to  pack  their  bags  to  move  in  with  this  stranger  and  his  son,  santiago  herrera. ∗   while  kennedy's  father  was  still  in  their  life,  it  was  apparent  that  he  had  decided  to  take  a  step  back  (  no  doubt  betrayed  by  how  quickly  his  former  wife  moved  on  )  and  began  only  taking  kennedy  on  the  weekends. ∗   life  with  the  herrera's  was  different.  suzanne  had  taken  to  bragging  about  her  child's  achievements.  an  energy  that  their  stepfather  quickly  matched  .  he  became  invested  in  advancing  kennedy's  talents,  perhaps  hoping  that  their  excellence  would  rub  off  on  his  son. ∗  unfortunately,  kennedy  had  a  hard  time  relating  to  santiago.  perhaps  it  was  the  age  difference  or  the  resentment  in  their  parent's  union.  whatever  the  reason,  it  made  building  a  healthy  relationship  difficult. ∗  kennedy  tended  to  focus  on  their  academic  pursuits  instead.  editor  of  the  newspaper,  head  of  the  speech  and  debate  team,  goalie  of  the  girl's  soccer  team...  they  had  their  hands  full!  eventually  they  graduate  with  honors  and  got  accepted  at  NYU  on  a  full  ride  to  become  an  investigative  journalist. ∗   after  college,  they  booked  a  job  at  the  new  york  times  amd  became  a  travelling  journalist,  moving  from  country  to  country  to  write  pieces  about  whatever  was  relevant. ∗   during  their  travels  they  came  across  an  interesting  case  that  was  ongoing  in  italy.  there  was  a  unexpected  string  of  murders  happening  in  a  small  countryside  town  and  with  the  help  of  the  local  police  department,  it  was  determined  that  the  local  catholic  priest  was  poisoning  the  offerings  during  their  mass  and  would  either  pretend  to  heal  them  with  the  power  of  God  or  let  them  die. ∗  the  article  kennedy  wrote  didnt  garner  much  attention  but  they  were  so  invested  in  the  story  they  decided  to  write  a  book  about  it  named  'death  at  the  altar'  and  lo  and  behold  -  it  became  a  best  seller! ∗  it  was  such  a  hit  that  kennedy  had  to  take  a  break  from  their  journalistic  endeavors  to  go  on  a  book  tour.  as  exciting  as  it  was,  kennedy  found  it  awfully  tiresome. ∗  after  some  thought  and  some  nudging  from  their  mother  &  step-father,  kennedy  decided  to  take  a  break  from  it  all  and  move  back  home.  they  took  up  a  job  at  the  local  newspaper  because  they  figured  it  would  be  easy.  some  fluff  pieces  here  and  there  while  they  focus  on  their  next  big  hit.  it's  red  creek,  michigan  after  all.  nothing  ever  happens  here.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 :  a  smart  kid  who  watched  their  parents  divorce  and  was  forced  to  join  another  family  along  with  her  outrageous  mother.  left  town  as  soon  as  she  could  but  recently  decided  to  move  back  home  after  writing  a  best  selling  true  crime  novel  named  'death  at  the  altar'.r'. 

[ Ⅳ ]  .  .  .  𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ───  all  connections  are  open  to  any  gender  unless  specified  otherwise.

wc  pinterest | wc  tag

[ Ⅴ ]  .  .  .  𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

＋clever  ＋analytical  ＋curious －unsympathetic  －stubborn  －judgmental mbti  :  ESFJ natal  chart  :  ↑  capricorn, ⊙  taurus, ☾  cancer inspired  by  :  gale  weathers ( scream   ),  nancy  wheeler ( stranger  things ),  monica  geller ( friends )

My dad, he’s like, a financial planner. And I think he’s in trouble.

THE OC (2003-2007) 1.02 | The Model House

"overall, i think i might be more of a beer guy." vikram admits with a small smile, taking one of the glasses into his hand. "not the type to say no to a free drink, though." especially when its paired with such an amicable smile. "thank you, that's very nice of you. quinn, right?" he's seen her around the hospital during his visits to the mortuary. "do you, uh, want to do a cheer?"

the crowd at the bar was becoming a problem as quinn was hoping the person beside her was actually able to hear her words clearly . quinn's eyes shifted up towards the much taller male in front of her . " it's tequila . " she states , offering a friendly smile . " i know not everyone is a tequila drinker , so i'm hoping you're more of a tequila guy instead of vodka . " she responds .

"yikes, dude. they got you good." kennedy winces when he gestures towards his face. "people are losing their goddamn minds — did sel make it out, okay?" they ask, though they wouldn't blame him if he didn't know. maybe they should text her. a tender smile grows at santiago's offer. god, when was the last time they slept under the same roof? "it's okay, i can take the couch. i have to whip something up for work by 5am." they can still make it, they think. if they borrow santi's laptop and chug some water. "i don't think i could sleep even if i wanted to... do you have work tomorrow? how is that going?" is now the time for them to have some small talk? probably not but if the tremble of their fingers as they aimlessly smooth their dress down is an indicator for anything, it's that they would rather not be alone right now.

⁑ the corner of his mouth quirks into a smile when he's humored. ❝ glad you're okay too. ❞ and he's genuine about that. santi doesn't mention the body that police found tonight, but he's sure they know about it. ❝ fuck, i don't even know. i was walking to catch up with sel and then— i dunno, boom. smacked in the head. ❞ he gestures to the bruising part of his face. he hesitates for a moment, then offers, ❝ you should stay over tonight. i can take the couch. crazy night. ❞

SUCCESSION (4.10) | WITH OPEN EYES

location : santiago's apartment

time : sometime after 3:00am.

for : santiago @atonehart

“it’s borderline fascinating…” they had been going on a while now, from the moment they walked through the door. “...how you can’t seem to listen to save your life! i said go home and what do you do? you go to the fucking bar! seriously santi, it’s like you— no, leave the peas on for a couple minutes more. it’ll help with the swelling.” kennedy shouldn’t even be here. they should be out there. gathering intel,  securing interviews, writing that damn story for the register. tending to the wounds of the prodigal ‘brother’ should be at the bottom of their priorities right now. yet there they were, walking over with a glass of water, a dose of painkillers, and an awfully sour expression. there's a pause the transaction ensues and after a beat, they finally ask, "are you okay?"