najiikarim

Latest Posts by najiikarim

deeply obsessed with this

to be fair , naji's not really a happy anything. he's always felt too much or too little , and even tonight he leans towards the former , awkward and messy in a way that he's hoping she won't find pathetic. the word mopey sticks with him , but he's simply amused , the feeling tugging his lips into a reluctant, lopsided smile he has no business letting mabel see. he swears it's the first time he's smiled all night , but hey , she's always carried a kind of warmth with her that's bled into his gloom. " i'm not grumpy all the time — " i'm definitely not grumpy around you. " — and , believe it or not , the eeyore comment is unoriginal. " naji stares at her reflection for a beat longer than he should , alcohol addled senses fixating his gaze there. he swallows , hard. tentative fingers drift to the door handle , rough thumbs brushing over it before the cold metal finally snaps him out of it, naji’s blinking hard like he’s trying to shake off the fog. " maybe i'll get you that shot when you're done. " before he's encouraged to say another drunken word , he pulls the door closed between them , letting the latch click softly into place before he leans against it. the heels of his palms press into his eyes , the pressure sending his vision dark and filled with sprinklings of stars. he's hoping that now — now that mabel's behind a door, where he can’t see her — he might finally be able to get a grip. 

in  her  own  defense,  mabel  isn't  completely  sure  that  her  pouts  work  on  naji  ;  there's  the  sneaking  suspicion,  yes,  and  maybe  she  weaponizes  it  a  lot  because  she  knows  it'll  work,  yes,  but  she's  never  been  sure.  always  the  gnawing  feeling  that  maybe  he's  just  humoring  her,  insecurity  personified  and  speaking  in  the  most  irritating  little  voice  in  her  head  —  if  mabel  thinks  about  it  too  much  her  stomach  hurts.  cheeks  go  pink  when  she  looks  at  him  like  this,  enough  to  make  her  freeze  for  a  sputtering  moment  before  giving  up  and  ducking  under  his  arm  to  get  in.  push  past  him  (  ignore  the  stumbling,  she  didn't  claim  to  be  sober  )  and  she  won't  have  to  look  too  long.  "  i  don't  even  have  attitude,  you're  just  so  grumpy  all  the  time.  thought  you'd  be  a  happy  drunk,  you  know.  "  confidence  is  restored  and  her  tone  evens  out,  gains  the  little  lilt  typical  of  her.  mabel's  even  brave  enough  to  grin  at  him  from  the  mirror,  "  awww,  you're  being  so  sweet.  f'i  knew  you'd  be  like  this  i  would've  asked  you  for  a  shot  earlier.  "  mabel  contemplates  kicking  him  out,  feels  the  nerves  in  waves  ;  naji's  aura  was  quite  blue  (  or  maybe  purple  ?  )  right  now,  she  wonders  if  he  notices.  "  mm  —  actually,  i'm  fine  !  are  you  okay,  though  ?  you  look  so  ...  mopey.  like  eeyore.  "  ouch.

naji hates that pout. it makes his stomach flip and his chest go tight , that irrational fear of disappointing her always fluttering in his chest like he's holding in an atrium of butterflies. he swears mabel knows that , too , and that's the worst part. he's got half a mind to smile at the way she's standing now — hands planted on her hips , face all scrunched up , small frame still somehow demanding attention in the tiny hallway — but instead he just rolls his eyes again. it gives him a second to glance away , a low, frustrated sound escaping him. " maybe a little. " his gaze dances back to her again , vision a little less hazy with her standing in front of him. " not drunk enough to put up with your attitude , though. " and — " can’t help the face, i guess. " frustration laces the words , and he's not sure why he cares about her opinion as much as he does. naji decides to blame it on the alcohol. " just . . . you're fine. do your thing. " he finally steps aside his hands twisting together in nervous habit. even inebriated he's no good at being careless ( at least , not when it comes to the others ) and so he lingers in the hallway outside the door. " i'll make sure nobody tries to rush you. "

the  pout  is  instant  the  second  naji  opens  the  door.  mabel  takes  a  pause,  splays  her  hands  at  her  sides  and  turns  to  look  at  the  partygoers  around  her  (  who  do  not  care  one  bit,  mind  you  ),  because  surely  naji  isn't  talking  to  her  right  now.  "  oh  my  god  ?  why  are  we  so  touchy  right  now  ?  "  her  features  scrunch  up  in  a  grimace.  "  i  had  to  pee  !  and  that  was  the  first  time  i  knocked  !  you've  been  in  there  for,  like,  ever.  " '  ever  '  meaning  like  five  minutes,  but  time  eludes  mabel  when  she's  drunk.  and  she's  her  fair  share  of  tipsy,  "  what's  wrong  with  you  ?  you  look  drunk.  and  a  little  bit  like  a  serial  killer.  "  you  can  always  count  on  mabel  for  an  uplifting  pep  talk,  clearly.

Are you alive

Don’t ask me no personal shit like this

i have feelings for you

disgust and contempt i hope

it's as if he knows to sense the laughter before the sound hits his ears , loud and strong and vivid enough to cut through the life that pulses through the loft. she's always had a way of demanding attention — even from him , even right now — and perhaps that's why they fall into this tug of war : one where she tries to move close and he tries to pull away. it shouldn't bother him , but it does ( she'd like that , wouldn't she ? ) , and he lets his eyes flutter shut as her head falls beside his. he doesn't laugh at her little explanation , just lets out a huff with no definite meaning. " feelin' generous tonight , or did the jungle juice just fuck you up that bad? " naji shifts his weight just slightly , barely a movement at all , like it’s enough to put a barrier between them — even though he knows she'll break it , same as always. he's one to talk with the way the liquor is clouding up his brain already , making him a little less resistant to her casual audacity , fingers tightening around the cigarette as she leans close. naji's pulse quickens — he hates that it does — and he freezes up , like the creature carved out of stone like everyone else makes him out to be. the weight of the tin falls heavy in his pocket , his voice suddenly drying his throat . it drops low , a harsh murmur for just the two of them , barely loud enough to hear over the music. " guess i'm your second charity case of the night. " without waiting for a response, his fingers slip further into his pocket, feeling the cool, familiar shape of the tin. it doesn't rattle the same way it should , and his curiosity finally lets his gaze slide over to find the outline of her face beside him. " do i open it now , or when i get home? "

avoid  her  gaze,  and  she’ll  only  want  it  more.  a  masochist,  no  doubt.  words  sting,  sure,  but  they’re  far  more  amusing  when  delivered  by  someone  who  usually  seems  so  silent  and  stoic.  it’s  as  if  she  has  the  wicked  ability  to  reach  into  his  insides,  twisting  his  nerves  whenever  she  wants  …  and,  staring  at  the  side  of  his  face,  she  wants  now.  shoes,  right.  she  forces  her  eyes  away  from  him,  if  only  briefly,  glancing  down  at  her  feet  before  bursting  into  belly - aching  laughter  —  a  big,  thunderous  sound  that  could  surely  be  heard  over  the  pounding  music.  “  i  told  this  girl  that  my  heels  were  so  fuckin’  uncomfortable,  ”  juno  leans  against  the  same  wall  as  him,  slowly  encroaching  on  his  territory,  “  and  she  said  that,  if  i  wasn’t  gonna  use  them,  i  should  give  them  to  her  instead.  funny.  ”  there’s  a  brief  pause  as  her  amusement  dies  down,  only  a  few  weak chuckles  left  as  evidence  of  its  existence.  head  rolls  back, joining the pair in their rest with a bang.  “  well,  now  that  you’ve  had  your  fun  stabbing  me  a  little,  ”  she  nudges  naji’s  leg  with  one  of  the  victims  of  the  earlier  robbery,  hand  sticking  inside  her  enormous  coat  to  retrieve  her  debt’s  payment  —  feeling  like  she’s  holding  her  heart  between  shaky  fingers.  she  infiltrates  one  of  his  pockets  and  buries  it  in there. deep.  a  secret.  unable  —  or  unwilling  —  to  witness  his  reaction,   for  whatever  reason.  “  got  you  something.  use  ‘em  wisely.  ” 

you fucked up

idk what you’re referring to but probably

which ben wyatt are you today?

anyone else feeling like what the fuck

opening the door had seemed to welcome in the scent of alcohol , and it's heavy enough to make naji's stomach churn. he's already regretting his last drink — and the cigarette that went with it — and now he’s greeted with a familiar face , as well as the sight of blood staining the white of leo’s t - shirt. for a moment, he just stands there , blinking , as if his intrusion is some kind of joke the universe decided to play on him tonight. the other man seems quite drawn to those anyway ( jokes , he means ) and naji's half tempted to roll his eyes at him as he takes in the scene. but he's always been the protective type , and warmth wins out before annoyance can as he ushers leo in through the door . naji kicks it closed again behind them , only after offering the long line outside nothing but a brusque " wait a little longer. " " god , martinez , what are you smiling for ? and what the hell did you do to yourself ? " the fluorescent light flickers again as he dips down to rummage under the sink. it takes him a minute to find and grab the half - busted first - aid kit from under the sink , brown eyes flickering up to look at leo as he straightens himself to his full height again. he wrote off leo as the type to pull stunts like this long ago — it grates on him , but as he pulls out gauze and disinfectant , his usual exasperation sounds like something closer to concern. he tilts his head, gesturing for leo to take a seat somewhere. " whatever. sit still. gotta clean that shit up. "

this was inevitable. he'd been baited into doing a poor man's interpretation of missy elliot's 1,2 step when he'd tripped on his untied shoelaces and went arm-first into one of those ugly, glass coffee tables. it definitely could've been worse. if he hadn't caught himself, he could have cut his face, which as his mother always said, was his moneymaker. instead, he had a thin, but fairly deep, cut on his left forearm. he hadn't even noticed the blood at first. it wasn't until one of the others, white-faced and voice tinged with worry, pointed it out that he felt the warm trail of it down his arm. "shit," he'd said, ruining one of his favorite t-shirts to try and staunch the bleeding and immediately hustled down the hallway to the bathroom.

he cut the line with a few apologies and when he got any complaints, leo simply held up his cradled arm, white t-shirt darkening with each passing second. at least it didn't hurt. he was drunk enough for that, apparently. when he reached the bathroom door, he knocked quickly in rhythm and waited a thirty count before trying again.

when the door does open, leo blinks in surprise at a familiar face and wordlessly holds up his injured arm with a toothy smile. he figures it's a good enough reason to pound on the bathroom door.

naji's body relaxes almost imperceptibly as the familiar voice hits his ears , the sight of major's face clear in his hazy vision after he gets in a few hard blinks. the initial burn of irritation that has him clenching his jaw fades away , replaced with a feeling that's caught halfway between relief and embarrassment. the hand brushing at his temple slips down to rub his jaw , and he rolls his eyes — even in his drunken state he knows it's an affectionate action more than an irritated one — stepping further out into the hallway to join major where he's standing. " man , you scared the shit outta me , " he groans , even though they both likely know ' scared ' isn't the most appropriate word. naji has always been the type to come out fists swinging , and had it been an annoying stranger instead of the bassist , the conversation would've ended in a verbal or physical scuffle. tentatively , and after a minute of trying to make out the label , naji reaches out to take the gatorade from him. it's a sight for sore eyes , practically glistening under the party lights. " thanks , though — couldn’t pay me to touch that jungle juice. four loko was bad enough , maj. "

he shrugs as he twists the cap of the bottle off , hoping the words come off as nonchalant , but there’s an exhaustion somewhere in his voice. " was tryna hide out in the bathroom — " okay , he's chatty now , maybe that'll be a reminder to have fewer drinks next time. " — but clearly that isn't gonna work. know any good hiding places ? "

Sometimes throwing parties felt like being part of the babysitter’s club, or some shit – not that Major had ever babysat in his fuckin’ life! Nobody had ever been desperate enough to hand him a whole ass kid. He didn’t have enough family to make the whole, ‘little cousins running around the trailer park,’ thing a stereotype that applied. Major figured, though, that after seeing some of his bandmates lick down a drink or two, he might be able to put it on a resume. Major feats in daycare – who’d have  thought? 

“Yoooo, what’s all that noise?” His tone is false exasperation as soon as it leaves his lips – lightweight. Fun, and funny, and all that good shit: least he hoped that’s how it was all coming off. Major didn’t wanna overthink it, though; didn’t really wanna think on it at all! So he handed over the bottle of Gatorade he had in his baseball glove of a hand – the only unspiked shit he could fuckin’ find in the fray of the party. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, huh? I’m just out here lookin’ out for you, and shit, baby boy.” 

"You get into that Jungle Juice? Cuz, for the record - this is why I tell everyone to bring their own shit. Ain't no party like a rat loft party, because these guys don't give a fuck."

friends + emotional scenes  → 2/?

“ur so quiet” thanks i do not want to talk to you

i came. i saw. i left early

THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY 2.06 "Love Fest"

EMILIO SAKRAYA 2024, ph. Max Cremer

WHO ? naji & open. WHERE ? right in front of the (insanely long) bathroom line. WHAT ? event 01 — house party.

he's leaning heavy against the sink , fingers gripping the cool edge as naji finds himself in the mirror . one of the lights above it is flickering — bulb's gone out ? — and it's terribly eerie how his face is cast in a sickly yellow glow that is doing nothing to flatter him. not that he's doing himself any favors , anyway : he's half - convinced that the cherry four loko from earlier wasn't as good for him as the others had insisted it'd be. yeah , he's looking at his reflection again , fingers brushing against his temple as he wonders how long it'll take to shake himself back into sobriety. naji closes his eyes , breathes in , out , in again , out again , and — bang , bang , bang ! fuck. his jaw tenses as he listens, eyes narrowing, hoping they’ll give up. no such luck , because barely thirty seconds follow those aggressive knocks before another set makes the door shake. he can hear someone complaining on the other side , and even drunk , naji finds the irritation to roll his eyes. lord , are there no other bathrooms in major's home ? he's not thinking when he flings the door open , drunk words spilling out before he can rein them in. " the fuck is your problem ? you can’t wait one damn minute ? "

My God, are we gonna be like our parents?

“Oh, you’re breaking my heart.”

The Breakfast Club (1985) dir. John Hughes

"why is my mental health so bad" -> oh yeah I haven't gazed fondly at a large body of water in a month

you know what? Fuck you. *turns your strong and stoic and serious character into a crying, traumatized, whimpering, curled up mess in the floor*

are you always this inquisitive with new clients?

just the criminals […] that’s a joke.

henry being just a 🤏 tiny little guy

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU (1999) dir. Gil Junger

 They’re so friendly. Don’t you think daisies are the friendliest flower? I do. 

You’ve Got Mail (1998) dir. Nora Ephron