+ — night call

AMORY "AMES" ROCHE TRAUMA SURGEON AT ROSEFIELD GENERAL -- I was born with a knife in one hand and a wound in the other. ISLA MINA DRUG DEALER -- I heard you were trouble. And you heard I was trouble.

[antihercics]

alessandra-sanders·:

Alessandra giggled a bit as she started heading towards her station, “So how have you been?” she asked. She had seen him here and there in the hospital, but never long enough for an entire conversation, usually it was a quick wave or hello. Finally finding her booth she started the machine and waited for it to heat up, “Are you okay?” she asked looking at his eyes, she felt he was somewhere else, she didn’t expect him to be excited or totally focused on her, but he seemed off, a way she’d never seen him before.

There’s a hurt inside of him. A pulsating creature once buried deep. Working its way out. It had a nasty habit of escaping its cage. It only takes him a moment to regain his composure. So practiced and poised. But a moment seems too long. He straightens an already straightened tie. Something about idle hands. “I am, thank you,” he says. “I just remembered I didn’t catch the names of the friends Margaux would be with.” He’s softer now. Shoulders relax like the weight of a burning childhood is only a bad nightmare. “There’s no real easy way to say this,” he feigns concern, but there’s a playful lilt with each syllable, “Would you think lesser of me if I told you I don’t like cotton candy?”

[aphrobites]

girls will see a chance to commit arson and be like “sorry, i have to take this”

[henricavyll]

A Single Man (2009) dir. Tom Ford 

[antihercics]

alessandra-sanders·:

Closed starter // Ames // Fair

@antihercics·

Alessandra had a busy day at work, patient after patient, it was almost like people were coming In just to come in. She finally had her day ending. She quickly ran home to change and get ready for the fair. Walking around trying to find her booth she suddenly bumped into Ames. She hadn’t seen him in a while, and that was probably her doing. “Hey…” she started giving him a soft smile. She wasn’t sure how he was going to react to her. “I’m actually going to the cotton candy booth if you want some sugar” she joked.

Like an anchor, he sinks. Sinks into his name. Sinks into his bloodline. To old habits and new. And nothing he touches is ever clean. The blood of a Roche cannot be tamed by morals, despite best efforts. He knows this even when he forgets it. He feels it in his lungs when he enters the fairgrounds, when he looks at his sister, or when he catches a glimpse of himself on the mirrors of the carousel. His bones rattle. Exhausted. Exhausted from running from his legacy, his bloodline. And when his sister leaves him in favor of friends, he finds himself transported into his childhood of shattered glass. The fair has never looked so sinister. “Hey,” he begins, he’s caught off-guard. Alessandra read like something from a parallel universe where things weren’t so bad. “Lead the way,” he manages a laugh. And while there’s a stillness that hangs in the air between them that could be contributed to the other night, he was lost somewhere in a memory that was there long before her.

[misstanwyck]

[annetdonahue]

The importance of consent: a narrative.

[antihercics]

faith-campbell·:

“Oh man- you have far too much energy, but I guess it’s perfect here,” Faith chuckled. She had made her way down to the booth hoping to get some change, people kept giving her twenties and she was running out fives and coins to give. “Just need some change if that’s alright?”

“it’s not a surplus of energy,” she says, deflated. she is a wilted flower, set too long out in the sun. isla unhooks herself from the girl and opens the cash box. searching through its metal intestines for gold. “it’s the inevitable insanity setting in.” then clank. the box is closed and she comes bearing gifts. her hand extends, waiting to drop the change into faith’s palm. “i’d kill for some excitement.” admittedly, she could have chosen better words, if she hadn’t believed every ounce of them. night, she knew, was when the fun would truly begin.

[antihercics]

location: water shooter booth, the fair open

“step right up, step right up.” her words are a robotic rendition of the original. the afternoon thus far had lacked the ability to hold a moment of her interest. so she’s draped across the booth like a cat bathing in sunlight when she sees a familiar figure approach. a lightness suddenly takes hold of her voice as she hops from her perch, “step right up.” she moves over to them and slips into the crook of their arm like she’s trying on her favorite coat, leading them back to her castle for the day, “are you here to try your luck or are you here for the extracurriculars? maybe both?”

[christophs]

[allnightdiscoparty]

[soundsofmyuniverse]

How to Steal a Million, 1966.

[proinsiascassidys]

[raymukada]

proinsiascassidys:

Can I get a cup for water?

[antihercics]

gviltysovls·:

location. espresso express coffee shop. time. 5:17 pm. status. open to all.

       𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 as a sort of safe haven for the blonde  ;  continually drawing her back into fair lane’s orbit.  the quaint little cafe served as the one place she sought solace time and time again.  the one place she felt fully able to escape the hubbub of daily living and all the stresses attached to life.  call it a throwback to her university days. or, perhaps, paige fontane was simply a creature of habit.  either way, the law intern adored the establishment.  right now, however, she found herself somewhat grappling with claiming a hold on any semblance of peace.  what with cops constantly prowling around  ;  having called her in for more questioning earlier this morning.  if it hadn’t resulted in her being fifteen minutes late to work, she might not have felt so frustrated.  alas, she spent her break catching up on the work she’d subsequently missed.  hence her occupying a corner table, a steaming cup of coffee and a half-eaten croissant perched next to her.        𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 the glass screen of her phone  ;  hurriedly responding to an email whilst trying to grab a quick bite.  if she’d been further engrossed, she might have failed to take notice of the figure approaching.  casting a brief glimpse, hazel hues momentarily considering the person before her, an expression of indifference claimed her expression.  ❝  listen,  ❞  paige began, continuing with her one-handed typing.  ❝  i don’t have a lot of time to waste.  so i suggest you either take a seat or move along.  ❞  her tone was laced with mild irritation, words evident with subtle annoyance.

Intimacy. There’s a different set of conditions to achieve it than those he was bred from. He hated to be deterministic, but it wasn’t in his family’s wheelhouse. His father couldn’t stay on the subject. His mother was well-versed in guilt trips and heated slurs. And in spite of this, he had to believe that love was once there. The kind that’d put them into a choke hold until one of them inevitably tapped out, sure. But intimacy? Hah. Maybe that’s why it’s easy for him to fall out of orbit of past romances. Nice and tidy.

“Forgive me,” he begins, without taking a seat, “I forgot this was hallowed ground.” The saying must be true. Old habits die hard. And like a septia-toned memory, he sees Paige like the good ole’ days. Studying with such an unyielding focus it could silence the entire world around her. But this version, this one had the years of experience and loss on her shoulders. "Cops again?” 

[antihercics]

leochoii·:

Leo stood with his forearms resting against the cool metal of Idris’ balcony, soaking in the sun on his rare day off from the shop. Since moving to Rosefield, Idris had become one of his closest friends, and most welcoming neighbours. Whenever Leo needed to get away or just chill he was at the top of his list - not only because he supplied the best weed in Rosefield, but because he was easy to just hang out with. It was because of this that Leo was at his apartment that afternoon. With a joint, expertly rolled by Idris, between his fingers, he brought it up to his lips and too a long drag. He held his breath for a second as the smoke filled his lungs, and blew it out, in the opposite direction of his friend. “Does it make me sound like a dick if I say I’m ready for this whole .. murder thing to blow over?” He asked, his eyes on the street below them.

@antihercics·

Idris grew up in the dark looking for a staircase he never really knew existed. Was a child parent to his parent. Grew up too fast for his own and anybody else’s own good. But he was still here and that in itself seemed like a good enough accomplishment. Leo moved in shortly after his father’s mental collapse into the abyss. And when he met the kindred spirit next door, he thought he felt the first step of that staircase. “Nah,” he says as he breaks a swisher open, spilling its guts onto the plate, “the world is messed up enough as it is. Not a single person can blame you for wanting to keep your sanity from going down with it.” There’s a sudden shame that creeps up his spine. A heat. He feels a confession stuck in his throat, but he chokes it until it surrenders. I didn’t see Nate that night. Didn’t get into it with him. That wasn’t me. Repeats it like a prayer. He keeps himself busy. Grind. Spill. Lick. Roll. A factory line of one. “But I'd probably chill off saying that in public spaces,” he manages a laugh.

[euphoriacentral]

y’all just looking for an angle in

[antihercics]

casshxffman·:

           ‘ look dude, for the last time, if i could sell you a chocolate milkshake i would, but this is a coffee shop. you know, for COFFEE. ’         normally she was nicer to the clients, but after an eight hours shift cassandra was tired and in need of a joint. and that added to the constant chattering about the dead kid. god, she was feeling a little sad, but mostly she was annoying at the never dropped topic. nate was an asshole, and she didnt understand why people were mourning them so hard.

           still, this particular client didn’t seem to bad, one could say they were even cute, so after a small sigh, cassandra gave them a smile and handed them a free cookie.         ‘ — but if you want one so badly i could show you where to buy one. my shift ends in ten. ’

The night Nate disappeared comes back to him slow then all at once. He could see in the way he was looking at him. Different. Other. Almost, but not quite how he looked at prey - lesser. He knew what Nate wanted. Don’t do it. The one thing he couldn’t give him. I could. It would be easy. But he’d be wrong. Nate was on the precipice of life and death. The smell of desperation poisoned his sweat. How long had he gone without a fix?

Idris knew ‘wanting’ and ‘needing’ were two very different animals. He had fed one of them for far too long. Coddled it. Until the tether between was like an umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. And like a terrible lie or injustice, he helped Nate do the same. Wrapped it around his neck himself, like a noose. But he couldn’t let him do it. Wouldn’t. And he remembers Nate’s fist meeting his left cheekbone like jolt waking you up from a nightmare. He presses on the blue and black remnant of that night until the pain goes numb. Then his own fist. The memory of a retaliation stains his knuckles. So he pulls his sleeves down as he steps up to the counter. And, like the sleepwalker he’s become, his memory betrays him and he lands in the coffee shop. “Right.” He shifts. Like his bones don’t fit in his skin. “Appreciate it, but you don’t gotta’ do that.” There’s no bite in his voice. No bitterness. Just the nonchalance of someone who had grown used to zero expectations. Zero handouts. “It’s all the same shit anyway, isn’t it?” He thumbs through a tattered wallet to retrieve his money, “I’ll just take a black coffee then. Please.”

[antihercics]

peytonains·:

The man’s presence was unsettling. He seemed so vacant, so stoic. It was chilling to be in presence with those icy eyes staring at her. But Peyton wasn’t one to be afraid of back down. “Well, yeah. You’d know a lot about how I look considering you’ve been staring at me, perv.” Not one of her best rebuttals, she had to admit but she couldn’t gage the man’s temperature so it was hard to indicate what was the right or wrong thing to say. “Well, are you just going to let me walk there alone? There’s a killer on her loose.” Though annoyance was prevalent in her tone, Peyton was in a vulnerable position and she hated that she was depending on a stranger for help. “Besides, I don’t know where the cooling goes. I barely know where the gas goes. You’re going to have to help me.” Her misuse of the word definitely proved how little she knew about cars, maybe he’d have pity on her.

Amory was taught from a young age that no response was a response. And as the onslaught of perverted insults were flung on him, they slipped off him like oil and water. You could tell a lot by a person by the stones they threw and while it was true, he was looking in her direction, it seemed she failed to consider the plume of smoke that accompanied her - a cut from a horror movie. “How do you know I’m not the killer,” he asked plainly while checking his work pager - a relic to most, a lifeline to him - but there was nothing to tear him away. So he relaxes his shoulders in a sign of surrender. “Alright then,” he begins, taking quick notice of her choice of footwear, “You gonna’ be okay in those?”

[euphoriacentral]