violent desires

archer ivor - paramedic

[archer-ivor]

arisu-ito·:

“You enjoy it, i assume? One doesn’t usually say time flew by on a job,” she reasoned. “Oh,” Ari shrugged and put her box of cigarettes back into her pockets. She lifted the bud and smoked before turning away so that the smoke doesn’t affect her companion. “Still trying to quit?” she asked, “sorry, though,” Ari immediately felt guilty for smoking in front of him. “I love it,” she nodded, “i mean, if you have a conviction with what you do, it’s hard not to love it.”

“Oh, yeah. I love my job. It just gets... draining, sometimes.” Archer nodded, giving a small chuckle. “Yes. Trying to lower my chances of getting lung cancer. But, who knows? Even just breathing regular air is linked to it. By, all means, don’t apologize. Now’s hardly the time for me to lecture people on their smoking habits.” The man shrugged. “I suppose that’s correct. Never got too deep in the PD side of things, myself. What do you say? Wanna single-handedly bring order back to the city with me?” he joked.

[archer-ivor]

scott-finley·:

“Kinky,” she joked, her sense of humor returning to her slowly, now that she was starting to feel somewhat comfortable in his apartment. Finley continued chopping up the chilies, her knife work inconsistent and sloppy at best. “You know what? You’re the expert, here. You should be the one making this.” She wasn’t going to flat-out deny that she didn’t know what she was doing… but she didn’t want to mess up what they were making, either. But once she’d turned to face him, he was gone, off by the fireplace, staring at a picture there. When he returned, she decided to say something. “Must be, if you don’t have any family in town. Especially now.” She glanced down at the cutting board, then over to one of the pictures, before facing Archer again. “So… are you some kind of pathological liar? Or did you decide you just can’t trust me?”

Archer wasn’t surprised that Finley was confronting him about the photos. He tried to keep his attention focused on the food on the stove top as he answered her, deliberately ignoring her full gaze as she turned to face him. He supposed there was no work around to it anymore. He was gonna have to either give her a little bit more to work with or likely lose her trust. And, although they’d just met, he would prefer a life in this new purgatory that wasn’t so alone. The radio silence was starting to drive him mad. “What did I lie about? My family? I don’t have a family, anymore. I’m divorced." He paused, drawing a long sigh in debate before he just came out with it. "My daughter is dead. I wasn't lying.”

[archer-ivor]

✗: something my muse hates or gets angry about and. ☆: what my muse would be famous for if they were famous

“You know what really pisses me off? When people don’t respect boundaries. Nothing gets me hot-headed quicker than disrespect.”

“Famous, huh? Probably for... I don’t know. My cooking skills. I’m no Gordon Ramsay, obviously. But it’s the only thing I’m even slightly talented at.”

[archer-ivor]

tmperedsouls·:

evie simply nodded . she knew for some people , they were planning to visit somewhere , but when the other said he was planning on actually picking up & moving that day , she could understand the frustration , because she felt it too . “ same , ” she shrugged . “ i was born & raised here & while i like the small town life , it was kinda an exciting idea to be able to move to a big city . kinda start over in a sense . ” a pause . “ i don’t know . i’ve been trying to find any type of answers , but — nothing’s making sense . why us ? ” why did all those random buses just all happen to turn around that day ? it wasn’t just that one bus , it was quite a few . nothing made sense .

“ archer . i’m evie . ” she introduced , reaching to shake his hand . it was a bit surprising that she was still coming across people she didn’t know , but she supposed that was inevitable . “ at least there’s someone with actual medical training here . at least that offers some form of comfort . ” for obvious reasons .

The man nodded in acknowledgement as he shook her hand firmly. “Nice to meet you,” he began. “Seems almost too weird to be coincidental, doesn’t it? Wonder if someone planned this out or something. It’s just such an odd thing.” Archer chuckled at her silver lining. “Yeah, unfortunately for me, I guess. Good for everyone else though. I’ve been thinking about trying to man a makeshift clinic. I know the keypad code to get into the clinic down in the center of town. Could sit down there for a few hours every day, and wait for people to come down if they need something. “

[archer-ivor]

arisu-ito·:

Her mouth opened when she heard ten years. “Wow, that’s pretty remarkable, congratulations.” Ari felt the need to give credit when it is due. “Me? Oh, not too long actually. I graduated two years ago and joined the force say…” she scrunched her nose trying to remember, “probably a year back, I just got transferred here a couple of months ago.” a slight smile crept on her face. She brought a cigarette to her mouth, cupping her hands to light it. She handed out her box, offering the other one out of courtesy.

Archer chuckled at her reaction. He’d never really thought highly of his tenure in EMS. It was just something he’d started doing and never stopped. “Ha. Thanks, I guess. The time just really flew by. Doesn’t even feel like it’s been that long.” He shook his head at her offer. “No, thanks. Trying to quit. Old habits die hard though, I guess. How do you like it? You’re a detective, right?”

[archer-ivor]

scott-finley·:

She was expecting him to give her a hard time about her requests. But when he obliged, it caught her off guard. She really felt like she didn’t have a firm read on Archer… and that was fair enough, considering they’d only met that afternoon. She moved to set aside a few of the peppers as he spoke. “Of course I know how to,” Finley asserted. A lie. But she wanted to seem capable – to prove Archer wrong, to show him that she wasn’t just some prissy woman who wasn’t able to do anything on her own.  But she let him guide her, eventually his hand over hers. She couldn’t help but smirk. “You like telling people what to do? Or do you not trust me with this thing?” Finley turned towards him before returning to the food, doing what he’d shown her. “There was this great Thai place before all of this happened. Off of Lilac and Kingsway? Have you ever been there?”

“Could be both. Who knows? Maybe I like bossing you, specifically, around,” he answered. “Yeah, I’ve been there. Used to go regularly.” He watched as she chopped, momentarily, something within him kicking into protective mode. He might not have wanted to tell her all about his past, but he sure as hell didn’t want her to hurt herself either. She seemed to be doing fine, so he turned back to the stovetop and began working on double frying tofu as he waited for her to finish the curry paste. Something about what their dynamic had suddenly shifted into felt easy. Unfamiliar, but easy. Like an echo of the nights he and Anna had, cooking together, except the experience now was hollow, because he hardly knew Finley. But then again, what better way to bond than over some food?

As the tofu was cooking, he left momentarily to get the fireplace going, and throw on some music. His playlist had last settled on a contemporary blues song, and the soft harmony drifted through the apartment. Before he turned back to the kitchen he took a moment to look at that photo of him and Vera on the mantle again, sighing softly before he abandoned it again and joined Finley. God, he was starving.

He leaned on the side of the island, plucking chopped bell peppers from the pile. “Thanks for staying,” he started, deciding to let his gaurd down if even just a tiny bit. “Gets lonely, sometimes.”

[archer-ivor]

arisu-ito·:

“Oh that’s pretty cool,” Arisu, “you folks do frequent the police station pretty often.” she agreed, “I’m Arisu, or just Ari, really depends on your mood, you can call me whatever,” She smiled at the male, “well, it’s very nice to meet you Archer, how long have you been working with EMS?”

“Oh for about ten years now. Was just a basic before I became a medic last year. How long have you been with PD?”

[archer-ivor]

scott-finley·:

She had to remind herself that he hadn’t raised all of the red flags in her mind. There was something about him that seemed safe. Something that felt trustworthy, even if he hadn’t said anything to back that up. Finley glanced around, noticing the pictures around the apartment and how bare the rest of it seemed to be. “Right. You’re a paramedic. You save people. That’s kind of the opposite. We’ve been over that,” she replied, more for herself than for him. She nodded at his question, biting down on her lip as she moved into the kitchen. She immediately opened a few drawers until she found a knife, holding it in a way that clearly showed her lack of culinary skills. “Thai’s fine. As long as you can handle actual heat. I like spice. And low carb, and no meat – I’m trying to stay healthy til all of this blows over.”

“That’s correct,” he answered mindlessly, turning the stove on to heat up the pan as he gathered all the ingredients for a red curry. “Good thing I’m vegan then. And, yes, I can handle actual heat. You can decide how many of these,” he held up the small red thai peppers before setting them down on the island in front of her, “to add to the paste. Do you know how to make the paste?” He asked, noticing which knife she’d chosen. It was one of his sharpest knives. In his lonesome he’d began teaching himself how to cook in the last few years, and in his quest to master knife skills, he’d invested in some extremely sharp knives.

“Be careful with that knife,” he advised. “Here, actually... let me show you, so you don’t hurt yourself. Use your knuckles, like this--” he demonstrated, before grabbing a pepper and placing it onto the cutting board. He grabbed an even sharper knife out of the drawer and looked to her, to make sure her attention was on him. ”Okay, now -- watch me, you have to keep doing this while you chop so you don’t hurt yourself. Watch my hand.” In a slower tempo than he normally would have cut up food, he showed her how to properly use the knife, balling up his knuckle against its backside as he chopped up the pepper, then tossed it into the pestle. “You go ahead and give it a go... like I taught you,” he requested, setting the used knife down now, so not to worry her. Cautiously, he took her hand to show her exactly how to go through the steps, guiding her with his own slowly. “Okay... try on your own.”

[archer-ivor]

scott-finley·:

Leaving the door open wasn’t going to offer much protection… but it was something. She’d taken self-defense classes before – she was smart enough to do that, at least. But it had been months, if not at least a year since the last one, and she couldn’t be certain she remembered much of it at all. “That’s what all the serial killers say,” she pushed back, keeping her tone light. “I’ve seen the movies. A man with a troubled past lures in a pretty girl with hints of his mysterious backstory… and weeks later, she’s found floating in a river somewhere.” She took a tentative step inside his apartment, if only to take a better look at how he’d set it up. “Good thing we’re not in a movie.”

Archer finished up opening the last window and then made his way back into the kitchen. His apartment was rather lackluster. Nothing glamorous. It was an updated unit so at least the countertops were granite and the floors were stained hardwood, but otherwise his decoration skills were lacking. He had a single painting hung above his couch of an old time-y world map, and the rest was just pictures of the family he no longer had, clustered atop the mantle. “I’m not a serial killer, Finley.”  He tried to reassure, pulling pots and pans from cabinets. “Do you like thai food? I’ll even let you handle the chopping if it makes you more comfortable for me to not hold a knife,” he joked, but he was being serious. He leaned on the island now, looking her way expectantly. She was afraid so he’d give her control of the situation now. He wasn’t a complete asshole.

[hunnamsource]

[archer-ivor]

scott-finley·:

He was hungry – and though she wasn’t necessarily hungry herself, she was tempted to take Archer up on the offer. He was inviting her in, quite literally, and it almost felt rude to decline or to push him away again. But she couldn’t ignore the red flags that popped up – the fact that he was aloof, that she barely knew him, and that he was inviting her into his home. She could only imagine what Tristan would say if he was there… and surely he wouldn’t have approved. She followed him up the steps, stopping right outside his door. “How do I know you’re not going to tie me up and kill me or something?” she called back, half-teasing. “Joking, of course…”

Finley’s question actually took the man aback. He wasn’t thinking. For a woman, all by herself, being invited into a man’s home who she didn’t know and could easily overpower her, his offer must have held a real threat that he hadn’t thought about. “Oh -- sorry.” His first apology of the night, one that was probably long overdue. “Leave the door open if it makes you feel more comfortable.” He paused, finding her eyes now, from across the room though she stood in the doorway. “I would never hurt you, Finley.” He was dead serious. Even if she had been joking, he wanted her to understand that he wasn’t a threat to her. “If you want to leave, you can. I won’t stop you.”

[archer-ivor]

scott-finley‌:

If Finley was anything, it was full of pride, unable to give in to a man simply because he asked her to. He’d been pretty spot on in his analysis of her, in figuring out that she came from money, that she thrived off of attention, that she found him intriguing for his eyes, his beard… and the way he distanced himself, too. But instead of answering, she looked past him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer. “Why? You didn’t want anything to do with me ten minutes ago. What changed?”

“What changed?” he paused, stopping as they neared the steps that ascended up to his building. “I realized I was hungry,” he answered, then began walking up. Once he unlocked the door and walked inside, he left it ajar for her to follow after him if he wanted. But as he walked in and threw his keys down on the island in the kitchen, he realized that he hadn’t thought this through. He still had pictures of him and Vera everywhere, some with his ex-wife Anna in them as well. And the one sitting above the fireplace on the mantle, right beside his daughter’s urn, was the last one of them taken together. Him smiling through the pain in his chest, knowing that his little girl was dwindling into nothing, as he held her weakened body in that hospital bed. She had all types of tubes and wires attached to her, but she’d slumbered, bald and adorned in hospital gown, peacefully in his arms. Just an hour prior, what had prompted him to lay down in the hospital bed with her, she’d been huffing out weak sobs. She was in pain, even through all of the narcotics. She was in unimaginable pain. And when Archer had held her, she’d cried into his chest, whispering that she loved him, until she fell asleep. Anna had snapped the picture. A few hours later she flatlined.

Archer tried to expel the memory from his head, willing himself to return to the refreshed state the fresh air had brought to him. In an attempt to regain his composure he walked around the perimeter of the kitchen and living room, pushing open all the windows to let the cool air in. “Make yourself comfortable,” he called out behind him, gruffly, not actually knowing if she was in the house.

[archer-ivor]

scott-finley·:

When he turned the question back to her, Finley had to stop for a moment to get her thoughts together. She had plenty of thoughts about the man during their brief interaction – but now that he’d asked her to share them, she had a hard time thinking of anything specific. After a moment of quiet, she decided to share what little she’d been able to get together. “You don’t like talking about yourself – even answering little questions bother you. You think it makes you attractive. Mysterious. Even if it actually makes you an ass. Something… or someone hurt you, and that’s why you can’t take five seconds out of your day to engage in a little friendly conversation. You judge people who can have a good time just because you forgot how. Happy?”

Archer raised his brows, impressed. Not many people could surmise much more than that he was an asshole out of his stoicism. “Yeah, that’s pretty close,” he allowed, cerulean eyes glancing over at her to study her face.His tongue traveled his inner cheek as he debated. She seemed... flustered, almost? “So, have my assumptions about you been correct, too? Or are you too prideful to tell me?” He paused, seeing that the few blocks they’d travelled had disappeared quicker than anticipated, and they were nearing his apartment building. “You hungry?” he asked, following very uncharacteristically with: “I’ll make us dinner.” Whether he would admit it to himself or not, he was beginning to enjoy her company, and now didn’t quite want their little interaction to end.

[archer-ivor]

scott-finley·:

“What, and you’re this great master of disguising what you feel? You’re not better than me just because you refuse to have a conversation that goes deeper than your name and how you make your money.” She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing in frustration. 

“I never said that,” he responded calmly. “What are your assumptions of me, then, if you think I’m just as easy to read as you are.” Truthfully the man was curious if she could pinpoint what he was hiding. Though he wasn’t going to directly let her on.

[archer-ivor]

scott-finley·:

Finley followed him, wondering where this would take them. Clearly they were going to the dumpster to take out the garbage… but she couldn’t tell if she was further bothering him or indulging him by following along. He said that she hadn’t done anything wrong… and yet… she felt like she hadn’t done anything right, either. When he finally spoke up, she stopped in her tracks. “We were having a conversation. It would be rude of me not to.” She frowned. “You make a lot of assumptions for a man who barely knows me. Sorry for trying to be kind.”

After he’d thrown the trash bag into the dumpster and Finley had apparently been offended enough to stop walking with him, he stood with her for just a moment, smirking down at her. “You’re not a difficult person to read, Finley.” Then he turned and kept walking, confident she would follow. And if she didn’t, he didn’t care either. He wasn’t going to let the woman tie him down in any form. Mostly what he was thinking about was food. He hadn’t eaten at all that day, and a cup of lukewarm coffee wasn’t going to cut it with nutrition.

[archer-ivor]

scott-finley‌:

Of course he was one of those people. One of the many who thought that things needed to be put back into some semblance of an order – as if things had been working out perfectly before all of this happened. “And let me guess – it’s going to be you? You and your big, manly self are going to whip this place back into what it needs to be?” He didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who had to do everything himself. But then again… she wasn’t counting anything out. “Your words. Not mine. Though I will say that I’m proud of what I’ve put together for myself.” That was her attempt at humility, anyway. When Archer got up to take out the trash, she was caught off guard with his brashness. “No please? Thank you?” Finley asked, getting up to follow him, anyway. “What chord did I strike wrong this time?”

It was dusk out, and the air was cooled tones and painted skies. The hum of crickets calling out to each other was beginning, and the wind rushing past his face felt refreshing. He breathed it deeply in as they walked, exactly to where he wasn’t quite sure. His body was naturally steering him in the direction of his apartment. “What chord did you strike wrong?” he echo’d to give himself some stalling time, to figure out how to respond. “None,” he answered stiffly, deciding to try to shut the conversation down again rather than explain himself. “You like being bossed around, don’t you? Didn’t show you manners but here you are, walking with me anyway. You like being bossed around.”

[archer-ivor]

scott-finley‌:

He had a point. She hadn’t thought about the fact that there weren’t any operating hospitals, that the ambulances hadn’t been running due to a lack of people to drive them rather than a lack of emergencies. “It’ll be back to normal soon, I’m sure.” It had to be. She wouldn’t stop asserting that until it came true. “Someone has to put together galas, dinners, election parties… bat mitzvahs. And people are far more likely to trust someone who knows what they’re doing than their vodka-soaked aunt.” Finley shrugged. “Maybe I like my life this way. Ever think about that?”

It was clear that he wasn’t fine. He was anything but fine. But Finley didn’t know if he wanted to be pushed to answer, or if he wanted her to shut up – so she settled on something that she felt was in between. “Lying’s not good for the conscience,” she murmured, her tone half-joking. “That can’t be good for you if this is actually purgatory like people are saying…”

“Someone needs to step up and start delegating things around here. Turn this back into at least something of a society again.” Archer looked Finley’s way now, releasing a small but forced snort. “You must be something of a big wig then. Or, at least hang out with big wigs. Sure. Maybe you do... Or maybe you don’t. Don’t wanna settle down and get married?” He paused. “That was not me proposing, by the way.”

To his dismay, it seemed his poker face was unusually weak today. Something he’d probably primed himself into, with his downward mental spiral before Finley had broken the silence. The man chose to ignore her second musings. He didn’t want to let her in, and he’ wasn’t going to entertain the idea of a fairytale purgatory somehow becoming their reality. Instead, the man grunted as he suddenly stretched out his arms and legs. His legs were starting to tingle from sitting for so long.  “Go for a walk with me,” he demanded, gruffly, as he pushed back out of his seat and swooped up his empty coffee cup. After dropping it into the overflowing trash bin, he took out the bag and tied it up, making a beeline outside towards the dumpster. He was leaving with or without her. He’d get his answer when she followed after him.