tlkshowhost

[tlkshowhost]

“  something  in  me  vibrates  /  a  dusky  dreamy  smell

/ dying  moons  steeped in milk and  shadows.  ”

pinterest.

basics

full name: anthony mei thorne

age: thirty

pronouns: she/they

sexuality: queer

star sign: libra

label: the siren

occupation: bartender at red stone

theme song: in the city by terry

aesthetics:

slightly out of focus pictures taken with vintage digital cameras. the feeling of being watched but not knowing why. eye contact in a dancing crowd moving to a rhytmic bassline that feels like a challenge. lace underwear scattered around the room. sugar coated lies you feed people that fall victim of hypnotic eyes. an untamable, unquenched desire for chaos that often come sprouting out no matter how hard you try to digest it ( there’s venom rattling at the pit of your stomach ). finding proof of your realness in somebody else’s body.

backstory:

anothony's father decided to leave red creek behind at the age of eighteen, as soon as college started. he wanted more out of life than what the town could offer, and, while sharing a deep, rooted bond with his brother, jacob he didn't particularly agree with his take in life, and how he was fine being outcasted, turned into a handyman everyone hesitated before calling. he managed to build a decent life for himself in detroit.

his obsession with fine taste and the thought of always deserving a life better of the one they lived pass through his bloodline in anthony and their siblings. although, at their birth, his obsession had already become more of a revenge due to what his family was pushed to suffer. he wanted a ransom, payed by the people who caused their downfall.

anthony grew up always aiming for the brightest and furthest star, learning escamotages to get what or where she wanted. something about mastering deception and manipulation, and a had that was about to reach and hold the grip.

what their parent missed though, according to anthony and their siblings, was some backbone and the actual will to move back to red creek and take what he preached belonged to them. he never did, and eventually the siblings made the choice of taking the lead of the situation, more for their own and personal gain than a common and shared sense of redemption for their family's name.

headcanons:

always serving cunt and it's an important aspect of her character. she is kind of obsessed with appearances, but not as in everything has to be polished and perfect, more everything has to be interesting and aesthetically pleasing. the aesthetic in question could very well be bags of garbage thrown in a empty and sketchy backstreet where graffiti and glitching dim lights set the mood. they're a bit bitchy and will 100% judge you.

this links to her fine taste and her desire of living the best life she can. picture maxine from the x trilogy and the whole 'i will not accept a life i do not deserve'. they will definitely bite anyone that tries to get in the way, as they get very vicious and ruthless when things don't go her way.

has a bit of a whimsy vibe but in a scary way? wears so many bangles and trinkets you can hear them coming from a mile away. all about skirts, long and short and eccentric but perfectly curated outfit. has a bit of a earthy and welcoming vibe, but if you look into her eyes long enough, you can see the ferociousness inside of them. i do imagine them having that twilight vampire stare tm. esp that red curly haired woman in like the second movie???? kind of uneasy. as if she knows all your secrets or how to get to them. but they're so very hypnotic. like ..... you're a bit unsure of she's gonna give you the ride (literally wink wink) of your life or aim for you jugular. and it tends to trap all sexy people that are a bit out of their mind!

the siren bc use their charm to lure people in and get what she wants from them. she's def a hedonist. doesn't really think twice and doesn't really care for it. def rolls their eyes at anyone who takes life too seriously or gets all sappy on them.

will flirt with anyone. here to cause trouble!!!!!!! but like has a bit of that 'i don't feel real unless somebody witness my breathing' issue. they rlly rlly like manipulating people though, always in control even if they make it seem like you have the power.

also she's def not the best bartender ever but .... they're fun. unless you look at them weird ...... she def has fun clapping back at anyone who comments on the thrones. plus couldn't care less about the murders. she thinks it doesn't really involve them.

queer af but as an umbrella term for a way of living in general. they strive in living against societal norms.

[tlkshowhost]

Lost Highway (David Lynch, 1997)

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[tlkshowhost]

BATMAN & ROBIN — 1997, dir. Joel Schumacher

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[tlkshowhost]

before soren could even reach for his glass, he caught the flash of motion from the corner of his eye -- sebastian had already swallowed his shot, no hesitation, no mercy for the freshly poured liquor. soren’s gaze lifted from the empty glass to his companion as he spoke, his mouth slightly agape, a surprised flicker in his eyes. “ you absolute animal, ” he chuckled shaking his head and followed suit, though his face twisted in distaste. he stuck his tongue out, wiping his lips like he couldn't quite get the taste off. “ damn… i don’t know why i keep falling for these disgusting little shits. ” soren swallowed hard, trying to wash away the burn, running his tongue over his lips. shots -- such a reminder of his reckless teenage years. he was certain his digestive system had long since surrendered to the damage he’d done, taking far too many, too quickly. now, he could barely stand them, preferring the slow comfort of a sip. something about drugs had taught him that you could always take more, but never less -- and it had taken him way too long to realize that applied to alcohol too. nights were long, after all. there was no rush to reach the peak, especially since reaching it too soon would mean losing focus on the decks. and yet, there he was—already drunk, no clear direction in sight, falling into the same trap every time. a mouse to the cheese. soren turned to face sebastian, his eyes narrowing as he caught something that captured his attention. the dilated pupils, the unfocused gaze—an effect he knew too well. “ oh, come on, man, already? ” he let out a hollow laugh, surprised. he gestured between them, shaking his head. “ can’t believe you started without me. these ---- type of things ----- ” he talked between hiccups, “ are supposed to be a two-man thing, y’know? like ----- being on the same wave and stuff like that i don't know. ” he waved his hand lazily and muttered “ now i have to play catch up. ” words trailed off as his focus drifted momentarily to the counter, the lingering taste still sharp on his tongue. but then, like a switch, he snapped back to sebastian, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “ what did you take? ”

THIS SHIT FUCKING TOWN was all that sebastian knew. he'd never admit it, but part of him was terrified to leave the bubble. fact and logic. he knew everything here. he craved the predictability yet did everything he could to cause destruction in his path. still, occasionally, the what if's ran through his mind. what if he took the offer, went to some big hotshot city. would red creek have been nothing but a distant memory? soren seemed to be an example on how it could all collapse in front of you. escaped this lured town and yet, somehow, landed right back into its sinking claws. it posed some curiosity, as sebastian oh-so naturally was. he sipped on his half-empty beverage, the frozen shards sloshing in its container as he held back a stifled laugh at soren's counter.

now that he mentioned it, he did feel about ten paces behind. it was strange as typically, he'd dive headfirst into toxicity and if any night called for it, it was this. sundown didn't even have to occur before a few pills were popped, washed away with a mixture of liquor. it didn't take long for bash to down the drink that was before him, settling the empty casket on the surface in front out of reflex. ❝ thank god , ❞ he muttered with an exaggerated sigh of falsified relief. ❝ what ever would i do if i couldn't be seen as your type ? color me absolutely heartbroken , ❞ but hey, sebastian didn't need any further push to make this night nothing but a fogged blur.

[tlkshowhost]

location: silver coin laundromat time: around 12pm status: open!

a quiet day at the laundromat always felt refreshing. there was something soothing in watching people come and go, going about their small, everyday rituals. it felt almost intimate, as if the space itself had softened, becoming less a place of machines and more a comforting, familiar kitchen. gabi had been the first to make it feel that way, shared shifts turning into familiar chores. maybe, in another life, this bond wouldn’t have been found, but something they were born into.

the scent of fabric softener lingered in the air, a cloud that clung to her skin and hair, something she took pride in. she was busy scrubbing the mud off her boots when she heard a muffled curse break through the quiet. max’s head snapped up, her eyes immediately locking onto the newcomer, a smirk settling into place. “ right, yeah ------- sorry, ” she said, her voice carrying a playful edge. “ i forgot to warn you about that. ” it wasn’t so much that she’d forgotten -- it was more that, of all the machines, this one felt almost like a lucky discovery, a little and personal spark of amusement. she'd put her foot down if they ever tried to replace it. with a grin, max moved in front of the washer, giving it a quick sideways kick; easy to reach as it was the one settled on the pavement. a trick she had learnt from gabi. “ alright, " she murmured patting her hands together as the machine rumbled to life, “ 't gets a little shy sometimes. ” turning back, her eyes gleamed with delight. “ don’t worry ----- service comes with the price. it’s just a little free bonus for those lucky enough to find it. think --- easter egg. ”

[tlkshowhost]

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.

[tlkshowhost]

he had lost count of the drinks long before the night began to blur. perhaps it started with a couple of beers back at his place, the kind you sip absentmindedly, their weight barely registering. then came a few more over dinner, and after that, the redstone. but by now, it was all just one hazy continuum--the drink in his hand, amber and half-forgotten, as he leaned against the counter. loose strands of blond hair fell across his face, half-shadowing eyes that stared blankly ahead. this wasn’t an escape, not really. drinking had always felt like a kind of rhythm to him, and new york, with its restless bar-hopping rituals, had made it a habit. but here? here it was all too routine, too predictable. two choices--always two. either the warehouse, where he spent half his nights, or this -- a fleeting attempt at something different that never quite was. the monotony felt claustrophobic. he missed the city. he missed its relentless motion, the way its streets seemed to pull you forward, faster than you could think. he missed not knowing whose face might meet him on the next corner, missed the way new york refused to spiral—it only surged, endless and linear. red creek was all an endless circling around the same routes. the bitterness came uninvited, like a tide swelling at the back of his throat. he thought of the friends he had left, the life he had suspended. he didn’t even check the clubs’ Instagram pages anymore. what was the point? still, he couldn’t help but entertain the idea of change the motel didn’t have to stay a time-capsule-slash-sleazy hookup spot. it could be something alive: a themed bar, a labyrinth of rooms echoing with sound. even the farm could make canvas for a perfect rave. he nodded faintly to himself. he’d have to mention it to alara. “ fuck off, bash, ” he murmured, barely glancing up as the shape of the other man moved into his periphery. thud. the bottle settled on the counter. soren turned, his posture still languid, weight pressing into the arm braced against the sticky wood. his eyes dragged up and down Sebastian, slow and deliberate, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. maybe this night's shot at redemption. “ you don’t look nearly wrecked enough for my taste, ” he said, the words lilting, laced with something teasing and sharp. With a flick of his hand, he called to the bartender, leaning forward to murmur something low and conspiratorial. the glint in his eyes was pure mischief as he turned back, lips curving into a grin that promised trouble. “ hope you don’t mind, ” soren said, voice soft and honeyed with mock innocence. “ i took it upon myself to fix that. ”

LOCATION: REDSTONE BAR TIME: LATE NIGHT STATUS: OPEN STARTER

WORDS PAINTED ON THE HEADLINE always tended to be main goal at the register. bash; however, prided himself on an immersive story that held facts. unfortunately, the only facts seemed to be everyone knew fucking nothing. still, the entire day had escaped sebastian as vision went blurry once hues grazed upon the same words over, over, and over again . . . there was nothing to be proud of with the article and quite frankly, he planned to erase any association to the scattered theories by having one, two, five drinks. it didn't help that since the notice of another local dead, pressure only skyrocketed for the next leak. after all, you're only as good as your next story.

attention whipped to another as they somehow caught his attention enough to lower the glass from his cracked lips. it would have been difficult to hold back the smirk peering on his lips if he gave a fuck enough to try to hide it. ❝ well aren't you a fuckin' mess , ❞ he blurted out the honesty as he took in the other's appearance. ❝ what ? you can't actually be trying to hide it . if so , definitely don't part-take in poker any time soon , ❞

[tlkshowhost]

she wasn’t entirely sure why she had stepped into the chapel. what she had spent so long rejecting now seemed to pull at her, clinging to her almost desperately, as if it sensed she was slipping away. maybe it was an old reflex— an instinct, buried deep, to seek sanctuary after hearing something so unspeakable. she didn’t know the girl and the thought of praying for her forgiveness felt like a lie when she hadn't even asked for her own. with a sigh, she folded her knees to her chest, her feet resting on the edge of the pew. for a brief, charged moment, her eyes locked with the figure she was trying so hard to avoid—the one she couldn’t outrun. held it for a second too long and the weight became unbearable, making her rise quickly, the old wood creaking beneath her, and head for the door. a stupid idea. she shouldn’t have come here. a voice reached her, stopping her in her tracks. it felt like a trap—sticky and inescapable. she froze. max glanced around, half-hoping someone else might answer the call, someone better suited to this moment. there was no one else close enough, no one else who could hear, and the responsibility fell on her, whether she wanted it or not. “ i don’t think it’s fair to punish yourself for that, ” she began, her voice soft, slightly unsure but laced with something kind and unyielding. “ there are far worse things ------ i don't even remember it being mentioned in any of the scriptures, ” a weak attempt at humor. max took a step closer, then another, lowering herself onto the pew beside him. “ if anything ------- it shows you cared --- you didn’t forget her name, you asked. that means something. it shows you cared enough to want to know her, even if you didn’t before. ” a beat. “ do not ------ weigh yourself with unnecessary guilt. it's nothing you should be apologizing for. ”

🗝️ 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– ❞

[tlkshowhost]

she couldn’t quite find the words for what churned inside her. it bubbled and rattled somewhere deep, a restless storm in the pit of her stomach. the girl—she hardly knew her, just a shadow passing by, distant in every sense, perhaps because of two lives running parallel, never meant to cross. yet the unease lingered, soft as a whispered tear in the fabric of her resolve. she could’ve left—she’d always left; it was what she knew. her life fit neatly into a bag, every possession designed to be forgotten, discarded, left behind. she was practiced at shedding weight, at moving on. but there she was, still in clementine’s bed, her fingers resting, knotted, over the hollow ache in her stomach. leaving would’ve been easy. it always was. but this time, something tethered her. maybe it was the bitter stench of iron, something haunting that refused to loosen its grip on her. a twisted thought, but it loitered. or maybe it was the threads of life she’d accidentally woven here—the people, the moments, the fragile connections she’d never meant to make. red creek had sunk its teeth in, and max, for once, didn’t mind the ache. was this some divine punishment, this strange longing to stay? the question circled her sleepless mind. she shifted and turned, searching for comfort that wouldn’t come, her eyes open and defiant against the weight of exhaustion. she turned toward clementine, studying her quiet breaths, her hair spilling like milk across the pillow. gently, max tucked a stray strand behind her ear, as if the motion could summon some magic, some borrowed peace to pull her under. but peace eluded her, and sleep refused to follow, so she rose,, her gaze falling on the crumpled clothes in the corner. a promise she’d made, an excuse maybe, a task that might lull her with its rhythmic hum. gathering the bundle, she slipped out into the quiet embrace of night. the laundromat called to her feet like an old habit, the path etched into her memory by countless walks. quarters clinked, her hands moved without thought, and the machine roared to life, its steady hum filling the stillness. max sat back, her mind unraveling, surrendering to the hypnotic spin of the world behind glass. the chiming sound pulled her from her trance, her head turning instinctively. max shrugged and lips twitched into a smile as she tugged at the edges of her cuticles. “ i know you don't like parties so i thought i'd come alone, ” she murmured, her gaze warm as it met gabi’s. “ i figured i’d find you here anyway, ” the air between them felt familiar, many were the late-night encounters, where the hum of machines created a bubble of quiet against the world’s noise. “ did you come alone? ”

LOCATION : the laundromat  . open to everyone .

she  had  never  taken  bad  news  well  .  while  she  had  been  young  and  absorbed  in  her  own  troublesome  life  in  '99  ,  the  lastest  streak  of  murder  and  mayhem  in  red  creek  seemed  to  seep  into  her  every  waking  thought  .  gabi  had  never  slept  well  but  she  now  felt  that  she  didn't  sleep  at  all  .  she  wasn't  afraid  of  being  next  ,  afraid  of  death  ...  she  was  angry  ...  angry  at  the  sheriffs  department  ,  angry  at  the  town  hall  ,  angry  at  whoever  the  fuck  decided  what  they  got  to  know  and  why  .  this  was  her  town  and  she  didn't  know  how  she  was  meant  to  look  out  for  the  people  around  her  if  she  had  nothing  to  go  on  . late  night  at  the  laundromat  ,  the  whirring  of  machines  ,  bubbles  sloshing  in  circular  windows  as  gabi  finds  her  way  back  to  her  place  of  solace  ...  of  comfort  ,  her  pride  &  joy  .  she  had  kept  everyone  at  arms  length  for  so  long  that  she  didn't  consider  there  would  be  closeness  in  the  loss  but  it  was  still  felt  .  another  light  went  out  in  red  creek  and  nobody  really  gave  a  fuck  ...  they  all  just  stayed  and  kept  quiet  and  waited  to  be  murdered  in  cold  blood  by  someone  who  walked  amongst  them  ,  acting  like  a  friend  .  someone  like  her  father  .  her  fingers  slide  through  a  gloss  of  black  hair  as  she  makes  her  way  through  after  hanging  her  jacket  by  the  door  ,  "  you  didn't  come  here  alone  ,  did  you  ?  "  snapped  like  a  mother  at  the  unwilling  recipient  as  if  entering  the  laundromat  entitled  her  to  their  business  .  (  in  her  mind  it  did  ,  this  was  her  place  ,  open  all  hours  to  lonely  hearts  and  the  other  so  called  miscreants  of  this  little  town  of  theirs  )  .

[tlkshowhost]

it made him look like he was teetering on the edge of his cup, the way he slumped over the counter—as if he were on the verge of discovering a new way to let caffeine infiltrate every fiber of his being. by the third cup, he’d expected an awakening—some flicker of vitality, an answer, maybe, to the dread that loomed like a phantom over the town. not for everyone, no—his love for this place was quiet and distant, like moths circling a dead bulb, and the spark of wanting to play savior died with his seventeenth birthday—but because the weight of it threatened to fold him whole. ink spread. a slow, viscous black crawling outward, marking everything in its path. he tried to outrun it, but the morning caught up to him, dragging news like a chorus of shadows. sleep-starved, the world blurred at the edges—surreal, unreal, like a fevered dream he couldn’t quite claw his way out of. death had always lingered just out of reach, faint as breath on a cold windowpane. now it roared to life, an engine hurtling into a wall at speeds too fast for thought. he still didn’t know how to hold it, years after his first brush with its sharp edge, still wondered how anyone could hold it. what he wanted, as always, was to run—to lock it in some hidden chamber, pile distractions in front of the door, and pretend it wasn’t there. but the diner was no sanctuary, words bounced off the walls, a frenzy of muted voices, buzzing with the same tired semantic patterns. he didn’t need to hear them to know what they were talking about. yet a voice rose above the din; familiar, cutting through the veil like a sharp blade, pulling a snicker from him—low, bitter, venomous. his lips curled as he dragged a hand over his face, as if he could smear away the fatigue etched into his skin. soren turned, letting his arm dangle lazily over the edge of the counter, his gaze locking on bennett. fucking journalists, he thought. poor excuses of vampires feeding on open wounds. “ well, there’s not much of a difference, right? ” his lips twisted into a crooked smirk, one that could’ve easily morphed into a snarl. “ you’re both ------ just ------ parasites, leeching onto words that aren’t yours and twisting them however you please -- you do it to sell your articles. they do it to sell their eulogies. neither gives a shit about who gets screwed over, ” he shrugged, taking a sip from his coffee before raising it lazily in mock salute to the register, “ but hey ----- good for you. finally made something actually worth talking about after years of just ------- fucking low murmuring man. ”

LOCATION : dolly's diner. TIME OF DAY : around high noon. STATUS : open starter, accepting replies.

no  one  said  a  journalist  was  automatically  granted  omnipotence  —  oversight  was  merely  a  bump  in  the  career,  slinging  apologies  in  hopes  of  wafting  away  the  potential  for  a  p.r.  nightmare,  especially  in  a  town  with  such  insistent  and  dedicated  readers.  today  was  supposed  to  be  his  day  off,  even,  some  mental  health  day  or  whatever  that  entailed.  sick  fucking  joke  ;  god  was  taunting  them,  tongue  out  in  some  playground  display  of  defiance.  he  didn't  have  it  in  him  to  accept  the  prodding,  in  public,  no  less,  but  a  combe  can  never  remain  on  the  sidelines.  it  wasn't  in  their  nature.  “  what  ?  you  want  me  to  apologize  for  …  ?  doing  my  job  ?  i  ran  an incorrect  article  on  a  twenty  something  year  old  girl,  yes,  using  evidence  i  was  given.  ”  tone  matter  of  fact,  unwaveringly  cold.  “  perhaps  you  should  put  your  faith  in  a  priest  than  a  writer.  ”

[tlkshowhost]

inside the apartment Julian and Albert shared in New York in the early 2000s.

[tlkshowhost]

[tlkshowhost]

I am completely and utterly normal about rivers, creeks, lakes, forests, ponds, hills, mountains, and other natural landscapes (lying)

[tlkshowhost]

A Cure for Wellness - Gore Verbinski (2016)

[tlkshowhost]

A combination of both witch and ghost, perhaps.

Sylvia Plath, The Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume I: 1940–1956 ⁠—  Aurelia Schober Plath, 18th May 1956