tlkshowhost

[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

[tlkshowhost]

i think people who are obsessed with the grotesque are in love with life more than people who don't like to look at it and people who hate obscenity

[tlkshowhost]

[tlkshowhost]

Robert Mapplethorpe for Helmut Lang (1997)

[tlkshowhost]

Girls will say "I just need to lie down for a little while" and then sink into a muddy river and get all their hard.tissues replaced with mineral deposits

[tlkshowhost]

i lit his cigarette so i think that means he's my girlfriend now

[tlkshowhost]

It's been raining all day. I'm not old yet but I'm not young either- stranded in a limbo of young adult. All my friends are cities away, and I'm wondering who I am. My friends are photos and texts. My friends are video calls on Friday nights, most anyways. My friends are one call away but my bones remember the miles between us, hundreds- even thousands. I'm not old yet, but my shoulders bear the weight of countless goodbyes. I'm not young either. I can place a call but I stare at the rain. I can send a text but I write a stupid poem.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The Flesh I Burned

[tlkshowhost]

Instructions for Killing the Jackal, Erica Wright

[tlkshowhost]

anne carson