chcrmedhearts·:

@ofcalamitics·

 sophia was finally done with her day and as always needed a cup of coffee badly. she had a long day at her jobs and just wanted her almond milk latte. as she waited in the line sophia pulled out her phone to text her sister to ask her to hang out. she missed her sister a lot. the pair did not live far from each other but they were often busy and no longer had the time together like when they were growing up. she heard the door open as she paid for the drink and moved to the waiting area and as if the fate was the blondes side it was her sister. “ hey clarke,” the girl called out to the other. “ i was just about to text and see if you wanted to hang out ? ”  she questioned.

It was rare that Clarke needed a pick-me-up in the form of caffeine. The petite blonde often joked she was fueled by nicotine and spite - nothing more. While her vape was near-by, tucked away safely in the back pocket of her shorts, Clarke needed a little extra boost after the night prior’s shenanigans. 

She’d barely made it through the door of the coffee shop before a familiar voice caught the hungover Rousseau’s attention. Lifting her sunglasses to perch atop a mess of blonde, saltwater curls, Clarke squinted at her sister. “Soph. I love you - I do. But if you have ever loved me a day in your life, whisper. I beg.” Clarke stepped up to the counter and placed her order before going to settle next to her sister. “I can definitely hang, as long as you don’t cramp my style.” Flipping her shades back onto her face, a smirk turned up the corners of Clarke’s mouth. Bumping Sophia’s shoulder with her own, Clarke let out a low sigh while they waited for their names to be called. “So, where ya been, kid? Feels like I haven’t seen you in ages?”

MADISON ISEMAN in I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER

1.04

Did CLARKE ROUSSEAU chase one of seven sins seven miles down the coast? Originally from MIAMI, FL, the 27 YEAR OLD CIS FEMALE is a RECORD SHOP EMPLOYEE AT THE LUCKY ICARUS / FRONT DESK AT ONDINE’S WRECKAGE and has lived in the Key for 7 YEARS. SHE is supposed to call POINCIANA DRIVE home, but there is always temptation lurking between the streets and the ocean that keeps HER from heading back. Sinners and saints take many forms, but they look like MADISON ISEMAN and on their way to make decisions, good and bad, they always seem to sway to the beat of DAMMIT BY BLINK-182. (baz, she/her, 28, cst, n/a).

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ofnihilism·:

closed for: @ofcalamitics· || location: in front of the lucky icarus

pack of cigarettes held upside down, slapped against the heel of his hand, vann walked through the crowd. towering above everyone else in his pleaser heels, blonde hair spiked despite the wind, the secret executive flipped open the lid and ripped off the protective foil, slipping a cigarette out and between his lips, the very gateways to flavortown. red, black, and orange all over, vann stepped aside, fishnets clinging to his thighs as his hands roamed his body, searching for a lighter.  “mmm,” he began, a throaty noise to catch someone’s attention. “hey, you got a light?”

The chaos that Duval Street had begun to descend into was electrifying. Clarke loved this shit - lived for it. It was better than any prime time drama on tv. Tourists dressed as Bonnie and Clyde were in a screaming match by the bar, Minnie Mouse was twerking on Beetlejuice on the dance floor, and a sexy cat sobbed on the floor of the bathroom. It was an amalgamation of a million piping hot messes and Clarke couldn’t get enough.

Though she’d smiled more tonight than probably the last ten years combined, even she needed a break from the shit show. Wandering out front and plucking the pack of cigarettes rolled into the waistband of her shorts, Clarke’s eyes were immediately assaulted by a mess of frosted tips and fishnets. Vann was impossible to miss, towering above everyone else as he made his way through the crowd. Clarke almost wished she could. This image of Vann was forever seared into her retinas.

Quickly lighting her own cigarette, Clarke held out her lighter and blew out a steady stream of smoke. “When do I not?” Half smirk twisted up the corner of her mouth as she fully took in the atrocity that was her boss. “Jeeeesus, Vann.” The worst - or best part - was that he actually pulled the shit off. “I gotta put in my two weeks because all I’m gonna be able to see when I look at you now is fucking sexy Guy Fieri and I think I hate you for that.”

therpbunches·:

location: Newtown Apartments — HALLOWEEKEND who: OPEN

Ah, the drunken scent of Halloween. Chase thrived off adrenaline, he lived and breathed new and fun experiences. And maybe he was a bit too cocky with life to think that he had eight lives to spare, but being raised with a silver spoon left little variation in his personality and that of those who ran among the same socialite circles. The music was loud inside the house party and only blended into that of other parties as he stepped into the back porch that overlooked the ocean. There were people everywhere and he was practically touch shoulders with everyone in the city as he moved around. Chase spotted someone who looked like they needed a bit of fun and decided to give them some. He made his way towards them, leaning in just enough to speak near their ear as he passed. “Follow me.” Chase locked eyes with them as they turned, offering them a sly smile before spinning around and expecting a follow. “Chop, chop!” He called back.

If there were ever a time for mischief and chaos, it was Halloween. Clarke thrived off it - the unbridled energy that seemed to infect people. It was intoxicating. Still, the party she seemed to find herself at was lackluster. She was nursing the nastiest jungle juice she’d ever tasted when a body suddenly appeared, barking directions. Under normal circumstances, he’d end up wearing said jungle juice. Tonight, though, Clarke was desperate for some kind of excitement. “Chop, chop me one more time.” It was an empty threat, at best, but enough venom dripped from Clarke’s words that it would give most people pause. Holding up one finger, Clarke downed the rest of her drink, quickly catching up. “Where we goin’, G-Man?” She asked, tossing a faux bunny ear over her shoulder.

「 sevenmileshq event 」 ･ halloweekend.

                                 clarke rousseau as lola bunny.                                               from space jam.

MADISON ISEMAN  @madisoniseman  via instagram !

scatteredinspirations·:

The door opened as he heard his sister’s voice shouting on the other end, laughing as it slowly revealed her face. “Hey, woah, there’s no need for you to start threatening shit. What do I owe the pleasure of you surprising me with pizza? Did I forget something?” He teased, taking the box from her hands before using his foot to hold the bottom of door open for her behind him. “What flavor did you grab?” 

“There’s always a need for me to threaten you. I’m your younger sister. It’s what I do best.” A sigh of relief passed through Clarke’s lips when Aubrey finally took the pizza from her. “Who said there was a reason? We haven’t actually had time to hang out in ages, so I figured if I just showed up with greasy carbs you couldn’t kick me out.” A roguish grin twisted Clarke’s mouth, following him into his apartment. “Just the usual. And cheesy bread.” Was she possibly also nursing a lingering hangover? Sure, but that wasn’t the point.This was strictly about some much overdue sibling bonding.

ofnihilism·:

hands tucking knuckle-deep in the front pockets of his jeans, abraham raised a dark brow, listening to her speak. wrinkling his nose, abe gave a half-hearted shrug and breathed a sigh. “nah, i couldn’t snag enough nails from the hardware store to build something with a good amount of shrapnel in it, so i figured i might as well pack it in altogether.” he gave a feigned frown, breathing a low sigh. “there’s always a next time, i guess. maybe my next car, once i sell this fuckin’ tank.” it was a quick quip back, something that rolled off his tongue. though, with the way she oogled him, she probably believed he was the next unabomber, just like people in high school believed he’d be responsible for the next columbine. a smirk regaining its position on his face, he breathed a sigh. “back passenger’s side door panel likes to fall off every now and again, and the starter’s bein’ a little bit of a pain in the ass. other than that, she’s probably fine. no bombs. nothing fun. unless, of course, you have an interest in half-chewed teething crackers and a rogue pacifier.”

Face twisting into a look of understanding disappointment, Clarke nodded as if they were discussing something as normal as the weather. Probably too quickly, Clarke fell back into an easy banter. Who said she didn’t provide excellent customer service? “Go big or go home. Something that big takes a lot more effort and just,” Clarke let out her own sigh, “sometimes it ain’t worth it.” A slow grin spread across Clarke’s face, pointer finger shaking in his general direction. “A nice midsize car is much more doable.” 

Clarke nodded, making note of the issues Abe rattled off, softly chuckling as he noted the lack of bombs. Her head slowly lifted, a surprised brow perked up at the mention of teething crackers and pacifiers. “Honestly sounds thrilling.” She quipped back. “How old?”

wldflxwers·:

“Pretty obvious. Ya know, hair all over damn place,” he jokes in a subtle playful tone, a ghost of a smirk curving up his lips. The tourists are the bane of his existence at this job, but the pay’s good enough and unfortunately, he needs the money. He likes the place, either way and would leave for any place else. “Ah, that bad. I’d recommend whiskey in that case, but hey, you get to treat yourself with the usual.” With that, he moves to start fixing her the drink, being generous with the tequila.

Blue hues quickly narrowed in the bartender’s direction and Clarke lifted a middle finger. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” Still, her own grin eventually turned up the corners of her mouth. After having to plaster on a fake smile for hours, it was nice to be able to be herself. “That comment’s coming out of your tip, by the way.” It wasn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. A groan fell from the blonde’s lips, shlumping dramatically against the bar. “Whiskey makes me mean. God knows neither you or I need to deal with me trying to fight someone three times my size tonight.” For someone who’d never learned to properly throw a punch, Clarke got into more fights than she ought to.

ofriparian·:

Luca laughed, nodding, because of the way he had reacted to his signature loud voice with the rough New York accent. He always knew some people out here in the Keys weren’t accustomed to it, but when he got into the groove of speaking, it just poured out of him, like he couldn’t help it. “Oh, yeah? Well, that makes one of us, ‘cause I don’t got a goddamn idea what is goin’ on with this thing. I tried a lot of different things, but I gotta confess - I ain’t as good with cars as I think. I’m more of a weapons kind of guy, not super into the mechanics, only because I tend to fuck it up even more. Sorry, language - I ain’t good with that either.” Luca chuckled. “Oh, it’s a 1968 camaro. You like it? It rides pretty well - I helped to restore it and all with a buddy’s father, a real good guy and we had some good times makin’ it live again. I don’t want this to be the end for Camaro Cassie over here.” He smiled. “You think ya can help?” 

Once the initial shock of the sheer volume of the man’s voice wore off, Clarke actually found him mildly charming. A fucking nuisance in his own right, but a charming one. “Weapons, huh? You do security or some shit?” The alternative was hitman, but Clarke figured if that was the case, she wouldn’t be getting a straight answer anyway. That or she’d end up on some list to mysteriously disappear one day. “We all have our strengths. Not swearing ain't one of mine either, so let it rip chief.” Lifting a brow, Clarke gave a slow nod. “I do. ‘68’s a good year. Can’t blame ya for not wanting to let her go.” Her nose scrunched at the car’s name, though. “Cassie, though? Y’all name her after someone? ‘Cause that can’t be the sexiest name you could’ve come up with.” A smirk spread across Clarke’s lips as she nodded once more. “Of course we can help. You said it was an engine issue, yeah?”

shelvedsaints·:

“Believe it or not, you’re not the first one to tell me that. Old cars are really just toys, right? Anything beyond a good civic is just for show. This one’s got sentimental value, though, so it’s worth the trouble,” He said, giving into the defeat. The car had caused him more than enough problems in the past and Briar was never any good with mechanics. He had inherited it from his father who thrived on every tick and shift under the car that could be a problem. He had always been a man who needed to have his hands busy, whether it was throwing gloved fists around or tinkering. Briar had only inherited one of those fixations, but it had only every become the bane of his existence after he was all alone. 

He sighed, the corners of his mouth still crinkling in a grin as he scribbled out his information. Blue irises flickered up to make sure he heard her right. “It’s alright, I’ve been reading lips most of my life. You’re not too shabby. Just try to move your wrist like this for—” He reached over and gently turned her hand in the motion he referred to. “There you go.” 

“Maybe? I’m terrible at names but it’s possible. The Key is like it’s own little hub. I’ve run into people I went to high school with from Miami and people I knew for a short while from LA. You go to Miami High, by any chance?”

“Hey, look! I’m not judging.” Clarke let out a gentle laugh. “I rebuilt that Bronco out front a few years ago. Can’t tell you how many people told me that hunk of shit wasn’t worth it.” Nothing drove Clarke more than people telling her she shouldn’t or couldn’t do something. There was a special kind of joy to be found in proving people wrong. “If it’s worth it to you, then everyone else can fuck off, yeah?” Including herself. There was definitely something to be said for anyone who had the balls to tell her overbearing, loudmouthed ass to kick rocks.

“Thanks. That’s a bold faced lie, but thanks.” Clarke smirked, chuckling as he adjusted her motions. “And life’s shit enough as it is, so I figure I can make it a little less shitty every now and then for someone else.” She shrugged. “Plus, good karma or whatever.”

“I did, yeah.” Clarke nodded. “Graduated in 2012. What were doin’ out in LA?” Head tilted to the side, Clarke arms crossed over her abdomen. “Was it music?” She wasn't sure why music was her first guess - a gut instinct? An old memory, maybe? Either way, Clarke couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen Briar before.

shelvedsaints·:

Avery shoved his hands into his pockets, fingers fumbling around with the pill that wrapped itself in loose threads. He wasn’t sure if the headache was just a bust to his ego, or some small tug that came from the unraveling of his last dose. He needed to be careful. His prescription was nearly over and he was no more than a week and a half into it. 

“There’s more than a chance,” Avery sighed, lifting the cut on his fingers where he had felt something break under his touch. Now, he was most certain it was the snap of something. “Something’s broken, but I can’t figure out what. I’m getting disoriented at this rate trying to look for it. It sounds like it’s coming from the right side. It better not be the belt. That’s over a thousand to replace.”

The car was customized, there was no denying it, but many of those customizations had been before Avery’s day job changed. Back then, there was no race to fix things if they broke. It was a small bump in the road and he could alter the problem with ease. Now, he was looking for the cheapest solution. All the help he got from Maddie was solving other problems. 

Pulling her hands from under the hood, Clarke wiped them on her already paint-splattered shorts, hands resting on her hips. Nose scrunching, Clarke’s mouth twisted into a grimace before she even turned to see Avery’s hands. “Well,” She blew out a long sigh, “fuck.” Avery was more than likely screwed. Royally. Clarke wasn’t usually one to sugar coat anything, but Avery looked like someone had just implanted c-4 into his frontal lobe. 

“Lucky for you, I’m a goddamn magician.” Trademark smirk flashed across Clarke’s face as she dropped to the ground , ready to lower herself under Avery’s car. “Plus, my brother owns a body shop and the guy we get our specialty parts from is very into me, so I can probably getcha a decent deal if the belt is the problem.” 

With that, Clarke’s upper body disappeared under the car, muffled swears and the sound of metal clanging against metal drifted out shortly after. Less than five minutes later, Clarke reemerged. Wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her arm, the blonde pushed herself off the ground. “Well, the good news is nothing else is broken.” Clarke sucked her teeth, one hand scratching at the back of her neck. “The bad news is, it’s the belt.” For once, Clarke genuinely felt bad. She didn’t love ruining Avery’s day - she really would have preferred a less expensive issue, but that wasn’t the case. “Sorry, bud.” Nonchalant as she was, Clarke meant it. “Like I said, I can probably get you a deal on it. We could probably even take it into the shop after hours if ya wanted to. The world is your shitty oyster.”

shelvedsaints·:

It was the one spontaneous buy Taryn had ever done, but even then, she had mulled over it for over a year before giving in. Comfort was something the Lynch family had in abundance, a small cushion over the tight line they walked over every string attached to what they had. Despite how easily she could afford a mistake made with a credit card, Taryn had lived her life making sure she was ready for a storm. There was always one brewing inside her, so what could she expect from the world around her?

“It’s fun. I try to keep it as the only impulsive thing I’ve ever done,” She said. With her appearance alone, though, it was a challenge to exactly how true it was. Black ink draped down to her wrists and peered out from her collar. Even if she gave those heavy thought, her first impression was always that she was focused on the first satisfaction she could get. It didn’t help when her sister had a reputation for going a million miles an hour, sometimes literally. “Key word try.”

Aubrey. He came to the forefront of her thoughts again, though he hadn’t really left and she had the marks to prove it. Thankfully they were placed with more consideration than her tattoos. She rarely did any of this, and getting caught was something new all together. “Ah, Taryn. Do you… usually start this early?” She asked. How many times had she been caught, exactly?

“The only? Impulsive thing.” The concept was lost on Clarke altogether. So much of her childhood was spent taking on responsibility that wasn’t hers to bear that, by the time her sister no longer needed her to watch after her, Clarke wasn’t sure she’d ever truly stop making up for all that lost time. A laugh escaped the blonde, head nodding slowly. “Now that I can relate to.” Holding out her own tattoo covered arms, Clarke lifted a shoulder. “Can’t say I’ve ever been great at reigning in my more impulsive nature.” 

The only time she ever managed to get her shit together lately was for her family. The one constant that kept Clarke grounded. Most of the time they were what kept her from acting on her more destructive impulses. Most of the time.

Clarke’s smirk widened, shaking her head. “Not usually, no. So, you should be safe from another awkward run in for a while.” Another laugh. “I usually only come in this early to work on my car.” Jerking a thumb over her shoulder, Clarke gestured towards the Bronco a few feet behind her. “It’s nice to finally be able to put a face to the car, though.

MADISON ISEMAN in I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER

1.01

「 sevenmileshq task 」 ･ dammit / blink-182.

and it's happened once again.                                   i'll turn to a friend.                      someone that understands - sticks to the master plan.          but everybody's gone and i've been here for too long to face this on my own.                                                                                     well i guess this is growing up. 

ofnihilism·:

he needed to sell that stupid suv. a black escalade with chrome rims was the tell-tale mark of a dealer, no matter where in the country someone lived. he hated the look of it, the bulk of it, what it represented. especially now he had another little life to look over. abraham closed the door of his suv behind him, tucking the keys into the back pocket of his ripped jeans, opposite his phone. “no worries,” the artist said in response, stepping over toward the counter, expression cordial as his boots thudded against the concrete ground. 

“yeah, um, i heard you guys do inspections?” he didn’t usually feel the need to overstate his purpose. abraham was good at keeping things close to the cuff, but mechanics were far out of his element. it made him nervous. “i, um.. i’m trying to sell, i wanna make sure everything’s on the up and up before i do. that something you guys can help me out with?” 

The shop brought in all sorts of people - very little shocked Clarke anymore. Tourists always had an uncanny ability to get more and more strange every year. Even so, there would always be something shocking about the walking, talking, beanpole covered in tattoos that currently stood on the other side of Clarke’s desk.

“You heard correctly.” The blonde replied with a nod, hoping that her raised brows and wide eyes managed to slip the man’s attention. The slight tilt of Clarke’s head was involuntary as she watched the man get squirrelier by the second. “Yeah, sure. You had any issues with it lately?” Quickly logging onto her computer, Clarke dropped down into her chair. “The way you’re actin’, though, I feel like you’re half expecting us to find a bomb or some shit in there.” Slowly, Clarke’s eyes made their way back to Abraham’s face. “We’re not, though. Right?” The tiniest twitch at the corner of Clarke's mouth was the only thing that gave her away. This wasn't some Bond movie, for fucks sake. The last thing any of them would ever expect to find would be a goddamn bomb.