POSSESSION (1981) Dir. Andrzej Żuławski

Spike Fearn

"with the amount of glasses they've got here? at least 45% of them are bound to be a little broken." cyrus assured with a slight shake of his head, "not your fault." he'd heard about the memorial, about the extra names, though he hadn't gone himself too busy with chasing his kids around. and he knew zeynep's name was there. he wasn't going to bring it up, but when she volunteered a quip about it, he hummed, "they'll notice." a pause, "we'll notice." it felt easy to provide that assurance. it felt true. in a town like red creek, with a family like zeynep's? he was sure everyone would know, that everyone would worry. he let out a soft sigh, leaning back in his seat, "and it's not going to happen, okay? nothing is going to happen." of course, cyrus couldn't promise that, but it was no use harping on the worst possible outcome, it would get them all nowhere.

location: redstone bar

time & date: february 15 & 6:00pm

status: open to everyone !

“it  was  an  accident,  i  swear!”  the  words  rushed  out  in  a  furious  whisper, she hadn't even noticed that she wasn't alone.  zeynep  pushed the empty glass she had been inspecting away from herself, before signaling the bartender for another around.  “the  glass  was  cracked  when  i  picked  it  up,  who  knows  how  long  it’s  been  defective...right?” she couldn't help but cringe at the sound of her voice, the brief crack felt foreign. no part of her wanted to admit that her name etched into the memorial had left her frightened. zeynep knew fear, it had plagued her nights. every red and blue flashing light had left her in a cold sweat for years. “anyways, apparently i'm on a hit list. they might not even notice before i become the next missing myth in town.” the words flowed so flippantly from her that zeynep could almost fool herself with the feigned nonchalance. “you don't think they'll notice, do you?”

for? JUNE ( @bittenmoths ) where? outside white pine auto garage

"if i get my car serviced here, are you gonna cut the brakes?" fawn teases when she spots june. she's smoking a cigarette and leaning against the hood of her car — a red 2008 buick lacrosse that she bought off a guy on craigslist over in traverse city. and as much as she's tried to fix the problem herself, she is not that kind of lesbian. and as much as she's not overly confident in june's skills to fix her car, there are other employees and she assumes they were hired for a reason. she's never really bothered to ask. she doesn't know what june actually does there, really. fawn crushes her cigarette under her boot and stands up straight, eyes flicking over the other liao, "i took all the valuables out. can never be too careful." and, honestly, if fawn were in her shoes, she would immediately check the console and the glove compartment for something good. fawn knows that part of her runs in their genes. like blue eyes or the potential to have a widow's peak. there's some metaphor or joke about how the apple's rotten right to the core, but that's not really fawn's style.

he has a bagged chocolate croissant clutched in his hand, making his way toward a back table when there's suddenly coffee all over his sweatshirt and a woman practically yelling. it takes him a moment to get his wits about him before he's locking eyes with his aunt. she looks a little different than her facebook pictures, it's almost like seeing a ghost. his eyes go wide and he opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish as he stares at her. "rebec — aunt rebecca." his voice is quieter (quieter than usual) and he shakes his head, "um, it's not that bad. i'm fine, really." he glances over his shoulder as if his dad's going to be there watching this interaction that almost feels forbidden then back at the woman in front of him. "are... are you in town for the... for the service?" he trips over his words a bit and shakes his head, "no, sorry. sorry, i'm really sorry. really sorry about kirby." how many times are you gonna say sorry? he mentally kicks himself, grabbing for some more napkins from a nearby table, uttering another 'sorry' as he apologizes to the pair sitting at that table.

"i think i have another sweatshirt in my backpack anyway. it's okay." griffin insists, thanking a barista as they come over with a rag for the floor and the table rebecca spilled the other one all over. he's avoiding eye contact with his aunt, trying to pretend like he can even focus a little bit on cleaning up the mess and not the mess that is the talbot family and their dynamics. it's just his luck, of course, to run into her at random in a situation like this. he guesses it's a least a little bit better than seeing her at the funeral for the first time. though, the whole town has felt a bit like a wake lately.

 ⸻ 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘴 ﹐ closed for @chappcdlips / griffin talbot.

 ⸻ 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ﹐ early rise bakery & cafe.

rebecca sat slouched in the corner of the cafe, oversized sunglasses hiding bloodshot eyes, nursing a lukewarm coffee that was doing very little to cut through the haze of a nasty hangover. the dull hum of chatter, clinking cups and that damn door that jingled every time someone walked through it was grating on her last nerve ; she thought it'd be better than sitting alone at the motel with just her misery, regret and a pounding headache to keep her company, but turns out she was wrong.

head spins as she stands up too quickly, not noticing the figure in her path until it was too late ; coffee drops to the floor, pooling around both of their feet. " what the f*** !? — ugh, watch where you're going, dude ! " totally her fault. she looks up, ready to take out her problems on the poor stranger, but instead her jaw drops at the sight of the young man staring back at her. the resemblance is uncanny — nathan's jawline, the talbot eyes ( though somewhat less scheming ). realization struck like a slap to the face, which is what she actually deserved. " griffin. " tone softens as guilt takes over from irritation, though a mix of horror and embarrassment was still present on her face. his name lingers in the air between them, the silence verging on awkward, before she snaps out of it. " oh, god, i'm sorry — here, let's get you cleaned up. " she reaches over a nearby table, aiming for the napkins but instead knocking over another cup of coffee, this time not her own. now would be a good time for the ground to swallow her whole.

HA DO YEONG eating his salad (& her ass up with that response)

THE GLORY - EPISODE 11

fawn's head whips around as kingsley speaks up and she snorts, "i never suspected you, trust me, but i would support you if you were." she tells him as they fall into step together, lengthening her stride slightly to keep pace with his longer legs. "you're right, though, it's definitely some annoying white guy. but the idea of a hot girl or NB is a nice thought, y'know as i support women and queer people's wrongs." she may draw the line at serial killing, but it really depends on how hot the perpetrator ends up being. plus, maybe they have a really good reason — you never know. fawn hums, inclining her head slightly in thought, "yeah, i hear you, but boogeyman kinda gives me scooby doo villain and that's a little less scary than just saying 'oh yeah, the brutal serial killer tormenting red creek.' it could be somethin' scarier like... the red creek ripper. that's more threatening, i think." not that fawn will admit any fear regarding the situation. she has enough going on in her life to worry about. "you'd make a really good shaggy if we were doin' real life scooby doo." fawn muses with a teasing grin on her face, "i don't think i fit the velma or daphne archetype unfortunately. plus, i'm sexier than both of them, no offense to hanna-barbera or whoever the fuck." the thought evokes the memory of mornings, siblings sat on the trailer floor watching reruns of old cartoons as she tried to make breakfast, but she shakes the remembrance away quickly, "ritten can be scooby, just a lot more temperamental."

○    NOW DELIVERING TO . . .    ⏤ @chappcdlips !

kingsley squints at the familiar figure walking on the other side of the street . that slumping of shoulders is par to his own , although kingsley leans back more as he walks ( like something out of ed , edd and eddy ) . people walk in very distinct ways , and kingsley has always enjoyed seeing the tiny mannerisms that make up a person . for fawn , she walks leaning forward , hair curtaining off everyone , quick steps that slow down every now and then as if she's remembering she's not in a race . his lips quirk up and he crosses the street easily , picking up his pace to try and catch up with fawn . even though he's tall , fawn is FAST . it takes him a few moments to realise that a grown man following a woman right now is probably not something that is very ASSURING . he clears his throat . " i'm not the boogeyman . i have a feeling that guy's white . 82% of american serial killers were white , so that's just statistics, you know ? " kingsley states as way of introduction . " then again , gender isn't real . i guess it could be a hot girl killing everyone . or some cute NB . " he shrugs , thoughts spinning in his mind . " also , should we even be calling him boogeyman ? isn't that SERIAL KILLER 101 ? don't call them by their name cause it gives them more power ? " kingsley has a lot of thoughts on the entirety of the situation , but he mainly keeps them to himself . well . to himself, and to fawn .

the pinch grabs his attention and he glances over, eyes meeting piper's for just a split second before she heads off. without words he knows and he follows. just like he has since he was a kid, followed behind his older siblings. anywhere. off a cliff if that's what piper told him was cool. "you okay?" griffin asks as they get outside, pulling at the sleeves of his too-short jacket. it's a dumb question because he knows nothing is okay and he felt that same way she did in there, the grief and sadness weighing on everyone, making it hard to even think straight. "some of the flowers in there are dying already. they should've caught that. the bereavement committee people or whatever."

🗝️ dedicated to griffin talbot / @chappcdlips . 📍 redemption chappell ( kirby's funeral service ) .

the   one   place   that   should   feel   safe   merely   laces   piper's   very   bones   with   discomfort.   the   emotions   of   funeral   attendees   loom   over   their   heads;   a   cloud   of   gloom   that   is   almost   palpable,   a   fog   so   heavy   that   it   suffocates—   she   stands   suddenly.   there   are   surely   only   minutes   to   spare   before   a   sermon   begins   &   being   here   feels   impossible.   fingers   pinch   at   the   fabric   of   griffin's   shirt,   then   withdraw   like   she's   been   scorched.   it's   irresponsible   to   pull   him   away   from   their   family   mourning,   but   it's   also   a   silent   plea—   walk   out   with   me.   don't   make   me   leave   alone.   she   blinks   down   at   him,   then   spins   on   her   heel.

Spike Fearn Alien: Romulus World Premiere at the TCL Chinese Theatre in Hollywood, California (August 12, 2024)

cyrus ends up at the church due to his need to be involved, to be seen, and he knows that when tragedy strikes? there will always be people that take solace in the lord. and there are always people more willing to talk after a tragedy and cyrus is always willing to endear himself to new people for his own sake, for his own reputation. even in tragedy, perseverance is important, he thinks. he looks over at santi as he speaks, a sigh leaving his lips, "some people cane be your neighbor and still be a stranger. i'm sure she didn't hold it against you." or maybe she did. cyrus certainly didn't know kirby. "and i bet you never forgot after she told you, right? so i think you're settled up."

🗝️ 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– ❞

"Sorry... sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out." Griffin murmured, moving out of the doorway and into the room. He felt bad, terrible even, that he had accidentally stumbled upon his mom having a moment he was sure she didn't want him to witness. But he was glad, too, that she didn't have to be alone right now. "Mom..." He shook his head, "it's alright." It probably sounded stupid, since nothing really was 'alright,' but he wasn't completely sure what to do or say under these circumstances. "We'll get it cleaned up, Mom." He whispered, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her for a hug, "It's gonna be fine, Dad won't see." Though, given the situation, he wasn't sure his dad would be worried about something so trivial in comparison to everything else. He let out a slightly shuddery breath as he hugged her, trying his best not to lose his composure. Griffin wasn't generally that composed, mostly a nervouse wreck, but he felt like he had to be now. He felt like he owed it to his family to be strong. His dad always seemed so strong, his mom too, maybe he just wanted to prove that he was a Talbot after all. Prove that he could handle the tough stuff and still keep his head up.

He pulled away after a moment, crouching down to deal with the clothes scattered across the floor, "Is there a... y'know, a system? A donate pile or anything?" He asked her, picking up a wrinkled blouse on the top of one of the piles. He figured Charlotte's meltdown wasn't just about the clothes, but he thought dealing with the mess was a good place to start.

closed starter with: charlotte and griffin (@chappcdlips) setting: "her" and nathan's bedroom, 6pm, the night before the funeral

Clothes were everywhere, piled haphazardly in no discernible pattern, and Charlotte sat in the middle of it like the eye of a hurricane. There was a wild, desperate look in her eyes as she picked through items, giving each a brief look before tossing it in one of her piles and moving on to the next. She’d been doing it for hours at this point, and was so lost in the process that she jumped when she saw Griffin in her peripheral vision. “Oh God, you scared me Griff!” She threw the shirt in her hand on top of a pile to her right, suddenly deeply self-conscious of the disaster zone she’d created, and a long line of explanation began to tumble haphazardly out of her mouth. “I needed a dress for tomorrow, and I didn’t have anything in the guest room closet, so I came up here to look for something, and I just kept finding all these old clothes that I never wear, and I started to think, why don’t I just donate all of these stupid things that are just collecting dust,” she rambled, her voice growing more strained as she spoke. “And now I’ve just created this huge mess in a room that’s not even mine anymore, and that’s not even mentioning the fact that I am apparently not capable of finding a single black dress that I can wear to your cousin’s funeral.” Charlotte choked on the last word, fighting the overwhelming urge to crumple in on herself. She mindlessly moved some clothes around, trying to keep her trembling hands busy, biting the inside of her cheek to maintain her faltering composure. “Can you help me get these clothes put away before your father gets home?” Her voice dripped with embarrassment. This mess was evidence of her unraveling- something Griffin shouldn’t have to see, and something Nathan couldn't see.