If I Don’t Drive You Crazy Then What’s The Point

10 Things ALDIS HODGE Can’t Live Without ❘ GQ

cyrus barely registers that someone else is out there until he hears carlos' voice and when he does, he hardly flinches, eyes traveling over them in appraisal. in threat potential until he realizes that the other doesn't look altogether threatening. he's got maybe a hundred pounds on them he thinks, leaning against the side of building, arms crossing, "it's not me. and i'm gonna go out on a limb and assume it isn't you either, but looks can be deceiving." cyrus pulls out his phone and sends a quick text, the call he was about to make decidedly cancelld now that there's someone else present. he doesn't know carlos, but you can never be too careful who you say what around — especially in a town like red creek. "why are you standing back here alone if you're so afraid the killer's gonna get you anyway?" he asks with a chuckle, a teasing lilt to his voice, "that seems like a bad strategy."

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘.　behind redstone bar, 11:30pm 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛.　anyone

𝗿𝗲𝗱  𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗸  𝗶𝘀  𝗮  𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗸  𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲.  no  matter  how  much  carlos  tells  himself  he  should  leave,  that  there  are  so  many  reasons  he  should  get  the  hell  out  and  return  to  life  as  he  knew  it  (  despite  the  potential  consequences  they  could  face  if  ever  ████████  )  they  stay.  carlos  stays,  trapped  between  its  tragic  grasp  and  forced  to  watch  its  horrific  history unfold.  under the impression of being alone, carlos  jumps  at  the  sudden  noise,  nearly  dropping  the  cigarette  held  between  their  fingers.   “  jesus,  f  —  dude!  you  can't  be  doing  that  anymore,  there's  like,  a  killer  out  and  shit!  ”  brief pause,  eyes  narrow  at  the  person  standing  before  him.  it  doesn't  help  that  his  response  to  all  this  is  misplaced  carelessness,  the  kind  that  could  make  you  the  first  kill  in  a  horror  flick  —  not  the  kid  who  trips on air,  but  the  one  who  stands  face  to  face  with  the  killer  and  laughs  in  disbelief.  “  unless  . . .  the  killer's  you.  is  it  you?  ”

he looked up, eyes landing on none other than foster. naturally anxious already, he could feel his anxiety ratchet up a notch, his mouth suddenly feeling drier, pulse racing. griffin looked at him with slightly wide eyes, shrugging, "i don't study, um, marketing." he didn't know what possessed him to try a business school joke, but it was too late to backtrack, so he just plowed on. he much preferred to talk about his book anyway, "relate? um.. not particularly," though, the loneliness... sometimes, "i just think shirley jackson is so masterful at building suspense, in... in storytelling, really. anyway... yeah, i could write a thesis on her." he ducked his head a bit sheepishly, not used to being put on the spot — and by put on the spot, he meant literally just being asked a question by someone outside of his family and close friends. if he were braver even a little bit, he would ask foster if jackson's work had ever influenced his, but then that would make it known that griffin had seen pretty much everything the other had made and that would be very embarrassing probably. griffin nodded then, humming, "i, um... stuff related to tech is over in aisle six. i can't promise there's polaroid film, but i know there's disposable cameras and that sort of stuff so... there's a chance?" he told him, "would hate to see you flee town, but i can't make any promises." in griffin's own head, it sounded like he was practically begging foster to not leave town. though, that didn't stop him from the follow-up question that required incredible bravery on his part, "what do you need it for?" maybe he'd even get the scoop on what foster was working on now, which was an exciting enough prospect to keep him from avoiding eye contact completely.

ꜜ   ﹙   📹    ﹚   ﹕    INTRODUCING   A   BEGRUDGING   GARGOYLE   HUNCHED   OVER   A   BOOK   !   couldn't   even   be   bothered   to   look   up   when   the   bell   above   the   door   clanged   its   weary   tune,   foster   entering   the   pharmacy   and   stamping   snow   off   his   boots   onto   the   welcome   mat.   and   he   couldn't   help   but   snort   at   halfhearted   sales   pitch   tossed   his   way,   funny   how   griffin's   father   probably   had   the   charm   to   sell   used   condoms   at   the   motel   while   the   kid   couldn't   even   look   a   customer   in   the   eyes.      ❛     you're   really   selling   it   there,   champ.     ❜     foster   laughed,   more   tease   than   bite,   as   he   stepped   closer   to   the   counter,   boots   squeaking   faintly   on   the   worn   tiles.   and   he   planted   his   palms   on   the   counter,   leaning   just   enough   to   catch   sight   of   the   book   that   must   be   so   engrossing.   a   flicker   of   recognition   crossed   his   features,   eyebrows   lifting   lightly   as   he   drew   his   gaze   toward   the   younger   man.      ❛    hangsaman,   huh   ?   you   relate   to   it   ?     ❜    he   asked,   nodding   toward   the   book,   his   voice   dipping   lower,   gentler—   not   quite   mocking   now   but   probing,   his   curiosity   piqued.      ❛    the   loneliness   ?   the   descent   to   ...   madness   ?     ❜ but   foster   was   just   half-joking   with   the   inquiry,   a   small   chuckle   slipping   past   his   lips   as   he   fished   his   wallet   out   of   his   back   pocket.      ❛     i'm   just   here   for   some   polaroid   films,   by   the   way.   please   tell   me   you've   got   some,   or   i   swear   i'm   driving   straight   outta   this   town   and   never   coming   back.   well,   no.   but   i'm   definitely   not   gonna   be   happy   about   it.     ❜

"hey, al." a smile spread across her lips, warm and inviting and practically the opposite of how she looked at pretty much any other member of the yalçınkaya family. and it wasn't fake (not mostly anyway), fawn actually did happen to like alara. she especially liked the attention she gave her, never one to complain about the rapt attention of a beautiful woman. and, maybe, she secretly hoped her closeness with alara pissed off the rest of the other's family. fawn was petty that way. "i've been around. you know me, always busy with something." fawn hummed, falling into step beside the other woman, "you should come by sisters, that's where i'm most likely to be these days. or my house. i'd give you the grand tour." she gave a playful wink, sliding her hands into her coat pockets as a slight shiver travelled through her in the cold. she used this an excuse to slide just a bit closer to alara, "what have you been up to, huh? anything new with you? give me the life update." she didn't even have to feign interest when talking to alara, which was a little refreshing. the charm was turned on high, sure, but she wasn't acting when it came to alara at the very least. "we need to accidentally run into one another more often, i think."

@chappcdlips / fawn

from  childhood  ,  alara  had  been  boisterous  .  she  had  been  filled  with  a  confidence  that  had  been  mirrored  throughout  her  life  and  made  her  quite  challenging  to  parent  despite  her  deep  sense  of  affection  and  care  .  there  were  few  people  she  had  met  in  her  life  that  had  ever  made  her  feel  a  sense  of  nervousness  or  anxiety  ,  any  kind  of  underlying  whisper  of  being  a  little  bit  on  edge  .  she  was  used  to  leading  a  dynamic  or  at  least  being  on  equal  footing  ...  and  yet  with  fawn  ,  she  always  felt  slightly  on  the  outside  of  herself  .  it  wasn't  that  any  particular  thing  had  happened  during  their  shared  lives  but  al's  childhood  infatuation  had  never  quite  came  to  pass  -  her  wistful  nature  never  allowing  her  to  quite  see  what  was  really  there  ,  a  sense  of  awe  and  adoration  filling  her  every  glance  when  it  came  to  the  other  woman  .  she  supported  womens  rights  and  wrongs  .  true  feminist  to  the  core  .   "  hey  stranger  ,  "  not  that  they  ever  really  were  .  not  that  there  was  any  part  of  her  that  ever  wanted  to  be  .  not  that  she  didn't  sometimes  imagine  on  those  lonelier  nights  in  her  childhood  bedroom  what  fawn  might  eat  for  breakfast  in  bed  (  such  was  the  nature  of  a  childhood  crush  ,  you  had  to  be  careful  not  to  take  it  too  far  ,  even  in  your  imagination  )  .  "  i  feel  like  i  haven't  seen  you  in  forever  ,  "  maybe  she  should  have  said  spoken  to  ...  she  had  definitely  seen  fawn  ...  here  and  there  .  around  town  .  looking  very  ...  fawn  .

//   (  spike fearn .  cis man  .  he/him  )  .    ⸻  griffin talbot ,  a  twenty-one  year  old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have  lived  for  his whole life  .  the  introvert  is  known  for  being  attentive  and  timid  and  is  often  associated  with  notes scribbled in margins, not speaking unless spoken to, long walks with no destination  .  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as  a cashier at red creek pharmacy  word  travels  fast  .  it’s  hard  to  keep  a  secret  ,  and  it  looks  like  the  boogeyman  knows  that  redacted .

STATS

full name: griffin douglas talbot   hometown: red creek, mi   sexuality: bisexual  birthday: june 30   zodiac: cancer sun, cancer moon, capricorn rising  height: 5’9”  languages spoken: english, some spanish marital status: single children: none  traits: attentive, imaginative, independent, timid, oversensitive, evasive 

BACKGROUND tw drowning mention, anxiety  

the youngest of the talbot clan, griffin knew from a young age that his family was a Big Deal 

when he was little he liked the attention, he was a rambunctious and loud child, always running around trying to keep up with his older siblings 

this changed when he was 9; that summer, he was playing in a creek with some friends, he fell into a deep drop off and in a freak accident his foot got stuck in a sunken log and he was trapped beneath the surface for too long 

his friends eventually freed him but he had lost consciousness and was rushed to the local hospital 

he lived obvi, but the event left him traumatized and embarrassed and anxious all the time 

he started to withdraw, wracked with fear and anxiety, to this day he has pretty horrible social anxiety and is afraid to go near water 

he exceeded all expectations in school though, getting great grades and eventually getting into every college he applied to, including his dad’s alma mater, princeton

but he decided to stay local, commuting to school from red creek 

he’s in school to become a pharmacist which is why he works at the pharmacy part-time; he isn’t exactly passionate about pharmacology (he’ll happily collect those nice checks someday though) 

PERSONALITY & FUN FACTS 

painfully shy, social anxiety beating his ass daily 

much prefers to spend time alone or with very few close people 

reads a lot (likes horror, thriller, mysteries, but HATES true crime), plays videos games (idk which ones, i don’t go there), watches a lot of movies (letterboxd top four: star wars episode i, wallace and gromit (were-rabbit ofc), the parent trap, snakes on a plane) 

really into herpetology as a hobby and has a lizard, bearded dragon named wallace, and a snake, rainbow boa named gromit 

always has a plastic baggy of yellow starburst on him (he only really likes the yellow ones but will eat a different flavor if it’s offered by someone else) 

has so many pairs of socks that he just keeps them in a large cardboard box in the corner of his closet 

has never been in a relationship, is incredibly scared to do so and would not know where to begin 

but definitely has a number of crushes and a tier system for them 

writes shitty poetry and short stories for fun in a notebook he always carries around with his starburst baggy 

in typical baby brother fashion, thinks his older siblings are the coolest people alive 

a really good listener, he is observant and notices everything, so even though he’s probably not talking a lot he’s absorbing everything you’re saying 

hates the prominence of his family name these days, would rather live anonymously as some local nobody than be in the spotlight 

has had problems w insomnia since the incident at the creek, but he’s kinda okay with it bc more time to read and fall down a wikipedia hole or just go on a long ambling walk to nowhere 

big into tea, never drinks coffee 

sweet and very sensitive, like okay water sign 

incredibly caring towards those he loves 

 character inspo: jughead (riverdale), fez (that 70s show), ferb (really a ferb sun, baljeet moon) (phineas and ferb), quentin (the magicians), marcus (the bear) 

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– ❞

embarassing to want things like love and attention

She shuffled into the kitchen, running a hand through her messy hair as she took in the sight before her, "So glad it's you and not the goddamn Boogeyman." The timing of the joke is, admittedly, horrible, but she's never been subtle. "What time did you get here?" Shreya thought she might have heard something in the middle of the night, but she figured it was either her brother or her cat. If it was anything else? She was willing to face the consequences and die honorably. "Now, if I bought even a single piece of asparagus, I think the world might end. The Boogeyman, who is obviously surveilling me as one of the town's top journalists, could notice my change in pattern and suspect me of knowing something and BAM dead." She sat at the small table by the window, sighing dramatically, "And you wouldn't want that, right?"

Then, Shreya sobered slightly, resting her elbows on the table, "I'm surprised you don't have to work right now. Is it not all hands on deck?" She asked, already thinking about what she may have to write about the incident this coming week. "It's really fucking awful." And there's no way to get through it but to joke about her own mortality, obviously. "What's the sheriff saying? Anything?" She added, "This is all off the record, by the way, I'll save my scheming journalist bit for at least noon."

closed starter with: darshan and shreya (@chappcdlips) setting: shreya's home, 9am, the day after the incident

His eyes fluttered open, and a strangled gasp forced its way out of his painfully dry throat as he struggled to recognize his surroundings, but the panic settled as the comfort of familiarity took hold. It was Shreya’s couch, in Shreya’s living room, in Shreya’s home, where he’d let himself in at 3am after finding sleep impossible at his own home. Darshan wiped the trail of drool off his cheek, sitting up and stretching his aching back before wandering to her kitchen, opening the fridge- only to see a truly meager selection of food between the tupperware containers of his own leftovers. A stray carton of eggs saved the day, and he’d set off to make breakfast when he heard the shuffle of feet. “Hey, lazy bones. Did I wake you?” His voice was casual, but there was an unmistakable horror laced in every syllable. How could he shake the guilt? How could he cope with the relief he felt when he confirmed that the young girl found dead in town hall was not his family member? As if that made it better- that the loss was not his own. “You should really get some vegetables in your fridge, or something, you know. Even an apple, or a single piece of broccoli. Give your poor microwave a break, before it unionizes against you.” 

Spike Fearn | via Wonderland Magazine