//   (  aldis Hodge .  cis Man  .  he/him  )  .    ⸻  cyrus Cromwell ,  A  thirty-eight  year

for? BRONTE ( @lifekisses ) where? dolly's

griffin slides into the booth across from her, a small grin lifting his lips as he settles into the sticky seat, "do you carry pepper spray?" he asks immediately. then, he backtracks, "i mean, hi, bronte. how are you?" he pauses then repeats, "so do you carry pepper spray?" he tries not to think about it very much, but with the wave of new crimes that have been hitting the town, he's a little worried about the people he cares about. and despite all the slightly convoluted history, bronte falls into that category. his days of being terrified of her are long over, though he would absolutely never want to be on her bad side, he knows better. "because, y'know... all the stuff that's been going on," griffin shrugs, "safety first and all that. not to bring the mood down or anything!" and now he's nervous he's being too paranoid and is going to freak her out. "anyway, i'm just saying, maybe mace is the best stocking stuffer this year."

a lot of ghosts seem to loom over the talbot family — whether dead like jacob thorne and his uncle or alive but dead to the family like rebecca. it's something griffin could feel since the moment he could conceptualize the family he came from. it's even heavier, now, with the loss of kirby, a thick layer of fog over the talbot family. when he sees his dad, griffin takes note that he looks different somehow. not the powerful, figuratively towering man he's known his whole life, there's an air of something he can't quite identify and it's a little bit terrifying. he locks eyes with nathan, chewing at his lower lip, "i... i don't really know." he admits, shoulders tense and brow furrowed, "i don't get it." he shakes his head and pauses a moment, shifting from foot to foot anxiously, "what happened, dad?" he asks, feeling like he's seven again and asking why the sky is blue or why gophers live in the ground or any other question he's asked nathan or charlotte. they're supposed to know all the answers, right? even now when griffin knows better, he still wants an answer even if it's not possible.

𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲.　the talbot residence. 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻.　10am. 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵.　griffin talbot. @chappcdlips

〔　🦂　〕　　...　　𝗶𝘀  𝗶𝘁  𝗴𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗳  𝗼𝗿  𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗹𝘁  𝘄𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴  𝗵𝗶𝘀  𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁  𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻  𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲  𝗮𝗻  𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗿?  despite  his  familial  ties  to  kirby,  she  was  more  colleague  than  kin,  the  only  string  connecting  them  being  his  sister  —  her  mother  —  with  whom  they  both  were  too  estranged  with  to  ever  consider  a  genuine  bond  together.  the  age  old  cliche,  i  should've  done  more,  sits  in  the  back  of  his  head,  but  would  he  have  really?  or  is  he  only  thinking  it  because  he  no  longer  has  the  choice?  his  breath  hitches  when  he  hears  griffin's  footsteps  padding  down  the  staircase,  not  yet  quite  ready  to  face  the  situation  with  his  youngest  son. not after what he's seen and been through.  “  i'm  sure  you've  already  seen  the  news.  ”   it  was  inescapable.  like  driving  past  alaina's  house,  or  seeing  the  missing  posters  with  daniela's  face  plastered  all  over  town.  “  how  are  you  feeling?  ”  he  asks,  voice  dropping  to  a  gentle  whisper.

JESSICA HENWICK as PEG GLASS ONION: A KNIVES OUT MYSTERY 2022, dir. Rian Johnson

he looks up at the sound of her voice, grinning at angela, "mhm, then the week after that it's rope and boxcutters." he relaxes slightly. talking to angela isn't small talk and she's more than used to his antsy, neurotic presence. "hey!" griffin laughs then, shaking his head and grabbing for the book as she slams it down, "i'm not the most pretentious one." he'd argue that's probably his dad. "but it's a good book, i swear. you can borrow it when i'm finished if you want." though, then she'll have to put up with his barely legible shirley jackson fanboy notes in the margins. he tucks the book under the counter, glancing at his watch, "yeah, i get off in an hour. i'll grab some snacks before i leave too. that 30% employee discount... i'm practically the richest guy around." he gestures at the last aisle, "oh! most exciting thing to happen in awhile here actually," here as in the store, he wishes the rest of red creek would relax a little, "we got some of those sour patch kids that are just grape? i've never had them, but the just peach ones kind of rock, so the grape ones have to be pretty good too, right?"

“  𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀  𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁,  𝗯𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵  𝗮𝗻𝗱  𝗿𝗮𝗴𝘀?  ”   angela  jests,  having  come  from  the  other  counter  to  retrieve  her  new  prescription  bottle.  the  customer who'd just walked in  shoots  her  a  bewildered  stare  before  disappearing  into  the  aisles,  eliciting  a  snort  out  of  the  young  woman.  she  takes  the  book  out  of  griffin's  hands  and  flips  throught  the  pages, brows furrowed as she reads aloud a few passages.   “  sometimes,  with  a  vast  aching  heartbreak,  the  great,  badly  contained  intentions  of  creation,  the  poignant  searching  longings  of  adolescence  overwhelmed  her  —  ugh,  you  pretentious  little  bitch. all you talbots are the same,  ”  she  teases,  slamming  the  book  face  down  on  the  counter.   “  there's  a  silent  night,  deadly  night  marathon  at  polaris  today,  you  wanna  come  and  binge  'em  all  with  me  after  your  shift?  ”

Anthony Thomas Lombardi, from "self-portrait as murmuration"

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.     ❜

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.

joining the war on “pretentiousness” on the side of the pretentious