For? BRONTE ( @lifekisses ) Where? Dolly's

DRIVE-AWAY DOLLS (2024) dir. Ethan Coen

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?  ”

"what? it's even illegal to walk down the street these days?" her words come out in a deadpan as she stops in her tracks, a safe enough distance away to not scare the other even further. she's joking, mostly, but the tone doesn't leave her voice when she continues, "i'll start wearing a bell like a cat or somethin'." her own cat doesn't have a collar much less a bell – ritten is a citizen of the world, not fawn's house. her gaze flicks to the price house then and fawn hums, glove-free hands sliding into her warm coat pockets, "yeah, everyone's on edge. or on the edge. or both." she mutters, looking away from the house and back at maeve. growing up in town, she's accustomed to things suddenly becoming haunted. haunted by memory more than real ghosts. she was young twenty-five years ago, but she has pieces of memories of how things were before and after. her life was miserable before and after, so, really, she supposes it doesn't make that much of a difference. and yet, fawn, not a believer in anything, still finds herself avoiding the places that feel haunted. it's just what this town does to you. or maybe it's just what misery does to you. "it's only a matter of time before kids are breakin' in to try and see bloodstains or something." she shakes her head as if to shake that image away altogether. though, if she were younger, she may have been one of those kids, "but c'est la vie in red creek, i guess." fawn hums, a tight, mirthless smile slipping onto her lips.

🗝️ open starter for anyone. 📍 norwood street, just outside of maeve's front door.

✦ ⋰ norwood street feels particularly haunted now. it's a feeling that maeve can't escape – the moment she steps out of her front door, she's there. it's there. she often finds herself looking at the front door of alaina's home like a deer caught in headlights. so close, but impossibly far on the one night that it mattered. maeve nivans has finally met with a problem she couldn't fix ; alaina price was murdered- gone from red creek forever- possibly joined the uncomfortably long list of people that you just didn't talk about. she wonders if alaina's home will be notated as the price house in red creek history ; reduced to a horrific event & molded into a haunted house to prod at in the same way the thorne house was. her heart seizes at the thought. as she peers at alaina's front door, it almost feels like someone looks back — she nearly jumps out of her skin when she hears the footsteps. hand pressed to her heart, she nearly squeaks. ❝ oh my god. a warning would be nice. ❞ the anxiety is a new hurdle, too. an unwelcome guest that moved in with the ghosts on october 31st. she breathes out through her nose before offering a warmer expression– ❝ sorry, sorry. i'm just— on edge recently. you understand. ❞

//   (  aldis hodge .  cis man  .  he/him  )  .    ⸻  cyrus cromwell ,  a  thirty-eight  year  old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have  lived  for  ten months (but grew up there) .  the  magnet  is  known  for  being  charismatic  and vain  and  is  often  associated  with  caffeine fueled days, loud laughter in quiet places, displeasure hidden behind a dazzling smile  .  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as  a teacher at red creek k-12  word  travels  fast  .  it’s  hard  to  keep  a  secret  ,  and  it  looks  like  the  boogeyman  knows  that  redacted  . 

STATS

full name: cyrus carson cromwell   hometown: red creek, mi   sexuality: closeted bisexual  birthday: may 23   zodiac: gemini sun, sagittarius moon, sagittarius rising  height: 6’2”  languages spoken: english, arabic, mandarin, russian, spanish, conversational french and german marital status: married children: 2, zeke (8) and lily (6)  traits: charismatic, intelligent, driven, vain, manipulative, sycophantic

BACKGROUND

second oldest of the cromwell family, cyrus always knew he was expected to achieve great things

while he helped tori with their younger siblings sometimes, he spent a lot of time out of the house with his friends

he was popular at school and super involved in the red creek community, star of the high school basketball team, class vice president his senior year, valedictorian — his list of accolades is long

when he graduated, he immediately got tf out of red creek, attending stanford

he majored in political science and linguistics with a minor in international relations, eyes on a job with the UN eventually

when he graduated, he moved to europe and then continued to move around the world, working as a translator at various embassies and UN facilities

somewhere in there he met his wife (submitting as a wc... *eyes*) and they had two kids

but about a year ago REDACTED happened and cy shortly after moved his family back to red creek very abruptly

now he's working as a teacher at his alma mater, teaching government to high school seniors and probably is a language tutor on the side for anyone who wants to learn a language he knows; he claims he just wanted to "slow down" but... yeah, that's not really true... ANYWAY!

PERSONALITY AND FUN FACTS tw brief mention of internalized biphobia

kind of an egomaniac, thinks he is god's gift to this earth (and maybe he is idk)

he knows he's hot

very protective of his siblings and family and anyone he cares about

very charismatic, easily commands and keeps a room's attention and LOVES it

was absolutely a ladies man in high school and college, dated a lot before meeting his wife; recent conflict with his wife probably has him being a little flirty when he shouldn't //: men smh

is bisexual but insecure about it and very much tries not to let people know that as he's always kind of felt pressure to be the typical big, strong Man of the House, especially because his parents weren't around a lot he's always wanted to fit the picture perfect image he was "meant for" which only included heterosexuality in his mind

hates navy blue, refuses to wear anything in that color

has an insane workout routine and is in the process of constructing a guest house in his backyard just for a gym space (not very handy like That, so someone please come help him build it)

does not feel guilty about getting tf out of red creek as soon as he could, doesn't feel guilty about most things he does even if they're somewhat questionable????

fake as fuck, even if he hates you he will smile at you like (((:

the murders scared him as a kid since he was around 13 but now he kinda thinks the whole resurgence/boogeyman returning theory is bullshit; he was friends with one of heather's siblings and saw firsthand the kind of grief people were going through, so now he thinks people are bringing it back as a story to scare the young people in town

character inspo: mr. incredible (the incredibles), steve (the haunting of hill house), patrick bateman (american psycho), mouth (the goonies), fitz (scandal)

"i... i dunno," griffin admits, avoiding eye contact like a professional — professional in what? he's not sure. maybe just in being nervous, "my boss just tells me what's going on." and he goes along with it. that's what he's paid for. he looks up when the woman mentions his book, a slight smile on his face, "i really like her other work. and i agree, her writing style and the way she integrates everything thematically with realism and depth despite the subject matter... i could go on for days." he blushes a little, always a bit embarrassed when he talks too much about his interests, "is this all for you today?" he asks as he picks up the painkillers to scan.

" what a peculiar deal . " renee says aloud , fingers skimming over the shelves of products . she offers griffin a strained smile , tries to pretend not to be bothered by the omnipresence of the talbots wherever she turns . it's not his fault . none of this is his fault . he's so young , really . just like josie - and renee would hate for anyone to ever think poorly of her daughter just because of who her parents are . " not necessary for me , though . do you have extra stock or is it a christmas special ? " she slides down her packet of painkillers onto the counter . " shirley jackson has a way of showing women's desperation and grief so well . that's the real horror , in my opinion . " renee muses aloud , smile painted on her lips , never budging . " what made you pick it ? "

10 Things I Hate About You (1999) dir. Gil Junger

attempting to get a cup of coffee before he headed home, cyrus was distracted by the voice beside him at the counter. he glanced over at soren, an eyebrow lifting, "it's because it's bad for you." he deadpanned, too irritated to actually put up any sort of act. his day had been too long and the statement too annoying. cyrus was practically pathological about how he treated his own body and so always thought that everyone else must hold themselves to the same standards, "your body is a temple. everything you put in it matters." cyrus explained, tone only really slightly pretentious, "you're too young to be messing up your body like that." he shook his head, "what is it? the aesthetic of cigarettes? not worth the smell or the diseases. trust me." he sighed, thanking the waitress as she set his coffee in front of him, "stick to caffeine or something. and don't start that damn vaping. we don't even know the long-term health consequences of that."

location: dolly's diner time: late afternoon status: open!

something about diners. greasy leather seats. overheard secrets tangled up with the clatter of forks. bitter, often stale coffee -- unless you got lucky enough to walk in when the place was mostly empty. unlikely. the kind of place where time hangs heavy, like it got tired and sat down to rest in the corner booth. red creek felt the same, like it had long surrendered to time’s weight instead of running alongside it. no reinvention, no salvation -- just a stubborn place clinging to people like mud after rain, or maybe quicksand, tugging until they sank without a fight. soren didn't have to imagine dark things haunting its bones when its effect where already laying there, sprawled out for anyone willing to see. maybe ancient spirits seeking revenge after having their forever homes suffocated with asphalt and cement. maybe nothing at all, just the weight of a town folding in on itself, vanishing into a fog you didn’t know you’d entered until it was too late. soren wouldn't flinch if someone shattered the silence with a lynchian scream -- sinister close-ups, faces trembling under the pressure of things better left unsaid -- right there in the diner, right as he staed at his gone stale coffee. and perhaps it was his obsession with intricate stories that blurred the line with reality, but twin peaks really didn't feel like fiction anymore; it was a blueprint, a warning for places like this, where the mundane teetered on the edge of surreal, where time sagged, like peeling wallpaper in a room sealed off for too long, and good people stumbled into band endings. even diners -- those greasy churches of familiarity -- could warp into confessional booths. soren let his face fall into his hands, elbows propped at the sides of the cup of coffee. if it had been steaming, it would've made a perfect shot. “ you know what's bullshit, ” he spoke as soon as he felt a presence next to him finally glad to push his inner monologue onto someone else, anyone unlucky enough to hear. he continued as his hands dropped to his lap, revealing a face worn thin by restless nights. “ the fact that they made it illegal to smoke in public places. especially diners. ” though it wasn't just diners. it was also cinemas, trains, pubs.... a beat. then two fingers lifted to his lips, mimicking the pitch of a cigarette between index and thumb. soren inhaled theatrically, face tilting upward as though savoring the hit. then, just as theatrically, he ground the phantom amber into an imaginary glass ashtray, the kind with ornate edges. clock. sound design coming from his tongue against his palate and he swat the phantom ashtray away, still dipped in his interactive daydream.

embarassing to want things like love and attention

GERALDINE VISWANATHAN 2024, ph. Andrew Jacobs for Vanity Fair

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry written in October 1920, featured in The Diary of Virginia Woolf: Vol.2, 1920-1924