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Fontainebleau State Park, Louisiana by Lana Gramlich

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“Choose a path. Stay with your path. Be ready to face obstacles. Even if you take a wrong turn, at least it will be your turn, your life, your mistake.”

— Naomi Levy

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first base is murdering you. second base is ressurecting you from the grave. third base is murdering you a second time

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// @alwaysanangcl CONT'D FROM HERE

       Watching how his presence seemed to have startled Jessica, even for the briefest second, should have filled Taliesin with a little bit of satisfaction. Oddly enough, he couldn't bring himself to care. Finding a noble daughter working in the kitchen of THIS HOLLOW PLACE echoed too well what this connection represented. Neither of them were supposed to be here together. But strangely, something about the scene made Taliesin glad that, while miserable, the Hamby heiress didn't appear to be your usual noble. He wouldn't suffocate in the company of other nobles at court and sown into fine garments that looked utterly ridiculous on someone as wild as him.

       He followed Jessica into the study. Not paying attention whether she struggled with the door, but instinctively pushing it open with her in tandem. As every other room so far, this one was stale and cold. Only two steps in and Taliesin's gaze immediately found the map Jessica pointed out to him.

       ❛❛Isn't that depressing❜❜, he muttered, not wasting anything more but a brief look around, before his attention was back on the blueprint. It looked... old. Perhaps out of date. He would have to trace every nook in these damn walls to make sure. Sighing internally, he turned back to Jessica. There was AN AIR OF UNEASE about her. Was that because of him or because of the general mess they found themselves in? Probably both. His brows knitted slightly. ❛❛Remind me... how long has it been since you've resided here? How much do you know about this place?❜❜

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day 513

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— Mary Lambert, Shame Is an Ocean I Swim Across

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       Rachel groaned and instinctively tightened his grasp as Rey spun to show him the breathtaking landscape of HICKSVILLE HORROR SCENERY, but recalling the ungodly noise the other made earlier he reminded himself to stop doing that. And thank god Rey stopped spinning, too because both of them could've made the situation infinitely worse, were it not for enough self-awareness.

       So... Rafe told Rey? Rachel uttered something close to a "huh" sound against Rey's neck, his brows furrowing softly. Did he tell Rafe where he went? Well, probably. He must have. Otherwise Rey wouldn't have stumbled over him in the middle of nowhere. THE ONLY THING that irked him about it was that he couldn't remember any about it. Did he really drink himself silly enough to forget about that? Rachel sighed quietly to himself and adjusted his position to not slide off his pack mule. Didn't matter now, did it?

       ❛❛If you say so...❜❜ Rachel noted the faint light of the junkyard coming closer. It was still a march to go, but Rey seemed oddly capable to go the distance. Rachel would have folded like a lawnchair at this point and they wouldn't have made it without multiple breaks to get Rey back in town and out of reach of Deputy Douchebag on duty the backcountry, the occasional hobo and probably something worse. LIKE A RABID RACCOON.

       ❛❛With my luck... I'd probably drown in a puddle or somethin'❜❜, he retorted lowly. ❛❛And freeze my ass off. But someone would've found me. Eventually...❜❜ And way past the point of no return, for sure. For some reason the thought made Rachel snicker. With Rey being back it put into question how he survived on his own, didn't it? ❛❛Well, I didn't drink out here, obviously❜❜, he explained, gesturing around them and nearly hitting Rey in the face with his palm. ❛❛Ugh, sorry 'bout that -- uhm, so they kinda re-opened the old movie theatre for special occasions. They do that sometimes now. SNEAK PEAKS and older stuff. Turns out that The Princess Bride gets you buzzed in under 20 minutes if drinking games are involved, soooo...❜❜

       It wasn't the first time Rachel and his friends snuck in drinks. But it was rare that he so aggressively threw himself into it when the movie was actually good and not giving him psychic damage that he had to balance out with beer. Probably had something to do with THE REJECTION LETTER from yet another art school he received today in the mail. ❛❛Wanna hear my Inigo Montoya impression? It's inconceivable. Gotta be good at somethin', right?❜❜ Rachel poked Rey's cheek repeatedly, deciding that his best friend didn't need to play therapist tonight. He was already saving him, there was no need to unpack all of Rachel's insecurities while they staggered home at night. His voice didn't hide much of the underlying thoughts though. Rachel cleared his throat, adding: ❛❛You gonna revoke my drinking game privileges? Or are you gonna play babysitter next time?❜❜ // @feveredbcnes

"This is your dream come true," Reynardine teased, huffing out a laugh as his best friend finally relented and clambered onto his back. It was an awkward tangle of arms and legs, but they eventually synchronised. Reynardine straightened up once he managed to stand. "A strong man, sweepin' you off your feet--c-ack," the noise released was a mixture between a cat hacking up a hairball and somebody punching him straight into his oesophagus as Rachel accidentally strangled him, cutting off his airways for a second. He breathed in deeply once the other realised and loosened his hold, trusting the process. "If you're plannin' on killin' me, can you at least be kind an' do it in my sleep? Press a pillow against my face, maybe." He grinned, securing his hold around Rachel's legs as they resumed their journey towards the junkyard. This was far better, at least in his opinion.

"'m fine, dude! Relaaax." He responded, picking up on his apprehension. Sure -- the height difference looked completely ridiculous, but he was incredibly strong. Stronger than Rachel could imagine, but the exact reason why never left his mouth. If asked, he'll come up with a typical excuse of hitting the gym whilst he was away, even though the Welshman had never set foot in one. Too many people. "Here, take in the wonderful scenery," he prompted, carefully spinning them in a circle to give his best friend a full panoramic view. It was hardly breath-taking. Most of what they were surrounded by had been disguised under darkness, but half of it looked like something out of Children of The Corn. But he stopped spinning when he remembered that Rachel had been drinking; he was not about to become a two-man spew sprinkler.

The smell of beer was overpowering, especially with his face being this close to Rachel's. Warm breath tickled the side of his neck. It was less than ideal, but he would rather this than find his friend dead in a ditch somewhere. He laughed at his dramatic request, shaking his head in disagreement. "Tell them yourself, man." The distance between themselves and the junkyard seemed narrower, the bright lights finally appearing closer and that much more welcoming. A sigh of relief escaped him. He could see the furthermost gate which he left in search of this hooligan, but his thoughts were interrupted by the question he hoped to avoid. Clearly not drunk enough to notice the discrepancy in his sudden appearance. Yeah, Rey -- how did you find your best friend without being told the latitude and longitude of his really specific, pinpointed location?

"Rafe...told me," he responded, trying and failing to sound confident in his answer. "Told me tha' you left on your bike in this direction, so...I just followed the road, I guess? A lucky shot in the dark, y'know?" Now he felt like he was burning up, sat in a small interrogation room with the light shining in his eyes. But he pushed on, quickly turning the tables on his friend. "Wha' were you doin' out there, 'nyway? Drinkin', yeah, but why?...At least do it where I can keep an eye on you, man." There was a hint of irritation in his tone, but it came from a place of love and concern. "Wha' if I hadn't found you? Were you just gonna sit out there all night, freezin' your ass off?"

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John Keats, from a letter to Fanny Brawne, featured in The Selected Letters of John Keats

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// @alwaysanangcl CONT'D FROM HERE

       He could almost taste it -- the longing in her gaze, the sweet temptation lingering between them right before realization set in and diffused the tension in the room. Unable to diminish the spark entirely, but just enough to leave the air clear, except for a faint tingling. Taliesin had savoured the flavour of many. Each of them being slightly different, but OVERALL FORRGETTABLE for the most part. His Gancanagh heritage made him sensitive to these things. He knew when someone wanted him, whether it was to just feel a gentle touch again or the desperation to crawl into someone's skin to forget who they were. Jessica was on the brink of this... newness, very much like him. And when she moved away, the fae allowed himself to draw in a long breath to sate his own mind - for now.

       ❛❛I will give you less to think about and more to find out when the time arises, my lovely.❜❜ Taliesin's eyes glinted, his words a promise. Almost mischievously at the sight of her smile. Someone with less experience in the game of LOVE AND LUST might have found themselves on the verge of abandoning all resolutions. He though intended to make sure an postponed occasion would prove much more worthwhile.

       Covering her hands with his, he traced the shape of her arms for a moment. Then he plucked them away to press a kiss into each of her palms and lead her back out of the fairy den with a gentle hold. Having to return his mind to the BUMBLING MORTALFOLK awaiting them at the estate filled him with the familiar tinge of annoyance. It would only be a few days. But by the gods, they'd be long and filled with ideas how he could spend his time better. He side-glanced at Jessica and linked his fingers with hers, smirking silently.

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TAROT (dir. Spenser Cohen, 2024)

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still here

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um sorry for moaning when you stabbed me. it's been a really long time since anyone touched me like that

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Tate Langdon — American Horror Story: Murder House.

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Silco from Arcane (Season 1)

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