VINTAGE RED 🌼

#𝐅𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃.      independent & highly private original character, CONNIE TAYLOR, associated with the texas chainsaw massacre franchise. written by rae, 29, she/they. mature themes present throughout. 18+ only due to the nature of this blog. heavy tw for allusions to murder, cannibalism, etc.

𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒: @lifesver, @meatriarch, @t4mpered

a chill sinks into her like the fangs of a texas rattlesnake, bone-deep and unrelenting. the heavy downpour shows no sign of letting up, her rain-soaked clothes cold and clinging to her body. connie doesn't know how long she's been walking these desolate backroads; not one car has driven by, making them seem to stretch on endlessly. her only measure of how far she's gone were from cursory looks over her shoulder, until that house was lost over the horizon.

her lungs burn. her legs burn, too. but she knows it will be worse if she doesn't keep going, and it's a matter of whether the blood loss or those... monsters catch up to her first. and her friends— oh god, her friends. she tries not to give in to the thoughts of them, plagued by how she had watched them cruelly and carelessly brutalized like the countless other strangers left to rot in the corners of that basement. like they were just husks of meat. she feels just as guilty and sick when she thinks about leland. how he selflessly offered himself as a distraction so she might escape, and how selfishly she had taken that offer.

connie knows that behind his reassuring smile and the brave face that he put on, there was a deeply terrified boy.

she lurches when a sudden flash of white-hot flares up the side of her bruised ribcage, enough to stir a sharp gasp and for buckled legs to bring her to her knees in the mud. her eyes pinch closed against a well of tears as frustration boils over the pain. come on, taylor, she barters with an uncooperative body. her hands clasp her side, winded. get up, come on.

connie hears it first — the movement, before she sees it. a different sound down the quiet road, over the rainfall and pounding in her ears. crunching brush. heavy footsteps. and she feels her heart in the pit of her stomach. labored breaths hush to something softer, or maybe she stops breathing at all. when she wills herself to open her eyes again, she sees the silhouette of a person staggering out from the fields across the road.

she freezes like a deer caught in headlights. and it's too late to run, she realizes, even if she tried, they've seen her, too.

but fear turns to confusion— as they stumble closer, the silhouette takes on a more familiar shape. and maybe they say something, her name? she can't hear it over persistent ringing. and confusion, in turn, to clarity, recognition:

" —leland? "

the disbelief catches in her throat, choked up and tearful. before she has a chance to rush up on unsteady legs, he meets her on the ground instead, and connie all but crashes into him to pull him into a tight embrace. her arms thrown over his shoulders and face buried in the crook of his neck, he's the first touch of warmth she's felt in too long. " oh my god, you're alive. you're alive. " he's alive, and he's real. she's lost somewhere between relieved laughter and sobbing, and grimacing at renewed pain when he finds his arms around her, too. but she doesn't care.

she wishes they could stay like this for a while, but concern eventually draws back to really look at his face, her brows furrowed when she takes in the fresh patterns of bruises, gnarled skin, blood and grime washed partially away by the rain. " a-are you hurt? " she knows he is. they both are. but if there was anything, anything she could do for him now to ease the pain—

animal:   barn cats, foxes.

color: warm colours like orange, pink, red. the pale green of her eyes. 

month: june through august, warm weather and crops ready for harvest.

song:  american pie - don mclean, any kind of johnny cash.

number: 18, the age she got a fresh start in a new city. the age she learned how to start accepting herself.

day or night: early mornings, before the sun rises. 

plant: daisies, orange tulips.

smell: earthy and warm. sandalwood, cedarwood, mossy. sometimes a note of something citrus-y. 

season:  late summer, early fall.

food: fresh fruit, like strawberries and oranges. a warm apple pie.

astrological sign: taurus.

element: earth, wind.