VINTAGE RED 🌼

#𝐅𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃.      independent & highly private original character, CONNIE DAISY MILLER, 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

and then also being closeted bisexual in that environment too. she’s always known that part of herself i think but it was never safe to, you know, Be. having to keep her girlfriend a secret and that makes her feel so lonely and isolated even with all her family and friends.

these are the top-ranked country hits in the u.s.a. we've arrived at number 23 for the week...

crickets chirp over the sound of radio static, as the host's voice bleeds into the intro notes of its next song. in the back of connie's truck and a six pack between them, danny idly toys with the frayed ends of her shorts, his knuckles gently grazing her skin. it's nice. relaxed. danny peers down at her as she settles into him a little closer, her cheek pressed into his shoulder with a contented sigh.

she doesn't notice his eyes on her at first, with her own trained towards the open field where maria's trying to capture the castilleja before the sun sets. leland is with her — who also becomes the subject of her photos when she abruptly turns her camera on him, and snaps him in a candid moment.

connie can hear their distant laughter.

danny snorts, and she finally glances up at him. but, she notes, he's looking at her, not their friends. and he must have caught her smile.

" what, weirdo? " her eyebrows shoot up, accusatory, but his answer is nothing short of honest: " nothin'. i like seeing you happy. "

there's a weight to his sincerity that she gives pause to. a stunned little scoff. connie's eyes drift as she sits with that awkward-feeling, and busies her hands; she's making a game of trying to precariously balance her beer bottle on danny's thigh. " yeah, i... missed this. " she admits, but that's the obvious part. the unspoken part is that it's still hard sometimes, to let herself be happy, when she thinks too much about all the nameless girls— just like her, that weren't so lucky to make it out of that house alive, while she went on living with the truth of it in the forefront of her mind.

and then there's the guilt. for how she left them, the people that cared about her, when they needed each other the most. and how easy it was to fall back into them, their old habits and routines, inside jokes and affections.

like no time had passed. like it never had to.