#THE LUMBERJACK GHOST STILL FUCKING TALKS TO HER AT NIGHT?????? LIKE???????? GOD.

[jonahmagnus]

Why is nobody talking about this. This rules. This goes hard. Pacifica my blorbo of all time

[wetookanoath]

AU where “my buddies pranked me when I went skinny dipping and they stole my clothes and I only have a towel but you thought I was a robber and you told me to put my hands up but I dropped the towel and I don’t know if you’ll shoot me or taser me if I try to pick it up and you can’t see because I’m behind a tree but you’re telling me to step out wtf do I do”

“Oh dear lord, you are naked!”

The surprise in the man’s voice was almost offensive. Ryan swallowed, feeling his body tremble. Dammit, he hadn’t noticed before, when he had his clothes and his dignity as he and his friends made their way to the dock of the lake.

He should had known better, looking back at their stupid Uno game. Ryan should had known Dany and the boys were gonna pull one on him once they chose his punishment for loosing the world’s longest Uno game in history.

“You are jumping naked into the lake!” Dany had declared, and that was the moment Ryan should had say no, he should had realized what the real plan was.

It was the most common joke in the universe, something he himself had done to Dany back in college, and now he was naked, balls frozen, wet and certainly catching a cold, with his arms up because someone had caught him traspassing private property.

“Where you…? What? What where you trying to do all naked in the middle of the night?” The guy asked, slowly walking towards Shane with his taser and light up. “Do you always robb balls out?”

“I’m not– I’m not thief, for the last fucking time!” Ryan yelled, desperation so clear in his voice it would be embarrassing if his ass wasn’t bare. “Can I just… please, let me pick my towell!”

The guy moved his hand, indicating just that to Ryan who immediatelly took the towell and put it back around his waist as best he could. Dany had chosen to leave him with the smallest one, the bastard, and Ryan hadn’t feel so inclining to murder in his entire life.

Just let him find those idiots again…

“Shane!” He heard a woman yell, Ryan looked up at the cabin he had tried to walk to for help. “It’s everything alright?”

“I think!” The guy answered. Shane. Ryan swallowed and took a good look at his profile– he had glasses and messy hair, a beard and flannel. Like a hipster version of a fucking lumberjack. “God back inside, I’ll be there in a moment!”

He gave a step back, ready to fucking run into the other direction before the man could tase him or something– but Shane looked at him, slowly lowered his taser and walked towards him until Ryan could see his face.

“You look like the typical college jock whose friends left in the lake without clothes.” Shane declared, his words falling on Ryan like cold water. Again. “You need a phone? Maybe a sweater? Pants? All of the above?”

“All of the avobe would be nice, sir.”

Shane chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped in a few inches closer. Ryan looked at that face– the tin of his pink lips, the frekles on his cheeks and the beauty marks on him, his lashes were pretty, his eyes shone in a way he had never seen before.

He looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t even kill a fly.

Which… didn’t gave him the best of ideas after having seen Psycho with the guys. Hipster lumpberjack has a cabin in the woods and appears with a taser in the middle of the night? No, thank you.

“Come on, let’s get inside so you can get some warmth.” Shane suggested, moving aside to let him walk with him. “Sara made some cocoa, you can have some.”

Sara. Must be the girl that talked to him earlier.

“Th-thanks!”

**

Sara was, in fact, the woman who had spoke to Shane before. She was a tiny girl with big hair that talked gently and hide her laughther for Ryan’s situation when she heard what had happened. The rest of the girls in the cabin couldn’t, though.

In fact, the place was filled with girls, huge signs and party ornaments let Ryan know he had interrumpted a Bachelorette party and the jokes about his nakedness and someone calling in a stripper for the lesbian wedding actually made him laugh once he was dressed and warm in Shane’s big ass clothes.

The girls let him stay when his friends didn’t answer their phones, Ryan supposed they may as well be scared shitless at the fact that they couldn’t find him in the lake after their stupid prank.

Which… good. They deserved the fear of having to tell his mother they had lost their son.

“No offense,” Ryan said as he saw Shane puring him a drink once his cocoa was out, “but why are you in the bachelorette party? You are, like, the only guy… aside from me.”

“Oh, I am the stripper.” He answered simply, Ryan’s eyes opened wide as his mouth but before he could say anything, Shane started to laugh, passing the glass to him.

His eyes had turned into half moons in a way that made him look younger and bright, Ryan thought it endearing. This man that almost tased him, that had acted as if Ryan’s dong wasn’t showing in the middle of the woods, was actually just some kind and sweet nerd.

“No, no. I’m sorry– Bad joke.” Shane said, sighing before looking at Ryan once he had put his elbows on the bar at the kitchen. “I’m Sara’s Best Man, and also this is my cabin.”

“It’s yours?” Ryan asked, then took a sip of the drink. Shane nodded his head. “That’s cool. You live out here in the woods?”

“No… not really.” He said. “I spend some time here, do some work, then go back to the city!”

“Oh,” He blinked a couple of times, “What… what do you do?”

Shane looked at him, his eyes never leaving Ryan’s. His stare was neutral but something in the depth of his eyes had Ryan feeling naked all over again. It was as if Shane knew him since forever and could see through him, know all his screts with just one look.

He swallowed, Shane smiled at him and held his own chin in one hand.

“I study wild life. Write some essays and books about them. Do some videos for YouTube… and some ASMR, also for YouTube.”

“Oh.” Ryan moved his head to one side. “Really?”

“Yep!” Shane answered, moving to make himself a drink. “What about you? Still in college? Or are your friends just stuck in college?”

“Oh, I think we brought back some ghosts this weekend. Holy shit…” Ryan said, taking another sip of his drink as Shane laughed and finished preparing his. “No, I’m a video producer, I’m working for… you know, the Try Guys?”

“Sure, of course.” Shane said, looking at Ryan with complete interest. “You work with them?”

“Yeah…” Ryan answered, swallowing. Shane seemed genuinely impressed. “A friend and I, we– we’ve been seeing some people and stuff. To open our own company.”

“Oh!” Shane held his drink between them. “Cheers for you guys! That’s amazing!”

Laughter erupted in the living room where the girls had started a game of Never Have I Ever between them. Ryan smiled at the sight, slowly looking back at Shane who was still watching them, a sweet smile on his face made him look like  proud big brother seeing his sister getting married.

For the interactions he’ve seen tonight, Shane and Sara were close, and so were Shane and Kelsey, her future wife. It was a nice picture, these ladies having fun, and they had the luck to witness it with good drinks.

Shane looked back at him, showing his drink again before they clicked glasses together and drank at the same time. 

This was… really nice.

**

“It’s late.” Shane announced, looking at his clock on his wirst.

Ryan nodded and looked at the cabin’s phone, ready to try again and call his friends, but Shane put a hand on his shoulder before he could go.

“Why don’t you stay?” Shane asked. “It really is late, going out to the woods right now doesn’t sound like the best of ideas.” 

“Uh,” Ryan blinked a couple of times, then looked at where the girls were getting ready for the night.

For what Shane had told him, he could just take the guest room as they were staying in the living room, like a sleepover from childhood. He could also take Shane’s bed.

He swallowd, but nodded.

**

Dany almost cried on the phone when Ryan called to let him know he was staying with his rescuers. After the milliont I’m Sorry, Ryan finally got to calm him down, telling him it was fine, they would talk the next day.

By the time his friend asked him if the hipster lumberjack was hot with that tone that indicates he’s being called a horny bitch, Ryan hang up the phone with warmth cheeks.

Shane smiled at him from the living room and, holy shit– 

Yeah. Yeah, the hipster lumberjack that makes ASMR was hot.

**

The lights were off in the living room but they could still hear some of the girls’ giggling, Kelsey telling them out loud to shut up and let them sleep since tomorrow they will all have hangovers the size of Idris Elba’s biceps (more laughter came after). 

Ryan followed Shane into the hallway that lead to the rooms, and sighed when they stopped between two doors that were one in front of the other.

“So, here’s the guests room.” Shane showed him the one on the left, then signaled the one door in front of them between the rooms. “Bathroom.” Ryan nodded, then followed his finger to the next door. “And this is my room.”

“Uh, okay–”

“Where I’m going to change into my, what did you called me?” Shane said, Ryan frowned and started to feel his cheeks warmth yet again, “Hipster lumberjack? Well, I’m gonna change into my hipster lumberjack pajamas… and then in five minutes, you can come in and take them off.”

Ryan stared at him for a few seconds, but Shane only winked at him with a wicked smile before getting into his room, leaving the door slightly open.

He heard a giggle in the livin room and Ryan blinked, finally, processing what Shane had said, what he was inviting him to and– it had been a while, to be honest. This was a nice guy he just met in the weirdest of ways, and… 

“To hell with it.” He decides, opening the door of Shane’s room.

All they could probably hear in the livin room was Shane’s laugh as Ryan entered and closed the door behind him.

[mrvdocks]

Just Ask IV

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing at, but you stay away from her,” Billy warns.

Fiona cocks her head. “Oh Billy, as soon as I saw you with her, I knew what you were doing. “RUN”? I can’t wait to read how this all ends.”

Billy’s head drops. “This is different. I lik- I love her. I want to be with her.” 

Fiona pouts. “She’s just a phase. This is a huge deal for her, you know? She’s a lovesick puppy but once you get her out of your system, she’ll be fucked.”

You didn’t realize you were still sleeping when you felt the sun beat down on your face, warming you and highlighting both yours and Billy’s bodies. Your eyes fluttered open, suddenly aware of your surroundings. You shot Billy a side glance, stretching and yawning. He was still asleep, looking peaceful as ever. You smiled to yourself, your fingers dance upon his delicate skin, ginger stubble shining in the sunlight. It’d been 17 years since you’d been able to be in this same position and you missed it dearly. You missed having the butterflies in the pit of your stomach go crazy when he would look at you with those beautiful eyes of his. To feel his skin against yours, the intimacy you two shared when it wasn’t sexual was to die for. Eventually, your fingers traced figures into his skin until you landed on his wrist. Out of curiosity, you’d lifted his watch to see the time. 10:28 AM. 

“Fuck!” You yelled, waking him up instantly.

Half asleep and groggy, he raced against the clock to gather his things and tried to walk behind you, trying to meet your panicked and frantic state. You threw your things into the first cab that would take you two and pulled him in as soon as you were done. 

He laid on your shoulder as best he could, eyes still droopy. “Last night….was -” 

“Great.” Your cheeks flared. Did you really have to have this conversation in front of somebody else? You felt like you were having the sex talk with your mom.  

“Yeah, great.” He said, quickly sitting up. “I mean I - I can do better.” 

Your brows raised. “Oh?”

“I mean you kind of caught me off guard there.” 

You scrunch your face, amused. “I mean I’d like to think I gave you plenty of chances to do something else.” You nudge his arm. 

“No I mean, I just don’t remember it being….”

You felt the blood come rushing to your cheeks again. “Yeah, I picked up a few things. You know, after we broke up.” 

His sleepy eyes widened suddenly, “That explains a lot.” 

“What?” 

“Oh god, not like that. I - um - fecking hell.” He stammered. It was kind of funny to you to see him squirm like this. You hadn’t gotten him this nervous since he’d seen you. 

“Can we hurry this up?” He said to the driver. You chuckled to yourself. 

You took in the last sight of the city before thinking back to what was waiting for you at home. 

"You okay?” Billy’s voice brought you out of your trance. You narrowed your eyes onto the fields of green outside your roomette window. How nice it must feel, to be so free and without worries. You don’t remember what that’s like.

You hum in response. “Peachy.”

You feel your phone buzz from your back pocket and tense up. Billy’s face follows yours, eyes searching your face for any sign of worry. “You gonna get that?” He asks.

You shake your head. You don’t tell him you’re afraid of what it might say. Or who’s behind the text. You bite your lip, feeling the unshakeable fear of the unknown eat at you. The phone buzzes again and this time you jolt up. He scampers for his phone, “It’s mine. Sorry.” 

You sigh in some relief and focus on the outside again. “Everything okay?” It’s your turn to be concerned. You make a move to turn to see what he’s doing but he stops you first, pinning you down onto the cramped roomette bed and kissing you deeply. When you both come up for air he’s the first to speak. “I’m a complete dick, right?” 

“Well,” you say as a matter of factly. 

He sighs. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

“You can say sorry again in other ways.” You smile. He chuckles to himself. 

He lifts one of your legs up onto his torso, diving back in for another kiss. Your hand comes up to grab tufts of hair, the other caressing his face. Your pelvis pushes up against the front of his jeans, feeling him becoming hard almost immediately. You bite at his lower lip, earning a groan from him. His tongue darted to yours then your lips, you reveled in the thought of him working his tongue on you. If he said he could do better, maybe he should.

Frustrated, you guide his hand down and into your jeans, your breathing becoming heavier when his fingers ghost over your very sensitive area. He breaks the kiss to look at you, almost hungrily. He makes his way down, kissing down your body until he reaches your abdomen. Before he can pry the buttons off, the phone buzzes again. You mentally curse at yourself for not turning your phone off, but he reveals it’s his. 

“Who’s even texting you at this time?” Your breathless voice hints annoyed and now you sit up on the bed watching him. He looks at the phone and then you. 

You shrug and turn away. “Maybe whoever’s texting you can give you a good handy or something.” 

He tsks. You ignore it and leave the roomette, letting him have time with whoever he apparently deemed worthier of his time. 

“Are you following me?” A voice came from behind you, and it doesn’t even register that you’re walking about the aisles of the train. 

“Alice?” You don’t mean to sound so surprised but it comes out so shrill. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh just, going to meet someone I met on eHarmony.”

“Oh…oh.” You wince. She laughs dismissing the thought. 

“Hey, while you’re here, you wanna get a cup of coffee or something? My treat.” 

You nod.

After getting the worst cups of coffee in the world, you two sit and contemplate.

“Can I be very honest with you?” She asks.

You nod. “I think this whole thing you’re doing, is amazing. You chose yourself over everyone else! It’s not always you get to be a little selfish and put your needs first.”

You scowl. “If I did the right thing, then why do I feel so bad?”

“Don’t let people make you think that. Don’t let it rule your head.” 

You nod.

“Do you have any plans after the train?” 

You fiddle with your earring in thought. “I don’t know yet. Anything outside of Billy just seems empty. It’s so weird, I have no idea what he’s thinking.”

Pause.

“You think he’s a good man?” She asks, carefully studying you.

You shrug and look away, now fiddling with the frayed ends of your sweater. “I think he tries to be. Isn’t that the point? Everyone’s just trying to make do with what they’ve got?” 

She smiles understandingly, “So what’s the old ball and chain up to now?” 

You chuckle to yourself. “It’s so weird, he has this like a huge bag of money. I’m not sure if maybe that’s what we’re using to get around.”

“What?” Alice asked almost in disbelief. 

“Yeah! Weird, right?”

“What is he, a drug dealer?”

You snort. “I don’t know, a guy like him? He probably needs it to get away from his fans or something.”

Alice narrows her eyes at this. “Stalker maybe? What a weirdo.” 

You laugh in unison, feeling an awkward pause come in. “I should probably go find him. See what he’s up to.”

Alice nods, and bids you farewell. 

Meanwhile, Billy was about to just have a fecking heart attack. Every buzz from his phone only added more to his anxiety and he didn’t like feeling like that around you. His neuroticism would say otherwise. 

Fiona’s last text had sent him into a spiral and now he felt like he was about to shit himself. If she was here, she couldn’t get to you. No way in fecking hell. 

You weren’t sure if seeing the red missed calls were supposed to make you feel shittier about your situation, but they sure weren’t helping your case. Sighing and closing your eyes, you pressed the red letters and abandoned all hope. When you were met with dial tones, you huffed and walked back to the aisles, seeing Billy already there. 

“Hey.” He said, trying to push the bag over to where you were going to sit. 

“Hey.” You said, not sure how to feel towards him right now.

“You feeling better?” He asked, stuffing the bag into your side as you sat down. 

You cock your head to the side. “What are you doing with all this money?” 

His brows raised in confusion. “It’s just for safekeeping.” 

“From Jackie and the hoard?”

“Something like that.”

“Alice said something about that, maybe you have stalkers.” 

Oh, you had no idea. 

“Who’s Alice?” 

“My friend from Chicago.”

“Look at you! Making friends.” 

You roll your eyes. “Okay, she helped me steal some of the things for that night but point is, she’s here! On the train!”

While you were completely oblivious, he was shitting bricks. 

“What does she look like?”

“Short, really pretty, dark hair.”

He nods, smile fading.

“What? Oh, shit do you think maybe she’s your stalker?”

He stands, hands reaching for the duffel when you hear Alice’s voice greet you both.

“So you’re the infamous Billy Johnson. Heard a lot about you.” Fiona’s eyes burn holes into Billy, and you’re just around the bend. You do notice the shake in his voice as he looks up at her and tries to greet her without fault in his demeanor. 

“Is this weird? I didn’t mean to make it awkward.” She laughs, but Billy knows a fake semi detrimental laugh when he hears it.

“No!” You protest.

“She’s just worried you’re a stalker or something of mine.”

“Billy.” You throw a look at him. 

“Oh no! We just keep bumping into each other, what a coincidence, right?” 

Billy glares at Fiona, but you don’t notice yet.

“What are you doing on this train, Alice?”

“Just headed to California.”

“Yeah, she’s meeting a lumberjack.” You finish for her.

Fiona’s eyes bounce from you to him. “He’s taking me to Disneyland. You ever been? It’s lovely, you should take your so-some friends or family someday.” 

Fiona saves herself from possibly revealing your son, oblivious that he knows.  

You chuckle nervously, side glancing Billy. “Or you two should go together! Can’t imagine this one would want to wait in lines, must have lots of people come up to him.” 

Your phone buzzes, you take a peek being met with a photo of your son. In the hospital. 

What the fuck.

Your eyes meet Billy’s, tears brimming in your eyes. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” 

His hand grabs onto yours for a second, he squeezes it in reassurance before letting you go.

You rush into your roomette, whispering curses under your breath. The line ringing only makes you wanna vomit. 

“Hello?” Your mother’s voice springs you to life.

“What happened?” 

“Look who wants to know, Parent of the Year.”

“Mom,” your voice is shaky. “Please.”

She sighs. “He just had a little fever. He was up all night, and he couldn’t breathe but I just got out of the ER and they’re saying he should be fine. They want to keep him for observation.” 

You run a hand through your hair, sighing in relief.

“Listen, he needs you. He needs his mother, not his grandmother. He’s right on the cusp of that age where he’s going to be attached at the hip of whoever’s giving him attention.”

“I know.” You hang your head in shame, wiping away at the tears. 

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing at, but you stay away from her,” Billy warns.

Fiona cocks her head. “Oh Billy, as soon as I saw you with her, I knew what you were doing. “RUN”? I can’t wait to read how this all ends.”

Billy’s head drops. “This is different. I lik- I love her. I want to be with her.” 

Fiona pouts. “She’s just a phase. This is a huge deal for her, you know? She’s a lovesick puppy but once you get her out of your system, she’ll be fucked.”

Billy shakes his head vigorously. “I won’t. That’s not happening.”

“Does she know?”

“Stop fucking with my head. I’m not coming back, I don’t care about you.”

She smirks. 

“Oh...she doesn’t.” She taunts. “What do you think she’d say about this little video?”

Fiona pulls out her phone, a pre-recorded Billy talks about his ‘RUN’ plan. Billy feels sick to his stomach.

“Let’s watch it again, shall we?”

“Turn it off.” He warns.

“No I think we should see it.” 

“Turn. It. Off.” He lunges forward trying to get the phone until the ticket lady interrupts him.

He sinks back into his seat. Fiona stands with the higher ground and smiles at him. She walks off into the roomette direction and he has to take deep breaths to calm down. 

You find Alice after the call, slightly relieved to see her. 

“Everything okay?”

“Um, I hope so. Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“You’re asking the shoplifter if you’re a bad person?” She muses.

“I just feel so overwhelmed by everything right now.”

“Well, go back home then.”

You frown. “I can’t just leave Billy.”

“How come?”

“He...needs me.”

“Do you even know him? In and out? After all these years? Me and Billy have been working together for years.”

“What?” Your eyes searched her for any signs of a lie.

“You’re just too trusting. It's sad, really.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Give me the money.”

“No.”

“See, if you deny me that money, I don’t think you’d like this being sent out to Child Services now would you?” She brings her phone out and plays a voice memo. Your eyes widen as you recognize the moans and Billy’s voice. 

“Stop!” You reach for the phone but she’s quicker. 

“I was in your hotel last night, and now that I know about your kid, mmm you can do the math.”

This bitch. “You were my friend!”

“Listen if it’s any consolation, you were a joy to hang around with. Now, the money.”

You hesitate but reach behind you to grab the bag. You pass it to her as she unzips it to make sure everything is there. “Billy won’t ever be honest with you. Don’t forget it.” 

With that, she walks off. Billy reaches you moments later. 

“I was wrong.” You stand. “About everything.” 

“I need to tell you something.”

"I know."

“Fiona, Alice whatever the feck she’s going by, she’s following me and she used to work for me, and she’s pissed I ended the tour.”

“I know.” 

"Oh." He said.

“Is that all?”

“No...before I walked off, I called everybody a bunch of cunts and everybody turned on me and now I’m being branded a murderer.”

“I think I have you beat, I might’ve given her the money.”

“No!”

“Listen!”

“Why would you do that?!”

“We’re getting that bag back! Let’s go.” 

You drag him out and you two run between cars trying to find her. After accidentally tripping an elderly person, you silently pray you don’t go to hell for that and take hold of Billy’s wrist to have him catch up with your fast legs. 

You two finally find her at the end of the train car, but before you two can even form coherent sentences in her direction, she flips you off and jumps. You scream in shock and turn, Billy taking you into his arms and shushing you to calm you down. 

Once you calm down, the idea pops into your head.

“We have to jump.” You whisper.

“Are you fecking crazy?” His eyes are wild. 

“You want the money right?” You grab hold of his hand, and with a squeeze you look at him. 

“I’m not jumping off of a moving train.” He shakes his head.

“We don’t have another option.” 

You both take a deep breath, stealing glances at each other, and hand in hand, you both jump.

[chezzkaa]

Numb pt 22

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Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 2100+

Date posted: 18 Nov 2018

Megan Pottsman Missing 17/12/2015 - Found 22/12/2015 Body, female. 10 yo. Found 500 meters past tree line. Blunt force trauma. Lacerations across torso, shoulders, base of skull. Clear Bear Attack. No labs required.

SCRIPT

Interview with Mathew. D. Pottsman (Father) Interviewer: Officer G. Sorola Supervisor: Det. Insp. M. Hullum 17/12/2015 03:37am

Sorola: Hello, Mr. Pottsman, I’m Officer Sorola. I’m going to ask you some questions relating to your daughter’s disappearance. Please remember that you will need to tell us everything so that we can do our jobs.

Pottsman: Yeah, okay. I can do that.

Sorola: And you’re alright with being recorded?

Pottsman: Yes.

Sorola: Then lets get started. Mr. Pottsman, when was the last time you saw Megan?

Pottsman: Probably at dinner the night she went missin’. I made her favourite, and she wanted to watch TV. I went to do some reading and left her watching some cartoon show.

Sorola: Is that all?

Pottsman: I heard her.

Sorola: Pardon?

Pottsman: I heard her. There was a knock on the door and she answered it. I heard her tell me she was going out, and that’s the last of it. Told her to come back before the snow got too bad. When the street lamps came on. But she… she didn’t.

Sorola: Any ideas as to which of her friends it was?

Pottsman: … no.

Sorola: No?

Pottsman: That’s what I said. I don’t know which friend it was.

Sorola: So, please let me know if I’ve somehow misunderstood you. You let your 10 year old daughter leave the house with someone you assume to have been a friend, of who you don’t know, in the middle of a brewing snow storm? And, more importantly,you made no effort to check on your daughter and her friend for yourself.

Pottsman: No, no now you’re making it sound like I wanted her to leave. Like I don’t love my daughter!

Sorola: I haven’t said anything of the sort.

Pottsman: You don’t have too! You’re sat right in front of me acting all high and mighty. You know what? It’s my fault. There, I said it. It’s all my fault. I was a shitty dad and now my daughter is missing. If Megan doesn’t come back I’m going to be the one that’s killed her. Not whoever took her, not the weather. Not some wild animal. Me, cus I couldn’t bring myself to be a good dad.

Sorola: Mr. Pottsman, please. No one here is accusing you of anything. Right now this is a missing persons case and we’re doing everything we can to locate your daughter. That includes interviewing everyone that came into contact with her before the incident. The person who you claim to have knocked on the door is a prime suspect, and possibly the last person to have seen Megan. Is she likely to have left with an adult?

Pottsman: I don’t think so. She understood stranger danger.

Sorola: What about an adult she recognised?

Pottsman: Listen here, officer. Everyone in this town knows everyone. We’re friends with every family here cus we all go to that damn community garden thing. Megan gets along with all of them, even that new carpenter down the street. She baked him some cookies cus she was worried he wouldn’t have any friends, ha, she told him to go to the garden cus she though he’d get along with the large guy. What’s his name? Jack? He was over the freakin’ moon when he fixed up our neighbours house and she brought them out with a little card she’d made.

Sorola: New carpenter? Are you talking about Haywood?

Pottsman: Hmm? Yeah, him. Stand up bloke. You don’t think it was him, do you? Oh god, Megan told him to hang around with the other kids.

Sorola: No, we don’t believe he is involved. His alibi is airtight. He is accounted for outside his home at the time Megan disappeared. We currently have no suspects, which is why we’re talking to you.

Pottsman: So you do think I did it!

Sorola: Please, we’ve been over this.    

Pottsman: I - I… okay. No, okay. I’m sorry. My nerves are just - it’s been a long few hours. I’ve smoked a pack. A whole pack, can you believe it? I haven’t smoked in years, and now I can’t sit still without something between my damn fingers.  

Sorola: It’s perfectly normal to revert into old habits when you’re nervous.

Pottsman: Nervous? No, no the claw marks on my neighbour’s porch that’ve now turned up on mine make me nervous. The snow and that bleedin’ livestock massacre that’s going on either side of my home makes me nervous. But my daughter being missing? I’m fucking terrified. I’m so scared I can’t see straight. I just - I can’t. Everytime I close my eyes I can hear that damn knocking. I should have gotten the door. Jumped that fucking railing so Meg didn’t have to open it. It should’ve been me. Oh god, it should’ve been me.

“Hey Michael,” you call over your shoulder, fanning out the photos of the tiny body covered in blood and curled in the snow. “I think I’ve found another one.”

His head pops up over the stack of files he’s working through, eyes encased in growing bags. Sat cross legged in the evidence locker, he’d long since abandoned the confines of a desk. “What’s the date?”

“She was found on the 17th of December in 2015.”

He whistles, glancing down to the timeline at his feet and following the numbers with his finger. “Got it! Gimme a name.”

“Megan Pottsman,” you read off, peering at a shot of her on a medical table. Body bloated, skin crossed with blues and bruises.

“She’s an early one.”

“She’s the 3rd we’ve found in 2015,” you murmur, bringing the photo you hold closer. “Happened before Jeremy moved here, too. He arrived in 2016, I think? This victim was put down as a bear attack.”

Michael perks up, shuffling over to you and sifting through the file. He stops on one of the same set of photos you’re trying to make sense of, lost in the line carving across skin. “Doesn’t look like a bear.”

“Bears rarely attack people, too,” you add. “Get this: her dad said in an interview that she went out with someone that knocked on the door. He thought it was a friend, and look at the lacerations. They’re not quite like the ones on the victims we’ve got, by they’re a damn lot closer to the markings on entryways of Pottsman’s home and the neighbours.”

“You’re right!” Michael exclaims, “this is the third body with similar markings. And his testimony puts the knocking and the scratches in the same timeframe as the missing person.”

“Is there a photo of her from behind?” you ask, rifling through the contents, urged on by the burn smouldering at the base of your skull. Irritation thick around your throat. It takes a moment for you to find, but eventually the gloss of the image you’re searching for sticks to your fingers.

“Here,” says Michael, plucking the picture from your hand and lining it up with the other 2 photos of the 2015 victims, all presenting their necks.

Drawing closer it gets harder to breathe. With an uncomfortable constricting sensation that tightens your throat - of which you blatantly try to ignore -  you take in the wounds. It’s not hard to recognise them anymore. The tell tale signs are obvious after having witnessed them so many times. The slightly blacked curl of the incision located at the base of the skull. The raw irritation circling the neck. Sure, their skulls hadn’t been removed like the later victims, but they matched the earliest cases you had, clumsy as the wounds may be.

“This is fantastic. That ties our killer to the body!”

Michael doesn’t even question you with a funny look, equally excited. “Perfect in the worst possible way, but absolutely awesome. We’ve finally got an undeniable link between the Widow ghost story knocking bullshit and the killer. Meaning analysing the scratches on doorways and comparing them to the body lacerations will help with determining the murder weapon!”

You’re nodding, compiling the evidence into a seperate box and pointing to Michael with a determined finger. “You got Jackie’s number?”

He rockets into standing. “You bet your ass I do!”

“Then call her, damn it. With this information she’ll be able to confirm the correlation between the new victims and the scratches, prove that we should be looking into the possibility of a copycat killer for the Widow of the Woods. We’ll finally prove to Jeremy that he’s a fucking idiot for not listening! We can do this.”

“We can fucking do this!”

“I’m absolutely exhausted! I’m going home.”

“Me too!”

“Nope,” you reject, beaming at him and handing over the box, “you’re going to face the beast.”

“How dare you call Jackie a beast?”

“Jackie? Hell no. I’m talking about Jeremy. You can tell him he’s wrong, I value my life.”

-

The walk home is everything you could have asked for. Cold enough for the wind to nip at the skin lining your cheeks, to gnaw on your nose until it’s red raw; but warm enough in the burrow of your clothing. And isolated enough to gather your thoughts into something you can almost excuse for a pile.

Because as the snow starts to dance, the streets clear. Families giggling with eager children into shelter, doors closing with audible snaps and warm orange light flooding from the windows. Even the distant figure of Ryan, of who you raise a hand to wave to as he sits stagnant on his front porch watching the white caught on the wind, stands to head inside. You don’t blame him. Continuing past until the store disappears behind you.

It’s quiet, which is nice. A welcome change to the mayhem that’s been inhabiting your mind so frequently. Chaos causing havoc and a constant stream of uncontrollable chatter. Hands buried deep in your pockets, it’s with every turn of your charmed stones that you realise just why it’s been so loud inside you head. Why you haven’t tried to instate some silence.

Because, if you had, you’d remember her.

Which, honestly, isn’t ideal with an open serial homicide case running rampant through your priorities.

And again, now that you’ve mentioned honesty to yourself, you can’t avoid the reason why you’re so frustrated with Jeremy. Why you want to take him by the shoulders and shake, desperate to hear the rattle of common sense. Of a failure you’ve both shared, and the experience you seem to have taken away while he’s remained as stubborn as ever. If he keeps going the way he is, refusing to explore a potential lead because it seems implausible, or silly, or pointless, someone else is going to die.

The crunching of snow beneath your boots works wonders, sound enough to ease the panic bubbling just below the surface. Every few steps draws in a deep, freezing breathe. Calm with every recount of ‘left foot, right foot, repeat’. Doused in the glow of happy homes and flanked by snow banks, it all starts to make sense. There’s an uncomfortably misplaced relief at the prospect of connecting the things you knew to be related all along, the links between the scratches, knocking, and missing children now so solid that people can’t ignore it.

So solid that you can’t question your sanity anymore, because the evidence is clear as day. Paranormal or otherwise. The Widow of the Woods, or the story at least, had a role to play. Of that you were sure.

The lodge comes into view after a few more minutes of quiet walking, nothing but the wind accompanying its breech above the snow. Through the windows comes the compassionate glow of Lauren’s summertime; of warmth and comfort and family as she spins in Trevor’s arms, the pair laughing and dancing in the firelight. The hum of music trembling into the snow. Wrapped in the intoxication of togetherness, of the overwhelming love they have for one another - that same love that greets you at the door as you ease off your shoes and unravel from your layers.  

But you don’t bother them, not yet, anyway. Instead watching them claim the living room as a dancefloor, Lauren’s sunshine caught in Trevor’s gaze that looks as though he can’t thank the stars enough for the beauty he holds in his hands. Can’t tell the woman with shining cheeks and a smile that brightens the room just how wonderful she is. How she glows whenever he so much as throws her a glance, or fractures into rays of gold when he smiles. Her happiness so warm and inviting that it throbs around her body, casting those she loves in her own light. And as he looks at her now, it’s like words won’t be enough.

That nothing will be, which is why he’ll never stop trying.

[tvvolips]

🎈 /at donnie's house and they were not invited

send 🎈 for our muses to go to a halloween party together

6:30 pm: DONNIE SCHENCK glances uncertainly in the mirror with his ax held to his chest, never been one for Halloween, would rather sit in bed and read Stephen King. BETSY SCHENCK slips up behind him, unbuttons the top few buttons on his flannel shirt before she’s giving his suspenders a tug, “Don’t think no lumberjacks ever existed in Annville, but you’re the hottest one I’ve ever seen,” she winks, he smiles, she leaves. Betsy’s dressed similarly, though Donnie’s outfit doesn’t bare his whole midriff like her’s, nor was it labelled “naughty lumbermaid.” This party’s been in the planning for months now, Betsy’s passed out invitations to all those at QM&P that she deemed worthy, to those of Donnie’s friends in Annville that she knew wouldn’t get dumb drunk and stupid, and a select few that they sorta knew from church. There was a blacklist, one compiled of two names: 

JESSE CUSTER & TULIP O’HARE peer into the minuscule window leading into the Schenck’s cellar; Tulip’s jimmied it open with the crowbar she’s packed in her bag. IN REALITY, it’s only Tulip glaring into the small cellar, Jesse’s eyes drift to the form-fitting dress hugging her body, the cute ‘lil beret atop her head. She makes a pretty Bonnie Parker, and, in his modest opinion, he makes a pretty cool Clyde Barrow. “—we wait it out down in there ‘till seven, sneak up, and see how long it takes ‘till Betsy’s crowin’ at our asses.” 

“Huh.” 

 Her beret nearly dismounts as Tulip whips her head around to give him a severe glare, “I said we’re gonna stay down here ‘till seven and then we’ll slip up into the party.” 

“I don’t see why we can’t just walk through the front door,” Jesse amicably offers, sweet “god loves us all and wants us to treat each other well” boy that he is. Tulip scoffs, gives a cumbersome roll of her eyes, “You remember all them parties Betsy had when we were friggin’ seven?” “Yeah, she had ‘em for every season,” “You remember how we were NEVER invited to a single one?” “Yeah—are you tellin’ me THAT’S why we’re doin’ this, Tulip? ‘Cos you’re sore over some dumb invitations?” 

Tulip lifts her chin a bit, gives a soft hmph, “No.” 

Jesse’s not about to poke the pissed-off-porcupine, “What’re we gonna do down there for thirty minutes?” He knows somethin’ they could do, just doesn’t know if she’s gonna wanna, but then Tulip’s giving him a sweeping one-two with her eyes (Jesse’s doing his best James Dean smolder) and giving a quirk of her brow, “Oh, I got some ideas.”

6:55 pm: “Shit, Donnie, baby? Could you go down to the cellar and grab some duct tape? I gotta hang these damn intestines.” Donnie gives a grunt that equates to, “yes dear,” unphased by the dried-up cow intestines that are going up on the ceiling. With the enthusiasm of a tortoise, Donnie trudges to the cellar door, pauses outside of it as he catches wind of a soft cry. Blue eyes fix on the door for a moment before he hears a grunt, instinctively grabs the double-barreled shotgun in the corner (as scattered surplus weaponry is traditional in any TRUE Texan home). Weapon drawn, Donnie creaks the door open with his boot, squints as he tries to make out the noises below. He skips the first step (it creaks) for the second, slowly makes his descent, “fuck—you could live down there, couldn’t ya?—c’mon up here and fuck me—” there’s a male chuckle, and Donnie already knows who it is as he rounds the corner, his aim landing upon a buck naked Jesse Custer grinning up from between the legs of an equally buck naked Tulip O’Hare, seated atop some boxes of Betsy’s old ‘outfits’ for him. Jesse’s got a goddamn beret on his dumb head, O’Hare’s got a fedora, both of ‘em make him wanna puke. Tulip’s the first to notice him, just arches her head to the side with a damnable smile, “Oh, hey Donnie,” Jesse straightens, turns around and looks at him with a raised brow, “Hey Donnie,” he echoes. 

This has gotta be a dream sequence, just like in the damn horror novellas; he’s walking into a living nightmare. Donnie blinks three times before, slowly, he turns around and walks out the way he came, ignoring the low laughter trailing up behind him. 

7:10 pm: “Donnie, did you ever get that duct tape? The party’s started and I don’t got this shit hangin’ off the ceiling. We’re already down one keg too, can you believe that Clive? I SAID we shouldn’t invite him, y’know—babe? You look like you saw a ghost.” “Huh?” dumbly responds, blinks a few times before glancing up to Betsy’s somewhat concerned features, “Naw, it’s nothin’,” her brow unfurrows, she shrugs, “Fine, but that don’t excuse my lack of duct tape.” 

Betsy brushes past him, forces a homely smile upon her face as she exits the kitchen for the living room. Sharp eyes survey her guests, pleased to find that her co-workers seem pleased, Emily Woodrow’s made her way up with Miles Person. Emily’s in her Flavor Station outfit, a pair of mouse-ears on her head. Betsy sneers; the little idiot couldn’t even get a real costume? Why’s she look so bothered—her eyes trail from Emily’s disturbed gaze to the couch, where Tulip O-fuckin’-hare is seated upon Jesse-fuckin’-Custer’s lap, grinning like a goddamn she-devil as the two clank beer bottles together. Betsy opens her mouth a few times, emitting a few, outraged stutters. They were strictly forbidden, how the HELL…

“Aw, hey Betsy,” Custer offers a friendly smile and O’Hare’s turning with an infuriatingly pleased smile of her own, “LOVE the decorations, Betsy, a bit lackin’ in the intestine department, don’t you agree?” she turns to Custer, who gives a studious nod. THANKFULLY Donnie trails by, still a little pale. “Donnie, how’d they get in here?” Betsy’s demanding, prompting her husband to stop in his tracks. Slowly, he glances down to Custer and O’Hare, looks to her with a neutral expression, “They ain’t here,” is all Donnie says before resuming his aimless wandering (so much skin, so much skin). Betsy glances around the room, all the eyes on her, like she’s a fool, GOD, they’ll be talking about this for weeks. If she can’t even keep the two idiots out of her own house, how can she keep her marriage together? Her family? Her—

Betsy pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment before she’s forcing a jarringly cheery smile, forcing her eyes around the room before she’s briskly walking for the kitchen, muttering under her breath. 

“See? Now that was worth it,” Tulip murmurs to Jesse as she peers over his shoulder, a pleased, relaxed little smirk settled upon her lips, “Free beer and food don’t make it half-bad, either,” Jesse adds, crookedly grinning as he takes a swig of his bottle. They share a few moments of comfortable silence, it’s nice nestling up like this in front of a crowd that mostly doesn’t wish them anything but the worst, shows ‘em how damn impenetrable they are. 

A few more beats of silence. 

Jesse isn’t quite as forthcoming in his deviancy as Tulip O’Hare, though an idea’s come to mind: “You think their bedroom’s available?” 

Tulip draws her head from his shoulder, eyes wide in incredulous disbelief, “Really?” He grins, “Really.” A spark of eager joy comes to her eyes, lips splitting into a ridiculously pleased grin, “We oughta find out, Barrow.” “After you, Miss Parker.” 

11:30 pm: Despite the bad start, Betsy’s pleased. Everyone left in good spirits, all her homemade salsa is gone, she’s sure everyone’ll be dying to get invited to next year’s party, hell, maybe she ought to start a waiting list now. The woman stretches her arms above her head, glancing, with mild irritation, at Donnie as he snoozes on the sofa. He can find his own way to bed, she’s earned a good night’s sleep. 

There’s a click as she turns the bedroom light on, a few beats before Donnie Schenck’s jolting up after Betsy’s scream: 

“GODDAMMIT! YOU GODDAMN HOOLIGANS GET OUTTA THIS GODDAMN HOME BEFORE I BLOW BOTH YOUR DAMN HEADS IN! HAVEN’T YOU DONE ENOUGH?!”

Despite it all, Donnie gives a soft snort of amusement. His wife really had the propensity to sound like a raving hen, sometimes. 

[butchstolemysweetroll]

Tagged by @saxrohmerwon ages ago on my brief other blog and just noticed it, thanks bruh ily <3

Rules:  Always post the rules, answer the questions given to you, then write 10 questions of your own, and tag some friends!

1. Favorite city (or town/small island/et cetera) in the world and why?

I guess it’d be Avalon. I basically spent every summer of my life there with family and it’s really small (only seven miles long) so you wind up going to the same few ice cream places or antique stores or pizza shops all the time but you never really get bored of it. The whole place has a quiet, old-timey shore town nostalgia to it too that’s super sweet. And like some of my all time favorite memories were staying on the beach until sunset when the lifeguards were gone so we could swim wherever we wanted, or climbing on the outfall pipe and walking to see how far out I was brave enough to go (it got “higher” ((read: the sand started to disappear)) the further out over the water you went), or walking on the beach at night. That was my favorite part, the nighttime. It’s weird how quiet but how alive everything got after dark, and I could hunt for ghost crabs or watch fireworks and the lights from town on the water, and the sand never bothered me as much when it was cool from the dark.

2. Describe your favorite scent/s.

Autumn, if that counts as a smell. But the combined scent of really brisk air and smoky burning leaves and fresh damp ones and hay and I guess plant life generally decaying, but in a sweet way? I also like flower smells obviously, and food smells, but those are boring to talk about. Gasoline, the specific kind of fake (cotton) paper money is printed on. Coffee. I’ve learned to kind of like the smell of cigarettes on clothes, because my boyfriend smokes and I like waking up in the sweater I wore the night before with that smell still on it. People have smells too. Like my mom smells like perfume even when she isn’t wearing any, and it’s nice. And babies smell rad and trigger ALL of my maternal impulses (cannot wait to reproduce, it’s gonna be gr8). And the boy smells really nice... Not even in like a what-deodorant-are-you-wearing kind of way but like skin and sweat and waking up warm in a cold house on Wednesday mornings. And when he comes home from work smelling like fresh cut grass and wet dirt it’s v nice.

3. Who is/was your favorite teacher and why?

My Romantic Lit professor currently, because he teaches exactly what I want to teach and I have a career crush on him. He’s also just super excitable and enthusiastic (let’s talk about that WEIRD weekend in Geneva the Shelleys took guys! Blake was an EDGELORD!) which I love.

I also had a professor at my old school who was super cool and helped me through a lot of shit? I took her personal essay class right as I was sort of in recovery for depression following a terrible, low key emotionally unhealthy (abusive? I still don’t know if I can use that word? Either way, OVER-SHARING YAY) romantic relationship and I explored that and a lot of other stuff pertaining to my childhood and relationships and discovering my queerness in my work for her class, and she was super supportive and involved in helping me experiment with new formats and really use writing as a therapeutic tool and it helped me heal a lot. She was also just a super cool lady (lots of tattoos and wispy blonde hair and a quiet voice, kind of a hipster fairy) who hung out with me at a local music festival in town when I was like fresh out of the hospital and having trouble being around my normal friends. She just always made sure her door was open and went out of her way to make me feel better, and to this day I appreciate that.

4. What is your favorite poem?  (Substitute with “song” if you don’t have a favorite poem.)

Oh my GOD, don’t make me choose. I’m obsessed with the Romantics and a few contemporaries have my heart, but I guess I’d have to say “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost. It’s just beautiful and hopeful and simple enough that tiny me could fall in love with it and appreciate it almost in its fullness when I was too young to grasp other works.

5. Weirdest thing you’ve ever heard out-of-context?

Ever? I don’t tend to remember stuff like that for a long time unless I’d like hypothetically overheard a murder or something, but last night some girl was walking back from our student center with her friends and angrily shouted that she wanted to “put her dong through a snare drum” which made me laugh.

6. Best concert experience?  (If you have never been to a concert, what do you hope your first concert will be?)

Still gotta say Green Day after just turning 15 years old. I’d never been to a concert before and they were my favorite band at the time. I was so proud to be there because I had 0 dollars to my name and no one would hire me because I was underage, so I had to earn every penny for those tickets doing gross menial work like removing and scrubbing window frames that hadn’t seen soap in maybe a decade (SO MANY SPIDERS), and teeny bopper me thought that was 'punk.’ And at one point Billie Joe Armstrong, who my pathetic little emo self wanted to MARRY told the audience he was proud of everyone who’d worked their ass off to afford to come see them play and I remember turning to my dad and screaming “HE MEANS ME!” It was so wholesome.

7. Favorite holiday (or other special occasion) and why?

Christmas! My house was THE Christmas house growing up. My parents put so much effort into it and it was the cutest thing. Besides the outrageous amount of decorations and the amazing food that takes all week to make and the cute tradition of having my grandparents spend the night to watch us open presents first thing in the morning, the best part of Christmas growing up was definitely the effort my family put into making us kids believe Santa was real for way longer than necessary. One year my uncle got a flashlight and a red solo up and climbed trees in our yard so we’d see “Rudolph’s nose” if we looked out the window. We put out reindeer food every year. My dad would stomp around shaking jingle bells and someone always climbed on the roof making noise, and my mom knew calligraphy, so she’d write us scrolls from Santa on legit parchment and toast it in the oven so it would curl. One year we had an old, old family friend who was a Santa impersonator show up with a legit sleigh and a giant book with all the family member’s names and the years they were naughty and nice in it and stories about why and it was so cute. So whereas most kids found out around like 8 my parents went to extreme lengths so that I believed it until I was like 11 and honestly, I’m really glad they did, because it was a kick ass childhood. I definitely want to be that level of extra when I become a parent.

8. Did you ever play an instrument growing up?  If so, how did it go for you?

Guitar, bass, after I learned guitar I could play pretty much anything pluckable with strings, so I had a Romanian lap harp (I was such a cool kid) and I would sometimes play my sister’s viola (often incorrectly and like a guitar, but it was fun to sample when I recorded stuff). I haven’t sang or touched an instrument in like seven years though. I kind of gave up after sad life stuff happened but I want to pick it back up again. I really miss music.

9. If you were given $100 today, what would you do with the money?

Use it toward Christmas presents for loved ones. Since I’m basically not allowed out of the house after I go home for break I have to do Christmas early with the friends and boyfriend.

10. What’s the scariest movie you have ever seen?  (Define scary however you like.)

I love scary movies so this is hard, but I guess anything in which children are genuinely evil? Like not even in a supernatural way; it’s not horror but watching We Need To Talk About Kevin fucked me up. I guess being a mom is like so much something that I want, and imagining that happening would def keep me up at night. Especially because I would not know what to do.

Now, for questions:

1. What’s your favorite article of clothing?

Dresses but also plain black leggings. And I have very soft sweatpants that fit just right.

2. Do you still sleep with a stuffed animal?

Nope. I can’t sleep with the live one either lol, Bynx likes to sleep RIGHT where I want to roll over and screams and puts his paws in my mouth when he wants attention.

3. Do you believe in heaven? Hell?

Both, Catholic.

4. Do you listen to podcasts? What are your favorite ones?

Not really, but I’d like to, in theory. It just seems like more effort somehow than watching TV and I am always tired.

5. What was your go-to game during recess?

Four square.

6. Where do you see yourself in the next ten years– not in a job interview kind of way, but actually?

Awwww this is cute to think about. I guess I’d like to be living in like a really woodland but not isolating place, somewhere where my house can be on a lake or by woods or mountains but if I drive ten minutes there’s a cozy-sized town with all I need. Maybe in like Virginia or Vermont. I’m a professor of Gothic Literature at the local college, and my students are engaged and inspiring and call me by my first name. I’m in a pretty and not-too-big house, but it’s warm and smells like our fireplace. I’m married to my lovely guy, and both our jobs are flexible enough that we can have dinner as a family and spend time with our brood of kids. And they pay well enough that we might not be wealthy but we never have to worry. The cat’s still with us and we’ve got a dog, too. We go on camping trips and The Lumberjack teaches the kids how to build fires and tie knots and dad stuff like that. One of the kids at least loves reading and the house is full of books - I’ve got a home office full of bookshelves and a reading nook. We’ve got a porch where we can bundle up and drink wine in the evening after the kids are in bed. We’re not rich but not poor, and our families get along and come to visit. My parents still ask us over for Christmas every year. Wherever I teach, my kids can go there for free.

7. Do you have a favorite visual artist? Who are they?

Oh lord, I don’t know. I mean I like art but I hate the process of liking art. It’s so much more involved than “I like how this piece makes me feel” and I don’t enjoy that. I like individual pieces and I don’t know enough about art to really speak on it.

I guess, though, I like Dali and Khalo as people. They seem unpretentious and fun. Which is surprising because I guess the way their work is talked about you’d think the opposite.

8. Do you really like a food that most people think is disgusting? Or, do you like a popular food to a disgusting degree?

Not really but like I put too much hot sauce / jalapenos on everything and it disgusts people. And I put way too much sugar in coffee, and creamer too.

9. What music did your parents play in the house/car?

My mom is a New Wave junkie like me and my dad had more complicated taste. He was never big into music, so he only really likes a few artists for their voices and some songs for nostalgia. So we listened to a lot of oldies and swing and Judy Garland, but he also loved Blondie and Boston.

10. What would you tell your 15-year-old self?

I’d tell her she’s a lot stronger than she’s going to think she is one day and to tough it out. That people love her and will love her. That when you get older, family is hard, but it’s worth it to work on things. That she’s smarter than she thinks she is and should try harder in school, because when she finally does have faith in herself, it’ll pay off. 

Tagging whoever else wants to do this - it’s cold and rainy (here at least) and we could all use a day of warm socks and procrastinating with asks, honestly.