Oct 10, 2025
you stink.
xoxo laurie. <3
oh, really now, laurie? he thinks you stink too, considering all the frantic running and hiding from him.
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you stink.
xoxo laurie. <3
oh, really now, laurie? he thinks you stink too, considering all the frantic running and hiding from him.
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she hated woodsboro , after everything . sidney was right to leave but gale . . . she couldn't let it go and neither could dewey . the place that tore them apart and last time , the very last time she was here . . . it was their last . she couldn't let this evil place go , for dewey whose sister meant the world to him .
there was so many unsaid words that they never got to say and that was their biggest regret . never saying goodbye . . . never saying how they truly felt . her next book was smoke ; she wanted to write a tribute but there were no words . ❛ tatum . . . hi . ❜ surprised , although she shouldn't be . she's without a crew , without a camera and without a killer story . ❛ how are you ? i mean - sorry . i don't know how to do this . ❜ and this is where her ex husband would make a joke .
@horrorfound liked for a starter from GALE WEATHERS .
@horrorfound cont. from here.
it really is just his nature, to be so quick to accuse. he’s under tremendous stress from the whole situation going on with his family and having to try and keep the public safe and the camp safe during summer. sure, the wolf only comes out once a month, but the damage that happens in that single night? someone has already been killed, he doesn’t want to be forced to cover up another murder.
he sighs, knowing full well he can’t just let her go back to camping. she needs to be seen by a doctor just to rule out anything more serious. ❝ i can’t take you back to your camp. you need to have that ankle looked at. we can head back to my car, and you can show me on the map where your campsite is. i’ll take it down for you. ❞ travis is fully intending for her to leave this forest and not resume her stay. ❝ you can get a room at the motel after you’re discharged. ❞
I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE ABOUT TO BECOME ACQUAINTED WHETHER WE LIKE IT OR NOT. @horrorfound , RIVER.
WHETHER WE LIKE IT OR NOT ─── and didn't that sum it up perfectly? whether they liked it or not, it had happened, was continuing to happen, and would happen right on through to the end ; no matter what that end would entail. it was an it they were stuck with ( only one of them by choice, as rogue saw it, which said something positive about the kind of man river was ) so to become acquainted was ... necessary, if only to ensure comfort on the most basic of levels.
from the kitchen well beyond their booth the sound of something hitting the cooking surface with a sizzle caught rogue's attention for only a moment, gaze returning to the man sitting opposite her seat in no time at all.
" there's no reason to make this an ' or not ' scenario, you know. " she would remark, a mug of rapidly cooling coffee brought to her lips soon after, smudged lipstick left behind like a fingerprint. " i'm sure i'm not as bad as you've heard, and i'd like to think - given your recent career change - that you're ... well, altogether different than what i would have assumed prior. let's agree, willingly, to make this easy on one another. " though it was spoken as though she'd already made the decision for both of them, in truth it was still very much a question ; would he agree to make IT easy, as long as she did the same ?
@horrorfound
There's hesitation as she stands in front of the door. Two conflicting sides arguing on what to do. Knock or don't knock? Eventually, one side wins out and a light knocking occurs against the doorframe. "It's me! Can I um, come in? Y'know, provided you're not doing anything important right now."
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@horrorfound , 🕹️👾 ARCADE DAY WITH THE WARD/KUTCHERS.
makeup changed by a more than slight sheen of sweat, hairline frizzy where straightening never stood a chance against blazing heat ─── for the first time in weeks v looked every bit of what she was at her core ; a nomad in the city, struggling to get by & struggling to enjoy it ... though this time around she only had herself to blame, as the whole outing had been her idea.
I NEED TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. COME WITH ME? BRING THE KIDS ! WE'LL BE LIKE EXPLORERS.
& so they were ... for a while, explorers of a city already thoroughly explored. but as the day stretched on & the sun seemed to gain more & more power by the second, it was decided that the safest option for everyone ( safest, in this case, meaning the option which would keep the kids from killing each other & v from killing everyone ) would be to duck into the closest building which offered both machine cooled air & enough entertainment to give the oldest explorers five minutes to themselves. the perfect option? the only option. THE ARCADE.
" they're about to come home with a brand new disease. " v would remark, expression one of both affection & disgust as she watched the kids dig into greasy basket of something fried, all with the same hands they used to play machines which had surely been touched by 100s of people within the past few days without being wiped down. " might even name it after'em ... kutcher kooties. bet it'll be pretty popular. "
as for v? her face was finally beginning to cool, & beneath the table a foot would come to rest in river's lap. amazing how a little soda could boost a gals mood.
v sets down a strange, almost dusty little box. "i found this in an abandoned house a while ago. thought it was neat. took forever to find a power supply that worked for it, though." she carefully lifts it slightly and presses a small switch on the bottom before setting it back down. immediately, illuminated butterflies are thrown on the ceiling, the floors, the walls, anywhere there's a surface. the colors change and pulse as the butterflies move around them. "it's an antique. i hope this works for butterflies. besides the power, had to do a little tweaking to get it to work."
if v ( for whatever reason ) were to decide on a whim to kill her, rogue was confident that the other wouldn't do it by way of a compact bomb ── so that worry was quickly put to bed, though it left another question at the forefront of her mind ; if it wasn't fear that rose to the the surface the second v brought her strange gift out into the open, what was it ?
a near-chill, a slight case of goosebumps covering her arms , the sound of rain switching to white noise switching to an old classical song which brought to mind ballerinas spinning in circles. rogue couldn't put her finger on it, but it was something ...
the moment butterflies appeared on the ceiling all questions were put to bed, and a small smile would appear where confusion had been only seconds before.
it was a memory. unimportant and long buried. she along with countless others had been the proud owners of similar frivolous objects ; butterflies, stars, flowers, and colorful fish. they would play white noise and the gentle thump of heartbeats to lull you to sleep. set on a dresser or side table, brought to life right after a parent placed a kiss on your forehead and whispered goodnight. it was something rogue hadn't thought about in years, and something she never would have assumed meant anything to her ; but clearly she would have been wrong on that account, as the emotional reaction to the butterflies on the ceiling ( and v being the one to bring them into her life ) was unmistakable and hard to ignore.
" antique is harsh. " rogue would say after a moment of watching the show, using the same sardonic tone which she found it nearly impossible to escape from. though for the first time it felt forced, like she wanted to sound genuine and grateful but couldn't quite figure out how to make it happen. " and yes. this works for butterflies. "
TRAVIS HACKETT: I DON'T WORRY, I RUMINATE. THEY'RE DISTINCT ACTIONS.
genevieve leaned back in her chair — a worn, antique thing that creaked like the woods around them — and regarded travis with the kind of stillness that always made men fidget, eventually. but not him. no, travis was carved from the same stubborn stone the town was built on. her eyes, violet and knowing, gleamed in the low light of the lantern swinging gently above the porch. 'you ruminate,' she repeated. 'of course you do. like a wolf circling the same bloody patch of ground, hoping it will give up something new if you pace long enough,' she picked up her teacup — porcelain, chipped, stained faintly red — and took a slow sip, eyes never leaving his. 'rumination is worry dressed in pride. you have just given your worry some armor,' a pause, deliberate. 'but tell me, travis. when you are done gnawing on the same old bones . . . does it help? or will you simply repeat this distinct action until you are dead?' the forest around them whispered, wind threading through the trees like breath through lungs. and genevieve waited; not unkindly, but with the patience of someone who’s had centuries to learn that truth, eventually, always demands its due. @horrorfound.