inbox content:            the crow random starters.

“they’re called fireworks, buddy,”  and it’s never too early for some people to start shooting them off. the sun’s barely set, but woodsboro’s sky is fully illuminated. sam guesses it’s a blessing in disguise; wes is too little to stay up to watch the town’s official fireworks display, so sitting out on the hicks’ lawn, icy pops in hand is a pretty good way to send off the holiday. 

getting wes to bed after all this excitement (and with the nearly consistent, explosive cacophony) should be ... interesting, but his mom doesn’t return until the morning. if he’s asleep an hour later than normal, well, no one needs to know.  

 the  words  slice  into  him  like  the  knife  of  a  masked  killer.  and  chad  stops  mid  -  sentence,  shoulders  curving  inward  as  lips  press  together  tightly.  the  furrowing  of  brows  silently  tell  the  other  what  he’s  feeling,  what  he  doesn’t  say  aloud  as  he  tries  to  figure  out  exactly  what  he’s  supposed  to  do  in  this  situation.  after  all,  he  was  only  nineteen.  that  was  hardly  old  enough  to  deal  with  what  they  both  had  been  thrust  into  at  such  a  young  age,  let  alone  deal  with  the  repercussions  of  trying  to  cope  with  all  of  it.

 while  chad  dealt  with  his  grief  and  trauma  in  the  most  silent  of  ways,  only  turning  to  his  sister  when  everything  got  to  be  too  heavy,  wes  was  the  complete  opposite  of.  and  now,  as  he  was  trying  to  get  him  to  stop  indulging  in  things  that  could  destroy  him,  those  three  words  were  being  thrown  towards  in  some  sort  of  desperate  plea  to  get  him  to  stop.  he  knew  they  were  fake,  loaded  in  the  way  they  were  delivered,  and  the  taste  of  them  was  nothing  but  sour.

      mocha  hues  are  glued  to  the  television,  swapping  channels  at  the  speed  of  light  because  she  cannot  find  anything  interesting  to  watch.  well,  not  to  her  taste,  at  least.  after  going  through  every  channel  twice,  tara  lets  out  a  frustrated  groan.  ❝  god,  i  am  so  fucking  bored.  ❞  she  announced,  gaze  drifting  to  him.  ❝  please  tell  me  you  brought  us  something  fun  to  do.  because  this  hospital’s  cable  tv  is  not  it.  ❞

                               “   so,   what’s   the   truth   to   you?   ”

𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝚈 𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚁𝙰𝚈𝙰𝙻 ?

inbox content:            i forgot the meme bc i’ve been so mia :(

"wes,”  samantha’s tone takes her back to her babysitting days. she never had to speak to wes so firmly; that kid was guaranteed good as gold, easiest ten bucks an hour she ever mad. sam’s not his mother, that is a role that she can never fill, no matter how deeply she worries and cares for tara’s friends. they’re all grown now, old enough to have flown the nest  —  but ghostface as an identity doesn’t just live in woodsboro. no, sam can never replace judy hicks ... but she takes wes by his shoulders in the way a desperate guardian might and grips him tight.