#kiltparty

          mike  had  hardly  been  known  for  his  upper  body  strength.  gym  class  always  left  him  winded—though  the  asthma  didn’t  help—and  he  knew  that  he  had  noodle  arms.  so,  maybe  he  put  more  momentum  behind  his  swing  than  intended  when  he  hit  the  guy  over  the  head  with  a  shovel,  but  he  hadn’t  thought  it  would  be  enough  to  actually  kill  him. 

          nancy  thinks  back  over  the  years  to  everything  that’s  happened.  she  futzes  with  her  hands,  the  tips  of  her  manicured  nails  leaving  crescent  shaped  marks  in  their  wake  as  she  flexes  her  fingers.  thinking  back  on  the  trauma  she  and  the  others  had  endured  always  spiked  her  anxiety,  despite  her  attempts  to  shove  it  down,  not  think  about  it,  and  move  on.

          however,  she  thinks  about  will  going  missing,  barb  dying,  no  one  believing  a  word  she  says,  the  slut-shaming,  being  looked  down  upon  by  her  bosses,  and  the  gaslighting  from  those  around  her.  the  lying,  the  danger,  all  the  scars  that  came  with  it…  did  it  all  happen  for  a  reason ?  why  was  it  that  she  had  to  go  through  all  of  that  bullshit ?  why  did  it  have  to  happen  in  the  first  place ?  sure,  it’s  succeeded  in  making  her  a  stronger  person,  but  at  what  cost ?

          for  what  reason  had  her  teenage  girl  years  been  snatched  away  from  her ?  she  couldn’t  think  of  one.

          carys  can’t  deny  that  she’s  a  clumsy  girl,  often  not  even  needing  a  reason  to  trip  over  her  own  two  feet.  she  couldn’t  and  wouldn’t  take  the  fall  for  the  scene  laid  out  before  her.

          she  can  feel  her  anxiety  spike,  emerald  eyes  the  size  of  saucers  as  she  stutters  out,  “ wh—  i-i  was  gone  for  TWO  MINUTES! ”  her  hands  flex,  clenching  and  unclenching  as  a  self-soothing  gesture,  and  she  takes  in  a  deep  breath  to  calm  her  nerves.

          she  doesn’t  know  how  she’s  going  to  explain  the  fact  that  a  handful  of  the  bookcases  are  KNOCKED  OVER.  in  truth,  it  looks  like  a  tornado  had  shot  through  the  library  in  her  brief  absence.

@kiltparty sent ❛  you've got this. i believe in you!  ❜

@kiltparty asked: “  the  ghost  isn’t  real ,  he’s  an  actor.  i’ll  still  punch  him  if  you  want -  ”

            EDDIE   LET   OUT   A   SMALL   HUFF   AS   HE   PULLED   HIMSELF   up   to   his   feet.   He   then   looked   at   the   retreating   ghostly   dressed   man   with   a   grimace.   Ringed   fingers   then   dusted   off   his   jeans   as   he   listened   to   Scott.   The   guy’s   words   easily   changed   his   expression   to   that   of   a   humored   smile,   “   Well,   that   he   is,   ”   he   stood   straight   which   only   proved   how   out   of   place   he   was   when   a   few   muted   pops   sounded,   “   Or   rather…   ”   he   shrugged   his   shoulders,   his   head   moved   back   and   forth   as   he   decided   how   to   properly   respond.

               IT   WAS   THAT   TIME   OF   YEAR   WHERE   PRANKS   WERE   PULLED   LIKE   this   one,   Eddie   didn’t   mind   it—   didn’t   care   that   they   happened   to   him.   He   just   couldn’t   wait   to   get   out   of   this   place,   “   …   I   don’t   think   his   acting   was   believable.   Maybe   we   should   tell   him?   ”   The   idea   of   Scott   punching   the   guy   for   him   was   actually   a   nice   one,   but   he   would   rather   forget   about   it,   “   I   do   hope   he   has   another   career   in   mind.   ”

"Yep," Her words and tone are just a little too curt. She means no harm, really, she'd just rather be doing anything else. Bella avoids jocks at the best of times; she has no idea how they work. She didn't get them in Phoenix and she definitely doesn't get them here. Not to mention her hockey knowledge can be almost entirely quantified in the fact she knows they use sticks; Jacob and Leah always preferred soccer during the summers she'd spend with them. But she can practically hear Renee in her head telling her to be nice, so she looks over at him, "You, um. How's your day?"

"That was quite the game, huh?" Karen asked, setting down the pasta salad on the long table and smiling at the boy. It was quiet in the yard - for now, but she knew well enough that once the kids would start to pile in, it'd be utter chaos and a dozen conversations all at once. And while she loved the chatter and the life they all brought, some peace was nice, too.

"Scott?" she called, when he hadn't replied yet, looking like his mind was miles away. "You okay honey?" She smiled encouragingly, her eyebrows drawn up and momentarily stopping the organization of the table.