to write love on her arms shirt

‘No one makes me feel the way you do,’ she says into his chest, her voice muffled by his t-shirt, arms entwined in the twilight evening.

He laughs a little, runs his fingers through her hair, and looks up at the brightness of the stars, waiting for her to continue.

'It’s all your fault. When I see you in the mornings and your eyes are sleepy and your hair is still ruffled; when your roll up your shirtsleeves, or lean back and show off that bit of skin above your Calvins; when I look up from working and catch you looking at me as well, and the way you wink and carry on answering the question as if you weren’t reaching for my hand under the table that very minute- I’m incapable of anything other than longing for your touch, for it just to be me and you in that room, forever.’

He looks down then, smiles his beautiful lazy golden smile, and leans in even closer to whisper into her honeycomb curls.

'Oh, you don’t quite understand what you do to me either. You do the most incredible things to my heart, you can’t quite understand.’

—  j.f // and a new love is budding, built on a broken heart and golden smile • excerpts of stories I will never wrote @alotofunansweredquestions
Parrish- Never Again

Request- I’m so happy you opened your requests as I love you writing so much, I was wondering if you could do a Parrish imagine where the reader died In his arms because the dread doctors made her into a chimera and she becomes another failure but is brought back by Theo and Parrish protects her with his life? Thank you xx 

A/N- Thank you so much! Enjoy!   

You walked slowly into the police station, your arms curled protectively around yourself. The station was chilly like it always was, and you were only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. There was something off about the situation you were in, but you couldn’t place what it was. All you knew was that you needed to find Jordan.
You were dazed and exhausted from the events that had occurred only a half hour before, and walking all the way from the edge of the woods had done nothing to help that. The ringing of phones and yelling voices hit your ears as you slowly made your way to the front desk. You tried to shake off your stupor as you glanced around, but it was evident that the station was in complete disarray.
The phones kept going off and there didn’t seem to be enough people to answer them, and a few seconds after you had walked in, an officer ran in from outside and nearly shoved you off your feet in her haste to get behind the front desk.
“Sorry, Ma’am!” she cried, but as she glanced back at you apologetically, her expression changed.
She froze in her tracks, her brown eyes going wide. “Y/n?”
“Clark,” you stated. “I-I don’t know what’s-”
“Parrish!” she suddenly yelled, glancing toward the back of the station. “Oh my god, Y/n, what happened? How are you even here?”
“I…I walked,” you told her. “From the woods.”
“The woods?” Deputy Clark repeated, walking closer to you. “God, you must be freezing.”
You nodded. “I don’t remember that much.”
Clark nodded and pulled off her station jacket, placing it around your shoulders. She placed a hand on your arm and led you toward the back of the station. She was looking around wildly, and as she brought you through, everyone stopped and froze. Clark gave them an exasperated look. “Where the hell is Parrish?”
“H-he’s out with-with Stilinski,” one of the other officers stuttered.
“Wait, Clark,” you said, grabbing her arm. “What’s going on? How long was I missing?”
“Y/n,” she said hesitantly, glancing at the other officers. “You weren’t missing. You were dead.”

“Dead?” you repeated, over and over as you sat in a chair in Stilinski’s office. “I was dead?”
“Yes,” Clark explained. “Whoever was killing people…it looked like you were their last victim. Parrish found you in the parking lot. He got there right before you…well, right before you died. And then when your body went missing, it destroyed him. He’s been working nonstop ever since. He’s out with Stilinski, investigating all these weird calls we’ve been getting.”
“Weird calls?” you asked. “Weirder than serial murders?”
“It’s some kind of animal,” she explained. “A big animal. But that’s nothing compared to what you must have been through. Do you remember anything?”
You pursed your lips. You remembered waking up with a gasp as Theo Raeken stood over you, holding a syringe with some chemical that must have brought you back from the depths of unconsciousness. You remembered rising from the ground with the rest of the chimeras as Theo explained that you worked for him. You didn’t know what he wanted with you, since you were so much older than the others, but you were guessing it must have had something to do with the fact that you were an emissary.
You had been filling in for Deaton before the Dread Doctors had taken you and turned you into this thing, and you knew the pack must have been feeling terrible that they couldn’t save you. So in answer to Clark’s question, yes you remembered, but if you told her the truth, you were certain it would earn you a one way ticket to Eichen House.
You shook your head. “Everything’s so blurry. You said I died? You’re sure?”
Clark nodded slowly. “You had no pulse, Y/n. And there was so much blood, but something somewhere must have gone right because…because this shouldn’t be possible.”
“I remember being in Jordan’s arms,” you said softly. “But it didn’t feel real…the whole thing felt like a nightmare.”
This wasn’t exactly a lie, but you had known you were going to die. You remembered Jordan’s broken green eyes all too vividly, and the way he had looked at your face like it was the last time he would see your eyes open again. Of course, you had both thought that, but thanks to whatever sick game Theo was playing, you now had a second chance.
“It felt like that to us too,” she admitted, grabbing your hand.
“Where is she?” a voice suddenly demanded from outside. “Where is she?”
“Stilinski’s office!” you heard a slightly scared voice cry, before the door burst open.
You jumped, and Clark rose to her feet in alarm, before she realized it was Parrish bursting in the room. His green eyes fell on you, and tears immediately started to spill from them as Stilinski slipped into the office as well.
“Oh, god, Y/n,” Jordan breathed, running forward and pulling you into his arms.
You wrapped your arms around him, attempting to comfort him, but you would never know what he had gone through those few days. For you, dying had simply felt like one of those times when you slept for much longer than you should have. For him, it had shattered his entire world like it was made of nothing more than glass.
“How?” he demanded, pulling away from you to place his hand on your cheek. “How are you here?”
You shook your head softly. “I don’t know.”
“God, you’re so cold,” he whispered. “We should get you to the hospital.”
“I’m fine,” you told him.
“No, Y/n-”
“No, really,” you said. “Ask Clark. Everything that should be there, the stab wound, the blood…it’s gone. Like it was never there.”
Jordan looked back at Clark, who nodded in agreement. Then he pursed his lips and looked down at you.
“We can talk more later,” you promised, and Parrish knew it was time to drop the subject.
“Clark, could you do me a favor and keep this between the four of us?” Sheriff Stilinski asked her.
She nodded dutifully. “Of course, Sir.”
The Sheriff sighed and looked back at you. “Parrish, you should probably take Y/n home. And, uh, you might wanna call the boys.”
Jordan nodded, but before he could tug you away, you pulled off Clark’s jacket and handed it to her. “Thank you.”
She smiled warmly at you and nodded. You hadn’t made many friends in Beacon Hills, but if there was anyone you trusted more than anything, Valerie Clark would be one of those people.
Jordan took off his own jacket and placed it over your shoulders, and you made your way out of Stilinski’s office. You avoided the curious eyes of the other officers on you, not really wanting to know what they were thinking. You must have been a terrible sight, with your dirty clothes and mussed up hair. Not to mention the fact that you had literally died in the parking lot a few days ago, and everyone had seen your body.
It was going to take a lot to explain away that one, but you figured that was a problem for another night.
“So, uh, do you mind if I ask what the hell is going on?” Jordan wondered as he led you to his car.
“I have no idea,” you told him. “But Theo Raeken brought me back to life.”
“Theo?” he questioned. “Scott and Stiles’ friend?”
“He’s not their friend,” you stated. “I’m pretty sure he’s trying to kill them, and he’s planning on using the kids he brought back to do it.”
“The kids?” he repeated.
“The other chimeras,” you told him. “Not all of them, but some of them. I think he wanted me because I know some of what Deaton knows.”
“Did he hurt you?” Jordan demanded, suddenly looking you up and down. “Did he threaten you?”
“No,” you swore. “He just gave us this whole speech about how we belonged to him now. It might work on the others, but it’s not going to work on me. They’re kids and they don’t know what they are or what they’re doing. I have an advantage, trust me.”
“And the Dread Doctors?”
“I have no idea,” you admitted. “They still scare me. But I get the feeling that he didn’t plan on working with them for much longer.”
Jordan suddenly reached out to grab your hand, squeezing it tightly. “You have no reason to be afraid. If they come anywhere near you, I’ll be right there, I promise. Y/n, I’d die before I let you die on me again.”
You nodded mutely as Jordan brought you into his arms once again. He was afraid to let you go, afraid that if he took his eyes off of you for one second, you would be gone again. You wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in his shirt, feeling safe and warm for the first time that night.
You didn’t know what Theo or the Dread Doctors were planning, and you didn’t know if you could help those kids, but you were going to try. And you knew that Jordan was going to make sure all of you were safe. He wasn’t to let anything hurt you. Never again.

"I Love You Okay? Happy Now?”- Bucky x Reader


Request from anon: For the prompt list thing, could you do #6, 16 and 26 with Bucky, please? If possible, could you put them all into one imagine, please? Oh and by the way: I love your writing! Xx

Originally posted by thesebbystan

Prompts:  “This isn’t about you!” “I love you okay? Happy now?” “Is that my shirt?” (Prompt list)

Warnings - Angsty. Arguing, Half naked Bucky, Jealous?Reader, swearing, kissing.

Word Count - 2K

Bucky laid there, his arms around another woman as she lay there asleep; her head was positioned on his chest as her arms were wrapped around his torso. His fingers were laced in her hair as he continued to soothe her in her sleep as he continued to day dream, thinking about anything and everything.

What was he doing with his life? Sure, having sex with different woman every week was fun. Having new people and new experiences in his bed was much more than he expected, knowing his life in the 40’s would be much more different if he had not gone to war. But he can’t even remember the last time he loved… Or if he has ever even loved before?

Then something clicked in his mind; yes, he loves you. You were on his mind 24/7, through the dawn of morning till the dead of night you never left his thought. But he could understand his own feelings, is it love that he felt for you? Or is it just sexual attraction?

Keep reading

To the anon who sent me this: “9+41 moriel pls bless us w an angsty fic about my two loves and break my heart”

Here is that other prompt, nonnie. It didn’t turn out so angsty this time, sorry. :)

Prompt: “We can’t keep doing this”


“We can’t keep doing this, Mor,” Azriel says against the skin of her throat, even as he pulls her towards him and renews his own intensity.

“I know. Tomorrow, we’ll stop,” she says, pulling her arms out of her shirt and throwing it to the side. She smiles to herself, knowing that they are both aware of the lie before it leaves her lips.

They have been seeing each other like this for months. A late evening at Rita’s after their friends had left led to them falling into bed together, which has turned into clandestine meetings at the House of Wind, the cabin; anywhere they can find time to be alone together, they make their excuses and no one else is the wiser. It has become routine for them to wake up together, early enough so they won’t be caught. They have become practiced at acting as if, when they see each other for breakfast, it is for the first time that morning.

She doesn’t care how they come together, if anyone else ever knows, as long as he will give himself to her. And he does, every night he can, silently entering her room. She waits in a chair, on the bed, it doesn’t matter. Their bodies always meet without a word, knowing exactly what the other wants.

He runs his hands up her bare back, wrapping her long hair around his fist to pull her head to the side gently, allowing him access to her neck. He began the familiar practice under the pretense that her hair was everywhere, but continued it when he saw how much pleasure it brought her, when a shiver ran through her at the exposure, at the way she was at his mercy. He would never hurt her, only… he lets her know that she is his, that he will bend and mold her body for both of their pleasure.

He trails wet kisses down her neck now, pushing the strap of her bra off her shoulder. The only sound in the room is their breathing, clothing being removed, her small gasps and moans as his hands travel familiar paths across her body.

She reaches forward to bring his hips into her, so she can feel how hard he is. She is beginning to unbutton his pants when he grabs her hands.

“Wait,” he says, even as he is groaning and leaning into her, and the hesitation in his voice makes her pause.

“What is it?” She ducks her head to catch his gaze, not letting it escape her own.

“Mor, I won’t be here tomorrow.”

She pulls away in surprise. “What do you mean, you won’t be here tomorrow?”

“I have to leave. In the morning. Rhys is sending me,” he says. “I’ll be gone for a couple of months.” When he feels her stiffen, a rush of shame and regret goes through him.

She pulls away further now, hurt on her face. “When were you planning on telling me this? When I fell asleep? Were you going to whisper it in my ear before you left?” Her hands release him. A step back. She replaces the strap he had moved so that it rests on her shoulder again and her hands fall, leaden at her sides.

“Of course not, Mor.” He moves towards her, trying to replace the distance she created. When she lets him, he continues. “I wasn’t sure if I would be needed. I didn’t want to say, in case…”

She cocks her head at him. A bitterness sweeps through her and she feels as if she can’t control the words coming from her mouth. “In case what? In case you wouldn’t need to tell me anything? Why keep me apprised of your personal affairs? After all, it’s not as if you owe me anything.” She regrets the words as soon as they appear.

It has been months since they have been apart for any amount of time. They see each other nearly every day, and it has been like that since the beginning, really. And since this thing began to grow between them, they see each other nearly every night, too.

She feels a void beginning to grow in her chest, a hollow in the place where she has kept a piece of him all to herself. Just the thought of him being gone for so long is causing that space in her to crack, and the air is leaving her lungs along with him.

“I didn’t want to worry you, Mor. You know I have to go.” Azriel is watching her expression change, carefully cataloguing her movements, waiting for the moment when she will let him back in. He had put off telling her about this particular mission until he knew it was a certainty, and he is now realizing the extent to which they have become entwined, watching her struggle with the implications of his leaving.

She nods. “Did you…” she begins, he and waits for her to continue, even as he sees her struggle with indecision.

“Did you tell Rhys anything? Anything that might make him send someone else? Did you ask him to send someone else?” There is a hint of hope and desperation in her voice that breaks something in his chest.

“No,” he says simply, and she thinks she would fall to pieces right there if she weren’t so angry at him now. Her chest rises with her sigh, her attempts at controlling her response.

She nods, trying to figure out her next move when he speaks again.

“I want to be with you, Mor, but I’m not sure if… I don’t want to be away for so long. You have no idea how much I won’t be able to stand this.” He reaches up to cup her cheek in his hand and she allows it, ignoring the tear that falls to his fingers. He wipes it with his thumb and pulls her into his chest and her breath is muffled as she rests there a moment.

“I would walk out of this room right now and show everyone the marks you leave on my skin, if it would make you stay,” she says against his bare skin, knowing it would be useless. Azriel’s sense of duty and loyalty will never change, and she would never ask him to choose. “I hate washing away your scent almost every morning, to keep it from everyone. Now I won’t have to.”

She starts when the words he said earlier come rushing back to her and she backs away again, keeping her hands on his chest while looking up at him. “This is why you said we can’t keep doing this?” Maybe he is saying more than she thought, maybe he really meant it, that they can’t, won’t, do this again.

“No, Mor.” He has a confused look on his face until he understands what she is implying, what she thought he had been trying to say. “No, Mor, I just don’t want to see you like this. I don’t want to make you feel like this.”

“You don’t understand, Az.” She shakes her head. “I am like this because I will miss you, I will hate it, but I also know that when you come back… “ The thought of seeing him again already has her smiling. “I am like this because I love you.” The words spill out of her and they look at each other in shock.

That word has never passed between them before, but he takes her face gently into his hands again to kiss her and she melts into him. Her heart surges, and with the knowledge that this is the last night they have together for weeks, they throw themselves into each other like they haven’t since the first time they broke. That night they had found pieces of themselves they hadn’t known were missing, in the way he played her with his fingers and whispered his devotion in her ear, in the way she cared for him and made him forget his shadows.

When she feels him wake to go the next morning she clutches a fist to her chest, trying to hold on to the moment, wishing she didn’t have to leave the sheets he has warmed until he is back again.

When he leaves, it is with a whisper in her ear - “I love you.”


I have been posting these on AO3 as well, if you would like to comment/subscribe/give kudos there. :)

I think I now officially have no requests older than three weeks? I think. Still hovering around a steady 11-12 requests though, even though I’m posting them every couple of days. Here is the link to the post that includes all my drabbles/mini-fics and what I’m working on.

harringtonmaximoff  asked:

❥ & Peter Maximoff!

the way that you held me like nobody else would ❥ ingrid michaelson, over you

author’s note: i’m trying to write less angst so i picked one of the less angsty lyrics adjggfdlsksd

With his arm wrapped tightly around your waist he placed a small kiss to your forehead, a small giggle escaping your lips as you played with the fabric of his shirt.

His hand rubbed circles in your back, to help himself to stop being restless.

As he turned you over so he was on top of you you stiffled a laugh, while Peter buried his head in the crook of her neck, his hair tickling your skin.

“I love you.” He mumbled against your neck, playing gently with your hair. You kissed his forehead gently as he did to you before, a soft smile on your features.

“I love you too.”

Charles Xavier- Fever

Requested by @imagine-that-fandom-life:  Hello love Ik you are probably really busy and Ik you have a lot of Charles requests but I had this idea and I can’t figure out how to write it myself so I figured why not So the reader is having a nightmare due to a really high fever and Charles accidentally rolls by her room and hears her scream so he invites her to his room and tells her to wear one of his shirts and she falls asleep in his arms If that makes sense. Sorry to bother I’m really sick and I thought it was cute ily blog❤️ xx~ Katie

Sorry for the lack of posting lately, we’ve just been so busy with school and stuff we’ve had to push writing to the last priority. So if you have requests that haven’t been done yet they are on their way, we haven’t forgotten!! I promise!

I also kept this request shorter than most but it is pretty darn fluffy so I hope that makes up for it. Hope you enjoy.

~Much love, Ive

You woke unto hand resting on your shoulder. Confused and out of breath you looked around to try and figure out who was there. once your eyes adjusted to the light you saw Charles looking down at you.

“Y/N, are you alright?” He whispered. You were fine mostly, you had a fever and hadn’t been well over the past few days and you weren’t feeling great. “You were screaming in your sleep, I happened to be passing by.”

“I- I’m fine. Sorry.” You raked a hand though your bed hair as best you could, it was damp and your forehead was sweaty.

“I think you better come with me.” He rolled back in his chair, giving you room to stand up. You could see where you had sweated through the sheets and couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. “Don’t worry about it.” Charles reassured you and you followed him out into the hallway.

You stopped just outside his bedroom door and hesitated behind him.

“Are you coming.” He turned to look at you. You were shivering even though you knew your skin would be boiling if someone else were to touch you. Charles rolled over to his wardrobe and tossed a clean shirt at you. “If you wanted to get changed.” You removed your sweaty pyjamas and pulled Charles’ shirt over your body. It smelled just like him and when he wasn’t looking you pulled it u to your nose taking in his smell. You swivelled round to look at Charles who was pulling himself into bed.

“Did you need help?” You asked feeling concerned.

“I’ve got it. I have a method.” He smiled at you, “just worry about yourself.” He gestured to the empty side of the bed and your tired body was suddenly filling it. You desperately wanted to pull the quilt up around you but you knew with you fever it would only make it worse and Charles was beside you giving you the look that made you want to do the right thing. You sort of hated that about him. You put you head back on his pillow and breathed deeply, feeling much more relaxed then you had a few minutes ago.

“I’m sick of being sick.” You grumbled.

“You’re still just as cute the you’re sick.” Charles propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at you.

“Now I know you’re lying.” You laughed making Charles gasp.

“You’re beautiful. All the time, when you’re sick, when you’re not wearing makeup, when you’ve just woken up, when your hair has;t been brushed. You’re beautiful all the time.” Charles moved closer to you, placing his palm on your boiling hot cheek. You didn’t know how to respond so you just smiled at him, biting you lip a little to stop your teeth from chattering. “Are you cold?” You nodded. Charles moved even closer to you and wrapped his arms around you, you nuzzled into his chest and felt your eyelids growing heavy. The last thing you felt was Charles kiss the top of your head before you finally fell asleep.

nairobi before sunrise

Kanungo e teko;
a woman’s strength lies in her waist,
as you fold your hands beneath your belly
and spin to the music – you

lock eyes with mine
and sweat rivers down your thighs.
I tug at the beads
through your shirt.  Shhh.
No one should know that I know.
Your shoulders pinch the wall.

As I work the soil of your neck
between my teeth,
your soles kick up earth
bouncing one-two heel to toe
and you nestle in my arms.

Utapenda kundansi?
Your beads, your sweat, your skin
glisten gold.  Breathe, breathe.
I will write love songs while you dance.
Your waist spins and presses against mine
as I hook my finger into your shanga,
and I lose myself in the tremors of your belly:
Kanungo e teko.  Ngoma na mimi.
Won’t you dance with me?

Ten years ago today, Jon Foreman wore the very first TWLOHA shirt on stage at a Switchfoot concert in Boca Raton, Florida.

Darlene kept her ticket from that night and sent us this picture for us to share.

Tonight, we’re hosting a conversation with Jon Foreman, our founder Jamie, and Renee Yohe - the three people who were there when this all began. 

Watch it here at 7PM EDT. 

love like rain (against my forehead)

I thought I’d never write again,
not after
after I kept finding scarlet curls
clinging to my old sweaters
like a promise,
after I wiped my mouth
on scribbled blue poems,
after I heard my engagement ring
whine against porcelain
as it circled the drain
once, twice
then disappeared.


Thank you for coming over tonight.
For sweeping up her dust
before it settled.
I never expected your arms to be so soft
and warm
as you pulled me to your chest,
like I never expected to sob
hot disgusting tears
that stuck to your shirt like bubblegum,
but you just kissed my forehead.
Shh, shh, you said.  Just cry.
You rocked me to Lover Boy
while I dried my eyes on your sleeve.

are my
best friend
and here I am
making a fool of myself,
I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—

Shh, you said.
You grazed your thumb along my jaw
and cupped my cheek –
your eyes caught the light
like pieces of amber
as black curls tumbled down one shoulder
and your lips parted,
glistening in the lamp’s orange glow,
and you were warm.
Everything was warm.

let me
your bottom lip

I didn’t say that out loud.
My heart ached in my stomach
and your fingers
glowed against my cheek.
show me
your mouth feels

I leaned in, just a little—
and then pulled away.
Sorry, I said.
You said don’t be.


Thank you for lying beside me
and braiding my hair
as I drew sleep out of nightmares.
Thank you for listening to me say,
I hate her,
when I really wanted to say,
I love you.
Thank you for sparkling like fire
as I slid my hand
down your bare stomach
and across your hips.
Thank you for loving me like rain
with your lips
against my forehead.

I thought I’d never write again,
not after her.
But every time I pick up my pen,
I keep singing songs
to you.
To you.

favorite things about Young Justice after watching 16 episodes straight with no breaks
  • Robin and Wally’s Bromance
  • non-sexualized female characters
  • equal gender representation
  • Superboy constantly loosing his shirt
  • diverse skin tones and cultures
  • “I can read, write. I know the names of things.”
  • Superman not so smoothly avoiding fatherhood
  • Red Arrows arms (his whole outfit in general tbh)
  • whenever a female character meets Superboy their first reaction is usually “wow he’s hot”
  • Robin being three ounces of whoop-ass
  • Robin’s bromance with Artemis
  • literally all of Kid Flash
  • M’gan standing her ground and completely calling out Superboy when he gets too possessive
  • that one brief moment where Superboy’s shirt had a boob window

Nine years ago today, Jon Foreman wore the first TWLOHA shirt in front of 3,000 people. The shirt, designed by Kory Westerhold, represented a simple attempt to help a friend and tell a story. A case can be made that everything changed that night.

Thank you for letting us walk with you through your stories, your struggles, and your victories. We’re so grateful for these last nine years. 

Photo: Andy Barron 

Meet Kylie.

Stuff I Like: Live music, social media, “Gilmore Girls”, pretty much all animals but especially dogs and cats and otters, screenwriting, Sarah Dessen books, TWLOHA (obviously), traveling, movies, war history, band merch, New York City, feminism, bagels, iced coffee, long drives, pumpkin-flavored foods, online shopping, pop culture trivia, tea, and talking about Taylor Swift.

Why I’m Here: Music is my biggest passion, and TWLOHA understands the honesty that can be found in a song. I’d already seen musicians wearing TWLOHA shirts for years when, in high school, I began dealing with depression and anxiety myself. In those hard moments, I already knew that I could turn to TWLOHA for hope and support, and that meant so much to me. I’m here because TWLOHA isn’t afraid to talk about things that aren’t normally talked about, and because that saves lives. I’m here because I want others to know that hope is real, help is real, recovery is possible, and life is worth living.

I would most likely stuff the office fridge with: Vanilla-flavored Dr. Pepper, cucumbers, pears, salsa, and cheese. Lots of cheese.

If my music is on, I’m most likely listening to: Twenty One Pilots, Taylor Swift, Sylvan Esso, A Silent Film, Third Eye Blind, Beastie Boys, Ed Sheeran, The 1975, Paramore, Frightened Rabbit, The National, Catfish and the Bottlemen, Sleater-Kinney, The Julie Ruin, Dashboard Confessional, Sara Bareilles, Johnny Cash, Bruce Springsteen, The Civil Wars, Flobots, Jack Johnson, and so many others I could go on for hours.

Outside of the office, I’m most likely: Trying to get myself to sit down and actually finish my screenplay, watching Netflix, asking people if I can pet their dogs, creating way too many Spotify playlists, going to the movies by myself, or thinking about how long I need to wait to get my first tattoo so my parents don’t freak out. 

If you could be best friends with anyone, who would it be and why?

It would absolutely be Taylor Swift because let’s be real - she’s the coolest. She’s wise beyond her years, immensely talented, and takes great care of her friends. And her cats are as precious as she is.