—— ♡. true crime podcasting is fun until your neighbors are like so we heard you yelling SHOW ME THE KNIFE at 2am again. 🥺
♡. trigger warnings for — death, grief, missing person.
BIOGRAPHY
Summer is the youngest of three—she was born seven years after her older brother Caleb, and five years after her middle sister Reagan, in a house that was big enough but always seemed too little for the five of them.
Reagan liked to call her an accident; it was her way of teasing her younger sister. Caleb, on the other hand, was her protective older brother, with a short fuse but the softest spot for the chaos that Summer brought to their family. He occupied the place of the father, Summer never got a chance to meet.
Her mother seemed, in their Briar Ridge neighborhood, to have a family right out of a margarine commercial. Although the children's father had left them too early, they looked like perfect children, and their house had just the right amount of mess, and things were... blissful to say the very least. Luck was on their side.
Summer was too young to understand how their life would change when her mother first got sick. She couldn't even comprehend the way her mother's body decayed so quickly. Nowadays, when talking—joking—about it, she says she can swear she can still see it behind her eyes or when the room is too dark and she's had too many Red Bull—it's like a terrible ghost she can't get rid of.
Caleb and Reagan were old enough to know that Lynn's consequent death meant that they only had each other. Sure, they could count financially on their grandparents, but the bulk of raising Summer to be a good girl lay on their shoulders. Something Caleb faced head-on, and Reagan ignored as her grief was all-consuming when they were still living in the same house they grew up in. But how could they ever leave when it all smelled of her mother?
Summer inevitably had to accept and grow up somewhere that didn't carry her mother's scent, as her siblings made sure it was for the better, occupy one room in their grandparents' house until the ache felt better. It never quite eased for Summer, though.
Caleb took the practical route; he started his own business, kept his grief buried under home renovations and the grease of the motor oils. Reagan, though unraveled in slow, quiet ways. She started talking about leaving Briar Ridge, and started making plans that no one took seriously. And then, one day, she was gone.
No note. No trail. Just a phone call that went unanswered, and a last ping from a highway gas station two counties over. The official story said she left willingly. That she needed to start over. The police report used words like adult autonomy. But Summer never bought that version—and no one else in the family talks about it anymore.
Summer felt forced to move on from it all, and was unable to cope with her own grief—both towards her mother and her sister. She did just like her brother and buried her sadness, focusing on better things like film school and friends—at least whoever else was left after everything.
And what began as voice notes and late-night rants in her closet turned into a podcast, a platform, and—accidentally—a following. “Dead Air” became the space where she could make sense of the strange, sad, and infuriating parts of the world—where she could talk about the stories that got ignored, the cases no one remembered, and the ones everyone did. The fact that people even wanted to listen to her still baffles her, but it's what she knows how to do, and she thinks she does it well.
PERSONALITY
Outgoing but guarded. Summer is the kind of person who can charm an entire room, but the minute someone asks her a personal question, she’ll pivot with a joke or a half-true story. People think they know her. They don’t. not really.
Obsessively curious to a fault. She needs to understand. Everything. People, motives, what went unsaid in a voicemail, why someone’s story doesn’t line up. It’s not always healthy. Sometimes it’s intrusive. But it’s also what makes her good at what she does.
Witty, sarcastic, and sharp-tongued. She’s quick with comebacks. Painfully good at reading people. She uses humor as armor—especially when she’s anxious, overwhelmed, or emotional. If she’s making jokes, she’s probably deflecting ( she's always deflecting ).
She’s a disaster in the most organized way. Her apartment looks like a crime scene, but she can find any audio file in under 30 seconds. She forgets birthdays but remembers the exact date a local girl went missing seven years ago.
Her attachment style is anxious-avoidant. She craves intimacy but panics the second it gets too close. She ghosts people she cares about sometimes—not because she doesn’t love them, but because she’s terrified they’ll leave first.
She doesn’t trust easily, and when she does, she tests it constantly. She needs proof, not promises.
She's not great at emotional regulation. She overthinks, spirals, cries when she’s angry. She writes drafts of confrontational texts and never sends them. sometimes she does send them and regrets it immediately.
In friendships she’s the chaotic, loyal one who’ll show up at her bestie's house with iced coffee and a playlist titled for the breakdown you’re pretending you’re not having. She forgets to check in, but would burn down a city for the people she loves.
When facing a conflict she’ll go too far. Say something that stings. Then sit in silence afterward, hating herself for it. She’ll apologize awkwardly, in voice notes, 12 hours later.
She’s hard on herself. Always thinks she’s behind, not doing enough, not good enough. She copes by overworking, oversharing, or disappearing for a few days without warning.
She has an extremely high self-awareness level. Painfully high. She knows she’s a lot. She knows she talks too fast, cares too much, is chronically online, maybe a little bit self-sabotaging. But it’s not performative. It’s just her.
She’s deeply empathetic. People open up to her because they can feel that. she just doesn’t know how to hold it all without breaking.
She’s a romantic at heart. She pretends she’s too cynical for love, but she keeps movie ticket stubs and old texts that made her feel seen.
She believes in justice, in truth, in telling stories that matter. Even when it costs her something.
POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS
Best Friend: someone she grew up with who still lives in town. maybe they help her with podcast research or just offer brutal honesty when she’s spiraling—aka the person who tells her to shut up and she actually does it.
The one she ghosted: someone she got too close to, too fast, and then vanished from. Maybe they're reconnecting, maybe they hate her.
New friend: started as a listener or mutual, turned into someone who actually gets her. Maybe they’re just as nosy and weird.
The ex who still lingers: a past relationship that never quite ended. Maybe it was too intense, too fast, or maybe they just couldn’t handle how much she needs.
Slow-burn mutual pining: they orbit each other. Maybe they’ve never crossed that line—but they could.
The barista / bartender who hears all her rants: they don’t always understand her obsession with murder and microphones, but they always remember her order. Maybe she overshares with them.
