#The reason the 19-year-old wasn’t driving

[writingislife20]

I want a book about post-apocalyptic world, it starts out with these four survivors, who are all in their early to mid twenties, with the oldest being 25. They are trying to find other survivors/find out what started the apocalypse. I want them to be traveling, getting close to where they think the apocalypse started and surrounded by a group of creatures (I’m thinking zombies, but if you can be more original, let me know.)

Just when they are starting to despair, a car horn sounds. A minivan careens into the circle, killing several of the horde of creatures. A door is thrown open, and a preteen girl pitches her head out and screams at the top of her lungs “ GET IN!!!”

They start scrambling into the minivan, while the monster shuffle at them. When the last person gets in, the girl throws the door closed and yells, ” Step on it, Rosie, and don’t hit another building!”

They turned to see a nine-year-old girl in the driver seat, with a 13-year-old boy looking like he was about to hurl. They drive so fast that one of the passengers definitely gets close to sickness. The nine-year-old keeps giggling, and whoever’s point of view it is is death scared of this little girl.

They get driven to this camp area that has obviously been turned into a hideout, with a gate enclosing it. There, they are greeted with a gaggle of kids, ranging from 7 to 16, with two elderly women, and a girl who stands out as being the oldest and probably the leader. She seems to be a lot older, and is very confident, giving directions to everyone. She takes the four of them to a side room, and shuts the door. All four of them are preparing for some sort of shovel talk. None of them are expecting to see this girl to sigh, lean against the wall and ask “Are any of you homophobic? because I am not willing to deal with that during this whole thing.”

Turns out, this place used to be a conversion camp that flew under the radar, and this girl had been breaking her little sister out of it when this whole thing started. Most of the kids have been fine, as they’ve been on lockdown due to her entering, almost all the faculty was dead or had abandoned the kids when everything started. The only adults who were left were the lunch ladies and the grandmother of one of the kids, who had been there visiting her grandson.

This 19-year-old had been put in charge of a gaggle of kids, and three older women who did not know how to take care of that many children. She asked the team for help dealing with the kids, crying that she needed an adult.

The group of four look at each other. Only one of them has experienced with children, and that is with a few kids from daycare, who are arguably younger than these ones. All of them are grad students, who barely survived the apocalypse due to sheer dumb luck, antisocial behavior, and their ability to dodge people attempting to bite them (grad students get crazy and cranky when you tried to wake them up or take them away from their work). All four of them are human disasters, then they look at this kid, who didn’t even get the chance to go to college, who is begging for help, and looks like she’ll cry if they refused to help.

They all collectively decide that They will be the responsible one. all of their other friends are human disasters, so they have to clean up their behavior and take care of this girl and the many children she has under her care. They know they’re going to need to help.

The problem is, they are all human disasters, who barely know how to cook. They are trying to be responsible, but they only have one brain cell, and it passes between them with no warning.

The rest of the story should be a mixture of comedy(these 20 year old trying to take care of a bunch of kids) and apocalyptic drama (these old ladies, trying to figure out why the apocalypse started, with a few appearances from Timmy, the grandson, who is seven years old and was sent there without the grandmother’s knowledge.)

Just, let the responsible grandparents figure out how the apocalypse started and why, while the grad students try to be responsible for 20 to 30 kids.

[woodland-gremlin]

Meeting the Kids

Today was the day that Dick’s boyfriend, Danny, would be introducing him to his three kids. He has heard so much about the gremlin trio that he could recite how Danny adopted them and what they are like forwards and backwards in his sleep at this point. And as he fidgeted outside of his boyfriend’s apartment in Fawcett that was exactly what he did.

Ellie is Danny’s biological daughter that was officially put under his guardianship when he was emancipated at 17, but unofficially he has been watching over her for much longer. She is the oldest of the three, being 11. Exploring and causing untold amounts of chaos, usually with her two younger brothers, is her bread and butter in life. Will not hesitate to turn that controlled chaos onto you if you hurt her family, if the stories of what she does to her sperm donor is an indication. Tales of all the places he has traveled when he was in the circus and stress he has caused Bruce at galas are his best bet to not getting pelted with glitter the moment he walks in the door.

Billy is the most recent addition to the family after living on the streets for the last few years. He is the middle child at 10 years old. Being forced into foster care, which is a death sentence according to Jason, and living on the streets, which is apparently better than foster care (again according to Jason), has made him vary of adults. The only reason he trusted Danny enough to be adopted, was through a long campaign of food, a safe place to sleep that he could leave at any time, the other kids, and a few private emotional moments. From the stories he is a sweet kid whose swearing could make a sailor blush. He brought some of Alfred’s homemade food and stories of Jason for him.

Damian was taken in 6 years ago when Danny was 19. His birth family was in a cult, raising him as its heir before trying to sacrifice him to some higher being, when Danny found him. Even with the ruff start he is very in touch with his home country’s culture, Danny even getting in touch with people from his culture to teach the whole family so they can better understand and respect it. He is the youngest of the trio at 9 and loves animals. He has also seemingly inherited Danny’s adoption tendencies when it comes to said animals. He is also the most likely to challenge him to a duel for Danny’s honor, he does it to every potential partner of Danny's, much less one actually dating him. Mentions of Batcow while accepting said duel should help Damian at least tolerate him.

All three of them are the stars of Danny’s life. Dick has heard all about the bullshit Danny gets for being a father of three, two which are in the double digits, at 25 and how protective the Nightingale family is of each other. And that isn’t even counting his older sister, who he has met over the phone, and all the others claimed extended family. How often Danny has broken up with his partners over the kids or said kids driving out those partners if they didn’t think that they were good enough for their dad. So, no Jason, he wasn’t being paranoid, considering that they ran the last one out in tears, covered in neon, biodegradable glitter and paint, he was being practical!

What Dick did not know was that as he was panicking and making plans the gremlin trio was making their own plans. Plans of his demise.

[stsgluver]

Can I get a uhhh...hurt/comfort Choso drabble where he snaps at the reader? Maybe because he's worried about Yuuji or something?

𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐆𝐎 — kamo choso

synopsis. choso's parent's relationship is struggling and he doesn't know how to handle it.

wc. 1.4k

tags. very slight angst, happy ending, yuuji is choso's 10yo half brother, choso and yn are 18-19, both went to the same school, yn is yuuji's tutor, possible ooc choso I've never written for him before

a/n. MY FIRST CHOSO WRITING!! you never specified an au so I did a post-highschool!au-ish. I hope that's okay <33 thank you for requesting!!

2k event

“can’t you tell i’m busy?” choso uttered through gritted teeth, not even bothering to glance up at you from his sketchbook he was hunched over on his desk. you’d been trying to tell him about the sweet old couple you always saw at the cafe and hadn’t seen for weeks until today. the two of you had become invested in their wellbeing and you’d thought that had been something he would’ve wanted to hear about.

“oh, sorry.” you frowned at how unintentionally pathetic your voice sounded. despite his cold demeanour, choso was probably the, if not the, sweetest person you’d ever met. he was always doting on his younger brother and showing up at your day job unannounced to bring you something whenever you tell him you’re having a bad day.

for all intents and purposes, he was the blueprint, so for him to lash out at you for no explicit reason was the total polar opposite to his usual personality.

“sorry?” choso mocked, leaning his head back to push his hands through his hair which was still damp from showering. still, he seemed more preoccupied with the ceiling than his concerned girlfriend who sat cross-legged on his bed, “geto’s going to be pissed that i’m behind on these designs and you constantly talking in my ear is not helping.”

after graduating, choso had initially taken on an admin role at a small tattoo parlour in town. a couple of months into the role, the owner, geto, had offered him a proper apprenticeship. you’d met geto on a handful of occasions and, from how choso had previously described him, he didn’t seem like the type to be annoyed over a few incomplete designs. especially not considering the additional hours and effort choso always puts into that place.

“you invited me over choso,” you pointed out. it was a sunday and, while you usually have work in the evenings, you’d been given the day off due to staff sickness. your boyfriend’s first message had been to excitedly offer for you to come over and stay the night at his which of course you said yes to.

somewhere between sending you that message and you making the fifteen minute drive to his house, he had a drastic change of heart.

choso sighed, picking up a different pencil to continue his sketch. “well, now i’m uninviting you.”

the bluntness in his tone had you blinking back tears. it was the first time he’d ever been so intentionally dismissive towards you. you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response or an argument, if that was what he was after, and picked up your coat and left his room. 

you hadn’t needed to bring over any clothes or essentials since you’d come over so often his room had designated areas for your spare bits. as upset as he had made you, you weren’t about to scare him with a breakup threat because he was having a bad day and lashing out at you. 

“yn!” yuuji’s bright voice spooked you from your thoughts as you made your way down the stairs and you had to quickly wipe away any tears so as to not worry your boyfriend’s ten year old brother. choso’s golden personality was hidden by dark hair and an introverted front whereas yuuji’s was clear from his pink hair to his loud voice. “are you leaving already? you haven’t even tried my pancakes yet!”

one of yuuji’s incentives to attend the lessons that he didn’t like (ie. anything that wasn’t sport) was for him and choso to make homemade pancakes together. it was a weekly thing that you usually missed because of work and yuuji had been jumping up and down when he had found out you’d be there this evening.

your heart broke a little more at the fact you’d now be upsetting him.

“sorry yuuji,” his little face dropped slightly, bounce in his step gone as he clasped his hands together. you gently rubbed his shoulder, “i’ll be here for friday?”

yuuji scrunched up his nose. “that’s so long away!” it was also the day he’d be sat at the kitchen island with you for several hours doing catch up on his classes.

yuuji was the reason why you and choso had reconnected after graduating school – because when you agreed to tutor a student how could you have known that itadori yuuji was kamo choso’s little brother? you’d never been close in school so you hadn’t even known he had any relatives.

“i’ll bring you a treat,” you promised, making your way out of the house after saying a quick goodbye to his parents. 

the pouring down rain coupled with the ever flowing tears that stained your cheeks meant you had to stop your car several times on the way home just to ensure you wouldn’t crash. each and every time you checked your phone to see if he’d sent you a message, apologising and asking you to come back (which you would have in a heartbeat). there never was.

you didn’t see choso for the rest of the week – not until friday, your usual tutoring session with yuuji. 

he had messaged you a couple times, asking about your day and sending you several pictures of tattoos he had done himself which you always responded to quickly. but the conversations were short and filled with unanswered questions.

most days that you didn’t sleep around his, the two of you would call until one of you fell asleep. for the last five nights both of you had made excuses for why you couldn’t call. 

your relationship was still fairly new and this was the first spat that you had had. neither of you really knew how to cope with the aftermath or even the initial falling out. you missed your boyfriend, though, and you couldn’t avoid this forever.

“is yuuji here?”

you’d knocked twice before the door had been opened by choso. he looked just as tired as you felt (you’d done your best to cover it up with a bit of concealer and highlighter), and his shoulder length hair was messily framing his face. the hoodie he wore was a matching one that you had still hung up in your wardrobe at home.

“no,” choso shook his head, “he’ll be back from fushiguro’s kids in about fifteen.”

yuuji had spoken about megumi a lot to you – his best friend in the whole world, he’d described him as. he told you he’d bring him around one day to meet you.

“okay,” you said slowly and there was an awkward silence that settled between the two of you. on a friday night whilst you were with yuuji, their parents went out for their weekly date night, so right now it was just choso in his house and you at the doorstep. you take a step back, “i can just wait in my car till–”

“i think my parents are splitting up,” choso said quickly – almost too quickly for you to understand – and his eyes dropped down to the ground below, avoiding your worried gaze. “friday date nights are now for marriage counselling,” he continued when you didn’t say anything, still in shock from the confession, “jin… he’s a good guy, but my mum is stressed with work and–”

“and she’s taking it out on the people closest to her.”

choso picked his head up and there was an unspoken understanding that that was what had happened on sunday. he looked guilty as he nodded.

choso and yuuji were half brothers – choso’s dad had up and left when he was only a couple of years old and his mum had had to single-handedly rebuild their life. he didn’t want yuuji to have to experience any of the hardships he did in his broken family.

“i’m sorry for hurting you. i don’t want to lose you too,” your boyfriend apologised and you made the first step on closing the gap to wrap your arms around his waist. he smelt like home, you realised, nestling your face into his hoodie, and you didn’t want to go five whole days without him again.

you lifted your head up to press one kiss to the corner of his lips, “we’ll get through this together, no matter what happens.”

[browndresswithwhitedots]

Wouldn’t it be great if at difficult times in our lives we were able to turn to younger versions of ourselves and ask them for help? For example, you’re frightened of something now because you’ve learned from past experience that there are good reasons to be scared. So you turn inward and ask 27 year old you to take over now. Because at 27, you were afraid of little in life (for better or worse). 27 year old you had a sureness and confidence that for many reasons you lost along the way to today. Or you meet someone wonderful, but in the past you’ve been hurt so many times that you’re wary and cynical of love and becoming involved again. But 19 year old you wasn’t; they believed fully in the magic and infinite possibilities of new love in a way you haven’t for years. If you’ve lived a long enough time, you have been many people, both strong and weak. Somewhere in our being those people must still exist. Many of them were optimistic, bulletproof, trusting, or stone-cold sure of what they were doing. They sincerely believed life’s possibilities were limitless and user-friendly. Scared, confused, depressed, cynical, apathetic—whatever negative frame of mind you might be in now, there *were* times in life when you were just the opposite. How great it would be if we could turn to those other versions of our self and say you can handle this situation better than me. Please take the wheel now and drive this rough part of life’s road. -JONATHAN CARROLL

[morganski-19]

I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 19: Nightmares

ao3 link, Part 1, Part 18

tw: minor descriptions of physical assault, PTSD panic attack, car crashes, and emetophobia (very minor description)

Present Day, June 1986

It’s been three weeks since the court ruled in Steve’s favor, and he still doesn’t quite believe it. Doesn’t believe it when his lawyer calls to tell him that the payment will be coming to him soon. Doesn’t believe it when that money gets transferred to him. When he pays his lawyer and it’s all over.

Steve doesn’t have to fight with them anymore. Have to think about them anymore. They have absolutely no power over him whatsoever.

He doesn’t know what to do with that really.

All his life, he’s been playing the part designed for him. Done what other people wanted, doing things for himself later. In secret. Now that most of it was out, the pressure gone, he doesn’t know what to do anymore.

Steve gets up to go to a job that he didn’t want in the first place. Really only got because his dad wanted him to get a part time job as punishment for not getting into college. Following Robin after the mall blew up. It was all just stops on a train that he was given the ticket to.

Now he switched trains on his own accord. Went in a different direction. One that he chose because he wanted it. Sounded like a life he wanted to live. Sounded like there were other passengers on the train that might get off at the same destination. Want to spend time with him as they traveled. Get to know him. Maybe even love him.

And that’s what happened. He still doesn’t know how, or why. What to do with it. But he’s learning to.

If anyone were to ask him what he was going to do with this life he has now, with the winnings, he wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants to do tomorrow let alone in the next five years. The picture he has in his head looks the same as it is now. Happy with everyone he loves around him, looking exactly the same.

But that’s not what’s going to happen.

The kids are going to grow up, change, go off to school. Julie will too, leaving his house empty again. Robin will eventually go to a school that can give her more than a community college can. People in the town will continue to outgrow it.

While Steve continues to stay in the same spot forever. Rooted in the same place that hurt him so much. The same place that helped him grow into someone he’s actually proud of. Showed him the life he could have if he was just brave enough to go and catch it.

Now that he has it, it’s all he’s ever wanted. He’s not ready to let it go quite yet.

“Do you think you could teach me how to drive?” Julie asks Steve over dinner.

Steve freezes in shock, head shooting up to look at her. “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

He’s known her less than a year but the question still makes him feel so old. Feeling like he watched her grow up as she went through so many changes. So many emotions. Slowly formed into the person she is now right in front of him.

“Cool.” Julie says, going back to her dinner.

Steve wonders how long she’s been wanting to learn how to drive. She’s been able to for over a year now, just never got around to it. With the nature of her mother’s accident, he wasn’t sure when she would want to ever learn. If she would want to.

“Is there a reason you wanted to learn?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

Julie shrugs. “Just haven’t yet. And I’ve been thinking about maybe getting a part time job, saving to try and get a car of my own before I go to college. I know it’s still a year away, but cars are expensive and minimum wage is shit.”

College. Something he knew was coming but was hoping it could be a little farther away. He wonders if this is how every parent feels. Wishing their kid would just stay in one place for a little while longer and stop growing. Stop changing. So they don’t have to change with them.

He’s not a parent. Not yet, and not for a long while. But he can’t help but feel some sort of protective instinct over these kids that changed his life. Want to look out for them in every situation, make sure that nothing ever hurts them. He knows that’s not how life is supposed to go. Kids are supposed to make mistakes and learn from them. That’s the way it went for him, so it’s the way it will go for them.

He just didn’t want it to.

“I don’t know why you’re so worked up about this,” Robin comments while unboxing the newest releases. “We all knew this day would come someday.”

Steve sighs, leaning on the door of the stock room. “I just wanted that someday to take longer to actually get here. It’s like the last few years went by so fast and got so muddled in my mind that I forgot time kept moving.”

“I get that. But,” she places the last tape on the cart and turns to him, “just because the kids are getting older, doesn’t mean that they’re leaving.”

They are in a way, though. Even though he knows that won’t be permanent. That they won’t forget about him the way other people have, it still makes the anxiety trapped in his chest start to rise. The instinct to hold on tight and never let go so much stronger.

“This town is too small for them. We both know that. They are going to go do amazing things, while I’m still here doing the same mediocre things I always do.” He holds the door open for her as she rolls the cart through.

“Have you ever thought about doing other things?”

Steve pauses in front of the cart, making Robin run into him. “What?”

“You’re acting like you can’t do other things. If you hate what you’re doing right now, try something different. No one’s forcing you to do the same thing you were doing yesterday.”

She pivots the cart to move around him, leaving him with thoughts he’s honestly been scared to think about.

Steve’s made a routine for himself. Go to work, pick up the kids, drive them around, go home. Live a life that he enjoys and work a job that he kind of hates. Follow his best friend wherever she goes because he’ll love whatever it is.

Was it what he thought he’d be doing with his life, no. Is it something he wanted to do the rest of his life? He doesn’t want to answer that question. The rest of his life was uncertain for the longest time. Each year testing the strength of his body and his mind. Making it feel like tomorrow was some bright future he may never get to see.

It was easy to get so stuck in the present when the future seemed like it would never come. Now that it is, Steve is scared to figure out what it is. What it means for him.  

“Look,” Robin continues, knowing exactly how he’s feeling. “I’m not saying you have to pick what you want to do right now. Or tomorrow, or the day after that. I’m just saying that if you really hate doing this,” she waves towards the shelves, “then you can start thinking about what you would want to do instead. There is still so much time for you to figure it all out.”

Time is something Steve’s learning how to deal with. But Robin’s right. Maybe it’s finally the right moment to think about what he can do with it.

. . .

“That is so exciting,” El exclaims when Julie tells her that Steve is going to teach her how to drive. “You will be the first one of us to learn how to drive.”

“Well, that’s actually Max,” Lucas corrects. “She learned how to drive a while ago.”

“Yeah poorly,” Mike adds. “And only in a parking lot.”

Max rolls her eyes. “I drove in the street that one time.”

“And almost got us killed.”

“Scared Steve shitless.” Dustin laughs.

“Scared all of us shitless.”

“Not me,” Lucas defends. I wasn’t scared.”

Dustin snorts. “So that wasn’t your high-pitched scream then?”

Lucas kicks him under the table.

El turns to Max. “When did you drive?”

Max motions for El to get closer and whispers it into her ear. Just another reminder that Julie has no idea what they are talking about. Another inside joke that she’ll never understand. El takes a second to be shocked before bursting out into giggles.

When the bell rings, Max stops Julie before she can walk away. “Hey, could you help me bring my stuff to my next class. El has a test today so she can’t do it.”

Julie shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

She picks up Max’s backpack and carries it in front of her. Following after Max as she yells at the groups of seniors who like to stand in the hallway and block everyone’s path.

“So, you and El have gotten pretty close, yeah?” Max asks way too casually than she should for such a loaded question. And in the middle of the hallway.

“I mean we’re friends, right,” Julie tries to play it cool. Especially since to El, this is all they are.

Max stops, turning her chair to Julie and giving her a look that tell her to cut the shit. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t really want to talk about this here.”

She barely wants to talk about it at all. The hatred for herself slowly turning into guilt that churns her stomach each time she looks at El. Knowing that she’s feeling something that she shouldn’t. Almost asking El for something that she can’t give. Wishing that this feeling could go away and they could just go back to being normal friends. Without all this complicated shit.

“That’s fair.” Max resumes rolling down the hallway, stopping in front of her classroom and reaching out to take the bag from Julie. “Your house after school then?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Julie wishes she would.

“El’s my best friend. Of course I’m not.”

The school day ends, and they go over to her house. She sits next to Max in her room like it’s some interrogation. Waiting for her to be the first to speak. Not wanting to share too much too fast.

“You know, El’s probably going to be pissed when she figures out that we hung out without her,” Max finally breaks the silence.

Julie huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

The thing about actually having a crush, Julie realizes, is that it’s so special to have one. Like a little secret that she and only a few other people know. This special little feeling that, at the end of the day, brings her so much joy to have. Even though it’s terrifying. It’s a good terrifying.

“I was really happy when El became friends with you so fast,” Max continues. “I love the guys, but she needed someone else who knew how to take it down a notch. Someone calmer. Someone like you.”

Her lips can’t help but turn into a soft smile. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Max nods. “I think we all needed that too. Life has been crazy the last few years and it’s been nice to have someone to remind us that life doesn’t always have to be tied to that. Especially for El.”

“What do you mean?”

Max takes a deep breath, shifting the pillow behind her. “There’s a lot that I can’t tell you, and there’s stuff that I don’t even really know. None of us do. She wouldn’t tell us all of it. But you know how El is adopted right?”

Julie nods.

“I, uh, don’t know how much of this she wanted me to tell you. Just that she didn’t want to do it herself so bear with me here. Before she was adopted, El was in a really bad home. If that’s what you could even call it. And a lot of really terrible things happened there that none of us like to talk about. She escaped from there one night and eventually got adopted by Hopper.”

Julie remembers that night she stayed at the Byers after they got kicked out of the house. How she told El about the fourth of July when the mall burnt down, and she saw all those people walking to their death. The face El made after she said it. Looking determined as all hell and older than she needed to be. Like a switch in her mind flipped and she was a totally different person than Julie knew her to be.

How horrible her life must have been to take the joy out of her face so fast. To turn defense mode on in a way that made her look like a soldier.

“That’s terrible,” are the only words Julie can think to say.

Max nods, looking down at her hands. “Yeah, it is. This is the same place, same people, that are responsible for a lot of the bad things that happened in this town. They worked at the Hawkins lab.”

“Shit,” Julie sighs, leaning back against her wall.

“Yeah, shit.”

The room fills with silence.

“Why are you telling me all of this now?”

“Because I’ve never seen El open up to a person as fast as she has with you. It took a long time for her to open up to me, and sure there were other things in the way that stopped that, but I’m talking right as we became friends. We were close, but not you guys close.”

Julie can’t imagine Max and El being different from the way they are now. The soft interactions full of a trust that looked so natural. Like they had been friends for a lifetime, fully comfortable around one another.

“And I’m starting to notice, and please tell me if this is out of line, that you might be thinking about El differently than I think about El.”

Julie wonders if this is the time where it isn’t taken well. That someone tells her that this is the worst thing that she could do. Having a crush on a friend could break relationships. She didn’t want to break this one.

“I do,” she finally says to Max. Ready for the berating to start.

Instead, Max nods with resignation. “I think El does too.”

The room starts to buzz as Julie’s heart starts to pick up. “What?”

“She hasn’t, like, told me anything. And she’s probably going to hate me for telling you this at all. But I want to protect her and protect you too and this weird waiting period is really awkward for me, and I’d rather just get to the point where I’m third wheeling.”

“I’m sorry,” Julie interrupts her, still trying to wrap her head around the idea that there’s a possibility that El might like her back. “You think El likes me?”

Max raises her eyebrow. “Have you seen the way she’s been acting around you? Complimenting you every day, clipping your hair back, giggling at literally every joke you say. No offense but that’s a little excessive, your jokes aren’t always that funny.”

Moments start to replay in Julie’s mind. Having been so focused on the way she’s been acting, that she didn’t even notice the way El’s behavior around her changed. How she interacted with Julie just different enough from the rest of the group for it to be significant. For it to be special.

She remembers shrinking in on herself when she knew El was looking at her for longer than she should. Thinking that it was because Julie was making her feel uncomfortable. Never because she could have been doing the same thing Julie has been doing this whole time. Admiring in secret.

“I didn’t notice.”

Max groans. “Of course you didn’t. Neither of you did. It’s like Will and Mike not realizing that they’re into each other. Do you know how frustrating it is to know that your friends like each other but they’re too stupid to do anything about it.”

“Oh my god, you noticed the Will and Mike thing too, I thought that was just me.”

“Don’t try and change the subject. You like El, and I think El likes you. What are you going to do about it?”

Julie winces. “Is nothing an option?”

Max grabs Julie’s arm. “You are driving me crazy. Ask her out or some shit.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?” Julie says, full of fear. “What if I mess up and then I lose all of you guys. I already feel like an outsider sometimes when you guys start talking about the things I don’t know about. I’m the friend that everyone would be ok to lose if this doesn’t work out.”

A few beats pass before Max starts to speak. “Ok, one, you are not the friend that everyone would be ok to lose. You have integrated yourself into the group more than you think you have. Second, you are so focused on a relationship that you haven’t even started yet. Life’s too short to have regret for the steps you didn’t take. Believe me, I know.”

Max wraps her arms around her leg, shifting it to a better position. Inadvertently reminding Julie of the things that have happened the past few years. The events she was just a bystander to, never fully experiencing what happened. When they did, somehow. She still wished she kind of knew.

But maybe Max was right. Maybe Julie could take the risk. Ask El on a date. Hope that it would work out, and that she wouldn’t regret it later. What would she regret more? Asking, or forever wondering how it would have turned out had she not.

. . .

July 1987

The room is blurry as Steve comes into consciousness. The bright lights giving him a headache, and the taste of copper resting on is tongue. His one eye can’t open that well, almost swollen shut. His wrists burn against rope as he twists them. Trying to get them apart.

His good eye blinks, focusing on a pair of black boots in front of him. Raising his head, he meets the scowling face of the Russian officer. Hearing words spoken in a language he doesn’t understand to the other man in the room.

“Ah, he’s awake,” The Russian slurs in English. Stepping forward and looking down at Steve. Menacing.

“Let me go,” Steve begs. “I don’t know anything.”

The officer grabs his hair, pulling his head back to look at him. Steve’s tempted to spit in his face.

“I am only going to ask you this again. Who do you work for?”

Steve can’t help but let out a sad laugh. Knowing he won’t be awake for much longer. “I already told you. I work at Scoops.”

The ringing in his ears starts when his cheek burns. Vision blurring again. He straightens his head, panting to try and get the air back into his lungs. Only for it to leave as the officer hits him again. Always the right side of his head. It hurts so much it’s almost numb.

“No, no, no,” Steve pleads as the officer winds up again. Blood pooling in his mouth with the next collision. He spits on the group. “I work at Scoops,” he screams with as much breath he can muster.

The world goes dark again.

Steve wakes with a scream. The surroundings not matching that of his cell. A weight around his torso preventing him from getting up. He rips the blankets off of him, pulling the weight off and throwing it away. Cursing as his feet can’t kick off the sheets. Can’t get free.

Tears are streaming down his face as he struggles. His hands free. The rope burn stinging his skin. His torso itches like crazy. Like small little bites stabbing into his skin. He needs to find Robin. Needs to see if she’s ok.

“Steve,” a voice says to him. How do they know his same? Did he tell it to them? What are they going to do to him now.

He still struggles with the blanket, finally pulling his feet free. Attempting to get off the bed and search for anything as a weapon. This place isn’t the cell he was in before. They must have moved him when he was knocked out.

“Steve,” the voice says again. Sitting up on the bed and starting to move towards him.

Steve flinches from the touch, raising his fists. Ready to strike them first this time. His heart is beating in his ears, the constant ringing in his right only amplified. Adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He needs to get out of here.

A light clicks on. Illuminating the room he’s in. It doesn’t look like a cell. It looks like a bedroom. Have they constructed this just to give him a false sense of security?”

“It was just a dream, Steve.” The man gets out of the bed, taking a cautious step towards Steve. Hands outstretched to block any punches Steve might throw.

Steve wasn’t the threat here. He was just trying to protect himself.

“Can you tell me three things you notice about this room?” The man cautiously spins them around, clicking on another lamp in the room.

The bare walls reflect the light, the soft yellow so different from the blaring white. The walls a tan instead of white or grey. It looks so familiar, but Steve’s mind is so confused. The tears continue to stream down his face as he tries to figure out where he is.

“I work at Scoops,” Steve stutters.

“I know you do.” The man replies quickly. “I believe you.”

More tears. Steve’s hands lower. They know now. Does that mean he’s free to go?

“Tell me three things you see,” he repeats. So soft it makes Steve want to crumble.

“A bed,” he whispers. “A nightstand. A lamp.”

The man takes another step forward. Coming into more clarity. Brown curls fall onto his shoulders. He looks nothing like the Russians.

“Good. Anything else?”

“There’s a picture on the nightstand. The bed has blue sheets. There’s a poster on the wall.”

Eddie places a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder, he flinches before leaning into it. Closing his eyes and trying to focus on the touch. Letting it ground him.

There’s a knock on the door. Steve’s eyes fly open again as he whips his head to look. Heartbeat increasing again.

“Take a seat, sweetheart, I’ll get it.”

Steve freezes, unable to move. He’s directed toward the bed, somehow, he sits down. Knuckles clenched into white.

“Are you guys ok,” he hears a soft voice say. “I heard screaming.”

Eddie doesn’t open the door more than a small crack. “Yeah, we’re fine. I got this, you can go back to bed.”

The door shuts with a small click. Eddie returning to Steve. Sits next to him as the adrenaline fades. Leaving his body exhausted and his mind still searching for explanations.

“Can you tell me what year it is, Steve?”

He shakes his head.

“It’s July second, 1987. You survived them, Steve. Everyone did.”

A sob escapes his throat. His body collapsing into himself. Curling up as the energy releases. He’s wrapped into a hug and pulled further into the bed. Being protected while he falls apart.

Steve wakes up again a few hours later. Gets out of bed and into a routine. Takes a shower, gets dressed, makes himself breakfast. Goes through the motions of a normal morning.

The front door closes quietly. Eddie and Robin coming into the house. Sitting with Steve at the table.

“I took Julie to school, that’s why I wasn’t here,” Eddie explains. “I told Robin what happened.”

Robin looks down at the table, biting at her lip. “Tomorrow marks two year since-.”

Steve looks at his coffee. “Yeah, I know.”

“I can’t believe it’s been that long. It feels so close yet a lifetime away.”

“It was like I was back there. Even when I woke up.” Steve takes a deep breath. “I thought it was going to be better this year.”

Robin’s hand finds his, her fingers shaking. “Me too.”

They find themselves curled up on the couch for the rest of the day. Eddie there just to make sure they’re both ok. The house quiet except for the low volume on the tv. Lights off so they don’t flicker. Robin’s fingers pressed into Steve’s wrist to feel his pulse. His arm holding her close, proving that she’s there.

They made it out of there. They’re both alive. He wishes that their minds would stop trying to tell them otherwise.

. . .

Julie walks into a dark house. Steve and Robin asleep on the couch with Eddie awkwardly sitting next to them. Looking out of place. She wants to ask about what she heard last night. How she heard the screams from across the hall.

Eddie gets up when he notices her. Motions for her to meet him in Steve’s bedroom. Shuts the door gently behind them before turning on the light.

“You probably have a few questions about last night.”

Julie nods. “Is he ok?”

Eddie runs a hand down his face. “Physically, yeah, he’s fine. But other than that, he will be. This week is an anniversary of something for him. He was reminded of that last night.”

“The mall fire,” Julie fills in. “I know that they were there that night.”

“Do you know why?”

Julie shakes her head. No one would tell her more when she asked.

Eddie nods, crossing his arms and swaying on the balls of his feet. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to tell you what happened. I don’t even know the full of it.”

She thought Steve told him everything. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s the reason Steve can’t hear well in his right ear anymore. And the reason he gets really bad PTSD attacks. Like the one he had last night.”

“And that’s why,” she tilts her head to the door. Knowing that Steve and Robin tangled together in the living room.

“She was there too.” Eddie looks at the door. Pain painting his face. “A part of me wishes I knew what really happened to them so I could help. But they already relive this pain more than they should, they don’t need to do it again just to fill me in.”

Julie pauses before asking the question that’s been on her mind since the first time she heard screams through the walls. Wonders if there’s a part of her that really wants to know. Or if this is just morbid curiosity. But there were memories of her own that haunt her. Placing her back into moments of her life with things left unexplained.

She cares about these people. It hurts to know that they are in pain. And if she could help, know how to help them through the panic or PTSD attacks, she thinks it’s important enough to know.

“Do you think you could tell me what you know,” she asks softly. “Or at least what you do to help calm him down. I think it would be good for me to be prepared in case it happens and you or Robin aren’t here.”

Eddie presses his lips together. “I’ll do the second one, not the first. As much as he doesn’t want to talk about it, it’s not my story to tell.”

“That’s fair.”

Eddie tells her what he does to calm Steve down when it gets really bad. How with the panic attacks, it’s good to count with him while he breaths. And if he’s willing, grab his hands to help ground him. Tell him about what’s in the room. How it’s different than the pictures in his mind. More things kind of all based on that.

Julie takes it all in, making a mental list in her mind, hoping she doesn’t forget it. Hoping that if it ever happens, she won’t mess it up. Saddened by the fact that this is Steve’s reality.

. . .

A few days pass since Steve’s reality morphed with his nightmares. The date crossed out on his calendar far enough away that it’s finally starting to sink in. Steve made it out of there two years ago. Yet it still affects him like it was yesterday.

Just like back then, life moves on. He goes to work and comes home. Gets weird thinking of the future, and what that means for him. How each milestone will pass, the anniversary of dates coming and going. Affecting him in more ways than he realizes. Until he’s waking in a cold sweat and his body is transported back into his past selves. Some fucked up time travel.

His mind stays fixated on that night. How long it took for his brain to recognize Eddie’s face. To differentiate the safety of his home with the danger of his interrogation cell. How dangerous it could have been.

Eddie told him that Julie has asked about it. How he didn’t say anything, but did tell her ways to help him through an attack. It’s something he never thought of before. Out of all the possibilities that run through his mind, the thought of her being present for one of the attacks never crossed. He never thought she would be there for one of them.

But she almost was. If Eddie hadn’t been there, it would have been Steve opening the door. He didn’t want her to see him like that. He didn’t want the monsters in his head to meld her into something she wasn’t.

She wasn’t a part of this life, he wanted to keep it that way. But Steve has never really gotten what he wished for. It was time to tell her the parts he could.

No one wants to hear about the truth. They don’t want to know the dangers that rest beneath their feet. Blissfully ignorant and wanting to stay that way. Ignorance, however, can hurt sometimes. He didn’t want it to hurt her.

When Julie gets home from school, Steve asks her to sit in the kitchen. Takes the seat across from her and starts to lay out everything. How this conversation can’t leave the room, and she’s never to let anyone know that he told her this.

“This is about Starcourt, isn’t it?” She asks somewhere in the middle of his warnings. “Why all those people walked straight to their death.”

“How did you know about that?” Steve knew that people must have seen it, but it was kept out of the news.

Julie tells him about the night she went looking for her mom. How she got caught in the crowd of people walking toward the mall. Saw the names of people she knew flicker on the tv screen the next morning.

Steve tells her more than he should. About how Will going missing five years ago was a catalyst to so much more. How he got roped into everything. Skipping the bit in the middle for the most part, focusing on how Max came into it all. Then gets to the Russians.

Tells her the story of an innocent mystery turned terrifying nightmare. The interrogation that thankfully didn’t end in his death. Fireworks that crashed into the monster the size of a building and crashing a car into a possessed maniac. All of it ending in burning red, leaving the survivors to cope with their loss.

She’s taking it better than he thought she would. And he hasn’t even said everything yet. Just barely gets to spring break before Julie is pulling him into a hug. Until he realizes the wetness of his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes. “I am so sorry you had to live through that.”

He doesn’t finish telling her everything. It’s probably a good thing. The NDA’s aren’t as loose as the ones from a few years ago. And it’s better for her to process this and maybe learn the rest later. If she wants to. If he wants to explain it all again.

. . .

“Alright, now turn on the blinker and slowly hit the gas again,” Steve instructs as Julie sits at a stop sign. No one else around.

It’s been a few weeks since she’s started learning how to drive. Slowly easing into it in random parking lots while no one is there. Learning where all the signals were, and basic traffic laws. Most of it was review, but she didn’t mind the practice.

She pushes on the gas, jerking the car into motion. Pulling away from the parking lot and onto the street. For the first time. Julie is driving on the road.

“Ok, good. Just try not to hit the gas so hard next time.”

Steve’s been an ok teacher. Patient for the most part but gets frustrated when he can’t explain something properly. But he hasn’t gotten angry at her yet. Carefully corrects her but makes sure she knows that she’s doing ok. That she’s starting to get this right.

Julie pulses the gas. Learning how to keep the speed of the road. Overcorrecting when she gets too close to the yellow lines. The overcorrecting again when she gets close to tree line.

It’s scary driving something so large. So powerful. Hearing how the engine revs each time she pushes her foot down too hard. Feeling the pull of the seatbelt against her chest as she hits the breaks too fast.

But she’s getting it. Adjusting herself as she gets used to the feel of the petals beneath her feet. Loosens her body as she gets more comfortable gripping the steering wheel. As she gets used to the size of the car and the way it moves.

“Great. You’re doing really great, Julie. How about we turn here and-.”

A deer jumps in front of the car.

Julie slams on the breaks as she swerves close to the trees. The car coming mere inches from the trunk. Her arms shaking as they grip the wheel.

It all can happen so fast.

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt, turning towards her. “Julie, take a breath ok.”

One wrong move and the hood of the car would be curved around the tree. The airbag would be in her face.

“Just take a breath, we’re ok.”

What if her foot had slipped as she pushed down on the breaks? What if her hands fumbled the turn? Would the deer have contacted the car? Would she have killed it?

“You followed your instincts. We’re ok. That’s all that matters. We’re ok.”

Was this what it was like right before her mom’s crash? Did a deer just jump in front of the car? Her foot missing the break as she slammed into a tree. As it crashes just right to take her life. Was this mistake so easy to make that Julie almost made it too?

“Julie,” Steve touches her shoulder, comforting her. “It’s ok. Take all the time you need.”

Julie unbuckles her seatbelt and bolts out of the car. Runs to the wood as bile stings her tongue. Let’s the adrenaline out onto the dirt as she crashes. As the air escapes from her lungs.

Steve’s beside her rubbing her back. Saying something but it doesn’t register. Too stuck in her head to think of anything else.

“I’m sorry,” slips out of her mouth. Not sure of what else to say.

“Don’t be. It was just an accident, it happens all the time.”

Tears start to make their way out of her eyes. “But I didn’t see it. I could’ve. I could’ve crashed the car. Or worse and.” Sharp, shaky breaths interrupt her sentences.

Steve turns her to look at him. “Julie, hey. Look at me.” She does. “Take a deep breath, ok.”

He counts as she forces herself to breath in. She holds it, feeling the beat of her heart in her lungs. Releases it. Does it again.

“I didn’t see the deer either,” Steve admits once she calms down a little. “Something must have scared it, and it ran into the road. And you did a good job avoiding it.”

She doesn’t feel like it was a good job. “It all happened so fast.”

The tears continue to stream down her face. The feeling of the break pressed into the bottom of her foot. Throbbing. Her shoulder stinging from the pull of the seatbelt. The feeling of it all finally registering.

Her forehead hurts. Something is dripping down in between her eyes. She reaches up and swipes away blood. The buzz coming back to her veins.

“Fuck,” she mutters, eyes glued to her hand.

Steve gets up and comes back with a small first aid kit. Wiping away the blood with some napkins and pressing them against her forehead. Waiting for the bleeding to stop.

She doesn’t even remember her head hitting the steering wheel.

They sit in silence while Steve cleans the cut. Julie wincing when the alcohol wipe hits her broken skin. Steve finds a small piece of gauze and tapes it to her forehead. Packing up the first aid kit and returning to just sitting next to her.

“We’ll sit here as long as you want to, then I’ll drive us home,” he says.

Drive. Julie doesn’t know how she can sit in the car again. Knowing how easy it is for it all to fail.

“It all happened so fast,” she says again. Fixated on it.

“Yeah, yeah it did.” Steve’s trying to stay strong but she can see the shock in his actions too.

“Was it that fast when,” a lump forms in her throat. “When she? When my mom?”

Steve realizes what she’s talking about, starting to open and close his mouth. Trying to find something to say.

“I,” he starts. “I don’t know.”

“That’s all I could think about.” She looks at him. “All I can think about is how I could almost have died just like her. One wrong move and I-. And we-.”

Steve grabs her arms, looking her dead in the eyes. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s ok. Whatever could have happened, it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that we’re here, and we’re safe. You got shocked and followed your instincts. And because of that, we’re both ok.”

Ok normally doesn’t feel like this. But she tries, really tries to listen to his words.

“I know none of this is going to stop the what ifs in your mind. Believe me, I know. But those what ifs are not going to change what happened. It’s important to remember that.”

She knows he’s right. But it’s so hard to keep her mind on track. Letting it off rail to the ends of possibilities. Wondering if there was ever one where there was never an almost crash to begin with.

“Let’s go home. Get an icepack on that head and make sure it’s ok before you go to sleep. Ok?”

Slowly, Julie nods. “Ok.”

She gets in the car. Buckling the seat belt and tugging it to make sure it locked. Steve gets in the driver’s seat and readjusts it and the mirrors before slowly pulling away. The almost accident fading as she stares in the sideview mirror.

It was just an accident. It can happen to anyone. It just had to happen to her.

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis,

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[moonferry]

if it ends while i'm gone, be my only - the epilogue /lyr (fsioy chapter 19)

omg ??? the epilogue??? i cant believe it. theres only one more chapter left :( sadge. anyway, enjoy!

summary: it's been XX years, let's see how the neilson family is doing! watch as their family grows and they eventually move to the mystical "pelican town". they even run into an old friend.

warnings: none (i think??)

word count: 2766

other chapters: chapter masterlist

ao3 link: here!

anyway~ stay tuned for the next (and final) chapter. i have something special planned.

20XX | XX Years in the Future | Epilogue 

Kent, Jodi, and their son Sam continued to live in the city for the next few years. Eventually, when Sam was about four years old, the small family moved into a new apartment - one that was only a few blocks between Misty’s own and Diana’s store. Jodi insisted they should move closer to her mother - as a way to “watch over” her - and Kent agreed. 

Two years after moving into their new apartment, Kent returned to service - staying from the time Sam was six years old and returning when he was about eight. 

Then, when Sam was thirteen years old, Kent returned to service once more. This time, staying for three years and returning when Sam was sixteen. When Kent returned, he and Jodi were blessed with another child. A second son. One who they named “Vincent Daniel” to honor Kent’s friends, though Kent would have preferred to use the name “Lee” but it had begun to slip from his mind. The only reason he chose the name “Vincent” was because of the I.D. tags around his neck. 

At much as Kent hated to admit it, the war was taking a toll on his mental health. Time, and repeated exposure to traumatic events, certainly didn’t help. He was slowly beginning to forget the names and faces of the men who were once the closest things to siblings he ever had. It hurt. Kent didn’t want to forget them.

Kent eventually reached out to a therapist - as there were moments when his thoughts would overtake him. The therapist suggested a change of scenery would be a good place to start. With this in mind, the Neilson family (Kent, Jodi, a sixteen year old Sam, and a few month old Vincent) packed up their belongings and loaded themselves into the hand-me-down vehicle from Misty. 

Kent still remembers the mixture of confusion and hope as he read the giant billboard: “Stardew Valley – 10 miles”. He would’ve continued driving, but something about the valley seemed to compel him. It felt… familiar, in a way. As if he had imagined a life in this very valley all those years ago. Now, in his late 30s, Kent was finally allowing himself to achieve this life. He barely thought about the decision before taking the next exit - bringing them all towards their new, hopefully more peaceful, life. 

Everyone seemed to greet the family warmly - from the local saloon owner, the townsfolk, and even the nearby rancher. However, one man seemed to keep his distance. An older gentleman - one who Kent swore he knew, but he couldn’t quite place. 

He pushed the thought from his mind. He would worry about familiar faces later. For now, they had to meet with the mayor and secure a house big enough for their family of four. 

“Oh, yeah,” The mayor said. Lewis, he said his name was. Kent looked him up and down. He was another older man, though this one wasn’t as familiar as the other. Something kept nagging at the back of Kent’s mind, pulling his attention towards the strange man he had noticed earlier. 

“Mr. Neilson?” Lewis asked, concern filling his voice. He waved a hand in front of Kent’s face and tried to regain Kent’s attention. Lewis spoke once more, “Did you hear what I said?” 

“Huh?” Kent asked, shaking out of his stupor. He tore his eyes away from the spot he was watching - the spot where the man from earlier had been standing. Kent swore the man was eagerly watching him a few seconds ago, but now he was gone. It was as if he had just disappeared. Kent looked at Lewis and gave an apologetic look before adding, “Sorry. What did you say, again?” 

“Well, I mentioned we have the perfect house for your family!” Lewis chirped. He made an excited motion towards a light blue house - one that was placed a few feet from where they were standing. It looked relatively new (and well taken care of) and Kent wondered who had built it. 

“And, Miss Yoder lives next door - on the ranch down the street,” Lewis explained, moving to point towards the ranch-like farm building. Lewis looked back at Kent, squinting as he looked him up and down. Kent almost wondered if the man considered him some sort of “competition”. For what, he wasn’t quite sure. Kent raised an eyebrow. 

After some scrutinizing - and Jodi approaching Kent and wrapping a loving arm around his waist - Lewis nodded. The man looked around and tried to find any more “selling points”. Eventually, his eyes landed on the gentle stream and Lewis spoke once more, “Plus, there is an abundance of water! I’m sure that… a man like you loves to fish, huh?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Kent asked, raising another eyebrow in Lewis’ direction. Kent enjoyed fishing, as it always helped clear his mind, but he didn’t like the tone Lewis used. It made him feel suspicious - as if this man had an ulterior motive with his “fishing” spiel. 

The older man seemed to ignore the question and continued speaking, “We even have our own local fisherman, if you need some tips.” 

Lewis pointed once more, this time aiming in the direction Kent had been staring previously. Curiosity overtook Kent and he was filled with questions.

“Oh, yeah?” Kent asked, tilting his head to follow the direction of Lewis’ finger. Another question slipped from his lips, “What’s this ‘fisherman’ like?” 

“He runs a shop down on the docks. You should check it out,” Lewis encouraged, a wide, inviting smile spreading across his lips. Kent gave a small hum of consideration but thanked Lewis for the information. 

He helped Jodi and Sam unpack their belongings. However, his curiosity began to slowly overtake him. Kent placed the box he was currently carrying down and turned towards the beach. His family members turned and looked at him, confused, but made no effort to stop him. They all knew that Kent wouldn’t do something like this if he didn’t have a plan. Despite this, Kent didn’t have a plan. Luckily enough, he seemed to be the only one who noticed his lack of plan, which allowed him to slip away unquestioned. 

He hadn’t really thought much about what he was going to do. He was going to the beach and then what? Talk to a stranger in hopes the man is who Kent thinks he is? Try to gain information about a man from twenty years ago? Kent knew it was a shot in the dark, but it was one he had to take. A wave of determination overcame him and he trudged across the small bridge that connected the mainland to the beach. He needed to find out. The lack of closure had always nagged at the back of his mind. And, with how familiar this man felt, Kent couldn’t shake the feeling that this would lead to the closure he’d been waiting for. 

Kent walked towards the shop, though he stopped as he noticed a silhouette of a man propped against the side of the building - two fishing rods in his hands. The man looked up at Kent and extended one rod.

“I knew ye would make it here eventually, son,” The man spoke, a knowing yet prideful look washing over his face. He watched as Kent eyed him, disbelief and distrust clearly evident on Kent’s face, and gave a small nod. It was a good thing Kent had learned to be suspicious. The man remembered how naive Kent had been in his youth. He remembered how it cost Kent. How it took away something dear to him. 

“Look, I’m not gonna hurt ya,” He explained, rolling his eyes slightly. The man took a small breath - debating if he wanted to do this - before speaking once more, “I just want someone t’ go fishin’ with.” 

“You’ll humor an old man,” The man asked, extending the rod once more. He gave Kent a look - one that Kent was sure he had seen before - winking. He laughed, the sound loud and boisterous as ever, and added, “Won’t ya, Kent?” 

 Kent looked at him skeptically. How did this man know his name? He had never introduced himself, had he? Regardless of how he knew his name, Kent was never one for rude behavior - especially towards someone acting so… friendly. He extended his own hand, though he hesitated before it reached the pole. 

“Well?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow. He motioned towards the rod and then the water. He spoke once more, “Ye gonna take it or not, lad?” 

At the last word, recognition washed over Kent. He couldn’t believe his eyes. In front of him stood none other than the William T. Dodgens. A small surprised, yet relieved gasp slipped past his lips and he approached the man, immediately wrapping him in a tight hug. 

“Willy?” Kent exclaimed. He felt tears well up in his eyes as Willy hugged him back - his grip as strong and fatherly as ever. Kent couldn’t believe that - after all these years - Willy was alright and standing directly in front of him. He pulled his head back and glanced over the man’s features - now, upon closer inspection, the man looked exactly as he did the last time Kent saw him, just older and less well-kept. There was also the lack of military uniform. Kent felt a rush of questions swarm his mind, though he settled on one for now, “Is it really you?” 

“Aye,” Willy responded with a small, curt nod. 

“What happened?” Kent asked. He held the man by his shoulders and looked around - taking in the surroundings - before adding, “And how did you end up here?” 

“Heh,” Willy started, a hearty chuckle slipping past his lips. Willy spoke once more, “That’s quite a long story. Here, grab a rod. I’ll tell ya while we’re fishin’.” He extended the rod to Kent once more, watching as the man took it enthusiastically, before walking towards the nearby pier.

“Hey, Willy?” Kent asked as the two positioned themself on the pier, their lines already cast and the bobbers carefully bobbing up and down on the bright, clear water. Kent always enjoyed the water. It seemed to fill him with a calmness that seemed almost alien some days. He was grateful for the rare moments when he could put everything aside - even his uproarious thoughts seemed to silence themselves momentarily. 

“Aye?” 

“Well, you mentioned how you ‘knew I’d come here eventually’,” Kent started. He looked over at the man and tilted his head in confusion. Kent continued, “What did you mean by that, exactly?” 

Willy smiled, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. For a split second, Kent’s vision blurred. Instead of Willy, he saw his father - the same expression plastered across his face. Then, Kent blinked his eyes. The image came back into focus - this time with Willy instead of what he had seen previously. 

“Remember what I told ye all those years ago - the day ye got in yer Mammy’s car?” Willy asked, tilting his head in Kent's direction. The memory was quite fuzzy and faded at the edges, but Kent still remembered that day clearly. It was the last time he had spoken to Willy - of course he would remember it. He had thought about it every day since. 

“Which part?”

“The part about ye knowin’ what I’d mean one day – about havin’ a duty to yer country an’ whatnot,” Willy explained. Kent thought back, trying to find Willy’s exact words. They came to him easily - as that was always the part Kent found himself mulling over most often. He hadn't understood it at the time, but he knew that whatever Willy had meant that day would come into fruition. Kent nodded, signaling he remembered that part. 

“Well, lookin’ at ye now.. I see I was right, wasn’t I?” Willy spoke, a small knowing look crossing his features. A small, dry chuckle slipped past the man’s lips. He sighed, looking at Kent with a remorseful look, before adding, “I was like that - when I was yer age. I felt like.. Yoba an’ their minions had set out a plan for me. I threw myself into service ‘cause I believed that’s what I was s’pposed to do, Kent.” 

“Ye an’ I.. we aren’t so different, lad. I knew ye would be just as stupid, recklessly determined as I was. As yer father was. But, I also knew I couldn’t stop ya. Y’see, Kent, I knew ye would end up here because that’s where I ended up. That’s where they always end up.”

Willy sighed once more, turning and staring off at the vibrant hue of the blueish green water. He smacked his lips together before giving a solemn nod - mulling over his own life choices and how similar they were to Kent’s. He turned back to Kent and spoke once more, “It got to ya, didn’t it?” 

“The war, I mean,” Willy explained, looking at Kent with a distant sadness. He pursed his lips into a thin line, shaking his head disapprovingly. He added, “And ye kept goin’ back - no matter the cost, didn’t ya?” 

“You Neilsons and yer damn pride,” Willy spoke, mumbling to himself sadly. He sniffled, and Kent heard slight anger in his next words, “It’ll get the whole lot of ya killed.” 

Kent moved to defend himself though Willy held up a hand to stop him. 

“I don’t blame ya, Kenty boy,” Willy started, waving his hand to dismiss any growing anger Kent might have. He continued, “I woulda done the same thing. I did do the same thing, in fact. The Dodgenses.. Ah, that’s a stubborn breed, eh? Fishin’ themselves to death.. All ‘cause of some greater purpose – an’ to keep the family legacy alive, of course. But me? I was more stubborn than most. I didn’t want a life of fishin’ - I didn’t want to be like me Pappy. So, I tried to fight against it. I joined the naval forces.. I kept puttin’ myself through all kinds o’ unimaginable hell. All because I believed that I was supposed to.”

“But look at me now,” Willy spoke, motioning towards the shop behind him and the fishing rod in his hands. Willy sighed and shook his head. He looked at Kent, a wide frown spreading across his lips. He added, “I went through all of that and - in the end - it didn’t even matter. Promise me you won’t lose yourself like I did, Kent.” 

Kent gulped, unsure of how to respond. 

“Promise me, lad,” Willy repeated, his voice much firmer than usual. Kent looked at his face - it seemed pained and remorseful, as if Willy was watching his own decisions play out all over again. As if Kent was a repeat of his past choices - good and bad. It made Willy afraid to see how badly it had already affected him. 

“I.. I promise,” Kent spoke, though he felt a deep pit build in his chest. That was the first time he had lied since his talk with Jodi. The lie tainted his mouth. It felt sour and wrong in his throat - as if he had swallowed a lemon whole. Willy had urged Kent not to “lose himself” but what he didn’t realize was that Kent already had begun to. He felt himself slipping into a state he wasn’t sure he could escape from. 

To make matters worse, the war was kicking up once again. Kent was consumed by fear that something awful would happen to his son. He couldn’t let that happen. Kent knew that, when the time came five years later, he would be the first one running into the arms of the Ferngill Republic military. He would do it for his family - to protect his son, who would be twenty one at the time. He couldn’t let Sam experience what he had. He wouldn’t let Sam experience what he had. Kent would do whatever it took to keep Sam from enlistment. Kent wasn’t given a choice then, but he would ensure Sam got one now. Even if it took everything from him. Even if it changed Kent beyond recognition. Even if it caused his family to disdain him - to harbor grudges and build up resentment because they believed he only cared about his job. Even if it caused Kent to lose himself. Kent would lose himself a million times over - as long as it meant his family would be safe. Because that’s what you do for the people you love.

[2uuno]

DEIFORMS CHAPTER ONE

The night that Elvis Haddison mysteriously disappeared on Lake Cusp, Sean McCarthy crashed his car into a mailbox, although he didn’t stop until he reached town.

This was for two reasons- first, he knew who owned the mailbox he’d just bowled over, and knew that his consequences would not be particularly merciful. Secondly, and more predominantly, because he was drunk, and a little sleep deprived, and really shouldn’t have been driving at all. He neither thought to pull over or think to check on the mailbox until he was long out of sight.

But once he was stopped, he stopped for real, stumbling out of the car and sitting on the sidewalk, staring up at the neon light for the local diner. After a few deep, shaky breaths, he fished his phone out of his pocket, squinting at the screen for a few good minutes, before finding what he needed.

The phone rang for only a few moments, before, with a click, it stopped.

Neither spoke for a moment, before Sean remembered who he was talking to, before he remembered that he would have to be the first to talk, and sighed. “Hey bro. How much to convince you to pick me up?”

“Twenty. You at the party still?” The voice, a dry, hoarse, smoker’s voice came through, the faint sound of keys being grabbed in the background.

“Nah, I left, I’m at Frost’s.”

“How the hell’d you get from Jean-Paul’s to Frost’s?”

“Drove.”

“You drove?!” There was a long, fruitful pause, before a huff. “Did you wreck your car?”

“No,” Sean said, before pausing, thinking, and shaking his head hard. “I ran over the Robyn family.”

“What?”

“Not the family. Their mailbox. I don’t know why I said the family,” He thought. “I’m kind of drunk.”

“Man, you’re a lightweight. I’ll be there in ten. You gonna need to pick up your car tomorrow?”

“We have school, don’t we?”

“You're 19 years old.”

“So…?”

A sort of huffed laugh, and the sound of an engine starting. “No, Sean, you don’t have school tomorrow.”

“Okay, then, no.”

“Yes, you do, or it’ll get towed.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Bitch.”

The line went dead.

Sean stood up, stretching his arms over his head. The air was finally starting to cool off, and the hem of his t-shirt wasn’t quite enough to cover his stomach. He shuddered and lowered his arms.

Sean was, to put it simply, an odd looking young man. He was tall, easily six foot, and lanky, with pale pale skin and a buzzed head of bleach fried hair. His eyes were mismatched, one pupil perpetually dilated and surrounded by pale blue, the other surrounded by dark brown. His skin was covered in freckles, his face full of piercings. His clothes were all the wrong size, his shoes held together with duct tape. He looked like a Frankenstein’s monster of a man, all the wrong bits in the wrong places. The result was very nearly a positive one, but not quite.

A minivan pulled up.

Unlike Sean’s rattly old pickup truck, this one was a good deal newer, and in a much better condition. Some would even call it a nice car.

The passenger side window shuddered down, and Sean stumbled over, leaning his head in.

“Hey cutie. Need a ride?”

“I’m not supposed to get in strangers' cars,” Sean fired back, but reached through the window to unlock the door, climbing into the familiar car that he’d been climbing into for the past two years without a hesitation. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“You didn’t wake me up,” Diego Costello lied. “You feel alright?”

Sean shrugged, letting his head roll to the side while he gazed at his best friend.

He was short, and stout, with a mohawk of curls that were ever so slightly longer in the back than the top. His face was permanently scrunched in a scowl, almost a look of disgust. He had the saddest little goatee in an attempt to make his baby face any less of a baby face, and it didn’t quite work. The braces didn’t help.

“You smell like shit,” He said, finally, glancing at the rearview mirror. “Did someone throw up on you?”

“No,” Sean grumbled. “But Jesus Freak tried.”

“Kyrie?” Diego sounded nearly surprised. “Kyrie went to a party?”

“Yeah, and got drunk off his tits,” Sean picked at his cargo pants. “Think Lori drove him home.”

“Hm.”

Sean stared out the windshield. “Are you mad?”

“Mad at Kyrie? Why would I be, he’s 18, he’s a big boy-”

“Mad at me.”

The car was silent.

Sean groaned, letting his head hit the window with a hollow thunk.

This was a song and dance they’d done nearly every weekend for two years, up until about a month ago, when Sean had finally gotten his own truck. They both thought that would be it- the end of Sean’s pathetic dependence, the end of Diego having to haul his friend home.

“Why didn’t you call my sister?” Diego finally asked.

“What?” Sean scowled. “Why would I-?”

“She’s your girlfriend.”

“And you’re my best friend-”

“You don’t get it, do you,” Diego snapped, suddenly, stopping at a stop sign and twisting to look at Sean, look him in the eye. “She’s your girlfriend. You’re supposed to be her problem.”

Sean blinked at him, stupidly, before the words registered, and he clenched his jaw. “Yeah, well. Well… well-!”

Diego exhaled, hard, turning back to the road. “I didn’t mean… I don’t know, you’ve been avoiding me for this whole time-”

“-Have not-”

“You ditched me at lunch, Sean,” He cut him off. “You sit with her, and Dean, and that Robyn girl-”

“-Lillian, she’s actually really nice-”

“Sean.”

“Di,” Sean whined. “I didn’t mean to ditch you, I just… you and Miki and Lori… you’re cool, but you guys are… you’re just…”

“Not cool?”

“No, you’re-”

“-No, no, I get it,” Diego said, firmly, pulling up in front of Sean’s house- not going up the driveway, just stopping at the mailbox. “Don’t worry about it.”

“...Would you rather I had called Madi?”

Diego stared out the windshield for a moment, before sighing, looking around, eyes finally landing on Sean. “No. Maybe, I don’t know.”

Sean hissed out a breath through crooked teeth. “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Monday.”

“Whenever.”

And he got out.

Neither said goodbye. Neither said I love you. Neither said anything they’d always said. Diego drove away and Sean walked up his driveway, and neither of them slept well that night.

Across town, the fog rolled across the Lake, and swallowed Elvis whole.

…

Sean didn’t dream very often.

When he did, they were vague, unclear, sort of blurry. Just the kind of thing where you get a sort of feeling when you wake up that something happened.

This started off like that- vague and blurry, but then, all of a sudden, like an image loading in all of a sudden, it all clicked. And he was standing in the road across from Frost’s Diner, staring down at a charred and blackened corpse. It wasn’t familiar- the lack of any distinguishing features kind of did that- but he recognized the hoodie.

It was him.

He looked up, and the town was on fire- but not regular fire: red flames that licked the sky. He could have sworn at some point he’d heard that red fire wasn’t supposed to be very hot, but here, it seemed almost to be suffocating, even hundreds of feet from him, nowhere near the place he stood.

He woke up the next morning to the familiar sound of his mother in the kitchen, arguing with someone. And, considering his father was out of town and his sister was hardly an arguer, there was really only one person it could be.

He managed to fight his way out of his covers without falling on his face, fighting his way down the hallway to the kitchen-slash-diningroom where his mother stood with her back to him, busy furiously scrubbing out a bowl while she bitched away to the only other person in the room.

“Hey Mama,” Sean said, his voice rough. “Hey Madi.”

Madison Costello, much like her twin brother, was far from tall or lanky. In fact, she was probably a good head shorter than Diego, and twice his weight. Her hair was trimmed short, her wiry glasses held to her face by a broad nose. She wore a sweater vest over a dress shirt, clean gray slacks and a cross necklace that Sean knew better than anyone was just for appearances.

“Sean, baby,” His mother turned around, a flash in her steely gray eyes. “It’s past noon. What were you doing up so late that you slept in so much?”

“And why isn’t your truck in the driveway?” Madi added, an almost playful smirk on her face.

“What?!”

“Uh, I went to a party. No drinking or anything, but it went a lot later than it was supposed to. I got a ride from Diego.”

Madi’s smile flickered, a questioning look replacing it. Sean’s mother didn’t notice, just clicking her tongue and turning back to the dishes. Sean raised an eyebrow at her, and she just shook her head.

‘We’ll talk later.’ She mouthed.

Feeling a little out of the loop, he nodded along. He often felt out of the loop around Madi, almost all the time. It wasn’t her fault, he thought, she simply was… quicker than him.

That was the thing about Madi. She thought of things before anyone else did, and then didn’t elaborate. She just assumed everyone else was having the same revelations she was having, and didn’t stop to consider that maybe they weren’t. Sean had known her about as long as he’d known Diego- which was nearly his whole life- but he wasn’t sure he’d ever had the same thought as she did at the same time she had.

He was just… behind.

When he’d first started hanging out with her and her friends, back when they got together a few months prior, he’d been sure that he’d be left out and confused and alone, but, inexplicably, he found her usual crowd was hardly any more put together than him.

Dean, for example, was a lanky kid who looked faintly like if some supermodel had gotten their face slammed into concrete a couple dozen times. He was attractive, in a very tragic, missing a front tooth, broken nose, sort of way. To boot, he had been a benchwarmer on the high school basketball team, where he spent a good amount of his time daydreaming about space ships.

His main claim to fame, however, was his girlfriend.

Lillian Robyn, like all Robyns, was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous where you’re not sure if plastic surgery was involved. She’d been a pageant star in DC as a child, until her parents divorced and her dad remarried to the only lawyer in Rome, and they settled down in the only house in the neighborhood with a third story.

Neither of them were very cool. They hung out with Madi because she made them seem smarter, she hung out with them because they kept away any assholes. And they all hung out with Sean because he made them all look very smart and very hot in comparison, as far as he knew.

He did kind of miss his old friends sometimes- Diego and Miki and Lori and Kyrie- but this was better for him, he reminded himself. This was less likely to get him labeled a bad kid.

The second Madi managed to shoo him out of the kitchen, he knew he was in trouble, and yet he remained firmly excluded from anything resembling a loop as she hauled him down the hallway, to his bedroom, where she shut the door and turned on him.

“So, Diego gave you a ride home?”

“Yeah?” Sean sat on the bed. “He always does, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is,” Madi said, slowly, condescendingly. “I don’t want my boyfriend running around with a guy who’s known for stealing boyfriends.”

“'Steal boyfriends,'” He huffed. “He kissed Lars Milyama once. And that was before him and Elvis started going out-”

“That’s not the point,” Madi pouted. “You said when we started going out that you’d stop hanging out with them.”

“I though you didn’t have beef with him-”

“Besides, why wouldn’t you call me to drive you? You know I would have-”

“Because- because-” She stared at him, raising one eyebrow, and his voice gave out. “I don’t know.”

The butterflies that came with being in love sure felt an awful lot like a panic attack sometimes, he thought.

Luckily, Madi seemed to get the memo, and just sat beside him on the bed. "Sorry for grilling you, it's just…. I'm worried, you know? You've been going to a lot of parties, and driving home drunk-"

"I didn't drive drunk last night."

"I almost wish you had." She muttered, under her breath.

Secretly, he agreed, but he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t supposed to have heard that, anyways.

“Whatever,” She said, waving a hand. “You need to get dressed, we’re all going to hang out at the park, and you need to at least be wearing something clean.”

By the time he was dressed, he was already wishing he’d pretended his headache was worse to get out of this, but it was far too late at this point. He was going to go to the park and he was going to have a good time whether he liked it or not.

Madi was sitting in her car by the time he got out there, scrolling through Insta on her phone. She glanced up absently when he got in, and for a second he thought she was going to say something about him taking too long and he braced himself, but instead she just snorted. “Your shirt’s on backwards.”

Embarrassed, he managed to twist it around until it sat correctly, buckling up as she pulled out of the driveway.

The park wasn’t really a park, just a field of grass between the highway and the local church, but that was pretty much the only place for people to hang out, and the church didn’t mind, so that was that. The only alternative, after all, was Walmart.

Pulling into the church parking lot, Madi’s phone rang. Before she could dismiss it, Sean glanced over and saw the caller ID.

“What’s Diego calling you for?”

“Hell if I know.”

“You should probably answer.”

She gave him a look and he shrunk back a bit. She declined the call and climbed out of the car, brushing her short curls from her face.

For a second he watched her walk away, trying to hype himself up enough to follow her.

He knew he was in love with her, but the near constant nausea of being around her was a bit much, he thought.

He got out of the car.

It’s not that Sean didn’t like his friends- or, god forbid- his girlfriend. He liked them just fine.

It’s just that they hadn’t known him nearly as long as his old friends had. They didn’t understand him.

Diego knew when he was getting quiet, that meant he was getting overwhelmed. Lori knew when he started fidgeting that that meant he wanted to say something. Miki knew when he huffed out air through his nose it meant he was ready to move on and do something else. Kyrie knew to put the volume in the car on even numbers because odd numbers made Sean uncomfortable.

These guys didn’t know that and, at the end of the day, he wasn’t really sure how to explain it either, so he just kind of went along with whatever they wanted.

He didn’t dislike them, is the point. He didn’t. He just wished sometimes that they knew him a little better.

Lillian looked up when he walked over, and lit up, perfect, pearly teeth shining at him from dark brown lined lips. “Hey big guy! How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been alright. Work’s been ass, but what’s new there?”

“Amen to that, buddy,” Dean said, where he was laying on his back, arm covering his face. “I didn’t realize how much I’d miss school until we graduated.”

Sean sighed, nodding.

The thing you need to understand is that Madi’s gang wasn’t popular. Definitely no more popular than Diego's gang. What they gained with Lillian, they lost with Madi herself, and Dean came in with his perfectly average reputation and demolished what minute bias of social standing they had.

And Sean… well, Sean wasn’t particularly popular, nor was he unpopular. People saw him, and recognized him from the hallways and the cafeteria of school, and said hi to him, carefully avoiding names lest they misremember.

He brought nothing to the group, beyond dating Madi, and having known Dean in elementary school when their teacher kept making jokes about their names rhyming (they didn’t if you pronounced them right) and being third or fourth cousins with Lillian.

He didn’t really belong.

But he sat down in the grass, and grabbed a soda from the cooler and cracked it open, taking a swig that was perfectly normal sized, and watching Madi pull out her phone to squint at the screen.

“Diego again?” He asked.

Dean lifted his head, squinting around.

Dean wasn’t very good at being a jock. He wasn’t very handsome after repeatedly getting his face smashed in by a ball and the floor, and he wasn’t mean enough. He also knew too much- just random facts no one knew or wanted to know, and he would happily chime in to any conversation to contribute. He wasn’t much help to the team in basketball games, but he was too good to kick, so he sat in a comfortable limbo of being too well liked by his teammates to be bullied but not well enough liked by his peers not to be. He had been adopted as a child- not from China like so many people seemed to think, but from Pennsylvania. He was half Korean and half Indonesian, but he always told people he was from Pittsburg when asked.

“Is he still calling you?” He asked, squinting in the bright light. “Maybe you should pick up-”

“No, I told you, he’s probably just calling to ask if he can have my leftovers.”

“You said he’s been calling since 6 in the morning, and he was out of the house when you woke up, that’s a little weird.”

“Wait, when did you say this?” Sean asked, blinking.

“The Snapchat groupchat?” Lillian said, before her jaw dropped. “Oh my god, we never added you-”

“-He doesn’t have Snapchat,” Madi said, irritably. “Because he doesn’t know how it works.”

“I don’t,” Sean shrugged weakly. “I don’t understand social media.”

“It’s fine,” Dean said. “I only got it so I can keep track of my teammates.”

“Creep.” Lillian nudged him with her shoe.

The two of them had been dating for a little over a year at this point, but they’d been going out on and off since seventh grade. It’s not like they’d ever broken up- not properly- they just… stopped dating every now and then. And then they got back together. And then they stopped. It was weird.

No one in Sean’s old group was dating. Kyrie and Lori had gone out on one date, back in freshman year, and kissed once, but that was it, and they all vowed not to bring it up. Now, it felt like everyone was a couple.

He kind of missed sitting around in Lori’s basement, bitching about teachers and eating cold pizza and sipping lukewarm soda because the Capsums didn’t believe in putting soda in the fridge.

But that was the past now.

Things were different.

During their last hangout, before he’d gone to the dark side, he’d warned them he wasn’t going to be eating lunch with them anymore, because Madi wanted to hang out with him more, and the way they all looked at him, disbelieving and incredulous, the way Kyrie laughed a little bit… it hurt.

It’d been a while- long enough that Sean thought that he was getting used to it. But maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he never would.

“Do you guys think,” Lillian started, taking a long sip of her drink. “That there’s such a thing as God?”

“What?” Dean asked, rolling over.

“I had a weird dream last night, and I think I believe in God, now. What do you guys think, though?”

Sean huffed, laying back on the grass.

That was one thing about this group- the conversations were weird.

Dean had only just started to get rolling with the more complicated details of his theology lecture when Sean’s phone rang.

“If it’s Diego, ignore it.” Madi said, calmly, from her perch atop the cooler.

It wasn’t. It was his little sister Genny, so he picked up.

“Hey Gen,” He said, taking another carefully measured sip. “What's up?”

“Elvis is gone,” She said, hollowly. “He went out on the lake, and now he's gone.”

Sean paused, glancing at the other three, who were still chatting away, as if something was supposed to have changed.

“What do you mean, gone?” He asked.

“He isn't here anymore. I don't know if he fell out of the boat or something, but he's not… we've been looking all morning, we can't find anything.”

“Did you call the cops?” He suggested, a sinking feeling in his chest. Lillian nudged Dean, finally taking notice of what was happening.

“Yeah, they're here, but they're not doing anything.” She said, a bitter scoff on her voice. “Can you come?”

“... I'm hanging out with my friends-”

“Fuck that,” She said, shakily. “My best friend is missing, you can come help me.”

Sean glanced at his friends, who were all watching curiously. “... We're on our way.”

[eddiemunsonswhxre]

where have i been?

an update for those curious.

hey there my loves, long time no see.

i’m not sure how many of you will actually read this or care to see why i haven’t written in over a year now but typing this stuff out helps me process and get back into my groove.

well, today is january 16, 2024. the last thing i posted that was an actual one shot was posted on january 3, 2023. i haven’t written since. 2023 was my worst year yet and caused me to learn a lot about people and myself.

things were going alright in the beginning, i was in my second semester of college and my biggest problem was 2 of my 3 roommates (lived in a quad) hated each other so me and my bestie/3rd roommate had to play mediator and it was exhausting. i started liking a guy and got my hopes up. and i started to get more and more annoyed with school and my living situation every day. i was ecstatic to move out of that room despite hating my hometown. the day of move out, one of my roommates who i thought was someone very close to me blocked me and all of our friends on everything with no explanation but we knew she wasn’t coming back for 23-24.

i like where i grew up for a maximum of a week at a time, after that my depression just kicks my ass and im not having a great time. my plan for the summer was to work my ass off so much so that i wouldn’t have time to think of anything else. that backfired, because a few days after i came home one of my two jobs fell through unexpectedly and my other job was giving me less than half the hours they promised me. i was broke. everyone says it’s so easy to get a job these days because everyone is hiring but i applied to over ten places within a reasonable distance from me and didn’t get a single one. so i spent too much time with myself and that’s not normally a good thing.

to make matters even worse, in june my mom was sentenced to three years in prison for a crime she committed back in 2020. i don’t want to get into too many specifics, but my mom would never harm anyone she just has struggled with addiction. my mom was my constant emotional support, and knowing she was no longer going to be around ripped me to shreds. not even a month later after my mom was shipped off to prison, my dog died. and i know you might think “dogs die all the time it’s a pet.” but my dog was much more than that. she wasn’t even three years old and was a beautiful great pyrenees german shepard mix and she was the sweetest girl ever. i don’t care how ridiculous it sounds, because i know my soul and hers were meant to be together. i was even in the process of registering her as an emotional support animal so i could take her to college with me because she was finally old enough and for the most part out of the puppy phase. but one night out of nowhere she got really sick and within an hour of her showing signs something was wrong she died while i was holding her. not the greatest thing for a 19 year old who’s already struggling to experience. it took my over a month to stop seeing her like that every time i closed my eyes. call me dramatic, but that dog really was a child to me.

after that, i went to stay with my cousin for a few weeks and that was nice but i still knew i wasn’t feeling right. i moved back to school in august and had way too high of hopes that everything would fix itself. surprise, it didn’t. in fact, i just got worse. i reached lows i haven’t hit in over two years. i was having roommate problems, i was trying to do way too much at once, and i was neglecting my health. i had a breakdown.

the highlight of my semester was taking a week off to visit my best friend since age 2 for her birthday (she lives roughly a 2 hour plane ride away from me now) with our other two best friends. then i came back and immediately totaled my car. my car was a piece of shit yes, but it got me places. not having a car when you’re a person who drives around to destress is not fun. i was even worse mentally at this point and i was trying so so hard to get into my overbooked doctor to get my medications raised. the only constant i had were my three friends at school and my studies. so i threw myself into them. i was never alone and if i was i was nose deep in a text book. i was just avoiding the rest of my existence. i was able to get my meds upped and decided i was done wallowing. i started a diet that is actually manageable and enjoyable and discovered for the first time workouts that i actually liked doing. it was something small, but i knew i was turning myself around.

i went home for winter break knowing it was going to be tough. i also had to spend this time looking for a new car. it was an extremely stressful process to say the least. but i focused on myself, taking all the time for myself that i needed and processing everything that had made me get to such a bad place. i’ve always been very spiritual, so i dove more into that as well as trusting the universe.

i’ve decided that 2024 will be my best year yet. i got a new car, im getting a new job, im doing great in school, my mom is getting released from prison literally six hours after i post this, and im taking care of myself in more ways than one. while doing a lot of that reflecting, i remembered how much i used to love to write and how that passion just died after loving it since i was ten. i started small, doing short story exercises and getting into reading again. i finally, after an entire year, have my passion for writing back.

i can’t promise i’ll be consistent with uploads because i’ve decided that my goal for the year is to write a novel. so that project is going to be my main focus and it isn’t anything fanfic related, it’s actually a psychological thriller. more than likely i will be asking for opinions on here throughout the year as well.

with that said, my plans this year for this blog are to keep posting. eddie munson is mainly who i write for, but i want to expand my horizons. i want to challenge myself with genres and types of characters. i will greatly appreciate any requests you can give and i promise i will read through them. if i don’t post them right away, just know it may come out three months later. sometimes inspiration sparks at weird times.

if you’ve read this far, thank you. i hope this can inspire you to see that there’s light at the end of the tunnel but sometimes you’ve gotta dig the extra dirt to it yourself. beyond thankful to anyone who was here a year ago and has come back to read my new stuff- you made an aspiring writer really proud of herself.

much much love

-eddiemunsonswhxre 🤍

[pedrifsx]

‘till she’s quiet

richarlison x andrea andrade (princess treatment on wattpad)

warning<

smut, richarlison is so😮‍💨, andrea is a brat and is talking to her ex and richy is not taking none of it😭

IT WAS AROUND 2 AM when richarlison and his girlfriend arrived to their shared apartment after neymar’s 31’st birthday party and after party. let’s just say andrea got a bit tipsy. maybe a bit too tipsy.

she still knew what she was doing but she’s an idiot when the alcohol kicks in.

this meant that even though she thought things through, she really didn’t know how to stop herself from going overboard and richarlison was fine with that.

until neymar unknowingly invited her ex, joão félix, to the party. a little backstory to the ex-lovers; they were childhood best friends, joão’s father being close friends to thiago. it wasn’t a surprise to their parents that joão was going to ask her out when they were 16. she said yes of course and they started dating with him taking her out on a date and joão becoming her first everything.

the relationship started to downfall when they were 18 with joão catching his eye with a blonde girl he had met on a family trip to portugal. one thing lead to another, he kissed her. he instantly regretted it but as stubborn as andrea was, she could never have forgiven him. she stood by the rule, “if he cheats, goodbye.”

but, with them being best friends since they were 4, she still kept close contact with joão. maybe, they got a little drunk and slept with eachother when they were 19.

it was a regret that andrea still holds until today, but, god forbid, she still didn’t talk to him.

so, when it was that friday evening that joão entered neymar’s house, andrea greeted him. richarlison took caution of this as andrea told him everything that happened between him and his fiancé.

for some reason, (the alcohol), made her a bit touchy and a little flirtatious. thank goodness that richarlison knew what she was like when she was drunk.

still, he had the right to become jealous and angry at the 23 year old. thank fuck all that happened 4 and a half years ago or else he would have had steam coming out of his ears and both nostrils.

“yo, rich, you should probably go talk to her. you know how joão is around her,” emerson talked as he noticed how the brazilian was eye-fucking them two.

joão still was not over andrea and took any chance he got to talk to her. even after 4 years. four fucking years in what richarlison thought, gulping down the last of his spritzer and whiskey.

emerson grinned at him and slapped his shoulder. richarlison walked over to joão and roughly pulled him off of andrea. that’s how you know andrea was richarlison’s property, she belonged to him and him only.

joão was shocked at his movement and gave a dirty look that was shot towards richarlison.

andrea didn’t care at all and was vibing and dancing to the music.

richarlison grabbed andrea’s arm and dragged her outside.

“we’re going home,” he said in a low tone.

“what? but the party doesn’t end until 4?” she suggested staying but richarlison was having none of it, it was surprising as he would always cave in.

he opened the passenger seat door and merely shoving his fiancé in there as he didn’t want to be violent.

“so you wanna tell me what’s going on?” her slurred words made him click his tongue in annoyance as he stayed silent driving off to their house.

“okay then,” she answered to his silent treatment.

during the drive home, she was kind of annoyed as he would always, without fail, squeeze her thigh and ultimately give in to his silence and explain to her what had happened.

richarlison was the first one to arrive at their door quickly unlocking the door and avoiding eye contact.

his sight finally met hers as he was pacing up and down near the stairs, biting his nails.

“well what the fuck then,” he shouted, making andrea flinch.

“well what the fuck then what? what is your problem?” she argued back, her eyebrows furrowing at his sudden action.

“you wanna tell me what’s going on between you and joão?” he shouted once more.

andrea’s eyes softened once she attached the puzzle pieces together.

“i swear, we didn’t do anything,” she protested.

richarlison rubbed his forehead, “i know, i was watching you the whole time.”

as drunk as andrea was, she went up the the 6’’ giant and wrapped her arms around him.

“i’m sorry,” she mumbled against his hot skin.

richarlison knew that she meant it, he trusted her with his whole soul. he knew she wouldn’t have done anything to hurt their love and bond.

“are you still mad at me?” she asked, looking up at him with her dangerous doe eyes.

“a little,” he mumbled, finally giving into her touch.

andrea scoffed, smirking right after, “i know something that will help you.”

richarlison bit his lip and smiled as she removed his shirt, pushing him down on the sofa to straddle him.

his lips smashed into hers to fight for dominance. her hands slithered against his neck, rubbing the tattoo he got when he was 24.

richarlison slid his hand underneath the spaghetti strap of her dress and slipped it down to her waist revealing her strapless bra.

he kissed down her neck while his skilled hands unclasped the bra that she wearing, revealing her plump breasts.

he spent no time going down on her tits, licking them, sucking them and leaving marks on them to show everyone that she was his and he was hers.

a moan escaped her soft lips that he kissed once again before undoing the zipper of his black cargos. he pulled them down to his knees before fully removing the dress off of andrea’s sexy body.

richarlison smirked loudly when he saw the wetness of her pussy.

“you’re so wet,” he groaned, “this better be for me.”

“shut up,” her face was flustered and her lips were already swollen from the kissing that they have been doing.

richarlison’s hands then circled around the start of the g-string that she was wearing to reveal her aching womanhood.

his fingers reached down to her clit and rubbed it in a circle.

“fuck,” she whimpered as his skilled fingers slid inside her pussy.

his thick fingers quickly found the spots that made her feel amazing underneath his touch. he went and played with the pace before she made the face that told him that she was about to come.

“shit, i’m gonna- gonna cum,” she mumbled, burying her head against the crook of his neck.

it was then and there that richarlison had stopped fingering her. he then removed his boxers and pulled it down to join with his discarded cargos.

his hard member was eager to fuck right into her slick pussy.

richarlison’s hand pumped his own hard cock before squeezing andrea’s ass guiding her to slide right into it.

andrea slid his cock into her aching pussy, taking it into her hand to guide it where it needs to be guided.

andrea’s breath was rapid as she let out a shaky moan.

richarlison gave her a moment to adjust to his length before he thrusted his hips forwards, thrusting balls deep inside of her.

andrea ground her hips forward to feel something and she kept doing that various times.

“you’re,” he breathed, “so tight.”

his hands rested on her hips with a strong grip, leaving a red mark on her tan skin.

she bounced on him, rapid and eager for him to cum inside.

“fuck- baby, i’m about to cum,” she whimpered on a high pitch.

“do it. come- come for me,” he commanded her.

her climate washed over her and her juices leaked out.

“more, more,” she begged, wanting more of his dick.

she ground her hips again as he continued to thrust inside her pulsating pussy.

“need you to fuck me ‘till i’m quiet,” she suggested, hinting her soon-to-be husband to kiss her.

richarlison got the memo and crashed her lips against his.

he groaned against her touch as she massaged his broad shoulders.

he turned up the pace of his thrusting as he neared his climax.

“shit- i’m gonna come now,” he growled, remaining eye contact to the flustered woman.

“mhm,” andrea moaned, barely hearing what he said, just going along with it.

he shot his seed up her pussy. he pulled out after a moment of staying like that with their pants and last groans and moans filling up the room.

“maybe i’ll let this one slide,” he joked, andrea rolling her eyes before giggling.

lmk what u guys think, princess treatment by richy-cntrl on wattpad🤍

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

It was certainly the longest and the least tethered to reality -- and showed that Trump, an elderly man in decline, is unfit for the presidency.

JILL FILIPOVIC

JUL 19, 2024

I hope that you were not, like me, required to watch Donald Trump’s speech at the Republican National Convention on Thursday night (and into Friday morning), and were instead doing something more enjoyable: Going out with friends, sleeping soundly, driving hot fireplace pokers into your eyes, literally anything. The former president rambled on for more than 90 minutes in a speech that was incoherent, wildly digressive, and often bizarre without being at all entertaining.

Anyone who managed to stay awake for the whole speech could only draw one conclusion: This is not a well man, and this is not a man fit for the presidency.Subscribe

Donald Trump has never been a coherent or linear speaker, and during his 2016 campaign there was much speculation about how mental acuity and cognitive health, not to mention the smattering of personality disorders he appears to live with. But then he won, and he held office for four years, and when he ran again in 2020 his flaws were familiar and so didn’t garner as many headlines — “Donald Trump still an unhinged maniac” wasn’t exactly new, and so it didn’t make the news.

But now we’ve had a four-year-old break from Trumpism, and when the former president reemerged on stage at the RNC, he exhibited all of his previous flaws, plus a marked decline: He was slower, even less coherent, less connected to the crowd, less tethered to reality. It’s hard to overstate just how bad his speech was. If Joe Biden gave a speech that colossally disjointed and tortuously boring, the headlines tomorrow morning would all be about just how severely he has deteriorated — and how Democrats are crazy for running him.

Trump is an elderly man in decline. He has always been a narcissist, the kind of guy who will ramble on and on because no one in his life has ever told him no. Eight years ago he made clear he was living in his own reality, and has long put forward his own facts and his own version of the truth, all of which is pretty well divorced from the reality in which the rest of us live. This in and of itself should be disqualifying. For most Republicans, though, it was not. Eight years ago, Trump was exciting. He stuck it to the establishment. He was actually very funny (I know someone will get mad at me for saying that, but the guy — and especially his crude insults — is not exactly crafting sophisticated comedy, but he is funny). He was, as has been observed many times over, the Id of conservative America, willing to cast “compassionate conservatism” aside for something more muscular and aggressive. He gave an angry, coarse base permission to hate immigrants, hate feminists, hate racial justice activists, hate the coastal elite (except for Trump himself), hate all of the people who don’t look like them or think like them and who had in recent decades challenged their position at the top of the social and economic hierarchies. At the time, this was all very fresh and new. To people like me, it was shocking and appalling. But a lot of American voters do not see the world the way I do.

Those same Americans, though, have heard this song-and-dance before. The same way that Trump’s insanity doesn’t garner headlines because it’s old news, Trump himself may be less magnetic because it’s also familiar — and now aped by so many Republican politicians.

All of this is to say that Trump is far from invincible. He is, by any reasonable measure, a weak candidate. His RNC speech made clear just how weak he is — and how much weaker he has gotten since 2020. And with the right candidate opposing him, Democrats can make clear just how mentally unfit he is to run the country.

Trump is surrounded by yes men in a movement more akin to a cult than anything else. These people will stand by him. They will deny the obvious reality in front of their faces. That can be beneficial: They can flood social media with heavily-edited videos and insist that their invented narrative is the truth; that may persuade some voters.

But Democrats’ broader (although far from universal) refusal to deny the reality in front of them is a strength, too. It means Democrats can pivot and adjust. This, in the worst-case scenario, can result in chaos. But it can also mean getting off of a path that only leads us over an obvious cliff. Elections are not won only by turning out the most engaged and dedicated portion of your base. Right now, I fear that’s what both parties are banking on: Republicans are hoping MAGA loyalists will propel a clearly declining candidate across the finish line, while Democrats are hoping their voters see that the stakes are high enough that they would vote for the corpse of FDR over Donald Trump.

Trump’s biggest fans are also either delusional or dishonest, and I doubt they will admit that his speech was an abject disaster. But the rest of us should say exactly what we see: A man who is simply not cognitively, emotionally, or temperamentally equipped to sit in the Oval Office.

xx Jill

[jackleg-penwright]

On Age Segregation

I was homeschooled in the late eighties and all through the nineties. There was a lot that was kind of toxic in that culture (though some of the worst tendencies, my parents actually actively rejected - even within a fairly intense segregated culture, it still wasn’t monolithic), but not everything was. For instance, one of the driving forces for my parents and for other parents in the movement was the idea that the age segregation reinforced by traditional schooling was toxic and harmful, both to children (who never learned to interact with either adults, or anyone younger than them) and to society. 

And while I do know that there were some negative unintended consequences to not having a “peer group” you could learn how to be equals to - for instance, to this day when I interact with anyone who is clearly an adult, my brain immediately sees them as “authority figure, must be deferred to, if they disapprove of what you think, then you must be wrong” (which I can and do actively resist, but it takes effort every time, and sometimes I don’t have the spoons to fight with my brain), even if they’re ten to fifteen years younger than I am. 

Then again, as an awkward, undiagnosed autistic kid in a time period when being a nerd was something even the adults thought you should be ashamed to admit, I probably wouldn’t have been that successful at finding an accepting peer group no matter what.

So yeah, there were some long-term downsides, but on the whole I think it was a very healthy mindset to foster. The idea that people are people, and that you can find something in common with someone of any age. My dad and my kids used to connect over Minecraft, and if you watched my dad’s minecraft youtube channel, you’d figure out pretty quickly he wasn’t doing it “to connect with the kids,” but because he really enjoys playing around in the wide open sandbox (he’s an electrician by trade, and most of his explorations are deep dives into what you can do with redstone).

I was reading one of those “Am I The A******” summary articles a while back, and the OP was wondering if she’d been too strict in actively preventing her 19 year old daughter from interacting with her 27 year old boyfriend (they had met in a student club at a school they both attended, and didn’t realize there WAS an age gap until they had already become solid friends). And even though the consensus was that yes, trying to be that controlling to someone who is a legal adult would probably backfire, it really bothered me how many of the comments assumed that the boyfriend had to be a perv because no one could possibly have anything in common with someone that much younger than them.

I have some significant trauma I won’t get into from people who acted on that assumption with regard to me (I was a student in a community college actor training program, but for some reason I was the only older student in that program, which I hadn’t thought would make a difference since most community college programs are very age-diverse, but since the younger students were just out of high school, they still saw themselves as children, while I saw them as fellow adults, because that’s what they were), which is really annoying because the idea that an "older" adult and a younger adult can’t connect over shared passions is not even true. (not to mention, mid- to late-thirties isn't even that old, I promise - all my parents' peers still call me a baby, and I'm over 40 now)

As the anonymity of Tumblr has shown us, it’s VERY common, if you start by taking away the basis for age-prejudice and just interact with people as they are, to discover just how much you have in common with people from all over the age spectrum. And it actually hurts a lot to see how many people (especially men, I guess, because no man could possibly enjoy other human beings for anything but sexual objectification, right?) are vilified for recognizing and acting on the reality that people can enjoy people, no matter what their age.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Christmas Reruns 2023 Day 21: Deck the Halls...or Maybe the Neighbor

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t!  One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia.  A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns.  So here you go!  Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Rating: G

Word Count: 2253

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Notes:  This story was written for my “Christmas with Captain Swan” collection in 2020.

CS Genre: Enemies to Lovers AU

She was going to kill him.  She was going to drive a stake of holly through his heart or strangle him with a strand of Christmas lights or…well, some other holiday themed method of homicide.

Emma worked hard all day chasing down the scum of the earth and hauling their worthless asses back to jail where they belonged.  Was it really too much to ask that she have a little peace and quiet downtime to relax once she got home.

According to the idiot who lived in the apartment directly above hers, apparently so.  Every damn day since Thanksgiving he’d blared his Christmas music loud enough to wake the ghost of Christmas past.  Sometimes he even enthusiastically belted along with it.  (She had to admit his voice wasn’t half bad, but that was entirely beside the point.)

Emma hissed as she dabbed at the cut beside her eye where tonight’s skip had clocked her.  She’d got him in the end; Emma Swan always got her man, but now that the adrenaline of the chase was over, her cuts and bruises and sore muscles were screaming at her.

And the guy in the apartment above had just started singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” at the top of his lungs.

Emma growled, tossing the bloody cotton ball into her bathroom trash and getting to her feet.  Enough was enough.  This stopped now.  He could take his merry little Christmas and shove it up his south pole.

Two minutes later, she stood before his apartment.  Pounding on the door felt extremely satisfying if she did say so herself.

The music suddenly stopped, and a moment later the door opened, and for the first time Emma got a glimpse of the man who’d been the bane of her existence for the past two weeks.

Her jaw dropped.  He was drop dead gorgeous, melt-an-entire-population-of-snowmen hot.

“Well hello, there, Love,” he said with an appreciative grin-and in an accent that had her toes curling in her boots.  “How can I help you?”

Emma’s stomach swooped and her heart stuttered and then started racing.  She blinked and the spell was broken.  She wasn’t some teenager who drooled over hot guys.  Especially hot guys that she’d been seriously contemplating murdering five minutes ago.

“If you don’t stop with the Christmas crap, I’m going to punch your stupid, festive face,” she gritted out.

His eyebrows raised.  “Pardon?”

“Your music!” she said.  “Every freaking day, everytime I get home you’re blaring the Christmas music, and it got old about five minutes after you started.  I don’t think it’s too much to ask that I have a little peace and quiet in my own home.”

He huffed a breath.  “Darling, I had no idea anyone was even in the building in the middle of the afternoon.  Did it ever occur to you to come to me and ask me to turn down my music?”

She had to admit he had a point there.  Maybe yelling at him and threatening bodily harm wasn’t the best opening salvo, but it had been a long day, and she was in pain, and she wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable.

“Look, just turn it down,” she said, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

“Your wish is my command,” he said with biting sarcasm, sketching a mock bow.  “Now is there anything else you wish to yell at me about or may I get back to my tasks at hand?”

“Nope.  That’s all,” she said.

“Good,” he said and then tacked on a biting “merry Christmas” before shutting the door in her face.

The next morning, Emma was rather embarrassed about her interaction with Hot Christmas Guy upstairs, as she’d been calling him in her mind.  She’d had a frustrating day–the skip she’d gone after had left his wife and kids just before Christmas, taking every penny of their Christmas fund.  

It hit too close to home for a girl who had grown up with no family, with no one.  Hard to get into the warm and fuzzy Christmas spirit when no one gave a crap about you.

She’d been too harsh with Hot Christmas Guy, but at least the results were in her favor.  He’d been as good as his word, and if he’d continued playing his Christmas music, he’d done it at a low enough volume that she didn’t even hear it.

Emma had only just begun to think she should go upstairs and apologize, when suddenly there was a knock at her door. 

She opened the door to find the man himself, standing there holding a large plate of cookies. Her stomach not only swooped this time; it did cartwheels.  The guy looked even better in the bright light of morning with his slightly disheveled black hair, his reddish scruff, his blue button down that highlighted his even bluer eyes and his black leather jacket.

“I’m afraid we came to rather a bad start, yesterday,” he said.  “Perhaps we might start again, Aye?  My name is Killian Jones, and I’d like to offer you these Christmas cookies as a token of my apology for the excessive volume of my music.”

Emma took a step back and gestured for him to enter her apartment.  “Hey, I’m Emma Swan, and no apology is necessary.  In fact, I kind of think I owe you an apology.  I shouldn’t have just come out swinging like that.”

He smiled at her, the fine lines around his (beautiful) eyes crinkling with the gesture.  “Apology accepted Love.  I’ll leave you to your morning.”

He turned to leave, but suddenly, Emma didn’t want him to go.  “Killian wait!” she said.

Obediently he stopped, eyebrows raised in question.

“Would you like to stay and help me eat these cookies?”

He shot her a skeptical look.  “Dessert at nine in the morning?”

She shrugged.  “Can’t be much more unhealthy than my normal blueberry PopTart.”

Killian laughed then, taking a step back inside.  “Do you at least have milk to wash them down with?”

“Of course.”

Killian ended up staying for two hours, and it amazed Emma how quickly they fell into conversation.  It was like they were old friends catching up rather than relative strangers.  Emma learned that Killian was a novelist.  His music helped him with the creative process, jump started his creativity as it were.

The conversation had then turned to the upcoming holiday.

“Swan, do you not celebrate Christmas?” he’d asked, looking around her apartment.

She shrugged.  “I mean, I guess I do.  I’m not like opposed to Christmas or anything.  Why?”

“I can’t help but notice you have no tree, no decorations of any kind, and your opposition to the music of the season is well established,” he said.

Emma looked around her neat but rather sterile apartment and shrugged.  “I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t see the point of going to all that trouble.  I mean, it’s not like I’m going to have any presents under the tree or anyone to share the holiday with.”

She had expected him to look at her with pity at her admission of just how alone she was, but instead, the look on his face was knowing, understanding.  “The holidays are difficult when you’re alone, aren’t they?”

That surprised her.  Was he speaking from personal experience?

“Aye love,” he said, answering her unasked question, “I suspect we have more in common than you might have supposed.  Ever since my brother passed a decade ago, I’ve been on my own.  The holidays always bring with them a special kind of melancholy.”

“But…” she began, “but you play Christmas music.  From the glimpse I got of your apartment yesterday, you have all the decorations and trappings.  Doesn’t that make the loneliness worse?”

He shook his head.  “It helps me to remember the good memories, and there are always good memories if you dig deep enough.”

The conversation stuck with her long after she and Killian had said goodbye and gone their separate ways.  Maybe…maybe he was right.  Maybe if she let a little Christmas cheer into her life, it would help, even in a small part, to soothe the pain of a lifetime of loneliness.

The next morning, bright and early, there was a knock on Emma’s door.  This time she smiled as she went to the door, knowing instinctively that she’d find Killian on the other side.

What she wasn’t expecting was the large, beautiful, fragrant pine tree he was holding in front of him.

“What’s this?” she asked, opening the door wider so that he could awkwardly maneuver himself and the tree inside.

“This, Swan,” he said with a teasing grin, “is called a Christmas tree.  Traditionally people set them up in their houses this time of year and decorate them with lights and colorful baubles.”

She grinned, rolling her eyes at him and playfully swatting his shoulder.  “I know what it is, smart ass.  I’m wondering why you brought it here.”

He propped the tree against the door, and then reached up to scratch at the spot behind his ear.  “I got to thinking after our conversation yesterday.  I wanted to bring you some of the Christmas joy that has helped me through the season for years.  I hope I’ve not overstepped by bringing this.”

Emma smiled gently, stepping up to place a hand on his arm.  “This is really sweet, Killian,” she said.  “Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said, stepping outside to gather the boxes of lights, ornaments and tinsel he had waiting for him.  “If you’ve the time and inclination, I thought perhaps we could decorate your apartment together.”

She took one of the boxes from him and set it on her living room floor.  “As it turns out, I have the day off, and decorating a tree sounds like the perfect way to pass the time.  If you play your cards right, I might even let you play some Christmas music while we work.”

They’d spent the entire day together, first decorating her tree, then splitting a pizza from the place down the street, talking, laughing, and genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

The next day he was back, and the day after that she went to his apartment.  Barely a day went by that they didn’t see each other.  Each day brought a new holiday themed activity.  

For the first time she could remember, Emma felt the magic of Christmas.  For the first time she woke up looking forward to what the day might bring–and it was all due to Killian Jones.  It should scare her how comfortable she felt with him.  It should scare her how much she was coming to look forward to their time together, to their daily phone calls and text conversations.

But somehow it didn’t.  She could read people; it’s what made her so good at her job.  And Killian?  She read him loud and clear.  He was the real deal.  She could trust him.

And so it was that when the idea occurred to her she didn’t let herself think too hard, merely acted.

“So I was thinking,” she said, turning toward him on the couch where they sat together watching Christmas movies on Christmas eve.

“Dangerous prospect, love,” he said with a teasing grin.  She smacked his shoulder.

“I think that we should spend Christmas together,” she said.

This shouldn’t be that big of a deal–after all, they’d spent the last two weeks together–but somehow it was.  Somehow spending Christmas together felt huge. Like this-could-be-the-start-of-something-life-changing huge.

Killian’s eyes widened.  He clearly understood how momentous this question really was.  After a moment, his look of surprise softened into a gentle smile, and he reached up and cupped her cheek.  “Emma, I’d like nothing better than to spend Christmas with you.”

The relief, the joy that came over her at his answer overwhelmed her, and so she did the only thing that seemed to make sense in the moment.  She leaned forward and kissed him.

On Christmas, they made plans to spend New Years together, and on New Years, they made plans for Valentine’s Day.

And on the following Christmas, Killian got down on one knee and asked her to make plans with him for the rest of their lives.

It seemed only fitting that for their wedding several months later, they play Christmas music.  After all, without the sounds of the season, the beautiful, perfect life they’d built for themselves may never have begun.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[allhailthegodofbugs]

Brimley Necrosafari to Close After 55 Years in Business Citing Budget, Safety Concerns

Brimley California – July 22, 2023.  The beloved and sometimes controversial Brimley Necrosafari is set to close this September due to difficulties maintaining the park and the creatures, according to long-time Necrodirector Peter Bhurghg. “We tried everything we could, but the pandemic regulations wiped us out. ‘Oh you’re spreading plague,’ they said. Ridiculous. Unless you’re talking about the Plague Draken, which does bring every disease.”

Although the Necrosafari is mainly held outdoors, patrons would sleep in enclosed luxury tents and spend evenings enjoying a formal dinner and sharing stories of the hunt over cigars and Tombwine. Some say Necrodirector Peter Bhurghg’s refusal to alter the model led to difficulties. “He’s an old school guy, in the sense that he has existed since the 1300s,” said one mysterious floating oracular head, who wished to remain anonymous. “We talked about maybe sharing stories through Zoom instead, or doing the formal dinners outdoors, but he just wasn’t having it.”

Amid repeated refusals to follow Covid 19 regulations, the Brimley Necrosafari found itself with legal bills piling up and fewer state and federal grants than normal. “They had money for ‘public health’ but they don’t have money for Luxury deathabomination trophy hunting? What is happening to America? What is happening to the American Nightmare?” Howled Bhurghg.

“Dream,” he added. “I meant American Dream.”

But budget considerations were only part of the puzzle, according to the Extremely Reasonably Concerned Parents Association. “We’ve had sixteen people die on the Necrosafari in the last month, three of them children,” said Ruth Baker, local parent. “Beheaded by the Scythe Thing, eaten by Skull Mantises, gored by the NECROBOAR. It’s absurdly dangerous. They don’t even have path markers, and you have to get your own silver, large-bore ammunition, which leaves people vulnerable to fakes.”

Indeed, infamous local entrepreneur Walborg Shrupe was forced to pay a fine of 15,000 dollars after a protracted and contentious trial last year after it was revealed his bullets were not pure silver, but merely brass with a silver-colored spray paint. “Caveat emptor,” he famously said, before paying his fine in pennies and disappearing to the Philippines in a solid gold helicopter.

“The whole community still bears scars from that trial,” said district attorney Kate Vance. “When will the Scar Curse end?”

“Yes, we’ve had a few deaths,” Peter Bhurghg admitted. “But they were all the results of patrons failing to follow sensible precautions.” He then tore his face-meat asunder, revealing his true undead form and shot scarlet lightning bolts from his fingertips.

“If you can’t hire a haruspex to tell your omens before the hunt – stay home!” He went on to say. “It’s simple!”

Some Brimley residents expressed regret over the decision. “I think it’s sad,” remarked mayor Janet Vimmmmm. “I used to go to the Necrosafari when I was a child. I bagged my first wraith when I was seven. Shame about Great-Uncle Walter though.”

Others have voiced displeasure that the already difficult local job market may soon be flooded with former park employees. “Can you imagine the Scythe Thing working as a cashier at Bath and Body Works?” said Lila Cohen, local ne’er do well. “I can. I have nightmares about it.”

In the meantime, the Black Cloth Society has announced a blood drive to save the park. “We will be collecting blood,” said Society President Balrock Rune. “Keep your doors unlocked.”

“It’s the end of an era,” said a relieved Ruth Baker. “A dark era, full of terrors.”

The Brimley Necrosafari will close on September 30, 2023. In the meantime, they have announced that spots are still available at a discount for their May Hunt. As ever, patrons are required to bring their own large caliber weapons, silver bullets, rune charms, and napalm-salt explosives. Tickets are “first come, first serve.” Discounts are available for children and seniors. For more information, call 1-800 DEAD ONES or follow the Brimley Necrosafari account on Twitter at RealActualNecrosafari@twitter.com.

[charcoalhawk]

Could you not have waited five minutes?

At the end of the day, the thing that pissed Danny off the most was that this wasn’t even his bank.

All he came in here for was a proof of income statement so he could officially buy the apartment he had been looking at. It hadn’t been the best place he visited during his apartment search, but it was within his price range, near his job, and it was a place he could afford to live on his own.

Or, Danny tries to stop a bank robbery.

Third fic for the 2023 Phic Phight, prompt from @wingedflight: Danny gets caught in the middle of a bank robbery. Can he diffuse the situation without revealing his powers?

At the end of the day, the thing that pissed Danny off the most was that this wasn’t even his bank.

All he came in here for was a proof of income statement so he could officially buy the apartment he had been looking at. It hadn’t been the best place he visited during his apartment search, but it was within his price range, near his job, and it was a place he could afford to live on his own.

He needed that proof of income today. Tomorrow was the weekend, and the main office at the complex he was looking at only worked on the weekdays.

He had actually meant to go yesterday, but he had needed to stay late at work and by the time he got off and was able to drive over it had been closed.

He might have been able to get there if he had flown, but unfortunately he’d had too many close calls to want to flagrantly display his powers now that he was living on his own. Fly around Amity? Everyone was too used to weird shit there, as long as you didn’t acknowledge it was weird no one gave you a second look.

But now, he didn’t have the protection of his parents' incompetence nor the safety of the Zone to flee to. So he was trying to only use his powers in situations where there was no other choice, at least as long as he was living in this big city.

Danny had been next in line. If these clowns had been five minutes slower he could have gotten in and out without dealing with this bullshit.

But then there’s the sound of glass shattering as three people bulrush the small lobby with these ridiculous masks that remind Danny of those creepy Anime face masks Sam got from Hot Topic once.

“Everybody on the ground! If I see even one phone none of you are making it out of here alive!”

(…Would Clockwork let him hop back half an hour so he didn’t spend those ten minutes commiserating with Jazz on the phone about moving so far away? It had felt so good to vent to his sister about why he needed to be out of Amity for at least a few months, but maybe he should have saved it for tomorrow night when they were going to meet up and plan how they were going to move him without their parents noticing.

Nah. The ghost already had so much on their plate. Besides, Clocky usually showed up on his own time when things were dire enough. So, at least he was reasonably certain this was not a timeline-destroying event.)

Everyone hits the ground hard, he sees one kid’s stuffed animal fly from her hands as her mom drags her to the floor and hunches over her like a human shield. The three robbers disperse around the room, with one guy standing near the one door while the other two move towards the tellers.

As the two near him Danny fights the instinct to glance at them as they pass. The smallest of the bunch stops right next to Danny as the last guy waltz’s behind the tellers desks to where they had dropped to.

Now, most of Danny’s knowledge of bank robberies came from action movies, so he had a very poor grasp of how these things were supposed to go. Should he stay lying down with the others? Does he call the robber’s bluff and hope they’ll leave in shame after getting told off by a barely legal adult?

Does he turn intangible and escape outside? He’s not a hero here, he’s just a 19 year old kid who needs a shitty proof of income statement to move into this shitty apartment miles and miles away from his town and his friends.

Well, he can’t just leave now that he’s here, turning intangible would mean leaving these people on their own when there was something there he could have done.

He knows now he can’t be everywhere at once, the entire world is not resting on his shoulders. But he is here, now. He can help the people around him and do his best to make sure everyone walks out of her alive.

There’s three robbers, one that's around Danny’s height, one that couldn’t be more then five foot even, and one who towered over them like a dollar tree Arnold Schwarzenegger.

The robbers had entered just after two, which Danny knows from the past half hour was when all the tellers finally got back from their lunch break. A fact that was not posted anywhere beyond inside the bank itself. Meaning they had likely scoped the place out beforehand.

But why later in the day? Why when they know the line will be longest from people being forced to wait for the tellers to return. Why not come earlier in the day when there was less potential collateral?

But then he remembered the big truck that had been pulling out of the parking lot just as he arrived. They had waited until now because before two the bank was working with cash from the previous day, but now they had a whole lot of new cash inside. And depending on how fast they could smuggle it the chance of the stolen cash being traced back to them would be marginally less.

Danny thinks about what he would have done had this taken place in Amity Park.

Amity was a cash heavy town, so he knows in years previous they had probably dealt with their fair share of bank robbers. But nowadays? If someone had been stupid enough to try that in his town the teller would probably have just laughed at the guy and told them they were better off trying to rob the mayor’s house.

All this was avoiding the big question though- should he risk going ghost and have this track back to the GIW, or try this the old fashioned human way and hopefully not get shot?

Three people were not a lot to deal with, but the big guy did give him some concerns.

And of course, he’s used to ecto weapons or fists, not guns.

He subtly glanced up at the robber standing next to him. They seemed to be surveying the people huddling on the floor, hands curled around his weapon.

There’s a few minutes of tense silence as the third robber moves into the back with the teller, but then a sound pierces the air that sends Danny’s heart down to the basement.

The kid has started to cry. Great heaving sobs as she huddles into her mother’s chest.

“Shut that thing up or I'll shut it up for you.” The big guy snarled from his place by the door, raising his gun slightly to make his point abundantly clear.

Fuck. These people were serious.

The mother is furiously trying to shush her kid, but she’s old enough to have understood the threat, and it seems nothing can calm her down.

The guy standing next to Danny seems to shift nervously, which at least tells him these guys aren’t all on the same page.

Maybe… he hasn’t tried partially possessing someone before, not enough to overshadow, but just enough to get them to say something they might not otherwise. He fears obvious possession might make things worse, and the last thing he needs is to give these assholes a reason to attack.

As subtle as he can he touches his fingers to the closest boot of the gut still standing next to him.

He tries to push his core out, not into creating a double but just an impression of himself over to try and nudge the guy’s thoughts.

We don’t need to hurt these people, we don’t need to hurt these people, we don’t need to hurt-

“Hey, knock it off. We get the cash and we get out, no need to complicate things by adding a body count to this.”

“Fuck off.” Both of their attentions are focused on the kid and her mom, with the big guy growing visibly more aggravated as the crying continues.

“Dude, just watch the door, don’t let one brat’s whining ruin it for us. After we pull this off you can move out to the middle of bumfuck nowhere and they’re won’t be any people, let alone kids, for miles.”

“Screw that, I’m moving to a goddam island, get me a lifelong tropical vacation for all the shit I’ve had to put up with.”

Good, good. The conversation moves away from people around them, towards all the things they’re going to buy with the money, and venting on all that they’ve had to deal with before this.

Thank the ancients, these guys are talkative. He can still see the big guy glance over at the crying kid every minute or so. Meaning he has to keep influencing shorty here to keep him distracted.

By Danny’s estimation it’s been about ten minutes since the three entered, meaning hopefully if the teller is cooperating these guys should be out of here in the next few minutes. The last guy had been carrying at least five big bags, so hopefully they’ll get what they want and Danny can leave and find another bank to get his income statement from.

“Hal better be back soon, we’re cutting it too close.” The smaller man shifts, forcing Danny to ty andshift along with him.

“He knows what he’s doing, Judy stick to the plan and- What the fuck! His eyes are fucking glowing, what the shit!”

Both guys are suddenly staring at him, and in that moment Danny remembers Jazz telling him that even when he looks human his eyes will glow an unnatural green when he has to use his powers.

At the time he had brushed the remark off, because even if someone noticed he could waive it off by saying one of his parents' inventions had backfired on him.

Not so now.

In the moment it’s taken him to realize what’s happened both robbers have their guns aimed at him, and as their eyes meet he can see panic overtake both of them as they go scrambling back a step.

Before he can try to explain, to try and diffuse the situation, before his core can even start pumping enough to give him the adrenaline he needs-

The guy is slamming his finger down on the trigger, and-

Oh.

Oh.

Getting shot is painful.

[fcurleaves]

(   jessica henwick.  woman.  she/her.   )   ⸺   🦬   greetings, buffaloes! walking around campus, sporting her signature four-leaf clover finger tattoo, we’ve spotted LILIANA "LUCKY" FLETCHER, a THIRTY-ONE-year-old who contributes to our thriving community as a CLERK in the library. according to our intel, they’ve been around the sanctuary for TWELVE YEARS and what we know about her, aside from the fact that they do agree with the decision to close the gates, is that she oozes charisma and is a regular at the rainstorm as a result (and the greenhouses, if you catch my drift). trusting by nature,  she and nick were pals before he was ousted, but since his betrayal her faith has been shaken. she was working as a clerk at the time of the outbreak, and it just kind of stuck. she's by no means married to it, but her lack of drive didn't lend her to any other pursuits; that is, not until the coalition's infiltration. these days lucky has been getting combat training here and there. she's almost useful…almost. doesn’t that make them fantastic ? we think it does, and that’s why we appreciate her so much, grateful for what they give to our community.

⸺   written  by  nutteh   (  she/her  .  30  .  us cst  )

THE BASICS

NAME: Liliana “Lucky” Marie Fletcher

AGE: 31

GENDER: Female

PRONOUNS: She/her/hers

SEXUALITY: Pansexual

DATE OF BIRTH: 19 May, 1992 (Taurus)

SPARKNOTES

Lucky grew up east of Boulder - it was the largest nearby city and everyone in her small suburban town flocked there. Her father, a soldier, was mostly out of the picture while her mother languished on the child support. Lucky was not mistreated, but she had no real love for either of her parents (she thought about her mother, though, at the time of the storm).

School was never quite interesting enough for her. She wasn’t stupid, but her attention tended to wander and deadlines were suggestions at best. There was also the fact that she seldom attended, much preferring to roll joints out by the lake with her varied groups of friends. To this day she’s not sure how she graduated high school.  

Lucky could always connect with people. She had charisma and was good at deciphering social cues, but her heart was always harder than her nature suggested. She had a lot of friends, but no real, close friends. The closest she ever came to making a meaningful connection was with the girl who tattooed the four-leaf clover on her finger, but Lucky fled before that could happen. 

Boulder was expensive and Lucky needed a job - that was the reason she started working at the UC. She could talk to people and she could read, which she joked was her secret to surviving the apocalypse. It just so happened to be the eighth in a long string of daily shifts when the storm came, and Lucky saw no real reason to wander. 

The clover tattoo predated her nickname by one year. It was a four-leaf clover that symbolized a four-leaf clover when she got it - it was free, the “artist” seemed keen to try it, and it wasn’t like she hated four-leaf clovers. But it was how she earned the nickname “Lucky” after the outbreak, because she was lucky to be at work when it happened. 

Lucky was a functional stoner before the outbreak and she still is. She’s trying to grow her own plants and is having some success, but it’s certainly something she misses about their old open gates. 

But weed isn’t her only vice. She had a hand in The Rainstorm's inception (and name) and is a nightly regular. She enjoys a good drink, but she goes for the company more than the booze. It was how she and Nick bonded, and he became somewhat of a father figure to her post-outbreak ( “father figure” is a bit much - perhaps “crotchety uncle?”). She’d always known he wasn’t perfect and had a mean streak, but Lucky was naive and could scarcely believe what he’d done. The pesky apocalypse had forced her to forge deeper connections with her fellow survivors, and while she still maintains them, it is difficult with Nick’s betrayal always on her mind.

WANTED CONNECTIONS 

(Former?) Roommate - This is someone Lucky lived with in Boulder pre-outbreak. There is no way she would have been able to afford to live alone, not as a library clerk. I have no set relationship in mind besides “they were roommates,” but they did only live together for about eight to ten months. It might be fun to give them a face and have them involved with the UC community rather than remain a random NPC from Lucky's past.

Clover girl - The girl with the storied tattoo skills. The one Lucky almost let herself fall for. This was a friend of a friend from Lucky's hometown who started hanging around during Lucky's senior year. They spent the better part of that year in each other's company, with and without their mutual friends. Then Lucky's guarded heart began to soften, and despite the fact that her financial situation was spotty, she skipped town as soon as she graduated. No heads up, no goodbye, nothing. She feels guilty about it, and she would be lying if she said she didn't think about her on the day of the outbreak (and quite a few times afterward). But at this point it feels like ancient history.

Lays - Lucky's idea of intimacy has nothing to do with sex. She had a bit of a reputation back in her hometown and still maintains it at the UC. Consensual encounters only, of course, but this would be fun to play with. Everyone responds to hook-ups differently and it could open up some interesting plots. All (male, female, non-binary, etc.) welcome - she doesn't discriminate.

[m-o-o-n-thatspellsblog]

The Drawing of the Fool- Epilogue

Summary: Years after renouncing the Dark Tower, the ka-tet of the 19, now living as a true family, comes across another door. Fearing a resurgence of Tower business, the group grows apprehensive. Roland Deschain, their Dinh--their father--grows excited. It seems renouncing the Tower in favor of love is not without reward, after all.

Word Count: 7,354

Relationships: Roland/Cuthbert, Eddie/Susannah, Jake/Benny

AO3 LINK

Lying in bed together, in the home the folken had helped them build, Roland and Cuthbert were doing nothing but resting and enjoying each other’s company. Cuthbert often joked that the best part of their relationship was that they got to skip straight to being an old married couple. Roland didn’t disagree. It was nice to be able to skip the uncertainty and settle down with someone so familiar.

“You say true,” Roland said. His heart had skipped a beat at the mention of the Tower. The days in which he had been single-mindedly determined to reach it had passed and he did his best to drive all thoughts of it from his mind. “We never went any further than Algul Siento. After that, we traveled away from the Tower. I knew at that time that if we had gotten too close, I would not have been able to stop myself. Not then.”

“What about now? A considerable amount of time has passed since your renunciation and I think you’re quite comfortable with the life you’ve built. Don’t you want to see it? Just to cast your eyes upon the edifice we dedicated so much of our lives to saving--that which nearly cost you everything?” He turned onto his side to face Roland, who was quiet for a moment.

“You never saw it,” Cuthbert said, seemingly out of the blue. Roland turned toward his love and furrowed his brow. It wasn’t rare that he was a step or two behind Cuthbert, but this comment seemed unrelated to anything they had previously been discussing. “The Tower, I mean,” he continued.

“I suppose I would like to see it,” Roland admitted, sounding guilty, as if he was confessing to a heinous crime. 

“Then we should go, you and I,” Cuthbert said, wrapping an arm around Roland’s waist and pulling him closer. This was something he had been thinking of quite a lot lately and he had no idea how Roland would feel about the idea. “In separate worlds, we each gave our lives for this Tower. I think we deserve to see what we were protecting so fiercely.”

“Do you not worry that you’d be tempted to go in?” 

Cuthbert shook his head. “Going inside was never a part of my plan. My goal was always to save it. And then maybe, if ka would allow, to see it. After that, I wanted to be done with it evermore. I had no such desire to go in and climb to the top. In truth, that idea always scared me.”

Roland hesitated, reluctant to voice his true fear. He rolled onto his side so they were face to face, Cuthbert’s hand still resting on his waist. When he searched his love’s face and saw nothing but sincerity, he was able to go on. “Are you not scared that I might be seduced by its charms? That I’d be just as drawn to its pull as I had been to the pink Wizard’s Glass?”

“Nay, you know better now. And nevertheless, I’ll be with you. We may not know what resides there, but we know that that knowledge comes at a high price. I’d not let you give everything up so easily. And I’m not saying that to be honorable either, I’d much like to keep you for my own selfish reasons. Who else is there to follow me around and tell me I’m pretty?”

“The Crimson King is presumably still imprisoned there,” Roland said, always so serious. 

“Then we’ll take care of him,” Cuthbert said with a shrug, ever the optimist. He felt confident that they could handle it. Improvisation was their specialty. “Someone ought to. Why not us?”

“It’s an enormous risk. We have everything to lose and nothing to gain by going there.” Roland spoke firmly, but truthfully, he was warming up to the idea. It whispered to the deep romance in his nature. Was there anything more romantic than defying the odds with the one you held dear? And Roland knew there was no one better than his beloved to laugh in the face of destiny.

“We would gain closure. I expect that it would ease your mind to know that you have seen it and turned away from it. You can finally let go of the notion that one day you might just take off for the Tower and revert back to who you were. You never give voice to them, but I suspect thoughts of the Tower still cast a shadow in your mind. It’s time to reject the hold it has over you. To come face to face and stand true.”

“I trust you understand the risks,” Roland said, already knowing that Cuthbert did, in fact, understand the risks. Despite his penchant for foolishness, he was not stupid. Far from it. When it came to intelligence, Roland had always lagged behind Cuthbert.

“Aye, I understand them very well, so I do. Still I say we go.”

“The others might not like it,” Roland said. A last resort argument if there ever was one. And a weak one, at that. Roland knew he was going to give in, he was only holding out because he felt like he was supposed to. It’s been years since he had renounced the Tower in favor of his family; he shouldn’t want to go see it. But the desire which had lay dormant in the depths of his mind was now awakened.

“I think they trust us.” Cuthbert placed his hand on the side of Roland’s face and started soothingly rubbing his thumb back and forth across his cheek. Truthfully, Cuthbert was a little worried. But he trusted Roland, and he truly believed that this would put both of their minds at rest. The Tower had taken enough of their lives, he didn’t want it hanging over them for all the time they had left.

Roland went quiet again, sorting his thoughts, which had always been slow work for him. He wanted to give this proper consideration. After a moment he spoke: “Okay.”

“Okay? You mean you want to go?”

“Aye, I do. We’ll protect each other, won’t we?”

“Of course we will.” Cuthbert rolled over again, this time pulling Roland on top of him. He reached his hand around to the back of Roland’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Roland gladly complied. When they pulled away for a breath, Cuthbert spoke again. “I’ll protect you as passionately as I once fought for the Tower.”

“Mmm, say true? How passionate are we talking?”

“Let me demonstrate for you,” Cuthbert said in a low voice. He grabbed Roland by the shoulders and flipped their positions, pinning Roland to the bed.

-----------------

The next week, after some difficult goodbyes, they set out for their journey. Each carried a packsack stuffed with warm clothing and other supplies. The trip was likely to be cold and grueling, but they had what they needed to make it as safe as possible. 

A few weeks in, they passed through the former Castle of the Crimson King, Le Casse Roi Russe. At one time, the Crimson King’s Minister of State with the aid of the King’s glammer, had lain in wait for Roland’s ka-tet to come along. However, once it became clear to him that Roland’s ka-tet was never coming, he fled.

Written haphazardly upon a crumbling wall of stone in old paint were these words:

BEWARE OF DANDELO

“Any idea what that means?” Cuthbert asked.

“No,” Roland said, “Mayhap we’ll find out.”

-----------------

About 5 weeks after passing through Le Casse Roi Russe, they spotted a road. From the place where it first came into view, it looked like an inverted T carved into the snow. The cross arm was only perhaps four hundred feet all the way across, but the long end carried all the way to the horizon and then disappeared over it. In addition to the road, they both noted the roofs of cottages. Smoke poured out of the roof of one of these cottages.

An hour later, they reached the point in which the two roads met. Rising out of the snow was a pole with signs at the top, seeming to indicate the names of the roads. The short road was called

ODD’s LANE

The other one, however, sent a chill down both their spines, causing them to unconsciously draw nearer to each other. It read:

TOWER ROAD

As Roland turned his attention to the cluster of cottages, Cuthbert noticed something peculiar about one of the signs--the one that indicated Odd’s Lane.

“Why does it look like the ‘S’ was added?” Cuthbert asked.

Roland shrugged and started to move away, he was more interested in starting down Tower road than reading signs. But Cuthbert stayed behind, studying the letters. After a moment, he gasped in realization.

“Roland, I got it! Get back here!” 

“What is it?”

Cuthbert grasped Roland’s shoulders and held him in front of the sign. “Look at the letters. If you ignore the ‘S’, what do you notice?”

He looked. It was a riddle, and Roland, not very good at riddles under normal circumstances, was too anxious to try to figure it out. “Bert, my dear,” he said with an impatient sigh, “Will you not just tell me?”

Cuthbert relented. “It’s Dandelo! Odd Lane is made up of the same letters which make Dandelo. It seems the ‘S’ was put there to throw us off.”

Roland’s eyes widened as he saw Cuthbert was right. And to think that he would’ve just continued down the road without a second thought about the damned sign. Roland tilted his chin toward the chimney with smoke puffing out. “Do you think that’s Dandelo?

“Aye, who else?”

Before they had a chance to decide whether or not they should pass by, the decision was made for them. A rosy-cheeked old man hobbled out of the cottage and called to them.

“Looks like we’re in for some palaver whether we want it or not,” said Roland.

“Yar, it seems so,” Cuthbert replied. Then, lowering his voice: “Stay wary.”

-----------------

The old man introduced himself as Joe Collins of Odd Lane. Something about the man’s presence filled them both with a good feeling. He was vivacious for an old man, and filled with enormous good humor. The kind of person anyone can get along with. Cuthbert wondered how he could’ve thought such a man could be dangerous. 

The old man took them in, and showed them around his house full of wonders. Through Susannah, Eddie, and Jake, they both had some second-hand knowledge about the technology from America-side. Roland had even seen some during their travels. But to see such simple wonders as fluorescent lights and magic ice boxes up close was fascinating. Joe Collins explained that a robot that he called Stuttering Bill helped him maintain the generator which supplied the electricity to keep the place running. 

After some more talking, Joe Collins gave them a fine meal. It wasn’t until after they ate that Cuthbert started to once again become suspicious. When speaking of how he came to be here, Collins mentioned that he used to be some kind of comic entertainer in a place called the Midwest. Roland, with rather uncharacteristic cheer, asked to hear some of his jokes, as he told them on the road. Joe Collins decided to give it a try.

He stood up and gave them a taste of one of the shows he put on. As he progressed, Roland lost himself in laughter. Although Cuthbert was laughing as well, he found Roland’s wild, unbridled laughter to be a little excessive. For Cuthbert, most of the humor was in the way the man carried himself, not so much the actual jokes. In fact, the jokes were kind of lame. 

It became obvious to Cuthbert that this was a trick, Roland was never that unguarded with his emotions. Most of the time he couldn’t even make Roland laugh so hard. Nay, his love had almost no sense of humor, but that was okay because he had enough for the both of them. And even he could see that this wasn’t funny. Roland, with his underdeveloped sense of humor, was just more susceptible to the trick.

Dandelo, he thought, How could I let myself forget?

Cuthbert kept laughing along with the jokes. He didn’t want to alert the creature before him to his epiphany. Now that he was conscious of it, he realized he could actually feel the good feelings being fed to him, much like the way cattle are fed nutrients before being slaughtered.

During a small lull between jokes, he excused himself to the bathroom. He needed a chance to reassess the situation. Once inside, he heard an agonized crying sound. They had noticed it a few times already, but had been too distracted to think much of it. He tried to come up with and plan and then realized he didn’t really need one. He’d just go back in and shoot the damn thing. He pulled his slingshot from his belt and left the bathroom.

When he came back, Roland was on the floor, clutching at his throat but still laughing. Cuthbert didn’t hesitate, he simply aimed and shot, as was ingrained in him since childhood. 

He shot the creature--yes, creature, not man for in its dying it was now reverting to its true form--until it stopped moving.

Once that was taken care of, he kneeled down next to Roland and caressed the side of his face. “Are you alright, love?”

Roland suddenly stood up and staggered over to the door. He ripped it open, took a couple of steps, and threw up. When he came back in, he sank to his knees before Cuthbert, who was momentarily alarmed, thinking Roland might be fainting. Then the realization hit. Always such a stickler for tradition.

“No, no, not this shit again,” Cuthbert said, chuckling nervously. But he knew Roland would not relent until Cuthbert gave him pardon. He was too ashamed of his actions. Cuthbert sighed and then gave in. “Rise, gunslinger, I give you pardon in good heart.” He paused, then added: “Though it isn’t necessary, dear one. We save each other. ‘Twas a powerful glammer and there is no shame in falling victim to it.”

Roland smiled weakly, still ashamed, but nevertheless grateful for the man before him. He rose to his feet and gave his beloved a brief kiss.

“That’s how I know my love for you is true,” Cuthbert said as he pulled away. “Only a moment ago you were spewing your guts out and yet, I still want to kiss you.” Roland gave him a flat look before pushing Cuthbert off of him in exaggerated annoyance. He went to the thing lying on the floor (which now looked like some kind of large, malformed bug) to check that it was really dead. That was when the cry rose up again.

Roland and Cuthbert's eyes met and then, in the same instant, they moved toward the noise, drawing their weapons.

They went down to the cellar, and there, they found the boy they would come to know as Patrick Danville, the artist. A young man, held prisoner by Dandelo. Cuthbert, much better with vulnerable people than Roland, drew the boy out with tenderness and humor. The boy couldn’t talk (his tongue had been removed by Dandelo) but he could communicate perfectly fine with his sketchbook and a pencil. They found these items on a high shelf, along with a jar of erasers which had been removed from the pencils. Cuthbert thought this strange. Why had Patrick been prohibited from using the erasers? Was it just some extra form of torture or had there been another reason?

----------------- 

They looked around Dandelo’s place for warm clothing to take for Patrick, knowing that they would need to share what they had. They packed what they could use, including a far-seeing instrument, and headed outside to see if they could find the robot that Dandelo had mentioned. It was still freezing, but thankfully no blizzard. 

About an hour later, they found the robot. He had been operating a large orange vehicle, which they later learned was called a snow-plow. The plow pulled up in front of Dandelo’s hut, blasting music from a speaker at the top. He came out and introduced himself as William, D-746541-M, Maintenance Robot, Many Other Functions. Dandelo had called him Stuttering Bill, because the robot had a fried circuit somewhere inside, causing him to stutter, and Dandelo had forbidden him from fixing it. With Dandelo gone, they suggested that Bill fix his stuttering, to which he gratefully complied.

Although he resembled a certain robot that used to reside in Calla Bryn Sturgis, it soon became clear that this robot was much friendlier. For one thing, the robot displayed genuine relief at seeing Patrick free from Dandelo. Additionally, he was eager to help them with anything they needed. 

They eventually piled into Bill’s plow, and were taken to a hut on the very edge of the White Lands. This trip had taken just a day and a half. Once there, Bill regretfully informed them that he may go no further. He did, however, offer them a truck that could take them all the way to the Tower. He assured them that it was easy enough to use and that they could arrive at the Tower by mid-morning the next day. They both found this to be a fine idea, so Cuthbert asked Bill to show him how to work it. 

--------------------

They resumed their journey with Cuthbert controlling the truck. Under his seat, Roland found a box containing several of the discs that Bill had called ceedees. Music was stored on them. The robot had played some to keep them entertained on their way to the hut. Roland raised the box up for Cuthbert and Patrick to see and asked if they wanted music.

“Yeah, why not? Put one in the little slot, like the robot did.”

"Well, which one should I put in? Pick one", he said, shoving the box toward Cuthbert.

"Since I'm busy trying to maneuver this large machine, I will leave the choice of music up to you, do it please ya.” 

Roland then reached back to push the box in Patrick's direction. "What about you Patrick? Would you like to choose?"

Patrick shook his head and waved Roland off. He was busy drawing.

"Just pick one, sweetheart. Quit trying to hand the task off to someone else. Look for one that calls to ya." 

So he did just that. His digging hand found one that momentarily stole his breath. The fottergraf (that was how he always thought of it, despite having learned that the word is actually photograph) on the cover showed four gunslingers, dressed in the fashion with which Roland was very familiar. He had trouble reading the words on the cover, but he thought the first one was ‘Eagles’. At first glance, Roland had mistaken the four men as himself, Cuthbert, Jamie DeCurry, and Alain Johns. He almost instantly realized that this wasn't the case, but the similarities were eerie. He pushed the disc in.

They listened to several of the musical discs on their way, but it was this one that Roland liked the best. For the songs on that disc were undoubtedly written about gunslingers. It seemed to him that whoever had written those songs, had seen Gilead, as it was in his youth. It disheartened him to know that they would eventually need to leave the truck behind and he would likely never hear those songs again.

-----------------

Once the Tower started to come into view, Cuthbert suggested that they stop the truck and walk the last bit. Roland thought it was a good idea--he found that he wasn’t quite ready to arrive. He needed more time to convince his brain that he was really about to see the very thing he had dedicated most of his life to. His heart was beating wildly and he felt light-headed. But no, that wasn’t quite right--not light-headed, just light. As if everything that had troubled his mind since setting out on his quest ceased to matter. Even so, he was daunted. 

As they got closer, that feeling of lightness persisted. Roland reached his hand toward Cuthbert’s, almost timidly. Cuthbert immediately took it and grasped it firmly. Despite the fact that Cuthbert was using his bad hand, his grip was so tight that Roland’s bones started to hurt. He didn’t mind. It kept him grounded. He felt a light touch on his other hand--the two fingered one--and saw Patrick looking at him, trying to smile. He took his hand, careful not to crush it like he and Cuthbert were currently doing to each other’s hands. 

Hand in hand they approached the Tower. With only the field of roses lying between them and the tall, enigmatic building, Roland realized he could hear voices singing. Beautiful, tantalizing voices. But they were faint. Much fainter than they would have been had he come when he had originally meant to, this he instinctively knew. Still, he held onto Cuthbert and Patrick, his anchors. 

“It’s---” Roland started, but at that moment, a great shriek floated to them on the breeze.

“GUNSLINGERS!” screamed the Crimson King. “NOW YOU DIE!”

This piercing screech was punctuated by a whistling sound, thin at first and then growing. Roland recognized it for what it was and his instincts were quick as ever, as were Cuthbert’s. They both took off, pulling Patrick along with them by their joined hands, and found cover behind a heap of stones. They watched as something golden flew through the air. It flew past the stonepile pyramid they were using as cover and then reversed direction, racing toward them. Roland shot it out of the air. After a blinding flash, it was gone.

“Sneetches,” Roland grunted. “Just like the ones by the Wolves during the fight for the Calla.”

Looking through the far seeing device, Cuthbert saw the Crimson King on a balcony, two levels up from the base of the Tower. A crate, which must hold his ammunition supply, lay at his feet. Cuthbert passed the device to Roland so that he could get a look. 

The Crimson King would continue to throw sneetches, but Roland wasn’t too worried. With both him and Cuthbert here, he was confident they could shoot anything out of the air, unless he could throw twenty five at a time. And Roland thought there was a good chance he didn’t even have that many. Even if he did, he wouldn’t want to run through his supply so quickly.

Unfortunately though, they were stuck.

Meanwhile, Patrick apparently had been using this time to draw the Crimson King. He had a pretty good portrait going, but he needed the far-seeing instrument to get the details right. He tugged on Roland’s sleeve. When Roland looked over, he pointed at his drawing and then at the instrument. 

“No Patrick, now is not the time for drawing, do ya not see it?” Roland shouted, shooting another sneetch out of the air. 

Patrick made a desperate sound and pointed emphatically at the bag in which Cuthbert stored the erasers. When Roland still didn’t understand, he pointed at the Crimson King, then at the sketchpad, and then made furious erasing motions. He cycled around these gestures waiting for it to click.

Roland, in his stress, still wasn’t following. “What does he need it for?”

“The erasers!” Cuthbert, who had always been good at making connections, shouted in realization. He was thinking of something strange that had happened on their way here. They had stopped to eat and elected to stay inside the truck. Outside the windows, they had seen a herd of bannock. Patrick quickly got to work and produced a breath-taking drawing of them. It was astounding in its accuracy, except he had drawn them about five to ten miles closer. When Cuthbert glanced from the drawing back out to the herd, he thought for a moment that he was losing his mind--for it seemed that the bannock were that close after all. Cuthbert’s eyes had always been sharp so perhaps he should’ve questioned this lapse a little more, but he chalked it up to his eyes being tired from staring out the wide front window of the truck for hours on end. “Dandelo removed the erasers! I knew there had to be a reason for it! It was in his best interest. Wasn’t it, Patrick?”

“To see, Roland, what else?” Cuthbert said impatiently. Now that he understood what the boy had been trying to say, he was anxious for Patrick to get started. “He needs to get this drawing just right. Because drawing isn’t his only talent, he can also erase. Not just from the paper, but from existence. Isn’t that right, Patrick?”

Patrick nodded and reached once again for the instrument which Roland finally handed over. “Are you sure?” Roland asked. The fact that they had never tested this ability worried him. But it made a strange bit of sense. Roland had been invested with the power of drawing people into the universe. Was it so hard to believe that Patrick could draw things into existence with his sketchpad? And if he could draw, mayhap he could also erase. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Well, then we’re fucked,” Cuthbert said, laughing. “Let the boy try.”

Patrick nodded enthusiastically and once again pointed at Cuthbert’s bag. Cuthbert quickly pulled out what the boy needed and told Roland to give him the far-seeing tool.

-----------------

Patrick worked slowly, understanding that every line needed to be perfect. While he worked, the Crimson King periodically called out to them, trying to coax them into breaking cover. Cuthbert called back tauntingly and Roland shot the sneetches thrown their way.

When Patrick finally showed them the picture, they were astounded. They’d seen his work and had known his talent, but this was something else entirely. It looked as though the Crimson King was going to jump right off the page.

As amazing as the picture was, all three of them knew that something wasn’t quite right. 

“It’s the eyes,” Roland said. “Something with the eyes.”

Patrick nodded frantically. Yes, the eyes, he thought, but what’s wrong with them?

They sat there, staring at the drawing and trying to figure it out. The longer they sat, the more stressed they became. Roland felt his heart sink. He knew he wouldn’t be able to figure it out. The singing voices from the Tower were starting to get louder and he couldn’t think straight.

So close, Roland thought, To think we came all this way just to meet our deaths. 

Patrick pulled at his sleeve once again, and then pointed at the road. Pointing back the way they had come.

Roland shook his head wearily. “To retreat would do us no good, Pat. Once we break cover, he’ll use whatever else he has. He has something. I’m sure of it.”

“Yes,” Cuthbert agreed, “And whatever it is our weapons won’t be able to stop it.”

Patrick shook his head furiously. His hair flung back and forth with the force of it. He was helpless to do anything but keep pointing, frustrated that they weren’t getting him. He grabbed Cuthbert by the arm, tightening his grip until his fingernails pushed into the gunslingers flesh through his layers of clothing. He jabbed his fingers one again toward the road. Only, it wasn’t the road he was pointing at.

"The roses!" Cuthbert cried out as understanding washed over him, "Aye, of course! He is the Crimson King after all. Roland, he needs the red from the roses!"

Patrick nodded with tears in his eyes, grateful to finally be understood in this crucial moment.

"Bert, cover me!" Roland shouted and ran for the roses.

As he ran, he heard the approaching whine of another sneetch, but he wasn’t perturbed. His beloved was covering him and he trusted no one more with his life. Just a beat later, the sneetch was blown apart by Cuthbert’s bullet. 

Roland went to the closest rose, closed his bad hand around it and wrapped his good one on top. He started pulling frantically, thorns biting into his skin. With nothing to protect his hands from the rose, enormous pain washed over him, but paid it no heed. He pulled and pulled until the rose eventually came loose, roots and all, and then raced back to Patrick.

Once he handed the rose over to the boy, Cuthbert carefully took Roland's bad hand and examined it. Roland paid no attention to this; he was busy watching Patrick get to work on creating color for his drawing. He watched as Patrick placed some of the petals in his mouth, chewed them into paste, and spat the paste into his palm. 

"Oh, love, your poor hand," Cuthbert said.

Roland looked down to see that in addition to mangling his palm, the thorns had taken one of his remaining fingers (Eddie would later joke that Roland would forever "hang loose", referencing a hand gesture from his world).

"I'll live," Roland responded, starting to pull his hand away. "Stay focused on yon Red King, if it would please ya."

When Cuthbert relinquished his mutilated hand, Patrick took it. He swiped up some of the blood and mixed it into the rose-paste, creating the perfect shade for the Red King’s eyes.

They watched as Patrick filled in the eyes of his drawing, ever so delicately. Cuthbert found that he had to look away for a moment. With the red being added, the daemon looked a little too realistic for comfort. Once done, Patrick sat up straight with a confident look in his eye. Then, he broke into an enormous, sunny grin. This time, when Patrick showed them the picture, they knew it would work.

As if to confirm this, the Crimson King started screaming once again.

“WHAT’S THEE DOING? EEEEEEE! EEEEEEEE! STOP! IT BURNS! IT BURRRRNS! EEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Cuthbert produced the eraser and held it out to Patrick. “Go on, Patrick, make him gone. Stop his everlasting caterwauling. For he’s starting to get on my nerves, so he is.”

“Yes,” Roland said. “Make him gone.” And for a wonder, Patrick did.

When Patrick was finished, there was nothing left of The Crimson King but his eyes, both on page and in reality.

-----------------

They approached the Tower just before sunset, as Roland had always seen it in his dreams.

And even now, after all this time, it was difficult to resist the pull. He was grateful to have Cuthbert here, holding his good hand and reminding him of everything he gained by giving up his life’s goal. Everything he would lose if he gave in to temptation.

All he had to do was look at Cuthbert’s bright, smiling face to drive out the beguiling voices coming from the Tower. Cuthbert, he who was lost and then found. His beloved, his person, who now wore the Horn of Eld on his belt. As he had done before, for ka had come full circle. 

“It’s beautiful,” Cuthbert said.

“It’s awful,” Roland replied, trying desperately to believe his own words. “Let us take our leave and be done with it, for all times.” He turned and moved toward Patrick, who stood a few steps behind them.

“Wait,” Cuthbert said, “There’s something we need to do first.” He stepped closer, as close as he dared, and Roland, still holding his hand, came with him. The two of them walked among the roses, tethered to each other. As they walked, Cuthbert started to cry the names of their friends, loved ones, and ka-mates. 

“We come in the name of Robert Allgood, he of Gilead!

“We come in the name of Grace Allgood, she of Gilead!

“We come in the name of Aileen Ritter, she of Gilead!

“We come in the name of Cortland Andrus, he of Gilead!

“We come in the name of Alain Johns, he of Gilead!

“We come in the name of Thomas Whitman, he of Gilead!

“We come in the name of Wallace Vannay, he of Gilead!

“We come in the name of Abel Vannay the Wise, he of Gilead!

“We come in the name of Jamie DeCurry, he of Gilead!

“We come in the name of Sheemie Ruiz, he of Mejis!

“We come in the name of Patrick Danville, son of Sonia!

“I am Cuthbert of Gilead, and I come as myself!

From here, Roland picked up the calls without a moment’s hesitation.

“We come in the name of Steven Deschain, he of Gilead!

“We come in the name of Gabrielle Deschain, she of Gilead!

“We come in the name of Hax the Cook, he of Gilead!

“We come in the name of David the Hawk, he of Gilead and the sky!

“We come in the name of Susan Delgado, she of Mejis!

“We come in the name of Pere Callahan, he of Jerusalem’s Lot, and the roads!

“We come in the name of Ted Brautigan, he of America!

“We come in the name of Dinky Earnshaw, he of America!

“We come in the name of Aunt Talitha, she of River Crossing, and I will now lay her cross here, as I was bid!

“We come in the name of Stephen King, he of Maine!

“We come in the name of Oy, the brave, he of Mid-World!

“We come in the name of Eddie Dean, he of New York!

“We come in the name of Susannah Dean, she of New York!

“We come in the name of Jake Chambers, whom I call my own true son!

“I am Roland of Gilead, and I come as myself!

“We’ve come to honor those who were lost along the way,” Cuthbert said. “Those who sacrificed their lives so that we may make it here. And those who made sacrifices of their own. But, you won’t have us. This is our stand against purpose, against fate. Against ka.” Before anything else could happen, Cuthbert tightened his grasp on Roland’s hand, turned, and fled. He ran, laughing wildly and pulling his dear one helplessly along with him, back to where Patrick stood waiting. And did he stop then? Nay. He reached out, grabbed Patrick’s hand with his free one, and kept running.

-----------------         

Their journey back was much quicker than their trip out. The truck managed to take them all the way back to Tower Outpost 19, where they had originally parted ways with Stuttering Bill. They got out and found Bill at the outpost, doing maintenance on one of the vehicles. The robot was excited to see them and once again offered his help. The truck they were currently using was most likely used up, but he suggested they could switch vehicles. He offered up another truck, identical to the one they had been using. This truck, he told them, should be able to take them back the way they came. If not all the way, it would at least take them a great deal closer. Cuthbert, who had grown quite fond of the robot, offered to take him back to the Calla with them. Roland thought it was a good idea; it might be nice to have a good, friendly robot in the Calla. One that could be trusted. But alas, his programming did not allow him to go too far beyond his post.

-----------------

The truck eventually did stop working, but by then they were close enough that their trip home would only take a couple more days to walk. They didn’t bother trying to see if they could figure out a way to make it work again. They simply gathered their gunna, and resumed their journey on foot.

With them so close, Jake--who had been desperately trying to reach them through the touch-- was finally able to feel them, if only very faintly. He couldn’t tell exactly how far they were (or what state they were in), but he knew that they were both present and accounted for, which was enough to temporarily soothe his anxious mind. Neither one had been lost to the Tower, tell the Gods thankee.

-----------------

When Roland saw their family gathered on the edge of town, he surmised that someone must have seen them coming. In truth, Jake had felt them getting close and rounded up the family. In any case, Roland’s fatigue melted away at the sight of them and he quickened his pace. Cuthbert did the same.

They hastened over to where their family stood waiting, two little kiddies amongst them. Roland believed them to be the most beautiful children to have ever graced any plane of existence on any level of the Tower. Gloria and Moses. Twins, of course. What else could be expected? The wheel, in its perpetual motion, always comes back around.

Patrick, overwhelmed by the amount of people, had withdrawn. He moved to sit under a nearby tree, placing his sketchpad in front of him. Roland and Cuthbert wordlessly allowed him the space; introductions could be made later. And they would, because Patrick was now a part of their family.

Susannah sped over to them, faster than ever in the wheelchair recently gifted to her by the Sisters of Oriza. They worked together to construct it, using her old one as a model. Still fairly primitive, but it suited her needs just fine. She stopped in front of Roland and raised her arms to be lifted, to which Roland happily complied. She embraced him heartily and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She had been the most apprehensive about their trip, but had relented when they both assured her that neither would go too near, they only wanted to look. “So,” she whispered with a conspiring smile, “What did you see?” 

He looked to the side and saw Cuthbert and Eddie sharing their own embrace, Oy excitedly running in circles around them. Jake and Benny, each with one of the twins in their arms, stood anxiously waiting for their turns to greet them. He turned his eyes back to the beautiful, courageous woman he currently held in his arms. His own true daughter, brought by ka and secured by love. 

“Nothing that was worth a damn,” he responded with a smile, matching her conspiring tone. He was surprised to find that he meant every word. Cuthbert had been right (as he often was, Roland could admit). Having seen it and turned away from it, Roland felt no urge to go back. It felt as though a spell had been broken. He gave Susannah one last squeeze and placed her back down in her chair.

Next came Jake with Gloria in his arms. The bright, goofy grin on Jake’s face temporarily returned him to the kid of eleven that Roland had first met in the desert. Since that initial meeting, Jake had bravely faced many trials and hardships, much more than a kid his age should. Roland felt contrite about much of it, but he was never regretful that they had been brought together.

“Hile father,” Jake said, fist to forehead, trying to sound casual and missing it by a long shot. He’d missed them both too much.  

“Hile son,” Roland said. Then, dropping the formalities, he pulled his boy close and hugged him tightly, minding the sma’ one between them. 

“Boppa, Boppa!” Gloria babbled, reaching her chubby little hands towards Roland. At just under two years old, this was the closest she could get to ‘Papa’. 

Roland squeezed Jake once more and then took Gloria from him. Jake was happy to hand her over. It satisfied his heart to know that Roland had once again come back--had definitively chosen his family over the Tower. A small part of his mind, the part that stubbornly remembered Roland letting him drop in the mountains, had been nervous. But that was all over and he’d never have to wonder again where his father’s loyalties lie. There was one thing he was confused about, though. 

“Who’s the kid with the sketchpad?” Jake asked. He had seen him walking into town with them, but he’d actually been aware of him even before that. While reaching out for Roland and Cuthbert, he’d briefly touched the mind of the boy. He sensed that he could’ve established communication with him--he was strong in the touch, like Jake--but the kid was shy.

“That’s Patrick, we met him on our way. You’ll meet him in a little bit. He’s not used to seeing so many people,” Roland said. “And he’s no kid. I believe he’s older than you. As unfathomable as it is to me, you’re no kid either.” Roland looked down at Gloria and started gently bouncing her in his arms. Looking at her restored his hope for his world. This bah-bo would never have to go through tribulations such as those Jake and Patrick had gone through. With Susannah and Eddie for parents and Jake for an uncle, Gloria and Moses were just about the luckiest babbies in the world. 

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of his husband approaching.

“Let’s go see Papa,” Cuthbert cooed. Roland looked up to see Cuthbert, now with Moses in his arms, making his way over so that they could each greet the other twin. 

“Gramp!” Gloria screeched, reaching for Cuthbert. They carefully swapped twins. Once the babbies were satisfied with their greetings, they wanted to be put down to toddle freely in the grass.  

As he was putting Moses down, Roland felt something brush up against his leg. Roland smiled, knowing who had come to greet him. 

“Olan!”

Roland knelt down to face Oy. “Why, hello, Oy. It’s good to see you, fella,” He said, stroking the bumbler’s fur. As he was petting Oy, Eddie knelt down next to him.

“Glad you made it back, ol’ long tall and ugly,” Eddie said, and hugged his father. When he pulled away, he nodded his head toward the others. “Check out the newlyweds.”

After their initial greetings, Jake and Benny seemed to have fallen back into their own little world, as was typical. The newlyweds, Eddie had said, and Roland still thought of them as such, though they had been married for over two years now. Their wedding had been a joyous occasion for the whole town. One of their own had been getting married to a gunslinger--one from the very group that helped free their town from a vicious cycle, saving their kiddies from unthinkable horrors. If anyone had had a negative word to say about it, they were drowned out by the enthusiastic support.

To come back to such a wonderful group of beings replenished Roland’s soul. And the fact that Susannah and Eddie not only allowed, but actually encouraged their children to regard both Roland and Cuthbert as grandparents? Never did he think a life could be so fulfilling.

Roland and Cuthbert’s eyes met over the group of their gathered loved ones. Roland could tell from the look on his husband’s face that they were thinking the same thoughts. That this life was more than the likes of them deserved, but they would not let that stop them from enjoying it. When Roland first started his quest--the true start, in the desert--he never could’ve predicted where his life would end up. Somehow, with the odds stacked against him, he wound up with three strong, brave people who regarded him as father, two wonderful grandchildren, a loving and fiercely protective billy-bumbler, and a beautiful husband who he endlessly adored. They’d never had a wedding, but in these days, ceremonies weren’t necessary. Let the young ones have all the joy of such occasions. For them, it was enough to express their devotion through small, every-day gestures. They had both been to Na’ar and back and knew that their love would withstand anything.

All thoughts of the Dark Tower dissolved from Roland’s mind, never to return. For nothing the Tower had to offer could have compared to this. Never in life.