#the strangest things happen in the quiet towns

[ostaramoon]

TIMELOOP ― breaking down at daybreak diner 𖤐 dean winchester

【 pairing 】 dean x fem!reader 【 summary 】 Dean is stuck in a time loop, and it doesn’t take long for him to notice someone else is stuck in here, too. He figures if he wants out of the endless Wednesdays, you’ve gotta be the key. He’s just not sure why. As for you, despite the absurdity of timeloops and the trickster god Dean keeps swearing to gank, a few Wednesdays with this man isn’t the worst thing that could happen.  【 cw 】 slow burn, part 1 won’t include anything besides explicit language but as always mdni, 18+ as the series will progress to that  【 wordcount 】 1.4k

Dean was pissed off and hungry, the cherry on top of the shit pie he’s been eating for the past three Wednesdays in a row. He knew it the moment he woke up the second day, but stubbornly tried to just not believe it was actually happening. Today, however, it was clear he really was living the same day over and over again. Better yet, Sam was two towns over at the nearest college researching with some professor for the case they originally came here for. In yesterday's frustrations he discovered not only that his phone didn’t work, but he couldn’t leave this town either. Three hours spent speeding along back roads just to be warped back into town, at the same random, quiet neighborhood street each time. 

 Wherever that trickster god was, hiding and delighting in Dean’s frustration, would have a world of wrath to deal with once Dean found him.

Sitting in a booth at Daybreak Diner, he watched everyone move in the same patterns as the days before. Old guy knocking over a cup of coffee, the couple in the corner laughing obnoxiously, a cook calling out ‘order up’.

That is until an abnormality rings throughout the diner. The bell chimes, at 8:36am. That was not part of the pattern. His grumpy eyes dart to the entrance, watching carefully as you rush through the diner. 

“I’m so sorry I'm late, Bets,” you sigh to another waitress, “I’ve been having the strangest morning.” 

For the past three days you have followed the same script, quietly taking orders with a sweet smile. He had certainly noticed you, in fact the only part of this mess he enjoyed was that he got to flirt with you twice and still got the same coy smile each time. 

He watches as you frantically tuck loose strands of hair behind your ears, quickly pin your name tag to the little dark blue dress uniform that matched the other waitresses. The way it fit snug against your body did not go unnoticed by Dean. 

None of this should be happening, he thought. When your eyes finally lifted, you caught his stare and he quickly diverted, focusing on the plate of half eaten food in front of him. A moment later, you were standing at his table with your little notepad and pen. 

“Can I get you anything?” You ask, voice sounding more meek than it did yesterday. 

“No,” he starts, clearing his throat, “I, uh, I thought you were working over there today.” He nods towards the opposite side of the diner. 

“I do, I mean, Wednesdays I take that side but today I’m over here. I’m always over here on Thursdays.” Your brows knit together, assessing the man, “I don’t remember telling you that yesterday, though.” 

So she does remember, he thought to himself and a wave of relief ripples through his body. The feeling quickly turns cold as he realizes that means whoever this poor girl is, she’s caught the eye of the trickster god. Now, Dean’s rage is turning white hot considering whatever perverse scheme she’s falling victim to. 

“No, you didn’t.” He answers curtly, “but I think you’ve noticed something’s off about today.” 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and pray that what you’re about to say doesn’t make you sound insane. You slip into the booth across from Dean, leaning across the table so no one can overhear your conversation. 

“I think I am losing my mind,” you start with big scared eyes, “I swear on my life I am reliving Wednesday. I didn’t notice until the radio station started talking about the weather and shit for ‘this beautiful Wednesday, best autumn day we’ve had all season’ which I heard them say—verbatim—yesterday.” you drop your head into your hands.

Dean goes to respond, to assure you that you are not losing your mind, when you cut him off with a loud huff. “I shook that off thinking I must still be asleep or something but then,” your eyes manage to grow wider, and Dean takes note of how you’re able to be both cute and completely wigged out of your mind, “I go outside to see my car with a flat tire that I literally just got fixed yesterday.” You pause long enough for Dean to raise his eyebrows and stare with disbelief, you really are stuck here with him. 

“Great,” you groan, “you think I’m losing my mind—  hell I think I’m losing it.” 

“No, you’re not. Actually the truth is probably worse than having a few screws loose.” He chuckles, quickly clearing his throat and wiping away that smile as your face contorts between bewilderment and horror. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” you squeak, suddenly feeling clammy and hot. 

“It means,” he strains, “you’re stuck in a time loop. Living the same day over and over, crafty work of a little bitch in the trickster god variety. At least that’s the only monster I know of that has the kinda juice to pull this sorta thing.” 

You stare blankly into the green eyes before you, reading his face, waiting for that handsome smile and some weird punch line. But he just returns your blank look, completely unphased by the absolute nonsense he’s just rambled out. He swallows uncomfortably, “You’re still breathing, right?” he tries, worry lacing his strong features. 

Slowly, you nod your head. It doesn’t make sense. It sounds like magic, or the work of fiction, but you’re also not quite sure how else to explain what’s happening. 

“Sweetheart,” Dean coos, “you’re kinda scaring me here, say something to me. Something, anything.” He’s used to giving the talk to civilians, it’s part of the job after all. But in all his years of navigating this world, nothing comes close to being trapped in a time loop, stuck within a set of coordinates, with a pretty girl who looks as if she’s about to pass out.  

“Trick-er god? Monster? And time loop?” Now your head was starting to hurt, working to wrap logic around the situation, “Wait, yesterday you said you were an fbi agent, is this what the government is doing?” 

Dean’s heart drops, completely forgetting he had mentioned that when flirting his way to getting your number on a napkin. “Right,” he laughs uncomfortably, “about that, I’m not. I’m a hunter. I hunt things, monsters, that do things like this to people like you.” 

A sort of relief hits you, wrangling with the fear of this newfound knowledge. If there is anyone to get stuck in a time loop with, surely someone who takes care of these sorts of things, isn’t the worst scenario. 

“Okay,” you nod, “So there are monsters. One of which is doing all of this,” you motion a circle in the air, “and you’re the kinda guy who fixes it. And lies about being a federal agent, for some reason.” You recount with a furrowed brow. 

“Uh huh,” he smiles, “so, don’t you worry, I’ll get us out of this.” With that Dean stands from the booth, dropping a few bills on the table.

“Wait, where are you going?” You ask, quickly leaving the booth. 

He looks down at you, “To go gank the son of a bitch that’s doing all this. Gotta find him first though.” Dean sighs. 

“Well, I’m going with you.” You assure. A smile tugs at his lips, while he wouldn’t mind spending more time watching you stumble your way through understanding his world, he’d never jeopardize the safety of someone with absolutely zero awareness of what kind of danger comes with hunting. 

“No way,” he shakes his head, a large hand reaching up to pat your head, “a pretty thing like you has no business around monsters and weapons. Stay alive for one last Wednesday and by tomorrow you’ll be back to your regularly scheduled life.” 

“Nuh, uh,” you press, swatting away his hand, “what if the god thing comes here when you leave, huh? Are you really gonna leave me alone and defenseless in this little diner?” Your doe eyes bat up at him, silently pleading that he doesn’t leave you on your own. 

He can’t deny you raise a good point. If you’re in his sights, there’s less of a chance the trickster might try to use your life as leverage. Besides, he can always cuff you to the steering wheel if he really needs to. Finally, Dean sighs, “Fine. But you do as I say, no questions asked, got it?” 

A bright smile breaks across your face, sending jolts straight into Dean’s chest. Great, as if he hasn’t got enough to worry about with hunting down the god, he’s gotta ignore the incredibly distracting feelings you seem to spark with just a pretty smile. 

[bgc-592]

New Chronicles!

The newest chapter of The Mange Chronicles is ready! Give it a read!

Chapter 3: SV, AO3

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Howling Moon (werewolf!bucky)

Summary: you find out Bucky's a werewolf.

WC:920ish

Warnings: angst, fluff if you squint hard enough, werewolf!bucky

Read on Ao3!

-

The forest was alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant howls, the moon casting a silvery glow that turned the world into a dreamscape. You always loved the woods, but tonight felt different—charged with an energy you couldn't quite place.

As you walked deeper, your thoughts drifted to him. Bucky Barnes. The quiet guy from town, whose brooding demeanor held secrets you yearned to uncover. Rumors swirled about him, whispers of something otherworldly. Yet, the mystery only drew you closer.

Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the trees, making you pause. You felt a rush of adrenaline, but it was swiftly replaced by a comforting presence. There was Bucky, emerging from the shadows, his blue eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“Hey,” you said, heart racing. “What are you doing out here?”

He stepped closer, the tension palpable. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I needed to think,” you replied, searching his gaze for answers. “I’ve been hearing... stories. There’s wolves around these parts, or so I’ve heard. Been wondering what they look like, how they attack their prey. Or if they even exist in these lands.”

“It’s not safe for you to be out here by yourself,” he titled his head to the left as he looked at you. “I think you should go back to the village.”

You thought it strange how he ignored your statement. “Bucky, why are you-” you cut off as a howl echoed through the woods surrounding you. Just as you turned around to gaze into the thicket of trees, you felt a searing pain in your shoulder as sharp canines sank into your skin.

The next morning, you were laid up in your own bed at home, covered under your duvet, warm from the night. You’d laid there for a moment, thinking about the night previous, yet, you could hardly remember much. Didn’t i meet with someone? 

Just then, you heard a knock on your doorframe and glanced up, seeing your best friend,  Bucky, leaning against he doorframe, looking absolutely exhausted. His hair unkempt, his exposed arms covered in bruises. What the hell happened? 

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, unnaturally nervous, eyeing you with caution and concern. “You were out cold when I found you out in the forest.”

“Bucky, i had the strangest dream,” you whispered, sitting up against your headboard and beckoning him inside the room.

He tensed for a moment before walking over to you, his body stiff as you reached out to him, tracing your fingers along the random scratches and bruises he’d acquired the night before. 

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, though his focus didn’t seem to be on you.

“Do you think werewolves exist in the forest?” you asked quietly, as though speaking louder would attract unwanted wolves to barge into your small cottage.

“Anything’s possible, sweetheart,” he frowned. You didn’t miss the worried looks he threw at you as his eyes finally grazed down your body. He knew what he’d done last night. And he damn sure knew you would shout to the villagers of his disease.

“I had a dream - you were there- and-” you coughed out for a moment, grabbing at your midriff as pain shot up from one of the many injuries you had splattered across your body. “- and then everything went black and I woke up.”

“I-” he started, afraid to admit anything to you, afraid that you would hate him for hurting you.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” you whispered, acknowledging his behavior. “One of those monsters that keep attacking the villagers every month? Bucky, how? How could i have been so foolish as to not figure this out sooner?”

He flinched as though you had gone to strike him in the face.

“Bucky, tell me.”

“You already know the truth,” he whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat as he pulled away from your touch, standing in the far corner of the room. “I wanted you time and time again not to frolic through the woods late at night. I warned you of the dangers of it.”

“I’m not going to run and tell the town crier, if that’s what you think of me, Bucky,” you frowned. The way he kept flinching as you spoke broke your heart.

"I just need you to be okay," you patted the empty space he'd just vacated. "Come here."

"You were never supposed to know."

Your heart ached for him, the weight of his past hanging heavy in the air as he returned back to the bed. “You’re not a monster, Bucky. You’re still you.”

His eyes met yours, searching, as if he was trying to determine whether you could handle the truth. “What if I can’t control it? What if I hurt someone else? What if I kill you?”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” you said softly, stepping closer. “You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He let out a shaky breath, tension easing just a fraction. “You’re brave, you know that?”

“Maybe just stubborn,” you replied with a small smile, hoping to lighten the moment. “Or maybe I just see the real you.”

"I don't deserve your forgiveness," he said, eyes surveying the damage he'd done to you. He let out a soft whimper as he finally assessed the damage he caused, partially large bruise across your shoulder into your collarbone.

Without saying anything else, you removed the duvet from your body and leaned forward, pulling him in for a deep hug. "I will always care about you, Bucky."

-

tags!

EVERYTHING PERM: @nekoannie-chan @kjs-s @notyourtypicalrose @mistressofallthingsgeeky

MARVEL PERM: @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @late-to-the-party-81 @capsthot @kenzieam @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes

[big-ass-magnet]

Bill would have made a great old-school Heterodyne, apparently.

Can you imagine if Teodora had failed? If Bill was the very good Heterodyne he was always meant to be?

(He did try, really he did, out of affection for his mother if nothing else, but then Father would always come striding in and shout first one to the torture room gets to throw the knife switch! and what kind of ten year old would be able to sit and listen to lectures on compassion in the face of such temptation?)

The Heterodyne Boys are the terrors of Europa, riding into battle side-by-side. The last thing many a terrified innocent sees is the boys giving their victorious thumbs up, just as the fire comes raining down.

Bill would still fall for Lucrezia, but instead of trying to turn her to the side of Good, he is enthralled by her evil and she by his strength and power. Love is as blinding to the Evil as it is to the Good, and he doesn't see her for what she is, even when the rest of the town does.

(Not that anyone is more likely to tell an Evil Bill his wife is the bad kind of crazy, not when he'd react with less "quiet disapproval" and more "catapult you into the sun".)

Lucrezia is still Lucrezia and she craves control and power and dominance and she would probably be driven up the wall by her darling ruthless William allowing the Castle and the Jägers and the seneschal to snark and argue and this town is supposed to be slavishly loyal; where is the blind obedience, where is the trembling deference?

The "Other" attack still happens. Bill is still driven half-mad by grief. (Or perhaps half-sane.) Bill swears bloody revenge, Bill is going to find the Spark who did this and wipe them from existence.

And then the strangest thing happens.

Suddenly, the Heterodyne riding in at the head of a Jäger horde means a rescue. It means an unstoppable army beating back against the revenants, and while they're hardly going to help you pick up the pieces and rebuild afterwards, you know you're going to live.

(The first time they arrive at a besieged town to cheers instead of screams, the Heterodynes and Jägers react like feral cats being offered bowls of wet food--they don't not like it, but they're skittish and wary and will maybe hide under a dumpster for a few minutes until you go away.)

And then one day the Jägers come home, sans Heterodynes. The masters have gone where they cannot follow, and no one is sure when or even if they will be coming back.

Their work during the Other War has won Mechanicsburg enough good will that no one immediately went steamrolling over them when the boys vanished, but they've all spent the last few years since Bill and Barry disappeared holding very very still and being very very quiet, hoping no one remembers that they're still there. Sooner or later, they're going to have to go to this new Wulfenbach Empire for help.

AND HOO BOY DOES KLAUS HAVE HIS WORK CUT OUT FOR HIM. At least in canon, Bill and Barry had done the big stuff already and Klaus was (correctly or not) only concerned with rehabilitating the Jägers.

To reuse the metaphor, Klaus has to take an abandoned building housing an entire colony of feral cats and turn it into a cat cafe.

[greenandsorrow]

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> I know Ch1 was a bit on the shorter side, but hopefully this one is pleasantly chunky to make up for it! I kept the whole back-and-forth-in-time narration and just know, if something doesn't make perfect sense, it is because the right flashback hasn't been unlocked yet.

-> ⚠️Arachnophobia & cockroaches⚠️

-> Pennywise the Dancing Clown: A trans-dimensional entity that shapeshifts and feeds on the fear -and sometimes the flesh- of kids and animals. IT hibernates for 25 to 27 years, then wakes up for 12 to 16 months, manipulating reality and slipping past the notice of adults.

Listen to: Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd

~ 2 ~

1979 Derry, Maine

The summer had been full of laughter and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy. But eventually, even the last bits of August's warmth vanished.

September came, and with it, the day he took you.

It was raining as you walked home from what was only your third day of school and you obviously had to drop your book near a sewer. When you bent down to pick it up -fingers brushing against the damp pages- a white-gloved hand gripped your wrist... a hand so large that it made your arm feel like a fragile twig in its grasp.

The next thing you knew? You woke up in a dirty bed, in a place you immediately recognized... As the house on Neibolt Street. Your clothes were still wet and your hair tangled. You were shivering from both hunger and cold. You wanted to cry, but somehow a quiet certainty washed over you -this was Pennywise the Clown's doing and crying wouldn't help.

Your memories from those three months are a scattered mess.

Random moments, fragmented images, bits of conversation. You remember the feelings more than the events themselves -fear, confusion, the gnawing of hunger. You were missing for three months -from September to November- and strangest of all, no one remembers anything from that time. Not even your parents. They struggle to recall anything from that period, as if the whole town forgot you were ever gone.

But you remember. You remember him. And you remember how -against all odds- you formed an unlikely connection with the murderous clown. It's the strangest thing to admit... that you and Pennywise became friends. Or something close to it. There's no clear beginning or end. You knew he was dangerous. You even had dreams of his encounters with other kids, past victims taken without hesitation... and you assumed you'd eventually share their fate.

And yet… for some reason, he kept you alive.

You don't know what made you different in his eyes, but you remember trying everything you could to survive, using all the desperate, unconventional tactics you could think of.

Most of your time was spent in that single room on the upper floor. Leaving it was unthinkable -even going near the door to see if it was locked was off-limits. You can never forget the horrors he put you through, the tricks he used just to draw out your fear. He fed on it, drank it down like a drug. By the time you figured out how to 'speak his language', he was already intoxicated by your terror.

The room would plunge into darkness and you'd hear the sickening rustle of insects in the walls, crawling through the floorboards. Once, a cockroach the size of a cat came skittering toward you, its legs scraping against the floor as it moved and you had nowhere to run, no escape whatsoever. That fear... it's still as clear as if it happened yesterday and not five years ago. The kind of fear that makes you want to vanish, to just stop existing altogether, if it meant escaping the dread. Maybe that was why he kept you alive, letting you drown in despair just to savor the depths of your fear.

One night, you felt the darkness creeping in again, wrapping around the room. By then, even the hint of that darkness was enough to make your heart pound, your throat tighten with a scream. But this time, something inside you resisted. Out of nowhere you spoke, surprising even yourself. You kept your voice steady, holding on to the last scraps of courage you had left.

"Let' play a game for a change."

That sentence... Not only did it save your life... It did more than just that... In the silence that followed, you could feel a shift, as if Pennywise was startled, intrigued. And for the first time, you weren't just his prey. You'd given him a challenge, a reason to hesitate.

You can't pinpoint exactly when and how the game began, but somehow, it turned into a routine between you and him, something to break the silence and stop the nightmares he forced on you. Games of endurance, little moments that made you feel as though you had found a way to speak his twisted language. You never felt safe, but you found moments of calm within the storm -a fragile bond, even if it was born out of fear and survival.

And somehow, through the darkness, you learned how to play along.

At first, the games were simple -things he thought would amuse him, or confuse you. He'd ask you riddles with no answer or have you sit perfectly still in the darkness while he circled around you, close enough that you could feel the cold presence of him, of IT. You'd sit there barely breathing, trying not to flinch as his sniffing nose brushed against your skin. Other times, he'd vanish for hours, leaving you alone with nothing but the fear he'd return at any moment. And sometimes, he'd appear suddenly, his face inches from yours, his glowing eyes watching your every reaction.

But as time went on, you learned how to keep yourself steady. You refused to cry, no matter how badly you wanted to. Instead, you'd lock eyes with him, hiding the tremors running through your body. Slowly, you began to play back. You'd smile when he tried to scare you, a shaky but also defiant smile that told him you weren't giving in. The more you resisted, the more intrigued the monster seemed.

It was another night, his darkness enveloping the room as always, when you spoke up once more -this time a little bolder.

"If I win this game" you whispered "I get to ask a question."

The idea of bargaining with Pennywise felt more than reckless, but you genuinely believed it would pique his childish curiosity. Luckily, you were right. He cocked his enormous head to the side, eyes gleaming with a dangerous interest... and then, he agreed. So, the next time he asked you a riddle, you tried your hardest to solve it. When you finally managed an answer that made him pause, he leaned in close, his smile both pleased and intimidating.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, voice dripping with mockery.

And in that moment, with your heart racing, you asked something simple... "Why me?"

For a split second his expression faltered, his smug smile wavering. But then he regained himself, his grin as sharp as a blade with all the rows of teeth on display... -a predator reasserting dominance. "Because you're more fun than the others!"

And even though it wasn't a real answer, it told you something: he'd chosen you. He decided to keep you with him -in that forsaken house- because you had made yourself valuable to him.

As days turned into weeks, you found more ways to play, more ways to survive. You began to notice things, minor details -how your captor's mood would shift depending on your reactions, how his games became stranger and more complex, almost as if he was testing you, pushing you to find out how much you could take. And though you were still terrified, you also found an odd, unsettling familiarity and comfort in the routine.

In a way, you became his entertainment. But in that game, through the exchange of fear and defiance, you began to feel something else... a quiet sense of control. You were no longer just a victim, you would become something more than just his prey.

You were his game -his fixation- the one he couldn't bear to let go.

There was a childishness to that fixation, a kind of possessiveness that was both stubborn and petulant, like a child refusing to share their toy. Its ageless wisdom knew you were only human -fleeting and fragile- ...but the clown within -with all its childish impulses- clung to you fiercely, not out of love but a selfish and consuming need. You were his and he would not let you go.

1984 Derry, Maine

Lately, when you wake up, you aren't sure if it was a dream or something else. You think you've heard his laugh somewhere, drifting through your bedroom window, or that you've caught a glimpse of that red balloon floating just beyond your line of sight...

It's as if he's still there, waiting for the right moment to step back into your life.

You can't even go about your business without any unpleasant reminders, not when the house on Neibolt Street looms so ominously just by the side of road... The very place you were a prisoner in, not so long ago. Its once-vibrant paint is now peeling. Weeds overrun the pathway leading to the front door and the windows, shrouded in dust and grime, seem to watch you with a knowing gaze. A crooked picket fence surrounds the property, each slap splintered and rough. The house stands as a relic of the past, a place where laughter has long since faded, replaced by sinister whispers.

The only reminder that your time there was real -and not just another vivid dream- are the now withered sunflowers in the abandoned house's backyard, with petals curling inward like they're guarding some secret. You can still picture them the way they once were, bright and strangely out of place amidst all the rot and ruin. A strange gift It had given you that is now an odd echo of something lost and almost tender.

But without you, they couldn't survive. And since the day you parted ways -you can't recall it clearly, but It can- each dry stem and each papery petal became a reminder of how the time you spent together is now just a blurry childhood memory.

Even though it's the beginning of June, the sky today hangs low and gray with the promise of rain, but none of you minded. You've all been through worse than a little weather, than a little summer rain.

Bev is telling a story -something about a dog chasing her on her way home yesterday. She's animated and her voice is alive with mischief, making the boys laugh. You glance over at Bill, who smiles too, though his eyes seem distant. Since Georgie his laughter has become softer, but he is still here carrying on as best he can.

Eddie is walking a little faster than usual, in order to avoid any puddles on the ground, muttering complaints about germs and mud. Richie -in typical fashion- is making a point of splashing through the puddles, a grin plastered on his face while he aims for the ones closest to Eddie.

"Real mature, trashmouth..." Eddie huffs, leaping out of the way as Richie drenches him anyway. Richie just cackles, throwing an arm around Eddie's shoulders.

Ben stays behind, as always, watching everyone with that gentle smile of his. Every so often, he looks over at you and gives a nod, like you both share a silent understanding. Then there is Stan, walking right beside you, his eyes flicking toward the shadows cast by the trees and the buildings. The faintest hint of concern is lingering in his gaze. And just behind you, Mike walks with his usual calm, carrying a worn backpack over one shoulder. He's glancing around too, as if he's looking out for all of you. There's a maturity in Mike's presence, something that makes you feel a little more secure.

It feels good, being with them. Safe even. But something darker is hiding under your steady demeanor.

As the group turns to a corner, you feel your footsteps falter for just a moment. Your mind drifts back to five years ago, to coming home from your third day of school, to how it was raining, to the chilling grip of that white-gloved hand and that knowing, too-wide smile.

Despite the uncomfortable memories you already carry, you feel like there's even more to those three months and it troubles you so much that you can't remember! Still, you snap out off quickly, giving a forced smile to match the others.

But Bev notices.

She nudges you with a playful grin. "Hey, where'd you go just now?"

"Oh, nowhere" you reply lightly. "Just zoned out..."

She looks at you for a second -smart eyes searching- but then she lets it go. You see her pull her jacket tighter around herself as the wind picks up.

Bill also shoots a suspicious glance your way.

You are experiencing a strange mix of nostalgia and resolve these days. Watching as your friends scatter about, laughing and bumping into each other, makes you almost forget... almost.

You hate how, when you are on your own, you catch yourself thinking about him -not in the way you did when you were twelve though, when he was both a fear and a strange comfort. You're seventeen now, too old for childhood monsters.

As you look at your friends, you make a silent promise -to keep growing up, to keep moving forward. But you also know that somewhere deep down, you're still holding on... just in case...

Pennywise's POV 🎈

Somewhere deep within Derry, It stirs. Time doesn't flow the same for the entity... It's all an endless, pulsing hunger.

Pennywise drifts in a half-sleep. His mind slips in and out of dreams of hunger, of playthings. But every so often, his thoughts linger on a small, stubborn memory -you.

The clown hasn't forgotten the girl from all those years ago, the one who looked him in the eye and dared to challenge him. There's a bitter edge to the memory, a childish irritation mixed with a twisted sort of pride. He senses you, a spark amongst all the dull lights that always come and go. The spark has dimmed though, grown older.

That tiny defiant light... It's flickering from somewhere far above. His fingers twitch as if reaching for something that isn't there, something just out of grasp. In the silence, he feels an ache he can't quite name, a hollow that shouldn't exist.

He wakes up.

Pennywise tells himself you're only another meal he's waiting to finish. But something feels different this time, something that gnaws at him. He almost wants to see you again -not just stalk you from afar.

His amber glare is sharp as he considers something. You may try to move on and to forget, but he's patient. He always has been.

Still, you should remember everything. He had taken you, kept you, woven fear into you, put himself into your nightmares. But that delicate and defiant part of you that he once held so close... has faded. Your memories have blurred as you've grown older -and continue doing so!

You are drifting away from the child he once played with.

He doesn't understand why it bothers him. He's supposed to haunt and consume. However, this strange sadness, this fading connection... feels like a loss he can't name.

The memory of you -so small but refusing to cry when he loomed over you- is slipping away like sand between his fingers.

It lets out a low growl, feeling like a child being denied his favorite toy. You're growing up, moving past the games he had made just for you. And worst of all, you have started to forget.

It's as if his laughter and tricks were no more than passing dreams to you, fading away each time you turn your gaze toward the sun.

With an almost petulant tilt of his head, Pennywise glares into the empty dark, like a creature yearning to reclaim what he thinks of as his.

The world feels empty without you here.

He wants you to remember every little thing -to keep him alive in the corners of your mind, not let him drift away like some silly story.

The thought twists something deep in his core, his sharp teeth baring as a low, frustrated whine escapes him.

How could you forget him, when he remembers you so clearly?

masterpost☁️

Would you like to help a struggling uni student? Support me here-> PayPal link ❤️

You can always ask to be tagged :)

Tags; @satubby @sketchist-art @urdeftonesgrrrl

[saras-almanac]

BuckTommyWeekend Day 2: A figure from their past

BuckTommyWeekend Day 2: A figure from their past

Title:  What we have

Fandom:  911 (ABC)

Pairing:  Buck/Tommy

Summary:  Buck had complicated feelings after they run into Abby. Luckily, Tommy is there to comfort him. For the prompt: A figure from their past for @bucktommyweek

Notes: I have a lot of thoughts about Abby and her relationship with Buck (plus just thoughts on her character in general). And this is a part of something much longer I’d written but it was just bits and pieces—the meeting, the aftermath, Tommy talking with Athena or Maddie, this scene—just too much going on and too much to write in a day when my brain was still coming up with the actual idea for this. So this is what I’ve got.  

Tommy hadn’t thought much of this meeting Abby at the time. Apparently she was in town for some meeting or other for one of her stepdaughters and him and Evan had happened to run into her as they were leaving the restaurant they had brunch at.

Evan had gotten a bit quiet but smiled and politely introduced him as “This is Tommy,” before Abby started telling him about her life. It was about three minutes of a quick catch up before Evan and him continued on their way out and honestly, Tommy hadn’t thought it was strange.

But now It’s been over a week since he’d last seen Evan and he was trying not to worry or get caught up in his own head about what this all might mean. He was off today, so maybe Tommy could convince him to meet up for lunch or at least just talk later today.

Thankfully the doorbell rang at that moment, pulling Tommy out of his potential spiral.

He opened the door and there stood Evan, holding two coffees and a bag of food.

“I brought coffee and burritos,” Evan said.

Tommy ushered him in and followed him to the kitchen. “It’s been a minute. But I’m happy to see you.”

“Me too.” Evan set everything on the counter, dropping his duffel on the floor, and then turned to him, basically wrapping himself around Tommy.

“Is everything all right?”” Tommy asked.

“Yes,” Evan said. “I mean, it’s getting there?”

“Would you want to tell me about what you’re thinking about?” Tommy asked, pulling away and gently pushing Evan toward the stool by his counter. “While you eat a little something.”

Evan sat down but made no move toward his food. He sighed. “I told you about Abby. My ex. The one we ran into a couple weeks ago.”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah. I mean, a little.”

“Right, well seeing her sort of threw me off—Not because I’m dating you or freaking out about my bisexuality and stuff,” Evan rushed to reassure him. “It just… I guess it just brought a lot of old feelings, things that trigged some old insecurities. And I wasn’t expecting it. I mean, it’s been years and looking back, it’s not even like we were really together together so I don’t know really what happened.”

“Feelings can be surprising,” Tommy said. “They come back around in the strangest ways sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Evan said. “But I don’t even think about her anymore. I don’t. I’m not like in love with her or want her back or anything--I swear.”

“I didn’t think you did, but thank you for the reassurance,” Tommy said. “Seeing people who used to play a big part in our lives brings up a lot of emotions. And that’s okay.”  

“That’s what Dr. Copeland said too,” Evan said shaking his head. “I called her because it just triggered a lot of feelings, feelings of insecurity that I thought I’d dealt with. But when you come face-to-face with your biggest failure those feelings can come back.”

“You and Abby not working out is not a failure,” Tommy said.

“I know that. Now,” Evan said. “But it’s what happened when I saw her again. It was my first relationship where I did everything right. I followed everyone’s advice, everyone’s ideas, followed Abby’s lead. I did everything I was supposed to. And she left anyway. Which, I don’t have to tell you made me panic and worry about you, about us.”

“Well, I’d argue that we haven’t’ done anything right in the way that other people would have it or do it,” Tommy said, nudging Evan with his shoulder. “But I also can’t’ say that we’ve done nothing right because a look where we are, what we have.”

“That’s what I realized,” Evan admitted. “At least part of it.”

“What’s the other part?” Tommy asked.

“So it’s like this,” Evan said, amping up and already starting to gesture with his hands. “I think I thought so highly of Abby for so long, right? She was this woman who was mature and knew what she wanted and had a whole life and still wanted me; it’s like she made me better or at least want to be a better man. And after she left, I was terrified that she’d taken that part of me with her, the mature Buck, the guy who was dependable and worthy.”

Tommy clenched his jaw because he hated hearing Evan talk about himself in terms of worthiness or usefulness. Granted, it was a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, but Tommy usually operated under a “do as I say, not as I do” policy.

“And seeing her again, seeing her with you just put so much into perspective for me,” Evan said. “I always thought of her as my first real relationship, but seeing her next to you, knowing what we have, how you treat me, it finally dawned on me that we didn’t have a relationship. Or we did, but like not the one I wanted, the one I thought we had.”

Tommy gently moved the coffees out of the way. “And what was that?”

“I thought we had this amazing relationship where we could be ourselves, someone I could share myself with and someone who wanted that too,” Evan said. “But I think I was just a physical presence for her during a hard time in her life. Someone who was there, who helped shoulder some of the weight, and then someone she just left behind because I didn’t matter to her. Not like I wanted to.”

Evan sighed. “And then I just saw her standing next to you and couldn’t help but think about all the things you know about me, the things you like about me, and I realized that she never really knew me at all.”

“It doesn’t sound like she did,” Tommy said gently, carefully. “Because if she had, I doubt she’d have been able to leave.”

“See and that,” Evan said, reaching over to grab Tommy’s hand. “You’d never do that to me. To anyone really. You’d never just take off, knowing you were done with me, without telling me. Yeah, it would crush me to lose you, but you’d still at least tell me. You wouldn’t leave me hanging on, waiting for any words of our future when you had no plans to come back.”

Evan squeezed his hand between both of his. “I just, I love you so much and I feel so lucky to have you in my life that sometimes I panic that I’m not quite good enough for you. And I want to be.”

Tommy reached out, cradling Evan’s cheek in his hand. “You are good enough. You’re more than good enough for me.”

“Even when I’m having a crisis and stupidly keep myself from you for 12 days?” Evan asked.

“Even then,” Tommy assured him, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Alone on Christmas

1986 wasn't kind to Wayne Munson, even after the strange phenomena following the earthquake settled down and life slowly returned to Hawkins. It didn't matter where he was, if the house was new, if the street was vastly different from the trailer park - he would still see Eddie standing in his kitchen, boiling water for any leftover tea bags they had because the heating wasn't exactly willing and they would wrestle for the last pair of clean warm socks. He would catch a glimpse of a head of dark curls outside and lose his breath, his mind conjuring up an image of his nephew's mischievous grin before it dissolved, revealing a foreign face. A song on the radio that Eddie loved and used to blast throughout the trailer, a leather jacket in a shop window, a forgotten poster calling for Eddie's lynching...the town was unforgiving, even if there was nothing to forgive. Any grieving was difficult, Wayne was no stranger to it, but grieving while not being to talk about who you missed because people refused to believe the person Eddie was...it was a new and imaginative kind of torture. Wayne wasn't a social creature, but he'd never felt so utterly and thoroughly alone.

And if the year itself was painful, Wayne's first Christmas without Eddie hurt beyond belief. The traditions made no sense with Eddie gone, just empty gestures, sparkle with nothing underneath. Of course, Wayne knew that Eddie would have wanted him to celebrate, the boy was kind and ridiculously fond of Christmas even at his age. But even after the kid from Eddie's club, Dustin Henderson, visited Wayne and kept him company before excusing himself for a Christmas dinner with his mother, Wayne just couldn't conjure up a single spark of the festive spirit. After fighting to keep down two mouthfuls of store bought turkey and leaving his hot chocolate untouched long enough to go cold, he gave up. Grabbing his jacket and car keys, Wayne walked out of the door.

He didn't exactly plan where to go, but his body had known the destination long before his brain did. The drive itself was a blur and yeah, it wasn't really safe, the streets of Hawkins were covered with snow and it was already dark, but everyone who had something to live for was inside, sharing food and laughter, so the town might have looked deserted had it not been for the twinkling lights in the windows.

As for Wayne, he found himself in front of the Hawkins cemetery.

With the unbelievable amount of tragedy Hawkins had seen in previous years, it was no surprise that there were candles lit up on the graves, flowers, small presents. For the better or for the worse, people of Hawkins remembered, came to see their loved ones before retreating into the warmth of their own homes. In the dark, the cemetery was quiet and deserted.

Or almost.

At first, Wayne thought he must have been imagining things, but the closer he got to Eddie's gravestone, the more obvious it became that he wasn't the only one who decided that Christmas cheer just wouldn't do it. In the quiet of the snowy evening, the walkman hung over the slab of stone with Eddie's name sounded much louder, almost like a speaker. He couldn't tell the name of the song, but the voice sounded familiar - Dio, he recalled, one of Eddie's favorites. And in the front of the grave, on a thin blanket that must have done nothing to protect from the cold, sat a familiar figure. Steve Harrington.

Wayne knew Steve well enough, he saw him at the graveyard, at the relief center, driving the kids around. He also found him once knocking on his door past midnight, on one of Wayne's rare days off, and spent one of the strangest nights of his life sitting down with him, talking, Steve fidgeting and looking around with panicked eyes. But the boy was determined and slowly, almost apologetically, he told Wayne what exactly happened with Eddie, with Hawkins. "I know it sounds insane, I know it's too much and I'm putting both of us in danger, sir. But you deserve to know. Not some kind of a cover up story they will eventually tell you. You deserve to know what happened to Eddie. I used to think keeping everyone safe was a priority, that maybe it would help if we didn't think about it, but...yeah. You can stop me any time and I'll leave, no questions asked." But Wayne never stopped him and now he knew everything. It was a small consolation and the truth did nothing to soothe his anger and grief, but at least he had the full picture.

And now Steve Harrington was sitting in front of Eddie's gravestone - not a grave, no body to be buried, yet another stake through Wayne's heart - as Dio's voice broke through the silence of the night. He was grasping a mug of hot chocolate, another one leaning against the cool slab of granite, and somehow he even secured a tiny plastic tree, with small baubles and a tiny star at the top. Wayne's throat suddenly felt even tighter.

Steve's shoulders jerked when he heard the crunching of snow under Wayne's feet. He tried to get up, but his legs must have been cold and he fumbled with the fabric, almost crashing into Wayne in the process. "Shit. Sorry, sir, I just-!"

Wayne's large hands grasped his shoulders, stabilizing him. "Easy, boy. And I've told you before, it's Wayne. You happen to have a free spot on that blanket of yours?"

The boy still looked shaken, but he quickly nodded and smoothed out the blanket to allow both of them to fit. It was uncomfortable, way too cold and frankly depressing, but the silence between them felt right. Steve unscrewed the cap off his thermos flask (so that's how he kept the chocolate warm!) and handed it to Wayne. Unlike the cup still waiting on his table at home, Wayne sipped this one and actually enjoyed it.

After a few more minutes of shared quiet and listening to the finishing tones of Holy Diver, Wayne cleared his throat. "Nice tree you got there. You even got the colors right. Eddie loves...loved," he corrected himself, one of the worst habits he'd picked up recently, "the red and gold combo."

"I know." Steve's voice was strained, quiet. "I mean, I didn't know, originally...but I talked to Gareth. You know, the guy who played drums in Eddie's band? He told me...a lot. Well, I also asked a lot, so it's fair. I wanted..." his words trailed off, uncertain. "I guess I wanted to do something nice for him. Even if it's too late."

Wayne smiled into his hot chocolate. "My boy would still appreciate it. I sure do." Looking at the small twinkling tree, he sniffed, maybe not from the cold. "Hell, you did more for him than I did today - I just wanted to see him, easy as that, but you had the whole thing planned. I didn't...I didn't even get him a present."

The shuffling next to him surprised him enough to suppress the bitterness creeping up his throat. When he turned to Steve, the boy was holding a tiny wrapped package. "It can be from you then," he said, dropping the present into his gloved hand. "I didn't know where to set it, thought the snow would ruin the paper, but...maybe you can unwrap it on Eddie's behalf?"

Fucking depressing indeed. But also warm, so terrifyingly warm.

Steve watched as Wayne removed his gloves with his teeth. "Okay, Eddie. Let's see what Santa brought you," he muttered and tore off the paper, revealing a red D20. He glanced at Steve and they both started chuckling at once, finally easing some of heavy atmosphere.

"Dustin said this was like, Eddie's thing. He'd carry them in his pockets all the time" said Steve and swept aside some of the snow so Wayne could set the die down, under the tree.

"Oh you have no idea." Wayne was putting the glove back on and returning to his hot chocolate. Stupid December. "He'd leave those things lying everywhere. Ever stepped on one of these when you've just woken up? That hurts."

They were laughing again, watching the steam rising from Eddie's cup of hot chocolate. It would be cold soon.

But eventually, Wayne had to ask. He turned towards Steve, touched his shoulder. "Not that I don't appreciate the company, Steve, but...why are you here?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, clenched his jaw. But Wayne knew when to push and when to wait.

Eventually, the silence got to Steve, made him desperate to break it. "I told you. I wanted...I wanted to do something nice for him. So I came here."

Wayne shook his head. The grip on Steve's shoulder never wavered and the boy didn't shake him off. "I get that. You're a good kid, Steve. But no one should be alone on Christmas Eve."

He didn't have to look to tell that Steve's lips were trembling, his breathing uneven. "But Eddie is," he whispered. Then, louder, more stubborn. He met Wayne's eyes. "You are."

If that truth didn't hurt. But Wayne couldn't bring himself to be mad, to flinch at another stab into his heart. Twisting on the blanket, he pulled Steve into a hug. He didn't give many and received even less, but maybe Steve needed it. Maybe they both did. By the ease with which Steve let himself be pulled forward, with the firm grip of Wayne's arms, it was hard to dispute.

"I know, Steve," he muttered against his shoulder. "We're both alone and it sucks, it sucks so much, but there's nothing we can do about it. And you don't have to tell me why you're not with your parents, girlfriend, friends, anyone...but making yourself miserable won't bring Eddie back. It wouldn't make him happy." Patting Steve's heaving back, he continued, staring into the night sky. "You know, if he was here, he'd probably yell at us both. And then he'd have us both drive home and warm up before we lose a limb or two."

Steve chuckled into his thick winter coat. "Not sure about it. He wasn't my biggest fan...until the last week. But even then, I think he'd enjoy watching me squirm a bit."

"Maybe so," said Wayne and glanced at Eddie's name on the gravestone. "But there's one thing I know about my boy, Steve. He saw people for real, how they felt. He just had a knack for it, he could see when you were lonely and that was when he was the loudest, most annoying. If he saw you like this, I don't believe for a second he'd enjoy it. He'd probably annoy the hell out of you to snap you out of it, then adopt you like a puppy or somethin'."

They were laughing again, the sound so foreign that Wayne couldn't believe it was coming from his own mouth.

They would have probably stayed there much longer, but the cassette finished playing and clicked loudly, drawing their attention. Wayne let Steve go, but not too far. He might have not been able to save his own boy, but maybe the adoption thing ran in the family. "Hey, Steve. Could you help me with a thing?"

The boy nodded immediately, not taking a single second to think. "Sure thing, sir- I mean Wayne. What is it?"

Wayne took a good look at him. Even in the darkness of the graveyard, in the flickering light of a candle he kept lit on Eddie's grave, he could see the circles under Steve's eyes, the haunted look he'd seen so many times in Vietnam and after. The lines in his face that weren't supposed to be there. "I have a turkey at home that needs eating. It's not good, mind you, but I hate wasting food."

Steve's mouth hung open. "I...I couldn't possibly..."

But Wayne was already rising to his feet, extending his arm to help Steve up too. "Na-ah, Steve. You already agreed. Now help this old man. I also have some more hot chocolate at home, pretty sure what we have here is still chocolate, but definitely not hot."

He saw how Steve's eyes traveled to the gravestone, the tree, the die underneath. The nearly cold mug. He took a deep breath, then another one. And nodded. "Of course. Let me just pack the blanket."

Wayne smiled and pulled him upwards. "Let me help, son." The word slipped from his mouth, almost automatic, but it wasn't just a phrase. Like this whole meeting, it felt right.

As they shook snow off the blanket, the baubles on Eddie's Christmas tree gleamed, like his smile.

[sednonamoris]

arsonist’s lullaby

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: With Sean dead and the Confederate gold nowhere to be found, the Braithwaites learn exactly why boys are off-limits.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/gore, canonical character death, arson/fiery deaths, angst, kidnapping, toxic loyaltyyyyy

Word count: 2,777

A/N: Emerging from my absence to post this chapter and fade back into the ether ✌️

Series masterlist • AO3

—

In the end, it’s a perfectly ordinary day when things come to a head.

Midsummer sun has beat down all day, only just now mellowing to a deep orange, early evening glow. Standing halfway up the path to camp on guard duty, nothing remarkable has happened at all, except maybe the number of deerflies you’ve had to fend off. Like the heat alone isn’t enough.

Micah and Sean and Bill rode into town on business earlier. Sean jabbered something about meeting up with Arthur and that Gray sheriff, but he was insistent on keeping the rest a mystery. High profile stuff, you know. Not for old-timers like you to worry about. You just rolled your eyes and sent him on his way.

Other than that, it’s been awfully quiet— Even after Karen and Bill and Lenny and Arthur hit Valentine’s bank the other week. If you were a more suspicious person you might call it too quiet, but it’s been nice to have a bit of a break. You and John have hardly spent a moment apart. Camp chores go quicker together, you tell everyone, but it hardly takes a genius to see you’re more attached at the hip than ever. Moving sacks of cornmeal and haying horses and chopping wood doesn’t usually result in the lovestruck looks stuck on your faces, after all.

Arthur, too, has enjoyed the down time. If he isn’t sharing a cup of morning coffee with his wife then he’s reading storybooks to his surrogate son, complete with ridiculous voices. He puts on a deep, gruff baritone for the bad guys, then pitches higher for a hero that sounds suspiciously like Jack. It’s sweet. The mantle of secondhand fatherhood fits snugly across his broad shoulders, and you can’t help but feel that if anyone ever deserved a second chance at all this, it’s him.

John’s been watching them with the strangest mix of joy and wistfulness and regret and shame. It’s always gone in a blink. You never quite know what to say.

But there’s no time to ruminate further when a slow, steady, thumping lope comes within earshot. You almost miss it, lost in thought.

“Who goes there?”

You’re not sure why you bother asking; the footfalls are too heavy to be anyone but Bill on Brown Jack. When they come into view there’s a tense set to Bill’s shoulders and unease in the whites of Brown Jack’s eyes. You see something slung behind the saddle, unmoving.

A body.

You only register it as Sean when he slows to a stop beside you.

It’s jarring to see the lively young Irishman so horribly, deathly still. His clothes are stained with blood and singed from bullets, but the gaping hole in his head is what turns your stomach and raises your hackles as well as the hairs on the back of your neck. Pulpy brains. Shards of skull. A once-bright eye bulged, crooked and unseeing. A damn good headshot.

Who would be gunning for him? you think. But really, after all the trouble you’ve been stirring down here, who wouldn’t? It’s only been a matter of weeks since you and the boys stole those horses. Less since he and Arthur burned the tobacco fields.

You look up at Bill after a long moment.

“Wanna tell me how the fuck you got the kid killed?” you say, voice low. Simmering. Seething in the summer heat.

Bill’s expression is caught between guilt and resentment. “It was them Gray boys.”

“Them Gray boys?”

“They were waitin’ for us! Arthur… well, he reckons they figured us out. Talked to that Braithwaite woman, I mean.”

“Where is he? Alive?”

“He and Micah ain’t far behind. Don’t expect they’ll be comin’ together.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just shake your head and try to think past the blood pounding through your eardrums. Ringing in your skull. “We gotta bury him.”

“I know,” he snaps.

Where would Sean want to be buried? With a view of the water? In the shade of the trees? Certainly not alone, but there’s little choice there. “We gotta— He deserves someplace decent.”

“I know.” Softer, this time. “...There’s a quiet spot up the other side of the path.”

You nod. “Don’t let the girls see.”

—

The air is thick and stagnant even as the afternoon fades into evening. You’ve always hated digging graves, and this heat only makes it worse. Cicadas hum. Flies buzz. Bill picked a good spot out of the dying sun, but sweat still pours down both of your faces and necks, soaking through your shirts. Salt stings your eyes and the tip of your tongue.

Once the hole is deep enough, Bill does his best to arrange whatever’s left of Sean with some dignity; arms crossed, a coin over his intact eye. It’s still a sorry sight. You take the pistol from his holster to give to Karen and let its dead weight rest in your belt while you and Bill get to burying. When the work is done, he stutters a few insufficient words over a yet-unmarked grave. He looks to you, then, and you fish your flask off your belt and take a strong swig before pouring a generous amount over the freshly turned earth.

“Cheers, brother,” says a hollow voice that sounds like yours. “Save us a seat.”

You don’t bother saying where.

—

Karen hits you when you tell her. A full arm swing. Open-palmed. Then again when you hand her the pistol.

You let her.

Feels like the least you can do.

—

The evening passes in a haze of numb grief. You don’t know what to do with yourself, so you hide, only emerging from your tent when you hear raised voices outside Dutch’s.

“Where’s my goddamn son?” Abigail demands. “They took him, didn’t they? They took my son!”

And Jesus if this day couldn’t get worse. Your eyes scan the camp, like you’d be able to spot little Jack where his mother couldn’t. The sick feeling that’s been festering in your stomach since Sean’s burial twists and writhes and weighs you down like lead. Everyone knows missing is about as good as dead these days, but you don’t dare say that to Abigail.

“Where is my son, Dutch Van der Linde?!”

More and more begin to crowd around the commotion. The girls lay consoling hands on Abigail’s shoulders that quake with anger and fear. Arthur’s face is grim and drawn beside her. John’s is shadowed behind them, torn between guilt and anger. Hosea pushes past the throng to lay blame on the Braithwaites— at least, he says Kieran saw some boys what looked like Braithwaites not far from camp earlier. After what happened in town today, you have to admit it makes sense. Both families have you figured out, and they’re out for their pound of flesh.

As if Sean wasn’t enough already.

“We will find Jack, we will bring him back to you, and we will kill any fool that had the temerity to touch one hair on that boy’s head,” Dutch vows in answer to Abigail’s frantic questioning. “Right now.”

And he turns on his heel and makes toward The Count to do just that. Everyone follows. Bill calls out asking about extra guns that are accepted readily. Micah and Kieran are ordered to protect the camp while you’re all away. Weapons drawn, eyes blazing, you mount your horses and make off into the night.

This is the warpath. The beating hooves and rushing blood. Moonshine canters steadily beneath you, keeping stride with Old Boy and Arthur’s mount on either side. It’s been a long time since the whole gang has ridden out like this, chomping at the bit for a bloodletting.

“I swear, I’ll kill everyone there!” John snarls. He’s settled into his anger now, quicker on its draw than his pistol.

“Easy, Marston,” Arthur says. His voice is low and dangerous like how he warns off strangers. Not family. Not John. “You don’t check your shots, Jack’ll end up dead too.”

“Don’t tell me to take it easy! That’s my—” but John chokes on the word before he can get it out.

Son, he was going to say. That’s his son.

But Jack is as much Arthur’s as he is John’s anymore, and right now neither one can stand it. You can’t bear to look at the fear nor the anger nor the burning blame in either of their eyes.

—

The oaks that line the path to Braithwaite Manor are always imposing, but here in the dusky nighttime you swear you can feel their ancient eyes watching. Bloody roots gorged on bloodstained grounds; twisted, gnarled branches grasping for a Heaven they’ll never reach. There are few stars that shine through the scattered clouds in the early night sky, but you wish upon every one that Jack is safe, and you vow that no one will make it out of here alive if he isn’t.

Everyone dismounts at the gate. Beside you John and Arthur are tense. Mouths set, trigger fingers twitching, eyes aflame with a primal sort of anger and fear that can only come from losing a child. Dutch, too, is furious. The fact that anyone would touch one of his own is normally enough to have him ranting, almost frothing at the mouth, but he must sense that Arthur and John need him calm.

Calmer than them, anyhow.

Ahead, the manor house is lit with a warm orange glow from its pillared porch. The moon casts strange light across the shadowy night, flickering in and out of cloud cover. There is only the sound of gravel beneath your boots and anticipation.

“Get down here now, you inbred trash!” Dutch bellows at the first sight of the Braithwaite boys.

“What the hell do you want?” they call back, like they don’t know.

John makes to aim his gun and you brush against his shoulder as a comfort and a warning. He snarls but doesn’t shoot. Not yet.

Dutch continues, “We’ve come for the boy. You must’ve known we would.”

Arthur is little better off, glaring holes in the heads of every Braithwaite son and cousin and uncle and friend that emerges from the looming house. There’s more of them by the minute. You feel everyone tense around you. Their guns aren’t lifted - not yet - but all it will take is a sign from Dutch.

Not yet.

“That is a young boy. That is not the way you do things. Hand him over.”

“Get the hell off our land!”

Not yet.

Dutch’s eyes darken in challenge. He doesn’t so much as turn his head toward any of you, but the shift in energy is electric. The whole world holds its breath.

“If you ain’t gonna be civilized about this…”

Now.

All at once everyone opens fire. It’s a symphony of gunfire, bullets screaming by from every direction. You pull John behind a crate just as one grazes his ear. He snarls out a curse while you kill the man on the balcony who shot at him. The body tumbles over the railing and stains the steps red with blood and brains.

Dutch calls out marching orders, but through the din he’s nearly impossible to hear. John heads inside. You follow suit. The manor doors swing wide open like the unhinged jaw of a snake, welcoming you into the belly of the beast.

“Jack!”

“Where are you, kid?”

“Jack!”

His name echoes off expensive oak floors and through lofted ceilings. You tear through the lower floor like someone possessed, ripping open mahogany chests and finely stained china cabinets and the couch cushions of richly-rugged sitting rooms. Anywhere a little boy might fit. Then plenty of places he wouldn’t just for good measure.

Somewhere in the rush you lose John. Over the gurgling rasp of a Braithwaite son’s last breath you hear him shout something from upstairs. You make to run up the winding staircase but stop dead in your tracks when you see Catherine Braithwaite being kicked down them.

Dutch sneers, his lip curled with generational distaste for a man who preaches against revenge. She’s sobbing, spewing vitriol with every shaky breath. All her sons are dead now. You can see it in the gape of her burnt ash mouth. In the flames that lick the polished wood floors from their dropped torches. In the fire reflected back in Dutch’s eyes.

—

Jack isn’t there. Catherine Braithwaite uses her last breaths to gloat that he’s been sold to a man in the city.

Sold.

You watch Dutch let her go, then watch still as she runs screaming into the flames. The house collapses over a shrieking phantom of the Deep South with a groan and a sigh. By the color of the flames it’ll burn for hours yet.

The trees stare as you leave, gorged on blood and ash.

—

Dawn comes blood red and brutal, streaking through the sky with its first light warning. Dutch, John, Hosea, and Arthur are all gathered around the camp table to discuss your next moves. Whatever those are, though, you can’t imagine. John didn’t sleep a wink last night, just staring at tent canvas and stewing in blame. He looks awful. Everyone does.

You’re sat next to Abigail by the campfire. She says nothing, but the hunch of her shoulders and the blue-hot flame of her eyes tells you there’s nothing to be said. Her boy is gone. Missing.

You brought her a bowl of porridge for breakfast, but neither of you is up for eating much. She stares into the fire while it sits untouched in her lap. You push your oats around with the spoon and pretend not to eavesdrop.

Of course Marston’s scared rotten, Arthur says in hushed tones. I am too. We killed all them people— for what? For nothin’. There ain’t no gold here.

For living, Dutch corrects him, and you can’t help but think it’s a shame that not all of you got to that part. The living. Sean is dead and gone forever. For all you know, Jack might be too.

But all of that is put immediately to rest when Lenny walks into camp with two Pinkerton agents at gunpoint.

Milton and Ross, they call themselves, swaggering through the whole of camp like you’re not all outlaws and thieves. Killers. Everyone stands as they pass, slowly circling in like vultures to the promise of violence.

The matching felt bowler hats on their heads can’t hide the pockmarks on Milton’s face nor the smug, bristling mustache on Ross’. The government is surely paying a pretty penny for your capture if the fineness of their clothes is anything to go by. Their shoes are shined and polished. You can’t help but notice the way the red Rhodes clay oozes up beneath the soles and paints them muddy.

“This thing? It’s done,” Milton announces when he makes his way to Dutch.

Dutch barely bothers to turn and face him. He doesn’t stand. Everyone else slowly, slowly creeps closer. One step at a time. All coming together. Vultures. Violence.

Things like this are never just done.

Never.

Milton calls Dutch a lot of things. A shepherd of lost souls. A messiah. Sarcasm drips from the syllables, and you wonder how he might react if you told him Dutch was the only god to answer a single one of your prayers. Even Swanson lost touch with Christ long ago. Now when he falters he begs Dutch Van der Linde for forgiveness. All of you do.

“I’m nothing but a seeker, Mr. Milton,” Dutch finally says.

Milton’s eyes narrow. There's a faint expression you can’t quite place on his face when he replies, “You ain’t much of anything more than a killer, Mr. Van der Linde.”

He offers freedom, then. Three days to run and hide and live like civilized human beings in exchange for Dutch. It’s almost laughable.

Dutch steps forward and every gun in camp cocks. Agent Milton seems suddenly to remember how very much outnumbered and outgunned he is.

“I think your new friend should leave, Dutch,” Ms. Grimshaw says.

Milton calls it a mistake, calls you all fools, but the only foolish mistake you can see is letting them live.

—

John and Arthur leave together after all that. They make for a place called Shady Belle and promise Abigail it’s close to the city where her son is being held. A good spot to camp while everyone does what they can to bring that little boy home.

Looking at Karen, miserable and bleary-eyed drunk, you can’t help but think it’s awfully far from Sean’s grave.

[thedramasummer]

hello! I’m alive!! I’ve been terrible at being active on tumblr but for those who are interested I am writing. I finished my d&d isekai fic and it should be going up by the end of the month and I have a cute fic for Halloween in the works too plus my fics for @anywhere-with-you-event that are submitted and ready to go

Tagged by the lovely @caterpills

No pressure tags to @kiwiana-writes @anincompletelist @inexplicablymine @cactusdragon517 @emmalostinwonderland @orchidscript @emmalostinwonderland @theprinceandagcd @onthewaytosomewhere and anyone else who wants to do the thing!!

Alex is also shocked because it’s so busy. Up until now, they were traversing through unpopulated locales. Phandalin is a ghost town in comparison to everything Neverwinter is. In a strange, fractured way, Neverwinter reminds him of how he felt when he first moved to Brooklyn. It’s chaotic and booming, but he’s sure there are quiet corners and secret nooks that are begging to be explored.

The thing is? They aren’t here for that. They’re here to find this unnamed wizard who owes Bea a favor (once she gives him an old spell book in return for something she did) and find a way for Alex and Henry to go home so they can go back to the lives they had before they woke up in Faerun.

Pez knocks Alex from his thoughts with the penultimate question: “So, Beadewyn, where is your wizard? We need to get our friends home soon. We can’t train them forever.”

Bea rolls her eyes. “He isn’t mine. And Athravras should be at The Cloak Tower. It’s a Wizard citadel in the aptly named ‘Tower District’.”

Alex notices Henry’s eyes on him, and he mouths the name of the Wizard. It doesn’t hit Alex initially, but once he turns it over in his mind his eyes widen, realizing what Henry might be implying. Sure, there have been some odd coincidences, but there’s no possibility it could be…

Henry shakes his head, pushing sun-kissed hair from his face, and Alex’s heart clenches for a second. The idea of this wizard looking like Henry’s late father is…not the strangest thing they’ve seen in this strange situation they’ve landed in, but Alex doesn’t know how it will affect Henry if it’s true.

No matter what happens, he’ll be there for Henry. It’s what he does. It’s what he’s always done.

[faustianbroker]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Harmony Hill, World's End Isle PARTIES: Caleb (@dirtwatchman) & Gabagool (& Levi at the end lol) SUMMARY: Caleb meets Gabagool in a graveyard, and the badalisc has an interesting offer for him. CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

—

The strangest part of not working for Nichols anymore was the loss of comfort that came from being around them. Caleb had always had a hard time getting close to people, it was something that stemmed from childhood and it was no secret, but the Nichols family had always been that security blanket that made going through life so much easier. It had started with losing Jack and now that he couldn’t really be around Erin or Diane every part of him felt…out of place. He’d been trying to search for a new home, a new place where he could feel safe and understood without feeling like a burden, and he could get that with a few of the friends he still had around town but it was nothing compared to what he’d had before.

New locations weren’t doing it for him but he’d found himself searching them anyway. It was like he was sixteen again, running from what he couldn’t change while delving into the peace of the dead. He was leaning back against one of the larger headstones on Harmony Hill, his eyes closed as the sounds of the night barely reached his ears. The zombie wished he could hear the chirp of the crickets like he could when he was a kid, longed for the days he never thought he’d want to go back to again. 

He was just about to put his headphones in his ears and really go back to the past when he heard the scuffling of little feet coming towards him. Caleb’s eyes snapped open, his body now on alert, knowing what he could encounter. He was not expecting to see the weirdest looking cat thing he had ever encountered scurrying around one of the headstones to his right and he didn’t know whether to be cautious with it or hold out a hand to scratch behind its ears. “Uh...hey buddy. You seem like you’re a long way from home.” As it got closer, he took in the two different colored eyes and the soft gray of its fur, his body still tense. The thing was kind of cute but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be deadly. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty far from home too.”

—

Gabagool was a hunter by nature. A hunter of juicy, juicy gossip. And sometimes, you know, you didn’t find that in highly populated areas! Usually, sure, but the juiciest stuff usually happened when someone was alone, was unaware that they were being watched. So from time to time, the little demon would wander his way through the outskirts of town, snooping around lonely cabins and weaving his way stealthily through more populated areas into the quiet, empty parts of town. Graveyards tended to fit that description, and this one was no exception! Except for the one guy in here, which was definitely suspect. Sure, maybe he was just out here mourning someone, but did they even bury people in this graveyard anymore? The demon didn’t know and didn’t care. All he knew was that there was a potential source of gossip to be investigated, and at the very least, it might do something funny. People tended to do funny things when Gabagool showed up.

It was hanging back for a while, but the man was being boring, so it decided to introduce itself. Trotting up to the man, totally carefree, Gabagool cocked his head as he was spoken to. “I am, actually,” he responded in his best version of a teary, lip-trembling sort of voice (that inexplicably sounded a lot like Billy Crystal). “A long way from home. I’m lost!” He could have gone on and on, quite the yapper, but it was always fun to let the humans react to the fact that he could talk.

—

It shouldn’t have surprised him that this thing could talk. He was used to the unexpected, so much so that the unexpected wasn’t all that unexpected anymore. But for some reason when the thing opened its mouth Caleb was shocked enough that his own fell open. A talking cat thing wasn’t as bad as a literal demon but maybe the fact that it sounded like that one guy from City Slickers didn’t help much. “Uh…right, yea. Of course you can talk, why would that not be a thing right now?” 

He was still staring at the thing, still poised for some sort of attack because that voice did nothing to convince Caleb that the cat was sincere, but he also was ready to help if needed. It was something else instilled in him, that need to please even the smallest of creatures around him. It said something that Caleb wanted the approval of this animal but he wasn’t willing to dive into that yet. “Do you uh…want me to help you get back? Do you know where you live…do you even have an address?” Was it rude to ask a lost…thing if it had an address? The zombie didn’t want to offend it even if he was a little scared the thing was going to take his head off at any second. 

—

Gabagool grinned a wide, cheshire grin, his little tufts of fur that might’ve been ears flattening against his large skull. The creature was 70% mouth, the rest of it consisting mostly of soft fur and flab. Well, and sharp teeth. He was still a carnivore, after all. 

“Oh gosh, mister, would you?” The badalisc hopped on all four paws, moving closer to Caleb and shaking out his fur. “I live on World’s End Isle. I’m sure my master is terribly worried about where I’ve gone, mister. Could you take me there? I don’t like walking on the bridge alone… it’s scary.” He dropped his head low, dramatically throwing himself to the ground right next to Caleb’s legs, rolling onto his back and looking up at the other upside down. “Hey, what are you doing here, anyway? Not a very nice hangout spot. I don’t like graveyards — I didn’t mean to end up in this one.”

—

This thing sounded almost condescending as it spoke, that wide grin not helping one bit. But it was a ridiculous thought, right? It was a cat…thing. Animals weren’t condescending from what he knew of them. Still, animals didn’t talk either and this was proving him wrong. When it flopped on its back and started looking at Caleb while upside down the zombie felt his lips pull up into a smile, all thoughts of its tone disappearing from his mind. They were dumb thoughts anyway. It had to be the voice. “I can help you, yeah. The walk across the bridge can be pretty terrifying in the dark. We don’t want to keep you from your master any longer.” 

He reached over and hesitantly ran a finger under the animal’s chin before getting to his feet. Caleb felt like a giant standing next to it with his chin almost meeting his chest as he looked down. “I’m kind of the opposite. I come to cemeteries to think when I have too much on my mind. They’ve been a source of comfort for me.” How sad was that? Why was he scared that this animal was going to judge him for it? And why was it easier to talk about all of this with a cat? “There’s been a lot going on lately.” 

—

“Oooohhh, a lot going on, huh? I gotcha, I gotcha,” Gabagool sympathized, following Caleb’s lead and rolling back over onto his paws. He gave his whole body a shake to get rid of any stray dirt or leaves, then started to pad along beside the man. “I’m Gabagool, by the way! And I’m a great listener. At least, that’s what papá tells me! Sometimes when he gets home from work and he’s just had the hardest day, he likes to sit with me on the couch and tell me all about it. Says it makes him feel better!” The badalisc bounded in front of Caleb, standing up on his hind legs and stretching the front ones out toward the man as much as he could. 

“Uppies?” he asked with a grin, hopping on the spot to maintain his balance. “Papá also says that my fur is the softest he’s ever felt and that it’s soothing. Plus, you got long legs, I dunno if I can keep up.”

—

Caleb had never had a pet before. When he was younger his foster parents claimed they were too busy taking care of their foster kids to house any pets inside. The mom would try to be nice about it, let the kids believe that it was for the benefit of any animal that might come through their home, but Caleb saw the real truth when he was thirteen. His foster brother, only a year older than him, brought home a cat one day because he’d found it stuck in a drainpipe. Gary, having already started his drinking that day, went ballistic. Turns out, the man really did not like animals. It almost reminded Caleb of how much Gary hated the very children they let into their home. His brother had been able to get the cat out of the house before anything really bad happened but that moment had stuck with all the kids from that point on. No pets allowed. 

When he got older Caleb had never really thought about a companion no matter how lonely he’d gotten over the years. It must have been ingrained in him that pets were a bad thing and then he was killed and became a zombie…which he felt would put any pet at risk if something were to happen to its owner. 

But having this cat stand on its hind legs and reach for him made him want to break down and get his own. Obviously this one kept speaking of an owner so it was off the table but there were shelters around here. He grinned, not even hesitating to pick up the furry thing as it danced in front of him and let it settle comfortably in his arms. “That’s an interesting name. I’ve never heard one like it.” But this animal’s papa was correct, its fur was very soft. Caleb was absentmindedly brushing his fingers through it as he started walking in the direction of World’s End Isle. Maybe the papa was right about spilling his guts to the cat too. He didn’t think about the fact that if this thing could talk to him it could talk to others before he launched into things. When a person sees a cat they don’t automatically think the animal can spread their secrets around. “You ever heard of demons, Gabagool? Those things are very real. And they like to possess people and use them and ruin their lives. I was doing okay, you know? My life wasn’t horrible but then Aesil set out to destroy almost every relationship I had for fun.”

—

Had Gabagool ever heard of demons? It made the badalisc want to laugh, made him want to chuckle and chortle and guffaw right in this silly man’s face, because of course he had! He was one! But all the mirth would have to wait, because Gabagool knew that name. Aesil. They weren’t friends by any stretch of the imagination, and their paths had only crossed one time — this was before Gabagool had decided to align himself with Leviathan. But he knew that name, knew that demon, and had some small inkling of that demon’s purpose. It wouldn’t do, not here. Not now. 

Lying, though, that wouldn’t do, either. Because the truth would come out eventually, and it was better to build that trust now. If this guy was somehow connected to Aesil, who might have had plans that would disrupt the operation here, Leviathan would want to know. Leviathan would want to take care of it, as it always took care of things. That didn’t include killing the man who was now carrying Gabagool home, but it would very likely involve getting some information out of him. Papá liked to do that a little more humanely, these days. It liked to not burn bridges that didn’t need burning. So, the badalisc put looked up at the man with wide, mismatched eyes, conjuring every ounce of pity that he could into those bright orbs. 

“Oh… I’m really sorry to hear that, mister,” he commiserated. “Demons can be… well, like you said. Just the worst. But yes, I know all about them.” There was a pregnant pause, and the creature smiled again, this time without baring his little fangs. His ears perked up, little nub of a tail wagging behind him. “I am one, actually. But not like Aesil. There’s lots of different kinds of demons, did you know? I just talk a lot. That’s my thing.”

—

He almost dropped the cat. Caleb almost launched it in the air as soon as it admitted to being a demon itself almost as if the creature was burning him but he held on, albeit a little tighter than he had before. Of course it was a demon. Of course the only damn thing that he’d felt completely comfortable with in the past couple of months turned out to be the very thing that had almost destroyed him. What was it about these things that attracted them to Caleb? Were they now kindred spirits or something? Now that he’d been taken over by one they all wanted a piece? He needed to know so that he could find a way to get rid of whatever was pulling them his way.

His body had stiffened so much that he felt himself coming to a slow stop in the middle of the street. He did know about different types of demons as he was currently reading up about them as much as possible but he’d never come across one like this in his teachings. Gabagool seemed friendly enough but Aesil had been the same when they wanted something from someone. Right up until they decided they were done with them and got rid of them in some excruciating way.

Caleb couldn’t deny that this was an opportunity though. If the demon in his arms was willing to talk, which apparently it talked a lot, he could possibly get more information about Aesil and demons in general. There was a brief thought of how concerned he should be about himself for the subtle obsession of finding as much information about this stuff as possible that was starting to take over his mind but he brushed it aside. “Do you take over people’s bodies?” Maybe it had taken over the cat’s body? No, this wasn’t a normal cat that didn’t seem right. “How do I know I’m not going to wake up one day to you controlling me while trying to raise a greater demon?”

—

Gabagool felt the man’s grip on him tighten and closed his eyes for a moment, resisting the urge to react by sticking his claws in him. He was freaked out. Of course he was freaked out, apparently he’d been a vessel for a while. People didn’t like being vessels, Gabs could understand that. So he waited patiently for the man to speak, and when he did, the demon let out a little scoff. 

“Me? No, no, of course not! My body is perfect for me, thanks very much, why would I want to crawl into someone else’s? Anyway, even if I did want to, I can’t. I’m not that kind of demon, y’see? I’m a badalisc. I can’t help my nature, mister, but I’m no body snatcher. As for raising greater demons…” Gabagool smiled gleefully at Caleb. “My  greater demon is already raised! It’s walkin’ around town, happy as a clam. Didn’t hardly need anyone’s help to do it, either! It’s the best, honestly. There’s no better greater demon to work with. You’re gonna love ‘em. Y’know, I gotta tell them about this Aesil guy, though. He sounds like a stinker, and we’re not really in the market for competition. But Leviathan can take care of that problem easy peasy! You make friends with it, and it’ll have your back if that clown comes back to town! One greater demon is enough for a place of this size, don’t you think?”

—

He wanted to relax, forced himself to do so by lessening his grip on the animal, but how could Caleb even believe a word this thing was saying? He knew. He knew about the lies that spilled from the mouths of these things because he had been trapped with one for months watching every horrifying scene play out as he screamed for things to stop. Even now his own voice echoed in his mind, pleading for Aesil to end things by either leaving him or somehow taking him out to leave a husk the demon could have forever. 

But he was getting some new information already even if he couldn’t trust the source. Caleb had a source he could trust, someone he could run this information by later and see what was truth and what wasn’t. It was the only thing calming him down. “Badalisc…I didn’t realize there were so many different types of you guys.” 

His mouth ran dry as the badalisc continued, news of a greater demon already walking around making him feel a new kind of terror. From what he had gathered throughout the months of Aesil’s reign, the greater demon he was trying to raise had one goal and one goal only; to wipe out the human race. That demon despised humans, the undead even more so, and had been planning very cruel things for this dimension. If what this thing was telling him was true though, it didn’t seem like Leviathan had the same goals. Caleb hoped that was true. “You want me to meet them? And be friends?” That wasn’t happening. The idea of telling them about Aesil so they could take care of them? That could be arranged. “....Okay. I have a lot of information about Aesil I can pass along. I think I even know the name of the demon they were trying to raise.”

—

“Oh, there’s loads of little demon friends. Not all of us can talk, though. I’m special like that.” Gabagool beamed proudly, deciding to forgive the man for his tight grip. He seemed hesitant about meeting Leviathan, which was fair. Most people heard a name like that and started to remember all the human stories they’d ever heard and read about creatures called Leviathan, most of which were the demon in question at one point in its life. It could be terrible and cruel, just like the stories all said, but it did love humans. It was fascinated by them, even though it sometimes did terrible things to them. That was just greater demons, though. You can love a thing and treat it poorly, too — Gabagool had witnessed this plenty of times. It made sense, really, since humans were so very far beneath demons on the totem pole of life. They were like… pets. More like pets than even Gabagool was! Which he was fine with. He liked being pampered. 

Of course there were exceptions to every rule, like his human brother, Teddy. Teddy was a human who was made into something better, then changed back. It’d been sad to see them lose what connection they’d had to their father, but it had been necessary. And Leviathan still seemed to love them just as much as it had when they were less human. 

“Great! Leviathan would love to hear it, if you know the name. Is it their true name? Greater demons love to use aliases, you know. Leviathan isn’t my master’s real name, of course — we wouldn’t just use that in casual conversation. You can do a lot of damage with a greater demon’s true name. Leviathan might even be able to summon it to kill it!” He wiggled excitedly in Caleb’s arms, staring up at him with wide eyes. “It did that once before, you know! Killed a greater demon for a human. I don’t know if it would do that again, but it’s worth asking.”

—

“You sure are.” Caleb felt like he was on autopilot as he started to walk again, going over the bridge into World’s End Isle. The closer he got to this thing’s house, the more his body started to buzz with anxiety. He almost wanted to let it go on its own but the idea of sending Aesil and their greater demon to an end was too tempting to let go of. Their doom might even make him feel a little lighter knowing that they wouldn’t be back to continue what they started. It was a constant fear in the back of his mind. What if Van let them out again? Worse, what if she brought on the greater demon with the powers that she couldn’t control? Would Caleb be sought out for the use of his body? Would they succeed in taking over this time?

It was worth seeing this other one. As long as he didn’t get possessed yet again. “…I’m really putting a lot of trust in you right now.” Which felt like a mistake even as he looked down into the demon's eyes, even as he admitted to his master doing such a good thing before. It didn’t seem truthful though Caleb was probably biased…with good reason. “Please…please don’t lie to me about this.” He’d seen too many die by his own hand, good people who hadn’t deserved the fate that had been handed to them.

“Andras. The greater demon, Aesil called them Andras. I don’t know if that was his real name or not.” Was Aesil smart enough to not let Caleb in on the true name of the thing they were trying to raise. His money was on ‘no.’ The cockiness alone was enough to make them believe that Caleb was never coming back from inside his own mind. “Does it sound familiar to you?”

—

The house was like most in this area — large and somewhat imposing, especially when you knew that a demon lived inside of it. Well, two demons, technically. Gabagool might not have had the talents of Leviathan, but he was every inch as demonic! The sky was dark and smattered with stars that peeked out from behind the thick cloud cover, and the ocean roared behind the house with large, stormy waves that crashed against the private beach. There were a few lights on on the first floor, glowing amber and warm in contrast to all else in the town.  

“I would never lie, mister. I’m honest as they come! Don’t worry, Leviathan will have a lot more interest in this possessor of yours — and the demon they serve — than it will in… you. To be blunt.” The town had no shortage of viable humans, there was no reason to go breaking the trust of this one just to add one more to the pile. No, he seemed like he’d be much more useful alive. 

“Andras, though… no, that doesn’t sound familiar. Papá might know it, might know it by some other name, too. Sometimes the real names only pass the lips of other greater demons, you know? Very sacred stuff.”

As they approached the house that the badalisc indicated, he finally wiggled himself free from Caleb’s grasp and dropped down onto the footpath, stretching out his limbs before hopping up and down on the spot. “C’mon! Time’s a-wastin’!” Bounding up to the door, he leaped at the doorbell and slapped it with a paw, falling back into a heap before righting himself on the stoop, little nub of a tail wagging. 

Footsteps approached the door, and there was a loud click as the lock was disengaged. Then, the door was pulled open and artificial light poured out onto the stone walkway. A large figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, silently assessing the stranger on his doorstep.

“Leviathan! This one’s got a story you’re going to want to hear.”

—

As Caleb watched the animal scurry out of his arms and up towards the door it was hard to believe that this wasn’t some unbelievably talented cat but instead a demon. He’d spent the better part of the last five months believing that those things came in only one form; evil. Gaba wasn’t evil, or he was at least doing an amazing job at lying if he was. Which...was possible. Demons were manipulative and even if Aesil lacked the cunning that the zombie believed they should possess he was pretty sure it was because a dud took over his body and that wasn’t normal. Still…watching him slap the doorbell with his paw almost made him smile. 

But then the door opened and his eye was drawn upwards, that fear from earlier trickling back in when he took in the sight of this greater demon. Of course it was intimidating in all aspects, because why wouldn’t it be? 

He met its stare for a brief moment before looking back down at the steps of the porch, not able to summon the strength to boldly look it in the eye. At Gaba’s insistence, Leviathan seemed to deem the zombie worthy of entrance and it stepped aside to let him in but he hesitated, swallowing down the lump that was forming in his throat. All he could do was hope this would pay off. He stepped forward, still avoiding the persistent gaze of the demon, and didn’t even bother looking around the house before he started his story.

“I’m Caleb…and I think there’s a demon you might want to look into.”

[mostlyonthefloor]

Autistic Edvin: here it is, folks.

He's so quiet because he doesn't know what (is appropriate) to say a lot of the time and he learned very young that it's better to say nothing than to say something that one of the bigger boys will think is "smart" and get hit for it

He's also quiet because it takes a lot of concentration for him to tell what's happening with body language and social cues. Constantly monitoring how people are standing, where they are looking, their facial expressions and what they mean, is energy-consuming.

He mimics characteristics of the people around him. This is why he is so inconspicuous and forgettable, because he will see what other people are doing/saying and copy that, so he blends into a group. Body language is a conscious choice for him, and like above, it's easiest to just not be noticed.

(He also accidentally mimics accents, he will occasionally spend time with Lydia and pick up a little Limmatan accent)

Sometimes people's characteristics stick if he spends enough time with them. For example, he says "what" with identical inflection to the twins, and it messes Hal around when he's not looking. (His repertoire of weary sighs are entirely his own)

He likes to knit because it's so rhythmic, and he deliberately chooses needles that make little clicks because he loves the sound.

When he joins the Herons he's pleasantly taken aback to see that no one will care if he says something a little strange or fails to pick up on a social cue that everyone else does. He's hardly the strangest person there anyway.

He probably couldn't say something weirder than anything the twins could come up with if he tried, and people tend to say things out loud for Ingvar's benefit as he can't see people's body language well, so Edvin also won't miss out on silent cues

He and Lydia become good friends quite quickly because they bond over their shared inability to know what to do in social situations (autistic Lydia as well?? who knows)

He is prone to assuming that things that he experiences are universal, and is astonished to find that non-verbal social cues are intuitive to most people, and that in fact most people "just know" if something is acceptable to say or not

On that note he is absolutely shook to discover that sexual/romantic attraction is inadvertent and just happens to people (aro-ace Edvin supremacy)

He takes his job as quartermaster very seriously god bless and will occasionally hijack a conversation to talk about needing rations or what town to put into

He has accidentally walked into and directly through several Stigal moments in compromising positions. It wasn't until afterwards when he was doing his Lie In Bed And Think About Today Time that he realised what happened

This isn't relevant but he's #1 stigal shipper

[fine-prints]

THE ARTICLE WRITING: AN INSIGHT INTO THE MIND OF CORD FALTO closed para for corduroy falto

THE BEGINNING Carolina knows why for years I roam free as these birds, light as whispers.

He had been assigned the leading story, the ' front pager ' — and while this honor had only been bestowed upon him once before, the usual celebratory feelings were replaced with tendrils of fear. Over what, he couldn't name, but as he left his boss' office for the train to District 1, Corduroy Falto knew he needed to be careful.

Cord had grown up in the Capitol and its calculated way of life never seemed strange to him, never made him wonder what life was like outside its boundaries. In fact, he NEVER thought about its boundaries, that there were places he wouldn't be allowed to see, because all he ever needed were within its walls. He had childhood friends, he had a graduation certificate, he had a job and past girlfriends and plenty of social events to fill up hours he didn't work ( although he was always working, in his own way ). Life outside the Capitol didn't exactly exist — except for the handful of tributes each year, each of them bringing glimmers of home with them. It never occurred to Corduroy to pay attention.

Not until now, with his new assignment making him board a train that would take him beyond the comfort of his home. Blue eyes watched the scenery change and he remembered a playground tale he'd heard at private school, that the districts didn't exist, that the Capitol was the whole wide world and if he ventured too far, he'd hit a wall.

Part of him wondered if it were true and if his train would crumple.

THE MIDDLE And you didn't see me here, no, they never did see me.

He arrived in District 1 with his clean, bright smile, one mirrored in the people of 1. ' See, ' he told himself, ' not so bad after all, these people are fed, well dressed, and not a rebel in sight. '

It was with ignorance that he spoke to witnesses of the mayor and Gleam's deaths, it was then that he learned, perhaps, an assassination had taken place. Furrowed brows, his pen poised, Cord nodded along to the narratives, his mind visualizing the scene, imagining the fear, the chaos, the confusion. The blood, he learned, had been cleaned up quickly, scrubbed down as though the tragedy had never happened. ( He knew to keep this out of his draft ).

The strangest part of all were the tales of how quickly the Peacekeepers disappeared after the incident. Once citizens were ushered back to their homes and out of the town square, it was quiet. No one watching to make sure everyone obeyed unspoken curfew, no one keeping an eye out for any looters or rioters — no, the people of District 1 fell into line, and he had been told by a witness that they were all Capitol supporters here. They had no reason to rebel. They were safe ( but Corduroy noticed the look of uncertainty in their eyes, because didn't they just witness a beloved Victor get murdered in public ? ).

The bright, glimmering smile he'd once worn soon changed into downturned lips, a permanent furrow between his brow, and spontaneous note taking. It was as though Corduroy had begun documenting things he saw, thoughts he had, all to be kept safe in his jacket pocket and never be shared with anyone. No matter the promises, the stories, or the allegiance.

THE END It's between me, the sand, and the sea. Carolina knows.

Corduory had been strictly prohibited from using the term ' power ' when addressing the Capitol. He had been told to fix a final sentence in his article, that he could face severe consequences for this ' little mistake ' and thus — "Stay vigilant, and more importantly, always remember the power of the Capitol" became "Stay vigilant, and more importantly, always remember the importance of a unified Panem."

Later, much later, Corduroy would look back on this as the precise moment the seed of rebellion had been planted.

For now, he sat with uncertainty, with the confusion of a person not being given all of the information but being expected to finish the task. The final copy given to the editor, then to the printing press, and finally into the hands of those around him. Suddenly the weight of information hit him, that he had conspired with the Capitol without meaning to — to share a calculated, tailored version of events. The fear would shake itself off and Corduroy would be back to his usual self, but for now, on the evening of the issue's first print, he chose to walk himself home, alone, and lock the door.

[strangerthingfanfic]

Title: The Misfits

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairing: Eddie x Billy, Stonathan

Rating: Teen

Summary: Steve was just looking for a quiet evening to contemplate his life when he winds up being pulled into “The Misfits” a group formed of Eddie, Billy, Jonathan, Patrick and Chrissy and what do they all have in common, they face or faced emotional and physical abuse at home.

Maybe some healing and a safe place to talk is what Steve needs to find himself

Chapter 1: Walking in the Moonlight

it had been ages since Steve Harrington had walked the quiet night streets of Hawkins, Indiana. The last time he did he was just starting High School and earning the title of “King of Hawkins High”. He walked the streets that first night of High School lecturing himself on how he had to show the others he was boss.

Since then he had been too busy or too frightened to walk the streets at night. If he was honest with himself he was terrified right then due to the ever-dangerous presence of Demogorgans, Demodogs, and Mind Flayers.

Taking a deep breath he sighed. That night many moons ago was to get him ready to be a king, tonight's journey was to say goodbye to his royal crown. Between losing the crown to Billy Hargrove, losing Nancy to Jonathan, saving Will from a Mind Flayer, taking down a horrible lab, getting his ass kicked by Billy, and then graduating, Steve had a crapass senior year.

On top of all this, his dad was forcing him to get a job since his grades were terrible and he couldn't get into college.

Sighing, Steve looked up at the night sky. The stars were shining brightly even at 9 pm. That was one of the best perks of living in a small town, you could always see the stars on clear nights.

Steve was about to head back when he heard someone singing. It was a male voice accompanied by a guitar.

Curious, he followed the music. He came to the sign for Forest Hills Trailer Park. He didn't see anyone until his eyes landed upon two people who he didn't think would ever coexist, Billy Hargrove and Eddie Munson.

Eddie was playing the guitar while Billy had his head resting on his lap singing. And if that wasn't the strangest thing ever, Chrissy Cunningham, a cheerleader, came out of the trailer with drinks.

“Things really have gone upside down,” Steve thought to himself and started to turn back when a familiar voice said in a mocking tone “is that you Harrington”?

“Damn,” Steve thought to himself and decided to just stay quiet and hope he goes back to what he was doing, but like the rest of his life, shit didn't work out.

“Hey big boy it's ok, we are all friends here,” Eddie said and Steve knew he wasn't getting away.

Heading out to the open he waved at the three staring at him.

Billy who normally would be in his face recoiled and kept close to Eddie. Wrapping his arms around the scared man in front of him Eddie whispered something and Billy calmed down some.

Eddie got up and Chrissy went over and sat next to Billy and took his hand.

Steve watched in amazement until Eddie got to where he was standing.

“What's wrong with Billy” Steve asked genuinely worried.

Eddie looked back at Billy who was doing some calming exercises with Chrissy, smiled and turned back to Steve with a serious look he had never seen on Eddy before.

“Steve, this is what his dad did to him when he found out what happened that night at the cabin. He literally beat the crap out of Billy and then kicked him out.

I found him freezing in his car near the old train tracks with nothing to eat. He had been out there for two days before I found him.

It's been two weeks since he's been in Wayne's care and no one has come looking for him at all, not even his sister.

She has every right to be mad but not even caring if he is alright is sad.

He gets scared every time my uncle just slightly raises his voice. Thankfully though Wayne doesn't do that too often and we have gotten close and with Chrissy and Jason's help, we have been able to get him this far.

This right here is our little band of misfits, The Left Behind. That's our band name too. I am lead guitar, Billy is lead singer, Patrick is on keyboards and Jonathan is on drums.

Steve, would you like to be put, bassist? I've heard you play and Nancy says your parents just leave you alone for long periods.

We could use your help, Steve. Will you join the misfits?” Eddie asked, giving Steve his pouty face.

Steve growled and nodded. He couldn't resist Eddies poity face, no one could.

Suddenly the sound of a dish breaking and Wayne swearing and cursing loudly could be heard lit where they were.

Eddie's complexion went pale and he dashed back to the trailer and what Steve saw broke his heart.

Billy was cowering behind Chrissy and Wayne was apologizing and promising Billy he would never hurt him.

But every time Wayne took a step forward Billy buried his face deeper into Chrissy’s back sobbing and begging him not to hurt him.

Eddie ran over and spinning him around from behind cupped the 17yr olds face like a hurt child and said in a soft voice “you're safe now Billy. No one will hurt you. Eddie’s here to promise you that Wayne was just upset that he got cut by the broken dish and not mad at Billy at all. I love you Billy Bear”.

With that, he placed a soft but sensual kiss on Billy's mouth causing the blonde to return to a regular breathing pattern but still jumpy.

Eddie helped Billy up and took him over to Wayne who gave him a cautious hug in which Billy accepted. “I'm so sorry Billy, I will try to keep calm next time because I don't like you sad,” Wayne said as he wiped the tears from Billy's face.

Billy nodded and followed Wayne and Chrissy inside.

Eddie went back to Steve, “why don't you come with Jon tomorrow and we shall see how we all sound. Oh and please don't tell anyone Billy is here, we don't want any chance of his dad showing up” Eddie said, clapping Steve on the back.

“Even if Max asks” Steve asked in a low voice so Billy couldn't hear. “I think seeing Max will help but she has to want to come” Eddie replied with a touch of venom to his voice.

Steve nodded and headed back to his car with one last wave to Eddie.

“Why me”? Steve said remembering he had his first shift at Scoops Ahoy in less than 9 hrs.

He got in his car and headed home not sure what the hell he just signed up for.

[lindsaystravelblogs4]

Starting out - Week 1 at Beaufort

I wasn't sure if this will ever reach blog status, but I thought I should start a little bit of writing in case enough interesting things happen to make it worthwhile publishing. In the end, I decided to post it anyway.

Our original intention was to explore the northwest corner of Victoria, but with the threat of extreme heat and the risk of terrible bushfires, we modified our plans before we even started out.

And before I go any further, I need to acknowledge that a lot of the photos I might post were taken by Heather rather than me. I am more than happy to acknowledge her as the photographer (particularly of the often very poor shots I might have taken).

Our planned departure from Melbourne was slightly delayed due to the US Consulate General scheduling our visa interview for 13 February, but we had prepared in advance and hitched up our caravan direct from our usual maintenance and repair shop on the morning of Wednesday, 14 February. The car was loaded to the gunwales with boxes and boxes of food, clothes and all the rest of the stuff we might possibly use (or not) and headed across the north of the city on the strangest of trajectories, but one my trusty navigator found.   Our visas were approved with a very perfunctory interview and the very good news that in future, all we need to do is mail our passports in and new visas will be issued automatically.  (The interview was required this time simply because it is less than ten years since we visited Iran!)

We had the van in for a service and found that the place where we had stored the van for the past 22 months when we had not been able to use it had not kept power up to it (as we had paid for) and both batteries were dead and unable to be recharged.  Twenty-six hundred dollars later and we were back on the road in absolutely atrocious traffic – it took more than two hours just to get to the Western Ringroad.

Our plan was to head toward the northwest corner of Victoria, the area we have probably explored less than the rest of the State, but the trip was really just to get out of town in the caravan.  There were very dire threats of bushfires in the area we planned to explore so we decided to stay closer to Melbourne for a few days to allow a reassessment of risk before heading further out.

We made it to the Beaufort Lakes Caravan Park by mid-afternoon and despite being out of practice and having a lot of extra tasks to complete after so long away from out mobile cubbyhouse, we had everything set up and shipshape inside two hours.  We have stayed in this Park numerous times before, mostly with our van, but at least once when we came up with our bikes on the train and stayed in one of the cabins here.  The park is nothing flash, but it is situated on a wonderful lake and is usually pretty quiet – and I love the birds here.  It is a vey peaceful place and we both love it.

A couple of shots of the Beaufort Lake just in front of our caravan.

As it turned out, we stayed here for a full week.  I received no less than eleven reminder emails and two texts from the Consulate, all within three days, urging us to collect our passports with our visas inside, so we returned to Melbourne on Monday, 19 February, and collected our passports as well as doing quite a few other things while we were there.  (We needed to stay in Beaufort for six nights to allow us to return to Melbourne on Monday and the seventh night is free here so we decided to take advantage of that and stay for the full week.)  We harvested some figs and passionfruit from our garden while we were in Melbourne (how wonderful to be eating our own produce and definitely the best we have had from our tree and vines).  Heather cut my hair (easier to do at home than on the road) and we dropped off a few things that we found we didn’t need in the van, and collected a few others that we didn’t have room for last week.  Beaufort is the town where we had previously purchased some bulk birdseed for out balcony birds, and we had just run out so we purchased another bag on Friday and took that home too.  We did a few other minor jobs and bought some more booze because it is cheaper in the city and we hadn’t had room for much last week.

A few of the figs and passionfruit we harvested from our terrace.

We left the city after about five hours and headed to Diggers Rest to check out a possible caravan storage place where we could park pretty securely in the open and allow our solar panels to recharge the batteries instead of having to replace the batteries every time we use the van.  We haven’t made a decision yet – it looks safe enough but it is 45 kilometres from home compared with 35 where we have been storing it.  We will decide in the next couple of weeks to ensure we have a suitable place to park it at the end of this trip.

There is an oval immediately adjacent to the Park and I watched at least a couple of hours of cricket – two limited overs matches, a junior one and a  senior one, both pretty one-sided, but still fun.  They were not quite Test Match standard, but quite entertaining nonetheless.  On Sunday, we had a huge lunch at one of the local pubs.  We have eaten there several times in the past and it was always excellent food and Sunday was no exception.

Looking across the Lake just after dawn.

It is a great place for birding with both a freshwater lake, some boggy wetland, and some dry bush areas.  I have walked around the lake a few times and have prowled the more productive areas three or four times each day.  On the first day, I flushed what I thought was a sandpiper of some sort and tracked it numerous times over five days before I could actually get a photo good enough to identify it.  There were actually two of them and a couple of times, I got to within three metres of them without seeing them before they flushed.  I finally identified them as Latham’s Snipe – outstandingly cryptic – unless you are in Russia where we saw several standing in the open high on a dead tree watching us!

One of the two cryptic Latham's Snipe - always hiding and cautious.

Apart from this bit of my blog, I have done quite a bit of other writing.  After a massive cleanout of old papers from the past twenty-five years in the week or so before we left home, my mind has been whirring with memories (many of them really horrible) and I have started writing a lot of my life history in a document that may never see the light of day.  It already runs to almost forty pages, but I suspect it will eventually be quite a bit longer – just trying to set a lot of issues to rest and hopefully purge a host of memories that I would prefer to forget.  It is obviously a work in progress that may take years to complete (if ever) but it keeps me awake at night as well as putting me to sleep on other nights.

After dinner one night, we started playing nostalgic music on our phones (Heather’s mainly, because the signal is so poor here that I can’t get anything on my phone) – a lot of it Gospel stuff from our teens but for one reason or another, it made us both a little emotional.  Maybe not an important point, but I wrote a section about music in the document I mentioned, and this was very different – maybe I need to revisit what I wrote.

One inexplicable thing happened on the first night we were here.  Heather was heating some food in a microwave-proof dish when an awful smell of burning filled the caravan.  It took us a few minutes to find the problem, but the container had melted and the food was sitting in a pool of molten plastic.  We have no idea why this might have happened because we have done the same thing plenty of times before, at home and in the van, without any problems at all.  It’s a weird world.

[azx3jokes]

The bartender decides to play a trick on the cowboy

One night a lone cowboy rode into a small town. He immediately went to the only saloon in town and ordered a drink.

While drinking he asked the bartender if there was a room and any women around. The bartender told him he had a room for rent and then glanced over to his friends drinking at another table.

They decided to play a joke on the cowboy. As the evening drug on, the cowboy became very drunk but was still asking about a woman.

Finally the bartender sent his friends upstairs on a mission and they returned shortly. Then the bartender told the cowboy that they only had one woman there but she was upstairs waiting on him. In fact, the bartender’s friends had carried a blow-up doll upstairs and placed her in cowboy’s bed.

The cowboy bid everyone good night and slowly climbed the stairs. Filled with anticipation he approached the room and went inside as the men downstairs listened with great interest. After a few moments, they heard the bed springs squeaking and moans of pleasure coming from the room.

Then everything was quiet.

Not being able to sleep with anticipation of the coming morning, the men decided to play poker through the night and await the man coming down the next morning. As he came down the stairs, they noticed a strange look on his face.

They asked, “Well, cowboy, how was the woman?”

He hesitated, then answered, “Man, that was the best piece of ass I ever had, but the strangest thing happened. After I screwed her, I bit her on the titty and she farted and flew out the window and I haven’t seen her since.”

[ineffably-poetic]

WIP Info :)

This is for my favorite WIP rn, which is currently untitled 😅 but anyway.

genres: horror, romance, comedy, LGBT+

also includes found family :))

— Summary below (tw: death, bodies, creepy stuff)

“At first, the town seems normal. Quiet, peaceful, a place where people go when they need some solitude. A place where people go to disappear. Sometimes without meaning to. 

Merriweather Wright, a photographer from New York City, came here looking for a nice week off in his hometown. Ever since leaving, he’d forgotten the strange things that had occurred when he lived there as a child. Luckily, his childhood best friends—Tomas, Elna, and Ruslana—are there to fill him in. 

Things have been getting even more mysterious. People have been disappearing, doomsayers have been running amok in the streets, screaming about strange lights over the town at night. “The end is nigh!” He can hear them screaming as he tries to fall asleep. 

Ravens have begun to circle the bridge over the river recently. Something made claw marks the one night. The next, someone went missing, and their body was found two days later, floating by the bank of the river. 

Radio stations don’t work. The only one that isn’t filled with static is from some occultist on the outskirts of town, who plays country music and frequently talks about how the world is ending. 

The news is just as bleak. People are dying and disappearing and no one knows why. 

But maybe it has something to do with the strange shadows that seem to stare back in the night. 

The group decides to start their own radio show, chronicling the happenings of this town. Along the way, a mystery begins to unravel itself, slowly, and the secrets of Ravenpoint begin to be revealed.”

——————————

And here’s a short excerpt:

I am sitting in the dining room of Elna and Ruslana’s house, eating scones, and trying to recover from the jetlag of traveling all the way across the United States. My friends are sitting around me--minus Tomas, who is staring at the bookshelf intently. I am looking at a picture of Elna and Ruslana on their wedding day. It was taken on the beach here, with Middlemore Bay in the background, and the lighthouse. Ravens surround the top of it, probably blocking out any light that might have been emitting from its lamp. 

“Found it,” Tomas says, sliding onto the bench next to me. He sets down a huge book. The title is as follows:

A History of Ravenpoint

(Plus a Multitude of Diagrams, Charts and Other Graphs Which Depict Disappearances, Murders, and Supernatural Occurrences Over the Years.)

“That’s quite the mouthful,” Ruslana mutters, craning her neck to see the cover. “Why’s there no author?”

Elna glances at her, and says, “That’s not the strangest thing we’ve seen.”

She’s right. My head is still spinning, and what happened two hours earlier is still replaying over and over. Not to mention the fact that everything I’d forgotten about this town is suddenly coming back to me. Neither of these things is helping with my headache, which has turned into a throbbing sensation that’s getting harder to ignore every minute. 

———————————

more WIP stuff coming soon (probably tomorrow!)