Ok so I’ve been wondering who tf is saying shit in Morse code in the one tv in the Mandela tech security cams on the website

Personally I can’t translate Morse code but I’ve heard a few variations of what people have translated but the most common is “I’m still here” (some say that it says “I’m still here thatcher, I miss you” or something similar I can’t totally remember)

So here are the possible options of who could be trying to communicate through it that I’ve come up with

1) Ruth. If the “I miss you thatcher” thing is true than it would make the most sense for it to be Ruth, but other than that I’m not totally sure why she would want to do this other than to provide some comfort/closure to thatcher which would be very epic

2) Dave. If it’s Dave then he’d most likely be trying to communicate what Gabriel is up to and warn thatcher/Evelin/whoever may read it, plus it’s been confirmed that he is the prophet so it would make some level of sense for him to be able to communicate beyond the grave (while we know Dave being the mandela prophet means that he was the one to give all the info to Gabriel, it could also mean that he’s trying to tell it to whoever sees his message, prophesying what Gabriel will do.) Or alt. Dave will happen which would also be epic

3) Six. Listen to me. With the Ruth alt we saw in Thatcher’s house in vol. 4, it’s clear that alternates trying to manipulate Thatcher’s grief isn’t working, but what if Six lures him away to become more vulnerable so he can do as he wishes to him, leading Thatcher in with the “I miss you Thatcher” thing to finally be able to do whatever it is he and Gabriel want Thatcher to do, which could very much have to do with Adam with the whole “THATCHER DAVIS DOOMS ALL” thing

Honestly I have no clue but I can’t wait to see what it means/if it will mean anything big

can you talk abt the alt swap au :3 ?

ooooohohoho alt swap au </////3

here's my first post talking abt it just for reference :3

most of this that im gonna talk abt is from discord and it just gonna be a bunch of different stuff so cut me some slack xddd

and this is. a lot more than i thought so uuhhh enjoy another masterpost??? kinda??? CFVGBHNJ

"cain can travel through tvs and mabel can travel through mirrors, but cain cant travel through mirrors and mabel cant travel through tvs (at least on their own).

seth can travel through both, but they didnt know that until uh. until adam told him"

"i have an idea to how the end of vol 1 in this au would go so cain has been locked in his room for 3 days by this point, and basically the "uh oh, bad decision!" part would turn into more of a "cain killed abel" situation. the alt outside cain's door would mock cain and fake his sister's death to maybe make him succumb to M.A.D. finally, and it almost worked.

until mabel came in and dragged cain out of the house...

...based in the message i replied to," (which are the lil blurbs i pasted above lmao), "i think that when mabel was trying to help cain escape, she realized she also just trapped herself in cain’s room. but then cain realized somehow that he can travel through tvs. he took mabel’s hand, took them to trust him, and they went through. they end up in the static world and theyre like “tf is this” they do end up getting out though, and after they figure out where they were, they go back to mandela, grab seth, and fucking leave

also here's some toonbriel lore! bc hell yeah he deserves to be in this au B)))

"and he actually takes the place of dave in the au. i originally didnt have a technical spot for him and decided that putting toonbriel there would be cool.

his name is terry o'brien but he goes by "toony" around family bc he was super obsessed with cartoons when he was younger, whether it be on tv, comic books, etc

he's a pastor at st. gabriel's and is lt gabe's younger twin brother and theyve been two peas in a pod since they were super young. they did end up fighting on their different methods of trying to help the county, and terry argues that while gabe is literally doing nothing, terry has been giving people hope and shelter and food and so many things. this ends up causing them to split, and terry goes to dave for advice. turns out, dave has been using him as his prophet and ends up killing him because he's no longer of use to dave.

im still working out the details of how he helped dave tho, but gabe is devastated after losing terry. he was already stressed enough and was basically blamed for sgt maria's death (she's preacher who took ruth's place) back at the murray house, and losing one of the only things he lived for was heartbreaking. finding seth dealing with the horrors^tm helped a little bit bc he's actually helping someone he tried protecting in the past...

...im thinking gabe was the more protective one of the two as well as the more sociable twin. terry was super clingy and liked sticking around gabe bc he was the only person he knew.

not a childhood story, but i do imagine that gabe does know dave, and they probably met through terry! not sure abt how terry and dave met just yet, but gabe doesnt actually like dave all that much.

gabe immediately knew who to suspect when terry died, and the fact that he heard his voice after said death only made him more sure"

some lilith and seth lore

"lilith and seth were both troubled kids in school and they just. fought so much. and lilith had to deal with shitbag dave at mandelatech and was even forced to stay working for him once he revealed to her and he led the alternates. she has a LOT of pent up anger and just needs to get it out.

like i imagine that one time after seth found out he was an alt, he called lilith over for a fight, and she'd been itching for one since dave killed terry. she literally beat him to a pulp during that fight, but she stopped once she saw him look up at her. he looked hopeless and his eyes looked somewhat glazed over. he took slow, deep breaths even after he got the wind knocked out of him several times.

lilith new something was wrong. she ended up helping him recover and even asked what was wrong. he didnt really reveal the whole alt thing, but he mentioned having holes in his identity and how its been beating him up, especially since someone claiming to be his father wants to suddenly come (back) into his life.

since then, theyve worked towards trying to support each other and just trying to maybe be friends {:)"

ALSO I CANT BELIEVE IVE NEVER MENTIONED THIS!!!!!

yknow how in unholy gift sarah and tiffany are kinda rivals?? like tiffany likes to fuck w sarah bc she's bored? and she's usually v snarky and cocky?

lilith and eve are the exact same way except tat eve is like GENUINELY malicious and very manipulative. she takes advantage of lilith's dislike of mandelatech to make her do a bunch of shit for the alts, and it's asically a big old scheme to use lilith to advance the alts' plans.

i also think that thatcher is the one who told davis to go back and get seth. davis did go to cain and mabel first though, and they were VERY rightfully pissed. but they did eventually get seth and shit. seth was super avoidant of everyone after the whole thing though {:(

hear my stolen lullabies

chapter five of the peter losing wendy series

*inspired by Taylor Swift’s Folklore*

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Original Character (Liz Walker)

Warnings: mentions of parent death and suicide, drug use, emotional/verbal abuse, yelling, PLEASE proceed with caution, smoking

Word Count: 5.6K

Summary: Twice, Liz finds solace at the Chateau during a difficult time.

March 13, 2019

Fiddling with her earring, Liz stared down at her feet as her mother rambled on. Her mother wasn’t exactly screaming, but she was definitely yelling. About how Liz needed to help out more around the house, about how she shouldn’t abandon her mother like her sisters had, about how there was nothing nice left about life. To say it was less than uplifting was an understatement. Liz was beginning to taste blood as she gnawed on her lower lip. After a couple years dealing with her mother’s rage, or her teary outbursts, she had gotten used to tuning it out. Or, at least, trying to. Sometimes, though, it was too loud, too painful, too overwhelming.

“You’re always so fucking mean to me, Elizabeth!” Ruth Walker exclaimed, hands at her sides in exaggeration. “Why can’t you just comfort me? That’s what I need!”

“Comfort you, mom?!” Liz yelled back, finally looking up and tilting her head at her mother. “Jesus, I’ve been comforting you everyday since dad died! Every single fucking day!”

“Excuse me?” Ruth asked, raising her eyebrows. “I’m the mother, and you’re the child! You don’t swear at me!”

Scoffing slightly, Liz shook her head. With her mother staring back at her, brown eyes furious and dark, brows furrowed, Liz couldn’t stomach her anger. As much as she tried to stamp it down, she usually ended with her own tirade creeping up her throat. And the worst part was, she was always wondering if she would one day end up screaming at her own daughter. Full of hypocrisy and bitterness, her life lived entirely different than she wanted. Ruth Walker wasn’t to blame for the way things had turned out, and that Liz scared more than she cared to admit. Her gut churned with anxiety and adrenaline, and she continued despite her better judgement.

“If I’m the child, Mom, why am I the one sleeping in your bed to help you with your nightmares? Why am I the one picking up the milk and the eggs and the bread? And spending every minute of every damn day worrying about you ending up exactly like Dad?” she wagered, pulling out the big guns.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew there was no use. They fought about the same things a thousand times over, and neither of them ever changed a bit. But at least letting off some steam might help in the short-term. Liz’s voice was getting louder, and her face redder, as she stood across from her mother in the dingy kitchen. All Liz had wanted was to get a snack to celebrate finishing her essay. Instead, it was an ambush over the leftovers.

“I lost my husband! My life is...my future is ruined!” Ruth screamed, crying through her words.

She knew how insensitive it was, but Liz rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help herself. “Jesus, I know! You think I don’t know that? Your life isn’t ruined, Mom! You’re not the one who died!”

“Sometimes it feels like it,” her mother said, still angry but beginning to deflate. Her energy was waning.

Liz scoffed, feeling completely impatient. Each time they reached this point in the conversation, when her mother would begin to wallow and struggle through her words, Liz would have to sigh, and apologize, and suggest her mother finally go to therapy. The island’s pharmacist, who had once been a therapist, had offered to help the family in the wake of Liz’s father’s suicide. Out of all five Walker women, only Liz had taken him up on the offer. Though she’d only been able to handle about one session a month, Liz was still going. And she knew it helped. But her mother refused to help herself.

“Yeah, well, sometimes it seems like it, too,” Liz muttered, so utterly frustrated she found her filter (which was not particularly strong to begin with) to be totally gone.

Her mother swallowed thickly, but didn’t say a word in response. She only gaped.

Feeling her stomach flip once again, whether due to general anxiety or disgust with herself she didn’t know, Liz turned around and looked out the kitchen window. Bracing herself with her palms on the sink, she looked at the ring stand on the windowsill. On it, her mother’s diamond engagement ring. She had to avert her eyes from it. Before, the ring had been precious, always on her mother’s finger. But Ruth had taken it off after hearing of her husband’s death, and it had sat on the windowsill ever since. Ruth valued it now about as much as a piece of gravel. Liz uttered a harsh, humorless chuckle.

“What an asshole. It wouldn’t be like this if he was still here,” Liz said. “I hate him.”

Ruth’s jaw clenched as Liz turned back to her. “Don’t talk about your father like that!”

“Stop defending him! He fucking lied to us! He was supposed to be there for us...a-and take c-care of us!” Liz argued. “And then he just left! Real fathers don’t do that! At least not the ones who loved their kids!”

“Fuck you!” her mother screamed in response.

Liz recoiled, grey eyes darkening to storms. She gave a thin smile, devoid of joy, and then began to push past her mother. “Yeah, well, fuck you, too.”

She grabbed her bag and tugged on her shoes, then rushed out the front door in the direction of her bike. Ruth stood motionless in the kitchen, watching through the screen door as her daughter rode away. The evening was clouded over and gloomy, the air just beginning to warm with spring. But an involuntary tremble rolled through Ruth’s body as though it were winter. And, when her daughter was gone, she let out a sob. Then, she collapsed in on herself and began to weep.

.   .   .

A violent shiver made goosebumps rise on Liz’s skin as she finally made it to the Chateau, but her cheeks were flushed hot with adrenaline. The daylight was nearly gone, the sky a cold purple-pink, as she leaned her bike up against the tree out front. The air was filled with spring freshness, but it was chilly. The gray cardigan she wore was proving to be a lifesaver. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stomped up and onto the front porch. She could smell the familiar scent of burnt toast (a telltale sign JJ had tried to cook something, which never ended well) as she approached. And she stopped in her tracks when she saw JJ in the hammock, scrolling absently through his phone. He was freshly showered, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, hair damp. He looked up when her footsteps halted, eyebrows raised and expectant.

“Hey, red. What’s going on?” he asked, not quite concerned, but certainly not indifferent either.

It was Thursday night, and everyone was busy. Sarah and John B were out getting dinner somewhere on the Figure Eight. Pope was working on scholarship applications. Kie was doing a shift at The Wreck. JJ himself had only gotten off of work an hour earlier, sore from an afternoon spent mowing Kook lawns. Liz had texted in their group chat saying she had a big paper to write, which would probably take her until the sun rose the next morning.

Liz blew out a long breath, feeling the tense energy begin to leave her system. She didn’t feel like crying, though. Not exactly. Instead, she felt used up. Trying her hardest wasn’t working. Wringing her hands together, she felt how dry her skin was. She’d been washing her hands too much, using scalding water, despite the harshness of the early spring cold. The breeze was still parched and unyielding. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. The habits came and went, ones she felt like needed to be done or else the world would end. They had existed before her father’s death, and she had always been what her mother called ‘a nervous little girl,’ but things had definitely gotten worse in the past couple of years.

“I just…” she began tiredly. Pausing, she sighed and took a seat on the couch, facing him. “I got in a f-fight with my mom.”

“Oh,” he said plainly, nodding. And she could tell he understood. He’d spent probably countless hours listening to her vent about her family’s issues. Just as she had spent hours hearing about JJ’s father. They had developed a pretty symbiotic system. “What was it about?”

She ran a hand over her face, narrowly avoiding her eyes, the makeup from the school day she had yet to wash off. Then, she shrugged. “I don’t know. The same shit, I guess. I told her...it seemed like she was dead now too.”

JJ hummed, nodding as he furrowed his brows. He put his phone down on the floor next to the hammock, forgotten. He waited for her to continue.

“I mean...I guess I meant it. I know that...I know her worst fears came true. I know that. But fuck,” she said, her knee bobbing up and down. The fingers of one hand drummed against her thigh. “I’m just so sick of all this. This would all be so much easier if he had just like...gotten into a car accident or had a brain aneurysm or something.”

He noticed her fidgeting, and he didn’t know whether it was because she was still so keyed up from the fight or if she was just cold. “Probably,” he agreed quietly.

She barely cast him a glance before she continued. “I mean, what was the point in having the funeral, and saying goodbye and all that bullshit, if we were still gonna fight about him and think about him every damn day? It’s like...everything is different except for that one thing. He’s the dead one and he’s like...the only thing left.”

Shaking her head at herself, not even understanding her own words, she clenched her jaw. Looking out into the yard, she could vaguely see the chickens walking around behind the wire of the coop. The chipped red paint of her bike shone dully in the glow of the sunset. Above the bike, the tire swing Big John had put up years earlier still swung, weathered with age. Liz wondered if John B ever felt like she did. Home was still home, but it would also never be home again. Her house felt more like a mausoleum to her than anything else. The life she had lived before was never coming back.

“She kick you out again?” JJ asked.

“Not really,” Liz said. “But I probably shouldn’t go back tonight. I said ‘fuck you’ to her. Like, literally.”

JJ raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I know,” she said, reading his expression. “But only because she said it to me first. I don’t think I’m ready for round two yet. I’ll take the pullout or something.”

“You want something to take the edge off?” JJ asked, taking his weed pen from his breast pocket and holding it out to her.

She waved her hand dismissively and shook her head again. “No thanks. I just...Jesus I hate this.”

Huffing out a frustrated breath, she got up and slipped through the screen door, into the Chateau. JJ wasn’t surprised a minute later when she reemerged with a battered acoustic guitar in her hands. It had been her father’s in his teen years, and she had been playing since before JJ even met her, when the instrument’s body dwarfed her own and her child’s hands could hardly fit around the neck. She didn’t practice everyday or anything, but could still play songs around the campfire or when the restless energy invaded her body and she needed an outlet for it. Without another word, she began softly strumming out a folk song JJ could almost recognize, but couldn’t remember the name of.

“How was your day?” she asked after a moment, eyes not even on the guitar as she played. It had become a distraction, rather than a passion, since her father had died. Playing it would always be linked with him in her mind. Sometimes, it made her angry that he had ruined yet another thing from the grave. But sometimes, she could tolerate the memories enough to enjoy it again.

“You mean since you saw me like four hours ago?” JJ asked, smirking lightly. Most days, John B drove them both home in the Twinkie, along with Pope.

She nodded, smiling just a little. “Yeah. I’m sure it’s been really exciting.”

“Oh, yeah,” JJ said emphatically. “Honestly, it was a pretty life-changing afternoon.”

“Enlighten me,” Liz said, tilting her head at him.

“Okay, let’s see. I went to the Eight to mow the Westerfields’ lawn. But their kid wouldn’t quit trying to help, so I had to make the lawn mower noises while he used his toy one, and he tired out eventually. Added like two extra hours,” JJ said.

Smiling fondly, Liz nodded for him to continue. A light breeze passed by, blowing her bangs away from her face.

“He��s pretty cute, though. And his mom let me in the house to wash up this time. I got this sick utility tool from the garage when she wasn’t looking,” he said, grin growing with excitement. From the same pocket which housed his pen, he produced a shiny red utility tool, complete with a knife, a screwdriver, and a bottle opener.

She laughed. “What the fuck do you need that for, Maybank?”

“Remember on New Year’s when we couldn’t find the corkscrew so you had to open that wine with a screw and a hammer?”

“One of my proudest moments.”

“Well, next time, we’ll have an extra,” JJ said, putting the tool back. “And I gotta say, I think we should add that house to our list.”

“Really? It’s the yellowish one with the hedges in the front, right?” Liz asked, still plucking at her guitar strings.

JJ nodded.

Since they were kids, they had been considering which houses to move into when they went full Kook. The ‘list’ had never been written down, instead existing as more of a living document in both their minds. There were a few properties on the Eight that were serious contenders, known by the families that lived in them: the Westerfields, the Kitteridges, even the Camerons. Liz was always coming back to the Petries’ place, with the cobblestone path and the tiny pond in the backyard. JJ was partial to the old McKinnon place, with the pristine lawn and the well-kempt dock out back.

“The inside is kickass,” JJ continued. “Like, a TV in every room.”

“Okay, it’s officially added,” Liz said with finality and a little smile.

Before she could continue, she saw JJ yawn into his fist. She noticed the tired glaze in his blue eyes and felt a little bit guilty. She had come over after a long day and bombarded him with all her family shit. She wanted to reciprocate, ask about how things were with his dad and why he hadn’t been back home for at least a week, but she bit her tongue. After so many years knowing JJ, she had learned that he wasn’t going to talk about his family until he wanted to.

She began to play “Polly,” not really singing but humming lowly along with the tune. JJ listened, rocking the hammock slightly. They shared a love for Kurt Cobain, and he always liked it when she played Nirvana for him. Even if he was more partial to the screamo electric songs than their acoustic numbers. As Liz expected, JJ was struggling to keep his eyes open by the time she finished.

“You falling asleep, sunshine?” she asked softly, putting her guitar aside. She would have to make sure she placed it back in the corner of the Chateau’s living room when they went to turn in for the night.

“No,” he said, clearing his throat and blinking harshly a couple times. “Are you kidding? It’s only like eight.”

She shrugged. “You can rest if you want to, JJ. It’s just me.”

“You cold?” he asked, eyes lingering on her hands. They were still a bit shaky, even after she played guitar. Usually, that was enough to make the angry trembling subside.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Answer the question.”

With a stubborn sigh, she relented. “I mean, a little bit.”

He rolled his eyes. She was always trying to put on a brave face, even over something as small as being cold. Even in front of him. “Yeah, a ‘little bit.’ Okay. C’mon, tough girl, you can steal some of my body heat.”

She snorted a laugh as he opened his arms and gestured for her to come lay down with him. “Okay.”

Her cheeks warmed marginally, but he didn’t mention it if he noticed she was blushing. They were touchy with each other. All the Pogues were. But she and JJ had always been a bit more. Lately, it was getting under her skin, in a good way or a bad way she didn’t know. Each time she felt herself crushing, she reminded herself of the perfect, toned Tourons JJ always brought home after a Kegger. She reminded herself that they had known each other forever, and she shouldn’t ruin anything over a silly, fleeting feeling. Recently, though, there hadn’t been as many girls taken home. And there had been lingering looks and moments between the two of them. But Liz figured she was only imagining it. Otherwise, what was it? The whole thing was too confusing to manage.

But she was cold and he was tired. She didn’t feel up to navigating her thoughts on the subject, so she pushed them out of her mind. And one of the comfiest quilts ever to exist was draped over the back of the couch, too tempting to resist. She grabbed it and then kicked off her shoes before she went over to the hammock. She plopped down next to him, taking a moment to cover the two of them with the blanket and settle in. He winced slightly as her elbow grazed his ribcage.

“Sorry, sunshine. Are you okay?” she asked, instantly concerned, noticing as he hissed in quiet pain.

“Oh, yeah, red,” he said, nodding. “Just got a little too sloppy at the Boneyard last weekend. I fell down on the damn dock. Totally knocked the wind out of me.”

“Do you want me to move? You need to tell me if I’m hurting you,” she continued, a hand placed softly on his chest.

“You’re not,” he replied. “I promise.”

He wrapped his arms around her and brought her head to his shoulder. It seemed to be enough to reassure her, and she let the subject drop. Or maybe she was saving it away for a discussion later on. One thing JJ had learned about Liz in knowing her: her memory was pretty damn close to photographic. She breathed out in content as she finally began to warm up, and her body relaxed.

“Did you finish your paper?” JJ asked, remembering what she should have been doing.

“Yeah. It didn’t take me as long as I thought it would. There’s way too much to say about Virginia Woolf,” Liz explained, letting her legs slip between his, tangling them together. It was the closest they had been in a long time, and she could smell his Old Spice. “It actually ended up being like a page too long. I had to go back and cut it down.”

“Good job, nerd,” he teased. English was the only class she regularly got As in.

“Shut up,” she warned, looking up at him through her lashes and smirking a bit. “Just go to sleep, dick.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said playfully. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

When he pulled back, their eyes met again. Liz didn’t think much. She could only feel what she was doing as she was doing it, a bit surprised at herself. It was like her brain short circuited, flooded with butterflies, and she could only act on instinct.

“JJ?”

“Hm?”

Then, after a moment’s hesitation: “Can we kiss?”

His eyes softened. “‘Course we can, Lizzie.”

Before she knew it, they were both leaning in. They kissed gently, slow. JJ’s lips were surprisingly soft, and he kept a small smile on his face as they separated, dimples on his cheeks. Liz’s brow crinkled. Had that really just happened? When they were both totally sober and not dreaming? She uttered a small hum, nodding.

“Huh,” she said. She had never kissed anyone before, besides Kie. Never a real kiss.

JJ uttered a chuckle. “Yeah. Huh.”

“Are you alright?” Liz asked, a smile to match his own creeping onto her face.

“Mm-hm. Are you alright?” JJ’s voice lilted with nervous, giggly apprehension.

She nodded.

Then, some sort of simple understanding passed between them, smiles still ghosting over their lips. Liz put her head back down on JJ’s shoulder, and his grip tightened on her just a touch. They fell asleep.

.   .   .

October 27, 2019

Again, Liz was high as a kite by late afternoon. They sat smoking on the front porch of the Chateau after the midday dress burning, laughing at the mock sincerity of the ceremony. For once, Liz was happy and giggly in the presence of Sarah Cameron. JJ grinned widely at Liz opening up a bit. John B was always quick to accuse Liz of not liking Sarah, but JJ knew it was simply that she needed time to soften. Even with all her confidence, she was still shy. She didn’t like to show herself to people until she was positive she could trust them. JJ could definitely understand that. Leaning back against the couch, he threw his arm over the backrest. Liz, sitting beside him because she knew he would hog the bowl otherwise, tensed slightly. Looking around self-consciously, she didn’t think she saw anyone reacting to her flinch. Hopefully, they hadn’t noticed. The instinct to pull away from JJ was knee jerk. With a harsh swallow, she clenched her jaw and sat back slightly, trying to lean into it.

“Yo, did you guys hear that new Billie Eilish single?” JJ asked.

“Oh, I fucking loved it,” Liz said emphatically.

John B snickered. “Well, damn, I never would have guessed.”

She flipped him off, rolling her eyes. “You’re a loser.”

“Ditto, man,” John B replied, a smug smirk on his face.

Liz scoffed through a breathy chuckle. Weed made John B a bit of a condescending asshole, though sometimes in a charming way. Each time it was a toss-up. The day was slightly warmer than the one before, but she suspected it would likely be the last day the temperature was above fifty degrees. The thought of the season ahead made her grimace slightly. It was bad to begin the winter with a death. It was very bad. And, even amidst her group of friends enjoying each others’ company, she couldn’t help but feel far away from them. Distant. Alone. Maybe it was just the after-effects of her grandmother’s funeral the day before. She didn’t know.

She took the bowl back from JJ and inhaled a long breath. She coughed slightly as she let it out, listening to the others talk about something or other, maybe what Kyle McCormick had said to the calculus teacher the day before. She stared out into the front yard. When she was high, all her senses were amplified. The colors seemed brighter somehow. They seemed to move on their own, alive. The only thing close to the sensation that Liz could think of was reading Virginia Woolf. And even then, it was just the character who was experiencing it. Being mesmerized, really mesmerized, wasn’t an everyday thing. It felt like falling in love. She hadn’t felt it much since she and JJ broke up.

She passed the bowl, filled with grayish ashes, back to JJ. They reminded her of her father’s ashes. They’d spread them in the ocean, out on a rental boat. She’d held them in her hands, felt the smooth, sooty fragments of teeth. The thought made her shut her eyes for a second. JJ furrowed his brows, watching her as he took his own drag, trying to get the dregs of smoke from the bowl.

“You okay, Lizzie?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands. Her cheeks were rosy from the autumn chill. “I just have a headache.”

JJ frowned. He felt her forehead, then put the back of one hand to her cheek. He was relieved to feel the redness was from the chilly wind, not from fever. Every time she got sick, it was because she had been running herself ragged, not sleeping.  “Hm. You’re probably still tired from yesterday. You wanna go lay down?”

Clearing her throat, ridding it from the stray smoky feeling, she nodded. “Sure. I’ll take the pullout.”

“Just take JJ’s bed again,” John B said lightly, catching snippets of the conversation.

“Is that alright?” she asked, tilting her head at JJ.

“Yeah. It’s the middle of the afternoon. I won’t be needing it for like eight more hours at least,” JJ answered, trying to pass the bowl to Pope.

Pope waved a hand at the drug paraphernalia. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so tired if you hadn’t smoked, Liz.”

Liz rolled her eyes as she got up from the couch. “Whatever, Doctor Spock.”

“You’re clouding your mental capacity,” Pope continued self-righteously. It didn’t annoy her as much as it once had, since she knew it came from a place of worry. After so long, she was able to shrug it off rather well.

“Good,” Liz retorted, more sincerely than Pope expected.

He shifted nervously, then turned to ask Kie something.

.   .   .

Slats of sunlight shone on the bed through the gaps in the blinds, making the room feel impossibly cozy. Since Liz had slept in there the night before, she had made the bed. It wasn’t really a cleanliness issue. She could have a perfectly neat bed and then not cast a second glance at the piles of books and clothes, and papers in the case of her desk. It was more that if she didn’t make her bed everyday, it made her want to wash her hands more, with hotter water. It made her want to pick off her nail polish and gnaw on her bottom lip. But she found herself feeling totally content as she laid on the bed, atop the fuzzy throw and the smooth comforter, piles stacked properly behind her. She rested her head on her crossed arms, the sleeve of her worn cardigan soft against her cheek. Her sock feet were raised in the air, one calf crossed over the other. She thought about the morning, when she had woken up with JJ’s arm draped over her. It had been the first time she had anxiously made the bed in JJ’s room in a long time. It had been so familiar that it broke her heart a bit. It broke her heart more when JJ had excitedly begun preparing for the dress burning almost immediately after waking up.

Over breakfast, he had enthusiastically gone over everyone’s duties to put together the “funeral for Lizzie’s funeral dress.” She smiled at him gratefully, but her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t reconcile the JJ who took care of her after tragedy with the one she had encountered on the last night in August. She thought about the feel of his hand on her waist, dancing with her in the Stoner’s Grove at a party, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of her dress. They hadn't kissed, so they could explain it away if anyone asked. That had been before the invisible change had taken place. And she could feel it again where his hand had rested earlier in the day, when they had stood around a bonfire in the backyard, while the remains of her dress smoked in the air and then floated away. She had stared into the orangey flames, so strangely pure against the pristine blue of the October sky, until her eyes were hot and dry. JJ had placed an affectionate hand on her waist for only a moment, giving her hip a comforting squeeze. And she simply didn’t know what to do with it.

But she decided to clear the thoughts of him from her head, running her fingers delicately over the soft throw blanket. Touch, she thought to herself. Touch was her favorite of the senses when she was high. Her feet were up near the head of the bed, her head at the bottom. She had often laid in the same position, feet up in the air, as a little girl. She and John B had made a habit of going out to the edge of the dock and looking down at their reflections in the water, sometimes with their heads leaning completely over the green murkiness below. It was the kind of childhood foolishness you could only see the error in with hindsight. She let herself get lost in the music which played from the bluetooth speaker on the desk. She had turned it down to a medium volume, hoping she could get one of her mellower playlists to lull her to sleep. But the sunshine was too beautiful to miss. She let it warm her back as she laid there, listening to the sound of The 1975’s “Be My Mistake.” Sometimes, it was too sad for her to stomach. When high, though, she could stand it enough to listen. She barely even welled up this time.

The screen door slammed shut, and she could hear the rest of the Pogues reenter the house, likely to finish up whatever homework or enjoy the remnants of the Sunday afternoon. The sound of JJ’s boots approached, and Liz had to prepare herself for a moment before he came in. She didn’t know what instinct she would follow: the softening of her heart or the guarding of her gaze.

He opened the door with a warm creak, smirking when he saw she was still awake, from the way her feet swung side-to-side gently. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replied huskily.

He shut the door behind him and bent over to unlace his boots. He tugged them off and discarded them in the corner absently before he came to sit down next to her on the bed.

“I was just coming to get my earth science homework, but I guess you don’t need quiet like I thought.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, lost in the song.

“You still wanna go to sleep?” he asked.

She may have had a pretty high tolerance, but she had smoked more of the good shit, and it was likely heightened in effect when she was so sleep-deprived. He was surely the more sober one of the two. The gut instinct to hold her hair back, rub circles on her skin, guide her sweetly through her intoxication, overtook him as it had so many times in the past. But he wasn’t her boyfriend, as she had pointed out one morning after he had fought a Touron. And it wasn’t his job to take care of her, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

“No,” she said softly. Her words came out in a pensive whisper. “I’m just having a nice time listening to the music.”

He snorted a laugh. “You’re so adorable.”

“You can’t say shit like that to me, JJ,” she said immediately, though still in that same gentle tone. Raising her head a bit, she met his slightly glassy, reddish gaze with her own to match.

He shut his mouth and averted his eyes, nodding. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” she said. “You just can’t.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Then after a moment, she asked: “Do you still wanna hang out?”

He smiled. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

“Alright,” she said, putting her head back down.

JJ got more comfortable, back resting against the wall behind the bed, getting ready to listen to her playlist. Liz’s playlists were, in fact, pretty infamous amongst their group of friends. When she couldn’t afford presents for birthdays or holidays, she made them playlists.

“So, since you’re in earth science, tell me again why they declassified Pluto as a planet?” she asked. “I mean, I know it doesn’t have emotions or anything, but imagine being a planet and having your planet status taken away from you. I feel bad for it, y’know?”

JJ laughed.

epilogue 10

“Operator, this is Mac,” came the familiar, bored drawl of Lady’s secretary.

Mac was a heavyset butch, strawberry blond hair buzzed to the quick. He had sweat through his white shirt, especially where he had been wearing his underarm holsters, which were now slung over the back of his chair. He was an excellent secretary, and Lady didn’t just think so because he had saved her from two hours of phone calls that afternoon.

Mac leaned back in his chair, phone cord tethering him to the kitchen table as he made exasperated eye contact with Lady.

Lady raised her eyebrows archly. Mac had been complaining - mostly through facial expression - about the very, very small Hemisphere operation they had commandeered since they had arrived this morning. It was a family operation in the middle of Alabama, evident by the fact that its headquarters was a farmhouse. By the sound of the feet pounding up and down the stairs at all times, Lady counted sixteen members of the Rushforth Family Company - which was such an embarrassingly vanilla name for a crime ring, mob, or gang, that Lady was beginning to wonder if the Rushforths were actually straight. They paid Hemisphere dues, and had immediately acquiesced their home to her upon her arrival, but Lady wouldn’t have been surprised if the Rushforths merely ran a dozen successful general stores.

Lady and Mac sat at the kitchen table with the rotary phone, but across from them, Mrs. Rushforth was composing a bolognese, dicing the mirepoix inches from Mac’s makeshift workstation. It had been a long afternoon of playing catch-up. This was what Lady got for travelling. She hadn’t phoned in to Central since Oklahoma City, and a lot of people had left her a lot of messages. Mac took notes for the less important calls, but occasionally Lady had to take the phone.

Lady watched Mac take a page of notes, scribbling down shorthand with impressive speed, then hang up the receiver.

“That’s all your missed calls, except for the Dead-Eyes, who want to know - ”

“Never mind the Dead-Eyes,” Lady groaned. She pinched her forehead, looking up at Mac with an expression she hoped conveyed martyred misery. “God, what a fucking waste of a day.”

“You’re not done yet,” Mac said, utterly unyielding. Cruel, cruel woman. He stretched his arms behind his back until his shoulders popped. “Weren’t you tellin’ me…”

Lady rolled her eyes. The real reason she had commandeered the Rushforth’s kitchen table hadn’t been to listen to her messages.

“Give me the phone,” she snapped, pulling the rotary phone over. She dialed quickly and waited for the line to connect.

“I think you should sweet talk the operator,” Mac said. “It’s Ruth on duty right now. Tell her you’ll give her a raise.”

Lady shot Mac a glare, but quickly fixed her face as her call went through.

“Hi, Ruth. It’s me. Yes, you were just on the line with Mac. Yes, I know.” She paused, listening as Ruth launched into a mile-a-minute soliloquy on just how busy the switchboard had been today.  Lady cleared her throat. “So, about your hourly rate…”

This was what the head of Hemisphere had to resort to, these days. Auntie had never had to schmooze with the girls working the phones, let alone the discontented gangs under her thumb.  Back in Constantine’s day, If a gang had a problem, they either died for it or shut the hell up.

“...Now Ruth, would you mind connecting me to Marc Waters?” Lady said saccharinely.

Mac rested his chin in his hand and smiled up at her, clearly amused that this was one call Lady had elected to make personally. He was lucky he was such a good secretary. The line made a satisfying click as the call went through.

“Bonjour, bonjour!” Marc crowed over the line. Lady held the phone away from her ear. “My, if it isn’t a treat to hear from you. How’s Central lately? How’s Mac, is he around? I was so sorry I had to miss last year’s gala, but as usual business comes first - I don’t have to tell you, of course! It seems like forever since I’ve been out of Texas, and now I’ll probably have a teensy war on my hands, what with all that unpleasantness with Las Realezas. Oh, I should tell you about that, but where to begin…”

Lady stared down at the receiver for a moment.

“Marc, I called you,” Lady growled.

“Oh, and so you did! What did you want to talk about? My goodness, you wouldn’t believe the rumor I heard lately about a Vegas gang - Oh, what was their name, there are so many of them…”

“Marc,” Lady said. “I need information. Since you love a rumor so much - ”

Marc laughed, and the sound came and went as he apparently moved his receiver around. There was some scuffling over the line, and the sound of a closing door.

“Don’t mind the noise, I’m just getting in the bath,” Marc yelled distantly, and the sound of running water was all Lady could hear for several long seconds. She held the receiver away from her ear and glowered across the table. Mac refused to commiserate, his attention utterly distracted by Mrs. Rushforth’s cooking. Mrs. Rushforth had given him a spoon to lick.

Lady returned her attention to the receiver just in time for the middle of something or other about La Salle, for some godforsaken reason. This summer had been one thing after another. The Vegas gangs were breathing down her neck about their wrecked city, La Salle was toast, Whist hadn’t checked in and was probably dead, and every gang within 50 miles of the Dead-Eyes’s path of destruction wanted assurance that she was going to take care of it before Ethan came for them, next.

Watching Ethan die hadn’t solved one damn thing. She should have killed him herself. She should have scooped him up when she’d had the chance, locked him away, and then publicly executed him in the middle of the ballroom at Central headquarters’ yearly gala. Then no one would have said a damn thing about how much spine she did or didn’t have.

The only way to recoup her lost face was to ferret out the four who had beaten her to it. Cody Allison. Friday Wilmot. Valerie Lecter. And the silent travelling companion who it had been very, very difficult to get a name for, and even then, she’d only gotten “John.”

“Listen, Marc,” Lady interrupted. “I need to know more about Friday Wilmot and Valerie Lecter.”

“Who?” Marc said.

“I don’t know what the connection is, but they were at the riverbank where Ethan died,” she explained. “What do you know?”

“Ethan’s dead? Ethan Rouse?” Marc whistled. “You’re kidding! Who killed him, the rest of the Dead-Eyes? You know, they gave me a very hard time a few weeks back. They drank three barrels of my water, and in return for my hospitality, they took my men captive! And then - ”

Lady had heard this one before. Yet another Hemisphere gang seeking reparations for the Dead-Eyes.

“Marc. Friday Wilmot and Valerie Lecter. What’s the connection to Cody Allison?”

He stopped short. He was thinking before he answered. Great, that meant he was coming up with a lie.

“You know, I can’t say the name rings a bell,” Marc said with a theatrical sigh.

“Which name?” Lady said, grinding her teeth.

The phone beeped at her, and Ruth’s voice cut into the conversation.

“Lady, um, Johannes Madsen is on the line,” Ruth said. “I wouldn’t interrupt, except you said that I should put Mr. Madsen through with priority, and…”

“Marc, hold on a second,” Lady said. “Put him through, Ruth.”

A cacophony of sounds assaulted Lady’s ears. She held the phone a little ways away as the rumble of an engine, one or more shouted songs, about a dozen barking dogs, and Johannes’s own shouted voice blended into one dissonant orchestra.

“Johannes, I’m on the line,” Lady said, bracing her arm against the table and resting her head in her palm.

“My God, Lady, are you at a construction site?” cut in Marc’s voice, just as the sound of a window slamming shut on the other end of the line silenced the major part of the racket.

Ruth must have done this on purpose. Lady held the receiver away from her ear for long enough to mouth “Both of them,” to Mac.

“You should have offered maternity leave with the raise,” Mac said flatly.

Lady glared, and returned her attention to the phone.

“Lady? I got through?” came Johannes’s lyrical voice. “Those operators of yours are all business lately. Usually the Hemisphere lines are a good thirty minute wait for the likes of us. Did you put in a good word for me or something?”

“Who is that?” asked Marc before Lady had the chance to say anything. “That’s not Mac.”

“Who’s on the line?” Johannes echoed. “Well, anyway, if they’re with you, I guess it doesn’t matter. Listen, I picked up the…”

Marc started speaking at just the same time, clearly aware that Johannes was speaking, and yet also clearly unconcerned with whether either of them could be heard.

Lady held the receiver away from her ear once again, waiting for the two of them to reach some sort of harmony. It was like listening to a brass band of only trumpets. In fact, Lady was pretty sure she could hear a distant trumpet over the phone, probably on the circus end of things. Not that she would put it past Marc to pick up an annoying instrument.

“ - so Lady calls me out of the blue to ask about some so-and-sos, and I’m sure I’ve never heard those names in my life,” Marc prattled on. “And you’d think I would remember, too, meeting someone named after a day of the week, as you don’t see that every day. But honestly, as if I don’t have better things to do! She does have information brokers, doesn’t she?”

“Marc, I’m still on the line,” Lady snapped.

“Yes, dear, and there’s your answer for you,” Marc continued, just as Johannes interrupted.

“Look, I’m blowing through electricity here, and - Oh, Ezra, good timing, I’ve got Lady on the phone. Anyway, you didn’t fucking tell us that you were gonna make this a competition. How am I supposed to make nice on my delivery if every schmuck east of the Mississippi looking to make a few thousand silver is gunning for these four?” Lady heard his hand slam down on something. “God’s sake, Lady, you know I had to shoot someone? Some random bounty hunter out of New Orleans. What a waste! For all I know, he was one of your guys, and you better not make it a whole to-do.”

“Who are you, again, sweetheart?” Marc said. Lady could envision him twirling the phone cord around a finger in the tub. She squeezed her eyes closed.

“None of your business,” Johannes returned cheerfully. “Listen, we got your four troublemakers, we’re heading to Everglades City next, and that’s all I got. Except, you know, a hearty fuck you for the bounty hunters. Ezra, was there anything else?”

In the split second of precious silence while Johannes Madsen waited for his brother to give his input, Marc Waters interjected.

“Lady, is this really necessary?” Marc drawled. “I mean, you called me, remember? And here I am, made to feel like a snoop while you discuss who has and hasn’t been murdered with a gentleperson whom I can only assume to be a common vagabond! Lady, are you listening? Am I an eavesdropper at the window? I mean, far be it from me, but Miss Manners dictates…”

“Marc, shut the fuck up,” Lady said stiffly. While Marc was speaking, the cacophony had joined up on Johannes’s end again. The competing voices and whoops of laughter and the goddamn trumpet - all on top of Marc’s drawl - were making her want to pull her hair out.

“Johannes, was that all?” Lady asked. “Because if you’re finished, please hang up.”

Johannes didn’t answer. He had evidently put down the phone to engage with some circus-related problem - Lady could hear his voice from a distance, and possibly his brother’s, bickering in a language she wasn’t sure was English. Marc was still speaking, undeterred.

Lady laid the receiver down on the table. She was going for a walk. And so help her God if a member of the Rushforth Family Company so much as even glanced her way.

10.14 || 11.1

Head of the Mafia: Ending The Tale of Woe

Well look what we have here~ A continuation of Head of the Mafia! A low down dirty Cat finally gets what he deserves~

Beth wanted to get Peter Criss taken care of as soon as possible. Unfortunately, it took about three days before she could actually do away with him. The three days were spent straightening things out for when the deed was done. She wasn’t a fool; she knew the Brooklyn families would be up in arms in search of the Brooklyn Wildcat after his mysterious disappearance. Despite how unhinged he was, he was still quite prominent, and had many friends and allies. 

Luckily, so did Beth. 

“Now I’m putting my trust in you, Elegance. The Demon told me you were the best, and I need the best. You’re clear on what I want you to do?" 

"Absolutely, Donna Caringi,” Elegance’s smooth voice replied over the phone. 

“And I have your word on your silence after all this is over?”

“No one even knows my true name. You have my word.”

“Good. I want you to start tomorrow. If all goes as planned, and you keep your promise, you’ll receive your payment in two weeks." 

"Thank you, Donna Caringi. If I may be frank, I much prefer you to your grandfather. You’re a bit more reasonable than he was." 

Beth didn’t speak for a moment. Then she replied, "I’m sure you’re not the only one who thinks that way, Elegance." 

After she hung up the phone, she leaned back in her desk chair and sighed, closing her eyes. That was it; the last bit of preparation she had to do. Now… an anticipating smile came to her face. She just had to wait until tomorrow now. 

There was a sudden knock at the door of her office. She opened her eyes and lowered her head, recognizing the knock. "Come in," 

The door opened, and Vinnie crept inside, shutting the door behind him. Beth smiled at him. "Hi, Vinnie. What do you need?" 

Vinnie kept his eyes on the floor, looking incredibly small and broken. There were dark circles around his eyes, his eyes were usually red, and his skin was pale in a way that definitely wasn’t healthy. And Beth couldn’t be sure, but she was concerned he had lost weight from how he hadn’t been eating. 

Not that she blamed him. She understood; the past three days had been tumultuous enough on her end, so it had to be incredibly hard for Vinnie to handle. In the span of four days, he had been reunited with his cousin, attacked by his abuser, rescued by Beth, and subsequently moved back to live with her. From Beth’s sources, it seemed no one had bothered to question his whereabouts. All he’d been to them was the trophy fuck of the Brooklyn Wildcat. 

"N-Nana asked me to tell you dinner’s ready,” Vinnie said, his voice quiet and timid. 

Food suddenly sounded amazing. Beth smiled and stood up, stretching out. “Oh, thank God. I’ve been sitting in that chair for hours. Food sounds amazing. Especially Nana’s food. Did she tell you what we’re having?" 

Vinnie timidly shook his head. "N-No… I’m sorry…" 

Beth frowned for a second, but recovered her poker face and smiled at him. "That’s okay. We’ll be surprised.” She walked over to him, smiling still. “Let’s go." 

She knew Vinnie knew she was pretending not to notice or care; how he barely said a word when others were around, how he wasn’t eating much, sometimes at all, how he kept timidly asking her if he could sleep with her and then shying away like she was going to hit him. She saw it all, and it hurt to see. 

But as much as she wanted to cry for Vinnie, she didn’t. Instead she dried her eyes and focused on her preparations, because the sooner she got everything straightened out, the sooner it would all be over. Then she could focus. 

When that night, Vinnie came into her room, Beth simply threw back her covers without a word and let him crawl into bed next to her. And in her half-asleep state, she couldn’t help but wrap her arms around her cousin in a hug and mumble, "Don’t worry. This’ll all be over soon." 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Caringi family’s "special warehouse” wasn’t actually anything special. It was just one of their storage warehouses where they kept extra stock for the restaurant. But it was special in one aspect, and it was that, traditionally, anyone who had ever crossed the family and gotten caught was likely to have died in that warehouse. 

Beth’s eyes turned to the figure tied up in the chair, and smirked. Even she didn’t know the exact kill count, but whatever it was, she was about to raise it. “Mario, wake him up, if you don’t mind." 

Mario nodded and went over to Peter, smacking him roughly across the face. Peter’s head fell to the side, and his chair would have fallen over if Mario didn’t catch it and straighten it up first. Beth’s smirk widened a bit. "Wakey wakey, kitty cat!” she sang. 

Peter’s eyes slowly blinked open, and he raised his head a bit. His eyes widened. “You," 

Beth kept the smile on her face. "Yes, me. It’s been a few days since we last spoke. How are you? Enjoying our accommodations?" 

Peter hissed at her like… well, a cat. She raised an eyebrow in amusement and laughed. "Well, someone certainly likes to get into character." 

"What the hell am I still doin’ here?” Peter demanded. “Haven’t worked up the balls to kill me yet, huh?" 

The smile disappeared from Beth’s face, and behind her, Mario and Vincenzo glanced at each other. 

Beth stalked over to Peter’s chair, the click of her heels echoing on the concrete, and slapped him across the face. His cheek was still raw from when Mario hit him, and the fresh pain made him grunt in pain. 

"Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “did that hurt? Am I hurting you? Well, too bad. Because you deserve every bit of what you’re going to get today." 

She grabbed his chin and forced their eyes to meet. "How does it feel, hm? To be the one being slapped around for once? It hurts, doesn’t it, to not be the one with all the power anymore?” She leaned in close. “Well I hope you enjoyed that power you had. Because you’re not getting it back." 

Peter, somehow, either through bravery or stupidity or both, managed to glare defiantly at her. "What’re you gonna do, huh? Kill me?" 

Beth smiled in amusement and laughed scathingly. "Oh, Peter… oh, Peter, Peter, Peter. I’m not going to kill you.” Smirking, she jerked her head at Mario and Vincenzo. “They are. I’m going to stand over there and watch." 

As Peter’s eyes widened, she let go of his chin and strutted over to a nearby table. On the table sat a portable record player, with a record already put in and ready to play. "A lovely occasion like this requires some mood music, wouldn’t you say?” she said over her shoulder.

She raised then lowered the needle. After a moment, the music began, playing a slow, jazzy sort of melody. And then the voice of Ruth Ettings began to sing. 

“Snow time ain’t no time to stay outdoors and spoon. So shine on, shine on, harvest moon, for me and my gal…" 

Smiling, Beth turned to Mario and Vincenzo. "Boys?" 

Nodding, Mario and Vincenzo pulled out their carving knives and advanced on Peter. 

And maybe it was a little morbid, but she suddenly understood why her grandfather had always chosen this song to play. The beautiful melody combined with the ensuing screams of pain was like music to her ears. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Beth stepped inside her house and hung up her coat, the first thing she did was look for Vinnie. She wanted him to be the first to know the good news, before he read it in the newspaper. 

But she grew concerned when he wasn’t in his bedroom. He wasn’t waiting for her in her office either. Frowning, Beth went downstairs. Maybe he had finally decided to eat something. "Vinnie?" 

Sudden crying echoing from the living room made her freeze. Then she began moving again, walking briskly towards the living room. "Vinnie?" 

When she entered the living room, she stopped again. There was Vinnie, sitting at the small bar that was in one corner. There was an open bottle of wine and a dark purple stained glass on the bar. And beside it was Vinnie’s head, buried in his arms while his shoulders shook with loud, heartwrenching sobs. As she stared, he suddenly froze and lifted his head, and their eyes locked. Vinnie’s mouth moved, and he looked like he was trying to speak, but all that came out was more crying, tears rolling endlessly down his face.

Oh, Vinnie… Beth went over to the bar and moved the wine bottle and glass off to the side, and sat down next to him. She looked back at him sadly, reaching out and gently placing her hand over his. 

Vinnie’s eyes filled with more tears and he sobbed, gripping her hand tightly. "I-I… th-thought he… l-loved m-me…” He broke down sobbing again, and his voice was slurred from the wine a bit. “He s-said he loved me… an’ I believed him… W-Why didn’t he love m-me, Bethie?" 

Beth’s heart broke. She pulled him close and hugged him tightly, listening to him cry. Loud, gross sobbing wracked his entire body, probably helped a little by the wine. "Why didn’t he love me, Beth?” Vinnie wailed. “I loved him so much! What did I do?!" 

Her arms tightened around him a fraction. "It’s okay, Vinnie. It’s okay." 

"B-But w-what did I do?” he sobbed. 

“You didn’t do anything,” she kept her voice gentle. “None of what he did to you was your fault. It’s his. He’s a monster.” Well, was. Which reminded her… “But you don’t have to worry about him anymore." 

Vinnie’s sobs lessened, and he pulled away to look at her questioningly through his tears. "H-Huh?" 

Beth tried not to smile too much at what she said next. "He’s gone. He’s dead. He’s being dumped into the Hudson right now, I think. But he’s gone, forever." 

Vinnie stared dumbly at her, looking like he thought she was lying. Then his face crumpled and he sobbed, then flung himself at her and cried all over again. For a second, Beth was worried she’d said the wrong thing. But then her eyes happened to turn to the mirror on the wall behind the bar, and noticed something. 

Vinnie’s head was leaning against her shoulder, and on his face she could see forming a small, wobbly smile. Beth smiled herself and turned away from the mirror, hugging Vinnie tightly. "It’s okay, Vinnie. I’ve got you." 

He didn’t respond; he couldn’t form the words, probably. But his hold on her tightened, and that was enough. 

05/19/2020 DAB Transcript

1 Samuel 24:1-25:44, John 10:22-42, Psalms 116:1-19, Proverbs 15:20-21

Today is the 19th day of May welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I’m Brian it is wonderful to be here with you today as we move forward. It’s the only way we move, forward each and every day as we take the journey of a lifetime through the Scriptures. So, first Samuel is where we’ve been kind of campin’ out here for the last week getting to know Saul, getting to know David, getting to know all the circumstances that swirled around the establishment of the kingdom of Kings in Israel. And, so, we’ve reached a point where Saul is certainly paranoid about David. David keeps increasing. Saul keeps kind of fading. And Saul wants David dead. And, so here's where we pick up the story. First Samuel chapters 24 and 25 today.

Commentary:

Okay. So, in the book of first Samuel we see David increasing, right, in momentum and Saul just kind of decreasing. He's the king, he's got a lot of power, this is gonna take some time, but we can see him kind of diminishing. He is trying to find David. He wants to kill David. Like this is his obsession at this point. He wants to get rid David before David can get rid of him and his household obliterating the memory of his name. Like, you know, we hear this kind of stuff talked about as Kings destroy other kings and kingdoms. So, he wants to get rid of David because he can sort of see what's gonna happen, he can see where this is headed. This isn’t just to protect the kingdom. Like, this super personal. He has been trying, one way or another, to get David killed for a long time and David has just had to kind of learn as he goes. He's had to learn how to be cunning and swift. I mean, he was a shepherd and then he killed the giant, Goliath. Now he wasn’t incapable, obviously. He had killed a lion and a bear as a shepherd. Like, he was capable but this…like…it was never on his radar that someday he would be on the run from the king of Israel because the king of Israel was so paranoid about him. So, David’s had to grow pretty fast. So, Saul, the king of Israel's, out looking for David with 3000 troops to find and surround and engulf and overwhelm and destroy David's camp if they can get to them. And Saul has to use the bathroom. This is kind of a funny story because, you know, he's…he's out with the soldiers so, yeah, if you were like watering the flowers or whatever, probably no big deal, but if you need some privacy, probably something a little more than that. And David's hiding in the cave and just the whole thing of it. Saul using the bathroom while David's cutting off the edge of his robe. It’s like a pretty dramatic, pretty gross, pretty…pretty…pretty uncomfortable situation. And then the king gets back out of the cave and that's when David reveals himself and is like, “I wouldn't…I could have killed you. Like, I could have done to you what you are trying to do to me. Right now, you could be dead. I could have killed you. So, I'm trying to show you that I don't…I'm not trying to do anything against anybody.” And Saul is humiliated and humbled in the moment for sure. He does, you know, like his eyes are opened for a minute…like he can see, “yeah, David could have…I could be dead. David could’ve killed me. So, he must not want to kill me because he had to me.” So, this buys a little time with David and Saul. Meanwhile, David's been, you know, kind of out in the fields. They’ve had to stay the run, but we encountered this guy named Nabel, and David has protected his shepherds and they just need a little supplies at harvest time, and they are kind of expecting that since they protect…protected the shepherds and the flocks that they would receive some gratitude. Nabel doesn't give gratitude, but Nabel's wife, Abigail certainly does and you can tell in the conversation that they have, that David is…is impressed with Abigail, is taken with her shrewdness and wisdom and insight in being proactive. So, once whole incident is over and Nabel finds out what Abigail has done he…I mean he dies 10 days later. And, so, Abigail becomes the wife of David, along with Ahinoam and a sort of kingly dynasty is in the making.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. And like Saul we have to confess that we can allow things to begin building up inside of us. We can start telling ourselves a story about somebody else. We can start filling in all of the blanks with assumptions. We can pave over those assumptions with additional fabrications so that we are believing something completely false about someone else, even to the point that we want to harm them or we want something bad to happen to them and then for a moment the lights go on and we can see things clearly. We can see how much we've made up and how much gossip we’ve listened to and how much it took to make up this story only to see that it's not true, that isn't the other person's heart toward us at all. We’re seeing this on a grand scale in the story between Saul and David, but on smaller scales we play this story out all of the time. And, so, may we receive the humble posture that King Saul had to take on today once he realized that David really indeed could have done away with him once and for all. Help us Holy Spirit to remain humble toward one another, not making up things about each other, not just assuming things, but actually entering into the intimacy of a relationship so that we know things. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus. We ask. Amen.

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Community Prayer and Praise:

This is for the dad who called in on the 15th of May for his son named Joshua. You’d lost your other son in September the year before. My name is God’s Life Speaker. Lord we just left this family up to You. We just ask a hedge of protection from their mind their hearts their bodies Lord Jesus. We just declare life in this family in Your name. We speak it over them and we speak it over Joshua, that he would use his brothers story to tell Your story Lord, that somewhere inside Joshua he would know he is more useful here serving Christ for others to see, and to just bring to life his brother through his brothers story. Lord, somehow help the dad and mom to communicate that, that he could be used mightily by God, by You Lord, that You would just use Joshua and that he, through his sadness in his heart, his broken spirit would come to You Lord, that he would just decide knowing who You are, and for others to know who You are is more important Lord, that he would just bring his brother back to life in a story that leads countless, countless to Your son. And we just ask this, we ask just wisdom for the dad just energy and just start speaking what is not into being, just start believing what You don’t see and start speaking it over Joshua, that he is a life speaker, that his life in Your son who is passed has just gone on and on and on because Joshua decided this day, this day that he would serve the Lord and that he would…

Hello my name is Ruth I’m calling because I’ve been a member…I’ve been listening to the DAB family for about four years now and this is my very first time calling in. And I’m calling in, I live in New York, and I’m calling in because I need prayer for my business. I’m losing…I…I don’t know what I’m gonna do because of this corona. Business has been closed and I’m just asking God direction to lead me and direct me where to go from here. Thank God for Brian and this…this forum that we can come in. I’ve listened to many prayers and listened to many requests and I’m just am asking for prayer for me that God will help my business or guide me and show me where I should go from here. I pray that all is well with everyone and that this too shall pass. Thank you for your prayers. God bless.

This is Danny. My mom who’s battling cancer went to pick up some fried chicken the other day and there was quite a few people in there so she sat down waiting her turn and by the time her turn was up she was so weak she couldn’t get up out of her chair. So, she asked the man next to her to help her and he walked away from her. And everybody saw it and she asked if anybody could help her out to the counter and nobody came forward. Finally, the employee behind the counter came over and he helped her up and she looked at the crowd and she said, “I don’t have the virus I have cancer and you can’t catch that from me.” And he took her to the counter, and he took her order and then he walked her to the car and he said, “I’ll bring your order out you”, which he did. And my mother was so grateful. The next day she brought him a card with some money in it and she learned that his name was Abraham, which she immediately had a bond with him because she’s Jewish. And, so, I just would like you all to just join me in prayer to just pour out blessings on this young man named Abraham. Heavenly Father, thank You so much for this Young man, that he stood up and he did the right thing like a good Samaritan. I pray Lord that You would just heap blessings upon him and I just pray that You would just…just know in his heart that he did the right thing. He didn’t care about being fired by violating the social distancing rules, he just did the right thing for my mother. So, thank You for that Lord and I pray that You would give all of the people present another opportunity Lord to do the right thing and they would remember how they failed and they would do the right thing going forward Lord. Thank You, Jesus. In Your heavenly name I pray. Amen.

Hi everyone, DAB family __ I am calling for your prayers please. We all know what we’re dealing with right now, but this is the first time it’s really hitting me. One of my absolute best friends, my sister Lila just tells me that she’s tested positive, she’s a nurse, she’s a __ nurse at one of our COVID designated hospitals and it’s like she just…oh my goodness. And I just had my first COVID patient today and I’m about to go to open an all new…an all new COVID unit on Monday. So, please just keep us in your prayers. Please pray for healing powers over Lila’s body and protection over mine as we go into this situation. People are dying every day. She just buried her cousin two days ago and it’s just crazy. So, please everyone, please be safe, please do everything in your power to…to boost your immune system and keep contact down. Even though I know some states are opening back up and people have to go to work, but just please reduce your contact with the world and just keep yourself and your family physically safe and spiritually prayed up. Thank you DAB family.

Good morning DAB this is Ken calling from California and I’d like to ask for prayer for my 15-year-old son, Reed, who’s going through a difficult season in life. He’s very withdrawn right now. In fact, in February he refused to…to go to school. He spends virtually all day in his room with his lights off, refuses to associate with others and basically pushes everyone…pushed everyone out of his life. He doesn’t talk or want to receive encouragement or help of any kind from us as parents, his friends or receive professional help. He’s angry. He is very harsh towards others, scowls a lot, seems bitter, but doesn’t…doesn’t want to talk about. He appears very confused and no doubt he’s under attack by the enemy and he seems to have given up on his relationship with God. Reed really needs a breakthrough now. So, thank you DAB family for lifting him up…lifting Reed up in prayer.

Hi this is Jeanette from Denmark I have a word of encouragement for the grandmother who has just gotten custody of a 13-year-old grandson. When I heard your story, I was so grateful. I also had a grandmother who mothered from me for several years when I was a teenager and during those years there was a lot of material that I had to get off my heart and mind from the things I’d experienced before. It took time to establish a trust relationship with her, but it was the most blessed thing that happened. Suddenly, I was in a stable home and I really appreciate, right now, all of the things that she provided for me - food, clothing, a place to sleep, help with my homework, and yeah, a healthy example of what it can be to to get to know people. Thank you so much for the work that you’ve started. And also, Father thank You for covering my older sister in You with the grace to carry out the task that she has agreed to do. And Father I ask that You comfort her with Your Holy Spirit day and night, that Your words in her heart would become instruction and a path of her, that You would help her minute by minute and day by day.

Seared With Scars - Epilouge (Mystery Nerds AU)

And here we are at the end, my friends. I'd like to thank everyone who's stuck with me through the frankly insane and arduous undertaking. I keep every single comment that people leave on my stories, and reading yours on this one is what eventually inspired me to get back in the saddle and pick it up again after two years. You guys are pretty damn awesome. I'm probably not gonna do something this ambitious again for a good, long while, but the Mystery Nerds series is far from over. So enjoy the ending, and hopefully we can all venture into the unknown once more very soon.

--

“Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of overcoming it.” - Helen Keller

---

Helen hesitated only a moment as she slid her key into her front door. She knew, logically, that there couldn’t be anyone from the Society on the other side, waiting for her. There was no Society left. There was nothing to be afraid of in her home. And besides, she had to go in. Her spare pair of glasses were in her nightstand. She needed them. Darryl had graciously driven her all the way back to her house, when he had a family of his own to get back to, just so she could get them and Stan wouldn’t have to leave Ford’s side.

Plus it couldn’t be more than thirty degrees out here and she was freezing.

She had to go inside.

The sight of her keys, still stained slightly with Louise’s blood, made her gut feel things differently.

Darryl spoke up from behind her. “Want me to go in first?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Thanks,” she muttered. Hot shame pooled in her cheeks for a moment as he walked past her and turned the key, but she stamped it down. Even though she knew that there would not be anyone in her house, she had every reason to be anxious. She wasn’t going to let shame keep her from trying to get better anymore.

And the first step towards healing was admitting that the trauma was there.

Darryl swung the door open and walked in, looking from side to side as he went. He motioned to her, an indication that he saw nothing out of the ordinary. She pooled all her courage and followed him inside, holding her head high.

The house was very much the same as she and Stan had left it. She noticed, with a wry sense of annoyance, that Stan hadn’t even pushed in the dining room chair he’d been sitting in while Darryl patched up his bleeding head.

“You need me to check your bedroom too?” Darryl asked. His tone was one hundred percent serious. Helen had no doubt in her mind that he’d search the entire house, top to bottom, if she’d asked.

“No, that’s okay,” she said. “Go ahead and have a seat. I won’t be too long.”

She started down the hall, her hand trailing down the wall to keep her steady, and immediately, a flash of memory popped into her head, of turning around and finding a stranger in a red hood staring back at her. It was followed by a stab of fear because where was Stan, what had they done to him! She felt Darryl’s presence at her side. She looked over at him and he smiled sweetly at her. He was going with her now, and it seemed like there was no arguing it.

She found that now, she didn’t mind.

There was no one in her bedroom.

There was no one in her house.

She was safe.

She had a friend.

They walked down the hallway together, and Darryl said, as casually as if they did this all the time, “I thought you might like to know the status of our friends, the former cultists. I didn’t want to say anything while we were at the hospital. Didn’t want to be overheard and stir any memories, ya know?”

“Give me details, man,” she said, leaning towards him exaggeratedly. She felt a bit silly, but she needed some silliness right now.

“Well, for starters, Louise is going on extended leave. Absolutely no word was mentioned about her coming back.”

“I would say that I’m sad we’re gonna be stuck with sourpuss Sharon for a while, but Louise did break into my house and punch me in the face.”

“Maybe they’ll actually hire some who doesn’t have staggering emotional issues to replace Louise,” Darryl said.

They reached her bedroom door, and Helen peered in. The only evidence of what had happened to her was a small brown stain on the carpet, less than a foot from where she stood at the door frame.

She had expected seeing that stain would have been what made her crumble. Miraculously, she found it elicited no thought other than she was going to have to call a carpet cleaning service on top of her optometrist and goddammit did Louise have to make her life harder?

And that thought just made her laugh quietly to herself as she crossed the door frame and walked to her nightstand.

“Also Matthews is in talks for his retirement.”

“I knew he and Andrea had been talking about that for a while before she died.”

“Yeah, everything just kinda fell through after that. But apparently his daughters have been pretty insistent. I think what happened kinda brought it all to a head. Liz has got Meg on a flight up right now.”

“Damn. I don’t think Ed’s getting out of it this time if she’s flying up here all the way from New Mexico.”

She pulled open the drawer and there, sitting on top of a pile of dried out pens and pocket change and spare tampons was her spare pair of glasses, slightly dusty with disuse, but at least in one piece. And with a relatively recent prescription.

“Right? But even they’re not playing as dirty as Ruth is right now with Muggins.”

“Oh, Leroy’s in trouble.”

Darryl laughed. “Yep. Ruth was giving him an earful right before I got to Ford’s room. Something about this job of his prematurely aging her.”

“Funny, I thought that was because she drinks grain alcohol out of a measuring cup.”

“Semantics. Point is, they’re leaving. I heard the words ‘timeshare’ and ‘Fort Lauderdale’ right before I got to Ford’s door.”

“Sounds utterly heinous.”

She slid her glasses on, and the first thing that came into view was the phone. Not for the first time since things had died down, she thought of calling the kids. She wouldn’t dream of it right now. A glance at her tableside clock told her it was barely six, and Michael would scream her deaf if she woke him up this early on a Sunday. Maybe later, after she’d gotten back to the hospital and slept a bit more. Had some more time to get her thoughts together.

She still had no idea what she was going to tell them about her battered face. It wasn’t exactly something she could explain away with a tired excuse of “I tripped and landed on my face”. Not even Amanda would buy that.

But really, why did she need an excuse?

She thought back to her conversation with Daisy the night before, the shame she’d felt at causing her daughter to worry for her, over something she’d been certain that she could handle.

She still didn’t want her children to have to worry for her. They didn’t need that kind of burden in their young lives. They needed to worry about school and friends and their hobbies, not if their mother was going to have an emotional breakdown or get into a fistfight with crazy cultists.

But, perhaps, she thought now, that worrying about someone you loved was inevitable. She’d been doing it for almost twenty-four hours now - not just about her biological kids, but about Stan and Ford and Fiddleford. No matter how old they were, she didn’t think she’d ever stop seeing them as more children for her to look after. It was just her nature.

She didn’t want her children to worry about her, but she also didn’t want to lie to them. Her lies about being okay had done everyone more harm than good, even though they’d proven somewhat useful in the end. She still smirked a bit as she thought of Blind Ivan falling for her distressed mother act hook, line, and sinker.

But now she didn’t need to lie anymore. She didn’t need to keep her pain locked up so she didn’t make other people worry for her. She didn’t need to be concerned that everyone would look at her differently. Everyone that she respected and cared about already knew, and they still treated her the same as they always had.

And if Daisy, Scott, and Amanda could be okay after what had happened to them on that awful night almost two years ago, they could handle their mom explaining why she looked like she’s lost a fight with a two-by-four.

She closed the drawer on her nightstand and turned. Darryl was leaning against the doorjamb, turning over a dog tag in his hand. His face was unreadable.

“You okay?” she asked.

He looked up at her like he’d forgotten he was in her house, and quickly said, “Yeah, I’m alright. Just thinking.”

“What about?” She came over slowly, stopping a few feet from him.

“‘Bout what you said to Matthews,” he replied, looking back down at the dog tag. “‘Bout getting help.”

“Yeah?”

“Listening to him, talking about Andrea, not being able to sleep...not being able to do anything…” He gulped heavily. “I don’t want that to be me one day, Doc.”

“It won’t be. Not after all you’ve done. You fought it when no one else would.”

“Well, I wanna make sure. And I’m gonna start by delivering this to Hank’s little brother, first thing tomorrow.” He held the dog tag out to her.

She took it, and read the words punched into the metal.

BLUBS HENRY J. A POS 91-470-441 LUTHERAN

“You might have met Little Daryl,” he said. “He works over at the Dusk 2 Dawn right now, but he’s training for the police academy.”

“His name is Daryl too?”

He gave her a wistful smile and nodded. “Hank always thought it was a riot that his best friend and his baby brother had the same name. So he called us Darryl Little and Little Daryl.” For a moment, he focused on the dog tag, and seemed to be a million miles away from her. It only briefly reminded her of Ed, but she very quickly noted a key difference.

Darryl was still smiling.

When he came back to her, he added, “Hank’s family got the tag he wore around his neck. They let me keep the one from his boot. Been carrying it with me ever since I got home. Twelve years, I been carrying that thing around my neck like a weight. I thought it was good to have, to keep him close.” Darryl paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath, then releasing it slowly. “But maybe it’s become more of a penance than a memorial.”

Helen didn’t reply. She simply handed the tag back to him.

He quickly tucked it away in his pocket. “Little Daryl will definitely get more comfort from it than I ever did,” he said.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Helen replied. “I can give you the names of a few good therapists when you’ve finished that. Especially since I’m looking up mine again come Tuesday.”

“I’d appreciate that.” He sighed heavily. “Stan was right. We are a bunch of sad idiots.”

“At least we know what we’re about.” Helen gave him a warm smile. “Now come on, I told Stan we’d swing by his house to take care of the dog, if that’s okay with you.”

“You had me at dog,” Darryl replied. He jammed his hands in his pockets and followed her down the hallway, to the front door, and out into the sunlight. ---

“So what are we gonna do with all that stuff under the history museum?” Stan asked before he tore off a hunk of sausage with his teeth. It wasn’t Greasy’s, but it would do. He’d never felt more ravenous in his life.

Fiddleford swallowed a mouthful of apple and replied, “I don’t rightly know. We definitely can’t just leave them there, but I don’t feel right watching any of them. Now that I know what the others were using them for, I’d feel...I dunno, like it was a violation of trust or something.”

“Honestly, after the hell they put up through, I think they all kind of deserve a violation of trust,” Stan replied with him mouth full.

“Well, I think I’ve had enough traumatic events to last a lifetime,” Ford said, setting his carton of orange juice back on his tray. “Maybe we could store them somewhere else. Somewhere more safe. The bunker might work, once it gets a bit warmer and all the snow melts.”

“Is the Shapeshifter still down there?” Fiddleford asked, narrowing his eyes in Ford’s direction.

“You remember the Shapeshifter?”

“You guys had a shapeshifter?” Stan said. Just when he thought these two nerds’ adventures couldn’t get any more bizarre.

“I asked you first, Ford,” Fiddleford said. He took another bit of his apple, almost menacingly.

Ford looked downright sheepish as he muttered, “Last I checked.”

“Then we’re not using the bunker, Fiddleford replied, his mouth still full.

“Fiiine,” Ford said dramatically, flopping back against his pillows, the smile was evident in his voice.

Fiddleford’s only reply was to stick his tongue out at him. Stan couldn’t help but chuckle. These two dopes were made for each other.

Then he had an idea. “What about the basement? There should be plenty of room down there once you guys get the portal squared away.”

Ford considered for a moment, and then said, “That sounds plausible.”

“It might not even take that many trips if we take multiple cars,” Fiddleford added.

“Sounds like we got ourselves a plan,” Stan said. He raised his paper cup of coffee to his lips, but at that moment, the swinging door in the hallway was flung open, and another draft barreled down the hall. It’d been happening all morning, a savage draft from the rain-chilled morning practically lowering the temperature of the entire wing. Stan set his breakfast tray off to the side, and reached for his jacket, slung over the back of his chair. “As if this hospital wasn’t cold enough,” he grumbled. “What, do they turn off the heat to make people leave faster?”

He heard the tube hit the linoleum before he ever saw it.

He’d actually forgotten the thing was in his pocket until now, as it rolled across the floor and into his foot.

“What’s that?” Ford asked, attempting to lean forward in his bed for a better look, but grimacing when he put pressure on some broken thing inside him.

“That’s a memory tube,” Fiddleford replied, straightening up in his chair. “They’re what the memories the gun erased are recorded on. Where did you get that, Stan?”

“Ivan dropped it, out at the cliffs,” he replied. “I only noticed it after he went over. Must have had it in his sleeves or something.”

“Who’s it for?”

“Some guy named Preston Northwest.”

“Wait,” Ford said. “The Preston Northwest?”

“I don’t even know how to respond to that,” Stan replied.

“The Northwest family founded Gravity Falls,” Ford said. “They’re the richest family in town, possibly in the state of Oregon. There’s hardly a thing here that they don’t have their hands in.”

“So, what, you think this Preston guy is a member of the Society that we just didn’t catch?”

“I mean, I doubt it, since he’s only about fifteen years old.”

“Why would Ivan want the memories of a teenage boy with him while he escaped?” Fiddleford pondered aloud.

Stan studied the tube a bit more, as it caught the light of the morning beaming through the windows. Despite that, it felt cold in his hand. That familiar, primal repulsion was back. He wanted to throw it out the window, let it smash against the pavement in the parking lot below.

Instead, he held the tube out to Fiddleford and said, “I guess it doesn’t matter. The only person that memory is really gonna be of any used to is currently having his body dredged out of the lake.”

“I suppose,” Fiddleford said as he took the tube. “It’s just strange.”

“Well, we’ll have plenty of time to find out later,” Ford said. “I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m pretty adventured out for a while.”

“That is an amazing point,” Stan said. “It’s been a rough night. I vote this is one mystery that can wait its turn. Whatdya say, Fidds?”

Stan saw the uncertainty pass over Fiddleford’s face as he studied the tube in his hands. A familiar look of concentration was there, signifying that he was trying hard to conjure forth any member associated with the tube, try to unlock whatever it may be hiding from him.

But it was gone in moments as Fiddleford let out a mighty yawn.

“I reckon you’re right,” he said. His eyes reminded Stan of a tired puppy, fighting sleep every moment it could. “These memories aren’t going anywhere for the time being. We can get to the bottom of them another time.”

“That’s the spirit,” Stan said. “Right now, the only thing I wanna get to the bottom of this cup of coffee, and then nap for about six months.”

“Coffee is supposed to do the opposite of making you want to nap, Stan,” Ford chuckled.

“I watched a man jump to his death, Ford. Don’t underestimate my desire to nap right now.”

Ford chewed his lip for a moment, as if he were giving the matter serious thought. “Alright,” he said. “Fair enough.”

---

In the depths of the forest, there was a river. The river fed usually fed directly in the falls, but a small tributary had branched off it over the centuries, and it gathered in a small lake. When it was first formed, it was mostly used by animals as a watering hole. But that was before the town, before people, before time had shrunk it to nearly nothing. Now, it was too shallow for anything, even for winter’s bitterness to freeze it over. It stood stagnant and brown and cold, and not even the most desperate beast touched it.

So there was nothing around for miles when Ivan finally broke the surface with a loud, gulping gasp.

He dragged himself to the bank, ignoring the burning in his arms and legs, from weary muscles that had spent an hour keeping his head above the water before giving out completely. Fortunately for him, he’d lost his strength at the mouth of this lake. He’d simply gone limp and let its current carry him here.

As soon as he felt the dry, frozen earth under his hands, he collapsed, face down in the dirt. He didn’t care that he looked horrendously undignified. There was no one around to see him, and besides, he’d earned a moment of exhausted self-pity. His plans - the Society, the gun, his army - all lay in ruination at his feet. Four months of tireless work and it’d all be destroyed by a gaggle of prying, headstrong fools.

He let an angry fire blaze through him for a minute. It gave him something to focus on that wasn’t his aching face, where he’d been headbutted and punched. Something that wasn’t his wet robe, making his internal temperature drop even faster than if he’d been wearing nothing at all. The rage that boiling in his blood made him forget all that for just a moment.

But it couldn’t last forever. He couldn’t stay out here in these wet clothes and find somewhere out of the cold, or he’d freeze.

This was, after all, only a momentary setback. He wouldn’t be thwarted. Not until he finished what he needed to do.

He rallied all the strength he had left in his body, and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. A powerful shiver nearly knocked him back down, but he ignored it. He wouldn’t be out here for a much longer. From watching McGucket’s memories, he knew that, not far from here, was a system of caves, all connected under the waterfall near Gravity Falls Lake. Inside were tiny little creatures that could make fire if they were struck together. That would suit Ivan’s needs just fine, for the time being.

With a grunt of effort, he pushed himself up farther, going slowly, until he’d gotten back to his feet. He stumbled a bit, his limbs still heavy from the time he’d spent underwater, but he caught himself before he fell. Then he pulled his heavy, wet robe over his head and shucked it off. He tossed it to the ground. Wearing it while it was soaking wet like that would only put him at greater risk for hypothermia. It wasn’t as though he needed it anymore anyway.

As he turned, he saw, over the treeline, a great manor, looming over him, perched high on the hills. It seemed to be looking down upon the humble town beneath it, proud and arrogant and fully prepared to rub the townfolks’ collective noses in its decadence. It made Ivan sick to look at, but he also knew that, with any luck, it wouldn’t be there for much longer.

He began walking into the forest, making sure the manor never left his sight. It was his beacon as he sought his shelter.

The Northwest family had so much to answer for. Not just the ones currently living, but the generations that had come before them. One-hundred and forty years of Northwest blood, building their legacy on lies and deceit and fear, reaping the benefits of their treachery and leaving the weak to wallow in whatever meager fate the accursed family had left them to.

He was going to burn it all to the ground.

---

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hi! I loved your barrow family fanfics they are amazing! could you do a short little excerpt of 1. cal and kilorn coming back from the end of gs where mare gave herself up and telling her family what happened? maybe in brees pov?? and then cut to before they left to rescue her ruth talking to cal telling him good luck and them having kind of a heart to heart about mare and how much they love her? sorry its specific its been in my head for a while but i dont have the skills to write it lol

A perfect reason to expand. Thank you for this prompt.

The Barrow Family Chronicles (What was left behind)

Part 1, Part 2. (This one comes chronologically before those)

Tag list: @lilyharvord, @mareshmallow, @redqueenfandom, @anyone-anything-canbetrayanyone, @runexandra, @tiberias-vii, @mareshmallow, @adraxsteia, @wrenskonos, @scarletguardsource, @clarafarleybarrow, @morebooks-pls, @lucid-shinobi, @cordelnight, @redqueenforever, @naercxy, @juggyandbetty, @mom2reesie, @lamemathpuns, @artemishdp, @feeoly, @psychopath-butterfly, @caloresblood, @evngelinesmos, @magicpara-dise

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For all theabilities and powers we have on this base, trenching drainage ditches is stillbest done by hand. There’s a Strongarm helping, but she’s not that muchstronger than me. A little, I guess. We keep our distance from thesilvers. Though, she sure is fit and it’s hard not to watch her work.

Being busy surebeats letting my mind wonder. Mare left last night and there hasn’t been wordsince. It’s not unusual for them to keep things quiet, but it sure sucks forour family. 

There’s just a tonof rumors. As soon as the jet took off, tongues start wagging. It’s all theusual: they only filled up halfway; they didn’t pack enough rations; they weregoing to have to abandon some of the team to make it back. The latest is thatthey lost communication, that the plane went down. It’s all talk.

Three other planeswent out today and that has even more scuttle collecting. A search party, theysay. Some say they’re surrounded and need reinforcements. When they thought Iwasn’t around, one asshole had the nerve to say they were body collectors. He’sin the infirmary for the day. No one’s gonna make a joke out of my sister’slife.

.

The planes come backfew hours before sun-set. Something about it, the way they went so deepinto the hangar, I knew something was wrong. It’s the same way that we knewsomething horrible had happened when Mare showed up with Shade. They hadstopped in the middle of the yard, where everyone could see them. One adisplay, now this one is hiding. 

It’s not good.Everything feels tight again, like when Shade… Everything pinches and prickles.It’s hard to breath and hard not to breath so fast. It’s harder still to makeit up the small bank, to get out of the ditch we’ve been digging all day. Somecall after me, but I’m not in any mood to wait on knowing. I walk to thehanger.

Farley is there to meet them. She’s still puffy-eyed andstrained looking, still grieving hard for my brother. She and Mare had wordsbefore the plane took off. Mare’s had words with a lot of people lately. She’ssort of war-fucked at the moment. Seen it a thousand times and it’s still worsewhen it’s your sister fighting herself so hard. Farley looks at me and thenaway. I’m no expert, but that’s not a good sign.

“Barrow, you should clean up. Go home,” she suggests.

“Go home? No news for us?” I ask.

“Prepare yourselves, best you can,” Farley strides away from me.

Dead. Dead. Gone. To be in the ground securely buried. When fivebecomes four and then becomes three… the three have to wonder, “why us.”

At the barracks, mom is patching a stack of pants. Gisa movesslower on her own set of shirts. Gisa stops immediately, mom won’t look up.This is a disruption to our routine and that is never good. Dad pushes himselfover and reads my face.

“She didn’t?” He holds together just for those two words andthen stops himself.

I nod, it’s easier to do than to say what we’re all thinking. Soinstead, I say, “Farley said to collect ourselves. I’m going to wash up.”

“Tramy…” mom murmurs, setting her sewing down.

“I’ll get him,” little Gisa is quick to get away. Running usedto be Mare’s thing, but maybe we all have a bit of that in us. She moves fastout of the room and down the hall.

I follow but only to the washroom. I scrub the dirt from myarms, my hands, wipe the sweat from my neck. I dug a ditch today already. Ithink I have it in me to dig a grave. For Mare, I’ll dig that grave all nightlong. And that’s when the tears come.

Tramy has been tending the fields at the on-base farm. They growsome of the vegetables we eat in small patches. The weeds are constantlyinvading. Tramy moves on his hands and knees down the rows clearing the soil.It’s turned his skin dark and hunched his shoulders. If hekeeps at it, he’s going to be hooked as an old man.

Oldman… Tramy and I, we might grow old. We were all supposed to die. We tried ourbest not to, but out of all of us, the smartest are gone. How is that fair? Iwant to switch places with either of them, with both of them. Surely I’m big enoughto take their place. But that’s not how death works.

Idry my face and take long breaths, steadying myself. I will be strong for Gisaand for mom. I will be strong for dad and for Tramy. I will not break. I willnot break.

Tramyand Gisa scurry from the other direction. Tramy is pale and getting lighter ashe walks. He’s moving fast and barely breathing. I can see the dizziness strikehim. We let him recover on the floor, watch him vomit his nerves, and then wehaul him up.

“Formom, now. Steady for mom,” I remind him. He nods and pulls his shoulders back,attempts to be straight and strong.

Thewaiting is the worst. Mom is already losing it. She runs her hands over thesmall blanket all of us used as babies. Even if Gisa was the last, it was alsoShade’s, also Mare’s. Dad holds her hand and they cry then mom gasps when theknock comes on the door.

Kilorn,our sixth sibling, our cousin, our… family by choice. You get the family thatyou get and that is precious and unique. But then you get the family that youneed. That’s what we are to Kilorn, the family that he needed.

“She’snot dead,” he says before anyone behind me can see him.

Momcries in a release of stress.

“Thankyou. Thank you,” Dad murmurs into his hands.

“Warren, what is going on?” Tramy pushes past me and drags himin.

He is not alone. Behind him, the fucking Prince of Norta hoversoutside. It least he has manners enough not to enter uninvited. I move to shutthe door.

“Bree Barrow, you let that boy in,” mom intervenes.

If dad had asked, I probably still would have shut the door, butfor mom, I move to the side and he steps in. Our house is split. He and hiskind have killed too many of us and ours. We knew at the front when the princewas in command, they wouldn’t ever let us forget it. The number of reds dead onthe battlefield didn’t seem to matter when it came time to call it a success.Thousands died because of him. I almost died because of him. Mare has been drugthrough the mud and across arenas because of him. And dad shakes his hand.

“Mr. Barrow, Mrs. Barrow, I am,” he swallows, he struggles. Iwant him to choke. “Mare made a deal with my brother.”

“Her for us,” Kilorn finishes, hands on his hips. “It was thator they’d kill us all.”

“Well, that sounds like Mare,” Gisa growls, and it’s enough tolighten us and earn a chuckle.

“Yeah, that’s our Mare,” my dad agrees.

“What will he do to her?” My mom sets her jaw and grips dad’shand.

Her question floods my mind with deplorable options. If it’strue and he’s obsessed with her, would he… could anyone… I feel sick justthinking about how men hurt women. I think about torture. I think about thetraining the guard gave us that was more like telling ghost stories.

“I don’t think he’ll hurt her,” the prince says.

“You don’t think? Shekilled his mother!” Tramy challenges.

Kilorn pushes back on Tramy’s chest an forces him to give theprince more room. His head shakes and Tramy cows. The prince could light us upin a second, best not to start anything.

“Maven… I think… he, um…”

“He had genuine feelings for her,” Kilorn says and it hurts him.I always knew he had a think for Mare.

“At one time, before Elara finished her gut-job on his mind. It’sa bit of a screwy situation, but I don’t think he’ll hurt her. If what I thinkcounts,” Cal presses his hands into his pockets.

“Then why take her?” I ask.

“He’s broken,” Cal says. “There is no why anymore.”

Dad blinks. Tramy huffs. Kilorn drops his hand from Tramy’schest and just looks haggard, bruised. I guess, looking at the prince in amoment of stillness, he looks worse than anyone else in the room. His pale skinis bruised purple in places, his hair is missing in places and he has blood andsinge marks on his clothes.

“What happened to your wrists?” Gisa points at white bands onKilorn’s wrists. Kilorn’s hands come up to his neck where a piece of gauze liesunder his shirt. “Your hurt?”

“Burns,” he looks at Cal, who looks away.

“You need to go to the infirmary,” Gisa stands.

Kilorn moves like a magnet repelled. Her movement pushes him tothe door. She reaches out to touch him, he moves further away. Until he thinksbetter of the situation and stops at the door.

“Cal, you better get looked at.”

It’s the excuse the prince needs to get out of our quarters.When he lurches forward, hands in his pockets, he stops.

“I’ll get her back. I promise. I’ll get her back.”

The promise of a prince goes as far as I can throw a piano withme. But that’s all we have.

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Chapter 1: Bashert

Gotham was noisy. It took a few weeks for Deborah to get used to the constant noise. People rushing all around everywhere, all times of night, it was relentless.  It had been a shock to Deborah’s system, moving from the small English town she had lived in the past few years to one of the largest cities in the United States.  But Ruth, her agent, had said that the move would provide her with more career opportunities, so here she was. Even late as it was it was still loud. Deborah sat alone in shiny red booth in a 50’s style diner. There were no other patrons in the restaurant, but that was hardly surprising given that it was two in the morning. Deborah, in the month since moving to Gotham, had developed a habit of frequenting this diner, Suzie’s, in early hours of the morning. Deborah had always had problems sleeping, and had always gravitated to small hole in the walls, so the 24-hour diner next door to her building had been a major selling point when she had found her apartment.  It was a warm diner, owned by a friendly old couple and managed by their middle daughter, Alice. Their youngest daughter, Marie, worked the overnight shift and was the employee Deborah so the most of.

           “I’d ask if you wanted more coffee but that would be against my professional medical advice.”

           Deborah looked up at the tall girl and smiled wryly, “You just got into medical school, talk to me again in… how many years?”

           She turned on her heel and walked away with a huff, her dark curly hair floating behind her. Deborah stared somewhat glumly at her mostly empty coffee cup before turning back to her computer. The book she was working on was off to a slow start, it had been a while since she last wrote and she was rusty.  She groaned and closed her laptop. Marie was standing at the counter deliberately not looking at her while wiping away at some microscopic dust.

           “Marie.” Deborah called, testing the waters.

           No answer.

           “I’m sorry, you’re gonna be a great doctor.”

           Deborah was rewarded with a glance and nothing more.

           “And I won’t order any more coffee tonight.”

           Marie finally turned and leaned back against the counter, “What do you want?”

           “Fries and a milkshake.”

           Marie groaned, “You’re gonna be dead by the time I’m a doctor.”

           Marie reluctantly turned to go back into the kitchens, grumbling the whole way. Deborah had begun packing up her laptop when what seemed to be a person flew through the front door, glass flying everywhere. Deborah threw herself underneath the table and she heard Marie scream in the kitchen and Lou, the cook, shout something. From her limited view Deborah could see what looked like steel toed boots attached to legs in dark pants, and she could hear labored breathing as the person in the boots struggled to get up. The breathing sounded off, like something was wrong. Deborah heard more people walk into the diner, stepping on glass on their way in, one that sounded like a man laughed.

           The laughing man, who sounded like he was in the front of the group, growled out, “You’ve got nowhere to go Red, seems to me like you’re out of options.”

           The man on the ground, Red, let out a gasping laugh that sounded distorted through his helmet, “I’m never out of options.”

           The men, you could see there were three besides the man on the ground stood in front of the man with their backs to you. The man struggled up onto one knee and you could now see he wore a black leather jacket with a red hood over what looked like a black Kevlar shirt with a red emblem emblazed on the chest. On his head was some sort of glass helmet that had different lights flashing on it like those on a computer screen. Many of the lights were a darker shade of red than the helmet. It was in that moment that his head lifted just a little, and while she couldn’t see his face, it seemed he caught sight of Deborah. His head turned a little and Deborah saw Marie peeking out the door to the kitchen, a terrified look on her face. The men evidently noticed her too because one of the silent ones yelled, “Get back in the kitchen little girl!”

           Marie scampered back and the kitchen door swung a bit where she had abandoned it so quickly. The man in the helmet took the brief moment of distraction to throw himself upwards, hitting the man in front with a brutal upper cut and turning before Deborah could blink to bring his fist back down into the side of the jaw of the man next to him. That same downward momentum threw the man in the helmet back down to his knees and the last man standing fumbled for something under his coat, on his belt. Before Deborah could second guess herself she ripped her Taser from her purse and jumped out from under the table and jabbed it into the side of the last man standing. The man convulsed for a moment before collapsing next to the other two men. There was a moment of quiet where Deborah could here the helmeted man’s off-sounding breathing before he collapsed.

           Deborah let out a breath and looked at the disaster around her, “Fuck.”

           Deborah turned when she heard Marie creep out of the kitchen followed by Lou with a baseball bat at the ready. Marie approached cautiously, her dark eyes wide. Her voice was quiet with awe when she finally spoke, “Holy shit, it’s one of them.”

           “One of who?” Deborah asked.

           “One of the heroes.” Lou murmured, lowering the bat.

           “A hero that may or may not have a punctured lung. Should we call an ambulance or something? What are the rules here?” Deborah remarked.

           “No they can’t find out his secret identity!” Marie burst out of her shock and leapt into action, “Lou, help me carry him? Deb, can we use your apartment?”

           “My apartment for what?”

           “We need to treat him.”

           “Are we really qualified for this? What if he dies? How do we explain all this to the cops?” Deborah asked, increasingly concerned about this plan.

           “Good point, Deborah you help Lou get him to your apartment. I’ll call the cops and Lou, come in through the back when you get back. He should be okay till I get there.”

           “Should be?” Deborah’s voice was a little shrill even to her own ears.

           “I’ll be there as soon as I finish up with the cops. He’s still breathing even if it does sound a little funny, so it’s probably only a small puncture. I’m more worried about that arm.”

           Deborah looked at the arm the man hadn’t used to beat the lights out of two men, and noticed it was hanging in an odd way, probably dislocated. Deborah felt a little ill. Lou handed the bat to Marie and took the man hold of the man’s torso, careful of the injured arm, with the confidence of a man who had done this before. Deborah didn’t know what to make of that. Deborah swung her laptop bag and purse over her shoulder and picked up the man’s legs by the ankles. In tandem she and Lou lifted. Deborah grunted, “Geez he’s heavy.”

           “It’s the weight of responsibility he carries protecting this city. Hurry, I’m calling the police and he shouldn’t be here when they get here.”

           “This feels illegal.” Deborah commented on their way out the now empty space where the door used to be, Lou simply huffed out a laugh.

           The short walk from the diner up to her apartment seemed to take an hour. They had just set the man on the couch in Deborah’s fifth floor apartment when the police arrived at the diner. Lou turned to Deborah and asked, “I have to head back to the diner, have you ever relocated someone’s limb back in a socket?”

           “No Lou, I can’t say I have.”

           Lou let out a long sigh at the inconvenience and set about laying the man flat on the ground and slowly pulling his arm until his arm popped back into place. After, Lou turning to Deborah and saying, “Make sure to keep ice on his shoulder, less swelling is always better.”

           With that Lou left Deborah in her apartment with a man who was possibly a hero and definitely scary. Deborah just stood for a moment, taking a moment to accept where she was.  She counted down in her head from five, took a breath, and got a pack of ice and a dishcloth for the injured man now lying on the floor of her living room. She told herself that she had come to Gotham to do research for her crime novel, and she supposed this was a great way to get some first hand experience. The breathing coming from the helmet still sounded off, but seemed a little better than before.  Deborah was unsure about how to proceed. Did she wait with him until he woke up? Did she give him space? It was then she noticed the guns holstered underneath the leather jacket he wore. Deborah didn’t know how he would react when he woke up, and figured it would be safest to remove the guns. She crept forward, careful not to disturb the heavily armed man, and grabbed hold of the first gun. A hand suddenly shot out and grabbed her wrist. He raised his injured arm to grab her but let out a grunt when he tried.

           “You were injured in a fight.” Deborah quickly explained, “You got hurt in a diner, do you remember?”

           The hand stayed locked on her wrist, but he seemed to suddenly recall why his arm hurt and why he was having trouble breathing. Everything was very still for what was likely only a minute but felt like much longer. Slowly, while moving her wrist away from his gun, his grip slackened and she was able to pull it back.  Deborah rubbed the red spot left by his hand and he laid still.

           “Where am I?” He said, his voice sounding slightly hoarse.

           “You’re in my apartment, I live next door to Suzie’s, that’s the diner, and we figured it would be best that you weren’t still splayed on the floor when the cops showed up.”

           “We?”

           “Oh yeah. Me, Marie, and Lou. Marie and Lou both work at Suzie’s. Marie just got into med school and said she thinks you may have a small puncture in your lung and also your arm was dislocated. Lou fixed your arm, that ‘s what the ice is for, and Marie said you should lay flat until she comes to check you out. She’s not a doctor yet but she’s really smart and can probably help.” Deborah was aware she was rambling, but didn’t really know the proper bedside manner for an injured vigilante lying on the floor of your living room.

           “It is punctured, but I don’t think it’s bad.”

           The man started to get up and Deborah tried to stop him, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”          

           The man pushed away her hands, “I thought your friend was the one in med school?.”

           He barely stood before collapsing onto Deborah’s floral couch with a grunt, “You missed my sprained ankle.”

           Deborah huffed, “I’ll get more ice.”

           Deborah rushed off to her kitchen for more ice, and by the time she came back the man had settled with his injured foot on her coffee table. Deborah handed him the ice and he settled it on his ankle before leaning back. His posture seemed relaxed, but Deborah noticed that his hands stayed near his holsters. Deborah settled on a chair cattycorner to the table with her feet tucked under her, she hoped her more relaxed position would calm him some.

           “So mysterious man who gets thrown through doors, do you have a name?”

           The man’s head tilted a bit and he simply said, “Yes.”

           “Well Yes, odd name, but it’s nice to meet you. I’m Deborah.”

           The man’s head rolled back onto the back of the couch and he groaned.

           “You know that’s all I’m gonna call you from here on out right?” Deborah joked.

           “With any luck you won’t be calling me anything after tonight.”

           Deborah thought for a minute, “Is there anyone I should call? Do you have a way to get to whatever hole you call a home?”

           The man was silent for another moment, “I’ll be fine, and out of your hair soon.”

           As if to further discourage the man, at that moment flakes of snow started to fall outside. Deborah glanced between the window, the man, and his ankle.

           “You sure about that?” When he didn’t say anything Deborah continued, “It’s really no trouble for you to crash here. Just don’t wreck the place and don’t steal anything.”

           “You don’t know me. I could be a bad guy.”

           Deborah got up from her chair and grabbed a large afghan from a woven basket and handed it to the man on the couch.

           “Bad guys don’t risk their lives to fight gangsters.”

           The man took the offered blanket cautiously. He was silent for a moment while looking down at the blue and white yarn before murmuring, “Thank you.”

           “No problem. You should probably stay awake long enough for Marie to get here so she can look you over, make sure you’re not gonna die in you’re sleep or anything. Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

           Deborah looked at the mans helmet with some trepidation, and he seemed to think the same thing and simply said, “No, thank you.”

           It took another hour for Marie to get up to the apartment after dealing with the cops, making the calls needed to get the diner fixed up, and assuring her moms that everyone was fine. She looked over the man on the couch, who she called Red Hood, and pronounced he would survive. It was nearly dawn by the time she went home and Deborah left the vigilante on her couch to rest, looking very out of place on the floral couch and covered in bright afghan. He hadn’t taken off his helmet, and Deborah suspected once he was sure she was asleep he would. Deborah took one last look at the man before going to bed, certain it would not be the last time she saw him.

Come in From the Cold

Surprise, @natascha-remi-ronin​! I’m your Captain Swan Secret Santa!

I hope you enjoy this fic I wrote you :)

Special thanks to @cssecretsanta for organizing this whole event!

AO3

“You know, you’re supposed to use a piece of last year’s yule log to light this year’s. It protects the house from evil spirits.”

Emma nearly smacked her head on the top of the fireplace as she turned around.

“It’s not a yule log, it’s just a regular log in a regular fire,” she rolled her eyes.

“Semantics.”

She playfully shoved Killian out of her way as she stood.

“Well, I didn’t save any firewood from the Christmas party last year, so we’ll have to make do. I suppose I should beware of black cats crossing my path today, too?”

“I mean, you should always beware of black cats walking directly in your path, Duckling.”

Emma was well aware of Killian’s tendency towards superstitions. He didn’t leave his house on Friday the 13th, he didn’t walk under ladders, and he always did that weird thing with salt whenever it spilled. He was one of David’s quirkier friends, but she loved him all the same.

He, of course, didn’t know just how much she loved him. Or rather, in what way.

Killian still thought of her as his best friend’s little sister. He ruffled her hair, teased her relentlessly, and still occasionally called her ‘Duckling’, an unfortunate nickname that had followed her since her obsession with The Ugly Duckling as an eight-year-old. When the neighborhood kids had started using it against her, David and Killian had stepped in and made it a friendly nickname, one she secretly loved hearing. Even now, as an adult.

“Are you coming caroling with us, Duckling?” Killian followed Emma into the kitchen.

“You’re going to drag me along either way, I don’t know why you bother asking.”

“Someday you’ll agree to go willingly, and I won’t have to hold your hand the whole way.”

Not a chance, Emma thought to herself as she blushed just a bit.

“I saved you some cookie batter. Go shove a spoon in your face so you don’t have to bother me anymore,” Emma scolded him gently.

“You really should have led with cookie batter,” he pressed a kiss to her cheek and went to find a spoon.

“This is gonna be the year. I can feel it.” Mary Margaret appeared at Emma’s side, whispering.

“You say that every year.”

“And every year, you find a reason to leave early, and every year, Killian is disappointed for the entire evening afterwards. This year, stick around. Please?”

“I think you’re exaggerating Killian’s level of disappointment when it comes to my presence, or lack thereof.”

Mary Margaret simply hummed in response.

There was a clatter behind them as Killian tossed the bowl and the spoon into the sink.

“I’ve finished the chocolate chip.”

“That’s David’s favorite!” Emma swatted his arm.

“I know,” and there was that grin. The one that made Emma’s insides do somersaults and her legs go all gooey. Emma was not a gooey, lovey-dovey person. But Killian Jones did something to her – had done for half her life. He brought out a side of her that thought maybe, just maybe, sometimes life did bring you happy endings and romance and fairy tales.

Of course, all of that would only be true if he’d stop looking at her as the same kid she’d been when they’d met, so long ago she couldn’t even remember. Killian had been a staple in her life in her earliest memories, ones of David showing her around the elementary school, showing her how to get from her kindergarten classroom to his third grade one. And while David had held her right hand, Killian had held her left.

The Nolans had adopted her when she was in the middle of kindergarten. And though things at home were comfortable, and she rarely wanted for anything, the kids at school were cruel. Where Ruth, Robert, and David provided Emma with a home, hugs, praise, and love, her classmates reminded her daily that someone hadn’t wanted her.

“Where are your real parents, Ugly Duckling?”

“Why don’t you go back to your real family?”

And every time Emma left her lunch period crying – from age five and up until high school – she went and found David and Killian, and one of them held her and protected her, while the other went and told those bullies exactly who they were messing with.

It was right after high school when Killian started to look less like a bonus sibling and more like…well, a real human adult man. He’d taken to the sea, to rowing and sailing and surfing and nearly anything else you could possibly do on the water. The rowing especially had done…something to his physique that Emma particularly appreciated.

After his older brother died – killed in action while serving in the Navy – Killian grew out his hair and stopped shaving regularly. That was also when the superstitions began, after Liam’s unit had left port on February 2nd, despite the superstitions against leaving for any voyage on Candlemas. He disappeared for months at a time, at first, but he always came home in time for Christmas.

Ten years later, he always made sure to be the first one through the door for Christmas dinner, whether he’d been away for months or he’d just seen them all the day before.

“It’s a blessing for the home if the first person who visits during Christmas is a black haired man,” he’d wink when Emma answered the door in her pajamas, barely awake and hair askew.

“No one else will be here for at least four hours, Killian. Can’t you be the first person to visit…later?”

“Can’t take that chance, Duckling. With Ruth and Robert gone, I’ve got to make sure this house stays blessed for you, don’t I?”

And then he’d make her hot chocolate and put on Christmas movies. And Emma knew, somewhere deep down, that he also wanted to make sure that she didn’t spend one second of Christmas alone. And that he didn’t particularly want to spend any of it alone either.

Eventually, David and Mary Margaret and Regina and Robin would show up, and sometimes Ruby came and she always had a different date on her arm than she had the year before. And they always teased Emma and Killian about what the could have possibly done alone together for four entire hours when the house was still such a mess and none of the food was cooked. And Killian would roll his eyes and Emma would blush because she, of course, was dying to do some of the things that they were insinuating that she was doing with Killian Jones.

But that was a part of the tradition and Emma looked forward to it every single year.

After dinner, Killian waited until everyone had had just the right amount of liquor – enough to feel silly, not enough to feel tired – and then he’d yell out about how it was time to go caroling.

And since Emma lived in the same house she’d grown up in, David wanting to build his own castle for himself and Mary Margaret when Ruth and Robert had passed away, they caroled at the same houses that they’d been caroling and trick-or-treating at since they were small enough to believe in Santa Claus.

And this year was no different. Emma had just brought out the second batch of cookies – snickerdoodle – when Killian decided it was time.

“What’s the lineup, Jones?” Regina asked, just the tiniest bit of a slur to her voice.

“Jingle Bells, Rudolph, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas…” Killian began counting on his fingers.

“We’re saving that one for Ruby’s grandmother, right? It’s her favorite.” Emma pointed out.

“Yes, Duckling, I’m well aware of my audience, thank you.”

Emma stuck out her tongue.

Thirty minutes later, they were all bundled up, a few more shots of rum were gone, and they were ready to sing to the whole street.

Emma complained about the cold and the songs and the cheesiness of it all, and Killian grabbed her hand, hooked it through his elbow, and dragged her along anyway.

When they reached Marco’s house, singing O Holy Night, Emma noticed a small bit of mistletoe hanging on the porch. It was really more above David and Mary Margaret, but if Emma stretched just a bit to the right, it’d be above her shoulder, sort of, and she was already hooked to Killian’s arm, so…

“Oh look, David, mistletoe!”

Mary Margaret had seen it first, was already kissing David before Emma could step under it and act as though she hadn’t seen it before. She knew Killian would kiss her, and she knew it was probably ridiculous and childish to want that, but he was so superstitious and you kind of had to kiss under the mistletoe for luck or something, right?

They moved onto the next house.

It was nearly 10PM when they got to the Rabbit Hole. They ended their caroling session there every year, and Emma never lasted more than twenty minutes. The warmth of the rum was gone, but it had left its weariness behind. There was a chill straight through to her bones from being outside for so long. She just wanted the warmth of her own bed.

“Stay, Emma. Please.” Mary Margaret begged her. And Emma wanted to give in, but she couldn’t give herself some sort of false hope that Killian would do something differently if she were there, couldn’t set herself up for that disappointment.

Instead, Emma said her goodbyes, saving Killian for last.

“I wish you’d stay for once, Duckling.” His eyes looked sad. Maybe Mary Margaret hadn’t been totally off base.

“I’m tired, Killian.”

“One more round?”

He looked at her with his patented puppy dog eyes, biting his lip, one eyebrow raised.

How the hell was she supposed to say no?

“One.” She said firmly.

His face broke out in a grin, and Mary Margaret laughed, covering it with a cough.

One more round of drinks turned into two, and then three, and before Emma knew it, she was out until 2AM on a night she’d planned to be in bed by 11. The bar closed down and they all waited together for cabs and Ubers, huddled together for warmth.

“Should we share a cab?” Killian asked her. He lived two streets away from her, an easy distance for either of them to walk if the driver only wanted to stop once.

“Sure,” and Emma would lie later and say her face was red from the rum and the cold, and not at all from the excitement of sharing a backseat with someone she’d known her entire life.

Christmas was bringing out her embarrassingly romantic side.

She nearly fell asleep on his shoulder in the backseat of the cab, and he sat silently, the quietest she’d ever known him to be.

“You up, Duckling? We’re home,” he whispered in her ear.

He coaxed her out of the car gently, letting her lean on him as they walked up the driveway. He walked her to the door, pausing as if he had some important message to deliver. The look in his eyes – all nerves and a bit of liquid courage – woke her up as she scrambled to find her keys.

“I hung some decorations out here this morning before I knocked,” he said.

“Decorations?” she mumbled, desperately digging through her purse for those damn keys, her fingers already growing numb from the cold.

“Well, one. A singular decoration.”

“What are you talking about, Killian?” She couldn’t hide the frustration in her voice, still struggling to rummage through her mess of a bag.

“Dammit, Emma, just look up!”

She’d found her keys as he yelled, but she dropped them to the ground when she looked up and found mistletoe hanging from her porchlight.

She opened her mouth to question…something, to ask what he was doing hanging mistletoe on her porch, but before she could get the question out, he was kissing her.

It was everything she’d imagined it would be, except they were drunk and their teeth were clicking together and their lips were cold and her fingers were numb so she couldn’t grab his hair the way she wanted to.

“It’s bad luck not to do that,” he said against her neck.

“Is that why you hung it there in the first place?” And there was a tiny voice in Emma’s head that wanted to question all of this, couldn’t understand why Killian Jones was suddenly kissing her on her front porch after Christmas dinner. But the larger part of her brain smacked that tiny part down and kissed him again.

“I had to find some way to kiss you, didn’t I?” He grinned against her mouth.

“Do you wanna come inside and…finish off the snickerdoodles?”

Killian reached up and grabbed the mistletoe before following her inside. She eyed him questioningly.

“Just in case I need to kiss you again.”

Where the Wind Blows

mag7week Day 8: Saturday, Sept. 30 - Friends & Family || Sunset

“Josh, sweetheart, eat some more, you look half-starved!”

Joshua shook his head, folding his hands in his lap. His gaze drifted to the plate of bread and cheese Charlene was offering him but he forced himself to look away, back into her heavily made-up eyes. “Mama already got me dinner.”

“Well, clearly not enough!” she said. “Eat, Joshua.”

“No thank you, Ma’am,” Joshua said. He slid out of the chair, starting toward the door at a run but Charlene stopped him, easily outpacing him and reaching the door before he did.

“Maria said you’re to stay here,” Charlene said. “She’ll be off in, oh-” she glanced at the clock on the wall, “-about an hour. She asked me to check on you at some point.” “Oh.” Joshua crossed back to the chair he’d been sitting in, head hung low, and sat down, setting his bare feet on the wood in front of him and drawing his knees up.

“Don’t worry,” Charlene said, crouching in front of him and reaching out to ruffle his already messy hair. “She’ll come get you soon and then you can go home.” With a swishing of skirts and a clicking of heels, she stood and was gone.

Joshua rested his chin between his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs. Every night seemed to go like this.

The clock ticked slowly, the fire in the fireplace burning ever lower. His mother had told him not to touch it so he watched as the flames turned to embers and the embers began to dim.The floor creaked overhead and he heard heavy boot-steps clump down the stairs. Outside somewhere a horse neighed.

The clock ticked on.

His head began to sag, his cheek replacing his chin where it rested. Then his eyelids began to close, his narrow chest rising and falling slowly and rhythmically as sleep started to take over.

It was well past midnight when the door opened and Maria Faraday entered, picking up her sleeping son and resting him on her hip as she walked out the door. He hardly roused, just enough to reach a hand up to hold her shoulder and then fell back asleep.

This wasn’t unusual. Looking back later, Joshua Faraday’s most prominent memories from his early childhood were days and nights spent alone in a back room in Eufaula’s brothel, waiting for his mother to get him.

*****

“Joshua, I got something to tell you!”

It was a year later and Joshua’s ninth birthday had just passed. He took another bite from the stale half-piece of bread Maria had allotted him for breakfast. Somehow he’d known something was up; there was something different in the way his mother moved this morning, something new in her face. “What?”

*****

“She’s getting married.” His lip quivered as he looked up at Charlene.

“Well, Joshua, isn’t that something to be happy about?” she asked, resting her elbows on the table, mirroring his position.

He shook his head.

“Well now, why’s that? Once you’ve got a father-”

“I ain’t got a father,” he said stubbornly.

“‘Haven’t got,’” Charlene corrected gently. “But you will!”

“No, I won’t,” he said. “I don’t need one.”

“But once they’re married, I’m sure your mother will be able to stay home with you- won’t that be nice?” Charlene asked.

“She doesn’t want me,” Joshua said, blinking more quickly as tears began to form in his eyes.

“Now what would make you say a thing like that?” Charlene asked. “Of course she does- she loves you!”

“I heard her say it yesterday,” Joshua said. “She told Miss Ruth she wouldn’t be working here if it wasn’t for me and I know she hates it.”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want you!” Charlene said. “She was probably just tired.”

“I don’t need her, and I don’t need a father, neither,” Joshua snapped.

“Just give it a chance, Joshua,” Charlene said. “You might like her fiancee.”

“I won’t,” Joshua said.

*****

He was right. He didn’t.

“Well, aren’t you gonna congratulate us, Josh?” Maria asked as they walked out of the church, she on the arm of her husband and Joshua trailing behind.

“Never mind,” the man said, and leaned in for a kiss. She giggled and accepted it.

Faraday kicked the ground with the toe of his rented dress shoes, watching the backs of the adults in front of him with venom in his gaze.

*****

“Where’s Vic?”

It had been six months, and Joshua had been living in their new home with his mother and Vic ever since. They had tried to talk him into calling Vic ‘father’ or ‘dad,’ but he refused.

“Oh, he’s out,” Maria said. “He’s a busy man, Josh.”

“Mm,” Joshua picked up the wooden revolver he was playing with, sighting at a book on the small kitchen table, and “firing.” “Boom!” He jerked his hand back with the imaginary recoil and chose a new target.

“You should write your name in your books before you go to school,” Maria said. “You wouldn’t want to lose them.”

Faraday flattened himself on his stomach, crawling under the table to take out one leg of the nightstand next to the bed.

“Now, Joshua.”

Joshua groaned, clambering to his feet and setting down the toy much harder than was necessary before taking up a pencil and opening the arithmetic book. He flipped to the first page and wrote in careful printing: Joshua Walsh.

Footsteps approached from behind and Maria looked over his shoulder, “Joshua! Why’d you go and write Faraday? Your last name’s Reagan now!” She cuffed him across the face and he recoiled, dropping the pencil, indignant tears already forming in his eyes.

“I’LL NEVER USE HIS NAME!” he shouted and then stormed across the room, throwing himself onto the bed and burying his tear-stained face in a rough pillowcase.

*****

Over the next few months, Maria grew quieter. When Vic came home, they didn’t talk much, and Joshua could tell there was something wrong, very wrong, even if he wasn’t well-versed enough in the ways of the world to know what. She had even less patience for Joshua than usual, and when he reminded her that tomorrow was his first day of school, she told him to be quiet and leave her alone.

He didn’t sleep that night, just lay curled up on his cot, still awake when Vic got home in the early hours of the morning.

It was then that Joshua first learned the smell of alcohol, and that he was to leave Vic alone the mornings after he came home drunk, or else he’d be shouted at if he was lucky, and turned over the man’s knee and beat with a rod if he wasn’t.

*****

“You just keep an eye on her, okay Josh? Charlene will come in to check on you later.” Maria left the familiar old room, closing the door behind her.

The baby in Joshua’s arms began to cry and he bounced her up and down, murmuring, “It’s okay, Ethel. She’ll be back later. Don’t cry.”

His instincts had been right about Vic. After only several months of marriage to Maria, he had begun to sleep around again, and after only a year of marriage, had kicked out both his eight-months-pregnant wife and her ten-year-old son.

It took awhile for Ethel to calm, and when she finally did, Joshua laid her in his lap, tucking the blanket a little tighter around her. She blinked up at him, her blue eyes wide and innocent. She didn’t know yet what she had been born into, the almost certain poverty she was bound for.

“How’s she doing?”

Joshua looked up to see Charlene walking in. “She stopped crying,” he said.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Charlene said.

“She’s going to be sad,” Joshua said.

“What makes you say that?” Charlene asked.

“She’s like me,” Joshua said. “And I am.”

“Oh, Josh…” Charlene dropped to the hearth next to him and wrapped an arm around him, her fingers squeezing his shoulder as she rested her head against the top of his.

“I wish you were my mother,” Joshua muttered.

Charlene didn’t answer, just held him a little tighter. “You never know how things could change.”

“She said things were gonna change when she married Vic,” he said.

“They did, right?” Charlene asked. “You’re going to school, you’re living in a bigger place-”

“I don’t get to go to school anymore,” Joshua said. “And we moved back to our old house.”

Charlene sighed. “I’m sorry Josh. I really am. And I hope things will look up.”

*****

“How is she?”

Maria didn’t answer immediately, wiping her face with the cuff of her sleeve. Ethel had been sick for nearly a week now, and when she’d gotten bad enough, Maria had stopped letting Joshua see her, for fear he catch what she had. For days, the only thing he heard or saw of her was her weak wails. But this morning, things had gone quiet. Too quiet.

“Shouldn’t we get the doctor?” Joshua asked quietly.

“No,” Maria said. “Ethel, she…” Somehow, Joshua knew what she was about to say before she said it. “She didn’t make it.”

Joshua just looked at her. There were no tears in his eyes; his expression was blank. “Okay,” he said finally, and then slipped off the chair, heading for the table, where his toy revolver sat.

Charlene told Maria it was too much for Joshua to process, that he didn’t understand. Joshua told his mother he understood, and that was all he would say. “She was too good for that life,” he said one late, drunken night to a drinking partner too gone on alcohol to understand it. “Better she died then than come up like my mother.” Some part of him already knew that, even at eleven.

*****

“Josh, eat your food,” Maria said. Joshua set down the piece of wood he was whittling in the corner of the tiny living room and walked to the table, head low, his eyes not meeting his mother’s.

“How was your day?” she asked as he tore a chunk of stale bread off and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Fine,” he said through the food.

She watched him for a long moment, saw the way his gaze remained fixed on the rough wood of the table, blind to her or the rain turning the street to mud outside or the small fire in the fireplace, all things that used to transfix him. “Joshua,” she said. He didn’t answer.

“Joshua,” she said again. “Look at me.”

Slowly his head turned, his green eyes meeting hers.

“You blame me, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, and then returned to eating. After a moment his chewing slowed and he swallowed, looking at her again with terrible conviction in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have married Vic. You shouldn’t have had her. You shouldn’t have had me.” A year had not dulled the pain one bit, and his words were sharp as a razor, cutting straight through to Maria’s heart.

Her lips dropped open, tears springing to her eyes. “Joshua… Vic was a mistake, but you and Ethel were not.”

“Yes,” Joshua said. “We were.” Then he took the last of his food and walked out the door, settling on the tiny porch to finish eating.

*****

“Joshua, what are you doing here?” Charlene opened the door of the small house wider, casting an uneasy glance over her shoulder as she ushered the boy inside.

“I wanted to see you before I leave,” Joshua said.

Charlene crossed the room quickly, closing the door on a bedroom inside which a brawny man was sprawled across the bed, asleep. “Here,” she said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table before sitting in the opposite one. “Sit down.”

Joshua obeyed, folding his hands on the surface of the table.

“You said you’re leaving?” Charlene asked.

Joshua nodded. “I need to.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll find a job,” Joshua said. “I can work.”

Charlene sighed. “I can’t tell you you have my blessing because that would be irresponsible of me to say. But… You’re a good boy, Joshua. You’ll be a good man. I wish things could be different; I would take you in if I could. But you’ll do all right.” She reached across the table, taking his hands in hers. “If you lose your way, you can always come back and my door will be open to you.”

Joshua nodded, tears filling his eyes before he could blink them away. In an instant, Charlene had risen, rounding the table and pulling Joshua into her arms. He buried his face in her shoulder, his whole frame shaking as he sobbed. “I miss her. I miss her!” He mumbled something Charlene couldn’t understand and she began to stroke his hair, holding him close to her.

“I know,” she murmured. “I know.”

At last, Joshua stepped back, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his worn jacket.

“Wait,” Charlene said as he started to walk back toward the door. She reached up to a top kitchen shelf, taking down a small jar. From it she procured two dollars and handed them to Joshua. “To help you on your way.”

“Thank you,” he said, carefully pushing the bills into his pocket.

She took him in her arms again, kissing the top of his head. “Godspeed, Joshua.”

*****

“Shoeshine?” The man passing in the street didn’t acknowledge Joshua’s offer and Joshua resisted the urge to curse under his breath. He needed the pay from shining shoes; between that and what he made running errands and delivering packages for Tuscaloosa’s many shop-owners, he could just make enough to live on, and the owner of the stable he cleaned every weekend was kind enough to let him sleep in the clean hay in the corner of his barn.

Three years passed in a haze of dirt, noise, and exhaustion, and then Joshua moved on. He’d been saving all that time, and as soon as he could afford to buy a horse, he was ready to leave town. He went west, riding the trails forming out toward California, stopping after several weeks of travel at a ranch in Texas.

“What can I do for you, boy?” a man asked, emerging from the stable as Joshua rode up to it.

“Can I sleep here for the night?” Joshua asked. “I haven’t got any money, but I won’t cause any trouble.”

The man’s eyes roved over Joshua, quickly noticing his conspicuously empty hips. “You don’t carry?”

“No, sir,” Joshua said. “Can’t afford it.”

“What are you doing all the way out here?”

Joshua swallowed, self-conscious. “Drifting, I guess.”

“You need a place to work?” the man asked. “Cause I could use another hand around here.”

“You own this?” Joshua asked.

“No,” the man said. “But I manage it. So what do you say? You want the job?”

“Yes sir!” Joshua said.

*****

“So,” the man sitting next to Joshua, a rider about ten years his senior by the name of Will, took a long draw from his cigarette. “You ain’t from around here, are you, kid?”

“Alabama,” Joshua said. “That’s where I’m from.”

“Then why’re you out here?”

“Haven’t got nothin’ keeping me there,” Joshua said, but it came out more harsh than he had intended.

“You come out here with something to prove?” Will asked. “Cause you’ll get fired or killed with that kind of attitude.”

“Killed?” Joshua asked. “How?”

“We got some rough folk coming through here,” Will said. “Drifters like yourself, but with worse intentions.”

Joshua nodded, fingers playing with the dry grass they sat on. “I haven’t got anything to prove.”

“Good,” Jim said. “Here.” He handed Joshua his cigarette. Joshua took it hesitantly, turning it over in his fingers before setting it between his lips and drawing in a breath. Instantly he choked, coughing so hard the cigarette fell into the dry grass, though Will snatched it back up before anything caught fire. Joshua blinked rapidly, his eyes watering as he tried to regain his composure. “Never smoked before?” Will asked.

Joshua shook his head.

“You’ll learn,” Will said.

*****

“You never learned to shoot?” one of the other hired hands asked and Joshua frowned, lowering the gun as he turned to answer.

“Don’t pay him no mind,” Will said. “Sight on that bottle.”

Joshua obeyed, trying to concentrate but only halfway succeeding.

“Nice and easy, pull back the trigger when you’re ready,” Will said. “Don’t jerk it.”

Joshua obeyed, cursing when the bullet missed.

“Good technique,” Will said. “You just gotta work on it. You’ll get it.”

*****

“I want these two,” Joshua set the pair of revolvers down on the counter of the general store.

“You sure you got the kind of money for these?” the shop-owner asked. “They ain’t cheap.”

“I know,” Joshua said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small stack of bills, all the money he had. “This’ll do it.”

The man flicked through the money, swiftly counting it. “You’re right. It will. Pleasure doing business with you, Mr…?” “Faraday,” Joshua said firmly. It was his grandfather’s last name, a man he’d never met but whom his mother had told him about from when he was young. A good man, a hardworking man.

“Good day, Mr. Faraday,” the shop-owner said, putting away the cash as Joshua strapped on the guns.

“Thank you,” he said, casting his first real smile in a long time toward the man before he left the store.

*****

“That’s some nice hardware you got there,” Will said as they mounted together later that day.

“Thanks,” Faraday said. “Just got ‘em.”

Will looked at him keenly. “You going somewhere?”

Faraday hesitated, looking away. “I think it’s time for me to move on.”

“You ain’t happy here?” Will asked.

“It’s not that,” Faraday said. “It’s all right. But y’see… My mother never made anything of herself. I never knew my dad. I wanna be something. No offense meant to you; this life’s good but it’s not for me.”

“When’re you going?” Will asked.

“Figured I’d talk to George tonight and leave in the morning,” Faraday said.

“Well,” Will said. “Wherever you end up… Good luck.”

****

The campfire crackled, dim light dancing on burnished metal.

Faraday drew the gun that had sat holstered on his right hip. He turned the revolver over in his hands, feeling its weight, the touch of cool metal against his skin. Balanced, comfortable, familiar. Reliable. Consistent. Graceful.

Ethel.

The name popped unbidden into his head.

He slid it back into his holster, the name whispered again in his head. Ethel.

Then he drew the other gun. He was wary of this one. It jammed sometimes, and once the gunpowder had exploded without dispatching the bullet and he’d had burns on his hands for weeks. Yet it had saved his life as many times as it had endangered it. Maria.

He drew the first gun again, closing his eyes for just a moment. It was right.

*****

“Who’ve we got here?”

Faraday pulled a folded paper from inside his vest, smoothing it out on the table and pushed the man he held bound forward, pulling the hat off his head. The sheriff looked between the poster and the worn face of the man in front of Faraday. His furrowed brow released in recognition. “I believe I owe you two hundred dollars, eh?”

“Yes sir,” Faraday said.

“Wilson, give us a hand,” the sheriff called, and a deputy appeared from another room, taking the man in Faraday’s custody and leading him toward a row of jail cells as the sheriff opened the safe under his desk. “He cause you much trouble?” he nodded toward the poster. “He’s got quite a record.”

“He wasn’t too bad,” Faraday said, neglecting to comment on the deep bullet graze in his side that a new vest and a thick strip of bandages concealed.

“Here you go,” the sheriff said, handing Faraday a stack of bills. “If you care to stay the night, there’s an inn down the way.”

“Thank you, sir,” Faraday said, slipping the bills into his pocket.

“Say, aren’t you a little young to be in this business?”

Faraday hesitated. “Just doing what I have to.” He tipped his hat to the sheriff, who nodded in response, and then left.

*****

Faraday kicked off his boots, putting his feet up on the bed in front of him as he browsed through the pages of the novel on the nightstand. Minutes later he tossed it aside, restless eyes roving the small room. It was clean, simply decorated, comfortable, and utterly foreign to the way Faraday had lived nearly his whole life.

He dragged the pillows into a new position, and lay his head down again. For a moment he was still, and then he sat up, slipping off the bed and onto the floor. He curled up, laying his head on one folded arm, and went to sleep.

*****

Small buildings rose on the horizon, and a stifling wave of emotion rose in Faraday’s throat. He was twelve when he last saw this little town, and that had been seven years ago. “Git,” he said, urging his horse on, though his voice hardly sounded like his own.

His mother had been on his mind recently. He knew she would be getting too old for her line of work, and his resentment against her faded somewhat at the thought of her unemployed and alone. The life of a bounty hunter wasn’t one he wanted to live anyway, so he saved up some money and bought a ticket for a train to Alabama.

The cracked dirt road turned into the newly-cobbled main street just outside the first buildings and Faraday rode on, the familiar buildings looking so much smaller now that he had grown up. He dismounted outside the brothel, tying up his horse before ascending the steps. The second one had always used to creak, making him think it would collapse under him. But the wood was new and his ascent was silent but for the sound of his footsteps.

He opened the door, stepping into the lounge on the other side. “What can I do for you, sir?” a woman asked, approaching him from one side of the room.

“I’m looking for someone,” he said. “A Maria Reagan. Or she might have gone by Faraday. I’m not sure.”

“She doesn’t work here anymore, honey, but we got plenty of others, if-”

“That’s not why I’m here,” he interrupted, knowing it was rude, but lacking the patience to wait. “She’s my mother.” The woman’s face fell, and she looked around, observing the empty state of the room and nodding to herself before saying to Faraday, “I think you’d better come into my office. My name is Sarah, by the way.”

“Joshua Faraday.”

Faraday let her lead the way through the door into a small room. She sat down behind her desk and he in the chair in front of it, taking off his hat and setting it in his lap as he waited for her to speak. “Maria was getting ready to quit working here,” the woman said. “It was a few years ago now. She was at the saloon and a fight started; I don’t know what over. Men drew guns, fired shots, one missed. She…” Sarah trailed off, her eyes resting in her lap.

“She died,” Faraday said.

Sarah nodded.

Faraday didn’t speak. There were no tears; he felt hardly anything. His heart didn’t feel heavy, just… gone.

“Charlene?”

“She left town years ago.”

“Good.” He stood, setting his hat back on his head. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t have better news for you,” Sarah said, smoothing out her skirts as she stood and led the way out of the room.

“Mm,” Faraday grunted.

*****

“Just give me the bottle,” Faraday said, changing his mind as the bartender poured him a small shot of whiskey.

“Can you pay for it?”

“A dollar cover it?”

“Near enough,” the bartender said, taking the bill as Faraday handed it to him.

Faraday downed the shot, his face scrunching up of its own accord as the alcohol burned all the way down.

When he went to bed that night, the bottle was empty, he could hardly get up the stairs, and the haze of drunkenness had muted the screaming emptiness inside him.

*****

The next morning, he came down with a headache so bad it felt that with every noise someone was hitting the back of his skull with a hammer, and sat down at the bar. “What do you recommend?”

“Not drinking that much next time,” the bartender said.

Faraday scowled at him. “Are you always this unhelpful?”

“Just answering your question,” the man said. “You want something to eat?”

“Yeah, sure,” Faraday said.

“Here,” the man said. “Take these.” He pulled a deck of cards from under the counter and handed them to Faraday. “They’ll help you pass the time.”

Faraday chuckled, taking them. “Thanks.”

*****

That afternoon he left town with no idea where he was going and no plan of what he should do.

He drifted, claiming a bounty once in awhile when he got too strapped for cash, but mostly winning his living with the deck of cards he was becoming increasingly apt with. He traveled where the winds carried him, spending the length of the Civil War in the deep south, beyond the reaches of the conflict.

He won a new horse, bought a new hat when his wore out, purchased a new set of clothes when the old grew too ragged to repair. But the two guns on his hips never changed.

Years passed, and Faraday kept riding.

One day a warrant officer interrupted his game of cards.

Death is never the end... Not on this show anyway.

well. that was... um... yeah.

I’m not quite done processing.

The thing is, we have been speculating for so long now about Cas dying in the finale that it was almost expected for me. When he died I didn’t even react (certainly not in the way that Misha probably wanted when he asked for reaction vids) I just kinda went ‘Oh’ and that was it. 

I got up, took a walk to Sainsbury’s because I had to get some food, and spent the entire walk there and back pondering this new turn of events. 

I need to sort out my thoughts properly, but this post will more likely be me screaming into a void because I just need to type right now.

Cas is not dead.

Lets just get that one out there. No matter how real that whole stabbing, flashy light, burnt wings thing looked. It didn’t happen. Not the way we think it happened. Absolutely not. Cas’s story is unfinished. This is Andrew Dabb we are talking about after all, the master of Cas’s story arc in Carver era and into season 12. Cas hasn’t answered any of the questions they have been throwing at him since season 8. He hasn’t found his place, accepted who he is, learned to love himself... 

My biggest issue with the finale (aside from Lucifer’s mere presence) was that Cas wasn’t Cas. He was off, he wasn’t himself, he was kinda cold. Just like in 12x19. I have so many questions and there is no fucking way that this is the end for him. We still don’t even really know what happened to him in heaven, let alone what the Nephilim did to him. What was with the golden glow when he healed Dean? That was all wrong. 

I don’t know whether the alternate universe thing means we will get au versions of Cas now, or whether the Cas that was killed WAS an au version himself and real Cas is trapped somewhere? Or maybe Nephilim Jack will bring Cas back on the spot? 

Other than being great emotional fodder for shippers, and a chance to see Dean at his absolute best when he is an emotional wreck (just like my fave scene in 12x22 with Mary - WOW), it just seemed kinda flat. I’m upset about it, but probably not in the way Andrew Dabb wants me to be. 

One thing is for sure, when Cas comes back (and he WILL come back) he better still be HIM, OUR CAS and not some au version. Cas still has so far to go with his own story and Dabb hasn’t finished telling it. I don’t doubt that we WILL get OUR Cas back eventually, but I am sure that we will get more than a few episodes of Dean suffering serious man pain before we do. 

Crowley is Dead

As a great compare and contrast to Cas’s shock death, Crowley’s was perfect. It was exactly how I have always wanted Crowley to go out. He finished up his story arc. He admitted he was done with hell, he wanted more, or something different, and then he gave his life to save and protect the family he loves. It was beautifully done, and I was happy about it, and also sad because I will miss Crowley. He was a fantastic character, but I am glad to see him go.

Also, it works as proof that the writers DO know what they are doing with the characters. The fact that they were able to round off Crowley’s story and give him a decent send off means they DO know how to write a decent death scene and CAN do it well. They KNOW they have unfinished business with Cas, hence Cas WILL RETURN as the Cas we all know and love. Crowley’s story however, is now finished.

HOWEVER - with Earth 2 looming and a character born who can open up alternate worlds, it is entirely possible that they will bring back Mark Sheppard to play an au version of Crowley from now on. Perhaps we will actually get a truly evil demon Crowley again just like in season 6? Perhaps they will start his story over again? it is entirely possible that we may see a whole bunch of versions of Crowley. Just because the REAL Crowley’s story is now over, doesn’t mean we couldn’t have different Crowley’s come back into the story just like how they brought Bobby back.

Rowena’s death pissed me off

Yeah this one hurt the most actually. Because unlike Cas’s flat shock value/shipper fodder death that did him no justice, and Crowley’s perfect send off, this was just utter bullshit. It was Bucklemming levels of bad. Damn Dabb are they getting to your head or what?

The fact that they didn’t even give Ruth Connell the chance to come back and send off our Queen with pride and a decent fight has royally upset me (and again, not in the way Dabb probably wants me to be upset). The burnt corpse on the floor was just cheap and crappy and have I mentioned that I am so over Lucifer already?

I am hopeful that she will also come back, but that it will be an au version of her as I think they made it pretty clear that the real Rowena is dead. Since her story ties in closely with real Crowley (I’m gonna have to start referring to the original characters as Real!Character from now on arn’t I?) it makes sense that the original Rowena is gone for good. Though au evil witch Rowena coming back to bother the Winchesters? Badass fighter witch Rowena from Earth 2? Hell yeah I am all for that. Bring it on. Still doesn’t make real!Rowena’s death right though.

Alternate Realities are an anything goes area

Seriously though. How many fanfics do we read that start ‘au this’ and ‘au that’. practically everything we write is an au. Imagine where they could take this?

(I’m thinking about that beautiful fanfic called The Mirror right now and OMG IMAGINE THE POSSIBILITIES?!?)

I would like to see an au version of Cas. BAMF Cas in a black trench who doesn’t know or care about Dean at all. Just to see Dean’s reaction. OR an au where destiel is REAL?

Imagine if they get fem!Cas back? An au where Cas never left his original vessel? Dean may actually get to meet fem!Cas! 

(Once again I am thinking about The Mirror because suddenly this is something that we could actually get on the show and I may be freaking out about this... Dean goes to an au and meets himself and fem!cas and they are married and she is carrying his child?!?! IMAGINE how much THAT would hurt NOW with Dean believing that HIS CAS IS DEAD?!?!?)

Okay the more my mind wonders into AUs the more excited I get. This is the big pull for me next season. This is what I want. That and Cas back. Obviously. Which, as I said above, we WILL get. 

Lucifer

OMG just be dead already I don’t fucking care I just want your stupid face off my TV screen just fucking DIE.

Mary Winchester

Again, won’t die. They only brought her back last season. I reckon AU Bobby will save her (along with real!Cas maybe?!?) and they’ll kill Lucifer (PLEASE) and find a way to escape. 

To be honest, other than that amazing scene in 12x22 in Mary’s head I didn’t really engage with her all that much. I don’t think she’ll die at all, she may be trapped, but she won’t be trapped for long. I am interested to see how she deals with Lucifer now. 

Dean

Oh Dean, you poor sweetheart. Everything he said and did in 12x22 just broke me. He was so open and honest and he actually talked about his feelings. He has come so far, and I am sure we will be picking apart that scene with Mary all summer. 

Then, in 12x23, Cas’s death. I said it was all for shock value and for shipping fodder. I mean this, but not entirely negatively, not on Dean’s side anyway. The way Sam had to pull Dean back through the portal when Cas stormed up to Lucifer, the way he screamed when Cas was stabbed, the way he just fell to his knees in front of Cas’s body, the way he looked up to the sky in disbelief, in prayer to a God he doesn’t believe will ever help him...just... wow. THAT was where the emotion was. Dean is well and truly back in his place as the emotional heart of this show and I couldn’t be happier with that.

I full expect season 13 to become a sort of season 7 for him. I can predict that Dean will believe Cas is well and truly dead for a good few episodes, even if it revealed to the audience far sooner that Cas is fine, or brought back, or however else he manages to survive that. I expect Dean to be truly mourning Cas, and I hope that this time around it won’t be hidden under other layers like guilt for killing your brothers monster friend for example. They have been nearly completely candid about Dean’s feeling towards Cas all season (and last season) so there would be no reason NOT to show him completely in mourning and non functioning because of it. I wanna see the pain, and I wanna see just how much that pain differs from Sam’s pain over loosing Cas.

Sam and the Nephilim

Yep, this is Sam’s problem now. His brother will be useless I guarantee it. Sam will be all business and logic and be all about dealing with the Nephilim, as well as getting Mary free, whereas I fully expect Dean to become withdrawn and broken.

We will see Sam take control, take the lead on everything they do in the first few episodes until they can rescue Mary, take out Lucifer, and reunite with real!cas however that pans out. It will be interesting to see.

The Nephilim was weird. I didn’t like it. I knew we weren’t gonna get a baby because a baby is useless, but it just becoming a creepy guy like that? I dunno. Found it weird. Not sure how I feel about it. I reckon he will be all about alternate worlds... I dunno if he will be traditional bad guy either. I kinda hope he is at least kinda good because otherwise the whole deal with Cas makes even LESS sense. I am so annoyed we didn’t find out what the deal was with Cas? Urgh.

I hope that they pick up all the plot points they dropped next season. I don’t want the Nephilim to become just another big bad, because it truly does just make the whole thing with Cas just seem ludicrous. I NEED TO KNOW WHAT THE HELL THAT NEPHILIM DID TO HIM DAMMIT!!

Anyway. Thats as much as I can type down right now. I’m all a buzz of speculation and thoughts so feel free to send me an ask about the episodes and I’ll hopefully be blogging about them over the weekend.

For the Love of the Game

Hey, guys! I haven’t been writing any fics as of late because of school and because my creative streak right now is Awful, but somehow an idea came to me after watching SirEnobMort’s playthrough of “Mario Super Sluggers” on the KoopaKungFu channel on YouTube, particularly the ending cutscenes of the challenge mode and what might have possibly gone on between those two scenes. Really, I just wanted to put a little more depth into them. Enjoy!

For 8 and a half straight innings, Mario and Bowser's respective baseball teams were at each other's throats. The score was still 0-0 at the aforementioned Koopa King's home turf (literally; his castle was currently housing a temporary baseball field next to a lava dam). Athletes from both sides were sweating bullets, probably enough altogether to outweigh even the heaviest of King Bills. Batters ran through pitchers practically every other hit, and because of that, the fielding lineup never started (or ended) with everyone in the same position twice in a row. By the time the top of the 9th ended, Mario and Bowser were running out of strategies, instead just going back to their respective lineups from the beginning of the game. Everything lead right up to this moment as Mario took his place in the batter's box to face Bowser, captain against captain, enemy against enemy. There were two outs, with the bases loaded, and to raise the stakes even higher, Bowser was at a full count of 3 balls and 2 strikes. How Bowser ever ended up being on the "away" side on his own field was beyond his knowledge; wonky coin toss, perhaps? Either way, if they scored at least one run, they would win, and the giant complex that was the Baseball Kingdom would be out of the Koopa King's control for sure. He wiped some sweat off his forehead. Who would have guessed that baseball was so much pressure? All he and his friends wanted to do was hit the diamond and have a little fun! Determined to win, he made an impulsive move, in true Mario fashion: he eyed the huge statue of Bowser jutting out from the lava dam in center field, and pointed just above it it with his bat. Yes, he was calling his own shot. Mario could hear his teammates draw a collective gasp. Why not? he thought to himself. He read about someone else doing it once, a man called Babe Ruth (That couldn't have been his actual name, right?) and it worked for him! He eyed Bowser, who sneered and wound up. Mario braced himself for a fastball, and... *Crack* The second the bat made contact, he knew immediately that this was one of his best hits. He watched the ball fly high into the air, and sure enough, it flew towards the same direction as the statue at center field. It wasn't until a few seconds later that he heard a sizzling noise from the lava dam. He couldn't believe his ears; the ball actually sunk into the lava dam! And with that, the game was done. Mario's grand slam at the bottom of the 9th put his team in the winning position of 4-0, breaking the long, scoreless run against Bowser and his minions. Every teammate in the dugout met him at home plate, hoisting him up and tossing him into the air. Bowser, on the other hand, was so filled with rage that he smashed his bat into the ground. When that wasn't enough to grab the team's attention, he roared as loudly as his lungs could allow. Immediately, the crowd dropped their red-clad captain as they turned to Bowser, wondering what the fuss was about. "NO! I was really trying, and I still lost!" he exclaimed. Lifting up his bat, he continued his angry tirade. "But I'm not done yet, and I'm not giving up! I WILL beat you! I'll–" "Hold it, Bowser!" From among the crowd, Peach emerged and walked up to the raging king. "Baseball Kingdom is a place for EVERYONE to enjoy baseball," she said calmly. "Come on. A little friendly competition never hurt anyone, right?" That made him grow flustered. "N-No! Don't be ridiculous! Play with you chumps? I'd rather...I mean–" He was interrupted when Bowser Jr started whining. "Aw, Daaaad! I wanna play baseball! Let's all play together like she said!" The elder tried to shush him to avoid embarrassment. "But son, I–" Peach giggled. "I think the decision's been made!" She turned to her friends. "Come on, everyone!Let's celebrate! Let's throw a party for Baseball Kingdom, and all the memories we made here!" "One step ahead of you, Peach," Daisy said. "Let's all meet up at the Cruiser! There's more than enough space for everyone on board!" The crowd cheered, and all began making their way out of the stadium toward the ship, including Bowser's minions. The only stragglers left after the crowd died down were Bowser, Jr, Daisy, and Luigi, who was just about to leave when Daisy approached him. "Are you coming?" he asked. "I'll get there a little later," she replied. "It seems I have some convincing to do." "You're inviting them?! They're gonna burn you alive!" "Don't worry about me," she said. "You go catch up with the rest of them. I'll be there soon!" There was a hesitant look in his eyes, but he nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll tell them." "Thank you! Oh, and tell Peach to save a little bit of food for me, won't you?" She kissed him on the cheek and ran off in the koopas' direction. Luigi blushed. Typical Daisy, he thought as he exited the stadium. She's always so happy, it's contagious. I wonder if it'll rub off on those two... *** "Why can't we go with them?" Jr sulked. "It looks like fun!" "He's not wrong, Bowser," a voice rang from by the stadium door. They turned their heads and found Daisy walking toward them. "I think a lot of people would appreciate it if you joined us. Besides, all your minions are at the Cruiser. Shouldn't someone be there to supervise them?" "They'll be fine," Bowser grumbled. "I can always hire more, anyway. These minions are useless." "Maybe that's why they left," reasoned the princess. "Since you're such a bad sport to them all the time, they must have gone off to find other captains who won't bully them so much. You don't see your son insulting his team, do you?" The king ignored her, instead continuing to address his son. "Jr, I think it's past your bedtime. You should be getting some sleep." "But I wanna go to the Cruiser," Jr objected. "If the rest of the team is there, why shouldn't I go?" "Well, I did invite everyone," Daisy said. "And I think he'd have a really nice time there. Look at your son, Bowser," she said as she knelt down to Jr's level. "Look at his poor little face. He looks so sad, and cranky and tired...maybe even a little hungry after such an exhausting game! All he wants to do is hang out with his team and have some nice food!" The little prince's eyes lit up. "There's food?" "Yes, there is. Every cook in the kitchen has whipped up a whole bunch of stuff for just about everyone there! But if you don't hurry now, then all the food will be gone!" She stood back up and looked at Bowser. "And I think I know someone else who can't say no to free food." With that, Daisy extended her hand. "Come on, Bowser," she said. "For the love of the game?" The Koopa King was puzzled as he looked at the outstretched princess's hand, the exact same hand that had once smacked him into oblivion. How could he trust someone who, compared to Mario, Peach, or anyone else, was practically a complete stranger? And yet there was something convincing about the way she stood unflinchingly in his presence, her large, wide-set eyes practically staring into his soul, her tiny arm reaching out to him. Even Jr was egging him on. "Come on, Dad! It's just like the pretty lady said! For the love of the game!" Well, if his son was okay with it...then who was he to refuse such an offer? He shook her hand and let a tiny smile make its way across his face. "For the love of the game." She beamed. "Wonderful! Let's go!" *** Before long, they had reached the top floor of the Cruiser, where everyone was outside, crowded around various tables and watching a fireworks show. Bowser and his son eventually found a place to sit down and have some food, even though there wasn't much left. Even so, he didn't mind having the smallest slice of cake while his son had a slightly larger sherbet bowl. In the meantime, Daisy was happily chatting away with Yoshi, Peach, Luigi, and Toad as they munched on some other leftovers and watched the fireworks. "I don't know how you did it," Toad said. "I would have been shaking in my boots the whole time!" Yoshi shuddered in agreement. "Well, I wouldn't want them to be lonely, would I?" she answered. "Especially poor little Jr. And Bowser will do just about anything to make his son happy." "How did you get Bowser on board?" Luigi asked. "I kinda figured that, really deep down, there was a little part of him that just wanted to join in on the fun with us! No serious competition about it; just letting loose and hitting the diamond while we try to push alliances aside, even if it's only for a short time." "Even if he still has fleeting thoughts about taking over the Mushroom Kingdom from time to time?" Peach inquired. "As long as his mind is distracted from those things, even for a little while, then we're okay." "Well, it lets me breathe a little easier, and Mario and Luigi, too, I'm sure." Peach turned to Luigi. “Where is your brother, by the way?" "He and Donkey Kong are running the fireworks show in the next stadium over," he replied. "He has jokingly referred to it as a 'Home Run Derby' of sorts." "Well, shouldn't we go down and watch them hit some homers?" Toad suggested. Yoshi nodded in agreement. Daisy smiled. "Why not? Let's go!" The friends ran for the exit of the Cruiser, hoping to catch a glimpse of the "Home Run Derby".

Does anyone remember this article?  I went looking for it again after wondering if Jordyn was the only Duggar child without a nickname (turns out JD never had one either, and I don’t think we’ve ever heard Jackson’s name shortened, come to think of it), and damn, it seemed innocuous enough in 2004 (which was when I first read it, I think), but now it seems a little less so. 

Bolding is mine for emphasis; everything else is as-published.

13 Children Add Up To Asset For Challenger

   Date: 9/9/2001    Category: Editorial    Page: J1 CARRIE RENGERS ARKANSAS DEMOCRAT-GAZETTE SPRINGDALE -- Jim Bob Duggar looks calm. He might even be calm. There's not a strand out of place on his Ken-doll hair. This is remarkable not only because there are 13 children playing at his feet--his 13 children--but also because he's a state representative waging a long-shot campaign for the U.S. Senate.

There are people more stressed after a trip to the grocery store than this man seemingly is on his worst day. "I just feel like I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing," says Jim Bob, a 36-year-old lifelong Springdale resident who has been known as a one-issue politician--a conservative Republican who cares only about stopping abortions. Now, Jim Bob is known as the candidate with enough moxie--or perhaps not enough sense--to challenge incumbent Sen. Tim Hutchinson in the Republican primary.   Those 13 children, born during Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar's 17 years of marriage, are family values personified. They're a highly visible asset facing a GOP incumbent viewed as politically vulnerable in 2002 because of his divorce and second marriage to a former Senate staff member.

"We're going to do it together as a family," Michelle, 34, says of the race. "It's not just, 'Daddy's doing this.' ... We stick together like glue." The "we" includes Joshua, "Joshy," 13; twins Jana, "Banana," and John-David, 11; Jill "Muffin," 10; Jessa, "Blessa," 8; Jinger, "Jin-Jin," 7; Joseph, "Joe-Joe," 6; Josiah, "Siah," 5; Joy-Anna, "Jogees," 3; "The Dynamic Duo" twins Jedidiah and Jeremiah, 2; Jason, "Jay Bird," 1, who with "The Dynamic Duo" forms "The Three Musketeers"; and James, 8 weeks. Jim Bob regularly brings his children, whom Michelle home schools, to Little Rock and the state Capitol where his eldest, Joshua, is known as "Governor." "God put us in there," the Baptist says of winning his first political race in 1999. "We just knew this is the way our family is going to serve our community." Jim Bob wasn't involved in politics until Bill Clinton was elected president in 1992. "I saw how things were," he says. He supported Republican Fay Boozman's failed U.S. Senate race. During this time, he went to a Little Rock rally to back a state ban on partial-birth abortions. Thousands of people showed for the protest, but Jim Bob says, "Still, a lot of those senators and representatives did not vote the right way." So Jim Bob prayed. "I prayed, 'Lord, I would be willing to run for office,' " he says. "I'd vote the right way." Jim Bob didn't run the next election cycle because the timing didn't feel right. But he ran and won in 1999, when he temporarily moved his family to Little Rock for the legislative session and sold all his businesses to concentrate on politics. He has had various jobs through the years. Michelle jokes that she read a list of the Top 10 worst jobs, and her husband has had seven of them, including insurance salesman and used car salesman. The Duggars had a turning point in their lives 11 years ago when Jim Bob attended a meeting that discussed financial freedom through living a debt-free life. Michelle eventually attended the meeting, too, and now she and Jim Bob conduct the seminars out of their home. By getting out of debt and not purchasing anything unless they have cash, the Duggars have saved enough to make investments in such things as rental and commercial property. Their investments have done so well that Jim Bob doesn't have to work a full-time job. "I've learned self control and also a lot about construction," he says. And, "All these different businesses that I've been in have really given me a broad perspective of what the average person has to go through every day." Because of his work situation, says Mary Duggar, Jim Bob's mother, "He probably gets to spend more time with his family than most men do." "I'm very careful on what events I go to," Jim Bob says. "I just try to prioritize." Back when the Duggars only had a few kids and were living at a home on their car lot, Jim Bob was the victim of an armed robbery during which he was bound and gagged. The incident helps him keep things in perspective today. "I feel like I'm living on overtime," Jim Bob says, "so politics is nothing." DEAR GOD Politics really does seem like nothing compared to a house almost literally full of children. Just ask Michelle. She had a desperate, blunt conversation with God one day while standing amid piles of laundry--and this is back when she only had seven children. "I love 'em, but I think I'm going to go crazy!" she cried to the Lord. "It was a sacrifice to praise God at that point," Michelle says. But she did. She started singing a song to honor him. Within a week, the children's piano teacher, Ruth Anita Anderson, whom they've come to call Nana, made an offer to help with the laundry. "God just provided Nana," Michelle says. Her laundry room today is equipped with two washers and three dryers. There are bins and bins of presorted clothes with labels clearly addressing what clothes are where. Two deep freezers also happen to be in the room, which is just off the kitchen. Off the other side of the laundry room is the family's closet--the only closet used for clothes in the entire house. Both for space and convenience, the family keeps its clothes together. They don't use dressers because there's more room without them. And the bedroom closets--the children share three bedrooms and lots of bunk beds--are used for storage for such things as each child's violin. "We are working on a family orchestra," Michelle says. " 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' is about as far as we get." It's amazing to watch 15 people in action in a 2,450-square-foot house. Eight recliners fill the front family room, but there are no coffee tables to clutter anyone's path. Michelle has packed away her knickknacks until the children are grown and gone. Family photographs and other pictures on the walls are some of the house's only decorations. A photocopier adorns the end table next to Michelle and Jim Bob's bed, and there's a file cabinet in her closet. The one-family closet works well in part since the kids are constantly growing and clothes are passed from one child to the next. Michelle and the children also make many of their own clothes and buy items from Goodwill. Jim Bob says he probably spends less for clothes on his 13 children than do parents of two children. "Now, food's a different matter," he says. The Duggars spend an average of $1,000 a month on food. Michelle goes to the grocery store every other day to pick up three gallons of milk and fresh fruits and vegetables instead of making one big weekly trip with four or five grocery carts. "I don't like to do it that way," she says. "It just almost overwhelms the poor cashier when we come through." If it takes this many special arrangements and this much preparation simply to live, why would Jim Bob complicate things by joining the Legislature and, now, running for the Senate? Doesn't he have enough to handle at home? "Our family is our hobby," says Jim Bob, who doesn't have pursuits like golf or tennis. Though when the family does play sports, Jill says, "We have a whole team here." "Two teams," Jim Bob says. WATCHING HER WORDS The former Michelle Ruark has an easygoing openness and friendliness that extends to each person she meets. As she and Jim Bob sit on the plastic blue auditorium seats that serve as the family's dining room chairs, she rests her hand on her husband's leg and joyfully proclaims her beliefs in God, Jim Bob and the sanctity of family. Strains of "Amazing Grace" can be heard from the next room where her children practice piano and violin in one of the girls' rooms that doubles as a music room. But Jim Bob doesn't for one second forget that a reporter is in the room, and he guards what both he and his wife say. When talk turns to his primary race against Hutchinson, Michelle starts telling of the day Jim Bob decided to challenge him. Jim Bob quickly lets her know there's one part of the story they won't be telling. Michelle questions his decision, not seeing a problem with sharing it. But then, following a few brief whispers, she smiles and simply goes on with the part she can tell. Michelle was headed out the door to a prayer meeting when Jim Bob brought up the idea of running for Senate. He said he felt pressed to run and asked Michelle to pray about it. "I just felt like I should run," Jim Bob says. "It's not because I am so smart." Jim Bob supported Hutchinson in past races. He says his decision to run now has nothing to do with Hutchinson's martial troubles, including his remarriage after divorcing his wife of 29 years. Jim Bob doesn't even bring up the issues, which have kept the state--specifically past and present Hutchinson supporters in Northwest Arkansas--talking. State Rep. Jeremy Hutchinson, Tim Hutchinson's son, practically was Jim Bob's legislative seatmate when Jim Bob made his Senate decision. "It's nothing against you or your family," Jim Bob told the younger Hutchinson, who wasn't happy but listened. Next, Jim Bob called Tim Hutchinson. "I hope you can relate to this a little bit having been a pastor before, but I feel called to run for a seat--your seat," Jim Bob told him. "I'm just gonna run a clean race," Jim Bob continued. "Are you committed to running a clean race?  "And he said, 'Oh, yeah,' [and] kind of laughed," Jim Bob says. Hutchinson didn't return a call for comment for this story. An editorial cartoon that ran in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette when Jim Bob announced his candidacy hangs on the Duggars' dining room wall. It shows Jim Bob as a tiny Republican elephant kicking a huge boxer, who represents Hutchinson. The caption reads: "The first challenge came from unexpected quarters." "We're not in it to kick [anyone]," Joshua says in defense of his father. "We're in the race because we feel God has told us to run. We're not against any of our opponents in any way." A HOW-TO GUIDE The Duggars consider the Bible something of an owner's manual, a how-to for life. They sometimes employ "time outs" to discipline their children, but they also think the Bible teaches parents to spank and even instructs on how to do it. The children and Michelle recite a new Bible passage each morning, and they have actions to go with the words. For instance, when reciting Exodus 20, verses 1-17, the children run a finger along their necks in a quick swipe, as if killing themselves, as they read the passage, "Thou shall not kill." Religion wasn't always the focal point of Michelle's life. She was 15 and had been living in Springdale since age 4 when a friend talked to her about a movie that told of the end of the world. Michelle wanted to make sure she'd be ready, so when her friend invited her to a revival, she eagerly went. Jim Bob and a friend were making visitations to reach out to potential church members, and his friend said that a girl named Michelle had just committed her life to God. He also mentioned that she was a cheerleader. "Well, let's go see her!" Jim Bob said. They were married 2 1/2 years later. Jim Bob, who has only one sibling, and Michelle, who is the youngest of seven, didn't know how many children they wanted to have. And they didn't have any for the first four years they were married. They even used birth control until they decided the pills weren't right for them. They decided having children was for God to control--not them. "I would like to have more," Michelle says. They don't always agree, but Jim Bob and Michelle try to resolve disputes before the sun goes down each night, which they say the Bible instructs them to do. Michelle also believes she is to be submissive to Jim Bob, which she says does not mean he treats her like a doormat but that he is the head of the household. "We don't have a perfect marriage," Jim Bob says. "There's not a perfect marriage out there." Nor are there perfect children. But the Duggar children, at least on the surface, appear to come awfully close. THE BUDDY SYSTEM The older Duggar children all take care of the younger ones through a buddy system. "The little guys just think the big guys hung the moon," Michelle says. Without being asked, the older children will get the younger ones' meals or change their diapers. Each child has particular chores, like taking out the trash, that he or she automatically does. Josh is the family grill expert and makes dinner so his parents are free to visit. "You're my buddy," Jim Bob smiles and says to Michelle as he brings her lunch. Joshua leads an eloquent, heartfelt prayer while everyone joins hands around the table to pray. All the children seem to be more articulate than others their ages. When 1-year-old Jason falls to the floor and starts throwing a fit, one glance from his mother and quick wag of her finger ends the incident almost even before it begins. His training should be through by age 12, when Jim Bob and Michelle hope all their children are trained well enough to stand alone. "I don't want them to be just good kids," Michelle says. "I want it to go deeper than that." Michelle says the desire to see her children be successful, "That's what keeps me going." Joshua was 5 when the Duggars made the decision to home school their children. They clearly are careful about their children's outside influences. Though the family owns a TV, it's rarely on, even when their father makes an appearance. "There's a lot of attitudes and actions that we just don't want the children to imitate," Jim Bob says. When a proposal he made in the state Legislature wound up on Politically Incorrect, Jim Bob had to call a friend to tape it for him. Jim Bob and Michelle are willing to share their lives with readers because they want to encourage them, through their story, to turn to God. But even by standards of an average Christian household, the Duggars are extreme. The girls exclusively wear dresses and skirts. The children wear wet suits instead of bathing suits when they go in the water in order to be modest. "When they get a little older, they'll have to make the decision on what they want to do," Jim Bob says of wearing swimsuits. For now, the kids don't appear to mind. Instead of recognizing that they're different, they seem to recognize how lucky they are in some ways. "You always have someone to play with," Jill says. "And there are lots of birthdays." When the Duggars went on vacation in 1999 to Washington, D.C., they got attention wherever they went. They walked in a single-file line through the city's sidewalks so they wouldn't take up too much space. Each child wore the same color, and Joshua brought up the rear to make sure everyone stayed together. His parents couldn't understand why he kept stopping to talk to strangers. "I've had several people ask me when we go out, 'Now, what school is this?' or, 'What organization are you in?' " Joshua says. "Somebody's always asking us something." The family can all travel together in one vehicle because the family car happens to be a church van, which sports a Bush bumper sticker and another one that says: "Evolution is a Lie: Save America Please." When the Duggars dine out as a family--and they can tell you exactly which restaurants have children's specials on which nights of the week in the Springdale area--heads turn when they walk in. Waiters literally stop and stare. "We do make a bit of a commotion when we enter a place," Michelle says. "We're a little hard to forget." A majority of the children sit at one table, with the rest at the adult table. Jim Bob and Michelle hardly have to even bother turning around during the meal to check on anyone's behavior. "The buddies will usually inform us if we need to help with somebody," Michelle says. Since the birth of 8-week-old James, Michelle has had a particularly difficult time breast-feeding. Every two hours she's in considerable pain, but it doesn't seem to affect her countenance. During a family portrait, Jim Bob gives Michelle a playful kiss, and she looks at him with the love and happiness of a newlywed--rather than a woman who has been married for 17 years, is home schooling 12 children, breast-feeding a 13th and is helping launch a Senate campaign. A WINNABLE RACE? She's in a minority, but Michelle confidently declares, "It is a winnable race." Not that the family is depending on it. "If we win, wonderful," Michelle says. "If we lose, wonderful. We just wanna serve." Speculation is Jim Bob won't get the chance this time. One poll shows he has only 4-percent name recognition in the state. He points out, though, that fellow Republican and former Gov. Frank White likes to say he only had 3-percent recognition when he went on to beat Clinton. Marty Ryall, executive director of the Arkansas Republican Party, thinks differently. "Tim's campaign would have to implode," he says of Jim Bob's chances. "There's probably a handful of people ... that may still be angry with Tim," Ryall says. "Tim has made amends with most of those. I know he's visited with a lot of them." Ryall tried to talk Duggar into running for another position--any of five open races across the state. He "just encouraged him to lower his sites a little," Ryall says. "He told me he was determined to run for the U.S. Senate. ... He's really doing what he feels like he is compelled to do." Jim Bob accepts campaign contributions, but he doesn't solicit them. Hutchinson has $1.5 million in his coffers. Jim Bob has $250,000--all his own money. "People with money are going to support the incumbent," Jim Bob says. "They just don't want to burn a bridge with the incumbent." Some of those same people have assured Jim Bob that he'll get their support should he defeat Hutchinson, he says. Jim Bob has been told it takes a minimum of $500,000 to win the seat. "Money isn't everything," his mother says reassuringly. Jim Bob argues that a third of the primary is in conservative Benton County, where he thinks he'll have a chance of competing strongly. If he beats Hutchinson in the primary, he'll face Attorney General Mark Pryor in the general election. Pryor, of course, starts the race with extra name recognition thanks to his father, former U.S. Sen. David Pryor. "Jim Bob's at peace about it," Mary Duggar says of whether her son wins or loses. "I know everybody believes this is totally impossible, a total long shot," Jim Bob says. But he has 14 extremely strong supporters living in his own house, even if only one of them can vote.

ruth connell has been treated terribly and i have had it

hi guys. most people won’t read this because i’m a small blog & i understand that long blocks of texts are annoying to scroll through, but hear me out.

so if you just watched 15x02 you also saw the trailer for 15x03. rowena is helping them again and the ep seems to be like. centered around her. at the end she says to sam (very emotionally i might add), “will you let the whole world die just so that i can live?” and let me tell you why this made me so angry

rowena’s been on the show since s10. at first she was a villain but now she’s not, blah blah blah, if you’ve seen those seasons you know. ruth connell has been going to conventions since the very beginning every chance she’s gotten, and has proved herself to be a fan favorite. she works very hard and is super dedicated to the fans (i had an op with her at chicon this year and she was so sweet but anyway). basically she’s like the ideal cast member.

ruth has also become the most popular female character, and i’m pretty sure she’s lived the longest (now that’s not that much time considering how female characters are treated on spn. i think the other possibility for this is meg? because she was in 5 seasons and only died once), so at cons she’s a big deal. they put her panels on sundays right before j2, which shows how important and popular she is. her ops and autographs and all that stuff usually ends up being sold out, and her witching hour thing is very exclusive and people pay a lot of money to be a part of that since they get to see her.

so she’s a very strong asset to spn and is valuable, RIGHT???? then WHY the hell is she not billed as a star????

look, alex is awesome and he deserves it too, but he’s only been on for 3 seasons now, and was billed as a star literally in s12 (fact check me it might be s13). meanwhile ruth has been on since s8 and has always been a guest star, and sometimes isn’t even listed first in the guest star credits. (for example in tonight’s episode she was listed third. THIRD. say whatever u want but ruth connell does not deserve third)

so in all these episodes where she’s “guest starring,” she’s only around when she’s useful to the boys or some villain who wants to exploit her. because of the show’s track record with their other female characters (eg. charlie, who was killed off just for shock factor), i honestly believe that the only reason they’ve kept her alive for this long is because she’s useful and has powers.

the only other fucking thing they do with her is useless romantic storylines. there’s been lucifer, which was completely unnecessary and honestly gross. it was very out of character for her to just give up her principles and “fall in love” with the literal devil. like yes, she was kind of a villain at that point, but still. there was gabriel, which was a waste of episode time (they like flirted and she has this inner dialogue about how hot he is or whatever, and then they fuck in the library) and honestly just didn’t make sense. and then now there’s ketch. same shit, different day. stupid, poorly-written, useless flirting just for shits and giggles?? or is it because they think she needs a man? either way, it’s ridiculous and just furthers their sexism.

can’t rowena just be strong and independent by herself???? i’ve always said she needs a girlfriend but only because she gives me bi vibes (and all the potential boyfriends are shit), not because she actually needs someone.

so now we arrive back at the preview. sam and rowena are a popular ship and, not gonna lie, i can see it. if she’s gonna be with one of the guys, it should be sam. and besides they have a connection, it works, blah blah blah. however, it is ANOTHER example of the writers setting her up with a man she doesn’t need!!!!! she’s seen in the trailer holding sam’s cheek, and her question, “will you let the whole world die just so i can live?” is not something she’d ask to just any friend. it’s clearly a way of including a romantic connection between the two of them, and nothing against samwena shippers (honestly tho they give rowena so much positive attention it’s awesome), but it’s not good. it just further shows how they are setting her up to have to depend on a man, when she’s a powerful independent woman.

so if they end up killing her off because sam wants to save the world, or her powers run out, or whatever excuse they can come up with to kill off yet another woman, i’m just going to be very disappointed, but not surprised. i hope they’ve learned from their past mistakes (charlie, mary winchester, etc), but knowing spn and specifically bucklemming, they probably won’t. and it sucks.

in conclusion, they take ruthie for granted and she does not deserve to be treated this way.

Life

I guess I do need to express my feelings more often, it makes me feel like shit that I can’t actually show anything that’s real, it all feels like a cleverly crafted charade. I’m very clearly from an educated perspective trying to live out my dreams, without any actual way of attaining them do to the cards being so stacked against me. Let’s see, to start us off let’s go over my “origin” (I know stupid fucking thing to call it, but I digress), my father was an alcoholic drug addict that pan handled for money (probably why I have very little sympathy for those people, well not all of them are pan handlers, but you can tell the ones that truly are, that one comes from the gut), from what I remember my mother and father met in either a diner or a rehab center (I know very close relations to one another), I believe this was before my mom really wanted to become a nurse, because I specifically remember going to the day care or sitters a lot because of college, and I also remember her being a waitress when I was little, I remember telling a Spider-Man at my birthday that he wasn’t the real Spider-Man for my 6th birthday I believe. I remember looking at yu-gi-oh cards that other kids had because I didn’t have my own, but I remember also from that night going’s to my aunt Ruth’s and watching one piece, it was on jet-ex I believe, an old kinda more teenager program that Cartoon Network used to host before adult swim really got popular. I remember telling my aunt pan that I felt like time was skipping, and for some reason I think she got worried, I don’t know why she got so worried but honestly that woman had enough to deal with. But I do wanna day another aunt story since I’m on the subject. So to begin I want to say I was the dumbest dumbass kid that ever walked the earth, like I was gullible as shit, so for a Christmas when I was younger my mom and I where up in Maine for Christmas (I think we used to do this a lot but I’m not sure) and I go up to my moms twin and give ask her if this present is for me cause it says Sean, and she says no, so I get confused beyond measure, like my brain was going “there’s another Sean?????” And so I go to my mom, whose in the room over, and ask her and she says it’s for me, now let me tell you what, that got me even more confused, so yeah that’s the three birth aunts, not gonna talk about the non-birth ones cause, well that’s a story for later amigo phone.

There is one more thing I think I need to go over about my father though, like I’ll probably Wright more but this needs to be done, I never met him, well really met him, and that leads to what I need to think about more. That night on the pier. Now this is like full on movie style traumatic, but normally in those movies or tropes, the main characters dad dies before the kid can really know him, but is this amazing guy. Well I can tell you right now my dad wasn’t amazing but the one memory there is that matters is the pier. Now enough filibustering around it for suspense, considering it’s the most vivid fucking memory I have. My dad, my mom, and I where walking along this one pier in either Maine or Boston, I remember looking up at my dad asking him if he’d ever take me on a roller coaster, and he looked me in the eyes and said “when you’re older we’ll come back and ride it” and from what I remembered he seemed happy about it. Now this is probably really specific and there’s no way I was stringing words together this well, considering I was between probably 2-4, but I do remember it and that’s something, I also remember him coming back when I was probably about 8 and I can look back on it now and see he didn’t care about me. He looked to get rid of me the first chance he really got, sending me to bed so he can watch south park, I don’t remember if I really cried then but I feel like I did, and here’s something else, I don’t know the last time that I’ve actually expressed my true emotions... I know that sounds sociopathic, but that’s just the thing, I think I might have been inedvertibly turned sociopathic, like I don’t know if that’s a trait that can be just developed or if you’re born with it but it’d make a lot of sense considering everything. Now this doesn’t mean I don’t love my girlfriend, and care for Kylie, along with jack, Kenzie, and god probably even Bayley. But there’s a lot of good examples on there too about me being sociopathic. But that’s not even all, there’s also the fact that I don’t think I really form any more bonds like I used to, everything, and every way that I used to use to create bonds and friendships with others just isn’t available anymore. I used to be actually able to trust in others and feel something at all times, but now everything is just hollow, I feel like I’m this huge empty shell that can’t do anything, yet I also try to look at it from different spectrums to at least try and feel something again for real. Like plants, what the actual fuck was I thinking, i had no experience, no nothing, while I didn’t feel hopeless yet considering my aunt wasn’t abusing me by this point, why did I do it. Like I just say I like plants and generic ass excuses. But I know the times I’ve told people in public was really when I thought no one would be listening, I like the idea of spreading life, or even just making life, I like feeling like I’m in control, but not over people, I don’t really really like people all that much which is probably why I’m so introverted and hard for me to actually interact with other people, but plants are different, I feel connected to them in a way that I really don’t know how to explain, but really that’s not all, I also really want to leave this planet, like some kids dream of being astronaughts or whatever, but I never thought like that, he’ll I didn’t think I would live to be 18, but hey, I’ll be 19 in August so there’s that, but the thing about space, is that it’s just there, so untamable, and so utterly terrifying, that I truly love it, I would love to be just sent away so that I’d never be with another human again, just allow me to have plants and that’s it, make it so I’ll drift through space till I die of old age, or whatever is out there swallows me whole, either way I’d be happy. But on a more realistic note, being a Astro biologist is something that sounds amazing. Now that I’ve said that I do want to talk about one other things, while I don’t really like talking to people, and generally I’m bad at it, there’s a lot of times when I can be very charismatic, so in

this sea of self hate I would like to put my one true thought in there, that somewhere in my brain, I want to feel, alive. Like I can imitate every single fucking human emotion to the T, without feeling a fucking thing inside, but I want to say that there really is something inside me that feels something, like while I feel like an empty shell, when there are no real emotions needed, that’s when I feel normal. Just driving, talking about food, just talking in general with someone I know, I can feel just plain normal. And now I’m happy, yeah happy, that I’m going to college. Or maybe happy isn’t the right word really, content is more accurate, which is still an emotion but there still the fact that content is (considering how you view the spectrum of emotion) the closest to nothing on a happy scale you can get. But there’s the argument that it is the best thing on the scale, considering that “happy” to put it in broad terms (or maybe specific? I don’t know how that phrase goes honestly) is more like an adrenaline high, or runners high, you just feel euphoria and then it declines, generally speaking at least. While on the other hand being content is just that, content, there’s not as crazy ups and downs, it’s just there. But here’s the thing that makes that statement wrong... feeling worse than nothing. I’m not sure if many people really have ever felt worse than nothing, but that’s the lowest low you can get, and that’s kinda why I have to wright this, it’s all just something I have to do to feel like I’m not completely gone, like I’m about to just drop off into nothing and become just a shell of a human, and the only things that happen to shells in a long path that ends early, and that scares me. I don’t want to end off like that, but there’s also the fact of what if I do get married, I love maria, but I don’t know if I could have kids. I was never really taught how to raise kids, but I know I couldn’t abandon them, yet I don’t want my lineage to continue, if I truly have a brother than if he wants to have kids good for him, if not, oh well. I don’t want any more people like my father to be around.

Here’s something else though, I don’t know if I ever truly mourned my mom. Maybe there’s some part of me that won’t accept that. Considering I constantly am waiting to see her once again. It’s a terrifying thought to have my mother come back but it also makes me happy, like I’m an “oh, honey, I’m so sorry I picked you up late, I hope you didn’t worry to badly” kind of way. And it really really fucking hurts. So many people get to go home to their mom and/or dad, they get to see them, and when they get older they have a plethora of memories to remember them by. But I didn’t get that, what I got was lost. My dad never being around hurt, a lot. But my mom just doesn’t add up. She was a nurse, she understood the dangers of what might happen if she didn’t go to the doctor, I feel like I remember asking a lot if she was okay, but really why did I have to ask, shouldn’t she have known and tried to get help, did she mean to die, and for what, if it was to give me a chance than fuck that, I’d rather have her, but there’s also the chance she just wanted to get away, she lost her dream, and I feel like I killed it in a way, there’s no way I was wanted originally, and I know my mom cared about me considering she gave up drugs, drinking, and alcohol (all quite cold turkey just FYI once she found out she was having me), but maybe she really knew there couldn’t be another one like my dad, maybe she’s always done what’s best for me but I still don’t know. I would just do anything to have her back, even for a second to tell her I love her, she was amazing, and I want her to just sing to me one last time, she had a beautiful singing voice. No wonder she got to tour with easy street and date that one dude in the band. But that’s the end of that, it’s currently 4:34 and I don’t know if I’m sleeping tonight but we will see. Goodnight Nightvale, Goodnight ...