I KNOW THE END.

local dumbasses: 

↳ yasmina abadi ━━ ( intros. ) , ( pinterest. ) , ( headcanons. ) , ( wcs. ) 

↳ lennon solo ━━ ( intros. ) , ( pinterest. ) , ( headcanons. ) , ( wcs. ) 

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“It’s fine. I mean I could try it, but the darts would probably end up in someone’s face,” Ariel put the dart back and took a drink of her beer. She still wasn’t completely sure she wanted to stay, but this stranger seemed nice enough, she could stick around, “I’m fine,” Bringing up the cast was stupid, get off it, change the subject, ”Got a pack of cards?” They would have had a wider range of options, and they could do it without putting anyone at any potential risk. 

  ❛  oh  you  have,  have  you?  ❜  that  makes  one  of  them  —  darts  aren’t  exactly  within  van’s  repertoire,  but  he’ll  make  a  valiant  effort  nonetheless.  ❛  you’ll  be  thrilled  to  know  that  i,  on  the  other  hand,  have  only  gotten  worse.  ❜  darts  roll  between  enclosed  hands,  though  raise  within  moments  in  an  act  of  resignation.  ❛  i  can  only  promise  to  try  my  best,  but  as  a  tried  and  true  masochist…  i  can’t  guarantee  anything.  ❜  it  was  a  typical  weekday,  so  van’s  inhabiting  his  usual  haunt  per  this  time  of  night  (  and  consuming  one  beer  too  many,  evident  in  how  he’s  swaying  where  he  stood  ).  ❛  well,  let’s  see.  ❜  fingers  root  in  jean  pocket  until  finally  pulling  out  its  contents.  ❛  we  can  play  for  this,  ❜  hand  is  extended  to  show  what  had  been  discovered:  a  crinkled  five,  spare  change,  lint.  after  eyeing  it,  van  laughs.  ❛  it’s  not  much,  but  you  will  be  five  dollars  richer.  ❜  he  sets  the  change  on  the  nearest  tabletop  to  them,  watching  as  mina  throws  the  first  dart  before  quipping,  ❛  what  say  you,  alleged  darts  master?  think  it’s  enough?  ❜

WHERE: in front of the town hall STATUS: closed to yasmina abadi ( @apparitionisms​​​ )

with yasmina, hours feel like minutes. at the same time, their time together feels like it’s never enough since every time goodbye comes, levi wishes he could turn back time. levi doesn’t even know how late it is, not really — it’s dark around them as they sit on some random bench, an empty serving of fries between them, it feels late, but the specific hour is lost to levi.

he takes a sip of his milkshake, courtesy of blue moon diner, before he speaks. “not to be a party pooper,” he remarks, smirk on his lips as he looks over at mina, “but if we hang around too long, we might start to hear some whistling.” and he didn’t have a recorder with him so it would, essentially, be a wasted opportunity. “or maybe we’ll get to see lady deadwood wave.”

she felt free at night. when everyone had gone to bed and the only people awake were the ones that understood that sleep wasn’t always such a think that came easily. it was one of the reasons why she had loved the show so much, if not for the small moments like this where there hadn’t had to be things that needed to be said. she takes a sip of her cola, eyes looking right at lady deadwood knowing that she needed to start the walk home but not wanting to. 

starter — open | location — the alley beside star theater | time — 7:45pm

    it  was  an  unauthorized  smoke  break  on  laser’s  part,  but  the  cool  manager  was  working  that  evening  and  people  wouldn’t  arrive  to  the  next  showing  for  another  forty-five  minutes.  plus,  it  had  been  a  long  day.  the  walker  house  was  nearly  unbearable  which  made  laser  thankful  for  the  apartment  he  shared  with  3d.  even  with  the  year  anniversary  of  kirsty’s  disappearance,  laser  couldn’t  stand  being  near  his  family.  ❝  shit  —  ❞  he  coughed,  trying  to  catch  his  breath  after  being  spooked  by  the  person  nearing  him.  ❝  didn’t  think  anyone  knew  about  this  place.  ❞

Perched awkwardly on the bench where Lennon left her moments ago, Miranda looks decidedly uncomfortable, but that’s hardly an unusual state of affairs - she looks uncomfortable practically everywhere.

She hadn’t had it in her to tell him that she doesn’t particularly like ice cream, not when he’d been so intent on making his apology, and she’d ordered the banana-yellow cone he’s currently handing her in a panic, suddenly unable to think of any other flavours. “Thank you,” Miranda says, offering a shy smile as she takes it from him. It’s a nice gesture, regardless of anything else, and she’ll eat it, if only to be polite. “It’s really okay, Lennon. You didn’t see me.” 

it was hard when you felt uncomfortable in your own skin, that had always been an issue with lennon, too tall for his body, always feeling like he was taking up too much space in any shape or form. he tried to come off as gentle and small, trying so hard to blend in but it was hard. especially considering on all the other ways that he was different from the rest. he gives her a sad smile, shaking his head, feeling the way the ice cream drips on his fingers always hating the stickiness feeling. this place was special though and he was on his way to try and get a few pictures for the paper but then the collision happened. “it’s the least i can do. i didn’t even asked if you liked ice cream though, sorry.” he gives her an impish grin now, taking the first lick of the ice cream and content with his choice of mint chocolate chip. 

“That’s because I suck and you know it,” Aylin called across the counter, darts being used to pick at the spot she claimed by getting her initials into the wood. She didn’t drink often, but it didn’t mean she didn’t find some reason to hang around Roadhouse Bar the way the rest of the town did. After so many years of trying to keep her brother sober, she’d picked up the habit herself.

“I say you let me pick someone to play for me, and if they lose… they buy us a round. I think it’s a win-win.”

the roadhouse was a home away from home in the worst way. she didn’t particularly like being here but it with her father she found herself here often. she watches him from her spot, feet behind the line, he had his head on the table but his lips were moving talking to one of his friends. she makes a face before looking over at aylin with a small smile. “well, you can have two drinks then if that’s the case.” she had looked over around the bar, trying to pick the least intoxicated and non creepy looking person, before pointing them out, nodding her head towards him. 

     ❝  in  a  bar  to  not  drink  ?  ❞  the  words  left  tadge’s  mouth  as  he  cocked  an  eyebrow,  his  feet  moving  to  one  of  the  tall  coolers  on  the  other  end  of  the  bar  to  grab  a  coca  cola.  sure,  people  came  into  the  bar  not  interested  in  the  booze  portion,  but  that’s  usually  because  they  weren’t  accepted  anywhere  else.  no  one  that  looked  like  lennon  chose  to  be  in  such  a  shithole  and  for  it  to  not  be  about  the  alcohol.  ❝  it  was  sad,  wasn’t  it  ?  was  hoping  for  something  worthy  of  me  finally  being  able  to  kick  those  fuckers  out.  ❞  grenadine  was  poured  into  the  cola  as  tadge  put  two  maraschino  cherries  into  lennon’s  drink,  sliding  it  in  front  of  him  as  he  leaned  on  his  elbows  on  the  bar.  ❝  —  but,  busy.  good,  i  guess.  it  was  okay.  ❞  it  was  actually  the  same  as  it  always  was,  and  unfortunately  that  was  due  to  something  tadge  himself  didn’t  realize  he  had  control  over.

it had been a personal choice a long time ago, parties being one of the very few things that brought excitement to a small town. veronica had been in aa for as long as he’d been alive and if he lennon was being completely honest with himself he didn’t like the feeling of losing control so he had always been the dd back in the day, and while the roadhouse certainly wasn’t the place that you’d normally see someone like him ( whatever that had meant , but he had heard it once or twice before ), there were found memories of picking up his dad who got a little too drunk with his friends, he can remember the way that his father would place a hand on his back as lennon lead them out the door, and his father saying how proud he was of him and that out of all the son’s he could have had he was glad that it was lennon. it used to make him roll his eyes back then, but as his father starts to remember less and less he clings onto those memories. 

christmas time, 1989. 

it’s around christmas time, the second day of christmas break to be exact when yasmina finds herself a shadow in the library. they’re eight and not as stealth as they’d like to think they are but mina pretends for them anyway. “accidentally” dropping books, waiting for her to be down another book aisle and them quietly finding themselves next to mina holding the book that mina had dropped, a wide smile and mina taking it with glee. it’s a game between the two over the next couple of days, but as families start to leave deadwood for the holidays or are getting prepared for christmas festivities the same child shows up promptly when the library opens and leave an hour before it closes. 

it isn’t until the last day when they’re supposed to close the library for a couple of days before christmas does mina ask this mysterious child who they are and why they’ve chosen to spend the beginning of their christmas break at the library. 

so, she tells her: her name is amanda, their mom works at the hospital trying to get as many shifts in as they can, there’s no mention of a father and mina can fill in the blanks and understand that while it’s not wise to leave any child unattended it’s bold of her to even think the thought when she was doing just about the same at their age because of her own father being unavailable. it’s a bittersweetness that mina doesn’t know what to do with, and that last day she keeps the library “open” a little longer, going through the staff’s tiny fridge to try and make something of a christmas miracle happen for amanda but only finding two chocolate pudding cups and mina’s lasagna that she forgot to eat earlier. 

they split the meal and the pudding between both of them, when the child says, “i miss when people would come and read to the kids.” 

they had to stop it because there weren’t many people signing up to read to the children and even when there was someone the amount of kids that came was scarce sometimes. the kids that used to come whenever they would have it had grown up and it’s just the way that life goes but she didn’t know how to tell the kid that. 

“pick a book,” mina says, nodding her head to the kids section, “i’ll read to you.” yasmina clears her throat in a dramatic way to let the kid now that she means business, and that if they’re doing this, that means all the voices for the characters are coming too. 

it takes her a minute to pick a book but she comes back with it, the book behind her back and she presents it to mina like a present.  

“oh, well, you picked one of my favourites, the velvateen rabbit.” 

she pats next to her for the child to sit, there’s beanbags in the kids area and she sits, mina opens the book and then they begin. 

what yasmina doesn’t know is this: as she reads the pictures pop out of the book, every child’s dream. amanda had reached out into the air to try and touch it, and mina didn’t realize that what she was seeing were not just the words but the rabbits themselves, the toys that came to life, the faint smells of grass, the feeling of being loved so much it made you weary. 

“do you see the flower fairy?” amanda asks, and when mina looks up, she sees nothing. 

“do you?” mina asks, a small smile on her face as amanda leans against her arm, fingers still reaching out to touch what isn’t really there. 

“pretty sure you’re right about that one, not exactly gonna be winning tournaments with this, am i?” ariel said wryly and raised her cast, wincing slightly as pain shot through the broken appendage. damn. of all the things she had to rapidly acclimate to recently, being basically unable to use her left arm was one of the most frustrating. She had just been idly fiddling with the darts, considering whether she ought to just leave when she caught the eye of this girl. 

The voice from behind the pile of books is familiar, one that usually colours the airwaves of a late-night radio show, hazy and dream-like. It almost feels strange to hear it now, while the sun is still high in the sky. “Can you even see where you’re going?” Miranda asks, tentatively rising from her place on the wall and approaching the other young woman, thinking perhaps to take some of the books from her, if she wants.

open to: yasmina abadi | @apparitionisms​ location: deadwood cemetery, late af

Pope finished clearing the last of the weeds on the north side of the property, and while his shift was already halfway over, he knew that in order to complete his task he’d need more time. Tonight would another shift that doubled over, and until the dark hanging above him dissolved with morning’s hue, he’d stay. It was a rule he knotted himself into. He wouldn’t leave until his duties were complete, even if management knew it was impossible to finish with the alloted time. He could fight for the pay later. After all, the understaffing wasn’t a secret.

But to pass the time, and to ignore the small catch in his throat as he grew closer and closer to the damning 3 AM— bad things came in threes, so he’d avoid any trio— Pope had one good habit. He’d prop a small radio near by and tune into Harbringer Cross FM, listening intently to every retelling of the tragedies that were lullabies to him growing up.

Most of the time, he was impressed with the detail. Small circles made around the legends of Deadwood brought up new theories that expanded the tales. Sometimes, his curiosity would get the best of him when a contradiction came up and he’d call in.

“Hemlock doesn’t grow on that side of the forrest,” Pope said, phone tucked between shoulder and ear. He’d retire every so often to the groundskeeper’s office, and call in from the landline.  “And it probably never did. Hemlocks are massive, and the entire ecosystem around them is reliant on them because of the shade it provides. If Hemlocks ever grew over there, the area would be barren. And that side of the forrest is too elevated for significant survival, anyways. It grows through epigeal germination, so all of the roots are above ground rather than under, and it needs significant moisture and even flooding to survive. There’s no way there was a Hemlock circle where that witness claims they saw them.”

it was another late night at harbinger cross and mina had been going over submissions listeners sent of of sightings they had seen throughout the week. it had gotten easier being able to spot the fake submissions over the more compelling cases. mina took a lot of it with a grain of salt, for someone who loved logic there was also the side of her that was open to the realm of possibilities, she had understood why many people had disliked the show because of it, but then again, they lived in deadwood. she had just read one about the weeping woman when the call came in. she had smiled recognising the caller’s voice knowing that by this point, the audience and mina were about to learn something which was what the show had always tried to strive for.