♪♫ "𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓅𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒, 𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓎 𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝒾𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅𝓈. 𝐿𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝐼 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝓎𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻..." ♪♫
would you believe us if we said that wasn't really LEWIS PULLMAN? well, it isn't .ᐟ.ᐟ that's AMOS ELIJAH BOONE, a proud resident of pinehaven for the last 8 DAYS. you can find them working over at PINEHAVEN CEMETERY as a/an GROUNDS KEEPER. they're 33, but they hardly look that old! it must be the washington weather that keeps them looking so young .ᐟ.ᐟ word around the town is that they're STUBBORN, NAIVE, AND SECRETIVE, but we think that's silly. we feel like they're much more GENTLE NATURED, RESERVED, AND HONEST. if we had to pick one song to describe HIM, it would be KEEP THE RAIN BY SEAROWS. see ya 'round, COOKIE .ᐟ.ᐟ
♪♫ "𝒜𝓂 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒? 𝒪𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒?𝒩𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔'𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓋𝑒..." ♪♫
ℕ𝔸𝕄𝔼: amos elijah boone ℕ𝕀ℂ𝕂ℕ𝔸𝕄𝔼𝕊: cookie, aim 𝔸𝔾𝔼: 33 (thirty three) 𝔾𝔼ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ: cisgender male ℙℝ𝕆ℕ𝕆𝕌ℕ𝕊: he, him, his 𝔹𝕀ℝ𝕋ℍ𝔻𝔸𝕋𝔼: july 4th ℍ𝕆𝕄𝔼𝕋𝕆𝕎ℕ: mooresville, alabama 𝔼𝔻𝕌ℂ𝔸𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ: GED ℂ𝕌ℝℝ𝔼ℕ𝕋 ℝ𝔼𝕊𝕀𝔻𝔼ℕℂ𝔼: pinehaven, washington ℕ𝔼𝕀𝔾ℍ𝔹𝕆ℝℍ𝕆𝕆𝔻: hollow creek 𝕆ℂℂ𝕌ℙ𝔸𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ: groundskeeper at the pinehaven cemetery
ℝ𝔼𝕃𝔸𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ𝕊ℍ𝕀ℙ 𝕊𝕋𝔸𝕋𝕌𝕊: single 𝕊𝔼𝕏𝕌𝔸𝕃𝕀𝕋𝕐: homosexual ℙ𝔼ℝ𝕊𝕆ℕ𝔸𝕃𝕀𝕋𝕐: ISFJ; The ISFJ (Introverted, Sensing, Feeling, Judging) personality, often referred to as "The Defender" or "Protector," is characterized by deep compassion, unwavering reliability, and a strong sense of duty. They are detail-oriented, grounded in reality, and take immense pride in supporting the people and traditions they value most. 𝔽𝔸𝕄𝕀𝕃𝕐: none 𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻𝕊/ℂ𝕆ℕℕ𝔼ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ𝕊: open to connections and plots 𝕋ℍℝ𝔼𝔼 ℙ𝕆𝕊𝕀𝕋𝕀𝕍𝔼 𝕋ℝ𝔸𝕀𝕋𝕊: gentle natured, reserved, and honest 𝕋ℍℝ𝔼𝔼 ℕ𝔼𝔾𝔸𝕋𝕀𝕍𝔼 𝕋ℝ𝔸𝕀𝕋𝕊: stubborn, naive, and secretive 𝔸𝔼𝕊𝕋ℍ𝔼𝕋𝕀ℂ: jeans worn out and well loved from being worn every single day; the lingering scent of cigarette smoke mixed with the sweetness of honeysuckle and fresh wildflowers; a tattered, leather bound journal full of faded, creased photographs, poetry and private thoughts, and little notes about people in his life that he wants to remember; the quietness of an open field, bathed in the early morning life, where everything is still and peaceful; worn, calloused hands that have known nothing but a hard life and yet still manage to have a softness to them.
trigger warnings: mentions of depression, alcoholism, domestic violence, death, prison, and implications of homophobia
𝔹𝕀𝕆𝔾ℝ𝔸ℙℍ𝕐: he preferred being alone, even when he was younger, but in a small rural town like mooresville where less than one hundred people stubborn made their homes that was nearly impossible. no one locked their doors. neighbors came and went as if they were family and, well, given how many generations of them had lived in mooresville they might as well have been. no one that lived in mooresville was a stranger and if you happened to be passing through? by the time the only red light in town turned green, everyone knew you were there and knew who you were too.
his mother was the only person he didn't mind spending time with; she was his favorite after all. when his father would finally pass out on the couch, drunk in the middle of the day, and all the older women had stopped coming around to drop off baked goods and spread the daily gossip the two of them would run off on little adventures; just the two of them. sometimes they were a queen and prince of a forgotten kingdom, fighting their way through the woods and trying to find their way back home; sometimes they would sit at the diner, dressed in ridiculous disguises, and pretend to be two strangers visiting from out of town that heard mooresville had the best ice cream; sometimes they would just lie in the field next to their shack of a house, losing themselves in the silence or listening to each other come up with stories from the clouds; sometimes they would sit at the kitchen table and his mother would paint his nails, after painting her own of course. she taught him how to dance, how to bake, how to find strength in the softness. she's the one that gave him his nickname; cookie. to most people it doesn't make sense but to them it was their own little joke. this woman had been been passing through town, her car broke down just outside the town's limits, and when she asked where amos got his funny little name rather than explaining that he was named after his uncle-- a man he never got to meet-- his mother playfully told the woman that when she was pregnant with him all she craved were those famous amos chocolate chip cookies so, of course, when he was born she just had to name him amos.
the pair of them were inseperable. amos wanted to be just like his mother, she was everything in his, and his father hated her for it; and him. most nights would end with him waking up and finding any excuse he could to yell at them. most nights ended with one of the neighbors pulling amos away, something about him being too young to face his father's anger, but they never took his mother with them; they always left her behind.
eventually he got too old for the neighbors to make their excuses to try and spare him; and eventually they stopped coming altogether. he dropped out of high school and began working around the house, and at his father's mechanic shop, to help keep some of the pressure off of his mother but it just wasn't enough; he was never enough. they didn't have a good life but, for what it was worth, they had their stolen moments of happiness. there were even days, though incredibly rare, where his old man wasn't the devil. amos learned to live with it, he had too. mooresville wasn't the kind of town people just up and left-- and unlike the others, he wasn't going to turn his back on his mother and abandon her to face him alone; but she wouldn't leave. despite having every reason not too, she loved amos' father.
nothing was going to change.
nothing ever changed in mooresville.
until it did.
amos still doesn't remember what happened. some doctor, a shrink or what have you, that the state brought in told him that was a kind of trauma response and that there's a chance he'll never remember but even that wasn't enough to convince the state, and a jury, that he was innocent. amos was a lot of things, he wasn't perfect by any means, but he wasn't a killer.
he didn't shoot his father.
he certainly didn't shoot his mother.
but the evidence said otherwise.
he went to prison for ten years of a lifetime sentence before a judge finally accepted his appeal and decided there wasn't enough proof to charge him with any crime so they let him go.
mooresville didn't, though.
they all knew him, they all knew what he was capable of, they knew his mother and his father and the horrid conditions that they had all lived in and yet rather than welcoming amos back with open arms-- rather than welcoming him home and telling him they knew he was innocent, that they knew he would never hurt anyone-- they all turned their backs on him; like they had his mother when he was just a boy.
that's the funny thing about being alone. it was only comforting when you wanted it. for the first time in his life amos wanted-- needed-- a community and they were treating him like a ghost; like he died that night with his parents. he came home to a house that was haunted by memories of a life he couldn't believe he missed, of a life he never got to really live, and he was alone in it. so god damned alone.
he likely would have faded away in that town, buried in the whispers and gossip until he was eventually forgotten just like his parents, but finally someone came through for him; someone showed him he wasn't completely on his own. maybe it was one last act of mercy or guilt-- he didn't know, and he didn't care-- but the judge that set him free followed up and told him about a place out in washington, somewhere called pinehaven, that needed a groundskeeper for their local graveyard. it wasn't a glamorous job, it didn't pay well, but it came with benefits and a small place for him to live.
more importantly it was a way out for him.
a way to start over.
so he packed what little things he had left into the back of his mother's car and left mooresville behind without a second of hesitation.
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