dear fellow traveler;

wells donovan. 27. stranger. "if you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? or are you always a brother, even when the other half of the equation is gone?"

[wellsdonovan-blog]

levifletcher:

Levi wasn’t sure what he was exactly expecting him to see, but admitting that he actually was lost was enough for him to raise a brow before stepping away from the door. “Oh, really?” He asked as he rubbed the back of his head. He knew very little about the man. Knew that his name was Wells and that he was fairly new to Foxcroft. And though it was a fairly small town, it was still easy to find yourself getting lost among the twist and curves of the streets. Levi couldn’t help but feel bad as he looked over the man once again. It was clear that he really was lost and just before Levi had the chance to ask where it was that he wanted to be, Wells answered his question. Levi couldn’t help but laugh a little bit when he learned that it was the coffee shop that he wanted to be at and not the radio station.

“I’m sure you’ve probably figured this out by now, but you’re no where near Dark Horse.” Levi motioned towards the street behind Wells, “It’s actually quite a ways down there. Just off of main street, really can’t miss it…” But you did. Levi knew it wasn’t Wells’ fault for missing the shop but he couldn’t help but shake his head at the situation. Instead, he caught himself and tried to shift the muscles in his face to form a more approachable look as he lowered his hand and shoved them back into his coat pockets. “I mean, I could always so you where its at if you don’t think you’ll be able to find it on your own. It’s not a big deal really.”

On a certain level, people like Levi made Wells uncomfortable. Curious people. It wasn’t that Wells had secrets per se, but he did have things he’d rather not talk about. A lot of things. Levi, on the other hand, struck Wells as the sort of person who went about looking for those types of things — the private things, the things people didn’t like to discuss. He’d caught Levi’s show on the radio a few times on sleepless nights, and Wells based his impression off that more than anything else. The Moonlight Show seemed to be tailor-made to unearth secrets while Wells, for his part, preferred to assume that if he was supposed to know something, someone would tell him. Otherwise, it wasn’t his business. 

“I’m sure you have to prepare for tonight’s show,” he said, which was more of a non-answer than anything else. A dismissal of sorts even. They were hours away from Levi’s show actually, but hell, maybe he did have ages of prep still left to do. Wells had no idea what went into making a radio show. “Thank you though. You said it’s off Main Street?” And then, because he really would rather not get lost again — “Would you mind telling me about how far it is from here?” ‘Nowhere near’ was disheartening, but vague. A walk might be good for him though, and at this point, Wells was already committed to tracking down what would hopefully be at least a halfway decent cup of coffee.

[alicexlongbottorn]

The universe didn’t play fair. She had always known that. At fifteen, her youngest sister asked where their father was - and whether he would ever come home. At nineteen, she had been on her first placement and watched five year olds waste away from a cancer that had no cure. At twenty three, a child with a beating heart had been snuffed out, before they had the chance to draw a first breath. And now, at twenty four, her hands had performed what only could have been described as magic - smoothing over skin and stealing away pain. No, the universe did not play fair. It broke its own rules. It created impossible situations. And just when you thought you were making sense of it again, it threw a curve ball to which there was no answer.

So far, the only solution she had found was coffee. Lots and lots of it. Bags blunt under her eyes after another night of tossing and turning (sleeping on her back still brought sharp pangs of pain, a reminder that became impossible to ignore), Nina slipped into the Dark Horse Coffee shop, yawning as she did. At just past 9am, it seemed that the entire town had the same idea, familiar faces packed in together. That was the problem with small-towns. Everyone knew each other. And everyone liked to gossip too. By far, the most popular topic was Adam Foxcroft’s demise - aged housewives inquiring whether their social group would put in an appearance at the funeral, elderly pensioners musing that perhaps the kid had it coming, high school students thinking about how it could have been them. It felt wrong to speculate, to discuss, to pour over Adam as if his life and privacy no longer mattered now that he wasn’t with them.

Placing her order at the counter, her eyes scanned the room, searching for an available table - a quiet (or quieter) space away from the gaggle, where her thoughts would purely belong to her. Spotting a chair at the back of the room, she figured she’d head towards it - even if it’s table was currently being haunted by someone with a half-filled mug. Approaching with the softest of smiles, her lips twinged as she spoke. “You mind if I sit here with you? I promise - I won’t make mind-numbing conversation. I just really need to sit.”

[wellsdonovan-blog]

Wells might not enjoy talking to people much, but he still seemed to find himself drawn to places where people gathered. In a way, he just enjoyed watching them go by, living lives entirely unattached to his own. That was one of the more interesting parts of settling down in a new town for a year or so  — there might be patterns, but the people were never exactly the same. It was that urge that had brought him to Dark Horse Coffee today, and Wells sequestered himself away in one of the corner seats, watching Foxcroft go on around him. He wasn’t particularly in the mood for conversation, but given the way coffee shop had filled up around him, it was only a matter of time before someone tried to sit beside him. 

And sure enough, someone’s voice startled him out of his thoughts eventually, and he glanced over, already mentally halfway out to the door. He wasn’t going to say no, they couldn’t sit here, but he also wasn’t really in the mood for small talk with a stranger. He got enough of that at the shop. 

Except, it wasn’t a stranger. 

Wells had met people in plenty of interesting ways over the years, but grief counseling was one of the more fucked up ones. Predictably, he’d already dropped the group, but back at the beginning of his stay in Foxcroft, it had seemed like....well, not a good idea, but an idea, at the very least. It was one he revisited every few years — evidently, there was a masochistic part of him buried somewhere in there, because there never seemed to be anything helpful waiting for him in those groups. Just memories he didn’t want to revisit, and well-meaning people, most of whom had it far worse than him anyway. And anyway, when was the last time just talking about something had ever fixed it? The only kinds of solutions Wells truly understood were the ones waiting for him in his shop; the ones he could solve with grease and a wrench, the ones where the answer was easy to spot if he just looked hard enough.

Joining that group meant he had met Nina, at least. He’d always done better one on one. And because it was her standing in front of him, Wells didn’t vacate the table. Instead he pushed his things out of the way, making room for her, and gestured for her to take a seat with a slight smile of his own. She looked tired, maybe, or else he was projecting, or perhaps it was just because this was a coffee shop and everyone here was tired. 

Still, Wells found himself clearing his throat and speaking up. “How are you?” It was hard not to make that sound like a loaded question, given how they’d met. How are you, and oh, how’s that grieving going? Wells hadn’t meant it that way of course, especially because, in a way, he already knew the answer —  it was going awful, because that was the nature of grief. It was ugly. The thing was, she knew that, and so did he. It shouldn’t have felt comforting, but it was, somehow. Attempting to clarify all that would probably just make it worse though, and Wells instead settled for busying himself by taking a sip of his cold coffee, waiting quietly for her answer.

[wellsdonovan-blog]

cassidyholloway:

God bless Wells Donovan. Who better to walk into her shop at that moment than an honest to goodness mechanic who didn’t seem to mind the barter system? This was one of the many reasons she wondered why the town had so thoroughly rejected God. She’d prayed an entirely selfish prayer for a working washing machine and while the machine hadn’t miraculously started working, a handy man had shown up in her shop only minutes later. Cassidy beamed at him when he agreed to her offer, her smile faltering slightly when he asked about tools. 

“Uhh…I have a screwdriver? I think? It’s pink and it’s one of those ones that you can change out the tip to either be the flat one or the other one and it sort of pops in with a magnet? If you need more than that, though, you’re probably going to want your own,” she said wryly, lifting one shoulder in an apologetic shrug. 

She sighed, leaning her hip against the counter, her cheeks faintly pink. Part of her felt like she ought to be more self sufficient, she ought to know how to fix these things on her own – it was part of being an adult, right? A home owner and businesswoman ought to be able to handle her own appliances. But her father had always taken care of that kind of thing and when Cassidy had asked questions he’d told her not to worry, that one day her own husband would take care of them for her. Except she didn’t have a husband. Jack didn’t even like admitting they were dating. 

Slim fingers tucked her flyaway hairs behind her ears, knowing they’d spring free again in a matter of moments. “I really appreciate this, I know it’s an imposition,” she said. “Let me get you something to eat first – anything you want. The cinnamon rolls are fresh, just came out of the oven a few minutes ago and I tried a new honey walnut scone… what would you like?” 

“Sounds like yours switches between flat-head and a Phillip’s screwdriver, probably,” Wells offered, even though she hadn’t exactly asked. “I can definitely grab my own tool kit, just in case.” He had no idea what the problem would end up being, so he had no way of knowing exactly what he’d need, but it would almost certainly end up being more than one screwdriver. Thankfully, he’d probably have whatever it was he needed already. 

His tool kit was probably the bulkiest and most extensive thing he owned, truth be told. It was also one of the things he’d kept with him the longest. His near constant wanderlust meant that he couldn’t take much with him from town to town, so for the most part, Wells had the basics: clothes, toiletries, a few sentimental items (those were often shoved into the bottom of his bag, where he could feasibly pretend he’d forgotten about them, like there wasn’t a specific reason why he dragged them from place to place even as years passed by), and, of course, his tool kit. It was a necessity, both for life on the road and for landing a job when he temporarily settled down. He imagined he’d be completely lost without it, by now.

Wells perked up more when Cassidy mentioned food first though. He’d spent most of the morning focused on an especially crappy old car, and while he appreciated the challenge of making something work when it was so clearly past its time (his own car should’ve been on its last legs years ago), he was also starving. He considered her question for a moment, before going for the newest option — although really, it didn’t sound like he could go wrong either way. “The honey walnut thing sounds great actually, if you don’t mind me snagging one.”

[wellsdonovan-blog]

@willapotter​

The Absinthe Minded was, apparently, supposed to be a secret. Despite that, it hadn’t taken Wells a long time to learn about it. He’d only been in town a few weeks when a customer asked him about it, and from there, it wasn’t long before they told him the password. Evidently Foxcroft wasn’t very good at keeping its secrets. That fit what Wells had learned in other small towns though — people got bored, they got restless, and for some, gossip was a way to pass the time. Wells wasn’t one of those people, but perhaps that was because he never stayed long enough to get caught up in that cycle. When he got too restless, Wells just picked up and left. No matter how agitated a place might make him, he always knew it wasn’t permanent. He’d be back out there soon.  

But for someone who idealized solitude so much, Wells found himself in the town’s speakeasy often enough. He preferred to watch the people around him more than anything else, taking in the noise and chaos of the bar without engaging in it himself. It was a facsimile of socializing, in a way — he could be around people, but he didn’t have to interact with them. Every now and then though, Wells found himself stepping forward, usually when someone was clearly in need of help. 

He didn’t consider himself to be much of a Good Samaritan, but there were a few things that could easily press his buttons. Drunk people were reckless people, and all too often, they got hurt. Or they got someone else hurt. He’d fallen into the habit of calling cabs or offering rides a few years after Whitney’s death, when some kid in a Nowheresville, Montana had been clearly about to get behind the wheel wasted. Wells had taken his keys and called a cab instead. He’d always wished that someone would have done the same the night that car had slammed into his sister.

It was late already though, and most patrons had already found their way home. It seemed like it was almost time for Wells to do the same, and he gathered his things, looking out over the bar one last time as he did so.

[starklords-blog]

Visit Original Link

[wellsdonovan-blog]

sometimes i feel like i want to go home but the cars they keep on driving down a road that doesn’t seem to end

[cassidyholloway]

The hot water component on the ancient washing machine hadn’t worked since the day Cassidy had bought the thing off of craigslist, but since she typically washed everything in cold water that didn’t really matter. The machine wasn’t quiet or energy efficient or pretty too look at, but the price had been right and as long as it got her clothes clean she didn’t care so much about the rest of it. The washer had been one of the first things she bought for her house after moving out on her own and it almost made her feel like more of a grown up than the house itself. She knew it wouldn’t last forever, it was probably nearly as old as she was, but she’d hoped it would last longer than this. 

She bit her lip as she stared at the murky water that refused to drain from the machine and wondered what she was supposed to do. Machines were not her forte, so she did the only thing she could think of and wriggled herself behind the washer and unplugged it. Offering up a quick prayer, she plugged it back in and closed the lid, spinning the dial down to the appropriate setting and pressing the knob to start it. 

Nothing. 

“Shoot,” she grumbled, dropping her hands to the closed lid an sighing. A new washing machine was not in the budget but she couldn’t spend anymore time fighting with the machine right now. She resisted the urge to kick the machine out of spite, knowing that wouldn’t actually help and headed back downstairs to the bakery. Her break was over. At least she could take out her frustration on some dough. 

No sooner had she made it back to the bakery proper than the bell above the door announced a customer. She offered a greeting without actually looking over, busy putting an apron on over her clothes. When she finally looked up and saw Wells she smiled. Maybe God had answered her prayer after all. 

“Wells, good to see you,” she said, “I realize cars and washing machines are a bit different, but I don’t suppose you’re handy with both are you? Mine’s on the fritz and pushing the button harder didn’t fix it so I’m pretty much tapped out on my mechanical knowledge. Can I bribe you into taking a look? Pastries and whatever else you’d like in exchange for telling me if I just have to bite the bullet and get a new one?” 

@wellsdonovan

[wellsdonovan-blog]

Wells drank his coffee black, but that was more about the necessity of getting as much caffeine as possible into his system. It certainly wasn’t about taste, because no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t quite love the bitterness of the black coffee as much as some people seemed to. In fact, when it came to something as simple as preferences, Wells had to admit — he had a sweet tooth. Because of that, he’d found his way into the local bakery several times over the past six months, each time finding excuses to treat himself to pastries, even if that really wasn’t in his budget for this year. Today was no exception, and with an empty afternoon ahead of him and nothing better to do, Wells stopped by Sticky Fingers. 

He smiled automatically in Cassidy’s direction as he stepped in, expecting that it would be the same casual exchange between any store clerk or customer. Small towns bred familiarity though, and Foxcroft was no different. Cassidy’s question still took him by surprise.  

But Wells liked fixing things. He liked taking machinery apart and looking around inside, figuring out what was wrong and how to fix it. There was something simple and soothing about that act. It was something he’d picked up on the road, and yes, it extended to more than just cars. After all, Wells had to make each and every thing he owned last as long as possible. When it was just him, alone out there on the road, he couldn’t afford to get stranded if something stopped working, and it was rarely easy to replace anything. Besides: she was offering free sweets, and Wells was easily bribed. 

“Sure, I can take a look at it,” Wells said. “Do you have a tool kit, or should I grab the one in my car?” He didn’t strictly need to carry one around with him at the moment — Foxcroft was small enough that he could get most places just by walking, and it would make more sense to leave those kinds of things at the Wicked Wrench. But years on the road had trained Wells, and he was used to keeping everything he truly needed in his car, or at the very least, in a bag he could easily grab on his way out the door. He still hadn’t fully unpacked, and he probably wouldn’t. What was the point, when he would just have to throw everything back in a duffel and head out within the year?

[levifletcher-blog]

Things were starting to feel normal again, at least that’s what everyone was trying to tell themselves. It seemed like Adam’s death happened so long ago yet the news just broke that they were finally going to put him to rest in the upcoming week. Just when people were starting to move on with their lives again, something new always broke. In Levi eyes, he couldn’t complain, that meant there was something he could make a story out of. But guilt settled over him when he looked at the faces of everyone else in the town. Even though not everyone was close with the boy, they all knew him. Knew his family, knew his story. You couldn’t help but feel sorrow when you thought about it. Yet there Levi was calculating all the options he had. Of course he felt sorry for Adam, no one really deserved to die, especially not in the way that he did. But it wasn’t his fault that the one big thing to happened to the town since Hazel murder when another murder in itself. Being away at college stopped Levi from really getting to tell Hazel’s story, he wasn’t going to let the same opportunity with Adam slip away from him. He had a job here, an obligation. He was going to tell Adam’s story the right way.

The newspaper that laid out the details of event laid under his arm as he walked down the street. It had taken some time, but there was finally something new about the mysterious case. Sure, it wasn’t exactly what Levi wanted, a new suspect or evidence would’ve been ideal information to be released, but he couldn’t afford to be too picky. The funeral would have to do, it would be a nice feature story to tide people over until he could finally get his hands on something good. 

It wasn’t long until Levi was just outside the studio. Levi constantly had to remind himself that this was only temporary, that he wouldn’t be doing this for the rest of his life. But with each morning that he walked into the studio, the harder and harder it was to still believe. As his hand reached out to pull the door open, something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning his head just enough, he realized who it was that he had saw.

“Not too often I see you over here… You lost or something?”

[wellsdonovan-blog]

Wells was always an outsider looking in when it came to small towns. Maybe that should make him feel lonely, but he was used to it. More than used to it. At the moment though, Foxcroft made him feel especially voyeuristic. Everyone was grieving, preparing for the funeral of a boy that evidently, everyone had known. Everyone except Wells, that was. Even still, there was no escaping the way Adam Foxcroft’s death hung over the entire town, and there were only so many ways Wells could offer his condolences. They always rang hollow anyway, because that was the nature of it. ‘I’m sorry’ could never lessen the blow of losing someone, because the person left behind would always be sorrier than you were. He was well aware of that. He just didn’t know what else to say.

So, while the rest of the town was presumably banding together in the face of their loss, Wells kept to himself. It seemed to be working so far. It also meant that he’d spent even more time avoiding people lately though, occupying his time in the room he was renting or at work, and as Wells turned the corner, he realized an unfortunate side effect of that — he didn’t strictly know where everything was in town yet.

A voice caught his attention, and as Wells turned, he frowned vaguely in the other man’s direction. “Actually, yeah,” Wells admitted. It wasn’t that he had a bad sense of direction normally (how could he, with how much time he spent traveling?), but there was something especially confusing about Foxcroft.  Or maybe he was just tired. Wells glanced over, registering the studio in front of him, and sighed. “I was looking for Dark Horse Coffee.” He knew he’d passed it a few times, but normally Wells stuck with the terrible, cheap coffee he could brew at home, and he hadn’t paid the coffee stop much attention. The whole point of Foxcroft was to save money, not spend it. Still, he’d stayed up late the night before, caught up in yet another bout of sleeplessness, and the thought of starting the day with an unpalatable cup of instant coffee was too much to bear. “Am I at least sort of near the right street?”

[foxcroft-rpg-blog]

“I’d walk, I would run but I’d die before I would get to you. There’s no way I’d get to you. The roads have fallen off this earth. There’s no way I would get to you in time, no way I’d get to you.”

WELLS DONOVAN / TWENTY-SEVEN

↳ LORE

Who are you? You’re not attached to this place like everyone else. You weren’t born from the darkest depths of the swamp. You are a traveller, never staying in one place for too long. You were never good at goodbyes, so you decided you’d never say one again. Keep moving, keep to yourself, keep your heart locked. You had one place in this world, but now they’re gone – gone, and you’re alone.

WELLS DONOVAN IS A WYRTH. 

↳ HISTORY

One person anchored Wells to this world. When he was young, Wells’ parents died in a car crash, but he still had Whitney. He and his twin sister bounced around from home to home. It didn’t matter where they were, because they’d found a home in each other. When Whitney came home broken-hearted, Wells was there with a shoulder to cry on. When Wells got into a fight, and some kid punched him and broke his nose, Whitney was there with a bag of frozen peas. They were inseparable – until the world decided to separate them itself. It wasn’t fair. Whitney didn’t deserve to die. Wells was there, holding her hand as she drew her last breath in a hospital bed. Some drunk driver hit her with his car and drove away. Since then Wells has been alone – maybe not literally, but he’s certainly felt alone. When he turned eighteen he left his foster family, never really feeling connected to them anyways, and took what little money he had and kept driving. When you drive as much as Wells does, you come to learn a few things about cars. Every few years when he was low on money he’d get a mechanic job in some nowhere town and spend around a year there until he could pick up and keep driving again. Little did Wells know how much his year in Foxcroft would change him. 

It was September when Wells came to the tiny, cursed town. He set himself up in a motel and got a job at the Wicked Wrench. It was supposed to be just another town, just another stop on his long drive to nowhere, but it became so much more than that. Later that month some kid was found in the swamps. Wells saw how much it rocked the town. People came into the shop in tears. Some lady asked Wells if he knew him; it seemed like everyone did. It seemed like all small towns were like that – everyone knew everyone. Wells underestimated Foxcroft. He didn’t understand that people didn’t just know everyone because it was a small town, but because Foxcroft was very much alive. It pulled people in, had a way of keeping them there, connecting people. It was unlike any other town he’d been to, and Wells wouldn’t notice it until it was too late and it’d sucked him in too. 

One yellow bike. That’s all it would take. It showed up, bent and broken, at the Wicked Wrench one day. No one knew who dropped it off. No one seemed to know who it belonged to, and so the bike just sat there. Wells couldn’t have known that it was Hazel Abrams’ bike. He couldn’t have known that the yellow bike was what killed her. Wells had no idea who Hazel Abrams was. He might have heard her name once or twice, but he’d heard so many names in his life, and forgot even more. There was nothing about her name that should have stuck with him. Her initials, on the other hand, were etched into the handlebars along with “D.L.”

THE MASKS YOU KNOW, THE PEOPLE YOU DON’T …