#Ragamuffin Day

[raggydollsscreenshots]

Posting screenshots from The Raggy Dolls every day until ITV puts it on ITVX: Day 100!!!!!!!:

THIS IS AS GOOD AS YOU'RE GETTING

[lu-sn]

what do you see as the most likely thing pete does post canon? is he involved in the family business? does he have a job outside the mafia? are he and vegas both retired?

let's assume vegas has recovered as much as he can from the shooting and that he's done whatever he needs to do to get himself and his family out from under korn's thumb. so we're talking deep post-canon.

if vegas is still in the mafia somehow — in any capacity — i have no doubt that pete will function as his right hand. (or left hand. hell, both.) he's definitely got the skill set for it, and i think he would really enjoy it! it's a perfect outlet for his brand of undying loyalty, and he gets to bestow that loyalty upon someone who is equally insane about him and who will let him beat up as many people as he wants ❤️

but i don't want that for them. i think vegas in particular deserves that soft epilogue — a chance at the life he could have had all along without his father hovering behind him. so let's imagine vegas has found something to do with his time that hits that perfect balance of high stakes and high fulfillment and very very high odds of survival. pete is very happy for him, and also the tiniest bit bereft. unlike vegas, pete needs something physical.

so pete is ambling back from the grocery store, idly wondering whether he needs to be trying to do something with all of his free time, when he stumbles upon some sort of scuffle just waiting to break out in a dank alleyway. and pete manages to spot a kid in there, far too young, definitely biting off more he can chew, definitely about to get his ass beat, and — well. pete's been itching for a fight anyway.

pete hikes up his pha khao ma and lays everyone in that alley flat, and once most everyone has scampered away with their tails between their legs, the kid stares at pete, and scowls at him, and sneers out a "didn't think i asked, old man."

here's the thing. i don't think pete has any sort of affinity or good hand with kids. he's probably the type to get walked over by most teenagers (exhibit A: macau during canon). but there's a particular category of kid that i think pete would immediately have the upper hand on; surly, prone to anger, snippy, sad underneath all of that. in short, kids who are a mini-vegas 😂

(somewhere not so far away, vegas is crouched in front of his vegetable patch, suddenly feeling very annoyed, and has no idea why 😌)

so pete smiles pleasantly, says "better work on your stance then," picks up his groceries and starts walking away — only for this kid to catch up to him and go "i guess you're good enough, so you might as well teach me."

this post is already long 😅 basically, this kid will not stop pestering pete, and pete somehow ends up training the kid on a daily basis in their backyard, and happens to unleash a lot of life advice that this kid is very desperately in need of (e.g. "knowing how to fight isn't worth anything if you don't know which fights you shouldn't pick"). and he notices some other kids peeking through the fencing watching them, so he sighs a deep sigh and tells them they might as well come in.

some of these kids remind him too much of vegas — or of himself. he finds himself wanting good things for them, wanting to help them be just a little bit happier — which is the kind of help neither he nor vegas received when they were younger.

he ends up being pretty damn good at it.

so pete is giving a bunch of kids a safe space and a healthy outlet for their anger, totally by accident. to answer your question, anon, i guess that makes him a community youth counselor 😂

vegas finds this all kind of bemusing, and is more than a little tilted that pete seems to be attracting all of the little vegases in a 30km radius, but hey! he gets to shovel his cooking into more mouths now! he's totally in denial about how much he enjoys that.

(much later, pete abruptly sits up from where he's resting his head in vegas's lap, and he exclaims, "did i accidentally start a gang???"

vegas considers this for a long moment, shrugs, goes "maybe we should have stayed in the mafia after all.")

[neoninky]

Not me getting stupidly emotional while watching My Happy Marriage-

I literally had to pause to doodle out my immense feels 😂😂😂 (full ragamuffin!Inky mode on)

The absolute trauma-drama whiplash of this otherwise very sweet and endearing couple driven show *explodes*

*round houses Rude Ass Glasses Usuba McGee for good measure* coming into another man’s house and SLANDERING him to his loving fiancée’s face?! The disrespect

[averyspoopedcorgi]

furry bts

[givemetherapyimawritingtravesty]

Trying to unlearn how to forever hate my body based on hearing 'if you can pinch more than an inch it means you're fat' from someone who clearly doesn't know how skin works.

[clangandclatter]

Rich Mullins – A Liturgy, A Legacy, & A Ragamuffin Band (October 26, 1993)

[the-good-ship-ragamuffin]

Captains log, day 108. Deckhand Paisley is using the drinking water to bathe. Threw in brig. Third offense. Starship Ragamuffin has traveled 3.5 light-years from the Aurora Nebula and will dock at Andromeda 5 in three weeks, if crew does not mutiny first

[deathinfeathers-a]

[meteorologistaustenlonek]

"I did not make it; no, it is making me."

[cryptidghostgirl]

Make You Wish Chapter Three -- A Reunion

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Previous Part: Chapter Two -- Where Is She

Warnings: Another pretty tame chapter ngl. Mild mention of murder I guess??

Word Count: 1,195

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Make You Wish Master List

A/N just a reminder that my requests are open :)

"Blitzo, can't you just deal with whatever it is on your own?" Y/n groaned, rubbing her temples in irritation as she stepped out of the office, "I swear to god, if this is some joke? I'm gonna kill you."

There was the quiet, indiscernible drone of the TV. Other than that, the room was silent. Y/n looked up, her eyes falling on the wall beside the office's door and the people who stood before it.

Moxxie, Millie, and Blitzo in a quiet, tense line. She raised her eyebrows, nearly smiled.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Blitzo uncharacteristically said nothing, simply raising his hand and pointing to the entry way. Y/n's eyes narrowed, her muscles tensed and ready for a fight as she followed the path indicated by his gesture. The hand on the knife at her side fell slack as her gaze landed on an achingly familiar face.

"Holy shit." she mumbled, her mouth falling open a little.

"Yeah, uh, he's been asking for you?" Moxxie nervously explained, "You didn't... I mean, he's the Radio Demon. He hasn't been seen in years, you didn't fuck with him... did you?"

Y/n felt tears press behind her eyes again as she took a tentative step forwards. Then another one. Slowly, she crossed the room to the taller demon who just stood there with a smile, watching her all the while with his arms folded behind his back. Y/n peered up at him, her eyes narrowed as they met his own.

The one person in the whole world she'd been practically dying to see. There was a pain, he was the cause and the cure of it. Hesitantly, she raised a hand and poked his nose.

"Shit." Blitzo muttered, rubbing his eyes tiredly as Millie let out a subtle gasp.

"Are you done?" Alastor asked, his voice crackling with irritation as he looked down at Y/n, whose arms were now crossed over her chest.

"I had to make sure you weren't a dream." she shrugged, turning her head away, "Mox was right, you've been gone seven years."

"Are you mad?" he teased, leaning down towards her ear.

Y/n rolled her eyes, turning to face him once again. She scowled at the man for a moment before a smile broke out across her face.

"I never could stay mad at you." she admitted, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"I..." Moxxie trailed off in confusion.

Alastor slowly wrapped his arms around Y/n's waist.

"Mills, start planning a funeral." Blitzo scoffed.

Before any of the trio could say another word, he had lifted her off her feet and was spinning her in the air.

"Al!" Y/n shrieked through her laughter, "Stop it! You'll mess up my hair!"

He set her down again and the pair released each other.

"You menace." Y/n shook her head, still laughing, "It's like you knew I was thinking of you."

"You were, were you?" he teased, leaning down to her level.

"Y/n, do you know the Radio Demon?" Millie interrupted, taking a step forward.

Both Alastor and Y/n turned to face her.

"What, this old freak?" she asked, elbowing him gently.

"I resent that." Alastor hummed and Y/n laughed again, her joy unbridaled.

"Yeah, we're friends." Y/n confirmed, catching the genuine concern in her friend's eyes, "Known each other for about as long as I've been down here."

Alastor nodded as Y/n looked back up at him.

"Speaking of the old days," he hummed, looking her up and down, "what's this new look you've got?"

"Huh?" Y/n looked down at her clothes before turning and meeting his eyes once again, "Oh, I'm an assassin now."

"No no no, my dear." he shook his head, "This simply wont do. I can't have you wandering around looking like some ragamuffin."

Alastor snapped his fingers and Y/n looked down to see she was wearing a dress now. She almost yelled at him, almost tore him a new one and called him a dick. Then she realized what dress it was she was wearing. Y/n looked up at Alastor with wide eyes.

"This is..."

"The dress you murdered your husband in, yes."

Y/n squealed, throwing her arms around Alastor's neck and pulling him in for another tight hug that he reluctantly accepted. Letting him go, she spun around, watching the way the skit splayed out from her legs.

"You remembered! Oh, Alastor! Thank you."

"The fuck." Blitzo muttered to himself, watching the scene playing out before him.

Y/n beamed up at him as Alastor raised a claw, looping it through the circle on the collar Y/n still wore. All of her other accessories and clothing had vanished, as he had intended, except for this. He hummed thoughtfully and Y/n's cheeks grew hot with shame. She looked away.

"What's this then?" he asked, letting the ring fall from his finger.

It hit the leather of the collar with a quiet thud.

"Look, I... made some bad choices." Y/n sighed, refusing to meet his eyes, "A physical sign of a very real metaphysical decision I had to make."

"Quite possessive, to cast a spell like that." Alastor mused, "You always had a thing for that though, didn't you."

Y/n raised her arms, wrapping them tightly around her body at the harsh remark. She made to move away from him but, as she did, Alastor grabbed Y/n's chin, forcing her to look at him. He watched her expression carefully.

"You could have come to me. You know I would have taken that delectable little soul off your hands in a moment."

"Yeah well, you weren't here." Y/n firmly stated, taking a step back so he no longer held her, "I did what I had to do to survive."

Alastor raised his eyebrows.

"And who exactly did you make this... bad decision with?"

"Al, can we please talk about this later?"

"They don't know, do they."

"They do." Y/n insisted, "I just... please, not now."

"Fine." Alastor relented after a moment.

The pair fell silent, Alastor's critical gaze interlocked with Y/n's indignant one.

"Sooo," Blitzo began, breaking the awkward silence and drawing the attention of the room off the pair and onto him as he took a step forward, coming to a stop beside Millie, "you two fucking?"

"Jesus, Sir!?" Moxxie exclaimed in shock.

"You can't be serious, right?" Y/n laughed in surprise, "No, Blitzo, we're not fucking. The day Alastor has a sex drive is the day Heaven is overrun by... I don't know, giant killer bees?"

"It's more likely than you think, dear."

"What's that-"

Alastor cut her off mid sentence, placing a hand over her mouth as he caught the images flashing across the TV on the other side of the room.

"Hey, rude." Y/n scoffed, pulling herself from his grip.

Alastor ignored her. With a flick of his finger, he raised the volume on the TV. At the sight of his narrowed eyes and tight smile, Y/n turned to see what exactly was bothering him so much.

----

Next Chapter --> Chapter Four -- Vox

[sweetsaladpainterranch]

Challenges of Raising a 6 Month Old Demon

Rebel Without Pants

...

It was 9 am in your suite at the Hazbin Hotel and you were currently watching your husband and daughter fling themselves and each other out of the small shadow pockets they continued to open in a weird game of cat and mouse wack-a-mole. You let loose a loud sigh of exasperation as Alastor once again caught the small fawn by her tiny hoof and begin threading the pair of cotton pants unto it, only for her to use her own spectral tendrils to yank his tail. He sounded a surprised bleat, while his child wiggled out of his grasp and tossed the clothing onto the ground with a giggle.

"Now see here, young lady!", the tall deer flung a pointed claw in the direction of the grinning diapered demon, "You WILL wear clothes! Or so help me, I will take away your-"

Your husband quickly looked around for something to make his threat credible, but smiled darkly when he eyed a certain container. "Or I will take away your yogurt covered eyes!", he continued to smirk triumphantly at Evangeline's low growl. She had been gifted those treats from her beloved Auntie Rosie from Cannibal Town and they were her favorite snack.

You knew this threat would not go over well with your daughter and could only watch as she tucked her ears back, hissed in static, and narrowed her eyes before darting into another shadow pit. The entire room was, then, painted in darkness as a wary Alastor stood firm in the middle. Waiting for the attack.

His tendrils stood flailing at the ready with different articles of clothing, when, suddenly, he was smacked on the back of his leg by a small, furry ragamuffin. He immediately went to grab his fleeing child before the feeling of weightlessness seized him. The shadows disappeared into the hole your fawn had created, and lured her father into, before you noticed Alastor falling past the tower windows and unto a confused Angel Dust outside. He must've not seen her trap hole with his own shadows covering the entirety of the room, you reasoned and looked down at the laughing spider holding your furious husband like a princess.

Turning around, Evangeline was under the bed trying to open the child proof clasp on her snack container. With a shriek of frustration when she was unable to overpower the magic lock, she threw it down at your feet in a silent request. Unfortunately for her, you were now running late for your meeting with Charlie so you fixed her with a hard stare. At that moment, your mate had made it back up to the tower window and began to coil his muscles and shake his growing antlers. (Many of which sported impaled baby shirts, socks, and pants)

Here we go again. You thought looking at your watch as the small fawn once again reared up at her father from the ground.

"Evangeline Hartfelt!", you spoke with intensity and at once commanded the attention in the room. You almost never raised your voice so the two deer immediately focused on your next words. "I have had enough of this foolishness." You walked forward to pick up the still locked, dented yogurt box and held it out to her. The small fawn's eyes widened with curiosity.

"If you be a good girl and dress properly, you may have your snack.", you fingered the latch open with a precise slowness, "if not, Mommy and Daddy will eat them all!"

The little deer hopped up quickly as you let out a forced evil laugh and brought an eye up to your lips. She allowed Alastor to properly dress her (he actually enjoyed picking out her outfits) with only a few whines when he groomed her fur covered head with his tongue. However, she nuzzled back into his cheek when he softly purred a bit and gently scratched at her tiny antlers.

You smiled and threw 2 of the yogurt eyes in their direction, which they happily caught with their teeth and followed you out the door to FINALLY begin the day.

...

Hey everyone 🙂 been a minute but I had this idea from the other day and wanted to write it really quick (inspired by my own tiny rebel who absolutely refuses to dress in anything but her diaper 😅)

I'm nearly done with the 4th chapter of The Rival and hope to have it out asap

-SSPR

[raggydollsscreenshots]

Posting screenshots from The Raggy Dolls every day until ITV puts it on ITVX: Day 123:

[darkmatters-ghost]

While I know that the Sonic Boom cartoon show hype is probably super dead, the way Sonic and Eggman interact has me convinced Eggman did SOME parenting when Sonic was tiny, so here's my headcanon for that. Enjoy!

While Eggman could conquer the island he lived at, Bygone Island, the one he found nearby would be much easier, hypothetically anyway.

While Seaside Island was redundantly named, it was much more his style. The villages on it were smaller and meeker. They had no real way to fight back against his takeover! Which made it the perfect starting point for his upcoming break in his villainy career! If he took that island, surely that would've made his father proud!

Unfortunately, 'if' is the key word in that sentence.

The little blue hedgehog was no older than five years old, but despite his youth, he sucessfully stood between Eggman and complete control of the island.

And the little ragamuffin didn't even talk.

He never said a word, just showed up with his super speed and sharp quills and would put a stop to whatever genius plan he was making by breaking all his robots.

Eggman wished he knew the little nuisance's name, but seeing as he wasn't interested in talking, it left Eggman to hypothesize on appearance alone.

His back quills had ripped right through a shabby brown jacket that he wore, to the point where it wouldn't work as a jacket much longer. His gloves were constantly dirty, and no one on the forsaken island admitted who his parents were. It was like he suddenly existed one day! With no explanation!

The blue hedgehog was often running at ludicrous speeds. Speeds that, depending on the day, neared the sound barrier!

Eggman feared the day that the little blueberry would create a sonic boom.

The 'impending-sonic-boom' as he began to call the hedgehog was rather unpredictible. It all fell on a scale. Going extremely fast one day, sticking his tounge out at him and humming mocking songs, to going at what must've been like a meer jog to him, with no aknowledgement of Eggman at all the next day.

But one day, things were far more unpredictable than Eggman had bargined for.

He was racing the impending-sonic-boom in the Eggmobile. There was no hope of winning, just like there was no hope for his receeding hairline, but he needed a test. He couldn't create a robotic duplicate without anything to base it on! So it didn't matter that there was no hope of winning!

Eggman didn't need to be fancy with it, he just told the five year old koolaid stain that if he reached the end of the course before the rodent did, that he would offically own the island. And being five years old, he took it seriously.

There was no hope of winning. Not with the determination on the little guy's face.

So one can imagine the confusion that Eggman was met with when he won.

It didn't make any sense! He wasn't even- It was just the Eggmobile! It was nothing fancy! That sound-barrier-threatening-lifeform was much faster than that!

Eggman got off of his Eggmobile and stared at the folliage in front of him. Waiting to see blue quills poking out from the tall grass.

"Oh, Blueberry! I'm waaaaiting!"

It took another three seconds for the kid to show up. And when he did, he looked tired.

"Kid, you gotta be faster than that! You're not doing this on purpose are you? If this is just to spite me..."

The rodent shook his head. Eggman wouldn't have believed him if he didn't look so tired.

"Then what gives!? You can't just suddenly be slow! It's narratively inconsistent!"

The blue menace looked up at Eggman with an angry look.

"No... foo." Eggman flinched. He just spoke. He just... SPOKE.

"What? What did you say?"

"No foo...d! No food... No... fast!"

"Your speed depends on your diet?" Eggman tapped his chin, before grinning smugly. "What, did you miss your peanut butter sandwich for lunch?"

He was promptly glared at. "Okay! Geez!" Eggman tapped his gauntlet, and used it to scan the incoming-sonic-boom.

"Let's see, you're about five years old, according to your inteligence and fine motor skills... and you're one foot tall so you should weigh roughly..."

Eggman's stomach sank. He knew for a fact that the arriving-sonic-boom wasn't hitting that number. Not by a lot... Eggman could pick him up like he was a beach ball.

"When did you last eat..?"

Nothing. Nothing but staring.

"Yesterday? ...No? How about the day before? Th-the day before that? Five days ago? How about a week ago?!"

It wasn't until they hit a week and a half that the sonic-boom-in-progress pointed at Eggman. Signifying the correct timeframe

Eggman stared at the incoming-sonic-boom. For anyone, that would be damaging. For a five year old, that was almost a death sentence.

Eggman crouched down to the sonic-boom-creator and put a thumb under his chin. He squirmed violently and pushed Eggman's hand away as he stepped back.

But Eggman saw what he needed to see. There was almost no fat on his face. He was horribly underweight.

Eggman was a villain. Not a monster.

The hedgehog wiped his face, as if Eggman had gotten something on it by touching him.

"Hmm. Well, you're clearly malnourished. I can't declare victory under those circumstances! That would be cheating! Looks like you win this time, hedgehog! Now, come along! We have work to do."

The hedgehog looked up at him in–adorable–confusion. Eggman stood back up on his Eggmobile.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Hop on!"

The inevitable-sonic-boom inched towards it slowly. He gently tapped the base of the Eggmobile. When nothing happened, he looked back up to Eggman. Who groaned.

"Fine, I promise I won't hurt you, got it?"

The sonic-boom stared even more, before inevitably going for it and climbing onto the Eggmobile like a toddler.

It wasn't tipped in the slightest by the extra weight, which reminded Eggman why he was doing this at all.

His Eggmobile floated upwards and flew off. It quickly left Seaside island and then there was nothing but water below them.

He didn't expect the oncoming-sonic-boom to whimper at the sight of the ocean.

Eggman glanced down in time to see him curl up, hiding between his legs and the lower wall of the Eggmobile.

When the sonic-boom leaned against him for support, he winced and stepped back.

"Watch the quills, you blue nuisance!" He yelled.

It didn't stop the incoming-sonic-boom from grabbing him, but at least he was more careful.

Eggman had to remind himself, that the sonic-boom was a little malnourished kid, because he almost made too much food. Twice. The rodent's stomach would be small, too small for him to give the blue guy a full child-sized meal. Unless he wanted the sonic-boom throwing up on Eggman's floor.

Once Eggman had handed him a plate of food, his skittish attitude towards being on an island nowhere near his old one vanished completely. Eggman's place was a chunk of earth and lava broken off of the bygone island, yet it felt safer than the previous island, when it came to that Sonic-Boom of a hedgehog's wellbeing, at least.

The blue stain in his life stood on a chair, his tail wagging excitedly as he immediately started eating what was on his plate. Apple slices, a hot dog cut into little pieces, crackers, and even a juicebox. It might've still been too much.

Eggman watched as sonic-boom ate. Making sure that he was properly eating. It would be a waste if all his cooking didn't help out the blue rat at all.

When he was mostly done with his food, Eggman decided that enough was enough.

"Alright you menacing blue fiend," he said. "I'm going to watch television on my floating screen. Don't break anything."

He walked over to the TV, grabbed the remote, and sat down.

"Maybe I'll watch that new comedy show with the monkey-ape-thing, that should be interesting."

No more than a few minutes had passed before The Sonic-boom came into the room and jumped onto the couch.

"What do you want now? I already fed you!"

The Sonic-boom yawned and crawled onto his lap, before half-tucking into a ball and closing his eyes.

"Ohh, no you don't!" Eggman said, he picked Sonic-boom up by the back quills and pulled him off of his lap. He set him down on the couch next to him. He whined annoyingly. Before racing back on. Great. Looks like that speed is kicking in...

"No, off!"

He raced back on.

"No, off!"

He raced back on.

"No, OFF!"

He raced back on, again. Eggman grit his teeth. "NO, OFF, SONIC!"

Eggman was so caught up in the stupid game that he forgot the rest of the blue hedgehog's title. He didn't care much however, because he had raced back on and clung to him for all he was worth. Eggman sighed and decided that he didn't care enough. He wasn't willing to do this all day, after all.

The Sonic sighed happily, and purred for a moment before he fell asleep.

And if Eggman freaked out? Well, at least it stayed on the inside.

[notnights]

While looking for stuff to post while my hand's out of commission, I found some saved canvases.

Its very rare I save full canvases because I usually save each piece I want to share on it's own anyways, the rest gets deleted. I don't how these ones survived. (mostly tadc ones, I try to keep my original stuff on separate canvases and do save those ones, though its very rare I'll share thoseones--funny how that works.)

I do a lot of "note taking" which is me jotting down a sketch of something and quick words to remind myself to do a full piece of it later.

Example, the "bibi ears" jax with caine next to him going "aussie bilby easter ok?" was the note I took to remind myself to draw this, which gives a time frame for when that canvas was drawn I think. You can also see a note I did of Ragamuffin and Ragatha with just their heads, and then the follow up "full drawing" of them in the next canvas, the Princess Loo sketch in that same canvas was my first ever drawing Ii did of her as a warmup for the then following pieces of her in Ragatha in the next canvas. (a few extra warm up sketches of her in there also)

Some of them are just jotting down concepts, like the Gangle throwing up frayed ribbon, haven't found a reason to use that joke yet, but maybe some day.

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Curiosity (Series Debut)

Juliette Nichols x Fem! Reader

Summary: The monotonous doldrum of IT tasks brings the daughter of Mayor Holland into the path of the determined Sheriff Nichols. Against the better preparations of the overprotective Bernard Holland, Juliette inadvertently tangles (Reader) right into her mess of lies, cover-ups and the biggest killer of the Silo- Curiosity.

Warnings: None.

A/N: This Juliette series was originally called "Nuts, Bolts and Awkward Silences", but I'm a self-conscious creator riddled with fantastic ideas. Hence, a new and improved beginning to my Juliette series!

Word Count: 4.7k

Comments and reblogs are appreciatied!

“We do not know why we are here. We do not know who built the Silo. We do not know why everything outside the Silo is as it is. We do not know... when it will be safe to go outside. We only know that day is not this day.” - Cleaning Address, Mayor Jahns (deceased). File Serial No. 153.76.98, Records Department. 

To say the Silo smelled like a lump of old pipes was incomplete. The upper levels, the Mids and Up Top, smelled of people. Of life, of fresh bread, laundered linen and occasionally corn, if you caught a breeze from one of the farms. It was only when you got Down Deep that the smell worsened.

Rusting pipes leaked with brackish water, and depending where you walked, there would be piles of metal shavings or maybe a few loose screws from the engineers doing their own maintenance. It was a climate one had to adapt to, a sort of behavior that was as interwoven as the exposed pipes and wire clusters that peeked out behind crumbling concrete. Few could put up with the Down Deep’s inhospitable nature; it was a thing to be endured until the Down Deep became as natural to you as the smell of stale air, oil and body odor.

The Sheriff’s office felt too pristine to Juliette. Living in close quarters with engineers too busy, (or too disinclined) to bathe regularly had given her a certain standard. Walking into that office she smelled paper. Old, but dry, sterile paper. Her clothes were threadbare and filled with slightly off-colored patches where she’d darned holes shut. The residents of the Mids looked put together, crisp in their attires. At least to her eyes. Even the porters had a certain uniformity to them, quite unlike her ragamuffin band of mechanics she’d called her family.

Juliette knew she didn’t belong here. She stuck out like a stray hair; ever present and subconsciously noticeable. It made sense that her closest companion was the hardened, conflict-savvy Deputy Marnes. They made quite a pair, strutting up and down the levels. She with her freshly starched uniform that felt all too coarse, and he with his bandaged nose and gruff demeanor. They would have made a fine pair. Neither truly wanted the power they held, they wanted the truth. But that was the unwritten rule of the Silo. Look for truth, and truth finds you. Ten steps later, so did death.

Deputy Marnes death had put Juliette into a frenzy, and with that, the drive to find George Wilkin’s file grew until it felt like life or death. She missed the smell of old pipes and the occasional unwashed man. She missed the smell of her unwashed man. 

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧ 

Mayor Bernard Holland had little interior ties to the Silo. Work colleagues, employees and the occasional childhood playmate. If Bernard could fit all of his relationships into one single box, it would be labeled ‘working acquaintance’. But earlier in his life, before he had ascended the ladder higher into the goings on of the interior Maintenance department, he had decided to take a shot at having a family; a wife, and a cozy, little apartment central to the Mids. Every morning Bernard would get up and take his small briefcase to work in the IT department, and his wife, Amelie, walked with her lesson plans to go teach kindergarten.

Somewhere in the mess of young, ambitious travailing, Amelie had brought up the lottery. Bernard, being an older man in his early forties, put little faith in the possibility of having children. In his ever analytical, sagacious mind, Bernard computed the odds of having a child at his age, given only a one year window for Amelie to conceive one, at near zero. But life wasn’t little boxes that could be sorted, assessed and compartmentalized into near-zero possibilities. 

Ten months after reproductive clearance had been granted, Amelie skipped a period. And then another. A younger, fuller haired Doctor Nichols confirmed the life-destabilizing news. Bernard and Amelie Holland were expecting a baby girl. Twenty some odd years later, that baby girl sat in the IT department day after day, typing out the same files in the same pattern Bernard had completed when he was her age. You had his brain for the computer, the ability to examine flawed programming and dissect it within a day or two. Sometimes three, if a previous worker had gone hopelessly astray. 

Bernard Holland had made a mistake, having a child. Sure, you were astute, eager to please and unnaturally adept at the skills he himself had spent years toiling away to gain, but you were his. And with possession came the possibility of loss. Every day that Bernard wasn’t in that IT department was another day he felt that creeping paranoia, that low buzzing of anxiety in the back of his skull. You were a good child, an obedient, Pact-abiding adult. However, you’d inherited more than just his measured customs; you’d inherited Amelie’s curiosity. Amelie, who’d hidden her inner wonder for the first ten years of their pairing. Amelie who’d been found with a red class relic, only for it to disappear back into the Silo. Amelie, loyal wife, doting mother, and veteran teacher who’d been sent down into the mines at the hand of one rebellious human condition.

Curiosity was a killer. And that curiosity that you carried could destroy more than just your life, it could destroy what little bit of faith Bernard had in the limited autonomy of the Silo. Therefore, when Mayor Holland assured Juliette that he did not wish to be mayor long term, he hadn’t lied. Having that kind of responsibility on his shoulders meant that he no longer had the luxury of keeping his daughter safe from herself. Having that luxury meant that the little curiosity Bernard had whittled away day by day began to blossom anew. Like a child left without adequate stimulation, you began to question unrelentingly. 

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧ 

The IT department was a stale, colorless room filled with the bustle of various employees working side by side on equally monitored computers. The day started when you punched your time card in, and it ended when you punched out. The act of punching a time card in and out was old. Your Dad mentioned doing it when he first started, and how his elders at that time had always done it that way too. Each yellow card was good for a month. If you lost it, you lost your wages. No one lost their timecard, no one was stupid enough to misplace such a valuable object. Except Lukas.

“Sorry, I literally haven’t seen it.” you shrugged, going in to punch your time card.

Once the machine had stamped the yellow slip, you put it in your empty card, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. You’d come in at the perfect time to get a cup of coffee before you slipped down in the records department for an agonizingly boring shift, and Lukas was wasting what precious time you had to do so.

“Nowhere? Is it on your desk perhaps? I looked behind the copiers and I can’t find it-”

Lukas was frazzled, face drawn out into a deep frown as he anxiously slicked his dark hair back.

“Listen, I know you’re worried, just grab a spare time card and punch in today. That way when it does turn up you’ll have proof of when you were in and out while it was gone.” you tiredly instructed, pouring yourself a steaming mug of bean juice.

For eight-forty-five in the morning you were on a roll, as far as advice went.

“Okay, yeah. That’s actually a good idea.”

Lukas walked back to the time card machine, writing his name and employee number down before punching the time card for the date and time. You didn’t stay to watch more than that, waving to your favorite coworker before you made the descent deeper into the office. 

Well lit computer desks were replaced by rows and rows of files, the bookcases old and battered from wear. One of them had cracked, mixing up all the files. Maintenance had been quick about fixing it, but now it meant all the files that fell had to be re-organized on the new metal shelf. The lightbulb above your head buzzed in an irritatingly persistent tone, making the work just that much more tedious. All of the files were shoved off to the side in the walkway between shelves. It was a tripping hazard, and an overt demonstration of how dichotomous Maintenance’s help could be.

Taking sips of your coffee here and there, you started sorting the files in piles, ensuring each file inside the record matched the labeling outside of it. Every so often you’d glance overhead at the large clock illuminated by a flickering bulb. You swore the motor was slow, after all you’d been at this for what felt like three hours, and it was hardly past ten. Taking a deep breath in, you reached for your coffee, holding it up to take a sip. Empty. Hardly a whiff of coffee remained, just the overpowering smell of mothballs, old paper and dust. If you had any allergies like Meryl, one of your coworkers, you’d be sneezing left and right.

Time passed, and you were just about done with the third shelf of files. Clean manilla envelopes sat side by side, each correctly labeled and displayed. It was good work, and accessible in the future. The work was monotonous, but it all faded into a distant hum as you worked in silence. The clock winked down at you, twelve-thirty blinking down like a beacon of hope. Break time.

The relief you felt walking out of the records room and into the well ventilated IT office was immediate. Lukas was still at his desk, typing away rapidly. His productivity was up. Not quite as high as yours, but higher. Meryl smiled at you as she walked by.

“Ready for lunch?”

“Are you kidding?” you chuckled. “Founders, that job is the worst.”

Meryl gave a sympathetic pout, grabbing her purse and walking towards the exit with you. 

“I appreciate you taking up the torch on that one, my allergies won’t let me in that room for even fifteen minutes without hacking.” she lamented.

The two of you traded gossip and office news as you walked down to the cafeteria, catching up on whatever little bits of life the two of you hadn’t shared since your last shift. It was an uneventful lunch break, just like you wanted. The walk up to IT was filled with satisfied sighs.

“Almost there.” Meryl remarked.

“Almost.” you echoed.

Your solace was a fresh cup of coffee and a brief chat with Lukas, (who had found his time card), but that was all you dared delay. Walking back into the records department, you found that your quiet, uneventful day was abruptly shattered. Towards the back of the records department you could make out a stooped figure, carelessly rifling through the shelf you had just organized.

“Hey, what are you doing?” you gasped, quickly walking over to the individual ruining three hours of meticulous work.

“Looking for a file.” the woman huffed, pulling out another file and dropping it on the floor.

There were patient people in the Silo. People who could withstand far worse inconveniences than this. But a dubious individual rifling through restricted and sometimes confidential material without regard for proper protocols or clearance boiled your blood.

“Where’s your clearance?” you demanded, setting your mug off to the side.

“Clearance?”

The woman rose to her full height, hands on her hips. You’d originally clocked her as a deputy gone rogue, but you knew your deputies. No, this had to be the new Sheriff. Nichols, Juliette Nichols. What a pain in the ass she was, that’s what Sandy had said. And somehow she was exactly what you had pictured, and then again, not quite at all. She was shorter than you would’ve guessed, only five-foot-five or so. Her hair was short, this made sense, and it was dyed by chemicals. Experimentation mechanics got away with, you supposed. Not what you would’ve pictured, especially in a tiny bun that emphasized the deep hollows of her cheekbones and brow, but it worked. But her eyes. Those made sense. Piercing, distrusting and a bit resentful. It fit everything you would’ve assumed from her character given how much Sandy complained when she came down to grab a file.

You were gawking, you realized. Clearing your throat once, you answered her question.

“Every individual looking for a record from the record’s department needs to fill out a request slip and send it in so that IT can track down the record and deliver it to the requester.” you spoke out in a long, run-on rush. “It’s a way of ensuring files don’t go missing.” 

“Okay, well I did that, and they said they couldn’t find the file. I printed out a map of the records department, and it’s supposed to be on this shelf in this bookcase, see?” the Sheriff aggressively gestured to a guide of the bookcases.

You heard the clock audibly tick as you took a deep breath in. Getting upset with the Sheriff of the Silo wasn’t a proper first impression. It was a horrible first impression, actually. True, she couldn’t get you into any legal trouble without probable cause, but you could piss her off. Pissing off a Sheriff, albeit a temporary one, not such a good idea.

“Which file are you looking for?” you managed, voice artificially measured.

“George Wilkins, a report on his death.”

Another deep breath. The Sheriff was frustrated, and you were too. It was clear she’d been digging through this shelf for a while, probably during most of your lunch break. Her uniform was crumpled, sleeves pulled up her arms and a few hairs loose around her face. There had never been a mechanic who’d been nominated before, at least not before going through IT or the Sheriff’s department as a deputy. That’s where your fascination came from, truly.

Again with the gawking! You shook your head, trying to dispel your brain fog. It had been a long day of sorting files in a dim, stuffy room. 

“Listen, this shelf collapsed a few days ago, and Maintenance just replaced it. I’ve spent the last three hours of my shift meticulously organizing it, so my guess is that whoever was on shift didn’t bother finding the file until the shelf was reorganized.”

Sheriff Nichols reached up, smoothing a hand over her skull. She took a deep breath in, nostrils flaring in belligerent frustration. But if she couldn’t find it in the thirty minutes she’d been digging, someone who was meticulously organizing the shelf probably would.

“Right, so if you find it you’ll let me know?”

“Yup.” you answered, folding your hands together to restrain the impulse to shove her out of the way.

“Thanks.”

Sheriff Nichols moved, too fluidly, with too much assurance in her surroundings. It must have been imbued by years spent in closed spaces, but she miscalculated. Your coffee mug went flying off of the shelf it had been balanced on, drenching you and the various files on the floor in lukewarm coffee.

“Fuck, sorry.” Sheriff Nichols swore.

She reached around, grabbing a rag left from dusting, vainly and forcefully trying to dab at the liquid all over your blouse.

“Stop, stop, it’s fine.” you gritted your teeth, dropping to your knees and doing your best to salvage the files that had been damaged.

Your face felt hot, and you looked down on instinct. You were flushed. Both from the further inconvenience of several files being damaged by this insufferably meddlesome Sheriff, but her hands… They’d been so clumsy and rough as they’d patted down your front with a dusty, dirty cloth. The tension was unbearable, and one of you had to break it.

Heavy footsteps echoed as the Sheriff made a quick escape, leaving you to deal with the mess she had caused.

“Bitch.” you cussed, doing your best to salvage the situation.

Even worse, her shuffling of files had stirred up the dust again, and this time it was bad enough that you sneezed. For the next five hours of your shift, you sat damp, sneezing and pissed, doing your best to finish sorting through the files she’d fucked up. The clock hit six and what little difference you’d made wasn’t enough to be satisfactory. You’d be working overtime tonight.

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧ 

Walking into the cafeteria at just past nine was depressing, there was nobody there. Even Lukas was absent, presumably opting to head home and help care for his Mom instead of his weird hobby spent staring at the screen. He watched the little white dots. You didn’t pay attention to it most of the time, you thought it was foolish, but exhaustion made you wonder. That was before your stomach complained.

The kitchen staff managed to scrape together a meal, an uncharacteristically generous thing to do. Probably because you looked a mess in your ruined blouse and dust covered hair. Dinner was a cinnamon roll leftover from breakfast and half of a turkey wrap, but it was something. You ate quietly, observing the display with that same wonder. They were odd looking, those white dots. Footsteps echoed out from the hallway as people came and went. You never looked up, too caught in your quiet vigil of the display screen. It took a subtle wrap on the table to get you to look up. 

“Hey.” Sheriff Nichols sighed, resting her hip against the table.

She looked tired. More hair was out of her ponytail than in it and her uniform was unbuttoned. It might’ve been a conscious decision, but it made her look more haggard than she would’ve appeared otherwise.

“Hi.” you replied, biting into the cold cinnamon roll.

The icing stuck to your teeth in a grotesque film.

“Sorry about the coffee again.” she gestured to your stained blouse. “Umm… Did you find the file?”

“File?” you frowned, unsure.

“Yeah, the George Wilkins one.”

Your palm came up to your forehead in a quick, masochistic slap. You’d totally forgotten to look for that file, all that had been on your mind was finishing the job and getting out. And dinner. Food had been on your mind for a while.

“... I can go look for it tomorrow.” you sighed.

Sheriff Nichols crossed her arms, toeing at the ground for a moment.

“You’re too tired to go back?” she asked, tone neither hopeful, nor presumptuous.

It was almost ten, and you were both exhausted, but something told you that the Sheriff would keep showing up to bother you until she had her answer. Considering how adept she was at inconveniencing you, the sooner you got rid of her, the better.

“If I do this for you will you promise to never set foot into the record’s department again?” you asked, eyeing her with a stern glare.

“Sure, yeah. I’ll fill out the request thingie… Yeah.” Sheriff Nichols nodded, clearing her throat awkwardly.

Words weren’t her strong suit, especially when her stomach was churning with hunger. Taking a deep breath in, you stood, leaving the half-eaten cinnamon roll on your plate.

“... Gonna eat that?” she asked, hopeful.

“No, it’s yours, I guess.”

Sheriff Nichols snagged it, following you up to the IT department. She held the door open once you unlocked the building, which was helpful, you supposed. Upon entering the office, you noticed how the Sheriff seemed to inspect everything, scoping it out with curious interest. She’d inhaled the cinnamon roll. You didn’t remember seeing her swallow.

“Records are this way.” you gestured, not in the mood to enable her gawking.

Sheriff Nichols followed you into the dusty library of records, standing off to the side as you carefully looked for the file she wanted. You skimmed the shelf twice over, rubbing your eyes in confusion.

“Yeah, it’s not here, let me check the record’s catalog.”

Turning on your heel, you walked over the dingy concrete floor of the room, turning on an ancient looking monitor. Humming along to yourself, you quietly searched the system for the record Sheriff Nichols was after. It popped up as returned to the library by the former Sheriff. He’d logged it himself. And you assumed he had done it correctly, but somewhere in between the return of the file and the cracking of the bookcase, it was more than probable that it had been misplaced.

“I don’t have an answer for you, I’m sorry. The shelf cracked, and it’s possible maintenance damaged the file. I’ll fill out a missing records report, and if it turns up I’ll notify you.”

It was the only response you could muster. The blank look Sheriff Nichols gave you felt undeserved, especially considering she’d snagged your cinnamon roll.

“Sheriff, I’m sorry it’s not where it should be, but we know it’s missing and we can look for it now.”

She walked over and behind the desk, brushing against you as she examined the screen for herself. She’d seen you examine the files, she herself had been examining a few. You weren’t lying, and the screen didn’t lie either.

“Well. Thanks.” she mumbled, scooting out from behind the desk.

As you watched her go, you found the exhaustion and irritation of the day was slowly becoming overshadowed by a larger, far less negative cognition. Why did the Sheriff want that file? What was it about this George Wilkins that had her so worked up? And why did you care?

Three levels up into your apartment and you were still asking yourself that question. One twist of your key and you were inside. A weight left your shoulders as you slipped inside, and you shut your eyes in relief. The door was solid beneath your back, and the smell of soup drifted out. Hunched over a stack of papers sat the white haired, uniformed form of Mayor Holland, as calm and measured as he’d always been. 

“Ah. You’re home.” Bernard, your father sighed, looking up from the recliner. 

Blue eyes landed on you, and he huffed out a laugh as he took in your frazzled form. Coffee-stained, dusty and the image of worked to the bone, he couldn’t help comparing his younger self to you. How many late nights had he worked, surviving on watery coffee and cafeteria cuisine? There was a story behind this, and he was anxious to hear it.

“Did you spill coffee on yourself, what happened?” he smirked, taking off his glasses to see you better.

His teeth were straight and white, devoid of any crookedness or discoloration. It was the product of bi-yearly dentist visits since he was a child. His hair was combed neatly, and he carried the countenance of a man too stuck in his ways to ever bother relaxing. It was exactly what you needed to see after such a stupidly tiring day.

“Sheriff Nichols came in during lunch and rifled through the records I’d been reorganizing. The shelf collapsed in aisle H, you know?” you began, walking into the living room. “I agreed to help her find the record she was after, off the books like an idiot, and the thanks I got was coffee on myself and several pristinely maintained files.” you irritatedly reported, walking into the kitchen. 

“You made soup?” you eyed the pot, stomach growling hopefully.

If you’d been watching Bernard in that moment, you would’ve seen how his eyes clouded over in concern. His jaw twitched, eyes working in small patterns over the wallpaper as he worded his next statement with as much care as possible. You were too busy ladling yourself a bowl of the most delicious looking soup to notice his change in demeanor. 

“You said she was rifling through files? She didn’t have clearance, did she?” Bernard asked, keeping his tone casual.

The last thing he wanted was to drag you into this. Or more accurately, ignite your curiosity.

“Yup. Not a single request. I didn’t end up finding the file she wanted, so I’m not going to get into hot water…” you paused.

As soon as you processed what you said, it became clear just how close you had been to fucking up, admitting it to your former supervisor of all people.

“I shouldn’t have let her get away with that without reporting it. I can go back and fill out a violations slip right now, I wasn’t thinking, the files were all wet-”

Two firm hands landed on your shoulders, squeezing twice. This wasn’t something you needed to run yourself ragged over, and Bernard knew that. 

“This wasn’t your fault. You were trying to be helpful because she’s the Sheriff, and causing problems with the Sheriff is arguably worse than forgetting a standard protocol of IT.” he said calmly. 

He let you process his words, guiding you to sit down at the table while he ladled himself a bowl of soup as well. One look at his side profile, and you noticed how relaxed his face was.. 

“She was in the records department without clearance only once?”

Again he gave you time to process, his tone even and controlled. 

“Twice. I grabbed food from the cafeteria right after my shift and she came up to ask if I’d found it. I hadn’t looked for the file at that point, so I went back and looked.” you reported, 

Your tone matched his in evenness. Hysterics and anxiety wouldn’t buy you any points, but a simple relation of the circumstances would.

“Did she touch any files when she was in there with you?” Bernard asked, walking over and sitting quietly across from you.

“No, that time I was the only one looking at the files.” 

Bernard didn’t visibly show his relief, but he felt it. The tension in his chest dissipated, and he found himself able to quietly eat.

“You did the right thing. Tomorrow morning go into the office and write the report. Detail exactly which rows you found her rummaging through and include the second, supervised visit.” Bernard quietly instructed.

The room went quiet, the pair of you eating your meal without further comment. Only when the bottom of both of your bowls was empty did he finally bring up his most significant instruction.

“A final note.” Bernard stated, tone almost emotionless. “As a rule, try to avoid Juliette Nichols as much as possible.” 

The way he said it, the firm command interwoven between the sentence disturbed you. You’d heard him use this tone few times during your life, and each had been a direct command to enforce your safety. But the threat Sheriff Nichols could pose to you simply didn’t compute. Your eyes flickered, and Bernard caught that spark of damnable curiosity.

“Do I ask why?”

“No. No you do not.” 

Bernard met your eyes, blue irises hard and demanding. It was a simple matter of knowing something you didn’t, something you couldn’t know. Your only course of action from here was to obey, and so you would. The chair screeched as you stood, quietly reaching for his empty bowl. The dishes were a welcome distraction from the sudden severity he had imposed upon you, thus you retreated to it. Bernard returned to his files, busying himself with the concerns of Silo management. Neither of you spoke, not until you went to leave the room.

“Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight.”

The soft click of the bathroom door shut you out from the force that was Bernard Holland. The conversation had rattled you, for reasons you couldn’t quite name. As much as you tried to place it, whittle down the particular mannerisms he’d used during the conversation that had spooked you so, you couldn’t. Perhaps it had been the suddenness of it, the way he’d gone from relaxed to impenetrably stern over a bowl of soup. The more you tried to dwell on it, the less you could figure it out. The semantics were abandoned, along with your coffee stained blouse. 

Hot water blasted down from the shower head, soaking the tense muscles of your neck and shoulders until they went completely lax. Then, and only then, did you dare ask that treacherous question that itched provocatively over your tongue. A whisper, killed by the sound of water hitting the shower floor.

“Why can’t I talk to Juliette?”

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[followthebluebell]

I see posts referencing high energy breeds of cats (Bengals would be a good example)

It got me curious Are there any breeds considered generally low energy? Outside of other factors like age

So age is going to be a factor. I literally can't discount it completely because kittens are ALL high energy, regardless of breed. I'm also going to avoid naming problematic breeds that are low energy due to health problems (Exotic shorthairs, scottish folds, etc).

Persians (traditional or doll-faced) are pretty much the poster child for low energy cats. My office muppets MOSTLY just tend to play for five minutes then pick a spot and sleep there the rest of the day. Except for Q and Benjamin who are still kittens and will cause the most trouble out of any of my office muppets, even compared to bengal Roomba.

Himalayans are basically just Persians with points, so they're another good choice for low energy cats.

Ragdolls (and their off-label lookalikes, Ragamuffins) are very laid back as adults. They're horrible menaces for the first few years of their lives and only mellow out when they are like three years or older.

British shorthairs tend to be pretty low energy as well, AND healthy to boot. They are tending towards brachycephaly lately, so I'm not a fan of that. But overall, they tend to be quite healthy.

I've heard that selkirk rexes are fairly low energy. I've only fostered the one so I can't speak much on that. She was very cuddly and preferred to have a snuggle over playing with her toys.