#jonah navidson

[the-professional-cocomeloner]

aghhhh doodle dump !! these have all accumulated over the last few months

[cuttoothed]

I’ve been wondering whether Jonny giving Rosie the surname Zampanò has significance for her character, or if it’s a reference without any deeper meaning, similar to several characters having the surnames of horror authors. There are two Zampanòs I’m aware of that Jonny could be referencing here.

In House of Leaves, Zampanò is a recluse who writes an academic treatise about a documentary that (probably) doesn’t exist. He doesn’t have an active role in the story (since he’s dead at its beginning), but he acts as the observer and chronicler (dare I say: archivist?) of the horrifying events of The Navidson Record, as well as a gatekeeper who opens the door of that horror to Johnny Truant, through his writings. (The fact that he likely invented the events of The Navidson Record is neither here nor there.)

And in Fellini’s La Strada, Zampanò is a wandering street performer who purchases the protagonist, Gelsomina, from her mother to be an assistant in his act. He treats her cruelly, and refuses to let her leave him. Eventually, his actions break her spirit and he abandons her. Interestingly, Gelsomina’s sister Rosa (not quite Rosie, but pretty close!) had previously been Zampanò’s assistant before she died.

The House of Leaves reference has parallels to Rosie being a passive observer through the series, not acting even when she thinks she should, as well as being the gatekeeper of access to Jonah in the apocalypse. And the La Strada reference could speak to Rosie feeling trapped in her role, despite Elias’ cruelty (“Nosy Rosie”) and her growing realization that he is truly evil. Both fun references, and I’d be interested to know which of them (or both! or neither!) Jonny had in mind when he gave Rosie the name.

[the-professional-cocomeloner]

Augusnippets Day 14: Gifts/Celebration

Because God is dead, and they are still standing, and every day from this point onwards is a gift.

content warnings: - none, I don't think - ii ttake it back im sobinf theyre everything oh my god /silly

(link to Ao3 version)

@augusnippets

--

The weekend after God dies, they hold a celebration. 

Maybe just a party. Cecil insisted on calling it something fancier because the death of God was a big deal, so it should sound just as important as what it’s commemorating, but I’m trying to learn that maybe she isn’t right about everything, just… most things. 

…Shit. Don’t tell her I said that, or I’ll never hear the end of it. 

Really, though, contrary to Cecil’s assertions, it’s a lot more of a party than a celebration; for one, it’s small, since only the people who were there are here. ⍒ There isn’t really anyone else, anyways. ⍋ The decorations are pretty elaborate, but only because the SPIS bought out the whole party store and spent all of yesterday setting them up. 

Multicolored flags and streamers hang from every inch of ceiling, the plastic cups come with interesting patterns that I know Cecil can’t see but at least can feel, and in the middle of the table in the kitchen is a giant cake shaped vaguely how God looks in cartoons—because it would be pretty hard to translate a glowing ball of eyes and light and too many hungry teeth in icing—with red X’s over the eyes. 

Joan smirks at me from across the table, which makes me forget about the cake for a minute and feel like crying. Her being here, especially her making that face, an expression that’s so Joan, is in defiance to the order of things even moreso than my presence. Every day I’m reminded of how much stronger than me she is. 

“Holy shit,” Cecil laughs, a sound that fills my head and returns me to the moment, “‘t’s as big as me! How’re we s’posed ‘a eat this whole thing?” 

“Hungrily,” I reply, and the Virtue laughs again, a little sharper this time, and I don’t feel their elbow bumping against my ribs. At least they seem to be in the right place, because Cecil doesn’t react in the way that would suggest any of my anatomy’s wrong this time. 

“Also,” Jonah pipes, squeezing Adam’s hand a bit, “can y’ even, like, say ‘holy’ anymore? If, uh— God’s dead, an’ everythin’.” 

“Screw Him,” Joan says, a little hoarsely, and all eyes turn to her. She takes a breath, brow furrowing. Principalities weren’t meant to hold physical forms like this, and guilt swamps over me like a murky, all-consuming tidal wave in contrast to the bright decorations around us. “I say we talk ‘bout whatever ‘a fuck we want.” 

“Amen t’ that,” Lynn agrees, and a couple of giggles go up around the room. “So,” and now she turns to me and Cecil, “we already picked out a buncha songs to play, but I feel’ike you two should pitch in, too.” 

“Oh, Lynn, ya don’t know what you’ve just done,” Cecil starts to roll their eyes as I start forward, lips already pulling back into an evil grin. I hear a little yelp and stop abruptly, turning to realize my friend was holding my arm and I’d just almost made them lose their footing. 

⍒ Oops, sorry. ⍋ 

“He’s right, though,” I say as Cecil lets go, giving me a petulant look. “You’re gonna regret this decision.” 

“I work for you,” Lynn retorts with a narrow-eyed smirk, standing up to come closer to eye level. I know everyone here is still painfully aware of how dangerous it would be to act this way around a Dominion, if it were anyone but us, and yet there’s no taste of fear in the air. There’s a warring sensation in my chest at that thought, but the feeling of touch still hasn’t returned. “If I di’n’t build up a tolerance for The Cure,” Lynn continues, “I’d’a quit the second day.” 

“Got a point there,” I allow, managing a smile. 

“Okay, can we actually eat the cake now?” Adam asks. “I don’t know ‘bout you guys, but I’m starvin’ because someone—” he juts an accusatory thumb at Lynn and Joan, “—made us wait until y’ showed up so y’ could cut the first piece.” 

I straighten a little, unsure if my expression is surprised or blank when I meet my sister’s eyes. 

“Well, duh,” she grumbles, looking away in a more embarrassed-that-my-brother- actually-realized-I-respect-him than submissive-to-my-Evangelist way. “You’re kinda the whole reason we’re all alive an’ It isn’t. Only fair a ‘death a’ G-God—’” she stammers a bit with the word, still getting used to actually being able to say it again, “—party has the cake cut by the guy who actually killed Him.” 

“‘T’s a celebration,” Cecil whines quietly, and I decide to elbow him back this time. They give me a wounded look, melodramatically frowning and placing a hand to their chest. 

“Uh,” I glance at the faces of the others, “I don’t really have… a speech er anythin’ prepared.” 

“Thank G—” Adam catches himself, finishing in a slightly awkward rasp, “—Gophers.” 

“Idiot,” Jonah whispers affectionately. 

“You’re one t’ talk,” Adam hisses back. 

“Guys, come on,” Joan massages the ridges of her brows as though trying to dull an oncoming headache, starting to sound desperate. Lynn puts a hand in front of their mouth to hide their smirk. 

“Okay!” Believe it or not, I can take a hint. “Okay, cake-cuttin’ time! Right! Yes.” I ignore a muttered “Finally,” from Adam’s direction, devoting my energy into trying to find the cake knife. 

There’s a long pause. 

“Oh fer fuck’s sake,” Joan’s sudden hiss breaks the bated-breath silence, and the the skin on her arms ripples dangerously translucent for a moment. “Did no one remember a fuckin’ cake knife? Fer the cake?” 

A mixture of miserable groaning (Adam and Jonah) and hysterical laughter (Cecil and Lynn) erupts around me, though I find myself only able to frown at the cake. This is something I can puzzle out. If I can be Mark Bernard after he shattered and left me behind to rebuild myself, if I can kill God and live to throw a party with the people I care about afterwards, I can cut a stupid cake without a cake knife. 

“Hold on,” I say slowly, “I… got this.” 

Once again, all eyes are back on me, anticipation lacing the air. How lucky I don’t need to breathe. 

Cecil seems to be the only one who figures out what I’m planning to do before it happens, since he’s the only one who doesn’t gasp—or at least make any sort of surprised noise or expression—as the ink-tipped fingers of my left hand meld together into a sharpened blade the color of shadows at midnight. 

“…” Jonah’s eyes bug a little at the easily-deadly appendage, but what he says next catches me off-guard; “…Did y’ wash your hands first, dude?” 

Adam shoots his partner a look that says he’d eat the cake off the fucking floor if he had to, and Jonah shrinks back, holding up his hands in surrender. 

“Aight, nevermind.” 

I glance at Joan for confirmation, but her eyes are fixed on her hands, where the tips of her fingers are beginning to unravel only slightly. 

◜ I’m not an expert on how sanitary true forms are, but I think I’d rather just cut the cake than deal with Adam when he’s hangry, ◞ Cecil offers me, looking antsy as he shifts his weight from side to side. ◜ If we survived last week, I think we can survive you not washing your knife-arm. ◞ 

With a shrug, I return my attention to Joan. Her hands are in her pockets, and she meets my gaze. “Wanna lead the countdown, sis?” 

“I’ll do ‘t,” Adam immediately offers. “Five four three two one. Happy fuckin’ new year. Cake now.” 

I chuckle and cut it, letting Cecil take charge of distributing it to everyone; at least someone remembered the paper plates. Adam tears into his like a starved animal, which is only mildly concerning, and Jonah watches him with a dreamy glaze in their eyes. 

“T’ that Fucker bein’ dead,” Joan toasts, raising her fork. Her fingertips have smoothed over again. 

“T’ the future,” Cecil adds. 

“T’ this cake!” Jonah jokes, and Adam nods in agreement before realizing he’s being mocked and switching flawlessly to a scowl. 

“T’ all a’ that,” I compromise. “‘Specially the future, I think.” 

“Haha, I got the Mark-approved toast,” Cecil brags. 

I pause before replying with the usual lighthearted jab. “Yeah, y’ did,” I say instead, smiling back and taking a bite of cake. 

The cheap plastic of the fork in my hand against my palm has never been such a welcome sensation.

[the-professional-cocomeloner]

Whats everyone's animal symbolism again and does it change in any stories?

oh they don’t quite have symbolism exactly ? that’s sorta tr [tempus fugit/repetit]-specific BUT I can do dog vs. catcoded. it’s kinda like sun vs. moon

Cecil: dogcoded bc. loyal. and obeys commands. and choke collar (but he still insists he’s a catgirl)

Mark: catcoded but like in the Big Cat sorta way. can Kill You but also. loaf

Adam: catcoded bc he’s a lil chaosmonger

Jonah: dogcoded, loyal til the end

Lynn (Evelynn): catcoded cause she’s just. chill. lowkey immune to the Horrors

Joan: dogcoded but like the dog who likes a total of like three people and if you aren’t one of them she will Bite You

Bob: catcoded I think ?? but like that one really friendly affectionate nice cat that everyone has owned

Graham: dogcoded. he has fleas.

Birdie: she’s a sheep but she has dog energy. we love Birdie

[the-professional-cocomeloner]

14 20 and 35 for Lynn

What animal do they fear most? bears ! no real reason just Big Animals Kinda Freak Her Out. other large animals (lions, tigers, cows/bovines in general, horses, whales, etc.) also are kind of terrifying but you're more likely to run into a bear in the States, plus they're carnivorous

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so? she sorta defines it by how you feel about doing certain things, like for example hand holding is a universal form of love, but making out with someone is romantic. familial love and platonic love are different, because there's a kind of protectiveness/sense of being protected with familial that isn't quite the same with platonic? plus, sometimes feelings can change over time and someone you felt romantically towards for a time becomes someone you decide you'd rather be friends with. but with familial love, that's always familial. for example, you would not feel romantically towards your sibling. (unless you're a weirdo, but thank God we're not in that part of Alabama.) familial love doesn't have to be biological though! it's just more of a sense of having something in common that goes really deep, I guess?

How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive? dude she dated Adam. if girlypop wasn't 100% down to listen to infodumping 24/7 then she wouldn't be here; she's actually a really good listener what it comes to stuff like that! they take in everything you say and have thoughtful questions and comments to say about it. when it comes to, like, physical things (ie: this cool comic! this band that's coming to town! this new gear for investigations! this creepy house we found!) sometimes interest depends on what it is, uh if that makes sense? if she's not interested in something, she'll let you know. generally they're pretty supportive though!

(bonus: compare to Jonah, who despite any grievances almost always is down for anything- just. shoves 'em aside. yeag.)

[the-professional-cocomeloner]

for Adam: First time facing their fears

WELL. this one's a doozy because it depends on the timeline; I'm assuming tdtst since that's kinda the ""main"" one, or at least the one where his being an angel is the focus

it's not until after Jonah dies who is it kidding, until it killed them, where Adam's having a spiral and feeling things that he's never really.felt before (that is fear boy. and guilt. and regret. and so so much fear.)

and so he panics and he really doesn't want to but he knows that he has to contact someone, he needs to talk to someone, God what does he do "Joan fuck what do I do"

he calls Joan. yeah.

and y'know what? he's terrified of what she'll say.

(and honestly I still haven't decided how it goes down. because angels are perfect actors. and if he wants to sound calm he could but .tbh I don't think he would. I think he'd be having a fuckin panic attack over the phone)

[the-professional-cocomeloner]

First big aspiration (i.e. what did they want to be when they grew up?)

Mark - journalist, maybe? some kind of writer or artist. a comic book creator would've been so cool.

Cecil - doctor ! or at least nurse. she wanted to help people.

Joan - when she was really little? a police officer. nowadays she thinks maybe starting some weird novelties shop or something would be cool. or like,, a historical museum curator.

Lynn - tattoo artist or fashion designer or something like that; I'm specifically thinking like that one tattoo parlor/place where you can get piercings and they've got like. stim toys and plushies and an axolotl tank in the lobby. that's her vibe.

Jonah - maybe being an IT guy, moonlighting as a DJ when they have the time. tech-related business is starting to get a bit bigger, actually, and it pays to know how to work that stuff. plus, being a DJ would be cool as fuck.

Adam - journalist, maybe. or some kind of writer or artist. he actually has some comic book ideas/panels sketched out in between all his notes from other stuff.

bonus: Graham - police officer; he didn't realize what it'd be like as a kid, y'know?

[the-professional-cocomeloner]

Augusnippet Day 2: (Jonah's) Hair Care (Routine)

Jonah consults his friend for some advice.

content warnings: - minor Nokia harm - terrible hair coloring decisions

(link to Ao3 version here)

@augusnippets

--

Jonah hummed thoughtfully as he regarded his reflection, pulling his dark hair into a ponytail in his fist and turning to either side to get a better view. 

After a moment, the boy let his hair fall back to its natural shoulder-length state, reaching to scoop up their phone from the corner of the bathroom sink. Instead of doing so gracefully, however, they fumbled the action and ended up swiping the little brand new Nokia clean off the counter. 

“AH! NO, WAIT!” 

It collided with the tile unceremoniously, and Jonah bent down to pick it up, frantically inspecting the screen for cracks — there were none, and they paused to briefly thank God for His mercy. As they stood back up, they heard a voice from down the hall: 

“Are ya dyin’ in there? Cause if y’ are, I’m just gonna bury y’ in the backyard, I don’t wanna deal with all the paperwork. Or Joan’s yellin’ about me makin’ ‘er do all the paperwork.” 

Jonah rolled his eyes and called back. “I’m not dyin’, Adam.” 

“Good’a ‘ear.” 

With a little huff at their friend’s concern, the boy returned their attention to their phone. 

J: hey Evelynn what color should I dye my hair 

Of the four friends Jonah had in the world, Lynn was the only one who also had a phone with texting capabilities. She was also the only one Jonah trusted to give genuine advice on cosmetic decisions — or, at least, the only one he trusted to have the knowledge to give good advice on cosmetic decisions. 

It wasn’t too long before she answered, though Jonah internally groaned, realizing Adam must’ve gotten to her first. 

E: I think neon green would be fun! E: I mean, didn’t you dye your hair bright orange once?

J: God I hate you

E: Hahahaha

[the-professional-cocomeloner]

still super proud of how this logo turned out

graphic design is my passion