#more pen voice canon stuff

[bestosunglass]

Hi! I just wanted to say how lovely and interesting you make your platonic radiostatic :)) I saw your stuff on TikTok and I’m loving seeing it here as well!

I see so much one-sided or romantic radiostatic, and while I love it all, this is by far my personal favorite depiction of their relationship. Your art makes them look like such cuties even while they’re two of the scariest demons in hell <3 my personal fav so far is Al laying with Vox while he recharges it’s just so cute!!!

If you don’t mind me poking your brain of it I’d love to hear more about your AU and headcannons! If you want to bounce off of something specific then I’d love to hear how the residents of the hotel think of Alastor and Vox and if they clump them together or think of them differently.

In any case I adore your art and hope to see more of it no matter the fandom!

I'm really glad you like it!!! I didn't expect it to get this reception at all as I was planning on it being something more along the lines of "Comfort" after seeing so much Angst content, so I'm genuinely glad so many people liked it!<33

As much as I like the ship I wasn't entirely sold on seeing it in a romantic or suggestive context; I rlly love that Alastor is respected as an individual Aroace (as a fellow Aroace lol) so seeing him in contexts of that sort were a bit ... demotivating??? So I wanted to create this Au of them being typical husbands but on a platonic way.

The residents of the hotel definitely have different opinions. On one side is Charlie who sees this as a great miracle, the two great entertainment representatives from hell, giving her hotel a chance! Especially when her relationship dances very well between the two of them; with Alastor there is "the voice of reason", the one who offers a solution and listens patiently and undaunted to whatever news she gives him, where she knows she will find an answer as Alastor chooses the pen over the sword; while with Vox there is the chaotic, where the sword is above the pen. He vocifies his opinions tactlessly and offers the less gentle, quicker and more effective ways. In him Charlie finds far more vivid emotions than Alastor would be willing to unveil.

Then there is Vaggie who is of course the most informed about these two and her concern is very much on the edge as she knows that the Media Demons are a couple that absolutely no one knows anything about beyond the false image they paint in their shows and the imminent danger these two represent.

Angel, Pentius and Cherry don't really have a strong opinion about them as they pass over or ignore them. Nifty is already more than familiar with both of them.

Husk (his relationship with Alastor is considerably "better", even though Al still owns his soul, than it is in canon as Alastor still owning his soul and having a faithful and warm companion with him for years, his personality is arguably somewhat more relaxed and patient than the original), like Nifty is already familiar with them so he doesn't give the matter much thought.

And Lucifer ofc is terrified that it's not just one but two Overlords who apparently want to steal his daughter.

I still have a lot of polishing to do on this Au as it's new but I want to slowly build it here as people can offer different points of view that can be explored (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

[the-s1lly-corner]

Various HH characters x Artist reader

Prize 4/5 for @coldestcoconut

This post contains: Charlie, Vaggie, Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk, Sir Pentious, and Nifty

Notes: Reader is GN

CWs: None

CHARLIE

Its canon that Charlie herself is an artist, she makes her own presentations and everything! Shes very open to sharing her supplies with you, though a lot of the colors she has are very bright and saturated. You might inspire her to have an artsy based exercise in the hotel, you... may get a few groans and looks from some of the other hotel residents.. whoops.. gushes and goes insane whenever you make something for her or really show her anything, she can go on for hours and hours about how lovely your work looks! Woukd put it on the fridge/hj

VAGGIE

Not at all an artist, and she doesnt... exactly know techniques and terms. She is proud of you and shes trying her best to show that, but... her compliments seem to fall a little flat when praising you thanks to her voice as well as her just not knowing terms. A lot of the time its comments like "oh, this looks good," whereas other characters can say WHY it's good. Though is that really that important when seeking validation? Keeps all the art you give her in a folder somewhere, neat and away from harm

ANGEL

It should be a given that hes going to ask if you can draw something... rather inappropriate. Were you really surprised? He might likely also ask you to draw fat nuggets, he even offers to pay you. Keeps some of your doodles pinned up on his vanity mirror on his room. Hes an artist, just not in the way you are. He has an appreciation for your work even if it's a different genre! It doesnt matter what your skill level is, hes going to be a little interested. He offers to pose for you if you need a quick reference, he can offer something interesting thanks to his flexibility! Free of charge, too!

ALASTOR

Similar to Angel, hes an artist just in a different way! Angel is a dancer and an actor, and Alastor uses radio as his medium! Hes.. interested enough in your work, though he can be a little more.. critical in his criticisms (but only if you ask for it, hes not rude!). He doesnt intent to fully stamp out your excitement, hes simply trying to get you to reach your fullest potential as an artist. It is balanced out by elements he enjoys in your art. Watches you like a hawk when you work. Dont try to be sneaky and try to draw him, he already knows what you're doing.. but he might just allow it, it's not like you're using a camera

HUSK

Hes indifferent, at least.. mostly.. he listens when you talk about your hobby and he makes sure you know hes paying attention. But you can tell that hes not sure how to keep the conversation going thanks to him just... not being into art. Sure he can tell when something has talent and had work put into it, but hes not the type to sit down and really dissect a piece. Though... his appreciation for art does grow thanks to you. Keeps the doodles you slide to him while he's working the bar- gets a little pissed at himself if part of the papers get wet from the condensation from the drinks

SIR PENTIOUS

NIFTY

She draws! As a hobby and when shes not warring with the bugs in the hotel! Sometimes the two of you sit and draw together- though Niftys more.. scribbling on the papers. Shes just excited is all! Don't ask where she got the red paint from. Hoardes the art you give her, very possessive of the drawings. Probably attempts to stab someone if they get too close to her stash

Hes a bit artistic himself, being an inventor and all! He draws his own blueprints and as well as his own designs. It may not be the same as the things you may create, but it's still a bonding point between the two of you. He let's you use his fancy pens and stuff, just please return them! Will praise you to heaven and back whenever you show him something, he knows some art terms and you can bet hes going to be using them to really push his praise! If you ever draw him anything hes going to keep it, likely framing it as well!

[jamilelucato]

Unlikely - Emmett Cullen

Summary: Edward Cullen discovers a surprising secret when he inadvertently tunes into the thoughts of a fellow student, [y/n] [y/l/n], revealing her crush on none other than his brother, Emmett. As their unexpected connection unfolds, both face the complexities of love and the challenges of their supernatural existence.

Pairing: [y/n] [y/l/n] x Emmett Cullen

Universe: Twilight

Author's Note: So, I have had this in store for a while, waiting for the right time to post it. I feel like Emmett deserves I do it. Btw, I can't promise a part 2 or something like that. For an unknown reason, it's been hard for me to write characters kissing and stuff. But get them flirting below.

Info: Emmett here is supposedly enroled in the same year as Edward and Bella, because I wanted to keep him in school whereas I wanted Rosalie gone. Love Rosalie, though. I'm telling you this because it's not canon, so... there you go.

### Edward was the first to notice, of course.

He wasn't paying much attention until this girl's thoughts popped louder than the rest of the cafeteria.

Edward already had so much trouble — keeping tabs on Bella Swan — that his most minor concern was the other students at Forks High School.

But her thoughts were loud and clear. I can't believe it! I… I am crushing on him! Gods, embarrassing…

Edward Cullen frowned. He was always around teenagers, and more often than not, they'd find themselves in love. Why was this random girl's mental voice so loud and clear, then?

He's never paid attention to me before. He just borrowed me a pen. Get a grip on yourself, [y/n]! The girl's mind shouted, reprehending herself.

"What is it, Edward?" Bella asked, calling back his attention to her. Edward was curious about the other students, but no one in the world came before Bella Swan to him.

"Someone's called my attention," Edward answered, letting Bella grasp his hand.

"Good or bad?" she asked.

"A student," Edward answered, unsure yet if listening to the random girl's thoughts so clearly was a bad sign. "She's found herself crushing on someone."

Bella looked puzzled. "Oh, well. It happens to all of us," she jested but still looked worried. "Any idea why her voice is louder?"

Even after all those many months apart, Bella quickly understood Edward's gift. But the loud voice had disappeared.

"It was [y/n] [y/l/n]. But I don't know who she's crushing on that can be so bad…" Edward let his sentence trail off, looking around the cafeteria for the human.

Emmett's face lit up, and he chimed in. "[y/n]? I talked to her today in Biology class. She's my lab partner."

Bella moved her neck to face Emmett better. "I did not know that."

Emmett shrugged. "I mean, it's not like we interact. She's been my partner for a while in that class, but you know…" he didn't finish his sentence, embarrassed to tell Bella what he really thought. But Edward read it all in Emmett's mind: but I don't usually bother with humans.

Edward pressed his lips together, reacting to his brother's thought. He also didn't want to tell Bella that he agreed.

"But what was it about [y/n], anyway? Is she in danger?" Emmett asked, not showing his concern. To Bella, it all seemed like curiosity. But to Edward, well, he saw Emmett's thoughts trailing off.

"No, not at all," Edward nodded. "I don't think I've tuned to her thoughts before, that's all. It was just so loud a minute ago."

"Ah," Emmett let out. What was she saying? I know you won't tell me, but you sure as hell told Bella.

"What I said is what I heard," Edward affirmed, answering Emmett's mind. 

"So she has a crush, good for her!" Emmett said, raising his tone just a bit but enough for Bella to notice. 

Before Edward could intrude on his brother's reaction, Emmett left.

***

Emmett sat at his seat, tensed. Being a vampire and all, he had no need for breathing, definitely no need for oxygen. But it was a habit to do so, to get a grasp of scent and also to act more "human". However, that day, he felt like he was hyperventilating.

So Edward had heard [y/n] had a crush on someone. No big deal. Was she one of the funniest girls he ever met? Yes. Did she have such a crooked smile that made her more beautiful? Yes. Did she seem to always understand him, even when he barely spoke to her? Yes. But that meant nothing and would stay meaning nothing, for she was a human, and he was a vampire. 

Emmett concluded it would have been better if Edward had not mentioned any of [y/n]'s thoughts. In fact, since Edward was always so focused on Bella, Emmett thought [y/n] would stay out of his radar. Goddammit.

"Hey, Emm," [y/n] said, catching Emmett by surprise as she sat beside him.

[y/n] was in many other classes Emmett was enrolled in, but Biology was the only course they actively sat together. Well, one time in English class, Emmett was left out of group partners, and [y/n] politely and unexpectedly asked him to join her group. But that had been one time.

He wouldn't admit it to his siblings, but [y/n] had caught him off guard. Emmett had been so distracted thinking about her that her scent passed unnoticed when she was finally there.

"Hi, [y/n]!" he replied, quickly cleaning his throat after noticing his "hi" had sounded a bit too high-pitched. He wished he had a nickname for [y/n] as she had, with time, shortened his name after the forced proximity. He had tried out some possibilities in his mind, but he was a man of his time, and just calling her by her first name and not simply "miss" was too much for his little mind.

"It's snowing today," she prompted, shifting her eyes from his face to the window nearby.

"I noticed," Emmett nodded.

"Do you plan to snow-fight your siblings?" she asked shyly after becoming embarrassed by his gruff reply.

Emmett's face lit up just a bit, and he hoped it was invisible for [y/n]'s human eyes. She's trying to make small talk, he concluded, smiling internally.

"You've noticed I do that, huh," he playfully leaned his head.

[y/n] smiled. "Last year, I saw you trying to hit Alice. She was quick though," she said, moving her shoulders as if to shrug, but not quite. "I just hope you don't plan to have your fight in the cafeteria again."

Emmett's eyebrows were eager to shoot up, but he controlled them just in time. So [y/n] had noticed him and his siblings since the year before. Of course, she had known Emmett since their first high school year — or should he say her first high school year? — and of course, one thing or another, she was bound to catch up about the Cullens. But to have detected him launching Alice a snowball... and to remember it, that was something.

"Be careful then," Emmett joked. "I can't make any promises."

"Oh, please," [y/n] rolled her eyes, shifting the way she sat so she could look to the front of the classroom. She continued without facing Emmett, "As if you would ever hit on me... I mean, on me! No! I mean, hit me! With a snowball."

Her face was so red Emmett thought her head was going to explode. Did humans' heads do that? Did they explode?

[y/n] saw he looked concerned, but she misinterpreted it. Emmett had barely noticed her slip in language use.

"I don't mean you would hit on me at all," she kept shaking her head as if to erase her language mistake. "Not that it matters; both are something you would never do," she whispered now, more to herself than to the boy, but being a vampire, he heard it all. "Forget it, Emmett. I'm so sorry."

Emmett was instantly calmer, but not because he was glad she apologised — why was she apologising again? — but because the redness was slowly disappearing from [y/n]'s face, which definitely meant she was not gonna explode, he felt very relieved, which surprised him. When Edward had mentioned, the year before, how easily humans could die, Emmett had thought his brother was being absurd. But he was worried about this human girl beside him for some reason.

He planned to ask [y/n] if she was indeed all right, but the professor walked in, and all the chances he had to do so seemed to disappear.

***

[y/n] could not, for her life, tell what Mr. Banner was going on and on about. Was it about cells? About nature? She was utterly unfocused, even though her eyes were fixed on the weird teacher. Well, actually, she would fix her gaze at anything and anyone, if that was enough, to avoid looking to her left and eyeing Emmett Cullen.

All her mind could do was blame herself. She had known Emmett since the Cullens came to the town; there was no reason for fuss. The family was undoubtedly the most beautiful of all. All of them could be models, including Dr. Carlisle, whom she met when she unintentionally had to stitch a bruise. Since entering high school and having known them, her gaze was fatally met with Emmett's.

It was not as if he had reacted in any other way, if not with boredom. She grew discouraged after each "incident" but continued to spy on the Cullen family. However, whenever Rosalie and Edward caught her staring, [y/n] felt uneasy and quickly averted her gaze. She knew there was no point in admiring Emmett Cullen when he already had Rosalie Hale by his side. So, who was [y/n] compared to the stunning blonde goddess?

[y/n] was extremely surprised when she witnessed the Cullens' return to Forks.

Seeing Bella Swan go through a "mourning process," [y/n] felt understood because she had felt the same way, although on a much smaller scale. However, she would never have confessed it or let it show. Who was she to miss the Cullens?

She never expected Edward Cullen or Emmett to come back, but one day, there they were. [y/n] arrived late one day and had not noticed the extra car in the parking lot. When it was time for biology class, [y/n] was caught off guard to see that she had a new (old) partner already sitting at the table they were supposed to share.

Letting herself dive into this thread of thought, [y/n] was sure that it was not at that moment, when he returned, that she saw herself surrendered to Emmett. Yes, she had gotten more loose and relaxed when she noticed that Rosalie had not accompanied her siblings or Jasper Hale because they had graduated. But Edward's gaze still haunted her. Something told her that the whole family moved by the boy's fault (even if the rumours said that Dr Carlisle had accepted a better job), so [y/n] was afraid that Edward would make his family move again.

After secretly paying attention, she was surprised to detect that Bella was also afraid of them disappearing again.

Before Biology class ended, [y/n]'s mind replayed a specific, very recent memory. The day before, she was about to write something down when her pen started failing. She thought she wasn't reacting noticeably, but somehow Emmett glimpsed her sudden need.

"Do you want a pen of mine to borrow?" he asked, already holding the thing out to her grasp.

[y/n] raised her eyes from her notebook to meet his golden gaze.

"Oh, thank you," she smiled, borrowing the pen.

Emmett had said nothing more and returned his gaze to Mr Banner. [y/n] thought she ought to do the same and rushed to write down the rest of the speech.

When the class had ended, [y/n] turned to Emmett before he could head out. "Here you go, Emm," she smiled at him, trying her hardest to look polite. "Thank you."

The nickname must have gotten him off guard — even though [y/n] was sure she had called him so before — because his golden eyes widened.

"You can keep it," he said, not a hint of hesitation, even though his expression seemed hesitant.

"Oh," [y/n] gasped. "Thanks again, then," she smiled with her cheeks high, feeling they were reddening.

It was then he surprised her: Emmett smiled.

She did not see it coming at all. [y/n] had talked to the boy before. They had even joked around — when Mr Benner said something sex-related, the duo was really juvenile for that topic, and they would always let a little chuckle out — but that smile was different. It was wide, genuine. Emmett showed all his beautiful white teeth at her, and she was mesmerised by the whole view. He had dimples.

Emmett Cullen had dimples!

[y/n] remembered stumbling in her words, trying to find something to say because she wanted Emmett to keep smiling. But he simply nodded at her and got up, leaving the classroom before [y/n] could form a coherent thought.

She spent the whole day revisiting the memory of his smile and dimples. She was frozen in that Biology class; it was as if she never left. In her mind, she kept the conversation going. She knew he was a clown — she liked him best of all the Cullens for it — and so perhaps, she could have prompted a joke, such as "Do you think we're so poor compared to you, rich Cullens, that I need a pen as a gift?" It could've been funny; maybe he would've kept smiling. Perhaps he would laugh but really laugh and not hold back as usual.

But, in the end, she said nothing, just like today.

When Mr Banner announced they were free, [y/n] instantly turned her gaze to Emmett.

"Oh, sorry there, Emm," she swallowed hard, trying to keep her brave facade as she spoke to him. "It seems there's no longer snow for your fight."

He shrugged, and a light of playfulness hit his face. "No problem there. I can just punch Edward straight up."

She wasn't sure if it had been his innocent way of speaking or if it had been the mention of just the right brother, but [y/n] cracked up in one of her loudest laughs yet. The students who hadn't already run out of the classroom all turned to stare at her.

Emmett seemed to get in a shocked state. He wasn't expecting that reaction.

"I'm sorry," [y/n] said, trying to catch her breath. It was not easy; she still wanted to laugh. "I... I don't know why that was so funny."

"Maybe because Edward has a very punchable face," Emmett suggested, letting go of his restraints and following [y/n] in chuckles.

"I'm sure you've done that many times," [y/n] raised a brow, instigating him to go on.

"Unfortunately," Emmett tilted, "no, I have not."

"Oh," [y/n] did not see that answer coming, "too much of a good brother?"

Emmett snorted a laugh. "Definitely not that. I just never seem to catch him," Emmett knew why that was so, whereas [y/n] would never have a clue: Edward read his mind any time Emmett tried to catch the sibling by surprise with punches or simply trying to give a scare.

As much as [y/n] wanted to continue the conversation, she had the next class to go to. She sighed lowly, but Emmett heard it right away, and he couldn't help smiling at her silly human reaction to leaving.

[y/n] stared at his smile like a child watching Santa come down from the chimney.

"Dimples," she thought aloud, not realising it until it was too late. Hoping Emmett didn't notice, she averted her eyes and started gathering her books, but the Cullen had heard it all too well.

He remained silent, though, allowing her heartbeat to stead again. When she was already up, probably about to nod him goodbye, he said, "You have dimples too."

***

Red is definitely her colour. How have I never noticed before? Besides that cute turtle neck she was wearing, when the red flushed her cheeks, that was...

The image totally got Edward by surprise. He was walking out of one of his classes when, passing the hallway, a mind ahead called his attention to a particular image. Then, the voice! The oh-so-familiar, very annoying mental voice of none other than Emmett Cullen.

In seconds, Edward was beside his sibling. "What was that?"

Shit! Emmett's face was as embarrassed as his mental voice. The sibling quickly started singing some random annoying pop song to pull Edward out of his mind, but it was too late.

"Why were you thinking of [y/n] like that?" Edward asked.

"Like what?" Emmett replied, but Edward's question worked, making Emmett revisit his thoughts, and [y/n]'s face popped up again, with Edward getting a complete view.

The old-school vampire was suddenly repulsed and stepped slightly to the side.

You are the one in my mind! Emmett accused him in thought.

"Not because I want to, believe me!" Edward exclaimed, returning to his spot next to Emmett. "Brother, I better hope you know what you're doing."

"I'm not doing anything," Emmett said defensively.

Edward raised a brow, wishing Emmett could read his thoughts and see how foolish in love Emmett had thought about [y/n].

"Stay out of my business," Emmett nudged his brother. I can't find anyone pretty anymore? 

"After having Rosalie, I highly doubt you'd think that of a human," Edward answered Emmett's unspoken question.

"Rosalie and I... we're not a couple. We have our fun; that's all," Emmett said. "Besides, we haven't had fun in decades; you know that."

Edward knew because he had read their sex-deprived thoughts before. Still, he had thought Emmett was evolving, for he had stopped picturing Rosalie in a… needy way. But now, it seemed it had a different reason why.

Suddenly, another piece fell into place.

"She has fallen for you," Edward gasped in such a whisper only vampire hearing could catch it.

What? Emmett's mind shouted. "Don't be silly," he said aloud.

"It was definitely you [y/n] mentioned having a crush on yesterday," Edward continued his theory, forcing them both to stop walking and stay in the middle of the hallway. "That's probably why she caught my attention; she must have exclaimed your name! In thought," he added, although it was apparent.

"Are you sure about this?" Emmett asked, out of habit mostly, for he knew that no amount of hoping could make Edward wrong, not when he had a sibling so powerful.

Emmett's mind was racing as he tried to process it all. It was the first time Edward had trouble keeping up with him. Emmett was generally slower, even mentally, than Edward, but that was not the case now as he tried to understand everything about [y/n]. Edward caught up to some images — [y/n] blushing, [y/n] making a joke and laughing alone, and then the terrifying one. It was similar to the ones Edward had regarding Bella, too: [y/n] with eyes so red and skin so pale that there was no denying her heart no longer beat.

But when Edward returned his gaze to his taller brother, Emmett was not sad at the view, not half as much as Edward was when he thought of Bella as a vampire.

"Stop it," Edward begged, noticing Emmett's mind went on; he had started enduring the idea of Bella talking to [y/n] about what it was like to love a monster.

Emmett shook his head, bringing himself back to reality. "Sorry, man. It's just that...I never thought someone like her would fall for me."

Edward's worries shifted topics. "Why would you say that?" Edward had felt like that; he still felt like that with Bella, always thinking of himself as a killer and not deserving of love. But Emmett was most comfortable being a vampire out of all his family members. So, his brother had never thought to see him doubting himself.

Emmett's thoughts were faster than his tongue. Not even Rosalie fell for me, not really, and she was the one that found me, and she's our... species. [y/n] is a human girl with a life ahead of her, a full one at that; I don't see how she'd fallen for me. "Are you sure it's love?" Emmett asked out loud.

"Well, she thought it was a crush," Edward replied, returning to his own memories of [y/n]. But he didn't dwell on them for long. Edward was still trying to process Emmett's confession about Rosalie. He had always seen Emmett as cheerful, never realising that his brother might also feel unloved. They had more in common than Edward had ever thought.

Emmett sighed, and even before Edward could say anything — advice or a comforting word — Emmett lowered his head. "I know, Edward. I understand the risks."

Edward frowned. He couldn't believe Emmett immediately concluded that Edward would be mad at him. Of course, there were risks, not just because the girl involved was human. Even if Emmett didn't think Rosalie loved him (and Edward, being a mind reader and all, agreed), she would also cause some trouble. 

But who was Edward to judge his brother's choices regarding a human?

"Look, if you decide to pursue this relationship, I'll support you."

Emmett smiled, surprised but yet feeling grateful for his brother's support. Thank you, he thought, and Edward nodded.

Edward thought love was a powerful emotion, and he couldn't blame Emmett for feeling like he did. However, he hoped that Emmett would make the right decision, whatever that may be.

[sixhours]

One Day at a Time - Chapter 4 - Gestation

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

He’s browsing at the trading post when he sees Charlie again. He’s checked off 14 more days in his little calendar, and each time he picks up the pen, it stirs a bittersweet feeling of anticipation and sheer terror in his gut.

He’s picking over the trades, looking for new sneakers for Ellie, when his eyes fall on something else.

Footed pajamas, impossibly tiny, the little plastic price tag still clipped to the sleeve. His hand drifts over the yellow fabric, faded but minky soft. Warm. Good for winter.

Sarah had pajamas like this once…a sleep suit with a hood and little round ears peeking up from the top. He hasn’t thought about that outfit in…well, decades. The memory of her toddling toward him with those silly little ears poking up from her downy head is so vivid that he can almost hear her trill of laughter and he has to lean on the table to catch his breath, the yellow onesie still clutched in his hand.

“Joel? Are you okay?”

Charlie’s voice comes from over his shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie, and he turns around.

“Yeah…yeah just, uh…yeah, m’fine. What’re you doin’ here?”

He hides the pajamas behind him, balling them up in one large fist.

She holds up a white package. “Heard they had TP. Figured I’d better get down here and snag a roll before it was all gone. You?”

“Lookin’ for stuff for Ellie.”

“Find anything good?”

“She won’t think so.”

Charlie smirks. “Teenagers, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, shoving the onesie deep into his bag and making for the counter. He drops off a sack of old clothes into the donation bin, all the stuff Ellie has outgrown, and watches as Charlie does the same with her trades.

They find themselves outside, the warmth of late spring making everything smell fresh and green. Charlie’s button-down shirt floats over her jeans in such a way as to hide her midsection, but her proportions have changed. Her face is fuller, her breasts are swollen, and her skin looks so soft and smooth and—

He coughs and looks away, feeling a brief wash of shame for noticing her. Again.

“So you’re, uh…still…”

“Yeah…I’m still,” she says.

“That’s good,” he says, and means it. “Feelin’ okay?”

She shrugs. “A little tired…but yeah. I feel better. So far, so good, I guess.”

He nods thoughtfully and bites his lip, thinking of the calendar next to his bed. He can almost hear the days falling away.

“Look, I…uh…I shoulda said somethin’ before now. I…know I haven’t been the most…uh…I’m not trying to get out of…anything.”

She blinks up at him, brow furrowed, waiting for him to make sense. He winces, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I wanna help,” he tries again. “However I can. I know it’s not easy goin’ it alone,” he says, looking down at the bag with Ellie’s clothes and the onesie tucked at the bottom. Then he’s thinking of Sarah, of long nights spent pacing and rocking and soothing.

“You’ve done enough.”

“Oh,” he chokes out. “Uh, I, uh…s’pose I deserve that.”

Her eyes widen, cheeks turning a faint pink. Now it’s her turn to fumble her words.

“Oh…I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…you’ve been good. You’ve helped. I–shit. I’m sorry.”

There’s a painfully awkward silence as this sinks in and he bites back a smirk.

“We’re pretty fuckin’ bad at this, huh?”

“Yes,” she sighs. “We are.”

This admission seems to ease something between them. Before he can lose his nerve, he continues.

“Could I come to your next appointment? Is that somethin’ people still do?”

She nods slowly, considering this. “I have one next week. It’s not very exciting, but…you could come with me.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’m not sure you will,” she says. “The midwife is…intense.”

“I’ve heard,” he says. “I think I can handle it.”

He can’t handle it.

The midwife, Joanie, is cold and abrupt and downright abrasive. He can’t imagine this person welcoming anyone, let alone his future child, into the world. He wants to put his arm around Charlie, turn her around, and tell her they’ll find someone else.

But he can’t. Jackson has one midwife. And the town doctor is a 76-year-old man who “doesn’t do babies”.

The woman is dressed in a long, flowing caftan, gray hair pulled neatly into a braid down her back. She looks like a hippie but her eyes are sharp, and her tongue is sharper.

“You brought the boyfriend this time,” she says as Charlie settles on the makeshift exam bed, a chaise lounge with a sheet draped over it. Joel can’t help but notice that Charlie doesn’t bother correcting her.

“You can sit,” Joanie says to him, gesturing to the chair next to the chaise. When he doesn’t move, she throws her hands up. “Or keep hovering. Whatever.”

Joel crosses his arms and barely restrains a snarl. Charlie shoots him a look as she slides her unbuttoned jeans down to her hips.

I told you.

The woman performs a cursory physical exam in silence. It’s obvious they’ve done this routine several times, and neither seems to feel the need to explain it to Joel.

The midwife is frowning, digging into Charlie’s belly with pointed, demanding fingers, feeling around until Charlie winces. Joel clenches a fist at his side, resisting the urge to snap at the woman for being so careless and rough.

“Growth is on track. You’re measuring at sixteen weeks.”

She pulls out a speaker attached to a wand–he vaguely recognizes it from appointments with Sarah’s mother at the beginning–and a tube of gel. She covers Charlie’s lower abdomen with goop and presses the wand in, levering it this way and that, seeking the sound of a second heart. There’s a long moment where he thinks they won’t find it–that this will be the day it all goes to hell.

But then there’s a familiar but distant echo, a rapid pulse of sound, the memory coming back to him across thirty-five years and an apocalypse. It’s the sound that once filled a small room in a sterile hospital. He remembers it as a black-and-white flutter on the ultrasound screen, fast and vigorous and alive .

Mine , he thinks dimly. He sinks into the chair because his legs no longer want to hold him.

The midwife, satisfied she’s found what she’s looking for, holds the wand steady and looks at her watch. It’s the shortest fifteen seconds of Joel’s life and he doesn’t want it to end.

“One-twenty-six. You can sit up.”

Charlie does. Joel notices she doesn’t bother trying to button her jeans. He vaguely remembers Sarah’s mother needing soft, stretchy things, and wonders if Charlie has anything like that.

“Any cramping?” Joanie asks, flipping through a file.

“No.”

“Still bleeding?”

Charlie hesitates for a fraction of a second. “A little. Not every day.”

Joel’s eyes snap to her at that, but she’s not looking at him.

The midwife frowns. “Given your advanced maternal age and your history, I don’t like to hear that.”

Her sharp eyes focus on Joel. “You’re, what, sixty?”

“Fifty-seven.”

“Mmm. Sperm quality after fifty is a crapshoot,” she sighs. “You’re looking at an increased risk of genetic defects.”

Joel grips the arm of the chaise hard enough to rip it from the frame. He’s going to kill this woman.

“Look, I’ll be honest with you,” she continues. “Maternal-fetal medicine in this country was a shitshow before cordyceps, and the pandemic might as well have sent us back to the dark ages. I’ve seen one death for every five live births. Maternal survival rates are better, but only slightly.”

She’s looking at Charlie. “I can’t tell you you’re going to be okay. I can’t tell you your baby is going to be okay. I can only tell you what I think will help your chances and then…we wait and see.”

Charlie nods, her face drawn into a flat, emotionless mask as she takes this in.

“No more patrols. Light duty work only. No lifting. I can give you a doctor’s note for the council to reassign you if your regular job is too strenuous. No sex,” she says, looking pointedly at Joel. “And if the bleeding gets worse–if it’s bad enough that you need a pad–you go on bed rest immediately.”

Her eyes shift back to Joel. “Stress is a baby-killer. Your job is to take care of her and make sure there is no stress. None. If you can’t do that, you need to find someone who can.”

He grinds his teeth so hard he thinks he hears a molar crack.

“We’re done. I’ll see you next week,” she says dismissively.

And then Charlie’s off the chaise and ushering him to the door before he can open his mouth to give the woman hell and they’re stepping out into the rain. They make it to the end of the street before he stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he says, hating the way his voice shakes, recognizing the animal clawing within his chest as barely contained rage.

“I did–I warned you,” she frowns. “She’s rough.”

“No–I mean, the bleeding. You said you were fine.”

“I was. I am,” she says flatly. “You heard the heartbeat.”

“S’not what I meant and you know it,” he hisses.

Her lip curls in a snarl. “You fucked me once . You think that gives you the right to—to everything?”

He blinks. “That’s not what I said.”

“Then what are you saying?”

When he can’t answer, she turns and walks away. The sight of her retreating back hunched against the rain only serves to stoke the fire of his anger further. Her shirt is getting soaked.

Where the fuck is her jacket? She’s going to get sick.

He catches up and grabs her by the arm, turning her around and holding her in place.

“You heard her. How am I supposed to take care of you if you won’t fuckin’ let me?”

Only then does he see the tears in her eyes, rain mingling with salt on her cheeks. Guilt stabs at him and he loosens his grip.

“I don’t know,” she hisses. “I can’t just…be that person with you. I don’t fucking know you! I don’t even know your middle name, but we’re having a fucking baby. Or maybe we’re not, because our odds are shit, and I should have taken care of this when I had the chan–”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Without thinking, he pulls her to him, wrapping her in his arms until he’s holding her in the middle of the street. “Stop. Please.”

She shudders but doesn’t push him away. The sky rumbles, threatening a downpour.

He ducks his head, speaking softly. “It’s Arthur.”

She snorts into his shoulder. “What?”

“My middle name. S’Arthur. After my grandfather.”

She makes a noise that sounds like a sob…or a laugh. He can’t tell. The sound stirs a frantic need within him and he grips her by the shoulders.

“Move in with me.”

“What? No.”

“Just until the kid gets here. Let me take care of you both.”

She looks up at him, eyes ringed with dark circles. A raindrop splashes on the tip of her nose and drips into the divot above her upper lip. 

“Do you even want this? I need to hear you say it.”

Any lingering anger melts away. He thinks of the soft yellow onesie still tucked into the bottom of his pack.

“I do,” he says, hoping the two little words are enough to hold her, to convince her.

She ducks her head with a watery sigh, close enough for her hair to brush at his chest. “Let me think about it.”

He nods. “Alright, but…not too long, okay? You’re, uh…”

He trails off as the back of his hand touches her stomach, just grazing the fabric over her bellybutton, before dropping back to his side.

She sniffs. “Yeah. I’m well aware we’re on a schedule.”

“Okay…okay then,” he nods, resuming their walk toward town. They’ve almost reached the trading post when she speaks again.

“It’s Sarah, by the way.”

The name takes his breath as it always does, pulls at that black hole in his heart that even Ellie can’t completely fill.

“I don’t under–”

“My middle name,” she sniffs. “You didn’t ask, but…it’s Sarah.”

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, just ducks his chin in a nod. Sarah. Of course it’s Sarah.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get out of the rain.”

That night, she appears on his porch. The rain has let up, but her hair is still damp, matted to her temples. 

“I’ll stay with you,” she says without preamble. “Under one condition.”

He blinks. “Anything.”

“We don’t talk about the kid. No names, no what-ifs…no…playing house. I can’t do any of that,” she says. “We take it one day at a time and…see what happens.”

“If that’s what you want,” he says, swallowing hard.

She nods, satisfied. “Alright. I can bring some stuff by tomorrow.”

“Good. That’d be good. But I uh, need to tell Ellie,” he pauses, thinking. “Can I make dinner for you? For the three of us, I mean?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Not playin’ house or whatever,” he clarifies, feeling a blush creep up his neck. “Just…figured the news might go down better with food.”

She nods slowly. “I could do that.”

“You like spaghetti? S’Ellie’s favorite and it’s hard for me to fuck it up.”

“I like spaghetti,” she says, smiling a little. “I get off work at six.”

“Tomorrow,” he says. “Six. See you then.”

That night, instead of staring at the ceiling during his usual sleepless hours, he moves most of his clothes into the spare bedroom closet and cleans his stuff out of the attached bathroom.

As he works, he thinks of Charlie’s unbuttoned jeans straining around her womb and the climbing summer temperatures. Soon there would be no hiding her stomach under a jacket or sweater.

Jackson was friendly, but it was still a small town. People got bored and they talked, and anyone who paid attention would have seen Charlie and Joel together. There were already enough rumors about Tommy Miller’s broody older brother and his mysterious adopted daughter, the one who wore long sleeves even on the hottest days and carried a switchblade.

Ellie.

Another pang of guilt gnaws in his gut. He’d done enough damage to their relationship as it was, and now he’s about to drop a fucking bomb.

He finds himself knocking on the garage door the next morning, hands rubbing restlessly at the thighs of his jeans as he waits for her to answer. He realizes it’s been a few days since he’s talked with her beyond a simple “hello” in passing, or to pass the salt at dinner, or to ask where she’d put the TV remote. He chides himself; Ellie is independent by nature, but she’s still a kid, still his responsibility. She’s never going to trust him again if–

She answers the door, rubbing her eyes and blinking owlishly up at him. She looks so young when she first wakes up, hair tousled, sleep lines on her cheeks.

“Hey, I uh…we’re, uh…having dinner at the house tonight. Makin’ your favorite. Spaghetti.”

She raises an eyebrow. Joel doesn’t usually cook if he can help it; the caf is easier and less prone to burning things. “What’s the occasion?”

He swallows hard. “There’s somethin’ I need to talk to you about. And…Charlie will be there.”

“Ooooo-kay,” she yawns. “Love a good third wheel situation, I guess.”

“S’not like that,” he shakes his head. “She’s just a friend.”

“Yeah, I bet,” she smirks, then sighs dramatically. “I guess I can make room in my packed social calendar for dinner. As long as it’s spaghetti. Maria’s sauce, right? ‘Cause yours is…yikes.”

She sticks her tongue out to drive the point home.

He snorts softly. “Yeah. Maria’s sauce. And garlic bread.”

“Cool.”

He nods, and the moment draws itself out, that awful, awkward, twisting silence filled with all the things he can’t say.

“So…was there something else?” she asks. “I gotta get ready for school.”

“No…nope,” he mutters. “I guess not. I’ll see you tonight, kiddo.”

He doesn’t quite burn the garlic bread, but it’s pretty fucking dark. He’s scraping the crumbs into the sink when Charlie appears at the door with a salad in hand and a backpack slung over her shoulder. She’s wearing an oversized blue button-down over soft black leggings. For comfort’s sake, he hopes the jeans have been retired for a while.

“Thanks,” he says, taking the bag, frowning at its weight. “You’re not s’posed to be lifting stuff.”

“I can handle a bag of clothes.”

He grunts, gestures to the salad. “You can put that on the table. Ellie’ll be over in a few.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“You can sit,” he says, perhaps too gruffly, placing her pack by the stairs. On the stove, the reheated marinara starts to bubble, spitting red flecks. He rushes to take it off the heat.

Ellie arrives just as Joel is setting the last bowl on the table. She nods in a wary greeting to Charlie, then helps herself to spaghetti and salad and bread.

“So what’s up?” she asks around a mouthful of food, forgoing any small talk—his kid, through and through.

Joel swallows hard, looks at Charlie, who simply shrugs as if to say this is your show .

He opens his mouth but the words are stubborn and nothing seems right.

You’re going to be a big sister.

Your old man is going to be a dad again.

I fucked up and we’re having a baby.

He’d never had to worry about this with Sarah. On the rare occasion a date went further than dinner, he’d been cautious to a fault. He’d been considering a vasectomy before the pandemic but time and savings were sparse. He probably could have had the procedure done back in the QZ, but Tess had been his only partner, and she’d had a hysterectomy in her thirties. An operation that would put him out of commission for any length of time seemed like an unnecessary waste of ration cards.

He realizes he’s lost in thought, and they’re both watching him, still waiting.

“So, uh…Charlie’s gonna move in with me for a bit,” he says. “I’m givin’ her my room, and I’ll take your old one…if that’s okay.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. “You two aren’t… together ?”

“No,” Joel mutters, meeting Charlie’s eyes across the table. “S’temporary. She just needs a place for a bit.”

“Weird, but…fine with me,” Ellie shrugs, then turns to Charlie. “Joel’s good at taking in strays, it’s kinda his thing. Case in point.”

Charlie smiles a little at this, takes a sip of her water.

“She’s, uh, gonna have a baby,” Joel continues, focused on his plate, pushing the food around.

“Oh shit, congrats!” Ellie grins at Charlie, then looks back at Joel. He can’t meet her eyes.

There’s a heavy silence. Joel grips his fork until the design in the handle makes an imprint in his palm. He waits for Ellie to do what she does so well, to pick up the hints, put the pieces together, and say the things he can’t.

“Wait,” Ellie says, looking back and forth between them, mouth dropping open in a scandalized O .

“You didn’t—”

She coughs then, choking on a mouthful of food, and fumbles frantically for her water glass.

“Joel,” she says when she can speak again. “Tell me you didn’t.”

All he can offer is a tiny shrug.

“Holy shit ,” she breathes, fork clattering to her plate. “You slut !”

Not for the first time, Joel wishes she had a proper full name–Elspeth, Eleanor, Elizabeth, Eliza–anything that, combined with a solid middle name, made for a convincing and forceful reprimand.

“Sarah Elizabeth Miller” was always effective when his first kid was being a little shit, even if he rarely had to use it.

As it is, he can only growl Ellie’s short-and-sweet name under his breath and watch it roll right off her back. She doesn’t miss a beat.

“Wow, I can’t…I mean, you just said you weren’t even together –”

“We’re not,” he grates out. “It was a…a one-time thing.”

His face is so hot, he can practically feel the vein throbbing at his temple. He wonders if his second kid will give him a fucking aneurysm before his third kid can even be born.

“Thanks for that, now I need to bleach my fucking brain,” she says. “Gross. So, so gross. Dude, you’re like, sixty .”

“I’m fifty-seven,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, so really fucking old . Do you not know how babies are made ? FEDRA school was shit but even they taught us how to put on a fucking condom—”

“Ellie, we didn’t—“

“Don’t, dude. Just stop. You’re really fucked up, you know that? Like, I know I have issues, but this is fuckin’—”

She’s interrupted by a muffled snort from the other side of the table. Charlie has clapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes are brimming with tears. She’s going to fucking cry because his kid is an asshole and he is an even bigger asshole and this has gone all fifteen kinds of wrong.

Joel would like to die, right now, face down in a plate of spaghetti with his face the color of marinara—anything to end this godawful conversation.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie gasps, and it dawns on him that she’s not crying at all–she’s struggling not to laugh. “I’m so sorry. It’s just, I haven’t–this is just–holy shit .”

She breaks out into a peal of giggles, leaving both Joel and Ellie in stunned silence.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, heaving and hiccuping as she tries to catch her breath. “Everything has been so awful and serious and…this is just so…so…fucking funny –”

Ellie blinks, looking back and forth between Joel and Charlie in wide-eyed amazement.

Something in Joel’s chest unfurls from its tight, anxious knot, and when he meets Charlie’s eyes, he can’t help but return her grin.

“You two are fucked ,” Ellie pronounces, but there’s a slow smile spreading across her face.

“We are,” Joel agrees. “We’re fucked.”

“Totally fucked,” Charlie agrees, then giggles again.

Ellie shakes her head in disbelief, digging back into her spaghetti. “Welcome to the fucking family, I guess.”

Joel shows up for work the next day feeling lighter than he has in weeks. He’d finally slept . Ellie, while completely disgusted, hadn’t disowned him; she’d even hugged him before returning to the garage. And Charlie had made herself at home, joining him on the couch to watch a movie after dinner.

Maybe this could fucking work.

His newfound peace lasts about as long as it takes for Tommy to find him and clap him on the shoulder.

“What’s this I hear about you takin’ in strays?”

Joel scowls, picking up an extension cord and trying to untangle it from a pile of the things. “Don’t believe everythin’ you hear.”

“So Charlie isn’t shackin’ up with you, then?”

“S’not like that. It’s temporary.”

“Uh-huh.”

He shoots his brother a look over his shoulder, weighing his options. The rumor mill isn’t churning as fast as he thought or Tommy would be all over it by now. He rolls his eyes, knowing what comes next will be just about as bearable as a tooth extraction, aware he can’t put it off any longer.

“She’s gonna have a kid.”

“Right,” Tommy snorts. “Your kid?”

Joel turns and holds his brother’s gaze.

“Holy shit,” Tommy breathes. “You’re serious?”

“You’re gonna be an uncle again,” Joel says dryly.

Tommy whistles. “Well, don’t that just beat all. How the hell–”

“The usual way,” Joel grumbles, turning back to his work. “Can we not do this here?”

But Tommy has never been easily deterred. He practically launches himself at his brother for a bone-crushing hug while half the work crew looks on, bemused.

“Christ, get offa me.”

Tommy doesn’t. When he finally pulls away, grinning and gripping Joel’s shoulders, he’s almost teary-eyed.

“Maria’s gonna be thrilled.”

“I doubt it,” Joel mutters, thinking he’s already not held in high esteem by his sister-in-law. Knocking up a girl twenty years his junior is hardly going to redeem him.

“Does Ellie know?”

“Yeah, we told her last night. She’s…about as excited as you’d expect.”

“Damn. I can’t—I mean, I always thought—after—“

Tommy sobers, and the word lingers heavy between them.

After .

“I know,” Joel says, realizing with a dull ache that his brother is the only other person alive who understands the gravity of the situation…the only one who knew Sarah as more than a sad story in their history.

Joel closes his eyes and sees his brother at twenty, Sarah’s tiny arms wrapped around his neck as she clings to his back, laughing wildly as he dives through the sprinklers on the front lawn.

He blinks the memory away, busies himself with the extension cord again. He doesn’t even remember what he wanted it for, but he needs to do something with his hands.

“But it’s good, right? This is good,” Tommy says, finally breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” Joel swallows hard. “It’s good.”

Tommy grins, then frowns just as quickly. “Oh, man. The midwife–”

“Yeah, she’s awful.”

“Maria damn near killed her when Izzy was born.”

“‘Bout ready to myself,” Joel mutters.

“And…you and Charlie ain’t…?”

Joel glares at him in answer. 

“Alright, brother. Damn, man. A kid…and at your age…”

Tommy laughs and ducks just in time to avoid the extension cord as it whips by his head.

[starrixle]

simpbur headcanon dump ♡

a bunch of random headcanons for simpbur that i thought of !! (all under the cut because there is a lot...)

his birthday is december 11 and his height is 5'4 (this is actually canon but im including it anyways)

he goes by he/they/she (in order of preference). he's genderfluid, but more masc aligned. he is also bisexual and horribly closeted (the closet is as clear as glass)

he is neurodivergent, he also suffers from lots of anxiety. he is very anti-social

he and liliana (the e-girl) were both just not great for each other. it was not just simp being toxic to the e girl, but she was toxic to him as well to a certain extent. she isnt a bad person, and neither was simpbur, they were just a pair that wouldnt work out

part of the reason why simpbur is so insecure abt himself is bc liliana tends to be a judgemental person. she has standards that simp didnt meet, and that made him go into the mindset of changing himself to suit what she liked. however, this failed and they ended up breaking things off instead

his breakup with liliana destroyed simpbur's mental health, especially with him being a very fragile person to begin with. this is where his obsession began due to still having a very strong attachment with what he once had with her, along with having extreme jealousy over the thought of her being successful in life with someone other than him

his favorite vape flavor is bubblegum. he would smoke cigarettes, but he doesn't like the smell, and he just prefers vapes

he is horrible with being responsible with his money. even though he struggles to pay rent and works a minimum wage job, he usually spends his money on games and anime stuff

types with stuff like uwu, owo, :3, :<, XD, ^_^, (*≧з≦), etc.

used to live with his mom, but now he lives in a tiny apartment on his own. it's not very well kept or clean, and he often just throws his junk around everywhere since he never has the energy to clean the place up. the only place he bothers (kinda) decorating is his bedroom

cries over small things easily, like when he gets a paper cut, stubs his toe, when his food order is wrong, etc.

can't handle spicy foods whatsoever

he has a shoe box full of random stuff he stole from liliana, such as pens she used, her clothes, trash, hair, etc.

kicks ass at competitive games, such as first person shooter games. he is a chronically online gamer and he lowkey acts toxic sometimes while gaming

he sometimes just goes "gg :3" in the chat whenever he manages to dominate the game. he doesnt like using vc bc he doesnt really like his voice, so he usually sticks to typing, esp bc hes a pretty fast typer (100+ wpm)

he collects a ton of anime figures. usually leaves things in their packaging. he cringed whenever liliana took them out of the packaging, since she didn't understand why he left them in the box instead of taking them out

he blasts music at full volume, especially while gaming. he listens to a lot of vocaloid, breakcore, krushclub, hyperpop, indie rock, etc.

his diet consists of fast food, take out, ramen, microwaved food, soda, snacks, anything that's unhealthy

he usually hides his figure with thick, oversized clothing

he doesn't usually express his style much outside in public, but he likes experimenting a lot with outfits at home, especially ones that aren't typically masculine

he's secretly a furry and has a fursona. he usually acts as if he thinks furries or cringe, but he would have anon alt accounts where he'd look at furries online and talk about how cute they are

his feelings towards his body changes depending on his mood. although he doesn't completely mind being assigned amab, he does wish he looked more feminine, or at the very least androgynous

at a certain point in his life, he denied his femininity and attempted to retain a super masculine appearance and personality. it didn't make him happy, instead it made him more insecure

coming to terms with being not cishet was extremely difficult. he was in denial that he was bisexual, and even more in denial he wasn't a cisgender man. altho he's grown to slowly be more comfortable with his identity, he's still struggling to accept himself

he switches from being masculine and feminine a lot. other times he simply just does not want to be perceived and would avoid people

he loves the idea of romance and intimacy, but the actual act of doing romantic/intimate things freaks him out. he craves for love, but he's terrified to act on it, especially with his last relationship with liliana failing

he posts rants/vents about his thoughts anonymously online on places like reddit

he grew to be good at stalking, even learning strategies to keep himself hidden or quiet, along with learning how to unlock windows or doors. he thought he was insane for doing it at first, but he's grown more used to it being a routine

his eyes are actually dark brown. i just draw them pink because it's just an artistic choice i like in his design

he has sharp canine teeth

he says "im gonna kms :3" and makes all kinds of self-deprecating jokes very often

he often writes random songs in his diary and sings to himself/plays guitar in his room. it's very comforting for him, as its a form of coping

even tho he dislikes his voice, he's very good at singing (insert the entirety of the e-girl trilogy here)

if i ever come up with more headcanons i will make another post as a part 2 !! this guy is constantly living rent free in my mind 24/7 i am so perfectly sane about simpbur i swear. completely. 100%. *eye twitching*

[bonefall]

are there any bb!cats with schizophrenia or that regularly experience psychosis? people absolutely suck about mental illness so like. seeing characters like me going thru life and being treated like people and not monsters for something out of their control never fails to put a smile on my face! thank you for all the research and effort you put into making sure your disabled cats are not only believable but human. pd: cinderheart with bpd is an extremely based headcanon

Not yet but it's on my radar, plus NPD. The reason why I feel so unflappably confident with BPD is because I know and love people who have it, and I hate that I don't see any characters who are like them! So I feel like I'm really good at handling it, and knowing what's wanted in portrayals of it. It feels very personally important to me.

Pair that with the fact I write BB!Clans as canonically struggling with ableism and all these being so heavily stigmatized irl, I've gotta be REALLY careful with NPD and psychosis. I'm less connected to them so personally and I don't want to accidentally strike a nerve, you get me?

That said... I got an ask a while back that I'd been thinking about a lot, basically asking me about how Clan Culture would see psychosis in the first place. I've actually always been fascinated by how deeply schizophrenia is affected by the culture of the afflicted, so I've been idly thinking about that for a while without sharing those thoughts.

OH WAIT hangon let me explain some stuff about Schizophrenia and psychosis for people in the audience!!

Schizophrenia used to be diagnosed in subtypes before 2013. This is no longer accurate! A lot like Autism, it's a spectrum of symptoms that affect people differently. It's a cognitive disorder that messes with rational and organized thinking, and that can express in all sorts of ways.

One of the symptoms is hallucinations. It's The Famous symptom of it, but it's not actually something you NEED to have to be Schizophrenic. Not all people who are having hallucinations or delusions are Schizophrenic, either! I want to include an OCD character of some kind who experiences some mild auditory hallucinations, actually. The type where it's just random mumbling.

Delusions and hallucinations aren't the same thing Delusions are false beliefs and hallucinations are false experiences. An example of a delusion is, "If I don't click my pen three times, my family will die." An example of a hallucination is hearing voices.

PEOPLE WITH PSYCHOSIS ARE FAR MORE LIKELY TO BE THE VICTIMS OF VIOLENCE THAN TO COMMIT IT Feel like this is common knowledge in this space, and especially within my own following since I make a lot of art about mental illness and awareness, but it's always worth repeating.

So anyway

If you compare psychosis between cultures, you actually end up seeing VERY different expressions of the hallucinations. For example, in some cultures, voice hallucinations tend to say things that are negative or abusive, while other cultures hear significantly more positive, playful voices.

This doesn't mean that they're always less distressing. For example, the study above points out that Nigerian students (reported to hear lots of playful hallucinations) experience as much distress as Dutch students (tend to experience negative, abusive voices) during their psychotic episodes.

Still, there does seem to be a correlation with "less distress" and cultures that encourage psychotic people to see their hallucinations as positive, personal things. Even more interestingly, distress seems to be correlated with income and individualism in a culture.

But it doesn't stop there, the findings are fascinating.

Delusions of grandeur are rare in societies that discourage that sort of social mobility, reflecting social values.

Cultures that believe religious experiences are specific experiences-- like certain smells, temperatures, or sounds, will see those reflected in psychotic episodes

Yet, "voices" seem to be something seen across ALL cultures studied. Though some have more prevalence of random sounds and mumbling than others, they all share some expression of "voices that say stuff."

SO all that to say-- if I include psychosis it's definitely going to be trying to take the culture of each Clan into account, and I need to do a lot more research into what sorts of things people with schizophrenia and various types of psychosis want to see more often.

[ay0nha]

I am on my knees begging for CRUMBS

you disappear and come back with vengeance

please give me crumbs

anything

drafts, WIP, old stuff, anything

I need crumbs

SUMMARY: There were reasons habits quickly morphed into vices, something immoral and wicked. Yet, you were lethal, the definition of torment. Your silhouette alone was enough to send Buggy spiraling.  

PAIRING: OPLA!Buggy x f!reader (smuggler)

WORD COUNT: ~500

WARNINGS: hurt Buggy subconsciously seeking out reader for help, canon-typical things, mentions of blood/injury, smoking, sarcasm, two idiots in love, mutual pining that's ignored, slow burn, etc.

A/N: LMAOOO this made me SNORT. Any writer knows apart of the process is disappearing for a chunk and coming back thinking your WIPs write themselves lol. So you don't starve lol, below the cut I'll add what I'm currently working on! Be gentle, she's still forming up plot wise but based of a request for Buggy (OPLA)

FULL THING OUT NOW. FIND HERE.

There were reasons habits quickly morphed into vices, something immoral and wicked. Yet, you were lethal, the definition of torment. Your silhouette alone was enough to send Buggy spiraling. 

Each step toward you felt unreliable and fuzzy, making Buggy question if he reattached his limbs correctly. His gut felt twisted with a foreign feeling that he wanted to trap away. He wondered if he buried the feeling deep enough if it would turn to treasure or become forgotten rot. 

“Buggy.” Your voice even irritated him. Yet, he found relief in finding you alone. “Third time this month. Careful…I’m starting to get a big head.”

“That sounds like a medical problem…” He mumbled with little enthusiasm and a half-hearted smirk, “...should probably get seen for that.”

“Admitting you care, eh?” You teased. You were preoccupied, cigarette dangling from your lip and bobbing with every word. “What can I help you with?”

The receipts tended to be formidable, but you couldn't help but feel your concentration falter when you were met with uncharacteristic silence.  Typically, you were shy of whiplash from an unwarranted insult or backhanded compliment. However, once your eyes landed on Buggy, you only saw deep anger veiling desperation. 

 “How serious is it?” Your pen was settled beside the book, whatever records you were once concerned with dismissed.  Buggy looked awful—his posture gave away his exhaustion and discomfort.

“What? Can’t we skip the part where I say ‘the other guy looks worse’?” His busted lip ticked with dry humor. There were rumors he was in trouble, but that paled compared to the truth you knew about Buggy. 

“Depends.” You frowned. “That other guy isn’t stopping by, is he?” If it were true, you’d have to lay low, something you never had time for. “This is why I don’t like your kind.”

“My kind?” Buggy continued unamused. You weren’t more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing to him. You were a smuggler. Plain and simple. It was impossible for something to stay hidden from you for long.  “You’re not far off, sweetheart.”

His terms of endearment never held affection, but he seemed to soften this time for some reason—almost pleading between the lines. You held a trained expression, taking a moment of consideration. 

Your typical jobs with him were small. Typically, they consisted of information that he could coax out of you for trinkets. He brought the world to you. Other times, you moved things through the shadows to an even darker location. 

This was different, you decided. 

Stalking toward the clown, you saw how the pain mapped on his body.  “You look awful.” 

The jester’s bow was fueled by pained sarcasm. Although his abilities helped, Buggy's flesh was still pliable. His jaw was a deep-set purple, contrasting the faded red of his cracked lips. It was hard to distinguish what was paint and what was blood. His eyes were bloodshot with broken blood vessels, and there were gashes littering every place imaginable. 

You were surprised he was still standing. You noted how his breath became labored, as if holding onto what he could before he collapsed entirely. But looking between his eyes, you saw the struggle he had deciding what was worth his final breath: business or pleasure. 

[sl-vega]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT

Pairing: Karasu Tabito x [FEM!] Reader

Genre: fluff, classmates to lovers, puppy love, canon compliant, pre-bluelock, drabble/oneshot

Synopsis: Karasu likes you, like really, really likes you. Yet he can never muster the courage to actually ask you out. So when he accidentally convinces you that he's struggling in Chemistry, he takes advantage of the situation and has you tutor him.

CW: ooc karasu (?)

Karasu stared at the clock from his desk.

2 more minutes

2 more minutes until class was over, 2 more minutes until he got to see you.

Karasu had liked you for a while. You'd caught his eye during orientation and he had a habit of always bumping into you, despite being in different classes.

He would've asked you out by now. But for some reason, he couldn't. He'd made many attempts, but he'd always chicken out last minute.

So what made this time different?

Well you see, he didn't actually ask you out. He made an off handed joke about sucking at chemistry (completely false), but you didn't pick up on the joke so you offered to tutor him.

And who was he to say no to you? He'd finally get some alone time with you. Sure, it wasn't a date-date but there was some progress being made.

Even though it was built on a lie.

Karasu heard the bell ring. The second the teacher finished with the lesson he sprinted out the door. He checked his phone.

♡ {L/N} ♡ (sent 2:55 pm)

I'm at the library rn, right by the fantasy section

He smiled, and placed the device back into his pocket. He made his way to the library, the second he entered the room, his eyes scanned the room for you.

Across the room, his eyes met yours and you waved at him, beaming.

How were you so good making his heart flutter?

He made his way over to you. Placing his bag on the floor. He pulled out his seat and sat down. You pulled some books out of your bag and set them out for him.

"So what part troubles you the most?" You asked, tapping your pen on the desk. It was pink, with a fluffy pom-pom attached to the cap.

"Karasu?" you asked again, making eye contact with him. He stopped day dreaming and flipped to a random page in one of the textbooks you handed to him.

"Uh, this." He said, playing dumb, he pointed to some random question.

You moved your seat closer to him. Your shoulders brushed against his. Karasu's heart skipped a beat.

As cliche as it sounded, you always gave him butterflies. Your laugh, your smile, everything about you drove him absolutely crazy.

You were pointing out to some things in the book in front of you, and you made some notes while explaining something to him. He didn't pay it any mind, he focused more on your voice than what you were actually saying.

Cute

"Does that make sense?" You asked, looking up at him. He nodded. You handed him your pen. "Give it a try." You slid over a worksheet to him.

He answered all the questions effortlessly, and you looked at him, mouth agape. "You're such a fast learner!" You exclaimed.

Adorable

"Is that all you needed help with? 'Cuz it seems like you have the hang of this-"

Karasu quickly flipped the text book to another page. "I actually need some help with this." He said, quickly.

Don't leave just yet

He silently pleaded in his mind. You smiled and moved closer to him again, explaining some things and showing him your notes.

This process repeated for hours on end. You'd be surprised that he learned so quickly, and Karasu would find another thing that he "struggled" with.

Soon, the two of you found yourselves talking about things unrelated to school work, and Karasu finally got to know you.

Minutes turned into hours, and you glanced at your phone for the first time that evening and gasped at the time.

"It's getting late we should probably get going."

Karasu siged. All good things have to come to an end.

"I had fun though. We should do this again." You told him, beaming.

You packed your stuff into your backpack and made your way to the library exit.

"Karasu?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to play dumb if you wanna ask me out. I'd be glad to go on an actual date with you."

You smiled at him before leaving the room, a few minutes later, he heard his phone buzz.

♡ {L/N} ♡ (sent 6:51 pm)

And if you're gonna pretend to need my help, choose something that you aren't super great in <3

[azsazz]

To My Heart

Knox x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Oh my gosh Knox is so adorable he has my heart and the head canon that he writes letters to his mate makes my heart melt

Warnings: None

Word Count: 759

Notes: You guys he’s just so cute 😭

_________________________________________

Knox sighs, head propped on curled fists as he watches the night sky. He’s leaned across the deep stone of his balcony, and as much as seeing the smattering of stars and the bright moon hanging high above him calms the male, he’s buzzing with nerves.

He’s tired, beyond so but he can’t sleep, and won’t until she writes him back.

His mate. The word still makes his heart rush in his chest, and he curls his fingers around the pen he’d been playing with to expel his nervous energy. His book sits open and abandoned on the lounger behind him, sketchbook tossed to the side in frustration because he couldn’t get the curve of her lips just right. Loose papers ruffle in the wind from where they’re pinned under the weight of his supplies, a gentle flutter that reflects the pounding of his heart.

Gods, he must be crazy, he thinks, pushing himself away from the overhang. Knox paces the short distance, stretching his wings as if that might stave off some of the nervous energy zipping through his body. She could be asleep, and for a fleeting moment he thinks he might just run and jump off the balcony to find out for himself. He doesn’t want to scare her away when she hardly knows the truth.

But he’d felt her amusement ringing down the bond as he read his letter. Or he assumed she was reading his letter. She could be doing several things instead; baking those treats she seems to like or maybe she’s also reading, lost in the adventures of her novel, not noticing the letter delivered on a bed of darkness.

His hands have a tremor to them, and he stuffs them into his pockets instead, rolling his eyes when his twin’s voice rings through his mind.

What are you doing? Go to sleep.

I can’t, he sends back, trying not to sound defeated. He doesn’t have an excuse, can’t think of one because he truly is bone tired after the day he’s had, training with his father and uncles this morning until noon before he’d been dragged out with Baz for drinks by the Sidra. That, had turned into his older brother stark naked in the cold waters, flirting with a wraith whose red, hot cheeks could’ve boiled the river dry.

Well, all that thinking is bothering me, she responds, and Knox knows his sister is scowling. It makes his lips twitch into a smile, her banter helping to distract him. And some of us need our beauty sleep.

He snorts. I didn’t know my twin was replaced with Zuz. Tell me sister, no midnight rendezvous? He knows she’s been sneaking out just as much as he has lately, and even though his shadows are shared with his sister and he can talk into her mind, even he doesn’t know where she slinks off to in the late hours of the night.

Not tonight, Malos yawns lazily and he cringes because he hates when she does that in his mind. Now fuck off and go to bed.

Love you too, Mal, Knox says, rolling his eyes once more as he feels the strong, steel shield of her mind slides back into place.

And then Knox is pacing again. Maybe he should go for a fly, the open air always makes him feel better. But if she does write him back then he might miss it and that’s the last thing he wants.

His attention is drawn to a whisper of darkness drifting across the night sky like its own cloud of black. It shrouds the moon as it passes and his heart jumps once, twice. Knox all but snatches the neatly folded paper from the grasp of night. He takes a deep breath and can smell her on it. It makes him shiver, like she’s right there with him, the scent of stardust and sugar invading his senses.

The flourish of her writing makes his heart ache. How delicate the curves of her letters are, how light, so the ink doesn’t seep through the paper, the thought she’d gone through to make it look so perfect for him. He traces the letters of his name idly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he stares, heart calm in his chest as he fingers over the shape of the heart, hastily drawn and still wet, as if she drew it and sent it off before she could change her mind.

Knox takes a deep breath and opens the letter.

[solunstell]

List of bsd headcanons

Dazai:

Has bpd. A lot of his traits remind me of my friends with it

He some kind of trans. Nonbinary. Transfem. Transmasc. Idk he's megender lmao

He's described as appearing very youthful in the first two light novels. I imagine that once the events of the main timeline start picking up though, with all the time stopping or slowing abilities that *dont affect him*, he actually ages faster than the other characters. I draw current dazai with small wrinkles, which also hints at stress and stuff

Also, I imagine current dazai getting tanner as he works in the light, as well as getting more prominent freckles.

Round/doe eyes because that is part of his appearance in my opinion. Seeming unsuspecting and innocent, especially during his mafia days

Bad eyesight in his right eye from being under the bandages for so long. Saw this headcanon and loved it

Similarly, beastzai has bad vision in general

I always call No Longer Human an anti-ability in my head, fun fact

He loves to touch other people. Not a fan of being touched by others unless asked

I draw him with red eyes in color, and usually black eyes in ink (inconsistent artstyle my beloved)

Aroace spectrum

heavy sleeper. Very

Chuuya

FRECKLES and tan from sheep days

He likes to be close to other people more than actually touching. Presence over contact

That shade of eyes that changes colors in the light (but I use a grey base lol)

Also some sort of trans, but in a different way than dazai

Brownish red hair. Not blazing, not just brown

That man is AUTISTIC

One time instinctively kicked a friend with his ability active, expecting them to dodge cuz he's used to dazai easily dodging. They did, but they were SO CLOSE to getting hit. Imagine a confused face like wtf why you try to kick me

Light sleeper, but every now and then sleeps like he just learned how to close his eyes

A lot of his jokes go over people's heads because they expect him to be serious and his voice just doesn't change between serious and not serious

Ranpo

Autism plus adhd ftw

Aroace spectrum

Poe

He/they vibes

Anxiety

Gay af

I can 100% see him being into knitting. Imagine the guide plus ranpo all in matching sweaters

Loves baking. Sooooo bad at it

Lucy

Bi (with a lean towards girlies) she/it

VERY good at baking

But she won't share :(

Atsushi

Anxiety, so much anxiety

Aroace spectrum vibes

Very easily idolizes people and then gets surprised when they actually like being around him

Akutagawa

Aroace spectrum

Autism cuz he is so mecore sometimes

Very trans vibes from me

(I like to imagine him having tourettes cuz I have tourettes and I am Not projecting)

Atsushi (special kitty hearing) and jouno being the only ones who can hear some of his tics. He will be horrified that anyone notices them

Wait no actually I'm gonna incorporate that into my belief system. That's canon now

Mori

Genuinely cares about a lot of his workers, but not all of them

He gives great bonuses for birthdays

He absolutely loves vtubers if bsd were in a modern setting. Rip mori. He'd have also loved vocaloid lmao

Ozaki

Masc energy. Fem energy. Ooh I can see ozaki with any pronouns and identity

Kinda person to accidently either overpack or underpack. Always has painkillers, never has a pen

Ridiculous memory. Incredible gift giver. Would get someone something months or years after overhearing them say they wanted something once

"Whyd you get me a hairdryer?"

"You said you needed one. I saw it and thought of you."

"...that was months ago. I got a hairdryer already."

"..." *takes hairdryer back* "sorry wrong person. I don't have my contacts in my bad"

She has perfect vision

Kunikida

Trans vibes. In any and every direction

Adhd af

Will always conveniently have room in his schedule when Aya wants to go do something and needs someone to go with her. No, he's TOTALLY not frantically writing and erasing things, get your glasses updated

You can usually count on him to continue the bit cuz he won't realize there is a bit occurring

[liannelara-dracula]

Hi, can we have the diaboy's handwriting?

Hi Love,

Totally, this sounds so cool. For more explanation of if cursive is old or not you can refer to the comments.☺️😊

-Liannelara

P.S. For fun here is admins hand writing

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Prompt

Requests are open

Rules

Warning:

*certain words have been/may be censored for Tumblr guidelines.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The Diaboys Handwriting hcs

Sakamaki

Shu

Fancy and kinda dark academia aesthetic but is definitely not readable to most of us.

It's in cursive of course cause he's archaic.

And he's pretty lazy, he like barely holds his pen.

He mostly writes in Latin that way none of his brothers understand but sometimes he writes in his demon language.

Although with all the tech now he literally does the voice audio type or anything he needs to write down.

It's so rare to see this lazy ass with a pencil in his hand lol.

Reiji

Its crazy but in cursive it is beautiful, like great penmanship.

But in print, Reiji shows a completely different side of himself.

He never writes in print because he finds that people may think he's vulnerable.

Reiji only writes his most personal thoughts in print and its because he never shares with anyone and can't be himself except for on paper.

So only sadness and angry are written in print.

It is canon that he once held a diary when he was younger so it wouldn't be surprising if he writes his feelings in print. I mean he's stressed.

If he had a lover he writes in print because he wants her to know this side.

Cursive is what he uses when he's doing chemistry or a grocery list.

Laito

The left is how he writes in his demon language its more secretive and mysterious. He hardly uses it tbh.

The writing on the right is usual, normal print/cursive writing.

It's not super fancy or plain.

It is plain but with a little flare.

His writing is pretty neat and clean.

Although he doesn't write a lot he does like to write about his sexual escapades.

Kanato

He alternates between the two.

The left is when he is more focused and maybe upset. But not mad.

If he was mad, he'd write everything in caps.

Although the right is when he is calm since it's cursive.

He uses both interchangeably tho.

What's actually nice about his handwriting is not that it's simple or because it's bold or small. It's what Kanato writes.

I seriously think he writes poems and he is really good at it.

I mean any girl could fall in love with how this man writes, especially if he writes about you.

And he has such a nice voice when he talks about his lover/love interest.

Ayato

It's a mess, he prefers to type.

He makes spelling and grammar mistakes all the time but he uses a pen.

He literally cannot read his writing sometimes and asks Reiji if he knows and his brother just gets really mad at him.

He crosses out so much stuff.

And he writes in any spot.

He doesn't stay on the line, the letters are everywhere.

It's super plain and he never writes in cursive because he literally does know what is the top or bottom of the paper after writing it.

Subaru

Very messy and always in ink.

There are so many scribbles and ink smudges.

He always writes in print because his cursive is unreadable.

He doesn't stay on the lines, his writing moves up and down.

It's very careless and free.

He writes very big.

And has a hard time reading his handwriting sometimes.

Kino

Different and kinda neat but has a lot of crossed-out parts.

Sometimes capitalizes things for no reason.

He can write in cursive but wouldn't choose to.

Although his writing style is unique considering the font.

He is also part of the ink-only squad.

He also likes to abbreviate a lot of stuff.

Is able to keep his writing in a steady line for the most part.

Mukami

Ruki

If he's presenting it's neat, if its for his own things its sloppier.

But still, no soul has ever been able to read it.

He does it on purpose.

Kou has always wondered what it says but he's never been able to tell if it's even in English or in the demon language. Like he has no clue.

Ruki does this in case something thinks about snooping.

He probably does write in his free time, and honestly, he writes a lot. I bet he has so many journals that are filled over the years about his life as a vampire.

So it's hundreds of years of the world all in these books of his.

It's honestly fascinating but no one can read them.

Though if he had a lover he may open up to them about it and share what is in there.

But he might be a tease and lie about what's in there to get her to laugh and throw a pillow at her.

Kou

Okay now although the content at the end of this letter (left) is yandere that's not the point.

I seriously feel he writes in a bunch of fonts and caps/lowercase just cause he's everywhere.

And this is usually how he writes to his fans because they think it "cute"

The right shows his usual handwriting tbh.

It takes a second or two to understand.

But it's not too bad.

He hardly uses his handwriting for anything tho.

Puts hearts on "I"s

Yuma

Messy, always messy.

He is just so sloppy.

You'd think that because he has good hands in a garden he'd have nice handwriting, but you're wrong.

He connects letters with each other, and he has spaces, eraser smudges, and even crossed-out words.

Although his paper is not clean and you can read the writing, well for the most part.

He does have a nice signature though.

Azusa

He has really neat handwriting.

Like it's easy to read, it's neat, and it's not super big.

But there's only one problem.

His papers are always ripped or crumbled, torn, worn out, or have watermarks.

Like there isn't one time where the paper is nice.

He seems like he doesn't know how to do cursive or rather he forgets.

He probably writes relatively small.

Tsukinami

Carla

Fancy cursive and then regular cursive.

He's never used print in his entire 3,000+ years lol.

If he is writing a very formal letter to someone important he uses the writing on the left.

If he is writing for himself or to his brother he uses the writing on the right.

Either way, no one can deny that he has good penmanship.

His signature is also really elegant.

He has his own signature style in cursive.

Something most cannot do.

Shin

Like his brother it is in cursive and very fancy.

The left is how he writes in a more formal setting because it is easier to read.

He always writes really neatly surprisingly, it's the founder prince in him.

It's always in a steady line too, you'd think he'd measure where he wanted to put the handwriting.

The right is his more loose and less legible writing. He uses this if his letter is informal and it is to someone he is comfortable with or has known for a while.

He doesn't really write in print unless its for school and he wants to blend in.

Because he's supposed to be a British exchange student it doesn't surprise me if most of his notes are in shorthand.

I think once he learned that no one uses cursive he decided to not use it that much and stuck to print.

Which probably looks something like this.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

˗ˏˋ 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 ˎˊ˗ ©𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔~Present

[handsome-john]

Color in Your Cheeks

Hi, this is some writing I didn't feel like putting up on my ao3 because it's for all intents and purposes its OC work. (I mean both of these characters are named on the SCP wiki for one line each, and then I abstracted a bunch of stuff about them from canon adjacent material)

Uh, this is about 4000 words, under the cut.

_

About two hours ago Alicja’s radio stopped picking up any signals, only getting a few staticky hisses when she felt like fiddling with the dials. One hour ago the road went from concrete to dirt, and to a few barely defined tracks in the dirt. On all sides she's surrounded by dense trees and underbrush. Were she a touch more sensible, she'd be concerned putting herself so far from where anyone could reach her.

Rocks and sticks grind under her tires, sending her on a very bumpy ride. She may already be at her destination if she didn't fear exceeding ten miles per hour. She’s always been cautious about reckless driving ever since she lost her brother. If just to have something to fill the silence, she flips on her recorder to get some of her thoughts down.

“I am Alicja Kondraki, and this is week fourteen, I believe, of my road trip across the country.” She pauses to readjust the map she has laid out in the passenger’s seat. “Hopefully I'll be reaching my destination soon. I've heard tell that this place is haunted by some sort of creature. That's cool! I love hearing about local creatures.”

Finally, she spots her first sign of people. She passes a few rickety houses, with people lounging on their porches or inside. And just like that, the forest folds open to reveal a whole town tucked inside. A small podunk community she finds herself eager to explore.

Her car comes to a halt off the side of the road, it'll be easier to make her way around on foot anyway. In her bag she double checks she has all of her important items. A water bottle, a notepad, her recorder, and of course a pocket knife and bottle of mace. Not that she expects anything from what she's sure are lovely folks, but she's been doing this job long enough to plan ahead.

Slinging her bag around her shoulders and making sure to hang her camera around her neck, Alicja steps out. Her track boots dig into the dirt. It's hot out, around mid noon, the smell of wood smoke wafts through the air. She runs her fingers through her short hair and puts on her green flatback.

She feels eyes follow her. Another thing she expected. There's not a chance she'd pass as a local in these parts. Taking a moment to look herself over in her side view mirror. She wants to give herself a messier look, someone unprofessional, someone you'd feel comfortable walking up to and sharing your thoughts with.

There's a man sitting on a lawn chair outside of a grocery store. He's wearing sunglasses, but she can tell his eyes are on her. She approaches, from an angle so it doesn't look like she's walking straight towards him. 

“Hello!” She says. The lights buzz, a long low drone, and little bugs tap, tap, tap against the glass. He regards her with a neutral expression. “My name is Alicja Kondraki. I'm a reporter from out of town. You may have heard of me from the news or from my radio show.”

“We don't get the radio out here,” he says, voice thick. Alicja squints, sunlight reflecting right off the window into her eyes. 

“Well I heard rumors that you've had some local cryptid sightings! Made enough of a splash I heard about it from three towns over.” She laughs, hoping to come off as playful. His expression remains the same.

“This’d be the place, ‘ay,” he says with a curt nod.

“Would you care to give a statement for my report?” She pulls out a pen and pad.

All at once, he stiffens, sitting up straight with his teeth clenched. Instinctively, Alicja stiffens up too, ready to defend herself should it come to that. 

“Now don't go believin’ that I'm out here believin’ in that hoodoo monster bullshit,” The chair creaks as he leans in to snap at her. “And I ain't about to let you paint me a crackpot fool!” 

The store’s front door opens with a soft bell chime. Out steps an older woman with gray streaks in her hair holding a broom. She prods at the man with the bristles.

“Marion if you don’t shut yer damn trap imma hit you!” Her gaze lands on Alicja and softens. “Oh my! Now I don't think I know you!” 

“I’m from out of town,” Alicja says, mouth suddenly dry. 

“Well why don’t you come on in! I’ll get you some ice tea!” She holds the door open.

The mechanical buzzing is even louder inside of the store. Alicja would prefer to get out there and get a few different statements before she loses daylight, but she’s not one to deny an ice cold drink on a day like today. Marion huffs as the door closes behind her.

“Have a seat, sweetheart! I’ll be right with you!” the older woman, Henritte according to her name tag, disappears into a room labeled Employees Only. She returns moments later with a pitcher and two glasses of ice. 

“Thank you so much!” Nothing like southern hospitality to make a road trip worth it. 

“Now did I hear correctly that you were a reporter?”

“I am a reporter! I was hoping to do a report on your Blackwoods Beast as I’ve heard it called?”

Henritte clasps her hands together. “Oh this is so exciting! We call it that because it only shows up when the woods are pitch black,” she says in a low tone. “You know I had a run in with the beast once!”

“Is that so? Would you like to tell your story for my report?” Alicja asks, brandishing her recorder. 

“Would I?!” Henritte exclaims, perhaps a little too eagerly. Alicja clicks the record button. “It was the middle of the night, when I heard this rustling in the backyard. And there I see it! Hunched over my garbage! It looked at me with the biggest glowing eyes I’ve ever seen!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a bear?”

“No! It stood up right and walked like a man! Ran off when it saw me watching too!”

A vagrant then, Alicja thinks, but decides not to say. People tend to tell better stories when you don’t try to pick too many holes in them.

“Everyone in this town has seen the beast stalking our streets or in the woods! Yet no one’s had the guts yet to confront it directly, lest it eat them!”

Alicja nods. “Do you have any reports of people getting attacked or hurt by the beast?”

“Penny next door claims she got into a fight with it! Barely escaped with her life!”

This is how Alicja finds herself practically led by the arm to every person in town with even a vague recollection of the beast. A lot of excitable folks looking to find their name in the next issue of the paper, and a lot of stories that are most certainly made up on the spot. It’s about par for the course when it comes to projects like this. 

“I really appreciate how much you’ve shown me around today,” Alcija says, “but I’m looking for somewhere I can stay the night?”

“My dearest Ava will let you rent out a room for the night!” Replies Henritte, pointing towards an older looking two story house. “Let me introduce you!”

Henritte marches Alicja boldly into the old house. Past the threshold Alicja is immediately hit in the face by how cold it is in here, and by the sweet smell of tea and baked goods. In the back of her mind she recalls a horror story of a man who checks into a suspiciously cheap yet very nice hotel and is poisoned and taxidermied by the kind looking owner.

“Can I help you?” Alicja jumps, noticing now the older woman sitting in a rocking chair beside her. She opens her mouth, ready to rattle off her name, profession, why she’s here-

“This is my friend Kondraki! She’d like to rent a room for a few nights,” Henritte says, squeezing Alicja’s arm. 

“Just two nights actually, I can pay upfront.” 

“Go ahead and sign your name in the guestbook.” The old woman, Ava Alicja presumes, points to a gilded notebook sitting on a coffee table. Alicja, curious as she is, flips through the other pages for recognizable names before writing her own. “Twenty dollars for the two nights.”

“That’s really cheap for a place like this,” she says, pulling out a wrinkled twenty.

“Your room is on the third floor, bathroom is across the hall, try not to make too much noise,” Ava drones on, long and slow. 

“Alright, well thank you very much! I’ll try to be considerate.” Alicja makes her way upstairs, leaving the two women behind. She shrugs off her bag, makes of pile of her stuff in the corner of the bedroom, and lays down on the little bed pushed up in the corner. 

After gathering info from the locals, Alicja’s next step was, of course, finding this beast herself. She likes to consider herself a very prepared woman, she keeps a shotgun in the back of her truck as the ultimate just in case. Still, after getting some rest, she finds herself popping into the local hardware store for extra flashlight batteries and a box of shotgun shells, should it really come to that. 

“Don’t I know yer face from somewhere?” Asks the man behind the counter as Alicja sets down her items. Freddie, the smudge on his nametag reads. 

“I’m a reporter,” Alicja says. 

Freddie snaps his fingers. “I seen you in the papers! Y’know it’s the darndest thing, I grab my paper every morning but it dog gone disappears before I can read it!” 

Do you think the beast is stealing your papers? She wants to joke, but she has some restraint. “I hope you find where they are,” she says instead, taking and pocketing her stuff. “Have a nice night!”

“Now you stay safe out there!”

…

It’s exactly a quarter past midnight when Alicja steps out of her room and into the night. She waits until she’s outside to slip on her boots, so as to not make too much noise. She pulls her jacket tightly around herself to keep the chill away from her. 

When she first explained her plans to her boss, the biggest question she got was why. She, through her own wit and determination, made a name for herself in a line of work that didn’t favor women like her. Why does she care about these stories? Why waste the time on a risky venture? Why even bother when she was doing just fine where she was? Now, she wishes she could’ve explained that this is why she had to do this, had to put herself in places no one else would.

With a thunk, her trunk pops open and she draws out her shotgun. Last resort, she reminds herself as she gets the feel for it in her hands. 

“This is Alicja Kondraki,” she says into her recorder. “About to begin my field report. Should this recording be recovered and myself not, I request that this recorder and all my writings be sent back to my boss. The shipping address is-”

Something big crunches behind her. She jumps, finger slipping and ending her recording. A bit early in the night to get so jumpy…

With some tape, she fumbles from several minutes in the dark trying to tape her flashlight to her shotgun. It’s something she’s seen in her hunting TV shows and it seems useful to try tonight. Her flashlight adds too much weight to the end of her shotgun for her to hold it out comfortably, but she’s determined to stick with it. 

They weren’t kidding when they called this the Blackwoods, even with her flashlight it’s hard to see what’s in front of her with how thick the trees are. A cold wind blows through the trees, it sounds like a howl. The distinct smell of an animal den wafts through the hair, telling her to change direction. Alicja twists her ankle tripping over the thick tree roots and faceplants into the ground. She tugs her jacket tighter around herself and carries on.

There’s shoe prints in the mud, she almost didn’t notice them. She lifts up her own foot to double check that these tracks aren’t her own. Nope, the pattern is different, there’s another person here in the woods with her. She could follow where the footprints are going, but she decides instead to follow where they came from.

It’s a long walk. One of those many moments where she wishes she had her brother by her side in this. Alas, she’s been by herself for quite some time now. 

Without fanfare, a shack appears. There’s no way Alicja would have found this place by pure happenstance, she’s not even sure which direction she came from. She circles it a few times, noting how every window is boarded up and the sharp spikes buried in the ground around it. It’s completely pitch black, but in the quiet of the night Alicja can hear the buzz of a generator. 

She gets a few pictures, once again struggling with both the flashlight and the camera. She hops over the spikes and ascends the porch steps. There’s fresh dirt on the wooden steps. She presses her ear against the door, picking up a shuffling noise inside. Taking a deep breath, she knocks on the door. 

All noise stops. Alicja clears her throat. 

“Hello! Sorry to bother you at this hour! I’m a reporter from out of town!”

Nothing.

“My name is Alicja K-kondraki. I’d like to ask you a few questions?”

Nothing. Had she misheard? Was she shouting at an abandoned building? Should she-

“You should go away!” Comes a muffled voice from the other side. “Don’t come back here. Forget you ever found this place!”

“I want to ask some questions for the paper. I’m writing about strange occurrences in-”

“I don’t want to answer questions! Go away!”

Alicja takes a step back and digs through her backpack. She draws out one of her old published papers, being one of those people who keeps a record of everything she’s ever made. 

“I’m serious. Look, this is me.” She slides the paper under the doorway and waits. 

After a few moments she hears the telltale sound of several locks clicking. The door opens a crack, still held shut by a few chains, and Alicja can see a hint of reddish orange light inside and an eye. 

“Let me see your face,” says the stranger on the other end.

“Oh uh…” Alicja rips her flashlight off her gun, tossing the gun out of her reach so she won’t seem so threatening. She points the light at her face and tries to give a kind smile. 

The door slams in her face, followed by several more clicks as all the chains come undone. When the door opens a hand shoots out, gripping Alicja by her jacket collar and dragging her in. In thirty seconds, the shack’s resident redoes every lock. 

The shack itself is reminiscent of those homes Alicja sees in Hoarders. There’s barely any visible floor among all the newspapers and garbage. It’s surprisingly warm in here, the room is illuminated by a single lamp. Hanging on the wall is a pinboard absolutely covered in newspaper clippings and red string. Alicja takes a big step over some junk to get a better look at the wall, recognizing some of her own writings. 

“You’re alone right? No one followed you?” Alicja’s host asks, pressing her back flat against the door. 

She can’t be that much younger than Alicja herself. Running past her shoulders is long brown-ish hair filled with twigs and rat’s nests and tin foil is wrapped around her forehead. The coat she’s wearing is so thick Alicja sweats just from looking at it, and she wears the thickest bottlecap glasses Alicja has ever seen. There’s a single crack across the right lens. 

“I’ve heard your voice on the radio, it really is you.” Alicja spots a radio on a windowsill, disorganized wires spilling out of it. The first radio she’s seen since she’s got here. 

“I’m sure I’m alone. Can I ask you a few questions?” Alicja pulls out her recorder and it immediately disappears. 

“You’re recording!” She shouts, holding up Alicja’s recorder. The look in this stranger’s eyes reminds Alicja of a frightened predator and she reconsiders the situation she’s put herself in. 

“No! No see, it's off! Look!” She points to the little LED that lights up when it’s on. “I was going to ask if I could record. For my paper?” Alicja holds her hand out, afraid that her precious recorder is about to get destroyed. 

“No recording! No one can know I’m here! No pictures either!” She says, pointing a shaky finger at Alicja’s camera. Alicja brings her arms up to cover it.

“I can remove the batteries if you want. I won’t do anything against your will.”

“I’ll remove the batteries.” She pushes past Alicja and grabs a screwdriver from her desk, crudely disassembling Alicja’s recorder. Hesitantly, she returns it to Alicja who pockets it.

“Alright. Alright,” Alicja says, feeling oddly winded. She takes out her notepad and pen. “Can I get your name?”

“No! Don’t write my name down!” 

“That’s alright, hey! I can do this anonymously if you want, I don’t have to put your name on anything, okay?” Alicja raises her hands in defense. “Can I at least have your name so I can call you something?”

Alicja’s host awkwardly shifts on her heels. “Jessie.” 

“Alright Jessie. Why don’t we sit down? Do you mind if I touch this?” Alicja nudges a pile of papers on a stool, on top of the stack is a plastic keychain of a UFO. Jessie shakes her head and Alicja sets it all down onto the floor. 

“I’ll stand,” Jessie says, eyeing her wearily. While certainly concerned that Jessie looks like she might just fall over, Alicja doesn’t say anything. 

“Alright. I’m going to ask my questions now, okay?” 

“Okay.”

“Are you familiar with the Blackwoods Beast that’s said to reside around here?”

Jessie’s expression twists into what Alicja can only describe as bashful. “Yes.”

“... any elaboration on that?” 

She lets out a shaky breath. “It’s not what the people of this town should be afraid of. I thought it would be enough to keep people away.”

“What is it that you think people should be afraid of?”

The floorboards creak. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Alright. How long have you been living out here alone?” 

“I’ve been here for five years, but I’ve been alone for much longer.” 

“How come?”

Jessie bites her lip and Alicja wonders how much useful information she’s actually going to get out of a paranoid hermit. 

“I’ll tell you my story but you have to promise that none of this will be tracked back to me. I can’t risk that.”

“Oh? If you’re involved in something illegal I can promi-”

“No, no!” Jessie waves her hands in the hair, making a crossing motion. “There’s people who I know would recognize m-” her head suddenly jerks towards the window. Alicja tries to follow Jessie’s gaze, listening in for any sort of noise. 

“Have you ever heard of Zach Callahan?” Jessie whispers conspiratorially, looking everywhere but Alicja. 

“No? Who’s that?”

Jessie lets out the heaviest sigh of relief, resting her hand on her heart. “Alright. Thank God. I used to live with my brother, back in… we were both artists but he did most of the work keeping us… housed I guess. And while I was living with him there’s the name I kept hearing. Everyone I knew grew up with or went to school with someone named Zach Callahan!”

Jessie gestures to her pinboard, as if any of these contextless newspaper clippings mean anything to Alicja. She recognizes what looks like a few large schools, and some abandoned buildings, and the several companies that seem to have no connection. What could Spicy Crust Pizza, Sasha’s Cleaning Products, Sunny���s Cream-filled Pastries, and S&C Plastics possibly have in common? 

“I was onto something! I know I was onto something because of this!” She pulls out a newspaper and pushes it into Alicja’s face. EXPLOSION IN ART GALLERY! “I was in there when this happened! Only the room I was in collapsed! Someone, he, knew I was onto him and tried to take me out!” 

It feels like she should be writing something down right now, but what? She’s met her fair share and conspiracy lunatics, and she’s yet to find the perfect format to work with them.

“And then what happened?”

Jessie swallows thickly. “Well, I knew they were after me, and I knew they’d keep coming after me. I didn’t want to put my brother or my friends in danger, so I disappeared. Until I ended up here.” She makes a vague sort of gesture with her hands. “I don’t know where my brother is now, I hope he’s safe though. I’m telling you all this because I’ve read your work, I know you understand that things aren’t what they seem out here.” 

Unsure how to respond, Alicja nods. Her hand trembles ever so slightly as she makes a note. “You haven’t tried to contact him?”

“Don’t know where he is. Can’t risk it either, don’t want to lead anyone to him, or to me. Especially now that I can’t move around so much.” Sadness seeps into her voice. “Besides, it’s been so long, I’d just be reopening old wounds.”

Alicja offers a gentle kind of smile. As a journalist, she tries very hard not to let too much of her personal feelings bleed into the facts, but she feels comfortable being open with Jessie. 

“You know I used to have a brother. This whole thing I’ve been doing, finding stories like yours, was really his idea. He loved travel and photography, and together we had this dream of running a paper together.” Jessie gives her an odd yet intrigued look. “Then of course, during college he dropped out and I lost contact with him. Next I hear, he’s dead in a car wreck. I don’t even get a body to bury. Sometimes I think I might find him out there, somewhere in these stories I’ve been writing.”

She coughs into her fist, swallowing down her emotion. 

“My point is, that your brother probably wants to hear from you, even if it’s been so long.”

Jessie shakes her head. “It’s not the same, there’s too much risk.”

“You don’t think he can help you?”

“He never did believe in what I told him. There’s nothing he can do for me, and I won’t do that to him. I’m probably putting you in danger too by telling you all of this.”

“It’s alright, none of this has to make it into my report if you don’t want.” Alicja stands up, gently placing her hand on Jessie’s shoulder. 

“I wish that I knew if he’s doing alright.”

“I wish so too. Hey! You say he’s an artist, if you give me a name maybe I can look him up and report back to you!” 

Confusion and hope fill Jessie’s eyes. “How would you contact me?” 

“I’ll write a column on notable artists, get it published. You’ll find it in the papers.” 

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course!” A pause. “Can I ask you one more thing? Before I leave you here.”

“What is it?”

“You’ve mentioned something else in these woods. Something you believe the people should be afraid of and prevents you from leaving. Would you mind explaining what you think that is?” 

Jessie’s expression drops. She pulls off her cartoonish glasses to wipe them on her shirt. “It would be easier if I showed you.” She bends down, reaches under her cot, and pulls out what Alicja distinctly recognizes as a flamethrower. “You might want your flashlight, and your shotgun.”

A step behind her, Alicja follows Jessie around the shack. Sticks and brush crunch underfoot. Alicja keeps the light as steady as she can. 

About thirty, maybe forty feet away from the shack, Jessie holds out her arm to stop Alicja. She points, and there, bright red against the blacks and browns and greens, crawling across the ground and plant life like veins, are thorny roots. 

“I found this infection when I first came here, it wasn’t a fraction of this size then. It’s been growling towards the town.” Jessie pulls the trigger and flames burst out. Alicja has to cover her ears as a scream echoes through the woods. “I keep trying to push it back, but it’s faster than me. Sometimes I see groups of animals traveling in packs, all of them moving unnaturally and in unison, their eyes red.”

Alicja uncovers her face. “Why don’t you tell people about this? Warn them if you’re so worried about this.”

Jessie regards Alicja with a cold look. “Tell me, do you truly believe every word I’ve told you tonight?”

“I believe that some of what you’ve told me is true.” Alicja wants to make some sort of defense for herself, about how she’s a journalist so obviously has to take every statement with a grain of salt, like she has to explain herself like that to someone who’s still a total stranger. 

“It wouldn’t do the people of this town any good. They won’t care until it’s impossible to ignore. All I can hope to do is keep it back before it has to come to that.” Her feet stay planted on the ground and Jessie starts up the fire again. She lifts up her camera, getting the perfect shot of Jessie illuminated only by the flames. 

“Thank you for your statement, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“Here,” Jessie says, placing Alicja’s batteries into her hands, “My brother’s name is Joseph Tamlin, if you do actually want to look him up for me.” 

“I will!”

The barest hint of sunlight is peeking over the horizon by the time Alicja makes it back to her car. She drops all her stuff in the passenger’s seat and reassembles her recorder.

She flips through her limited notes, unsure what to do with them. What is she supposed to write for her report? That the Blackwoods Beast is just a lonely woman? Is she supposed to lie and say that she found nothing in her investigation? Should she tell someone about the infection in the woods?

Joseph Tamlin. Scribbled hastily at the bottom of the page. Perhaps Jessie has offered her a better story instead.

[nighttimeebony]

I just got into the Percy Jackson series, so here is a collection of my actual thought process while reading the first book that I bothered to write down. So, spoilers for Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief under the cut. I guess.

EDIT: part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

Aww, Percy. Neurodivergent rep, I am fed

Is Mr. Brunner Dionysus? I think Dionysus is a major character in this series. But then what’s the wheelchair for? And Dionysus in mythology doesn’t have a beard like that. Oh! What if he’s actually Hephaestus? That would explain the wheelchair and the bearded old man look.

HOLY FUCK IT’S THE MINOTAUR

HOLY SHIT SALLY’S DEAD WHY

Is that tree on the property line the Olive Tree from the founding of Athens myth? Because Percy is the son of Poseidon?

Percy’s dream has got to be some kind of foreshadowing about Poseidon and Zeus fighting each other. Zeus would be the bird because he’s a sky god, and Poseidon would be the horse because in a really really old myth, Poseidon turned himself into a horse to chase down Demeter. Also, the voice from underground egging them on is definitely Hades, because god of the underworld and all that

Also goddammit, Hades is the villain?? Why????? Goddammit, not again…

Mrs. Dodds was definitely a fury, but she’s called a Kindly One. Wonder what that’s about

There’s some Thing about characters dissolving when they die. Wonder what that’s about

Oh shit. I was wrong. Brunner is Chiron. Interesting. Now the whole teacher thing makes sense

Wow, Dionysus is an asshole in this one. He’s more like his older Orphic version than the newer, modern Dionysus I’m familiar with

Everyone is so in love with Luke it's embarrassing

I just adore how casually neurodivergent Percy is. All the jokey references to Dyslexia and ADHD, I just—I love it so much. And I love that it actually is dyslexia and ADHD. And that apparently all the half-bloods are dyslexic and ADHD too. We love to see it.

Oh my God, I love all of these children so much.

HOLY SHIT AUNTY EM IS A GORGON

I WAS RIGHT

I find it amusing that Hermes named the activation password for his magic shoes after his mother

I wonder what Persephone's like

Grover's gonna be the friend to betray Percy, isn't he? He better fucking not be. I love him. If Grover's the Traitor MHA-style, I'm gonna riot

One difference between Harry Potter and Percy Jackson (the characters) is that Harry marvels at every new instance of magic. But after Percy learns about the magic system, he just stops giving a shit. Once he learns that magic is real, he is surprised by absolutely nothing and does not question the irrelevant stuff, like Annabeth's invisibility hat, or how the fuck a ballpoint pen can turn into a sword.

Percy is such a sassy, sarcastic little shit and I love him so fucking much.

ECHIDNA

"Isn't that a kind of anteater?" I love this child

*Percy wondering what all the mirrors are for in the Tunnel of Love*

Me: "It's gotta be a kink thing."

*While Ares and Aphrodite were smooching with each other they could look at their favorite person: themselves*

Me: "Called it."

Wait……. Is the traitor Luke????? He's like the only other "friend" Percy has

Thank God Hades isn't the bad guy

Aw, I wanted to see Persephone. Don't worry, Percy, I'm disappointed too

You know what, from now on, anytime a protagonist has to live with an abusive parent figure, the only resolution I will accept is turning that bitch to stone and selling him on the black market.

Thank God Percy can have a nice, stable home life with his mom in between rounds of risking his life.

I'm so on-board with Percabeth, and this friend group as a whole

I FUCKING CALLED IT! LUKE WAS THE TRAITOR!

Thank God the characters in this book have a fucking brain. Percy's an impulsive little chaos gremlin, but he's not an idiot.

I'm kind of curious to see what the shipping side of the Percy Jackson fandom looks like, cuz Percabeth is great, and I'm pretty sure that's the main canon pairing, so I'm curious….

Honestly, I can't wait for Percy and Annabeth to start dating. I'm so excited to see what their relationship will be like in a romantic context

I love this book and I want more immediately.

[bazaarwords]

in spite of war [4/? | griddlehark | post-canon]

i hope u guys are enjoying! i've had a lot of fun writing, even if it is a little stream of consciousness-y :)

first | prev

🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴

We didn’t talk after that. Not for a few days.

This, I think, really illustrates my point about getting kicked when I’m down. About eating those exploding toenail knives.

In retrospect, I can’t really call what we did in the kitchen talking. More like a bouquet of aborted sentences.

It took forever to get from planet to planet—so many of the steles had been busted in the war. We were just kind of looking for a needle in the endless haystack of deep space. 

I will admit this about myself: I’m not a patient person. Even before the death and the resurrection and all of the bullshit that came after—I mean, you know. I tried to get off the Ninth a billion times. Some of those attempts, loathe as I am to admit it, were like hours apart.

There wasn’t a whole lot to do on the ship, and I didn’t want to escape into a subzero vacuum, thank you very much. I ran laps in the hallways with Paul, I did push-ups and star jumps and squats and started deadlifting (which, haha. I’m dead.)

I did other stuff, too, like eating and sleeping and moving a mirror into my room. Again—don’t knock it.

The fourth day after the kitchen, I found an apple at the foot of my bed.

It had been ninety-six hours since my last apple, and I really do fucking love apples, so I ate the thing and didn’t think much about it. I was going a little stir-crazy.

I figured, afterwards in the hallway, dangling from the water pipe that was the scene of my two-hundredth (my fiftieth) pull-up of the day, that the apple could have been poisonous or laced with radiation or something worse. That if someone wanted to off me again, it would have been that easy.

But I felt fine. Sweaty, yeah, from the pull-ups. Fine otherwise. I was dead already, so what did it matter?

Then, a voice in the hall: “Ready for our 10k?”

“Where did you find the apple?”

I dropped to the floor and turned in the subsequent silence. It was still a weird moment of cognitive dissonance, seeing Palamades' expressions on Camilla’s face. Or rather—a freaky mixture of the two.

“Last I checked, we were out of fresh fruit,” Paul said, one eyebrow arched. “Where did you find it?”

“On my bed.”

“I’m not in the business of bad omens.”

“I thought that was a hat on a bed.”

“Okay. I’m not in the business of fruit on beds.” The eyebrow lowered. “I’d ask someone else.”

And I knew. I don’t know why I was pussyfooting around it. Maybe the night in the kitchen kept replaying in my head, maybe I didn’t know what I’d even do.

The ten kilometers didn’t change anything. Paul’s easy and infrequent conversation didn’t either.

I slinked back to my room and found a note on my bed.

It said, really stupidly: You’re wanted in Archives.

I think you’d tried to make it seem like Paul had written it. Because, I don’t know, Paul was the only person who’d be caught dead in Archives.

But you could have killed me another twenty times and I would have known that handwriting. I would have recognized the way the flimsy had indented, like you were trying to squeeze the last bit of ink out of a pen that—really, and you knew this—never ran out.

I didn’t consciously run my thumb over the words. Well, the word.

(Wanted.)

next

[dayurno]

when u were writing the kandreil band au did u have any artist you think they sounded like vocally or the type of genres they preferred?

YEAH i think i answered this before you can find it in the #band au tag but the monsters do mostly punk rock/pop covers because they are a garage band :) none of them bar aaron & nicky can sing for shit so really it’s just that that they have going on for them, but when they do original stuff it’s more often than not folk or blues, because that’s what andrew likes and he’s the only one actively writing for them. once neil gets the hang of it he’ll probably follow in andrew’s footsteps but pen some depressing ballads every now and then with kevin’s help

i did have an idea in my mind for kevin though! i think his voice could be like isaac dunbar’s at the point of canon in band au, which is like this raspy-ish deep tone i really like 🥹 when he was younger it was higher and smoother but puberty got his ass :) for the genres he prefers he would probably say None (liar) but i think he’d just be a general music fan. really he can enjoy anything if he thinks it’s well-performed and well-produced. i think kendrick’s damn released on the year band au begins so kevin would have tuned in to it, but otherwise his favorite song is before he cheats by carrie underwood which is why andrew can’t stand listening to it anymore if it comes on the radio

[pluvialpoet]

ashes & embers // chapter 1

summary: forced to enter a loveless marriage- built solely upon deceit- you can’t help but wonder if lust is the only thing keeping the flame of your marriage ablaze. As the years slowly pass, you begin to question how long your union will prosper without the presence of love, and what will become of the smoldering spark of desire when it fades away to nothing more than ashes and embers?

pairing: daemon targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: canon spoilers, implied targcest, and brief mention of physical abuse

word count: 7,751

series masterlist

The silence that falls over those in attendance is overwhelming. Breaths tangle with outrage and eyes widen in fear. Anger, shock, and horror cloud the air, but not a single soul dare to utter a word. They all lack the courage to voice their apparent indignation for the man before them- the traitor whose cocky grin and unapologetic gaze taunts them to speak. While the nothingness that suffocates the room like a heavy blanket of fog causes onlookers to shift uncomfortably- waiting and waiting and waiting for the crown they answer to to speak- Daemon rejoices in their unease. Despite the years spent away, it felt like no time had passed at all- for the sheep still answer to their shepherd, and their shepherd still held the rogue in a regard so high that he could nearly reach out and steal the stars straight from the sky, thanks to the height of the pedestal he’d been placed upon.

In a mock show of good faith, he takes a knee and offers his crown to the man who presently occupies the royal seat of iron. The gesture is for show, and both of them know it. For as much that has changed in the years they’ve been apart, one thing seems to have remained the same- Daemon will never submit or surrender. He is still a wolf trapped within the same pen as the shepherd's beloved sheep, and Viserys knows that if he doesn’t separate them, there will be bloodshed.

“Leave us.”

{continue reading on ao3}

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