nicholscn-blog

[nicholscn-blog]

avgvstinc‌:

In all honesty, the doodle is pretty cute. Augustine looks at it for a while, holding it between his fingertips. “Yeah I’m sure my kid will like this.” He chuckles. Maybe he’ll try to get into the crazy rush and get it signed. That means he’d have to actually see his daughter. He’s not quite sure when that’s going to be though.

He looks at the person who gave this to him, giving a smile, he slips it into his back pocket. “Not your thing, huh? Mothman doesn’t have you losing your marbles?” He doesn’t quite get the hype, either. Mothman whenever really was on his radar like it was for others.

“Not exactly,” Andy replied, his mind only half in the conversation since the mention of a kid was brought up. He wondered if his own would have found Mothman interesting. The thought hardly had the chance to make a full circle around the inside of his skull before it was shoved away and drowned in a sip of his beer. 

 “Marbles, no. Gasoline, yes. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to top off my tank from idling in traffic, or waiting for groups to cross roads.” He sighed. “I like the festival and all, but, Jesus...” 

“You, uhh, had a booth there, didn’t you?” 

[nicholscn-blog]

clemnewman‌:

“THE WASTE OF PAPER? REALLY?” Clem almost laughs, but he holds it in a little too well, ending up sounding skeptical and disbelieving instead. Which, he was. He feels as if Andy’s just grasping at excuses. “Since when have you become an environmentalist?” The you was almost accusatory, as if Andy was prone to just randomly switching between one thing and the next—which Clem genuinely sees him in that way, turning from Columbia student to car mechanic. What was environmentalist gonna add to the list?

The last statement, however, does elicit a genuine smile from his lips. It’s odd that it’s a cheap shot at Mothman that makes him break the cold mask he’s put over himself, but he supposes that there was nothing else more fitting than a juvenile crack at the fantastical that would make him let loose.

“Well,” he says, picking up the loose thread of conversation, “I have heard it was a great ass.” Clem turns the matter over in his head. “If you think about it, he’s just the Kim Kardashian out of them lot.” He tries to look at the stall where said cryptid is holding his meet-and-greet, but it’s either too far or he’s just lousy at looking. “Do you know if Mothman’s single, by any chance?” he muses out loud. He’s never been with a cryptid before, and wouldn’t that be quite the story to tell at dinner parties?

"Great enough to cast in metal and post up in the middle of a town somewhere,” he said as if he couldn’t remember where West Virginia was, or that he learned about the statue on an episode of Behind the Mythic he caught on television years ago.

The eyes that had previously been on someone choking by a witch’s booth darted to Clem and narrowed in suspicion. “Why would I, of all people, know that?” Despite the vexation in his tone, he genuinely wondered. Maybe it was just Clem’s attempt at a joke and Andy misread the situation, but you couldn’t blame the guy at being at least a little suspicious when the topic of inter-species relationships were brought up around him. “That’s what you’re into?” 

[nicholscn-blog]

ofyejun‌:

    the loud music and the chatter of the people become too much quickly, and even though yejun had his own share of fun at one point, he decides to put some distance between himself and the festival. a pack of candy corn in his hand, he strolls through the streets to the park, lighting up when he sees his roommate. “andy!” the boy exclaims before making his way towards the man, then settles down next to him.

    a laugh leaves his lips at the question, and he holds out the bag of corn candy to the other as he thinks for a moment. “if it’s for an aesthetical purpose, i feel like they can give him new wings. flying all the time must be tiring, i don’t even know if he uses them that often… realistically speaking though, caterpillar-man sounds very… boring. imagine him crawling to a fan event —” a small pause, he shakes his head. “he would lose most of his appeal, wouldn’t he?”

Andy could feel the fatigue in his expression the moment he heard his name being called from across the grass, if only because his smiling at Yejun being the one to call his name made him realize how long he had gone without doing so. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” A little fist of candy corn was tossed into his mouth, and the stickiness they left behind in his palm was wiped on the knee of his jeans. The image of a de-winged Mothman doing a slow version of the worm brought a laugh out of his chest. “That would be terrifying. But then, you know, there’d probably be people into that type of thing. I guess if they just took the wings and left the arms he would just be... Man, which is totally not worth setting up a booth at a festival.”

[nicholscn-blog]

lucindadyer‌:

Her attempt at partaking in the town’s festivities has lasted about fifteen minutes before she had wandered away from the crowds. Lucy pulled out her pack of cigarettes. She fiddled with the box, deciding if she wanted a smoke when she spotted Andy sitting on one of the benches on the outskirts of the festival. 

She stuffed the pack back into her back pocket and walked up to him. Giving him a small smile, she sat down beside him and stared at the crowds of people enjoying themselves. If only she could figure out how to feel normal like everyone else, she thought. 

Hearing Andy’s words took her out of her thoughts. She let out a snort. “Dunno. Maybe it’ll only make them more famous.” Her eyes slid over to Andy and she gave him a sly smile. Raising a brow at him, she joked, “I’ll give you five bucks to go and find out.” 

“Like another Lennon,” Andy droned. After a moment’s pause he laughed to himself. "Except he collapses bridges instead of friendships. “Bigfoot’s his Yoko, I bet...” 

It was difficult for him to imagine a time when the sight of Lucy wouldn’t make him tense---which, mind you, wasn’t entirely her fault, but rather a joint effort between the two of them.  Hoping that day would come soon was comforting. Jokes helped, always did.

 He met her gaze, his own brows lifted at the dar. “Helllllll no,” he chuckled, “I have a hard enough time trying to stay off the radar without maiming a giant insect. No thank you."

[nicholscn-blog]

clemnewman‌:

IT’S ALWAYS WEIRD TO SEE ANDY, Clem thinks, especially considering how they shared the bright lights and hopes of Columbia all those years ago. With how that turned out (and for the both of them, he has to admit), Andy’s kind of an unwelcome reminder of how failure might exist just right around the corner, how disappointment might still wait for him no matter how much he keeps working himself to the bone. All that hard work to get into one of the country’s top colleges only to be a small-town car mechanic… nobody ever said life was fair, but that particular fall from grace was something that rattled even Clem.

He doesn’t think about it too much, in any case. He’d rather not think about it at all, but it’s difficult when you’re back to living in the same city and there are instances, like right now, where the two of them could and (unfortunately enough) would interact.

“It’s just some kid,” Clem says, his tone of voice a bit too neutral, hands carefully staying at his sides and not even bothering to take the proffered item. Usually he’d speak with a biting tone: it’s just some kid and who cares what some dirty little cretin thinks? But Clem only regards Andy rather cooly, and the absence of any impassioned tone makes his words more clear and sharp, as if cut from glass. “The kid’s not here now to see you throw it away, aren’t they?”

“It’s not really the kid that bothers me, just the waste of paper.” Was there even a point in explaining himself? It’s funny how in such a strange world, the strangest thing of all is that two people as different as he and Clem were considered acquaintances. Shit, he knows Clem a Hell of a lot better than he knows most people in his life right now, and no it isn’t just because of that damned local commercial that aired practically nonstop between his television viewing hours of 10pm and 4am. Newwwwman St. Francis, da da da, fiiiigh-ting for.... YOU! Andy found that same jingle reverberating off of aluminum frames sometimes when his bored mind had him humming beneath the cars he worked on. He thinks of it now, repeats it in his head.

What started out as an act of mercy towards himself and his own anxiety has him regretting breaking the ice. The worst part is he can kind of see Clem’s point. Still...

“Crazy how all it takes to be famous is some fuzz on your ass and a set of wings.”

[nicholscn-blog]

;: open

Far enough from the festivities to not be part of the crowd, and close enough to still hear the music and smell the kettle corn, Andy sits on a park bench and watches from afar. Somewhere over there he lost his mom, no doubt to some kind of market stall selling beaded jewelry. He figures he’ll let her walk for a while. She would know where to find him later.

The booth housing this year’s guest of honor catches his eye.

“Do you think he would be as famous if someone ripped his wings off?” He would never do such a thing, but one has to wonder. “Would he even be Mothman at that point? Or, like, Caterpillar-man?” 

[nicholscn-blog]

;: open

“You want this?” he asks. Between the two he slides something over, a postcard sized sticker showing a cartoon Mothman with #MOTHHEAD  written across it in large bold lettering. 

“Some kid downtown gave it to me after I told him I didn’t want it.” He didn’t mind the festivals. He used to enjoy them a lot, actually. It was only when they built up the budget to start inviting pseudo-celebrity cryptids that would draw large crowds that the annual Fall festival began to get on his nerves. The island seemed small enough as it was. “I’d feel bad throwing it away.”

[nicholscn-blog]

Shrike by Hozier except on an old radio in a cabin on your grandfather’s farm at night, playing as you get ready to go to sleep.

[nicholscn-blog]

[nicholscn-blog]

------------ HEY! HELLO! HOWDY! i’m possum (21+, est, she/her). i’m here to bring you andy nicholson, the nick bottom of violl’s cove. much like him, i have a tendency to be goofy when i’m anxious so don’t be surprised if i send a lot of memes while we plot---which i would love to do with you! under the cut i will add andy’s quick facts from his bio. if you’d like to read the entire thing, you can find it HERE.

                               ✳— THE SHORT VERSION—✳

Andy Nichols, the son of a fisherman and a green witch nursery worker (plants, not children), was seduced by a siren who wanted to experience what life outside of the water had to offer and saw Andy as the easy target he was. Andy loved her dearly, despite the hypnosis he was under. When he was planning to go to college, she got scared and put it in his mind that they were to get married. He was followed to college and then halfway across the world when he moved to washington for work. He wanted a child with her, so they adopted. Andy worked hard to keep her happy but the relationship drained them both. When he was fired from his job they moved back to the island, but soon after she abandoned Andy and their son. Andy’s mother helped where she could but life as a single father made him tired, and one day when he was watching the child at the park, Andy fell asleep on a park bench and woke up in the evening when everyone was long gone, including the boy. Authorities believed that Andy’s son was taken by a ghoul. He tried to move on, but was so hurt that one night, when drunk, he tried to do black magic and it backfired. Since that moment he has led a quiet life, trying to stay out of harm’s way.

                                       ✳— QUICK FACTS—✳

✳— Yeah he fucked the fish, WHAT OF IT!?! that’s between him and his nonexistant god okay. ✳— Andy’s mother was a green witch, and despite the fact that he inherited a lot of her talents, he refuses to use them. He’s a bit annoyed by magic, and the last thing he wants is to bring attention to that part of himself. He has a green thumb he never uses, but his mother always tells him he could be a great witch if he tried. He doesn’t want to. He used to have a lot of house plants but he got rid of them because he became irritated at the way they would “speak” to him. No, they didn’t outright talk to him, that would be crazy, but there is an energy that plants emit to those susceptible to that type of thing that, frankly, he would just rather not talk about. ✳— Maybe it’s naivety, or maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but Andy still doesn’t believe that his ex wife was  the type of siren that his father and other sailors warned him about. He does not realize that she frequently used her voice against him. Her voice became something like a drug to him, and from frequently asking if she could sing to him, he felt like he was in charge of it the entire time. FOOLISH! ✳— Andy spent his adolescence helping out on his father’s fishing boat, and is a skilled fisherman himself. His ability to fix boat engines is what got him into engineering in the first place, though his degree is in computer engineering. This skill is what also makes him a great mechanic. ✳— I imagine Andy received a job application from Microsoft, and put all of his time and energy into Zune, which was the failed competitor of the iPod. ✳— The Dog’s name is Morris and he’s a Bichon Maltese… not that you asked… but it took a lot of googling to figure that last part out and he’s pretty proud of that. I imagine The Siren looked like Vanessa Kirby, which isn’t really relevant but a fun lil hc that also makes me sad

*** if you've read this far, please let me know what you think!! i’d really like to get some pre-established connections for andy!

[nicholscn-blog]

𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇: empty

               emp·ty                /ˈem(p)tē/     adj.                   Containing nothing; not filled or occupied.

Did you mean:

Bottles collecting on the counter, one by one.

Drafty house that has seemed ten times colder since they went away.

Hands that can’t be cleansed of the never-ending supply of motor oil and grease.

Multiple bathtubs installed throughout the house that used to have a purpose.

The shoreline where she never shows up anymore.

                                      Andy Nicholson ● Violl’s own Nick Bottom