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trtlebuns · 11 months

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Who would’ve thought?

Random things about T141 + Alejandro & Köing

Tags: Fluff and cursing (maybe?)

Alejandro Vargas

my man my man my man!!!!

Alejandro HATES!!! Spicy foods, even though he is Mexican and grew up in a Mexican household he CANNOT handle anything spicy

Wakes up at 6:45 everyday

His comfort clothing includes: a tank top or T-shirt with grey joggers and black/socks

He would often cook the meals (very house husband of him)

Hates alcoholic beverages, like he’ll drink them but won’t enjoy them

Favorite color is: Rosewood Pink

Favorite ice cream flavor is strawberry

He doesn’t wear cologne

He takes his skin care VERY serious

When he’s angry or excited he would talk in his native tongue

Will call out of work if his hair isn’t “hairing”

Likes to kiss you on the forehead near your edges

Likes to watch you get dressed

Wants to have a big family

If he could be any cartoon character he would be Milo from fish hooks

Has a tattoo of your initial behind his ear

Köing

Listens to lofi and jazz

A light sleeper

Hates pickles

Wears his mask in public but at home he wears a big sweater with a large hood to hide most of his face (specifically a deep purple sweater)

Likes all of the avengers movies and if one is coming out he would buy tickets in advance (like 3-6 months in advance)

Likes strawberry milk but is severely lactose intolerant

Hates raisins but likes grapes

His comfort outfit would be: at home, a onesie to match yours or if in public ( like he goes out there willingly) would be a hoodie and joggers with crocs

Enjoys putting on his eye makeup while you do your makeup

Still doesn’t know what “beat this face to the gods” mean, even though you only say it when you do your makeup

Is happy with being with you and having a cat or two (or any small animal of your choice)

Prefers to eat ketchup with anything

Likes sardines

Likes to hug you from the back

Favorite color is: Mulberry Purple

He wears your initial as a chain

Has a dad sneeze

GHOST (Simon Riley)

Hates anything super sweet or sweeting in general

Prefers coffee (black) over tea, but would drink it if it’s the only thing around

He likes pumpkin spice lattes (yes he’s a basic bi- brit 🫣)

Secretly adds weapons to you car every time he gets in it

Like why do you have a knife in your cup holder?? How did that get there, you wonder

Orders steak every time you guys eat out anywhere “fancy”

Wears a face mask when he’s out

Your nickname for him is “beady eyed brit”

Only kisses you on the cheek and the temple

He rolls his eyes at everything

“Omg mon, you didn’t have to get me this??” You said happily as you hugged Simon. “I wouldn’t have gotten it, if you didn’t stop pestering me about it” He sighed and rolled his eyes knowing that he would buy you the world if you only mentioned it once

He loves peppermints

He likes to watch you…just do you

You’re in the kitchen? Boom, he’s leaning on the fridge watching you. You’re in the bathroom fixing your hair, Boom, he’s sitting on the toilet seat just staring. You’re walking around talking on the phone? Boom, he’s right there in arms distance listening and watching you. Just watching

He listens to classical music

Comfort fit: anything that’s lying on the floor closest to him or anything that seems comfy to him, could be shorts and a shirt or joggers and topless as long as he’s comfy he don’t care

Prefers to be just with you but wouldn’t mind stretching the family

He likes to skip rocks

He knows how to skateboard

Weirdly obsessed with peanut butter because of the “protein”

Favorite color is: Juniper Green

He goes makeup shopping with you because you need to know what type of eye makeup he wears that lasts through literal war

SOAP (Johnny Mactavish)

Hates coconut flavored anything! It could artificial or down to the real deal he HATES IT

Likes to yell at the tv

Must take a bite of your food, it doesn’t matter if you both have the same thing or not. He needs a bite and his reasoning is “I’m testing for poison”

Get you a man who CARES!

Would rate your burps out of 10

Let’s you paint his nails

He spills the tea and so do you

Johnny bursts through the door, and started you “BIIIIIIITCH!!!” Johnny says as he shakes his head walks towards you, you already know the tea is piping HOT! “Let me tell you what price done said over the phone just now” he says as he props down on the bed and you get into a sitting position “I’m all ears babe” you get ready for the most juiciest information of you life

Likes to pee/shit while you’re in the bathroom (it’s his favorite activity)

He rock climbs for a hobby

Favorite color is: Coin Silver

Always calls and never text in advance that he needs to talk

Comfort outfit: pajama bottoms, bunny slippers, and topless or a tanktop

Likes to sleep in cold temperatures

Tackles you with hugs and kisses whenever he sees you

You’re on the phone trying to pay a bill? Boom, he’s right next to you kissing your head and hugging you from the back. You’re trying to get ready for work? Boom, you’re making out and now you gotta call off work…AGAIN!

Listens to a lot of Megan thee stallion because he heard you playing thot shit

Hates the texture of cottage cheese

He’s a horrible cook and so are you, but you both try your best and end up ordering out

Likes to throw things at you and act as if he had no idea what you’re talking about when you ask if he threw something at you

“Ow, what the fu-“ you say as you scratch your head and look at the ground and see an orange crayon on the floor. You look up and see Johnny at the table with a coloring book and crayons “J did you just throw this at me” you question as you raise the crayon. He looks and you and you look at him… “I have no idea what you’re talking about” he says calmly as he goes back to coloring. You sigh, “then how did this get over here?” You roll your eyes and put your hand on your hip. “It must’ve been already over there” he shrugs while continuing his activity with a small smirk pulling at his lips

Likes to eat haggis ( Scottish bastard )

Knows how to play the flute

He would like to have 3 kids and 2 dogs (specifically a Rottweiler and Doberman)

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monstat · 2 months

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“i don't really need friends. you're the only person i need in my life. is that weird? i guess i'm not like most people.”

𖥻 sdv

cw: squinted smoking, (it’s sebastian) angst on sam’s par’, someone’s mom “mona,” referring to reader as “farmer,” and “overalls,” sam ‘n farmer were together, (divorce fees and mayor) kinda asshole seb???

:: sebastian x reader - (not fully) sam x reader - (???)

@cafekitsune dividers

the maple tree taps on sebastian’s back. juniper bark creating a ticklish sensation through the baggy, black hoodie he can’t seem to get rid of.

sam’s there, too. there’s not enough space on the old wood for the blond to press the full of his back onto, but that’s alright. he’s fine with standing beside his ‘best friend.’ he’s fine with the silent conversation occurring.

he’s been fine with the distance. that’s what ‘best friends’ do.

sam can’t blame sebastian for his mia status as of late. though, they don’t talk like they used to, even sam knows his ‘best friend’ is too busy ‘makin’ babies’ to play chronicle games. there’s an occasional love tap during pool on late friday’s at the saloon, but it always ends with sam losing a ten-dollar bet and a part of his pride.

his best friend, too. ‘losing’ him to the night, watching as the lanky back disappears down the path only a family member is allowed to pass through that late.

then it starts over again. most friday’s, there’s an excuse. “sorry, dude,” sebastian would wince. there’s always a certain glint in his expression, mocking the halfhearted apology for what it’s worth. which is little.

sam can’t blame sebastian’s glance towards the overalled form — who is usually chasing time and energy around town. sebastian’s eyes tender in a way sam can only describe as love.

and sam would know love.

sebastian has a family - sam knows. he’s reminded of it every time he sees the plum-haired baby in the frog onesie strapped to the married man’s chest. it’s the only occasion in which sebastian ditches the hideout-sweater. something about the barely-toddler pulling on the dull strings, ‘trying to choke daddy.’ sam can see the same look in sebastian’s eyes now, on the maple tree. the one given every time the secondborn spills chocolate milk all over his tee.

sebastian can’t even keep his eyes on the river ahead before his gaze is instinctively drawn to the sound of metal on overall straps clinking together, subtly over the town track. the farmer always seems to be on the move. it’s what leads sebastian to moments like this, which only last an hour - which feels like ten seconds on the steps outside of sam’s house, next to the bushed graves where abigail’s old mona lies.

time seems to go by faster than normal, here. sebastian would know. and sam can’t blame him for getting hit by cupid. that would be hypocritical. sam remembers the adoring gaze because he would usually be the one wearing it. it’s hard to ignore the sound of overalls ringing when the heart still lies in the crop field.

he should blame sebastian, but he doesn’t. they’re ’best friends.’ even when sebastian’s time is too occupied with wrangling real frogs and babies. he’s a loner, sam knows. no doubt enjoying the rain that’s been passing through stardew valley these past days. the farmer’s porch has a great view of the town during sunset.

sam would know.

he doesn’t shame sebastian for leaning against the maple tree on this monday. one hour which feels like ten seconds before the hooded boy moves. it’s not accompanied by a harsh stomp in the mud where sebastian ashes his cigarette, though. it’s one of the many things the farmer has done for this town.

just sincerity and an almost longing gaze. “later, sam.” ‘later’ is until the next festival. and even then sebastian is too busy holding the mini raven-haired baby while his spouse goes out onto the misty ice to win both of them the trophy for surpassing five slimy fish. beating willy.

then they go home where sebastian kisses his family goodnight, and in the morning he comments on his partner’s rest. flustering out that the late-night dream mumbling was cute. the farmer leaves and sebastian stays. ‘maybe that’s what he sees in overalls,’ sam has to wonder. sebastian has never liked being forced into small talk. the farmer doesn’t seem to mind.

they fit. unlike the tripod. unlike sam and overalls.

inspired by this frame on “mal’s sebastian expansion.” (i think. i have too many mods…) ↓

also inspired by dating two pretty best friends. ‘cept sam was the first victim…

#stardew valley x reader #sebastian x reader sdv #sam x reader sdv #sdv #stardew valley angst #learned sebastian has green eyes while writing this #- fucking hated it #frog onesie canon #abbigail sebastian sam r broken #sebastian’s in love #sam is sad #seb don’t care about his friend bro

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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 months

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ash i love vince so much he is my number 2 babygirl (antoni number 1 babygirl forever)

i would like to formally request some vince having a Bad Time, either past stuff with owen or present with recovery being a bitch

because there is nothing better than lovely characters having bad times that they absolutely do not deserve

CW: Alcoholism, withdrawal/cravings, alcoholic anger, Vince and Jameson both PTSD-ing all over the place, guilt

Oh, poor Vince. Takes place post-the Same Bed Arc, after Vince is living with Nat and Jameson.

Vince doesn't even look up when he hears Jameson stop in the doorway. He just pours a few shots worth of the gin into the glass, staring fixedly down at it. The liquid, clear as water but with the herbal scent washing over him like a welcome spring rain, spreads over the ice with those gentle cracks he knows better than his own heartbeat.

God, it looks good.

His hands don't shake, now. His heart doesn't race. He doesn't feel sweaty, or upset, or like he'll be sick.

He just feels like he's staring at the solution to all his problems, and all he has to do is swallow it down.

This should feel awful - he knows it should. It should taste awful, there should be something to remind him of the damage he does to himself every time he drinks again. He should hear his sponsor speaking in the back of his mind, he should hear the voices of the others at the meetings he goes to - one for alcoholism, one for survivors of sexual assault, twice a week there's movie star Vincent goddamn Shield among the normal people and admitting he's barely human, just a wreck that only survived Owen Grant because Nat decided she gave a fuck about him for reasons Vince still doesn't understand.

Here he stands, a hollow shell wearing a nice face who let someone else suffer in his place and was grateful for it for far too long.

Kauri hates him but it's nothing compared to how much he hates himself.

Vince lifts the glass, hesitating at the last second with the cool rim just touching his lower lip. Gin smells like blacking out and right now he could use the blessed darkness, hangover be damned.

He can worry about that when the headache kicks in tomorrow morning.

He realizes he's waiting for the sickening crawl of guilt at letting Nat down, at-... at letting himself down. Maybe that will come later, but right now... He feels goddamn good. Settled. Calm.

He and Jameson meet eyes just as he tosses the drink back, three large swallows of juniper-scented gin down his throat like water, leaving only the ice cubes behind.

The burn is perfect.

He pours himself another drink, feeling the warmth slowly spread through his chest to his shoulders, eyes briefly closing. God, it feels like goddamn heaven.

He looks up.

Jameson is still standing there in the doorway, looking oddly soft in a loose sweater that's far too big for him and a pair of old jeans that probably cost a dollar at a yard sale and even that was too much. Vince has jeans that distressed, somewhere.

His cost more than five hundred dollars.

He chokes on the next drink from trying not to laugh.

Jameson's eyes narrow. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Vince takes another sip, eyes half-closed, letting himself take it slow this time and really enjoy the taste.

He'd honestly been surprised the little liquor store down the block even carried this brand of gin. Not that he wouldn't have bought whatever he could get, when he stood there feeling like he would die if he had to go another day, but still. It's nice to have seen his favorite stuff, top shelf, pricier than it had any right to be. It's not even that good, but it's still his favorite. It still tastes, to him, like the nights he sleeps without nightmares, few and far between.

Gin tastes like those nights he gets to sleep at all.

The cashier had looked surprised as she wiped off the dust and rang it up for him. Then, with a shy smile, she'd asked him if anyone ever told him he looked a lot like Vincent Shield. He'd been kind of sad she didn't card him - it would have been nice to see the look on her face when she saw his name.

Instead, he paid in cash, laughed, and told her the standard I get that a lot, actually.

Jameson doesn't move closer, or leave. "It looks like you're fucking yourself up," He says, lingering in the doorway. "You can't just start drinking again. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I sure as hell can." Vince laughs, but it's a bitter sound. He licks the gin lingering on his lips, then gestures at the bottle. "Have some with me."

He's caught, for just a moment, when he sees Jameson wearing an expression Vince has never seen on him before. He looks... nervous. Afraid, almost, instead of angry.

"I-I don't want to," Jameson says, but there's a way he says it that makes Vince think he'd drink if he offers again. Maybe he wants to, or maybe he just doesn't want to make Vince mad.

If he commanded it, if he gave an order... Jameson would be as he's told, wouldn't he? Damn, that would be some power to have over someone.

This must be why Owen liked it so much.

No.

He won't think about Owen right now.

Vince gulps down liquid until he's breathless, almost panting. The warmth is like the familiar cradle of a softer reality settling in. He makes himself slow down this time, picking up an ice cube and sucking the juniper taste right off it before crunching it with his teeth.

"Vince." Jameson's voice gets harsher, and something seems to break his brief paralysis. He moves closer, grabbing the bottle and pulling it away when Vince puts a hand out to pour the third drink. "Fucking... look at me. What the fuck?"

Vince's hand just... hangs out there, reaching for a bottle that isn't where it was. He stares at the empty space, and feels that dark inside of him threaten to well up yet again. "What?"

Jameson swallows, his eyes moving to the glass, back to Vince's face. He steps backwards, and Vince watches the bottle go with him with a piercing need that could easily knock him off his feet if he weren't holding onto the back of a chair. Jameson clears his throat. "Aren't you... like, sober now?"

"Mmmn. Was. Got the like... three month chip thing and everything." He's gotten thoroughly wasted so many times in his life. Nothing relaxes him better than enough alcohol to force his body to stop living in constant, unending fear of who might hurt him next. "Right now, I am tipsy instead. In about an hour, I'm going to be absolutely fucked up. Give me back my gin."

Jameson's hand moves - then he jerks it back, taking a few steps backwards until he's back in the doorway. His eyes are on Vince's face, watching him with a total focus that Vince recognizes from the others he's worked with over the years - Jameson's just a trained pet, in this moment, watching to see if the master will be angry.

It makes him laugh again, more bitterly this time. Is he the master? Has he ever been his own master, let alone anyone else's?

"I... I can't do that," Jameson says, and Vince hears that he doesn't say no. When Vince moves towards him, he backs up a little more, and Vince comes to a stop just a foot or so away.

"Am... am I scaring you?" He asks, suddenly.

It wasn't what he meant to say, he meant to demand his drink again. Instead, this question that... that just sort of falls out of him like a waterfall.

Jameson's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. "You're not doing shit to me," He snaps, but Vince knows he's really saying yes.

Is this why people buy pets? So they can see something pretend not to be scared, and know they're the monster not just under the bed, but in it?

"Oh," He whispers. "What is it? Why are you scared? I'm just a drunk asshole, why are you scared of me?"

Jameson bristles, but then he offers - as if it's pulled out of him against his will - the softest explanation. "Brute and Robert got drunk all the time. I know what happens when-... when people get this kind of drunk."

There's a look in his eyes Vince has seen before in Kauri's. Not fear of him, not directly, but fear of someone like him, maybe. Fear of having demands made that can't be denied.

Is this how Owen felt, every time Kauri had to playact the loving boyfriend with bruises on his wrists and terror making his heart race? Is this how it feels to have power over somebody else when you can't even control yourself?

It's... it's good, almost.

It feels better than he thought it would.

"Back up, Shield," Jameson hisses, like a cat spitting and arching its back, ready to attack with claws and sharp teeth not because it's confident in victory but because it's so small it has to fight to have even the slightest chance to survive.

Vince looks him over, reading with an actor's expertise how he's projecting a confident swagger he never feels, how the irritation layers itself so carefully over a vulnerability that he sees as weakness. Vince has lived that way, too, since he was twenty-one, since his best friend turned out to be a rapist who wanted Vince to himself, since he started drinking to forget every single night and putting on the perfect face during his days.

They both survived, didn't they?

Jameson just did it by fighting his way out, and Vince by pretending to be someone he wasn't until nobody knew who he actually was, and that's a way of surviving, too. Wear another face, and make sure no one sees the fear in your real one, so they can't refuse to help you... because you've never asked.

"No." At least one of them can say it. Although that makes Vince's heart twist with ugly guilt, the petty cruelty of the thought. "Give me my gin," Vince says, pitching his voice low, and holds out his hand. "Now, Jameson. Give it to me."

"I can't." The strength is gone from Jameson's voice, and he looks at Vince with those dark eyes searching his own, trying to make himself understood. "If you drink, your-... your body's not used to it anymore, if you drink the same amount you'll fucking kill your stupid liver."

"What do you care about my liver?" Vince's voice drops low, almost a whisper. "What do you care about me, about my goddamn joke of a life, huh? What the fuck do you care? Why should anyone care?"

There's a flicker of something in Jameson's eyes - recognition, maybe. Something that lights up, just for a second, before the other man shoves Vince to the side with sudden violent strength and stalks to the sink, turning the bottle over and pouring that expensive artisan gin right down the drain.

"No!" Vince's voice is a ragged shout as he lunges after him, but it's too little too late.

Jameson's foot kicks out and slams into Vince's calf, sending him stumbling, clawing desperately as the gin is gone, glug glug glug, down into the pipes, disappearing towards the ocean.

Rage and terror fight in Vince's mind in a sudden white noise and he gets to his feet, grabbing Jameson by the arms and squeezing as hard as he can, shoving him back across the room. He hears Jameson hit one of the chairs, the clatter of wood and Jameson's grunt of pain as both hit the ground hard. The bottle is in the sink, and even when Vince scrambles to pick it back up, there's less than an inch of gin left.

He sucks it down, and only once he's gotten that final drop does he suddenly go still.

Oh.

There's the guilt and the horror and feeling sick at himself, just... twenty minutes too late. He sets the empty bottle carefully down, and then turns slowly around to look at Jameson.

Jameson sits on the kitchen floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. His face is pale, making the scar that twists the corner of his mouth stand out even more. His hair is nearly grown back in now, the bald patches hidden by the rest.

Vince exhales in a rush. "Oh, hell. Jameson-" He holds out a hand.

Jameson flinches.

Vince pulls his hand back, backing up until his back hits the edge of the sink. "Right. Okay. I'm-... I'm sorry Jameson-"

"Yeah." Jameson's voice is gruff, all the vulnerability and fear wiped away as soon as he realizes it's showing. He gets to his feet, shoulders protectively hunched, arms crossed in front of himself defensively. "Whatever. Sure you are. Drink yourself to death, shitbag, if that's what you want."

"I'm so sorry."

Jameson's jaw works. "... Everybody's always sorry. Then I get fucking hit again." Then he turns and walks - limps, really, his knees threatening to give out with every step - away. Vince stands there, frozen, listening as he makes his slow, painful way up the stairs.

Vince stares at the place he was for a while - he isn't sure how long. The gin is sinking its velvet claws into his mind, and he's drunker than he should be after only two drinks.

But then, it's been months.

Months, he made it without taking even a sip.

He swallows, again and again, and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, finds a contact, and presses the button to make the call.

The phone rings until he's certain it'll go to voicemail, before a voice he knows as well as his own is in his ear.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I-I need to talk to you," He stammers, his heart cold. "Please. Please. I-I've been drinking. I need... I need help."

There's a pause.

"From... me?"

"Yeah... yeah. You'll-... I need somebody who won't be nice to me-"

"Oh, well, if there's anything I love it's the chance to be mean to you, let me drop my entire life to come listen to you whine about yours."

"Please."

An exhale. "Whatever. Yeah, okay. I'll be over there in like... half an hour? An hour, maybe. Drink some water and I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't leave the house."

"Thanks... thank you, Kauri."

Kauri hangs up.

Vince pours himself a glass of water over the leftover gin-soaked ice, sipping it, barely flavored with a hint of the liquor he wants so badly. He rights the chair he'd accidentally shoved Jameson into, and listens to the creaking floorboards and muffled cursing above him as Jameson makes his halting painful way from stairway to his room, a couple thumps when he clearly falls and had to force himself back upright, until the pacing abruptly stops when he must have collapsed into his bed.

He hears the gentle patting of Trash Cat's paws as she leaves her place on the living room couch and follows him, too, her soft meowing until Jameson opens his door to let her come in after him. Then silence again.

Vince sits back down at the table, leaning over with his head in his hand, staring as the ice slowly melts, cooling the water around it.

He should have called his sponsor instead.

Whatever Kauri is about to say can only make this worse.

But he deserves it, anyway.

Vince doesn't move a muscle until he hears the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway, crunching briefly over gravel before it's on the pavement again, when he raises his head.

Kauri walks in without knocking, stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and looks at him like his younger self ashamed of what he's grown into. Vince knows Jake must have driven him, but he's nowhere to be seen - maybe just staying outside, for now. He's clearly dressed for bed in a matching navy blue silk button-up and pajama pants, barefoot even.

"Hey," Vince says, weakly. The alcohol feels like poison now, not the soothing warmth it had been before. "I... I fucked up, Kauri."

"Yeah, I can tell just by looking at you, you're a goddamn mess." Kauri looks at Vince head-on, even though it still hurts him to do it, and Vince can see the flinch he suppresses as the headache kicks in. His blue eyes are identical to Vince's in nearly every way, except that Kauri's gaze has always been stronger. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got... I drank."

"Yep. I can see the gin bottle. Did you drink all of it?" Kauri's voice is flat and businesslike. It's like having his own younger self dressing him down, and somehow that feels... really good. Better than he thought it would.

"... No. Just a couple drinks. Jameson poured the rest out."

"Good for him." Kauri flickers a smile. "Where is he?"

"I-... I scared him."

"... you scared him?"

"Yeah. I was-... I wasn't-... I didn't mean to, but-"

"Shut up. All right. Tell me what you did. I'll fix it. This time, taking your place so I suffer for years while you run off and become obscenely wealthy is off the table, got it?"

Vince looks at him in horror only to see a surprising warmth in Kauri's smile. Not... not affection, but something like it. A wry compassion, maybe. Something else he doesn't deserve. "I don't know. I don't know if I can fix this, Kauri. I don't know."

"Well... I happen to the resident expert in trying to avoid dealing with your problems while making them all worse, so talk to me. Tell me what you did, start to finish. We'll figure out what comes next."

Vince lowers his head into his arms.

"Thank you," He says, muffled.

"Not enough thanks in the world, dumbass. Lucky for you I'm an amazing person who just happens to have spent most of my twenties making stupid drunk mistakes. So stop stalling and start talking."

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @autophagay

#whump #ptsd tw #alcholism tw #withdrawal tw #alcoholic whumpee #recovering whumpee #recovery whump #vincent shield is not a hero #erase to control #since kauri makes an appearance #jameson bb #box boy universe #drunk whumpee #whumpee turned whumper #briefly and not on purpose

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keoni-chan · 6 months

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The Garden Club Representative is this dude: Nick.

I am not disappointed by this randomized dude. I'm so grateful for face templates and default replacements 🙏 I am also howling about his shirt. What are the odds of garden boy showing up with a Save The Trees Tee? A+ choices all around, game, I approve.

And by the looks of it, Juniper does too.

(also, at this point I realized it's summer in my game. So the cow sweater had to go ☹️)

#sims 2 #the sims 2 #sims 2 challenge #sims in bloom #ts2 sims in bloom #generation 1 #sim:juniper bloom

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freddie-77-ao3 · 1 month

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random facts about random riordanverse characters from my characters doc:

percy jackson: thalia once dyed his hair neon green (which, he has black hair, so no clue how) and it lasted for two weeks before washing out entirely

thalia grace: actually very close to will solace. he treated her when she first woke up, and reminded her of jason. she's basically a big sister now. she threatened nico about him.

nico di angelo: got so nervous about asking will out he accidentally asked in chinese, before reverting to welsh, and then latin. finally, he stutters it out in a mix of greek, italian, and english (luckily will understands all three). unfortunately, will responds in sign language for some reason??? nico doesn't know sign language.

meg mccaffrey: meg has a horrendous obsession with gatorade. like. she won't drink water, it's gatorade or nothing. apollo is SO concerned because he doesn't know what gatorade is and also it looks VERY unnatural.

leo valdez: not only can he cook tacos, he knows how to make tamales. actually, while on the argo ii, he and percy made most of the food. this man can COOK.

will solace: has a habit of always carrying pens around with him (both as a way of keeping close to michael, who collected pens before his death, and just bc he's in the infirmary so much) and he clicks them ALL THE TIME as a fidget. people forcibly take them from him sometimes.

Annabeth Chase: she's autistic and so is her dad. part of why they have so much trouble having a good relationship with each other. they both have really black and white thinking styles.

Calypso: she's like 7 feet tall.

Magnus Chase: he really likes the chronicles of narnia series. when he was a kid, he dressed up like the lion for three halloweens in a row. his favorite is the lion the witch and the wardrobe.

Alex Fierro: felines are easier than canines in regards to shapeshifting.

Sadie Kane: she likes strawberry ribena the best

Carter Kane: he wants to grow his hair out. when he's in his twenties, he does. sadie helps him braid it.

Clarisse La Rue: after her mission in ttc, she's extremely claustrophobic.

Piper McLean: the reason she was so against feminine stuff in TLH is because she was so sexualized by the media when she was girly. so she openly rejected it.

Travis Stoll: makes oddly specific t-shirts about what happens at camp. like, “I defeated the greek personification of time this summer and all i got was this lousy tee shirt.”

Connor Stoll: isn't dyslexic. loves reading.

Katie Gardner: she drops out of college after her first semester. it just wasn't for her. she owns a flower shop called petal to the metal, where she says "have a punk rock day" to all her customers.

clovis: he doesn't actually need to sleep 24/7, he just doesn't want to interact with people.

Cecil Markowitz: a threesome baby. no, really. he's 25% his mum, 25% his dad, and 50% hermes. he-- he has a lot of questions and no answers, and that's probably for the better.

Lou Ellen Blackstone: she's black, and usually keeps her hair in braids. before alabaster torrington defected he did it (he's white, learned just for her), and after, beckendorf did her hair.

Zoe Nightshade: she's regenerating. she was a titaness, she'll be back.

Lee Fletcher: he dropped out of high school. it wasn't for him. got his GED and took college classes on the side til he died, but personally modern schooling wasn't really for him.

Rachel Dare: when she turns 21 and gains access to her trust fund, she immediately donates the entire thing.

Hazel Levesque: definitely the person who always has a cardigan/sweater for you to use if you get cold.

Frank Zhang: goes back and finds his grandmother after HoO

Jason Grace: jiper was comphet. he's gay.

Reyna: didn't actually join the hunt. i don't think that really is a natural character ending? she is ace though.

Grover: turns out pan passing his spirit on to grover actually made grover a god?? yeah grover didn't realise for //years//

juniper: fought in the battle of manhattan. she just brought a couple of her berries with her.

Chris Rodriguez: following going insane and becoming sane again, he develops anorexia to regain his sense of control over his life.

Drew Tanaka: she's actually aro-ace.

Malcolm Pace: in an effort to always be prepared he sleeps in jeans and street clothes, and always has a bag of supplies on him.

Ellis Wakefield: is from somalia. his first language is somali. he speaks somali, english, arabic, and greek.

Mitchell: went to military school for a bit. has a habit of calling people sir/ma'am after every sentence now.

michael yew: has the gift of prophecy, knew going into manhattan that he was going to die.

miranda gardiner: summer only camper, takes over counselor during the summer (katie doesn't want it. also she's vietnamese. i know thats two facts i just think it's important.

sherman yang: he has two dads. his mortal dad's name is jeff. sherman sees him like, one week every two months? jeff lives in seattle.

jake mason: he's got a fish named bubbles. he says it's because harley wanted to name it. he lies.

silena beauregard: summer only camper, she volunteers at a domestic abuse shelter during the year, and hopes to go into social work.

charles beckendorf: he was 16 when he died, but had finished HS work 2 years early. had been accepted to MIT. he wouldn't have gone, anyway, because of the expense, too far from camp, but-- it had been a nice dream

Nyssa Barrera: she's a year round camper, and always been mad that taking care of harley fell to her.

Lacy: physically disabled. she's got JRA, and is in a wheelchair part time.

Harley: really likes unsweetened cheerios.

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