autopsified

[autopsified]

Me? Me? You– You mean– you mean me? THE WALKING DEAD, 5.15

#*ੈ🪦 ( carl grimes ; connections) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( enid rhee ; connections) ‧₊˚ #any shot with my 2 children standing in the back like 🧍🏻‍♀️🧍🏻 #is automatically some of my favs #also still waiting on amc's apology for putting my girl in those ugly ass capri's

[autopsified]

She does know this- it has been explained to her. Enid's interaction with the Gods, aside of course for the exception of Demeter and any other who would have reason to be amongst the woods of Camp Half Blood, is nonexistent. While she would never compare it to that of what their children have had to endure, she too has had qualms with the way the Gods run things. Why they allow humans to poison the Earth the way they have, and for so long? Why Pan's absence had an obtuse negative effect on the health of the Earth, and how the Gods not only put no effort at all into searching for him, but letting others do so on their behalf and get killed in the process? Why Enid has seen children- their own flesh and blood- so young die so brutally?

Just to name a few.

And so it's Percy's bleeding heart, one that aches for the sorrow of both friend and foe, that Enid loves the most about him. He could be severely physically deformed and she would be swooning in his presence that had a sense of comfort similar to a warm fire or the first snow fall of the season. The fact that he looks hand crafted to biological perfection is simply a blessing. One that she will be begrudgingly thanking the Gods for. Particularly his father.

"I know," she says. And while she doesn't say it unkindly, she agrees with a similar sense of exhaustion he himself has been known to speak with. Don't ask me how I really feel about them, because Zeus might smite me right this instant. "You just..." Enid looks down at her hands, fidgeting with a ring a demigod some time ago lost in the dirt- how she gets all her jewelry. She doesn't want to tell him how he feels- doesn't want him to feel like she's projecting any false assumptions onto him. More likely due to any possible self unawareness on his end than miscalculations on hers. "You take on others' problems like they're your own. Just because you want to. Which would be fine for chores, or something like that. Not, you know, taking a bullet meant for someone else once a month."

She can't help but smile while she listens- even if she wants to tell him he should try for his own peace of mind. He's adorably bashful that she had caught onto him so quickly, and she imagines it must be similar to her own mix of emotions she felt when he spotted her. Though with a much lighter strike of panic. Either way, it leaves her feeling a bit more confident about all of this. Only a little, but still enough for her to inch closer to him to reach for one of his hands.

Enid holds it palm up when she remembers that some believe you can tell a person's future by the lines of their hands. Of course she has no idea how it works, and doesn't even know what that kind of thing can and can't predict. But she lightly traces some of the lines on Percy's hand and wonders what his would. Hopefully a future easier to bear than what he's endured so far. Would it reflect any of what has played out in his life by now?

Th smile that spreads is natural and involuntary when she looks up at him. "I know, but I can tell it's hard for you." She lets out a small, quiet laugh. "Sometime's it's been so hard not to jump out and shake you senseless when you think that everything under the sun is your fault. Though maybe I should have."

She doesn't want to let herself think that everything Enid has been harboring for him is completely reciprocated- it feels borderline narcissistic to believe he would think of her to the capacity that she does for him. But now that they've come face to face it's impossible for even her to deny that some of it is a mutual feeling. That, in whatever way he could without knowing even what species she was, he was just as drawn to the feeling of her presence as she was to his.

Needless to say, she's swooning.

Percy was pretty sure then that he had never met someone quite as expressive. He was used to having to actually try to get a read on most people: both courtesy of his own maybe not exactly amazing social skills, and just the company he kept . . . but with Enid—? Already, it wasn’t like that. He wasn’t having to hyper-analyze every minuscule twitch in her brow, the exact curve of her lips, the slightest change in her breath . . . all just to make sure he didn’t offend her or say the wrong thing. Enid wore her emotions loudly and with unmistakable radiance—as was her nature, Percy was finding out. There was something extremely—like, extremely—addicting about it.

Was he paying super close attention anyway? Yeah, fine. But that wasn’t the point. This was by choice. Not by necessity. And in the silence after he was totally honest about how much she meant to him (regardless of their not officially meeting until now), Percy drank her in like she was a crystal clear spring after days of no water.

. . . but that also meant he couldn’t help smiling like a doofus again by the time she breathed out that one word of almost childlike wonder and modesty. He almost wanted to say “duh.” Like, Yeah, obviously I’m gonna be grateful for a seemingly random but super cute nymph taking the time to support me when I was giving her nothing in return. Only that he didn’t end up having the ability to.

She was just going to keep on surprising him, wasn’t she?

Percy hadn’t yet decided if this was the good or bad kind of surprise, though. The only thing he did know was that it effectively made that stupid grin falter. Not to the point of a full frown, but the kind of hesitation you felt more in your eyes than your mouth: the way the creases right beneath them smoothed out when your lips were no longer pushing at your cheeks. He was bare-faced. A familiar seed of guilt gnawed at his stomach, like he’d just been caught creating problems on the schoolyard again . . . against his control, something he couldn’t help—

But he wasn’t angry. Or defensive. Or endlessly disappointed in himself like he was used to being. The instinctive flurry of those emotions hit him for the briefest second before they all just . . . went away. And Percy was left standing there gawking. Again. (It would keep happening.) All while he came to the very real understanding of what this implied not for him, but for Enid.

He stared. And he stared.

“Wait, how did you . . . ” When he finally responded, it wasn’t without a dip of his gaze. Bashful. Gods, he was bashful. It wasn’t like she hadn’t already made it clear how much she cared, so why . . . ? “Yeah, I guess you . . . would notice that, huh?” He relinquished her hand all for the sake of running a palm over the back of his neck, and the little puff of air that breached his lips could’ve been a laugh. (Not that it was all that amused.) “You realize the gods literally have their kids do things because they can’t, right? I mean, not that they’re too willing to admit it, but that’s kinda how they roll.”

Percy knew she meant this a lot less literally, though. “Look, I—” In a pause, his gaze flicked back upward to find hers, and he knew almost immediately there’d be no arguing with her. Not possible. (Now, doesn’t that sound dangerous?) “Yeah, you’re probably right.” No. “You’re right.” There we go. “I’m still working on that.” He shrugged. “But I can try a bit harder. Y’know . . . if it means you don’t gotta worry about me as much.”

@autopsified

#*ੈ🪦 ( enid rhee ; threads) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( tidaltow ; percy jackson ) ‧₊˚

[autopsified]

Lydia's eleven now; she's a grown up. She has to do grown up things like rely on herself for food supply, and leave the pack to go out without her mom. Alpha. Not mom. It's scary, but failing to prove herself is even more scary.

Though she doesn't always have to go out alone, which she's always thankful for. Even if, once they find an area to scavenge, none of them want to stay with her. And while they wait for the last member of their party at the designated meeting spot at the designated time no one wants to pay any attention to her at all.

It's only when they decide to go looking for him that Lydia catches on that they're nervous about his absence.

She's lingering behind, equal parts scared and uninvested in this search. It's only until they stop, all facing the same direction, that she catches up. And good thing she does!

She hardly even notices their dead friend, because there's a kid! One who doesn't look much older or younger than her! Mom Alpha will have to let him stay. Lydia doesn't have any friends, and he's strong enough to kill one of them. That's no small feat!

Lydia dashes out from behind the small group at the boy, who she's too excited to notice looks terrified. Just before she reaches him she stops at the dead body of their friends whose name she's already forgotten. Grabbing a fistful of the thin and matted hair she yanks it off the body's head and holds it out proudly towards the boy.

"You'll need one, so just take his! He's not dead long enough to make one from, and he won't miss it. You can make your own later if you want." She says this all very matter of factly and enthusiastically. It clearly hasn't occurred to her that he might not want to join them. Why wouldn't he? Who wants to be alone? "My name's Lydia." Okay, they're not really supposed to use names like that. But this is a special case; it's someone her age! A possible friend! She just has to hope that those watching from behind her will understand this enough to not tell her mom Alpha.

Whisperers

It had been a month, two weeks, and four days since Logan had been separated from his father. They had been scavenging through an abandoned neighborhood in north Virginia, rifling through cabinets and cupboards and drawers for anything of use.

Negan trusted Logan enough to allow him to check a house across the street; they habitually whistled at certain times, to draw walkers out from their hiding places. The herd had materialized from the woods across the neighborhood and by the time father and son had seen them through the dust-streaked windows, it was too late to head back together. The best chance was to hunker down and wait for them to pass.

At least until Logan had accidentally startled a raccoon and drawn a few walkers towards him, and he had no choice but to run. He was too busy hauling ass to see his father's reaction or what became of him. He just kept going until he couldn't anymore.

Logan didn't even know where he was for a while, although he did find maps, but struggled matching them up to real life roads; he'd never had to do it before. He spent weeks scavenging plants he remembered from Scouts, subsidized with food from homes and buildings.

He would find Dad again, no matter what. Even if it took a while.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew Logan's attention and the young boy tensed up as he drew a knife. A lone walker stepped through the bushes and ambled towards him, halting for a second, and Logan could feel the hair on the back of his neck raise. Walkers didn't think, so why did it seem like this one was... startled by seeing him.

Logan growled slightly as it reached for him, stepping back carefully and waiting for the best moment. Of course, nothing could have prepared him for the very human-like noise of pain and bright, living blood that came when he stabbed the walker - the man - in the neck.

The boy scrambled back a bit in surprise, before more footsteps made him look up. A group of walkers - wait, no, people wearing the faces of walkers - stood staring at him.

Logan stared back, completely bewildered and lost for words.

@autopsified

#*ੈ🪦 ( lydia ; threads) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( my mothers favorite scapegoat ; verse) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( sonofsaviors ; logan smith )

[autopsified]

No, it's not very surprising at all. Up until now Negan's relation to Lydia was limited only to the role of something close to a guardian, and had little to no affect on his life as a leader. But she's old enough now for him to want to get her involved in running the show. He says that her perspective on some things- the perspective of someone who remembers little to nothing about life before all this, which none of his other confidants can offer- is valuable. But no one seems to like many of her suggestions.

She shrugs a little at this. Lydia knows better to try and convince anyone of the Saviors what kind of person she is; they're a people that like to make up their own minds. "We both want the same thing," she says, instead of trying to convince him of her reliability. "Keep everyone here safe and fed. Make sure everyone's doing better than they were when they got here. We just have different ideas."

And it's no surprise that her advocating for the other communities they work with is something they aren't fond of. Particularly Rick's and Maggie's.

"I know things have gone too far with them. I just wish there was a way we all could have gotten along. So many people are dead, the world's running out of resources... we're all gonna have to work together eventually, right?"

@autopsified gets a starter :))

"Negan might see something in you but i am not as easily impressed." Simon said, rude and cold like usual when he felt Negans attention being shifted from the plan and even Simon himself. "I dont trust you but i doubt thats surprising to you."

#*ੈ🪦 ( lydia ; threads) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( a father a daughter and a savior ; verse) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( fxnstasmagoria ; simon) ‧₊˚ #lydia's savior verse prob has her knowing negan longer than simon but im def open to changing that!

[autopsified]

Enid shakes her head and lets out a short, breathy laugh. The pain of the loss of her parents has subsided enough that she can filter out the grief and focus on the nostalgia. But only in her head. Talking about them- or anything, really- is still hard. And it doesn't help that no one else talks about anything either. Even if she wanted to she doesn't know how.

"No, definitely not," she answers. "They liked hippie music, I guess. They were hippies before they had me, apparently. And after they had me they were kinda nerdy."

She turns to face him, crossing her legs underneath her, and pulls the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands so he won't see her nervously picking at a hangnail. "My dad was a college history professor, so he kind of had to be super nerdy. But he liked it. And my mom taught little kids. So she always had to be up to date on the latest cartoons or whatever."

These are details she's only ever really told Carl. And some to Ron, too. Before he died. Even if she wanted to read into her deciding to share this with Logan she doesn't have the brain capacity at the moment. Maybe later that night when she's trying, and failing, to fall asleep.

"What... was your mom like?" It's always hard to tell who's okay with her asking what about their life.

Logan soon concludes his curious surveying of Enid's room, returning with careful steps - as if he's afraid to break something or crush something beneath booted feet - and sits beside her, causing the bed to dip.

He smiles at the familiar refrains of Mötley Crüe, the expression so similar to his father's but very different at the same time. He tilted his head slightly - subconsciously as he listened; momentarily thinking back to memories of hanging out with his Dad in his big black car after baseball games and practically feeling the music coming through the speakers.

Before things went to shit.

Before Mom got sick.

"I think he actually saw them at one point. He and Mom always went to concerts before they had me. They wanted to take me to a few, but money was sometimes tight, y'know?"

The young Savior taps one foot to the rhythm, glancing at Enid with the same carefree smile, before it broadened and he raised a brow.

"Your parents didn't like Mötley Crüe?" He asked, sounding like he was feeling equal parts bewildered and amused. "Pretty sure Dad would sing me AC/DC to get me to sleep some nights."

#*ੈ🪦 ( enid rhee ; threads) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( bloody are the hands of a healer ; verse) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( sonofsaviors ; logan smith )

[autopsified]

bold which trope you prefer

slowburn or love at first sight.

fake dating or secret dating.

enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers.

oh no there’s only one bed or long-distance correspondence.

hurt / comfort or amnesia.

fantasy au or modern au.

mutual pining or domestic bliss.

smut or fluff.

canon-compliant or fix-it.

reincarnation or character death.

one-shot or multi chapters.

kid fic or road trip fic.

arranged marriage or accidental marriage.

college romance or middle aged romance.

time travel or isolated together.

neighbors or roommates.

sci-fi au or magic au.

angst or crack.

apocalyptic or mundane.

tagged by @wexarethewalkingxdead thank you hon tagging @havvkinsqueen @popularmxnster @chrissyfied @sonofsaviors @retrologists @badboysupr @gleamingcrowns @rayofsunshinc

[autopsified]

► reblog to let your mutuals know that... YOUR RP BLOG IS NOT TIME-SENSITIVE!

...That there is NO time limit or expiration date on asks, memes or threads.

...That your partners NEVER need to feel they have to apologise for not responding to a thread or ask yet.

...That you welcome replies to "OLD" threads and memes, even if they've been sitting quietly untouched for weeks or months.

...That there is NEVER any pressure or obligation for your partners to reply until they feel the drive and enthusiasm to do so.

...That YOU will happily respond to things at YOUR OWN leisure, and you would like your partners to feel comfortable doing the same.

Not everybody enjoys running their blog this way and that's a-okay. But removing the idea that RP interactions are something that can "expire" or that the asks in your inbox have an unspoken "due-date", takes the pressure off of both your partners and yourself and can help bust feelings of stress/anxiety from the hobby. Reblog to let your partners know that you're just jazzed to receive new writing from them, whenever it comes.

[autopsified]

Subtlety has seemingly yet to be his strong suit, and he clearly isn't starting now. There's no denying that he's caught on to the cracks he's creating by chipping away at her tough exterior. Which, of course, is only another crushing blow to it.

She wouldn't blame him, or anyone else for that matter, for thinking that she's falling apart particularly fast. And she would not be quick to correct them, even though this isn't entirely the case. Time wise yes, this is a record time failure on her behalf. But it normally takes people who have gone on to become her friends a bit more exposure to her temper to decide it's worth looking past, and by the time they decide to start trying to get to know who she is underneath it all Eden is likely already thinking about what color streaks to dye in her hair next.

His absolutely immunity to the affect she has on people from the get go is something that is clearly shaking her. And the fact that, if anything, he seems to be enjoying her miserable attitude? That's a curveball she doesn't know what to do with.

It's not like no one's ever learned to like her the way she is. But she can't really remember the last time that it came naturally to someone- no learning required.

After less than an hour of her being anything but nice to him and he's got her number. And he seems damn well pleased by it. Eden can practically hear the gears turning in his head at how to go about whatever it is he's intending to do once he's got her right where he wants her.

And- as she has proven to be true more than once before- if a guy is funny and good looking enough Eden is helpless but to lie down and take it.

Though she's not sure if there's a man on earth good looking enough to have her booking a flight for Texas on purpose. The southern most place Eden's ever been to is upstate Virginia, and by the time they left Eden decided to never make that same mistake again. At least not within the American border. Seeing a Walmart, a gun store, and bingo hall all in the same parking lot was enough to have her considering getting a head start back to New York and walking.

"Probably too subjective of a theory to test. It's probably specific to the person. Like, trying to pick between eternal fire and brimstone, and gun wielding bigots blasting John Melloncamp- it might be a pretty even split. Both sound like shit, but one goes with my aesthetic a lot more."

On one hand the thought of him ambushing her in the middle of camp with a miniature flash mob seems as likely as it is terrifying- which is to say extremely.

On the other hand that would take a considerable amount of effort just to get a reaction out of her. And who is she to deny someone of devoting extra attention towards her?

"Knock yourself out," she simply replies, with a bit of deadpan mixed in with her tone. He can do with that what he will.

Then whole production he puts on then, making himself out to be important and sought after when he clearly thinks the opposite, is so obtuse it's adorably pathetic. At least it gives her a bit of insight- since he clearly has interest in her past seeing how fast he can crack her. Since he seems to know he's already succeeded at that. She somehow manages to shove the dirt and hay they've been sweeping into a dustpan, having to jam the broom in a few times for good measure, while she pretends to not take any particular note to this whole display.

But she does, and she spends the time wrapping up their work to figure out her play. Yet somehow by the time she comes back over to him she has no other plan besides the first thing she blurts out.

"If you wanna ask me something, then just ask me," she says. Her usually seriousness remains in her expression as she looks up at him, but it now lacks any of the annoyance, or disgust, or disdain, or general bitchiness she can usually be found with. It's the best she can do to give him some kind of sign that I won't bite this time without her own insecurity screaming at her until she can't hear anything else.

Call Leo a hopeless romantic, but there was definitely some spark right there.

Easily missable. Maybe even nonexistent, depending on whether you were a glass-half-full or glass-half-empty kind of person. But Leo—incredible optimist as he was (not)—for the time being actually liked going with the former in this case. A little something to be (stupidly) hopeful about . . . ? Sure. Why not? He could be dead within the next year or so: live the last of his awe-inspiring youth to the fullest, right?

To clarify, said “spark” wasn’t really one of those overly cheesy, “we stared into each other’s eyes for a full minute without things getting extremely awkward and I felt my heart flutter and decided she’s the one” kind of sparks. Or, simply put, the kind of spark Leo assumed came to life between Piper and Jason: a perfect couple from a fairytale sort of vibe. With someone like him and Eden, that fluffy “usually only seen in movies” nonsense stood absolutely no chance. What did, though, was the very real and equally convincing truth that Leo—that’s right; Leo Swagless Valdez—was getting through to her.

. . . within ten minutes of conversation, which was a new and absolutely unbeatable record. —considering Leo’s capacity to manage any interaction was laughably small.

Yeah, you know Leo caught the new blossoms of color in her face. You know, typically clueless as he was with social cues, he had been paying extra close attention to what her reactions might be, all so that he wouldn’t miss the tiniest sign that she didn’t actually want to murder him on the spot. The mix of red in her cheeks and wideness of her eyes was surprising, sure (Leo didn’t expect most people to be taken by his antics rather than repellant), but the craziest thing . . . ? Leo wasn’t even thrown off by it.

That was usually what did him in. When someone’s response was positive instead of the norm of “Oh my god, Leo, shut up.” And when faced with that sort of thing, he was prone to having zero idea where to even go from there. No Step Two to speak of. What happened here was so insanely opposite, Leo wondered if he’d hit his head in recent days and just managed to totally forget about it:

He was excited.

His brain wasn’t stuttering over unfamiliar gears, trying to process what the hell was going on or why he’d managed to get this girl of all people to blush. He wasn’t laboring and stressing over immediately screwing it up. The giddiness he felt bubbling in him was comparable to the rush of finally getting an uncooperative machine to cooperate, of finally solving that single flaw in an equation and being able to run with the results, of succeeding.

If she could read minds—and Gods, Leo hoped not—she’d have a much bigger reason to absolutely despise the huge grin on his face.

“Eh, they’re basically the same thing,” he said readily at her preference for Hell, pausing briefly in his work to watch as she dutifully went back to hers. “Houston might actually be hotter, but as far as misery goes? I bet the two places compete for who can be worse. I’ll give you my findings next time I visit: the good ol’ compare-and-contrast.” Stated as if he, first of all, ever even went back to his hometown for any reason and, second, just casually made trips to Hell when he had the time. And just as casually, Leo corrected her: “I stick to the Macarena mainly. But if you want me to learn line dancing for you, that can be arranged.”

Self-preservation saved him from sending her another wink. Which was hilarious, really, since Leo didn’t have much of that.

As Eden, on the other hand, sent him another jab, Leo couldn’t help snickering some. His attention flicked upward again, contemplating the supports in the stables and already considering the best means to strengthen them. “Man, it’s a bummer, though. Because, like, if I’m going to dedicate time to being an official stable boy—er . . . stable repair boy—it’s gotta be worth it, y’know?” He ran a hand over his chin, one knuckle tapping thoughtfully at his lower lip. “Not that the safety of our furry friends isn’t reward enough or whatever . . . ” Slowly, his gaze slid back to his company. “Oh, and totally unrelated, but maybe—just maybe—it would help to have another set of eyes here with me while I work on it. Just in case something isn’t totally straight and needs adjustment, yadda yadda. And my siblings are super busy lately, so.”

@autopsified

#*ੈ🪦 ( eden monroe ; threads) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( god(s) planted a garden in eden ; verse) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( badboysupr ; leo valdez) ‧₊˚

[autopsified]

It's no mystery that Negan's reputation is just as poor as that of the Milton's after Connie exposed their whole operation. Maybe even worse. The mystery lies in why. And Connie is a well known sucker for a mystery.

Whatever happened between Negan and the rest of their community it was either bearable enough, or long ago enough, to be outweighed by his present day contribution. And because of this no one will tell her.

Challenge accepted.

Since she doesn't know his past transgressions it's easy for Connie to feel a sense of sympathy for Negan. She doesn't know what everyone else sees in him, but she sees someone who's trying their best to be good in a world that seems determined to bring out the worst in everyone.

She holds up one finger before pulling out her notepad. He doesn't know enough sign language for her to give him a proper talking to. It takes almost two sheets of paper to get down all her thoughts before she's handing the small notebook to him.

Recovery is never a straight line. Shit happens, we all make mistakes. Bad ones. And we'll keep making mistakes 'til the day we die. Maybe even worse ones than what we've already done. But every day is a chance to do better than we did the day before. I know you know that, and I know you try. Even if some people haven't noticed yet.

❛ you will get better.  maybe not today, but someday. ❜ for negan. from connie. aka "i can fix him" coded queen

memes. / always accepting.

　Was he? It was a nice thought. One Negan couldn't fully grasp himself. He knew the cost of such blind optimism. She hadn't been here when things had been at their worst and the resentment lingering from it probably would never truly pass. They kept him around for convenience but if that purpose ever ceased, Negan's stay at Alexandria would as well. Connie was different than he was. Anyone could see it. She was the type to do what was right and fight for it, Negan already succumbing to what this world had become. He shakes his head a little fingers motioning in the clumsy, half-practiced signs. Not today at least. 'Cause there would always be tomorrow and Negan could only hope he'd eventually figure it out. How to survive like her-

#*ੈ🪦 ( connie ; threads) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( godstrayed ; negan smith ) ‧₊˚

[autopsified]

·:¨༺ ♱ ༻¨:· | | @curlpower's last words ; It seems her idea for taking a walk and making a stop at the empty playground in the middle of the night is a shared idea, as a figure perched upon the swings piques Nancy's curiosity and she edges in closer until she can finally identify the figure. "...Heather? Um, hi. I wasn't expecting anyone to be here..."

Funnily enough this playground has zero nostalgic affect for Heather. It wasn't even the one she frequented the most as a child. But as July comes to a close and August begins Heather is well into her downward spiral. Which includes doing everything and anything to avoid going home. Like wandering the streets of Hawkins until she finds a spot to ruminate in, until exhaustion takes over and forces her back to the last place on earth she wants to be.

Though she hadn't heard Nancy coming until she's close Heather doesn't startle. This would imply a strong will to live that would be threatened by the sudden company.

"You didn't hear? Suburban playgrounds are all the rage now. No one's going to the club anymore," she replies. Her deadpan tone rivaling that of the one often used when she wasn't control of herself. With a small sigh she pushes some of her hair to the side. "Just couldn't sleep. Needed some fresh air... what are you doing here?"

#*ੈ🪦 ( heather holloway ; threads) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( do you know what i did last summer? ; verse) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( curlpower ; nancy wheeler ) ‧₊˚

[autopsified]

I will never forget you.

activity nosedive starting now.

[autopsified]

·:¨༺ ♱ ༻¨:· | | @popularmxnster's last words ; "Hey Carrie, wait up, you dropped a book."

Carrie stops dead in her tracks at the sound of her own name- which now, after years of mistreatment both at school and home, has become one of countless things that send her into fight or flight mode. And the fact that when she turns around to see who had called her she's undeniably surprised. Mostly because Billy seems too popular, too handsome, too cool to even know her name. Much less pick up her book. Oh, God, of course the one she dropped is the one about aliens and other freaks of nature like her!

"Oh, thank you," she says, sounding just as timid as she looks taking the book from him. "It's, um... it's for a friend. They're really into... all this stuff."

#*ੈ🪦 ( carrie white ; threads) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( popularmxnster ; billy loomis) ‧₊˚ #left it nice and open ended for ya #so it can be in either of their canon's #or neither!

[autopsified]

She can't help but let out a laugh as she watches him reeling away from her. She loves how easy it is to make fair skinned people go red. Mostly because she likes getting any kind of noticeable reaction out of someone. Knowing that she's objectively had an impact. Even if it's a negative one.

Most people of note in history weren't liked at the time.

"Well, am I wrong?" Medusa asks, her attitude remaining thick in her tone while the hand she didn't just use to pinch him lands on her hip. "I mean, I'm obviously not calling you one. Even if you look like their wet dream." However he choses to take this, she doesn't mean it as an insult. There are plenty of complaints about him she could, and has made. But she wouldn't complain about how he looks other than to say that when he is close enough to get a good look at it'll likely be ruined the instant he opens his mouth. "How about I use Charles Manson as an example instead? Like how he used the song Helter Skelter to talk about the civil rights movement getting so out of control that it starts the apocalypse. But the song is about the Roman Empire, and Paul McCartney only wrote it to be petty 'cause people were saying all the shit he wrote was sappy. That's super interesting, but Charles Manson sucks. Is that better?"

She's unable to help the righteous sympathy gut reaction to the news that Percy's half brother isn't allowed here. There's likely an answer to this that she just isn't aware of yet, she knows this. But surface level- this seems unfair. Especially if he has someone here to vouch for him. Even if that person is a little bit insufferable.

"Oh... okay," Medusa says, struggling greatly to keep herself from frowning or sounding a little disappointed. And not just because of the possible injustice she's sniffing out. She had been greatly looking forward to seeing if there was any family resemblance. "Don't offer that and then forget, I wanna meet him."

She beams at this, just a little bit. Compliments about her looks is something she's likely to roll her eyes at, or maybe even be a little confused by. This is more along the lines of the way to get to Medusa's heart; calling her scary. It affirms everything about herself she's most proud of. She doesn't care about earning people's good favor, she cares about earning their respect. Even if it isn't a mutual feeling.

"Cool. But if he's really nice I probably won't be scary. I can be nice. Only if people deserve it." Her eyes narrow just a bit, a subconscious message that makes it clear Percy has yet to join this category. "You don't have any others? I mean, I heard about the whole 'forbidden' thing, but I feel like there's a lot of you for something that's supposed to be forbidden."

@autopsified || cont.

Usually when someone made a remark like “Pinch me” or “Bite me,” it wasn’t actually meant to be taken seriously. But, see, Percy was outside the realm of “usual,” and when he barked comments like that, oh, he was absolutely issuing a challenge; frankly, if someone decided to take him up on it, he was impressed and recognized, Hey, they might actually be on level playing ground in the realm of “weird.” The difference and the unexpected of this specific encounter, though, was less about Medusa meeting his challenge and more about the way she met his challenge.

She could’ve pinched his arm. Anywhere on his arm. There was a lot there to cover: shoulder, bicep, forearm; it wasn’t like her options were limited. Heck, if she really wanted to get up close and personal, even a little twinge to the waist would’ve done the trick. (Would it have been a bit strange . . . ? Sure. But Percy would understand the logic; most people had a sensitive spot there.) What she did . . . could also be categorized as “up close and personal,” but like, more demeaning and basically the kind of gesture Percy would expect from his mom when he was way, way younger—

A small and sharp sting blossomed in one cheek, enough so that he actually flinched and reeled his head back. Effectively, that proud smirk dissolved into a grimace, and before he had time to stop himself, his free hand lifted to rub at the spot he could just tell had turned red. It didn’t make much sense why that warmth seemed to have spread to the other side, too. He decided not to dwell on it.

“Okay, wow, so you’re just gonna . . . say stuff like that. Pretty not cool comparison,” Percy complained, and as if he expected that she’d drawn blood, he checked his fingertips quickly. Satisfied with the lack of noticeable damage (outside of that flush in his face, apparently), his hand closed into a fist, and he met Medusa’s gaze.

Ironically.

“Uh, well, he’s not here currently, but . . . Yeah, he’s ‘allowed.’ Welcomed, really.” At least nowadays. Better not discuss the amount of animosity toward the poor guy years ago. . . . Regrettably not something Percy was entirely guiltless about. “Next time he visits, I’ll introduce you two,” he offered, and that smile returned a touch softer than before. “Bet he’d like you. He’s super friendly. Even with scary girls.” And especially with pretty girls, but Percy would sooner be caught dead than say that out loud.

#*ੈ🪦 ( medusa ; threads) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( born to be a modern martyr ; verse) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( tidaltow ; percy jackson ) ‧₊˚

[autopsified]

·:¨༺ ♱ ༻¨:· | | @rayofsunshinc cont.

Connie can't help but let out a small sigh of relief when he affirms all her concerns she hadn't had the courage to voice to anyone else other than Kelly. She knows that she has a tendency to be overly suspicious sometimes, an old habit from her days as a journalist that was only further enabled by the end of the world. But she also knows that Daryl is like her in this way; he's one that doesn't need to be told most people have ulterior motives and that not everything is as it seems.

She nods emphatically when he says what she couldn't have worded better herself. Thin ice, she signs back in agreement. It doesn't make sense, as some have been quick to remind her. The commonwealth is getting a very clear benefit out of helping them rebuild their communities, so why does it feel like they're trying to make up for something?

His grin is contagious, and she can only imagine what kind of trouble he's gotten himself into. Especially with the job they've given him. I can't imagine why, she signs with a sarcastic sense of silence she's perfected over the years. But why? Why let us in, give us jobs, any of this, if they don't trust us? It was far too hard to keep her imagination from wandering into dangerous territory.

#*ੈ🪦 ( connie ; threads) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( rayofsunshinc ; daryl dixon ) ‧₊˚

[autopsified]

·:¨༺ ♱ ༻¨:· | | permanent meme call!

you know the drill. like this for a meme from yours truly. specify which muse you want, and other multi's do the same for your muse, or i'll pick myself. and that's a threat c:< also please have a tag/link easily accessible

[autopsified]

"You can't protect everyone."

I have to try.

#*ੈ🪦 ( carl grimes ; musing) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( connie ; musing) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( lydia ; musing) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( james potter ; musing) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( steve harrington ; musing) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( sister irene palmer ; musing) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( ella frell ; musing) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( jonas monroe ; musing ) ‧₊˚

[autopsified]

Beth - //Why were you named the way you were? Is there a special meaning behind your name (or middle name if applicable)? //Would you say you are an introvert, or an extrovert? //What is your favorite holiday? What makes it your favorite? Is there something in particular that you enjoy most about it?

questions the muse can answer

"Mamma named me after Beth from Little Women and always used to say I grew up to be just like her. When I was little they used to tell me the name meant 'God's home sweet home' and I didn't find out 'til I was older that they combined two of the meanings together when they said that."

"Definitely an extrovert. I love being around people, and I don't really like being alone. Even though I get real shy meeting new people it's still always fun."

"Christmas. Which is real cliche, I know. But no one had to work, and everyone came from out of town, so the house was spillin' with people. Which is just how I like it. Presents weren't really a big part of Christmas, since no one could afford something nice for everyone. So it was a lot more about the food and traditions."

#*ੈ🪦 ( beth greene ; headcanons) ‧₊˚ #*ੈ🪦 ( wexarethewalkingxdead ; ooc ) ‧₊˚