#back to my old reliable hc that you can do what you want as papa as long as you're still a man and getting with women in some capacity.

[ratgirlcopia]

tell me about stone butch blues secondo

covers my face. i did ask for this.

anyway i think secondo is transmasc in the sbb way and was a pretty butch kid too so nihil was an inattentive enough parent that he legit never realized he was raising a lesbian. and i think secondo has extremely complicated feelings about this because he wants to be able to acknowledge himself as a lesbian but he also knows the ministry is not super cool about women being papa. and nihil specifically is like. mr "liking femdom makes me a feminist" and he fundamentally thinks women have specific roles in the ministry. so it's just this weird like. constant on-guard kind of attitude that secondo has to have in order to preserve the life he wants. which, imo, is why he has a more serious stage presence than terzo and copia after him. because he has probably seen some shit and also thinks he has more to lose. anyway secondo isn't dead he's. fine. he's out someplace living with his trans drag queen girlfriend. even sbb got a happy ending right. r

#ask #homosekularnost #ghost ministry gender politics are insane and messed up but in somewhat unique ways. to me. #back to my old reliable hc that you can do what you want as papa as long as you're still a man and getting with women in some capacity. #and then secondo is over here like. butch anxiety mode and living in semi-constant fear. #and copia is like whoops i'm also. a woman sometimes. and i only want to get with men. (isn't getting with anyone. but still) #nihil is only sticking around as a ghost so he can continue to give his kids emotional and mental damage.

[regrettablewritings]

Dewey Finn HCs

Because nobody can stop me, because I’ve been sitting on these forever, and because I need to distract myself from the anxiety of having to go back to work in a few more days

HCs About His Life

His dad is the one where Dewey got just about . . . everything, really: His laidback personality, his tendency to feed his impulsivity, and, by far, his love of rock music. Papa Finn was one of those guys who plops their kid down to listen to his old albums because “that’s real music.” It stuck. For his bar mitzvah, Dewey begged for and was granted his first guitar and the rest was history.

Parents separated soon after the bar mitzvah because, as it turns out, being too laidback and very impulsive is not the best set of traits to have when married, let alone when there’s a kid in the picture. Mother Finn insisted to their son that they really did try to make it work but . . .

Mom got custody of Dewey. It wasn’t that Dewey didn’t love his mother, he just felt she didn’t understand him like Dad did. Unfortunately, this often led to him acting out a bit.

Weekends were the best to Dewey because those were when his dad would pick him up and they’d go out and do fun stuff: Dewey would show him how far he’d gotten in playing, his dad would celebrate with ice cream.

Weekend-ly visits became every other weekend after a bit. Dewey didn’t mind too much . . . But then every other weekend became once a month. Eventually, they sort of stopped happening at all.

Mr. Finn was never really the most reliable, Mrs. Finn could’ve said as much. But as much as she wanted to tell Dewey, she never did. A part of her regrets not telling him, suspecting that maybe doing so could’ve spared her son the pain and disappointment. However, a part of her kept hoping maybe the man would actually try harder for their son.

Every once in a while, Dewey would get a phone call or postcard from his old man, who’d apparently decided to just travel around the country to “find himself” or some crap. Dewey never really got over this.

(Yes, in my version, I imagine Dewey began to pursue rock goddom not only to get some respect and finally be cool, but also as a means to reach out to his dad and win his approval. Because I’m depressing like that.)

Maggot Death was his absolute baby, with whom he shared custody over with Ned upon founding it together in high school. First gig was the school talent show.

They did not win anything. And Dewey’s showboating convinced quite a few that they were an avant-garde comedy act.

College was where things got a little more complex.

Dewey really only went because his mother pressured him to. “As backup in case the rock thing doesn’t work out,” she told him with much exasperation. He finally caved and moved into an apartment with Ned.

Dewey lasted only about a semester. Didn’t care. He much preferred playing in the quad and trying to pick up girls than taking courses on business models and politics.

Ned, however, stayed in school, which made finding time to practice together a bit more difficult. Maggot Death was more or less in limbo at this point, which made Dewey finicky at best considering he had put all his rock god eggs in one basket. They did pull through, obviously, but there had definitely been a bit of a strain for most of the time.

Eventually Ned met Patty and she got him really thinking more seriously about his future. Unfortunately, this led to Ned admitting to Dewey that he honestly couldn’t see Maggot Death as being a big part of his own future. Dewey . . . did not take it well.

After a whole thing where he disappeared for two days in a huff, he came back with an apology pizza and a promise to Ned that he would try to be more civilized to Patty.

“Even though she’s a dream-annihilator.”

As stated before, Dewey didn’t start No Vacancy, he just “brought the band together.” But that says a lot about what he brings to the table. The fact of the matter is that once you get beyond his showboating tendencies, Dewey will put his all into the music projects he involves himself in. Perhaps a bit too much, though, as he can still be overbearing, impulsive, and an acquired taste.

While he never would have imagined himself in a teaching position of any kind, be it professionally or as a program instructor, Dewey would never dare badmouth where he is now. Maybe the path he took to get here, but that’s just because he was being stupid. He’s proud to be using his talents to help others recognize theirs. He’s proud to be able to help kids from stiff upbringings be able to express themselves. He’s proud of the kids he’s touched and who have also touched him. Overall, he’s just plain proud of the School of Rock!

Of course, he wouldn’t mind achieving rock divinity at some point still. But for now, now is pretty good.

Misc. HCs

Dewey is actually just a nickname; his real name is Andrew

Is Jewish but isn’t really a practitioner of the more religious aspects of it. He tries when the more major holidays happen, but it’s a soft try more than anything.

Can play every basic instrument in a typical band (guitar, bass, drum set, keyboard) to some extent, but is most definitely best at guitar.

Rock is his absolute favorite genre of music but he definitely has guilty pleasures in pop and even country.

Will never admit to it, but he does know a few showtunes

Has ADHD. Special interest is obviously rock music. His forms of stimming include raptor hands and dancing when he walks out of excitement.

Is an Aries because facts.

Is a sub. Will I elaborate? Maybe. Will I change my mind? Never.

#dumb post is dumb #just blabbing at this point #do i regret this? yes #do i need to put something out to feel like i did anything over quarantine? oh yeah #plus if i do any dewey work in the future some of this stuff will be important to an extent #maybe #dewey finn #dewey finn imagine #dewey finn headcanons #school of rock the musical #school of rock imagines

[infcstissumam]

Hello! I hope you're having a good day! 💖 I find you writing absolutely amazing! I love reading all of your stuff! I was wondering if I could ask for some ghoul HCs for when their S/O is sick with something like a bad flu; like their fever won't break, they can't keep any food down, a persistent cough, and pain from head to toe. Thank you so much! 🖤💙

Hey-hey!! Thank you, Nonny! I’m feeling good, probably because I just finished the last of the exams for my second term! Haha. I hope you’re feeling the same way!!

This got way longer than expected during writing, so I had to cut it down to Aether, Dew and Mountain!

Aether

Aether is an old ghoul, one of the oldest still remaining in the church. Decades have passed, as he’s silently served the clergy, through death and hardship, into joy and prosperity. He saw the end of Elder Zephyros (later known posthumously as Papa Zephyros), he watched as it split the clergy between his sons, he watched as the mantle was adopted and humiliated then brought back into glory. 

He served when many of the clergymen dropped from pestilence, rotting alive where they stood. He saw the bloom of new members in the twentieth century, the baby boom, and so forth. So needless to say, he knows that even the greatest will fall, he knows death and new life, he can tell when a man is in their last days, and you aren’t at yours.

Unlike other ghouls (*cough**cough*dew*cough**cough*), he’s entirely calm when you start to enter the worst of it. As your skin flushes to the shade of a freshly boiled lobster and shines under the blurry overhead light, he’s beside you, holding a wet cloth to your forehead and urging you to drink, just a little bit more.

Yet, that doesn’t mean he’s not worried, in fact, the truth is the contrary. Once he’s out of your eyesight and hearing range, he’ll collapse against something solid and bury his head in his hands, a deep hissing sigh escaping his lips. His body quakes, like a leaf in the wind, but no tears fall, your misery is his misery. Seeing you there in that bed, pale and devoid of you, that spark of life that makes you so ebullient against the faceless crowds. It hurts, it hurts like a bitch, especially when he can’t do a damn thing.

Still, he’ll always return with that small smile and stoic attitude to you, he’ll be your rock in this storm, and he’ll see you through until your rainbows peek through the gray clouds.

Dewdrop

This lad, whew boy.

He’s terrified, unlike Aether, he’s a relatively new summon, he isn’t nearly as wisened to the nature of human fragility or the difference between death and disease.

As far as he’s concerned, you’re dying, and there isn’t dick for shit that he can do about it. You’d expect rage, but no, he’s a self-imploding storm of anguish and misguided anger.

He blames himself for this, he let you, his greatest treasure, the only human in the godforsaken clergy he can stand, walk headfirst into danger and look at what he’s done now. He did this, it’s his fault, he hurt you.

For days he lays at the foot of your bed, standing guard against some unseen enemy. Only moving to curl up beside you when you cry for his natural warmth amidst cold shivers, even then, he won’t meet your gaze. Guilt is eating him alive.

That is until Aether manages to break through to him by explaining what a disease is. That it isn’t his fault, it’s just an unfortunate side effect of being human, spread in close quarters and far from as fatal as he’s treating it.

Then all hell breaks loose. No humans are allowed in your room anymore. Dew won’t have it, they did this to you, they spread the disease and got you sick. He’s practically spitting flames whenever an unfortunate sister or brother stops by to check on you.

Now, he’s taken to leaving your side, only in search of medicine from a local pharmacy or to personally see food and water brought to you. He’ll make sure you get better, come hell or high water.

Mountain

Mountain notices the changes far before even you do. Waking up one morning, he could hear the light spasms of your diaphragm, an omen of an oncoming storm. Your complaints of a sore throat in the morning only confirmed his suspicions. You’re coming down with something.

Still, he doesn’t know what, and his concern is piqued. First, he turns to the gaggle’s leader, what should he do? What is this? Expectedly, Aether is no source of information on the matter and directs him to the clergy’s clinic, they’d know more than he does and is far more reliable than certain websites.

Following some brunt and straightforward conversations with some very confused sisters, Mountain finally has some sort of answer. They said it was likely the flu, a common ailment for this time of year. Now with an answer to his nagging question and uneasy nerves, Mountain starts a research binge and stockpile, but not before curtly stating that you were sick, to which you scoffed, you had an itchy throat and little cough, no need to call the doctor.

When your flu came around to make you eat your words, both you and he were thankful for his worrying, you had no wants that he wasn’t prepared for in some way or another.

Still, no matter his preparations, your sharp decline, the way you drained and spluttered half-heartedly, it shook him to his core.

When you’d quake and clutch him for warmth, he’d want nothing more than to hold you and warm you back into your old self. But as you’d turn away, still pale and sweat lined, breathing hard and shallowly in an attempt to get oxygen to your lungs.

It broke his heart, made him want to cry, but he didn’t, he won’t, not until you’re better and back to him with that sly smile and contagious laughter. Until then, he’d be strong for both of you.