i bet on losing dogs.

I know they're losing, and I'll pay for my place by the ring

[charlieburkhardt]

toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart ️ baby, bang it up inside.

─────────── ⋆⋅ ⟢⋅⋆

intro. connections. threads. musings. mirror. playlist. pinterest.

  ( penned by mj. see also: ╰ reese keller. ╰ blythe cove, nj. )

[santisepulveda-sw]

starter: for @charlieburkhardt

where: @ dune 17

It wasn't always easy to keep up with the kids that left the house once they turned eighteen but Santi had a bit of a soft spot for Charlie, even now after so many years and so many things that happened to the young woman. So he insisted and tried his damn hardest to be a part of her life and ease the load off in whatever way he could. Sometimes he'd drop off some groceries at her place or wherever she was working, get her some new clothes, even offering to pay some of her bills.

Tonight, he decided to take her out to dinner somewhere nice without a specific reason. No especial occasion or celebration other than spending time with his kid. His kid. He couldn't help himself. All the kids he fostered felt like his kids. He saw something special in all of them, potential to be their best versions. Sometimes they weren't with him enough time for him to see it but he always hoped the way he treated them and cared for them, giving them his undivided attention and showing them that they were wanted and loved, well, that it changed something in them.

With Charlie, he was still hoping that love got to her. "Thank you for taking my offer. {Partner's name} was busy tonight and I have been craving something with fish." A soft smile across his face as he used the excuse when in reality, he just wanted to spend time with her. A one on one so if she needed something, she felt comfortable enough to tell him when he was on his own. The house can be difficult sometimes and his partner can over-worry but with years of experience, dealing with delicate cases, Santi learnt how to make it all about the other person and put his feelings aside. Well, most of the time. He stretched his hand across the table to offer it to Charlie for a squeeze.

[charlieburkhardt]

It was true that Charlie hadn't been the luckiest in terms of the hands she'd been dealt — oftentimes it felt like the deck was even deliberately stacked against her. It wasn't that she had a hard time letting people in, far from it, in fact; she had a habit of hoping for love and acceptance in the tiniest little pockets, looking for it in every nook and cranny and yet, when it was right in front of her face, she had a hard time holding onto it. Keeping it. Believing it. Trusting it. On the surface she had a hard time understanding why exactly that was when it was quite possibly the only real thing she wanted and longed for, but to look beyond that would be to realize the voice in her head warning her that the rug would get pulled out from under her eventually wasn't her own. It was Ben's. And since neither of them had ever really owned a damn thing in their lives, for better or for worse, that voice in her head was the only thing she had left of him.

It did make it pretty difficult to wash away the nagging feeling that she didn't deserve the kind of care and kindness that someone like Santi offered. When she and her brother were still in the system, it made sense, because then he'd had to care about her legally at least in some measure. Though, as she knew firsthand, that didn't stop plenty of other foster parents. Santi and his partner had always been different. They were genuinely good people, and the closest Charlie had ever come to having a family. Well... second closest. The first, she'd screwed up pretty catastrophically. And that voice in her head loved to doubt whether she was any better cut out to be a daughter than she had been a partner or a mother. But, annoyingly, Santi just wouldn't seem to let it win. He was always there cheering her on, checking in, and in the times they were together she felt the most irrational sense of calm. Occasionally the thought would even cross her mind that maybe if someone as good as Santi believed in her, she couldn't possibly be all bad. And that maybe things didn't have to be completely, hopelessly doomed. Maybe.

A small smile approached her face. "Well, as much as I'd love to pretend that I could've turned it down, a hot home-cooked meal is a rare and valuable delicacy that I just can't seem to say no to. Like a wish-granting unicorn. Or a new MCR album." Her grin turned a bit cheeky as it often did when she was appreciating her own humor, even when her brain and the words she was saying moved too fast to fully process and reflect before she was already onto the next topic. Charlie's nose wrinkled affectionately, coupled with a little shake of her head as if to balance the mushiness while grabbing his hand. "Still the world's biggest softie. I hope at least the new crop of hellraisers around here aren't giving you as much trouble as me and Ben did. Sorry for that, by the way." It wasn't the first time she'd made that apology and it probably wouldn't be the last. It was purely a reflex at this point.

[noctxrne]

BITING HER TONGUE AGAINST A FOLLOW-UP JOKE. Sabine sipped from her cocktail. It was pretty good for a dive bar, and deeply unfortunate that its creator had become an unwitting victim. The brunette watched them fuss with the shirt, inwardly cringing when the poop smeared further into the fabric. ❛ Sounds pretty biohazardous to me. if you want to clock out early, i won’t tell anyone, ❜ she offered around her straw. She had run out of her first gallery job for less, but then that had been a case of misplaced interest. Her boss had been a fifty-year-old rich lady who thought it might be fun to pass off Etsy artworks as her own; needless to say, she’d quit within the month.

❛ Does Skippy let you drink on the clock? ❜ Few things could save a long day, and from the looks of it, the bartender was having the longest, but alcohol was always there to try. ❛ Seriously, let me buy you something. As consolation for the loss of your very gross, very shitty flannel. ❜

[charlieburkhardt]

Contemplating for a moment if her standing with Skippy was still good enough that her attendance could handle another small dip in it, Charlie only sighed and groaned angrily—sighned? groaghed? some kind of slippery combination of the two—before she'd returned a moment later after discarding the overshirt and washing up a bit in the bathroom. And although she'd been thorough, the disgust was still lingering.

"Just one more hour. I can do one more hour." Maybe. Maybe not. But then, as if by some divine intervention, the other woman presented perhaps the only sensible diversion that could make finishing her shift bearable.

Were they supposed to drink on the job? Technically, no. "Nope." Desperate times, desperate measures. Shrugging her shoulders, she started to mix herself up one of her own concoctions, sliding it to the edge of the counter and hopping over it to start sipping. "But we're more of on a don't ask, don't tell basis, I think? Nah, don't worry about it. I'm pretty sure the markup of these mixed drinks is like, two-hundred percent or something, anyways. Hi. I'm Charlie. ...Unless you're going to complain about me in a yelp review? Which, in that case, my name is Nick, and I'm a loud misogynist who thinks I pull off baggy jeans, but I definitely don't."

[reverieafterglow]

Location Pinned at: Blythe Cove Book Swap With: Charlie (@charlieburkhardt) Based on: Coffee Talk - Broadside

Keiran didn’t do bookstores.

Not because she didn’t like reading, she did, secretly, usually at three in the morning with one leg hanging off her bed and the rest of the world asleep. But quiet places always made her feel like she didn’t belong. Like she walked too loud, breathed too sharp, took up too much space.

But she’d been riding her motorcycle in circles around town all day, trying to outrun a mood she couldn’t name, and somehow ended up parking right in front of Blythe Cove Book Swap. Maybe fate. Maybe boredom. Maybe just the universe reminding her she needed new charcoal pencils and a used copy of something depressing to scribble in.

The bell over the door chimed when she stepped inside, the warm paper-and-dust smell making her shoulders loosen an inch. It was cozy; string lights draped along wooden beams, handwritten recommendation cards tucked under stacks of secondhand novels, someone’s playlist humming through old speakers.

Keiran shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, trying to look like she belonged instead of like she’d wandered in by accident.

She turned down an aisle (poetry, of course) and nearly walked straight into someone.

A girl was standing there, back to Keiran at first. Keiran caught a glimpse of sharp cheekbones, tired eyes, and the kind of presence that felt… quiet but electric. Like a storm humming behind a soft sky.

Keiran blinked, stopped short, and cleared her throat, softly, awkwardly.

“Sorry." She muttered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with oil-stained fingers. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I’m, uh… not great at making my footsteps quiet.”

Gaining the other's full attention, though Keiran didn’t know her name yet, had something warm, unfamiliar flicker in Keiran’s chest.

Great. Exactly what she needed. A pretty stranger in the poetry aisle. Perfect.

Keiran glanced at the book in Charlie’s hand, then back up. Smirk, small. Hesitant.

“You’ve got better taste than most people who wander into this section." She commented, nodding at the shelf. “Usually it’s teenagers looking for breakup validation or guys pretending they’ve read Bukowski.”

Keiran shifted her weight, boots squeaking on the wood floor.

“…I’m Keiran, by the way. I’m new-ish.” She motioned vaguely toward the window. “Mostly live in the garage at Portside Motors.”

Her voice dipped a little softer, almost curious without meaning to be.

“You, uh, come here a lot?”

[charlieburkhardt]

To say she was a bit lost was probably an understatement. Books really weren't her forte, as she was pretty much allergic to anything that reminded her of school. But, unfortunately for her, it was nearing the holidays, and old people really seemed to like books? She'd remembered her foster parents talking about some author together the last time she'd been there for dinner, and as part of her quest to become at least a little bit less of a black hole in people's lives lately, Charlie had decided she would try to get something extra nice for them this year. Something other than her home-baked cookies, which, while she was sure they were appreciated, was the same gift she'd been giving most people since she was twelve. Usually, her wallet simply wouldn't allow for much more, but it had been a surprisingly decent month for those online fan-art commissions. The smart thing probably would've been to save the money for a rainy day, but her priorities always seemed to lie in taking her of herself last.

"Holy shit." Oh. Shit. She said that out loud, didn't she? She hadn't meant to, but the other girl had taken over her vision the way black smoke could fill a forest. Charlie's brain actually short-circuited for a moment, embarrassingly, because the only thing that registered immediately was pretty, followed directly afterwards by the shine of long dark hair. "No. - I mean. You don't need to apologize, I've got cats, getting snuck up on is pretty much a daily occurrence for me. Um." Oh my god. Speak! Say something. Idiot.

But before she could satisfy her inner monologue, she was suddenly aware that the other girl was saying more, and Charlie now had the choice of confessing that the book in her hands was actually for someone else, or, the much more attractive option of letting the cool mysterious hot girl in the bookstore think that her compliment was completely correct. "Oh. You know poetry?" The secret third option of her mind thoughts telling her it was more important to get a good gift annoyingly won out, as she was contemplating best possible responses in her brain. "Because I'm usually more of a visual arts person, but other than Mary Oliver and Shel Silverstein my written word game is pretty bleak. I'm trying to get a gift for my... not-family family? Your recommendation couldn't have come at a better time, really. Oh!"

Her eyes went—hopefully not to a noticeable amount, but almost definitely to a noticeable amount—wide as she followed cool girl's hand across the street, to the establishment she was unfortunately very familiar with, because it was the only mechanic shop in town and despite the frequency with which her crapbag car broke down she almost never set foot in it, opting instead to go to the much further away place that almost certainly overcharged her but was at least missing the disappointed stare of a previously familiar face. "You know cars? That's hot. I mean cool! That's very cool." Shit. "I uh, do not." Even if she had been more of a reader, the proximity to the garage alone presented a bit of a problem in itself. "I'm totally fucking up this whole introduction thing, huh? Bummer. I'm Charlie. I work at Skippy's and I'm a total disaster, but I really like your energy and if you're not completely icked at my existence already I think we could be friends. The catch is you have to help me pick out another book to go with this one that would be appropriate for a distinguished social worker with a soft side. And I wholeheartedly swear to you with undying fealty, that I will never pretend I've read Bukowski."

[sxlstxce]

{ for Enzo } Mirrorstone – admit a hidden truth about themselves and act on it.

location: solstice event for: anyone character: enzo moreno larsen

Enzo was used to being with a group of people. If he wasn't with his team, he was with his family. Enzo, for the last few years, wasn't someone who was ever really alone. It was silly, stupid even (he thought) that he was struggling with being alone. It wasn't like he was never going to see his team again - fuck, they had a game next weekend. It wasn't even like his family were far away. If he wanted, he could reach out to his mother and ask if he could take any of his siblings with him for the night.

It would easy to solve the loneliness.

But it wouldn't solve it. It would mask it.

Enzo had spent his entire life working towards a goal, and he had prioritized his dream over everything else: friends, family, even romance. Boyfriends and Girlfriends and Non-Binary Majesties all fell to the wayside eventually because Enzo was never going to prioritize them like he prioritized the sport.

He exhaled slowly. "This is fucked up." He muttered, kicking a loose stone and sending it skittering down the boulevard. He could hear the ocean, and he sighed. Blythe Cove was in his blood. His mother loved the town. He had family and friends here... and yet it didn't feel like home. Nowhere felt like home. He always felt like he was one foot out the door no matter where he was.

He couldn't remember who told him that his mother hadn't originally meant to keep him, that she had thought about giving him up. She didn't, obviously, and he loved her for it -- but he had to wonder when it was that she decided no, I'm going to keep him. He had been too young when the secret was told to him, and ever since then, he had tried to make it so there was no way she would regret keeping him. And then he found hockey, and he focused on being the best - and everything about him became wrapped in the idea that he would be so good that there was no chance that he'd be overlooked or pushed aside.

He didn't tell his mother that he knew. It would break her heart. It was her secret, and she didn't act on it. She never seemed like she regretted her choice... but there was a difference in parent maturity when she was 17 and raising him and when she was twenty-six and raising his littler sibling. Sometimes, it felt like he had come too early, that her life would have been easier or somehow better if he hadn't been around. It was easier to be in politics when people weren't counting on their figures to figure out how old she was in order to have a 25 year old son.

Enzo heard someone behind him, and he steeled his shoulders. Easy enough, just another conversation. He turned and grinned. "Bad night for wandering," he said as a greeting. "Get stuck in your thoughts this late."

He saw flashes; his mother with her tired but determined eyes, young and doing her best as she pulled him tight against her chest. His younger self sprinting down the ice as if chased by something, not chasing something. The billets who sheltered him. The teammates who became placeholders for belonging. The lovers he left behind because closeness without structure felt terrifying.

"I feel like I'm disappearing. That's stupid right? Problem is - Fuck. I don't know. Like, I'm about to catch the rabbit, and I don't know what to do when I get it. Or like the rabbit never existed, and I've done all this work and it's not going to matter. Serious existential dread out of nowhere."

[charlieburkhardt]

Charlie just stared at the ground, shuffling her feet along the sand. Almost as if it was an act of soothing herself, watching the way the powdery, blanketed lines would toss and then shift, disappearing completely back into themselves to make the same shapes in a slightly different place. She wasn't the type to ever let her thoughts settle, really, but Enzo had a way of making things feel slowed down. In a good way.

"I don't know, seems cozy and serene enough to me. I guess I have a soft spot for bonfires, though." They reminded her of simpler times. Sneaking out and meeting her friends in secluded places, past curfew hours at hidden beaches. Sometimes with Ben, Dresden and a flask full of liquid that wasn't theirs to share amongst themselves, but they also knew wouldn't be particularly missed. Sometimes with Nate and their old group of friends, back when things weren't so fucked up with them. And sometimes, with Enzo, though that had always been more of a two-person deal. They seemed to find it easy to fall back together when the world around them was moving too fast, and their chapter in someone else's book had come to an end. For them it wasn't an ongoing story, as much as it was meeting in the spaces between sentences.

"You're not. But no, it's not stupid. I don't know much about it, because it really only applies to people who have things in their life going for them beyond sticky shoes and a cocktail shaker, but it's just impostor syndrome right? Or the temptation to self destruct and implode. Now that part, I can relate to," the corner of her mouth turned just slightly, almost as if she was poking fun at herself but also dreadfully aware of just how comfortable she was in that reality. "You'll be okay, E, you just have to do what all us plebes do – fake it til you make it. Except, you're lucky. 'Cause you actually have the talent to make it. It's only your own brain you have to trick."

[charlieburkhardt]

closed starter for Nathan @nathanhayes where: bonfire solstice bash based on the challenge stone prompt !

Not just honesty. Bitter honesty. Be honest about something you've been holding back. Fuck.

There was only one situation that applied to, unfortunately. The list of people she'd let down was more massive than the distance to the moon, but. This was the one that mattered. There wasn't enough sorrys in the world to explain or justify how badly she'd let not just them, but herself down in the way she'd handled things all those years ago.

Taking a breath, Charlie started to take a few steps towards him, before turning around and freezing, stretching her fingers through her hands at her side as if her nerve endings were on fire. Stupid, this was stupid. She didn't have to do this. She was about to march herself back to the entrance and just leave this whole event, but when she'd dug for her keys in her pocket, her thumb traced over her wallet. The wallet that still kept Wyatt's baby picture safely contained, right next to the picture of Ben. The existence of those little polaroids might've been redundant, since both images were irrevocably burned into her brain. She didn't need the reminder, but she held onto it, anyways.

Fuck.

Before she lost her nerve again, she pivoted once more, striding over to Nathan with the briskness of a brewing storm, honestly afraid she might throw up before even reaching him. But when she got there, the words managed to blurt out just as fast as her pace on the way over. "Can I talk to you?"

[charlieburkhardt]

The Stone of Bitter Honesty: They finally say something they’ve been holding back…

Charlie let out a deep sigh the moment she saw the prompt on the stone. Stupid. Dumb rock. "You don't tell me what to do, you little freak," she said, before turning and tossing it into the distant sand. Only, the words she'd read wouldn't stop lingering. . .

[sxlstxce]

Dresden didn't relax. If anything, her expression turned more sour and she glared down at the bucket of water that was turning brown from the scrubbing she decided to give the gym floor. "Yeah, I know." She knew Charlie well enough to know that her oldest friend wasn't going to care that Dresden was still taking care of the gym. The gym was Dresden's baby - outside of boxing, Rooster, and Charlie (Ben was the unspoken member of that list, but he was gone and she couldn't talk about that), the gym was everything to her.

Her head snapped up at Charlie's statement. "You're serious?" she asked, deadpan. Her sense of humor was as flat as Rooster's, and no family could ever figure out if she thought something was funny, but there was the way that her hands relaxed on the mop before she turned and pushed the bucket with the mop inside to the sink, so she could lift it and dump it down the drain. "A bird shit on you? C'mon. I could make a jazz joke somehow, I'm sure." Charlie Byrd, for those unawares of the wonders of jazz, had been the reason why Dresden used to call Charlie "Bird" before Ben died.

(there was before Ben and after Ben... a definite line in the sand).

She ducked her head at the praise. The mere mention that Rooster might actually like and trust her, as if she wasn't a burden barely tolerated. She hated any kind of compliment. She felt her face flush, and she chose to ignore it. "Are you cold? You can go grab one of my coats from upstairs." She offered. Years of knowing Charlie had attuned her to the only person, save for Rooster, that she'd call family. "By the time you find something, I'll be done and we can head out... and you bought tickets? I thought we were just going to sneak in like we always do."

[charlieburkhardt]

Letting the silence breathe for just a second, Charlie's eyes softened as she watched her friend. The thought occurred to her just how different things were. Dresden, responsible, and Charlie... well, Charlie was trying to be. It wasn't like there was an expiration date on grief, but a lot of people still acted a bit judgmental towards you if you carried it with you for longer than was socially acceptable. She almost envied the lucky bastards that were fortunate enough to not know the real, dirty ugliness of grief. That the truth about it was that it never went away, and it still hit hard as hell when it took a swing on you. The only difference in time passing was that the punches were fewer and farther between. But where Charlie had failed to pull herself together, Dres was there to be the good example. God, things really were different.

"I am unfortunately serious as a heart attack my sweet little dove. You would think life would eventually let up in finding new and creative ways to shit on me, I just never considered the obvious, the horrifying, the devastatingly literal and tragic irony of that beady-eyed fucker staring me down with hatred in his heart and the soft, caressing whisper of a diarrhea-shaped dream. But you know what? At least it was just an animal. Could you imagine if Old Norma had given herself the runs again on my watch? Skippy's going to throttle me if I don't start learning to cut people off, but really, it's not my fault. I'm starting to understand that my general measure of tolerance and fuckery is way higher than most people's." A look of dazed thought crossed her face, as if she'd gone somewhere else for a second. "Joke about it and I will eat you. Something something 'cannibalism is an expression of love' something something." Even though it was technically a threat, she'd spoken it with the world's most teasing and endearment-soaked grin.

Her brain didn't let her sit long enough to elaborate on what Dresden had actually meant. She knew, of course; somewhere in the back of her mind, it had tangled itself up in a haunted, leaf-barren tree, just like the ones they used to climb as kids. All three of them.

"Cold... cold... yes. Fucking freezing my tits off, actually. I had a really warm flannel on, you know that blue one with the ... absolutely intentionally placed, totally stylistic and not at all ratty holes? Gone. Finished. KO'd, mortal combat style. I guess I could borrow another layer from you. If you're really okay with it. I promise not to let a bird shit on this one." It really wasn't funny, but she chuckled to herself, anyways. "Oh, yeah... about that. You know the movie guy? The cute one who gave me a key to the backdoor..." she'd started counting on her fingers, looking up as they tapped, one, two, "three months ago? Well, he doesn't work there anymore, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only girl he gave one to. They changed the locks and even put cameras up in the alley. Can you believe that? It's like, where's your generosity, people? Your hope for community and enrichment through art and shared connection of the human spirit? Anyway. I got a deal on Five Nights at Freddy's 2 but we're gonna have to go see movies at the discount place, for the foreseeable future..." After breaking the news with a regrettable expression on her face, she'd backed away to go check upstairs, hoping for no more questions about movie guy who was undoubtedly yet another example of Charlie's terrible standards.

[jamesxelroy-deactivated20260114]

Who: Charlie ( @charlieburkhardt ) Where: Red's Corner Market

"Okay but who in the hell actually needs this many options of cheese?" James asked, looking over at Charlie from where he was browsing the cheese selection. While grocery shopping wasn't exactly his idea of a good time when it came to hanging out with someone, he had been the one to suggest snacks and a hangout, hell maybe even a movie. And since he didn't trust himself when it came to getting food, he figured his best bet was to drag Charlie along with him. Even though they had met by chance, she was one of those people that he could see himself becoming friends with. Which was a sigh of relief for him, he had been worried what friendships or meeting new people would look like for him now.

He grabbed for two more cheeses, taking a moment to read their labels, all variations of what seemed to be the same thing, an amused smile on his face before he gave a shake of his head. "So any idea what we should do snack wise?" James asked after a moment, tilting his head in question. Pretty sure he had slim pickings in the food department at his place, trusting her suggestions of his snacks more than himself these days. "I'm literally down for just about anything."

[charlieburkhardt]

"Cheese... enthusiasts? Chefs? The wine guys that make those fancy little snack trays to taste their really expensive reds with to bring out the notes of mushroom zest and aged frittatas? I don't know, man. Although." Most of what she'd said had been complete bullshit hyperbole meant to poke fun at those people, but she had one other thought. "You ever seen those Babish videos where he makes elevated versions of stuff? I only watched the mac and cheese one – I fucking love mac and cheese – but he went into all this detail about how different cheeses work better for cooking different dishes. Which, like, duh, but the way he said it sounded way better and more interesting than I'm saying it now. ...You know what, I'll just send you the link." A master of communication, she was not. In fact, she tended to follow whatever rabbit-hopped trail her brain went on, just, out loud, and whether people could follow it or not usually depended on how much sleep she'd gotten the night before. Luckily in the short time she'd known him, James never seemed to mind.

Eyeing the cheeses in his hands, she came to a slow nod. "I'm out of my depth here. Usually I feel pretty good if I get to put some paprika in my top ramen. Actually. Have you ever made real mac and cheese? Like, with a roux I mean? It might be a kind of fun thing to try. And it's not that crazy, you know, since you don't need to stack it with whole flavor profiles of ingredients. Or we could just get some fresh bread and make some cinnamon sugar toast. Big fan of cinnamon sugar toast. A delicacy, in my home culture of Broke-landia.”

[djarinwidow]

i see no difference

[charlieburkhardt]

@santisepulveda-sw

[eyyyiwantdeath]

[sxlstxce]

Location: rooster's boxing club, after hours

for: anyone

character: dresden callahan

The maintenance person had gone home early, something about a stomach bug. Dresden hadn't asked for the reason, anything with the hint of sick was enough for her to wave to the door and ask them to please not come back until they were free of anything contagious or otherwise disgusting.

"Sorry, I know - I'll hurry up." She said over her shoulder as she heard the bell over the door. They had plans - she couldn't remember what. Did she offer to help them spar? Carry a box? See a movie? If it wasn't directly related to the club or her old man, she struggled with remembering. She didn't mean to. Hell, even if it did involve the club or the old man, she sometimes forgot. She had to write things down in her phone, and then in a planner and then on her hand. She probably wouldn't lose her hand.

Probably.

"My cleaning guy called in sick, actually, they came in sick, and I didn't want to leave the gym a mess in case Rooster came in early. Last thing I need is him barking that he gave me something good and I turned it into something bad." He'd swear a lot more than that, but Dresden hadn't mastered the art of creative swearing. She would try it, and she would only get scoffs in return. Rooster had decades of lived experience on her, she had a long way to go to catch up.

"Even when I try not to be late, I'm late."

[charlieburkhardt]

"Dresden. Relax. Come on, it's me. When have I ever been on time for anything?" Taking a beat to lean herself against the wall of the entryway, Charlie just stuck her hands in her pockets, still red from the fresh December air outside. "Hey, but you know what? I bet I've got you beat on the crap meter today. No, wait. I mean that literally. A bird shit on me." A moment passed as if Charlie were allowing that statement to linger by itself for full effect, before continuing with a smile that was more about disbelief than it was about actual humor. "Right in the middle of my shift, too. Now, I know what you're thinking. — Charlie, how is that possible? You work indoors? And you'd be correct, angelfish, but. Man, I tell ya - in the miracles of ordained misery life really does find a way." She was almost giggling, now. This time it was about the humor.

"Will you stop? One, Rooster says a lot of shit but it's like, his love language. When he gives you that crap it's his version of a hug, or saying that he trusts you. Which he does. Hey, what's that like, by the way?" Charlie teased, before pulling the hood of her jacket tighter over her ears, the cold still overstaying its welcome, especially now that she had one less layer of clothing to cover her. Thank you, bird. "Honestly, it's fine. If we miss the movie we can just use our ticket to see a different one illegally. — Kidding. Or am I?"

[noctxrne]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑: open (0/3) 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: skippy's dive bar

❛ Y'KNOW, SOME PEOPLE WOULD SAY IT'S LUCKY. ❜ Sabine swirled the ice in her glass, having been perfectly content people-watching from her seat at the bar until they walked in. Skippy's weathered walls had seen plenty over the years, though perhaps none quite as unseasonable as this. Most of the birds had migrated south for the season, yet somehow, it seemed that they had crossed paths with the only one stubborn enough to stay behind.

She tilted her head, eyeing the bright white splotch on their shoulder for a moment. ❛ Not me. I think it’s fucking disgusting. ❜ The corner of her lips quirked up into a smirk. ❛ But, some people. ❜

[charlieburkhardt]

It wasn't that this day was dragging on particularly more than any of the other days usually did, or that the patrons were any more chatty or drunk than was typical for a casual place like Skippy's. No, the migraine today was almost definitely her own fault for chasing back one too many the evening before under threat of yet another sleepless night this week. And now, it was as if heaven itself had opened up to present her with God's own special middle finger. Jesus Christ. She'd gone out to fix the mat by the door that someone's drunken stumbling had wedged in the entrance, leaving gusts of wind to slam the door back and forth, and back and forth — probably another contributing factor of the migraine, honestly. But she had been feeling just lazy enough to let it sit until moments earlier, when walking outside to grab the mat and drag it back inside had blessed her with the split-second opening for a bird to shit on her shoulder.

"Not. Another. Word." Yes, she was technically employed here and technically, probably, shouldn't be speaking to customers that way. But her meter to give a fuck about things like that was already normally impressively low, and this had just broken the scale entirely. "Do you think this counts as a biohazard? Y'know, like, conditions I shouldn't legally be required to be working under? Fuck." She knew she couldn't walk behind the counter again like this. So, with an accepting sigh, she simply ripped her flannel off, leaving only her tank top underneath that she knew she would be freezing under all night, but that was a 'later her' problem. "I'll be right back, I have to go burn this in the dumpster outside." Half-joking, but as religious as she was about not throwing stuff away, there was pretty much no chance in hell she was about to spend some of her free hours later trying to clean bird shit out of a top that already had holes in it, anyway.

[charlieburkhardt]

⋆.˚ ☼⋆𓇼｡ AHOY, MATEY! Do you hear I BET ON LOSING DOGS BY MITSKI, by any chance? Must be CHARLOTTE "CHARLIE" BURKHARDT. Word around the cove is that SHE could be really SELF-DESTRUCTIVE, but also very LOYAL when you get to know HER. The ARTIST/BARTENDER (IN TOWN) at SKIPPY'S DIVE BAR has been staying over at CASPARYN QUARTER for 13 YEARS, now. Time sure does fly being 25. Looking like SOPHIE THATCHER must be tough around all these tourists - and it doesn’t help giving off those BEAT UP OLD CAR WITH THE FLOORBOARDS FULL OF CLUTTER, SNEAKERS AND BOOTS ALWAYS MARKED WITH PAINT, OVERDUE BILLS & DAY-OLD CHARCOAL SMUDGED EYES vibes, either. Well, what’s a CANCER CIS WOMAN to do?

───── ⋆⋅ ⟢⋅⋆ Her fingers were blotching red where they weren't ghost white, slowly turning purple the longer she shivered inside of her cold-ass car on this cold-ass night. "Fuck. This." A pale hand slammed down on the vents that no longer had any heat to give, only blowing the same piercing air that chilled outside her windows. It had been a pretty crappy night for her at Skippy's, and the last thing she needed was this piece of shit on four wheels falling apart on her again. As long as the check engine light didn't go on, she'd be fine... and sometimes, even if it did, it just meant something stupid wasn't working, like an LED or something... yeah. This was fine. Everything was fine. A dent had started to form in her brow from resting her head on the wheel as she took the moment to decompress, welcoming the familiar prickle of tears at her eyes. An indicator of several things — stress, sadness, frustration. Dropping your hotdog on the sidewalk. Right now, it pretty much just meant she needed a nightcap, followed by the world's longest sleep.

i bet on losing dogs

From the moment the eldest Burkhardt had been born, arriving with a screaming cry, it seemed as if the world was holding its own breath. And then, moments later, immediately released into a sigh as Charlotte emerged shortly after, mirroring the place she would hold with her brother for years afterwards — not "you first", but, "me, too." Pretty much as quickly as they could talk, Charlotte became Charlie and Benjamin became BB. It would be well into a decade before everyone else stopped calling her brother that, but never Charlie. No, even at the moment she was staring at an empty notes app meant to be the draft of his eulogy, she'd still titled it, "BB."

Perhaps it was entirely obvious to everyone that Ben had been doomed from the beginning — even though Charlie was the younger twin, she'd spent most of her life looking out for him, making them cereal with Cracker Jacks when their family forgot to feed them breakfast, collecting loose socks that would otherwise end up eaten by the bottomless pit sock void that seemed to exist in every house, no matter where or how big or how small, and, occasionally, throwing punches at the bullies on the playground that didn't know what a stutter was. And when they were older, it manifested in trying to keep him out of trouble, but Ben was as much her soft spot as he was her responsibility, and what actually ended up happening far more often was him dragging her down into trouble right alongside him, much to the chagrin of multiple foster families that all decided they were a bit too much trouble. The first few times they shifted placements, it was confusing. Then it just became normal. Ben and Charlie were no strangers to feeling unwanted, but, it never seemed to matter much — because they always chose each other, even if nobody else chose them.

i'll be there on their side, i'm losing by their side

Many, many therapists and counselors and teachers and foster parents and well-meaning friends and not so well-meaning mean kids over the years tried to stress to her that some distance from her brother might be a good thing, but she was never willing to listen. Not when he'd basically been the only home she'd ever really known; the only stability she really had. He was the one constant thread that tied everything together for her, even if it was a thread bathed in cop car lights and powered by joints and unflavored ramen packs, it didn't matter — it was theirs. And she'd never turn her back on him. Except.

Around the middle of their high school years, by some miracle, they'd landed themselves in a home that didn't seem hostile to them from the onset — but, lots of false starts over the years had proven that you couldn't trust anything from the onset, even if there were no immediate danger signs. Some people just didn't make their mind up right away, and then they'd pull the rug up right when you let your guard down. That was what Ben always said, and although Charlie's heart was much more optimistic at the core, she still marched alongside him in the dance to push people away from them, even if she didn't always agree and deep down a part of her still was hoping desperately for a family.

This family, though. No matter what the twins did — wild house parties, skipping school, even property damage — there never seemed to be a final straw. And even stranger, the people there were different... kind, empathetic. It didn't feel like talking to a therapist or a social worker who had to talk to you because that was their job, but... even though she couldn't put her finger on it, she knew somewhere in her that it was something she'd needed for a long time.

Only, Ben kept pushing. And when he pressed the self destruct button over and over, Charlie's footsteps started to be further and further behind him. And they did something they'd never before done in their lives, they fought. Like, really fought. He thought she was betraying him but it wasn't that at all; she just wanted them to be better. And she thought that just maybe, this was the support they'd been missing in order to try. When they aged out of the system, the family kept tabs on them, and Charlie even tried her hand at a few community college classes. She'd always been particularly good at what other people called "vandalizing" and she called art, but it turned out when there was an acceptable outlet for it you could do a lot more with it. The college thing was touch-and-go, but she did find she really liked doing art commissions for people, selling prints and digital copies of whatever thing she could — DnD characters, fanart from shows, even some more... colorful things that she didn't necessarily advertise, but, it helped to stretch the bills when working at the diner or coffeeshop of the month wouldn't cut it. Because, even though she'd distanced herself, she still found herself worrying about Ben, and when it came down to it, she'd drop everything, including whatever job she had at the moment or class she was taking in order to help him come down from a court-ordered rehab slip-up, and for a while it seemed like Charlie would still always put herself last, if it meant the person she cared most about still had someone on his team.

i'll be looking in their eyes when they're down

But something changed when she was in her third year of classes. Staring down at her shaky hands, holding a little pink stick with the entire world inside of it, she had one small thought. The thought that kept her from even considering what most people probably would think would be the sensible thing — that she was too young to be a mom and couldn't keep it. Yes, that would've been the sensible thing. But. What if this was the universe finally reaching out? What if the family she'd always wanted actually could be hers? It would be tough, sure. She was under no illusions about that. But the thing about it was, maybe for the first time ever, she had a reason, a real reason to fight for herself.

She still gave Ben plenty of chances, running in and saving him from himself again and again, until the day she’d gone to find him after he didn’t show up to a scheduled check-in. When she’d tracked him down at the apartment he was currently couch surfing at and they’d started arguing, it didn’t occur to her she’d forgotten to eat that day, until the very moment her vision had started to go black and she fainted right there on the floor. When she woke up, it was clear several hours had passed, her phone ringing itself all the way to a one percent battery. And Ben? Ben was sleeping on the floor next to her, high again. He hadn’t even noticed anything was wrong.

That was the last time she'd seen him alive. She didn’t even say goodbye. She’d decided something had to change, if not for her then for the new life she was determined to bring into the world with the love and support she'd never had.

That day haunts her. Perhaps even more than the day she'd gotten the call that started the way so many others did, that Ben had gone too far, only the way this one ended was different. This time, too far really meant too far, and she'd never get the chance to say goodbye, ever, because he was gone. It haunts her more than the day she looked at the small child in her arms and realized she wasn't cut out for family, after all. After Ben passed, she'd dropped out of school, cut contact with almost everyone in her life for months, and drowned her own sorrows the way Ben used to, under the total obliteration and absence of any semblance of her own mind. To say she let every possible person down at that point would be an understatement, but the dark thought occurred to her, that perhaps it was the truest way to honor Ben's memory. Because when one fell down, they always went down together.

i wanna feel it

That was five years ago. Now, Charlie still bides her time in whatever job will take her, only now, her absences aren't explained by the chaos of another person, but a chaos that's all her own. Her vices aren't nearly as creative as her brother's, sometimes she drinks too much and sleeps too late, but most of the time, her particular flavor of failure is self defeat. Hollowness and the self fulfilling prophecy that she'll never be good enough. The social workers she used to know would probably call it some level of functioning depression, but to her, she's just surviving. Along with secretly keeping up with from afar the kid she knows she doesn't deserve, but still wishes that she did.

how you'd be over me, looking in my eyes

some connection ideas and plot jumping off points:

happily never after: charlie is the type of person who loves with her whole chest (even to her own detriment), and who falls quickly hoping the other person feels it right back. the level of intensity often means she's scaring off potential partners, or ending up in whirlwind romances and toxic relationships. she probably has her fair share of exes, what-ifs, and almosts. but nothing with her is ever simple or easy, which is why none of them ever seemed to work out for her despite how badly she might've wanted it to.

working girl: I am unfortunately not joking when I say she's probably worked her way through 99% of the establishments in town, and plenty outside of Blythe Cove, too. obviously a lot of them didn't work out but if your character owns a place and tried to give her a chance, or works somewhere she could've also worked I'd love to plot how that could've gone!

what about like, bayonetta doing a spongebob cosplay?: it's sort of a secret that charlie sells art commissions through a faceless shop, posting previews on instagram and listing her pieces through etsy. she's got a surprisingly sizable following, though very few people in town would know it was charlie unless they actively saw her working and recognized her art style. I'd love to have someone who either writes OCs, is heavy into fandom, or maybe just has a really niche thing they’re into that paid her to bring something in their head to life and they either have no idea that the piece they love so much hanging on their wall is from her, or maybe they even figured it out

as well as a tag of more connection ideas here !

additional notes and hcs:

she is a lovergirl to her core. probably the most hopelessly hopeful person that has been chewed up and spit out by life over and over again that's still like, what if, though??? where she runs into trouble is she has a hard time believing she deserves happiness, but it won't stop her from romanticizing literally everything

still carries a picture of her child in her wallet even though most days she's afraid to even remember that it's there because of all the sadness that comes with it. but its also there as a reminder on really tough days that she is capable of doing something good

she probably doesn't label herself but would loosely identify as bisexual

she has cats that she adores, both strays that she didn't have the heart to leave out on their own

[rhysfiona-remade-deactivated202]

Remember, I only let you in because you said you’re not into girls.

[primulaceas]

Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

[likemonalisa]

Sophie Thatcher, The Washington Post, 2025