People mostly call me Clarity or my entire URL or the shorthand version, PPC, but I go by Nick.
Aroace and Nixvir—any pronouns besides she/her.
I post almost exclusively The Black Phone content, with the occasional exception that might be Saw, The Goldfinch, Sky High, or miscellaneous other things.
Writing, art, random bullshit. I am the appointed Goth!Finney Blake guy. (Everyone has their niche.)
I love goth and everything surrounding it, my favorite band obviously being London After Midnight. I love Sean Brennan.
My favorite subgenres are Post-Punk, Dark-wave, Death-rock, Ethereal-wave, and classic Gothic-rock.
I also like other genres like Punk, Visual Kei, Emo, some Metal, etc. I’ll listen to mostly anything.
No Grabber shippers of any kind (self or with the boys). Or Grabber fans in general really. I block freely.
I LOVE YOU MY MOOTS!!! Check out moots like @d1sapp01ntm3nt (who made me beautiful Goth!Finney Blake fanart! I love you Pancake) @acid-miwi @2tonedwolf @arteei and @just-call-mefr1es!
Send me an ask if you’re a moot and want to be tagged in my writing posts (and aren’t already.)
Does the striped shirt fucker from Tbp you see next to Vance in the pinball scene have a canon name or am I gonna have to refer to him forever as the striped shirt fucker.
Vance was an idiot to think things would be better after he escaped the basement. Mummified in bandages, stationary in a hospital bed for god fucking knows how long, Ma had visited on her own. Dad wasn't with her and the regular cloud of iridescent bruising on her face was clear.
He'd thought maybe she'd left him, come to her senses and booked it out to someplace she deserves. Nope. He was in the hallway, slobbering over the nurses and laughing at the injured whom he could spy on.
Three years of hell and Ma couldn't get her fucking act together enough to divorce his deadbeat, dead weight ass.
The first time Dad spoke to him since Vance was fourteen was to ask if being fucked had turned him into a pansy. Vance told him to kill himself, but like a stubborn mold, the bastard kept on living.
When the hospital released Vance under a strict care routine that Dad wouldn't let him follow, he arrived back to a house more infested than he left it. The windows were boarded up with two millimeter plywood, blocking out the sunlight Vance wanted to lavish in after so long in the dark. His room had been converted into a dump for old needles and festering bags of bloodied bandages. Cleaning it was pointless, not when Dad saw and broke a bottle over Ma's head as retribution.
Vance slept over at Paperboy's more often than not, even though PB's Father hated his guts. It was closest. When able, Mr Yamada would pick him up in his too-expensive car and persuade him to spend the night with Bruce. But that was rare.
Dad hit Vance on night two of his return. It was hard and open handed across the cheek after Vance called him a piece of shit, leaving a stinging welt that was nothing compared to belt buckles and axes. Vance hit him right back, closed fist and bubbling with rage, snapping his bulbous drunkard nose right in two. He could've done more- God, did he want to do more.
Ma made him stop.
Ma was a coward, and Vance thought maybe he hated her for it.
When Vance picked Finn and Gwen up for school, their father made too much of a stink about his visible bruises. Vance found perverted glee in telling the man to get fucked, like he was any different. Finn grinned at him. Vance grinned back.
When nightmares had Vance shouting obscenities in the wee hours of the morning, Dad would burst in, screaming himself hoarse about 'Did that man turn you poofta, you fuckin' cunt? Shut your fuckin' trap or I'll shut it for you!'
Sometimes it was too much for Vance to deal with in the midst of flashbacks and all he could do was wail. Sometimes he screamed back. Sometimes he grabbed whatever he could grip properly and hurled it at his Dad's head.
Sometimes he wondered why Ma would let this happen. How one person could be so much of a coward. He would never let Griffin be treated like this- fuck, he never did!
Breathe in. Breathe out. Break a window and run away from here, from the bastard and the coward, and get enveloped by the night.
Love when a group of characters goes through something horribly traumatic and they all end up affected by it in a different way.
One of them becomes cruel and closed off. One of them becomes quiet and distant. One of them puts up a front and breaks down alone later. One of them never truly escapes it. One of them hasn’t left their own head in months, they’re never present anymore.
This will tear them all apart unreconcilably. You can not patch up bullet wounds with mismatched pieces of torn fabric.
I like IT, I think IT’s (heh) fine, but I don’t CAREEEEEEEEE I DON’T CAREEEE I DON’T CAREEEEE GO AWAYYYYYYYI DON’T CARE ABOUT MIKE TRICYCLE OR BILL OR WHATVEER THE FUCK HIS NAME WAS.
Being trans(male) and aroace is horrible not because I have some repressed hatred for myself or my identity but because I will never get to experience firsthand a repressed love for my childhood male best friend and instead must experience it vicariously through media.
I stopped going out for Halloween only a few years ago because we just stopped but I still dress up and just sit in my house, so every year for like 3 years running I’ve just sat at my dining table watching horror movies dressed up as Jeff The Killer.
He quickly sits up, pushing his blankets down. The room is dark, quiet, aside from the phones incessant ringing from outside. Finney’s eyes find Ernesto’s sleeping form on his own bunk, blanket pulled over his shoulder.
The second Finney’s shoes are pulled on and his feet hit the floor he is tugging on his jacket, heading quietly across the cabin and exiting into the freezing air outside. It’s still snowing, hard, wind blowing harshly and making it hard to see. Finney locates the phone anyway, an old banged up payphone that definitely shouldn’t work but is ringing anyway.
Finney steps inside, jaw clenched tight. He practically rips the phone from the reciever, pressing it to his face. The words he plans to harshly spit out are already on his tongue. He can’t help. He can’t, he won’t. It’s probably the same kid who keeps calling. The same one who keeps saying Finney’s name like that will change Finney’s mind.
the next sentence would make this more interesting but it gives too much of the plot away, okay. also this takes place during tbp 2. a random section from what i do have written.
I don’t feel boredom. I’m fine to just sit and do nothing or do the same thing on repeat forever. But the second I feel underestimulated I need to bite myself or something.
