Jules | 27 | they/she | Canadian | follow from fortheoneswhowish | Ask & Tag Game Friendly Edit by @revenantlore *I do not give permission or condone the use of generative AI on any of my art or writing
Outlining/Drafting | New Adult Romance | 3rd person dual pov | poc, lgbt+, and ownvoices disability rep | TW for: ableism, toxic family dynamics | Banner by @revenantlore
Skylar Griffin isn’t an adult. Well, she is. Legally. But she’s never felt like one. Born with a neurological disorder called cerebral palsy, normal stopped being a part of her vocabulary long ago. With a life half-lived and helicopter parents breathing down her neck at every turn, Sky is determined to get what she has never been given: her independence.
But when her parents enlist the help of some family friends, Sky’s freedom becomes a whole bargain of its own. If she wants to live on campus for her first year of university, she has to get through the summer as their son’s newest roommate. But how can she when the boy she’s shoved into an unair-conditioned apartment with is the childhood best friend that broke her heart?
And if that’s not enough, a chance encounter between her best friend and his might just be enough to throw Sky into a summer whirlwind that she never expected. Learning how to survive on her own, a reunion that she never wanted, and a matchmaking scheme for the ages?
That might be more than she has one hand to hold.
Main Cast
Skylar Griffin | 22 | more books than there is floor, spilled popcorn across a couch, doing the opposite of what you are told to do, sunsets over a softball field, living in your thoughts, a gap toothed smile, the wildly beating heart of the unknown, finding art in how to live, the belief of a love that only exists in fiction
Avery Reece | 23 | shelves full of sheet music, a mountainous bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream, dying your hair so many times you’ve forgotten what the original color is, hiding who you are from the person that matters most, bracelets with secret meaning, blank walls, hugs so tight you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to let go
Haru Jaeon | 22 | a teddy bear beside you as sleep tugs you into its gentle embrace, bubba tea, saying hi to strangers in a street, eating food from your best friend’s plate, a stray cat that won’t leave you alone, braided pigtails, clothes covered in glitter, falling a little in love with everyone you meet, a sunlit soul, children’s laughter, plants on a windowsill
Vespera Cordova Ramirez | 24 | t-shirts of bands you may or may not have listened to, skateboards split in two, forgetting how to speak around a pretty girl, truthful to the point of being rude, ballet slippers so worn there’s a hole you can fit your toe through, swearing in Spanish, failure to mold yourself into what others wish they could see in you
Matias Cordova Ramirez | 26 | flirty smiles and sparkling eyes, teasing as a love language, scarves in the summer, cuddling with your best friend, the slow deterioration of knowing time is running out, kisses on the cheek, walking onstage to the roar of a crowd, losing yourself in what the people you love think about you, thrift store deals, sloshed liquor on a bar top
A single touch is enough to drown Zac in another person's memories, forcing him to relive moments of joy, grief, violence, and shame as though they were his own. Years of unwanted visions have left his own past fractured and indistinct.
While the others rest off a night of hunting, Zacarias spends restless hours cataloguing the mysterious runes found throughout the town, convinced they conceal answers hidden beneath generations of neglect and superstition.
And each afternoon he returns to his small room above the town brothel, where laughter, moans, and affection drift through the floorboards below, serving as a constant reminder of the one thing he can never have.
keeps an assortment of notebooks filled with copied runes, translated symbols, and observations
has a couple of notebooks dedicated to trying to maintain his memories but they get so tangled up in other people’s experiences that he gave up trying
sleeps poorly due to lingering fragments of other people's memories bleeding into his dreams
has a box of objects he is certain belong to his past, though he can no longer remember why or what they are
avoids crowded markets and meetings whenever possible
cannot recall the face of either parent, nor if he had any siblings
sometimes invents stories about his childhood because it is harder to admit that he doesn't know
Haunted by the memories of a murder he didn’t mean to commit, Athios recedes into a life of isolation to avoid facing the truth behind the event. There are no consequences for the crime, no evidence that it ever happened—not when his victim rose from his grave at the touch of Athios’ own hand—except for the ceaseless guilt.
In the accompaniment of Ambrose, a dog whom is neither here nor there, Athios tends to the graveyards of Ashmourne, both with the intent to maintain a pristine appearance and to experiment with his ability to raise the dead.
That does, however, does come with an assortment of deadly consequences.
twin to Crowe, separated when Crowe was adopted from Galloway’s and Athios was left behind
grew out of the foster system, forever an orphan
has a horse named Rowan, dedicates much of his free time to her
bonds with Pennant over foraging for flowers, herbs, and fruit
eyes are fully white, vision impairment similar to visual snow syndrome, a constant ghostly grain across his vision
^ light sensitivity, details blur on a sunny day
like two paintings occupying the same canvas, Athios sees the world in layers : the living world, and a faint imprint of the dead overlapping it. Ghosts but … less
Painting helps Pennant hold on to hope, distracts him from the grim truth of his existence in the weary village of Ashmourne. When painting fails, there’s the withering garden in the forests beyond Dead End to keep him occupied. He’s determined to bring some life to it—a budding flower or a shock of green amongst the wilting leaves.
Ashmourne is a dark and dismal place, desperate for a spot of brightness, a spark of hope, and so is Pennant.
Not even death will stop him from making it happen.
somewhere in-between alive and dead
his death was an accident at the hands of a friend
haunts the attic of Dead End
hands are prone to aching from the cold imprisoned in his bones
hair was golden blonde prior to his death, after which it became a pale, frosty blue
friend to critters big and small, but rabbits are his absolute favorite
perhaps the only person in Ashmourne with any semblance of an inner child left
much like how Bram is often splattered in blood, Pen is never not stained with paint
likes to collect unique rocks and other small items to gift to his friends and strangers alike—sometimes it is a case of ‘I saw this and thought of you!’ while others it is as simple as ‘I saw you were frowning, here, this should help!’
After out-aging the dirty halls of Galloway’s Home for Unfortunate Children, Halifax and his younger brother, Pennant, were left to fend for themselves in search of a new roof over their heads.
Poor, helpless, and more than a little hopeless, their journey was wrought with bad decisions and met with a quick end.
When Pennant was taken in by Ether Laboratories as an experimental subject in exchange for a small sum, Halifax bargains for Pen’s freedom and sacrifices his own, unaware of the consequences that await him.
Fax hasn’t spoken to Pennant since.
And Ether did not stick to their word.
resides in The Rotway with the rest of Ashmourne’s addicts and rejects, serving a debt to the faceless Gwin
living space is provided by Gwin, though it is a scarce upgrade to his childhood at Galloway’s
hopes to someday, somehow, rekindle his relationship with Pennant
collects knives in varying design and size
occasionally dips into his own supply but doesn’t care for the side effects
vision is warped, worse in the daytime than night—things appear in a dark green tint, as though peering through night vision goggles
has a raven companion named Mortem. She brings him trinkets, accompanies him on hunts and deliveries, and if she could talk she would be snarky and the banter would be golden
it was time I reintroduce the cast of Mourn the Day, beginning with my belovéd brambly boy.
With no regards to his health or safety, Bram delves straight into harm’s way with the hope of a miracle: an end to his eternal suffering.
His past is marred with as many scars as his body, haunting reminders of what he is, who he used to be, and what he can never be again. No more than a laboratory rat, an experiment, a mistake … something far from human.
Unfortunate for him that he cannot die.
Since the gruesome death of his parents at the mouths and hands of hungering Fangs, Bram has collected crystals and jarred specimens—a bee found drowning on the cobblestones, butterfly wings lost to the marsh’s surrounding field, a frog gifted to him by a blue-haired boy he might have called friend in a past life. Counting them helps to ease the obsessive thoughts rattling through his skull. Not a night goes by where he doesn’t tally off each and every one, often to the familiar tune of insomnia.
A fear of intimacy and loss has left him bitter and alone for much of his life, but he dreams of one day finding a love alike that of the fairy tales that accompany him on these sleepless nights.
on the night his parents were slaughtered, Bram was rescued by a horrible piece of shit scientist named Balthazar, who later went on to experiment on him for years and ultimately ended his mortal life at the eternal age of twenty-four
relies on drinking blood to live and loathes everything about it. Balthazar won’t tell him the source and Bram is better off not having an answer
limited use of his legs after they were trampled on by horses as a boy, relies on a cane for stability
prefers up-close combat with the aid of his twin daggers, this often leads to him becoming a literal bloody mess by dawn
has a pet black rat named Seven who likes to sleep under the lapel of his vests
suffers from severe obsessive compulsive disorder
spends his free time at the archives, a library of fiction and local history, and finds comfort in the presence of the tomes and the kindness of its elderly owner
Dark stories, like horror, are at their best when there is a small amount of lightness and hope to counteract (and therefore enhance) the tension. The reverse is also true
You actually cannot skip to being good at a creative endeavour that you haven't put much practice into. You cannot trick your way out of the 'knows that your work is not what you want it to be but don't know how to improve it' stage by planning or reading or talking about it really really hard. At some point you just have to craft through it until your brain finds it's own unique way back to the 'everything I make slaps' stage and be prepared to start the cycle all over again. You just have to make that project you're excited about slightly less good than you want it to be. (Says this standing in a pool of blood and covered in blood and also coughing up a little blood)
Every character should just have a WEIRD fact about them. Multiple, even. Because people are weird.
My friend goes on entire rants about the reasons she DESPISES cheese. All cheese. In all forms. She waxes poetic about it, to the point I have a dedicated notes page for her cheese quotes.
The fact she talks so much about hating cheese is weird.
The fact I transcribe her speeches like a court stenographer is weird.
Classic writing advice will tell you to give your characters quirks, or routines, or little superstitions, and that's all well and good, but a lot of times, those things are fairly normal. I probably wouldn't bat an eye if someone taps a pen three times whenever they have to sign their name. If their signature was an old Myspace username instead of their legal name, though....now that would stand out.
Don't just give them fun fact. Give em something weird.
(A.K.A. the quiet stuff that says everything without screaming it)
❥ The “I Always Sit Facing the Exit” Quirk
They don’t talk about their childhood much, but they always know where the exits are. Every restaurant. Every train. Trauma has muscle memory. Your job is to notice what it’s saying without needing a monologue about it.
❥ The “I Can’t Sleep Until I Hear You Lock the Door” Habit
It's not controlling. It's care shaped like paranoia. They say “Goodnight” like it’s casual, but they’re counting the clicks of the lock like a lullaby. Let that show more than “I love you.”
❥ The “I Keep Everything You’ve Ever Given Me” Thing
Not just gifts. Receipts with your doodles. The crumpled note you wrote when you were mad. Every bit of you that felt real. It’s borderline hoarder behavior, but also? It’s devotion.
❥ The “I Cook When I’m Sad” Pattern
Their world’s falling apart, but suddenly everyone has banana bread. It’s not about food—it’s about control, about creating something warm when everything else is cold. And they won’t say it out loud, but they're asking, “Will you stay?”
❥ The “I Practice Conversations in the Mirror” Secret
Before big moments, hard talks, or just answering the phone. They're rehearsing being okay. They're trying to be the version of themselves people expect. That’s not weakness—it’s survival wrapped in performance art.
❥ The “I Fix Other People’s Problems to Ignore My Own” Reflex
Everyone calls them “strong,” but no one notices how fast they redirect. “How are you doing though?” they ask, one heartbeat after breaking down. Let your reader see how exhaustion wears a smile.
❥ The “I Never Miss A Birthday” Rule
Even for people who forgot theirs. Even for exes. It’s not about being remembered—it’s about being someone who remembers. That’s character.
❥ The “I Clean When I Feel Powerless” Mechanism
That sparkling sink? Not about hygiene. That’s grief control. That’s despair in a Clorox wipe. Let it speak volumes in the silence of a spotless room.
❥ The “I Pretend I Don’t Need Help” Lie
They say, “I’m fine” like it’s a full stop. But their hands shake when they think no one’s looking. Let your other characters notice. Let someone care, even when they don’t ask for it.
❥ The “I Watch People When They’re Not Watching Me” Curiosity
Not in a creepy way. In a poet’s way. In a “who are you when no one’s clapping” way. They love the in-between moments: laughter in elevators, fidgeting before speeches. That's who they are—observers, not performers.
you can kinda tell when a writer has spent a lot of time around kids bc they avoid most of the pitfalls that come with writing children. namely, not giving them a too cutesy or twee voice but making them sound more like extremely weird little adults. kids playing pretend will almost never cutely slot into some romantic scenario for the adults' benefit bc the adults are usually too busy cleaning up or wondering what the fuck is wrong with their child. kids also have surprisingly stringent hangups ranging from very petty grievances to downright chauvinist gender roles, more often than not the result of a tragic education but sometimes far surpassing what they were taught in intensity. what im saying is there's nothing inherently wrong with treating fictional kids as stock characters but it's always quite nice to see when they aren't
It's extremely common for very young children to suddenly say something extremely cogent and articulate, that's jarringly inconsistent with their normal speech. This is usually something that they heard an adult say recently. A kid will spend ten minutes telling you a story about how they fought a wolf yesterday using simple sentences of fifty cent words, then nibble a snack, wrinkle their nose and say something like "I feel like Mum was overenthusiastic with the salt today, and not for the first time either" before going back to their clumsy story. (They do understand what they're saying when they do this. Kids' communication is usually held back by their vocabulary and pronunciation, not their understanding.)
Young kids are also a lot more socially aware than people give them credit for. Young children are perfectly aware that adults don't take them seriously. They know when their parents don't actually like them. They listen and remember when adults talk about them while they're in the room. Kids will develop basic abilities to charm etc. from babyhood and will begin experimenting with social norms and concepts of deception, appropriate information, and acceptable language and attitudes in toddlerhood. By the time a kid is five or six, they have solid social strategies for relating to adults and separate ones fr relating to their peers, that they'll continue to refine for the rest of their lives. They will also say completely off the wall shit because they don't have the context to know what is and isn't considered super fucked up yet.
By the time a kid is eight or nine, their main difference from adults is in experience, interests, and ability for long-term focus. An eight year old can think as intelligently and coherently as a thirty year old, they just have less experience and information to draw from, and are likely interested in very different things. They're also likely still slightly hamstrung by vocabulary and literacy, though much less so than a younger kid.
Teens will behave like adults who have little power (a teen is often at the mercy of their parents and the state and rarely taken seriously, which is extremely frustrating) and who are high stress and mid-crisis, because they're going through a transitory period where their bodies and moods are changing and are having to constantly learn and adjust; a fourteen year old in a stable situation will act pretty much like a thirty year old with an oppressive boss who's just left a tumultuous relationship.
#oh is *that* why i feel 14 again after my fiance broke things off with me and i had to move halfway across the continent back in with my ma?
Yeah that's just what humans feel and act like when they're unmoored and powerless and unpredictably changing. Teenagers are pretty much constantly unmoored and powerless and unpredictably changing, and react reasonably to those circumstances.
an incomplete list of reasons why sex scenes are good, necessary, and a character study, & rarely gratuitous (from a seasoned smut writer and published author)
body image and dysphoria. does this character voluntarily throw their clothes off, do they have to be coaxed, do they enjoy looking in the mirror, are there any areas they refuse to acknowledge? scars? tattoos? what does this say about their past?
what role do they take in the bedroom, and what relationship does it have to the role they take in day to day life?
social/communication skills. how good are they at eye contact, asking their bedmate what they want, are they about verbal communication or body language? what is their body language, is it open or closed off? are they nervously chatty, are their words short and clipped, are they nervously quiet?
touch starvation. how do they react to touch? when's the last time they were touched intimately? how does this touch remind them of their previous encounters with touch, or is this their first time?
glimpses of their education, sexual and otherwise, and the ways this influences their view of the world. what is their understanding of consent? where did they get it from? what do they think of kink vs vanilla? what is their relationship to both?
self esteem. do they take on a role of service in the bedroom because they want to, or because they feel like they have to in order to be worthy, no matter what they really want? how good are they at expressing these thoughts? do they freeze up when their bedmate asks them what they want? do they even know what they want?
how much attention do they want on themselves vs how much are they comfortable with? would they rather the attention was just on their bedmate?
how much guilt, shame, or repression do they have about sex in general? does it feel like a performance, is it true for them? how do they do with being vulnerable with another person, clothes on or off?
how do they feel about submission/domination, about penetration? do they want marks to be left, or do they insist on no trace left behind?
how do they treat their bedmate? loving, rough, tender, gentle, harsh, sadistic, deferring, no matter the scene/dynamic?
what about aftercare? for themself, for their bedmate? do they do it, do they know what it is, how do they do it? do they value it or do they do it just because you're supposed to?
an incomplete list. might add more. sex scenes add SO much value, insight, and development to a character. they are an incredibly intimate and vulnerable setting, which is how the right writer can show readers so much about who this character is in a bedroom setting. it is not gratutious.
