#Neglect tw

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

thinking about nonverbal people who died because of… abuse, neglect, hate crime—by caregiver & PCA & carer, by doctors, by staff, by professionals, by education people, by strangers… suicide…

& thinking about nonverbal people who died maybe not directly because them but while these happening

all those who even after death their story be (re)written by people who killed them. who led to their death. who stood there n allowed these deaths to happen.

[nonverbal = all the time only. not episode not go nonverbal.]

[genderkoolaid]

This happened in 2022, but I didn't hear about it then. A teenage Black trans boy with multiple disabilities was murdered by neglect by his transphobic parents. He was also misgendered by the media when it was first reported, which is unfortunately unsurprising.

[punkstylerecovery]

Generally speaking, your parents often owe you a lot more than you're taught to believe. A lot of people are raised to believe that parents do not really owe you that much beyond food and shelter and that's not true. In fact, you can have parents who give you food, shelter, patience and kindness and STILL deserve more from them.

By being your parents, they've accepted a very special relationship and amount of responsibility for you. Do you know how many people I know whose parents have never genuinely apologized to them? How many people’s parents physically hurt them, how many people’s parents mock their insecurities, how many people’s parents don’t care for their children’s health, how many parents make their children (intentionally or otherwise) want to die? 

And so many people don’t give a fuck. We’re raised in cultures that more often than not treat us to respect our parents in spite of most anything while also teaching everyone that children don’t deserve shit. We’re raised in cultures that more often than not teach us to “respect our parents” in spite of most anything while also teaching everyone that children don’t really deserve shit. It varies but its so common that lots of people don’t even think twice about it. 

But children DO deserve more than they’re generally given. So much more! And so many things that are literally just abusive are considered normal parenting all around the world and that’s vile, especially considering children are the most severely affected by this and have no “societal power” to wield to put a stop to it beyond what they can scramble together through a combination of sheer determination, shock value, strength and fucking luck. 

Not to sound radical, but I think we owe children a fuck ton more than they’re being given now and I think people need to learn so much more about abuse and how that ties into the common underplaying of what we’re owed in parent/child relationships. 

[nightmarekilljoy]

I get neglected often, medically and otherwise. People don't understand. Certain individuals steal from me, make my life hard, don't let me do what I need to, interpret all my symptoms as some sort of thing I made up in my head because I think so much about it.

It sucks. My body is failing me and everyone ignores that.

So I started to return the favor to these certain individuals. I'm done being the good quiet person they can walk over.

-Amber (she/they/it/star/shine/rot)

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

thinking about gijinka!metal sonic again. bc like in a humanisation she’d be like the biological kid of eggman right? and that’s giving me such brainrot. the tl;dr is that she was born through surrogacy to serve as eggman's heir when he dies and basically she was raised to be eggman 2 (her deadname is literally ivo jr) and despite growing up with a safe, wealthy environment with a ton of education she never really felt loved by her father so after he and sonic start fighting she pretty much immediately both replaces half her body with cybernetics to serve as a useful pawn in her fathers schemes and started dying her hair in the hopes that if she looked like sonic she'd at least get any attention. she eventually ran away (after realising she was trans and being terrified of her father not accepting her) and like kinda did the whole sonic heroes thing but being like a human meant she couldn’t just be reset so. she just kinda started serious therapy and now is in an awkward midground where she has absolutely no idea who’s side she’s on. i also have some more detailed thoughts on her under the cut if u want.

the modifications she did to her body for her cybernetics stunted her growth a lot. she was short as a kid and as a teenager she's like 4’7 max. it was extremely invasive and painful, but she was that desperate for any sort of familial love. being eleven it was not exactly done great and while she’s a terrifying combatant she's in and out of hospital the rest of her life for some reason or another.

eggman does actually fully support her transition, bc while he's a terrible dad he does on some level genuinely care about her and like, he cares more about her continuing the mad science legacy than how she presents herself.

she’s very much a sheltered rich kid. the closest thing she’s ever had to a friendship is trying to murder her fathers arch nemesis, and that started when she was eleven she didn’t have any sort of friend before that. her socialisation is messed up enough that despite technically still being fully human (just with very advanced cybernetics) she's still very much the maladjusted violent ball of anger and jealousy she is in canon. sonic and co literally thought she was just a very humanoid killer robot for years. like, up until heroes. but no it’s just severe trauma.

she does however have more hobbies than torturing small animals! she's fond of liveleak.com, licking batteries until she's electrocuted (her modifications prevent her from being seriously injured), and inventing weaponry. she eventually picks up some less… concerning hobbies after a bit of therapy and spending time with sonic and co. (she particularly enjoys fashion and, surprisingly enough, animal crossing).

she mostly resembles her father (her biological mother was specifically picked so that’d be the case, along with many other stringent requirements) but she looks close enough to maria robotnik that she Constantly freaks shadow out. especially bc she is again very sickly and probably will die young bc of the complications with replacing half of her body including her brain with cybernetics made by an eleven year old. she exploits this to experiment on him when she’s bored. she’s not as familiar with biological sciences as robotics but she does kinda want to Not Die and unethical experimentation on the immortal ultimate life form helps.

yes, her nine year old pre-cybernetics appearance is deliberately meant to look a little like alex kidd with the messy hair and pallet. bc she’s neglected in favour of sonic. why not.

[narcissisticpdcultureis]

im sorry for the rant but im just really fucking tired and i guess that blog from that last ask set off smth in our brain so just tw talk about ableism and abuse ect ect yknow

anyways people who demonize people with cluster b pds are genuinely just the most annoying mfs on the planet theres an extremely high likelyhood both my parents are cluster b (my mom possibly having bpd and my dad possibly having npd) and theyve both been horrifically abusive throughout my entire life and you will never in a million fucking years catch me demonizing innocent people or blaming all that abuse on their disorders. i can fucking acknowledge that my parents' untreated mental health issues affected the way they raised me and abused me without pinning all the blame soley on those mental health issues. my dad ACTIVELY chose not to get help, he ACTIVELY chose to go off the medication he was given, he ACTIVELY made the decision to be a raging abusive bigot who abused and neglected his child and fucking traumatized every person he came into contact with. that was his fucking decision, possible npd and other mental health issues be damned.

and like besides the fact that i think my dad possibly had npd, he was actually dx with bipolar disorder and adhd, both of which severely affected how he raised me but you dont see me going fucking "bipolar abuse!!! adhd abuse!!!" i believe my fathers intense hyperfixations on certain things led him to emotionally neglect me as a very young child and be generally emotionally absent BUT AGAIN you will never see me fucking calling what he did "adhd abuse" and also he fucking chose to not spend time with me, he chose to not be there for me even when he couldve been. my father was a physically, emotionally, psychologically abusive and neglectful piece of shit and i fucking refuse to ever call when he did "narcissistic abuse" because i refuse to ever let a disorder he possibly had take away responsibility for the pain he caused me and so many other people in my life. he could have been better. he fucking chose not to be better. i will not fucking do the same.

im just so fucking angry that ive been out here experiencing all the shit these fuckers are talking about and i still managed to not demonize innocent people with disorders they didnt ask to have who did absolutely fucking nothing to no one. rant over. love you all go drink some water

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: November 18, 2024

Reworked Character #1: Marco Rossi

POTENTIAL TRIGGER: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to neglect, self-harm, alcoholism, SA, death, and torture.

Real name: Marchrius Dennis Rossi

Alias: Intelligent Soldier

Occupation: Major of the P.F. Squad

Retirement plans: Become a mechatronics engineer, foster a bunch of kittens, and start a company that designs and develops functional computer models, artificial intelligence, and cybersecurity programs for both military and civilian usage

Special skills: Proficiency in lightweight firearms, mechatronics engineering, computer science, intimidation tactics, and drunken-style boxing

Hobbies: Creating artificial intelligence and technological viruses from scratch, calculating complex mathematical equations and running times of computer programs in his head, taking naps at his desk, completing crossword puzzles, and stargazing

Likes: Cat cafes, maintaining his manliness, his quick mental calculation, going on smoke breaks with Tarma, Eri, and Tequila, and subway rides where there are little to no people around him

Dislikes: Large lines in front of restaurants, being wrongfully distracted from work, spending vast quantities of time away from Perifa and Midori, computer crashes paired with slow Internet, and torture

Favourite food: Chinese noodles (preferably its mildly spicy) and barbecued burgers and hotdogs with onions and honey-flavoured carrots

Sexuality: Sex-repulsed, aromantic asexual

Gender: Male

Age: 17 (in 2022), 23 (in 2028), 25 (in 2030), 27 (in 2032), 29 (in 2034), 36 (in 2041), 38 (in 2043), 39 (in 2044), and 42 (in 2047)

Blood type: A-

Weight: 162 lbs. (73.48 cm)

Design: He's a 5' 7" (170.18 cm) Italian-American ectomorph with an average musculature, broad shoulders, ivory skin, a cleft chin, and dull turquoise eyes. Marco sports wavy strawberry blonde hair, characterised by a large forelock that falls to the tip of his nose on the right side. On the left, two short, thick strands with subtle waves curve gracefully above his eyebrow. His features are further accentuated by well-groomed sideburns and a neatly trimmed chinstrap beard.

He bears occasional dark circles under his eyes and a distinctive glass left eye in a lighter turquoise hue. He has accumulated several battle scars: a few stab wounds on his right shoulder; vertical cuts on his chest; a deep slice mark extending from the left side of his nose bridge to the back of his trapezius muscle; multiple lacerations and severe burns on his back; a large patch of scar tissue on his right lumbar region; and bullet wounds on both calves and one on his left thigh. To cope with his emotional pain, he has a history of self-harm, which has resulted in the horizontal scars visible on his right forearm, hips, and inner thighs.

He's well-known for his cutting-edge, cybernetic left arm crafted from sleek, high-strength metallic alloys and advanced, artificially intelligent flexi-circuits, allowing for enhanced strength, agility, dexterity, and precision. It also has micro-sensors and neural interfaces seamlessly integrating with Marco’s nervous system for intuitive control. It possesses a high-strength, serrated blade made of tungsten, capable of extending up to 12 inches (30.48 cm) from the forearm. It can temporarily deploy an energy shield that surrounds him, providing protection from incoming attacks. This shield is powered by advanced capacitors and optimised for maximum efficiency using AI technology.

Marco's military gear consists of a white headband, a metal dog tag necklace with his name, and a platinum grey sleeveless shirt. He wears a crimson vest with four pockets and an embroidered logo of the P.F. Squad on the back, alongside khaki-green army cargo pants tucked into his olive green paratrooper boots. He also wears a leather belt with a snap-on silver buckle, mahogany gloves, a sheath for his combat knife, and a gun holster for his trusty handgun. The pockets of Marco's army cargo pants carry two boxes of cigars, while his vest contains a gilded lighter he found in Gerhardt City, a black case for his garnet-hued reading glasses, and an old photograph of pre-teen him, his father, and his childhood cat on a leash at a park during autumn.

Over his shirt, he wears a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries his walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. His right forearm is wrapped in worn gauze, and he wears two black bandoliers that form an X-shape, holding bullets for his handgun. Marco carries a khaki-green load-bearing backpack containing camping equipment, tactical explosives, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, a Gatling shot, and a thunder shot. He's always carrying around a red-orange laptop adorned with a bronze circle on the lid, housing a black six-pointed star at its centre. This custom laptop serves as his mobile command centre, where he develops malware to breach enemy cybersecurity, tackles various classified technological assignments for the military, and works on personal software projects.

He wears his father's circular, gilded watch on his right wrist, using it to check the time as a reminder of his father's enduring presence and an opportunity to seek guidance from the past. The timepiece features an ivory dial with burgundy hands and black Roman numerals from I to XII, interspersed with four thin etchings. Additional details include a secondary display bar showing the time and AM/PM indicator, while a leather strap is secured with a matching gold buckle.

Character summary: He's a charismatic and cautious leader who takes immense pride in his high intellect, computer expertise, and masculinity. He's a self-reliant introvert who prefers to accept help and emotional support from others when absolutely necessary. His stoic demeanour is a constant, making it challenging for him to show humour or vulnerability. Due to being a workaholic, he has developed a harmful habit of neglecting his own basic needs, including eating when necessary. He mainly struggles with loneliness because he finds it difficult to form meaningful connections due to his exceptionally high intellect, which can make it challenging for others who may not be able to keep up with his level of understanding. He also struggles with major depressive disorder, trust issues, a fear of abandonment, and unresolved trauma stemming from past experiences. While Marco tends to internalise his emotions, he has learned to open up to trusted individuals when his burdens become too overwhelming to bear alone.

Despite his gentle and taciturn nature, he's capable of being ruthless and will fly into a deep rage when General Morden's name is mentioned near him. When interrogating others, he employs a menacing tone, his aloof demeanour making those on the receiving end feel uneasy and intimidated. He doesn't hesitate to wield threats of violence or exploit vulnerabilities, and with Trevor by his side, his intimidation factor is amplified. He's a socially awkward loner who doesn't tolerate distractions and has a strong fear of losing his current friends.

When experiencing great distress in relation to past trauma, he's prone to having a full-blown mental breakdown and indulging in suicidal ideation. Marco tends to get stressed easily, which has led to him developing a chain-smoking habit. He privately grapples with self-harm and binge drinking, often consuming multiple beers at once, while concealing his struggles with alcoholism and suicidal thoughts from those around him. He attempts to conceal his struggles with alcoholism by either excessively partying or withdrawing socially, and privately harms himself due to his reluctance to burden others or cause unnecessary concern. Additionally, he struggles with denial, finding it difficult to accept the loss of his father and former war comrades, and resisting the idea that he needs professional mental health support.

He has a dry sense of humour that he rarely showcases, and when he does, his witty remarks often blend English and Italian. Having learned some Japanese from Tarma and Eri, he occasionally sprinkles Japanese phrases into his jokes. He deeply cares about his friends and will stop at nothing to protect them, even if it means putting his own life at risk. He finds great comfort in the presence of his best friend, Tarma, thanks to his breezy and optimistic attitude. Although he doesn't always show it, he genuinely enjoys Tarma's jokes and appreciates listening to them, even if they occasionally test his patience. Additionally, he cherishes his calico shorthair cat, Perifa, a heartwarming birthday gift he received from Fio prior to the Survival Island Occupation.

He’s in a polyamorous queerplatonic relationship with Fio and Tarma, a bond that satisfies his deep-seated longing for emotional intimacy. He’s close friends with Trevor, regularly mentoring him in computer skills like reading binary code and enjoying social time together, but their occasional marijuana use has raised concerns due to Marco's pre-existing unhealthy smoking habits. He holds Tequila in high esteem, recognizing his pivotal contributions to the success of the Regular Army and S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. special forces unit. He deeply values his wisdom, open-mindedness, fatherly demeanour, and exceptional covert agent skills. He dislikes accompanying Nadia on shopping trips because her constant meddling and overly inquisitive nature frustrate him.

Having never experienced raising children, he had always doubted his ability to provide love and be a good parental figure, consumed as he was by his own interests and mental health issues. But everything changed on Christmas, in the aftermath of the Unforeseen Invader Conquest, when he adopted an abandoned baby girl. With the guidance and support of his friends, he discovered valuable parenting skills and named his new daughter Midori. He transformed into a loving, supportive, and overprotective father, dedicated to ensuring her happiness and safety. He made it a point to offer wise advice, hoping to spare her from his own past mistakes.

He found immense joy in watching Midori form close bonds with his friends, affectionately regarding them as uncles, aunts, and grandparents. Her friendship with Pocke, Walter's adoptive son and a Martian infant, brought him equal delight. He was particularly grateful for the ways his friends nurtured Midori's passions: Tarma and Alisa encouraged her interest in engineering, while Walter and Trevor fostered her love of music. He can't imagine a world without his adoptive daughter, who has brought him a new sense of purpose and motivated him to overcome his personal hardships.

He often mistakes Sophia Greenville for his mother due to their similar appearance, and he's always embarrassed when he accidentally calls her "mom”. Nevertheless, he's deeply grateful for the maternal affection she shows him, treating him like a son and unknowingly becoming the kind of mother he wishes he had. He finds comfort in spending quality time with his cat, affectionately referred to as his "dramatic little princess”. He enjoys engaging in playtime, giving gentle pets, and even using soothing baby talk to calm his feline companion. He's easily offended by people who rudely insult cats, going as far as to comfort the insulted feline and silently glaring at the person who uttered such words.

Whenever he's had too much to drink, he starts to act rowdy, easy-going, overly affectionate, and clingy. When sexual activity is mentioned, he reacts with extreme discomfort as he finds it to be disgusting. He’ll either become nauseous or start gagging, displaying expressions of strong distaste towards the person discussing the topic. If he unexpectedly encounters someone engaging in sexual activity, he often experiences a panic attack, feeling lightheaded and overwhelmed. In such situations, he usually tries to seek comfort and support from a trusted individual to talk to and receive a reassuring hug. This experience may also trigger unpleasant thoughts related to sexual matters, leading him to fear that he's somehow perverted and disgusting. He'll only lose his temper with others if they say something extremely rude to him or his friends, intend to hurt his loved ones or tell him blatant lies. Although he tends to have a pessimistic outlook on life, he sometimes manages to see the brighter side of things. 

He has a sleepwalking habit, often accompanied by vivid dreams of fighting or killing someone, which greatly annoys and frightens Tarma, who’s frequently the target of these nocturnal episodes. He resents being hailed as a war hero due to his intense aversion to fame and his conviction that conflict should prompt sombre reflection, not glorification. He dislikes flirtatious advances and has low tolerance for complaining, bullying or excessive talking, which can trigger irritability and extreme defensiveness. He feels uneasy with romantic inquiries and is secretly intimidated by Gimlet, whose rape threats, relentless verbal aggression, and frequent heated confrontations leave him on edge. He has a commanding presence that demands respect, and his consistently serious demeanour can make him seem intimidating and unapproachable to others.

He's incredibly introspective and prone to questioning the intentions of his friends and his own worthiness of having meaningful friendships. He defines his masculinity by embodying traits like physical strength, courage, independence, leadership, and assertiveness. However, he makes a conscious effort to avoid toxic masculinity by ensuring his behaviour doesn't harm others' feelings or self-worth. Despite this balanced approach, he admits to having some vanity regarding specific issues he considers unbefitting of his ideal masculinity, such as sagging pants and carrying toys, as he sees these as detrimental to personal dignity. Whenever he encounters a pair of glowing red eyes, he's either deeply unsettled or irresistibly drawn to them, captivated by their aura of curiosity and command. This hesitant fascination occasionally leads him to wander aimlessly until it directs him to a destination of its choosing.

He\s a consequentialist who believes people's actions are judged by their consequences. He thinks it's more logical for individuals to prioritise not causing harm to others and maximising the welfare of both themselves and others over personal gain. In his view, everyone should act in ways that benefit themselves and others, taking into account fully informed and rational preferences. He believes that all conflicts are gradually moving towards equitable unification and collective strength for humanity, paving the way for a new era free from violence, hate, and political corruption. From his perspective, all life forms have the capacity for destruction, and if their creative drive is surpassed, it can lead to severe consequences, ultimately undermining the act of creation.

Backstory: Marchrius Dennis Rossi was born on April 13, 2005 in Twin Falls, Idaho, United States. Marco's mother, Katalina, was a researcher for a secret government project, and his father, Salvatore Rossi, was stuck in a dead-end office job. His parents had a distant relationship and had Marco, hoping that a child would bring them closer together and fix their broken marriage, but they often ignored each other and argued. Katalina had never wanted Marco, viewing him as an unplanned consequence and a responsibility that hindered her career. His father provided unwavering support and care, while his mother was neglectful and emotionally absent, hiding her true behaviour behind closed doors. But despite this, Marco shocked his parents by exhibiting a fast-growing intelligence at a very young age.

From the moment he opened his eyes, he muttered his first word, "daddy". He learned how to walk at 3 months old and showed advanced motor skills by 5 and a half months. He skipped object permanence altogether and completed his first crossword puzzle at just 1 year old, astonishingly understanding political terms. By the age of 2, he had memorised all 50 U.S. states and read two books in their entirety, demonstrating a profound understanding of their documented subjects: moral philosophy and psychoanalysis. By 4, he was answering calculus-level questions and describing his feelings about endangered animals in zoos with sophisticated vocabulary.

From the age of 2, he would occasionally see a pair of glowing red eyes in darkened corners or places drenched in darkness. He described them as always watching him and swore that they belonged to a living, breathing creature that seamlessly blended into the darkness. When he turned 5, he created an imaginary friend as an excuse to enjoy his alone time and avoid befriending the children who frequented the local park. This imaginary friend was named "Jubby", and Marco often drew him, depicting him as an anthropomorphic snow leopard with golden eagle wings, Komodo dragon legs, and a face covered in a ball of black scribbles.

Before he turned 6, his neglectful mother, Katalina, grew fed up with how "weird" he was. She was also annoyed by his persistent fear of a glowing pair of red eyes that watched him occasionally and his uninterested attitude towards forming connections. While Salvatore was away from home, Katalina took matters into her own hands and packed her belongings. Before leaving, she noticed Marco standing before the basement door, which was wide open. She investigated and saw the same glowing pair of red eyes, which terrified her.

Believing that Marco was attracting an evil spirit, she pushed him down the basement stairs and locked the door, hoping to contain the perceived threat. Abandoning Marco, she left the house, leaving him absolutely terrified. Marco attempted to cope with the trauma by conjuring up Jubby, but he claimed that his imaginary friend never came to his aid. This painful realisation marked the day he began to harbour resentment towards his mother, feeling unappreciated, unloved, and viewed as a burdensome presence in her life. When Salvatore returned home and discovered that Marco was trapped in the basement by Katalina, he was infuriated. His father attempted to track down Katalina, but it was too late. This traumatic event instilled in him a lasting fear of heading down into dark basements alone.

During his time in grade 1, Marco struggled to make friends and often looked sad when he saw other children with their mothers, a concern his father noticed. To cheer him up, his father brought home a Turkish Angora with a black, orange, and white fur coat, which sparked Marco's love for felines. As a result of his childhood cat's fondness for eating bugs, he affectionately named her Grubley. At the age of five, his father introduced him to the world of computing, igniting a passion for computer science that would last a lifetime. Salvatore was always supportive of Marco and his passions, encouraging him to excel in school, chase his dreams, and make the most of the opportunities life has to offer.

Marco knew he had an uncle, but his father forbade him from seeing him. Salvatore had warned him that his uncle was untrustworthy due to his con artist lifestyle and struggled with alcoholism. However, he was permitted to visit his aunt and grandparents, who were incredibly kind. They encouraged him to appreciate nature and the simple things in life, rather than spending all his time on the computer. He has fond memories of his grandfather teaching him how to barbecue. His grandmother, an immigrant from Italy, taught him some Italian and often shared photographs she had taken in her home country before moving to the United States.

His father unknowingly sparked his interest in the Tuatha Dé Danann, an ancient race of demigods that existed before all life, and two antediluvian places, Atlantis and Ultima Thule. He would silently observe his father spend a short amount of time researching these fascinating topics when not working. Marco would eventually discover that he has a slight hint of Tuatha Dé Danann DNA, leading him to wonder if others might also have ancestral ties tracing back to the Hadean Eon.

He was bullied by many students for being perceived as "friendless" and for having an abnormally high intelligence, leaving him feeling isolated. A few students attempted to befriend him, but he rebuffed their efforts, fearing they would eventually abandon him. He also struggled to connect with them on an intellectual level, feeling like an outsider. During high school, he was involved in a few physical altercations, but he typically managed to defuse the situations with his words or, if necessary, defend himself relentlessly. In his spare time, he mastered the unconventional art of drunken-style boxing, giving him an edge in self-defence. Despite his school troubles, he excelled in all his classes and achieved outstanding grades in mathematics and computer science courses.

Before graduating from a state technical high school, Salvatore died due to health complications caused by Huntington's disease. Shortly after, Marco's beloved cat, Grubley, peacefully passed away in her sleep. Marco was devastated by these losses, compounded by the shocking revelation that his father had been secretly battling Huntington's disease without ever sharing his struggle with him. The last gift his father gave him was a red-orange laptop, which was intended to be a graduation present. Rather than letting the tragedy consume him, he transformed his grief into a driving force, cultivating resilience and independence. To move forward, he made the difficult decision to distance himself from his remaining family, seeking to leave the past behind and forge a new path.

He began developing artificial intelligence to engage in online debates and sophisticated computer software, including anti-viruses and error-checking tools, as a means to earn a living and hone his programming skills. He went so far as to meticulously rebuild and upgrade the desktop computer in his father's old office at home, enhancing both its design and performance. Marco decided to attend officer's school at the Academy of Special Technologies and subsequently joined the prestigious Peregrine Falcons Squad shortly after graduation.

Unlike many of his peers, he quickly distinguished himself through his exceptional leadership skills and computer expertise, earning him a spot as 1st Lieutenant of the P.F. Squad. This was also when he met Tarma, forming a fast friendship after discussing their interests, reminiscing on their childhoods, and having a couple of beers. Tarma was his first real friend, whom he holds dear, despite viewing him as a “maniacal gearhead”. Through his friendship with Tarma, he discovered the value of having friends and stepped out of his comfort zone to befriend the other members of the P.F. Squad and Regular Army. He would also gradually develop a queerplatonic relationship with Tarma as he deeply cherished their friendship and came to realise that it filled a void of emotional intimacy left by his father's passing.

During his time in the P.F. Squad, Marco created a computer virus for fun, which inadvertently spread to the Regular Army's mainframe server. The virus destroyed several security systems, compromised the lowest echelons of the Regular Army, and nearly triggered the launch of a nuclear missile. Fortunately, a military scout named Trevor, whom Marco would meet years later during his recruitment into the P.F. Squad, managed to stop it. Marco refuses to discuss this potentially disastrous incident, even after a few too many beers.

When the Amadeus Syndicate served as the scientific and medical branch of the Regular Army, Marco met Doctor Amadeus, the organisation's founder and Nadia's clone mother. They had a cordial relationship, and Doctor Amadeus was particularly impressed by Marco's exceptional computer skills. She wanted to utilise his talents for a bioengineering experiment, aiming to create super soldiers using abandoned Martian and Invader technology.

During a battle against a terrorist attack, Marco suffered severe injuries and was taken to one of the original Amadeus Syndicate's medical facilities to recover. Doctor Amadeus seized this opportunity to force herself upon him to collect semen and DNA samples, leaving him deeply traumatised. The experience was so distressing that Marco tried to suppress the memory, inadvertently forgetting much of the history and purpose of the Amadeus Syndicate in the process. He also swore his revenge to kill Doctor Amadeus one day for what she did to him. As a result of this event, he began to act strangely anxious and slightly aggressive when in a hospital or near Nadia for prolonged periods of time.

During the first coup led by General Morden, he scraped together the remnants of the Regular Army government forces to reassemble the P.F. Squad. He became the leader of the governmental resistance against General Morden but at a great cost. As he, his comrades, and his friends were approaching the last known base of the Rebel Army, disaster struck. General Morden and his soldiers ambushed them, seizing the opportunity to decimate the remnants of the P.F. Squad, leaving Marco with mental and physical scars that would haunt him forever. 

Marco endured unimaginable suffering at the hands of General Morden, Allen O'Neil, and the Rebel soldiers, who brutally tortured him, gouged out his left eye, and severed his left arm. After experiencing a strange tingling sensation of familiarity, General Morden realised that Marco possessed Tuatha Dé Danann heritage. Intrigued, he discreetly collected DNA samples from Marco, which would later be utilised by the Amadeus Syndicate for experimentation in bioengineering and advanced military technology. The cruelty continued as Morden forced Marco to witness the slaughter and torture of his comrades and friends. Devastated by the losses and horrors he experienced, Marco teetered on the brink of giving up. He was even convinced that his best friend, Tarma, had perished, plunging him into a deep depression. 

However, Tarma managed to escape the Rebel Army's clutches and staged a daring rescue, reuniting with Marco. With Tarma's emotional support and his own newfound rage, Marco found the strength to keep fighting. Before confronting General Morden, Tarma constructed his prosthetic left arm using technological debris and cutting-edge medical technology available to the Regular Army. However, it took him a couple of weeks to adapt to his new limb. Together, they became legendary heroes, ultimately defeating Morden and restoring world peace. Marco's bravery earned him the rank of Major, but he soon grew to resent his war hero status as he realised that the media often glorifies conflict.

Marco continued to lead the P.F. Squad together with Tarma, who is the true linchpin of the elite task force of the Regular Army. Marco joined forces with Tarma, Fio, and Eri for a second mission to thwart General Morden's second coup. Although the mission technically failed, as they captured a Martian troop from the Pipovulaj Army disguised as General Morden, the Regular Army's higher-ups deemed it a success nonetheless. This moment got on Marco's nerves as he deeply desired to see General Morden brought to justice and face the full consequences of his actions.

Following this success, Marco attempted to resign, but his higher-ups quickly denied his request. They insisted on his participation in a mission to eliminate the remaining remnants of the Rebel Army and other operations addressing threats to global peace such as the Pipovulaj Army.

[artbean]

@eddiemonth day 2: friendship

Outcasts stick together. (tw for loss of a parent under the cut)

Maybe your mom dies, your dad gets arrested and you wind up on your Uncle's doorstep with your hair buzzed off and shoes that pinch your toes. But when you turn up to the first day of school a week later, your friend's got new tapes for his walkman and quietly lets you use it in the library at lunch. After school, before his mom's gotten off work, you stop at 7/11 for a pop to share while you read The Hobbit to him and count the yellow cars that drive by while you sit at the curb.

And maybe everything’s different and will never be how it once was, but maybe this is the one thing that will stay the same. You can sit with your friend after school drinking coke and reading Tolkien and talking about your shitty dads, and it might not make the load any lighter but at least you’re not the only one carrying it for a while.

When his mom invites you to sleep over that night, she makes you a grilled cheese sandwich, and it’s less brown than your mama made you, but it tastes like home anyway. She crafts you a nest of quilts in his room, worn soft and smelling like fresh linen. You’ll take turns listening to his walkman until one of you finally falls asleep, because neither of you have gotten used to a quiet home at night.

As the music slows with the dying battery, distorting but with the core of the song remaining unchanged, you drift off alongside it.

[meowreblog]

minkie pie after living in a rat infested cellar with no exercise and being severely malnourished, and yet still being incredibly strong physically and having a sleek, flat mane with zero matting, lice or knots

[bizlybebo]

incredibly specific and honestly i know im reading too far into it because it's just because of his powers but knowing of dakota's past and the situation he grew up in after the resurgence. i feel like there's something to say about how much/how fast he eats. like food hoarding and overeating when food is accessible/freely available can be a huge thing for kids who have been neglected and it just fucks me up to think about through that lens

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

“most case of child/teen/young person with mental health issues who here get mental health care, majority have parents/families that need mental health care even more. so if young person here for mental health care, parents/family must also sign up for mental health care.” *

good thing in theory. amount of parental abuse neglect manipulate & unresolved trauma project on child & jealous of child, etc.

but. case like me, who severe disable who struggle communicate take care self who no “normal” future.

how many therapists parents mandatory see would instead sympathize with parents who abuse and refuse listen understand and play victim? how many therapists would think parents right and it not abuse and they actually victim and feel sorry for them? how many therapists will agree with parents and affirm parents and give parents more confident continue do same more things?

*= it a photo of one hospital policy see online. you probably won’t need this hospital am talk about.

[constantvariations]

Volume 9 in a nutshell

[compassionatereminders]

It's like they think if you're too disabled to care for yourself it's because you're not motivated and not trying, and that by refusing to do things for you they can motivate you to do more for yourself. Because they generally don't believe in people being genuinely incapable, they think it's always a character flaw that they can force you to work on by refusing to accommodate it. But that's not how disability works, and that's why I starved and lived in filth an entire year I was just too sick to take care of myself while they kept insisting that it was all my own fault for "not working to improve"

[byrdstrolls]

(Dia belongs to @chowtrolls!!! go give leo some love <3)

It’s difficult to tell how hard a sudoku puzzle is going to be by glance alone. The tiny booklet had no organization regarding each one’s ease. It doesn’t help that he’s not quite sure what he’s looking for, or how long he’ll be here. The Cellists fingers pass from page to page with deft and careful consideration. The night is young, the AC of the car is just a little too cold, just enough Mondes shudders. Alador always liked things just cold enough to be uncomfortable. There's too much fire in that man, Dietes had often teased him, complaining about the thermostat. 

“The palace isn’t exactly pupa-proof.” Faeria Longse says, leaning over the rolled down front window, where the adults are talking. The words don’t matter much to Mondes, who is preoccupied. 

“He’s five sweeps old” Alador retorts to The Intoxicant. “He’s old enough to know how to mind his own business. 

“Wildly unprofessional of you.” She says. “Every hear of a pupasitter?” 

“His cello tutor usually watches him, but he’s got knee surgery.” The taller oliveblood sighs, tapping the wheel. 

“Why not call The Matchmaker to look after him.” Faeria jokes, in the sense of humor typical of her. Where every joke is less an expression of absurdity and joy, and more just the easiest way to poke a hot rod at a sleeping tiger. 

“I will ask The Matchmaker for parenting help.” Alador replies slowly, tiredly. “When hell freezes over. Work with me, Faeria. How many rooms in that ridiculous hive?” He says with a pointed gesture at her gargantuan estate. “I’ll hide him someplace and he can color all day. You won’t even know he’s there. Mondes, tell her how quiet you’ll be.” 

Hearing his name, the child perks up, glancing over to Faeria as if seeing her for the first time. Slowly, he mimes zipping up his gas mask and throwing away the key. 

“Cute,” Faeria says disdainfully. “I don’t want him going through my things.” 

“He’s not a thief, Faeria, he’s a child” Alador snaps, jumping to the young man's defense. But then he deflates slightly, seeming to remember he’s supposed to be behaving professionally. 

“Pupasitters are ridiculously expensive these days, Faeria. Just give me one night. You won’t see head or tail of him.” He sighs.

“You know what’s ridiculously expensive as of late? Alador’s asking fees.” She retorts. “He’s not allowed in my hive.” 

“What am I supposed to do, drive him two hours home? Come on, how often are you on planet? We're wasting time.” 

“I would never have called you” She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “If I knew it was bring-your-grub-to-work-night.” 

“He can stay in the car,” Alador says. “Final offer. I’ll crack a window.” 

“Deal” She says, her eyes glittering. 

Alador turns hopelessly back to his descendant. “Is that okay with you?” 

“(Can I have a water)” Mondes asks, muffledly. Not quite answering the question.

“I’ll bring you one back out when I leave” His ancestor promises, cracking the windows, climbing out of the car to follow Faeria inside. 

The child watches them disappear into the palace’s gates, waiting a prolonged moment, before climbing up into the front seat and turning down the AC, with a quiet sigh of relief. He finally lands on a sudoku puzzle, chipping away at it for what feels like an age, before becoming frustrated and giving up. He glances at the clock on the dash. Only fifteen minutes have passed. He sighs and begins leafing through the book of sudoku puzzles again. It only takes him an hour or so to really begin longing for the promised water. So much that he considers climbing out of the car, and knocking on the palace doors to demand it. He sits up and stares at the gate every so often, daring himself to make this move. Before looking back to the fleet logo emblazoned on the palace’s walls, and thinking better of it. It’s too cramped in here to truly practice, and his cello is in the trunk. He taps out Nietne’s waltz on the dash to count time in measurements of the seven minute song. He attempts, and again abandons the sudoku. As the moons crawl across the sky. 

About seven hours into his stay in the car, the young Mondes slowly climbs into the back seat, and lays down across it, closing his eyes. Not out of a genuine want or need for rest, but an all consuming, soul crushing boredom bearing down on him like a weight. Duke Leto Atreides would never leave Paul in a locked car for this long, the five sweep old thinks vengefully. Maybe that seadweller just killed him, he thinks, of Alador and Faeria. Equal amounts of guilt and pleasure overtaking his mind at the thought, before he remembers that if that was the case, he would likely be next. Somberly, he closes his eyes, so sick of sitting here making company of his own thoughts. 

CRACK

The palace door slams open, and so do Mondes’s eyes as he dives under the seat instinctively, covering his head. Alador is yelling something up at the palace, garbled and angry and strange, he only catches, or understands, the tail end of it. 

“-BLACKLISTED!” The older olive calls at the balcony. “YOU HEAR ME? I’M NEVER COMING BACK HERE!!!”

Faeria leans over the railing like a misplaced Juliet, her hair cascading down the side as her form shakes up and down with laughter. 

“You know everytime you say that Alador, I believe you a little less!” She calls at his retreating back as he storms back over to the vehicle. Alador slams into the car, muttering under his breath as he revs the engine. 

“Mondes! Put on your seatbelt.” He snaps. The kid scrambles to do just that as his ancestor swerves violently out of the parking lot. They drive at high speeds back towards the freeway for a bit, before Alador starts poking buttons on the dashboard. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

Mondes elects not to answer, as he does often, and Alador stares helplessly into the rearview mirror, before looking back at the dash, and huffing.

“Okay. I told you to stop touching my AC settings” He complains, turning up the AC. Staring up at his ancestor, Mondes realizes disappointedly that Alador had not brought back any water, but judging by his mood, he knew better than to comment, or ask. 

.

.

.

.

.

“Rostve,” Says Dietes, his face at a slight off-tilt, as he watches the kettle boil. 

“No,” Mondes replies. 

“Come on, what did he do?” The jadeblood huffs. “A complete sweetheart, from what I remember of him.” the older man flips through his notebook, presumingly containing information on orchestra related nonsense. 

Your name is Dia Monark, and you feel a bit out of loop as of late. Your boyfriend has, in what seems to you like an incredibly random and bizarre event, decided to join an incredibly prestigious orchestra contest, something you didn't even know existed until a few weeks ago. This change in career prospects has gone against everything you know of him as a person. Mondes, for all you had seen of him, through a suddenly busy and rigorous practice schedule, has approached the whole thing with the grim resignation of a troll filing his taxes. You have seen him in fits of passion, falling asleep in his studio with the master mix of a composition still playing faintly on his laptop. You know these moments of inspiration well enough to know this is not one of them. When Mondes Rosado falls into an obsession with art, he does so as quietly and effortlessly as a drawer sliding into a cabinet. 

Right now, you are sitting on the floor of the Cheong’s living room with Ness, who is attempting to give you a tarot card reading that you are struggling to pay attention to, eavesdropping on your boyfriend and his teacher’s argument. 

“How about Kydney Ideine. Excellent bassist.” The old man says, pausing on a page. 

“No” Mondes says, pulling the kettle off the stove as it whistles. 

“Shit, Mondes” The old man complains, walking over to the freezer. “Were these kids kicking your ass every single time me or Alador left the room or something? You can’t do this without kissing a little ass to the established orchestra scene. It’s just not going to happen.” He says, looking through the freezer. “Where are your ice trays?” The jadeblood asks. 

“The icemaker is in the door.” Mondes says, pointing as he grabs some mugs, pouring them both tea. 

“Right, your majesty” Dietes says, as if he considers an ice maker in a fridge some kind of luxury item. He gets two ice cubes out of it, walking over and dropping one into his and Mondes’s cup respectively. 

Putting a single ice cube in a cup of hot tea was just one of a million strange rituals Mondes had, like knocking on wood, and not leaving flip flops turned over, and always leaving a house through the same door he came in, and not whistling in the dark. Stuff to keep away spirits and sheyd that Mondes claimed not to believe in but still got mad if you interrupted or suggested he not follow these tenets. Quote unquote Folksy things, that you had teased him about. You had many times called him an old man in a young troll's body. 

When Dietes suddenly came back into his life, it was jarring and at the same time comforting to meet the old man from which he seemed to have borrowed a great majority of these mannerisms. They were similar in many ways you noticed but would not dare name. The time Mondes had spent with his ancestor, and by association Dietes, has always seemed a touchy subject. 

“Hey Dia,” Nesseo says. “Alternia to Dia” They say, snapping their fingers in front of your head, pointing to the first card in your spread they’ve just flipped over. 

“The loversssss” Ness says, dragging out the syllable in the affected way in which they often spoke. 

You finally draw your eyes away from Mondes and Dietes in the kitchen, to glance down at the tarot card, picturing two trolls, who, seem to have had their breasts extenuated by a hot pink paint marker. 

“Okay” You say. “Why did you draw boobs on them?” You say, staring. 

“You’re supposed to really connect with your deck, Dia. I drew boobs on all of them. They’re all lesbians. But regardless” They say, flipping through the little reference book for the tarot deck. “That’s gotta have something to do with your quads, right?” 

“You’re asking me? Aren’t you the psychic?” You retort. 

“Rostve, Ideine, Darque, any one of these would make an excellent duettist.” Dietes huffs, his attention still on his protege. “Are you just not gonna play with anyone who knew you when Alador was alive? That disqualifies half the competitive orchestra world. This is the big leagues. Swallow your pride.” 

“You’ve shown me what, one landweller?” Mondes snaps back. 

“It was hard enough to get YOU into this contest. Why won’t you play with Darque. He’s a landweller.”

“I don’t like him,” Mondes says, pressing his teabag to the side of his cup with the spoon, dancing it in a perfect little circle around the rim to get the juices out. Why are you staring at his hands? Too many things happening in this room. 

“You know what,” Nesseo says, tracing your gaze. “Yeah, I am the psychic. I know everything. This is about you and marshmallows.” They declare.

“What? Why not Pae or Fester” You say, looking back at the deck. 

“That's the vibes. That’s the vibes.” They repeat, flipping over the next card in the spread. 

“The six of cups” They narrate. 

“Is that bad?” You joke. 

“No. I mean yes. I mean hold on a second.” They say, leafing through the deck's instructional booklet. Across the room, Dietes draws his cane close to his body. 

“You’re killing me, Rosado.” He says, a turn of phrase that seems incredibly comfortable in his mouth. Mondes is not the first Rosado he’s said it to. 

Mondes gives the tea one last long press to the side of the mug.

“I’ll hold auditions,” He says. 

“You’ll what?” 

“I’ll hold auditions for a duettist. I’m a millionaire.” 

“Right, sorry.” The old man says sarcastically. “Those same five players I already listed will apply.” 

“To be my duettist? you're kidding.”

“You’re good press, Mondes. You were in all the news, highbloods taking on charity cases makes them look good.” 

Finally, you decide to interrupt. 

“Why does he need a duettist?” You ask. 

“The second round of the competition is done in pairs.” Mondes answers. “But we have time. Let me hold auditions. I’ll find a lowblood.” 

“I feel more gray hair growing in as we speak, but sure!” Dietes says, tugging at the pages of his little notebook as he flips through it. “Let’s push our luck that far. Let's do this with two lowbloods.” The jade says, standing up to pace. “You want me to drop dead from stress. You hate your old man music teacher who is doing all this for you from a flat in sunnyside. You want to give him migraines. But it’s okay you’re a millionaire and we’ll just hold auditions” He says, tossing his hands in the air. 

“Laying on the guilt trip a little thick, aren’t you?” Your boyfriend replies. 

“I’m just trying to be realistic with you.” He sighs. 

“I’m not willing to compromise on this” Mondes says, staring at his reflection in his mug. 

“Okay.” Dietes caves. 

“The SIX OF CUPS” Nesseo interrupts, reading aloud from their booklet. “Means childhood memories… innocence. That's.. Gonna be relevant to you and Mondes somehow.” 

“I’m sorry” Mondes says, walking over to the two of you. “What's gonna be relevant to me?” 

“Cups” You reply, pointing at the card. 

“What is this, wizard couples therapy?” He asks, leaning his head on your shoulder. 

“I’m a psychic, Marshmallows. I could never be a therapist. I love drama too much. But anyways.” Nesseo flips over the last card in the deck. 

“Seven of Swords” You read aloud.

“Seven of Swords reversed.” Nesseo corrects. “That means secrets.” They say, staring at Mondes. 

“You didn’t even look that one up.” Your boyfriend replies. 

“I just know.” they say, staring at him, Mondes glances at you, and back at Ness.

“I was gonna tell him anyway,” he says to Ness. “You didn’t have to prompt me. I was just looking for the right time.” 

“I didn’t plan this” they reply. “Shuffled at random.” 

“Tell me what?” You say, pausing, reaching over to take his hand in what you hope is a reassuring gesture. It’s still ever so slightly warm, the ghost of his mug's heat imprinted upon it. He runs a thumb across your palm. 

“Why I’m doing this whole orchestra thing.” He sighs. 

“Oh. I was wondering that.” You admit. 

Mondes glances back as if to ensure that Dietes has indeed exited, and he has, probably still muttering under his breath. 

“It's a smoke screen” He says, turning back to meet your gaze. “I’m distracting the media so Hanagi and Bee can complete another rescue mission.” 

A million different emotions run through you in quick succession. Your brain frantically attempts to sort them into boxes. 

“Okay” You say. 

“Okay” He replies. 

Don’t do that, your mind pleads. You had just started to feel comfortable in a life that existed in a state of after. After the fleet, after prison, after Twitch. 

“Remember when we were at the airbnb” You say softly. “And you said that thing about not martyring yourself.” 

“We’re being safe” He promises, taking your hand in both of his, clasped in between them like in prayer. 

“We have the time,” He says. “The resources, to be careful, Dia. I wouldn’t do this if we didn’t.” He says. You pause. 

“Okay” You say. Your mask modulating your robotic sigh. “Can I help?” You ask. 

“With the contest? Yes. With the heist? No.” He says. 

“Why not?” You ask. 

“Dia,” Nesseo says. “Bee’s like, pretty heavily involved with it.” 

“And?” You say. 

“And what the hell is your like, situation with Bee anymore anyways?” Mondes says, glancing at Nesseo in silent agreement. “Forgive me my bluntness, but you haven’t spoken to her since she was resurrected. We’re not tossing you on a team together if all that’s not sorted. It’s a liability.”

“Oh” You say. “I can talk to Bee.” You say. In a way, this has always been true. In a way, it was not true until this very moment. 

“You don’t have to,” He says. “You don’t have to have any part in it.” 

“No… I’ve been meaning to.” You sigh. 

“Okay” He says. He exhales. “Thank you for understanding.” 

“I just want to help.”

“I know” he says, lifting your hand and bonking it gently with his mask. He turns back toward the wall. 

“I should probably go find where that old man ran off to,” he breathes. 

“Okay” You repeat for the third time, always struggling with words in moments like these. 

Mondes leaves. He's forgotten his half full tea mug on the counter. 

“I kind of hoped you’d talk him out of it,” Nesseo says, resigned and quietly frustrated as they gather up their vandalized tarot cards. 

“Since when am I the guy” You say, watching a trace of steam disappear into the night air from the tea kettle. 

“Who talks anyone out of anything” You say. 

.

.

.

.

.

So much of what you know of each other starts with the eyes. You’ve heard it said isolation breeds innovation, or constraints make creativity, or pain makes you appreciate beauty, or order makes you long for chaos. You had a feeling you and Mondes would have loved each other’s eyes even if they looked completely different, even if they were faded or colorless or dull or scarred, if your lashes were thin or jagged or clumped you would have loved each other eyes, because the way you gravitated towards each other’s had never been aesthetic. 

Everything another troll puts on their face, the two of you fit into eyes alone. You find yourself often staring into Mondes eyes not the way a poet looks at a piece of art, but the way a traveler studies a map. Sometime you found Mondes’s eye’s beautiful the way you are sure other people consider them. In evenings and mornings they catch flickers of the sun on its way up the horizon, glittering reflected yellow back through the tin of his gas mask’s lens like the opalescent back of a beetle. If you caught him from the side, gaze turned downward over the pages of his homework with a simple thoughtful expression, those nights you could trace the diagonal of his eyelids down to the lashes that extend from them and think Mondes looks like a doll, and maybe that’s why the occasional weirdo still sends him odd fan letters or unhinged rants that he throws away without reading. 

You understand how he is beautiful the way a troll is supposed to be. The way a golden retriever puppy is beautiful, or a rose, or a perfect circle. The same way you are beautiful, mostly by genetics, partly by accident, mainly by some age-old standard that doesn’t matter in the slightest and hurts more people than it helps. If you stopped right there, you could maybe stare at him the way one does at the night sky, thinking him pretty without knowing why, as if he were beautiful without cause, or reason. 

But you were driven to understand it. 

Some nights you try to catch Mondes when he thinks no one is watching, lost in a group setting, he’ll glance sideways at a wall as if sharing some private joke with the scenery. While the Cheongs argue, or joke, he’ll sit there poised silently as if he were a stranger at a table in a cafe watching a conversation happen on the street. 

Some nights, when he's teaching Daseos to play guitar, his gaze would take on a sudden distance as she plays back to him. You had never thought distance could be loving until you had grown accustomed to his eyes. Until you saw Mondes Rosado stare at a person, or listen to a sound, or taste a bite of food and watch his gaze turn distant like a person stepping back to admire a view, like his love was at such a scale it could only be seen as a landscape. You remember feeling so safe the first time he stared that way at you. 

Maybe just to be contrarian, you find Mondes’s eyes most beautiful when they don’t reflect anything at all. In the gray haze of a rainy evening, they don’t shine like a puppydog but are as flat as still, deep water. Green so dark out of the light it almost looks black. The flatness takes the hardness from them. No longer the shining back of a beetle, they become the shadow of a cave or the deep of a well and you can fall into them and you can just keep falling. 

You could never put this in as many words. Sometimes, you find yourself saying 

“Mondes has beautiful eyes” 

And people think you’re shallow, because it’s the first thing everyone notices about him, but they don’t understand his face like you do, they don’t get that you’re not saying Mondes has beautiful eyes, you are saying Mondes has beautiful eyes, and they don’t understand the difference. 

All of this is to say, you can read him well, you can read him better than anyone. The night of the first orchestra qualifier is long. There are a lot of people playing. You can’t remember the last time you went to an event so fancy. You grew restless in your seat. Later, he has to do interviews, the Cheongs wanted to get ahead of the press circuit before it got ahead of them, Mondes had booked interviews later that very night. You aren’t allowed in the TV studio but you wait outside, despite being told over text it’s late and you don’t have to do that, Hanagi and Nesseo are both waiting too, and you’re not leaving before them. Eventually, your boyfriend exits the building and you lock eyes, and you think, in an immediate assessment,

I have not seen him look this tired since before Bee died.

And you hear Nesseo’s voice in your head saying, why didn’t you talk him out of it, but you don’t say that, you walk up and say, 

“Let me help you with your things” 

And he says “The car’s not far” but despite his verbal protest lets you pry his heavy instrument from his back, a child's cello no longer. And Hanagi hands him the hot tea she’s been holding and he takes it gratefully in his hands, and Nesseo’s making jokes about the interview, asking when it airs, and he’s giving bare minimum answers. He’s leaning on your shoulder, wiping off the steam of his tea that’s fogged up his mask’s lenses and he says,

“Can I stay the day at your place” As he is sometimes prone too. And you say

“Yes” and he gives Hanagi the keys so she can take the car back to the Cheongs, and he’s taking your hand as you head towards the parking garage, and his cello is way heavier than it looks. 

When the two of you get back to your place he stumbles straight to the bathroom, and you’ve wandered over to your bed, picking at the million buckles and buttons associated with dressing up fancy. Mondes returns, his hair is free and cascading down his shoulders in adorable curls made from the constraints of his braid, and he’s working leave in conditioner through it with a comb. Eventually, he sets down his comb and leans his hand on the side of your wall, twisting to stretch his back. It was an exercise you had seen him do after playing the cello a hundred times. But he stops midway suddenly, and instead just lays down on the floor. 

“You okay?” You ask. 

“Fucking, cello spine” He mumbles into your floorboards. 

“You want me to crack your back?” You say. 

“Not now” he answers, with a playfulness and demureness to his tone that immediately conveys to you he’s mistaken this for innuendo. 

“I mean literally, idiot” You say. “Your medically trained kismesis” 

“Oh” he says. “Okay, sure” 

You sit down over where he’s lying face down, pressing one hand firmly on his back and then cracking it to the best of your ability. There is a slight sound from his spine, and then from Mondes, several parts pain and relief, he relaxes into your floor. 

“Thanks,” He says. He lays there still, for so long you eventually offer, 

“You want me to put you on the bed?” you say. 

“No” he says, pressing his hands to the floor and pushing himself up. He sits down on the bed next to you, fumbling with his buttons, hands probably tired from playing. And you reach over to help him, unbuttoning the cuffs of his suit jacket as he leans into you. 

“I’m sorry,” He says. 

“What?” You answer. 

“It’s so late” He says as you peel off his jacket. “You didn’t need to stay up and take me home.” 

“Least I could do” You say. 

“I know,” He says. “But you didn’t have to.” 

You aren’t sure what to say to that, continuing to help him out of his outfit. 

“I don’t mean to not sound thankful” He says. “I just shouldn’t need a boyfriend to unbutton my shirt.” 

“You’re exhausted” You say. He slips out of his button down, standing up to go through your drawers. 

“Where’s your Marsie shirt?” He says, not answering you, and you don’t even bother denying you have one of the purpleblood’s shirts, because it'd be silly at this point.

“Bottom left” You say, and he steals the shirt you worked so hard to steal from Marsie. But you forgive him, because if he sleeps in it now in the morning it’ll smell like pomegranates and honey, Mondes’s leave-in conditioner that lingers on your pillowcases and t-shirts after he stays like a ghost. He slips the shirt on, and walks back and collapses onto your bed. 

“I should be better at this” He complains into your pillow. “I did this when I was like, four.” 

“And you hated it” You say, laying down beside him, wrapping your arms around him. 

“Are you really gonna do the… refusing to accept help thing? After how many times you’ve gotten mad at me for exactly that?” You say.

“I know it’s fine,” He says. “To accept help. I’m here, aren’t I? Back cracked? I know it’s fine not doing it all on your own.” He says, voice retreating to the back of his throat. 

“I know that. My thinkpan knows that. My therapist knows that. I’m allowed.” He rambles. 

“But It’s so… familiar.” He breathes. 

“Every other part of me knows it's different.” He says. “But for some reason my eyes still linger on the crowd, like I’ll blink, and he’ll just be sitting where he always did, just left of center row.” 

You are sure he must mean his ancestor. You take a second to form your response, passing the moment by pulling him closer to you. 

“You want me to sit there?” You offer.

“What?” 

“Leftmost center row” You echo. “So it’s like, just me?” You say, genuinely trying to be helpful. He shakes, and for a moment, you worry he’s crying, until you realize he’s laughing. 

“What?” You say, defensively. 

“Sorry” He says. “What a freudian nightmare.” He jokes, this thought coming uninvited into his mind clearly being what he was giggling about in the first place. 

“Pssh” a noise leaves your mouth involuntarily. “Frued can eat my ass. I’m trying to help.” 

“I know,” he says. “Thank you Dia.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“I just” he pauses. 

“Wouldn’t you all feel relieved. If you didn’t have to hold my hand like this.” He says, and you feel Aladors cast shadow darkening every word. Your lover did not usually talk about himself that way. You take his hand, clasping it just as you had done in the living room a couple days ago. 

“I think I’d feel relieved” You pause, stumbling. “If you let me help you.” You say, and you're glad your mask disguises the unsteadiness in your voice. 

Something in him tenses, sharp and angled, and then just lets go. He melts back into your touch. 

“Oh” he says. And you can’t see his face, not with the way you’re wrapped around him, but his eyes have gone that same way. Loving and distant. Like his love had all at once become so big he was suddenly humbled by it. 

[lonelela]

INTRODUCING LELA SANTORO: we love to mistake butterflies for cardiac arrest.

FULL NAME            lela rose santoro.

BIRTHDAY              january 29th ( 25 ) . 

BIRTHPLACE          red creek, michigan.

GENDER                 cis female.

OCCUPATION     receptionist at devil's ink.

BUILD                     athletic.

HAIR COLOR         brown .

EYE COLOR           brown.

HEIGHT                  5’9

PARENTS              declan santoro ( father ) + amara brown ( biological mother ) , francine santoro nee hill ( mother ).

SIBLINGS        open older sister , open older sibling, open older sibling, connor santoro (npc younger brother), maisy santoro (npc younger sister) .

PETS                    stellar ( black cat ) .

CHARACTER PARALLELS: april kepner (greys anatomy), brooke davis (one tree hill), lily aldrin (how I met your mother), elena gilbert (the vampire diaries), charlotte york (sex and the city), lexi howard (euphoria), beth harmon (the queen's gambit)

BIOGRAPHY with mentions of drunk driving, drinking while pregnant, neglect and abuse (emotional)

lela came into this world in the form of an emergency c-section after her mother had totaled her car driving drunk after a night out celebrating the end of her pregnancy. it was a miracle that she was born and even a bigger miracle that she was born healthy. her mother immediately signed over her rights to her father who had just found out about his daughter only hours before as he was the emergency contact listed. 

growing up in a household that wasn’t entirely loving wasn’t easy on a child like lela. she stayed in the background like a flower wilting in the dead of winter. it was easy when you were quiet. she was never free from the abuse that followed but she remained positive - hopeful for a change that would never come. instead she focused on her art which brought her an immense amount of joy. she sees the world in a different light than most and that shines through the art that she makes. she wants people to see the world in the way that she does.

despite the hardships that they faced, lela found herself excelling in school (even skipping two grades) and even contemplated going off to college but after graduation, she couldn’t leave. red creek was her home and despite the trials and trauma that she experienced, she couldn’t leave. instead, she found herself working as a receptionist at devil's ink and has been with the company for awhile now. she dreams of making it big in the art and photography world and has sent her work to a dozen of different places to get seen but she hasn't had her big break yet. so for now, she continues to work hard at her art and won't stop until she makes it.

HEADCANONS

lela can talk your ear off about any horror movie there is. when she needed an escape from her life, she found them in horror movies. something about killings (call her a psycho) was a comfort to her. 

her love language is physical touches and words of affirmation. she has always been the touchy feeling kind of girl and it brings her a comfort. she also likes to tell people how proud of them she is or give compliments to strangers. she also loves it when someone tells her what a good job she is doing. 

her biggest passion is painting and you can usually find her with some type of paint on her body at any given point. lately, though, she has gotten into photography and has found a new - and different - love for art.

CONNECTIONS

best friend (female counterpart, aged 25-27): her ride or die. they would literally do anything for the other one and most people that see them together know that they mean business. met when they were very young and have been inseparable since. (think peyton sawyer and brooke davis)

devil's ink customers (any gender and any age): lela has been with devil's ink for awhile and loves to see the work that the artists do. she is pretty friendly with the people that come into the shop and always wants to see the work they get done afterwards. they could become friends due to this or this could be just acquaintances.  

enemies (any gender and any age): someone that doesn’t like lela for whatever reason. 

online friends (any gender and any age): lela spends a majority of her time outside of working online in different forums. this could be a friendship that blossoms. maybe they are originally from red creek as well or somewhere on the other side of the world but now has moved to the same town. 

[clandestone]

 //   (  rahul kohli  .  cis man  .  he/him  )  .    ⸻  darshan  brar  ,  a  thirty-five  year  old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have  lived  for  their whole  life .  the  sacrificial  lamb  is  known  for  being  resilient  and  cynical  and  is  often  associated  with  the blue tint that washes over the world in the earliest hours of the morning, the emptiness in your hands- how long has it been since they’ve held something other than a weapon or a glass of whiskey?, abandoning your faith but still seeing god everywhere.  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as  a  deputy  at  red  creek  police  department,  word  travels  fast  .

the basics

Name: darshan brar Nicknames: tbd Gender: cis-male, he/him Sexual Orientation: bisexual Age: 35 Birthday: may 9, 1989 Occupation: deputy at the red creek police department Marital Status: single Pets: one beta fish named “fish”, roughly 8 houseplants. all immaculately cared for. Positive Traits: brave, ambitious, principled, persistent, resilient, kind-hearted Negative Traits: cynical, skeptical, stubborn, a lil moody, workaholic, savior complex lowkey

aesthetics

Inspiration: dana scully (the x-files), charlie swan (twilight), theo decker (the goldfinch), shane (stardew valley), more tbd Animal: moose Tarot Card: judgement Zodiac: taurus  Element: earth Mineral: bloodstone Song: these days - nico

Backstory (TW: grief, parent death, implied neglect)

 Was there ever a sweeter little boy? All he ever wanted to do was help. A child cursed with a soft heart and open arms, born into a life that seemed determined to tear him to pieces.  He got his gentleness from his mother, Chandra Brar. At only twenty-years old, she was innocent, naïve, entirely unaware that a person could say they love you, only to leave you in the same breath. Darshan was supposed to be the beginning of a long, happy life together- but how could she know a father would deny his own son? Heavily pregnant, Chandra moved to Red Creek to escape the pitying looks and  judgmental stares. It was not an easy life, and they had very little, but they were happy enough- and that happiness only grew when Chandra met the man she would marry. He was a stoic man, deeply religious and cold, but he was good, and it was clear that he adored Chandra and Darshan.  After a few years of marriage, they welcomed Darshan’s sibling to the world [see WC], and at last- Chandra had her happy family.  But it would not last long. Before his sibling’s first birthday, Darshan's step-father would pass in a freak accident, leaving Chandra alone once again. Something broke in Darshan’s mother that day, and she threw herself into religion, sure there was something she had to atone for. Why else would she be subjected to this twice? But God stayed quiet, and Chandra spent the rest of her life waiting to hear his voice. It was up to Darshan to pick up the pieces. At 18, Darshan fled. He felt terrible about leaving his sibling behind with an absent mother, but he desperately wanted to go to college, to do something for himself for the first time. His first semester was great- life was lighter, easier to shoulder. But it would not last- he was called home. His mother had died after falling suddenly and gravely ill, and he had to drop out of school to take custody of his sibling.  Police work wasn’t his first choice, but he was young and able-bodied, the work paid well, and the department only required a high school diploma. It was only supposed to be temporary- eventually, he was going to leave, go back to school, start his own life. But eight years have passed, and still he sits, still he waits, dust gathering on his vision of the future. Darshan lives in his family home on Norwood Street, and is a frequent patron of Dolly’s Diner and the Redstone. He is prone to drinking a little too much, but he’s a fun drunk and it doesn't happen that often, so it’s kind of whatever. He takes his job seriously, doesn’t let a ton slide while he’s in uniform, but when he’s off-duty, he doesn’t really care that much. As long as you don’t offer him coke or do something incredibly illegal in front of him, he will probably be chill about it. 

Wanted Connections

friends of all kinds!! drinking buddies, childhood friends, co-workers, people he just runs into a lot. close or casual, i will take them all.  frequent fliers at the station!! people who get into trouble often, and know darshan well because of it. it could be fun if they got along, but it could also be fun to do an arch-enemy, jake peralta/doug judy type of thing. enemies!! someone he gave a ticket to once, and they are still mad about it. someone who just doesn't like cops (valid). someone who just hates his vibe for some reason. an ex, or an old friendship that ended poorly. someone who wants to hold this man!! totally open to all possibilities here. he's probably oblivious to it because he can't imagine someone wanting to care for him. it could be a casual thing where someone caught feelings, or a friendship they don’t want to ruin, or a constant right person, wrong time thing. give me yearning or give me DEATH his sibling!! this will be a WC on the main, but he was essentially their parent for a large part of their life- even before their mom died. they can be close or they could even dislike each other!! maybe they have stayed religious, while darshan has turned away from it. maybe they feel like he abandoned them when he went to college. maybe they still live together, and hang out and are chill. these are all options that work.