#cecil is the world to me now
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funky-lil-ghost · 2 years ago
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my night vale renaissance is going spectacularly well. by which i mesn that i m hopelessly attached to yet another fictional character. cecil is everything i’ve decided
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unordinary-diary · 6 months ago
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Seraphina and Arlo: The Brainwashing of High Tiers
Exposition:
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— Remi, Episode 50.
There is a heavy implication that Seraphina and Arlo were raised in much the same way. The pressure on Seraphina comes from her parents, so I’ll extrapolate that the same goes for Arlo. This raises the question: how do the authorities create such a strong societal pressure on such a small percentage of the population? Most high tiers will probably not know any other high tiers besides their parents. Take Wellston Private High School for example: it’s the most prestigious private school around, and canonically has the “highest concentration of high tiers in the region”. There are six high tiers in Wellston. Apply this to god tiers specifically, and there are only three. Not to mention that this current group of students is uniquely strong, even for Wellston. In Rei’s senior year, he was the strongest at 5.8 max.
So much of this brainwashing relies on the parents to do all of the work, and it only takes one or two people to break the cycle. So how are the authorities creating this immense pressure? One tactic could be by isolating high tiers. There is a very widespread concept that one shouldn’t associate with those outside their level range. A caste system like this that affects everyone is much easier to create and maintain than an expectation for a small group, and it also means that high tiers are only being influenced by those who are also high level. This creates an echo chamber. I’ve researched cults and how they brainwash victims, and the first step in the process is isolating them in exactly this way.
But, if there are so few high tiers, how the hell are they supposed be isolated from other groups? The answer is that high tiers are just isolated in general. Take a look at Arlo: his only friend is Remi, and even her, he keeps at an arm’s length. Arlo is only close with Remi in the first place because he was close with Rei, who, at the time of meeting Arlo, was presumably close in level with him. [EDIT: I forgot about Holden, which I think says a lot about his relevance. He is kept at more than an arm’s length and doesn’t seem to have any actual influence on Arlo, let alone a deep relationship. He is also not presented as an equal.] Take a look at Seraphina: before meeting John, she didn’t seem to have any friends other than possibly Arlo. Seraphina and Arlo pre-John seemed to have had more of a professional relationship, and while they were not close in level, Arlo did fit the bill of being a fellow god tier, and strong enough to also be brainwashed.
Now let’s look at Remi. In episode 60, Cecile says to Remi: “And yet here you are... Always hanging around those two monkeys, Blyke and Isen. Letting them treat you as an equal even though you’re in a completely different league.” This struck me as odd because, aside from Cecile herself, the Wellston students closest in level to Remi were Arlo, Blyke, and Isen. And who is she friends with? She actually was doing a pretty good job at following that social convention, unless Cecile wanted to be friends with Remi, which she clearly didn’t. But... her friends were still not close enough to her level. Was she supposed to just not have friends at all? The answer seems to be a resounding yes. Can you think of any genuine friends that Cecile has either?
Friendship simply isn’t considered a necessity for high tiers.
But... why is it that Arlo and Seraphina were brainwashed differently? Creating a societal norm for an isolated group of people is one thing, because those people’s mindsets feed into each other. Putting pressure on individual families to keep them in line, but doing it all in different ways? That would be near impossible. My theory is that Seraphina recieved the typical high tier brainwashing, and that Arlo was raised differently because he was being groomed to work for the authorities. Seraphina didn’t have a set career path planned out for her, but if she’s trying to be “perfect” by the standards of those controlling her, she’s bound to end up going in a direction that pleases them. Arlo on the other hand was specifically planned to become an authority figure. That’s why his brainwashing is so centered on leadership. Also, growing up with direct contact to the authorities makes it more possible for them to customize his brainwashing in this way.
But does all of this apply to high tiers in general, or is it specific to god tiers? Let’s take a look at the high tiers in Wellston. We have Seraphina, John, Arlo, Terrence, Remi, Cecile, and Blyke. John is a unique circumstance because he wasn’t raised by high tiers, so we’ll cross him off the list. Terrence was also unique, so we can cross him off as well. Remi was different from the norm as well. Why is that? Well, Remi actually wasn’t raised by high tiers either. Rei said on screen that both of his parents were elites. We can cross Remi off. Blyke doesn’t fit the bill either, but that’s easy to explain. He was an elite for a large part of the story, and he shot up rather quickly. We don’t know much of his family, but he probably wasn’t expected to be a high tier at all, and was raised as an elite. (All of this also serves to emphasize how much of this brainwashing comes from a person’s parents.) That leaves only Seraphina, Arlo, and Cecile to look at.
Cecile does seem to have high tier brainwashing, but it’s not nearly as intense as with Seraphina and Arlo. She doesn’t seem “obsessive”, and she wasn’t one of the examples Remi mentioned in chapter 50. It’s clear that high tiers are brainwashed in general, but god tiers are kept on a much shorter leash. This makes sense, obviously, because keeping a population in control like that is less necessary the lower the level. However, it’s also a chicken an egg situation: god tiers are both more important to keep in control, and also easier to keep in control. It’s important to note just how many exceptions we had to cross off. People like Remi and Blyke aren’t actually that unusual— a lower leveled high tier is much more likely to have non-high tier parents, or to have not always been a high tier themselves, or just in general, to have way more day-to-day interaction with non-high tiers. The brainwashing gets more and more diffused the lower down the ladder you go.
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luminarai · 2 years ago
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today I’m vacillating wildly between ‘oh wow I’m so happy that I’m not really sick anymore :)’ and ‘everything hurts oh my god my sinuses why is everything so loud why aren’t these painkillers working and why am I dizzy even crying hurts ow ow ow ow’
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robertreich · 5 months ago
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When the KKK Murdered My Childhood Friend 
When the Ku Klux Klan murdered my protector, it made me see the world differently.
I was always the shortest kid in school, which made me an easy target for bullies. To protect myself, I got into the habit of befriending older boys who’d watch my back.
One summer when I was around 8 years old I found Mickey, a kind and gentle teenager with a ready smile who made me feel safe.
Over the years, I lost track of Mickey. It wasn’t until the fall of 1964, my freshman year in college, that I heard what had happened to him.
Several months before, Mickey, whose full name was Michael Schwerner, had gone to Mississippi to register Black voters during what was known as “Freedom Summer.”
On June 21, Michael and two other civil rights workers, James Chaney and Andrew Goodman, were arrested near Philadelphia, Mississippi by Neshoba County Deputy Sheriff Cecil Ray Price, for allegedly speeding.
That night, after they paid their speeding ticket and left the jail, Deputy Price followed them, stopped them again, ordered them into his car, and took them down a deserted road where he turned them over to a group of his fellow Ku Klux Klan members. They were beaten, shot at point-blank range, and buried in an earthen dam. Their bodies weren’t found until August 4.
The state of Mississippi refused to bring charges against any of the Klan members. Eventually, the U.S. Justice Department brought federal charges against Price and 17 others.
An all-white jury found seven of the defendants guilty, including Price. Ultimately none would serve more than six years behind bars.
When the news reached me that Mickey, my childhood protector, had been murdered by white supremacists — by violent bullies who would stop at nothing to prevent Black people from exercising their right to vote — something snapped inside me.
I began to see everything differently.  Before then, I understood bullying as a few kids picking on me for being short. Now I saw bullying on a larger scale, all around me. In Black people bullied by whites. In workers bullied by bosses. In girls and women bullied by men. In the disabled or gay or poor or sick or immigrant bullied by employers, landlords, insurance companies, and politicians.
Sixty years after the Freedom Summer murders, America still wrestles with bullies — a rise in hate crimes targeting people of color, LGBTQ people, immigrants, Jews, and Muslims — new laws restricting the right to vote, banning books, and stripping Americans of reproductive freedoms — leaders who insult and demean people with disabilities, women, and trans kids.
We must never give in to cruelty and violence. It is incumbent on all of us to stand up to bullies and be each other’s protectors.
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xjulixred45x · 11 months ago
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OKAY MY LAST INVINCIBLE POST BEFORE DEDICATING TO REQUESTS FOR THE REST OF THE MONTH DON'T KILL ME! THIS TIME IT'S FLUFF!
Mark Grayson/Invincible x Starfire!Reader
Imagine being an alien similar to DC's Starfire, you can follow the original line of the character (I follow more than anything the one from the comics or the 2003 series) where your planet was conquered by another race (thanks to your sister) Or you can go the more "family friendly" line, which is that you decided to explore the world outside your home planet but ended up in the hands of some kind of intergalactic trafficking network.
I imagine that if it is the first case, it is most likely that your race has been conquered by the Viltrumite themselves, which caused a MASSACRE to occur from which you and your sister were miraculously able to escape.
Regardless of what you choose, you ended up on Earth, although having gone through great traumatic events, so when you see this new world, with a strange species, you begin to attack by mere instinct (like what Starfire did in the first chapter of Teen Titans)
That's when Mark or rather INVINCIBLE appears.
He tries to fight you at first, get you away from the civilians, that is until he realizes how scared you are (especially if we're talking about the case of the Viltrumite invasion and you realize that Mark IS a Viltrumite). So he tries to change his strategy and try to calm you down as much as he can.
When he succeeds, he ends up taking you to the Globe's guardians to see what to do. I imagine that you are a little different than the original Starfire, you are more scared and defensive in this situation, at first you only trusted Mark.
For this reason, Cecil decides that you will stay in the Pentagon until they know what to do with you. Mark helps you learn the "normal" things of the Earth and show Cecil that you are not a threat.
(if you had to learn the human language by "lip contact" the whole team definitely makes fun of Mark a little for being in love now).
Imagine Mark and Eve bringing you clothes to try on!🥺Eve probably just created it out of nowhere, but she also brings clothes that her parents give her that she doesn't want and for some reason you like.
Mark offers to help you train! At first he tries to go easy on you, but when you almost knock him out with your laser beams, he learns his lesson.
He definitely takes you out to eat junk food! More when he realizes that the Pentagon's food doesn't help you much because of your big appetite. Mark was surprised at how much food you could eat but luckily Cecil pays for it (just don't tell him yet🤫)
Definitely one of Mark's favorite things about you, when you're over the trauma, is your innocent attitude, even after all, you're very bubbly and friendly. which is at least difficult to find in your line of work, so he wants to keep that part of yourself as much as possible.
Mark definitely took you to meet his mother, at first he was a little nervous that she wouldn't accept you after what happened with his father, but surprisingly Debbie took it very well.
Thanks to this you were able to learn more about the culture of the Earth, you constantly asked Debbie about the places she had seen, what they were like and their culture (even some anecdotes about Mark when he was a child), and with your bubbly and youthful attitude she did not It was difficult for Debbie to warm to you easily.
Apart from that it helped you fall in love with the Earth quite quickly, see its beauty for yourself, which encouraged you to be your own version of a hero.
When you want to become a heroine, Mark enters into an internal conflict. On the one hand, he KNOWS very well that you don't want someone to make decisions for you, he respects that, but on the other hand, he is TERRIFIED by the possibility that you will get hurt, captured, or lose COMPLETLY your being or worse, DIE.
It is probably thanks to this conversation that you two become a couple.
In general, at first Mark tries to do your first patrols with you to teach you the basics, then he lets you do whatever you want, and he is SO PROUD when you beat someone.
"THAT IS MY GIRL!" kind of proud.
He definitely really likes flying with you and just wandering, at least he feels like there you two have more privacy. Apart from that he likes how you look in your element. according to him.
If you talk about the first case of origin that I mentioned at the beginning and your sister comes back, Mark sees through ALL the red flags and will be the first to warn you about her, since he went through something similar with his family, you don't want to go through that.
If both fight together, POWER COUPLE. LITERAL. You have certain skills that Mark doesn't, so they complement each other very well.
If Mark gets hurt, you go into RAMPAGE MODE and honestly? Mark doesn't know if he should be scared or more in love. or excited.
If YOU get hurt GOD HELP US, MARK IS ANGRY---someone is going to have a bad time. And You a Lot of cuddles.
Overall, both of them are like two Golden Retrievers being happy together.
@clemberryfriends
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ronwestbreeze · 5 days ago
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NONBELIEVER | viktor
summary: you would think two zaunites would come together and change the world. but perhaps fate had other plans for the two...
word count: 5.7k
warning: no use of y/n, angst and ambiguous endings???
author's note: so act 3 really messed me up lol but enjoy some angsty viktor because why not? the gif is from this set!!
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ACT I: MOB
Like Viktor, you lived and breathed the Undercity just not in the same way.
Your face used to be what artists would paint, even for a revolutionary.
But now it was stained with blood of your own. Beaten out of you mercilessly until cool shackles were clamped onto your hands and steel bars shielded you from the world. You have been in prison for some time now. Months, maybe a year? These days you’ve lost count. The only way you could tell how much time had passed was the growth of your hair. That was the price of being a revolutionary. That was the price of taking risks no one else would. Now you tasted blood and smelled old pipes. That was life in Stillwater Hold.
How you got here was the same story as any other inmate. You had planned to destroy a part of Piltover to make a point. To show that the people of the Undercity would not rest or become the ants under their boots. Most of your comrades had escaped from Enforcers, others were killed in the explosion, and then there was you. It was a sacrifice so that your comrades could have time to escape. And you’ve long accepted your fate.
That is until a certain professor decided to mess with fate.
After being forced out of your cell to meet this Professor Heimer—something, you weren’t really sure about. All you knew was that these Enforcers really liked to manhandle you especially roughly and took pleasure in seeing the black eye and blood on your teeth. That you were used to.
“Oh dear, could we please get her a towel at least?” The professor chided with a shake of his head. “Goodness, at least have her be presentable!”
Eventually, you got the rag, albeit it was thrown at you. After spitting on one of the Enforcer’s shoes, you wiped the blood and dirt from your face as the professor began speaking.
“Well, you certainly live up to your name. The Rebel Moon, is it? You may or may not have heard of me, but I am Professor Cecil. B. Heimerdinger and I are here as a Piltover Academy representative!”
A beat of silence went by. You realized then he was waiting for a response. You rolled your shoulder back and rubbed your aching jaw. “What are you meeting with me for?”
Professor Heimerdinger cleared his throat awkwardly, “Well….it seems you’ve left yourself a bit of a…reputation. I specifically admire your work on the bridge a year ago—marvelous work!” Sarcasm. You didn’t quite appreciate the condescension either. Seeing the unimpressed expression on your face, he quickly continued, “What I mean to get at is that we found some of your…erm, blueprints and I was surprised to see that most of them had been handwritten yourself, is that right?”
One of the Enforcers placed down a file filled with your old blueprints. They were mostly a copy of the Piltover Bridge, others were for weapons that your previous comrades built off of your drawings. Then there were the private drawings. The ones filled with naïve dreams of rebuilding the Undercity, changing it to a place where it was safe for everyone.
You snatched the files and hid those drawings in the file earning a quick yank from one of the Enforcers holding your chain. But after a subtle look from the professor, the chain loosened, and you frowned, anger boiling in your blood. “Where did you get this?”
Heimerdinger raised his hands, “I come in good faith, child, that I can promise.”
“I don’t particularly care about your promises—”
“Oh yes, very true,” The professor tapped the table thoughtfully. “But I do think you will like the proposition I have for you.”
Apparently, you had the potential talent of being an architect. One of the best in your generation it seemed—which somehow, he got from just looking at your old blueprints. And now he was convinced that you should join his Academy and that this was the perfect opportunity for you to change your life. To start over. To—
“Become one of you people?” You frowned and pushed the file away from you. “I’ll take my chances in here.”
 Heimerdinger, of course, was quite the persistent man.  “Imagine what you could do with your talents, Miss Moon. You’re still so young, you don’t have to waste your life behind bars. You can start anew!”
“I’m not wasting away in here.” You say simply, your shoulders are heavy and your face still sore. Carefully and slowly, you leaned back in the chair you were sitting in,  trying not to put too much stress on your recently dislocated arm. “That’s the thing with you Upsiders. You all don’t know anything about what it is to fight. And what it is to sacrifice just so your people can see the light of day. I don’t need your handouts. I’m doing just fine here. It’s where I belong.”
At that, he frowned. “I’m afraid I disagree with you, Miss Moon.” He pushed the file back toward you. “You have the chance to create something beautiful for your city, for your people. You have the chance to help them live. You have the chance to be something greater.”
Greater. You weren’t great. It was either great or nothing.
Somehow, Heimerdinger managed to strike a deal and get you out of Stillwater despite your rejection. For some reason, he was so determined to make you into something that you weren’t. And you were determined to fail. You were determined to prove him wrong. Even if he tried to impress you with the new uniform, the scenery, and the architect of Piltover—just to inspire you—you would not break.
If anything, seeing all this luxury only made you angrier. Even if they preached about you now being free with new chances, there were still shackles clamped on your wrists, imprinting themselves like a tattoo. To remind you that even if you’ve gotten this chance, there is always a chance for you to go back. And they wouldn’t hesitate to send you back once you mess up. Which was what you were counting on.
But it seemed that Heimerdinger was a lot more astute than you expected. The professor had you in his study during the day to work and look over some blueprints for new housing at the Academy. It left you with very little time to plan something reckless that would have you sent back to prison. Which, you guessed, was what Heimerdinger wanted. So, you entertained him and worked on the stupid blueprints, redesigning everything as fast as you could so you could get done faster and have more time on your hands.
Of course, that plan went quickly out the window when there came more demands for blueprints. Leaving you swapped and buried deep in work you didn’t even want. And yet, admittingly, it was a nice distraction. There was a small part of you—the child you—that enjoyed some of this. You would never admit that to Heimerdinger and yet you couldn’t put the pencil down. Eventually, you began receiving so many different requests for different projects that Heimerdinger got you a lab over your own, so all your stuff didn’t get overcrowded in his study.
Requests were filled with more designs or redesign for specific buildings they were hoping to update to catch up to the times—and then there were a few that had you designing weapons. The more you worked, the more of a reputation you began to build in the Academy. The new Undercity kid. Rebel Moon. Hephaestus. It was all ridiculous.
That’s when another fellow Undercity student finally found you.
“I fear those papers would catch on fire the more you glare at it.”
It was an accented voice that stirred you out of your spinning thoughts. You definitely had been glaring at the blueprints of a recent request for an apartment just a few walks from campus. You briefly glanced over your shoulder toward the man—he seemed a little bit older than you, walked with a cane, intrigued amber eyes, and a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.
“If you’re here for a request then just leave it over there with the rest.” You murmured before turning your attention back to the blueprints after pointing toward a desk in the corner stacked with many more requests.
There was a short breath before he spoke, “Ah, no, I actually already sent a request just a few weeks ago…I’m impressed by your work, the professor has a knack for spotting talent.”
You didn’t respond as you kept staring at the blueprints, twirling the pen in your hand, feeling the weight of the shackle around your wrist.
You heard him clear his throat, “So, you are from the Undercity?”
“What’s it to you?” You grunt before outlining.
“Well, truthfully, I didn’t expect the Academy to accept another one.”
At that, you swirl around in your seat and sized the man up carefully. He was pale, slightly hunched to hide his true height, neatly combed dark hair, and he had very fine cheekbones. “Another one? What, too many Zaunites in your perfect little school?”
“I would’ve thought they had enough once I joined.” He gave a knowing smile that made you pause and narrow your eyes.
“…You’re…from the Undercity?”
He moved toward you; the click of his cane echoed in the quiet room and offered his hand to you. “I’m Viktor. I’ve heard a lot of great things about you, Miss Moon.”
You stared at his hand for a moment, tilting your head, “Great things? That doesn’t sound right.”
Viktor chuckled, still holding his hand out. “Eh, some people might have a few opinions about you. Unfortunately, it made me all the keener to meet you in person.”
“Am I what you expected then?” You asked as you eventually shook his hand, your shackles clinking a bit.
With a small smile, he squeezed your hand, “No. Not at all.”
Your brow twitched as you studied him. He was delicate-looking. But his hand was a bit larger yet slender. They were calloused, just like yours yet warm compared to your coldness. It was then you realized that your hand was still in his and you pulled it away and turned back to your work.
“My name’s not ‘Miss Moon’ by the way.” You grunt as you refocus.
There was another soft chuckle and a click of his cane before he was gone. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder and stare at the doorway, a little bit too intrigued.
After that, you didn’t stop seeing Viktor. At least twice every week you’d get a request for him to polish some designs for his work. Sometimes he’d send his assistant, Sky, and sometimes he’d come in person himself.  At first, you weren’t entirely sure about him. But the fact that he was from the Undercity along with his assistant was slightly comforting. At least you weren’t alone here. Still, it was odd. Foreign.
“Have you ever gone out to see the finished product of your work?” Viktor asked you one day, deciding to linger even after delivering yet another request for something to do with a Hexcore.
“No.”
“Why?”
You frown and glance toward him. He was looking over some of your finished blueprints with a strange look accompanied by a smile. “I’m just not interested.”
Viktor blinked and met your eyes with a small frown. You didn’t say much more—truthfully there wasn’t much more to be said about it.
“Well, it’s one of the most beautiful designs I’ve ever seen. If that’s any consolation.”
You felt something in your chest at his words. Perhaps some of you did want to see the finished products of your design. And yet you were always rooted in this lab. In the dark under one lamp, barely seen by other students. Hephaestus.
Viktor tapped your workbench thoughtfully and hummed, “I’ll leave you to it, Miss Moon.”
You rolled your eyes, “That’s not my name.”
He laughed and left your lab.
On another day he came into your lab in quite a hurry. He left his requests as usual before rushing out. Only he left a ring behind. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glanced at the ring on the floor and toward your workbench before sighing. After grabbing the ring, you pushed up from your stool and left your lab. This was the first time you’ve walked around campus or went anywhere besides your lab or Heimerdinger’s study.
You asked around for Viktor’s lab until you stopped on a bridge, spotting something quite familiar.
It was the newly remodeled dorms. They glistened like gold in the sun. Build just like how you imagined them in your head. Just like how you outlined it on paper. Only in your dreams could you imagine what they would look like. But seeing it….It was real. And it was beautiful. And it came from your mind.
“Ah, Miss Moon, odd seeing you here!” Viktor approached you quite smugly from across the bridge. He glanced toward the dorms and gave a grin, “They just got done with it last week. What do you think, hmm?”
You narrow your eyes, “You scheming little eel.”
Viktor blinked almost too innocently, “I haven’t a clue what you mean—ah, I was looking for that.”
He gestured toward the ring in your hand. You gave it back to him while your eyes couldn’t help but draw back to the dorms. There was a tightness in your chest and a small ache behind your eyes.
“Glorious, isn’t it?” Viktor asked, his voice gentle as always.
You snapped out of your reserved awe and cleared your throat. “They did okay, I guess.”
With that, you darted back to your lab, the dorms imprinting themselves in your mind.
It became a routine at some point. Viktor began visiting your lab a little more often. At first, you didn’t notice this. But some days he’d come back to your lab a second time that day just to linger and see what else you were working on. At first, you thought you found it annoying. But as the days carried on and turned into weeks, you began to begrudgingly look forward to his visits.
“At least make yourself useful. Look over my work and see if there’s anything I missed.” You tried grunting when he leaned a little closer than usual to look at the blueprint you were working on.
“Hmm, I can try.” Viktor hummed as he flicked his eyes over the finished prints. “But they’re all probably perfect as usual.”
“Don’t you have some work to get to?”
“Not particularly, no.”
For some reason, he started leaving shit in your lab. Which would lead to you having to go and find him and return his stuff. Stuff like a screwdriver or some paperwork. Today it was a journal as you trudged through the campus and finally found his lab.
“Vik, I understand you’re a busy man, but you can’t keep leaving your shit in my area.” You huffed, throwing his journal onto his workbench, breaking him from his focus.
“Oh, Miss Moon,” He looked genuinely surprised to see you. “I wasn’t expecting you…”
“Yeah, right, so you didn’t leave this in my lab on purpose? You just happen to leave it there for me to find and bring to you?” You hummed, tilting your head as you got a good look at what he’s been working on—something a lot longer than what you’ve been doing. The Hexcore was what he called it. You didn’t understand it yourself—or cared much to learn about it. But you did notice some of your designs were used for his work.
“Mmm, you make me sound like a calculating stalker.” Viktor hummed as he got to his feet, joining your side. So, close his arm brushed against yours.
“Are you?” You quipped dryly while studying the Hexcore.
His slender fingers gently brush along your elbow. “I wouldn’t call myself a stalker, no. Are you interested?”
You glanced at him and realized he was talking about the Hexcore. “No. Just give me the why.”
Viktor hummed once more and leaned against the table, his fingers still brushing gently along your elbow. “For our home.” At that, you felt a tightness within your chest, your features falling slightly. Viktor, who had become very astute with your expression, gently grabbed your arm and squeezed it. “What’s with that face?”
You remember your life before the Academy. You remember your determination to prove Heimerdinger wrong. “Sometimes…I feel as if I’ve gotten too comfortable…too used to all of this….”
In the end, it was always your people above everything else. A revolutionary never dies, that was the simple truth.
“I think I’ve gotten too comfortable too.” Viktor frowned softly, tilting his head a bit to get a better look at your eyes when you averted your gaze. “And it’s all your fault, Miss Moon.”
You rolled your eyes only for him to lean forward and capture your lips with his. A lick of fire had been rekindled within you, breathing life into your soul, into your body. When he brought his hand to the back of your neck, when he practically cradled your face and brought you closer so he could deepen the kiss, when he touched you so gently as he always did, it was as if for a moment that heavy weight on your shoulders had been lifted. Leaving you weightless for even just a moment. That bit of relief was a breath of fresh oxygen in your lungs.
The heat from his lips moved from your mouth and down to your jaw and to the crook of your neck. Your back was pressed against the workbench as he practically clung and draped himself over you. And you let him. Even when he desperately wanted to feel you and kiss you all over, he was gentle. He always was.
The days didn’t change much except for whenever he was free, he’d head straight for your lab. Whether on a break or in a hurry, he’d always stop by and pepper your face with quiet kisses and touches before leaving for his lab. It was routine. You were getting comfortable. Comfortable in his warmth. In his gentle hold.
“Just stay,” Viktor murmured against your jaw as you examined some of his work with the Hexcore. “Your presence is better than that tea Jayce always makes.”
“I can’t, Heimerdinger wants to meet with me soon, and I got a bunch more new requests on my desk.” You hummed while looking through Viktor’s partner, Jayce’s, notes. “I think that Jayce guy requested some designs for a hammer of some kind—that’s been taking up most of my time as of lately so I can’t necessarily—”
“I know, I know,” Viktor rested his chin on your shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment as he slumped against you.
His health had gotten worse, which was something you and everyone else noticed. It did worry you how much he was working lately without much sleep, but you quickly learned how much of a stubborn man he was—especially when it came to his work.
“What do you think Heimerdinger wants to meet with you about?” He voiced your constant question out loud.
“Don’t know.” You murmured, trying not to think too much about it—or his health right now. “Won’t know until I get there. Probably wants to send me back to Stillwater.”
At that, he pinched your waist, “Don’t joke like that.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“Losing you is not funny to me.”
You placed Jayce’s scribbles down and wrapped your arms carefully around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder with a soft hum. He instantly relaxed in into your hold, but of course, you could tell his mind was still half Hexcore and half you at the moment. “Be sure to get some rest, okay?”
As usual, he gave a half-assed noise of slight agreement.
ACT II: REBEL MOON
It wasn’t long before Jayce Talis became the Man of Progress and Viktor became buried in his work. And then you were promoted. The lead architect of a very important project for Piltover. No longer the Rebel Moon but Hephaestus, Piltover’s future.
But.
But.
Everyone saw you as the kid saved from the Undercity and made a new. Everyone saw you as the future of their city. You were part of the progress of tomorrow. And you kept chasing Viktor, trying to keep up with his mind but he—he had become so work driven—so ambitious on the Hexcore dream that he had forgotten everything else.
You were angry. Angry at Piltover. Angry at what you’ve become. Angry at Viktor. This wasn’t the life you had chosen. All of this was envisioned for you. This wasn’t for you. You had nearly gotten so swept up in all the glamour and success that you had nearly forgotten—
No. You would never forget your people.
So, when your lab went up in smoke when you destroyed the project that you had been assigned to as lead architect, when the Enforcers tackled you to the ground and arrested you on the spot, when one of them grinned as if they’d been waiting—waiting for you to finally mess up, you knew right then that you would never be what Heimerdinger, what Viktor, or what anyone saw for you. You were a Zaunite after all. And a revolutionary. A rebel. Always.
It wasn’t long before you were placed back in Stillwater Hold. In the same cell. With the same shackles. You didn’t even get to tell Viktor goodbye. Would he have even realized it? Or perhaps, it was better off to leave him to his Hexcore dream. Perhaps, that was best. Yes.
But your mind was no longer settled with just staying in a cell and living out your sentence. One thing Piltover did give back to you was your fighting spirit. Rekindled your fire. And breathed life into your dead soul. And so, you weren’t quiet in the cell. You made noise. Cried out for war until the rest of the prisoners joined you. It wasn’t long before a riot broke out. The prisoners overpowered the guards, and you led them to escape.
The streets of Zaun were screaming for the Rebel Moon once more. Even now more so than ever when rumors began flying around about a rocket hitting Piltover, resulting in a few councilmembers’ deaths. Your thoughts wandered to Viktor, you wondered if he was okay, if he hadn’t killed himself working so hard. But your focus went back to your people. To the escaped prisoners as you all went into hiding underground. They followed you. Their chosen leader. You had no wish to be a leader, but you did want to be free and help your people.
ACT III: NONBELIEVER
Hiding in the Underground for months began to wear everyone down, even you—their supposed fearless leader. The sickness in the Undercity knew no bounds. Many of your people were getting sicker and dying as the days passed. You did your very best trying to supply and care for them—but you could only do so much.
That’s when you started hearing strange rumors about some healer in the Undercity. A herald or whatever that meant. At first, you didn’t think much of these rumors while being so focused on caring for your people.
Soon, sightings of strange people began appearing. Shouting about the Herald and how he could save their people. You were…wary of this. It almost seemed too good to be true. And you hadn’t seen these strange people yourself, so you thought it was all fake, stories made up to give the people false hope.
You came back from the small local market with more food than you could scrape up. Somehow, you’d have to figure out how to make it last throughout the month. But there were so many people. So many people are coming for refuge, and so many people in need of help.
“Are you the Rebel Moon?”
At the voice, you stop and glance over your shoulder, only to find no one there. Had you imagined it? Were you too wary after months of people coming to you and seeking refuge? The name Rebel Moon became a beacon of hope as much as it was for the name Jinx or that Herald.
Deciding it was just exhaustion messing with your head, you turn to continue forward, only to gasp and stop when you nearly ran into someone standing directly in front of you.
And they had appeared out of nowhere. It was a man that you didn’t know. His face void of any emotion except for a simple smile on his face, strange crystal-like fixtures embedded into his skin, while wearing white fabric far too clean to have come from the Undercity.
“You are Miss Moon, yes?” The man asked.
You stiffened. No one had called you that in a while. No one except… “Whose asking?”
The smile remained on the man’s face, “The Herald has been searching for you, Miss Moon. And he would like to speak with you.”
You gripped the basket of fruit and near stale bread in your hand and gritted your teeth, “I’m not interested, thanks.”
Just as you nudged past the man to continue down the crowded street, he spoke again. Only this time it wasn’t his voice coming from his mouth.
“You’re a hard woman to track, Miss Moon.”
It was like the air had been stolen from you as you whirled around to stare wide-eyed at the man with Viktor’s voice. The basket fell from your grasp, but the man was quick to catch it—somehow so fast—as he handed it back to you. “V-Vik?”
He nodded and slowly blinked, “I feared I wouldn’t see you again. You disappeared so suddenly, almost as if you weren’t there to begin with.” The man’s hand came up to gently brush his fingers along your jaw sending a sharp shiver down your spine. “Almost as if you never existed.”
You flinched almost and stepped back. Thoughts swirled within your mind as you tried to reel from the man speaking in Viktor’s voice. “What…what is this? How are you doing this?”
“I don’t want you to be frightened of me.” He instead said, taking another step forward but didn’t reach out to touch you again. “I only want to help you. I can save those people from that sickness.” You opened your mouth, ready to ask how he knew but stopped yourself which allowed him to continue, his voice gentle. “Only if you let me.”
“You’re the Herald.” It was mostly confirmation for yourself as you let the words slip out.
The man smiled softly, “I wish to see you again, Miss Moon. There is so much I wish to show you. But I will come to you first.”
Before you could ask what, he meant by that, the man’s voice returned, and Viktor’s voice was gone. “The Herald will come tomorrow, Miss Moon.”
And with that, watched this vessel of a man walk away. Leaving you feeling as if you were in some type of nightmare. No, alternate reality. It must’ve been some hallucination. Yes. That had to be it.
Only when the next day came, one of the children at your camp came running to you about the Herald being here, did you know right then and there that this was not a hallucination.
You watched as he entered your camp with those lifeless people that followed him.  Viktor had changed. Covered in indigo metallic skin, his hair slightly longer, his posture straighter yet still relying on a cane—or staff in this case.
Viktor’s eyes found yours almost instantly as if they were magnetically drawn to you. It looked like him.
“Miss Moon.” He hummed as he drew closer, staring at you with the same gentleness despite the distance in his expression.
It sounded like him.
You led him to the tent he would be staying in, watching the lifeless people tend to your people with baskets of fresh fruit and food. Viktor called your name in his accented voice, drawing your attention back to him, finding him already staring at you with an intense expression.
Even in this form, Viktor’s body couldn’t help but be pulled toward you. He let the staff rest while his hands slowly came up to trace and feel this human skin. Distantly he was all too aware of it. How he still reacted to you. With the remnants of Sky lingering in his mind, his thoughts had always wandered back to you. The image of your divine being. If he could still dream, it would’ve only been you he would’ve seen.
There was a strong pull that led him to you. Perhaps sensations of desperation. Even as he leaned his forehead against yours, feeling the little warmth coming from your body against his metallic yet pallid skin—he still wished to mold himself to you. To never stop touching you. To never let you slip from his fingers again
And then there was that look on your face. The furrow in your brow running heavy with exhaustion—you hadn’t slept. At that realization, his hand gently squeezed the side of your neck absently.
“You’re so quiet.” Viktor hummed finally, quietly for only you and him to hear in the stillness of the tent. His thumb traced your cheekbone. “You’re always keeping your thoughts from me.”
You tilted your head, trying to stir yourself out from the haze of his touch. “Are those…those people….are they the ones you ‘saved’?”
“Yet, so honest.” There was a hint of a smile on his face as he selfishly pulled your hand against his chest, keeping it there, selfishly. “Yes. They’re healed. No more…senseless pain. I can offer your people this peace. And you can come to stay at our new home. I think…you’d like it. You need peace.” He rubbed his thumb under your eye, making your shoulders grow heavier. “And rest.”
You couldn’t come up with a response. His lips linger on your mouth, and your jaw, and your neck. His fingers thread through your hair which had grown longer since the last time he had seen you. Gentle traces, cool breath fanning along your skin, his arms wrapping around your weathered and scarred form. Even your fingers traced his new skin. Refamiliarizing yourself with him.
But.
But.
It wasn’t him.
Even when his lips pressed gently yet hastily against yours, his body clinging to your human flesh, it still felt like a stranger. Familiar yet unfamiliar.
Confliction warred at your mind as you watched him move through the camp, your people looking at him as if he were a savior. As if the gods had sent him when it was only magic and remnants of the Hexcore embedded into his body. Your eyes couldn’t stop falling onto the lifeless people he ‘saved’. The ones that followed him without much thought. Would your people look like this? Void of themselves? No breath. No heartbeat?
But then you wanted Viktor. You wanted to go to this peaceful land he had created for himself and these people. You wanted to be with him. To be wrapped in his gentle embrace once more. To hear his voice whisper gently into your ear, easing the exhaustion from your muscles.
But.
But.
But.
Viktor reached out toward a boy. Sparks danced along his fingertips. The boy stared in awe. It was instant, your reaction.
Your hand grasped his wrist, stopping him. Viktor’s gaze met yours in an instant. You didn’t know what your face looked like, but it made Viktor falter.
Viktor saw your face and absolute dread filled him. A sense of it at least. It made his body go slack in your grasp—surrendering to you instantly. The glassiness of your gaze and that expression. He had never seen such a thing on your face. Fear. Desperation. Hurt. Sorrow. Grief.
He’d lost you. No. No. He’d…He’d get you back. He couldn’t let you go again…he couldn’t let…
What was this strange feeling in his chest?
You pulled him away from the boy and Viktor allowed himself to follow you. Gazes unwavering. But you forced the words out of your mouth. “This isn’t what I want for these people. This…this isn’t saving them…”
He couldn’t let you slip from his fingers.
You couldn’t let him take your people’s humanity.
He needed to keep you. To keep his humanity.
“Revolutions never rest.” Was your whisper as you released his wrist.
He called your name, but you forced yourself to turn your back on him.
“Show him out.” You murmur to one of the stronger men in your camp. You couldn’t turn back. You couldn’t look him in his eyes. If you did….
Then this conflict would disappear in an instant.
Viktor and his followers left without much problem. Maybe that hurts too.
The yearning for Viktor never left you and yet it wasn’t your job to bring him back. This Hexcore…all of it was beyond you. Maybe all of it wasn’t meant to be for you. Maybe…Maybe he wasn’t meant to be yours….
Days later you had heard the Herald had changed.
Days later the Herald was gone from this world.
Days later your exhaustion and grief wore on your shoulders.
Days later you’re trudging through the Undercity, more baskets filled with fruit in your arms.
Days later, you find a blue shard on the ground, somewhere near where Viktor’s utopia had been.
You picked it up from the ground, a remnant of what remained of Viktor and his work. You saw the manmade tents that were now abandoned, the builds similar to your past designs of what you wanted for the Undercity.
Silent tears fell from your cheeks as you gripped the shard. And you clutched the shard so tight in your hand that you could’ve sworn you felt a soft hum from it. Or maybe you were imagining things. Maybe you were too exhausted. Maybe you really did need rest.
And then.
You heard that accented voice.
“Miss Moon.”
Your breath hitched as the shard suddenly began to glow.
And Viktor’s voice came from it.
“May I show you something?”
And then. There was a bright blue flash.
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mediumgayitalian · 8 months ago
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“Come here, you dweeb. Let me fix it.”
Will pouts, dragging his feet over and slumping half on top of him. Nico allows it with a smile and a roll of his eyes, pinching Will’s shoulder. He doesn’t react except for a wounded noise, muffled in Nico’s lap, so the situation is evidently quite dire.
“It’s just hair, Will.”
“But I worked on it!” He shifts around until he’s got his head in Nico’s lap, face turned towards him, body curled up on the grass around him. Nico brushes his tangled bangs off his forehead, meeting his big sad eyes. “I spent forty minutes with a stupid brush! And yet!”
“And yet,” Nico agrees, unable to appropriately school is face into one of somber understanding. Will scowls at him for his lack of proper sympathy, a little bit of genuine hurt in his eyes, so Nico leans down and kisses right between his brows in apology. He seems mollified, if only slightly, or at least he leans into Nico’s touch and stops mumbling quite so much.
“‘S’not fair.”
“Mhm.“
“Your hair listens to your instructions.”
“Yep.”
“Even Cecil’s hair listens to him, and no one listens to Cecil.”
Nico purses his lips thoughtfully. “I think Austin listens to Cecil.”
“Yes, I know. It’s an ongoing issue. I’m trying to train him out of it.”
“And how’s that going?” Nico murmurs, curling a strand of golden blond hair around his finger.
“Oh, well, I’m doing my best, so of course it’s going horribly.”
Nico snorts. He resists the urge to hold his palms to Will’s cheeks and kiss every single freckle at light speed, because he will screech something about how Nico is one-upping him in the romance department or something stupid like that. Instead he settles for looking at his dumb dramatic boyfriend’s face and marvelling over the fact that the cutest boy in the entire world, and Nico is being totally objective, hunts around camp until he finds whatever tree Nico is hiding under and curls up into a ball around him and trusts Nico to hold him while he complains about stupid things that genuinely hurt his feelings a little. It’s nice. So many people at camp are still so rigid around him, like he’s collecting information for their judgement day or something. Will prefers to exercise his lesser-known Apollonian talent of being a bigger drama queen than the god himself.
“Stay still,” Nico says softly, moving Will around so he’s laying perpendicular to Nico, now, head centered in his lap and staring up at the sky. Will sighs and squirms a little and turns his head to press a kiss to Nico’s knee, scrunching up his face and releasing it, and then settles in the position.
Humming something soft that exists on the fringes of his foggy memories, he sinks his hands into Will’s hair.
“It’s not that bad,” he promises, moving slowly and pausing whenever he comes across a knot.
Will harrumphs.
“I mean it, Marilyn Monroe. You can tone down the histrionics.”
“I used gel.”
Nico flicks a dried clump of it onto Will’s forehead, amused. “I can see that.”
“I followed every single one of Mitchell’s instructions!”
“I bet.”
“And yet!”
“And, yet.”
Nico has a sneaking suspicion that someone made a comment about Will’s hair, in the last few weeks. He can never confirm it and Will has been shifty about it every time he asks, but Nico has noticed the uptick in hoods and hats the past month and his little flinches every time Nico reaches up and tugs on it. Despite being oddly confident about the oddest things — why he is so proud of being able to fit his fist in his mouth, Nico will never know — Will is very sensitive to how people think of him. He needs to know he’s liked, and when people don’t like him, he gets…desperate, pleasing. The opposite of Nico, who becomes worse in an attempt to push them away on his own terms.
Nico leans down and presses a long, lingering kiss to his forehead.
“I like your hair, you know.”
“It’s a stupid mess.”
He smooths down a handful of it, pressing it over Will’s eye. He manages to keep a straight face for one, two, three seconds before he huffs a laugh, batting Nico’s hands away. Nico grins.
“I like the stupid mess.”
“Yeah, well, you like a lot of weird things.”
“Like you?” Nico suggests, pressing another kiss to the tip of his rounded nose.
“Shut up.”
Another strange thing about him, that Nico has to duck his head to hide his automatic smile: he gets embarrassed easily.
Nico never expected it of him, with all the dorky, medical-themed pickup lines and general shamelessness in his affection towards everybody on Earth, but especially Nico. When the poking, prodding attraction is turned on him, however, he shuts down like an overloaded Playstation. Nico can sometimes see the error messages playing behind its eyes. It’s hilarious.
“Will.” He pokes him in the cheek. “Hey.”
“What,” Will grumbles.
“I think you’re beautiful.”
Watching the slow spread of red from below the collar of his shirt to the roots of his hair is a delight. Nico watches in glee, wrestling Will’s hands away when he tries to slap them over his face.
“Shut up! Leave me alone! Go — flirt with somebody else!”
“You’d curse them to speak in rhymes for ten years,” Nico teases.
Will makes an agonised noise. “Who! Asked you! Shut up!”
“You’d sic Kayla on anyone who so much as winks at me, you jealous bitch.”
“I would not!”
“You would so. You rolled your eyes at everything Percy said for three weeks when you found out I used to crush on him —”
“I did not!”
“— and you didn’t even have the balls to ask me out, back then.”
“You are a — peddler of falsehoods! A prevaricator, a perjurer, and a fabulist!”
“And you sound like you swallowed a thesaurus,” Nico snickers. He catches the hand Will flails at him, pressing a kiss to the wrist, which only serves to fluster him more. He decides to take mercy when the kisses he trails down his arms result in one loud, long, tortured screech, pulling back and giving him some space.
Notably, he doesn’t move from Nico’s lap.
“I like it,” Nico admits, once Will has calmed down some. “I like that you’ve liked me for so long.”
Will peeks through the fingers he has covering his eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Yes.” Nico squeezes his shoulders. “And endearing, which seems to be your sweet spot.” He presses a much softer kiss to the underside of Will’s ear, lingering there until he sighs, slumping under all the tension finally leaving his body. “I love you, Will. I love your clumsiness and your rambles and your nose and your freckles and your awkwardness and your jealousy and your hair and I love you, Will, all of you. Even the embarrassing weird parts.” He kisses him again. “Especially the weird parts.”
Will breathes slowly, carefully, evenly, face pressed to the inside of Nico’s thigh. His long eyelashes tickle his skin. Nico can feel the press of his Adam’s apple when he swallows, pulsing against his calf.
“I never thought you were a freak.”
Nico brushes his knuckles over his cheek. “I know.”
“I used to — talk about you. All the time. And your oxytocin levels.”
He smiles.
“I know.”
“Lee had a — chart.” Some of the flush rises back up in his cheeks. “A ‘Days Since We’ve Heard About Di Angelo’ chart.”
Nico bites his lip. Hard.
“The number never got higher than six.”
“…I am trying really, really hard, Will.”
Will sighs.
“You can laugh.”
Nico cracks up, trying desperately to muffle his giggles in his bitten fist. It doesn’t work very well, but the glare Will sends him is somewhat softened by the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“Gods, you are — a mess.”
“Mhm.”
Nico cups the side of his face. Will turns, slightly, enough to press a kiss to the centre of his palm and then stay there, eyes closed, breathing against his sword-callused skin.
“I love you too, by the way. Obviously.”
“I know.”
“Don’t Han Solo me, you bastard.”
“Go ahead and try to stop me,” Nico challenges, grinning into the passionately indignant kiss Will presses to his lips, finally, letting Nico curl his hands in his hair.
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equalseleventhirds · 2 years ago
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"I don't understand how I'm losing," Reigen said, his hands flying over his keyboard. It was so late now—too late, maybe—if only he'd used the same technique as with the Player Killer from the beginning, he might have stood a chance, but he hadn't seriously thought he'd lose—
"Shishou," Mob said, "why is this so important? You already have second place from Twitter."
Reigen laughed, not at all nervously, and splayed a hand across his forehead. "You don't understand, Mob. The publicity from something like this, even a rematch, would do wonders for Spirits and Such. This is about business."
(He would never admit to his pride being on the line.)
"And anyway, who is this guy? A radio host? I've been on TV, you know."
Mob carefully did not bring up what had actually happened when Reigen made his television debut.
Ritsu had no such qualms. "When they exposed you as a fraud? That was publicity too, right?"
"Hey—!"
Serizawa leaned over Reigen's shoulder to see the computer screen, careful not to spill the tea he placed on the desk. "Oh, Cecil from Welcome to Night Vale? It's been a while since I listened to that, maybe I should catch up."
Reigen stared at him. "You? What? Serizawa?"
"Ah... yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Back when I was... well, when I didn't leave my room much, the podcast was popular. I guess it gave a sense of... community? Feeling less alone, even when you are." He shrugged. "Plus, hearing another gay man in a show like that was comforting."
"He's gay? Canonically?" Why can't I be gay canonically?
"Sure, he got married in episode 100. It was very emotional."
"I nearly died in our chapter 100—"
-- -- -- -- --
Well, listeners, there's still a few hours left on the poll, but I'm now leading at 56%! I must say, I did not expect this, especially after Twitter users so clearly forgot—or perhaps never knew—about my Tumblr Sexyman Origins.
But, that's neither here nor there. I certainly am grateful, if a bit bemused, about all of this, but let us not forget that this is all a friendly competition. Unlike the annual War On Christmas—and let us all take a moment to remember our fallen allies against that terrible holiday foe—this is a battle of kindness. Love, even. The love we feel for Tumblr, for our favorite sexy men, for pressing a button on a meaningless internet poll. The love we feel, listeners, for each other.
And in the spirit of that love and friendliness, I figured I'd get to know my opponent a little better! A bit of googling, which of course you know means searching via every search engine but Google, what with the Town Council imposing the Google Search Tax and getting all Night Vale IP addresses shadowbanned, has led me to... oh my, listeners. I do not know who made this, but Reigen Arataka has the single most beautiful professional web page I have ever encountered. It's... words do not do it justice. I am tearing up. This... I could not make anything better myself.
A-hem. Listeners, now that I've wiped away the tears such beauty inspired in me, I can now see that Reigen's website advertises his business, one Spirits and Such Consulting. Well! We may be rivals in this moment, but I am overjoyed to learn that Reigen runs such an innovative and important business! I am nearly ashamed that, while my opponent works to make the world a better place, I, a mere community radio host, am winning the sexyman contest.
Nevertheless, we must respect the polls. Not respecting polls could get us in hot water with the Town Council, or with the demigods of numbers who lurk in the sharp edges of percentages. So since I can't hand my victory over to him, I think I'll do what I can as a community radio host, and promote Reigen Arataka's important business!
So if you're a spirit in need of counseling, a ghost in need of therapy, or an eldritch beast in need of a shoulder to cry on, head on over to Seasoning City and pay our good friend Reigen a visit! I'm sure he'll be pleased as anything to see you.
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pygmi-cygni · 24 days ago
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Oscar characters as parents
....I dunno guys.
Anselm - I honestly don't think he'd be a very good parent. He's not really the kind of father figure a child needs. He'd be a kickass grandpa though. Not really sure how that works but he definitely has cool uncle/grandpa/godfather vibes. Something about direct parenthood is just not it though.
Blue - don't fwm about this guy, he is not a dad. for your safety do not get pregnant. please.
Cecil - deadbeat but sweet. no money, no idea how to take care of a kid, but very sweet and gentle and kind. Also gives off cool uncle vibes. Likes picking baby clothes.
Marc - best dad ever, hands down. Girl dad for sure. Has all the things planned out: education, bank account, healthcare, all the Big Important Things. Loves cuddle time, will wake up an hour early so he can hold little one for a while in the morning. Puts a big emphasis on outside time, like walks and going to the park. Cries for hours if baby says his name first.*
Steven - reads hella bedtime stories. very nervous about everything else but when he learns that reading is enriching, man is on it. Any kind of story, encyclopedias or just fairytales. Will do all the funny voices and impressions. Bedtime is Steven's 'thing'
Jake - refuses to drive with baby in the car. Does not even unlock the door. He will have a panic attack about it if you even bring it up. Sits in the back and has a death grip on the carrier while you drive or you take an Uber. Has the best baby voice, also. Sings baby to sleep during naptime (it would be bedtime but Steven called dibs) and also loves cuddles.
*side note - marc is dad, steven is dada, jake is papa. don't wanna hear a fuckin word about it.
Nathan - ehhhh. Boy dad. sorry but like c'mon. I have a hard time envisioning him with a child but maybe. Hard to say. I do think he'd walk around his lab wearing a bjorn and mumbling about whatever he was working on. Likes to watch you with the baby, it calms him down. Gets cuteness aggression and doesn't know how to handle it.
Santiago - Girl dad. Pretty similar to Marc but loves taking the baby everywhere. Talks about her to everybody. A thousand pictures in his wallet. Brought her to boys night once and was so excited until you flipped out because Fish got drunk so that never happened again. Cries on her first day of school.
John - no. like be for real with me right now.
Poe - also for some reason I have a hard time picturing him with children. Maybe not as a dad, but as like a teacher. I think he'd be a really good teacher, especially for 5-8 year olds. Definitely built a kid-sized plywood x-wing for kids in the neighborhood to play on. Takes halloween very seriously and buys a fuckton of candy, dresses up, does the house, the whole nine yards.
tags:
@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma
@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world
@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m @lonelyisamyw-0love @unear7hly
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Hi Fen! Its Mushi, your biggest fan xoxo Can I request a cute and fun late night drive with Cecil?
MUSHI, I LOVE YOU, OF COURSE YOU CAN! <3
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Cecil Dennis x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •
Summary: You go on a late night drive with Cecil.
Warnings: swearing, kissing, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!
Word Count: 589
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Cecil is beyond excited, practically vibrating in the driver's seat next to you. 
He’d managed to save up enough money from his new part-time job to buy and fix up this car. (Plus Harry had gifted about $250 and he’d sold a little weed on the side.) 
Technically, other than some test drives, this was the first proper outing in the vehicle. He’d been over the moon when you’d agreed to come out with him. And even more so when you hadn’t questioned his ability to actually fix the car. You’d just been as excited as him.
It’s late, the point of the drive was nothing more than just mooching around. He’d stopped at a drive thru about half an hour ago and bought you, ‘whatever your heart desired’, and then refused to let you even put a cent towards it.
“I think I might paint her.” He grins, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the road. You could tell he was on his best behaviour, not even sparing you a glance even when you were waiting in the drive thru line.
“Her?” You laugh kindly.
“Yeah, I think she’s a her.” He rubs the steering wheel affectionately. “Don’t you?”
You pat the dashboard. “Hmm, yeah, okay I think you’re right. She’s a she.”
Cecil nods approvingly. “My little girl.” He grimaces as soon as the words are out of his mouth.
“Ew!” You burst into laughter. “Never say that again.” “I don’t.” He pulls a face, “fuck, I feel dirty now.” 
You snort. 
He leans close to the wheel and whispers. “I’m sorry.” 
“She forgives you.” You smile at him and he grins. 
“You’ll have to name her.” 
“Me?” 
He nods. 
“Why me? You did all the work, shouldn’t you have the honour?” 
“Nah, want my favourite person to name her.” 
“I’m not Harry though.” 
For the first time in the drive, he actually spares you a quick unimpressed look. “You, dummy.” 
You giggle. “What if I name her something stupid?” “Like?” 
“Like… Cecil-ina, or something?” “I think that’s a great name.” He says pretending to be serious. 
“Okay, what about Cecil’s Cunt?” 
He sniggers, trying not to dissolve into a fit of laughter. “If you want.” 
You shake your head, pretending to stare dramatically out of the window as the world rushes by. “This is too much, I don’t know if I can deal with this weight on my shoulders. “ He smiles. 
“Okay, I’ll think of a name.” 
“Good.” 
“What colour are you gonna paint her?” 
“I dunno… just thought… something else? I mean, I need to go over the paintwork anyway. This kind of silver feels very 2002, in like, I remember my Uncle having a car this colour in 2002.” He nods knowingly, but you’re not quite sure he’s even certain of what he knows. 
“You should do tiger stripes.” 
He giggles. “Yeah?” 
“Yeah.” “Okay.” You laugh, “You can’t just agree with everything I say!”
“Why not?” 
“Where’s the fun in that?” You smile.
“I think it’s fun.” He nods to himself.
“Yeah?” 
He nods again. “Yeah, I get to agree with the smartest and best person. I’m happy all around.” 
You tut playfully. “You keep talking like that and I’m gonna have to kiss you.” 
He pauses, then quickly spots a place to park, pulling to the side and turning off the car. He looks at you eagerly. “You are the most wonderful, kindest, brilliant-”
You press your lips hurriedly to his to shut him up, smiling as he wraps his arms around you. 
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Thank you for reading!
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Years later, I still think “Poetry Week” was one of the cleverest things the WTNV writing team ever did. Like they took an episode concept that was literally just “Night Vale citizens write poetry and Cecil reads it on the radio! Cute, right? :)” and made it about people living in a dystopian surveillance state using one of their rare opportunities for self-expression to express the fear and paranoia and low grade trauma that shape their daily lives through absolutely horrifying poems. 
Poems about censorship, about anger against the state, about being forcibly silenced (“The town criers have cross-stitched their mouths shut and stapled their eyes open.”), about being watched, being harmed, being turned against the people you love but are unable to fully trust. And all interspersed with Cecil’s cheery, meaningless compliments on writing that he clearly isn’t thinking about (or at least is pretending not to understand the subtext of, which is my personal headcanon). 
Honestly I kind of want to do a full textual analysis of Katherine Ciel’s poem (under the cut) alone, because it’s a beautiful piece of writing where it’s so clear how hard the fictional poet is trying to veiledly describe what it’s like to live with Night Vale-typical level of fear and tension and random, unpredictable moments of surreal violence. The way people become numb to the horror (“Many find it difficult to breathe/without the atmosphere,/but we knew how;/we just stopped breathing”) but also the way that same numbness cuts them off from other people and makes intimacy with others into a terrifying, monstrous thing. And Cecil reads this as a traffic report. I am trying SO hard not to write a whole essay about this. 
But my favorite thing about “Poetry Week” is that it’s no more disturbing than any other Night Vale episode. Same humor, same beautiful prose, like it’s not on a different level than the rest of the show and I can and often do listen to it as just one more soothing, funny WTNV episode. Which is fun because it’s a meta-parallel to how in-universe Poetry Week is a fun community event to bring the town together, but also a rare and precious opportunity for tacit protest against an oppressive regime.
And I just… this podcast is so good, you know? Man. It’s so good. I want to eat it.
On Sunday, a lambent crevice
opened up in the street outside my house.
By Tuesday, birds were flying into it.
“I probably won’t miss you,” my mother said.
“I’m only interested in the end of the world,” I replied.
Many find it difficult to breathe
without the atmosphere,
but we knew how;
we just stopped breathing.
We’re at the Moonlite All-Nite Diner,
and they’re serving up fruit
from the plants growing out of the waitress.
The closed sign whispers, “Please, don’t touch me.”
We watch bodies fall to the ground outside
like deep sea creatures surfacing.
You turn to me and ask,
“Do you ever think about suicide?”
I look away from you and close my eyes,
eat the raspberries to confuse the blood in my mouth.
Now you’re in the only car in the parking lot at midnight
and you’re watching me throw stones at the moon
which hangs low in the sky
so that he can look into your house.
Your sister tried to touch him
from her window once,
and he flinched.
Now he and the oceans watch her with a quiet concern.
The lilac sky is trying to rest her head on his shoulder,
all trees gradually growing through her.
A hummingbird whispers to you,
“Be careful. Under her dress is her skin,”
and then builds his nest in the middle of the highway.
I look back to you,
and you close your eyes.
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thestarstoasun · 8 months ago
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Some of my PJO ships & why
Percabeth (Percy/Annabeth - They invented love)
Ruegard (Clarisse/Silena - THE LAST OLYMPIAN, THE PARALLELS, PLS)
Clarisse/Chris (*I do not know their ship name, my bad - The Labyrinth, need I say more?)
Silena/Beckendorf (*Idk if they ever had an official ship name - They were so tragic)
Clarisse/Beckendorf/Silena/Chris (Polycule, bc multishipper really)
Jake Mason/Michael Yew (I have a thousand reasons and I don't think any are canon)
Conchell (Connor/Mitchell - THE FANFICS PLS, but some of them need to remember these are minors pls)
Connor x Malcolm Pace (I saw really cute ship art 1 time and I was sold)
Connor/Mitchell/Malcolm (I think they'd be really cute together and I don't care if it's impractical)
Luke/Lee Fletcher (Lukelee - Honestly, its more of a crack ship for me, but some people on Tumblr have me considering how much)
Luke/Ethan Nakamura (Lukethan - I can't be alone in this, pls)
Theyna (Thalia/Reyna - They would make an awesome QPR, and I thought this even before Reyna was revealed to be aroace. They flirt endlessly if only to enjoy the confused looks on their friends faces)
Tratie (Travis/Katie Gardner - Is there anyone who read the books in the 2010s when the fandom was like super big that doesn't ship them? It's big now, but like, still.)
Tyson/Ella (They deserve the world)
Solangelo (Nico/Will - Tbf, I shipped them since The Last Olympian AS A CRACK SHIP, but A WIN IS A WIN)
Grover/Juniper (Just yes)
Sally/Paul (The King that our Queen Sally Jackson deserves)
Shelper (Shel/Piper - The plot twist I didn't know I needed)
Valgrace (Leo/Jason - When I read The Lost Hero, I just thought "these two idiots could definitely work well together.")
Jasper (Jason/Piper - It isn't my favorite, but I think they're cute together. I hate that their relationship was built on the Gods interference, because neither of them deserved that. I would probably like it more if it didn't start because of Hera.)
Ethabaster (Ethan Nakamura/Alabaster Torrington - The fandom is the reason I ship them mainly tbh. I ship Ethan with Luke more, but Ethan honestly deserves better)
Jercy (Jason/Percy - I have read a single Jercy fanfiction and its kind of growing on me)
Cecil/Lou Ellen (They are literally the idiots in love that annoy Will until he gets with Nico {personal hc}, Love them)
Sherman/Miranda (I didn't think I would like this as much as I do, but its in so many fics I've read I'm low-key a little attached. Like, yeah Sherman show off, get your girl)
Damien/Chiara (I couldn't see them with anyone else tbh, but honestly could possibly change that one day, they will always hold my heart as #1 together though)
Frazel (Frank/Hazel - They are one of the sweetest pairings in the series)
Jason/Percy/Annabeth/Piper (Yes, another poly ship. I've seen this in a few fics and honestly, I think the way its written has grown on me.)
Castor/Will (Literally, because of a single fanfic. They were probably each other's first crushes and didn't even know it)
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sepublic · 1 year ago
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Yes yes Drolta sexy dommy mommy but like can we talk about the implications of her backstory and dynamic with Erzsebet??? She's a black woman but she's happily deferring to this white woman. She was an Egyptian priestess and we have her white lady appropriating a major deity from her religion, and instead of having the most reason and background to know what a bastardization this is, Drolta just continues to unironically love Erzsebet... What's up with that??? Did Drolta's background as a priest translate to Erzsebet accessing Sekhmet's blood? Or did she choose to worship Erzsebet because she had Sekhmet's blood?
And like yeah we can play with the idea of Olrox and Drolta as besties but can we also talk about their duality and how they're both dark-skinned PoC vampires and yet one of them is distinctly aware of this fact while the other doesn't really seem to care? You'd think Drolta would be more equipped than anyone else to know what's going on in Olrox's mind and anticipate his resentment-turned-rebellion, but she doesn't seem all that prepared? Or at least just kinda impatiently brushes it off like eventually he's gonna learn his place like she did.
Drolta is obviously socially keen enough to figure out Emmanuel's fatherly connection to Maria from just a glance, and yet she seems oblivious to how Olrox’s background clearly fuels his skepticism towards this “new world” talk she speaks of; These are NOT the words to convince Olrox, the very opposite, but Drolta is far too confident in using them as an appeal.
Hell what does Annette think, as someone who was a black slave to Vaublanc? Vaublanc was kneeling to Drolta as she inducted him into the cult of Erzsebet. She has to realize what a lot of these white nobles around her are like, how they feel about PoC. Does Drolta just happily see herself as the exception, does she think she's 'above' race because she's ascended to vampirism and is beside a goddess? And/or is Erzsebet's status as a white woman revoked because she ascended to vampire and then ascended a second time to goddess?
What questions would Annette ask, as a black woman who is also very spiritual, who has a mentor in Cecile? Annette also has a connection to the gods of her own heritage, whom she respects. She's going to them to undo the establishment. Meanwhile Drolta is letting her own god be bastardized. Does she think that survival can only come around if people make their cultures and magic adapt to the new status quo and find their place in it, regardless of what might be lost in the transition? There's a lot to say about Drolta and Annette fighting each other beneath the abbey.
Did Erzsebet turn Drolta, like she did Tera? Is the control a vampire has over its thrall inform a good portion of their dynamic? Please tell me we're gonna get backstory for these two regarding the blood of Sekhmet that explains what's going on in Drolta's head. Does she consider these implications, what does she think about them, how would she have reacted if someone like Olrox or Annette brought them up? Maybe Drolta accepts her place by Bathory's side because there's always a hierarchy in her mind, and all she can do is focus on saving herself a place above all of the rich white people, even if that means leaving behind her fellow PoC, because she's that kind of person who seeks empowerment for herself alone but not for the rest of her demographic, maybe seeing it as 'unrealistic' and her own position as a miracle that barely worked out.
Ngl I hope that one day Bloodlines gets adapted, and Drolta is brought back alongside Erzsebet as the main antagonists. I think there's a lot of room to explore Drolta's devotion to Erzsebet lasting until even now, and maybe develop their relationship. In game canon, Drolta is the one driving a lot of the events, being the one to resurrect Erzsebet, siccing the Mecha Knight on our protagonists, etc. And Dracula's second phase may or may not be intended to represent Drolta herself, which would otherwise explain her absence as a boss fight despite her role in the lore; And that places Drolta after Erzsebet in terms of gameplay.
I'm just saying!!! I'd love to see Drolta have a Fawful epiphany where she realizes that Erzsebet really is dependent on her contributions, and Drolta is the one who actually makes things work, she's the true driving force and mastermind; Erzsebet would be nothing without her, but can the same be said for the other way around? Maybe Drolta just assumed she needed Erzsebet but then she realizes she does all this and Erzsebet still has to depend on her. Maybe she IS aware of how much she outclasses Erzsebet, but Drolta finds it more convenient and safe to let Erzsebet take the spotlight as a figurehead, while she operates safely in the shadows.
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mediumgayitalian · 7 months ago
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prev
———
She brushes another kiss to his hidden face and settles against the car door, holding him. She thinks for a moment and decides on something old, a tune she heard on the radio once upon a time and never heard again; she’s warped it, now, no doubt about it, humming it from memory so long it’s changed to whatever she has made it. But Will recognises it from years of lullabies, picking up on the swooping baritones and mumbling the words into her shoulder.
“You know, that Han Solo shrine up in your room makes a lot more sense, now that I think about it.”
The melody dies in his throat.
“Mama.”
“I’m just saying.” She bites back a smirk, swatting away his smacking hands. “There was a point in time I thought it was admiration, you know, but you have a lot of posters of that open vest —”
“Mama!”
She acquiesces, this time, never having seen his poor face so scarlet, trying and failing to keep her laughter to herself. The tear tracks have long since dried and his breathing is steady, now, gangly limbs tucked into her ribs and hanging off the bend of her thigh. Flopped all over her like he used to to when he was young and she was still touring, when the world was too loud and too bright and too mean and she hid him from the sun. Her hands in his hair are to touch instead of soothe.
“Who’s the boy?”
“No.”
“C’mon, babydoll.” She pokes at his ribs, grinning widely when he rolls his eyes to hide his smile. “Tell me.”
“It’s nobody, Ma, gods.”
“Yeah, right. Not like you were comparing having a crush to killing someone in cold blood twenty minutes ago. Clearly it’s somebody.”
He, very pointedly, doesn’t answer.
Unfortunately, he forgets that he gets his stubborn from her.
“Hm. Can’t be anyone I haven’t heard of in a few weeks, or else it wouldn’t be bothering you. What names have you mentioned?”
He looks at her in horror. “You wouldn’t.”
Absolutely, she would. Her smile widens.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess it ain’t Chiron, ‘cause then I’d have questions —”
“Oh my gods! Stop!”
“— an’ I doubt it’s that security fellow, with the eyes, although if it is no judgement —”
“I’m throwing myself out of this car! Right now! I’m gonna lay on the road ‘til someone hits me!”
“— Lord, you don’t mention many names. You’re a recluse, baby. You gotta make more than two friends.”
She stills. Will, perhaps guessing where she is going, makes a noise of deep, personal agony.
“Oh my stars, is it Cecil?”
“Ew, Ma!”
He strains against her hold but she tightens, hooking her elbow around his shoulders and flexing her other hand, pretending to examine her nails.
“It is, isn’t it? I mean, he is a very handsome young man. And he has a good heart, too, despite the — how to put it — distaste for the law —”
“I just threw up in my mouth! Right now! Stop it!”
“I should probably stop letting him stay in your room when he stays over, huh, that one’s on me —”
He wrenches himself away from her, finally, clambering over the seats and gagging like the mere idea makes him nauseous.
“Ew! Ew! I do not have a thing for Cecil, oh my gods, I might as well marry my cousin! Augh! I’m gonna throw up for real! Why would you even say that, oh my —”
“Alright, alright!” she laughs, kicking his rapidly repeating shoulder. “Holy Jesus, you are dramatic. I should call up camp and tell him you’re out here retchin’ at the mere thought.”
“Good,” Will says darkly, voice muffled from how deeply his head is buried in his hands, “make sure to also tell him he is a weasel.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And that I am going to deface his vintage Hot Wheels collection.”
“Y’all have a strange friendship.”
“He’s not my friend, I am stuck with him via circumstance and because he refuses to leave me alone.”
She holds up her hands in surrender, refraining from pointing out the friendship bracelet he is currently wearing with a CM on it and that has not left his wrist in four years.
“Alright, alright. Not Cecil.”
He scoffs in agreement, ignoring her rolled eyes.
She wracks her brain for other boys he’s brought up in their phone calls, aside from people in passing. Mostly he mentions patients, really, answering her endless inquiries — it will never stop astounding her that he baby can practically sew heads back on bodies; she tells people he’s in med school and preens at their wide, impressed eyes — but there are other people he mentions, in between that and the pranks he’s frequently pulling with his friends.
“There was that boy you were so excited to keep around. Nick?”
“His name is Nico,” he corrects, and then immediately goes scarlet. “I — I mean, I have a friend, named Nico, not that —”
Her grin gets sharp as nails.
“He is — unwell! He’s travelled a lot, he needs monitoring so I am — monitoring him, you know, out of concern for his safety —”
“Nico and Wi-ill, sitting in a tree —”
“Oh my gods are you five —”
“You are steaming! I can actually feel the heat pouring off of you right now! You love him, you want to kiss him, you —”
“I am never telling you anything again in my entire life!” he hollers. “Never! Next time I think I should tell you something I’m just gonna — swallow glass!”
She snickers. “Drama queen.”
He sticks out his tongue as she situates herself back in her own seat, turning the keys in the engine. His puts his dirty converse on the dash despite her grouching, reaching over to fight her for control of the radio, flapping his hand excitedly when she lets him win and something bright and overdone starts playing. His bandage stays where it is, tied loosely around his wrist.
“I’m glad you told me, you know.”
He smiles, small and genuine, leaning into the palm she cups around his cheek. The dimple in the centre of his right cheek is back, the scrunch of his freckled nose. She presses a lingering kiss smack dab in the centre of his forehead and he leans into it, trusting.
“I know.”
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kerink · 1 year ago
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although i'm sure it's been done before, i wanted to build a timeline breaking down cecil's early life since i'd never seen one
?: age 5, the prophecy foretells that he will become the voice of night vale (e52) ?: age 14, his mother abandons him (ghost stories liveshow) ?: age 15, he begins working as an NVCR intern (e33) 1745: based on his voice acting, cecil is presumably still age 15 or maybe 16. he's still an NVCR intern and covers the founding of night vale (e7, 67) ?: age 19 "for a long time like, decades probably" (a spy in the desert liveshow) 1894-ish: in his early 20s he takes his trip to europe and meets guglielmo marconi, who shows him his prototype radio (e67) 1920: cecil was at the grand opening of the hundred years play (e173) 1934: cecil is still an intern (e67) 1939-1945: in e173 cecil says that within 20 years of the hundred years play's opening he became host of NVCR. in e67 cecil's first report as host is covering "a war in europe and the pacific and all around the world" which we can assume is the still on-going ww2. 1979-2001: leonard burton dies, it's unclear when that happened so i'll direct you to the wiki for more info 1983: the world ends (e109)
part of me also wanted to do this because i wanted to try to see if i could break down the rate at which cecil ages naturally. (unlike lee marvin, cecil does age, and since time became stuck before huntokar split reality, it must be something to do with the town and its people itself.)
disclaimer: this is just for fun and not meant to be a comment on or influence anyone's headcanons
cecil was 15/16 in 1745, was 19 for "decades," and 20-23 around 1894. given that he and earl graduated highschool together and that earl was 19 for "decades, maybe a century or more" (e56) let's go ahead and make it easy on ourselves and say cecil was also 19 for a century.
1894 - 1745 = 149 - 100 = 49
so cecil ages at a rate of somewhere around 4-8 years every 49ish years, allowing time for him to be stuck at 19 for awhile.
in e139 time began moving normally again, and while we can't be certain cecil is aging normally now he believes that he is. given we have no proof otherwise yet, let's assume that's our last possible date for him to be aging in his own special way
2018 - 1745 = 273 - 100 = 173
so 273 years have passed since cecil was 15/16, allowing time for him to be stuck at 19 gives us 173 years where he was possibly aging. this is 3.5 instances of "aging clusters" as calculated above, which means he's aged 14-28 years since 1745. meaning cecil is somewhere around 29-44
provided im not too drunk, too tired, and my math is right
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elysiuminfra · 2 years ago
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my I Need Money post (AKA, please consider helping me survive my abusive homelife)
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Hi! I’m Cecil. I’m a 20 year old transgender artist from Louisiana, and I can make YOU art!
Art is my sole source of income, and I’m in a bit of a pickle. I am an adult now, and I gotta do adult things. like pay off debt. My sibling is 17. We are both victims of abuse and child neglect at the hands of our alcoholic parents. It’s not so great, but I’d like it to get better.
I’m disabled from medical neglect, and have no way to get my driver’s license. I am unable to get a job, as I live too far from anywhere that would hire me, with no way to get there. This is all I got, man! I got two hands and a warrior’s spirit!
My sibling is my pride and joy and I want to see them flourish and thrive because they’re awesome. They struggle with untreated bipolar disorder and a slew of medical problems, and I want to get them treated for it. I also need to take my two cats to the vet. I have debt I have to pay off, and I have to buy myself food to combat my increasingly declining weight. My clothes don’t fit very well anymore. :(
Art and design is my life-long passion, and I’d like to do it for the rest of my life, but I can’t if I can’t get on my feet. If you’d like to view more of my work, you can check some out here, or view some of my more professional work on my commission website here.
If you would like to financially support me, consider commissioning or donating! Even just sharing helps!
https://ckncommission.carrd.co/
https://ko-fi.com/cknelysium
On a serious note, things at home are not great. This is where I talk about what is going on in detail. Details of abuse and neglect beyond this point. Not required reading, but necessary for context. Photos included.
It’s not that I’m just poor, my parents both work full-time jobs, and they manage to pay the bills. I have food and a roof over my head, but I own nothing but debt, and can’t financially support myself. My parents have been neglecting my sibling for years, and neglected me the same. They do nothing to help us.
My sibling is showing signs of health deterioration, likely malnutrition, and they don’t seem to be concerned about it at all. My health is getting worse, too, because my parents have ignored me when I have stated I am getting worse. I haven’t been to the dentist ever since I was a child. I live with disabling chronic pain and intense fatigue, and I don’t even have a diagnosis, since no one will take me to the doctor.
My sibling likely not going to graduate because my parents have not supported them at all with their mental health, education, or support them just in general. They live in total isolation alongside me. My parents are also the reason why I can’t get a job- they won’t teach me how to drive, and won’t provide transportation. I am physically trapped in my own house, and the only people who can drive refuse to take us anywhere. They also will not help clean the house, and they won’t help fix our dryer or washer, which are both broken. They won’t take our pets to the vet. They won’t spare any expenses for things that need to be done. They spend most of their money on alcohol. In my state, we are currently experiencing what one would call abuse and child neglect. This is one of the only times I have ever written, in detail, what my home life is like.
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Our washer and dryer, both broken. We don’t have any flooring in that room. The other is part of our living room floor. I am the only person who cleans the house in any capacity, and when I do it never, ever stays clean. The dirt is from my dad alone. I need to cover doctor’s visits, medication, food for my sibling, and vet costs for my pets. I would also maybe like to have a little treat every once in a while. I can’t physically drive, but if I am able to get the money for it, I can force my parents to take care of things. Due to the, er, abuse, I am also isolated from the world at large and have no support system. All things described on my sibling have been happening to me for years, but I’m technically an adult now, so there’s little anyone can do for me. Things aren’t so great, but I think they can get better through blood sweat and tears. Which is why I have to step up and try to do all these things myself! A difficult task, but I want to make art into something I could do as a job. Please lord have mercy, I want to wash my clothes. I can even save up for a car, and teach myself how to drive, so I can finally reach independence. Without financial support, I can’t achieve that at all. I am very stressed about everything. I’m very isolated as a result of not being allowed to go anywhere. I don’t have anyone I can confidently trust with my home-life situation. I have no resources either, as I live in an area with very little support for adult victims of parental abuse. I’ve never made a plea like this before. I just want to be able to live and thrive and survive on my own, and I just can’t do it at this rate. If I can go to the doctor, I can get healthier, and undo all the years of medical neglect and actually hold a full-time job making coffee like I’d like. I’m afraid both me and my sibling will never get anywhere in life, and I don’t want that for them. I don’t want that for me. I want to finally start living. Thank you for reading, and getting to the end.
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