#cecil writes

[questions-from-d87]

oc-tober day 2 - education

♤ phoebe + melody's first day of seventh grade.

♤ 1025 words

♤ prompt from @oc-tober2023

♤ this one's a little uneventful on purpose but i hope it's not hard to get through, im not a super experienced writer so i hope it's not just straight up boring lmao

The car rattled as it sped down the road. Melody was happily chatting with her mom up front. Phoebe sat in the back, staring out the window and pretending the raindrops were racing. These car rides always bugged them. Not only was it the agonizingly slow drive to hell (West Middle School), but it was on the way to the first day of her seventh grade year. At least she’d know the building this time, but still, that place was their own personal worst nightmare. They were left to suffer and struggle alone with nothing more than their wired earbuds with only one working ear that weren’t even allowed in the hallways.

Melody was excited, as she usually was. That girl, Phoebe thought, didn’t have the capability to feel anxiety. Not like Phoebe did. With how packed Melody’s life was, the countless activities and clubs she’d be participating in, it seemed like she didn’t have time to feel much.

She hopped out of the car when it slowed to a stop by the front door. They were early, upon Melody’s insistence, so there weren’t quite as many people as there ought to be later. She showed her ID, which she’d gotten printed at the open house, as she entered the building. Immediately after, they shoved it in the side pocket of their backpack and made their way to their homeroom. Melody waved to her as they parted ways. Phoebe weakly returned the gesture.

The signs on the wall of the faces of jaguars and words like “pride”, “community” and “respect” mocked her as she walked down the hall. Hanging in the main hallway were a set of framed photos of eighth grade classes in past years. Their mom was somewhere there, but they didn’t bother to find her.

When she arrived in room 232, the teacher - her math teacher from last year, a tanned older woman with a love for butterflies and a tendency to wisecrack, pointed her to her spot at the back table. She took her seat, took out a pen, and started to draw on her arm. They drew a robotic design, one that trailed up from their knuckles to their elbow.

Homeroom crept by slowly. They did icebreakers, despite all being well aware of each other. The obnoxious football boys - specifically an infamously loud pair who liked to single out Phoebe for being quiet - had unfortunately been seated next to each other, making everyone miserable.

Next was algebra. The teacher greeted her at the door, a balding, perfectly-boring looking man in glasses, a blue polo and khakis. When she walked in, Ginger, already seated in the back, waved to her. Ginger was a classic scene queen - she had big black hair she’d clip patterned extensions into, lots of different belts, and a pale face enhanced by heavy makeup. She had a generous, tall figure and big brown eyes, and she’d reapply her makeup whenever she got bored of class. She was an eighth grader, a year above Phoebe. The two of them were just on the cusp of being friends.

The teacher's impossibly dry voice described every last bit of the syllabus. Ginger gave her a look, rolled her eyes, and smiled - "isn't this boring?" was the message she interpreted. Phoebe laughed a little to themself and nodded in response. Ginger never failed to make them smile. Something about her felt distinctly special to Phoebe. Something that set her heart aflutter.

Then came art class. Melody had signed up for the same class - she’d insisted they pick an elective to do together, and Phoebe liked art well enough. Melody waved a hand and patted the stool beside her at the wooden table, making a hollow thunking sound and extending an invitation she couldn’t reject.

The teacher was a young blonde woman who seemed eccentric (as all good art teachers are, at least a little). She was smiling brightly with perfectly white, straight teeth. She wore a jumpsuit patterned with orchids and a gold rope chain around her neck.

The class was given paper to fold into tent shapes. The familiar name tent get-to-know-you was probably Phoebe’s favorite - it didn’t involve much talking to other people, and it could be as low-effort as she wanted.

They looked to their side. Melody, on her neatly folded orange construction paper, wrote her name in elegant cursive. Phoebe, on her yellow triangle, simply scribbled hers down with her pen.

The teacher pulled up a slideshow about herself and went through each slide, and Phoebe found herself distracted - it honestly didn't matter that much to her where her art teacher went last summer or what college her daughter was going to.

“You really aren’t supposed to draw on yourself like that,” whispered Melody, gesturing to Phoebe’s arm. “It’s bad for your skin.”

“I already did it, didn’t I?”

The rest of the day passed by slowly - lunch was hell, as it usually was. Phoebe didn’t have much of an appetite, so they chose to simply skip it, which Melody scolded her for. At least it was nice of her to care. Throughout the day, the only things she really tended to feel were anxiety and apathy, which wasn’t unusual for her, but was still a bit alarming.

The bell rang for the end of the day, and Phoebe took a seat on the ground in the shade to wait for their mother’s car to pull up and bring them and Melody home. Melody came out shortly after and took a seat beside them - she tried to make conversation at first, but eventually simply pulled out a book, noticing Phoebe didn’t seem to be in the mood to chat.

Phoebe got to her feet as the old Buick rolled into the parking lot. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked to the car, Melody close behind her.

They opened the car door and set their backpack on the seat beside them before sitting down in the car.

But as they watched out the window, the car slowly pulling out from the parking lot, they could swear they saw a disembodied shadow pass behind a tree.

#phoebe stuff #melody stuff #backstory #cecil writes #oc tober

[waterloggedsoliloquy]

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) Characters: Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV), Elidibus (Final Fantasy XIV), Titus yae Galvus | Varis's Uncle, Original Final Fantasy XIV Characters, Original Galvus Characters (Final Fantasy XIV), Varis zos Galvus, Nerva yae Galvus Additional Tags: POV Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV), Unreliable Narrator, these first two tags are directly related, Emperor Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV), Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV) Being an Asshole, Kidnapping, Mentioned Azem (Final Fantasy XIV), Nonbinary Azem (Final Fantasy XIV), Nonbinary Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Abusive Relationships, Abusive Parents, Emotional Manipulation, Grief/Mourning, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Toxic Nostalgia, Empty Nest Syndrome, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, (but aside from premise alone its minor), Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Major Original Character(s), POV Multiple, POV Third Person Plural, Screenplay/Script Format, Adoption, Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), Seventh Umbral Calamity (Final Fantasy XIV), Child Abuse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Tempest references Summary:

Emet-Selch toils for all of Paradise back. But in the meantime, he will settle for keeping the memory alive of his dear friend, and the legacy they have left him in this broken, fractured world. Perhaps with time, they will come to see his side of things in a way their ancestor never had. And after the Ardor is passed, they will be complete again.

---

Before the Seventh Umbral Calamity, Emet-Selch finds a shard of Azem on the Seventh. Unable to bear repeat witness to his friend's destruction in any form, he sets out to rescue the child from the terrible mediocrity of sundered existence.

Please consider reading my fic! \o/ i have 8 whole chapters and lots more to come!

#emet-selch #ffxiv #ffxiv fic #shadowbringers #cecil writes

[crowdsourcedloner]

okay so nailah has a whole ~thing~ about people using her name and how she’s perceived so here’s the long explanation/story about it (covers pre-arr up through the end of base arr)

(it gets heavy - this is your warning. also ~1k words. sorry.)

As a kid, her mother Tasya would rarely use Nailah’s name, choosing instead to just call her “girl” or “child” the majority of the time. In the very rare times she’d praise her daughter, Tasya would say it quietly, and only ever in private. Nailah internalized the idea that a name is a vulnerable thing - something delicate, reserved only for people one deeply trusted. She projected this rule on others as well, picking up the habit of calling people by their job or title on the few occasions she was allowed to speak.

Once Nailah’s started having visions, she lost the privilege of having a name. Tasya immediately switched to referring to her with insults, ranging from “thing” to “half-mad beast” to “disappointment” and the like. Nailah’s potential was mourned far more than her presence was tolerated. The rejection and denial carved a weeping hole in her heart, and she spent an incredible amount of effort trying to be good enough again for Tasya. It never was.

After her mother finally abandoned her, she wandered nameless through the wilds. She thought of herself as a wild, half-mad beast, fit only to scavenge the very fringes of society. Yet when she’d encounter a stranger in the woods and they’d ask her name she never knew how to respond. Should she admit to her brokenness? Tell them she was a monster? Someone better left forgotten? She settled on simply being called “wanderer” - it was the truth, if anything. A mask to hide how she saw herself. She quickly realized it could be used to set people’s expectations of her on her own terms.

Once the wanderer discovered she could manufacture a social mask, she took up the mantle of the mercenary. She kept to remote villages, appearing and disappearing as suddenly as the wind, often only noticed by news of some local threat being quelled. Few people recognized her, and fewer still heard her speak. She hid as much of herself as she could, staying hidden under a thick cloak of silence and only answered to her moniker. She thought nobody could reject her if she rejected herself first, but her relentless visions haunted her. She felt, through other’s hearts, the warmth of lovers greeting one another, the affection in well worn childhood nicknames, the joys of long lost friends reuniting. The aching loneliness she was so used to grew more overwhelming with every vision. Was this truly what she wanted? To be forgotten and alone? Who was she really, hiding under her mask? 

She wandered town after town, road after road, using her title as a statement of being. She was just a Mercenary. Little more than a weapon to be pointed at a problem. People were kept at an arms length distance with professional ease, and she could still be useful to those she came across. There was comfort for her in how simple it all seemed, though simplicity was a poor answer to her loneliness. Every solitary morning she drowned in silence, every new horizon was greyed by her sorrow. She stopped trying to answer the cloying doubts that clung to her, their despair staining her thoughts more than she could bear. Who was she, under everything? She gave herself one last chance - go to the closest city and try to find an answer - or fade away, lost and forgotten.

Ul’dah held much more than just an answer for her, though she didn’t know it at the time. The adventurer’s guild asked for a name - she told them Nailah. She couldn’t remember where she heard it. Familiar as it was, she refused to let anyone call her such. She was Mercenary. Adventurer. The name was a formality, nothing more. It wasn’t a mask she wanted to use. Much to her displeasure, the guild used her name frequently enough for it to become common knowledge among their clients.

When the Scions took notice of her abilities, she asked the same comfortable distance of them she was so used to. In response the Scions gave her their names - Thancred, Yda, Minfilia - and she couldn’t understand. Why tell a simple mercenary the names of Scions? Did she not deserve scorn for her visions? The visions have a name? Their responses were acceptance and support and Nailah could not understand. She called them by titles instead - Scholar, Scion, Antecedent - though her echo didn’t let her miss the disappointment they felt. She tightened her masks and hid behind a new one, one given by those who accepted the mercenary - the Warrior of Light. 

Tales of the Warrior triumphing over Titan and Garuda spread through Eorzea like wildfire. Her new allies respected the distance she desired, though they had the odd habit of confiding their worries to her. The Warrior supposed she made a good listener, quiet as she was. Would they listen to her? Should she risk that vulnerability? She didn’t know what answer she hoped for anymore. She didn’t know what she would say. She kept her silence.

Her mask started to chafe. Strangers made assumptions about who she was, remarking they expected her to be bigger or a man. Few expected her to be as quiet as she was. Fewer still, a mage. She felt choked by their expectations - who she was wasn’t what they seemed to want. The desire to abandon her masks and nascent bonds writhed inside her whenever she heard new voices. What more did she need to do? Was the Warrior not enough for them? Scions noticed her frustration, offering short words of encouragement. She did her best to listen.

Once the Ultima Weapon was destroyed, she took a look at herself. The Scions - Papalymo, Yda, Urianger -  stood by her every step they could. Did they not deserve to see who their Warrior was? One quiet morning, once everything was moved to Mor Dhona, The Warrior met Minfilia in her solar for possibly the most terrifying request of her life - she asked her first new friend to call her by name.

Nailah. 

As long as they were in the solar. Alone. Where nobody else could hear. 

It was a start, at least.

#its nailahposting hours #cw abuse #cw depression #just to be safe #for everything surrounding her mother is not healthy #nailah's got some rough mental health stuff goin on but i dont know how much i want to go into it >.> #mostly out of fear of missing a cw tag #sorry this is so long ;-; #cecil gets carried away talking about blorbos ;-; #idk im just fascinated by the concept of identity #if you can't tell i have a lot of fic ideas surrounding nailah's struggle with identity - every paragraph is a potentially different fic #i might expand on this even more (re: hw through ew identity thoughts) but she's through the worst of her issues by the end of arr #...i'm gonna tag this as a writing thing bc it gets kinda fic-y #cecil writes

[mediumgayitalian]

“Oh, come on, there’s just —” Will blows an errant curl from out of his eyes, cheeks red with exertion, balancing nimbly on his feet to put both hands on his hips. “There’s no way, Nico.”

Nico, not blessed with such balance, has to hold all footholds with all limbs, staring warily at the lava wall’s snake holes.

“What? I’m just not as good as you.”

Will flops his right arm outwards, narrowly avoiding smacking it against the rock. “But you are!”

Nico shifts his wary gaze from the snake holes to Will’s rope harness. Is it tight enough? It better be tight enough. Will is putting a lot of faith in it, right now.

“You scaled those cliffs in — in the place —” he trips, still, over the pit, on the odd time he mentions it, and it always makes Nico wince — “like it was nothing! And whenever Percy visits and challenges you you’re suddenly the lava wall expert!” He turns stern blue eyes to face Nico’s head-on. “Not buying it, di Angelo!”

A gush of lava forces him to resume climbing, but there’s an aggression to his movements — a specific, stiff, curated aggression, that Nico has learned means anxiety in people known as William Andrew Solace. That, and coupled with the rapid muttering which, in between the roar of molten stone, Nico believes is a a repetition of “dumbass” “always tryna act a goddamn fool” and “I’m gonna kill him before he sends me into cardiac arrest again”, interspersed with random swears in English, Latin, Ancient Greek, and also — gods — Klingon.

“Will.”

Will ignores him, scampering the last few feet up the wall and slapping the top before relaying down. Nico sighs, following him (albeit significantly slower).

“Will.”

“You’re hiding something from me.” He practically rips the harness off his body — do not think about that do not think about that do not think about that — and shoves it on the hook so hard it damn near snaps off. The look he levels in Nico’s direction practically turns him to stone, it’s so frigid, and he has to resist a shiver. “I can tell.”

It takes a good amount of pushing to make Will all testy like this. Sure, his buttons are easy to push, but most of that is for show. He likes to be dramatic. (Especially because he knows Nico will indulge him, more than anyone else ever has. He relishes in it, Nico thinks; he likes that Nico will watch his productions. An Apollo kid through and through.) He’s not usually one to show his genuine frustration.

But, hoo, boy, when he is frustrated.

Nico has a bad, bad habit of making it worse.

(As if it’s his fault that Will’s hot when he’s mad.)

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nico says, forcibly lightly. He sticks his hand out defiantly. “Check me, why don’t you? Not hiding anything.”

He really isn’t. No injuries, no illness, hell, he’s not even tired. Had a full three meals and everything. Even his perpetually achey joints aren’t bad today.

All of this, obviously, is communicated when Will touches him, squinting suspiciously at their joined hands.

“You’re heart rate is high,” he mutters petulantly.

Nico looks at him patiently. “That’s ‘cause my smokeshow boyfriend is holding my hand.”

Grumpy as he’s trying to be, his ears redden. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“Shut up.”

Nico grins, pulling his hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the knuckles.

“No.”

“Whatever,” Will says, snatching his hand back. His smile spreads widely across his face, now, and he looks away, as pleased as he is exasperated. “You’re still being a weirdo. I should not be so far ahead of you on the wall, Neeks.”

Success — back to nicknames. Crisis averted.

“Have you considered that you’re the camp-wide record holder for a reason, you spider monkey?”

“Still!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nico gets up on his tiptoes, pressing a lingering kiss to the bridge of his freckled nose. “Stop worrying about me, Solace. I’m fine. Burn off some steam, I’ll watch.”

Will huffs. “Fine. But I’ll find out, y’hear me? Truth can’t hide from me for long.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He watches as Will suits back up, helping him with his more complicated straps (because Nico was raised to be a gentleman, obviously, why else) and shooing him away when he opens his mouth for more interrogations. He switches to sticking out his tongue, and after a moment of hesitation, bounds back over to his first true love — being a big nerdy jock dork.

Nico settles on the grass several feet away from the wall, pretending to clean his sword. After a few minutes, he hears footsteps, and two people sit next to him on either side.

“So,” says Lou Ellen, ignoring Nico’s suspicious look as she tosses a glowing ball of something around, “how come you’re not climbing?”

Nico shrugs. “Only so many times you can climb before it gets boring.”

On his other side, Cecil makes a loud buzzer sound.

“Nope! Wrong answer. Try again.”

Nico is a dignified grownup who refuses to stoop down to Cecil’s level by responding. Instead, he reaches over and pokes him in his ridiculously sensitive ribs, hard, sending him sprawling with a screech.

“Shut up,” he says mildly, as his friend flails. “I’m trying to be a supportive boyfriend, and I can’t do that with all your whining.”

Will has, in the ten minutes since he started, made it halfway up the wall. He seems to have it programmed to the Super Extra Mega Evil Insane mode that the Athena and Ares kids invented just for him, since he smoked all the other levels. He dodges a shot of lava with a laugh, throwing himself to the side and hanging on with three fingers and one scuffed sneaker poised on the tiniest sliver of rock. His attention is broken when Lou Ellen sticks her face right in Nico’s field of vision, tracing Nico’s eyeline with narrowed eyes.

“Ah,” she nods knowingly. “You’re staring at his ass.”

Nico falters, damn near slicing his own fingers off. “No idea what you’re talking about,” he says blithely. He gestures without looking at his sword. “I’m busy, see?”

She scoffs. “Real busy. That’s why you almost just did emergency surgery on yourself.”

“Exactly.”

Will pushes up a foot, shifting his hips and launching himself upwards. He makes a little shout of victory, plastering himself to the wall to keep balance, every muscle tensed.

From his place on the floor, Cecil makes an appreciative noise. “He does have a nice ass. Can’t blame you for looking.”

Nico frowns. “Hey. Stop objectifying my boyfriend.” He reaches out and smacks a hand over Cecil’s eyes. “That’s my job.”

“You guys are ridiculous.”

Nico reaches over and puts a hand over her eyes, too, ‘cause there’s no missing where they’re pointed.

“Shut up or I’ll literally put shadows into your retinae and blind you forever,” Nico threatens. (Is this a thing he can do? No. Do his friends know this? Also no.)

“You’re a dictator!” Cecil protests.

“Depriving us of basic human rights!” Lou Ellen agrees.

Nico shrugs. He glances back up the the climbing wall, where he has a very perfect view — and a great reason to never even try to climb faster than Will does. He grins.

“Too bad for you guys.”

#he’s a simp what can i say #and understandbaly so wills a heartthrob #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #solangelo #establisbed solangelo #flirting #nico/will #will/nico #banter #lou ellen blackstone #cecil markowitz #nico di angelo & lou ellen blackstone & cecil markowitz #nico is a dog #will is hot #longpost #my writing #fic

[gammija]

[CECIL]: "So, as we move into the final hours of the competition, vote! Whether it's for your favorite, local, Night Vale community radio host or some... pile of bones, don't let your voice go unheard.

Also... Well, this might be a little bit outside the rules, but you could even make a second account to show a little more support for whoever you think should win. You probably won't get caught. As City Council declared in a recent press release, "Voter fraud doesn't exist."

"There is no such thing as voter fraud," City Council said last Wednesday, their many mouths moving as one. "No one can vote more than once. We certainly can't. Ha, ha." Some of their feet shuffled. "We definitely did NOT commit voter fraud by using the recently developed cloning technology to make copies of ourselves, force them to vote for us, then bus them into the Whispering Forest where we threw them out. That. Never. Happened," they added emphatically.

Immediately after the press conference they disbanded the City Council's, 'Night Vale committee for Fair Elections', by eating them."

[A door creaks.]

[CECIL]: "Listeners, someone has just entered my studio.

Uhm, excuse me! You're not allowed to be in here!

It looks like it's a small man, with a smoothly bald head, and dark empty eyes...

Oh no. They're sockets. This must be him, this 'Snas' the skeleton. He's coming to defend his title...

Listeners, as I prepare myself for what will surely be a fight to the death, seeing who takes who out first, I take you... To the weather."

[CECIL]: "Welcome back. I know you're all dying to know whether I won the Tumblr sexyman poll, and if I defeated the small skeleton. Well...

I was all ready to fight, getting into a stance, when the skeleton held up his hands. He said that he didn't want to fight, and that he'd come here to concede and hand me the title.

I'll admit, I was a bit taken aback by this at first. Of course, I had to protest. Wouldn't that be unfair to the few people who voted for him, I asked?

But he explained that, since he already won last year, he wasn't really looking forward to all the attention and hassle from winning a second time. And seeing as it apparently meant a lot to me, he'd rather just let me win than miss his wedding.

Yeah, apparently he's about to be wed to someone named Komaeda in a few days? Good for him.

Dear listeners, after his heartfelt plee, I felt I had no choice but to accept the win.

Which means I am now, officially, Tumblr sexyman of 2023. Yay!

Stay tuned next for muffled sounds of celebration, overheard from a neighbour's house nearby.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night."

#wtnv #audio #undertale #polls #cecilsweep #i am manifesting #cecil palmer #fanfic #i guess #sexymanotd #wrote this in 30 mins so its not good but i had fun #night vale stuff is so hard to do justice to in writing when the voiceacting is such an element #welcome to night vale #wtnv fic #Spotify #btw this is not a call to cheat on the poll #but i just think Cecil would ask people to

[fluctuating-fanby]

"I lied to you," gasps Cecil.

"Well why would I be mad at you for that, friend?" laughs a freshly-scarred, perpetually-grinning Kevin, voice laced with poisoned ecstasy. "Strexcorp won us over anyway, as they should have all along!"

"I lied to you..." confesses Cecil.

"Not really," reassures a grinning, yellow-robed Kevin, Prophet of the Smiling God, standing atop the sandcastles he built. "I love my town. It's not what it once was, and they don't love me as I love them anymore, but it's here, and it's mine, and we're happy."

"I lied to you!" yells Cecil.

"You gave us hope," sobs a young, wounded Kevin, bravely defiant to the end even when his end refused to come. "And I don't know if I should thank you or curse you for it!"

"I lied to you," whispers Cecil.

"I know," whispers back an old, hollow-eyed Kevin, a wisp of a person lost in the endless sands of time after everything he has known and loved has been blown to dust several times over. "I forgive you."

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #cecil palmer #wtnv kevin #wtnv triptych #wtnv 73 #angst #kevcil #vince writes stuff #I AM SO SO NORMAL ABOUT THEM #AND NOT AT ALL ANGRY THAT THE EVENTS OF TRIPTYCH ARE NEVER ACKNOWLEDGED AGAIN

[writeouswriter]

There’s something so fascinating about Cecil winning the tumblr sexyman poll when he for the most part doesn’t have a canonical appearance, he truly is the ultimate sexyman because he’s everyone, he’s no one, he’s whoever the listener imagines him to be, so different, and yet recognizable each time, you look at him across all his designs and interpretations and you just know. You just know.

#cecilsweep #Cecil Palmer #tumblr sexyman poll #wtnv #welcome to night vale #not writing #he’s got a third eye he’s got tentacles he’s got white hair and pronouns #he’s wearing a dashing suit/he’s wearing the WORST outfit known to man #he’s not even human/he’s just some guy #he’s got tattoos he’s in a unitard he’s a faceless void #HE IS HOLDING A CAT #the true mark of his sexiness is how he’s a good dad husband and friend #and a dork #also his voice is made of the sounds of calming waves #saying this as if other tumblr sexymen were held back by canon appearance #they sexymanified a triangle guys

[itssomethingcosmic]

It’s episodes like MAG 97 that convince me that Night Vale would be the ideal home for the Fears post-season 5. This would just be a normal Wednesday for them…

CECIL: “On Wednesday, The Buried and its brethren will be attempting their ritual The Sunken Sky so that they can bring Too Close I Cannot Breathe into our world. A large, gaping pit will open up in the center of Route 800. Citizens are advised to just… drive around it. This has been the Community Calendar.

“Oh, I’ve just received a rather dusty note from City Council: ‘There is no pit. There has never been a pit in the center of Route 800 and there never will be! Though, if you see any… weird holes in the ground, just ignore it! Just ignore it and it will go away eventually! You look tired…and stressed... you should take the day off on Wednesday. Have some You Time! You deserve it!”

#the magnus archives #tma spoilers #mag 97 #welcome to night vale #cecil palmer #a mag a day #we all ignore the pit #this was fun to write hehe

[tefmiles]

Listeners, Reigen Arataka, the self proclaimed psychic from Japan, has challenged me to a battle. To what, I must say I am surprised, a title of the utmost importance to many, including me.

I did not ask, listeners, to be placed into this quarrel with this man, who has also brought with him a boy of about middle school age that holds an incredibly strong aura. He says the boys name is Mob. Mob reminds me of my son, Esteban, if he was as old as him. I hope I will not have to fight him as well— I do not know many things about this fight, this dance of two in which only one will emerge, but I do know this. Behind this title, an invisible trophy of history stands still in its glory and I intend to take it.

Tonight, listeners, an invisible titan hangs above us. My husband, Carlos, who you might know is a scientist, said he would be taking the night off to root for me. He is now outside, in town square, talking to this Reigen Arataka.

Night Vale is quiet. Everything is waiting just for us, to see who will stand unscathed, and who will loose their chance to grasp victory.

The City Council has released a statement saying they are rooting for me. Well, what a pleasant surprise. I hope I do not let them down.

#wtnv #welcome to night vale #writing #i had to i HAD TO #cecil palmer #reigen arataka #mp100 #sexyman poll

[bulkhummus]

imagine cecil started referring to the people of night vale as characters the moment he was told that wtnv is a podcast like oh what a funny character that john peters is and no one really clocks it bc that can be a term used to describe someone and carlos is standing there like haha my husband is so silly and then cecil refers to carlos as the love interest and protagonist and carlos is like HAHA MY HUSBANDS SO FUNNY and then later on that week he refers to carlos as antagonist and carlos is like HAHA WHAT’D I DO

#if cecil writes the story of night vale than the town is just his cast u know #i dont really like the meta stuff so much #they didnt even explore alternate realities with it #which is kind of dumb #but #anyways #this is just a bad joke ignore me #im really thinking about carlos in a sweaty car with no ac #absolutely dripping glistening hairy forearms and guzzling water #sorry #wtnv

[cobalt-knave]

do you think cecil palmer has listened to taz ethersea (whatever taz ethersea looks like in night vale)

follow up: do you think he writes slash fic about the blink sharks somehow

#wtnv #remembering cecil's jaws slash fic #which. i mean. it could be about the shark. we don't know what he writes! #taz ethersea

[questions-from-d87]

oc-tober day 7 - hatred

♤ tobi overhears.

♤ 814 words

♤ prompt for @oc-tober2023

♤ this one is loosely inspired by things that have happened to me, it was an experience to write lmao

Tobi arrived home from school at three. He sat in the back next to Phoebe while Melody talked about her day with their mom. Phoebe looked sad. 

Seventh grade was taxing - he knew Melody would be horrified if he said that to her, what with her grown-up high school classes, but at that point in their life, it was 100% true. They went into the pantry and grabbed themself a granola bar from the box their mom had gotten at the grocery store and took a seat on the couch. It was a colder day, and Mom had finally turned the heat on.

They turned on the TV and switched it to some cooking channel. They honestly didn’t usually watch much of whatever they turned on - they just liked the background noise. It helped him to think.

Phoebe was in the kitchen microwaving herself a bag of popcorn. Melody had brought her backpack upstairs, presumably to work on homework.

“How was school, kid?” The way Phoebe talked made them sound so much older than they were. They were only a teenager, not that much older than Tobi in the grand scheme of things, but she was such a mentor to them that she might as well have been three years older in Tobi’s mind.

“Fine,” he answered. “A little boring.”

“I remember when I was in seventh grade. I was always bored out of my mind.” She chuckled softly and took a seat beside them on the couch, holding an open bag of popcorn. “Don’t tell Mom about this, alright, dude?” They gestured to the bag of popcorn - technically, eating on the couch was a no-go. Tobi nodded. They weren’t a snitch, especially not about a rule so small that they were actively breaking themself.

A few minutes later, Phoebe stood up and gave Tobi a little bonk on the head - not hard enough to hurt, but a simple, friendly tap. “I’ve got homework. See ya at dinner, kid.” Tobi waved and she headed up the stairs.

Tobi got up and went to the piano in the other room - they could take a little time to practice before they had to study for their math quiz. The walls of the room were lined with art projects of varying quality from the kids of the family, and their music sat in a messy, disorganized pile atop the piano. One book sat on the stand in front of the keys, the result of yesterday’s practice.

Miss Emily had assigned him a new piece at the last lesson. He opened to page sixteen and looked over the notes briefly. This one was fairly new to them, since they’d only played it a couple of times so far.

They straightened their back and rested their fingertips on the keys -

- when they heard talking.

Not talking. Talking wouldn’t be notable. This was talking just on the cusp of yelling, voice raising but not quite that much.

“You have to be kidding me.”

That was Phoebe for sure - only she and Melody were home besides him, and that voice, in all its boldness and clarity, was unquestionably hers.

“Phoebe, you aren’t listening to me -”

“Oh, I’m not listening to you? Grow up and stop acting like you’re better than me.”

“You’re being ridiculous-”

Tobi covered their ears and pressed them closer to his head until his sisters’ gradually crescendoing voices became an unintelligible mix of muffled sound. They knew they should be used to all the arguing by now, but it still made them sad to hear. He remembered seeing them slowly lose their ability to get along as they got older. One of his very first memories was hearing the two of them proudly proclaim that they would be best friends forever - he watched that vow gradually decay, and it probably hadn’t even hit rock bottom yet.

Suddenly, they didn’t feel much like practicing anymore.

He went back to the kitchen, picked up his backpack, and took it down to the basement couch. Their voices were still audible from downstairs, but they were quieter and easier to cover up with headphones.

He slipped on his headphones and plugged them into the family laptop. Listening in to these arguments was useless, he’d learned - there was no point in taking sides, because neither one would mention it later anyway. They would try not to fight around Tobi - he’d inevitably hear it, but the effort was nice of them.

They pulled up a Depeche Mode album and pressed the play button. The math Quizlet would always be agonizing, especially with his sisters fighting upstairs, but maybe good music would make it a little less insufferable.

The older they grew, the more they realized how much of a mess their household really was. But it was theirs regardless.

He turned up the volume of the music, desperately hoping to drown the yells out.

#oc tober #tobi stuff #cecil writes

[waterloggedsoliloquy]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) Characters: Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV), Elidibus (Final Fantasy XIV), Titus yae Galvus | Varis's Uncle, Original Final Fantasy XIV Characters, Original Galvus Characters (Final Fantasy XIV), Varis zos Galvus, Nerva yae Galvus Additional Tags: POV Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV), Unreliable Narrator, these first two tags are directly related, Emperor Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV), Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV) Being an Asshole, Kidnapping, Mentioned Azem (Final Fantasy XIV), Nonbinary Azem (Final Fantasy XIV), Nonbinary Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Abusive Relationships, Abusive Parents, Emotional Manipulation, Grief/Mourning, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Toxic Nostalgia, Empty Nest Syndrome, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, (but aside from premise alone its minor), Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Major Original Character(s), POV Multiple, POV Third Person Plural, Screenplay/Script Format, No Incest, Adoption, Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), Seventh Umbral Calamity (Final Fantasy XIV), Child Abuse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Summary:

Emet-Selch toils for all of Paradise back. But in the meantime, he will settle for keeping the memory alive of his dear friend, and the legacy they have left him in this broken, fractured world. Perhaps with time, they will come to see his side of things in a way their ancestor never had. And after the Ardor is passed, they will be complete again.

---

Before the Seventh Umbral Calamity, Emet-Selch finds a shard of Azem on the Seventh. Unable to bear repeat witness to his friend's destruction in any form, he sets out to rescue the child from the terrible mediocrity of sundered existence.

#emet selch #ffxiv shadowbringers #warrior of light #ffxiv fanfiction #cecil writes #im v excited for this so i would like it if you checked it out :}

[crowdsourcedloner]

#cecil screens #oc: verre hyskaris #behold verre's fit when she's on the first #she gets yote there at the same time as alisaie so they end up pretty close #verre takes the role of a scout for the crystarium guard #and she helps maintain the technology of the crystarium in her off time #ive a lot more thoughts on first-verre but no time to write them for now so have a screenshot

[mediumgayitalian]

“You ready, Lou?”

“Duh.”

“Cecil? You’ve got full faith in your cabin?”

“Yep.”

“What about you, Will? Were your threats successful?”

“My bribes went wonderfully, thank you.”

“Then I think we’re a go.”

“Gods, this is going to be great.”

———

Knockknockknock.

Nico locks in on his game. He is so, so close to finally making it through this stupid quest, he can feel it, and if he doesn’t beat The Imprisoned before Percy he’s going to set the camp on fire.

Knockknockknock.

“Just — hold on a second!” He spams B, cursing loudly to himself, ignoring the twinge in his lower back from holding this position for so long. “Fuck, fuck, come on.” He clenches his teeth, knuckles white against the Wii remote, until finally — the boss falls. He cheers.

Fuck yes. Take that, Percy.

Tossing the remote on his bed, he jogs over to the door, sliding open the three bolts and unlocking the chains. On his porch is a blur of movement, hair frizzy and pulled-on, shirt rumbled.

“Oh, hey, Annabeth.”

She barely acknowledges him, focusing intently on pacing back and forth on the stone porch at the speed of light. He settles against the door frame, stretching out his spine, watching her mutter to herself.

“Chiron is leaving,” she says.

Nico raises an amused eyebrow. “I am aware.”

“With Mr. D. To some conference.”

“I heard.”

“He’s gone until early tomorrow evening.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He left me in charge.”

“Probably wise.”

“I need an allegiance, Nico.”

“Slow down and tell me what you mean, first.”

She sighs, coming to a stop in front of him. Her fingers still drum across her biceps, and her eyes dart around, evaluating. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip.

“Camp’s a lot of work,” she says finally. “I’ve never been in charge of so many people at once before, and like hell am I gonna let Chiron think I can’t handle it. I have a Plan, and you’re a part of it.”

Nico resists the urge to groan. Chiron leaving is supposed to mean he gets the next day or so off — no classes, no socializing, nothing. Just him in his cabin and the genuinely disgusting amount of junk food he has amassed.

(…And Will. Maybe.)

“It’s nothing crazy,” she promises. “I just need you to lurk.”

“…Lurk?”

“Yeah, you know. Chill in the shadows and scare people into complacency. You don’t even need to do much, just that thing where you stare at people like you know the exact day they’re going to die.”

“I do love lurking,” Nico admits. And to basically have a free pass to scare the shit out of whoever he wants… “I’ll do it.”

She smiles brightly. “Thanks, Nico! I knew I could count on you. I’ll meet up with you right after Chiron heads out, okay? To give you a list of people to keep your eye on.”

“Sure. Bye, Annabeth.”

“See ya!”

He closes the door and pads back to his setup, shaking the remote to get it going again. He can’t quite shake the smirk off his face.

The next twenty four hours are going to rock.

———

“Swiper No Swiping, initiate phase one.”

“Roger that, Sunny Dick.”

“…I’m revoking your code name priveledges.”

“No no no, I’m sorry, I’ll change it.”

———

Before Chiron leaves, he gathers them all in the amphitheatre.

“Children,” he calls, adjusting the bow slung across his back. “I am leaving now for my conference. I will be back before the sun sets tomorrow.” He gestures towards Annabeth, standing stiffly beside him. “Annabeth is in charge. Consider all my authority transferred to her before I return, am I understood?”

“Yes, Chiron,” courses the camp, some with significantly more attitude than others. Across the gathered crowd, Will catches his eye and winks. (Well, tries to. He has yet to catch on to the fact that he cannot, actually, wink, and instead just blinks really intentionally. Kayla and Austin have sworn him to secrecy.) Nico rolls his eyes, ears burning, and looks away.

“Good. Regular rules; no maiming, killing, or injuries above level seven. Any arson will result in a revoking of dessert privileges. Yes, Julia, even if you help in putting out the arson. It is the fire that is the issue, you understand. Excellent.” He claps his hands together. “I am looking forward to one day of peace. Try to avoid ruining it for me too quickly. Goodbye, children.”

With a wave and a fond squeeze of Annabeth’s shoulder, he trots over to Half-Blood Hill, ignoring Mr. D’s loud complaining about how long he took. With a snap of Mr. D’s fingers, they disappear. For a brief, uncanny moment, everything is still.

“Alright,” Annabeth shouts, clapping her hands together. Nico jumps. “Dinner is in an hour. Whoever is the first to fuck something up will be doing dishes. I will be watching. Dismissed.”

Wading through the swathes of ambling teenagers, she walks by where Nico is leaning against a pillar, half-hidden in the shadows.

“Lurk,” she orders, passing him.

Nico shoots her a mocking salute, fading into the shadow behind him. He barely catches her grin before he dissolves into the darkness.

———

“Phase two in effect. Ready to go, Sabrina Spellman?”

“Prepped to go, Teletubbies Sun Baby.”

“I hate both of you.”

———

“Halt!”

Across the common, three suspicious figures freeze, glance behind them, and then resume walking as casually as they can.

“I said halt! Do not move! Cease all function!”

Milling nervously towards each other, Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest pause, shifting the three massive cardboard boxes they hold each.

“Hi, Annabeth,” Will says, smiling innocently. Cecil and Lou Ellen match him, eyes wide, expressions angelic.

Annabeth stomps over to them, fists clenched at her sides, entirely unmoved by the cherubic display in front of her. Nico stays right where he is, hidden by the shade of Cabin Eight.

“Explain yourselves,” Annabeth orders.

The three stooges exchange a look.

“Whatever do you mean,” Lou Ellen asks, shifting the boxes to free up her hand only to place it delicately over her chest. “Why, we are only helping our dear friend William —”

“Our dear, dear friend,” Cecil adds.

“— carry these many boxes of medical supplies, so as to lower his great burden —”

“Massive burden,” Will says sagely.

“— and free up his evening in order for him to spend his limited time with us, his most cherished friends.”

“Especially cherished,” Will and Cecil chorus together.

Unable to bite back a smile, Nico rolls his eyes so hard his skull hurts. They’re not even trying to not get caught, at this point. Idiots.

Clearly agreeing, Annabeth scoffs. “Yeah, right. Boxes down, all three of you. You’re being detained for suspected illicit substances.”

“Annabeth!” Will cries, hand to his chest, “after all I do for this camp, you would accuse me of being — illicit?! Me?! The outrage! The insult! The impugn, the —”

“Can it, Solace. Open the boxes.”

Huffing in perfect unison, the three of them carefully lower their boxes to the ground.

“Tape off.”

Intentionally slowly, they run a nail along the edge of the packing tape.

“Flaps open, guys, c’mon.”

With flourish, the trio fling open the thin cardboard panels. Inside each box is rows of bandages, packaged syringes, sterile bands, tongue compresses, and more that Nico can’t name. Annabeth glares at the boxes with perhaps more disdain than the situation calls for.

Then again.

It is camp.

“See?” says Cecil, gesturing grandly. “The shipment just came in from my dad.”

Like a hound dog locking in on a bleeding squirrel, Annabeth’s eyes narrow. Her lips spread into wide, frankly maniacal smirk.

“Your dad is in a conference with the rest of the Olympians right now, Markowitz.”

Caught.

“Well,” Cecil says, and then nothing else.

“He meant it in the royal sense,” Lou Ellen pipes up in his silence. Cecil nods frantically. “You know, ‘just’ as in, like, recently, as in this morning —”

“Do you three think I’m stupid.”

“It’s just medical supplies! You can look through them if you want —”

Even if they weren’t acting like criminals, Nico knows his friends. He knows his boyfriend, especially, and recognises that damn look on his face. He can also physically see Annabeth’s stress ulcer coming back.

Closing his eyes, Nico fades into Cabin Six’s shadow. It’s a quick jump, so the stretch is easy, and the darkness bows easily to his hold. He reappears silently behind the group, taking advantage of the setting sun, and darts out to grip Lou Ellen’s arm.

“Boo,” he whispers.

She shrieks at the top of her lungs, jumping three clean feet in the air. Coincidently, the boxes of medical supplies flicker, turning into a truly baffling amount of instant mashed potato boxes.

“I knew it!” Annabeth shouts.

On cue, all three doofuses turn to Nico, jeering and complaining about ‘ruining the fun’. Nico’s glare is ineffective on Doofus #1, but the other two can be cowed. He focuses on channelling the flames of hell to reflect in his eyes like his father showed him until they look away, muttering at the ground.

“We still don’t have any illicit substances,” Will insists, glaring right back. Nico sticks out his tongue. He crosses his eyes like a four year old. How immature, honestly. “So we’re just gonna take our stuff and —”

“Absolutely not, Golden Boy. Put that hand away.”

Wisely, Will draws slowly back from the boxes, tucking his hands in his pocket.

Annabeth stares, hard, at the three of them, flicking her dark eyes from the potatoes and back. The tips of her worn-out converse tap slowly on the packed grass, tip-tap-tip-tap, as they all squirm.

Understanding dawns on her quickly.

“It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, for the strawberry plants.”

They squirm harder.

“Oh, you godsdamn bitches.”

“It would’ve been really funny,” Cecil mumbles, staring at the ground. “Rain making the ground turn into a sea of mashed potatoes. Like Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs.”

“The only meatballs around here are the ones clogging up your skull!” Annabeth shouts, which doesn’t quite make sense but sounds clever coming from her anyway. “Who was gonna clean that up, huh? Magic?”

“I mean, probably,” Lou Ellen says, promptly shutting up at Annabeth’s glare.

“And you, Will! I cannot believe! Where is that responsibility you’re known for, huh?”

Will pouts. “I can be responsible and do fun things.”

“Fun, he says. I’m going to fucking kill you, how’s that for fun. The one day I’m left in charge, I cannot believe —”

“If it helps, it’s less about you and more about April Fools being tomorrow,” Cecil interjects tentatively. “Like, we were going to do this whether or not Chiron left.”

Annabeth glares darkly. “Of fucking course you were. It’s always you three, I swear to the gods. I should have known.”

“It’s honestly kind of embarrassing for you guys,” Nico adds. He smiles smugly at them, relishing in their rolled eyes and mocking hands. “Like, everyone expected this. You did this to yourselves, honestly.”

“Boo, you jag,” Lou Ellen protests. The other two knuckleheads joint in the booing, Will taking it an extra stop forward and blowing a raspberry, both thumbs pointing down. Nico responds with a wide grin and two middle fingers.

“Enough,” Annabeth says, rubbing her temples. “Extra chores, all three of you. Go help the cleaning harpies until sundown. And not another peep of complaint or I’ll have you on chores tomorrow, too.”

Without another glance at them, she turns around and walks away, muttering at least you caught it early at least you caught it early at least you caught it early over and over to herself.

“Pretty sure you guys have physical labour to do,” Nico says brightly when she disappears into the Big House. “I’d get started on that, if I were you.”

“Butthead,” Cecil mutters.

“Kiss-ass,” Lou Ellen agrees, making a face.

“Traitor,” Will whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he walks past.

Nico watches them go, standing guard over the boxes in case they try to come back for them.

He can’t help but think that they all look a little too jovial for having their plans ruined before they even started.

———

“Is he still looking?”

“No.”

“Okay, Phase Three, let’s go let’s go let’s go —”

———

Every time Nico wakes with the sun, he sets aside twenty minutes of his morning routine to curse Apollo, his father, Apollo again, Phanes, and Prometheus. In that order.

He does like the bonus of getting breakfast. Usually he sleeps through it and has to hope Will saved him coffee cake, which he does, every time, because he wants to bribe his way into Nico’s affections. But there is something to be said about camp coffee cake when it is still warm, crumbly on the top and soft on the inside. It is a rare and occasionally worth-it treat, and on his bleary walk to the dining pavilion, Nico tries to keep this in the forefront of his mind. Fresh coffee cake. Fresh coffee. Fresh fruit. And Will, probably, not that seeing him is worth getting up early or anything. (So what that he gets all excited and energetic when he sees Nico up in the morning. If anything it’s embarrassing for him.)

For once, he’s actually early enough that there are very few people already at breakfast. He sees most of the Athena kids, still half-asleep over their mugs, and pretty much every camper under the age of eleven. A few head counsellors, too, watching out for the little ones or catching up on a rare moment of quiet. Nico makes a beeline for the breakfast spread, cutting a slice of coffee cake to leave on the platter and putting the rest of it on his plate. He puts a single strawberry in the middle of it so no one can accuse him of being unhealthy, then ambles over to the Apollo table.

“Neeks? Where’re you going?”

Nico pauses. He shifts his plate to one hand, rubbing at his bleary eyes. He looks at the Apollo table. He counts one, two, three heads — Kayla, Austin, and…Cecil?

“Nico? You good, babes?”

He turns, slowly, to face the voice. Picking at a plate full of pineapple, next to Reika Onason, Lou Ellen's sister, is Will.

“I know mornings are hard for you, but you’re meant to eat at your table,” he teases. “Come sit, doofus. Unless you’re taking advantage of Chiron’s absence to make friends elsewhere, I guess, but it seems unlike you.”

“You’re — what’re you — what?“ Nico says dumbly, struggling to reconcile the imagine in front of him.

For some reason, Will is eating his breakfast at the Hecate table.

And that is not all.

For some reason, his camp shirt does not say head medic. For some reason, he is wearing black jeans. For some reason, dozens of Celestial bronze rings adorn his fingers, carved with sigils. For some reason, his hair is clipped back, and there is black eyeliner around his bright blue eyes, and his nails are painted darker than Nico’s, and he is sitting at the Hecate table.

“What are you doing?”

“Having…breakfast,” Will says slowly. His lips turn down in concern. “Nico, are you okay?”

“I’m fine! It’s — you’re the one acting weird!”

Will and Reika exchange a look.

“Maybe you should go see Cecil,” Will suggests carefully. “Did you sleep okay last night? Maybe you hit your head —”

Nico looks desperately back at the Apollo table. They watch him strangely now, too, and after a second Cecil gets up from his — Will’s — seat, and walks over.

“Everything okay?” he asks, impish expression almost serious. “You look pale, Nico.”

“I’m worried,” Will says. “He’s acting — confused, Cece, maybe there’s a —”

“I’m not confused,” Nico scowls. “You two are — doing something.” He gestures vaguely between them. “As revenge for yesterday.”

Will snorts. “What, the potatoes? Don’t let Lou hear you discredit her like that. If you think she’d plan some revenge prank on you this early, you don’t know her at all.”

Nico’s head starts to hurt. He sets down his plate, rubbing his temples. Why would Lou Ellen be so bothered by that? Why isn’t she here, with her sister? What the hell is going on?

“Both of you — cut it out. Whatever dumbass prank you’re pulling is just stupid.”

“Did I hear something about a prank?” Bounding over from the camp store, arms laden with contraband junk food, is Lou Ellen, smiling brightly. “Whatever it is, I want in!”

“Oh, thank the gods, you’re back.” Will makes grabby hands at the pile. She tosses him a pack of twizzlers off the top, rolling her eyes as he tears into like he didn’t just polish off two and a half entire pineapples and three bowls of oatmeal. “I was going through withdrawal.”

“I’m not helping you when your stomach cramps up,” Cecil promises, snorting. His eyes follow the candy ropes in their harried journey towards Will's gaping maw. “You can sit in your misery.”

“Bleh bleh bleh.”

Nico narrows his eyes at them. Clearly, they’re all in on this — bit, or whatever it is. It’s a little too coordinated to be a quickly-planned revenge prank. They must have had a backup to the potatoes, although a pretty weak one. Unless they somehow managed to bribe the entire camp into agreeing to act along with their dumbassery, and Nico knows none of them can come even close to affording that, then all it takes is one person on Nico’s side before their little ruse is broken.

“It’s too early for this,” Nico says, interrupting their bickering. He picks up his breakfast and trudges off to his actual table, ignoring Will’s pouting. He has to brush the dust off the bench, but it’s worth it to avoid whatever headache the three of them will inevitably give him.

Coffee cake, save him.

———

“It’s not looking good, Katara —”

“I actually like that one.”

“— he’s totally onto us.”

“Just stick to the plan. Power onto Phase Four.”

———

To Nico's great satisfaction, many other people do double takes as they walk into breakfast.

As the Athena table, minus Annabeth, who is likely putting out a literal or metaphorical fire somewhere, wakes up, they start to notice the strange seating situation. It starts with Malcolm, who stares at Cecil in a lab coat with the same expression Nico has seen him wear when attempting to solve the Hodge conjecture. He leans over to murmur something in his brother’s ear, and then all seven of them are looking between the Hecate, Apollo, and mostly-empty Hermes tables with suspicious frowns and furrowed brows.

Nico catches Will’s eye, smirking.

Game’s up, he mouths. Will only shrugs innocently at him.

It’s Annabeth who finally puts a stop to the nonsense, striding in at the tail end of the rest of the slowly-waking crowd. She has grass in her hair and murder in her eyes.

Excellent.

“I swear to the gods, I just dealt with you three,” she snaps, raising her voice so they all can hear her. Coincidentally, it attracts the attention of every other nosy person at camp, which is everybody. “Just ‘cause Chiron’s not here doesn’t mean the rules go out the window. Back to your tables, let’s move.”

“We’re at our tables,” Cecil protests. “Why do people keep saying that?”

Annabeth takes a very deep, very long breath. She has a whole day of this, too. How unfortunate for her.

“Maybe because you are full of shit, Markowitz. Go sit with the rest of you troublemakers.”

Kayla clears her throat. “Annabeth, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Her thin eyebrows are drawn tightly together, lips turned down into a frown. “Cecil is exactly where he’s supposed to be.”

That gives her pause.

That gives a lot of people pause. Nico sets down his coffee cake.

“Cecil’s at the Apollo table,” Annabeth says slowly.

Kayla meets her gaze, face creased in concern. “...Yeah, I know.”

“Cecil is a Hermes kid, Kayla.”

She snorts. “Yeah, sometimes I think so, too. But as much as I would absolutely love to trade my brother —”

“Hey!”

“He’s a healer, Annabeth. He got claimed and everything.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Annabeth says, dragging her hand down her face. “Kayla, I don’t know what they paid you —”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” With a clatter of plates, Will clambers on the table, clapping his hands. “Your attention please, everyone!”

Without so much as a pause, Will claps his hands together. Immediately, a ball of green light expands from them, flashing almost too bright to look at. Nico watches, slack jawed, as he tosses it into the air, making it explode into a thousand little sparkles, descending gently over everyone’s heads. The little kids laugh in delight, reaching for them like they’re bubbles.

“Does that settle things?” he demands.

Silence rings for one, two, three seconds.

The camp erupts.

Dozens of voices overlap, all shouting over each other at once. Hands gesture wildly at Will, at Cecil, at Lou — trying to piece things together. Will is their head medic — isn’t he? Then why is Cecil wearing scrubs? And why is Lou chilling at the Hermes’ table, chatting with Julia over a bowl of cereal? Something isn’t right.

“Just — everybody quiet!”

It takes a minute, but everyone settles down, sitting back in their seats and fidgeting, looking around with half-confused, half-amused smiles. Like they’re laughing at a joke they’re half convinced is real.

“Who thinks this —” Annabeth makes some vaguely indicative movement at Will, Lou, and Cecil — “is weird? Raise your hand.”

Almost all hands go up. Only a handful stay down — Will, Lou Ellen, and Cecil, of course, but the entirety of the Hermes cabin stays oddly silent, as do Kayla, Austin, Reika, and, shockingly, Clovis.

“Stoll,” Nico demands before Annabeth gets the chance, “you’re buying this?”

“Buying what?” Connor says after a moment. He shrugs, eyes twinkling in amusement. “I’m just chillin’ with my sister, Nico. Cecil is great, but he hasn’t been in our cabin since he got claimed.”

The rest of the Hermes kids nod in agreement. Whispers filter through the tables — first Kayla, now all the Hermes kids?

“If I may,” interjects Clovis, yawning. “There’s an…energy, around.”

“Gods, yeah, I was feeling it too,” Will agrees frantically. “Almost a…blanket, of some kind. Something heavy and stifling.”

Malcolm looks over with interest. “You think we got cursed, or something? The whole camp?”

Will shrugs. “Maybe? Can’t think of any other reason you guys are remembering things weird.”

“It could be a god’s interference,” Nyssa suggests, raising her voice to be heard from the Hephaestus table. “I mean, that’s what happened to Jason and Leo and Piper, right? Their memories got fudged.”

“Yeah, but camp-wide…”

“Could still be possible.”

“There’s no way! They’re fucking with us, come on —”

It doesn’t take long for the arguing to start up again. This time, though, more people looked spooked — more people look to the dumbass trio themselves, eyes wide like they’re looking at ghosts.

Like they’re believing this shit.

Nico scowls, shoving away from his table and stomping over to his boyfriend.

“You are so full of shit I can smell you from across the room,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the noise.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He wiggles his fingers in Nico’s direction. They spark with the same green light. “Want me to switch your eyes and ears again?”

That sounds horrifying. “Try it and die.”

“Alright, grouchy.” He holds his hands up, stepping back from Nico’s glare. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Alarm bells go off in Nico’s head. This is more than just strange, it’s wrong. And not just ‘cause he looks different — so what if he looks different. Will could shave his head bald and tattoo himself purple, Nico wouldn’t care.

But his aura.

The essence of Will, that Nico has grown so used to be stopped noticing. The quiet, warmth strength, the feeling of a soft breeze in the summer, of walking past a window in the late afternoon, of smokey August campfires and scratchy guitar, is gone. Is different, rather; almost blocked. It feels like a cloud blowing over the sun, making everything warped and off and shadowy.

Something is afoot. Something is wrong, and not just some vague, made-up spell like the Trickster Trio would have the camp believe. Something like smoke and mirrors, something shadier.

He watches Will fall into step next to Cecil, ducking away from his ruffling hand. He frowns.

If there’s one thing Nico can do, it’s wade through the shadows.

———

next

#can anyone guess what these dumb ass mother fuckers did. #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #solangelo #established solangelo #will solace & cecil markowitz & lou ellen blackstone #annabeth chase #nico di angelo & annabeth chase #my writing #fic #longpost

[dunderbread]

never been a huge nightvale fan but I do see the appeal

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #cecil palmer #carlos the scientist #I just wanted to test my watercolors in light of the resurgence recently #my verdict is that I like the concept of night vale but its not really my thing in terms of humor/writing #saltyarts