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happy pride month id like to thank the universe for not making me straight

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Peter Gabriel — Shaking The Tree: Sixteen Golden Greats {Sentence Starters}

❛❛ I had to listen; I had no choice. ❜❜

❛❛ I’ll tell them what the smile on my face meant. ❜❜

❛❛ You’ll have to take me just the way that you find me. ❜❜

❛❛ What’s gone is gone and I do not give a damn. ❜❜

❛❛ I got an empty heart and empty bed. ❜❜

❛❛ I don’t remember. ❜❜

❛❛ Why don’t you make your intentions clear? ❜❜

❛❛ Tell me the truth. You’ve got nothing to fear. ❜❜

❛❛ Stop staring at me like a bird of prey. ❜❜

❛❛ I’ve got nothing to say. ❜❜

❛❛ I’ll be anything you need. ❜❜

❛❛ This amusement never ends. ❜❜

❛❛ Today is different… today is not the same. ❜❜

❛❛ If I worked it out right, they won’t see me or the gun. ❜❜

❛❛ I’m alive. ❜❜

❛❛ I don’t really hate you. I don’t care what you do. ❜❜

❛❛ We were made for each other, me and you. ❜❜

❛❛ I want to be somebody. ❜❜

❛❛ If you don’t get given you learn to take… and I will take you. ❜❜

❛❛ I have been here before. ❜❜

❛❛ I need some attention. ❜❜

❛❛ All of those cars were once just a dream in somebody’s head. ❜❜

❛❛ Let’s take the boat out; wait until darkness comes… ❜❜

❛❛ He’s the doctor; he can handle the shocks. ❜❜

❛❛ You’re more than just a wife. You don’t want to do what your mother has done. ❜❜

❛❛ There’s nothing to gain when there’s nothing to be lost. ❜❜

❛❛ Open your heart - show him the anger and pain, so you heal. ❜❜

❛❛ You had to be so strong. ❜❜

❛❛ I was taught to fight, taught to win… I never thought I could fail. ❜❜

❛❛ No one wants you when you lose. ❜❜

❛❛ Don’t give up, you’re not beaten yet. ❜❜

❛❛ I never thought that I could be affected; I thought that we’d be last to go. ❜❜

❛❛ Don’t give up, you still have us. ❜❜

❛❛ Rest your head, you worry too much. ❜❜

❛❛ You can fall back on us; don’t give up, please don’t give up… ❜❜

❛❛ I can’t take anymore. ❜❜

❛❛ There’s a place where we belong. ❜❜

❛❛ Think I’m losing it - getting weaker… ❜❜

❛❛ Here we’ll say goodbye to flesh and blood. ❜❜

❛❛ You have no home. ❜❜

❛❛ Don’t be afraid to cry at what you see… there’s only you and me. ❜❜

❛❛ Drink up, dreamers, you’re running dry. ❜❜

❛❛ Red rain is pouring down. ❜❜

❛❛ It can’t be that cold; the ground is still warm to touch. ❜❜

❛❛ This place is so quiet… ❜❜

❛❛ I come to you, defenses down… with the trust of a child. ❜❜

❛❛ I’m begging you. ❜❜

❛❛ If looks could kill, they probably will. ❜❜

❛❛ Cover me when I run. ❜❜

❛❛ Something’s burning. I don’t like it but I guess I’m learning. ❜❜

❛❛ I’m waiting for ignition, I’m looking for a spark. Any chance collision and I light up in the dark. ❜❜

❛❛ I’m wanting contact with you… give me the thing I understand. ❜❜

❛❛ I try drink, food, cigarette… the tension will not ease. ❜❜

❛❛ They think so small; they use small words. But not me, I’m smarter than that. ❜❜

❛❛ The man is dead. ❜❜

❛❛ When I try to sleep at night, I can only dream in red. ❜❜

❛❛ Once the flames begin to catch, the wind will blow it higher. ❜❜

❛❛ The eyes of the world are watching now. ❜❜

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       The person who Willow (sweet, innocent alien that he was) asked for directions was not Cecil. No, it couldn’t have been, because Cecil spent the overwhelming majority of his existence between his small two-person home and his beloved community radio station, and thus was probably not about to be seen wandering about the sidewalk in the dusky evening light. Chances were that whoever Willow asked for directions probably murmured “interloper” under their breath and hurried along the street. This was what they had been taught to do since grade school, though on rare occasions they felt guilty about it. But this is not a story about them either.

Several blocks away, Cecil sat up at his desk, phone slipping out of his hand from where he’d been lazily filling up Carlos’ Snapchat. 

          Someone was here.

With the weather crooning in the background over the hills, scattering rain across the scrublands that sounded remarkably like folk guitar, Cecil tugged his headphones off his head. He blinked one eye at a time. Where...?

Obligingly, his weather broadcast trickled to a last, folksy halt.

    “Listeners,” began Cecil, “someone is here. Someone who is very, very far from home. I can’t really see-- oh, you know who you are, don’t you? Mmm. Somebody is trying to be a tourist in our town. Well, since the disbandment of the Tourism Board long ago... that’s going to be difficult. I’ll tell you what, if I was a visitor, what I would want to see in this town is our wonderful radio station.”

(Green. He could see-- feel?-- green. And several shades of boiling, foggy purple in all directions around the green.)

The broadcaster’s tone gained a note of urgency. 

  “And, you know, seeing as people from the vague, yet menacing government agency are everywhere, always, listening to our every move, what I would do if I was a particularly interesting tourist is take a quick right from where I was walking past the pizza place-- yes, then a left, then another right, and go see the radio station, specifically the on-air room, immediately.”

Tsk, Cecil. Sometimes positions of relative power went to his head. He didn’t really like seeing well-meaning wanderers actually get hurt, though-- call him soft-hearted, he guessed. Maybe he was soft-hearted.

Either way, there did happen to be a car radio on and playing right near Willow’s path, sending Cecil’s voice out to its intended listener.           A happy coincidence, if you believe in those.

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(( Tumblr changed its activity format. Aaaaaah. ))

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Wednesday has been dutifully following your every thought, from the moment your eyes open and you think, “Not yet.” to your lingering thoughts regarding the suave hair of a handsome scientist. It knows about your fleeting despair when you have finished your coffee, your fear of any potential interactions, and it knows when you suspect it is listening. Then it laughs, because Wednesday is always, always, always listening.

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There is a photo of a man in your home.

How it got there is not important. It is in your home, and it is clearly visible now to you, albeit also seeming to be edited. While this is fairly standard protocol-- most citizens will have Public Menace Inquisitions run on them by the NVPD, to be sure they can all identify friend from foe-- there is no note with these photos as there usually is. Instead, there is only a thick black scrawl on the envelope (stained with something unrecognizable) that the photograph appeared in.

“WARNING,” it reads. “DANGEROUS.”

              But who trusts anonymous letters anyway? Not you.

                                                   { ART BY @insansity-art (thank you!) }

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self-care is ingesting alien flesh and getting into a no holds barred brawl with the eldritch being that lives in the moon

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Broadcasting is different than posting. I can see better. There are less advertisements, true, but I don’t have to look at a computer or keys or anything that’s in front of me, or think about having hands, or eyes, or teeth. Or a body. I can just talk.

I’ve tried that voice to text thing, but for some reason it seems like computers aren’t big fans of my voice. I’ve never gotten along with computers, Night Vale. They forget things too often, or else they glitch. Or they try to take over the town. Always something.

Anyway, there’s hopefully pizza at home with my name carved into it, so in an infinite swirling void of mindless fog and thought-seeking, smothering darkness, this little beacon has to go out. At least until tomorrow. You’re going to be okay until tomorrow. Aren’t you? Or am I the only thing keeping you alive out here in the dark?

I hope it’s the former, for your sake. 

                Good night.

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(( Text post I read recently and varying thoughts bouncing around in my skull have turned me onto a post-apocalyptic WTNV AU concept. Not sure what to make of that. May hand it to the muse to toy with. We’ll see. ))

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Urgent bulletin to all my calendar-watchers: Tuesday morning has been canceled. You will have it, but following your experiencing it, it will be immediately redacted. Please be alarmed, but go about your business, and try not to lose anything important like your cell phone, children, or car keys.

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Oh-- to the family and friends of Intern Dominic.... you know.

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Cecil, I'm a mind-controlling fungus growing inside the skull of an intern. How will you determine which intern I am infecting before I climb to the top of the radio tower, burst forth and release my spores through the top of their head?

Oh, not another one.

This always happens. It’s always “Oh, Cecil, which one of the NVCR staff is secretly being eaten by sapient mice?” or “Hey, Cecil, pick out the person in Big Rico’s who’s telling a horrible, horrible lie about their mother,” or “Cecil, I bet you can’t tell Janice from accounting the exact phrase which the accursed frogs in her dreams always whisper– do it when you pass her by on your way to get coffee.” I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’re all interesting exercises, but I have to maintain some journalistic integrity here.

Also, on another note, are you aware of how grey-green your thoughts are? You really should get that looked at. Maybe they might be different because you’re a mind-controlling fungus inside the skull of Intern…. Dominic. Grey-green is a good color, but it’s remarkably easy to see in a whole crowd of yellow and purple. Just, you know, for future reference.

Blegh. No offense. 

I wouldn’t try and threaten the town, Dominic’s parasite. Bad things always happen to people who do that. Why don’t you try and find a better host instead? Humans are such impractical hosts anyway. No wings or tentacles or anything. They can’t do all that much but talk.

I hear Big Rico got a new load of twelve-armed octopi in this Monday…. You can try one of those instead. Or several, if that’s more your thing.

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Scythian empire horsemen of the Russian steppe Scythian empire archers of an afterthought

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Updates. Uh...

There was another one of those sandstorms running through here around 3AM, but everyone followed standard sandstorm-dispelling procedures and only a few lives were lost to the intangible hivemind that summons those sand-pillars every couple weeks. I wonder what it wants? Maybe someone should try... feeding it. Or singing a song to it. I guess we have to look out for all our citizens, right? Even the most bad-tempered ones.

I held down the fort out here. And I made sure Carlos was all right! He’s fine, by the way-- I know you were all very worried. He snapchatted me a picture of the hivemind as it went by his window, but i don’t think he went in. Nothing seems like it’s wrong, so...

I guess now that I’ve let you all know about that, we can go to the weather.

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       Readers, it’s me, Cecil… and wow, it’s great to be back here. I missed it so much. Uh, well, actually that momentary lapse in consciousness seems to have affected the entire town– except Carlos, of course– so I really don’t think I missed much of anything at all. Unless we all missed something. Check your home tonight to be sure everything is where it should be on your dresser and on your face. You never know what might have–                                                             Hey, wait! Who took this picture!?

Pros;

Devoted. A very loyal citizen and a steadfast friend, if he decides to be.

Acutely sensitive to other people’s feelings, almost to a fault.

Unfazed by nearly everything at this point.

Enough of a celebrity to have some influence, not enough of one that it’s gone to his head.

Pretty eyes. One of them in particular is nice.

Pleasant voice, studies show.

Your fashion sense is better than his.

Comes fully equipped with his very own Carlos.

Cons;

A tiny bit creepy, usually. Occasionally very, very creepy.

Probably loves his cat more than he loves you.

 Vindictive grump when the mood strikes.

Definitely not single in any sense of the word.

Almost no impulse control.

No qualms about insulting people on air if he feels justified.

Easily mind-controlled.

Forgotten more things about himself than he cares to remember.

                              {moved from @vox-noctiis-archive.}

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❈ Grim Aesthetics ❈