//part 1//for the dream sequence thing: Cecil has a very vivid dream of himself appearing in the desert, so his first thought is to go find Carlos, because of the phone calls he knows his relative location and runs to go and find him. When Cecil sees him, Carlos is too far away to hear him calling, and instead Carlos excitedly walks through a door that wasn't there before, back to nightvale. Before Cecil can reach it the door dissapears and he's left alone. Carlos calls him when he's back in-
//part 2// Nightvale and tells him he’s coming home very soon, because he’s back, Cecil has to hold back tears as he tells Carlos “I’m not in Nightvale anymore, tell the listeners I’m gone. I love you. ” Then the cellphone melts in his hands and he’s left alone in the desert with no way to talk to Carlos. and then he wakes up.))
Cecil shoots awake, gasping, tears in his eyes. He’s grasping, reaching for something- something gone, something long out of reach. Someone who has been out of reach for weeks. Trembling, sweating, he puts his head in a hand, trying to catch his breath, Carlos’s name on his lips. He’s at home, in his bed. He’s safe. He’s okay.
He’s still alone.
It’s a long moment of shoulders trembling, tears streaming unheeded down his face, before he fumbles for his phone on the bedside table, flips it open and pauses, hesitates almost in fear before sending the message.
I need to hear your voice. Call me. Please.
He slides off the bed. Whether it takes Carlos ten minutes to answer or an hour, he won’t be getting any more sleep tonight…and he’s fairly positive there’s still some alcohol left, if not much. Enough, anyway.
Wanted to practice my handwriting , so I wrote out some sexuality definitions in their flag colors (to the best of my abilities, seeing as how I had a limited array of pens).
If there are errors, I apologize. This list is by no means exhaustive.
OKAY SO LISTEN UP ALL YA’LL
MY FRIEND HAS BEEN GETTING A LOT OF SHIT FOR MARKING UP A BOOK
FROM RANDOM-ASS STRANGERS WHO SEEM TO THINK IT’S THEIR RIGHT TO JUDGE HER FOR MAKING A FEW HARMLESS LITTLE MARKS IN A BOOK
SO YOU ALL NEED TO SIT DOWN AND SHUT YOUR MOUTHS AND LISTEN
These are just a few of my books. I have well over fifty or sixty; some are in better condition, some in worse. I found the ones I thought were the most battered in my collection, though.
That first book, Restoration, and the one a few books down, Revelation, are two of my oldest. I’ve had them about eight years each. Transformation is the first book in the series, but it’s not here. Why? Because it’s not in as bad of condition. Why? Because it literally fell apart. I had to have it replaced.
These books were among some of my first real loves. I found Transformation in the thrift store, and read it over and over and over. It went everywhere with me. It was always in a book or pocket, backpack, suitcase. It came to work with me. It was in the bath with me. Same for Revelation and Restoration. These books are tattered and bent and swollen and ripped and creased.
See that next one? The Archer? That was among the first books I ever read that didn’t have a straight, heterosexual couple as the protagonists. That is among one of the first books that helped me realize a few things about myself. Not only that, but I recomend everyone go and pick up a copy of this book ASAP, because holy hot damn is it one of the best books I have ever read. It’s one of my top ten favorites. It’s hot as hell, it’s funny as hell, the characters are mind-blowingly good, the plot will keep you guessing every time you think you’ve got it figured out, it’s touching, it’s sweet,and it’s heartbreaking and hilarious.
This book still goes with me so many places. To work, on long car trips, in the bath, at friend’s houses, to cons- you see how bent and dinged and creased and battered it is? That’s because I love the hell out of this book.
That next one is ancient. It’s one of the very first Nancy Drew mysteries. It was old as hell when I got my hands on it, and is even older now. That book is my childhood. That book was my constant companion as a kid. I love the smell of it, the feel of the old pages between my fingers, the language that isn’t quite what I was used to, the way it’s the perfect size for hugging to my chest.
That next one, Ghost Horse? Jesus, my childhood again. And again, it’s worn and battered because it went with me everywhere. I’ve long since outgrown this book, but I still love it. It’s a beautiful story.
The next one is The Wheel of Time. See that? That is tape holding it together. This is the only book in this series I can stand, but damn, do I love it. The cover came off because it went on so many road trips with me and finally gave up.
The next one, Melusine, is the first book in a series- and the first book I ever read- book, not fanfiction but published novel- with a homosexual male protagonist! These books are fucked up guys, I’m not gonna lie; the Labyrinth series is a dark, dark, depressing, depressing series with very little hints of light at the end. You kind of have to be in the right mood to read them. But oh my God, are they amazing. The characters and relationships- the way she tells a story and paints a picture with her words is stunning.
Mildmay is a name I still use for many sim games and such, and was part of the inspiration for my dungeons and dragons character.
The last book- The Reapers. Again, a book that featured a homosexual couple as the protagonists; one black, one Mexican, on top of it. So you’re looking at one of Angela’s first experiances ever with a book that wasn’t white, straight couple proagonists in actual book form oh my GOD what treasure have I found?! I was so excited, guys. When I picked up the audiobook for this, I thought ‘Angel’ was female, and holy shit, my jaw dropped.
This wasn’t fanfiction- it was an actual book! On best seller lists!
I went out and devoured the rest of the series. Turned out Angel and Louis were only side characters in the rest of the Charlie Parker series, but that doesn’t change the fact that oh my God guys these books. Go. Read. These books. They are simply stunning. They’re mystery with a hint of the paranormal, and you’re left wondering how much is truly supernatural and how much is just…Charlie being kind of fucked up in the head. Dark, gritty, honestly scary in places, hilariously funny, achingly sad, and with characters and plots that you won’t ever ever forget. This series is another of my top ten-ners. GO READ THESE BOOKS. NOW.
And again. See how battered and care-worn it is? Yeah. Again, that’s because this fucking book goes with me almost everywhere. If I know I’m going on a roadtrip, or gonna be staying in a hotel or something somewhere, the Reapers comes with me. It’s my favorite in the series. I can quote bits of it almost verbatim. Cosplaying Louis and Angel is something that would make my fucking year. (Sadly, I don’t know anyone who could be my Louis. D: Still, hold on hope!)
My point here is this.
These books are battered and worn and beaten and marked and creased because I love them with all my heart. They are portable, personalized movies, they are escapes, they are inspiration and emotion and joy and sorrow. They are milestones, they are memories.
So I would like you to all shut the ever loving fuck up about how making a few marks in a book with a pen is ‘defacing it’. If your books are in perfect, pristine condition, sitting on a shelf, then good for you.
But for some people, books are a part of life. And, like the person themselves, those books get marked and scarred, torn and battered. weathered and worn. Each experiance gives us character and shapes us. And with a book, marked and beaten to hell, you can see that same character. You can see how much book and person have been through, and how loved that book is, to be held so tightly onto through it all.
When someone puts marks in a book with a highlighter or a pen, that person is marking sections that leave an impression on their minds or hearts or both. They’re saying here is something so important to me, something that matters to me, or makes me smile, or makes me think, or makes me cry, or makes me laugh. Here is something I want to remember, something I want to emphasis, here is something special.
When someone dogears a page, or circles a paragraph, or makes notes on a page, they are saying I want to make sure I can find this again for as long as I have this. I want to make sure I remember this, because it has meaning to me.
Or maybe they’re just saying hey, this is cool!
When someone draws on a book, they’re bringing life to what they see. They’re taking the words that pain and picture in their heads and shaping it, giving it life and texture and color and it’s a dedication, not a desicration.
And, in closing-
IT’S NOT YOUR FUCKING BOOK SO SHUT THE FUCK UP.