wtnv fanfic

Carlos still has nightmares about the desert otherworld.
He still wakes up, shaking and terrified, with the images of mangled, giant bodies and bloody, dark walls stained on the back of his eyelids.
It scares him; but it never scares him as much as the afterthoughts.
The desert otherworld. Loneliness. Empty space. Hollow science. Sad nights. Cecil.
Cecil.
He wakes up breathless, sitting upright with urgency, one desperate, shaking cry for his dear, sweet Cecil.
“What?” Cecil always answers, one-half groggy, one-half ready to attack whatever had frightened Carlos. He lwould be sitting up with Carlos immediately, a kitchen knife clutched in his hand – Carlos had told him to put that away before? – aiming it around the room blindly without his glasses.
A bedside lamp would be turned on. Glasses would be retrieved. And once Carlos wipes the sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand, he tucked himself in Cecil’s arms and closes his eyes.
He always knows he’s home. He knows he’s safe. And Cecil would tell him that, over and over until Carlos believed it.
“I’m here,” Cecil always whispers into his hair. Warm words in a hot room, baking in a desert midnight. But Carlos didn’t care. He relaxed at the sound of Cecil’s voice, the smooth sweep of Cecil’s hands through his hair, the scratch of his facial hair against Cecil’s neck, and the lulling, soft emotion of existential comfort that washed over him at that perfectly imperfect moment.
“I’m here,” Cecil says again. Soft, kind, and so very much like Cecil. And Carlos always sighs, relieved. “I’m here.”

9

Night Vale Aesthetic

Tagged for a self-rec post

@cosleia tagged me in this. Thanks!

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers (◠‿◠✿)

I’m going to list the five I have had most fun writing.
In no particular order:

By the Light of the Moon WTNV werewolf AU

Upton Manners
WTNV, Cecearlos fic, set in and around a manor house in the 1850s.
I think I did some decent writing from time to time in this and it gave me the excuse to research many, many things. Also @fauxtalian made some gorgeous art of Cecil, Carlos, Earl and Roger. My favourite chapter is the one with the Michelangelo/Da Vinci hate fuck. Trust me, it makes sense in context ¯\_(ツ)_/¯


When your feet smell of angels but your life smells of brie
WTNV, 30 short fics with various themes and characters. I had fun with this.


Hux’s Hang Up
Hitaka! Hux accidentally discovers a kink. Fortunately Mitaka is handy with knots. What? Of course they fall in love!


Jailbait
WTNV but OOC!
Okay I did not have fun writing this. I wrote it for a bit of balance after nope-ing out of a couple of high school AUs that romanticised teacher-student relationships.


In turn, in hope rather than expectation, I tag… actually I’m going to send some anons later.

In the town of Night Vale things are not as they seem,

with dragons and librarians and agents in trees.

The town is sleepy but the citizens do not slumber,

the sky is awake with roaring like thunder.

The postage is cursed,

the glow cloud All Hail,

there are secrets in our eyes,

the truths to no avail.

And yet here we stay in our sleepy desert town,

our windows and doors and fridges bolted down.

For this is our home and while it may cause a fright,

at the end, we will say goodnight Night Vale goodnight.

//Random mini-fic inspired by markvincentofdesertbluffs’ suggestion! Thank you! :D

Diego - now and forevermore - belongs to videntefernandez.

***

Meetings and meetings and meetings. Dreadful statistics, pointless formalities. Suits. Ties. Work.

It all sort of blurred together after awhile - who owed what, which rival business was threatening their stock prices - it was all so dull. So mind-numbingly dull, and he was getting tired of it.

So it was with no small amount of relief that, at half-past eleven at night, Diego dragged himself through his front door and collapsed on the couch. Fucking finally, he thought as he closed his eyes. He didn’t even have the energy to walk to his bed. Turning on his side to find a more comfortable position, he took a deep breath and began to sink down into some much-needed sleep.

Thump.

Something lanky and giggling landed hard on his legs, sending him jolting upright. “Son of a– Kevin.”

His boyfriend giggled again, and leaned forward to peck Diego on the cheek. “’Morning, sleepyhead!”

“What–” He looked at the clock. 11:45 pm. Wonderful. “Kevin, what are you doing here?”

“Well,” Kevin said, chipper as ever despite the lateness of the hour, “I was going to make you dinner as a surprise, but then you didn’t come home, and I thought–” His expression darkened for just a moment before snapping back to its usual sunny brightness. “Well. It doesn’t matter what I thought. You’re home now, and I baked you a cake, and that’s what matters!” He tugged at one of Diego’s hands (which the CEO was convinced had been replaced with lead sometime during his fifteen minute nap), nearly wrenching it out of its socket in his excitement.
“Kevin – ow, fuck – Kevin- wait, my darling.”

Diego toppled off the couch and onto the floor, Kevin’s grip never loosening. “Kevin, let me stand.” 

With a pout and an impatient sigh, the radio host waited just long enough for Diego to get on his feet before he was back to his semi-violent advance to the kitchen. “Ta-da!” he trilled proudly, finally letting go of Diego’s arm to gesture grandly at what Diego believed was supposed to be a cake.

The frosting was yellow and inconsistently spread across chocolate cake that was a bit too dark. A mess of orange frosting spelled something that Diego assumed was his name. The top layer sagged into the bottom, causing the entire thing to tilt precariously, and the flames of over thirty candles to combine into one giant, sticky fire hazard.

“Do you love it?” his boyfriend asked softly, his face illuminated by the glow of the candles. “Vanessa said that it was better to buy one, but I thought a birthday cake should be special.”

…A birthday cake?

His birthday.

Diego walked closer to the table to reexamine the cake, and found that what he had thought was his name was actually a (very messily written) “happy birthday”. Diego had… He had been so busy working that he had forgotten his own birthday. Not that he was a particularly sentimental man, but…there was something about this that sent a spark of…of hurt through his heart. “Thank you, Kevin,” he said, his voice catching.

“Mm-hmm,” was his boyfriend’s happy response. “You never told me how old you were, so I just sort of guessed.” He smiled. “Thirty-six candles – see? They didn’t want to fit, but I made them.”

Diego had to bite back the bitter laugh that sprang to his throat. Thirty-six candles. What a joke.

Kevin, who had evidently been watching him closely, tilted his head until he resembled nothing less than a confused, overlarge puppy. “Diego? Are you all right? You look sad. You’re not supposed to be sad on your birthday.” He stepped close to the CEO and put a hand on either side of the other man’s face, using his thumbs to gently tug the corners of Diego’s mouth into a small smile. “Did I get the candles wrong? I’m sorry if I got the candles wrong.”

Diego smiled, genuinely this time, and turned his head to place a kiss on Kevin’s long fingers. “No, darling. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. It’s a wonderful birthday gift.” Inwardly, he attempted to shoo those pesky emotions away. If he had to, he’d deal with them later.

Grinning brightly, Kevin gave Diego a quick kiss, and then stepped back, stating expectantly at his lover. Diego raised an eyebrow at him. “What is it, darling?”

“Aren’t you going to eat it?”

Diego paused. “Ah…” He glanced at the flaming, toxic-looking cake, trying to conceal the fear in his eyes. “Maybe later, love. I’m a bit full right–”

“Eat the cake.”

He sighed. “All right, Kevin.”

“Yay!”

Slowly – tentatively – he picked up a fork and scooped up a piece of the birthday cake. It fell apart before he could bring the piece to his mouth. Kevin was still staring at him hopefully, so Diego steeled himself and quickly brought a new forkful between his lips.

It tasted like death.

The cake hadn’t even left the fork yet. It was just sitting in his mouth, the taste foul against his tongue. But Diego knew that any attempt to chew or swallow would cause him to be sick. For a moment, he considered just spitting the damn thing out.

“Well? Do you love it?” Kevin, damn him, was staring at him, eyes wide, biting his lip in hopeful anticipation. Why did he have to be so damn cute?

With the air of a man condemned, Diego pulled the fork out of his mouth, swallowing as quickly as possible to avoid getting the taste on his tongue. “Yes, dear, it’s…fantastic, ” he choked out, barely resisting the urge to run to the sink and start chugging water.

Kevin let out a jubilant giggle and rushed to hug him. “Ooh, I knew it! I knew you would love it!”

Diego had to remind himself not to throw up. “Yes, yes, darling. Now, I would appreciate sleep.”

“But…” Kevin’s jubilance faltered slightly. “But it’s your birthday. Don’t you want to celebrate.”

No. In all honesty, Diego just wanted to fucking sleep. He was overworked and tired and he did not want to think about- about his age.But he couldn’t say that to Kevin, of course, so instead he gave his lover a kiss on the cheek and said, “Tomorrow, love. We’ll celebrate tomorrow.”

Welcome to UChicago...

A quiet college campus where the sky is grey, the air is still and cold and every morning, raven black monsters fly from tree to tree cawing, as we all huddle closer for warmth in the Regenstein library-bunker.


Welcome to UChicago.


The sun forgot to rise this past week, causing the temperature to drop to an all time low of -60 degrees, not that any one noticed, since it is a mere 20 degrees colder than the usual temperature of our ice-wastes. The University secret police has announced that classes, are not, in fact, cancelled. Any one who fails to show up to class will be executed, or worse, expelled


A look at our community calendar: The quarterly Humans vs. Zombies game has kicked off today. The Moderators would like to remind you that attendance is MANDATORY. All students without the proper armaments are to report to the center of the Quad to receive their $5 HvZ set which includes: a Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum Revolver, 2 bags of hollow-tipped rounds and several hand grenades with an accompanying launcher. Students who pay one dollar more will also receive an entirely useless but very cool looking crossbow. The Moderators would also like to remind you that this is just a game and that guns do not actually kill zombies. In fact, guns do not even kill people. Zombies are not even real, say The Moderators. Nothing is real. We are all immortal and it’s a miracle! The Moderators concluded their statement with this: all humans who claim that they have been irreversibly turned into a zombie after being bitten by one are merely hallucinating or suffering from a particularly virulent strain of Ebola. Please disregard these people. In fact, don’t even go near them, Ebola is very contagious, you know….


And now, a word from our sponsors: Do you like ipecac? Do you like illicit narcotics? Do you like vomiting uncontrollably….for science? Of course you do! You’re a college student. The DeWitt Laboratory of Human Behavioral Pharmacology of the Department of Psychiatry and Behavioral Neuroscience would like to recruit YOU to be their next study subject! Applicants must be old enough to make poor life choices and be of able and healthy constitution. All interested applicants should stand in the center of the Science Quad, facing GCIS and wave around a bag of illicit narcotics, shouting, “We want more drugs!”


Update on the sun that is failing to rise. University administrators are scrambling arrange an emergency Kuvia at the point in the hopes that the annual blood magic of sacrificing a first year in the firepits and the ritualistic “sun salutations” from the local students of the University will succeed in convincing the sun to rise again. The students of Dodd Mead are protesting this motion, as they claim they have not been given sufficient time to prepare their annual propaganda and indoctrination of their first years, and thus run the risk of losing the trophy filled with unrefined uranium traditionally awarded to the house with the greatest attendance. 


And now for some news: The Math Department, in an attempt at expanding their department’s dedication to theory over practice, have relinquished all earthly ties this last Tuesday. Several of the department’s faculty were last seen transcending their earthly bonds and transforming into strange nebulous masses of pure logic and reason. The department’s building, Eckhart Hall, has also decided to join this massive exodus from our spectral plane by becoming entirely translucent and then disappearing all together. Students trying to reach their classes in Eckhart, can still reach the building through the bridge from Ryerson or by praying in their dorm’s bloodstone circle, sacrificing a first year and writing out the proof of the Fundamental Theorem of Calculus in their blood if they do not wish to face the cold of the ice-wastes. The Philosophy Department has gone on record criticizing the Math Department for being entirely unoriginal, as the Philosophy Department had also left behind their earthly bonds several years prior. 


 The University Secret Police called a press conference today to remind people that Greek life does not exist. They stood outside Saieh Chapel and vehemently denied the existence of these so-called “fraternity” and “sorority” organizations. They continued this denial for several minutes and through a lengthy period of questioning from the gathered press which mostly consisted of pointing at the building directly connected to the Saieh Chapel and raising an eyebrow. “Greek Life is not real” they said, “Nu-uh. What is this ‘Panhellenic’ thing you keep talking about?  Show me a fraternity! Show me one of these so-called “frat-bro” students! You are not a frat bro. What’s a frat? Who let you in here?” They then ended the press conference with the customary rounding up, arrests and filing of restraining orders against dissenting members of the press.


Today, the Hunchback that lives in the tower above Rockefeller chapel played the Star Wars theme on the bells again, followed by a series of anime theme songs and several songs made popular by the internet, Including, but not limited to “Nyan Cat” and “Darude Sandstorm” When reached for comments, he only said “I did it for Scav” and “Lol I’m so quirky lol” before scurrying back up to his nest on a gargoyle overlooking University Ave.“ 

More to come…

Past Lives

[based on multiple prompts for some post-Best Of? fluff, and this song]

Carlos finds himself still listening to the nightly broadcasts, even now that Cecil is here, physically here, lying only a few feet away, softly snoring and mumbling wonderful nonsense in his sleep.  It’s simply routine at this point to lie down under the capricious constellations of the desert sky and switch on the radio.  He uses headphones - miraculously still functional despite the inestimable amount of sand and grit that must have found its way into every crevice - so as not to wake his sleeping lover.  

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Looking for WTNV blogs

My dash is dead. I tried asking for help from the necromancer down the street, but she said she was too busy doing laundry to reanimate the dead for me. Maybe you could help instead?

Things I’m looking for:

  • wtnv art
  • wtnv fanfic
  • Cecilos
  • wtnv quotes
  • That hoard of lizards that escaped the zoo last week. You know the one
  • wtnv text posts and theories
  • General wtnv weirdness

//I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep in three or four days, and when I’m tired and cranky…

I like to make others suffer. :D

So here’s a dievin psychological study inspired by my sleep-deprivation. And frustration. And admiration. And human beings. And a bunch of other stuff. (A lot of credit goes to cleopatrathesecretary, who helped me unravel the psychology of their relationship. :3)

So, yes. Here you go. (Diego belongs to videntefernandez, as always. Christopher belongs to strexycorpertm, and it roleplayed by christopherrose-pa.)

***

“I don’t want to hear it.” 

Kevin turned away from the man he loved, biting his lip to keep himself from saying something he’d regret.

“Kevin, darling, I-”

Don’t-” There was a short intake of breath, and then Kevin’s face relaxed and his hands unclenched, leaving small crescents in his palms where his sharp nails dug into the skin. The mood regulation. Despite himself – despite everything that had happened – Kevin found his anger, his hurt, fading away, replaced with a feeling of mild contentedness. Oh, he was still intellectually upset, but emotionally he was…blank. Empty. Always cheerful, forever smiling. Because he didn’t –couldn’t – know anything else. So he smiled and smiled, with tears in his eyes and his heart in pieces. “I think, Diego, that you shouldn’t call me that right now, okay? I…” He fought against the synthetic submissiveness to force out the rest: “I think you’ve lost the right.”

His lover’s lip twitched slightly – fighting the urge to argue, Kevin knew. Diego could never stand it when Kevin got authoritative. “You know I would never do anything to hurt you, dar-.” Kevin’s smile grew, and Diego visibly caught himself. “My love-”

“Try again.”

“I-” Diego huffed out a breath. “Kevin.”

“Yes.”

Diego closed his eyes, appearing to have aged a few years in a matter of minutes. “Kevin, I have only ever operated in your best interest. I never meant…never meant for this to happen.” Kevin chuckled lightly, bitterly, though no one would ever be able to tell. “I mean it, Kevin. I love you.”

Kevin laughed again, harder this time. “Did you love him, too?” he asked brightly.

Brows drawing together, Diego asked, “Who?”

He didn’t know. He didn’t even understand what he had done and he wasn’t sorry and why why why didn’t that hurt?

“Christopher!” Kevin finally shouted, the ruined corners of his lips curving so far upwards that it was a wonder his face didn’t crack open from the force of it.

Did Kevin expect anything from his lover anymore? Probably, since he had expected Diego’s face to scrunch up the way it always did when he was confused. “Christopher?” Diego said the name as though he had never heard it before. But he had. Kevin knew now that he had. “No. No, I never loved him. It was always you, love. Always.”

Lies. But Kevin did not say this. Instead, he smiled, because he could do nothing else, and said, “I know, Diego. I know that you love me. I love you, too. I love you so much that I won’t ever make you sad, or sleep with anyone else. That would be mean, Diego. I would never do that.”

His lover flinched from the softly-worded blows, and took Kevin’s hands in his own. “What can I do to make this better, darling?”

Kevin’s hands laid limply in Diego’s, and he stared blankly at the black and gold engagement ring on his lover’s finger. How many nights had Diego removed it to sleep with some other man? How many nights had he not even bothered? A purplish vein ran under the band, barely noticeable under his tan skin. There was so much blood there, between the two of them. So, so much. A roomful, certainly. Kevin wondered, vaguely, what Diego would do if he spilled his own blood. He wondered, less vaguely, if he would feel it. He tilted his head, considering both what Diego could do for him and what he could do to himself. The latter, he eventually decided, could wait. But Diego…

“Say you’re sorry,” he said – commanded, really. He would not give Diego room to talk his way out of this. Not this time.

“I’m sorry, ” Diego said quickly.

“For what?”

Diego paused. “I…” Ah, this had stumped him. “I’m sorry for fu- for sleeping with the assistant.”

Wrong. “No,” Kevin said, staring at Diego with unblinking eyes. “No, Diego. Why are you sorry?

“I’m sorry because…” He was really struggling with this, poor dear. Unfortunately for him, sympathy was not one of the emotions allowed by Kevin’s medication. So he watched Diego fret, still smiling pleasantly. “I’m sorry because I hurt you, Kevin.”

But you didn’t. It doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts. “And why does this hurt me, Diego?”

His lover had never looked so lost. “I…“ Diego was visibly battling with himself - most likely trying to choose between admitting to his ignorance or risking a lie. Don’t lie to me, Diego, Kevin thought. Not again. "I…don’t know, Kevin.”

Better. “It hurts because you said you loved me. Because you told me that I was yours, and you were mine.” Kevin’s smile was radiant, and his breath was accelerating rapidly into what sounded vaguely like a laugh. “It hurts, Diego, because you told me I was special.” Tears were falling from his eyes, dripping down towards a mouth slit open by the man who was supposed to be his lover. “But Diego,” he was whispering now, his throat choked up by nonexistent emotion, “do you want to know a secret?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It doesn’t." He giggled. "It doesn’t hurt! Nothing ever hurts, Diego, and I- I…” But he couldn’t say any more. The medicated - the Strex - part of his brain wouldn’t let him. So he stood, panting, silently pleading for understanding from a man whose capacity for empathy was as broken as Kevin himself.

“Your medication isn’t working again,” Diego said quietly.

No! Kevin wanted to scream. No, it's always working - that’s the problem. You lie and lie and lie, and when I find out, you tell me that my meds aren’t working and then you drug me until I can’t protest anymore. And I’m happy for awhile until you do something else and the cycle starts all over again and please, please, please, Diego, just listen to me for once!

But Diego didn’t listen, because he never listened. And Kevin smiled, because Diego had long since taken away his ability to do anything else. 

Diego smiled sadly, stepping forward to take Kevin into his arms. “You’re not well, darling,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

Please… Please, no. Not again. Kevin had lost all ability to speak at this point - apparently whatever Strex - whatever Diego - had given him knew that whatever he would say would not be approved.

“It’s okay, love. I’m going to make it better.” But this wouldn’t make it better. Diego knew - he must have known - that pouring more drugs into Kevin’s already weak body would just make him worse. But any remaining hope that Diego would help him was erased when he felt the pinprick of a needle in his neck. “Shh…” Diego’s arms were supporting him as he collapsed, the room already starting to dim. “I’ll make the pain stop. I’ll make sure you never feel hurt again.“

But I want to feel-

And then, nothing.

What if Cecil is on his deathbed one day, and talking to Carlos about

How he doesn’t want to leave Carlos, how he doesn’t want to let go because then Carlos won’t have someone to take care of him. Carlos won’t have someone who washes lab coats, or refresh his coffee, or someone to gently kiss his forehead. And Carlos says “I’ll be fine, I’m a scientist,” and with that, a smile crosses Cecil’s face and he let’s go when Carlos leans in to kiss him one more time. Then Carlos says, “Scientists are usually fine,” and Carlos starts to cry as the nurses rush in

The Man from the Desert

Good afternoon, Desert Bluffs! This is Kevin, bringing you all your news and good spirits for another gorgeous day in the Bluffs.

Oh, I have some fantastic news. While I was on my way to the station, I saw a man wandering out in the desert and, oh blessed listeners, he is handsome. I asked him who he was and what tempted him to visit our beautiful city. He says his name is Earl and just kept saying that he “shouldn’t have left.” Well, that’s true, I suppose. I can’t imagine why anyone would leave someplace as wonderful as the Bluffs. Something odd, though. He kept calling me Cecil and reaching out for me. Strange. He also said he was thirsty and weak and needed a doctor because he “can’t even bleed anymore.” Now, that is quite a problem, so I brought him to StrexCorp Medical and will be seeing him again later today.

If I may reiterate, listeners, this man is very handsome. He even said he loved me! And I instantly knew that I will love him back. 

So I made a sad cecilos drabble thingy

I had this headcanon about how time passes in the desert but not in Night Vale.

Aka Carlos ages but Cecil doesn’t. This resulted in a very sad memoir ish drabble from Cecil to Carlos. The full thing can be found on AO3, or below the cut~

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Serious Question

Why are there so many WtNV Christmas Cecilos fics, but not one of them is titled THE NIGHT VALE BEFORE CHRISTMAS??????

archiveofourown.org
Ever After - Welcome to Night Vale [AO3]

Carlos never thought he would have preferred the blood and gore of a soulbinding to the frills and fluff of a wedding ceremony, but wedding planning and tulle always did seem a bit more frightening than mystic chanting and a soft meat crown.

for goodnightcarlosyoureperfect and this lovely anon who both asked for a Cecilos wedding fic.  It was supposed to be short, but I got carried away and now it’s 4k words.

certificate of authenticity

what definitely happened right after the end of Auction a.k.a. who bought lot 37 anyway??

XXXXX

It has been a very long and very strange day, and the Voice of Night Vale wants nothing more than a little bit of comfort after having what little degree of bodily autonomy he had retained sheerly by being the occupant of this particular body has been sold out from under him. And all because he forgot to put up his paddle, too. So, he can’t even blame it on the omniscient, uncaring gods, which means that Cecil Palmer is feeling doubly low about himself. 

But there is one place he can go for someone who can provide some semblance of solace, an embrace that, if not able to fix anything, can certainly mean forgetting it for a while. And so Cecil drives the short distance from the radio station to Carlos’s house, where leaves are tumbling across the lawn, which is whistling a small little ditty.

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Writing Commissions

Howdy everybody! So, I want to start making a little bit of money for myself, so I’ve decided to start writing fanfiction for money!

Here’s my writing if you want some examples of my work.

My rate is a dollar for every hundred words, and I’ll give you my paypal information when you commission!

More info under the cut!

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