I’m looking up the dates on which various podcasts were created and I can’t help but wonder about the role Welcome To Night Vale might have played in establishing such an extremely lgbt+ -friendly
among fiction podcasts
(Based on a prompt from my friend @bluejay2711, wtnv angst prompt “holding their partners dead/unconscious body” I decided to go with a Kevin/Vanessa (platonic) one. I hope you like it! Also be cautioned, content warnings for: Blood, violence, and murder.)
Copper wire. The smell that filled the desolate studio reminded Kevin of copper wire.
The words slipped off his lips in a familiar way and yet they sounded foreign. His eyes searched the room as he sat still in his broadcast chair. The silence was almost suffocating.
He spun quickly squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the sudden rush of blood to his head. The room was still and his head spun. His eyes flew open as he heard a whisper.
He jerked his head to the hall that led out to Desert Bluffs too. The hall was empty and he watched the dust float in the idle rays of sunlight.
He kept watching. The sound was like a memory. So close he could almost hear it.
The name still felt like acid on his tongue. Why did he say it when it hurt so bad?
“It matters. You matter.”
He said the words out loud. They echoed slightly in the silence.
He said again, this time to no one but the empty air.
His voice cracked on emotion he knew would never show in tears. Not anymore.
“Please don’t leave.”
His face scrunched up in a way he could almost remember. Like an empty spot in his head where it should be.
All that came back was the almost echo of his voice. And it wasn’t happy. Not at all.
He stood, and put his hands to his face. Forcing his lips into a smile.
“Happy. Happy. Be happy.”
He walked a small circle in the room doing just that.
It was clearer now. Like a bell in a crowd, he wouldn’t have heard it had he not been listening for it.
He said it almost angrily, his lips still stretched into an unnaturally wide smile. A shadow appeared in the hallway and Kevin gripped the desk in anticipation.
She rounded the corner with a smile. Not a smile like Kevin’s. No, this smile was all her own. Bright, natural, and imbued with a passion only Youth or love could bring.
“Kevin, I’ve been calling you for like, ever.”
She laughed and it sounded like sunlight. Real, warm, life bringing sunlight. He looked at her and his smile softened.
It was more for him than her and yet she frowned slightly a little crease showing up between her eyebrows.
“Kev, you ok?”
He almost flinched. She was the only one allowed to call him Kev. Though, there was someone else he wouldn’t have minded hearing it from. Someone he couldn’t quite a place a name on now. Yet, a smell was there. Lavender chewing gum.
He looked up at her again focusing on her soft hazel eyes and the bright pink hijab she wore. It looked so nice against her skin. So alive. So happy.
“Are you ok?”
He nodded a little almost muttering the word happy again for a reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Just… tired, I think.”
She smiled again, and walked towards him.
“You’ve been working a lot lately. Here, how about this? I’ll stay even later and help you finish paperwork.”
He chuckled at her feigned disgust. He knew she never minded staying later.
“Only if you promise to tell me about that girl you like again.”
She laughed and walked through the threshold of the studio waving her hands in the practiced way that showed she was going to tell a story. And then she stopped. She blinked confused for a moment.
Kevin stepped forward quickly. He froze as he saw the blood trickle from the corner of her mouth. And then he dashed forward grabbing both her arms and leaning down to look in her eyes.
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with confusion and pain.
Her legs gave out and Kevin kneeled holding her and trying to wipe the blood off her face. He had no idea why his hands were already covered in blood and he started to cry letting out little sobs as he tried to find where she was bleeding from so he could stop it.
She was crying now, and she used one hand to pull his face to look at her.
He blinked, there were no tears. Why were there no tears? He had been crying. Or had he?
She tilted her head slightly and then looked down. Kevin followed suit, and then he saw it. A knife handle protruded from her rib cage, his knife. He jumped as she coughed and he felt the fine spray of blood on his face.
“No. No. Vanessa I didn’t. I would never–”
Her voice was so weak. Where was the passion, the youth.
“Kevin, I know. I love you. I know you didn’t do mean it. It’s ok kev.”
The radio host let out a sob and held her tighter.
He heard the ticking of the clock on the wall. And he looked down at his empty arms.
The clock continued. The room was unrelentingly hot, and kevin stood. He sat in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. A familiar smell filled his nose. A smell like pennies and salt. And again a familiar word left his lips.
(So I cried writing this, but then again I will cry over literally almost anything so, Take that aa you will. I hope y'all like it!)
A new flyer now dons the coffee shop bulletin board, no one knows how it got there or where it came from since that station is no longer there. But some time late at night when no one should be awake, there’s a soft crackle over the speakers and a familiar voice can be heard, telling us stories.
He came in singing a song about another scientist once, it was very catchy. All the baristas wouldn’t stop humming it for three days before the secret police got involved because we were all breaching the boundaries of Barista behavior.
Carlos and his team of scientist might be baristas, they consume amounts of coffee only known to those in the Barista District, none of us are sure. We are studying them, watching…waiting…studying.