A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep... Welcome to Night Vale!
Cecilos fanfic by goodnightcarlosyoureperfect under the cut!
Carlos sat at his desk, drumming his fingers against the cheap plastic and trying to write his paper. He was supposed to write an essay about a common chemistry question, and he had chosen to write about why onions make you cry. It was an easy question, but he couldn’t seem to word it so it sounded smart. Carlos was a smart guy, but anything but a wordsmith. Not like Cecil Palmer, the man on Night Vale College Radio. He could make even the dullest campus occurrence seem interesting. And his voice was so deep and smooth, like dark chocolate. He was listening to Cecil’s show as he was trying, futilely, to write his essay.
“Dr. John Peters, you know, the agriculture professor? He just wanted to let all the students know that he’s holding a seminar on growing imaginary corn on Saturday at 9:00 a.m. for free! What an opportunity!” said Cecil over Carlos’s scratchy radio in his sonorous voice. “And with that, dear campus, I give you… the weather.” A song that (as usual) Carlos didn’t recognize started playing. He could here next to his dorm, as they broadcasted it from the floor above him. Carlos finally surrendered to distraction and closed his laptop. He opened a drawer at the bottom of his desk and pulled out a shoebox full of envelopes.
They were all letters from Cecil. Unlike most guys’ celebrity crushes, Cecil actually knew Carlos existed. In fact, he was very aware that Carlos existed. All the envelopes in the shoebox were actually love letters that Cecil had written Carlos. Most were compliments about his hair. They were all introduced with “Dear, Beautiful, Perfect Carlos,” and that always made Carlos blush. It wasn’t like he was that beautiful, he was an average level of attractiveness at best. It was just that Cecil Palmer, who he wanted to meet so badly, thought he was beautiful. He heard the mail slot of his dorm (which he didn’t share with anyone as they had dropped out because of the mute children that sometimes invaded the campus) and immediately ran to the door and threw it open. There was nobody there. They must have run down the hall before Carlos opened the door. There was another envelope on the ground under the mail slot.
Carlos picked up the thin envelope, sealed shut with old-fashioned wax and a stamp. Carlos opened the letter with a butter knife and started to read.
“Dear, Beautiful, Perfect Carlos,
We’re doing a live broadcast today, and I have been chanting to my bloodstone circle that you will come. Please? There’s a poster outside the building with all the information. You’ll see me and I’ll see you so there’s no need to arrange a meeting. I hope to see you there.
Yours truly, Cecil Palmer”
There was a heart scrawled at the end and Carlos’s mind started racing. He was going to meet Cecil Palmer! But he couldn’t. He couldn’t seem so desperate, this was Cecil Palmer he was talking about, he lived right above him, and he could see him anytime he wanted! He wouldn’t go, he didn’t want to seem obsessed. He tucked the envelope in the shoebox and pulled out the chair to his desk again. He opened his laptop and tried to write. After about five minutes of agonizing restraint, Carlos rushed downstairs to see the poster. He had about ten minutes to get to the live broadcast, which was just down the street in the campus courtyard. He ran there as fast as he could (even though he could have walked and made it on time) and joined the small crowd of listeners assembled for the show. He elbowed his way to the front, and there was Cecil.
Cecil stood on stage with his microphone, and was completely different than Carlos imagined, but still wonderful. He was more nerdy-looking and thin than Carlos would’ve imagined from his voice, but his voice did fit the man he looked at now. Cecil was searching the crowd with an anxious expression presumably looking for Carlos. He found him with his eyes and they shared a moment of mutual excitement. Cecil snapped out of the trance and went to do his broadcast. He started to read off the news and other things, but Carlos could only focus on his lips moving and the voice coming from them.
When the broadcast was finally over, Cecil signed off with his customary “Good night, campus. Good night and everyone applauded. The crowd cleared away fast, all except for Carlos. Cecil hopped down from the stage and strutted up to Carlos.
“Hello there,” he said in his deep, deep voice. “I’m glad you could make it.” He smirked flirtatiously. “Did you enjoy the show?” Carlos gulped and tried to clear his mind enough to be witty.
“Yes, very much,” was all he could manage. He blushed and got his confidence up again as best he could. “Um, so I’ve been wondering…” Cecil’s eyes lit up, crushing his cocky mask and revealing his pretty apparent crush on Carlos, the Cecil that wrote Carlos love letters every day.
“Yes?” he said quietly, audibly trying to keep his voice stable.
“Would you like to go out with me?” blurted Carlos. Cecil grinned, a smile that Carlos had never seen before but had already fallen in love with. Cecil grabbed Carlos’s cheeks softly, and kissed him. Cecil kissed him just once, just, gently. The crew on stage hooted and Carlos felt his entire face redden. “Is that a yes, then?” he said, beaming, his voice cracking just a little.
“Yeah, it is,” said Cecil, giving him a soft smile. A crew member who was working the sound threw him a pen, and he wrote his number on Carlos’s arm. He walked back on stage, and Carlos smiled all the way back home, tracing the blue ink.
The local chapter of the NRA is selling bumper stickers as part of their fundraising week. They sent the station one to get some publicity, and we’re here to serve the community, so I’m happy to let you all know about it. The stickers are made from good, sturdy vinyl, and they read: ‘Guns Don’t Kill People; It’s Impossible To Be Killed By A Gun; We Are All Invincible To Bullets And It’s A Miracle.’ Stand outside of your front door and shout, “NRA,” to order one.
Cecil Baldwin, Night Vale Community Radio (via nightvalecommunitycalendar)
When you think physical actions, think ‘gulping.’ Gulp now and receive a complimentary prize package, which will be conveniently buried in an unmarked spot somewhere in the scrublands. Find it and it’s yours!
Fun Complex cameras picked up blurry motion near the soda machine. The footage is quite fuzzy and difficult to discern. Perhaps it is merely rats or raccoons digging through an uncovered supply of junk food. But it is, of course, much more likely that a lost nation of people living in the bowels of a small-town bowling alley are finally revealing themselves, taking our food supplies, and preparing for war.
Cecil Baldwin, Night Vale Community Radio (via nightvalecommunitycalendar)
This year’s keynote speaker is an audio tape of droning moans leaden with subliminal tips about achieving personal prosperity, and how to come clean about the terrible things you have done, you cretin…
Cecil Baldwin, Night Vale Community Radio (via nightvalecommunitycalendar)
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