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Wrong

zenamiarts:

Just a little one-shot full of a fair bit of headcanon because I love speculating on the motivations of slightly obscure and under-explored side characters. ♥

Implied ship: Kevin/Daniel
PG13
Read on AO3: [x]

Daniel hated Cecil Palmer.

Daniel had plenty of obvious reason to hate Cecil Palmer; he was a liability. He was mouthy. He had a habit of figuring out how to wiggle under the censor bar before a well-aimed stomp could break his little creeping fingers. Cecil was a lot of things that Daniel hated.

Daniel was a man of order. It was why he was a producer and a supervisor in the first place. He knew, at the core of it all, how to make something run smoothly and efficiently without wasting time or resources. He could run a business as flawlessly as a computer could run numbers. Of course he could do this—he was perfect. Literally, really; Strexcorp would attest to that. He passed all of his professional evaluations and standard inspections with a practiced ease that matched his stoic, cool, programmed demeanor.

Cecil was one of very few who seemed to be able to peel back that chilled skin and grind into his gears like a misplaced pin.

But these weren’t the real reasons Daniel hated Cecil Palmer.

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The joke is I lied and I wrote it right now instead of sometime this month

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Human Resources

zenamiarts:

WTNV, Cecil/Carlos, Drama/Angst/Hurt/Comfort
Planned to contain violence and other mature themes
Chapter 2: Sick

(Chapter 2 is done! A bit worried about my pacing here so I hope it’s not too rushed. Getting used to this. Enjoy ♥)

Read on AO3

—-

Carlos stirred for the second time that night—if it was still, in fact, night—and found himself lying on his side on deep maroon cushions, head throbbing and glasses askew.

He sat up slowly, trying to get his bearings. Trying to remember what had happened… the last instance he could recall was one with Cecil’s hands on his face, cutting off his air supply until he passed out. The notion sent a chill through him and he grimaced in distaste, licking the inside of his mouth as if trying to get rid of it. He refused to believe Cecil would hurt him deliberately—not after all they’d done, and had and lived, and suffered, and enjoyed. That couldn’t be it. He pushed the notion aside for now.

He was on a couch. In front of the couch was a glass-top coffee table; the room was otherwise empty, and also lacking in any windows or doors. The walls were a dull sort of cream yellow that reminded him of buttermilk, or… tooth enamel, maybe. The corner of his mouth pulled to one side and he pushed curls of black hair out of his face, reaching behind his head to redo the ponytail he kept his overgrown hair in.

And it was only when he finally looked up from this task that he noticed he was not alone.

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hey this cost me 2 followers on my art blog so obviously you’d better read it

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OK guys i’m. I’m trying to write fanfic. Let me know what you think…? Let me know if I should keep writing… ;u;

Lost [working title]
WTNV, Cecil/Carlos, Drama/Angst/Hurt/Comfort
Planned to contain violence and other mature themes
First Draft, Chapter 1

——

"And so, in light of this week’s events, all municipal roads south of Grove Park are closed off for the following seven or eight miles, pending removal of the impermeable black haze seeping through the asphalt. The Sheriff’s Secret Police are advising citizens to take the detour down Aspen road…"

- Impermeable black haze. Grove park—south.
- Should probably check that out asap? Scan for materials or energy sigs similar to hazy figures encountered 14th july?

Carlos scribbled notes hastily into the margin of the sheet he was already working on; some important graph or another, further local seismic activity studies. Now that he considered it, it didn’t really matter right now. What was relevant now, he found, was an extremely flexible variable. Especially in Night Vale, where even variables were variant in and of themselves. His brow furrowed. Was a tangent in thought qualifiable as a contemplative variable? A different solution to x?

He thought variably. He thought of the 14th of July. He thought of those hazy figures—he’d figured that one out last time… at the cost of… well. Maybe disappointing Cecil. He still regretted not inviting him in, but… he had certain responsibilities, as a scientist. And Cecil had certain responsibilities as a journalist, which he was brilliantly executing right now, as always, and Carlos was listening. As always.

Night Vale did have some constants, after all.

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