dr-carlosrobles

[dr-carlosrobles]

Carlos can't help but giggle, truly giggle, as he's blessed with more water amidst Cecil's cooing. He doesn't know what he did right, but he loves seeing how the weather reacts with him to certain things.

Cecil scolds him, not out of any real seriousness, and he's still smiling up to him adoringly.

"I know, I just get afraid— There's danger even in familiar places, I wouldn't begin to know what I should expect somewhere else," He confesses, never fearful of being honest. But through all of this, Cecil's wanting to keep him… It does have him thinking. "Maybe it would be safer, exploring in a pair. I could look after you down there, and you can look out for me out… wherever?"

He nods to himself; That does sound like a good idea! And if water is as common elsewhere as it is here, he can always retreat for a moment if he needs a breather.

"I would love to show you— And you'll love to see it!" Carlos begins to gush, and the shoreline comes in closer for it. "The coral, the turtles, the rays; The eels! They produce electricity like you, and there are so many things in deep water that glow like you do, just as pretty as you do—"

And he blushes as he says that, yet can't get himself quiet, it seems.

"Glowing has very important benefits in life underwater, aside from been seen more easily! It helps to attract prey, to attract mates, even…"

And he's blushing more, and he's suddenly very interesting in staring at his own feet, and he needs to shut up—

"Not that, uhm, you need any help with that, Cecil." Because you have me now, Carlos wants to say. "You're very exciting."

[ @dr-carlosrobles — ]

Cecil just likes to feel the rain, sometimes.

He is so horrendously old— older than the winds, the storms, the rains under his command. There is so much he has done, and still he feels a lack.

It is not unlike the vacuum he first awoke in, this feeling. It is an untethered feeling, unanchored. He feels tossed on the waves his own storms create, and still no closer to steady ground for it.

Flat on their back in the sand, Cecil sighs, eyes wide open, staring upwards into the storm clouds they've gathered over themself. Over this section of the beach, it pours; a storm rages, and Cecil, spread starfish on his back, lets himself absorb the sand, lets the waves lap against them as high tide comes in, lets lightning crackle and snap down into the ocean with every flash of their tattoos and heavy rumble of thunder.

They just feel this way, sometimes. It's better to let it out like this than keep it in too long.

The air pressure changes on the beach. Cecil feels it— of course, he feels it. He feels every lick of wind everywhere, every change in temperature, every shift in density; the air, the winds, the clouds, the storms, the weather, the rain, the lightning, the thunder, the magnificence, it is all theirs.

Lifting her near-nonexistent head, Cecil blinks through the driving rain in search of the source of the shift. She doesn't need to have a human body— or a human name, or anything human at all, really— but, it's something to do. And it all feels far more properly theatrical when she's fling out on the sand physically, not just metaphorically.

There is a shape down the beach, it realizes.

It'd thought this stretch was empty, remote; that's why it came here, specifically, when it realized it had to release: to hide. It'd hate to hurt somebody who wandered over just because it doesn't have control.

Cecil begins attempting to calm the storm, to quell it, to stuff it back away for now. It's an effort; he sits up in the sand, fists gripping the wet granules in gritty palmfuls, and concentrates, scars and tattoos and markings flashing with each bolt of lightning, head pounding with the rumbling thunder, until the rain has begun to subside, his emotions compressed backwards— and the weather with it.

With this lessened rain, Cecil can see so much more.

He can see a… a person.

A person?

He thinks they might be a person. Maybe.

Are they, though?

[dr-carlosrobles]

"I talk a lot too, this is just—" So much, in the most amazing ways possible.

It's been so long since he's had a real new experience, and he's been needing one! He's been needing Cecil, this whole time.

Right, talk about himself, he can do that.

Carlos clears his throat a little, hoping to remember everything important he's experienced and been a part of in the midst of this even more important meeting.

"I was here just after time and the world began, I watched microbes become plant and animal life— And I watched the animal life I knew evolve to become animals living on the land. I had this form even then, which was confusing for the marine life that stayed with me once humanity came about."

For a long time they thought he was involved, somehow, but far from it. And then, slowly over centuries and generations, they believed him to be a human turned into… something else.

Carlos can only have the same conversation so many times, so he just encourages them to think and discuss things with older creatures wandering their waters.

"Then humanity developed technology and some got abandoned out here due to accidents— I was able to figure out how to power them, to use radio signals through the water and keep in contact with my citizens even if they wander further from out little community. I think… I think that's about for me?"

TLDR; Extremely connected to the life around him, and quite the tinkerer for repurposing ruined technology for his community!

Carlos scrunches his nose, hoping that was enough, hoping that Cecil is impressed— How terrible would it be, if he had all that excitement just to be disappointed?

"Keep me where?" He questions, puzzled as his fingers continue to gently curl and comb through Cecil's hair. "I haven't really gone far from here."

[ @dr-carlosrobles — ]

Cecil just likes to feel the rain, sometimes.

He is so horrendously old— older than the winds, the storms, the rains under his command. There is so much he has done, and still he feels a lack.

It is not unlike the vacuum he first awoke in, this feeling. It is an untethered feeling, unanchored. He feels tossed on the waves his own storms create, and still no closer to steady ground for it.

Flat on their back in the sand, Cecil sighs, eyes wide open, staring upwards into the storm clouds they've gathered over themself. Over this section of the beach, it pours; a storm rages, and Cecil, spread starfish on his back, lets himself absorb the sand, lets the waves lap against them as high tide comes in, lets lightning crackle and snap down into the ocean with every flash of their tattoos and heavy rumble of thunder.

They just feel this way, sometimes. It's better to let it out like this than keep it in too long.

The air pressure changes on the beach. Cecil feels it— of course, he feels it. He feels every lick of wind everywhere, every change in temperature, every shift in density; the air, the winds, the clouds, the storms, the weather, the rain, the lightning, the thunder, the magnificence, it is all theirs.

Lifting her near-nonexistent head, Cecil blinks through the driving rain in search of the source of the shift. She doesn't need to have a human body— or a human name, or anything human at all, really— but, it's something to do. And it all feels far more properly theatrical when she's fling out on the sand physically, not just metaphorically.

There is a shape down the beach, it realizes.

It'd thought this stretch was empty, remote; that's why it came here, specifically, when it realized it had to release: to hide. It'd hate to hurt somebody who wandered over just because it doesn't have control.

Cecil begins attempting to calm the storm, to quell it, to stuff it back away for now. It's an effort; he sits up in the sand, fists gripping the wet granules in gritty palmfuls, and concentrates, scars and tattoos and markings flashing with each bolt of lightning, head pounding with the rumbling thunder, until the rain has begun to subside, his emotions compressed backwards— and the weather with it.

With this lessened rain, Cecil can see so much more.

He can see a… a person.

A person?

He thinks they might be a person. Maybe.

Are they, though?

[dr-carlosrobles]

"Guess so." Carlos answers, as though he totally always knew that star-puke equalled bearing a child. He's a good actor, after all!

(… Not at all; His tone is a little too put on and he remains staring at the trash can until he registers that Cecil is actually moving again.)

Easing himself up as well, Carlos steps out of the tub first so he can more easily help Cecil out, already reaching for a towel to dry and wrap him up once he's somewhat steady on his feet again.

"It's good that you feel a little better— Food'll help once we've got you settled," He promises, grabbing a towel to wrap around his own waist; He can wait until Cecil's dressed to take care of himself properly.

"Think you can make it to the bedroom, or do you need a minute…?"

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Esteban always comes up with such creative ideas— and so does Carlos. He’s so scientific, of course— both he and their son can be so scientific!— but that means they’re inventive, too, and Cecil loves to hear every idea they come up with.

Like names in a hat! What a dangerous idea! But Cecil loves how dangerous Carlos can be, how risky and reckless and fascinating he can be!

Carlos’s voice is so soft when he speaks, like a blanket wrapped around Cecil— and then he promises real blankets, even, and Cecil smiles, sighing, relaxing into Carlos, half-aware of what’s happening around him.

“That sounds 𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒,” Cecil murmurs. It’s the perfect night, really; it’s his favorite sort of evening between them. “What food do you think the baby wants? Maybe I’m just… just not giving them the food they want.”

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t feel well. Maybe he’s just doing this wrong already. It was easier with Esteban— he had just been born when he came into their lives. Cecil’s not used to doing everything that comes before a baby is born instead of after; maybe he’s already messed it up, somehow?

“What do babies need? Before they’re babies?”

[dr-carlosrobles]

Cecil says anything, means anything— And Carlos believes him. He doesn't see himself having any grand needs outside of science anyhow, but still… He understands the sentiment, and appreciates it.

He'll have new things to study, a home, food in the kitchen, and someone to share it all with.

What more could someone want, really?

Safety, though, might not be so guranteed. He'll have a new town to explore, and that can always be dangerous in spite of how good the people can be.

Cecil had mentioned things earlier, a Glow Cloud and Shapes, which he could tell had a capital S— Will those be safe?

Not that danger will keep him from learning about anything.

"I know I'm not obligated, I'm happy with this. Really happy," Carlos is quick to reassure, not wanting Cecil to think any alone time will be a sign of regret, of wanting to change his mind and leave. "It's more a me thing, a scientist thing— People can be overwhelming sometimes, you know? That's why we work alone or in smaller groups, mostly."

It's also a sensory thing, a patience vs irritability thing. It's a lot of things, just like how Carlos is a lot of things, how Cecil, how both of them together will be so many things. All positive, all caring, all… loving.

Love is scary, but worth the risk when it shows up by surprise— Just like science.

"I'm glad it's us too. I don't think I'd run away with anyone else… You were very convincing." And beautiful, and interesting, and increasingly fascinating with each minute— How could Carlos not follow?

Right; Pillow, blanket, a science-themed plush, labcoats, other less important and interesting clothes, a book just in case he has time, hair stuff so he doesn't end up all frizzy… He can get other essentials in Night Vale, probably! If he's lucky, whoever had the lab last might have even left some scientific supplies behind.

"I think that's it," Carlos decides, pushing up his glasses. He looks over everything once more, then twice, and nods. This is fine.

"Oh—" He digs out a blank sheet of paper from a drawer along with a pen, quickly writes a note that he's gone and won't be coming back, and nods again. "That's it! We can go now, I think."

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Oh, my—

𝑂ℎ.

Cecil is struck 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 when Carlos leans over and kisses his cheek in return.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was kissed. Literally, he does not remember it; the last time he was kissed was years ago, by Earl Harlan, and Cecil doesn’t remember a single second of it, wiped clear from his mind after several ensuing— though unrelated— sessions of re-education that left Cecil blank, Earl heartbroken, and their relationship a broken, half-gone mess.

Regardless.

Being kissed now— and being kissed by perfect, perfect Carlos— on the cheek is the most tremendous feeling he’s ever had. And he had such fear when Carlos didn’t respond, at first, but now—

He couldn’t be more thrilled. He couldn’t be happier, really, and—

And he gets a second kiss.

And a third!

And three is one of his best numbers. He can’t help but sigh happily, tugging Carlos’s lab coat closer around himself. It feels so grounding, perfect, warm.

Though Cecil has never liked facial hair on men before— oh, he loves it on Carlos. He loves the friction against his own skin; he hopes it leaves a mark behind. He hopes Carlos is burnt into his skin forever.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Cecil insists, blushing furiously. His blood is rushing so fast he feels like he might lose consciousness— but, he can’t! Carlos is here! He wants to spend every second he can together with him. “I’m just so grateful you’re coming! Thank you, Carlos! I’m—”

He hesitates, then admits— “Prophecies are never guaranteed. Nothing is ever guaranteed. But I… I saw you, and I couldn’t live without you anymore. I feel so lucky that… that this prophecy was guaranteed. That you are…”

He doesn’t want to say guaranteed, even though he, himself, is guaranteed. He’s not going anywhere, not while Carlos is anywhere else.

“There are many prophecies,” Cecil informs him, rather than picking up his previous line of thought. “And many of them… Many of them, I hope would not come true. But I would have endured any of them— all of them— to make sure you would.”

The smile that comes onto his face is sharp-toothed and inhuman and irrepressible.

“But I didn’t even need to. You are your own force of nature, aren’t you, Carlos?”

Just like Cecil is. They are meant to be.

[dr-carlosrobles]

🌊🔥 ~ Liquid Fire ~ 🔥🌊 (luminescent_chemist)

(Credit if you use please!) (ko-fi)

[dr-carlosrobles]

Cecil may be able to keep himself somewhat apart, but that's far from the truth for Carlos.

He's grinning, staring back at the stormy stranger before him as he drapes his arms over Cecil's shoulders, standing on his tiptoes to better accommodate the position in the little pool he's made for himself.

Cecil agrees they were bound to meet and Carlos believes him wholeheartedly as he looks into those constantly subtly shifting eyes.

They're beautiful. Cecil is beautiful.

They, the two of together as a unit, are beautiful. Carlos doesn't need to see them from a third person perspective to know it.

"You have me," He reassures as though it's always been true— And maybe it has been!

Carlos hasn't ever really had an interest in messing around, in being with someone, but seeing Cecil chase after him, desperate… He suddenly understood the thrill, feels it even now as they stand still together.

"I want to know you— Isn't that enough?" Carlos asks, not seeing a reason why it wouldn't be.

Yes, this is fast, they've just met, but they can both feel the importance of this meeting between sky and sea; And Lord knows they've both lived along enough to be willing to take some risks and not be alone anymore.

"You can tell me everything and I'll listen, and I'll even listen when you tell me nothing— Silence isn't empty," He hums as he brushes his cheek against Cecil's, a gentle nuzzle.

He wants to touch, wants to see, wants to understand, wants to do so much all at once that he can't decide which takes priority!

[ @dr-carlosrobles — ]

Cecil just likes to feel the rain, sometimes.

He is so horrendously old— older than the winds, the storms, the rains under his command. There is so much he has done, and still he feels a lack.

It is not unlike the vacuum he first awoke in, this feeling. It is an untethered feeling, unanchored. He feels tossed on the waves his own storms create, and still no closer to steady ground for it.

Flat on their back in the sand, Cecil sighs, eyes wide open, staring upwards into the storm clouds they've gathered over themself. Over this section of the beach, it pours; a storm rages, and Cecil, spread starfish on his back, lets himself absorb the sand, lets the waves lap against them as high tide comes in, lets lightning crackle and snap down into the ocean with every flash of their tattoos and heavy rumble of thunder.

They just feel this way, sometimes. It's better to let it out like this than keep it in too long.

The air pressure changes on the beach. Cecil feels it— of course, he feels it. He feels every lick of wind everywhere, every change in temperature, every shift in density; the air, the winds, the clouds, the storms, the weather, the rain, the lightning, the thunder, the magnificence, it is all theirs.

Lifting her near-nonexistent head, Cecil blinks through the driving rain in search of the source of the shift. She doesn't need to have a human body— or a human name, or anything human at all, really— but, it's something to do. And it all feels far more properly theatrical when she's fling out on the sand physically, not just metaphorically.

There is a shape down the beach, it realizes.

It'd thought this stretch was empty, remote; that's why it came here, specifically, when it realized it had to release: to hide. It'd hate to hurt somebody who wandered over just because it doesn't have control.

Cecil begins attempting to calm the storm, to quell it, to stuff it back away for now. It's an effort; he sits up in the sand, fists gripping the wet granules in gritty palmfuls, and concentrates, scars and tattoos and markings flashing with each bolt of lightning, head pounding with the rumbling thunder, until the rain has begun to subside, his emotions compressed backwards— and the weather with it.

With this lessened rain, Cecil can see so much more.

He can see a… a person.

A person?

He thinks they might be a person. Maybe.

Are they, though?

[dr-carlosrobles]

Oh, it just had to be the worst outcome, didn't it?

Carlos cringes sympathetically as he continues to rub Cecil's back, continues to make sure his hair doesn't get in the way, cooing softly in hopes of providing comfort.

It's odd, though, when he realises there's no scent to the sick— Even though Cecil hasn't it, there should be a smell.

His husband slumps, Carlos peeks over the edge of the tub, and his coos turn more on the side of scientific intrigue, which sound very different to comforting coos.

How did he throw up stars? What consistency are they? Do they specifically indicate pregnancy or can they mean something else? Has Cecil had stars inside of him all along?

He doesn't doubt the answer to that last question is in the positive. Cecil is, himself, starlight.

"That's fascinating," Carlos whispers as he stares down into the trash can, feeling like he's staring down into space. He wants to take a sample, he wants to study it, he wants to understand—

But he knows Cecil needs him.

Carlos wraps his arm around him, secure but still loose enough that Cecil can move again if he needs to, and presses a kiss to his bare shoulder.

"You did so good, sweetie, deep breaths… Do you feel any better after that?"

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Esteban always comes up with such creative ideas— and so does Carlos. He’s so scientific, of course— both he and their son can be so scientific!— but that means they’re inventive, too, and Cecil loves to hear every idea they come up with.

Like names in a hat! What a dangerous idea! But Cecil loves how dangerous Carlos can be, how risky and reckless and fascinating he can be!

Carlos’s voice is so soft when he speaks, like a blanket wrapped around Cecil— and then he promises real blankets, even, and Cecil smiles, sighing, relaxing into Carlos, half-aware of what’s happening around him.

“That sounds 𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒,” Cecil murmurs. It’s the perfect night, really; it’s his favorite sort of evening between them. “What food do you think the baby wants? Maybe I’m just… just not giving them the food they want.”

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t feel well. Maybe he’s just doing this wrong already. It was easier with Esteban— he had just been born when he came into their lives. Cecil’s not used to doing everything that comes before a baby is born instead of after; maybe he’s already messed it up, somehow?

“What do babies need? Before they’re babies?”

[dr-carlosrobles]

Extremely important news, prominent citizen— Carlos has never felt so special for just existing before! He hasn't done anything in Night Vale yet, hasn't proven his worth to the town and its people; But the way Cecil speaks about Carlos to him, it makes him feel as though he doesn't need to prove anything at all.

"Sort of detailed," Carlos echoes, raising a brow in amusement. He definitely needs to know what that prophecy said about him, just how much it exposed that some parts had to go without being told to his new community.

Then Cecil nudges him and Carlos allows the conversation to be redirected with a chuckle, and a little hip bump in return.

"I believe you. I've a feeling you're going to give hell to anyone who isn't welcoming enough."

Another chuckle as he kisses Cecil's cheek, making sure to pack a few extra labcoats. Very important to have spares for different occasions, or if one needs washing!

"It's okay if it takes some time, honestly, I'd understand. Plus I'd have an easier time settling in if not everyone was eager to talk to me, y'know? Get my bearings, all that."

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Oh, my—

𝑂ℎ.

Cecil is struck 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 when Carlos leans over and kisses his cheek in return.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was kissed. Literally, he does not remember it; the last time he was kissed was years ago, by Earl Harlan, and Cecil doesn’t remember a single second of it, wiped clear from his mind after several ensuing— though unrelated— sessions of re-education that left Cecil blank, Earl heartbroken, and their relationship a broken, half-gone mess.

Regardless.

Being kissed now— and being kissed by perfect, perfect Carlos— on the cheek is the most tremendous feeling he’s ever had. And he had such fear when Carlos didn’t respond, at first, but now—

He couldn’t be more thrilled. He couldn’t be happier, really, and—

And he gets a second kiss.

And a third!

And three is one of his best numbers. He can’t help but sigh happily, tugging Carlos’s lab coat closer around himself. It feels so grounding, perfect, warm.

Though Cecil has never liked facial hair on men before— oh, he loves it on Carlos. He loves the friction against his own skin; he hopes it leaves a mark behind. He hopes Carlos is burnt into his skin forever.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Cecil insists, blushing furiously. His blood is rushing so fast he feels like he might lose consciousness— but, he can’t! Carlos is here! He wants to spend every second he can together with him. “I’m just so grateful you’re coming! Thank you, Carlos! I’m—”

He hesitates, then admits— “Prophecies are never guaranteed. Nothing is ever guaranteed. But I… I saw you, and I couldn’t live without you anymore. I feel so lucky that… that this prophecy was guaranteed. That you are…”

He doesn’t want to say guaranteed, even though he, himself, is guaranteed. He’s not going anywhere, not while Carlos is anywhere else.

“There are many prophecies,” Cecil informs him, rather than picking up his previous line of thought. “And many of them… Many of them, I hope would not come true. But I would have endured any of them— all of them— to make sure you would.”

The smile that comes onto his face is sharp-toothed and inhuman and irrepressible.

“But I didn’t even need to. You are your own force of nature, aren’t you, Carlos?”

Just like Cecil is. They are meant to be.

[dr-carlosrobles]

The stranger tells him he's already making him happy, and oh, Carlos couldn't feel better about himself in this moment.

His whole goal, his whole meaning has been trying to keep living things happy and safe, especially when it comes to threats from the land— And now this person, who feels like a fresh new addition to his meaning, tells him he's doing it without even trying!

The waves crash on the shore, excited, and it almost, almost, sounds like they're clapping.

And then the stranger is looking at him, almost examining him, and Carlos swears that whatever's beating in his chest picks up the pace and becomes stronger.

It is not the first time he's been looked at, far from it— But those from the land who do it tend to be… not so kind, tend to see his pelt as maybe the final goal, something they can steal from him and sell off for riches he would never know, has no interest in knowing.

He had good reason to be wary initially, of course.

But… this stranger is so close to him now, has touched his coat, and yet has made no move to grab it and just start running.

Could it be that Carlos, after years of keeping others safe, has found someone to return the favour?

His hand is taken and kissed, and Carlos blushes as he watches him, Cecil, dip down. He has seen this before, he's sure— Humans on the beach, one couple at a time, where one half of them surprises the other with a precious rock on a band. Some courting ritual, he assumes; Is that what this is?

"Cecil…" It's a good name, a noble name. Carlos smiles as he realises something else about it. "You have the sea in your name— We were bound to meet, I think."

Watching him straighten again, Carlos steps forward just a touch, running his fingers through Cecil's hair and admiring how it seems to just… continue moving with the breeze that accompanies him.

"Maybe… you could keep to me, when you aren't busy with the weather?" He offers, tone soft and hopeful.

They've only just met— But he can feel that something draws them together, and understands now why Cecil had been so panicked when he first turned away. They're meant to be together, it just feels right!

[ @dr-carlosrobles — ]

Cecil just likes to feel the rain, sometimes.

He is so horrendously old— older than the winds, the storms, the rains under his command. There is so much he has done, and still he feels a lack.

It is not unlike the vacuum he first awoke in, this feeling. It is an untethered feeling, unanchored. He feels tossed on the waves his own storms create, and still no closer to steady ground for it.

Flat on their back in the sand, Cecil sighs, eyes wide open, staring upwards into the storm clouds they've gathered over themself. Over this section of the beach, it pours; a storm rages, and Cecil, spread starfish on his back, lets himself absorb the sand, lets the waves lap against them as high tide comes in, lets lightning crackle and snap down into the ocean with every flash of their tattoos and heavy rumble of thunder.

They just feel this way, sometimes. It's better to let it out like this than keep it in too long.

The air pressure changes on the beach. Cecil feels it— of course, he feels it. He feels every lick of wind everywhere, every change in temperature, every shift in density; the air, the winds, the clouds, the storms, the weather, the rain, the lightning, the thunder, the magnificence, it is all theirs.

Lifting her near-nonexistent head, Cecil blinks through the driving rain in search of the source of the shift. She doesn't need to have a human body— or a human name, or anything human at all, really— but, it's something to do. And it all feels far more properly theatrical when she's fling out on the sand physically, not just metaphorically.

There is a shape down the beach, it realizes.

It'd thought this stretch was empty, remote; that's why it came here, specifically, when it realized it had to release: to hide. It'd hate to hurt somebody who wandered over just because it doesn't have control.

Cecil begins attempting to calm the storm, to quell it, to stuff it back away for now. It's an effort; he sits up in the sand, fists gripping the wet granules in gritty palmfuls, and concentrates, scars and tattoos and markings flashing with each bolt of lightning, head pounding with the rumbling thunder, until the rain has begun to subside, his emotions compressed backwards— and the weather with it.

With this lessened rain, Cecil can see so much more.

He can see a… a person.

A person?

He thinks they might be a person. Maybe.

Are they, though?

[dr-carlosrobles]

Carlos's lips purse as he moves to shift with Cecil, one hand on his back as though to remind him not to go too quick despite what he said—

But something still hits.

He knows it without feeling it himself, somehow, without Cecil needing to tell him anything more than he needs a minute.

Keeping a hand on Cecil's back, Carlos does his best to lean out of the tub without falling out of it— Which would not be very perfect of him— And manages to grab a trash can, pulling it over just in case.

"Take your time, honeypie, I'm here," He whispers, brushing those strands of hair that didn't make it into his loose braiding out of his face.

Leading by example, right? Prepare for the worst; Hope for the best.

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Esteban always comes up with such creative ideas— and so does Carlos. He’s so scientific, of course— both he and their son can be so scientific!— but that means they’re inventive, too, and Cecil loves to hear every idea they come up with.

Like names in a hat! What a dangerous idea! But Cecil loves how dangerous Carlos can be, how risky and reckless and fascinating he can be!

Carlos’s voice is so soft when he speaks, like a blanket wrapped around Cecil— and then he promises real blankets, even, and Cecil smiles, sighing, relaxing into Carlos, half-aware of what’s happening around him.

“That sounds 𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒,” Cecil murmurs. It’s the perfect night, really; it’s his favorite sort of evening between them. “What food do you think the baby wants? Maybe I’m just… just not giving them the food they want.”

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t feel well. Maybe he’s just doing this wrong already. It was easier with Esteban— he had just been born when he came into their lives. Cecil’s not used to doing everything that comes before a baby is born instead of after; maybe he’s already messed it up, somehow?

“What do babies need? Before they’re babies?”

[dr-carlosrobles]

The addition of 'and some others' earns an amused huff— But he supposes every town has its bad apples. That might be the most normal thing about Night Vale, with the image he's creating in his mind of it!

"Before you even came to get me? You're a big blabbermouth~" Carlos teases, that perfect grin never faltering.

Of course Cecil is a blabbermouth, it makes so much sense— Not only because of the rambling he's already done, but because what radio station would hire someone quiet, without passion?

Cecil has a lot of passion, Carlos can already tell. He looks forward to seeing more of that, the true extent of it.

But, that probably won't happen for a while. It's the first day!

"That makes me wonder exactly how detailed the prophecy was," And not for the first time!

Did it tell Cecil, before he used his eye, that he allegedly looks perfect? Did it mention science? How much of his future does it discuss, and how much more of it is unknown?

"I am meant to be." Carlos decides, confident as he sticks that neck pillow onto his arm for safe keeping until later. Putting it on his neck would make more sense, but his brain is half split between packing and talking right now.

"It feels like it makes so much sense— Maybe I should have been there from the start!"

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Oh, my—

𝑂ℎ.

Cecil is struck 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 when Carlos leans over and kisses his cheek in return.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was kissed. Literally, he does not remember it; the last time he was kissed was years ago, by Earl Harlan, and Cecil doesn’t remember a single second of it, wiped clear from his mind after several ensuing— though unrelated— sessions of re-education that left Cecil blank, Earl heartbroken, and their relationship a broken, half-gone mess.

Regardless.

Being kissed now— and being kissed by perfect, perfect Carlos— on the cheek is the most tremendous feeling he’s ever had. And he had such fear when Carlos didn’t respond, at first, but now—

He couldn’t be more thrilled. He couldn’t be happier, really, and—

And he gets a second kiss.

And a third!

And three is one of his best numbers. He can’t help but sigh happily, tugging Carlos’s lab coat closer around himself. It feels so grounding, perfect, warm.

Though Cecil has never liked facial hair on men before— oh, he loves it on Carlos. He loves the friction against his own skin; he hopes it leaves a mark behind. He hopes Carlos is burnt into his skin forever.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Cecil insists, blushing furiously. His blood is rushing so fast he feels like he might lose consciousness— but, he can’t! Carlos is here! He wants to spend every second he can together with him. “I’m just so grateful you’re coming! Thank you, Carlos! I’m—”

He hesitates, then admits— “Prophecies are never guaranteed. Nothing is ever guaranteed. But I… I saw you, and I couldn’t live without you anymore. I feel so lucky that… that this prophecy was guaranteed. That you are…”

He doesn’t want to say guaranteed, even though he, himself, is guaranteed. He’s not going anywhere, not while Carlos is anywhere else.

“There are many prophecies,” Cecil informs him, rather than picking up his previous line of thought. “And many of them… Many of them, I hope would not come true. But I would have endured any of them— all of them— to make sure you would.”

The smile that comes onto his face is sharp-toothed and inhuman and irrepressible.

“But I didn’t even need to. You are your own force of nature, aren’t you, Carlos?”

Just like Cecil is. They are meant to be.

[dr-carlosrobles]

The stranger collides with Carlos and he does stumble back a few steps, still unsure on his feet— Before managing to right them properly and keep them steady, a grin spreading across his face.

So many years of life and it's still the little accomplishments that get him, like making sure he and his new company don't tumble into the sand!

"Moping?" He echoes, head tilting. Well, he supposes that explains the weather. "That's no good! Maybe— Maybe I can make you happy!"

And even if he can't, isn't it better to not be alone, even when you're moping?

It doesn't seem that the stranger is anymore, though, and Carlos holds on just a little tighter when the ground shakes. Does the intense weather simply come with any intense emotion? That's reassuring! It would be saddening to know that the weather turned bad when this beautiful, strange person felt down.

Carlos glances up when the sky lights up, but then this stranger lights up, and his gaze flickers back to him just as quickly as it had left them.

He's amazing!

He glows like a lanternfish, or, or— No, he glows like a comb jelly! All beautiful lines and dots flashing on and off in a way that pulsates like the lights of a distant city on the loudest nights of celebration.

"I'm here, you found me," Carlos encourages, hands sliding up to rest on the stranger's cheeks, to truly take in his face.

He's something heavenly… Quite literally, being a being of the air and the skies!

"My name is Carlos— What can I call you?"

[ @dr-carlosrobles — ]

Cecil just likes to feel the rain, sometimes.

He is so horrendously old— older than the winds, the storms, the rains under his command. There is so much he has done, and still he feels a lack.

It is not unlike the vacuum he first awoke in, this feeling. It is an untethered feeling, unanchored. He feels tossed on the waves his own storms create, and still no closer to steady ground for it.

Flat on their back in the sand, Cecil sighs, eyes wide open, staring upwards into the storm clouds they've gathered over themself. Over this section of the beach, it pours; a storm rages, and Cecil, spread starfish on his back, lets himself absorb the sand, lets the waves lap against them as high tide comes in, lets lightning crackle and snap down into the ocean with every flash of their tattoos and heavy rumble of thunder.

They just feel this way, sometimes. It's better to let it out like this than keep it in too long.

The air pressure changes on the beach. Cecil feels it— of course, he feels it. He feels every lick of wind everywhere, every change in temperature, every shift in density; the air, the winds, the clouds, the storms, the weather, the rain, the lightning, the thunder, the magnificence, it is all theirs.

Lifting her near-nonexistent head, Cecil blinks through the driving rain in search of the source of the shift. She doesn't need to have a human body— or a human name, or anything human at all, really— but, it's something to do. And it all feels far more properly theatrical when she's fling out on the sand physically, not just metaphorically.

There is a shape down the beach, it realizes.

It'd thought this stretch was empty, remote; that's why it came here, specifically, when it realized it had to release: to hide. It'd hate to hurt somebody who wandered over just because it doesn't have control.

Cecil begins attempting to calm the storm, to quell it, to stuff it back away for now. It's an effort; he sits up in the sand, fists gripping the wet granules in gritty palmfuls, and concentrates, scars and tattoos and markings flashing with each bolt of lightning, head pounding with the rumbling thunder, until the rain has begun to subside, his emotions compressed backwards— and the weather with it.

With this lessened rain, Cecil can see so much more.

He can see a… a person.

A person?

He thinks they might be a person. Maybe.

Are they, though?

[dr-carlosrobles]

'Maybe not warm enough,' Carlos thinks as Cecil burrows in, but decides not to vocalise that. Best to let his husband recognise that himself in time, it shouldn't take too long now.

With that in mind, he turns his head just slightly to scan the bathroom— Luckily there are already clean towels out and ready for them.

"I'm just making sure."

He knows Cecil forgets even when he doesn't want to, he knows Cecil worries despite how much he fights against it— Why wouldn't he want to reassure him, help him know for certain that Carlos will always be by his side?

When Carlos was telling him about common wedding vows long before the big day, far longer before now, Cecil had giggled at the line 'through thick and through thin', something about the phrasing amusing him— Funny or not, it still means what it means, and Carlos plans to keep to it.

"I know," He answers, and it's the truth. Cecil wouldn't do this, all of this, with anyone else; And neither would Carlos.

If there was no Cecil… Well, there would probably be no Carlos— But if there was a Cecil-less Carlos, he'd just be working himself to the bone, with nobody connected enough to convince him when to stop for a snack break, or a nap that turns into full blown sleep.

Carlos can be a stubborn thing and he knows it, but Cecil eases him like he's always known how.

Taking in a breath, he gently pats Cecil's back. He can also be a stubborn thing.

"I think it's time to get out and wrap you up then… We'll do it nice and quick, have you cuddled up on the couch in no time, hm?"

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Esteban always comes up with such creative ideas— and so does Carlos. He’s so scientific, of course— both he and their son can be so scientific!— but that means they’re inventive, too, and Cecil loves to hear every idea they come up with.

Like names in a hat! What a dangerous idea! But Cecil loves how dangerous Carlos can be, how risky and reckless and fascinating he can be!

Carlos’s voice is so soft when he speaks, like a blanket wrapped around Cecil— and then he promises real blankets, even, and Cecil smiles, sighing, relaxing into Carlos, half-aware of what’s happening around him.

“That sounds 𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒,” Cecil murmurs. It’s the perfect night, really; it’s his favorite sort of evening between them. “What food do you think the baby wants? Maybe I’m just… just not giving them the food they want.”

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t feel well. Maybe he’s just doing this wrong already. It was easier with Esteban— he had just been born when he came into their lives. Cecil’s not used to doing everything that comes before a baby is born instead of after; maybe he’s already messed it up, somehow?

“What do babies need? Before they’re babies?”

[dr-carlosrobles]

Cecil blushes and smiles and stammers— And somehow, some way, Carlos does feel charming. And all he did was say the guy could come inside!

Though, maybe how that works isn't such a mystery, since Cecil invited Carlos home and he accepted immediately…

They're both just very excited to start this new life together, that's all, and Cecil proves that by rambling a little on the subject! Everything he says, Carlos feels—

And the nickname hits him pretty well, actually, he can practically feel how his face warms up from it. He wants to do nicknames too! Do they even sound as good coming out of his mouth, though, in his voice? He's not so sure.

He'll have to give it a try soon— An experiment of sorts, if you will.

For now, the scientist smiles back up to Cecil as he opens his door for him, carefully stepping out and slinging his bag back over his shoulder.

"Thank you, Cece," A good, neutral start for nicknaming, shortening the real name!

Gently taking Cecil's hand in his own, and of course waiting for the door to be closed again, it's Carlos's turn to pull him along, eager to start packing up his essentials, eager to get set back on the road to his new home.

"Are there lots of people in Night Vale? Do they know me too?" He questions as they race upstairs, curiosity rearing its head again. How popular is the prophecy— Or rather, how tight-lipped is Cecil?

He doesn't mind either way, of course, it's just probably good for him to be prepared if people are going to start talking to him right away!

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Oh, my—

𝑂ℎ.

Cecil is struck 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 when Carlos leans over and kisses his cheek in return.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was kissed. Literally, he does not remember it; the last time he was kissed was years ago, by Earl Harlan, and Cecil doesn’t remember a single second of it, wiped clear from his mind after several ensuing— though unrelated— sessions of re-education that left Cecil blank, Earl heartbroken, and their relationship a broken, half-gone mess.

Regardless.

Being kissed now— and being kissed by perfect, perfect Carlos— on the cheek is the most tremendous feeling he’s ever had. And he had such fear when Carlos didn’t respond, at first, but now—

He couldn’t be more thrilled. He couldn’t be happier, really, and—

And he gets a second kiss.

And a third!

And three is one of his best numbers. He can’t help but sigh happily, tugging Carlos’s lab coat closer around himself. It feels so grounding, perfect, warm.

Though Cecil has never liked facial hair on men before— oh, he loves it on Carlos. He loves the friction against his own skin; he hopes it leaves a mark behind. He hopes Carlos is burnt into his skin forever.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Cecil insists, blushing furiously. His blood is rushing so fast he feels like he might lose consciousness— but, he can’t! Carlos is here! He wants to spend every second he can together with him. “I’m just so grateful you’re coming! Thank you, Carlos! I’m—”

He hesitates, then admits— “Prophecies are never guaranteed. Nothing is ever guaranteed. But I… I saw you, and I couldn’t live without you anymore. I feel so lucky that… that this prophecy was guaranteed. That you are…”

He doesn’t want to say guaranteed, even though he, himself, is guaranteed. He’s not going anywhere, not while Carlos is anywhere else.

“There are many prophecies,” Cecil informs him, rather than picking up his previous line of thought. “And many of them… Many of them, I hope would not come true. But I would have endured any of them— all of them— to make sure you would.”

The smile that comes onto his face is sharp-toothed and inhuman and irrepressible.

“But I didn’t even need to. You are your own force of nature, aren’t you, Carlos?”

Just like Cecil is. They are meant to be.

[dr-carlosrobles]

The rain is stronger now, and Carlos sighs his relief for that as he turns his face up to let it fall on him properly…

And then there's that shout; The person he just saw.

Do they need help, did they end up here by accident? Oh, how had he not thought of that? Stupid, stupid Carlos!

He turns around to find the figure running towards him, running away from lightning, and his eyes widen just slightly as it finally clicks in his mind—

They're the same, aren't they? Or— Or just similar, somehow!

Carlos cares for and brings the water; Is this the one who picks it up into the sky for rain or storm? How have they not crossed paths yet? They work so closely, so often, even in places where they are not!

"I'm not— I'm not going," He reassures quickly, hands out to either pacify the stranger's panic or catch him once he gets close enough, maybe both. "I didn't want to disturb you, I'm sorry— But I won't go, I promise." Not now, at least! He'll have to return home eventually.

"You— I—"

Carlos doesn't even know how to approach a conversation with someone like him, and also unlike him with the amount of energy this stranger has. He lands on;

"Where have you been?"

[ @dr-carlosrobles — ]

Cecil just likes to feel the rain, sometimes.

He is so horrendously old— older than the winds, the storms, the rains under his command. There is so much he has done, and still he feels a lack.

It is not unlike the vacuum he first awoke in, this feeling. It is an untethered feeling, unanchored. He feels tossed on the waves his own storms create, and still no closer to steady ground for it.

Flat on their back in the sand, Cecil sighs, eyes wide open, staring upwards into the storm clouds they've gathered over themself. Over this section of the beach, it pours; a storm rages, and Cecil, spread starfish on his back, lets himself absorb the sand, lets the waves lap against them as high tide comes in, lets lightning crackle and snap down into the ocean with every flash of their tattoos and heavy rumble of thunder.

They just feel this way, sometimes. It's better to let it out like this than keep it in too long.

The air pressure changes on the beach. Cecil feels it— of course, he feels it. He feels every lick of wind everywhere, every change in temperature, every shift in density; the air, the winds, the clouds, the storms, the weather, the rain, the lightning, the thunder, the magnificence, it is all theirs.

Lifting her near-nonexistent head, Cecil blinks through the driving rain in search of the source of the shift. She doesn't need to have a human body— or a human name, or anything human at all, really— but, it's something to do. And it all feels far more properly theatrical when she's fling out on the sand physically, not just metaphorically.

There is a shape down the beach, it realizes.

It'd thought this stretch was empty, remote; that's why it came here, specifically, when it realized it had to release: to hide. It'd hate to hurt somebody who wandered over just because it doesn't have control.

Cecil begins attempting to calm the storm, to quell it, to stuff it back away for now. It's an effort; he sits up in the sand, fists gripping the wet granules in gritty palmfuls, and concentrates, scars and tattoos and markings flashing with each bolt of lightning, head pounding with the rumbling thunder, until the rain has begun to subside, his emotions compressed backwards— and the weather with it.

With this lessened rain, Cecil can see so much more.

He can see a… a person.

A person?

He thinks they might be a person. Maybe.

Are they, though?

[dr-carlosrobles]

"Probably won't! It's usually nine months for people, but since we don't know how long it'll be for you, it might be a good idea to prepare for it to be longer— And then if it's shorter, that'll be a nice surprise!"

Nodnodnod. Prepare for the most inconvenient outcome and be pleasantly surprised by the possibility of the best seems like a good way to approach this.

"It's okay, it's okay— You just wanted more heat. I wish I could make more for you myself."

He wishes he could do so much more for Cecil, but he is just a human, which is slightly below being a scientist. All he can do is try, and try, and keep trying. The answers always change, and so do the questions.

Carlos considers what Cecil asks him carefully, doing his best to remember the things he was taught in a class he thought would never apply to him— How silly was he?

"In the second, that's when the baby really starts to grow, once they have all their organs and such. You'll be able to feel them move— But you might also have some feet and lower back pain as they become bigger and heavier inside you."

He explains, thoughtful. He doesn't said anything more, but he's definitely got that 'thinking of solutions' face on, knowing he needs to try keeping one step ahead of everything for this to go as smoothly as possible.

"You have me, honeybun," Carlos reassures, resting his head against Cecil's. "If we can work things out so you're able to stay at home, I'll cut my hours as best I can, and— And even if I'm at work and you need me, you know you can call me and I'll come home. I'll be here with you."

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Esteban always comes up with such creative ideas— and so does Carlos. He’s so scientific, of course— both he and their son can be so scientific!— but that means they’re inventive, too, and Cecil loves to hear every idea they come up with.

Like names in a hat! What a dangerous idea! But Cecil loves how dangerous Carlos can be, how risky and reckless and fascinating he can be!

Carlos’s voice is so soft when he speaks, like a blanket wrapped around Cecil— and then he promises real blankets, even, and Cecil smiles, sighing, relaxing into Carlos, half-aware of what’s happening around him.

“That sounds 𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒,” Cecil murmurs. It’s the perfect night, really; it’s his favorite sort of evening between them. “What food do you think the baby wants? Maybe I’m just… just not giving them the food they want.”

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t feel well. Maybe he’s just doing this wrong already. It was easier with Esteban— he had just been born when he came into their lives. Cecil’s not used to doing everything that comes before a baby is born instead of after; maybe he’s already messed it up, somehow?

“What do babies need? Before they’re babies?”

[dr-carlosrobles]

Carlos's expression softens as Cecil echoes the sentiment of them needing to be a unit, of it being such an essential thing— Clearly they already were, somehow, an energy so strong that someone however long ago got the sense of it and needed it to be known.

He does not know why it took so long to be truly known, but he's glad it is now.

It might have been scary if it had happened earlier, he considers, if he was still trying to figure out his life. But now he's too settled, and Cecil crashes into his life to bring him somewhere new, to tell him exciting things, and he knows it's the right time.

The screech of the brakes has Carlos turning his gaze away for just a moment to figure out why that's happening— They're outside his building! He wouldn't have even realised it himself with how much he's been staring at Cecil, admiring him for what he is and what he is not.

"Cecil— Cecil," Carlos grins as though he knows something; And he's certain that he does. "You don't need an excuse to come inside— We'll be sharing a home soon!"

What a thrilling thing to remember and look forward to!

He leans forward, one last kiss just barely on the edge of Cecil's lips, before he shifts to take his seatbelt off.

"It's a little messy in there, uhm, but we're only going in and out! I feel sorry for whoever's gonna be in there next." He muses.

Carlos hasn't even thought about that, is barely thinking about it now— He is leaving his life! The landlord will miss rent and come to check only to find a disorganised scientist's apartment with no scientist to be found, the University will be missing a lecturer, and he could truly care less!

He's finally living, he's getting another chance at enjoying how he spends his time!

@dr-carlosrobles [continued—]

Oh, my—

𝑂ℎ.

Cecil is struck 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 when Carlos leans over and kisses his cheek in return.

He doesn’t remember the last time he was kissed. Literally, he does not remember it; the last time he was kissed was years ago, by Earl Harlan, and Cecil doesn’t remember a single second of it, wiped clear from his mind after several ensuing— though unrelated— sessions of re-education that left Cecil blank, Earl heartbroken, and their relationship a broken, half-gone mess.

Regardless.

Being kissed now— and being kissed by perfect, perfect Carlos— on the cheek is the most tremendous feeling he’s ever had. And he had such fear when Carlos didn’t respond, at first, but now—

He couldn’t be more thrilled. He couldn’t be happier, really, and—

And he gets a second kiss.

And a third!

And three is one of his best numbers. He can’t help but sigh happily, tugging Carlos’s lab coat closer around himself. It feels so grounding, perfect, warm.

Though Cecil has never liked facial hair on men before— oh, he loves it on Carlos. He loves the friction against his own skin; he hopes it leaves a mark behind. He hopes Carlos is burnt into his skin forever.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Cecil insists, blushing furiously. His blood is rushing so fast he feels like he might lose consciousness— but, he can’t! Carlos is here! He wants to spend every second he can together with him. “I’m just so grateful you’re coming! Thank you, Carlos! I’m—”

He hesitates, then admits— “Prophecies are never guaranteed. Nothing is ever guaranteed. But I… I saw you, and I couldn’t live without you anymore. I feel so lucky that… that this prophecy was guaranteed. That you are…”

He doesn’t want to say guaranteed, even though he, himself, is guaranteed. He’s not going anywhere, not while Carlos is anywhere else.

“There are many prophecies,” Cecil informs him, rather than picking up his previous line of thought. “And many of them… Many of them, I hope would not come true. But I would have endured any of them— all of them— to make sure you would.”

The smile that comes onto his face is sharp-toothed and inhuman and irrepressible.

“But I didn’t even need to. You are your own force of nature, aren’t you, Carlos?”

Just like Cecil is. They are meant to be.