#The Moonlit Vale

[marejadilla]

Annie Stegg Gerard, “Idle Thoughts”, 2018, oil on canvas. Annie Stegg's "The Moonlit Vale" Solo Exhibition. Annie was born in Atlanta, Georgia in 1982.

[augiestufff]

Meowoon 🌙

[asongoftearsandfandoms]

I just read every single item on this menu, and I now want a pop-up Night Vale town that has this cafe at one end and the Moonlite All-Night Diner at the other, and I want actual dish descriptions to look like this on the menu (actually, I want this menu to just be the menu), and idk i think it's possible.

Obviously irl some of the "crazy ingredients" would have to be eccentric-but-still-edible-and-complementary ingredients. Like the twigs in the dirty chai could be cinnamon sticks sticking out, and the leaves could be mint or some other complimentary herb plant, and the mud could be like just a pile of wet chocolate curls at the bottom of the cup. Anything with glass in it could have those clear sugar glass shards they do on all those dessert competition shows. Scrap metal could be jerky sprayed with that metallic edible spray paint. IT'S POSSIBLE IS ALL I'M SAYING.

Either way, I love this, I love this menu, and I want to eat here.

breakfast and lunch menus for the sunlite all-day café are done!

[arisingonmorningsinnocent]

Years later, I still think “Poetry Week” was one of the cleverest things the WTNV writing team ever did. Like they took an episode concept that was literally just “Night Vale citizens write poetry and Cecil reads it on the radio! Cute, right? :)” and made it about people living in a dystopian surveillance state using one of their rare opportunities for self-expression to express the fear and paranoia and low grade trauma that shape their daily lives through absolutely horrifying poems. 

Poems about censorship, about anger against the state, about being forcibly silenced (“The town criers have cross-stitched their mouths shut and stapled their eyes open.”), about being watched, being harmed, being turned against the people you love but are unable to fully trust. And all interspersed with Cecil’s cheery, meaningless compliments on writing that he clearly isn’t thinking about (or at least is pretending not to understand the subtext of, which is my personal headcanon). 

Honestly I kind of want to do a full textual analysis of Katherine Ciel’s poem (under the cut) alone, because it’s a beautiful piece of writing where it’s so clear how hard the fictional poet is trying to veiledly describe what it’s like to live with Night Vale-typical level of fear and tension and random, unpredictable moments of surreal violence. The way people become numb to the horror (“Many find it difficult to breathe/without the atmosphere,/but we knew how;/we just stopped breathing”) but also the way that same numbness cuts them off from other people and makes intimacy with others into a terrifying, monstrous thing. And Cecil reads this as a traffic report. I am trying SO hard not to write a whole essay about this. 

But my favorite thing about “Poetry Week” is that it’s no more disturbing than any other Night Vale episode. Same humor, same beautiful prose, like it’s not on a different level than the rest of the show and I can and often do listen to it as just one more soothing, funny WTNV episode. Which is fun because it’s a meta-parallel to how in-universe Poetry Week is a fun community event to bring the town together, but also a rare and precious opportunity for tacit protest against an oppressive regime.

And I just… this podcast is so good, you know? Man. It’s so good. I want to eat it.

On Sunday, a lambent crevice

opened up in the street outside my house.

By Tuesday, birds were flying into it.

“I probably won’t miss you,” my mother said.

“I’m only interested in the end of the world,” I replied.

Many find it difficult to breathe

without the atmosphere,

but we knew how;

we just stopped breathing.

We’re at the Moonlite All-Nite Diner,

and they’re serving up fruit

from the plants growing out of the waitress.

The closed sign whispers, “Please, don’t touch me.”

We watch bodies fall to the ground outside

like deep sea creatures surfacing.

You turn to me and ask,

“Do you ever think about suicide?”

I look away from you and close my eyes,

eat the raspberries to confuse the blood in my mouth.

Now you’re in the only car in the parking lot at midnight

and you’re watching me throw stones at the moon

which hangs low in the sky

so that he can look into your house.

Your sister tried to touch him

from her window once,

and he flinched.

Now he and the oceans watch her with a quiet concern.

The lilac sky is trying to rest her head on his shoulder,

all trees gradually growing through her.

A hummingbird whispers to you,

“Be careful. Under her dress is her skin,”

and then builds his nest in the middle of the highway.

I look back to you,

and you close your eyes.

[sp00kymulderr]

💗Welcome to the fic rec list!💗

This is where I keep the all time greats, and the ones I want to come back to again and again. The list will be regularly updated, because there's so much incredible fic out there!

Please do also check out my #fic rec tag for loads more goodies.

💗DIETER BRAVO💗

our girl by @party-hearses

send in the clown by @covetyou

jester little bit more by covetyou

stay gold, baby boy by @chronically-ghosted

Circle, Circle by @insomniamamma

three's company by @pennyserenade

A Bad Idea by @the-blind-assassin-12

Non-Disclosure Agreement by @atinylittlepain

i crawl home to her by chronically-ghosted

For You, I Would Ruin Myself by @thelightsandtheroses

Misfire by @qveerthe0ry

Fifty Shades of Orange by @all-the-things-2020

My Favorite Part by @tightjeansjavi

Little Monsters by chronically-ghosted

Chaste by covetyou

Dress Me Up & Call Me Pretty by @morallyinept

You can never keep a soul by chronically-ghosted

In fiction by @sin-djarin

The stranger the better by @seventeenpins

Propagation by covetyou

Sweet Dee by @yopossum

💗EZRA💗

Hue by @goodwithcheese

Shorn by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Exposed by @maggiemayhemnj

The Pit by @morallyinept

Compulsion (series) by @iamskyereads

The Thing That Gives by @lincolndjarin

weathers cool, folks fine by @justrunamok

Dream Within a Dream by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

The Devil Beckons (And I Must Heed His Call) by @pettyprocrastination

Lamplit by @fleetwoodmactshirt

💗JOEL MILLER💗

Seven by @proxima-writes

ripe by @hier--soir

something wretched about this (series) by @covetyou

Oh Honey (series) by @lincolndjarin

Fifteen Seconds, Sixteen Years by @dilf-din

Night Walks (series) by @toxicanonymity

Five of Joel Millers birthdays by @bastardmandennis

Wanna be felled by you, held by you by @seventeenpins

Happy birthday, Joel by @romanarose

Feral woman (series) by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

💗JAVIER PEÑA💗

nights are so starry, blood moonlit by @janaispunk

Helpless Optimism by @the-blind-assassin-12

Dry Run by @chronically-ghosted

💗MARUCS PIKE💗

I'll Crawl Home To Her by @thetriumphantpanda

caught red lipped by @5oh5

Personal Day by @sin-djarin

💗FRANKIE MORALES💗

into the beat of the night (series) by @perotovar

💗JAVI GUTIERREZ💗

Rebirth by @perotovar

💗MARCUS ACACIUS💗

Ave Atque Vale by @mothandpidgeon

A Glimpse of Eternity by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

[annabelle--cane]

upon arriving in night vale and getting a feel for the surroundings:

doug eiffel - starts crying

sister carpenter - gets annoyed at the lack of options on the moonlite all-night diner menu

gordon porlock - is more thrilled than words can describe

david 7 - winds up as an nvcr intern. I'm so sorry.

arkady patel - honestly feels disappointed, somehow

alestes triceforgotten - experiences a category five "why is the ocean so far away :(" event, is not fazed by anything else

sir caroline - isn't happy at all but shrugs it off and goes job hunting

gloria midnightburger - adapts like an absolute champ. makes friends with the faceless old woman who secretly lives in her home.

david ward - also starts crying but is gradually filled with a sense of blinding euphoria at the realization that hey this fucked up evil city actually seems kinda fun

gaius octavius - swallows his almost overpowering fear and tries and fails to fill the mayoral power vacuum. dies shortly thereafter.

[thatliminal-wanderer]

Cecil Palmer (Welcome to Night Vale) ID Pack

Requested by 🎉🤩 anon

Names

Abel, Ain, Ambili, Ambrose, Axis, Balendu, Benito, Bilen, Buck, Cain, Chakshu, Chana, Chandak, Chital, Collin, Coues, Darby, Diya, Dyani, Fawn, Gazelle, Ghazala, Harina, Hart, Herschel, Himanshu, Indu, Iris, Jace, Kamaria, Key, Kurangi, Larkspur, Lillith, Lochan, Mahnoor, Mauve, Mayank, Mriganayani, Mrigank, Mrignaini, Mulberry, Nayana, Nell, Nilan, Nilava, Ofer, Oisin, Olimpik, Qamar, Rebecca, Roe, Roscoe, Sambar, Sarang, Selene, Shashank, Shika, Sika, Silas, Stag, Tungesh, Veronica, Vidula, Yamir

Pronouns

ant/antler/antlers, buzz/buzzes, crescent/crescents, dark/darks, deer/deers, deity/deities, eld/eldritch/eldritchs, eye/eyes, fawn/fawns, gaze/gazes, god/gods, hoof/hooves, host/hosts, indigo/indigos, insomnia/insomnias, lav/lavender/lavenders, lilac/lilacs, moon/moons, night/nights, ob/observe/observes, odd/odds, pur/purple/purples, radio/radios, report/reports, show/shows, speak/speaks, spot/spots, stag/stags, strange/stranges, talk/talks, 🌄/🌄s, 🌒/🌒s, 🌘/🌘s, 🌙/🌙s, 🌵/🌵s, 🎙️/🎙️s, 🏜️/🏜️s, 🐈‍⬛/🐈‍⬛s, 👀/👀s, 👁️/👁️s, 💜/💜s, 📻/📻s, 🔮/🔮s, 🕧/🕧s, 🗣️/🗣️s, 🦌/🦌s

Titles

A Purple Hued Deer, The All Seeing Eye, The Cat Lover, The Desert Brought Up Deity, The Host Older Than Time, The Moonlit Deer, The Nightly Radio Host, The One True Reporter, The One Who Runs The Show, The One With a Purple Hued Life, The Radio Show Host, The Town’s Saving Grace, [prn] Who’s In Love With Science, [prn] With Deer-like Qualities

Genders

Cecipalfosic, Collideeric, Crescentmoonlightic, Cryptidmasc, Floradeeric, Horaugic, Humornoxic, Killyourdoublgender, Liminalspacestalgic, Lunitwivieri/Solsteseric, Moonboylexic, Moonshipic, Mostlyvoidpartiallystarric, Notlove, Ultraveyelian, Valeience, Vintaudio, Viodeergender, WTNVcastic

Other mogai

Aldeerantler, Aldercervocryptic, Aldereyeweird, Alderliminal, Alderpolyoptic, Assigned Eldritch At Birth/AEldAB, Eldrigodperspesque/Eldrihorrorperspesque, Eldrivesil, Inviblackligheyes, Invifrozendoe, Moonstelic, Weirdcoreaestelic

[praxisia]

I’m trying to sketch up ideas for a painting I want to put in my room. It’s supposed to be the moonlite all-nite diner from welcome to night vale

[itashiro-hitsuchiha]

Closed RP- An Unlikely Alliance

@sterlingmoonstone

It was a clear moonlit night in Vale. A banquet hall was filled with party goers and staff alike. A big buffet meal was laid out for all attendants. The reason behind this party sort of event is due to a couple.of political leaders meeting up. One was a representative of the White Fang and the other was a representative of the city council and they were meeting to discuss possible changes to laws and policies regarding faunus. Though since the White Fang has escalated some of its 'protests' some extra security was called in.

Skjolda and Hatvi were called by the Commander and Chief of the Night Guards to attend this event just in case the White Fang tried anything funny. Of course this is why representatives were being used rather than any major leadership, but with all the people attending it was nice to have some extra protection. Skjolda prowled through the crowd and hung around the buffet table keeping an eye out for any White Fang operatives. Hatvi on the other hand kept to the corners to have a better view of the crowd. So far nothing was out of the ordinary, but there were a few faces that caught their attention.

[lyarra-of-house-stark]

⋆｡°✩ SECOND CHANCES AND MOONLIT DREAMS ⋆｡°✩

At the ripe age of eleven, two grand things happened in Lyarra’s life: she switched her consciousness with her cat, Ser Tickles, for the first time, eyes rolling white as she walked through Winterfell’s rooftops—a warg, Benjen had proudly proclaimed. And, Winterfell hosted Rickon’s first nameday celebration.

The festivities were grand, celebrating her nephew, a winter child, the next Wolf of the North. Following a solstice feast, a masquerade ball filled the castle with color, song, and the warmth of celebration despite the snow outside. Lyarra drifted through the crowd, her sun-shaped mask lending her courage she didn’t know she had. But soon, overwhelmed, she slipped from the ballroom, seeking solitude. On a dim balcony, she wasn’t alone for long. A figure joined her, a mask shaped like a half moon concealing his face. He was a stranger she could almost name, a shadow of something familiar. He was her match, there beneath the stars.

They danced as if in a dream, a waltz that led to a kiss—unexpected, tender, thrilling. Neither knew what came after a kiss, but that didn’t matter. They made out until their lips were raw, hearts pounding as if in unison. And then, as quickly as he’d arrived, he vanished into the night, leaving Lyarra with only memories.

At first, she thought about writing to him. But who would she write to? Every northerner had been at that wedding, even those from the South, the Vale—everywhere! So, she let the ink flow onto blank pages in Winterfell’s library. Her untold story filled books: “My dear, I’m dying to kiss you once more.” Or, ”You wretched thing, don’t be a coward and come back to court.” Or, “My beloved, I had never felt alive until your lips met mine.” She scrawled each line, true and achingly romantic, each more pathetic than the last.

Years passed, and Lyarra’s heart remained captured by the memory of that night. She devoured books, weaving stories that carried her away from Winterfell’s walls, all while deftly refusing the occasional proposal from minor lords. They were all lacking—one too short, another too proud, another simply too pretty.

Then came the news of the royal wedding in King’s Landing, and Lyarra sat up in bed with a thrill she hadn’t felt in years. If there was a place her moon-masked stranger might be found, it was there. She told herself he’d recognize her on sight, that he would find her, perhaps on another balcony bathed in moonlight. All she needed was faith.

“It’s like a horror story,” Cregan muttered, reading over Lyarra’s shoulder.

“He’s definitely going to murder this lady,” Benjen added, leaning in on her other side. “Who casually growls, anyway?”

“It’s not casual,” Rhaenya noted mildly over her teacup. “He’s trying to court her.”

“Now we know what Cregan did,” Benjen teased, dodging an elbow jab from his friend.

“Could everyone stop reading my book?” Lyarra snapped, pulling it up to her nose. “Can I not have a moment of peace in this… lovely evening?”

“It’s impossible to find this evening lovely,” Benjen muttered, but a smile tugged at Lyarra’s lips. She knew his feelings about weddings, the Targaryens, and especially about King’s Landing. Benjen had kept his opinions quieter since Cregan married Rhaenya, but he would always be Benjen.

The journey south had been swift, but Lyarra felt as though her mind raced far ahead. Her hand twisted her half-moon necklace, the one small anchor she had to that night long ago. Surely he would find her, recognize her. After all these years, she thought, letting her eyes drift to the landscape, life owed her a love story—or at least a reunion on a moonlit balcony.

[symphony-calamity]

Something Something About the Moon

Ok ok I posted it. If you want to read a short crossover ficlet that’s just Cecil Palmer and Gunpowder Tim ranting about this moon, find it on AO3, or under the cut!

Cecil Palmer did not often leave the station on his lunch breaks, but when he did, he always met an oddly dressed stranger at the Moonlite-All-Nite Diner. It was never the same stranger twice, just a never-ending sequence of unfamiliar people who without fail sat down at his table as he was eating his salad, and who without fail left shortly after, never to be seen in Night Vale again.

This particular stranger was a man with long brown hair, a distinctly—and oddly—British accent, and a pair of goggles hanging around his neck. Cecil could tell he was from out of town, and wondered how he got there.

"Wretched thing!" the man, who had introduced himself as Tim, was saying, stabbing into a slice of invisible pie so hard his fork clanged against the plate. "I ought to just blast it out of the sky!"

"Wouldn't that be nice," Cecil agreed. "It is an eyesore." He had never met this man, and could not have said why he was talking to him. 

"But noooo," he continued, waving his fork furiously in the air. "No Tim, they say, you can't blow up the moon, those people want it there!" He gave an indignant huff to show his displeasure.

"I don't want it there," Cecil said. "I’d like to throw something at it. Wipe that smug grin off its rocky face." He narrowed his eyes towards the window as he spoke, as though his lunar enemy could ever possibly see his expression.

“Like a bomb,” Tim agreed cheerily. “A big bomb that would blow it right into a million tiny smithereens.”

Cecil nodded thoughtfully. “If only we could.”

"Well then," said Tim. "That's permission enough. Clearly the residents of this planet don't want it." With that, he stood up and walked out of the restaurant.

Cecil finished his lunch in silence, wondering why this happened every time he went to the diner. Then he got up, paid the bill, and left to finish his show. 

He didn't think again about the moon, or the man, or the conversation that they’d had, until three days later, when he was sitting outside with Carlos, gazing at the vast and incomprehensible sky with the usual horrified wonder.

"Cecil sweetie," Carlos said, gesturing at the blank expanse of night, "wasn't tonight supposed to be a full moon?"

[asongoftearsandfandoms]

I want to dine hereeeeeeeeeeee

welcome to the sunlite all-day café ! founded some time in the late 1800s and stuck in night vale ever since, the sunlite all-day café was featured in episode 204 of welcome to night vale and now here's the whole menu! it's finally done!

[kerink]

227 react

the episode title... oh this is gonna be good

a confidential talk. with cecil? not gonna happen.

woah cecil ur husband is a scientist?

DANAS BODY?! OUUUGH

janet why do you want to autopsy women 🤨

cecil is being so stupid this episode i want to fuck him so badly

ohhh the research staff are concerned about janet ohhh the janet server was right

flesh walls (banging on the table) where. is. kevin.

FLESH CREATURES NOW?! HUH?! they sound nasty

the council for air... how are the people of night vale gonna live with all this debate

breatharians quaking

they think janet is going too far lets hear it team standing ovation yall

hes taking cecil back to the moonlite all nite so cecil can finish the job

whoooo came JANET NO NO NON ON ONONONONONONOONNONOONNONOONNOONONNOONO

god shes so fucking hot i want her so fucking bad im so in love with her mommy mommy mommy

sad family dynamics, yeah i bet

precious cecil 🥵 she cant imagine anyone thinks any differently from her

whatre they gonna do to cecil? god i hope janets crew jumped him the second he stepped out of the station

[aringatherer]

Arin Gatherer setting post

The story takes place in a little slice of West Africa known as the Hunter's Vale. Generations ago to the cats (though not nearly as long to the humans), the world was invaded by the supernatural ecosystem that ran parallel to the mortal one. Within the Hunter's Vale, creatures have begun to adapt to the intrusion of magic by developing symbiosis with the supernatural, creating an explosion of new species.

The cats of the Glaring in the prey-rich heart of the Hunter's Vale once had magic of their own, and were well on their way to their own ascension--till their magic abruptly abandoned them, leaving them terrified and frantic. The Glaring split into 4 different Glarings--Boughwalker, Stonespeaker, Riverblood and Windheart--based on how they aimed to bring magic back.

(More under the cut!)

*The Hunter's Vale, as the name implies, is full of predators. Larger predators are rather uncommon due to its proximity to human towns, but caracals, servals, ratels (honey badgers), and secretary birds are commonplace.

*The humans in the vale have mixed views on the cats. A lot of them, especially the older generation, despise cats, but lately they've had bigger problems, and societal attitudes towards cats vary by area. Most cats in the area came from the north, where they're more accepted.

*The competition between predators is fierce, with prey-stealing (kleptoparatism) being common. Most predators organize themselves into loose coalitions to help defend each other's prey and younglings, but otherwise keep to themselves. Domestic cats are the most social of the small predators by far, so despite their relatively small size they've managed to remain a dominant force in the region.

*Most domestic cats live in Clowders, nomadic groups of cats who travel wherever food is strongest. Some territorial instincts remain when it comes to other species, but clowders mingle often for exchange of food, news, and opportunities for relationships. In such a harsh world, cats can't afford to fight amongst themselves.

*Most cats, anyway. The group of cats that settled at the Vale's heart were originally called the Glaring as a way of mocking their violent xenophobia, but they embraced the term wholeheartedly.

*The Glaring, as mentioned above, splintered into different groups depending on how they chose to deal with the problem of magic. The Boughwalker Glaring, who live in the woodlands by the savannah, want to appease magic with glorious combat--and by controlling their Sangomas (spirit-communicators). The Boughwalker Glaring is the only Glaring known to force cats into the Sangoma position.

*The Stonespeakers, who live in the caves surrounding the Moonlit Cavern, fuse their Sangoma and leader roles, and venerate them to near-living-deity status. They're the most faithful Glaring by far.

*The Riverbloods, who live in the wetlands, believe that the magic that flows through the Hunter's Vale flows through the Glaring cats' veins, and is overly concerned about 'purity of blood'.

*The Windhearts, who live on the savannah, are the newest Glaring, formed from the rejects and exiles of other Glarings and as such don't really have a magical policy of their own yet.

*The driving force of the Arin Gatherer universe is the supernatural ecosystem, where the energy source is the belief of mortals rather than the sun. Supernatural beings are empowered by mortal's belief in their Power, Benevolence, Cunning, or some combination thereof. The trophic levels of the supernatural beings known to the Hunter's Vale are as follows:

Primary Producers: Believing mortals

Primary Consumers: Ancestors/ghosts

Secondary Consumers: Spirits (nature spirits, or spirits of abstract concepts like fear or love)

Tertiary Consumers: Gods

*The levels do not imply power or 'validity' of religion--a sufficiently worshiped group of ancestors will beat the shit out of an obscure deity. Rather, the higher one is on the food chain, the more connected they are to the wisdom of the world itself--at the expense of understanding mortals. A deity has a broader perspective than an ancestor, but they're more disconnected from their worshipers and will likely be more indifferent or even cruel.

*Supernatural creatures prey on each other by destroying or converting their worshipers. More rarely, they may engage in symbiosis via religious syncretism.

*Sometimes supernaturals move up tiers of the system as a result of their evolving religion. The primary faith of the Glarings worship ancestors who become nature spirits.

*Mortals can also enter symbiosis with spirits. If they act according to the spirits' domain (for example, causing fear when in symbiosis with a fear spirit) or show off the spirit's power, they gain magical abilities. This has lead to the evolution of several magical species who are perfectly adapted to gain energy from their spirits. They'll get their own posts later.

(the paws on this guy are not an anatomy error. Backwards-facing feet are a common adaptation in tricksters--makes their paths harder to track.)

[davepetacreates]

Episode 1 (WTCV) - Laika

--start of broadcast--

CECIL: A soul is not always in the places it needs to be in. And sunglasses won’t protect you from the flaming tendrils of the green sun.

Welcome to Nightvale. 

[musical interlude]

CECIL: Well, good morning, listeners! To start off today’s broadcast, I think that we should discuss the newcomers in town. I sent interns Sapphrel and Ruben to go interrog– wait, no, that says interview – the incredibly large group that has taken over the Yellow Crown apartment complex. Yeah. Taken over. It’s a seriously large group. 

Interns Sapphrel and Ruben returned with the news that, in fact, there is no pumpkin, and there never even was one, and what pumpkin, and why are they talking about pumpkins anyway? 

I clarified that I had meant for them to interview the people who moved in, not the former residents. They exchanged looks with each other, said, “Ohhhhhhh,” with eight letters, and went back to the apartment complex. 

Yeah. Interns, am I right? *laughs*

In other news, Khoshekh has finally left the mens’ bathroom here at the radio station! I saw him just earlier chasing a dog around near the dog park. 

A perfunctory reminder to all Night Vale citizens that dogs are not allowed in the dog park. Humans are not allowed in the dog park. You may see hooded figures in the dog park. Do not look at, think about, or interact with the hooded figures in the dog park. 

Josie, out near the old car lot, has said that some new figures have joined the ranks of the Erikas. These new figures, who are definitely not and never will be angels, as angels do not exist, say that they came from the mountains, which also do not exist. Unless you believe that they do. Then they exist. Anyways, these new additions call themselves Nanna, Corbin, Crow, Prince, Carnelian, and Carols. They are, respectively, blue with a tail, flashing orange and green with legs, orange with a tail, green with horns and a tail, flashing pink and purple with legs, and light blue with horns, cat ears, and a tail. One of them appears to have teleportation powers. 

On – oh, hey! The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home has just handed me my phone. On it is a – a video… of the inside of the newcomers’... apartment buildings… Ugh. How is that much soda even healthy for a guy? Oh my god, is that Good Luck Chuck? Oh, well, at least he has Scott Pilgrim. That somewhat makes up for it. Wait – what the fuck? Did that girl just disappear into thin air? Did she steal from the Ralphs? Oh, no – she’s explaining how she left money. Alright, then, that’s fine. Ewww – I don’t want to see this part, skip skip skip skip skip – Oh, there’s Khoshekh! I was wondering where he had gotten off to! Aww, and it looks like the girl with dog ears is petting him! Who knew?

Well, anyway, it does not appear as though these newcomers are threats to our town! What a relief, Night Vale! What a relief. 

Dear Listeners, I have sad news. I just received word from interns Sapphrel and Ruben that interns Col, Void, Cactus, and Lynx are dead. Their bodies have not been found, as they are, apparently, inside the black hole outside the Moonlite All-Nite Diner. Intern Sapphrel tracked Void’s phone, and found it there. Our hearts go out to the families of interns Col, Void, Cactus, and Lynx. We're very sorry for your loss, and wish you the best in life. They died in the line of service, and were good workers who only wanted the best.

And now, the weather.

41. Moonsetter - Homestuck Vol. 9

Oh! It seems the ghost of intern Void has appeared in the studio, listeners! Let's hear what Void has to say.

INTERN VOID:

CECIL: Oh! Well, thank you, Void! 

Look, I know that the City Council has a policy that dead people can't intern here, and, listeners, I follow every rule that they set up, but you're a qualified candidate, right?

So, since you can't legally intern, you could come work here as our diplomat to the world of the dead! What do you say?

There is silence. She does not appear to be saying anything yet, but instead, mulling it over.

I do rather hope she accepts the offer, listeners. It would be a nice gesture to the ghosts, and, anyways, she could bridge people with their families!

If you have a loved one who died, imagine how lovely it would be to hear how they're doing!

Oh! She's speaking!

INTERN VOID: You can't offer me a job and immediately get mad that I'm not saying anything!! Also, I don't know that many ghosts…

CECIL: She looks… sad, for some reason? Or maybe just put-out.

Also, what do you mean, get mad? I was just describing to our listeners what was happening in the studio. I wasn’t mad at you. It makes sense that you wouldn’t know many ghosts, seeing as how you only recently died.

INTERN VOID: There's not many ghosts in space. 

CECIL: Wait, you’re in space?

INTERN VOID: Yeah. There’s a doggo here. It’s a very good doggo. *mild shuffling ensues* who’s a good girl~

CECIL: Huh. So space is real, unlike what Hiram says. Remember that campaign? Honestly. What a load of dragonshit! He based his entire campaign around defunding the space center, saying it was dumb.

What is the dog's name?

INTERN VOID: I’m not sure, as I didn’t pay too much attention in Martian class. But she has a space suit?!

CECIL: Okay...?

Wait! I think I know this dog! Is her name Laika?

INTERN VOID: I think so! She reacts to it, at least! 

She is a very good dog. 

CECIL: Oh! One sec, I'm going to need to call Carlos! He'll be very interested in this!

*phone ringing*

Hey, Carlos! One of my interns at the station died.

CARLOS: Oh. Oh, honey, I'm sorry-

CECIL: No, it's a good thing! She found Laika!

CARLOS: Wait, what?

Repeat that, please?

She found Laika?

She's in space???

I thought you said she died!

CECIL: I did! She's a ghost!

And she found Laika! 

CARLOS: Oh. OH! Oh my god! Hold on, I'll be over in a few.

I love you, bye!

CECIL: Aw, I love you too!

*hangs up phone*

Isn't he just a sweetheart? Honestly.

INTERN VOID: He is very sweet. But, the job thing…?

CECIL: Okay, I'm reconsidering. Maybe you could work with Carlos? He's been studying the position of Night Vale in the galaxy in comparison with the rest of the Earth. He's become very interested in space recently, and you, being a ghost and therefore able to actually go to space, could help with that!

If you want a job, that is.

I just realized how presumptive I'm being! You're in space! You might not even be able to work here on Earth! I am so sorry for how insensitive I've been, please forgive me, Void.

Honestly, my big mouth never stops running.

But the offer still stands if you do want it.

INTERN VOID: Oh, heck yee, I wanna be a space diplomat!

CECIL: Alright. When Carlos comes over, I’ll let him know and he can get you set up! Does that sound good?

INTERN VOID: YEET

CECIL: Perfect. 

Thank you, listeners, for sticking with us through that... brief interruption to normal matters. Now, for the Community Calendar.

Monday is Opposites Day, and is no longer going to be Monday, but Yaednehm. Yadmehn? Yadmon? I think that's right. Huh. The ground will be up, and all the blood will be rushing to our heads as we frantically contemplate what direction is what.

Tuesday will be a day in which you dream of a giant plush squid with narrowed eyes, embroidered onto a young girl's dress as she casts a spell over a well-loved bloodstone circle, trying to figure out how to save her friends and family from destruction. 

Wednesday is canceled.

Thursday is the big homecoming baseball game against Desert Bluffs! Desert Bluffs. Honestly, they're as likable as Steve Carlsberg! And that is not saying much of anything at all, listeners. Not much at all. Go get 'em, Scorpions.

Friday is origami day at the community center! Bring your kids for a day of fun! There will be activities held. Some of the activities will be closed off. Some will be imaginary. Some will be deadly. It's all part of the fun! And John Peters - you know, the farmer? - will be selling his imaginary corn snow cones there as well! I love those things. They're so nostalgic, you know? 

Saturday is the Concert of the Erikas. Come by Old Woman Josie's house out near the car lot to hear the definitely NOT angelic choir.

Sunday is also canceled.

I, for one, am excited for this week! We're going to have so much free time, what with two days canceled! What fun! Me and Carlos are going to take Estaban to go investigate some science-y things! He is such a cutie in a lab coat! Both of them are!

Next, dear listeners, we go to Traffic.

A young man stands in his bedroom. It just so happens that today is NOT this young man's birthday. The smell of cake permeates the air. This family is constantly on the run from the Secret Police for violating the ban on wheat and its byproducts. The dulcet tones of the radio host's voice lull the boy into a sense of complacency. Learned complacency, one could say. He's learned to take these kinds of peaceful moments when he can, as the times when he cannot are many.

A notification sounds from his computer. His friend with the purple text tells him that something is apparently going to happen on Tuesday that she's going to have to prevent. He tells TT to fuck off, and returns to gazing at the clouds. The red-flag-doohickey-thingy on the mailbox is down. It has been down. It will likely always be down, unless it's up. 

Further down the street, a teenager in a black sweatshirt stands wearily. They shield their eyes from the sun, staggering as they walk towards the young man's home. A mail truck pulls up to the home. They startle. The mail truck leaves the home. They run. As the young man perks up, they open the mailbox, steal the mail inside, and run away. The young man opens his front door and gives chase.

The timeline has been locked, listeners, and I can view it no longer. 

This has been traffic.

Listeners, we all have those moments when something is just so inevitable, so unchangeable, that we don't notice it? Well, today, I noticed it. I don't know what I noticed, but it was something, and I noticed the heck out of it. It was a young man in a red shirt, scars lacing down his neck, and I noticed. You are not alone. No one is alone. Loneliness is a concept. It is a state of emotion. One can be lonely, but one is never alone. Everyone is noticed. And when you are noticed, you are noticed. So please, take care, dear Listeners, and make sure to buy your privacy every month from the Secret Police. Remember, twenty a month keeps them out of your stuff.

A quick word from our sponsors:

Everyone turns into a spider eventually. Everyone goes through that awkward phase where they want to turn into a spider. And everyone goes through that phase where their spiders want to turn into them. But, for every stage of life, there's a certain black hole that wants to eat the spider inside your heart. If it's outside your heart as well, that's just a bonus. You will still be eaten. You just won't come back from it.

Walmart. Save money. Live better.

Our show is drawing to a close, dear listeners, but before we go, I have a daily prophecy to give! Let's see...

* slight plastic crinkling noises *

* sound of a bag opening * 

* eating sounds ensue * 

* a slip of paper scraping against something stale or burnt * 

Yjod pmr od gpt yszols gaumm. S nppl od mpyjomh eoyjpiy oyd qshrd. Trsvj omyp yjr dlu smf htsn pmr. Upi eoaa nr rcytrzrau fodsqqpomyrf eoyj ejsy upi gomf. Oy eoaa arsf upi yp trnra. Upi eoaa nr gohjyomh gpt upit aogr, s lmohjy om omlu stzpt. Fpm'y dsu er fofm'y estm upi.

* long silence *

W... What just happened? What was the prophecy? My God, dear Listeners, I don't think I know what I said! And I always know what I said. Do you think I was possessed? Hmm...

Anyway, as creepy as that was, everything must end, and this show is no different. I wish you all an amazing week. Stay tuned for the sounds of me curling up into a fetal position and having an existential crisis over what my brain does when it's on autopilot. It's terrifying to think it, but... It could hurt them. I could hurt them.

Fuck. 

Well, on that note, I leave you. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.

--end of broadcast (dated 2/6/23)--