hi. which fanfic of yours should i read first? they all look good but im conflicted
Oh wow. I’m totally not freaking out in happiness over here nope definitely not!
Well, it kind of depends on what you want :3 I’m assuming you’re on AO3, right? Cause I don’t have that many here. Generally, I’d say you can ignore the Homestuck ones due to poor writing.
As for the OFF fics, if you intend to read them all I’d say do it in order published (At the end, Warmth, King in White), if nothing else to experience improvement in my writing, but also because you’ll be saving the most popular for last. Though if you have general preferences: At the end is just a oneshot about Zacharie experiencing the end, Warmth is a shippy fic about what happens when the player abandons the game and King in White is an AU (and shippy) fic set in a hybrid world of OFF and the middle ages. The Night Vale ones... Bad Hair Day is a oneshot fluff drabble so you’re through it pretty quickly. Chant Me To Sleep is mainly fluff as well and Nice Guy deals with jealousy and Strex. The thing about Nice Guy is that at this point it’s a little outdated due to the canonical plot having moved on. All of the fics are Cecilos, so just dive right in if you’re into that. They’re all part of the Night Vale Stories collection, the order of which is Chant me to Sleep, Bad hair Day and Nice Guy, though it doesn’t really matter...And my latest obsession, the MSA fics... Drabblemania are really just non-connected drabbles which you can just read whenever. They’re small and you’ll be able to get through them in about... 10 minutes per drabble? So it’s quicky reads (damn I need to update that). Chronostasis is on an indefinite hiatus after 3 chapters of Vivi angst. The reason for that is that I had some changes in how I perceive her character. Since the story would’ve gone on for a long long time, no idea whether I’ll get around to continuing it ever. So, you’re free to read it but y’know, no promises there. From Within is Vivi-centric too and it’s going to be a lot of character exploration. It’s only one short prologue long right now, but there’s more to come ;3Generally, I would start with fics that are done by now. But that’s just me. Maybe look at what you want to be in for length-wise, because King in White is at 113k words so it’s definitely gonna take longer than one of the oneshots :0 I’m really happy that you’re interested in reading them, though, I hope you’ll have fun^^
Anyhoot, one is on AO3. This is the link. You’re reading the link right now. You’ve been reading this link for a little bit now. To click or not to click. Is that what you’re thinking? Well I can’t make that choice for you...
Decided to do a little warm-up again today and cemites decided that it should be not-fandom stuff sooo yup (I mean I guess you can interpret some fandom stuff into it, there’s no names). Have some fictional rambling.
She's never liked graveyards. They were dark and depressing.
She pondered this as she sat in the back of the car, her elbow rested beside the window, her head propped up on her hand. She watched trees and street signs pass by and let out an audible sigh.
“Don't be so difficult.” She heard her mother say from the front. From the corner of her eye she could see her look over her shoulder to examine her daughter. “You haven't been to his grave in years. You need to pay him some respect.” And with that she turned back to face the windshield.
That was stupid. It was not as if she never thought about him. She had photos of him littered around her desk, a stub of a candle beside them. And every now and then she would just stare at one of those pictures. Her mouth would turn into a small, sad smile as she remembered him with fondness and permitted herself to relive some of the moments that they had shared.
The car slowed down and came to a stop inside the parking lot. She looked over at the big gates that separated her from the land of the dead. A fence and gate of white painted bars surrounded the place. But about half of the paint was already peeling off, revealing the metal surface. It used to be black, she recalled. Maybe they had thought that black was too much like a cemetery, she joked in her head.
Before she could find any more thoughts on her mind the door on her side was opened. She pulled her elbow back just in time and looked up at her mother. The woman's painted lips here twisted into a frown. Her eyes were narrowed, pulling her plucked eyebrows together while her arms were crossed in front of her chest. “Get out. We don't want to stay here forever.”
'Why not, the people in there are doing just that.' She thought to herself and then praised herself for that witty comeback. But she would never say that out loud to the devil of a woman in front of her. “Fine.” The girl muttered and she removed her safety belt and slid out of the car, passing her mother. She heard the door being shut with a loud noise behind her and she took a breath as she stood up straight.
She followed her mother to the gates which were open at the time. Her parent didn't realize that she remained outside for a few moments, just looking at her feet. This was it. The threshold to death and eternity. She took another deep breath and stepped inside.
“Don't dilly-dally!” Her mother chastised so she picked up the speed to catch up to her.
She looked around. There were old willow trees standing beside the fence. Underneath their leaves the beds of the dead. The girl sneered. This place was a can and the corpses were the sardines, nothing else.
And yet, she could feel her mood changing. She pried onto the gravestones of strangers to count the years that their life had lasted and every once in a while she would cringe at the small amount of time some of them got to spend on this earth. And it seemed to her that the younger the individual beneath the dirt, the fancier the piece of rock that stood beside their grave. She turned her gaze away. They were resting in peace. She didn't want to disturb their spirits. She only looked at the various flower arrangements that had been put on the graves, like offerings to lost loved ones. Some were bright and colorful, as if someone had attempted to catch life itself in flora and return it to the one beneath. Others were broken and wilted. Forgotten.
For a moment she believed she could smell the dead and she put her hand in front of her nose and mouth as every muscle in her body tensed up. She felt sick. This place was no good. Her mother urged her yet again to keep walking.
She saw two people beside a grave, pulling weeds off the ground around the stone. A bit further away was a girl, maybe a few years older than herself, on her knees and crying into her hands, violent sobs shaking her form.
She removed her hand from her nose and took a deep breath, but it was as if her lungs did not want to inflate anymore. Breathing became harder and harder the further they ventured into the park of corpses. Her mother did not seem to have any troubles. As she looked over at to crows observing them from the branch of a willow tree, she realized that it felt as if all sound was gone. Every noise was quiet and dull, as if someone was holding her head under water. Underwater. Falling into the abyss of the ocean, into the unknown, weightless and yet steadily descending. That was how she felt as she looked between graves and flowers, trees and those who were left behind.
She did not want to go any further. This place was bad for her. A memory bubbled up. Years in the past, she saw herself, a little child, clad in black, walking by her mother's hand. Her face in shock and disbelief while her mother pressed a tissue to her eyes again and again. The girl could not comprehend the situation. What were they doing, why was this happening? Who were all those people following them, moving as one. She could only catch glimpses of what the six men in the front were carrying. The box. The coffin. She understood, of course. But she knew that it had to be fake. A fake coffin, a fake corpse. He was not in there. He couldn't be.
“Keep moving, we don't have all day.” Her mother's voice tore her back into reality, although it was quiet and her senses were numb.
“Yes, sorry.” She replied and hurried once more. She sobbed. That's strange, when had she started to cry? She wiped her face with her sleeve quickly.
It only took a few more steps before they stopped walking. The girl almost gasped as her head reached the surface of the ocean again. Suddenly it was all far too real. As she pondered, as she considered, that his dead body was below this earth. That they had brought him here and buried him here after his life had been taken from him. Both of them stared at the grave. The stone was a brownish-grey color, nothing special, and the letters and numbers engraved were white. Above him, above their lost one, were flowers. Violets. Her mother had pointed out that they had been his favorite.
She didn't realize at first how her mother's arm wrapped itself around her shoulders. Only when she was pulled in close did she notice it.
Maybe he was there, she thought. Maybe he was there, looking at them now. Looking at how miserable they were. Pathetic, he would say and laugh before ruffling her hair.
He had loved to pat and ruffle her hair despite her disliking it so much. He had done it that night, too. “I'll be home late, so don't wait up.” He had said as he had looked down at her with a kind smile and a warm gaze. But she had not listened. She had loved him so much, she had stayed up through the entire night. So she had also been awake when her parents had been woken up by a late-night phone call. She had peeked through the slightly open door of the living room when her mother had begun to shake and cry and her father had wrapped his arms around her, tears in his own eyes, at well.
“He can't be dead...” She suddenly muttered, as she recalled that night, her fear, her disbelief, her refusal to understand that this was it. The end.
“What?” Her mother looked down at her.
“He can't be dead!” She suddenly shouted and a few heads of other visitors turned. “My brother can't be dead!” Tears were rolling down her cheeks and she began to tremble. Before anyone could say anything else she turned around and ran toward the gate.
A character exploration of Arthur’s inner turmoil (includes him having feelings for Vivi). That’s it, there’s nothing more to it, soooo yup. Just don’t mind this.
This is an old drabble that I made in ... idk January? February? Either way I had it on AO3 but took it down because I started hating it (the way I do that with things sometimes). But two friends wanted to read it so it’s up here...
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He looked at Vivi but only for a moment. Because then Lewis took her hand and held it in his own. Arthur couldn't bring himself to look at them together. That horrible feeling came back to him. It burned in his gut in a familiar fashion. It caused him the kind of pain that one should never grow accustomed to and yet he did.
He couldn't stand that Vivi and Lewis were in a relationship. But whom he truly hated was himself for having those thoughts.
He had loved Vivi for such a long time. Everything she did, everything she was, he loved it and he had thought so many times about just working up the courage to tell her. He had wanted to confess long before Lewis had asked her out and he had loved her long before Lewis had. So it would only be fair if he was the one who got to date her, right? Shouldn't he be the one to hold her hand and stroke her hair and kiss her lips? Didn't he deserve it more than Lewis did? No. He didn't and he knew it. The world didn't work like that, Vivi didn't owe him anything for the years he had spent admiring her. And Lewis didn't owe it to him to step off, either. They were happy, after all.
Everything had been fine before. They were all friends and that was it. No hand holding, no meaningful gazes. No Lewis metaphorically and literally sweeping Vivi off her feet. No pretending that everything was alright when everything was so very wrong and no looks at his friends that hurt him inside more than anything else ever had.
He hated just thinking about it. Lewis and Vivi. Boyfriend and girlfriend. When he tried to say it, he nearly choked.
He should have seen it coming.
It wasn't as if there hadn't been signs that this was going to happen. Glances, hands brushing against each other. Their relationship had not come out of the blue. And yet Arthur had always found a way to bury himself in denial. He had told himself he was seeing things and being too paranoid. He had tried to convince himself that they were just friends and were going to stay just friends. He had known deep inside that he was lying to himself to make it easier, to ignore reality in favor of something more comfortable.
But he had seen what had been going on, he had not been blind to it. He had counted the seconds Vivi hugged each of them. And Lewis had simply received a few more 'Mississippis' than him. And there was that smile she had begun to wear. It was sheepish and sweet, meaningful and beautiful. But Arthur had not been the one who made it appear on her face. She was wearing it so often, still. And he could not help but hate it.
He had felt that he was overthinking it, though, and instead of trying to convince himself that what he had been seeing was nothing out of the ordinary he had started trying to ignore everything altogether. The glances, the touching, the hugs and the way they spoke about each other. None of it happened, not for Arthur.
But eventually the time of denial had run out. When they had told him, all the cards had been on the table and there had been nothing to deny or ignore.
It was his own fault, though wasn't it? He should have taken action.
He should have been the one who walked up to Vivi, took her hand and told her how he truly felt. Maybe if it had been him, maybe if he had gathered his courage and talked to her sooner then maybe she would have loved him the way she loved Lewis. But that never happened. There had been plenty of opportunities to tell her. It was not as if they had never been alone together. No, the alone-time was scarce ever since that relationship started. Though, that was nothing unusual. Vivi's freetime had to be split between group-time and quality-boyfriend-time. There was no spot for one-on-one talks with Arthur. And he loathed it. And he felt miserable because of it.
He should be happy for them and he knew it.
And it made him feel even worse. They were his friends. And they were really good friends, too. So why couldn't he simply be happy for them? They had found each other, they had found true happiness and yet all he could do was be angry and sad. He loved Vivi! He should be happy whenever she's happy. So why wasn't he? Why was all he ever felt when they looked at each other and smiled pain and anger? He pretended to be happy. He knew he couldn't let his miserable mood ruin theirs. They had every right to be happy together.
Arthur wanted to say that what was going on was wrong and that they were terrible together and had a horrible relationship and that all they ever did was make each other miserable. But it wasn't true. It was the exact opposite. And he felt that him wanting it any other way made him a horrible person.
He couldn't say that Lewis was bad for Vivi or that Arthur would be a way better boyfriend than Lewis ever could be. Lewis was great! He was sweet and thoughtful and kind. He thought about others before he thought about himself and not a day in his life passed when he didn't do something good for somebody else. Hell, even Arthur would want to date him if he 'swung that way'. The truth was that Lewis treated Vivi with respect and love and that he would risk his life for her. He cared about her deeply and he loved her. He was everything Vivi deserved. And Arthur couldn't stand admitting it.
Because not only was he terrific the way he was, he was also everything that Arthur wasn't. Lewis was brave and strong whereas Arthur had to force himself to tag along to every paranormal investigation the group did. Vivi's presence had always played a huge part in convincing him to go. Lewis could cook up dinner. Arthur struggled with boiling pasta. Lewis could and had serenaded Vivi with both his voice and his violin; Arthur's musical skills were rather unsuited for that sort of action. Lastly Lewis knew how to be romantic. Arthur was about as romantic as an unsalted potato.
Lewis wasn't perfect, of course. And whether Arthur wanted it or not he was focusing on the imperfections he could see. And he was doing so with desperation as if to give himself some kind of reason, some kind of justification for not being able to be happy. Every time Lewis was wrong about something, every time he made a mistake -no matter how trivial- Arthur felt himself cheer a little on the inside. He truly wished he didn't. Who would want their friend to be wrong? To make mistakes? He didn't want Lewis to suffer, not truly. But there was some part of him, one that was growing with time, that was deeply enjoying the errors of his friend and felt that maybe, just maybe, he deserved it in a way for stealing Vivi from him. Nevermind that that put Vivi into some kind of objectified light that Arthur really did not see her in.
The mechanic became so desperate to find something wrong with his friend that he took Lewis' acts of kindness and described them as 'sappy' or 'over the top' or 'fake' in his head. He even asked Vivi once whether she didn't think that her boyfriend was being a little 'too much'. He had asked her in one of those rare moments when they were alone. The face she had made made Arthur feel even more guilty. First there was confusion and disbelief in her eyes, then something else entirely. She wasn't angry though. Arthur then realized; He was the first of their friends to ever badmouth one of the others behind their back. And he felt like the lowest of low-lives at the time. He had told Vivi that he had been joking. He didn't know whether she believed it or not, because she certainly hadn't laughed it off the way he wished she had.
They should just stop dating.
That was a thought that had crossed Arthur's mind time and time again. 'They should split up', 'Why did they start in the first place' or 'This isn't fair' were sentences he heard himself think far too often. And for each time he thought it, he was punished with hours of regret. Because he should be happy. Because he knew better than to have such thoughts. Because he knew that everything he thought and felt had no justification.
The guilt in his gut became even worse when he remembered that they were being considerate of him in everything they did. Arthur didn't know whether they were aware of how he felt about Vivi or not. But one way or another they took great care about how they behaved when they were around him. They only rarely held hands and they never really kissed. They held back for his sake. He knew that when they were alone things were different. He had run in on them making out once. It had been the most horrible moment of his life; Arthur was certain. Just seeing Lewis holding Vivi like that, touching her like that and Vivi reciprocating had been awful for him. Even if he had only seen it for a moment, it was an image he wouldn't forget for a while.
But not only did they try to keep their physical contact to a minimum around him and cut down on nicknames, they had also specifically asked him whether he was okay with them dating. Not together, of course, they had not wanted to put him on the spot and he knew it.
It had been Lewis who had confronted him about it. He had asked whether it would be okay for him if him and Vivi got closer or whether it would make Arthur feel awkward. He had promised that the group dynamic would not change, he had promised that it wouldn't change anything except for the fact that Vivi and him were closer. Lewis had looked at him and told him to be honest and that it's okay if he is worried or doesn't want them to and that they would respect his wishes. But who was he to tell them what to do? The burning feeling, the rock in his stomach had had nothing to say. How could he have kept his friends from being happy together, from improving each other's lives and, dare he say, complete each other? So he had put on a smile and said 'No problem' in the most convincing way he could. Lewis seemed to have bought the terrible lie because soon enough they were together.
Right next to 'They should split up' in Arthur's mind was 'What do they even need me for'.
Vivi and Lewis tried with everything they had to avoid making Arthur feel left out. And they often succeeded. It was not as if he could not enjoy movie nights anymore or as if going on trips was eternally ruined for him. But whenever he got a moment to brood and think, all those feelings came bubbling up and he did his best to hide them. There was nothing he could do but hide them.
He had tried to get rid of them. He had tried to be happy, but it didn't work. And then he had tried to get over Vivi. He had told himself that she wasn't worth it, that there were other girls, that she wasn't even all that great. But he had not believed one word of his own thoughts. Because he knew what he truly felt and he knew what he really wanted.
He kept all those thoughts and feelings bottled up with no one to vent to, no one to explain anything to. Why would he try? Anyone whom he talked to about this would have the same reaction; they would all believe that he was a horrible and heartless person. If Vivi and Lewis ever found out they would hate him. They would loathe him and end their friendship and they would have every right to do so. Arthur knew they would, so he could never tell anybody. He could never let anybody know.
And his emotions developed inside of him. Growing stronger and more painful. He had to force himself more and more to keep a straight face and keep up the lies. They had to believe that he was happy. They had to think that nothing was wrong with him.
And with everything inside him in turmoil and Lewis right in front of him it came as no surprise that a creature, dark and vile, preyed on him. A creature that thrived on pain and bad emotions. A parasite that only needed to find a proper host. And Arthur's tortured self was perfect for the job. Taking control should have been easy, but he fought back. Subconsciously, his deep care for Lewis, everything he had ever meant to him was fighting against the darkness. But he lost.
He didn't even know what he was doing. Arthur only realized what his body had done when he heard his dear friend scream. And his mind shattered and he was terrified of what he had become.
He didn't feel it when Mystery tore off his limb, not at first. Arthur heard his heart beat speed up, he heard his own breathing and he felt the tears on his face. He could barely bring himself to look over the edge of the cliff. But when he finally did he wished he had not. The pain coming from his left shoulder started to set in soon.
But he wasn't thinking about it. He couldn't think straight, everything was a haze and a mess. All he knew was that he had lost control to a green eyed monster. Jealousy.
The green eyed monster is restless. It doesn't need sleep, it doesn't need anything but a reason to exist and a place to grow. It consumes other emotions, but what it feeds on to grow is misery. It's powerful and hard to defeat. Some fall victim to it and never recover. It ruins everything they hold dear until there's nothing left to keep them happy.
Lewis' death killed Arthur's green eyed monster.
But from the chaos of feelings a new dominant one arose. A new leader, a new horror to suppress everything else. Guilt. Overwhelming, all-consuming guilt. Arthur couldn't stand it. Everytime he thought about Lewis, everytime he thought about what should be a happy memory, he felt guilt and shame. He hated himself more than he ever had. And no 'it's not your fault' and 'there was nothing you could have done' from Mystery were loud enough to quiet down all the horrendous and dark thoughts in the mechanic's mind.
And time, the omnipotent healer, did not seem to desire to fix Arthur. He tried to move on with his life, he tried it desperately. But whenever he felt like things might be okay, he was reminded that it had been his hand that had pushed Lewis that night. And his mind that had been vulnerable enough to be influenced.
Only looking at the pieces of metal that replaced his arm was enough to remind him of everything sometimes. Remind him that he was a despicable human being. Remind him that he killed his friend and Vivi's boyfriend.
And Vivi didn't even know.
Arthur wanted to apologize to her. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg her for forgiveness. He wanted her to look at him and tell him that she forgave him. Only then could he find himself content, only if she thought that maybe he wasn't so bad, would he be able to believe it himself. But that would never happen.
Vivi didn't remember Lewis. She had forgotten his entire existence. Everything about him. Everything that had happened to him. So she could not talk to Arthur about it. She could not forgive him or let him know that everything would be alright. They could never talk about it and Arthur could never apologize. He wished she would remember but whenever he thought this he thought about how selfish that was. She could be happy this way, she had a life this way. And it would be selfish and heartless to take it away from her. Cruel and unkind. The work of a monster.
So no matter how often the urge to sit her down and talk to her about the truth struck him, he did his best to ignore it and move on. He had taken away the one she loved, he had torn someone out of her life. He could not take away her happiness from her. She deserved to be happy and upbeat, cheerful. She did not deserve to feel pain.
But Arthur felt more than pain and guilt. Somewhere in this mess of feelings there were still those emotions he harbored for Vivi. That warm feeling. It was still there. And it managed to shine through the chaos, through the storm. He still felt the same way about her. He still had the same thoughts about her. And he only loathed himself more because of it.
Vivi had been Lewis' girlfriend. It had been bad enough for Arthur to feel this way about her in that situation. But Lewis was gone and it was his fault, no matter how he sliced it. And he was still having those feelings about the girl his friend had loved. He still thought about her at night, he still pictured himself holding her and her kissing him softly. He still loved her the way he had done before and he felt more guilty.
Much worse than this was the occasional thought that occurred to him. It was always something along the lines of 'you could ask her out now'. It was as if his brain was trying to convince him that there had been something positive about Lewis' death. As if it had not been horrible in every way and something that never should have happened.
There were moments when everything was okay.
Sometimes, and he didn't know how or why, Arthur would just be calm and happy. Everything would be fine, even if he wasn't distracted, even if he was thinking about Vivi or about what had happened. Sometimes he would find it in him to think that maybe he was not a horrible person and maybe Mystery was right and it had not been his fault. It was then that he thought that maybe time was finally being merciful to him and willing to heal his wounds.
He knew a part of him would always feel horrible about what had happened. And he knew that unless he found some way to feel like he was forgiven, some way to talk to Lewis and apologize to him, there would always be guilt within him.
Arthur's demons were painful and malicious. And maybe they would never leave.
So here’s a brief warm-up drabble of today under the cut since I’m not putting it on AO3 or something. (Mostly about Lewis)
“She needs to be fine.“
It was the last thought on his mind, the last coherent thing he could form before everything vanished into the screaming chaos of pain. A spike through his torso. He felt himself being torn apart. But the anguish of dying couldn't be compared to the sensation he had felt during his fall. Arthur. His friend. Someone he had trusted with everything, someone whom he had had the utmost faith in. That man's hand had been the one to push him, to send him to his demise.
Betrayal.
Lewis lay there, unable to move, unable to do anything. And all he felt was pain and and the sting of Arthur's treason. Was he dead? Was this death? Anguish, pain,... was this the rest of his eternity? He was frozen in time and place. He couldn't see. Or, he could but whatever he saw made no sense to him. The world didn't. Whatever came after the world didn't.
Was she there beside him? Was Vivi there? Crying? Had she born witness to this horrible sight? No... there was no way... this couldn't happen. This didn't happen. This sort of betrayal, this sort of tragedy... that was the stuff of fiction. His life, his demise, that was real, not a plot device of the story of someone else. His death couldn't be a story point of her life. Not yet. Not for decades.
He could still wake up.
It could be a dream, a horrible nightmare. No matter how real the pain felt, no matter how his heart broke to see Arthur standing on that ledge as Lewis fell; no matter how much every inch of his body, every fiber of his being screamed in torment. He could not accept that this was reality, that this was his end. His family, his friends, the love of his life, it was impossible that all of those people were forever taken from him. That he was taken from them. His parents... his loving, wonderful parents... he couldn't do this to them. They had taken him in, loved him, raised him. And now they would have to bury their son? His sisters whom he loved and adored, whom he had tucked in at night so many times before... they would have to be told why their big brother wouldn't return home? And Vivi... Vivi would have to accept that her boyfriend died? That holding each other, loving each other, being with each other... that all the things and moments they had both cherished were in the past? It had to be a lie. A dream, a nightmare. Fiction, not reality. Who would be there to hold her? Who would be there to comfort her?
Arthur...
Lewis felt again.
He felt his insides burning, his entire self being filled by rage.
Arthur had taken a son from his parents, he had taken a brother from his sisters, he had taken a boyfriend from his sweetheart. He had destroyed the household peace of innocent, good people; people Lewis held dear. He had destroyed Vivi's happiness, had caused her grief. And he was still out there, still with her. He would be by her side and she wouldn't even know what he had done. He would be comforting her. He would be spewing lies at everyone Lewis had cared about, everyone who had loved him.
The rage within his mind grew and it became stronger and stronger. It was as if a million whispers spoke to him and told him that Arthur didn't deserve to keep going. He didn't deserve to be with Vivi, he didn't deserve to be there, at all.
He didn't deserve to live.
He had taken a life and for what?
He had broken a heart and torn up souls.
Lewis could feel his wrath fueling him, his anger and rage mixing into a chaos within him. He could feel himself growing stronger again. No, he did not feel alive. All he felt was power.
