MSPA fan fiction 2

[Sushi Database]

I hadn't been paying much attention to Impermanence, but that was really cool. :O

[MrEdwardNigma]

Ugh, why did my first bit of story ever have to end up on the bottom of a page? Anyways, check out the bottom of the previous page. It's the start of my modest little fanfic.

[Tenebrais]

Impermanence: Hearts Across Time
Chapter 2: Awakening

This is awesome. Don't stop writing.

Nigma, I only skimmed yours because I don't particularly enjoy OC fics. Nonetheless, your writing seems competent and the style is quite unique.

[breccia]

Haha. It's hard to write about popular music in a future fic. Anachronisms!!!!!!!! Ignore them.

Get Misunderstood
Quick and dirty Future-Chums. Dave/Jade, Rose/John. Links to music (youtube).
Inspired heavily by sarasvati's amazing fic.

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What he really wants to do is play something hard. He's been listening to music lately as a stand-in for an intensity of emotions he can barely remember ever feeling. Loud, pounding music that fills his head. Music that begs to be heard, music you can't tune out, or turn down.

But that's not what this crowd wants to hear. They are out on a Friday night, arguably the worst night of the week, and they are drinking heavily. The people who dance in front of him seem like something from a cartoon. They are all caricatures of personalities Dave used to think were merely exaggerations. Sure, a few always existed. There were always a few beefy guys in baseball caps and polo shirts, a girl or two with orange-tinged skin and black-dyed hair. But this throbbing sea of dancers were nothing but. The outfits, the hair, the attitudes, the dance moves. Everything seemed so calculated, so fake. When Dave first played for a crowd like this, he felt like he was the only one not in on the joke.

They danced and cheered. They loved a DJ who gave shout outs, who played poorly remixed Top 40 hits. They wanted to sing along. They wanted a raunchy song that they could get down to, using it and the liquor as an excuse to push boundaries. He hated it.

He used to avoid scenes like this one, but sometimes the money spoke a bit too loudly. Sometimes his bills piled up on his dining room table, a salvaged piece of furniture left over from the previous tenants, and sometimes he felt like eating something that wasn't instant. He called himself a sell-out before anyone else could, though they never did.

"What's so wrong about playing for them?" Jade asked him when he first started. "They clearly enjoy your music ... you should be happy! You're doing what you love!"

"I don't know," Dave had replied. "It's not exactly a challenge to get them to dance."

"Is that what you need?"

"I just want to know that what I'm doing isn't something that any jackass with a Mac can do."

She had giggled at his answer.

"Why's that funny?"

"It's not funny, it's cute."

When Dave recalled this conversation, he was sure he hadn't blushed. He never blushed. He was almost positive about that.

"You never dance."

Jade smiled. "Oh, I don't know how. I'd look silly!"

"Anyone can dance to the right music."

"So, what's my right music?"

"I'm still looking."


---


They were easy gigs. He never had to think too much when he was there. When Dave first started playing them, he convinced himself it would only ever be once in a blue moon, something he would only do when he was desperate for money. Lately, it had become his main gig. He could turn off his thoughts there. No skill was needed. He didn't have to read the room, or respond to the waves that flowed into him from the crowd. He certainly didn't have to plan or play anything challenging, anything that meant something to him.


---


"Hmmm," Rose swirled her straw around her glass absentmindedly. "DJ Hephaestus?"

"Why does it always have to do with the game?" Dave had asked her.

"Don't you want it to have meaning?"

"There are other aspects of my life that have meaning, you know."

"Sure."

Dave sighed. "I don't know why I need a name anyway."

"The mysterious disk jockey," Rose mused. "Never named; an enigma of beats and style. He moves like a shadow. Where will he play next? No one knows."

"Did I tell you about the guy I played with last week? DJ Twelve Inch."

"Did he actually play vinyl, or is the name just an elaborate dick joke?"

"He sat back and pressed 'play' on his computer, then went and got a drink."

"So, a dick joke."

"Not even a very good one."


---


John still burns CDs. Dave finds his outdated means of sharing music almost cute, but his taste is anything but. To John, discovering a song doesn't mean it's new or unreleased, unique and up-and-coming. It doesn't even mean it's very good. John discovers songs years after the height of their popularity. He discovers songs that were blasted from every annoying, strobe-filled club in Amsterdam, or Prague, or wherever people went to dance to tacky music back at the beginning of the century.

"This was released in 2004, you realize."

"So what? It's retro. Everything comes back in style. It's circular! Like the 80s! And bellbottoms!"

Dave scowls down at the mix. No, he thinks. There is nothing on god's green fucking earth that is going to convince him to play DJ god damn Tiesto at his next gig.

John is still bouncing around in front of him, excited. "At least listen to track 5, it is so good. So good, Dave."

Sometimes Dave wants to be able to please him. He wants John to discover a hidden gem somewhere on his collection of Top 20 House Hits from the 2000s, or whatever piece of crap discount album he downloaded last. This has yet to happen. Dave still holds out hope, though.

"Yeah, OK," he says, flipping the jewel case over, eyes scrolling down the poorly written track list. He knows the song, and knows he’ll have to wait for another of John's mixes to find that gem. "I'll give it a listen. Thanks, dude."

John grins the maniacal grin that he has come to expect. Dave doesn't consider this lying, even though it is. He can't crush his friend, not when he spent all this time picking outdated house anthems to burn onto a bright green CD to hand deliver to him.

---

There is a song he wants to play that he knows is too hard for the room. When he listens to it alone he plays it loud. The heavy bass and the glitches, the dissonance and speed, it fills him with energy. He can remember holding a weapon, brandishing it with skill learned over time. He was full of emotion, then.

He wonders if he should be embarrassed over how cheesy the song really is. But then the beat drops again and he is pulled back to a fight and the intensity he once felt so strongly.

He plays loud music these days, drowning out his thoughts. How had he managed to do so much, back then? The thought is an uncomfortable one. He turns the song up louder. Artificial emotions, like a fake limb. He rests on it heavily.


---


Sharing music is different with Rose. He used to feel a connection between them, something he couldn't put into words. This alone struck him as funny – being unable to wield his words properly. When they spoke to each other it was like they were weaving words and images together toward the same yet-unfinished mural, never having to explain where they were going. It was as though they were dancing, one leading with subtle shifts of weight, the other responding to the slightest change in position, transforming a hand on the shoulder into a spin and a step.

Of course they were related, he often thought now. They were too similar, too in-step with one another. Too many shared genes. Like talking to your own reflection.

She always suggested music that seemed like it should have meaning to him. Carefully selected pieces that defined “Dave” to her. Good pieces. He often imagined what music must be played in their house. The horror show of John's music met with the refined and calculated selections Rose made.

They were close, now that they could define that connection between them.

Despite this, he found himself typing angrily to her one night, a trio of drinks from a gig blurring his vision. "Don't be such a bitch."

He never drank. This was why.

"You make quite a valid argument," she wrote back. "My being a bitch is almost certainly why you’re avoiding Jade."

Dave struggled to find the proper keys. "I’m not avoiding anything."

"What are you so scared of?"

Dave fumbled forward angrily, switching his monitor off. That would show her. He stood up, cursing, and stumbled toward his empty bed.

What did she know, anyway? She buried herself in her books, in her writing, just as much as he did in his music. She didn't understand anything that had happened between them. She didn't know how he felt.

---

"I really like this song," is the message left from Jade. "It's a little bit sad, but good music always makes me think of you. Don't take the lyrics the wrong way, OK? Here it is..."

Dave complies without thinking twice.

"I hope you're doing well," her final message was time stamped nearly twenty minutes later.

Dave listens in his bedroom, the window open to let in a warm breeze and the sounds of traffic from below.

---

Dave wonders what he needs to play to clear the room, but it's too late. As he mixes into a subdued French tune, the crowd is too far gone to stop moving. There are slight adjustments to their moves, hands changing to hit the beat, bodies writhing to the smoother tones and the elegant language. Suddenly he feels bad. Though it's not exactly his style, it has become a favorite of his lately. Rose turned him on to it, as she often did, no doubt sending it to him with a smirk, explaining that the lyrics fit him quite well.

As he watches the crowd absorb the music he starts to feel jealous. This is his song, they weren't supposed to enjoy it. John would call him selfish, later. He would say that he underestimates everyone around him, thinking he's better than them.

Musicians are supposed to be able to share their emotions though their medium of choice. Dave turns his attention elsewhere. He's tired of John and Rose and their incessant meddling. They planted these thoughts in his head -- these thoughts of holding back what he wants to play, of keeping them close to his heart, of forcing out phony music he can't stand, stringing along crowds like marionettes. What did they know?

---

"Could you sneak in some subliminal message?" John asked one day while Dave complained of the crowds early on in his new gig routine. "You know, record yourself saying something backwards and play it over a song. Talk in a demonic voice and freak them out!"

Dave rolled his eyes over his dinner. "I don't want to put forth that much effort just to fuck with them."

"Oh, come on! What if you change the beats per minute on them? Watch them try to keep dancing to a beat that's always changing!"

"Come on, Egbert," Dave began, trying not to smile. He paused for a moment as the thought sunk in. "Wait, that's not a bad idea."

John grinned.

---


There is a girl hanging off the DJ booth now, one drink in her hand, her cleavage resting on a speaker. Her lips are moving, no doubt requesting a song, or trying to make small talk. Dave can't hear her. He shrugs at her and points to his headphones. She leans closer and yells. Dave can almost make out the words now, despite his best efforts not to. He shakes his head at her and busies himself with his laptop. The girl leans forward further, screaming. Her drink splashes over the edge of her cup. Dave pulls his headphones off in exasperation.

"I can't fucking hear you," he says, smiling sarcastically, knowing that the girl can't understand him. "You are embarrassing yourself right now! Also you're spilling your cheap liquor on my speakers, and I'm going to have to make you pay for that somehow! I will tell the bartender to overcharge you and I’ll take the difference! Also I'll ask him to water down your drinks! Oh, and your boyfriend is macking on another girl behind you and your boobs look incredibly fake!"

She smiles back at him.

---

"Here," Rose typed to him late one night. "I thought you might like this song. I don't expect you to play it for your sorority fan club, but maybe this can go in your private collection."

Dave scowled at the fan club insinuation. "You never come to my shows anymore," he wrote back. "How do you know what the crowds are like?"

"I can imagine."

"Maybe I play to the fucking elite, now. Maybe I am a Greek fucking god of the turntables, being summoned by the nobles to descend from above to feed them my otherworldly manna."

"You told me just last week that a girl slipped you her number on the back of a cocktail napkin in front of her boyfriend, who then tried to break your equipment over it."

"Yeah well maybe they had imbibed a little too much Wild Turkey."

"Perhaps they had imbibed the bar's entire stock?"

"Perhaps."

"Did you block Jade?"

Dave's fingers hover above his keys. Rose's song plays in the background.

"This is a pretty good tune," he writes, finally.

"You have to grow up sometime, Strider."

---

John doesn't have a CD for him this time, even though the last time they spoke online he was gushing about a single from 2010.

"I don't get it," he says, looking somewhat sad. "Why are you ignoring her?"

"I'm not," Dave responds, a bit too quickly. "I'm just busy."

"I thought you liked her."

Dave forces an eye roll. "Like her? We're not 13 anymore, John."

He frowns. "Sorry. How am I supposed to ask that question with our new-found maturity? Do you like her or do you LIKE-like her?"

"Just shut up."

"Are you afraid of something?"

"What would I be afraid of?"

"I don't know!" he cries suddenly, strong emotions suddenly pushing through. "But that's what I tell her when she comes to me all sad that you're suddenly ignoring her. It's the only thing I can think to say when she asks if you're seeing someone else!"

Dave's stomach feels sick.

"What is wrong with you, anyway?" John asks, his concern noticeable in his anger.

"Nothing."

"I thought you were supposed to be the brave one! Dude, come on. You have to be! Who else is going to be the brawns to my brains?"

Dave can't help but laugh suddenly, nervous energy expelling itself. John's lips curl up into an unintentional smile.

"Shut up," John says, bemused.

---

He’s been playing strange music, lately. As he lies on his bed, the room dark in the twilight entering in from his window, Dave listens to the music given to him by his friend. It’s not the outdated dance that John erroneously thinks he plays at his shows. It’s not the deliberately chosen music Rose finds, attributing significance for him. It’s something that he can feel has meaning only to the girl who sent it to him. Something chosen to flow alongside emotion, not to serve as a replacement for it. Messages to be listened for.

He stares at the ceiling. One could dance to this, he thinks. Why not?

Dave sighs and turns to his side. What if they’re right?

---


Dave has his set cued up. To his left is a fellow DJ, wearing cheap headphones and bouncing to a song that makes Dave's stomach churn in embarrassment. The crowd is bellowing and roiling, waves of human limbs pulsing to the tawdry beat.

The DJ looks at him and smiles as the song peaks and he waits for a drop. Dave isn't interested enough to even roll his eyes.

"All right," he announces into his microphone as the song approaches its end, feigning some hip accent, "I’m outta here! Let's hear some noise for The DJ Called Scratch!"

The crowd cheers, but not out of recognition. Dave forces a half smile of thanks as they cross fade into the new set. His beats are similar, BPMs staying static to allow uninterrupted dancing. The retiring DJ pats his back with one hand, hard, and wanders off the stage.

Dave stares at the screen of his laptop. Four measures play on repeat in one ear. His hands idle above the keys and his vision begins to lose focus. He is overcome with the desire to leave the bar and walk home. He's tired.

The song reaches a point of transition. He should mix in the next. He misses his moment, and the song continues. He doesn't care. Dave sets down his headphones and the crowd dances on, unaware. He scrolls down through his library, his eyes landing upon a song. He smiles to himself. He'll probably get booed off the stage. They might even throw a bottle or two. It would be worth it, though. He advances the song to the point he wants and waits for the right moment to bring it out.

The crowd slows as the dance music gives way to slow jazz.

Dave looks up from his equipment, meeting the eyes of nearly everyone in the room. A few people in the crowd begin tittering to each other.

"Nice mix, dude!" A large man near the stage yells out. Half of the room snickers in response.

He is beyond caring. This has never been his scene. He's tired of taking the easy gig, the simple job. He's tired of drowning out his emotions. He’s tired of John being the one to call out his immaturity. That is just wrong. He smiles at the thought.

Dave looks around the room once more, his smile growing at the incredulous expressions of the crowd, unsure if they should try to dance, or storm the stage. The lights in the room flash awkwardly to the slow beat.

His eyes flow across the ocean of people he has brought to a standstill, and he spots someone familiar near the door, a girl, staring at him with wide, bespectacled eyes. His smile drops at once. He glances down at the song playing on his computer, and then back to the girl. How did it do that?

Jade looks just as confused as she listens to her song playing over the speakers. Dave looks down once more, unsure of himself. The crowd is growing restless.

"What the fuck, DJ?"

Dave shakes his head. The song isn’t that long, he has to be quick. Now or never, or some bullshit saying like that. He steps down from the stage and passes through the crowd. Jade is waiting at the door, her cheeks flushed. Dave stops in front of her and they are both silent for a moment.

"You liked the song?" she asks, finally, a slight smile forming.

"Yeah."

"… I'm glad."

"You wanna get out of here?" he asks.

She looks surprised once more. "What about your equipment?"

" I can get it later."

“But … your show …”

“I’m done. Trust me.”

“Are you sure…?”

“Yeah.”

Jade's smile grows, and Dave finds himself returning it.

"Okay!”

“Let’s go.”

[JudgeDeadd]

Haha, Nigma. Like a darker-and-edgier version of Homestuck. Nicely written, and morbid enough to attract my attention. Wonder what you'll do with it.

[MrEdwardNigma]

Haha, Nigma. Like a darker-and-edgier version of Homestuck. Nicely written, and morbid enough to attract my attention. Wonder what you'll do with it.

Thank you, that's exactly what I was going for.

[resdaMalos]

Consider yourself seethed.

Ah, I am seethed. In a second I'm probably going to adjust the chapter according to your suggestions. Thanks!

Impermanence: Hearts Across Time
Chapter 2: Awakening

Great work, as usual. Seeing all these AUs is going to be fun. Is pirate world next? I hope pirate world is next.

Hmmmm, isn't it funny how when you "Go Advanced" less options are displayed than when you quick reply on this new forum?

Anyways, I decided to have a go at this "fan fiction" thing all the cool kids are talking about.

A Cautionary Tale

Mr. Nigma, I'm hoping to see more out of this. You've gotten off to a good start.

Also, if you look at your general settings (Edit Profile -> General Settings) and scroll all the way to the bottom, you'll see that you actually have your choice between three different editors for your reply. You're probably using the Basic Editor right now - I know because I had the same problem until I fixed it. The Standard Editor is what we're all used to from the old forums.

EDIT: AUGH, sorry breccia! I missed your fic when I was multiquoting. Anyway, it's great too! The music was an excellent backdrop for the story, and I like Dave's little version of the tortured artiste mentality.

[raequiem]

Everyone above me is awesome, just throwing that out there.

I wrote this because I enjoy second-person Dave, and angst, and drunken PTSD. And because sleep is for pussies.

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As owner, it is your prerogative to help yourself to your nightclub's bar after closing.

You're on either your fourth or seventh drink when you hear a tap at the door. You sigh and go to stand up - whoa. Take a minute to steady yourself against the counter (and wonder who the hell goes clubbing at four-thirteen in the morning?) before you begin to make your way to the door.

You trip over something you can't quite see in the half-darkness and catch yourself on the door frame. There's another tap at the door, and you heave another sigh. Why today, of all days? "We're closed. Go away."

"Dave? It's me, Jade." You freeze, blinking. Jade? That Jade? "Um, could you let me in? Please?" There's a tremor in her voice that says sooner would be much better than later.

You open the door, and with a burst of hot night air in your face there she is, looking exactly the same as always. Long dark hair, brown eyes peering out from behind enormous glasses, and that grin with just a hint of a cute overbite. "Hi, Dave! Can I come in?"

You blink again. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Come on in." You hold the door open, and she ducks inside. You notice the crack dealers and hobos across the street and feel a rush of anger - no wonder she was nervous standing out there. You tip down your shades and scatter them with a glare before slamming the door shut and locking it.

She's walking through the empty club, looking around with interest. "This is a really nice place. And it's all yours?"

"Yeah," you reply, still standing by the door while you wait for the room to stop moving. "I mean, my bro helped pick it out, and he fronted me about half the down payment, but I've paid him back so it's all mine. And there's a pretty sweet apartment upstairs, so I finally got away from his goddamn puppets. But how did you find m- it?"

She laughs, and the sound echoes in the large, empty space. "You named it 'Lohac'. Feeling uncreative that day?" she teases. She sits on a barstool, the one next to the one you were using. She notices your empty glass. "Drinking? Alone? Now we can't have that."

You smirk and slide behind the bar. "What'll it be? And don't knock the name. Didn't Rose name her third book 'Of Light And Rain'?"

"Just a Coke is fine." She keeps talking as you fill the glass. "At least Rose didn't use her real name for her writing. The 'Tales of the Seer' are by the reclusive award-winning author Theodora Thomson."

You set the Coke in front of her and pour yourself another scotch. "Yeah. Who'd she think she was fooling with that one, anyway?" The scotch doesn't burn going down anymore - just a warmth in the pit of your stomach.

Jade doesn't miss a thing, though. "How many of those have you had tonight?" Before you can stop her, she's leaning over the bar to count your empty glasses. "Eight?! Dave, what's gotten into you?"

You stare at the glass in your hand. With your extra abilities, losing count is more than a bit of a novelty. "Eight, really? Wow. New record." She whips around to glare, and you look away. "It's not that big of a deal, calm down."

"It's a huge deal. Dave, this isn't like you, what's going on? Are you drinking like this every night?"

"So what if I am? It's not your job to look out for me, Harley- "

"Well obviously you need it, Strider, or you'd probably be passed out on the floor by now- "

"It's my floor and my life, I can do what I want- "

"You're going to kill yourself!"

"Now she gets it!" you yell, and suddenly you realize the volume of your conversation has been steadily increasing. You take off your shades and set them down carefully, rubbing at your temples. "Do you even know what day it is?"

Her voice is hard. "Of course I do."

Your eyes are still closed, and you're facing away from her. "Ten years, Jade. Actually, nine years, three hundred and sixty-four days, eighteen hours, thirty-two minutes and twelve seconds since we started that Game. In six hours, twenty-eight minutes and thirty seconds, it will have been exactly ten years. A decade, Jade. Almost half my life. And do you know how I've spent that decade? With this hypersensitivity to every single second that passes, every single minute, every single hour, every single day a constant reminder that I'll never be normal, that none of us will ever be anything close to normal again. Maybe we never were, I don't know. And even without that lovely gift from the Game, there's the nightmares. There's waking up in a cold sweat thinking Jackspers Noirlecrow has his sword at my throat or your throat or Rose's or John's, and not even being able to tell myself that it was just a dream because it wasn't, it was a memory, and I could have died and you could have died and we all could have died a hundred thousand times in that goddamn Game, and in another time you and John did die and someone had to fix that, and it's always me, why did I have to fix things and repair the timestream, I was just a kid, we were all just kids, and that Game twisted us and broke us and then just dropped us back into the real world like we're supposed to just go on with our lives like nothing ever happened- "

And her arms are around you, and there's something wet on your face, and when did you start crying and she's murmuring soothing nonsense and you suddenly feel like the world's biggest asshole. She didn't need this dumped on her, she doesn't need your problems, she's got her own shit to deal with, why the hell would she want to hear about yours?

You wrap your arms around her, trying to stop your hands from shaking, and you both just stay there for a while. And it's almost nice except that your head's fuzzy from the scotch and it kind of hurts from crying, and she's leaning a bit awkwardly from her barstool which can't be very comfortable, so you lean towards her but overbalance and almost fall yourself. And you catch yourself on the bar and laugh, and she laughs with you, because it's not funny but you need something to break that awkwardness after a tender moment. "I am way too drunk for this shit. Or not drunk enough," you mutter, almost to yourself.

But Jade hears and her face gets that determined look that always either meant victory or disaster was imminent. "Oh no you don't, Strider. You're going to bed to sleep off those drinks. Come on, up you get," and she hops off her stool and pulls you off yours, and you almost fall again and laugh because laughing is better than crying. She pulls your arm over her shoulders and together you make your way slowly up the stairs to your apartment. You fish your key out of your pocket but can't unlock the door because there are two keyholes, since when are there two keyholes, so Jade takes the key and unlocks the door and you stumble inside together.

She gets you to your room and helps you out of your jacket, and you fall onto the bed and she pulls off your shoes, and tucks you in, and takes off your shades and puts them on the bedside table, and it's all really nice. But then she moves toward the door and something that's not quite panic makes you ask, "Jade?"

She turns. "Yeah?"

"Will you still be here when I wake up?" The question seems to startle her, and she takes a moment before she answers.

"Do you want me to be?"

"Yeah."

She smiles softly. "Then I will. Goodnight, Dave."

"'Night, Jade"

And for the first time in years, you sleep without dreaming.

Originally the story ended there, but if you want here's a sequel hook because I can never stop writing shippy fluff.

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You wake up to the smells of coffee and something unidentifiable but mouthwatering, and the sound of someone moving around your kitchen, For a minute you're confused as all hell, and then you remember - Jade - getting drunk - spilling your guts - being pathetic. And then she promised to be here in the morning.

That last thought makes you smile, but then you push back the blankets and sit up and your head remembers exactly how much you drank last night. You groan and lean forward, clutching your head to keep your skull from cracking open. What you need is some hair of the dog.

As if to purposely contradict that idea, Jade appears in your doorway. For a moment you forget your headache and just stare. She's in an apron. An honest-to-god apron, And she has a breakfast tray. You didn't even know you owned a breakfast tray, let alone an apron.

"Good morning!" she chirps in a singsong voice, and that's enough to set your head off again. You groan and fall back against the pillows. She bustles into the room and sets the tray on your lap, sitting at the foot of your bed. "Well, technically good afternoon, since it's- "

"I know what time it is." You open your eyes again and lean up. There's a vase on the breakfast tray. And a flower in the vase. You don't even notice the food, you're so thrown by the flower and the vase and the tray and the apron and what the hell has gotten into Jade?

She's chattering cheerfully while you stare at the tray like an idiot. "I got up around nine, but you were still out cold so I went out for some groceries, man can't live on cup noodles and frozen dinners alone, Dave. So I got a few staples, eggs and bread and milk and such, and I figured some bacon for breakfast would be nice. But when I got back you were still asleep, so I figured I'd cook so it would be there when you woke up, and you'd better eat all of it, Dave, or you'll live to regret it, I promise," and there's that determined look that you're not sure you find adorable or terrifying.

You pick up a fork and put some eggs in your mouth to keep her happy, and what do you know she's actually a pretty good cook. Soon the eggs are gone and so's the bacon, and you drink half the cup of coffee as you eat your toast. The caffeine seems to help your headache, and you're feeling a lot less like shit than you're used to after one of those nights.

But you're still a bit confused, because you're not used to this anniversary being a happy occasion. You're not used to having anything to remember how you spent it - just a timeless, drunken blur. You're not sure you'll like being sober today.

But if sober means having Jade and coffee and breakfast in bed, you think as you push your tray away, then maybe it's not so bad.

"So," you ask as you finish the last of the coffee, "how are John and Rose spending the anniversary?"

She blushes a bit and looks away - not nearly the reaction you were expecting. "Actually, Dave, I have a confession to make. I had an ulterior motive for coming here last night."

You set down the mug. "What's that?"

She presses her lips together nervously, then blurts "John and Rose are getting married."

Okay, that's it. This day officially cannot get any weirder. "Wha... but... since when?!"

"Since he asked and she said yes. About two months ago, I guess. I just found out last week when Rose asked me to go dress-shopping with her."

Suddenly you're feeling just a bit left out of the group. "And when was I gonna find out about all this?"

She smiles placatingly at this. "Well, that's the whole point. We've been trying to find you. John wants you to be his best man."

Your head is spinning, and you really wish you had a drink, if only to blame it on. "Me? But... why me?"

She snorts. "Gee, I dunno, maybe because you're his best friend?" She gives you a friendly shove. "Come on, is it really that huge of a surprise?"

"Yeah, kinda." Your headache is coming back. You reach for your shades. "Did they set a date yet?"

"It's gonna be in September, at Rose's new place. She's got this huge house out in the woods, it's gorgeous. I guess writing pays pretty well."

You sigh heavily, and put on your shades. "Okay."

She bounces at the foot of your bed. "Was that 'okay, I understand' or 'okay, I'll do it'?"

"Okay, I'll do it." Jade squeals and throws herself across the bed, hugging you around the waist. "Alright, jesus, calm down, it's not like it's your wedding."

"Come on, get up, we have to go tell them!" She tugs on your arm, impatient and so very like you remember.

"Jade, for fuck's sake, calm down already! And get out of my room, I need to get changed." You're suddenly aware that you've been in the same shirt and pants for over twenty-four hours. "And maybe a shower."

"Well, hurry up!" she says, gathering up the tray. "I'm gonna go call Rose and tell her. Twenty minutes, got it?"

"Got it." She shuts the door behind her, and you lean back against your pillows for just a moment. Best man, huh? Best friend... it's more than worth being sober for once to see Jade's face light up like that. And it's been what, four, five years since you've talked to either of them, even over Pesterchum. You've got some catching up to do.

You throw off the covers, lurch out of bed, and prepare to face the day.

Completely unedited, just written straight from my brain at four in the morning. So critique away.

[Spleen]

Haha. It's hard to write about popular music in a future fic. Anachronisms!!!!!!!! Ignore them.

Get Misunderstood
Quick and dirty Future-Chums. Dave/Jade, Rose/John. Links to music (youtube).
Inspired heavily by sarasvati's amazing fic.

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What he really wants to do is play something hard. He's been listening to music lately as a stand-in for an intensity of emotions he can barely remember ever feeling. Loud, pounding music that fills his head. Music that begs to be heard, music you can't tune out, or turn down.

But that's not what this crowd wants to hear. They are out on a Friday night, arguably the worst night of the week, and they are drinking heavily. The people who dance in front of him seem like something from a cartoon. They are all caricatures of personalities Dave used to think were merely exaggerations. Sure, a few always existed. There were always a few beefy guys in baseball caps and polo shirts, a girl or two with orange-tinged skin and black-dyed hair. But this throbbing sea of dancers were nothing but. The outfits, the hair, the attitudes, the dance moves. Everything seemed so calculated, so fake. When Dave first played for a crowd like this, he felt like he was the only one not in on the joke.

They danced and cheered. They loved a DJ who gave shout outs, who played poorly remixed Top 40 hits. They wanted to sing along. They wanted a raunchy song that they could get down to, using it and the liquor as an excuse to push boundaries. He hated it.

He used to avoid scenes like this one, but sometimes the money spoke a bit too loudly. Sometimes his bills piled up on his dining room table, a salvaged piece of furniture left over from the previous tenants, and sometimes he felt like eating something that wasn't instant. He called himself a sell-out before anyone else could, though they never did.

"What's so wrong about playing for them?" Jade asked him when he first started. "They clearly enjoy your music ... you should be happy! You're doing what you love!"

"I don't know," Dave had replied. "It's not exactly a challenge to get them to dance."

"Is that what you need?"

"I just want to know that what I'm doing isn't something that any jackass with a Mac can do."

She had giggled at his answer.

"Why's that funny?"

"It's not funny, it's cute."

When Dave recalled this conversation, he was sure he hadn't blushed. He never blushed. He was almost positive about that.

"You never dance."

Jade smiled. "Oh, I don't know how. I'd look silly!"

"Anyone can dance to the right music."

"So, what's my right music?"

"I'm still looking."


---


They were easy gigs. He never had to think too much when he was there. When Dave first started playing them, he convinced himself it would only ever be once in a blue moon, something he would only do when he was desperate for money. Lately, it had become his main gig. He could turn off his thoughts there. No skill was needed. He didn't have to read the room, or respond to the waves that flowed into him from the crowd. He certainly didn't have to plan or play anything challenging, anything that meant something to him.


---


"Hmmm," Rose swirled her straw around her glass absentmindedly. "DJ Hephaestus?"

"Why does it always have to do with the game?" Dave had asked her.

"Don't you want it to have meaning?"

"There are other aspects of my life that have meaning, you know."

"Sure."

Dave sighed. "I don't know why I need a name anyway."

"The mysterious disk jockey," Rose mused. "Never named; an enigma of beats and style. He moves like a shadow. Where will he play next? No one knows."

"Did I tell you about the guy I played with last week? DJ Twelve Inch."

"Did he actually play vinyl, or is the name just an elaborate dick joke?"

"He sat back and pressed 'play' on his computer, then went and got a drink."

"So, a dick joke."

"Not even a very good one."


---


John still burns CDs. Dave finds his outdated means of sharing music almost cute, but his taste is anything but. To John, discovering a song doesn't mean it's new or unreleased, unique and up-and-coming. It doesn't even mean it's very good. John discovers songs years after the height of their popularity. He discovers songs that were blasted from every annoying, strobe-filled club in Amsterdam, or Prague, or wherever people went to dance to tacky music back at the beginning of the century.

"This was released in 2004, you realize."

"So what? It's retro. Everything comes back in style. It's circular! Like the 80s! And bellbottoms!"

Dave scowls down at the mix. No, he thinks. There is nothing on god's green fucking earth that is going to convince him to play DJ god damn Tiesto at his next gig.

John is still bouncing around in front of him, excited. "At least listen to track 5, it is so good. So good, Dave."

Sometimes Dave wants to be able to please him. He wants John to discover a hidden gem somewhere on his collection of Top 20 House Hits from the 2000s, or whatever piece of crap discount album he downloaded last. This has yet to happen. Dave still holds out hope, though.

"Yeah, OK," he says, flipping the jewel case over, eyes scrolling down the poorly written track list. He knows the song, and knows he’ll have to wait for another of John's mixes to find that gem. "I'll give it a listen. Thanks, dude."

John grins the maniacal grin that he has come to expect. Dave doesn't consider this lying, even though it is. He can't crush his friend, not when he spent all this time picking outdated house anthems to burn onto a bright green CD to hand deliver to him.

---

There is a song he wants to play that he knows is too hard for the room. When he listens to it alone he plays it loud. The heavy bass and the glitches, the dissonance and speed, it fills him with energy. He can remember holding a weapon, brandishing it with skill learned over time. He was full of emotion, then.

He wonders if he should be embarrassed over how cheesy the song really is. But then the beat drops again and he is pulled back to a fight and the intensity he once felt so strongly.

He plays loud music these days, drowning out his thoughts. How had he managed to do so much, back then? The thought is an uncomfortable one. He turns the song up louder. Artificial emotions, like a fake limb. He rests on it heavily.


---


Sharing music is different with Rose. He used to feel a connection between them, something he couldn't put into words. This alone struck him as funny – being unable to wield his words properly. When they spoke to each other it was like they were weaving words and images together toward the same yet-unfinished mural, never having to explain where they were going. It was as though they were dancing, one leading with subtle shifts of weight, the other responding to the slightest change in position, transforming a hand on the shoulder into a spin and a step.

Of course they were related, he often thought now. They were too similar, too in-step with one another. Too many shared genes. Like talking to your own reflection.

She always suggested music that seemed like it should have meaning to him. Carefully selected pieces that defined “Dave” to her. Good pieces. He often imagined what music must be played in their house. The horror show of John's music met with the refined and calculated selections Rose made.

They were close, now that they could define that connection between them.

Despite this, he found himself typing angrily to her one night, a trio of drinks from a gig blurring his vision. "Don't be such a bitch."

He never drank. This was why.

"You make quite a valid argument," she wrote back. "My being a bitch is almost certainly why you’re avoiding Jade."

Dave struggled to find the proper keys. "I’m not avoiding anything."

"What are you so scared of?"

Dave fumbled forward angrily, switching his monitor off. That would show her. He stood up, cursing, and stumbled toward his empty bed.

What did she know, anyway? She buried herself in her books, in her writing, just as much as he did in his music. She didn't understand anything that had happened between them. She didn't know how he felt.

---

"I really like this song," is the message left from Jade. "It's a little bit sad, but good music always makes me think of you. Don't take the lyrics the wrong way, OK? Here it is..."

Dave complies without thinking twice.

"I hope you're doing well," her final message was time stamped nearly twenty minutes later.

Dave listens in his bedroom, the window open to let in a warm breeze and the sounds of traffic from below.

---

Dave wonders what he needs to play to clear the room, but it's too late. As he mixes into a subdued French tune, the crowd is too far gone to stop moving. There are slight adjustments to their moves, hands changing to hit the beat, bodies writhing to the smoother tones and the elegant language. Suddenly he feels bad. Though it's not exactly his style, it has become a favorite of his lately. Rose turned him on to it, as she often did, no doubt sending it to him with a smirk, explaining that the lyrics fit him quite well.

As he watches the crowd absorb the music he starts to feel jealous. This is his song, they weren't supposed to enjoy it. John would call him selfish, later. He would say that he underestimates everyone around him, thinking he's better than them.

Musicians are supposed to be able to share their emotions though their medium of choice. Dave turns his attention elsewhere. He's tired of John and Rose and their incessant meddling. They planted these thoughts in his head -- these thoughts of holding back what he wants to play, of keeping them close to his heart, of forcing out phony music he can't stand, stringing along crowds like marionettes. What did they know?

---

"Could you sneak in some subliminal message?" John asked one day while Dave complained of the crowds early on in his new gig routine. "You know, record yourself saying something backwards and play it over a song. Talk in a demonic voice and freak them out!"

Dave rolled his eyes over his dinner. "I don't want to put forth that much effort just to fuck with them."

"Oh, come on! What if you change the beats per minute on them? Watch them try to keep dancing to a beat that's always changing!"

"Come on, Egbert," Dave began, trying not to smile. He paused for a moment as the thought sunk in. "Wait, that's not a bad idea."

John grinned.

---


There is a girl hanging off the DJ booth now, one drink in her hand, her cleavage resting on a speaker. Her lips are moving, no doubt requesting a song, or trying to make small talk. Dave can't hear her. He shrugs at her and points to his headphones. She leans closer and yells. Dave can almost make out the words now, despite his best efforts not to. He shakes his head at her and busies himself with his laptop. The girl leans forward further, screaming. Her drink splashes over the edge of her cup. Dave pulls his headphones off in exasperation.

"I can't fucking hear you," he says, smiling sarcastically, knowing that the girl can't understand him. "You are embarrassing yourself right now! Also you're spilling your cheap liquor on my speakers, and I'm going to have to make you pay for that somehow! I will tell the bartender to overcharge you and I’ll take the difference! Also I'll ask him to water down your drinks! Oh, and your boyfriend is macking on another girl behind you and your boobs look incredibly fake!"

She smiles back at him.

---

"Here," Rose typed to him late one night. "I thought you might like this song. I don't expect you to play it for your sorority fan club, but maybe this can go in your private collection."

Dave scowled at the fan club insinuation. "You never come to my shows anymore," he wrote back. "How do you know what the crowds are like?"

"I can imagine."

"Maybe I play to the fucking elite, now. Maybe I am a Greek fucking god of the turntables, being summoned by the nobles to descend from above to feed them my otherworldly manna."

"You told me just last week that a girl slipped you her number on the back of a cocktail napkin in front of her boyfriend, who then tried to break your equipment over it."

"Yeah well maybe they had imbibed a little too much Wild Turkey."

"Perhaps they had imbibed the bar's entire stock?"

"Perhaps."

"Did you block Jade?"

Dave's fingers hover above his keys. Rose's song plays in the background.

"This is a pretty good tune," he writes, finally.

"You have to grow up sometime, Strider."

---

John doesn't have a CD for him this time, even though the last time they spoke online he was gushing about a single from 2010.

"I don't get it," he says, looking somewhat sad. "Why are you ignoring her?"

"I'm not," Dave responds, a bit too quickly. "I'm just busy."

"I thought you liked her."

Dave forces an eye roll. "Like her? We're not 13 anymore, John."

He frowns. "Sorry. How am I supposed to ask that question with our new-found maturity? Do you like her or do you LIKE-like her?"

"Just shut up."

"Are you afraid of something?"

"What would I be afraid of?"

"I don't know!" he cries suddenly, strong emotions suddenly pushing through. "But that's what I tell her when she comes to me all sad that you're suddenly ignoring her. It's the only thing I can think to say when she asks if you're seeing someone else!"

Dave's stomach feels sick.

"What is wrong with you, anyway?" John asks, his concern noticeable in his anger.

"Nothing."

"I thought you were supposed to be the brave one! Dude, come on. You have to be! Who else is going to be the brawns to my brains?"

Dave can't help but laugh suddenly, nervous energy expelling itself. John's lips curl up into an unintentional smile.

"Shut up," John says, bemused.

---

He’s been playing strange music, lately. As he lies on his bed, the room dark in the twilight entering in from his window, Dave listens to the music given to him by his friend. It’s not the outdated dance that John erroneously thinks he plays at his shows. It’s not the deliberately chosen music Rose finds, attributing significance for him. It’s something that he can feel has meaning only to the girl who sent it to him. Something chosen to flow alongside emotion, not to serve as a replacement for it. Messages to be listened for.

He stares at the ceiling. One could dance to this, he thinks. Why not?

Dave sighs and turns to his side. What if they’re right?

---


Dave has his set cued up. To his left is a fellow DJ, wearing cheap headphones and bouncing to a song that makes Dave's stomach churn in embarrassment. The crowd is bellowing and roiling, waves of human limbs pulsing to the tawdry beat.

The DJ looks at him and smiles as the song peaks and he waits for a drop. Dave isn't interested enough to even roll his eyes.

"All right," he announces into his microphone as the song approaches its end, feigning some hip accent, "I’m outta here! Let's hear some noise for The DJ Called Scratch!"

The crowd cheers, but not out of recognition. Dave forces a half smile of thanks as they cross fade into the new set. His beats are similar, BPMs staying static to allow uninterrupted dancing. The retiring DJ pats his back with one hand, hard, and wanders off the stage.

Dave stares at the screen of his laptop. Four measures play on repeat in one ear. His hands idle above the keys and his vision begins to lose focus. He is overcome with the desire to leave the bar and walk home. He's tired.

The song reaches a point of transition. He should mix in the next. He misses his moment, and the song continues. He doesn't care. Dave sets down his headphones and the crowd dances on, unaware. He scrolls down through his library, his eyes landing upon a song. He smiles to himself. He'll probably get booed off the stage. They might even throw a bottle or two. It would be worth it, though. He advances the song to the point he wants and waits for the right moment to bring it out.

The crowd slows as the dance music gives way to slow jazz.

Dave looks up from his equipment, meeting the eyes of nearly everyone in the room. A few people in the crowd begin tittering to each other.

"Nice mix, dude!" A large man near the stage yells out. Half of the room snickers in response.

He is beyond caring. This has never been his scene. He's tired of taking the easy gig, the simple job. He's tired of drowning out his emotions. He’s tired of John being the one to call out his immaturity. That is just wrong. He smiles at the thought.

Dave looks around the room once more, his smile growing at the incredulous expressions of the crowd, unsure if they should try to dance, or storm the stage. The lights in the room flash awkwardly to the slow beat.

His eyes flow across the ocean of people he has brought to a standstill, and he spots someone familiar near the door, a girl, staring at him with wide, bespectacled eyes. His smile drops at once. He glances down at the song playing on his computer, and then back to the girl. How did it do that?

Jade looks just as confused as she listens to her song playing over the speakers. Dave looks down once more, unsure of himself. The crowd is growing restless.

"What the fuck, DJ?"

Dave shakes his head. The song isn’t that long, he has to be quick. Now or never, or some bullshit saying like that. He steps down from the stage and passes through the crowd. Jade is waiting at the door, her cheeks flushed. Dave stops in front of her and they are both silent for a moment.

"You liked the song?" she asks, finally, a slight smile forming.

"Yeah."

"… I'm glad."

"You wanna get out of here?" he asks.

She looks surprised once more. "What about your equipment?"

" I can get it later."

“But … your show …”

“I’m done. Trust me.”

“Are you sure…?”

“Yeah.”

Jade's smile grows, and Dave finds himself returning it.

"Okay!”

“Let’s go.”

Okay, the writing isn't bad in anyway. But namedropping every single song you mention offhand is frankly just masturbatory. It sours the whole piece.

Think of it like Chekhov's gun, Chekhov's links, do they serve any purpose to the story? No? Then they do not have a purpose.

[breccia]

Okay, the writing isn't bad in anyway. But namedropping every single song you mention offhand is frankly just masturbatory. It sours the whole piece.

Think of it like Chekhov's gun, Chekhov's links, do they serve any purpose to the story? No? Then they do not have a purpose.

Some of the "name drops" are pretty tongue-in-cheek (John has bad taste) and the fic only came about because of the song it's titled after. If it came off as self-indulgent then that sucks, because that wasn't my goal. It started off just as the files that they were sending each other (if it was a pesterlog it would have a link) but I just kept going because there were other songs I felt like including. I just went for something different -- It seemed fitting to try and make a Dave fic musical. It's definitely not something I'm going to use in any other writing!

[Spleen]

Some of the "name drops" are pretty tongue-in-cheek (John has bad taste) and the fic only came about because of the song it's titled after. If it came off as self-indulgent then that sucks, because that wasn't my goal. It started off just as the files that they were sending each other (if it was a pesterlog it would have a link) but I just kept going because there were other songs I felt like including. I just went for something different -- It seemed fitting to try and make a Dave fic musical. It's definitely not something I'm going to use in any other writing!

Alright, I get what you were going for, and the writing is good, much better than I could do (then again, I can only write things that are clinical even for police reports). I kinda snapped at it because I was in a bad mood from doing a bunch of ethics case studies.

[vincentavatar]

Some of the "name drops" are pretty tongue-in-cheek (John has bad taste) and the fic only came about because of the song it's titled after. If it came off as self-indulgent then that sucks, because that wasn't my goal. It started off just as the files that they were sending each other (if it was a pesterlog it would have a link) but I just kept going because there were other songs I felt like including. I just went for something different -- It seemed fitting to try and make a Dave fic musical. It's definitely not something I'm going to use in any other writing!

I quite liked it! Seems to me if you're going to write a story in a non-traditional medium you might as well take advantage of it from time to time. Hypertextuality, ladies and gents, it's the evolution of storytelling!

[Solaris]

Impermanence: Hearts Across Time
Chapter 2: Awakening

YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY FED SOLARIS YOUR DELICIOUS FIC

Hmmmm, isn't it funny how when you "Go Advanced" less options are displayed than when you quick reply on this new forum?

Go to your settings, find General Settings, and where it says Message Editor Interface, change the tab to standard.

[northernVehemence]

oh my god, so many great things happening in this thread!!

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@paperandpencil -- I'll just go ahead and echo everyone who's said that Scratch is awesome. I know a lot of people have already examined what Dave's time-travel capabilities mean for him, but you've gone and put him in a new (and way scarier) situation. I can't wait for more!

@metaflare -- SO CUTE ASL;KSDJK i ADORE Kanaya and Rose stories, and you get extra bonus points for cute blushing Kanaya.

@kmsumrall -- interesting concept! hopefull we'll see more of The Alternian and the Troll soon.

@Sushi -- I love Zazzerpan so much, but my favorite part about it is always the fanfiction at the very beginning. PS. I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE
But seriously, even though you say that writing Rose is hard, you're doing a spectacular job of it. Keep it up!!

@vR -- holy shit was that ever long. I love Impermanence, and I love the casual little reference to Terezi in "the blind girl back home". also more flavors plz??

@Nigma -- like tene, i'm not really one for OC fiction either, but this was very well-done. I'd love to see more.

@breccia -- don't listen to the haters, I liked the music links! I think it helped establish some context of what exactly Dave does for a living and what his tastes are. You have a great writing style, and I love seeing stories about future chums. Really, truly excellent work.

@Raequiem -- ajkl;fdsja what is going on with all the future-Dave stuff??? I don't know, but I love it! I can't really picture Dave drinking (I think it's because sarasvati's fic is headcanon for me), but I really enjoyed it otherwise. Also, John and Rose getting married~~~

My question is, why are there so many future-Dave fics?? I mean, I love them all, I really do, but I think that one could just as easily do something really interesting with the other kids. SO THAT IS MY CHALLENGE TO YOU, FANFIC THREAD.

PS i love you all and you're all beautiful people

EDIT: OMG I'M STARTING POLISH NEXT SEMESTER!!! is it hard????

[JudgeDeadd]

I wonder what would my Polish teacher say if she knew that most of my reading done in summer were fanfics

[Tenebrais]

Everyone above me is awesome, just throwing that out there.

I wrote this because I enjoy second-person Dave, and angst, and drunken PTSD. And because sleep is for pussies.

That was so awesome. I loved it!

[raequiem]

@NorthernVehemence: Thanks! And um, sorry for stepping on what seems like a pet peeve. There's going to be plenty of development of the other kids and how they've coped as well, Dave is just a fun POV character so I started with him.

@Tenebrais: *feels loved*

More on the way!

[PaulPower]

My question is, why are there so many future-Dave fics?? I mean, I love them all, I really do, but I think that one could just as easily do something really interesting with the other kids. SO THAT IS MY CHALLENGE TO YOU, FANFIC THREAD.

Well, if I was going to hazard a guess...

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Well, you need conflict for a story. A lot of these post-SBurb fics are written from the point of view of John/Rose Dave/Jade pairings. Which, well, fair enough. But there seems to be a general assumption that John and Rose, if they did get together, would fall into a stable relationship fairly quickly, perhaps even before the end of the game. Again, you can sort of see why, because they complement each other's strengths and weaknesses nicely while still having enough in common that it works out somehow. That leaves Dave/Jade, and Dave is probably more fun to write for of the two.

Only thing I can think of off-hand* is Rose getting jealous because John ends up acting "too" open and friendly with other women - in all probability with innocent intentions, but she doesn't see it that way, and Dave and/or Jade have to talk some sense into them. As it happens, I'm sort of writing something like that right now - with Rose being jealous of John and Jade's BFF-ness and Dave having to do the sense-talking - although it's set during SBurb rather than after, with the added fun that John doesn't even think of anyone "that way" yet (well, except for Liv Tyler). I also don't know yet whether it'll see the light of day .

*but this might just be me being mundane

(also I feel kind of evil for asking this, but did you not see "Plan B" or could you not think of anything to say about it?)

[Tenebrais]

You could always have, say, Rose falling in love with Kanaya. Then getting deeply depressed because back on Earth, the woman she loves has been dead for billions of years.

[Sushi Database]

Rose/Kanaya is the only Rose pairing I can really read or write. Dave is sort of her brother and probably also her moirail, John is a legitimate romantic option if his dad and Rose's mom weren't clearly in love, making John sort of her half-brother, and of all the pairings between the chums, Jade/Rose is probably the least probable. (We never really get a good feel on how those two feel about each other. They've talked, but not as much as any other two chums.)

And even Rose/Kanaya feels more like it should be Kanaya pursuing it, since she's the one who likes girls and idolizes the Tentacle Therapist.

[Red Pen]

Well now I kind of want to write some Rose/Kanaya fic. But I also need to get my rear in gear and finish the fic I'm already working on. I am conflicted!

Also, that fic with DD was great! He's one of my favorite characters; it's cool to read something from his perspective.

[Tenebrais]

No harm in taking time out to write something different. Hell, I have four ongoing fics on the burner right now.

Does anyone else have as many fanfics in the fire as I have?
You doubt it.

[Metaflare]

REDPEN. Just write like a small ficlet like I did. I WOULD LOVE YOU FOREVAR if you did. FOR. EVAR.

[raequiem]

... John is a legitimate romantic option if his dad and Rose's mom weren't clearly in love, making John sort of her half-brother...

Nope. They're not biologically related and they weren't raised as siblings, so there's no reason not to have them together. (At least, that's my justification for OOH SHINY WEDDING BELLS 8D)

[sarasvati]

I AM SARASVATI AND I APPROVE OF THIS FLOOD OF DAVE/JADE

am I the biggest fangirl? hell fucking yes I am.

VR: okay I loved Impermanence before, but now that it has like a structure and a plot I love it even more. Jade being sweet and adorable and Dave just sort of falling apart at the seams when he thinks she's dead ahhhh man that's some good shipping. This is by far the fic of yours that I most look forward to you writing!

breccia: okay breccia. breccia. i have a very important thing to say. breccia. are you listening. it is the most important thing.

marry me. please.

this was so incredible. Dave just kind of holding himself together (sort of) and Rose being helpful in her clinical way and John being such a huge dork and his best friend forever and Jade just being sweet and sad and patient and waiting for Dave to get his shit together. so simple but everything comes through so clear and augh 3

and I am a HUGE audiophile so I genuinely loved the addition of a soundtrack to back this piece, and I think you handled the concept wonderfully. it was very unintrusive, and optional in the best way, because you don't lose anything if you decide not to listen to the music. I listened to it though and found it so fitting (and clapped my hands at French music, literally the first time in my life that speaking French has come in handy). The whole thing was pieced together like a song meme, only instead of a set amount of clips and scenarios to a set amount of songs, it was one flowing narrative. very clever.

raequiem: okay well I love it basically anytime Dave just kind of falls apart (so surprising right??) so yeah I love the hell out of this fic. I enjoyed the standard fanon of Dave feeling the flow of time actually being deeply distressing. I also love Jade tracking him down and being the one to get all fussy mother bear on him in a "dave strider you get your shit together right now" kind of way. so. good.

I missed a bunch of stuff but I'm going to try to catch up on it and comment like a madwoman over on AO3 because I adore all of you guys I'm serious

it also deeply depresses me that I don't have anything finished to give to the brand new fic thread, so instead, have a piece of an unfinished one. I am so sorry.

snippet from candlelight
(the rose story from the we drive by braille series)

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one.

You are fourteen, and the world doesn't make sense anymore.

And the fact that it doesn't make sense in itself doesn't make sense, because you are fourteen and you know everything; you are fourteen and you aren't fourteen at all, because you don't stay so young when you've seen what you've seen, known what you've known, been what you've been. You try to slip back into life as you knew it, but the world feels so dissonant now, so different, so grating, and you keep trying because--because this should be easy, shouldn't it? Stock market ticker tape, local interest news stories, grocery shopping and private tutors and trips to the city on the weekends. It should be easy.

But what you see makes no sense to you, all those people drowning in a sea of each other. Suicide and cigarettes, laughter and love, and six billion souls milling through their days like the world is the center of the universe and no one has the heart to tell them differently. People and people and people. You fought and bled and cried for these people, but you can't find the point in them.

It confuses you, when you let it--if you let it (you never do). And it's the one thing you look to your mother for guidance about, watching her from afar as she fills her days with cocktails, housecleaning, bookkeeping, because if there's anyone in the world who knows how to endure the unendurable, it's her. Your mother, the queen of laughing through tears, the martyr-patron saint of going through the motions, gives you the best advice of your life and she doesn't even know it. You never talk to her.

You are fourteen, and you are a problem solver, so you cut your high school freshman life up into neat little day-planner segments: chess club at lunch, French club on Mondays and Fridays, debate team practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays; you go shopping in the city with acquaintances, filling your closet with clothes and shoes, your mind messy with thoughts of boys and being pretty; you spend your time at home reading, studying, doing homework, watching the news. More than anything, though, you talk with your friends, spending late nights with them, because no matter how busy you get, no matter how hard you're trying to readjust, you could never leave them behind. It could be making things worse, you think, that constant reminder, but by the time you close your laptop, you only ever feel better.

(were in the shit now, Dave says one evening, eloquent as ever and candid as never, all the better to force your attention; were in the shit and theres no going back, and like it or not, were probably gonna be together until were all old and crotchety. It's appropriate that it's Dave who says it--Dave, who never emotes, who never extends himself--because it's both the first and the last time the topic is ever broached, and it makes the moment a little more special. None of you ever talk about what happened; an unspoken rule, maybe, or even more of a taboo. You seem to be doing well so far, but at times it makes you wonder when someone's going to slip and the whole thing comes crashing down in beautiful fragments. You wonder if it'll be you.

You don't like to think about that, so you don't.)

But for all your efforts to keep yourself moving, there are times where you have--well, nothing at all to do, a gap in your ritual of a schedule that borders on sacrilegious. You sit, you stop, you breathe, and on days like these, you wonder. You wonder if the world ever even quit spinning long enough to notice the conflagration, to watch its own fiery, bible-black armageddon. You wonder if it knows how much sacrifice had to go into stitching it all back together again. You wonder if people--and people, and people, with their poker games and family dinners and affairs and careers--ever feel the way you feel, that something is missing and different and they don't know why.

It confuses you, when you let it. You never do.