MSPA Fanfiction III

[Sionnan]

HOLY WALL OF TEXT GET

Okay, so here's the deal. This installment takes off after the last bathroom-fic, during the party that Bro was prepping for.

I'm... a little wary about this one. It's long, and while I was aiming toward exploring what life might be like for a pair of brothers in the city with their kind of lifestyle, and everything that may imply, I have a bad feeling it might be overdone in this.

So if you're "meh" about this, it's cool. Just please let me know, so I know what I can avoid next time around.

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It was somewhere around 6:00 in the evening when Dave got the text. At the moment, he was preoccupied with stabbing at the swinging spiky block he had installed in the attic trapdoor, dodging the wobbling monstrosity when his phone went off with its signature text sound, one of his brother's tracks. He stopped it in midair, extending the sword and tangling the blade in with the other protrusions, while he fished in his pocket to retrieve the vibrating device.

It took him a few seconds to unlock the screen, and with his fingers stiff from gripping the sword hilt it was kinda ridiculously hard, but finally he prevailed. Generally his bro would text him to check up on things, make sure Dave hadn't set the apartment on fire or something. Which actually did happen once, but it was really an honest mistake, and who knew that the shit inside a lava lamp was so flammable?

But this time, it was a request. "bro, need a favor. left some records in the attic in blue crate. grab them and bring them to zeta nu house 318 hillcrest dr."

Aw, shit. That would take an hour to get there. But grousing aside, Dave felt a little surge of pride. His brother trusted him enough to do something like this, and trusted his self sufficiency to be able to deliver. And anyway, it's not like he had anything better to do. He had been cooped up all day, so this would be nice to get out.

So Dave texted back with, "np. be there in 1 hr." Bro responded back almost instantaneously, so he must have been taking a break. It only read, "10-4."

Predictably, the attic door was stuffed with puppet ass.

GOD.

If that was a trap, Dave was going to kill his brother. But it looked like a coincidence, and that Bro had left the attic in a rush, jamming unsold puppets up in the maw above him as fast as he could without them falling back down. So Dave instead clambered up the pile of puppets, and using the training block as a dangerous stepping stone, he hauled himself into the crawlspace above their living room. The blue crate was within easy reach to his left, so he snagged the requested vinyls, a couple of relatively new ones still in their cardboard slips, and eschewed climbing back down for falling back into the welcoming pile of plush stuff. He was glad he was alone when he let out a delighted giggle at the sensation. God, giggling was so not cool. (But jegus that was fun.)

The city was surprisingly tame, and the walk uneventful. The worst thing to happen to him was a pack of old ladies stopping him to ask if he was okay, if he was lost, bluh bluh bluh. Whatever. (Although he didn't mind the candy they shucked off on him, and he contentedly sucked on butterscotch for the rest of his walk.) The zeta nu house practically throbbed like some massive architectural wound with his bro's ill beats. Or he assumed it was his bro's, but they could have a stand in dj or whatever. He hoped that bro was dropping some major cultural revelation in these snobs' lives. But they would probably be too dim to get it. Probably.

He was stopped at the door by a couple of frat boys, who seemed a little perturbed by a kid waltzing up like he owned the place. Dave was really in no mood to get hassled by these morons, so he only flashed the records at them, explained he was delivering for the dj. Both of them stopped short, and then broke out into nervous guffaws. Dave was about to get righteous on their asses when they waved him through, but with a warning not to smoke or drink anything. One of them shouted back, "Good luck finding him." Which for some idiotic reason, cracked them both up again.

It was a pretty standard party, nothing spectacular. Just a bunch of college kids getting good and fucked up on whatever booze their hosts' parents' credit cards could buy. Everything smelled like cigarettes, pot, stale alcohol, sweat, and perfume. Yup. He knew this kind of scene like it was etched on the backs of his eyelids. He went to where he could see the dj's set up, squirming between oblivious couples dancing and macking. Augh, god, why did they have to do that shit in public. But his bro was nowhere to be found.

Okay. Kinda weird. He'd really been expecting Bro to be somewhere in plain sight, but this was okay. Uhmm....

Dave set the records on the mixing table, skirting a subwoofer that was blasting the kind of noise that shook his guts. He looked around from his new vantage point, but still saw neither his bro, nor anybody he recognized. A passing girl spared him a look, enough of an invitation for Dave to snag her attention. "Yo!"

She turned and batted big brown eyes at him.

"You seen the dj around anywhere?" Given the proximity to the speakers, he had to shout to be heard.

She thought for a second, eyes turned to the side and skyward. "You should ask Mike, I think he does." She leveled one slender arm toward a tall, muscle-bound dude standing in a corner yukking it up with a few other guys. "Aren't you a little young to be in here?"

Dave ignored her. He felt trouble brewing, and his unease was only deepening as he neared the brosephs. When the tall guy caught sight of him, he alerted his buds to the interloper with a jerk of his chin. They simultaneously looked his way, like a bunch of damn animals. He didn't need to shout to be heard here. "You guys seen the dj anywhere?"

A smirk flashed across the big guy's face, one that he tried to stifle unsuccessfully. His buddies snickered, trying to hide their mirth in their red plastic cups. God, these guys were such tools. "Who's asking," the big guy finally said, giving Dave the hairy eye.

"The dj's brother." He narrowed his eyes at the pack of doofuses. God, so lame. "He told me to bring some records for him."

Mike, still trying to fight back a conspiratorial smile, shrugged. "Dunno, man. And besides, you shouldn't be here. We could get arrested for having a kid around here like this."

Dave only gave them a flat look. And then turned and walked away, deciding to find Bro for himself. It didn't take long before the girl who he'd talked to before stopped him. She looked disturbed. "Hey. Uhm- you said the dj is your brother?"

Dave, in the middle of scouring the room, didn't skip a beat in his survey. Jesus, did the guy just disappear?

"I think that he's in the bathroom. I watched Mike put something in his drink a while ago, and he hasn't been out since."

Wow, that sounded totally weird. Dave snapped his head over. "How long ago?"

"Uh... maybe ten or fifteen minutes before you got here?"

Yeah, that totally didn't sound good. "Where's the bathroom?"

She pointed out a small hallway off to the side. Dave took off. He skirted between people, tripping over legs and furniture, and grabbed the wall to slow his momentum and make the corner. It was cooler and darker away from the crowd, the hall smelling of wood polish and old carpet. The only door down there was closed, but not locked. Dave knocked, his heart going a little too fast. "Bro? You there?"

He heard some kind of choking noise, then some shoes on linoleum. Someone grabbed the knob from the other side, turned it, and yanked the door open. Dave barely had time to register his brother's flushed face before he reached out, got a good fistful of Dave's shirt, and yanked him in. He shut the door behind them and locked it, and then whirled around in the cramped space to lean over the toilet, panting.

Holy shit this was so very off the wall. His voice was high and cracked a little bit when he hazarded another, "Bro?"

Bro sounded husky and a little garbled, and Dave had a hard time understanding him when he said, "Bunch of fucking animals. Stay in here with me, I don't want you near them. Face the wall."

"What?" What the hell was this guy saying? He wasn't making any sense-

Bro grabbed his shoulder and spun him to face away. "I don't want you seeing this."

Dave craned his head over, saying, "Seeing what," only to be met with Bro's hand pushing it back to face the paneling.

"Look over there."

Of course, Dave, a little too freaked and angry, didn't do as he was told, and caught sight as Bro jammed a finger down his own throat. Dave froze, agog. At first, all his brother did was produce a horribly strained, long retch, and his face shifted subtly, casting it into a light of desperation. Unstymied, this time Bro added a few more fingers to the mix, jamming them into his mouth as far as he could reach. Even from his awkward angle, Dave could see his belly hitch under his shirt, the spasm working up to produce a strangled gag, preceding a jolt that sprayed vomit into the toilet bowl. The acrid scent of stomach acid, bile, and booze bloomed in the air.

Dave whipped around to face the wall, totally horrified.

His brother continued puking for a few more seconds, before Dave heard him let out an explosive breath that banged off the tiles, and his shoes squealed on the floor as he resituated himself against the wall. Dave turned again to see his bro slumped, running a hand through his matted hair and across his forehead, breathing heavily. Shit this was not cool. Dave turned to plunder the cabinet under the sink, turning up a few clean washcloths. He ran the taps, and soaked one, then turned to swipe it across Bro's face, who jerked away from the chill, then reached up to take it himself. He grabbed Dave's other wrist with his free hand, pinning him in place. Dave, with no other options, worried his lower lip and fidgeted, fear translating as anger. "Dude, what the fuck. What the fuck is going on, hunh?"

Bro shook his head, the movements a little wobbly. He sounded exhausted as he admitted, "I'm sorry, Dave. I never would have called you over if--" he made a short, disgusted sound in the back of his throat, and swallowed. "It doesn't matter. We're both leaving. C'mon." He made a mostly coordinated effort to gain his land legs again, grappling with the walls and sink.

But no one ever said Dave was a slow kid, and the wheels that had been turning in his head fell into place with a click. The gastrointestinal show, the sniggering frat boys, the drink. "Those fuckers slipped you a roofie."

His bro's eyes, bare of their glasses, flicked to him. He went still, and then reached out with the other hand, too late, to try and snag at his younger brother. "Dave, don't you--"

But Dave was already rocketing out the door, down the hall, to find that a small herd of frat boys had collected at the entrance of the hallway, Mike the foremost.

Dave wasn't even thinking when he cocked back a fist and let it fly, landing it square on Mike's jaw. It impacted with a flat, unimpressive sounding thwack, and it staggered the older guy mostly because he was drunk and not expecting it. "You FUCKING ASSHOLES," he screamed, his voice breaking. He didn't sound intimidating, but he sure looked as if he would go ten rounds with a mutant alligator, standing arms akimbo and fists balled.. No one fucked with the Strider brothers and kept all their goddamn teeth.

Mike's shock quickly turned to anger, and maybe he would have been less of an asshole if he weren't so drunk and probably high. But as it was, he had no compunctions about pushing a twelve year old hard enough to floor him, and since onlookers were too entrenched in a herd mentality, or too aghast at what Mike was pulling, it didn't look as it anyone was going to stop him. Mike's own face had turned to one of an angry, petulant child, and he was about to land his own punch on his cocky adversary when someone caught his fist.

There hadn't been anyone there before, and nobody, not Dave nor Mike nor any one of the crowd, had seen the elder Strider step between a punch and his brother. And no one but Mike saw the look in his eye when he drew even. But everyone clearly heard Strider's quiet voice, laced with hatred and venom, enough to reach through the fog of anger and alcohol permeating Mike's brain. "Don't you fucking touch him."

And nobody stopped Strider as he crushed the captured hand into little more than a gnarled stump of bone, flesh, and sinew. He only let go when Mike let out a agonized bellow, a sound that seared through the bone-rattling base and drew a peppering of looks. From the spot on the floor where he had not yet moved, Dave very nearly clapped his hands over his ears to shut out the sound, but settled for his jaw dropping. He was simultaneously impressed and horrified that his brother had both the strength and the sheer fucking anger to pull off a stunt like that. His brother, who was the chillest guy on the fucking planet. Who just crumpled a dude's hand like a sheet of paper.

Un. Fucking. Real.

He didn't have long to enjoy Mike's frothy bout of crying and swearing unintelligebly, because his brother collected him from the floor, dropping his face close to Dave's to ask, "You okay, Dave?"

Dave only nodded, glad that his glasses hadn't fallen off his face from the shove. He didn't want his brother to see how fucking big his eyes were right now. Bro seemed to be at least resigned if not satisfied, and he grabbed Dave's hand, leading him through the mass of bodies. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

They left the house without gathering any of Bro's equipment, Dave still trailing his brother, hand still latched in his brother's large one. They walked quickly for a few blocks, enough to get out of range of the bass, and the sounds of the city seemed to rush in on them. It was only then that his brother turned to him, skimming his hands up and down Dave's arms and legs, briefly lifting his shirt and expose skinny kid torso to see the extent of damage done by the shove. He seemed to pay no attention even when Dave complained about creepy old dudes getting a peep show all thanks to him, trying to bat his shirt back down. Finally, when the flash exam was done, Bro did something he usually didn't do in public, and not recently since Dave was getting more and more crabby about getting to be a big kid and all that.

He looped his arms around his younger brother, and held him.

Dave had the feeling that the experience was probably more traumatic for bro than him, anyway. So he let his older brother hug him.

(Never mind that it actually felt good, and he was still trying to calm the fuck down himself. He was used to fighting older dudes, but not used to getting flipped out on by older dudes. Big difference.)

They walked back home, mostly quiet, bro still keeping a hand on Dave's shoulder as they walked. He stopped them at a drug store and bought a few sodas that they chugged at the skate park they went to sometimes. Dave pretended not to notice that bro's hands were still shaking, and hoped that bro really did miss that his own hands were just now starting to shake.

The high rise shone like some pagan monolith in the setting sun as they approached. Generally, he and bro would race each other on the stairs to get to the top; tonight, Bro dinged the elevator, and they rode up huddled together, bro ever so slightly pulling him away from the other passengers, into himself. In the apartment, bro took stock of the puppet pile, but said nothing about it, instead telling Dave to chill out on the couch while he took a shower.

Dave fell asleep on the couch, and only woke briefly when his older brother sat down beside him. He fell asleep with his face pressed against his brother's shoulder.

If anyone had asked Dave, he would have said he didn't dream. If anyone had asked Strider, he wouldn't have said anything. But he would have known that Dave whimpered and twitched in his sleep through the night.

Almost a year later, when Rose Lalonde would accuse him of being willfully ignorant to everything that surrounded him, he bit back the great urge to tell her to stuff it. Out of all of the kids, he was probably the least blind to the kinds of horrors that went on, and he knew that the world didn't need monsters from the deep to perpetuate them.

[lucidSeraph]

Well... good. Because I then immediately vomited up a prose-poem because JOHN IS IN MY BRAINS and WON'T LET GO

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He falls asleep slowly, watching the fireflies far above his head dance in the clouds. He smiles. Everything feels so safe and so whole and so good...

It's a good place to sleep.

He drifts down into himself, sinking slowly in the cool darkness of his consciousness and of the whole world around him. The stone beneath him is surprisingly comfortable. He is wrapped in the whispers of the world and he tosses caution to the wind.

He lays his life in her hands.


The dream is different than it's been before. He continues to sink into the darkness and he is surrounded by it. It is at this point a comforting friend, these swathing shadows.

And then he feels it.

It's cold and it's thin and his breath (breath breath life and living) catches in his throat. He does not waken but he can feel it on both sides, the blood bubbling up instead of air and trickling out of his mouth.

I trusted...

The darkness sinks deeper and what was once a pleasant weight becomes lead and he wants to cry as he falls still further and feels everything bled out of him.

but why? I trusted...

and then from somewhere within him another voice – trust not that – but trust in this:

it will be alright

He falls still further.

He's not sure he can. This is twice, now. Twice he's trusted. Twice betrayal. The steel sits cold in his heart and if he wasn't so busy dying he'd cry.

He struggles against it, but everything is so slow and so dark and so cold.

trust in this

it will be alright

believe in this

that all things turn out for the best

How can he?

trust, and forgive

twice or a thousand times

He stops struggling. He trusts. He believes. It grows still darker.

now...

Breathe.

Breathe. Breathe. BREATHE!

He breathes.

And from within that darkness there comes light.

It begins as the flickering light of a firefly, of the tiniest little spark and then it grows and it fills him and he soars upwards, he is charged and filled as his dreams coalesce and solidify and burst within him as the cold in his heart becomes heat.

He has never felt more alive. He has never felt more real. He trusts, and he forgives.

He is John Egbert and he breathes and marvels at the feeling of breath in his lungs as if he were cognizant of it for the first time.

He is John Egbert and he is alive.

I wrote this in ten minutes I don't even

and it's all because I have this song on loop which is now the song for this update :|

[raequiem]

Sionnan.

SIONNAN.

Marry me.

(Or just keep writing Striders forever, whichever floats your boat.)



Lucid your thing is also cool and shiny and I love it and you as well. I love everyone.

I WANT TO MARRY THIS THREAD.

[MneumonicCarbuncle]

honestly sionnan
....i live for this shit

amazing

[lucidSeraph]

Ninja'd by ninja bros being fucking awesome and sweet and derpy and Sinnonan you write the Striders of my heart.

[QuetzaDrake]

@Sionnan Doing Sburb at all was just a masterplan orchestrated by Dave at getting ultimate vengeance upon Mike.

And he certainly got it.

But seriously, awesome work. I never really thought about any of the HS characters interacting with non HS characters in the past (for some reason I always pictured the Striders as being rather hermit-like), it sheds a lot of light on relationships and personality and stuff.

@LS Ah, a little surprising to see you write about how John should forgive Vriska "twice or a thousand times" considering your feelings on her. :P But no, I liked it, nice use of 'breathe' as the magic word.

Also, yes, that song fits way too well to the flash, it's ridiculous.

[lucidSeraph]

@LS Ah, a little surprising to see you write about how John should forgive Vriska "twice or a thousand times" considering your feelings on her. :P But no, I liked it, nice use of 'breathe' as the magic word.

Also, yes, that song fits way too well to the flash, it's ridiculous.

Just because I personally cannot and will not forgive her doesn't mean I don't think that (from a narrative standpoint) John shouldn't or isn't capable of it. John is Teh Hero, it is his job to do that sort of thing.

Me, I am grumpy, jaded, and at best anti-heroic. I don't get shit like quest beds. I get a skull t-shirt some guns and a bad attitude.

[DJ-P0N3]

Hello again fanfiction thread.
It seems I have never quite been able to feel my fanfics were as good as the rest of yours, honestly, I really feel so humbled among you guys.

That being said, I proudly humbly present

1-up, down-1 the horrorterrors emissary arises

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The wind whistles.

John finds himself climbing the steps to his Quest Bed. How he wishes this may be his comfy bed that was once in his regular old room, before it was desecrated by the imps. He wouldn’t mind going back to the way things were, disliking his father and loving those old, crappy movies. He has already reached the top of his echeladder, but according to Vriska he still had quite some time before he would reach a true power. Sighing, he looked at his feet as he stepped slowly, “Farther to go? So I reached the top just not really…” it didn’t make much sense to him, how was the top of the echeladder not the best he could be? Guess it didn’t matter, he reached the top of the steppingstones and found himself at what looked like more of an alter than a bed.

Vriska began to troll him, the text brightened his glasses. He sat down upon the Quest bed and began to converse with her. Though he was unsure of whether or not she was truly a trustworthy friend or teammate he had grown fond of her in a way the trolls would call ‘matespritship’.

Show trolllog

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-arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling ectoBiologist [EB] –
EB: ok, i think i’m ready to take this legendary nap!
EB: and then climb the god tiers, i guess?
AG: Yes, exactly! Pretty exciting, isn’t it?
EB: yeah…
EB: maybe a little nervous too.
AG: What is getting you so nervous?
EB: i feel like i’m being watched.
AG: 8ut you already are 8eing watched! 8y me and the other trolls.
EB: i know, but i meant like, someone else.
AG: Don’t 8e so scared, I don’t see anyone watching you.
AG: So you must 8e safe, okay?
EB: alright…
AG: John, have I ever steered you wrong?
EB: no, not that i can remember.
AG: So trust me when I say that you will 8e perfectly safe and sound!!!!!!!
EB: alright, then i’ll take the nap.
AG: Am I hearing a “yes,” John?
EB: yes, that is my decision.
EB: vriska, please put me to sleep!
AG: You got it.

As she had once before, she prepped herself and began to penetrate the consciousness of John’s mind and seduce it into a sleep as deep as before. He would not wake up unless she herself willed it. Which would have been a positive, if it weren’t for a series of unforeseen events that were about to unfold. John’s mind started to traverse from one body to the other as his consciousness has before when he entered his dream self, but something was different. A connection had been severed. His consciousness found itself in a darkened and hollowed realm.

For a moment he heard nothing, the blackened room around him shown nothing.

Then, as though the world had been sown together wrong and the threads that bore it a new form were tearing at the seams.

John held back the fear that began to overwhelm him, holding back tears and screams, “H-hello?” He murmured, “Who…who are you?”

˙ɐɹOɹƎʇ SɐƜSNɐŠ ƜɐSƎ SĒƜ

A yelp forced its way out of John’s throat, he stared at his feet. The flaming red shoes he had grown used to, the bed sheets he had known for so long could not calm him. John swallows his fear again, if only to briefly converse with this being.

He spoke softly again, any louder than a whisper and his voice would crack, showing the true fear he felt, “Are you…uhm…are you going to hurt me?”

˙SIUĀظ ĀʞƎU SŪظ Iɐן 'IUĀןD IʞĀןƎIן ɹI SƜNƜ

John covered his ears, they were beginning to hurt. These voices were dark, decrepit, horrifying in every way possible. “Please, be quiet…I don’t want to hear more.“

˙ןIɐQ ʞIʇ Iɐן 'ɐʞIɐן ʌɐU PɐBɐʇ 'SƎIʇĀUIɹƎIƜOU

“Oh please just go away….please….please…please…” John could feel himself beginning to cry, he presses his palms bare against his ears, which were beginning to feel as though the aches and pains had become a burning sensation.

˙NظIƆĀNʇIS OظĒZIƎɹŠɐD ZN ʇOظĒĢɐƎɹ ĀʞƎU ʞĀɹIɐʌ ɹI SƜNظ

“Oh god…stop stop stop…please..just go away….” John’s tears trickled down his cheeks as did blood slowly begin to drip from his ears, the voices of the horrorterrors were far too much for him to handle in such a frail state of mind. “ I don’t…I don’t want t-“

John opens his eyes, the abominations that were making his body writhe and his sanity wither were replaced by a familiar figure. “B…becquerel?”

“’’fraid not kid.”

John coughs up blood and strains his arm to try and cover his mouth. He can feel his vision fading, his speech is mangled as he chokes upon his own candy red blood, “Wh-why…..I was supposed to….”

“Don’t waste yer energy kid.” The Demon grips the blade, it phases green a moment as static surrounds it, “I ain’t the one who killed ya.” The Demon pulls the sword out of John’s chest, the blood oozes out of his wound as The Demon stares coldly, “This isn’t what I wanted ta do. If it were up’ta me we’d be fightin’ one on one.”

John continued to pointlessly attempt to converse with this beast, “So…who…do I…erkgh….i….” John falls back onto the Quest bed, he has lost all strength, his mind begins to go blank.

The Demon spread his wings slowly, he phased in and out of the realm of existence, spewing green fire with his vorpal form. “Sucks ta be you kid…” With that, The Demon took to the skies, in the distance he vanished within the clouds and fireflies that filled the skies of LOWAS.

“All according to plan!” Vriska smiled, it would not be long before she would find that the seeds of discourse and trickery had been placed prior. As she sat there at her desk, waiting for the husktop’s screen to glisten with the lights of the fireflies that would whisk John back to life in his dream self. She waited and watched, watched and waited. Her patience wore thin. “What the hell is taking so long?” She slapped the screen of the husktop. Her mind began to jump to a frightful conclusion as she thought to herself “May8e….may8e he really is dead?”

“No…no….god dammit!!!!!!!!” Vriska topples her husktop’s screen over and tosses her keyboard off at an empty seat, she feels tears begin to drip down her cheeks and off her face, “Who did it?! Who ruined my plan?!” Vriska began to point fingers, she grinded her teeth and clenched her fist as tightly as she could. “I will kill whichever one of you muscle8east shits ruined my plan!!!!!!!!” Vriska just wanted someone to blame, someone else besides her who could be at fault here.
Gamzee cautiously steps over to Vriska, he minds his footing near the Unreal Air. “WhAtS tHePrObLeM yOu FuCkInG cRyBaBy?” Gamzee waited patiently a moment as Vriska continued to cry her eight-fold vision eyes out.

“John is dead 8ecause of me.” she finally said though her voice seemed mangled by her tears.

Gamzee stares blankly at her a moment, “LiKe, AlL dEaD, oR dEaD, bUt WiTh An ExTrA lIfE?”

“All dead, Gamzee….” She whispers, “all dead…..”

“BiG fUcKiNg DeAl.”

“What was that Gamzee? Tell me how on alternia is this not the 8addest thing to happen to us yet, now we’re truly hopeless!”

Wrapping an arm around her he pulls out a bit of magic dust and splashes it into Vriska’s face, she begins to cough wearily as he consoles her. “LoOk, JoHn Is DeAd, We CaN’t ChAnGe ThAt, I mEaN fUcK. tHeY wErE dOoMeD fRoM tHe StArT.” Gamzee had a valid point, Vriska slowly wiped her eyes dry, she tried to calm herself.

“8ut Gamzee, I had planned this all out perfectly! I had everything going just how I wanted it to…” She sighed, “Now…all that hard work is wasted.”

He sighed as well, perhaps not for the same reason though, “YeAh, ThAt ShIt HaPpEnS.” He pats her back and smiles at her, she forces a small grin. “JuSt AlTeR yOuR dAmN pLaN, oKaY?”

Vriska nodded slowly, she would miss John, she had grown very fond of him. For her to be so wrong when she believed she was so right, she let herself down, let her team down, but most importantly to her, she had let John down. She just hoped this mistake wouldn’t come back to haunt her.

˙SʞƎIUIʇUɐƜ IʌĪZP NUNɐظ SOP ɹƎƎS

Author's notes

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Chances are this will have future part,s no, not just chance. It will

Horrorterror translations

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We are the Horrorterrors

We have no reason to hurt you

Do not be so afraid

You are over reacting to the situation

the Seer will bring new life to the Heir

[Dermonster]

That strider fic.

Is the best strider fic.

This thread. <3

Also seriously why do I get radio silence whenever I post Creepy!felt? First it was snowman and now people ignore sawbuck.

[DJ-P0N3]

Also seriously why do I get radio silence whenever I post Creepy!felt? First it was snowman and now people ignore sawbuck.

Dude, it happens.

[Dermonster]

I know but it just makes me feel like people just don't care, and I'm just really paranoid about these things.

[/rant]

Oh hey look I'm being conceited again. Why does this keep happening. Text is not good for intricacies of language.

[raequiem]

Jumping on freeverse Johnfic. Even though I should be working on the Dave/Terezi AU I've been writing for the past three days inbetween shitting bricks at updates.

ANYWAY.

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inhale

And he sleeps to dream and dance and learn and live
He trusts to sleep and prays that this time will be safe

He floats in black and waits to wake in gold
but it's taking too long this time
something's wrong
oh no

exhale

He's in gold
and green
and black
and
pain
pain
blood
so much pain
so much blood
soaks gold heavy dragging him down pain
pins him to the slab no no no something's wrong

inhale

gasp cough blood in his lungs
can't breathe

exhale

can't breathe
can't breathe body bloodied
broken
dead
no air
no air
no air

inhale

Light

Breathes in the light and feels it fill his lungs burn through his body burn out the hole burn out the pain
Lungs fill with light passed to blood passed to body to rebuild to recreate
to heal

exhale

Gold and green and black and blood and death and pain and

inhale

Blue.

Derm: I liked Sawbuck. You just happened to post at a point where the Hivemind was feeling ADD and for some reason didn't notice your fic.

[lucidSeraph]

I know but it just makes me feel like people just don't care, and I'm just really paranoid about these things.

[/rant]

Oh hey look I'm being conceited again. Why does this keep happening. Text is not good for intricacies of language.

I've kind of been deliberately not commenting on your stuff because I find it really annoying when you complain about people not commenting.

Which is countrintuitive and perpetuates a vicious cycle, but dude chill.

[DJ-P0N3]

Derm, you have no idea how much I can relate.

I usually worry my work isn't very good if I don't get a positive remark, but I figure it also means I need to try harder.
Do better.
So put more effort into these.
Thats all.

[Domoz]

Oh man Derm, you should look at the response I get on most of my pesterlog fics.
It's like all the crickets just up and die, so you're not the only one here that has that problem.

And uh... I don't really read felt fic because I don't really like the felt that much so... I can't comment


Psh guys, conundrum. I am strapped for ideas for the next part of wwhite magic Black magic.

Like... how do you even write a training montage?

[DJ-P0N3]

Like... how do you even write a training montage?

My guess would be one line at a time, describing various activities.
Maybe a space between each.

[lucidSeraph]

Derm, you have no idea how much I can relate.

I usually worry my work isn't very good if I don't get a positive remark, but I figure it also means I need to try harder.
Do better.
So put more effort into these.
Thats all.

Yeah, pretty much this. I pretty much get no comments on my art when I post in the art threads, which to me just means that I must become harder better faster stronger at art until people DO take notice. Bitching about people not noticing is just going to make them not give a damn even harder.

[neuroticIndecision]

I've kind of been deliberately not commenting on your stuff because I find it really annoying when you complain about people not commenting.

Which is countrintuitive and perpetuates a vicious cycle, but dude chill.

I-I feel really bad, but... I can't say I disagree with this.

I know it's really frustrating when you work really hard on something, step out of your comfort zone and try to share something you tried to polish up for everyone and it winds up not being noticed, but... it happens to most people, and it will happen in the future, too.

I'm really really sorry that your fics not being commented on hurts, but sometimes it's best to just sit back and let it go, I think? You created something, and even if it didn't get comments or anything, that's gotta be worth something, right?

Mayor is right, I think. Maybe you could try to use it as motivation to make the next piece even better!

[edit] FFJKSD MY POINT HAS BEEN MADE ALREADY just ignore me orz

[raequiem]

^ What they said.

I try to comment on everyone's fics, but sometimes they get away from me a bit. Especially Feltfics, as I am just not a Felt person.

But dude. DUDE. Go here. Scroll down.

That's YOU. Your fics have been recc'd on TVTROPES.

So every chapter doesn't get three pages of praise. That's still pretty damn cool.

(and bluh bluh all this discussion is derailing people from commenting on MY fic. BLUH BLUH HYPOCRISY)

[DJ-P0N3]

Everyone get back on subject, there have been new fics posted that must be commented/loved/adored/critiqued!

[Dermonster]

Derm Induced stupidity time is over. Go back to your regularly scheduled sad/awesome fic.

[Wigmund]

I just retaliate against everyone for not commenting about my fics by adding more TerrorCal and other horrifying tales.

how do you even write a training montage?

You do the following:
* write this: !!!!TRAINING MONTAGE!!!! (It's awesome, just imagine it yourself, my words will only spoil the glory)
* then link this to words 'Training Montage'.

[neuroticIndecision]

I'm
I'm terrible at making good or interesting comments so I will uh
I'll sit over here and watch you all in a totally non-creepy way. |8I;;

but all these John!fics are making me want to hug that little dork ghdfskaldfgg ;_____; You guys get all the hearts from me.

[Sionnan]

I just retaliate against everyone for not commenting about my fics by adding more TerrorCal and other horrifying tales.

I hate you. So much. I just read a terror!Cal.

And I hate you. My terror for puppets is sealed forever.

(It was amazing. :])

[QuetzaDrake]

It's tough getting noticed around here, it's just a really high concentration of brilliant writers and artists, and even if you're pretty darn decent, you can still get overlooked and overshadowed. I mean, I think I'm pretty decent at art, but of course I'm not gonna hold a wet match to the art team or other great artists, so they're gonna get more comments. Just happens sometimes. *shrug* Try to remember that we all make Homestuck fanstuff because (or should be because) we like the universe and characters and enjoy writing and drawing stuff, not for comments. S'tough, but the only person you should strive to impress and make happy with your work is yourself.

</cornyspeech>

@MayorSillyBiscuits Aw, sad... I think it's a little odd that Gamzee would step up to Vriska in anger/teary-mode like that, he's kinda afraid of her if I remember, but still, nicely done. I hope this is just Vriska not seeing him actually ascend and he comes back later, but I look forward to it even if this is a scenario where John really died for good.