MSPA Fanfiction IV

[SkaianRedeemer]

Darn you, limited number of hours in a day! And darn you, writing hypnotism! I just forgot to freaking eat again. Why do I keep doing that? I don't know if I'm going to be able to finish either of the things I wanted to before I get busy with RL again in two days. I've got a thing to complete for personal reasons that I might outright not be able to finish before time runs out, depending on whether or not I hit a good writing mood, and I've got Cold Grublings' final chapter that I wanted to finish before real New Years. Thoughts?

@Sionnan: Aren't they all great? This is a great forum, this Art Forum here.

[Wigmund]

A Storybook Story
Part 5 (Previous parts in signature below)

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Kartley awoke to find himself someplace strange. It was dank and cold and seemed to be underground. The only light was from some flickering torches. Kartley tried to move, but he found that he was strapped down to some kind of wooden slab in the middle of the chamber.

As Kartley was trying to escape his bonds, a strange man enters the room and approaches him carrying a tray of food and what looks like medicine. Kartley is put off slightly by the man's pale skin and mismatched colored eyes. The man walks up to Karley and begins to treat Kartley's wounds.

"Where am I?"
The strange man looked at Kartley with an absolute lack of interest and then shrugged his shoulders.
"The Piit of Dethpaiir."
"Dethpair?"
"Fuck you, II have a liithp."
Karltey blinked as spittle flew into his face.
"I see..."
"Don't worry about tryiing to ethcape. The biindiingth are to thick.
Forget about being rethcued ath well. Only the Priinthe, the Count and myself know how to get in and out of thiith plathe."
"Well then, I guess I'm here till I die?
The assistant shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, untiil they kill you. Yeah."
"If they plan on killing me, why are you treating my wounds?"
"Oh, the Priinthe and the Count alwayth inthitht on everyone beiing healthy before they break them agaiin."
"Oh, torture. Lovely."
The assistant smiled at Kartley revealing oversize fangs that were the source of his lisp. His red and blue eyes shining.
"I've dealt with worse."
Now the assistant laughed at him.
"You doubt my reckless bravado?"
"You may have thurviived the Fiire Thwamp. But nobody wiiththtandth The Mathhiine."
With that, the assistant leaves Kartley, humming a happy little tune to himself.


Back in the Capital, Butterjade is in a state of despair. She aimlessly wanders the corridors of the castle. As she moves unseeing past an intersecting corrider, Prince Striderdink and Count Eridan watch her.

"She's been like that ever since the Fire Swamp.
It must be my father's failing health that's upsetting her."
Eridan watches her round a corner and disappear from view.
"Wwhat evver you say my Prince."

That night, the old king died. And before the following dawn Butterjade and Striderdink were married. The next day at noon, Butterjade once again met her subjects. But this time as their Queen.

"My father's final words were-"

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Karkat was stopped when Kade threw the Crawdad doll at him. He handed it back to her and asked her what was wrong.
"You're reading that wrong. She doesn't marry Striderdink! She can't marry him!
She marries Kartley! I'm sure of that. After all that he went through for her, it's just not fair!"
"Whoever said life is fair? Where is that written down?
Life isn't always fair."
"But...but you're messing up the story Daddy! Get it right!"
"You're getting worked up. Maybe I should stop."
"No! Don't stop."
"Alright then. No more interruptions."
Karkat opened the book yet again and found his place.

"...at noon, Butterjade once again met her subjects. But this time as their Queen."

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"My father's final words were, "Love her as I loved her, and there will be joy." Now, I am proud to present my wife and your Queen. Queen Butterjade."

And with that, Butterjade emerged to meet the crowd of onlookers in the Capital City. Just as before the crowd falls to its knees as she walks amongst them. But this time something is different.

"BOO!
BOO!"

Someone is booing the Queen! As Butterjade stands in confusion, an old woman forces her way through the crowd towards the Queen, booing with every step.

"Why do you do this?"
"B3c4us3 you h4d lov3 1n your h4nds, 4nd you g4v3 1t up!"
This upset Butterjade terribly.
"But they would have killed Kartley if I hadn't!
Please believe me! I don't want this!"
"Your tru3 lov3 l1v3s 4nd you m4rry 4noth3r!"
With this the crone turned to the crowd.
"Tru3 lov3 s4v3d h3r 1n th3 F1r3 Sw4mp, 4nd sh3 tr34t3d 1t l1k3 g4rb4g3.
4nd th4t's wh4t sh3 1s, th3 Qu33n of R3fus3!
So, bow down to h3r 1f you w4nt.
Bow to h3r.
Bow to th3 Qu33n of Sl1m3,
th3 Qu33n of F1lth,
th3 Qu33n of Putr3sc3nce.
BOO! BOO!"
Now the old woman advances on Butterjade, horrible claws reaching out for the Queen's throat. A horrible wide grimace on her face. All the while screaming insults and booing her. Louder and louder as she closes in.
"RUBB1SH!
F1LTH!
SL1M3!
MUCK!
BOO!
BOO!"

And suddenly, Butterjade was in her bed, scrambling fiercely as she awoke from the horrific nightmare. She got up, grabbed a robe and ran from her chambers.

It was ten days until the wedding. The King was still alive, but Butterjade's nightmares grew worse day by day.

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"See? I told you that she wouldn't marry that stinky butthole Striderdink."
"Aren't you a genius. Now shut up."

================================================== ===

Butterjade made her way to the Prince's chamber and burst in on Striderdink and Eridan in a conversation. They stared at her as she breathlessly stood in the doorway.

"I've reached a realization - I love Kartley. I always have. I know now that I always will.
If you tell me I must marry you in ten days, please have no doubt that I will be dead by morning."

Striderdink sat stunned by this, slowly he regained his composure.

"Well we can't have that. Consider the wedding off."
He then turned to Count Eridan.
"You returned this Kartley to his ship?"
"Of course."
"Then all we have to do is find him again."
Then he returned to Butterjade.
"Beloved, are you sure this is what you want?
After all, it was you who did the leaving in the Fire Swamp.
Not to mention that pirates are not exactly known for their honor."
"Kartley shall return for me. Always."
"Alright then, write four copies of a letter. I'll have four of my fastest ships, one in each direction.
The Dread Pirate Vantas always haunts the waters near our country this time of year.
When one of the ships finds him, they'll run up the white flag and deliver your note.
If your love wants you, bless you both.
But if not...would you please consider me as an alternative to suicide?
Is that a good plan for you?"
With that Butterjade nodded and left the Prince's chamber.


Later, in a grove of thickly-knotted trees, Striderdink and Eridan prowl.
"Your lovve is really a wwinnin creature. Fuckin simple, but her appeal is vvery apparent."
"Oh, I know. The people are quite taken with her.
It's odd, but when I hired Vriskini to murder her on our engagement day, I thought that was clever. But it's going to so much more satisfying when I strangle her on our wedding night.
Once we blame those bastards across the bay, the nation will be truly outraged. They'll demand we go to war."

Deeper in the grove the two wander. Eventually they reach a tree that looks no different that the others there. Eridan begins to search the tree for something.
"Noww wwhere is that fuckin knot? It's so damned difficult to find.
Ah, there it is."
With that, Eridan hits a knot and the tree opened up, revealing a staircase leading underground.
"Wwould you like to join me in the Pit?
Kartley has his strength back and tonight I start him on the Machine."
Striderdink sighed and shook his head.
"You know how much I love to watch you work.
But, I've got the Four hundred and thirteenth anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder, and I have to set it up so we'll have ourselves a war.
I'm just overwhelmed."
Eridan gave his Prince a worried look and a pat on his shoulders.
"Please get some rest my friend.
If you havven't got your health, you havven't got anythin."
With that Eridan smiles and walks down into the Pit, the tree closing up behind him to leave no trace of the passage.


Down in the Pit, Count Eridan and his assistant move Kartley up to what is known as 'The Machine'. It's impossible to describe, being a massive structure of levers, wheels, wires and pumps. The assistant straps suction cups to Kartley.
"It's just so fuckin beautiful."
And it's Eridan's pride and joy.
"It took me years to invvent this thin.
I'm sure you'vve discovvered my deep and abiding interest in pain.
At present I'm wworkin on wwhat wwill be the definitivve wwork on the subject. Quite fascinatin if you ask me.
So I wwant you to be completely honest with me on howw The Machine makes you feel."
Eridan walks over to a lever. There are markings ranging from "1" to "50".
"Since this is your first time, I'm goin to start wwith the lowwest setting."
He moves the lever to "1".

As he does that, The Machine sets into motion, water moves through it and all the various bits and mechanisms move and churn. Kartley, strapped down with suction cups on his head, heart, hands and feet watches the thing in fear. And then suddenly, he starts trying to scream, but only an incessant gasping escapes his lips.

With that, Count Eridan turned off The Machine and picked up a large notebook and pen and sat down next to Kartley.
"The concept of the suction pump is centuries old. That's all The Machine is. Except that instead of suckin wwater, it sucks awway life.
I just sucked one year of your life. And one day, I might go as high as fivve.
Noww, let's start wwith wwhat just happened. Wwhat did this do to you my friend?
Tell me. Please remember, this is for posterity, so be honest - howw do you feel?"
Kartley rolls his eyes over to the curious Count. Helpless and in terrible pain, he begins to weep. The Count watchs this and begins to write in his notebook.
"Howw fascinatin."


Back at the castle, Striderdink is in his quarters swamped with paperwork. Finally out of frustration he yells out.
"Neppin!"
And from the top of his bookcase, a form uncurls itself and crawls down to the floor.
":33 < *The Ch33f Enfurcer comes to her stressed-out Prince, wondering what he wants her fur*"
Striderdink cocks an eyebrow at her and looked back up to the top of his bookcase.
"What were you doing up there?"
":33 < *The Ch33f Enfurcer always sl33ps close to her master so she can quickly respond to his n33ds*"
"Whatever, just stop talking like that."
Neppin frowned at her Prince, but she nodded her head in agreement.
"And I need you to know this secret: killers from our neighboring rival have infiltrated the Thieves' Forest and plan to murder my bride on our wedding night."
Neppin frowned at this and started to think.
":?? < My moles have heard no such news."

They are interrupted when Butterjade enters the room. They both look up at her.

"Any word from Kartley?"
"I'm sorry, not yet. Please be patient my angel."
"He will come for me."
"Of course."

And with that she left the two in the Prince's chamber. Striderdink turned back to Neppin and continued from where he had been cut off.
"Alright, she will not - must not - be murdered. On the day of the wedding, I want the Thieves' Forest emptied and everyone there arrested."
":(( < But they will fight back. My regular enforcers will not be enough."
"Form a Brute Squad then. I want the Thieves' Forest emptied before I wed."
":33 < Yes sir, but it won't be easy."
With that she bound of Prince Striderdink's chamber, her blue tail trailing behind her.

The Prince smiled and leaned back in his chair.
"Try ruling the world sometime."

A/N:

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Okay, I lied. There's going to be more than two more part. I wanted to reach a scene further in and introduce two more interesting characters, but that's a damn ways off.

But, at least we get to meet Neppin, the Chief Enforcer for Prince Striderdink. She's going to fun to play with.

More will come tomorrow.

[Sionnan]

Man, you guys, I'm on a frigging roll here. Thanks to all of you who've been reading my fics and commenting. You guys are the bomb.

In this snippet of the lives of the Striders, Bro does the unthinkable- he looses toddler!Dave in a supermarket.

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Shit. What was the difference between Chinese peaches and Dole's peaches? The Chinese peaches were hella expensive, and came in a glass jar, but they looked like peaches alright. The mind boggled at food that didn't come premade or in a plastic container. He scrutinized the peaches, certain that if he stared at them a bit more, divine knowledge would slam into him like Zeus' mighty thundercock of inspiration.

As if.

He was practically dead on his feet. Dave had been way fussy the past few days, and his stomach was getting upset by their normal diet, so they were on a special shopping excursion with the sole purpose of finding stuff that wouldn't make the tike hurl. Added onto that was the fact he'd been marathoning his homework for the part time college course he was doing, and jumping from that to a part time worker at a wholesale Chinese goods store, and he was practically the living dead. He even had the waxy pallor down pat. Man, he hoped he hadn't caught what Dave had.

The bustle of the supermarket barely reached him, and he only gave a cursory response to the insistent tugging at his pant leg. Dave was saying something, and there was some Christmas jingles playing somewhere, and people wheeled their carts around the young man just slightly in the way who was staring fixedly at a shelf of peaches. Because that was totally where you found the Zen. It was there, in a row of peaches that he was having a hard time reading the lettering on.

Might as well consult the kid. Maybe he knows what kind he'd like.

Bro turned and looked down, opening his mouth to ask.

Only to be met with grubby patch of linoleum where the kid's sneakers had been.

A little freaked, Bro turned in place, trying to make the little fucker. And fuck fuck fuck, he's nowhere to be seen, fuck it.

Unpleasant memories, ugly memories, boiled to the surface, brought on by the eerily familiar sensation of being alone and having lot someone very important to you. Snatches of recollections of wandering stores, streets, for hours. He'd stopped crying after a few years, because his mother, when they were all alone, would seize him by one arm, shaking him, hissing at him for getting her in trouble, call him a worthless piece of shit. More than once her angry, half-whispered tirade would continue as she stomped back to the car, fastening him in with violent jerks, and once, but only once, had she stuck her face in his and growled, "I should have had that abortion."

He only learned what that word meant years later. It was still something that could wreck his shit, and he never dwelled on it.

Except for now, with a missing toddler on the hoof.

Ohgodohgoohogod

Stop

Ohgodohgod

Stop.

Stop.

Breathe.

Oh God Oh God

He still clutched a can of peaches in one hand, the entire hand white from gripping it.

Breathe.

Think.

And just like that, something seemed to slide into place, like a single drop of water hitting a puddle, rings expanding out. He took a deep breath.

He knew where Dave had gone. The kid had been on his left side when he took off running, tiny sneaker feet pattering the ground with joyful abandon. That just went to show Bro that he couldn't tune out the little ankle biter like he had been.

Bro turned sharply, dropping the peaches, heedless of whether they landed back on a shelf or not, and collecting the piecemeal pattern of Dave's burbling, he followed the smell of warm chocolate chip cookies and the sound of insanely cheerful holiday music. He rounded an aisle, and saw a few adults dressed in Christmas colors, a CD player on a table nearby, and a clutch of parents and their sprogs at the table, sampling the free baked goods.

Dave stood a little apart from them, not really near anyone, unconsciously distancing himself as if he knew he didn't belong. Saddest fucking thing Bro had ever seen. Regardless, Dave's little fists were balled in excitement, and he bounced up and down with a big grin on his face while he waited his turn. The uninhibited glee on the kid's face was as relieving as it was heartbreaking.

Well of fucking course. How could he have been so stupid. Dave wanted cookies like the other little kids, wanted to be one of them. But Bro wasn't a parent, and didn't read his brother like a parent. He read him as a younger kid, and just kind of expected the kid to stay put like some well-trained pet. He watched, standing even further away from the gaggle than his brother, lurking a little bit by a display of chips. Dave seemed to have the same sixth sense about locating his brother as Bro did, because he turned and waved enthusiastically.

He was okay.

He was even happy.

Bro was torn between being so relieved he was speechless and so frightened he was almost angry. But anger would only hurt the kid, and he didn't need that. No kid needed that.

So he nodded at his brother and loped over, crouching next to him and asking, "Hey, broski. What's happenin'?"

"Cooookies!" The squeal was accompanied by a tiny, pointing digit, indicating where the magical patries lay.

"Ahhh," Bro acknowledged with the appropriately hushed sageness due. "So I guess you want some?"

"Yes!"

"Okay." He reached out and scooped the toddler against himself, who automatically turned and clung to Bro, allowing Bro to lift him above the ground, settling him on his hip. "Just one thing, okay?"

Dave looked at him, glasses askew, letting his coppery red eyes peep out. He waited for his brother to say it.

"Don't take off like that again, dig?" Bro knocked his head gently against Dave's own, prompting a giggle. "You scared the living crap outta me. 'Kay?"

"Kay!"

"Ya promise?"

A nod that jiggled his whole body. Bro got the feeling that Dave grasped perfectly what his older brother meant. So he let it go, and unselfconsciouly pressed a kiss against the round cheek. The little boy pushed at Bro's face, too excited about the sweets to permit macking in public.

Bro grinned and stepped up to the table, and asked, "Can he get a cookie?"

[-Benedict]

oh my god unicorns
I mean cute. oh my god cute. It is so cute it has overwhelmed my senses, babbydave gettin cookies in the supermarket. Striderfics always make my day.

[SkaianRedeemer]

@Sionnan: Ugh, poor Bro, and to a lesser extent, poor Dave.

Semi-related question for you:

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Is your!Bro not aware of his non-biological origins, or should we assume he has a different origin story?

If this was made clear in another fic, sorry. I've been reading a lot of different fics, lately. :S

@spacetimeCounselor: Excellent 300th post.

[Katrika]

...oh my goodness please write more young!Dave fics.

Maybe a 4-year-old Dave is playing in the park and comes over to Bro to ask where their parents are?

Some of the other kids were talking about their parents, see.

[Shiromisa]

Sionnan: ...omg that was the cutest thing I have ever read ever.

[Twigwise]

Sionnan, have I ever said that I love your Striderfics before? Because I really, really do. So cute :3 And poor little!Bro. Parents like that are eeeevil.

[lucidSeraph]

Ahfasdn as usual, Sionnan, miracles. Motherfucking miracles.

[Katrika]

Sionnan, your striderfics always brighten my day. Don't you ever forget you rock!

[Wigmund]

Oh god damn, Sionnan. My diacuties were under control, until I read that. Toddler!Dave is just too damned cute.

And I find it great that my last few fics were lost in the tidal wave of awesome fics. So much great stuff here.

[Sionnan]

@everyone: Yay cuteness overload! I can't help myself, the possibilities are just too awesome.

@SkaianRedeemer: This is the way I see it, since we don't know for certain:

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Bro was actually conceived, born, and raised by real people, and in order to ensure timeline continuity, John prevented the possibility of Bro not existing in the past by sending him back.

[-Benedict]

@spacetimeCounselor: Excellent 300th post.

ffffffff if I had noticed that I would have brought forward something suitably awesome. Gonna have to wait for 413 I guess.

Also crossposting from the voice acting thread, since we get plenty of songs in here anyway.

So I'm starting a project to adapt They Might Be Giants' album "NO!" into homestuck version. I'm starting with "Four of Two" (The guy's rendition on the piano is better than any of the live performance recordings I can find). I adapted it into being about Jade and her Act 5 shenanigans, but I'm looking for someone who has a good Jade voice to sing it for real. The tindeck link is mainly to give an idea of how the lyrics go (the right emphases, timing, etc.), but obviously my voice can't do Jade.

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Underneath a dream tower on a pacific island where I've lived for about thirteen years
I stood in waiting for a boy I knew to connect to a game we were to play
It was thirteen minutes of four

At 4:13, I stood waiting for the boy
About four minutes early for the game we were playing
He was planning to say I was his sister then
Just as soon as he played the apocalypse game
And the time was 4:13

On 4/13 I became the Witch of Space
After shit got real and I prototyped my dog
I was alchemizing things to get ready
For the quest I would take to create a universe
And the date was 4/13

Before all that, I began to feel tired
Since my dreamself died, sleep became a squiddly time
It seemed as if my dreams were growing dark
And then horrorterrors came right out of nowhere
And I screamed and screamed and screamed

I headed back home to my wrecked room since I saw John had connected to me
But then he fell asleep so the meteor fell and Bec had to blow it up for me
It was still April fourteenth

At once I awoke to a cold and snowy world
There were frozen frogs and gigantic green forests
An imp attacked, and my dog blew it up
(He is awesome like that, he has superpowers)
And now everything has changed and the game has started
And it still is 4/13

[ArmsAreLoud]

d0 it differently next time

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You can't really blame me for my insanity, can you? I am a hollow shell. I am merely a piece of machinery, given life by a sweaty mechanic with a passion for the strange.

And yet, that is not what makes me madder than the others. It is my role that has ruined me. Cleaning time can and has driven a woman crazy.

The first time was simple. Karkat had talked too big of a talk; he had annoyed Jack for the last time. So, Jack killed him.

I swore to do it differently next time.

The next was expected, but still a failure. Vriska killed her fellow Scourge Sister and fed her to that monster she calls mother.

I swore to do it differently next time.

My warning led to Terezi taking preemptive vengeance. The next time we saw Vriska she was dangling from a tree branch.

I swore to do it differently next time.

Nepeta was led on by a suave Dersian agent because Equius was distracted with me.

I swore to do it differently next time.

Equius gave his life because I stupidly went to confront the Black Queen.

I swore to do it differently next time.

We fought the Black King. Everyone died to his Glubs.

I swore to do it differently next time.

I repeated this process again and again. Every time watching those around me die because I was simply not good enough.

And still you wonder why a ghost wants to die.

[Dermonster]

Oh hey the new thread-
*Is bombarded with ten thousand cute-fics.*
THIS IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE.
THE CUTENESS BURNS.
HERE IS SOME SOOTHING TERROR!FELT FOR YOUR BURNS.
STARRING...

[Twelve(Legion[Eggs])

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I am never alone.

Not really.

I don't really get what other people mean by loneliness.

Do you, me?

No. I don't.


You think rapidly as you escape from the burning ruins of the bunker.

Of course! The great tunnel under the harbor! Laden with so many traps, nothing could get through.

You turn sharply on the corner and careen over a man in your rush.

He was green.

Purple striped hat.

Twelve.

You don't notice.

You arrive.
__________________________________________________ ________

You charge through the halls, activating every trap that you come across.

The tunnel has seen better days, the bulkheads are so rusted as to be unusable, but the traps work fine, concealed in the walls with minimum exposure to air.

As you come up against a turn, you slam your hand against a scanner. Saw blades emerge out of the walls, lasers crisscross the air, and turrets spring out of the ceiling.

You grin and turn to keep running.

Except the rest of the tunnel has caved in.

You gape at it for a full minute, then hurriedly turn to deactivate the traps so you can get out.

Except he is standing at the end of the tunnel.

He looks upward, his mouth open. Drooling slightly.

You scowl, then laugh.

They only sent one guy! You may not be able to get out, but he sure as hell cant get in.

"Whats the matter, retard? Your teammates send you out alone?"

He turns to look at you.

And he rushed into the saw blades.

The walls are dyed red.

You gape in confusion. Did that just happen?

No wait, he's still at the entrance. But the saw blade is still red.

He charges again. The floor is slick with blood and he is at the entrance.

But now there's two of him.

And the saw blade churns.

Now there is ten.

Now there is fifty.

Now there is one hundred.

The saw blades, coated with bone and gore, grind to a halt, inner workings knotted with blood.

They charge into the automated machine guns.

And they die. Droves fall upon the floor.

Lead flies through the air and they come.

The bodies lay on the floor. They ride a wave of their own blood.

The ammo runs out.

Surely they can't cross this, you think to yourself, horrified and panicked.

The beams of heat burn through the flesh. The stench permeates the air.

They fall upon the light and they burn, yet still they come.

And by the thousand they throw themselves, and by the inch they create a doorway.

The beams blocked by the dead, they stampede through.

They charge without care. They trample on alternate selves in their maddened rush for blood not of their own.

And there is nowhere to run from the swarm.



I am never alone.

I like it that way.

You see, I like me.

But there is just so much of me to go around,

I figure I should share.

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Probably not the best thing, but I just wanted to get to biscuits. And I have to do them in order.

WHY CAN'T I SLEEP.

[SkaianRedeemer]

WHY CAN'T I SLEEP.

Because you're almost there! Almost there!!!

Of course, that line of thinking has kept me up to the most ungodly hours. But I do not regret.

[Metaflare]

dammit skaian whenever i see you post i expect a new HiHH

what have you done to me

[lucidSeraph]

Taking a break from Daves (having issues with Violet) to give you something different, with people I don't usually write.


Painted Blue

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Though the magnitude of the ensuing destruction resulting directly from your actions will be neither possible or necessary for you to fathom...

Space splits and time rends, players stand on either side of the rift. Twelve facing four (three for each; a boon or a curse? Who knows)

Space splits and time rends.

He crosses the rift, borne by breath (his friends close behind, riding Light or the fabric of the Scratch itself.)

It's all her doing, of course. They may h8te her, but without her it couldn't have been done. It's all part of her plan, perfect. They couldn't see what she's seen, but she stole the Light and in the Light she saw fortune and fortune she weaves to her command.

The whole pattern isn't visible to her yet. She's been working with only three fourths of the puzzle – so much of it thus far only seen through windows. But she knows this – the broken pieces of two null sessions might be made whole if the two are joined. Hence the unleashing of the Demon. Hence the death, hence the pain; all along it's because she knows – join two universes and gain a new more perfect world.

The best world possible.

And it will be her doing.

She smiles, and she leaps into the void, before any of the others. She smiles, and she reaches her hand to John, her wings unfurling behind her.

Their fingers touch.

And then she sees at last.

It happens, as do all things involving the demon, so quickly she can barely think. And she realizes. Of course he does this on his way to greet them in the distant past. Of course.

In the background, the dragon watches her fall. The dragon smiles, and flips a coin.

There are two past-futures.

Blue and red.

Red blood coats the blade. The Heir is dead.


The dragon flips the coin.


There are two past-futures.

Vriska's eyes widen and she sees at once eight paths reflected; her eyes widen and she acts without thought; God-wings of light unfurl and already she is in the way, for all the good it does.

Her fingers brush his and he is painted in a different kind of blue. Blue blood coats the demon's blade. The heir catches her as she falls.

It is enough of a distraction that Knight Maid Witch and Sylph are able to warp the demon away, change time and space to send him into the past.

They all remember now. The blade was blue when he arrived. Time re-knits and she, too, remembers differently. Or had it always been so?

There nevertheless ought to be a silver lining.

The Heir is safe. That's all that matters, now.

[decidingly]

A friend asked me to write a Post-Sburb fic based on Vienna Teng's song "Recessional." I thought it turned out pretty interesting, to say the least! Dave/Jade.

And this moment, now.

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Dave had counted the years since they finished their session.

Time passed by, and the four kids drifted apart slowly. Dave had needed space, he said; the others had similar reasons, things that they felt that they couldn’t share for one reason or another. Jade had left America almost as soon as she had entered it, claiming she needed the peace of her island. John had taken after his father, going to high school and perhaps becoming the only normal one of them all. And Rose, genius that she was, took off for some private school in upper New York, writing them all letters in precise purple ink and graduating early.

The fifth year since Sburb, Dave sat in the Buffalo airport, stealing a few moments of quiet in the multifaith center he had located. He wasn’t religious - far from it actually. But it was the quietest part of the airport, especially now that all flights out had been canceled in lieu of a snowstorm.

Fuck this snow. Dave huddled in his jacket, sunglasses still perched on his face as they had been for years. Snow was not his element; that was Jade’s whole thing. Briefly, he wondered if she would have enjoyed it, playing in the snow tonight. Kids kept walking by the door to the little chapel, begging and pleading their mothers to let them go outside, just for a few minutes. But rather than thinking of the brats with their dirty hands grabbing onto the snack food of the moment, he thought of Jade again. She would have begged to go outside too, once upon a time. Her face, close to Dave’s own, was red and chapped from the wind.

“What a coincidence.” A soft voice spoke near his shoulder, startling him. Dave realized he had been dozing, and pushed his glasses up as a protection measure before looking for the source. A familiar girl sat in the chair next to him, black hair neatly contained under a fuzzy blue hat and a blue and green suitcase at her feet.

“Jade. What are you doing here?” Dave was surprised, though he kept his cool; if the past five years had taught him anything, it was how to play a brilliant poker face. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your godforsaken island, digging holes in the grass and praying for a new building to sprout or something?” She laughed quietly, obviously trying to contain her enthusiasm in respect for the sacred place they sat in. Still, Jade was quieter than Dave remembered, less prone to outbursts of enthusiasm.

“I was visiting Rose, of course! But I got stuck in the snowstorm just like you did. Didn’t you come up here to say hello, too?” Of course, she knew the answer. It was no, just like always; Dave didn’t believe in saying hello to his friends any more. They rarely spoke; Rose was the only person that attempted to keep regular contact with anyone, and then only the bare minimum. It was all facts from her: graduation announcements, a signed copy of her first book. They were eighteen years old, and she was the only one who could really call herself a success in life.

“I was just passing through. Coming back from Canada.” Dave kept it vague; he didn’t like people to know that he roamed from city to city, often taking DJ jobs before getting tired and quitting. He could never find a home since Bro had disappeared, and the apartment with it.

“That sounds cold,” Jade admitted. She shivered unconsciously, pulling a coat out of one of the bags at her feet and putting it on. Dave recognized it as the one she had made long ago, in Sburb, and felt he should say something. But what did you say to a girl who was stuck in the past? Sburb felt so disconnected from life, now. Dave was an artist, Rose was on her way to becoming famous, John was finally living his movie-esque life, and Jade...was Jade, the same as always.

They spent the night in silence after that, Jade quickly falling asleep. Some time before, she had curled her hand around his, their fingers lacing. Dave hadn’t even noticed, so preoccupied was he in his own thoughts. Finally, she had put her head down on his shoulder, immediately falling asleep. Dave couldn’t help but laugh slightly at this long-standing habit of falling asleep instantaneously. He wondered if she still had bad dreams, and squeezed her hand when she whimpered unconsciously. It seemed so perfect, the Knight and the Witch, still together after all of this time. Dave wasn’t sure what Jade meant by holding his hand, but he refused to let go or move during her nap. Instead, he turned his attention to the people surrounding him. Flights began to move again as morning neared, and people slowly shuffled to their destinations. Dave wondered if Jade had missed her flight, but he was too invested in letting her sleep to wake her up and ask. Finally, she stirred, hair falling in front of her face as she righted herself and stretched.

“Good morning...” Jade yawned, running a hand through her unruly hair. Sometime during her long nap, her hat had fallen off and landed in her lap, leaving her hair in tangles. She brushed her hand through it, and Dave resisted the urge to do it for her. He had to keep cool for Jade, he told himself. So instead he nodded at her good morning, eyes indiscernible behind his sunglasses. The girl stood up, brushing off her corduroy skirt and gathering her things.

“You’re leaving? Wait, you just got here--” suddenly, Dave wasn’t sure what he was doing in the airport. His flight still hadn’t been called, and right now he really didn’t give a damn. All he saw was the girl in front of him, and the fact that she was escaping from him. A chance at normality, he told himself. A chance to right the fact that he hadn’t seen his friends in years, and it was slipping through his fingers as the next flight was called and she left for wherever without a goodbye.

“I’ve got to make my flight, Dave, you’re going to make me late!” Jade smiled slightly at her once-friend, still standing. She edged towards the exit of the chapel, and Dave stood up, following her. He grabbed her by the arm, turning her around to look him in the eyes.

“Fine, sure. I get that. But how the hell did you know I was in here anyway?” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but Dave couldn’t think of a way to say anything else without sounding like a complete goober. The last thing he wanted to do was turn into Egbert right in front of Jade.

“I always know where you guys are.” Jade shrugged. “I mean, not really, and not definitively, but I just guessed...I guessed that you would be here too. And you were!” She hesitated, looking back at the exit.

“Look, that’s really creepy. You’ve gotten a whole lot more cryptic since I saw you last -- but you’ve always been into that weird psychic shit. I wanted to say that....” There was no eloquence that could replace feelings. He wanted so many things right now, the least of which being to make her stay, to skip her flight. But he couldn't do that. They hadn’t been good friends in years, and he knew that he couldn’t convince her to stay. He didn't have the right any more to tell her what to do with her life. Dave knew that it wasn’t exactly orthodox or proper at the moment, but right now he didn’t care. Pulling Jade close, he kissed her on the lips, softly, before letting her go. She stood there, obviously shocked, before turning red and replying.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around, then, Dave. Maybe in another airport somewhere?” Dave couldn’t even ask her where she was going. Instead, he stared after her as she left, the red squiddle coat clashing with her blue outfit in a way that was uniquely and strangely Jade.

--

He looked for her in every airport he went to after that. From Buffalo to Las Vegas, and Charles de Gaulle in France, Dave hoped that he would see Jade again. He could see the newest memory of her clearly: her soft, sad smile, eyes still wide and green, the faded squiddle coat hugging her frame.

Nine months and thirteen days since their first encounter, he saw her again, pulling that same blue and green suitcase through a different airport. He caught up to her as she was sitting down in a Starbucks and they talked for two hours. Jade shared her life with Dave, and he listened, too scared to break the moment by interjecting his own failure of a life into her story of new puppies and gardens and physics. They were things he could never understand.

At one year exactly, they met in the airport again, this time on their way to the same destination. Rose had invited all of them to her house to stay a week; Jade slipped her hand into Dave’s and refused to let go until the taxi they had hired delivered them to Rose’s house. Jade left his side until that night, when she slipped into Dave’s room to lie beside him in bed. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. He told himself it was for protection, but from what he wasn’t sure. Rose noticed, of course, and had the tact to move them into a slightly larger room, built for two rather than one. Not that Jade had ever been afraid of sharing personal space to begin with.

After that fleeting week of intimacy -- Dave still felt her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a kiss, even after she was gone -- he didn’t see Jade for another year and a half, give or take a few months. This time it was another airport; Milan, Italy, where Dave had gone to explore the Italian music scene out of boredom and a need to keep moving, keep running from time.

He could not stop her as she passed.

Although Jade noticed him, and nodded to him from across the restaurant where they both sat, she didn’t approach. Dave couldn’t help but stop and stare, watching her leave him behind. Her Squiddle jacket was gone, replaced by a nicer suit that fit her perfectly. The man beside her sat too close to be merely a friend. Her hand sparkled; Dave noticed that it was a ring, diamond from the looks of it, set in a matching band to the man’s. She seemed happy at least, though he could never tell when she was hiding things from anyone; she had gotten too good at lying in the past eight years.

Of course she wouldn’t wait for him. She didn’t even know where he lived any more. Neither did he, really. As he sat at the bar, hand around a bottle of beer, Jade and the man got up and passed by, talking excitedly. Dave felt the brush of a hand in his jacket pocket as they passed. Pulling out a piece of paper, he unfolded it on the bar, reading it carefully. It was a letter from Jade; the handwriting was unmistakable, though it lacked the curlicues of earlier years.

Time’s what you make it, right? Coolkid. :] You can do it!

He left the beer on the bar, the note clenched in his hand.

[Twigwise]

Oh hey the new thread-
*Is bombarded with ten thousand cute-fics.*
THIS IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE.
THE CUTENESS BURNS.
HERE IS SOME SOOTHING TERROR!FELT FOR YOUR BURNS.
STARRING...

[Twelve(Legion[Eggs])

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I am never alone.

Not really.

I don't really get what other people mean by loneliness.

Do you, me?

No. I don't.


You think rapidly as you escape from the burning ruins of the bunker.

Of course! The great tunnel under the harbor! Laden with so many traps, nothing could get through.

You turn sharply on the corner and careen over a man in your rush.

He was green.

Purple striped hat.

Twelve.

You don't notice.

You arrive.
__________________________________________________ ________

You charge through the halls, activating every trap that you come across.

The tunnel has seen better days, the bulkheads are so rusted as to be unusable, but the traps work fine, concealed in the walls with minimum exposure to air.

As you come up against a turn, you slam your hand against a scanner. Saw blades emerge out of the walls, lasers crisscross the air, and turrets spring out of the ceiling.

You grin and turn to keep running.

Except the rest of the tunnel has caved in.

You gape at it for a full minute, then hurriedly turn to deactivate the traps so you can get out.

Except he is standing at the end of the tunnel.

He looks upward, his mouth open. Drooling slightly.

You scowl, then laugh.

They only sent one guy! You may not be able to get out, but he sure as hell cant get in.

"Whats the matter, retard? Your teammates send you out alone?"

He turns to look at you.

And he rushed into the saw blades.

The walls are dyed red.

You gape in confusion. Did that just happen?

No wait, he's still at the entrance. But the saw blade is still red.

He charges again. The floor is slick with blood and he is at the entrance.

But now there's two of him.

And the saw blade churns.

Now there is ten.

Now there is fifty.

Now there is one hundred.

The saw blades, coated with bone and gore, grind to a halt, inner workings knotted with blood.

They charge into the automated machine guns.

And they die. Droves fall upon the floor.

Lead flies through the air and they come.

The bodies lay on the floor. They ride a wave of their own blood.

The ammo runs out.

Surely they can't cross this, you think to yourself, horrified and panicked.

The beams of heat burn through the flesh. The stench permeates the air.

They fall upon the light and they burn, yet still they come.

And by the thousand they throw themselves, and by the inch they create a doorway.

The beams blocked by the dead, they stampede through.

They charge without care. They trample on alternate selves in their maddened rush for blood not of their own.

And there is nowhere to run from the swarm.



I am never alone.

I like it that way.

You see, I like me.

But there is just so much of me to go around,

I figure I should share.

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Probably not the best thing, but I just wanted to get to biscuits. And I have to do them in order.

WHY CAN'T I SLEEP.

This shouldn't be as entertaining as it is.
Terror!Felt is my favorite Felt. And somehow it still fits in with my headcannon about them being a bunch of strangely endearing guys. HOW DO YOU DO IT DERMONSTER. HOW?

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Oh gog I can't wait for Quarters I want to see your take on his power after you did Matchsticks so well :3 not to mention Biscuits should be interesting in his own strange way.

[Dermonster]

Yeah I have the best Idea for Biscuits.

Quarters I have no idea about. Matchsticks at least had that 11=pause thing. And matchsticks = fire. I don't have anything at all to work off of for quarters.

[Jenivi7]

>.>

<.<

This is emesis' fault. I'll just leave it here, shall I?

Jade/Karkat 30's AU.

Not At All

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He doesn't like her, not at all.

He doesn't like how her long hair falls around her shoulders or that her eyes are the brightest, most vivid green he's ever seen on anyone.

He doesn't like the way she doesn't seem to mind him or his anger or his cursing, how she ignores it or shrugs it off. He doesn't like that he can't get her attention that way.

He can't stand the way she does give her attention, how she's always hanging around and trying to include him. He doesn't like her friends and she shouldn't like his.

He doesn't respect how the one time he managed to make her mad, he made her really mad and she didn't cry or shout or yell but hauled off and popped him one right on the chin. His jaw was sore for two days and he HATED that no less than three friends teased him about looking 'smitten' every time he rubbed it.

But what he really doesn't like, what he absolutely cannot abide is the way he can't surprise her, how when he turned to kiss her on the porch of her home, something meant to be quick and brief and light, easily escaped from and denied afterward, there wasn't a trace of the shock or hesitation he had expected as the kiss was accepted and returned.

And the one thing he really hates, the cherry on the Sunday, the whipped topping on the pie, is that when he tells her all this, when he rants and rails and tries to make her understand just how much he despises her, she laughs, calls him a liar and kisses him again.

[X15lm204]

@Dermonster: How's this for Quarters: he can manipulate possible futures. He is presented with visions of four equally likely outcomes to any given situation and the means to bring them about, and can choose which to act out, each time creating three offshoot timelines in which he made a different choice. While highly abusable - for the Alpha Quarters, at least - this still leaves him with two weaknesses that the Midnight Crew might have exploited: one, the equally likely outcomes are not necessarily the most likely outcomes, and two, if all four scenarios end in his death, he's still screwed.

Oh man I can't wait to see how you plan to make Biscuits scary.

Also: I wrote a thing! My OT♦P though they may be, I still imagine that Equius♦Nepeta cannot be remotely healthy by human standards.

Shipping Wall - Part 1 - Rainbow Paints

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This is a disgrace.

An utter disgrace.

Six trolls and their lusii vanish in the same zone and who do your neighbors force to deal with the problem? The new blue-blood, of course, nevermind that you are not yet four sweeps old. How useless can the lower castes be that they would entrust their safety to one so junior while not lifting a finger in their own defense? They all deserve to be fed to the Serket girl's lusus, where at least they would be serving some worthy purpose.

Still, you do appreciate the acknowledgment of how STRONG you are. And you suppose it is the duty of the STRONG to help the weak find a purpose for their miserable lives.

What's that ahead?

"Aurthour, does that look like a cave entrance to you?"

Your lusus nods, and you both hurry towards it, Aurthour readying a spear.

Scattered around the small depression in the ground are numerous sunbleached bones. Most are very large or very small, but a few look to be about the right size; the five skulls - unmistakably those of trolls - that you uncover in short order confirm your suspicions. You have found the source of your problems.

You look to the sky. Your search has been long, and daybreak is near. Whatever makes this cave its home has likely returned from its nightly hunt, or is about to.

You hop down first. It looks as though there is enough room for Aurthour, but with your better maneuverability in tight quarters you think it prudent to scout ahead. There seems that there is a light coming from a little ways down the tunnel; could this be a hive, then, or at least a temporary camp? Either possibility holds ugly implications oh fudgesickles what is that

A ball of lightning-quick fury leaps towards you, almost to quickly to react. You just barely manage to grab it by the wrists before its claws sink too deeply into your flesh, but it still bowls you over and slides you down the passage. Lying on your back, your aggressor on your chest, you come face to face with it - no, her - just in time to see her expression change from glee to fear as she feels your STRONG grip and realizes that the ambush has been turned.

You...

You know that face.

In one swift motion, you snap off the blades of her claws and toss her away. She hits the opposite wall with a squeal of pain as you roll to your feet. Seeing the ruined remains of her weapons, she squeaks and attempts to abscond. She is very fast, but you have honed your speed against the perfect reflexes of your machine foes, and you are able to grab her by the collar of her tattered jacket before she gets far.

She growls in anger and panic and bats uselessly at your arm. "Desist," you say, but she fails to heed your command.

"Stop that this instant, and I will not harm you further."

She looks you in the eye, surprised, but her struggles slowly cease. She continues to look at you wonderingly and still fearfully, but after a short time begins to look almost...comfortable, for all that she is dangling by the neck in your grasp.

She licks hesitantly at a scrape on her arm from her impact with the wall. Green blood.

"This is your hive?" you ask. She merely nods in response, and only after a long moment's hesitation.

"Aurthour." You turn to see that your lusus has come to join you while you were preoccupied with the girl. "Follow me."

Your entry into the hive proper, such that it is, wakes the girl's lusus, a feline creature slightly larger than you. It looses a surprisingly terrible double roar from its mouths and prepares to pounce.

"No!" shouts the girl, the first word you have heard her speak. You were beginning to wonder if she was capable. The cat growls in dismay and paces back and forth, never closing the distance but watching you carefully. Eventually it sits back down on its haunches, and Aurthour likewise lowers his spear from its readied position where he stands shielding you.

"If I set you down now, you will not resume hostilities?"

Her face scrunches up in confusion for a moment, but soon she shakes her head furiously. You drop her to the ground, and she darts towards her lusus, hugging it around the neck.

You take a moment to look around the hive. The floor is simple dirt and rock, the furnishings primitive at best. A wood fire burns in the center of the floor, a small hole you did not notice from outside providing ventilation. No books. No paintings. No refrigerator. No computer. No recuperacoon. And the walls...

The walls are painted wildly in every color. Most of the area is the red of lesser animals, but all seven colors or the spectrum are represented, even purple, though you are far from the sea. This cannot be simple paint, considering the primitive nature of the rest of the furnishings. It must be blood.

You can't help but shudder.

"Can you speak?" you ask, carefully looking only at the girl and not the ghastly walls. At first, she merely nods, but soon realizes what you really wanted. "Yes. ...Little."

"Do you have a name?"

"...Nep-peta..."

"Nepeta what?"

"L-lei...jon?"

"Nepeta Leijon?"

"Y-yes! Is!"

"You have been neglecting your schoolfeeding, Nepeta."

She looks at you in confusion. Her fear has been settling as you speak, now down to a level only appropriate for one speaking to a higher caste. Hopefully this will encourage her to speak in sentences longer than a single word. "Boring! Too busy hunt!"

"Nonsense. You have had plenty of time to create...these abominations." You sweep your arm around to indicate the walls, without looking at them yourself.

She brightens up at the mention of her paintings. "Make pretty, like dreams! Help sleep!"

The nightmares? Pretty!? Who could...

Wait. You stop to think before shouting as your first impulse indicated. No recuperacoon. She must have had the dreams every night of her life. And for someone who had never before learned to fear violence, who associated rainbow-colored pools of blood only with food... To this pitiful creature, they must not seem so terrible.

"What have you done with the trolls and lusii who have come after you?" You fear you already know the answer.

"Bad hunters?" she asks disdainfully. You wonder if she is judging them for attacking her or criticizing their skill. You nod.

"Eats!" she replies, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. She waves her hand behind her lusus, pointing out a carcass that had so far escaped your notice.

The last missing troll. Orange-yellow blood pools on the floor beneath the unfortunate fellow. You can't help but look to confirm that the orange on the walls looks...fresher than the rest. Chunks of his flesh are missing, some large, some small, matching the mouths of the feline lusus. A few smaller marks can be seen here and there, but you find you have no desire to move closer to be sure that they are what you think they are.

You cannot let this abomination stand...but you have no desire to see this pathetic girl destroyed.

You make up your mind.

"Nepeta. If I leave here this morning and these despicable acts continue, your enemies will continue to send hunter as dangerous or more so than me, who will not be inclined to show you mercy or kindness." One part of that might have been preposterous - they could of course send no one more dangerous than you - but a little exaggeration can only help your cause here. It's working: at first she only looks incredulous, but fear creeps into her expression as she realizes how quickly and easily you outfought her.

"Listen to me now and listen carefully. For your own good, you will immediately cease the hunting of trolls and their lusii-"

"No hunt?" she interrupts. "What eats?"

"Look." You point to one of the large swaths of red on the wall. "The creatures with blood of this shade are mere animals, and are fit to be eaten. Not one shade darker, do you understand me? Hunting a creature with any other shade of blood will only bring angry hunters to your hive, and is itself a filthy act that is beneath your blood."

She looks subdued as you raise your voice, but she is not quite compliant. "No paints?" she asks petulantly, if softly.

"If you must paint, there are other things besides blood that may be used as pigments... Watch." A moment's effort and some soot and ash from the fire produces a sketch of a musclebeast on the floor. It is hardly on the level of the masterpieces you hand in your hive, but it serves its purpose in grabbing her attention; she stares at it in wonder, this work of art so different from her own abstract swirls.

She grabs some ash of her own and immediately sets to drawing; she soon produces a shaky sketch of her lusus's face. "Pounce!" she shouts gleefully; the cat approaches, takes a look at the drawing, and curls up around her, purring. After petting her guardian for a moment, she turns to you with a worried expression.

"What if more hunter comes?"

"You must defend yourself, of course. Abscond if you can, slay them if you must, but never, never is a slain troll or lusus to be considered food. Do you understand me? Leave them to rot - where they will be found and their fates known if you can."

She nods hesitantly. "But... Why?"

"If you had bothered to keep up with your studies, you would never need to ask that question."

She merely gives you an annoyed glare.

"Listen to me, Nepeta Leijon, for this is the most important order I will ever give you. You will learn how to behave like a troll, not an animal. You will learn our race's history and customs, you will learn how to communicate properly with another, and you will learn what actions are not to be performed - ever - by one of your station. I will aid you in this endeavor. Can you read?"

She shakes her head sadly. You find yourself wanting to cheer her up, but for now it is far more important that she hear and obey your words.

"You will learn. I will help teach you. I will leave, shortly, and return in two days time. I will bring books, a computer, and other supplies, and you will learn to communicate properly as befits your station. I will repeat these visits until such time as I feel you are sufficiently trained, at which point I will introduce you to other trolls with whom you may interact. From them you will learn how trolls interact with one another. You will study their interactions with yourself and each other carefully, and I will instruct you on which of their behaviors to emulate and which not to."

She squirms uncomfortably. "How learn when you not are here?"

You notice that, while still poor, her speech patterns have been improving the more she converses with you. "For the moment our priority is your mastery of language. You are currently limited by your lack of neighbors capable of responding, but you must not allow yourself to cease speaking entirely as you seem to have while alone here. When I am not present, you will practice speaking by describing your own actions and those of your lusus as best you can. When I am here, I can correct your mistakes; it is currently most important that you make a habit of speaking as much as possible such that your skill does not degrade further."

"Okay, does!" she replies with a smile.

"Excellent." How refreshing it is to meet a troll wise enough to properly comply with the demands of a higher caste! Even one so primitive as this.

Suddenly she looks worried and downcast again. What could be the matter?

"Why... Why helps?"

You hesitate. If she does not remember, you are not certain you want her to know the whole story. But... You find to your surprise that it is important to you that she trusts you.

"You... You helped me when I was weak. Now that I am STRONG, I will help you."

She looks confused for a moment, but puts on a determined face. "What name?"

"I- Equius. Equius Zahhak."

"Ek...Equius?"

"Er- Yes."

"Good. Equius helps, helps Equius."

"What? Don't be absurd. In your position, how could you help me?"

"Helps Equius." It seems she is determined, in spite of reason. You are surprised to realize you are smiling. You stand hurriedly.

"Sunrise comes. I will leave now and return in two nights' time. Dispose of that carcass - not as food or as paint. I will hear of no further such incidents or I will withdraw my aid and hunt you down, do you understand? Good. Then... Farewell, Nepeta Leijon."

You hurry on your way out of the hive. Why is Aurthour smiling like that?

As you turn the bend out of sight you almost stop to turn around and remind the girl of her promise, but not before you hear her voice.

"Nepeta pet Pounce de Leon! Pounce stretch, yawn big, purr! Nepeta find more ash for draws! Draws Equius!..."

You are smiling again, satisfied.

Oh.

Oh fiddlesticks.

Such impropriety.

Are these... Pale feelings, for this savage, possibly cannibalistic green-blood?

How dreadfully indecent.

And yet...

You don't stop smiling.

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I can has trollburger?

Yeah, that's been an inexorable part of my headcanon since I first sat down to think about the implications of Nepeta's hive.

And yes, I will be writing out Equius's tale that explains why he didn't immediately kill Nepeta. I swear I'll get to it eventually.

jegus guys how do you all write so faaast

[PingZing]

A very short second-person fic from Rose's PoV. Criticism is welcome.

Adrift

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Your first thought is nothing.

Literally nothing. Your mind cannot comprehend what you are seeing, and you stand rigid with bewilderment. Here is someone who is supposed to be invincible and untouchable. The concept of her being injured is utterly alien to you.

The concept of grievous bodily harm is no stranger however, especially after witnessing John's grisly demise at the end of Jack Noir's blade. It does not take your mind long to connect the dots, and you rush forward the moment you realize what's happened. You drop to your knees beside the supine figure and try your hardest to ignore the awful splashing sound.

The figure opens her eyes and she turns to face you. Recognition dawns and she weakly raises her hand. You grab it and squeeze without looking. Her other hand reaches up to stroke your cheek, and you ignore the streaks of blood it leaves.

“Rose...” she breathes. “I am...so sorry.”

At last, you find your voice. “Mother! What...how...?” Your infamous eloquence has deserted you.

“Jack Noir happened, I'm afraid.” She pauses to cough up blood before continuing. “I fear I was...outmatched.”

You cannot believe this. Even in her final moments, your mother is mocking you with her ironic devotion. Unsatisfied with merely feigning love, she has escalated her efforts to the fatal. You hate her. You want to strike her for her insincerity, her foolishness and for all the petty slights you've endured your entire life. But most of all you hate her for ending your game. You hate her for leaving you.

You don't even realize you're crying until you feel a pair of arms wrapped around you. You bury your head in your mother's collar and hold her tight, as if you can keep her from going away, keep her safe. She tells you that it's going to be okay, that it's going to be fine, hush now. You know how ridiculous it is—of course nothing is going to be fine, nothing is okay.

“Why?” you whisper. Why did you do it? Why would you leave me? Why you?

She smiles. “A mother...will do what is best for her children.

“You make me so proud, Rose.”

And she is gone.

In that moment, adrift and alone, you have never felt more like a child and less like a Seer.

Notes

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For as short as that fic is, I spent quite a long time on it, much to my frustration. My idea was originally going to be Rose's reaction to John's death in a post-SBurb environment, but the more I thought about it, the less I liked it.

Also, I agonized forever over that final line.

[egregiousBass]

Quarters I have no idea about. Matchsticks at least had that 11=pause thing. And matchsticks = fire. I don't have anything at all to work off of for quarters.

In my head-canon, he can make a time-reversal field the same way Itchy and Doze can make acceleration/retardation fields. It'd be the technique used to play certain pieces from the Felt album in reverse.

But it's not jumping back or forth in time like Eggs or Die, rather going back in real time, kinda like how Biscuits goes forward in real time, like everyone else.