MSPA Fanfiction IV

[Graven_Image]

Indystuck

Chapter 23

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Were a hypothetical observer to remain stationary in space, they would soon be left behind by the planet we recently finished hearing about. In a few minutes, another planet of equal size but wildly different climate would come to rest below them.

This particular planet hosted the house Tim had recently saved, hoping to bring the Princess with him and out of the path of destruction.

He knew she was here, for he had seen her in timelines long past.

A flitter of her dress, a swish of her braid was all that he needed. She was assured of survival, and by extension a lasting role in the world he was in.

That world was a cold one.

Around him, freezing mist swirled. It clung to him like an adrift cobweb, wrapping him in a familiar humid chill.

He had returned once more to the Land of Fog and Gears.

And when he left this time, he would not be returning.

As it so happens, an observer similar to the one we recently discussed had indeed been looking in on the proceedings outlined in the previous twenty-two chapters. It was only now that he deigned to reveal himself.

OPEN PESTERLOG

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??? began pestering neckwearAficionado

He llo there, Missster Timothy.
NA: Ah, our anonymous tormentor.
NA: Right on schedule.
You should kn know that I am awwware of your temp oral chicanery, Missss ter Timothy.
And I ammm not p pleased by wh what I have ssssseen of it.
NA: And you should know that I am aware of your bad habit of dictating your intended messages to my PDA.
NA: You really ought to get that stutter taken care of.
Your foreknowledge does not in timidate me, Misssster Timothy.
And I am ssssure that mine does not do ssso to you.
Your in tended ac tions at the tail end of this exxxxercise in fullfillment of proph eccccy will have
NA: Have what?
NA: Searching for a word, are we?
Unforseen consequences.
NA: Oh, if I had a dime for every time someone tried to call me out on these things.
NA: Your endless variety in our repeated post-entry conversation never ceases to amuse me.
Repeated only from your perspective, Missster Timothy.
I simply know.
NA: And yet every time, you must hammer home your supposed omniscience.
NA: I do believe that is all I have time for, misssssster whomever.
NA: Goodbye.
Your hubrisssss, unchecked, will be the death of us all.
Tread carefully, Mister Timothy.

neckwearAficionado ceased pestering ???

OPEN PESTERLOG

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??? began pestering videomaticPrecognitive

I ssssuppose that I sssshould not be surprised at your con tin ued existence
You have
after all
been entirely
too hard to get rid of.
VP: And YOU have been entirely too persistent in your Continued Pokings and Proddings
VP: I am only a Man
VP: I am not Special
That is where you are wrong, Commander.
You are no man
You are everything my opposite
And yet you are unallied with my

rivals
VP: Perhaps it is because I find THEM to be
VP: Unsettling
VP: My Home is HERE on the Golden City
VP: I am at Peace in its Width and Breadth
VP: And those I have Met here are my Friends
VP: I seek no Conflict because no more is Needed
You are a fool, Video.
VP: Perhaps I am Wise beyond Measure
VP: I Too SEE
VP: I Too KNOW
VP: I am the VIDEOMATIC PRECOGNITIVE
VP: I SEE and KNOW of YOU and THEM and I Choose NEITHER.
Not jussst a f fool, Video, but an ig norant one as well.
Know this, Com mander.
By the t t time you have realized your t true title
You will be unable to do anything
Your beloved city will be razed to the ground.
VP: LIES
VP: LIESLIESLIESLIESLIES
VP: LIES from a Manipulative Coercing Paradoxian Stillbirth who did not Count on Foreknowledge and THOSE who would OPPOSE him
VP: I and Tim will be your Downfall
VP: This I Swear
Believe what you like, Commander.
The Ssssssun cannot be ref used.
VP: It Can
VP: Has
VP: Will Be
VP: And Always Has Been
VP: By ME and MINE
VP: You KNOW This
I know thisssss, Video.
I know much more than that as well
VP: Maybe if you Rack your Brain long enough
VP: You will KNOW why I manage to Evade your Grip again and again
VP: And if you ever do FIND OUT
VP: Be sure to Tell me

videomaticPrecognitive ceased pestering ???

[DJ-P0N3]

honk
HONK
honk
DARK CARNIVAL PART MOTHERFUCKIN 2
honk
HONK
hoooooooonk.
I WOULD LIKE TO THANK KATRIKA (Nepeta), Teebs (Kanaya), and ToreadorTornado (Sollux).
I play Gamzee.

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WARNING: This is dark, somewhat humorous, slightly suggestive as in there are make outs.

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Dark Carnival 2

[Kerensky287]

Indystuck

Chapter 23

{snip}

Rrrrrise an nd SHIIINE, Misssssster Timothy. Rrrrrrrise an nd shiiiiine.

Nnot to imply that you have been
sleeping
on the job.

Does Half-life really count as an indy game, though? Or are the main characters the only indies?

[H-Waters]

I've edited it. Criticism is welcome.

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A man was just strolling on the open space of New Comicon. His name was Rich Warwick. He hated New Comicon, but his girlfriend, who liked comics, persuaded him to come. They were to meet somewhere, after lunch. Unfortunately, Rich did not remember where exactly. Then, he happened over a very small stall. It had nothing on it, except for a man who was sitting on the floor. Rich moved himself to have a better look at the strange man. He had a gigantic beard, and was shouting, “Criticism here! Criticism here! No Fees!” So Rich inquired, "Criticism, eh? Tell me what you think about Homestuck." And so the strange man answered, "Homestuck has little Humor. It is not supposed to be Like That. Homestuck belongs to the realm of Serious Webcomics. Andrew Hussie Planned It as Such. Also, Homestuck and Problem Sleuth are Two Distinct Webcomics. It shouldn't be compared to Each Other, as some people dooo..." "Maybe you just read that from the internet," the normal man interrupted. Offended, the strange man shooed him away.

After a tour of New Comicon, he was ready to eat lunch outside. But there was a blockade at the exit. All of them were fans of a certain webcomic which garnered criticism after it ended. It was because Garret, the one who created the webcomic, had shown several other people in the webcomic world in a bad light. But the fans, in their idiocity, ignored all that, and bashed several people who didn’t like what Garret did. It was normal fandom behavior. What bothered him the most was what was written on the placards. They said one thing. 'End.' Rich said, "What the hell is this?" Almost immediately, the fans said in a hideous chorus, “We are not letting any haters of our webcomics pass!” Rich replied, “I don’t hate your webcomic! I don’t even know what webcomic it is!” But the fans looked at him with hateful eyes. Rich then tried to move his way through the fans. It was futile, since everybody was as rigid as a stone. "I will tell the police about this." Rich then marched to the entrance of New Comicon, but it was impossible to see where the entrance was, due to the sudden unnatural density of the crowd. "Hell, hell, hell, where is the entrance?" He found himself moving around in circles, even after thirty minutes. "Once I get out of this, I will make sure to gun down whoever created that blockade," but that threat was merely a threat, nothing more. After thirty more minutes, he screamed. The entrance was nowhere to be found, and the police were gone. But the crowd seemed to ignore him. Then, a sudden blackout came. Rich ran through the crowd, bumping over several people, and hurting a few, in the process. He finally escaped New Comicon after a few minutes of running and bumping. By that time, he forgot about his girlfriend. And then…

“Ahhhhh…!" CRASH!

"Where am I?
"You’re in the world of Homestuck. You may call this a sort of hell."
“Who are you?”
“I’m just an angel wandering around. You may call me Martin.”
"Oh. So I'm trapped?"
"You are. And this world is much worse than New Comicon."
“How did you know about me hating New Comicon, Martin?”
“Well, I’ve been watching you ever since you were born.”
“You were? I’m…I’m surprised.”
"Oh, and I have a few tasks for you. Find Andrew Hussie, and apologize to the criticism man."
"What do you mean about that? Why am I here? Martin, I’m confused.”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
"Hmm. If I’m in Homestuck, can I see the trolls?"
"I don't know. Ask Andrew Hussie. He was the one who assigned the tasks."
“I don’t understand any of this. Martin. Martin! Where are you going?
"To someplace else. Goodbye and good luck on your quest. Hope to see you again soon.”
“Martiiinnnnnn! Oh, he’s gone. Damn.”
And then began a very strange journey, with many answers waiting for him, and many surprises ready to, well, surprise him.

[absoluteCertainty]

graven
if steve doesssssn't fli p the fuck out
after talking to <SSSSSSSSSS>
i will be

ssssssad

[egregiousBass]

Hey, I have a fanfic idea for anyone who fancies themselves a good creepy!fic writer.
If no one wants to do it I will do it myself.

PICK ME PICK ME :|

[Nexev]

I've edited it. Criticism is welcome.

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A man was just strolling on the open space of New Comicon. His name was Rich Warwick. He hated New Comicon, but his girlfriend, who liked comics, persuaded him to come. They were to meet somewhere, after lunch. Unfortunately, Rich did not remember where exactly. Then, he happened over a very small stall. It had nothing on it, except for a man who was sitting on the floor. Rich moved himself to have a better look at the strange man. He had a gigantic beard, and was shouting, “Criticism here! Criticism here! No Fees!” So Rich inquired, "Criticism, eh? Tell me what you think about Homestuck." And so the strange man answered, "Homestuck has little Humor. It is not supposed to be Like That. Homestuck belongs to the realm of Serious Webcomics. Andrew Hussie Planned It as Such. Also, Homestuck and Problem Sleuth are Two Distinct Webcomics. It shouldn't be compared to Each Other, as some people dooo..." "Maybe you just read that from the internet," the normal man interrupted. Offended, the strange man shooed him away.

After a tour of New Comicon, he was ready to eat lunch outside. But there was a blockade at the exit. All of them were fans of a certain webcomic which garnered criticism after it ended. It was because Garret, the one who created the webcomic, had shown several other people in the webcomic world in a bad light. But the fans, in their idiocity, ignored all that, and bashed several people who didn’t like what Garret did. It was normal fandom behavior. What bothered him the most was what was written on the placards. They said one thing. 'End.' Rich said, "What the hell is this?" Almost immediately, the fans said in a hideous chorus, “We are not letting any haters of our webcomics pass!” Rich replied, “I don’t hate your webcomic! I don’t even know what webcomic it is!” But the fans look at him with hateful eyes. Rich then tried to move his way through the fans. It was futile, since everybody was as rigid as a stone. "I will tell the police about this." Rich then marched to the entrance of New Comicon, but it was impossible to see where the entrance was, due to the sudden unnatural density of the crowd. "Hell, hell, hell, where is the entrance?" He found himself moving around in circles, even after thirty minutes. "Once I get out of this, I will make sure to gun down whoever created that blockade," but that threat was merely a threat, nothing more. After thirty more minutes, he screamed. The entrance was nowhere to be found, and the police were gone. But the crowd seemed to ignore him. Then, a sudden blackout came. Rich ran through the crowd, bumping over several people, and hurting a few, in the process. He finally escaped New Comicon after a few minutes of running and bumping. By that time, he forgot about his girlfriend. And then…

“Ahhhhh…!" CRASH!

"Where am I?
"You’re in the world of Homestuck. You may call this a sort of hell."
“Who are you?”
“I’m just an angel wandering around. You may call me Martin.”
"Oh. So I'm trapped?"
"You are. And this world is much worse than New Comicon."
“How did you know about me hating New Comicon, Martin?”
“Well, I’ve been watching you ever since you were born.”
“You were? I’m…I’m surprised.”
"Oh, and I have a few tasks for you. Find Andrew Hussie, and apologize to the criticism man."
"What do you mean about that? Why am I here? Martin, I’m confused.”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
"Hmm. If I’m in Homestuck, can I see the trolls?"
"I don't know. Ask Andrew Hussie. He was the one who assigned the tasks."
“I don’t understand any of this. Martin. Martin! Where are you going?
"To someplace else. Goodbye and good luck on your quest. Hope to see you again soon.”
“Martiiinnnnnn! Oh, he’s gone. Damn.”
And then began a very strange journey, with many answers waiting for him, and many surprises ready to, well, surprise him.

SOMEONE is a little bitter at webcomic fans. >_>

[linguisticDoctor]

INCURSION

Prologue

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Karkat: Fail to revive Kanaya.

Oh look! Your sad attempt to revive your very good friend was pointless. Because her dreamself is dead. It doesn't exist anymore!

What a complete waste of time that just was. Even worse, Gamzee is probably hunting down the others, even as you despondently regard Kanaya's supine corpse. Maybe he's already gotten to them and gotten all MOTHERFUCKING FRIENDLY. And when they die, guess what! That will be for good too!

Wow, you are such a failure.


==>

Trying desperately to stem the flow of your tears, you stand up in a shaky fashion, letting Kanaya rest on the floor again. You can't even look at her, now. You have failed her on every possible level.

You wish there was something else you could do.

Oh well. Better bring Sollux with you. The last thing you want is for one of the two murderous assholes currently roaming this asteroid to pull a coup de grace on your best bro.

He's a lot heavier than his lanky frame suggests, but you manage.


Karkat: Abscond.

It's really a pity he left like that.

Let us return our attention to Miss Maryam's body, which so recently felt the kiss of a prince of Prospit's moon. While the Prospit of the SGRUB session has, indeed, been destroyed, and Kanaya's normal dreamself is not there to respond, this does not mean that actions do not have consequences.

The jade-green pool around Kanaya Maryam's body has begun to decrease in volume. The similar beryl stains are coming out of her clothing. All around her, in fact, her blood is returning to the corpus of its origin. This is, of course, unnatural.

If Karkat had stayed, perhaps he would have some inkling of what is about to occur, and the origin of the strange black radiance that has already begun to form a halo about her form.


Dream Kanaya: Awaken.

It is dark where you are.

It is always dark here, save for a meager, sourceless violet radiance that emanates from time to time, as if the light was passing through this place.

There are whispers around you. Whispers and songs. You feel an arm brush over your own. A boneless, fluid arm, billowing and reforming even as it touches you.

ph'nglui ngh'n'gah iih uush'kk xisl xisl yln

You have heard these songs before. You feared them, then, of course. Most do, when they are still part of the material world. It is hard not to fear them. The ones who sing them are so different from what the flesh expects.

mgnl-wfah dut'l shogg'rhu mnaaaaaiiii

Yet what is a tentacle, really? Just another sort of arm; another kind of limb. Is this so strange? What is this great maw but a mouth, as capable of affection or atrocity as anything else? Should it be so feared?

Could one honestly expect the form of a God to conform to expectations? Certainly not. By their very nature, a God is beyond such petty demands. That is why They are called nobility, even by those who fear them too much to worship them.

wgah-ngl urr'khlkhshhhhhKK


KANAYA

What is this...?

It seems you are being called.


KANAYA-SYLPH, IT IS TIME

Oh my. It seems that it is. You can feel the tugging of your body; the demand of resurrection, as the eternal mechanisms of the Game trawl all meta-existence for you, and find you here, within the bubbles.

Here in the darkness beyond universes that is the Furthest Ring.


THE DREAMER WAKES, THE GATE IS OPENED

Their forms circle around you. You can do little but acquiesce. You are but a little soul.

They are divinities.


YOU WILL BE OUR HARBINGER

A thousand writhing, wormlike arms encircle your form, grasp, pull you taut at a level beyond flesh. You are a lump of clay or a skein of thread. Material to be crafted. These are the artificers, and they remake you in their vision, rewrite the blueprint of your soul.

It hurts at first

and then it does not but there is a rush of feeling

and then feeling is obsolescence

and then thought

there is

only

change


==>

A hand clenches, unclenches. A body that was dead sits up.

A Sylph returns to her session.

But there is something very wrong with her.

Something as plain as the flickering incandescence of her eyes, and the jerky, alien movements of her limbs as she stands at last, as if unused to bones and structure. If the Seer of Mind were here, it would be even more glaringly obvious to her--the scent of Kanaya Maryam is no longer hers.

Actions have consequences.

These consequences will be greater than anyone could have imagined.

[Graven_Image]

INCURSION

Prologue

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Karkat: Fail to revive Kanaya.

Oh look! Your sad attempt to revive your very good friend was pointless. Because her dreamself is dead. It doesn't exist anymore!

What a complete waste of time that just was. Even worse, Gamzee is probably hunting down the others, even as you despondently regard Kanaya's supine corpse. Maybe he's already gotten to them and gotten all MOTHERFUCKING FRIENDLY. And when they die, guess what! That will be for good too!

Wow, you are such a failure.

==>

Trying desperately to stem the flow of your tears, you stand up in a shaky fashion, letting Kanaya rest on the floor again. You can't even look at her, now. You have failed her on every possible level.

You wish there was something else you could do.

Oh well. Better bring Sollux with you. The last thing you want is for one of the two murderous assholes currently roaming this asteroid to pull a coup de grace on your best bro.

He's a lot heavier than his lanky frame suggests, but you manage.

Karkat: Abscond.

It's really a pity he left like that.

Let us return our attention to Miss Maryam's body, which so recently felt the kiss of a prince of Prospit's moon. While the Prospit of the SGRUB session has, indeed, been destroyed, and Kanaya's normal dreamself is not there to respond, this does not mean that actions do not have consequences.

The jade-green pool around Kanaya Maryam's body has begun to decrease in volume. The similar beryl stains are coming out of her clothing. All around her, in fact, her blood is returning to the corpus of its origin. This is, of course, unnatural.

If Karkat had stayed, perhaps he would have some inkling of what is about to occur, and the origin of the strange black radiance that has already begun to form a halo about her form.

Dream Kanaya: Awaken.

It is dark where you are.

It is always dark here, save for a meager, sourceless violet radiance that emanates from time to time, as if the light was passing through this place.

There are whispers around you. Whispers and songs. You feel an arm brush over your own. A boneless, fluid arm, billowing and reforming even as it touches you.

ph'nglui ngh'n'gah iih uush'kk xisl xisl yln

You have heard these songs before. You feared them, then, of course. Most do, when they are still part of the material world. It is hard not to fear them. The ones who sing them are so different from what the flesh expects.

mgnl-wfah dut'l shogg'rhu mnaaaaaiiii

Yet what is a tentacle, really? Just another sort of arm; another kind of limb. Is this so strange? What is this great maw but a mouth, as capable of affection or atrocity as anything else? Should it be so feared?

Could one honestly expect the form of a God to conform to expectations? Certainly not. By their very nature, a God is beyond such petty demands. That is why They are called nobility, even by those who fear them too much to worship them.

wgah-ngl urr'khlkhshhhhhKK

KANAYA

What is this...?

It seems you are being called.

KANAYA-SYLPH, IT IS TIME

Oh my. It seems that it is. You can feel the tugging of your body; the demand of resurrection, as the eternal mechanisms of the Game trawl all meta-existence for you, and find you here, within the bubbles.

Here in the darkness beyond universes that is the Furthest Ring.

THE DREAMER WAKES,THE GATE IS OPENED

Their forms circle around you. You can do little but acquiesce. You are but a little soul.

They are divinities.

YOU WILL BE OUR HARBINGER

A thousand writhing, wormlike arms encircle your form, grasp, pull you taut at a level beyond flesh. You are a lump of clay or a skein of thread. Material to be crafted. These are the artificers, and they remake you in their vision, rewrite the blueprint of your soul.

It hurts at first

and then it does not but there is a rush of feeling

and then feeling is obsolescence

and then thought

there is

only

change


==>

A hand clenches, unclenches. A body that was dead sits up.

A Sylph returns to her session.

But there is something very wrong with her.

Something as plain as the flickering incandescence of her eyes, and the jerky, alien movements of her limbs as she stands at last, as if unused to bones and structure. If the Seer of Mind were here, it would be even more glaringly obvious to her--the scent of Kanaya Maryam is no longer hers.

Actions have consequences.

This action's will be more than anyone bargained for.

Oh my. Oh my oh my.

I like the formatting you've done with this, and the story you've put together so far is rather compelling, for some reason.

And the "realistic" segments are Hussnastian in the best sense.

[Kassiopeia]

@linguisticDoctor as ever, amazingly good. You have real control over your style. One critique I might suggest is that the syntax of the last line is a little awkward? I mean, grammatically correct, but sort of anticlimactic, mainly because of "action's", and the dangling preposition - it would be fine anywhere else in the story, but given that it falls at the end and thus has particular emphasis, maybe instead of

This action's will be more than anyone bargained for

you could go with something like

These consequences will be more than anyone could have imagined

???

IDK. Otherwise this was great. I love me some Horrorterrors, especially when they aren't necessarily being wholly evil, and I am intrigued to know where you'll go with this

[Wigmund]

Gonna just hop in and thank Crash for the creepy fic idea, I'll be working on it today and possibly over the weekend >:]

[Sionnan]

Aw man, my fic got buried. I have really got to stop posting these things after, like 9:00 pm.

We definitely have some new and weird stuff coming up in here, I gotta say. But a lot of it is really good (I'm looking at you, linguisticDoctor ;'D that was the bitchtits, man), and I think that even though we've seen a kind of drastic drop off in activity here, the new developments have really challenged us to go different places with our stuff.

Rock on, guys.

[mutecebu]

Okay, can we pick apart Graven's marvelous Indystuck? I've recognized most of the heroes, but I'm not sure about:

viridianVoyager - he's from VVVVVV, right? He's currently scheduled to be the last to enter?
In prologue 2, Steve mentioned "gish". Who is that?
Steve, aka CraftyMiner, is from minecraft, right?
Benli, aka DwarvenSniper, is from Dwarf Fortress
Has the Spelunky guy been revealed as a character?
Videomatic Precognative - who is he?
I just reread and noticed Naija. Oh snap - you referenced an Ambrosia game! I love you forever! Did you play any of the Escape Velocity series?

Does anyone recognize any of the trolls? This one's pretty well defined: Chapter 5
Are they all enemies / antagonists from random games? I dunno.

[Bramzter]

Indystuck

Chapter 23

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Were a hypothetical observer to remain stationary in space, they would soon be left behind by the planet we recently finished hearing about. In a few minutes, another planet of equal size but wildly different climate would come to rest below them.

This particular planet hosted the house Tim had recently saved, hoping to bring the Princess with him and out of the path of destruction.

He knew she was here, for he had seen her in timelines long past.

A flitter of her dress, a swish of her braid was all that he needed. She was assured of survival, and by extension a lasting role in the world he was in.

That world was a cold one.

Around him, freezing mist swirled. It clung to him like an adrift cobweb, wrapping him in a familiar humid chill.

He had returned once more to the Land of Fog and Gears.

And when he left this time, he would not be returning.

As it so happens, an observer similar to the one we recently discussed had indeed been looking in on the proceedings outlined in the previous twenty-two chapters. It was only now that he deigned to reveal himself.

OPEN PESTERLOG

show spoiler

hide spoiler

??? began pestering neckwearAficionado

He llo there, Missster Timothy.
NA: Ah, our anonymous tormentor.
NA: Right on schedule.
You should kn know that I am awwware of your temp oral chicanery, Missss ter Timothy.
And I ammm not p pleased by wh what I have ssssseen of it.
NA: And you should know that I am aware of your bad habit of dictating your intended messages to my PDA.
NA: You really ought to get that stutter taken care of.
Your foreknowledge does not in timidate me, Misssster Timothy.
And I am ssssure that mine does not do ssso to you.
Your in tended ac tions at the tail end of this exxxxercise in fullfillment of proph eccccy will have
NA: Have what?
NA: Searching for a word, are we?
Unforseen consequences.
NA: Oh, if I had a dime for every time someone tried to call me out on these things.
NA: Your endless variety in our repeated post-entry conversation never ceases to amuse me.
Repeated only from your perspective, Missster Timothy.
I simply know.
NA: And yet every time, you must hammer home your supposed omniscience.
NA: I do believe that is all I have time for, misssssster whomever.
NA: Goodbye.
Your hubrisssss, unchecked, will be the death of us all.
Tread carefully, Mister Timothy.

neckwearAficionado ceased pestering ???

OPEN PESTERLOG

show spoiler

hide spoiler

??? began pestering videomaticPrecognitive

I ssssuppose that I sssshould not be surprised at your con tin ued existence
You have
after all
been entirely
too hard to get rid of.
VP: And YOU have been entirely too persistent in your Continued Pokings and Proddings
VP: I am only a Man
VP: I am not Special
That is where you are wrong, Commander.
You are no man
You are everything my opposite
And yet you are unallied with my

rivals
VP: Perhaps it is because I find THEM to be
VP: Unsettling
VP: My Home is HERE on the Golden City
VP: I am at Peace in its Width and Breadth
VP: And those I have Met here are my Friends
VP: I seek no Conflict because no more is Needed
You are a fool, Video.
VP: Perhaps I am Wise beyond Measure
VP: I Too SEE
VP: I Too KNOW
VP: I am the VIDEOMATIC PRECOGNITIVE
VP: I SEE and KNOW of YOU and THEM and I Choose NEITHER.
Not jussst a f fool, Video, but an ig norant one as well.
Know this, Com mander.
By the t t time you have realized your t true title
You will be unable to do anything
Your beloved city will be razed to the ground.
VP: LIES
VP: LIESLIESLIESLIESLIES
VP: LIES from a Manipulative Coercing Paradoxian Stillbirth who did not Count on Foreknowledge and THOSE who would OPPOSE him
VP: I and Tim will be your Downfall
VP: This I Swear
Believe what you like, Commander.
The Ssssssun cannot be ref used.
VP: It Can
VP: Has
VP: Will Be
VP: And Always Has Been
VP: By ME and MINE
VP: You KNOW This
I know thisssss, Video.
I know much more than that as well
VP: Maybe if you Rack your Brain long enough
VP: You will KNOW why I manage to Evade your Grip again and again
VP: And if you ever do FIND OUT
VP: Be sure to Tell me

videomaticPrecognitive ceased pestering ???

OH FUCK..IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?

YOU ROCK.

[SkaianRedeemer]

Okay, can we pick apart Graven's marvelous Indystuck? I've recognized most of the heroes, but I'm not sure about:

viridianVoyager - he's from VVVVVV, right? He's currently scheduled to be the last to enter?
In prologue 2, Steve mentioned "gish". Who is that?
Steve, aka CraftyMiner, is from minecraft, right?
Benli, aka DwarvenSniper, is from Dwarf Fortress
Has the Spelunky guy been revealed as a character?
Videomatic Precognative - who is he?
I just reread and noticed Naija. Oh snap - you referenced an Ambrosia game! I love you forever! Did you play any of the Escape Velocity series?

Does anyone recognize any of the trolls? This one's pretty well defined: Chapter 5
Are they all enemies / antagonists from random games? I dunno.

Gish is Gish! Unless you mean his/her/its chumhandle, in which case I don't know. I think that might have slipped out of the fic.

Yes on Viridian, Steve, Benli, not sure on Spelunky, Videomatic Precognative is Commander Video.

I think the only troll that's been identified is Iji, who is a protagonist (of Iji). I might be going out on the wrong limb, here, but I think she might specifically be badEnd!Iji, but that's just a theory at this point. Goodness knows its the easier ending to get.

[linguisticDoctor]

@Graven Thank you, thank you, and I am damn glad I got the Hussnasty feel down. May I also say that Indystuck continues to be utterly fantastic, and I can't wait for more. I didn't even like Tim this much in Braid, but here god DAAAAAAAAAAAAMN I love his segments. I am also looking forward to meeting some of these trolls.

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(My IDE is that incognitoInstigator is the illustrious Trilby of the Chzo Mythos, though thankfully he seems unharried by any tall men.)

@Kassiopeia I think you're completely right, actually, that was some clumsy syntactic work on my part. I have gone back and applied something similar to your suggestion, and it really does read much better.

And again thank you for the compliments! I am working on the next part and what will happen to a certain Mr. Nitram, though there should be some not-quite-Kanaya in there too.


@Sionnan Agh now I feel bad for burying your Gamzee fic because it was completely awesome. I loved it so much it's practically headcanon.

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@H-Waters ...I probably should just leave you alone but dude this is the first time I have seen editing have a completely negligible effect on the overall story. I...I think you're doing a self-insert into the Medium, but coupled to a semi-autobiographical bunch of vitriol on a recent comic convention and people's views on Homestuck?

I...I don't know if you should keep going with this.

[Sionnan]

@lingDoc: no problem, man. Glad you liked it.

Repost of the fic, reworked. Why Gamzee, the clowns, subjugglators, and the dark carnivale are what the trolls really do need.

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For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
It's always ourselves that we find in the sea.
-e.e. cummings

Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There will be more than ocean water-broken
Before God's last Put Out the Light was spoken.
-Robert Frost


It was probably a good thing that Gamzee lived so far away from pretty much anybody. It wasn't exactly something he thought about too much. He didn't think too deeply on a lot of things, like the reason that he got a place on the seashore was on account of his indigo blood, or that he remained fairly unmolested regarding his faith because there was really no one around to go getting their peek on through his windows.

The fact was that, even though he was alone for miles, even though his lusus left him to his own devices for days, weeks at a time, in some way, it was probably better for Gamzee Makara. The isolation was what allowed something dark and unnameable to form slowly, twisting and thriving from his shadow.

If someone had spent or taken the time to watch Gamzee Makara, someone would have seen it, if it would have even developed at all. Now, it was far too careful, far too clever. At a certain point, it would have reached a point where impossible to stop, like it was now. At first, even Gamzee was afraid of it; but gradually, as he stared into its eyes, he realized something very important.

It had been here all along.

This whole hot/cold routine? Nothing new. Nothing at all. Except for the most part, he was never quite around for the "hot" phases. And by that, he was just kind of off somewhere else in his brain space. His favorite place to just go and consider life and think (or not think) was out by the water, watching the crash and swell, the inoxerable rhythm of the sea, like the mammoth heartbeat of an ancient slumbering creature. It never failed to get his Zen on. He always woke feeling a little disconcerted, but content and refreshed, and then he would go and listen to music from the little iGrub he hooked up to his husktop or something.

Life was beautiful.

All of those times he kind of zoned out, spaced out, checked out? Something else came out. Someone he never knew, and someone that no one else knew, either. While Gamee didn't really know him, he knew Gamzee very well. He was smart, and he was sly. He never hit up Gamzee's friends, not wanting to botch the whole burgeoning darkly humorous movement before it had a chance to rise, not wanting to give them a different boy with face paint. He stuck to the limning of the world, and spoke in whispers, because it wasn't time just yet.

Mostly, that Gamzee spoke to the others who believed in the land of the mirthful messiahs. He would hold heated chat sessions, forum debates, memo logging, and carefully delete every last one of them when he was done, before Gamzee was stirring to wake. He knew that not even he himself could be trusted with the nascent religion, barely skirting around the outside edges of peoples' fears and dreams. Because, you see, that was the key.

Dreaming and fearing.

When trolls learned how to build technology to conquer their natures, mold and shape them, and eventually rein and hone them to serve their ambitions, they lost their darkness. The perpetual dusk and gloom they thrived in since ancient times were now filled with artificial lights. The urges and hatred steeped in their minds, curbed by soothing artificiants, they lost their dreams. The dreams filled with blood and gnashing teeth and screams, a litany and a harmony that had graced their collective minds since the days of the first cave trolls, lost to the inevitable advance of time and civilization.

It crippled them. It destroyed them.

Very few trolls recognized this. Didn't see how blunt their teeth were becoming, or how their society was evolving into a world bloated with self importance, ineffectual positions, skills that arose to offer checks to the outgrowths inherent in advance.

The revelation only ever dawned on those who could see it, and strip it away with a laugh. The trolls who mocked for their profession, jested about the foils of society while bathing in blood, those who were seen themselves as jokes of the rest of the Alternian military. To be able to laugh at something was to recognize its basest nature.

And the clowns knew, generation by generation, that trolls were loosing their darkness and their dreams.

It would take a revolution to remind them. A celebration of their nature. An event, a jubilee.

A dark carnivale.

Out by the sea, Gamzee Makara would consider the birth of their world. If indeed the facts from being schoolfed were true, and the first form of life scuttled ashore from the sea, then it was fitting that a rebirth should be hatched by it as well. Of course, Gamzee, later, would eschew that in favor of the simpler explanation of miracles, ignoring the strange wash of unease that flooded him at the thought. But watching the waves tumble over each other, and listening to the bugle of water lussii as they roiled beneath the surface, he imagined that perhaps the sea offered something as strange and as terrible as what used to be in the dreams of trolls.

In the rare moments of clear, black rage that swept through his entire body, his pulse throbbing and ebbing with the tide, Gamzee knew that the sea offered clarity. Purpose.

Darkness and terror.

[Kerensky287]

Page 73

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Homestuck meets Oscar Wilde by egregiousBass:
-Short but sickly-sweet. I've never really been a fan of Equius - he's just too creepy - but I love Dave's reactions here, and I find it funny just what exactly Equius's attention is drawn to. Criticism: You made me temporarily not hate Equius. So get the hell out of here.

Courtstuck-6 by Metaflare:
-I like the countdown thing you've got going here. Also, the world needs more Metal Gear Solid references. Keep them up! Criticism: Just a handful of spelling mistakes in the dialog, but I can't tell if they're intentional or not. I figure Gumshoe's are probably intentional, but Maya has a few as well. Nothing major.

Unforgiven by egregiousBass:
-Creepy. Yeah, uh... this isn't my kind of story. I can't really give very good criticism on it because it's so very not my thing. What I can say is that it was a little unclear what was going on (in my opinion) - they were fighting, right? And then Bro started choking Davesprite, right? Or was it just a one-sided bit of aggression? I don't know. Nothing against your writing skills either, but I'm not sure I WANT to know. Bleh. Not my thing.

Denizens part 2 by Altum:
-The world needs more Karkat/Crabdad dialog. I remember reading one way back that included a line like "FUCK YOU. I LOVE YOU."
This fic does a good job of mixing that up with Spritetalk too. "IT'S YOUR DESTINY, DUMBASS" is a great line. I'm wondering, however, if there's more to this story, specifically more that you wrote after Gamzee's title reveal. I'd love to see him just fucking SNAP in the next part. Keep it up.

Capricorn by penguinbound:
-Another example of a good fic that was damaged by recent revelations... it's hard to imagine Gamz being a good, supportive guy now. He was always pretty chill though, so you've certainly nailed that part of his personality down.

-One thing I notice about these is they feel more like summaries of a more in-depth story than anything else. Have you given any thought to writing scenes from that story rather than just laying down the essence of it? I'd be interested in reading that, for sure.

Untitled striderfic (with Babbydave) by Sionnan:
-Damn fine job! This is EXACTLY how their relationship works in my mind. Babbydave using words he's far too young for is also an excellent touch. At the start of the story, there was a bit of concern that Dave was unhealthy or something - is that a bit of setup for another story? Or is it just more characterization? If it's the latter, then yes, you've done an outstanding job of merging Bro as a caretaker and Bro as a cool big brother. If it's the former, then awesome, I look forward to reading it. Criticism: I spent like 5 minutes deciding whether to use "Babydave" or "Babbydave". Way to make me argue with myself about an irrelevant B.

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The Survivor ch10 by Tybian Sothoth:
-Haha, yes, THERE we go! An excellent bit of dialog here. Nice touch, having Equius sweat so much that he starts dissolving the sugar. This is probably my favourite chapter so far. Criticism: You're making it take too long for me to think of criticism.

Untitled by Embargo:
-Fuck you, I'm not skipping this over, that'd be negligent.
-I like the idea... or what I THINK the idea is. The backstory is good. You're right that chatlogs rely on interesting characters to be successful, but you know how you go about making them more interesting? Write more about them!

-So I guess in summary, don't give up on yourself! I didn't see any immediately damning problems in the story you wrote, so consider this a note of encouragement. Criticism: I saw later on that you actually did continue the story and it meant I had to change a good amount of this commentary! Way to go, you dick! >=CCC Pulling the wool over my eyes with all that self-deprecation of yours, you sly bastard.

Auld Lang Syne by linguisticDoctor:
-I haaate when new canon makes older fics obsolete. In this case, the fact that it's impossible for this conversation to have taken place at any point just grates on me, which is unfortunate because this dialog is so well-written. I've never really been able to think of Scratch as a father figure, as so many authors here have, but I can definitely see the appeal when I read stories like this. Great work! Criticism: nitpick nitpick nitpick gaaah I hate myself.

Prayer of a Father by Sionnan:
-Again, I can't really critique poetry at all. It's nicely reminiscent of the note John found behind the safe early on, though. That's always a good thing.

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The Survivor ch11 by Tybian Sothoth:
-Nitpicking to start with: Nepeta doesn't replace E with 3 unless there are two in a row. Evidence: http://www.mspaintadventures.com/?s=6&p=004712

-Other than that, great job! I repeat my earlier sentiment (MUCH earlier) that I love the idea of taking a closer look at some of the trolls that stayed out of the limelight. I still don't like Equius much but you've done some great stuff with him, and as for Nepeta... "NOPE, NOT TH/S T/ME E/THER!!!" Great line.

Courtstuck-7 by Metaflare:
-The news story sure did show up quickly after the event that inspired it. But hey, this is the Phoenix Wright universe! It was probably Lotta Hart being overeager or something.

-Yeah keep writing, not much else to say at this point. High five, good work, A++, would read again, etc.

Parting (Trial by Void) by KarneWarrior:
- =C

-Yeah, I can't say much about this. It's heartbreaking and so on, but I know there's more to it so I don't want to dwell on it, I just want to get on to the next chapter so they can work on solving this situation. It's a little close to home for me now, admittedly, so I want to see this have a happy ending.

Indystuck ch19 by Graven_Image:
-The trolling is happening both ways backward in time? WHAT A TWEEST.

-We gotta HOOOOLD OOONNN, to WHAT WEEEE'VE GOT,
-IT DOESN'T MAKE A DIFFERENCE IF WE MAKE IT ORRRRR NOT,
-WE'VE GOOOT EACH OOOTHER, AND THAT'S A LOT FOR LOOOOVE
-WE'LL
-GIVE
-IT
-A
-SHOT
-*drums*

-Yeah, these rock. Keep it up. Criticism: WHOOOOA WE'RE HALFWAY THERE, WHOOOOOOOOOOOA, LIVIN' ON A PRAAAAYER!


Ad Infinitum by Embargo which is totally not a shitty title, stop being hard on yourself:
-I like it so far. It's continuing more or less as I had predicted in the original comments I wrote for the last chapter (which I deleted just now) and that is good news because my prediction was more like "This is exactly where I hope it leads." Here's hoping for more!

-Criticism: Stop saying you're bad at stuff. You aren't.

Yeah so I'm probably never ever going to finish CJing every single page, it's advancing faster than I can post. It takes me something like 1-2hrs on average to do 3 pages, and recently I haven't had as much time to do it as usual.

I also want to write my own stuff, so it's usually a toss-up for what consumes my free time.

[cephalopodConcupiscence]

Hey- I'd like to belatedly thank everyone for their kind comments, and let me just say that the criticism is much appreciated: I know all too well that I can get a bit, um, overblown, and it's helpful to have the details of just where and how.

And on that note, have some untopical Jade fanfiction.

in the witching hour

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You wake up late one night, or early one morning, and after a little hesitation you get out of your bed. You descend the stairs without incident. Go out into the warm tropical dark, so thick and sudden that it seems to have been waiting for the chance to wrap around your upturned face.

Hitching your skirt up around your knees, conscientiously, you walk. Dew clings to your calves, warm as blood.

(You know this island too well to worry about being blind. Blindness only opens up the walls.)

And at the shore of the lagoon you stop to whistle.

There’s a thick wet rustle somewhere not too far off, and Bec comes bounding, a pale perfect swiftness, fur threaded with starlight. You barely have time to say “Good boy” before he bowls you over into the water.

A moment of silence, there, after the splash. The broken surface closes over your head, its mirrored underbelly still showing the scars.

Your heart is in your fingertips.

You twist, giddy, toes scraping the sheer side of the crater, salt stealing weight away. It is as good or better than flight on your moon, because you don’t have to worry about looking for anything but yourself, in this clear thick atmosphere, roofed only by wavy reflections of the here and now.

Bec pulls you back after just seconds of immersion, of course, his teeth delicate on your collar and his nose cold against the base of your skull. You thought he might join you, as he sometimes does in the afternoons when the water isn’t black but brilliantly green (he seems fond of the color). But he is looking at you reproachfully, like it was your fault he knocked you over, the big clumsy oaf, and you guess you won’t be going for a moonlit swim until he forgets this. Which will probably be in about an hour. Dogs do not remember things for very long.

“Well gosh, sorry,” you say now, and almost as soon as the words come out you are, a little. But you never know how to get out of his way. You just hope that one day you’ll learn to move fast enough.

(It isn’t actually a hope in the usual sense of the word. You are looking forward to it, though, which is close.)

He lets out a grumbling woof and without another glance at you drops down onto the grass. His enormous head comes to rest between his paws.

Okay, you think. You let the skirt drop, because there’s not much point trying to keep the hem dry when every yard of it is sodden; and you sit, gathering damp fabric under you.

Bec makes a funny little noise in his throat. You put an arm over him, reassuringly (or for reassurance). The protruding ridge of his spine is an uncomfortable fit for the well of your elbow, but you don’t mind, and his flank against yours is soft like clouds should be but aren’t, soft and solid and hot and, you feel certain, meaningless in any grander scheme. You are completely sure of this, in fact.

His muzzle swings toward you, ears pricking. It might be that he can hear your teeth chattering. It’s hard to tell, with Bec. You stroke the top of his skull, feeling the dent in bone.

“What big ears you have!” you whisper, and laugh a little, not because you really think it’s funny but because it’s true, and nice, and anyway here you are, so why not laugh?

Bec regards you with star-complicated eyes, immense under white lashes. Sometimes he can look very tired. He is, you guess, an old dog.

You hug him a little tighter, and lean forward to nestle your cheek in his ruff.

Sometimes you wonder when he’ll finally die. Sometimes you think he must wonder it, too.

You inch your bare feet forward again until your toes are submerged. In the end you are going to fall asleep here, with your best friend for a pillow, and go to study the cumulus of things yet to come, and you know that.

But for now, you can think about night-time things, like lightless water without a trace of gold; and the sense of space unending that comes when sight, forwards and backwards, is gone; and the lifespan of dogs.

Bec shifts and from his angle his eyes flash briefly, ectoplasmically green, like the afterimage of the island sun that sometimes forms when you blink, after too long staring out of your garden’s walls. It feels like a message, coded in brilliance, but you never learned to read Morse, and anyway if Bec wanted you to know a thing, he’d tell you and the telling would leave no room for doubt. This isn’t like that. There are some messages that are the better for never being found.

(You haven’t thought about it in a long time, but:

when you were younger, and before you’d actually met your friends, you used to write them notes and put them in the bottles that washed up on your beaches. You didn’t put all of those bottles back on the waves, but some went, glittering green where they bobbed up over a crest of foam; and you guess they just kept going, on and on and on.

Maybe they’ll get back to the lagoon, someday. Even space has its ends. But you expect that it will take them until after you and Bec and the water have gone away for good. And your expectations are very rarely wrong.)

You watch him watch, unblinking. You wonder what he wants- and if he dreams; and you let every answer flicker past, in the zenith of each bright wordless glance.

[Graven_Image]

Okay, can we pick apart Graven's marvelous Indystuck?

Feel free.


BTW, Gish was just a throwaway namecheck. The only reason he was mentioned was basically to confirm that he wouldn't be mentioned further.

And, no, I haven't played Escape Velocity. Aquaria was the only game I've played from them.


All of your other questions were answered by SR, to the best of his ability. Of course, I know the definitive answers to everything, but it's harder for me to stay in what-we-know-in-canon mode than it is for the Hussmaster.

[Twigwise]

Hey- I'd like to belatedly thank everyone for their kind comments, and let me just say that the criticism is much appreciated: I know all too well that I can get a bit, um, overblown, and it's helpful to have the details of just where and how.

And on that note, have some untopical Jade fanfiction.

in the witching hour

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You wake up late one night, or early one morning, and after a little hesitation you get out of your bed. You descend the stairs without incident. Go out into the warm tropical dark, so thick and sudden that it seems to have been waiting for the chance to wrap around your upturned face.

Hitching your skirt up around your knees, conscientiously, you walk. Dew clings to your calves, warm as blood.

(You know this island too well to worry about being blind. Blindness only opens up the walls.)

And at the shore of the lagoon you stop to whistle.

There’s a thick wet rustle somewhere not too far off, and Bec comes bounding, a pale perfect swiftness, fur threaded with starlight. You barely have time to say “Good boy” before he bowls you over into the water.

A moment of silence, there, after the splash. The broken surface closes over your head, its mirrored underbelly still showing the scars.

Your heart is in your fingertips.

You twist, giddy, toes scraping the sheer side of the crater, salt stealing weight away. It is as good or better than flight on your moon, because you don’t have to worry about looking for anything but yourself, in this clear thick atmosphere, roofed only by wavy reflections of the here and now.

Bec pulls you back after just seconds of immersion, of course, his teeth delicate on your collar and his nose cold against the base of your skull. You thought he might join you, as he sometimes does in the afternoons when the water isn’t black but brilliantly green (he seems fond of the color). But he is looking at you reproachfully, like it was your fault he knocked you over, the big clumsy oaf, and you guess you won’t be going for a moonlit swim until he forgets this. Which will probably be in about an hour. Dogs do not remember things for very long.

“Well gosh, sorry,” you say now, and almost as soon as the words come out you are, a little. But you never know how to get out of his way. You just hope that one day you’ll learn to move fast enough.

(It isn’t actually a hope in the usual sense of the word. You are looking forward to it, though, which is close.)

He lets out a grumbling woof and without another glance at you drops down onto the grass. His enormous head comes to rest between his paws.

Okay, you think. You let the skirt drop, because there’s not much point trying to keep the hem dry when every yard of it is sodden; and you sit, gathering damp fabric under you.

Bec makes a funny little noise in his throat. You put an arm over him, reassuringly (or for reassurance). The protruding ridge of his spine is an uncomfortable fit for the well of your elbow, but you don’t mind, and his flank against yours is soft like clouds should be but aren’t, soft and solid and hot and, you feel certain, meaningless in any grander scheme. You are completely sure of this, in fact.

His muzzle swings toward you, ears pricking. It might be that he can hear your teeth chattering. It’s hard to tell, with Bec. You stroke the top of his skull, feeling the dent in bone.

“What big ears you have!” you whisper, and laugh a little, not because you really think it’s funny but because it’s true, and nice, and anyway here you are, so why not laugh?

Bec regards you with star-complicated eyes, immense under white lashes. Sometimes he can look very tired. He is, you guess, an old dog.

You hug him a little tighter, and lean forward to nestle your cheek in his ruff.

Sometimes you wonder when he’ll finally die. Sometimes you think he must wonder it, too.

You inch your bare feet forward again until your toes are submerged. In the end you are going to fall asleep here, with your best friend for a pillow, and go to study the cumulus of things yet to come, and you know that.

But for now, you can think about night-time things, like lightless water without a trace of gold; and the sense of space unending that comes when sight, forwards and backwards, is gone; and the lifespan of dogs.

Bec shifts and from his angle his eyes flash briefly, ectoplasmically green, like the afterimage of the island sun that sometimes forms when you blink, after too long staring out of your garden’s walls. It feels like a message, coded in brilliance, but you never learned to read Morse, and anyway if Bec wanted you to know a thing, he’d tell you and the telling would leave no room for doubt. This isn’t like that. There are some messages that are the better for never being found.

(You haven’t thought about it in a long time, but:

when you were younger, and before you’d actually met your friends, you used to write them notes and put them in the bottles that washed up on your beaches. You didn’t put all of those bottles back on the waves, but some went, glittering green where they bobbed up over a crest of foam; and you guess they just kept going, on and on and on.

Maybe they’ll get back to the lagoon, someday. Even space has its ends. But you expect that it will take them until after you and Bec and the water have gone away for good. And your expectations are very rarely wrong.)

You watch him watch, unblinking. You wonder what he wants- and if he dreams; and you let every answer flicker past, in the zenith of each bright wordless glance.

Wow. What a wonderful little story... It's very happy and simple. for you!

[lantadyme]

@Sionnan: I really like how you tackle more than just Gamzee with this fic. I like that it touches on troll culture and biology, and how his break with reality isn't really a break so much as a getting back to the roots of his species. Turns the whole idea around that Gamzee isn't the crazy one. It's everyone else.
@cephalopodConcupiscence: Jade and Bec fic! One of my favorite kinds. People don't play with Jade's space title as often as they do Dave's link to time. I sort of wish they would because she must have a natural grasp of it. Very nice to see some of that.

[Altum]

Thanks for the review, Kerensky! I was waiting for you to get to it!

I do have an ending in mind for the Denizen fic but I'm honestly still considering how to incorporate the recent reveals. It was originally a story about how Gamzee derped his way through the fight but now I dunno.

[Decker]

Just a little thing that cropped up in my head this morning.

Facing Their Foe

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Aradia was still reeling from the effort it took to halt time around Jack, and she knew it wouldn't last. It was like trying to hold a handful of sand. No matter how tightly you grasped, power slowly leaked out. Jack was a god, and wouldn't be stopped so easily.
And she only trapped his body. He could still hear his voice in the back of her head even as she flew across the medium, harsh and scratching.
“You only delay your fates. You can not stop me.”
“Maybe.”
“I will find your friends. There are only so many places they can hide.”
“Maybe.”
“So flippant about your own deaths.”
“So trolls are.”
Aradia was getting impatient. She had things to do, and even though she had all the time in the world now, she would rather start sooner rather than later.

She heard the voices in her head. The voices of the damned and doomed. She picked out some as her friends.

“Even now...they die.”
“They died like trolls.”
“Trolls die by their own hands then.”
“NO!”

The power of her mental rebuke stunned even Jack.

“Trolls die on their feet. They fall on the corpses of their enemies.” The last part was just poetry but it was something she had heard in her youth. The message suck with her, even if the meaning wasn't the same.

And she saw how they died.

“They die screaming at their enemies. Hatred burning in their hearts and threat of death in their eyes.”
Kanaya.
“They die charging forward.”
Feferi
“They die fighting without fear, or fighting even when afraid.”
Even meek little Tavros.
“They die facing their killers.”
She watched them ripped through with corrupted light.
She watched them fall.
Fall.
Fall.
“No matter who they're up against. No matter how powerful their foe. No matter how non-existent their chances. They die FIGHTING.”

There was a long silence before Jack spoke again.
“And you know what?” He scratched in her mind.
“What.”
“They will all. Still. Die.”
Aradia smirked gently. “Maybe.”

Edit: Damn, I hate getting bottom paged. If you like this, do me a favor and quote it eh? You can leave this bit out.

[egregiousBass]

Or was it just a one-sided bit of aggression?

Yes.
Sorry I Thought It Was Obvious

(you don't want to read Some Kind Of Monster then)

I think I'm going to compile your compile of reviews when you're done. Your magnanimity is astounding.