MSPA Fanfiction IV

[lantadyme]

@Wigmund: I kind of doubt it. It's probably a coincidence. Looking at the knitted objects she has thrown around her room, it's kind of impossible for her to have made half of them with the straight needles John gave her, so I don't know how much Hussie knows about knitting in general. It would be cool though!

[Sionnan]

So many good fics, everyone! I need to find my courage and actually comment on them.

Hopefully this one doesn't send anyone to the hornpile.

Come Undone

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Casey stands on the edge of the lava flow with her toes curled in toward herself and her knees scraped and burnt. Her robes are charred at the very edges and ripped from the few times she'd tripped and fallen in battle. She's getting better at fighting. She hasn't yet grasped the depth of her master's magicks but she's faster and sharper and quicker on her feet than she ever had to be in her life before. She thinks she's becoming a good apprentice. Perhaps by the time she reaches home again, she'll be strong enough to pass her knowledge down.

She's been through two worlds already and in the quiet times between imp battles she thinks to herself about the stories she will tell when she gets back home. She thinks of her mother and her town and she misses them, yes, but this adventure is more than any salamander had ever dreamed before.

It's something beyond Casey herself. It is something that will be remembered into the ages.

But the heat in this strange lava world is oppressive. It makes her skin dry and taut and close to cracking. She pants in the dry heat, remembering the smooth oil streams of her home world and the beautiful shining sunsets on the world where she had met her master.

Those had been wonderful worlds.

This one is hot and terrible, and in her moments of weakness Casey wishes the tugs at her master's robes would be answered with more than, "We cannot proceed yet. There are a multitude of things that must be completed on this plane."

Behind Casey, her master is muttering to herself. Her voice is a slow, constant murmur, the words nothing that Casey can understand but the air feels charged with knowledge. She can feel the power in those words. It is inspiring.

Times like these, when the burns on her soft skin ache and her eyes run constantly in the dry heat, Casey clings to that inspiration. She needs something to keep going, and it's been a long while since her master offered the kind teaching words she used to. Casey misses that. She misses her father too, the human who had come out of nowhere to embrace her and her mother, to press the bunny into her moist hands and call her his daughter. She had never had a father before, nor a name. Casey sometimes wonders where he'd gone, but she also knows he has greatness in his blood and a quest to complete.

He brought her to the Seer, and now Casey and her master are on a quest of their own. Now she is more than a simple salamander girl. She has two names; the true name her father had given her, and the magical name given to her by her master.

"Bubbles," her teacher calls suddenly, the quiet spell falling from her lips and splattering into nothing against the hot gears beneath their feet. "Bring me my wands."

Casey turns in that calm, smooth motion her master had taught her, slipping her fingertips into one wide sleeve and pulling the wands from the pocket set within. She steps over the warm metal and stands at her master's knee, sliding the needles into the Seer's outstretched palm.

"Thank you," she says softly, and Casey is a bit surprised to see her master look up at her, to set her crystal ball aside and actually meet her apprentice's gaze. A smile ghosts over her lips and then her eyes slide down to Casey's hands, her feet and the exposed tip of her tail. "You look tired. How are you holding up, my viceroy?"

Casey runs a dry tongue over her lips, her mouth too parched to form the bubbles she needs to speak. Instead she lets her eyelids flutter closed, lets her posture sag back into the childlike slump that broadcasts her young age so well. Her hands and feet hurt and she is very tired.

A cool hand presses against the side of her face and she opens her eyes again, watching as her master sets down her wands and reaches out the freed hand to take the salamander's tiny paws into her own. She looks over the burns and the scrapes and then her lips press into a thin line.

"I've been distracted," she says. "It's important that you rest. This world isn't the most hospitable habitat for you, and I apologize that I've forgotten." She searches through her inventory slowly, eventually extracting one of the towels she'd dampened before they had come to this fiery land. The fabric drips slightly and sends up little curls of steam as the water falls onto the warm gears and vaporizes in the dry, hot air.

Casey takes it, pushing back the hood of her robes and wrapping the wet towel around her head. The liquid seeps slowly out of it, and as it runs into her dry eyes she notices that it still holds some of the beautiful colors that had been everywhere in the light world.

Her master watches, her hands folded in her lap patiently, and Casey rubs the water into her skin and wipes the ash away. The moisture revives her. After a quiet moment she hangs it back on her head, squinting at the red distance and watching the pinks and yellows swirl through her vision.

"Do you understand what we're doing here, Bubbles?"

They're defeating the game. They're ending it. Casey doesn't know what that means, only that her master has been saying it over and over almost as a sort of mantra.

A ball of deep purple yarn falls into the Seer's hands, cradled there in one cupped palm as she settles her inventory away again. She takes the ball and holds it up, dipping three fingers into the center and nimbly pulling out the end of the string. Then she takes one wand—a needle—and Casey watches as she slowly casts stitches onto it; purple spaced evenly amongst the swirls of black-and-white.

"When I dream, I hear whispers from beyond," she says quietly, and it's the calm teaching voice that she hasn't used in a while. Casey listens, eager to continue her training. "I hear beings in my dreams that are ancient and far beyond wise."

She falls silent for a while, easing the second needle against the first. She knits, carefully but with a speed that Casey finds entrancing. The needles click and clack, the yarn flowing through her hands, and she turns her work again and again, the length of fabric steadily growing.

"These beings know things about the game. They are more knowledgeable than I could ever hope to be, and they've watched this game play out countless times before. They know the inner workings and the mechanics behind what it does. On occasion they give me hints as to how to break it. They've grown weary of watching it play. They want it destroyed."

A pause.

"Unraveled, so to speak."

Casey listens and she watches the piece of cloth grow. It's thin, only as wide across as her master's palm, but already it's nearly three times as long.

"Kanaya hinted to me that a certain amphibian was of great importance in her session. I laughed once I finally realized it. I think Strider would enjoy the irony if he understood."

Casey blinks because she doesn't understand herself. She looks up and her master is watching her now, the needles suddenly still in her hands. She sets one aside, then the other, pulling it slowly out of the stitches. The loops sag there, threatening to slip through each other and fall from fabric back into yarn.

"There is a colloquial term in knitting for when you are required to unravel something before you've finished," she says, still holding Casey's eye. "Can you guess what it is?"

Casey shakes her head.

Her master smiles and she takes the fabric in one hand, the loose strand of yarn in the other, and she yanks. The loops pop and snag and pop again, the knitting unraveling in a ragged ribbit-ribbit-ribbit of yarn on yarn.

"It's known as frogging."

Her Master's smile widens into cleverness and she looks up into the burning black smog of the lava world's atmosphere.

"We'll frog this game," she says, the smile on her face and her eyes dancing. "We'll tear it back to its component pieces and then we'll build as we wish."

Casey watches her master and the ruined piece of cloth in her lap. She doesn't fully understand but a shiver runs up her spine anyway.

Destruction? Their quest is to destroy?

She's not sure how she feels about that. She stands there silently for a moment, still and thinking, and then she bends and lifts the swatch of purple from her master's lap. She holds it and weaves one of her own wands into the open loops. It's still ruined but at least it can't unravel any farther.

Casey holds it out to her master, and she's not sure how to tell her that she understands that their quest is to destroy. That she can grasp. But she refuses to let her master unravel along with everything else.

The Seer is still smiling, watching Casey idly, and her expression warms at the gesture. She sets a hand against the wand and pushes it back toward Casey's chest. "Keep it. Practice. You can make things with us, too."

She pats Casey's head fondly, and in that moment Casey knows her master understands.

Yes. Hell fucking yes. The driving thought behind this is phenomenal, and it's cool the way you decided to paint Rose from an angle that we don't get to see her in.

[Kassiopeia]

@Lantadyme truly, you have ascended to the God Tier of fanfictioneers. Good work.

[Graven_Image]

Also Graven, Indystuck is getting better with every chapter. Is it bad that I can't identify a single one of the "trolls"?

Not necessarily. The three we know the existence of but not their identities, I purposefully left vague.

Even if you do know of their games, I'm fairly sure you won't recognize them until I want you to. ;D

[Tybian Sothoth]

http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...=1#post4515717
http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...=1#post4517215
http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...=1#post4521451
http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...=1#post4525474
http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...=1#post4526712
http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...=1#post4526848
http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...=1#post4531039

The Survivor
Chapter 8

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Tybian: Think of a place that would be best to begin your doings

You just think of a bunch of sand and wind up in the middle of a huge rust colored desert.
This place looks boring.

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WG: Convict.
WG: You've made it to the Land of Sand and Zephyr.
WG: It seems that the designate player is missing.
SR: Who /s the des/gnate p/ayer...?
WG: Tavros Nitram.
SR: How stup/id...
SR: Of course /'d /and on an empty p/anet w/th my target, who just so HAPPENS to be the one /'m sav/ng for /ast...
SR: /s fuck/ng gone...
WG: No need to fret.
WG: All you have to do is learn the features of the place you want to go to.
WG: Use your telescope.
SR: /t's broken...
WG: Is it?
SR: ...
SR: What the fuck...?
SR: What f/xed /t...?
WG: You did.
SR: Ok, that's rea//y we/rd...
SR: But ok, /'// p/ay a/ong...
WG: I'll leave the rest to you.
SR: A/r/ght...
SR: / have a good /dea of how to get the/r attent/on...

Tybian: Get their attention

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foreverParadox [FP] opened public currenttimeline bulletin board EVENT CULMINATION

FP: //STEN UP!!!
FP: THE ENT/RE PO/NT OF YOUR GAMES SESS/ON HAS BEEN FOUND NU//ED BY THE ACTIONS OF FEW!!!
FP: MA/N/Y ONE OF YOU!!!
FP: UNFORTUNATE/Y TH/S HAS SEA/ED THE FATE OF ALL CURRENT P/AYERS!!!
FP: /AMENT AT THE FOO//SHNESS OF YOUR A///ES!!!
FP: AND PRAY FOR A QU/CK END FROM THE EVER TIGHTENING NOOSE OF PARADOX SPACE /TSE/F!!!
FP: ME!!!
FP: TYBIAN SOTHOTH!!!
adiosToreador [AT] responded to memo.
AT: hEY TYBIAN.
AT: }:)
FP: HEY, SHUT UP!!!
FP: YOUR RU/N/NG MY FUCK/NG ENTRANCE!!!
gallowsCalibrator [GC] responded to memo.
GC: H3Y 4T C4N YOU SP4R3 SOM3 3XTR4 L34D
GC: 1 N33D 4 F3W THOUS4ND SP4R3 FOR 4 COOL N3W P41R OF GL4SS3S
AT: yEAH, lET ME ASK AG.
GC: YOU SHOULD JUST S3ND M3 SOM3 R34LLY QU1CK
GC: 1TS NOT L1K3 SH3S GONN4 NOT1C3
GC: >:]
FP: FUCK OFF!!!
FP: TH/S /SN'T YOUR PERSONA/ TRADE BOARD!!!
FP: }:(
arachnidsGrip [AG] responded to memo.
AG: Keep your hands off my lead!!!!!!!!
AG: It's not YOURS
GC: >:[
GC: SO M34N
AT: sORRY GC, sHE, uHH, sAYS NO.
AT: oH, uH, yEAH
AG: Quit trying to steal what you don't earn!
AG: Try sniffing it up!
AG: I 8et you'll find some lead AND some awesome sneezes!!!!!!!!
GC: WH4T3V3R
FP: SHUT!!!
FP: THE FUCK!!!
AG: UP!!!!!!!!
FP: UP!!!
FP: FUCK YOU!!!
AG: :::;)
FP banned AG from responding to memo.
arachnidsGrip [AG] responded to the memo.
AG banned AT from responding to the memo.
AG banned herself from responding to the memo.
centaursTesticle [CT] responded to memo.
CT: D --> Hey GC, I'm ready with the alchemization code for those glasses
CT: D --> It's actually pretty humuorous
GC: S3ND S3ND S3ND
FP: WOU/D YOU A// STOP!!!
FP: / SWEAR TO TO THE STARS!!!
CT: D --> Whose this
GC: IGNOR3 HIM
GC: H3S B3ING 4 P4IN
FP: TH/S /S THE GUY WHOSE GO/NG TO BE STAND/NG OVER YOUR L/FE/ESS B/OOD-DRENCHED CORPSE /N THE NEAR FUTURE!!!
FP: REPENT!!!
GC: CMON CT
FP: YOUR 3ND /S NEA-
FP: OH COME ON!!!
CT: D --> I'm beginning to see what you mean GC
CT: D --> Here's the code
CT: D --> S33K3R
GC: H3H3H3
GC: COOL
GC: TH3Y WONT B3 CR4CK3D WILL TH3Y
CT: D --> They shouldn't be
CT: D --> I wonder
CT: D --> If you could send me the code
CT: D --> For your glasses
GC: UMM OK
carcinoGeneticist [CG] responded to the memo.
CG: WHY THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN ASKING THAT.
CG: I MEAN COME ON.
CG: GO ASK TA OR AG FOR SOMETHING STUPID.
FP: / HAVE TO AGREE!!!
FP: AT'S G/ASSES ARE PRETTY COO/!!!
CG: YOU SHUT THE HELL UP.
CG banned FP from responding to the memo.
GC: 67YUMD
CT: D --> Thank you
CT: D --> We'll be in touch
GC: L4T3R
CT ceased responding to memo EVENT CULMINATION
CG: WHAT AN ASSHOLE
CG banned GC from responding to the memo.
CG banned himself from responding to the memo.
foreverParadox [FP] responded to memo.
FP: OH COME THE FUCK ON!!!

foreverParadox [FP] closed memo.

Tybian: React calmly

[Ember]

Lantadyme, I love it! I don't think I've ever seen a Casey POV before — or really any Consort POV that wasn't just a gag. She comes across very sweet. You did Rose well, too.

[lantadyme]

@Sionnan: I can't imagine writing Rose without a fantasy tilt to the prose. I had to find some way to frame her within an epic quest. Casey is a dear for obliging me.
@Kassiopeia: Now I have to doodle myself in a god tier outfit. XD
@Ember: Probably not, because it is entirely silliness!

[Tybian Sothoth]

So many good fics, everyone! I need to find my courage and actually comment on them.

Hopefully this one doesn't send anyone to the hornpile.

Come Undone

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Casey stands on the edge of the lava flow with her toes curled in toward herself and her knees scraped and burnt. Her robes are charred at the very edges and ripped from the few times she'd tripped and fallen in battle. She's getting better at fighting. She hasn't yet grasped the depth of her master's magicks but she's faster and sharper and quicker on her feet than she ever had to be in her life before. She thinks she's becoming a good apprentice. Perhaps by the time she reaches home again, she'll be strong enough to pass her knowledge down.

She's been through two worlds already and in the quiet times between imp battles she thinks to herself about the stories she will tell when she gets back home. She thinks of her mother and her town and she misses them, yes, but this adventure is more than any salamander had ever dreamed before.

It's something beyond Casey herself. It is something that will be remembered into the ages.

But the heat in this strange lava world is oppressive. It makes her skin dry and taut and close to cracking. She pants in the dry heat, remembering the smooth oil streams of her home world and the beautiful shining sunsets on the world where she had met her master.

Those had been wonderful worlds.

This one is hot and terrible, and in her moments of weakness Casey wishes the tugs at her master's robes would be answered with more than, "We cannot proceed yet. There are a multitude of things that must be completed on this plane."

Behind Casey, her master is muttering to herself. Her voice is a slow, constant murmur, the words nothing that Casey can understand but the air feels charged with knowledge. She can feel the power in those words. It is inspiring.

Times like these, when the burns on her soft skin ache and her eyes run constantly in the dry heat, Casey clings to that inspiration. She needs something to keep going, and it's been a long while since her master offered the kind teaching words she used to. Casey misses that. She misses her father too, the human who had come out of nowhere to embrace her and her mother, to press the bunny into her moist hands and call her his daughter. She had never had a father before, nor a name. Casey sometimes wonders where he'd gone, but she also knows he has greatness in his blood and a quest to complete.

He brought her to the Seer, and now Casey and her master are on a quest of their own. Now she is more than a simple salamander girl. She has two names; the true name her father had given her, and the magical name given to her by her master.

"Bubbles," her teacher calls suddenly, the quiet spell falling from her lips and splattering into nothing against the hot gears beneath their feet. "Bring me my wands."

Casey turns in that calm, smooth motion her master had taught her, slipping her fingertips into one wide sleeve and pulling the wands from the pocket set within. She steps over the warm metal and stands at her master's knee, sliding the needles into the Seer's outstretched palm.

"Thank you," she says softly, and Casey is a bit surprised to see her master look up at her, to set her crystal ball aside and actually meet her apprentice's gaze. A smile ghosts over her lips and then her eyes slide down to Casey's hands, her feet and the exposed tip of her tail. "You look tired. How are you holding up, my viceroy?"

Casey runs a dry tongue over her lips, her mouth too parched to form the bubbles she needs to speak. Instead she lets her eyelids flutter closed, lets her posture sag back into the childlike slump that broadcasts her young age so well. Her hands and feet hurt and she is very tired.

A cool hand presses against the side of her face and she opens her eyes again, watching as her master sets down her wands and reaches out the freed hand to take the salamander's tiny paws into her own. She looks over the burns and the scrapes and then her lips press into a thin line.

"I've been distracted," she says. "It's important that you rest. This world isn't the most hospitable habitat for you, and I apologize that I've forgotten." She searches through her inventory slowly, eventually extracting one of the towels she'd dampened before they had come to this fiery land. The fabric drips slightly and sends up little curls of steam as the water falls onto the warm gears and vaporizes in the dry, hot air.

Casey takes it, pushing back the hood of her robes and wrapping the wet towel around her head. The liquid seeps slowly out of it, and as it runs into her dry eyes she notices that it still holds some of the beautiful colors that had been everywhere in the light world.

Her master watches, her hands folded in her lap patiently, and Casey rubs the water into her skin and wipes the ash away. The moisture revives her. After a quiet moment she hangs it back on her head, squinting at the red distance and watching the pinks and yellows swirl through her vision.

"Do you understand what we're doing here, Bubbles?"

They're defeating the game. They're ending it. Casey doesn't know what that means, only that her master has been saying it over and over almost as a sort of mantra.

A ball of deep purple yarn falls into the Seer's hands, cradled there in one cupped palm as she settles her inventory away again. She takes the ball and holds it up, dipping three fingers into the center and nimbly pulling out the end of the string. Then she takes one wand—a needle—and Casey watches as she slowly casts stitches onto it; purple spaced evenly amongst the swirls of black-and-white.

"When I dream, I hear whispers from beyond," she says quietly, and it's the calm teaching voice that she hasn't used in a while. Casey listens, eager to continue her training. "I hear beings in my dreams that are ancient and far beyond wise."

She falls silent for a while, easing the second needle against the first. She knits, carefully but with a speed that Casey finds entrancing. The needles click and clack, the yarn flowing through her hands, and she turns her work again and again, the length of fabric steadily growing.

"These beings know things about the game. They are more knowledgeable than I could ever hope to be, and they've watched this game play out countless times before. They know the inner workings and the mechanics behind what it does. On occasion they give me hints as to how to break it. They've grown weary of watching it play. They want it destroyed."

A pause.

"Unraveled, so to speak."

Casey listens and she watches the piece of cloth grow. It's thin, only as wide across as her master's palm, but already it's nearly three times as long.

"Kanaya hinted to me that a certain amphibian was of great importance in her session. I laughed once I finally realized it. I think Strider would enjoy the irony if he understood."

Casey blinks because she doesn't understand herself. She looks up and her master is watching her now, the needles suddenly still in her hands. She sets one aside, then the other, pulling it slowly out of the stitches. The loops sag there, threatening to slip through each other and fall from fabric back into yarn.

"There is a colloquial term in knitting for when you are required to unravel something before you've finished," she says, still holding Casey's eye. "Can you guess what it is?"

Casey shakes her head.

Her master smiles and she takes the fabric in one hand, the loose strand of yarn in the other, and she yanks. The loops pop and snag and pop again, the knitting unraveling in a ragged ribbit-ribbit-ribbit of yarn on yarn.

"It's known as frogging."

Her Master's smile widens into cleverness and she looks up into the burning black smog of the lava world's atmosphere.

"We'll frog this game," she says, the smile on her face and her eyes dancing. "We'll tear it back to its component pieces and then we'll build as we wish."

Casey watches her master and the ruined piece of cloth in her lap. She doesn't fully understand but a shiver runs up her spine anyway.

Destruction? Their quest is to destroy?

She's not sure how she feels about that. She stands there silently for a moment, still and thinking, and then she bends and lifts the swatch of purple from her master's lap. She holds it and weaves one of her own wands into the open loops. It's still ruined but at least it can't unravel any farther.

Casey holds it out to her master, and she's not sure how to tell her that she understands that their quest is to destroy. That she can grasp. But she refuses to let her master unravel along with everything else.

The Seer is still smiling, watching Casey idly, and her expression warms at the gesture. She sets a hand against the wand and pushes it back toward Casey's chest. "Keep it. Practice. You can make things with us, too."

She pats Casey's head fondly, and in that moment Casey knows her master understands.

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hide spoiler

Cool stuff :DDD

[mutecebu]

GA: Though It Should Be Clear That Repopulation Is Among Our Duties As Well In The Long Term
GA: And Ive Gathered That The Cloning Apparatus In The Veil Is Probably Meant To Permit An Initial Boost On The World We Select For Settlement

...and the fanfic's crack ectobiological pairings explode with this new cannon fodder.

[apocalypticCritic]

.... Jade has such a dirty mind. Geeze. Obviously Kanaya was talking about the cloning equipment.

There was more of a point to this that I forgot. It was that Jade kinda broke the fanfic rules a little bit. Or something.

Fuck. I don't think there was a point to this.

[linguisticDoctor]

So many good fics, everyone! I need to find my courage and actually comment on them.

Hopefully this one doesn't send anyone to the hornpile.

Come Undone

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Casey stands on the edge of the lava flow with her toes curled in toward herself and her knees scraped and burnt. Her robes are charred at the very edges and ripped from the few times she'd tripped and fallen in battle. She's getting better at fighting. She hasn't yet grasped the depth of her master's magicks but she's faster and sharper and quicker on her feet than she ever had to be in her life before. She thinks she's becoming a good apprentice. Perhaps by the time she reaches home again, she'll be strong enough to pass her knowledge down.

She's been through two worlds already and in the quiet times between imp battles she thinks to herself about the stories she will tell when she gets back home. She thinks of her mother and her town and she misses them, yes, but this adventure is more than any salamander had ever dreamed before.

It's something beyond Casey herself. It is something that will be remembered into the ages.

But the heat in this strange lava world is oppressive. It makes her skin dry and taut and close to cracking. She pants in the dry heat, remembering the smooth oil streams of her home world and the beautiful shining sunsets on the world where she had met her master.

Those had been wonderful worlds.

This one is hot and terrible, and in her moments of weakness Casey wishes the tugs at her master's robes would be answered with more than, "We cannot proceed yet. There are a multitude of things that must be completed on this plane."

Behind Casey, her master is muttering to herself. Her voice is a slow, constant murmur, the words nothing that Casey can understand but the air feels charged with knowledge. She can feel the power in those words. It is inspiring.

Times like these, when the burns on her soft skin ache and her eyes run constantly in the dry heat, Casey clings to that inspiration. She needs something to keep going, and it's been a long while since her master offered the kind teaching words she used to. Casey misses that. She misses her father too, the human who had come out of nowhere to embrace her and her mother, to press the bunny into her moist hands and call her his daughter. She had never had a father before, nor a name. Casey sometimes wonders where he'd gone, but she also knows he has greatness in his blood and a quest to complete.

He brought her to the Seer, and now Casey and her master are on a quest of their own. Now she is more than a simple salamander girl. She has two names; the true name her father had given her, and the magical name given to her by her master.

"Bubbles," her teacher calls suddenly, the quiet spell falling from her lips and splattering into nothing against the hot gears beneath their feet. "Bring me my wands."

Casey turns in that calm, smooth motion her master had taught her, slipping her fingertips into one wide sleeve and pulling the wands from the pocket set within. She steps over the warm metal and stands at her master's knee, sliding the needles into the Seer's outstretched palm.

"Thank you," she says softly, and Casey is a bit surprised to see her master look up at her, to set her crystal ball aside and actually meet her apprentice's gaze. A smile ghosts over her lips and then her eyes slide down to Casey's hands, her feet and the exposed tip of her tail. "You look tired. How are you holding up, my viceroy?"

Casey runs a dry tongue over her lips, her mouth too parched to form the bubbles she needs to speak. Instead she lets her eyelids flutter closed, lets her posture sag back into the childlike slump that broadcasts her young age so well. Her hands and feet hurt and she is very tired.

A cool hand presses against the side of her face and she opens her eyes again, watching as her master sets down her wands and reaches out the freed hand to take the salamander's tiny paws into her own. She looks over the burns and the scrapes and then her lips press into a thin line.

"I've been distracted," she says. "It's important that you rest. This world isn't the most hospitable habitat for you, and I apologize that I've forgotten." She searches through her inventory slowly, eventually extracting one of the towels she'd dampened before they had come to this fiery land. The fabric drips slightly and sends up little curls of steam as the water falls onto the warm gears and vaporizes in the dry, hot air.

Casey takes it, pushing back the hood of her robes and wrapping the wet towel around her head. The liquid seeps slowly out of it, and as it runs into her dry eyes she notices that it still holds some of the beautiful colors that had been everywhere in the light world.

Her master watches, her hands folded in her lap patiently, and Casey rubs the water into her skin and wipes the ash away. The moisture revives her. After a quiet moment she hangs it back on her head, squinting at the red distance and watching the pinks and yellows swirl through her vision.

"Do you understand what we're doing here, Bubbles?"

They're defeating the game. They're ending it. Casey doesn't know what that means, only that her master has been saying it over and over almost as a sort of mantra.

A ball of deep purple yarn falls into the Seer's hands, cradled there in one cupped palm as she settles her inventory away again. She takes the ball and holds it up, dipping three fingers into the center and nimbly pulling out the end of the string. Then she takes one wand—a needle—and Casey watches as she slowly casts stitches onto it; purple spaced evenly amongst the swirls of black-and-white.

"When I dream, I hear whispers from beyond," she says quietly, and it's the calm teaching voice that she hasn't used in a while. Casey listens, eager to continue her training. "I hear beings in my dreams that are ancient and far beyond wise."

She falls silent for a while, easing the second needle against the first. She knits, carefully but with a speed that Casey finds entrancing. The needles click and clack, the yarn flowing through her hands, and she turns her work again and again, the length of fabric steadily growing.

"These beings know things about the game. They are more knowledgeable than I could ever hope to be, and they've watched this game play out countless times before. They know the inner workings and the mechanics behind what it does. On occasion they give me hints as to how to break it. They've grown weary of watching it play. They want it destroyed."

A pause.

"Unraveled, so to speak."

Casey listens and she watches the piece of cloth grow. It's thin, only as wide across as her master's palm, but already it's nearly three times as long.

"Kanaya hinted to me that a certain amphibian was of great importance in her session. I laughed once I finally realized it. I think Strider would enjoy the irony if he understood."

Casey blinks because she doesn't understand herself. She looks up and her master is watching her now, the needles suddenly still in her hands. She sets one aside, then the other, pulling it slowly out of the stitches. The loops sag there, threatening to slip through each other and fall from fabric back into yarn.

"There is a colloquial term in knitting for when you are required to unravel something before you've finished," she says, still holding Casey's eye. "Can you guess what it is?"

Casey shakes her head.

Her master smiles and she takes the fabric in one hand, the loose strand of yarn in the other, and she yanks. The loops pop and snag and pop again, the knitting unraveling in a ragged ribbit-ribbit-ribbit of yarn on yarn.

"It's known as frogging."

Her Master's smile widens into cleverness and she looks up into the burning black smog of the lava world's atmosphere.

"We'll frog this game," she says, the smile on her face and her eyes dancing. "We'll tear it back to its component pieces and then we'll build as we wish."

Casey watches her master and the ruined piece of cloth in her lap. She doesn't fully understand but a shiver runs up her spine anyway.

Destruction? Their quest is to destroy?

She's not sure how she feels about that. She stands there silently for a moment, still and thinking, and then she bends and lifts the swatch of purple from her master's lap. She holds it and weaves one of her own wands into the open loops. It's still ruined but at least it can't unravel any farther.

Casey holds it out to her master, and she's not sure how to tell her that she understands that their quest is to destroy. That she can grasp. But she refuses to let her master unravel along with everything else.

The Seer is still smiling, watching Casey idly, and her expression warms at the gesture. She sets a hand against the wand and pushes it back toward Casey's chest. "Keep it. Practice. You can make things with us, too."

She pats Casey's head fondly, and in that moment Casey knows her master understands.

HOPY SHIT that fic is fantastic

@Graven: I love Indystuck more and more with each passing chapter even if I don't know every character. It's still so awesome.

[Doodled]

@lantadyme: Whoa... That was... inspiring!

[Kerensky287]

Page 54

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Orchestra of Desolation by KarneWarrior:
-Yaay, more of the 10% of fantroll fiction that doesn't suck! It feels weird to comment when I know there's more later on too, so I'll hold off. Just letting you know I'm enjoying it of course.

Convergent Recombination by lucidSeraph:
-Purpledave is still the best dave. But... it looks like that's the last part you posted on AO3. Bleh, I was enjoying these. Would definitely read more if you continued!

Graveside Visit by MrTeebert:
-I admit I had to reread it a couple of times to understand what was going on, but it's a good after-the-game fic. I'd be interested in hearing more about these kids.

Untitled ("Terrible Crack Fic") by Sionnan:
-So meta. Also I had to look up the term RPF (real person fiction apparently). I didn't know that was a thing that people did...

Page 55

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Providence by Kassiopeia:
-I already responded to this one. I'm still wondering what could possibly have happened to land Vriska in her fairy gown and an ectobiolobaby in the room.

Something of an Unexpected Problem by Ryavis:
-I like the Population series too much to admit that trolls would have problems raising children, but you make a good point and do a great job of exploring that particular hypothetical.

Untitled ("Jade and Terezi would totally hate each other chatlog") by BlastYoBoots
-Makes perfect sense that Terezi would use dead daves as a way to sieze Jade's shrill bearded livestock. I'd still love to see them canonically NOT hate each other, though.

Page 56

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{more awesome Indystuck and more terrible Sburb Fortress but I've already commented on both of those series. GRAVEN YOU KNOW YOU ARE A HERO, YOU DON'T NEED ME TO KEEP TELLING YOU. I will if you want me to though.}

Untitled postgame fic with a side of Greendave by egregiousBass:
-"ohgogiwanttofeedhimsoup" was unexpected and hilarious. Jade seems to have more of a nasty/impish streak here than I'm used to, but I like the change and it totally makes sense from exposure to Karkat. (And yeah sure, go ahead and read Sburb Fortress. I mean, as long as you recognize, as I do, that it's the worst piece of literature since Twilight.)

{then more indystuck... jegus how do you even write so fast....}

[Kassiopeia]

It's my 612th post, so here is some celebratory Jack fic for you <3

Hourglass

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1: Hour of the Ram

In the crypt at the core of Derse's moon Jack hangs suspended. Time stops dead as a dropped glass, and his sword is caught mid-swing by the spreading net of fractures. He neither moves nor breathes. All he can do is remember.

2: Hour of the Fish

The fountain glitters and the child moves his arm over the water and the shadow moves beneath the surface. Many tiny fish swim in the springs of Derse and none more beautiful than these. He will be a child for only a few weeks, his small body pulled from the hourglass cloning apparatus only that morning. All he knows is the love of his land and the distant blue light in the sky.

3: Hour of the Water-Carrier

In a way the final prototyping feels like a purification. The raucous voices of cat, bird and clown are silenced by the rush of green fire that tears through him. For a moment he forgets everything. And then he knows exactly where he and exactly what is to be done.

When he is done with the boy and the birdsprite he is barely even out of breath, though spattered with dust and gouts of dark human blood, and he flies down to the oily sea below to admire his reflection. His new jaws are unwieldy but filled with crooked fangs, his hands bear short and practical claws, and his new sunglasses look fine. As an afterthought, he sets the sea ablaze, and takes off for worlds unknown.

4: Hour of the Goatfish

The ring hits the ground with a small metallic clink. Her finger lies on the flagstones elsewhere. Besides a few splashes of ichor on the floor, it is all that is left of her, a ragged severed thing that twitches slightly like an animate comma.

It's her own fault. She took such joy in humiliating him. Perhaps he could have tolerated being mocked for his stature, his temper, his lack of finesse, if it hadn't all been coupled with a certain amusement at his powerlessness. She would dandle small rewards and kindnesses out of his reach - a reprieve from filling out parking violations, a bag of rare crunchy beetles - and laugh like a child teasing a cat when he leaped for them.

He dons the ring, feeling the metal expand and contract to fit his finger. It still feels warm, and he has a few seconds to wonder whether this is the power of the ring or the lingering heat of the Queen's body. Then the prototyping hits him.

It feels perfectly natural. There is pain as the sword grows out from his ribcage, but it is a good pain, like stretching after a long time in confinement. He loses an arm but gains two tentacles, sprouting from his sides like strong young shoots. The metamorphosis takes only a few seconds. When it is done, he imagines he can feel the power coursing in his veins. Flight, grace, mad and undirected malice.

5: Hour of the Archer

The music is coming from somewhere within the palace. A cool, clear melody, notes rippling into place with an insolent ease that suggests they do so because they feel like it, not because anyone has ordered them too.

It's no surprise to him to see the Draconian Dignitary sitting at the piano, when he finds it.

"Dee," he says, "Didn't know you played."

"Oh, you didn't, boss?" says Dee, his face impassively innocent.

"Look here," says Jack, grabbing him by the collar and hissing in his ear. To his disgust the man doesn't even flinch. "I know yer game. Piano's my instrument. You stay the hell away."

"As you wish, boss," says the Dignitary, with what might be a small smile.

"You're lucky I don't gut you for this," Jack snarls, "But you may as well finish the song."

6: Hour of the Spider

One thing that nobody remembers is that Jack, like the universe, is a thing of numbers. It is so much easier to think of the Dignitary, with all his quiet efficiency and passionless violence, as more of a man of mathematics, but then one forgets that the numbers can also encode pain, loneliness, frustration, rage.

Jack himself often tries to forget this. He knows deep within his soul that he is one term in an interminable series; one iteration of the same grinding and remorselesse pattern. Like death, it's not something that Dersites talk about. They are after all a warrior culture first and foremost. It does the troops no good if they know that there is nothing after death, but it's almost worse for them to know that they are nothing but nameless, faceless chunks of game code. So Dersite mythology paints a picture of a beautiful afterlife, full of rich food and lithe carapaced maidens, and makes no mention of the numbers that govern all their lives.

You may choose chaos, you may choose irrationality, you may choose to tear down the heavens and rend the cities with fire, but every movement in space and time is a gentle tug on the warp and weft of the web, and there is no escaping it.

7: Hour of the Scales

He sees a worthy opponent in the young man. A sinewy fellow, his pale skin dusted with freckles, who wields a cheap, showy sword and somehow makes it formidable. They will duel to the death like heroes of old, Jack thinks, before snorting with derision. There are no heroes of old. The past is a sequence of digits in his head. Junk data, not even a necessary part of the game.What does this lanky human bastard care if Jack has his regrets? What do any of the humans care? He was created as a resource. A villain or an ally according to their needs.

There's one thing Jack's certain of, and that's that he isn't going to be no fucking ally.

8: Hour of the Maiden

odi et amo. quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?
nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

A smile glimmers across her face like a waning moon. She beckons, a sinuous motion with one slim finger, and her tentacles waft like weed in water. Every prototyping hurts him because it changes her.

He hates her more with every absurd alteration. One eye is gone as if it never were, the socket empty and a delicate scar like a penstroke marking the loss that is no loss at all. Dark wings flare from her shoulders, and her body is marred by the sword which she bears as a mark of pride. As though she has ever really suffered for her people.

He bears the weight of those changes now and feels closer to her.

9: Hour of the Lion

The collar of his old uniform itches. He has grown use to its shabby garishness now - now that he has wings and a sword through his chest, nobody is going to question a bit of tinsel around his neck, much less laugh at him. But it fucking itches, and with only one hand extant he cannot get the fucking thing off. He snarls in fury, clenching his fist so tight he hears the joints crackle.

"Boss?" says the Courtyard Droll, "Is everything okay?"

"Fucking perfect," Jack growls.

"Oh, good," says the Droll, "It's just that you looked a teeny bit upset."

"It's this goddamn collar," says Jack, tugging at it ineffectually.

"It does look too tight. Let me get that, boss," says the Droll, hopping up on a chair and carefully undoing a button or two. In any other circumstances, Jack would be mortified. The Sovereign Slayer, unable to dress himself? He would never live it down. But the Droll, despite the fact that Jack thinks he's a half-wit, is the soul of discretion. And besides, the little man looks so ludicrous in his enormous hat that it's impossible to imagine him laughing at you.

"Better?" says the Droll, as Jack stretches his neck experimentally, "I can take the whole thing off, if you want."

"No," says Jack, "Leave it. It's important."

10: Hour of the Crab

He isn't sure whether the golden gleam of Prospit hurts his eyes, or whether he simply detests the place so much it stings. This is another Prospit, of course, another universe intended solely to remind him of his own insignificance. There's a kid asleep on the floor, one of those small grey-skinned things, so similar to Jack's adversaries that he feels an instant disgust for the creature. He readies his sword, but before he can make his move, the boy opens his eyes and stares.

"Jack," he says. He doesn't smile, but to Jack's surprise, there is something approaching affection in his eyes, almost instantly replaced by paralysing horror, as though the shadow of wings is passing across his face.

Jack decides to kill this one slowly.

11: Hour of the Twins

11001111

The game intends to make him a stage-play villain, but he could never outdo the game in cruelty. Not enough to condemn worlds to death, not enough to enslave civilisations and drive them into a pointless war over an abstraction neither of them care about, it has to blame Jack for all of this. Jack and the Queen, Skaia's own scapegoats. He knows now what is was that warped and twisted her.

1001100100

Still, perhaps there is a kind of nobility in fiercely maintaining the illusion of free will. No matter that the game has the result of every choice mapped out already, infinitely branching like the most monstrous of trees. He will choose and his choice will matter.

10000000001

12: Hour of the Bull

The Maid of Time's powers will not hold him forever. He waits.

A/N

show spoiler

hide spoiler

I'm aware that Aradia's powers work such that he probably wouldn't have time to have this little flashback spot, but I'm handwaving it because I love this framing device. I also hope this isn't too insufferably pretentious, I've been reading a lot of philosophy for school and it eats into your brain D:

[Summergale]

It's my 612th post, so here is some celebratory Jack fic for you

Hourglass

show spoiler

hide spoiler

1: Hour of the Ram

In the crypt at the core of Derse's moon Jack hangs suspended. Time stops dead as a dropped glass, and his sword is caught mid-swing by the spreading net of fractures. He neither moves nor breathes. All he can do is remember.

2: Hour of the Fish

The fountain glitters and the child moves his arm over the water and the shadow moves beneath the surface. Many tiny fish swim in the springs of Derse and none more beautiful than these. He will be a child for only a few weeks, his small body pulled from the hourglass cloning apparatus only that morning. All he knows is the love of his land and the distant blue light in the sky.

3: Hour of the Water-Carrier

In a way the final prototyping feels like a purification. The raucous voices of cat, bird and clown are silenced by the rush of green fire that tears through him. For a moment he forgets everything. And then he knows exactly where he and exactly what is to be done.

When he is done with the boy and the birdsprite he is barely even out of breath, though spattered with dust and gouts of dark human blood, and he flies down to the oily sea below to admire his reflection. His new jaws are unwieldy but filled with crooked fangs, his hands bear short and practical claws, and his new sunglasses look fine. As an afterthought, he sets the sea ablaze, and takes off for worlds unknown.

4: Hour of the Goatfish

The ring hits the ground with a small metallic clink. Her finger lies on the flagstones elsewhere. Besides a few splashes of ichor on the floor, it is all that is left of her, a ragged severed thing that twitches slightly like an animate comma.

It's her own fault. She took such joy in humiliating him. Perhaps he could have tolerated being mocked for his stature, his temper, his lack of finesse, if it hadn't all been coupled with a certain amusement at his powerlessness. She would dandle small rewards and kindnesses out of his reach - a reprieve from filling out parking violations, a bag of rare crunchy beetles - and laugh like a child teasing a cat when he leaped for them.

He dons the ring, feeling the metal expand and contract to fit his finger. It still feels warm, and he has a few seconds to wonder whether this is the power of the ring or the lingering heat of the Queen's body. Then the prototyping hits him.

It feels perfectly natural. There is pain as the sword grows out from his ribcage, but it is a good pain, like stretching after a long time in confinement. He loses an arm but gains two tentacles, sprouting from his sides like strong young shoots. The metamorphosis takes only a few seconds. When it is done, he imagines he can feel the power coursing in his veins. Flight, grace, mad and undirected malice.

5: Hour of the Archer

The music is coming from somewhere within the palace. A cool, clear melody, notes rippling into place with an insolent ease that suggests they do so because they feel like it, not because anyone has ordered them too.

It's no surprise to him to see the Draconian Dignitary sitting at the piano, when he finds it.

"Dee," he says, "Didn't know you played."

"Oh, you didn't, boss?" says Dee, his face impassively innocent.

"Look here," says Jack, grabbing him by the collar and hissing in his ear. To his disgust the man doesn't even flinch. "I know yer game. Piano's my instrument. You stay the hell away."

"As you wish, boss," says the Dignitary, with what might be a small smile.

"You're lucky I don't gut you for this," Jack snarls, "But you may as well finish the song."

6: Hour of the Spider

One thing that nobody remembers is that Jack, like the universe, is a thing of numbers. It is so much easier to think of the Dignitary, with all his quiet efficiency and passionless violence, as more of a man of mathematics, but then one forgets that the numbers can also encode pain, loneliness, frustration, rage.

Jack himself often tries to forget this. He knows deep within his soul that he is one term in an interminable series; one iteration of the same grinding and remorselesse pattern. Like death, it's not something that Dersites talk about. They are after all a warrior culture first and foremost. It does the troops no good if they know that there is nothing after death, but it's almost worse for them to know that they are nothing but nameless, faceless chunks of game code. So Dersite mythology paints a picture of a beautiful afterlife, full of rich food and lithe carapaced maidens, and makes no mention of the numbers that govern all their lives.

You may choose chaos, you may choose irrationality, you may choose to tear down the heavens and rend the cities with fire, but every movement in space and time is a gentle tug on the warp and weft of the web, and there is no escaping it.

7: Hour of the Scales

He sees a worthy opponent in the young man. A sinewy fellow, his pale skin dusted with freckles, who wields a cheap, showy sword and somehow makes it formidable. They will duel to the death like heroes of old, Jack thinks, before snorting with derision. There are no heroes of old. The past is a sequence of digits in his head. Junk data, not even a necessary part of the game.What does this lanky human bastard care if Jack has his regrets? What do any of the humans care? He was created as a resource. A villain or an ally according to their needs.

There's one thing Jack's certain of, and that's that he isn't going to be no fucking ally.

8: Hour of the Maiden

odi et amo. quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?
nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

A smile glimmers across her face like a waning moon. She beckons, a sinuous motion with one slim finger, and her tentacles waft like weed in water. Every prototyping hurts him because it changes her.

He hates her more with every absurd alteration. One eye is gone as if it never were, the socket empty and a delicate scar like a penstroke marking the loss that is no loss at all. Dark wings flare from her shoulders, and her body is marred by the sword which she bears as a mark of pride. As though she has ever really suffered for her people.

He bears the weight of those changes now and feels closer to her.

9: Hour of the Lion

The collar of his old uniform itches. He has grown use to its shabby garishness now - now that he has wings and a sword through his chest, nobody is going to question a bit of tinsel around his neck, much less laugh at him. But it fucking itches, and with only one hand extant he cannot get the fucking thing off. He snarls in fury, clenching his fist so tight he hears the joints crackle.

"Boss?" says the Courtyard Droll, "Is everything okay?"

"Fucking perfect," Jack growls.

"Oh, good," says the Droll, "It's just that you looked a teeny bit upset."

"It's this goddamn collar," says Jack, tugging at it ineffectually.

"It does look too tight. Let me get that, boss," says the Droll, hopping up on a chair and carefully undoing a button or two. In any other circumstances, Jack would be mortified. The Sovereign Slayer, unable to dress himself? He would never live it down. But the Droll, despite the fact that Jack thinks he's a half-wit, is the soul of discretion. And besides, the little man looks so ludicrous in his enormous hat that it's impossible to imagine him laughing at you.

"Better?" says the Droll, as Jack stretches his neck experimentally, "I can take the whole thing off, if you want."

"No," says Jack, "Leave it. It's important."

10: Hour of the Crab

He isn't sure whether the golden gleam of Prospit hurts his eyes, or whether he simply detests the place so much it stings. This is another Prospit, of course, another universe intended solely to remind him of his own insignificance. There's a kid asleep on the floor, one of those small grey-skinned things, so similar to Jack's adversaries that he feels an instant disgust for the creature. He readies his sword, but before he can make his move, the boy opens his eyes and stares.

"Jack," he says. He doesn't smile, but to Jack's surprise, there is something approaching affection in his eyes, almost instantly replaced by paralysing horror, as though the shadow of wings is passing across his face.

Jack decides to kill this one slowly.

11: Hour of the Twins

11001111

The game intends to make him a stage-play villain, but he could never outdo the game in cruelty. Not enough to condemn worlds to death, not enough to enslave civilisations and drive them into a pointless war over an abstraction neither of them care about, it has to blame Jack for all of this. Jack and the Queen, Skaia's own scapegoats. He knows now what is was that warped and twisted her.

1001100100

Still, perhaps there is a kind of nobility in fiercely maintaining the illusion of free will. No matter that the game has the result of every choice mapped out already, infinitely branching like the most monstrous of trees. He will choose and his choice will matter.

10000000001

12: Hour of the Bull

The Maid of Time's powers will not hold him forever. He waits.

A/N

show spoiler

hide spoiler

I'm aware that Aradia's powers work such that he probably wouldn't have time to have this little flashback spot, but I'm handwaving it because I love this framing device. I also hope this isn't too insufferably pretentious, I've been reading a lot of philosophy for school and it eats into your brain

Oooooh, I like. I especially like how you used the constellations to split it up.... very nice.

[egregiousBass]

I've been reading a lot of philosophy for school and it eats into your brain

This is a crossover that must happen.

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TT: Hello Dave.
TG: hi
TT: Did you read that book I told you to read?
TG: fuck no rose
TG: i mean
TG: well yeah
TG: but
TT: Hmm?
TG: it was too ironic for me basically
TG: wow that was hard
TT: Come now, Immanuel Kant isn't hard.
TG: seriously now
TG: imanuel cunt is so hard he cleaves my cortex in two and leaves my brain full of fuck
TT: Is that so?
TG: what
TT: Are you sure?
TG: the fuck does that mean
TG: im telling you aint i
TT: Because as much as I like Kant's mindscrew powers to be an innate idea, they are not.
TT: Therefore it is a synthetic judgment and subject to opinion.
TG: no wait ive got this
TG: i use like my powers of reason
TG: and unchain like a revolution or some shit
TG: and become a dictator
TG: and suddenly everything i say is fact
TT: That's not how the copernican revolution works.
TG: are you sure about that
TG: wink wink nudge nudge
TT: Yes I am, because otherwise it wouldn't be a copernican revolution.
TT: Analytical judgments are a priori. Remember that.
TG: you can cram that in your posteriori
TG: oh fuck that joke was terrible
TT: Indeed it was.

I feel like such a nerd now.

Variation:

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TT: Hello Dave.
TG: hi
TT: Did you read that book I told you to read?
TG: fuck no rose
TG: i mean
TG: well yeah
TG: but
TT: Hmm?
TG: it was too ironic for me basically
TG: wow that was hard
TT: Come now, Immanuel Kant isn't hard.
TG: seriously now
TG: imanuel cunt is so hard he cleaves my cortex in two and leaves my brain full of fuck
TT: You know you like the philosopher dick. Accept it.
TG: i am up to my goddamn neck in asshole ass
TG: an extremely long empirically unproven god cock is being dragged across my sceptical face
TT: Do you know what empirism is?
TG: something to do with assholes probably
TT: My my, such a fixation on posteriors.
TT: I recommend Sigmund Freud for further reading.
TG: who

[Kassiopeia]

Ahaha, I love this idea, though unfortunately I don't really know much about any philosophers who wrote after, like, 300BC (except a few of the Renaissance humanists. Doing an English course with options in Ancient Greek leaves you some pretty large gaps in your knowledge)

(also Bass I quoted Catullus in a webcomic fanfiction, I think if you are concerned for your nerdiness you can just hide behind mine)

[egregiousBass]

FINE. Have some ancient philosophy.

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CG: SO WHAT YOU ARE SAYING REALLY
CG: IS THAT PEOPLE DO BAD THINGS BECAUSE THEY'RE STUPID?
TC: pReTtY mUcH bRoThEr.
CG: I WAS GOING TO SAY SOMETHING ALONG THE LINES OF
CG: "THAT IS THE DUMBEST FUCKING THING I HAVE EVER HEARD AND I'M ASTOUNDED THAT YOUR CRANIAL FOAM EVEN PERMITS YOU TO DESIGN THESE BULLSHIT THEORIES"
CG: BUT I GUESS THE IDEA IS SORT OF ALLURING.
TC: i CaN't TeLl YoU wHaT tO bElIeVe My MoThErFuCkEr.
TC: 'CaUsE i DoN't ReAlLy HaVe A mOtHeRfUcKiNg ClUe EiThEr
TC: yOu JuSt GoTtA rEaCh In AnD fInD tHe SpArK
GC: THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE TELLING ME ALL THIS ANYWAY?
TC: gOtTa HeLp YoU uNlOcK tHe KnOwLeDgE iNsIdE oF yOu
TC: kInD oF lIkE pUlLiNg GrUbS oUt Of A bUcKeT
I'll let you imagine Karkat's reaction.

(also Bass I quoted Catullus in a webcomic fanfiction, I think if you are concerned for your nerdiness you can just hide behind mine)

I'm going to do something sneaky:

Lesbia mi dicit semper male nec tacet umquuam
de me. Lesbia me dispeream nisi amat.
Quuo signo? Quuia sunt totidem mea: deprecor illam
assiduue, vverum dispeream nisi amo.

[Kassiopeia]

Oh them Romans knew their blackrom all right.

also, Gamzee as Socrates??? (It's my personal belief that Gamzee might be Gertrude Stein, but this is pretty fucking awesome too)

[Metaflare]

Kass, I love it. Write mooooore

speaking of writing

Courtstuck-3

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Open Pesterlog

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-- burgerSpirits [BS] began pestering perfectProsecutor [PP] --
BS: ugh i cant believe i have to do this
PP: Why have YOU contacted me?
PP: I happen to be very busy right now and I have no time to deal with children.
-- perfectProsecutor [PP] ceased pestering burgerSpirits [BS] --
BS: wait no don
BS: AAAARGH WHY MUST YOU BE SO DIFFICULT

Open Spiritlog

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MAYA: do i really have to bring HER in???
MAYA: shes a jerk! >:I
??: You know as well as i do that you would never forgive yourself if you didn't bring her into the game.
??: You'll just have to try a bit later, that's all.
MAYA: ...i GUESS.
MAYA: oh well
MAYA: whos next on the list...

Open Pesterlog

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-- aceDetective [AD] began pestering takeThat [TT] --
AD: heya pal!
TT: Gumshoe?
TT: When'd you get a computer?
AD: using one at work
TT: ...Are you sure you're allowed to be talking to me while you're on the job?
AD: oh relax pal
AD: todays been a pretty slow day
AD: and i got permission from the higher ups to play games! >:D
TT: ...Really now.
AD: yeah!
AD: maya even gave me a game for free!
AD: such a pal :)
TT: ...Wait what?
TT: Back up.
TT: Maya gave you a game?
TT: Does it happen to be named Sburb?
AD: :O
AD: are you psycho???
TT: You mean psychic.
AD: :\
TT: And no, I'm not.
TT: She gave me the game also
TT: I would've started playing it, if my computer didn't just freeze up on me for like the seventh time.
AD: that must suck pal
AD: ...
AD: wait then howre you talking to me?
TT: I got a PDA.
AD: :o
AD: i want one!!!
TT: No offence, but I doubt you have the money for it.
AD: ...oh yeah
TT: Anyways, back on topic.
TT: Maya handed this Sburb to both of us.
TT: Presumably she has it herself.
TT: And she could, right now, be handing out more copies of the game.
TT: Despite her saying I was the only person with a computer she knows.
TT: What does this mean...?
AD: ...
AD: oh oh oh!
AD: pick me pick me!
TT: ...Yes, Gumshoe?
AD: shes really an ALIEN and these games are really mind control devices that will enslave us all!
TT: ...
TT: I highly doubt that, but nice try.
AD: well its all i got pal
AD: now if youll excuse me im gonna start up this game
TT: Wait, before you do, can you tell me why you messaged me in the first place?
AD: woah wait a minute here
AD: i dont think i ever massaged you pal
AD: besides i think my hands would be too rough for that
TT: MESSAGED not MASSAGED
AD: ooohhhh
AD: okay yeah
AD: actually i forgot why
AD: whoops!
TT: ...
TT: I'll talk to you later, Gumshoe.
AD: ok pal!
-- takeThat [TT] ceased pestering aceDetective [AD] --

Open Pesterlog

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-- burgerSpirit [BS] began pestering ladiesMan [LM] --
BS: uh
BS: hi larry
BS: would you like to play a game?

[lucidSeraph]

@Kass: Oh my, this was a wonderful take on Jack Delicious.

[Kassiopeia]

I'm going to do something sneaky

OH WAIT A SECOND O: You are the sneakiest of creatures!

(Also @Meta, Summergale, Seraph: Thank you! )

[egregiousBass]

Loving Courtstuck. And, dare I say, is that secret spirit...

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????????

[Metaflare]

Loving Courtstuck. And, dare I say, is that secret spirit...

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????????

ahahah

not even close

[Karijou]

@Lantadyme: Oh, goodness! That's the first fic I've read from Casey's point of view, and it actually feels stronger for it. I love the play off frogging, as is to be expected, but more than that I really enjoy seeing Rose from a closer perspective for once. (Plus Casey is one of my favorite mini-characters, so it only serves to strengthen my love for this fic. )

@Metaflare: Look at my icon. Now back to your fic. Now back to my icon, now back to your fic! Sadly, the terrible cropping job I did isn't the wonder that is your fic. But if you look between the two, you'll see why I love you so much right now. Seriously, I'm loving what I see so far!

@Kassiopeia: oh god so much hnnngh forever. In case the one fic I've posted didn't make it obvious, I love Jack, and I really love the way you've been writing him. This fic is delicious, would consume read again in a heartbeat!

There are quite a few fics in the past few pages I really want to comment on still, so I think I'm going to go back and look for them / reread them. Good job to everyone in this thread - keep it up!