MSPA Fanfiction V: We're Going to Need More Wands

[Aerodactylus]

Because FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I cannot ever seem to finish a long chaptered fic EVEN WHEN I HAVE ALREADY PLOTTED IT OUT TO THE END, you fine folks get a oneshot. It's set in the same Space Pirates AU I was last working with, that I never really got around to actually developing it, so if anything requires explanation, feel free to ask.

Um, fair warning: this is LONG. It grew legs and got away from me around 5000 words or so...

Aradia Megido - Into the Dark

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It begins when Aradia is very young, only a few sweeps old. They come to her in dreams, at first infrequently, then more and more, until she sees them most every night. Trolls she has never met, young and old, most of them Aries, but a few hailing from the other circles. Once she even saw an Empress.

They whisper to her, questions and statements and commands, and although they scare her at first she soon grows used to it, and life returns to normal. For a given value of normal, anyway. An Aries value of normal.

Aradia wakes early every morning and dresses, splashes cold water on her face, and begins her daily chores. Her family is, while not poor, certainly not wealthy, and they have little money to spare from the sale of her mother’s potions that does not go towards necessities. So every morning, Aradia checks the fire spell in the furnace, makes sure it has enough power to last through the day, and heads off into the fields to pick herbs and bulbs and other potion-making ingredients.

When she returns, her father is there, making breakfast over the fire, and her mother takes the basketful of ingredients and begins separating them out with Aradia’s help. When they are all sorted she hands Aradia a mortar and pestle, and mother and daughter spend the morning grinding and cutting and packaging.

Sometimes Aradia’s mother lets her watch as she prepares the potions, liquids for curing illness or keeping away pests or bringing good luck to the household. They are simple spells, but Aradia is mesmerized by their casting, the way her mother carefully combines the ingredients in her special pot, the power and purpose behind every movement she makes in their preparation. Aradia takes careful notice of everything; she has shown ability with magic, and knows that eventually it will be her job to do her mother’s work, and support the family.

When she isn’t helping her mother and father with the business of making their way in the world, Aradia likes to sit on the ridge south of their cottage, one of her well-worn storybooks in her hands, and read. Occasionally she pauses and looks out over the valley, to the town her father visits every morning to sell their potions and buy their food. It’s a quiet, simple life she leads, but Aradia is happy, and her parents love her, and she gives thanks to the gods every night before bed for their blessings.

Yes, everything is as perfect as she could hope for…until her dreams begin to invade the waking world.

It starts slowly, as the dreams themselves did. At first it’s just whispers on the wind, like someone calling out to her from far away, such that Aradia can’t be sure she actually heard anything. But they grow louder quickly, and with them come glimpses of figures, half-seen shadows in the corners of her eyes. They live in the edge of the flickering light from the candle in her room, and Aradia stays awake at night to watch them. A hand, horns, a tiny smile…Aradia looks at them unblinking, and tells them she is not afraid.

She isn’t, either. Aradia has never been afraid of the dark, or the things that lurk in it. She’s watched her mother set wards on the house to keep evil spirits and curses away, and from the time she was little her culture has taught her that darkness is a thing to be harnessed and used, not feared. The priest at the little church where Aradia and her parents attend service every tenth day has said as much: The dark is a tool, and those who dwell in it are your servants, if only you ask them.

But soon the dead are not content to merely whisper to Aradia, and it is then that Aradia’s life begins to get harder. They poke and prod her at night, keeping her awake, and their voices grow louder, badgering her endlessly with their problems, their grievances, their petty spite. Aradia learns quickly that the dead are never happy and rarely are they not driven by some perceived slight that, to them, resulted in their death. They ask her, demand her, to fix it, so that they may move on, even though Aradia has no power to do so. To them, the very fact that she can see and hear them makes her their savior.

Aradia begins to look forward to church more and more as she gets older. The dead seem reluctant to bother her within the confines of those stone walls. They’re still there, of course, a constant entourage of gray, smoky figures, but many of them seem as interested in the service as the congregation, and they don’t look at Aradia as much.

Until one day.

Aradia is kneeling between her parents, praying the communal prayer with the rest of those assembled.

“We commit our spirits to service. Our hearts are yours to mold and make. Let the dark not frighten us, the night not make us cower. Great gods above, we thank you for all that you have blessed us with, and ask for wisdom and strength to confront our demons.”

Aradia is startled when a cold, familiar shiver runs down her back, accompanied by a hard tap on the shoulder. She turns, just slightly, to look up and back. A Taurus stands there, one of his horns broken, a blank look on his face. He opens his mouth and an eerie voice reaches her ears.

“Mistress…help me…my wife, my son…taken by bandits…they killed them…all of them…”

“Hush now!” Aradia whispers, forcefully. “I cannot help you. Go away!” She has learned that if she is strong, she can usually make them listen to her, and leave her alone, if only for a short time. She feels a void in her stomach as she realizes this is the first time any ghost has approached her in the church.

The Taurus is persistent. “Mistress…you must help me…only one…please help…”

“No! Begone!” Aradia whispers again, and this time her father hears her and looks down, a mix of surprise and disapproval on his face. His daughter has always been respectful of their religious rituals.

“Aradia?”

Aradia feels her face redden. Stupid, horrible ghost! “I’m so sorry, Father, I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just…thinking out loud.”

Her father nods. “Very well, but please pay attention.”

“Yes, Father.”

They rise from their kneeling position and return to their seats in the pews. Aradia is dismayed to see that the Taurus is following her, and takes up a position directly behind her, standing in the lap of the elderly troll in the row behind, so close his gray essence makes her shiver. He continues his endless stream of pleas, and Aradia does her best to block him out.

The priest at the front lowers his cowl and begins the liturgy, spoken in the ancient magical language. It’s incomprehensible to all but the clergy and those trained in magic, like Aradia’s mother, but even then, she only knows those words pertaining to the spells she uses in her work, so most of the recitation is lost. Aradia has always found a solace and comfort in the strange lilting words, and now she allows herself to become lost in them, in an attempt to ignore her dead solicitor.

The Taurus’s unearthly voice clashes with the priest’s, however, and this becomes impossible. As Aradia sits there, other ghosts suddenly turn from their vigil and make their way over to her, asking for other things. Aradia’s breath comes heavily and she feels a spike of fear in her abdomen. This has never happened before, and it’s come with no warning. She puts her hands over her ears and begins to murmur, “Go away, go away, go away,” over and over, but their voices aren’t just sounds, they’re in her mind, and Aradia feels panic take hold of her heart.

Her parents notice her distress and try to help her, quietly, so as not to disturb anyone, but she shakes them off, not wishing to be touched.

The voices of the dead grow louder, and Aradia’s endless mantra grows in volume with them. Trolls sitting in the congregation begin to take notice.

Louder…

“Please miss, just…” “All I’m asking…” “Listen to me!” “Help, mistress…”

Louder…

“Go away, go away, go away…”

Louder…

“Miss, you must help me…” “Stinking, no good…” “I can’t take it…”

LOUDER…

“GO AWAY!”

Aradia feels something reach up from the deepest part of her and scream out her mouth, wrapped around her words. The ghosts shriek and float away, cowering at the corners of the room, and Aradia suddenly knows with absolute certainty that, just for a moment, everyone in the room could see them, just as she could.

The priest has ceased his intoning, and now walks quickly down the aisle to her. His black robes flap about him, and Aradia feels a chill at what might be coming. He leans down and looks her in the eye.

“Miss Megido?”

“Yes, Father?”

“I think you had better come with me.”

--

Father Herzad takes her into a back room. Her parents accompany her, but the priest makes them wait outside.

“Miss Megido,” Herzad begins, “can you tell me what happened out there?”

“Um…they…they were bothering me.”

“Who were?”

“The ghosts.”

Herzad does not look nearly as surprised as Aradia expects him to; instead he merely looks pleasantly satisfied, as if something he had been hoping for had come true.

“You can see them? The dead?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Do they come to you often?”

Aradia swallows. “Yes, Father. All…all the time, now. But,” she continues, forestalling another question, “this is the first time they’ve bothered me in church.”

“I see.” Herzad pauses for a long moment. “Tell me, Miss Megido…are there any ghosts in this room now?” Aradia hesitates, then nods. “Where?”

“There, Father.” She points, behind and to the left of the priest, where the Taurus has been silently watching them. The priest turns to the ghost with a look on his face like a family of rats has invaded his kitchen. Then he waves his hand and barks a phrase in the ancient language. The Taurus lets out a cry and vanishes.

“There,” Herzad says. “Gone. Miss Megido, I am afraid I do not share your talent. I cannot see or hear the dead, and for this I thank the gods I devoted my life to serving. However, you can, and this is a very serious matter. I shall be informing my superiors of this incident, and you may rest assured that someone more knowledgeable than I will come to discuss it with you. For now,” he lifts a sheet of parchment and writes something on it, “have your mother cast this enchantment over your room. It will keep the dead out temporarily.”

Aradia takes the sheet, but Herzad is not finished. “Miss Megido, I have known for some time that you are gifted in magic in some way. May I ask why you never shared this burden with anyone? Surely you could’ve told your parents?”

“I…I guess,” Aradia whispers. “I was just…worried. I’ve never heard of anyone being able to see or hear the dead before.”

“Hmm,” Herzad murmurs. “Well, I suppose that soon it shall become commonplace to you. Now, run along.”

--

A few days pass, during which time Aradia must endure the ghosts rapping at her windows and the shingles on the roof above instead of listening to them cry at her directly. Eventually, Herzad comes to call on them. With him is a tall, harsh looking troll that Herzad introduces as Master Rotrar Voexhi, one of the most powerful Black Priests in the circle.

Voexhi makes Aradia tell every word of every experience she has ever had with death, from the dreams when she was little to the debacle in church three days prior. When she is finished he grills her with questions about what the ghosts feel like, how they sound, and the power that Aradia briefly felt as she told them to go away. Several times Aradia’s parents try to intervene, seeing how distressed Aradia is becoming, but each time Voexhi silences them with a glare.

When he is all finished, Voexhi whispers to Herzad, who delivers the words that will change Aradia’s life.

“She is to become a Black Priestess.”

Aradia doesn’t even know what this means, but the effect becomes clear soon enough: She is leaving, immediately, to begin her training, and will take nothing with her but the clothes on her back. She is allowed a brief farewell with her mother and father, and then she is gone, sitting in a carriage with no one but Master Voexhi for company. Aradia can’t help it. She begins to cry.

“Stop that at once!” Voexhi snaps, and Aradia gasps. “You do yourself a dishonor with such a display. You have been born with talent that most can merely dream of. Soon you will have a chance to hone that into skill. That is nothing to shed tears over.”

“B-but…my parents…”

“Are simple country folk, unprepared to bring you up in the manner you should be. At the monastery you will be trained properly.”

Aradia sniffled. “You’re mean,” she whispered.

“What’s that, girl?”

“You’re mean! You’re mean and I hate you for taking me away!” Aradia glares at him, but Voexhi merely smiles.

“Oh, I suspect you’ll do a lot more than that before your training is complete.”

--

The monastery is a collection of cold, dark buildings far afield of any towns or villages. Aradia’s village was not large by any means, and she is used to the quiet of the fields and forests, but even she fells mildly oppressed by this isolation.

As the carriage climbs the hill towards their destination, Voexhi says, “You are lucky you were born on Alpha Ari, Aradia. Many who are called to the Black Priesthood must travel for weeks by solar ship to get here. Have you ever seen a solar ship, child?”

“No.” Aradia’s voice is flat. The journey—and the company—have left her feeling empty.

“Frightful things, they are. Trolls board them for distant stars and trust in the fragile knowledge of science to keep them safe. Some trolls believe we have no need of gods or magic any longer.”

“What?” Aradia exclaims. Despite her desire to say as little as possible to Voexhi, his statement shocks her. She has always been faithful to the gods, and can’t imagine turning her back on them.

“Yes, it’s true. They say the universe can be described with numbers and charts, that the gods are a myth, and magic the illusory entertainment of the nobility. Fools.”

Aradia doesn’t respond, but she secretly agrees. Anyone who could dismiss magic and faith so easily must be terribly misguided.

The carriage comes to a halt within the abbey gates, before a pair of large doors. The doors are opened by a pair of black robed trolls, and Aradia notices that neither is much older than she is. She follows Voexhi inside.

The building is revealed to be a grand cathedral, larger and more ornate than anything Aradia has ever seen or heard of. Along the walls are alcoves, each holding an enormous statue of one of the twelve major gods. Smaller statuettes of the numerous minor gods decorate the spaces between. Huge metal chandeliers, each holding dozens of candles, hang from the ceiling, and at the head of the room hangs an enormous metal Aries sign, finely wrought from black iron. The far wall is mostly stained glass, depicting scenes from the holy texts with such grace and detail that Aradia half expects them to leap out and come to life.

Aradia’s head turns this way and that, trying to take everything in, until a sharp rap on her head brings her back to earth.

“Stop gawking,” Voexhi admonishes. “This is your home now. There will be many opportunities for you to see the cathedral in the years to come. Now keep up. The council is waiting.” Aradia, still smarting from where Voexhi’s staff hit her, steps lively after him.

Beneath the stained glass windows, a number of stools have been set in an arc around a high-backed throne, carved from black stone. Sitting on the throne is the oldest troll Aradia has ever seen. She can tell that he was once tall and strong, but now his back is hunched and his hands curl, claw-like, one around the armrest of his throne, one around the ornate staff he carries, and his face is lined and withered. His horns are magnificent, spiraling three times around, but they are like a beautiful sculpture left to decay in the dark: their orange sheen is dull and brittle, and the tips are broken. Arrayed around this troll are eleven other trolls, all varying ages, though none as old as the one in the middle, and all wearing black robes.

Voexhi kneels before those assembled. Aradia figures it’s best if she does the same.

“May the gods smile upon you,” Voexhi intones.

“And also on you,” the trolls reply.

“Honored council members, I have returned with the girl we were informed of. She is indeed as powerful as we were lead to believe.”

“Rise, Master Voexhi,” the troll in the center says, and his voice is like old parchment. “Take your place among the council.”

“Yes, Abbot,” Voexhi says, and he takes a seat on a stool to the far left, not sparing Aradia another glance.

“Child,” the abbot says, and Aradia is startled. His voice is ancient, yes, but so powerful. She can feel the magic flowing through it, over her as he speaks. “What is your name?”

“A-Aradia Megido.”

“You will address me as Abbot Cenbro, or simply Abbot, is that clear?”

“Y-yes, Abbot.”

Cenbro gives a slow, placid smile. “You need not fear me, child. We, all of us, believe you to be very special. Soon you will understand why.”

Aradia nods. “Yes, Abbot. I do have a question, though.”

“What is it, child?”

“Why are there no ghosts here?” Aradia had seen none, not only within the cathedral, but also on the abbey grounds, what brief glimpse she’d gotten of them.

At this, Cenbro’s smile gains a little more life. “The dead do not walk here unless we will it. They are our servants. That is our power.” He gestures at her with his staff. “That is your power, Aradia.”

Aradia feels something deep within her, and she knows the abbot speaks the truth.

--

After being introduced to the council, Aradia is lead away by Master Voexhi. He clothes are taken, and in return she receives several sets of plain black robes. She is shown her room in the acolyte’s dormitory. It is simple, even more so than her room back home, nothing but a plain dresser and a cot; a far cry from the cathedral’s opulence.

Her fellow acolytes are all Aries, of course, and save for one, all from other planets in the circle. The only other troll from Alpha Ari was born on the other side of the world from Aradia, so she is surrounded by complete strangers.

Her lessons are held in one of several schoolrooms across the abbey. She is given a large book, bound and completely blank, and told that everything she ever learns will be written into it; a complete compendium of her magical knowledge. To her unending displeasure, Master Voexhi requested that Aradia be in his learning group, so all of her lessons are given by him, and he is at least as stern a taskmaster as he appears, if not more so. He is quick with his staff if someone carelessly spouts a wrong answer, and he demands perfection from his students.

Aradia learns her first spell just days after arriving, and is surprised to discover that it’s a healing spell. When she ventures her confusion to Voexhi, he looks at her disdainfully and says, “Foolish girl. To understand death one must understand life. They are two sides of the same coin. Remember this.”

Months and then sweeps pass in a whirl, and one day when Aradia is practicing imbuing a beaded necklace with a charm to cause chronic illness, she realizes that she is competently performing magic far more advanced than anything her mother ever did. Aradia misses her parents, but not nearly as much as she thought she would. She is simply too busy to give it much thought. Her spell book fills rapidly, and yet there is always more blank space to put ink to.

One day Voexhi takes Aradia and a handful of other acolytes to one of the empty storehouses. They kneel on the cold stone floor, and Voexhi produces from within his robes a small pot, a bottle of potion, and a long, cruel looking dagger.

“Today, you will begin to learn that magic which is at the heart of what we do: how to summon the dead.”

There is a tiny ripple of excitement in the room, but Aradia does not join in. Several sweeps of training under Voexhi have taught her the best way to deal with him: sit straight, pay attention, and get things right the first time.

“There are many forms of this magic,” Voexhi continues. “You can summon shades, call a particular soul to you, if you wish to have a nice chat, call on the spirits en masse, animate a dead body, and of course, you can reunite a body with its soul, and thus bring them back to life.” More murmurs at these statements.

“But we will start with the simplest, the shades. Megido, why don’t you try first?”

Aradia rises and goes to stand next to her master. “Now, when you summon shades, you are not truly bringing the dead to walk among the living. Rather, you are throwing back the curtain, giving us a glimpse of them in their realm. With that in mind, what will the dead need?”

Aradia thinks a moment, and then says, “A way to manifest.”

“Precisely. That is where this comes in handy.” Voexhi kneels and places the pot on the floor, emptying the potion into it. Thick smoke begins to rise, accompanied by a cold blue light. “The smoke will cling to the dead and give them form in this world, and also allow those without our sight to see them. That is why this is frequently used as a demonstration for the unenlightened, as it looks quite impressive and is entirely devoid of true power.” He hands Aradia the dagger.

“What’s this?”

Voexhi wrinkles his nose. “I’ll assume you were inquiring as to the dagger’s purpose, as opposed to the blindingly obvious. Tell me, Megido, what do the dead desire more than anything?”

“To be alive again,” Aradia answers, confident.

“Correct. But there is something else you should know about the dead, and that is that they, like many among the living, do nothing for free.” Aradia ponders his meaning for a moment, and when she realizes what he means she tenses. “I see you understand. Good. Now then, the incantation is this…” He speaks a long phrase in the ancient tongue, several times, and Aradia commits it to memory. “Now try it.”

Aradia took a deep breath, steeling herself, and begins to intone the magic words. At the appropriate moment she sets the blade against her forearm and draws it across sharply, her deep red blood welling up out of the gash. It hurts, and Aradia’s voice shrinks, but she continues the incantation, allowing her blood to fall into the pot of potion.

The smoke begins to billow out, thicker and thicker, flowing up her robes and over her hands. It feels cold and ethereal, like the ghosts do when they touched her, and Aradia gasps. The smoke flows away from her hands, forming into figures that floated and crawled around the room.

“Concentrate, girl! You called them, now you must direct them!”

Trying to think through the distractions of her master and the pain in her arm is difficult, but Aradia gives it her best shot. In the end, though, it is not enough, and she feels the magic slip away from her. The shades vanish, the smoke dissolving.

“And there you see what happens when you do not concentrate.” Voexhi’s voice is without inflection. “Without a proper conduit, the shades cannot manifest, and disappear. You may sit, Megido; that was not terrible.” Aradia turns away, and then remembers she’s still holding the dagger, she holds it out to Voexhi, but he says, “Keep it. It is yours now.” Aradia contemplates the blade, stained dark red, as she heals her arm.

--

Aradia’s training is not limited to the arts of the first circle; her master teaches her magic from all corners of the Great Commune. She learns Scorpio mind control techniques, Taurean plant singing spells, and Gemini telekinesis and energy manipulation.

While Aradia is practicing moving small objects from one table to another without touching them, her master laughs darkly. “What is it, Master?”

“I was thinking of the Gemini who prattle on about the superiority of their science and technology, and yet never realize that their whole culture is based on magic, just as ours is. They would have you believe that it is a product of their advanced minds, and that only they can properly do it.” Voexhi’s lip curls.

Aradia has heard this speech many times from her master, and now is inclined to think that if she were ever to meet a Gemini, her first instinct would be either to punch them in the jaw, or hit them with a nice withering spell. Perhaps both.

--

When Aradia is seven sweeps old, she finds an injured Aries beast during meditation hours. Her usual meditation spot is in the fields surrounding the abbey, and it is there she finds the animal. Aries beasts are sacred, and Aradia is loath to leave it with a broken leg where it cannot get food. So she smuggles it back to her room in the dormitory and hides it in her dresser, thanking the gods that it’s a young one. For the next few weeks she brings it food from mealtimes and nurses it back to health, and gradually she grows to love the little creature. At night it sings in a warbling voice, and Aradia often stays up to hear its songs.

When winter sets in, however, her pet (for that is how she’s come to think of it), grows ill, and nothing Aradia does seems to help at all. She tries every healing spell she knows, but it does nothing, and eventually, the creature dies. Aradia wraps him in a blanket and lays him to rest in a hole she digs at the edge of the abbey grounds.

Shortly thereafter, Aradia learns how to summon shades from Master Voexhi, and it is then that she hears that it is possible to truly someone, or something back to life. So during her free hours she pores through the library, eventually finding the incantation for bringing something back from the grave. It is long and complex, and requires that someone or something make the ultimate sacrifice: a life for a life is the price of resurrection. Aradia catches a rat in one of the storehouses, and brings her pet’s body to the makeshift altar where she will perform the spell. It takes nearly an hour, but finally she plunges her dagger into the rat’s body, and the exchange is made. Her pet leaps up from it had lain, and Aradia is overjoyed when it follows her back to her room.

It’s not the same, though. Her pet is more irritable then before, hungrier, and his songs are harsher and less melodious. Sometimes he tries to bite her, and Aradia wonders what has gotten into him.

One day she returns from her lessons to find her pet lying on her cot, staring at the door as if he had been waiting for her. She reaches out to pet him, but he snaps at her, baring sharp teeth and snarling.

“Hey! I’m just trying to say hi. What’s gotten into you lately?”

He paces back and forth in front of her, still growling. “Are you hungry? I don’t have any food right now, I’m sorry. I can bring you something back from the refectory after dinner—AAH!”

Her pet pounces at her, fangs bared, and Aradia is so shocked and terrified that she forgets that she is now a skilled magic user, and could neutralize this threat easily. Instead she is bowled over, screaming, frantically keeping her pet’s snapping, slavering jaws away from her face.

She is aware of sudden heavy footfalls, and then there is a flash and her former pet is thrown from her chest, slamming into the wall and falling in a heap on the floor, dead.

Aradia pants heavily, adrenaline coursing through her, and becoming aware that her hands have been chewed half to shreds, she immediately begins whispering a healing spell into them. The cuts and gashes begin to mend.

“Aradia?”

Aradia gasps and turns to face her savior. “Master! Forgive me, I—“

Voexhi holds his hand up, and she falls silent. “Hush child. You do not need to worry. I have known for some time that you were keeping a pet, against our rules, as you well know. But that is not important right now. What is important is that I witnessed you bury this poor creature several weeks ago.” He prods the stiffening carcass with the toe of his boot. “So what was it doing here, clearly alive, attempting to devour your face?”

Aradia swallows hard, and does not answer. They both know that Voexhi already knows the answer to his question. Aradia feels very small.

“You found the incantation for bringing the dead back to life.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You used it, the most powerful spell of our order, to bring back your dead pet.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Do you realize how serious this is?”

Aradia felt tears stinging her eyes. “Master,” she begins frantically, “I couldn’t just…it’s an Aries beast, Master, and he died in my care! That’s—“

“A bad omen, I am quite aware,” Voexhi finishes. “However, in your quest to do right by one ancient law, you ran afoul of another: Never bring the dead back to life.”

“W-what?” Aradia is confused. “But…why does the spell exist if we are not to do it?”

“Because even we, who know more of magic than any of the other circles, are curious and foolhardy, and must learn our lessons the hard way, as you have. No soul that has died belongs any longer in the world of the living. Even for those restless spirits that have not passed on, their time has passed. To bring them back is to inflict an unknowable pain upon them, to imprison them in a way incomprehensible. To do this to a soul at rest is even worse. And let us not forget the price you paid for your pet’s return.”

Aradia grimaces. “It was just a rat.”

“True, but a rat’s sacrifice would not permit the return of a fellow troll. Think about that.” Aradia does, and shivers.

“I’m sorry, Master,” she says, voice choked with sadness. “I…I disrespected death. I didn’t treat it with care. I ignored the central tenant of our order. Please forgive me.” She presses her head to the floor in a gesture of submission, expecting to be beaten, or worse, expelled from the abbey.

“You are forgiven,” Voexhi says quietly. When Aradia dares to look up, hope filling her eyes, he says, “You have learned your lesson, and you have lived to tell of it, which is more than I can say for most who attempt this spell. But never forget what you have learned today.

“Now,” he lifts a spare blanket from Aradia’s dresser and gently wraps the body of her pet in it. “I believe we owe this creature proper burial. Come with me.”

They bury him in the gardens, in a place of honor beneath the tallest tree on the abbey grounds. When Aradia has finished tamping down the dirt over his grave, she steps back and listens as Voexhi intones a blessing. When he is done, he says simply, “I will see you tomorrow morning for your lessons. Good day, Aradia,” and departs without a backward glance.

--

When Aradia is ten sweeps old, Master Voexhi summons her to his study in the Priest’s dormitory. As she enters, Aradia is struck by how old he seems, hunched over his desk, scratching away at parchment with a quill. She has never known exactly how old her master is, but she has never thought of him as being elderly; he was simply to vibrant and powerful to ever allow that.

But then he looks up and meets her eyes and begins to speak, and he seems as vital as ever, and Aradia wonders how she ever could’ve thought otherwise.

“So, we come at last to the day where I have but one more thing to teach you.” Voexhi looks her square in the face, and she is nearly as tall as he is now. Then a tiny smile crosses his face. “Normally this knowledge is something not lightly revealed, but I seem to recall you discovering it on your own, quite some time ago.” He turns and lifts from his desk a very old and worn spell book, the very same one Aradia had found in the library sweeps ago. “You now—formally—know the secret to bringing back the dead.”

Aradia took the book from him. “Thank you, Master.”

Voexhi smiled again, wider this time, and it held true pride. “I do not say this often, but it has been a pleasure instructing you.” Aradia’s heart swells. She sits and dutifully copies the spell she knows she will never use again onto the last pages of her spell book, and then shuts it. “Now, hurry along to the cathedral. The council is expecting you.”

--

When Aradia enters the cathedral, she no longer gawks at the sights on the walls; having seen them several times a week for the last six sweeps of her life. They are commonplace now.

The council she kneels before is different from the one she knelt before all those sweeps ago. Many of the faces have changed, and those that remain have grown older. Abbot Cenbro long ago passed on, and his successor, Abbot Litiun, stands tall and proud as he address her.

“Acolyte Megido. Nearly six sweeps ago you stepped through the doors of this hall a small and frightened child. Time has molded you into a confident and skilled practitioner of our art. With Master Voexhi’s blessing, you have officially learned all you can within these walls. The time has come for your final journey to begin, for your progress to continue elsewhere.

“Your task is simple: board a ship, and sail wherever your heart takes you, and do not return to this, your home, for a period of not less than two sweeps. Drink in the world beyond our walls, and learn all you can. Use your art to further troll civilization, and to serve our Empress. That is the task we, the Elder Council, set to you, Priestess Aradia Megido.”

Aradia’s heart leaps at the mention of her new title, and she stands, unable to contain her smile despite the customary solemnity of abbey rituals. “Thank you, Abbot. May the gods smile upon you.”

“And also on you,” the council replies.

Aradia turns and begins to leave, but Master Voexhi catches up to her as the council adjourns. “I’m afraid your ascension, while cause for great celebration, comes at a bit of an inopportune time. You can’t leave just yet.”

“Why not?” Aradia is concerned. “Has something happened?”

“Nothing bad,” Voexhi assures her. “But this morning the Abbot received word that an important guest will be visiting.”

“Who?” Aradia is puzzled. The Abbot is, for all intents and purposes, the most powerful troll in the circle. Who could be visiting them?

“Her Imperial Highness, Princess Feferi Peixes.”

Aradia’s eyes widen, and Voexhi smirks at the look on her face. “Yes, that was about the council’s reaction this morning. Her Highness wishes to build greater accord between our two circles, and so she has deigned to descend from on high, visit with us, and attend service within this very cathedral. There will of course be a banquet thrown as well.”

Aradia laughs. “Are you going to dance for us, Master?”

“Hardly.” Voexhi adopts an expression of purest distaste. “I leave such activities to the less enlightened.” But Aradia knows him too well to be fooled, and laughs even louder.

--

The next week is spent feverishly preparing for the Princess’s visit. The abbey is cleaned from top to bottom by acolyte and priest alike. Aradia finds herself returning each night to her hastily appointed room in the priest’s dormitory with aching joints and pruny fringers.

When the day arrives, the whole of the abbey turns out to greet the Princess and her retinue. The carriage that crests the hill is beautiful, with walls entirely of glass. Following are several smaller, less ornate carriages carrying the Princess’s entourage, and carts with various supplies.

As the carriage stops before the cathedral, Abbot Litiun steps forward to greet their guest. The carriage door opens, and Princess Feferi Peixes steps out onto the abbey grounds. She is not at all as Aradia imagined her. She stands perfectly straight, of course, and carries herself with impeccable regal bearing, but her round face is clearly hiding a wide smile, and her soul is just so full of life that Aradia is astounded. She had expected a dry sort of person obsessed with formality, beautiful but with no inner complexity, and had gotten something completely different.

“Your Highness,” the Abbot murmurs, and all those assembled bow low. “Welcome to our abbey.”

“It looks quite impressive, Abbot Litiun,” the princess replies, and Aradia is again taken aback at the spirited quality of her voice. “Will we be entering?”

“Indeed, Your Highness. Please, step this way. The abbot and the princess pass through the assembled priests and acolytes, who then turn and follow them into the cathedral.

The service is just as it always is, the liturgy the same one Aradia has heard for the past six sweeps. Somehow, however, with royalty in their presence, everything takes on a deeper meaning. The future of their society sits among them, and no one, not even an elder of the council, could be faulted for stealing a glance at the princess.

After the service the priests and acolytes follow the abbot and princess out to the gardens, where the princess’s staff had been busy preparing the banquet, setting up tables and chairs and cooking the food.

As they approach, they are met by Feferi’s butler, a tall, lanky Capricorn with the oddest smile Aradia has ever seen. He assures the princess that the food “is the most miraculous you will ever experience all up on your taste buds,” and then conducts her and the abbot to the seats of honor at the head table. The abbot says grace, and they all dig in.

The food is quite good, Aradia thinks, much more exotic than the relatively bland abbey food she has grown accustomed to over the sweeps. As she is tucking into her dessert, she feels a hand on her shoulder and turns to see Voexhi leaning in to whisper to her.

“I thought I would warn you, but Her Imperial Highness has requested a demonstration of our arts. The abbot and I agreed, only our finest pupils should show their skills to the princess, so as not to reflect poorly on the abbey.” Aradia smiles and nods, and Voexhi moves away.

When the plates have been cleared away, Abbot Litiun stands and address the princess. “Your Highness, I have been told that you desire to see the power of the Black Priesthood for yourself. Is this true?”

“Yes, Abbot,” Feferi replies. “I would be most honored.”

“Very well. Let our students come forward.”

Aradia goes and stands off to the side of the head table. She watches a number of acolytes come and go, performing simple spells like withering a flower and reviving it, putting another acolyte under a sleep spell, and, in one case, demonstrating the power of the black fire, a priest’s favorite combat spell. Finally, it is her turn.

“If it please, you, Your Highness, I present Priestess Aradia Megido, who ascended to full status in our order just a few days ago.” Aradia bows, and the princess inclines her head with a tiny but encouraging smile. Then Aradia turns and steps up to the tiny pot full of smoking potion that an acolyte has set out on the grass.

The newly minted priestess takes a few deep breaths to steady herself. This is the first time she has done magic for an audience, and she cannot ignore the fluttering in her stomach. But then she grips the dagger concealed in her robes and the nervousness is wiped away. She is a Black Priestess of the First Circle. Death bows before her, and the dead are her willing servants. She begins.

The incantation flows from her lips like water, every syllable perfect in rhythm, as if she has known it all her life. When she cuts her arm and allows her blood to fall into the pot, there is a satisfying gasp from the crowd, loudest of all from the princess herself. And when the smoke rises and takes on the forms of those passed, Aradia manipulates them like a master puppeteer. They fly and creep and crawl among the tables and their occupants, and Aradia delights in the handful of people she sends ducking for cover under their seats.

Finally, she speaks the finishing lines of the incantation, and banishes the shades from sight. The muted hiss of dissipating smoke is followed by a profound silence, followed my spirited clapping from behind her. Aradia turns to see Her Imperial Highness on her feet, bringing her hands together vigorously, face awash with amazement. The rest of those assembled, even the normally staid elders, follow suit. Aradia bows, and returns to her seat.

When the evening is over, Aradia dismisses herself to pack for her journey. It doesn’t take long; Aradia has owned only a handful of possessions in her time at the abbey, and her duffel bag is packed with her robes and spell book and scant magic supplies in just minutes. But she is in no hurry to leave, so Aradia sits for long minutes on her bare cot, thinking about all the time she has spent training for this moment. She is surprised to find herself distraught at the thought of leaving the abbey, much how, many sweeps before, she had found herself surprised to find that she did not miss her parents as much as she thought. The abbey has become her home, and has always felt right. No, Aradia is not ready to leave at all.

Silent tears are falling down her face when Aradia hears light, purposeful footsteps at her door, and hastily wipes her face. It would not do for anyone to see her in this state, especially after her flawless spell weaving. Then she sees who it is and falls into a deep bow.

“Your Highness! I’m sorry you had to see that. Please, forgive me.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry,” the princess replies, and the lightness of her voice makes Aradia look up. “I just wanted to say to you personally how much I enjoyed your demonstration. I…I was rather afraid actually, to be honest.”

Aradia smiles, the princess’s demeanor disarming. “Oh, you needn’t have been, Your Highness. It’s perfectly safe.”

The princess blushes slightly at Aradia’s words. “Please, don’t call me Your Highness. I get tired of being referred to so formally all the time. I’m just a troll like you! Call me Feferi!”

“But…that’s so improper!”

“Oh, glub what’s proper! People get all hung up on rituals and stuff, and if I want them to call me Feferi, then they should!”

“Alright,” Aradia laughs. This princess continues to not be what she seems. “But what about all your guards?”

“Oh, I’m sure they would give you dirty looks. But they can go glub off if they don’t like it.” Feferi’s smile fades and she suddenly looks slightly uncomfortable. “I actually had a question for you, Aradia.”

“What is it?”

“You were trained by Master Voexhi, correct?”

Aradia nods emphatically. “Yes. He was a great teacher.” She pauses a moment, and then adds, “He was—is—like a father to me.”

“I see. Well, Master Voexhi has told me that you are about begin your final test. You are to board a ship and not return to Aries for some sweeps, is that correct?”

“Yes, Feferi.”

“Well…” Feferi shuffles her feet a bit, in a rather un-princess like manner. “I was wondering if you might consider boarding my ship.”

Aradia is not sure she has heard correctly. “Your Highness?!”

“You seem like a remarkable young troll, Aradia. My flagship, the Coral Empress, is anchored at Alpha Ari spaceport as we speak. I would be honored if you served aboard it and taught me more about your culture.” Feferi smiles hopefully.

“I…you…” Aradia is rendered speechless for several moments. “O-of course, Your Hi—Feferi!”

“Great!” Feferi steps forward and envelops Aradia in a tight hug. Aradia can hardly respond, caught between a number a of different strange circumstances, not least among them being hugged by the heir to the throne herself. “That’s so glubbing cool!” Feferi releases her. “Okay, follow me downstairs and we can put you in a carriage for the ride back.”

Aradia walks in a daze; her world is changing so quickly. She has enough time out on the grounds to find Master Voexhi and say goodbye to him.

“So, you are to serve the princess herself. Not a bad way to spend two sweeps.” Voexhi suddenly takes on his usual disdainful expression. “Of course, you’ll have to deal with all manner of ether-going ruffians along the way, but I daresay you will manage.”

“Of course, Master.”

An awkward silence between them, and then they embrace, and Voexhi says, quietly, so only Aradia can hear, “Goodbye, Aradia. I am…proud of you.”

Aradia makes her way to a carriage near the rear of the line, passing the tall Capricorn butler directing the loading of leftover provisions onto carts. He is swaying, a bottle of something powerful smelling in his hand.

“Oof!” Aradia accidentally runs into someone, and turns to see a tall troll with short hair and a crisp military uniform. He looks at her with something less than welcome on his face.

“Watch it!” He pushes past her, his strides long and dismissing. “Thtupid backwater thealotth…”

Aradia glares after him before climbing into her transport. Across from her sits a demure troll about her age, also short haired, with a modest but tasteful and complimentary dress outlining her frame.

“Hello,” she says quietly. “Are you Aradia?”

“Yes,” Aradia answers, but before she can get any further the princess bounds up to the carriage door.

“There you are Aradia! I was just making sure you found a seat! Kanaya, you take good of her, okay? Maybe you could make her a dress or something when we get back to the ship!”

Kanaya nods. “Of course, Mistress.”

“Okay, I’ll see you two soon!” Feferi shuts the door and disappears.

“The princess is very good to us. I think you’ll enjoy serving her.” Kanaya looks appraisingly at Aradia’s attire. “And she is right, you could use some new clothes. Those robes are hardly flattering.”

“Hey!” Aradia exclaims, mildly offended. “These robes are traditional for our order, going back hundreds of generations!”

“Nevertheless, I could definitely see you in a nice blouse and skirt combo,” Kanaya forges ahead, her eyes all business. “I’ll have to take some measurements when we return to the Coral Empress.”

Aradia just sighs and shakes her head. She turns to look out the window, and is somewhat surprised to see that they have already gotten underway. The abbey shrinks on the hilltop behind them, and Aradia looks forward, her thoughts turning to the many possibilities that await in her future.

A/N:

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If you read all that, I could kiss you. I think I'm going to do fics in a similar vein for other trolls in this universe, maybe not all of them, but a few. So if you liked this one, more to come!

Oh hey, how about some more of that still-untitled Aradia/Kanaya Daddy!Droog fic?

That was some real good Daddy!Droog fic you put up there. I enjoyed it. Your Kanaya is so good it hurts.

[Decker]

Oh hey, how about some more of that still-untitled Aradia/Kanaya Daddy!Droog fic? I still have no idea where this is going but I think it's growing a plot on me.

Also I know pretty much exactly zero about sewing and fashion and tailors and all that stuff, so if I've said anything really stupid, please feel free to point it out to me.

Part One

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"So what's your friend's name?" you eventually ask your daughter. You've been trying to find a natural way to work the question in for three solid days, but it hasn't worked, mostly because neither of you are exactly chatty. You feel pretty out of your depth on this one, and you don't like the feeling at all. You need to do something, or you'll go crazy, but you need a little more to go on, and stealth hasn't worked out for you so far.

Abrupt or not, the question doesn't phase Aradia. "Kanaya," she says. "Kanaya Maryam." And goddammit, her eyes get a little of that spark again just from saying the name. This is serious. "Why do you ask, Daddy?"

You grunt and shrug. "Just wondering," you say, and she doesn't press the issue.

In the early afternoon the next day, while Aradia's still asleep, you get in your car and make your way back to the house you tailed your daughter to a few nights prior. You aren't entirely sure what you intend to do when you get there. Break her kneecaps, maybe, but unless things go really badly here that's probably not going to help matters.

You ring the doorbell and wait. After a minute, the door opens to reveal the same troll woman you saw with Aradia at the theater. Now that you can get a better look, you realize she's quite pretty; she has fine features, carefully enhanced with understated but effective make-up, and even at this point in the day, in her own home, her clothes are stylish and sharp. She's not exactly your type -- which is probably for the best, as that could get awkward quickly -- but your little girl's got taste. You feel a strange surge of pride.

"Can I help you?" the woman asks, her words carefully enunciated and even.

"Miss Maryam?" you ask.

"Yes, that would be me," she starts, and you're already maneuvering past her into the house. It's a nice place, mostly neat, though the odd scrap of fabric lies on the floor or hangs from one of the numerous houseplants. You can just glimpse a mannequin through an open doorway, and you head in that direction.

Miss Maryam follows you. "Can I help you?" she repeats, this time with an undercurrent of irritation. You ignore her, instead peering closely at the suits and dresses in various states of finish that litter the room, some on mannequins, some on tables, one particular pair of pants lying half-sewn still in the machine. The work is really quite incredible. An idea begins to form in your mind.

Finally, you glance back at her. Maryam is standing in the doorway frowning, body language wary, defensive. There's a tube of lipstick in her right hand, caught in a tight grip at her hip. Weird.

"I need a suit," you say. It's not, in fact, a lie, and you like what you can see of her work. "My usual tailor… well, he's probably not going to be available any more." Depending on how quickly the cement set, anyway. Annoying as hell; you liked that tailor. "Anyway, I've heard your name around and thought I'd give you a shot."

"I see," she responds, still obviously skeptical, but she does relax a little. "I don't have time for you now, but…" She hesitates, obviously warring with herself. Finally she sighs. "We could set up an appointment."

You smirk. Victory once again. "That's fine by me," you tell her.

She's eyeing you critically now. Well, she was eyeing you critically before, but this time you can see her appraising your clothing, your build, seeing the lines of a suit that has yet to come into being. "We'll need to take your measurements, talk about the design and the material, all the specifics. It will take some time."

"I have my measurements," you tell her.

She's looking at the suit you're wearing skeptically, and you feel like you ought to be offended. "I don't trust any measurement I haven't taken myself. Are you free Thursday?"

You set up an appointment and leave the house in good spirits, pleased that the plan you don't actually have is progressing so well. You've got a golden opportunity to see if this girl is even halfway worthy of your daughter, if you play your cards right -- and you always do.

Slick calls later that evening, sounding irritated. Which is pretty much his default state, so you're not exactly concerned. "Droog," he says, "you know that shipment we've got coming in in a couple of weeks?"

You can tell by the way he says it that this can't lead to anything good. "You mean the biggest shipment we've ever taken in?" you ask slowly, voice low. "The shipment I pretty much single-handedly arranged? The shipment that took six months to pin down? Yeah, I think I remember that."

"Don't get fucking cute with me, Droog," Slick snarls into the phone. "We've got a problem."

"Of course we do."

"I said don't get fucking-- fuck it, never mind. Look, word's coming from every corner that the Felt are gonna make a move on us, and with all that time bullshit they always pull it ain't gonna be pretty. We're gonna need to be seriously prepared."

Just what you need. For once Slick has a good reason for being pissed. "We meeting up, then?" you ask.

"Tomorrow night, and everybody better be there. And--" he stops with a grunt. You wait patiently, and finally he says, "And I think we should bring the kid in on this one."

You glance over at your daughter, playing solitaire at the table in the other room. She lays an ace in the upper right-hand corner. "I'll think about it."

"Damn it, Droog," Slick says. "If we're ever gonna make her a member of the Midnight Crew, she has to start helping out sometime. That's what you want, isn't it? That's why she's still hanging around, right?" You don't answer. After a moment he continues anyway, "And look, she could be a real help here with the Felt. If she could pull off that crazy time warp shit again--"

"I said I'll think about it," you cut him off sharply. "See you tomorrow, Slick." You hang up.

You wander into the other room and sit at the table, just looking at your daughter. She calmly finishes her game -- a loser, but that's the way the game's rigged -- before turning to you. "Is something wrong, Daddy?"

A dry chuckle rumbles out of you. "Nah, kid, don't worry about it," you tell her. "What do you say we order in and make a night of it?" She nods her assent, and you dig out the phone book, wondering why problems always seem to hit you all at once.

This thing. I want to see more of it.

[Kerensky287]

Page 76 cont'd

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Alternate Alternate Earth by UrbanGrifter
=-SOOOO LOOOONG
+This is really entertaining though
-"Dave Strider stood on the lip of his apartment building's rooftop, elbow resting on a bent knee, and watched the sun rise over the New York skyline. His hands were casually tucked into his red jacket pockets, his posture, relaxed." Elbow on a bent knee, but hands in his pockets? You try it, see if it works
=+"Get that thing out of your mouth! It's bad enough trolls are kidnapping us, we don't need your cancer!" We don't need your cancer. Best line.
+You write some pretty great action scenes, actually.
*Mooooore plz

Page 77

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Striderfic re: toothpaste by Sionnan
+Good Bro, best... uh, Bro.
+Realism ho! Poor underage guardian.
=-Why the fuck can't Bro get a job? Dude can FLASH STEP. There's gotta be some demand for fucking teleportation somewhere in the world. Hell, he'd be the best pizza delivery boy in existence.

Ashes and Glass by lucidSeraph
+red!Jade!! You've now got my 2 favourite altkids. Heck, you've got an interesting blue!Rose and green!John too, don't you? I think you've got the royal flush there.
=-You made me make a pun.
=-You've now added an altkid fic (these particular ones) to the ever-growing list of shit I want to write.
+I need to know more about this altkid series. Desperately.

More (part 6) of that mystery fic by Doodled
+WHAT A TWEEST!
?-Terezi lifted the knife to Nepeta's neck... then Nepeta realized it wasn't a knife... then Terezi pulled a knife OUT OF THE CANE. I'm confused.
-There are a few too many changes of tone in this scene, especially right near the start. Did you just write the ending in the previous chapter then change your mind about what was going to happen?
*I hope you aren't one of those people who does terrible things to characters they love.

An hour's up. I got less done because I've suddenly become very ill. A supercold or something is spreading around at work and I kind of got hit by it all at once while writing this stuff... the good news is that if I have to stay home from work, I'll write more, so hurray for productivity.

[lantadyme]

@Miss Prince: I am loving this story so far. Diamonds is so smooth.

[Metaflare]

Oh hey, how about some more of that still-untitled Aradia/Kanaya Daddy!Droog fic? I still have no idea where this is going but I think it's growing a plot on me.

Also I know pretty much exactly zero about sewing and fashion and tailors and all that stuff, so if I've said anything really stupid, please feel free to point it out to me.

Part One

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hide spoiler

"So what's your friend's name?" you eventually ask your daughter. You've been trying to find a natural way to work the question in for three solid days, but it hasn't worked, mostly because neither of you are exactly chatty. You feel pretty out of your depth on this one, and you don't like the feeling at all. You need to do something, or you'll go crazy, but you need a little more to go on, and stealth hasn't worked out for you so far.

Abrupt or not, the question doesn't phase Aradia. "Kanaya," she says. "Kanaya Maryam." And goddammit, her eyes get a little of that spark again just from saying the name. This is serious. "Why do you ask, Daddy?"

You grunt and shrug. "Just wondering," you say, and she doesn't press the issue.

In the early afternoon the next day, while Aradia's still asleep, you get in your car and make your way back to the house you tailed your daughter to a few nights prior. You aren't entirely sure what you intend to do when you get there. Break her kneecaps, maybe, but unless things go really badly here that's probably not going to help matters.

You ring the doorbell and wait. After a minute, the door opens to reveal the same troll woman you saw with Aradia at the theater. Now that you can get a better look, you realize she's quite pretty; she has fine features, carefully enhanced with understated but effective make-up, and even at this point in the day, in her own home, her clothes are stylish and sharp. She's not exactly your type -- which is probably for the best, as that could get awkward quickly -- but your little girl's got taste. You feel a strange surge of pride.

"Can I help you?" the woman asks, her words carefully enunciated and even.

"Miss Maryam?" you ask.

"Yes, that would be me," she starts, and you're already maneuvering past her into the house. It's a nice place, mostly neat, though the odd scrap of fabric lies on the floor or hangs from one of the numerous houseplants. You can just glimpse a mannequin through an open doorway, and you head in that direction.

Miss Maryam follows you. "Can I help you?" she repeats, this time with an undercurrent of irritation. You ignore her, instead peering closely at the suits and dresses in various states of finish that litter the room, some on mannequins, some on tables, one particular pair of pants lying half-sewn still in the machine. The work is really quite incredible. An idea begins to form in your mind.

Finally, you glance back at her. Maryam is standing in the doorway frowning, body language wary, defensive. There's a tube of lipstick in her right hand, caught in a tight grip at her hip. Weird.

"I need a suit," you say. It's not, in fact, a lie, and you like what you can see of her work. "My usual tailor… well, he's probably not going to be available any more." Depending on how quickly the cement set, anyway. Annoying as hell; you liked that tailor. "Anyway, I've heard your name around and thought I'd give you a shot."

"I see," she responds, still obviously skeptical, but she does relax a little. "I don't have time for you now, but…" She hesitates, obviously warring with herself. Finally she sighs. "We could set up an appointment."

You smirk. Victory once again. "That's fine by me," you tell her.

She's eyeing you critically now. Well, she was eyeing you critically before, but this time you can see her appraising your clothing, your build, seeing the lines of a suit that has yet to come into being. "We'll need to take your measurements, talk about the design and the material, all the specifics. It will take some time."

"I have my measurements," you tell her.

She's looking at the suit you're wearing skeptically, and you feel like you ought to be offended. "I don't trust any measurement I haven't taken myself. Are you free Thursday?"

You set up an appointment and leave the house in good spirits, pleased that the plan you don't actually have is progressing so well. You've got a golden opportunity to see if this girl is even halfway worthy of your daughter, if you play your cards right -- and you always do.

Slick calls later that evening, sounding irritated. Which is pretty much his default state, so you're not exactly concerned. "Droog," he says, "you know that shipment we've got coming in in a couple of weeks?"

You can tell by the way he says it that this can't lead to anything good. "You mean the biggest shipment we've ever taken in?" you ask slowly, voice low. "The shipment I pretty much single-handedly arranged? The shipment that took six months to pin down? Yeah, I think I remember that."

"Don't get fucking cute with me, Droog," Slick snarls into the phone. "We've got a problem."

"Of course we do."

"I said don't get fucking-- fuck it, never mind. Look, word's coming from every corner that the Felt are gonna make a move on us, and with all that time bullshit they always pull it ain't gonna be pretty. We're gonna need to be seriously prepared."

Just what you need. For once Slick has a good reason for being pissed. "We meeting up, then?" you ask.

"Tomorrow night, and everybody better be there. And--" he stops with a grunt. You wait patiently, and finally he says, "And I think we should bring the kid in on this one."

You glance over at your daughter, playing solitaire at the table in the other room. She lays an ace in the upper right-hand corner. "I'll think about it."

"Damn it, Droog," Slick says. "If we're ever gonna make her a member of the Midnight Crew, she has to start helping out sometime. That's what you want, isn't it? That's why she's still hanging around, right?" You don't answer. After a moment he continues anyway, "And look, she could be a real help here with the Felt. If she could pull off that crazy time warp shit again--"

"I said I'll think about it," you cut him off sharply. "See you tomorrow, Slick." You hang up.

You wander into the other room and sit at the table, just looking at your daughter. She calmly finishes her game -- a loser, but that's the way the game's rigged -- before turning to you. "Is something wrong, Daddy?"

A dry chuckle rumbles out of you. "Nah, kid, don't worry about it," you tell her. "What do you say we order in and make a night of it?" She nods her assent, and you dig out the phone book, wondering why problems always seem to hit you all at once.

oh my god keep making these 3333333333333

[quantumCopycat]

Because FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I cannot ever seem to finish a long chaptered fic EVEN WHEN I HAVE ALREADY PLOTTED IT OUT TO THE END, you fine folks get a oneshot. It's set in the same Space Pirates AU I was last working with, that I never really got around to actually developing it, so if anything requires explanation, feel free to ask.

Um, fair warning: this is LONG. It grew legs and got away from me around 5000 words or so...

Aradia Megido - Into the Dark

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It begins when Aradia is very young, only a few sweeps old. They come to her in dreams, at first infrequently, then more and more, until she sees them most every night. Trolls she has never met, young and old, most of them Aries, but a few hailing from the other circles. Once she even saw an Empress.

They whisper to her, questions and statements and commands, and although they scare her at first she soon grows used to it, and life returns to normal. For a given value of normal, anyway. An Aries value of normal.

Aradia wakes early every morning and dresses, splashes cold water on her face, and begins her daily chores. Her family is, while not poor, certainly not wealthy, and they have little money to spare from the sale of her mother’s potions that does not go towards necessities. So every morning, Aradia checks the fire spell in the furnace, makes sure it has enough power to last through the day, and heads off into the fields to pick herbs and bulbs and other potion-making ingredients.

When she returns, her father is there, making breakfast over the fire, and her mother takes the basketful of ingredients and begins separating them out with Aradia’s help. When they are all sorted she hands Aradia a mortar and pestle, and mother and daughter spend the morning grinding and cutting and packaging.

Sometimes Aradia’s mother lets her watch as she prepares the potions, liquids for curing illness or keeping away pests or bringing good luck to the household. They are simple spells, but Aradia is mesmerized by their casting, the way her mother carefully combines the ingredients in her special pot, the power and purpose behind every movement she makes in their preparation. Aradia takes careful notice of everything; she has shown ability with magic, and knows that eventually it will be her job to do her mother’s work, and support the family.

When she isn’t helping her mother and father with the business of making their way in the world, Aradia likes to sit on the ridge south of their cottage, one of her well-worn storybooks in her hands, and read. Occasionally she pauses and looks out over the valley, to the town her father visits every morning to sell their potions and buy their food. It’s a quiet, simple life she leads, but Aradia is happy, and her parents love her, and she gives thanks to the gods every night before bed for their blessings.

Yes, everything is as perfect as she could hope for…until her dreams begin to invade the waking world.

It starts slowly, as the dreams themselves did. At first it’s just whispers on the wind, like someone calling out to her from far away, such that Aradia can’t be sure she actually heard anything. But they grow louder quickly, and with them come glimpses of figures, half-seen shadows in the corners of her eyes. They live in the edge of the flickering light from the candle in her room, and Aradia stays awake at night to watch them. A hand, horns, a tiny smile…Aradia looks at them unblinking, and tells them she is not afraid.

She isn’t, either. Aradia has never been afraid of the dark, or the things that lurk in it. She’s watched her mother set wards on the house to keep evil spirits and curses away, and from the time she was little her culture has taught her that darkness is a thing to be harnessed and used, not feared. The priest at the little church where Aradia and her parents attend service every tenth day has said as much: The dark is a tool, and those who dwell in it are your servants, if only you ask them.

But soon the dead are not content to merely whisper to Aradia, and it is then that Aradia’s life begins to get harder. They poke and prod her at night, keeping her awake, and their voices grow louder, badgering her endlessly with their problems, their grievances, their petty spite. Aradia learns quickly that the dead are never happy and rarely are they not driven by some perceived slight that, to them, resulted in their death. They ask her, demand her, to fix it, so that they may move on, even though Aradia has no power to do so. To them, the very fact that she can see and hear them makes her their savior.

Aradia begins to look forward to church more and more as she gets older. The dead seem reluctant to bother her within the confines of those stone walls. They’re still there, of course, a constant entourage of gray, smoky figures, but many of them seem as interested in the service as the congregation, and they don’t look at Aradia as much.

Until one day.

Aradia is kneeling between her parents, praying the communal prayer with the rest of those assembled.

“We commit our spirits to service. Our hearts are yours to mold and make. Let the dark not frighten us, the night not make us cower. Great gods above, we thank you for all that you have blessed us with, and ask for wisdom and strength to confront our demons.”

Aradia is startled when a cold, familiar shiver runs down her back, accompanied by a hard tap on the shoulder. She turns, just slightly, to look up and back. A Taurus stands there, one of his horns broken, a blank look on his face. He opens his mouth and an eerie voice reaches her ears.

“Mistress…help me…my wife, my son…taken by bandits…they killed them…all of them…”

“Hush now!” Aradia whispers, forcefully. “I cannot help you. Go away!” She has learned that if she is strong, she can usually make them listen to her, and leave her alone, if only for a short time. She feels a void in her stomach as she realizes this is the first time any ghost has approached her in the church.

The Taurus is persistent. “Mistress…you must help me…only one…please help…”

“No! Begone!” Aradia whispers again, and this time her father hears her and looks down, a mix of surprise and disapproval on his face. His daughter has always been respectful of their religious rituals.

“Aradia?”

Aradia feels her face redden. Stupid, horrible ghost! “I’m so sorry, Father, I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just…thinking out loud.”

Her father nods. “Very well, but please pay attention.”

“Yes, Father.”

They rise from their kneeling position and return to their seats in the pews. Aradia is dismayed to see that the Taurus is following her, and takes up a position directly behind her, standing in the lap of the elderly troll in the row behind, so close his gray essence makes her shiver. He continues his endless stream of pleas, and Aradia does her best to block him out.

The priest at the front lowers his cowl and begins the liturgy, spoken in the ancient magical language. It’s incomprehensible to all but the clergy and those trained in magic, like Aradia’s mother, but even then, she only knows those words pertaining to the spells she uses in her work, so most of the recitation is lost. Aradia has always found a solace and comfort in the strange lilting words, and now she allows herself to become lost in them, in an attempt to ignore her dead solicitor.

The Taurus’s unearthly voice clashes with the priest’s, however, and this becomes impossible. As Aradia sits there, other ghosts suddenly turn from their vigil and make their way over to her, asking for other things. Aradia’s breath comes heavily and she feels a spike of fear in her abdomen. This has never happened before, and it’s come with no warning. She puts her hands over her ears and begins to murmur, “Go away, go away, go away,” over and over, but their voices aren’t just sounds, they’re in her mind, and Aradia feels panic take hold of her heart.

Her parents notice her distress and try to help her, quietly, so as not to disturb anyone, but she shakes them off, not wishing to be touched.

The voices of the dead grow louder, and Aradia’s endless mantra grows in volume with them. Trolls sitting in the congregation begin to take notice.

Louder…

“Please miss, just…” “All I’m asking…” “Listen to me!” “Help, mistress…”

Louder…

“Go away, go away, go away…”

Louder…

“Miss, you must help me…” “Stinking, no good…” “I can’t take it…”

LOUDER…

“GO AWAY!”

Aradia feels something reach up from the deepest part of her and scream out her mouth, wrapped around her words. The ghosts shriek and float away, cowering at the corners of the room, and Aradia suddenly knows with absolute certainty that, just for a moment, everyone in the room could see them, just as she could.

The priest has ceased his intoning, and now walks quickly down the aisle to her. His black robes flap about him, and Aradia feels a chill at what might be coming. He leans down and looks her in the eye.

“Miss Megido?”

“Yes, Father?”

“I think you had better come with me.”

--

Father Herzad takes her into a back room. Her parents accompany her, but the priest makes them wait outside.

“Miss Megido,” Herzad begins, “can you tell me what happened out there?”

“Um…they…they were bothering me.”

“Who were?”

“The ghosts.”

Herzad does not look nearly as surprised as Aradia expects him to; instead he merely looks pleasantly satisfied, as if something he had been hoping for had come true.

“You can see them? The dead?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Do they come to you often?”

Aradia swallows. “Yes, Father. All…all the time, now. But,” she continues, forestalling another question, “this is the first time they’ve bothered me in church.”

“I see.” Herzad pauses for a long moment. “Tell me, Miss Megido…are there any ghosts in this room now?” Aradia hesitates, then nods. “Where?”

“There, Father.” She points, behind and to the left of the priest, where the Taurus has been silently watching them. The priest turns to the ghost with a look on his face like a family of rats has invaded his kitchen. Then he waves his hand and barks a phrase in the ancient language. The Taurus lets out a cry and vanishes.

“There,” Herzad says. “Gone. Miss Megido, I am afraid I do not share your talent. I cannot see or hear the dead, and for this I thank the gods I devoted my life to serving. However, you can, and this is a very serious matter. I shall be informing my superiors of this incident, and you may rest assured that someone more knowledgeable than I will come to discuss it with you. For now,” he lifts a sheet of parchment and writes something on it, “have your mother cast this enchantment over your room. It will keep the dead out temporarily.”

Aradia takes the sheet, but Herzad is not finished. “Miss Megido, I have known for some time that you are gifted in magic in some way. May I ask why you never shared this burden with anyone? Surely you could’ve told your parents?”

“I…I guess,” Aradia whispers. “I was just…worried. I’ve never heard of anyone being able to see or hear the dead before.”

“Hmm,” Herzad murmurs. “Well, I suppose that soon it shall become commonplace to you. Now, run along.”

--

A few days pass, during which time Aradia must endure the ghosts rapping at her windows and the shingles on the roof above instead of listening to them cry at her directly. Eventually, Herzad comes to call on them. With him is a tall, harsh looking troll that Herzad introduces as Master Rotrar Voexhi, one of the most powerful Black Priests in the circle.

Voexhi makes Aradia tell every word of every experience she has ever had with death, from the dreams when she was little to the debacle in church three days prior. When she is finished he grills her with questions about what the ghosts feel like, how they sound, and the power that Aradia briefly felt as she told them to go away. Several times Aradia’s parents try to intervene, seeing how distressed Aradia is becoming, but each time Voexhi silences them with a glare.

When he is all finished, Voexhi whispers to Herzad, who delivers the words that will change Aradia’s life.

“She is to become a Black Priestess.”

Aradia doesn’t even know what this means, but the effect becomes clear soon enough: She is leaving, immediately, to begin her training, and will take nothing with her but the clothes on her back. She is allowed a brief farewell with her mother and father, and then she is gone, sitting in a carriage with no one but Master Voexhi for company. Aradia can’t help it. She begins to cry.

“Stop that at once!” Voexhi snaps, and Aradia gasps. “You do yourself a dishonor with such a display. You have been born with talent that most can merely dream of. Soon you will have a chance to hone that into skill. That is nothing to shed tears over.”

“B-but…my parents…”

“Are simple country folk, unprepared to bring you up in the manner you should be. At the monastery you will be trained properly.”

Aradia sniffled. “You’re mean,” she whispered.

“What’s that, girl?”

“You’re mean! You’re mean and I hate you for taking me away!” Aradia glares at him, but Voexhi merely smiles.

“Oh, I suspect you’ll do a lot more than that before your training is complete.”

--

The monastery is a collection of cold, dark buildings far afield of any towns or villages. Aradia’s village was not large by any means, and she is used to the quiet of the fields and forests, but even she fells mildly oppressed by this isolation.

As the carriage climbs the hill towards their destination, Voexhi says, “You are lucky you were born on Alpha Ari, Aradia. Many who are called to the Black Priesthood must travel for weeks by solar ship to get here. Have you ever seen a solar ship, child?”

“No.” Aradia’s voice is flat. The journey—and the company—have left her feeling empty.

“Frightful things, they are. Trolls board them for distant stars and trust in the fragile knowledge of science to keep them safe. Some trolls believe we have no need of gods or magic any longer.”

“What?” Aradia exclaims. Despite her desire to say as little as possible to Voexhi, his statement shocks her. She has always been faithful to the gods, and can’t imagine turning her back on them.

“Yes, it’s true. They say the universe can be described with numbers and charts, that the gods are a myth, and magic the illusory entertainment of the nobility. Fools.”

Aradia doesn’t respond, but she secretly agrees. Anyone who could dismiss magic and faith so easily must be terribly misguided.

The carriage comes to a halt within the abbey gates, before a pair of large doors. The doors are opened by a pair of black robed trolls, and Aradia notices that neither is much older than she is. She follows Voexhi inside.

The building is revealed to be a grand cathedral, larger and more ornate than anything Aradia has ever seen or heard of. Along the walls are alcoves, each holding an enormous statue of one of the twelve major gods. Smaller statuettes of the numerous minor gods decorate the spaces between. Huge metal chandeliers, each holding dozens of candles, hang from the ceiling, and at the head of the room hangs an enormous metal Aries sign, finely wrought from black iron. The far wall is mostly stained glass, depicting scenes from the holy texts with such grace and detail that Aradia half expects them to leap out and come to life.

Aradia’s head turns this way and that, trying to take everything in, until a sharp rap on her head brings her back to earth.

“Stop gawking,” Voexhi admonishes. “This is your home now. There will be many opportunities for you to see the cathedral in the years to come. Now keep up. The council is waiting.” Aradia, still smarting from where Voexhi’s staff hit her, steps lively after him.

Beneath the stained glass windows, a number of stools have been set in an arc around a high-backed throne, carved from black stone. Sitting on the throne is the oldest troll Aradia has ever seen. She can tell that he was once tall and strong, but now his back is hunched and his hands curl, claw-like, one around the armrest of his throne, one around the ornate staff he carries, and his face is lined and withered. His horns are magnificent, spiraling three times around, but they are like a beautiful sculpture left to decay in the dark: their orange sheen is dull and brittle, and the tips are broken. Arrayed around this troll are eleven other trolls, all varying ages, though none as old as the one in the middle, and all wearing black robes.

Voexhi kneels before those assembled. Aradia figures it’s best if she does the same.

“May the gods smile upon you,” Voexhi intones.

“And also on you,” the trolls reply.

“Honored council members, I have returned with the girl we were informed of. She is indeed as powerful as we were lead to believe.”

“Rise, Master Voexhi,” the troll in the center says, and his voice is like old parchment. “Take your place among the council.”

“Yes, Abbot,” Voexhi says, and he takes a seat on a stool to the far left, not sparing Aradia another glance.

“Child,” the abbot says, and Aradia is startled. His voice is ancient, yes, but so powerful. She can feel the magic flowing through it, over her as he speaks. “What is your name?”

“A-Aradia Megido.”

“You will address me as Abbot Cenbro, or simply Abbot, is that clear?”

“Y-yes, Abbot.”

Cenbro gives a slow, placid smile. “You need not fear me, child. We, all of us, believe you to be very special. Soon you will understand why.”

Aradia nods. “Yes, Abbot. I do have a question, though.”

“What is it, child?”

“Why are there no ghosts here?” Aradia had seen none, not only within the cathedral, but also on the abbey grounds, what brief glimpse she’d gotten of them.

At this, Cenbro’s smile gains a little more life. “The dead do not walk here unless we will it. They are our servants. That is our power.” He gestures at her with his staff. “That is your power, Aradia.”

Aradia feels something deep within her, and she knows the abbot speaks the truth.

--

After being introduced to the council, Aradia is lead away by Master Voexhi. He clothes are taken, and in return she receives several sets of plain black robes. She is shown her room in the acolyte’s dormitory. It is simple, even more so than her room back home, nothing but a plain dresser and a cot; a far cry from the cathedral’s opulence.

Her fellow acolytes are all Aries, of course, and save for one, all from other planets in the circle. The only other troll from Alpha Ari was born on the other side of the world from Aradia, so she is surrounded by complete strangers.

Her lessons are held in one of several schoolrooms across the abbey. She is given a large book, bound and completely blank, and told that everything she ever learns will be written into it; a complete compendium of her magical knowledge. To her unending displeasure, Master Voexhi requested that Aradia be in his learning group, so all of her lessons are given by him, and he is at least as stern a taskmaster as he appears, if not more so. He is quick with his staff if someone carelessly spouts a wrong answer, and he demands perfection from his students.

Aradia learns her first spell just days after arriving, and is surprised to discover that it’s a healing spell. When she ventures her confusion to Voexhi, he looks at her disdainfully and says, “Foolish girl. To understand death one must understand life. They are two sides of the same coin. Remember this.”

Months and then sweeps pass in a whirl, and one day when Aradia is practicing imbuing a beaded necklace with a charm to cause chronic illness, she realizes that she is competently performing magic far more advanced than anything her mother ever did. Aradia misses her parents, but not nearly as much as she thought she would. She is simply too busy to give it much thought. Her spell book fills rapidly, and yet there is always more blank space to put ink to.

One day Voexhi takes Aradia and a handful of other acolytes to one of the empty storehouses. They kneel on the cold stone floor, and Voexhi produces from within his robes a small pot, a bottle of potion, and a long, cruel looking dagger.

“Today, you will begin to learn that magic which is at the heart of what we do: how to summon the dead.”

There is a tiny ripple of excitement in the room, but Aradia does not join in. Several sweeps of training under Voexhi have taught her the best way to deal with him: sit straight, pay attention, and get things right the first time.

“There are many forms of this magic,” Voexhi continues. “You can summon shades, call a particular soul to you, if you wish to have a nice chat, call on the spirits en masse, animate a dead body, and of course, you can reunite a body with its soul, and thus bring them back to life.” More murmurs at these statements.

“But we will start with the simplest, the shades. Megido, why don’t you try first?”

Aradia rises and goes to stand next to her master. “Now, when you summon shades, you are not truly bringing the dead to walk among the living. Rather, you are throwing back the curtain, giving us a glimpse of them in their realm. With that in mind, what will the dead need?”

Aradia thinks a moment, and then says, “A way to manifest.”

“Precisely. That is where this comes in handy.” Voexhi kneels and places the pot on the floor, emptying the potion into it. Thick smoke begins to rise, accompanied by a cold blue light. “The smoke will cling to the dead and give them form in this world, and also allow those without our sight to see them. That is why this is frequently used as a demonstration for the unenlightened, as it looks quite impressive and is entirely devoid of true power.” He hands Aradia the dagger.

“What’s this?”

Voexhi wrinkles his nose. “I’ll assume you were inquiring as to the dagger’s purpose, as opposed to the blindingly obvious. Tell me, Megido, what do the dead desire more than anything?”

“To be alive again,” Aradia answers, confident.

“Correct. But there is something else you should know about the dead, and that is that they, like many among the living, do nothing for free.” Aradia ponders his meaning for a moment, and when she realizes what he means she tenses. “I see you understand. Good. Now then, the incantation is this…” He speaks a long phrase in the ancient tongue, several times, and Aradia commits it to memory. “Now try it.”

Aradia took a deep breath, steeling herself, and begins to intone the magic words. At the appropriate moment she sets the blade against her forearm and draws it across sharply, her deep red blood welling up out of the gash. It hurts, and Aradia’s voice shrinks, but she continues the incantation, allowing her blood to fall into the pot of potion.

The smoke begins to billow out, thicker and thicker, flowing up her robes and over her hands. It feels cold and ethereal, like the ghosts do when they touched her, and Aradia gasps. The smoke flows away from her hands, forming into figures that floated and crawled around the room.

“Concentrate, girl! You called them, now you must direct them!”

Trying to think through the distractions of her master and the pain in her arm is difficult, but Aradia gives it her best shot. In the end, though, it is not enough, and she feels the magic slip away from her. The shades vanish, the smoke dissolving.

“And there you see what happens when you do not concentrate.” Voexhi’s voice is without inflection. “Without a proper conduit, the shades cannot manifest, and disappear. You may sit, Megido; that was not terrible.” Aradia turns away, and then remembers she’s still holding the dagger, she holds it out to Voexhi, but he says, “Keep it. It is yours now.” Aradia contemplates the blade, stained dark red, as she heals her arm.

--

Aradia’s training is not limited to the arts of the first circle; her master teaches her magic from all corners of the Great Commune. She learns Scorpio mind control techniques, Taurean plant singing spells, and Gemini telekinesis and energy manipulation.

While Aradia is practicing moving small objects from one table to another without touching them, her master laughs darkly. “What is it, Master?”

“I was thinking of the Gemini who prattle on about the superiority of their science and technology, and yet never realize that their whole culture is based on magic, just as ours is. They would have you believe that it is a product of their advanced minds, and that only they can properly do it.” Voexhi’s lip curls.

Aradia has heard this speech many times from her master, and now is inclined to think that if she were ever to meet a Gemini, her first instinct would be either to punch them in the jaw, or hit them with a nice withering spell. Perhaps both.

--

When Aradia is seven sweeps old, she finds an injured Aries beast during meditation hours. Her usual meditation spot is in the fields surrounding the abbey, and it is there she finds the animal. Aries beasts are sacred, and Aradia is loath to leave it with a broken leg where it cannot get food. So she smuggles it back to her room in the dormitory and hides it in her dresser, thanking the gods that it’s a young one. For the next few weeks she brings it food from mealtimes and nurses it back to health, and gradually she grows to love the little creature. At night it sings in a warbling voice, and Aradia often stays up to hear its songs.

When winter sets in, however, her pet (for that is how she’s come to think of it), grows ill, and nothing Aradia does seems to help at all. She tries every healing spell she knows, but it does nothing, and eventually, the creature dies. Aradia wraps him in a blanket and lays him to rest in a hole she digs at the edge of the abbey grounds.

Shortly thereafter, Aradia learns how to summon shades from Master Voexhi, and it is then that she hears that it is possible to truly someone, or something back to life. So during her free hours she pores through the library, eventually finding the incantation for bringing something back from the grave. It is long and complex, and requires that someone or something make the ultimate sacrifice: a life for a life is the price of resurrection. Aradia catches a rat in one of the storehouses, and brings her pet’s body to the makeshift altar where she will perform the spell. It takes nearly an hour, but finally she plunges her dagger into the rat’s body, and the exchange is made. Her pet leaps up from it had lain, and Aradia is overjoyed when it follows her back to her room.

It’s not the same, though. Her pet is more irritable then before, hungrier, and his songs are harsher and less melodious. Sometimes he tries to bite her, and Aradia wonders what has gotten into him.

One day she returns from her lessons to find her pet lying on her cot, staring at the door as if he had been waiting for her. She reaches out to pet him, but he snaps at her, baring sharp teeth and snarling.

“Hey! I’m just trying to say hi. What’s gotten into you lately?”

He paces back and forth in front of her, still growling. “Are you hungry? I don’t have any food right now, I’m sorry. I can bring you something back from the refectory after dinner—AAH!”

Her pet pounces at her, fangs bared, and Aradia is so shocked and terrified that she forgets that she is now a skilled magic user, and could neutralize this threat easily. Instead she is bowled over, screaming, frantically keeping her pet’s snapping, slavering jaws away from her face.

She is aware of sudden heavy footfalls, and then there is a flash and her former pet is thrown from her chest, slamming into the wall and falling in a heap on the floor, dead.

Aradia pants heavily, adrenaline coursing through her, and becoming aware that her hands have been chewed half to shreds, she immediately begins whispering a healing spell into them. The cuts and gashes begin to mend.

“Aradia?”

Aradia gasps and turns to face her savior. “Master! Forgive me, I—“

Voexhi holds his hand up, and she falls silent. “Hush child. You do not need to worry. I have known for some time that you were keeping a pet, against our rules, as you well know. But that is not important right now. What is important is that I witnessed you bury this poor creature several weeks ago.” He prods the stiffening carcass with the toe of his boot. “So what was it doing here, clearly alive, attempting to devour your face?”

Aradia swallows hard, and does not answer. They both know that Voexhi already knows the answer to his question. Aradia feels very small.

“You found the incantation for bringing the dead back to life.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You used it, the most powerful spell of our order, to bring back your dead pet.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Do you realize how serious this is?”

Aradia felt tears stinging her eyes. “Master,” she begins frantically, “I couldn’t just…it’s an Aries beast, Master, and he died in my care! That’s—“

“A bad omen, I am quite aware,” Voexhi finishes. “However, in your quest to do right by one ancient law, you ran afoul of another: Never bring the dead back to life.”

“W-what?” Aradia is confused. “But…why does the spell exist if we are not to do it?”

“Because even we, who know more of magic than any of the other circles, are curious and foolhardy, and must learn our lessons the hard way, as you have. No soul that has died belongs any longer in the world of the living. Even for those restless spirits that have not passed on, their time has passed. To bring them back is to inflict an unknowable pain upon them, to imprison them in a way incomprehensible. To do this to a soul at rest is even worse. And let us not forget the price you paid for your pet’s return.”

Aradia grimaces. “It was just a rat.”

“True, but a rat’s sacrifice would not permit the return of a fellow troll. Think about that.” Aradia does, and shivers.

“I’m sorry, Master,” she says, voice choked with sadness. “I…I disrespected death. I didn’t treat it with care. I ignored the central tenant of our order. Please forgive me.” She presses her head to the floor in a gesture of submission, expecting to be beaten, or worse, expelled from the abbey.

“You are forgiven,” Voexhi says quietly. When Aradia dares to look up, hope filling her eyes, he says, “You have learned your lesson, and you have lived to tell of it, which is more than I can say for most who attempt this spell. But never forget what you have learned today.

“Now,” he lifts a spare blanket from Aradia’s dresser and gently wraps the body of her pet in it. “I believe we owe this creature proper burial. Come with me.”

They bury him in the gardens, in a place of honor beneath the tallest tree on the abbey grounds. When Aradia has finished tamping down the dirt over his grave, she steps back and listens as Voexhi intones a blessing. When he is done, he says simply, “I will see you tomorrow morning for your lessons. Good day, Aradia,” and departs without a backward glance.

--

When Aradia is ten sweeps old, Master Voexhi summons her to his study in the Priest’s dormitory. As she enters, Aradia is struck by how old he seems, hunched over his desk, scratching away at parchment with a quill. She has never known exactly how old her master is, but she has never thought of him as being elderly; he was simply to vibrant and powerful to ever allow that.

But then he looks up and meets her eyes and begins to speak, and he seems as vital as ever, and Aradia wonders how she ever could’ve thought otherwise.

“So, we come at last to the day where I have but one more thing to teach you.” Voexhi looks her square in the face, and she is nearly as tall as he is now. Then a tiny smile crosses his face. “Normally this knowledge is something not lightly revealed, but I seem to recall you discovering it on your own, quite some time ago.” He turns and lifts from his desk a very old and worn spell book, the very same one Aradia had found in the library sweeps ago. “You now—formally—know the secret to bringing back the dead.”

Aradia took the book from him. “Thank you, Master.”

Voexhi smiled again, wider this time, and it held true pride. “I do not say this often, but it has been a pleasure instructing you.” Aradia’s heart swells. She sits and dutifully copies the spell she knows she will never use again onto the last pages of her spell book, and then shuts it. “Now, hurry along to the cathedral. The council is expecting you.”

--

When Aradia enters the cathedral, she no longer gawks at the sights on the walls; having seen them several times a week for the last six sweeps of her life. They are commonplace now.

The council she kneels before is different from the one she knelt before all those sweeps ago. Many of the faces have changed, and those that remain have grown older. Abbot Cenbro long ago passed on, and his successor, Abbot Litiun, stands tall and proud as he address her.

“Acolyte Megido. Nearly six sweeps ago you stepped through the doors of this hall a small and frightened child. Time has molded you into a confident and skilled practitioner of our art. With Master Voexhi’s blessing, you have officially learned all you can within these walls. The time has come for your final journey to begin, for your progress to continue elsewhere.

“Your task is simple: board a ship, and sail wherever your heart takes you, and do not return to this, your home, for a period of not less than two sweeps. Drink in the world beyond our walls, and learn all you can. Use your art to further troll civilization, and to serve our Empress. That is the task we, the Elder Council, set to you, Priestess Aradia Megido.”

Aradia’s heart leaps at the mention of her new title, and she stands, unable to contain her smile despite the customary solemnity of abbey rituals. “Thank you, Abbot. May the gods smile upon you.”

“And also on you,” the council replies.

Aradia turns and begins to leave, but Master Voexhi catches up to her as the council adjourns. “I’m afraid your ascension, while cause for great celebration, comes at a bit of an inopportune time. You can’t leave just yet.”

“Why not?” Aradia is concerned. “Has something happened?”

“Nothing bad,” Voexhi assures her. “But this morning the Abbot received word that an important guest will be visiting.”

“Who?” Aradia is puzzled. The Abbot is, for all intents and purposes, the most powerful troll in the circle. Who could be visiting them?

“Her Imperial Highness, Princess Feferi Peixes.”

Aradia’s eyes widen, and Voexhi smirks at the look on her face. “Yes, that was about the council’s reaction this morning. Her Highness wishes to build greater accord between our two circles, and so she has deigned to descend from on high, visit with us, and attend service within this very cathedral. There will of course be a banquet thrown as well.”

Aradia laughs. “Are you going to dance for us, Master?”

“Hardly.” Voexhi adopts an expression of purest distaste. “I leave such activities to the less enlightened.” But Aradia knows him too well to be fooled, and laughs even louder.

--

The next week is spent feverishly preparing for the Princess’s visit. The abbey is cleaned from top to bottom by acolyte and priest alike. Aradia finds herself returning each night to her hastily appointed room in the priest’s dormitory with aching joints and pruny fringers.

When the day arrives, the whole of the abbey turns out to greet the Princess and her retinue. The carriage that crests the hill is beautiful, with walls entirely of glass. Following are several smaller, less ornate carriages carrying the Princess’s entourage, and carts with various supplies.

As the carriage stops before the cathedral, Abbot Litiun steps forward to greet their guest. The carriage door opens, and Princess Feferi Peixes steps out onto the abbey grounds. She is not at all as Aradia imagined her. She stands perfectly straight, of course, and carries herself with impeccable regal bearing, but her round face is clearly hiding a wide smile, and her soul is just so full of life that Aradia is astounded. She had expected a dry sort of person obsessed with formality, beautiful but with no inner complexity, and had gotten something completely different.

“Your Highness,” the Abbot murmurs, and all those assembled bow low. “Welcome to our abbey.”

“It looks quite impressive, Abbot Litiun,” the princess replies, and Aradia is again taken aback at the spirited quality of her voice. “Will we be entering?”

“Indeed, Your Highness. Please, step this way. The abbot and the princess pass through the assembled priests and acolytes, who then turn and follow them into the cathedral.

The service is just as it always is, the liturgy the same one Aradia has heard for the past six sweeps. Somehow, however, with royalty in their presence, everything takes on a deeper meaning. The future of their society sits among them, and no one, not even an elder of the council, could be faulted for stealing a glance at the princess.

After the service the priests and acolytes follow the abbot and princess out to the gardens, where the princess’s staff had been busy preparing the banquet, setting up tables and chairs and cooking the food.

As they approach, they are met by Feferi’s butler, a tall, lanky Capricorn with the oddest smile Aradia has ever seen. He assures the princess that the food “is the most miraculous you will ever experience all up on your taste buds,” and then conducts her and the abbot to the seats of honor at the head table. The abbot says grace, and they all dig in.

The food is quite good, Aradia thinks, much more exotic than the relatively bland abbey food she has grown accustomed to over the sweeps. As she is tucking into her dessert, she feels a hand on her shoulder and turns to see Voexhi leaning in to whisper to her.

“I thought I would warn you, but Her Imperial Highness has requested a demonstration of our arts. The abbot and I agreed, only our finest pupils should show their skills to the princess, so as not to reflect poorly on the abbey.” Aradia smiles and nods, and Voexhi moves away.

When the plates have been cleared away, Abbot Litiun stands and address the princess. “Your Highness, I have been told that you desire to see the power of the Black Priesthood for yourself. Is this true?”

“Yes, Abbot,” Feferi replies. “I would be most honored.”

“Very well. Let our students come forward.”

Aradia goes and stands off to the side of the head table. She watches a number of acolytes come and go, performing simple spells like withering a flower and reviving it, putting another acolyte under a sleep spell, and, in one case, demonstrating the power of the black fire, a priest’s favorite combat spell. Finally, it is her turn.

“If it please, you, Your Highness, I present Priestess Aradia Megido, who ascended to full status in our order just a few days ago.” Aradia bows, and the princess inclines her head with a tiny but encouraging smile. Then Aradia turns and steps up to the tiny pot full of smoking potion that an acolyte has set out on the grass.

The newly minted priestess takes a few deep breaths to steady herself. This is the first time she has done magic for an audience, and she cannot ignore the fluttering in her stomach. But then she grips the dagger concealed in her robes and the nervousness is wiped away. She is a Black Priestess of the First Circle. Death bows before her, and the dead are her willing servants. She begins.

The incantation flows from her lips like water, every syllable perfect in rhythm, as if she has known it all her life. When she cuts her arm and allows her blood to fall into the pot, there is a satisfying gasp from the crowd, loudest of all from the princess herself. And when the smoke rises and takes on the forms of those passed, Aradia manipulates them like a master puppeteer. They fly and creep and crawl among the tables and their occupants, and Aradia delights in the handful of people she sends ducking for cover under their seats.

Finally, she speaks the finishing lines of the incantation, and banishes the shades from sight. The muted hiss of dissipating smoke is followed by a profound silence, followed my spirited clapping from behind her. Aradia turns to see Her Imperial Highness on her feet, bringing her hands together vigorously, face awash with amazement. The rest of those assembled, even the normally staid elders, follow suit. Aradia bows, and returns to her seat.

When the evening is over, Aradia dismisses herself to pack for her journey. It doesn’t take long; Aradia has owned only a handful of possessions in her time at the abbey, and her duffel bag is packed with her robes and spell book and scant magic supplies in just minutes. But she is in no hurry to leave, so Aradia sits for long minutes on her bare cot, thinking about all the time she has spent training for this moment. She is surprised to find herself distraught at the thought of leaving the abbey, much how, many sweeps before, she had found herself surprised to find that she did not miss her parents as much as she thought. The abbey has become her home, and has always felt right. No, Aradia is not ready to leave at all.

Silent tears are falling down her face when Aradia hears light, purposeful footsteps at her door, and hastily wipes her face. It would not do for anyone to see her in this state, especially after her flawless spell weaving. Then she sees who it is and falls into a deep bow.

“Your Highness! I’m sorry you had to see that. Please, forgive me.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry,” the princess replies, and the lightness of her voice makes Aradia look up. “I just wanted to say to you personally how much I enjoyed your demonstration. I…I was rather afraid actually, to be honest.”

Aradia smiles, the princess’s demeanor disarming. “Oh, you needn’t have been, Your Highness. It’s perfectly safe.”

The princess blushes slightly at Aradia’s words. “Please, don’t call me Your Highness. I get tired of being referred to so formally all the time. I’m just a troll like you! Call me Feferi!”

“But…that’s so improper!”

“Oh, glub what’s proper! People get all hung up on rituals and stuff, and if I want them to call me Feferi, then they should!”

“Alright,” Aradia laughs. This princess continues to not be what she seems. “But what about all your guards?”

“Oh, I’m sure they would give you dirty looks. But they can go glub off if they don’t like it.” Feferi’s smile fades and she suddenly looks slightly uncomfortable. “I actually had a question for you, Aradia.”

“What is it?”

“You were trained by Master Voexhi, correct?”

Aradia nods emphatically. “Yes. He was a great teacher.” She pauses a moment, and then adds, “He was—is—like a father to me.”

“I see. Well, Master Voexhi has told me that you are about begin your final test. You are to board a ship and not return to Aries for some sweeps, is that correct?”

“Yes, Feferi.”

“Well…” Feferi shuffles her feet a bit, in a rather un-princess like manner. “I was wondering if you might consider boarding my ship.”

Aradia is not sure she has heard correctly. “Your Highness?!”

“You seem like a remarkable young troll, Aradia. My flagship, the Coral Empress, is anchored at Alpha Ari spaceport as we speak. I would be honored if you served aboard it and taught me more about your culture.” Feferi smiles hopefully.

“I…you…” Aradia is rendered speechless for several moments. “O-of course, Your Hi—Feferi!”

“Great!” Feferi steps forward and envelops Aradia in a tight hug. Aradia can hardly respond, caught between a number a of different strange circumstances, not least among them being hugged by the heir to the throne herself. “That’s so glubbing cool!” Feferi releases her. “Okay, follow me downstairs and we can put you in a carriage for the ride back.”

Aradia walks in a daze; her world is changing so quickly. She has enough time out on the grounds to find Master Voexhi and say goodbye to him.

“So, you are to serve the princess herself. Not a bad way to spend two sweeps.” Voexhi suddenly takes on his usual disdainful expression. “Of course, you’ll have to deal with all manner of ether-going ruffians along the way, but I daresay you will manage.”

“Of course, Master.”

An awkward silence between them, and then they embrace, and Voexhi says, quietly, so only Aradia can hear, “Goodbye, Aradia. I am…proud of you.”

Aradia makes her way to a carriage near the rear of the line, passing the tall Capricorn butler directing the loading of leftover provisions onto carts. He is swaying, a bottle of something powerful smelling in his hand.

“Oof!” Aradia accidentally runs into someone, and turns to see a tall troll with short hair and a crisp military uniform. He looks at her with something less than welcome on his face.

“Watch it!” He pushes past her, his strides long and dismissing. “Thtupid backwater thealotth…”

Aradia glares after him before climbing into her transport. Across from her sits a demure troll about her age, also short haired, with a modest but tasteful and complimentary dress outlining her frame.

“Hello,” she says quietly. “Are you Aradia?”

“Yes,” Aradia answers, but before she can get any further the princess bounds up to the carriage door.

“There you are Aradia! I was just making sure you found a seat! Kanaya, you take good of her, okay? Maybe you could make her a dress or something when we get back to the ship!”

Kanaya nods. “Of course, Mistress.”

“Okay, I’ll see you two soon!” Feferi shuts the door and disappears.

“The princess is very good to us. I think you’ll enjoy serving her.” Kanaya looks appraisingly at Aradia’s attire. “And she is right, you could use some new clothes. Those robes are hardly flattering.”

“Hey!” Aradia exclaims, mildly offended. “These robes are traditional for our order, going back hundreds of generations!”

“Nevertheless, I could definitely see you in a nice blouse and skirt combo,” Kanaya forges ahead, her eyes all business. “I’ll have to take some measurements when we return to the Coral Empress.”

Aradia just sighs and shakes her head. She turns to look out the window, and is somewhat surprised to see that they have already gotten underway. The abbey shrinks on the hilltop behind them, and Aradia looks forward, her thoughts turning to the many possibilities that await in her future.

A/N:

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If you read all that, I could kiss you. I think I'm going to do fics in a similar vein for other trolls in this universe, maybe not all of them, but a few. So if you liked this one, more to come!

Oh hey, how about some more of that still-untitled Aradia/Kanaya Daddy!Droog fic?

That was some real good Daddy!Droog fic you put up there. I enjoyed it. Your Kanaya is so good it hurts.

1. WHAT IS THIS
2. WHY IS IT SO GOOD
3. WHEN WILL YOU DO MORE

HFFFFFF

[EdwardTheGreat]

Sup thread. I gotta a bit of a problem. Writer's block. This is a problem for a writer like me, as I need to write or else my head gets all cluttered and I forget parts of stories and whanot. I have found the source of this block however.

Homestuck
And you people

Reading this comic then going on the forum and reading all your wonderful fics, and yes ALL of your fics are wonderful, has distracted me all day to the point I got NOTHING done writing-wise. So I decided to take this problem head on...and write a silly little fic of my own! EQUIUS NEPETA FIC YALL!

...I am so sorry ;_;

Void's Embrace

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Equius Zahhak felt himself spiraling into a depression no amount of STRONG flexing could alleviate. He sat in the middle of his makeshift respiteblock on a mountain of towels simply staring at the lab wall. Equius was used to things not working out as he wanted; on of his most recent failings being the lack of clairvoyance to know that the torso attached to his newest robotics experiment wouldn’t be able to quell his affinity for stairs, despite numerous warnings. However this last blow had broken him like so many robot bodies against his fists. Aradia, the first and probable last love of his young life, had exploded. Right in front of his eyes. Immediately after hugging another troll. That was around a half hour ago. At which point he had absconded to his respiteblock and unloaded his entire inventory for the coming flurry of violence and sweating that was to commence. Instead there came nothing. It was as if a void had appeared where his once STRONG emotions existed, and all he could do was sit and stare. A knock at his door brought him out of his reverie. He gave a grunt of admittance and with a SHOOSH the door opened and in came his moirail, Nepeta. No doubt here to comfort him with cat related puns.

“Equius...are you alright?” Her voice was quiet and distant.
“I’m fine.” It was the first thing that came into his head.
“I know you probably cared for Aradia very much. So I brought you something that could pawsibly help you feel better...”
There was a loud DOOF of something hitting the floor. Equius turned to see a large block of metal he had never seen before.
“It’s a really tough metal I found beneath the lab in one of the restricted areas. I think it might actually be strong enough to make a bow that you can use.”
At that Equius found himself jumping to his feet in anger and distress. “Nepeta! What were you doing snooping around the restricted areas! You could have-”
It was then that Equius noticed Nepeta’s current state. Her eyes were swollen with tears, her clothes stained by the ones already shed. She had her claws out, broken and battered, her knuckles actually bleeding. On her face a sad smile.
“Nepeta...what?”
She leapt forward embracing her moirail in one of her trademark glomps. He found it...suitably satisfying.
“Don’t worry about me, alright? Just get through this. I’ll...I’ll be fine.” And with that she ran out the door, stifled sobs spilling over on her way out.

Equius followed her out into the hall and ran after her. He followed her shouting after her, but whether it were due to shame of her moirail seeing her cry or the pain of whatever was troubling her, she refused to wait up, and outstripped him easily. A quick SHOOSH and Equius found himself in the main transportal room. He had lost sight of her, and there was no telling where she had gone.

“Hey fuckass.” The voice came from behind him. There stood his leader Karkat. “Come the fuck over here. I want to show you something.” His voice was as grim and surly as ever, but well below its usual decibels. Equius followed and found himself in a large room he had yet to be in.
“As much as I would like to entertain your profanity laden shouting sir, I’m afraid this is one time I’m going to have to have to decline. Nepeta-”
“Was killed. Fucking brutally by the sound of it. By that brainless feathery asshole. Terzei and I just got done interrogating her about twenty minutes ago. Derse is destroyed.” Karkat was noticeably shaking with what was probably rage, but having spent the better part of the last half hour consoling the others and trying to keep his group from falling apart with the sheer force of his bitter anger, he was emotionally drained. He could only look on as Equius simply stood silent, as if waiting for Karkat to say, ‘GOT YA FUCKASS!’ Realizing Equius was to stay silent, he gave a dismissive grunt and turned on a screen.

“I had Sollux set this room up. It’s a surveillance center. The cameras are set around the compound and around the forbidden sections of the lab. We don’t want any fuckers sneaking up on us and turning this compound into a rainbow-blood tornado. Now I want you to sit here and watch this video of earlier. Then you can do whatever the fuck you want.”
The screen blinked to life, and on it was Nepeta. She was crying her eyes out and shouting at a large beast. The abomination was large and black and resembled a giant walking castle tower. She dispatched it with one swipe of her claw, and another rose in its place. With a roar it fell as well. More came into view, and Equius watched as Nepeta slew one dersite war machine after another. Over the din of the slain creatures Equius heard her shout.

“The mighty huntress will stronger! I must be stronger! She will not die again! I will not die! I will be stronger! I will be there for Equius! For everyone! I am a mighty huntress!”
She continued to shout and scream and rage and destroy, when suddenly one of the larger beasts exploded and dropped a strange chunk of metal. The very same chunk that sat in Equius’ respiteblock. Karkat spoke up again.

“She’s been down there fighting those things for a while now. The idiot blames herself for the destruction of Derse since she saw the demon coming. She blames herself for the death of the Derse dreamselves. Mostly for yours.” He began to walk out the way they came in. “I know you’re cut up about Aradia. We all are. But it’s up to the stronger of us to keep the group together. Terzei and I have been doing our part, and even Vriska has been noticeably quieter. So I suggest you stop being such a grub and stop sitting the fuck around in your room.”
“...Karkat.” Equius called after him.
“What, you want me to make it an order so you can get off on it?”
“...you would have made a good high blood.” With that Equius ran back to his respiteblock.

He had been a fool. A selfish one. While he was sitting around feeling sorry for himself, he had neglected his dearest and closest friend. He would rectify this immediately. He STRONGLY burst into his lab and began to devise ways of paying Nepeta back. What could he do for his Moirail? Perhaps make her something? Like a new weapon to replace her old one? Or perhaps paint her an Alternian masterpiece of a mighty muscle beast showing his contention for lesser beings with his giant apendages. No. Bad Equius. These are things that would satisfy yourself. Think of Nepeta. Think of her needs. He happened to glance over at the strangely STRONG metal she had brought him earlier. Suddenly Equius found himself struck by inspiration. A sacrifice would be made...

After about another half hour of forcing herself to destroy wave after wave of dersite constructs, Nepeta had reached the point of near collapse. One of these things posed no threat. Two? Piece of cake. An army by herself? That was quite the workout. However so matter ho many times Kanaya meddled or Karkitty shouted she wouldn’t give up. She had to get stronger. She no longer had a dreamself and therefore no longer had a chance to become God-tier like Serket. So instead she would sharpen her claws the old fashioned way. The mighty huntress would show no fear. She would become strong. She would-

“Nepeta. Cease this foolishness.”
Nepeta turned around and so standing in the entrance to her makeshift battlefield Equius. However there was something different about him. His entire body seemed to be in some kind of brace. He strode over to her with grim determination.
“Nepeta...I must apologize. I had failed you utterly and completely.”
“I have no idea what you could paw-sibly be talking about.” She tried her best to slow down her breathing. To put on a brave face. He just lost his matesprit and needs someone to be there for him and keep him out of trouble.

“Please Nepeta stop. I wish...I wish to comfort you.” After pausing for a second as if reconsidering Equius stepped forward and embraced Nepeta in a hug. But this was no ordinary embrace from Equius, which was usually a very painful soft patting on the back. He was in a full embrace. Using all his available strength to hold Nepeta to himself in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “I have used the metal you brought me to construct a power limiting brace. I now have the strength of two...Karkitties.”
“You set it to Karkitties!?”
“Yes...I felt it was an appropriate gesture of kindness and suitable way to pay back his help in this venture. Though when I told him he didn’t seem very flattered...never mind that though.” Equius pulled his head back and looked into Nepeta’s eyes. “Nepeta I’m sorry. I should not have abandoned you.”
“Aradia-” Nepeta began looking away. He gripped her tighter.
“Was tragic yes. However if you can get through your tragedy to be there for me, I should be able to do the same. So please Nepeta, stop this needless violence before we have another tragedy...I...I don’t know if I could handle another.” With that Equius...removed his sunglasses and allowed a tear to come to his eyes.

That seemed to be the breaking point for these two friends. They got to enjoy both their first true embrace and their first cry. This eventually turned into laughter as the two of them slumped to the ground, Equius fatigued from his brace and Nepeta from taking her body to the limit. A while later still and Nepeta began to slump in and out of a fitful. Equius deciding that sleeping in a corridor to a forbidden section of the lab was ill advised and carried her off towards the Transportalizer room. It was there that he ran into Karkat.

A terrified and frantic Karkat.

“OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD! YOU!” He shouted running over to the pair. “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU...WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR GLASSES?”
“I must have left them in the corridor, I’ll go get them...”
“FUCK THAT SHIT WE HAVE TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

“Karkitty?” Nepeta slightly stirred awake. “What...what’s going on?”

“Wow you’re one fast motherfucker Kar.” Gamzee stepped out of the shadows, his body slack like a puppet cut from its strings his face blank and his makeup smudged. “I gotta admit we’re sort of impressed. REAL IMPRESSED MOTHERFUCKER. I mean a joke like you, actually beating me at something? THAT’S A FUCKING MIRACLE. I guess that means its three on two then. HONK.”

“It appears that our Gamzee has once again become the Gamzee who crippled the Black King.” Equius felt fear come over him but kept his voice steady. His path was clear. None of this was a coincidence.

“YEAH. THIS IS WHY WE HAVE TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”
“I’m afraid not,” Equius said ripping his brace off and gently laying Nepeta against his frightened leader. “Karkat, take Nepeta and go far from this place.”
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON ABOUT!?” Karkat screamed eyeing Gamzee apprehensively. The clown seemed stopped in his tracks by this development.
“Karkat, I had just enjoyed possibly the greatest moment of my life with the one troll in this world who never found me to be in contempt. I’m ready for this. I’m ready to be the hero.”

“BUT WHAT IF I’M NOT!? FUCK-DAMMIT EQUIUS I ALREADY LOST FERFEI AND KANAYA. I WON’T LOSE YOUR CREEPY VOYEUR ASS AS WELL!”
“Can we hurry this along motherfuckers? I gotta a carnival to start up.”
“Gamzee? What’s going on here?” Nepeta was beginning to come back to her senses. If she became aware enough to the fact that both Equius and Karkat were in danger...

“This is non-negotiable. Farewell, Sir.” Equius said pushing Karkat into the center transporter back to the computer room. His last view of his leader being his outstretched hand and his face contorted into a mix of anger and anguish. He then brought down his STRONG fist and smashed the portal to pieces. It fizzled out with a spark. It was now completely unusable.

“Oh now why’d you gotta go and fuckin’ do that!? Now I gotta like...actually look for that room and shit. THAT WAS FUCKING UNCONCIABLE. HONK!”
“Kanaya and Ferfei...your doing?” Was all Equius could bring himself to say.
“Nope. Must be some other Motherfucker. FUCKERS STEALING MY KILLS!”
“Very well. I see no reason to draw out your suffering then.” And with that Equius leapt forward.

The battle didn’t last long.

But Equius was still satisfied in the end. He was off to join Aradia and Nepeta was in the arms of her love. Hopefully she would be able to do what he could not and have a happy ending with her ‘Karkitty.’ That somehow no more trolls would meet anymore messy ends at the hands of friends. That in the end good would triumph. Who knows? After all, Equius thought as darkness encompassed his thoughts.

A lot can happen in an hour.

Criticism welcomed and encouraged

[lucidSeraph]

Ashes and Glass by lucidSeraph
+red!Jade!! You've now got my 2 favourite altkids. Heck, you've got an interesting blue!Rose and green!John too, don't you? I think you've got the royal flush there.
=-You made me make a pun.
=-You've now added an altkid fic (these particular ones) to the ever-growing list of shit I want to write.
+I need to know more about this altkid series. Desperately.

First, I commend your perseverance; second, yes, there's Blue!Rose and Green!John as well :3 Green!John appeared in Convergent Recombination. Also, there are ALT TROLLS TOO. You will see one... in the next fic in that series actually

[arcaneCalligramancer]

all right everybody remembers Rainbow Drinker Shenanigans Part One right?

r-right?

well lil' bro got part two done, but is too lazy to do all the formatting, so I am here to post

OPERATION: ANTICLIMAX That Is Not An Elegant Name At All

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This is total bullshit.

Karkat was finding it difficult to call what he is seeing right now, right in front of him, anything but complete and total bullshit. First, he had to deal with this damn game and all the attendant bullshit. Then he got to find out that everything he, and the rest of the melodramatic grubs he led, did in the aforementioned game didn’t actually matter. Why? Because a bunch of stupid squishy pink idiots had decided to dump the fucking Demon into their session, and apparently that was all a part of some plan that he didn't get to be a part of because he didn't have the 'password'.

Then Prince Fishface decided to snap, blind Sollux, kill Feferi, destroy the Matriorb, and kill Kanaya too. Fuck you very much, Prince Fishface. Fuck fucking you.

At least Kanaya's death didn't actually take, though that opened a whole new can of legless wrigglebeasts, each one wrapped around a smaller can full of Earth human worms.

And if his thinkpan wasn't weeping in pain, abject humiliation, and raw hate already, here Gamzee was honking up a horrifying storm about dark carnivals and bloody miracles.

Karkat didn't have time to meditate on all of the many and varied ways he could hate the game and everything that was a part of it (especially the fucking players) because now he had to deal with the Bard of Rage running rampant. For fuck's sake, he was probably killing everyone else right now and oh great now Kanaya was reading over his shoulder, getting uncomfortably close to him and oh god he was pretty sure he could see a little of Eridan's blood at the corner of her mouth. Guess this situation wasn’t weird enough, so Skaia decided to add a big heaping serving receptacle of awkward to season this whole fucked-up extravaganza.

“Fuck!” he shouted, breaking the silence. “Goddamn fucking hell, we're all fucking doomed!” He'd seen what Gamzee had done to the Black King – clubbed one head unconscious in a single, murderous honk. He couldn't take the Bard of Rage in a fight, and he couldn’t just leave the Main Room with Sollux laying there unconscious and Nepeta and Equius were still missing and – and – and -

“Karkat! Calm down.” Kanaya's voice dragged him out of his incipient (and well-deserved) breakdown. “Why do we not simply acquire the captchacode for one of Gamzee’s pies?”

“…” Huh. Karkat supposed he’d forgotten about that feature of Trollian. “That's a great plan, I'm happy I thought of it. Go get started.”

Of course, they quickly ran into an almost-insurmountable problem.

* * *

VIEW MEMO

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CURRENT grimAuxiliatrix [CGA] opened a memo on board OPERATION ACQUIRE CERTAIN SOPOR SLIME RELATED MATERIALS FOR THE PACIFICATION OF AN ENRAGED BARD OF RAGE IF ONE IS ABLE TO CALL A BARD OF RAGE SUCH PERHAPS IT IS IMPLIED IN THE TITLE OR POSITION AND...

CGA: Now We Need Simply Attract The Attention Of Past Gamzee
CGA: Perhaps I Should Have Added Clowns To The Title Somewhere
CURRENT carcinoGeneticist [CCG] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CCG: KANAYA ARE YOU FUCKING RETARDED.
CCG: IS THAT HIPSTER DOUCHEBAG'S BLOOD INFECTING YOUR THINKPAN OR SOMETHING.
CCG: THIS IS THE WORST TITLE I HAVE EVER SEEN, I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THAT TROLLIAN HAD A WORD LIMIT ON THEM.
CGA: It Was A Perfectly Fine Title
CGA: It Was Straightforward And Descriptive Of What It Would Contain
CCG: IT'S A GOD DAMN PARAGRAPH! NOBODY WILL PAY ATTENTION TO IT!
CGA: And Yet Here You Are
CCG: YEAH WELL THAT'S BECAUSE I CAN SEE YOU PECKING AWAY AT YOUR FUCKING KEYBOARD AND DECIDED TO SEE WHAT THE FUCK YOU WERE UP TO.
CCG: KANAYA YOU KNOW THAT NOBODY IS GOING TO PAY ATTENTION TO A BRAND NEW BOARD WITH A GIGANTIC FUCKING TITLE
CCG: THAT WOULD REQUIRE AN ATTENTION SPAN LONGER THAN A WRIGGLER'S AND GOD KNOWS NONE OF YOU ASSHOLES HAVE THAT
CCG: SEE I JUST WAITED A MINUTE AND NOBODY HOPPED IN TO DEFEND THEMSELVES, FACE IT NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BOARD.
CGA: Well Then
CGA: We Will Just Have To Move To A Board That We Know Everyone Checks
CGA: I Am Sure You Know Which One I Mean
CCG: OH NO.
CCG: NO. FUCK NO. HELL FUCKING NO KANAYA THIS IS AN ORDER FROM YOUR LEADER YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY FORBIDDEN FROM THIS PLAN.
CCG: YOU'RE NOT EVEN LISTENING TO ME ARE YOU.

CGA closed memo.

* * *

VIEW MEMO

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hide spoiler

CURRENT grimAuxiliatrix [CGA] opened a memo on board R41NBOW RUMPUS P4RTYTOWN.

CGA: Perhaps This Time Will Do The Trick
CURRENT carcinoGeneticist [CCG] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CCG: I COULD HAVE SWORN I GAVE AN ORDER FORBIDDING THIS EXACT PLAN.
CCG: AND YET HERE WE ARE.
CGA: And Yet
CGA: Damn It
CCG: HAHAHA. HAVE YOU EVEN FIGURED OUT HOW YOU'RE GOING TO GET IN TOUCH WITH PAST GAMZEE YET?
CGA: Of Course Karkat Have A Little Faith
CCG: FAITH IN WHAT, OUR INEVITABLE DEATHS AT THE HAND OF THAT MURDEROUS HONKING TOOL
PAST gallowsCalibrator [PGC] 413 HOURS AGO responded to memo.
PGC: K4N4Y4 1 D1DNT KNOW YOU US3D MY BO4RD
CGA: Well I Am Fond Of Bright Colors
CGA: And So I Am Willing To Brave The Partytowns Rumpus For Them
PGC: H3H3H3!
CCG: I THINK I'M GOING TO BE SICK.
PGC: ORD3R! 1 W1LL H4V3 ORD3R 1N MY COURTBLOCK!
PGC banned CCG from responding to memo.
PCG: H3H3H3H3H3H3
CGA: Terezi I Need To Ask You A Favor
CGA: Could You Retrieve The Captcha Code For Sopor Slime Pies
CGA: We Have Run Into A Situation Of Sorts Here
PGC: C3RT41NLY! 1 W1LL POST 4G41N WH3N 1 G3T 1T
PGC banned herself from responding to memo.
PAST gallowsCalibrator [PGC2] 314 HOURS AGO responded to memo.
PGC2: 1 4LMOST FORGOT 4BOUT TH1S!
PGC2: 6zcLkm12 4ND TH4T 1S 4 ON3 >:]
CGA: Thank You So Much Terezi
PGC2: GOOD LUCK W1TH WH4T3V3R YOUR PL4N 1S K4N4Y4!

PGC2 closed memo.

* * *

Karkat didn't know he was capable of hating the second part of Kanaya's plan even more than the first. “Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!”

“HONK HONK BRO! HONK MOTHERFUCKING HONK!”

“OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!”

He absconded faster than Nepata in a room full of rocking chairs, leaping madly over the rubble and wreckage left over from their first appearance on the asteroid. He had already learned that slamming a hatch shut on Gamzee didn't slow him down at all – he simply smashed through, spinning his clubs and grinning maniacally. Now he just ran as quickly as he could, and hoped that he could reach Kanaya before Gamzee decided to stop playing.

Why the hell had he agreed to this part of the plan again?

Oh right, because he knew Kanaya would have offered to do it if he let her finish that sentence. Stupid responsibilities of leadership, stupid guilt, stupid friendship -

Karkat dropped as he came around the last corner, sliding across the floor and fetching up against the far wall. This gave him an impeccable view of Kanaya smashing a sopor pie into Gamzee's face hard enough to flip the charging Bard twice over. Nobody moved, and then a single, mournful 'honk' broke the silence before Gamzee began to snore.

“All right, that disaster is over and done with – oh god what now?”

Kanaya was fussing and meddling with her torn shirt. “Ah, Karkat? Not to interrupt what new plans you have in the making, but...”

“What, Kanaya?”

Her eyes shot back and forth for a moment before settling on a spot on the floor that was apparently fascinating as hell. “I’m…getting a little hungry.”

Oh. Of fucking course that would be it, wouldn’t it? Because apparently this whirlwind of shit he’d been through hadn't been enough. He shut his eyes and slapped a hand to his forehead. “Shit, let’s just be a hemoglobin exchequer.” Well, clotheslining Gamzee as fast and hard as she had probably cost her something in the blood department, and presumably she didn't have a whole lot to spare after the whole 'back from the dead' thing. All right, ok, he could do this.

“Um...”

“Just get the fuck over here and let's get this dealt with.” He didn't want to look her in the eye, but he refused to look away. A leader had his pride! He definitely wasn’t blushing, this was a perfectly reasonable action to be taking.

He knew, the moment Kanaya giggled before putting on a seductive face and sashaying towards him (and he was horrified at how little he was horrified by it), that somehow, some way, this was all his past self's fault.

edit: a thousand thousand kudos to lucidSeraph for showing me how this formatting thing works

[Dehgan]

all right everybody remembers Rainbow Drinker Shenanigans Part One right?

r-right?

well lil' bro got part two done, but is too lazy to do all the formatting, so I am here to post

OPERATION: ANTICLIMAX That Is Not An Elegant Name At All

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This is total bullshit.

Karkat was finding it difficult to call what he is seeing right now, right in front of him, anything but complete and total bullshit. First, he had to deal with this damn game and all the attendant bullshit. Then he got to find out that everything he, and the rest of the melodramatic grubs he led, did in the aforementioned game didn’t actually matter. Why? Because a bunch of stupid squishy pink idiots had decided to dump the fucking Demon into their session, and apparently that was all a part of some plan that he didn't get to be a part of because he didn't have the 'password'.

Then Prince Fishface decided to snap, blind Sollux, kill Feferi, destroy the Matriorb, and kill Kanaya too. Fuck you very much, Prince Fishface. Fuck fucking you.

At least Kanaya's death didn't actually take, though that opened a whole new can of legless wrigglebeasts, each one wrapped around a smaller can full of Earth human worms.

And if his thinkpan wasn't weeping in pain, abject humiliation, and raw hate already, here Gamzee was honking up a horrifying storm about dark carnivals and bloody miracles.

Karkat didn't have time to meditate on all of the many and varied ways he could hate the game and everything that was a part of it (especially the fucking players) because now he had to deal with the Bard of Rage running rampant. For fuck's sake, he was probably killing everyone else right now and oh great now Kanaya was reading over his shoulder, getting uncomfortably close to him and oh god he was pretty sure he could see a little of Eridan's blood at the corner of her mouth. Guess this situation wasn’t weird enough, so Skaia decided to add a big heaping serving receptacle of awkward to season this whole fucked-up extravaganza.

“Fuck!” he shouted, breaking the silence. “Goddamn fucking hell, we're all fucking doomed!” He'd seen what Gamzee had done to the Black King – clubbed one head unconscious in a single, murderous honk. He couldn't take the Bard of Rage in a fight, and he couldn’t just leave the Main Room with Sollux laying there unconscious and Nepeta and Equius were still missing and – and – and -

“Karkat! Calm down.” Kanaya's voice dragged him out of his incipient (and well-deserved) breakdown. “Why do we not simply acquire the captchacode for one of Gamzee’s pies?”

“…” Huh. Karkat supposed he’d forgotten about that feature of Trollian. “That's a great plan, I'm happy I thought of it. Go get started.”

Of course, they quickly ran into an almost-insurmountable problem.

* * *

VIEW MEMO

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CURRENT grimAuxiliatrix [CGA] opened a memo on board OPERATION ACQUIRE CERTAIN SOPOR SLIME RELATED MATERIALS FOR THE PACIFICATION OF AN ENRAGED BARD OF RAGE IF ONE IS ABLE TO CALL A BARD OF RAGE SUCH PERHAPS IT IS IMPLIED IN THE TITLE OR POSITION AND...

CGA: Now We Need Simply Attract The Attention Of Past Gamzee
CGA: Perhaps I Should Have Added Clowns To The Title Somewhere
CURRENT carcinoGeneticist [CCG] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CCG: KANAYA ARE YOU FUCKING RETARDED.
CCG: IS THAT HIPSTER DOUCHEBAG'S BLOOD INFECTING YOUR THINKPAN OR SOMETHING.
CCG: THIS IS THE WORST TITLE I HAVE EVER SEEN, I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THAT TROLLIAN HAD A WORD LIMIT ON THEM.
CGA: It Was A Perfectly Fine Title
CGA: It Was Straightforward And Descriptive Of What It Would Contain
CCG: IT'S A GOD DAMN PARAGRAPH! NOBODY WILL PAY ATTENTION TO IT!
CGA: And Yet Here You Are
CCG: YEAH WELL THAT'S BECAUSE I CAN SEE YOU PECKING AWAY AT YOUR FUCKING KEYBOARD AND DECIDED TO SEE WHAT THE FUCK YOU WERE UP TO.
CCG: KANAYA YOU KNOW THAT NOBODY IS GOING TO PAY ATTENTION TO A BRAND NEW BOARD WITH A GIGANTIC FUCKING TITLE
CCG: THAT WOULD REQUIRE AN ATTENTION SPAN LONGER THAN A WRIGGLER'S AND GOD KNOWS NONE OF YOU ASSHOLES HAVE THAT
CCG: SEE I JUST WAITED A MINUTE AND NOBODY HOPPED IN TO DEFEND THEMSELVES, FACE IT NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BOARD.
CGA: Well Then
CGA: We Will Just Have To Move To A Board That We Know Everyone Checks
CGA: I Am Sure You Know Which One I Mean
CCG: OH NO.
CCG: NO. FUCK NO. HELL FUCKING NO KANAYA THIS IS AN ORDER FROM YOUR LEADER YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY FORBIDDEN FROM THIS PLAN.
CCG: YOU'RE NOT EVEN LISTENING TO ME ARE YOU.

CGA closed memo.

* * *

VIEW MEMO

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hide spoiler

CURRENT grimAuxiliatrix [CGA] opened a memo on board R41NBOW RUMPUS P4RTYTOWN.

CGA: Perhaps This Time Will Do The Trick
CURRENT carcinoGeneticist [CCG] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CCG: I COULD HAVE SWORN I GAVE AN ORDER FORBIDDING THIS EXACT PLAN.
CCG: AND YET HERE WE ARE.
CGA: And Yet
CGA: Damn It
CCG: HAHAHA. HAVE YOU EVEN FIGURED OUT HOW YOU'RE GOING TO GET IN TOUCH WITH PAST GAMZEE YET?
CGA: Of Course Karkat Have A Little Faith
CCG: FAITH IN WHAT, OUR INEVITABLE DEATHS AT THE HAND OF THAT MURDEROUS HONKING TOOL
PAST gallowsCalibrator [PGC] 413 HOURS AGO responded to memo.
PGC: K4N4Y4 1 D1DNT KNOW YOU US3D MY BO4RD
CGA: Well I Am Fond Of Bright Colors
CGA: And So I Am Willing To Brave The Partytowns Rumpus For Them
PGC: H3H3H3!
CCG: I THINK I'M GOING TO BE SICK.
PGC: ORD3R! 1 W1LL H4V3 ORD3R 1N MY COURTBLOCK!
PGC banned CCG from responding to memo.
PCG: H3H3H3H3H3H3
CGA: Terezi I Need To Ask You A Favor
CGA: Could You Retrieve The Captcha Code For Sopor Slime Pies
CGA: We Have Run Into A Situation Of Sorts Here
PGC: C3RT41NLY! 1 W1LL POST 4G41N WH3N 1 G3T 1T
PGC banned herself from responding to memo.
PAST gallowsCalibrator [PGC2] 314 HOURS AGO responded to memo.
PGC2: 1 4LMOST FORGOT 4BOUT TH1S!
PGC2: 6zcLkm12 4ND TH4T 1S 4 ON3 >:]
CGA: Thank You So Much Terezi
PGC2: GOOD LUCK W1TH WH4T3V3R YOUR PL4N 1S K4N4Y4!

PGC2 closed memo.

* * *

Karkat didn't know he was capable of hating the second part of Kanaya's plan even more than the first. “Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!”

“HONK HONK BRO! HONK MOTHERFUCKING HONK!”

“OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!”

He absconded faster than Nepata in a room full of rocking chairs, leaping madly over the rubble and wreckage left over from their first appearance on the asteroid. He had already learned that slamming a hatch shut on Gamzee didn't slow him down at all – he simply smashed through, spinning his clubs and grinning maniacally. Now he just ran as quickly as he could, and hoped that he could reach Kanaya before Gamzee decided to stop playing.

Why the hell had he agreed to this part of the plan again?

Oh right, because he knew Kanaya would have offered to do it if he let her finish that sentence. Stupid responsibilities of leadership, stupid guilt, stupid friendship -

Karkat dropped as he came around the last corner, sliding across the floor and fetching up against the far wall. This gave him an impeccable view of Kanaya smashing a sopor pie into Gamzee's face hard enough to flip the charging Bard twice over. Nobody moved, and then a single, mournful 'honk' broke the silence before Gamzee began to snore.

“All right, that disaster is over and done with – oh god what now?”

Kanaya was fussing and meddling with her torn shirt. “Ah, Karkat? Not to interrupt what new plans you have in the making, but...”

“What, Kanaya?”

Her eyes shot back and forth for a moment before settling on a spot on the floor that was apparently fascinating as hell. “I’m…getting a little hungry.”

Oh. Of fucking course that would be it, wouldn’t it? Because apparently this whirlwind of shit he’d been through hadn't been enough. He shut his eyes and slapped a hand to his forehead. “Shit, let’s just be a hemoglobin exchequer.” Well, clotheslining Gamzee as fast and hard as she had probably cost her something in the blood department, and presumably she didn't have a whole lot to spare after the whole 'back from the dead' thing. All right, ok, he could do this.

“Um...”

“Just get the fuck over here and let's get this dealt with.” He didn't want to look her in the eye, but he refused to look away. A leader had his pride! He definitely wasn’t blushing, this was a perfectly reasonable action to be taking.

He knew, the moment Kanaya giggled before putting on a seductive face and sashaying towards him (and he was horrified at how little he was horrified by it), that somehow, some way, this was all his past self's fault.

hey now man take some credit for yourself you did a lot of editing and stuff.

Also, Yaaay for formatting!

...I guess I'll go write the next part...whatever that is.

[lucidSeraph]

i am the god-tier text formatting fairy

it is me


holy fuck i should sleep imma end up like kass at this rate

[AProcrastinatingWriter]

I'd like to say I have gone through all the threads and read the various pieces contained therein. I am not, however, that good a man. Therefore I do not blame anyone and/or everyone who passes over this piece without so much as a glance.

Anyway, this is just a oneshot story starring some original characters. Setting: Earth. Time: It'll become obvious. Just a look at some people no one probably cared about before now.

I don't think it's that good. I don't think it's that bad, either. I don't know if it's worth sharing. Guess I'll find out.

NPC

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"Honey?"

Mark looked over his shoulder, the glaring light from above dancing off the lens of his glasses. "Yes?" he asked in return. It seems like most of he and his wife's conversations recently had comprised mostly of one word back-and-forths.

You would think now, of all times, they'd choose to talk perhaps a little more. "Nothing." And yet, they didn't. Perhaps talking like they would under normal circumstances was simply the couple's way of coping.

Then again, perhaps they spoke with more than words. Perhaps the lovely Alison said all she needed to by grasping her husband's arm close and leaning on his shoulder as they both looked, again, to the skies. As if they could actually see the stars anymore.

The heat was almost unbearable.

Mark, the husband, the stereotypical, slightly gruff, heart-of-gold, spoils-his-daughter, plays catch with his son, businessman-like smiling groom, spoke up after a few seconds of silence. "The kids?" he inquired. He needed to know. Their kids were their life at this point. His stereotypical nature and facade were both crumbling quickly.

"In bed," Alison, the wife, the stereotypical, soft-spoken, a little jealous sometimes, advises-her-daughter-on-boys, scolds her son when necessary, chore-accomplishing blushing bride responded. "Sleeping," she confirmed. Her stereotypical nature and facade were both being chipped away at, slowly but surely.

"Any idea?" Mark asked, concerned about his offspring's final moments. His son was six. Top of his first-grade class. Loved a good game of charades and hated his vegetables. Dreamt of being a superhero. Had a kid-crush on the girl next door, Betty. He, being six, would never admit the crush.

"None," Alison shook her head, trying not to waver in her resolve. Her daughter was fifteen. Popular with her teaches and peers alike. Loved tomboyish stuff and hated people who think themselves the most important thing in the world. Dreamt of owning her own restaurant. Volunteered at the homeless shelter. She'd never admit she only started volunteering to be close to Samson, her own crush.

The father nodded. "Good," he intoned, a little hollow. A sigh. It was good they didn't know. Their last moments shouldn't be those of panic and unhappiness.

Another silence. Finally, Mark's head drooped. Explosions sounded in the distance. "Dear?" Alison said, trying not to let the panic in her stomach crawl up into her throat and her voice.

"I'm supposed to protect you all," Mark choked. Tears were welling up in his eyes. He sounded so, so angry. So very angry with himself. "But I...I can't..." he sobbed. Bobby was his son's name. He'd recently helped his team of fellow tykes win the soccer championship against their friendly rivals, the Marksville Saints. "I can't do anything."

Alison swallowed. "Mark," she breathed. She sounded so desperate. The panic, the same panic as before, was coming up from her stomach along with the bile, the side effect of the smell of burning flesh. "Please, don't..." Her daughter had recently given a speech, of her own free will, in front of the entire school to promote anti-bullying measures, and gotten a standing ovation to boot. "You always beat yourself up so badly. Please...not tonight."

It was really a miracle the kids were still asleep. A small miracle, that would allow them to die peacefully.

The dad turned and walked to the edge of the porch, looking out at the buildings and the craters arranged gridlike down the road. A moment of pause. "I don't know what to do." His voice cracked. Like it hadn't since he was a teenager. Alison remembered his being a teenager. He always stuttered whenever he talked to her. It was so obvious he had fallen in love.

Alison hesitated but a moment before walking over to her lover again. She stood between him and the devastation. "Honey," she whispered. He could barely hear her over the sound of impacts, heavy and overwhelming. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, bathrobe touching his business suit for the first time in the eternity of the past few days. "Remember when we first met?" She had always been lovely, even the time he caught her crying behind the gym. The first time he hadn't stuttered when he talked to her, and the first time she'd even thought of falling in love back.

He chuckled, very bitterly. "I know what you're trying to do." The smile on his face came nowhere near his eyes.

"Does it matter?"

Mark sighed, and thought, wrapping his arms around her. "March 11th, 1984." A real smile, now. Took a few seconds, but it did happen. He laughed heartily. More heartily than the story strictly demanded. "Oh, gosh, I was such an idiot!"

Alison laughed, too. "Why were you such an idiot?" she asked facetiously.

"Oh, as if you didn't know!" Mark fake-scolded, rubbing his nose up against hers. She giggled cutely. Mark loved Alison's cute little giggle.

He paused for a second after moving back, simply looking down at her. The bright fire from her left cast her face and form in a brightness that almost knocked Mark off of his feet. Her brunette hair, softly curled, blew in the ashen wind. The wrinkles and bags gained with age had seemed to disappear, and there was some look in her eyes Mark hadn't seen in years. "What is it?" Alison finally asked of him. Perhaps he had thought for more than the few seconds he thought he had.

"You look like an angel," Mark said.

A few moments in which they were both silent. But there was no actual silence. The sounds of the apocalypse were all around them.

They looked up at the meteor together. Looming and insurmountable, the biggest one the city had seen yet. Smaller ones had impacted the surrounding houses as the night marched on unbidden, and sadness walked the ruined streets. But this house had remained untouched, for some reason. Now the reasons why were obvious; the universe in its cruel nature had decided to kill off the neighborhood in a single strike, and had left the impact site untouched until the grand finale. And it was close now. Close enough, to blind and choke and heat. Close enough to sing its song of simplification, guiding all things to their lives after their lives.

The feel of death was on lips, fingertips, and within each and every creaky joint.

Alison and Mark drew a little closer together as smaller meteors rained with more frequency around their house. Strategies had been discussed as soon as everyone realized the meteors were coming, but the scientists and the extremely religious and the politicians and the big businesses and the conspiracy theorists and the average joe all realized very very quickly that such talk was silly. Any chance of escape was stupid to think of when rock big enough to destroy the entire planet was going to make landfall in less than eight hours.

Ashes everywhere. A a great bonfire falling upon the city from the sky.

Alison and Mark stared, and stared, and stared, and their hearts sank. Finally, as though with one accord, the two turned to one another and gazed into each other's eyes.

The heat was truly unbearable now.

"I love you!" Alison shouted as loud as she could. The meteors drowned out anything important she could possibly say, though.

But her husband still knew what she said. And rather than discuss the issue with words that could not be perceived anyway, Mark brought her softness and curves close to him with his strong, hard arms, and lifted her up just an inch or so and her eyes closed and lips puckered in preparation.

They kissed. And during that second, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Memories, like bits and bytes, were transferred across the sparking electricity flowing cross their lips. Embarassing pratfalls, a first date, a little too much to drink, skinny dipping, a birth, a death, picking out constellations and eating cotton candy, fireworks, their first time, heartbeats and deep breaths, a son and a daughter, mothers and fathers and mothers and fathers in law, a bond that could not be broken, a pair of high schoolers with unrealistic dreams, grapes and chocolate and salt and pepper and garlic bread, and all the little moments in between.

Passion was suddenly renewed in that second. The heat of the meteor was insignificant compared to what Mark and Alision Stuart were feeling at the moment. A tear escaped her left eye, his right eye. Hearts beat in unison, rapid like they had not been since the two were newly married.

The second passed.

And then, in the next second, the meteor finally stru

...my dramatic scenes always seem ridiculous to me. *shrug*

[NotAPumpkin]

APW, I rather enjoyed that. You have a good style.

[SkaianRedeemer]

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu this paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaage.

Kerensky, I know a fraction of your pain.

@Miss Prince: I'm having a little trouble working out just how old the Trolls are. Young adults? Still enjoying this so much.

@Aerodactylus: 0_0 I am okay with this. I SUPER okay with this. Also, I realize it's probably a spoiler this early but your fic's overall title (yeah, I read your sig) might want to make an appearance at the top so people know it's part of the same thing. If not, make sure to include a message to that effect.

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Why does Aradia have temporary quarters during the cleanup but still has her old quarters afterwards?

@EdwardTheGreat: Space out your paragraphs and I don't know, I didn't like that all of Nepeta's new backstory had to be dropped by Karkat in a giant glob. Still, very touching!

@Dehgan & aC: This is still great, but since I'm all critiquing stuff and all: Karkat's sudden return to panic after getting calmed down to talk with vampire Kanaya in the last chapter seems abrupt. Normally I can excuse that sort of thing because of chapter breaks, but it seems clear to me that this is moments later.

@AProcrastinatingWriter: Makes me sad! I had a little trouble feeling for the characters, however, because of how generically you described them. You called the wife "stereotypical" twice in the same paragraph! I think that was the point, what with your title, but it didn't help the fic.

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I'm not very fond of the final cutoff on an aesthetic level, but there's an additional practical reason that's bugging me. You cut off to show that the world had ended, POV characters dead and all buuuut... the subject of the sentence (and worse, the entire paragraph) is the meteor. That invalidates what you're doing. The meteor is the only thing that's relatively fine!

This page really reinvigorated my fanfic drive! We are in the high speed flying car to non-canon adventure right here. I'm supposed to be working. If nothing else, I'm supposed to be working on that upcoming difficult chapter. Once I've got it working I will shout for freaking joy, the pest. You all keep this up, you hear?

[Kassiopeia]

@Seraph how dare you I went to bed as early as... 4am last night. SO THERE.
@aC and Dehgan: oh man how are you guys so good, this is adorable and hilarious and ALL THE THINGS.

[Hazel]

Oh hey, how about some more of that still-untitled Aradia/Kanaya Daddy!Droog fic? I still have no idea where this is going but I think it's growing a plot on me.

Also I know pretty much exactly zero about sewing and fashion and tailors and all that stuff, so if I've said anything really stupid, please feel free to point it out to me.

Part One

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"So what's your friend's name?" you eventually ask your daughter. You've been trying to find a natural way to work the question in for three solid days, but it hasn't worked, mostly because neither of you are exactly chatty. You feel pretty out of your depth on this one, and you don't like the feeling at all. You need to do something, or you'll go crazy, but you need a little more to go on, and stealth hasn't worked out for you so far.

Abrupt or not, the question doesn't phase Aradia. "Kanaya," she says. "Kanaya Maryam." And goddammit, her eyes get a little of that spark again just from saying the name. This is serious. "Why do you ask, Daddy?"

You grunt and shrug. "Just wondering," you say, and she doesn't press the issue.

In the early afternoon the next day, while Aradia's still asleep, you get in your car and make your way back to the house you tailed your daughter to a few nights prior. You aren't entirely sure what you intend to do when you get there. Break her kneecaps, maybe, but unless things go really badly here that's probably not going to help matters.

You ring the doorbell and wait. After a minute, the door opens to reveal the same troll woman you saw with Aradia at the theater. Now that you can get a better look, you realize she's quite pretty; she has fine features, carefully enhanced with understated but effective make-up, and even at this point in the day, in her own home, her clothes are stylish and sharp. She's not exactly your type -- which is probably for the best, as that could get awkward quickly -- but your little girl's got taste. You feel a strange surge of pride.

"Can I help you?" the woman asks, her words carefully enunciated and even.

"Miss Maryam?" you ask.

"Yes, that would be me," she starts, and you're already maneuvering past her into the house. It's a nice place, mostly neat, though the odd scrap of fabric lies on the floor or hangs from one of the numerous houseplants. You can just glimpse a mannequin through an open doorway, and you head in that direction.

Miss Maryam follows you. "Can I help you?" she repeats, this time with an undercurrent of irritation. You ignore her, instead peering closely at the suits and dresses in various states of finish that litter the room, some on mannequins, some on tables, one particular pair of pants lying half-sewn still in the machine. The work is really quite incredible. An idea begins to form in your mind.

Finally, you glance back at her. Maryam is standing in the doorway frowning, body language wary, defensive. There's a tube of lipstick in her right hand, caught in a tight grip at her hip. Weird.

"I need a suit," you say. It's not, in fact, a lie, and you like what you can see of her work. "My usual tailor… well, he's probably not going to be available any more." Depending on how quickly the cement set, anyway. Annoying as hell; you liked that tailor. "Anyway, I've heard your name around and thought I'd give you a shot."

"I see," she responds, still obviously skeptical, but she does relax a little. "I don't have time for you now, but…" She hesitates, obviously warring with herself. Finally she sighs. "We could set up an appointment."

You smirk. Victory once again. "That's fine by me," you tell her.

She's eyeing you critically now. Well, she was eyeing you critically before, but this time you can see her appraising your clothing, your build, seeing the lines of a suit that has yet to come into being. "We'll need to take your measurements, talk about the design and the material, all the specifics. It will take some time."

"I have my measurements," you tell her.

She's looking at the suit you're wearing skeptically, and you feel like you ought to be offended. "I don't trust any measurement I haven't taken myself. Are you free Thursday?"

You set up an appointment and leave the house in good spirits, pleased that the plan you don't actually have is progressing so well. You've got a golden opportunity to see if this girl is even halfway worthy of your daughter, if you play your cards right -- and you always do.

Slick calls later that evening, sounding irritated. Which is pretty much his default state, so you're not exactly concerned. "Droog," he says, "you know that shipment we've got coming in in a couple of weeks?"

You can tell by the way he says it that this can't lead to anything good. "You mean the biggest shipment we've ever taken in?" you ask slowly, voice low. "The shipment I pretty much single-handedly arranged? The shipment that took six months to pin down? Yeah, I think I remember that."

"Don't get fucking cute with me, Droog," Slick snarls into the phone. "We've got a problem."

"Of course we do."

"I said don't get fucking-- fuck it, never mind. Look, word's coming from every corner that the Felt are gonna make a move on us, and with all that time bullshit they always pull it ain't gonna be pretty. We're gonna need to be seriously prepared."

Just what you need. For once Slick has a good reason for being pissed. "We meeting up, then?" you ask.

"Tomorrow night, and everybody better be there. And--" he stops with a grunt. You wait patiently, and finally he says, "And I think we should bring the kid in on this one."

You glance over at your daughter, playing solitaire at the table in the other room. She lays an ace in the upper right-hand corner. "I'll think about it."

"Damn it, Droog," Slick says. "If we're ever gonna make her a member of the Midnight Crew, she has to start helping out sometime. That's what you want, isn't it? That's why she's still hanging around, right?" You don't answer. After a moment he continues anyway, "And look, she could be a real help here with the Felt. If she could pull off that crazy time warp shit again--"

"I said I'll think about it," you cut him off sharply. "See you tomorrow, Slick." You hang up.

You wander into the other room and sit at the table, just looking at your daughter. She calmly finishes her game -- a loser, but that's the way the game's rigged -- before turning to you. "Is something wrong, Daddy?"

A dry chuckle rumbles out of you. "Nah, kid, don't worry about it," you tell her. "What do you say we order in and make a night of it?" She nods her assent, and you dig out the phone book, wondering why problems always seem to hit you all at once.

Your Droog is he most adorabloodthirsty. And I could picture cross-armed Kanaya from Corebound when he described her. And gangster!Aradia! The drama. What if Kanaya is an undercover cop? No, that would be too sad.

[SeptimusMagistos]

Sup thread. I gotta a bit of a problem. Writer's block. This is a problem for a writer like me, as I need to write or else my head gets all cluttered and I forget parts of stories and whanot. I have found the source of this block however.

Homestuck
And you people

Reading this comic then going on the forum and reading all your wonderful fics, and yes ALL of your fics are wonderful, has distracted me all day to the point I got NOTHING done writing-wise. So I decided to take this problem head on...and write a silly little fic of my own! EQUIUS NEPETA FIC YALL!

...I am so sorry ;_;

Void's Embrace

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Equius Zahhak felt himself spiraling into a depression no amount of STRONG flexing could alleviate. He sat in the middle of his makeshift respiteblock on a mountain of towels simply staring at the lab wall. Equius was used to things not working out as he wanted; on of his most recent failings being the lack of clairvoyance to know that the torso attached to his newest robotics experiment wouldn’t be able to quell his affinity for stairs, despite numerous warnings. However this last blow had broken him like so many robot bodies against his fists. Aradia, the first and probable last love of his young life, had exploded. Right in front of his eyes. Immediately after hugging another troll. That was around a half hour ago. At which point he had absconded to his respiteblock and unloaded his entire inventory for the coming flurry of violence and sweating that was to commence. Instead there came nothing. It was as if a void had appeared where his once STRONG emotions existed, and all he could do was sit and stare. A knock at his door brought him out of his reverie. He gave a grunt of admittance and with a SHOOSH the door opened and in came his moirail, Nepeta. No doubt here to comfort him with cat related puns.

“Equius...are you alright?” Her voice was quiet and distant.
“I’m fine.” It was the first thing that came into his head.
“I know you probably cared for Aradia very much. So I brought you something that could pawsibly help you feel better...”
There was a loud DOOF of something hitting the floor. Equius turned to see a large block of metal he had never seen before.
“It’s a really tough metal I found beneath the lab in one of the restricted areas. I think it might actually be strong enough to make a bow that you can use.”
At that Equius found himself jumping to his feet in anger and distress. “Nepeta! What were you doing snooping around the restricted areas! You could have-”
It was then that Equius noticed Nepeta’s current state. Her eyes were swollen with tears, her clothes stained by the ones already shed. She had her claws out, broken and battered, her knuckles actually bleeding. On her face a sad smile.
“Nepeta...what?”
She leapt forward embracing her moirail in one of her trademark glomps. He found it...suitably satisfying.
“Don’t worry about me, alright? Just get through this. I’ll...I’ll be fine.” And with that she ran out the door, stifled sobs spilling over on her way out.

Equius followed her out into the hall and ran after her. He followed her shouting after her, but whether it were due to shame of her moirail seeing her cry or the pain of whatever was troubling her, she refused to wait up, and outstripped him easily. A quick SHOOSH and Equius found himself in the main transportal room. He had lost sight of her, and there was no telling where she had gone.

“Hey fuckass.” The voice came from behind him. There stood his leader Karkat. “Come the fuck over here. I want to show you something.” His voice was as grim and surly as ever, but well below its usual decibels. Equius followed and found himself in a large room he had yet to be in.
“As much as I would like to entertain your profanity laden shouting sir, I’m afraid this is one time I’m going to have to have to decline. Nepeta-”
“Was killed. Fucking brutally by the sound of it. By that brainless feathery asshole. Terzei and I just got done interrogating her about twenty minutes ago. Derse is destroyed.” Karkat was noticeably shaking with what was probably rage, but having spent the better part of the last half hour consoling the others and trying to keep his group from falling apart with the sheer force of his bitter anger, he was emotionally drained. He could only look on as Equius simply stood silent, as if waiting for Karkat to say, ‘GOT YA FUCKASS!’ Realizing Equius was to stay silent, he gave a dismissive grunt and turned on a screen.

“I had Sollux set this room up. It’s a surveillance center. The cameras are set around the compound and around the forbidden sections of the lab. We don’t want any fuckers sneaking up on us and turning this compound into a rainbow-blood tornado. Now I want you to sit here and watch this video of earlier. Then you can do whatever the fuck you want.”
The screen blinked to life, and on it was Nepeta. She was crying her eyes out and shouting at a large beast. The abomination was large and black and resembled a giant walking castle tower. She dispatched it with one swipe of her claw, and another rose in its place. With a roar it fell as well. More came into view, and Equius watched as Nepeta slew one dersite war machine after another. Over the din of the slain creatures Equius heard her shout.

“The mighty huntress will stronger! I must be stronger! She will not die again! I will not die! I will be stronger! I will be there for Equius! For everyone! I am a mighty huntress!”
She continued to shout and scream and rage and destroy, when suddenly one of the larger beasts exploded and dropped a strange chunk of metal. The very same chunk that sat in Equius’ respiteblock. Karkat spoke up again.

“She’s been down there fighting those things for a while now. The idiot blames herself for the destruction of Derse since she saw the demon coming. She blames herself for the death of the Derse dreamselves. Mostly for yours.” He began to walk out the way they came in. “I know you’re cut up about Aradia. We all are. But it’s up to the stronger of us to keep the group together. Terzei and I have been doing our part, and even Vriska has been noticeably quieter. So I suggest you stop being such a grub and stop sitting the fuck around in your room.”
“...Karkat.” Equius called after him.
“What, you want me to make it an order so you can get off on it?”
“...you would have made a good high blood.” With that Equius ran back to his respiteblock.

He had been a fool. A selfish one. While he was sitting around feeling sorry for himself, he had neglected his dearest and closest friend. He would rectify this immediately. He STRONGLY burst into his lab and began to devise ways of paying Nepeta back. What could he do for his Moirail? Perhaps make her something? Like a new weapon to replace her old one? Or perhaps paint her an Alternian masterpiece of a mighty muscle beast showing his contention for lesser beings with his giant apendages. No. Bad Equius. These are things that would satisfy yourself. Think of Nepeta. Think of her needs. He happened to glance over at the strangely STRONG metal she had brought him earlier. Suddenly Equius found himself struck by inspiration. A sacrifice would be made...

After about another half hour of forcing herself to destroy wave after wave of dersite constructs, Nepeta had reached the point of near collapse. One of these things posed no threat. Two? Piece of cake. An army by herself? That was quite the workout. However so matter ho many times Kanaya meddled or Karkitty shouted she wouldn’t give up. She had to get stronger. She no longer had a dreamself and therefore no longer had a chance to become God-tier like Serket. So instead she would sharpen her claws the old fashioned way. The mighty huntress would show no fear. She would become strong. She would-

“Nepeta. Cease this foolishness.”
Nepeta turned around and so standing in the entrance to her makeshift battlefield Equius. However there was something different about him. His entire body seemed to be in some kind of brace. He strode over to her with grim determination.
“Nepeta...I must apologize. I had failed you utterly and completely.”
“I have no idea what you could paw-sibly be talking about.” She tried her best to slow down her breathing. To put on a brave face. He just lost his matesprit and needs someone to be there for him and keep him out of trouble.

“Please Nepeta stop. I wish...I wish to comfort you.” After pausing for a second as if reconsidering Equius stepped forward and embraced Nepeta in a hug. But this was no ordinary embrace from Equius, which was usually a very painful soft patting on the back. He was in a full embrace. Using all his available strength to hold Nepeta to himself in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “I have used the metal you brought me to construct a power limiting brace. I now have the strength of two...Karkitties.”
“You set it to Karkitties!?”
“Yes...I felt it was an appropriate gesture of kindness and suitable way to pay back his help in this venture. Though when I told him he didn’t seem very flattered...never mind that though.” Equius pulled his head back and looked into Nepeta’s eyes. “Nepeta I’m sorry. I should not have abandoned you.”
“Aradia-” Nepeta began looking away. He gripped her tighter.
“Was tragic yes. However if you can get through your tragedy to be there for me, I should be able to do the same. So please Nepeta, stop this needless violence before we have another tragedy...I...I don’t know if I could handle another.” With that Equius...removed his sunglasses and allowed a tear to come to his eyes.

That seemed to be the breaking point for these two friends. They got to enjoy both their first true embrace and their first cry. This eventually turned into laughter as the two of them slumped to the ground, Equius fatigued from his brace and Nepeta from taking her body to the limit. A while later still and Nepeta began to slump in and out of a fitful. Equius deciding that sleeping in a corridor to a forbidden section of the lab was ill advised and carried her off towards the Transportalizer room. It was there that he ran into Karkat.

A terrified and frantic Karkat.

“OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD! YOU!” He shouted running over to the pair. “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU...WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR GLASSES?”
“I must have left them in the corridor, I’ll go get them...”
“FUCK THAT SHIT WE HAVE TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

“Karkitty?” Nepeta slightly stirred awake. “What...what’s going on?”

“Wow you’re one fast motherfucker Kar.” Gamzee stepped out of the shadows, his body slack like a puppet cut from its strings his face blank and his makeup smudged. “I gotta admit we’re sort of impressed. REAL IMPRESSED MOTHERFUCKER. I mean a joke like you, actually beating me at something? THAT’S A FUCKING MIRACLE. I guess that means its three on two then. HONK.”

“It appears that our Gamzee has once again become the Gamzee who crippled the Black King.” Equius felt fear come over him but kept his voice steady. His path was clear. None of this was a coincidence.

“YEAH. THIS IS WHY WE HAVE TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”
“I’m afraid not,” Equius said ripping his brace off and gently laying Nepeta against his frightened leader. “Karkat, take Nepeta and go far from this place.”
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON ABOUT!?” Karkat screamed eyeing Gamzee apprehensively. The clown seemed stopped in his tracks by this development.
“Karkat, I had just enjoyed possibly the greatest moment of my life with the one troll in this world who never found me to be in contempt. I’m ready for this. I’m ready to be the hero.”

“BUT WHAT IF I’M NOT!? FUCK-DAMMIT EQUIUS I ALREADY LOST FERFEI AND KANAYA. I WON’T LOSE YOUR CREEPY VOYEUR ASS AS WELL!”
“Can we hurry this along motherfuckers? I gotta a carnival to start up.”
“Gamzee? What’s going on here?” Nepeta was beginning to come back to her senses. If she became aware enough to the fact that both Equius and Karkat were in danger...

“This is non-negotiable. Farewell, Sir.” Equius said pushing Karkat into the center transporter back to the computer room. His last view of his leader being his outstretched hand and his face contorted into a mix of anger and anguish. He then brought down his STRONG fist and smashed the portal to pieces. It fizzled out with a spark. It was now completely unusable.

“Oh now why’d you gotta go and fuckin’ do that!? Now I gotta like...actually look for that room and shit. THAT WAS FUCKING UNCONCIABLE. HONK!”
“Kanaya and Ferfei...your doing?” Was all Equius could bring himself to say.
“Nope. Must be some other Motherfucker. FUCKERS STEALING MY KILLS!”
“Very well. I see no reason to draw out your suffering then.” And with that Equius leapt forward.

The battle didn’t last long.

But Equius was still satisfied in the end. He was off to join Aradia and Nepeta was in the arms of her love. Hopefully she would be able to do what he could not and have a happy ending with her ‘Karkitty.’ That somehow no more trolls would meet anymore messy ends at the hands of friends. That in the end good would triumph. Who knows? After all, Equius thought as darkness encompassed his thoughts.

A lot can happen in an hour.

Criticism welcomed and encouraged

Ah, yes. Building things and being awesome. This is why I enjoy Equius.

[SeptimusMagistos]

Double Post.

[Doodled]

?-Terezi lifted the knife to Nepeta's neck... then Nepeta realized it wasn't a knife... then Terezi pulled a knife OUT OF THE CANE. I'm confused.
-There are a few too many changes of tone in this scene, especially right near the start. Did you just write the ending in the previous chapter then change your mind about what was going to happen?
*I hope you aren't one of those people who does terrible things to characters they love.

@?- Sorry for the confusion. My head-canon kept insisting that Terezi had a knife hidden in the cane...
@- Nope. :P I planned for that when I typed up the first part, in fact. I wanted the previous part to contain an insane cliff-hanger, only to show the readers that not all bad situations will end poorly... Just most.
@* Hehehehe... Hehehehehe...

Also,

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MissPrince - NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICE!

Aero - O_O Wow...

Arcane - *applause*

[Path]

Had a bizarre dream last night: this is the result. I'm not sure we have butler Dave fanfic yet but... I live to serve.

Getting a Green Butler

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>Be Lord English.
You are now LORD ENGLISH, richest gentleman this side of the Neversphere. Which is to say, the opposite side of the Neversphere from everyone else.

>Retrieve arms from Incipisphere.
Your arms are already comfortably ensconced in the sleeves of your Cairo housecoat, and you don't plan on removing them any time soon.

>Open browser and go to mspaintadventures.com.
You pull up your Minnesota Fatstop and type in the address of your favourite website. It takes a while to load; wireless can get pretty slow out in the Neversphere.

==>
EB: ok, good.
EB: all i am saying is, why can't i have a dave butler too?
GG: well, maybe you can.....
GG: i will try to put in a good word for you B)

Looks like everybody is getting a Dave butler. You're a little jealous. You own everything in the Neversphere, but you certainly don't have a Dave butler. These kids are starting trends you didn't even know existed.
You must have one.

>Skip to end of universe.
You step ahead into a time when you're just about to be born. You'll go back and orchestrate getting a Dave butler so you will have had one all along in this world. Easy enough, really. Ah- there's the crackling ripple of the end of existence now.

==>

= = =

Dave sits on his green bed in his green room with a green cast to his face. He puts his head in his hands and closes his eyes to block it all out. He is so sick of green. He finds it really horribly ironic that when this colour gets to him too much, he also pukes green. He used to think this suit was pretty cool in a totally serious way, but now he's outgrown it and just thinks it's stupid (as is the case with most of his interests), and wearing it now just feels like a sort of extra punishment for nothing at all.

And now it's got a pair of hideous green gloves to go with it. And a green tray, and oh god he hates this colour so much. He holds up the tray and looks at himself, reflecting green skin, green hair, and brown muddy eyes, and thinks about chucking the thing across the room.

It only took one bad jump, one mistake to ruin all his carefully crafted timelines. Dave had gotten sort of used to Terezi helping him with the calculations. He didn't need her to, but half the work is half the work, and when he woke up to see Jack coming and no answer from Terezi, he just jumped as far ahead as he figured he could. He realized something was wrong pretty much instantly when his screens came up blank and the world just had... nothing. He was just rewinding a bit when there was a sort of rippling crack through the nothingness, and the vacuum was just immense, and his timetables were ripped away from him before he could coordinate a jump out. Then he was sort of ripped away, sucked through the crack in what should be the sky.

Then he woke up here, in his green room with his green gloves and a green feeling, chained in green with a sealed sylladex and a summons. He could feel it pulling at him. And it's not like there was anything else to do. So he followed the tugging sick feeling and met the big guy, though after the first time he was careful not to look at his face, thick ironic shades or no. He was violently and greenly sick the first time he met Lord English, and he thinks the god or demon or whatever's opinion of him lowered a bit for it, since he treats Dave with a sort of distant distaste occasionally still.

Dave can't even think about the meeting too clearly. The rippling and the twisting and the weird feel of the floor falling out beneath him like those paintings with the stairs, it still just gets to him and makes him crouch down and hug his knees, closing his green-light muddy brown eyes to drive off the nausea.

Now he just brings the guy tea and sometimes something to read. Sometimes the guy asks him rhetorical questions that he's learned to just nod through. He's not sure what the deal is really, but the guy just sort of treats him like Jeeves and Dave goes along with it. He's felt too sick and dizzy since he got here to argue.

He misses everything in the world that wasn't green. He even misses Jade a bit and she was green, but a sort of healthy green and not this sick radioactive emerald stuff.

He feels the pulling again, and pulls himself and his suit and his tray off to get tea.

= = =

>Check on the latest update.
Hmm, looks like nobody has a Dave butler now. All the Daves in their universe are dead. Flying cars are the new rage. You can't be the last person with a Dave butler, it'd wreak havoc on your carefully-cultivated image. If anybody was here to see it. Still, got to hop on the new trends as they come, and drop them more quickly next time.

= = =

He steps up to Lord English's side, looking carefully away from the green sleeve with the racing rave stripes as it takes the cup and retreats again into the enormous arm chair. Dave's just leaving when the voice that shakes Dave's blood speaks, and he has to stop- not just to get his breath, but in half-conscious fear of what the demon thing will do if he doesn't just humour him.

The words seem to burn themselves into Dave's brain. David, what does a man need in life?

Other colours, he thinks immediately. And then, sound that doesn't break your mind to hear. Friends. He gets a sharp wash of entirely unironic homesickness. Egbert- John. Jade. Terezi, weird demands and freakish behaviour and all. Rose. Belatedly- Bro. Another wave of embarrassing homesickness, and a bit of shame that he didn't think of him earlier. Red. He just misses red.

And being Dave. He can't tell how long he's been here in this place with indestructible green walls and sickening light, but he's never felt less like himself. Staring at nothing but green has melted his brain. He'd like to be him again.

Hm, says English. I suppose we all need something.

= = =

>Dismiss Dave butler.
You skip to the end of the universe again and wait for everything to end. Dave has been a good butler to you (if not as proactive as you'd prefer) and you hope he'll serve his next master well. New trends beckon.

= = =

Dave falls out of the crack in the sky just in time to see his past self swept into it. He catches his timetables as they get pulled in, and sets them up quickly- things seem to be kind of going to hell here. Time to move back.

He jumps back, just using his second-to-last coordinates, and grins at the unlocked sylladex, flipping between a few shirts and just revelling in the colours. Then- oh shit, Jack. That was why he made the stupid jump in the first place. But he already feels more aware and solid than he did then, everything heightened by the rush of untainted air, of colour and comfort and blissful reds, and he does the math without even thinking, diving backwards just as the blade comes in for his neck.

Far back in the timeline, he changes into a red and white shirt and some jeans and tosses his green suit into the lava. Suits are pretty much the last thing he wants, and he knows for a fact he'll never wear green again.

He can sort of see Terezi's weird red thing now.

= = =

==>
Now how are you supposed to get yourself a flying car?

[EdwardTheGreat]

@EdwardTheGreat: Space out your paragraphs and I don't know, I didn't like that all of Nepeta's new backstory had to be dropped by Karkat in a giant glob. Still, very touching!

Thanks for the feedback! Yeah this was my first time posting something like this on a forum, so figuring out how to format this was...a challenge to say the least. I also agree with Nepeta's part be somewhat thrown at Equius haphazardly, but this was me trying to get this out as fast as possible to get it out of my head and make room for more original stuff. This was actually my first time writing writing a fanfiction of any kind. I was actually pretty nervous about the whole thing O_O

Ah, yes. Building things and being awesome. This is why I enjoy Equius.

All these qualities wrapped up in one STRONG package. Truly he is the best of us.

[Wigmund]

The latest update inspired me.
The Prophetic Diagram

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Open Pesterlog

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-- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

GG: hey karkat, are you there?
GG: come on, answer me fuckass. >:B
CG: OHGODOHGODOHGOD WHAT NOW?
GG: PASSWORD FUCKASS!
CG: FUCK THAT JADE, I'M BUSY RUNNING FOR MY LIFE!
GG: don't try to avoid me karkat. don't try to avoid my PASSWORDS either fuckass!
CG: NO, I'M BEING SERIOUS. ERIDAN AND GAMZEE HAVE FLIPPED THEIR FUCKING LIDS, ERIDAN'S KILLED FEFERI AND KANAYA. GAMZEE IS HUNTING ME DOWN!
GG: ...
GG: well, i guess that explains why feferi claimed she was dead in my dream bubble...
CG: WHAT.
GG: but kanaya? i'm sorry karkat. i'm really sorry about that.
CG: I UNDERSTAND, BUT I REALLY DOESN'T MATTER - SHE GOT BETTER.
GG: better?
CG: WELL, SORTA. SHE'S A RAINBOW DRINKER NOW. KEEPS TRYING TO DRINK MY BLOOD. IT'S GETTING ANNOYING.
GG: hehehe
CG: YEAH, BUT I'M STILL FLIPPING MY SHIT OVER GAMZEE HUNTING ME DOWN.
GG: well, sounds like you have a guardian now and it looks like this gamzee is in a completely different part of your asteroid.
CG: HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?
GG: i have my ways ;B
CG: OKAY, I GUESS I CAN CALM DOWN FOR A BIT AND FIND OUT WHAT YOU WANT.
CG: WAIT A MOMENT, WHEN DID YOU START USING THAT BUCKTOOTHED EMOTICON? I THOUGHT YOU HATED THAT.
GG: well, i did...
GG: but then i started chatting with you so much and it just grew on me.
GG: kinda like this thing: PASSWORD FUCKASS!
CG: OH GOG DAMMIT JADE! I DON'T KNOW THE FUCKING PASSWORD!
GG: good, because the current password is:
GG: SHOW ME THIS SHIPPING WALL YOU DREW FOR JOHN AND DAVE!
CG: oh fuck
GG: >:B
CG: WHO THE FUCK TOLD YOU ABOUT THAT STUPID THING?
GG: john did. he mentioned that you drew something that said he had to marry rose and that i had to marry dave.
GG: so i decided that i just had to take a good hard look at this prophetic diagram.
CG: UH...I NEED TO GO FIND IT, HOLD ON.
GG: hurry up you idiot.
CG: I'M SORRY, IT LOOKS LIKE I DELETED IT AFTER I SENT IT TO THOSE TWO FUCKING IDIOTS.
GG: good.
CG: YEAH, IT WAS A SHITTY DRAWING ANYWAYS. I CAN'T DRAW AT ALL. NEPETA HAS THE CRAZY ASS SHIPPING WALL DOODLING TALENTS.
GG: nepeta?
CG: THE ONE WHO ACTS LIKE A CAT AND USES PUNS AND THE STUPID FUCKING :33 FACES.
GG: oh her, i liked chatting with her. she's silly and i liked roleplaying with her.
CG: OH GOG, NOT ANOTHER ONE. ):<B WHY IS IT ALL THE GIRLS THAT I HAVE LIKED OR LIKE ME, LIKE ROLEPLAYING?
GG: :o
CG: OH FUCK, I DIDN'T MEAN TO TYPE THAT. JUST IGNORE IT.
GG: nope, too late.
CG: SHITSHITFUCKSHITGOGFUCKINGDAMMITSHITFUCK
GG: :B
CG: WAIT A MOMENT, YOU SAID 'GOOD' EARLIER WHEN I SAID I DELETED THE STUPID SHIPPING CHART. WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT?
GG: ...
CG: GOOD, AS IN 'IT'S A GOOD THING I DELETED SUCH A SHITTY PICTURE'?
GG: ...
CG: OR IS IT, 'GOOD, NOW I DON'T HAVE TO MARRY THAT STUPID SMUG DOUCHE AND CAN CHASE SOMEONE ELSE'?
GG: i think i need to go karkat.
CG: NO, PLEASE DON'T. YOU'VE DISTRACTED ME FROM THE PSYCHO CLOWN AND THE GIRL WHO CURRENTLY TRYING TO SUCK ON MY NECK.
GG: 8O oh noooooo
GG: alright, i won't leave and yes.
CG: YES? YES WHAT?
GG: yes to the second rational for 'good'.
CG: WHAT...I...OH MY...
GG: exactly.
CG: JADE, I THINK WE'LL NEED TO TALK MORE WHEN WE MEET FACE-TO-FACE. THAT IS IF I SURVIVE ALL OF THIS.
GG: don't worry, one way or another, we'll meet up. i believe that.
GG: i'm sorry, but i have to go. someone else is trying to pester me.
CG: WELL THEN, I'LL HOPEFULLY TALK TO YOU LATER.
GG: see ya karkat

-- gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

CG:
CG: WHAT THE HELL DID I GET MYSELF INTO?

"You Have Gotten Yourself Into What Is Obviously A Very Cute Relationship With Jade," Kanaya whispered into Karkat's ear as she draped herself over his shoulders. She started to nuzzle into his neck, but he batted her off.
"A relationship? With Jade?" Karkat continued to stare at the pesterlog. Especially that green heart that Jade left for him at the end of the document. A small smile creeped onto his face.
"Well That Is Certainly Something I Have Not Seen Before."
"What?"
Kanaya smiled at Karkat and hugged him, "A Genuine Smile On Your Face. It Makes Me Feel So Happy For You."
Karkat leaned into the hug and enjoyed it. It was great that Kanaya was up and moving again, even if she constantly wanted to get at his blood. Small price to pay for having his friend back.

"Well, shit."
"What Is It?"
"We've got ourselves a whole bunch of human/troll relationships here Kanaya. Dave and Terezi, Jade and myself, You and Rose."
Kanaya blushed and pulled herself away from Karkat.
"Rose And Myself? But I Happen To Be-"
"A Rainbow Drinker, yeah I know. But I imagine if you tried to contact her now, you'd be able to and I really doubt she'd care if you are now undead."
Karkat leaned back in his chair, staring at the walls beyond his monitor, "In fact, the way she acts, I think she'd find it even more appealing."
Kanaya was pacing around the lab, but stopped when Karkat said that and smiled. Then she got a faraway look and turned back to her new moirail, "What About The Human John? There Is Not Much Of A Selection Of Trolls Left Since He Says He Isn't Into Other Boys."
Karkat rubbed his chin, "Yeah, he was chatting up Vriska, but she's dropped off the face of the Incipishere. Feferi's dead and talking to Jade in the Furthest Ring. Who knows where Aradia went off to when she blew up, that just leaves..."

Karkat turned to Kanaya and they looked at each other and said the name of the last available female troll at the same time.
"Fuck, that means we need to get her up here so she'll be safe from Gamzee and Eridan."
"Do Not Worry About That Karkat, I Shall Go Retrieve Nepeta and Equius Since I Imagine They Are Hiding Together. Then We Can Motivate Her To Start Talking To John."
Kanaya got onto the teleportalizer and Karkat watched her disappear. He leaned back in his chair again, this time staring at the ceiling. Another smile creeped onto his face.

It was time to draw a new shipping diagram.

A/N:

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That was silly, but I enjoyed writing it :3

I just realized it's been way too long since I spammed the Fanfic thread with my writings, I've been camped in the TrollCops thread instead.

Sorry about that

[egregiousBass]

Getting a Green Butler

Oh my god this is priceless.

Just...how did you dream this up?

Trendy conformist Lord English is head-canon now.

[Path]

Just...how did you dream this up?

My dreams are vast, ridiculously complex stories. I'm always really pleased when I'm able to actually use them; most of them are way too weighty and long to ever write. Glad you enjoyed it ^_^

[Kassiopeia]

@Path that was magnificent. Highly amusing and strangely touching :3 KEEP IT UP.