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

[NemFX]

Rebuild. Chapter one.

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The brief letter trembled slightly in the girl's pale hands.

It made no sense.

None of it did.


A typed letter fell through her mail slot at some point the night before.

But aside from herself, her friends, and a small handful of guardians and various creatures that Dave had managed to save, the rest of the planet was essentially empty.

There were no other humans. No typewriters. No postal service.

And yet, clutched in her hands was the evidence to contradict all that. And that evidence told her where the one missing piece of their adventuring quintet was.


After they had beaten Sburb, or more accurately survived the Reckoning and Bec Noir's final battle, the kids had settled in an area by a lake. One of the few that hadn't been destroyed by meteors or geothermal instability.

Thankfully, over the course of their adventures they had made hundreds of extra captchalogue cards, and filled nearly all of them with the conveniences of everyday life.

Rebuilding wasn't easy, but when they finally got a copy of Dave's computer hooked up to Rose's mother's generator, they got in contact with the trolls, who greatly assisted them.

Using the tools that Sburb had provided them, they created a small town for everyone to live in comfortably while they rebuilt the world. Everything seemed okay until one night John left. A scribbled message in permanent marker on his wall left more questions than answers.

They searched for weeks. Then months.

They explored in all directions, Rose even flying out to the distant island in the middle of the lake; nothing there either.


It was nearly a year later that she received the letter which rekindled her hopes and fears.

Chapter two coming soon. Hope you enjoyed.

[Wigmund]

"Don't...forget...my teeth..."

battlerek, Do you realize how much squirting an omelet out of one's nose hurts?

Maybe you should cook your eggs longer so they aren't as runny?

They were overcooked and slightly burned...

[morpheoMancer]

"Don't...forget...my teeth..."

battlerek, Do you realize how much squirting an omelet out of one's nose hurts?

Maybe you should cook your eggs longer so they aren't as runny?

They were overcooked and slightly burned...

*winces* OUCH.

Also, someone posted THIS on DA, and now I can't get West Side Story as performed by the characters of Homestuck out of my head. Possibly with the Trolls vs. the Humans, with Jade x Karkat or Rose x Kanaya being the Tony and Maria. If it's the former, I nominate Wigmund to write it, as it will distract him from the omelet-related pain in his nose.

[NemFX]

Rebuild. Chapter two.

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Though Rose had spoken quietly about things with Jade over the year they had been rebuiling their world, nobody in their nameless little town missed what had likely been the worst altercation since the reckoning.

Everyone had found some sort of niche in their little society; Jade grew plants and food, Rose knitted clothing and blankets, and Dave's time powers prevented people from getting hurt whenever they went excavating.

Hell, even John's dad seemed to have fairly ridiculous strength compared to the rest of their motley band.

To his credit, John did try to help out with things, he just could never get the hang of knitting, and instead of Jade's green thumb, John's tended to kill any plant it came in contact with.

He tried to use his wind powers to try and help unbury what was once a skyscraper; it was a disaster.

When a dusty and bloodied Dave traveled back to stop it from happening, instead of the usual warnings he would give, Dave ran up to John and slugged him as hard as he could.

A confused and now bleeding John got back onto his feet, and that's when things went from bad to worse.

"What the fuck Dave? What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Me?!" John I just spent the last ten minutes hopping through time saving people from the building you were just about to detonate. You and your stupid wind powers blew the damned thing up, killed everyone here, and dropped what was left down onto my future self's head. You are what's wrong with me Egbert, you fuck up!"

Dave looked like he was about to attack John again, and this time regardless of circumstance, John wasn't going to let him get away with it. He summoned his Fear No Anvil hammer.

The weight felt good in his hand as the adrenaline surged through him.

He was just about to swing when both John and Dave were suspended in a violet light.

Chapter three coming soon. Hope you enjoyed.

[SkaianRedeemer]

@NemFX: If "soon" for you is the twelve minute gap between Chapter 1 and 2, you can probably put them into the same chapter!

@morpheoMancer: I can't access the link! Do you need a DA account, I guess? I never figured out how this works. But I support anything that helps Wigmund get over his hilarious eggcident.

...I hate myself.

[DJ-P0N3]

I am going to say this once and only once;
I am doing a fanfiction so ridiculous I am requesting at least 2-3 fantrolls to be involved.
Link me their trollslum, profile, appearance, anything that can help me somehow work them in.
For the benefit of making them easy to differentiate, a quirk that is unique is best.

PM me if you want to put your fantroll into something so preposterously silly.

[NemFX]

"Soon" is relative for me. I write them on paper. Each chapter is how much text I can write on a single page, which is why every chapter ends with some kind of dramatic statement or action. Typing stuff up takes time, but I only have a few chapters written so far. Each chapter will probably take longer to finish/upload.

[Wigmund]

Also, someone posted THIS on DA, and now I can't get West Side Story as performed by the characters of Homestuck out of my head. Possibly with the Trolls vs. the Humans, with Jade x Karkat or Rose x Kanaya being the Tony and Maria. If it's the former, I nominate Wigmund to write it, as it will distract him from the omelet-related pain in his nose.

My nose is fine, but the big problem here is that I've never watched West Side Story.

[Twigwise]

Oh god I go to bed and wake up to amazing. I love this thread.

I am going to say this once and only once;
I am doing a fanfiction so ridiculous I am requesting at least 2-3 fantrolls to be involved.
Link me their trollslum, profile, appearance, anything that can help me somehow work them in.
For the benefit of making them easy to differentiate, a quirk that is unique is best.

PM me if you want to put your fantroll into something so preposterously silly.

Any chance you could reserve? I was about to post a troll in the Slum anyways >.> *Feels silly for asking*

[DJ-P0N3]

@twinTempo
I can make no promises of reserving a troll, just send me the troll when done.
I won't be deciding till later, I would like to have options.

[Metaflare]

@twinTempo
I can make no promises of reserving a troll, just send me the troll when done.
I won't be deciding till later, I would like to have options.

Feel free to use Mespeh, link is in my sig.

[NemFX]

Rebuild. Chapter three.

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"Johnathan Martin Egbert. You put that hammer down right now." Rose's tone tried and failed to be calm, "and Dave, you stop this fighting this instant."

Though neither could actually fight back if they tried, it took them each a few minutes before they agreed.

Jade nervously peeked out from behind Rose, her rifle low slung, hoping she wouldn't need it.

"Oh John.. What's happening to you?" It was the straw that broke the camel's back. John tried to stutter out a reply, but he couldn't find the words, and stomped off back to his house frustrated.

For about a week John moped about town, before disappearing.

Naturally, Rose's first suspect was Dave, but as he'd been helping Jade all day in the gardens, and never leaving her sight for a moment meant there were no time shenanigans involved.

Indeed, Dave ended up leading searches long after most of them had given up hope.

As much as she hated to admit it, she gave up long before the others.John, if he was still alive, didn't want to be found.

Rose flew into the desert for hours, hoping to find tracks, Dave went with her and used his powers to try and see if John had been there in the past.

Nothing ever turned up.

Jade who was normally the most emotional didn't know how to function for awhile and was found late one night wandering the streets of the town putting up missing persons posters of John.

Given how many were up, she must have been doing it for hours, Rose thought.


One day two salamanders brought a pink turtle with a John poster on it's face.

Seeing John's picture, she hugged the turtle and didn't let go for nearly two hours before she realized the poster was just stuck to it's face.

So desperate to see John be okay again, she had been blinded to the fact that it was a simple accident and not a symbolic gesture.

Thankfully the creatures had fairly simplistic intellects, and did not seem to notice the aberrant behavior.

But Rose noticed, and worried for one friend's sanity and another's safety.

Chapter four coming soon. Hope you enjoyed.

(Also I remember seeing someone type out John's name like that somewhere before. I consider it fanon.)

[morpheoMancer]

@NemFX: If "soon" for you is the twelve minute gap between Chapter 1 and 2, you can probably put them into the same chapter!

@morpheoMancer: I can't access the link! Do you need a DA account, I guess? I never figured out how this works. But I support anything that helps Wigmund get over his hilarious eggcident.

...I hate myself.

Sorry! I fixed the link, but here it is again just in case.

[Aerodactylus]

Oh man writer's block. I finally pumped out this just to do something. So, have some RainbowDrinker!Kanaya.

Also, blood and stuff. I tried not to be too graphic.

Awaken

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You drift back into wakefulness. Where are you? How did you get here? You don't remember lying down on this cold floor. You're not sure what this odd taste in your mouth is, either. You swallow hastily, but your throat feels dry. You sit up slowly, hold your head in your hands, and try to remember. It's hard, harder than it should be. You feel as though the memories are liquid, trickling between your fingers no matter how hard you try to keep hold of them. Slowly, painfully slowly, images begin to come back.

You remember... you remember Eridan. He fought with Sollux. And then... and then he killed Feferi. The very idea is incredulous, but you're sure of it. He killed her, used that wand of his to shoot a hole in her chest. And then... and then what? You start to blank. You were doing so well, remembering, but it's fading now. An explosion, despair, anger, pain—and the rest is gone, blown out of shape like the desert sands.

You feel strange. Almost cold, though you feel warmth in the pit of your stomach. What's going on? Why can't you remember? You lower your hands and open your eyes.

You're still on the meteor, obviously. Where else would you be? But you aren't in the lab. Eridan is no where in sight. The thought of him brings you anger. How dare he! How dare he kill Feferi, with the weapon you gave him! The anger soon turns to rage, and you briefly entertain thoughts of killing him, of ripping out his throat, watching his amethyst blood flow as his life flickers out...

Realization of what you are thinking finally reaches you. Why are your thoughts suddenly so violent? Were you always like this? Has something changed? You're not sure. Your memories are still fuzzy.

You notice something red in the corner of your eye. Frowning slightly to yourself, you turn your head—

And you see Karkat. Oh, god. Oh, oh god.

He's lying on the floor at an odd angle, as if he was thrown to the side haphazardly. His throat was slashed open, his red blood drenching his shirt and spilling onto the floor. His eyes are still open, glazed over in death, and face is set eternally in a grimace of horror. The ghastly sight brings you to your feet. You take several steps back, sickened.

And yet, something inside you stirs.

Who could have done this? Who could have killed him so horribly?

You raise a hand to your mouth, only to recoil when you find wetness there. You look down at it.

Blood. Some green, some magenta, but mostly candy red.

Your memories finally flood back. Eridan destroying the Matriorb. Your own death. Your awakening afterwards, moving as if in a trance and hungry for blood. You remember drinking from Feferi's corpse. You remember killing Karkat.

Oh god. What have you done? What have you done?

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Why am I always so mean to Karkat? I'd cry if he really died in canon. ;-;

Why did no one comment on this? This was really good dA. I'd love to see a continuation!

[SkaianRedeemer]

@NemFX: If "soon" for you is the twelve minute gap between Chapter 1 and 2, you can probably put them into the same chapter!

@morpheoMancer: I can't access the link! Do you need a DA account, I guess? I never figured out how this works. But I support anything that helps Wigmund get over his hilarious eggcident.

...I hate myself.

Sorry! I fixed the link, but here it is again just in case.

Jazz hands Deuce!!!

[Doodled]

What's that? Part one? Yes, part one.

The Sapphire of Alternia, Part 1

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It starts with a phone call.

The phone rings in Problem Sleuth’s apartment, first working its way into his dreams as an annoying ringing before he realizes that it’s actually the phone. He wakes up and starts the slow process of pulling his eyes apart. Purple moonlight filters in through the blinds on the window, illuminating the clock on the wall. Three in the morning. Whoever this is better have a damn good reason for calling Problem Sleuth at three in the morning.

Problem Sleuth: Get that phone to stop ringing.

You know how hardboiled it is to get calls at three in the morning. But you’ve been on a stakeout every night for the past few days trying to catch some john in the act of paying for certain services on behalf of his wife. You think it’s funny that his money is paying for the investigation into his affairs.

But sometimes a guy just wants to sleep in until just after sunrise once in a while, like a normal person. But it looks like tonight isn’t gonna be that night.

==>

You roll over in your bed and pick up the phone on your bedside table. There’s a cop on the other end. You ask what his problem is for why he’s calling at three in the morning. He explains there’s a murder, and Anarchy Repressor wants him on the scene. As a second opinion. You ask him why he wants that since he’s never wanted it before.

He says that he’s calling in a favor.

What favor, you grumble and ask him where it is. He tells you. You tell him that you’re on your way and to tell Anarchy Repressor that he better be damn grateful because you’re going to be pretty damn grumpy when you get there. He says okay, but you can tell he’s just humoring you. You hang up.

Problem Sleuth rubs his eyes. He dials the number for his favorite taxi service. The phone gets picked up in the middle of the first ring.

A cheery voice greets him on the other end. “Hello? Transportation Deferrer’s Cab Service.”

“Do you ever sleep?” Problem Sleuth asks somewhat incredulously as he tries to shake himself into consciousness.

“Is that you, Problem Sleuth? I can’t sleep, not with private detectives like you needing rides. It keeps me up at night!” She says. “What do you need?”

“Come pick me up.” Problem Sleuth says. “At the apartment. I’ve got to get to a murder scene before the cops find and take any useful evidence.”

“I’ll be there in thirty seconds.” She hangs up.

Problem Sleuth immediately jumps out of bed. If Transportation Deferrer says she’s going to be somewhere in thirty seconds, she’ll be there in thirty seconds. Problem Sleuth does a quick once-over of his clothing situation. He fell asleep in his clothes. Again. It makes getting out easy, as he just slips on his shoes and overcoat, and his hat, can’t forget his hat, and is out the door.

Problem Sleuth: Lock the door.

What, with your gun?

The notion that you would lock your door with your gun strikes you as reckless and foolhardy.

Halfway down the stairs from his apartment he hears a car horn honking. He exits the building to see a yellow taxi with its wheels spinning and the car moving from side to side as a result. Tranportation Deferrer is honking her horn. “What are you standing there gawking for? Get in the car.”

Problem Sleuth runs to the door because she is liable to get impatient and leave without him. As soon as Problem Sleuth is halfway into the car, the car screeches into a U-turn, throwing Problem Sleuth inside and closing the door. He resituates himself as she asks, “Where am I taking ya, Sleuth?”

“3050 W 47th. And get me there quick.” Problem Sleuth says and immediately regrets.

The city streets are mostly empty, which is good, because Deferrer doesn’t let a thing like traffic stop her from putting her foot down, in a metaphorical as well as quite literal sense, and the absence of traffic makes the ride marginally less terrifying. Getting a lift from her is the only time Problem Sleuth ever wears a seat belt. After tearing through the streets like a rat in a maze with its tail on fire the car nearly tips over as Deferrer throws the handbrake, bringing the car to a stop at the murder scene.

Problem Sleuth unbuckles his seatbelt and makes a hasty exit. He ducks back into the window and pays her. “Thanks. There’s a little extra for making sure I didn’t die.”

“No problem, Sleuth!” Transportation Deferrer giggles. She gives an informal salute and peels off again.

Problem Sleuth turns around and looks at the murder scene. Cops with black and white carapaces are moving around an alley way, with the majority of the focus on a dumpster with an arm hanging out. Draped over and across and between every available surface is yellow caution tape. Sleuth puts a cigarette in his mouth and lights it. Because the best way to gather evidence is to contaminate it with paper ash, but nobody does DNA analysis or anything like that because it’s pointless so it’s not like it matters anyway.

A black carapace in a trenchcoat and tie walks up to him. “You got here fast.”

“There’s a girl who wants me to go places.” Sleuth smirks.

Anarchy Repressor huffs indifferently. “Come on.” The detective leads Problem Sleuth to the dumpster, ducking under no less than three sets of caution tape on the way there. Inside is a dead man with a bullet wound to his gut.

“Has the body been disturbed?” Sleuth asks.

“No, we just got here five minutes ago.” Repressor responds.

“And you didn’t waste any time making sure everybody knows this is a crime scene. Hell, I’m sure the office drones in downtown could look in this direction and know this is police business only.” Sleuth says.

Anarchy Repressor gives him a glare.

“What did you call me here for?”

“Sleuth,” Repressor says, pointing to the body. “My gut instinct tells me this is a hit, and if it’s from one of the gangs, I’d rather you take the lead on this instead of me.”

“Mighty brave of you, Repressor.” Sleuth says. “But if I find the killer you’ll take all the credit.”

“Of course. And then I’ll owe you one.” He smiles. Not like he ever paid back a favor. “Besides, you’re better at getting under the skin of the criminal underworld than I am.”

Sleuth shakes his head. “You’re a damn fine cop, you know that?” He says sarcastically.

Anarchy Repressor is a damn fine cop, but the system is broken. The Midnight Crew’s got a monetary stranglehold on half the prosecutors in the town and the Felt’s got a familial stranglehold on the other half. Sometimes what a cop needs to get the job done is somebody who can operate outside of the rules, and outside of the jurisdiction of a bunch of meddling self-interested corrupt politicians.

Sleuth looks over the body. Anarchy Repressor’s guess was right, but only up to a point. At the very least, it was a hit, because the body had been dumped here from wherever he had been killed. But it doesn’t fit the usual MOs. “The Midnight Crew doesn’t shoot people in the gut. They cut their victims up and then they shoot to kill. Or eat them. But that doesn’t happen very often.” He looked at Repressor, expecting surprise. There wasn’t any. “This guy bled to death in extreme pain. The guy who shoots people only does clean kills, from some sort of pride, and the guy who cuts people up didn’t do anything to this poor fella.”

Repressor looks at him. “What else?”

“The Felt are just brutes. Their victims are all horribly mutilated. There ain’t any finesse in what they do.”

“So, what then? The Midnight Crew didn’t do it, and the Felt didn’t do it?”

“No.” Sleuth says. “If they were involved at all it wasn’t directly. It looks pretty amateurish.” Sleuth shrugs. “Or maybe they suddenly got sloppy for some reason. I don’t really know.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“Nowhere, looks like.”

Problem Sleuth: Make a distraction.

Sleuth turns his head slightly. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“I think somebody’s calling you.” Anarchy Repressor turns towards the parked police cars. Sleuth uses the opportunity to fish around in the victim’s jacket and pulls out a wallet. He quickly pockets it.

“You sure? I don’t hear anything.” Anarchy Repressor turns his gaze back to the victim.

“Huh, my mistake.” Sleuth says. “Does the victim have any ID?” Sleuth asks.

Anarchy Repressor opens the victim’s jacket and looks through the coat pockets, and then fishes around the pant pockets. “Looks like this guy’s name is Mysterious Carapace until we know better.”

“Whoever did it must have taken the wallet and ditched it somewhere.” Sleuth says completely straight faced. “Have your men canvas the area looking for it. And tell your traffic cops to keep their eyes open for any dried blood they see tomorrow.”

“In this town?” Anarchy Repressor says in an incredulous tone. “If the city isn’t covered in blood by noon that’s a good day.”

Sleuth smirks. “All they gotta do is look for the stains that look a day old.” Sleuth shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, Anarchy Repressor. If you can’t ID the body, then the trail’s gonna go cold faster than this guy here.”

Anarchy Repressor takes a single step back. He looks dissatisfied, and with good reason. Problem Sleuth took the only piece of useful evidence from the scene while Anarchy Repressor wasn’t looking. “Thanks for your help, Problem Sleuth.” He says a bit sarcastically.

“Does that mean I can go?” Sleuth asks. “I’m dead tired and my cases aren’t going to work themselves.”

“Yeah, get outta here.” Anarchy Repressor says, kicking some dirt on the asphalt idly in frustration. “You need a ride?”

“No thanks.” Sleuth says. “I just gotta make a call.”

Problem Sleuth: Whistle for a cab.

And when it came near the license plate said X368 J39. Were you expecting something else? That's always been the license plate for Transporation Deferrer's cab. You don't know why you think this detail is notable in any way right now.

You get in and she takes you back to your apartment, where you promptly fall asleep.

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I wonder what the Sapphire of Alternia is. It's probably just a pretty jewel, and there is nothing else interesting about it at all.

Transportation Deferrer is one of only two original characters who are going to be in this thing, since Sleuth is going to take a taxi around a lot and there might as well be a character associated with it, just to make things slightly more interesting.

Also, this thing is probably going to be about twenty parts, based on the length of this and how much else I've got planned out for this thing.

You...
Wow.

@battlerek: Okay. I lol'd. A lot.
@NemFX: Okay, I have no words for the awesomeness that you're churning out.
So...

Also, in case any of you missed it, since it was posted literally RIGHT before the wave of "OMG YOU GUYS CALLED IT":

The finale!

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All these awesome hard-boiled fan-fics...

Too bad I have to be a C-C-COMBO BREAKER (at least, when I started typing this into the reply box...) with the finale to the Murder Mystery (which I guess will be the title of the whole series, unless someone can come up with a better name...)

Anyways,

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Previous sections:

One and Two: http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...tion-IV/page39

Three: http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...tion-IV/page42

Four: http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...tion-IV/page48

Five: http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...tion-IV/page76

Six: http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...tion-IV/page77

Seven: http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...tion-IV/page79

And PART 8 is linked as this exact quote, for both of our convienence...

This outer quote links to Part 9 (and a recap.)

Here goes part 10...

The Sacrifices

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You sure you wanna read this? The first words spoken will reveal Terezi's culprit...

You ready?...

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"T4VROS N1TR4M, YOUR K1LL1NG D4YS 4R3 UP!"

Tavros whirled around from the computer he had taken to his respiteblock.

"M4YB3 1 SHOULD'V3 3XP3CT3D TH4T TH3 ON3 WHO W4S 4LW4Y-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Terezi jolted to a stop.

She quickly grew annoyed that he would interrupt.

After all, she was giving her crime-solving speech!

Oh, of course... Criminals don't like having their flaws pointed out to them...

"I AM SICK AND TIRED OF YOU, ALWAYS PUSHING ME AROUND!"

Terezi wanted to correct him; to tell him that that was more of Vriska's thing...

But she was too stunned by his sudden confidence.

"I'M TIRED OF ALL OF YOU PUSHING ME AROUND! I'M NOT JUST, uHH..."

Tavros faltered a bit.

Terezi realized that he had been glaring at her within a few feet of her face... Or at least, he had been doing so.

Now he was stepping away, as he seemed to slip back into his usual, faltering voice...

"wELL, uHH... yOU KNOW HOW ANNOYING IT IS OR IS NOT, oR, uHH..."

Tavros seemed to be confusing himself. He stepped back towards his computer.

Terezi remembered what she was there for.

"YOU 4R3 UND3R 4RR3ST, M1ST3R N1TR4M!"

Producing a length of rope, Terezi approached Tavros to bind his hands.

Tavros growled.

"TEREZI, YOU MORON! I'M NOT THE, uHH... tHE... tHE KILLER! oKAY! I'M NOT THE KILLER! I'M SICK AND TIRED OF ALL THIS BULLSHIT THAT YOU ALL KEEP FORCING ON ME!"

As Terezi approached Tavros, seemingly undettered, she also produced her cane from her Strife Specibus.

"DON'T M4K3 TH1S D1FF1CULT, M1ST3R N1TR4M! H3H3H3H3H3..."

Tavros quickly pulled out his lance.

Then...

Skewered air.

A crunch.

A shatter.

Something sparkled.

As it went through Terezi's midsection.

It burst from her black shirt, immediately ejecting a single shred of cloth.

As the knife went through her, her eyes went wide.

With understanding. With fear.

And then, with acceptance.

She fell to the floor, her teal blooding spewing all over the drab, yet otherwise clean floor.

She landed on her stomach, the blood slowly spreading over her clothes, curling around the edges of her corpse.

The knife withdrew.

Tavros stared at the hole going halfway through her body. It looked like a vat of her teal blood, with other colors from the knife slowly mixing in.

Kanaya......... Nepeta......... Karkat......... Equius.........

"Ready to add your's to the mix?"

Tavros followed the dripping knife up to its holder.

He tried to gasp, but could only stare.

The voice sounded familiar...

Those eyes...

The figure emerged from the shadows.

Tavros continued to stare.

"Hello, 'Motherfucker.'"

As a drop of mixed-blood hit the floor with an ominous splatter, Gamzee grinned.

"Are you ready to die?"

He began to laugh. Horribly.

His face contorted with the success of a 9th troll dead, and a 10th just waiting to die.

"Well, I'm ready.

To watch you suffer.

To WATCH.

YOU.

DIE!!!

Gamzee laughed maniacally.

Tavros noticed the arm of Gamzee's that had been cut off by the killer.

uh... was that just a ruse?

Gamzee slashed the air with the knife, getting ever closer to Tavros.

The lance!

It was still there. The grip was still cool in his hands.

Tavros lunged towards Gamzee.

The lance was sliced into two, leaving marks of blood over the open ends.

Tavros fell down.

NO! Uhh...

Come on legs... Don't...

Don't fail on me...

They failed on him. He was trapped on the ground, with nowhere to go.

Gamzee stood over him.

"I guess I'm a bit sorry over letting this drag on for so long..."

Gamzee brought the knife down into Tavros's arm.

He let out a scream, his entire body convulsing violently.

Gamzee stomped down on Tavros's face, barely muffling the cries.

"But then again, I guess I'm not."

Gamzee let an evil smirk come upon his face before...

He froze.

Gamzee stood upright, clutching his face.

He dropped the knife and began to shake.

He flailed around, clutching his body, before collapsing to the ground.

Tavros was...

Just...

Confused.

And terrified.

Never more so in his entire life.

But...

Is that... Am I... safe?

Gamzee had fallen out of the respiteblock, so that only his lower half remained in the room.

His legs did not move, as a figure walked into the room, grinning. Clutching the knife.

Tavros gasped. He was unmistakable.

It was Jack.

The demon!

Jack laughed.

"I..."

Suddenly...

A feeling of deja vu hit him. He began clutching at himself, seemingly choking on something.

Tavros looked towards to the door hopefully.

But no help had arrived.

A transformation took place as Tavros watched with wide eyes.

The ears, the sword, the wings... Everything...

Sort of...

Came in.

A blinding white glow began to grow around the demon, until he finally stepped out, his unwanted transformation complete.

Tavros gasped.

Is... Is that...

A Prospitan dreamer stood before him. She seemed familiar.

"j...j...jADE?

She laughed.

"well, well... it looks as if this girl knows a bit more than i suspected..."

Jade lifted out her right leg.

"it's not optimal, but it will have to do..."

"jADE! sNAP...sNAP OUT OF... iT..."

Then Tavros realized.

This isn't Jade... This is Jack... Something... Something must've happened.

Jack/Jade cackled.

"i am not the human known as jade!"

"if i were, i'd be dead. now."

"no..."

"i am your worst nightmare, Tavros."

"this form I have taken came from an unfortunate rule that I had broken, thus inflicting this body on me."

"but no matter..."

Jack/Jade picked the bloody knife off of the floor, still coated with a fresh brown tinge.

"you are still..."

Suddenly, she looked out the window.

It wasn't really a window, but it did allow Tavros to look outside his respiteblock, and into the void.

She looked.

Pondering thoughts came to her mind.

About stars.

All the while, a voice inside her head screamed at her:

KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM THIS INSTANT! DON'T FOOL AROUND WITH YOUR RANDOM THOUGHTS!

But no.

A figure was fading into her view.

A troll girl with long hair, dead eyes, and a red symbol on her shirt.

She seemed to be leading a trail of bulbs.

They vanished.

NOW! JUST DO IT! KILL HIM NOW!

But... No...

Jack could not.

Something was gripping him even harder, even though all of interest had left the window.

He felt forced. Forced to gaze out into the void, and ponder. The body he was in seemed to enjoy such a thing.

So deep was his pondering, that he did not hear a faint clatter behind him.

Several faint clatters.

Eight of them, to be exact.

The knife came up from Jack/Jade's hand.

It spun around, whipping tiny particles of blood all over one of the blank walls.

It violently went forth into her head.

The knife, handle and all, came all the way through the head of the demon-girl, spraying disgusting amounts of internal tissue.

She fell to the floor.

She was slain.

No.

Jack was slain.

A figure picked up the dice. Tavros already knew who it was.

"Heeeeeeeey Pupa..."

He could feel his legs starting to work again.

Vriska crouched down next to Tavros.

Did she even notice the bodies on the floor?!

"uHH..."

"Looks like I s8ved your sorry little ass today, didn't I?"

Vriska chuckled, not noticing Tavros shakily getting up to his feet.

Vriska stood up, and grinned evilly at Tavros.

"My plan worked out... But it aaaaaaaalways does, doesn't it, Pu-"

He shoved her out of the way.

Tavros stormed out of the room.

Vriska could only gape in astonishment.

She then fully took in the bodies lying around her, cringing a bit at the blood and brains...

A blue tear began sliding its way down her face.

Her plan did get the end result.

But now the sacrifices didn't seem so small...

A flicker of movement caught Vriska's eye.

She looked out the window.

Aradia?

The girl was a ghost. A dark-red ghost floating right outside.

She moved. A message was produced.

F0RGIVEN

Vriska wanted to fight the feeling of relief, but it cautiously creeped in on her. Her minuscule conscience began to feel better.

And then the final character was produced.

F0RGIVEN ?

That was all Vriska could think about, as Aradia's ghost vanished from sight.

A few moments later, she snapped back to the situation at hand.

But, for once,

she had no idea where to start...

A/N:

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Before you ask, yep.

There's gonna be an epilogue.

Also, in case you're wondering about how

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Gamzee could've done some of the stuff, including accidentally cutting off one of his arms...

He had set up some traps, and accidentally set one off on himself. :P

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed that!

[NemFX]

Aw well thank you

I have up to chapter five written, and I'm about halfway typed up chapter four. So hopefully you guys and gals won't mind too much if I upload what I have for now, and then probably leave you for a bit before coming back with some new stuff.. It'll eventually get darker, just as a warning.. I actually asked the romart thread if they'd be okay with a darker fic, and they seemed to prefer them that way..

(hopefully they wont take take that back after this one..)

[Katrika]

Ternia and Aether

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In the beginning, the ground was barren and the sky was void, neither light nor dark, but merely nothing. There were only two trolls. One was Ternia, and the other was Aether. Ternia had white blood, and wandered. She thought she was alone, one of a kind, but she didn't care. It was all she knew. Aether had black blood, and wandered as well. He thought he was along, one of a kind, but he didn’t care. It was all he knew. One night, if anything could be considered night without a sun, Ternia and Aether met.

You might think this was a joyous occasion, but it was in fact horribly frightening. Suddenly, they weren't alone, and they didn't know what to do. So they did all they knew how to do, and they fought. When Ternia was cut, her blood floated up into the void above, becoming the stars. When Aether was cut, his blood floated up, becoming the darkness between the stars. For the first time, light shone onto the ground below, but there was nobody to notice it, for still they fought.

After what seemed to be a long time, Aether dealt the killing blow to Ternia. He stared down at her body, and for the first time, felt a tug of regret. Had they really been supposed to fight? He sat down and cried. His tears flowed along the landscape, becoming the ocean. He did not notice Ternia's body sinking into the ground. Nor did he notice the fact that strange things were poking up from the ground where she'd bled. Plants.

When he opened his eyes, finally, the ground was full of life. Animals sang and cried in the great forest that surrounded him. He sat and watched in wonder for days, and then he did the only thing he knew how to do. He wandered. After a long, long time, he came upon a cave, and entered. Inside the cave were eggs. Before his eyes, one started to hatch, and a grub emerged. He watched the eggs as they all hatched, and cared for the grubs, and he was not alone. He noticed the beautiful colors each carried with them, and named them as such. Red, Brown, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, and Purple. He loved them and he raised them as best he could.

Time passed, and Aether grew old. He named the ground beneath them All-Ternia, for that is what it was. One day, when he was out walking with Red and Purple, he died. As he died, the sun started to shine brighter and bright, and Purple fled to the nearby ocean for refuge. That is why the purplebloods can live under the water. Red, on the other hand, stayed in the sun as long as she could bear before fleeing. That is how she got the knowledge of psychic powers, which she passed on to those she was closest to.

Thus ends the story of Ternia and Aether.

A/N

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When the lusii system was formed, the story was altered to have creatures the color of Ternia's blood appear, to take care of her children. Eventually the Alternian Empire banned the story.

[morpheoMancer]

Also, someone posted THIS on DA, and now I can't get West Side Story as performed by the characters of Homestuck out of my head. Possibly with the Trolls vs. the Humans, with Jade x Karkat or Rose x Kanaya being the Tony and Maria. If it's the former, I nominate Wigmund to write it, as it will distract him from the omelet-related pain in his nose.

My nose is fine, but the big problem here is that I've never watched West Side Story.

It's basically Romeo and Juliet set in the Manhattan westside, with the feuding families replaced by two gangs (the Puerto Rican "Sharks" and the Polish-American "Jets"; Maria's brother leads the Sharks, Tony's best friend leads the Jets.) It's also a musical, albeit one with an extreme tear-jerker ending.

[Sionnan]

Hey look! A rogue Striderfic appears!

Bro does taxes (okay so not really; how do you think Dave knows how to work the LOHAC system) and Dave watches.

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Dave looks up from his PB&J sandwhich, jelly flecking from his lips to the paper napkin on the counter, and regards his brother. Bro, approximately two feet away and also stationed at the sideboard, is curled over few sheets of paper, narrow face scrunched in thought. He wields a black Bic pen in one hand, occassionally reaching down to mark at it. The only sound in the apartment is the low drone of the TV and some feminine hygeine product, overlain by a program flipping out on Bro's computer.

This was lunchtime. It consisted of a bottle of orange juice and a giant fucking sloppy sandwhich, and at the moment, Dave was the only person partaking. "What gives, man?" Dave approves of the casual noncommital tone of his voice. It sounds like he couldn't care if Bro dropped dead of starvation just then. So cool.

His brother doesn't look up, but asks, "Hmm?" His brows draw together and he swoops down on the paper for a closer look at something. "Say, whaaaa?" He asks it. The paper doesn't seem forthcoming.

Witnessing this, Dave decides the paper is important if it is stopping his brother from eating his own massively grody sandwich over its pristine surface. "What is that stuff?"

"Tax shits."

Dave chews on this for a second as he noms on his sandwich. "Why are you doing taxes."

"I always do taxes. I have to do them. I do them every year." The short, staccato answers aren't annoyed so mch as wry and matter-of-fact. "If I didn't, the government would lock me up, and then what would your scrawny ass do without me," Bro adds, reaching over to pinch at Dave's cheek, currently bulging with a mess of bread, peanut butter, and knock off store brand strawberry jelly. Dave makes an aborted flail with the arm holding the sandwich, garbling something around his meal.

At least this fends off Bro, who whisks the documents from the counter to prevent them from being liberally decorated with food stuffs. "Geez, man, chill," he scoffs "And clean that up," and points to a cloud of paper towels nestled next to the sink. Why they are not on a roll, Dave cannot fathom, so he doesn't bother asking, instead plucking a few from the pile and swiping them across the gobbets of spattered jelly.

"So what are you putting on there," Dave pesters, deciding that he might as well attempt to drive his brother insane while he tries to concentrate. Luckily for Bro, he's got the attention span of a hummingbird and the multitasking skills of a 16 year old girl painting her nails while watching TV and talking with her BFF Jill, so he answers while scribbling, "All of that fun stuff that I do when I'm not being totally rad. Wait, that's always. Let me rephrase; all of that shit that my alter ego does when I'm pretending to be a normal jackoff and not totally fucking supercool."

"So....?" Dave has tranfered his meal consumption to his pile of paper towels. Less clean up.

"The stuff I make when I work those part time jobs."

"What about all of that puppet crap? Do you have to put your money stuff from that one there? And your gigs?"

"No. Those are all gifts."

Dave pauses a second. Then, "Oh." Then, "I still don't get it. Money is money."

"Yeah, but, see; they tax you on your income. Technically, I am a minimum wage worker at a dojo for thirty hours of the week. That is my employment. I service the fine people of Houston, Texas, and all their ass whupping needs. All of my 'friends'," Bro's hands stop their pecking at the paper, and lift in a unintendedly martyred fashion, two fingers on each hand crooking in air quotes, "Give me money because I provide them with hours of quality entertainment." A smirk grabs one side of his face. "So even though I get a supplement of 500 of month from the puppet website, and like, maybe a hundred a pop per gig, the shit that really counts is the 8 dollars and fifteen cents I make per hour fielding punches, waxing floors, and handing out beatdowns." He examines Dave for a few seconds, and Dave watches as something unnameable in Bro's eyes extinguishes. He looks tired, and his stylishly tousled hair makes him look about Dave's age right then.

"It's hard, man," is all he concludes, and he bows his head back down to the papers.

[lucidSeraph]

@sionnan: AGUHf taxes don't remind me /shivers

Though is that actually true...? Like if you run a webcomic or a pr0n site or whatever, it's not actually fo realz income...?

HUSSIE DOESN'T PAY TAXES!?

[Sionnan]

@sionnan: AGUHf taxes don't remind me /shivers

Though is that actually true...? Like if you run a webcomic or a pr0n site or whatever, it's not actually fo realz income...?

HUSSIE DOESN'T PAY TAXES!?

No, I am so pretty sure that Bro is cheating on his taxes, and just putting them down as "gifts". Edit: to clarify, any money that you make should be reported as income. Money from friends and family doesn't count. Even though Bro doesn't know, like, any of his pr0n people, and he is actually making money from the site, it's just gray enough that he can refer to them as donations and gifts from friends, if he wants. It might not even be a registered business, which is another layer of illegality. :/ This is all stuff I probably should have worked into the fic, but I am too lazy and do not have time.

Also I am looking forward to at least another year of no taxes. Hooray overseas employment.

[smerker]

Why are you all so awesome? I've been lurking for a while and I still can't understand it.

[NemFX]

Rebuild. Chapter four.

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Rose wrote a brief note to inform her friends that she was going to look for John.

She wasn't sure how long this would take, but the best placation she could come up with was that she had a full deck of water. One of the largest concerns in their early post-reckoning days was that the planet they were on was mostly a desert.

After a few incidents of heat exhaustion, and one particularly scary brush with sunstroke, the survivors managed to salvage enough damaged equipment to construct a makeshift water filtration device.

Once they filtered enough clean water to fill a bottle, they stuck it in a card, duplicated it until they could fill a 16 liter jug. Then they copied that about three hundred times, just to play things safe.

It was standard for someone going on an expidition to carry a few of those cards; to say one had a full deck was slang for saying not to worry if they were gone for some time. Rose had powerful magic at her disposal, true, but if she released all the cards, she could probably make a decent sized oasis. Her deck of about fifty cards should be almost 3000 cups of water alone.

Now, she thought, how to phrase this.. The letter had said for Rose to go alone. She didn't strictly have to, but she wasn't going to take risks. If this was somehow a trap, best to minimize risks.

Jade was still out of sorts, Dave was needed to take care of her, and frankly, just about everything else. For someone who did his best to look uninterested, he did manage to make things run like clockwork. Rose wasn't sure if his time based abilities were the cause, or if they just complimented his natural talents.

It didn't matter right now. Rose changed out of her work clothes, and into a purple and black brocade dress, a present from Kanata on her last birthday; about a month before John left. For some reason, Kanaya refferred to it as a wiggling day, but Rose remembered it because it was the last time she had saw John smile.

Her cards and spare wands secured in a pouched belt around her waist, Rose wrote her final words on the page and weighed it down with some amethyst crystals.

If they were really worried, Dave could always backtrack time and follow her, so she wrote the date. His powers included a built in clock and date, although it sometimes led him to have headaches. Every advantage has some drawback, she mused.

She blew out the candles around the room, and readied her wands for flight.

The last words on the page would be found hours later. ".. making out family whole again."

Chapter five coming soon. Hope you enjoyed.

[Doodled]

Hey look! A rogue Striderfic appears!

Bro does taxes (okay so not really; how do you think Dave knows how to work the LOHAC system) and Dave watches.

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Dave looks up from his PB&J sandwhich, jelly flecking from his lips to the paper napkin on the counter, and regards his brother. Bro, approximately two feet away and also stationed at the sideboard, is curled over few sheets of paper, narrow face scrunched in thought. He wields a black Bic pen in one hand, occassionally reaching down to mark at it. The only sound in the apartment is the low drone of the TV and some feminine hygeine product, overlain by a program flipping out on Bro's computer.

This was lunchtime. It consisted of a bottle of orange juice and a giant fucking sloppy sandwhich, and at the moment, Dave was the only person partaking. "What gives, man?" Dave approves of the casual noncommital tone of his voice. It sounds like he couldn't care if Bro dropped dead of starvation just then. So cool.

His brother doesn't look up, but asks, "Hmm?" His brows draw together and he swoops down on the paper for a closer look at something. "Say, whaaaa?" He asks it. The paper doesn't seem forthcoming.

Witnessing this, Dave decides the paper is important if it is stopping his brother from eating his own massively grody sandwich over its pristine surface. "What is that stuff?"

"Tax shits."

Dave chews on this for a second as he noms on his sandwich. "Why are you doing taxes."

"I always do taxes. I have to do them. I do them every year." The short, staccato answers aren't annoyed so mch as wry and matter-of-fact. "If I didn't, the government would lock me up, and then what would your scrawny ass do without me," Bro adds, reaching over to pinch at Dave's cheek, currently bulging with a mess of bread, peanut butter, and knock off store brand strawberry jelly. Dave makes an aborted flail with the arm holding the sandwich, garbling something around his meal.

At least this fends off Bro, who whisks the documents from the counter to prevent them from being liberally decorated with food stuffs. "Geez, man, chill," he scoffs "And clean that up," and points to a cloud of paper towels nestled next to the sink. Why they are not on a roll, Dave cannot fathom, so he doesn't bother asking, instead plucking a few from the pile and swiping them across the gobbets of spattered jelly.

"So what are you putting on there," Dave pesters, deciding that he might as well attempt to drive his brother insane while he tries to concentrate. Luckily for Bro, he's got the attention span of a hummingbird and the multitasking skills of a 16 year old girl painting her nails while watching TV and talking with her BFF Jill, so he answers while scribbling, "All of that fun stuff that I do when I'm not being totally rad. Wait, that's always. Let me rephrase; all of that shit that my alter ego does when I'm pretending to be a normal jackoff and not totally fucking supercool."

"So....?" Dave has tranfered his meal consumption to his pile of paper towels. Less clean up.

"The stuff I make when I work those part time jobs."

"What about all of that puppet crap? Do you have to put your money stuff from that one there? And your gigs?"

"No. Those are all gifts."

Dave pauses a second. Then, "Oh." Then, "I still don't get it. Money is money."

"Yeah, but, see; they tax you on your income. Technically, I am a minimum wage worker at a dojo for thirty hours of the week. That is my employment. I service the fine people of Houston, Texas, and all their ass whupping needs. All of my 'friends'," Bro's hands stop their pecking at the paper, and lift in a unintendedly martyred fashion, two fingers on each hand crooking in air quotes, "Give me money because I provide them with hours of quality entertainment." A smirk grabs one side of his face. "So even though I get a supplement of 500 of month from the puppet website, and like, maybe a hundred a pop per gig, the shit that really counts is the 8 dollars and fifteen cents I make per hour fielding punches, waxing floors, and handing out beatdowns." He examines Dave for a few seconds, and Dave watches as something unnameable in Bro's eyes extinguishes. He looks tired, and his stylishly tousled hair makes him look about Dave's age right then.

"It's hard, man," is all he concludes, and he bows his head back down to the papers.

YOU STOP THAT!

YOU STOP BEING AWESOME THIS INSTANT!

No, wait, don't.