From my muse hounding me relentlessly at two in the morning when the rational part of my mind is telling me to be asleep. You should see it when I try to do homework.
I feel your pain. I was stupid enough to create two of the things, one for each brain hemisphere. I've got one nagging me to do work and one telling me to write stuff. Double idea streams all the way. T.T
Do you like Magic: the Gathering? Got ideas for MSPA-inspired cards? Post them here!
Sigspoiler of spoilsigging:
Fervent believer in preserving Internet anonymity.
Perhaps the last person on Earth without a Facebook.
Most easily satisfied audience in paradox space.
I am A Fan. And I am silly.
Generic chummeme: Your chumhandle is maverickLinguist, for your typing style is notable only for its absence of notable quirks. You let the assortment of personalities both naturally occuring and artificially manufactured in your own mind supply the requisite air of the bizarre. Your title is Muse of Thought. Your land is that of Dreams and Thunder.
And Tompkins sigquotes:
Originally Posted by Decker
I love the "whoops." It makes me think it happened by accident.
"Okay. My still life bowl of fruit is com-WHERE DID THESE LESBIANS COME FROM?!"
Originally Posted by LegoTechnic
Also keep in mind that the universe is a frog. It's a good thing to remember any time you start to feel you have a grasp on the celestial logic of the universe, be it the size of suns or the location of the furthest ring, because it reiterates that things can still be inexplicably weird.
From my muse hounding me relentlessly at two in the morning when the rational part of my mind is telling me to be asleep. You should see it when I try to do homework.
I feel your pain. I was stupid enough to create two of the things, one for each brain hemisphere. I've got one nagging me to do work and one telling me to write stuff. Double idea streams all the way. T.T
That sounds so...intense.
Avatar by Adoxographist! Fanfiction in spoiler! Lots of shout poles!
From my muse hounding me relentlessly at two in the morning when the rational part of my mind is telling me to be asleep. You should see it when I try to do homework.
I feel your pain. I was stupid enough to create two of the things, one for each brain hemisphere. I've got one nagging me to do work and one telling me to write stuff. Double idea streams all the way. T.T
That sounds so...intense.
I'm surprised neither of them have combusted from all those ideas burning in their heads.
I wrote another derpy songfic.
I think it says a lot about how twisted I am that when yokaiy suggested "A Little Fall of Rain" with Sollux and Feferi, my immediate impulse was to make it about horrorterrors.
A Little Fall of ) (orrorterror
what the fuck is this?
i think i'm in the furthest ring...
ff, are y0u there?
what's going 0n?
i can't see anything!
Don't you glub, my dear little fis) (,
You needn't fear a t) (ing!
The cods here in the Ring
Are really not so bad!
I knew you'd find me ) (ere some) (ow!
And you will keep me safe,
And you will keep me close,
You'll be wit) ( me forever now!
0h g0d, ff, it's g00d t0 hear y0ur v0ice...
but was this meeting place the ideal ch0ice?
Just listen to the Circle sing.
Isn't t) (is ----EXCITING?!
always knew that i was d00med,
but i'm n0t ready yet.
s0 please d0n't be upset—
You're mine FOR-EV-ER now!
T) (e lives we knew before are past,
And t) (ey will keep us safe!
And t) (ey will keep us close!
We're in the cods' embrace at last!
Now all my friends are )(ere, so let's begin!
T)(eir tentacles draw near to pull me in,
Grim eyes reflect eternity,
Won't you please come WIT)( M---E?
please d0n't cry. y0u kn0w that i
d0n't mean t0 cause y0u pain.
but i like being sane,
s0 y0ur g0ds can't take me.
And don't you glub, my dear little fis) (,
You won't feel any pain!
T) (ey'll barely touch your brain!
O) ( Sollux, stay with me!
i can't.
No, please don't leave me now!
You said you'd keep me safe!
You said you'd keep me close!
i will visit y0u
when i am sleeping.
I've brought a Sollux/Aradia piece to the table tonight, folks. It's only the beginning, and its pretty short, but you can expect more to come at a later time!
Bitter - 1
Your name is SOLLUX CAPTOR, and you are currently on EARTH. Which, yeah, you guess could be classified as a big deal, but really your only problem right now is that you are HOT AS HELL. Also you may be A LITTLE LONELY, though you're definitely NOT GOING TO ADMIT IT.
It's funny how things work out.
----------
It turns out that the reward for accomplishing the impossible, for beating an unwinnable scenario, was returning all involved people (and guard dogs) to the state they were in prior to entering the session.
Most everything seems to upset Jadesprite, the biggest of all just being alive, but this news is very joyous to her; it means a reprieve from the life she never wanted.
She is, in fact, so happy, that she actually returns to Jade to tell her the news, which in turn gets distributed to the other humans, and then finally the trolls - or what's left of them, anyway.
When the gossip chain reaches you, well...
...the one question you want to ask, that makes your heart jump up to your throat and lodge uncomfortably there, you are unable to get out.
But what about Aradia?
As far as you know, she's already dead, and the game won't be bringing her back. And even if she weren't dead, well...
If this game can resurrect the fallen, it can damn well murder the revived, as well.
And no, you're not bitter about that at all.
A/N
In case it wasn't obvious, after the hyphens it was a flashback. I thought about italicizing it to make it clearer, but ultimately didn't.
This is ignoring them meeting up in the dream bubble (to be honest, I'm still trying to wrap my mind around what happened there; I have no clue and therefore am hesitant to include it), so he doesn't know about her being alive and God-Tier.
And, um, I'm planning on continuing this. It was supposed to be a semi-long oneshot anyway, but I don't want to rush and finish it tonight, so I'll get back to it later. So of course anything that isn't clear yet you can expect to be elaborated upon in future updates. For now though I'd like to know what you guys think so far?
Last edited by MyCurrentObsession; 03-25-2011 at 05:21 PM.
Kairi - "Maybe... waiting isn't good enough."
Axel - "My thoughts exactly."
This has been rolling around in my head since the Zillyhoo flash
So here, have a sad fic
Wrong
She's prowling the halls of the facility, searching for Vriska or whoever knocked her out and left her with two puncture wounds on her neck (whichever she can find and bring to justice first, and hell, for all she knows they're the same person) when she first detects it.
It's very faint, at first, and she questions whether or not it's all in her head, until she moves deeper into the labyrinth and most definitely picks up a hint of it. She knows what it is but something about it isn't right, it smells different and off and so very wrong.
Its red, that much is certain, and that particular shade she'd recognize anywhere. But this red isn't the usual red of candy apples or cherries. It's the red of liquid magma belching sulfur fumes into the air, it's the red of an especially potent flavor of trollbasco sauce that stings her nose, it's the red of rotting meat.
This is not the red she knows. Something terrible has happened.
She walks into the next room and audibly gasps as the stench of it hits her all at once. The odors clash in ways she can barely tolerate but she moves further in anyway, because she can taste the air and among the cacophony of conflicting flavors assaulting her palette, there is something unmistakably grey and black in the sea of that awful red.
He is still here.
She breaks into a run toward him, praying to whatever god will listen to her plea that she is mistaken, that she has misread her synesthesia and that the only tragedy of this situation is a truly impressive amount of extra-spicy grubsauce gone to waste. When she reaches his prone form, she can barely even smell his presence because the malodorous crimson overwhelms her senses.
Her hands move over his body. He isn't breathing. She places a thumb over his wrist. No pulse. She slides a pair of fingers over his eyes to close them out of respect, and she hesitates. There is one final item on the checklist to confirm his identity. She could still be mistaken, she could walk away from the grisly scene right now and still have hope that he yet survives. But it's a false hope, it wouldn't bring him back, and she knows it.
Slowly, she brings her hands to his scalp and touches his horns. They're small and end in a rounded tip instead of the usual points sported by most trolls his age. Nubs.
"Karkles, no..."
Terezi's body is wracked with sobs as she holds the dead boy in her arms. Who could have done this to him? But it doesn't matter. She clings to him in her grief, unaware of the world around her, because what's the point anymore?
She barely even acknowledges the increasing proximity of the honks behind her before the hammer falls.
Notes:
please get jossed please get jossed please get jossed
Yeah the ending's kind of abrupt but I don't know, I think I've written enough scenes where someone discovers a body and vows revenge and I wanted to do something different (in before "then why are you writing k/t yet again hurr hurr hurr")
And yeah Alternian meat probably comes in every color ever and not just red, but damnit, you try coming up with another red thing that reeks
Also I'm thinking I'm gonna drop typing quirks in dialogue (which I did here if you noticed, for all two words of dialogue in this piece), unless it's for emphasis or something else that warrants it standing out, because I've heard talk that some find it a bit annoying! I do not blame them, it kind of is, but with the way I write, I figured it made conversation easier to follow. But perhaps that just means I need to adjust the way I write.
Unrelated to this, but I'm kind of wanting to follow up on Champion (which is linked to in my sig and also up on AO3) because I think the idea behind it is sort of interesting. I will try not to turn it into writing Karkat/Terezi by proxy. I will fail miserably. Would anyone be interested?
Last edited by anonymousComrade; 03-24-2011 at 10:37 PM.
@anonymousComrade: Noooo. :[ Your scent descriptions are really good. Half of what makes Terezi so hard to write is her weird way of experiencing things, and I think you make it work really well here. Also, I love the line breaks in this. Strategic line breaks make me glee and they can really add punch to a line.
You are now NEPETA LEIJON. You are a proud b100 b100d (hehe, b100000000), and an excellent moirail! Well, that is, until your moirail just decided to go and turn himself over to the brutal Alternian authorities for something that he could have easily kept hidden like he had done for the past 6 sweeps. But, as you know, and as you’ve always known, Equius pays more attention to the caste system than even you! You’d say there are few people who obsess over it more than him. Now, at least, you know a reason why.
You’ve never really cared too much for the caste system. Yes, there are some differences that obviously pop up, like psychic powers, or gills, and yes, the higher classes usually have a bit of a higher expectation in terms of etiquette, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t be moirails with someone on the lowest end of the hemospectrum. You can be friends with anyone you want, and anyone can be friends with you.
After all, the more friends you have, the more people you have to roleplay with! It’s kind a secret passion of yours that not a lot of your fellow blood caste members know, save that one guy who lives across the chasm from you. He’s always a nervous wreck, though, so he doesn’t join in with you very much.
You’d love to participate in some live action roleplay every once in a while, but sadly you are far too STRONG for it to possibly be fair. So you stay in your hive and roleplay with your robots a lot when no one else is on. And you’ll never tell ANYONE this, but sometimes you dress up your robots like your friends and have them go through all the romantic fantasies you have in your head. All of them. But again, that’s something that is very, very private.
Anyways, back to the matters at hand. You are using one of your higher up contacts in order to try and save your moirail! This girl is kinda nuts when it comes to law, so you hope that she might be able to slip through a few loops, if she feels like stepping down from her high (sea) horse to help out Equius.
--athleticCircuiteer [aC] began trolling gallantCourtmaiden [gC]—
AC: :{( < *The proud musclebeast rubs her nuzzle urgently against the side of the might seadragon!*
AC: :{O < *It 100ks like she has something really important to say!
GC: *THE VVERY IMPORTANT SEA DRAGON TAKES A BEGRUDGING BREAK FROM HER WWORKS OF JUSTICE TO SEE WWHAT THE IMPATIENT MUSCLEBEAST HAS TO SAY*
GC: GOOD EVVENING NEPETA HOWW ARE YOU DOING TONIGHT?
AC: D}: < Not good at all! My moirail has gone off to do something udderly, abso100tely idiotic!
AC :{3 < But luckily I know a very good legislacerator!!
GC: NEPETA SOMETIMES I THINK THAT YOU TEND TO TAKE MY ABILITIES AND MY GENEROSITY FOR GRANTED
GC: NONETHELESS WWHAT HAS SIR DEPRESSED A LOT GOTTEN HIMSELF INTO THIS TIME?
AC: D}: < Quite flankly it’s terrible! He’s gone galloping off to go turn himself in!
GC: YOU MEAN THAT HE WWAS A CRIMINAL HIDING FROM THE GOVERNMENT
GC: WWHICH MEANS THAT YOU MUST HAVVE BEEN PROTECTING HIM
GC: FOR SHAME NEPETA FOR SHAME
GC: THIS CERTAINLY WWONT LOOK GOOD ON YOUR RECORD
GC: AND YOU KNOWW I WWONT SHOWW YOU ANY MERCY IN COURT THE LAW COMES BEFORE EVVERYTHING ELSE
AC: X{( < No, not like that! He didn’t go off killing or stealing anything!!
AC: <:{/ < Honestly I don’t even know if it’s a crime!!
GC: WWELL ON ACCOUNT OF YOU ALL BEING LANDDWWELLERS THAT’S CRIME ENOUGH ALREADY >:]
AC: D}X < Stirrup that!!
AC: :{( < Canter I just tell you what’s going on?
GC: YOU ARE SIMPLY NO FUN NEPETA FINE GO AHEAD
AC: :{O < Equius finally told me his b100d color!
GC: SO >
AC: :{0 < He said it was as red as that philly scarf that you wear!
GC: WWHAT?
GC: THAT’S NOT A NATURAL BLOOD COLOR FOR TROLLS
GC: THAT KIND OF BLOOD COLOR IS BELOW THE LOWWEST ECHELONS OF THE HEMOSPECTRUM!
AC: :{/ < I know that!
AC: :{3 < But it’s not like he can get in trouble for it, right? He’s perfectly safe!
GC: ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE A BLUE BLOOD NEPETA?
GC: BECAUSE SOMETIMES YOU ARE PAINFULLY UNAWWARE OF HOW THE SYSTEM WWORKS
GC: IF EQUIUS DOESNT GET CULLED RIGHT ON THE SPOT THEN FOR CERTAIN HELL BE STRUNG UP AS A PUBLIC EXAMPLE OF WWHY YOU SHOULDNT TRY TO SUBVVERT THE HEMOSPECTRUM
GC: THEYLL PROBABLY HAVVE HIM STRUNG UP IN SOME MAJOR HIVVESTEM WWAITING FOR PEOPLE TO COME AT HIM WITH BIG STICKS AND MAKE HIM BLEED CHERRY RED >:/
GC: IT WWOULD BE QUITE THE SIGHT TO SEE
GC: THATS JUST THE WWAY IT GOES
AC: :{O < Are you abs100tely spur? 8{O
GC: NO BUT ONLY BECAUSE IT HASNT HAPPENED IN OVVER 40 SWWEEPS
AC: X{( < Oh gosh I have to be the horst moirail ever!!!
AC: ;_; < I canter believe that I let him just trot away like that! I sh001d have gone after him! Better missing a rib than missing all your b100d!!!
AC: :{( < So do you think you can do something?
GC: WWELL IT KIND OF CHANGES THINGS THAT HES A MUTANT
GC: IT WWILL CERTAINLY BE BAD FOR A LEGISLACERATORS REPUTATION TO BE COMISSERATING WWITH FILTH LIKE THAT
GC: AND IN COURT REPUTATION IS EVVERYTHING
AC: X{( < B100d shmud he’s still my moirail!
AC: <:{( < Please Terezi?
GC: I DONT THINK ITD BE IN MY BEST INTEREST
GC: DONT WWORRY IM SURE THEY WWONT BE TOO HARSH ON HIM
AC: >:{P < But this doesn’t seem just at all!
AC: >:{( < Equius never actually did anything wrong!
GC: OH MY GOD NEPETA
GC: FINE FINE ILL SEE WWHAT I CAN DO
GC: IM GOING TO GET MY HANDS THE LEAST DIRTY I POSSIBLY CAN IN THESE AFFAIRS THOUGH
AC: :{D < Yay!
AC: :{D *The proud musclebeast gallops up to the mighty seadragon and says “I owe you a whole trot!”
--athleticCircuiteer ceased trolling gallantCourtmaiden—
--gallantCourtmaiden [gC] began trollling apologeticTarantula [aT]—
AT: Oh no,
AT: Not you, Please not you, Please,
AT: How m8ny do you want me to kill this time,
GC: TAVVROS RELAX
GC: I DONT ALWAYS CONTACT YOU JUST TO HAVVE YOU KILL SOMEONE
GC: ITS MORE LIKE NINETY PERCENT OF THE TIME
GC: HEHEHE
GC: ACTUALLY THIS TIME I HAVVE A MISSION FOR YOU
AT: It involves me manipul8ing someone to their death,
AT: It alw8ys does Terezi, Alw88888888ys,
AT: I would like for, Once, Not to have to kill someone I’m just getting to know,
GC: TAVVROS SHUT UP
GC: ONE
GC: YOU DO THAT AS MUCH FOR YOUR OWWN LUSUS AS FOR VVRISKAS
GC: TWO
GC: I NEED YOU TO BREAK SOMEONE OUT OF JAIL
GC: CAN YOU DO THAT FOR ME
AT: Uh, What,
AN
Are these too short, or are they at just about the right length?
Also, I changed Nepeta's quirk so it would look more like Aurthor's face. The bracket is supposed to be a mustache. She's still mimicking her lusus, after all. Also, I don't know how well I got down Terezi's character. Oh well. Next time I'll wrestle with Tavros's/
Also, for the sake of a plot that I already planned out, Tavros and Sollux have swapped their order in the troll line up. I realized that after everything had been said and done and I wrote this up that, with everyone else in their respective positions, Sollux should have spider mom (I hate killing people. I love killing people!) and Tavros would have Terezi's Lusus (which would kind of be cheating since he could commune with her anyway!)
Also, I love Colors, Reset, and I want to see a little more of Bitter!
And now, for something completely...uh...ordinary.
Hot Blooded: Chapter 6
“Madris. What in the name of the Mother Grub’s hideous writhing pustules is going the fuck on,” Tarfus croaked. He meant to scream it, but his throat wouldn’t cooperate, and all he got was a papery rasp.
Auva looked down and away. Her fangs drew a tiny droplet of jade green from her lower lip.
Tarfus’ eyes narrowed. “I asked you a question, Madris. As your commanding officer, I order you to give me some goddamn answers!”
“Yes,” said the Empress, “Why don’t you answer your commander officer, Infilterrogator Madris?”
Tarfus’ face froze, and his features paled. “No. No, tell me she’s lying.”
The infilterrogators. Like the guardemolishers, but more insidious; they were spies of highest caliber, spoken of in hushed whispers, by rebel and loyalist alike. Most trolls assumed they were just nothing more than a myth. Tarfus knew better. You never knew they were there until the subjuggalators were bursting through the door and one of your number was conveniently absent. They trained their members to interrogate, to reconnoiter, to assassinate, and to infiltrate.
To destroy the enemies of the Empire from the inside out.
Auva flinched at Tarfus’ words, but refused to turn and look at him. Tarfus lurched to his feet and stumbled into her. He clutched at her shirt to prevent himself from falling and drew his face to hers.
“Look at me. LOOK AT ME!” He snarled.
She raised her eyes to meet his. Tarfus jerked backward, an expression of horror working its way across his features. Her expression was filled with sorrow and self-loathing, and her gaze broke away from his almost immediately. It was all the confirmation Tarfus needed—Auva had always been a terrible liar, especially to him. For several long seconds, Tarfus stood there, clutching her shirt, shaking with fatigue.
“You...”
Tarfus jerked Auva close again.
“Utter...”
And with a grunt, shoved her away, leaving her to stumble backward and land in an undignified heap on the floor.
“BITCH!” He roared. “Everything you ever said to me was a lie? Is that it?! I thought you fucking believed in our cause! I thought you fucking believed in me! Well skin me and hang me out to dry over the tanneruinators' vats! I must be the owner of stupidest fucking carcass to ever somehow crawl its way out of the brooding caverns! Except, oh no, wait, it was your despicable traitorous self's fault!”
Tarfus swayed on his feet and black spots swam in front of his eyes. He forced himself to ignore them and rounded on the Empress, long past caring about the consequences of anything he said or did.
“And you know what, fuck you too; I hope you die forgotten and powerless and alone like the manipulative nookstained whore that you are!”
And still, the Empress' thrice-damned grin did not waver an inch. “Forgotten and powerless and alone? Like you?”
Tarfus managed a single, enraged step toward the Empress before her words sunk in and their import nailed him to the spot.
He was alone.
All his allies had been killed. That, or they had been traitors all along. He would be forgotten, save for perhaps a few impressed subjuggalators or irritated guardemolishers. The Empress would likely wash her hands of him the instant she had him killed and promptly forget about him. Auva...Auva had lied to him. Lied to him all along. That hurt the most, that somebody he had trusted—somebody he had once wanted as a moirail—had never been true to him. And he was powerless. If the Empress was telling the truth had always been powerless; she had known about his revolutionaries, had known about his plot, had known about his aberrant blood, and had simply let him persist because he was useful at best, or mostly harmless at worst.
His head felt like it had been stuffed full of fibrous absorbency spheres. The world around him went muffled, as though he were hearing everything from a great distance. His eyes went unfocused and the black spots in his vision multiplied. The world spun, and he found himself suddenly staring at knees, rather than faces.
Oh, he thought, I'm falling.
He'd gone from kneeling to standing very suddenly, and now he went from kneeling to laying down slowly, soundlessly, inch by inch. His vision faded completely, and he felt his eyes closing. He wanted to fight it because something very important was happening. Something he needed to stay awake for. The others needed him, needed him to be awake, but he was just so tired, and everything hurt so much. A short nap wouldn't hurt anybody...
He just wished the floor weren't so fucking cold.
**
Auva Madris stared uncomfortably at her former commander lying unconscious on the floor. She had seen him when she walked into the room and had made every effort to look somewhere else ever since. The entire front half of his body looked like it had been cooked, and there wasn't a single part of his face that wasn't bruised, cut or swollen. His unnaturally bright-red blood made every single injury look as though it were burning and angry; Auva knew that was just her imagination at work, but it hurt to look at all the same. What hurt the most was knowing that every inch of grey flesh that was peeling away to expose dull cooked-lobster red below, every half-clotted cut on his face, every blue-black bruise was her fault. She stared sadly at the crumpled form below and noted with dull horror that there was a hole in his arm that bore straight through from one side to the other. It was still leaking blood.
“Hm,” said the Empress. “I expected better. For a gutterblooded aberration, he showed a great deal of promise.” She peered quizzically down at Tarfus' prostrate form for a moment before turning away to gaze out into the depths of the ocean. She stepped toward the wall, and placed her palm against the glass. “Infilterrogator Madris.”
Auva snapped to attention. “Yes, Your Condescension.” She did not salute, but infilterrogators were not required to—discretion was the better part of not getting brutally murdered by counterspies.
“You are aware of my preferred method of disposing of would-be assassins.” It was not a question.
A ball of ice slipped down Auva's throat and froze her insides solid. She wouldn't. She'd promised.
“Death, in the most publicly visible manner possible, Your Condescension,” she replied, with not a waver in her voice.
“Hm. Yes, I suppose that's true. Such a shame that extenuating circumstances require that I break tradition,” said the Empress conversationally.
“My Lady?” said Auva, unable to believe her ears.
“A promise is a promise, Infilterrogator. I keep mine, and this one shows a great deal of it. He is not to be harmed. The records will show that Threshecutioner Tarfus Depinza died an unsung death at the hands of my loyal guardemolishers when he attempted to kill me in my own quarters. I release this nameless troll to your tender mercies, Miss Madris. I trust he will enjoy a swift recovery. You are dismissed.”
It was a testament to Auva's discipline that all she said was “Yes, my Lady,” before scooping up Tarfus' fallen form and carrying him down a side hallway.
The Empress waited until she was certain Auva had left earshot before muttering to herself, “I wish you the best of luck, Auva Madris and Tarfus Depinza.
“I fear you're going to need it.”
Notes
My goodness, this chapter was hard to write. With any luck the next one won't be so difficult, and will actually contain some character development for dear Auva. Fingers crossed!
And now, for something completely...uh...ordinary.
Hot Blooded: Chapter 6
“Madris. What in the name of the Mother Grub’s hideous writhing pustules is going the fuck on,” Tarfus croaked. He meant to scream it, but his throat wouldn’t cooperate, and all he got was a papery rasp.
Auva looked down and away. Her fangs drew a tiny droplet of jade green from her lower lip.
Tarfus’ eyes narrowed. “I asked you a question, Madris. As your commanding officer, I order you to give me some goddamn answers!”
“Yes,” said the Empress, “Why don’t you answer your commander officer, Infilterrogator Madris?”
Tarfus’ face froze, and his features paled. “No. No, tell me she’s lying.”
The infilterrogators. Like the guardemolishers, but more insidious; they were spies of highest caliber, spoken of in hushed whispers, by rebel and loyalist alike. Most trolls assumed they were just nothing more than a myth. Tarfus knew better. You never knew they were there until the subjuggalators were bursting through the door and one of your number was conveniently absent. They trained their members to interrogate, to reconnoiter, to assassinate, and to infiltrate.
To destroy the enemies of the Empire from the inside out.
Auva flinched at Tarfus’ words, but refused to turn and look at him. Tarfus lurched to his feet and stumbled into her. He clutched at her shirt to prevent himself from falling and drew his face to hers.
“Look at me. LOOK AT ME!” He snarled.
She raised her eyes to meet his. Tarfus jerked backward, an expression of horror working its way across his features. Her expression was filled with sorrow and self-loathing, and her gaze broke away from his almost immediately. It was all the confirmation Tarfus needed—Auva had always been a terrible liar, especially to him. For several long seconds, Tarfus stood there, clutching her shirt, shaking with fatigue.
“You...”
Tarfus jerked Auva close again.
“Utter...”
And with a grunt, shoved her away, leaving her to stumble backward and land in an undignified heap on the floor.
“BITCH!” He roared. “Everything you ever said to me was a lie? Is that it?! I thought you fucking believed in our cause! I thought you fucking believed in me! Well skin me and hang me out to dry over the tanneruinators' vats! I must be the owner of stupidest fucking carcass to ever somehow crawl its way out of the brooding caverns! Except, oh no, wait, it was your despicable traitorous self's fault!”
Tarfus swayed on his feet and black spots swam in front of his eyes. He forced himself to ignore them and rounded on the Empress, long past caring about the consequences of anything he said or did.
“And you know what, fuck you too; I hope you die forgotten and powerless and alone like the manipulative nookstained whore that you are!”
And still, the Empress' thrice-damned grin did not waver an inch. “Forgotten and powerless and alone? Like you?”
Tarfus managed a single, enraged step toward the Empress before her words sunk in and their import nailed him to the spot.
He was alone.
All his allies had been killed. That, or they had been traitors all along. He would be forgotten, save for perhaps a few impressed subjuggalators or irritated guardemolishers. The Empress would likely wash her hands of him the instant she had him killed and promptly forget about him. Auva...Auva had lied to him. Lied to him all along. That hurt the most, that somebody he had trusted—somebody he had once wanted as a moirail—had never been true to him. And he was powerless. If the Empress was telling the truth had always been powerless; she had known about his revolutionaries, had known about his plot, had known about his aberrant blood, and had simply let him persist because he was useful at best, or mostly harmless at worst.
His head felt like it had been stuffed full of fibrous absorbency spheres. The world around him went muffled, as though he were hearing everything from a great distance. His eyes went unfocused and the black spots in his vision multiplied. The world spun, and he found himself suddenly staring at knees, rather than faces.
Oh, he thought, I'm falling.
He'd gone from kneeling to standing very suddenly, and now he went from kneeling to laying down slowly, soundlessly, inch by inch. His vision faded completely, and he felt his eyes closing. He wanted to fight it because something very important was happening. Something he needed to stay awake for. The others needed him, needed him to be awake, but he was just so tired, and everything hurt so much. A short nap wouldn't hurt anybody...
He just wished the floor weren't so fucking cold.
**
Auva Madris stared uncomfortably at her former commander lying unconscious on the floor. She had seen him when she walked into the room and had made every effort to look somewhere else ever since. The entire front half of his body looked like it had been cooked, and there wasn't a single part of his face that wasn't bruised, cut or swollen. His unnaturally bright-red blood made every single injury look as though it were burning and angry; Auva knew that was just her imagination at work, but it hurt to look at all the same. What hurt the most was knowing that every inch of grey flesh that was peeling away to expose dull cooked-lobster red below, every half-clotted cut on his face, every blue-black bruise was her fault. She stared sadly at the crumpled form below and noted with dull horror that there was a hole in his arm that bore straight through from one side to the other. It was still leaking blood.
“Hm,” said the Empress. “I expected better. For a gutterblooded aberration, he showed a great deal of promise.” She peered quizzically down at Tarfus' prostrate form for a moment before turning away to gaze out into the depths of the ocean. She stepped toward the wall, and placed her palm against the glass. “Infilterrogator Madris.”
Auva snapped to attention. “Yes, Your Condescension.” She did not salute, but infilterrogators were not required to—discretion was the better part of not getting brutally murdered by counterspies.
“You are aware of my preferred method of disposing of would-be assassins.” It was not a question.
A ball of ice slipped down Auva's throat and froze her insides solid. She wouldn't. She'd promised.
“Death, in the most publicly visible manner possible, Your Condescension,” she replied, with not a waver in her voice.
“Hm. Yes, I suppose that's true. Such a shame that extenuating circumstances require that I break tradition,” said the Empress conversationally.
“My Lady?” said Auva, unable to believe her ears.
“A promise is a promise, Infilterrogator. I keep mine, and this one shows a great deal of it. He is not to be harmed. The records will show that Threshecutioner Tarfus Depinza died an unsung death at the hands of my loyal guardemolishers when he attempted to kill me in my own quarters. I release this nameless troll to your tender mercies, Miss Madris. I trust he will enjoy a swift recovery. You are dismissed.”
It was a testament to Auva's discipline that all she said was “Yes, my Lady,” before scooping up Tarfus' fallen form and carrying him down a side hallway.
The Empress waited until she was certain Auva had left earshot before muttering to herself, “I wish you the best of luck, Auva Madris and Tarfus Depinza.
“I fear you're going to need it.”
Notes
My goodness, this chapter was hard to write. With any luck the next one won't be so difficult, and will actually contain some character development for dear Auva. Fingers crossed!
Oh shiiiiiit plot twist!!!
Seriously though, PingZing, this is by far the best ancestor fic I've read. I am eagerly awaiting the next installment!
Avatar by Adoxographist! Fanfiction in spoiler! Lots of shout poles!
im not quite sure this really fits here but w/e i didn't see anywhere else to post it really
also this is like the last thread i expected to post in
ever
anyway this is an rp thing where vriska's usually nice and tavros is a lame supervillain
it's an alt timeline thing
niceka turned into a crazy god tiered murderer
killed everyone except tavros
then this happened http://pastebin.com/FV9CrPx3
edit: oh right i should probably mention this took place in a dream bubble
thats why nepeta was there
yeah
And now, for something completely...uh...ordinary.
Hot Blooded: Chapter 6
“Madris. What in the name of the Mother Grub’s hideous writhing pustules is going the fuck on,” Tarfus croaked. He meant to scream it, but his throat wouldn’t cooperate, and all he got was a papery rasp.
Auva looked down and away. Her fangs drew a tiny droplet of jade green from her lower lip.
Tarfus’ eyes narrowed. “I asked you a question, Madris. As your commanding officer, I order you to give me some goddamn answers!”
“Yes,” said the Empress, “Why don’t you answer your commander officer, Infilterrogator Madris?”
Tarfus’ face froze, and his features paled. “No. No, tell me she’s lying.”
The infilterrogators. Like the guardemolishers, but more insidious; they were spies of highest caliber, spoken of in hushed whispers, by rebel and loyalist alike. Most trolls assumed they were just nothing more than a myth. Tarfus knew better. You never knew they were there until the subjuggalators were bursting through the door and one of your number was conveniently absent. They trained their members to interrogate, to reconnoiter, to assassinate, and to infiltrate.
To destroy the enemies of the Empire from the inside out.
Auva flinched at Tarfus’ words, but refused to turn and look at him. Tarfus lurched to his feet and stumbled into her. He clutched at her shirt to prevent himself from falling and drew his face to hers.
“Look at me. LOOK AT ME!” He snarled.
She raised her eyes to meet his. Tarfus jerked backward, an expression of horror working its way across his features. Her expression was filled with sorrow and self-loathing, and her gaze broke away from his almost immediately. It was all the confirmation Tarfus needed—Auva had always been a terrible liar, especially to him. For several long seconds, Tarfus stood there, clutching her shirt, shaking with fatigue.
“You...”
Tarfus jerked Auva close again.
“Utter...”
And with a grunt, shoved her away, leaving her to stumble backward and land in an undignified heap on the floor.
“BITCH!” He roared. “Everything you ever said to me was a lie? Is that it?! I thought you fucking believed in our cause! I thought you fucking believed in me! Well skin me and hang me out to dry over the tanneruinators' vats! I must be the owner of stupidest fucking carcass to ever somehow crawl its way out of the brooding caverns! Except, oh no, wait, it was your despicable traitorous self's fault!”
Tarfus swayed on his feet and black spots swam in front of his eyes. He forced himself to ignore them and rounded on the Empress, long past caring about the consequences of anything he said or did.
“And you know what, fuck you too; I hope you die forgotten and powerless and alone like the manipulative nookstained whore that you are!”
And still, the Empress' thrice-damned grin did not waver an inch. “Forgotten and powerless and alone? Like you?”
Tarfus managed a single, enraged step toward the Empress before her words sunk in and their import nailed him to the spot.
He was alone.
All his allies had been killed. That, or they had been traitors all along. He would be forgotten, save for perhaps a few impressed subjuggalators or irritated guardemolishers. The Empress would likely wash her hands of him the instant she had him killed and promptly forget about him. Auva...Auva had lied to him. Lied to him all along. That hurt the most, that somebody he had trusted—somebody he had once wanted as a moirail—had never been true to him. And he was powerless. If the Empress was telling the truth had always been powerless; she had known about his revolutionaries, had known about his plot, had known about his aberrant blood, and had simply let him persist because he was useful at best, or mostly harmless at worst.
His head felt like it had been stuffed full of fibrous absorbency spheres. The world around him went muffled, as though he were hearing everything from a great distance. His eyes went unfocused and the black spots in his vision multiplied. The world spun, and he found himself suddenly staring at knees, rather than faces.
Oh, he thought, I'm falling.
He'd gone from kneeling to standing very suddenly, and now he went from kneeling to laying down slowly, soundlessly, inch by inch. His vision faded completely, and he felt his eyes closing. He wanted to fight it because something very important was happening. Something he needed to stay awake for. The others needed him, needed him to be awake, but he was just so tired, and everything hurt so much. A short nap wouldn't hurt anybody...
He just wished the floor weren't so fucking cold.
**
Auva Madris stared uncomfortably at her former commander lying unconscious on the floor. She had seen him when she walked into the room and had made every effort to look somewhere else ever since. The entire front half of his body looked like it had been cooked, and there wasn't a single part of his face that wasn't bruised, cut or swollen. His unnaturally bright-red blood made every single injury look as though it were burning and angry; Auva knew that was just her imagination at work, but it hurt to look at all the same. What hurt the most was knowing that every inch of grey flesh that was peeling away to expose dull cooked-lobster red below, every half-clotted cut on his face, every blue-black bruise was her fault. She stared sadly at the crumpled form below and noted with dull horror that there was a hole in his arm that bore straight through from one side to the other. It was still leaking blood.
“Hm,” said the Empress. “I expected better. For a gutterblooded aberration, he showed a great deal of promise.” She peered quizzically down at Tarfus' prostrate form for a moment before turning away to gaze out into the depths of the ocean. She stepped toward the wall, and placed her palm against the glass. “Infilterrogator Madris.”
Auva snapped to attention. “Yes, Your Condescension.” She did not salute, but infilterrogators were not required to—discretion was the better part of not getting brutally murdered by counterspies.
“You are aware of my preferred method of disposing of would-be assassins.” It was not a question.
A ball of ice slipped down Auva's throat and froze her insides solid. She wouldn't. She'd promised.
“Death, in the most publicly visible manner possible, Your Condescension,” she replied, with not a waver in her voice.
“Hm. Yes, I suppose that's true. Such a shame that extenuating circumstances require that I break tradition,” said the Empress conversationally.
“My Lady?” said Auva, unable to believe her ears.
“A promise is a promise, Infilterrogator. I keep mine, and this one shows a great deal of it. He is not to be harmed. The records will show that Threshecutioner Tarfus Depinza died an unsung death at the hands of my loyal guardemolishers when he attempted to kill me in my own quarters. I release this nameless troll to your tender mercies, Miss Madris. I trust he will enjoy a swift recovery. You are dismissed.”
It was a testament to Auva's discipline that all she said was “Yes, my Lady,” before scooping up Tarfus' fallen form and carrying him down a side hallway.
The Empress waited until she was certain Auva had left earshot before muttering to herself, “I wish you the best of luck, Auva Madris and Tarfus Depinza.
“I fear you're going to need it.”
Notes
My goodness, this chapter was hard to write. With any luck the next one won't be so difficult, and will actually contain some character development for dear Auva. Fingers crossed!
I've been reading this and waiting for something to happen...and boy did it happen! I'm squealing with glee right now.
@anonymousComrade- Just tear my heart out and stomp all over it, why don't you.
Seriously, you wrote Terezi's perspective very well, so that I felt exactly like a blind troll finding the dead carcass of my matesprit.
Last edited by ProspitDreamer; 03-25-2011 at 10:16 AM.
@PingZing: "tanneruinators" . It's just hitting me that Trolls must have terribly destructive titles for all their jobs. Nurseviserator. Graphic Designeutralizer. What a wonderful world they live it. Now just to see what the plan is to do with Tarfus in it...
@PingZing: "tanneruinators" . It's just hitting me that Trolls must have terribly destructive titles for all their jobs. Nurseviserator. Graphic Designeutralizer. What a wonderful world they live it.
C2 is great at coming up with these. Suisei refers to "physiciancinerators" and "doctormentors" as his ideal occupations in one of his fics. Basically troll jobs are the coolest thing and I love people who can make them up.
So I basically stalk anonimemes looking for interesting pairingsprompts to fill. Someone prompted Rose/Aradia and I thought, "That's impossible!" and immediately berated myself. Everything is possible if you smell like a man and know the word "on".
Rose/Aradia: "Interesting".
TT: Wait, don't go!
TT: You were actually interesting.
Interesting
The first thing Rose did when she crossed over was seek out the girl who knew things. She didn't know what to expect. Jade had spoken to her twice, but her impressions both times were so radically different from each other, and from Rose's own conversation with her, they might as well have been three different people. Even her quirk, that vexatious troll foible, changed from time to time. Rose didn't even know her name, although she did know her star sign. She was a mystery, an enigma, a sexy unknown.
Um.
After consulting Jade's space goggles the four of them made their way to the trolls' specific location. The other three mingled awkwardly with the survivors, but Rose marched right up to the pocket-sized capitalizer and poked her index finger squarely in his chest.
"Where's the girl who knows things?"
"Hello to you too, you mannerless fucking primate," said the geneticist in a surprisingly low and scratchy whisper.
"Top o' the morning to ya," said Rose. "I want to see the girl who knows things."
"No one's ever described Kan quite like that," said another troll in a high, squeaky voice. She turned and rounded on Rose.
"Hello, best hatefriend."
"Terezi," said Rose.
"Your deductive fucking acumen blows us all away," said Karkat.
Terezi grinned toothily and Rose was momentarily taken aback.
"The red text girl," she clarified, shoving down an uncomfortable feeling that Terezi, and Karkat as well, knew exactly who she meant.
"I think you mean me."
She spun swiftly in place, ignoring, to the best of her ability, the calibrator's high-pitched yet hyena-like cackle.
"Hi," said the girl who knew things, waving her hand cheerily. She wore a red outfit with a God-Tier hood, and had butterfly wings trailing behind her. Her smile was wide and white-toothed and, one dared to assume, not terribly fatalistic. She had two large, curling ewe's horns; aries, of course. Her strife specibus appeared to be a whipKind.
Um.
"Uh, hi," said Rose, twisting her hands together.
"You must be, uh, hi?" said the red text girl.
"Rose," said Rose. "Um, uh, tentacle therapist?"
"Hi!" said the girl again, grinning even wider. "My name's Aradia, I don't think I've ever told you that. What's a therapist?"
Aradia. Araaaaadia. It sounded so smooth and languid, she couldn't wait to try and say it, which she would have done right then and there, however foolish. Sadly, her tongue appeared to have lost all independent function. She wondered when it would descend over her larynx, suffocating her. A silly grin spread on her face.
Red tex- err, Aradia, waved a gloved hand in front of her face. She looked worried. About her. About Rose Lalonde. Hee!
"Are you alright?"
"Red text girl, huh?" said Karkat scratchily.
"Hee hee hee," Terezi laughed theatrically. "Yeah, I'll say there's something upright sanguine about that text."
Karkat dragged her away, much to Rose's relief.
"Hi," she said again, smiling what she felt must be the most ridiculous-looking smile of her life. "I'm so sorry. I just... drifted off a bit?"
Aradia grinned. "Yeah, it's been a long day and we're all tired. I bet you're dying to sleep. We tried to alchemize you some fabric recuperation rectangles."
"Hee!"
Aradia frowned. "What's so funny?"
"It's funny how you talk about human things," explained Rose. "Anyway, I'm not sleepy, I'm really buzzed!" She felt like a fleet of trite and cliche red butterflies were fluttering about in her abdominal regions. "I can't believe we're finally meeting in person!"
"I know!" Aradia clapped her hands together. "It's so exciting. I wish you could meet the others, but they all died."
The sobering thought had little effect on Rose's ridiculous grin. "How many of you are left?"
"Seven," said Aradia. "Um, did you want to talk to Kanaya? I think she was maybe looking forward to meeting you."
Rose glanced about, knowing she was looking for a glowing girl in a stylish dress. She found her with no difficulty, leaning over Karkat's shoulder while the latter glared at a behooded John. "Oh. Kanaya." Right.
Aradia's smile dimmed, and Rose felt a vise tightening in her chest. "How awkward. Um. I mean, I should probably talk to your Knight of Time, we have technical things to discuss. I guess you can just-- um--" She retreated slowly without ever finishing her sentence.
Rose knew despair. All those stupid books being stupidly right about everything, how dare they?
"Boo."
Neither her shriek nor her tumble to the cold metal grating were especially dignified.
"Roooooooose!"
Somehow, she even heard the eight Os. She held up her hand to a leering, satisfied-looking Vriska, who was similarly sporting wings and a hood.
Vriska looked at the hand.
"Help me up," supplied Rose.
"Oh," said Vriska, grasping her hand awkwardly and muttering something about the strangeness of aliens.
Once up, Rose dusted her skirt with all the dignity she could feign. "Pleasure to meet you, Vriska."
"Likewise. You look a lot less pink and squishy than you did in my monitor." She grinned again with all her many sharp teeth.
"Thanks," said Rose dryly.
"Oh!" she said, clapping her hands together. "Kan just can't wait to see you!"
Rose's stomach made an excellent impression of a destroyer following an unfavorable encounter with a U-boat's torpedo missile. "So I hear," she said politely, her voice squeaking and her face feeling suddenly quite warm.
"You're getting pinker, pinky," said Vriska, looking suddenly suspicious. "Hey!" She poked her finger into Rose's chest. "You're not going to break fussyfangs' heart, are you?"
"She never-- uh, she didn't say anything-- um. No?"
Vriska propped her fists on her hips, or whatever troll girls had in the general hip vicinity. "But you knew damn well. Daaaaaaaamn well!"
"Ugh," said Rose. "Yes, I suppose I did."
"I thought so," said Vriska with a satisfied nod. "Everyone knew but me. So. Why don't you pity my fussyfangs, and what are you going to do about it?"
Rose said nothing, but couldn't quite keep herself from glancing sidelong to where she thought Aradia might be. She was hugging Jade very enthusiastically.
Vriska half-turned and scrutinized the hugging pair through squinted, odd-pupiled eyes. "Which one?" she asked suspiciously. "Puppy apocalypse girl or the one who killed me?"
"Aradia killed you?"
Vriska waved a dismissive hand. "Shit happens. You didn't answer me!"
Rose hesitated. "Do you ever get a feeling like there's something alive in your stomach? Just from looking at someone? Even though you don't even really know her and also she's an alien with horns and she might be a murderer?"
She stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Sounds like you're in trouble," she said. "I don't know much about these things. You better ask Karkles, or your puppy girl friend."
***
"Your friend is very strange!" said Aradia, sneaking a stealthy look behind her.
Jade giggled. "Which friend? Never mind, all my friends are pretty strange!"
Aradia laughed loudly. "Yes, I guess so. I meant Rose. She was very strange to me, earlier."
"That's odd," said Jade, frowning. "She talked a lot about meeting you, before. I thought she liked you. Sort of."
"Sort of?" asked Aradia.
Jade shrugged. "You did change a lot, you know."
"Oh, that's because I was dead before," said Aradia lightly. "Also, a robot. And a frog."
"That's pretty impressive!" said Jade. "What's being a frog like?"
"Weird," said Aradia conspiratorially. "I don't really miss it, although I was pretty okay with it at the time." She smiled and shrugged. "Anyway, why would Rose want to meet me? I barely remember talking to her."
"I don't know," said Jade, "but you were the first one she mentioned. It was weird, I thought she'd be more excited to meet-- uh."
Aradia scratched the base of her horn. "Yeah, I guess everybody thought that, I don't know. This is all very awkward!"
"Where did she run off to, anyway?" asked Jade. She glanced this way and that. John was fending off Terezi's curious nose, Dave was vainly attempting to pick a fight about programming with Sollux.... There she was, of course, talking to-- Karkat?
"Why is she talking to Karkat?" she demanded of Aradia, not a little irate.
"Maybe they're talking about the plan," Aradia suggested. "I really don't know! Isn't it exciting?"
Jade sneezed. "Not really. I miss knowing things. It was handy. I'm going to see if they need my help."
With that, she strode off towards the conferring pair, and Aradia shrugged and turned to look for Kanaya. Maybe she had some insight into the lavender human, she did seem to know her better than any of the other trolls.
***
"Basically, you need to be less of a loser."
Rose sighed. She didn't know why she had expected anything else.
"Hey!" said Karkat. "Fuckass! You came to me for advice, remember?"
"Yes, I seem to recall," she said, picking her driest voice.
"That ambitious human insincerity you like so much won't do you any good with Aradia, Lalonde," said Karkat. "I'm telling you right now, she's not into that shit."
"Who's not into what shit?" Jade had snuck up on them, her feet uncannily silent in her Squiddle shoes.
"No one!" said Rose hastily. "Why would anyone be into anything?"
Karkat slapped his forehead. "I have no fucking idea, Lalonde," he said, "not a gog-damn fucking clue. Just think about what I said, will you? Don't be as much of a dipshit as you usually are. And talk to Kanaya."
"He's right, you know," whispered Jade once Karkat stalked away to harass John some more. "About Kanaya."
"What?" said Rose. "No! Besides, you don't even know what we were talking about!"
Jade shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You have to talk to her either way, and sooner, rather than later."
Rose twiddled her thumbs awkwardly and Jade exhaled a loud sigh.
"At least don't avoid her when she comes to talk to you, okay? Can you promise me that? Please?"
Rose bit her thumbnail. "Okay, maybe," she mumbled.
"Anyway, I need to talk to Karkles too," said Jade, perking up. "Good luck!" And she skipped away to where Karkat was screaming bloody murder at John and Dave both.
Rose stayed where she was. Perhaps if she stood very, very still, no one would notice her and--
"Hello Rose."
--Crap.
She turned around slowly. "Hi," she said, "Kanaya."
Kanaya smiled and held out her hand. "It's very nice to finally meet you in person. How do you do?"
She shook her hand limply. It was cold, despite the light it gave off.
Kanaya's smile dimmed.
"I-- uh--" she fumbled. "Um. I really am glad to meet you?"
She managed a new smile, clearer and thinner, and somehow strangely familiar. "I guess I know," she said.
Rose wondered if she had looked at Aradia without even noticing. "I like your dress." She did. It was purple, with a pattern in white and yellow of what proved to be many-legged insects.
"Thank you," said Kanaya. "It's all right. You don't have to feel... beholden. I am glad just to have you as a friend."
"I thought trolls didn't have friends," said Rose faintly.
"I suppose we're not ordinary trolls." Kanaya sighed. "Come to think of it, who is?"
Rose shrugged. "The game," she said simply.
"Just don't come on too strong," said Kanaya. "She's only just come out of a messy reacharound, and she doesn't know you like you think you know her." She smiled dimly again. "I should know."
Rose glanced at her sidelong, but found her eyes drawn again to Aradia. "You think I have a chance?"
"Rose," said Kanaya, "there are only eleven people left in the whole world. Those sound like decent odds to me."
Curse you Hazel you've disrupted my shipping wall!
Seriously though, that was incredibly cute, and you managed to make the pairing viable despite only one canon interaction between the two. Very nicely done.
Avatar by Adoxographist! Fanfiction in spoiler! Lots of shout poles!
Back with more Bitter! I don't feel like much was accomplished this chapter, but that's okay. Hopefully you like it better than I do.
Bitter - 2
The troll's session was, for all intents and purposes, over. The human's session, while still going strong, was barren in that it could not under any circumstances create a new universe.
The game's oh-so-creative solution to this was to restore Earth to its former state, allowing the humans to return home. To the trolls... imagine playing a game of darts on a map of the United States. With someone with absolutely horrendous aim.
You ended up in TEXAS, where it is CONSTANTLY WARM, ALL THE TIME. Always. At least the sun here on Earth isn't so bright that you'd be blinded instantly by accidentally glancing at it.
When they heard you were close enough, Dave and his Bro kindly offered to take you in. You kindly responded with a clear "Fuck off."
A newly-revived Eridan landed in Hawaii, which, while perfect for a sea-dwelling troll such as himself, left him more alone than ever. That's probably for the best, though, as more than a few of his friends still have quite the bone to pick with him.
Gamzee, likewise, was unfortunate enough to land in Alaska, where he is most assuredly more CHILL than ever before.
Feferi wound up in California, where she is happily spending her days at the beach - the people there are either so chill that they'd out-chill a sopored-up Gamzee in a chill contest, or they are completely stupid.
Not even the game could bring itself to separate Equius and Nepeta. A moirallegiance that STRONG just cannot be broken. They are in NYC, where they have to hide from the not-nearly-as-chill-as-Californians-New-Yorkers. But they're happy as long as they're together, so all's good.
Terezi is making do in Ohio, and Tavros is master of the animals in Arkansas.
Kanaya... no one knows where she ended up. Not even Kanaya herself knows. But hey, she's got access to a computer, so nothing else really matters, right?
Vriska, by some insane stroke of luck (then again, this is the girl who has "all the luck," so maybe it's completely justifiable), ended up in Washington, where John and his Dad took her to live with them.
Karkat, though, was also lucky enough to land there, and that sort of luck is rare for him. Of course, it's entirely possible that the negative of living with Vriska outweighed the pro of living with John, thus making things right in the world.
Aradia... you'd be tempted to think she's really gone for good, deader than dead. If only she would stop messaging you.
----------
—apocalypseArisen [AA] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]—
AA: s0llux
AA: please answer me
AA: ...
AA: i realize that y0u must be upset
AA: but that d0esnt mean y0u sh0uldnt answer me
AA: c0me 0n s0llux
AA: please
TA: 2top.
TA: ju2t 2top.
AA: ...
AA: im s0rry
—twinArmageddons [TA] ceased trolling apocalypseArisen [AA]—
A/N
So yeah, this chapter was really just to somewhat explain the setting, and also show where the other trolls are (I plan on maybe doing some oneshots or something starring the other trolls set in the same universe as Bitter at some point or another). But hey, drama at the end! Why's Sollux upset with Aradia? Find out in a later chapter (though its pretty easy to infer if you think about it)!
Last edited by MyCurrentObsession; 03-27-2011 at 08:52 PM.
Kairi - "Maybe... waiting isn't good enough."
Axel - "My thoughts exactly."
Oh dear. I'm terrible at commenting but I've really been enjoying What It Takes and Hot Blooded and adorable shipping and Lantadyme just beating me about the head and shoulders with the awesomestick, and just damn, y'all. Also, I did a thing again, hope you don't mind:
Walking Far from Home: Sinner's Music (iv)
Three blocks left and then you’ll stand on the doorstep of the shambling brick apartment building with the tube metal swingset. Hopefully, the kid will be swinging on it or playing in the muddy sandpit or something and you won’t have to go in. The woman who runs the joint always looks at you slant-eyed through a haze of cigarette smoke and it makes you feel like an asshole for having anything to do with her fly by night daycare bullshit, but she doesn’t ever come out into the yard where the kids play. It’s alright though, the high fence was what sold you on the whole operation.
One block away, you light a smoke and duck down a cross street. You never let him see you do it; he’s gonna have enough bad habits, though you know he can smell it and this gross babysitting venture isn’t exactly sparing him the secondhand anyway. Still, you need to keep a few boundaries intact.
You inhale deeply, only a little rattle in your chest, and you turn your face up to the warm late afternoon sun. It’s that part of spring, your favorite, where the buds on the sparse trees are about to just about to burst into bright green. You’ll be sure to watch when they actually do and take the little man to the park by the river, take the kendo sticks, maybe, or just sit out for a while. Kid’s too pale and you’re tired of the view from the roof. You need to see something alive.
You flick the butt in the gutter and start towards the building. No kids outside, damn. Witch is probably going to want to get paid, too, and you ain’t got any loot. Bouncing at that joint on the Richmond Strip’s been pretty alright, but this whole afterschool deal has been a necessary but unwelcomed payout. Your day job at the Chevron keeps you away and though you half-heartedly courted some quid pro quo childcare arrangement with the single mom downstairs who works nights, you couldn’t go through with it. Her eyes were too sad and searching and you were definitely not ready to take your game to that cruel a place.
Up in the old lady’s place, there’s a half dozen kids loudly vrooming matchbox cars around the dirty carpet. Yours, though, is sitting in the corner reading a comic book. He’s got his shades pushed up high on his nose like you taught him, no peeking while he’s got his head down. He’s a little too small yet, hasn’t trained enough to hold off the asshole big kids who wouldn’t be able to let freaky albino eyes go uncommented on. Hasn’t learned to check his temper enough to not throw the first punch, either. After that…well, he’s fast, but you can only run so long.
“Hey, little man. Let’s blow this joint.”
He looks up at you and smiles brightly, an old-school marquee missing bulbs. Lost another tooth today, then. You think it might kill you to hold it in, but you don’t smile back.
He’s grabbing his backpack —motherfuckin’ Dora the Explorer: he wouldn’t talk to you for a while even after you explained the irony of the purchase, the truth of it is if the bullies wanted a reason, might as well make it your fault, not something about him he can’t change— but before he can get to you, the hag calls your name from the kitchen.
You deal with her pretty easily, a pay-you-next-week dodge she scowls at but doesn’t protest. The kid’s already out in the hall waiting, and you two head down to the street in silence. The sun’s lower now and throwing pinks behind you as you walk toward the deepening blue.
Six blocks away now and you figure it’s time to do the little routine you both been practicing since he started kindergarten in the fall.
“How was school?”
“Sucky.”
“And afterschool?”
“Suckier.”
Like a fucking haiku. You grin and step into his path a little to shake him up. He swerves towards edge of the sidewalk, no sweat, but not smiling. His gears are working, troubled thoughts looks like. You put arm down near him and bump him a bit; he instinctively reaches up and puts his hand in yours. It’s part of the poem too.
You’ve turned up your street when he speaks again. “Emily R. said her dad got her a TV in her room.”
“Yeah? Who’s she, your girlfriend?”
“Nah.”
“’Kay.” He’s walking a little slower so you shorten your stride. Another block, three to go.
“Why don’t I have one, Bro?”
“Your own TV? Come on man, living room’s not that far away. I let you watch cartoons all the time.”
“No. A dad.”
Fuck. Maybe you were wrong about the kid’s fighting technique, because you are winded and bruised and you drop his hand like it burns you. Fuck. What do you say to that?
Nothing for another block while you think of a good lie. You’ve got dozens of backstories spread around, to the cops or DFPS, landlords, chicks who want to know why you’ve got a little boy’s picture in your wallet when you go looking for rubbers. So many different ways to spin it but you know when you look in his face you’ll forget them all. Maybe you should tell the real story, the bizarre little fairytale you’ve lived for six years now. The one you’ve been writing together.
“Hey.” You stop and crouch to him, steadying yourself on his slight shoulders. He just looks at you and you can still see he’s unhappy even though he’s playing at a blank face.
“Do you—do you want a dad, little man?”
“Yeah.” He looks embarrassed, whether for himself or you, you can’t tell. “Duh.”
“Why duh?”
“Everybody’s got a dad.”
“I guess. But does everybody have a bad-ass bro? Does everybody have a sick ninja beatmachine looking out for them?” You consider bringing up the other caregiver in your household. Nah, best to leave Cal out of it.
The kid shifts and fidgets. He won’t look at you as he says, “No. And that’s cool. But…didn’t I have a dad? Why isn’t he here?”
And there’s the original lie, rising up and choking you. Did he have a father? You found him in a hole in the ground. Probably three months old already. You have no idea where he came from or why or who made him.
But that’s not the truth either. Because he’s got your eyes and coloring and the slope of his jaw is softer but you two could have swapped chins like a Mr. Potatohead mix up and nobody would notice. Because you found your old shades in a box a few days before and felt fucking compelled to keep them with you. And that day you carelessly put a divot in your favorite record and then had to go to your favorite record shop…
And when you saw him, you knew.
So what now? How do you explain that instant jolt and how you denied it? Killed it and buried it and said “bro” instead of “son”. How you picked a path—easier for you, not him—and kept up the illusion even now, even though you know better than anyone that kids need dads. Duh, everybody’s got a dad, and there aren’t grants given to out to study the lack of cool martial arts ventriloquists in the home.
While you’ve been trying to beat back that feeling, that undeniable connection you’ve been venerating and denying in equal parts since that first day, he’s been looking down, and he’s started to cry.
“Dave. Hey. Listen: I’m sorry you don’t have a dad, and if I could – could find one for you, I would. But little man, we’re doing alright, you and me. Shit is pretty excellent, considering. You don’t want to hear my war stories from the group home, yo. Hey. Look at me.”
He obeys. There’s two thick wet tracks running down his face and his lips are trembling, but he does look you in the eye. Christ only knows what he sees.
Your half-gloved hands are cupping his face; you’re always shocked at how soft he is, how pliant, and every touch astonishes you. Fucking kid, man. Your thumbs snake up his cheeks, under the rim of his glasses until you can feel his eyelashes brush their tips. No need to take the shades off to wipe his tears, you’ve been reading his face like a fucking Bible for so long. You could guess the distance from the bridge of his nose to the corner of his eye straight up to the big freckle over his eyebrow with a carnie’s freakish accuracy.
“We’re going to be okay, you and me. I know it’s rough sometimes, and I’m trying. It sucks not having parents, I fuckin’ know it. But I’m gonna do right by you. You’re gonna be okay, promise. Ya heard?”
“I heard.”
He shakes his head a little and sniffles while you straighten up and offer him a fist. His watery but sincere grin as he pounds it is the best thing you’ve ever seen.
*****
You watch this touching little scene crouched behind a mailbox kittycorner to their – your – position and don’t know what to think. At all. You’ve followed past-you since shit got wonky on the playground; Emily R. and your best nap-time bud Matt – he moved in second grade, you recall bitterly – were swinging, engaging in a friendly boast-off. Emily’s family/appliance situation won, of course, and you felt jealousy like heartburn rise up and etch itself into your chest. So damn unfair.
The whole memory is so clear, so vivid to you. You’ve dreamt of that day over and over again, trying to place it in how the story shook out, trying to fit together the unalloyed trust you felt in Bro when he made you that promise and then all the bullshit that came after. You’d tried to hold him to it, little Lalonde-esque guilt trips and Keri Strug type flip-outs every once in a while, but from where you stand, hiding like a chump scarcely a hundred feet away, you were so pitifully unsuccessful you aren’t even sure if he remembered what he swore to.
But it looks he did, right? Because this third person eagle eye shit proves you aren’t that kid, not anymore. You’re wearing the black and purple-trimmed suit you alchemized in the last hours of the Reckoning and you’ve got a slice across your Adam’s apple. You aren’t the one making an ass of yourself crying about wanting a father right in front of that very same dickhead deadbeat. Before the whole ectobiology reveal went down, you didn’t have any clue how deep Bro’s Master of Irony title actually went. Now watching from outside, you feel queasy, like you had old coffee grounds for breakfast.
It has to be his memory. One of the hims floating around in this eldritch spaghetti-armed bubble bath, who knows, maybe a past-him, an alternate-him, a dead-him. Rose was right: the whole fucking point of this Godawful game seemed to be finding out how bizarre the string of adjectives you used to define yourself could get. Self-realization through crappy challenges as labyrinthine and circuitous as the stable loops you wove and ultimately fucked up.
Didn’t really matter, though. Every Bro you know of made that same promise, sealed it with a BUNP, and promptly broke it a thousand ways every chance he got. Sometimes because he had to, you guess, but too often he did it gleefully, grinning and pushing you and basically daring you to hate him. You’ve never been so close to doing so as right fucking now, watching this tiny past-you smile and believe him and feel relieved for Christssakes. Now you know better. Asshole. You’re sick of this, would even rather go hang out with the dead horse-dick troll than watch, but when they resume walking and enter the apartment lobby, your feet follow on their own.
While Bro has his back to the door hovering over the stove stirring up generic cheezepowder into some overcooked noodles and little-you is curled up on the futon watching Power Rangers (you knew at the time that you had to be ironic about it, but you honestly found the battles in the fake cardboard town awesome), you sneak through the apartment and hide yourself behind the cracked-open bathroom door.
You remember so clearly, relived this so often, it feels stupid to actually look: Bro is going to give you a bowl of mac’n’cheese and jump over the futon’s back and land heavily. He’s right up close to you, invading your space, and remembering how glad you were to feel his heat makes you ache with embarrassment. Even then, you knew he was full of it, kind of. Maybe. Why’d you ever give a shit?
He makes fun of the show, disparaging the overdubs more gently than you thought at the time, and you don’t need to see Little Dave’s face to know it’s red and downcast. You know how you stammered to deny, pretended to hate what made you happy. Constant reversals like burying yourself in a grave he wouldn’t let you stop digging. Your hand goes to the Snoop Snowcone Machete and you’re already in the hall when you come to your senses and realize cutting Bro’s throat wouldn’t actually mean anything here.
Tuck back against the wall and keep yourself hidden, try to calm down, because what’s coming next is going to fucking kill you, you know it. 11 minutes 46 seconds until dude is just going to destroy you. More shit and lies. It’s an eon of sick anticipation and desperately trying to slow your pulse, to wrestle back control, and then he rises, cracks his knuckles over his head, and heads over to the turntables. He leisurely selects some records, plugs some shit into a stripped surge protector then clears his throat.
“Hey, dude, I’m about to drop a illcrazy mix. You wanna help?”
The kid on the couch says nothing; you were literally dumbstruck. Every time you’d gotten within a foot of his equipment, he’d shouted curses and threats and quips about peanut butter residue gumming up the moving parts and you’d retreated sheepishly. Why would he now ask you to join, to put your hands on what was most precious? In the hall, you still have no clue, but you know how you swelled with pride as you clicked the TV off. How grateful you felt, and grown up. Now it’s so empty, such a cruel gesture; you dig your nails into your palms to fight back angry tears.
The little kid stands tentatively to his big brother’s left, stares hawklike at the turntables, memorizing their surfaces and jutting knobs. Bro places the first two LPs on the spindles and starts them rotating; the kid steps up to within arm’s reach confidently. It’s just bravado: you were terrified. Your game face is on and you are ready to be the big man, but you can’t even reach the platter comfortably. Bro laughs and steps away, in second he’ll come back with a milk crate for you to stand on.
You hold your breath and sink towards your bedroom. If he looks the wrong way and notices you this whole thing would come crashing down, and you wouldn’t get to hear it. Yet he doesn’t and the joint hallucination just keeps unspooling. Exhaling slowly, you feel stupid for worrying about it.
When he stands beside little-you like a boxer, feet apart and ready to strike, you stop listening and only watch. You know the audio by heart: he’s going to explain beat matching, the essence of a choice sample, the theory behind when to scratch and when to just let the beat speak for itself. He effortless blends so-called “dope dogma” and practice, and you remember desperately trying to absorb as he moved quickly between lessons; now you can tell he moved impossibly slow, restraining himself. You try so hard to focus, to pick either then or now but find yourself drifting between the admiration coupled with a burning desire to please you felt, and… whatever this is. You’re still pissed for all that will come after, but there’s something else, too. Completely foreign. Your ears are hot and the temporal dissonance has you shook up like a two-liter in a paint mixer.
The only thing that’s the same is the sound and the rapt attention you pay him, as a child to his hands, now to his face. Your past-self, so trusting and (ugh) sensitive, looks up to him with his lips pursed, but the adoration, the hunger there could be seen from space. When you put your tiny fingers to the vinyl for the first time, Bro’s proud, paternal smile is fucking unbearable.
******
You don’t get too far into the lesson, maybe two or three minutes, when you see a pantleg and a purple shoe in the hall. You grumble “What the balls?” and move to take out your sword, but it happens too fast: the stranger in the hall steps forward and your sword isn’t there and the blood staining his suit brings you around to your own death.
Little man next to you winks out of existence mid-scratch, but you hardly spare a look. Usually when that happens, when you wake up to the surreal nature of this place, you freak out and try to keep the kid with you. Always grasping and pleading and failing, eventually forgetting and starting again. But the boy at the turntables isn’t the real Dave here, you guess, and you don't try to keep him.
The real one, the one who looks so much older, the one you hopehopehope isn’t the Alpha stands at the corner of the futon and just stares at you levelly. Casual observers would note that his face is empty and apathetic. You see that he is Having A Time. There’s rage and hurt and sadness, maybe a couple little notes of sheer surprise. Violent overtones. Oaky finish. You just stare blankly back, tense and waiting for him to rush you.
But he doesn’t. He breaks the silence, all faux nonchalance and angry confidence.
“Sup, cocksucker. How’s being dead treating you?”
“Ah, just chillin’ with my Lovecraftian homeboys. That life flashing before your eyes shit: it keeps happening. You know.” You emphasize that last bit, maybe it will get him to open up about his own situation. You feel tight in your back, nervous, waiting to hear the worst—it was all worthless, you bought him time but not a way out, you didn’t teach him enough or do enough and now he’s dead for real.
“Yeah, well, I haven’t been here long. Lost a handle on a loop and got doomslashed.” Thank fucking Jesus. You can finally breathe. “Came to in a bubble watching your maudlin bullshit. This how you’re spending the afterlife? Reliving the good times, when you were a huge jagoff and fucked me up forever?”
You start to respond with a chuckle and choke. Keen-eyed motherfucker, your kid is. You really try to hold it together but your eyes are stinging and voice trembling.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
******
What the fuck?
Your fucking Bro is crying. Like a little girl or that fucking blubbering asshole from Ol’ Yeller. Well, maybe not full on bitch-type weeping; it’s still kind of a manly thing, just a few tears and emotion breaking his throat, his head is still up and he’s looking at you. You don’t know what to do with this information.
It probably should mean something more than it does. If this were one of John’s shitty movies, you would immediately feel relieved, feel like all the hard and sharp shit you’ve been carrying inside is irrelevant. The anger would melt away or some similar nonsense. It doesn’t and you still haven’t ruled out just full on clocking him in the face or screaming 'til your eyes pop or throwing something heavy and fragile.
But yeah, you aren’t doing that. Blame it on the shock, because watching him get upset is like bleeding out. The point of your dramatic reveal/confrontation move was a little vague, sure. You weren’t looking for this and you have no idea what the next step is after your dead clone-dad abusive-brother gets misty.
When he says your name, though, it’s clearer. He’s sounds like a wounded animal. Fuck, this is exactly like Ol’ Yeller.
You blink fast behind your cracked shades. So what, you're supposed to make him feel better? Shit’s a lot easier when it’s about a dog and shotgun and a sappy coming of age tale that teaches you about being a man. You’re pretty sure neither of you know fuckall about that, right now: you feel tiny in his shadow again and he's fucking crying.
So, you run down the list of possible actions. Not gonna hit him or hurt him, not going to bitch at him more, not going to open a dialogue about your painful little fee-fees or his, sure as fuck not going to hug it out. It’s making your head hurt to see him suffering so obviously, but you don’t really want him to stop either. So comfort’s out and escalating’s out and just standing there like a dumbass is feeling stupider every second.
You’re not sure why, but the look on Bro’s face when you brush past him and pick up a new record sleeve makes you think you’ve done the right thing. Like just a downgrade of tensions, down to yellow alert, not red.
It’s not hard to recreate the jam: you could pull the next samples blindfolded. This particular sequence was the first thing you recorded when Bro got you your own equipment, trying to get it just right again. You weren’t quite fast enough to make up for that extra set of hands and you’d be fucked before you’d admit that you were resurrecting that first collaboration. Before you’d admit what it meant. How it was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep, every night.
Looks like you don’t have to. Bro sniffles loudly once, ironic snot maybe, as he slides up next to you. His hands are steady and he knows what comes next, when to switch the vinyl or just let you do it yourself. Sometimes you throw in little flourishes, tweaks, shit you didn’t learn ‘til much later, some of it not even from him. He just bounces with the beat and does his thing, faster now, not holding back. It’s the same but better somehow, and it’s starting to sound really fucking cool.
Eventually, even you don’t know how long time is here, you get to the point where the memory and music end. He declared bedtime and unplugged the equipment, and you were disappointed but undeniably tired. The two of you had brushed your teeth at the same time, him looming over you and jokingly threatening to spit paste on you. He’d tucked you in and crouched down and put his hand on your head, palm on your ear and fingers stroking your hair. He was smiling when you closed your eyes.
Fuck. That. Noise. You reach beside you and grab whatever, flipping it up on the platter quickly. You slam the fader over immediately, no fucking room for silence, and the effect is a little jarring but still good. Your goddamn brother, or who cares what else, hisses an appreciative “dude.” His voice is cracking a bit again, aggressively emotional. It mostly sounds like a green light to rock the fucking house.
******
When the kitchen starts to snow, thick fluffy clumps floating down fast —reminds you of Goldschlager as it settles after a pour— you grab at Dave and fold him in your arms. The records screech, but he doesn’t resist. Watching the white flakes build and spread, you put your lips close to his ear; no lies left, you whisper just what you feel, always felt. The rhythms of your hearts sync when he finally encircles your waist with his arms.
Shivering, speaking that old promise over and over again, louder and louder, you shut your eyes, daring the enclosing cold to prove you a liar. Your stomach turns and your chest aches and your head is swimming but your heart shouts in time with his: Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it you bastards. Just you fucking try.
These stories: therere just so damn many guys and theyre not gettin any less bloody long is the thing. Also, I'm starting to see an end and a shape and an order to them, and this will be very much at the end, but I finished it before some others and didn't want to sit on it anymore; this one's got the shade of another song up in it, too. Any constructive crit is very welcomed, but it's occurred to that I've been pushy in my need for feedback, and I'm sorry for it.
Last edited by wilySubversionist; 03-25-2011 at 05:58 PM.
"'Cause these humans treat humans like humans treat hogs
They get used up, coughed up, and fried in a pan
But I wasn't born to die like a dog,
I was born to die just like a man."
Fanfiction on AO3: Walking Far from Home | Dethstuck
This thread is full of awesome fanfic, hopefully this won't lower the rating too much.
[Untitled]
Grey, black, dark. Not worth noting, not really, the darker shadows and the bright highlights outline the world, something more than just flat colour.
Nothing new and everything old, even the face she had just left behind. Old and well known, brown (fudge and mud) with large blurs of orange, the defining features.
The colour is stuck there now and will not move again, no use dwelling on the stale old smells that will soon fade away.
She is on the hunt, her deduction points to the blue. Grey, grey and black but no blue yet. She knows where she is going, back to the grey room with the glowing screens (hers was red when she left it).
A familiar room, the dark grey outlines her destination, a few steps forward - weightlessness and she is there.
The colours hit her at once, familiar and old but the arrangement is new. The palette carefully selected but the colours have been smeared. They spread across the canvas and now she can add the royal purple to her list. Another dead, but there will never be time to truly care.
A cause of death indentified and conclusions drawn, nothing solid, nothing she can taste. She tracks down the familiar smell of her computer - the delicious red misplaced (gone, lost? Elsewhere). The grey does not answer but the yellow (mustard and appleberry blast) is more than willing.
The colour is the same but the rest is different, changed. Someone else to learn to taste and to smell to see with all the colours and details previously beyond comprehension, robbed from them by normal sight. A trade of vision, a fair deal.
There is a new colour in the room and it is spreading. It is bright, and it should be familiar but she is blinded in every sense as it takes up her vision. Who, what and where is all lost as the light bears down upon her.
(For the second time in her life she is blinded, the colours return slowly and unwillingly. Something has changed.)
I wanted to explore the idea of how Terezi sees, I think I managed to do that at least, but at the cost of personality. And the English language. I really shouldn't be writing at midnight.
Set from Tavros' death to when she gets Kanaya'd. (Not going to lie, I didn't check the comic when I wrote this so there are going to be inaccuracies galore.)
I did something kind of weird with my writing style in this one, not sure how to feel about that.
Now I'll just... scuttle away before I realise that I just posted.
Your mistake was not watching yourself. Sorry, yourselves.
In the excitement, you lost track of which you was which. Your psychic powers blended together, forming a deliberate hivemind of living you's and dead you's that served as the shell against which the Black King's Great Wail bashed against, fruitlessly.
And somewhere in the middle of it, you died and managed not to notice.
You and your duplicates controlled your collective mass of metal bodies, all attacking, all shielding. Because that was their purpose.
Your purpose.
"Our" purpose, as you thought of it.
When the battle ended, you let your minds drift back apart, each to her own body. You searched frantically for what was left of yours, only to find it broken and shattered on Skaia below.
You didn't notice when the rest of you got slaughtered trying to protect the other 11 Alphas from destruction at Jack's hands.
You all floated back together on impulse. Six hundred and twelve Aradias, all with no more purpose, lost in space and time. But you were still ghosts, and that meant Paradox Space was not done with you yet.
So you did the simplest thing in the world. You reformed.
All six-hundred-twelve of you merged, as you had during what you had assumed was the final battle. In the end, only one of you remained, with the other six-hundred-eleven as equal and slightly opposite parts in your mind. Your mental prowess was enhanced exponentially, as were your abilities. You were essentially an incorporeal god.
Using your newfound powers of deduction, you decided to grow an emotional psyche and subsequently began to fear for your teammates. You floated to the asteroid you knew they would be on, eager for a warm welcome.
They didn't notice you.
In your excitement, you failed to realize that ghosts are invisible, and that you are a ghost.
You also failed to realize that such a massive boost of psychic power has ruined your fine control. You tried to use a computer terminal and ended up smashing it into rubble.
Now they're convinced Jack has already found them, and have erected some manner of infernal psychic barrier that you, for all your power, cannot penetrate. And that makes you angry. They've forgotten about you. The fact that it could be you trying to communicate with them never entered their thoughts.
So let them think what they want to think, one of you says. Why shouldn't we show them how little we think of them?
As you bring the asteroid down around their heads, you find yourself inclined to agree.
A/N
Yes, I'm starting a new series. Spectrum is going to explore how any of the 12 trolls could theoretically dive into a murderous rampage, and go into detail on why the ones who did in canon did so.
Your mistake was not watching yourself. Sorry, yourselves.
In the excitement, you lost track of which you was which. Your psychic powers blended together, forming a deliberate hivemind of living you's and dead you's that served as the shell against which the Black King's Great Wail bashed against, fruitlessly.
And somewhere in the middle of it, you died and managed not to notice.
You and your duplicates controlled your collective mass of metal bodies, all attacking, all shielding. Because that was their purpose.
Your purpose.
"Our" purpose, as you thought of it.
When the battle ended, you let your minds drift back apart, each to her own body. You searched frantically for what was left of yours, only to find it broken and shattered on Skaia below.
You didn't notice when the rest of you got slaughtered trying to protect the other 11 Alphas from destruction at Jack's hands.
You all floated back together on impulse. Six hundred and twelve Aradias, all with no more purpose, lost in space and time. But you were still ghosts, and that meant Paradox Space was not done with you yet.
So you did the simplest thing in the world. You reformed.
All six-hundred-twelve of you merged, as you had during what you had assumed was the final battle. In the end, only one of you remained, with the other six-hundred-eleven as equal and slightly opposite parts in your mind. Your mental prowess was enhanced exponentially, as were your abilities. You were essentially an incorporeal god.
Using your newfound powers of deduction, you decided to grow an emotional psyche and subsequently began to fear for your teammates. You floated to the asteroid you knew they would be on, eager for a warm welcome.
They didn't notice you.
In your excitement, you failed to realize that ghosts are invisible, and that you are a ghost.
You also failed to realize that such a massive boost of psychic power has ruined your fine control. You tried to use a computer terminal and ended up smashing it into rubble.
Now they're convinced Jack has already found them, and have erected some manner of infernal psychic barrier that you, for all your power, cannot penetrate. And that makes you angry. They've forgotten about you. The fact that it could be you trying to communicate with them never entered their thoughts.
So let them think what they want to think, one of you says. Why shouldn't we show them how little we think of them?
As you bring the asteroid down around their heads, you find yourself inclined to agree.
A/N
Yes, I'm starting a new series. Spectrum is going to explore how any of the 12 trolls could theoretically dive into a murderous rampage, and go into detail on why the ones who did in canon did so.
I like the potential for this series. I reckon if Aradia had gone rampaging it would have gone differently to that but, well, it's not my fanfic, is it?
-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
GC: GOOD 3V3N1NG K4RKL3S >:)
CG: OH FUCK GREAT. JUST WHAT I NEED.
GC: SOM3ON3 WOK3 UP ON TH3 WRONG S1D3 OF TH3 R3CUP3R4COON TON1GHT!
CG: LOOK, SORRY, I'M JUST KINDA FUCKING FREAKED OUT RIGHT NOW.
GC: 4W, 4 HORR1BL3 D4YM4R3?
CG: GOD, I FUCKING WISH.
CG: NO, I UH
CG: FUCK
CG: YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE ME IF I TOLD YOU.
GC: H3H3H3, YOU WOULD B3 SURPR1S3D BY TH3 TH1NGS 1 WOULD B3L13V3, K4RKL3S
GC: WOULD YOU L13 TO M3?
CG: OH GOD DON'T START THIS LEGISLACERATOR SHIT.
CG: I DON'T HAVE THE FUCKING PATIENCE.
CG: LONG STORY SHORT, I WOKE UP WITH KANAYA DRINKING MY BLOOD, WE BOTH SORT OF FREAKED OUT, AND NOW SHE'S SITTING OUTSIDE THE DOOR TO MY RESPITE BLOCK AND I'M IN MY BOXERS AND COVERED IN SLIME AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO FUCKING DO.
GC: W3LL, YOU COULD ST4RT BY T3LL1NG H3R YOUR TRU3 F33L1NGS
CG: WHAT.
CG: I JUST TELL YOU THAT ONE OF MY GOOD FRIENDS I THOUGHT WAS DEAD FOR TWO FUCKING SWEEPS WAS SUCKING MY BLOOD WHEN I WOKE UP, AND THE FIRST THING YOU TELL ME TO DO IS TO ADMIT MY FLUSHED FEELINGS FOR HER?
GC: NOT FLUSH3D, 1D1OT
GC: 1T'S SO BL4T4NTLY OBV1OUS TH4T YOU'R3 P4L3 FOR H3R
CG: FUCK GOD WHY DO I EVEN FUCKING TALK TO YOU.
GC: B3C4US3 MY 1NS4N1TY K33PS YOU S4N3, H3H3H3 >:)
GC: BUT SHOULDN'T YOU B3 H4PPY TH4T K4N4Y4 1S 4L1V3?
CG: WELL, I WOULD BE, EXCEPT THAT SHE'S APPARENTLY A RAINBOW DRINKER.
CG: HENCE, YOU KNOW, THE WHOLE BLOOD SUCKING THING.
GC: 4R3 YOU SUR3? SOM3T1M3S TH4T'S JUST A F3T1SH, YOU KNOW
GC: SH3 D1D L1K3 VR1SK4
CG: YEAH, I'M PRETTY FUCKING SURE.
CG: FIRST OFF, COULDN'T FUCKING HIT HER WITH MY SICKLES.
GC: H3H3H3, L1K3 YOU COULD H1T 4NYTH1NG
CG: SHUT UP.
CG: SECOND, SHE GLOWS.
GC: WH4T? NO
GC: TH4T 1S SUCH 4 DUMB MYTH
CG: CAN'T ARGUE WITH FUCKING REALITY, TEREZI. SHE. FUCKING. GLOWS.
CG: IT'S ACTUALLY KINDA COOL.
GC: 1F YOU S4Y SO
GC: ST1LL, 1F SH3 DR4NK YOUR BLOOD... 1 B3T SH3 KNOWS WH4T COLOR 1T 1S >:)
CG: WHAT NO
CG: OH GOD NO. YOU ARE NOT FUCKING ASKING.
GC: H3H3H3
CG: FUCK!
GC: 1S 1T D33P R4SPB3RRY M4ROON?
GC: OR B4N4N4 Y3LLOW?
CG: HOW ABOUT SHUT THE FUCK UP.
CG: ACTUALLY, SHE SAID IT TASTED TERRIBLE.
CG: SO TOO BAD FOR YOU, YOU WON'T BE GETTING OFF ON IT.
CG: GOD, JUST THE IDEA OF YOU LICKING YOUR SCREEN...
GC: H3H3H3
CG: ALRIGHT, ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT. I NEED TO GET CHANGED AND ACTUALLY FUCKING TALK TO HER AND FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED.
GC: DON'T FORG3T WH4T 1 S41D
GC: WHO KNOWS, M4YB3 SH3 4ND VR1SK4 MOV3D TO 4 D1FF3R3NT QU4DR4NT!
GC: <>
CG: GOD JUST
CG: FUCKING SHUT UP.
Absently, Karkat rubbed the spot on his neck where Kanaya had bitten him. It had scabbed over, but the red was still visible. Just the thought made him shiver, and not because he was wearing hardly any clothes. As long as it was there, he was vulnerable. If anyone saw the color of his blood...
He stood, trying to push the thoughts out of his head. He'd dealt with having cuts before. It just meant a week confined to his hive. He had more important things to worry about. Like Kanaya herself.
Luckily, he'd had the foresight to connect his respite block to his bathroom when he built his hive. He didn't want to pass Kanaya out in the hall, and he really needed a shower.
---
At some point, Kanaya drifted off to sleep. Becoming a rainbow drinker had not eliminated that need, though she did require less sleep. Usually, she found a place to hole up and rest once the moons had risen. As she was shaking off the last vestigial bits of her shame and guilt, she finally gave in to exhaustion and fell asleep with her chin resting on her knees. However, she was a light sleeper and awoke immediately when the door to Karkat's respite block began to open. She stood, stifling a yawn, as Karkat stepped out into the hallway.
He looked much more presentable. If his wet black hair was anything to go by, he'd taken a shower before changing into a long sleeve shirt and gray jeans. Kanaya couldn't help but notice that he had pulled the neck of his shirt up as much as he could, obviously attempting to hide the bite marks. If his choice of text and shirt emblem color had not told her he was insecure about his blood color, this did. Her cardiary pump tightened in her chest.
"Karkat, I—" She began, but he shook his head.
"Don't worry about it," was all he said, tugging at his collar one more time before giving up on the exercise. He pointed an accusatory finger at her.
"I don't even fucking care about the bite, okay? Where the fuck have you been for the last two sweeps?" Although there was still the snarl in his tone, Kanaya could recognize a hint of relief there as well. He'd been worried about her. The guilt returned, this time from leaving him wondering for so long. But, she also felt relief. He wasn't angry with her. Well, not any more than he usually was with anything.
"For most of it, I was with Vriska," she said, causing him to growl deep in his throat. Even so, he didn't actually say anything. He only crossed his arms, waiting for her to continue. With a slight smile, she did.
"I did not tell you, but on the day I disappeared, Vriska had arranged to meet me. It was the first time I'd spoken to her in quite a while, as you know. I did not want to alert you unduly, so I did not mention her coming to you at all. You never liked her, and I had assumed that you would be better off not even knowing that she was apparently still alive and well. I never thought that things might progress in such a way that I would not be able to speak to you again." She paused for a moment. He looked a little angrier, but whether that was at her or Vriska, she couldn't say. She took a breath and pressed on.
"When Vriska arrived in broad daylight, I didn't think anything of it. From her position in the window, with the sun on her back, I did not notice that she glowed. We exchanged short pleasantries before she approached me with what I thought was a kiss. Instead, she transformed me into a rainbow drinker." She thought it best not to bring up the fact that it had involved Vriska completely draining her of blood and then feeding Kanaya some of her own, or the fact that Kanaya had been as weak as a newborn purrbeast for a week or so after. Or that Vriska had dragged live trolls back to the hive for her to feed off of. She just managed to suppress a shiver.
"When I... awoke once more, she had smashed my lunchtop, saying it was best that I didn't try to get in touch with any of my old friends. She explained what she had done, and why, and even though I am still not sure if what she did was right, I cannot fault her for it, either." By this point, Kanaya was twisting the edges of her tattered shirt in her hands. She was looking down, unable to keep eye contact with Karkat any longer. "My lusus had died while I was out, she said. I had no reason to stay in my old hive, no reason to cling to the life that had been taken from me. I went with her.
"We traveled together for a long while, until one night, while I was asleep, she slipped away without giving rhyme or reason. Since then, I have wandered on my own. It's been about a half a sweep since I last saw her. And... I suppose that's how I came to be here."
"That fucking bitch." The raw emotion in the other troll's voice made Kanaya look up sharply. His sharp teeth were gritted in his mouth, his fists were clenched, and... was he shaking? "That goddamn, nooksucking, shithive maggots fucking [i]BITCH[/b]!"
"Karkat, I—" Kanaya began, but she didn't speak in time. Karkat drew back his fist and turned to strike out at the nearest blunt object, the wall, but Kanaya was quicker. Before he could blink, she was in front of him, and she caught his fist in a white hand.
"Please, Karkat," she said. "You will only hurt yourself, and I do not want that." At first, she thought he might lash out with his other fist, he looked so murderous, but slowly, the expression faded to one that was sad and tired. He lowered his arm.
"Sorry, Kanaya," he said, in a voice that held no trace of a growl. It made Kanaya blink. "I just... I wanted to believe she wasn't a complete bitch, for your sake, but—dammit, what do you even SEE in her?"
"I do not entirely know," she said, truthfully. "But even now... I do not understand it Karkat, but I am still flushed for her." He scowled at her, a few of his teeth poking over his pouty lip.
"You're fucking insane."
"Yes, I believe I am well aware of that." The two of them couldn't help but laugh.
"Anyway," Karkat trailed on. "What are you going to do now?"
"I suppose I'll have to move on, like always," Kanaya replied. "I will need to feed again soon enough. What little I imbibed of your blood was not enough to sate my hunger for very long. A few days, perhaps, and I'll need more. By then, I would much rather that I was as far away from your lawnring as possibly, if you do not mind." For a moment, Karkat looked torn, as if there was something he wanted to say but was unsure how to. Then, he shook his head slightly.
"... Yeah, I guess I understand. We can still keep in touch though, right?" Sadly, Kanaya shook her head.
"I have no computing device, Karkat. I suppose I could commandeer those of my victims, but—"
"No, that's okay! Oh, fuck." He sighed. "Do you have to leave right now?" She smiled wryly.
"Fortunately, I cannot leave at this moment. The light of the moons would kill me. So I will need to wait until they set." Karkat laughed.
"Yeah, I suppose that would be bad. At least we can spend a while together, before you have to go."
"Yes, I agree. That would be most preferable." She smiled as well. "In what way would you like to get more acquainted?"
"Well, we could watch movies. I've got a bunch—"
"Oh, yes, you like movies, don't you? I suppose we could watch a few." She barely kept from laughing as Karkat grinned like an idiot. She followed him back into his room.
---
Earlier that afternoon, the blistering sun bore down on Alternia, scorching any creature foolish enough to venture out. Inside a small hive, surrounded by open land, a young troll slept. His dreams were undisturbed, in spite of the fact that his large bull horns prevented him from properly resting in his recuperacoon. Regardless, he slept easily. Nothing was foolish enough to brave the unforgiving sun, or so he thought.
Oh, how wrong he was.
He awoke with a start, a sick feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach. Something wasn't right. A quick glance around his room revealed that nothing was out of place—the floor was still littered with cards and other gaming paraphernalia, his husktop at his desk remained off, and his four-wheel device was still at the top of the ramp leading up to his recuperacoon and within easy reach should he decide to get up. And yet, he still had that strange feeling, as though he was being watched.
"Hello, Taaaaaaaavros." The quiet, familiar voice whispered in his ear instantly filled him with a sense of dread. It had been a very, very long time since he'd heard that voice. He had hoped he would never hear it again.
He tried to turn, but couldn't. He couldn't move his arms or his neck. He supposed he should have expected that. More likely than not, she had only woken him up because she wanted him awake. She still allowed him to speak.
"U-u-uh, h-hello, Vriska," he managed to stutter.
"Why don't you face me, Tavros? We haven't seen each other in aaaaaaaages." If Tavros had any remaining control over his limbs, he would have shivered.
"Well, I, uh, c-can't move. Y-you're manipulating me," he managed to say. For a long moment, she was silent. Tavros almost might have thought that she had actually decided to leave him alone, if it wasn't for the fact that his body was still immobile. Then, abruptly, uproarious laughter broke out behind him. Something about it terrified him. He was quite certain he didn't want to know what she wanted to do to him. Then, just as suddenly as it started, the laughter stopped. She began speaking again, her voice barely more than a whisper once more.
"Oh, Taaaaaaaavros. It's been two sweeps, and you still haven't changed a bit. But why am I not surprised?" She paused. "Well?" She said, a little louder and expectantly.
"I thought that was a, uh, rhetorical question."
"Ugh! Whatever, I'll answer it. It's because... because I was the only one who ever pushed you to get stronger." Her voice got even quieter. "Don't you want to be stronger, Tavros? Aren't you tired of being a useless cripple, first one up to be culled? Don't you want to be more than just a worthless pupa?"
"I would not be a, uh, cripple, if you had not mind controlled me off of the cliff," he said. She chuckled.
"Still pitting that on me? You were the one who didn't want to play the game. My status gave me the right to kill you. I gave you mercy. And now, out of the kindness of my heart, I'm giving you an opportunity." As she spoke, he heard her voice moving farther away. Out of the corner of his eye, Tavros saw something bright move into his field of vision. A moment later, he realized what it was.
It was Vriska herself. Her skin was the purest white and glowing like a star. He couldn't help himself—he stared in awe at her. Her fangs glittered as her blue painted lips split into a feral smile. One of the lenses of her glasses was blackened out, hiding the hideous scar that was all that remained of her left eye. She reached out with the arm that was still flesh and not robotics, touching his cheek gently. She bent in close, close enough that he could smell her. She smelled like blood.
"I can give you back your legs, Tavros. Do you want that?" She whispered. He felt a gentle push in his mind. Not a command, a suggestion. She wanted him to speak, but she didn't choose what he said.
"Yes," he gasped. It was the truth, though he wasn't sure he wanted whatever she intended to give him. Not when she looked like... that. He knew enough of myths to recognize what that glow meant. "But—"
"I knew it," she said, cutting him off. She drew her head back slightly, and for a fleeting moment, he thought she was going to let him go. Then, with the hand that still touched his cheek, she moved his head just a little, giving her a little more room.
She bit deep into his neck, and her control over him, now complete, would not even allow him to scream.
Took a while. Bluh. Also, the scene at the end with Tavros and Vriska was originally not going to be put in here (I was just going to reference it), but I figured this would flow better. Also, I thought there was going to be more moirail fluff in this than there actually was, and I wanted to balance it out with some, er, Vriska evil-ness. I guess. Oh well.
/end ramble
Last edited by draconicAlgorithm; 03-25-2011 at 09:14 PM.
Reason: wtf spoilered divides
An occasional fanfic writer and general lurker. -- Chromatica: An Ib-inspired text adventure featuring Homestuck characters
THAT IS NOT SPADES
THERE IS NO CONSENT
THAT IS LIKE SPADES RAPE
TROLLS WOULD BE DISGUSTED
Originally Posted by invalidgriffin
Where do you keep the chips, dB. Can you turn up the air conditioner? Man why is your internet so slow, it is taking forever to download all these seasons of Digimon. YES Digimon is important to the lesbians process will you stop nagging.
Originally Posted by olivia
Originally Posted by Doodled
Eridan: Hunt for fearsome beast
Very fearsome indeed.
got that bitch a wweb-cartoonist. bitches lovve wweb-cartoonists.
Fanfics
Chapter Fics
Thicker Than Blood 01234: It seemed like a pretty straightforward moraillegience. He provided her with food, she protected him from the other rainbow drinkers. Maybe if her old matesprit hadn't gotten involved, it would have stayed that way.
Wizardstuck 12345678910111213141516: The new Hogwarts students just keep getting weirder every year.
Zombiestuck KKEG (1): They thought that the Earth would be empty, ready for them to rebuild and reshape it as they saw fit. They weren't expecting that the meteors wouldn't hit everywhere, or that they might have some nasty side effects. They weren't expecting the Infected.
Don't Press Buttons (1): As usual, John does something stupid. Only this time, the result is that he becomes a troll, and Karkat becomes a human. Shenanigans ensue.
One-Shots
Blood and Noir: I'd fallen for that trap once. I wasn't going to do it again. The Road Ill Traveled: A poem about Karkat and Terezi written in the style of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Traveled". Pixie Trails: Sometimes luck doesn't even factor in. Unovastuck-Karkat vs Throh and Sawk: Apparently, a Sawk is faster than a Throh. Faster than a Braviary too. Karkat finds out the hard way. Kore Wa Troll Desu Ka?: Includes crossdressing and magical girl transformations. Karkat was not pleased. The Lawyer and the Goddess: Vriska and Terezi are having a very important chat when they get interrupted by a certain juggalo. Prompt Dunp: A group of several short fics I wrote based on prompts, including Tavros and Bro sharing tea, Slick talking with Jade about (briefly) hobbits, and Dave finding a birthday gift for Rose. Tears: Getting stabbed in the chest once sucks. Getting stabbed in the chest twice really sucks. Prey: Nepeta is a clever kitty. Yes: In a moment of weakness, Rose consults her magical cue ball. My Little Sis: An alt!kids fic about Bro raising blue!Jade. Based off of MSB's AU roleplay. Funhouse: John really, REALLY doesn't like clowns. Or music by Pink. Ice Cubes: Bro talks to Nanna before his fated battle with Jack. INDIGO and CaNdY rEd: An altblood pesterlog, featuring mutant Gamzee and indigo Karkat. Kantostuck: John wants to be the very best. Like no one ever was. Disease Called Friendship: Karkat has had a bad time with friends. The Demon: Death sometimes comes in the form you'd least expect. Hope: Even the Prince of Hope doesn't understand it. Hoststuck: Yeah, I don't really know either. Coulrophobia: HONK HONK MOTHERFUCKER Do: Killer: He stalks in the darkness, waiting. Waiting. Awaken: It's hard, being a rainbowdrinker. It's hard and no one understands. Kitten: Hearts Boxcars adopts an adorable kitten. Misery Loves Company: Terezi gives the bad news, and finds out some bad news of her own. Tend the Living: Gogdammit Hussie I hate you. Doll: It's actually a very good thing that Vriska allowed Bec to be prototyped. Don't Die On Me: Terezi discovers a new reason to hate Vriska. BL1ND Buddiie2: Sollux consults Terezi on the best method of seeing without sight. Cold: Dave decides to take a little time out to go see Jade.
Originally Posted by ProspitDreamer
C20710
