@ Jim Groovester: I think I like your reaction better. Oh god that was funny. xD
@ Thamuzz: Aside from some typos and a few misspellings (it's Dualscar, not Dulscar, for example), I really liked this. I'd like to see where you intend to go with it.
@ lantadyme: That... that was beautiful. I just... words. I don't really have any of them.
@ Graven: An interesting concept. And really cute at the end. :3
So I got bored and I wanted to write but I had writer's block, so I pulled up some prompts and wrote those. Some of them are weird and a little loose with the prompt itself, but I like 'em.
Bro / Tavros Nitram
Teacups
"So. You're my little bro's boyfriend?" Tavros choked on his tea, causing the brown liquid to dribble down his chin. He looked back up at Dave's brother, white eyes wide, his expression shocked. Whatever he'd thought they would be talking about at this odd little tea party, that certainly wasn't it. In the back of his mind, Tavros acknowledged how odd it was, sitting at a small table with a pink tablecloth and a pink tea set while they were surrounded by hills and valleys made up entirely of sugar cubes, when the being sitting with him was an adult human who looked far too cool to be there. He supposed this was what happened when he let Nepeta set him up on what she called "blind tea parties to get to know the other bubble inhabitants better! :33"
"W-what?" He stuttered. It was impossible to tell if the older human was being serious or not. His mouth was a thin line, and his eyes were covered by those angular sunglasses, making any attempt to judge his feelings futile. "I am not his, uhh, boyfriend, I don't, uh, think..." He trailed off, his cheeks growing noticeably brown as he wiped the spilt tea onto his sleeve.
"That's what the cat girl said, anyway. Something about you two being a cute couple. But God damn, even if he's gay, I would have thought Dave would have picked someone with more of a backbone." He ended the condescending comment with a sip of his tea. The color in Tavros's cheeks only deepened.
"I said that we are not, uh, together, and that is a thing that I mean. I don't have any, confusion, about that," Tavros said. "I don't like Dave very much and I don't think I, uh, like you either." He stared down into his cup.
"That's more like it. You need to be more aggressive, grow into those horns." Tavros looked up and blinked. Bro's expression hadn't changed.
"My horns?"
"Yeah, dude, you've got fucking bull's horns. Make 'em proud and quit being a pussy. You gotta assert yourself. Be a man." He nodded slightly to himself before taking another sip of tea.
"I am not sure how to be a, uh, man. I tried being more confident, and that got me, uh, killed," Tavros replied.
"Confidence ain't a bad thing, but it's a thing that'll get you killed. How'd it happen?" Bro's voice seemed to soften somewhat. Tavros was encouraged to keep talking.
"Well, I, uh, found out some bad things about Vriska, and when I, confronted her, she took my lance and, uh, stabbed me." For a long moment, Bro was silent.
"You mean you got killed with your own weapon?" He asked.
"Uh, yes." Tavros cringed, half expecting the human to rip into him for being pathetic.
"Well, fuck, man. Same thing happened to me." Bro took another sip of the tea. "Got stabbed with my own sword. Fucking manly way to die." He gestured to him with the cup. "You're on your way, kid." Tavros blinked. He hadn't been expecting that.
"Thank you?" He said, a little confused.
"Don't mention it. And don't worry—I'll help you man up. A few strifing sessions and you'll be ready to win Dave's heart. Too bad I don't have Cal anymore." He poured himself more tea, looking thoughtful. Tavros, exasperated at the sudden turn of conversation, just thumped his head down on the table.
"But I am not flushed for Dave..." He mumbled to the ground. Humans sure were confusing.
Dave Strider / Cal
Stage
In Dave's nightmares, he was the puppet. It was him.
They always started out the same way. First there was just darkness in an enclosed space. He knew it had to be enclosed—he could feel the fabric on his face and the solid support behind him. At this point, he always started feeling claustrophobic, like he was shut up in a too-tight coffin and the air was quickly running out. But no matter what he did, he could never move. His limbs felt like lead, weighed down with something that made them impossible to budge even the slightest bit. He couldn't get his mouth to work, either. He couldn't open it, couldn't speak or make any noise whatsoever. All he could do was scream silently in his mind, pray that this would end soon—
And then it did. The top of whatever he was in opened, and he was blinded by bright lights. But just like he couldn't talk or move, he couldn't blink, either. He was forced to stare into the luminescence, eyes burning. Then, he was always yanked out of whatever he'd been in, his limp limbs dragging behind. After a moment of weightlessness, he got a glimpse of Bro's face, wearing the meaningless grin he gave to audiences to seem like he was enjoying himself. Before Dave could do much more than process what he saw, he was turned to look at the crowd itself. A sea of faces, too dark to make out individual features, gazed up at him as one. He always panicked then, the stage fright he only ever had in these dreams taking hold of him. He could hear Bro talking behind him, but he never quite understood what he said. Something about Cal, he thought, but where was the puppet? Hell, where was he? What was going on? Even though he'd had the dream time and time again, he always forgot, right up until it happened.
He felt something reach into his back. It was the most bizarre thing, like being invaded in a way that shouldn't have been possible. Like Bro was reaching into his body cavity and squelching around in his guts. And then, only then, he would begin to move.
His mouth moved up and down, and although he didn't speak, still couldn't speak, a voice spoke for him. His head moved of its own accord, back and forth between the audience and Bro. He had no control over himself. All he could do was cry in a corner of his own mind, wishing for this to stop, for the show to end, for him to be returned to his coffin and the darkness that was so much easier to bear than this total helplessness and manipulation.
After what seemed like an age, Bro would finally stop. He'd remove his hand, bring out the carrying case, and put him back inside. Dave's world was swallowed by darkness amidst the applause of the crowd.
And then he'd wake up, drenched in sweat and chest heaving.
The first time it had happened, he'd found Cal sitting at the edge of his bed. A horrible realization had gone through him then.
He hadn't been himself in the dream. He'd been Cal.
Subsequently, every morning when he awoke from that dream, there was Cal, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at him. Every time it happened, Dave did the same thing. He climbed out of bed, grabbed the puppet, opened his door, and threw it out into the hallway. Then he'd sit back down on his bed and try to calm himself down, shivering all the while.
He didn't know why the dreams scared him so much. When he was awake, daydreaming at school or sitting around at home or whatever, it seemed pretty ridiculous. It wasn't like anyone was coming at him with a knife. No one was trying to kill him. But every single time, it scared the fuck out of him, and he didn't know what to do about it. There was nothing he could do except grin and bear it and never tell anyone. Cool kids didn't tell people about their weird ass nightmares.
When he fully awoke on Derse and found Cal sitting in his room, he'd nearly lost it. He wanted it out of his room, but something about it made him too scared to do anything to it himself.
When Rose tossed it out the window, he'd never been more relieved.
Jade Harley / Spades Slick
Hobbits
Slick never said he liked kids. Sure, he adopted that pitiful excuse for a son, and he tolerated the kids of the rest of the crew, but he didn't like 'em. Never would. Too many of them were snively and annoying and likely jaw your ear off about useless shit no one cared about. The rest were tolerable, but not likable. (Granted, on those occasions when Slick was honest with himself, he had to admit that about the only things he found likable were knives and Scotty dogs. Oh Scotty dogs.)
Needless to say, he wasn't happy when he returned home from a late night job to find a young girl sitting on the couch in his living room.
She was a human, a cute little thing with black hair and buck teeth and glasses. She smiled at Slick as if she belonged there. That smile grated on his nerves, which were already pretty frayed.
"Who the fuck are you?" He ground out. The girl didn't even flinch, as if she was used to that kind of treatment.
"Hi, Mister Slick! I'm Jade. I'm a friend of Karkat's." That made him pause a bit. Karkat never really mentioned any of his friends, though Slick had always assumed he had some. It seemed almost odd that such a nice girl would stick around with him.
"Then why are you here?" Slick asked.
"Oh, Karkat and I were watching movies, but he just went to the bathroom. We're about halfway through the Lord of the Rings trilogy!" Lord of the Rings? Wasn't that the movie about humans and trolls and carapaces and some other made up races all trying to destroy some stupid ring for some reason or another?
"Doesn't exactly sound like one of Karkat's flicks," he said aloud. Jade giggled.
"Oh, no! It's mine. But we watched a bunch of Karkat's romcoms first." Slick couldn't help but shake his head a bit. Fucking disgraceful that his son watched those pieces of shit.
Regardless, Slick decided he had better actually do the fatherly thing and chaperone these two. There was no telling what they might decide to do on their own, given the opportunity. Sure, he'd given Karkat leave to do what he wanted when he was gone as long as he didn't come home to a house in shambles, but still. He sank down into one of the chairs and took a look at the screen. A weird creature, not quite like a human and definitely not like a troll or carapace, stared back at him frozenly. Apparently they had the movie paused.
"What the fuck is that?" Jade giggled again. Slick wasn't sure if it annoyed him or not.
"That's Frodo! He's a hobbit. Sort of like a human, but shorter and with big hairy feet."
"Fucking ridiculous." At that point, Karkat decided to reappear. He paled when he saw who else was sitting in the room with Jade.
"Oh, uh, hi Dad. How was work?"
"Fucking horrible. Get in here and watch the movie, dammit." Karkat obliged, and Jade eagerly started it up again.
Several hours later, after finishing both that film and the last in the series, Jade finally left. Karkat found himself sitting with Slick in an awkward silence.
"So. You like her?" Slick turned his head slowly towards him. Karkat started, looking surprised before he scowled.
"Yeah. You got a problem with that?" He growled, trying to act like a tough guy. Slick chuckled.
"Cute kid. Don't get her pregnant or I'll murder you." Ignoring Karkat's horrified expression, Slick left the room and went to bed.
He dreamed about hobbits with glasses and buck teeth.
Dave Strider / John Egbert
Roses
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] --
TG: so uh
TG: what should i get rose for her birthday
GT: you mean you haven't gotten her anything yet?
GT: dave, her birthday's tomorrow!
TG: you think i forgot that egbert
TG: jesus im not that dense
GT: still! how are you even going to get it to her on time?
TG: probably wont
TG: shell understand so its fine
GT: daaaaaave. it doesn't make it right!
TG: ok seriously here dude
TG: i need some ideas
TG: i have no fucking clue what she would even want
GT: well, to be honest, i didn't either!
GT: so i got her something new.
GT: knitting needles and yarn!
TG: what
TG: are you serious
TG: what kind of gift is that i mean really
GT: i thought it was a great idea!
GT: she can start a new hobby.
TG: great egbert
TG: let me go out and just buy her a new scrapbooking set
TG: im sure shell love that just as much
GT: it's not that bad of a gift! jeez.
TG: ok obviously im asking the wrong person here
TG: ill just figure it out on my own
TG: thanks for nothing egbert
GT: uh, you're welcome?
Dave sat back in his chair, sighing through his teeth. This was what happened when he procrastinated. He waited until the very last minute, and when things should have been easy, they were fucking ridiculous. Never failed. God dammit.
He glanced back at his chumroll, almost contemplating pestering Rose. But no. If he actually asked her what she wanted, she'd never let him live it down. If he wanted to do this thing, he had to find the best possible gift in the world, one that would blow her socks off. The kicker would be making it ironic as well. But God, if he just had a fucking clue...
Jade's chumhandle blinked on. Dave's mouse hovered over it for a moment, considering. She was so backwards about stuff, but even if she could just give him the tiniest idea, it would be better than nothing.
He clicked the name.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] --
TG: sup
GG: hi dave! :D
TG: so
TG: you still tell the future and stuff right
GG: i have no idea what you're talking about! :)
TG: ok ill take that as a yes
TG: so what am i going to get rose for her birthday
GG: you mean you haven't gotten it yet???
TG: yes ive already been through this with egbert
TG: im an irresponsible fuck
TG: we should all be well aware of this by now
GG: you can be responsible when you want to be!
GG: it just doesn't seem like it's very often :(
TG: ok whatever
TG: just tell me what im getting her
GG: but that would make it too easy! :)
TG: god dammit jade
GG: hehehe!
TG: dont even do that
GG: alright i'll stop :)
TG: but seriously
TG: not even a little hint
GG: i didn't say that! :D
GG: why don't you go take a walk and mull it over?
TG: ...
TG: ok
TG: this better fucking work
GG: don't worry!
GG: it will :)
GG: seeya later dave!
TG: fine
He didn't really have any other options. Usually, when Jade said to do something, she said it for a reason. Something would happen to inspire him to get Rose a gift if he went for a walk.
So he went for a walk.
Outside the apartment, the streets were crowded with cars and pedestrians. He heard the faint caws of feathery assholes far over head, but they rarely ventured this far down onto the street. He was glad for that—he got enough of their shit when he was in his room. A guy couldn't even keep his window open with those bastards around.
Dave picked a random direction and started walking. With his hands in his pockets, his earbuds in his ears blasting music, and his shades over his eyes, he looked a little out of place among the throngs of people on their daily commutes to wherever the hell they went. He didn't really care one way or another. It just made the irony a little sweeter.
After a little while, apartment buildings gave way to little shops and restaurants. He glanced at some of the windows, almost deciding to stop and grab a burrito when he passed a Mexican place, but then the thought better of it. He needed to save his money for whatever gift he decided to get Rose.
And then he came across an interesting store. The building itself seemed rather small, scrunched between a clothing shop and a little cafe. Most of the front was a large, thick glass window, and on it in archaic letters was painted "Magics and Mystics". Under it, on display, was a stack of books on a pedestal, their titles long ago worn off their leather binding, and a black stuffed cat sat near the base of it. A magic kit was propped open to show the contents, and a crystal ball, glittering in the sunlight on its claw-shaped base, was displayed next to it.
It looked promising, anyway. He supposed that if he was likely to find anything like something Rose would want for her birthday, it would be here. He pushed open the door, ignoring the chiming bell that was attached to it, and walked inside.
The air was cool, if a little musty. The tiny shop smelled like books, and there were certainly enough of them to attribute to the smell, but that wasn't all they carried. Figurines, tarot cards, magician supplies—it was like they had a little bit of everything. It was the sort of place Rose and John both probably would have loved. It made Dave grin a bit to himself.
There was a kid sitting behind a desk where the cash register was, his nose in a book. He had ruffled black hair and a hawkish face and looked to be in high school, but he seemed too absorbed in his reading to pay Dave much attention. That was fine with him. He'd rather browse in peace than have some idiot harping in his ear about the merchandise.
He decided that the best place to start was going to be the books. As far as he could tell, most of them were just fantasy novels. Some were more well-known, like Harry Potter, but others had odd names like Boy of the Wind and The Space Witch. He almost thought about getting Rose a book about wizards, but he decided to go ahead and look at the entire selection first. There wasn't that much, anyway.
Finally, he came to a small bookshelf near the back of the store. Here were thick, dusty tomes, many with faded titles. After taking one off the shelf and opening it to a random page only to find a detailed drawing of a goat with its guts spilled upon the center of a pentagram (the picture itself was titled "CALLING THE SUBJUGGALATOR"), he decided to leave the ones without names alone. As he was looking, however, another book caught his attention. This one was black and looked brand new, an odd comparison to the others, which seemed fairly old. It was called Grimoire for Summoning the Zoologically Dubious. Curiosity getting the better of him, he pulled it out and flipped through a few pages.
Well. This certainly seemed like Rose's kind of shit. Lots of tentacley monsters and stuff about them. For a moment, the "Summoning" part of the title worried him, but he shrugged it off. Magic wasn't real, and even if it was, Rose wasn't stupid.
A look at the price told him that he had just enough money for the book, and a little left over for a burrito afterwards. Awesome.
He got the kid at the cash register's attention long enough to ring up the book and pay, then left the little shop and headed back towards his apartment. He did indeed stop for a bite to eat, and while he waited for it to be made, he decided to pull out his phone and chat it up with Egbert.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ghostyTrickster [GT] --
TG: sup man
TG: just found the best gift for lalonde
GT: about time! what did you get?
TG: check this
TG: grimoire for summoning the zoologically dubious
GT: ... grimoire? what?
GT: is it a piece of furniture?
TG: god no egbert
TG: its a book
GT: oh! i'm sure she'll love it.
TG: you better fucking bet she will
TG: oh hey burritos done
TG: talk to you later
GT: seeya dave! good luck with your grimoire!
Dave knew he probably shouldn't have even bothered to come back to this part of the timeline. It was a waste and there were bigger things he needed to be prepared for, but he wanted to see this, wanted to see what happened to Rose.
He wanted to see what that damn book had done to her.
He stood on the black and white checkered ground of Skaia, watching the sky through his shades. Dark clouds were converging above the castle several yards ahead of him. It was about time for the show.
First came the black raindrops. It didn't really matter—he'd worn his black suit for a reason. Let 'em fall. They were just the harbingers.
The black clouds seemed to swirl, like the formation of a tornado, but at the center they started to peel away like misty smoke. Black writhing tentacles coiled out of it, growing larger and more distinct as they descended. Soon, he could just barely see the speck of jet and pink at their center.
Rose. She almost looked like something out of that old book she'd used to make those wands, a horrorterror in human form. Grimdark was a pretty good description.
He shook his head. Dammit, Lalonde. Why'd you have to go crazy too?
He didn't want to see the rest of it. He knew what happened after that. No need to stick around. He turned his back on the scene, on the transformation he knew he had at least partially caused, and pulled his turntables out of his sylladex. He gave them a spin, instinctually knowing just how far he wanted to go.
Time to get back to work.
Man I am so glad that the pesterchum conversation coloring tool exists.
Also, yes, the third one is inspired by one of Emesis's comics. Also also, the idea of trolls and carapaces in LOtR greatly amuses me.
EDIT: Or maybe Emesis didn't do the comic because I can't find it on their DA gallery. Either that or they didn't post it there. I DON'T KNOW IT'S INSPIRED BY A COMIC OKAY. YOU KNOW THE ONE.
Last edited by draconicAlgorithm; 04-03-2011 at 06:22 PM.
Reason: hatehatehatehate smilies
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.
@draconicAlgorithm: Wow, nice work on all of these. Dave giving Rose the grimoire is the sort of small plot twist I can expect from AH. And Dave dreaming about being Lil' Cal. Just... eaugh.
41
@PingZing: Any useful backstory isn't filler. Well, not complete filler, anyway. Still, interesting nonetheless.
40
@draconicAlgorithm: You write a terrific scary Gamzee. Wanting to appear patient is a terrific detail.
@anonymousComrade: I laughed. John going anti hero is perfect.
37
@draconicAlgorithm: I'm liking Thicker Than Blood so far. I'm not sure where it's going or how well it's going to work out but I'm intrigued all the same.
36
@Latia: Those were completely ridiculous but also fun to read.
@Prospit Dreamer: Is What It Takes an excuse to have everybody makeout with each other? I've found you out, Prospit Dreamer. (Also don't stop.)
@wilySubversionist: Well, that's not something you see very often, for obvious reasons. But still an utterly fantastic Dave/Rose piece.
@Path: You win the prize for best use of diagrams in a fic ever.
35
@Graven_Image: Spectrum is a really cool idea. It seems I'm late to the comment party (like always), but if you do decide to make more I'll happily read along.
34
@RogerMexico: RESET continues to be cool. I liked best Rose blackrom flirting with Eridan. I guess the guy has to catch a break sometime.
32
@tenebrais: I liked the two pieces of Switch you wrote. I'm not sure if you're going to continue it but I'll read along if you decide to continue.
30
@Path: Dance made me a little sick with all the killing of poor helpless lowblood trolls but as far as an ancestor romance fic it is excellent.
29
@lantadyme: Hold Your Colour was seriously excellent. Holy crap Dave struggling to survive without his Bro is just great.
This is the first MSPA fanfiction I've ever written. It started as a short character study but it kinda blossomed into a longer work.
Rose
It was raining. It had been raining constantly for the last two weeks and Rose was sick of it. The soft patter of the droplets on the roof lulled her into a lethargy from which she could not escape. Every day seemed an endless gray that she shuffled through barely conscious. Sometimes, as she sat and read, she would realize that she could not remember the last few hours, as if she had been sitting there half asleep rereading the same paragraphs over and over completely unaware. And today it was raining too. She had expected no less.
She rose from bed in her lavender pajamas, unpatterned and shimmering silk, so light as if she were draped in the clouds that hung between the ground and the sun. She made a halfhearted attempt to stretch as she padded across the room to the doorway; her eyes were barely open and her muscles stiff. Her feet made fleeting impressions in the carpet, tracking her progress momentarily before expanding as if she had never passed.
She stepped out into the hallway. The whole house was dark. Her mother was still asleep, no doubt she would be until well after noon, as usual. It had been like that for as long as Rose could remember. They hardly ever spoke anymore, just lived in the house like two strangers in an apartment, avoiding even the sight of one another. Her mother had been an engineer, following in the steps of her own father, but then she had Rose. She had always intended to go back to work but when Rose's father died she sunk into a depression that she had still not come out of. Now she spent her days drinking and shopping, sometimes chatting with friends she only pretended to like. Rarely did she and Rose interact beyond the little gifts her mother would leave outside her door at night. Rose wished she could end even that.
She reached the bathroom which was the second door down from her room. The light buzzed when she turned it on. Two teal crosses divided the room, patterned into white tiles. The tiles were cold to her bare feet; her mother rarely heated the bathrooms.
She looked at herself in the mirror hazily, as if trying to remember who she was after forgetting herself in her dreams. She turned on the faucet and stuck her hands into the watter letting it run over them absently. After a while she pressed her cold palms to her face, covering her cheeks and eyes. The vibrating yellow light seeped into the newfound darkness through the cracks in her fingers and it pressed through her closed eyelids pinkly.
She never had to get up this early because she did not go to school but everyday she forced herself to. She had a tutor but he would not show up until later in the day, after her mother awoke. She thought that maybe by setting an example she would shame her mother into changing but her mother didn't care or even notice. Her mother's room was over on the east wing, far away from where Rose ever was, and she was always in a deep drunk sleep. Rose's virtue never made any impression on her. But perhaps, when she was honest with herself, Rose could admit that it might have been her own little rebellion.
Rose emerged from the bathroom freshly showered and headed further down the hall. She descended a staircase and came out into the den. It was a large room with floor to ceiling windows on the outside wall and a sliding glass door looking out onto a stone balcony. The trees covering the hills surrounding her house were sapped of their color; the sun's light filtered by a sheet of clouds. Along the back wall were shelves abutting an ever unlit fireplace. The shelves were covered in extravagant glass figurines of all kinds. Many of them were majestic beasts: horses midgallop, so real they appeared as if their spirit had been frozen in that instant; bears rearing up to strike with their powerful arms like boulders; or they were of stately men and elegant ladies, captured in moments from their lives of dignity and leisure. Hanging above the fireplace was a family portrait, painted when she was so young that Rose had to be seated in her mother's lap. Her mother sat morosely in a fine walnut chair while her father stood with one hand on the chair's back. Rose was pulling on her mother's pale green dress, facing her. Along the other two walls were white sofas and in the center of the room a glass table far from where it could serve any purpose other than decorative. Rose walked across the room and went through a doorway into the kitchen, directly behind the den.
The kitchen reflected the way Rose's mother saw the world, black and white. The tiles were spotted by bursts of black and the counters were a dark obsidian. Even the cabinets were pale white pine but all the appliances shone in a bright silver. Her mother never came in here. Sometimes there would be days when Rose wondered if she even ate, her only source of nourishment the alcohol.
Rose walked over to the fridge and as she approached turned to reach into the tall adjacent cabinet. She pulled a box of wheat flakes out and set it on the island in the center of the room. She grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge, the kind with the blue cap, and a bottle of orange-mango juice and set them both on the island as well, then she circled around to the opposite wall which had the sink and dishwasher both glimmering in the effervescent light. She reached up and took a round blue bowl from a stack and then a spoon from one of the drawers. She threw the spoon in the bowl and set them both on the island along with a glass.
The pure white of the milk illuminated ever crevice in the flakes as it rose in the bowl. She sat down on one of the stools surrounding the island and began eating her breakfast with disinterest, not bothering to put anything away.
After she finished, Rose cleaned up and went back through the den to the staircase. As she passed the portrait she thought of her father. All this was his fault, if he hadn't died then nothing would have turned out this way. When she was young her mother had told her only that he had died in a plane crash and Rose always imagined that it had been a passenger jet. It was only later that she learned the truth. He had crashed his single engine Cessna in a storm, out flying with a friend and colleague. They had been headed out on their yearly camping trip and her father was unperturbed by reports of bad weather. He was confident in his ability and he did not want to postpone their ritual unnecessarily. When they found it the plane had been too badly damaged for them to be sure the but they found no signs of electrical or mechanical failure and it was ruled pilot's error. Everyone was surprised and Rose's mother never believed her husband could have made such a mistake.
She ascended the stairs and followed the hallway back to her room. When she got there she finally changed out of her pajamas into a shirt of soft pink and a plain black skirt that reached down to her ankles. She left her pajamas in a pile at the foot of the bed.
The far wall of the room was the outside wall that overlooked the porch. You could only see the edge of it from her window. Outside it was still damp and gloomy but the rain had abated and now fell almost unnoticeably. Rose expected it would be like this for the rest of the day, and feared it would last all week. The room was cluttered with books and clothes scattered about. There was no television, there had never been one in the house so Rose never missed it. Instead she spent most of her time reading gothic fiction. Tales of the madness and brutality of humans, tragedies of greed. Also scattered about were pencil sketchings grasping at the forms of unfathomable abominations, beings that proved the futility of everything humanity had done. Careless and unheeding far beyond our narrow scope. The beasts twisted and writhed through space devouring civilization after civilization to fulfill their insatiable longing. To rose these horrors reflected the truth of the uncaring universe. And in the corner sat her violin. Unused, as it had been since Rose's mother had fired her tutor several months ago. Rose could find no inspiration to play it so she left it there forgotten.
Rose sat down on her bed and kicked her feet wishing there were anything she could do beyond what she always did. Her bed was sleek and modern but wide. It had no headboard or footboard and was covered in dark purple sheets. It was so hard for her to find something to do out here in the woods, miles from the nearest town. The only friends she had were online, unless you counted the children of her mother's guests, that came so infrequently Rose could never remember any of their names. And her online friends, sometimes she wondered if they were even real, if everything they had ever told her was a lie. Other than that there was nothing else to do but play the few computer games that met her approval, mostly classic horror adventures with a few citybuilding sims thrown in.
Rose sighed and sat down at her computer.
***
Rose logged onto pesterchum and saw that her friend John was online. He lived in the east but it was still unusual for him to be on at this time. The rest of her chumlist was empty. No one else was online. Rose breathed in to compose herself and connected to him in a chat session.
Blue text popped up in the window. "Hey Rose."
Rose typed. Her nails clicking against the wide flat keys of her laptop. When she hit enter her own words in purple appeared on the screen. "I'm surprised to see you online at this hour."
"Haha. Today's my uncle's wedding. I'm just waiting for my dad to finish getting ready. He's such a nerd."
"I can see your filial resemblance."
There was a pause before his next reply. "It'd be nice if you could go with me. It's gonna be really boring."
"I don't think I would be very much fun."
"More fun than being alone around all those people I don't know."
"You always delight me with your marvelous compliments, John."
"I didn't mean it like that and you know it. I meant it'd be nice to have someone to talk to."
"Yes, we could insult the guests' taste in formal wear together."
There was a long pause before his next reply and Rose sat back in her desk chair. It was not like John to take so long. He rarely considered his words and he almost always announced even an momentary absence.
"Are you in a bad mood today?"
It was her turn to pause now. Neither was it like him to be so direct.
"No, John."
"Because you seem really hostile. I was hoping you'd be on before I had to go to this stupid wedding so I'd have someone to talk to."
"I'm sorry. I have a lot on my mind. I didn't mean to insult you."
"Oh! Is your interview today?"
"It's tomorrow."
"Well I don't think you have anything to worry about. I'm sure you'll do great. You're like the smartest person I know."
"Thank you. I wish I had your confidence."
"They'd have to be idiots to reject you."
"It's unusual for someone my age to attend college. They may be concerned about my maturity."
"Jeez. It's only two years. It's not that big of a deal."
"Let's hope they see it that way, or that my tutor's testimony will convince them of it."
"Haha, I'm sure they'll be able to see it just by talking to you. Oh dang my dad's ready. I gotta go. Talk to you later."
And then a moment later, "Don't freak out."
Rose smiled and swiveled her chair around to look out the window.
***
Rose whiled away her time searching through obscure blogs. Where people announced their most personal truths at the void unheard. Rose would read these frank logs and come to feel she knew the authors so honest were they. At least the one's Rose read. There was no shortage of preening and posturing, but that was Strider's venue. Rose instead saw something beautiful in their ignored confessions. Something that bared a nerve in man, exposed his fear of the truth about life. All pleas remained unheeded.
Hours passed and the rain started up again, blown at an angle against her window. The rain began to cascade down more heavily than it had all season. Rose turned around to look out the window. The sky had darkened without her noticing and the sun shone only through thin patches in the clouds, coming down to the ground in beams. Rose wondered if her tutor would cancel today because of the weather. She hoped he didn't, he couldn't afford to. She needed his help for the interview tomorrow.
Her monitor went black with a flash as she shut her computer down in caution. Rose had seen no lighting, heard no thunder, but from the look of things outside they could not be far off. Rose stood up and grabbed a battered sketchbook that had been sitting on her desk and then cradled it underneath her arm as she exited the room. She walked idly through the hallway to a slow rhythm in her head, stretching her legs forward to meet the syncopation with a bounce. As she went down the short staircase she wondered whether the rain battering the side of the house would wake her mother early or put her her into a deep trance that would hold her all day. At this point Rose didn't even know which one she would prefer.
The den was still unlit and it looked as if it were evening rather than still before noon. The clouds had amassed so thickly that no sun now came through and it was as if the long droplets were dyed black. They smacked the pocked stone of the balcony and exploded in star patterns. They spiraled down drooping pine needles one after another each wanting to arrive before the next. Rose could see the rain was cold; every creature was hiding, even those that thrived on water. Rose approached the windows and sat down cross legged on the pristine white carpet. The droplets splayed themselves out against the glass presenting themselves to her for her approval. Rose remained aloof.
She placed her pencil against the rough taupe sketch paper and her arm moved without direction tracing sprawling curves that twined up at their edges, folded into themselves leaving a trail of bitter charcoal on the page. She pressed down hard on the pencil and shook her arm creating thick black lines of shadows pouring off the figure. Its many grasping arms came through the veil flailing in search. The being pierced space so great was its loneliness but anything it would find would be immediately destroyed by its unchecked power. It would always consume that which it wanted most in its passion.
Rose was so enthralled by the act of creation that she didn't notice her mother walk up behind her, recently awoken and already an image of false composure. Here posture was straight and her arms were crossed over her chest as she watched her daughter draw before the rain. She was silent and did not move; there was no light behind her to cast her shadow forward. She could see little of what her daughter was drawing from over her shoulder but she watched anyway, intently.
Still, something alerted Rose to her mother's presence and she stopped moving her arm. She could feel there was somebody else in the room. It was different than before though she could not place how. Slowly she turned around, afraid of what she might see.
She scowled through her relief. Her mother pretended not to notice this. "It's really coming down."
Rose and her mother stared at each other in the darkness. Finally Rose said "Please, continue. I've never heard it put more aptly."
Her mother stepped forward ignoring that too. "I hope the power doesn't go out. Who knows how long it would be before they could fix it.
Rose turned back around to the window and hunched over her drawing to hide it from her mother's eyes.
"Dear, would you go into the storeroom and get the emergency candles? So we don't have to hunt for them in the dark."
"There hasn't even been any lightning."
"I know. But it wouldn't hurt to have them just in case."
Rose turned her head around but did not move her shoulders; she glared at her mother from the corners of her eyes. "Then why don't you get them?"
"Because I've got to get the flashlights and check to make sure the generator is working."
"I think you're being paranoid. It's only rain."
"Don't be silly. I just want to be prepared. It's easier to do now."
"I'm busy, we can look for the candles with a flashlight if the power goes out."
"You'll have plenty of time to draw in the dark if the power goes out. I've just asked you to do one small thing."
Rose gritted her teeth. That was the point. Her mother only ever bothered to talk to her to inconvenience her with some small useless request. It was never about Rose. She didn't say that though. "Fine, I'll get them."
Rose stood up, grabbing her sketchbook, and crossed the room into the kitchen without looking at her mother. In between it and the dining room was the door that led down to the basement. Rose descended the cold wooden stairs with creaks that resounded against the narrow walls. She did not bother turning on the light.
The stairwell opened out into the lounge. Apparently this room was often used when her father was still alive. Her parents would throw parties here but that had all been ended now. The long black leather sofa that ran along the wall sat frozen, untouched; the bar was nearly empty of alcohol, most of it having been pilfered for her mother's personal stash; the pool table that sat in the corner under a drooping lamp had felt of the brightest green, as if never touched. Once, while snooping in her mother's room, Rose had found a video cassette marked 'Rose's Third Birthday' that couldn't be watched since there were no VCRs. It had been filmed down here. The only person who came for Rose's last birthday had been her tutor.
She turned to the storeroom that was beside the stairs and switched on the light. The walls were bare, exposing the studs, and were covered by standup metal shelves. Her mother felt it necessary to keep all kinds of items in case of emergencies. Everything from extra blankets to medical supplies. There was enough that they could set up a relief station during a disaster, not that they ever would. How would people find their way out here into the middle of nowhere anyway? They had stocks of canned goods and jugs of water as well but those were upstairs in the pantry.
She rifled around on the shelves, through stacks of batteries, pillows, and even decks of playing cards. It was excessive, greedy, like a fallout shelter. Finally she found the candles by the battery-powered radios, on the whole other side of the room from the batteries themselves, and on a higher shelf than the decorative candles. She grabbed two boxes and went back upstairs.
When Rose came back into the den her tutor was standing there, drenched from the walk from his car to the door even though he had an umbrella. He was a short mustachioed man who covered his balding head in a bowler. He smiled at Rose when she walked in holding sketchbook and candles.
"Mr Roeber."
"You didn't think I'd miss today because of a little rain, did you?"
"I wouldn't expect you to risk your life for it."
His smile widened. "By missing it I'd be risking yours."
She shook her head and sat the candles and sketchbook down on one of the tables near the sofas. "That's not true. I'd only have to wait two years or try another college. If you injured yourself you couldn't undo it."
"I assure you I didn't risk myself unnecessarily. I've lived here for many years and driven in much worse weather than this."
"You might have waited and seen if the rain would let up."
"I didn't want to wait for it to get worse." He stepped forward and his smile gave way. "It almost sounds as if you're unhappy to see me."
"That's not true."
"I'd understand if it were. I'm sure you're nervous about tomorrow. My being here only forces you to worry but that's the important thing. You should have confidence. And you would be right to."
"I don't want to say something I shouldn't in my surety."
"Saying something wrong is better than saying nothing at all."
"I'm not so sure that's true in this situation."
He laughed and stepped away. The den remained unlit. Rose supposed her mother had met him out in the rain.
"You should listen more to your elders. We have experience on our side."
"I have to do what I think is right. You may be correct but I don't think it's true for me."
He laughed again. "I guess I'll just have to trust you. But you don't have any reason to worry, you'll do fine."
"It's hard not to worry when you want something this badly."
"Why? You said it yourself, it's only a matter of two years. You could use them to enjoy the last of your childhood."
"Because I can't stand it here."
He frowned and stepped back as she walked along the back wall, running her hand against the smooth wood of the mantle over the fireplace.
"My mother's kept me locked in this house my whole life. she wouldn't even buy me a car for my sixteenth birthday though she squanders money on useless things for herself. This is my chance to leave and I want everything to go right."
She did not bother to look up at the portrait. She never wanted to see it again. The portrait was a lie; Rose's life had never been like that and now it never would be. It seemed to mock her, filling the room with a perpetual acrid haze. She let her arm drop back down to her side.
"I'm surprised she hasn't forbidden me from attending."
"Rose, your mother only does the things she does because she's concerned for you. She wants you to be safe."
"Well she's killing me in the process. I can't take it. I don't feel like I'm really even alive."
"You'll forgive her someday. She may be mistaken but she only wants what's best for you."
Rose sighed and dropped herself down onto the sofa opposite the stairs. She picked her legs up onto the couch and leaned over her upright knees.
"Maybe after I've gotten out of here and am allowed to forget it all. But as long as I'm trapped here I won't be able to. That's why this interview has to go well. I don't know how much more of this I can deal with."
Her tutor approached her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Rose suppressed the urge to flinch. She was unused to being touched.
"This isn't your only opportunity to leave. I know it may feel that way but it's not. There are many things you can do in pursuit of education beyond attending college."
Rose slid away from him and his hand. "Like what? Should I take some internship so my days consist of doing menial tasks for some ignorant blowhard? No thanks. I feel as if that's enough of the case already."
"Don't be so negative. They aren't all like that and it would look good on a college application. Besides that wasn't what I was talking about."
"Well then what?"
"For starters you could travel. There are programs for promising students your age, so that they can fill their palettes with experience."
"I suppose, but opportunities like that are highly competitive. Even if I were chosen there's the problem of convincing my mother to let me to go."
"We can cross those bridges when we come to them. Those aren't your only options you know."
"Mr Roeber! I'm glad to see you could make it."
It was her mother. She too was now drenched and her once perfectly styled hair now hung down in blond tresses, darkened by the rain. She didn't seem to notice and was beaming a false smile of cordiality.
"Ms Lalonde." The tutor doffed his hat and gave a slight bow. "I'm not frightened of a little inclement weather."
Rose's mother turned to her. "The generator is working flawlessly. If the power goes out it should last a few hours. Did you get the candles like I asked?"
Rosed pointed at the table on the other end of the room where she had set the candles on top of her sketchbook.
"Thank you dear," her mother said as she started to cross the room.
"Ms Lalonde," the tutor said, "your daughter and I were just discussing her interview tomorrow."
Rose cringed. Why did he feel the need to bring that up?
Her mother turned around. "Oh yes. I'd forgotten." She smiled again, this time at Rose. A forced and practiced smile that made Rose sick. How could her tutor think this woman loved her? "I'm sure you'll do splendidly." Her mother turned back around to the real object of her concern and picked up the candles. "I hope these will be enough."
"Well, I'll leave you two alone now. I'm sure you have important things to discuss." And with that her mother headed off towards the east wing, towards her bedroom.
When Rose was sure her mother was out of earshot she said "See? She doesn't even care."
Her tutor frowned. "That's not true, Rose. It's just hard for her to express these things."
Rose huffed in exasperation. "And how would you know? She's more than capable of expressing her concern about some stupid candles but she forgets completely about my interview. That doesn't sound like a mother who cares for her child."
"Maybe it's because she's afraid to see you go. Did you think that maybe she hadn't really forgotten? You can't know everything Rose."
"And that would somehow make it better?"
"No, but it would make it forgivable. We're all only human."
She sighed and fell against the back of the sofa, her feet slipping down to the floor. That was the problem. Everyone was only a weak ignorant human. Including herself.
I had to stop myself from writing even more of this. <3 Flighty broads and their snarky horseshit.
Comments will happen later, when it's not a wacky hour.
For now,
Hot Blooded: Chapter 8
The first time he meets Auva Madris, she saves his life.
Tarfus fell to the dust with a grunt and lay where he fell, little puffs of dirt fountaining into the air with every breath. He groaned and regretted every decision he’d ever made up to and including the one where he’d agreed to serve as a demonstration aide for drill sergeantagonist Stratet. He was positive that she was not officially of any rank any longer, but he doubted anyone dared to correct her. She was terrifying. If the display earlier in the groupblock had been Stratet unsheathing her claws, then what she’d done to Tarfus in the past several hours had been her unleashing a comically oversized broadsword. And then wielding it with terrifying efficiency. On Tarfus’ entire body.
Repeatedly.
Tarfus shook his head. His metaphors were getting away from him, and that was always a sign that he was pushing his limits. He pushed himself up off the ground, and bounced to his feet, swaying slightly, sickle in hand, ready for whatever Stratet threw at him next. He was not ready for her to be facing away, addressing the gathered prospective-threshecutioners at large.
He didn’t wait for the crowd’s stares to give him away, and charged Stratet’s back. She’d taught them that there was no such thing as fighting dirty—only fighting to win. He intended to show her what he’d learned. If he happened to work out some aggression in the process, well, that was just a bonus, right?
Without looking away or interrupting her speech, Stratet’s sickle jerked out, caught Tarfus’ as it was descending and twisted, sending Tarfus’ weapon spinning out of his hand. Stratet jammed an elbow into Tarfus’ gut and brought her hand up in a close-fisted backhand against Tarfus’ nose. He staggered back, stumbled, and fell down into a sitting position, clutching his nose. It wasn’t bleeding, luckily, but it’d smart for the rest of the day.
“Can anyone tell me what Depinza here did wrong?” Stratet barked, resheathing her sickle. Before anyone had a chance to answer, she continued, “Of course you can’t! He didn’t do a damn thing wrong! He attacked his opponent when she was unprepared and with intent to kill! The reason he failed was because he’s a miserable failure of an excuse for a threshecutioner-wannabe! And if he’s a miserable failure, I don’t think I have the vocabulary for what that makes you!” She glanced at the horizon and nodded. “That’s all the time we have to stamp the failure out of you today! I expect you out here dark and early tomorrow!”
She turned to Tarfus, who was still perched on the ground. At her raised eyebrow he wearily raised himself to his feet and saluted halfheartedly. Stratet threw back a lazy salute, and Tarfus slumped into a slouch. “Am I going to be your training dummy again tomorrow?”
Stratet’s backhand caught him across the cheek and sent Tarfus reeling. “You will address your superiors with respect, soldier!” Her expression relaxed and she continued, “As to your question…I suspected that you showed promise. I tested that theory and you didn’t disappoint. I’ll do everything in my power to force my recruits to reach their full potential. If that means kicking your ass every day until you succeed, then that’s what I’ll do. If at any point you don’t feel like you can handle it, you’re welcome to back out. I’m sure I’ll have no trouble finding another wet recruit to box around for hours at a time.”
“So what? This is all in my best interest? You picked me out of nearly a hundred others just because you thought I ‘showed promise’?”
Stratet looked pointedly down at Tarfus’ arm. “I see you’ve recovered from your little mishap earlier.” She looked back up, and her stare drilled into Tarfus’. “No, it’s not just because you show promise. It’s because you’re going to need the extra training if you intend to live past thirteen sweeps old. I’m sure you’re well aware of the fact the world is not a kind place to the less fortunate.” Stratet paused for a moment to allow her words to sink in. “That’s enough talk for today. Dismissed, soldier.” And just like that, she walked away.
Tarfus glared at her retreating back for a moment before flinging his sickle down in disgust. And then immediately regretted it because that meant he had to bend down to retrieve it and auuuuughhh every single muscle was sore already goddammit. He stalked back toward the groupblock, wincing every third step and cursing Kulath Stratet’s name every other step.
So she thought she was doing him a favor because she knew he’d need to be tough, huh? And apparently doing favors had nothing to do with actually teaching him how to fight, but how to get his ass kicked in front of his entire training group. There might have been some actual lessons to be learned in between each of the merciless beatings he’d suffered at her hands tonight, but he’d be damned if he could pick them out amongst the whirlwind of agony and embarrassment. He guessed she thought that maybe a little bit of humility was good for him. Well fuck her. He’d grown up as humble as could be, thank you very much. He’d bet beetles to baked pastry that she’d enjoyed a cushy life growing up as greenblood. She’d probably never spent days at a time terrified of going outside after getting a cut she couldn’t hide. She’d probably never spent weeks barely subsisting on what food she could find around her hive because her lusus had been beaten to within an inch of his life by other five-sweep-olds for having the gall to raise a mutant. She’d probably never curled up to sleep at dawn next to her lusus, whispered entreaties to please get better please don’t die I don’t hate you I promise flowing ceaselessly while her lusus tried in vain to comfort her with bloodied claws.
Not that Tarfus would know anything about that.
Tarfus face was locked into a grimace with a dash of snarl as he stalked into an alley between two buildings. He was so wrapped up in his brooding that he didn’t notice when the other end of the alley was blocked by a body until he bumped into it. He looked up into the sneering face of another troll with a prominent pockmark scar on his chin.
Tarfus glared. “Get the fuck out of my way.”
Scar-chin smiled. “Sorry. Just happened to notice you had a little something on your arm.” The other troll reached into the tear in Tarfus’ jacket and ripped off the bandage covering his cut from earlier.
Fresh, bright red blood flowed from the reopened wound. Tarfus jerked back and swore. He looked up at his aggressor and bared his teeth.
“Saw it when the sergeantagonist sliced you open earlier. Don’t think you can hide your freaky mutant blood from the rest of us, gutter trash.” Two other trolls stepped out of bright spots where the rising sun’s light had hidden them. One was tall with thin, slender horns, and the other was of medium build with a pronounced fangy overbite.
“Guess that didn’t take long,” Tarfus muttered before delivering an uppercut to Scar-chin’s chin. No such thing as fighting dirty, he thought grimly, only fighting to win.
Scar-chin went down hard and scrambled to get up before Tarfus stomped on his chest and used him as a springboard to launch himself at Slender-horns. While the other troll was focused on his fists, Tarfus lashed out with his foot and caught Slender-horns in the upper thigh. When Tarfus landed, he used his momentum to push forward and knock his attacker off balance. The other troll stumbled back a few feet, and Tarfus was able to circle around, finally out of the alley. Tarfus darted forward and kicked Scar-chin in the head while he had the chance. No sense fighting more opponents if he didn’t have to.
The other two aggressors overcame their surprise at Tarfus’ violent opening and charged him. Tarfus caught a punch to the side and was tackled by Fang-face. There was a moment of weightlessness as both he and his opponent were airborne, followed by a teeth-rattling crash as back met dirt. Tarfus didn’t waste a second, and used his momentum, pushing up as he bounced, forcing his attacker a few inches off of him. He rolled out from underneath Fang-face and made it halfway to standing before Slender-horns grabbed him by his collar and yanked him up. Slender-horns drew his fist back and rammed it into Tarfus’ face. His vision blacked out for a moment and he saw stars. He came to just in time to spot a second fist on a collision course for his face. Thinking fast he looked down and to the side, and prayed he got the angle right.
A choked curse and his skull rattling like a struck bell indicated he had. He’d angled his head so the other troll had punched him straight in the horn. His weren’t sharp enough to pierce, but they were certainly hard enough to bruise. Slender-horns yelped and dropped him. Tarfus landed kneeling and exploded upward with a knee to Slender-horns’ groin. He groaned and slumped to the ground. Tarfus turned and discovered a sicklepoint an inch from his throat. He froze.
“Let’s see how much of that sludge we can spill, eh?” said Fang-face.
And then a monster gave a throaty, whirring roar and demanded, “What, may I ask is happening right now?”
Tarfus peered around Fang-face’s head and discovered that what he’d thought was a monster’s roar was in fact a chainsaw’s roar. The chainsaw in question was being wielded by an irate-looking woman with one hooked horn and one straight one. Some shade of greenblood if the insignia on her jacket was any indication. The teeth of the chainsaw in question were whirring dangerously close to Fang-face’s neck. The attacker very carefully dropped his sickle and raised his hands.
The greenblood backed off several feet and Tarfus took the initiative because it seemed Fang-face was too busy focusing on not making any sudden moves or breathing too deeply. Tarfus punched him, knocking him down and out. He then spat on the ground next to Fang-face’s head. “These three jokers decided it was lowblood-culling day or some shit. I was pissed off to begin with, but this night’s just gotten shittier and shittier.” He paused. “Thanks for the save, by the way.” He unsheathed his sickle and approached the fallen trio.
“You’re welcome. But might I inquire as to what you’re doing now?”
Tarfus turned and raised an eyebrow. “What do you think? Culling these wastes of fucking air.”
The greenblood’s eyes widened. “Are you certain that’s wise?”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Are you unaware of the ‘no-culling’ policy? Killing a fellow recruit is grounds for execution. I highly doubt that it would be considered self defense at this point.”
Tarfus snarled. “Well isn’t that just my fucking luck! I’ll settle for second best then, goddammit!” He stalked over to Scar-chin—the apparent leader of the little trio—and kicked him in the ribs a few times. “Hey asshole, get up!”
Scar-chin curled up and opened his eyes blearily. “Whuzzit, ow, fckit. What?”
Tarfus leaned in close to other troll’s face until he was sure he had his attention. “You’re very lucky. You came this close to getting your head handed to you. If not for this considerate lady here, you’d be dead and bleeding right now. So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to walk away. I never see your face outside of training sessions again. I never talk to you again. I never have to deal with hemospectrum bullshit from you again. And just to make sure we’re clear, I’m going to leave you a goddamn parting gift!”
Awareness had been filtering back into Scar-chin’s eyes over the course of Tarfus’ rant, but as Tarfus lifted up the sickle, the other troll’s eyes went wide. Tarfus slammed the sickle point-first Scar-chin’s shoulder joint, just below the collarbone. He screamed and a splash of light blue colored the sickle’s blade. Tarfus drew back and the sickle remained wedged in the other troll’s body, handle jutting into the air.
Tarfus stalked away from the three fallen bodies without a backwards glance. The greenblood favored them with a brief glance before turning and following. Tarfus made it as far as the corner of a nearby building before slumping against the wall and sinking down. If he’d ached after training, he’d discovered a whole new tier of soreness. He had achieved ache-nirvana.
The greenblood woman joined him against the wall, her chainsaw oddly unaccounted for. Tarfus sucked in a shuddering breath and drew his knees to his chest. He held his hands out in front of himself, and discovered that they were shaking.
“You saved my life. And theirs,” he says without turning. “As cliché as it is, I gotta ask why.”
She remained silent for a moment before answering. “It seemed like the right thing to do,” she said simply.
Tarfus looked up and blinked. “What the fuck? That’s it?”
The girl shrugged. “Death for the sake of death seems like a needless waste to me.”
Tarfus blinked again and looked over at her. “I’m…pretty sure that among everyone I’ve ever met, you’re unique, Miss…?”
She stood up and held out a hand. Tarfus took it she pulled him to his feet. “Auva Madris. Negotiaterror-in-training. And you are?”
Tarfus noticed her attire for the first time—a pleated, heavily-starched skirt and a suit-coat top. Certainly not soldier wear. “Tarfus Depinza, future threshecutioner. I think you’re the first person I’ve said this to in sweeps but, Miss Madris, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She smiled.
Notes
This one came out really quickly. I'm kinda shocked at how easy it was to write. I feel like I definitely accomplished a lot more with this chapter than the previous. A little bit of Tarfus' childhood even managed to sneak it's way in there! Next chapter will be the last of the flashbacky bits for a while I think, so stay tuned!
Yaaaaay, first Homestuck fic! As a warning, I generally like to ignore larger events in my fanfics and focus on what normal, day-to-day life is like between specific characters, as this is what is generally ignored by authors, and gets me into a screaming, wondering fit. And thus produce my slightly dramatic fics. Anyway, don't let my ramblings allow your brainpans to melt for too long.
This one went on a bit long, and my brain seriously hurts.
The air is a hot mess outside, and Dave wonders how anyone can still maintain a cool a look as his Bro as they step out from the entrance of their high-rise. Dave is pretty sure he looks about as hot as lukewarm diarrhea in a Dixie cup, and he’s pretty sure it’s this that had incited his brother’s casual rise from the couch, stretching his long, lanky arms and legs until his joints popped, and suggested in no uncertain ironic terms that they should totally go to war with the city for some ice cream. Dave, who has always approved of viewing food gathering as a sort of primordial struggle for life (even if it is just a frosted confection), had agreed.
He couldn’t be quite sure if he had caught it right, but he stifled a childish and therefore completely uncool (though, if he were to admit it, rather ironic) glare when his brother gave him a long, unfathomable sideways glance. He knew that if he cared to knock of Bro’s dumb pointy shades (which he rather did, but restrained himself as it would severely damage his rep), he would see the Crow’s feet around his brother’s eyes deepened in worry, though the rest of his face was just as cool as ever. And, as it was, Dave was already doing his best separating the soft flesh of his upper torso from the couch, and so decided it would be better to save his energies for more pressing things like walking, talking, and dressing normally.
Bro steps from the bottom step of their complex entrance to the curb of the street in one leisurely, ground-eating stride, but Dave, who is just twelve and though pushing as cool as his brother, is exceptionally more susceptible to the heat as a child. It makes him dizzy and it feels as if his fingers and feet have swollen to the size of small salamis. He staggers when a sandaled foot touches the degrading curb, only to be surreptitiously righted by the larger man.
“Dawg, cement looking as tasty as it may, I have to respectfully ask you not to eat it.” There it was. The faintest waver in his voice, the one that bespoke just the slightest beginnings of unease, the one that instantly sparked feelings of adolescent self-disgust. Bro could bat him around Dallas with a katana for days and not bat an eye, but if the neighbourhood temperature spiked to a fever of 104, and the air around them turned to soup, Bro turned into a softie. Dave knew it was with good reason though. Dave was always pretty good around the heat, but it was the heat combined with his cool stubbornness that proved his fatal undoing. He wouldn’t drink properly, and there was little inside the apartment from zesty chip snacks, burritos, and alcohol, since Dave had promptly contrived to imbibe what was left of the 24 pack of Dasani his Bro had bought last winter for “major icing business”. What that meant, Dave never discovered, but had felt a vague, gnawing unease seeing his bro using one such bottle he had packed into the freezer as an icepack on his abdomen one night.
So, Dave did the only thing he found it was right (cool and manly, therefore) to do. He flicked a sun-struck glance past his shades at his brother, and found enough disaffected venom to return. “Whatever, man. Strider’s gonna stride, Bro. Don’t be hatin’ on my choice of vitamin-C intake.” But most of the words came out as a mushy burr, but his brother at least had the decency to laugh at that and give him a swat on the back. The gesture turned into something more parental as they neared the corner of the block, the man’s hand cupping the back of Dave’s neck, guiding him around the corner and through a listless group of people. It was the sort of thing Bro did to Dave when he was seven, recalled with a sort of suddenly burning humiliation, as he all but held Dave’s hand when they crossed the street.
“Hey, Brother Hen.” Piped Dave, taking care to enunciate his words properly and create an illusion of cognizance as they made it to the other side of the pavement, and were shadowed in an avenue of tightly trimmed trees. “Though I appreciate your camaraderie-in-arms about pedophiles jumpin’ me from bushes, I think I can take Dallas at noon on a nasty day. Ya dig?”
No verbal response. His brother flicked a glance over his shoulder at Dave (fuck, were those lines etched on his brother’s brow? The ones that people got when serious business was happening?) and didn’t relinquish his hold on his younger brother’s neck. Dave, quite suddenly and childishly, tried very hard not to be scared. His brother assumedly caught the sudden flicker of his brother’s throat and eyes, and suddenly returned the jibe with a easy grin.
“Hey, m’man, you just know those pedos can’t take their hands offa you. I gotta beat them off with’a stick wherever I wanna go. Sometimes I just wanna throw ya under the bus, but then I remember how much money you don’t mean to make me.” Ah yes. His bro setting him up to perform all the grisly little things for his online puppet snuff films. Head in the blender, mutilating puppets with a sword. Dave didn’t rise to the bait his brother set, but allowed himself a private freak-out moment at the implications. He’d seen the stuff on Torr, and had to admit it looked pretty cool.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t allow his brother to 1up him in this continual congo line of 1upmanship (fuck this was getting to be like some clusterfuck game of Mario), and fabricated a response as he looked hazily ahead at the line where Bro’s t-shirt met his jeans. “Whatever man, I’m more worried about Dallas melting before we get to the iced cream.”
It was when they hit the edge of the park and the terminator that separated the park from the rest of the city appeared that Dave suddenly couldn’t do it anymore. They couldn’t have walked more than a block, but his limbs felt as if they were made from packing peanuts; his lips felt stiff, his eyes stinging, and his skin had a strangely rubbery quality, though none of it mattered very much, because he was suddenly very, very tired, and he was positive the pavement was much cooler than him.
It was, but not by much. He stopped, ignoring his brother’s retreating back for the moment, and lay in a very cool and manly way down on the pavement, trying to ignore that his subtle diving technique bought him a scraped chin and busted lip, but, hey, all in the name of imagery, right? Bro did not pick him up right away, so he was apparently letting Dave have his intimately acquainting moment with the pavement. And then, a new furnace of heat settled over his limbs as Bro’s hands rearranged his body, removed his shades, and rested his (completely, alarmingly dry, what the fuck it was 108 degrees fucking Fahrenheit outside, he should be sweating like a pig) brow on the curve of his brother’s shoulder.
There is a sharp, crisp sound (fuck, when had he closed his eyes, this was completely insane), and something cold and sweet presses his lips, away from the swelling that is quickly developing after his brief but intense relationship with the ground. He can’t find the energy to lift his arms to hold what is now undoubtedly a Coke (or Pepsi, and god wasn’t he in trouble now, he couldn’t open his eyes much less hold a can), and there are a few breakdowns of communication that resulted in whatever sweet liquid Dave was attempting to clumsily drink streak down his chin, to be caught by familiar, callused fingers at the angle of his jaw or the corner of his mouth. His face is colder, and wet, and he has no doubt that his brother took care to introduce the aluminum to Dave’s face before passing the contents of said can into the boy’s mouth.
When Dave finally can muster the energy to open his eyes, they are inside the park rather than outside, in what was no doubt one of Bro’s famous and rather fabulous trick of darting from one place to the next faster than the perceivable eye could catch. Dave is sitting propped up against the chicken wire that hems the park from someone’s field behind them, with his head propped on his brother’s bicep, while said brother apparently emotionlessly feeds him Coke from god knows where he got it.
There is a moment, and Dave can read every miniscule non-movement his brother’s face makes, and he is aware there is some alchemy at work that makes him feel as if he really is seven again, and there is something very different about finding your brother to be more of your father, and Dave finds, at this moment, cradled as he is in the curve of his brother’s side, he can’t really care. He’ll work on that when he isn’t feeling about seven with a killer flu, arms limp as if the major muscles have been cut in them, and legs curled as if they’d been weighted down with lead.
With the sudden recurrence of sight, Dave has a sudden and very clear image they must present to a random passer-by; his brother sitting with his knees up, legs apart to accommodate a half-dead, ashen-faced prepubescent child slumped against his torso, head half dropping off his brother’s shoulder. It’s a picture of the huddled masses, he reflects, something you’d see in the alleyways of whatever fucking state Rose lives in (New York, right?) a hundred years ago, and finds it rather ironic, in a socio-economic way. It’s cool, but not in a hip way, and he even finds the energy given to him by whatever heavenly concoction his brother is holding to curse Rose’s inane psycho-babble as it has apparently found its way even into his head.
When Bro finally speaks, it’s the same deadpan tone as he always uses, but there’s something categorically different about it. “S’not icecream, but I can make ya a slushy if ya want.” And Dave finally laughs at that, not because it’s especially funny (though it honestly is, because the whole situation is utterly, cosmically ironic), but there’s just something rather comforting in the thought that, in the end, there is someone to treat him like the twelve year old he physically really is. And that, despite all his throwings of Dave down flights of stairs and slashings at with killing weapons men used hundreds of years ago to slice each other’s arms neatly from each other’s bodies, Bro really is just his big brother.
They remain that way for Dave is not sure how long, but when he opens his eyes from inadvertently falling asleep, he’s back in his own bed in the apartment, blankets tucked up to his chin with, he supposes, good reason. His breath plumes out from his mouth like he’s the fucking star of “I See Dead People”, and his body involuntarily spasms with the unseasonably arctic cold that his room is gripped in as a brand new air conditioner chugs heroically against the Texas heat. Bro didn’t leave a note, but didn’t need to. Dave completely gets it. He rolls over in his bed, a now grudgingly contented smile on his face, as he realizes his brother has finally ended the intermission, and allowed their game of one-upmanship to continue. He supposes he can repay his brother with icecream.
@fqllve: I love this look into Rose's life and her constant weird conflict with her mother. I will also always love the use of that house in the middle of nowhere as the enemy, slowly smothering whatever child happens to have the unfortunate luck to grow up in it. Nice stuff, please stick around! :]
@nikeathena: Striders being jerks to each other when they really should use logic for once is always welcome! I love the ending because it is just so sweet, and at the same time only will lead to more posturing later on.
@ fqllve: I... I think I would be okay with you writing more of this. I'll be honest, it was a bit hard to get into, but once I did, I was hooked. You characterized Rose so well, and the description was detailed and amazing. I could picture everything through the entire story. I really like this look into what might have happened if the kids had never played SBurb. I'd not only like to see more of Rose, but maybe even more of the other kids?
Also, has a first pwnst been done yet? I think this deserves one.
@ nikeathena: Ladies and gentlemen, I think we've got another one. Why you guys have to completely outclass what I'm trying to post here, huh? But in all seriousness, I enjoyed this one as well. There's never enough Strider bros fics, and this one was especially cute.
@ lantadyme: Hehe, I think you actually made it sound cooler than it actually was. But thanks, I'm glad you liked them!
@ Jim: Well, I've never liked puppets much, and when I got Stage for a prompt, I was reminded of a book I used to love as a kid about a boy who gets turned into a puppet for a while... And it just sort of went from there. Admittedly, I made it a bit more terrifying than it was in the book. xD
Thanks! To be honest, I love scary/creeper/sober Gamzee, but at the same time I don't want him to kill off any more characters. That fic was a nice combination of the two.
I'm glad you like TTB so far! I'm not entirely sure where it's going either, so we'll all just have to see.
And... Oh hey, look. Wizardstuck? I'm kinda getting burnt out on it, but I got some random inspiration today and rolled with it.
Wizardstuck: Tutor
Snape hated grading papers. He usually assigned several throughout the year, mostly to keep his students on their toes, but when it came to grading them, he would rather rip out his own hair.
A stack of them sat in front of him, the hand-written parchment curling on his desk. He scowled at them disdainfully, wishing, not for the first time, that he had decided to make the class entirely practical with no writing involved. But that would be too easy. And besides, when he had taken the job, Dumbledore himself had requested that Snape require papers of his students.
The problem was that there were no official writing classes in the school. Those students who had not been to a muggle school learned how to write papers through trial and error, and few were very good at it. There were, of course, those who were naturals at the art, like Granger and several of the Ravenclaws, but for the most part, they were hopeless. Ultimately, it was left to Snape to attempt to teach the little mongrels how to write, and he did it the only way he knew how: by marking up their papers until they looked as though they were bleeding profusely.
Of course, he'd had no real hope for the new students to be any better. He had assumed they would have the same weak grasp as any other child who passed through his classes. He had not, however, expected just how bad so many of them would be.
The trolls. Oh, dear lord, the trolls. He nearly wept as he was trying to get through their first papers. Not one of them seemed to have a grasp of proper punctuation. They substituted numbers and symbols for letters, duplicated others, and used or did not use capitalization whenever they pleased. It made him want to scream. What was worse was that they were all so different. They didn't seem to abide by any one rule except that none of them could write properly. By some trick of luck, the one whose writing was most easily read was Karkat Vantas, but even he used capital letters exclusively.
Aside from that, their paper writing abilities were atrocious. They had no sense of organization or continuity. They meandered through the essays, going from one topic to another and back again on no whims but their own. It was enough to make Snape believe they had no form of formal schooling at all before arriving to Hogwarts.
That wasn't to say that they had no promise. Vantas used colorful, if often distasteful, metaphors quite well, and Maryam had a good vocabulary. They simply needed a guide.
Naturally, Snape had assigned them all to work with a human student of their choosing on their next paper. He did not have time himself to track down a good writer to tutor them—if they wanted to pass his class, they would have to do the legwork on their own. He was not one to give away free rides.
What he held in his hands were the fruits of their labor. At a first glance, they appeared to be better. He saw periods and proper capitalization, at least. Even so, he hesitated in reading them. Surely they couldn't be any worse?
Snape finally flipped through the trolls' papers, reading a few passages here and there as he went. To his surprise, they were not just better—they were much better. Organization had improved greatly, and while a few 8's and double i's and )('s snuck their way into them, they were by far easier to read and grade. He was almost pleased with the progress they had made, but it made him curious. Who on Earth had been able to turn them around so quickly? It couldn't possibly all have been the work of one person, could it?
---
After Snape had assigned all the trolls to find a human writing partner, nearly every one of them simultaneously thought of the same person.
Rose.
Of the four humans they knew well enough to ask, she was the one who had the best grasp of writing. At first, Rose had made it quite clear that she only intended on tutoring her housemates, but after having to put up with a great deal of whining and raging and pouting from various individuals, she finally gave in and agreed to tutor all of them, but on one condition.
They wouldn't argue with her. They wouldn't yell at her. They wouldn't get mad when she told them they had to drop their precious quirks. She knew what they needed to do to get a good grade on a paper (she had gotten her first one back with top marks, after all), and if they wanted to get better, they were going to listen to her like they would a teacher.
There was a bit more grumbling at that, but eventually they all agreed to it. They didn't have much of a choice. And so, lessons with Rose began.
Sometimes she worked with them one-on-one, other times they met as a large group, either in the Ravenclaw common room, or, later, after some Ravenclaws had begun voicing complaints, in the library.
She broke them of their quirks (at least when writing papers), helped them with organization, and worked with them on proper grammar. Many of the trolls rewrote their papers up to five times before they turned in their final draft, but, that afternoon after classes had ended and they had all gotten their papers back, their excitement showed how well they had all done. After all of them had failed their first paper, not one failed their second.
"You're a supurrb teacher, Rose!" Nepeta said, giving her a hug as she walked into the library and arrived in the area where they usually had their lessons.
"Yes, we all did a great deal better on this latest assignment, and I do not doubt that it is entirely on account of your tutoring," Kanaya added with a smile as Nepeta released Rose. "I am not at all dissatisfied with my grade."
"I still think he's being a fuckass about all this shit, but I got a decent grade, too," Karkat said, frowning at his own paper.
"Well, Karkat, you can't get through life simply yelling at people. Writing is a delicate art and you must weave your words and arguments together so that you convince, rather than forcing someone to agree with you." Rose smiled at him as he glared up at her. Then, he shrugged.
"Whatever. We'll work on that weaving shit later."
"What now?" Terezi gave her a grin of anticipation. "We don't have another paper. What do we need to work on?"
"Oh, I think it would be good for all of you to do some exercise writing," she said with a sly smile. "I'll give you freedom to choose your own topic, but be sure to incorporate the corrections Professor Snape gave you, as well as everything I've been trying to teach you. I'd like to see what you come up with in an hour." A few of the trolls groaned, but they knew better than to complain. One couldn't argue with results. They all got out quills and parchment and began writing.
Rose smiled to herself as she sat at a table alone, pulling out a book to read. When she had started all of this, she hadn't thought that she would enjoy it, but it was nice to help them learn. Maybe becoming a teacher wouldn't be a bad job in the future.
A few moments later, she looked up from her book when she heard footsteps. To her surprise, she saw John peeking his way around the book cases. A few trolls looked up, and Rose was quite sure she heard Karkat snigger. John seemed to as well. His face turned red as he approached her.
"Yes, John?" She asked, though from how nervous he was being, she thought she had an idea of what he wanted.
"Well, uh, Rose, I was wondering if you could, y'know, help me out with these papers? I know you helped out Karkat and Tavros and Feferi a lot, and, well, my last grade wasn't so great..." Rose couldn't help it. She smiled up at him.
"Of course, John. Sit down and we'll go over it together." She patted the free space next to her. He heaved a sigh of relief and plopped down with a grin before pulling out his paper.
When she saw what looked like a parchment massacre, she internally sighed.
It looked like the trolls weren't the only ones having difficulties adjusting.
I realized today during my Communications class that the trolls would likely try writing their first papers using their typing quirks, which, of course, would not go over well with any teacher.
Also, it occurred to me while writing this that there really aren't any writing classes at Hogwarts (that we know of, at least), and yet the students are required to write papers. How does that work? Not very well, I would imagine. And can you imagine having to actually write them all out? They don't even use typewriters, let alone computers. Augh.
Last edited by draconicAlgorithm; 04-04-2011 at 05:09 PM.
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.
Comments will happen later, when it's not a wacky hour.
For now,
Hot Blooded: Chapter 8
The first time he meets Auva Madris, she saves his life.
Tarfus fell to the dust with a grunt and lay where he fell, little puffs of dirt fountaining into the air with every breath. He groaned and regretted every decision he’d ever made up to and including the one where he’d agreed to serve as a demonstration aide for drill sergeantagonist Stratet. He was positive that she was not officially of any rank any longer, but he doubted anyone dared to correct her. She was terrifying. If the display earlier in the groupblock had been Stratet unsheathing her claws, then what she’d done to Tarfus in the past several hours had been her unleashing a comically oversized broadsword. And then wielding it with terrifying efficiency. On Tarfus’ entire body.
Repeatedly.
Tarfus shook his head. His metaphors were getting away from him, and that was always a sign that he was pushing his limits. He pushed himself up off the ground, and bounced to his feet, swaying slightly, sickle in hand, ready for whatever Stratet threw at him next. He was not ready for her to be facing away, addressing the gathered prospective-threshecutioners at large.
He didn’t wait for the crowd’s stares to give him away, and charged Stratet’s back. She’d taught them that there was no such thing as fighting dirty—only fighting to win. He intended to show her what he’d learned. If he happened to work out some aggression in the process, well, that was just a bonus, right?
Without looking away or interrupting her speech, Stratet’s sickle jerked out, caught Tarfus’ as it was descending and twisted, sending Tarfus’ weapon spinning out of his hand. Stratet jammed an elbow into Tarfus’ gut and brought her hand up in a close-fisted backhand against Tarfus’ nose. He staggered back, stumbled, and fell down into a sitting position, clutching his nose. It wasn’t bleeding, luckily, but it’d smart for the rest of the day.
“Can anyone tell me what Depinza here did wrong?” Stratet barked, resheathing her sickle. Before anyone had a chance to answer, she continued, “Of course you can’t! He didn’t do a damn thing wrong! He attacked his opponent when she was unprepared and with intent to kill! The reason he failed was because he’s a miserable failure of an excuse for a threshecutioner-wannabe! And if he’s a miserable failure, I don’t think I have the vocabulary for what that makes you!” She glanced at the horizon and nodded. “That’s all the time we have to stamp the failure out of you today! I expect you out here dark and early tomorrow!”
She turned to Tarfus, who was still perched on the ground. At her raised eyebrow he wearily raised himself to his feet and saluted halfheartedly. Stratet threw back a lazy salute, and Tarfus slumped into a slouch. “Am I going to be your training dummy again tomorrow?”
Stratet’s backhand caught him across the cheek and sent Tarfus reeling. “You will address your superiors with respect, soldier!” Her expression relaxed and she continued, “As to your question…I suspected that you showed promise. I tested that theory and you didn’t disappoint. I’ll do everything in my power to force my recruits to reach their full potential. If that means kicking your ass every day until you succeed, then that’s what I’ll do. If at any point you don’t feel like you can handle it, you’re welcome to back out. I’m sure I’ll have no trouble finding another wet recruit to box around for hours at a time.”
“So what? This is all in my best interest? You picked me out of nearly a hundred others just because you thought I ‘showed promise’?”
Stratet looked pointedly down at Tarfus’ arm. “I see you’ve recovered from your little mishap earlier.” She looked back up, and her stare drilled into Tarfus’. “No, it’s not just because you show promise. It’s because you’re going to need the extra training if you intend to live past thirteen sweeps old. I’m sure you’re well aware of the fact the world is not a kind place to the less fortunate.” Stratet paused for a moment to allow her words to sink in. “That’s enough talk for today. Dismissed, soldier.” And just like that, she walked away.
Tarfus glared at her retreating back for a moment before flinging his sickle down in disgust. And then immediately regretted it because that meant he had to bend down to retrieve it and auuuuughhh every single muscle was sore already goddammit. He stalked back toward the groupblock, wincing every third step and cursing Kulath Stratet’s name every other step.
So she thought she was doing him a favor because she knew he’d need to be tough, huh? And apparently doing favors had nothing to do with actually teaching him how to fight, but how to get his ass kicked in front of his entire training group. There might have been some actual lessons to be learned in between each of the merciless beatings he’d suffered at her hands tonight, but he’d be damned if he could pick them out amongst the whirlwind of agony and embarrassment. He guessed she thought that maybe a little bit of humility was good for him. Well fuck her. He’d grown up as humble as could be, thank you very much. He’d bet beetles to baked pastry that she’d enjoyed a cushy life growing up as greenblood. She’d probably never spent days at a time terrified of going outside after getting a cut she couldn’t hide. She’d probably never spent weeks barely subsisting on what food she could find around her hive because her lusus had been beaten to within an inch of his life by other five-sweep-olds for having the gall to raise a mutant. She’d probably never curled up to sleep at dawn next to her lusus, whispered entreaties to please get better please don’t die I don’t hate you I promise flowing ceaselessly while her lusus tried in vain to comfort her with bloodied claws.
Not that Tarfus would know anything about that.
Tarfus face was locked into a grimace with a dash of snarl as he stalked into an alley between two buildings. He was so wrapped up in his brooding that he didn’t notice when the other end of the alley was blocked by a body until he bumped into it. He looked up into the sneering face of another troll with a prominent pockmark scar on his chin.
Tarfus glared. “Get the fuck out of my way.”
Scar-chin smiled. “Sorry. Just happened to notice you had a little something on your arm.” The other troll reached into the tear in Tarfus’ jacket and ripped off the bandage covering his cut from earlier.
Fresh, bright red blood flowed from the reopened wound. Tarfus jerked back and swore. He looked up at his aggressor and bared his teeth.
“Saw it when the sergeantagonist sliced you open earlier. Don’t think you can hide your freaky mutant blood from the rest of us, gutter trash.” Two other trolls stepped out of bright spots where the rising sun’s light had hidden them. One was tall with thin, slender horns, and the other was of medium build with a pronounced fangy overbite.
“Guess that didn’t take long,” Tarfus muttered before delivering an uppercut to Scar-chin’s chin. No such thing as fighting dirty, he thought grimly, only fighting to win.
Scar-chin went down hard and scrambled to get up before Tarfus stomped on his chest and used him as a springboard to launch himself at Slender-horns. While the other troll was focused on his fists, Tarfus lashed out with his foot and caught Slender-horns in the upper thigh. When Tarfus landed, he used his momentum to push forward and knock his attacker off balance. The other troll stumbled back a few feet, and Tarfus was able to circle around, finally out of the alley. Tarfus darted forward and kicked Scar-chin in the head while he had the chance. No sense fighting more opponents if he didn’t have to.
The other two aggressors overcame their surprise at Tarfus’ violent opening and charged him. Tarfus caught a punch to the side and was tackled by Fang-face. There was a moment of weightlessness as both he and his opponent were airborne, followed by a teeth-rattling crash as back met dirt. Tarfus didn’t waste a second, and used his momentum, pushing up as he bounced, forcing his attacker a few inches off of him. He rolled out from underneath Fang-face and made it halfway to standing before Slender-horns grabbed him by his collar and yanked him up. Slender-horns drew his fist back and rammed it into Tarfus’ face. His vision blacked out for a moment and he saw stars. He came to just in time to spot a second fist on a collision course for his face. Thinking fast he looked down and to the side, and prayed he got the angle right.
A choked curse and his skull rattling like a struck bell indicated he had. He’d angled his head so the other troll had punched him straight in the horn. His weren’t sharp enough to pierce, but they were certainly hard enough to bruise. Slender-horns yelped and dropped him. Tarfus landed kneeling and exploded upward with a knee to his Slender-horns’ groin. He groaned and slumped to the ground. Tarfus turned and discovered a sicklepoint an inch from his throat. He froze.
“Let’s see how much of that sludge we can spill, eh?” said Fang-face.
And then a monster gave a throaty, whirring roar and demanded, “What, may I ask is happening right now?”
Tarfus peered around Fang-face’s head and discovered that what he’d thought was a monster’s roar was in fact a chainsaw’s roar. The chainsaw in question was being wielded by an irate-looking woman with one hooked horn and one straight one. Some shade of greenblood if the insignia on her jacket was any indication. The teeth of the chainsaw in question were whirring dangerously close to Fang-face’s neck. The attacker very carefully dropped his sickle and raised his hands.
The greenblood backed off several feet and Tarfus took the initiative because it seemed Fang-face was too busy focusing on not making any sudden moves or breathing too deeply. Tarfus punched him, knocking him down and out. He then spat on the ground next to Fang-face’s head. “These three jokers decided it was lowblood-culling day or some shit. I was pissed off to begin with, but this night’s just gotten shittier and shittier.” He paused. “Thanks for the save, by the way.” He unsheathed his sickle and approached the fallen trio.
“You’re welcome. But might I inquire as to what you’re doing now?”
Tarfus turned and raised an eyebrow. “What do you think? Culling these wastes of fucking air.”
The greenblood’s eyes widened. “Are you certain that’s wise?”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Are you unaware of the ‘no-culling’ policy? Killing a fellow recruit is grounds for execution. I highly doubt that it would be considered self defense at this point.”
Tarfus snarled. “Well isn’t that just my fucking luck! I’ll settle for second best then, goddammit!” He stalked over to Scar-chin—the apparent leader of the little trio—and kicked him in the ribs a few times. “Hey asshole, get up!”
Scar-chin curled up and opened his eyes blearily. “Whuzzit, ow, fckit. What?”
Tarfus leaned in close to other troll’s face until he was sure he had his attention. “You’re very lucky. You came this close to getting your head handed to you. If not for this considerate lady here, you’d be dead and bleeding right now. So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to walk away. I never see your face outside of training sessions again. I never talk to you again. I never have to deal with hemospectrum bullshit from you again. And just to make sure we’re clear, I’m going to leave you a goddamn parting gift!”
Awareness had been filtering back into Scar-chin’s eyes over the course of Tarfus’ rant, but as Tarfus lifted up the sickle, the other troll’s eyes went wide. Tarfus slammed the sickle point-first Scar-chin’s shoulder joint, just below the collarbone. He screamed and a splash of light blue colored the sickle’s blade. Tarfus drew back and the sickle remained wedged in the other troll’s body, handle jutting into the air.
Tarfus stalked away from the three fallen bodies without a backwards glance. The greenblood favored them with a brief glance before turning and following. Tarfus made it as far as the corner of a nearby building before slumping against the wall and sinking down. If he’d ached after training, he’d discovered a whole new tier of soreness. He had achieved ache-nirvana.
The greenblood woman joined him against the wall, her chainsaw oddly unaccounted for. Tarfus sucked in a shuddering breath and drew his knees to his chest. He held his hands out in front of himself, and discovered that they were shaking.
“You saved my life. And theirs,” he says without turning. “As cliché as it is, I gotta ask why.”
She remained silent for a moment before answering. “It seemed like the right thing to do,” she said simply.
Tarfus looked up and blinked. “What the fuck? That’s it?”
The girl shrugged. “Death for the sake of death seems like a needless waste to me.”
Tarfus blinked again and looked over at her. “I’m…pretty sure that among everyone I’ve ever met, you’re unique, Miss…?”
She stood up and held out a hand. Tarfus took it she pulled him to his feet. “Auva Madris. Negotiaterror-in-training. And you are?”
Tarfus noticed her attire for the first time—a pleated, heavily-starched skirt and a suit-coat top. Certainly not soldier wear. “Tarfus Depinza, future threshecutioner. I think you’re the first person I’ve said this to in sweeps but, Miss Madris, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She smiled.
Notes
This one came out really quickly. I'm kinda shocked at how easy it was to write. I feel like I definitely accomplished a lot more with this chapter than the previous. A little bit of Tarfus' childhood even managed to sneak it's way in there! Next chapter will be the last of the flashbacky bits for a while I think, so stay tuned!
@DraconicAlgorithm - as someone who has had to teach freshman writing courses before (AAAAAAAAAARGHHHHH) this bugs the HELL out of me in Harry Potter. That, and also stuff like WHERE DO THEY LEARN BASIC MATH!? Or other entry level stuff. So thanks for addressing it also this was funny and cute as usual.
@ lucidSeraph: Some stuff, like basic math and reading, I would assume they either learn from their parents or from going to muggle school. But advanced essay writing? Yeah, that's kind of important. :/ I'm glad I'm not the only one who thought of it!
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.
Man I feel like I'm totally stepping on PingZing's toes here, but here comes this thing
It's short and it took way too long to write but eh, it's kind of an establishing moment so here it is anyway
Re: Champion - Chapter 1: Determination
"Get up," the sergeant barks at Karkinos as he picks himself up off the floor, takes up his sickle and starts the training exercise over again.
It had only been three weeks since he had enlisted and left Alternia on a military cruiser with the rest of the new recruits. Karkinos had signed up with the Threshecutioners because these guys are the best of the best. He'd heard all the latest stories about them; supposedly a group of three of them managed to rout an entire formation of enemy troops and save one of the border colonies. The Threshecutioners are the baddest of the bad, with the hardest of cores.
And now he knows why: not everyone is cut out for the job.
The Alternian army allows its new recruits to select their positions, for the most part. Yes, the blood heirarchy plays a role in it, and what jobs you can do are restricted by the color flowing through your veins, but there is some flexibility, as it's considered generally acceptable for one to sign up for a position one color lower or higher than your own. But once you've decided, you'd better learn to like it and excel at it, because there are no transferrals, and not doing your job, either through incompetence or desertion, is punishable by culling.
The Threshecutioners are the exception. If the empire had to cull every eight sweep-old who in their dreams is the bad-ass, signed up to become one and couldn't make the cut, they'd end up slaughtering half the blue aristocracy of every generation! Not that the trial caverns didn't end up doing the same thing, but most of these kids who try and fail would be perfectly suited to other positions in the Alternian army. No sense in letting that talent go to waste, after all, so new Threshecutioner recruits are given three weeks before they're locked in.
(He never considers transferring. He doesn't have it in him to quit.)
----------
"Get up," the blueblood spits at Karkinos. He's bruised and leaking chemically-altered lime green blood from several places. The post-training beatings are getting worse. This is the Alternian army, son, not one of your stupid games for girls, the officer had said when Karkinos finally worked up the courage to go to the higher-ups about this. If you can't handle getting roughed up like that, you can't handle being a Threshecutioner.
Karkinos's training scores have gotten better in the last perigree. Better than most of his squad. And a lowly greenblood showing up his superiors has not gone unnoticed by those who bleed blue.
So they make him pay, away from the eyes of their commanding officer (not that he'd stop them). They exact their revenge on the swill-blooded cretin who dares to make them look foolish in front of their leaders. Every punch, every kick, every hit scores his battered body in a new way.
And he takes it. Because being a Threshecutioner means being tough. And tough guys don't have it in them to quit.
----------
"Get up," the nurserrator asks Karkinos as she looks over his injuries. No other soldier she's ever seen beaten this badly has gone back to training with such a single-minded determination as him. Anyone else would be asking for some recovery time to heal those bruised ribs, the left eye swollen shut, the missing teeth, and Jegus knows she's tried to reason with him about this more than once.
"Karkinos, please, you're killing me, coming in here with those injuries, and you're going to end up killing yourself if you keep this up. No one's going to think less of you if you take time off for this, the empire can't use a broken soldier!"
But she knows that's bullshit. If he stops now, those grubfucking asshole bluebloods win, and he won't abide that.
"Sorry, Avir. You know I can't do that."
She nods grimly at him and begins mentally preparing for his next visit to the medical bay. Each one seems to leave him a little worse off, but he'll keep going, because he doesn't have it in him to quit.
----------
-- totalAnnihilation [TA] began trolling crimsonGeneral [CG] --
TA: get up
TA: kark ii know you're there, a2leep
TA: fuck, of cour2e you aren't
TA: do thre2hecutiioner2 even get tiime off two do anythiing but 2leep
TA: anyway
TA: what2 thii2 ii'm hearing about you gettiing your a22 handed two you on a regular ba2ii2
TA: aviir'2 2aying 2he 2ee2 you iin 2iick bay almo2t every day and iit keep2 gettiing wor2e
TA: ii know you've got your priide two thiink about but
TA: you can't keep doiing thii2
TA: you're goiing two get your2elf culled iif you keep thii2 up
TA: ii mean jegu2 fuck kark, 2tand up for your2elf!
TA: there'2 a diiference between giiviing up and fiightiing back
TA: and you need two fiight the2e blue 2hiit2 a2 hard a2 you fuckiing can
TA: well
TA: ii've 2aiid my piiece
TA: ii ju2t fuckiing hope you lii2ten for once
Another day of training ends and the bluebloods have circled around him again in the locker room. Karkinos knows what's coming next, and he braces himself for it. One of them steps forward (it's always the same guy who attacks first) and snarls, "you ready to taste the floor again today, fruitblood?"
His fist crashes into Karkinos's jaw, but he remains standing, defiantly.
...the empire can't use a broken soldier!
"Looks like fruitblood's got a little spirit in him today!" He plants his foot in Karkinos's shin, but he does not trip.
...eh, I figure you kick everyone’s ass hard enough and they’ll stop giving you shit about it.
"Hey. Fucknut. What part of 'drop' don't you fucking understand?" He throws a haymaker at Karkinos's head.
He catches it effortlessly. The blueblood is dumbstruck.
...jegu2 fuck kark, 2tand up for your2elf!
Karkinos jerks his opponent's arm toward himself and plants his knee firmly in his gut, flipping him over and knocking him to the ground. He struggles to breathe, half because of the severity of the blow and half because what the hell just happened?
"Who else wants some of this?!" he taunts. The other three bluebloods take a few steps back instinctively. His attention returns to the one crumpled on the floor. He cocks his leg back and delivers a kick to the ribs that can be heard from outside the room.
("Get up," Karkinos spits at the fallen blueblood.)
Notes:
This was way too short to take this long to write. Actually I had a lot of stuff planned for the middle and end of this fic, but almost nothing for the beginning, so I wasn't sure how to proceed after the first chapter.
This is what I came up with. I hope it's good enough! But can this thread handle TWO Karkancestor fics? Man I hope so, going up against Hot Blooded won't be easy
Also I just realized I aped a lot of things from The End And What Comes After in the chapter before this (army ships coming in to pick up eight sweep-olds, the very idea of a drug that alters blood color), so this is my official shout-out to that work. Also I listed it as having inspired Re: Champion on AO3. This is me giving credit to that.
Last edited by anonymousComrade; 04-04-2011 at 06:18 PM.
Reason: giving credit where credit is due
Karkat-ancestor fic is the best thing ever, and seeing Karkat's ancestor kick ass is awesome, and I think it's absolutely great there's two stories running with it because it means twice the karkatcestor-asskicking-joy. Seriously. So much awesome I am running out of synonyms and need a thesaurus devoted solely to how great it is, okay?
/My two pence.
->Place insanely rambly sig under spoiler tag for the sanity of all involved
Your trolltag is catastrophicGenesis. You have very few typing quirks, although you sort of overuse punctuation and can sound kind of a bit hesitant to commit to any absolutes. You really quite like drawing and writing. You also enjoy sprite manipulations, and don't mind requests in that direction.
You have made fantrolls. Currently, you are not providing very much to [S] Rex Duodecim Angelus, but you think it would be awesome if more people did.
So, uh, I don't even know what happened here. I recalled something about Eridan and Sun Tzu, and I suddenly had to start writing. So here it is. Art of War
1- The dangers of land
Before one declares wwar against the land dwwellers, one must first consider the wwar itself. The land dwwellers, though scum, havve among their ranks the most powwerful trolls in all of trollkind. The vvile red and yelloww bloods can lay wwaste to fortresses wwith naught but a thought. Orange bloods can turn the vvery animals themselvves against us. The greens havve sheer numbers on their side, and the teals are notorious for their brutality. Some of the blues may havve loyalty to us, but wwe cannot count on them. Fortunately, the subjugglatin purples wwill side on the side wwith more blood to shed, and that wwill alwways be us.
…
12- On the use of Gl’bGolyb
Our greatest wweapon is surely this beast. Wwith her mere wwhispers, reds and oranges wwill fall dead wwhere they lay. Wwhen she speaks, the greens and teals wwill fall as wwell. Howwevver, the wway to provvoke her is most troublesome. Any pathetic slimeblood may sneak in and feed her and stop the cullin. And, lest wwe repeat the Sixteenth Crisis, wwe run the risk of starvvin her enough to wwipe out all but the highest of the vviolets. The final obstacle is her charge. Gl’bGolyb’s first and only allegiance is to her wwiggler. Often, these children, wwith idealistic dreams untouched by the crowwn, wwill not agree wwith the wwar and may evven try to stop it. Therefore, the child must be pacified and fooled into believvin all is wwell in the galaxy.
…
14- The most dangerous foe
But evven if all else is accounted for: the land dwwellers’ powwers, the spies, the star fleet, Gl’bGolyb, there is one major wweakness all leaders face. It is knowwn in twwo parts: lovve and hate. As a sad fact of life, many of us indigos and even vviolets may find ourselvves devvelopin attractions and hatreds amongst the scum. And it is this that can be the greatest wweapon against us. Lovve can strike strong as a trident, precise as a needle, and random as a die. Lovve can strike through the hardest armor, can parry the greatest wweapon, and can ignore the strongest muscle. Lovve can blind us to our mission; can make us feel pity or hate or anythin not related to wwipin out the scumbloods. But the wworst part about lovve is that it is still beautiful.
(AN: The ellipses between the sections represent skipped chapters that I couldn't think to write.)
hhhhhhi I took drabble requests on tumblr earlier and now tumblr is inexplicably broken for me and I got one, but it ended up... long, so I guess it isn't much of a drabble anymore. I'm shit at thinking of titles though, SO.
Dave/Aradiaand no one was surprised
Whoops this kind of turned into a full-blown fic.
“So,” Dave started, plopping down on his bed. “I’m dead, he’s dead, and you’re alive.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Aradia stood nearby, positively glowing with a lively air. Tavros lurked close by, distracted by his own ‘sick fires’.
Dave leaned back on his palms. “Since you’re alive and kicking, unlike us two poor losers, shouldn’t you be - I dunno - doing stuff? Like saving the universe with your godlevel time skills?”
The girl had to suppress a chuckle at that. “I have my part to play, but that will come in time. And time is something we have a lot of. And remember;” she gestured around them, “this a dream bubble. Time doesn’t work the same way in dreams as it does when you’re awake.” At least, she was pretty sure it worked the same way for trolls and humans. It couldn’t be that far off.
Clicking his tongue slightly, Dave might have given her an oh yeah, you’re right sort of look if only it weren’t for his shades hiding his eyes from view. Not that his eyes would have any life in them anyway; they were probably white and blank, like hers were before the game began. “So I guess you wanna hang out with some dead dudes in the meantime?”
“Sure, why not?” She walked over to the bed nimbly and plopped down beside him, silently marvelling at how soft and squishy human sleeping apparatuses were. “I’m used to the presence of the dead, anyway.”
Dave wasn’t sure whether that meant being used to dying in doomed timelines over and over again, as he has surely been doing, or if it was something else entirely. He did know achieving the god tiers required death on the quest bed - if only he had stayed asleep for a minute longer, perhaps he would have been slain on his quest bed when that dog-headed freak slashed his throat, and reached that level. But no, he had to wake up at that moment and hop off the goddamn bed and get killed like a moron. And of course Future Dave had to chicken out and not kill him when he had the chance. If there was one thing Dave Strider was seemingly horrible at, it was staying alive.
“Can I ask you something?”
Dave popped out of his mental tangent and looked at her. Whoa, she seemed awfully close all of a sudden. Her eyes were shifting between his head and his clothes. Not that he minded. Just another chick struck with Severe Strider Attraction, no doubt. “‘Sup.”
“You were rotating through your outfits earlier,” Oh yeah, when he was trying to remember his death. “But it happened pretty fast. Could I see them again?”
An eyebrow arched up. “‘You asking me to model my suits for you?”
“Yes,” Obviously. She tilted her head; a few locks of hair spilled out from within her hood. “Is that a strange request?”
“Nah. It’s cool.” He stood up and began cycling through his sylladex’s inventory. “Kinda didn’t expect something like that, though.”
Aradia let out a giggle and bounced ever so slightly in her seat, tucking her hair back into her hood. “It’s curiosity more than anything, really. I’m wondering what human fashion really looks like.”
“Well, shit, you’ve undoubtedly come to the right place,” he snorted, selecting his first suit on the menu. “There ain’t many people out there with more style than Dave motherfucking Strider.”
Trolls generally didn’t care for fashion. Clothes were colorless and utilitarian in purpose. Individuals with an interest in fashion like Kanaya were often ridiculed, but Kanaya in particular was a special case in many things. Personally, Aradia liked what her jade-blooded friend could come up with, but she had little use for any of the garments she made. They would surely have gotten damaged in her excavation trips anyway. She made a note to ask her about that whenever possible, even if it was to be limited to timeless dream bubbles.
The Knight clicked on his selection. Like a hologram going out of focus and back in, his t-shirt and jeans were replaced by a fancy white and black suit and red bowtie. “This is the one Davesprite handed me before becoming, y’know, Davesprite.” There was a slight pause during which he glanced down at his sylladex and back up at her. “I don’t need to parade around like I’m on a fucking catwalk now, am I?”
Aradia chortled at his comment. “Not if you don’t want to. That would be pretty silly,” - a beat - “but it would be pretty funny, too.”
He arched a brow again and took the time to adjust his bowtie. “You don’t have to be shy, Aradia. Just admit it. All the ladies want to see this coolkid’s fine ass walking around and owning that catwalk.”
“I’m not sure if it’s your ass I’d want to see walk around, but okay.” Narcissism always struck Aradia as a strange and creepy thing, but somehow, when it was Dave, it just seemed hilarious. Hilarious and quite… she couldn’t decide between ‘endearing’ and ‘charming’. Nevertheless, she kept quiet about that as Dave probably rolled his blank eyes behind his shades and switched to the next outfit.
“Pretty much the same shit here,” Dave mumbled, flexing his arms in the stiff black suit. “Except this is a bitch to move in.”
“It doesn’t look very comfortable, no,” Aradia agreed, crossing a leg over the other and tilting her head at it.
“-Oh, this one’s pretty sweet.” He switched to the next suit and ran a hand over the sleeve. “My battle pajamas.”
“Battle pajamas? That’s pretty strange.” Aradia uncrossed her legs and stood from her seat. “Can I-?”
“Yeah, sure.”
She reached out and ran a hand across his sleeve, feeling the soft fuzziness of the fabric under her fingers. “Ohhh… okay, I can see why you call them like that.”
“Yeah, it’s a sick 180 from that last suit. This one kinda rocks.”
“The color suits you, too.”
“Pretty sure everything suits me at this point.”
“And- hehe, we kind of match!”
“Do we?” Dave finally pried his eyes away from his sylladex at looked at Aradia. Vibrant red, dark red, really dark red, a bit of black and some white… yeah, at least the colors were similar. Only she was a god fairy alien thing with sparkly wings and he was dead. “Huh. We do.” He paused ever so slightly upon realizing that she was still stroking his sleeve, marvelling at how soft it was. “… Oh, you already saw the other one. That ugly green piece of shit.”
She finally let go of his arm (not that he really minded it) at that. “I liked it, but yes, I saw it better than the other ones.”
Ugh, how could she even- you know what, whatever. Aliens. “So did that satisfy your strange otherworldly curiosity with Strider fashion?”
“Yes, somewhat!… But now I have another request.”
Oh boy. He wondered what it would be this time? This one wasn’t much of a bother - actually, he was pretty chill with it - but he couldn’t help but question that stuff. Part of him wondered if she was going to ask him to do some wacky alien courting ritual because there was no doubt in his mind that all these troll chicks were falling for him like flies. Who could say otherwise in the face of Strider awesomeness? “Shoot.”
She hesitated for a slight moment as she fumbled with her hands. “Can I… can I touch your hair?”
There went his eyebrow, arching up again. “My hair.”
“Yes, I mean. I’ve never seen light hair before, and human hair texture even looks different-“
“A’ight, sure.” He put his hands in his pockets. “But I wanna see yours. Without the hood. Not that it doesn’t look cool or anything.”
Aradia smiled and unbuttoned her hood. She shook her mass of hair as she pulled the hood down, dark locks spilling down her back and shoulders. She had to hold back a giggle when Dave’s other eyebrow went up above his shades, but otherwise remained pokerfaced. She reached up (and he bowed his head down ever so slightly to accomodate her) and tentatively ran a hand through his hair. Meanwhile, he reached behind her and picked a lock of hair, feeling it between his fingers. He didn’t know much about hair textures, but whatever textures she was familiar with, they sure as hell seemed to resemble human ones, because hers was really soft and bouncy. Maybe being a god gave you perfect silky hair.
There was a prolonged moment of silence as the two examined the other’s hair that seemed to finally slow to a halt when their eyes met (or would have, were it not for Dave’s shades and his lack of visible irises). Aradia smiled as she began to pull away and Dave couldn’t help but smirk ever so slightly.
“Oh, uhhhh,”
They turned in the direction of Tavros’ sudden voice. He was standing in the doorframe and a crackling sound and the smell of smoke could be detected from the other room.
“I think… I may have caused a problem. Over there.”
“Motherfuck-“
Dave rushed out of the room, shoving Tavros to the side on his way out, and left Aradia alone to giggle to herself.
@nikeathena Slice-of-life stuff is great and I really liked this one. Dallas is a perfect setting for the Striders and I really thought you did a good job of describing it from Dave's eyes and of capturing the Strider bros witty banter.
My only complaint is that you switched to past tense in the middle section. You may have had a reason but I didn't pick up on it and it was kinda jarring. Other than that though, really good work!
Replies
@lantadyme Thanks! I had a lot of fun writing it so I'm sure this is only the beginning of the addiction.
@draconicAlgorithm Haha, yeah there isn't much of a hook, only a bluh text wall. The first scene was really supposed to just be a quiet standalone thing. If I had the chance to do a rewrite I'd definitely start the plot earlier.
As for more, I have more to say on the subject and I'm obviously not very good at shutting myself up so it's probably an inevitability. :P
Thank you everyone, I am so happy! All of your comments make me want to write more!
@draconicAlgorythm: *embarrassed laugh* I was actually reading your stuff and thinking "welp, can't top this!" Before posting.
@fqllve: Thank you, I don't generally switch tenses, but when I do, I'm trying to convey a difference in atmosphere. Sorry that it got confusing! I find present tense conveys more immediacy, and past tense allows you to talk about really horrible things in a casual way.
lantadyme - Gah, I love your Davesprite. He's so tragic and sad and more mature than alpha-Dave.
Jim - I totally laughed at Dick's one-liner. I am also shamelessly juvenile so *shrug*. But that was an awesome conclusion to the action segment. I cannot help but love your CD. He's so adorable and oblivious.
fqllve - Wow, that was really good. I assume it takes place in an AU where Sburb never happened?
nikeanthena - That was also excellent! Slice-of-life with the Strider brothers never fails to fill me with warm fuzzies, and you did not disappoint.
Evy - Oh man, Dave/Aradia is the best thing. It doesn't matter how illogical it is, it is just really cute and you totally captured that.
Responses to other people's comments!
Originally Posted by ProspitDreamer
It might be filler to you, because you already know the whole story. But to me, this was the least-fillery of everything so far. I feel like I finally got information on this Tarfus guy. We were kinda just thrown into the action with him in the beginning, and now we're getting to learn who he is. The time jump from the last chapter has me a little confused, but that's fine since I'm waiting for an upcoming resolution to that.
In short, I liked this chapter of Hot Blooded a lot!
This is actually really useful feedback! Thank you!
Originally Posted by Jim Groovester
Timely comment dump.
@PingZing: Any useful backstory isn't filler. Well, not complete filler, anyway. Still, interesting nonetheless.
Two for two. Guess I'll keep that in mind.
Originally Posted by death'sbuddy
I really, really love Hot Blooded. Keep it up!
Thanks!
Originally Posted by anonymousComrade
Man I feel like I'm totally stepping on PingZing's toes here, but here comes this thing
Notes:
This was way too short to take this long to write. Actually I had a lot of stuff planned for the middle and end of this fic, but almost nothing for the beginning, so I wasn't sure how to proceed after the first chapter.
This is what I came up with. I hope it's good enough! But can this thread handle TWO Karkancestor fics? Man I hope so, going up against Hot Blooded won't be easy
Also I just realized I aped a lot of things from The End And What Comes After in the chapter before this (army ships coming in to pick up eight sweep-olds, the very idea of a drug that alters blood color), so this is my official shout-out to that work. Also I listed it as having inspired Re: Champion on AO3. This is me giving credit to that.
Dude, not at all. The more Karkancestor fics, the better. We will fill this thread with concentrated badass. I am also greatly enjoying this.
Originally Posted by catastrophicGenesis
Karkat-ancestor fic is the best thing ever, and seeing Karkat's ancestor kick ass is awesome, and I think it's absolutely great there's two stories running with it because it means twice the karkatcestor-asskicking-joy. Seriously. So much awesome I am running out of synonyms and need a thesaurus devoted solely to how great it is, okay?
/My two pence.
This gentleman or perhaps lady seems to agree--thank you!
hhhhhhi I took drabble requests on tumblr earlier and now tumblr is inexplicably broken for me and I got one, but it ended up... long, so I guess it isn't much of a drabble anymore. I'm shit at thinking of titles though, SO.
Dave/Aradiaand no one was surprised
Whoops this kind of turned into a full-blown fic.
“So,” Dave started, plopping down on his bed. “I’m dead, he’s dead, and you’re alive.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Aradia stood nearby, positively glowing with a lively air. Tavros lurked close by, distracted by his own ‘sick fires’.
Dave leaned back on his palms. “Since you’re alive and kicking, unlike us two poor losers, shouldn’t you be - I dunno - doing stuff? Like saving the universe with your godlevel time skills?”
The girl had to suppress a chuckle at that. “I have my part to play, but that will come in time. And time is something we have a lot of. And remember;” she gestured around them, “this a dream bubble. Time doesn’t work the same way in dreams as it does when you’re awake.” At least, she was pretty sure it worked the same way for trolls and humans. It couldn’t be that far off.
Clicking his tongue slightly, Dave might have given her an oh yeah, you’re right sort of look if only it weren’t for his shades hiding his eyes from view. Not that his eyes would have any life in them anyway; they were probably white and blank, like hers were before the game began. “So I guess you wanna hang out with some dead dudes in the meantime?”
“Sure, why not?” She walked over to the bed nimbly and plopped down beside him, silently marvelling at how soft and squishy human sleeping apparatuses were. “I’m used to the presence of the dead, anyway.”
Dave wasn’t sure whether that meant being used to dying in doomed timelines over and over again, as he has surely been doing, or if it was something else entirely. He did know achieving the god tiers required death on the quest bed - if only he had stayed asleep for a minute longer, perhaps he would have been slain on his quest bed when that dog-headed freak slashed his throat, and reached that level. But no, he had to wake up at that moment and hop off the goddamn bed and get killed like a moron. And of course Future Dave had to chicken out and not kill him when he had the chance. If there was one thing Dave Strider was seemingly horrible at, it was staying alive.
“Can I ask you something?”
Dave popped out of his mental tangent and looked at her. Whoa, she seemed awfully close all of a sudden. Her eyes were shifting between his head and his clothes. Not that he minded. Just another chick struck with Severe Strider Attraction, no doubt. “‘Sup.”
“You were rotating through your outfits earlier,” Oh yeah, when he was trying to remember his death. “But it happened pretty fast. Could I see them again?”
An eyebrow arched up. “‘You asking me to model my suits for you?”
“Yes,” Obviously. She tilted her head; a few locks of hair spilled out from within her hood. “Is that a strange request?”
“Nah. It’s cool.” He stood up and began cycling through his sylladex’s inventory. “Kinda didn’t expect something like that, though.”
Aradia let out a giggle and bounced ever so slightly in her seat, tucking her hair back into her hood. “It’s curiosity more than anything, really. I’m wondering what human fashion really looks like.”
“Well, shit, you’ve undoubtedly come to the right place,” he snorted, selecting his first suit on the menu. “There ain’t many people out there with more style than Dave motherfucking Strider.”
Trolls generally didn’t care for fashion. Clothes were colorless and utilitarian in purpose. Individuals with an interest in fashion like Kanaya were often ridiculed, but Kanaya in particular was a special case in many things. Personally, Aradia liked what her jade-blooded friend could come up with, but she had little use for any of the garments she made. They would surely have gotten damaged in her excavation trips anyway. She made a note to ask her about that whenever possible, even if it was to be limited to timeless dream bubbles.
The Knight clicked on his selection. Like a hologram going out of focus and back in, his t-shirt and jeans were replaced by a fancy white and black suit and red bowtie. “This is the one Davesprite handed me before becoming, y’know, Davesprite.” There was a slight pause during which he glanced down at his sylladex and back up at her. “I don’t need to parade around like I’m on a fucking catwalk now, am I?”
Aradia chortled at his comment. “Not if you don’t want to. That would be pretty silly,” - a beat - “but it would be pretty funny, too.”
He arched a brow again and took the time to adjust his bowtie. “You don’t have to be shy, Aradia. Just admit it. All the ladies want to see this coolkid’s fine ass walking around and owning that catwalk.”
“I’m not sure if it’s your ass I’d want to see walk around, but okay.” Narcissism always struck Aradia as a strange and creepy thing, but somehow, when it was Dave, it just seemed hilarious. Hilarious and quite… she couldn’t decide between ‘endearing’ and ‘charming’. Nevertheless, she kept quiet about that as Dave probably rolled his blank eyes behind his shades and switched to the next outfit.
“Pretty much the same shit here,” Dave mumbled, flexing his arms in the stiff black suit. “Except this is a bitch to move in.”
“It doesn’t look very comfortable, no,” Aradia agreed, crossing a leg over the other and tilting her head at it.
“-Oh, this one’s pretty sweet.” He switched to the next suit and ran a hand over the sleeve. “My battle pajamas.”
“Battle pajamas? That’s pretty strange.” Aradia uncrossed her legs and stood from her seat. “Can I-?”
“Yeah, sure.”
She reached out and ran a hand across his sleeve, feeling the soft fuzziness of the fabric under her fingers. “Ohhh… okay, I can see why you call them like that.”
“Yeah, it’s a sick 180 from that last suit. This one kinda rocks.”
“The color suits you, too.”
“Pretty sure everything suits me at this point.”
“And- hehe, we kind of match!”
“Do we?” Dave finally pried his eyes away from his sylladex at looked at Aradia. Vibrant red, dark red, really dark red, a bit of black and some white… yeah, at least the colors were similar. Only she was a god fairy alien thing with sparkly wings and he was dead. “Huh. We do.” He paused ever so slightly upon realizing that she was still stroking his sleeve, marvelling at how soft it was. “… Oh, you already saw the other one. That ugly green piece of shit.”
She finally let go of his arm (not that he really minded it) at that. “I liked it, but yes, I saw it better than the other ones.”
Ugh, how could she even- you know what, whatever. Aliens. “So did that satisfy your strange otherworldly curiosity with Strider fashion?”
“Yes, somewhat!… But now I have another request.”
Oh boy. He wondered what it would be this time? This one wasn’t much of a bother - actually, he was pretty chill with it - but he couldn’t help but question that stuff. Part of him wondered if she was going to ask him to do some wacky alien courting ritual because there was no doubt in his mind that all these troll chicks were falling for him like flies. Who could say otherwise in the face of Strider awesomeness? “Shoot.”
She hesitated for a slight moment as she fumbled with her hands. “Can I… can I touch your hair?”
There went his eyebrow, arching up again. “My hair.”
“Yes, I mean. I’ve never seen light hair before, and human hair texture even looks different-“
“A’ight, sure.” He put his hands in his pockets. “But I wanna see yours. Without the hood. Not that it doesn’t look cool or anything.”
Aradia smiled and unbuttoned her hood. She shook her mass of hair as she pulled the hood down, dark locks spilling down her back and shoulders. She had to hold back a giggle when Dave’s other eyebrow went up above his shades, but otherwise remained pokerfaced. She reached up (and he bowed his head down ever so slightly to accomodate her) and tentatively ran a hand through his hair. Meanwhile, he reached behind her and picked a lock of hair, feeling it between his fingers. He didn’t know much about hair textures, but whatever textures she was familiar with, they sure as hell seemed to resemble human ones, because hers was really soft and bouncy. Maybe being a god gave you perfect silky hair.
There was a prolonged moment of silence as the two examined the other’s hair that seemed to finally slow to a halt when their eyes met (or would have, were it not for Dave’s shades and his lack of visible irises). Aradia smiled as she began to pull away and Dave couldn’t help but smirk ever so slightly.
“Oh, uhhhh,”
They turned in the direction of Tavros’ sudden voice. He was standing in the doorframe and a crackling sound and the smell of smoke could be detected from the other room.
“I think… I may have caused a problem. Over there.”
“Motherfuck-“
Dave rushed out of the room, shoving Tavros to the side on his way out, and left Aradia alone to giggle to herself.
oh my god you're just as good a writer as you are an artist
God I can't stay mad at Noir.
He's just.
He's like when a tiny puppy murders a squirrel and brings the corpse into your house as a present to you and it's wagging its tail and is SO PROUD of itself.
Then it goes into your house, tears your couch apart, and shits on all of your carpets.
@nikeathena Ah, I see what you're saying. That's a clever idea, and true in my experience. The way I had read it was that you were using past tense for things that had already happened and for hypotheticals so the big change kinda threw me off. Maybe a break in the text would help ease into it?
@PingZing Mhm. While I was writing I pretended that AU was our universe.
Absolutely hysterical and cute at the same time. Approval by Bro is +1 on the coolness scale for Tavros!
Dave Strider / Cal
Stage
That was incredibly creepy. Cal's creepiness just went up +20...
Jade Harley / Spades Slick
Hobbits
That was...well, with a weird prompt like that, weirdness has to result. In all, it was pretty creative. I laughed the whole time.
Dave Strider / John Egbert
Roses
It was double cute, then triple cute, and then WHAM, smack into grimdark. *shudders* Of these four, this was definitely the best story with the most emotion behind it. I don't think I'll get this one out of my head...
In all, for four "I had nothing to do" stories, these were excellent.
Man I am so glad that the pesterchum conversation coloring tool exists.
Do you kindly have a link to it? I had one and lost it...
@Jim Groovester-
@Prospit Dreamer: Is What It Takes an excuse to have everybody makeout with each other? I've found you out, Prospit Dreamer. (Also don't stop.)
*makes completely innocent face* I don't know what you're talking about. My story consists of all extremely relevant plot. (Also, I couldn't stop myself if I tried. Which I won't)
@PingZing-
Squeeee!!! Best chapter yet, best best best! All of it was awesome! I could just hear the inspiration oozing out of the pages. Fight scene= amazing (that and with aC's fic, I guess it's just Karkat's ancestor gets beat up day) Also:
She’d probably never curled up to sleep at dawn next to her lusus, whispered entreaties to please get better please don’t die I don’t hate you I promise flowing ceaselessly while her lusus tried in vain to comfort her with bloodied claws.
You made me choke on a lump in my throat with that one. What an awesome detail.
@anonymousComrade-
I love the idea that Karkinos is just biding his time until the proper moment, like a predetor that sits and waits while they prey crawls all over it until the proper time, and then when they realize their mistake its too late...this got very exciting at the end.
@Evy-
Soooooooooooooo cute. The details made it very good- especially the constant reminders that yes, we are dead up in here. Made it feel surreal, as it should. Also I love Dave x anyone so thank you!
A Mental Construct And Coping Device Presented In A Charming Letter Format
Dear Mother,
I am uncertain how to say this, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. It is not, after all, like this is being inscribed in a physical format, as I am currently enveloped in a mental and physical state that is rather unusual for me, and this letter is but a mental construct being used as a coping device. Moreover, it would be most impossible for you to ever peruse this even if I were writing this, because at this moment, your scarlet lifeblood is seeping into the surface under your mangled body.
I digress. What I have to say is this. Mother, the last time I saw you, my only thought was of getting past you. I had recently elaborated on what I now suspect was an entirely onesided war of passive-aggressiveness, and you were but a mere obstacle in my way. Furthermore, I now must offer the viewpoint that if genuine, your advances were proof of the fact that you were, I’m sorry to say, more then a little unstable in your mental facilities. It is without a doubt a fact that your consumption of alcoholic beverages was unusually high, however, so perhaps that can offer an explaination. Perhaps, too, you imbibed because you were, as John would no doubt charmingly say, a few cards short of a full deck.
I used to presume it was on account of me, you know.
Yes, I would report you to be an unsatisfactory progenitor, but then I brood over the ‘good times’, and find myself awestruck over how little I appreciated you, which only further cements the-
Oh fuck. I can’t do this. I can’t do this, mommy, I miss you, I love you, I need you, I’m so cold, please wake up please wake up please wake up I’ll be better I promise.
A Mental Construct And Coping Device Presenting In A Charming Letter Format
Dear Mother,
I am uncertain how to say this, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. It is not, after all, like this is being enscribed in a physical format, as I am currently enveloped in a mental and physical state that is rather unusual for me, and this letter is but a mental construct being used as a coping device. Moreover, it would be most impossible for you to ever peruse this even if I were writing this, because at this moment, your scarlet lifeblood is seeping into the surface under your mangled bady.
I digress. What I have to say is this. Mother, the last time I saw you, my only thought was of getting past you. I had recently elaborated on what I now suspect was an entirely onesided war of passive-agressiveness, and you were but a mere obstacle in my way. Furthermore, I now must offer the viewpoint that if genuine, your advances were proof of the fact that you were, I’m sorry to say, more then a little unstable in your mental facilities. It is without a doubt a fact that your consumption of alcoholic beverages was unusually high, however, so perhaps that can offer an explaination. Perhaps, too, you imbibed because you were, as John would no doubt charmingly say, a few cards short of a full deck.
I used to presume it was on account of me, you know.
Yes, I would report you to be an unsatisfactory progenitor, but then I brood over the ‘good times’, and find myself awestruck over how little I appreciated you, which only further cements the-
Oh fuck. I can’t do this. I can’t do this, mommy, I miss you, I love you, I need you, I’m so cold, please wake up please wake up please wake up I’ll be better I promise.
please
And I start actually crying a little. That's hard to do. Good job.
@Jim Groovester- Yet another hardboiled chapter of hardboiledness. I'm sorta amazed at the occasional moments of felt competence, given how they usually are portrayed in your fic.
Anyway, don't let my ramblings allow your brainpans to melt for too long. 
Originally Posted by PingZing
