MSPA Fanfiction VI: Trashy Rainbow Drinker Fanfiction

[FieryBlacksmith]

Um, hi... So this is my first Homestuck fanfic and stuff... and I'm by no means a writer at all, but... I thought I would post it anyway. : x Hope you guys like it, not sure if there will ever be more, though. >_> Also it doesn't have a name yet.

AmIdoin'thisright?

Prologue

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They had been too late.

They had made it work, though. Their session, which had been barren, had managed to produce exactly what they thought it would be unable to -- a universe. They had beaten their game, defeated the evil, saved Skaia, and put things back the way they should have been.

But they were still too late.

When they arrived in the Troll's hideout to get them and take them to the new universe, the twelve were already dead.

They'd never even gotten to speak.

John had cried. Jade had joined in with him. Even Rose and Dave seemed hurt by the development.

It just wasn't fair...

...

It took a while, but they managed to drag all twelve to their door, the one that they would go through to get to their universe.

It seemed right, that way.

Somehow.

The others deferred to John to be the one to open the large, green door. He was their leader, after all, and no matter how much he didn't want them to think of him as anything other than a friend, he could respect their decision.

Reaching out, he touched the doorknob lightly, half expecting someone to interrupt as Karkat had told him had happened to the trolls. But there was only silence and stillness, and so he grabbed it more forcefully, pulling the heavy door open with strength he didn't know he still had.

White light shone from the inside, but he could see nothing else inside. He shrugged back at his friends, taking a few steps backwards.

The group regarded the light, before wordlessly gathering the trolls's bodies -- quite a feat considering each one would have to drag three trolls -- and struggled with their loads as they approached the light.

After hesitating a few moments, they jumped, pulling the bodies of the trolls in after them.

...

What do you want most from this universe?

There was no audible question, but deep down, John could feel the question rattle his bones.

At first, he had no answer.

What right did he have to ask anything of the game, after it had shown already that it was superior -- that it had no regard for it's players or it's world or session or anything. No regard for the players' friends and family...

And then he knew.

No matter what sort of world it was, no matter what sort of universe they wound up in, it would be okay... as long as they came back to life.

Those who had died during the course of this game. That was what he wanted most from their new universe.

"Bring them back... Bring them back! Everyone who died!

"Bring them back so they can live with us too!"

His friends must have thought the same, for although he couldn't see them for the blinding light around him -- he couldn't even see the three trolls he'd dragged through the door with him, despite having been holding on to them until what must have been recently, he didn't remember letting go of them -- he could somehow feel their presence, comforting him and supporting his words.

And the game heard his plea.

And he gasped.

Choking on nothing, his chest felt like it were being squeezed, all the breath forcing its way from his lungs until it felt like he were going to collapse on itself. The air was gone.

At the same moment, space and time seemed to distort -- he could no longer keep track of where his own body parts were, or how long he had been suffocating like this, the only sign of passing time being his sight, slowly fading to black. And then, as he was losing every bit of himself to this horrid sensation, blinding light hit him, searing his eyes, and he heard screaming -- some of it may have been his own.

And then everything stopped.

...

Chapter 1

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Coughing.

"Are you all right? You should really try not to tire yourself out."

"I'm... I'm fine... Any luck?"

Rose heaved a heavy sigh, pulling at a few stray strands of hair that had fallen from her hairband, the slightest frown gracing her face. Her pale eyes stared straight ahead behind lilac-tinted glasses, as her hand moved from her hair to the back of her neck, which she massaged. Her eyes had once been a brilliant shade of lavender, but they no longer had the same color.

They had all lost something, when they had arrived in their new universe, on their new home planet. The light had burned her eyes beyond repair -- she still had those eyes, but she would never see from them again. For the others, they suffered different kinds of damage, due to the presumable loss of their titles, and with it, their powers. Jade had lost her sense of touch, and could no longer feel the space around her. Dave had lost all sense of time -- perhaps not a bad price to pay at a glance, but it was worse than it sounded.

And John? Along with his immortality as a god, he had lost his breath, and picked up a pretty severe case of asthma.

The world was the same, mostly.

The geography was different, as well as the history, he supposed, but aside from that, it was practically the same as the Earth they had known from before.

The four had awoken in houses all shockingly near each other, each back with their respective guardians who had died before. It was a relief, of course, to see their loved ones alive again, and with no memory of the horrors that had occurred during the time of SBURB.

But this begged the question -- had the trolls been reborn as well? They had hoped so, but so far had seen no sign of their friends.

Soon, the kids would have to resume normal life... for whatever worth normal was after all they'd been through. They had been living two years in their new world, recovering from terrors that plagued them still. Their guardians had kept careful watch on the four, and had home-schooled them so they would not fall behind in the new society. Eventually, however, they knew that they would have to come to grips with the fact that, even if the trolls had been reborn, they would never find them. The world was simply too big.

And yet, John still refused.

"John, we don't even know if it worked...! I know it's hard, but..." It was Jade who had answered.

"No, I know it worked! It had to have worked..."

John coughed again a bit, and was met with a friendly clap on the shoulder by Dave, who had just arrived. He couldn't be anywhere at the right time to save his life, not even the little meetings the four had.

"C'mon. I'll walk you home."

John sniffed and nodded. Dave waved curtly to the two ladies before leading John away from the alley, asking nonchalantly of the whereabouts of John's inhaler as they left, in case the boy had another wheezing fit on the way home.

The girls lingered a moment, before Rose heaved another heavy sigh.

"He realizes we wish for the same, correct?" Her words were slow and careful. Jade knew she missed Kanaya -- the only person she'd been able to have a conversation with on even ground -- just like Dave missed Terezi and John missed Karkat and Vriska. And just as she missed Tavros and the others as well. They all had the same hope that, some day, they would find the trolls. But they had to know when to give up, as well.

It seemed only John didn't know when to quit.

Jade shrugged in response to Rose's question, sighing as well so that Rose would be aware of the response even if she couldn't see it, before grabbing Rose's hand.

"I can find my way home on my own."

"I know..."

...










Your name is CARTER VERITAS, and you are REALLY BORED.

It's that time right before class starts, where everyone is beginning to shuffle into the room, before even the teacher arrives, and you hate it. Of course, you don't particularly like it once class starts, either, but at least then you have something to do.

You lean back in your chair, kicking your feet up onto your desk (but not onto your binder and shit, that is a complete waste and who likes dirt on their papers?), and groan just about as obnoxiously as you can. Next to you, your best friend, Sun-tae -- stupid Korean names, you can hardly pronounce the damn thing -- snorts into his bottle of orange juice.

"Ah, thit. Look what you made me do." He smirks, smacking you lightly on the back of the head before pulling up his shirt to wipe his face off on. He then takes off his glasses and dries them off as well. Of course, now his shirt looks like he barfed on it or something, but hell if you're gonna say that.

Not.

"Whatever, it was your dumb ass that spit up your drink. And now you look like you made a mess like some goddamn kindergardener."

"Yeah, whatever you thay, CT."

The two of you had always had this sort of relationship. Honestly, it was a little strange. You felt like you had know him forever the second you had met.

And it wasn't just him.

There were a few people in your class you could safely say you felt you had known all your life, even ones you had never talked to.

Tracey, for instance. She was a strange girl, from what you had seen and heard. Not to mention she had the strangest maniacal laugh to ever grate your eardrums. She colored things with chalk like a first grader, and had a habit of tasting everything, even that one science experiment... but that's a different story. She had eye problems, so wore glasses just like your dumbass best friend, and where his lenses were retarded and bicolored, hers were simply red.

Feliza sat in a corner of the classroom, but you knew she was one of them too. She always smiled, and people loved her. You were never sure why she always sat in the corner, but you knew she had a crush on Sun. And the idiot liked her back. They'd never talked, but it was as if the entire universe had wanted them to be together -- they were in every class together, and they lived fairly close. Whenever you hung out with him at the mall or whatever, you'd always run into her, and she would blush, and he would blush, and you would facepalm.

Even Katlyn, a long-time friend of yours, was one of the people you felt strangely nostalgic with.

There were others. Some you didn't know the names of, but you knew them. Or you felt like you did. The feeling was a mutual one -- a silent acknowledgement between strangers who should have maybe been something more.

But with that feeling of knowing, there was paired with it another, more unsettling feeling. Like you should know something, but no matter how hard you strain yourself, you can't seem to remember.

A feeling of emptiness that you couldn't fill no matter what. Because you didn't know exactly what you were missing.

The only solution seemed to be to not think of it, but even that was more difficult than you could hope... The feeling was always there, nagging at the back of your mind, when you saw any of them. And seeing as your best friends happened to be some of them, it was pretty unavoidable.

You shrug, looking back at Sun... who is looking back at Feliza.

"My gog, why don't you get over yourself and ask her out, instead of being a fucking stooge like you are right now."

"What am I thuppothed to thay." He retorts quickly, looking back at you, his cheeks now showing a lovely pink tone. "Hey there FZ, we've never talked but I think I'm in love with you?"

"Why not? We are discussing your feelings for Feliza, is that correct? I believe she likes you too." Katlyn, one of your other best friends, replied before you could think of a snarky comeback, and sat down at her desk beside him. It was probably better that way, the two of you were more likely to listen to her than to eachother. At least when it came to advice, anyway.

Katlyn was a very elegant looking girl, given her age, and had a habit of saying things rather delicately, almost in a motherly-tone. She, Sun, and your stupid stoner friend currently skipping class somewhere, made up your three best friends.

"CT thays I thould athk her out."

"Why don't you, then? Is Greg still not here?"

"See!? That's what I'm trying to tell the stupid douche! It's better than just staring at her anyway. And no, he's not here. He's probably off smoking or something. Why?"

"He hasn't been eating properly, so I packed him lunch today as well. But if he's skipping classes, then I will just have to find him later."

You couldn't help but be a bit jealous -- Kat was a wonderful cook. She always made sure to bring food whenever the four of you did anything, and it was sublime. However, as you were about to make a retort for that, asking her why she would make him lunch but not you and Sun, the teacher walked in.

"Alright, kids, settle down, you're having a quiz now. Clear off your desks before I count to 10 or you're getting a zero on it!"

...










Maybe it was time for him to give up after all...

John sighed, his blue eyes looking out the window drearily. Tomorrow, he and his friends would be going back to school for the first time since before the game.

Back to a normal life, for whatever they could consider normal at this point.

He hated the idea. Not because he didn't want to go back to a regular life -- hell, he wished he could more than anything! But it would mean giving up on looking for their friends. Denying what had happened in SBURB. Who was he to have the nerve to do something like that?

It wasn't fair.

Frowning, he slapped his cheeks a bit, before throwing on some clothes that were more everyday-wear and less pajamas, slipping on his shoes, and leaving out the front door.

And then going back in the front door, walking up the stairs into his room again, and grabbing his inhaler. Last thing he needed was to run out of breath and die on his little stroll...

Uuugh, how embarrassing! That would suck.

That would be the suckiest thing to ever suck. That's what that would be.

Forget that. He'd remembered it in the end, and that's all that mattered.

Oh, but he'd forgotten his phone... oops. Oh well, he could live without his phone for a little while. Who would call him anyway, his dad? He'd be home before dinner. No worries there.

He decided he wouldn't go far, either, just in case. Just to the park over there. It was a sunday afternoon, so there probably wouldn't be too many people -- all the kids would be doing their homework and stuff. Which was just as well, he didn't really want to talk to anyone right now...

The park was pretty close to his house -- sometimes he wondered if SBURB had done that on purpose. Putting things places, that is. Like their houses, which were all in the same neighborhood, and the park, where they liked to meet sometimes, which was only about ten minutes walking. But then, would SBURB really be that nice to them after everything else that it had done?

It was small, with only a few benches dotting the rim of the park by the fence. There were some trees and other plants, but nothing fancy. In the center was a little pond, though it was actually sort of like a baby pool. They even let you walk around in it when it was hot in the summer, which was nic--

--who is that?

John squinted at the guy sitting on the far bench. He could swear he'd seen that face before, somewhere... some time...

He pulled off his glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirt, before fitting them back over his eyes and staring again.

Who WAS that?

He got closer, details coming into better focus as he neared the guy. Black, messy hair, brown eyes with just the slightest hint of red, scowling face...

He snuck closer.

It couldn't be...

"... Karkat?"

...

If you don't finish this, I will hunt you down where you sleep. This is amazing.

[billybobfred]

Um, hi... So this is my first Homestuck fanfic and stuff... and I'm by no means a writer at all, but... I thought I would post it anyway. : x Hope you guys like it, not sure if there will ever be more, though. >_> Also it doesn't have a name yet.

AmIdoin'thisright?

Yes.

What he said.

[Katrika]

Long time, no see. Have an experimental poem.

No Release

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If you love her, let her go
Away, you won’t let her breathe
Easy, it gets easier with time
Is running out
Of bounds

Relax, don’t do anything in haste
Makes waste
Of time
Bomb ticking down.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way
Back, you made her laugh
At you, will she? She'll be sorry
Is such an empty word.

The floor is stained with blood
Calls to blood, like calls to like
It or not, it’s over
Tones of guilt flood you
Were the monster, here.

[yokaiy]

;o; You guys are so niiiice asjhhjsa. Except you FB you're a little creepy lol. But that's okay I love you anyway. I'll go write more now. ;v; Aaaa thank you all

[draconicAlgorithm]

@ Kat: I've recently developed more of a like of poetry because in this English class I'm currently taking, we've been reading a lot of it lately. That said, I really, really like this. I love the way each line leads into the next with the last word in it, and plus it's about Eridan, whose emotions I love seeing explored like this. In other words, I think it's awesome.

Also, I'm sure this has been done before but I saw a short comic on DA that really made me want to write this. And I'm horrible with titles. OTL

Don't Press Buttons

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Karkat woke slowly to the remnants of what he was sure was a pounding headache at one time. He groaned and sat up slowly while trying to remember exactly why he was laying passed out on the floor. It was just like that time that Kanaya had decided to chop off Tavros's legs so that Equius could fit him with those ridiculous robot ones. Fucking embarrassing, passing out at the sight of a little blood. Okay, so maybe it was a lot of blood. But still.

That didn't go any closer towards explaining why the fuck he was laying on the floor now, though. He opened his eyes and blinked. It looked like he was back in one of the ectobiology labs, not that he'd ever had much intention of going back in one of those. Slowly, though, the memories came trickling back into his think pan. He'd come across John in here, and the idiot was messing around with buttons and dials like he knew what he was doing. Which was pretty damn stupid, because Egbert never knew what he was doing. Karkat had run in yelling at him to stop being a fucking idiot wriggler when he pressed a button, and something flashed, and…

Yeah. That was all he could remember.

Feeling stiff and a little sore (probably from falling over or whatever had happened), Karkat stood. As he did, though, he was immediately hit with the notion that something was off. He felt weird, as though something about him had changed, but he couldn't put a finger on it. Before he could do an assessment of himself and try to figure out whatever John had done to him when he pressed that button, however, someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh man, Karkat, you'll never guess what happened!" Only the accompanying voice of Egbert kept Karkat from screaming and pulling his sickles out of his strife specibus. Instead, he immediately scowled at John's apparent excitement.

"Whatever it is, I have a feeling I really don't want to know," he growled back, turning to look at John.

And stared.

The boy standing behind him was not John. Well, maybe it was John, because he had that same stupid grin and those same dumb glasses and the same ridiculous hoodie. And maybe he looked kinda similar, but the fact was that the boy wasn't a human. The boy was a troll, complete with snaggle buck-tooth fangs and orange horns that curled around to the front of his head and gray skin. It was John, and yet it wasn't. If John had been a born a troll, Karkat supposed, this was what he would have looked like, but John wasn't and that was what made the sight so totally ridiculous. John just grinned at him like an idiot.

"Karkat, I have horns! Isn't that awesome?" He pointed to the new growths on his head emphatically. Karkat snarled in response.

"I have horns too, fuckass, it's not that big of a deal," he said, though in reality, his mind was reeling. How in the fuck had Egbert managed to make himself a troll? How did technology even work that way? John just laughed.

"Not any more! Didn't you notice? You're human, too!" Karkat thought for sure that his cardiovascular pump seized up with that revelation. Slowly, he lifted his hand and looked at it closely.

He claws were gone. In their place were white and pink nails, thin and flimsy and hardly useful for anything. And the hand itself was no longer the gray he was used to. It was a pale, pinky-white color, the same as John's used to be. With the other weird pink hand, he poked and pinched the soft skin. Unlike troll skin, it gave and stretched easily. He suddenly felt small and squishy and very vulnerable.

"Isn't this great?" Karkat vaguely heard John say. "It's just like a movie! We'll have all kinds of hilarious shenanigans as we try to figure out all these new things about ourselves and become even closer friends as a result!" Karkat wasn't really listening anymore. His mind was too busy trying to process all this new information—his human mind, he reminded himself. Oh god this was too much. He just wanted pass out again.

That was his last thought before he blacked out and ended up on the floor for a second time.

John stared worriedly down at his friend. He hadn't expected Karkat to react like that! He thought it was pretty cool being a troll, and he had sort of hoped Karkat would feel the same about being a human. Oh well! Maybe his spirits would lift after he'd had another nap!

At the thought of spirits lifting, John felt a gust of wind and his feet leave the ground. He glanced behind him to where the breeze was coming from and was shocked to see a pair of blue insect wings. He couldn't stop himself from grinning and practically bouncing up and down in the air excitedly.

"Oh, yes, wings too! This is so awesome!"

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... This may or may not become a thing. Because I totally need another long fic to work on.

Also, original comic is here.

[Rimbaum]

@ Kat: I've recently developed more of a like of poetry because in this English class I'm currently taking, we've been reading a lot of it lately. That said, I really, really like this. I love the way each line leads into the next with the last word in it, and plus it's about Eridan, whose emotions I love seeing explored like this. In other words, I think it's awesome.

Also, I'm sure this has been done before but I saw a short comic on DA that really made me want to write this. And I'm horrible with titles. OTL

Don't Press Buttons

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Karkat woke slowly to the remnants of what he was sure was a pounding headache at one time. He groaned and sat up slowly while trying to remember exactly why he was laying passed out on the floor. It was just like that time that Kanaya had decided to chop off Tavros's legs so that Equius could fit him with those ridiculous robot ones. Fucking embarrassing, passing out at the sight of a little blood. Okay, so maybe it was a lot of blood. But still.

That didn't go any closer towards explaining why the fuck he was laying on the floor now, though. He opened his eyes and blinked. It looked like he was back in one of the ectobiology labs, not that he'd ever had much intention of going back in one of those. Slowly, though, the memories came trickling back into his think pan. He'd come across John in here, and the idiot was messing around with buttons and dials like he knew what he was doing. Which was pretty damn stupid, because Egbert never knew what he was doing. Karkat had run in yelling at him to stop being a fucking idiot wriggler when he pressed a button, and something flashed, and…

Yeah. That was all he could remember.

Feeling stiff and a little sore (probably from falling over or whatever had happened), Karkat stood. As he did, though, he was immediately hit with the notion that something was off. He felt weird, as though something about him had changed, but he couldn't put a finger on it. Before he could do an assessment of himself and try to figure out whatever John had done to him when he pressed that button, however, someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh man, Karkat, you'll never guess what happened!" Only the accompanying voice of Egbert kept Karkat from screaming and pulling his sickles out of his strife specibus. Instead, he immediately scowled at John's apparent excitement.

"Whatever it is, I have a feeling I really don't want to know," he growled back, turning to look at John.

And stared.

The boy standing behind him was not John. Well, maybe it was John, because he had that same stupid grin and those same dumb glasses and the same ridiculous hoodie. And maybe he looked kinda similar, but the fact was that the boy wasn't a human. The boy was a troll, complete with snaggle buck-tooth fangs and orange horns that curled around to the front of his head and gray skin. It was John, and yet it wasn't. If John had been a born a troll, Karkat supposed, this was what he would have looked like, but John wasn't and that was what made the sight so totally ridiculous. John just grinned at him like an idiot.

"Karkat, I have horns! Isn't that awesome?" He pointed to the new growths on his head emphatically. Karkat snarled in response.

"I have horns too, fuckass, it's not that big of a deal," he said, though in reality, his mind was reeling. How in the fuck had Egbert managed to make himself a troll? How did technology even work that way? John just laughed.

"Not any more! Didn't you notice? You're human, too!" Karkat thought for sure that his cardiovascular pump seized up with that revelation. Slowly, he lifted his hand and looked at it closely.

He claws were gone. In their place were white and pink nails, thin and flimsy and hardly useful for anything. And the hand itself was no longer the gray he was used to. It was a pale, pinky-white color, the same as John's used to be. With the other weird pink hand, he poked and pinched the soft skin. Unlike troll skin, it gave and stretched easily. He suddenly felt small and squishy and very vulnerable.

"Isn't this great?" Karkat vaguely heard John say. "It's just like a movie! We'll have all kinds of hilarious shenanigans as we try to figure out all these new things about ourselves and become even closer friends as a result!" Karkat wasn't really listening anymore. His mind was too busy trying to process all this new information—his human mind, he reminded himself. Oh god this was too much. He just wanted pass out again.

That was his last thought before he blacked out and ended up on the floor for a second time.

John stared worriedly down at his friend. He hadn't expected Karkat to react like that! He thought it was pretty cool being a troll, and he had sort of hoped Karkat would feel the same about being a human. Oh well! Maybe his spirits would lift after he'd had another nap!

At the thought of spirits lifting, John felt a gust of wind and his feet leave the ground. He glanced behind him to where the breeze was coming from and was shocked to see a pair of blue insect wings. He couldn't stop himself from grinning and practically bouncing up and down in the air excitedly.

"Oh, yes, wings too! This is so awesome!"

show spoiler

hide spoiler

... This may or may not become a thing. Because I totally need another long fic to work on.

Also, original comic is here.

I saw this on dA. And the comic that spawned it. Both are hilarious and I cannot get the thought out of my head of Karkat wanting to strangle John and yet -- AND YET -- unable to feel any sort of kismetic hate, while John suddenly understands it thanks to troll and human minds simply working differently.

[draconicAlgorithm]

Stop putting ideas in my head or I might have to write more of this. xP -is pretty much intending to anyway-

But yes, the comic was hilarious. Those expressions were so good that I just wanted to write about it.

[The Phoenixian]

Also, I'm sure this has been done before but I saw a short comic on DA that really made me want to write this. And I'm horrible with titles. OTL

Don't Press Buttons

show spoiler

hide spoiler

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hide spoiler

... This may or may not become a thing. Because I totally need another long fic to work on.

Also, original comic is here.

Alas Poor Karkat, I knew him well forever doomed by the derpiness of John.
And yeah, this story is hilarious.

I saw this on dA. And the comic that spawned it. Both are hilarious and I cannot get the thought out of my head of Karkat wanting to strangle John and yet -- AND YET -- unable to feel any sort of kismetic hate, while John suddenly understands it thanks to troll and human minds simply working differently.

That does make me wonder: Just how much of the difference between troll and human relationships is biological and how much is cultural?

[Rimbaum]

I saw this on dA. And the comic that spawned it. Both are hilarious and I cannot get the thought out of my head of Karkat wanting to strangle John and yet -- AND YET -- unable to feel any sort of kismetic hate, while John suddenly understands it thanks to troll and human minds simply working differently.

That does make me wonder: Just how much of the difference between troll and human relationships is biological and how much is cultural?

Don't tempt me to write a troll/human coexistance AU fic exploring this. Even though I'm sure it's probably already been done

[SkaianRedeemer]

Even though I'm sure it's probably already been done

Conversations like this are what happens when I have months of no free time. *sigh. Pats draft of sixteen*

[revolvingOcelot]

Yeah, hopefully nobody read my incredibly shitty first part of something. Deleted it. I'm so very bloody stupid.

[Hazel]

Even though I'm sure it's probably already been done

Conversations like this are what happens when I have months of no free time. *sigh. Pats draft of sixteen*

That's what I like to hear.

Anyway, there's too much formatting for me to be happy about posting it here, so here's a link:

:33 < nepeta leijon trolls the united nations

Also, Pairwise is the new collection for my stories for homestuck1000, both of which I'm pretty sure I've posted here. Writing carapace POV is hard!

[draconicAlgorithm]

That's what I like to hear.

Anyway, there's too much formatting for me to be happy about posting it here, so here's a link:

:33 < nepeta leijon trolls the united nations

Also, Pairwise is the new collection for my stories for homestuck1000, both of which I'm pretty sure I've posted here. Writing carapace POV is hard!

You wrote the Nepeta story? I read that on AO3 last night and loved it. Great job.

[Doodled]

:33 < nepeta leijon trolls the united nations

Best. Thing. Ever.

[Varkarrus]

haha that was great

I loved Don't press buttons, too, and I want to see more!

[Hazel]

Thanks! It's really nice to hear. That's why I love the kudos feature, it lets a sap like me bask in praise when people read my cat pun-based elaborately pasted onto a screen grab of the UN contact page B-movie pastiche. Or something.

Anyway. I haven't been writing much for captchalogue but I still have HS fanfic plans once I cool some of my more urgent irons. This may involve public transportation, or perhaps ironing.

[mythmonster2]

So, uh, here's the thing. I have Culling Pt. 2 all ready to go. All I need to do is put in the color tags and I can put it up here for everyone to see. Here's the thing. I'm feeling really bad about it. Like, "Oh God this makes My Immortal look like Shakespeare" bad. So, I'd just like for someone to read it through first and give me some commentary and advice about it. Just PM me if you're interested and I'll PM you the fic. If there's a thread about this kind of stuff, please direct me towards it.

[Path]

Y hello thar Fanfic thread

Yes, I finally pulled myself out of the gutter and accidentally wrote some fic that wasn't explicit pornography! Hurrah!

...It was still for a prompt on the Kink Meme. I just failed to include sex. >_>

Prompt:

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Setting someone's house on fire is actually a bizarre courtship ritual.

Fire

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Your name is Spades Slick, and you are setting Doc Scratch's house on fire.

You have been very careful with this, because there are ways to set a house on fire and then there are ways to set a house on fire, and you don't want one mistaken for the other. If some chump walks by in a week's time and views the charred remains of the Doc's mansion and thinks it might have been accidental, you will have done this wrong. There will have been no mistaking your arson for the Doc leaving the oven on while he went to pick up some extra starch for his jacket and bow tie.

You are backing around his sitting room and leaving oily trails of black in a bizarre map of where you've been, careful not to step in one and track gasoline with you. The footprints would ruin it. There is an art to such things.

Your heart is racing over itself with anticipation. It's been a long time since you set the Felt Mansion on fire, or since you burned down Droog's house way back. And then even further back, standing on your purple balcony looking out at burning patches in the all-city of Derse. A faint feeling of sweet nostalgia threatens to overwhelm you. Good times, all.

But, focus, focus. You wouldn't want to botch up this house burning by reminiscing about previous burnings, no matter how lovely, dangerous, and perfect each one was. You trail blackness behind you and begin to circle in around the house's owner himself.

Over his belongings. Over his coat. Over his art. Circling in, looping. You pass behind him, standing at his type writer. You can't help but sneak a glimpse over his shoulder; violet text, just a little pinker than the streets of your old home, leaps out at you. The faint feelings of distrust had been muted in you these last few minutes, engaged in your work, but now they begin to rise up once more.

Around the center of the building, you come to a halt and place your gas can down. You're always bad at this part; you miss the days Droog could point out the exact spot, triangulated in his head. What a partnership. You estimate. It's the thought that counts.

Then you're walking to the center of the room, drawing a single matchstick from your pocket and holding it like you would one of your many, many knives. This part's important. Why isn't he paying attention? You've been here for only a few minutes before he was over at the type writer talking to Derse-purple TT over there, whoever the fuck that is.

You check your trail, beginning to feel the telltale probing of your nerves acting up. This is so stupid. You've set plenty of houses on fire. Dozens. Dames swoon hearing about the houses you've burned. You can do this.

Yep, trail's fine. Maybe not perfect. But it's not like the Doc's had this happen before, and you're not really in practice in recent history. You can do it. If he'd just look up...

He does, and you strike the match off your arm, brandishing it, and flinging it to the edge of the room. Arcs of flame growl into being, arcing around the room and racing inward. You look over impatiently. Over his shoulder you read,
TT: This is stupid.
TT: Could we get to the point?
Yes, I was about to say, types the Doc. We should hurry this along. My visitor is beginning to set things on fire.

Yes, you bloody well are setting things on fire. It's like he's never seen a house burned before.

TT: You have a visitor?
TT: Who?
Some guy, types Doc Scratch. Shit. He doesn't give a rat's ass about you, does he?

You are about to storm out entirely, saving yourself the embarrassment. You take one last look over your shoulder to the burning room to catch Scratch sitting in his chair and laughing his ass off. One gloved hand goes to his head and the other across his stomach, and his ridiculous laugh cackles across the crackling room.

You almost left without me, he says.

"Fuck you," you manage diplomatically. "You almost missed it, talking to your little pink friend over there."

She came to me for help, he says. Who am I to say no to an insistent lady?


You are snarling. She'd better stay away from- but no, there he goes laughing again, over the roar of the fire.

His voice comes perfectly in your head as always. She's a little young for me. It's more of a patronage thing. My young ward, perhaps.

You are not entirely letting this one through. You grit your teeth and cross your arms, metal fingers clinking against your shell.

Besides, says Doc Scratch at last, I had to let her go. I can speak with her whenever I like; it is not every day that this happens inside my soon-to-be-charcoal doorstep.

You consider, snarl hesitating. Flames begin to grab for your pantsleg.

We had better go outside, he says. I would not wish to miss it.

Oh fucking finally. You were beginning to wonder if the whole thing was lost on him. The two of you race for the exit. Given the time the fire's had, you don't bother to engage in the customary brawl on the way out. Timbers are already beginning to fall as flames eat from the outside in, and the journey past the door is hazardous enough.

You think that might mean something.

So the two of you stand on the green hills surrounding the house, going up in red flames, and watch. It's too bad you were late; the spirograph pattern isn't as clear as it might be if you'd gotten out earlier. But you can still see it. And so can he.

Beautiful, he says. So few left in the universe who remember the old ways. I would never have imagined I would receive a Dersite proposal proper, and certainly not after the banishments.

You look up to the night sky, awash in the glow of the burning house. For a moment, you are back on your purple balcony, overlooking a purple city. Patches of spirograph burn in the city; it's spring, after all, and your planet has passed through the Veil. Pair bonding is in the air; when you look up, the spirograph stares down from a thousand miles away, white and blue in the emptiness of the Incipisphere.

In the green moon's desert, you mirror your motions from years ago, and look up. You can see Alternia from here. But you can't see Skaia. All the same, Doc Scratch is beside you, and even as you think it, his voice appears in your head. I am very flattered, Slick, he says.

You tense up. Now comes the real crux of it. You twirl your second match in your fingers and wait.

Oh, yes, of course, says Doc Scratch at last, how foolish would you have to be to turn this down? I know the ritual; I'd prefer not to be the second thing burned tonight.

Your crooked grin blossoms on your face, you hold out your robotic hand, and the white glove sets down in it. Yep, he knows the rituals, alright. Your fears were for nothing, and anybody who sees this house isn't going to think it was some unfortunate mistake.

They're going to know that Doc Scratch was taken away, and they're going to know who did it. The flames eat up his old life, give him no chance to return to it. That's the way it's always done. You give him one chance- you, or nothing. And he picked you, and probably not just because he didn't want to die next. That's just... how it works. The burden finally lifts itself off as you realize, he gets it.

So, content, the two of you watch the spirograph lick at the sky.

[johnbriner]

Long time, no see. Have an experimental poem.

No Release

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If you love her, let her go
Away, you won’t let her breathe
Easy, it gets easier with time
Is running out
Of bounds

Relax, don’t do anything in haste
Makes waste
Of time
Bomb ticking down.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way
Back, you made her laugh
At you, will she? She'll be sorry
Is such an empty word.

The floor is stained with blood
Calls to blood, like calls to like
It or not, it’s over
Tones of guilt flood you
Were the monster, here.

Very "emo" poem. The last stanza was very emotional, full of hurt! Keep on writing poem! Thanks for sharing!

[Rimbaum]

Y hello thar Fanfic thread

Yes, I finally pulled myself out of the gutter and accidentally wrote some fic that wasn't explicit pornography! Hurrah!

...It was still for a prompt on the Kink Meme. I just failed to include sex. >_>

Prompt:

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Setting someone's house on fire is actually a bizarre courtship ritual.

Fire

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Your name is Spades Slick, and you are setting Doc Scratch's house on fire.

You have been very careful with this, because there are ways to set a house on fire and then there are ways to set a house on fire, and you don't want one mistaken for the other. If some chump walks by in a week's time and views the charred remains of the Doc's mansion and thinks it might have been accidental, you will have done this wrong. There will have been no mistaking your arson for the Doc leaving the oven on while he went to pick up some extra starch for his jacket and bow tie.

You are backing around his sitting room and leaving oily trails of black in a bizarre map of where you've been, careful not to step in one and track gasoline with you. The footprints would ruin it. There is an art to such things.

Your heart is racing over itself with anticipation. It's been a long time since you set the Felt Mansion on fire, or since you burned down Droog's house way back. And then even further back, standing on your purple balcony looking out at burning patches in the all-city of Derse. A faint feeling of sweet nostalgia threatens to overwhelm you. Good times, all.

But, focus, focus. You wouldn't want to botch up this house burning by reminiscing about previous burnings, no matter how lovely, dangerous, and perfect each one was. You trail blackness behind you and begin to circle in around the house's owner himself.

Over his belongings. Over his coat. Over his art. Circling in, looping. You pass behind him, standing at his type writer. You can't help but sneak a glimpse over his shoulder; violet text, just a little pinker than the streets of your old home, leaps out at you. The faint feelings of distrust had been muted in you these last few minutes, engaged in your work, but now they begin to rise up once more.

Around the center of the building, you come to a halt and place your gas can down. You're always bad at this part; you miss the days Droog could point out the exact spot, triangulated in his head. What a partnership. You estimate. It's the thought that counts.

Then you're walking to the center of the room, drawing a single matchstick from your pocket and holding it like you would one of your many, many knives. This part's important. Why isn't he paying attention? You've been here for only a few minutes before he was over at the type writer talking to Derse-purple TT over there, whoever the fuck that is.

You check your trail, beginning to feel the telltale probing of your nerves acting up. This is so stupid. You've set plenty of houses on fire. Dozens. Dames swoon hearing about the houses you've burned. You can do this.

Yep, trail's fine. Maybe not perfect. But it's not like the Doc's had this happen before, and you're not really in practice in recent history. You can do it. If he'd just look up...

He does, and you strike the match off your arm, brandishing it, and flinging it to the edge of the room. Arcs of flame growl into being, arcing around the room and racing inward. You look over impatiently. Over his shoulder you read,
TT: This is stupid.
TT: Could we get to the point?
Yes, I was about to say, types the Doc. We should hurry this along. My visitor is beginning to set things on fire.

Yes, you bloody well are setting things on fire. It's like he's never seen a house burned before.

TT: You have a visitor?
TT: Who?
Some guy, types Doc Scratch. Shit. He doesn't give a rat's ass about you, does he?

You are about to storm out entirely, saving yourself the embarrassment. You take one last look over your shoulder to the burning room to catch Scratch sitting in his chair and laughing his ass off. One gloved hand goes to his head and the other across his stomach, and his ridiculous laugh cackles across the crackling room.

You almost left without me, he says.

"Fuck you," you manage diplomatically. "You almost missed it, talking to your little pink friend over there."

She came to me for help, he says. Who am I to say no to an insistent lady?


You are snarling. She'd better stay away from- but no, there he goes laughing again, over the roar of the fire.

His voice comes perfectly in your head as always. She's a little young for me. It's more of a patronage thing. My young ward, perhaps.

You are not entirely letting this one through. You grit your teeth and cross your arms, metal fingers clinking against your shell.

Besides, says Doc Scratch at last, I had to let her go. I can speak with her whenever I like; it is not every day that this happens inside my soon-to-be-charcoal doorstep.

You consider, snarl hesitating. Flames begin to grab for your pantsleg.

We had better go outside, he says. I would not wish to miss it.

Oh fucking finally. You were beginning to wonder if the whole thing was lost on him. The two of you race for the exit. Given the time the fire's had, you don't bother to engage in the customary brawl on the way out. Timbers are already beginning to fall as flames eat from the outside in, and the journey past the door is hazardous enough.

You think that might mean something.

So the two of you stand on the green hills surrounding the house, going up in red flames, and watch. It's too bad you were late; the spirograph pattern isn't as clear as it might be if you'd gotten out earlier. But you can still see it. And so can he.

Beautiful, he says. So few left in the universe who remember the old ways. I would never have imagined I would receive a Dersite proposal proper, and certainly not after the banishments.

You look up to the night sky, awash in the glow of the burning house. For a moment, you are back on your purple balcony, overlooking a purple city. Patches of spirograph burn in the city; it's spring, after all, and your planet has passed through the Veil. Pair bonding is in the air; when you look up, the spirograph stares down from a thousand miles away, white and blue in the emptiness of the Incipisphere.

In the green moon's desert, you mirror your motions from years ago, and look up. You can see Alternia from here. But you can't see Skaia. All the same, Doc Scratch is beside you, and even as you think it, his voice appears in your head. I am very flattered, Slick, he says.

You tense up. Now comes the real crux of it. You twirl your second match in your fingers and wait.

Oh, yes, of course, says Doc Scratch at last, how foolish would you have to be to turn this down? I know the ritual; I'd prefer not to be the second thing burned tonight.

Your crooked grin blossoms on your face, you hold out your robotic hand, and the white glove sets down in it. Yep, he knows the rituals, alright. Your fears were for nothing, and anybody who sees this house isn't going to think it was some unfortunate mistake.

They're going to know that Doc Scratch was taken away, and they're going to know who did it. The flames eat up his old life, give him no chance to return to it. That's the way it's always done. You give him one chance- you, or nothing. And he picked you, and probably not just because he didn't want to die next. That's just... how it works. The burden finally lifts itself off as you realize, he gets it.

So, content, the two of you watch the spirograph lick at the sky.

Hahahahahahaha whut. What is this I don't even...

Actually, yes, I do know what it is. It's bizarrely awesome and beautiful.

[cephalopodConcupiscence]

cannot be fucked to title this

thus: 8888(

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You did it, in the end.

There was a small organic noise, and then silence. You could have heard a coin drop.

What you heard, though, was Vriska Serket fall: slow and graceless and still, fadingly, bright.

You caught her. In your arms, she stank of warming green, like the dreadful spread of forests over clean desert land. Like a promise of beasts in the night.

On the asteroid no scavengers would ever touch her body.

“You would have won,” you said, into her upturned ear. You spoke softly in case her ghost was hovering close enough to overhear. The folded skin of her pinna was warm against your lips. “I’ll give you that much, spidertroll, you would have-“

You stopped

(remembered:

a symphony of blueberry and vanilla ice; her perfect laughter, and her perfect light

how it played over his blood, tinting it to something strange and sour as citrus

how smiling she had lifted her sword.)

breathed out.

Laid her to rest, and rose.

[deathsbuddy]

Oh, but that was a pleasure to read.

[Violet CLM]

Three months later, Kanaya the Rainbow Drinker Slayer resumes from where it left off mid-episode.

[Aloice]

Um, hi... So this is my first Homestuck fanfic and stuff... and I'm by no means a writer at all, but... I thought I would post it anyway. : x Hope you guys like it, not sure if there will ever be more, though. >_> Also it doesn't have a name yet.

AmIdoin'thisright?

Prologue

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They had been too late.

They had made it work, though. Their session, which had been barren, had managed to produce exactly what they thought it would be unable to -- a universe. They had beaten their game, defeated the evil, saved Skaia, and put things back the way they should have been.

But they were still too late.

When they arrived in the Troll's hideout to get them and take them to the new universe, the twelve were already dead.

They'd never even gotten to speak.

John had cried. Jade had joined in with him. Even Rose and Dave seemed hurt by the development.

It just wasn't fair...

...

It took a while, but they managed to drag all twelve to their door, the one that they would go through to get to their universe.

It seemed right, that way.

Somehow.

The others deferred to John to be the one to open the large, green door. He was their leader, after all, and no matter how much he didn't want them to think of him as anything other than a friend, he could respect their decision.

Reaching out, he touched the doorknob lightly, half expecting someone to interrupt as Karkat had told him had happened to the trolls. But there was only silence and stillness, and so he grabbed it more forcefully, pulling the heavy door open with strength he didn't know he still had.

White light shone from the inside, but he could see nothing else inside. He shrugged back at his friends, taking a few steps backwards.

The group regarded the light, before wordlessly gathering the trolls's bodies -- quite a feat considering each one would have to drag three trolls -- and struggled with their loads as they approached the light.

After hesitating a few moments, they jumped, pulling the bodies of the trolls in after them.

...

What do you want most from this universe?

There was no audible question, but deep down, John could feel the question rattle his bones.

At first, he had no answer.

What right did he have to ask anything of the game, after it had shown already that it was superior -- that it had no regard for it's players or it's world or session or anything. No regard for the players' friends and family...

And then he knew.

No matter what sort of world it was, no matter what sort of universe they wound up in, it would be okay... as long as they came back to life.

Those who had died during the course of this game. That was what he wanted most from their new universe.

"Bring them back... Bring them back! Everyone who died!

"Bring them back so they can live with us too!"

His friends must have thought the same, for although he couldn't see them for the blinding light around him -- he couldn't even see the three trolls he'd dragged through the door with him, despite having been holding on to them until what must have been recently, he didn't remember letting go of them -- he could somehow feel their presence, comforting him and supporting his words.

And the game heard his plea.

And he gasped.

Choking on nothing, his chest felt like it were being squeezed, all the breath forcing its way from his lungs until it felt like he were going to collapse on itself. The air was gone.

At the same moment, space and time seemed to distort -- he could no longer keep track of where his own body parts were, or how long he had been suffocating like this, the only sign of passing time being his sight, slowly fading to black. And then, as he was losing every bit of himself to this horrid sensation, blinding light hit him, searing his eyes, and he heard screaming -- some of it may have been his own.

And then everything stopped.

...

Chapter 1

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Coughing.

"Are you all right? You should really try not to tire yourself out."

"I'm... I'm fine... Any luck?"

Rose heaved a heavy sigh, pulling at a few stray strands of hair that had fallen from her hairband, the slightest frown gracing her face. Her pale eyes stared straight ahead behind lilac-tinted glasses, as her hand moved from her hair to the back of her neck, which she massaged. Her eyes had once been a brilliant shade of lavender, but they no longer had the same color.

They had all lost something, when they had arrived in their new universe, on their new home planet. The light had burned her eyes beyond repair -- she still had those eyes, but she would never see from them again. For the others, they suffered different kinds of damage, due to the presumable loss of their titles, and with it, their powers. Jade had lost her sense of touch, and could no longer feel the space around her. Dave had lost all sense of time -- perhaps not a bad price to pay at a glance, but it was worse than it sounded.

And John? Along with his immortality as a god, he had lost his breath, and picked up a pretty severe case of asthma.

The world was the same, mostly.

The geography was different, as well as the history, he supposed, but aside from that, it was practically the same as the Earth they had known from before.

The four had awoken in houses all shockingly near each other, each back with their respective guardians who had died before. It was a relief, of course, to see their loved ones alive again, and with no memory of the horrors that had occurred during the time of SBURB.

But this begged the question -- had the trolls been reborn as well? They had hoped so, but so far had seen no sign of their friends.

Soon, the kids would have to resume normal life... for whatever worth normal was after all they'd been through. They had been living two years in their new world, recovering from terrors that plagued them still. Their guardians had kept careful watch on the four, and had home-schooled them so they would not fall behind in the new society. Eventually, however, they knew that they would have to come to grips with the fact that, even if the trolls had been reborn, they would never find them. The world was simply too big.

And yet, John still refused.

"John, we don't even know if it worked...! I know it's hard, but..." It was Jade who had answered.

"No, I know it worked! It had to have worked..."

John coughed again a bit, and was met with a friendly clap on the shoulder by Dave, who had just arrived. He couldn't be anywhere at the right time to save his life, not even the little meetings the four had.

"C'mon. I'll walk you home."

John sniffed and nodded. Dave waved curtly to the two ladies before leading John away from the alley, asking nonchalantly of the whereabouts of John's inhaler as they left, in case the boy had another wheezing fit on the way home.

The girls lingered a moment, before Rose heaved another heavy sigh.

"He realizes we wish for the same, correct?" Her words were slow and careful. Jade knew she missed Kanaya -- the only person she'd been able to have a conversation with on even ground -- just like Dave missed Terezi and John missed Karkat and Vriska. And just as she missed Tavros and the others as well. They all had the same hope that, some day, they would find the trolls. But they had to know when to give up, as well.

It seemed only John didn't know when to quit.

Jade shrugged in response to Rose's question, sighing as well so that Rose would be aware of the response even if she couldn't see it, before grabbing Rose's hand.

"I can find my way home on my own."

"I know..."

...










Your name is CARTER VERITAS, and you are REALLY BORED.

It's that time right before class starts, where everyone is beginning to shuffle into the room, before even the teacher arrives, and you hate it. Of course, you don't particularly like it once class starts, either, but at least then you have something to do.

You lean back in your chair, kicking your feet up onto your desk (but not onto your binder and shit, that is a complete waste and who likes dirt on their papers?), and groan just about as obnoxiously as you can. Next to you, your best friend, Sun-tae -- stupid Korean names, you can hardly pronounce the damn thing -- snorts into his bottle of orange juice.

"Ah, thit. Look what you made me do." He smirks, smacking you lightly on the back of the head before pulling up his shirt to wipe his face off on. He then takes off his glasses and dries them off as well. Of course, now his shirt looks like he barfed on it or something, but hell if you're gonna say that.

Not.

"Whatever, it was your dumb ass that spit up your drink. And now you look like you made a mess like some goddamn kindergardener."

"Yeah, whatever you thay, CT."

The two of you had always had this sort of relationship. Honestly, it was a little strange. You felt like you had know him forever the second you had met.

And it wasn't just him.

There were a few people in your class you could safely say you felt you had known all your life, even ones you had never talked to.

Tracey, for instance. She was a strange girl, from what you had seen and heard. Not to mention she had the strangest maniacal laugh to ever grate your eardrums. She colored things with chalk like a first grader, and had a habit of tasting everything, even that one science experiment... but that's a different story. She had eye problems, so wore glasses just like your dumbass best friend, and where his lenses were retarded and bicolored, hers were simply red.

Feliza sat in a corner of the classroom, but you knew she was one of them too. She always smiled, and people loved her. You were never sure why she always sat in the corner, but you knew she had a crush on Sun. And the idiot liked her back. They'd never talked, but it was as if the entire universe had wanted them to be together -- they were in every class together, and they lived fairly close. Whenever you hung out with him at the mall or whatever, you'd always run into her, and she would blush, and he would blush, and you would facepalm.

Even Katlyn, a long-time friend of yours, was one of the people you felt strangely nostalgic with.

There were others. Some you didn't know the names of, but you knew them. Or you felt like you did. The feeling was a mutual one -- a silent acknowledgement between strangers who should have maybe been something more.

But with that feeling of knowing, there was paired with it another, more unsettling feeling. Like you should know something, but no matter how hard you strain yourself, you can't seem to remember.

A feeling of emptiness that you couldn't fill no matter what. Because you didn't know exactly what you were missing.

The only solution seemed to be to not think of it, but even that was more difficult than you could hope... The feeling was always there, nagging at the back of your mind, when you saw any of them. And seeing as your best friends happened to be some of them, it was pretty unavoidable.

You shrug, looking back at Sun... who is looking back at Feliza.

"My gog, why don't you get over yourself and ask her out, instead of being a fucking stooge like you are right now."

"What am I thuppothed to thay." He retorts quickly, looking back at you, his cheeks now showing a lovely pink tone. "Hey there FZ, we've never talked but I think I'm in love with you?"

"Why not? We are discussing your feelings for Feliza, is that correct? I believe she likes you too." Katlyn, one of your other best friends, replied before you could think of a snarky comeback, and sat down at her desk beside him. It was probably better that way, the two of you were more likely to listen to her than to eachother. At least when it came to advice, anyway.

Katlyn was a very elegant looking girl, given her age, and had a habit of saying things rather delicately, almost in a motherly-tone. She, Sun, and your stupid stoner friend currently skipping class somewhere, made up your three best friends.

"CT thays I thould athk her out."

"Why don't you, then? Is Greg still not here?"

"See!? That's what I'm trying to tell the stupid douche! It's better than just staring at her anyway. And no, he's not here. He's probably off smoking or something. Why?"

"He hasn't been eating properly, so I packed him lunch today as well. But if he's skipping classes, then I will just have to find him later."

You couldn't help but be a bit jealous -- Kat was a wonderful cook. She always made sure to bring food whenever the four of you did anything, and it was sublime. However, as you were about to make a retort for that, asking her why she would make him lunch but not you and Sun, the teacher walked in.

"Alright, kids, settle down, you're having a quiz now. Clear off your desks before I count to 10 or you're getting a zero on it!"

...










Maybe it was time for him to give up after all...

John sighed, his blue eyes looking out the window drearily. Tomorrow, he and his friends would be going back to school for the first time since before the game.

Back to a normal life, for whatever they could consider normal at this point.

He hated the idea. Not because he didn't want to go back to a regular life -- hell, he wished he could more than anything! But it would mean giving up on looking for their friends. Denying what had happened in SBURB. Who was he to have the nerve to do something like that?

It wasn't fair.

Frowning, he slapped his cheeks a bit, before throwing on some clothes that were more everyday-wear and less pajamas, slipping on his shoes, and leaving out the front door.

And then going back in the front door, walking up the stairs into his room again, and grabbing his inhaler. Last thing he needed was to run out of breath and die on his little stroll...

Uuugh, how embarrassing! That would suck.

That would be the suckiest thing to ever suck. That's what that would be.

Forget that. He'd remembered it in the end, and that's all that mattered.

Oh, but he'd forgotten his phone... oops. Oh well, he could live without his phone for a little while. Who would call him anyway, his dad? He'd be home before dinner. No worries there.

He decided he wouldn't go far, either, just in case. Just to the park over there. It was a sunday afternoon, so there probably wouldn't be too many people -- all the kids would be doing their homework and stuff. Which was just as well, he didn't really want to talk to anyone right now...

The park was pretty close to his house -- sometimes he wondered if SBURB had done that on purpose. Putting things places, that is. Like their houses, which were all in the same neighborhood, and the park, where they liked to meet sometimes, which was only about ten minutes walking. But then, would SBURB really be that nice to them after everything else that it had done?

It was small, with only a few benches dotting the rim of the park by the fence. There were some trees and other plants, but nothing fancy. In the center was a little pond, though it was actually sort of like a baby pool. They even let you walk around in it when it was hot in the summer, which was nic--

--who is that?

John squinted at the guy sitting on the far bench. He could swear he'd seen that face before, somewhere... some time...

He pulled off his glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirt, before fitting them back over his eyes and staring again.

Who WAS that?

He got closer, details coming into better focus as he neared the guy. Black, messy hair, brown eyes with just the slightest hint of red, scowling face...

He snuck closer.

It couldn't be...

"... Karkat?"

...

If you don't finish this, I will hunt you down where you sleep. This is amazing.

Seconded. I'd love you forever if you turn this angsty but again it's your story ;-;

[Hazel]

Y hello thar Fanfic thread

Yes, I finally pulled myself out of the gutter and accidentally wrote some fic that wasn't explicit pornography! Hurrah!

...It was still for a prompt on the Kink Meme. I just failed to include sex. >_>

Prompt:

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Setting someone's house on fire is actually a bizarre courtship ritual.

Fire

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Your name is Spades Slick, and you are setting Doc Scratch's house on fire.

You have been very careful with this, because there are ways to set a house on fire and then there are ways to set a house on fire, and you don't want one mistaken for the other. If some chump walks by in a week's time and views the charred remains of the Doc's mansion and thinks it might have been accidental, you will have done this wrong. There will have been no mistaking your arson for the Doc leaving the oven on while he went to pick up some extra starch for his jacket and bow tie.

You are backing around his sitting room and leaving oily trails of black in a bizarre map of where you've been, careful not to step in one and track gasoline with you. The footprints would ruin it. There is an art to such things.

Your heart is racing over itself with anticipation. It's been a long time since you set the Felt Mansion on fire, or since you burned down Droog's house way back. And then even further back, standing on your purple balcony looking out at burning patches in the all-city of Derse. A faint feeling of sweet nostalgia threatens to overwhelm you. Good times, all.

But, focus, focus. You wouldn't want to botch up this house burning by reminiscing about previous burnings, no matter how lovely, dangerous, and perfect each one was. You trail blackness behind you and begin to circle in around the house's owner himself.

Over his belongings. Over his coat. Over his art. Circling in, looping. You pass behind him, standing at his type writer. You can't help but sneak a glimpse over his shoulder; violet text, just a little pinker than the streets of your old home, leaps out at you. The faint feelings of distrust had been muted in you these last few minutes, engaged in your work, but now they begin to rise up once more.

Around the center of the building, you come to a halt and place your gas can down. You're always bad at this part; you miss the days Droog could point out the exact spot, triangulated in his head. What a partnership. You estimate. It's the thought that counts.

Then you're walking to the center of the room, drawing a single matchstick from your pocket and holding it like you would one of your many, many knives. This part's important. Why isn't he paying attention? You've been here for only a few minutes before he was over at the type writer talking to Derse-purple TT over there, whoever the fuck that is.

You check your trail, beginning to feel the telltale probing of your nerves acting up. This is so stupid. You've set plenty of houses on fire. Dozens. Dames swoon hearing about the houses you've burned. You can do this.

Yep, trail's fine. Maybe not perfect. But it's not like the Doc's had this happen before, and you're not really in practice in recent history. You can do it. If he'd just look up...

He does, and you strike the match off your arm, brandishing it, and flinging it to the edge of the room. Arcs of flame growl into being, arcing around the room and racing inward. You look over impatiently. Over his shoulder you read,
TT: This is stupid.
TT: Could we get to the point?
Yes, I was about to say, types the Doc. We should hurry this along. My visitor is beginning to set things on fire.

Yes, you bloody well are setting things on fire. It's like he's never seen a house burned before.

TT: You have a visitor?
TT: Who?
Some guy, types Doc Scratch. Shit. He doesn't give a rat's ass about you, does he?

You are about to storm out entirely, saving yourself the embarrassment. You take one last look over your shoulder to the burning room to catch Scratch sitting in his chair and laughing his ass off. One gloved hand goes to his head and the other across his stomach, and his ridiculous laugh cackles across the crackling room.

You almost left without me, he says.

"Fuck you," you manage diplomatically. "You almost missed it, talking to your little pink friend over there."

She came to me for help, he says. Who am I to say no to an insistent lady?


You are snarling. She'd better stay away from- but no, there he goes laughing again, over the roar of the fire.

His voice comes perfectly in your head as always. She's a little young for me. It's more of a patronage thing. My young ward, perhaps.

You are not entirely letting this one through. You grit your teeth and cross your arms, metal fingers clinking against your shell.

Besides, says Doc Scratch at last, I had to let her go. I can speak with her whenever I like; it is not every day that this happens inside my soon-to-be-charcoal doorstep.

You consider, snarl hesitating. Flames begin to grab for your pantsleg.

We had better go outside, he says. I would not wish to miss it.

Oh fucking finally. You were beginning to wonder if the whole thing was lost on him. The two of you race for the exit. Given the time the fire's had, you don't bother to engage in the customary brawl on the way out. Timbers are already beginning to fall as flames eat from the outside in, and the journey past the door is hazardous enough.

You think that might mean something.

So the two of you stand on the green hills surrounding the house, going up in red flames, and watch. It's too bad you were late; the spirograph pattern isn't as clear as it might be if you'd gotten out earlier. But you can still see it. And so can he.

Beautiful, he says. So few left in the universe who remember the old ways. I would never have imagined I would receive a Dersite proposal proper, and certainly not after the banishments.

You look up to the night sky, awash in the glow of the burning house. For a moment, you are back on your purple balcony, overlooking a purple city. Patches of spirograph burn in the city; it's spring, after all, and your planet has passed through the Veil. Pair bonding is in the air; when you look up, the spirograph stares down from a thousand miles away, white and blue in the emptiness of the Incipisphere.

In the green moon's desert, you mirror your motions from years ago, and look up. You can see Alternia from here. But you can't see Skaia. All the same, Doc Scratch is beside you, and even as you think it, his voice appears in your head. I am very flattered, Slick, he says.

You tense up. Now comes the real crux of it. You twirl your second match in your fingers and wait.

Oh, yes, of course, says Doc Scratch at last, how foolish would you have to be to turn this down? I know the ritual; I'd prefer not to be the second thing burned tonight.

Your crooked grin blossoms on your face, you hold out your robotic hand, and the white glove sets down in it. Yep, he knows the rituals, alright. Your fears were for nothing, and anybody who sees this house isn't going to think it was some unfortunate mistake.

They're going to know that Doc Scratch was taken away, and they're going to know who did it. The flames eat up his old life, give him no chance to return to it. That's the way it's always done. You give him one chance- you, or nothing. And he picked you, and probably not just because he didn't want to die next. That's just... how it works. The burden finally lifts itself off as you realize, he gets it.

So, content, the two of you watch the spirograph lick at the sky.

That was terrifying and adorable. How on Earth did you manage to make Spades Slick cute? Also:

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the spirograph was a nice touch.