Hello there, I write short and silly stories which a friend of mine thinks are incredible but I think are utter tripe.
Could I ask from some feed-back on them please? Be ruthless, my opinion of them is already very low.
"Once again a practice session ended in sickles being thrown violently on the floor and a flurry of profanities.
Such sloppy work would never be accepted by the Threshcutioners let alone the leader of a team supposed to kill the Black King.
Times such as these were especially hard for Karkat. How could he lead when he was so weak? He lacked the strength of Equius, the wiles of Terezi, the raw psychic strength of Aradia or Sollux even that cave dwelling girl had him beat with her agility.
He slumped down against a wall and held his head in his hands. He was supposed to the the fucking leader and he could barely hold his own without someone else there to back him up.
How was he going to rally them all up and beat this game?
Wallowing in self pity he didn't notice a certain juggalo approach and crash down next to him.
"WhAt Is Up MoThErFuCkInG BeSt FrIeNd?"
"JEGUS FUCK, GAMZEE! WHAT HAVE I FUCKING TOLD YOU ABOUT PULLING THIS KIND OF SHIT? OH I FUCKING REMEMBER, I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING STOP IT."
"SoRrY, bUt I cAn'T lEt My BeSt MoThErFuCkEr SiT hErE aLl SaD aNd ShIt."
"OH JUST FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME TO FUCKING WALLOW IN MY OWN PIT OF FAILURE, I DON'T NEED YOUR FUCKING PITY."
Gamzee didn't say a single word, not even a HoNk. In one fluid movement he rose and slunk off, faster than Karkat was expecting.
He scanned the room quickly twice over, until he noticed a slime crusted bag where Gamzee was only moments ago.
"OH FUCKING GROSS YOU SICK, DEPRAVED CLOWN."
Karkat grabbed the bag violently and it's contents sprayed out onto the floor.
"FUCK! CAN I NOT GET A FUCKING BREAK FOR FUCKING ONCE?
Half way through his tantrum of swearing and wild flails he noticed a rather peculiar object. It was a DVD, his favourite DVD.
The one he could have sworn he had lost after his hive was transported to the Land of Phaze and Blood.
"I SWEAR I WILL TEAR HIS FUCKING BODY APART IF HE HAS DONE ANYTHING TO THIS DISK."
Karkat tore open the case to find the disk in the same perfect condition as he had left it, with a note that simply read:
A strange contortion began to envelope Karkat's face. He pocketed the DVD, picked up his sickles and began afresh.
All the while smiling more than anyone would have guessed he had been able to."
"It is strange being dead, as Aradia had found out soon after her demise. All of a sudden things she had used to have been so enthusiastic about became dull and boring. Which was surprising seeing as she could now enter into ruins one inaccessible to her when she was living, spend hours there without the need of water, food or sleep and without anyone to bother her.
Though perhaps that was the problem, it was lonely being dead. Or maybe that's what she was supposed to think? She didn't know really, people not talking to her didn't bother her as much as she thought it would. She was surprisingly 0k about it all.
Well, apart from Kanaya of course. But that's neither here nor there, Kanaya would bother the rocks if they talked back.
But there was one who she found herself thinking of, and one who she could talk to and he would talk back. After all he could hear the voices of the doomed and they had been rather close before.
She found herself drifting over to his Hive, sometimes just to watch him go about his day. He was boring to watch though, as he spent most of his day on this computer or maintaining his Apiculture Networks. When they did talk he would be the same as always, but a little more negative. It was probably her fault really, since her death she found it hard to sugar coat her words or to say anything that wasn't the grim and dark truth. But she still liked these conversations between them.
She missed Sollux.
She soon found a new hobby however, while moving some rubble away from a ruin she accidentally broke a large pillar creating quite a mess. It was somewhat fun.
Soon she quite enjoyed breaking anything using her powers, but bigger things that made large messes were the best.
She soon applied this to when she would go and see Sollux.
Once she brought a skull that she had found and waved it around his hive making silly ghost noises.
As expected he became increasingly angry at her, but she was 0k with this. She was having fun and it was nice to see him break out of his sullen mood once in a while.
Other times she would move his things around or spell words using his mind honey or cables. Once she even wrote on his face while he was sleeping with sopor slime.
"Why, Sollux what a dashing goatee. It goes so well with your whiskers and eye shadow."
She knew that soon the games would have to end though as she had heard the voices of the dead and those of her ancestors. Soon they would all be flung into a set of events where even she wasn't sure the outcome of. But until then she was content to just carry on with life as it was. Because deep down she knew that everything would be 0k."
"She bent down, her slender hands reaching for the sultry, arched rim of the bucket and stroked it tenderly, feeling it's cold yet exciting shell. Tentatively she picked it up, her breath becoming ever quicker as she brought it closer to her quivering chest.
She caressed the bucket, feeling it all over as if it were her matespirit and willed for her passion and longing to enter and fill it.
Then Crab-dad walked into the room and saw what Karkat was doing. He didn't question why he had such a high class and racy bucket. He didn't question why he was wearing a corset, high heels and lace lingerie with a fetching garter-belt. He also didn't question why all of his posters now had blindfolds on them as if to make sure the printed celebrities would never know of his erogenous acts.
I have an idea for a fanfic. It's KarkatDave, but while my Karkat voice is kind of okay, my Dave voice is outright shitty I need someone willing to let me bounce ideas off of and get some feedback. If anyone's willing...?
Eridan walked into the center of the room, his head held high, for some ungodly reason. A few of the twelvesome looked at him, then shrugged, and looked away. He didn't really matter to most of them, anyways. He was like the rotten apple of their eyes, and, according to Vriska, "A tooooooootal downer!" Made it damn hard to try to talk to him when all the purple maniac did was whine about romance.
Seriously. Not even Karkat talked about romance this much. And Karkat had illegally acquired all of the seasons of "Where A Troll Uses His Fabulous Wealth And Status To Attempt To Find A Matesprit Whilst We Film It." And he had watched and enjoyed them.
The other trolls shuddered to think of what their red-blooded leader had gone through. That show was undoubtedly the worst show on the Visual Experience Device. (VED, for short.)
Eridan walked straight up to Feferi, as usual. However, distinctly different from the usual, he stroked his chin. Feferi attempted to ignore the troll who was clearly incapable of understanding sanity for several moments, and then gave up. She turned to the troll in the wizard cape, one eyebrow raised.
"What the glub do you want Eridan?"
Her tone was remarkably cold for the unusually chipper imperial heiress. Others in the room could feel the ice in her voice, creeping down their spines.
"I just thought you should know Fef, that I've changed, changed a lot. There's somethin' different about me, an' I think you'll appreciate it."
The young queen boggled at her ex-moirail. What in the name of G'arb'lgrash, the High Demon of Insane Wizards, could he be talking about?
The science obsessed magic man stroked his chin a few more times, eying Feferi.
"Y'see Fef, I'm a whole new man now. I've got a lot more irons in the fire, an' I know you wanna be a part of it."
Feferi stared at the Prince of Hope. Then she giggled.
"Oh reaaaally Eridan? What the glub changed?"
Eridan stroked his chin a bit more.
"Well Fef, I've done somethin' with my body. Somethin' that'll change your an' my relationship forever."
He looked the girl dead in the eye, and said in a voice that implied that the gods themselves hung onto his every word,
The typing around the room stopped. All of the trolls turned to look at the idiot talking to the future queen.
"...Eridan you're six solar sweeps. You're too young to grow hair."
"Mebbe I just mature a bit faster then the rest of ya, Fef."
The girl snorted.
"Eridan, remember that 'experiment' you did in your third sweep?"
The wizard nodded. Without his robe and hat, unfortunately.
"The one that meant you could never grow hair anywhere except your head?"
The boy flushed. All of the trolls in the room snickered as he stormed over to his computer, and began typing.
-- caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling arachnidsGrip [AG] at 22:25 --
CA: vvris, wwhat the hell
CA: you said it wwould wwork
AG: And you believed me????????
AG: Why would you do something soooooooo stupid? >:::D
CA: man vvris
CA: i thought wwe wwere friends
CA: you and me against the wworld
CA: and then you betray me?
AG: Well, as you would say,
AG: "deal wwith it"
-- arachnidsGrip [AG] gave up trolling caligulasAquarium [CA] at 22:25 --
See, it's funny because Vriska likes Nic Cage.
And Nic Cage is cleanshaven.
MAN I'M SO WITTY
In which a few letters are written, a fever is tended to, Terezi and Dave play cops and mobsters with high levels of snark, and Rose and Kanaya bond even more with cultural exchanges.
JEGUS WEPT WOMAN YOU HAVE A LOT OF PROJECTS AND WORKS.
Yes I do, and here's a list of them. Also, there's a tumblr link in there, because I talk rather endlessly about my stuff on my tumblr.
Well, here's the tumblr, AKA Spitting Embers.
We've got Retroversion Dissolution, an ongoing AU involving an original cast: chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, and 13.
We have Frontierstuck, an ongoing AU involving the canon Homestuck cast I affectionately call "the cowboys-pirates-alchemists" story, featuring Rose/Kanaya and John/Vriska so far: chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, and 12.
There's Bear it All Broken, an ongoing humanstuck AU wherein Rose Lalonde is hit by a car and the rest of the cast interacts with her in the context of the hospital as well as the past she dwells on: part 1.
We have Couture, a silly little piece of Rose/Kanaya fluff.
We also have To Weave a Tale of Her, another silly piece of Rose/Kanaya fluff done for round two of the Homestuck Shipping Olympics.
I take prompts from tumblr for Writing Wednesdays, and I compile each new chunk of work into Works from Wednesday on AO3.
Finally, I do readings of works, both of others' and of my own stuff. You can find all of my recording here on my Tindeck profile.
Great Scott, did I actually write this whole thing?
The Afterlife of Vriska Serket
Part 3: Judgement
Death’s quaint little dining room dissolved, falling away like mist under the sun. The world beyond blurred into focus. Voices, an endless chorus of murmuring voices, rumbled from both very close and very far away.
A jerk of color. The world was in focus now. Vriska could think of very little to say, none of it intelligible.
The courtroom she found herself in now was gigantic, on a scale that could not be adequately described, though at the same time it felt impossibly claustrophobic. The ceiling was out of sight, primarily due to the fact that it was taken up by an infinite expanse of eyes and tentacles and horrible, terrible, alien intelligences. The floor was a bare tiled floodplain, all save a single wooden chair. The jury benches along the walls were filled with thousands, millions of pale, awkward Pickle Inspectors in every sense of timing. They all doffed their hats at her in synchronicity.
At the front of the courtroom was the judge’s seat, miles high and yet no higher than what would be expected. There were three seats at it, organized in a pyramid. At the top was Godhead Pickle Inspector, surrounded by an ocean of fractal universe-lilies, smiling gently, unusually humble in appearance for his position. It was part of his charm, most supposed. On his right was what appeared to be a man, one of unimaginable magnitude, though not nearly of the same presence as GHPI. Galaxies spun and died in the reflections of his eyes. He was checking his pocketwatch, though Vriska had a feeling that this particular watch told much more than the time. And on GHPI’s left was an incredibly tall man, with an indistinct face, and tiny round sunglasses. He was wearing a patched-up overcoat in a most garish shade of green, and tapping away at a smart phone. A raspy “Damn pigs” reverberated across the courtroom, tearing ragged dark holes in reality that shivered for a moment before Godhead Pickle Inspector sewed them up.
Vriska looked over her shoulder. The hooded forms of the Deaths were still there, a small comfort.
VRISKA SERKET. TAKE YOUR SEAT.
She took her seat.
VERY WELL. I CALL THIS TRIAL TO ORDER.
Lord English took his feet down from the rail, stood up, and cleared his throat. The sound was equivalent to liquid nitrogen poured down the collar of Vriska’s god-tier pajamas. She could feel fear now, real fear. It was paralyzing, crushing…she knew she couldn’t run from it, but she knew it would only get worse.
“Vriska Serket, you have been found guilty of the murder of Aradia Medigo, guilty of the crippling of Tavros Nitram, guilty of the murder of Tavros Nitram…”
Each crime relived itself in her head as it was spoken, but from a viewpoint outside her own. No, no…she wasn’t that bad, was she? She couldn’t be. There was no way she could do something like that. No.. it just…oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…Vriska shuddered violently. Realization was clawing at her, but she still resisted. She slapped her hands over her ears and shook her head, trying to drown out Lord English’s terrible voice, trying to push away the tides of dread reality once more.
“NO! I just wanted to be someone!”
“…guilty of the blinding of Terezi Pyrope, guilty of empowering Jack noir with the power of a first guardian, guilty of enabling the death of John Egbert, twice, guilty of enabling the death of Rose LaLonde, guilty of enabling the death of Mr. Egbert, guilty of enabling the death of Ms. LaLonde…"
“I didn’t want to kill them!”
"Guilty of the murder of Torwik Hashgar, guilty of the murder of Polos Murat, guilty of the murder of Cynserus Frelamn, guilty of the murder of Eshkar Balaoa, guilty of the murder of Xixis Urhan guilty of …”
“IT WAS THE SPIDER!” Vriska leapt from her chair, pointing a shaking finger at Lord English. Tears streamed down her face as for once, the voice of Vriska Serket quavered. “It was the fucking spider! She made me do it! I was going to die if I didn’t!”
“The circumstances do serve as mitigation, but as very little. You consciously chose to continue, rather than escape, or take grey caste, or kill your guardian, or any number of possible outcomes. Continuing, guilty of the murder of [indecipherable].” The noise was if he had said several thousand names, speed up and simultaneously. “In total, one thousand and twenty-five individuals.”
Vriska had no response. She had curled up into a little ball, on the floor, murmuring tearfully. “I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it…” It was pitiful. Pathetic. She had been reduced to this, a sobbing wreck where once she was a troll. And still Lord English continued.
“And there is one more crime you must answer for.” Lord English continued, his voice breaking from the monotone into a rising cadence. “You have sown dissention amongst the multiverse, turned friend against friend. Do you know how many savage, fiery wars have been started in your name, whether to protect of condemn you? How many bastions of free speech have been brought to chaos and anarchy because of your actions? How many hours and lives have been wasted on your account, you ungrateful little bitch?” He spat the last word out with venom that tore throughout the courtroom’s curtain of reality, ripping great black maelstroms of swirling, howling primeval chaos. The horrorterrors recoiled in fear. GHPI shrugged and sewed the holes back together. Azrael did nothing.
‘The accusations are complete.” Lord English straightened his Cairo overcoat and sat back down.
Vriska only dimly heard him. She could see herself now, clear as anything. She had done those things. No excuses, no blame, she had done it. She was sickening. Just a pathetic, sniveling coward, a filthy, worthless excuse for life, a murderer. A monster. It would have been better if she had been culled as a wriggler. It would have been better if the Mother Grub had never spawned her.
She was fucking disgusting.
Vriska Serket had been broken.
NOW, IT IS TIME FOR JUDGEMENT.
The courtroom went absolutely silent, beyond a lack of noise to the point where noise no longer existed. Vriska picked her head up, and looked to Godhead Pickle Inspector through bleary eyes.
A tiny crease formed at the corner of his mouth, and then a…smile? A whisper.
The wall holding her emotions shattered. She felt everything now, everything. Once again she broke into tears, of both sorrow and joy. With stumbling, hesitant movements, she stood up. At the corner of her senses, she could hear the swish of robes.
The sun boiled. The land, hard and grey, was baked, piled high with bleached bones. The Death of Trolls stood to Vriska’s right, wearing aviator sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. On her other side was the dumpy little Death whose home she had been in so long/so short ago.
“Why’d he do it? I deserved hell.”
“THAT’S THE POINT.”
“You accepted responsibility, and showed sorrow.” It was the little Death. His voice was… surprisingly normal. “That’s enough.”
“DOESN’T MEAN THAT YOU DON’T GET AN EASY PURGATORY SENTENCE, THOUGH.”
“You think?” Her sarcasm was working fine.
“It’s not that bad. You only have to make it to the tower."
“WHICH IS A VERY, VERY LONG WAY AWAY.”
“Not even a quantifiable distance, even.”
“And there’s the fact that I can’t even move, because I’m the size of a fucking Mother Grub.” Somehow, she couldn’t help but laugh at her condition. There was some sort of inside joke here, she was certain.
“You’ll burn it off in no time.”
“LITERALLY. THERE’S NO TIME HERE.”
“Yeah, great moral boost there.”
“SORRY TO LEAVE YOU HANGING, BUT WE HAVE TO GO. REAPING SOULS AND ALL THAT.”
The Deaths vanished. Vriska remained under the burning sun for a while, smiled, and took a step.
At which point she fell flat on her face, and found to her dismay, that getting up was proving to be a challenge.
This was so much fun to write. Take that, sappy melodamatic Vriskadeath fics!
Damn, this secret project I'm doing is taking long. I'm planning to post it by my 10.000th post, which according to my calculations should be somewhere end of July, beginning of August 2013 (I have 5150 posts at this point, but I have already been going for 3 months or so)
Liv Tyler's whole journey will be shown in a flash called [S] Terry: Fast forward to Liv while a fast version of "How Do I" plays. Semi-confirmed.
While Caliborn is talking to this person at the other side of the terminal, this person at one point says: “Hey. Caliborn. Don’t turn your back on the body.”
Caliborn turns around and notices Gamzee’s body is gone.
And so it begins again. Semi-confirmed.
GCat just teleported Roxy to the Condesce.Confirmed
Calliope and uu are living on B2 Earth, or maybe a doomed timeline version of it where the Red Miles didn't reach it (yet).
uu will write the LE code to make himself immortal.
A Frog Temple for Calliope and uu is somewhere in the Trolls' meteor somehow.
Gamzee went into hiding so he could protect the corpses of the Trolls of being destroyed so he could prototype them in B2.
GCat is Calliope's jUjU, in case the Cherubs are living on B2 Earth, late into the future. It would make a bit of sense, since First Guardians have Lime coloured features (teleportation powers, tongue, etc.) which Calliope has as blood colour. Also, Calliope is a Hero of Space and Heroes of Space usually have connections to their First Guardian.
B2 Earth is not going to get destroyed by the Red Miles since the Condesce, GCat, Lil Cal and Lil Seb are still there.
Dad will find Jane's body on Derse and a callback is made to Grandpa Harley finding Dream Jane's body. Not knowing how to escape, Dad panics. But then, B2 Jade comes flying along on a ship and offers him a ride and he gets shipped somewhere. Perhaps shipped with someone else. Perhaps he gets shipped with B2 Rose.
Quick, unpolished doodle while I figure out the next chapter of Militia.
She drew back, retreating to her communications as reality crashed, as the door that had been so close seemed to fade into the distance. Shaded white against the world, his last messages to her flickered.
When I die, my master will appear and this universe will end. That is the duty of the First Guardian.
She glanced over at the patches of green fur littering the ground, at the blood-stained platform. Even now the traces were vanishing into motes of green light, swirling into the air, power returning to its true owner.
I must admit that I am not entirely certain of how it shall play out here. But I took the necessary precautions for each possibility and it shall occur, not that there was ever any doubt of that.
All the signs that she had been told of but never acknowledged. Bec Noir's departure removal. Jadesprite's tearful but triumphant sacrifice suicide. This was now a universe without a First Guardian the conditions are met.
Of my proteges, I have reason to believe that it is young Miss Maryam who will be the one to ascend here.
She closed her eyes and flicked her wands into being, even though every fiber of her being screamed in despair. How could she even think to raise a weapon? Against one who she had called friend?
After all, is it not fitting that the one who creates the new universe also is the one to destroy the old?
@The Cool: I'll reproduce the best advice I was ever given. Write. Write every day, and read when you're not writing. You'll spend a lot of time writing like other people, which is not so bad if you're doing fan works. But the best way to develop an honest and personal style is to read as broad a range of people as possible and take pointers from what works for you and what doesn't. Because if you don't like writing it, odds are people aren't going to like reading it. Write stuff that gets your juices flowing. Not literally. Well, maybe. Probably shouldn't post it here though.
Don't feel bad about culling stylistic idiosyncrasies or even especially charming turns of phrase from other authors, either. There is, after all, nothing new under the sun, and any progress we make as writers is only through standing on the shoulders of giants.
@Hamiltonian: John Lalonde is not a creep! He is delightfully charming. Difficult to imagine as a thirteen year old though.
@traceExcalibur: That was brilliant. I think my favourite part was poor little Equius. That reminds me, I have some Gamzee wriggler fic to transcribe.
...So yeah, I pretty much suck at chapter titles, but here's the next instalment of Continentfettered, in which there is Derse, flying, Fairy Books... and undulating. oh noooooo
You are now the artist girl. Things just keep getting weirder and weirder. You fell asleep in your room overlooking an impossibly high cliff. You woke up in some kind of weird purple tower. Wearing some truly ridiculous violet leotard and matching leggings. You don't know whether this is some more game bullshit, or what. Someone has clearly gone to a lot of effort to create a purple facsimile of your bedroom. It's kind of unnerving. Still, you're free to leave, if the unlocked door is anything to go by.
The lone window does not have a view of central Bangkok for you to survey. Nor does it show the side of a cliff. You can instead see what are presumably miles and miles of bizarre, alien-looking buildings, all in a similar shade of purple. There are some seriously strange geometries going on here.
This place is inhabited, you can see. Dozens, scores of stunted, coal black...things, with gleaming white eyes, marching around swaddled in what looks like nothing so much as bandages, like Mr. Bump, or an ill-conceived mummy Hallowe'en costume. Some of them appear to be dragging tails along behind them, or tentacles, but these are clearly affectations as well. What exactly are these things? You feel less than confident in confronting them -- many of them are armed, with polearms or hand weapons, and you are completely unarmed, not to mention stranded in a strange city with no way of escape. N'ghott tylb'uou.
Oh, great. Now you're hearing voices. Talk about going from bad to worse.
Whatever. Screw this. You need to get back in touch with the others. Maybe they can help you out. Your Macbook is right where you left it: on your bedside table. You have some alerts from Whobes, but you need to speak to your server player if you're going to get to the bottom of this.
voraciousThespian [VT] began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]
VT: Hey Celeste.
VT: Are You There?
VT: Look, I'm Kind Of Having Some Trouble Here.
VT: I Fell Asleep For A While And Now I'm In A Purple Land.
VT: And I'm Not Sure But I Think I'm Being Held Captive By These Cosplaying Demon Things.
VT: Hope You Got That Whole Meteor Thing Sorted Out.
VT: Is That Still A Thing?
CB: Oh hey tina!!!
VT: Oh Good You're There.
VT: Can You See Me?
CB: Um im not actually by my computer right now...
VT: How Are You Talking To Me Then?
CB: Its a funny story and ill get into it when im not boarding a galleon full of imps >_<
CB: Sorry tina got to go!!!
VT: Hey Wait
Well, that's bloody fantastic. You're stranded on some sort of alien planet, completely unarmed, and she's playing Pirates of the sodding Caribbean. Good to know your server's looking out for you.
You scan your room to see if there's anything that can be put to use as a weapon in the event of some horrible thingie coming in and trying to kick in your haircut. The brute.
You're not really well stocked, in honesty. You left your LARPing gear in the care of a friend back in the UK, so you've not got anything to hand, fat lot of good foam and latex would do you in this kind of situation anyway. Still, a seven foot spear, even a fake one, would make anyone think twice. Even if you can't use it worth shit.
Um, you guess you have those needles you were knitting your plushie Dalek with? You can't see how they're especially going to make anyone quake in fear, but you suppose it might useful for the show of it more than anything.
You cast your mind back to your time playing Hurricanoes, rocking the feisty desert-cat look with Celeste, Whobes and Adam. You were never particularly equipped for combat then either. Mainly you just cradled a bone dagger the length of your forearm like it was a rag doll and you were the most woe-betide ragamuffin this side of Victorian London. That and the blood you habitually daubed yourself with (usually belonging to your character, but still, it was the look of the thing) was enough to deter folk from attacking you. People could give a second thought to all kinds of reasons for attacking the crazy heretical cat-bitch as long as there was a chance she was actually a necromancer.
Of course, that was exactly what you were, but that was generally only known to your friends and allies, or the people you had just cast the first necromantic spell on, before you started siphoning the life out of them and distilling it into ambrosya. Yeah, you were pretty much the cat's pyjamas back then. Now, of course, you're in a very different game, and you don't actually have the magics. Or the magicks or majiks either. None of that shit. Still, you think if you can look sufficiently unstable while holding these admittedly rather blunt implements you can give these weird creatures sufficient pause to get the hell out of whatever situation you manage to find yourself in.
Right, time to try and find your way out of this non-Euclidean nightmare vista. Oh goddammit Whobes what is it this time
VT: Hey You're Finally Back.
VT: Not That We Missed You Or Anything.
JW: sorry to hear that.
VT: You Know We've Been Doing Quite Well Without You Actually.
JW: is that so?
VT: Oh Yes.
VT: My Hometown Blew Up And I'm Being Haunted By The Ghost Of A Disfigured Tokai And Now I'm In Some Horrible Purple Castle Shat Out Of The Most Gruesome Sphincter Of Lovecraft's Diseased Cerebellum Being Held Captive By These Cosplaying Black Insect Things And Basically Just Having A Blast.
JW: oh god you're not in derse are you?
VT: Oh Yeah Also I've Started Hearing Voices.
VT: Weird Kind Of Outer Spacey Voices.
JW: fucking hell you're in derse.
VT: What's Derse?
JW: derse is the home planet of the dark kingdom.
JW: you're not really supposed to be there yet. how did you get there?
VT: I Dunno. I Woke Up Here.
JW: well of course you fucking did.
JW: that's how everyone gets there.
JW: unless they get to prospit instead.
VT: That Sounds Rude.
JW: man, dream you is such a flake.
JW: look, i'm kind of in a hurry.
JW: got a problem with this whole inbound meteor thing.
JW: can you please wake up so you can connect as my server player?
VT: You Mean Install The Other CD?
VT: What Do You Mean Wake Up?
JW: look, you're asleep, ok?
JW: derse is a dream land.
JW: you're not the real you at the moment. you need to wake up back in your land.
VT: OK. How?
JW: well if you can't wake up normally, i guess you need to go find something to make you.
JW: are there any important looking buildings out there?
VT: Oh! There's A Tower Like The One I'm In.
VT: Should I Go To It?
JW: yeah sure.
JW: just fly on over.
JW: you can fly in derse.
VT: I Can?
JW: i think so.
JW: try it.
VT: Oh My God I Can Fly!
JW: i'm made up for you.
JW: can you get out of there now, please!
VT: OK I'll Try.
VT: What Should I Do If These Dark Aliens Attack Me?
VT: They Look Like They Might They All Have Weapons And Junk.
JW: don't die.
JW: also have you tried weaponising your sylladex?
VT: What You Mean Like Firing Stuff Out Of It?
JW: yes. couldn't hurt.
VT: What Could I Fire Out Of It?
JW: i dunno. heavy things? just find some things to load up on and go!
VT: I Don't Really Have Many Heavy Things...
JW: your room is full of hardback books.
VT: Alright Mr Grumpy Gus. I'm Going.
Well, you suppose you ought to do what Whobes asked. Although you're still not sure what he's talking about with Derse and Prostate. This game is really weird.
You're not super-fond of the idea of using books as projectiles either. Well, you guess this room isn't your actual room so the books aren't really yours, but they still look like yours. In fact, looking in the dustjackets of your Fairy Books, you can still see the original owners' handwriting. These are exact copies. Except you guess instead of being Orange and Green and Yellow they're all just different shades of Purple. Well, at least you don't have to worry about not having that one in your collection any more. Kind of.
You quickly stuff your Palette modus with as many books as you can manage. Usually it works fairly well, since to withdraw an item all you need to do is find something around you of a roughly approximate colour to 'daub' it onto. Of course, since all of your books are more or less purple you're finding it hard to build up a stock of projectiles, and you can't really bring yourself to turn many of your beloved books into weapons.
You hover over to the window, and peek out across the bizarre architecture, to the second tower. Whobes seemed fairly sure the key to escaping was over there. You hope he's right, for both your sakes.
Flying in open spaces is pretty exhilarating; or it would be were you not so concerned with avoiding the line of sight of the patrolling Derse-dwellers. You could get used to this. Far below you see the streets and walkways of Derse, threading between the fractal buildings that jab into the black sky which nevertheless contrives to illuminate your way sufficiently. The oddly-garbed folk which bustle around, armed militia marching, or others engaged in some other inscrutable task, do not look up. You suppose, with a sky so featureless and void, there is not much call to. Still, you make haste to the second tower, and scrabble into the window-like aperture in the top, which you note is a perfect sphere. Quite the feat of engineering. Casting a look back over your shoulder, you see that the tower you left behind is in fact identical in every way you can tell.
Every way, that is, except for the interior. This room, from what you can tell, has only recently been moved into. There is the familiar clutter of half-unpacked boxes everywhere, and the room still has the vaguely sterile, unoccupied feel of empty shelves and naked walls. Wait, no-- there are some posters up, in the far corner by the desk. You've seen these before, come to think. That ragged Shaun of the Dead poster, and the ridiculous French Lord of the Rings one...
He's there, lying on the bed. You haven't seen him in person for nearly three years, but here he is. Lying there in an equally outlandish set of purple pyjamas, these with entirely superfluous shoulder pads. He almost looks peaceful lying there, except that he's wearing that childish, sulking look his mouth always reverts to in his sleep. You grew to knew it well enough that you found it endearing; then, later, infuriating. Now, looking at him curled on this bed in the middle of this alien land, lost in dreamspace, your hometown in flames far away, out of your depth in circumstances beyond your ability to comprehend, you are more pleased to see that face than you would ever admit. You guess.
He does not respond to his name, though. You climb down from the window, and cross to the bed, attempting to shake him awake. This meets with a similar lack of success.
Hyi wohn't whei ke.
Who said that? You are beginning to lose patience with this disembodied voice. You have more important things to do than indulge your slow slide into insanity resulting from the intense grief you're repressing. Whobes is relying on you.
Yhor'uh nohtt ihn saiyn.
An outstanding voice of reason there, coming from the imaginary people in your head. Jhuss b'cuszceu chn'ot cius d'snohtmeiyen whe'ar nohtt pres'hnt.
How delightfully cryptic. But you're kind of busy to be chatting to figments of your imagination.
Unfortunately for whatever these things claim to be, you've read far too many (and written a fair few) stories where desperate souls are hoodwinked by voices from beyond. You're not about to bite. Dhat whyln'ohttbi nec'sehri. Luktud'scie.
You've about exhausted the amount of time you had set aside for arguing with an invisible creature of the id. You guess you should probably have a search around for some hint of what exactly might get you both out of here. The boxes you rifle through yield little except for occasional bouts of nostalgia which play strange, wistful notes upon your heartstrings. Exasperated, you throw your head back to the ceiling -- or rather, the skylight through which the majority of the light in this chamber enters. The black, featureless sky of Derse stares back at you.
Wait a minute.
It is staring back at you. You, uh, you don't recall it being quite so undulate-y up there before.
Ghrit'ngzs, chyh'lt ofdh'rsuh.
Last edited by appositeNautilus; 06-24-2011 at 11:39 AM.
Clubs Deuce: Mr. Vantas, my boss has been acting really weird lately. He's been hanging out with this woman and now he comes in every morning with blood on his face and this weird dazed expression! I honestly have no idea what's going on? What should I do?
IF HIS KISMESIS IS BLEEDING HIM TO THE POINT OF EXHASTION EVERY DAY THEN THAT ISN'T HEALTHY. GET THE FUCK IN BETWEEN THOSE TWO AND CUT HIM OFF BEFORE SHE OR HE DECAPITATES BOSS MCROMANCE THERE.
Dear Mr. Vantas:
My Matesprit and Kismesis are Moirails.
GET A NEW MATESPIRIT AND/OR MORIAL. IT ISN'T FUCKING ROCKET SCIENCE.
:33< karkitty, what to i do if i want to be a matespirit with someone but im too embarrassed to tell them? DD:
LET ME SET THE RECORD STRAIGHT, HERE.
I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU.
I WILL NEVER BE ATTRACTED TO YOU.
THESE FACTS REMAIN REGARDLESS OF HOW MANY DEAD RATS YOU LEAVE NEAR MY RESPITEBLOCK.
PLEASE STOP KILLING RANDOM SHIT AND PLEASE STOP BREAKING INTO MY BLOCK.
:33< aww, but i thought you liked me catching furry cute things...
HOW THE FUCK DID YOU KNOW WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY AND THEN...
JUST HOW THE FUCK.
LET'S LOOK THIS MESSAGE OVER IN DETIAL. FIRST OF ALL YOU RESPONDED TO MY RESPONSE WITHOUT HEARING IT, PERFECTLY I MIGHT ADD, AND THEN YOU STATE THAT YOU DIDN'T KNOW I THOUGHT THAT WAY?
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? YOU'RE PULLING MY FROND. BUT NO, THAT STILL LEAVES THIS LOGIC PARADOX OF UTTER CONFOUNDING STUPIDITY STEWING IN MY THINK PAN LIKE A COMPRESSED AIR CANISTER IN A FIRE.
HOLY FUCK MY HEAD HURTS.
ALRIGHT I'M JUST DONE HERE. I HAVE LIKE 200 LETTERS FROM TEREZI, 50 FROM ERIDUMB-AS-FUCK, AND ONE FROM THE DAVE HUMAN JUST BEING A DOUCHEBAG AND...
ACTUALLY NOW THAT I READ THIS, IT'S PRETTY FUCKING HILARIOUS.
so im sittin at home and chillin
just thinkin about life and shit
and i had this thought
thought maybe gettin a second opinion wouldnt be so bad, even if you are an asshole
so here it is
jade, will you marry me?
OH GOD THIS IS JUST PRICELESS! LOOK AT THIS DUMBFUCK. PROBABLY THINKS IT'S IRONIC. LISTEN, "BRO", ASKING AGIRL TO MARRY YOU BY PROXY ISN'T COOL ANYWHERE. GET A FUCKING CLUE.
:O omg, yes!!!!!!!!!!
DEAR GOD NO THAT DID NOT JUST WORK.
ALSO HOW THE FUCK? ARE YOU PEOPLE SEERS OR SOMETHING? IS THERE ANY FUCKING REASON AT ALL FOR SENDING ME LETTERS AT THIS POINT?
ALRIGHT. THOSE OF YOU WITHOUT ACCESS TO A UNFALLIBLE ORACLE, SEND IN SOME LETTERS. I'M GETTING TIRED OF TALKING TO THE SAME DUMBSHITS EVERY DAY ABOUT WHATEVER ROMANTIC QUAGMIRE THEYNIUXLBH.SGBJPH GTHFVB \
1 TH1NK 1'M GO1NG TO T4K3 OV3R FOR 4 L1TTL3 WH1L3, WH4T DO YOU TH1NK?
UN4N1MOUS 4PPL4US3? 1'M CH4RM3D, FOR SUR3. H3H3H3H3H3H3H3H3!
Your eyes widen as your brain attempts to make sense of the thousands of nerves suddenly screaming at once, all in the center of your chest. Looking down, you see a thin, foreshortened metal object protruding out from directly below your sternum. It is covered in your blood.
I would really like feedback, and I expect I may make another draft. Be aware, that the goal of this fiction is to be accessible to vriska lovers, vriska haters, and people who have never even heard of homestuck... so... hopefully it works.
Waaaaait. So you have a moirail, who auspistices for your and your kismesis if I'm reading that right? o.o
you do not know anything about ladies really. They are a riddle draped in a mystery wrapped in post-apocalyptic shroudwear.
Originally Posted by CaptainZaven
My mom sometimes asks me and my sisters stupid questions like that meant to spark discussion. The number of times that i've gotten the question "Pancakes, Waffles, or French toast?" is just staggering.
The thing is, i've answered the question so damn many times that it is just mind boggling. She asks me that and i just glare at her and say YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW MOM.
and then my dad yells FRENCH TOAST from the other room and i say THIS IS WHY HE GETS THE GOOD NURSING HOME MOM. THIS IS WHY.
... And yes. We totally just had an auspisticism fling. An ashen one-day stand.
The moral here is clearly "Get into internet arguments so you can fill quadrants".
Originally Posted by Eismo
If you are reading this that means you found my sex doll.
I am so proud of you.
Originally Posted by kaoticAntagonist
Eridan is whiny, clingy, and an asshole.
He constantly acts out and has been estranged from the closest people he can call friends, mostly through his own fault. Its pathetic. And he never listens. The only person he may have listened to is Feferi, and though he did care about her feelings he's too dense to see how much she hated their relationship and too self-centered to change himself. His own character flaws make it almost impossible for him to overcome those same character flaws.
Saying that, hes my favorite character. Pretty much because of everything he is. I am still mourning his death.
edit: He is too self-absorbed to really listen. He does try to be a friend, but he sucks at it. But he didn't kill Karkat, probably because either a. he only killed the people that were in his way, or trying to kill him, or b. he valued his friendship and pact with him.
[04:33] D Weeaboo Jack?
[04:33] D That sounds....
[04:34] D Like trying to bring too complete opposites together.
[04:34] D Like matter and antimatter.
[04:34] D It's like we're creating our own personality Tumor.