#toss me like a toy cipher

[druckkugelschreiber]

Like I know I'm going on and on about Cipher in the new movie, but today, I belatedly realised that hello Cipher and Letty are fighting each other at one point and fuck me that's two hot women I crush on in a scene.

I'm officially in heaven.

Like the way Letty wraps her legs around Cipher and gets tossed. I want to do that.

[nasuversekinkmeme]

Weekly Roundups: Prompts

FSN

Let this be the one and only prompt I will ever send to this blog. Saber with a top hat a mustache and a fat fucking blunt. A cigarette is also acceptable.

FATE/EXTRA

smut, You know that one scene in Fate/Extra where Rani has sex with your servant? Yeah I want Hakunon to be invited in. Whether she's an active participant or if she just gives a thumb up and leave is up to you. (Archer route preferred!)

FSR

One of the remaining FSR Servants (or even characters from FSR who have the potential to become Servants due to being a historical figure themselves [like Zheng Chenggong]) being summoned to Chaldea. Honestly free for all on what exactly happens in the fill, just something that starts with this.

Anything with Zheng Chenggong and FSR Saber meeting up in Chaldea (with both as Servants even if the former hasn't actually been made one yet in Fate) tbh.

FGO

smut, BB Dubai’s henchmen get into a competition with Constantine’s henchmen. Loser gets a one way ticket to getting fucked without mercy.

One of the events (I forget which) had Tamamo Cat take up the camera because "Trust me, you don't want to see what Ushi looks like grinning while covered from head to toe in blood, woof!" I politely disagree and would like to request an image of exactly that.

smut, fionn/group - fionn very nicely takes care of his knights' stress. exactly as it says. i want fionn being a good nice slut for his knights of fianna, because it's hard work, you know, and it's good to keep morale up, and surely they deserve a reward for all they've done, and it's definitely not just an excuse to get some contact in after traveling for months and being away from a nice warm bed with a pretty girl in it for so long. diarmuid is an obvious must, but as for the other knights, you can do whatever you want! toss in whatever headcanons you might have about 'em. i'd especially love to see goll mac morna, with his contentious relationship with fionn and how that might make any physicality between them tense.

For the body horror prompts, maybe something with vortigern or the any of the tam lin with their “true forms” so to speak turned up a few degrees?

Arjuna weight gain, please... It feels like there's only like five people in the fandom who like the idea of him soft, and I'm two of them. Any pairing except Karna is fine, art or fic fills welcome, any size is good, just make him squishy <3

ANY

smut, noncon, Kindly asking for reader insert noncon. Ideally I need to get passed around Chaldean servants like a blunt but even just a single "servant of your choice makes good use of their inhuman strength to lock a poor unsuspecting reader in place for a quick fuck" works for me.

I want blorbos and sex toys. Not necessarily using them, if you want to write me Shiki shopping for toys or draw me Arcueid holding a magic wand like a lightsaber, that works for me (though I won't say no to lemon with toys in action, haha!) Any character, any fandom, any medium.

CROSSOVER

Bill Cipher is summoned to Chaldea. Not with a humanoid body or anything, still a triangle (bonus points if he has an Extra Class like Foreigner or Watcher, Berserker would also be acceptable). He is so confused and angry about all of this. Guda keeps essentially going “I can fix him” (not romantic, just in typical Guda fashion) in spite of his obvious warning signs. His powers are severely limited except for when he uses his Noble Phantasm, and he doesn’t know what a Noble Phantasm is so he thinks he’s been weakened forever (until he figures out how to use it ala Mash did) So many of the people here don’t know who he is, so they aren’t scared of him. At least a lot of the evil Heroic Spirits want to hang out with him.

This is mostly an art prompt (but writers are always welcome!): Crossover with Final Fantasy 14, please interpret your fave servant as if they were from that game! What class would they main, what race would they be? go wildddd

[creat0r-cat]

Bill Cipher x reader (5) - Creator and Demon

-----

Hearing giggles from outside, Dipper and I turned around, looking through the triangle window. There we saw Norman walking toward Mable just like a zombie. "OH NO! MABLE!!" Exclaimed Dipper, hand pressed firmly against the glass.

Mable's boyfriend grabbed her shoulders and I felt my panic rise. Did I actually just let a zombie with my little sister?? My right eye started burning from underneath my eyepatch. 'Aw hecc no.' I was about to go running downstairs to stop what ever was about to happen when Norman suddenly let go, and now displayed proudly was a necklace made of flowers.

Mable was shocked and smiled at him. "Daisies? Awww you scallywag~" I let out a relieved sigh and the burning stopped. Dipper slid off the window seat and mumbled quietly, "Is my sister really dating a zombie or am I going nuts?" I was about to add a quote but both of us were startled by Soos's voice entering the conversation. "It's a dilemma to be sure."

Dipper jumped back in shock and we saw Soos replacing a lightbulb on the ceiling. 'How did nobody hear or see him come in???' "I couldn't help but overhear you talking to yourselves in this big empty room." I almost laughed at how nonchalant he was about this. "Soos, you've met Mable's boyfriend. You think he might be a zombie, right?" He asked this hopefully and I felt pity for the young lad.

"Hmm. How many brains did you se the guy eat?" I smirked at Soos's logic. "Zero." Dipper and I said at the same time. "Look dude, I believe you. I'm noticing weird stuff in this town all the time. Like, the mailman, pretty sure that dude's a werewolf." He looked like he was having a flashback then continued, "but you gotta have evidence. Otherwise people are gonna think you're a major league cookoo clock."

"Yea Soos, you're right..." Dipper said dejectedly and the handyman nodded. "My knowledge is both a blessing and a curse." He said solemnly as Grunkle Stan shouted up from wherever he was, "Soos! Get down here! The portable toilets are clogged again!" I blinked and looked toward the stairwell. "The WHAT?" Soos secured his hat, "I am needed elsewhere." Then walked backward out of the room like a friggin secret agent.

"Welp. That just happened. Back to Mable and Norman though. If we want to figure out exactly what or who Norman actually is, we need to start gathering evidence." I said, turning to a dazed Dipper. He closed the journal and nodded.

And so, for the next few hours, Dipper and I followed the new couple on their "date" and began our little adventure.

During frisbee, Mable tossed the toy to Norman where it hit his head. He fell down like he had either fainted or died. Dipper looked away from where he was recording. "Omgosh did he just die?" I asked in confusion and slight panic. Fortunately he got back up.

Entering "The Greasy Diner", Norman broke the window so he could reach the doorknob and open the door for Mable. Dipper and I were seated nearby, hiding ourselves with the menus, and holy hecc, Norman could not walk normally for the life of him.

Finally, Mable and he were running around in the Cemetery when he suddenly fell into an open grave. He came put in the same manner that a zombie would in a movie, both of them laughing it off like it was on purpose.

After that, Dipper and I headed home. I felt hot and tired, and my eyepatch was bothering me, but I couldn't take it off in the presence of other people. No one wanted to see what was under it. Dipper and I barged into Mable's room where she was brushing her long brown hair.

"Mable, we need to talk." Dipper and I said in unison. Mable turned to us and smiled. "Is it about Norman? Isn't he the best? Look at this smooch mark he gave me!" She showed us a large red spot on her cheek and I gasped. 'Please tell me he didn't bite her or anything like that.'

Mable began laughing. "Haha! Gullible! It was actually from an accident with the leaf blower. That was fun." She never lost her smile and I was more worried about her mental sanity more than physical at this point.

"Mable, listen, we're trying to tell you that Norman is not what he seems." He pulled the journal from under his jacket and Mable gasped. "Do you think he might be a vampire??" Mable seemed almost excited about that and I sighed thinking about those romantic vampire stories she sometimes read.

"Guess again sister. SHABAM!" Dipper said, opening the book to a specific page. Mable looked at it and gasped. I looked at it and laughed. It was the gnome page. Dipper saw it and flipped the page mumbling about it being the wrong page. "SHABAM!" He said, again showing the book. Mable now looked confused. "A zombie? Really? That's not funny you guys."

"No Mable! I'm serious! It all adds up! The bleeding, the limp, he never blinks!! Have you noticed that???" That was true, but some people are just able to do that. "Maybe he's just blinking when you're blinking." Mable suggested and I shrugged when she looked at me.

"Mable, do you remember what the journal said about Gravity Falls? Trust no one!"

"But what about me? You can trust me!" She made robot sounds when she put on two star earrings. "MABLE LISTEN TO ME HE IS GOING TO EAT YOUR BRAIN!!" said Dipper, asking him and I pushed the two apart. He was going a little too far and Mable looked pissed.

"Dipper, listen to me. Norman and I are going on a date at 5:00 and I am going to look adorable! And he's going with me, and it will not be ruined by one of your stupid conspiracies!" She said angrily, shoving him out of the room. She turned to me. "What about you, anything you wanna say?" She still looked like she was gonna kick my butt if I said something wrong.

I sighed, "Enjoy your date Mable. I'm happy you have someone who makes you happy too, just be careful alright, Shooting Star? I really don't trust him." I walked out of the room before she could reply and closed the door gently behind me.

Dipper was sitting down against the wall looking panicked. Just then, the door bell rang and Mable rushed out of the room and downstairs to the door in a new sweater. 'How in the world?' I could hear her voice greeting her boyfriend and asking how she looked. There came a rough "Shiny." From Norman and Mable giggled. "You always know what to say." Before I came downstairs and watched them walk away together.

Dipper sighed and sat on the old recliner. "Soos is right. I don't have any proof. He began running through his recordings of Mable and Norman's previous date and we stopped on a recording of them cuddling. "Norman's hand fell off in that recording. Why aren't we talking about that?" I said, pointing out. "Now that I mention it, why didn't we notice it when we were recording it?" Dipper snapped out of his depressed trance and let out a shocked yelp. Indeed, in that recording, Norman's hand fell off and he put it back on, looking around to see if anyone was watching.

Dipper knocked over the recliner in panic and I stepped back before it hit my foot. Dipper was repeating "omgosh I was right I was right I was right!" As he rushed out the door. I followed right behind him after putting the chair back up. He began calling for Grunkle Stan who was giving on of his tourist trap tours.

Dipper tried to explain what was happening, but didn't get very far with him. Then, looking to the side of the house, there was... WENDY!!! Both of us ran to her. "Wendy! I need to borrow the golf car so I can save my sister from a zombie!!" Wendy looked at me and I nodded. She handed me the keys and gave me a finger gun. "Try not to hit any pedestrians!"

We were stopped by Soos almost immediately as we headed off, him giving us a shovel for the zombies and a baseball bat in case we saw a piñata. We quickly thanked him and then with the roar of the engine, we sped off to find our sister.

[bornspellcaster]

Guess who is getting added as a muse 😏

It is a round boy

I’ve decided he’s going to be like a baby cosmic horror, because Philip getting manipulated by like an eternal eight year old is just. so fucking funny

His personality will be a mash based off my all time favorite character Skullkid (Legend Of Zelda), and basically a baby Bill Cipher/Jevil

His name that he goes by will be ‘Eclipse’, but he goes by the nickname ‘Clips’

Some notes on Clips

No one knows what his real name is or where he comes from and he doesn’t tell anyone

He’s cryptic about his goals

He’s not even necessarily evil or good, he simply doesn’t have the same regard for life that others have, mainly because of his immortality. The world is a playground to him; people are toys. He doesn’t view death in the same manner as anyone else, being a creature that can’t easily be killed. He’s like a kid that’s been given a toy gun and never knows when to stop shooting

He can’t easily form deep attachments because he views people as playthings, and like a child, when he gets bored of them, he’ll toss them aside to move onto the next toy. He can have a preference for people and think they’re fun, but ‘love’ is a concept that he has a hard time understanding. He doesn’t know why Philip is so desperate to get his real brother back instead of just replacing himself with someone else.

He thinks manipulating people is funny and interesting because of how easily people can allow themselves to trust him. Philip is the most fun to ‘play with’ but he also isn’t very fond of him because ‘he’s mean to me.’

He was contained because of how absolutely lethal his utter disregard for lives and feelings are, as he doesn’t know when enough is enough and would probably see the world burn with a smile if it gave him amusement.

He’s been around since The Titan and he wants it resurrected. He doesn’t say why, other than ‘he’s my friend’

He uses very childish terms for his vicious misdemeanours, from “play with me”, to “toys”, to “games” because that’s all he sees it as.

He loves speaking in riddles when asked for information and only started doing it when he realized it pissed people off lmao

He is indeed ‘a round boy’

He’s responsible for the creation of every curse in the realm. He made them because ‘it was funny’

He has no real gender or age, but goes by ‘he’ pronouns’ and sometimes ‘it.’ He’s like a demon Peter Pan that never grows up

[endeavorsonlyfans]

Posting because who's going to stop me! Myself- Anyway

Just an old fic of Post baby's first time not matching with his normal circle of peeps. Kinda his first round of matches

-------------------------------------------------

"Oh, dear..."

The soft echoing voice of the Postman rang in his head as he heard Mrs.Nightingale announced that he would be team up with some 'old friends' of hers. 

She smiled at the survivors, watching as they gathered around to hear what teams they were placed on. 

"Team five.."

"1.The Postman 

2. The Prophet 

3. The Mercenary 

4. The Perfumer"

"You will be on your way to your match in two minutes. I will now go check up on your Hunter. Please note that time is precious and don't waste it.." 

Her voice lowers in the last part. She looks at her Scroll and shakes her head, leaving the survivors' wing

With her gone, the survivors finally breathe again and discuss their team formation and plan. 

"So I have to play with them..." 

Victor's voice is quieter than he thought in his head. Did Mrs.Nightingale scare him too? 

He hadn't known those names on the list for long. His golden eyes search the room for the needed teammates. Did he have to find them? 

The postman bites his lip, looking at how the other survivors got along very well. Could he really fit in this way?

"No" 

The postman peeked down at blank papers in his mailbag and slowly reached inside of it, retrieving three sheets of clean copy paper. He wasn't very good with line paper because he wrote tiny so he needed better sheets..but it made his handwriting a bit not neat? Untidy? 

He shrugs in response to his own thoughts and writes the first Survivor name down. 

The Prophet...

Who's that? 

The postman taps on the nearest person's shoulder, hoping for some help. Instantly he regrets it when sharp green eyes fall on him, looking him up and down. 

"Yeah?"

That voice was definitely not a friendly one. The postman tears his dry lips open to speak just for no words to come out. Oh great. He struggles for a bit and feels warmth fill his eyes as he tries again to clear his throat. 

"Did you... change your mind?" The male was growing more impatient. His clean steel toe boots tapping the expensive tiles of the Manor floor. 

The postman is quick to nod. Just to shake his head seconds after. He was already making a bad impression on his teammates.....

He quickly wipes his tears away, hearing a kinder voice fill his ears. 

"Naib." 

He looks up from the one called Naib to a much taller male. He's a bit familiar to the postman seeing his Owl and soft brown hair was a clear sign of that.

"I think you are scaring our teammate." 

Naib lowers his eyes from the cloaked man and faces him. The poor postman couldn't tell if he was sorry or upset that he was stopped.

"I apologize for my behavior, You didn't say anything, so I assumed it was a childish trick being held. I'm not a fan of fooling around... Anyway, I'm Naib. The mercenary." 

He said his title as if he weren't proud of it. Sure it was filled with pride and experience, but something bothered the postman about his words. Maybe he would have to get to know this Naib some other time.  

Viktor smiled a bit at Naib's apology and waves his hand as if brushing it off as nothing, which was exactly what it was. Nothing Still, he accepts the apology.

Naib nods at this and glances upward at the grandfather clock. "What's your name?" 

The small postman bent down to pet his dog, seeing Wik noticed his change in behavior. The dog was brushing against his leg, whining. He smiles at his companion and reaches into his pocket, bringing out Wik's toy. "You want to play?" 

Naib raises a brow at the sound of Viktor's voice and somewhat smiles. "So you're more of an animal person, huh? My friend here also has a connection to them."

The postman nodded, peeking at the cloaked man. He opened his mouth and spoke clearly for once "My name is Viktor...Viktor Grantz." He offered a hand out to him before thinking about what he'd think of it. "..Does he even want to get to know you?" He questioned inner Viktor's voice with a small Hum. 

The postman moved to bring his hand back when he noticed a gloved hand sneak from the dark abyss of the cloaks. It was much smaller than The Postman had thought. Delicate too..the fingers were slimmed perfectly and long. 

Once the hand was closer to the light, he saw something else he didn't think of. A purple gem rested on a gold ring hugging his finger. Could he be married?

His thin lips tugged into a smile. It seemed Naib didn't like that. He had turned away as if he didn't want his friend to meet the postman. That explains why he hadn't given him a name...

 "Eli Clark." 

He took the postman's hands in his own, intertwining them with a pleasant hum. "

It's nice to meet you Viktor and Wik." 

The postman swallowed his voice and Eli's lips sealed. This caught the attention of Naib. He grabbed the taller man by the waist, looking up at him. 

"Eli...Eli.."

The taller male was silent for some now, probably seeing right through the postman. With the way his chin pointed, he could be looked beyond him.

"I'm sorry."

The postman shook his head, receiving warm laughter from the taller male.

 "I'll see you in today's match, yes?" 

The postman wasn't sure how to respond to the question, so he just nodded. That's when they heard the grandfather clock at its loudest. Was it time already?

The room only contained those needed for the match. Everyone was gone except Eli, Vera, Naib, and the postman. He took a deep breath before he was consumed by darkness. 

At the sound of shattering glass, he wakes up on the floor of the White insane asylum. Boy, did he hate it here. He always got lost in the hallways and forgot where the exit gate would be.

He stands to his feet and searches for a cipher to decode. He takes a while to find an empty room to decode in. His teammates would sometimes run the hunter past him, sending him to a flying panic. 

"This would never happen if I were with Lucca." He lay his head against the Cipher machine in sadness.

"Viktor!" 

The Postman jerked up a bit too late. A Slave had brought her club down on the postman. 

"Oh no."

He pulls away from the cipher and runs with the girl trailing after him. "Um.." He fumbles through a stack of letters he wrote for this match and sent it out to the nearest teammate. Hopefully, Wik would return soon. 

The postman struggled through the darkness of the Insane asylum with the slave as he tossed down pallets and made loops. He was burning out, Vaulting over a pallet. Just as Wik came running back. A hissing sound caught his ears. 

"Flying feathers!" 

A sharp hoot following by the gong of the bell filled his ears. He was positive he should have been incapacitated by now. 

"Viktor, are you alright?!" 

The Postman jumps at the sight of the seer peeking around the corner. He was really good at sneaking about. Eli looks at his injuries and fishes out a medical kit.

 "This shouldn't take too long." 

The Postman struggles to speak, so he just nods and sits still as he is taken care of. From the outside of the Electric therapy, room was a Mercenary dragging a poor slave around the walls. 

"How did you guys know I was here?" 

He mumbled softly to the seer 

Eli didn't respond

He just smiled and chased after the shouting Naib

"..If those two have the hunter, then where's the fourth player?!" 

Viktor looked around the place for someone else

Instead, he got something much worse 

Vera was dancing on the dungeon and screaming thank you

The postman was this close to smacking her with a letter-- 

"Focus on decoding!" 

Viktor tiptoed away and prayed a cipher was far away from her. 

His prayer was answered, and he quickly ran over to the cipher typing in the code

The last cipher had busted and Viktor stared at it with wide eyes 

"Thank you!" Vera screamed for the hundredth time, running past a waving Eli being dragged by Naib

"Get out of here!" Naib fumed, dragging the taller male after him as he collected rage

"Hue Hue nice try" Eli smiled sending his Phoenix forward to protect the postman who just barely made it out in time

[swtorpadawan]

Prey

Author’s Notes: The following contains reference to a non-consensual encounter. Reader discretion is advised.

(Sorry @a-muirehen​ - it was almost ready to post!)

The man known only as Cipher Nine entered the cantina at the Star Cluster Casino on Nar Shaddaa.

He knew it well. He had first visited the establishment months ago, when he and Kaliyo had been tracking down the Eagle’s network.

More poignant, of course, were the memories from his visit just a few weeks ago, when he had been sent to infiltrate the Republic’s Strategic Information Service as a double agent.

This, of course, had been where his real troubles began. 

Nine’s fingers clenched into a fist at the memories of Ardun Kothe. And the keyword.

His training and discipline re-asserted themselves. He would deal with the castellan restraints, then he would deal with Kothe. Then he would deal with Imperial Intelligence and the Sith. Everyone who had put him in this position would be made to answer for it.

But first, of course, he would have to get through tonight. Through the next few minutes.

Nine took a seat at the far end of the bar. The place was practically empty this time of night. (True, telling the difference between night and day on Nar Shaddaa was a challenge in and of itself. This was worse than

As usual, he’d chosen a spot where he could watch both points of entry to the place, along with possible exits.

Intelligence training. Those back-stabbing bastards had been good for something, after all.

He quietly ordered a Corellian whiskey. Neat, as usual. The bored-looking Rodian at the bar delivered the glass, then went back to wiping down the counter.

Nine knew the man was coming up behind him about ten seconds before he finally felt the playful slap on the shoulder.

The man took a seat on the stool next to Nine.

“Legate.” He said cheerfully, by way of greeting.

“Hunter.” Nine replied with ill-grace. Not even bothering to throw a sideways glance towards the SIS agent.

Hunter ordered a Sarlacc Kicker and took a sip, only now appearing to notice the other man’s silence.

Hunter chuckled. “No need to be unfriendly, Legate. Hoth went about as well as could be expected.”

“Is that why you needed a debriefing interview?” Again, he didn’t bother looking Hunter’s way.

“Well, I have to be sure we didn’t miss anything.” He smirked. “It pays to be thorough.”

Nine simply sipped his drink, not deigning to reply.

“I don’t know what you’re so bothered about, Legate.” Sipping his own drink. “The operation was a success, we got the shuttle, and you got to cap a rogue Imperial admiral. I even let you keep the girl, against my better judgement.”

Nine’s grip on his glass tightened at Hunter’s flippant reference to Ensign Raina Temple. The SIS agent had originally been prepared to murder the young woman there and then on Hoth. Nine had managed to persuade him otherwise, with Temple joining Nine’s crew. Hunter’s final command, however, to kill Temple if she became a danger, had stuck in his craw.

Even if Hunter hadn’t been using the key word at every turn, he would have more than enough reason to despise the man by now.

Seeing no reaction from his companion, Hunter sighed, downing the remnants of his drink.

“Alright. Let’s take this conversation someplace else more private, then, shall we?”

Hunter rose from his stool, tossing some credits on the bar.

“Don’t worry. I’ll cover our drinks.”

Nine finally turned to look at the other man, not bothering to hide his suspicion.

“Why someplace else?”

“Oh, I just thought some privacy would be better for this sort of thing, don’t you?” Hunter’s smile didn’t quite catch his eyes.

“The bar was your idea.” Nine countered.

“Yes. And now my idea is that you follow me to someplace more private.” Hunter’s tone was growing impatient.

The Cipher agent was feeling difficult.

“What if I’d rather not?”

Hunter’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing into a frown even as his smirk widened. Somehow, the smug look was far more genuine than his more pleasant smile earlier.

“Onomatopoeia.” Hunter’s voice was low and almost threatening. “You’re going to follow me.”    

  Much to Nine’s surprise, they didn’t leave the casino. Instead, he followed Hunter upstairs and to the lifts, into the hotel section of the Star Cluster.

Hunter made his way down a hallway, not bothering to check and see that Nine was following behind him. Finally coming to a halt and pulling out a keycard, the SIS agent led him into the room before closing the door behind him.

Like most of the Star Cluster, the room was opulent. It wasn’t one of the luxury suites, but it was still magnificently decorated and included a full bar, plush expensive furniture and a massive bed covered in Lashaa silk sheets.  

“Nice place for a debriefing.” Nine muttered.

“Well, I did want you to feel special.” Hunter winked at him. “Now Onomatopoeia – don’t move.”

Nine felt his entire body go rigid; his mind and body betraying him. He felt the anger flare up again, and this time he couldn’t even squeeze his fingers into a fist. He was unable to even fidget.

He had never felt so helpless.

“There now. Isn’t that better?” Hunter grinned. “Now hold on – I have a surprise for you.”

Hunter began pressing buttons on his bracer. Nine knew the SIS agent had a stealth-field generator within the bracer and he would have been disappointed if there weren’t other toys contained within it, as well.

But what happened next was completely shocking.

‘Hunter’ disappeared, and in his place was a woman with light brown hair, cut short.

She smirked up at Nine.

“Be flattered. You’re the first person I’ve shown my face to in years.”

Nine continued to stand silently, unable to even blink.

‘Hunter’ slid out of her jacket, tossing it over a chair. Then she sat on the bed and kicked her boots off.

“Its funny. I feel like you’re the only one I can talk to. Kothe and the others don’t know anything about this. How do you manage to keep all the identities straight? How do you separate the lies from the truth?”

She stood up and walked over to him, pulling off her glove. Then she reached up and caressed his cheek with her bare hand.

Nine wanted desperately to swat her hand away. pull away.

“How do you remember who you even are?”

She smirked up at him, then backed away, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and crossing her legs.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” she grinned like a Nexu.

“Onomatopoeia – take off your clothes.”

  Hours later, ‘Hunter’ finally rose from the bed.

“You’re even better than your file suggested, Legate.” she smiled “That was well worth the price of your drink.”

She started to get dressed, in full view of him. Nine remained motionless, of course, lying face-up on the bed.

To remain so like that had been her most recent command thus far, delivered a few minutes ago. It had been just the most recent of the hundreds of commands she had given him this evening.

She had secured her undergarments and was now pulling up her trousers. She glanced over at him, her eyes wandered up and down his bare form approvingly.

“We’ll have to do this again, soon. After we finish this job for Ardun, I think. We’ll go off somewhere, just the two of us. A week or two just like this. Won’t that be nice?”

As she finished securing her belt and tucking her shirt in, ‘Hunter’ leaned in and kissed his cheek, giving him a sultry smirk as she stood up again.

“Onomatopoeia.” She said. “In ten minutes, you’ll forget all of this. I debriefed you back at the bar, then left. Afterwards you met some girl and came up here to spend the night with her. She left before you woke up. Then you’ll open your eyes and be able to move again. You’ll never be able to tell anyone what happened here. Not even yourself.”      

‘Hunter’ finally pulled on her boots, then she reached over and pressed the buttons on her bracer again. A moment later, she was once again Agent Hunter of the Strategic Information Service.

He smiled over at him.  

“So glad I could ‘hunt’ you down, Legate. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, Hunter exited the room.

Now alone, Nine continued to lie there, even as the internal clock in his cybernetic implants counted down. He knew that in just a few minutes, his mind would obey Hunter’s command, and the very memories of what had happened here would disappear.

He wondered if the feelings he had been left with would just disappear as well.

Nine’s only consolation was that soon, the IX counter-serum would take effect. Then he’d have his revenge. Again Kothe. Against the SIS. Against the Minister and Imperial Intelligence and the Dark Council and the Sith.

He moved Hunter to the very top of that list, even as he knew that he wouldn’t remember doing so.

In the meantime, he just lay there. Knowing that he had been used and would be used again. He’d been an instrument. A tool.

A plaything.

Prey.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

mentor/mentee bonding or long, tight reunion hugs after a long separation if you're taking some of those prompts from the list!

Mentor/Mentee bonding it is! Featuring Delver and Sylda from my original work…

As far as inn rooms go, it wasn’t the worst they’d ever stumbled into. A quick assessment of the floor and ceiling revealed no obviously damp spots. The beds, while threadbare, seemed clean enough. Even a candle, thick and melted at the base, burned with quiet determination on the windowsill. Coupled with the fading daylight, it shed just enough brightness to provide comfort without revealing the more unseemly details of the room. Delver was perfectly content with that. Ignorance could be bliss when you were tired enough.

“You know, if you want a hand with that, all you need to do is ask.”

The stool creaked beneath him as Delver fired Sylda a sharp look from the corner of his eye. The only think keeping him from firing back a reply was the tie held between his pursed lips, the coarse fabric nearing its final breaking point. He’d probably get another few days out of it, if he was careful. And a little lucky.

Not that luck had been on his side, lately. Something told him he’d used it all up back in Yelen.

Huffing, Delver’s nose crinkled as he tried to card his hair back away from his face. Yes, it was knotted and miserable and road-worn, but gods above he wished he’d just left it how it was. Some ancient and habitual part of his brain had apparently decided that retying his hair went hand-in-hand with removing his boots, so now there he was, bare-foot and simmering in his own stupidity. Divider’s sake, he was a cipher, owner of one of humanity’s most complex and unexplainable minds! Yet, somehow, it managed to forget his entire right hand had recently been used as a rakhund’s chew toy and was about as useless as any other slab of meat.

Soon, his frustrated grunts morphed into a growled curse as he tried to wrestle his hair out of his face. Over the other side of the small room, Sylda had taken up position leaning against the wall, cross-legged, observing him from atop her bed like a bored courtier waiting for the entertainment to begin. Ignoring her was almost as hard as maneuvering his bandaged hand.

“… You still sure you’re fine?” she asked after a particularly frustrated grunt. “At this rate, you’ll be at it all night. No offense, but you need your beauty sleep a lot more than I do.”

“I’m sure,” Delver snapped, then jolted as the tie fell from his mouth. Pure instinct took over once more as he tried to grab it. The movement was as sudden as it was stupid, and in a split-second it was like someone had stabbed a knife straight through his palm. Delver cursed in some language or another - he didn’t really care - and grabbed his wrist. It was as though he hoped pressure could somehow stop the fire from shooting down his arm. Fuck, it had been days since that damn animal had decided it wanted a piece of him - when was it going to stop feeling like a fresh wound?

As usual, Sylda’s knack for moving around without making a whisper of sound nearly shocked Delver into an early grave. He jolted as she plopped down in front of him, crouching for lack of a second stool. Only this time there was something different in her brown eyes. Something not entirely stubborn. 

“Would you just say ‘yes’ already and put us both out of our misery?” She nodded pointedly at his hand. The bandage was starting to turn. “You’re hurt and I don’t mind, so why not just let me do it?”

“I don’t need—”

“—Just give me the damn tie, Delver.”

Suddenly, there it was. The thing that was different. It wasn’t a new emotion, but rather the absence of an old one. Her usual teasing was… gone. Not sure what to make of that, Delver actually relented, his curiosity momentarily outweighing his pride. For as long as he’d known her, Sylda had hidden everything behind tactless and ill-timed humour; practically driven him mad with it. In fact, the only time he had seen it utterly absent was when she’d been hanging from the gallows in Yelen. This hardly seemed a comparative scenario.

She snatched the tie with a look that screamed thank you in the most exasperate way possible, then moved behind him. Delver turned, trying to follow her with his eyes, but the next thing he knew her hands were in his hair, tugging his head forward sharper than was strictly necessary. 

“Still don’t trust me, huh?”

Delver closed his eyes. Damn it. “It’s not that.”

“I dunno. Kinda feels like it is.”

“If you wanted to slit my throat, I assume you would have done it by now. We’ve been on the road long enough.”

Sylda’s fingers paused their journey along his scalp as she considered the proposal. “True,” she conceded after a moment. Her hands resumed, catching the dull copper locks of Delver’s hair, scooping them back. Divider, it was a mercy to have it off his face again; like he could breathe easy. “Why so tense, then?” she continued. “You’d think I was torturing you, but here I am, gentle as a spring-born lamb.”

“Hm. Unnatural for you.”

“Oh, deeply. So I’d appreciate a little more relaxing on your part, if you wouldn’t mind.”

A chuckle broke past Delver’s exhausted defenses. “I’ll try. But I make no promises.”

“Does it hurt?” Her question came so suddenly that it caught Delver by surprise. It was also what gave him the impression that she had been sitting with it for a while, trying to decide the best time to ask it. Naturally, she missed the mark by a good mile or so. Glancing down, he released he was still gripping his wrist tight enough to cut the circulation to his hand. 

“It’ll heal, in time.” Stiffly, he uncurled his fingers, wincing at the red marks he had left on his own skin. While he was no stranger to injury, he had to admit, this was the first time he’d been mauled by… well, anything. 

He hoped he tasted as shitty as he felt.

“That’s not what I asked.” Her hands move again at the back of his head; a new pattern this time. “But I guess it was probably a stupid question, so…”

As she trailed off, all Delver could muster was a hum of agreement that ebbed away just as quickly into the waiting silence. The candle flickered madly, caught in a gentle breeze, and suddenly all Delver wanted was a meal, a drink, and a long night’s rest. Divider, he wanted it so badly he could feel it like a pressure in his chest. It was almost irrational. Painful. Childish, even.

“Why’d you do it?”

Sylda, having completed her task while Delver momentarily recessed into childhood, was now in front of him again, fixing him with that expectant, matronly look she got when she wasn’t in the mood to argue. At first, Delver wasn’t sure what she was talking about, until her eyes flicked pointedly to his hand again. As soon as she did, he sighed.

“Leave it be, Sylda.”

“No.”

“Just… go downstairs and grab whatever’s left from supper. Before the innkeep tosses it to the pigs.”

“Sure. Once you answer me.” She folded her arms, and there it was. That stubbornness again. It hardened her gaze to stone. It was the reason she drove him halfway mad. It was the reason he knew she would do great things, some day. If he did his part properly, that is. 

It always seemed to come back to that.

Delver heaved a sigh that carried the weight of generations. “The fucking thing was about to pounce on you, Sylda. Was I just meant to let it?”

“You could have.”

“Really? Well go ahead and add it to the long list of things that make be an idiot, then.” It was hard to look at her, all of a sudden. “Listen, I’m the one dragging you across the damn continent. Just let me play the hero for once and stop badgering me about it.”

“Hero? More like the fool.” The words themselves were harsh, but the way she spoke them somehow… wasn’t. They almost seemed to sigh out of her, and she slumped down on the edge of the bed. “Just don’t do it again, okay? I can take care of myself.”

Delver snorted, shaking his head. “Fine.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. What I don’t understand is why you think you need to tell me.” He finally looked up and met her startled gaze. “Sylda, listen… I have no idea what you’re capable of, and frankly neither do you. But sometimes you just get hit by a bout of bad luck and skill has nothing to do with it. I’m not interested in letting some rakhund rip your throat out because you just happened to be looking in the wrong direction.” He paused, fighting the urge to clench his fist, then added, “And judging by the way you gutted the damn thing with that pocket-knife of yours, you feel the same way. So let’s just call it what it is.”

“Fuck you, it’s not a pocket knife.” While she spoke, she folded her arms. Wary. Guarded. “And what are we calling it, exactly?”

“Responsibility.” Grimacing, Delver hauled himself off the stool, rolling his shoulders. Funny, how the stiffness of spending too many days walking only ever seemed to catch up to him once he stopped. “When you travel with someone, you watch their backs. It doesn’t matter who takes the hit, and no one owes anyone anything. That’s just how it is. So enough with the coddling and questions.” He huffed, shaking his head as he rifled through his pack. “Divider willing, you’ll be folding my bloody socks before long.”

“Yeah, over my dead body.” It was almost a relief, to see her grin and hop off the bed with almost twice the energy than what she’d shown before. “Alright, fine. Have it your way. Can’t say I’m against the idea of not owing you anything.”

“Yes. I thought you mightn’t be.” As much as Delver fought to maintain a believable level of exasperation, it was hard to keep the smirk off his face. “Now go and get that food before we both pass out for the night. Should be a few coins left over.”

“Alright, alright. Keep your hair on.”

Maybe it was the way she said it. Maybe it was some other instinct entirely. But as Sylda snatched the coin pouch off the bed and headed for the door, Delver finally took a moment to reach towards the back of his head.

“Sylda?”

“Hmm?”

“Is that a fucking braid?”

[heartslogos]

mafia!verse: big and little red

“You’re not going to let me walk into this alone, all by my miserable little self, are you?” Jason presses, tugging at some of Tim’s hair. “Come on. It’s not like I’m asking you to give me your hand in marriage. It’s just a car. And a few explosives. A couple of little gadgets and cameras.”

Tim shakes his head, batting Jason’s hand away.

“The last time I let you borrow,” Tim cuts a glance at Jason who puts his hands up in surrender, “My car you returned it in pieces. I still haven’t finished fixing it.”

“Our car,” Jason corrects. “You build it, I drive it. Why else would you built it exactly the way I like it? I don’t even have to adjust the mirrors whenever I get in. And you can’t tell me that the interior design aesthetic isn’t because you know I love the classics. It may be a digital screen but I love me some old fashioned meters. Also couldn’t help but notice that if you turn the audio on it defaults to The Best of Queen.”

Tim scowls, unable to deny that, mumbling, “You’re not the only one who likes Queen.” Then, louder, “No is no. I’m not letting you use anything. You are going into your stupid little pissing contest all by your miserable self.”

“It’s going to be embarrassing if I walk in there with the boring toys.”

“Good thing you’re used to embarrassment, isn’t it?”

Jason groans, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling as he crouches down next to Tim’s chair, rocking loosely on his heels.

“You don’t want me to look bad, because if I look bad you look bad. We’re a team. Big red, not as big red.”

Tim reaches over and pulls on Jason’s ear, not looking away from the files he’s skimming through.

“You’re a menace, Hood.”

“But I’m your menace.”

Tim lets go of Jason in favor of swatting him over the back of the head. Jason ducks neatly before springing up again, going around back to lean on the back of Tim’s chair.

“Come on, Replacement. I've had to have grown on you a little,” Jason needles, tipping Tim’s chair back so that he can look Tim in the eye. “Admit it. You like me.”

Tim reaches up and pushes his fingers to the underside of Jason’s chin, flicking his head up.

“Everyone likes you, Jason,” Tim replies, “Let go of the chair.”

Jason lets go, letting the front two legs land with a heavy thump as Tim resumes his work.

“And yes,” Tim concedes wearily, “I like you.”

“Enough to let me play with your toys?” Jason asks, resting his head on top of Tim’s, arms dangling over Tim’s shoulders as he rocks them back and forth on the chair legs.

“Yes, Jason, enough to let you use my very expensive prototype machines,” Tim says, giving up on working entirely and resting his arms over Jason’s. “I’m still mad about my car.”

“Our car.”

“Our car,” Tim shoves back so he can stand. “I could drive it if I wanted to.”

“Sure,” Jason says, moving a hand to hover over the small of Tim’s back as Tim works his way around the kitchen table towards his office space, bracing himself on the backs of chairs and on the wall as he goes. “How bad is it?”

“It’s just the pain,” Tim answers, “I didn’t sleep well last night, it always feels worse when I haven’t slept.”

“It’s been years and I still think that’s the gutsiest move I’ve ever seen or heard anyone doing in the history of ever,” Jason says, following Tim into his home office.

Tim slowly moves over to a picture frame on his gallery wall. Jason offers Tim his arm to lean on as Tim swings the frame on its hinges to reveal the complex looking panel.

“What happened to the aquarium?”

“Nothing,” Tim shrugs as he enters his passcode, “What I’m going to let you use for tonight isn’t in that one, though.”

“How many secret caches of weapons and tech do you have, exactly?”

“If I told you they wouldn’t be secret anymore, would they?” Tim leans forward to let the scanner see his eye up close.

“It could be our secret.”

“I think the two of us have enough secrets shared, we don’t need to add one more to that.” Tim gives Jason a small smile as he gestures towards the contents of the small safe. “Here. No car for you until I’ve fixed the other one. You can take the bike.”

“Sweet,” Jason grins as he empties the contents of the safe. “Is that a gun? Are you fucking around with guns now? Is this my birthday? My death anniversary?”

“It only looks like a gun,” Tim explains, “I’m not stupid enough to actually start working in on guns. B would have my head. It’s a theatre piece.”

“A what now?”

“No bullets, no magazine. You pull the trigger and it releases a mini EMP. Not enough to damage anything. Just enough to shut out the lights and turn off any surveillance in the immediate area to make a quick and dramatic getaway. Or do something in the dark without getting noticed.”

Jason nods thoughtfully, “And the knives?”

“Borrowed from W.E.’s experimental labs, they’re self sharpening. They’re very, very fragile though.”

“But if it breaks while inside of someone that’s going to suck.”

“Exactly, so don’t use them to pry something open or anything.” Tim goes to sit at the desk chair. “There should be some lock scramblers and ciphers in there, too.”

“You’re the best, babe,” Jason says, pocketing the devices. “The Sprang Bridge Soldiers won’t know what hit them.”

“I can’t believe you need to use my tech on the Sprang Bridge,” Tim rests his chin on his palm as Jason finishes kitting himself out. “It’s overkill.”

“It’s a lesson in why no one fucks with the Red Hood,” Jason says. “I treat everyone equally. Whether you’re a little fish or an even littler fish, I’m going to fuck you up if you try to fuck with me.”

“Good to know I’m not an exception to the rule,” Tim says, “And here I thought I was getting special treatment when you impaled me on a rusty pipe.”

“Sorry, I’d impale anyone on a rusty pipe given half the chance,” Jason teases, “But the whole bit about you joining me and us being amazing together was totally sincere. And look at us now.”

“I’m not letting you barge into my house and ransack me for weapons because of that, I’m not that easy.”

“Nope, you’re letting me use your weapons because you can’t get anyone else to use them because they’re scared that B would give them the look of blatant disappointment. And since I’m inoculated to it, you’re home free to use me as your guinea pig for your experiments. The part where you let me barge into your house at all hours is because you think I’m pretty.”

“Pretty annoying.”

“Pretty annoying but irresistible in a suit,” Jason smirks, tossing the keys to the bike up and down in his palm, quickly crossing the room to smack a loud kiss to Tim’s forehead before striding out the office door. “Now, sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got a date with a gang and I like to show up on time. It keeps people on their toes when I’m decent.”

“Bring that bike back in one working piece, Jason,” Tim yells after him, “I’m not kidding. I’m not made of weaponized vehicles.”

[calcipher763]

The Monster, The Man

This past month Netflix released season Two of their original animated series “Castlevania.” In it the characters of Cipher, Trevor Belmont, and Alucard stage a war against Dracula in an effort to prevent him from eliminating all of Humanity in a war meant to avenge the death of his beloved wife, Lisa. Not only was this season longer than the previous one but it also gave us a well crafted story that showed something few shows do to their main villains; it humanized him, gave us a reason to sympathize with Dracula and even mourn his parting at the end of it. It’s this ending that I fell in love with as it showed us the Man beneath the monster.

In chapter 7 titled “For Love”, near the seasons conclusion, we witness the epic battle between our three heroes as they face off against Dracula. Immediately it becomes apparent that none of them are prepared for the monster they are about to face and even allaying their forces against serves only to slow him down as well as piss him off rather than do any significant damage.

At one point Alucard and Dracula face off against one another. While is son puts on an impressive front, his father’s overall experience and immeasurable strength proves to be too much for the half-vampire prince to handle. Like a rag doll Dracula tosses him around, eventually taking their fight through several walls and floors of his legendary castle before ending up in a hauntingly familiar room. It’s at this point we see a change come over Dracula, one that peels back the presence of the monster to reveal the man beneath as he states, “This is your room.” These simple words reveal to us that Dracula was more than the monster who was romanticized in so many novels, games, and movies. It’s here that we see him as the father who once and still does adore his son, his last link to his beloved wife Lisa.

Brought back to reality he begins a monologue as he looks around the room that once belonged to his son. He comments On how he and his wife painted the room together, made the toys for him together. Every thing there serves to remind him of the love he and his wife shared for one another and how that love grew to be represented by their son. Even on the wall he can see a portrait of their family, one meant to portray for all time how much they treasured on another. It is through these small but significant reminders that the rage which had once raged within Dracula’s heart begins to smolder as the Man takes hold of what he’s done and what he was about to do.

Racked with guilt over the atrocities he has committed, Dracula begins to recede within himself, unable to finish what he had begun. His son, Alucard, soon takes this opportunity to arm himself, knowing this will be his only chance to put an end to his father’s plans but also visibly conflicted with the choice he is about to make. In order to save the man that is his father he must kill him before the monster can take hold once more. Doubtless few of us when put in the same position would be able to go through with the choice he made.

In Dracula’s final moments he looks his son in the eye. His final parting words to him are both significant and revealing. “I must already be dead.” These words, for me at least, show his willingness to take responsibility for his actions. Everything before had always seemed to have been done at a distance. His minions, his Generals, and even his own child were all active participants in the war he had instigated but Dracula himself remained largely distant from it, preferring to take a backseat to the conflict while others fought in his stead or he wallowed in his hatred and guilt, locked away in his study while he looked on at the ever burning fire.

In his final moments he realized that he could no longer remain idle nor maintain an emotional distance from the events that had transpired. Though his wife had been murdered by humanity, it was never truly the reason for his war against him. His overall hatred and disgust with Humans was the real reason behind his actions and Lisa’s death his excuse to see it through. Now, at the end, he realizes he can no longer use her passing as a means to wipe the world clean of every last human. In his final moments he chooses to face the consequences of his actions and allows his son to steak him through the heart.

While there are hints of a third and maybe even fourth seasons, depending on how things go for the series, it’s doubtful that we will ever see a villain as complex as Dracula again. For much of the series he was a monster, a creature who reviled humanity and wanted nothing more than to kill them all out of vengeance. Yet, in his final moments we saw the man who dwelled beneath. We saw a husband mourning the passing of his wife. We saw a father, mortified by the hostile actions he’d taken against his son. More than anything we saw a man who recognized himself for the monster he had become and choose to die a man rather than succumb to his bitter hatred. Truly we may not see a character as complex or compelling as Dracula Tepes for quite some time.

[ginnyzero]

Motivations to Write

In my last discussion post, Ideas, Squeaky Toys of Doom, I touched upon a few motivations of why people write. And I guess, it’s the next natural thing to talk about, once one has an idea, there has to be some sort of will to go forward with it, other than tossing it in the bin as useless. As in all things, from going to the grocery to store, to committing a crime, one must have a reason! And if you want to sound sinister (or overly legal) we call it motive!

Before I start meandering, the dictionary describes motive as an inner drive or impulse that causes one to act. A motive is an incentive. It’s the stimulus that gets us out of our chairs (or into them) and doing something. They are the reasons that provide us with the stress to change our ways. (Yes, I said stress. There is positive stress and negative stress, just like there is positive criticism and negative criticism.) Motivations affect us and can be as varied from “I need to eat” to “I have a dream.” Eating is something solid, dreams, are the exact opposite, ephemeral. And having both is important. (I’ll just leave this here.) Motivations are what take you from where you are now, to the future of where you want to be if you want it.

And motivations, these reasons, are as varied and broad and different as the people that come up with them. These are a few I know it. Whether or not the writers you know fall under them may or may not be the case. Just like there is no bad idea, there is no wrong motivation to write. At least, I’m not holding any judgements. And all of these can be combined and used to fuel each other.

Basic Motivations: Money, Fame (Power), Love

Firstly. Let’s get these three fundamental motivations out of the way.

Money, everyone wants to write a book and get rich just like JK Rowling. They want their own house, a swimming pool and a private jet. (Hey, don’t we all want to be rich. No judgement.) Or, you’ve got the other writers, who want to make enough money just to pay their bills and live comfortably. Money is a big motivating factor. The world seems to go around on money and it’s hard to do anything without it. We’ve all got to eat. We need roofs over our heads and as a society we’ve become very dependent on this thing called electricity.

Fame, and I lump fame with power. Writers, just like everyone else, want to be known. They want to be recognized. They want to leave behind a great body of work that people can come back to over and over again. This is a way to become immortal. Fame also brings other perks. Fame can bring television or movie deals. Fame has public appearances and interviews. Fame has people coming to you instead of you going to them. Fame gives you influence and power. Influence and power can change things. Some people like the idea of it.

And love, there are writers that actually just enjoy writing and want to do what they do. They love to come up with ideas, string together plots, hack through scenes and what characters grow and change. I feel, and this is just my feelings and opinions, that all people should love what they do in one way shape or form. And if writing is what makes someone happy and that’s what they like to do above all others, then that love can be a great motivation.

Now, there are five other motivations that I have thought of/remembered and there are probably many more, but these are ones that I see talked about by other writers.

Motivation: “I like this.”

These are the writers who just plain like a concept. I don’t think Louis L’amour and Zane Grey would have wrote so many westerns if they didn’t plain just like them. (Err, that was unintentional, and I’m leaving it. Homophones!) These are writers who will take their idea and just pound it into the ground until you have to wonder if they ever had another idea in their head. Brian Jacques wrote 21 Redwall novels before his death. Mercedes Lackey has written 30 tales in Valdemar (and as far as I know is still writing in that universe.) Jim Butcher is on his 16th Dresden File (of a proposed 28, I think.) And Anne McCaffery’s son has taken up where Anne left off in Pern. And that, ladies and gentlemen is just in science fiction/fantasy. To write that much material for one universe or genre alone takes dedication. Formula writers (by which I mean the structure of their story is the same for every single book/trilogy they write,) genre writers and romance writers can fall under this motivation.

But then there is the opposite.

Motivation: “I don’t like this. I want to see this instead.”

This motivation is often reactionary. This is the cry of disgust from every reader who has thrown a book across the room, got up and went to their computer and sat down and tried to write it better. There are also things that some writers just don’t want to see or write in their novels, so they don’t.

This writing can often be derivative. But you say, what writing isn’t? That’s a real good question. But this motivation uses a lot of things in the public domain such as Jane Austen, Sherlock Holmes, fairy tales and legends. Historical Alternate universe can also fall under this, such as ‘His Majesty’s Dragon,’ by Naomi Novak. In fact, I feel almost anything considered ‘historical’ can be considered this. A ‘I don’t want to see the battles of the war of the roses, I want to know about the love lives of the nobles instead!’

I also find that this motivation can also be used as sort of a research tool. For instance, when a writer likes things from two or three different (but similar potentially or even not) novels, but doesn’t like how any of those novels actually used their ideas. So, the writer takes the ideas they like, combine them into one thing and wah lah, they have their own universe to play in.

“I don’t like this, I want to see this instead,” is a huge motivation in fan works. A huge amount of fan work is either exploring romantic pairings that wouldn’t happen in canon, expounding upon things that weren’t seen in canon or even changing the setting completely and seeing what the characters will do. Continuations, prequels and the children of the main cast are all very common stories that happen in fandom. Given how huge fanfiction.net, mediaminer.org and AO3 are, plus the stuff on journaling sites, private sites (including forums) and tumblr and so on. This is a huge stimulus for people of all ages to write.

Motivation: “I have a story I want to tell.”

The ultimate, “I have something I want to talk about.” By golly, these people have something to say and they’re going to say it, whether you like it or not. They may have a message to get out there.

There is the personal side of this. These are the autobiographies, biographies and ‘based on a true story,’ writers. They’re using their story to spread a message or theme that they think everyone should hear. Which isn’t a bad thing, everyone who writes has a message whether or not they know it. These writers are just more aware of it than others.

Then there is the not as personal aspect of this motivation. These are writers that have a story in their head that they want to tell. And they’ve looked on the shelves and it’s not there, or it’s there in similar form but not how precisely they would do it. They see a void in the market place that they want to fill. Or sometimes, they just have a story in their head trying to get out and they need to get it out so they can move onto something else! There is usually a heavy dose of ‘I like this,’ involved in this type of writing.

Motivation: “I want to help others.”

Ah, the selfless motivation to write or the pretentious one depending on how you look at it.

This can go hand in hand with “I have a story to tell.” These writers hope that by telling their story that they can inspire, help or warn others. Stories about overcoming adversity. Stories about reaching out to others. Stories that show the bad side of life. Or conversely, the stories that show the good side of life. These writers want whoever reads their story to take away something from it, something that will hopefully make the reader a better person.

I have to say that a lot of Christian fictional literature falls under this heading. I’ve read quite a bit of it and not a lot of it has stayed with me, because there isn’t a lot of Christian fictional stories (or at least not when I was reading them) that focused upon walking the life of a Christian. They were usually much more focused upon converting the reader and if you’re a Christian already it feels like they are preaching to the already converted (aka the choir.) Or they were trying to show what a good Christian marriage was with varying degrees of success. Pick one.

And lastly,

Motivation: “I want to feel better.”

This motivation is where writing hits the pure emotional level. This type of writing is cathartic. It releases the feelings inside the writer and gives them a voice. A lot of emotional writing comes from a place of anger and despair. How the writer chooses to translate that anger and despair in their writing is up to them. There are those who will through the guise of writing graphically describe incidents that happened to them so that they can use the characters as a method of coping. They take back their power and control in their writing and use the fictional world as a cipher of the real world to change things. There is also the opposite, those who take that anger or despair and write silly happy things as a way of making themselves feel happier. It’s a way to make themselves laugh while in the undercurrents of the writing they are also often dealing with the deeper issues in their life. In emotional writing, an audience isn’t necessary and may or may not be helpful.

Emotional writing can go along with “I have a story I want to tell,” and “I want to help others.”

Now on the other hand, some people write dark, angry, disturbing stuff because they like writing dark angry disturbing things. And other people write funny silly things, because they like writing funny silly things and they don’t need to feel better. (So, I don’t recommend you call out anyone on the motivations for their writing if you feel it’s coming from an emotional place, because it may not be and you shouldn’t assume anything.)

A lot of these motivations for writing are the same as the motivations for publishing. There is a huge difference between writing something and publishing that something. Just because a writer creates a story, doesn’t mean that they will want to or are going to put it out there in a public manner. That’s their choice and no one should try to take it away from them.

Motivations are tricky things. They can change over time or be joined by other incentives. If you desire to write, there is no wrong reason to do so! They’re your reasons and no one has the right to call them bad ones. It might be because of one of the reasons I posted here or because of others. Whatever the reason is, we writers have to feed those Squeaky Toys of Doom and keep on plugging away.

[clonerightsagenda]

So last year before I wrote A Horrible Kind of Nice for Gill’s bday fic I was tossing around other ideas and toyed with an exploration of what SBURB 2.0 might look like. I initially planned to do an ensemble fic and grabbed two random characters out of a lineup for the first scene (in this case Aradia and Roxy) and then things... got away from me, and it ended up being about them? Even though I have never given that dynamic much thought before or since, beyond that they would probably be agents of party chaos if unleashed. If I had recently gotten a new item of clothing I would have assumed it was possessed and that’s why this got written. I wasn’t sure what to *do* with it, but since it’s 4/13 and the cat’s out of the bag about TLC ‘let’s restructure SBURB’, I guess I will toss this out there. I don’t know where it came from or where it was going, but I got some fun pesterlog lines out of it.

It’s a slow morning until Aradia Megido swoops in through your open window.

           “Holy shit,” you say, spilling cereal over your sheets. “Where’s the apocalypse?”

           “I could use your help,” she says. “Are you busy?”

           When have you ever been busy? You whiled away most of your time as a kid hobnobbing with carapaces, making up stories inspired by your mother’s books, or waiting for friends to get online. Your session had been one long wait for the gods to arrive, and your victory so far has felt like marking time until the next disaster that has always been lurking around the corner. So no, you’re not busy. Not like Aradia, who darts in and out of the house so much you’ve barely met her. She’s exploring, checking out Earth’s past and future, identifying good brooding cavern locations on the planet where the matriorb will hatch, and scouting the new universe for signs of the game sneaking through. You’d think she did it to avoid the rest of you, but she’s always friendly when she’s around – friendly enough to invite herself into your room via the window.

           “For you I’m willing to snub tea with the Queen of England. What brings you to the Rogue’s windowsill? Need something burgled?”

           “I am hoping your class can help me out.” Her wings fan in and out. The opacity setting’s down to let her squeeze inside, and they’re mostly the suggestion of color when the light hits them right. “I’ve been looking for signs of SGRUB that might have slipped past us, but the universe is a big place, even when you have plenty of time. I though the Rogue of Void might have better luck pinpointing what I’m looking for in the middle of so much nothing.”

           “So I can’t find a needle in a haystack, but if you launch the needle into space I can latch onto that bad boy right away?” It sounds reasonable. You don’t know much about what your powers can and can’t do. Someone mixed with a game guide – even one for a different Aspect – might have a better perspective. “Why not? If I do any more thumb twiddling they’re gonna fall off. When do we leave?”

           “How about now?”

             God tiers can breathe in space. You hang just outside the pull of Earth’s gravity and enjoy the sensation of not burning, freezing, suffocating, irradiating, or any of the other metal ways the vacuum of space usually kills people. It’s stuff like this that makes Jade throw up her hands and grumble. Science has a lot of explaining to do.

           With your eyes closed, you try to scan through the near infinite blackness. SBURB is part of you. It reconstituted your body out of light and ash. Surely you can pluck its traces out of the biggest void around.

           “I think I’ve got something,” you say. “Cute little planet. Good neighborhood. Nice place to raise the kids. I’ll bring us in.”

           The surface is sweltering. You push through jungles lusher than the pictures Jake sent you and jump as huge insects buzz and click past your face. There’s no sight of civilization, and Aradia offers to jump you both forward in time. There has to be sentient life here sometime. Otherwise SBURB wouldn’t have landed.

           “Nah,” you say, pushing away some ferns and earning your first glimpse of the frog temple ahead. “No point in riling up the locals. Let’s take a look without interruptions.”

 When you step inside, Aradia heads right for the carvings. It’s in the reptilian script you recognize from before, and you wish you’d thought to bring along the cipher you all worked out on that last day of the game.

“Sollux is the one who did the translations last time,” she says, running her fingers over the grooves in the stone. They don’t look cut but grown – and they are. No one built this temple. It hatched from a game construct launched from a session that’s paradoxically already underway. “I can’t tell from this whether it’s from the old system or not. We’ll have to take pictures.”

           “On it.” Unlike in the Medium, you don’t have a connection everywhere, but you snap a picture and hope you remember to send it to him when you get home. “It’s too bad there’s not a release date stamped somewhere. Sburb 2.0, patched and modded by the alphabet soup session. No need to thank us for the continued health and safety of your civilization. We’re just that dedicated to a good gaming experience.”

           “Maybe it says something like that somewhere! I can read the pictograms; it’s the code that’s throwing me.” Her voice trails off as she moves down the wall.

           A pebble clatters somewhere behind you, and without thinking you wrap shadows around yourself and flicker back to the doorway. Aradia looks up.

           “Thought I heard something,” you say, your face heating up. You totally bailed on her. By about five feet, but that doesn’t matter. Some brave adventurer you are. She’ll never ask for your help again.

           “Temples can be spooky sometimes.”

           “I wasn’t scared. I’m just on high alert. Can’t let the team anthropologist get carried off by a bunch of bloodthirsty natives. Of course all those stereotypes are pretty racist, since it’s more likely a bunch of natives will get carried off by bloodthirsty anthropologists.” Great, you’re babbling. “Point is, gotta keep on your toes. Look, maybe I should keep in touch, in case something happens and I have to zap us both home. It’ll look bad if I show up in the kitchen and then remember I ditched you a zillion light years away.”

           “I can take care of myself, but if it makes you feel better, go ahead.”

           You reach to grab her elbow and immediately drop it. “Whoa. You’re running hot. I thought DS and Hal were bad with the overloaded computer thing they had going on.”

           She shrugs. “I’m low on the hemospectrum. I think you guys are a little chilly, actually!”

           “Color-coded and temperature-controlled for your convenience.” You whistle. “You trolls really have bio-organization down pat.” You take her sleeve, loosely.

           The two of you walk deeper into the temple. You’d have been in and out by now, but Aradia takes her time and you’re stuck keeping pace with her. It’s not that bad, though. She catches things you wouldn’t, stopping to coo over a butterfly fanning its wings or a patch of emerald moss growing over the stones. She’s also the one who contemplates a statue of good old Bilious Slick for a moment before pressing down on its left eye. There’s a groan of shifting rock, and a passageway opens up at your feet.

           “Coming?” she asks, and pulls you down the stairs two at a time.

           You leave what was left of the daylight behind you, and you’re debating draining the battery of your phone using it as a flashlight when you hit the bottom. There’s no treasure chest or pit of skeletons, like you might expect at the end of a secret temple passage, but what you do find makes your heart race nonetheless. Two circular platforms. One purple, one gold.

           You look at each other. Then, together, you step onto the Derse transportalizer.

           And here you are again. The darkness of the Medium spreads out in a sheet of black that looks false with its absence of stars. The purple spires of Derse reach up overhead, and it’s almost like you never left at all.

           Without meaning to, you’ve let go. You rise into the air toward a tower that dwarfs most of the other structures on the moon. It’s one of six. When you reach the window, you take a breath and peer in. You’re almost expecting to see a dreamer curled up inside, maybe an evolved form of one of the planet’s insects rolling over and fluttering its wings, but the bed is empty. Of course it is. Any players for this session are a long way from being born.

           Your surroundings look hazy. From the corners of your eyes, you can almost see through the Gothic architecture. You get the sense that if you turned your head too fast, huge chunks of the world might not have loaded in. “This is a potential future,” Aradia says when you touch down at her side. “It isn’t certain it’s going to happen yet.”

           “I didn’t think it worked that way.”

           “It didn’t before. But we’re in a new world order.”

           Footsteps ring out in the street, and you see two Dersites coming your way. The halberds they’re bearing look very real. They stop a wary distance from you and gesture in your direction with deliberate motions of their hands. You’re used to this – the carapaces living near your home didn’t speak much either – so it’s your turn to translate. “They want to take us to their queen. I’m not really feeling it. You?”

           She shakes her head. “If the layout’s the same, I know the nearest telepad to Prospit. Race you!”

             You come in a close second, and the transportalizer spits you out on a planet of blinding gold. You take a moment to catch your breath, but as soon as you look up you lose it again. Because Skaia isn’t there.

           Maybe it’s because you were a Derse dreamer, but you never liked Skaia. Its light was too harsh, like a fluorescent bulb without a dimming fixture. You’d felt it on the back of your neck with an illumination that had weight.

           The light at the center of this session is softer, and it’s filled with colors. Streamers and patches of vivid light flow in undulating patterns through its depths. The chessboard tier one Battlefield isn’t visible through the haze, but you’re reminded of silk curtains drawn around a stage, all color and delicate flow.

           “Aradia,” you say, with rainbow lights dancing over your skin, “I think this one’s ours.”

 -- tipsyGnostalgic opened memo on board Operation Skaiasurp –

CTG: guys

CTG: we found a session we made

CTG: n im pleased 2 announce that its SUPER GAY

 A system develops. You locate SBURB artifacts scattered throughout the universe and drop temporary transportalizers on site somewhere no wildlife is likely to stumble into. Then Aradia takes her crack team of amateur archaeologists/ruins pillagers to check it out and bring back the information Sollux needs to make a call. If there's access to a potential session, Rose expands her walkthrough with scraps of lore and information from agents willing to talk. She suggested bringing the sprites for their game guide insight, but Hal hasn't taken her up on it yet, and Davesprite refused in terms that another mother might wash his mouth out for.

Aradia doesn't need to tag along on your location jobs, but she does usually. You're grateful - it's nice to have the company. There's not much lonelier than outer space.

You need to be somewhere quiet and separate to focus, but floating in a void gets boring, which has led you to your favorite surveillance spot.

The Mare Cognitum stretches out before you in an expanse of dust and blasted rock. The surface beneath you should burn you (or freeze you? You're not sure of the details - maybe it's both) but being a literal goddess has its perks.

"You know, footprints here don't fade," you say, drawing a smiley face in the dust. "There's gonna be a really confused rover rolling around here someday, trying to figure out who's been walkin on the moon with converse. And poor NASA's still trying to explain the stars."

Aradia nods, eyes fixed on the Earth. Your home planet looks fragile as a dreambubble in the distance. The sight hasn't gotten old yet. It makes the trip worth it, even if you have to get a full brush-down when you return. Jade freaked when you bragged about hanging on the Moon ("There's no erosion there - the dust particles are nightmares on a molecular level! You can't bring that back here for people to breathe in”) and now you have to pass inspection before being released into the general population. Still, it's worth it, you think, as you tap your feet and send clouds of dust rising in your own localized atmosphere, each mote beautiful and invisibly deadly.

           “It’s quiet here,” Aradia says.

           “Well, yeah. We’re the only people in thousands of miles. There are radio waves bouncing around, though.” You put a hand to your ear. “How delayed are those? Think we could catch the Beatles?”

           “That too. But I meant no one’s died here.”

           “I forgot you heard dead people. Is that all the time?”

           “No. And Earth is better than Alternia. There was a lot of violence there. We sent adults off planet, which cut back on the death count, but it also meant most of them were children. That made it harder to reason with them.” She points toward Earth. “Have you seen that house a block down from us with the yellow window shades? There’s a spirit there. An old woman died peacefully in bed. She’s staying around to watch over her descendants. She hasn’t moved on yet, but she’s happy. I’ve never seen that before.”

           A whole planet, and not one person who died in peace. “I can’t decide if you’d love or hate museums,” you say out loud.

           “Museums?”

           “They’re like… whole buildings full of old shit. Art, or dinosaur bones, or whatever. You can go look at them and read about where they came from.”

           Her eyes light up. “A catalogue of the past?”

           “Sort of. I’ve never been to one myself, obviously. Unless you count my house.” You’d felt like you lived in a museum sometimes. Everything was an exhibit of a world that no longer existed. Sometimes, especially after talking to Jane, you felt more like you were living in a crime scene, surrounded by pieces of evidence you could use to piece together a narrative of your mother’s last years. You weren’t trying to identify the culprit – you knew who’d done it. The person you searched for scraps of information on was the victim.

           She jumps to her feet. “We should go! I’d love to see it.”

           “Can’t you look at Earth’s past by going there?”

           “Yes, but seeing how people interpret it in the present is just as interesting.”

           “If you say so.” You get up and dust yourself off as best you can. Jade will do the final scan. “We’ll do a group trip. I think everyone will be glad to get out of the house.”

             It takes some coaxing, but eventually everyone agrees. You see stirring the group up as one of your sworn duties. Jane got on your case for being the team's party girl. In the bowels of a planet shaking itself apart, she'd accused you of never taking anything seriously. But sometimes people need levity. During SBURB, the sheer shittiness of your situation hadn't had a chance to fully hit you, not when you needed to stay alive. After the game, the weight finally landed, and you all dealt with it in different, terrible ways. The worst is past, but it's better to keep people occupied. The problems start when they have time on their hands. Your enthusiasm isn’t faked, either – you’ve never been to a place like this before.

Even with your more notable members incognito, a horde of teenagers entering the museum raises eyebrows. You’re not their main age bracket. Before the guards can decide to follow you around, you spread out. Terezi trails behind, stubbornly trying to read the Braille labels. She’s been teaching herself, since plain black text is harder for her to sniff out than the color coded kind. She has to keep smacking Dave away, who pretends to read the labels and makes up ridiculous stories instead while Karkat mutters along to the audio guide. Kanaya sits down in the Impressionist gallery like she’ll never move again.

           You leave Rose locked in a staring contest with an extremely creepy statue of a tiny man and drag Aradia off to the museum’s one mummy. You figure if anything’s going to be haunted, it’s that.

           “Nothing,” she says.

           “Really?”

           “Nope!”

           “Man, the guy’s gonna want his money back. Some afterlife he got. It would’ve been sweet to get to visit all the world’s museums, even if you do have to deal with a bunch of class tours rubbing their noses on the glass.”

           “This is how some of your cultures sent off the dead?” She bends down to look at the peeling hieroglyphics. “It’s fascinating. They knew how to throw a corpse party.”

           “Biggest damn corpse party around.”

           You follow her through room after room (John and Jane challenged each other to find the grossest baby Jesus and almost crash into you while racing through the Medieval section) and she stops in front of an oil painting. “Is that haunted?” you ask. “Will the eyes start following us around Scooby Doo style?”

           “It’s not haunted, but…” She peers closer. “The creator left a little bit of themselves behind, and I can feel it. They must have loved their work very much.”

           The painting is from four hundred years ago. You try to imagine making something with so much love someone can still feel it, that much later.

           Your path takes you out to a main courtyard, and Aradia sinks down on the edge of a fountain. "This is incredible," she says. "I wish we'd had something like it on Alternia. Some highbloods collected memorabilia, but it wasn't organized like this, and we couldn't come visit whenever we wanted."

"Maybe that can be a career goal, now that we're all cogs in the capitalist machinery again. Can't keep living off Jane's inheritance forever."

"Career?"

"You know, job?” You wave a hand vaguely. Real World Twenty-First Century TM shenanigans are something you’ve only studied in the abstract. “What you do when you grow up so you can pay for shit. Of course that involves going to school usually, which would be an accomplishment for most of us."

"This can be a job?"

"Someone has to do it. What did you guys do on your planet?"

"Lowbloods like me would get assigned menial tasks in support of the Empire’s basic functions. If we showed useful skills we'd be conscripted into the Empress's forces to conquer new worlds. With my powers, I'm sure they'd want me." She shivers and dips her fingers into the water. "They'd want Sollux too."

"What, there's a demand for tech skills there too?"

"Something like that. So you can choose here? What would you pick?" she asks, a little too brightly.

You shrug. "Growing up in the future there weren't many career options except fisherwoman and apocalypse gear model. Now... I dunno. I kinda liked messing around with the frog's DNA back on our last day in the game, making all those tiny little changes that made huge differences. I know it's not like that in real life, but genetics might be cool. Making something besides mutant kitties. Maybe I could cure non-universe cancer."

           “That sounds neat.”

           It does. You hadn’t voiced it before, but now that you have, you wonder why it hadn’t occurred to you. There are lots of ways to make the world a better place. Sometimes you change the way the whole multiverse system works, but sometimes you can work a little closer to home.

 A few weeks later, you visit Calliope while she’s touching up the latest comics pages she and Jake have drawn. Almost everyone has been a guest artist for them; who can say no to that face? Someday soon your Catwoman expy will bust out of prison again. Her colors are more muted and smudgy than usual. Still lifes and landscapes were her favorites at the museum, but she liked Impressionism too.

"I wanted to ask you," she says. "Next time you go to one of those sessions that belongs to us, can I come?"

"They're kinda boring," you say. It kills you knowing you're in a universe where Calliope will grow up bullied and alone and time has tied your hands. All your instincts say not to let her near another game session.

She frowns – she can tell when you’re babying her, and she always puts her foot down. "You all helped, but I made it in the end. I want to know I did it right."

           In the end, you cave, like you always do. (Jane got talked into letting her buy a whole tub of edible glitter on the last shopping trip.) The first session you located is only a transportalizer hop away. You don’t let go of Calliope’s hand the whole time. If anything goes wrong, she’s not getting left behind. When she sees the replacement Skaia up above you, she gasps, and you tighten your grip on her fingers.

           “Can you… talk to it?” you ask after she’s been staring, rapt, for a few minutes. “Is it you?”

           She blinks, jarred out of whatever trance she was in. “Oh! No. It’s not like that. It’s not a person. Skaia wasn’t the other me either, exactly. It was more… a way of thought that had been installed. Closer to an AI, although nothing as advanced as Hal of course. It doesn’t have a soul. It’s the same thing here.” She floats upward, and you bob along after her. “I can see what influences I left behind, but it’s chosen its own way to develop. It looks like painting water.” Before you have time to worry about the consequences, she dips her hand into the lights. The colors swirl around her fingers and form the suggestion of shapes. It looks like two people standing on a foreign landscape, but before you can make out the details the image breaks apart again.

           “Not as high def as the clouds,” you say.

           “It’s not fixed.” She pulls her hand out, and you almost expect her fingers to be streaked with color. Of course, they’re clean. “It *is* like paints – there’s the base materials, but you can make different pictures yourself.”

           “Possibilities.”

           Calliope sinks downward to stand on the gold brick walkway, and you settle next to her. “That’s what we fought for.”

           You squeeze her hand. “You did good."

           “You found this place with Aradia?” she asks.

           “Yup.”

           She nods, eyes tracking the swirls overhead. “Hmm.”

           “Hmm what?”

           Calliope shrugs. “Nothing!”

           “Bullshit. You said that hmm intentionally. But two can play at that game.” You turn your head. “I’m ignoring you.”

           “I am a chronicler, Roxy. I like to know what’s going on so I can take good notes.”

           “You mean you want to stick your nose into all our biz. Well, I’m not having it.”

           She keeps her expression professional. “Is there what you would refer to as “biz”?”

           Is there? You hadn’t thought about it. You guess… you don’t mind hanging out with her. Any day when she shows up asking if you want to check out a new planet is a good one. She’s got a nice laugh. But beyond that… You’ve had so many false starts it’s hard to distinguish between genuine attraction and your latest desperate crush. You’d committed to taking it easy for a while to “find yourself” or some shit instead of chasing after people just because you don’t want to be alone. How do you tell when that process is over? Does a little light go on; does the oven ‘ding’ and say Roxy’s ready? The problem with self-development is that there’s no progress bar, and no one hands you an achievement badge. You have to gauge those kinds of things on your own.

The pause has been dragging on too long. This calls for drastic action. “Oh no, the gravity on this planet is way too high,” you say, collapsing on her shoulder. “I can’t stand up.”

           Calliope is sturdy despite her slight frame. Your weight doesn’t make her stumble. “I’ll take this as a no comment, then.”

“Damn straight.” You slouch a little more for good measure and then stand up. “If there ends up being something solid to comment on, which at the moment there is not, you’ll get the scoop from me. But until then, no sensational tabloid journalism, ok ma’am? You have ethics to consider.”

“Cross my hearts,” she says solemnly.

           “Double the protection. I dig it.” You shake your head. Now that Calliope’s introduced the idea, you can’t seem to knock it loose. “Let’s get out of here before some chess people think we belong in jail.”

 TG: hey jane

TG: wut activities might u recommend for introducing an eligible alien bachelorette to the wide world of humanity

TG: i ask bc uve appointed urself seeing eye human 2 ur own space invader

TG: evn tho i swear she gets around better than most of us ffs

GG: Still sour about her getting the last cupcake? :B

TG: that cupcake had my name on it and u kno it

GG: You snooze, you lose!

GG: We watched your future torrent of Broadchurch last night.

TG: ok ur translation thing is totes adorbs but a

TG: thats not rly introducing her to the WORLD

TG: and b

TG: i dont need competition from david tennants face

GG: What about Jodie Whittaker?

TG: she was p hot as the 13th doctor ngl fashion choices aside but shes 2 woeful in that one 4 my tastes

GG: Wait, what??

TG: WHOOPS

TG: pretend i didnt say anything bc SPOILERS :X

GG: :/ GG: Just to make sure I’m not off base, we’re talking about Aradia here, right? TG: mayb GG: So you two are an item now? TG: no

TG: i mean TG: not rly

TG: weve been hanging out

TG: n then callie IMPLIED there might be something goin on and I thought welllll TG: u kno

TG: shes cute + fun + im super single

TG: so why not give it a shot rite

GG: Why not indeed.

GG: As for a grand tour of humanity, I don't know.

GG: What does she like?

TG: shes down 4 everything thats the problem

TG: if i set her loose shed probably come back having joined the circus

TG: or the mob

TG: anything fuckin goes

GG: You've been out beyond the solar system so much, I doubt there's anything that exciting to see here.

GG: Maybe you should just treat her to... a regular day out!

GG: Show her what you two have been missing gallivanting around in outer space.

TG: hm

TG: mayb

TG: btw when r u gonna make ur """"thing"""" official n stop wanderin around the perimeter tryin not 2 set the proximity lights off

GG: I don't know!

GG: When are you going to admit you're angling for tips on a date?!

TG: hey now

GG: How does that old rhyme go?

GG: Roxy and Aradia, sitting on the moon.

GG: K-I-S

TG: H-A-V-I-N-G personal + emotional conversations that r none of ur damn business n shouldnt b construed from

TG: u big buffoon <- rhyme scheme bitches

TG: but like

TG: in strict confidence

TG: comin from someone who walked u thru the BISIS and so deserves some fuckin respect here

TG: were u gettin vibes of any sort off her

TG: by any chance

GG: Roxy, she's spent maybe a month tops on the planet!

TG: uh huh

TG: and ur gettin vibes off ME bc im the desperate loser who tried to mack on john 2 seconds after meeting him

GG: I can't believe you've set your sights on every possible interpretation of my father figures.

TG: lol i do it JUST 2 annoy u

GG: And I wasn't going to say that! I just haven't seen the two of you interacting that much, is all.

GG: The problem before was that you felt lonely, right?

GG: That's what you told John, that you were looking for a relationship so there would be someone for you.

GG: Do you still feel lonely?

TG: nah

GG: I should hope not! We're bursting at the seams here.

GG: You spent all of yesterday holed up with Dirk and Jade working on those transportalizers.

TG: it wouldve gone faster if sollux had helped instead of complaining about how i beat him @ mario kart

TG: 'this game looks like it was programmed by a wiggler smearing its own droppings on its hiveblock walls' my ass i won fair and square

GG: Oh, is THAT why I saw him playing that game at 2 am this morning?

GG: Karkat was his competitor, but I don't think it was much of a contest.

TG: trainin 4 a rematch huh

TG: he can try

TG: earths champion will remain unquestioned

TG: damn tho 2 am is like peak wildlife sighting time in the living room

GG: They haven't quite shaken being nocturnal!

GG: Anyway if you're not feeling lonely, maybe this is authentic.

GG: Maybe you really do like her.

GG: You wouldn't be the first among us to seek out an extraterrestrial paramour!

TG: no i would not ;) ;)

TG: (wonking intensifies)

GG: Hush, you!

GG: How come we haven’t had to watch you go through one of these “bi crises”?

GG: If I recall, you spent most of your time singing the praises of the menfolk earlier in our adventure.

TG: the menfolk

TG: u did it jane u singlehandedly got rid of any attraction i had 2 them good job

TG: no no jk jk

TG: like

TG: idk

TG: part of it was i didnt want to weird u out

GG: Ah yes, dear sweet Jane who can’t handle the truth again.

TG: look u barely grasped the concept of bisexuality!!!

TG: i didnt want u treatin me weird ok???

GG: I would never have done that to you.

TG: not INTENTIONALLY

TG: but r u SURE u wouldn’t be like ‘w8 r u hittin on me then’ or some shit

GG: …

GG: Maybe. I could cram my foot in my mouth with the best of them sometimes.

GG: So it was all a ruse for my benefit?

TG: not entirely

TG:  u kno I was tryin so hard 2 b what the empress didn’t want me 2 b

TG: + part of that was embracing the conventional 21st century girl routine

TG: which is also unfortunately super het most of the time

TG: dunno y i was tryin 2 prove myself 2 an evil alien witch + loads of dead peeps but there u go

TG: let her wall me in2 a corner there unfortunately

TG: but evn if i wasnt as DIRECT about it

TG: i always knew

TG: ppl r hot janey

TG: loads of ppl r so hot n im not gonna discriminate there

GG: Aradia does have some charm.

GG: It can’t hurt to try it out.

GG: Have a day planetside! See the sights.

TG: mayb ur right

TG: doin something NORMAL might sort some shit out

TG: c if she actually likes hangin w/ me or is comin out just 2 b polite

GG: Good luck.

GG: And Roxy?

TG: ye

GG: I think anyone should be happy to hang with you. :)

TG: <3

           It’s hard to decide what to show as examples of “daily life” when it’s all strange to you too. In the end, you elect to wander. The two of you stroll downtown, drifting toward storefronts or flowerbeds whenever something catches your interest. It’s too bad malls died out. They’d be perfect for this kind of activity.

You're still not used to big crowds, but you breathe deep, straighten your spine, and remind yourself you're a god. Aradia, on the other hand, loves it. She strikes a pose mimicking a mannequin and exclaims over a set of tiny measuring cups. Watching her, something inside you unspools. You're not a god, or an outsider; you're just two girls checking out some stores. For all anyone knows, you’re on a shopping trip.

           “Hey,” you say, reaching for something familiar. “Want to stop by a makeup counter?”

             It’s different actually sitting down at one of these things instead of nabbing what looks good with your appearifier. You don’t know which sample to try out first. Luckily there’s a self-service option with a bunch of temporary applicators. You don’t want some sales person messing with your face. “Hey,” you say, grabbing a tube of lipstick. “I bet this would look great on you.”

           Aradia takes it, and her eyebrows rise. “Gold? That’s a high caste marker. If I wear cosmetics, I’m supposed to wear my colors. Or my moirail’s, if I had one.”

           “They regulated makeup? Truly a sign of a dystopia.” You pick through the available samples to see if you can find any of your favorites. “Normally I wouldn’t recommend gold with gray, but you’ve got warm enough undertones. Now Terezi? No way.”

She uncaps the lipstick and eyes it. "You're good at this."

"Learned by watching old Youtube tutorials and ganking samples from makeup counters in the past. Callie liked it too, so we bonded a lot. Of course I didn't know then she was covering up the whole skull alien thing. I just thought she was insecure. Who wouldn't be, with her jerkass bro calling her ugly all the time?"

She doesn't need to know all the details. Only Dirk and Calliope know everything, although you've kinda sorta mentioned it to Jake and Jane, not that you think they fully understood. You hadn’t aspired to Platonic girldom only to rub it in the Empress’s face. It's funny how applying the trappings of femininity from a dead civilization could still ease your dysphoria a little, even though it's not like a bunch of judges from Ladies Weekly were watching and nodding in approval. You're in a God Tier body now, every cell fresh baked and new. No clerk is going to steer you away from the women's section.

           “How does it look?” Aradia asks, jolting you out of your thoughts. She’s found some sort of glittery eyeshadow too and managed to get it on perfectly. It looks great on her.

           “You’re pretty,” you say out loud, and then regret it. You didn’t mean to sound surprised. It’s just that Aradia has always been Aradia. She hits you with her personality first, and that overpowers everything else.

She doesn’t get offended, but she sure gets even. “You’re prettier than I thought at first too.”

Your smile drops. “Gee, thanks.”

She frowns. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Not if that’s what you meant to say.”

“I try to say what I mean. It’s good to be honest.” Her gilded lips twist into the closest you’ve ever seen to a frown from her. “But sometimes people don’t seem to like it. You humans look so different. It took getting used to. I mean, your hair’s light, and you’re not even old. Once you get over that, though, it makes for a nice picture.”

“Do you wanna frame me?”

She hesitates. “Did I mess up again?”

“Nah, I’m messin with you. It’s ok if you’re blunt, god knows Jake’s noshing on his foot all the time and we still love him, toenail breath and all. Our gang could use a lil more plain speaking. Just go easy on my self esteems, ok?”

           “Ok…” She drops her latest applicator into the used cup and clears her throat. “Is there a mirror?”

           You find one for her, and she giggles at her reflection. “I look like I’m pretending to be an Heiress.”

           “Come on, your fishy highness,” you say. “Let’s check out the park.”

 A rack of city bikes for rent stands near the entrance to the park, and she rushes over. “Two wheeled transportation devices! I haven’t used one of these since I was a wiggler.”

           Jane’s been busy practicing to get her license, but John has coached you on a few wobbly laps around the neighborhood. How hard can it be? You’re a god, for fuck’s sake. “I’ve got some change. Want to try them out?”

           It takes a circuit of the park before you’re moving smoothly, but your confidence grows with every minute. Even if Aradia learned on another planet, she hasn’t forgotten. She careens past you, laughing maniacally, and you pedal faster to catch up. "Watch out for the curve!" you yell, but it's too late. She skids off into the grass, leans so hard to the left you think she's going to flip over, and then crashes into a pond, sending a flock of ducks flapping for safety.

She's God Tier just like you, but you still turn an ankle jumping off and running over. "Are you ok?"

She's still laughing, sitting down in the water with her knees green with pond slime and her hair hanging in dark tangles around her shoulders. The gold lipstick, against all odds, has hung on. Damn good product design. "That was GREAT."

"No rainbow sparklies, so I guess you got off easy."

"I've taken much harder knocks than this." She stands up, dripping muddy water. "I'd better rescue the bike, though."

You're both wheeling them back onto the path when you see the orange vests of park security. "Uh oh." Maybe you should stay and explain yourselves, but years of dodging drones has made you suspicious of law enforcement, and you don't want humans asking Aradia too many questions. Hell, you don't know if you could answer all that many. You're practically an alien temporally. If you woke up from a faint to someone asking you who the president was, you’d have no fuckin idea. "Want to run for it?"

Aradia doesn't answer, just drops her bike and sprints for the trees.

You follow, and you're both laughing hysterically between breaths. Aradia keeps gasping "They're after us" with the glee of a kid running into a toy store. The security officers don't bother following you - you see them stop to collect your bikes - but neither of you stop running until you collapse against a mossy boulder deeper into the woods. You press your hands against your thighs and catch your breath, while Aradia's giggles slowly die down.

"Now that was more like Alternia," she says. "They wouldn't cull us if they caught us here, would they?"

"What? No, no way." Is that why she'd run so fast? "They might check to see if we were drunk and kick us out. We don't kill people for existing here." Then again... John told you about being followed by the clerk the last time he went to a gas station for a soda. Rose holds Kanaya’s hand in public like a challenge. "It's not as obvious as the hemospectrum," you say at last. "It's not supposed to work that way. Sometimes it does, though." Is that better? At least Alternia was up front about listing off who got protection and who got killed. Here, they pretend things don't work that way, but kids end up dead all the same. "It's not paradise."

"Nowhere is."

You run your fingers over the boulder. Someone, sometime, has scratched their initials into it. "Maybe once I've lived here longer I'll want to keep looking for something better. But I guess it hasn't lost its shine yet. Like, maybe people suck, but you know what sucks more? Being one of the only people on the planet.”

           Her gaze snaps over to you. “Do you think that’s why I leave so often?”

You hadn’t meant it that way. Once she’s brought it up, though... she does bail pretty regularly. “I don’t know. Almost as soon as we got here you were zooming off to the past or the future or other planets. Did you get sick of us that quickly?”

           “No, not at all!” She tucks a waterlogged strand of hair behind her ear. “But there’s so much to see, even if I have all the time in the world. I got excited.”

           “You’d think you’d seen a lot already. You were bumping around in everyone’s memories, right?”

           “I guess so. But the dream bubbles aren’t real, exactly, and in SGRUB I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to appreciate the sights. Back on Alternia I was a peasant class. I had to be careful exploring because I might risk being attacked. Traveling isn’t safe for the lower castes. Now…” she spreads her arms. “I have a chance.”

           “I spent my whole life staring at the same bit of ocean. So I get wanting to see something else. But I’m worried if I leave for too long, they’ll keep making friends without me, and I won’t be able to catch up, you know?”

           It’s easy to feel that way when for so long your only presence in your friends’ lives was a flashing icon on a computer screen. If they didn’t want to talk they could click you away. In the session, you’d felt worthy of your Aspect, fading into the background while everyone spiraled around the Jake English event horizon. Being technically doomed makes it worse. You know they won’t turn you away, but you can’t help worrying the timeline will suddenly catch on and expel you, or you’ll come back from a trip to space and they’ll have forgotten you after all.

           “My friends and I have spent a long time together,” Aradia says, snapping you out of morbid daydreams. “Not those versions, exactly, but almost every other. Actually, it’s nice to spend time with someone new.”

           “I can see where you’re coming from. I mean, I don’t have five billion friend memories, but we’ve got baggage. Hells of baggage. Imagine one of those movie timeskips with all the spinning headlines.” Those exist, too. The Derse tabloids had started out writing nasty rumors about Jake and Jane, but they labeled you and Dirk traitors soon enough. “Drama, drama. But it’s not enough that I ever wanted to run away, or at least not for long.”

           “I’m not running away!”

           “I meant for me,” you say, although it sounds like you’ve touched a nerve.

           Aradia leans against the boulder and shifts away from you. "When I visit other places, I'm not passing judgment on your planet, or on you,” she says. “Maybe we just have different priorities."

           The comment sounds like a rebuke, and it stings. Why would you be a priority to this girl from outer space, anyway? You only met a few months ago. And yet… admit it or not, she’s becoming a priority to you.

           Chalk one more up to the not interested column, you think. Out loud, you say, “Wanna get home? The security people might remember to do their jobs and track us down.”

           “Ok.” Aradia looks back at you and smiles, but in your eyes at least, it looks forced. “Thanks for showing me around. It was nice.”

           “Anytime,” you say. What you don’t say is, if you stay.

 -- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] started pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --

TG: hey mom lil help here

TT: I'm the mother today?

TG: yup bc i need guidance

TT: Ok, let me put on my required string of pearls.

TT: Mental, emotional, or spiritual?

TG: do i gotta pick

TT: Generic guidance it is.

TG: hows dating an alien goin

TT: Swimmingly.

TT: I've leveled up to being able to unironically express affection without my face heating to the boiling point.

TT: It's my part to slow global climate change.

TG: im proud of u

TT: Thank you.

TG: so i was wonderin if the 2 of u evr have misunderstandings

TG: u kno communication probs that come from like

TG: CULTURAL HIJINKS

TT: Ceaselessly.

TT: At least the two of us didn't have to work through the "murder as a competitive sport" cognitive dissonance.

TT: To put it in her words, Kanaya is "The Weak Bitch Who Is Only Down With Murder When Absolutely Necessary And Even Then I Prefer Not To Get My Clothes Dirty"

TG: of all of us arent u the bitch most down with murder

TG: evn if technically jade n jane got u beat

TT: I may in fact be that bitch.

TT: Or I'm all talk. Hard to say.

TG: yeah i think janes had 2 have the whole murder as a cultural value talk but i was thinkin more like

TG: idk

TG: priorities

TG: r they not super social

TG: do they not grasp the concept of TALKING or HAVING FUN

TT: Allegedly trolls are not a social race.

TT: There tends to be a lot of infighting. There used to be twelve of them, remember?

TG: ye we hung out w/ their corpses

TT: It can make them struggle with interaction.

TT: Something we of course excel at.

TG: totes

TT: Kanaya was worried making me talk about my feelings would push us in the wrong quadrant.

TT: Part of that was her personal history, though. It’s complicated.

TT: We all have our neuroses.

TG: ok ok now sidenote TG: this isnt rly important xcept for like TG: my personal self esteems

TG: did kanaya evr think u looked weird

TG: u kno since ur not a troll

TT: Hang on, let me text her.

TT: She says, "You Looked Strange At First But I Got Used To It".

TG: harsh

TT: The betrayal.

TT: The heartbreak.

TT: Etc.

TT: Does that answer your question?

TG: i guess????

TG: idk aradia was kinda super blunt but im not sure she meant it that way???

TG: she seemed surprised i got touchy about it so i guess i was overreactin

TT: You realize they have different personalities too, right?

TT: Although bluntness does seem to be common.

TG: shouldnt xpect were poster hotties for another species

TG: maybe alternia didnt have a devoted cadre of monsterfuckers just waitin 4 their chance

TT: Their depravity knows some bounds.

TT: Also,

TT: Dave says if you shack up with an alien he's disowning you.

TG: tu or tg

TT: Which do you think?

TG: ily kiddo but maybe well gang up on u and disown U instead

TG: how do u like them apples

TT: i hate this family

TG: b a good son and give rose her keyboard back

TT: I'm on my phone, actually.

TG: what is he evn doing there

TT: The five of us are playing Scrabble.

TT: John just deployed the Q on a triple letter score. Things are getting heated.

TG: and uve got me on speaker

TT: No, I think he caught a glimpse of my screen while trying to spy on which letters I have.

TT: I'm not actually spelling out your personal business on the board.

TT: Jade wants to know if you had fun on your date, by the way.

TG: for FUCKS sake

TT: This household keeps no secrets.

TG: it was FINE EVERYTHINGS FINE TG: weifjsdlk

TG: heres a bunch of letters for ur scrabble game im out

Not long after your "date", Aradia fucks off into nowhere again. You've been spending a lot of time out in space yourself, so you try to distract yourself by hanging out with everyone else. Can't afford to miss out on whatever in-jokes have sprung up lately. There's nothing worse than being left out of the latest household meme.

It goes alright. Jade's been teaching you to read music. Calliope wants help brainstorming her Halloween costume. Davesprite trashes Alternians for your benefit until you tell him to knock it off. But when you find yourself at loose ends, you get testy. Being alone isn't a value marker. You know that. At least, you hope you do. But it's oh so easy to feel like it's a judgment made by everybody else.

           You’re not sure why you’re sulking so much. You’ve been rejected before. Of course, John was a crush born of one shared, terrible experience, and he’s a good friend now. Deep down you’d always known Dirk was off limits. Maybe it hurts this time because you thought you might have a chance, that someone might actually like you, and then they left the whole planet to get away. Serves you right for hoping.

-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] started pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --

TG: hey wanna hang out

TT: I'd love to, but I'm on dinner duty tonight.

TT: I've got like twenty recipe websites open now, and I think my internal monologue has been replaced by a middle aged white woman who's losing interest in her marriage.

TT: Then I have to get Jane to drive me to the store before she coaches me through things like boiling water.

TT: Didn't you remember? You're usually first in line to watch me humiliate myself in the kitchen.

TG: idk

TG: guess i thought maybe SOMEONE in this house of like TWENTY FUCKIN PEOPLE might be free 2 spend time w/ me

TT: Uh.

TT: Wait, seriously, is everyone else gone?

TG: i dunno

TG: feels like it

TG: or mayb im just used 2 getting ditched lately

TG: like the last stick of gum in the package chucked out the car window n oozing pink goo all over in the gutter

TT: This Aradia thing has really gotten to you, huh?

TG: no its fine im over it

TG: i dont know how srs i even was it was prolly another of my stupid infatuations bc some1 looked at me

TG: and shes not interested so wutevr

TG: im just bored

TT: Trust me, I don’t prioritize you over this fucking recipe odyssey.

TT: However, I also would rather not get eaten alive by a bunch of people asking where their dinner is.

TT: I’m minimizing the tab, though. You’ve got my full attention.

TT: Do you want me to come upstairs?

TG: no not if its gonna be some psychoanalysis session

TG: thats the LAST thing i want

TT: I haven’t been treating you like that, have I?

TG: no!!

TG: its not ur fault its just TG: shed rather be zippin around in space than here with us n when i brought it up she basically said i wasnt a priority 2 her

TT: Just like that?

TG: i mean

TG: MORE OR LESS

TT: Lest I talk about myself, this sounds a little like the problem I had with Jake.

TG: which 1

TT: Jesus.

TT: When he started getting distant, I assumed it was something I'd done.

TT: And then I overreacted by clinging tighter like a shellshocked ball python, because I was terrified of him slipping away.

TT: If I'd asked him why he was backing off, and he'd told me he needed some space, maybe we could've skipped some of the resulting interpersonal bloodbath.

TG: whoa whoa slow down

TG: r u

TG: dirk MOTHERfuckin strider

TG: tryin 2 give me relationship advice

TT: It's not from me.

TT: I'm paraphrasing a demiurge who looked down upon me from his golden snake-throne and in the hissing language of Heart itself said,

TT: "Talk to your ex, you piece of shit."

TG: lmao is that rly what he said

TT: There was more poetry involved.

TG: quote it to me xactly i wanna hear this

TT: I didn't write it down.

TT: The exact words were lost in the overall sentiment of the moment.

TG: which was pants shitting terror

TT: Actually by that point I was more annoyed that one more fucking game construct was passing judgment on my life choices.

TG: 2 pissed 2 b afraid

TG: ur natural defense mechanism

TT: Whatever works.

TT: He was right, though.

TT: We weren't holding hands and prancing through a field of daisies after talking it out, but it did make things better.

TG: i mean

TG: u were KINDA holdin hands

TG: if only 2 not die

TT: I don't think that counts.

TG: the fact remains

TG: so ur sayin

TG: i should ask her y shes avoidin me + the planet earth

TG: evn tho last time i broached the subject she flipped out

TT: Yeah, maybe.

TT: If it’s important to you to try to see if this thing can work.

TG: and if she says 'its specifically 2 avoid u' what then

TT: I don't think that's likely.

TT: But if she does, then it's her fucking loss.

TT: You're amazing, Roxy.

TT: Anyone would be lucky to have you.

TG: aw shucks

TT: I'm serious.

TT: Remember when we had the whole group bonding thing in the heart of a self-destructing planet?

TT: It kind of rubbed off on me, I think I've learned how to be motivational.

TG: the old dirk wouldve built a 'how 2 date' robot and unleashed it rite

TT: And then the robot would steal your girl, and I would be in the shit again.

TT: I've learned my lesson.

TG: thx

TG: ill give it a try 4 u ok

TG: and if u want my input i vote pick the recipe w/ the cutest baby pictures in the anecdote

           You must draft a hundred opening lines. Maybe you even would have sent one of them eventually, but Aradia beats you to it, showing up on the front porch one day without bothering to tell anyone she was coming home. You’re alone in the living room watching My Cat From Hell, so you’re the first one to see her.

           “Hi Roxy!” she says, and you nearly throw the remote across the room.

           “Oh. Hey.�� You fumble with the buttons until you find mute. This isn’t what you planned for. You’d kinda assumed when you worked up the guts to talk to her it’d be through chat. Face to face is more vulnerable. She’ll be able to see what your expression does instead of what you choose to reveal with carefully selected typography. You can’t even DO a :/ in real life that easily.

           “Did I miss anything?” She takes off her goofy Indiana Jones hat and tosses it discus-style onto an armchair.

           “Nothing much.” You’d come up with something witty but, uh, comeback machine broke. Now there’s a meme you can’t use without getting blank stares.

           She nods. “I found another new world with the game. Want to check it out?”

           She’s acting like nothing’s changed. That rankles you. “If you found it already, you don’t need me.”

           “I don’t need you, but it’s not as fun on my own. I thought you might like to come.”

           You point toward the armchair. “You put your hat down. You’re not going to stay at all? In and out, just like that?”

           “Are you upset?”

“No. I… You still… want to hang out?”

           “Why wouldn’t I?” Her wings flutter. That’s a tic you’ve noticed with DS – he tucks and untucks them when he’s nervous, an adaptation of Dave interlacing his fingers. Is she on edge?

           “Well, you kinda bailed. And we’d just…” Argued? Split? “I thought it might be my fault.”

           “Of course not.” Her wings are really jittery now. A lock of hair is blown forward, and she reaches up to tuck it back. “It gets a little much down here sometimes.”

           “Guess a crash course in human life was too much for any of us.”

           “It was kind of overwhelming.” She smiles. “But it was fun too. I’d like to do it again sometime.”

           Wait, what? “Like, in general, or you mean with me?”

           “You did an excellent job as tour guide last time. I’m sure you can find more to show me.”

           Is she flirting? She delivers every line so on the level it’s impossible to tell. “Uh, well, name the date,” you say. “There’s a whole damn world and I haven’t seen most of it either.”

           “I’ll be in touch.” Her wings finally settle and fade into nothing. “Now I’d better see whether Sollux has converted my room into a file cabinet again.”

           It’s only once she’s gone that you realize you didn’t do any of the things Dirk suggested. You still don’t know why she keeps leaving. You told her you weren’t upset. Sheesh. Maybe you need to visit Nix again so your own personal snake goddess can tell you how much you suck.

           Time passes. You’ve learned to recognize the first few bars of Never Gonna Give You Up on a treble staff. Jane snags her license. Calliope’s Halloween costume is a hit. You don’t know what you and Aradia are. She still comes and goes without warning. When she’s around, you’ve taken her a few places – to an arcade, to the zoo. The outings are fun, but you’ve never even taken her hand for anything but transportation purposes. What’s the point of getting close to someone who might not be there tomorrow? The last time, she’d said, “I had fun!” and you’d said, “Yeah, me too” and shoved your hands into your pockets. She’d looked almost disappointed, but what was she expecting? Sollux has been giving you dirty looks. You give him dirtier ones right back. If he thinks you’re toying with his bffsy’s heart, he can take it up with her.

December 21 is drawing near. Some crackpots with a big following insist the Mayan's calendar ends here and, rather than considering it might work like the modern kind, have assumed the world is ending. You don't remember which of you suggested an apocalypse survivors party as a joke, but it caught on, and at some point as the concept snowballed it gained sincerity. It's 2012. The world already ended, although only you and a few friends know. The world was gone, and it came back, and you're still here. You're all still here.

Plus, it gets rid of the problem of picking which cultural holiday to celebrate all together.

           You stay close to home to help with preparations, and Aradia sets a personal record staying put for over two weeks straight. John insists on showing the trolls every holiday movie he can get his hands on for cultural immersion, and you and Jake now have to put up with choruses of “You’ll shoot your eye out”. Rose and Dave are having a truly horrendous ugly sweater competition. The 21st rolls around, and while a bunch of tinfoil hat enthusiasts are expecting the world go up in flames, you party. Jade has strewn greenery yanked from the woods everywhere. Kanaya found some ornate candlesticks at a thrift shop that elevate the table’s style, even if a few people have already almost set their sleeves on fire. Karkat gets weepy giving an impromptu speech, and you all cheer to cover your own watery eyes. You made it. You really did.

           Calliope breaks the tension by unveiling an actual physical scrapbook she’s been putting together out of pictures copied from phones and snapped in secret. There are green cherub thumbs in a few corners, but that adds to their charm. The group spends a few minutes flipping through the pages documenting the last eight months. There’s Jake posing on one of the statues in the museum’s sculpture garden (directly before near-apprehension by museum security). There’s Dirk and Dave in their matching fake college hoodies, which spurred a flurry of copycat orders. There’s Jane sweating bullets behind the wheel for the first time while her dad gives her an encouraging fatherly thumbs up. It’s your lives for the past nine months, flat on paper with decorative paper framing. After your first sixteen years, it’s amazing that a life can be so full.

 Most people clear out of the dining room after that, although at some point Jade will strongarm people into tag teaming the dishes. Jake is trying to convince John that Pacific Rim is the perfect film for the season, even if it won't officially come out for another year. Davesprite keeps ambushing people with a camera.

You pick up your glass (sparkling cider, of course; you cleared the local grocery store out of their selection) and slip outside. The bright lights from inside stream out into the shadowy backyard. You tilt the glass and let the last few carbonated drops trickle into the dead grass. "Happy apocalypse day," you mutter.

"Same to you."

You jump, and the glass tinkles to the ground. "Shit, you scared me."

Aradia's smile fades. She's leaning up against the side of the house, her dark hair merging into the shadows. "I thought you knew I was here. Who were you talking to?"

You shrug and bend down to pick up the glass. There's a chip in the rim. "It's stupid."

"Doubt it."

"It is."

"Dare you to tell me."

"I was talking to the other Roxy. Dead Roxy." You look up at the sky with its strange new stars. "She'd hate to miss a party like this."

Aradia walks over to join you in contemplation of the heavens. This close, her body heat chases off the chill. "I like to think the dead go somewhere happy. It makes up for some of the unhappiness here."

"Are you unhappy?"

"No, I can't complain."

You try to remember when she slipped out here. After dinner? She'd had a ball with the party blowers and hit Sollux a few times on the nose. "Why are you out here?"

"I was thinking about leaving. I've been here for a few weeks."

"But it's holiday season!"

"There's so much left to see. Lots and lots of planets, and the past and future of all of them. They're waiting for me."

"Let them wait."

Aradia folds her arms over her chest. It’s cold out – the warmth from the party is leaching off your skin. With her body temperature, does she feel it?

"Why do you keep running away?" you ask. “You said you like to tell the truth. And I want to understand. See, Jake was always running away, because we were putting so much pressure on him and he didn’t know how to deal. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to hang with us, he was just getting the social version of a DDOS attack. So if it’s really because you like it better out there than down here, I can live with that. I’ll stop bothering you. But if it’s something I can change… I’d like to help. I’d like to see you stay.”

Aradia sighs. Her breath streams out in a puff of white. "No one told me to guide the dead,” she says. “It's something I decided to do, and I was good at it. The furthest ring is strange at first, but heroes of our Aspects master it quickly. I mastered my friends too. I knew exactly what they need and what to say to them. I don't anymore.” She glances behind you, where silhouettes move behind the sliding glass door. “This... all this, even them, it's new. I'm not sure I'm good at it."

Living together means sometimes you overhear conversations you shouldn’t. A month or so ago, one of your pictures toppled off the windowsill, and you’d gone rooting around behind the bushes looking for it when you heard Aradia and Terezi walking by. Terezi snapped, “I didn’t ask to be part of another of your handholding therapy sessions.”

           You sunk deeper into the bushes and cloaked yourself in void. This sounded like a bad time for Terezi to sniff you out. “I thought it might help,” Aradia replied.

           “I don’t need help. I know all that stuff about guilt and responsibility. I just need to be sad for a while. Remember sad? You used to brood all the time in our session when you weren’t breaking things as destruction therapy.” Shit, this was definitely something you shouldn’t be overhearing.

           “I’m sorry.” Aradia’s tone stayed level. “Other versions of you were happy to hear what I had to say.”

           “I bet they were.” Terezi groaned, and you could imagine her pressing her fingers to her forehead. “I know you want to be nice. After the last few sweeps it’s sweet someone does. I was in a bad place, and I would have appreciated this then, but now I need a chance to get over it on my own. We’re not the dreamers you spent so much time with. The same solutions won’t work with us. I appreciate it, but it’s frustrating when you’re treating me like a machine that you can punch the right combination of platitudes into and a happy ending will pop out.” She’d paused, and when Aradia stayed silent, said, “That sounded mean, didn’t it? I’m not very good at being nice. I’m sure you picked that up.”

           “You’ve given me things to think about,” Aradia said. She didn’t sound angry. She never has.

           “Yeah, and I’ll think about what you’ve said too, but mostly I need time. The kind even you heroes can’t give me.”

           “If I can ever help –”

           Terezi nodded. “I know where to find you. Well, sometimes.”

           After she went inside, Aradia stayed in the backyard long enough for your back to ache. Then she spread her wings and took off. You didn’t see her again for weeks.

 Is that what this is about? Is that why she keeps leaving? Because she doesn’t know how to act, and she’s afraid of messing up? You think back to the few times you’d made it clear she’d hit a wrong note, the way she’d tensed up and got uncertain. Can you forget what it’s like to live in realtime, without cheatcodes at the ready and the ability to reverse and try again? It’s kind of like when John had taken the training wheels off your bike, and you’d crashed more trying to be extra careful. What you have to do is go faster to keep your balance.

"I'm not good at any of this either,” you say. “I spent the first few weeks of our victory lap getting the shakes from booze withdrawal again. I get nightmares most nights - not deep meaningful coherent shit, I don’t even remember most of it, but I wake up freaked out. My kids are here and they're people who are messed up too and I want to help them but god, I'm not a therapist, I can't even help myself. And who the FUCK knows how a checkbook works." You flick the rim of the glass and it chimes. "It's been months and I still kinda want a drink."

"I've never met another you," she says. "I don't know what to say."

"None of us have done this before. We're all... fucking up for the first time. Out there you were like... replaying the same levels of a game over and over because you knew all the tricks, but sometime you have to move on and click a dialog option without knowing what it'll do. Sure, sometimes you'll make a mortal enemy or fail a quest, but sometimes you won't." You scuff your foot over the damp patch in the dirt that's all that's left of your libation. "We can't keep thinking about dead people all the time. And tracking down the game… it’s important, but this here matters too.” This is turning out cheesier than the party platter you ordered for tonight’s party, but it’s too late to back down now. “You… matter to me. Maybe I don’t know you that well, or know what makes you happy in a million universes or tidbits like that, but I’d like to. I’d like you to stay. The dead are dead, and the future’s coming. No one can stop it. But the present’s here. And it’s the holidays. That’s the best time for presents.”

That gets you a little smile. “Time puns are my weakness.”

“I’ve got an endless supply of dumb jokes, I promise.” You reach out and put a hand on her shoulder. Shit, she’s warm. “We have forever, but we’re only gonna be sixteen once. Do you want to spend all of it in outer space missing dead people?”

" I'm done with dying," she says.

"Wanna give living a try?"

Both of you are hit with a bright flash of light that leaves you jerking away and blinking stars out of your vision.

"Hope that turns out," Davesprite says. "I alchemized a fuckin nova flash. I call it the retinablaster 5000 and it's a leading cause in early onset vision loss."

"Don't make me sorry I birthed you," you say, rubbing your eyes. You hadn’t even heard the sliding door open. As a professional sneak, you’re falling down on the job. Rogues shouldn’t get taken by surprise.

"You didn't. John birthed us all out of slime and I bet he regrets it every single day of his life. Jake won the arm wrestling contest and Terezi says using Hope powers isn’t cheating because of course she favors being underhanded, so he’s putting in your future-pirated movie. We’re saving you seats, unless you guys want to stay out here freezing your asses off."

“We were having a moment,” you say, with as much haughtiness as you can muster.

“Oh, one of those. Well, we’re not holding off on pressing play, so finish it up.” He slides the glass door closed, and the noise from inside dies down. The lights from the kitchen still spill out onto the dead grass, painting it gold. It’s the kind of little detail Aradia likes. She looks at it quietly.

“You can’t miss Pacific Rim,” you say. “It’s a must-see.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s about friendship and science and cancelling the apocalypse, which are all part of the reason for the season. Plus there’s robots with sickass swords, and what else do you need from a feature film?”

“Someone to watch it with.”

“That helps,” you agree, and hold out your hand. “Come in and stay a while?”

She grabs it, and her warmth chases the winter chill away. "I think I will."

[druckkugelschreiber]

Ajsksjsjksjssjalakjajs

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

The Cipher Conspiracy (8)

Here! Have a chapter entirely about Ford!

I estimate at the moment there will be fourteen chapters in total of this, but that may chang, as in the past my estimates have been very off XD.

Adeline Marks is @hntrgurl13‘s, and the Addiford ship is @scipunk63‘s. 

She doesn’t have a direct appearance in this chapter, but @missinspi‘s OC Madeline McGucket is still part of the fic, so I’m going to mention her anyway.

AO3  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14

Gravity Falls, Oregon (USA)    ∆

Ford groaned as he straightened up. How long had he been hunched over this desk for?

Too long, he reflected, scanning through the work he had completed.

He made his way towards the elevator, intent on getting himself some food before proceeding to the next step. The doors opened before he could reach them, revealing Bill.

“Okay, smart guy, let’s see these plans,” he said, strolling out. Ford turned around and led the way back to the schematics he had been redrawing.

“We – uh – I altered the gun’s design in Russia, so there should be less chance of it malfunctioning during use now. I just finished making the final copy, so all that’s left is to start constructing it,”

Bill straightened up from pouring over the plans and clapped him on the back. “I knew you could do it, Sixer! A few problematic hangers-on aren’t enough to slow you down!”

“Right.” Ford said, deciding to move past that comment as quickly as possible.  “I think I should start putting together microcomputer first.”

Bill nodded, moving around the desk so he could scrutinise the plans more. “Use the precision instrument from China. Calibrate it to, oh, a working range of eight hundred nanometres to two centimetres. Lock it in position five for the circuit board, but position six should do for the rest.”

Ford was taken aback at the sudden rattling off of instructions. “You’ve used one before, then?”

Bill laughed. “Of course not Fordsy, I just know my stuff. Good thing I’m around, huh? Not to say that you don’t know what you’re doing, but, well . . .” he shrugged amiably.

“It’s good to pool knowledge,” Ford finished, choosing to think optimistically rather than be offended.

“Whenever you need me, pal! I’ve got things to do upstairs; you don’t mind if I take over the place for a bit while you’re not using it, right? Catch ya later,”

Ford did not like to criticise Bill: he had, after all, given him the opportunity to prove the full extent of his abilities to the world, if not in quite the way Ford had anticipated while growing up. For this reason, Bill was more like a friend than a boss, a sentiment that Bill had stated when Ford first met him, and which he had kept reinforcing through the years. However, it did irk him slightly that his residency was also morphing into Bill’s base of operations. On the other hand, it was also rather gratifying to see how much Bill trusted him. As far as he knew, no other agents were overseen as much as himself.

Monitored as much as myself.

. . . it was difficult to deny how freeing the weeks away had been. Perhaps he would like a little more breathing room.

That would no doubt occur once he finished the memory gun. Bill just wanted it complete, and then work would resume more like how scientists usually worked: in a less-than-imposing manner. Such as how he and Fiddleford had collaborated.

Speaking of Fiddleford, Ford was sure he would have loved this part.

He set up the machine on the desk, turned it on, and watched it knit together a circuit board with liquid fluidity.

∆

Bill swiped a squeezy toy from a couch as he passed. Making his way to the kitchen, he leaned back in a chair and put his feet on the tabletop. Then he took out his phone, tossing the toy up in the air.

“Ivan! I want an update. One that doesn’t ruin the good day I’m having,”

“McCorkle just had a meeting. I recall that Pines encountered two of Jheselbraum’s agents in Oklahoma . . .” The voice became more reluctant, as if the owner wished it wasn’t him that was bearing this news. “She was meeting one of them. You were right sir, Oracle Division is definitely involved.”

“Hmm. Well, good thing I was expecting that, or this would be really unpleasant for you.” Bill stood up and began walking around, tossing the toy from hand to hand, the phone jammed between his shoulder and ear.

“It’s time to shut Oracle Division down. Don’t blow your cover, Jhezzy’s pup’ll be outta your non-existent hair soon enough. Bigger problems to worry about, et cetera,”

“As you say, sir. I should also mention that Stanley Pines has reappeared,”

“Leave him. He’s out of the game now, or close enough. Besides, he just wouldn’t die. Four rounds of one-sided Russian poker and he’s still around – he’s like a roach! Whose underpants are stitched from luck! Maybe I’ll make him a job offer one day,” Bill mused, bouncing the toy off the wall.

“Yes sir. And what about the other Pines?”

“On track, finally. How long does it take to get some materials for cryin’ out loud? No need to come out here. But be on standby, just in case. Our resident genius is wising up.” The ball thudded into the wall again, but Bill didn’t catch it. He walked away, leaving it to ricochet behind him, where it cracked a glass frame and popped.

∆

Ford’s eyes were burning. He hadn’t blinked in a while. That was it.

Ow. Blinking hurt too.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, keeping his eyes closed. His fingers were trembling.

This was ridiculous. He had not even been working for that long! Granted, affixing the circuit boards to the hard drive of the microcomputer was slightly harder than he had anticipated, but he was getting there. And arranging the trigger mechanism had been frustrating. And positioning the internal reflective mirrors was an ordeal, to say the least. But all in all, he had about a third of the gun constructed (if he counted the tiny wires which he had laid out over the blueprints in preparation for their insertion), and it was only –

What time was it?

Ford opened his watery eyes and tried to make sense of the clock on the wall.

One o’clock? That can’t be right, I got home at one-thirty.

. . . I should really change that display to show twenty-four-hour time.

As he moved back towards the elevator room to find a chair, he realised that standing very still while bent over a table for six hours was not a great decision on his part. Every inch of him ached, even the parts that were not involved in keeping him upright. Sitting burned.

Midway through Ford’s groan, Bill came through the elevator, muttering.

“Those Oracle superiors better be awake . . .” He noticed Ford awkwardly slumped in a swivel chair. “Taking a break already, are we? It’s only been, what-”

“Eleven and a half hours,” Ford croaked.

“Come on, you’ve done longer than that at university!” Bill grinned, striding over to stand in front of him.

“Probably.” He yawned. “Just give me a minute.” A thought struck him. “Did you say Oracle? Like that Oracle Division you mentioned a couple weeks ago?”

Bill stiffened slightly, then shrugged.

“Yeah, they’re causing some trouble that I’ve gotta put a stop to. Banging on about the ‘Cipher Conspiracy’ again. Don’t ya just hate it when people won’t listen? Anyway, they won’t be a problem for much longer. That whole shebang is coming down pronto.” A momentary dark flicker crossed his expression. “I got a special gal who’ll be taking the fall, and when she does, so will the rest of those cage-rattling do-gooders.” He clapped his hands suddenly. “So! You gonna get back to work then, or do I have to find another genius?”

Ford chuckled and Bill laughed, but made no move to leave, and kept staring at Ford expectantly. The amusement fizzled out of the air. Ford suddenly wondered if it had ever been there.

“Well, I was thinking I could get back to it tomo- later this morning,”

“Come on, Sixer, we’re so close! Don’t tell me you traversed the globe for this, only to give up now?”

“I don’t think it would be giving up-”

“No? Sure looks like it,”

Ford stared at Bill, floored. Bill’s expression was the same as always: friendly, encouraging, betraying none of his thoughts.

Slowly, he stood up. He walked back to the desk where the almost one-third of a gun was.

“I knew I could rely on you, buddy!” Bill praised (or perhaps crowed) from behind him. “You’ve got some insane dedication, I think it’s safe to say, which means that device should be raring to go in no time! Got it? This is your ticket to the stars, and my ticket to the throne. It’s going to be great. You’re doing me a huge favour, you know that? You’re one of a kind, Fordsy, one of a kind. Don’t prove me wrong! That head of yours has to be good for something, haha, you know I’m joking. Catch ya later! I reckon you’ll be about half done by then, whaddaya think?”

∆

One third complete. Fully complete, not almost complete. Ford did not consider it a victory. He did not spend too long thinking about why. There was nothing to be gained from that, anyway. Nothing that could be considered important right now, per se. Nothing that, while worthwhile to consider, could probably just be attributed to the stresses of directing an agency. Nothing that could not be overlooked in favour of the . . . probably overall good that would come of the invention. Nothing that –

Ford sighed. He had been staring uselessly at the wall for five minutes now.

It would be better to throw himself into the work, he considered.

∆

God I’m tired.

I need to try harder.

Bill is right, we have waited far too long for this device’s construction, and I need to complete it, although he could be more helpful. He has already shown how adept he is with the machines. There’ll be plenty of time for rest afterwards. What is a few hours’ sleep deprivation in the face of an invention that could change the world? This is a personal challenge that I am entirely willing to accept.

have reluctantly allowed myself a five-minute break to write an entry in this journal. It is this, or fall face-down, unconscious, onto my desk. I am determined that, after two weeks of often having to share a room with Stanley S who cares? that the next time I sleep, it will be snorelessly. Is that a word? silently.

His snoring was strangely reassuring, however. It certainly made things seem less alone, cold, and dark. Or perhaps that’s just what the basement is like all the time.

I may need to head upstairs for a meal soon. I have not eaten since breakfast with Stan yesterday. Stan was a good cook. He made pancakes. Stan made pancakes. Stancakes. I think it may have been inadvisable to become so reliant on him for food.

∆

But what did he mean? Ford unwillingly wondered for the umpteenth time. It was happening every few minutes now, as he impatiently waited for the precision machine to complete another task.

Bill said odd things every now and then. It was just something Ford had learned to live with. Why was he noticing it now?

The answer was obvious.

But then again, no, it was not. Ford might occasionally become irritated with some of his boss’s mannerisms (arrogance), or his way of working (uncommonly close-at-hand), however he had never before felt as uneasy as he did now. He had always had the idea in his mind that while Bill might be his employer, he afforded Ford the same amount of respect he received. That idea was diminishing.

Simple answer.

But was it?

Yes.

I’m noticing it now because I’ve seen what it’s like to be without it.

∆

My mind keeps returning to our goodbye. Stan said to make sure that I did not get too caught up in my work. More occasions than the present one apply to this statement: for instance, once in primary school I became completely engrossed in a science project. It was a volcano with real lava, all contained on a miniature island. When I was unable to test it properly on the day it was due, I found myself having a panic attack. Now, the entire affair seems inconsequential, especially with the threats problems I face in the present. It mattered a significant amount at the time, though, and fortunately Stan knew me far better than I knew my project. He was able to calm me down, and the next thing I knew, the presentation went off without a hitch.

I miss him. And his Stancakes.

I meant what I said when I saw him off at the airport: I was going to come see him when I finished the project.

All the more reason to finish it soon, then.

∆

Ford took the clock off the wall. It was distracting, not to mention discouraging.

∆

The machine was obviously not accustomed to being handled manually: it had made the circuit boards on its own far easier than it let Ford use it to arrange the delicate piece of filament at the end of the gun.

He could feel Bill watching over his shoulder every step of the way. It was like at any moment he was going to snatch control for himself. The tremor had moved to Ford’s stomach now, leaving his hands feeling slow and heavy. Tiny pinpricks of sweat were forming on his forehead, nose, eyes. His glasses were about to give way and fall straight onto the gun, effectively smashing to pieces all his hard work. The microscope lens Ford’s face was glued to in order to see what he was doing would not stand a chance at stopping it. The glasses would fall, and everything was doomed. He might as well accept it now. No. That would be giving up. He did not give up. Bill was unmoving. The damn machine was not tilting properly. The filament would undoubtedly be lost forever in the ensuing chaos brought on by Ford’s crappy eyesight. He had not breathed in for a while. His stomach was lurching now.

In a fit of desperation and frustration, he jerked the controls roughly forward.

Miraculously, the filament slid exactly into place.

“HAH!” Ford shouted – or tried to. There was no air in his lungs for that to happen.

He heaved in a huge breath, straightening up as he did so. His glasses fell forwards and made a gentle tap on the lens of the microscope. Ford laughed hysterically. Bill made no comment. He just stood to the side, silent and watchful.

“Four fifths of the way done!” Ford said cheerfully, turning to him. To empty space.

Bill had left hours ago.

The elevator rumbled down, grating on Ford’s nerves, depriving him of a momentary relief.

Bill caught sight of him and laughed briefly. “Well I can tell you’ve been working! Never seen anyone so tired they put their glasses on the wrong seeing-hole.” He gestured to the machine, which Ford’s glasses were comically hanging off.

“Ah! Yes,” Ford said brightly, jamming them back on his face.

“Almost done I see.” Bill said, looking hungrily at the almost-complete gun. “Let’s get that last stretch over with, pal! I gotta tell you, I am longing for a chance to try it out. You know, you should be proud. It was you who brought all this into being.” Bill swirled an upright finger around to encompass the general vicinity.

“I appreciate it,” Ford said, banging a hand down onto the table to emphasise his statement. The gun jumped half a foot into the air, making a loud clunk as it fell. Ford laughed again when it did not break. The thing was invincible!

“Good to see you’re finally gaining a sense of humour,” grinned Bill.

“Who are you going to test this on? Not me, I hope,” said Ford grinning equally wide. Everything seemed very hearty at the moment. He remembered this feeling – first from university, and now every so often from the five years he had been working with Bill.

“Oh no, Fordsy, you’re my number one! There have been a few pains in the neck hanging around though. I’m sure I can think of someone,”

Ford nodded in agreement. Bill was good at thinking.

“Anyway, time to make that bulb! You’ve got some shimmern to melt down and some specific heat calculations to redo. You see that there? You forgot the indices.” He pointed casually at a sheet of working paper.

Ford managed an acknowledgement through tightly grit teeth and a strained smile. It was becoming painful, actually. How did Bill keep it up all the time?

∆

There had been stabbing pains in his stomach a few hours ago. He only remembered them when he reached precisely twenty-four hours without food.

Coffee counted as food, Ford decided, heating up the kettle.

The kitchen was really bright and his eyes did not want to adjust. He squinted into the –

He glanced at the clock.

-  eight AM light rebelliously.

Coffee in mouth.

HOT.

His legs felt really tired. He was fine, but his legs ached. So did his back. And arm muscles. And fingers. Taking a moment to sit down might be advisable.

Ooooohhh it was.

It was rather peaceful up here. Very quiet. Cool. The makeshift forge was making the basement incredibly hot, so until it was at the temperature it needed to be to melt shimmern, he would wait up here.

He should stretch out his neck more. A few cricks, but nothing too painful. It felt especially pleasant when he rolled his head forwards. Quite heavy, too. Maybe he would just lie on the table like this for a moment. Wait for the coffee to cool down. Wait for the forge to heat up . . .

Where are they?

There was blood everywhere, but no one in the chairs. No one in the room. A light was growing – a bright blue-white light. Not emanating from anywhere in particular. Just growing.

Someone shouted his name.

Fiddleford.

Was not with him. He must have found them. Ford turned to go.

There they were. All three of them. Standing just beyond the threshold of the door. They stared at him expressionlessly. Addi and Stan had bloodstains on their clothes. The ever-increasing light threw the colours into sharp relief. Everything trembled around the edges as though it was about to explode. Stan’s left hand was being held by someone he could not see. Fiddleford was looking at a photograph.

Where did you go?

"You were the one who left," said Addi.

A hum he had not noticed rose to a peak. He started forwards, needing to let her know he hadn’t, he was right here, he was going to see Stan so soon, he was going to ask Fiddleford to help on his next project, he was going to kiss her for real one day, he just needed some time, just a little –

A bulb exploded. Sparks. Silence. Dark.

Dark.

Dark.

Laughing next to his ear.

He jerked upright, lashing out beside him, eyes wide despite the glaring light, but he was alone.

Ford gasped for breath. How long had he been asleep for? Sleeping was – was not good. He scrubbed his face with his hands and downed the cold coffee with a shudder. Better than nothing.

Looking at the clock, he saw it had only been ten minutes. Plenty of time. He had plenty of time. He was not even on a time limit. That was how much time he had.

∆

When shimmern melted, it glowed a bright yellow-white and radiated incredible heat. Ford had to wear goggles and gloves just so he could stand to be near it, and even then he was sweltering.

The lovely tear-shaped pendant gave him one last sparkle before it liquified completely. A flash of a playful grin danced in front of him, the memory of an immense wind determined to drive him back briefly hijacking his senses.

“So much for returning it,” Ford muttered.

“Oops, might’ve forgotten to mention that we needed to use all of it,” shrugged Bill from the other side of the glowing material. “Ah, memories, memories.” Before he sauntered away, he gave Ford a look that was all too piercing.

Then again, a voice in his head weakly protested, everything looks hazy over here. You might be seeing things.

Ford snorted. “I really need to talk to someone that I actually want around,” he informed the blazing liquid.

He grabbed the last machine from China and started to shape molten shimmern, steadfastly ignoring an image in his mind’s eye of Adeline smiling as he had tried to dismantle the very same device he was using.

∆

“Y’know Ivan, he’s really come through,” said Bill, raiding the fridge. “I thought for a while he was going to pull some crazy stunt-” he waved his hands around wildly – “but it looks like he held out. Our genius is back on track!”

“So the device is complete, then?” asked Ivan on the other end of the line.

“It will be. VERY soon. Ol’ Six-Fingers can be amazing if he’s pushed. So anyway, just calling to let ya know I don’t need you to, ah, how to put this delicately,” he swiped a hand across his neck, miming a beheading, “murder him painfully. I mean, I haven’t exactly been keeping everything under wraps lately, but like I said, no crazy stunts, ‘You betrayed me!’, yadda yadda yadda.”

“Very convenient, sir. Is there any word on your solution for the situation over here?”

“Oh, yeah, our very own Agent Marks should be touching down right . . . about . . .” Bill checked his watch theatrically, “now. Once she’s blown off a head or two, you rush to her place having heroically tracked her down with your fantastic FBI training and arrest her. Events, cover-ups revealed, bing, bang, boom, Oracle Division topples like dominoes. And then I’m free to put that memory gun to some use.”

∆

“Sixer!” No answer. Bill frowned and walked back downstairs. “Weren't you . . . hey, Sixer!” Again, no answer.

Bill moved decisively towards the basement entrance.

“Well, well, well, well, well. My memory gun finished yet?” Silence. The entire basement was still. All the lights were off, like they were no longer needed.

“Pines . . .” Bill growled. Not taking his eyes off the dark space ahead, he took out his phone and pressed and selected a contact to call. No answering phone rang, apart from on the other end of the line.

∆

Ford fumbled one-handed with the phone, managing to answer while keeping a set of bloodshot eyes on the road.

“Bill! Yes, I’m here,”

“No, y’see Sixer, that’s the problem. You really AREN’T,”

“The memory gun’s finished. It’s on the worktable. Do you need something? I’m a little preoccupied right now.” Should he be talking to his employer so disrespectfully? Welp, too late now.

He careened around a bend in a move he felt his brother would have been proud of.

“You’re testing my patience, Fordsy. I’m sure I don’t have to phrase my question, since it should be OBVIOUS,”

“I didn’t tell you? I swore I did.” Ford said, genuinely surprised. After a second’s reflection, he reconsidered his position. “Oh. No, I only thought about telling you. That was probably when I got into the car,”

He revved the El Diablo’s engine enthusiastically.

“I’m going to visit Stan,” he informed Bill lightly, speeding past the “Welcome to Gravity Falls” sign so fast it was a blur.

“Why,” stated Bill coldly, in a way which was very emphatically not a question.

“Because I said I would!” Shrugged Ford happily. “I like being around him. I don’t like being cut-off and alone. I think the Cipher Wheel could benefit from a new point of view! Also, I need to return his car.”

He might regret saying most of those things later. He did not at the present moment, however, which was the important thing. It really was amazing what thirty-two hours without sleep could do for an individual’s self-confidence. In fact, this had been nothing; he felt like he could continue without sleep for days more.

“This is a little off-the-rails for you, you gotta admit. Pretty unexpected. A bit of a crazy stunt, you might say,”

“I suppose so. I think I’m overdue, to be honest. I will see you in a few days, sir!”

“Oh, you never know. Anything could happen. For instance, I bet you’re going to receive one heck of a welcome in Sacramento!”

“I’d settle for anything at this point!”

They both laughed. And kept laughing. And laughed some more. Ford ran out of breath first.

“I suppose you gotta make a stand at some point, Stanford! Might wanna scout out the turf beforehand, though. Seeya, kid!”

∆

“Ivan! You remember what I said about painfully murdering Pines? Yeah, let’s do that. He’s headed your way, and I wouldn’t miss him if I were you. In fact, same goes for anyone who gets in your way. We’ve got the means to deal with the fallout now,”

The memory gun glinted as Bill turned it over in his hand.

[yoru-no-requiem]

Fated Meeting

@bowlofyatos

“Nope! I just like weird things. Did you know there’s editable glitter? It’s fantastic on cake!” He chuckled. His slit gold eyes widened in shock. “Really?! Wow! I didn’t think I’d get to meet another god in years!” He held out his hand. “I’m Bill Cipher! God of Chaos!” A pause. “Well the humans seem to call me a demon or some kind of calamity. I say they need to lighten up. Life isn’t fun without some destruction here and there!” His laughter was slightly psychotic. 

“Ah. Unfortunately I’ve been restricted by the other gods. They saw fit to punish me. I mean look at this body.” Bill patted his chest. To top it off he was attractive. Just what were the others trying to prove with that one? “Do you have any idea how boring tailor work is? Ah well. At least I get to put my many years of skills to the test.” Bill decided to play with a magical fireball. Tossing it back and forth between his hands like it was a toy.