Lose 10 Pounds of Ugly Fat... Cut Off Your Head

My friend favoritebean wrote some really badass crossover fiction in my Cliffton 'verse, and here it is!

Incident at the Temple of Lilies

I know y'all are going to die of shock here, but it is (a) not smutty and (b) not about Devin - oh, AND? (c) no warnings I can think of. WHO KNEW THIS WAS POSSIBLE?!!

It's multiple sections, but it's not a huge undertaking to read at all and I hope you'll check it out.

Moar Cliffton. This one takes place the day before Barefoot, Uphill, Both Ways. No warnings, unless you need to be warned for Devin showing redeeming qualities.



Wes starts babbling about the fucking Reaping Festival before I've even had my SynthBrew. Not that I'm listening. I just grunt at the appropriate places and again when he hands me a steaming mug. Doesn't stop him from fucking talking, though. Nothing ever does.

It's not until after I'm showered and semi-awake that his words start to register.

"And there's a carnival with rocket racing and rides! We can get FunCakes, too. I love FunCakes!" Wes is chattering away like a warrior bat on StimTabs. In our four years living here, he's never once mentioned the Festival. This year, though, he's on a fucking mission. He's so excited, I wish I didn't have to burst his happy little bubble.

"Um, Wes?" I remind him when he finally pauses to breathe. "We're helping Kalen with those explosives today."

"Oh." His face falls, and I can't stand how deflated he looks. "I forgot."

"Maybe we'll finish up early?" I offer. "We could go after. Why the fuck not?"

"They have MegaSlushes, too," Wes says, his grin so huge I can't help but smile back.

Well, that settles it. Blue MegaSlushes are my fucking favorite.

( cut because it's all about what makes you happy )

Do you ever depress yourself with your own writing? Is that just me? Does this happen to normal people? I depressed the crap out of myself with Pretty Buttons. Apparently, theun4givables felt bad too, because she wrote this sweetness. Well, I don't know if "sweetness" exactly describes it, but awwww. Devin really doesn't deserve Wes.

THIS IS WHY THEY ARE NOT CANON.

Anyway, this fanfic is not even smutty, so that means everyone should read it and love on my awesome friend. Yay. :D

The moment I open my eyes, I have a good feeling. Today is gonna be exciting!

I bound out of bed, trying to remember why. Morning people are misunderstood. Our brains take a few minutes to come online when we wake up, too. You just don't notice because our mouths pick up the slack. I throw my boxers on and wash my face, full of the feeling that something important is about to happen. It puts some extra bounce in my walk as I step out into the hall to make some SynthBrew.

...Where I nearly crash into Devin. Who shouldn't be up this early at all.

That's it! I remember now. Today is Devin's first day at work. He's been talking about it for a week. It's gonna be fucking epic. We can fight the system from the inside! The possibilities are endless! I haven't seen him spaz out like this about something in ages - usually that's me.

How can I not be excited for him?

Of course, right now, he's shooting me his standard why-am-I-awake death glare. He thinks I don't notice, probably. I know he hates me for being cheerful this early - I just can't help it. Devin's like this for the first two hours of every day, but I know he's been awake less than 10 minutes because his hair is all over the place.

You'd think this would make me not want to talk to him, but it never works that way.

"Are you all ready for work today? Did you pack your lunch last night? I could pack you a lunch if you want - I'm up anyway. I hope everything goes okay. Are you nervous?" The words pour out and I'm powerless to stop them.

Devin grunts in response. I'm pretty sure he's trying to make me spontaneously combust with his eyes.

"Okay, I'm gonna make some SynthBrew now! I'll make extra for you. Bye!" I make my way to the kitchen, whistling as Devin grumbles something unintelligible at my back. It probably includes the word "fuck" and I'm sure if there's anything important in there, he'll tell me later. Meanwhile, I might as well focus on what to put in his lunch bag.

* * * * *
For at least 20 minutes after Devin leaves for work, I'm focused on the limitless options before me. I'm looking forward to some me time. Just me and my pot of SynthBrew and whatever I want to do with my day. This is new and different!

Then the newness wears off, and I'm a little bored. I've already lost at SimFighting at least 5 times - there are people on the Splinternet who're even better at it than Devin! And by the way, I kinda miss him. It's too quiet here without him around. If he were home he'd still be sleeping anyway, but somehow it feels different from the usual silence.

I wonder if I should call Devin, just see how he's doing. I bet he's nervous even though he'd never admit it. Yeah, I should definitely call him. He needs the moral support.

"Wes, I'm about to walk into the building. Is this important?" Devin's voice sounds weird, kinda subdued. Either something at the WeaponsDev building's messing with the connection between our neurovision implants or he really is nervous.

"I was bored! And I wanted to tell you you're gonna do great so there's no reason to worry."

Devin makes a noise that either means "thank you" or "fuck you".

"Did you remember the lunch I packed you? We were out of orange LaserAde so I gave you red. That okay with you? Wanna play SimFighting when you come home tonight?" I know he has to go into work in a minute, so it's important I say everything right now before I forget.

"Wes, I've gotta go." Devin's laughing, though. It's good I called.

* * * * *
It's a little shocking how much I can accomplish in 2 hours when Devin isn't here. I've cleaned out the FrigiBox, which turns out to have really needed it. There were some very old leftovers and this green ooze that might have been one of Devin's projects. I'm pretty sure it was just an old muscle tonic that Brendan forgot about, though.

Then I was gonna spend the rest of the morning playing SimFighting with Kalen, but after a couple games he suddenly got all worried about Brendan's rage issues. I didn't even know Brendan had an anger problem, but Kalen says it's really scary sometimes. He said since I'm so great at researching things on the Splinternet, maybe I should look into it. Isn't that sweet how Kalen's so concerned for his brother's well-being?

My research isn't turning up so much so far, but I'm gonna keep trying. It's amazing what you can find on the Splinternet. If you search long enough, you'll come across all kinds of things. How great is that?

You know, I bet Devin would be really proud of how productive I'm being! I should call him and tell him all about it. When I talked to him an hour ago, he was downloading procedural vids. If he's watching them now, I bet he's really bored.

"Hey, Wes." Devin's whispering, but it sounds like he's happy to talk to me.

"Hi! Do you miss me yet? Are you watching the procedural vids? When do you get lunch?"

"My lunch is in an hour." He lowers his voice even further. "These vids are fucking boring. And you'd have to be pretty stupid not to know this stuff already. I mean, it's common sense not to leave toxic chemicals in the break room FrigiBox, right?"

That answers the question about the green goo I threw out earlier. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"You still there, Wes?" Devin must be even more bored than I thought. He normally hates talking on our implants.

"Yeah. Dude, guess what?" I remember why I called. "I cleaned up the kitchen, and now I'm doing some weapons research just like you! Aren't you proud of me?"

"You don't say." I'm not sure why he sounds so surprised. "Huh. Well, yeah. I guess I am."

* * * * *
I know I shouldn't call Devin again. It's his second day, and when I talked to him 2 hours ago, he said he might have real work to do soon. He's probably gonna be mad if I interrupt him, but I really need someone to talk to.

The thing is, my research into Brendan's temper finally turned up some results. I think his problem might be the result of an abandoned mind control experiment. Problem is, if that's the case the odds of helping him aren't exactly great. I don't want to scare him and Kalen if I'm jumping to the wrong conclusion somehow.

When I need advice, I always go to Devin.

"Wes, this is a really bad time."

"Okay, but - " I consider whether I should just wait. "Hey, did you get any projects yet?"

"Wes." This is the tone of voice Devin uses when he's trying really hard not to yell.

"But I just really wanted to tell you - " I know I should just shut up because I'm only gonna make things worse. Of course, that doesn't happen. "Um, I just... are you okay? Why do you sound so stressed out? Did someone give you crap about your pretty hair?"

Oops. Too far.

"Yes, I got a fucking project." I have to turn down the volume on my neurovision implant because Devin's all but screaming in my brain. "I've been in fucking meetings all day and I've had to fucking pee for an hour and a half. This is my only 10 minutes to eat lunch before my next fucking meeting. And now I only have 8 minutes left because you keep calling me all day long while I'm at fucking work."

I don't know what to say to that. That lunch he's not eating right now is the one I made him. Also, I had something really important to talk to him about, but now I can't remember what it was. I'm too busy thinking about how I always say the wrong thing.

"Wes? You still there?" Devin's already sorry for jumping on me. I can tell.

"Yeah, dude." I hate how small my voice sounds. "You should go eat. I bought you orange LaserAde."

"You... what?" I can almost hear Devin shaking his head. "When the fuck did you - I'm sorry."

"I know. Sorry for bothering you at work. Go eat, okay?" I should probably clean the bathroom anyway.

"You know what, Wes?" This is the tone of voice Devin uses when he doesn't want to admit something. He's probably blushing, even though he says he doesn't do that.

"What? Oh, and you probably only have six minutes left now."

"Um, it was kinda nice that you kept checking on me yesterday. It's weird here. Sterile."

"Yeah?" I knew he was nervous!

"Yeah," Devin continues. "And I'm sorry for snapping like that, okay? It's just I have work to do already and I'm really stressed out and - "

"I know." I check the time. "Dude, you've only got 5 minutes. You should go."

"Okay, yeah." Devin pauses and I think maybe he's hung up. "You can still call me if you want, you know. Just maybe only once or twice a day from now on?"



This story takes place around the beginning of Tumbler. For people who haven't been following my Cliffton stuff, here's a little back story for Wes and Devin. It was weird writing from Wes's POV. Kind of tiring.

(also using for "unrequited pining" square on my h/c bingo card because, well)

My palms sweat and my thoughts race as I walk down the hall. While I've run numerous groups in my two years working at the Rainey Institute, this one is going to be something else entirely.

They're going to eat me alive, I think. This isn't like running Grief Group or Anger Management. Any group leader can identify with those issues. How am I supposed to find common ground with these patients, though?

I enter the room to find my participants already there, awaiting my arrival. There are eleven of them - ten people and one robot - spread across four rows of mostly-empty seats. Here goes nothing, I think, taking a deep breath.

"Hi, everyone. My name is Sarah and I'll be facilitating this group today. It's my first time leading this particular group, so please bear with me and hopefully we can all learn together."

A dark-haired woman in the back row snorts. "What could I possibly learn from you? You're scared to death right now."

"This group will give you the opportunity to talk with others who have been in the same situation as you." I do my best to appear confident in the face of her scrutiny.

"Somehow, I doubt that." The woman shoots me a haughty glare, crossing her arms.

"Okay, then," I continue. "This is a support group for people suffering from Uncooperative Fictional Character Disorder. As I've never been a fictional character myself, I can't say I identify with what you all go through. But that's why we're here. In this session, you'll have the chance to talk about your feelings with other people who've experienced the same things you have."

Nine pairs of human eyes and one pair of electronic ones stare at me in stony silence. In one corner of the room, a man with shaggy white hair sits on the floor and picks at the torn knee of his jeans.

This is going swimmingly so far, I think.

"Um, let's all introduce ourselves. First names will suffice. Please also tell the group how you're feeling today and a little bit about why you're here."

More blank stares.

"Okay, I'll go first," I say, trying not to sound intimidated. "My name is Sarah and I'm feeling nervous right now. I'm not a fictional character, but we don't have any of those working here at the Rainey Institute. They picked me to run this group because sometimes I'm a writer."

With what I hope is an encouraging nod, I address the petite blonde girl sitting in the front row.

"Hi, my name is Sam?" It sounds like a question rather than a statement. She fidgets in her chair and falls silent. A young man of Asian descent with a long ponytail is seated beside her. He grabs her hand and gives it a supportive squeeze, and she speaks again. "Um, I'm feeling depressed and I'm here because I stared at my best friend's butt during an important plot point."

Sam's friend twitches and almost falls out of his chair.

"You what?"

"It... it was an accident," Sam mumbles. "I didn't know it was you." Her friend looks disappointed.

"Um, I'm Daisuke," Sam's friend jumps in before I can ask any more questions. "Right now, I'm feeling, well... kind of shocked. I'm here because I lived in a fantastical world for a year and a half and refuse to talk to anyone about what happened while I was there."

Sam keeps shooting Daisuke nervous looks when she thinks he isn't looking. Daisuke examines his fingernails.

Thanking him, I glance at the two young men seated in the second row. Both are well-dressed, one young and blonde and the other slightly older with dark hair and glasses. They are engaged in a furious make-out session and oblivious to anyone else in the room. I clear my throat, but they don't appear to notice. I'm about to move on to the next participant when a condescending female voice speaks up from the back of the room.

"The pretty yellow-haired one is Jazz and the perverted one is Savin. They're a couple of idiots." It's the dark-haired woman who called me out at the beginning of the session.

Jerking away from his partner, Jazz looks at the woman with alarm. Savin gives her a cursory glance, then resumes kissing Jazz with impressive fervor. Jazz continues to eye the woman for a moment, then shrugs and returns his attention to Savin.

Sighing, I move on. In the third row of seats, a group of four men in their teens or early twenties sit with a feminine-looking robot. I catch the eye of an olive-skinned boy with shocking blue eyes and blonde hair. He offers me a shy smile.

"I'm Kalen, and I am feeling... overwhelmed? I'm here because I committed an act of terrorism by sneezing, thereby turning what was supposed to be a serious story into a new genre called 'goofy dystopia'." Kalen nudges the robot, who is sitting to his left.

"I'm CallaBot. I have no idea why I'm here. Robots don't need therapy." She glares at me, eyes glowing as if lasers are about to emanate from them. Feeling a trickle of sweat roll down the small of my back, I do my best not to flinch. CallaBot turns to the large muscular young man to her left, who appears to be sleeping, and punches him hard in the arm.

"Wake up, numbnuts!"

"OW!" The brawny young man jerks awake with a shout. "Why'd you do that?"

"It's your turn, Shit-For-Brains." At least the fembot is glaring at him instead of me now.

"Um... hi? I'm Brendan."

"Name. How you're feeling. Why you're here. It's not rocket science, seriously." A young man with Mediterranean features and long dark hair stares at Brendan with a disdainful expression that rivals CallaBot's laser eyes.

"Shut up, Devin!"

"Whatever, you troglodyte."

"What?" Brendan looks puzzled.

"Exactly." Devin smirks.

"Can we get to the point already? This is getting boring." The dark-haired woman in the back row stands up. "I'm Jordine. I do what I want. Period."

Jordine points at Brendan. "This one doesn't follow orders."

Gesturing at Devin, she continues.

"This one cracks jokes at inappropriate times and loses his sense of humor at crucial moments. And the one next to him, Wes, thinks that real life is exactly like an episode of NebulaQuest, a fictional 'neurovision' show." She punctuates the word "neurovision" with sarcastic air quotes.

"How did you know all that? Are you some kind of mind-reader?" Wes is staring at Jordine with rapt adoration.

"Yes." Jordine doesn't even spare Wes a glance. She directs her piercing gaze to the white-haired man in the corner, who is still paying no attention to anyone else in the room.

"And this one." Her words drip with disgust. "I don't even know where to begin. He has a perfectly good proper name, but insists on being called The Straw Man instead, making all references to him awkward and ungainly. When his Author wants to write him, he's nowhere to be found. At times when the Author has a million other projects, he begs to be written, promising to behave, only to run away at inopportune moments. Besides all of that, he has no concept of time and his thought processes look like something Salvador Dali vomited up once."

Jordine glares at the Straw Man, who looks up, startled. He stares at her for a moment, whimpers like a kicked dog, and shrinks away. Sam jumps out of her seat and runs over to comfort him as Daisuke eyes him with open hatred.

"This is ridiculous." Jordine snorts, rising and making for the door. "I'm leaving. Have fun exploring your feeeeeeeeeelings."

Sighing, I look at the clock. Only twenty minutes have passed. What am I supposed to do with the rest of the hour?




Author's Note: Thank you so much to theun4givables, who allowed me to borrow her characters (Jordine, Jazz and Savin) for this story.