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Summary:

They're not even close to mastering moving between dimensions, if mastering such a thing can be possible at all. But they understand it a lot more than they did when they frantically clawed their way back into their own world, and that worked, so why not this? Maybe it’s not about knowing how to get somewhere, but knowing exactly where you need to be, and having the desperate will to keep stumbling towards it with all that you are.

(So many years ago, Dot was saved by their team's faith in the Monitor. Now, with their newfound abilities, they're determined to somehow return the favour and see their team safely to the Hall.

Fortunately, they've got plenty of help.)

Notes:

Ever since Dot became squiddish, I've been hoping for an opportunity to have them actually do something with it, so when the Talkers went to the Hall, I figured this was my chance! Dot’s got a connection to the Monitor and has carefully been learning how to move through multiple dimensions, so, really, how could I not write about it?

Some quick context: Dot and Workman are QPPs, and Alto has been staying with them while playing for the Talkers. This takes place during the second Alto Solo, and is somewhat of a companion piece to the fic I wrote about it, but it's also very much intended to stand on its own and you definitely don't need to have read that one!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The Talkers know exactly where they’re going. How they’ll manage to get there, however, is not quite so clear.

Get moving, the commissioner had said, and as soon as that suspiciously blaseball-diamond-shaped map appeared, the direction was never in question. For once, they could all agree on something, could all plan to go to the exact same place.

To the Hall, to meet their Moist God.

Dot’s had a head start on thinking about it. They’d thought about it a bit after they came out of that shell, reborn in the Monitor’s image. They’d thought about it a lot after they started phasing into more and more dimensions. They’d thought about whether they could drift down there, especially if someone else went up in flames -- Beasley, or Alto, or, well, anyone, really. Not to get someone out; they know all too well the price of that is too high, but -- to visit, just to visit.

They’d almost tried, after the Breath Mints. Their first team gone, their oldest friends gone, friends who had become half-forgotten thanks to the blessing and then gradually found their way to being friends again. Zavala gone, trapped in Shadows forever, suffocating surrounded by what she’d most wanted to escape.

They’d almost tried. All that stopped them was the grim expectation that everyone would be down there soon enough, and they should stay here while it was still worth staying. That, and the fear they might never come back, might leave Workman behind without even saying goodbye, because how could they tell them, look them in the eyes and say I'm going to the Hall, you know, that place you were trapped in for years, that place only you and a handful of other people were ever able to escape forever without any consequences? They couldn't.

Now, though, everyone wants to go to the Hall, because they think it's the right idea. Knowing the Talkers, they'll do whatever it takes to get there, so it's up to Dot to make sure they get there as safely as possible.

...Well. None of them had turned to Dot and said it's up to you, true, but who else is better suited to the job? Who else has both a half-connection to the Monitor and a half-ability to slip between worlds, two halves that maybe, just maybe, can add up to something close to a whole? Who else was saved by the team, the entire team who came together with their crazy plan that actually worked, saved in more ways than one, and has yet to do something that feels like it could at least come close to repaying that? 

So, Dot’s thinking about it. They've been thinking about it nonstop, pacing up and down the living room, going through as many possible scenarios in their mind as they can. They've been trying to see into the Hall, even, and have only managed to glimpse the doors, but...  that's a start, isn't it? It's not like they're trying to actually go there yet. Not without the whole team. The point is, they can feel it, that faint presence always in the back of their mind since their prison broke away, that thin tendril connecting them to something, deep down.

They’re not even close to mastering moving between dimensions, if mastering such a thing can be possible at all. But they understand it a lot more than they did when they frantically clawed their way back into their own world, and that worked, so why not this? Maybe it’s not about knowing how to get somewhere, but knowing exactly where you need to be, and having the desperate will to keep stumbling towards it with all that you are.

“I think I can maybe do it,” Dot says finally, slowing to a halt. 

The others look up, Alto from where they've been curled up with their phone in the armchair, probably texting at least one of the Mechs; Workman from the couch where they’d been petting Beasley until he fell asleep. (Beasley, still being asleep, does not look up.)

“That's it?” Alto demands when no more words are forthcoming. “That's your big announcement? You think you can maybe do it? I waited around for that?”

“I said I would just be thinking, and you did not have to wait up.”

Alto yawns as they uncurl and stand up. “Huh, you almost make it seem like I should actually listen to you or something. I'm going to bed, then, if there’s nothing else.”

“I think you may be able to help, too, if you would like,” Dot says quietly, stopping Alto in their tracks. “But you don't have to.”

“Yes, I do!” they fire back immediately. “I mean, I want to. Of course I do. I want to do something that matters. All these games I'm playing by myself don't mean anything anymore.” 

“But you are playing them, which is already a lot to ask. You do so much for us, Alto. No one would expect you to push yourself further.”

“I'm not tired! You know blaseball doesn't let us get tired, not really. I’m used to doing what I do, and I can do this too. Whatever it is.”

Playing games where you’re in several places at once does gradually get easier once you get used to it, true, and Alto’s had to get used to it. They’re always saying they’re not tired, and maybe they aren't physically, but still, Dot knows exhaustion when they see it -- and they know that PolkaDots Patterson are the type to ignore it, and keep pushing anyway, no matter how many people say they should relax for once. Dot could tell Alto to avoid the Hall at all costs, and they'd probably go jump into the ocean trying to find a way down there anyway.

“We can talk about it tomorrow,” Dot promises.

Alto nods, accepting, and slips off to bed.

“Maybe I shouldn't have said that,” Dot admits, starting to pace again. “I am sure they would insist on helping even if I never suggested it, but it's unfair to expect this from them. To put them in danger. Though I suppose any variation on this plan would put plenty of people in danger. Oh, I don't know anymore! What do you think?”

“I think you're going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep that up,” Workman says. “I also think it would be a better use of your time to sit here and cuddle, if you want to.”

“I like the way you think.” Dot sits down on the couch next to Workman, careful not to disturb Beasley, and tucks their legs up, starting to realize that their feet are aching as if they really had been about to wear a hole in the floor.

“I also think you're putting a lot of pressure on yourself, Dot. Nobody expects you to figure this out on your own.”

“I'm not on my own. I have you, and Alto, and Beasley, and everyone.”

“Sure, but you think you have to be the one to do this. It won’t be your fault if we can't get it to work.”

“It has to work! After what they did for me... I have to do this, for them.”

“Nobody thinks that. Nobody put their faith in the Moist God just so you could do them all favours when you got out of that shell.”

“I'm still afraid it won't be enough,” Dot admits, so quietly they're not even sure Workman can hear them. “Anything I do, ever. Afraid I will never live up to who they want me to be off the mound, especially now that I am not allowed to be on it. Afraid this gift was wasted on me. They saved me. They saved me instead of --”

It's too hard to even say his name sometimes, now.

“I know how that feels,” Workman says. “All the Hall Stars do. The ones who were chosen to come back from the dead without consequences. The ones who were loved by a few more people, just enough to be saved. It’s still hard not to think why me, why me and not someone else, even though I’m more than happy to be back. You’re right, a second life is a gift, and it's hard to ever feel worthy of a gift like that.”

“But you are,” Dot says without hesitation. “Of course you are. And that doesn't mean the others were not. Just that you were one of the lucky ones.”

“Yeah. Sometimes you just have to remember that you’re loved no matter what. That they didn't bring you back because you're perfect, but because they care. We can make mistakes and have bad days and be totally clueless about how to solve everyone's problems, and that's not going to make people start thinking they should have left us where we were.”

“I do try to remember that a lot more, now,” Dot says, shifting even closer, letting Workman rest their head on their shoulder. “But that means I can't forget I love them all no matter what, too, and I want to do everything I can for them.”

“So that's what we're going to do. Everything we can.”

“We? I mean, I always appreciate your support, but I can't ask you to get directly involved in this.”

“You don't need to ask. I'm doing it anyway.”

Dot twists away, pulls back and looks at them. “You're not going back to the Hall! The Thieves are going to the Desert. It should be safer there.”

“Beasley's not going to the Desert,” Workman says, undaunted. “ You're not going to the Desert. Once a Thief, always a Thief, but I died in a Talkers uniform, and because I did, I can help you navigate the Hall. I'll be more use there. You're going to need someone who knows their way around.”

“We can't ask you to go back there,” Dot says, their chest suddenly feeling tight, as if their lungs are choked with smoke. “You... nobody should ever have to do that. We may not be able to return, if we go. You're free. Don't throw that away.”

“Free to do what? Watch everyone leave me behind? You think I want that? It wasn't the Hall itself that was bad. It was the dying. The leaving Beasley lost and heartbroken. The being trapped without so many people I loved. The knowing I might never see them again unless they died, too. I know you want to protect me, but you want too much from yourself. It's okay. I'll be okay. I promise.”

“You can't promise that,” Dot whispers.

“I promise this is what I want to do, then, and you can't stop me. How about that?”

If Dot had ever been able to stop Workman Gloom from doing anything, they would never have gone up in flames. 

“Okay,” Dot says helplessly. “Okay. But you can always change your mind, and if you do, I'll do everything I can to find you a way out.” 

“I can always change my mind,” Workman agrees. “But I won’t. I'd rather spend eternity in hell with you and Beasley than spend it safe in an empty apartment.”

And Dot knows the truth of that, but they don't know how to bear it, so they just curl back into Workman’s side, and listen to Beasley's gentle snoring, and close their eyes, and say nothing more until they wake to sunlight streaming through the window, surprised to find they’d fallen asleep at all. 

 


 

True to word, Dot talks about it with Alto tomorrow. They find a nice secluded spot in the Core, sit down there in the evening after Alto gets a bit of rest -- they say they're not tired, of course, but Dot almost believes them this time; they seem to be bursting with anticipation.

“It's a lot like finding your way Down, I think,” Dot says. “You just have to go... more down. And some part of you is pulled towards it, and some part of you is pulled back because you're already Down, where it's safe, and why would you want to go any further? It might be harder for you to fight that, because you belong to the Core more than I do, and don't have all my dimensional abilities. But it's worth a try, if you would like to.”

“Well, I didn't come all the way out here just to watch you try.” Alto pauses. “But, uh, thanks. For trusting me.”

Dot blinks, surprised. “Of course I trust you. Have I ever given you any reason to think otherwise?” It's a genuine question, and they're a little afraid to hear the answer.

“I mean trusting me with this. Trusting me to be able to do things. You're always trying to protect me. I thought you wouldn't want me anywhere near the Hall.”

“Of course I don't want you anywhere near the Hall. I don't want anyone anywhere near the Hall, especially the people who are already there. I don't want to put you in danger, because, yes, I do want to protect you. Not because I don't think you can do things, but because I hate that you have to do them at all, when it should still be my job and neither of us asked for this. But I also want you to have a choice whenever you can. I know you would not appreciate me doing this without at least asking you. Just… know that you do not have to go through with it. I can handle it.”

“Maybe you can, but you're not going to. Not alone.” They're staring at Dot, looking more energetic and determined than they've been in a long time.

“Thank you, Alto. For trusting me, too.”

Alternate Trust. Ha. They certainly never expected it would end up like this.

They certainly aren’t complaining, either.

“Sure,” Alto mumbles, ducking their head as if embarrassed. “Can we start now?”

“Yes. Close your eyes and reach out with your mind. And your tentacles. The tentacles of your mind? Uh. Maybe I'm not very good at explaining this.”

“You're definitely not. Good thing I kind of understand what you're talking about anyway.”

“Oh. Good. Essentially, what I mean is, focus on that faint connection you have to the Monitor, and follow it more down than you've ever followed anything.”

Dot’s already following, finding that path they've been daring to start treading lately, impossibly full of twists and turns. So easy to get lost. They call out Hello? just in case, though the Monitor has never answered, and this time is no different. They feel a sudden sense of being startled, though, and beside them, Alto lets out a little surprised noise.

“Did you just talk to me in my head?

“Sorry. I wasn't aiming for you.” Dot opens their eyes to find Alto staring at them. “Perhaps I should have realized that was possible. Workman told me about having all the other Hall Stars in their head during that fight. Must be a Squiddish thing.”

“Ugh. Remind me to never be a Hall Star, then.”

“Is this making you uncomfortable?” Dot asks, concerned. “You can stop.”

“No! I'm fine. You can talk to me like that if you need to, I guess, as long as it's only talking. Just... don't go poking around in my head, okay?”

“Believe me, I do not intend to.” They risk a smile. “Not much to see in there, anyway.”

“Hey!” Alto protests, but it gets a smile out of them, too. “It’s called being open-minded. You should try it sometime.”

“How about we start with opening our minds to the Monitor? And then we’ll see.”

Alto nods, back to being serious, and they both close their eyes and slip back into the darkness, wind their way through the tunnels of their minds. It's like navigating the Underarena, almost, if there were even darker and more forbidden parts, and the further you walked, it felt more like falling uncontrollably, and the scent of salt started to mix with smoke.

It's easier, this time, with Alto next to them. The darkness resolves into a dim blue, and all of a sudden they're staring down the door, strange and blurry as if in a dream, but unmistakable. Dot feels Alto light up with amazement.

It worked! Can we get in now?

We shouldn't try. Not without the others. We should really go back now, in fact.

The longer they're down there, the more they start to feel like it's where they belong, in the depths of the trench, squiddish and safe. It's some acquired instinct that calls to them, the siren song of the deep, something far more ancient than the Monitor itself, reminding them they could just sleep here forever… 

We're leaving, Dot says firmly, and tugs at Alto in their mind, and swims their way against the current, up, or at least less down, making sure Alto is following. The Trench can call all it wants; Dot knows where they’re really meant to be.

Back in the Core, two pairs of eyes snap open.

“I can do it,” Alto says, somewhat incredulously. They look down at their clothes, as if surprised to find them dry. “Were we not really there? It felt kind of real.”

“It was kind of real, yes. But not real enough. I will need to reach through and pull us in to make it entirely real, I think. Having you there makes it easier to stay, and easier to leave, but again, I can do it without you if you change your mind.”

“Of course I'm not changing my mind,” they say immediately. “Are you kidding? That was amazing.” 

“I certainly hope it will stay that way. Transporting an entire team will not be so easy, to say nothing of bringing them back.”

“We’ll get back,” Alto insists. “And then we’ll do what we can to help the others, too. The Mechs, and anyone else who needs it, even if they’re going somewhere else and we can’t go with them…” They take a deep breath, resolved to it all. “What matters is that we’ll come back, first. We can do it.”

And Dot doesn't argue, because it's nice to see Alto so optimistic for once, and because they want to believe it, too. Dot fought their way back from another world altogether, and the Hall is part of their own, and some part of them belongs there. This has to be easier, right?

“Yes,” Dot agrees. “I think we can.”

 


 

The Talkers gather back at the Gleek one evening, hours after the day’s game, giving Alto what time they can to rest -- though Alto insists on showing up early anyway, ready to go. All the Talkers are gathering, or at least everyone who’s still on the roster, Shadows or otherwise, and a few who aren’t. 

Dot watches them all file into the stadium, some seeming excited, some seeming apprehensive, some so wreathed in shadow their expressions are impossible to even attempt to read. One of the less shadowy figures breaks away from the group and heads towards them, her outline more solid than it’s been in a while.

“Dot,” Mooney Doctor says. “I’ve got a backup plan, if this doesn’t work out. And even if it does, I think we’re still going to need it.”

They smile. “Of course you do. I’d expect nothing less from you.”

“We’re going to turn the Gleek into a spaceship,” she says, casually, as if there’s nothing remarkable about that sentence -- and maybe not; it’s right up there with we’re going to raise the dead and we’re going to offer our star pitcher to a giant squid and we’re going to get my wife back.

Two out of three isn’t a terrible success ratio, if you ignore the fact that one of those successes got a whole lot more people killed. Not that any of it was her fault, of course. Or Hobbs'. Or anyone's at all.

...Hobbs. Could they really be so close to seeing him again, him and so many others? Can they really do this? Burst into the Hall with no consequences?

“A spaceship?” Dot echoes finally.

“A spaceship, yes. It’s what many other teams are attempting as well. Even if we can get to the Hall your way, we’ll likely also need to get other places that won’t be so accessible. The Vault, the Horizon…” she trails off, staring past them.

The Horizon. Beyond the black hole, where the moon has gone. Of course. It isn't only about the Hall, for her; all the more reason why she'll do everything she can to ensure this works.

"No one is better suited to this task than you are, Mooney. I trust you will see us safely through to anywhere we want to go."

"And I trust you to see us safely to the Hall and back, Dot, before we need to worry about going anywhere else."

Trust, again. Mooney had trusted the Monitor to save Dot, and now she trusts Dot to save them all, and knows Dot trusts her in turn. She'd saved Dot before. They all had.

"Thank you," Dot says, as if those two words, as if anything they do, ever, could fully convey the scope of their gratitude. 

Mooney nods. She understands anyway, somehow.

"We'll see them all soon," she says, and fades back into the crowd.

Dot finds their way back to Workman, Beasley, and Alto. “Ready?”

Alto nods, but Workman shakes their head.

“We're still waiting on someone.” Workman looks up at the sky. “Oh, never mind, here she is.”

“No,” Dot says despairingly as the silhouette becomes clear. “Not her, too. We can't ask this of her.”

“Nobody asked. I told her I was going, and she insisted on coming along. She's got more friends down there than anyone, you know. She spent far more time on the Null team than she ever did on the Talkers, and she's still a Talker, and she's going.”

“Workman!” Kiki signs excitedly as soon as she jumps off her broom. “We're finally going to get them all out!”

“Hell yeah we are,” they reply.

Dot doesn't argue anymore, because how could they? The Hall Stars have had years of freedom, and that means years to think about everyone who still isn't free. Of course they feel the need to go. You don’t leave the people you care about behind. You return to them, no matter how hard the journey. Dot knows that all too well.

“I will do all I can to get you, and everyone, back safely,” Dot promises Kiki.

“Of course I’m coming back! Then I can show Quack and the Jazz Hands how to get there, because they want to go, too. We’re going rogue. ” She’s grinning, pointed teeth showing, seemingly not daunted in the slightest.

Kiki Familia has stared down death, and a god, and conquered them both. She doesn’t run away. She fights, and she will go on fighting until everyone is free.

Dot wishes they could be half as brave as her.

“Let's go, then,” they say, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Form a circle and hold hands, so we don't lose each other. One PolkaDot Patterson and Hall Star duo at opposite ends of the circle, I think. So we can help guide each other, but not be too concentrated into one area.”

Workman grins. “Is this all an elaborate excuse for you to hold hands with me?”

“As if I need an excuse for that.” Dot laces their fingers into Workman’s, and then uses a couple extra hands to pick up Beasley, making sure he’s secure and comfortable. “It will be easier to find my way if I'm touching someone else with a connection to the Hall, but I don't want to concentrate all of us into the same spot in case the circle breaks on the other end.”

“Don't worry, I know exactly where we're going!” Kiki signs before taking Alto’s hand and tugging them towards the other side of the field. 

And the circle starts to form. Active Talkers, and Shadowed Talkers, and Talkers who are no longer part of the league. Talkers who have always been Talkers, and Talkers who have worn many other uniforms.

Talkers, all of them.

“Ugh. What’s with all the hand-holding? You really want to look like a bunch of complete losers when we meet our god?” Greer’s being slowly pulled over by a much more enthusiastic Eugenia, and groans when she sees exactly who she needs to join up with to complete the circle. 

Dot holds out a hand. 

Greer stares at it. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

If this were decades ago, Dot might have taken that personally, retreated and thought yes, of course, nobody would ever want to touch me, what did I expect -- but this isn’t decades ago. It’s now, and they’re comfortable in their own body, and they know this isn’t about their hands; it’s about Greer having a reputation to maintain. And, because this isn’t decades ago, they know she doesn’t care as much about that anymore, because everyone knows what she’s really like under that abrasive exterior.

“Sorry, Greer.” Dot wiggles their fingers. “We’re going to the Hall with the power of love. Well, mostly squiddishness and interdimensionality. But also love. You can stay behind, if you prefer.” 

“What, you think you can just get rid of me, Patterson? Even the gods couldn’t do that. Just shut up about all this power of love crap and let’s go,” she says, and grabs their hand, and rolls her eyes, but doesn’t let go. Dot would expect nothing less.

No, even the gods couldn’t get rid of either of them. They’re still here.

Looking at the completed circle, Dot can't help but think of everyone who isn’t here. The team had held hands like this, waiting to see what the Monitor would do to Dot all those seasons ago, praying it would turn out right.

And the sunlight had streamed in, and Dot had blinked open their eyes for the first time in years, waking from an impossibly long nightmare, and looked into all those faces, and any lingering doubt that they were loved slowly began to fade along with the darkness. 

So many of the faces in front of them now are different. Few remain of the group who were there on the day of their rebirth, and for a moment Dot wants to close their eyes, wants to pretend it’s all okay, but they don’t.

They’re going to make it okay. Going to reunite as many people as they can. 

"Having second thoughts, Patterson?" Greer demands. "Hurry up, I’ve got better things to do than hold your hand all day. Those doors aren’t gonna lick themselves."

“...What?”

“I said, having second thoughts?”

Oh. Well, they weren’t having second thoughts at that specific moment, but of course there's plenty to have second thoughts about. Does the Monitor even know they exist? It thought their shell was an egg. It never responded all those times they tried to ask why they'd been changed, wanting to know what their new purpose was, desperate for answers, any answers at all. Why should it respond now, even if they knock on its door?

But their team has always believed, and Dot believes in their team. And even if they won’t find any answers down there, Dot’s already found their own purpose, without needing any god to tell them.

"Let's go," they say, and Alto echoes it in their mind, and then they let themselves fall.

Down.

Further down than Down, even.

And this time it's even harder, of course it is, they're dragging an entire team with them, it's hard just to hold on, but they hold on anyway, focus on the holding on more than anything, because they have three other people to help guide them where they're going, down, down, don't think about anything else, just hold and down, you know where you need to be right now and you'll get there, because you have to.

And after an eternity of twists and turns, they seem to slow down, just floating, and everything is dark and blue and unrecognizable and --

Workman tugs at Dot's hand, and Kiki tugs at Alto's, and they drift, spinning through the dark, and --

The door. There's the door, off in the distance. Dot reaches with all their currently unoccupied hands, cuts through the space around them until it feels more like water, and then they pull --

And everyone stumbles along with them, and their surroundings start to feel a little more real, and a lot more moist. But they can still breathe, so… that’s good?

Greer pries her hand out of Dot’s death grip, startling them into almost-alertness. Yes. They can let go now. It’s okay. They’re here. Beasley wiggles out of their extra arms, barking in confusion as he starts floating like the rest of them.

"We're here!" Eugenia exclaims, and Alto echoes her as if they still can't believe it, and Nova says "That was so cool, " and Kiki's staring down the doors, and at least two people are talking about licking the doors, and then Dot's not sure what everyone else is doing because at that point they've slumped against Workman.

"You all right?"

"Yes. I will be. Just… wow. That was exhausting. But it worked." They straighten up, let go of Workman's hand, step-float forward. Because they have to. "Rest later. Time to knock on that door."

"Go get 'em."

But Dot pauses, suddenly caught up in awe and fear and uncertainty as they gaze up at those impossibly ancient doors. Yes, here are the second thoughts. They know the Monitor won't hurt them, but what if it won’t help them, either? What if they can't even get in? What if they can't get out ? What if --

“Aren't you going to knock?” Alto demands. 

“It doesn’t have to be me,” Dot says. “You belong to the Monitor, too. You are the PolkaDot Patterson in the spotlight, and this can be part of your solo, if you want.”

Alto shakes their head. “No. We do it together.”

They reach out a hand, so Dot does the same, and two similar sets of strange impossible fingers twine together. 

Dot looks back; they can't help it. Their team is there, their family, waiting once again. Workman gives them an encouraging smile. Beasley's tail wags eagerly. Kiki’s already craning her neck, trying to get a glimpse of what friends might be waiting behind the door. Eugenia’s shaped herself into a much more humanoid form, standing tall with the others. Greer’s yelling at them to stop wasting her time and get on with it already.

Dot may never feel like anything they do will repay what their team did for them. Even so, they're going to do this. Together, with Alto, and everyone.

Two squiddish hands reach up. Two knocks ring throughout the Hall, not quite in perfect harmony, but not discordant, either.

Then, silence. An impossibly long, unbearable silence. Dot grips Alto’s hand tighter.

The door, at last, creaks open, just enough for Dot to catch a glimpse of an endless walkway lined with torches, dim blue fire casting shadows on the walls. A tentacle much like theirs but far larger and stronger wraps around the door handle with surprising delicateness. And the faintest hint of an eye eclipsed by sunglasses watches them, rounder and brighter and even somehow seemingly bigger than the moon, the gaze of an unwavering orb captivating them all.

The door opens wider. Their Moist God speaks to them, after so many years. 

hey talkers, it says, and somehow, Dot knows everything is going to be all right. 

Notes:

I do love the idea that's been going around of the teams turning their arenas into spaceships, and I didn't want to ignore that, but also I wanted to write about Dot and Alto bringing everyone to the Hall and I cannot be stopped! I figure once the Monitor tells them to stay close, they go back and do the spaceship thing, which would also be more practical for actually getting people out of the Hall, and now it's easier to get there because they know the way :)

...yeah ok I'm not sure how much sense this all actually makes, I just think the team deserves to hold hands and accomplish things with the power of love. I mean, mostly squiddishness and interdimensionality. But also love.

I'm also just really happy to be able to write stuff again, and I want to make the most of it while I can! Today is actually my one-year blaseball ficaversary, and I really wanted to get something posted today, and I did! A year ago, I sure as heck didn't think I would have posted over 100k words of blaseball fic, but here we are. It's been a genuinely incredible experience, so thank you all for reading, whether you're just starting, you've been here all year, or anything in between <3

Also, the hand-holding was inspired by this beautiful short piece by Kit which you should read if you want Emotions about Dot and the Talkers and the unshelling!

Also also, shoutout to Kosmo for reminding me that the team was also on a quest to lick the doors! You should read this great fic he wrote about the Talkers actually getting into the Hall if you want Emotions about reunions (especially reunions involving the Ultimate Best Friends, Hobbs Cain and Richmond Harrison)!

Also also also, shoutout to TGB (even though they’re definitely not reading this) for “hey talkers” because that was truly a moment and I hope they know how much we appreciated it.

Basically my point is there’s no way I would have written so much stuff this year if it weren’t for all you wonderful blaseball fic writers. And artists. And fans in general. And TGB, obviously. Love y’all <3

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