Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/730336.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Dave_Strider/Karkat_Vantas, Terezi_Pyrope/Dave_Strider, Gamzee_Makara/
      Terezi_Pyrope
  Character:
      Dave_Strider, Terezi_Pyrope, Karkat_Vantas, Kanaya_Maryam, Rose_Lalonde
  Additional Tags:
      Cheating, Erotica, Smut, Caliginous_Romance_|_Kismesis, Drunken
      Shenanigans, Blanket_Permission, Podfic_Welcome
  Series:
      Part 1 of Time-Bomb
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-22 Completed: 2013-06-04 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 31368
****** Time-Bomb ******
by Kitsune_Heart
Summary
     Growing up is all about learning. Learning who you are. Learning who
     other people are. And learning who they really are. On an asteroid,
     hurtling between universes, humans and trolls alike are just
     beginning to realize what is going on behind closed doors and in dark
     halls.
     You are now Dave Strider. And you are dating an alien. Awesome.
Notes
     While this story takes place on the meteor, my personal preference is
     to imagine these characters as adults by this time. I make no
     discussion of age in the story, and also have not marked it as
     "underaged" as such.
     This story was begun before the latest revelations regarding asteroid
     shenanigans, and thus does not include the communal falling-apart of
     relationships and the return of Terezi's sight. Basically, everything
     up to Openbound is canon.
     Chapter titles are taken from the song "Time-Bomb" by All Time Low.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** It was like a time bomb, set into motion *****
Be the guy.
You are now Dave Strider.
And you are dating an alien.
Awesome.
But let's be honest: despite freaky alien romance and weird...quadranty things,
you...haven't really...gotten anywhere.
Whatever. You understand. No matter what everyone else (and especially Karkat)
thinks is going on between you and Terezi, you're still, like, barely used to
your own facial hair. You're just starting to wish that John had popped a few
cans of his dad's shaving cream into the bucket he launched into Karkat's face
(and the memory of his epic fucking freak-out is delicious, even now), while
still being proud enough of your bit of 'stache that you'd mourn its passing.
You've copped a feel of weird troll ta-tas-which are a thing, though not as
squishy as Rose's. You're pretty sure. Not that you've ever copped on your
ecto-sister. Nope-but that's about it. So you'd expect to be treated like an
adult if any other adults were around, but the fact is, you're still kinda
a young adult, and you're okay, at the moment, with that.
Which is why, months from the end of your epic tour of fuck-all in the sky,
when you're in a dark corridor and you hear that ominous "honk" and you spin
around to see Gamzee just standing at the end of the corridor you just fucking
came from and looking at you with that zen-master, stoner-messiah smile of his,
you about shit yourself. Not because he's gonna kill you--because, duh, god
tier--but because it's been over two years since you'd last seen him and his
horns are bigger. By, like, at least six inches, and they've begun to spiral
like he's gonna use his head to open a fine bottle of merlot.
You look at him.
And he looks at you.
And...you look at him, not wanting to move, not sure how fast he is, but it
must be pretty fucking fast, what with how he absconds with dead bodies while
no one is looking.
And he looks at you.
And raises a hand, which is holding one of the many, many horns from the weird
thing you've heard he calls a bed...and honks.
And it's good that no one else is about because, yeah, you run like hell.
Because, again, while you're fine with dying, you'd prefer not to revive up in
this weirdo's respiteblock.
And now you really need to talk to someone.
Given the subject, you'd rather not Terezi. She could be insulted. You don't
know why, but girls are like that, right? Karkat is, duh, out of the question.
He'll just scream at you until you get fed up and take the verbal to the
physical, yet-a-fucking-gain. Rose is...yeah, she may be your sister, but no.
So that leaves...
"Surely you were not under the impression that the universe ending trumped our
basic biology?" Kanaya says, with that little, serene voice of hers and those
far-too-prominent teeth all the more exposed as she smiles. "Even you must have
noticed the changes in your...er...physiology?"
"What?" You ask, surreptitiously tensing up all of your muscles and
straightening from your normal slouch.
She remains quiet, just watching you.
You, just as surreptitiously, relax and cross your arms. "Yeah, maybe. A bit. I
just...didn't notice anyone else."
She keeps looking at you. Then her head tilts down and she glances at her
chest, then back up at you.
Well, hell, if she's gonna look, might as well and damn.
"Okay, yeah. So you gu...girls are...older." You shrug. "And me. And I guess
John and Jade, probably. Heh...guess they're finally finding a use for all of
his dad's shaving cream." You laugh and rub at your chin. "Jade especially, I
hope."
Kanaya rolls her eyes. She never puts up with you very well. "I'm sure they
have grown in equal proportion. We all have." She gives you one of those looks.
If she could see through your shades, she'd see you looking back just as cool
as always. Yep.
With a snort, she turns and walks off, muttering something about "going to go
see your sister," because it's about all the ammo she's got, and she's not
above firing one off.
You've gotta respect the girl. She's got all the irony, pulling off that Vigro
shirt and then going off on her little "walks" with your sister. Cause
you know what "walks" stands for. You had the Internet back home. You could get
through your bro's parental controls like nobody's business.
But you're paying more attention, now. You notice--and do your utmost to keep
Kanaya from noticing that you notice--that Rose has some hips to her, now. And
a bit more up top, yeah, but hips.
Kanaya's horns are sharper. In fact, you're suddenly noticing that Kanaya is
constantly fixing little holes in her shirts. And Rose's skirts and holy crap,
that's...interesting.
Terezi, you realize is...lankier. Not in a bad way, of course. But while
Kanaya's gone all VA va voom and Rose is all va va VOOM, your hands slide over
Terezi's little curves like she's been polished, never finding a definite place
to stop, but perfectly content to touch it all in turn.
The girl herself seems slippery and oiled up in your arms, twisting and moving
against you, straddling your lap, her long tongue alternately deep in your
mouth, almost down your throat, then curled all the way around the curve of
your ear, then lapping at the dip in your throat, then she's slippery-sliding
down the couch, between your legs, tongue dipping into your belly button and--
"WOAH," you shout, sitting up straight in your seat, hands on Terezi's
shoulders, pushing her back a little, looking down at her through one eye still
covered by your shades and the other exposed for all the world to see. Except
the world, at this moment, is just your respiteblock and the only person who
could even theoretically have seen your eyes is blind Terezi, so that's good,
but she's still looking roughly up at you, tooth-filled mouth in a rather
disconcerting frown.
"What?"
"Um...so...you're...what are you doing?"
Terezi shrugs and tries to lean into you, but your arms are too strong and they
hold her back and she growls, bringing way too much attention to the garbage
disposal system she calls teeth.
"Dave, stop," she grunts, reaching up to grab your wrists, twisting her lithe,
slippery body until your hold is broken and she can press your arms down on the
couch cushions. It's not a good angle, of course, and you could easily escape,
but you give the girl a chance to talk.
Which she, of course, does not. No, she lets one of your hands go and reaches
for your zipper.
And you...kind of...sort of...let her.
Cause you are Dave Gog-damned Strider and Bro didn't raise no fool.
Trolls have a bit of trouble gripping small things, what with the claws, so it
takes Terezi some time to get it together enough to pull the zip down. It sends
shivers up your spine with each click, and you wonder how loud they seem in her
ears. Maybe not too much louder, since she always claims to "see" with her
sense of smell and...
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Taste.
She's making little growly noises. Pissed-off growly noises. Directed at your
jeans button, which is giving her more trouble than the zipper, and you've just
now noticed how tight these jeans have become. Not because of the straining
below your waist--though that could be a factor--but because you are, in
general, getting bigger, and it is all abs and not fat. Right.
"Grr...this...damnit!" Terezi actually hisses, claws digging into denim. "Can
you be caliginous for pants?"
You laugh a little, but stop damned quick when her claws miss the denim and
leave two shallow scratches on either side of your belly button.
"Gyaaah," you say, so not like her coolkid, and grab Terezi's wrists. "Jegus,
Terezi, let me do it!"
She glares up at you. Or glares up at your nose. It's always a little
unnerving, how she tries to focus and gets so close, but somehow always misses.
"Then do it before I rip them to shreds!"
And that would be totally hot if she hadn't just nearly disemboweled you. You
do not want to be disencocked.
You also don't want to stop.
So it is with absolutely torn feelings that you pinch at either side of the
button and twist your hands and it all pops loose and you groan in relief, not
having realized how much your circulation was being limited. You should ask
Kanaya to make you a new pair. Or maybe something with just drawstrings, you
consider, as you focus back down on the grey-skinned female kneeling between
your legs, waiting impatiently as you lift your hips and slide the jeans down
off your hips and then your thighs until they are scrunched up around your
ankles and you sit there in your bright red boxers. You're not...really sure
what to do from here. Wondering if you should have taken the boxers off, too,
or if that would be presumptuous.
And if Terezi doesn't know what's next, she is damned good at hiding the fact,
because she shifts up your body to get back to licking your stomach, paying
extra, extra attention to the wounds she made, and not in a nice mommy-cat-
comforting-kitten kind of way. And not exactly like a rainbow drinker. But like
she just adores the taste of your blood.
You're just getting a little weirded out when her long tongue delves into your
belly-button like she's trying to punch through to your stomach.
"Yeeee. Tererzi, that's...that..." You squirm. It doesn't tickle. Doesn't hurt.
But you're not exactly hard, anymore, and this isn't helping at all.
She pulls back and sniffs at your navel. "So this is the...um...'belly
thingie,' right?" She tilts her head to the side and looks up at you for
clarification.
"Um...belly button. Don't you have one?" You ask, just before recalling that,
no, she probably doesn't, since trolls apparently pupate. You wonder if there's
some sort of, like...pupal scar she can show you. And where it might be hidden.
"Nope. So this," she says, poking her claw, gently, at your navel, "is the
belly button! And thiiiiiis..."
She drags her claw down the rim of your navel. Down and down until she meets
wiry hair that is just a shade darker than the hair on your head. She strokes
it the wrong way, and you do not care.
"Is your 'happy trail'?"
You laugh and finally get your smirk back, letting it fall on her. "Oh yeah.
And it is very happy right now."
Terezi laughs. "Rose said you'd say that."
You cough, again, very un-coolkid. "Rose said what?"
"That you'd make a lame joke," Terezi replies, grinning. "And that you'd freak
out that I mentioned her."
Hell yeah, you're freaking out. Your girlfriend was talking about your happy
trail with your ecto-sister. You're going to freak a bit. Not that you're going
to show it. You're opening your mouth to tell the troll that you aren't
freaking when Terezi's hand falls another six inches and she presses the heel
of her palm into your groin.
"And she said you'd stop freaking out if I did this," she purrs.
And what the fuck is she saying? Cause whatever. What. Ev. Errrrrrrr.
"Awwwwww...this is easy." She laughs, rubbing with her hand, resting her head
on your thigh, looking up at you, breathing with her mouth open, as if she's
trying to smell and taste what she's doing at the same time. "You're sooooooo
easy, Dave."
Easy? Whatever. You'll be her little slut or whatever if she just keeps
touching you. And if you can touch her. Because you can't figure out what to do
with yourself, so you reach up to run a hand through her hair,
just...just subtly pushing her head closer towards your crotch.
"You know how easy you are, Dave?" She's grinning. Wide and toothy. "Do you?
Huh?"
"Huh?" You repeat, not up for trivia.
"You're so easy," Terezi says, half in a laugh, "you went right back around
to haaaaaard." She stops pressing your crotch and instead gets a good grip of
your cock through cotton and squeezes.
"Ohshit," you breath, hand fisting in her hair, no longer trying to be subtle
about your maneuvering. If she's gonna be down there and making jokes
and touching you, you're just going to go ahead and assume you know what's
going to happen and assume she's strong enough to stop you if you're wrong.
Which she is. Strong enough. And which you aren't. Wrong, that is. Because she
lets your cock go for just one terrifying moment and grabs the hems of your
boxers and tears them to fucking shreds and yeah, you're okay with that.
You've gotta be okay with that. Because you are Dave Strider. You are her
coolkid. Coolman. Whatever. Cool.
Then Terezi opens her mouth and just breaths on your cock.
Hoooooooot.
She gives you sort of a respite as she leans in and begins sniffing. Getting a
good idea of what, exactly, she is dealing with. And if her wide grin is any
indication, she is okay with what she's found. That's nice for her. Really.
Then she gets her nose in close and it just barely touches your foreskin. You
hiss in a breath and your cock twitches up towards your body.
Terezi follows it.
And then the surge of blood ebbs and your cock falls back down, papping her
right in the forehead.
"Hey!" She sits up, glaring down at the offending member.
You do not want Terezi to glare at your cock. You want them to be friends.
Friends may not be in order, because Terezi reaches out and grabs the head of
your cock, holding it down against your pelvis.
They're totally not friends, but that is totally okay!
You're making noises. You know that. Maybe you should feel ashamed, but
whatever. She's leaning in and is back to sniffing, and her nose and cheek
keeps touching your foreskin and she's scowling.
"Why is it so dry?" she grumbles. "Are you...um...okay with this?" She suddenly
looks up at you, brows high at her revelation.
You laugh, try to smirk, try to show her you're at ease when you are just tense
and waiting and now a little bit worried. "Oh yeah, 'Rezi. I'm okay with this."
She pouts. Actually pouts. You reach up with your other hand, cradling her
cheek as you chuckle at the young woman.
"Then why are you all dry? Are...are humans always dry? Gog, isn't that
uncomfortable?"
"Well, normally it's the girl who gets...er...wet," you explain, beginning to
put that subtle pressure back on her head. "Guys don't really. I mean, not
until the end."
"When you cum," Terezi says, with the air of a school girl reciting her
lessons, which winds up making your cock surge in her grip once more.
"Yeah. Though there's other ways to get us wet, you know." You press just
a little harder. Cause you're not gonna force her, but things have
gotten way too side-tracked.
Apparently not cool, because Terezi's arms whip out and she grabs your wrists
again, pressing them to the couch. She glares up at you through her own dark,
dark shades.
You'd be intimidated if your dick wasn't wagging in her face. Kinda hard to be
feeling anything but desperate right now, because she's no longer touching your
cock and this has been going on too long. Not just this inspection, but this
entire build-up in the relationship. If anyone was still alive on your
shitstain of a planet, they might be all "wah wah, you're too young, wah wah,"
but you know. You went to public school back then and these shenanigans were
already going on with your classmates before they were carbonized and you've
traveled through time so much it's hard to tell how old you are and god-tier,
damnit. God. Fucking. Tier. You and Terezi have spent too long fondling and
dry-humping and stopping and leaving you to jerk off in the shower and--
And she licks your cock.
Big, long lick. From your damned balls right to your tip, using first the flat
of her tongue and then the very tip, getting your every flavor, every texture.
You're gasping. Not even enough air in your lungs to groan. You hope Terezi
hasn't secretly judged you to be evil, because you're gonna die and you'd like
to resurrected in time to appreciate your first blowjob.
She gives you just a little break, raising her head and beaming. "Oh! You are
wet! Here, at the tip!" And she licks you again, right at the slit of your
cockhead, trying to slip the pointy end of her tongue inside you. "Hmmm...not
much, though." She frowns just a moment. Then is back to that impish demeanor,
pressing her lips to place place where foreskin meets shaft, speaking against
the member. "You say there's more?"
You laugh and nod. "Oh yeah, baby. Got a loooot waiting for you. Wanna see?"
She nods her head, childishly eager.
You relax back in your chair. "Alright. Then go ahead."
She blinks. Which you can only really tell by how the skin around her eyes
shifts.
Then she grins and lowers her head.
Terezi...has a long tongue. You don't know if she always did or if that came
after she was blinded and began seeing by taste, but it's long. Like, she could
be the front man in a KISS tribute band. And then go face-to-face with Gene
Simmons in an epic showdown for control of the big band itself, ending in
Simmons's complete and total destruction and erasure from all memories, past,
present, and future.
But you digress. Her tongue. Is long. And pretty much prehensile. And she wraps
it around your cock. Not licking you. Fucking you with just her tongue. Sliding
it up and down your shaft, leaving behind a thick green fluid. You've seen her
saliva before, on the corners of your mouth after kissing, on your collarbone
and, on the scariest and most awesome of occasions, coating your fingers after
she's sucked them, but it's totally different seeing it on your cock. Seeing it
coating your cock is...kinda awesome. Though it's taking second place to how
her tongue feels slithering along your length. Third, actually, behind how her
hot breath hits your scrotum. No, wait, make that fourth, after how one of her
hands has left your wrists and is now stroking your balls, stroking lower,
lower, cupping your nuts--which are getting pretty tense, years of pent-up
sexual instincts ready to let loose--and then moving even further. Oh fuck,
further, so one of her fingers is sliding along the thick skin between your
balls and your ass, stroking it. Stroking deep down between your asscheeks and
her tongue comes up further off of you, becoming a tight spiral right on the
head of your cock, her damned tongue squeezing you and that finger...
Oh fuck. Fuck. That finger, beyond your fucking wondrous taint, the tippy-tip-
tip of her dangerous claw prodding at your anus. Oh fuck.
"Oh, fuck, Terezi!" You howl and buck your hips as the strongest orgasm of your
life takes over. You put your free hand on the back of her head, trying to push
her down to actually swallow your cock. If you were in a sane state you'd know
it was such a bad idea to want to fuck Terezi's mouth, but you do, you really
do want to, but all you do is push into her tongue, which lengthens it's coils,
stroking up and down your cock. The green of her saliva is being mixed with the
white of your cum and god DAMN that is an amazing color, you want to to paint
your respiteblock that color, you want to carry a swatch of that wherever you
go, you wonder if you can switch your outfit to that exact shade.
Terezi might agree (though, yeah, you're a terrible guy and you couldn't care
if she didn't) as she's laughing and moaning her appreciation, her tongue
loosening as you become more and more sensitive until she's just pressing it to
you, lapping up your juices, bringing her entire tongue into her mouth and
pursing her lips. Puffing first one cheek out and then the other as she swishes
it in her mouth, analyzing the taste like a gog-damned sommelier.
She swallows--you keen--and breaks into a huge grin. "Deeeeee-licious!" she
declares.
You guffaw and card your hand through her hair, bringing it out of her eyes and
laughing even more as you realize a little bit of your cum has lept up and
splattered on her shades. Absolutely nothing on her skin or hair, but somehow
that little bit on the sunglasses and oh yeah. You like that. You kinda wonder
if you can convince her to pass up her new human treat sometime so you can
spunk all over her face. And then watch her lick it off. Which is kinda weird,
but kinda hot cause, yeah, you're an adult, but you're still a teenager.
"Rose is such a fucking liar," Terezi giggles, getting off her knees, going to
just crouching between her matesprit's legs, ready to bounce up like a jack-in-
the-box. "Gog, she had me worried!"
"Worried?" You repeat, not caring one fucking bit.
"It's all just lies lies lies!" Terezi sings. "Saying you don't have a nook!
I'm gonna go kick her. In the face!" She stands, leaning down quickly to kiss
you on the forehead before spinning about and literally marching out of the
room.
You watch her go, thinking sort of vaguely that a coolkid, good-guy thing to do
would be to insist that you return the favor. Or at least tell her she's got
spunk on her glasses. But, hell, she's the one leaving and she's leaving in a
good mood. You know it's a good mood because she's talking about bringing
justice to the wicked.
It's only an hour later that your brow twitches and you frown and say, out
loud, to the room at large and no one in particular, "Nook?" Maybe you need to
talk to Rose, as well, because that makes no sense. But...probably after you
get cleaned up. Rose doesn't have heightened senses, but you'd bet all the
other trolls could smell what you've just done. Yeah, this thing between you
and Terezi has been going on for a long time, but the last thing you want is to
do is be found out.
===============================================================================
Be the other guy.
You are now Gamzee Makara.
And the bitch is talking again.
You don't know why she's always talking. Coming in, bluh bluh bluh, you killed
my friends, bluh bluh bluh, where are the bodies, bluh bluh bluh, bring you to
justice! At first, you would tell her to be cool. Be a cool motherfucker.
You know about justice. But she just kept coming at you. Going for your throat.
Digging her little claws into your stomach, trying to rip out your insides.
Didn't bother you, in the beginning. In the beginning, you could tune her out.
Disappear into the air system and sneak and spy. She'd find you, though, and
you kinda respected her for that, but you still had a lot of time to yourself.
Time to watch your motherfucking soul brother getting his play on. Makin' his
move on the crazy bit of flesh. Worshipping the ground she taps her cane on.
And then you saw her and the little human dude one night. All up on each other,
red as his fruity-ass cape. And then you saw the human taunting your soul
brother until it was too much and they were all up on each other, black as the
Furthest Ring.
And the little bitch watched. And she laughed. You had never seen such a
disgraceful quad-blocking, setting her matesprit up to blackrom her other
suitor so she couldn't at least be his kismesis. There was many an enraged
honking when you got back to your little nest.
She heard that. Oh, she motherfucking heard that. And she came after you again.
And you shoved her down on the floor and dug your claws into her arms. And then
you were kissing. And that was that.
You're not into the flicks like your palebro. If you were, you might know how
this one would end: you're fucking the bitch some day when Karkat walks in. The
end.
Knowing wouldn't stop you from shoving your bulge up her nook until she cries
out more in pain than pleasure. Wouldn't stop you at all. Cause red sex is
mighty nice, you hear, but black sex is what we all dream about.
She found you in the shower, this time. Not exactly a good place. The water is
fuckin' with your blood, making it hard for any of it to clot up, and there's a
green and purple swirl going down the drain, though it is becoming steadily and
steadily more about what's dripping from between both of your thighs. Not
because the blood is clotting--because you just dig your claws deeper into her
ass and she shreds those monster teeth in your neck and shoulder and cheek--but
because you're getting so close. So damned good. Your bulge is in her, twisting
back on itself to make her feel full and stretched, then shooting out until
it's straight up in her, tickling somewhere in the region of her vascular sacs.
Her own bulge is writhing between you, wrapping around your base, squeezing it
hard and getting you fo fucking messed up. Normally you'd go for a pail, but
genetic material is ruined by water and you're not getting out of the steam.
Feels too good on your fresh cuts and your cramped muscles and the dirty bitch
could use a bit of cleaning sometimes. Deep down. DEEP.
You shove your bulge up as hard in her as you can and she tenses and her nails
punch right through skin and into your back muscles and she's gushing all over
the shower stall floor and you decide to let go and join her and in that exact
moment you feel it.
Oh man, you feel it. Feels so good. Filling the bitch up with your genetic
material as that fucking rage comes at you. Rage from both sides. If you hadn't
just finished, you'd be turning around right now to set up for some kinky
double-black shit.
As is, you just look over your shoulder, do your very best to meet some eyes
through those fuckin' shades, and smile.
In your arms, you feel the bitch tense up and you turn back to her. Look back
into her useless, sightless red eyes.
And you fucking love the way she says his name. "Dave.".
***** We knew that we were destined to explode *****
Be the guy again.
You are Dave Strider, and you are keeping on the down-low. Like...on
the...like hidden, Jegus! Not like, "the down loooooow."
You stay in your respiteblock unless you are sure no one you're not pissed at
is around. Which was really simple the first few days, but then sort of a
problem after that, as even you can smell yourself. It's kinda like onions. But
not in a way that makes you hungry. You put that aside as much as you can, not
wanting to be both alone and in the showers, but that's not to everyone's
liking.
It's day three of your exile when Kanaya comes up in the nutritionblock and
informs you that "you smell like a newly pupated troll who has not yet been
forced by his lusus into the ablution trap. Shall I escort you to the showers?"
You think about asking her if she plans to join you, cause that is so
fucking open, but she just looks at you until you cough and shrug and say she
can do whatever she damn well pleases. You saunter off to the showers, the
little night-light following you. You don't know how she came to realize what
was going on, but it's probably all Rose's fault. When they aren't off
"walking," that pair just gossip about the juvenile drama of everyone else on
the meteor, because they are sooooo fucking enlightened, being cross-species
lesbians and shit.
You shower quickly. Not just because sis's girlfriend is standing guard, but
because, even though you choose another stall, you can still...hear them...and
smell them...and see them and your cock is going hard and soft and hard again
and you can't even bring yourself to pump it like mad when you're ready,
despite it being three days since you got off. 'Cause, dude, your sister's
girlfriend is fifteen feet away and, while you're pretty sure she doesn't have
the strongest set of senses among trolls, she can probably hear fapping.
And then it's three days later and you're in the shower and you can't do it and
it's six days since you got off.
And then it's two more days later and you're in the shower and you can't do it
and it's eight days since you got off.
And now you're always expecting to wake up in the middle of the night with your
boxers wet and your sheets in need of a change, but nothing is happening. Not a
gog-damned thing. All you're doing is sleeping and eating and trying to figure
out how to get some fucking apple juice out of your sister's witchy workshop.
Just one bit of home to make this entire nightmare a little better. Just
a little, but you're just getting this thin liquid that tastes like a grape
Jolly Rancher, maybe, but way too sweet for apple juice, while Rose is creating
fucking tequila, you swear to gog, and that's not cool. So you're ranting and
raving on day seventeen and you throw your arms out and knock over half the
bottles and there's the tiniest, most controlled of explosions.
Which is how you, somehow, with Rose's "help," manage to create hard cider.
And mother. FUCK. You do not know why you didn't become an alcoholic at five.
FUCK. You drink your weight in the stuff that very minute, which Rose says may
be a bad idea and maybe you should wait until the second, controlled batch and
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckthatshit. It tastes almost like apple juice. By the time you
are on jar four you can't care if it tastes like horse piss. You're drunk and
it's wonderful.
"Kanaya's been going to the showers with me," you think you whisper to Rose. In
that you think you say it and you think you whisper and you think it's Rose.
Turns out, two of three are true. "Well aware, Karkat," your sister says,
putting her hand on your mouth. "I suggested it."
Your brows shoot up behind your glasses and you smile under her hand.
Rose looks at you and gently shoves your face so you fall over backwards, off
your chair and onto the floor. Your head cracks the tile pretty good, but
you're a GOG! And...heh...agog. Kanaya should probably take her little skirted
self away from the seat next to you.
Maybe she can read miiiiinds, because she looks down at you, snorts, and slips
off her chair, walking to her girlfriend. "Can we go?" she asks, crossing her
arms and cocking her hip. "Will he be fine here, or will we forever regret
abandoning one of our own?"
Rose pauses for a moment.
Then smiles. "No. He'll be fine." She looks at you and wiggles her fingers.
"Bye, Dave!"
You wave your hand back. "Buh...buh." You return her smile and stretch out on
the cold floor, resting your hands under your head, letting the world spin
around you.
It's...spinning kind of fast ten minutes later, and your Knight of Time powers
aren't slowing it down. Not at all. It's just getting a little distressing when
your mind is taken off the spinning by the crash of the common door being
pretty much kicked open.
"Oh," you say, cheerful. "Hi, Karkat."
It's silent in the room for a second. Then you hear a deep, throaty laugh and
the little tapping sound of sneakers on hard floor. Then Karkat is standing
over you, blood in his eyes, teeth bared, muscles tensed up in a way you didn't
know he could manage and-
He stops. And looks at you. And blinks.
"What are you doing?"
"I," you say, cooly, "am being intoxicated." And that's the kind of badass you
are. Pronouncing "intoxicated" while completely shitfaced.
Except Karkat is looking at you. Looking at you and apparently getting steadily
and steadily more angry.
"Mmmmdunky," you repeat, lifting your head a bit to jerk your chin towards the
lab.
Karkat blinks. Then his mouth opens and his brows shoot up. "Oh. Ooooooh." He
sniffs and looks away from you, towards the lab equipment. "That shit should be
illegal."
You laugh. "Tell that to Ter-"
You stop and let your head thump back to the floor.
Karkat is quiet for a while. Then he sighs, goes to the lab, and comes back
with a large, clear jar, miniscule bubbles rising rapidly in the liquid inside.
"Drink this."
"Dude," you say, laughing and shaking your head, "I am good enufffff."
Karkat snorts and kneels next to you. "Water, shitstain. It's water. Kanaya has
Rose drink it whenever she decides to behave like a dumbass for the night. I
assume boy humans have the same parts as girl humans?"
You laugh and stretch, your shirt riding up until you feel a little cold air
against your belly button. "Wanna find out?"
Karkat snorts. "That involves asking Rose for a comparison. I'd rather not."
"What, not going to ask me?" You grin, head tilted, glasses jarred down off one
ear. You close that eye to give the troll a permanent wink.
Karkat looks at you. "Don't think I have to," he says and grabs your nose.
It's, like, the lamest fight move ever, and you've just opened your mouth to
tell Karkat so when he shoves the jar over your face, the water sloshing down
on your open mouth.
You gasp, which is kind of the wrong move. Water rushes down your throat, into
your lungs and you're convulsing, arms flailing, knocking Karkat off you so you
can turn to the side and cough until water spews out of your mouth.
"Well, great," Karkat says, sitting cross-legged and bringing his arms in on
the crossing action by settling them before his chest. "You're gonna have to
clean that up, now. I," he declares, holding his hands high, "absolve myself."
"What...the fuck...were you doing?" You gasp, trying to recover. You can take
getting the shit being beaten out of you; Bro did that often enough, in the
most loving big brother way possible, but drowning was never exactly something
Bro played with. Yeah, he taught you to swim by throwing you in the city pool
and walking away, but there were lifeguards around, and you got the hang of the
doggy paddle before you had to deal with the disgrace of being rescued. You
can't take drowning on dry land in front of the shouty troll who has fooled
himself into thinking he's any kind of leader.
"Getting you to drink," Karkat says, as if he is being entirely fucking
reasonable.
"By drowning me?" you shout.
"How the hell was I trying to drown you?" He's kinda grinning. Like the idea of
drowning you has never occurred to him, but now that it has, it's a brilliant
gog-damned idea.
"By pouring water down my windpipe!?"
"No. By pouring water down your..." Karkat stares at you.
Then fucking explodes.
"I knew it! I knew it! I fucked up your entire universe, down to the sub-
atomic-gog-damned-level! This is ridiculous. Ridiculous! What. The. FUCK!"
You're used to him thinking he is the sole originator of all that is terrible
in the world, but even this is a little confusing. "What the hell are you
talking about, numbnuts?"
"You!" Karkat says, thrusting a finger in your face, yanking it back when you
snap. "You and your stupid human wind tube! Do you...do you seriously breath
through your mouth? Which you eat with?"
"No," you shoot back, not wanting this to devolve into mouth-breather insults.
"But you almost drowned? From water..." he points at his face, "in your mouth?"
"Well, if you're gonna grab my nose, I've gotta breath somehow."
Karkat stares at you and his index fingers both begin moving about his face and
neck, tracing what is apparently his rapidly constructed theory of the human
respiratory system. His fingers move faster and faster, becoming a blur,
becoming just a fucking after-image, and then breaking the sound barrier,
releasing his inner sonic boom.
"THE FUCK! THE FUCK! WHY THE FUCK IS THAT A THING!? HOW HAVE YOU NOT ALL KILLED
YOURSELVES!?"
You roll your eyes, not wanting to get into an argument, but knowing that it's
probably coming. "If you didn't want to kill me, then why did you grab my
nose?"
"To keep you still!"
"The fuck, Karkat? To keep me still?"
"Yeah, well, how else was I going to get you to drink!?"
"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard!"
"YOU'RE THE STUPIDEST THING I EVER HEARD!"
"YOUR FACE IS THE STUPIDEST THING I EVER HEARD!"
"YOU'RE THE ONE WITH THE FUCKED UP ALIEN BODY THAT CAN KILL ITSELF BY
SWALLOWING WRONG!"
"FUCK YOU, KARKAT! JUST GRAB MY HAIR NEXT TIME YOU WANT ME TO SWALLOW
SOMETHING RIGHT!"
Karkat goes kinda still at that, giving you the most revolted look you have
ever seen. Like, even more disgusted than the time he walked in on you managing
to get Terezi topless for the first time. Granted, he'd been pretty fucking hot
and bothered from the sight then, you were damned sure, so it's just aaaaall
disgust, now.
While Karkat stares at you, something rolls in your stomach.
"Oh fuck," you whisper and look him in the eyes. "Get a bucket."
Karkat flings himself back from you, falling onto his ass. "W-wh-"
"GET ME A BUCKET," you bellow, reaching out to him, rising to one elbow,
desperate. Fucking ruined. Your stomach roiling until your entire body ripples
and you curl in on yourself and-
"I'M NOT FUCKING CALIGINOUS FOR YOU, YOU SICK-"
"HUUUUUUUUURK!"
And there is your stomach. On the floor. Yo, stomach? you think Please go back
inside of me when I resurrect.
And then you die.
===============================================================================
Be the sane guy.
You are now Karkat Vantas.
And this is some bullshit.
First of all, there is puke all over the common room floor, and you are not
cleaning that up. No one else but the guilty party will, you vow to all the
ineffectual human deities, but he won't be in any condition until at least
tomorrow, and then it will be crusty and the entire room will smell and Kanaya
will probably lecture you for not being "responsible."
Secondly, the dipshit human is a little dead. Apparently, Rose needs to run
more stringent tests on whatever comes out of her lab.
Given some troll's activities with dead bodies, you can't leave the idiot
alone, so here you are. Walking down the halls. Nonchalant as fuck. Holding
Dave's legs under your arms and dragging him behind as you trot on like a snow-
traversing barkbeast.
You're strong enough to carry him, but screw that. He's going to have a
headache when he resurrects. He can have it twice as bad from thumping over
every crack and rivet in the floor on the way to his respiteblock.
You pass Rose and Kanaya on the way. Just standing together in the hall at the
intersection where you have to turn left, away from the bowels where Gamzee
resides. Rose waves. You give her the politest of "fuck yous," passing on the
same to Kanaya, and continue on to the idiot's room.
Dave still isn't moving when you get to his door. You stand before him, looking
down, waiting for him to stir. You even give him a good kick, just in case that
helps.
He doesn't move. You realize you're going to have to do this. Fucking fuck.
You kneel down next to the human. Take a deep, steadying breath.
And put your hand in his pocket.
You have to be careful your claws don't shred the fabric, so you have to go
slow, biting your cheek in concentration, fishing about with your fingertips,
hoping to hit the cold metal of his key. Fucking keys. Humans are morons. They
hadn't even looked around for a secret corridor to claim as their own; just
took the obvious rooms and found little bits of metal and decided that was safe
enough. Granted, back when everyone was still alive, plenty of people got into
your room, so maybe the humans just realized that there's only so much security
you can expect on a tiny rock like this. Whatever. The bottom line is, you need
the asshole's key to get him into his respiteblock where there's a vague chance
that Gamzee won't steal his corpse.
You do a second check of the front pockets, really, really hoping, but, as
always, hope is a fucking lie. Hope is an asshole. Hope is the little death.
You have always and will always hate all those who hope.
So you groan and flip the body onto its side, leaning over the corpse. Just as
you are slipping your hand in Stider's back pocket, you hear it.
His fucking voice.
"Dude. Step off. Like, now-ish."
You follow orders post-haste, jumping back from the little alcove of Dave's
door to the exact opposite side of the hall, waiting for the attack.
Strider just keeps laying there, on his side, curled up against his stomach,
looking at you through half-lidded eyes. Groggily, he asks, "What the hell were
you doing to me?"
You cough and shift your feet and try to sidle down the hall and away.
"No. Seriously. I'd rather like to know why you dragged my unconscious ass to
my bedroom and started groping said unconscious ass. I know you're all black-
gay for me, Vantas, but it would be useful to know if you're also a fucking
rapist."
So many implications. So much bristling. So much fuck you, Strider. "Fine. Let
me just knock you out and leave you in the lab for Gamzee to abscond with your
body and make it into, I don't know, a fucking marionette or something!"
You watch, fascinated, as his eyes blaze and his nails dig at the floor. But, a
moment later, it's gone. All gone, and he slumps back to the cold, dusty tile.
You wonder if he's going to lay there all day, but a moment later the human
pushes himself up and reaches into the itty-bitty pseudo-pocket at the front of
his jeans, pulling out his key.
Mother fuck. Of course.
"Whatever," Strider mutters, leaning back against his door and reaching up,
managing, after a few tries, to slip the key inside. A moment later, the door
clicks and falls open behind the knight. He teeters.
You push off from the wall, but Dave has steadied himself a moment later, and
has apparently decided to just sit in the vestibule, legs stretched out before
him, hands resting between them, shoulders slumped.
You watch for just a second, and then turn away. You don't want to see the
human like this.
Then, you hear, quite faintly, "Thanks."
You don't look. Will not look. Will not, even as Strider begins to shift,
apparently dragging himself into his bedroom to nurse his godly hangover.
"Yeah. Whatever. I'm gonna go," you announce, taking a half-step down the hall.
"Got to warn everyone that there's poison or something in the lab."
"Don't have to warn everyone," he mutters.
You stop, and now you do turn, raising a brow at the idiot human. "We can't all
resurrect, meatbag. Us trolls can die, and we're already just a bit short-
staffed, don't you think?"
"Then warn Kanaya," Dave concedes, grabbing onto the doorknob and pulling
himself upright to lean against the frame. He's looking at the floor, his
glasses almost off his face, eyes mere slits.
You cross your arms. "Terezi may have a good sense of smell, fuckass, but she
probably can't tell what's a human poison. I don't even know if human poisons
are a problem for us."
"Well, that's a damned good experiment for her to run," Dave hisses in a manner
that you had previously only associated with other trolls. "At least if she
fails, her fucking boyfriend will get another body to play starving artist
with!"
Dave slams the door in your face just as you begin to understand.
===============================================================================
Be the other guy.
You are now Gamzee Makara and mother fuuuuuuuck. Buzz harshened big fucking
time.
"You. You are. You and. You! JOZXYQK!"
You are impressed. Didn't think your palebro could make any more complicated
sounds than what you heard during the Sgrub game, but he just did. Way to go,
man. Miracles.
"How long has this been going on?" Karkat demands, stopping his pacing to turn
on you. "How long?Was this a thing on Alternia?"
"Naw, man," you laugh, reclining on your horn pile, sending up a trio of
light honks. "Naw. She was all black for Vriska then, remember?"
"Yeah, I kinda remember. So when the fuck did you...?" He waves his hands about
vaguely in the air and you laugh. There are so many better motions he could be
making to charades this one out.
"I dunno," you say, shrugging. "Couple...dunno...two 'n a half years?"
"Two...two..." He flails a bit more. "TWO AND A HALF YEARS? We've only been on
this gog-damned journey for...like, exactly that long!" Your moirail walks up
to you, snarling, all of his pointy teeth on display, neck straining, veins
bulging under the skin. "Two and a half years and you've been hiding it?"
"Naw, man," you say, shift-honking again. "Not hiding. Just no one's business.
Not everyone has to run around being all caliginous in public, man. Gotta be a
little discreet."
"Fuck everyone else, fuck discretion, and FUCK YOU, Gamzee! That is...what the
fuck, do you not get humans? Like, at all!? You talked to them. I thought you
kinda picked up a bit of their culture!"
You scowl. Oh yeah, you got their culture. Fucking blasphemy. Fucking peons,
fucking criminals, fucking-
You take a deep breath. Chill, man. Gotta be chill. Like ice. "Not exactly a
culture worth studying, man."
"Yeah, no shit!" He rolls his eyes. "Or else you wouldn't have been pailing one
of their...girlfriends in the shower!"
"Hey," you protest, "we didn't have a pail."
Karkat stares at you.
And, if possible, freaks out a little more. "WHAT THE FUCK, SHITSTAIN! YOU GO
SCREWING AROUND IN A COMMON AREA, WHERE HE COULD CATCH YOU PAILING HIS
GIRLFRIEND, AND YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE THE COMMON FUCKING DECENCY TO HAVE A PAIL
THERE SO HE DOESN'T THINK YOU'RE COMPLETELY DEPRAVED!?"
"Humans don't use pails," you inform him. "They've got-"
"Nope!" Karkat says, thrusting his palm into your face. "Nooooooope. Not
listening. Fuck listening. You. Are. A moron."
"Yeah, well, sorry for upsetting your boyfriend," you mutter.
Which is about the point that Karkat really gets mad. You try some reciprocal
shooshing, but it's not gonna work today so you just sit there and let him have
his say. Says a lot of things, but you're not paying much attention, and
eventually your best bro leaves, and right in time. It's not one minute after
Karkat has fucked off that the bitch comes slinking in.
She pauses just inside your respiteblock, nose in the air, sniffing deeply. She
frowns and looks at you. "How'd you get Karkat so mad?"
"We made his boyfriend sad," you say, grinning.
The bitch stops sniffing and shoots a dirty look at you. "His what?
You laugh and lean back in the horn pile, sending up a chorus of discordant
honks. "Come here, little lady. I'd just love to tell you."
She looks at you funny but, after just a bit more hesitation, she comes forward
and allows you to take her hand and pull her down into the pile.
***** And if I had to pull you out of the wreckage *****
**** Be the guy. ****
You are now Dave for the third time. And you’re apparently pissing off your
sister. Which, yeah, maybe is justified, seeing as you keep using some language
even your brother would have objections towards. Bro didn’t care much for
limiting vocabulary, but he did have problems with some certain terms directed
at the fairer sex.
You feel this is all justified, though, cause all last night you were either
drunk, dead, or hung over, and, oh joy, you could not ignore the honk honk
honking coming through the vents. It had a bit too much rhythm for you to block
it out. And went on for way...way too long.
So you are tired. And have a headache and you spent all last night hearing your
ex getting reamed by a clown. You feel you’re allowed to call her a “whore” a
few times.
Rose is not so accepting. Even Kanaya is getting mad, which is impressive.
Kanaya is always going around, clubs for everyone and their ecto-mother. It’s
sort of a wonder to you that she went all redrom for Rose instead of heading
her accustomed route. But they’re kind of perfect for eachother.
A realization that just pisses you off even more.
“And so she’s just going to run around, getting all smeared up with clown
makeup, and I’m supposed to be, what, all cool with that shit?”
“Yes,” Rose says, rubbing a cloth around the rim of a recently cleaned lab
beaker. Whatever was in them last night is long gone and the recipe lost, so no
chance you’re going to get smashed and dead again. Pity.
“Holy crap,” you continue unabated, spittle flying, “who knows what that crazy
asshole is carrying? Or what exactly he was doing with those bodies. What if I
got second-hand gangrene of the nard and...” You stop and stare at your sister.
“What? Yes?”
“Ten seconds,” Kanaya says, nodding to herself and handing another clean beaker
to Rose. “I lose.”
“Oh, yes you do,” Rose says, bumping her hip against her girlfriend’s and
smirking.
Kanaya coughs and gets back to scrubbing.
You stare at the both of them. “Yes?” You repeat. “Yes? Yes what?”
“You’re supposed to ‘be cool with that shit,’” Rose shoots back, carefully
balancing a test tube on a little spiked drying rack. “You are dating a troll,
Dave.”
“Was,” you say. “Was dating a troll.”
“Aaaaaare,” Kanaya whispers and giggles. Rose again bumps hips, but a bit less
gently this time, causing the giggles to cease. Kanaya leans her head a bit
sideways and pokes at Rose with her thorns. Rose, in response, flaps the damp
drying cloth at Kanaya’s face, merely getting a smirk and a brief increase in
the girl’s glow.
“What the hell does me formerlydating a troll have to do with me dealing with
that troll cheating on me? Except that it’s only possible to be cheated on if
you’re actually dating someone. Which I no longer am, so,” you give a thumbs
up, “success!”
Kanaya opens her mouth and Rose bumps her a third time, sending the troll
stumbling, a test tube flying out of her hands, eyes widening in horror.
Sighing, greatly put upon, you slow time and saunter up to the tube, which is
revolving slowly in the air, droplets of water wandering off from its flight
path. You pluck it from the top of its arc and put your hand on Kanaya’s
forehead, letting time go again.
Her weight hits your arm and is immediately arrested, leaving her suspended for
just a second before she seems to realize what is going on and gets her legs
under her again. Smiling, she takes the tube from you and turns back to her
lover, giving her a far less thankful look.
Rose has the grace to look at the ground and murmur an apology.
Kanaya points at the dishes and Rose, perhaps realizing she got off easily,
proceeds to scrub down the last few pieces of equipment as her girlfriend
leaves her favorite human’s side to go sit at the table where you have just
reseated yourself.
“You are looking at this situation in terms of your human practice of
monogamy,” Kanaya says, “which is entirely inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate,” you repeat. “You mean like how sucking off a carny is
inappropriate?”
“No,” Kanaya says, slowly, “like how dating a girl for over two years without
discussing your ‘exclusivity’ is inappropriate.”
“What?” You scowl, thrown. “That isn’t th - ”
“Oh, I apologize,” Kanaya says, blinking slowly. “I was unaware that you and
Terezi decided to defy quadrants and only be involved with one another.” She
raises her brows and waits for your response.
“I...we - ”
“I never thought her the kind to be getting into weird human things like that,”
Kanaya goes on with a dismissive flip of her hand. “I mean, trolls are far more
likely to try and fit six or seven partners into their quadrants, rather than
have one person satisfy all of their needs.”
“No, Gamzee has apparently been taking care of her needsall on his own,” you
say, pressing your nails into the table. You don’t leave a mark, but there are
many, many places where the hard surface has been etched with troll claws and
there’s more than one dent from it being headbutted by horns while it was used
as a shield.
“Oh. Goodness.” Given her tone, Kanaya’s white face should be turning a nice
green, but there it is, all porcelain like a bad romance novel heroine. “I was
unaware that they were doing something so...so...untoward.”
“Untoward. No, man, this is all toward. It’s toward, full speed ahead, fucking
ramming speed.”
“No, no,” Kanaya says, shaking her head, short hair flitting about her ears. “I
mean...the two of them...it’s...they’re...cuddling?” Her eyes are wide and she
shudders at the notion.
You stare at her. “What in all the fucks are you talking about?”
“It’s...it’s the kind of thing you see in a bad romance,” Kanaya says, a hand
to her cheek. “I never, in all my days, thought one of my friends....my
goodness.”
You stare at her. And then look at your sis, hoping she is a little more
understandable.
Luckily, she’s just finished her chore and is walking towards you, drying her
hands. “Have you paid absolutely no attention to all Karkat’s lectures about
quadrants?”
“I prefer not to, actually,” you say, leaning back in your chair so the front
legs come up and you’re just minutely jerking your own legs to keep steady. You
bet John does this all the time now on that ship he’s chilling on, messing with
his windy powers. You bet his life has so much less drama than yours.
“No one to blame but yourself, then,” Rose says, standing behind Kanaya and
draping her arms about her lover’s shoulders. “I swear, sometimes, watching you
run around with her, it’s like watching a dog trying to woo a cat.”
“Arf arf,” you reply, kicking extra hard as you nearly touch down again, arms
coming out to help in the stabilization. “What’s your point?”
“The point is,” Rose says gently, “Kanaya has already warned me that she’ll
probably be forming a black romance with Aradia when they rejoin us.”
You stare at the lesbains and, for the first time, it’s not because, hey,
lesbians. It’s because what the fuck? “And...you’re...going along with this?”
“If I wasn’t going to go along with this,” Rose said, “I wouldn’t date a
troll.”
You barely manage to keep your mouth from dropping open. You are not coolkid
today, and that’s probably going to be the case for a while because what?
“So...you’re giving your girl the license to have an open relationship?”
“Oh, no. No no no!” Kanaya shakes her head. “I’m an old-fashioned troll, Dave.
I’m not going to go...shoving people in my quadrants!”
You have never heard of something that sounds so bizarre and dirty, and you
feel dirty for suggesting it. “But you’re going to go out and get a second
girlfriend,” you point out.
“And eventually a moirail and auspistice trio.” She pauses and frowns. “All the
auspistices, apparently. Er....” She tilts her head back and looks at Rose, her
smile nervous. “Joking.”
Rose laughs and pats her shoulder. “Some day you’ll find your perfect idiots to
mediate, dear.”
“Hmmm,” Kanaya murmurs, lowering her head again and looking at you with a most
peaceful expression.
A lesser man would be blushing, but you’ve still that much control. “I can’t
believe you’re fine with this, Rose. Your girl is just sitting there, talking
about running around on you.”
“Oh, well,” Rose shrugs, “Aradia seems nice. Far better than her taking up with
Terezi. No offense, Davem, but I approve of Miss Megido.”
“Glad you approve, then,” you say, pushing your chair back and standing, using
your hands on the table to stabilize yourself. You’re still a bit too hungover
to be completely confident in your ability to support your entire body weight.
“Have fun in your freaky threesome.”
Kanaya’s face turns deep, deep green now, and you smirk in triumph. “I-I, w-
wouldn’t...that’s...that’s not how it’s done!” She flails her arms, disrupting
Rose’s hold on her shoulders. “You can’t have those feeling at the same time!
You...you can’t feel close to someone and pissed at someone else at the same
time! Can’t! Gog, how would you even...guh!” She covers her face and curls up
on herself.
Rose looks at her lover, and then over to you, not pleased. “It’s not a
threesome, Dave. They’re independent and vital relationships to trolls. And if
you don’t want to deal with them, then keep yourself single until we all meet
up with our friends again. If you’re lucky, there’ll be at least one human left
who isnt’ dead and/or related to you, and then you can proceed with monogamy.
In the meantime,” she places her hand on her lover’s back, prompting her to
stand and guiding her away from the table. “I’ve got to fix my matesprit.”
You watch them go, wondering what the girl’s parting shot is going to be. Cause
it’s going to be epic, in her mind. Which means lame. You at least do her the
favor of waiting for her miss.
Kanaya is out the door before her girlfriend, and Rose pauses, putting her hand
on the doorframe and, yes, she’s turning back to you, trying to look all
dramatic and shit.
She looks you in the eyes.
You raise your brows, waiting. Smirking. This is gonna be hilarious.
“If you don’t want to deal with Terezi’s kismesis,” Rose says, softly, “at
least be a grown up and tell her it’s over, instead of getting shitfaced and
hiding. You’d think you were the one taking after my mother.”
And then she’s out the door, which swings shut behind her, flapping back and
forth a half-dozen times before catching and letting the entire room go silent.
===============================================================================
 
Break up with Terezi. Officially. Yeah. That...that makes sense. You...should.
Cause you don’t want a piece of that when that piece is also getting jiggy with
juggalos. Ew. Not cool.
And if what Rose says is right, then the trolls can’t help it. They’re going to
pair up like this. They’re going to be polygamous, and thinking otherwise is
just a dick move on your part.
So...yeah. You get that. You can’t just tell the girl to give up her
kismesissitude. Not without suggesting someone else to fill that quadrant.
You consider that. Kanaya said she’s waiting for everyone to join up again so
she can pursue Aradia, but what if he kinda...pushed Kanaya at Terezi?
You’d...be kinda okay with your girl going after Kanaya. It’d be weird, to be
all of three degrees of separation from fucking your sister, but it’s a small
gene pool here, people. Gotta man up.
But maybe Kanaya really does have her heart set on Aradia. There’s weirder
pairings out there. So, well, if not Kanaya, and Rose doesn’t seem too
interested in a black romance, and fuck no, you’re not leaving Terezi with the
ICP, then....
Karkat pokes his head into the lab. “Is Kanaya in here? Cause she is utterly
failing at being an auspitice today, and that’s not exactly help...anything.”
Hah. Fuck no. Never. Never in a million. You are not setting up this moron to
hate-bang your girl. That’s just so many ways worse than it being the clown.
“She’s being coddled by her girlfriend, at the moment.” And let that be the end
of that.
“Oh,” Karkat says. And it’s just your luck that he does not leave. Or it’s your
fate. Karkat never leaves when he’s got the chance to throw a barb at you, and
this must be open season for coolkids. There’s a big target on your forehead
and he’s got an itchy trigger finger.
“Sorry, man,” Karkat says.
It takes you a moment and hell. Fucking. Naw. “Shut up.”
“I’m just saying,” Karkat says from his safe place at the doorway, “that’s
gotta be a hard thing for a hung-up human like you to walk in on. What with
your society being all backwards. Jegus, what if it had been your sister? She
doesn’t have that weird human home-phobia. And I’m suuuuure her matesprit could
handle it.”
Your vision is getting darker than your shades could be held accountable for,
zeroing in on just one object in the entire world: the dumbass. The weak,
incompetent “leader” that somehow got his team far enough through Sgrub to doom
your entire universe. He said it once: that he was impatient, stopped the frog
quest, ruined the game, gave your universe cancer. Which means he is the one
who did it all. Destroyed your world, your entire life, your archive of sweet
bro and hella jeff.Your Bro. If he hadn’t fucked over his team, you wouldn’t
have lost everything, you wouldn’t be here, and your girlfriend would be
cheatingon you.
You stand and ;eave the table. Go slowly, slowly to the door, Karkat somehow
not flinching as you get nearer, even though he must know you are going to
fucking kill him. “Take it back.”
“Oooooh. Better be careful, Strider,” Karkat says, pushing himself away from
the door frame and closing the distance between you. “You may be showing an
emotion. And it is not this emotion we call friendship.”
“Take. It. Back,” you whisper. You’re just feet away, now, and you can’t wait
for it to be inches, cause you’ve got plans.
But Karkat changes his trajectory, and now you’re curving in, circling one
another. Still getting closer, but in the smallest of increments. “Feh. Why
should I? You know Rose is cooler than you.”
“Not that,” you say. “The other thing.”
“What? The home-phobia? ‘Cause you really do got a hankerin’ for some bulge-on-
bulge action, Strider? Someone call the media, I’ve got a headline-stealer!”
“Not. That.” You bare your teeth. This idiot. Doesn’t get it. He never gets it.
“What?” He laughs. “Your society? No, Strider, your society is most definitely
- ”
“DON’T TELL ME YOU’RE SORRY!”
Karkat stumbles at the force in your words. You don’t yell. You never yell.
Ever. And now you are bellowing with all the force of your godliness and your
rage and your pain.
You’re panting, and he’s quiet, for once in his gog-damned life, and you rasp
it out. “I don’t. Want. Your PITY!”
Karkat looks at you.
And he laughs, voice going low and rough, hands curling, claws glinting in the
humming overhead lights. “Yeah. I bet you don’t, you sick fuck.”
You cross your right arm in front of your chest, down to your hip, and grasp
the hilt of your shitty broken sword.
Karkat grins and de-captchalogues his crab sickle, twirling it, light catching
on the crustacean spines. “Well, all right, Strider. Let’s go.”
You nod in agreement. And you launch yourself at him.
Be the normal, sane, not-a-fucking-nook-sniffer guy.
You are once again Karkat Vantas. And you’re glad it’s fight night. Really, you
don’t know why this hasn’t become an instituted thing. Set up some randomized
brackets, bet chores, last man standing is leader for the day.
But it’s not happening all organized and civil-like. You’re just here. In the
nutritionblock. Trying to cheer up the douchy human and he just flips, and that
is allllll riiiiight. Man, this is what you were made for. Every jolt on your
frame as sword hits sickle is a fucking release, and you are so glad you
finally got the human to lose it. You can’t stand it when he runs his mouth. Or
when he - admittedly, often - outwits you. But, while he might be able to get a
good hit in when your head is spinning, you are actually evenly matched.
You and he are the kind of match they put on the specialchannels late at night.
But this is just sweet and pure and mindless, because humans don’t do black-
rom, and that’s good, because all you want to do is bash this asshole’s face
in, not smash it to your own for sloppy inter-species make-outs. A good thing,
because if you were distracted be weirdo sexual tension, you wouldn’t be able
to knock his sword to the side with your sickle and slash at his stomach with
your own claws, bringing the sickle back up again just in time to keep him from
cutting your head in half sideways.
You are Karkat Vantas and you own this meatbag.
There really shouldn’t be sparks, because the shitty sword may be metal, but
the claws are chitin, but you swear there are flashes of light as the blade
slides along the joint of a sickle, highlighting Strider’s livid face. Oh, it’s
fucking majestic. That anger. You’ve finally got him feeling something.
Something he can’t overcome. Not his rage or you or this shit he’s gotten
himself into. Strider is ruined, and you love it.
He rushes you, blinded by emotion, slow as a ll fuck, and you slice up, hitting
his hand, sending the sword flying. Strider, the dumb fuck, actually looks back
at it, mouth open in utter shock, leaving himself vulnerable. You let your fist
fly, hitting him in his already half-turned head, and now he’s the one flying,
spinning in the air, landing on his stomach.
For a moment, you stand there. Stunned. Because this has never happened. You’ve
been slammed into tables, thrown into walls, smacked upside the head by a
shitty sword, and tossed over the second floor railing. You have never, ever
knocked Strider down. It felt so fucking good.
You arepurring.
Strider begins pushing himself up, heard turned to snarl at you. “You Gog-damn
a-foof!”
Strider’s protests are cut off completely as you launch yourself at him,
landing on his back, digging your claws into his shoulders and leaning down to
bite the nape of his neck. Any troll would go limp the second they felt teeth
there, knowing a severed spine was just a thought away, but the moron pushes up
from the floor, trying to throw you off. You tilt sideways, but don’t let go.
You topple over so you’re both on your sides, Strider twisting and writhing,
you pressed against him, dragging your claws down, drawing blood, your back
legs coming up and raking down his calves. If you weren’t wearing shoes, you’d
be leaving further scores all the way to his ankles. You really wish you
weren’t in shoes. You want to hurt him. Mark him. Get your teeth into his
throat and bite down until he can’t breath and he goes still and you can get a
better grip and make sure he doesn’t saunter away this time.
Gog, you want it.
So you’re kind of pissed when you hear the hum and fizzle of the
transportalizer and you glance up from the ass-kicking at hand to see the
delicate figure of the local legislascerator stepping off the podium before its
next transport cycle kicks in.
She sniffs and her eyebrows shoot up. So little of your candy red in the air,
but you’re sure so much of the human’s monochrome shit is leaking that she’s
going to swoon. She probably never gets to indulge her little blood obsession
with her matesprit, so she’s got to be going all wet and loose down there and
you’re about to sneer and ask when you feel a hand close around one of your
horns, sending a shock like a fucking explosion through your entire body. Then
you are dragged forward and down a little and you are face-to-face with
Strider, who has stopped fighting and who has craned his neck back, twisting
his body at an impossible angle to meet you and pull you and bring your faces
together and crush his lips against yours.
You squeak. Your eyes are open and you’re staring at him. His shades are gone,
but his eyes are closed, but thaaaat’s all, because his mouth is opening and
you feel a tongueagainst your lips.
And you moan, because that is...wow. Wow, that is not something you’ve ever
read in your romances, and you suddenly decide that your species is populated
by fucking morons for never having tried that, because it makes your lips
tickle and burn and part and you let your tongue out to tease against the
human’s.
Gog, you want to tear his fucking throat out.
“Oh. Sorry,” you hear someonesay, and there’s another hum and fizzle as the
transportalizer activates again and you are left alone with the Strider human,
doing your utmost to taste every bit of his mouth without over-reaching and
biting off his tongue.
Which you almost do when your horn is released and your lips separate and he
laughs against your face.
“Fuck right you are, ‘Rezi,” Strider growls, turning his head to look back at
the transportalizer.
You lick at your burning lips and lean back in for his nape, baring your teeth
to get a good grip.
“Yo, back off, Vantas!” Strider’s entire body jerks, knocking you away, and
he’s scrambling to his feet. “You are a complete idiot. You actually going all
black for my ass, now?” He storms to the other side of the room as you begin to
recover, pushing yourself up from the floor. “I know I just fulfilled all your
hopes and dreams, but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to keep your freaky alien
wing-wong up in your pants, cause I am so not into you that way.”
You’re getting it.
You’re...getting it.
And you’re bending over, picking up your sickle, stalking slowly towards the
human, who has recovered his sword and is holding it limply at his side as he
slides back on his shades. The tendons in your hands have tensed, pulling back
the skin of your fingers another quarter-centimeter, exposing the deeper,
harder section of your claws. The part you use to disembowel.
Strider is turning to look at your approach, still running his mouth. “I’m sure
your one, true hate is just waiting for you, bro. Don’t give up. Now, we going
to finish this, or do you need to have a good cry because I turned you down for
the Sadie Hawkin’s Dance?” He smirks, not flinching as you get within yards,
then within feet, then within arm’s reach. “I’ll understand if you need to run
off and have a little feelings pow-wow with your freaky clown life-partner
because you’re not getting any hot Strider ac - ”
CRACK.
The sound echoes through the cafeteria. Not the dull thud of a punch. Not the
ragged hiss of claws tearing open flesh. But the sharp, single pop of a flat
palm hitting a cheek, the move so sudden and unexpected that Strider’s face
turns sideways, glasses going askew once more, his mouth opened in a shocked
“oh.”
You stand there and wait for him to recover and turn back to face you, gaze
blazing as he reaches up to readjust his shades. You see how his muscles tense,
ready for the fight to kick up again. Ready to hand your ass to you.
You look him in the eyes. You hold out your claw sickle, between the two of
you, but not pointed at him. Sideways, the sharp edges glinting in the cafe
lights.
Strider opens his mouth to get back to his fucking incessant talking.
You open your hand.
The claw sickle seems to hover in the air for a second. Then it falls from your
fingers, falls for an eternity, before landing on the floor with a surprisingly
soft “tink tink tink.”
You gaze into Strider’s hidden eyes one, last time.
And then you turn your back on him and walk to the transportalizer, letting it
take you away.
***** You know I'm never gonna let you go *****
Be the guy.
You deign to be Dave Strider again.
Though you have no fucking clue what just happened. And not just because your
head has been rattled by, you've got to admit, a few really good hits on
Vantas's part.
You reach up to your cheek to see how much blood the freaky alien sadist drew,
but your hand comes back clean. Which surprises you, as your face is burning.
Burning like a thousand green suns right where he slapped you.
Fucking pussy move. You feel kind of ashamed for the guy. He'd been doing so
well. Coming at you, nothing but rage, actually managing to knock you on your
ass. You'd been worried he was going to actually kill you - if just for a bit -
when he had you on the ground.
Then Terezi had come in and you'd been distracted and angry and all you could
think about was how much you wanted that bitch to pay and -
Okay, well, it hadn't been the most well-thought-out plan. Really, on the long
list of your plans - which is damned long, what with all the shenanigans you
had to go through as Knight of Time - it's probably not even in the top ten.
Really, probably in the bottom, except Terezi had looked surprised and
she had left pretty damned quick when you got your fake-hate-mack on with
Vantas. It had almost been worth the torture of having to touch his slimy alien
tongue.
You shudder at the very thought. Yeah, in future, revenge make-outs are not
going to be a thing. You're going to have nightmares for weeks. Nightmares
about that slippery tongue and those sharp teeth and the emptiness in Vantas's
eyes.
You scowl and look at the sickle lying at your feet.
You have no fucking clue what just happened. But, just as you're taking your
first step away from the shitty sickle which is far shittier than any weapon
you have ever owned, you kind of...can't. You turn and look back at the weirdo
claw, laying on the floor.
You have never, ever seen it out of Karkat's sylladex or his hands, but for ten
seconds, tops, when you've managed to disarm him and he scrambles to pick it up
again. You never asked where it came from, but you know Karkat, in all his
crotchety nature, had the non-irony of having a crab as his lusus, before they
were all killed. It's not hard to figure out where he got the materials to
alchemize the thing.
You want to leave it. But you left your bro's katana behind, and, while you
tried to act all cool about it in front of Terezi, that damn near killed you.
You can't exactly go up to Vantas and be all "sorry to disappoint you with the
takesies-backsies on the sloppy alien makeouts you have so long thought no one
knew you secretly were jonesing for, but you dropped this." But the sickle
shouldn't be left here. That's just not right. It's not worthy of a weapon like
that.
It wrecks fucking havoc on your sylladex, but you get it in there.
Then you just stand for a little bit.
Your cheek is still burning and there's a continued roil in your stomach from
last night's hangover and...and your lips are still wet and tingling.
Which is about when you begin to suspect that you fucked up.
===============================================================================
Be the girl.
You are now Kanaya Maryam. Kudos to you.
You are dating an alien. Quite enjoyable, actually. Though there were some
issues when your relationship began. Dave had many a comment about "Virgos,"
which were all the more irritating because trolls did not follow the strange
human "zodiac," and the only reason anyone knew of the human meaning of the
symbol on your clothing was because Rose had mentioned its connection once.
There'd been a little snorting about "Kanaya the virgin" back them, when the
humans had first arrived on the meteor, but it came back, shockingly evolved,
when your red quadrant was filled.
It was probably all the worse because, to be honest, you are sort of virginal.
While all the rest of your team was running around, trying to get in hearts and
spades, all you could think about was how to keep everyone from falling apart.
And that meant clubs all around. It was sort of depressing, in an always-the-
moirail-never-the-matesprit kind of way. You spent so much time mediating
everyone that you never fell into even a proper auspistice.
But when Dave comes up and offers you the claw sickle captchalogue card, you
just look him in the eyes, raise a brow, and tell him, in the gentlest, most
motherly of terms, to fill his own nook. It is a shockingly pitch suggestion to
make, but he does not seem to notice its brazenness.
"What the fuck is a nook?" Dave asks. Then, before you can respond, he shakes
his head. "No. Nevermind. Just, can you give this to Vantas for me?"
You look at the sickle, lips thin. You know something isn't right here. You
are, as stated before, not as well-versed in quadrants as other trolls, but
this...this seems to ring all the wrong bells. "Where did you get this?" You
somewhat hope that your dear "leader" left it in the human's room after a good,
tension-releasing strife, but the way Dave looks away tells you that this is in
no way the case.
"I dunno," he lies outright, shrugging, one hand in a pocket, the other still
presenting the weapon. "Vantas lost a strife and threw a little hissy-fit and
threw it at my feet.
You gasp, hands flying to your mouth.
Dave rolls his eyes (or, at least, you assume he does behind his sunglasses,
but it's a good bet, as his entire head gets in on the roll), but, when you
don't start snickering or smiling in any way, he seems to realize he'd actually
got that reaction out of you genuinely, and looks at you with the mostly
marginally disconcerted expression ever. "What?"
"He broke up with you?" You whisper, a slight tremor in your voice.
Dave steps back, but, you note, he does not let go of the sickle. "What? No.
Where did that even come from?"
Your hands flap about your horns. Realizing you are having an epic fit, you
take a deep breath, though it does little to slow the rush of your thoughts.
"What, exactly, happened, Dave? Tell me everything."
"Well, Mom," Dave says, and you barely roll your eyes, "we were strifing and
he...he got extra pissy and threw his sickle down."
You grit your teeth. Your sharp incisors nick your lip, the little pulse of
blood sending your tight stomach churning. "Dave."
"What?"
"Dave...," you begin, and there is a long, long pause as Dave looks you in the
eye, tension in his every muscle. He knows what's coming. Every teen knows that
tone. What it means. The power behind the action.
"...Strider," you finish, and the boy barely flinches at the full-naming.
Dave crosses his arm, sickle held limply. It looks so strange in his hands.
"Look, he...may have slapped me, as well." He shrugs.
Your pupils narrow. "Slapped," you repeat.
Dave nods.
You wait.
He is silent.
"Dave..." you begin again, but needn't continue the deployment of the ultimate
of motherly weapons.
"Okay, Terezi interrupted our strife and I may have sort of...kissed Vantas. So
she'd know what it felt like." He curls his upper lip. "It was disgusting."
You groan and cover your face. "I imagine Karkat must have agreed."
"Well, after he tried to jump my bones, I guess he did. Threw his little pissy
fit, left his sickle, and absconded like a really shitty ninja."
You look to the ceiling, letting out a little keening sound. "Why are you
humans so stupid?"
"Want me to ask Rose that question?" Strider says, scowling deeply.
"Oh, certainly," you breeze, flipping your hand to dismiss his weak attack. "Go
tell her everything."
Dave is silent. Shocked. After a moment, he looks away from you, hand
tightening on the sickle.
"Do you...know...what that means," you ask, pointing at the curved blade.
Dave glances down at it and shrugs. "That Vantas is a pussy?"
You want to scream. But you are, as ever, the good auspistice. Even if you
really don't want to be the auspistice here. It wouldn't be right. "It means
Karkat has told you that he never wishes to strife with you again."
Dave raises a brow and shrugs the opposing shoulder. "What? That's it? He could
have just said that. I've got enough to do around here without entertaining
him."
"He is done strifing you," you go on, patiently, mindful that he is a moronic
human and he didn't come from a culture where his ignorance would warrant an
immediate culling, "and he never, ever wants to be reminded of the fact that he
once strifed with you, and so he has abandoned the weapon he used against you.
It is no longer worthy of him. And neither are you."
Dave leans back, head tilting, as if he just dodged a blow. You hope he didn't,
in fact, do so. He deserves this hit. "What? He...this...isn't this his dad?"
He waves the sickle at you. It gets remarkably close to your face, but not so
much that you flinch away.
"Yes, Dave," you say, barely containing your own rage. It is getting hard to
remain so neutral as he keeps talking. You sort of see why Karkat has this
thing going. Had. "I do believe he alchemized that from the claw of his dead
lusus. And he never wants to see it again."
Dave's mouth is just a little open, now, and perhaps he is getting it. So you
decide to tell him the most basic fact, once again.
"Karkat broke up with you, Dave."
"Okay, look," Dave says, pressing a hand hard to his forehead, trying to
release some of the tension in his poorly designed cranium, "he can't do
that...because we aren't dating."
"You kissed him," you say, even, not the least bit amused.
"To get back at Terezi!"
"You falsified a caliginous romance," you say, slowly, hoping he'll finally
listen and think a little bit, "to make your matesprit jealous."
Dave opens his mouth for continued denials. Then snaps it closed. He thrusts
his hand and the clawsickle at you, the muscles in his arm tight, well-defined
after these years of preparing for the final battle. "Just give this back to
him."
You cross your arms, grabbing onto your elbows to make sure nothing else can be
done with your hands. "Dave," you finally rise to a snap, "he won't even accept
that from me. It would be admitting a weakness, and Karkat has never been even
the slightest shade of pale for me."
"Fine," he growls in a respectfully troll-like fashion, "then I'll just leave
it in his room."
"He'll ignore it," you say, giving your eyes a little roll. When, oh when, will
this daft boy get it?
"What? Why?"
"I told you. It's not worth his notice anymore."
"Then how do I make it worth his notice?"
You could tell him. But all you say is "You figure it out, Dave." Then you turn
your back on the boy and walk to the nearest transportalizer, letting it sweep
you away as he scowls at your back.
You now understand why Rose is a lesbian.
===============================================================================
 
Be the other guy. No, not that other guy. Not that one! The other, other,
other guy.
Some might think that the corruption of government officials an inevitability,
but you have made it your life's goal to prove these naysayers wrong. You say
nay to their naysaying. Nay!
Your town is small, perhaps isolated, but prosperous. The roads are clean and
repaved weekly. The schools are rigorous in curriculum, but sensitive to the
individual needs and talents of students. The adult population works hard, and
then plays hard at one of the many municipal entertainment venues. Love is
bountiful and equal. Your people are happy and sing your praises and you are
confident you shall be elected to another term.
And lo! Behold! A visiting dignitary, come to grace your town with duly-
deserved praise and, perhaps, valuable insights to bring them to even greater
prosperity! You bow to Sir Knight, he of the mad rhythms and sick rhymes, and
beg him, with many eloquent hand gestures, to join you for an afternoon of
legislation without that questionable laceration his lady-friend has espoused
as the only guarantee of a stable society.
"Yeah, hey Mayor. Um...you seen Karkat around here lately?"
You sigh and shake your head. No, it has been some time since his co-knight has
graced Can Town with his presence. But, you indicate, he is expected any day
now! Karkat has many suggestions on the running of Can Town. Most relate to the
uncanning of residents and must be, respectfully, put under further
consideration instead of directly implemented, but they are all given their due
consideration. That is how a society progresses!
"Uh...yeah. Um...can I leave this here for him?" Sir Knight says, bringing
something out of his magic, space-and-weight-defying pockets.
You may, to be honest, go into a little bit of a tizzy.
"Woah, woah, Mayor-dude!" Sir Knight reaches out, putting a hand on your head.
"Calm down. Just need to put it somewhere he's gonna run across it.
He...er...left it with me."
You wave your hands before you, negating, negating! You could never! Never
ever! That would be...most...most inappropriate! For you to be guardian of such
a legendary weapon, and on behalf of someone so important to Sir Knight!
Sir Knight looks at you. He looks at the glorious chitin sickle. He, if it may
be said, goes into a mite of a tizzy himself, letting the sickle go and jumping
back, arms coming up over his head, as if to shield himself.
"Oh, Mayor-dude, no! Why does everyone think that? No, it's not like that.
Karkat just got bitchy and dropped his sickle. He's gonna need it if he's gonna
do any more training."
As he speaks, you dive forward and catch the glorious weapon before it hits the
floor. By some miracle, it only cuts you a little. You sit there, on your
knees, and look up at Sir Knight, eyes wide.
What. What?
You jump up and wave your arms about, for a moment forgetting you wield a
hero's weapon, but this is quite the justified moment to forget such a thing.
Sir Knight! Oh, Sir Knight! Your heart! Your poor heart, what has happened?
What has been done to you?
"Look, little dude, calm down," he says, holding a hand out to you, jumping
back as the sickle comes close to his fingers. "Karkat's just being a little
bitch, that's all. Can you give this to him for me?"
No! No, most certainly not! The impropriety of you touching this weapon is one
thing, but the impropriety of auspitizing for two such noble heroes when they
should be reconciling their original quadrant is...is...uncivilized! You thrust
the sickle into his hand and step back. You shall not be part in the
destruction of such a fated relationship!
"Oh, Gog damnit, no, man. No." Sir Knight holds the sickle loosely, not letting
it fall, but just pinching it between two fingers. "It's not like that. He's
just pissed over the entire Terezi thing, which is stupid, since he should be
all up on that shit now that it's available."
You conduct the most epic of 2x Facepalm Combos. It is good that you no longer
have the sickle, as you would have not been able to stop yourself from doing
so, and it could have resulted in your needing to wear some sort of jaunty
eyepatch, which is not comforting attire for a mayor to wear amongst the
citizenry.
Sir Knight, you inform Sir Knight, Sir Knight, you are a moron.
He just raises a brow
It is the duty of all government officials to strive for harmony not just in
their own society, but in all those connected even tangentially to them.
Prosperity in the world at large is what leads to prosperity at home. You must
do something, and, perhaps, the wisdom which allowed you to be so duly elected
may have some bearing here. You reach out and take Sir Knight's hand, pulling,
trying to make him follow you down the hall.
Follow, Sir Knight! Follow! Soon, you shall see!
"Aw, fucking hell," Sir Knight says, recaptchaloguing the legendary weapon and
joining you on your journey.
***** We're like a time bomb, gonna lose it *****
Be the guy.
You, Dave Strider, are always sort of impressed by the Mayor's speed. Maybe
it's a Carpacian thing. Or something to do with his resurrection. Whatever the
reason, he skitters along the halls like a sugar-high chihuahua, stopping at
intersections, peeking around corners and, once the coast is apparently clear,
turning back to you and waving you forward in a manner roughly akin to a
special ops raid.
You follow behind, sedate. You're actually sort of curious. You've been on this
meteor for two and a half years, and you haven't seen half of the little halls
he's guiding you through. Partially because, every so often, you have to
squeeze through a ventilation shaft to get onto a new set of halls, but also,
to be honest, because you'd never seen much sense in exploring. You imagine
Kanaya knows this meteor second-best of anyone after going on her clown-hunts
all the time when this little roadtrip began. Of course, said clown has to be
number one, seeing as he managed to evade Kanaya long enough for her anger to
dissipate into simple disdain.
Really, when you consider it, it's surprising Kanaya and Gamzee didn't go all
spades for one another. Why did it have to be Terezi? Why your Terezi that
fucked the insane murderer?
Then, of course, that would mean that Rose would have to deal with her
matesprit going pitch for the clown. If you think of it that way, you're kind
of glad Terezi was the one. Not in the "I forgive you, my love," sense, but at
least it means you don't have to comfort your sister when she's been cheated
on.
Which makes her lack of comfort for your situation all the more onerous. Why
did she seem so annoyed at you when you're the one who was betrayed? It
couldn't just be Seer of Light shit. If the best possible thing for everything
was for you to get your heart ripped out and then be told it's your fault, then
the best possible thing is still a shitty arangement.
You are just getting madder and madder at your sister when, as if by the magic
of her shitty needle-wands, you hear her voice.
"It's not like you're just going to fall into it, Kanaya. I don't think you
have to worry."
The Mayor has stopped his frantic progress and turned towards you, no less
frantic when not walking, but now his jerky movements are urging you to
silence. You stare at him for a moment before another voice speaks up.
"I just worry about the...logical results. The opening of a black quadrant when
my own quadrant is empty would imply that it is a high possibility."
Kanaya, of course, with her formal tones and just the slightest edge to her
words.
You scowl and, on the Mayor's urging, come forward until you're right next to
the wall. You half expect to touch it and for it to become fenestrated, leading
into your sister's bedroom, but instead the Mayor points at the floor.
You look down and make a mental note to reevaluate the privacy of your pad.
There's an air vent in the floor and, while it's small, it's pointing almost
directly down on Rose's bedroom and, more awkwardly, her bed, which currently
contains one troll, one human and, thank gog, the appropriate clothing
belonging to each.
"You are opposed to having such a relationship with Karkat?" Rose asks, and you
raise a brow, crouching down so you can hear just a bit better.
"You never seemed to have your heart exactly set on Aradia. I mean, really, I'm
surprised you didn't form a kismesis with Gamzee yourself." Rose is stoic, but
you can see how she rubs her feet together, as if they've been chiled by the
thought.
Kanaya, apparently, can feel that, and she responds by tangling her feet up
with Rose's, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind the young woman's
ear. "My feelings for Gamzee were never in a quadrant. Contrary to what
everything in those ridiculous romances you've been devouring says,
you can have a legitimate, unromantic urge to kill someone."
Rose laughs, and you've not heard her sound so nervous since before she
finished her first glass of moonshine the night of their disastrous date. "The
books also say you can't have a red romance without pitying your partner." She
looks down between them, where their hands are tangled. "It's...hard...that you
pity me."
Kanaya looks at her matesprit, eyes wide. She's apparently lost a little of her
control, as her lights flare up, allowing even you to see the sheen in Rose's
eyes.
Kanaya lets Rose's hand go, and you almost curse, going as close to hating the
Mayor as anyone could ever hate the Mayor.
Then Kanaya presses a hand to the small of Rose's back, pulling the woman to
her body, eliciting a little yelp of surprise and a responding giggle from the
rainbow-drinker. "I pity you for being so, so strong and thinking that means
you can't be helped by anyone," Kanaya says, nuzzling into Rose's face, their
lips not yet touching. "I pity you for being so, so fragile that I spend every
moment I'm with you terrified I'm going to hurt you."
"You can't," Rose breaths, lifting her face just a little and hello! You back
away from the vent, knowing that your cheeks have turned a serious red, hoping
that the Mayor is too invested in the scene below to notice you.
Then you recall that the scene below is your sister getting her mack on, and
you turn to glare at the Mayor, ready to drag him away.
But he is standing there, facing the wall, holding his hands up in the air like
he has just obtained a legendary item in a video game, thumbs touching and
curved fingers tapping.
You roll your eyes at him and his shitty sign-language heart.
Below, you hear breathy, yet still amused words. "I pity you because you are
never, ever going to get away from me, and I am just terrible."
And then you hear zippers and you have the coolest panic attack ever, grabbing
the Mayor's spindly forearm and dragging him down the hall. At some point, he
stops trying to educate you about what, exactly, was going on below, and he's
leading instead of following, and you're cool with that. So long as he doesn't
come back to interrupt your sister's special time. Lesbians are, like, the best
thing ever, but that's just a line you can not cross.
You're going deeper into the meteor, where the atmosphere is less regulated,
and there's a chill that goes into your joints, bringing out little bumps all
along your arms. You didn't really expect any part of this rock to be that
chilly, but then your hand brushes a jagged notch in one of the walls and you
freeze. The Mayor is jerked to a halt at the end of your hand, but he doesn't'
continue on when you free yourself and trace your fingers along the four deep
gouges in the soft inner rock of the meteor.
There's been a fight here. When you reach the end of the lines, there's an
actual claw still left in the stone, the blood at the root dark and old, color
now unknowable. You consider this, Rose and Kanaya are constantly tending to
Kanaya's claws, cutting them down and dulling their tips. Once, Karkat had let
a knife slip during cooking prep and cut his claw through to the flesh below, a
quarter-inch up his finger. There had been some cursing and a day of him
favoring the hand, but he was soon back to using it regularly and, within a
week, the claw had looked just as sharp as every other talon.
The Mayor is at your side, waving, looking around, frantic. You look down at
the little guy and he puts both index fingers to his lips. His eyes are wide
with panic.
You reach up and pinch at one end of your lips, drawing the imaginary zipper
across your mouth, lifting a brow.
You can see the tension melt off his body, but only for a moment. Then he's
looking up and down the hall and, after a moment of careful listening, hands to
his ears to amplify sound, he waves for you to follow.
The meteor isn't very well-finished here, and you're led through thin rocky
tunnels, sometimes on your hands and knees. You're constantly expecting the
little guy to slip through some hole barely big enough for him, leaving you
trapped, but, suddenly, the smallest tunnel yet widens out and you feel warm,
open air, and you come out on a little alcove high up in a cavern. The ceiling
must be at least fifty feet above the floor, so you're glad you can fly, but
you're worried for the Mayor, and you grab his foot as he crawls closer and
closer to the edge.
He turns back to you, waiving you forward once more. It's with a bit of
reluctance - again, all for him, cause flying, duh - that you join him, coming
to the sharp edge and looking down and down.
You reach for your sword.
Gamzee is standing below you in a large chamber, humming to himself, twirling
two clubs. He's doing some weird artistic shit, controlling the motion, making
the clubs match one another as they form smooth patterns. He never throws them,
which makes sense for weapons. The speed he attains also make sense for
weapons. You can easily see how those clubs could end someone. It would be
violent and probably not swift, but it would work.
And if the clubs didn't, those long, spiraling, razor sharp horns would.
You could go down there. Maybe even get the jump on the clown and end this all
in one sloce. Your friends wouldn't mind too much. He's a danger to the entire
meteor, and getting rid of him would be a favor to them all.
You are about to jump down and do just that when you hear the tapping. Regular.
Methodical. Superlative.
Your hand squeezes down on the sword's grip. No.
Out of a tunnel, out of the darkness, comes a creature of grey and red and teal
and teeth. She's smiling from the very moment you see her. Her hips are
swaying, making the short front of her slitted mini-skirt ride up dangerously.
She's walking in these high heels you've never seen, and they arch her back and
firm up her ass and thrust out her chest. Her hair doesn't seem like it's
normal disaster area, but is instead sleek and carefully placed.
It's like she's an entirely different creature than the one that hangs out with
you in the common rooms.
This...this is who she is for him.
And that, above all other things, is what makes you slide out your sword. This
is not your Terezi. He has changed your Terezi.
"Evening, tidbit," Gamzee rumbles, slowing his clubs, though he continues his
juggalo katas. "DIDN'T THINK YOU'D COME TO SEE ME AGAIN SO SOON. Or is it just
that you're not getting all your quadrants tended to, now?" The way he says it,
it sounds filthy. But that's the point.
Terezi stops a good two dozen feet from the clown, thunking down her cane,
resting her hand on the dragon's head topper. Her claws trace its teeth. You
wonder if they're as sharp as her own. "I can handle my own quadrants,
villain," she growls in a way that makes the hair on your neck prickle.
"OH, I CAN SEE THAT," Gamzee says. His clubs falter, but in a manner that
you,in no way attribute to a mistake in the exercise. You have no doubt that
Gamzee has done that exercise enough times to fill an entire week on this
meteor, if the repetitions were done back to back. "OOPS," he goes on,
thrusting his thumbs in the waist of his baggy pants, clubs dangling between
fore and middle finger, "sorry. I really should LAY OFF THE BLIND JOKES,
shouldn't I?"
Terezi's teeth disappear in her frown. Her fingers gently pull on the dragon's
head until a click echoes through the chamber. Then there is a long hiss of
metal as she separates the pieces of her cane, the red and white outer shell
disappearing as bright white metal is exposed. You don't know how it catches so
much light in these dark tunnels, but it seems to actually brighten Terezi's
face.
Gamzee laughs, twisting his wrists, making the clubs spin in opposing
directions, before and behind his hips, switching out, back and forth, with
every spin. "You must be frustrated. No wordplay, NO FOREPLAY? Well, I can
deal." The spinning stops and he crouches, holding one club up before his
chest, the other behind his back, looking like an actual swordsman in that
stance.
There is a long, long silence as Terezi stands there, both of her blades held
down at her side, her head tilted casually as she considers her...her...
There's a tug on your wrist.
You turn your head for just a moment to look at the Mayor.
He's got both hands out to you, again, and the shape is similar to before, but
now the point of his forefingers is facing up, his thumbs curved in to create
an extra tuck, a little channel between them.
You stare.
You almost facepalm as you recognize the spade.
Then you are distracted by the strange sets of noises as metal hits metal and
metal hits plastic and plastic hits plastic. You snap your head around again
and look down at the chamber.
The trolls are nowhere near where they started. Nowhere near between the points
where they both stood. And you see why. They are blurs. Insanely speeding
shapes made of swinging clubs and slicing swords and purple blood. You almost
cheer. Purple blood, Terezi got in a hit! Once you're able to focus on what's
happening, you can see how Gamzee is favoring his left leg, his spotty pants
cut through, grey flesh and weird, sort of brown muscle and purple blood
visible through the gash. It's not slowing him, though, and any time Terezi
makes a move on that injury, he works through the pain and twists in the manner
needed to escape further injury.
Is this it? Is this what Terezi has been doing? Facing him down, fighting him
off, bringing him to justice? That makes sense. That all makes sense. You get
it.
Then she is in Gamzee's face, their weapons meeting, her blades slicing at the
juggalo's cheek and she leans in, across where their weapons cross, and presses
her mouth to his.
It is just a moment before they both push back and away.
Then Gamzee winds up with his entire body, swinging the club, bashing it into
Terezi's right cheek.
She spins in the air just like you had done with Karkat, but faster, further,
rolling on the ground when she lands. Her blades go skittering in opposite
directions, perpendicular to her path. She finally comes to a stop on her side,
arms laid out before her, body limp.
Your scream is silent. That limp body. Oh, gog, he didn't just...no!
You're still frozen as Gamzee saunters up, his hips swaying in terrible parody
of Terezi's entrance, clubs getting in on the action. There's the tiniest
smidge of teal on the one that struck the seer. It joins many other stains.
"Tidbit," Gamzee purrs, stepping on the girl's blades as he approaches, feet
dragging out and kicking them back as he walks, "I'D ALMOST THINK YOU WERE
ASKING FOR IT."
Terezi groans, getting a forearm under her, pushing up, but she is far too
slow.
Gamzee crouches, grabbing the back of the girl's neck, squeezing until she
cries out and little drops of teal hit the floor.
"Are you?" Gamzee whispers, and only the echoing qualities of the chamber let
you hear those close words. But there is nothing stopping you from hearing his
shriek, "ARE YOU, TIDBIT?"
Terezi whimpers, reaching for her far-too distant weapon.
"Perfect," Gamzee says, reaching down and flipping up the front of Terezi's
slitted skirt, sliding his hand under.
You have your sword in Gamzee's shoulder a second later.
Be the sane guy.
It's a huge relief to be able to take over one of the smaller common blocks -
the ad hoc video block - for a little while. You're not sure where everyone
else is, but you will gladly tell them to fuck off if they should interrupt you
in a viewing of "Wherein two moirails of many years begin to develop flushed
feelings for one another, but avoid the unveiling of their mutual quadrant
shift due to the imminent arrival of the drones, both attempting to help their
moirail find their matesprit in time to avoid being culled, knowing that they
themselves will be culled for being unable to solidify the matespritship they
so desire; featuring five failed matesprit dates, one seemingly successful
matesprit date, three truly funny and numerous semi-amusing jokes, and pale and
flushed romance not suitable for trolls under five sweeps." You haven't watched
this in months, but you need some mindless comfort TV, and the star-crossed
romance is just what will help.
So it makes sense that, ten minute into the movie, during the first steamy pale
romance scene - which is making your cheeks turn so red you'd have doubtless
been culled on sight on Alternia - the film block door explodes. Literally.
Explodes.
Which would have been awesome if it happened at the movie's climax - where the
moirails battle against the Imperial drones only to inadvertently reveal their
flushed feelings for one another, after which they are allowed to consummate
their relationship before being culled, allowing their descendants to perhaps
find love in a more timely manner, as is implied by the rather seditious post-
credit epilogue - but it instead came along with some heavy papping, as if your
life must forever be robbed of dramatic poignancy.
The annoyed feeling is lost as the perpetrators become visible through the
dissolving splinters.
You can not speak. Can not call out a name. Because both names crowd your
mouth, just as Dave and Gamzee struggle for space for a proper strife in the
film block.
"WORM!" Gamzee bellows, and then goes utterly, terrifyingly calm. "This will be
THE GLORIOUS WORK of the motherfuckin' MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS!"
He's barely limping, despite a gash on his leg. Far more problematic is the six
inches of exposed muscle on his right shoulder, which makes his club strikes
with that side sluggish and weak. He doesn't seem to quite realize, still using
both arms for wide, brutal attacks.
Dave easily dodges what comes from the right arm, but he has to block the left
with Caledscratch, cycled to its optimal state. There's a
tremendous thunk whenever metal hits plastic, betraying the strange properties
of Gamzee's weapons. Any other plastic in the multiverse would be cleaved in
two, but the club keeps coming, the clown keeps swinging, and the pair keep
strifing.
And Dave. Keeps. Talking. "Is that what your Mirthful Clown Dipshits are all
about? Beating the shit out of girls?"
Gamzee laughs, lunging at Dave, bringing both clubs down towards his head, but
finding them blocked as the human holds his sword up sideways, free hand taking
the weight of the blade and the impact of the clubs. The juggalo smiles and
presses down, shoulder muscles rippling. "When the little girls WANT IT."
Dave bares his teeth in an utterly trollish way, but his rage isn't enough to
keep him standing upright. His knees buckle under Gamzee's assault, and the
troll lets out a purr that reverberates through the entire block, even over the
sound of your now-forgotten movie.
Then Dave pushes the sword and clubs up with one, mighty heave and jumps
forward, thrusting his head into Gamzee's stomach.
You think everyone is surprised when Gamzee flies across the block and into the
couch, landing right next to you, arms splayed over the back cushions in a
parody of relaxation.
You look at him.
He looks at you, eyes lost to hatred.
You blink.
Then you vault over the back of the couch.
A moment later, just as you begin to take a breath so you can yell for help or
sanity or fuckall, the need to do so is taken away as Kanaya and Rose kick open
the other, non-broken film block door. You scowl, imagining that there will be
no locking the fucking thing, now. Great. Though it's not like anyone on this
damned meteor remembered to lock that door.
Rose scowls at you where you're crouching behind the couch, as if this is all
your fault. Kanaya just takes in the scene with wide eyes.
You bare your teeth, snatching the first sickle available out of your sylladex.
You will not be seen unwilling to strife on behalf of your moirail
against Dave, of all people. You are not some weakling! You -
The couch is thrust three feet across the floor, pushing you along with it. You
have just enough presence of mind to jump further away, sliding on the tiled
floor and coming to rest in a crouch before Rose and Kanaya's legs, backs to
them, one hand on the floor, the other, holding your sickle, raised to your
side, horns down to face the fight. Your teeth are bared, your claws are
digging into the floor, and you are ready.
The couch topples over, sending Dave and Gamzee sprawling on the floor not five
feet from where you rest. You prepare to jump into the fray.
"S-stop!"
It's not from you. Or from behind you. It shocks you enough to stop your
attack. You look up to the ruins of the opposite door, drawn by that familiar,
grating voice. The dominating concern of your childhood.
Terezi stands there, her hand on the remains of the door, ignoring the
treacherous splinters digging into her palm. She is panting, clutching the side
of her head where the gray skin has begun to develop a greenish tinge. There is
a teal trickle coming from split lips and loose teeth. She looks about to
topple over.
With a triumphant roar, Dave gets on top of Gamzee, clutching his sword at both
ends, holding it to the clown's neck. The human's eyes blaze. He laughs and
begins to press the blade down, Gamzee pushing back up, their fight keeping the
edge just there, just close enough to create a thin purple line on the troll's
neck and a deep, dripping cut in Dave's palm.
"You've got a BEAUTIFUL RAGE," Gamzee says, smiling. Serene.
"Glad you appreciate my pretty face," Dave snarls, leaning down on his sword,
putting all his body weight on it. The edge sinks a millimeter deeper into the
troll's skin. Dave is smiling. Radiating...what?
"FUCK YES, I do," Gamzee purrs, lips quirking.
Oh.
Across the room, you hear Terezi's gasp. Her cry of "Gamzee!"
From your own lips, you barely hear your breath of "Dave."
***** Let's defuse it. Baby, we're like a time bomb *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Be the guy.
"Dave."
That is all you hear.
It sounds so...small.
You break from Gamzee's bright yellow eyes, look up, barely an arm's length
from your little strife, to such a short, unimposing, unimpressive troll.
Karkat can't look away from your shades. And you can't look away from the pain
in his eyes.
You. Don't. Want. That.
"That is enough."
The voice is even, feminine, also unimposing.
Imposing is reserved for the chainsaw thrust between Gamzee's and your chests.
You react as most people would to a chainsaw: you jump back, aided by god-tier
hovering, landing in a crouch, holding your sword out to your side. Your eyes
dart down to the blade and your lips twitch at the purple blood dripping from
the tip. Then you focus back on the source of the blood.
Gamzee moves to sit up, but Kanaya bares the chainsaw down on his chest,
booming "Enough, Gamzee!"
The male troll bares his teeth and reaches up, wrapping one enormous hand
around spinning teeth. There is a brief shriek and a desperate clicking before
the saw just stops.
Kanaya doesn't even react. Merely switches her chainsaw back to lipstick and
pockets the tube. As if that didn't leave her completely defenseless around the
murderous, woman-beating clown.
"Little sister," Gamzee growls, putting a hand to the ground and pushing
himself up, injured shoulder rolling, exposed muscles pulsating and streaming
bright, high blood, "OUT OF THE WAY."
Kanaya nods, but does not step aside. "I would request, on behalf of the entire
meteor, that you continue to fight your new kismesis somewhere that you will do
less damage."
The room is suddenly, awfully silent.
At the ruins of the door, Terezi takes a step forward, mouth open, but, for
once, she is silent.
In front of you, past the clown and the very, very scary female lumberjack,
Karkat shuts his eyes. Tight. He's still waiting, ready for battle, sickle
raised, arm tense, but you know he'd never be able to react in time if
something were to happen, now.
Gamzee scowls. At you. At Kanaya. At Terezi.
You expect Terezi to flinch. To plead. To cry.
Instead, while the tealblood widens her mouth, her lips are pulled back to
display every needle tooth, a low rumble in her chest. She stands on tiptoes,
shoulders held high. She is so tiny, but so fierce. She wants to look all the
fiercer, but it's just sort of adorable.
It doesn't seem to have any effect on Gamzee. He continues his turn-based
scowling, craning his head back to give Karkat his fair turn.
His face goes blank at the sight of his buddy. Gamzee's ears flatten against
his head. He quickly looks away from Karkat, back to you.
His eyes are suddenly so confused. So lost.
"Or," Kanaya says, still so calm, "do you wish to receive treatment for your
wounds from your moirail?"
There is a brief, heavy silence.
Which Kanaya makes all the heavier by adding "Or is he at risk of being hurt?"
Karkat hunches his shoulders, becoming so much smaller.
If he goes for Karkat, if he makes one damned move, you will-
But Gamzee's teeth bare up at Kanaya, instead, challenging her, denying her.
She just continues looking down at the clown - this troll she wanted to kill
for quite some time before her feelings settled into simple disdain - waiting
on his decision.
It comes with a snarl and he slides out from under her, standing, though
listing to one side. "I can take care of myself," he spits and, stiffly, begins
walking away.
You hear a choked sound from the ground and look to see that Karkat has become
even tinier. His body finally seems to fit his miniscule horns.
You want to yell at him, tell him to grow a fucking pair, mouth off to Gamzee
like he always did to you. That's what he is there for. That's who he is.
But he just keeps quiet, watching as his moirail saunters out, needing no one.
The clown has to go by Terezi to leave, and she is still standing artificially
tall, teeth gleaming in the lights, intense glare focused on the man you just
saw beat the shit out of her. You'd approve of that glare, that almost hidden
fear in her eyes, if it weren't for the fact that it is for him, not against.
He's ignoring her. Almost shoulder to shoulder, now, and you can hear her growl
rising, competing with Kanaya's chainsaw for loudest thing on the meteor.
Gamzee isn't reacting. Very deliberately, Gamzee isn't acknowledging the
intense rumble coming from the little girl's chest. Which does not diminish her
fierce countenance in the slightest. She is not giving up.
And then he lunges at Terezi, his own teeth bared, eyes ablaze, horns going for
her face, for her eyes which, while blind, are still there under those glasses,
so vulnerable.
Terezi does not move, and Gamzee halts his swift attack just an inch shy of
touching her face. Doesn't even move when the horns begin to edge up, under her
glasses, jostling the frames, so close you are sure she can feel them with her
lashes as she blinks. Maybe they even brush against her dead eyes. Seems like
what the fucker would do.
She just hisses into the highblood's face, little flecks of spittle marring his
perfect juggalo makeup.
Gamzee laughs. Low, throaty, fond, and takes his head back. For a moment, you
think the blind girl will be spared, but a jerk of his head and a horntip opens
a cut on her forehead. It's shallow, but head wounds bleed like mad. He gathers
up a long line of teal blood with his thumb and pops it into his mouth, looking
into Terezi's dead eyes before he continues his saunter out of the doors.
There is a pause as Terezi turns her head after him, teeth still showing, but
now because she's grinning.
But when she looks back at the room at large, that smile is gone, lost the very
moment she focuses on you.
You just look at each other for a long, long time. Maybe the other people in
the room are doing something - maybe they're even talking to you and expecting
your input - but you just keep looking at Terezi.
Finally...she lowers her face, turning away and following Gamzee back into the
dark corridors of the meteor, leaving you. Not leaving you to think or to plan
or to get up and run after her. Just...leaving you.
A moment later, you hear the scramble of claws on linoleum flooring and whip
your head about to see that Karkat has pushed himself up so he is standing once
more, staring fixedly at the shattered door. For a moment, you are sure he is
going to run after. Join his disinterested moirail and that girl, that special
girl, and...what?
Instead, his gaze flicks down. For just the barest of moments, he looks into
your shaded eyes.
You grip your sword tighter, opening your mouth to shout something at him, leg
muscles tensing and ready to launch at the mutant troll.
He is gone in the smallest possible moment, leaving you with your heart racing,
your muscles burning, and your mind blank.
===============================================================================
 
Be the other girl. But not the one he really wants.
This is not an entirely unexpected turn of events - your powers often prevent
such a thing as "an unexpected turn of events" from even existing - but it is
certainly shocking. And intriguing. Kanaya has been doing her duty and
educating you in the intricacies of troll romance, but you had not been able to
directly observe the interactions of a solidified kismesis. Given that you had
planned to auspitize for Gamzee and Terezi, you had rather hoped to never see a
solidified kismesis, but tonight has been an unfortunate night of education.
Though perhaps not every party sees it as such, because Kanaya turns to you,
her sharp incisors glinting in the overhead lights, and she beams. Quite
literally. In the rush of emotion, she has let go of the tight control she has
on her phosphorescence, nearly blinding you as she jumps into your arms.
"I-I can't believe it!" She's shouting, and you raise your brows at the
outpouring of emotion. "It..this...this feels right, Rose! Oh, Rose, this is
it!" She pulls back, finally seeming to realize what she's doing with her skin
and dimming it down. Once the spots clear from your vision, you notice that
there are tears in the corners of her eyes, bright green and threatening to
spill over. "I...I'm an auspistice."
She says it in a manner that you'd have more closely associated with the phrase
"I'm gonna be a daddy." Or "I'm engaged." You feel a brief flash of jealousy,
but pat it down. This is what you agreed to. You will not be like your
erstwhile brother, convinced that you are enough to fulfil complex emotional
needs formed via generations of very selective breeding.
So, rather than get pissy, you pat your lovers hair, a bit unnerved by the
public display of affection, but not wanting to bring her down so soon. You
needn't have worried about maintaining your composure for long, however, as
Kanaya breaks from your arms, turning to Dave.
"Dave! Oh, my goodness, this entire situation is so volatile," she breaths.
Again, her words say one thing but sound like she means something completely
different. This time, you rather think she means "kinky." It's unnerving. Your
girlfriend - matesprit - kinky. "We need to fix this as soon as possible." Her
back is to you, but you are absolutely sure that Kanaya is worrying her bottom
lip with her fangs, ingrained self-control conquered by romantic enthusiasm. "I
believe we should schedule a negotiation."
Dave stares at your lover. And then to you. And then seems to get it, eyes
going wide. You respond by narrowing your own and nodding just a fraction. Yes,
Dave. You are not in a relationship with my lover.
It is with great effort that Dave regains his accustomed blankness - deepest
horrorterrors, how did you two not realize you were related the second you met?
- and focuses on Kanaya. "I...I think you did...a perfect job just now. We're
set for a while. Really."
After some consideration, you nod once more. He has done well.
"Oh, no!" Kanaya laughs, twisting one foot back and forth, clasping her hands
behind her back. Flirting. "We have so much to work out! Just give me a day or
two to consider all the details, and I am sure we can come to a very
comfortable arrangement!"
It is with greatest solemnity that Dave nods assent. Most likely knowing that
he has no other option.
Kanaya laughs again...no...giggles...and turns back to hug you once more,
nearly crushing the air from your lungs. Your spine stiffens for just a
millisecond, but the troll does not notice, already having let you go,
disappearing out of the door that you broke on your entrance, likely off to
write up a treaty worthy of Geneva, Versailles, or Paris the Second.
Left alone in the trashed movie room with your brother, who is now, for all
intents and purposes, dating your lover, you take a moment for deep breathing.
Dave is stupid enough to not wait for your exhale before he spits out "Do not
kill me."
You hold the breath far longer than is strictly comfortable. You wonder if
murdering your brother would give him a just or a heroic death, or if he would
simply come back to continue the plague upon your life.
You exhale and walk to the overturned couch. You are pleased to note that
swords did not get involved very much in its toppling. There's a long slash at
the very top of the back, but there's been worse damage from troll claws. You
lean down and slide your hands under, lifting.
Apparently thinking this is a suitable method for alleviating your wrath, Dave
gets up and assists you in righting the furniture. It would have been easy
enough on your own, but you do him the favor of looking at him without rage,
acknowledging the gesture. Shifting your gaze about the room, it quickly
becomes obvious that righting anything else is ludicrous. At least there
appears to have been no damage to the electronics, though sometime in the fight
the video player was unplugged, leaving the television silent, a round-cornered
box shifting across the front, informing you that it is "searching for
channels."
You decide sitting is best, taking a place on the couch. Predictably, Dave
joins you.
"Rose, I will fix this, don't worry. I'll just explain to Kanaya that I don't
think we need an aus-"
"If you break up with my girlfriend, I will have to kill you."
Dave gapes, giving you the opportunity to continue talking.
"Besides the fact that you will break her heart, I must inform you that this
arrangement is quite necessary."
"Why," Dave says, with the sort of patience you aspire to, "would it be
necessary."
"Whether you continue dating Terezi are not," you say, and there is something
deep in the black, tarry depths of your heart that is getting giddy about what
is going to happen five seconds from now, "it is necessary for Kanaya to
auspitize if you wish to manage Gamzee's black crush on you."
Three.
Four.
Five.
"Wut," Dave says eloquently.
"Unless you reciprocate?" You suggest, tilting your head and smiling just that
tiniest fraction. The fraction that incites rage and the uneasiest of feelings.
"Though Kanaya will then likely have to auspitize between you and Terezi."
You allow Dave to gape for some time.
When he stops, he turns from you to watch the television's channel quest. "Do I
really have to go into negotiations?" It's almost a whine, but he keeps it
neutral.
"Oh, probably not. I really doubt Kanaya will be able to find Gamzee again.
She'll just talk your ear off."
Dave sighs, long and deep, bending over to cradle his head in his hands.
"I...am in a relationship...with an evil clown...and my sister's girlfriend."
"Welcome to the wonders of quadrant romance, Dave." You laugh, deciding it is
acceptable for you to enjoy his pain, now that he has progressed to acceptance.
"You may be the one human best suited to fill them all."
You're not supposed to be able to see it through his dark aviators, but Dave
turns a harsh glare on you.
You wait, your smile getting just a little bigger with every second.
After a good ten, you lean in and whisper to your brother, "This is where you
are supposed to deny everything."
He snorts and, once more, watches the television.
You just manage to keep yourself from steepling your fingers and hissing
"eeeeexcellent."
Instead, you speak in a most reasonable manner. "I could go over everything
about quadrants with you, Dave, but I think you've heard about them enough
already." You reach out and, in a move most foreign to you both, you squeeze
your brother's shoulder. "So I'm not going to get into it. I'm just going to
say, you may not get the idea of quadrants, but they are a thing that exists.
And your quadrant mates?" You squeeze harder, using his shoulder as a prop to
push yourself up. "They're simply the people you can't live without."
You leave him there. Silent, maybe confused, but in a manner that he must solve
for himself. You go off into the residence halls, wondering if you can drag
your matesprit out of her auspitizing frenzy long enough for a little one-on-
one celebration.
===============================================================================
 
Be the sane guy.
Whatever. You're Karkat Vantas. Can we just get this over with?
You've found a random corridor to stop in, and stop you did, leaning against
one wall until the shaking in your hands transfers down to your legs, and they
give way, sliding you to the floor.
You were never a good moirail. Never. All you were there for was to keep Gamzee
from going crazy again, with this little implication that, if he did, you'd be
responsible for ending him before he ended anyone else. Which is a laughable
prospect, really, but it's how things are. Alternians are a pragmatic people.
When your option is kill or be killed, there is rarely a moment's hesitation.
But you're also...you're also a people sickeningly full of love. A troll would
die for any quadrant-mate. Half the reason there are so many murders on
Alternia is quadrant-related defense and reprisals. Losing a quadrant-mate
drives most trolls temporarily mad. And being let go drives many to
destruction. And not the destruction of others.
You run sharp-clawed hands through your hair, scratching at your scalp. If it
was someone else's hands, it would be soothing. Pity it's just you. The
thoughts flashing through your mind are absurd and terrifying and right.
Gamzee refused you. He refused his moirail. It's the worst quadrant to lose,
because who else can you turn to? Not any other quadrant, it seems, because you
don't have anyone else. And when has that ever not been your fault?
You are so, so useless. You're just going to be a liability in the coming
battle. And you're just making everyone else's romance that much more
uncomfortable. You should just-
Your ears twitch at the sound of slow footsteps at the end of the corridor.
You are not going to look up. Of course, you don't need to. There are a grand
fucking total of six other people on this meteor, and in the two and a half
years in transit, you've come to know who it is just from the pattern of the
footfalls. The one thing just minorly throwing you off is that he isn't running
his mouth yet.
Dave Strider keeps coming until he is right before you. He turns to face you,
feet shoulder-width apart.
The two of you keep silent for a full three minutes. You're not sure if he's
waiting for your reaction or just...whatever. But you're not going to do
anything.
Maybe you're not expected to, because, probably at that precise three minute
mark - because Dave just does that sort of thing - the human sinks down onto
one knee before you, head ducking so he can look into your face.
You wonder, briefly, if you cried at any point of your retreat, and then decide
that you don't really care. You've only got a few more minutes of torment. Dave
is going to leave, and then you can fix this.
Dave doesn't make a sound, but there's a crackle of energy reforming into
matter, a smell of ozone, and something just as red as the human's clothes and
your blood in between you.
You can't help but look.
Dave holds the clawsickle in one hand. Close to his body. Not thrust towards
your hands, like you expected. Smart boy. That is the clawsickle, but it's
not your clawsickle. You imagine someone told him what the hell was going on.
It's a little embarrassing, but apparently effective.
You consider taking it back. He'd probably accept it if you did, so long as it
came along with a gruff dismissal of any pitch feelings. Not a shouted one.
He's catching on to real romance, and shouting as you reclaim your weapon would
be too many mixed messages. You just want it back. You want your lusus.
You almost tear up as Dave extends his hand and the sickle to you. Thank you.
Thank you, fuckass. You reach out and put your hand on the bottom of the
handle, ready to take the weight when Dave lets it go.
Dave doesn't. He hauls back on the sickle, and you are pulled away from the
wall, free arm pinwheeling, legs rearranging in a mad scramble to remain
upright. You shout something - likely vulgar - as your knees hit the floor
between Dave's feet. Your horns nearly gouge into his chest. You hate that this
fucker is taller than you, it is not fair, it is not-
Dave presses the curved, razor-sharp inner edge of the sickle to his neck.
Your hand is still on the handle, and you feel the warmth of human skin as its
heat radiates down the blade.
You stare.
There is the thinnest red line at Dave's neck. Blood isn't gushing, but just
welling up in the scratch, like he'd just been swiped by the very tips of
claws. You can see the pulse in his neck and the little flutter at his
collarbone as he breaths, and...and he is breathing very, very fast.
You look up. Into Dave's eyes.
Into his eyes.
In your head, you ask where the asshole's shades have gone, but your mouth
can't seem to move and you are soon glad you didn't speak, since a moment later
you see the aviators perched on Dave's head, pushing an extra swatch of his
ludicrous bright hair forward. Why do humans even have hair that color? They'd
be spotted miles away. No troll is anything but black-haired. It's a useful
color. Good for camoflage. Doesn't attract attention.
Humans are so fucking stupid, because you can't stop staring at this one. Can't
stop staring at his pale face and bright hair and deep, deadly red eyes.
His lips are almost as flat and thin as that cut on his neck, and they barely
part to growl at you. "Karkat."
Your heart flips and you curse it. No, no, you can't handle this.
"I told you already," Dave continues, moving his hand down the blade. Placing
it over your own hand. Squeezing down until he is crushing your fingers against
the chitin. You should really wince, but you fight it back because you are a
moron and you are lost.
You are lost to this boy. To his strength and his arrogance and to the feel of
his pulse faint but undeniable through the sickle and into your palm.
"I don't want," Dave whispers, pulling on your hand, pulling it and you closer
to him, cutting just a fraction deeper into his neck until the little weals
bead up and spill over and lines of red, musky, heady blood fall down Dave's
pale skin and into the collar of his hood, "your...pity."
Chapter End Notes
     If you want to see some nice Strider action immedietly, check out my
     podfic, being published today. "Nice Things," written by Ahmerst!
     Otherwise...maybe you'll be lucky next week, neh?
***** But I need it. Wouldn't have it any other way. *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Be the guy.
You know who you are and you do not know what you are doing anymore, but you do
not want to stop.
There is a line of fire on your neck and a tension in your belly and a tingling
in your fingers where they close over those of Vantas. This is, without a
doubt, the stupidest thing anyone has done in the history of ever.
Especially since Vantas is just staring into your eyes.
You've got about a billion snarky comments building up, and they're all fucking
amazing, but you can't. You can't say anything. You can't break this silence
and force a move, because you made your move, stupid as it was, and now it is
his turn. Advance, retreat, just break this fucking stalemate, Vantas!
Of course, eventually, he does.
Karkat takes the sickle away from your neck. Pulls it to his chest until your
hand has to come off of his, falling to rest at your side, oh so empty.
You do not know why you feel so sick.
...that's a load of horse shit. You know why. It's why your hand is burning
with the remembered touch. Why your heart has begun to slow from its frantic
pace, making you want it to just go all out and stop. It's why you wish you
weren't showing him your eyes anymore, because your eyes are telling him
everything.
This is the stupidest thing you have ever done. You reach up to pull your
shades back down.
There is a flash in your eyes, red and lightning quick, and you just barely
jerk back in time to keep your head in one piece. On instinct, you are on your
feet, flying back, hitting the other wall of the corridor without even
thinking. Whatever biological triggers are in place in your system to regulate
shit, they go fucking haywire, every CC of adrenaline released into your
bloodstream at once. You swear, your vision becomes sharper. You can see the
hair standing up on the back of Vantas's neck and the little papillae on his
tongue as it comes out to wet his lips.
You stare at Vantas as he stands with arm extended to the side, clawsickle
still dripping your blood. Your neck is scabbing over — god tier has many
ancillary perks — but there's still a trickle getting into your clothes. It is
sticky and uncomfortable and it would be quite a lot easier if you just took
them off, wouldn't it?
Vantas's eyes roam. From your eyes and over your body and very, very obviously
onto the blood running down your neck.
He's smirking.
That is when you know you've made a huge fucking mistake, because holy shit,
that's the sort of smile only worn by serial killers and serial rapists, and
you really, really hope Karkat is the former. He must be. He's been in a war.
He made it out of larval stage on his crazy-ass planet. He can totally be a
murderer.
You'd be fine with him being a murderer. Because, if he was a murderer, all
you'd have to worry about is him ambushing you in a dark corridor and ripping
your throat out and how much it sucks to resurrect, which is a lot, but, ya
know, preferable to being ambushed in a dark corridor and screwed against the
walls.
Walls kinda suck.
You scowl. "Dude. Vantas. My eyes are up here."
The troll deigns to meet said eyes, his brow rising. "More interesting things
to see, Strider."
You roll said eyes dramatically. "Ugh. Now I know how the girls feel."
Karkat's brows rise again, but in a manner that makes you less nervous and more
pissed off.
And being pissed off does all the wrong sorts of things to you. You subtly
shift your legs, hoping it hides your reaction.
Vantas also shifts his weight, about to move towards you. Your hand snaps up,
palm out. You're a little shocked that the move actually arrests his advance.
"Dude. Don't damage the shades," you drawl, leaving them high on your head.
"John gave them to me. Kinda sentimental."
"Any other rules I should know about?" Karkat snipes, flicking his free hand to
the side, summoning his backup, pastel-covered sickle into his palm, twisting
his wrists to rotate the pair. It's swift, yet casual. A trick he's probably
practiced a million times. What the fuck, does he know what he's doing, posing
like that?
"Sure," you say, lips barely twitching at the corner. It's an entirely affected
move, because, inside, you are losing your shit. This is not what you thought
would happen.
This is so much better.
"Winner take all," you say.
Vantas snorts, squaring up his shoulders, head down, nubby little horns aimed
at your chest, as if he really intends to just ram into you. "You don't know
what that means, Strider."
"Oh?" Your head tilts a fraction. Calm, cool, knowing. Your hand drifts to your
waist, fingers wrapping one by one around the hilt of your sword, dragging it
out in this slow way that makes the blade hiss along the scabbard.
You can see Vantas's chest. It isn't moving. He isn't breathing. His pupils are
narrowing and his lips are lifting, curving back, displaying his teeth, and you
swear there is a sheen of saliva glinting on those little razors.
"I think I do," you whisper.
There is a long silence as you look into one another's eyes.
Then all you can see is grey skin and black hair and bright, bright teeth, cut
through with the flash of a red sickle right before it hits your sword.
That is...fucking...amazing.
If anyone else is in this corridor, they are probably going to die. You're
actually surprised that no one has come running. Then you sort of get it;
that's the propriety this troll has always raved about. You don't watch a fight
like this, just like you don't watch two people shoving their tongues down one
another's throats. The commonality distracts you for a split-second, blood
rising to your cheeks, which is probably why there's enough under the skin to
give a little red splurt from your face when Vantas takes advantage of your
preoccupation to slice right below your eye.
You don't make a sound in response, but you do hit back with twice your usual
force, and Vantas yowls as the ringing impact goes up his arm. He does not let
either sickle go, however, and the complications of fighting against two
weapons have you seriously considering picking up a dagger to round out your
arsenal for future battles.
You know, it's a really fucking bad idea for you to be thinking about that when
Karkat is leaping at your chest, slicing with both curved blades, advancing
endlessly. It's the most mobile you've ever been in a fight, which is kind of
an interesting change, you think, until you turn around one very familiar
corridor and you realize what the fuck he is doing.
Karkat is herding you. Like a stupid little sheep.
He is fucking herding you to his bedroom.
"Oh, fuck no," you snarl, charging back, fighting up the corridor. Not
happening. Not happening. Nice try, Vantas, but you lose.
He just becomes an even tighter ball of rage, slashing at you, trying to regain
his ground, but soon you are at a branch in the corridor and, after executing
one almighty slash to toss the troll back and give you a half-second's
breathing space, you book it down the opposite path, every muscle in your legs
straining.
You are certain you feel his breath on your neck as you step on the
transportalizer and are whisked away.
You did, you realize as you reform at a far more familiar section of the meteor
and Vantas manages to dig his sickle into your shoulder, leaning back, trying
to drag you back on the platform. For a moment, you almost bellow at him for
his stupidity, wanting to ask if he came through in one piece, but the sickle
digs deeper and her gets another half-step of his own ground back.
Nope, not happening. You jerk forward, the sickle sliding through muscle and
clothes, coming out with another red spray that has the troll's nostrils
flaring, mouth hanging open. He's breathing in, and you'd bet anything he
is tasting your blood in the air. Even trolls probably don't get to induldge in
this much blood during their fucked-up courtship proceedings.
Your legs are moving again, just the ten strides you need, hand in your pocket
and taking out a small silver key. You hear Vantas's footsteps again as you
wrench the door open and stumble into your bedroom.
Oh, it's a fucking mess in here. Maybe you should freeze time so you can flash-
clean.
No. Not fair in a fight, even if it is just a small terrain chain, and this is
still, most definitely, a fight. You turn, sword raised, ready for Vantas's
next attack.
Karkat is already in the room, snarling at you. He's small, but his furious
body blacks the doorway long enough for him to yank the door knob, slamming the
door closed. You can feel the shock of air pressure at the sudden sealing. It
hits all your cuts and newly forming bruises, and you do not mind that one bit.
Even the gouge in your shoulder is fixing itself, leaving just a hot ache that
is transffering itself in a southerly direction.
Karkat walks towards you, no longer crouched. He's standing tall, the few nicks
from your sword oozing blood much like a human's, but so much brighter, with a
sharp, almost citrusy scent. Jegus, how can you notice so much about his blood?
You have to concentrate!
Karkat flicks his wrists, arms wide, shoulder muscles visible through rends in
his sweater They're tensed, defined in the overhead light. The sickles are
rising to the ready position, set for a dual attack.
Then they disappear in a bright flash of dissipating energy.
You blink, grip on your own sword loosening as your enemy, bafflingly, disarms
himself.
A moment later, the troll flings himself at your chest, claws teeth, power, and
you're a complete dumbass, shouting in surprise. You collapse to the floor,
covered by pissed off troll.
You jerk as his mouth presses into yours. Holy crap, pissed off, horny troll!
Oh...
Oh Jegus.
Pissed off, horny troll who kisses like he's going to pull your soul out of
your body.
You let go of your sword, reaching up to grab Karkat's shoulders, pulling him
down on you, reveling in the weight of him.
When your mouths open and your tongues begin to tap together, slide along one
another, delve into the other's mouth, time does funny things. It's like your
tongues and lips and teeth move at light speed, that effort enough to leave you
both gasping, open-mouthed between kisses, trying to get enough breath to keep
from passing out, but time itself seems to have slowed, because it feels like
you've been doing this for hours, days, but that is impossible. If it was
hours, your balls would ache, and the only thing you feel is a hard, expectant
throbbing. You haven't had the heart to get off for days, and now, laying here,
all you can focus on is what Vantas is doing and how you can turn that to your
advantage.
A notion that is somewhat obliterated when Vantas coordinates himself enough to
part his legs, sliding one of his knees between yours, bringing your hips
together and and changing this make-out session from amateur grinding to full-
on, wondrous rutting.
Your gasp is so violent that the kisses finally do break off, their resumption
delayed as your back arches, your chest pushing against Vantas's, your hips
likewise rising and pressing to his crotch and -
"Whaaaaaat the hell is that," you yelp, pulling your hips back down, looking
between your bodies in utter horror.
Under his pants, Karkat's crotch moves. Not in a twitching sort of way. More
like he's smuggled a frightened boa constrictor down his shorts. You begin —
subtly, you think — to shift away.
Your shoulder blades nearly snap as you're shoved down on the floor, Karkat's
claws digging into your collarbone, so close to opening up your jugular. Your
blood is warm as it pools out into the hollow of your throat and down your
chest.
Above you, Karkat makes this sound. It's not a growl. And it's not a purr. It
is somewhere in between, and likewise in between in emotions. You stop
struggling, and that little displeased note begins to fade.
But not all the way, because you can feel it in Vantas's chest vibrating as he
lowers himself, his body dense over yours, your mouths once more almost
touching, until he can whisper, "Didn't know what 'winner takes all' means,
Strider?" He punctuates the statement with a roll of his hips, whatever is in
his shorts writhing against you, making you groan, despite yourself.
That's all he does, though. You lay there, feeling that weird, wonderful
squirming on your crotch, before you realize what he's done.
He asked you.
Karkat Vantas asked you if you realize what you said. What you were getting
into.
He is giving you an out.
This troll hates you with such a passion that he is willing to open up your
veins and practically wallow in your blood. He hates you so much that it blinds
him in fights, half from the rage, half the lust. He hates you so fucking
much he has gone right back around to wanting you.
And he has just asked you if you want to stop.
You lick your lips, which are rather dry, except, you realize, for a trickle of
blood from where his razor teeth must have nicked you. Just another wound, one
among dozens, earned in a few minutes of fighting.
How did Terezi ever hide this from you?
You look up, into Karkat's eyes, and you really wish your voice didn't crack
when you ask him, "Does it always gotta hurt?"
Vantas blinks. Where your hips meet, the writhing slows significantly. "What?"
You take a deep breath, which only serves to make the blood gush from your
chest wounds all the faster. You jerk your chin at them.
Vantas's eyes follow, pupils widening and lips curving into a larger smile at
the sight, before he returns to your eyes, still not answering.
"This..." you try, having to take a pause for a deep breath before beginning
again. "This — "
"Kismesis," Vantas insists.
You freeze.
You swallow, which is really difficult when your mouth has gone as dry as the
roof of your apartment complex back in the old world.
Karkat looks at you, such fervor in his gaze. He is immovable.
"So kismesis," you say, the word strange on your tongue, "it's...just about
beating the shit out of someone?"
The troll takes his hands off your shoulders. You really wish he'd thought
about what he's doing, because there has to have been a better way to get his
claws out of your skin. One that would have been a little less painful. No
matter, though, because your skin is already doing its little Wolverine thing,
scabbing over in seconds, keeping what's left of your precious blood inside,
while a goodly amount is smeared on Vantas's palms and dripping from his
fingertips.
"Okay," you say, more edge to your voice than you'd like, but
that fucking hurt. His nails must have been a half-inch in, at least. You put
your elbows under you, beginning to sit up, ready for Vantas to slide off and
free you. "I don't — "
"Fuck no," Vantas interrupts, planting his palms — but not his claws — back on
your shoulders, pushing you back down. Your head barely bounces on the floor,
but he flinches at the new injury. "No. No, you fucking idiot!" The troll
obliterates the distance between you once more, face right up against yours,
though he doesn't resume the previous sloppy makeouts.
"That is not," Vantas hisses, and he actually, genuinely sounds angry, "what a
kismesis is!"
You're going to blame your new minor head injury for your inability to respond.
Yeah. That's why you're just looking into Vantas's wide, frantic eyes as he
keeps talking, his breath hot on your mouth.
"A kismesis is about challenge and struggle and dominance." He punctuates each
descriptor with a snap of his teeth, the sound echoing in your room. You'd
never noticed just how good the acoustics are in here.
"So...you want to dominate me," you deadpan. Shit, shit, you are trying to get
out of this, stop it, traitor erection!
"Yessss," Karkat rumbles, pressing his fingertips into your muscles. It's more
like a massage than anything, but you can tell he is holding back, and just
barely.
Stop it. Stooooop. Down!
"And I want you to be strong enough to dominate me," Karkat whispers, lowering
his head just another inch, so his moving lips are right above yours, just a
few of your nerve endings firing as he manages the smallest touch. "But only
when you deserve it."
You moan like a whore, your mouth opening, lifting your head to catch his lips.
Karkat slams his palm against your forehead, cracking your skull against the
floor once more. This time, there are spots at the edge of your vision as you
look up at him.
"We don't always have to hurt each other," the troll goes on, shifting,
pressing down again, the movement at your hips back to its previous, maddening
pace, making you squirm, hands fisting at your sides. "But, fuck, Strider.
Don't tell me it didn't feel good."
You are breathing hard, trying to think of something to say to that.
You apparently take too long. Karkat's mouth leaves yours as he sits back up,
putting space between you both, freeing your hips and taking his hands off your
shoulders. He crosses his arms over his stomach, fingertips resting at his
elbows. He's not quite grabbing them, but it's so obvious he wants to do that,
to get a little comfort. A little physical connection, even if it's just with
himself.
You sit up. Slowly. Vantas backs off in tandem. He's still sitting on your
calves, but lightly, ready to leave if you move too fast. He's jumpy, ready to
flee, skittish as a doe.
You roll your eyes at him. This troll has so many issues.
It's a miracle he has enough horn for you to get a handful and crash his stupid
face into the floor.
Karkat has just begun to curse when you get up on your knees, one on either
side of his waist, your hips digging into his side, hard-on pressing into the
bony curve of his pelvis. It's kinda cute, the cursing and squirming. You dig
your nails into the candy-corn horns and press his face into the ground. You
vaguely wonder when was the last time this floor was cleaned. He's got to be
getting a good mouthful of dust and detritus, with how he's spazzing.
You lean down so you can whisper into the trolls slightly pointed ear. Or, more
accurately, so your lips can run along the shell of his ear, easily doubling,
if not more, the volume of his cursing. "So...this is what you think 'winner
take all' means?"
You clarify with a hard thrust against the side of Karkat's hip.
There is no way you've touched whatever is going on down his shorts, but the
troll gasps, thrusting at the air, clawed fingertips scrabbling at the floor.
"Y...you...you haven't won, yet, fuckass!"
"Fuckass," you murmur. "Good word choice."
He hisses, teeth bared. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's your favorite word, Karkat. How am I supposed to know what it means?" You
shrug, the picture of nonchalance.
This picture is maintained like the finest of art prints even when you shove
your hands down Karkat's pants.
There is a brief pause.
"Oh," you say, intelligently.
"Ohhhhh," Karkat responds with about as much mental capacity.
It's...wet. Really...really wet. Actually, no. Wrong word. Slimy. It's slimy.
And warm. And moving, holy crap, it's moving it's moving it's moving it is
wrapping around your wrist, it is going to eat you.
"That's interesting," you deadpan.
"Shit...shit...Strider," Karkat keens. Fucking keens, spine arching, hips
pumping, ruining your grip and his...thing's own grip as he tries to fuck your
hand. His mouth is open, grey tongue just visible between sharp teeth.
Damn. Those teeth just destroyed one possibility for the night. Guess you
really will be a fuckass.
Karkat's weird pants-writhy-thing pulls your hand down between his legs and
your eyes widen.
Or...not.
"What...the hell?"
"Yeah," Karkat pants, hips jerking in either direction. Shoving the slimy thing
over your palm and then rocking back, forcing your last finger
into...something. Something that is not his ass, of that you are certain.
"Fuck...good."
"Um..." You are not being cool, here, but...okay look, what the fuck is going
on?
Well. Only one way to find out.
You push on Karkat's hips and shift yourself. The troll complies readily,
flopping onto his back, hips jutting into the air. This is quite convenient, as
it allows you to work one-handed, popping open a button and pulling down a
zipper, then yanking on alternating sides of Vantas's shorts (because you don't
think you can free your hand to use them both) and apparently quadrant-themed
boxers until they slide down his hips and off his legs, revealing...
You smack your lips. Not hungrily. More like your bro would do whenever you did
something really, really stupid and he just hadn't come up with a good
response, yet. Which is very apt, as this is incredibly stupid.
Karkat has a big, writhing, slimy red tentacle instead of a cock, which is
wrapped around your wrist, capturing you just as surely as rope or handcuffs.
And he has a just as slimy, just as red, and terribly tight slit behind the
tentacle thing, which your pinkie is now two knuckles deep within, staining
your digit and confusing the ever-loving fuck out of you.
"It's a nook, shitstain," Karkat rumbles, pushing his hips up into your hand
again. The movement parts his legs a fraction. His nook is pulsing, and you
could swear it is sucking your finger in. "That's a nook, and this is a bulge."
He does not gesture. Oh, no. Instead, his tentacle dick squeezes your wrist.
Holy fuck. The thing is prehensile. Karkat has a prehensile dick.
And it's kinda fucking enormous.
Not all of it. The tip is a point, maybe a quarter-inch across, but he widens
from there, into a shaft that is almost as long as your forearm and covered in
these little, randomly spaced bumps, ending in a base that you are pretty
certain you would need both hands to grab.
Dear God. This troll could put Bro's site out of business within a week. Where
was he hiding this monster?
"Trolls are fucking disgusting," you lie.
"Yeah, well, penises aren't the prettiest of pictures, either," Karkat snaps.
His bulge squeezes like it's trying to enact revenge.
"Oh, good," you say. "I don't have to teach you what a dick is. Just how to
take it." You smirk, satisfied with the repartee.
It dies away pretty fast when Karkat laughs. This deep, gravely sound that
sends a shock up your spine. "Strider, I'm not up for school feeding today.
That's your job."
You raise a brow, sure you look utterly cool, but only because Vantas can't see
the sudden line of sweat that rolls down your spine. "What? I don't have a
nook, Vantas. You looking forward to taking an adventure up my poop chute?"
"I have resigned myself to the idea," Karkat drawls.
He looks into your eyes. And, of course, he sends your previous smirk right
back.
"If, he continues, "I win."
About three seconds later, you have no idea where your pants are, and, indeed,
if wondering about their location is the right question, so much as wondering
about their existence, because you're pretty sure they were torn into a
thousand pieces by the fucking shivs that Vantas dares to call "claws." Claws
that left only the smallest of scratches in your hips as he denuded you, which
was enough to make you gasp a note or two higher than you would have otherwise,
though the pain was nowhere near enough to affect the rigidity of your
twitching cock.
And now you're on your back, looking up at the troll looming over you, his
fangs bared, his eyes alight, and his tentacle...cock...bulge wrapping around
your dick, that is magic, yes, Vantas, PLEASE!
...what the fuck has happened with your life?
...yeah, whatever.
The troll plants his palms once more on your shoulders, on the wounds he
created earlier, starting up a terrible ache that should not send a throb
through your cock. Or maybe you should blame the throb on how Karkat's bulge is
working with the little thrusts of your hips, squeezing down whenever you push
into the slippery grip. You are gasping, you've lost all cool, and you do not
want him to know that, so you reach up and get two fistfulls of the alien's
hair, yanking him down to crush your lips together.
He complies quite willingly, opening his mouth to give you his tongue. "Give"
is really the perfect word, there. While his bulge may be working at you, the
troll's tongue is yours to manipulate. You twirl your own tongue around the
pointed tip, careful of his sharp teeth. You take a slow suck, bringing it far
out of his mouth, which the troll realizes is dangerous only a moment too late,
right when your teeth nick the tip. You don't quite draw blood, and you find
yourself absurdly irritated that you didn't.
Well, if you can't get the fucker there, you have another place you're touching
him. You tighten your grip on Vantas's hair, pulling out a good chunk of it,
forcing his mouth even harder down on yours.
In the process, your thumbs brushes up against the base of the nubby horns, and
you think the troll's bulge has a seizure.
It's intriguing enough to distract you from oral ravishment. You free your
mouth and look down your chest, to where Karkat's hips meet yours.
He's above you, breathing harshly, opening his mouth to say something snarky,
when you rub the base of his horns again.
It does. His bulge spasms, going momentarily loose about your cock. Kind of
unfortunate, given the brief loss of sensation, but really entertaining. So you
do it again, and the bulge uncurls from your cock and lays out across your
stomach.
Your...dick is red. Huh. That...should have been expected. You get over it
quickly, going back to the rubbing.
Karkat is whining, now. Mewling into your neck, rocking his hips against your
stomach, sliding his bulge along your skin, leaving wet, warm trails of bright
red fluid. On a pull back, his tip discovers your belly button, and there's a
flurry of movement as it tries to burrow into you.
"Woah, hey!" You yelp, twisting sideways, dislodging the tentadick, leaving
your navel feeling strange and a somewhat sore. "Not an entrance, dude."
"Huh...'kay," Karkat mumbles, licking at your neck and twisting his hips. For a
moment, you think the tentacle is going to go back to massaging your own cock.
Then it goes...lower.
Your eyes snap wide.
"Shit, woah, no!" You push on Karkat's shoulders, trying to force him off, but
he's got the advantage of gravity and an apparently desperate alien dick to
motivate him, and he isn't moving. Or at least not moving off of you. His hips
are thrusting, working, guiding his bulge between your thighs, past your balls,
to the ass cheeks you are desperately trying to clench together. You could
crack a fucking walnut between your glutes, but they are doing nothing against
the dripping-wet, warm, and very malleable alien penis.
Oh. OH SHIT. Winner take all.
You feel a warm press against your asshole, a little burn, a little stretch.
"NOPE," you screech, fingers digging into Karkat's horns, one shoulder rising,
slamming into the troll's and sending him off balance. Karkat crashes onto his
side, you following along and rolling on top until he is pressed to the floor,
under you. You make a single, swift thrust up between his legs.
You sink home on the first try.
Karkat's spluttering rage is well-timed, as it hides the look of shocked,
mindless pleasure on your face as his hot nook engulfs you. Not just hot in the
"oooh, sexy" sense. It is so much warmer than body temperature, radiating heat
up into your fucking balls. And tight, did you mention it was tight? Because it
is. You can feel each square nanometer of your dick being enclosed, caressed,
tended to by this fucking...amazing...utterly alien pussy.
"Fuck...fuck...fucking hate you!" Karkat screeches, but he doesn't try to force
you off. Instead, his hips rock into yours, forcing you deeper inside.
"Don't stop," he whines, grabbing your shoulders to get leverage as he tries to
fuck you back, even as you are desperately trying to remain still, lest you
lose it. "You asshole, not fair, fuck me already, Gog dammit, now!"
Nope. Nopenopenope. Don't move, don't move, not good, you're not even entirely
inside, not good, not-
"Now!" Karkat screams again, letting your shoulders go to grab your hips
and pull, forcing your cock all the way inside.
Aw...son of a bitch.
"Fuck, Karkat," you gasp, letting go, thrusting frantically, mind exploding.
It's hot, tight, wet, there's a body under you, it's saying your name, pulling
with your thrusts, forcing you deeper, faster. There are stars in your vision,
you're spilling into him, one huge, hot gush, and then another and another,
emptying into your weird alien lover.
You are left gasping, hell, almost sobbing from the sensation. It's only
seconds before it's too much and you pull out, resting your forehead on
Vantas's collarbone. When the tentadick comes up, exploring, you twist your
hips away, laughing despite yourself at the overpowering sensation. It sort of
tickles, in the worst possible way.
There's a bit of a pause.
Then, below you, a most ominous growl.
"Strider..."
If you were anything but the cool kid you are, you'd whimper when you look up
and into Karkat's eyes.
You're pretty sure they are glowing red.
"You...did not...just do that," he says.
"Do what?" you say in the least-convincing manner possible.
Karkat puts his elbows to the floor, pushing himself up and getting back in
your face, his mouth opening to either screech or get his teeth into your
cheek. Maybe both at the same time.
What you say initially makes no sense, but it's enough to keep the verbal/
physical attack in check: "Winner take all!"
The troll's eyes just narrow. While he growls as he speaks, he does speak in a
reasonable manner. "I don't think it counts when you fucking fail at pailing,
Strider."
"Hey," you protest, inwardly cringing at the shot to your ego, "I have not
begun to pail."
"You just spewed your genetic material. Inside me." The latter part is said in
a scandalized whisper that does wonders to recover your grin. Vantas gets all
squeamish over getting jizzed in? Oh, that is going to be your favorite part of
this thing.
"Just give me five," you drawl, taking advantage of the relative calm in this
confrontation to move your hand back to Karkat's body, resting it on the
alien's stomach, right at the slight dip that should be where he'd have a belly
button if Alternians weren't all kinds of fucked up.
"Five what?" Karkat asks. Then he holds up his hand and looks at you, as if you
are about to exchange a bro-worthy high-five.
You snicker and scoot closer, bringing your hips back up against Vantas's,
letting your half-hard dick press between his thighs. "Minutes, you moron."
Karkat is going to say something when his eyes widen, gaze dropping to your
mostly hidden groin. Based on how his mouth begins to drop open, you are pretty
confident that he realizes what you meant.
It is mother fucking Christmas up in here, and Karkat just got a full stocking.
Still, you don't want to make him wait. Guy's got no patience whatsoever. So
you drift your hand just a bit lower and wrap it around some thick alien dick.
And nearly wig the fuck out, because it's still slimy and warm and this must be
what fucking a Japanese tentacle monster is like.
Though probably with less moaning and, hey, smiles all around, Karkat is a
moaner. A loud moaner. You watch in wonder as he stops examining your hips for
your miraculous return, in favor of tilting his head back and letting out a
dozen little cries and keens. The head tilt serves to arch his back in a
fucking beautiful way, accentuated by the slow rise and fall of his hips as you
get into a slow rhythm.
A minute ago, Karkat had snarled your name, probably ready to kill you for your
failures. This time...
"Strider," Karkat whispers, flexing his thighs, rolling his hips, fucking into
your hand.
Five minutes was a very poor estimate. The troll's nook is rubbing against your
cock and all you want now is to slide in once more and fuck him to oblivion.
You are at least modest enough to realize that your chances of doing so are
pretty damned slim. This time. Practice does make perfect, though. In the
meantime, a little more control is in order.
"Get up," you say, edging back from the troll's body, rocking onto your heels.
You're not altogether kind as you go, giving Karkat's bulge a harsh tug, which
makes him chirp and hiss at the same time, his sharp teeth glinting in the
overhead lights.
"Backing out, Strider?" He remains propped on his elbows as he looks up at you,
his bulge writing on his stomach, looking for something so sink into.
The thought crosses your mind that he is entirely long enough to fuck himself.
That you would love to see.
"If you forfeit," Karkat hisses in warning, "I am just going to have
to take what I want, asshole."
You laugh. He's always going to have something to say. If he didn't have scary
needle teeth, you'd love to remedy that. "As fucking weird as your junk is, I'm
afraid you aren't going to scare me off that easily." You rise for just a
moment, taking a step or two to the side of your bed, turning to sit down on
the edge, legs splayed, cock standing proudly, still a bit wet from pressing up
against the troll's nook, bright red from being so deep inside. You slap your
thigh and lean back, propping yourself up with your other hand at your back.
"Come on, Vantas. Time to ride the Stride."
Karkat is still for a moment.
Then he falls to the floor, his arm support gone as he slaps himself in the
face with both hands. "Nope. Nopenopenope. Noooooope. Not happening. In a
billion fucking paradox-ridden timelines, it will never happen. NO."
You just laugh, pat your thigh again, and say your favorite words: "Winner take
all, Karkat."
He remains on the floor, groaning, bulge lashing about for another minute. When
he finally sits up, it's to give you the anticipated glare and dual middle
fingers, but right after her gets his feet under himself and walks towards you.
It's weird and wonderful, this sight. Angry Karkat, with sweater, sans pants,
bulge squirming, pace awkward around what must be a painfully ready nook. He's
got his shoulders hunched, head lowered to hide between them. You think he'd
hug himself if he didn't want his hands and, thus, his claws before him, bared
at you, ready to make a point as needed.
He stops when your knees brush, considering the position. You'd bet this is a
common position for trolls, but he's — and, yeah, you, too — new to sex, and so
it takes some consideration before he shifts his hip to the side and lifts his
right leg, knee pressing down on the mattress next to your hip.
He's about to lift the other to straddle you — mental note, do that sometime —
when you lay your hand to the troll's thigh, keeping him in place.
And, of course, by custom, he snaps. "Fucking what, Strider!? You want a
fucking on-lap rhythmic gyration or something?"
It takes you a moment to translate that bullshit, and you put the idea on the
top of your new Karkat To-Do list, which is growing quite long. Gonna have to
mix a real sick beat for that treat. In the meantime, you shake your head and
press your hand to Karkat's hip. "Other way around, Vantas. Want to get a
handful of your goopy tentacle while I'm fucking you."
Quick as a flash is the "fuck you," but the troll's blush is a dozen times
quicker. His entire face is this vibrant red, which he tries to hide by swiftly
spinning to face away from you.
You grab his sweater as he spins, lifting up, getting him tangled. His nubby
horns aren't worth much, but they're pretty good at catching on things. Karkat
curses — quite inventively — and writhes until you're laughing and he finally
manages to pop out, revealing the black divots of where his grub legs fell off
and a surprisingly defined set of muscles in his arms. Which maybe you
shouldn't be so surprised about, given that you're also a wielder of a melee
weapon, but that fucking sweater has hidden Karkat's arms and, similarly, his
abs and chest which, while not as developed, are pretty fucking amazing.
It's sort of sad when he finishes his turn, presenting his backside.
Sort of, because damn. You are unable to stop yourself from reaching out and
getting two great handfuls of decidedly not-plush rump.
Karkat squeaks. Fucking squeaks, turning to look over his shoulder at you,
upper lip rising to display his teeth. "H-hey, stop it, you nooksniffer!"
"Nooksniffer," you repeat, contemplative. "Doesn't sound fun." You squeeze the
trolls ass again and look into his eyes. "Is there such a thing as a
'nooklicker'?" You've got enough of a grip on the troll's ass to pull back
until your cock can prod at his wet hole from behind. You whisper in his ear,
"I'd like to be that."
It works. Karkat stutters, chokes, and is unable to respond. You to let out a
deep laugh and wrap your arm around the troll's waist.
Then you pull him down, thrusting your cock into his nook all in one quick,
hard slide.
"SHIT! STRIDER!" Karkat's back goes rigid. For a moment, you're worried that
the angle was somehow wrong and you've damaged something delicate inside the
troll.
But then he is squirming in your lap, grinding down on your dick, and you are
no longer worried in the least. He parts his legs, draping them over your
thighs, putting all his weight on you and spreading his nook to take you in as
deep as possible. You can feel your damned balls being coated in his warm
fluids whenever you bottom out. He's grabbing your knees for leverage, pushing
back against you just as you hump into him.
You have never appreciated teamwork more.
"You fucking like that, Vantas?" You're still whispering, trying to keep it
cool. Which you are discovering is very difficult during sex, but you think
you're doing okay. The next time you do this, you totally need to get yourself
off before finding Vantas, so you don't embarrass yourself again.
Next time you do this?
Well, fuck yes, there is going to be a next time! You are going to spend the
next week fucking this troll so often he's going to need a gog-damned nook
transplant! And you are going to start on that now!
You don't let him just ride you, anymore. You're flexing your thighs, humping
up into him, bouncing the troll into the air just an inch, but that inch is
enough to make him pound back down on you as he lands. At first, the troll
yelps, shocked by the unexpected movement and its force. Soon, though, he is
moaning, going limp on your lap, allowing you to do as you will with him.
Which is to shift your grip to one hand on his hip, stabilizing him and
squeezing so hard you're going to leave bruises you're sure he'll swoon over
later, while your other hand comes around and gets a loose, sliding grip on
Karkat's tentacle dick.
At first, you think it's not working. With everything you're doing to the
troll's alien pussy, maybe touching his equally foreign dick is irrelevant.
Then you hear Karkat whisper something.
"Dave..."
You feel twin throbs. One deep in your balls, threatening another swift end
that has you gritting your teeth.
The other deep in your chest. Something that confuses you so much.
Karkat has turned his head, tilted it down so his nose is brushing up against
yours, close enough that your vision is blurry, grey skin and black hair all
you can see.
You shift just enough to take your head out of the troll's shoulder so you can
look him in the eyes.
What the fuck is that in his eyes? They are soft, tender, yet
somehow raging. It ruins your rhythm, takes your breath, forces you to bring
your pace to a crawl, feeling each inch of your dick being enveloped by the
alien on your lap and in your arms.
Hate. This...is hate as a troll feels. Kismesis. A person you hate so much you
roll right back around to loving them. That is what you are holding in your
arms. That is what you are moving into, so slow, so deep. That is what you are
moving with in such perfect rhythm.
Your kismesis.
Wow.
You grab Karkat's hair, yanking his neck back until you hear a pop as his
joints crack and he chirrups in surprise, eyes straining in their sockets as he
tries to keep looking at you. His mouth is open, ready to be
kissed, begging for that, tempting you.
You bare your inadequate human teeth and snarl in his face. Jack Noir would
flee before that sound, but Karkat just hisses back, jerking his hips, burying
your cock deeper inside himself.
"I fucking hate you, Karkat," you growl, tightening your fists until half of
the hair you're gripping is pulled out and the troll's bulge lashes, the slime
along its bumpy length getting thicker, dripping down your wrist.
"Ah-haaaaaaa," Karkat nearly cries, thrashing in your arms so hard you'd think
he's going to have a seizure, but for the sounds he is trying so desperately to
make. "I haaaaaaaa. I haaaaate. Fuck, fuck, Strider, bucket, dammit, bucket!"
Your brows rise. Is that the trolls safe word? You stop thrusting, opening your
mouth to ask.
You're kinda sent speechless when Karkat gestures at thin air and a fucking
silvery-shiny pail pops out of nowhere, falling into the troll's hands. You
have just a moment to wig the fuck out before the troll shoves it between his
thighs and jerk his hips back, forcing himself down on your dick, then back up
so his bulge slides through your fist.
A little of the fluid on your wrist drops off and hits the bottom of the pail
with a tiny plink.
Karkat wrenches his spine around, grabbing two fistfuls of your hair, glaring
you straight in the eyes and he bellows, so loud the entirety of paradox space
is going to hear, "I HATE YOU, DAVE!"
He kisses you and, a moment later, you feel it. On your cock.
Niagra. Fucking. Falls.
Your cock is literally shot out of the trolls nook by the force of the fluid
gushing from between Karkat's thighs. The plink in the bucket is now the rumble
you'd hear if you put your thumb over the end of a hose and pointed it at cheap
metal siding.
You wouldn't think that kind of thing would get a guy going, but having just
been balls-deep in the alien and now having him kissing you, trembling with the
force of his orgasm, his fluids gushing over the sensitive head of your cock,
you are going, going, gone. You gasp once into the kiss and then your own cum
is joining the torrent, falling into the bucket, amplifying that weird,
wonderful sound.
This is not a kink you need. It really isn't.
You get a lot of things you don't need, you realize as you and your new lover
begin to come down from your climaxes, leaving a good fucking gallon of troll
spooge mostly in the bucket between your legs and more than enough on your
floor to make future clean-up a bitch.
But you also get a lot of things you do need.
You rest your head on Karkat's shoulder and fall back, pulling him with you to
sprawl on the bed, held in your arms.
There is about a minute of silence before the troll in your arms whispers.
"Um...Strider..."
You sigh and tighten your grip. This is going to be...fun.
===============================================================================
 
Be the sane guy.
Oh, fuck no. No. You can not deal with being the sane guy right now.
===============================================================================
 
Okay. Be the guy.
Fuck that. Karkat has to deal with his own shit. Get the point of view back on
him!
===============================================================================
 
Sigh. Fine. Be the sane guy. No matter what he wants.
Oh, fuck you!
Fine.
Going to fucking kill this bitch, you swear...
You are now Karkat Vantas. And what did you just do?
The human's block is bright. Brighter than it would be in your own
respiteblock, and it is making you feel small and exposed. Both things you do
not want to be feeling after what just happened. If this is...what
it seemed like it was, you're supposed to be all snarly right now. Leaving a
few scratches and an insult as you leave Strider to clean up the mess.
If it's what it feels like it is, now...you can't feel that back, and any
moment now that's going to come out and this will be over.
Gog, if it's going to be over, just let it be over.
Dave's arms begin to shake around you, a deep laugh coming from his chest. "You
scream like a fucking cheerleader when you cum, Karkat. Give me a D!"
"I'm not giving you shit," you grumble back, lowing your head.
The laughs continue, though you're able to ignore them. Up until Dave leans
down and nips at the tip of your horn.
"Woah, hey, what the fuck, no!" You slap about your head, doing little more
than hitting your own damn self, as Dave has already rolled away as far as he
can get while keeping a hold on your hips. He's freely laughing when you turn
in his grip and glare up at him. At his stupid, bright face and his moron
yellow hair splayed out on the rest platform's head cushions.
"Take off your fucking shirt, next time," you mutter, crossing your arms across
your chest. "And the cape. You look like a douchebag."
"Make me," Dave purrs, reaching up and tugging at a lock of your thoroughly
mussed hair.
You jerk your head back, freeing yourself, and glare. "Oh, I will. I. Will."
"Sure, Karkat," Dave says, looping his arm further around your waist, stroking
the small of your back. "I'm looking forward to seeing you try."
"I won't try," you shoot back. "I wi-aah!"
Your glutes burns and you punch Dave's shoulder with all your force in revenge
for the brutal pinch he just landed. He barely winces. Just wraps his arms
tighter, pulling you to his chest.
He's not as stupid as you thought, because, a moment after your entire body
stiffens up, his arms ease and he looks down at you, face in a deep scowl.
"So...you don't cuddle with your kismesis, do you?" Dave asks.
It feels like a pretty absurd question coming from strider, but he is an
altogether ignorant alien, so you favor him with an actual response. "No, you
don't...whatever with your kismesis." You shift, trying to get some space. "But
I doubt your stupid human emotions can even handle the difference in qua-aah!"
For the second time that day, Dave renders you speechless with just a bit of
pain. This time, it's because he's leaned in and pretty much gnawed on your
ear. It's the kind of hurt that makes your heart thump an extra beat. If you
weren't drained to the point of actual dehydration, you'd probably be getting
some sort of southerly reaction from that bite. Instead, you just rumble low in
your chest, somewhere between a purr and a warning growl.
"I don't pity you for a fucking second, Karkat," Dave says, right in your ear.
"I'm never going to feel bad for you." He reaches up, threading his fingers
through your hair in a way that feels so good and so distressingly pale. "I'm
never going to stop feeling so fucking pissed off whenever I see your annoying
little horns and your douchy sweater and your useless sickles."
The tingles in your scalp stop when Dave yanks back on your hair, forcing you
to look up into his eyes.
He bares his teeth at you. Like any troll would, but like no human should.
You bare yours in response, your heart pounding.
"I'm never going to let you drop that fucking crab-claw piece-of-shit again,
you hear me?" His words are both promise and command. He shakes your head by
the hair, rattling your thinkpan, which does not need any further damage.
You hiss.
He just laughs, and leans in, nuzzling his nose up against yours.
"And I'm never," Dave breaths against your lips, the touch enticing you to open
your mouth, waiting for his lips and his tongue and his powerful heat, "going
to stop cuddling you." He squeezes the arm about your waist so hard you can
barely breath. "So get used to it."
You lay there. Considering this. Wondering if, just maybe, Dave does understand
what this all means. What you feel. What his role is.
It's enough to give you a little hope and a tentative grin. You shift until you
can reclaim the human's lips, giving him just a moment of plain, if rough
kissing, before you catch his lower lip in your teeth, pulling it down, making
him groan.
Between your two bodies, you feel...something...move.
You gasp and look down, already knowing what you're about to see, jaw dropping.
"The fuck, Strider!? I thought you finished."
"Karkat Vantas," Dave says as he takes your hand, guiding it down his body to
his weird freaky alien bulge thing, "welcome to the wonders of dating a human."
You groan and thump your forehead into the human's shoulder, but it's a
strategic move.
It allows you to hide a real smile as you relax into Dave's arms.
You are now Karkat Vantas.
And you are dating an alien.
Awesome.
Chapter End Notes
     There will be another short, at least, posted in this series. All you
     need to know about that short to get you drooling for it is this:
     Karkat has to win sometime. ;P
     Make sure to subscribe to me or the series to get more updates. I
     generally recommend me, as I'll be writing more fic for Homestuck,
     including an upcoming, quite dramatic piece for Cronus. Because
     Cronus needs love.
     I look forward to hearing about how you liked this fic, so make sure
     to leave me some comments!
End Notes
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