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fushimi saruhiko and munakata reisi errybody

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if you guys have a twitter i’d love to follow it!

mines is: thug_kun 

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it is but my classmates said that the test is by far the hardest science test we've ever taken which kind of makes me want to shit myself

last-hope-is-a-bloody-nightmare said: Hey now I gave you chemistry notes that I had to dig up from seventh year. I still care for my kouhai.

ok admittedly those helped a lot omfg <3

(i still ended up not going to my chem period tho ahaha :’D) 

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continues staring down fixedly

masrurbatingrebloggedyour post:so sempais kels, sarah, and dani like to bully…

i’m merely teaching my precious…the importance of embracing oneself

stares down fixedly 

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dani u understand the struggle 

masrurbatingreplied to yourpost:it makes your laugh beCAUSE YOU’RE A PERVERT LAURA

I’M NOT A CLOSET PERVERT LIKE YOU IT’S DIFFERENT

whY DOES EVERYONE INSIST IM A PERVERT OF SOME KIND YOUR WORDS THEY ARE FALSE 

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Death and All His Friends

Character: John Egbert

Genre: angst 

Word Count: 600 words

Author’s Note: idk

It’s a simple process you like to go through each night before you go to bed.

At times it seems almost silly: the way you perch your head up on your drawer, poising yourself on the tips of your toes so you’re just barely able to stare out into the horizon and see the stars just start to line the sky as the day turns to night.

You wiggle yourself upwards and dig your elbows into the smooth mahogany of the drawer your dad carved for you when you were younger because he was not only a man of business and aftershave but a man of craft and trades and not to mention you begged him for months to make you something because all your friends had cool carpenter dads and yours was the only one who wore a fedora and smoked a pipe and thought it was cool.

The memory is faint but you briefly allow your eyes to flash from the dripping value of the sky to a scene in your childhood that wasn’t too long ago: your dad breathing heavily in your room and hunched over something large and wooden and that smelled like forest. Your clothes drawer. 

Now that you think about it -- 7 years old and far more mature than what Dave whats-his-face Strider could ever hope to be -- it was pretty lame to ask for a hunk of wood.

However that isn’t important at the moment because when you focus back to the night sky you watch with a glazed smile as the clouds shift behind the clouds and the moon is given a glow like those scary ghouls in your movies. 

You watch silently for a few more minutes, feet dangling slightly off the ground as the sky fades to an indigo-black and you allow your eyes to pinpoint the moon as your main target. You read somewhere that if there’s a glowing moon in the night sky that you have to close your eyes real quick and make a wish. (Or was it you made a wish at a shooting star. Oh well, Rose would probably know about stuff like that. She’s really smart.)

As you whisper the last words of your wish you hear the door open and suddenly your Nanna is standing in your room, her batter-stained apron sending an aroma of cake through your room that makes you slightly wince. She waves her whisk around, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Didn’t I say to get to bed young man?” she scolds, although unable to wipe the smile from her wrinkles.

You smile sheepishly and hop down from your dangling space, quickly taking your glasses off and putting them on your nightstand. Nanna continues to watch you carefully as you slowly walk to your bed and crawl under the covers.

Once she is sure you are all snug and warm beneath your mass of blankets does she turn around to leave.

“Hey, Nanna,” you call under the muffle of your constraints, voice tinged with a hint of sleepiness.

“Yes, son?” she replies softly, and you hear the door creak a little. She must be leaning against it, waiting for you to finish.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, your true intentions spun useless against the tip of your tongue, tangled in a line that’s coloured inability of expression.

She doesn’t say anything back but you know she’s smiling. As the dim lights of your room suddenly go dark, you sigh to yourself and snuggle deeper beneath the covers. You needed to get some sleep. You would be visiting Dad’s grave tomorrow. 

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I Need A Doctor

Character: Equius Zahhak 

Genre: angst 

Word Count: 363 words

Author’s Note: just a feelings write out 

After twenty shots, he’d lost count of the amount of alcohol that he poured down his throat. The sizzling feeling, the warm aroma, and the inferno in his stomach were enough to make him want to bend over and vomit, but at the same time it was creating the effect he wanted.

He grunted, raising his elbow and sliding the back of his hand along his mouth, feeling the excess drops of alcohol touch his cool skin. He didn’t remember what had drove him to the bar.

Or in a more honest light he didn’t want to remember.

Vaguely, he could recall eyes. They were bright, warm, happy. They were eyes he had grown to trust, to adore. Those eyes were the very windows that when they opened they filled him with the hottest summer and the coldest winter. 

He was the type of guy that had life all figured out. He knew that no matter what he did to try to stay happy, it wouldn’t fucking matter.

Depression was a new trend and he was the setter.

Before he could remember anymore, he lifted up another shot and took the bottle of rum and poured it in. The sloshing of the drink as it hit his cup relaxed him, and his eyes were teared and swollen as he lifted the cup to his lips and took another swig.

Those same eyes were smiling at him, and for some reason when he had blinked they had suddenly filled with tears.

He raised a hand to his cheek and wondered why it was suddenly burning like it had been slapped. And then he wondered why his eyes were stinging and his body was shaking.

Again, he reached for the rum bottle -- but instead of pouring another cup he drank straight from its tip, the bottle cracking beneath his strong grip. 

His eyes rolled into his head and he swerved in his seat, head falling back against the plushness of his recliner. Everything about him felt numb, and his mind was twisted enough to try and make him believe he was indifferent to his internal torture.

He was desperate enough to give into the feeling. 

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Cross My Heart and Hope to Die

Pairing: Kanrkri x Karkat

Genre: Smut? I think so EDIT: this is a thing that yeah 

Word Count: 896 words

Author's Note: im CRY but i love this pairing 

Never had you ever hated someone this much.

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you’re currently cradling your head in your hand and wishing for bloody murder to be bestowed upon you so that you may rest in suffering but really, anything is better than hearing this douchebag talk. And by this douchebag, you mean an alternate version of yourself.

It’s no wonder that you hate this guy so much. Who could find to hate more than you? Why you, of course.

Kankri-Social-Justice-Whatshisface is totally oblivious to your seething (and really, only an idiot would have to be that stupid -- past me, you’ve done it again!) and is just on his merry own, babbling away. You sigh to yourself, scrunching up your brow and squint your eyes like the mindless actions will suddenly make him disappear. His skin. Hmm.

You frown, eyes running along the visible skin that isn’t hidden by that horrific and ridiculously fluffy sweater. Your eyes trail from the tips of his toes to the last nubs of his horns, a small sense of satisfaction coursing through like you’ve just had a cool drink on a scorching summer day and that’s what you are all of a sudden. You’re scorching.

Grunting, you grab the ends of your own turtleneck and throw it over to the side of the room, fanning your face. It’s only a few minutes later where you notice dead eyes glued to your body and you smirk.

“Trigger warning: nudity,” you mumble, head falling back against the couch, an amused rumble of laughter running through your chest as the grown troll beside you is stuttering vast apologies and hopes of forgiveness. 

Your ancestor grows to be less and less annoying as time slowly ticks by, your head resting against the couch as your eyes are closed and you let the cool wind tickle your bare chest. You can feel the vibrations of Karkin’s hands fiddling about as he shifts around -- discomforted, obviously, but you really couldn’t care -- and then he stops.

You raise your head, about to jeer him and hopefully bring the Cancer to a permanent silence, but you’re taken aback by what you see.

There is Kankri, sitting with his hands folded neatly in his lap, his sweater discarded and tossed to the ground. He’s shaking as if he’d just been hit and you would have bothered to comment had you not been distracted by that...what the hell was he wearing?

“It’s hot,” he explains lamely, grumbling a few incoherent words under his breath.

You stare blankly for a few moments. “Are those pants?” you bark, sitting up and glowering at the stupid material.

Kankri huffs irritably and mirrors your posture, glowering as well. “Yes, they are!” he all but shouts, “and I’m tired of you and everyone else commenting. I’m sorry for this, and I should tag, er, warn you of the possible triggers in what I’m about to say which include offensive language, gore, and possibly--”

There’s a sudden silence that sweeps over the room and your hand is outstretched, nails digging into the cheeks of the goddamn tyrant that just won’t shut the hell up.

Kankri’s squirming beneath your harsh grip and you can feel his teeth gnawing into skin but you don’t care because he -- oh what now? 

You hiss in surprise, wrenching your hand from his face as your other hand goes to cradle your wrist. You’re glaring hard at the equally furious Cancer and you stop from the glare-contest to inspect your hand. The palm is covered with saliva in which you conclude that the bastard licked your hand, as well as tiny bite marks from his attempts to get you off him.

“That’s very offensive!” Kankri cries and he leans in close, although there’s an apologetic slump by the way he’s looming over you. “As one of the mutant class you should learn to check your privilege -- especially with someone in the same caste as you therefore there should be some level of mutual respect. It’s a trigger to quite a few people to just cover their mouth like that -- what if it could have constricted, and do mind my language, lesser troll who could have suffocated?”

You roll your eyes, jaw locked in a snarl. “Well you sure as hell seem to be just fine with triggering me now aren’t you? Look at you, getting into my personal space -- how do you know I’m not triggered?”

He stutters before leaning back, and you smirk grimly, digging a set of claws into his hip.

You watch as he yelps and your smirk only widens, your nails dragging themselves up along the fabric of his ridiculously high pants and your finger flicks over the button, then down the zipper.

Although above you, he’s a shaking, whimpering mess and you know you’ve chosen the right troll to do this with. Besides, who better than yourself.

Slowly, thoughtfully, do you lean up and let your teeth graze the lobe of his ear, and he makes a noise where you know this is going to happen, and it’s going to happen now. 

“Feeling triggered yet?” you mumble, and the weak ass groan of his is reason enough to make your decision. Your lips met his and you’re engulfed in a dark mass that you don’t want to look out of. 

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The Thought of You

Pairing: Jade x Karkat x John

Setting: WEDDINGS, WEDDINGS GALORE

Genre: Sadstuck fluff uh

Word Count: 1, 289 words

Author's Note: I should warn you that I've taken a liking to weddings

He knew from the very moment she spit out such garbage at him that it was a bad idea. He knew that as soon as she had hinted at the very thought of participating in one of those brain-numbing ideas humans had of courtship, he would go to bed with a headache; as it came to him, he was right.

Growling from his place in front of the mirror, Karkat tugged at the irritating collar that had his throat as its captive. He sighed, feeling a splitting migraine poke at the back of skull from all the hullabaloo coming from behind the door. He, as the sole groom to this fucking disaster of a wedding or whatever the hell that was demanded his own room. His matesprit or wife or whatever was only more than willing to agree, so he ended up here, alone. Turns out the groom had to fix himself up while the bride had a fucking team of stylists. 

Old wedding traditions or whatever were just plain stupid.

“Hey dude!” called a cheerful voice from outside, and with a knock was walking inside, buck-toothed smile and all. The human boy smoothed some of his unruly hair back and fixed his crooked glasses, giving the slumping and very defeated looking troll a wide grin.

“You’re looking real good!” John continued on, laughing happily as Karkat snarled and reached over to swipe at the heir’s face. The human, however, was far too agile and easily side-stepped the attack, skipping over to his side.

Karkat decided that he was too good for this bullshit and instead took back the matter at hand, glaring at himself through the body-length mirror and fucking around with his tie. How do humans even do this shit. It just seemed like pointless pieces of overly silky clothing meant more for a classy strangling rather than to wear at a formal event. 

His struggling didn’t go unnoticed -- much to his chagrin -- and John was suddenly in front of him, gentle hands fingering the silky cloth of the tie. “Now watch closely, Karkat,” teased the boy as he leaned in a bit, hands leisurely adjusting the tie. A few moments later and the groom looked absolutely pristine -- nearly glistening in his black tuxedo and cherry tie. 

He grunted, eyeing his appearance with a bit more acceptance, but ultimately slumped in defeat at the end of it all. There was just no use fucking around with his face. He was an alien on this godforsaken planet, what was he even doing. “Yeah, yeah,” grumbled the troll, waving a dismissive hand. Honestly, he would rather choke than spare a thanks for saving his neck. Ha, ha. Tie joke.

John stood quietly for a few moments, tapping his finger on his chin, smiling a bit softer than before. “You do look great,” he mumbled a bit quieter, hopefully so that the other wouldn’t here.

Despite his best wishes, his voice never escaped a holes in the other being’s ear, and John found himself being growled at again. “I wish you wouldn’t hit on me in such an insistent way,” snorted the other, crossing his arms in a stubborn glare.

Biting down on his lip, John offered a sheepish smile, the lightest of pinks crawling along his otherwise pale cheeks. “Heh, just being honest here. Don’t get all cranky on me,” joked the human, poking at the troll’s side.

Karkat stared at him for a few moments before concluding that the guy was a complete and total idiot. “Yeah, whatever. Anyway, we should be heading out now -- at least I should. The recession or whatever the fuck is going to start soon.”

The best man nodded, falling back into a more easygoing grin. He walked over to the door and held it out for the soon-to-be-married troll, bowing his head as he gestured a hand to the outside door. Grunting again, Karkat followed his lead, heading out the door. Then, both John and Karkat fell into a steady walk, perfectly matching the flow of the music.

As they walked, the Alternian had to admit to himself that he was rather stunned. The religious building was decorated from head to toe in curtains and lights, with glass murals encased in windows. He was sure that most of whatever-these-shits-were-called looked like this, but the encasement of awe in his stomach (never to be released, at that) was rather impressed. Absentmindedly noting the masses of people sitting on either side of the benches, he allowed himself a few nods of acknowledgement. They were all nice enough to watch this fucking ceremony, anyway. 

Time seemed to slow by as the altar seemed to grow farther and Karkat’s knees seemed to grow a little weaker with each step. The pre-annoyed nerves had been washed away the moment he stepped out of his dressing room, and now he felt like a schoolgirl about to be noticed by the crush of her dreams. He swallowed quietly, and it was only when he felt the gentle touch of a warm hand beside him did he realise who he was and what he was doing.

Shooting John a small look, the troll grumbled and pulled away from the contact. Before he did, however, he let his hand softly brush against the one that was placed on his sleeve. His eyes softened a bit, and John’s eventually did too, but then all attention was suddenly directed at the back of the church.

The bridesmaids and his best man shuffled about, all gathering in an orderly line as all eyes turned towards the black-haired beauty clutching the arm of an adventurous looking man with a mustache. 

Like in all those mushy and plainly stupid romcoms of his, Karkat expected his throat to grow tight in the presence of sheer beauty -- as Jade looked absolutely stunning -- but instead he scratched at his head like a sheepish little grub.

Pushing his hardest for a smile, he reached his hands out for hers, and Jade was shining so bright he was surprised he hadn’t melted at the heat.

“Can you believe it?” she giggled quietly, briefly resting her head against his shoulder as she gazed up at him, even her forest eyes twinkling. Karkat merely grunted, and although he had softened considerably, he hadn’t been taken.

The procession went on and vows were read, tears were shed and spilled with absolutely no regrets, and it was only when the troll was slowly sliding a ring onto the finger onto his forever-matesprit, he realised his heart wasn’t in it. He wasn’t swooning like trolls did in the movies. Jade was wonderful, really. She was silly and sweet and sassy and secure and a bunch of other ‘s’ words that made her even more perfect, but she wasn’t what he needed.

What he needed was someone who could prank the shit out of him and then laughed rather than assisted him when his hair was blown to the four corners of the wind.

“You can kiss your girl now, dude,” said Dave, waving his hand to smack the groom out of his stupor. God, why did they even agree for him to be their priest or whatever. 

Karkat bit on his lip, feeling a bit of hesitation. However, his hand cupped Jade’s cheek before he could even think, and their lips were sealed together. As was the rest of his pitifully short existence.

When the two stepped off the alter, Jade clinging to him like she had just won a million boonbucks, Karkat didn’t react to her hand laced around his. Instead, he reached out behind him. His best man didn’t notice. 

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cries because she's finally finished organising the blog the way she wants it to be

well, i hope you all find the directory to be more helpful, and thanks for dropping by my writing blog! if you guys ever have anything to say to me, whether it be comments or critiques, i'd love yo hear from you all! C: 

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knight : karkat vantas

Character: Karkat Vantas 

Genre: Angst, dear god

Author's Note: This was a way to calm myself down

Your name is Karkat Vantas and at the moment you’re shaking of anger.

All you see are plates of red hot iron where your eyes should be and your fists are clenched so tight that you feel your bones slowly tearing away from your ligaments and your teeth are pressed so harshly together there are the sounds of chips being made but you don’t care. You don’t care one single ounce of a bit because you’re tired of this.

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you’re tired of being treated like a useless piece of garbage. You’re tired of expecting so much from yourself and then others starting to expect the same amount, so it’s double the heartache when you let both of them down. You’re tired and furious and feeble and relentless all at the same time because you’re just so angry that it feels like something’s chewing you up and won’t ever spit you back out.

Blindly do you reach for a counter, a desk -- something to hold you up as you try to get control of yourself because you’re just so sick of all of this.

You’re one hundred percent sick of having to juggle more problems than a kid ever should and remain cool and calm because all you really want to do right now is pull out all your hair and cry enough to fill the empty pits that supposedly contain the fire of your soul.

Your own tears would put an end to that sort of energy soon enough.

Resting your head against whatever it is that you’re holding onto you let another sob rip itself free of your frozen jaw because you’re just so fucking done with all of this. You’re sick of people telling you that you don’t do enough and all they expect is more more more!

Me Karkat you promised to fight for me!

Us Karkat you said that you’d fight for us!

What if you don’t want to fight for anyone else?

What if you’re so tired of having to put everyone else above yourself because you couldn’t care less about yourself, but you wished others would see that you aren’t some indestructible force. As much as you would want to turn off whatever brings emotions on, you can’t.

Why can’t anyone see that you try? That just past your harsh exterior you try and you try so hard and you try again but you can’t ever win because things will never, ever go your way.

Is it so hard to stop playing with a broken doll?

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TURN AROUND ❯❯

Pairing: OC (borrowed) <3 Eridan

Setting: Regular HS, I guess? 

Genre: Laura's bad attempt at fluff

Author’s Note: 2/3 for a trade with my wonderful moirail!

Eridan was never the one to openly smile.

Everything was a process for him. He either fought or yelled or acted like a fool who didn’t know what he was doing. He was harsh by the standards of many. Most said the poor sea dweller was misunderstood.

He called bullshit on their graves.

Misunderstood was an overused cleanser -- a shield to use when even he was starting to get sick of himself. Sadness was the cherry on top of his sundae of blasphemy. He wasn’t sad or misunderstood. The sea dweller knew that the way he acted was wrong, immoral maybe. Even so, he was a highblood -- he could do what he so pleased.

Or so he believed. 

She was the first to break him out of his receive-but-never-give type of attitude.

Eridan hated her, from the moment he had laid eyes on her. It would have taken sweeps to say what he liked about her. And as for what he didn’t like, it would have put the time of Her Imperious Condescension’s reign to shame. 

The hate he felt for her was a scam, and he figured that out not much time later. Of course he didn’t hate her. He was scared of her.

(Scared of a sassy lowblood? When Eridan thinks about it on his own time, he has to laugh, too.) 

He was scared because the thumping in his heart when she ceased her mindless teasing long enough to ask about his day, a charming little smile on her face as she’d snicker at his taken aback expression, it would surprise him. No one every asked how he was. They would only ask about his money, his treasure, his perks as one of the elite. 

Naive, he would feel his palms get clammy and his face heat up because she could make him feel like the worst villain and the most accomplished hero. 

With a heart like glass, it was hard for him to admit to her, ‘hey you stupid nosy idiot, I love you!’ But then she had gone ahead one day and said it herself; and at that moment, he threw everything aside and decided to give back to her.

“I love you, too.” 

He even managed a smile. 

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FAST BREAK ❯❯

Pairing: OC (borrowed) <> Summoner

Setting: 1920's humanstuck

Genre: Bad attempt at humour?

Author's Note: I am so sorry

His back was pressed against the wall, small pistol held in his hand. His knuckles were tight, spots of white scattered across his hand from debris as he watched her navigate through the room he was guarding. Ever so often, the man would look back to make sure no one was coming.

“Hey Gamekeep! Do ya got the stuff or not -- we gotta get going!” called Summoner, a jittery shaky of his leg as he shot at the dark hallway, seeing the insides of a rat splatter on the wall.

Kicking away some material of her orange gown, the woman huffed irritably, growling as her stupid best friend rushed her. “Don’t you dare direct my pace,” she hissed back, bobby pin stuck within the safe she was trying to crack. She took a step back to survey her handiwork.

Summoner, notorious small-town criminal, had managed to bring his best friend into one of his schemes.

“C’mon, we gotta get going soon. Boss is gonna be back soon and I need that money to pay for tonight’s drinks!”

“I know!” she shot back, albeit too loudly. At the mentioning of ‘Boss’, she felt her skin crawl and her hands go clammy, bending down and messily finishing up her job. Then, to her great relief, the safe cracked and the small door flew open. Ripping off the plane from its hinges, she took out her purse and grabbed fistfuls of the cash, stuffing it inside. Once she was sure there was an adequate amount of money, she nodded over to the man standing guard. 

Nodding towards the back exit in a signal for him to get a move on, she grumbled irritably to herself as an insanely wide grin spread over the taller man’s face as he took her hand, the two making a quick getaway out the door and down the alleyway. 

As soon as they were sure they were far enough from the abandoned building, Gamekeep shook herself out of her friend’s grasp and leaned forward, smacking him in the forehead.

“Ow,” he mumbled, rubbing the red spot she had left although grinning sheepishly as she grabbed the hem of his collar, pulling him down so the space between them became intimidating.

“Never bring me into your idiotic schemes ever again,” she growled, shaking him around to show him just how goddamn serious she was. 

Summoner continued smiling even through her reprimanding, and when he was sure she was done, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Yes ma’am!” he said, sending her a mock salute. He then took her purse, jingling the money around. “Now, how’s about some drinks?”

He was met with another smack to the forehead. 

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cofinis : signless ♥ disciple

Pairing: Signless <3 Disicple

Genre: Angst

This is a fic inspired by this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJPqT3t8d74&feature=context-gfa 

Author's Note: Horizon/Ashley is a beautiful, beautiful person

She holds her hand to her heart, wild green eyes staring out into the horizon. As her lips move in heartfelt melancholy, she does not notice the rain that pelts her head, creating small streams that trickle down the sides of her body.

Her hands are folded neatly as her knees find salvation in the ground, a messy tessellation of earth on her clothes as her eyes close before her and she falls to her side, fingers still folded religiously. She was a Disciple, after all, and must continue the work of her Teacher’s absence even when he was gone.

It had rained when they first met.

The two were young spirits, gleeful with thoughts of equality that outstretched what primitive standards they had grown up in. 

He was waiting outside for his mother-lusus when he saw her standing outside, no cloak to shield her from the rain. It was then, where he had offered his own to her so that she may not get sick.

Disciple, her stomach twisting at the thought, let out a sob.

It had rained when they first made love.

She was only a girl when he came upon her with the gentleness of the wind beneath a dove. He was careful with how he loved her, and he treated her as if she were a goddess. Sweet nothings were whispered, commitments were made, and a love so strong was born that they could do nothing but cradle it in their capable hands. She had never felt so much rapture in one night.

It had rained when he was taken from her.

The night of which Signless, the eventual Sufferer, was dragged from her was one Disicple remembered much too clearly.

Fear, which ate away at all her love, as the one she called hers was ripped from her grasp, laughed at her tear stained cheeks. They all laughed as they drew him away to his suffering, mocking him by imprisoning him through his own sign. His own making. 

It rains now, as she cries through her song. The song of the ever faithful Disciple.

“Though rain shall fall and blood shall spill

I swear on the stars shining up above

Through war and strife, and winter's chill

I'll stay by your side, my love.”

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that caliginous jam : equius zahhak

Pairing: Equius Zahhak x OC (borrowed from a friend)

Genre: Kismesis mild!smut

Word Count: 1, 647 words

Author's Note: dghkjahga for sarah

Equius has felt like he had this conversation with his moirail, Nepeta, hundreds times before in the past. 

arsenicCatnip [AC] began trolling centaursTesticle [CT] at 14:30 --

AC: :33 < *ac jumps onto equius’s back because he’s finally online*

AC: hey!

CT: D --> Ah, hello Nepeta

CT: D --> It has been a while since we have last, spoken has it not

AC: :33 < you bet it has! how’s it been going, meowrail! with...you know!...

CT: D --> Uhm

CT: D --> I do not know exactly what you are uttering about

AC: :33 < *ac sighs and smacks her forehead, crawling into her meowrail’s lap* oh equius, you really need to find a way to be more comfortable about your feelings!

CT: D --> I do not now what feelings you speak of

AC: :33 < oh come on! don’t be like that with me! i know about your hate crush for that girl! 

CT: D --> What girl

CT: D --> There is no girl

CT: D --> Neigh

CT: D --> I apoloize but I have a few things to take care of

CT: D --> I shall talk to you at a later time

AC: :33 < no don’t you dare leave again!!

centaursTesticle [CT] pussied out on arsenicCatnip [AC] at 14:35 --

Oh real nice Trollian. 

Looks like he was right. He has.

Leaning back in his chair, the blueblood raises a hand to his forehead, flicking away bullets of sweat that fall from his forehead while the other hand reaches out to flick the back of his husktop shut. Unfortunately for him, the metal top of the husktop goes CAPLAT! and he could feel his blood levels raising as glass smattered into keyboard. Looks like he needs a new one.

On that pleasant note, Equius pushes himself away from the desktop and stands up, grabbing a solider of the army of towels that lay neatly stacked by his desk, running the soothing cloth over his forehead to calm down. It seems, at around this time the most appropriate thing to do was lose himself in his work.

A very small of him -- the part that wasn’t obsessively preoccupied with retaining new robot parts for his latest creation -- feels guilty for leaving Nepeta in the dark like that. It wasn’t...like he was trying to hide his feelings for her.

Well, it was something like that.

Don’t get him wrong, though! Perigees ago, he really had tried talking to her about how he felt about this girl. How that avidly troublesome smile and annoying snicker got his blood boiling, and how her high-pitched voice made listening to a nail being dragged down a chalkboard seem like a more merciful punishment, or how she got in way over her head when she thought she was the baddest bitch alive (when really she was so weak it made his VAST STRENGTH stiffen in comparison). 

He had tried telling all of this to Nepeta, but she refused to listen! She was sure that he was black for this...

This...

This...

Atrocity.

Nepeta wasn’t him, though! She didn’t understand his...these...feelings! She was so sure she knew everything about his sentiments -- although in this case it was blatant, platonic hate -- and as much as he appreciated her knowledge of the quadrants, he didn’t want to be told how to feel. He was much more satisfied feeling nothing at all than ever possibly admitting that...that...

“Sweat Lord! Opening shop again are we?”

The blueblood felt his shoulders deflate at the sound of his door being kicked open and a familiar face approaching him from the back. It was her again.

Grinning at the sight of the defeated looking highblood, Xarian Vinter, freshly showered and ready to troll cruises over by his side, poking his head with a sharp index finger. She notices how his lip twitches and how his eyes seem to narrow behind those broken shades of his and cackles gleefully. 

“Awww, that’s no way to greet me, Equi--”

She’s cut off as his hand moves before that useless think pan of his and is somehow being propelled in the air. Blinking stupidly for a few moments, Xarian lets her smirk of ease slowly fade in again as she sees the perturbed glare of the one holding her up by her shirt.

Not a moment too soon, Equius realises what he’s doing and slowly sets her down, finger by finger he releases the death-grip he had on her shirt. Heaving a sigh, the blueblood turns around and switches her existence in his eyes from on to off. Every day, for gog knows how long, she had brought it upon herself to torment him from the moment he flipped the sign of his mechanics shop to OPEN. Then every night, as soon as he deemed it closed, she had gotten her fair share of annoyance and happily left him to wallow.

Today was no different from any other day.

“So whatcha working on today?” Xarian asks with another snicker (He absolutely platonically loathes the sound of her voice), grinning madly as his ears seem to twitch.

Equius is unresponsive as he reaches for his earplugs, sticking the two small pieces of blue rubber into his articular sponge clots. He sighs in silent relief as the sound of her voice is decimated by a milestone, and he can actually concentrate a bit on the work that called for his attention. Tending to his robot, he couldn’t help but compliment himself on his work. Really, he was doing a fantastic job with this piece of machinery.

Hoaxing a pout, Xarian trots over to his side and begins to poke his shoulder, demanding his attention.

“Horse shit. Idiot. Fuck tard. Hoofbeast dickhead.”

The male reaches over for his asbestos mask, his flame torch set aside. He starts walking over, until he suddenly feels his ears being pulled and his earplugs thrown to the other side of the room. He turns around, an incredulous widening of the eyes as he stares blankly at the female who immediately starts shooting her mouth off a mile a minute.

Slamming his hands down on the table, he turns to snarl at her, his upper lip digging into his lower lip to calm himself down. This type of behaviour was unsightly. It...she...disgusted him.

Xarain, beaming like s smug little Cheshire imp raises herself on her toes to knock her fist against his forehead. “Getting angry now aren’t we, cow shit.”

He doesn’t know why or how, but at that moment he loses it.

Throwing his fist back, he pounces forward and lets hard, sweat filled knuckles crash against her face, and the smaller goes flying, back smacking against the wall. Seething while ragged thrusts of breath escape his choppy lips, he stalks over to her, raising his hand to grab her neck, veins popping as he kept a choke hold on her.

With a bloody lip, she still smiles smugly, orange blood dripping down the side of her face as she let out a strangled squeal, fingernails digging into the hand that crushed her windpipe. Even so, she still manages to talk. “What are you gonna do about it, moron?” She taunts, unable to break the hold around her neck.

Blinking, Equius snarls and throws his mask over his head, the poor tool falling to the ground with an audible crash and his lips are on hers.

Xarian gasps in surprise, her mouth flying right open. Her counterpart takes no haste and has his tongue carving into her mouth, messily knocking his teeth against hers, one hand fisting her hair while the other is gripping her waist hard enough to bruise. She, extremely satisfied at this point knocks her head with his, causing a yelp from the male troll.

The tides are turned as she, with all her strength, barely manages to push him off her and throw him against the wall, her knee digging painfully into his crotch as she slaps his glasses off and fists the collar of his wife beater. Their lips meet again, harshly, desperately as orange and blue tongues collide in a fight for the death. Brash hands brush against her sides and slam her hips against his again and again and she fells herself melting a little.

Their mouths are still moving, both having their eyes shut tight as she works her hand through his hair, clawing at his horns and he lets out a small grunt because it’s so disgustingly wonderful that he’s making himself feel sick with the reality that he could ever have feelings for such a brute like her.

Eventually the need to breathe grows too great and they jolt away from another, chests moving up and down as the two struggle to catch a steady breath.

Wiping away some of the blood of her chin, Xar opens her mouth to say something -- an action that will more than likely ruining the hate-felt moment -- but Equius is too quick and captures her in another brutal kiss.

They move again and their hands are scratching, clawing, as their lips met in a ferocious kiss. Equius eventually gets some nerve and starts working down her neck, harsh bite marks leaving bright orange streams that crawl down her skin as her pants hit his brow. His fingers clench at the material of her shirt and has it ripped off in an instant, the front wrinkled in his tight fist as the back slides off, flowing in a wind like a delicate leaf.

She’s out of her notion already as she fights back, claws digging into his back as she traces out her symbol on the muscles of his chest, making him feel absolutely repulsive all over.

He’s breathing heavily as their lips find another again, initiating a sloppier make out. Absently, as the two are struggling to the nearest desk, Equius remembers that he has to tell Nepeta about this. She was right yet again. 

[hummingbug-blog]

Odd Ball [5]

“Get the hell out of the way!” you hear a random delinquent shout as you make your way up the steps to your school.

However, with reflexes like yours, your head is grabbed and you’re pushed down and out of the way as faceless teenagers skateboard their way through the open doors. You sigh, pushing yourself up despite how weak you felt. Reaching blindly for your books, you manage to collect them all and throw them carelessly back in to your bag.

Hunching over, you keep your back against the wall and walk towards your first class of the day, wondering how long you could go without the thought of pretending to be sick and retiring to the nurse’s office.

Your classes fly by, and you find yourself walking to your lunch period. Your nose is bloody, and your eyes are tearing because some asshole caught you with a blast of pepper spray, but you’ve managed to make it through. 

That was what each and every day of your life was about -- surviving.

Rubbing your eyes as your feet echo against the smooth granite floors of your high school, you raise your bowed head in interest as smooth strings of a guitar being strummed hits your eyes. Hissing in a breath to keep from ruining the flawless notes of the music, you let your feet guide you towards the sound, like a spectator put under the spell of a hypnotist. 

“Hey there bro,” you hear an eerily cheerful voice call out to you and you wince, fingers digging into the leather strap of your backup. You’d be lying if you said the voice was familiar, but any call to you was a dangerous threat.

Swallowing down your fear, you turn around, breathing far too heavy as you see a boy about an age or two older than you, sprawled out lazily on the floor with a ripped paper bag next to him, a grand acoustic guitar sitting comfortably on his lap. He grins cheekily at you, and you can tell by the lazy droop of his eyes that he was high off his ass.

“H-Hi,” you stutter back, lip quivering as you felt your knees shake. Silently you wonder to yourself why you don’t run at this point in any conversation. It was obvious that you were going to get beat up soon.

Your senior chuckles lazily, swirly puffs of smoke dancing around you as he tilts his head back, far enough so that his smooth lips touched the locker.

Wait a minute.

...smooth?

Mumbling incoherently under your breath, you squeak in surprise as you feel a strong hand circle around your elbow, and suddenly you’re hopping on your bad leg and looming over him in a very awkward position, one hand pressed against the lockers so you wouldn’t fall. Oh god oh god, two minutes into the conversation and you feel your life at stake in a way that didn’t exactly seem...moral.

He honks out a laugh. (Honk? Is that even possible?)

“Take a seat my brother,” he slurs with a close-eyed smile, tapping his fingers against the guitar. “And let the smooth miracles of my guitar bring you into a motherfuckin’ paradise.”

You want to say no, but all of a sudden you’re being tugged down so that you end up sitting cross-leggedly beside him. Silently, you start to wonder how you had never bumped into a nutcase like this. Even so, when you pushed past the weird 60’s hippie high-off-his-ass lingo and frightening makeup, talking to him felt...almost normal. It was how talking to a person should have felt like.

The unusual senior chuckles lazily, leaning his head back against the lockers again as his nimble fingers strum the guitar once, a senseless ray of chords sounding the halls before he starts a song. Without even realising it, your eyes close and you let yourself get lost in the melody. You can feel a growing heat by your ear, moving closer and closer until--

“Tavros!”

Shooting up from your stupor, you blink stupidly, arms flailing widely as you jump up. Your brows are creased nervously as the male sitting down beside you stares, same lethargic smile on his face.

Huffing about, you spin in a circle until you see Vriska down on the other side of the hall. Her arms are crossed and she has the most frightening scowl on her face you’d ever seen. You swallow nervously. Vriska, however, doesn’t give you a moment to speak and stomps down the hall, grabbing you by your ear and giving you a firm shake. 

“I told you to meet me at the cafeteria! But here I see you goofing off with this weirdo clown guy!” she yells and you grimace like a child being scolding by a parent.

Feebly twiddling your thumbs, you cast your gaze to the ground, mumbling an ocean of apologises as you let her drag you away. She looks as if she’s in a crazed stupor of anger, and you can’t help but wonder why. It was almost like you were slowly getting to know him! If anything you should be mad at her!

After a few minutes, the pressure on your ear lessens and lessnes until her hand was back down at her side and the two of you were standing in front of an abandoned looking supply closet. You gnaw on your lip, feeling a wave of nausea crash over you. One devious smirk from Vriska was all that you needed to want to keel over.

“This is where my supplier is,” she says with a nod, reaching out to grab your hand, but you inch back. 

Vriska growls.

“V-Vriska, uh,” you say, trying to collect your jumbled thoughts, “I don’t think I can do this. I-I can’t, uh, uhm, I can’t get into this kinda thing. I’m not the type to be all cool and sell drugs and wear baggy pants and whatever,” you stutter, realising that at this point you were just rambling, and pathetically at that, but you really were scared. 

You watch her face as it goes from annoyed to downright irritated; but as you finish only to enter a fit of hyperventilation, there’s this gleam that shows up in her eyes as she’s almost cackling. Vriska reaches out for your hand, and despite the harsh pull that manages to shove you into the dark closet, you can’t help but notice that her hand is really warm. 

[hummingbug-blog]

a note on odd ball

i'm

trying

guys

i'm trying

BUUUUUT, if you check out the new theme and pay close attention to the colours, you'll get a hint of where i'm going romance wise~~