squeeshed-blog - Tumblr blog

[squeeshed-blog]

Practical

Fit March Eridan in juuuuust on time.

Title: Practical Pairing: None, gen Character(s): Eridan, Kanaya, Rose Word Count: 184

“Come now, this is hardly practical!” He huffed, crossing his arms over the admittedly very skimpy tube top. Kanaya half-smirked, half-sneered at him, her pins and needles and tape measures being expertly uncaptchalogued and recaptchalogued at quick, dramatic intervals. Rose smiled behind her hand.

“Fashion is never practical, Eridan,” Kanaya lectured, the stern, reproachful look somewhat ruined by the muffle caused by her having pins in her mouth. The seadweller puffed out his chest in apparent beginnings of a rebuke, but with a puff of ozone the pins were gone and a perfectly manicured claw was pointed right between his eyes. “You volunteered.” He deflated, hunching over in vague defeat, only to be swatted again by the jade-blood to assume the correct posture as she fixed the outfit up further.

“At least I look amazin',” he muttered, still loud enough for the two ladies in the room to hear. And whilst Kanaya might have rolled her eyes as she fixed the pleats of his tartan skirt and Rose allowed herself another conspiratorial smile behind her hand, neither was inclined to disagree.

[squeeshed-blog]

Museum

I'm beginning to believe I can't write anything that isn't Gen or RedRom. Oh well, have a rarepair for my efforts.

Also I've never been to the park/museum mentioned I'm really sorry if I've butchered it it sounds amazing.

Title: Museum Pairing: John<3Equius Word Count: 935

You were new to this sort of thing, you'd admit. And maybe you weren't even a natural at it either (which kinda sucked because everyone else, even Equius, seemed to be a natural at it and you were just left behind, floundering), but at least you were trying! Being a boyfriend was hard, it was hard and nobody understood.

Except Equius, of course. Which is why you loved him! Er, were flushed for him? Xenolinguistics was a hard topic to master, making being an excellent boyfriend even harder. But you were flushed for him. The deepest red you could possibly be and that is why you had gone out of your way to arrange the perfect date!

You had acquired the tickets online (sixteen dollars each, nothing extensive but still), worked out the bus route and figured out what time you both would have to be up to enjoy the full day ahead of time. You'd like to say it was you who got up, got Equius up, got everything ready and clean and urged you both out of the tiny two bedroom flat you shared, but Equius was like clockwork with his morning routine once the alarm had gone off and your bed was just so comfy and inviting sometimes. Not that it affected the date in any way (you hope!), just that it was a lot less under your control than initially planned.

The bus journey was a lot simpler than you had expected and the instructions, with humorous Dave comments sprinkled through-out, were thrown away after the first change over. As your destination grew ever closer, you began to vibrate with excitement, throwing Equius nervous-but-still-blinding grins every minute or so. It's not that you were worried that he wouldn't like it, because you weren't, not really, but rather that maybe it wouldn't be as cool as you thought it was going to be and wouldn't match up to the perfect date you had in mind. The small smiles the troll shot you in response to your constant grins helped somewhat.

And then you arrived! (Your face hurt from smiling.) You had carefully distracted him as the transport had driven passed the sign, and it was too early for the stars of the show to be strolling around the park at the moment, so the surprise was carefully held until you walked into the foyer.

He stilled. A minute action, but with a guy like Equius you had to take your victories where you could. He glanced at you, wide-eyed, before glancing back at the admittedly huge sign reading: International Museum of Horses. Sure, they were no musclebeasts, but Equius had shown a striking fondness even for the human fauna. He looked to you again, giving you another of his small but beautiful smiles and a small squeeze to your hand and damn if you weren't putty to be played at that point.

You found yourself alternating between being almost dragged around by the decidedly distracted enthusiast and standing bored, staring at the same exhibit for over five minutes. Horses were cool, sure, but there were only so many tiny plaques you could read about the way horses and humans had interacted through-out history and across nations before your brain went on strike and wandered away. Talking to Equius was out of the question too, it seemed, as gaining his attention for more than a micro-second was (neigh) nigh on impossible.

(Truth be told you were ecstatic with how much he was enjoying this, both the scholarly and horse-enthusiast traits happily quenched by this endeavour. You had even brought along several handkerchiefs (Equius having been training his self-control to reduce his sweating (not that it had ever bothered you at all)) in case things had gotten too much for him, but he had only required a couple so far, and both of those had been at the Cathrine the Great rumour bit. You were quite proud!)

Eventually, you wound up back in the foyer. The troll, almost maddeningly, glanced around as if to find another door that you hadn't been through before turning back to you. He had been stern-faced in his concentration but now he was smiling, smiling at you, and yes sure it wasn't all that of a rare occasion any more it still did funny things to your heart.

“Thank you,” he rumbled and you can't help but grin and that just makes him smile a bit wider and it's a virtuous circle for everything but your cheek muscles, “This has been a truly wonderful date.” And you grin even wider and crinkle your nose because this is everything you wanted from today and it's not even finished yet. Only halfway done! You relay this to him, allowing him to make only the beginnings of a quizzical noise before you drag him outside.

There are horses everywhere. You are spun, not quite against your will but still enough to surprise you, and he dips in for a kiss. And now your brains is on strike again. Equius is kissing you, check, Equius is initiating a kiss, check, Equius is kissing you in public, error, does not compute, four-oh-four, file not found. He pulls away just as your brain allows you to understand what's happening, just as you beginning to react and reciprocate, flashes you the tiniest grin in the world (totally counts as a grin) and suddenly you are being dragged around again. You have no doubt in your mind Equius is going to want to meet and greet all of the horses, all of the ponies.

Best. Date. Ever.

[squeeshed-blog]

Sticks and Stones

Title: Sticks and Stones Pairing: None, gen Character(s): Dave, Karkat Word Count: 376

"What the fuck!" Should have been Dave’s cue to leave. The screech (scree, since trolls used weird as fuck words for everything) two seconds later should have have the same effect as the whistle on the last train back to his home, make him move as fast as possible to get him very far away from where he currently was. Literally any option that wasn’t investigating Karkat’s conniption was the only possible logical way to go. So, quite obviously, Dave went and sought out the troll leader.

He was sat hunched over the main table in the Rec Room, unmoving. Dave idly considered flash-stepping right behind him, dismissing the thought only because dealing with the metaphorical torrent of shit was not worth the troll's reaction. Karkat, not as oblivious as he tended to be whilst fixated on something, glanced toward him relatively quickly. He frowned, as was common, but it was more 'I'm seriously confused and you aren't helping' versus his usual 'I hate you get out of my sight what are you doing breathing my oxygen et cetera'.

“Dave,” a grunt that threw the blond of kilter, not expecting the other to initiate anything even close to civil conversation, “Your language is fucked up.” Dave snorted, almost instinctively, before glancing over Karkat's to see what exactly he was focused on. Behind his shades, he blinked several times deliberately.

“Are you reading about human idioms?” He questioned, the more he thought about it the harder he fought to keep a smirk off his face. This has so many possibilities for trolling he could hardly believe his luck. The mutant hunched further.

“Yes, I am,” he snapped defensively, pulling the book closer toward him. Dave straightened his pokerface. “And you language doesn't make any fucking sense. 'Sticks and stones may break your bones' is a horrible thing to teach wigglers!” The human coughed into his hand at that (not a laugh, fuck you very much), corners of his lips twitching almost constantly in a traitorous fashion.

“Yes, but at least they learn that words can never, ever hurt them.” His voice was solemn, his pokerface remaining intact even as Karkat looked at him completely in disbelief. Oh yes, he was going to have fun with that book.

[squeeshed-blog]

Sway

Love Rosemary, but I don't think I can do either of the lovely ladies justice so I don't often write it.

Title: Sway Pairing: pre-Rose<3Kanaya Word Count: 125

Her hips swayed as she walked. Rose considered herself to be above instantly giving in to primal desires; not essentially considering it weak-willed, but, rather, enjoying the build up to the release, however with Kanaya she found herself incapable of looking away. The clichés of hypnotising and intoxicating made her literary self sick but her fifteen year old self was simply unwilling to find any other reasons for being unable to pry her eyes away. She glanced up, away, only to meet her ecto-brother's shades across the room. He nodded toward the female troll, a minute nod and near-microscopic smirk his only indication she had been caught staring. Once again, with teenage hormones to blame, her body acted against her will as her cheeks coloured.

[squeeshed-blog]

Immortal

Sorry, it's been a while! Little rusty... First attempt at writing Gamzee, too.

Title: Immortal Pairing: Gamzee<>Karkat Word Count: 555

He was sitting on the Not-A-Respite-Platform, what Rosesis called a sofa underneath all her poetic rambling, arms sloppily akimbo and legs sprawled out in front of him. His head was bowed, as if he was in prayer to the universe, a little miracle doze that was sure to disappear if a motherfucker deigned to join him for a snoozy snuggle. He never liked to cuddle in public, especially not in such a well-traversed area. A little pusher-bruising, sure, but worth it for the private snuggles that patience wrought.

I watched from the floor, next to the DVD player that had no intention at all of helping a brother out and work for the spontaneous date my palebro had demanded. I wasn't even sure if the thing was up and plugged in, but it hardly mattered now that he had partially fallen asleep. All the romcoms a troll could handle would have to wait, as I wasn't going to watch them all on my lonesome. Instead I sat, watching him snuffle away, thinking how I could do this forever and ever.

Well, not forever-forever. Purple wasn't the highest high on the hemospectrum, trumped by Tyrian and drawn with violet, but it was a million miles higher than the miracle blood flowing through my 'rail's veins. For my likely eight hundred sweeps of life, he'd get maybe twelve. That was pusher-crushing, to think my perfect, palest brother had already squandered half his life span screaming. To think that Karkat would probably be dead before I even hit secondary pupation.

“You look like someone shot your lusus,” a voice barked at me, snatching me from my horrible thoughts. A hand carded through my hair before I could even flinch, pushing my head back to look at said miraclebro. His stare was disdainful, only a seasoned practise of finding the squishy gooey centre of care through the tough shell of angry allowed me not not flinch from that either. His other came up to my face; touch too gentle to be a pap, too lengthy to be a shoosh. A coolness was spread across my face.

“Motherfuck,” I half-laughed, a half-hearted honk finding its way in somehow, “I didn't even know I was up and crying.” He stared at me, now more disbelieving than angry, gears probably grinding in his head a million miles a moment. “Miracles, my ocular glands having all fucking ways of surprising even myself.” I grinned, almost to spite myself, and the tensed, rigidness of his shoulders almost melts away. The grin became real.

“You pitiful fuck,” he snarled, tearing his hand away from my face and grabbing my hand. With one hand still in my hair, it was kinda awesome. He pushed me to the Not-A-Respite-Platform, forcing me to sit whilst he fussed over the DVD player and chose what romcom we were to watch. Watching him shuffle back and forth on the floor, my bruised bloodpusher was soothed by all the thoughts of, even if I had but six sweeps left with my best friend, even if the other seven hundred and eighty-eight sweeps of my life would feel like an eternity, even if my despair would make me feel immortal in the worst kind of ways, at the very least I had him to love me for that long.

[squeeshed-blog]

Possibilities

This was written last night, beyond midnight, when I was missing my besties. It caused sad EriKar. Sorry

Title: Possibilities Pairing: Past (possible) Karkat<>Eridan Word Count: 232

He pours over the text, reading and rereading for the hundred millionth time. He knows every log by heart, every word and punctuation mark and point of emphasis. He reads until he cannot possibly comprehend how he missed anything to begin with. He reads until he hates himself (even more).

Somewhere, deep within his blackened soul, he realises that Karkat was probably actually pale for him. He understands what possibilities he was given whilst he was alive, too busy pining over his flushcrush to care for much else at the time, and he cries a little. He knows what he has lost without ever having and it hurts him.

From within his tiny kingdom he watches as, in doomed timelines, he makes the right choices. He enjoys himself for a little while, until Gamzee goes on his rampage. The timelines generally go one of two ways then; everyone dies because Karkat is a hopeless romantic, or Eridan himself goes on a murder spree out of jealousy.

He hates himself, yes, but not nearly as much as he hates his selfish doomed counterparts. He hates himself but not as much as he should hate himself, all things considered.

So he sits on the husktop he should not have inside a dreambubble that is only his and he reads. He read and he hates himself for wishing, more than anything, that he could dream.

[squeeshed-blog]

At least it got better?

Forever

And meowrails are here to make everything better!

Title: Forever Pairing: Equius<>Nepeta Word Count: 813

Read More

[squeeshed-blog]

And a Day

So I started thinking just after I finished this that Equius was gonna find out how Nepeta died one way or another and… yea. I love meowrails.

Title: (Furever) And a Day Pairing: Equius<>Nepeta Word Count: 240

“I told you to stay hidden!” He roars, slamming his fist into your newly constructed wall. You had worked hard on that and now there was a crumbling dent about an inch thick in to it. You scowl.

“How could you pawsibly expect me to stay put when my meowrail had said ‘goodbye’!” Your response is more of a hiss then you wanted it to be, trying to stay as light-hearted as you had been not even a minute ago and failing just a touch. His eyes narrow at the pun and oops, yea probably the wrong time for that but still!

“Because I commanded you to do it!” He’s back at his usual noise level but the words make your hackles rise, your metaphorical fur bristling at the implication. He starts again before you can attack, however. “I needed you safe, Nepeta.” You do feel guilty, a little when you think about it, but he has it all wrong.

“It’s my job to keep you safe too, you know,” you gently remind him, papping him as he instantly tenses, ready to rebuke, “And you said goodbye. I had to.” He convulses, going to say something and then stopping himself, and you know you have him. “If I hadn’t followed you, I wouldn’t be here.” His arms are around you in an instant, obscenely gently smothering you. You laugh, pulling him towards the pile. Forever rocks.

[squeeshed-blog]

Forever

And meowrails are here to make everything better!

Title: Forever Pairing: Equius<>Nepeta Word Count: 813

It was dark, empty and cold, and it had been like that for so long you could not be sure you knew what light felt like any more. As Heir of Void, you should surely be used to the gnawing, clawing feeling in your chest and all the despair it entails, but instead as every second turned aeon that floated passed felt as if it were dragging a small part of your soul away from you as well.

It had been all your fault. You had known there was no chance of you standing up to the highblood, not with Nepeta tucked away safe from harm. You should have refused the rogue-blooded foul mouth his orders but with his adamant nature and your inclinations, at the first mention of Nepeta possibly being in danger you had gone on your way. You had made sure you beloved moirail was safe from harm before going to speak to the highblood who had newly recognised the hemospectrum.

And then you had died.

Even in what was assumedly a dream bubble, the memory of your death was extremely fuzzy. Faded. As if the Void itself was protecting your mind from it. You remember an arrow passing through the fleshy weak spot of your knee, almost ironically bringing you to your knees in front of the purple-blooded troll and then the extremely-familiar snap of a bow.

It was not as if you simply could not guess what happened next, the thick grooves in your neck telling the story all by themselves. It was simply the fact that you could not bring forth the memory, for whatever reason, which had unsettled you initially. It had been seemingly eternity since any real thoughts had settled in your mind, unsettling or not.

Then the Void around you gives a sudden shudder and light floods the bubble almost instantly. Your eyes, unaccustomed to even faint light by now, erupt in pain and you hasten to screw them shut, cover them with your claws. After spending so long in the darkness, the light is agonising; fitting for the Heir of Void.

“Equius?” And all the Void, the darkness rips from your cardiovascular system in a moment at that sound – that voice. Ignoring the pain (you can be STRONG enough for this, you know it), you turn towards the voice. A dreadful voice at the back of your mind whispers this is the Horrorterrors toying with you, that attempting to keep you in the Void for so long could not break you but they knew this would. But the you see her face, awed and hopeful and something inside you just breaks.

“Nepeta,” you murmur, moving faster than you ever remember being able to move and she is doing it too and then you are both in each other's arms, clawing and groping for the better purchase of each other. There is a wetness on your chest and on your face and at some point your sunglasses had fallen from their permanent perch on the bridge of your nose onto what was assumedly the floor of the bubble and then there was a claw on the top of your head, but incapable of carding through your hair. You freeze.

“You kept it,” she squeaks, pulling away. Her face is smeared in a faint green with a few speckles of faint indigo and somehow she has never looked more beautiful then she does now. She reaches up, almost tentatively and it is so unlike her you simply want to fuss the worries away. You are stopped by something being pulled up and over your horns, the damaged one done so carefully it squeezes your chest something awful. When you glimpse the colour everything makes sense; the cat hood you had been gifted before going to seek the highblood. She stares up at you, more green tears welling in her eyes.

“You asked me to hang on to it,” you stammer, feeling for all of Alternia that you had done something ludicrously wrong despite simply following orders, “Forever.” She starts to cry for real this time, full chested sobs which crack your blood pusher with every noise. You are shooshing her before you even consciously decide to, wiping away her tears and cradling her close in an effort to stem the sadness you apparently caused. She sniffles once, twice, pulls away and flashes you a grin so sudden it leaves you dumbfounded.

“And I said that I would see you again soon, Equius,” she nudges your chest with her head, “And here I am.” She flashes that grin at you again and you simply cannot do anything but smile back because here she is, the girl who could take the Void from the Heir of Void and make everything okay and despite being dead you have never felt so invincible.

[squeeshed-blog]

What Matters

(Had to delete the other version, sorry!)

Title: What Matters (Or, Rather, What Doesn’t) Pairing: Gamzee<>Karkat Word Count: 367

It’s times like these, where you’re both hidden away in the safety of his respite block and laying on his horn pile, that the tenseness oozes out of you. It doesn’t matter that he’s snoring away, dozing with his head in your lap, drooling a little stain into your pants which is sure to stink of faygo. It doesn’t matter that there is a horn perfectly jammed just between your shoulders in a way that you know will have you aching for nights. It doesn’t even matter that, like this, fighting sleep is the hardest it has ever been on this hideous rock. Nothing right now matters aside from carding your hand through his hair, lightly brushing the bases of his horns occasionally. On one such touch he stirs, rolling his head only slightly and opening his eyes a mere crack. A bleary grin spreads across his face and raises a hand to grab your free one, taking a couple of attempts to blindly grope. He interlocks your fingers and his expression makes your heart falter. “My beautiful fucking miracle brother,” he whispers and suddenly you are hit with the surrealness of the situation; how incredulous it is that you could find someone who makes you feel so wanted and loved with a single phrase and expression. It makes you want to wax the best poetry that paradox space would ever have the good fortune to hear, but that was always more his kind of thing. "You pitiful fuck," you half-snarl instead, twinging at your inability to express yourself properly. You were always such a fuck up. Instead of getting upset, however, he just laughs, a low and rusty noise that should be horrible and yet isn’t, and your self-destructive thought process halts in its tracks. "Pale for you," he grins again before closing his eyes. You have no spare hands in which to hide your face as you begin to flush and instead shake your head intensely as if that will rid you of it. "Pale for you too," you cough out, but he’s already back to dozing, soon to drool an even larger stain on your pants. And somehow, none of that matters either.

[squeeshed-blog]

Made a new writing account! :d