#alternian fleet uniform

[pssp-lore]

what if i posted spoilers for characters no one knows yet (kinda) because the uniforms just go really hard and whatever :y

[byrdstrolls]

Crazy Ass Space Battle One Shot

(Exactly what it says on the tin)

It had long since come to a time in General Faeria Longse’s life, that when it came to actual work in the field, she could afford to be picky. Yes, the woman was technically- by stretches of the definition highbloods were awarded- still in active service. This took the form of an on planet alternian strategist she had employed to monitor urgent fleet situations and try to find ones for her that were “interesting” as Faeria tolerated no other kind of military encounter. She looked at battles teetering on the edge of win or lose as nothing other than logic puzzles it kept her mind sharp to solve. Her email would pile up with reports of distant fleet movements, most of which she would respond to with brief consultations, always beginning the same way. 

“Too easy, circle back to the asteroid belt and draw them into delta 63.”

“Too easy, pull back fighters into moon orbit for cover & capture & trojan local supply line.”

“Too easy, Sun Tzu 3.17” 

“Too easy, target 175.867 & 321.489”

“Too easy, external heat could burst the carbon canisters. Pull back tanks & have small fighters consolidate fire.” 

Very rarely, only when coming across something especially fanciful, would the general type a simple-

“OK. brt.” 

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.

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You always thought you would die young. At some point, for an amount of time you found difficult to determine, life had become a staircase that you fell down from hit to hit, that only involved brief moments of meaning and sobriety and clarity. Life had tested you, you got by by the skin of your teeth. You went all in gambling your life and constantly rolled those dice in endless pursuit of a bigger payoff. You have made your way out of a car trunk with a shiv fashioned from a binder clip. You had once stolen narcotics from a purpleblood by hacking and deleting the attempt limit on his touchpad and physically inputting every possible number from 000-4903. You once fashioned a pipe out of a hollowed out flashlight in a dark locked janitor's closet. Were you rational, reasonable, smart, in these moments? No. But you got the job done. 

Your name is Noreko Oculus, and 2 sweeps ago, you were picked off a street corner and forcibly enlisted as a low level fighter pilot in the alternian fleet. This new career path has very much conflicted with your previous life goals of having a good time not a long time. You are standing in a hallway near the tiny hanger bay of your minor vessel, with three other pilots waiting for a mission briefing. 

“You should stand up straighter” Says the man next to you, noting the relaxed way in which you were poised. You fix him with a long, exasperated stare before turning your head back forward. 

“Sergeant Asperc is gonna yell at you again” He warns. 

“Watch as my spine irons out the moment he enters the room in awe.” You retort. “Until then I’m not on the clock.” You say, glancing towards the leftmost door. 

“You know, standing up straight,” he continues. “It’s better for you.” 

And you frown, because coincidentally, those are your least favorite four words in the standard dictionary when arranged in that order. 

The door opens, and it is not your sergeant who exits it, but you straighten your back reflexively anyway, because it's a seadweller. She’s short, but in a uniform of incredibly high rank. She doesn’t look at any of you, but instead stops midway through the hallway, to look out the window at the tiny, pinpoint green dots of the enemy’s ship in the distance. You have a great view of the back of her head, and notice the strange stiff lines of discoloration and decay on her horns. What could cause something like that? You think momentarily of scars on your body from picked skin on bad trips. 

“Okay,” Says General Faeria Longse. “How do you destroy an enemy ship that has no structural integrity comprehensible to us?” She says. 

You pause, along with your fellow soldiers, wondering if this is a rhetorical question. You do not often get consulted in strategy, despite it being a mandatory academy class. You did not often receive more complicated instructions than ‘Bring Thing 1 to Place B’ or ‘Take Down That Ship’. The tiny, barely-room-to-turn-around-in fighters they give to mutants like you are frail and expendable. 

“Any guesses?” She says, finally, and the other soldiers look away nervously. 

“With four B6I Fighter Pods?” You guess, because someone has to say something. Faeria laughs, but it is an unsettling sound. 

“Yes. But also no.” She says. “The aliens have constructed a ship purely out of some kind of bacteria-filled slime. It absorbs and reforms around most physical firepower. Our lasers don’t pack enough heat to evaporate it because of its high boiling point. It’s just so slightly faster than the main ship, and if we lean even slightly below max speed we’ll lose it. It’s fifty miles away.” She lists. “Any guesses?” 

“We poison it?” Another girl tried timidly, having recognized Faeria and remembered her ancestor name. 

“If only,” The general sighs. “We know incredibly little about the aliens within it, side them being only about two inches tall. We have no captives or dead to autopsy to determine if they even have something close to a digestive system. Figuring out if they can be poisoned and how to poison them would take more time than we have. And we have close to no time. Because in a million lightyears, or three hours at this pace, they’ll be out of alternian territory. And within range of their allies, which they can immediately send a distress beacon for reinforcements. No more guesses.” She decides, abruptly. 

“You’re not smart enough to figure it out. If we can’t set fire to the ship itself. We’re gonna set fire to something else directly beneath it, where it can’t use its slime to absorb or put out missiles. Which one of you has lost the most fleet battles?” 

The other three trolls around you shuffle nervously, and accidentally, all three of them glance at you at once. Figures. The general watches this happen in the window's reflection, and finally, turns around to greet you. 

“Hello!” She says, leaning forward to read your name tag. Too close, you think. She smells bitterly of plastic and chemicals. More cleaning supply than troll. It’s unsettling. 

“Vice Assistant Extended Training Probation Lieutenant Noreko Oculus?” She says, and you salute. 

“I have a special job for you. We’re gonna get rid of one of your oxygen canisters and replace it with a bomb. You’re gonna fly out there in your B6I Fighter Pod, and you’re going to go under the alien ship and lock steady with it. The other three pods will fire upon you from three directions, and it will cause an explosion hot enough to boil the slime and evaporate it into gas, killing all the aliens.”

“M’am. You must be confused.” The soldier farthest from you stutters. “The B6I Fighter doesn’t have an ejection pod.” Which is true. It saves the fleet money to cut such corners. 

“Ejection pods are for officers who win fleet battles.” She says, gesturing to the hanger. 

“Couldn’t we have autopilot fly an empty ship there?” Another soldier tries. 

“Are you the fucking general?” She says, reprimanding him for speaking out. “And no. Not if the ship starts maneuvering complicatedly. We need troll eyes to get it there. Well? Everyone understand? We have three hours. Positions!” 

“You expect me to suicide bomb that shit?” You say. 

“Yes” The general says, patting your back in a way that would be reassuring were she not a strange, disgusting hollowed out vessel of a troll seemingly incapable of natural emotion. “Or I’ll activate the fleet tracker embedded in your arm and use it to kill you. And you need to stand up more straight.” She says, giving you a thumbs up as she walks backwards out of the bay. You have met a lot of evil, desperate and inconceivable people in your time in the army. But this takes the cake. 

.

.

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.

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For much of your youth, you had simultaneously thought yourself vulnerable and invincible. You had an incredibly high tolerance for many things. Pain. Alcohol. Most drugs. But there has to be somewhere you draw the line, right? 

You aren’t… going to kill yourself. 

You are barely given time to think about it. The other pods are already taking off. You know you’re even more outnumbered in the hanger bay. So you follow them. You could try and run and hide but even if you got rid of the tracker somehow, you only had one canister of oxygen. You would run out in a few hours. There has to be a way out. Slowly, you lower one hand off the wheel, slightly to the left. The only spot in the pod that is not visible from its camera. You had perfectly obscured it, when you first hacked your pod's smoke detectors, so you could smoke cigarettes on duty without your superiors noticing. You flick open a pocket knife, glancing down at your arm. That tracker she described- you have to get it out and destroy it. Without alerting your boss watching you on camera. One handed. With a pocketknife. 

Oh well. You have had worse nights. You sneakily take a painkiller or two disguised in a sip of water. And start at it. There is some crying, but it wouldn't necessarily blow your cover. You are supposed to be flying to your death, you’ve earned it. About twenty minutes, and a lot of incorrect lacerations later, you have it. You crush it with the knife, over and over again. Until it's hopefully no longer working. Okay. What now? 

Come on. Think about this. Sure, you did not win a lot of battles. But only because you didn’t care. Sure, you did not have much of a life to return to or look forward to. Your tiny cot on the mainship is populated mostly with ship manuals and dirty magazines. But you are not unintelligent. In fact, when given a puzzle like a locked box of vicodin or a med bay computer system you became temporarily the smartest troll in the universe for incredibly short periods of time. Desperation is a hell of a chemical. If you can falsify records of fake injuries and disorders requiring prescriptions, if you can synthesize recreational substances from several mundane medications in a homemade chem lab in a ship storage bay, if you can survive this world this long when everything around you including your own body wants you dead, you can outthink that tiny bitch in the 20 minutes it takes to reach the aliens. Casually, you flip through schematics of the nearby systems. No way you could over power all three fighter pods. You could get out of range of the main ship, maybe, but they are smaller and faster. Not a lot of solid planets out here- mostly stars and asteroids. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a sun in the near distance, and enhance it with your ship's sensors. You look forward, at pods flying in tandem with you. And back at the screen, at tiny black dots dancing across the sun’s surface. Solar flares. You look back at the pocketknife in your bleeding hand, and in one quick motion, lodge the weapon forcefully into the lens of the ship camera, and swerve violently to the left. The other pods pause, and then follow you. They aren’t firing, and thank g-d, because you don’t want to fire back. They had the same amount of choice in this bullshit you did. 

“This is B6I 93 to B6I 52. What are you doing?” Flickers up on your coms, giving a paper thin benefit of the doubt. 

“What the fuck do you think?” You retort, pushing the throttle further forward, your hands shaking as you rapidly gain speed. 

“B61 52. This is upper command. Return to course. You’re too close to that sun. Any further disobedience and you’ll be neutralized with your chip.” 

You laugh, hollowly, as this piece of shit craft shudders around you, and glance back to make sure the other three pods are still following. Tricky situation for them, surely. They have to regain control of you without killing you. 

“B6I 52” Pleads another of the pods on the line. “Watch out for that solar flare.” They beg, as you continue to fly towards it at max speeds. 

“Are you insane!” Calls another voice, dropping the formalities. And the talk of the soldiers on the line becomes garbled and panicked as all three of them start yelling as you continue your top speed approach. But it doesn’t matter, because you can hardly hear anything but the hum of your shitty little engine stretching to its absolute limit. 

Not yet, 

You think, watching them get closer and closer on radar. 

Not yet, 

You think, blood dripping down onto your lap as your hands remain clutched tight to the wheel. 

Not yet, 

You think, as your ship's only systems start to blurt out proximity alarms and alerts and warnings about the flare in chorus. 

Not until the moment they’re literally on top of you, and the solar flare is seconds away, do you pull back sharply 90 degrees. Your body slamming back into the pilot seat and your ship wheezing in protest as you avoid the solar flare by one or two feet. 

But the other pods behind you are not so lucky, attempting to copy you and failing, they careen into the flare, their ship lights flickering and losing electrical power as the dancing lights of plasma dance between them. And the ships experience the effects of a carrington like event, imbursed in a solar storm. 

They’ll live, on mechanical reserve power & oxygen, but they won’t be following you. You switch off your coms. You swerve to look at the main ship and the aliens far off in the distance. The main ship will likely fire upon you for desertion and treason the moment they’re in range. No way you win that battle, no way in hell. Not with a loaded bomb in your ship's body. You need to get rid of the bomb.

You reach back for a space mask, turning off oxygen temporarily, holding your breath as your wire the only oxygen canister directly to your mask. You’ll have to do outer maintenance. You set your speed, putting the ship on autopilot as you pop open the pilot's pod, and climb onto the hull, switching your pocket knife to its other extensions. You try to remain calm, crying openly as you slowly and carefully dismantle the panel concealing the bomb, and the attachments securing it in place, on the back of a still flying spaceship. You pull it out of the ship gingerly, slowly trailing it out behind you on the last cable that anchors it to the ship. You roll out the cable as far as it possibly can go, and now you are just on a ship, trailing a bomb 30 feet behind you as you continue to speed forward. 

30 feet couldn’t honestly be considered a safe distance from the thing. You’ve only slightly raised your chances of living if it detonates. But you were out of cable. And as you were working, the beginnings of a desperate plan had started to form. You are faster than the main ship. Just maybe, maybe, you could outmaneuver them long enough to plant this sucker below the turrets, and blow them to hell. This was possibly better than no plan at all. But it involved you navigating an all out firefight with a fleet ship with a loaded bomb tied to your back. 

You aren’t certain what kind of g-d you might believe in. You had given your body as a vessel to a much more earthly, flesh and blood power. Now would be the moment to pray to something, someone. What would you have to offer a g-d, anyways? You hadn’t exactly lived a righteous nor pious life. Nothing deserving of being gifted miracles and wonders and rewards beyond measure. But to make it out on a chance like this, someone must be watching out for you. Slowly, your hands close around the throttle. 

You do not believe the universe loves you. Not even a little bit. But what wasn’t gifted to you, you knew how to take. You would have your miracle. You would claw your miracle out of the ribcage of fate with hands bloody and bent but clasped tighter than they had been your entire life. What do they call it? A dead man’s grip. 

You turn your ship and dive straight towards the fleet vessel, into its range. Warning alarms flare up as they begin opening fire. 

You dance like a cockroach through the empty vacuum of space, unkillable. They clip your wings, an explosion knocks into your cargo hold, but the ship's integrity doesn’t fail you yet. Every near miss is a victory. Five minutes pass. But the seconds feel shorter- longer. Both at the same time. Time loses its meaning at the night lights up around you. You barely process it when you finally make it underneath the vessel, but you catch yourself just in time, cutting the cable and letting the bomb float loose underneath the ship's turrets and control center. You zoom back out into the night, hoping the ship's own fire will ignite it somehow, but it bounces clumsily against the hull, out of their range. 

You must now survive the same unwinnable battle all over again, as you attempt to zoom away from them. But you hardly care anymore, having come this far. You would do it a million times. You want to live. Despite everything, you want to live. No matter how long the odds, you want to live. The empire had taken everything from you. Your safety. Your happiness. Your body. Your mind. 

But it would not have your fucking soul. 

You flip over vertically, and open fire on the distant pinprick of the bomb below the turret, igniting it. 

There is a beautiful crack of white light that explodes outward, burning your eyes as you watch the front side of the ship burst open, the guns and control base consumed by white fire. The whole ship doesn’t go down. The back half is fine- you hope any friends you had in the army were there when you hit it. But it can no longer shoot at you. The fleet ship slows to a stop, and out of the corner of your eyes, the green light in the distance flickers away as the aliens finally escape. Figures, you think darkly. A bunch of weird slime whatever the fuck would not lend you a hand for saving their ass. And can you blame them? You reach weakly for a first aid kit and attempt to treat your arm, but your hand is shaking, your blood lost and your oxygen thin. 

You watch the fleet ship turn and abandon you, probably thinking you dead in a few hours, and it’s difficult to argue with them. You were so close. You were so fucking close. But you hadn’t thought this far ahead. Slowly, fighting with every nerve in your body, you cease your attempted medical aid, because it feels better not to touch it. Staring out at the vast, dark majesty of space laid out in front of you. 

As far as last things to ever see, it’s not so bad. Your eyelids move downward at a snail's pace as your lungs wheeze. Until all you see is a tiny white sliver of light as a little horizon in front of you. Just before your eyes close completely, the light turns bright green. Your eyes crack open again suddenly, in a burst of adrenaline and confusion. The ship is lighting up emerald around you, from the other direction. Slowly, you pull the throttle, attempting to rotate just enough to see what's behind you, squinting through your blurred vision. 

You just barely make out the shape of the alien ship,

Having returned to rescue you, with reinforcements.

[fantrollology]

Pockets

Characters: Fledge, Arunae

Word Count: 1,153

Context: Arunae and Fledge are somewhat recent defects of the Alternian fleet. They currently reside on a neutral space station known as Parable.

---

Once a week Fledge returned to her bunk to find seven nights worth of uniform changes neatly set into the drawers. It was her job, then, to strip off the last of the week's clothes and send it down the chute to join the rest of her laundry.

This suited her; she didn’t have much of an eye for fashion, much less a convenient means of shopping for anything beyond what was provided (save for fleet-branded attire, which felt redundant) and so the limited wardrobe was well worth the convenience of having clothing washed and returned on a regular basis. It was arguable if the seclusion of living within the ships med-bay was also worth the trade, but debating this never particularly captured her thought.

The one piece of attire that wasn’t cycled out daily were the jackets. Though presumably thousands of nearly identical jackets existed across the fleets other psionic specialists, they were clearly differentiated by the embroidered patch displaying recruiting numbers. For her: 2501. The jackets were issued the same day she was assigned the number. She would wear a jacket for seven nights at a time before it was washed, and as such, she had two of them.

Well, two jackets made sense. It certainly wasn’t beyond the fleet’s resources to have more in circulation in case there was ever a lapse in schedule, or even to sew on a new patch each time if they so wished, but the infallible nature of the laundry made her doubt it was necessary.

Still, this she had thought about, and it bothered her. So, at one point she resolved to make a small tear in the right internal pocket of her jacket, and one in the left pocket of the other the following week. The damage was inconsequential enough not to warrant notice or repair, but enough for her to roll her thumb over and confirm it was hers. Surely enough, the next week, and the week after that, she would find that tear, oscillating back and forth between the pockets. It brought her a certain comfort she never analyzed further.

Only once was a jacket replaced. During a mission the left-torn jacket was stained a deep green, and the laundry apparently determined it unsalvageable, or perhaps simply not worth the effort to clean. The replacement was made without notice. After this, Fledge did not let another jacket become stained. She would wash out small imperfections in her bathroom to mitigate any doubt of its return.

The one she had brought with her had the tear in the right pocket. Fledge had accumulated a semblance of a wardrobe since her and Arunae’s arrival on Parable, and had learned to do her own laundry. There was something different about washing her own clothes, setting a temperature, a time, a cycle speed. Arunae would throw all her clothes in a single load, dump in a “looks like enough” amount of detergent, and slam the door shut. Fledge’s mind did not offer her this luxury. She would separate colors (admittedly her wardrobe was mostly “darks”) and obey each little tag’s every symbol. It was kind, she thought, of Arunae to never mention it.

This history ran through Fledge’s mind like she was a mother outside of a hospital ward. Two nights prior, Arunae laughed a little too hard and the potently dyed fruit-something drink she had been holding spilled over the front of Fledge’s jacket. She quickly offered to clean it amidst a flurry of apologies, already starting to peel it off Fledge’s shoulders. Fledge declined and wordlessly sped to their apartment to rinse it in the sink, to little avail. Arunae waited the hour with her while it made its solo-trip through the wash and mourned with Fledge when it came out still red. It was at that point Arunae suggested dry-cleaning. There was a small shop on Parable that had a solid reputation in treating flight-suits. At the moment the perky oliveblood manning the counter was retrieving the jacket from the back.

“So,” she approached the front with the plastic-wrapped jacket and raised it to pass it over the counter without touching the surface. “We were able to get that red stain out. We also found a little tear in one of the internal pockets and took care of that. No additional charge, of course.” 

“Oh, that’s awesome!” Arunae cooed. She received the jacket from the oliveblood and held it up to Fledge, smoothing her hand over the clear plastic.

“Aaaand…” the oliveblood continued, poking through some baskets beneath the counter. “We found this in one of the other pockets. Not sure what it is, but figured you might want it.” She popped up and held out a plastic bag containing a blackish, mint-tin sized object to Fledge.

Fledge’s eyes shot over from the jacket and she gently took the bag.

“What’s that?” Arunae craned over the shoulder of the jacket.

“I’m not sure,” Fledge lied. It didn’t feel good, but it was what she said.

Arunae shrugged and handed off the jacket to Fledge so she could pay. Fledge turned the object in her hand. Its presence seemed unbelievable. How many sweeps had it been in there?

She jolted a bit when Arunae threw an affectionate arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “Hey, how about that? Looks brand spankin’ new.” 

“Mhmm,” Fledge offered Arunae a little smile. She could undo the repair easily enough.

- - -

While Arunae showered, Fledge pulled her bag out from under her peracoon for the first time since they arrived on the station. She was trying not to get too stirred up; it wasn’t unlikely what she was looking for hadn’t made its way with them. She certainly didn’t remember packing it, though she knew it had at least followed her to her bunk within The Conquest’s ship. Fledge wasn’t one to throw things out, after all, merely leave things behind, and her bunks were often packed for her during transfers.

She dug through what was, as she suspected, mostly junk; every worthless item pumped lead into the little weight in her chest. The lump shot into her throat when she saw it: a bulky amateur radio grade walkie talkie, the same blackish color as the chunky battery she held now in her hand. She was perfectly capable of powering the device on her own, of course, but it did take away from its charm. She turned it over to inspect it; the silver ink of her name, her nickname, “Fledge” was still visible on the back in handwriting too nice to be hers. She slid the battery up the grooves of the back, and clicked it into place. It was a moment before she flipped the switch to power it on, and another before she pressed her thumb into the ‘transmit’ button to release the squelch. The electromagnetic hum it emitted climbed through her veins like a sunrise.

[altamaranempire]

I got commissioned by @cloudbattrolls! This is their Gliese Benral in her Alternian fleet uniform, looking sharp.~

[knights-unwelcommentary]

It’d be funny if short sleeved wetsuits (her clothes look like a wetsuit to me at least) were not only a thing the empress likes to wear, but official alternian military uniform

Also it’d be hilarious if all the beta trolls are wearing wetsuits under their normal clothes cause they all wanted to join the fleet’s military, except Kanaya being inexplicably displeased about their uniforms

[splickedylit]

Anonymous(s) said:

Pale Gamkar dancing ;;0;;

Alternian Fleet Gamkar? Basically just pretty naval uniforms?

Gamkar, because it's 2021 and i still ship it

Gotta be honest. I just missed your Gamkar SO MUCH those two make my heart melt u_u

may I request soft gamz content? or a happy gam? I'm not really picky I just wish to see him happy 🥺

quillyfied said:

hook me up with that exquisite pale gamkar, my dude. Maybe from the heavyverse bc guess what I’ve been rereading, and guess what has been hecking me up all over again.

molly-mollymauk-enfree said:

Could we have just a quiet happy gamzee? With a sleeping Karkat perhaps.

[outsidertrolls]

Escape

A lone troll lays on their back, a pool of fuchsia blood growing around them. The remnants of their fleet uniform have no insignia of rank or ship assignment, simply a nameplate reading S. Julien.

....

Their throat has been ripped open and the bottom half of their face is an unrecognizable mess of flayed skin and cracked bone. Their arm and leg are missing, but those were old war wounds, not fresh like the rest.

A rasping breath escapes the troll's eviscerated throat as their eyes open, their single hand clawing at the dirt. They look around, groaning in pain as they scan the area for their prosthetic arm. Spotting it lying in a puddle of shimmering gold fluid a few meters away, they begin the laborious crawl towards it. The troll blacks out just as their hand grasps the arm, the fluid reaching out towards them...

....

A troll wrapped in a tattered coat walks up to the wall of the frontier town surrounding the Imperial spaceport. In the middle of the day, even away from harsh Alternian sunlight, the guards were few and far between. Checking their angles, the troll leaps up the wall, mechanical fingers making their own handhold. Swinging up, they plunge their issued blade into the wall as a second grip. As so they continue. Hand. Knife. Hand. Knife. All the way up and over the wall. Nothing else in the way of them and a life outside the Fleet.....

....

....

Synthe wakes slowly, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. They look over to the kitchen counter, seeing Estela eating one of the cookies they'd left to cool. The sight brings a smile to their scarred face, chasing away the feelings left behind by the memories they'd just relived. A simple life, but better than anything they'd had before. And all it took to get it was dying. They push themself off the couch, the speaker in their arm sparking to life. "Who. Zaid. You. Could. Have. One?"

[cawfiendtrolls]

Name: Proxid Xiphos

Age: 12 Sweeps

Pronouns: He/Him

Height: 6′

Caste: Anonymous

Physical/ Injuries: Vitiligo; Abnormally colored horns; Missing both legs and half of his left hip, all replaced with Fleet-grade biotech.

Abilities: N/A

Strife: Sword/ Sabre

Occupation: Overday Fleet guard

Hemoloyal: Hemo-Complacent

Lusus: Anteater Dad (Moved on to a new charge after Proxid joined the Fleet)

Quirk: THe sound of your voice is often muttled by THe masK(s) you wear, forcing you to hit certain sounds harder. Your uniform masK also ends in a harSH walKie talKie sound. -kkksh

= = = = = = = = =

You’re name is Proxid Xiphos, and if it were up to you, you would be invisible. You’re not particularly outgoing, and you certainly don’t find yourself in any large social circles. In your youth, you spent most of your time practicing swordplay, minding your own business, and talking online with your friends… okay, friend. Like the good boy you are, you joined the Fleet as soon as you reached the appropriate age, and you’ve been working there ever since. Good thing the Empire doesn’t consider most physical anomalies as mutations anymore, right?

Being an overday guard for the local Alternian Fleet base is hard work, and long days standing under the sun isn’t for everyone, but you’ve always believed in fate, and being apart of something bigger than yourself has given you a long sought after sense of purpose. You’ve recently gotten your fifteen minutes of fame for stopping a rebel raid nearly single-handed, but the incident has left you half the person you were before. Literally. Losing both your legs to some asshole with laser eyes put a damper on your spirits, but ever the optimist, you understand that it all must be for some reason. At least your new legs make you stronger and faster, if not so, so hungry. Who knew biotech prosthetics came with a minimum calorie intake?

Now that your best only friend has been shot off into space to help map out new planets, you find yourself in a mundane spiral of work, rest, and physical therapy. Making friends has never been your forte, but with a little prompting, you’re making an effort to go out and meet people. Too bad most trolls you run into can’t get past the mask.

= = = = = = = = =

Design adopted from @/royallyfuckedocs

Art on the right is from @/royallyfuckedocs

Art on the left is mine

[nookstain]

📲👁‍🗨

📲- Talk about someone/something you dislike, but only pretend to like👁‍🗨- Talk about someone/something you like, but pretend to dislike

this one got a little far from the prompt but has to do with both. 

cw for alternian typical violence, the military, and murder. 

 The single sweep you spend in the fleet is the worst of your life. Some of the reasons why, you expected, but others turn out to be a surprise.

You always imagined that proving yourself to adults would be the biggest challenge, but that one comes easy. The commander assigned to your training squad is a testy and enormous olive who immediately takes to your attitude and develops a habit of slapping you jovially on the torso pillar so hard it leaves bruises. She takes pity on your godawful fighting techniques and teaches you a few tricks from her time as some kind of champion dueler on Alternia. You don’t know if you believe her exactly, but she’s beefy enough that it doesn’t matter. And she doesn’t ask about the stupid sunglasses you keep glued to your face to hide your irises.

This gains you the ire of your squadmates, who make a point to mock you about being a brownnoser nigh fucking constantly. Not all of them, but enough that you start to lean on old wigglerhood tactics– bark bigger than your bite, big enough to keep all of them at a safe distance while you recoil into your coon and hide the sleep increments away. This, you expected. You just thought that you’d handle it more… suavely, or something. Like Troll Will Smith. You bet he never blew snot into his own sopor slime crying after nearly being cornered by his peers.

Mostly what you’re afraid of is the same old thing: being cut, found out, culled. You compromise tactics in mock battles for taking only bruises, and your teammates hiss insults at you through their rations. You bark scathing retorts back at them, and from another table across the cafeteria you swear a girl looks up and mouths your name in surprise. She has a blue hat on and big conical horns, and she peers at you with catlike suspicion. You make it a point of yours to avoid her next time, and all the others after that.

You don’t tell Terezi or Sollux about what you’re going through inbetween training exercises. They don’t need to know, don’t need to concern themselves with anything but staying alive in their own perilous situations.

Eventually, one of them corners you. In the hallway outside the ablution complex, waiting until the moment when you step out to retreat to your respite cubby. There’s a blade at your jugular and claws in your arm, and a sneering face in the middle of your vision.

The other set of claws comes up, yanks the flimsy glasses off the bridge of your nose and tosses them on the ground. Ground to shards under a military grade boot. It’s such a typical bully tactic that you would laugh in their face if you weren’t so terrified.

“What?” Their face contorts, and shame mixes hot into the adrenaline in your system. The troll laughs, incredulous, and takes a single step back.

An opportunity. You seize it, along with the jagged knife in their hand. It jams into their chest like a fork into stale grubloaf. The sudden act leaves them stunned just long enough for you to shove them into the wall with your shoulder and knee them in the acid sac. By then there are claws and limbs flailing back at you, but you’ve already yanked the knife back out. Green splurts onto both of your uniform bodysuits. This time you go for the throat.

When everything is done you’re still standing there, soaked in olive and holding in the urge to scream. A thought occurs to you, but the ramifications of it turn your gut. There’s not much time until somebody else comes through the same hallway, though, so you swallow your inhibitions and crouch down by the corpse.

As far as death ceremonies go, at least it’s traditional. What isn’t traditional is tossing the head in the incinerator afterward, or ripping off your identification and switching it with the dead guy’s.

It takes another ablution to get most of the blood off, and by then the janitorturers have already swept the body away.

—

Twelve hours later you’re crammed into a spacebuggy, all set with coordinates to somewhere that Sollux says should be safe to hunker down at for a while and with a perigee’s worth of packaged food stuffed between your knees and in any empty space it’ll fit.

Both your friends seem surprised you had it in you, but proud nonetheless.

You, not so much.

[jocktrolls]

Hot take: Instead of the more Earth-traditional/“practical” styles, Alternian fleet uniforms are actually all flashy catsuits a la )(IC and the Ψiioniic.

[interrogatormentors]

Event One: Initiation

TA: well ii gue22 thii2 ii2 iit guy2 the drone2 caught up two me.

TA: 2ee you on the other 2iide.

-- twinArmaggedons [TA] has had their connection terminated! --

Every pawn has its place, even when it comes to trouble ships. Not every ship can go out in a blaze of starfire like the BC Unrelented who clawed its way through a Tyvalan invasion to self-destruct atop the heart of the enemy force. Not every ship can have the DC Oligarch’s honor of escorting Her Royal Condescension’s battleship through the deepest expanses of space. Some, like the BC Starskimmer Arisen, are where trolls are sent to atone.

Many ships had quirks early in their helmsman’s installment due to their individual natures, phobias of certain internal temperatures or certain planetary lifeforms included, but the Starskimmer refused taming. The battleship refused certain flight patterns, shut off water supplies for officers, transmitted unauthorized announcements over the intercom to incite confusion amongst the crew, and more. The helmsman received punishment each time. The resistance continued.

The intercom in Captain Pilthe’s quarters crackled once before the voice of a guard came through. “Sir, trouble in the brig.”

Pilthe groaned, kneading at his eyes with his palms. “If you say the word helmsman I’m scrapping that battery myself.”

A brief moment of silence fell before the guard continued. “Well, the doors won’t open, sir. Could be nothing,’cept the lights went out and the techies say they can’t get at the helmsman neither.”

Pilthe reached out to the intercom and without any hesitation smashed it with his bare fist. The blueblood stalked to the door, shouldering it open before slamming a crewmember against the wall. “The fucking helmsman’s protecting rebels now. I want that bastard decomissioned today.”

“Any luck getting to the helmsman or the prisoners?” Pilthe asked.

“No sir.”

“It’s been two days what the hell do you mean no fucking progress?” Pilthe dragged his hands down his face. “I didn’t sign on to play fucking siege warfare with a pissblooded battery!”

“Sir, if I can interrupt,” said a crewmember from the back. She held a tablet in her hand, eyes glued to the screen. “Brig’s been reporting near zero temperatures and lack of oxygen for a while.” She looked up then, bemusement spread across her face. “The prisoners say they’ll talk.”

Pilthe froze, but nodded slowly. “Get their intel, then. I need to file a new report.”

A week later Pilthe’s report fell onto the desk of Gafera Ritoly, head of the Alternian Interrogatormentor.

“Could be an asset,” the troll that dropped off the file said. “Don’t hear much about batteries resisting programming enough to perform professional interrogation work.”

“Thank you,” Ritoly said, and booked a trip to the Starskimmer without even reading the report. She knew already what she wanted.

“What is your name, helmsman?” Ritoly asked, hands folded behind her back. The helmsman before her seemed the only one not intimidated by her stance and Interrogatormentor-standard undercut.

“BC Starskimmer Arisen, helming code A1A100,” he said. His smirk caught on two, jagged fangs which poked outside his lip.

“Making me do all the work, Sollux Captor?” Ritoly said, head cocking to the side. She did not give the helmsman time to answer. “I read your captain’s reports. Very interesting, making those prisoners sing like little yellow featherbeasts. I have to say, you’ve caught my interest. You read my file too as I boarded, I assume.”

Sollux’s brows furrowed, mouth open just enough that the hook to reel him in would slip right in. “Yes,” he said. The cocky way he held himself had dissipated, leaving a baffled and socially useless troll with slumped shoulders. Helmsmen were so easy to read. “You’re Ritoly, of the Interrogatormentors. Look, I just did what I had to. If I didn’t clean that brig out we were just a target--”

“I don’t care” Ritoly said. She kept her face blank, but steepled her fingers in front of her torso. “You can forget your designation code. They filed for your decommission.” Sollux’s breathing hitched almost imperceptibly, eyes widening a micromillimeter. “You’re not going with the ship, Captor. The report was brought to me to have you repurposed as an Interrogatormentor.”

Ritoly took a few steps forward, the high heels of her boots making hardly a sound on the damp floor of the helmsblock. She reached out, dragging a finely sharpened claw along the helmsman’s chin.

“What do you say, Sollux Captor? How badly do you want to be a troll again?”

After two perigees of physical rehabilitation, the docterrors in charge declared Sollux fit to return to the fleet. The trip to the Interrogatormentor training facility took several days, after which a burly blueblood ushered him into a small orientation room with several other trolls. Ritoly stood at the front of the room, at the shoulder of an enormous seadweller with a voice that filled the entire room.

“The Interrogatormentor program is not a desk job, brats,” the seadweller said, lip curled into a snarl. “If you want something cozy and easy go be a damn foot soldier or hell, Low Admin should shoot you right into bulge-rotting oblivion. You will refer to me as Officer Rapard.” Rapard began pacing up and down the row of trolls before him, his eyes lingering only for a moment on Sollux with his sealed biowire ports and slouch. There seemed something false and stiff about his uncontrolled aggression, as if he knew just how much to yell to intimidate. The small maroon at the end of the row definitely looked ready to shit himself.

“Many of you will die in the training regime. Oh, were you hoping to get an easy ride, recruit?” he said, leaning into one seadweller’s face. Rapard walked away, leaving the other violet to tug his collar away from his sweaty gills. “You are all hopeless without the guidance you’ll get here. We’re going to tear you to shreds and put you back together into the finest daggers of the Fleet. Half of you will die in the process.We topple rebellions-- We topple civilizations. Dismissed!”

“God, I hope we don’t deal with him very often,” said the little maroon, who’d introduced himself as Ualona on the way out. “Doing okay, Mercuo?”

The seadweller glowered. “As if I need your concern. He said he’s the head trainer, so get used to it.”

“Geez.”

Sollux looked around at the others in the training squad, who were mostly quiet as they entered their bunking block. A tiny olive that couldn’t be older than seven tried to pick a bunk, but was grabbed by the scruff of his uniform and tossed aside by a purple. The purple settled down, her eyes closed, but growled as another young brownblood got within a foot of her bunk.

“Thought they didn’t let wigglers into the interrogatormentors,” Sollux said, causing the olive to flush.

“I’m almost eight, excuse you.”

“Don’t worry about him, Sparkles,” said a teal, jabbing an elbow right into Sollux’s ribs and ignoring his irritable hiss. “We’re all here for a reason.”

[courtinggrievances]

[[I’m gonna... take this time to put up a log kk had with eri this morning. this was rushedly formatted and it took me a bit to figure out how, so there might be some random < p > or something in there

PS: any formatting we did have from the discord got... erased so.... that sucks but you’ll get the point, even if they both get a bit, uh, runon? we tried to figure out a solution but right now i want to sacrifice quality for speed cause i need to sleep and we can fix it later if we really gotta]]

eridan | mags - Today at 7:37

so uh hey kar howwvve you been

Court (Kam) - Today at 7:42

HEY! NOT TERRIBLY TERRIBLE, IF I'M HONEST. IT'S NOT GETTING ANY COLDER, AND THE DRONES HAVEN'T CAUGHT US YET, SO THERE'S THAT.

eridan | mags - Today at 7:43

that doesnt relievve me all that much if im bein honest but alright i guess at least theres that just try and not get killed alright

Court (Kam) - Today at 7:43

HEY, WE'RE THINKING THE SAME THING HERE. I MEAN, I'M NOT RELIEVED AT ALL, BUT IF ANYTHING ELSE, I'VE STILL GOT MY LIFE, HAHA. FUCK, YOU KNOW I'M LITERALLY A FUGITIVE RIGHT? LIKE IF I WAS ON YOUR ALTERNIA, HOW LONG DO YOU THINK IT'D BE FOR A DRONE TO MATCH MY PROFILE UP IN THE DATABANKS AND SWOOP DOWN TO CARRY ME OFF IN ITS GRUBBY LITTLE CLAWS? LIKE I'LL TRY, BUT HEY. NO PROMISES.

eridan | mags - Today at 7:45

yeah ill nevver bring you to alternia thats for sure

Court (Kam) - Today at 7:45

I'M ACTUALLY KIND OF LOOKING FORWARD TO THE EARTH TRIP, HONESTLY. I'VE BEEN DOING "RESEARCH". IS IT TRUE THE SUN DOESN'T BURN YOUR SKIN THERE???? WHAT DO THE HUMANS DO AT NIGHT? IS IT TOO COLD, THEN, FOR THEM TO THRIVE? IS THAT WHEN THEY SLEEP, OR IS THAT WHEN THEY GET THE MOST OF THEIR WORK DONE?

eridan | mags - Today at 7:47

god you really are excited for it huh

Court (Kam) - Today at 7:48

FAR BE IT FROM ME TO SHOW ACTUAL EXCITEMENT, YOU KNOW. HEH. DEFINITELY, THOUGH. WHY SHOULD I NOT BE? I'M SPENDING TIME IN A NON-MURDEROUS PLACE WITH AN ACTUAL, HONEST TO GOD, NON-MURDEROUS FRIEND. LIKE HOLY ACTUAL FUCK, THAT DOESN'T HAPPEN OFTEN ENOUGH. EXCITED? EVERYTIME I THINK ABOUT IT I KIND OF JUST... THROW MY HANDS IN THE AIR. WHAT AM I GONNA DO? I GOT NO FUCKING CLUE. BUT IT'LL BE GOOD, I'M SURE.

eridan | mags - Today at 7:50

wwell good ill try my best to make it good for you so you get to havve a fuckin break for once but yeah its kinda flipped on earth wwhich i still cant get used to to be honest i havve the wworst sleepin problems the sun feels great there but i still cant bring myself to sleep normally at night

Court (Kam) - Today at 7:51

ALLOW ME TO SHOW A SMIDGEN OF CONCERN AND CARE FOR YOU BUT, HEY, I DON'T CARE IF WE DON'T EVEN LEAVE YOUR HIVE. I'LL RAID YOUR FOOD STORAGE BLOCK AND CRASH ON THE COUCH AND MAYBE WATCH YOU DO SHIT AND WE'LL BE GOOD. HELL, IT FEELS "GREAT"? CAN'T WAIT TO FIND OUT WHAT THAT FEELS LIKE. OUR SCHEDULES ARE KIND OF FLIPPED ANYWAYS, HONESTLY. WE TRAVEL DURING THE DAY A LOT, BECAUSE MOST TROLLS (ORPHANERS AND THE LIKE,) WON'T TRAVEL DURING DAY, SO WE GET A HEADSTART ON THEM. CAN'T OUTRUN THE DRONES THOUGH. MISERABLE EXCUSES FOR ORGANICS. JUST HAVE TO HOPE THEY DON'T CHASE US, DOESN'T SEEM LIKE IT SO FAR. I THINK WE LOST MOST OF THEM WHEN THEY RAIDED KANAYA'S HIVE AND RAZED IT TO THE GROUND? BACK WHEN I GOT MY SECOND CONCUSSION... OR FIRST, I'M NOT SURE, THAT PART IS KIND OF. BLURRY. IT WAS A LOT OF WAITING IN A DARK, WATERY CAVE. NO, SECOND, ACTUALLY. OR MAYBE, AN EXCARBATION OF THE FIRST, BECAUSE I GOT THAT ONE WHEN I GOT SLAMMED INTO A WALL BY A DRONE, EARLIER THAT... WEEK? LIKE THREE CYCLES BEFORE THE HIVE-RAZING, AND THEN I GOT HIT IN THE HEAD AGAIN WHEN WE WENT DOWN THE ROCKY WATER SLIDE OF DEATH WHEN THE DRONES ATTACKED THE HIVE. OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT. LIKE I SAID. BLURRY.

eridan | mags - Today at 7:56

ok this is a lot first off wwere absolutely gonna go outside and do cool shit ill showw you the city and stuff like theres this space needle that ivve honestly nevver been on evven though ivve been livvin here for a wwhile but you should see it its like a huge towwer wwhere you can see the entire city from its supposed to be real pretty but its also real pricey so i wwas nevver interested second howw the fuck do you evven travvel at day dont you get burns or anythin isnt that shit dangerous i mean yeah its dangerous already for you to travvel at night but like i dont knoww be safe ok readin shit like this makes me wwanna practise usin my rifle again honestly

Court (Kam) - Today at 7:59

IT WAS WORSE WHEN WE HAD TO TRAVEL THROUGH THE DESERT.

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:01

I BOUGHT REALLY NICE SUN GEAR BEFORE HAND, AND I ALREADY HAD MOST OF MY BLISTERS IN THE TWO-HOUR TREK TO TEMP'S HIVE BEFOREHAND. I GUESS, ONCE YOU BLISTER UP ENOUGH, YOUR SKIN GETS USED TO IT. THEN YOU JUST SWEAT TO DEATH. I'M STILL 99% SURE WE'VE ALL SHORTENED OUR LIFESPANS BY SOME DEGREE, THOUGH. UNFORTUNATE BUT COULDN'T BE HELPED. BURNS GET CAUSED BY THE CONTACT OF THE HEATSOURCE TO YOUR SKIN- IF YOU GET TOO HOT, YOU BAKE AND BLISTER UP BEFORE YOU ACTUALLY BURN, WITHOUT ACTUAL EXPOSURE TO THE RAYS OF THE SUN, LIKE WHEN YOU WEAR HEAT GEAR. WITHOUT IT, OH YEAH. HELL YEAH, YOU ABSOLUTELY BURN AND IT'S HORRIFIC, BUT WE'RE ALL PAST THAT POINT. WE'VE BEEN ON THE ROAD FOR.... ALMOST HALF A SWEEP? WE TRY TO FIND SHADE WHERE WE CAN. RIGHT NOW IT'S COLD AND PATCHY SNOW SOMETIMES, WHEN THE SUN ISN'T OUT. IT'S SOMEWHAT TOLERABLE THIS FAR NORTH, THE SUN I MEAN.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:06

howw the fuck are you not dead yet holy shit

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:06

TEMP REFERS TO ME AS A "BRICK WALL SHITHOUSE".

eridan | mags - Today at 8:06

pretty accurate can i ask you somethin though howw did all of this start the runnin i mean

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:15

I ACTUALLY PASSED OUT ONCE IN THE DESERT, WHILE WE WERE TRAVELING TO KANAYA'S HIVE, AND TEMP HAD TO CARRY ME. ALSO, YEAH. THIS IS TOP SECRET SHIT, OKAY?

eridan | mags - Today at 8:16

god

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:16

DON'T JUST GO TELLING THIS SHIT TO JUST ANYONE.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:16

i dont evven knoww wwho to tell honestly

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:16

I GUESS TEMP PINGED HER BATTLESHIP.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:16

they cant really do much wwith this information

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:17

GOT EVERYTHING. LOCATION COORDINATES, CABIN ROSTER, EVEN THE FUCKING MENU FOR THE FOOD LINE. ANNNDD I GUESS TEMP FIGURED OUT HIS ANCESTOR IS THE UNWILLING PILOT FOR THAT SHIP. OBVIOUSLY SHE DIDN'T LIKE THAT SOMEONE GOT THROUGH THE SECURITY ON HER SHIP. BUT BEFORE SHE DID ANYTHING, TEMP CAME TO ME, AND I NOT-SO-LIGHTLY SUGGESTED WE LEAVE TOWN. AS WE LEFT HIS HIVESTEM, WE SAW THE GAGGLE OF HIGHBLOODS IN UNIFORM FORCING ALL THE PSIONS THEY COULD FIND OUT OF EVERY BLOCK IN THE NEARBY VICINITY AND INTO CHAINS. TEMP DIDN'T THINK SHE WOULD BE THAT QUICK IN PINPOINTING HIS LOCATION BUT I FUCKING KNEW BETTER. ANYWAY, HE COULDN'T SIT WITH THE IDEA THAT HE'D CAUSED THESE THIRTY-SOMETHING PSIONIC TROLLS TO BECOME ENSLAVED OR TO REACH AN EARLY ASCENSION AND RITES OR WHATEVER, SO I BASICALLY WENT IN AND KNOCKED THE SHIT OUT OF SOME OF THE FUCKS, BROKE THE BINDINGS, AND JUST FUCKING RAN. BUT THEN THEY KNEW WHAT I LOOKED LIKE, SO WE WERE BOTH RUNNING FROM HER AND FROM THE LOCALS.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:23

so basically it wwas your mate bein a curious idiot that got you into this situation

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:23

WE WENT BACK TO MY HIVE, RAIDED MY SHIT, AND THEN WE CROSSED THE CITY IN THE SEWERS FOR THE DAY AND THEN HEADED OUT OF TOWN, STAYED AT A MOTEL FOR A FEW NIGHTS, AND HEADED OUT TO THE DESERT, AND THERE'S JUST A BUNCH OF BULLSHIT I'D RATHER NOT TALK ABOUT FROM THERE. IT'S MOSTLY BULLSHIT ABOUT THE COVERUP OF WHAT I'M DUBBING THE ANCESTRAL REVOLT AND THE WRONGFUL IMPRISONMENT AND SLAUGHTER OF THOSE WHO PARTICIPATED IN IT. TEMP'S JUST ALL WOUND UP BECAUSE HIS ANCESTOR IS STILL ALIVE AND SUFFERING AND GOD. I MEAN DIP'S ALL WELL AND GOOD, HE'S GOTTEN US OUT OF A FEW PICKLES SO FAR. BUT MESSAGES ARE SPARSE, AND IT WORRIES TEMP, I GUESS. BUT YEAH, BASICALLY.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:25

so wwhats your plan are you just gonna run forevver

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:26

DO YOU WANT THE LONG ANSWER OR THE SHORT ONE.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:26

givve me the long one im invvested

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:27

WE JUST RECENTLY LEARNED THAT SHE'S CALLING ALL THE PSIONS TO HER IN A CLASS-ACT LEVEL OF BULLSHIT, EVERY SINGLE!! FUCKING!! PSION!! INTERPLANETARY SHIPPING IS HALTED, SHE'S LAID SIEGE TO ALTERNIA ITSELF IF WE CAN'T GET THE RESOURCES WE NEED FROM OTHER PLANETS EFFECTIVELY. SHE'S REARRANGED THE CLASSES OF THE STELLAR-CLASS PSIONS AND BASICALLY RESTRUCTURED THE ENTIRE ALTERNIAN TRANSGALACTIC FLEET'S INFRASTRUCTURE JUST TO KEEP DIPSHIT ALIVE. SO RIGHT NOW, WE'RE SCRAMBLING TO GET THE MESSAGE OUT. ANYONE WITH POWER NEEDS TO GET OUT OF THEIR HIVES AND GET UNDERGROUND BEFORE THEY GET BROUGHT UP INTO THE STARS TO BE USED UP AND THROWN AWAY. SHE'S EVEN TAKING EGGS, IF DIPSHIT IS TO BE BELIEVED. NO PSIONICS ARE TO BE LEFT ON ALTERNIA, AND EVERYWHERE ELSE THEY'RE ABOUT TO BECOME A CLASS A SCARCE RESOURCE.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:29

wwho the fuck evven is that dipshit youre talkin about

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:29

WHICH MEANS TEMP AND AA JUST BECAME SUPER VALUABLE TO ANYONE LOOKING. HE'S HER PILOT, THE ONE TEMP CONTACTED. I'D SAY HIS PROPER TITLE BUT I'VE GOT TO BE CAREFUL WITH BUZZWORDS.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:30

wwell alright

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:30

ANYWAY! SO WE'RE TRYING TO GET THE WORD OUT TO HIGHBLOODS ABOUT THIS CLASS A RESOURCE THING, SO THEY WANT TO KEEP THEIR PSIONICS ON THE PLANET, AND TO THE REST, TO KEEP HIDDEN. ANYWHERE IS BETTER, BUT IF THEY GET INTO ORBIT, THEY'RE BASICALLY DEAD IN THE WATER. IT'S THE GENOCIDE OF AN ENTIRE FUCKING CLASS, IT'S WHAT SHE'S TRYING TO DO, ALL TO KEEP HER PRIZE FROM SAID ANCESTRAL REVOLT. ANYWAY!! MY PERSONAL GOAL IS TO LEARN MORE ABOUT MY OWN ANCESTOR AND HOW HE TIED INTO ALL THIS, BUT I GUESS WE'VE GOT MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO PLAN, LIKE HOW WE'RE GOING TO GET NEWS LIKE THIS SHIT OUT ON A MASS SCALE. I'M THINKING OF GETTING SOME SORT OF RADIO TRANSMITTER AND GETTING THE WORD OUT FOR OUR STATION NUMBERS OR WHATEVER. LONG TERM, TEMP WANTS TO FREE DIPSHIT. SO I GUESS WE'RE GONNA BAIT THE EMPRESS PLANETSIDE. AND THEN... I DUNNO. WE'LL FIGHT, I GUESS. SHE'S SO FAR OUT, THOUGH, THAT'S THE PROBLEM.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:34

do you really actually think youvve got a chance against the condesce

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:34

IT'LL TAKE /SWEEPS/ TO BRING HER THIS WAY, PROBABLY, UNLESS SHE PUTS DIPSHIT AT RISK, AND TEMP DOESN'T WANT THAT AND NEITHER DO I. MAYBE NOT NOW, BUT BY THE TIME SHE GETS HERE? I'M HOPING. I MEAN, IF ALL ELSE FAILS, I'LL STAND IN THE DIRECT SUNLIGHT IN MIDDAY, WITH ALL MY RESISTANCE TO IT, AND CHALLENGE HER OUT? HAHAH. ... HONESTLY...? I THINK MY PRIORITIES LIE MORE WITH THE REST OF ALTERNIA. TEMP CAN WORRY ABOUT DIPSHIT ALL HE WANTS. BUT FOR THE REST OF US? I THINK THAT'S GOING TO BE MY MAIN CONCERN. ALL INTERPLANETARY SHIPPING IS GOING TO STOP FOR A WHILE- WE'RE SWITCHING TO FOSSIL FUELS FOR FUCKS SAKE!! SO RESOURCES ARE ABOUT TO BECOME EXTREMELY RARE, AND I NEED TO STOCK UP AND MAKE SURE WE HAVE WHAT WE NEED TO SURVIVE THE NEXT FEW MONTHS. I'VE ALREADY PUT THROUGH MY ORDER THROUGH SOME OF MY LESS REPUTABLE CONTACTS, SO I THINK WE'LL BE FINE, BUT IT'LL BE ROUGH, PROBABLY. SO THAT'S THE LONG VERSION OF THE MAIN PLAN.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:39

this is this is fuckin stupid howw can you think you can change somethin wwhy do you think its YOUR job to help evveryone your biggest concern should be that you and maybe youre friends are safe like fuck the rest they nevver did anythin FOR you and i doubt they evver wwill just get out of this fuckin place this plan is bound to fail and youll pay wwith your fuckin life

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:40

YOU MISUNDERSTAND ME, DAC. I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT ANYONE BESIDES MY GROUP, AND THE PEOPLE MY GROUP CARES ABOUT. TEMP HAPPENS TO CARE ABOUT THE CODEJOCKEYS, THE ONES I SAVED EARLIER FROM THE HIGHBLOOD ROUNDUP? AND I CARE ABOUT FAVORS. YOU GIVE ENOUGH INFORMATION OUT, PEOPLE ARE GONNA WANT TO KEEP YOU AROUND. IT'S... INSURANCE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME. WE NEED A NETWORK.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:42

wwell then fuckin knock that care out of him and get off this stupid fuckin planet before you actually die you dont need a netwwork you need a safe place

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:42

WE NEED PLACES TO STAY, THINGS TO EAT, PLACES TO RUN, AND YOU CAN'T GET THAT WITHOUT GIVING SOMETHING.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:42

this is not goin to wwork do you understand me

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:42

DAC. I HEAR YOU LOUD AND CLEAR, BUT I LOVE HIM, AND I'M GOING TO STAND WITH HIM.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:43

youre goin to die for it both of you

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:43

I MAY WANT TO GET THE HELL OUT OF DODGE A WHOLE HELL OF A LOT MORE THAN YOU THINK. BUT HE WON'T. HE'S HERE FOR THE LONG HAUL, AND I... I THINK HE CAN DO IT.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:43

if you really cared about your mate youd get him to safety

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:43

BUT HE NEEDS SOMEONE TO BE BY HIS SIDE. DON'T SEND ME ON A GUILT TRIP, BECAUSE I'VE BEEN THERE ALREADY, I TRIED THAT. I KNOCKED HIM OUT SO HE WOULDN'T FIGHT THE DRONES, AND SENT HIM DOWN THE WATERY ROCK SLIDE OF DEATH SO HE WOULD SURVIVE AND I WOULD FIGHT THEM.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:44

try harder maybe

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:44

HE JUST GOT MAD AT ME.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:44

temp is insane

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:45

YEAH, HE IS. BUT I BELIEVE IN HIM ANYWAY.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:45

yeah cause youre goddamn stupid

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:45

I'D DO THAT FOR ALL OF MY FRIENDS.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:45

stupid is wwhat you are both of you

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:45

INCLUDING YOU, YOU KNOW. ALL YOU'RE DOING IS MAKING ME FEEL BAD, AND IT'S NOT GOING TO YEILD ANY RESULTS OTHER THAN "I CAN'T TRUST DAC WITH PERSONAL INFORMATION".

eridan | mags - Today at 8:46

im makin you feel bad cause i i nevvermind

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:48

I MEAN... I WANT TO BE ABLE TO TELL YOU SHIT WHEN YOU ASK, BUT I DON'T WANT TO BE ABLE TO FEEL LIKE YOU'RE JUST GOING TO TELL ME THAT WHAT I FEEL IS STUPID AND THAT I'M STUPID. BECAUSE THAT'S NOT A GOOD FEELING, KNOWING I'VE GOT TO DO THIS SHIT REGARDLESS, BECAUSE HE'S MY FRIEND AND... GOD, THE LENGTHS OF SHIT I'LL GO TO FOR HIM, I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND. IT JUST DOESN'T FEEL GOOD IF I TELL YOU SOMETHING AND YOU TELL ME THAT IT'S DUMB AND POINTLESS. I ALREADY KNOW THAT. I DON'T CARE, I'M NOT DOING IT FOR THE POINTLESS ASPECT OF IT, I'M DOING IT BECAUSE MY BEST FUCKING FRIEND, DUMPTRUCK OF SHIT THAT HE MAY BE, NEEDS ME TO. ANYWAY. YOU'RE RIGHT, THOUGH. IT IS STUPID, BUT LIKE I SAID. I DON'T CARE.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:50

yeah alright

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:50

SOMEONE'S GOTTA, AND I GUESS IT'S GOING TO BE ME, BECAUSE WITHOUT ME, TEMP WILL /DEFINITELY/ DIE. KANAYA MIGHT MAKE IT ON HER OWN, BUT SHE'S STILL TOO SECLUSIVE TO KNOW HOW TO HANDLE A BIG CITY, SAME WITH TEMP. BOTH OF THEM COULDN'T WEASEL THEIR WAY INTO AN UNDERGROUND FIGHTING RING IF THEY TRIED, AND I'D GET IN BASED ON MY LOOKS ALONE.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:53

yeah ok

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:55

TEMP SEES... THE SMALL PARTS OF THE PICTURE. HE'S GOOD WITH CODE AND GOOD WITH KNOWING HOW TO DO THINGS ON A SMALL SCALE. KANAYA'S GOOD WITH WEAPONS AND HAND TO HAND COMBAT, AND SHE'S A JADEBLOOD, WHICH MEANS SHE GETS EASIER ACCESS TO FOOD. PERSONALLY, I KNOW HOW TO FIGHT, AND I KNOW THE DREGS OF THE CITY LIKE THE BACK OF MY CALLOUSED HANDS. I CAN WANT TWO CRATES OF HIGHLY ILLEGAL SHIT AND KNOW EXACTLY WHO TO TALK TO AND WHERE TO GO TO GET THEM, I'VE ALREADY GOT A LITTLE NETWORK IN SOME CITIES WILLING TO BET BIG MONEY ON ME IN THE FIGHTS, AND MAKE SOME GOOD CAEGERS THAT WAY, AND I SEE THE BIG PICTURE. WHERE TO GO, ULTIMATELY. WHAT TO ASK. WHO WE NEED. WE ALL PULL OUR WEIGHT.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:56

alright

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:56

NEXT QUESTION?

eridan | mags - Today at 8:57

howw did you twwo start datin

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:57

I GOT AN ANON MESSAGE ON TUMBLR SAYING HE WANTED TO KISS ME, AND THEN IT KIND OF SNOWBALLED. HE HID FROM HIS FEELINGS FOR A WHILE AND WE TALKED IT OUT, AND I ENDED UP STORMING OUT THE DOOR BECAUSE SOME PISSFACE WANTED TO TALK TO ME ON ANON ABOUT THAT SORT OF NSFW BULLSHIT. YOU KNOW HOW THEY CAN GET.

eridan | mags - Today at 8:59

yeah

Court (Kam) - Today at 8:59

HE ENDED UP CHASING AFTER ME AND UH, HONESTLY I'M KIND OF A SUCKER FOR PEOPLE SHOWING THEY ACTUALLY WANT TO BE WITH A HOTBLOOD LIKE ME. MOST OF THE TIME PEOPLE... DON'T. I GUESS. PROBABLY. I ASSUMED IT WAS BECAUSE I WAS HEMOANONYMOUS BACK THEN, AND THAT SPELLS TROUBLE TO ANYONE WITH EYES?

eridan | mags - Today at 8:59

guess you got lucky there

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:00

BOY I THOUGHT I WAS HOT SHIT BACK THEN, ALL GREYED OUT AND SPECIAL.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:00

yeah

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:00

NOW IT'S JUST BECAUSE I'VE GOT A TINY-ASS LIFESPAN AND I'M A DEAD MAN IF MY COLOR EVEN COMES UP IN A SCANNER. AKA; TOO DANGEROUS TO WANT TO BE WITH, APPARENTLY. IT'S... NICE TO BE ABLE TO TALK TO SOMEONE ABOUT THIS SHIT, THOUGH. TEMP SOMETIMES BRUSHES IT OFF AND I FEEL WORSE. DON'T THINK HE WANTS TO FACE IT EITHER. YOU'RE A GOOD LISTENER.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:03

i try guess im good wwhen im not makin you feel like shit for openin up huh

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:03

YOU GOT IT, YEAH. ANY OTHER QUESTIONS, I GUESS? I'M OPEN TO ANSWERING.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:05

i cant really think of any to be honest you answwered evverythin i needed to knoww

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:06

ALRIGHT, WELL IS THERE ANYTHING YOU WANT TO KNOW LIKE, I DON'T KNOW. HOW TALL I AM. LIFE EXPERIANCES. WHAT'S THE BIGGEST TROLL I'VE EVER FOUGHT. THE MOST CAEGERS OR BEETLES I'VE EVER WON.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:06

howw old are you

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:07

NINE, NEARLY TEN. WHAT ABOUT YOU?

eridan | mags - Today at 9:07

wwell then youre evven younger than me

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:07

ALSO, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I LOOK LIKE, DO YOU. FUCK.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:07

recently turned ten though and yeah no i dont

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:07

I'LL UPLOAD SOMETHING TODAY OR TOMORROW OR SOMETHING.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:08

i wwas alwways satisfied wwith my imagination of you but yeah id like to see it

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:11

courtingGrievances [CG] sent file -wWzIKy1g.png- to [CA] at ??:?? DOES THAT SATISFY YOUR IMAGINATION?

eridan | mags - Today at 9:12

oh oh huh you dont you dont look as bad as i thought you wwould

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:12

WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

eridan | mags - Today at 9:13

you look good is wwhat i mean

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:14

DID YOU HEAR THAT?? THAT WAS THE SOUND MY HEAD MADE AS I DROPPED MY PALMHUSK ONTO MY FUCKING FACE.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:15

wwhat wwhy

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:15

NO REASON. MY FINGERS ARE COLD. I'M SLIGHTLY TIRED. THERE WAS A WIND. I DON'T TAKE COMPLIMENTS WELL APPARENTLY.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:16

oh uh i mean i didnt say anythin really you just dont look bad you knoww and its a relief

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:16

A... RELIEF? HEY, WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?

eridan | mags - Today at 9:21

im not friends wwith ugly people

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:21

WAIT, SO IF I WAS UGLY YOU WOULDN'T BE FRIENDS WITH ME? o:B

eridan | mags - Today at 9:22

probably i havve standards you knoww

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:23

I THINK THAT SUCKS. I'D MISS OUT ON YOUR PRESENCE BECAUSE I'D BE UGLY. NOT TO BE A FUCKING DOWNER OR ANYTHING. BUT I LIKE TALKING TO YOU, AND NOT BEING ABLE TO WOULD KIND OF SUCK.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:26

wwell you can be glad youre not then but really im not all that special

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:26

BUT ALSO, I DON'T THINK YOU MEAN THAT, BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT I WASN'T AS GOOD AS I LOOK. AND YOU STILL WANT TO BE FRIENDS WITH ME. WANTED, I MEAN.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:27

people are glad wwhen they dont havve to talk to me

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:27

OKAY, LISTEN.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:27

wwell i thought you looked avverage

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:27

WE'VE BEEN TALKING PRETTY STRAIGHT FOR TWO WHOLE HOURS. IF I DIDN'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU, I WOULDN'T BE. WELL, FUCK.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:28

i mean youre doin most of the talkin so

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:28

SOOOO I'M RIGHT.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:30

shrug wwhatevver you wwanna think honestly

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:33

I TIHNK I'M RIGHT, AND I WANT TO TALK TO YOU, BECAUSE, OCCASSIONAL JACKASSERY ASIDE, I THINK YOU'VE GOT POTENTIAL, DAC. ALSO; IF OCCASSIONAL JACKASSERY WAS A PAYING JOB, WE'D BOTH BE RICHER THAN THE EMPRESS HERSELF. HAHAH.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:41

i mean to be fuckin honest but also i really doubt and evven if i do havve potential it wwent to wwaste already

Court (Kam) - Today at 9:43

STILL HERE, AREN'T YOU? DOESN'T THAT POINT TO SOME INNATE SENSE OF NEED, OF WANTING TO BE MORE? THERE'S STILL SOMETHING LEFT IN YOU, BUD. PROMISE. EVERYONE'S GIVEN YOU SHIT AND SOMETIMES RIGHTFULLY SO, AND YOU GET KNOCKED DOWN A LOT, BUT YOU ALWAYS GET RIGHT BACK UP, YEAH? YOU'RE LIKE A FIGHTER. LIKE ME. I KNOW THIS ISN'T ALL YOU'VE GOT TO GIVE, YOU'VE JUST GOT TO FIND THE RIGHT PEOPLE TO GIVE IT TO. GOD. I NEED TO STOP TALKING, PROBABLY.

eridan | mags - Today at 9:59

no youre fine but uh i dont knoww i dont feel like much of a fighter wwhen i just you knoww do wwhat i gotta do

eridan | mags - Today at 10:00

you actually fight people and protect your friends and such wwhile i just do nothin

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:00

YOU FIGHT FOR YOURSELF. AND PROBABLY EVENTUALLY, SOMEONE ELSE TOO. YOUR QUADS, OR WHATEVER.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:01

wwhenevver i do its just outta place and unneeded and people get mad at me

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:06

I GET THAT. IT'LL CHANGE, EVENTUALLY. I'M RUNNING OUT OF WORDS, SORRY. IT'S BULLSHIT O CLOCK, BUT LISTEN... PEOPLE ARE ALWAYS GOING TO HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THE WAY OTHER PEOPLE DO THINGS. IT'S NOT THEIR JOB TO CHANGE YOU. IF YOU LIKE WHO YOU ARE, BE THAT. EVERYONE WHO CARES WILL LIKE YOU FOR YOU.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:08

evven if its my owwn kismesis gettin mad at me for protectin her a feww people called me manipulativve too just cause i wwanted her to be ok

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:23

WHAT DID YOU DO?

eridan | mags - Today at 10:25

someone wwas makin fun of her in public and tellin her howw she rules is awwful just cause she uses a lot of gifs of marie antoinette so i got mad and told him off but more people joined his friends probably and evventually she told me to shut up but i didnt wwant to and then i just got called manipulativve for wwantin to help her

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:26

THAT'S NOT HER GETTING MAD AT YOU FOR PROTECTING HER, THAT'S HER GETTING CONCERNED ABOUT YOU MAKING A FOOL OUT OF YOURSELF. WHEN THAT HAPPENS, YOU SHOULD MAKE YOUR STANCE KNOWN, BUT YOU SHOULDN'T PUSH IT. STAND UP FOR HER AND TELL THEM OFF, BUT DON'T REPLY FURTHER BEYOND SCORNFUL AND LAUGH-INDUCING GIFS RAGGING ON THE PEOPLE TRYING TO GET THE ONE UP ON YOU. WHAT PEOPLE ARE DOING WHEN THEY KEEP TRYING TO GET A RESPONSE OUT OF YOU IS TRYING TO MAKE YOU SLIP UP, MAKE A MISTAKE. GIVE THEM GIFS, NOT EFFORT, AND YOU SHOULD BE BETTER OFF.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:29

i still got a screenshot of wwhat someone said to me that kinda hit me - https://gyazo.com/7cee73e22a941c972692c37965269d1e - all i wwas tryin to fuckin do is protect her and evveryone wwas just against me suddenly it felt awwful karkat and i still cant get ovver it

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:30

YOU REMEMBER HOW YOU WERE MAKING ME FEEL BAD FOR DOING SHIT I FEEL LIKE I'VE GOT TO DO AND YOU WENT "IF YOU LOVED HIM, YOU'D DO THIS?"

eridan | mags - Today at 10:30

so next time i just back dowwn and let them make fun of her or wwhat

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:31

HOLD ON, LET ME FINISH THIS TRAIN OF THOUGHT FIRST.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:31

alright sorry im just ugh

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:32

THINGS IN THAT SORT OF FORMAT, LIKE "IF YOU LOVED HER, YOU'D DO THIS", AND "WOE IS ME, THIS BULLSHIT IS HAPPENING BECAUSE OF YOU" THAT MAKE SOMEONE FEEL BAD FOR THINGS BEYOND THEIR CONTROL, THAT'S GUILT TRIPPING. IT'S MAKING THEM FEEL GUILTY ABOUT THINGS THEY CAN'T CONTROL, OR THINGS THAT AREN'T THEIR FAULT. IT FUCKING SUCKS WHEN SHIT HAPPENS, BUT MOST PEOPLE DON'T CARE, AND THEY JUST GET OFFENDED AND PUT OUT WHEN YOU TRY TO TELL THEM SO LIKE THAT. YOU COULD TRY WORDING THINGS BETTER, LIKE... INSTEAD OF "YOU'RE GOING TO TURN ON ME TOO", YOU COULD SAY "I FEEL LIKE I'M ALONE HERE, ARE YOU AGAINST ME TOO?" OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT. OR FOR THE SHIT WHERE YOU WENT, "IF YOU LOVED HIM, YOU'D DO THIS" BIT, YOU COULD JUST HAVE SAID "BUT DON'T YOU WANT TO SEE HIM PROTECTED TOO?". MOST OF THE TIME, PHRASING IT LIKE A QUESTION KEEPS THE GENERAL PURPOSE ALIVE WITHOUT BRINGING GUILT DOWN TO THE OTHER PERSONS HEAD.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:36

so the wwhole thing wwith her wwas actually my fault and i got wwhat i deservved

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:37

NEXT TIME THIS BULLSHIT HAPPENS, JUST GIVE THEM ONE RESPONSE OUTLINING YOUR THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS ON THE SUBJECT; IE, YOU'RE NOT HAPPY WITH THE WAY THEY'RE TREATING YOUR MOIRAIL AND SHE CAN POST WHATEVER SHE WANTS, IT'S NOT THEIR JOBS TO JUDGE HER STYLE OF RULING BASED ON GIFS OF SOME FICTIONAL WOMAN. IF THEY TRY TO BRING IT FURTHER, RESPOND WITH A GIF OF SOMEONE YAWNING, OR ACT BORED OF THE CURRENT CONVERSATION, AND DON'T GIVE THEM MORE FUEL FOR THE FIRE. PICTURES ARE WORTH MORE THAN WORDS.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:38

shes my kismesis but yeah alright

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:38

AS FOR THE WHOLE THING WITH HER, I WASN'T THERE SO I CAN'T SAY FOR SURE, BUT IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU WERE IN THE RIGHT TO PROTECT HER, BUT WRONG TO CARRY IT SO FAR, AND YOU SHOULD HAVE QUIT WHILE YOU WERE AHEAD. I DON'T THINK IT WAS YOUR FAULT, THOUGH. ROSEREDMUTANT SOUNDS LIKE A FUCKING JACKASS.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:38

shrug evveryone sounds like a jackass wwhen they talk to me evveryone just treats me like dirt

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:39

THE MOST IMPORTANT THING YOU NEED TO LEARN, I THINK, IS WHEN TO STOP. THERE'S NO POINT BEATING A DEAD HORSE, AND IF YOUR KISMESIS SAYS STOP, YOU SHOULD SAY WHY, AND ASK HER TO BE HONEST. AND IF SHE TELLS YOU WHY, AND SHE'S HONEST AND TELLS YOU WHY AND IT'S A GOOD REASON, YOU SHOULD STOP, REGARDLESS, OR ASK HER TO COME MAKE YOU STOP. SHE'S YOUR KISMESIS FOR A REASON, IT'S HER JOB TO HELP KEEP YOU FROM FIGHTING WITH THE RIFFRAFF, TO DISTRACT YOU FROM OTHER FIGHTS AND MAKE YOU FOCUS ON HER. HER JOB TO HELP YOU IMPROVE YOURSELF THROUGH LEARNING WHAT BATTLES TO PICK, TO HELP YOU LEARN YOUR LIMITS, IN ARGUMENTS AND OTHERWISE.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:42

so i just kinda trust her and stop next time

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:43

IF SHE'S "BEGGING YOU TO STOP" AND NOTHING ELSE, SHE NEEDS TO LEARN TO USE HER WORDS, ALSO. THERE IS NOTHING IN THIS MULTIVERSE THAT CAN'T BE SOLVED THROUGH SOME SORT OF ARGUMENT OR CONVERSATION. YEAH, BASICALLY. SHIT SUCKS SOMETIMES BUT YOU DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO. TRUSTING HER WILL SHOW HER THAT YOU VALUE YOUR RELATIONSHIP.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:43

she didnt beg she just told me multiple times to back off and that its fine and she can deal wwith it on her owwn

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:43

HERE'S WHAT YOU SHOULD DO NEXT TIME.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:43

guess she doesnt like my help

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:43

OKAY, HOLD ON. YEAH, NO, THAT'S NOT RIGHT I MEAN. IT COULD BE POSSIBLE THAT SHE FELT LIKE YOU WERE VACCILATTING PINK, AND SHE FELT EXTREMELY DEFENSIVE ABOUT IT. YOU SHOULD TALK TO HER ABOUT THAT. BUT NO, IF SHE TELLS YOU TO STOP SOMETHING, SHE SHOULD AT LEAST HAVE A REASON, AND YOU'RE FUCKING QUADDED, SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING ALONE, AND NEXT TIME THAT SHIT HAPPENS. WHEN SHE TELLS YOU TO "STOP DEFENDING ME, BACK OFF, I CAN DO THIS ON MY OWN", YOU NEED TO TELL HER SOMETHING LIKE "I WILL BACK OFF BECAUSE YOU WANT ME TO AND I TRUST YOUR JUDGEMENT, BUT I NEED YOU TO TRUST ME ALSO" AND MAYBE SOMETHING LIKE "I NEED YOUR HELP TO BACK OFF, CAN YOU COME DISTRACT ME". BECAUSE, HAHA, THAT'S KIND OF HER JOB, AS YOUR KISMESIS, IS TO DISTRACT YOU FROM GETTING INTO SHIT YOU MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO HANDLE. EMOTIONALLY OR PHYSICALLY. THAT'S THE WHOLE FUCKING POINT OF KISMESITUDE.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:47

huh alright i nevver kneww that to be honest yeah i i guess ill havve to talk to her i dont knoww

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:48

HERE. https://fluffpuffandstuff.tumblr.com/post/156045666788/what-the-heck-am-ii-feeliing-labeliing-your 

eridan | mags - Today at 10:49

i dont wwanna dig it up again but it might happen again and shrug

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:49

I SENT SOMETHING IN TO THIS E-ZINE AND I GOT THIS BACK, AND IT HELPED ME LABEL TEMP AND I INTO AN OMNIQUAD. YOU SHOULD READ IT TOO, ALRIGHT? AND EVEN IF YOU DON'T. HERE'S THE BASIC GIST. MATESPRITS PROTECT, KISMESIS' IMPROVE. MOIRAILS SOOTHE AND AUSPISTICES INTERVENE AS A TOPLEAF, AND WANT TO BE INTERVENED ON AS A BOTTOMLEAF.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:51

yeah i just got to that part

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:51

I'LL BREAK IT DOWN FOR YOU EVEN FURTHER IF YOU WANT, THIS SORT OF SHIT IS WHAT I USED TO THRIVE ON A FEW SWEEPS BACK, MARATHONING ROM-COMS LIKE THEY WERE THE HOTTEST NEW GAMEGRUB OF THE SEASONAL VENTURE.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:52

thats not all too surprisin to be honest hahaha but no i dont wwant to think about this more or else i just end up realisin i got flush feelins for my kismesis or somethin like that thatd just ruin things and make it evven wworse i just wwanted to be there cause i felt like as kismesises wwere a team you knoww

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:53

YOU WOULDN'T RUIN THINGS BY TALKING ABOUT YOUR EMOTIONS.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:53

yeah wwe hate eachother but also wwere still datin

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:53

EVERY, EVERY QUADRANT IS SUPPOSED TO TALK ABOUT THEIR EMOTIONS, JUST IN DIFFERENT WAYS.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:56

huh

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:56

IF YOU FEEL LIKE YOU VACILLATE, THEN TELL HER, GENTLY. IF SHE DOESN'T RETURN THEM, ASK IF THIS CHANGES ANYTHING. AND IF SHE SAYS YES, ASK HER, SPECIFICALLY, WHAT IT CHANGES. ASK HER (IN A DIFFERENT SENTENCE,) IF THIS CHANGES YOUR KISMESITUDE, AND IF SHE STILL /WANTS/ TO BE KISMESIS' WITH YOU. AND IF SHE SAYS NO. COME TO ME.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:56

no im not goin to do that

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:56

AND IF SHE SAYS YEAH, SHE STILL WANTS TO BE BLACK WITH YOU, THEN YOU'RE GOLDEN, AND NOTHING CHANGES. YEAH, NO, I DON'T BLAME YOU THERE. BETTER TO WAIT UNTIL YOU'VE GOT YOUR FEELINGS SECURELY LOCKED IN A BOX OR SOMETHING. THAT SHIT'S HEAVY.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:57

this could evven cause problems wwith my husband and im not into that

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:57

FAIR.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:57

ill just i guess talk to her about that stuff wwith that one fight that got out of hand but nothin more

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:58

JUST... ASK HER TO HELP YOU MORE WITH DISTRACTING YOU FROM FIGHTS YOU CAN'T HANDLE. USE THOSE WORDS.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:58

yeah ok

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:58

IF YOU CAN, APOLOGIZE FOR MAKING A SPECTACLE OUT OF YOURSELF. USE THOSE WORDS TOO.

eridan | mags - Today at 10:58

i dont like apologisin

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:58

ME EITHER. IT FEELS GROSS, DOESN'T IT?

eridan | mags - Today at 10:59

yeah

Court (Kam) - Today at 10:59

IT FEELS ALL... VULNERABLE AND SHIT.

eridan | mags - Today at 11:00

yeah i dont i dont like doin that so i rarely evver apologise i dont apologise if i dont gotta

Court (Kam) - Today at 11:00

YEAH. YEAH, YES. THAT BULLSHIT. IF I APOLOGIZE, I'M GENUINELY FUCKING FEELING IT, AND DITTO FOR YOU I'M ASSUMING?

eridan | mags - Today at 11:01

yeah actually lets start wwith it already sorry for uh dumpin this on you its not your job to do this i just i guess i cant help it i kinda wwhine to evverybody i dont knoww

Court (Kam) - Today at 11:02

DUDE, YOU'RE NOT WHINING. YOU'RE ASKING FOR HELP. THAT'S ALL A COMPLAIN OR A WHINE IS. IT'S THICKLY VEILED BUT THAT'S REALLY, WHAT IT COMES DOWN TO. YOU'RE HOPING SOMEONE WILL LISTEN AND DO SOMETHING TO STOP THE SOURCE OF YOUR WHINING, OR TO CONSOLE YOU AND HELP YOU FEEL BETTER ABOUT THE BULLSHIT THAT CAUSED THE WHINING OR COMPLAINING IN THE FIRST PLACE.

eridan | mags - Today at 11:03

i mean yeah but like its still not your duty you knoww i should be able to deal wwith my problems alone i guess god im just so pathetic

Court (Kam) - Today at 11:03

I SPENT HOURS WATCHING SHIT LIKE THIS AND YELLING AT THE CHARACTERS ON SCREEN, HONESTLY, I'M THE BEST PERSON FOR THE JOB, HAHA. UH, ALSO?? FUCK NO. DEALING WITH PROBLEMS ALONE FUCKING SUCKS. IT FEELS BAD AND YOU JUST GET FRUSTRATED BECAUSE YOU BURN OUT ON THAT SHIT. ASKING FOR HELP IS KEEPING YOU SANE AND KEEPING YOU SAFE. JUST FROWNED UPON IF YOU ASK ANYONE OTHER THAN PEOPLE CLOSE TO YOU.

eridan | mags - Today at 11:05

youre not my moirail though or evven my mate i shouldnt be talkin about this wwith you of all people

Court (Kam) - Today at 11:05

I'M NOT YOUR MOIRAIL OR YOUR MATE, YEAH, BUT I'M YOUR FRIEND. A GOOD ONE, I THINK, AT THIS POINT. FRIENDS GOTTA BE THERE FOR YOU.

eridan | mags - Today at 11:06

yeah i guess thanks

Court (Kam) - Today at 11:06

IF MATESPRITS PROTECT, KISMESIS' IMPROVE. MOIRAILS SOOTHE AND AUSPISTICES INTERVENE, FRIENDS LISTEN. THEY'RE THERE WHEN YOU NEED SOMEONE TO JUST LISTEN, AND MAYBE OFFER ADVICE. HONESTLY, I WISH I'D OFFERED THIS KIND OF ADVICE WHEN I WAS YOUNGER. MAYBE I COULD HAVE KEPT MY OLD FRIENDS BACK TOGETHER. MAYBE I'D ACTUALLY KNOW WHERE SOME OF THEM ARE. IF THEY'RE EVEN ALIVE.

eridan | mags - Today at 11:07

wwell at least you learnt from it and youre better noww

Court (Kam) - Today at 11:07

I HOPE I'M BETTER. I KIND OF FEEL LIKE EVERYTHING I'M SAYING IS GOING IN ONE FIN AND OUT THE OTHER, BUT YOU SEEM HAPPY WITH WHAT I'M GOING ON ABOUT.

eridan | mags - Today at 11:07

i dont knoww howw you used to be but i knoww youre good noww shrug still youre doin better than evveryone else i met before you so i guess theres that

Court (Kam) - Today at 11:08

... BETTER AT BEING A FRIEND? SHIT, I'M SORRY. YOU MUST HAVE HAD SOME PRETTY SHIT ONES BEFORE NOW, THEN.

eridan | mags - Today at 11:09

i dont just forget the things you say i got better about hemoism and i remember you havve a mate and i wwanna talk to fef about the shit and stuff friends relationships just evverythin

Court (Kam) - Today at 11:09

(:B

eridan | mags - Today at 11:10

but yeah thanks i guess im gonna take a nap i think

Court (Kam) - Today at 11:11

ALRIGHT. I... HOPE THIS WAS A GOOD CONVERSATION. SEEMED LIKE ONE TO ME, AT LEAST. SEE YOU LATER? I'M ALWAYS REACHABLE HERE... AND IF I DON'T RESPOND, SOMETHING'S PROBABLY UP. I'LL. UH. I'LL ADD YOUR MESSENGER HANDLE TO A LIST OF HANDLES ASSOCIATED WITH OUR DEADMANS SWITCH. SO IF SOME BULLSHIT HAPPENS, YOU'LL KNOW WHEN AND WHERE.

eridan | mags - Today at 11:17

oh wwell thanks thats good to knoww but yeah see you around

Court (Kam) - Today at 11:19

courtinggrievances [CG] has ceased trolling [CA?]

[cloudbattrolls]

I’ve been thinking about the canon adage of “trolls don’t care about fashion/think it’s stupid and Kanaya is an outlier” and I imagine that is true, in a way? Like I imagine the most dominant “fashion” of sorts is to look as uniform and military professional as possible, given the fleet is such a big part of Alternian culture. I bet there’s plenty of fashion, accommodating for all the outfits people like to give their trolls, but it’s all seen as less stylish than military-style dress or the usual black shirt with a symbol and plain pants/skirt outfit because the Empire wants you to conform.

[crowleplays]

“B-but Roxy said the Condesce was Sea Hitler-”

BINCH DID CONDY EVER USE NAZI AESTHETIC EVER????

Like some of y’all tote this excuse around but it holds no water (ha) with the sea bitch’s Actual Aesthetic

If anything, Official Alternian Military Uniforms should be the most bedazzled, sparkly, glitter-coated, garish things in the universe. You have to have a minimum amount of red or tyrian rhinestones on your outfit. Like these things are very well-engineered and built like tanks but they’re Absolute Eyesores.

Where are those uniforms, you cowards

Where is the buff ass fleet soldier with 12 Hello Condy pins and a rhinestone belt with a trident beltbuckle?

[alternianwarhound]

Alternian Military Documents: The Sentinels

The Sentinels are a rather undocumented element of Alternia’s Fleet. Drawn from military officers of certain skill sets, the Sentinels serve as a clandestine military intelligence community. They serve as the Empress’ eyes and ears, operating as a direct agency under her command. If the Praetors serve as Her Imperious Majesty’s Sword, The Sentinels serve as her hidden dagger.

Sentinels are not drawn from any particular blood colour- though lower and middle bloods are preferred because their horns tend towards the less conspicuous- and are drawn primarily from recon divisions and scout groups, prizing those talented with initiative and unerring minds.

The Sentinels have no explicit uniform, though thermally shielded bodysuits equipped with holo-photon generators and Interceptor shields are common. When a Sentinel must operate in their capacity and authority as an Empress’ Agent, they wear masks and visors, with hoods designed to obscure their horns and heads.  Voice modulators also feature prominently. Their weapons are rarely anything more specialist than standard Alternian firearms and explosives, so that one may not identify a shielded sentinel by their wargear.

Sentinels are trained in specialist espionage, insurgency and sabotage actions, as well as secretive assassinations, and their pain and torture resistance training is some of the most rigorous education in excoriation known. They are also psychically tempered, so as to resist the manipulations of high level psionics and telepaths.

Sentinels have no official symbol, though some claim a de-facto icon is the Imperial Trident, upright as opposed to pointing down, behind an open, staring eye. This symbol is sometimes used to impress upon officers the import of their station, though rarely will it ever be used officially. In addition, the Sentinels have no seniority structure, answering only to the Empress, though Conclaves of Sentinels operate together in order to maintain a cohesive operation office.

No one is quite certain how many Sentinels are in operation, or how they are inducted into the Order, save the Empress, who delights in the shadowplay and cloak and dagger work of her chosen spies. It is not uncommon for her to set two Sentinels against each other to test their abilities, and for her amusement.