#every once in a while i would bring up my moirails to closer friends when i was younger

[felismiscellaneous]

Casonverse Expo

ok so after you see this you Cannot save it. the whole thing about the casonverse is that its solely “oral” and memory based. i cannot write down “rules” to it or anything. this post Will be lost to time and youll just have to deal with that

ok so. we begin. our story. w/ an explanation on how ectobiology has been going on earth c. basically, every once in a while to increase genetic diversity, a babeh between two of the original founders is created randomly, and said founders get to decide if they want to adopt that babeh or not.

now its been a very very long time on earth c and all of these bitches are immortal. yep. every single one. even the non godtiers, they get an immortality boon for winning the game. you know whats also a boon? all of the players getting revived. yep. every single one. because this is my au and i can do what i want.

anyways as i was saying basically at some point a babeh between john and karkat is made and this time theyre like “yeah ok well adopt this one” SO. they be goin there. and the ONE TIME they decide this is the right time the baby is fuckin BROKE. the internal organs of trolls and humans dont mesh very well when the genes are combined in the ectomachine, and this baby is basically just dying very slowly. this baby isssss Casey! well, shes not named that by her parents, but well just call her Casey for now.

john and karkat do their fuckin best to keep this thing alive but her tiny baby body is completely dysfunctional. and doesnt last very long. This is Traumatizing for Everyone Involved. anyways!! a pretty long time after that we have Cason and Jones. they were spawned at the same time. Jones is rose and kanayas horrible ectospawn, and Cason happens to be another equally horrible spawn between john and karkat! they decide to adopt this one, and fortunately it lives. This was Their First Mistake.

but before we get into Cason, lets get into Jones. Jones is,,,, very socially awkward. in fact, she often comes off as creepy to everyone else. this makes her very clingy towards her mothers, who arent That terrible at parenting. theyve got quirks, but theyre good for her. Jones doesnt really have any friends, except this Totally Cool and Not at All Dangerous cult she gets dragged into! this is the second secret shes ever kept from her mothers. the first is that shes the one who keeps bringing snails into the house. Jones likes snails, but shes not good at taking care of them. she just keeps bringing them into the house and feeding them her snack. her snack is rat poison. snails like and digest rat poison safely. snails! she likes them.

ALSO APPARENTLY SHE CAN SEE GHOSTS???? yeah lets get into that. see, Casey becomes a Regular Ghost after she dies. not a dream ghost, just a plain ol ghost. and anyways, shes around the same age as everyone else if not a year older due to Ghost Rules now, and Cason is the only one that seems to be able to see her. and then theres Jones. Jones is absolutely stunning to Casey and yes she falls so hard in dokis. but Jones is trying to ignore the fact that she can see ghosts. it makes her feel like even more of an outcast. ooooo drama! anyways those two have their own background plot going on about fighting eldritch gods or something idk.

LETS GET BACK TO CASON. see. Cason. is The Worst. like, genuinely. ever since he was a kiddo, he was a completely spoiled brat from day one, and spent his childhood Looking Down on People for multiple reasons. for one, hes the son of TWO FUCKING FOUNDERS AND RAISED BY THEM, two he got away with EVERYTHING, and three i think its just in his nature. Cason prides himself in being knowledgeable and better than everyone else, but he is not like Other Egomaniacs((tm.))

Cason doesnt necessarily care about being liked, even if he WAS a great manipulator, or being the best at Everything. he couldnt care less about sports or popularity. all he wants, is Control. just like hes had since day one. This is Terrible for Everyone Involved.

but most terrible for anyone, is Tippie Piyjon. Tippie is terezi and nepetas ectospawn, which, really started it all. now, terezi and nepeta are not horrible people, or even necessarily horrible parents, but theyre just not suited for it. Tippie raised herself on romance novels and the like, especially after being sortve taken in as a goddaughter by karkat almost immediately after she was born. and, because of this, she got to meet Cason very early on. there was hardly ever a day where the two werent around eachother, whether they liked it or not. in school, at their own house, wherever. now, being around Cason of all people all the time, meant you knew exactly how he operated.

and well, Tippie figured that, maybe, if she was just good enough, she could change him. and Cason used that to his full advantage. the two became moirails, which was Fucked Up for Everyone Involved, and grew ever closer. now Cason, being Cason, was Extremely Emotionally Abusive to Tippie. she had to do what he asked, whatever it was, even if it wasnt morally right, she had to stay by his side, she couldnt cry in front of his parents, she had to get good grades so he wouldnt look bad, so many damn things she had to do. even if he never once laid a finger on her, her mental health was, slowly but surely, chiseled down.

every attempt at defying him was met with such coldness, or hed act more warm towards her, so surely she was doing something right and had to keep going. just had to be good enough. hell get better eventually. Cason earns the title of #1 Gaslighter Extraordinare. the only place she found any solace away from him was grubscouts, which she joined on her own terms when she was very young, and at the time was a camp counselor even! this lasted. for so many years.

Cason is nineteen whenever i depict him, and Tippie is seventeen, but very nearly eighteen. eventually, she cant take it anymore, and snaps at him. usually this doesnt last, and he would manage to calm her down eventually, but shes fucking Tired of it. he hasnt changed. not even a bit. well. Cason cant have that, now can he? the first time he lays a hand on her, he slaps her across the face. Big Mistake. though terrified, Tippie lashes out, and claws Casons left eye out, making a terribly deep gash that would leave him permanently blind in that eye whether or not he got treatment.

this scares the SHIT out of her, and Tippie runs off, for the first time, to her mothers. as she cries, she recounts how terrible everythings been and how she didnt mean it and shes sorry and- theres nothing to apologize for. its very clear, that they shouldve stepped in sooner, shouldve noticed something was wrong. meanwhile, Cason crawls home to his own dads, who are rightfully spooked seeing their son with a horrifically bloody face and a gouged eyeball. they only had a second to try and comfort him, before he snapped at them, showing a bit of his true nature to them for the first time, and also, terezi showing up behind him. after a thorough explanation which was mostly just a few stern, if a little tearful words, Casons parents are completely mortified. karkat quickly kicks him out in an act of raw emotion. no chance to grab clothes, or for john to interject, Cason is left outside, alone, and with absolutely no power left. what will he do?

theres also other characters but theyre like babies so they dont have much characterization and also arent very important to the story. but here they are ig:

owen, jade and daves child. hes like, 3. he likes sticks and playing in mud. hes 3 what more do you want from him

siyren, aradia and feferis kiddo. shes like, 6. she likes ballet, arts and crafts, and being snooty

damien, eridan and solluxs kid. hes 10, likes calling people slurs over xbox, and overcompensating since his parents waited so damn long to adopt him after his slimebirth

killer, who named himself, aradia and sollux kid. hes like 11 or something. he likes being edgy and has the same issue as damien. in fact, all but siyren have this issue

toga bitch, who i have currently yet to name, aradia and eridans kid. shes 12. she likes earth rome and chilling in public fountains. a burgundy whose violetkin

wemon wemon, who is also currently unnamed, feferi and eridans kid. hes 13, the oldest. he likes earth lemon demon and horror special effects

carrie, feferi and solluxs kid. shes like 11, likes dance dance revolution and earth 9s

rosie, calliope and roxys bab, whos a baby. jane is also her mom

ben, tippies far future carapacian bf, who likes boring shit like birdwatching and scrapbooking. malewife supreme. a very soft dude, and just wants to help his gf w/ her trauma and join her grubscout troop on earning badges. just a great, if boring guy

notkonyyl, just as unnamed, a notcanadian oliveblood who enjoys going to the gym, frequenting bars, being cool, flirty, and defending her moirail to the death

notkuprum, haha unnamed, is a human, and the moirail to notkonyyl. he likes things like being annoying, flirting with everyone taller than him ((most people)), the nintendo switch, and defending his moirail to the death

[homestuck-kinstuff]

Hey! I was just wondering if I could have a tarot reading for a Gamzee, that being me? I don't remember much but I'm hoping I can help! I just remember being.. pretty much a soft boy, I had Karkat as a moirail and if my memory is working well I also had Equius as a matesprit which explains a few things but I'm hoping a tarot reading would help me remember more! Thank you very much!

Hello Gamzee,

Thank you for writing in. You can absolutely have a reading. And doubly I thank you for your patience in us getting this out to you. I hope you find it helpful. 💜

Your full reading is below the cut:

Beginning

Ace of Swords, Reversed:

The Ace of Swords is a powerful card, usually indicative of one wielding a great power. Reversed as it is, it can imply that the power one holds is being used for less-than-admirable intentions.

With regard to an Alternian upbringing, it's possible the power you held from your caste were not being used the way )(IC intended. It's likely you were using this power a little foolishly, a little selfishly, and it ended up benefiting naught but you and your whims alone.

Middle

8 of Cups, Upright:

Looking back on a situation, you've realized it's toxic nature and have made the difficult decision to leave it behind. However, you've still abandoned something that was once very dear to you, and you feel that loss deeply.

A big theme of this card is disappointment, disillusionment. It's possible at this point in your timeline you decided to move away from your hive, and from your lusus. Possibly moving in with one of your quadrantmates, if they had been established as such at this point in your timeline.

It's also possible you had a less-than-stellar relationship with someone who lived a little closer to you, and you decided it was in your best interests to cut them off.

Whatever the case, this was a difficult time for you, and you likely leaned on the people closest to you to make it through.

Towards the End

The Empress, Upright:

The Empress is representative of all things "womanly." She embodies nurturing, fertile, or motherly concepts, and she is often associated with the planet Venus, or Mother Earth.

The end of your timeline was a time likely ruled by more homely, nurturing things. Your life was more down to earth, and more emotional moments were encouraged and discussed, rather than buried.

It's also possible during this period, your life was strongly impacted by a feminine force or individual. It's possible they had a big influence on your life during this period, be it good or bad. It's also possible this card could represent )(IC. However, intuition dictates that this card representing an individual of any caliber is not very likely.

You

King of Cups, Upright:

The King of Cups is a master of emotion. He is not empty of feeling, rather, he understands when and where they are needed, helpful, and when they do more harm than good. The King is a person of compassion, diplomacy, and generosity.

You are, at your core, someone who is deeply emotional, empathetic, and kind. You love, but you do not overwhelm with it, and your patience for others is seemingly endless. It would be a great joy for anyone to be your friend.

Karkat

Knight of Cups, Upright

The Knight of Cups is very in touch with their emotions and intuition, and are adept at channeling those things into action. They also tend to be romantics. Intuition dictates that this card represented Karkat in your spread.

He was in touch with his feelings, but, moreso, he knew how to use his own feelings to his advantage: as a vehicle for action, for change. Karkat likely brought a lot of that energy into your relationship: pushing you past waiting for change and impassioning you to seize it for yourself.

Your Relationship with Karkat

9 of Wands, Upright:

This is a card representing the last stretch of a time of battle and hard work. You've spent a long, draining time pursuing what you believe to be right, and it's taking it's toll. You are reaching point exhaustion, but there's only a small ways left to go before you achieve what you set out to do.

You were both deeply emotional people. Alternia's culture wasn't very kind to that sort. A big part of your relationship was likely bolstering each other through hard times, reminding each other what you're fighting for.

Equius

The Hierophant, Upright

The Hierophant embodies tradition. The tried-and-true. It's easy to see how this card could represent Equius.

He likely brought a lot of structure and loyalty into your relationship.

Your Relationship with Equius

The Ace of Wands, Upright:

The Ace of Wands is the first step in the act of creation. It represents passion, desire, and firey intention that often sparks new ideas. It acts as a guiding light through the world, to help make your dreams a reality.

This was a very passionate relationship. Every aspect of it was filled with vim and vigor: your togetherness, your disagreements.

Its very likely you guided each other towards your respective hopes and dreams, and well as helped each other discern what it is you truly wanted from this life.

Challenges

The Star, Upright:

The Star represents hope, faith, and rejuvenation. It calls for you to have faith in yourself, and have faith in the way the world works. Trust that everything will turn out fine.

As a major lifelong challenge of yours, it's likely you had a hard time believing things would be okay. When things were bad, you tended to beleive they would stay that way. When things were good, it's likely you couldn't enjoy it fully, often plagued with anticipation for the next 'Bad Thing.'

How you Faced them

4 of Wands, Upright:

This is a lovely card, representing a celebration of harmony, happiness, and good relationships. Usually referring to a larger group of people, this harmony ushers in a time of peace after hard work.

Taking into account the nature of this card and the position it takes in the spread, your quadrants were closely tied to your challenges and the struggle to best them.

Leaning on your friends and quadrants, you were able to regain that spark of hope that can so easily be snuffed out.

Advice

Ace of Cups, Reversed:

The Ace of Cups represents the beginnings of emotional fulfillment. It represents the joy of giving, and getting in return. Reversed as it is, it can represent wasted emotions, blocked creativity or a general feeling of emptiness.

You pour yourself into everything you do. But moderation, I think, is key here my dear.

Save some kindness for yourself, Gamzee. It will help bring you peace, and balance.

The Fool, Reversed:

The fool is representative of absolute optimism, and complete, joyous naivety. Reversed as it is, the dangers of this become apparent.

Excessive eagerness, coupled with absolute blindness to consequences and danger ahead, is a recipe for disaster. But you are not the only one who suffers if dangers befall you.

Winging it, while tempting, is not always the best option. A little structure, a little planning would do you good. 💜

Thank you for taking the time to read all of that, I know I can be quite wordy. I hope this helped to shake some memories loose for you. 👾

As always, you would know your timeline better than I. These are your memories, not mine. If something doesn't feel right, it likely isn't.

If any part of this reading doesn't strike a chord with you, I'd heartily recommend looking into the meaning of the card in question yourself. Tarot cards have many meanings, and another interpretation may make more sense to you. 💜

Kind Regards,

🌹Mod Rose🌹

[riverboundao3ff]

Riverbound, Chapter 13

Your name is LANQUE BOMBYX and joining a rebellion is either the best or worst thing you have ever done.

On one hand, it’s a great excuse to sneak out of the caverns and do something exciting. You’re having fun, you’re trying to make the world not a piece of shit, and you get to meet interesting new people who you haven’t lived with since you were literally four.

On the other, you now have to deal with things like getting into fights with mercenaries (your shoulder is still sore), putting even more effort into keeping Bronya and Lynera off your ass so they don’t suspect anything, and just generally trying to not get culled. It’s been hard not to feel more optimistic, though-- it’s hard to be bored when you’re constantly running around committing all sorts of crime.

There’s also the fact that despite dating the aforementioned mercenary bitch who mauled you, your dearest and most beloved party buddy has returned at last. Granted, they returned severely underweight, traumatized, and injured, but they came back, and a little piece of yourself that you didn’t even know had been missing fell back into place.

Not that you’d ever tell them that.

Ahem.

“You wanna zap back up to the caverns or are we walking?”

Your friend’s voice jolts you out of your thoughts, and you look down at them to meet their gaze. That oliveblood-- Polypa, had picked up a last-minute “job” as soon as the three of you got out of the danger zone that was the lowblood neighborhood. It was pretty clear that she didn’t want to leave her moirail alone with you, but the alien, bless their oblivious soul, just shooed her off with a demand that she be careful.

“Believe me, I am no hurry,” you mutter, kicking a pebble out of your path. It clatters down the sidewalk and into the street. Bronya is no doubt going to be furious with you for sneaking out while grounded, like she is with everything you do that isn’t related to being a good little cavern worker. You’re not looking forward to facing her wrath and possibly the palm of her hand.

“Yeah. I hope Bronya isn’t mad at me for dipping,” they mutter, looking a bit embarrassed.

You scoff. As if. “Bronya could never be mad at you, trust me. Just say you went along with me and the kids to keep us out of trouble and now you’re bringing me back.”

“I’m assuming she doesn’t know anything about our… club.”

“No, darling, and it’s going to stay that way for as long as possible.”

They frown. “Would she really be so pissed? I mean, she has her little technically legal nursery… which I know nothing about, because I’ve totally never helped out in there. Ever.”

“Bronya…” You have to do some thinking to come up with an explanation that wouldn’t be just calling the head jade a hypocritical piece of shit. You want the alien on your side. “Isn’t focused on the big picture. Nor does she want to be. Her whole world is the caverns, and I think if anybody tried to challenge that…”

“Things would be bad. Alright.” They look disappointed but don’t say anything else on the matter, which you appreciate.

You wrap your arm around their waist and pull them closer to you. They lean into your side with a sigh, tired, and for a moment you let yourself pretend that it’s just the two of you, walking back from a party like old times. No disappearances, no rebellion, just a strange pair of friends on their way home.

“Once we get back you’re taking a shower,” you say.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“That Gorjek was one-hundred percent right about your pores and that you stink like a corpse? Possibly. Probably.”

They elbow you in your grub scars and take off running when you swat at their head.

:::

As you feared, Bronya is waiting for you at the mouth of the cave when you and the alien arrive, hands on her hips and ears flat against the sides of her head.

If looks could kill you’d be a dead man. She opens her mouth, visibly swelling up in anger as you approach, but then her eyes flicker over to your mutual friend and something in them softens. Not for the first time, you’re selfishly grateful for them being around, if not just because you don’t have to deal with the brunt of Bronya’s anger. You know she refuses to make herself look bad in front of outsiders, the snake.  

“Hi. We’re back,” they say sheepishly.

“And I’m not drunk this time,” you add, smiling down at her. Try and swing on me while I’m sober, bitch.

“Two whole nights out, in a row, while you’re grounded, and you brought the kids?” Bronya hisses. “And our friend? They’re supposed to be recovering!”

“I’m healed now, actually! We met up with a pal who helped me out. Also, I went out of my own accord,” the alien interjects.

Bronya huffs. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better--”

They give her finger guns.

“-- but that doesn’t change the fact that Lanque directly disobeyed orders. Again. What were you even doing?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation every time I want to take a break from this hellhole,” you snort. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your friend begin to nervously look around as if pretending like none of this is happening. You don’t blame them.

“You owe everybody an explanation for why they had to cover your duties while you were off doing who-knows-what with who-knows-who!”

“We get it, Ursama, I’m a whore. Can we go now?”

“That’s not what I-!”

“Lanque’s baaacckkkk!”

Your savior comes in the form of a young lady flying out of the caverns at top speed and latching on to your waist. The force is almost enough to knock you over, but thankfully you were given enough warning to anticipate the attack.

The anger brewing in your gut vanishes like mist in sunlight. Wanshi beams up at you, one fang missing from her top set of teeth. Looks like her adult teeth are finally coming in. “There she is! Were you good while I was gone?”

“Nope!”

“That’s my girl,” you praise, scooping her up and setting her on your hip.

“Wanshi. Did you finish sweeping the classroom?” Bronya asks, stern but far more kind.

“Duh.” Wanshi sticks her tongue out at Bronya and giggles when the head jade gives her a look. The alien takes notice of her missing fang and starts fussing excitedly over it-- you guess losing wiggler teeth is important in their culture as well.

It’s just the distraction you need to tighten your hold on Wanshi and casually toss an arm around the alien’s bony shoulders. You look past Ursama to the woods beyond, focusing your gaze on something. “Hey, Bronya? Aren’t those cholerbear tracks over there?”

She stiffens and whips around to follow your line of sight. “What?”

“Run!”

You grab the alien’s hand and break into a sprint, pulling them along with you despite their yelp of surprise. Wanshi wraps her arms around your neck and hangs on as you make a sharp right, dodge the girl who’s up next for guard duty, before darting down a corridor that’s rarely used except for meetings. The lights aren’t even on, which helps you avoid detection as some of your fellow cloistermates pass by the adjacent tunnel.

There’s an abandoned classroom up ahead, and the door is slightly ajar. Perfect.

Wanshi’s snickering uncontrollably by the time you set her down and kick the door shut behind the three of you. Beside you, the alien joins in, looking guilty, but you can easily see the huge grin they’re trying to suppress. You lock the door and herd them and the younger jadeblood farther into the darkness.

“I can’t believe she fell for that!” Wanshi whispers gleefully. “Oh, Lynera’s gonna be so-!”

Sharp, angry footsteps come storming down the corridor, their owner testing each door with a vengeance. All three of you freeze.

Wanshi dives into the lowest space on a bookshelf and flattens herself against the far side of it. You look around frantically, cursing your height, only for a pair of small hands to shove you into the corner farthest away from the door.

You look down at your friend, who blinks up at you, pupils completely blown out. It’s a second before you remember that they can’t see well in the dark. You’re flattered that they trust you enough to willingly put themselves into a situation where they’re so obviously vulnerable, and perhaps a little turned on.

“Lanque! Come on!” you hear Bronya growl in exasperation, and you suddenly remember another situation very much like this one: you and the alien in a dark room, with Bronya hunting you down like an enraged lusus. You’re holding them close to you, and you feel the thrumming of their heart like a featherbeast’s, the heat of their body, their distinctive scent filling your lungs. It’s the smell of something fiery yet sweet, completely unlike anything else on this planet.

Your gaze drops back down to them from the doorway. Their face has a reddish tint to it now. “Hm. This seems familiar.”

They swallow, open-mouthed and flustered. It’s irresistible.

“Going to yell for Mother, are we?” you whisper, pulling them even closer.

Dull nails dig into your forearms. “I made that up to you a long time ago, babe.”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I just like making fun of you.”

“If that’s making fun of me, you should know I’ve had nastier conversations with the grubs in the nursery. Looks like somebody lost his touch while I was away,” they hiss under their breath. A slow smile spreads across their face as you bare your fangs at them. They’re totally fearless and it enrages and impresses you in equal measures.

The doorknob rattles. Both of you stiffen. Neither looks away.

It’s too long before the footsteps fade away, and even longer before you move. Then again, you’re forced to move because the first thing the alien does upon deciding they’re in the clear is to kick you in the shins like the little gremlin they are.

“You little-!”

“Sucks to suck, pretty boy. First one to your respiteblock gets the shower.”

“You do know I’m much faster than you, right? And stronger-?”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence before they disappear in a flash of light.

Spots dance before your eyes like you just got whacked upside the head with Elwurd’s bat, making you rapidly blink to clear them away. You don’t even realize you’re swearing up a storm before something tugs on your sleeve.

Wanshi looks up at you in awe as you begin to hate yourself even more than you already do. “Are you guys gonna need a bucket? ‘Cause I can go get one for you if you want.”

“... If you don’t ever tell a single soul what just happened I’ll bring you to wherever you want to go in the city the next night I’m off.”

“And you have to roleplay with me.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Deal!”

“Deal? I’m the one making a deal, you brat--”

Somehow, you manage to wrangle the hellion back into her respiteblock without attracting the attention of either Bronya or Lynera, which is a win in your book. When you get back to your own dorm, however, you’re greeted with the sight of an alien lounging on your carpet and a damp towel serving as their plate as they munch on a sandwich.

“Don’t worry, the towel’s mine,” they say in lieu of a greeting. Their post-shower scent clings to everything like a perfume. It’s distracting; you need a distraction.

“I still don’t know how you manage to eat anything with those useless teeth of yours. Do humans only eat soft food?” you snort.

“At least we don’t eat raw ass bones like some sort of wild animal.”

“Bones are good for exoskeleton development and strength.”

They pretend to gag. You throw your jacket at them and ignore their complaining as you go get changed in the other room. For the millionth time, you’re blown away by the fact they’re here. They’re here, and you’re both teasing each other and flirting and fighting just like they never even left.

You have no idea why this whole ordeal is impacting you so much. It’s not like you two were joined at the hip or anything before.

“Hey, Lanque?”

The real world returns as your friend’s voice registers in your thinkpan. “Yes?”

“How old are jadebloods when they have to start living at the caverns?”

“... Well, it depends. If there’s a shortage of workers at a nearby cloister then any jades nearby have a greater chance of getting chosen. Some start as young as three sweeps, some don’t have to until they’re six or seven.”

They’re silent for a moment. “How old were you? I mean, you don’t have to tell me--”

“I was four.”

“Oh.”

You grab a frozen burrito out of your hull and heat it up for dinner. When it’s ready, you throw it on a plate and rejoin the alien in the other part of the dorm. Their eyes are looking somewhere far away as you sit down beside them to lean against the loungeplank. The pajama shirt they’re wearing is far too big for them, draping listlessly over their petite frame, and your jacket is slung across their shoulders.

“I had a revelation the other night,” they tell you.

“Oh?”

“This is fucked up.”

“Anything in particular, or is this a ‘fuck my life’ sort of situation?”

“The caverns, actually. When we were sneaking out to go meet up with the teals, I just…” They gesture to nothing. “Jades really don’t get to be their own person, do they? When you get cloistered, that’s it. The rest of your life is devoted entirely to taking care of babies, of other people. And maybe some of them really like it! And they’re happy and find fulfillment in raising kids. But there’s so many people who just don’t. How are you supposed to find out who you are if you’re supposed to give everything you have away?”

You stare at them in amazement.

“Wanshi’s still losing baby teeth, for fuck’s sake! She should be outside, running around with other kids her age, getting dirty, having fun. She’s not-- she’s not supposed to be a mother! Not yet, anyways, if that’s what she wants when she grows up. Also, why the hell do you guys have to wear uniforms in your own home? Why are there drones in your own home? Jesus fucking Christ, this whole planet is a nightmare.”

“Don’t let Bronya hear you say any of that,” you say, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind after they stop to catch their breath.

Your friend groans and buries their face in their hands. “Look, Bronya’s great. She’s one of the most caring people I know. But can’t she see how this hurts a lot of the jades she’s supposed to be leading?”

“Again, dear. The caverns are her world.”

Eyes that are somehow green and brown and blue all at once train on you with a ferocity you’ve never seen before on your sweet-natured friend. “Lanque. When we win, no jade will ever have to live in a cloister, not if they don’t want to. Nobody will ever have to give up their life like that again. I can’t tell you how, or when, but it’s gonna happen whether the world likes it or not.”

“Don’t…” You swallow back something hard and painful in your throat. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“It’s not a promise. It’s a threat.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as something in your cold, twisted bloodpusher unravels and softens. If this little alien, who’s already half-asleep on your floor, says that they’re gonna change the world… well, who are you to not believe them?

You drag them up onto the loungeplank before they can pass out on you. And when you fall asleep as well, it’s with a racing thinkpan and strange dreams of a planet with vast blue oceans and a single silver moon hanging low in the night sky.

:::

The alien’s gone the next evening when you wake up. They did, however, leave a note for you on the loungeplank.

Lanque,

Thanks for letting me crash at your place. 10/10 loungeplank, would sleep on it again. Don’t sneak out today, I’m going to be at the bombed neighborhood helping out anybody who wants it. Say hi to the girls for me.

Have a good night, bitch.

XOXO,

       - M

[ask-these-fantrolls]

EP 1. A Bad Night In

"Sister dear," his voice was one she hoped to never hear again in all her life. And, yet... here she was- sitting in his disgustingly lavish hive, surrounded by his painted walls and imagery of the Messiahs that brought her more anxiety than solace. The night was a beautiful one; warm breezes bristling through the trees, the moons so terribly beautiful in the sky. It was the type of night that she and Ponpon should have been out playing together! And, in reality that was what they had planned... Harona sighed, sipping very scarcely from the bottle of Faygo that her dear hemobrother Driguz had provided.

It had been sweeps since she last tested the wicked elixir and, honestly? This RedPop tasted just as vile as she remembered. She held her dear puppet moirail tighter in her arms as the Ringmassacre came to sit closer to her. He always did have an issue with respecting anyone's personal space... "Come back to us. You know it's been far too long," he smelled of floral soaps and sickening perfumes- things you know for a fact were only used to mask the ever-present scent of blood on his skin.

"No," it was curt answer- too straightforward for a troll that didn't know the meaning of the word 'no', "thank you, brother... but that isn't my life anymore.”

"Raised an altar-girl, always an altar-girl~" he crooned with a laugh, settling in closer to her. Driguz wrapped an arm around Harona, pulling her closer and petting one of her long braids, "Honestly- the way you deny your heritage is absurd... won't you be happy to be surrounded by friends and family again dearling?"

Eugh. You always had hated his pet names. You always had hated him. Always persistent, always irritating... always got what he wanted. It really was no surprise that the two of you shared a pitch quadrant once before! His desire to pick on and tease her could only ever be outweighed by her own ability to fluster and terrorize him. That was long past, however... Driguz was such a jealous troll. Nothing ever satisfied him- no matter how dedicated she was, no matter how much attention she paid him. He always wanted more of Harona, and all of Harona.

The clown began to slowly free her hair from her closest braid, taking pleasure in how immediately poofy it became. A true juggalo hairstyle! The reason she insisted on keeping it tied up like a damn prude never did make sense to him. Harona leaned away from him, holding Ponpon just a bit tighter as the puppet patted her arm gently, "I... I have everyone I need, Drig. Nobody at the church is my family or my friend."

"Ah-!" The man gasped, draping himself over her as per his usual over-dramatic fashion, "You wound me, Onona~ We're friends, whether you like it or not!" His laugh sent chills through her spine. It had been so long since she last heard it... and yet it was still all too soon. She swatted his hands away as he wrapped his arms around her- an excuse to hold dominant over her while he continued to free her unruly hair.

Driguz looked surprised, but just for a moment. His face soon turned to an expression of cold ire, "You truly do hurt me like this, dearling. Haven't you even stopped to consider what I need?" He rested his chin in his palm, propping his elbow up on his knee, "I was forced to assume all of your excess work when you just up and left us! Don't you know how stressful that is?"

"Culling lowbloods has never been stressful to you." Perhaps snapping back at him wasn't the best idea... but by this point you found it hard to truly care, "What would you even know about stressful? You've never even needed a moirail,"

"And I'm better for it I'd say! I hate to break it to you, but you know that keeping around a creepy little puppet won't bring him back from the dead, right?~"

It took every ounce of her self control not to deck him. I wouldn't even need to have him as a puppet if you hadn't... She cut off that train of thought. Ponvah's death was her fault. It was her choice to bring him back to her respiteblock to spend time. It was her choice to indulge in his silly fantasies... She should have known better not to allow her moirail near such a classical viewed kismesis... she would never forgive herself for putting him in harm's way like that, "You don't know anything about Ponpon-"

"Oh *yes*, the magical haunted dolly! Of course," an unruly giggle escaped him before he returned suddenly stoic, "You're delusional Onona. That thing is just a product of your own self pity and chucklevoodoos. You don't really think the dead can be brought back so easily, do you?"

Harona could feel herself shaking- though if it was anxiety or anger she wasn't quite sure. Ponpon was real. He was real and Druguz was just too stupid to see that. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for long enough to steel herself. Driguz took this as an opportunity to pull her last hair tie out, drawing an irritated look from behind Harona's now freed mop of hair.

"Why did you invite me over today Driguz. Though it's not hard to imaging you only calling me here to ridicule me, it's a little hard to stomach the thought of you not being a bit more... extravagant about it,"

A disgusting and unfettered laugh confirmed her suspicions. Oh Harona- you truly are a delight... "You got me dearling! I actually did have something to talk to you about... It's the church-"

"I'm never coming back."

"Okay well how about we shut up and take turns talking like civilized beasts and not tiny children, hm?" He huffed, shooting a cross glance to the puppet who was now glaring at him, "We're getting a new priest transferred in. The Calamitous Camister or something. I've heard... Hm- well, the things I've heard of him are great!"

She rolled her eyes in response.

"No no, listen Harona. For me he's just peachy. And most highbloods, for that matter... but..."

"...But what?" It was unlike him to actually worry about anything... who could have Driguz- the Ringmassacre known for stopping shows just so he could beautify a lowblood before killing them so they could have an acceptable corpse- actually second guessing himself?

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before continuing, "But he evidently likes to bring lowbies in as parishioners. I don't know why and it makes me sick... but I know you tend to hang around the lower echelons of society nowadays. Do be careful, yes? I'd hate for my darling Onona to be caught in the crossfire.”

Harona stared blankly for a moment. That was... what? Was he giving her *actual* advice? A real warning and not just an insult? Or a trap to be walked in to?! She blinked, averting her gaze to the floor. Ponvah looked up to her with a similar look of weariness and unease... it was a strange thing to hear from him to say the least... but getting the warning was dare she say, something she appreciated? Harona stood from the couch, snatching her scrunchies back from her ex-pitch as she turned to leave. She didn’t believe him.  There may or may not be a new pastor on his way, but Driguz was definitely not being forthcoming about his reasoning for telling her.  

"I'll keep that in mind... thanks, Druzy." The least she could do was indulge him with an old nickname... She did not stop to listen to his giggles before leaving- she didn't stop for anything as she made her way back hive. It had been a long time since they got a new priest... who was this guy, and why would he choose their small time church to come preach at? She couldn't just discount Driguz' words simply because he was the worst troll she ever met. If he was right about this guy... if he really was up to something and bring lowbloods into the church... then maybe she would have to pay this Camister a visit sooner than later.

[chuckling-chemist]

You Make It Feel Like 12th Perigee (14/14)

((Alright, and of those that were both planned and written, this is the last one! I’m gonna do one more at least on Saturday, but I have to wait for the King/Queen announcements for that one obviously, and while it’s gonna get counted offically as an extra, that’s only because it’s not getting written at the same times as these. Like I said before, if these actually get some traction I might write up some of the other extra scenes I cut to preserve my sanity. Much like the last piece too, this one’s song is very obvious. It’s a cover version of Something, originally by the Beatles. The specific one I mentioned is closer to Frank Sinatra’s cover, but not exactly. I took some liberties.

And for the final time: if you are not okay with unhealthy relationships, this is not the ficlet for you.))

Careen closed her eyes, letting her head rest upon the chest of her matesprit. What could she say about this night that hundreds of other trolls, be they esteemed singers or romantic poets of old, hadn’t already said better? She had her pitfalls, certainly. Her matesprit’s other friends, boorish landdwellers that they are, had a peculiar habit of causing problems anytime the two were together and encouraged him to act out for no good reason. The blueblood from earlier, the lovely and dutiful Skasol, left after the fight, citing a need to return to his own partner for the night. Careen assumed such was an easy way to escape from an uncomfortable situation without losing too much shame. Not that she needed him, anyway. When her matesprit returned from cooling off his degenerate of a moirail, he remained by her side as a good matesprit ought to. The only hiccup to an otherwise perfect night, and one she managed to resolve peacefully with him through being so generous as to spend some extra time with the rustblood.

On second thought, there was one more. She probably shouldn’t invite Siroet to come out with her next sweep. If nothing else, get her set up on a blind date to keep her wrangled in. Her friend was unfortunately incapable of stopping herself from inspiring black infidelity in scores. Which Careen would have less of an issue with if said (usually lowblood) partners weren’t also coming up to Careen and forcing her to explain that’s just how Siroet is and they shouldn’t think anything of it. While not one large issue, it was certainly several small issues that amounted to a consistent thorn in her side. Still better than the downer attitude Pothos put up, but not exactly by much.

And the music, despite the orchestra being less an orchestra and more a backing band for guest singers to appease the landdwellers, was still divine. Granted, Careen missed most of the earlier acts while she rested in the VIP room, but she couldn’t find a single flaw in their current musician: a sharp dressed tealblood in a black trilby crooning a gorgeous song about his matesprit. He kept the song slow, at a perfect tempo she could just curl up around her darling matesprit and just forget the world. Nothing fast. No blaring trumpets or honking saxophones to rip her out of her trance when a chorus of string instruments can sound so much more appropriate for this event. As it should be.

The only way such could be more flawless would be if he serenaded her while they danced. Maybe he was, just too quiet for her to hear over the singer? She hoped so. He might be on the shy side, but Careen knew he had that spark for romanticism. It’s part of why she wanted him so desperately after meeting him: he was so close to being an ideal prince for her, he only needed that push. Let go of all his lesser qualities to mold himself the way she wanted: the same way she managed to with Atenic and failed with awful little snake.

Plus Careen had to admit, she was a sucker for a fixer-upper.

Careen’s eyes fluttered open for a minute to gaze lovingly back up at her matesprit. His own eyes were closed, and his lips tightly shut. So he wasn’t singing. That's fine too, she supposed. Disappointing certainly, but….fine.

“Darling, can you sing?”

His eyes shot open to look at her quizzically. “Careen we have talked about this,” he said quietly.

She curled up further into his chest. “And what was the answer?”

“I ah...well, I cannot. Not well, at any rate.” He smiled sheepishly. “Unless one includes an ability to talk-sing? If so, I am adequate.”

“No, I don't,” she sighed. This is what she got for taking him as a quadrant long before he was ready. Almost five sweeps and he still couldn't sing? Every seadweller could sing in some capacity. The arts were always massively important, and no self-respecting noble ignored it.

But Careen was also patient, and considering how considerate he was tonight, she'd bring it up another day. For tonight, she simply rested her head back on his bony chest and made a mental note to talk to him later about it.

“You’re asking me, if my love grows. I say, I don’t know. I don’t know.”

She could hear the waver in the singer’s voice. Cover or not (Careen hadn’t bothered to commit whatever drabble he introduced his set with, but she thought he said his only performances would be covers), he had a matesprit whom he adored the same way she did her own. There was no other answer. One they must have anticipated as well, if the slowing instruments and break in vocals was any indication. She understood enough about the ins and outs of performance to know how likely that was.

He gave Careen the window for a slow release and twirl for the tempo change, one which she graciously accepted. There was no better way for them to properly slow down, no better way to truly showcase the sheer, sparkling overlay to her red velvet dress than letting her spin underneath the twinkling 12th Perigee lights around them. Or if there were, the host of the ball hadn’t thought of it. A pity, but to be expected. She can’t anticipate a landdwelling troll of any kind to have the same level of foresight she does, delusions of seadwelling grandeur or not.

Speaking of the host, shouldn’t the submissions for king and queen be in yet? She thought last sweep there had been some sort of announcement for submissions and votes. Yet tonight, she hadn’t heard anything. Not that Careen particularly cared for submitting herself, of course. She was kind enough to let some other troll feel like royalty for a single dance and prance around in an oversized, wiggler-worthy crown for the rest of the night. And her matesprit? Ignoring how such titles were largely won through popularity than anything else, and her matesprit’s refusal to socialize with those to gain the recognition necessary, he wasn’t exactly ball king material. Careen had done her research. The winners were celebrities. Charming. Artistic. Popular. All things he wasn’t, no matter how much she tried to change that. Thankfully for her, his asocial tendencies discouraged him from ultimately disappointing himself. No worrying he’d take losing personally and mope about for the rest of the night.

Then again, maybe he did care. Careen’s almost certain she had caught his eyes glance over toward one of the far tables, all the way in the back of the room away from the rest of the event, for notes. Her matesprit surprised her like that sometimes, cared about ideas and concepts that she’d never expect someone like him to care much about. He already expressed interest in dancing with another troll once, tonight. That only set up the beginning of what may be a worrying trend. Plus, she failed to see the point in not asking. It would be good to discourage him from making such an awful decision that could ruin tomorrow night.

“Dearie, I have a question.” She paused, and with a shake of her head added, “actually...two.”

Her matesprit slowed their dancing down again, letting the two of them talk easier. “Hm?”

“Do you know when they’ll announce the vote?” She dropped her face to the floor to better look up at him with her winning doe-eyes. “I’m afraid I forgot.”

“Ah...erm…” he blinked harshly in confusion as he trailed off uncertainty. “No? Afraid I hardly know what you are talking about, quite frankly.”

Here it was. The moment of truth. No going back from this question. “So...you don’t want to be the Ball King?”

The fingers that loosely kept hold of Careen tapped against her own skin. “The...the what?”

“Oh you know,” she said, freeing up a hand just long enough to push her hair back behind her fin, “the 12th Perigee Ball King and Queen. They had it last sweep. I’ve just noticed you eyeing the box at points in the night.”

“I was...I was eyeing it?” He sounded confused. Careen knew better. She knew he was trying to hide his interest.

“Well...yes.” She sighed. “If you really, truly want to nominate yourself, I suppose you can, but really I must advise against--”

She was interrupted by a sigh. “Careen, I assure you, if my lack of memory does not give it away, I am not one for schmoozing and politicking to win a dance with a total stranger.”

She had to resist letting out a huff. So he wasn’t interested in the nominations. That’s fine, too, she supposed. He couldn’t have sounded more rude toward her attempt at being helpful, but it was fine.

And anyway, she wasn’t interested in the Ball nominations to nominate him. Not even to nominate her friends. She only wanted to cast her vote she truly felt deserved it. Unlike last sweep, with the bottom of the bottom winning. Had they worked for it? Really worked? Impossible. Lowbloods didn’t work the way any other blood color did. They lacked the strength.

“Something in the way she knows, and all I have to do is think of her.”

Her matesprit sped back up to match with the song. She let her arms slide down, around the bottom of his waist. She felt him tense in surprise underneath the coarse tweed of his suit.

Careen frowned deeply, fins drooping. “It’s just me. No reason to freak out.”

He looked down at her with a confused expression. “I ah…my apologies.” He shook his head. “I erm...was un-unaware…”

“It’s fine, darling. It doesn’t upset me in the slightest. That being said,” her hands wandered down to his rear to rest. No grabbing. Not yet. But the night was young. “A healthy dose of fear is completely normal in our society, don’t you think?”

Her matesprit hummed. Not an answer, not really, but Careen loved the feelings of the sweet, soft vibrations the noise sent up her fins and down her spine. Moreso, anyway, than whenever he spoke with that posh voice of his. Not that she disliked it when he spoke of course. In fact, she very much loved hearing it when she wanted to. So long as the two weren’t physically close, she even preferred just hearing his voice. Undoubtedly, it was Careen’s favorite thing about him.

And even more than that, she loved the intimate silence that followed. The singer’s crooning quieted down to little more than a whisper into the microphone. The band played a few more bars, but they too needed to end the song eventually. Her matesprit gave her a final twirl and parted, bowing.

“Perfect gentleman as always, Dontoc,” she cooed.

He answered not with words, but with a smile. It looked somewhat forced, but that was okay. It was her night, after all, not his. He was here with her now, treating her just like the princess she actually was. A dutiful matesprit. Exactly what Careen, the rightful Heiress, always deserved.

[anewalternia]

so strange it was to see him look so wistfully at the day (part 1)

Word Count: 3230 Rating: PG-13 Warnings: disease, slavery, captivity. Characters: young psiioniic and one million fantrolls Pairings: n/a Summary: Your name is Mituna Captor, and you are not fond of licorice. You’re three and a half sweeps old when a plague descends upon the psion compound, and changes everything you know.

It all starts out when a five sweeps old troll starts coughing her head off.

She says the cough is nothing, apparently a bitchy rustblood kicked dirt into her face on her way back from Octagon Plaza, and she’s been coughing ever since.

Naturally she’s been second-warned for leaving the compound, which means confinement to quarters for two weeks and reduced rations. Trolls from her clade sneak her extra rations and sweets, and the instructors pretty much turn a blind eye to this. She must be powerful if she can just leave like that, and come back without being noticed, all at the age of five. She’s too promising to punish much.

And it’s not like any of you would have dropped a dime on her even if she hadn’t been caught. She’s brought a sack of peppermints back for the younger wigglers. There must be like a million in the sack.

She leaves the sack in the hallway. Even some of the 6+ sweeps sneak down from the second floor to grab a peppermint or two, and exchange greetings with her.

“As long as I don’t step over the edge of this doorway, I can talk to you guys,” Alzirr says. “How’s training?”

“Hard,” a six sweeps old troll answers. He notices you noticing him, comes over, and ruffles your hair. “How you doin’ tonight, Tuna? Kill anyone good lately?”

“No, Alhena,” you say solemnly.

The older trolls like you, because you accidentally zapped Instructor Irvaan with enough energy to knock him unconscious. And since it was a total accident, and you’re still too young to do things with much malice, he couldn’t even get mad and warn you over it.

Besides, warnings are a little bit of a joke in Psi Block, also known as the End of The Line. 

All of you have scored Stupidly High - that’s an official designation, right? - at or above 97 percent on the exams of psionic prowess. Therefore all of you are potential Helmsmen to the Battleship Condescension or other powerful ships in the Imperial Fleet, except for the trolls over twelve who live here, who are on their way to become Instructors and Elders. You’re on the fast track to something prestigious, in other words.

Sometimes, your kinder instructors even give you sweets on your off day. So you arguably receive the most leniency of any other block, even if it’ll disappear once you hit the age of six. 

Then, four sweeps of rigorous training. Once that’s through, the best of you leave the compound right after that. Two male trolls. Two female trolls. Conscripts, all of them. One day you will be so lucky. You hope.

Your name is Mituna Captor, you are three and a half sweeps old, and you are not very fond of licorice. You share your room with several other trolls, all of whom are between 3.0 and 3.9 sweeps of age. Your room is the second youngest in the compound, with the 2.0 to 2.9s next door being the absolute youngest. You are so glad you’re out of that room. 

You’re in a room with trolls who know how to not piss in their recuperacoons. Mostly.

Alhena, the upperclassman troll who engaged you in conversation, sits down in front of you and asks if you want to play cards You like Alhena, possibly almost as much as you like Alzirr. He checks up on you. Him and Velyor, although Velyor’s younger than him.

Velyor’s five sweeps old, and he’s her moirail, so he’s probably trying to bring the entire fucking cafeteria downstairs to her. He’s strong enough that he probably could. 

You learned that word a sweep ago. Fuck. It’s a good word to have in one’s vocabulary, or so Jishui Avehoa says. 

Alzirr calls Velyor and Alhena glorified surrogate lusii as she stands in the doorway to the 5 room.

“Like you’re not a contender. You stole a sack of peppermints from some poor confectionary vendor probably running the shop out of his basement. And I know you didn’t steal ‘em for the trolls upstairs,” Alhena points out.

“You got me there,” she replies.

When you go outside, wigglers from other the blocks call the wigglers from your block jerkasses, spoiled fucks, and a few other interesting things. 

Everyone from Psi is kind of used to it, though. You don’t rise to the bait.

So trolls outside Psi continue talking their usual shit, until a few of you start hurling peppermints over the short fence that separates your blocks. At first, they think this is an attack.

Standing beside you, Jishui and Zesria laugh their asses off.

Then the intelligent ones realize you’re trying to share, while the dumb ones run back inside and don’t get any peppermints.

You levitate several peppermints over to your friends in Chi Block. That’s the block for trolls scoring between 90 and 96.9 percent on the exams.

Arcsin and Arctan grab them out of the air, eat the candy, and then pelt each other with the cellophane. 

Arccos grabs a handful and dares anyone who wants to try to take them from her. Nobody takes her up on this challenge. Most of the Chi wigglers get so quiet that you could hear a cricket fart in the ensuing silence.

Meanwhile, Jishui and Zesria are laughing so hard that they’ve stopped producing sound.

More than a few threes from Chi Block think Arccos should be on your side of the fence.

“We don’t want her, you can have her,” Arcsin tells you frankly, after he attempts to steal one of her peppermints and gets his ass handed to him, his hair crackling from static discharge.

She then zaps him, for good measure.

You stand there and try your level best not to laugh, while Arcsin calls her… every swear word in existence, and Arctan tries to intervene. 

Poor Arctan. He deserves better.

Later, in the morning, you try to sleep easy, with a few peppermints on your side of the recuperacoon. 

You’ll share these with one other troll. He’s pretty chill. Dienre is calmer than you are, generally. He’s papped you before, and zapped you a few times too. You do the same to him when he freaks out, which doesn’t happen all that often.

“Want any peppermints?” you ask him, once you get into your recuperacoon. He’s already asleep.

He would be. Screw him.

You only sleep for three or four hours. You can’t seem to get comfortable for some reason. 

You get out of your recuperacoon, unlock your door - it’s way too easy - and walk out into the hallway. 

You see a pair of eyes glowing violet near the floor about a foot away from the room for 2 sweeps olds. Pinyix, you think. 

They didn’t sleep well either. They never have. They have to be the second youngest troll in Psi block, but still. You’d mastered sleep by then. You don’t know why they haven’t. 

In fact, you were a veritable master of sleeping. An older wiggler had to forcibly drag you out of your recuperacoon every night for breakfast.

You hear a voice that doesn’t belong to Pinyix, though. Only one troll sounds like that.

“… and that’s why you have to calm down. It was just a dream,” Velyor says.

“But it wasn’t only a dream,” Pinyix insists. “I saw.”

“You had too much candy.”

“I saw, Velyor.”

Pinyix could not get any fucking creepier if they tried. Yeah, they saw. Any troll with eyeballs who hasn’t stared at the sun can probably see.

“Well, what did you see?” Velyor asks.

“Auxiliatrices.” Pinyix doesn’t speak for a while. “Other things.”

“Auxiliatrices? Big word for a two. Where did you learn it?”

“I saw,” Pinyix repeats.

“What did you see?” he asks a second time, his tone growing exasperated.

“You’ll see too, Velyor. We live.”

Pinyix’s eyes cease to glow.

Velyor notices you noticing him and walks over to you.

“Can’t sleep either?”

“Nope.”

“We didn’t wake you, did we?”

“Nope.” You think for a bit. “I haven’t slept this shitty since the week ‘fore the fucking fire.”

“You sure got a filthy mouth on you for a three,” Velyor says. He thinks. “But hm. You might be right. I didn’t sleep right that week either.”

A wildfire decimated parts of Omega and Epsilon Block a sweep ago. 

Alhena raged about it for ages afterwards. He’s a prescient, so he saw it coming in dreams, but no one listened. Why the fuck are all so many buildings made mostly of wood products? he wanted to know. This isn’t the fucking Dark Ages.

Decimated. That’s another word you learned fairly recently. To kill by one tenth. It was probably closer to two in every ten, though.

You think.

“Hall inspections!” A troll yells into the mostly darkened hallway. “Any wigglers with insomnia, go back to your rooms!”

“Fuck you, Alhena!” Velyor calls back.

“Velyor? That you?”

“No, it’s Asyeva. Here to cite you ‘cause your tunic doesn’t cover your ass anymore.”

“Real funny, Velyor. I should give you detention.”

“You wish you could give me detention.”

“I pity the troll who has to give you detention.”

“Wanna pail ‘em?” Velyor asks.

“Not that kind of pity, you pan-rotted dipshit. It’s the kind of pity where you’re like ‘I feel bad for what you’re going through, but I wouldn’t switch places with you for ten billion caegars.’”

“I think that’s what Alzirr feels when she looks at anyone in your quads.”

You wish Zesria and Dienre were up. They would be entertained. You certainly are.

“Velyor, I’ll pay that wiggler in the 3 room,” he starts out. “I’ll pay Mituna twenty peppermints to electrocute you in your sleep.”

“Thirty,” you say. “Take it or leave it.”

Velyor looks down at you.

“Traitor,” he says.

“Thirty,” Alhena agrees.

Pinyix giggles.

“Okay,” Alhena says, switching on the flashlight he’s been given. Apparently he really is in charge of hall patrol today. “How many fucking wigglers are in here?”

“Me,” you say. “And Pinyix. Velyor’s five, though. He’s an adult.”

“Oh yeah, he’s such an adult,” Alhena says. “If anything, I’m the adult. I have the flashlight. I hate being a hall monitor.”

“So why are you doing it?” Velyor asks.

“Because my name came up on the roster. What is this even preparation for? I know I’ll never be an instructor. When will I ever need this experience in the helmsblock?”

“What if someone invades your ship?” Velyor asks. “You gotta know how to detect intruders.”

“The point of me being the helmsman of a ship is that all potential invaders are already gonna be too dead to board me.”

You and Pinyix snort.

“You sound even more pissy than usual,” Alzirr says from her doorway. “And yes, before any of you ask, yes you did wake me up.”

“Call it a slumber party,” Alhena says. “I just had to patrol the wiggler floors of Chi and Phi block. Do you know how many of them are sitting in the hallways?”

“More than there are supposed to be?” Velyor says.

“I almost tripped over the trigonometric triplets. They were in the hallway, right outside the four sweeps room in Chi Block, lying on the floor playing Fiduspawn. They said they couldn’t sleep. Everyone’s got insomnia.”

He looks fleetingly unsettled, then goes back to grumbling.

“Good for them,” Velyor says. “When you do patrol there again, confiscate Arctan’s Fiduspawn cards.”

“Which one is Arctan and why am I confiscating his cards?”

“He’s the one with the stupid hair, and he stole ten of my cards last time I snuck him over here.”

“So duel him and reclaim what’s yours. I’m not getting lectured for abusing my power.”

“Your power consists of a flashlight, and I’m not dueling a four from a lesser block. What if I cull him by accident?”

“Your problem, not mine,” Alhena replies.

At that moment, Alzirr slides to a sitting position on the floor, holding her head in one hand. She groans.

Alhena steps over to her, concerned.

“Alzirr? You don’t look so hot.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it? I’m freezing my ass off,” she replies.

Pinyix’s eyes begin to glow again. You shove them. You hate when they do that.

“Hey!” Alhena says. “Don’t shove the underclassmen!”

“But Pinyix is creepy,” you protest.

“Pin’s a prescient. They’re not creepy. I’m a prescient, too.” Alhena kneels down in front of them. “What’s going on in that thinkpan of yours? What are you seeing?”

“Alzirr,” Pinyix says.

“What about Alzirr?”

Pinyix shakes their head repeatedly. and refuses to answer.

“Come on. I won’t tell any of the instructors, I promise,” Alhena says. “But if it’s bad, we gotta know. What happens? Does she get in trouble for the peppermints or something?

They put their index fingers on Alhena’s temples and stare at him for a while.

Everything’s quiet. 

Then his flashlight sputters, but doesn’t go out. 

It’s pretty fucking dark in this hallway with the sun shades pulled, but you can still tell he’s gone like five shades lighter.

“Can’t stop this,” Pinyix says, their eyes returning to normal. “I saw.”

Alhena backs away from Pinyix, looking shocked, and afraid. 

He picks them up, and balances them on his hip.

“Let’s go back to your room, Pin. You’ve definitely had too much candy.”

All respect to Alhena, but while Pinyix must have eaten like sixty peppermints - how even? that’s like half their mass - you don’t think it’s the candy anymore.

They protest this, but Alhena’s big for a six and Pinyix is small for a two. You’re pretty sure he’s just gonna throw them back into their recuperacoon anyway.

“I don’t think Alhena liked what he saw,” you say.

Velyor curses loudly.

“What?” you ask.

“Tuna, don’t tell me you’re getting all prescient on me too. I don’t wanna know when I’m gonna die, for fuck’s sake,” he says. “Once, Alhena said I was gonna be in a revolt, so maybe those see forward trolls don’t actually know what they’re talking about.”

“A revolt?”

“Yeah. Like an uprising?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why would you do that?” 

“Fuck if I know. Maybe for more sauce on my grubloaf.”

That, admittedly, is a pretty good reason.

Then, Alhena comes out of the two room, his expression inscrutable.

“Back to your rooms,” he says to you and Velyor in monotone. “Now.”

“Oh, come the fuck on, Alhena, it’s almost evening anyway.”

“Go back to your rooms,” he repeats.

Velyor flips him off.

“Are you capable of not busting my globes?”

“Go back to your room and I won’t have to.” Alhena puts a concerned hand over his mouth, but you two can hear what he’s about say then. “Oh fuck. I gotta find someone.”

If Alhena’s cursing like that, it’s gotta be serious

“Like who?” Velyor asks, from his spot in the 5 room doorway now.

“An adult! Instructor Asyeva, maybe!”

“I thought you were an adult,” Velyor says. “Six with a flashlight. Monitor of the halls. Can’t be anything but an adult, right?”

“A real one, I mean!” When Velyor tries to help Alzirr to her feet, Alhena zaps him. “Don’t touch her, okay? I’ll explain later. Alzirr?”

“Yeah?” she murmurs.

“I’m going to get you some help.”

Before he leaves this level altogether, he calls on Velyor again.

“And Velyor?”

“What now.”

“Keep an eye on the two sweeps. Especially Pinyix.”

“Yes, Glorious Leader. Are you gonna ever explain anything to me?”

“Just do what I say. You’ll find out later.”

Velyor gives him a mock salute. “Yes, officer.”

Once he leaves, Velyor calls into the hallway, “And that, friends, is why I fucking hate prescient trolls.”

Then, he helps Alzirr to her feet.

She tries to thank him, but ends up vomiting on his tunic.

“Alzirr, what even!” he wants to know. “The fuck?”

“I didn’t–” She pauses so she can retch again, but this time, away from him. “I didn’t mean to do that, Velyor, honest.”

He makes a diamond gesture at her with his index and middle fingers. 

And you know you’re not strictly allowed in the five room, but you want to help Velyor. And you still have a bunch of wadded up napkins from the cafeteria in the pocket of your tunic. You hand them to him.

“Thanks, Tuna.” He turns to face Alzirr again. “And, it’s alright, Alzirr. Forgiven. Let me get you back into your recuperacoon.”

“I feel sick.”

“Yeah, no shit. Did you steal soporifics or something while you were out?”

Alzirr rolls her eyes. “No. You think that low of me? That I’d steal soporifics and not share?”

“I would never suggest anything like that.”

Seventy-two hours later, Psi Block is on lockdown, and Alzirr has been gone for the last sixty-ish of those hours. 

One hundred and something trolls have taken ill between Phi, Chi, and Psi Blocks, at least according to your math. 

Arcsin gave you the numbers from Chi Block, Khifos gave you the numbers from Phi block, you have the numbers from Psi block, and you added them all together. 

You three have been hanging signs out the window to communicate with each other.

Drones remove the recuperacoons in your rooms and replace them with small single-troll cots in the rooms, the hallways, the communal nutritionblocks, and anywhere they can jam one. 

One troll to a cot. Name of the troll written on cardboard square and hung on the foot of the cot. No exceptions. Anyone found lying in a cot with another troll, regardless of quadrant affiliation, is subject to second-warning status and summary culling for a subsequent transgression.

Culling? They can’t possibly execute anyone in Psi Block. You’re all too important.

Additionally, at the start of morning, the drones will inject into your arm a small volume of sopor with single-use syringes. This will put you to sleep for eight hours.

Irvaan reads these regulations in the wiggler hallway. Most of you understand what he’s saying, but don’t quite understand why he’s saying it.

“Where’s Alzirr?” Velyor yells after Irvaan, once he’s done.

“The infirmary,” Irvaan answers.

“Pinyix!” Velyor calls. Pinyix pokes their head out of their cot. “Where’s Alzirr?”

They shake their head.

“Will you answer yes or no questions?” Velyor asks.

They nod.

“Is Alzirr in the infirmary?”

They nod.

Velyor looks like he wants to ask another question.

“Never mind. I don’t want to know,” he finally says.

The sack of peppermints is put into a large bag, dragged into the flogging square, and burned, the acrid, cloying smell of scorched sugar lingering in the air.

The next night, while you’re playing cards with Kolnai, you hear the metal door to Psi Block open. Irvaan leaves. 

Just as well ‘cause you figure, based on the static in the air, that a few trolls are thinking of taking him on the way you did. Except you did it by accident.

“Good evening, ladies,” he says to whoever’s downstairs, leading them into the building. Hold on. Ladies?

“Ladies?” Velyor asks. He shouts, “Anyone got a cot near the window and can tell me what the fuck?”

“Auxiliatrices,” Pinyix says.

“Aren’t you helpful?” Velyor asks them. “Can you tell me when Mituna’s going to die or something? He’s got fifty peppermints under his cot.”

“Why’s it gotta be me, you bulgemunch?” you ask.

“Cause you’re the only troll who thought to stockpile peppermints.”

“He’s not,” Pinyix says, looking rattled nonetheless, as they gaze at you.

“Fucking awesome,” you say. “Pin says I’m not gonna die.”

“That’s practically a clean bill of health,” Zesria says to you from the cot across from yours.

The auxiliatrices stand at the start of the young wiggler corridor, in almost identical formal dress, with identical-looking haircuts. 

Their faces have slightly different features, though, at least you think they do under the face masks. And their horns are all different. 

But they all seem identically afraid of you, except for the first one into the hallway proper, who rips her mask off, and starts to examine the oldest of the five sweeps.

“I don’t know if that’s advisable, Elder–” Irvaan starts.

“Onzozo,” she says. And then, with a heavy accent, she declares, “I’ve seen this before. It can’t spread to jadebloods.”

“I wish I had your certainty,” he says. “Security measures being what they are–”

She gives him a glare so stern that he actually shuts up.

That has got to be the greatest thing you’ve seen all sweep.

“I like her already,” Velyor says. “Wonder if she’s got a matesprit.”

“Probably not interested in you either way,” Zesria says.

“Why are auxiliatrices here, though?” you want to know. “They don’t even use our language most of the time.”

“Cause exiled ones assist medicullers,” Kolnai says. “They learn shit about troll anatomy in the caverns. Way more useful than knowing how to call you a dumbass. Even if someone should.”

You spark.

“Nobody asked you,” you reply.

Velyor rolls his eyes and yells for an auxiliatrix, until he gets the attention of two.

“Ma’am? Can any of you understand Common Alternian well?”

“Yes,” the younger, more terrified one says, trembling all the while. “I can.”

Velyor points to you and Kolnai.

“Well, these two idiots need to be examined.”

“Fuck you!” you and he yell at Velyor in unison.

The auxiliatrix stumbles over and deposits a thermometer underneath your tongue with shaky hands. Since you can’t swear until she’s done taking your temperature, you flip Velyor the double bird. That’ll have to work for now. 

“Least she didn’t put the thermometer up your wastechute,” Zesria says.

You hate all these trolls sometimes.

[askhomestuckuniverses]

We Have.... Lifdoff (part 1)

I told y’all I was gonna write shit for trollstuck

Characters: John Egbert, Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider, Jade Harley, Jake English, Dirk Strider

Ships: Mentions of John<>Rose and Dirk<3Jake, more to come

Warnings: Helmsman-themed body-horror, canon-typical language and violence, mentions of slavery and casteism

“ ...it was good to have friends in high places. Violet, fishy places, to be precise. Rosali Lalond (good princess, best moirail) might have peered into her magic crystal ball and just happened to foresee that giving her friends a kickass assignment would bring good fortune to the Empire. It would be unwise to ignore Oracle Farsight’s advice, which was how Johnne had found himself in possession of the Scout Ship Typheus; a research and exploration vessel designed to navigate the uncharted edges of the Empire. “

This sweep’s graduates of the Alternian Empire’s highblood academies had just received their assignments.  Most bright-eyed young bluebloods could expect to spend the next ten to fifty sweeps as a grunt on some seadweller’s warship, or at best a soldier in the invasion fleet. Almost none would be getting a position as Captain over a shiny new ship, ready to explore the vast reaches of the universe.  It helped that Johnne Egbert had performed pretty well at the academy; more importantly, Jadite Harley, who would be serving as Chief Scientific Officer, was both Johnne’s good friend and something of an incredible fucking genius.  And sure, it was good to have friends in high places.  Violet, fishy places, to be precise.  Rosali Lalond (good princess, best moirail) might just have peered into her magic crystal ball and just happened to foresee that giving her friends a kickass assignment would bring good fortune to the Empire.  It would be unwise to ignore Oracle Farsight’s advice, which was how Johnne had found himself in possession of the Scout Ship Typheus; a research and exploration vessel designed to navigate the uncharted edges of the Empire.

“It’s not that great a ship,” Jadite remarked after seeing it for the first time.

“Yes it is, shut up,” was Johnne’s mature and professional response.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure these missions are designed to send problem scientists out to die in deep space, so…”

“Okay, but have you considered, that this is going to be awesome?”

Jadite said something about the exterior not being adequately prepared for the extreme conditions they were likely to experience, and she’d probably have to overhaul some of the lab space to properly contain alien contaminants.  Johnne wasn’t fooled; he knew his dear friend had been daydreaming about cool aliens and weird plants ever since they started at the academy.  Besides, this was a chance for them to operate outside the confines of the military’s rigid chain of command, work within their strengths, and make some real discoveries, glory to the Empire.  

The Typheus was designed for a small crew; they would have four.  Well, officially it was three, but Johnne and Jadite counted their friend Davidh as well.  Yes, technically, he was registered as Johnne’s slave, which he had agreed to in order to avoid a far worse fate.  The hemospectrum wouldn’t count for much when they were in deep space; it was more important to be surrounded by friends.

Rosali wasn’t coming with them, since this assignment was way below her pay grade, and it was hard to choose a dinky little scout vessel over a swanky ocean palace.

“I think it would be advantageous for me to remain closer to the heart of the Empire,” she said.  “Someone will have to cover your asses when you inevitably get into trouble.”

Johnne and Jadite assumed identical expressions of innocence—’who, us?’—but it was somewhat undercut when Jadite began to giggle.

Instead of her, their fourth would be an acquaintance of Jadite’s from the academy.  Jakove Englis had some scientific training, enough to assist Jadite with her work and to be an extra pair of hands around the ship.  Johnne didn’t know him well, but based on their few conversations, he seemed to be as excited as all the rest of them combined.

It wasn’t until shortly before the scheduled launch that Johnne was reminded that their would be a fifth troll on the Typheus, a fact that he had done his best not to remember.

It wasn’t very captain-like, but Johnne couldn’t help but drag his feet on his way to the helmsblock.  He’d known that this was part of the package of having his own ship.  The academy had drilled him relentlessly on the necessity and basic functions of the helmsman, especially once it became apparent that he was going to be out in uncharted space.  Johnne was a damn good pilot, and had a pretty solid understanding of systems that would be powering his ship, and yet somehow it hadn’t felt real until now.

“I don’t wanna do this,” he whispered, so that no one but Jadite would be able to hear the promising young highblood captain whining like a wiggler.  “Can’t you do the final inspection?  You know way more about energy and psi systems than I do, anyway.”

His dear friend was unmoved.  “You’re the captain!” she said, dragging him along by his wrist.  “This is your responsibility, not mine.  And I got kicked out of my psi systems course.”  As a final project, she had constructed a generator to run on nuclear power rather than psi, insisting that it was far more efficient, less likely to break down, and didn’t have to be switched out every ten sweeps or so when the helmsman died a horrific death.  She then had several choice words for the instructor when he gave her a failing grade and told her that ‘midbloods should do as they’re told.’  That was beside the point, however.

Johnne grumbled all the way to the helmsblock, and fine, Jadite couldn’t help but sympathize.  It was backbreaking work, getting a ship ready to fly, but this task was probably the nastiest, especially for highbloods like Johnne who suffered from a rare and probably cull-worthy disease called ‘having a fucking shred of empathy.’  Still, if they all held their noses and did what they needed to do, there was a very real chance of getting off the ground by the end of the dark season!  That, at least, was worthy of celebration, right?

Frantic babbling greeted the two of them as they drew near.  Most of it was utter nonsense, but every once in a while they would hear mathematical formulas, a description of the helming process, and increasingly frequent pleas for help.  Johnne and Jadite grimaced in unison.  She took his hand, gave it a squeeze, and let go.  Holding their breath, the two of them finally entered.

The soon-to-be helmsman was strung up in the center of the helmsblock. His wrists and ankles were chained in place, while a small team of surgeons prepared to finish the procedure. Each of them saluted as Johnne approached, and one gave him a status report as the others worked.

“This is Dhirkk Stridr; just under ten sweeps, mid-level psionic, should be more than adequate for a vessel of this size.  He’s already been calibrated, and it’ll only take a few hours to attach him to the ship.  We’re ready to continue on your command, sir.”

Dhirkk reflexively snapped his teeth in the direction of a technician that was fussing with the ports on his back. The bite didn't land, of course, not while he was bound and barely aware of where he was and who was here with him. Words continued to spill from his lips, even though he was probably unable to hear his own voice. "Hadda get y'rself shot, stupid bird, stupid fuckin' bird, couldn't even screech at me'n I needed you to..."

Johnne did his best not to visibly recoil.  It was one thing to take an exam on how exactly one attached a psionic’s nerves to an electrical system (which had been admittedly awful); seeing the process in person was far worse.  “Aren’t they supposed to be unconscious for this?” he said.  Not that Stridr was particularly lucid, but it sure seemed like it would hurt once they started really fucking around with his spinal cord.

“The standard aesthetic has been ineffective,” the surgeon explained.  “It won’t interfere with the procedure, but increasing or changing the dosage will.”

“Won’t that hurt though?”  Johnne didn’t care if it was a stupid question; it was out of his mouth before he could give it a second thought, anyway.

The midblood surgeon was extremely careful not to demonstrate any signs of impatience.  “All helmsmen experience pain,” they said.  “This one will just start a little bit earlier.  It really isn’t a problem, sir.  We just need you to do a quick inspection, and with your approval we can get to work.”

Johnne and Jadite exchanged a helpless glance.  Without any other ideas, he nodded curtly and said, “Fine.  Harley, help me take a look.”

From what Johnne could see, the helmsman really had been calibrated and prepared properly.  Several ports lined his spine from the base of his neck to his lower back, allowing for the integration of the ship with his nervous system.  It was the first time Johnne had seen it in person.  It turned his stomach, but not as much as the way Stridr shuddered, while useless sparks leaped between his horns.

“This isn’t going to work,” Johnne said.  Once again, his mouth moved before he could fully process what he was saying.  Suddenly, all eyes in the room were on him.  For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the ship’s systems and the helmsman quietly beatboxing.

“What’s wrong, highblood?” the surgeon said, carefully hiding their exasperation.

Johnne put on his best stern captain voice and said, “The helmsman can’t be integrated, obviously.  Harley, tell them.”

Jadite was probably going to kick his ass for that later, but for now, she didn’t bat an eye.  “We’ve been having some problems with the environmental controls in the lab.  Nothing we can’t fix in a few nights, but you know how delicate the helming process is.  If we do it now, all of those problems will just be so much more complex, and then we might even have to come in and rewire the helmsman anyway!”

Thank the stars for Jadite Harley.  The team of surgeons appeared suspicious, but could not find a reason to argue.  They would still get paid for their time, whether or not they finished the procedure.

“Fine,” the lead doctor finally said.  “The psionic restraints should hold indefinitely.  If anything happens, we’re no longer liable.”

“Roger that!” Johnne said with an inappropriate level of enthusiasm.  The surgeons and technicians were keen enough to leave, and yet he still ended up rushing them out of the Helmsblock as quickly as he could manage.  When the heavy doors finally shut, leaving the captain and head scientist in with their unfinished, babbling engine, Johnne let out a sigh of relief, despite the fact that they now had another problem to deal with.

As soon as they were alone, Jadite was immediately moving to unfasten the chains holding Stridr in place.  This, of course, left him with nothing to hold him up, and the poor bastard dropped like a stone.  Johnne was able to catch him without much difficulty, although accidentally brushing his ports made him jerk in pain.  The would-be helmsman wasn’t as scrawny as the stereotypical psionic, but he was still small, and in awful shape; at the moment, he could do little more than twitch weakly in the highblood’s arms.

There was a moment of oppressive silence, broken only by Stridr’s ragged breath and mumbled nonsense, but finally Jadite said, “You didn’t think this far ahead, did you?”

Johnne couldn’t answer except to grin sheepishly, but fortunately, he didn’t need to.  Jadite was already deep in though, her eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed.  “I can set him up in the lab,” she said.  “But we need to figure out what we’re doing next.”

Johnne nodded solemnly and slung the psionic over his shoulder.  Dhirkk let out a strangled gasp, and as he was carried out of the helmsblock he babbled, “I’m sorry I’m sorry, I changed my mind…”

—

Jadite felt a little bit guilty about strapping the would-have-been helmsman down, but he was being really squirmy for a guy who was supposed to be unconscious!  It was a good thing she and Johnne had intervened when they did; waking up to find that you were wired into a ship was hellish enough—being even half-awake through the wiring process would be infinitely worse.  Still, after one of the psionic’s flailing limbs hit her redblooded square in the mouth, Jadite made the executive decision to strap him to the cot and make life easier on all of them.

Well, maybe not all of them.  The poor psionic was still having a pretty bad time.  Although he was moving around and talking a lot of shit, Jadite was willing to bet he wasn’t lucid.  Either way, he was pretty obviously distressed; his cheeks were stained with ochre tears, and half the time the sounds coming out of his mouth were little more than frantic babbling.

“How long is he gonna be like this?” Davidh said, carefully rubbing at his bruised upper lip.  His expression and tone of voice were deliberately even, but Jadite recognized the tension in the set of his shoulders, and was hardly surprised that he was upset.  She was starting to be pretty upset as well.

“The anesthetic was supposed to keep him unconscious for the duration of the installation,” she said.  “So, a couple hours?  But it’s already not working, so who knows.  The important thing is that someone’s here when he wakes up.”

That was Davidh’s cue to leave and turn his attention to something less upsetting, but if he got the hint, he pretended not to.  Instead, he dragged another chair up beside the helmsman’s cot and sat down.  The unfortunate drugged-up psionic had begun to make bird sounds.  Davidh made bird sounds back.  Dhirkk went silent, then choked out a sob.  Jadite gave her friend a well-deserved swat across the side of the head (although she was careful not to give him another bruise).

The last thing Davidh wanted was to be left alone with their drugged-up guest, but as the Head Scientist of the brand new vessel, it wasn’t long before Jadite was called off to deal with another task.  He assured her that he had everything under control, taking care not to let the sickening dread he felt seep into his voice.  

-

GT: Im telling you chum you can just come and hide out on my island! Its barely even charted and no one will ever think to look there.

TT: How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going to do that? It's an outright necessity for me to be on the run, and I won't risk throwing you under the bus if anyone ever connects you to me.

GT: Confound it why do you have to be so thickheaded? Youre blowing this vastly out of proportion acting as if youre some kind of public enemy of the empire! No one is going to be trying nearly as hard to look for you as you are making it out to be so buck up find an isolated patch of wilderness and take it down a fucking notch!

TT: As charming as your naivety is, you vastly underestimate how strictly helmsman-grade psychics are controlled by the empire. I am already on record, and thus it won't be nearly as easy for me to disappear as you seem to think it will. I'm sorry for not wanting you to die a painful and horrific death if you are charged with somehow helping me evade enlistment.

GT: Horseshit! That is nothing but a patented stridr-brand basket of equine feces and on some level you know that as well. You dont have to do this alone.

TT: Yes, I do, haven't you been listening? I appreciate the offer, I really do. You're a good friend, Jakove.

GT: Do not get sappy with me stridr. Im not ready to say goodbye to you just yet.

TT: Of course, my mistake.

TT: I might have to leave you with a fond 'later, bro,' however. My lusus is a-chatterin' some hella sick birdy beats, and these rhymes aren't gonna spin themselves.

GT: Sigh. Farewell my friend! I recommend hot soup and plenty of rest and those ill beats will feel better in no time.

TT: Word.

-

If Jakove had really known that that really would be his last conversation with his dear friend, he might have been more reluctant to let Dhirkk sign off.  It had been a few nights, and although Stridr could be elusive at times, he had promised to call and extend his congratulations before Jakove went off-planet.  Dhirkk never would have let him leave without saying goodbye, but the call had never come.  All Jakove could do was hope that his friend was hiding, just like he always said he would, and was simply too paranoid to make contact.  He didn’t let any other possibility cross his mind, even as he read their last conversation over and over again.

Thinking about whatever fate might have befallen Dhirkk made Jakove’s gastric sac turn something awful.  Fortunately, preparing for The Typheus’s departure was a helpful distraction.  Living and working on a scientific exploration vessel was surely everything he had dreamed of.  While not a traditionally trained technician or scientific genius like Jadite, Jakove knew his way around some complicated equipment, especially after spending a good portion of his childhood going back and forth with… fuck.  That wasn’t important right now; he was too busy looking forward to exploring the stars, making new discoveries at the farthest reaches of the Empire!  Thoughts like these helped him maintain his sunny disposition, even through all the rush of preparing for the ship’s maiden voyage.  

Jadite, busy as she was, had to take care of some sort of business with some technicians working on the lower deck, leaving Jakove to set up some of the less delicate lab equipment.  It was this that brought him into the lab, carrying some heavy and probably extremely expensive doohickey with him.

He saw Davidh jump to his feet, his expression blank but his body rigid with apprehension, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.  That wasn’t what nearly made Jakove drop what he was carrying, however; rather, it was the sight of Dhirkk strapped face-down on a sterile cot, his back swollen and scarred from the preliminary helming operation.  Pity and dismay made Jakove’s blood pusher leap into his throat.  He set down his heavy cargo with perhaps a bit more force than recommended, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “What in the fresh flipping hell is this?”

Davidh began to say, “Hey wait, listen,” but Jakove didn’t hear him.  He had spent much of his childhood desperately hoping for a way to rescue Dhirkk from the doom that awaited him, and now he had just such an opportunity.  Without thinking he rushed toward his friend’s side, only to find Davidh blocking the way.  The redblood had his hands up in a placating gesture, but his voice carried a terse edge.  “Don’t touch him, what the hell are you doing?”

Jakove didn’t know this Stridr very well, but he seemed friendly enough, and he didn’t want to hurt him.  But the sight of Dhirkk in such a sorry state was setting his blood on fire, and he surely couldn’t be blamed for acting a little out of sorts.  Jakove’s voice was uncharacteristically stern as he said, “Davidh, old pal, I’m going to need you to stand aside.”

He could see the redblood’s eyes narrow behind his shades.  Davidh didn’t move, and so it was with no small amount of guilt that Jakove shoved him aside.  

That had been a mistake.  The little redblood turned out to be far quicker than anything Jakove had encountered on his island home, and before he even knew what kind of trouble he was in, pain blossomed from two sharp strikes to his knee and abdomen.  Jakove barely had time to cry out before Davidh knocked his legs out from under him, and he dropped like a sack of rocks.  Next thing he knew, he was staring up at the ceiling, the sharp point of a blade at his throat.  

Above him, Dhirkk moaned in pain, and Jakove thought he might cry.  Davidh had a foot planted on his chest and a sword at the ready; with nothing else to do but beg, Jakove did just that.  “Oh Davidh please, this is wrong, you know it is!  We have to let him go!”

The redblood hadn’t raised his voice once the entire time Jakove had known him, and he didn’t now, although it certainly seemed like he was thinking about it.  “Holy shit, would you hold your horses for two goddamn seconds?”

The last thing Jakove wanted to do was hold his horses, but he might have considered it—or he might have, if Dhirkk didn’t then say his name with such pain and terror in his voice that the poor greenblood saw red.  Without thinking he surged upward in a desperate lunge.  Davidh was kind enough to yank his sword back before Jakove impaled himself on it, but he could do nothing else before the larger troll slammed into him in a full-body tackle.  As soon as Jakove got a hold of him, the redblood had firmly lost the upper hand, but that didn’t stop him from thrashing like a wild animal, and it certainly didn’t stop him from yelling at the top of his lungs, “Jadite!”

Loud footsteps could be heard approaching the lab, and they were rapidly growing louder.  At that moment Jakove realized that this had all gone pretty fucking pear-shaped.  Then the lab door was slamming open, and oh, Jadite Harley did not look pleased.  Jakove supposed he could relate to the fury that came from seeing one’s lowblood friend in danger, but this didn’t make her withering glare any easier to withstand.

Well, he had come this far.  Jakove gathered what remained of his courage and said, “L-let my friend go, or I swear I’ll…”

Jadite bared her teeth and snarled, a low, bestial sound.  Jakove dropped the redblood without any further prompting, and Davidh was quick to scramble away.

The lab was deathly silent, except for Dhirkk; he might have been more lucid than when Jadite last checked on him, but he certainly was not all there.  His voice was strained and cracked something awful, and yet he continued to plead, “Jakove, don’t—get him out of here, don't let him do anything stupid for me!"

Jadite’s glare softened just a little, but Jakove didn’t notice.  Grief and frustration made his breath catch, and he exclaimed, “Stridr, you insufferable horse’s ass, who do you think is doing the rescuing at the moment!”

Dhirkk wasn’t in much of a state to answer, but the other Stridr was.  “Yeah, how’s that going for you, bro?” Davidh said icily.  The comment wasn’t necessary; Jakove already felt like an idiot.  He couldn’t know what the consequences of his failure would be, but he could guess.  He hid his face in his hands.  

He heard Jadite move toward him, and fully expected to get socked in the face.  Instead, when he opened her eyes, she was hovering over Dhirkk, checking to see if his condition had changed.  The poor troll was trembling violently, and Jakove had to guess that it was only exhaustion and weakness that kept him from struggling against his bonds.  “Jakove—what is he doing here?”  His voice was hoarse, but the clearest it had been since Johnne and Jadite first heard him babbling in the helmsblock.  “What’s going on?”

Only now did it occur to Jakove that the ship’s lab was nowhere near helmsblock, and although he wasn’t an expert in psi systems and installation procedures, he couldn’t think of any reason Dhirkk would be here.  Hesitantly, as if voicing his concerns would break some sort of spell that had fallen over the room, he said, “The gent has a point.  I, ahem, can’t help but feel like I’m missing out on some crucial tidbits here.  What is going on?”

The way Jadite looked at him clearly said that he was still in the doghouse, but her gaze had none of the fury from before.  One hand rested gently on Dhirkk’s shoulder as she spoke.  “Honestly?” she said.  “I’m not entirely sure, either.  But I guess we do have some explaining to do.”