#karkats hair is so annoying to draw i hate him

[chomplicated]

johnkat attack

[yuttikkele]

All Homestuck References, Similarities, and Contrasts in the Dream SMP

I have compiled a list of all the Homestuck references that I’ve found in the DSMP. These DEFINITELY weren’t intentional, as the only CC that I’ve seen talk about Homestuck with any understanding was Jack Manifold, and he only just knew about it. I believe there are probably more that I’ve overlooked, so if you find any more, please tell me!

Homestuck and the DSMP are both multimedia creations that had lots of viewer influence and became something much bigger than originally planned.

Homestuck is known for how extremely long and crazy it was. The same can be said for the DSMP since a lot of nonsensical shenanigans occur, AND there is SO much footage and perspectives and non-lore of the DSMP that I HOPE there isn’t a person who has watched ALL of it (like Tubbo’s daily 10 hour streams…).

Dave and TommyInnit similarities: brother problems, red baseball shirt, disc motif, blonde, combined with a bird in another universe, related to a crow in some way (philza and davesprite), creepy puppet (Lil Cal and Uncle Nasty), Eburnean Tommy AU is BASICALLY just Dave (white hair, blank expression, dead Tommys everywhere)

Terezi has Dave make tons of money doing “business” stuff. Tommy had a “business” brand going on at multiple points mostly because of Schlatt influence (Business Bay, Business Boys, InnitInc, Camarvan, The Big Innit Hotel).

Caliborn and TommyInnit similarities: Tommy talks exactly like Caliborn, they both cause most problems that occur, they both hate lovey-dovey stuff that is barely even lovey-dovey, they both have a complicated relationship with women that is seen as misogynistic (Caliborn is actually misogynistic while Tommy has Said Some Things), they both have a relation to That Green Thing (Doc Scratch and Dream), Annoying At FirstTM, both have an affinity for a puppet doll they both recognize as extremely creepy (Lil Cal and Uncle Nasty), Tommy has made his own “Homosuck” via writing a terrible fanfiction of himself, Tubbo, and Molly and (presumably) drawing pictures for it.

TommyInnit is basically the Davekat lovechild, and it really LOOKS like it if you imagine the demon Tommy design. BUT he is what I’d say is a fair mix of Dave, Karkat, and John. -Dave: motifs and situation -Karkat: brashness, loudness, and mannerisms -John: Protagonist-ness, humor, morals, and role in the story. Tommy also takes Caliborn’s personality, pretty much making him the chaotic neutral Caliborn.

In TommyInnit’s quote book, he mentions throwing a frog into a volcano, something that happens in Homestuck. On top of that, during this section, there is some very religious subtext akin to the frog in Homestuck.

Bro’s death is a lot like Wilbur’s (TommyInnit’s “bro’s”) death. Bro is stabbed through the chest with his own sword by Jack Noir (someone with crow motifs). Wilbur is stabbed (usually fanonly portrayed as being stabbed through the chest) by his own sword by Philza (someone with crow motifs).

Ranboo is basically a cherub. The mechanics of his character perfectly align with the mechanics of a prepubescent or malfunctioned cherub. They go to sleep, the other side wakes up and takes over the body. One side only wants good and for everyone to get along, while the other side has done despicable things. There’s also red/green and black/white motifs (though, the black/green motifs are assumed to be the “good” side for Ranboo rather than white/green). Ranboo’s cake can also be seen as his juju. The only thing is that cherubs do not have enderman traits like Ranboo does.

Badboyhalo is basically Kankri. Badboyhalo looks strikingly similar to the Sufferer. Neither swear. They both are tied to religion (BBH—the egg, Kankri—himself). But, I don’t think Kankri has an obsession with his best friend, and BBH’s typing “quirk” is more like Aradia’s.

Dream looks similar to Doc Scratch. Both are antagonists. Doc Scratch is basically a “mask” for Caliborn. Doc Scratch pretends to be nice and accommodating to Damara like Dream was to Tommy even though they were both clearly holding them prisoner. Doc Scratch and cc!Dream both uh, shouldn’t be around children.

Jack Manifold resembles Sollux because of the red and blue motifs, short hairstyle, and Jack’s old IGN being Thunder1408 (thunder sorta like lightning sorta like Sollux’s telekinesis/lightning attributes). Jack Manifold was also sent to hell which led to a complicated death count, sorta like Sollux being half dead.

Dirk writing Homestuck and Wilbur writing the DSMP.

I like to say that Minecraft was the IRL Sburb-that-wasn’t-Sburb because it first became public in 2009 not long after 4/13 and was released again in November 2011 not unlike some other sandbox game centered around crafting.

In Minecraft, a person creates a world to begin, but in Sburb, they create the world to end.

Both stories have a “lives” system, an afterlife system, a revival system, and “ghosts”. The characters can interact with each other in the afterlife in both.

Both stories have a “paradox space” system. The DSMP universe acknowledges that there are other “worlds,” “servers,” and “universes” that don’t include the DSMP. There is also time travel as seen with Karl that also shows us there was a history to the DSMP world. Homestuck, obviously, has its paradox space of different universes and all their instances.

Both stories have a “canon.” Homestuck’s canon is The Alpha Timeline, and anything that doesn’t fit in that mold gets destroyed. The DSMP also has a canon, but it’s seen more as a fourth wall breaking joke. If something that’s not supposed to happen happens, they will just retcon it. We don’t know if the DSMP has a multiverse where things happen differently, and if it does, we don’t know if it gets to stay or if it gets destroyed. Even with these differences, both stories use the word canon in silly situations.

It is worth noting that there are “alternate universes” of the DSMP where the characters do not seem to have a recollection of the DSMP or things prior and are more of a separate entity than the DSMP timeline. For reference, a DSMP character’s timeline usually spans the whole of the CC’s career. But, these alternate universes are not called “the DSMP,” and don’t really count.

Karl doesn’t seem to affect the canon with his time travel. He is a spectator that can interact with the story when he time travels, and nothing he does will change the future or past. There isn’t anything like this in Homestuck, but there is the compliment, with John who can time travel and fully reroute the story.

Both stories have a “scratch” where the world is reset, and the characters reappear with no memory of the world before.

Techno’s false name was “Dave.”

Both have a character whose hair generally covers their eyes in most designs, has dyslexic symptoms, is obsessed with bees, and their aspect is doom (Tubbo and Mituna).

Both fandoms have babied the character described above before they finally snapped out of it.

The Ultimate Weapon Sburb symbol juju reminds me of 4/4 SBI.

Both fandoms strive on AUs, headcanons, and versatility of character design.

Both fandoms have an instinctive reaction when they hear “We Didn’t Start the Fire.”

The fandoms of both are famously known for being extremely annoying.

Both Andrew Hussie and Wilbur Soot have used AO3 to make, basically, a fanfiction of their own work. Both of these “fanfictions” are dubiously canon.

Wilbur was born in 1996, the same year John and Jane were born, which makes Wilbur just slightly younger than the two.

Tommy makes an appearance on the QSMP using other people's accounts, and when he makes these appearances, he basically appears as c!Tommy (he references DSMP events in the context that he was there). In QSMP fanon (which is basically canon unless proven otherwise), Tommy is the god of chaos. The Tommy from the DSMP appears in the QSMP as a god. So, Tommy died, became a god, and he went to another universe. Quite possibly, he died, went godtier, then found a way to escape to another universe before the DSMP restarted or "scratched." Which probably means the QSMP is the new universe that was created when winning the game.

[lockedstuck]

beyond our fury and our silences

2021, 04/17 - Sollux Captor

You envy the patients on the unit who have a “normal” to return to. You never have, and never will. You’ve had periods of more gentle oscillation, like high school as opposed to the jagged highs and equally disruptive lows of your undergraduate years. However, you haven’t been “normal” in terms of psychopathology since you were a kid.

Dr. Vandayar suggests that perhaps your childhood years did a number on your sanity, though not word for word. He’s way more polite about it. You kind of want to hit him for it.

Your dad did his absolute best to raise you, all seventy hour weeks to afford summer camp for gifted kids and SHSAT prep classes. So did your mother, teaching you math and history, even if she was psychotic, even when her mental landscape frequently shifted like sand on the beach. 

Once, when you were maybe ten, she came home an hour late from a quick run to the grocery store five blocks away. She explained, gentle yet adamant, that people had decided to follow her home, and she did not want them to know where she was going. What if they’d decided to rob her? Your dad sighed. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She sat at the dining room table later, repeatedly drawing pictures of seashells. When you sat down next to her, and pulled your chair close so that you could see her work, she started to explain the Fibonacci sequence to you. It wasn’t hard to understand adding the sums of the two previous numbers together. She launched into another explanation of the not unrelated golden ratio, and you just sat there and let her go on for a while, even when you didn’t quite understand. 

She took out a nautilus shell that she had fashioned into a necklace, showed it to you, and wound up giving it to you. When you asked her why, she smiled and shrugged. You continue to wear it underneath your clothing. 

Perhaps you’ll give it to Feferi when she gets discharged, given her love of all things aquatic. At this rate, she’ll probably get out before you do, what with the nine ECT treatments you still have to complete.

Out of nowhere, Roxy walks over to you, and you glance up at her. You know by now that whatever comes out of her mouth will be either offensive, amusing, or both.

“Aradia’s on the phone for you, Lispy! Hey, could you tell her something for me?”

You stand up and stretch, fingertips toward the ceiling. “What is it?”

“Tell her that her voice is really cute, but that she’s way cuter in person,” she replies. “Wait, hold up. Tell me she’s not straight. Is she straight? I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

You don’t know whether or not to answer truthfully. You should probably ask Aradia about that beforehand. You walk over to the pay phone, and put the receiver to your mouth.

“Ray? Is that you?”

“Hey, Sollux,” she says. Then, a pause that stretches into infinity, or ten whole seconds at the very least. “Is it okay if I visit tonight instead of tomorrow? One of my students is actually attending my office hours, which--”

“--overlap with my visiting hours,” you finish. Maybe you should have let her complete her sentence. 

You’re tetchy and impatient, the first thing having been induced by your session with Dr. Vandayar, and the second by the fact that next week will mark one whole month since you arrived at this hospital, and what precisely do you have to show for it? 

Roxy’s almost completely weaned off methadone and will probably leave next week, to go to inpatient rehab. June is going home the Monday after next. Feferi got here the same day as you and will most certainly be gone the same week as June. Eridan will be gone before you finish out your ECT treatments, since his conclude next week, as will Karkat, Porrim, and probably even Calliope. The only person who may not leave before you is Latula, and although she’s perfectly kind, you don’t know her very well. 

You didn’t realize how long you’ve stewed in your thoughts until you hear Aradia ask, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah. You said you wanted to come tonight as opposed to tomorrow. That’s fine.”

“And what about you?” she asks.

You shrug.

“What about me?”

“Are you fine?”

The only person you suck at lying to more than Aradia is your father, and your dad is only leading by a narrow margin. That may be why you signed a HIPPA release so that your treatment team could talk to both of them.

“I had a weird therapy session today. Normally I get along with my therapist, but today I almost wanted to punch him in the face.”

Aradia asks if you’d like to talk about it, and your kneejerk is to say, “hell no”, but during another therapy session a couple of days ago, Dr. Vandayar stressed the importance of not being unwilling to depend on one’s support team. As vaguely annoyed as you still are at him, you did concede the point on Monday afternoon.

“I guess it was because… well… fuck, I don’t know how to explain this without sounding like an asshole. He didn’t actually say anything that wasn’t true, but maybe it was the way he said it? I don’t know. I’m sorry, Ray, I’m rambling all over the fucking place.”

“Don’t worry about it. Go on.”

“He pretty much said that my situation with my parents could have contributed a lot to why I’m all fucked up in the head. Not currently, but like, before, when I was a kid. I was like, where exactly does this guy get off making that kind of judgment? And then I was like, dude, you weren’t there, you didn’t see it, so how do you know? ‘Cause my parents, they did the absolute best they could with what they had. I mean, I didn’t say that to him, but I felt it. And I felt angry at him about it.”

A long silence, one that you feel sink down to the pit of your stomach.

“Well.”

“Well, what?”

“I get that you’re upset, but Sollux, it’s not like this is something you’ve never said to me.”

“But Aradia, that’s different. I was there. So were you, for parts of it. You’ve met my parents a billion times. But aside from a few conversations with you and Baba, Dr. V barely knows anything about my life. For him to say it like that… I don’t like it. I don’t know why, but I don’t.”

“Because it seems like he’s judging people and events he hasn’t had the opportunity to witness first-hand.”

“Yes! Exactly! That’s it!”

It feels like an indictment against your family, and if you are anything to a fault, you are loyal to Mituna and your parents. All of them came together for you, the youngest, the most successful. Even being here, unable to provide for them both emotionally and financially, feels like the worst blow in the world. 

You shouldn’t be here getting the memory zapped out of you in some last-ditch effort to quell your mania and depression. You should be outside working, seeing to the needs of someone besides yourself. You should be meeting Aradia at her apartment every other night, helping her clean out her apartment, which quickly devolves into chaos, ashtrays full of spent cigarette butts, and dishes piling up in the sink, as she scrambles to finish up her master’s thesis.

Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned from your father, it is that you are what you contribute, and being here, seemingly unable to contribute anything, might just be the worst sensation in the world.

You’re alone with yourself here, face to face with everything you hate about yourself, with all your aspirations and all your neuroses, and you hate it, you hate it, you hate it, you want out so badly. But what if they don’t let you leave and you end up at your mother’s worst fear - involuntary status? If four weeks of hospitalization seem like hell, what about sixty days, your fate handed down via court order?

What if that knee-jerk desire to 72 hour letter yourself away from thrice weekly therapy sessions is just another trap? What if you leave and try to slit your throat again? What if you actually succeed this time around? Who the fuck is going to take care of your family?

It all comes down to that.

You’d rather like to bang your head against the wall until you either make things clearer or knock yourself out. 

“I’ll be there tonight, Sollux,” Aradia says, suddenly. Not for the first time, you wonder if she can read your mind and tell when you’re starting to decompensate more than usual.

Aradia gets there long before six o’ clock. In fact, you notice her tell-tale garnet-colored blazer, as you look through the small rectangular window in the door of the main unit, sometime around 5:20. A woman in a small black dress stands not far away from her, and once you notice her carefully coiffed blonde hair, you walk over to the women’s side of the unit and loudly knock on Roxy’s door.

“And what can I do for you?” she asks, removing the headphone radio that has all but been surgically attached to her head. “Do you have news about Aradia’s sexual orientation?”

You roll your eyes at her, more to keep up appearances than an actual rebuke.

“Your mom’s here,” you reply.

Roxy seems to consider this, then picks up her stuffed cat from her bed and pads into the hallway. Calliope waves at you, the light on their side of the room switched on so they can write. You wave back, then follow Roxy back to the main door of the unit, to resume your little vigil.

You stand without word or gesture, a good six feet away from the door so the night staff doesn’t bitch. They seem to have given up on Roxy, who stands only two feet away from the door and jumps up and down as she waves to her mom. Her mom waves back, though in a more sedate fashion than her child. 

You rather like Ms. Lalonde, honestly. It’s hard to dislike a family member who comes so often. According to Roxy, she only misses Mondays for work related reasons. You think the only person who has her beat in terms of visiting is June’s dad, who has yet to miss a day of seeing his daughter, at least during your stay here.

After about ten minutes of furious waving, Roxy starts doing the YMCA with her arms. Her mother actually returns the motions. 

Aradia glances at her, cracks up, and giggles helplessly, which makes you smile.

When they finally start letting visitors in, Aradia steps behind Ms. Lalonde without a word. Aradia signs the book after her, and then Mr. Egbert signs after that.

Maybe he smuggled a whole ass lemon meringue pie onto the unit. You’d probably kiss him if he did that, and you’re pretty sure macking on your friend’s hot dad is frowned upon in most situations.

Aradia walks into the unit, and it’s only a moment before you’ve scooped her up into your arms. You’re so skinny that Karkat calls you a walking skeleton comprised of caffeine and spite, and Aradia has more curves than a parametric equation. You still manage to pick her up so her toes momentarily leave the ground, pull her close, and kiss her forehead before you let her go. 

She interlaces your fingers with hers.

“What table are we sitting at tonight?” she wants to know, gazing at the sea of round wooden tables in the dining room.

“The one by the window, in the corner,” you decide, after a moment’s thought. The chairs are heavy, so they can’t be thrown across the unit by angry patients you suppose, but you pull out your chair and sit down easily enough. It occurs to you that maybe you should have pulled hers out, but she gets the job done. 

You sit right beside her, and before you can think on it, you let her pull you close. Your head on her shoulder, and your arm thrown around her back. It’s not the most comfortable position, but she smells like lilies, cocoa butter, cigarettes, and home. 

You bring to mind all the animal skulls on her shelves, all the volumes of dead poets stacked haphazardly around them. Everything has been arranged to display her fixation on things that have shuffled off this mortal coil, for the exception of the flourishing plants on her terrace. 

Her arms come up around your shoulders, and she scoots over so the position is more comfortable for your lanky ass. She presses a kiss to your temple, and then to the shell of your ear. You smile in spite of yourself.

 It occurs to you that you have not had a self-loathing thought since she arrived.

It’s easier to not hate yourself when someone who would either try to refute or talk you through your issues sits beside you, singing softly.

“Tastes like strawberries on a summer evening. And it sounds just like a song...”

You snort. “I had no idea you were so fond of Harry Styles.”

She stops singing for the moment, but you’ve already started to hum the next part of the song, while she explains where she first heard it.

“My neighbor used to like to sit on her balcony and listen to the radio while I talked to my fig tree. It was on constant replay on Z100. And it’s catchy. So I sang it. A lot.”

You imagine Aradia as she sings, the long dark curls of her hair unpinned the way they usually are when she’s at home, moving along to the music as she waters her plants. It’s a nice mental image, the kind you wouldn’t mind getting lost in.

Here is one way you might safeguard yourself from the impulses and the dorco razor-blades. 

You can’t watch Aradia bustle around her apartment if you’re not alive. You can’t help her, or your dad in their gardens - why do so many of your loved ones have an affinity for plants when you can barely keep a cactus alive - if you’re six feet under.

You also cannot remind her of her own neglected tasks - “Aradia, c’mon, you have to wash these dishes, there’s fuckin’ fruit flies here, I hate fruit flies.” - and then watch as she makes a meal with the newly washed dishes just so that she knows you’ve eaten that day. 

You think she’d give an approving nod to your thoughts.

“Hey, Sollux,” she says. You glance at her face, the anxiety written across it.

That won’t do. You never liked seeing her worried about anything.

“Yeah, Ray? What’s going on?”

“When you get out of here, after all your treatments are finished, I was wondering…”

“Wondering what?”

She exhales slowly. She takes your hand in hers. You let the warmth suffuse through you. 

“Would you like to move in with me? I know you need to be close to your family, but it’s just the F to the 7 train to get to Flushing.”

You consider this. You’ve known Aradia since the sixth grade, and you are now twenty-seven, which adds up to something like sixteen years of friendship. Aradia knows you like nobody else. Not even your father.

She’s handled your weird mood shit and chronic suicidality with more skill than some clinicians you’ve had. In return, you’ve kept her alive - her parents coddled her to a fault, and she had next to no idea how the world outside academia functioned - and helped her through her occasional bouts of clinical depression.

“You’ll take me to Essex Market and get me that bougie vegan cheese?” you ask. 

There are more questions, several in fact, that you need answered before you give her a decision, but you’ll start with the inanities and work your way up to the logistics.

“When have I not?” she replies. 

You snort.

“How much am I going to pay in rent, for one?”

Aradia seems to consider this for a moment.

“For now, nothing, since you’re not working, and I’m already covering my rent with my job,” she says. “But once you get a job, I’d like you to kick something in. Not too much.”

“Where would I even sleep?”

“The couch in the main room is a pullout. And even If you wanted to sleep in my room, I think I have enough space for another bed.”

You think it over, and some traitorous part of your brain bristles at what is essentially charity from her. Her family - comfortably upper middle class - must be helping her with rent. There is no way in hell that she scored a one bedroom near Bowery on her salary as an adjunct professor. You don’t know what they’d think of letting you live there, or maybe you do, and that’s why you’re hesitant to accept this. They’ve come to actually like you, but you’re not eager to test out how far that goes.

She must sense your hesitation. She once more interlaces her fingers with yours, and lets out a small sigh.

“At least think it over, Sollux.”

“You know I will.”

“I think we function better when we’re in the same place than when we’re not.”

You grin. “You know it.”

The other thing that gives you pause consists of your own confusing feelings about her. 

Some days you want to kiss her senseless, peel her out of that red jacket, the black tank top, the long gray skirt. You want to see her, and only her. You want to shed your t-shirt and skinny jeans and have her see you. You want to hold her, press against her, and have her return the gesture. Your longing to be as close to her as humanly possible sweeps over you like a wave, and you have never been known for any particular skill at swimming.

Other days, you just want to sit next to her and make fun of her when she sings Watermelon Sugar. Or like the time she forgot her umbrella at home, a torrential downpour decided to strike and you had to run to the Second Avenue F train station and hope you got there in time to catch her. Still, more recently, the pair of you playing video games and swearing at each other with a giant container of mapo tofu between you. You want the easy rhythm of your close friendship, something familiar, and easy to navigate.

Most of all, you’re afraid. You’re afraid that if you take the plunge and alter the parameters of your relationship, that you’ll lose her entirely if things don’t pan out. And where the hell would you be without her?

[asukaskerian]

Bro/Noir, aftercare, genre: whatever you fancy

The good thing about trolls bleeding weird colors is, Bro doesn’t have to sponge off three liters of that blue stuff before he can locate the actual injuries.

“You look like you upended a paint bucket on your face,” he says mildly, and makes sure to drag the washcloth right through Noir’s open wound. “Which, kinky.”

Noir sneers at him. “Not my fucking fault that asshole was seven feet tall.”

When Noir opened his throat, the dude turned into a real fountain of a blood shower. Yeah. It was very David and Goliath, only wetter.

Then there was the part where Bro had to drag the huge-ass corpse off him, and wasn’t sure he’d find him alive and un-suffocated. He twists the washcloth against the next wound, to make sure he gets all of the alien blue stuff out. Also to make Noir stiffen and sneer at him.

He doesn’t complain, which is really annoying. Bro wouldn’t mind a fight right now.

“Well, good job on proving once and for all that a puny human can and will murder a high-caste troll. This is not going to cause any political fallout.”

“I. Don’t. Care,” Noir hisses back, eyes narrow like knife blades, the scar across his eye gone livid with fury.

“Yeah?” Wound’s as clean as can be now. He picks up the nanite injector. “A lot of other people are gonna care, though.”

Noir snorts, looks away to glare at the rest of the room, where milling trolls keep to the opposite walls and whisper in their strange hissing tongue. He’s like half the weight of the biggest ones and they still flinch. Noir’s eyes go cold, dispassionate; Bro doesn’t frown at that but he has to work not to dig a thumb into a bone-deep bruise on his thigh just to bring back the fury.

“They try to put it on us, I’ll just point out he was planning the assault and possible murder of a Skaialabs Board of Directors member and it was my job as head of security to sort that shit out, which I did.”

“... He was what.”

Bro stares. Noir stares back, sneering. Bro goes even more deadpan somehow.

The blueblood has been challenging Bro all week -- weapons handling,unarmed combat. He was faster and stronger, of course -- even as good as he is Bro is still only human. But Bro was the better tactician and didn’t waste all his energy showing off, too used to his native superiority to bother being efficient.

Honestly, the way the guy kept going back for more didn’t feel like intimidation that would have ended in murder. He didn’t want to get rid of Bro for standing in his way and then move on, he wanted to crush him under his heel and crow about it.

Also maybe fuck him raw against a wall or something. There were... undertones.

Assault, huh.

“So what you’re telling me is, you got jealous.”

Suddenly there’s a fist in his hair, there’s a face almost nose to nose with his, a cold hateful snarl, ready to bite.

“I don’t care who else you fuck, nobody else fucks you.”

... Holy shit.

He was... He was jealous.

Bro knows he’s fucked up, knows nobody else would hook up with a guy who likes to beat him up and wander off without even thinking of aftercare and get attached, but he is. He finds Jack Noir’s emotional blindness hilarious and his cranky little dog personality even funnier; but something turns over in his chest when the guy draws shallow arabesques in his skin with a knife and never even thinks to dig deeper, when his hand closes over the back of his neck and he gives him exactly what Bro asks for.

He just didn’t think Noir was attached right back.

“I tell them you have a hate boyfriend already,” Karkat grumps as he stalks up to them, boots flecked blue from wading through the puddle. “I tell and tell them, of course a strong weapons-master is not free, of course his boyfriend is dangerous too, don’t insult them -- kssssth.” His red eyes take in Noir from top to bottom, brow crunched in worry that fades, watching Bro’s hand on his knee, the injector still in hand. Bro stares back, blinking slowly.

He turns over the word ‘boyfriend’ in his head, and then decides to pretend he heard nothing. Noir’s already flushing with rage at it and if they’re gonna have a fight over it he wants it to happen in private.

But his. Noir thinks Bro is his.

“There gonna be problems?” he asks over Noir’s no doubt cutting protest, pointing his chin at the slashed-up corpse.

“Hm?” Karkat shrugs. “No. Everybody heard him say he steals Mister Noir’s boyfriend right to his face, and a lot more shit too, I’m glad you don’t know the words.” He gives Noir an earnest look; Noir huffs, but somehow simmers down. “It’s like he doesn’t even know what a trained assassin looks like.”

... Trolls are so messed up, Bro thinks, but with a vague bout of amusement, of recognition. It’s weird but their social rules, as creepy and cruel as they are -- he just gets them. He thinks Noir does, too.

... Noir didn’t even understand the shit the guy was talking, and he still killed him. Pfft. That guy and his bastard instincts. This asshole looks like he’s talking shit? Who cares about the actual content. Let’s teach him it was a bad plan.

Bro leans back to put the injector away, and Noir’s hand clenched on the back of his neck all over again.

“Hey,” he warns, voice bland but not.

“You are staying put.”

Bro consides his apparently-hate-boyfriend for a second, thoughtful. Yeah, he loves it when Noir bends him over, uses him so hard Bro just starts floating away on the strange, crazy trust and endorphins. But.

He leans in, purring, honeyed. “I ain’t staying nowhere I don’t want to be staying, darling, and you know it.”

Then he slaps him right on the chest wound, open-palmed and loud.

He pretends he doesn’t see Karkat’s wide grin and his alien delight as he stalks out, Noir sputtering incensed and then charging right after him.

He’s gonna make sure Noir knows he belongs to Bro right back.

Then he’s gonna kiss him on the actual mouth, and he’s gonna mean it.

Yeah. He’s gonna do that.

[absylphe]

======> Abby: Mind your own damn business.

> Hours in the past, but not many...

“...and this here is what you’d call the, the... you know. Dream membrane. I guess common dialect would be thin and pliable partitioning structure, but we’re both classy gents, right? What’s a little common sense terminology between two bros?”

It’s almost indistinguishable from an Eridan’s voice, but you know enough to know that it’s a Cronus alt that’s slipping into your bubble, not an Eridan. The weird affectation to his speech is a little more practiced, a little more pleased with itself than eager to please. You’ve had a lot of weird assholes kind of phase through your ship lately - mostly just randos - but you’re pretty burnt out on dealing with too-curious assholes pestering you about what the living are doing in their super private dream bubbles that they rented for the summer, or whatever they normally see fit to complain about.

Despite all of this, you’re just too damn tired to care about leaving to get out of the way of what sounds like a one-sided date. You remain leaning against the wall, glow off, Sylph hood pulled up over your head, hoping you’ll just get ambled by as though you’re part of the shifting scenery.

“Vwell, vwell, vwell.”

No such luck, it seems. Did his accent just get more annoying?

“Hello, little lady. Don’t you look familiar?” Despite the condescending remark, the face that’s suddenly way too close to your own is a little lower down than yours, and god, he’s right about the familiar. Dumb little scars on a face that’s probably never even seen a real fight, eyes whiter than pearls, a smirk on his lip that has no place being there, suddenly very much in front of your gaunt face.

“Oh, wow, you’re even skinnier in person. I guess the camera does add a few pounds, eh? But you use that to your advantage, looks like. Your blog title makes way more sense now, dead girl walking? I mean, yikes.” You narrow your eyes and blow gently at his hairline, causing just this one stray lock of hair to curl downward, but he looks like you just insulted Happy Days, if he even knows what that is. His nose flares a little in a way that would probably be kind of unattractive, if you thought the rest of him was anything to look at to begin with.

Ugh. Okay he’s a little attractive, but in a really crushable way. Like you want to crush him, not like you have a crush. That’s Zucro, alright. The last person you thought you’d run into out here. The last person you wanted to see. You thought you saw the last of this loser when you unfollowed him after he threw a little grub tantrum about your perfectly serviceable hatejabs. Let me show you my jabs, your witticisms cried out, but no, he was too proud to entertain them without falling to tearful pieces about it.

He pushes back from the wall - is it still a wall? It feels like the dream bubbles might have phased it into a tree or a cave or something - with that little disgusted look on his face, waving his hand by his nose. “Phew, what did you eat? I’m a little more repulsed each and every moment, dollface.”

You gesture plainly at the dried teal blood on your shoulder. You think if he was alive, his face would pale, and maybe it does a little, but he just scoffs himself a recovery, continuing to go on, closed eyes and a pompous air to him. He’s a lot shorter than you thought he’d be? Or, that is, his demeanor kind of makes it suit him, but he still acted like he’d be a little taller. You notice what you guess is a Karkat alt out of the corner of your eye -- oh wait, no, that looks like... oh, then it’s... Pizza Hut? You kind of raise your fingers a little in this very underspoken wave and he gives you a decidedly not-very-Karkat wave back, looking much more entertained than you are.

“--are you even listening? Such massive unnatural ears stickin’ out all akimbo from your head like ugly baby horse legs -- or sorry, I guess you’re middling enough to call them premature hoofbeast friction scramblers, you know I’m something of an ally so I like to make sure my words are understandable to all audiences, even those who don’t deserve it -- anyway, you’d think you could stand to listen to a guy when he’s just spent all this time graciously giving you time to apologize for your neverending cyberbullying, the misgivings, the unrestrained usage of seadwellerphobic slurs -- speaking of which, you have the audacity to use those while openly dating a tyrian? Saying you care about her, but then turning around and calling me something so hateful? So disrespectful?”

God, this just... it’s ongoing, isn’t it? You can’t just scroll past this rant, you have to watch him hash it out in real time. You fix your eyes on his and you’re really, really, really trying not to lash out. You’ve gotten instantly murdered twice in the past few days for lashing out.

“--I was even thinking of letting you follow me again if you wanted to. Minimal fuss, all you’d have to do is issue a public apology detailing the various ways you went about harassing me for things completely out of my control -- nothing more than being too handsome and unattainable, when clearly you were driven to what I can only assume was malice. Yes, malice, driven by envy, which I’m sure you’re no stranger to, given how thoroughly green with it you are. See, that’s a human idiom, but it also applies to you, on account of your hue--”

He can see the frown curling on your lips, can’t he? Surely he can. It’s been building this whole time, ears beginning to twitch out of irritation rather than attention. Your claws are digging into your palms. 

“--should be grateful I haven’t decided to sic my legions of devoted fans on you for your transgressions, to be quite honest; that’s a power I have at my disposal that I’ve benevolently refrained from using because I believe in the power of a fair fight, one between equals, one that radiates mutual respect--”

He doesn’t seem to notice when you unbutton your hood from around your horns and pull it down so that your hair spills out, or when you let your arms fall down to your sides. He’s too busy talking. One hand is on his hip and the other is held out to the side like he’s telling a really long situational joke to a close friend. Like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever thought of.

“--and that’s to say nothing about your little mudblooded brood buddy, is it? Fairy pix? Stupid flicks? Ugly hick? Really, I’m not sure if he’s showing good taste in continuing to follow me the way you failed to, or actually if the failure to follow suit with what you did is just social cowardice--” 

When your fist connects with his nose, it makes a sickening cracking sound, followed by a stunned silence. 

Breathe in.

Violet.

Breathe out.

Violence.

“...first-- first of all I can’t believe that even YOU would dare to hit me--”

You do it again, this time in his stupid jaw. You grab his horn and slap him for good measure, pulling back for another punch while you kick him where it hurts. It seems to take him a minute to figure out exactly what’s happening before he starts fighting back, but even then, it’s not as practiced, not as ferocious. He’s not quite as out for blood as you are, and you have plenty of reasons to keep him from drawing yours. 

“You will never talk about Tavros like that again--”

“Or what, you’ll go cryin’ to that writhing harem of sympathetic morons you have the audacity call quadmates?”

You come at him and he comes back at you, growling and snarling and alternating between open and closed hands. You hardly want to ruin the experience of something so cathartic with something as final as your chainsaw.

Once you’ve knocked him flat on his ass, you take another breath, straddling his frame to keep him pinned down, and he’s not-fighting you enough that he’s probably trying to find some way to flip this around  in his favor through underhanded psychological warfare. You slap him across the face again before he can open his stupid mouth and you can feel a huge bruise developing on your side, under your grublegs -- ugh, this is the worst. He’s the worst. Spades flash in your head but you know you’ll never live it down if you do anything untoward. Also, you don’t really want that on your permanent record.

Luckily, you feel the other side of the bubble membrane coming fast -- the dream surroundings are fading, not that you ever really paid attention to what they were, anyway. You lean in like you’re going to kiss him and you see his fins flick a little. You cup his cheek gently and then --

CRACK

--you pop his broken nose back into place with your thumb, getting the most disgusting yelp and whimper as a reward for your efforts. You gently pat the cheek that’s already starting to bruise just to see him wince, a short-tempered smile on your lips.

“Don’t ever tell anyone I never did anything for you.”

And then they’re gone. The blood stayed, curiously; you’ll have to refresh this outfit to clean the miscellaneous blood spatters off of it, but you run your knuckle over your lips, a violet gloss over green.

[hootpoop12]

for the ship thing: johnrezi, preferably black

who hogs the duvet

John cause he’s bigger and Terezi on principle.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going

They both do it in their own ways. John is more likely the person who will initiate and text to ask how she’s doing where he’ll tease her which eventually leads to shit shes been actually struggling with. For Terezi she’ll bring it around on him at some point to get him angry and venty where he’ll talk about shit that actually bothered him that day. They’re both repressive people who feel weird being genuine with each other since the core of their relationship is based around joking and teasing each other but they are also depressive people who get what the other is going through.

who gets up first in the morning

Terezi goes to bed last and gets up first. John wants to know her secrets.

who suggests new things in bed

Give me a T! E! R! yeah anyways I headcanon John being on the ace spectrum and not that interested in sex stuff so on the occasion when they do go at it it’s Terezi whipping out the bad dragon dildis and trying to convince him why they should use it over his laughs.

who cries at movies

Eh, I don’t really think either of them are really people to cry at movies. I imagine John does over stupid shit like Conair though so I guess him.

who gives unprompted massages

Terezi gives unprompted commands to John to massage her. John tries to make it as bad as possible.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick

Hmmmm, they don’t fuss over each other but I’d say they’d be accommodating at least. John will make her soup but the kind she dislikes and Terezi will make the couch up and set up the TV but play movies he hates. They both get the worst tasting medicine.

who gets jealous easiest

Neither. They are so not those kind people in my opinion? I definitely see them not caring if the other person dates other people, finds others attractive (1M GONN4 FUCK H3R F1RST JOHN), or even if they just rather hang with other people. They got a real healthy relationship and there are times where Terezi will bluntly tell John she wants to hang with Karkat alone or chill with Vriska and John completely understands. Sometimes he just wants to be with Jade or the rest of the betas.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music

Terezi probably likes the weirdest asmr shit but John’s love of 90′s and early 2000′s makes anyone cringe.

who collects something unusual

Terezi. She’s just weird guys. Probably collects strange hairs she finds on her body or something (people who know me in real life don’t interact)

who takes the longest to get ready

Eh, probably John only because he takes the time to put on pants. Terezi’s not one for dolling herself up, like, she doesn’t even brush her hair most of the time.

who is the most tidy and organised

John puts shit away but then can never find it (he used to just ask his dad where stuff was and never had to look for it himself) while you can’t see Terezi’s floor but she can sniff out an expired coupon from three years ago.

who gets most excited about the holidays

John all the way, the dudes got holiday spirit. Not to make this sadstuck™ but I feel like after his dad died and he didn’t get to do all his old traditions he realized he didn’t appreciate what he had until it was gone. He probably got annoyed by his dad’s Christmas decoration extravaganza growing up but after the death he puts on a huge show for everyone to honor the memory/cheer himself up. Terezi probably doesn’t really get the point for most of the holidays humans celebrate but finds the gauche/tacky colors and food pretty great so for once she doesn’t really tease John about it. In fact, she kinda joins in with her own personal twist on things which John secretly adores and appreciates.

who is the big spoon/little spoon

eyyy recently drew this. It Terezi. She a koala at night.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports

Like, both get competitive cause they like one upping each other but at the same time for these two it’s all about having fun and smack talk. When one does lose they genuinely don’t care and keep playing or look for other things to do. Plus Terezi getting competitive with Vriska in the past has obviously not ended well so maybe she’d worked to tone it down.

who starts the most arguments

They’re pitch so they automatically argue a lot but actual disagreements? Terezi. She sometimes needles too much or will say something a little too far. John is also guilty of the second part cause we all know he can sometimes be tactless.

who suggests that they buy a pet

Terezi ‘cause Johns got Casey so maybe she wants a daughter too, dammit???

what couple traditions they have

John continues to move her scalemates around to fuck with her for the rest of their lives and she still draws him the shittiest maps. He keeps all of them like a dad.

(comic of her sending a shit map with good luck?)

what tv shows they watch together

Star trek! It has moral dilemmas for Terezi and shitty actors for John what more could they possibly want??

what other couple they hang out with

Dave/Karkat and Rose/Kanaya obviously. If Roxy and Calliope are a canon thing them too. John, Terezi, and Roxy all got a bond via retcon man.

how they spend time together as a couple

John’s pranks tend to be a bit more goofy and Terezi’s can border on cruel.

who made the first move

Terezi. John knows about her romance junk pre-retcon and he doesn’t wanna pressure her and be added to the list of shit experiences for her.

who brings flowers home

John to make Terezi uncomfortable. It brings him great joy to see the pained look she gives him before they get set on fire and he realizes he spent $20 for a quick joke.

who is the best cook

Uhh. Definitely, John. His dad forced him to cook for bonding moments and he hangs with Jane and watches her cook. Terezi takes liberties to make the food more “interesting”.

(to all the people who requested Johnrezi thanks a bunch it means a lot when ya’ll asks for requests! I’m onto Davek//at requests next!)

[pricemarshfield]

see you looking through me (like you unzipped the zipper)

a roserezi fic about dealing with issues and psychic powers

read on ao3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11072058

Your relationships on the meteor, simplified:

Dave Strider is your brother, and the only other human on the meteor. As such, the two of you are closer than you would ever have expected, back when he some asshole with a blog attempting to rap with and/or at you. You love him, and you'll tease him about his budding relationship with Karkat for the rest of your natural life.

Karkat Vantas is odd. Part of you likes the way that you always know what he's feeling, but it puts you a little on edge, too. You don't know him well enough to call him a friend, but calling him an acquaintance feels a bit rude, given that he's one of six people you will be able to interact with for the next one-and-a-half years (roughly).

Gamzee Makara is repulsive. You're lucky enough to not have to actually deal with him; he avoids the whole lot of you, ever since Vriska...threatened him? Intimidated him? Rose wasn't there. You're grateful to her, either way.

Vriska Serket, despite your gratitude, is someone you are convinced you will duel to the death one day. She's loud and obnoxious and Kanaya used to have a crush on her, which would be ground enough for at least sparring, but sometimes you looks at Vriska and sees yourself, cheesy as it sounds. You aren't sure if you're the hero who has to hear the cliche speech or if you're going to eventually ascend into the eldritch abomination you dabbled with and fall prey to every trope known to mankind. Trollkind.

Kanaya Maryam is lovely. You've kissed and held hands and cuddled, and you're getting used to waking up to Kanaya's gentle glow. You don't know if you're actually girlfriends are not because you're too afraid to bring it up, and hate yourself for it, a little bit.

Then there's Terezi.

Terezi is...well.

You're not sure if you hate her or want to be her friend or what. You genuinely have no idea. At one point, you were desperate enough to entertain the idea of going to Karkat and asking about quadrants, but Kanaya intervened, and Vriska later interrupted to make fun of you both. Sometimes you wonders if Vriska's jealous and get caught up in some fear over Vriska being more open (a joke in and of itself) and Kanaya leaving you, but then they're back at the what are we conversation you're too much of a closet case to have, no matter whether you're technically out.

But back to Terezi. You find you're thinking a lot more about Terezi, now, but you're not sure why. The uncertainty bugs you more than the thought itself.

You know Terezi wasn't always blind. You don't know the whole story, because Kanaya was reluctant to share and you were smart enough not to pry, but. You feel your metaphorical hackles rising every time Terezi moves as if to actually look at something, even though it never bugged you Before.

That's another thing. Before. As in capital-B Before, and you're annoyed with Sburb for making you resort to such cheap tricks to establish importance.

You can feel an entire other timeline. Or not timeline, exactly, that's Dave's thing, but something. An entire other fate. There are moments when you turn to look at Kanaya, illuminated in the overhead light, and stumbles forward as if you've just seen her be killed. Sometimes you looks at Vriska and just thinks that you shouldn't be here, and one of your casual, hidden insults cuts a little too deep to try and cover that and you end up having to apologize. You wake up and feel alcohol burning at the back of your throat even though you haven't had any for over six months, and you're proud of that.

(You won't admit it to anyone, even Dave, but you tried alchemizing a chip for almost three hours before giving up. You miss Earth, obviously, but you never thought you'd be so nostalgic over tangible reminders of accomplishment.)

And sometimes you think about Terezi acting as if she still has her sight, and even though you know that there's no reason it should bother you, it does because could she actually see again Before, it makes you want to take her apart piece by piece until you figure out what's going on.

(Mentally. Despite your casual attitude towards morbidity, you've never been a fan of that kind of gore. Your needles are better for stabbing than such exact work, anyway.)

You're busy replacing Dave's Lucky Charms with store brand cereal just to see if he'll notice when Terezi walks in and says, "I forgot you were a seer."

Her voice is quiet and serious in a way that you don't think she's seen in Terezi, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You put down the box of cereal and say, "And?"

It's a blunder, far too confrontational, and you curse yourself for it, but Terezi doesn't react.

"Seer," Terezi says, as an address.

"Rose," you snap.

This is a disaster. You're giving far too much away.

"Am I Seer if I didn't die on a quest bed?" Terezi says, and the seriousness is gone an instant after. Her grin is wide, teeth like a shark's. "Who knows? Why does it boooooooother you?" A cackle.

You hate that you can tell that Terezi drew it out for eight beats. Still, it's a little comforting to know you're not the only emotionally constipated person on the meteor trying to court someone else all while dealing with debilitating anxiety. (Well, there's also Dave.)

"No, but it's curious you bring it up," you say, trying to regain control of the situation. "It suggests an inferiority complex over the entire issue. Is that why you resent me? Do you see me as fulfilling the potential you have not?"

You're not sure what the hell you're saying, but it sounds mean and psychological enough to work.

"You're the one who resents me, Miss Lalonde!" Terezi says, grin not fading a bit. "And I thank you not to try your therapist act on me. Do you really think you can out-talk a lawyer?"

No, but damn, she'll try. Also, Terezi's not a lawyer, she's a teenager with a complex.

(Pot, meet kettle.)

"I'm curious as to why you think I think about you enough to resent you," you say, and it sort of feels like you should be saying this weapons drawn, circling each other, not while you're leaning against the counter of the kitchen next to a box of partially-store-brand Lucky Charms.

"Well," Terezi says. "Perhaps the fact that you've been staring me down any time we happen to be in the same room together? It's very suspicious of you to engage in such confrontation with me! After all, I cannot defend myself."

"Terezi, I find it difficult to imagine you defenseless," you say, and even as you say it there's the vaguest image of Terezi and a murderclown and lava and self-stabbing, and you're sure your face drops. What's really suspicious is that Terezi doesn't take advantage of the momentary weakness. Some lawyer.

"I knew it," Terezi crows. "Seer."

You don't draw your wands, but it's close. "Stop calling me that."

"But you remember,” Terezi says. "I can. I knew it!"

Terezi laughs loudly, and you grew up in a house almost entirely silent, except for vacuuming and occasionally something being knocked over. You cross your arms, despite the obvious defensiveness inherent in doing so, and hiss, "What exactly do you remember."

"Almost all of it," Terezi says, and her shark-smile drops. "I killed Vriska, you know."

"I didn't," you say.

"Does it scare you?" Terezi asks, mockingly.

"I'm terrified," you say, voice monotone. If anything, it makes you feel better, knowing more. Or, to be more accurate, you are terrified, but it's an existential terror, and knowing that the girl across from you killed someone doesn't add to that in any meaningful way. "Anything else?"

"Why, Lalonde, do you want my help?" Terezi asks.

"No," you say instinctively, too quickly. You take a moment, then say, "Why is it you assume I want to remember another timeline? There are plenty. Ask Dave."

"This is different," Terezi says. "This is the same time. It's not time that's the problem."

"What is, then?" you ask, because you are so desperate to understand what's happening, because not knowing why the world works the way it does makes you want to scratch at the walls more than the stir-craziness already does.

"Outcome," Terezi says. "Probability."

"That's Light," you say.

"Decisions!" Terezi says. "That's Mind. That's me. And this isn't a timeline change, what John did was different--"

"So?" you say. "What does that mean?"

"It means we're the only connection to what happened Before." (Fuck the capital-B.) "Aren't you curious?"

There's a moment where you hesitate. You have to think it through, close your eyes and let the Light tell you what comes next. It doesn't, of course. Such powers can only do so much in the void. Still, when you open your eyes to meet Terezi's blank stare, you've made up your mind.

"Fine," you say. "Can you manage to be less insufferable while we work?"

Terezi tilts her head. "This is the most blatant calignous flirting I've ever encountered."

You falter, because you're still not sure you understand the quadrants and kind of think they're stupid and also, there's Kanaya. But Terezi's all pointy smiles and matching you barb for barb, and even if it's not serious, you may as well dabble.

"Well," you say, "I'll have to work on my subtlety."