hs_olympics | BONUS ROUND 1

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bonus round

BONUS ROUND 1

Bonus Round 1

Genre-Mixing

Hey, shippers! Welcome to your very first bonus round proper--we hope you have lots of fun with it! This time around we're going to be asking you to mix it up a little--each fanwork posted for this round will be a mish-mash of two different genres, blended together in a delightful incestuous slurry to create an UNSTOPPABLE CREATIVE CONCOCTION--er. Or. Something.

Yeah, we're genre-mixing. That's what we're doing this round.

Rules

Submit prompts! Prompts should consist of two different genres and one ship. This cannot be your team's ship! These are worth 5 points each, for a maximum of 100 points per team.

Look through the prompts and fill whichever you like!

You may not fill prompts for your ship, nor may you fill your own team's prompts.

Fills should be posted as replies to the prompts which they are for, following the format below. They may be any medium.

Title Format
If you are starting a new thread, please use this format in your title.

Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team YOU belong to; please use the characters and quadrant, not whatever portmanteau or nickname you've come up with.
If your team name is not in this format and in the title we cannot guarantee that it will be counted.

If you are filling a prompt, use this format in your title.

Replace [YOUR SHIP] with the name of the team YOU belong to; please use the characters and quadrant, not whatever portmanteau or nickname you've come up with.
If your team name is not in this format and in the title we cannot guarantee that it will be counted.

Posts not using this format in the title will be understood to be unofficial discussion posts, no matter what they contain. They, like all comments on the comm, are subject to the Wank Policy.

Scoring
For prompt posts: 5 points each (maximum of 100 per team)

For fills (as stated here):
First 5 entries in each post: 30 (per entry)
Entries 6-10 in each post: 20 (per entry)
Entries 11-15 in each post: 10 (per entry)
Entries 16+ in each post: 5 (per entry)

All scored content must be created/assembled new for this round.

If you have any questions, please ask them at the FAQ post here, or email them to us (homestuck.shipping at gmail). Otherwise, we cannot guarantee that we will see them in a timely fashion!

Page 127 of 146

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

The first time that he ever saw her, she was seconds away from getting herself killed.

She'd taken on three bluebloods far too strong for her in some attempt to rescue a tiny white cat he later figured out was her lusus, and even if she'd managed to kill them all without incurring grievous harm... She'd surely die, in the end. Out in the wilds a green-blood might be able to get away with killing aristocrats even if there was a witness, though the idea made a flash of anger shoot through Equius, but they were in one of the few cities on Alternia and anyone who was watching would feel compelled to attack her for her crime. It wasn't fair, no. But who had ever said anything about this life they were born into was fair?

He wasn't thinking of pity when he stepped into the fight. Only that, distasteful though it should be to stand with someone of lower blood against others who were almost his equals, he preferred to be on the side of someone attempting to protect her custodian (or pet, as he'd thought at the time) over those who would harm a fragile creature.

He'd saved her then, snapped the three slightly-lowerbloods' necks and shattered their ribs and picked up the dirty ragged beast of a troll she was and carried her home with him despite all her protests. He couldn't save her, now.

After their first chaotic meeting, it took them over a sweep before they even whispered the word moirail.

For one, there were no pale overtures between them. It seemed strange to put voice to something that was as natural as breathing or eating or sleeping in sopor, unnegotiated and necessary as breathing and eating and sleeping in sopor were in the first place. He needed her, and she needed him, and it was as simple as that-- they belonged together, just as air belonged in their lungs.

Only there isn't any air in their lungs now, is there? Only ashes and a bitter, stinging smoke, because the world went up in flames long ago and they've taken refuge in this last little bastion of safety. The seas polluted, choking the seadwellers as they slept. The sopor grew foul with contagion, killing the indigobloods who relied on it and the lowestbloods who absolutely needed it to sleep. The land burned with acidic fires, killing everyone and anything, and Equius thinks he's the highest blood left-- it just doesn't matter anymore. Nightmares plague everyone now, and he thinks one of his is finally coming true.

She's curled in his arms, her fragile little body coughing up and choking thin olive blood. The medical drones went haywire long ago, and for all his expertise with robots, he can't figure out how to open her up and put her back together again without destroying her utterly in the process. His own chest is uncomfortably tight, and though he pretends not to notice, he no longer sweats or swallows because there's no moisture left to do so with.

When she coughs weakly once more and goes still, there are no tears left to cry.

(besides-- he follows her a few days later anyway)

Edited 2012-06-22 23:13 (UTC)

((I don't usually write, but I saw this prompt and simply had to do something for it! It just seemed like such a great set up. It also turned out a fair bit longer then i intended. Hopefully you enjoy it))

“Jade, I've been waiting for aaaaaaaages, what are you doing?” a shrill voice called as Jade looked up from her seat. Looking at the clock on the wall, she flinched, realizing she was about 5 minutes late. Quickly straightening her outfit, she quickly headed to the next room, to the source of the sound. It had been about five years-just over two solar sweeps ago when first contact had been made with an alien species. She remembered the day clearly, she had been a little over 6 sweeps, living alone in her tropical paradise. A friend had messaged her, asking if she had seen the news yet. Quickly checking her usual news source, she saw it. A transmission had been received from somewhere outside the Milky Way Galaxy, although reports never specified where, requesting contact be made. Despite her best efforts, Jade was never able to actually decipher where the transmission had come from, although after the transmission, things quickly changed for her and all humankind.

A date had been set for when the extraterrestrial ship would land, and first contact would be made. However, things did not go nearly as well as planned when the day arrived. A group of xenophobic radicals somehow snuck into the event, and upon the arrival of the first delegate, they open fired, a torrent of bullets raining down upon the alien and all the spectators who had gathered. The death of the delegate, her body riddled with bullet holes, had apparently been expected by the Alternians, as they were later revealed to be called, thinking humans to be a brutish, savage species. Sending a prisoner to appear as a delegate, their hypothesis was proved correct, and they initiated war. Although the humans had put up a decent fight initially, they were entirely outclassed, unable to provide the weaponry and defence need to protect the entire Earth. The fighting barely lasted half of a sweep, before the Alternians were declared victorious over the Earth.

“I apologize Miss Serket. What would you like?” Jade asked carefully, eyeing the cerulean-blooded Alternian lazing on the couch. What remained of the human race had been either enslaved or culled after the war. Luckily, Jade's island had been relatively untouched by the war. In fact, it had almost been entirely ignored until one Miss Vriska Serket decided to go exploring. She had been a young, high-ranking alien with a taste for adventure and dramatics who had decided to take her pirate fantasies out to sea. Upon finding the lush, tropical island, she immediately started exploring, coming up with plans to colonize it and make it the place for her new hive. Unbeknownst to her, Jade had been preparing for the day she made contact with the Alternians. Although the Imperial Drones had tracked and collared her, standard for any human deemed suitable for enslavement, this hadn't meant she had actually met any of the aliens. Until Vriska came to the island that is. Initially she met Vriska with resistance, trying to get her to leave, but her efforts proved futile as the girl simply used her mind controlling abilities to prevent her from causing any harm. Deciding to ignore the girl, she attempted to keep her distance, not wanting anything to do with her or her mind-controlling abilities.

The hive had been built, just far enough from Jade's home that she hopefully would be able to live undetected. It took her nearly a sweep to realize that she had been under the control of the cerulean-blood mind control almost constantly since they met. It was simple laziness on Vriska's part, letting Jade slip out of the mind control while she was still in her hive. Nonchalantly Vriska simply explained that it was no good keeping up the charade anymore and demanded she start taking her rightful place serving her Alternian overlords. Of course the first few months had been rough, learning the ways of Alternians, their weird habits and rituals, trying to integrate into their society. Vriska herself was quite abrasive at first, with her shrill voice, demanding attitude and penchant for using mind control when Jade wasn't working fast enough. However, Vriska wasn't that bad, the two eventually sharing tales of their adventure to each other, and exploring the island. She eventually realized that Vriska, despite how annoying she could be, actually wasn't as bad as other Alternians. She always was told to stay in the next room, keep her voice down and not to talk to other Alternians when they would visit. Initially thinking it to be a rather stupid rule, she barged into the room as the other aliens were in there. She quickly realized she was outsized by these behemoths, one of them, clad in indigo, needing to slouch deeply so that his horn wouldn't puncture the ceiling. She remembered the booming, gravelly voice of one of the adult Alternians as Vriska hurried her out of the room. The next day she noticed splotches of cerulean in the carpet, which Vriska simply shrugged off, saying they had always been there. In time she found out the older aliens had disapproved of her, noting her disobedience and urging Vriska to train her or have someone else do it for her. She had refused, which had presumably resulted in some sort of skirmish. Confronting Vriska about it, she simply shrugged, telling her that if she wanted a brainless drone, she could go pick one up at just about any shop.

“Did you forget, I ordered you to be in here for precisely 8 PM. It's currently 8:06.” she said, disapprovingly. Straightening her posture, she looked at her, shaking her head. “I believed I told you that you were to meet a very important person today at 8 and you kept him waiting.” Nervously, Jade looked around the room, concerned over who their guest could be. After her first meeting with the older Alternians, she quickly learned to stay out of the way when company was over. Although Vriska would occasionally have friendly, younger guests over, such as Tavros or Kanaya, she rarely met company. Having the younger aliens over was usually a treat though. What astonished her most about the younger aliens wasn't their behaviour, but how Vriska acted around them. She treated them similarly to how she treated her, one might even say she was almost tender with Jade. Asking Kanaya about it, she smiled softly, telling her to ask Vriska herself about it.

“You really do make a pathetic excuse for a slave.” she said, turning on the screen in front of her to reveal the super sized freeze-frame of her favourite actor's face. Jade sighed in relief, no longer worried over who the guest might be. Vriska patted the sofa beside her, as Jade bounded over, punching Vriska in the arm as she got there. Sitting down she giggled a bit at the situation. She had eventually confronted Vriska about it, and the results had been entirely unexpected. After attempting to entirely avoid the situation, she relented. Bashfully, she told Jade that she heard reports of her from the drones, and seemed like a really cool island girl, so she wanted to be friends, the initial reason for coming here. She didn't expect her to be hostile though, so when she made it clear she didn't want to be friends, she tried to use her mind control to make her be her friend, but that didn't work. Trying to use the overlord card, she hoped that Jade would begin to warm up to her as she would be keeping her in her hive as a slave. In that aspect her plan succeeded, eventually reaching a point where the two would joke around and have fun exploring, being very friendly with one another, it was when the high-bloods arrived that she realized Jade was more important to her then as a slave, or as a friend. The high-bloods had threatened to take her away, so, in the heat of the moment, she claimed Jade was her matesprit. Although the high-bloods disapproved severely, they accepted it, letting her and Jade be. Although she had initially thought it to be a lie, she soon noticed she started having slight red feelings towards the human girl. Inviting some of her more understanding friends over had simply been a way of her trying to banish these feelings, looking for someone to feel red over of her own species. Although this attempt failed, it later became a way to gain information about Jade's feelings, and having someone to talk to about her own. Surprised over this revelation, Jade wasn't sure what to think. Seemingly embarrassed, Vriska told her she was allowed to leave, and, if she wanted, she'd even leave the island, letting her Jade peacefully alone on the island again. Jade had left the hive that night, returning to her old home. However, the next morning, she returned to Vriska's hive, explaining that she had thought about everything and she had decided to stay with her, and live together on the island.

“You're an assbutt, you know that?” She asked, snuggling into the crook of Vriska arm. Despite her rather bony figure, she was rather nice to cuddle with, enjoying the strange warmth that radiated from her body. Chuckling the alien lightly planted a kiss on the top of her head.

“You love me though.” she said teasingly, messing up Jade's hair. pressing play on the remote control. The movie started, as Jade smiled. Being an enslaved species definitely wasn't what she envisioned in her future, but having a Vriska as a girlfriend was better then she had planned.

Edited 2012-06-22 23:24 (UTC)

This started as a sketch and somehow became wallpaper-sized. ^_^; Since it's so big, I'll just link it.

Urban Fantasy+Body Horror
Rose <3 Roxy

Auto-Responder<3Roxy, Fairy Tale + High Fantasy.

(We're close to the end now so why not.)

Nature Documentary+Holiday
Nepeta <3 Jade <3 Equius <>Nepeta

I literally just went "OHHHHHHHH!" out loud and I am kind of a little choked up right now. This was the perfect fill to this prompt. So sad and tragic and strangely beautiful -- I loved it, thank you! <3

Grocery Shopping+Comedy
Rose <3< Vriska

Karkat<3Terezi, Murder Mystery + Supernatural

Ouch. Right in the feelings.

Seriously, though, this is beautiful, and I actually choked up at the end. I love it.

It's been a while since I read the collab fic in question, but I tried to fit this into its canon from what I remember. :3

Triggers: a hypothetical noncon/gore/vore scenario as ranted by Karkat Vantas.

---

If it were not for (a) your knowledge of the device's average lifespan, (b) the fact that it had tenaciously carried on long past its professionally recommended due date with the waste disposal unit, (c) how your moirail had asked you just last week if there were any spare parts that should be purchased while you were planet-side, and (d) her general lack of expertise with the finer details of technology, you'd suspect that she planned the whole thing. But, no, it was just Current You paying for Past You's idiotic short-sightedness once again.

It really made you wonder, though, how *prepared* she was for this scenario. Also, the softly playing classical music added a distinctive layer of whimsy to the atmosphere as the two of you floated in your shared living space among all her loose fabrics and miscellaneous belongings that were no longer contained in random piles on the floor thanks to your ship's busted artificial gravity system. Maybe now she'll understand why it was so important to keep everything tidy. Maybe if you talked fast enough, she'll even forget to remind you that it wouldn't have been an issue if you'd bothered to seek the services of a proper mechanic now and then.

Thankfully, malfunctioning artificial gravity by itself didn't cause any issues with life support or navigation, so the two of you were safely drifting through space on autopilot and on route to the nearest settled planet for now, but you never could tell, especially on an older ship model like yours, when something small and insignificant could slip through a crack and into some important wiring and become very significant very fast. You couldn't risk not having it fixed as soon as possible. Safety aside, it was also extremely annoying to deal with during supposedly simple tasks like eating and sleeping without clogging vital, delicate instruments with floating bits of food and sopor slime.

You were also lucky to have only been a few days away from intelligent life, but why, oh why, did it have to be the particular intelligent life with such hostile mating rituals that it made even the most pitch troll relationship seem pale in comparison? The particular intelligent life that, weirdly enough, could only procreate through male/female pairs, and nearly wiped itself out of existence before reaching their space age and banishing an entire gender to another planet while reserving a third planet as neutral territory for their typically fatal reproductive shenanigans?

At least you were heading for the designated female planet, she said. At least it wasn't the planet of deadly sensual relations, she said.

At least she was actually a woman and therefore had no need to worry about being molested and torn to pieces and fed to the next generation of terrifying cannibalistic sexual predators if they caught sight of her junk, you said, and please, couldn't she just seal you into a wall or something until the ship is repaired and you're safely a few solar systems away???

Nonsense, she said. You need to be present to help negotiate an acceptable payment and you actually understand more than a handful of the mechanical terms they would undoubtedly be using, not to mention that you have plenty of experience hiding your biological deviance in plain sight. Also, you need to stop talking for a moment so she can apply your lipstick properly.

You still think the dress is counter-productive in keeping your genitalia under wraps, a fact made painfully obvious in zero-g, and you plan on telling her that just as soon as she's done painting your face.

---

My headcanon for cherub reproduction until it's inevitably jossed, btw.

...
...
...
...
...can we try again
S)-(OR----E 38D

(Huehuehue, here's the image on flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/79034122@N08/7422781294/in/photostream)

Ship: Tavros <> Sollux
Genres: Slice of life, fluff

(OK, um. I started writing this the day the prompt was posted, because I was like oh, I always wanted to make up an explanation for how his wing got fixed, it would be cool if Jade did it, and then I forgot how to stop. So here is the slowest fill in the history of paradox space! HOPE THAT'S OKAY. /o\)

--------------------------------------------

“Hydrogen, helium, and a lot of silicates,” she says at last with her eyes closed, the readout glowing above her palm.
“Showoff,” he says to let her know she’s right. “What about carbon?”
“Trace. Scroll down. There is a little but less than the metals.”
“Huh,” he says, having largely exhausted his knowledge of what he was supposed to be made of. He reaches out and scrolls down the list, which has been facing him. This was a courtesy on her part: as though he would be able to make sense of it. “Am I radioactive? Like, do you need a stack of lead aprons before you start feeling me up.”
She takes her hand off his wing, reminded, which was not what he meant. “No. I mean, yes! Very. But I am too so I don’t think we need to worry about it.” She has flipped the list around and is frowning at it. “Oh, I missed the pure strontium, it’s probably important, though I got all the isotopes…”
The projection is transparent; through it he can still read, backwards, the entry currently highlighted. %Sr: 1.201 x 10^-9. “Yeah,” he says, straight-faced. “Can’t think how. Sloppy work, Harley, slipshod.” This rolls off her like mercury off a duck’s back, as usual. She’s not even listening; she’s comparing the first list, kept in her head, with the one in her hand. This second list is projected by her wristwatch computer from data sent from her spectro-ecto-scope, which she fed one of his feathers a half-hour ago before beginning her own review, by hand. Recently she has taken to doing chemical analysis by inspecting one atom at a time, for fun. She counts the protons on her fingers: flick-flick-flick-flick-flick, sudden fist, flick-flick-flick-flick-flick. Mendeleev would plotz.

It is frankly a surprise to him that he misses his legs more than his dick, but although he would as a matter of form deny it, the former saw more use. The thudding, maddening solidity of running, the scuff of a sneaker turning a corner and almost an ankle. It was a liability once. He used to imagine jumping and never landing, like, every kid does.
When he jumped into the kernelsprite he emerged in a new skin, like a snake: he’d prefer to have the scar on the heel of his hand back, the pockmark above his brow. It even straightened his teeth, which he finds kind of patronizing. His voice and, when he has occasion for it, his laugh are harsher, a crow croak. (“Do you think you have a bone in your tongue?” Jade says once out of absolutely fucking nowhere. “No,” he says after biting it, baffled.) His breath no longer fogs a window. Anything he eats or drinks is apparently incinerated. Jade’s hypothesis is that the water molecules in his blood are assembled on an as-needed basis at the wound sites.
His lower half ends in a long wisp of cool fire that he can pass his hand through; as he moves the hand up there’s an increasing weight, a drag, a profoundly uncomfortable sensation where his stomach used to be, or perhaps still is. Pressure on or up into the no-man’s-land between ghost and flesh increases this to a pulverizing nausea instantly recognizable as the feeling of being kneed in the nads. This is encouraging: perhaps he still has them.
When he sleeps, which entails consciously setting a timer and clicking yes somewhere behind his eyes, settling down to a level that nearly touches the floor, and fading to 75% opacity/saturation, he doesn’t think he dreams at all: but Jade says he gestures and lashes his tail sometimes, like Bec in his sleep chasing things. “You watch me sleep, Miss Universe?” he says sardonically, and to his surprise, she glances away. “I just know where things are,” she says, the understatement of the year.
His sprite knowledge is by now largely obsolete.

Once she has the ingredient list she begins the wing the next night. There are diagrams and notes all over the floor, highlighted in lime-green: supracoracoideus, scapulotriceps, other shit that sounds like dinosaurs. “It’ll still work if I don’t read the manual, right,” he says, hovering above her as she rolls up her sleeves. “Lazy,” she says, and then “Yeah, you can be ignorant if you want. Just sit still.”
That first night she never touches him: her hands drift in a pattern above his back, mirroring his intact wing, and a translucent skeleton forms from the marrow out. She calls atoms and they come. Heel, sit, stay. After an hour she says her eyes are blurring but that the hardest part is done. He eels out from under the armature and comes around to look at it, and it shimmers and vanishes. “Hey,” he says, surprised, but she says “No, it’s fine. I just saved it as a file. I didn’t want it lying around where things could bang into it! It’s pretty fragile at this stage.” This with perfect assurance, like she’s a fifth-generation feathery asshole spare parts artisan.
In a few more sessions the .wng is close to finished, one feather drawing other feathers into existence, like a seed crystal. Past a point it seems almost to build itself and they spend most of the time talking, while she keeps an eye and a few fingers on the construction. She has made more wing than necessary, so that it will overlap with the remnant he has.
She is inspecting the place where this remnant is attached to his back, pushing it gently back and forth, asking him to tense it or relax, when she curls it into an odd position and the sharp shaft of a sheared feather pierces into a raw muscle, open to the air. He could have managed the pain if he had expected it, it is hardly like losing the wing: but he hisses and clutches at her and his hands are claws, talons, plated like armor and curved like fangs, and two claws sink into and almost through her narrow forearm, which for an instant is a dog’s sinewy leg. For a long second they flicker and crackle between human and animal, guilt, antipathy, fear, and he is horrified to find, when they stabilize, that he can feel the fading presence of a phantom beak, weighted for a strike, though he doesn’t think he ever had one.
There is a hole, where there was a sword, where there was his heart, but something in the region is battering nonetheless. “Shit, Jade, I’m sorry!” he says, aghast, when he can. Her dog-ears are flattened back and her face is expressionless, her eyes dry. “I didn’t know we could do that,” she says after a pause, sitting down, her palm pressed over the punctures. “Are you OK,” he says, at a loss for how else to apologize. His hands turned back clean and that’s almost worse. “Yeah,” she says and takes her hand away. It is not a sight to reassure. A bubble of blood rises and bursts in one of the holes. She licks the area clean and sucks at each wound, stilling it, before turning, wholly unselfconsciously, to spit: unselfconsciously, except that the gobs of bloody spit vanish before they hit the floor. But when she looks up she is almost smiling.
“God Tier, remember!” she says. “Watch.” She holds out her arm and without thinking he takes it, one hand supporting her elbow, the other holding her wrist with the delicacy of remorse. Inside of five minutes her fine brown skin has closed over like water. He has not touched her before. He gives her wrist a squeeze and lets go, against the danger that she should be the one to move first.
“I’m sorry too,” she says, “for hurting your wing.” Her ears are back up; perhaps it’s all right. He used to imagine, in Austin, that if he were in the same room as her, he’d always be able to tell what she was thinking: but it’s not like that at all.

Where the damaged wing is, when she finally tries to overlay it, she gets an error message: The file 0046732790172[…].dvs already exists. Overwrite copy or save as new? She has to click Yes, Replace, Are you sure? This cannot be undone!, Yes, monotonously, for each pixel, until several hours later 50% of the wing has been overwritten, at which point she is finally given the option to Overwrite All. This does not hurt, but it comes as a crawling wave, a wash of infinitesimal prickling, over the whole of the wing. It tickles unspeakably; he has to bite his lip to keep still. Anything healing itches.
At about the limit of his endurance there is finally a kind of jarring, reproving chime and Jade, starting, clicks Save Changes. His wing flashes and fades to baseline glow.
He knows how to do this; he learned from the animes. He’s had his head bowed, his wings half furled, altogether drawn-in, and he rises up to Jade’s eye-level slowly, knowing she’s watching, though he is careful not to check. Rose would appreciate this like no one else, and for a few seconds he misses her terribly, every one of her. When he’s reached the right altitude, he tenses the wings and with a starch-crisp snap flings them out to full extension, stiff and haughty, like a salute. He’s thrown his head back at the same time, and his arms, a little, palm-out: he brings his arms in and his chin down slowly, heavy-lidded, part Squaresoft villain, part archangel. He doesn’t know if the light’s right for her to see through his shades but it’s worth a shot: he tries to open his eyes suddenly, like with some kind of shining pinging noise.
Their eyes meet: she claps her hands together and, clasping them, grins. She is cute as a fucking button. “Oh, wow!” she cries, jubilant. “What a total ham you are!”

The hole from the sword takes a while to figure out. Jade fills it in twice – quick work compared to the wing – but both times, after a few hours, her work dissolves into cold fluorescent blood in his chest, and runs out again. She experiments also to see if she can restore him to a human shape, though they both know, sprite knowledge, it won’t work. When she tests the patch overlay on a few pixels of what would be his hip there’s a buzzing that rattles both their teeth and a paper-thin window shivers in the air for a moment: INSUFFICIENT SOFTWARE CHANNEL ENTITLEMENTS. Jade growls the thick low growl of a dog that outweighed her and he puts up a hand. “Not tonight, Josephine,” he says. “Told you, that’s for the closing credits.”
Neither of them have any idea whether this is true. He used to think that if they won, if it’s possible to win Sburb, to really finish, that he and his younger self would fuse automatically like Jade and Jadesprite. He used to think that this was the best of a bad lot of options: he’d forget nearly everything but he’d have feet, like the Little fucking Mermaid.
He would not give up his voice now, but then it may not be up to him.
Jade proposes that the problem with the sword is that a trace, a particle or two, of Bec Noir was carried with it, and remains somewhere inside him, a last malice. When this particle reacts with the construction she puts in it starts some kind of chain reaction that disassembles all the new bonds. She thinks there must have been similar traces on his wing, but that being more exposed they had been washed out; certainly the wing had bled him almost dry. She wants to try to get that contamination out, “like washing the glassware,” she says, “or, actually, sort of like picking up shrapnel with a magnet.”
“What does that mean?” he says, pausing mid-unwrap, one blood-soaked layer of gauze still stuck to his back.
She picks up on the apprehension in his voice: “Oh, no, not like a MRI!” she says, sounding shocked. This does not actually clear things up for him, but then she says, “No, look,” and picks up the apple juice he’d been drinking from, drops a pencil into it and screws the top on. (He was not done with that juice; this is sort of rude.) She tosses the bottle into the air and catches it without touching it, so that it hangs between her spread hands. She closes her eyes and there’s a span of wavering in the air between her hands, like a heat mirage or a slow river, and then she’s got his juice in one hand and the pencil in the other. The pencil isn’t even wet.
“Like that,” she says. “I know what one of them is made of, I mean they’re both pretty simple, and what the other’s made of, and then when they’re in the same space, I just pull, and…! But with you I want to just cancel it out, or take it back, because I’m part Bec too.”
He gestures for the bottle of juice, she tosses it to him, and he catches it left-handed. He turns it over a few times: no leaks, label still says everything it used to, looks fine. He unscrews the top, drinks it down, recaps the bottle and pitches it onto a table. He reinforces his poker face and yanks off the last strip of gauze.
“Welp,” he says, “go for it.”
She takes her time positioning her hands around him: then, without asking if he’s ready, she lets the current go, and he lights up like a wire loop held in a flame. If he has ever wondered what she thought about him, he doesn’t now. He is blazing from the inside out, flashes and flares of gold, orange, green, nearly blind with it, but he catches a flicker of her intent, abstracted, fierce face, her teeth set in her lower lip. There are tiny electric crackles in his chest where something is being burned out, painful almost to the point of ecstasy, purifying. The love coming off her is appalling. There is no living up to it. For a moment he is afraid he will dissolve, or evaporate. If he does, he thinks, she will boil him down and reconstitute him, molecule by molecule. He will be in her hands, wherever he is. There is nowhere else. He closes his eyes.

Edited 2012-06-23 07:08 (UTC)

aw, that is so adorable! Thank you so much!

oooomg so cuuute aah <333 THANK YOU SO MUCH

i hope this covers the genres!

I hope this will be worth your while :D

---

When he arrived at the nightclub, most of the parking slots were already full, which surprised him a bit.

He always travelled with the windows down –unless it was raining- so as he got closer he could hear the music and the laughter coming from inside the closed doors, the dulled notes of a famous Jazz song familiar to his ears.

He carefully slid into his reserved spot, aligning his car perfectly and checking a few times before sliding out of the driving seat; he kept his bag on the seat in the back, so he carefully picked it up before clicking the car shut.

The ‘Midnight’ was not a huge nightclub, all things considered, nor was it really famous, but stylish enough to be pleasant; he had worked there for years now, one of the many artists who went there on their free time, performing in front of faceless strangers.

Tavros Nitram, 12 sweeps old, had moved to the big city when he was six with his best friend; both of them had found their small niche, satisfied with the change, and had settled there, neither willing to go back.

As he moved to the back entrance, Tavros caught the eyes of a few familiar patrons –habitual clients of the ‘Midnight’– and hesitantly waved at them, lips twitching into a nervous smile.

Even though he was an artist and performed in front of a crowd, he still found it hard to interact with people on a daily basis; the bartender of the ‘Midnight’ always used that to make fun of him, but it was just a good-natured jab, and Tavros never took offense. Still, being alone on the stage, lights low enough that the rest of the world disappeared behind that veil of darkness, blurred away… it was different. He didn’t have to feel self-conscious about anything –there was just him and his music.

Tavros was an artist, and he enjoyed playing, and that was enough.

The inside of the ‘Midnight’ was packed full; it wasn’t even a weekend night, so the sight was somewhat unexpected, and Tavros felt a small lurch of anxiety hit his bloodpusher as he manoeuvred his way through the crowd and towards the bar.

“Hey Tavvy, you look totes good!” the woman behind the counter turned around, smiling and sliding a shot of gin towards one of the men waiting there. “Ready for your performance?” her cheeks were slightly flushed, sign she had already tapped onto her reserves of martini.

Licking his lips nervously, Tavros vaguely pointed at the unusual crowd. “What’s with, uuh, all this people, today, Roxy?”

The bartender shrugged, “dunno,” she admitted. “Gotta ask Jakey in the back, he’ll sure know! Go and make ‘em swoon!”

While still anxious, Roxy’s warm behaviour always had the ability to cheer him up; if she wasn’t already taken, Tavros would have asked her to fill his pale quadrant slot, but he had been on the receiving end of one too many drunken speeches about her best friend, so he never brought the subject up.

Leaving the counter, Tavros shifted to the backstage, noticing that the song had come to an end, followed by applauses; there was only one more artist scheduled before his turn arrived, and Tavros quickly went to the dressing room.

Another one of the workers was there, observing the various artists with a pleased expression; the moment he saw Tavros walking towards him, he smiled brightly at him and waved him close.

“Tavros, old chap, I was waiting for you,” eyes darting around, he pulled him even closer. “I have brilliant news for you!”

“Uhhh, what is it, Jake?” fidgeting a bit Tavros glanced towards the stage; Dirk was slowly making his way up, dragging his creepy puppet with him for his performance. Tavros hastily looked away –Lil Cal always kind of scared him.

“There’s going to be a big shot tonight, yes sir,” Jake was still smiling brightly at him. “Some sort of big name, Janey assured me”.

Jane was Jake’s long lost sister –Tavros didn’t really know the details, it was a bit too complex and when Jake started recounting the story it made his thinkpan hurt– and she was the sole heir of the infamous Betty Crocker corporation.

She was also one of the four founders of the ‘Midnight’, together with Roxy, Dirk and Jake, and all the artists had to be accepted by all of them before being allowed to perform.

Dirk was the one who hunted new artists down, Roxy was responsible for the public relations –despite her drinking habits, she was perfect for that– Jake worked overnight to make sure everything was spotless and followed the right schedule, and Jane was the one who kept the whole place together.

At Jake’s words, Tavros felt his throat constrict. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“Uh, Jake, when you say, er, big name, how big is it, exactly?”

Jake chuckled. “Real big, my old pal, that’s why there’s all this crowd of people tonight. All the performers are hoping for a chance, but we are not allowed to say who this mystery person is,” it was clear Jake was happy to be part of the whole secret. “It might be your one chance too, no sweat!”

“Uh, that’s not really, I mean…” a bit flustered, Tavros pushed the other away and fumbled a bit with his bag. “Not many, uuuh, chances this, big guy, will find my music good enough, really”.

Jake threw him an exasperated glare. “Man, you ought to shove it and show your guts, Tavros. You are good. Just do your best out there, and don’t bag out, understood?”

Cheeks colouring brown, Tavros nodded quickly and made his way to get his things ready.

Dirk’s performances never lasted long, but they were enough to scare the clients into silence; to be truthful, Dirk didn’t have reasons to do it –as the owner, he could find other things to do. Tavros had asked once, out of curiosity, but Dirk’s explanation had been layered with irony, until Tavros had given up trying to understand. He guessed the guy simply loved to parade his puppet around and scare people shitless, or something.

As he finished preparing his instrument, controlling everything a few times, the group who had been playing before Dirk rushed inside, most of them looking somewhat terrified.

Tavros could understand them –Lil Cal had that effect on everybody, no one ever got used to him.

They were a silent bunch, not speaking much but allowing their music to do all the talking, and they all had different interests; sometimes they fought in the backstage, but they always played their songs in perfect harmony.

They didn’t even have a name as a quartet, and everybody simply called them the Midnight Crew, as they had been there ever since the nightclub had opened.

“You next, trollboy?” the tallest one called out, voice a bit rough.

Tavros nodded, still feeling somewhat uneasy. “I’ll, uuuuh, be out in the back, for a few minutes, because, I need fresh air, so, uuh, see you later, perhaps,” he waved at them and took the door on the left, which lead to a small patio outside, with enough space to fit a few trashcans and a bench.

Usually performers went there to have a smoke in-between sketches, and Tavros wasn’t surprised to see someone was already occupying that space; what surprised him was that it wasn’t a familiar face at all.

“Uuuh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there, at all, maybe I’ll just–” ready to go back inside, Tavros spun around, not wanting to disturb the stranger, but the other person waved one hand dismissively.

“Might as well join me,” he stated, taking a deep breath of his cigarette. “You smoke?” he added, pushing a small packet towards him.

“Uh, no, I think, it’s really bad for your health, and, well, I play so, it would be bad, for me…” he stuttered, feeling idiotic and promptly shutting up.

The stranger snorted, and through the dim lights coming from the door at his back, Tavros noticed that the guy was wearing a pair of shades, even if it was dark. His skin was really pale, and for a moment Tavros was entranced by the way he brought the cigarette to his mouth, one single, smooth movement.

From where he was standing, Tavros caught a glimpse of the stranger’s eyes, and had to restrain a gasp when he realised they were red.

“Are you, a rainbow drinker?” he asked before he could stop himself.

He regretted his words instantly and looked away, but the stranger simply snorted, his shoulders shaking in mirth. “I think you mean a vampire, bro, only you trolls can be rainbow drinkers, ya know”.

“Uh, yes, that was, what I meant to ask,” feeling silly, and wondering whether he should leave or not, Tavros risked a glance at the human again. He actually looked almost familiar, in a way, but… “You, are not, am I correct?”

“Blood tastes shit, believe me,” was the amused reply. “I’m Dirk’s bro,” he pointed a thumb towards the door. “Thought I could drop by and see what he’s up to”.

Tavros’ face brightened up. “I guess, you two do look, similar,” he commented diplomatically. “I’m Tavros Nitram,” he added afterwards, still smiling. Then he processed the information and frowned. “Shouldn’t you, I mean,” he tiled his head to the side. “Be there, to watch Dirk’s show?”

The stranger snorted again. “I have all the time I want to check up on him,” the words sounded a bit like he was making some sort of inside joke. When Tavros simply stared at him, the human huffed. “I thought Dirk had told everyone by now. If not him, then Lalonde…” he glanced up, although Tavros couldn’t be sure since the shades were covering his eyes, and licked his lips. “I’m a Time Hopper,” he finally admitted.

With a soft gasp, Tavros took a step closer. “You mean, you travel, through time? That is, fantastic! I always wanted, to be able to do that, too!”

Dirk’s brother chuckled. “It’s not that easy, really,” he tried to downplay it, but it was clear he was pleased by Tavros’ excitement. “It takes a lot of energy. The furthest back I go, the more tired I am when I get there”.

With a soft smile, Tavros pressed both hands on the railing of the patio and looked up at the small portion of sky he could see peeking from behind the tall buildings around them.

“It’s still, an awesome power, to have, really,” he assured. “I can only, uuuh, commune, with animals, and it’s a really, hmm, common trait for my blood colour”.

The human hummed softly. “We always like better what we don’t have,” he replied diplomatically. “I wouldn’t mind chatting with animals myself,” he added with a shrug. “Might be better at talking than a lot of people I know”.

Tavros found himself chuckling along with him.

They continued talking for a while, moving from subject to subject, and Tavros was surprised to realise how much he was enjoying the small talk, even losing track of time; Dirk’s brother liked to rap and even owned turntables, and surprisingly enough they found out they had a few friends in common.

Usually it wasn’t that easy for Tavros to get this friendly with strangers, but he guessed that since this was Dirk’s family, it was ok.

“So, what’s your role in here?” the question caused Tavros to blink in surprise.

“Uh, I play the tuba, solo,” he replied, shrugging. “My turn, is right after, your brother,” he added, suddenly uneasy again. “I, uhhh, am not sure, I want to go out, tonight”.

He guessed Dirk’s brother was looking at him inquisitively due to the small tilt of his head, so he decided to explain himself further.

“There is, supposed to be some, uh, big shot, and I don’t want, to make a fool of myself out there, not tonight, at least”.

One eyebrow peeked from above the shades’ line. “Why’s that? If Dirk lets you play here, it means you’re good,” he pointed inside. “And now I really want to listen to what you can dish out. Sure it’s going to be great”.

Fumbling with himself, Tavros felt his cheeks grow bright brown in surprise. He always was surprised when someone liked his songs, and he guessed Dirk had to like his style, otherwise he wouldn’t allow him to keep on playing, but to hear this guy say he wanted to listen to him…

It made his insides flutter, and not in a bad way.

“It’s nice, of you to say that, really,” he replied, smiling despite himself. “I just wonder, if I have any, uh, chance at all…”

“Do you enjoy playing?” the other interrupted him.

Tavros blinked. “Oh, uuh, of course!”

“Then it’s fine, just go and have fun, man, no need to think about big name with heads too full of money to care. Lay your sick beats down for this whole place to listen, and wipe the floor with that big shot until she’s screaming for mercy, got my drift?”

Unable to stop himself, Tavros chuckled, shoulders relaxing slightly. “I guess, uuh, you’re right, but what if my sick beats, are too much for you to bear?”

“Oh, shit man, have a bit of faith,” the guy brought one hand to his chest, mimicking a hit. “I could show you the right way to weave a beat so strong it would burn the whole ‘Midnight’ down to a crisp, but tonight’s not my night, right?”

Tavros shifted a bit and checked his watch, surprised to see only a few minutes had passed since he had stepped out in the patio. He glanced up at Dirk’s brother, who was smirking at him.

This time, Tavros understood, and smiled back at him.

“Uhm, yes, maybe you should go, and watch your brother, perform?”

“Sure thing. And then I can spare some moments to watch you too, Tavbro, is that ok with you?”

“I’ll make sure, to dedicate you, a song, then,” straightening his back, Tavros held the door open for the other. Then, a thought occurred to him, and he froze. “You didn’t, uuuh, tell me your name, though”.

The blond guy chuckled again, shaking his head in disbelief. “We’ve been talking for a while and ya still don’t know my name, you’re breaking my heart here, man”.

Tavros spluttered, but before he could say anything, the human snorted.

“I’m joking, Tavbro, really. Name’s Dave, by the way,” he added, passing right next to Tavros and heading back inside the nightclub.

Tavros followed him, feeling a bit silly but still pleased.

Talking with Dave had been relaxing, and he wondered why he had been so upset about the big shot –even if the guy didn’t notice him, it was fine. He had found someone to talk with and had enjoyed himself. There could be other chances for him later.

“But,” Dave’s voice stopped Tavros mid-step, “if you really want to make it up to me for not having asked my name before, you could do me a favour, big boy”.

Tavros waited for the human to continue, but Dave simply offered him a slip of paper with a number.

“Uhhh… what–”

“Call me,” Dave smirked. “I count on that, ok?”

With that he spun around and walked away, disappearing behind the heavy curtains separating the backstage from the main hall and leaving Tavros gaping in shock at the number in his hands.

***

When Dirk finally left the stage, leaving behind a shocked silence, Tavros quickly made his way to take his place, meeting him halfway and exchanging a fistbump with him.

“Uhhh, good, show, Dirk,” he told the other performer, even though he had been cowering during half of it. “Did you, see, your brother there?”

Dirk stopped and peered at him. “You met my bro?” he asked, voice void of emotion.

“Uuh, yes, outside,” he chuckled a bit. “He is, nice. I didn’t know, you had a brother”.

“Bro is like me, he likes his space, but we still keep in contact, otherwise Roxy and Ro would throw a fit. Now go and make yourself look good, Tavros”.

Tavros nodded and smiled; the microphone had been already placed in the middle of the stage, so he simply walked towards it, his instrument clutched tightly in his fingers, and took a deep breath.

As usual, the lights centred on the stage didn’t allow him to look at the people surrounding him, but for the first time, he found himself somewhat sad about it. Dave was somewhere down there, looking at him and expecting him to do his best, and he was going to show the guy he knew how to make a good impression.

And if the big shot, whoever it was, didn’t like it, well. It was their loss.

He had prepared a few new songs without even knowing there would be someone new to listen to them, and he guessed it was the right time to see if his personal compositions were worth something.

“Uhh, good evening,” he cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks turn slightly brown as he forced his uneasiness down. “I’m going to dedicate, this first song to a certain person, who is watching, and I hope they will enjoy it”.

He didn’t need to add anything else –Dave would know.

With practiced ease, he brought the tuba to his lips, and started playing.

The music surrounded him like a comforting blanket, chasing away all foreign thoughts, until all he could think about was the tune and the notes and nothing else, lost to the world, only he and his instrument left.

When he finished playing, taking deep breaths to calm his bloodpusher, Tavros opened his eyes, still unable to see the public, but instead of the usual mild response, the silence was quickly drowned away by applauses.

Cheeks flushed red, he continued to smile, proud of himself for his performance and wondering if Dave was one of the people clapping for him.

He still had a lot of songs to play, but he hoped Dave would stay long enough for him to finish, so maybe he could ask him in person.

If nothing else, he still had his number.

***

“You were quite right, Dirk, he does possess an unusual talent,” Rose tilted her head to the side, pleased, and regarded her sibling with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, dear sister, I never lie on these matters,” Dirk replied, tone smug. “Does this mean you will find some use for his talent?”

“Indeed, he seems exactly what I was searching for… I guess it would be only right to give him a chance to spread his metaphorical wings out”.

Dave groaned and rolled his eyes, though the motion was lost due to his shades. “Could you two just cut it out? I’m trying to listen to the guy up there”.

He realised he’d said something wrong when both Dirk and Rose turned towards him, sporting the same intrigued expression.

“Do I sense a particular interest, dear brother?” Rose smiled, and Dave caught in her tone the promise of many interrogations to come. “You never quite seem to enjoy this kind of music, is he really so good that he managed to entrance you, or is something else that is keeping your attention from wandering?”

He cringed.

“Tavros did say you talked to him before his performance,” Dirk added, lips twitching into an amused smile. “I guess he is something else, catching both yours and Rose’s attention at the same time…”

“It’s not what you think,” Dave denied, but cringed again when he realised his words sounded like an admission. “Oh, fuck you two”.

“I’d daresay you would much prefer to f–” Dave hastily covered Rose’s mouth before she could conclude that phrase, and felt her lips twist upwards.

He sighed.

“Tell me again why am I here?” he moaned.

“Because I didn’t want to come on my own,” Rose smirked, pushing his hand away. “And you wouldn’t allow your defenceless sister to go out so late without a proper escort…”

“Bullshit, Rose, we both know that you are as defenceless as a wolf among sheep,” he paused, then added “with no exit in sight. And the sheep wear big red targets on their coats. And the wolf is actually some alien-wolf hybrid with tentacles”.

Rose’s response was a knowing smirk, and Dave sighed, returning his attention to the troll on the stage, who had started another song and was playing through it effortlessly.

He was actually pleased with himself –he had accompanied his sister without really caring about stuff –she was the one seeking new artistic talents, not he– but he was the one who had been rewarded in the end.

He smiled, head tilted away so neither Rose nor Dirk could catch it –it would only offer more speculation material, and they didn’t need it– and allowed time to tick away slowly, enjoying the music Tavros was weaving.

There would be time to talk later on, definitely. When it came to Dave Strider, there was always time.

-Fin-

Vriska<3 or <3<Terezi, western + paranormal

I apologize deeply for this.

I'm so sorry for bringing local politics into this, but yeah, there is a long story behind it... if anyone cares, just click through to my blog and send an ask, I'll post it. TwT

This looks like crap too. I'm so sorry. v.v

Not sure if it's okay to post a second fill to a prompt, but I've been working on this since Tuesday and refuse to let my work go to waste asdghjhgf
anyways, this prompt was really awesome and fun to fill!!

Terezi <> Dave: Comedy, Murder Mystery

Vriska <3 John: Highschool AU, Supernatural

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and your life is a TV show. A bad one.

During the night hours, you are a glamorous fashion photojournalist in a prestigious magazine.

When the day rises and the streets of Prospit turn into an unsafe snare for the wandering troll, you become the Sylph.

At the moment, you are shadowing – if you'll excuse the pun – your good friend Karkat Vantas.

Karkat and you met a handful of sweeps ago. He was dating Terezi and you were pining after Vriska, and the woes of quadrant confusion, as well as maybe kinship of spirit, threw you together. You hit off right away : both of your held a keen interest in cultural objects of a romantic nature, though his enthusiasm ran indiscriminate, while you preferred romances with a paranormal angle.

Maybe your current diurnal occupation finds its roots there ; your costume certainly does. It takes a certain flair to pull off the nouveau-rainbowdrinker garb the Sylph is renowned for, and you manage exquisitely, if you can say so for yourself.

Spending time with him then was a balm to your soul, soothing and exhilaratingly tender. You went out of your way to comfort him, even going so far as resting your hand on his arm ; and the anguished hope in his eyes led you to believe that he might have shouted a lot, but he wouldn't have broken away from a hug, had you embraced him. When he'd clench his hands into fists, as he so often did, you wanted to take them in yours and smooth the tension away ; when you'd be troubled, disheartened by the miscommunication between Vriska and you, his was the only ear you'd consider.

In short, at six and a half you were pale as pale could be for high-strung, fat-cheeked, nubby-horned Karkat Vantas.

In a fit of unlucky circumstances, nothing happened. A series of health problems conspired to keep you apart – your first manifestation of chromophagia, and what you later learned was his mutation acting up. You kicked Vriska to the curb, and he became Gamzee's moirail, dragging him through the worst of sopor slime withdrawal.

How could anyone not pity him for it?

Your friendship didn't grow weaker, but you drifted apart.

It was coincidence, or serendipity, that made Karkat apply for a job at the newspaper you're working at. You enjoy your night job well enough, though it's also the perfect cover for the Sylph's investigating the high circles of the twin city of Derse-Prospit. For Karkat, it is a calling.

“--AND YOUR ROLE AS SEFIRA WAS AS UNINSPIRED A RENDITION OF AN AUSPITICE AS TROLL CHARLES DUTTON'S DEPICTION OF MATESPRITSHIP. YOUR PERFORMANCE WAS AN UTTER DISGRACE TO THE VERY NOTION OF CONCILIATION, I'VE SEEN PEOPLE FALL ASLEEP DURING YOUR MEDIATING SCENES.”

The troll Karkat Vantas is addressing is an eight-foot tall star with horns like the antlers of a moose. You didn't see her latest movie, which was something of a flop according to the box office and an insult to everything that is ashen according to the incendiary review the magazine you work at published.

You didn't realize it was so bad Karkat would take the opportunity of a press conference to rip into the star's ego. You spend so much time at work trying to find excuses to work with Karkat, and then biting your lips to refrain from spouting that you're the Sylph, and reprimanding yourself for keeping secrets from him, you clearly didn't pay enough attention. You could've convinced him it was a bad idea. Maybe, if you'd agreed to watch the movie with him and listened to his ranting, he wouldn't have rushed into such a stupid situation.

“IF YOU DIDN'T GO AROUND CLAIMING IN ALL YOUR INTERVIEWS THAT YOU'RE HAPPILY QUADRANTED, I'D WONDER IF YOU'D EVER BEEN IN A CONCILIATORY RELATIONSHIP THAT DIDN'T INVOLVE YOUR LUSUS.”

A murmur runs through the crowd. The star's patience snaps at the same time as the reading desk she was clutching, and she hurls herself at Karkat with a roar, raising claws that could send his head flying like a ripe fruit torn from a tree.

From the rooftop where you're perched, you can see Karkat's mutinous pout shift, his eyes widen.

The actress' paw falls down toward Karkat's short shape

and

that's when

the Sylph of Space surges into action.

You pop into existence between them, throw your arms around Karkat, and snatch the both of you away.

It's not the first time he's in your arms, though it's very like it. At the time, too, like every other time since, you were saving him; you'll cherish the memory for a long time to come. He's shorter and stouter than you are, warmer – warmth that science and society and blood privilege say is too much, and that you think is just right.

He's shaking, shoulders shaking with adrenaline, and you want nothing more than to chase the fear away, forever.

Back on the rooftop, he makes a small sound, and backs away, but not before you felt him squeeze your shoulders back.

“That Was Stupid,” you say, severely.

He has the audacity to look affronted. “I HAD THINGS PERFECTLY UNDER CONTROL,” he argues, crossing his arms like he's envisaging bulldozing down the opposition on his own two feet.

“Is That What You'd Call Coming This Close To Becoming Street Flat Bread, Mr Vantas?”

He makes an impatient gesture. “FUCK THAT. I WAS NEVER IN ANY REAL DANGER.”

“I Apologize But I Don't See How Integrating The Bottom Of The Food Chain Would Serve The Purposes Of Your Quadrant Crusade.”

“I WAS COUNTING ON YOU TO GRAB ME BEFORE I WAS SPLATTER ON THE CONCRETE, OKAY? GEEZE.”

You count to three.

When you're done, you count to ten to steady your voice. “Are You Telling Me My Saving You Was Part Of The Plan All Along.”

You still don't sound as calm as you usually do. There are reasons why your voice would be trembling, you tell yourself. Reasons that have nothing to do with your bloodpusher pumping diamonds. For instance, you might be angry. Incensed that he was so reckless, so entitled, so sure that you'd save him, so – so trusting.

Yes, that's likely.

Under your gaze, Karkat's cheeks darken, and he glances away.

“WELL I WOULD HOPE THAT ON THE ONE TIME I'M FACTORING IN YOUR IRREPRESSIBLE NEED TO BUTT INTO MY REPORTING, YOU WOULDN'T GET FED UP WITH MY STUNTS AND LET ME DIE THE DEATH THAT MY PAST SELF SO RICHLY DESERVED.”

In front of him, in the face of – you don't know, it can't be a pale proposal, right, it can't possibly be – Karkat wouldn't make a pale offer to the Sylph, would he? Karkat finds something to pity about everyone, that's one of the reasons you're so sorry for him, that's why he's so furious all the time, and that's another thing you wish you could make easier for him, but surely even he can't find anything to pity in the solitary hero stalking Prospit and making it a safer place for her fellow troll?

He doesn't even know the Sylph's name. You know he's had a conciliatory problem in the past, you both have – wouldn't he let the lack of name be an obstacle to such an intimate relationship?

You're at a loss for words for a rare time in your life.

It's the sixth time you've rescued Karkat in as many perigees.

You would do the same for anyone else. Of course; that's what being a hero is about. But there's no-one you've saved six times, and there's no-one like Karkat. Karkat who is looking at you, quiet for once, biting off his cuticles.

He doesn't know you're the Sylph.

“Stop That,” you chide, tone gentle.

It's not quite an answer to his offer – not a definite yes, but in no way a no. Karkat notices, and glances quickly away, and back at you from beneath his eyelids, shying away for a moment from looking you straight on.

“I Will Always Save You,” you add in the silence.

Karkat looks more flustered than you've seen him since the first time he made you watch the finale to Troll Buffy's Season Six, even though you made a concerted effort to avoid Gamzee's name.

“OH. WELL. THAT'S. WELL, THAT'S THAT, THEN.”

The awkwardness is contagious. You didn't feel like what you were saying was so special, but now that you can see its effect on Karkat, you need to either get away from him or come clean. The urge to grab his hands and confess that you're his coworker and friend, Kanaya Maryam, is becoming stronger as Karkat's eyes are getting shinier.

“Yes I Should Get You Back Down There Now.”

“OH YES. AND YOU NEED TO GET GOING, AS WELL, DON'T YOU? CITIES TO PROTECT, TROLLS TO SAW IN HALF...”

“He Had It Coming,” you feel obligated to remind, though Karkat was there to witness first-hand how justified a put-down it was.

“ALL I'M SAYING IS, YOU SHOULD LET SOMEONE IN. SOMEONE WHO'D WATCH OUT FOR YOU.”

You arch an eyebrow, and put a hand on your hip. “What Makes You Think I Don't?”

“WHAT BULGEREEK OF A MOIRAIL WOULDN'T BE OUT HERE WITH YOU?”

His tone says it's obvious, and the wind whips in your hair, blowing Karkat's curls away and baring the expression of expectation on his face. There's no-one on the rooftop but you and the non-powered troll who keeps flinging himself in situations where the Sylph is involved.

“I... Yes, You're Right,” you finally say, and you turn away and pull up the hood of your outfit. “I Will Transport You Down Again.”

*

You never get a lot of sleep, but today you do even less than usual. Karkat's words keep echoing through your mind, and you toss and turn in your cocoon, trying to decide if you're in a moirallegiance with Karkat, or if the Sylph is, and cursing the need for a superhero to keep a secret identity.

Memories of your first encounter as the Sylph and Karkat Vantas echo in your mind, and you can barely believe so much happened since then.

(“I Understand Your Devotion To What You Believe In And In Other Circumstances I Find It Admirable But Not At The Cost Of Your Own Life.”

“YOU KNOW MY NAME.”

“Yes That Was Undoubtedly The Most Important Piece Of Information I Just Delivered.”

“I MEANT, YOU KNOW WHO I AM.”

“...You're One Of The Top Movie Critics In The Business. It's My Business To Know These Things And Keep An Eye On The Movers And Shakers Of Derse Prospit.”)

It doesn't seem to bother Karkat that you haven't told him who you are, or he wouldn't have proposed the Sylph, but what if it doesn't bother him because he has no idea the Sylph is Kanaya? What would he say if he learned one of his best friends is taking advantage of him, lying to him?

*

You put on careful make-up in the evening, but even so, when you arrive at work, Karkat peers at you and tuts. “FOR THE SAKE OF EVERYTHING THAT'S RIGHT AND RIGHTEOUS, KANAYA, YOU NEED TO FUCKING SLEEP.”

“I Don't Need Much Sleep,” you counter, which is nothing but the truth.

“YOU LOOK LIKE A CRAWLCORPSE. NOT ONE OF THE PRETTY ONES, EITHER,” he comments, before hauling you to his office and pushing you in the pile that's his official lounging spot to watch most of the movies he reviews, and the endless reruns that he's famous for commenting.

You tense; he doesn't notice.

“THERE. IT'S NOT IDEAL, I DON'T GIVE A FUCK, NOW GET SOME GODDAMN SLEEP.”

A... pile. It's not just pale, of course, you've known flushed couples that had piles and you've used them more than once in your ashen adventures, but it's heavily connoted. No one would miss that, specially not Karkat.

Blood beating in your ears with anticipation, you watch him.

Is it possible that he's worked out you're the Sylph and he's trying to tell you?

“FOR THE LOVE OF SWEET TERRORS, SOLLUX, OUT WITH IT. I DON'T HAVE ALL NIGHT AND YOU'RE THE SADDEST MESS I'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF CALLING A FRENEMY,” he's calling into the phone.

Guess he hasn't. Your eyelids weight a ton, and you have nothing but wistful tenderness for this sorry little troll. No secret message: just Karkat. Pale for the whole wide world.

He's chewing on the sides of his nails as he snaps back and forth in the swamp of Sollux's replies.

“Stop That,” you tell him, through closing eyes.

He snorts, and hides the phone with his hand. “SLEEP,” he orders, and shakes his head as he goes back to his conversation.

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BONUS ROUND 1

Bonus Round 1

FILL: TEAM Eridan <3< Vriska

FILL: TEAM ROXY <3< MEENAH

FILL: TEAM JADE<3KARKAT

PROMPT: TEAM ROXY <3< MEENAH

PROMPT: TEAM DIRK<3ROXY

PROMPT: TEAM ROXY <3< MEENAH

Re: FILL: TEAM Eridan <3< Vriska

PROMPT: TEAM ROXY <3< MEENAH

PROM

Re: FILL: TEAM Eridan <3< Vriska

FILL: TEAM KARKAT<3TEREZI

FILL: TEAM EQUIUS<3GAMZEE

PROMPT: TEAM BRO<3DAD

FILL: TEAM ALPHA!DAVE<3ALPHA!ROSE

Re: FILL: TEAM JADE<3KARKAT

no subject

FILL: TEAM DAVE<3ROSE

FILL: Team Dave<3Karkat

FILL: Team Dave<3Karkat

PROMPT: TEAM DAVE<3TAVROS

FILL: TEAM Equius <3 Tavros

FILL: TEAM Eridan<3Feferi

PROMPT: TEAM DAVE <3 VRISKA

PROMPT: TEAM DAVE <3 VRISKA

FILL: TEAM PARCELPYXIS