#during the invasion he would be fine but bro would not survive

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Partners in Grime (baon)

Summary:   Stretch has survived a lot over the years. Surviving Edge's vacation week should be a piece of cake.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Mentions of Depression

part of the ‘by any other name’

Read on AO3

-or-

Read More Here

~~*~~

Stretch wasn’t used to babysitting and that was a fact. Oh, he played games with the neighborhood kiddos, showed them experiments and occasionally planned events but he was pretty sure none of their parents had fooled themselves into thinking that anything he did could be called supervision.

He hoped so, anyway, or there was going to be some inevitable disappointment somewhere along the line.

Anyway, so yeah, babysitting. Not so much. He was used to having the house to himself for most of the day where he could sleep in or watch television or go to the lab—

(don’t think about that)

—or post on twitter while hanging out with the chickens. His days weren’t planned so much as they were loosely connected reoccurring events, and Stretch was fine with that.

Having Edge here every day was ruining his carefully disarrayed schedule and he loved Edge, he loved him so much, and he’d love him even more if he’d sit down for five fucking minutes.

Stress, yeah, sure, Stretch was going to gather up his own stress and shove the whole messy wad of it up Ass-gore’s namesake. But Red had warned him if his bro didn’t chill the fuck out, Asgore was considering sending him on a longer vacation and Stretch was pretty sure that was a sanity massacre waiting to happen.

In the interest of saving them all, Stretch would do his duty to Monsterkind and help.

So far, that had consisted of letting Edge do whatever the fuck he wanted around the house. Just because Stretch didn’t see the purpose of attacking the grout with an old toothbrush didn’t mean it wasn’t an important task, (or so he guessed because he’d spent a lifetime not cleaning grout and he hadn’t dusted yet.)

And just because their neighbor’s smiles when he brought them yet another plate of cookies or muffins were getting a little tight didn’t mean there weren’t other people who would appreciate a treat and so what if Stretch was shortcutting two streets away to find them?

Problem was, cleaning and baking looked like they were losing their luster.

He’d give a half-hearted thought to taking Edge into town to go shopping or maybe a movie but subjecting innocent Humans to him didn’t seem like the best way to build good relations between Humans and Monsterkind.

That left sex as Stretch’s main form of entertainment, hey, may as well enjoy the forced confinement, right?

But after a few days even his libido was starting to make flimsy excuses to call it a night, and while Stretch was usually ready for any reason to desecrate the couch again, if they ever wanted anyone else to sit on it again, they were going to need to let it air out for a couple days. At least washing the sheets gave Edge something to do.

That afternoon he was sitting on the poor, abused sofa, still aching pleasantly in a few key areas from earlier when he realized Edge hadn’t followed him back downstairs. The shower had been turned off for a suspiciously long time and he’d believe Red and Sans were swapping condiment preferences along with spit before he’d believe Edge was laying back down for a nap.

It set off more than a few alarm bells. Time to investigate. For the safety of the City and everyone in it.

Who knew that Edge taking a vacation would give him Superman tendencies?

Shortcutting could be silent if he put enough effort into it. Last time he’d bothered was when he was grabbing all the kids during the ‘human invasion’, if that’s what they called a handful of dipshits, but he did it now. Otherwise Edge would hear him on the stairs.

When the void cleared, Stretch could see Edge was sitting on the bed facing away from the door, almost hunched over, a far cry from his usual perfect posture. Checking his phone from the looks of it, naughty naughty.

“what are you dooooooing?” Stretch asked, pleasantly.

Edge jumped and nearly dropped his phone, fumbling to catch it before it fell on the floor. The look on his face was like a damned neon sign, flashing his guilt for all to see.

“Nothing,” he said brusquely.

Oh, yeah, smooth, that’d fool a lie detector, for sure.

“uh huh,” Stretch leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “nothing. so, my guess is either you’ve taken up watching porn on the sly or you were checking in on your work email. and we both know you’d show me the porn, i always like a good laugh.”

His silence spoke volumes. Edge didn’t like to lie and since he couldn’t Obi-Wan his way out with any ‘some other point of view’ bullshit, he was going with keeping his mouth shut.

Stretch shook his head sadly. His baby was letting him down on the sneak factor; he should’ve checked while he was still in the bathroom. “you know, i promised that i’d keep an eye on you this week. you wanna be responsible for making me break a promise?”

“I didn’t promise,” Edge muttered but he sighed and let Stretch take his hand, followed him back downstairs like the world’s saddest, boniest puppy, “This is ridiculous.”

“uh huh.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“you’re definitely fine, babe, always loved those jeans.”

“I’ve taken a couple of days, I’ve relaxed—“

“uh…yeah…about that. you might need a refresher on the whole ‘relaxing’ thing. i could google it for you.”

“And I’m ready to be back at work.”

“you and me both.”

“What was that?” Edge asked distractedly.

“sit.” And when he didn’t, Stretch pushed on his shoulders until Edge gave in and finally sat down heavily on the sofa. Sternly, Stretch told him, “stay there.”

When it looked like Edge was probably going to obey even if it was with all the grudging he could muster, Stretch went to the kitchen. Time to bring out the secret weapons.

He came back out with a heavily laden tray, covered in plates that held the sort of things that required toothpicks and stupid green garnishy things, and announced, “i have snacks. i have drinks. we are watching netflix.”

“Where did you get this?” Edge eyed everything suspiciously, like Stretch had taken up poisoning as a part-time job. “I know you didn’t make it.”

Well, if he had, then he would probably be well on his way to his first paycheck as an amateur poisoner. “i did not, my brother did, so it’s probably safe. you know you love his spinach puffs. now, eat and watch tv.”

“Must we?” Edge groaned. He flopped back against the cushions and honestly, this was fascinating from a scientific point of view. Edge on the verge of a tantrum was a state of being that Stretch hadn’t even known existed, much less that he’d be the one to discover it. He should write a paper. “I’ve seen enough television to last the rest of the year.”

“i hope not, i’m looking forward to the new season of ‘masterchef’. anyway, i think you’ll like this one.”

He picked up the controller and started the episode. Bright music began along with a man explaining, “It’s a never-ending battle to fight the clutter—"

Edge sat up and grabbed a spinach puff, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing with an impressive amount of grudgingness before slumping back to glare at the tv.

If Stretch survived this he was asking for a raise.

An hour later and Stretch was ready to mark this one as a win. Edge was riveted in a way even Gordon Ramsey rarely managed. Probably a good thing Stretch had already married him, or he might be on a plane with flowers in hand, ready to spark a little joy.

Stretch wasn’t quite as enamored; he was okay with the show, sure, the host was a sweetheart. It was just a hell of a lot more fun watching Edge. The way he quivered as the families tried to excuse their messiness, like he was resisting the urge to reach through the screen and shake them. His visible satisfaction when they showed they were on the right path and the episode ended with triumph and order.

It was fucking adorable.

He didn’t get to watch Edge like this very often. Usually if they were watching television, Stretch liked to live up to his namesake and stretch out, laying half on Edge and half off the sofa, soaking up the warmth from his blanket and his baby both.

It was moments like these that he was jarringly reminded that Edge really was younger than him, the same age as his little brother. With his crimson eye lights wide and focused on the screen, enchantingly absorbed, he looked his age in a way he rarely did.

He’d gone through so much in his life; some of it was visible on his bones, the crack in his socket was the most obvious but there were others, scars that had healed roughly without a gentle hand to press soothing magic into them. The other scars were buried a hell of a lot deeper and whether they were why he needed a break from work or they were the reason he drove himself so hard to begin with was anyone’s guess.

Stretch had his own theories.

But that combined with his unrelenting attitude made Edge seem older than he was. Didn’t help that it was hard to gauge ages with skeletons. Plenty of Monsters guessed that Stretch was the younger one.

He liked to think it was because he was young at heart, fuck you very much.

And then after everything he’d gone through, Edge went ahead and hitched his life to Stretch’s broke-ass wagon. Looking at Edge and thinking about the years he had yet to come sometimes made that bitter little voice that lived in the back of Stretch’s thoughts come to life, syrupy-thick, persuasive, and as foul as swamp water, asking him what the fuck he thought he was doing here, telling him he didn’t deserve this. Edge had earned better than having to spend his life dealing with Stretch’s brand of generic bullshittery.

Today more than usual it was easy to stuff that voice back. What kind of asshole would it make Stretch to try to make his choices for him? Stretch had a little too much experience with that and once you allowed it to start happening, it was fucking difficult to flick the switch back. Besides, if his taste in partners was questionable, at least his baby had a good soul.

He was selfish, knew it, but still. He wanted to be the one to spark joy in Edge

When the episode ended, Stretch didn’t even ask. He reached out automatically to push the button that skipped the intro on the next one. The spinach puffs were a distant memory but there were still the tapenade toast points to contend with.

A glance back at Edge made Stretch duck his head to hide a smile. Edge looked like his inner neat freak was getting a deep tissue massage. Now that, friends and neighbors, was relaxed.

“can i ask something?” Stretch said, idly, “how is it a clean bee like you can stand to be with me?”

Edge managed to tear his gaze away from the television long enough to look at him with genuine surprise and a little fond scorn, probably for the pun. It tore away the last bit of the illusion of youth and that left nothing but his own husband, who told him archly, “Marie says it herself. I love a mess.”

Okay, damn, affection and insult in one, and by the Angel, Stretch loved him so, so much. “i asked for that.”

“You did,” Edge agreed. But he caught hold of Stretch and pulled him in anyway, tucking him in comfortably against his side. He was soothingly warm and Stretch snuggled in happily, sighing as Edge pressed a kiss against his skull before whispering to him, “You bring me joy.”

Well, hey, mission accomplished. Now Stretch only had to keep it up for a few decades, no biggie.

But first, he needed to survive the week.

-finis-

Notes:

I can't help but feel that Edge would love 'Tidying Up With Marie Kondo'. His platonic soul mate. ^_^

[blatherkatt]

Title: The Calm Is Terrifying When The Storm Is All You Know [Homestuck]

Chapter 13: Two Months Slip By 

Summary: There were two kinds of trolls who went to Earth: rich shitheads with too much money and free time, and desperate assholes who couldn’t survive on Alternia, even with the best efforts of the young Condesce. Karkat hated the planet almost immediately, but with his home planet too dangerous for mutants, he really didn’t have any choice but to hide out on this weird little diurnal planet. At least he’d be safe. Or so he thought, right before blundering his way into an accidental friendship with the son of an anti-troll terrorist.

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of abuse and neglect, blood (minor), Dave has a lot of scars on his arms that are not from self harm but i wanna warn ppl anyway, substance (alcohol) abuse, (drunken) mentions of war and death, description of Alternian bigotry; Illustrated 

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Slowly, uncomfortably, with the grace of a cat forcing itself into a too-small box, routine settled in. Time passed.

The routine was simple enough: Five out of seven days of the week, Dirk, Rose, and Rachel would be away most of the day. Dirk would drive Rose to school and drop Rachel off…somewhere; no one but Rachel herself seemed to know what Rachel actually did in terms of a job. Rose, acting on Roxy’s advice, gave Dave a bit more space, which he mostly used to continue holing himself away. Still, he began showing up and joining the rest of the family for dinner, most nights, albeit saying very little. After school, Rose would talk with Kanaya. Karkat usually tried to spend time with Dave during the day when the rest of the family was absent, sometimes with Kanaya tagging along.

Dirk and Rose switched between dealing with dinner, and often Dirk would just pick something up on the way home. One night, somehow, the conversation drifted to the invasion. Rachel, hitting the wine a bit heavy, had started talking about The Good Old Days, making both the trolls visibly uncomfortable, but Rose was too curious to tell her to stop, and Dirk could rarely bring himself to be harsh with his mother when she got like this. She was lonely, he knew, and it was hard to hold it against her. Even when she started talking about Derek.

“He wasn’t always such a…he wasn’t always so bad,” Mom cut in. “I mean, he was always pretty intense, yeah, but he was, he was good once, he could be sweet and he cared, and…”

“Okay, sure,” Rose said, the disbelief in his voice matching Dirk’s own private thoughts on the matter. “I believe that about as much as I believe you used to be considered frightening.”

“More ’n frightening, Rosie,” said Mom, with a grin. “I was a fucking terror. Used to — they used to all gossip, ‘bout that Rachel Lalonde, how she’d kill you before you even knew what hit ya, just, bam, dead!  That was my job, picking ‘em off from a distance, and I’d sometimes have ‘em so scared that all you could see of ‘em was the big horns pokin’ out behind whatever cover they could find.”

Karkat gulped. Mom sighed and leaned back, swirling her glass. “Ramona had her own way of dealing with ‘em, but she scares just about everyone, enemy or not, and of course Derek’d be leading the charge for everyone fighting up close, with Benji always right on his heels.”

Dave coughed. Dirk flicked his eyes over, but Dave quickly recovered after taking a sip of apple juice.

“We had a system,” Mom went on. “Me and Ramona and Derek were young, but everyone we’d managed to get together in that mall trusted us to take charge, because we were good at it, and we only had a few people die during that whole six years. We were quite the little oddball family, we were…”  Mom chuckled humorously, looking at the dark red wine in her glass with a heaviness in her eyes. “Would y’look at me,” she said, “nostalgic over a damn war.”

Dave shifted again.

“Why?” Karkat said, breaking through his own obvious discomfort at the topic. “It sounded like the fighting was fucking awful!”

“It was,” Rachel sighed. “But…but we were a family, the four of us.” She snorted slightly. “Well, five if you count Ben, I guess. We all lost our parents, although I never did get the story behind what happened to the Strider boys’ folks, they never talked about it, but. We were all kids — well, Ramona was more of an adult, and she already had Roxy, but still — we, we all had each other, and we were doing okay, even if it was a war. And then…and then, and then, just.” She took a sip of her wine. “Then poor Dave died, and with him gone, everything fell apart…”

“Um,” said Kanaya.

“Wait, what?” said Karkat.

“Okay, Mom,” Dirk said, “I think you’ve probably had enough wine for tonight.”

Rose was about to add her own comment, when Dave spoke up. “She isn’t talking about me,” he said, softly. Mom shook her head.

“Nooo, not you, baby,” she said. “Derek’s li’l bro, he was named Dave. We named you after him.” She blinked, then looked at Dave. “You know about him?” she said. Dave nodded.

“B-uh, I mean Br-fuck, Dad talked about him sometimes when he was drunk, yeah,” Dave said. Dirk narrowed his eyes. Something about the way he stumbled across that sentence felt like he wasn’t getting the full story, but for now Dirk let it slide. Roxy’d said to be patient, so he’d wait for the rest to come out when Dave was ready.

Instead, he turned to Mom. “We have an uncle?”

“Had,” she said, rubbing at one eye as though fighting back tears. “Had, sweetheart. I never - I don’t talk about him, I know, I’m sorry, I shoulda mentioned him before…he was…he was such a good kid, he didn’t deserve what happened to him at all, and he died and…ugh.”

She took another long sip of wine. “When I was about three months pregnant with you two,” she said, gesturing at Dave and Rose, “s’ when it happened. And…and poor Derek, he was never the same after, he wouldn’t let me in anymore, and, and I don’t know what I did wrong, nevermind if he loved me or not, I couldn’t even get through to him as a friend afterward. And when you two were born, and one of you was a boy, I thought, I, well, might as well name one after Dave, maybe help save his memory? Maybe it was a bad idea, Derek went real quiet when I suggested it, I don’t know…”

“What the fuck is an uncle,” Karkat whispered to Kanaya, a bit too loud. Dave snorted quietly.

Rose tapped her fingers gently against her leg. “Why haven’t you mentioned him to us before now?”

“I don’t like thinking about him, honey,” Mom whined. “It makes me — it’s so sad, he was such a— he was such a good friend, and he did so much to help us all out in the mall, and he didn’t, he didn’t deserve what happened to him at all.” She was actively weeping, now, tears cutting messy trails through her makeup and landing in her wine glass.

“I really think you’ve had enough to drink, Mom,” Dirk said, as gentle as he could manage.

“There’s not enough booze in the world to drown all my sorrows, hun,” was her reply.

“And now you know what I mean when I say I’m all Bro’s got,” Dave said.

He’d just finished answering some questions Karkat had had regarding the ‘uncle,’ Dave’s namesake. Rachel’s story had been…hard to follow. Karkat still felt pretty fucking strongly that Strider didn’t deserve Dave by a long shot, but he guessed he could kind of understand why Dave felt like he had to stay. It was a shitty reason, sure, but guilt was a bitch like that.

“I still think it’s a pretty dumb thing to say,” Karkat grumbled, “and you really don’t fucking owe anything to some asshole who got himself killed before you were born, but whatever, sure, fine, you’ve got some weird obligation because family. He’s got that other guy, though, doesn’t he?”

Dave snickered, catching Karkat by surprise. “Yeah, I can’t believe his full name’s fucking— uh, shit, nevermind, forget I said anything,” he said, hurriedly.

“No, what? Where were you going with that?”

“Nowhere, man, it was stupid, don’t worry about it. C’mon, man, lemme have some fuckin’ secrets. Fuck knows you’re private as hell, you don’t get to read my diary and keep yours under lock in Fort goddamned Knox. Gotta at least let me catch a peek if you wanna know anything else.”

“Fine,” Karkat said, sitting down cross-legged with a grunt. They were in Karkat’s room, Dave laying on the floor with his legs awkwardly propped up on the bed. He looked fucking ridiculous, especially when he tried to twist to look at Karkat.

“What?”

“Fine, as in fair trade you fucking imbecile,” said Karkat. “Go on, ask me a question from my weird human diary, whatever the fuck that is. Go on, hit me.”

(No, pump biscuit, this was not a pale thing, shut up. It was some sort of weird human diary swapping ritual, or something. Nothing pale about it. Besides, Dave had sort of revealed that whole thing about getting caught with his phone a while before, and Karkat still felt sort of weird about the one-sidedness.)

“Well, uh…shit, okay, been wondering this for a while. I know you’re like, a space refugee and shit, but I don’t really get why, so. There’s my question, I guess, why’d you come to Earth?”

Karkat took a deep breath. Okay, he should’ve seen that coming. He could probably back out, right? He could just say that wasn’t something he wanted to talk about?

Except, Dave had opened up to him before, and it was obvious he wouldn’t open up to anyone else. And…Okay, yeah, maybe he did have a very slight pale crush, and if Dave was so determined to pale flirt with him, then so be it.

He took a long, thoughtful pause, before finally asking, “How much do you actually know about the hemospectrum?”

Dave tipped his head. “Are you leadin’ up to something, or are you tryin’ to change the subject? Cuz if you don’t wanna answer, man, you can just fuckin’ say so—“

“Dave, if you really haven’t realized by now that if I wanted you to stop asking, I would have told you to shove it up your waste chute, then you haven’t been paying attention. Trust me, I’m asking because it’s relevant.”

“A’ight.” Dave shifted. “Uh, hemospectrum, lemme think…it sure is a thing that fuckin’ exists.” Karkat groaned. “I know it’s about your blood, right?” Dave continued. “How it’s all in weird colors and some of y’all are really weird about it?”

“It’s not just a ‘weird thing,’ you culturally insensitive ignoramus,” Karkat said gently. “It’s everything on our planet. Your blood color has everything to do with who you can be, not to mention how long you’ll live and what you’re capable of. Different colors tend to have different abilities, psychic powers and so on, and the higher on the hemospectrum you are, the longer you’ll live and the better off you are in society. At the bottom are rust bloods, and at the top are the super rare fuschia bloods, who compete for the position of Emperor or Empress. Usually Empress, honestly. I’ve never heard of us having an Emperor.”

“Okay, and?”

“And under the old Condesce, culling was really common and the spectrum was super harshly fucking enforced. Highbloods could kill lowbloods with no punishment, and anyone who was deemed too weak could just be taken out, end of discussion. And then the new Empress took over, and started making changes. They’ve been implemented slowly, which is probably good, but it’s clear she was always intending on moving this way. No more culling, highbloods have to treat lowbloods with more respect, those who are better off should try to help those who need it, and so on and so forth.”

“That…that sounds pretty decent,” Dave said. “So, wait, then, if the new head honcho’s doin’ tryin’ to set things right, why are so many trolls running away from Alternia?”

“Because a lot of the highbloods there are really not fucking happy about these new changes.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. They’re taking things into their own hands, claiming the Empress is weak and seeking out ‘cull-bait’ themselves. The Empress is doing everything she can to stop them, but it’s a really big fucking planet, and there’s a lot of highbloods and even some midbloods who are doing this shit. She hasn’t been able to catch all of them. And even the ones who aren’t actively hunting lowbloods and cullbait, they’re just as awful to those people as they’ve always been. You have to understand, Dave,” Karkat said, his eyes serious, “highbloods live a really long fucking time. A ton of these bastards have been around way longer than the oldest lowblood, and they’re not willing to change. So, yeah, Alternia’s been getting better, but at the same time it’s also gotten a lot worse, because it’s so dangerous and so many other people in power besides the Empress just don’t care enough to enforce any of her reforms. She’s doing all she can, but it’s too dangerous.”

Dave was silent a long moment. “So…where do you fit into all that mess?” he asked. “Are you a, uh, a rustblood?”

Karkat snorted. “Wouldn’t that be nice,” he grumbled. “I’m…Look, this doesn’t leave this room, right? It’s just between us?”

“Shit, yeah, man,” Dave said. “I figured that went without saying. I mean, this conversation’s gotten absurdly fucking personal, and you didn’t go blab my fuckin’ sob story about Bro breakin’ my phone to anyone, so I figured we had a kinda understanding about this shit anyway? But yeah, sure, my lips are sealed.”

“Okay,” Karkat said. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and tried his best to steel his nerves. “I’m a mutant, Dave.” Dave tilted his head, but said nothing, waiting for a better explanation. “I’m not on the hemospectrum. My blood’s the same color as you humans’, apparently, which was fucking surreal to find out about.” Dave nodded, started to say something, then thought better of it, and let Karkat continue. “I’m not supposed to fucking exist. I’m the most pathetic of cullbait out there, might as well have a ‘Kill Me’ sign flashing over my head in giant, flashing neon letters for all to see.

“And what’s worse is my eyes are starting to change. Like, you thought I was a rustblood, and for now I can still hide as one, but eventually they’re going to be bright ass red, same as yours, and when that happens I’m royally fucked. I’ve been hiding basically my entire life, sitting in my hive practicing hiding whenever anyone looking to be in a particularly bad mood came by, because for all my bluster about being a big tough guy, the fact is I’m not much of a fighter. Not when I’m up against foes five times my sides with optional chucklevoodoos or mind control. Hiding’s the only chance I had, and…and in the end, that wasn’t enough, because some asshole in my neighborhood tipped off our local cullbait hunters that there was a hemoanon in the area, and they were sniffing around and getting too close to my hive, and I had to tuck my tail firmly between my legs and retreat, snivvelling and grovelling, to Earth, because all my friends had already come here and they couldn’t protect me.”

“Holy shit,” Dave said softly. “Dude, holy shit.”

“And the worst part,” Karkat said, “The worst part is that as much as I hated always having to hide and how cruel all the people there were, I…I miss it? I mean, it was awful, I know that, I know that Earth’s an objectively better place and I’m way safer here even if I did get grubnapped by a terrorist, but —“

“But it was home,” Dave said.

“Yeah. That’s a weird word for it, but yeah.”

Dave shifted a little closer, not touching Karkat at all but now sitting upright next to him. Silence filled the space for a long moment.

At long last, he said, “We really are just two assholes in the same sinking ship, aren’t we? Got our leaky-ass bowls and empty cans out, scooping and bailing away, but this shitty boat’s goin’ nowhere but down, and I ain’t brought my floaties.”

Karkat snorted. “You really do have some bizarre ramble for every occasion, don’t you?”

Dave grinned.

For all her disdain over the alien who seemed to know her brother better than she did, Rose would concede one good thing about this whole messy process of familial integration: Kanaya was a fascinating conversation partner. She had a lot to say about her job, about her own life on Alternia, and in particular about Aunt Ramona’s books. Rose took to speaking to Kanaya on a fairly regular basis, often settling in to do so as soon as she got home from school (homework could wait until later; she had a guest, after all!).

“��and I am still adjusting to some of the differences between our rainbow drinkers and your vampires,” said Kanaya one day, while they discussed one of Aunt Ramona’s books which Kanaya had particularly enjoyed. “Particularly the difficulty with daylight, as on our world, it’s quite the opposite. Rainbow drinkers are said to be very fond of daylight, and indeed to be quite luminescent!”

“I suppose their being diurnal makes sense, since trolls are nocturnal,” Rose commented, “but, luminescent, really? I suppose they’d have to hunt in the day in order to not be spotted by prey if they’re literally glowing.”

“Well, some stories show them being able to turn it off,” said Kanaya. “Still, the occasional bout of confusion aside, I did really enjoy Fangs for the Memories. I was a bit uncertain, at first, with how Sinestra was being a bit manipulative to keep Alicia doing her job, but it did come out to a very fitting conclusion, I thought.”

“Vampires being manipulative is fairly standard fare in literature concerning them,” said Rose. “They have some aspects of their portrayal in common with the Fair Folk, although they’re hardly a creature you’d expect to see in such places as those inhabited by the Lords and the Ladies.”

“I have noticed that,” said Kanaya. “It seems we have tricksters in common, but such beings seem to be more common in your folklore, whereas on Alternia those who win by wit rather than by skill and natural power and wisdom tend to be geared more toward children,” she said with a wince. “They’re generally regarded as escapist fiction, but it seems you humans love it at all ages.”

“Well, it’s only natural for a species that survived on wits to have such a fondness for the witty,” Rose said.

“I’m glad of it,” said Kanaya. “Although I am a bit confused about how Alicia supposedly outwitted Sinestra just by hiding within her own home? The door wasn’t even locked, and the book mentioned many times how Sinestra is very physically strong, and yet she couldn’t come inside?”

“She wasn’t invited,” Rose said. “That’s another bit of folklore that vampires share with the Fair Folk. It ultimately boils down to both being very closely adherent to following rules, which means that a vampire cannot enter a building they have not been invited into. There are of course dozens of loopholes they can use, but none were available to Sinestra, and so she was forced to wait out in the rain, until she sincerely apologized for that whole mess with the werewolf. Quite a fair bit of retribution, I’d say, as well as a nice shifting of the power dynamics.”

“That’s an odd weakness to have.”

“Oh, there’s all sorts of mythology we have about inviting things in,” said Rose. “Vampires, fairies, the devil. In more xenophobic tales, you have the dangers of offering hospitality to dark forces we cannot understand, trying only to be kind, and being rewarded with death or worse for our foolishness. Yet, to add confusion, other stories warn against failing to offer hospitality, and being punished for crossing beings which could so easily destroy us. Still others caution against taking shelter under the wing, sometimes literally, of a being that could destroy us. “Will you walk into my parlor,” said the spider to the fly,’ and all that.”

“That sounds like a fantastic way for the fly to get itself eaten alive,” said Kanaya.

“Too right,” said Rose, “And the fly knows it. But the spider is charming, he acts sweet and offers her flattery and gifts, and she is drawn in…and inevitably eaten. Charmingly dark little poem, that one.”

“I fear I can relate to the poor fly,” Kanaya winced. “I’ve had my fair share of mistakes in that regard…Still, what an odd thing to have so many stories based on.”

“What can I say? We’re a curious lot,” Rose said.

“Curious?”

Rose scooted slightly closer to Kanaya, and winked gently as she added, “There’s something so deeply intriguing to the thought of inviting some strange, mysterious being from worlds unknown into your home. The danger only makes it more…exciting.”

Kanaya blushed slightly, and gulped. “Yes, well,” she said, smoothing the wrinkles on her skirt, “I suppose, that’s, um…Hm. Didn’t you just finish telling me a human story about how flattery is to be regarded with caution? I’m not the one in a stranger’s house, here.”

Rose chuckled. “‘Sweet creature,’” she quoted, “‘You’re witty and you’re wise!’ And just as dangerous to me as I might be to you, I would think. You may have come into my parlor, but it’s still we who have asked in a mysterious stranger from worlds unknown. And a very lovely one, no less.”

“I don’t know whether to be charmed or terrified,” said Kanaya, coy.

“I’d say —“ Something crashed in the basement, interrupting Rose and bringing a scowl to her face. “God dammit, Dirk,” she muttered. “We may have to finish this tomorrow, I’m afraid. I need to make sure my dear brother hasn’t blown one of his robots and/or himself to smithereens.”

“Oh, dear,” said Kanaya. “Best of luck, then. I’d be glad to chat again any time, so long as you promise not to trap me in any spider’s web,” she said with a smile.

Rose smiled back and winked.

It was a little over halfway through May, Dirk was driving himself and Rose home from school on what was his last day of the semester (Rose still had another week), and he was fucking exhausted. Three hour finals were an absolutely monstrous concept. As soon as he got home, he was going to collapse on his bed downstairs and sleep like the fucking dead.

That plan was, to his irritation, derailed as they pulled up on the gravel driveway to the sight of Dave on the roof. He was looking at Karkat, who was standing below and shouting up at him. Kanaya was standing near Karkat, with her head cradled in one hand.

“Just do that fucking bullshit flicker thing already!”

“Not with my — ow, Jesus, you fucking furball, I’m trying to — my arms are full of angry animal here, Karkat, I’m not going to risk breaking my fucking LEGS, Jesus Christ he fucking bit me, ow ow ow, fuck!” Dave shouted back. “Just — motherfuck, ow ow ow, just go dig a goddamned ladder out of the garage or something! Preferably before Dirk getsssssshit he’s home, fuck, fuck, fuck ow goddamned cat —!!”

Dirk, halfway out the car door, exchanged an exhausted look with Rose. She shot him a look of mixed amusement and sympathy.

Dirk sighed and closed the car door behind him, Rose following close behind as he strode toward the trolls. He gestured up at Dave, his eyebrow crooked in a question.

“Jaspers apparently got himself trapped on the roof,” Kanaya explained, as Karkat continued shouting at Dave, who had gone quiet. “Dave somehow got himself onto the roof to rescue him, except apparently Dave is now also trapped up there.”

“He says he can’t do the fucking flickery teleport thing —“

“Flashstep,” Dirk said, interrupting Karkat.

“Whatever, fine. He can’t flashstep because the cat keeps attacking him?” Karkat said, incredulously. The statement was highlighted by another yelp from Dave.

“Makes sense,” Dirk said. “It’s not really teleporting, just moving really fast. You gotta be really careful about how you do it between different elevations, and it’s asking for trouble to attempt a jump from that height with both hands full. Especially if what you’re holding is being really distracting.”

“Should we get the ladder out, then?” Rose commented dryly. “I’m sure you could handle it, but you are so tired, after all.”

Dirk didn’t let himself react to the barbed comment. “I can handle it,” he said. There was a tree near the wall by Dave; it was an easy matter to use it and the wall to bounce up to the roof. Three quick flashsteps and he was next to his brother, who reacted with a jolt.

There was blood visible dripping down his hands and seeping through his shirt sleeves. Cat really had done a number on him, then. Dirk sighed, too tired to fully register the way the soft breath made Dave stiffen, and took the cat from him. Jaspers, upon realizing he was no longer being held by Dave, but instead a human he considered more trustworthy, settled down and let Dirk carefully shift him to his shoulder.

“Meet me in the kitchen,” Dirk said, before carefully flashstepping down the same way he’d gotten up. Back on the ground, he handed the cat off to his sister, who cradled the animal, stroking his fur soothingly. Dave, after a moment’s hesitation, turned around, stepped backward off the roof (eliciting a shocked gasp from Kanaya and a worried yelp from Karkat), easily caught the windowsill leading into his own room on the way down, and pulled himself in.

Dirk hurried into the house, making a beeline for the hall bathroom. He’d need the first aid kit, for sure; Dave’s arms had gotten pretty beat up, from the look of things. He arrived in the kitchen just as Dave came silently down the stairs. Dave was fidgeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot and clenching and unclenching his hands.

“I never left the house,” he said, quietly. “I’m—I’m sorry for being up there, but I didn’t leave the house, I swear, I got up there from my window, and, the cat wouldn’t stop meowing and I felt bad for him, and —“

“Good,” said Dirk, quietly, “I’m glad you never left the house. That’s not really important right now, though. Let me see your arms.”

“…Am I in trouble?”

“For trying to get the cat off the roof? Of course not,” Dirk said. “Give me your arm, though. Gotta get it cleaned off. Cat scratches have a nasty tendency of getting infected.”

“Oh,” said Dave, “fan-fucking-tastic.” He still hesitated a long moment before holding his right arm out; Dirk took him by the wrist and gently pulled him toward the sink (and couldn’t help but notice the white scars crisscrossing his skin underneath the fresh wounds, nor could he ignore how worryingly thin Dave’s arm seemed. Dirk had to take a deep breath to force down the rush of anger toward their father to keep focused on the task at hand). He ran a cloth under the water for a moment, then carefully wiped the blood away from Dave’s wounds. They weren’t as bad as they’d looked on the roof, but Jaspers had definitely done a number on Dave. As gently as he could manage, Dirk toweled off Dave’s arm, and reached for the bottle of disinfectant.

“This is gonna sting a little,” Dirk murmured, dabbing the disinfectant on one of the wounds. Dave nearly jerked his arm out of Dirk’s grasp. “Sorry. I’ll be fast,” Dirk promised, and Dave nodded numbly.  Cleaning finally done, Dirk started bandaging each scratch (and the one bite on Dave’s wrist).

“Really keep an eye on that one,” he said, gesturing at the bite. “Bites are even worse when it comes to cats, you can’t be too careful.”

Dave nodded mutely. Dirk was vaguely aware that the others had come in, and that Karkat watching him with an odd expression. He paid the troll no mind.

Dirk inspected Dave’s arm one last time, and, satisfied, said, “Other one,” releasing Dave’s wrist.

Dave hesitated even longer this time, and his hand shook a little as he offered it. When Dirk grabbed his left wrist, Dave flinched away hard.

“Hey, you okay?” Dirk asked, concerned.

“Y-yeah,” Dave mumbled. “Sorry, it’s, uh, reflex.” He offered his arm again, and Dirk tried holding it a little higher up this time.

As he was cleaning off and bandaging the wounds, Dirk noticed a particularly bizarre looking scar running up Dave’s left wrist; it had marks like the wound had been stitched shut, but they were messy, haphazard, and the skin all around it looked…off. Pinched and warped in a way that looked uncomfortable. Dirk nodded his head toward it.

“The hell happened with that?” he asked.

“Um,” Dave mumbled, “Got caught off guard once, and my hand got cut, and, uh. I wouldn’t stop bitching about it, ‘cuz I was worried about losing my drawin’ hand, an’ shit, so Br- fuck, uh, Dad called in a buddy of his who stitched it up. It took a really long time to heal, even stitched up, and, uh.” He shrugged. “I still can’t use it much. Wound up fucking it up worse with stitches, so good job on me for complaining, there’s a self goddamn fulfilling prophecy for you. Can’t hold a fuckin’ pencil with it anymore, or anything smaller’n a sword hilt, really.”

Dirk paused. “…Shit,” he said softly. Then, louder, “Well, when you’re off house arrest, I can talk to Mom about it. There’s no guarantee, but I’d imagine that might be fixable with surgery. Once we can get you into a doctor, it’s worth a shot.”

“….You think so?”

“It’s possible.” He put on the last bandage, then made another once-over. “Alright, that’s the last of them,” he said. “Again, keep an extra eye on the bite, infected cat bites are not something you wanna ignore.”

“……Got it,” Dave said, softly, rubbing at his wrist. “Can I…”

“You can head upstairs if you want. I just wanted to make sure the scratches got cleaned.”

“Thanks,” Dave muttered, and darted upstairs. Karkat, after a long, hard look at Dirk, followed after.

Dave settled into his room after the cat incident, more confused than ever. He’d…really been expecting that to be it. Dirk’s expression taking Jaspers down from the roof had been the one Dave had long since learned to recognize on Bro as the ‘you’re about to get your fucking ass kicked’ face. When he was pissed enough to actually look the slightest bit pissed, that’s when Dave knew he’d crossed the last line, but.

Dirk had said he’d done nothing wrong.

He’d been gentle. What the fuck.

Dave sat on his bed and stared at his arms. He’d been assuming he’d be taking care of the scratches on his own, same as he’d always dealt with his own wounds, that he’d have to figure out where the first aid kit was kept in this house without bleeding everywhere or worst case scenario make do with toilet paper. He’d not been expecting Dirk to call him downstairs not to be punished, but to patch the wounds up.

What the fuck.

Maybe no one here was going to hurt him. Even if he fucked up.

No, that was too optimistic, probably. It was probably just because he hadn’t actually broken any rules. Couldn’t let wishful thinking take him on too many flights of fantasy, or he’d wind up all kinds of fucked. Be off in fuckin’ Narnia while the Witch of the West is happily taking over the big green city, except the city would be Dave’s ass and ‘taking over’ would mean ‘beating the shit out of’.

Still, it was….weird.

(Despite his best efforts to keep himself realistic, a tiny, rebellious spark of hope flared up, warmer than anything he’d felt in a long time.)

[everlind]

I was going through all my unfinished and rejected text files (there’s… quite a few). So, instead of leaving them to collect dust on my computer, I decided hey, why the hell not. Think of these as the roughest of rough doodles. Doodles that might be missing hands. Or are all drawn in side-profile. Most of these are NOT finished. kinda based on this thing here

If there was a world’s biggest douchebag award you’d be winning the motherfucking shit out of it. But you can’t stop staring at John’s boobs.

It’s awful. You’re awful.

Hate it, that you’re not better than this, that after a fucking decade of John being John your love twizzler still goes hello ladies at the sight of John’s chest and he’s not, they’re not, it’s just him, John, your best friend and your best bro and complete full package deal asshole and god damn it, he has the cutest frickin’ boobs. You’re scum, you’re horrible and you deserve so many pinecones up your fucking ass you can out-fart a Febreze.

It’s not fair of you, because it’s hot as fuck, summer at Houston at its worst and you’re sweatier than Equius’ asscrack during a Byrne Daily commercial, so why should John have to suffer through it in his binder? He shouldn’t, is what, in fact, it shouldn’t even matter whether he wears the damn thing or not. Most of the time it wouldn’t, John’s tall and thin, like someone stacked a bunch of elbows and knees and ribs together, and topped it off with a cute face. His boobs are tiny, and under a hoodie they’d be nearly invisible. He’s wearing a t-shirt though, the old slimer one, all worn soft and threadbare around the edges. You can see his nipples.

Right about then Karkat makes an inquiring grunt, and your attention is drawn back to the screen of your computer, showing a first person POV view of a creepy dungeon.

“Where do I go?” Karkat demands, eyes huge and lamplike as he stares at the screen. His claws clack on the keys. The camera swings left, to a rickety stairs leading down into gloom, then right and up, towards a torchlit corridor.

John’s leans forward intently, nearly glueing his nose to your desktop. “Down,” he breathes.

Karkat’s left eye twitches exactly once. He goes up.

“Dude,” John scoffs.

You laugh.

It gets you a suspicious squint from John. “Why did you laugh?”

That’s about when Karkat finishes ascending the stairs, turns a corner and suddenly something is standing there, waiting. It’s totally predictable. Both of them shriek like idiots.

“UUUGHOLYAAAAA!”

“AAAAAH!”

The screen roils wildly as Karkat books it back down the stairs, then goes red as he’s attacked from behind.

John screams.“I TOLD YOU TO GO DOWN YOU ASSHOLE!”

“SHUT UP. SHUT. UP. OH MY GOD IT’S ATTACKING ME RUN YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT.”

“Oooooh no no no no NO KARKAT RUN FASTER!”

“I CAN’T SHUT UP. FUCK. FUCK THIS STUPID NO.”

You just laugh your ass off. These nerds.

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t look back,” you suggest.

“SHUT UP,” Karkat growls. “I can’t believe. THIIISISAAAAAH IT’S STILL RIGHT BEHIND ME!”

“What is that thing?!”

“D’aw I bet it just wants some sugar, you know? Poor things been stuck down there for ages, constantly dealing with these shrieking trouserwetters. Just try it, give it a hug.”

“Shut up, Dave!” John says, jostling into your side. He’s warm and damp from the summer night heat and the skin from your arms clings in a prolongued kiss.

“Where do I go?” Karkat hisses. “Fuck fuck fuCK.”

“Door!” John yells pointing at the screen. “DOOR DOOR DOOR KARKAT DOOR!”

“YES I SEE IT I SEE IT SHUT UP FUCK YOU PIECE OF FUCK. SHIT. AAAAAA-“ He opens the door, turns, shuts it behind him. “I made it. I made it. Hell yes. Fine here see? Everything’s under control. Yes.”

“Why is dark?” John wants to know. “Dave, why is it dark, is there gonna be another scary thing?”

“Naw, bro. Just some sparkly unicorns moshing it up,” you lie, as Karkat goes exploring through a labyrinthine room full of shelves.

John jostles you again.

“I found a key,” Karkat informs you, sounding offended about it. “This game is such bullshit, I fucking swear. What am I supposed to do with a goddamn key?”

Snort. “Oh, I don’t know,” John says. “Open a door?”

That’s when the scary thing makes its rather half-hearted zombie entrance, lumbering suddenly from behind a corner and groaning.

“wuuuUUWAAAAAH!!” the both of them howl and Karkat actually half-jumps into John’s lap, knocking him sideways into you and sending your bag of milky ways flying in all directions.

“Ow my boob!” John snaps, pushing at his shoulder.

“FUCK YOU,” Karkat yells, furiously slamming buttons. “Door he says, and here am I, the biggest fucking tool pile of history, actually going through the door. Fuck you, John Egbert. Fuck fucking you. Shit, shit, it’s killing me, what do I do what do I do what do I do?”

Blood splatters dramatically across the camera.

“Pause it!” John suggests, hand jammed between Karkat’s horns to peek over the top of his head.

“Oh my fucking god, that’s so you, I swear, like that’s going to fix anything,” but he pauses it all the same.

You’re nearly pissing out the mirth you’re trying to contain, this was the best idea ever, seriously, best bro night ever. But then you notice how Karkat and John are still squashed together, Karkat exhaling hard and leaning back into John, hands leaving the keys. You can see John bite his lip, paw at Karkat’s dark mop of hair again in a futile attempt to flatten it so it won’t get up his nose.

It’s so normal, so easy, and you can’t remember the last time John was close to you like that, close and comfortable. A long time. Damn Karkat anyway, for sitting there and scowling at John, for not freaking out about the elbow-to-boob thing, something you always fudge up royally, blushing and stammering an apology when it happens and it always fucking does, cause even flattened by his binder the damn things are stuck smack-dab on his chest and a prime target for accidental grazing or nudging. It’s not that Karkat doesn’t look at John, he does, but never his chest. The long, sweat-damp line of John’s throat, or even the insides of his wrists, yes. His face. His eyes. His mouth.

It doesn’t help that you saw this shit coming lightyears ago, Karkat is as transparent as the trashy novels he reads. It doesn’t help that you would never have been able to guess John’d be, well, receptive. You think. It’s been a long time since John dated. Years. A decade.

Since you.

Karkat is the better person, he fucking is, you’re jealous of how he sees John as John, just John, and you aren’t even sure whether you can say the same thing. Because you’ve known John since you both were kids and he was Joan and sometimes wore skirts to school and held your hand and kissed you.

And you fucked it up, cause you were just as young and confused as John’d been.

Not Karkat though. Karkat treats him exactly how he treats everybody else: like shit. But special super deluxe shit he’ll fight to protect to his last breath, because you’re his special super deluxe shit.

“I hate this game,” Karkat snarls. “What use is it if you can’t kill the things killing you?”

“It’s survival horror, Kitkat,” you say. “Gotta use your noggin’ and not your aggressive alien invasion tactics.”

“I’ll aggressively alien invade your word chute with my fist.”

(and that’s all I had; the end)

[blatherkatt]

Title: The Calm Is Terrifying When The Storm Is All You Know [Homestuck]

Chapter 1: Crows and Chainsaws

Summary: There were two kinds of trolls who went to Earth: rich shitheads with too much money and free time, and desperate assholes who couldn’t survive on Alternia, even with the best efforts of the young Condesce. Karkat hated the planet almost immediately, but with his home planet too dangerous for mutants, he really didn’t have any choice but to hide out on this weird little diurnal planet. At least he’d be safe. Or so he thought, right before blundering his way into an accidental friendship with the son of an anti-troll terrorist. 

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Implied abuse, mentions of terrorist activities; Illustrated

FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

Karkat had known Earth was going to be a lot different from Alternia. There’d been plenty of cheesy, overly saccharine pamphlets available at the spaceport spouting off about how wonderful and foreign the planet was, and he’d heard plenty more rumors from other trolls (“Humans are super soft pushovers!” “It’s actually against the rules to kill people there, I hear. How weird is that?” “They don’t even have quadrants! What a bizarre species.”).  None of it had quite readied him for the culture shock of actually getting there.  As soon as he’d stepped off the ship, he’d been greeted by Kanaya and Terezi, the former of whom had immediately slapped some sort of hat over his head (“It is called a ‘baseball cap’ and it will be very useful for you while you adjust to being active in the daytime,” she had said, and upon venturing outside Karkat had immediately conceded to himself that she’d been completely right. Earth’s sun may not be as vicious as Alternia’s, but it was still obnoxiously bright out). Terezi’d helped Karkat deal with the necessary paperwork, as promised, and then the two had helped him get onto a huge, smoke-belching hunk of machinery that humans apparently called a “bus” and used to travel over long distances.  

The humans set up their cities so differently from anything Karkat was used to (not that he’d ever lived in a city back on Alternia, or even visited one, but he was sure Alternian cities must have been completely different - nowhere sensible could possibly be this loud all the time), and on top of that, they were just so friendly.  The suspicious, sometimes even malicious looks some humans would shoot him, he’d been expecting. He was an alien on a foreign planet, and there’d been that invasion some seven-ish sweeps ago. But for every human who treated him with mistrust or blatant dislike, there was another who greeted him with a big smile and a cheery, “Welcome to Earth! How do you like it here?” A lot of them complimented Karkat’s hat, too, no matter how many times he had no idea what the fuck a “Texans fan” was.  

(Kanaya eventually explained that the ‘baseball cap’ bore the insignia of a local ‘sports team.’  She had no way of explaining what ‘sports’ were, though, and Terezi had followed up by explaining, “I’ve been here for five years, and I still barely understand human sports. They’re like the blood games back home, except usually without the blood, and no one’s supposed to die, which kind of feels like it defeats the purpose to me. Humans take them really seriously, though, for some reason.”)  

It seemed like a lot of the human behavior had rubbed off on the Earthbound trolls, too; all who had been there for long enough to have acclimated showed all kinds of behavior Karkat found incredibly disorienting - even Terezi had changed up a lot of her vocabulary to the Earth equivalents, and Porrim, Kanaya’s (and now, Karkat’s as well) boss, was patient in a way that Karkat was sure had to be a side effect of living on this obnoxiously saccharine planet.

His friends had been right about Earth being safe, Karkat thought. It was so safe here it made his stomach churn.

It was so different from home, and even though some part of him knew this place was better for him, he hated it. He hated it for being so incredibly, painfully different from everything he’d ever known.

He couldn’t sleep. Not even on days off, when he had the chance to sleep through the day. Porrim had provided him with some furnishings for his new, small housing in a big building (Kanaya was just up the hall from him), including a recupracoon, but sopor slime in the concentrations used back on Alternia was not allowed on Earth for some reason, and without it, he couldn’t get anything more than the most fitful bursts of sleep.  

He instead spent his first three days off from his new job as a “cashier” at Porrim’s shop watching the movies he’d brought to Earth, curled up under a massive blanket and with the curtains drawn to make his respiteblock as dark and quiet as possible.  

The fourth time a free day rolled around, however, Kanaya insisted on Karkat seeing a bit of the city, chiding him for “holing up in his room like a chastised wiggler.” After a great deal of bickering and a final, exasperated push from Porrim, Karkat found himself dragged off to some sort of communally-used, grassy stretch of land that Kanaya called a “park.”  Karkat had a lot of other words to describe the place, none of them nice.

“Why is it so fucking hot out here,” he groaned, sprawled on a leisure platform and tugging irritably at the brim of his hat. Even now, after several weeks on Earth, he still had to wear the thing every time he went outside during the day. Curse this wretchedly bright, overly hot planet and its diurnal inhabitants.

“Houston is known for being rather hot,” Kanaya answered. “Even so, from what people are saying, it is apparently unseasonably warm today.”

“Why the fuck did you make me come out here. There’s nothing to do here and it feels like the entire atmosphere is made of fucking fire.”

“The fresh air will do you some good,” Kanaya said. “This is not our final destination, in any case. There is a small shopping center on the other side of this park.”

“It’s my day off and you’re making me go shopping?”

“Not making you, no. Human shopping centers are interesting places, you’ll be surprised. There is quite a lot to do there.”

“I’ll be too busy fucking melting.”

“You wouldn’t be so hot if you had worn lighter clothing like I specifically told you to.”

“AaaARGH, get the fuck OFF ME!”  A voice interrupted the usual banter, and both trolls snapped their heads toward the source of the sound. A figure was being mobbed by several large, black featherbeasts. Dark feathers hid most of the form, keeping Karkat from getting a good look, but the occasional flash of blonde hair probably indicated a human.

Karkat and Kanaya exchanged a look. Karkat sighed and pushed himself to his feet as Kanaya pulled out her lipstick. “Just don’t like…actually cut any, okay?” he muttered. “I don’t wanna deal with seeing blood all over the place today.” Kanaya nodded, and pulled the chain on her chainsaw, striding toward the chaos. Karkat trotted more slowly afterward.

Several of the beasts immediately fled at Kanaya’s approach. The whirring of the chainsaw sent them all scrambling away in a panic save one, which seemed quite intent on clawing up the human’s hand. A near miss of a swing from Kanaya convinced the creature to change its mind, as well as startling the human into falling over.  He recovered quickly, however, pulling off a shoe and uselessly throwing it after the last retreating black form.

“Yeah, you better run!” The human shouted.  “Goddamned brainless feathery fucking assholes, Jesus Christ — holy shit would you put that thing away, lady, you’re gonna take someone’s arm off.” With the birds gone, Karkat could finally get a better look at the human. He was almost as tall as Kanaya, his hair messy. His clothes were ruffled after the ordeal, and the dark sunglasses perched on his nose were slightly crooked. A white scar stood out rather vividly on his cheek, which Karkat found surprising — weren’t humans supposed to be more nonviolent than trolls? Was this one a warrior or something?

Karkat shook off the thought. It probably wasn’t important.

“Sorry,” Kanaya said, converting her favorite weapon back to its smaller state.

The human stilled, mouthed “what the fuck,” and then shrugged. Karkat almost laughed. The technology Kanaya’s favorite weapon utilized was common enough on Alternia, but hadn’t seen much use on Earth as of yet, apparently.

“So, anyway,” the human said, fixing his shades, “uh, thanks for that. Goddamn crows won’t leave me alone, it’s fucking ridiculous.”

Kanaya beamed. Karkat shrugged. “The fuck did you do to piss them off like that?” he asked.

“I dunno, exist?” he said, moving to pick up a large bag abandoned a short ways away. “Ah, fuck me, the ground’s all fucking muddy here. God dammit, it’s not allowed to be fucking damp when it’s this hot out, fuck’s sake.” He continued grumbling to himself quietly as he hopped awkwardly to pick up his discarded shoe. He paused after retrieving it, took off his now-muddy sock, and then put the shoe back on.

“Are you alright?” Kanaya asked as the human again stepped toward his bag. He walked eerily quietly, Karkat noticed. “Those creatures had some pretty vicious looking claws-”

“Son of a fuck,” the human burst out upon reaching his bags. “Fucking crows got my sandwich, god dammit. Was looking forward to that shit, augh.”

The smallest of the beasts - crows, he called them? - started making a raucous noise from its perch in a barely budding tree. The human scowled.  

“Yeah, laugh it up, asshole! I hope you fucking choke on it. Joke’s on you, shit had turkey in it, so that’s like, cannibalism or something. Motherfucker.”

Kanaya sighed, and spoke up again. “I do not mean to push, and it sounds as if you are quite fine, but —”

“Wha?” The human finally turned his face toward Kanaya. Karkat rolled his eyes. “Oh, shit. Yeah, I’m fine. Hungry as shit, but I’ll get over it. Thanks again for saving my ass. I really gotta go, though. Bro’s gonna be pissed if I take much longer to get back.”

And just like that, the human took off, quickly disappearing from view.  

“Fucking rude,” Karkat grumbled.  

“He certainly seemed rather odd for a human,” Kanaya agreed. “In any case, we should get moving. We don’t want to be late.”

“Late for what?” Karkat said, blinking. Kanaya’s only answer was a smile.

The meeting place this time was an old, abandoned record store in the shadow of two huge buildings, because of course it was. With Bro’s flair for the dramatic, it was about what Dave had been expecting.

“He’d do it on a rooftop if he wasn’t afraid of getting spotted,” Dave muttered to himself. He adjusted the bulky duffel bag slung over his shoulder, took a quick glance about the empty sidestreet he stood on, and hopped into the building through a smashed-in window.  The place was dark and empty, at least out in the front. Bro and his cronies would be in the back room, probably, so that was where Dave headed. He was late, he knew, which meant Bro was going to be on his ass about it. What else was new.  

Sure enough, he found Bro and a handful of the usual suspects gathered in a small room at the back of the old store.  They all looked up when Dave entered, despite his every effort to walk in quietly.

“You’re late,” said Bro.

“Called it,” Dave muttered. Louder, he answered, “Sorry, Bro. Traffic was hell.” He could practically feel the weight of Bro’s annoyance at the obviously nonsense response - they all knew full well Dave had walked to the meetup. “What’d I miss?” Dave finished, dropping his bag.

“Oh, just the whole fuckin’ meeting,” drawled one of the Usuals. Some dude with a beard whose name Dave kept forgetting (only partially on purpose); Stan or Steve or something like that.

Bro tapped his fingers lightly against the half-rotten desk he was sitting on, drawing attention back to himself. “Save it. I’ll deal with him later,” he said. Dave swallowed. Called that, too. “Everybody knows what their job is today?” All the Usuals’ heads bobbed solemnly. Beardy cracked a brutal smile. Bro turned toward Dave pointedly.

“No fucking idea. Am I gonna be doing something cool? Something big? Could it just maybe, possibly, be the same fuckin’ thing you’ve been drilling into me all god damned week? We just don’t know, it’s a fucking mystery —”

Bro slammed his hand against the desk, standing. Dave jolted.

“Hit the lights, keep the getaway wagon running, don’t get seen,” he said.

“Good,” Bro said, giving Dave an almost imperceptible nod. Dave let out a tiny bit of the breath he was holding. Bro rolled his shoulder, slinging his sheathed sword across it, and twitched his head toward the door. “Let’s get going. We’re already behind schedule.”

This was no ordinary day at the human shopping center, apparently. A large banner hung above the entrance, the words “INTERPLANETARY CULTURAL FESTIVAL” written across it in both Alternian and English.

Karkat looked at Kanaya, one eyebrow raised in an unspoken question. Kanaya smiled back.  “I heard about this event from one of our customers,” she said, “and I thought that you might appreciate it. I know you have been feeling somewhat hivesick - or, well, planet-sick, I suppose? And I thought,” she said, nervously smoothing over her skirt, “that perhaps you would enjoy being able to indulge in some pieces of Alternia, and talking to some other trolls in a similar situation, as it were. I have some money for you to spend if you wish, or we can just wander around, or…”

In the end, they decided to just look around a while. Inside the huge respitehall immediately within the center’s entrance, several temporary stalls were set up, most of them manned by adult trolls. (And that was something Karkat really wasn’t used to about Earth - all the adult trolls around, not remotely a threat. Granted, Alternia had more adults on it with the new Condesce’s rule, since she no longer forced all trolls to join the military upon adulthood, but adults generally stayed out of the neighborhoods kids grew up in, and seeing them around usually meant trouble. Here on Earth? Adults everywhere, most of them completely harmless. So weird, this planet.)

A few minute’s wandering found Kanaya chatting amiably with an oliveblood and a yellowblood running a stand selling some of the smaller Alternian musical instruments. Too uncomfortable around adult trolls to engage in conversation, Karkat didn’t pay the talk any real attention and instead glanced around the big room. The ceiling in this place was really high, he noted. All around there was a low murmur of chatter, and if he paid attention, he could hear some faint music playing, probably over some intercom. Somewhere across the hall, a young brownblood was showing several marvelling human children her lusus, a big barkbeast with five eyes.

“Really? He was seen all the way out here?” Kanaya was saying. The concern in her voice brought his attention back to the three women’s conversation.

“That’s the rumor,” the goldblood said. “Dunno what the hell he’s up to out here. I told Dee maybe we should rethink coming to this shindig if he’s in the area, but she insisted.” The oliveblood stuck her tongue out at her friend, but Karkat interrupted before she could speak.

“If who’s in the area?”

Kanaya looked very nervous, as did the oliveblood. The goldblood took a quick, almost-casual look around, and leaned forward a bit.

“Strider,” she said.  Karkat stared. “You ain’t heard of him yet? He’s been a big fuckin’ problem for some time now. He’s a human, and he really hates trolls. Guy apparently fought against us in the invasion and never got the memo that we’re allies now. He and some buddies have been attacking embassies and gathering places all over the state for a few sweeps.”

“Really?” Karkat said, trying to let the breath he’d been holding out as subtly as possible, “You’re all nervous over a bunch of humans? What the hell can they do to us, friendly us to death?”

The goldblood snorted. “You’re definitely new to this planet, kid. Trust me, talk to some trolls who fought in the invasion sometime and they’ll tell you that humans are plenty scary when they want to be.  And Strider’s extra scary. Guy was about your age when the invasion started, and that didn’t stop him from killing a bunch of trolls and apparently holding up a big chunk of the invasion practically single-handed.”

“I-I’m pretty sure th-that’s an exaggeration,” stuttered the oliveblood.

“You know what ain’t an exaggeration?” the goldblood shot back, “The fact that he somehow planted a god damned bomb in that ambassassin’s room last month.”

“J-just a small one,” the oliveblood responded, but her fading voice gave away that she knew she’d lost the argument.

“And this guy’s been around here?” Karkat said. He could feel his pulse starting to race.

“It’s only a rumor,” Kanaya said. “Just some mentions of him maybe being spotted in town. There’s rumors of that sort all the time, though.”

“Don’t worry too much,” the goldblood said. “There’s plenty of other trolls on edge enough to have weapons, so even if he does show up, if you find some quiet corner to hide in, you should get out alright. Just keep your eyes open. He’s a tall guy, kinda spiky hair, always has an orange cap like yours and the stupidest fuckin’ sunglasses you ever saw.”

“I think th-they’re kind of cool,” said the oliveblood.

“You think everything’s cool, Dee,” said the goldblood.  

The two started gently bickering again, with Kanaya joining in now and then to ask about local goings-on, gossip and such, and Karkat tuned out again, lost in thought.  For a couple minutes, at least. This time, his attention was drawn not by Kanaya, but by a sharp, familiar sound.

A…A crow? In this building? The ceilings were high, sure, and from what Karkat heard humans did keep some animals indoors, but crows didn’t seem like they fit that description.

But…Yeah, there it was, across the respite hall, perched up on a sign reading “MAINTENANCE” —  a small crow, squawking away. Karkat thought its eyes flashed red in the light for a moment, and then it fled its perch, seeming to somehow vanish in an instant.  

Karkat blinked, shook his head, and looked at the sign again. He was about to give up and try getting Kanaya to move on when he noticed movement at the door below the sign.

The human from the park was there, trying to look inconspicuous while blatantly picking the lock on the door.  Karkat wasn’t sure why no one else had noticed him, actually; now that he’d noticed the human, it was pretty obvious that he was there. He started to turn back to Kanaya, but she and the goldblood were now pretty deep into whatever conversation they’d gotten into, and Karkat didn’t feel like wading through that lake of hoofbeastshit over one weird human. He rolled his eyes, and trudged off toward the kid. He was about halfway across the room when the kid got the door open and slipped inside. Karkat, suddenly curious, did his best to be quiet, for once in his life, and carefully followed after.