#mag device

[posthumanwanderings]

[ Evolution - Shade Ruins (NoPlay) ]

[atomicfoolorkillthemidols]

Howdy, Tumblr

Haven't uploaded almost the entirety of November. Will probably do the same with December lol.

Anyway, I have more art to share, but this time it's sectioned.

Evolution: The World of Sacred Device (Mag Launcher)

The Thief and the Cobbler (Tack)

Pepito (Pepito)

Cluster fuck of characters from Mexican historietas

Lucky Luke/Kid Lucky (ft. Joannie)

Gitaroo Man (U-1 and Kazuya)

Penny Arcade (Tycho) x Cotto Maltese

Actually, this drawing was made as a gift for a friend from instagram who loves Corto Maltese and Penny Arcade. I was expecting them to show the drawing on their IG stories but I haven't seen it be re-uploaded by them, so I thought I should upload it myself ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it's funny to me because although I love Tycho and haven't read the Corto Maltese comic so this shit makes me giggle cuz of how random it is. The Corto maltese art style is cool tho, I should read it.

[superthatguy62]

Relatively recently, a UbiSoft press kit circa 1999 was found. As Ubisoft published Evolution: The World of Sacred Device in the west, it contains artwork used for the game's promotion.

This includes certain pieces of art that were rarely released in good quality or on their own.

[venus-of-the-hrdsell]

Zatanna can't never catch a break from misoginistic comic fans because if it's not Constantine fans accusing her of "blocking Constantine's bisexuality" or saying she should "fix John" in the relationship, you have Batman/Batfam stans considering her a Batmom/Batwife or saying they hate her for simply being platonically involved with Bruce Wayne.

Don't get me started with people who think she's bland, emotionless and less capable and all they've read is New52 stuff and forward.

Like, she exists beyond male characters, she has a long story of being a capable magician and a adult confident woman. She's her own character and I hate how her character gets infantilised and understimated.

[pidgecv]

I’m amassing WIPs (at various states of finished lmfao help me I can’t finish anything)

[schnaf]

.

[i-identify-guns-in-posts]

PM md. 63

feds kicking down my door only to realize there was a bucket of water above it and now they’re all wet

[object44object]

what did I do to my device!!! this is so so so confusing screaming and crying

[clockwayswrites]

Not So Imaginary

Parts 1-3 Parts 4-6Parts 7-8 WC: 1177

“I brought you some more books to read,” Jason said as he entered the room.

After Danny had shown that they were clearly a person (a kid at that) and answered a few questions, they had been moved to an actual room on the Watchtower. Jason was pretty sure part of it was how he refused to leave the cell until Danny was moved, but he didn’t really care as long as it got his friend safe.

Danny looked up with a grin. They were pretty solid today, sitting cross-leg on the bed with feet and everything.

“You’re back,” the artificial voice spoke out from the tablet like device in Danny’s hands. It was a version of something called a SGD, Bruce had said, and was used by people who had trouble with verbal sounds. They didn’t know if Danny would always need it or if they’re vocal cords would come back as they continued to solidify.

“I am. B said I could stay a whole three hours today too as long as I ate a snack while I was here,” Jason said, holding up one of the bags he had.

Three hours still wasn’t a lot, but it was better than the one it had been the rest of the week. It took a lot of begging, but B finally agreed that Jason was well enough for a test to see how it went. Danny was still draining life force from Jason, and only Jason, which made certain Leaguers nervous about letting the two of them close. Jason had done everything he could to let it happen: he’d begged and argued, he’d eating everything Alfie wanted him to, he rested whenever Bruce wanted him too which was all the time, and he even agreed to stay benched for as long as it took.

That last one had really helped convince Bruce and Dick that Jason wouldn’t back down from helping his friend.

“Good. I am happy. What do you have?”

“You liked the Hardy Boys, right? I have a few more of those and I found you some science mags you might like,” Jason said as he flopped onto the bed next to Danny. He could feel the odd tingle travel up his arm as he leaned into Danny.

“Thank you,” Danny said with a wide smile. The tone of the electronic voice didn’t match the brightness of that smile, but it was alright. Jason could also feel how happy Danny was.

“You’re doing okay?”

“Yes.” There was a long pause as Danny found the right words. They were pretty quick already with preset phrases, but odder things still took longer than regular talking would. “WW took me to observation deck. We watched stars. She told me stories of stars from her home.”

“Yeah?” Jason asked, trying to keep his voice from hitching around the word. He couldn’t bug Danny with that yet. “You like her? Wonder Woman?”

“Yes.” The reply was quick, but Danny was watching Jason with furrowed brows. They pushed a sense of question through their bond.

“I’m fine. Just thinking through some shit,” Jason said with a wave of his hand. “But Wonder Woman is really cool. She’s my favorite too.”

Danny set the tablet aside so that they could run their fingers through Jason’s hair. It felt odd, what with not all of the fingers always being all of the way solid, but a good sort of odd. It seems Jason couldn’t just Danny’s concern aside.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?”

Danny let out what for anyone else would have been a sigh and gave a little nod. They shorted through the bag of books Jason had brought and found a Hardy Boy’s to hand over to Jason.

“What me to read to you?” Jason waited for the nod. Apparently it was really important to let Danny choose things right then, or so the adults said. “Okay, move over a bit, yeah? You’re hogging all the bed.”

Danny placed their hand to their chest, face screwing up in an affronted expression. It didn’t work though when Jason could feel the amusement through their bond.

“Yeah yeah, I’m a brute, now shove over,” Jason said with a laugh. He worked his way up until he was lounging against the head of the bed.

Danny didn’t move.

“You’re a brat,” Jason accused.

Danny gave a silent laugh, humor bumbling up in their bond, before they flopped over right onto Jason’s chest. Jason let a huff of a sigh, but ran his fingers through Danny’s hair like he knew they liked before he opened the book to start read about another adventure of the Hardy Boys.

It was easier to feel the drain like this, when they were so close to each other and touching. Jason had tried to avoid spelling that out too much to Bruce. He got that his dad was just worried, but he was afraid if B knew he’d tried to keep Danny away.

As it was Bruce was trying to send Danny away.

Jason brushed the thought aside, focusing on doing his best to give the characters good voices for Danny. At least it was a distraction from all the rest of Jason’s thoughts. Two chapters later the stopped to ask, “Want a break or do you want another chapter?”

Danny rolled over and off Jason’s chest to flop onto the pillow next to him and Jason froze. His shock must have been clear because Danny scrambled up off the bed until they were floating above Jason.

“No! It’s a good thing. Just… you’re getting some of your color back,” Jason explained. He should really stop staring. He should take Danny to a mirror to see or something, but it was just that… Danny was beautiful right then. He found himself reaching up to brush his finger tips of the bright freckles that were scattered across Danny’s cheeks and nose like a galaxy of stars.

Bright teal eyes blinked back at him.

Jason cleared his throat. “Right, sorry, let’s go let you look.”

Danny floated to the side, landing on their feet as Jason stood, and followed behind behind to the small attached bathroom. Jason guided Danny in front of the mirror. White was spreading into their hair now.

For a moment Jason was worried that Danny was frozen in shock, then the other leaned in close to the mirror, touching the surface before bringing their hand up to their own face. Suddenly Danny was moving, spinning weightlessly around Jason as they gave a soundless whoop.

“I know,” Jason said with a grin of his own. “Look at you! You’re really coming together now! I knew you could do it. I knew that you could come back.”

Slowly, Danny drifted back down so that the tips of their toes brushed against the floor. They rested their forehead against Jason’s.

He didn’t need words to understand what Danny was trying to say.

“Don’t have to thank me, stardust. I’ll always come for you just like you’ll always come for me.”

--- AN: Oh ho, is Jason starting to realize he has a crush? And what isn't he telling Danny? Hopefully this part is good, the weather is giving me such a migraine/making me super dizzy so my eyes are crossing some! (Yes, I'm resting, on the couch with a cat!)

I really should have made an update post for this... this supposed ficlet just keeps going! 7K now! Aaaah well. Anywho, stay delightful, darlings!

[daydreamer-in-reverie]

I think that, as a literary device, Finnick’s story is one of the most effective ones I have ever read.

When you think of victims of sex-related crimes, you so rarely think of a man.

In our modern society, we more often imagine women to be victims of such crimes. Beautiful women who are battered and bruised, their eyes holding that faraway gleam of pain and trauma. Sex-related violence against women is such a common occurrence that it is difficult to find a woman who doesn’t have intimate knowledge about it. Perhaps not every woman has been raped but every woman knows at least one who has. As young girls, we’re told so many things to try and prevent rape. Don’t go out by yourself at night. Be careful of what you wear. Don’t drink alcohol. Fight them off. And yet, if you did everything right and still fail at protecting yourself, just give in. Better raped than dead. Come home to your family and friends hurt and bruised but alive.

And it is this message that Finnick, a man, lives by.

Better taken advantage of, bruised and hurt, than dead. Better you than your parents or your siblings or Mags or Annie. Do whatever it takes to stay alive.

And, the thing is, we didn’t have to hear this story from him. We could have heard it from Cashmere.

In his propo to the Capitol, Finnick reveals that attractive Victors are pimped out by President Snow to the residents of the Capitol. One such Victor is Cashmere.

Knowing this layer of her story makes Cashmere the picture perfect victim. A woman who is repeatedly described as beautiful. She is a typical description of what a rape victim is. Suzanne could have used her character instead of Finnick’s to portray an instance so familiar to so many women and yet, she didn’t.

She chose Finnick. And I think the reason why she did that is because hearing it from Cashmere would have made the story fall flat.

Would we have blinked an eye had it been Cashmere who revealed the horrors of being a Victor? Would we have felt anything other than a vague sense of sympathy? I don’t think so. Like so many women before her, Cashmere’s story is so familiar to us that it no longer leaves that bitter taste in our mouths. We, as a society, have been so deeply desensitized to this plight that we no longer feel the same indignation we used to feel. Instead we are resigned to our fate. Cashemere isn’t the first victim of rape and she won’t be the last.

Yet to hear it from Finnick had us shocked. Finnick? A man? Attractive, to be sure, but he is at the prime of his life and yet he is a victim? Finnick, who can wield a trident so effectively he became the youngest Victor in the 75 years the Hunger Games operated, was raped? Finnick, who has literally killed people with his bare hands, was prostituted? Finnick, who cracked jokes about killing people was whored out by President Snow?

It is absurd! It is a bizarre and strange! It has to be untrue!

And yet it’s not.

Finnick being representative of that particular storyline was effective at reminding us of what it means to be victimized like that. And using Finnick, a man, instead of Cashmere, a woman, reminded us of why we have to be rightfully angry and upset about such things instead of resigned to our fates.

Suzanne Collins is an absolute literary genius.

[gammija]

I think I'm gonna turn this into the 'Gammi complains about old Discourse' post, so it doesn't keep popping up in the tag for everyone not interested pulling old cows out of the gutter

i stand by my original analysis that the emphasis with which Jonny wrote Martin saying that he doesn't just dislike burns, isn't just unhappy about burning alive? Jon? In that downplaying tone of voice that he has? but that they're Martin's "least favorite kind of pain", explicitly, he's ranked them all, and burns are way down - that that's not just happenstance, but the kind of overemphasis of information which in TMA usually means, 'pay attention, this is important'

The same way the clues for Jonahs body hopping weren't very obvious but it was always at least emphasised how weird it was for Elias to become head of the Institute, the same way Jon started explicitly talking about having a lot of scars and getting new ones 'for the collection', TMA is no stranger to putting clues or foreshadowing in natural dialogue for which there are many Watsonian explanations, but a Doylist view asks, why tell us this, now, if it could also easily be inferred from what we already know? To come back to Martin; obviously, he wouldn't like getting burned. No one does. Why then, Jonny, make this much of a big deal out of it? Is it just to set up the next scene where they go into the fire anyways, or does it serve double duty, like so much of TMA?

I'm writing this much preamble, because, well people got really mad when I suggested that with the previous evidence that the Web and Fire are arch-enemies -

MAG067, Jack Barnabas’ statement: “I looked up and noticed within the corner of the room, where there had been a spider’s web this morning, there was just a faint wisp of smoke.”

“Another held a bag that seemed to be full of candles, while a third had a clear plastic container filled with hundreds of tiny spiders.”

MAG139, Statement by member of Cult of the Lightless Flame: “The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.” Agnes burned down Hilltop Road.

MAG145: The Web ties Gertrude to Agnes, stopping the Desolation’s ritual (the only Power whose ritual the Web is known to have prevented, even when the Web knew that no single-power ritual could ever succeed anyway).

MAG147, in Hilltop Road: Daisy: "Jon said the Web doesn’t get on great with fire, and we don’t exactly have a flamethrower, so –"

MAG167: Gertrude enlists Agnes’/the Desolation’s help in order to burn her assistant Emma, who was Web aligned.

- i was going to add 'Martin's least favorite pain is burns' to my web!Martin hints list.

But I stand by it. It was a valid analysis of the information at that time, regardless of the web!Martin theory turning out to not be endgame after all

today's ep is fun ([Fondly] "Yes, Martin, you are my reason,") but im gonna take the time to complain about something minor from years ago, because when else will I get the opportunity?

occasionally people made (make? ive blocked most people who were hardcore about it so idk if they're still on it) posts arguing that Martin is a terrible boyfriend and person and Jon deserves better, and they always cite this part:

to say 'wow, how can Martin say that when he himself isn't very open either, the hypocrite!'

but if we remove the poorly edited out text, and look at the quote in its actual context...

Martin didn't just decide, 'hey, lets chide Jon on his emotional openness today'. Jon literally just read Martin's mind to know what he was thinking about - it's not dwelled on for too long, but imagine for a moment how fucking invasive that really is. compared to that, yeah, Jon doesn't share as much!

which isn't to say that he always should share everything and it's Jon's ''fault'' if he doesn't immediately tell Martin how he's feeling at every moment. just that, you know, communication has to come from both sides. so i think it was more than fair for Martin to express his concern about the imbalance, if Jon would have continued to just know what was in Martin's thoughts and feelings

[superthatguy62]

Project X Zone 3

Mag & Linear-only version:

[the-real-couchrat]

NEW CHAPTERRRRR

The Comfort of Agony, Chapter 7

For the first time in his eternal life, Alcor had been bound. He couldn't leave even if he wanted to... so it was just as well  that he didn't want to leave, right? After all, this was what Mizar wanted.

He didn't know what she was so angry with him for, but he probably deserved it.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

It was dark outside the store, but Piper swore she could feel the fluorescent lights beating down on her. She stood in line, shuffling slowly forwards until it was her turn. Dumping everything on the counter, she watched the cashier take a long look at her items before his gaze flitted up to her. The lights buzzed loud in the stretching silence - she tried for a smile.

“Hi,” she managed. “Uh, busy day, huh?”

“Hmph.” He grunted, and picked up a box of chalk. “You got a lot of these.”

“Yeah! Um - sidewalk party! We’re, uh, we’re all gonna draw on the sidewalk!”

“I see. Lot of candles, too.”

Piper laughed - it sounded way too loud. “Yeah… power outage? At my house?”

“Uh huh. And the sigil ink is for school, yeah? I hear that one all the time.”

“It’s… i-it’s, uh…” She looked at his raised eyebrow, and stretched her smile. “Look… I really need this.”

The man stayed still a moment longer… then, with a sigh and a shake of his head, he picked up the scanner. Beep, it went, and Piper tried to take a deep breath. She glanced down at the mirror in her purse, her heart pounding in her chest.

Beep. Beep. The man stuffed everything into two shopping bags and tapped his screen.

“Comes to, ah, one ninety seven, sixty six. Cash or card?”

“Card?” Piper blinked. “Oh, uh, I mean, card, yeah! Here you go - or wait, I scan it.”

After fumbling through the payment, she snatched up the bags, took her receipt, and hurried out of the store. The parking lot was dark, with glass crunching under her feet and the roar of cars speeding through the nearby highway. There was a shadowy figure smoking against the wall, and Piper tried not to look like she was walking too fast as she made a beeline for her car over at the gas station.

Once she was in, with all the doors locked, she tossed the bags onto the seat next to her and let out a huge breath.

“Oh, my stars,” she said, patting her pockets for her keys. “He totally knew what I was buying that stuff for. Do you think he’s gonna call the cops on me?”

“Probably not?” Alcor made a face. “He probably wouldn’t have sold it to you in the first place, but, uh… we should probably go. Quickly. Piper?”

“I’m working on it, where’s my- oh! In my hand!” A nervous laugh as she put her keys in the ignition. “Sorry, uh… getting a little tired, I think. Been a long day.”

“I know. We’ll be stopping for the night soon, though.” Alcor strained to peek over the dashboard. “We passed a motel a couple minutes ago, right? If you drive back that way, that’s probably the closest one.”

“Yeah,” Piper said, a little distracted as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Yeah, that’s… I’ll do that.”

It was quiet as she accelerated down the ramp, and merged back into the highway. The road stretched out endlessly ahead of her, the streetlights passed her by one by one by one; stars, she felt like she’d been driving for a lifetime. She shifted a little in her seat, rolled her shoulders, rubbed her eyes. Glanced over at Alcor, and made a face.

“So, uh,” she started, if only to break the silence. A few seconds passed as she thought of how to follow it up. “I still don’t get it. We’re summoning demons… to bind an angel?”

“Exorcise an angel, binding’s just a part of that.”

“Uh, okay?”

“It’s, uh, different.” Alcor took one look at her expression, and sighed. “I get it, this is way out of your comfort zone. But I promise, this is the safest way I can think of to get the materials. We’re summoning weak demons with strong binding circles, and we’re not even making deals with them, okay?”

“Okay…” Piper turned the wheel as she took a gentle turn. “Then, uh, what are we doing with them?”

“Nothing. We don’t need them - we need their chalk.”

“Chalk?”

She glanced at the shopping bag full of chalk they’d already bought, and he seemed to anticipate her question. “Chalk from a used summoning circle - it’s imbued with a low level of demonic essence. Once we get enough of it, we should be able to use it to trap the angel like normal chalk can be used to trap demons. We’ll need more complicated stuff later, but it can wait for when you’re not exhausted.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Piper said, slowly. “But why doesn’t normal chalk work?”

“It’s, uh, complicated.” A short laugh. “But basically, angels aren’t drawn to the physical world the same way demons are, so they can’t be bound in the same way. It’s not exactly harder, but the materials for it are different - not exactly stuff you can just buy in a store.”

“Okay…”

“The simplest way to repel an angel is with demonic essence. That’s why we’re doing this tonight instead of waiting for tomorrow - summon a few demons in your motel room and he won’t come near. You can sleep easy!”

“Sleep easy,” Piper echoed, rubbing her eyes. “I hope so.”

She was starting to feel warm sitting back in her seat; she shifted around again, turned on the AC and blasted it right at her face. She kept her eyes fixed on each road sign as it came out of the black and sped past her, waiting for that motel. Come on, she thought, any minute now…

She was so focused on the road ahead, she didn’t notice the dark figure of a car merging onto the highway and smoothly pulling up behind her. The lights came on in an instant; Piper jumped in her seat at the sound of a siren, and then her stomach dropped at the flashing blue and red lighting up her dashboard.

“Oh, shoot!” Piper gripped the steering wheel; she realised she’d swerved a bit out of the lane and quickly corrected. “Shooot… Alcor? What do we do?”

“The cops - dammit, this is the last thing we need.” Alcor strained to look out of the side mirror. “Uh, stay… stay calm? Maybe he’s pulling someone else over?”

The highway was empty but for the two of them; Piper made a face. “I don’t think he is.”

She flicked on her signal and started slowing down; Alcor blinked. “You’re pulling over?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“You can’t do that!”

“What do you mean I can’t do that?”

“You’re a missing person! He probably recognised your car!”

“Maybe he’s just here for the demonology stuff?” Piper eyed the plastic bags. “We could hide those somewhere, right?”

“It doesn’t matter where you hide it if he runs your plates, Piper!” Alcor watched in panic as they kept slowing down - he banged on the glass. “Piper! Piper, he’s gonna take you into custody! Piper-”

“What am I supposed to do?!” She snapped. “Run from the cops? I’m in a fucking Camry, Alcor!”

Alcor didn’t respond to that. Piper took a few short breaths as she turned onto the shoulder; her eyes were burning, and she rubbed them.

“It’ll be - it’ll be fine, okay?” She came to a stop, grabbed the plastic bags, and opened her glovebox. “We just act natural, right?”

“Piper-”

“We just act natural.” She tried closing the glovebox; she forced it up a few times as the plastic bags bulged. “It’s not like they can arrest me, right? I haven’t done anything wrong - I’m the one who got attacked! They can’t arrest me for getting attacked, right!”

“Piper-”

“Agh, stupid little- this is just perfect!” She slammed the glovebox one more time, and watched through blurring eyes as everything came tumbling out onto the floor. “What am I supposed to do?! I’m screwed! I’m screwed!”

Alcor spoke quietly. “You’re not screwed.” He said. “It’s gonna be okay, okay? Take a deep breath.”

Piper took in a shuddering breath, and pressed her hands to her face as she let it out. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We’ll be on the road soon, okay?” When she glanced over at him, she found a reassuring smile on his face. “Once this is over, we’ll be at the motel, and you’ll be able to go to sleep. You’ve done a traffic stop before, right?”

“...Yeah.” Another deep breath, in, and out, and then she set her jaw. She looked behind her, at the blinding white headlights shining through her back window, then over to the glovebox again. “Okay. License and registration.”

“Yeah!” Alcor watched her dig through the papers that had spilled into the footwell. “I’ll dim myself, too. I’ll look like a normal mirror, but I can keep an eye on things, okay?”

“Okay.” Piper heard footsteps just as she found her registration; she sat up, and put her hands on the wheel. “Okay, okay.” Glancing over at the mirror, she found it blank, just as he said. Chalk boxes were still strewn around the footwell, but there was nothing she could do about them now - hopefully he wouldn’t notice. Nothing to do about it now.

“Okay, okay, okay.”

She could feel her heart hammering in her chest as a bright light came up to her window. She couldn’t see the figure well behind the flashlight; but a hand reached out and knocked on the glass, and she rolled it down.

“Uh, hi officer, I just-”

Click. Piper paused at a strange noise… and then froze as the cold, hard barrel of a gun pressed itself against her temple.

     “Don’t move,” said Mag’s voice with an eerie echo, and Piper didn’t dare to breathe. From the corner of her eye, she could see the mirror light up again, could see a furious brickwork demon come roaring into view.

“Y̵̛̘̼͛̿͋̊̏̈͘ö̵͇͕͕̩̹͉́͌́̀̄̀͌̽̄͘͘͜͠ȕ̶̮̦͒͒͆̐͐̔̈̚,” Alcor snarled as the angel put away the flashlight; the pure glow of his gaze cast its own light into the car.

“Ȋ̸k̷͖o̷̮ẅ̸̘́w̴h̷̠̓��̴̲t̵̞́ ỵ̵̆ȏ̷̠u ̷̻͠d̴͚͗ĭ̸̼d. Ŷ̸̈́͊o̴̰͛̂u̸̬̱̮̇̔̐ t̴̑̈́̈͐̀̎u̵̾̈͌͋r̶̛̯͋̅̑͌̍̈́ņ̷͓̓͐̀͘̕͠͠e̶͐d h̷̀è̷r̸͂ ̵͔̃͆̽͌̾͜͠͝ Ä̴̝͇̼̮̋̋͝G̷̡̱̜̩̮̥̼̍̾̍͆͋̏Ā̴̠̽̌̈́Í̵̡̥̙̱̯͕̪̃̒͊̀̃͜N̸̗͚̜̱̤̈́Ś̶̩̻͖̺́͆̍̎̀̒Ṯ̸̨̻͍̜̹̀͒͌͗̚͜ ̵̘̼̾̃̈́̀͑̍͆Ṁ̸̪̟̍̈́̿̏̏͘̚E̶̺̝̝̺̮͕̎̅! W̷̝̲͎̥̮̪̄͒H̷̨̞͍̜͓͒̆͋̆́̈́͐͗̽̈́͋̓̈́̽̄̚ͅE̵̡̧̨̱̜͎̟̠͓̪̯̓̋͐̈́̊̂̔̀N̶̡̨̢̧̥͙̪̝̘͇̹͈̜͕̓̉̔̽̅̌̃̋͐͂̕͠ ̶̢̛̬̤̪́̈́͋̔̍̇̚͝Ḯ̵̡̩̖̺̘̩͇̞̖̣̣͐͋͑̌̐͊́̀̌̊͌̕͜͝͝ ̵̨̡̨̫̤̠̯͈̫̥̩̈́̓̒͌͜ͅͅG̶̨̭̣̤̩̼̣̩̘̹̥̼̫͊͆̋͒̈̾E̵̡̡̹̞͈̫͕̭̥͙͈̩̠̰̟͗̀̊͂̄̅̄̐͆̅͂̓̀̏̒̚͠ͅT̸̡͔͉̥̂̍̊ ̵̨̡̣͈̦̻̺̽͑̐̃͗̑̅̕͘͝Ǫ̵̨̛̪͙̫̰̤̻̟̩̰͕̍͐͛͌̈̉̃͂͆͜͝U̴̮͎̻̬̝̙̟̪͕̼͇̩̱̱̗̐̎̓̃̏͒̈͑ͅͅT̴̨̧̤͚̲̩̗͖̞͉̼̉̂̒́́͜ ̸̢̱̞̜͉̈́̿͛͊̀̊͛͛́̒̋͝Ȫ̸̱̲̪̻͈̩̫͙̮̥̠̼͐̓͘ͅF̸̧̝̼̣̮̼̾͊͗̂̎̔̇̈̄̄͜͝ͅͅ ̴̧̡̛͈͖̞̞͙̙͓̂͆͒̂̊ͅH̵̛̱͖̒̈̔͗̏͆̄̔̔̿̏̀̈́̚̚̚Ȩ̸̢̛̥͈̳̠̦̫̩̹̙̩̼̅̒̔̅̉̇Ŗ̶̛͈͈̯͖͇̖͓̟̼͈̖͒͜E̸̢̙̱̯͙̙̣̘̤̟̹̲͊̓̉͋̈̈̿͗̏̌̀̿̈́̚͜͝ ̴͖̹̜̣͚̋̈́̌̓̍̐̈̀͗̈́̕̕İ̷̙̲̺͌͛̌̋͐͘ ̸̡̨̧̝͈̹̠̦̪̞̗͈̱̪̟͇̾̉́̈̅̄̎̓̽͒̒̓̕͝͝ͅẀ̸̢͍̞͇̻̙̱̳̃̑̔͆͛̈́̔́̈́̎̚I̸͈͖̘̬̲̥̮͊͑͂͊̍̈̔͂̐̉̔̓̓͜Ĺ̶̜̯͉̪̗͕̘̳̺͙͖̊̊͐͐͒̃͗̋͊̀̿͠͝L̷̢̡͖̞̯͇̳͔̻̤̜̖̤̈́̑̒̏̉̏̉͂͘͘͝ ̸̨̡̛͓̦̳̮̺̦͉͈̘̥̓̅͂̌̓̑͑̅̓̍͠͝T̸̨̨͎͇̮͓̰̖͖̙̖̟͗̾̂ͅE̶̡̧̪̗̿A̴̢̮̺̟̭̺̝͇̲̫͔̓̒̔̅̀̅͒̄̉̇̄̿͘͝Ȑ̷̢͚̳̳͍̖̱͕̺͔̆̈́̍͋̌̃́͛͊̌̿͛̀ͅ ̴͖̋̂͌̀́̅͗̑̕Y̴̛̛̞̬̺̞̠̩͉̹̜͎̟̆̈́̿͆͑͘͜Ò̵̧̡̡͈̹̮̩͊̿͆̀́̃̊̚Ǘ̷̡̧̜̤̟͓̞̼̮̦͖͖͓̗͔̯͒́̎̽̓̏̊̀̈ ̶̢̧͙̞͉̺̱͎̙͔̠̟̲̹̠̼͆͌̾̎̈̊̅̽F̴̡̦͉̦̠͖̭̹̘̥̉̈͑̌̑̌͜͝ͅR̸̞̗̫̒͠Ȯ̴̙̳̙̽̅̾̇̐͂̈́͗̈͌͛̈̋͘̚͝M̶̢̡̨̠͎̬͉̺͓͕͚̖̮̩̗̖̒̀̂ ̸̧̢̪̞͈͍͖̠̞̱̙͉̹̳̔̊̊̈́͘L̵̢̨̡̠͉̪̼̣��͖̜̭̍͛̔̔͆̏̅͑̋͋̒̐̊̅̀͜I̶̢̨̲̼̤̭̘͖̭̼̻̲̘̥̰̋̈́͆̉̂Ṃ̸̡̢̖̲͎̱͍̮͓̱͓̰͓̆̈́̂̿̽͆̏̔̇͐͜͜ͅB̸̧̧̢̛̛̬͖̭̖͚̥̣̖̞͖̫͙̪͐̇͐̽̀͂̈͋͆͂͑͌͜ ̵̡̛̳̲͓̟̩͕̏̄̏̽̐̌͑̾̍T̵̯̗̝̘̬̙̐̈́̆̿̀̀̈́̀͒́̄̚͝O̴̼̯̊͐̅̌͛͘ ̶̨̛͚̘͎͉͛̊̍̔͒́̔̅̒̈́L̴̞̩̟̟̹͈̞̼̬̞̝͉̻̳͕̝͑̽̏̔͆̈́̾͒̓̽͘͘̕ͅI̷̡̳̜̬̠͈̭̥̥̙͖͚̫͔͌̄͐͐̃̆͋͜M̴͓̱̙̤̼̮͍͓͗͐̚͠B̶̢̲̖͙͕̊͛̇̐̀,̴̣̲͖͎̳͓̣̊̈́̽͗̂́̂͋̍́̾̈́̾ͅ ̶̞̟͖́̐̔̑Ǎ̷̛̜̻̥͚̲̫̲̩̥̗̘̩̳͇͍̇̂̈́̋͋̾̈́̕N̸̜͔͔͓̼̘̱͚̼͙̈̐̂̈̅͜͜G̶̻̘͖͙̣̃E̷̺͇̳̜̗̼͓̙̥̼̯̟̱̎͑͌͛̆̚͝͝͝L̷̰͓͛̅͊̏͆̓̋ͅ!̵̛̼̗̮͖̩͖̙̟̊͆̂͌̏̈͑̓͑̒̓͊̋͆̒͜͠ ̸̙͓̺͈͙̦͎̝̖̱͆̈́͜I̴̛̜͈͚̞̪͔͚͙̬͈̯͌͛͂́̉̈́̿́̊̈̚͝ ̸̡̧̨̫̞͈̥̳̠̰̰͕̙͚̺̈̊͗͑̇̾͊̍̈́̈́̾̑̄͛͝W̶̢̳͙̝͍͕̱͖̌̓͐̽̀̈́̕I̴̠̹͐̈́̐̎͑̓͐̈́̈́̚͝͝L̴̪̩̤͓̣̿͜L̷̢̛͉̪͍̾̿̀͊̏̓̌͊͊͗̇ ̸̮̫̺͙̹͉͖̺̻͙̤̙̜͖̋̂͐͛͒͊̅̅̐͝M̵̻̩̱̥̪̩͉̳͑̽͒̈́̅̏͊̔ͅA̸͓̱͇̫͛̂͊̑̃Ḱ̵̛͍̺͚̋͆̂̈́̀͗͑́̃̈́̒̚͝E̷̡͎͔͎̭̓̒́̕ ̵̪̠̘̿̆̀͂̈́̓̂͛͐̿͌̉̃͆̚͜Ỳ̸̢̛̼͕͈͙̟̩͓̼̣͇̹̀͛̍̔͑͆͊͋̑̚͜Ớ̷̧̠̟̺̘̜̖̼̫͇͔̣̣̦̫̥̝̏̈́͆̽́̔̊̿͆̂̍̕̕͠͝U̷̔́͒ͅ ̴̯͍͌̆͐̇̌͗͗͐̃̽̽Ẅ̷̧̢̢͔͖̳̤̳̜̦̖̝̱̺͖̲͔́̍̆̔̽I̶̛̩̫͈͍̬̤̗̹̽̚Ş̶̧̠̠̬̝̪̹͔̣̱͖̱̋̄̑́͝H̷͎̩͍͔̥̫̗̓̍̈́̄̉̉͂̀̅̏̾͗͐̓͜͝ͅ ̵̨̢͚̻̬̤̝̤̠̰̦̞̥̭̻͂̅̽̾̌͜͜Y̸̧̙̰͍̣̹͍̏̓̓͆͗̊̈́̇̈́̄̊̒͜͠Ō̵̞͔͈̜͙̂̅̅̂͗̏̀̂̑̕U̴̞͍͕̗̣͋̊̒͌͂̓̀̃̓͘ ̵̱͖͖̰͕̦̰̪͔̺̜̖̤̮̝̊̅̀̍͋̋̒̊̈́̋̔̓̕H̸̨̧̨̛̭̼̠̮̣̝̬̟̱̭͐̋̋̈͆̉̎͘̚ͅĄ̷̙̗͓̱̘̼̗͈̪̣͔̓͊̈̊̽̄̋̅D̵̠̝̗̖̱͓̋ ̵͕̞̪̎̐͛̒̀̋́̄̑̓̾͝͝N̵̛̛͙̮͙̠̗̲̥̙̬̻͔̱̘͍̐͛̿̾̎͗̅̎̎̎̈̃͝͝Ȇ̸̙͍̺̠̻̙̫͖̿̓͗̇̀̌̕͜ͅṼ̵̢̢̘̯̘̻̫̞̲͍̳̥͚̬̟͗͊E̸̘͚̣̲̱̭̪̥̱̗̔͌́̚͠͝͝͝͝R̸̘̜͇̈́͛̒ ̴̢̧͉̟̹͉̙͉͙̣͔̥͇͖̭̇̇̐̔̅͂̃̓͛̔̇͘̚͘͝͝͝B̵͇̬̮͚̟̤̹͕͙̫͒̀̐̃̏̽͊̇̕Ē̴̢̛͋̑̀̎̉̈́́͌͐̓͆̕͠͠Ę̵͍̟̭̬͋̒̔̇͝N̴̨̢̨̳̜̥͖̖̫͍̯̔̐̈́̉̋��͗͐͑̊͑̑̅̀͆̑͊ ̴̠̟̖͓̞̲̊̆̈͗͛͂̄̌͑̔͘̕͘C̵̰̝̒̒̄̅̕R̵͕͇͓̫̭̘̯̦̙͖̱̱̬̙͑̋̿̓͑̌̌̈́̀͜͠͝E̸̲̰̰͙̼̟̼̥͂̅̽̋͌͗̋̐͜͝A̵̭̥͍͐͗̈́̐͋͝͝T̷̝̼̼͍̰̞͇̩̬̩̣͛̎̍̋͛̆̈̍̕͘ͅE̶̡̡͎̩̼͙͕̟̲̔̒̌̋̀̋͋̇́͋̆͗̽̌̋̕̕D̵̡̨̮̯̱̠͎̣̟̘̥̙͈͙̰́̇̊̓̍̏̔́̚ͅͅ!̶̛̤͙̖̌́̈́̌̌̐́̓̈́̿̕͘ ̸̧͕̫̺̠̣̘̥̫͖̹̐͌̊́̔͜I̷̺̼̪̲̥̣̘̎̾̇̿̄͐͘ ̴̫͔́̋͒̃W̵̺̊͐́͆̀̋̍̚͘I̷̛͓̝͓̖̤̬͕̣̙͚̊̆̒̑̇͐L̷͎̎͂̀͊̔̆̍͋͋̍̂̂̃̚͠͠Ľ̵̲̳͙͔̖̍̑̓̽̔̕͝͠ ̴̨͕̙̦̳̟͕̟̱̮̲̫̀̏̃̆̕͜͝͠H̶̟̥̤̖̐̓́̎͛͠͝ͅȖ̶̺̙͍̹͓̝͙̦̔̈͑́̋͝ͅǸ̷̹̼̪͎̤̞͓̝̦̰̿̍̈́͗͌͒̍̕̕Ţ̵̨̤͚̬̖̮̈́͊͐́̽̈́́̀̄̕͜͠͝͠͠ ̶̡͕̤̝̫͚̝̮͕͕͋̀̄͂̈̒ͅY̴͔͉̞͌̅̅̀̃͋̂̐͝͝O̴̢͑̉̒̽̒̍̿̌̌̇͛͆̌͠U̷̢̢̟̖͕͓̱̘̘̝̘̱͋̓͂̎̊̊͒̓̑̏̍͒͜ ̴͙̰̜̘͙̭̪͔̱̞̔͋̒͌́͛̂̈́͋̄́̐͗̕͜D̶̯̖̺̃́̈́̏́̈́͊͗̐͑̒̐̐̿̃͘͝O̵̧̳̟̜̳̞̐̐͋͊̈̒̇́͗̀̎͘͠͠W̸̧̟̱̹͈͇̰͔͈̥̠͔͔̔̐͌̈͗̓̀̈́̋̒͒̕͜͝͠͝Ṋ̴͕̩͌͋̒̅̚ ̶̧̛̩̝͎̗̘̊̐͒̂̃̍́͆́͝T̷̢̰̗̫͙̥͎̱͉͖͉̿͜͜ͅƠ̵͍̓̀̆̓̇̆͊̿͑̂̾̚̚͠͝ ̸̺̂͋̀Ț̶̛̠̰͈͕̗̗͚̭̜̈͐͋̈́͐͒̀̈́͘ͅH̸̛̻͙͚̱̪͖͚͚̟̾̈̓͆̇͌̍̎̊̍͝͝ͅÊ̶̦̝͖̪͖̗̻͚̼̥̓ ̵̧̮̻͚͚̪͛̊́͒̃̅͑͐̈̅͊͗̈́͝Ě̶̢̝̳̟̬̫͚̗͓̖̱̮̳̳͓̑̒̓̋̽̈́N̶̢̪͚̣͓͎͇̪͕͉̗̏̀̈́̑̂͑͘͝D̸̛̛̛͇̈̾̍̑̽̀̐̏̀͒̓͘͝S̴̡̨̡̛͕̰̼̠͉͇̗̥͇͖̳̈̽͌̒͗̎̾̈̒̇͊̋͝ ̸̲͈͎̄́̉̋̎̂̈́͘͘͠͝Ǫ̵͚̬̮͉̻̙̭̦̠̘̞̦̉ͅͅF̴̢̧̫̤̘͚͚̟̊͗͗̈́̓͛̀͜ ̶͚̲̲̓̏̀̂͛͆Ţ̴͙̦̞͇͔̹͎̝̲̳͖̗̳̲̇̔̾̊H̴̡̻̺͖̘͈̩̭̦̤̪̱̭̭̙͇̿̂̉Ę̶̛͖̱͎̜͉̗͔̗̱̜̭͛͑̏̈́͛̎̈͛̐̋̔ ̴͍̟̘͈̩̞̩̄͒̋͊̍͑͋͆̊͒̆̋͒̓̈́̚E̵̘͗̃́̌͂A̴͍̳̩̪͖̠̭̼͔͍̳͐͗͝ͅŖ̵̪̙͔̲̱̀͋̒̾Ţ̸̨̛̫̬͕̾͂͆͐̈́̔̚̚͘͝H̴͓͍̗͗̾̈́̀,̴̧̼͕̪̦̘͚̦̺̹̼͈̣́̂̓̔̒̈́͝ ̶͖̺̈̇̈́̐̊͑̚̕

Piper squeezed her eyes tight as Alcor descended into a furious static - she could smell the burnt plastic of the car seat, could feel his words tearing at her eardrums. And the gun to her head… Oh, god, she thought. Oh, god, oh god, oh god. This couldn’t be real. She was dreaming. Please let her be dreaming.

But when Alcor’s fury finally died down, the gun pressed harder.

     “Open your eyes.” Mag’s voice was flat. Emotionless. “Look at me.”

Her heart was beating like a rabbit. She couldn't get enough air in her lungs. Oh god oh god oh god-

     “Look at me or die.”

Those icy words cut through her panic, and she opened her eyes, looked into the pure white light of the angel’s gaze. Mag’s face was completely obscured by the brightness; all she could see of him was the tattered orange jumpsuit on the arm holding the gun. A terrified whimper escaped her lips; she wanted to cover her mouth, but she didn’t dare move.

The angel stared at her for a moment, its alien gaze raking down her form. Then it spoke again.

     “This is the end of the chase.” It said. “I let the air out of your tires. I cut your brake lines. I have total control, and I will kill you the second you step out of line. Do you understand?”

Piper could feel a sob welling up her throat. She just nodded.

     “This is how you survive. I will tell you exactly what I want you to do, and you will do it immediately. Look at me. Do you understand?”

Piper looked at it, looked at those terrible eyes. And as she did, she realised she could see just the barest hint of something underneath catching its glow; she could see Mag’s lips, twisted up into a garish smile.

A smile. It was enjoying this.

     “Do you understand?”

Piper swallowed back the bile rising in her throat, and nodded. From the corner of her eye, she could see something move in the mirror.

“Piper…” Alcor started - but what could he say? The barrel of the gun pressed ever harder against her temple, and he fell silent.

     “The plastic bags.” said the angel. “Wrap them around the mirror, but do not touch it. If you touch it, I will kill you.”

Piper was terrified - terrified of the angel, and terrified of a hot, reckless anger building in her chest. Calm down, she thought. Don’t get yourself killed, she told herself.

(Like it’s not going to kill you anyway, it whispered back. You’re just another Scarlett.)

     “Do you understand?”

Piper struggled to look at those eyes. She bit her lip, and nodded.

     “Good. Do it now.”

The barrel pulled back a fraction, and Piper worked quickly. She dumped everything out of the plastic bag, spread it over the mirror, and turned it inside out to fit it in. Alcor watched her worriedly.

“Piper?”

The handle was still sticking out. Piper emptied the other bag, and pulled it tight over the handle. The plastic bulged a bit at the point; she picked it up, and looked back at the angel.

     “Good,” it said, those eyes moving as it nodded. The gun was still pointed right at her head. “You may redeem yourself yet, child.”

(Redeem herself, snarled a voice inside of her. The fucking audacity.)

     “Now hand it over, and I will let you go.”

“Piper?” Alcor’s voice was high and panicked as she started to move. “Wait, Piper, you can’t! Please, he’ll kill you, he’s lying! Piper, please!”

Piper paid no attention. The plastic crinkled as she presented the mirror to him, handle first.

“Piper, think of your Dad! Think of Mag!” A hand was coming forwards, reaching for the mirror. “Remember what he did to Scarlett, you can’t hand me over! Piper!”

Piper held the mirror steady as the hand came forwards, forwards, milliseconds passing like minutes as the blood pounded in her ears. She waited, waited until the hand was right over the mirror, waited until the fingers were curling around the covered handle and take him away from her forever - and then she moved. In the blink of an eye her hand tightened on a fistful of the plastic bag and she wrenched it back with all her strength; the bare handle pierced through the bottom of the bag just as the angel’s hand grasped it.

Demonic essence. For a terrifying instant, Piper thought it hadn’t worked; he didn’t burn, but after a moment his whole body tensed up like he’d touched a live wire. He stumbled back with a strangled yelp, tearing the mirror from her hands and dropping it on the tarmac as his hands moved up to grasp his head.

Piper didn’t want to get out of the car, but she had to; she opened the door quickly, scurried over to the mirror, picked it up, and rose to her feet just as-

“Piper?”

Mag’s voice. Mag’s voice, and when Piper looked up at him she saw his eyes, wide and confused, shining only dimly from the light of the moon.

“What…?” He blinked a few times, frowning as he tried to make sense of the situation. His arm was still extended, and the confusion shifted to a growing horror as he realised he was holding a gun, pointing it right at her. “Piper? I don’t- agh!”

His eyes flashed, and he dropped the gun and went down to his knees. Piper stood there frozen, but she could feel a spike of urgency from the mirror; Alcor’s presence was pooling into her whole body, not taking over yet but standing ready.

“We’ve got to go,” he said. “Now.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted towards her car, jammed herself into her front seat, turned the ignition and felt it roar to life.

She stomped the accelerator, and the car started going; but only at a crawl. The engine revved loudly - the dial went into the red - but it struggled to pick up speed.

“Piper!”

“I’m going!” The car shuddered as she turned it back to the highway. “Something’s wrong with it, I don’t know-”

A hand slammed down onto the side of the window. Piper caught a glimpse of furious white; a gun aimed right for her face, but she made it onto the tarmac and picked up a burst of speed. BANG! Her ears rang, her windscreen shattered, and the angel was dragged off its feet, hanging onto the door by his fingertips as they made it to fifteen miles an hour.

“Oh, my god.” Piper said, but she couldn’t hear her own voice through the ringing. She glanced to the side and saw him still hanging on as they broke twenty. “Oh, my god!”

His hand was over the open windshield; she tried to roll it up, but he was too heavy for the motor. Twenty five, and the whole car was shaking and juddering - she didn’t know how much longer it was going to run. They needed to get away from him before it gave out.

Alcor was saying something. She couldn’t make out his words, but it made her look down at the mirror. She grasped it firmly, raised it up above her head, and brought the edge down hard on his fingers. They slipped but held; there was a cry of pain, and another BANG that felt like it was tearing right through her eardrums. She cringed as she raised the mirror again, and brought it down with all her strength.

This time, the angel was dislodged; Piper felt the car pull hard to the left as the weight fell off the side. She struggled to correct it - nothing happened when she tried to brake, but she had just enough room to turn away from the guardrails and right herself.

And there she was. Alive. She stared forwards, eyes wide, chest heaving, heart hammering in her chest. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The whole car was shaking; she could see broken glass from the windshield shuddering off the dashboard and falling onto her lap. The display was a flashing mess of warning signs.

She sat there for a moment, stunned. A sign passed them: COZY JOE’S CHEAP MOTELS - 5 MILES

A blink, and then a blink again.

Piper stayed there frozen for another moment, and then reached forwards, and turned on her hazards.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

what do you think is the line between friends and moirails for trolls? I was never sure how to feel about it, it seems so nebulous. also any idea what's with feferi trying to invite kanaya and karkat into the horn pile with her and sollux? like based on the description of moirallegiance that sounds like... infidelity. but it didn't seem like the trolls reacted that way.

What it ultimately comes down to is the fact that Homestuck is a story, and furthermore, one pervaded by things like fate and destiny, which are real and exist within its universe, and therefore, the moirails for each of our trolls has already been decided by destiny (the author).

But also, in a less meta way, the confusion you're feeling likely stems from the fandom misconception that a moirallegiance is just an extra best-friendship, which it is NOT. The stated function of a moirallegiance is to calm each other the fuck down, in order to prevent them from hurting themselves or others. It's this pacifying effect, and not whether or not they hop into piles and talk about feelings, that defines a moirallegiance.

Trolls are a very angry and violent race. Some are more hot-tempered and dangerous than others, to the extent that if left to their own devices, they would present a serious threat to society, or even to themselves. Such trolls will have an instinctive pale attraction to a more even-tempered troll, who may become their MOIRAIL. The moirail is obliged to pacify the other, to function as the better half. The two partners in a strong pale relationship will serve to balance and complement each other's emotional profiles, and thus allow their other relationships to be more successful.

Piles of stuff and feelings jams in them are associated with moirallegiance, but are not "something you only do with your moirail" - like getting coffee or holding hands are associated with dating your matesprit/human romance partner, but not exclusive to them, and, in many cases, not a form of infidelity (although they can be). For what it's worth, Eridan does call Gamzee's horn pile in the middle of the room a "vvulgar display," like Gamzee's chucked porno mags everywhere:

ERIDAN: wwhat a fuckin vvulgar display this is ERIDAN: airin out all his dirty laundry like that puttin a big fuckin pile a horns in the middle of the room ERIDAN: at least i got the upright basic decency to hide my shitty wand pile somewwhere in the lab you wwont find it dont evven bother lookin KARKAT: WHY DO YOU ASSHOLES HAVE PILES OF THINGS, JUST STOP.

So what Feferi's doing with Sollux is less "hey, come cheat with me on Sollux," and more "hey, wanna third wheel our date?"

Moirallegiance is about the "instinctive pull" and the pacification of both partners. Also, moirallegiance is very much romantic. The comic uses the word "platonic," but I think what it means is "chaste" - moirallegiance is not involved in reproduction, so there is no requirement or social expectation for physical intimacy; however, if it weren't a form of romance, it wouldn't exactly be a type of troll romance, would it?

Failed moirallegiances do not have this calming effect: Kanaya doesn't stop (or even really attempt to stop) Vriska from doing her Vriska bullshit at all, and in fact Vriska gets MORE agitated when talking to her:

AG: Ok, so you're spying on me. Kind of creepy! Man, m8y8e you should get a l8fe. AG: Or you know, if you're so h8gh 8nd might8 an8 th8nk you're so gr8at, m8y88 you c8uld oh I d8n't kn8w........ AG: TRY AND ST8P ME FROM DO8NG B8D THINGS????????

The same can be seen with Feferi and Eridan:

CC: Is t)(ere a lucky lady you are waxing scarlet for? CC: OR LUCKY F-ELLOW??? 38O CA: uh CC: Tell me! CC: Don't pretend you're all -EMBARRASS-ED SUDD-ENLY!!! CA: ok fef CA: this is NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS

And with Karkat and Gamzee:

KARKAT: DON'T YOU START WITH ME KARKAT: DO. NOT. START WITH ME. KARKAT: I WILL GET YOU IN A HEADLOCK SO TIGHT IT WILL BE A MIRACLE IF PEOPLE DON'T MISTAKE OUR TUSSLE FOR AN ILL CONCEIVED VENTRILOQUIST ACT. KARKAT: I WILL SHOOSH YOU AGAIN, SO HELP ME GOD. I WILL SHOOSH YOUR CLOWN ASS TO SHANGRI-BULLSHIT-LA AND BACK, AND FILL YOUR EAR WITH MY WHITE HOT PALEBRO SPITTLE. KARKAT: I AM FULL AND FUCKING WELL PREPARED TO GET CONCILIATORY WITH YOU AGAIN IF YOU SO MUCH AS PASS GAS MURDEROUSLY, DO YOU UNDERSTAND? KARKAT: IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT??? DO I NEED TO CALM YOUR FAYGO-STICKY TENTSQUATTING SHIT DOWN AGAIN???? GAMZEE: naw brother, i was just about to all say for you to try and get your settle down on, maybe. GAMZEE: :o(

And what makes Equius and Nepeta so successful is that Nepeta keeps Equius's tendency towards fury in check, while Equius keeps Nepeta out of harmful situations (although he's maybe doing a bit too much of that and could afford to step back):

EQUIUS: D --> As such, he is prone to being more violent and unpredictable than any of us EQUIUS: D --> Not everyone has been as lucky as I in the domain of moirallegiance

AT: iT'S PROBABLY FOR THE BEST, AT: tHAT YOU LISTEN TO HIM, AC: :33 < i dont know AC: :33 < you think so? AT: wELL, AT: iF YOU DIDN'T LISTEN TO HIM BEFORE, AT: yOU MIGHT HAVE PLAYED GAMES WITH US BEFORE, AT: aND SOMETHING BAD MIGHT HAVE HAPPENED TO YOU,

And Feferi and Sollux work because Sollux is prone to excessive self-loathing, which, mixed with his mage powers of prophesying/invoking the future, make for a cocktail of potential harm to himself and others. Talking with her keeps his head above the water (heh) and forcibly prevents him from wallowing in self-loathing:

SOLLUX: anyway, yeah, now that aa ii2 gone forever ii feel more depre22ed and u2ele22 than u2ual, and ii wa2 already pretty cod damn u2ele22 two begiin wiith, let'2 face iit. FEFERI: But I )(ave it on good aut)(ority t)(at s)(e is fine! FEFERI: Everyt)(ing is going to go swimmingly, YOU'LL S-E-E. 38) SOLLUX: you are 2o riidiiculou2ly optiimii2tiic iit'2 kiind of 2iickeniing, why do you even put up wiith me? SOLLUX: iif you weren't 2o great ii would thiink you were a fuckiing iidiiot for liikiing me. SOLLUX: 2o, ii gue22 thank2 for liikiing me?

But even though these moirallegiances are ultimately doomed, there is some amount of pacification going on, making it difficult for the trolls to tell in the moment whether or not their pale relationship is true (Karkat does manage to stop Gamzee from murdering people, for example, but fails to address his religious beliefs and underlying trauma, whereas Gamzee can't calm Karkat down at all, so they end up drifting apart after the initial Major Problem has been settled).

The fact that it's a blurry line even for trolls is explicitly stated:

It's often ambiguous especially among young trolls whether a bond formed between an acquaintance is true moirallegence, or the usual variety of platonic involvement. Furthermore, romantic intentions of a more flushed nature can often be mistaken for paler leanings, much to the frustration of the suitor.

So this is kind of by design - part of adolescence, keeping in line with Homestuck's coming-of-age themes, is the messy romance. If it were easy to piece together, it wouldn't be true to life.

HOWEVER, that all being said, special notice does have to be taken of the way moirallegiance - moreso than even the other three quadrants - has an air of DESTINY about it. Trolls believe that every troll has one destined partner for every quadrant:

But if there was one theme to be hammered through his thick skull, it would be the trolls' cultural preoccupation with romantic destiny. Yes, the romantic landscape is rife with false starts and miscues and infidelities, red and black. But every troll believes strongly that each quadrant holds one and only one true pairing for them, and it is just a matter of time before the grid is filled with auspicious matchups through the mysterious channels of TROLL SERENDIPITY. In short, their belief is that for each quadrant there exists a pair or triad of trolls somewhere in the cosmos that were…

MADE FOR EACH OTHER.

So there's already a setup in this comic, which is so rife with prophecy and foreshadowing, that every troll is eventually going to end up with their true love/true hate - but even out of the four quadrants, moirallegiance is given special weight: first of all, it is the only quadrant that is literally translated as "soul mates":

This quadrant presides over MOIRALLEGIENCE, the other conciliatory relationship. A reasonable human translation would be the concept of a soul mate, but in a more platonic sense, and with a more specific social purpose.

And second, it's called "mysterious" or "magical," even in direct comparison to black/red:

CG: AND ALL THE NUANCES OF PITY MANIFEST AS VARIOUS OTHER KINDS OF FEELINGS LIKE WHATEVER CHEMICAL REACTIONS TRIGGER MATING FONDESS OR THE MYSTERIOUS FORCES THAT ARE BEHIND MOIRALLEGIANCE.

You then proceed to have the rest of this conversation we already read, bugging and fussing and meddling through the special and magical union one can only describe as being in moirallegiance with another. At least, you guess that's how you would describe it. Maybe. Troll romance sure is confusing!

And we can't forget:

Such trolls will have an instinctive pale attraction to a more even-tempered troll

Which lends to the idea that there's a biological compulsion towards needing a moirail, same as how there's a biological draw towards finding reproductive partner(s).

But this is why I always tend to use "destined for" when discussing moirail pairs, and also why I focus specifically on which individuals calm other individuals the fuck down - like how Gamzee says he "feel[s] so at chill with" Tavros, or how Karkat goes from completely losing his shit to "yeah, so that's it i guess" after talking to Eridan.

[saintbleeding]

[ID: Transcript excerpt from MAG 142: STATEMENT GIVER: "No! No, I’m not! Of course I’m not – It felt like – Like I was throwing up all those feelings again, and I wanted to, to scream, but instead I just sat and calmly told him my life story, and he just watched me. His eyes, like – His eyes were li-like drinking in every fragment of my misery. I can’t – It – (pause) And then it was over. And he looked – He looked at me like he’d just eaten, like, a perfectly cooked steak. You know what he said, he said “Thank you.” Thank you, just like that, like – like reliving the worst parts of my whole life were just a bit of a favor that I’d done him. And then he left, and, and I-I just sat there, and cried for a while. (sniff) That wasn’t the end." End ID.]

the argument can and has been made that maybe jon tells jess tyrell he works at the institute as a mechanism to maybe accidentally-on-purpose get caught or externally stopped. and that is tasty and i dig it. but also i cannot help but think that there is a distinct possibility that he says this, like this, as some sort of internal coping device: you don't have to face up to the full scope of the ramifications of your actions if you don't explicitly acknowledge that you think it's wrong what you're doing. (after all his grandmother likely a) never apologised and b) seemed to sleep just fine) like. this just feels like such an attempt at distancing and compartmentalising and turning it into a sterile little transaction.

augh babygirl you are so unwell