Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at

http://download.archiveofourown.org/works/741936.
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Explicit
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M/M
Homestuck
Eridan Ampora/Equius Zahhak
Equius Zahhak, Eridan Ampora
First Time, Piercings, Size Kink, Gills, piercings in places there
shouldn't be, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Hermaphroditic Trolls,
Tentabulges, Asphyxiation
Part 8 of a distrait life of mistakes
Published: 2013-03-30 Words: 16250

Breathe In
by faithbegetsfaith
Summary

In which Equius Zahhak fails at kismesissitude and quadrants and sex, and Eridan Ampora
makes it worse before making it better.
No SGRUB AU, post successful coup, featuring Eridan "Fiddlesticks" Ampora, Equius
"Oh Dear Me" Zahhak, the entire crew of the Morrigan, Russel "FML" Zephyr, and guest
appearances by Sollux "I'm An Asshole And Proud Of It" Captor, Nepeta "Don't Worry
You'll Be Dead Before You Feel It" Leijon, The Psiioniic's massive lineface and Karkat
"Oh My Fucking God, This Can't Be Happening" Vantas. Also sex, highblood mores and
space battles.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes

You do not want him in your ship.

In the long, never-ending list of things you do not want in your ship, Eridan fiddlesticks Ampora
ranks solidly at the very top. Hes crass, vulgar, arrogant, and impertinent. He will bring discord to
the delicate workings of your ship and disrupt the careful routines you have instilled in your men.
The Morrigan works with clockwork precision, but now you will have to bring him into your ship
and put up with whatever he wants. He will ruin the perfection you and your men slave
yourselves away to maintain. You do not want him here, you would absolutely refuse to do this,
but you already gave your word.

Were you a lesser troll, you would collapse in your chair as you watch the Leviathan rise from its
place in the docks and elegantly disengage the station in a downright artful manner. It dwarves
your ship nearly three times over, but you cannot spare a moment to admire the orchestrated
maneuvers or to sprawl in your seat and bemoan your miserable life. You gave your word, and
you are sure there was something in the sharpness of Vantas voice that promised you horrors far
beyond the imaginable if you failed him. You will not, on principle alone, but you do not like it,
the way he bends and curls so easily to Amporas whims. It is madness, absolute, irrefutable
madness, for one such as the High Chancellor of Alternia to openly declare himself matesprit to a
convicted traitor. It has been sweeps now, spent in terse, almost brooding silence, but you are not
satisfied. You know, deep down, that you will not be satisfied until Ampora pays for his crimes
like he should have, with his life. The Empress infinite mercy and Vantas misguided pity should
not have been enough to spare him.
And now you have to bring him into your ship.
You heave a put upon sigh, and consider the idea of sending someone out to fetch him for perhaps
two seconds before you decide that can only end in disaster and resign yourself to the fact you will
have to do it yourself. You leave a few standing orders in the bridge before heading out, quietly
wishing Nepeta were around. You dont know how youre going to get through with having
Eridan fiddlesticks Ampora in your ship without denting something and running out of towels.
You walk down the corridor connecting the hangar with the cluster of trams connecting various
areas. Trolls scramble out of your way, but you dont really pay them much attention, busy with
your thoughts. It is perhaps half an hour before you find yourself walking into the entertainment
sector, and another forty minutes before you find the right bar.
Hes sitting in a corner, and you almost dont see him because he has a yellowblood woman
sitting in his lap. You take a moment to let the scene properly sink in. Then you realize she has a
knife in her hand, and youre moving before you can really think about it, because if he gets
himself killed it will somehow be your fault and Vantas will be livid. You storm up to where he is
and pick up the woman by the back of her shirt, swiftly pulling her off his person and letting her
drop on the floor a few feet away. She takes one good look at you before absconding. Good,
youre not in the mood to deal with that kind of nonsense.
Eridan stares at you, clearly bemused by the sudden turn of events. You scowl at him, trying to
look your most intimidating, and get a good look at him. He looks considerably less thin than last
time you saw him, but still very much scrawny. Theres a mean spirited tilt to his smile, and
several more steel rings hanging off his fins than you remember. It has always struck you as odd,
that the only jewelry he seems to wear these days is made of steel. Nonetheless, wearing jeans and
a nondescript shirt, he is hardly something to look at, even if he cant hide his highblood heritage.
The lack of violet in his clothes also tickles your annoyance. Its not proper, for a man of his
station, to let himself be seen in public like that.
He just blinks at you, behind those ridiculously thick glasses that make his eyes look slightly larger
than they really are, and snorts. You find yourself twitching slightly as he simply reaches for his
drink and takes a swing from it, utterly unruffled by the whole affair. You are aware, peripherally,
that youve become the center of attention. You find you dont really care. But before you can
find the right words, he opens his mouth.
I know it might be a bit hard for you to understand, Zahhak, but some of us are not stoic slabs of
muscle and sexual frustration. You feel a faint sheen of sweat gathering in your brow as your lips
purse in a displeased expression. Ampora goes on, sprawling back in his chair with an air of ease
that sits unpleasantly in your gut, seemingly uncaring of your opinion. I happen to be one of
those trolls that actually likes to fuck. A lot. I had something sweet going on, there, so why dont
you tell me why the fuck you decided to swoop in and fuck it up for me?

You owe him nothing. Nonetheless, theres something infuriatingly commanding in his voice, as
you realize hes not nearly as drunk as you originally assumed he was.
I had not known you intended to get stabbed, you snap acidly, feeling yourself twitch in
annoyance.
Matter of fact I was, he snaps back, and something in the back of your pan twists in
acknowledgment to that, because were in a run down, shithole of a bar on the eve of drone
season. Stabbings a good way to get the show on the road, since no one here has time for
elaborate five-act, two-betrayals and three-double-crossing blackmances. So thanks, sir, that was
the single most melodramatic cockblocking move Ive been subject to in my life. I hope for your
own sake you have a damn good reason to have done that.
You stare at him, bewildered. Out of all the possible answers, you did not expect that. He sounds
like hes both inherently familiar with the process and casually in control of it, to the point you
wonder how many times hes found himself prowling about in such a place, getting shows on the
road and then in any dark corner
How utterly repugnant.
You shove the improper thought to the furthest corner of your mind and instead glower at him
threateningly. He arches an eyebrow at you, but otherwise remains unmoving.
Your matesprit, you say, emphasizing the word just so, and knowing better than to name
Vantas in a place like this, when you are already under so much scrutiny, has graciously arranged
for you to leave aboard the Morrigan.
A funny thing happens, then. You expect him to argue or complain or be otherwise disagreeable
about the arrangement. Instead, the smirk falls off his face and he blinks again, shuffling to sit
properly.
That is a damn good reason, he says after a moment, before reaches out to knock back the last
of his drink. Then he stands up, brushing invisible lint off his shirt and sticking his hands into the
back pockets of his pants. Didnt realize hed sent you, of all people. He frowns somewhat as he
starts walking to the door. Why didnt you ask me to go to the ship instead of picking me up?
Theres still time.
It takes you a moment to realize youre following him on autopilot, and you hate yourself a little
for it. You take the lead in two strides, and refuse to think about his question. In truth, that is
exactly what you should have done. It just did not occur to you to do so. Or if it did, you simply
assumed he would have ignored you or tried to make a scene over it. Dealing with him is so
exhausting.
I did not realize you do this so often, you say instead, tone just barely snide.
He snorts again, slouching forward somewhat. His posture is tense, underneath the apparent
carelessness of it. You dont like it. Then again, the only thing you might have ever liked about
him is his blood, and even that is no longer as important as it once was.
Its not the first time I get stranded, he replies, shrugging pragmatically. Any time I step out of
my ship, I know this might happen. Its not the end of the world, I usually just hijack a ride with
whatevers going in the same general direction and hop ships once were outta the danger zone.
You twitch somewhat at the sheer arrogance of calling the Leviathan his ship and the
inconsiderate ease with which he speaks of such things. There is silence for a few minutes, as you
are not inclined to reply to that, before he breaks it again. Kar didnt say he was sending you,

though.
Ever so carefully, you resist the urge to bristle.
Are you complaining?
He snorts yet again. You hate the sound, its so undignified.
Nah, just didnt figure youd want to deal with my ass, he shrugs, slouching as you step into the
platform and wait for the next tram. Since, you know. Last time.
I have endeavored to forget about last time, you say, as callously as youll allow yourself to
be, which is a lot, and step into the vehicle as the doors open.
Ah, Ampora says, awkward, and slouches in after you.
Mercifully, hes quiet after that.

When you walk out of the bridge, hes standing there. He pushes himself off the wall, but keeps
his hands in his pockets, looking casual and as nonthreatening as youve ever seen him. It makes
you twitch, because it feels like a calculated effort to annoy you. You wouldnt put it past him.
You wouldnt put many things past him, really.
So, he says, looking up at you with a certain awkwardness that comes, you think, from not
being used to having to look up, to speak to someones face. Its a petty thing to be pleased by, but
when it comes to dealing with Eridan fiddlesticks Ampora, pettiness is a given. What now?
Excuse me? You pull yourself to your full height, unbroken horn barely half an inch away from
brushing the ceiling.
You dont like his tone. You dont like his face. You dont like his ridiculous collection of steel
trinkets hanging off his fins. You dont like his enormous glasses or his tendency to bite the inside
of his lower lip, perpetually pouting at everything like it personally offended him. You dont like
him, period. Youre pretty sure your expression telegraphs your feelings fairly clearly, because he
slouches some more twitch and shrugs.
Well, I talked to Kar and Psii, they are his quadrantmates, of course, but the ridiculousness of
such pet names still grates on your nerves, and you are fairly certain it would still do so if the one
giving the pet names werent him. Karkat Vantas is the second highest ranking troll in all the
Empire, and the other what he might lack in blood or titles, he more than makes up for it with
power and age. To hear Ampora speak of them so casually seems demeaning to you, and you
wonder, in the privacy of your own mind, if hes not doing it on purpose. He would, you think.
Hes the kind of troll that would not waste a chance to flaunt his connections with such trolls, and
you feel somewhat silly for not having thought of it before. He did it when you picked him up,
too, now that you think about it. How disgraceful. And the estimates about three weeks or so,
before the Morrigan catches up with the Leviathan, so
Rest assured, you interrupt, starting to walk down the corridor and wondering if hell follow
after you or not he does, the insufferable creature. You will be delivered back to the Leviathan
as instructed, theres no need for you to fret about it.

Oh, its not about that, he says, chuckling wryly and seemingly unruffled by your blatant
provocations. You are being entirely too rude with him, you think, but you cant bring yourself to
care much about it. You notice he follows after you, keeping up with your longer stride, but not
trying to take over it. Were it any other troll, and youd take the gesture as respectful. But its
Ampora, so you dont. I was wondering if youd let me put myself under RAdmin Zephyrs
orders. cause Im gonna go stir-crazy and hed probably enjoy ordering me around, for old times
sake. Theres a small pause. I mean, if its okay with you.
You consider saying no, just out of a tiny spiteful urge to just deny him what he wants. Then you
remind yourself you are better than that and force yourself to be rational. Its troubling, how
rational the request is. He technically outranks your own Head Administrator, not by blood, but by
skill, if he truly does all the work hes supposed to, running a ship the size of the Leviathan.
Youre still not quite sure thats true, through from what you saw last time, he does at least make
a show of it.
If he will have you, you say, and belatedly remember that for some strange reason, your Head
Administrator is openly fond of Ampora. I will not tolerate insubordination in my ship.
Its only for a second, and had you not been looking for it, you would have missed it entirely, but
you catch the sneer tugging at the corner of his lips and feel your own purse in disapproval. He
doesnt have any right to be upset or annoyed, about being reminded of the truth. Nonetheless,
you say nothing as the sneer is replaced by a gratingly false cheer that seems to be his chosen
mask to pretend he didnt understand your implications.
Dont worry, Captain Zahhak, Im sure youll soon forget Im here at all.
You sincerely doubt it, but you dismiss him with a gesture and watch him stalk briskly away. You
hope you havent committed a grave mistake, but you decide to trust Zephyrs judgment. The
greenblood has yet to let you down.

twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling centaursTesticle [CT]

TA: 2o
TA: eriidan iin your 2hiip, huh
CT: D--> Captor
CT: D--> Can we please not
CT: D--> Just this once
TA: ehehehehehehehehehehe
TA: dont get your leggiing2 iin a twii2t
TA: iim ju2t here two remiind you that
TA: fuckiing iidiiot
CT: D--> I beg your pardon
TA: not you
TA: eriidan
TA: he2 a fuckiing iidiiot
CT: D--> While I agree wholeheartedly with the sentiment
CT: D--> I find myself wary about what might have prompted such e%clamation
TA: he ju2t met your admiin2 mate2priit2
TA: auspiicee2
TA: whatever the fuck tho2e two are

CT: D--> Oh
CT: D--> Oh dear
CT: D--> Should I
TA: nah
TA: here
-- twinArmageddons [TA] sent centaursTesticle [CT] the file "themoney2hot.mp4" CT: D--> I am not opening that
TA: you 2hould
TA: iitd cheer you up
TA: fuck, iit cheered me up
TA: and for 2ome rea2on ii liike the a22hole the2e day2
CT: D--> I do not understand why
CT: D--> Considering all he has done, to your matesprit and yourself
TA: ff ii2 a biig giirl, 2he can make her own decii2iions and 2o can ii
TA: iit2 mo2tly ju2t water under the briidge
TA: at lea2t untiil he fuck2 up agaiin
CT: D--> When, you mean
TA: iif
TA: beliieve iit or not
TA: iit 2eem2 pretty unliikely that he wiill, lately
CT: D--> I find that hard to believe
TA: yeah, becau2e that2 the only hard thiing you have for hiim
CT: D--> E%cuse me
TA: anyway
TA: the poiint ii2 that iif you break hiim, kk ii2 goiing two tear you apart, liimb by liimb
TA: or hell wii2h he could
TA: becau2e my dumba22 ance2tor probably wont leave much of you left once he2 done
CT: D--> I am well aware of whose affections he has swayed to his side
TA: good
TA: becau2e iit would ruiin ffs day iif you died
TA: the la2t thiing 2he need2 ii2 another bloody ciiviil war
CT: D--> Your concern is wholly misplaced, I assure you
CT: D--> I am perfectly capable of returning him to his matesprit and his moirail without incident
TA: dont get pii22y wiith me
TA: iim ju2t doiing my job, meddliing and keeping tabs on all potentiial dii2a2ter2 ii 2ee
CT: D--> Are we done here
TA: yeah, good luck
TA: but 2eriiou2ly
TA: thiink before you 2tiick your bulge iin that
TA: ii dont thiink anyone really know2 where iit2 been
twinArmageddons [TA] ceased trolling centaursTesticle [CT]
CT: D--> What

You resist temptation and do not watch the video Captor sent you, until you catch a fleeting
glimpse of Ampora sporting the most amazing black eye in the history of trollkind as a whole.
Then you discreetly retire back to your personal quarters, take a deep breath and watch as Tallie

Then you discreetly retire back to your personal quarters, take a deep breath and watch as Tallie
Nanshe, captain of one of your best warships, decks him a punch that is pure poetry in motion. It
doesnt so much knock Ampora off his feet as it sends him sprawling several feet back and down
a short flight of stairs.
You allow yourself thirteen seconds of unrestrained laughter and grudgingly admit Captor was
right.
That really cheered you up.
Then you compose yourself and remind yourself of your priorities, resolving to ignore Ampora as
much as possible during his stay in your domain.
It cant possibly be that hard, can it?

After the fourth night, youre done sorting out the last details that always come up after you leave
a station and shift into fast travel, so you decide to sate your own curiosity, for the good of your
crew and your sanity, and head out to find Ampora. You will sit down and have dinner and be
civilized trolls, and you will put the fear of you in him in such a way that he doesnt dare upset the
delicate workings of your ship. For this purpose, you stalk towards the high ranking quarters in the
ship, outwardly ignoring the scrambled salutes that meet you along the way, but secretly proud of
the punctuality and sheer military perfection that your men have achieved.
You knock on the door to the block you assigned Ampora, one of the most luxurious ones in the
ship, and set to wait.
Two minutes later, youre tired of waiting and override the door with your ID, stepping inside to
find the place pristine in a way that suggests Ampora hasnt actually spent a single moment in it,
and you feel a kernel of irritation ignite into rightful indignation. You didnt have to give him such
a nice block, but you did, out of consideration to who his matesprit is and the kind of life he must
reasonably be used to. The least the ungrateful bastard could do is actually use it. Without any
other clues as for his whereabouts, you head out to find your Head Administrator and ask him for
some input on this infuriating behavior. You like Russel Zephyr, hes a solid, hardworking troll
with an excellent curriculum before he joined your crew. A sheer unflappable mountain of
competence, as far as youre aware, and someone you feel you can trust implicitly to not screw
you over. Its rare, these days, to find a troll with such exemplary morals and work ethic. You
think you two understand each other well: he does his job and doesnt give you unnecessary grief.
In return, you give him free reign to do as he pleases and trust he has his reasons for it.
Zephyr is out working this shift, as he usually works the opposite one you do, but he often leaves
an itinerary in his block so youll know when to find him if you need him, since you are not quite
comfortable navigating the convoluted corridors where he often carries out his job. When you
open the door, however, you find you no longer need to find your Head Administrator, as the very
source of your annoyance is curled up in his recuperacoon. You stand there, just staring for a
moment, as Ampora shifts about in the sopor.
Rus, if it aint on fire, it aint my problem, he mutters sleepily, and you feel another stab of
irritation nesting in your gut.
What are you doing here? You snap, sharp and unforgiving, and you get a mean-spirited,
private thrill in the way Ampora shoots up and smacks his head on the side of the recuperacoon.

Sweet grub mother tits, what the fuck, Zahhak.

Language, you bite out, standing to your full height and quietly relishing in the strange disparity
between you.
Not enough, however, that you allow yourself to remember Ampora is naked. Because that is a
thing that does not interest you in the least and you simply do not care about it. He looks odd
though, without his glasses, squinting at you and dripping sopor down slightly too thin limbs. The
ridiculous steel jewelry hanging off his fins looks muted, and you hate yourself for thinking gold
would suit someone of his station better, just as you quickly remind yourself he has no station.
Hes tripping all over your careful mental categories, simply by existing.
You are the only one, within the Empress inner circle that still defends the importance of tradition
and the hemospectrum, though you are of course willing to embrace the reforms the Empress has
in mind. The higher standing you want for highbloods is more along the lines of higher standards,
than simply endless privileges. Because you truly believe your brethren to be capable of more, if
nothing else because of the experience that long lives will provide. You command highbloods and
lowbloods alike, and you know this to be true.
And then theres Eridan fiddlesticks Ampora, whose blood was always his only saving grace, as
far as you were concerned, consistently proving himself the exception to the norm, as far as the
greatness inherent to the higher castes went. Always a vulgar, crass, cowardly disaster. Always a
disgrace.
Are we really doing this? He asks, running a hand through his hair and smearing bright green
sopor against the violet strands. Really? Because Im naked, you flinch minutely and hope he
doesnt notice, and half-asleep and if you give me three hours Ill actually remember anything
you say.
You have a block of your own, you say instead, refusing to rise to the bait, and I will not have
you inconveniencing my men with your bullying
Fuck you.
Youre slightly taken aback by the venomousness of his tone, and then school your features into a
scowl as he slides off the sopor and onto the floor. You keep your eyes on his face even as he
steps closer, eyes burning with outrage. You make yourself not notice the little details, like the
binder around his chest, hiding his gills from sight, or the single golden ring hanging off his left
nipple.
You will not
No, you shut up, he snarls, baring thin, needle-like teeth and seemingly swelling in size. You
dont like me, Zahhak. Thats okay. I dont really have that much love for you either. But itll be a
fucking frozen day in hell when I let you say Im bullying my best friend.
If you expect me to believe
I expect you to be a fucking adult, he says, tone as frigid as youve ever heard coming from
him, and for a moment, he looks the part of the arrogant seadweller and the deepest corners of
your mind are screaming at you to submit and yield to him. Then you conquer the impulse and
actually listen to his words. Its your ship, and Im under your command so long Im in it, but my
personal life is none of your fucking business and you will keep your fucking nose out of it.
My men are my responsibility, you say, trying to use your height to your advantage and make

him cower him as you loom.

Instead of stepping back, he steps forward, fins flared threateningly and teeth bared. Hes almost
close enough to smear sopor all over your uniform and you dont know what youll do if he dares,
but it wont be wise.
And hes my
The door opens.
Erid
Theres a very loud silence in the following moment, as the owner of the block stands in the
doorway, taking in the situation. It occurs to you the situation must look rather unfortunate, all
things considered. And then Zephyrs eyes slide half mast, face turning long suffering. You watch
in fascination as Amporas fins drop back, expression chastised. You grudgingly consider revising
your impressions on the relationship between the two.
Is something the matter, sir? Zephyr asks you, pointedly not looking at Ampora.
That is precisely what I would like to know, you say, refusing to let a single sliver of emotion
through, I trust Admin Ampora is not imposing on you.
Not at all, sir, Zephyr shrugs, smiling politely. Will that be all, sir?
You have the weirdest impression that the man is actually kicking you out of the block. But you
know Zephyr, he wouldnt dare do something so uncouth. Talking with Ampora is giving you
ideas, you decide, and thats why you should probably stop talking with him all together.
Yes, you incline your head, hair rustling as you do, I will see you at the meeting tomorrow,
Admin Zephyr. You cant help but sneer a little. Admin Ampora.
Infuriatingly, Ampora seems to no longer care about your presence, staring intently at Zephyr. The
greenblood nods pleasantly and you turn to leave. From the corner of your eye, just as the door
closes behind you, you think you catch a glimpse of Zephyr pulling Ampora down by a horn to
snarl in his face. The thought amuses and troubles you in equal amounts, so you decide to find the
time and talk with Nepeta about all this.
You can hardly wait to be rid of him.

CT: D--> In conclusion

CT: D--> Mr Zahhak would like it to be known that he can only take so much of this
CT: D--> Before he is forced to do something drastic
AC: :33 < *the furrocious moirail swings her tail side by side and contemplates the best way to
tackle this pawful situation*
AC: :33 < *while politely ignoring the darker sides of the shipping wall*
CT: D--> Please dont
CT: D--> I mean
CT: D--> Mr Zahhak politely and not desperately begs Ms Leijon to 100k away from the shipping
wall
CT: D--> Anything but the shipping wall

AC: :33 < *the intrepid huntress will go where her heart takes her!*
AC: :33 < *and she will make up her mind once she sees him in purrson*
CT: D--> What
arsenicCatnip [AC] ceased trolling centaursTesticle [CT]
CT: D--> Fiddlesticks

It is purely coincidental, you tell yourself, that you end up running an inspection during the shift
Ampora is working. Purely coincidental and not premeditated at all. Nonetheless, he grimaces
when he sees you, but otherwise conducts himself with impeccable professionalism.
It sends a constant pulse of rage through your system, for some reason.
You decide not to think of said reason, and instead focus on work. Work has always been a
soothing balm for your nerves, and you find yourself immerse in an actually productive
conversation with the man, as you discuss the handling of the CA class warships under your
command. You find yourself somewhat mystified by the way he gets carried away talking about
this or that detail, quoting numbers off the top of his head. It reminds you of the so called last
time you saw him, except hes lucid. The violet eyes behind the glasses are focused and intent,
but not manic. He walks you down a rattling catwalk suspended beneath the hangar, fussing over
every little thing, and you begin to realize this is what hes like, in his element. He defers to
Zephyrs authority and yours without a second thought, in the same breath he points out the
differences between how things are done in the Morrigan and how theyre done in the Leviathan.
Theres pride in how he carries himself, clearly, but not arrogance, and the difference is both
subtle and gargantuan. You dont know what to make of it.
You blink as Nepeta all but materializes behind him.
Mr. Ampurra.
Ampora shrieks like a wiggler and throws his tablet in the air, then dissolves into a filthy swearing
fit as he dives off the side of the catwalk to catch it, nearly falling off himself. He clutches the
thing to his chest, like a shield, and hisses at your moirail, while Nepeta cracks up laughing in
amusement. Sweeps ago, you would be threatening him for daring to speak to her in such a tone,
but these days Nepeta appreciates handling her battles on her own, and youve learned to step in
only when she asks you to. Shes one of the deadliest trolls in the galaxy, after all, it wouldnt do
to coddle her, for all you want to.
You dont even wonder how she got here. Nepeta goes where she wants, very often without
being noticed and scaring trolls half to death while she does it. Its part of what makes her so
terrifying, she could be anywhere and most of the time people only realize shes there when its
too late. Shes adapted her games and her hunts into the larger picture with an ease you envy a
little. Shes become a laughassassin ideal, without ever even meeting another laughassassin, but
shes happy and extremely competent at what she does, so you try not to fuss and fret too much.
You allow yourself the faintest of smirks as Ampora finally calms down enough to stand up
straight again, only to slouch down and look disturbingly meek.
Er, he says after a moment, as Nepeta pins him down with a predatory smile, hi. Sorry about
that. He coughs awkwardly, visibly trying not to squirm. In your mind, you can still see Nepetas

tail twitching playfully as she delights in his discomfort. Its terribly uncouth and you should
probably put a stop to it. Instead, you content yourself to watch. Startled me a little there.
Did I? Nepeta asks, with exaggerated coyness that nonetheless makes Ampora sweat a little.
Maybe theres something itching in your conscience, Mr. Ampurra.
Maybe, he laughs nervously, voice little more than a croak. Im Im just gonna let you and
ZahCaptain Zahhak talk then. Since youre here. Excuse me.
He scurries away before you can say anything about it, head tucked in his shoulders and posture
disgustingly pathetic. You allow your smirk to melt into a fond smile.
Well, you say, as you bend down to wrap your arms around her, that was interesting.
Nepeta nuzzles your chest, purring loud enough to put every piece of machinery in the ship to
shame. You feel the knots of stress and worry loosen up their hold on your spine, as you breathe
out a sigh of relief against her hair.
He was making you twitchy, she mutters, claws kneading into the taunt muscles of your lower
back hard enough it threatens to make your knees buckle, I dont like that.
Was he? You chuckle wryly, finally letting her go. I didnt notice. Its of no importance, you
ignore the way she arches an eyebrow at you, firmly refusing to dwell into things outside the
sanctity of your quarters and the pile of robotics there. Will you be staying long?
Maybe, she smiles, in a way that hurts and means no, but you pretend its yes anyway. We
have to talk, dont we?
You know you do, but you dont look forward to it one bit.

You have an uncanny ability to go unnoticed if you really want to. You dont know why or how,
but if you angle your body a certain way, most trolls tend to look past you without a second
thought. More than once, Nepeta has teased you thoroughly about it, wishing you could teach her
the trick as itd be useful for her little escapades. Youd gladly do so, if it meant affording her extra
protection of some sort, but youre not even sure how you manage it. At the moment, youre
sitting in a corner of the maintenance crew bar, angling your body a certain way and watching
Eridan fiddlesticks Ampora roughhouse around your men like he belongs there.
Oh, shut up, Rus, everyone knows you keep me around just because I can reach the top shelves.
Zephyr kicks Amporas shin. Ampora, miraculously, doesnt seem to care. In fact, he outright
laughs, seemingly delighted by a joke you are not privy to.
Well, I sure as fuck dont keep you around because of your dashing personality, Eridan.
The seadweller sticks his tongue out and the entire bar roars with laughter as he makes a show to
be miffed and offended by the remark. Alcohol is flowing freely, as it tends to when trolls have
free shifts, and people are talking loud and lewdly, as they play various lowblood games. You sit
in silence, unseen, and study the way Ampora laughs and cajoles your men, and the way they
laugh and cajole right back. You notice the fact hes sitting close to Captain Nanshe, and if you
hadnt seen video of her punching him off his feet, you wouldnt believe the woman ever had any

kind of ill will towards the seadweller. They cackle obnoxiously about something or another,
sharing trivial stories and toasting messily after each one. You realize everyone but Nanshe,
Anshar, Ampora and yourself are tealbloods or lower. Nanshe and Anshar make a habit to follow
Zephyr around when theyre not otherwise occupied, so their presence isnt noteworthy on its
own, but something inside your churns when you realize precisely whats been bothering you
about Amporas attitude.
He belongs among lowbloods.
He mingles with them with an ease that sets your teeth on edge.
He should be the highest ranking troll aboard the Morrigan, by blood alone, and yet here he is,
fooling about drunkenly and letting Zephyr pull on an invisible leash every now and then. It
troubles you, the ease with which he does as hes told, without complaint. It rattles you, the easy
smiles and the relaxed, loose posture and the significance of him sitting at the greenbloods left,
which youre starting to realize might be unconscious, rather than a calculated gesture to appease
both Nanshe and Anshar.
Eridan fiddlesticks Ampora was always a lousy highblood, when you were children, focused on
the wrong parts of history and a mistaken interpretation of what highblood privilege even meant.
But this is worse. This is disgusting and your talk with Nepeta is not helping at all because your
insides are twisting into knots over something you can hardly put to words.
The laughter dies abruptly as you storm out of the block, clearly noticed by everyone present.
You dont care, youve changed your mind and would very much like another hour or two in a
pile, trying to make sense of the turmoil in your mind.

By the third week of having Eridan fiddlesticks Ampora in your ship, Nepeta has left after giving
you a stern lecture about feelings, honesty and thinking things through. She didnt once mention
your rather unfortunate sojourn into the land of Aradia Megido is not who you thought she was
and shes also coincidentally way out of your league now or ever, for which youre grateful, but
you cant help your thoughts as they instinctively head that way. She also refused to make a
decisive judgment on the matter, which has only made you think about this more, rather than less.
You respect Karkat Vantas a good deal and gladly bow down to his leadership when necessary.
You respect Sollux Captors knowledge as unrivalled in many areas, simply by virtue of well,
what hes done to himself to attain such knowledge. But in your heart of hearts, Nepeta Leijon
continues to be the sun around whom you orbit and whose word you trust and believe in to the
exclusion of everyone elses.
Itd never happen, because of who you are and how things work now, but you know youd
choose Nepeta over everything else, including rank and the Empress and the Empire and the Fleet,
without a second thought or even the smallest hesitation.
So the only reason youre doing this, is because Nepeta Leijon has decided to withhold judgment
on whether Eridan fiddlesticks Ampora is still the same disgraceful disaster you once knew, or not.
Vantas blind devotion or Captors acid approval mean less than Nepetas most lukewarm
consideration. So you set out to find out for yourself, trying to ignore the twisted knot of confused
emotions nested uncomfortably in your gut. You have a scientific mind. You can handle being
proven wrong. You dont expect to, but you know youre certain you can handle it, in the sheer

unexpected chance it happens. Besides, he will be gone in a week, and you probably wont see
him again for sweeps.
Oh fuck, its the first thing that comes out of his mouth, as he enters your quarters, and you can
already tell this is going to be a trying morning. I didnt think this was formal, shit. Sorry. I just

You look at him, in his uniform, battered and stained from a full shift working, because youve
find out, to your extreme confusion, that Eridan fiddlesticks Ampora is a hands-on troll, when it
comes to things. Zephyr is much more comfortable delegating tasks, and like all your officers, hes
always absolutely pristine. You dont really know what Ampora does, running errands for
Zephyr, but it always ends up ruining his clothes somehow. Its very troublesome. You also
realize that, out of sheer habit, you changed into your dress uniform, as you instinctively associate
it with hard decisions and taxing conversations.
You entertain the idea that hes feeling self-conscious, before you dismiss the thought as
ridiculous.
Its fine, you say, even though its really not, but youre already second guessing this and you
might not pull through if you give him enough time to go and dress properly. Merely mind your
language and sit down.
Right, he says, moving in such a way it brings a wounded beast to mind, wary and alert, but he
does obey. What er, what can I do for you?
You study him for a moment, thinking over your words carefully, before you purposely take a seat
on the same side of the desk as he is. You can all but see the gears twisting and turning in his
head, as he tries to process why youd do such a thing. He knows highblood protocol as well as
you do, or he used to, at least. Just as you start to wonder if hell understand, you see him shift his
posture to match yours, which would be an outrageous offense if you had not initiated the whole
thing. Negotiation, your body says, without blood. His posture is a subtle not-quite mirror of
yours, and you want to be pleased by the precise position of his fingers and the careful angle of his
chin, because they not only mean he agrees to negotiate, but that hes letting you choose the terms.
But youre not pleased, because youve realized, watching him and your men and the way he
carries himself, that even if he can still pull off the motions, theres very little of the highblood
pride he used to have left in him.
It should please you, in a way, because you understand that pride was precisely what led to his
downfall. But it doesnt because it still goes against your principles and the way you see and
understand the world. The Empire is changing, bit by bit, with the graceful guidance from the
Empress, but you cant help but be the last bastion of resistance, the closest to her that has some
stake in preserving the old highblood ways. The history and tradition and honor of millennia that
shaped and gave identity to the highest castes, it is not something you can let go of just like that.
You live balancing those values with the reality of sweeping reforms and a thousand little things in
a contradictory mess that only Nepeta can make sense of. You understand the importance of the
changes working their way through the Empire, you really do. You understand better now, than
you did when you were six and picked up fights with Ampora over a feud neither of you had any
real interest on. But you also understand that there are things that could be lost with them, things
that no one else seems to care for or even realize are there. Serket has never really cared about the
nobility of her blood, not beyond what benefitted her, and to lose her privileges only means to find
new ones elsewhere. Everything is a game, for her, everything is just a matter of rolling the right
dice. Makara might have taken his Ancestors title and command of the subjugglator faithful, but
in the end all he cares about is what his moirail wants and the prophecies of his ridiculous cult.
And the Empress is wise beyond her years, but she exists in an entirely different reality than you.

After much thought, you can admit to yourself that part of your resentment towards Ampora is
that, once upon a time, you thought he understood things. Things you cant explain to the others.
Things that dont need to be said, among highbloods. When you were children and practiced the
old forms together, without admitting that was what you were doing, and you hated him on
principle because he was a seadweller and inherently better than you, at the bottom of it you
respected him. And then he changed, or you got to know him better, and the respect eroded away
because he knew those same things you did, but he didnt understand them. Not the way you
thought he did, at least. And when you found yourself alone, surrounded by lowbloods and rebels,
and you had to court endless highbloods, you always thought that was not meant to be your job,
but his. He was the highest blood supporting the Empress, he was the scion of a worthy if tragic
bloodline. He knew how it worked, and he had everything to make it work, and he still ruined it.
And twenty sweeps later, here he is, declawed and defanged, more of a lowblood in a highbloods
skin, than anything else. And of course, Vantas and Captor approve of it, think it for the best,
when he acts like one of their own.
It bothers you.
It bothers you a lot.
And you know why but youre not even sure you can handle the implications behind it. Not even
sure youd want to. The only reason youre doing this is because Nepeta refused to make the
choice for you, so now youre going to have to do something about it yourself.
I dont understand you, you say, just before the silence stretches long enough to be an overt
offense.
Ampora chokes back a laugh.
I yeah, thats thats a very popular club you just joined there, Zahhak, he smiles thinly,
wryness taking over his expression. I dont understand me.
What were you doing down there, when I found you? You press, ignoring the attempt at humor
and instead abusing the fact he gave you the reins of the conversation.
Getting laid, he replies, without skipping a bit. Or trying to. You know. Until you literally
wrenched the prospect off my lap.
Why?
I dont know, why did you? He feigns ignorance, and youre infuriated with him, for knowing
the steps of the dance and with yourself for being pleased that hes not making this easy at all. I
mean, yeah, she had a knife, but you know Ive dealt with worse.
Because your matesprit entrusted your safety to me, you snap, even though you dont have to,
and then go on before he can derail further: And the question refers to your motives for doing
such a thing.
What, doing my part for the Empire? Being a concerned citizen and helping out fellow trolls
when the time comes?
Prostituting yourself!
The expression on his face is kind of hysterical. If you werent profoundly upset with yourself for
the outburst not even five minutes, and hes managed to make you lose your temper, how utterly
disgraceful of you you might have been tempted to laugh. He blinks at you, fins spreading and

folding back as his mouth opens and closes several times.

did you just call me a whore?
And youd been doing so well, too.
With your behavior You begin, trying to ignore the flush spreading over your cheeks and the
feeling of sweat sliding down the back of your neck.
Slut, Zahhak, and he rolls his eyes at you, the word youre looking for is slut. I dont fill pails
for money, I do it for fun.
This conversation was such a grave mistake, youve never regretted anything more in your life.
You soldier on, regardless.
You have a matesprit
Which is why I only do black flings, yes, he arches an eyebrow at you, folding one leg over the
other in a dismissive fashion, and then looks down at his claws, feigning disinterest. And if you
ever imply again that Id cheat on Kar, there wont be enough left to fill a fucking thimble when
Im done with you.
Theres a moment of silence as the threat sinks in properly.
I dont understand you, you try again, frustrated with yourself and him and the whole damn
universe at the moment.
You made that abundantly clear, yes, he drawls dryly, shifting his posture again and flicking his
wrist in a way that telegraphs his patience is running short.
Its laughable, really, all things considered, and youre so annoyed at him, because now you know
for certain hes using those little signs to mess with you. Or indulge you, youre not quite sure.
Hes still signaling youre in control of this negotiation, in those subtle, quiet ways that
contradict the way he addresses you. Hes making you feel foolish and all you really want, right
now, is to take it out on him. To make him as mad as hes making you. To know you can elicit the
same kind of response as he does in you, that you have the same power.
I am trying, you say instead, shifting your shoulders so that the gesture is more conciliatory than
aggressive, though it probably doesnt help that youre wearing formal clothes and hes not.
Belatedly, you realize youre pulling rank without meaning to and this wouldnt be a problem if he
werent such a disaster. To understand you. Youre not helping.
Damn right I aint, he says, and the entire left side of your body twitches in response to his tone.
You want something from me, Zahhak. Just come out and tell me what it is, you dont have to
make a production out of it. Fuck, you can probably just order me to do it.
You almost say you dont want anything from him, but the truth is that you do. You just wish you
didnt.
Its not something I can order you to give, you hiss between clenched teeth, and you force
yourself to relax your jaw because its been sweeps since youve broken a tooth and you will not
give Eridan fiddlesticks Ampora the satisfaction. Your behavior in that regard is perhaps the
wrong starting point.
Yeah, maybe we should talk about something else other than my sexlife.

You dearly, desperately need a towel. You refuse to take it out of sheer spite.
Your friendship with Admin Zephyr, then.
You realize that was the wrong thing to say, even worse than what youd said before, just by the
feral look that ghosts over Amporas face before he can mask it. That, you realize, is the look of a
troll willing to murder.
What about it? He asks, pretending to be indifferent about the subject, and its almost
convincing if not for the subtle threat in the way he folds his hands on his lap.
I merely find your attachment to him bewildering. You shrug delicately, shoulders barely
moving as your hair rustles. The general state of your life is in itself bewildering to me.
Because Im not dead? Theres a nasty undertone there that you consider acknowledging for a
moment before deciding the situation is awkward enough as it is.
Because you seem content with it, you say, settling on the most innocuous answer you can
muster.
Ampora chokes on another laugh.
Well, thats because I am.
Surely you must find yourself wanting more, you stare, not quite convinced despite the
staggering sincerity of his tone.
What the fuck do I need? The use of the word need instead of want surprises you, and you take
notice of both it and your reaction to it. Ampora shrugs. Ive got a matesprit that loves me enough
to yell at me if I fuck up and a moirail that will as soon smack me, if plain shooshpapping aint
doing the trick. I have a nice ship and a good enough crew and the list of people who want me
dead is not nearly as long as it was, a decade or two ago.
But your blood
Yes, Zahhak, and there is, the way he narrows his eyes and squares his shoulders, the flash of
fury in his eyes. You can almost taste success, when his words disarm you. The fucking royal
swill in my veins thatll ensure I outlive everyone I give a damn about. The look he gives you is
pure contempt. But what do you know, right? The Empress will ensure your moirail will live as
long as you do.
You get the feeling hes not talking about Vantas or the Helmsman, both of whom will live on
well past their lifespans, given the Empress interest in them. And youre taken aback by the
thought, because the Ampora you knew couldnt care less about the rest of the world.
You used to be proud of your blood, before.
Bizarrely, he smiles at you, just a small twitch of his lips. It makes your gastric sack lurch
unpleasantly.
I used to be proud of a lot of things, before, he turns his hands, palms up and fingers spread, and
for the first time you notice how skeletal they look, without the assortment of rings he used to
wear. And look at what it did to me.
Before you can answer, however, the lights flash red and the alarms howl. Ampora is on his feet
at once, just as you are, expression wiped clean of all emotion.

The ship is under attack.

We will continue this later, you say, though youre not really sure you will.
Yeah, sure, he replies, in a tone that gives you hope that you wont actually have to talk about
this at all.

The bridge is a very choreographed chaos when you step into it. You take your place at the head
of it and clear your mind of everything as you take in their reports.
Hostiles, sir, confirmed Truvian. Two small cruisers, at full capacity.
Four scout ships down, the rest are folding back.
CC line ETA deployment forty seconds.
CA line awaiting clearance in sector B, ETA deployment three minutes fifteen seconds.
CL line awaiting deployment.
DD line awaiting deployment.
Auxiliary helmsmen on standby, full engine power rerouted to weapon systems.
ETA for contact, four minutes thirty seconds.
Maintenance crew in position, non-essential personnel secured and locked away.
The screens light up with lines and tags representing the battlefield. Two Truvian cruisers
shouldnt be too much for the Morrigan to handle, though you are somewhat worried to have run
into them here, so close to an inhabited colony. You will have to speak with the Empress about
this, once this mess is over. You take precisely ten seconds to study the terrain, so to speak, and
project the course of the battle in your mind. The bridge is silent as you do, trolls waiting for you
to give the word.
Deploy the CL first, classic 26 formation, you say after the moment has passed and youre in
control of yourself again. You keep your voice even and neutral, because you know your voice is
being broadcast directly to the warship captains, and the last thing they need is a leader who is
panicking. Youve been in enough battles that youve learned to stop caring, when the panic sets
in. The DD will cover up the back and concentrate on the cruisers. Fifteen seconds later, deploy
CC to guard the flank. CA will wait aboard until instructed but get them clearance to deploy if
necessary.
Theres two additional seconds of silence, before the bridge erupts in activity. There are nearly
two hundred different channels open at once, Captain reciting their launching protocols, gate
control going through each step. The sirens are still howling, but youve long learned to tune them
out in the heat of the moment.
Im surprised youre not down there, you say, out of the corner of your mouth, when you see
Zephyr sitting in the seat reserved for the Head Admin, behind a wall of monitors displaying the
status of every gate and every maintenance team in them.

I might as well be, he says, smiling wryly, but before you can even decide to comment, the first
impact comes, decidedly sooner than anticipated.
Trolls yell over communications as dozens of smaller warships appear as tiny dots in your screens.
No two battles are the same, but youve learned the way to handle them, by now. You keep your
voice even as you direct the flood of warships, though its a delicate balance, since each captain
must make their own decisions and at best you can only coordinate the flow and adapt to what
happens. Truvians are well known for their mobility, but trolls are feared for your brutality. You
watch as slowly the dots designating Truvian forces vanish steadily faster than the ones
representing trolls.
In moments like this, when youre all but holding several thousand lives in your hands, you wish
you had gone to the Academy. You wish they had taught you the proper way to handle the guilt
every time a ship is destroyed or perhaps a better way to deal with the paralyzing fear that
stubbornly clings to the back of your throat and threatens to make you sway. All you know about
commanding a ship you learned on the fly, eyes closed and hoping for the best. Youve read
thousands of pages on strategy combat and statistics and history and anything that might have
helped, but the feeling of inadequacy never leaves.
Still, your stoicism might be your greatest virtue, as your men feel reassured by your lack of
emotion in battle. If only one of them could read your mind, the charade would fall, but Serket
used to joke that you are the anti-psychic, impervious to any probing. Its your one useful skill,
you suppose, as things stand these days. You tinker about with Helmsman technology and other
things you think might help, but you know youll never be able to dedicate yourself fully to it, so
long as the Empire needs figureheads from the rebellion. Youll never be an archeradicator, either,
if nothing else because the Empress has no use for conquering forces now. All you can be is the
damn best captain in the fleet, and hope to god youre doing the right thing.
We have a rogue! I repeat, we have a rogue!
If you could afford to, you would swear, loudly and profusely, as a Truvian dot zips around the
screen, aiming straight at the Morrigan itself. Over the communication channels, several warships
try to lay claim on the attacker, but its a smaller ship than the others, faster and more nimble.
Fire at will, you say, and youre sure no one around you even suspects how terrified you really
are, as you watch that ship continue to not disappear.
Oh fuck, brace for impact.
You crush the armrest of your chair as that tiny dot slams straight into the side of the Morrigan,
though the ship doesnt even shake from the hit.
Its in the hangar, Zephyr hisses at you, then snarls at his monitors as if he were down there and
able to snarl at the structural damage thats piling with each second. He hisses a breath after a
moment. It has been dealt with. Commencing containment measures.
One cruiser down, sir, the other is preparing to abscond; warships on the fringe, awaiting orders.
You stare at the screen without really seeing it, doing the math in your head. Half a victory is
better than a full defeat, but youre still unhappy about it because it bugs you. Truvians are not
reckless for no reason, and those cruisers must have been here for a reason, especially considering
how far away from their own territory they are. You could let them go, but you have a sinking
feeling you shouldnt. That it might be worse if you do.
Order them back, were hunting it down as soon as all warships are docked.

Youre doing a cursory exploration of the damage sustained by the battle, when you run into
Ampora. Hes running around the damaged hangar, barking orders at the maintenance crew and
Oh.
Oh fuck.
By the time you realize why the seadweller is keeping a hand pressed tight to his face, youve
come to accept you are essentially a dead man walking. Vantas is going to murder you. If Captor
senior doesnt do it first, that is.
Ampora doesnt seem to care, though, storming up and down the various corridors and catwalks,
leaving behind a surreptitious trail of blood that no one really pays attention to. You take a
moment to appreciate the sheer poetic and metaphoric value behind such precious blood muddled
by careless feet stepping on it, before you make your way down there, making sure not to step on
any of it.
Ampora.
It looks worse from up close. Theres a jagged cut across his face, from his right cheek right across
his nose to the other side, muscle and bone exposed, and you have the sinking feeling that the only
reason half his nose hasnt fallen off is because hes holding it in place. Your insides churn
unpleasantly, though you are by no means unfamiliar with that type of injury. Part of you is
silently screeching about contamination and the risk of infection, but the rest of you is infuriatingly
impressed by the sheer aplomb required to just shrug off that kind of injury. The Ampora you
knew, back in Alternia, cried and whined at the smallest scrap. Your one and only fight with him,
when you were children, ended up with a broken arm and him leaving you alone in the beach,
hating yourself and your victory because that wasnt how it was supposed to go. And now here he
is, putting his work above all else with a determination youve only seen in Zephyr before. You
twitch irritably, realizing you cant even accuse him of using his injury for sympathy, when hes
so busy ordering other people around and making a show that theres nothing wrong. You wonder
quietly how exactly he got hurt, each scenario you come up with more violent than the last, and
how many of the trolls now unquestioningly following his orders were there to see it happen.
What? He snaps, and you jolt back to reality. Im missing half my fucking face and Im
covered in shitty alien guts and Im about to lose my goddamn lunch, Zahhak. Either stop staring
and say something or just leave me the fuck alone already!
Trolls around you suddenly find themselves twice as busy. You feel yourself twitch.
You require medical attention, you say, keeping your voice steady, even though theres blood
flowing steadily down his fingers and you cant stop staring. He opens his mouth and the way his
face just shifts under his hand makes you twitch again. Thats an order, Admin Ampora.
Sometimes, he replies after a moment, shoulders tense, I really want to punch you. And then I
remember thatd probably break my hand, so I refrain. But the urge is there. And its as STRONG
as you are.
You feel your lips twitch somewhat, but he does start walking in the general direction of the
medbay. It might not be too late for him, perhaps. Now you need to go and figure out the true

extent of the damage and look after your crew as they prepare for the incoming chase and the
subsequent hunt of the remaining enemy cruiser.

Oh my fucking god, why would you do this to me?

It takes you a moment to realize Ampora is not, in fact, curled up in Zephyrs recuperacoon, but
rather sprawled indecently on the concupiscent platform, one arm thrown over his face and the
other Well. You look up at the ceiling, trying not to think of the engorged bulge coiling
between his legs. Or where his other hand might be.
Youre my responsibility, you say, eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling, as you feel sweat soak
through your clothes.
I turned down a foursome tonight, you know, Ampora says, conversationally, and it almost
drowns out the sound of lubrication hitting the inside of a pail. You feel yourself sway in place.
Really fucking amazing sex, Zahhak. And I turned it down. Because I have a fucking conscience
now, and Karkat would fucking cry if I ever fooled around red with anyone. And then, while me
and my hand are making up for lost time, because they blew half my face off and then they
fucking stapled it back together, and you dont fucking understand how hard I was throbbing as
they did, you walk in. Without even a fucking knock.
Ill just
I should make you watch. He does something, you dare not look, but it squelches messily and
the sound drills its way between your legs hard enough it takes your breath away. Or take that
monster bulge of yours out for a spin. Thats an option too. He makes the sound again. You feel
your sweat soak through four out of your six layers, and it actually takes effort to keep your hands
from shaking. What do you say, Zahhak? Think you can pretend you hate me like that? Ill treat
you good.
Hes laughing as you abscond hurriedly out of the block, locking the door behind you as if you
could somehow lock the thoughts as well. You have four hours before you have to be back in the
bridge again. You spend one of them in the ablution trap, one hand wrist-deep inside your nook
and furiously hating yourself for it.

He comes to see you three shifts later.

Youre having dinner in your block, preparing to go to sleep for a few hours, when theres a
knock in your door. You leave your meal on your desk and go open the door, only to stare at him
as he shifts uncomfortably in place. He might be two feet shorter than you, yes, but hes still
probably the second tallest troll in the entire ship. And he looks so small. Youve seen him do that
all your life, though. The way he shifts his shoulders and curves his spine; of course his talent to
look meek and pathetic would be the one thing hed keep, after all these sweeps.
Yes? You ask, aware your tone is not particularly welcoming at the moment, but not really
caring because youre annoyed at him.

Ah, I came in to apologize, he says, pointedly not looking up at you, and it pleases you that hes
humiliating himself for your sake, and it infuriates you because he shouldnt humiliate himself for
anyones sake. About. You know.
Last time? You make your tone spiteful, because your feelings frustrate you and its his fault,
clearly, no one else makes you feel the way he does, but all you manage is to make him flinch and
make yourself feel worse because of it.
Yeah, I He looks up briefly, and without the glasses his eyes look a lot more expressive than
you were expecting. He looks back down to the floor again. I want to point out I was high like a
kite on painkillers, but. Still. You have terrible luck with me and altered states of consciousness.
Sorry.
You look down at him for a long moment. The ease he has to apologize sits unpleasantly in your
gut. You command the churning disaster in your gut to calm down and make a choice. Things can
hardly go on as they have.
Come inside, you command, stepping back so he can do so. He looks up for a second, before
slouching in, guarded. Sit.
You close the door and head out of the block, returning a moment later with a small box of
medical supplies. Hes sitting in the same place he was, last time, except this time there is no
highblood meaning behind his posture. Its meek and exhausted and it pisses you off more than
you wish it did.
I
Be quiet, you snap, placing the box on the desk and dragging the other chair closer to where he
is. Tell me how this happened.
He opens his mouth to speak, but then you grab his chin to tilt it the right angle and he goes limp
with a soft gasp. His eyes slide close as you force your hands to be gentle, tugging off the gauze
covering most of his face. Six metal staples are holding the wound close, but it will scar horribly
that way. Medbay personnel dont care about scars, only about keeping people alive.
The damn thing slammed into a launch tunnel, he says, voice low and oddly breathy as you
press a piece of gauze wet with antiseptic against the angry violet flesh. It bounced off the walls
before it hit the hangar gate and exploded. I got hit with flying debris and just barely avoided
losing my head. The guy right next to me got cut in half. It was pretty damn gross. His breathing
hitches, as you rub along the side of his nose, his hands flexing in his lap. I think the explosion
was intentional, because out of nowhere theres this thing out there. Someone shot it down, but
there were guts everywhere and everyone was losing their damn shit over it. So. I started ordering
people around. I mean it wasnt as bad as it looks. It hurt worse when they stapled it in place.
You need proper sutures, you say, and you watch in fascination as his expression falls, fins and
shoulders dropping in unison.
I dont
It will scar badly, otherwise, you point out, hoping to appeal to his vanity.
Its okay, he laughs weakly, somewhat desperately. It makes you scowl. Youre not a fullfledged member of the fleet until youve got a few of those, right?
Ampora.

I came here to apologize for sexually harassing you, okay, he swallows hard. If you put a
needle through me, shit is gonna get really fucking awkward in record time. You arch an
eyebrow at him. Please.
You stare at each other for a long moment, and only now you realize how close youre sitting
from each other. He looks absolutely pitiful and its driving you insane.
Language, you mutter somewhat off handedly, turning to sterilize your hands and slip in a pair
of latex gloves. Ampora flinches as the gloves snap into place. And I am afraid this is already
awkward enough, in case it had escaped your notice. You can hardly make it worse.
You turn to look at him, needle and thread in one hand.
I get off on pain, he blurts out before pressing hard into the back of the chair. I havent gotten
laid in weeks, Zahhak, and I really, honestly, genuinely get off on pain. Im crawling up the
fucking walls and if you put a needle anywhere on me Im going to ruin your chair.
You let out a slow, controlled breath, considering your options. He looks obscenely vulnerable in
front of you, trying to appeal to your morals to get out of this. What he cant possibly know is that
the more he tries to bend and twist to suit your tastes and play you the right way, the more you
fucking hate him.
You hate everything hes been reduced to. You hate that hes both above and below you, and
how that contradiction trips your sense of property and keeps you flailing inwardly and grasping at
straws to figure out how to treat him. You hate that hes made you want him, despite and because
of how much you hate him, in ways you havent wanted anyone in decades. You hate quite
possibly every single thing about him because its not perfect and it could be and you want it to
be.
Above it all, you hate him for not realizing it.
Mind your language, you say, reaching a hand to tilt his chin up again. And hold still.
He makes a sound through clenched teeth, violet eyes pinning you in place with something that
almost mirrors the gnarled emotions in your chest, but you focus your attention on his wound and
the needle in your hand. As it slides through skin and flesh, he shifts minutely, pressing his thighs
together. You concentrate on your work, making sure the stitches are small and even. By the time
you reach the first staple, hes breathing loudly through his mouth. By the time youre done, hes
trembling in place, eyes unfocused and expression hazy. It shoots straight to your groin harder
than you expected it to, but youre still clearly more in control than hell ever be. A hand reaches
out to grab your unbroken horn, as you pull away, and it is with surprising strength, that he pulls
you down until hes hissing the words millimeters away from your lips.
If you leave me like this
Theres anger and lust in his eyes, plain enough even you cant mistake it for something else. You
swallow hard.
What if I do? You say, because youre not really sure what else can you do.
The reality of the situation is slowly but surely taking away your own self-control and blasting
your self-confidence into smithereens. Because you want him, oh. You want him so bad. But no
one youve ever wanted has looked at you the way hes doing it, and now that youve left him like
this, you dont know how to follow up on the teasing. Even now, he makes you feel inadequate
just by existing and its driving you insane.

What do you want from me, you fucking hateful shit? He drags his claws down the side of your
horn, and the sensation is new and soul destroying, making your knees buckle under you. You
only stop yourself from falling when you reach out and hold onto the armrests of his chair. His
claws dig into your hair, wet with sweat, and he doesnt care as he fists it almost painfully, tilting
your head to the side. You and your fucking highblood games, Zahhak, what the fuck
You, you hiss, unable to kneel down or stand up by the hold he has on your head, forced into
such an uncouth position and finding yourself aroused to the point of breathlessness because of it.
I hate you, you
He throws his entire body at yours. Normally, that wouldnt move you an inch, but the posture
youre in means inherently poor balance and when he collides with you, you find yourself
sprawling back on your butt, with Eridan fiddlesticks Ampora straddling your lap and his lips
trying to tear off yours. You dig your fingers on the floor, feeling metal denting under them, as he
wraps his arms around your head, claws digging hard enough to be felt but nowhere near hard
enough to make you bleed.
And then he starts grinding his hips.
Its getting progressively harder to breathe, between his tongue down your throat and the sinuous
twist of his hips as he shifts against you. You can feel your bulge pressing hard against the
confines of your uniform, and your nook pulse and throb between your legs. Youre horrified to
realize Ampora doesnt intend to stop any time soon, even as the wetness spreads between your
legs. You want to laugh at the idea of ever being more in control than him, when it comes to
matters like these. But youre too busy falling to pieces to really care or notice. And then he goes
rigid, breaking the kiss to arch back and throw his head back as he comes all over your lap in the
single most depraved display youve ever witnessed in your life. Just the idea of him gushing
genetic material all over your lap, using you like a pail, is enough to send you over the edge,
writhing beneath him and further destroying the metal plating of the floor.
Hes still sitting on your hips, when you regain control of yourself again. He has his hands pressed
down your lower abdomen, watching your face attentively with an expression you cant decipher.
You shudder violently as you realize youre lying in an ever growing puddle of your combined
genetic material and your clothes are ruined beyond words.
And you feel good.
You feel so good.
You hate him twice as much as you did before, just for that.
Most people, he slurs his vowels, inching forward so his head is hanging a few inches above
yours, would just corner me after work, you know? Hey, Eri, I have a hate itch in my bulge, care
to help me scratch it? And Id help. Because Im nice like that. But youre not most people, are
you.
No, you whisper, strangely afraid to move, and pull yourself away from the sweat and the slurry
and the sheer inappropriateness of the situation. Im not.
Youre a despicable piece of shit, Zahhak, he leans in and licks some sweat off your face. You
find yourself trembling again. And if you dont fuck me until you break me, Ill fucking murder
you, you fucking hateful shitstain of a troll.
Language, you croak weakly, as he slides to his feet gracefully and slowly begins to undress.

Fuck language.
Those long, spidery fingers work wonders on his uniform, sliding it off with remarkable ease. And
then hes standing there, bare skin everywhere and your bulge twitches interestedly, when you
realize he took the binder off and there is gold hanging off his gills. It sinks in, a little harder, what
he means by getting off on pain. Hes such a hateful collection of depravity and lewdness and you
hate him so much. You dont trust yourself to try and get your clothes off without tearing them to
rags, so you just captchalogue them all. Ampora makes a sound in the back of his throat, and you
regret not moving because now youre naked in a puddle of your own secretions and if he werent
pinning you down with that look youd be running away as fast as your legs could carry you. You
still have half a mind to run anyway, when he slides down again, thighs brushing against yours as
he sits down in your lap again. Except youre naked this time and that means you can feel his
bulge twisting against the dip of your hip, while your own twitches up against the rim of his nook.
And everything is wet and gross and disgraceful and lewd and you think you might die, before its
all over.
I I
Use your fucking words, Zahhak, and hes tugging you up by the horn again, until youre
sitting up and looking down at him again. You dont need a towel. You need the whole fucking
stock. He sneers. Its what we civilized trolls do, you know.
Oh god, you hate him so much.
You lean in and bite his shoulder, hard enough you feel skin breaking and blood flowing. The
reaction is immediate: he squirms in your grip, grinding against you, and you can feel wetness
sliding down his nook onto your bulge. It makes you twitch some more, arousal coming back with
a vengeance.
I have not done this before, you hiss against his skin, resisting the urge to lick your lips because
theres blood in them and its violet and you want to die. Ever.
Couldve fooled me, there, he moans, still clawing your skull and shifting in your lap as if to
coax your bulge back to its full size. Its working disturbingly well. Maybe youre just a natural
slut, Zahhak, he twists his hand in your hair and you snarl down at him, fingers twitching. You
want to hold him but you dont dare to. Your control over your strength is remarkable, these days,
but you wont risk hurting him beyond repair. He grinds against you again, infuriatingly
distracting. Or maybe you caught it from me, eh? How long til youre barhopping with me,
looking for a little fun in a dark cor
He squeaks as you surge forward and pin him to the ground without even touching him. You hold
yourself above him, snarling. He seems surprised, but not afraid. Satisfaction roars in your veins as
you slide your tongue into his mouth, mimicking the way he did it to you. His hands clutch
helplessly at your hair as he writhes beneath you, and you like him like this, you realize. You
shouldnt, but you do. More than that, you like the way hes trying to keep up and kiss back,
pulling on your hair and arching his hips up to try and touch yours, because it means hell fight
back. It means hell try to turn you around and your gut throbs at the thought.
You will not do that anymore, you order, before you can really think about it. Never again.
Hes breathless, and even so, he refuses to back down. He arches an eyebrow, taunting. Like hes
not lying in a puddle of slurry with your sweat dripping down onto him and his bulge coiling on
itself, waiting for more.
And what makes you think you can say that?

You feel your own bulge lash against your thighs.

Because no kismesis of mine would resort to something so crass to get my attention.
He kisses you with teeth, claws digging into your scalp and the back of your neck, and you roll
onto your back, pulling him with you as you do. He doesnt break the kiss as he goes, and when
he tears at your bottom lip you feel a rush of excitement rolling down your spine. He scoots
forward as he breaks the kiss, knees against your sides and weight resting mostly on your hips.
Then he presses a hand to the center of your chest and uses it to push himself back as he grinds,
until his nook is rubbing at the base of your bulge.
This, he moans, wanton and terrible and hateful, pinning you down with his stare, is going to
hurt so good.
You raise up to you elbows to get a better look as he kneels up and reaches down a hand to hold
onto the very tip of your bulge. You groan at the subtle pressure of fingers and take a deep breath
as he guides you up against his entrance. He cant possibly take you. He just cant. Youre
consumed by lust and self-consciousness and anticipation, as you slide in the first inch. Hes cold.
Wet and cold and tight, and you want to close your eyes and die, but you cant look away, as he
clenches and unclenches his muscles and slowly coaxes you inside. Youve never felt anything
like it before. He works you in slowly, his own bulge twisting and smearing violet all over his lap.
You cant take it, youre going to die. Hes hissing profanity between each breath, and you can
see the muscles twitching under his skin, the further down he goes. The closer he gets to the base,
the more clearly you can see the rim of his nook, swollen and violet, contrasting with the deep,
saturated blue of your bulge. Its obscene. Outrageous. Youre shaking by the time he takes those
impossible last two inches in. Hes crying, and you hate him for it, because before you can even
force your throat to make sounds resembling words, he ripples around you.
It takes you six breaths to realize the cry bouncing off the walls came out of your throat, and only
because hes laughing between sobs, shifting slightly and twitching. When he does it again,
clenching his muscles around you, youre fairly certain that you just spat out profanity at him for
it. You snarl, and he laughs again, until you sit up and his laughter ends up choked. His hands
come to your shoulders and the base of your neck, claws digging in as you try to move in the
confined space. You have good control of your bulge, if nothing else because youve always
tended to your frustrations on your own. You never thought youd be using that experience like
this, however. The first uncertain twist makes him sob and tighten his grip on your neck. Your
breathing hitches and you shift again, unconsciously this time. His eyes widen, so you twist again,
pressing against the cold, wet flesh around you, and you stare in fascination as his expression falls
apart. It has to hurt, it almost hurts you, and hes so tight.
You fall into an awkward rhythm together, of twists and twitches and clenching and sobbing and
moaning. The only sounds in the block are your ragged breathing and the little hisses of air
passing between his teeth, as if by mutual agreement you had decided to hide in the silence. You
take his hands and lift them higher on your throat, so when he tightens his grip, you find your
airsacks burning for air. Then you risk placing your hands on his hips, lifting him scantly an inch
before you let him fall. You can feel electricity spreading through your nerves, pleasure building
up in every corner of your being and threatening to swallow you whole. He reaches climax first,
muscles tightening to the point of pain and you find yourself following him as his grip on your
throat turns brutal. Time skips a beat, and when it falls back into place, youre sprawled on your
back and hes a boneless heap on your chest.
You enjoy perhaps ten seconds of afterglow, mind stuffed with wool and muscles lax, as if your
bones had been replaced with foam. Then reality asserts itself and you can feel the awkwardness
and the panic sinking in your gut, because youre lying on the floor, your own slurry slowly

crusting everywhere and you

You just had sex with Eridan fiddlesticks Ampora, and it was possibly the greatest thing youve
ever done in your life.
Oh god.
Oh dear merciful god.
You want to die.
Ampora, you say, wincing as you try to move, because your hair is drenched in slurry and
sweat and you might legitimately be sick if you dont get to the ablution trap as soon as possible.
Ampora. He doesnt respond, though you can see his ribs moving in time with his breathing and
he groans softly as your bulge retracts from him with a wet, nauseating sound. Eridan.
His name tastes strange on your tongue.
Fuck off.
You flinch but cant even be bothered to say anything about his atrocious use of language. You
try to sit up and he digs in his claws into your chest, hissing.
I You swallow hard. We should clean up.
We should stay right where we are, he mutters, releasing the pressure of his claws on your skin.
Im not moving for a sweep, Eq.
Such a gross mutilation of your name sends shivers down your spine. You want to be angry at
him, but you cant muster much, not when your body is still flooded with the aftershocks of
pleasure and feeling sated like it never has, before.
Youre moving, you say, ignoring the claws as you sit up. AmEridan sprawls in your lap like
a boneless ragdoll, pressing his forehead to your chest. Were both moving. We must clean up
and dress properly, and then I will look at your face and make sure you didnt pull on a stitch with
that ridiculous
Im gonna murder you in your sleep, he says, accent thick and voice dangerously sleepy. You
splutter as the words register. When I can move again and I find out if you pulverized my hips or
not. Im gonna murder you in your fucking sleep. See if I dont.
That is wholly inapproEridan? Eridan.
Hes gone even limper than before, snoring softly through his mouth. You take a deep breath.
Then another.
Fiddlesticks.

CT: D--> I dont know what Im doing with my life anymore

CT: D--> He snores, Nepeta
CT: D--> It is the most hideous sound

CT: D--> And then he left when he woke up and went right back to being his obnoxious,
undignified self
CT: D--> He stole one of my uniforms, too
CT: D--> Which I suppose is acceptable in the circumstances
CT: D--> Since he would have had to parade around naked otherwise
CT: D--> But he could have asked
CT: D--> I had to put up with his snoring and
CT: D--> And the things
CT: D--> On my f100r
CT: D--> And we didnt really even talk about it
CT: D--> Oh dear god
CT: D--> I
CT: D--> I must talk to him about the things I said
CT: D--> I said the must preposterous nonsense
CT: D--> In the heat of the moment
CT: D--> I must go
centaursTesticle [CT] ceased trolling arsenicCatnip [AC]
AC: :33 < *quietly updates the shipping wall*

Hes in the bridge, in Zephyrs place, when you catch up with the enemy cruiser, two days after
the incident in your quarters.
He seems to be taking everything in stride and you are profoundly jealous of him for his ability to
adapt to what goes around him. You have had three different conversations, since then. The first
one was an awkward mess, when you realized you didnt want to take back your quadrant
insinuations, and which ended up in a hissing spat and left you a hickey that the collar of your
uniform barely hides. The second time he proved to you he still remembers the highblood ways,
and he left you reeling and frothing, over his willingness to offer you a kismesissitude set in the
old ways. The third time you called him to your block under the pretense to check on his face and
then you kicked him out after you reduced him to a panting, writhing mess.
But now is not the time for that.
You nod at him, acknowledging his presence, but then turn to your men and the open channels as
the Morrigan prepares for battle again. The Truvian cruiser is not slowing down, but you are
almost close enough to take the damn thing down. You wont make it to the meeting point with
the Leviathan in time, because of this little side trip, but youve steadily refused to think about that
since you had to inform Vantas of the fact. He took it surprisingly well, but it might have had
something to do with the fact you neglected to mention Eridans injuries in your report. You
probably shouldnt have done that, all things considered.
The enemy ship is trying to escape through an asteroid belt, and the Morrigan is too big to engage
it in it. You order the warships to prepare for deployment and have your navigators guide the ship
through the rim of the belt, preparing to strike once you are both outside of it.
Except when you reach the other side, you are greeted with the sight of a large contingent of
Truvian ships. Theyre technically still within Alternian space, so they are clearly an overt war
advance. Theres stunned, quasi-panicked silence in the bridge as the screens fill up with dots

marking enemy ships. Those are at least fifteen armored cruisers, and that's more than enough to
run your ship to the ground.
Captain
You take a deep breath.
Prepare to
Every screen in the bridge goes black. Someone whimpers in the background, but youre too busy
staring as each one is filled with a familiar gold emblem to take note of such a pitiful display. The
main screen returns to its projection of the enemy ships, but the rest continue to broadcast a very
familiar sign.
Captor, you say, through teeth so tightly clenched youre certain theyre going to break. The
main screen shifts as a very obnoxious 2up appears on it. Whats the meaning of this?
2orry for not warning you about the trap
you 2eemed bu2y at the tiime and all
ju2t lettiing you know iitll be alriight
the cavalry ii2 on iit2 way
Oh, fuck, Eridan blurts out, as a new, larger dot appears in the display, a helpful tag next to it
labeling Leviathan. You didnt
2orry, eriidan, iit2 for the greater good
Shit, shit, shit, fuck, fuckity fuck, Captor, you wriggling bag of pus-rotten bulges!
ehehehehehehehehe
cheer2, enjoy the fiirework2
Ampora
Its instantaneous.
One moment the Truvian ships are quickly multiplying as the cruisers deploy their warships, the
next theyre gone. Just. Gone.
Enemy signals gone, sir.
You swallow hard.
Shift to visual input, you snap, as Eridan slouches back into his chair, holding his head in his
hands. The screens dutifully offer video feed. Of nothing. Thats notrewind it, to before the
signals were lost.
You stare in horror as a flash of lightning, red and blue, arcs along the enemy lines, vaporizing
everything in its wake. The bridge is oppressively silent, trolls staring at the screen as the same
image plays over and over again. You have a sinking feeling you know precisely what just
happened.
Everyone stand down, you say after a moment, swallowing hard. Prepare the gate to connect
with the Leviathan.
I am so dead, Eridan whispers forlornly. Were all so dead.

You refuse to comment, no matter how much you might agree with him.
Come, you say instead, turning to leave the bridge, I imagine your moirail will want to have
words with you.
He laughs an ugly, ragged laugh, but does as you say. Together, you walk down the corridors
towards the gate, like two criminals heading to the execution block.

You dont know what you expected, but the Helmsman surpasses it in every sense of the word.
You had seen him before, of course, during your occasional visits to the Empress flagship, but the
troll storming down the tunnel connecting both ships is nothing short of terrifying. Red and blue
lightning crackles all around him, and even if you just hadnt witnessed what that light can do, you
would still feel intimidated by the display. You have perhaps a second to notice the lines of gold
curling on his skin and wonder what possessed him to do such a thing, when you find yourself
pinned to a steel wall, invisible hands pressing hard enough you can hear your bones creak.
Let him go, love, Eridan says, in the softest of voices. Mituna, let him go. Please. You tilt
your head against the pressure, catching a glimpse of the seadweller wrapped around the psionic,
fingering his hair and crushing the shorter troll to his chest, before youre shoved harder and a soft
hiss escapes your mouth. Its not his fault. Please. Let him go. Hes hes important to me.
Please.
Abruptly, he lets go of you and you crumple to the floor, gasping for air. Youre not quite ready to
pull yourself back to your feet, when you catch sight of gold and white and scarlet, and as you
look up, you find Vantas staring down at you with an unreadable expression.
Now, he says, tone pleasant enough to make you shiver, while Eridan does damage control,
why dont you and I sit down with a nice cup tea, Equius, and you explain to me what the
festering fuck is going on?
Of course. You swallow hard, standing up slowly and wondering if you have any broken
bones. That would be a novelty, you dont think youve ever experienced something like that.
Youre not in any real hurry to go through it again, though. Please, follow me.
You catch Eridans eye as he slowly drags his moirail towards the Leviathan, while you step back
to let Karkat walk into the Morrigan. You dont know whats going to happen, but you belatedly
realize youre about to have a serious conversation with Karkat Vantas, in the same block you
fucked his matesprit into a puddle of slurry.
Were you a lesser troll, youd allow yourself a whimper.
Because youre Equius Zahhak, you merely close your eyes and promise yourself youll take it
out on Eridan later. If youre still alive, by then.

caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling centaursTesticle [CT]

CA: so
CA: that happened
CT: D--> Indeed
CA: howw did it go
CT: D--> It went
CA: oww
CT: D--> I trust your moirail has been properly pacified
CA: yeah
CA: kar didnt yell at you too much did he
CT: D--> I am afraid what transpired between the High Chancellor and myself is none of your
business
CA: fuck right off, eq
CA: hes my matesprit an youre my kismesis
CA: its pretty much entirely my fuckin business
CT: D--> Language
CA: go fuck yourself on something sharp
CT: D--> Perhaps I might
CA: oh no
CA: no
CA: dont go there, asshole
CA: youre not gonna derail this convversation wwith your goddamn sexy wwiles
CT: D--> Wiles, Eridan
CT: D--> Really
CA: shut up
CA: god
CA: youre so fuckin hateful
CA: <3<
CT: D--> The feeling, I assure you, is entirely mutual
CT: D-->
CT: D--> <3<
CT: D--> Now
CT: D--> Tell me what the purpose of this conversation is
CT: D--> If it is not about my supposed wiles and what retribution I will be extracting out of you
with them
CA: see
CA: the wway i see it
CA: this wwasnt my fault
CT: D--> Shocking
CA: shut up
CA: it wwasnt your fault either
CT: D--> Debatable
CA: no, see
CA: wwho gave psii an kar that vvideo a me losin half my goddamn face
CA: that sent psii into a murderous rage in the first place?
CT: D--> Oh
CA: yeah
CT: D--> Go on
CA: so im thinkin
CA: wwere highbloods you an i
CA: civvilized folk
CT: D--> Indeed
CA: so howw about instead a takin it out on each other like lowwblood wwigglers that dont
evven knoww howw kismesissitude wworks

CA: wwe do the highblood thing

CA: an make it a game to see wwho gets captor best
CA: or wworst
CA: dependin on howw you look at it
CT: D--> My, oh my
CT: D--> Such a 100rid proposition, Eridan
TA: you two fucker2 know ii can 2ee thii2
TA: riight
CA: you can go fuck yourself on your owwn damn horns, captor
CA: my hatred for you is strictly platonic
CT: D--> Likewise
TA: ehehehehehehehehe
TA: nerd2
TA: briing iit on, biitches
TA: iitd take both of you two even come clo2e two gettiing me
CT: D--> Eridan
CA: mmm
CT: D--> You have yourself a deal
CA: swweet
CA: noww
CA: back to your wwiles
TA: ugh
TA: iim outta here
CT: D--> Well

In the back of my head, there's

A siren that won't shut up.
I didn't plug my ears, I took
My hands and started to dance.
Come on, come on, come on, breathe in.
~ Hatsune Miku, Hyperventilation Dance.

End Notes

I don't even know what I'm doing with my life anymore. Is that a Power Rangers reference
in there? Yes, yes it is.

RP/Askblog for this verse.

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