(This is awesome! Congratulations on the 100 followers, and feel better soon!) I request… something from Dualscar’s point of view, FBaTN universe or similar setup, with the Sufferer, philosophical debate, hurt/comfort, backrubs (backrubs make everything better), gills/facial fins, and no unhappy endings. Or just most of that :)
Humanstuck? HA, I say, HA, I ain’t writing no humanstuck.
Except I totally am. Whoops.
“Oh, Zahhak,” and suddenly Dualscar’s whole face is the same petulant scowl you’ve grown used to seeing on Eridan’s face.
“You know him?”
“Tall, ridiculously overmuscled with ridiculously matching hair and the crappiest pair of sunglasses in the history of ever?” Dualscar snorts and rolls his eyes at you. “Oh yes, I know him alright.”
“Really?” You blurt out, before you can help yourself.
You think of the hulk of a man quietly listing everything wrong with your car in a painfully polite, measured voice and several sizable blotches of motor oil all over his person. You then look at Dualscar, in his ridiculously impeccable suit, along with ridiculously impeccable jewelry and his ridiculously impeccable everything. You try to picture both men in the same room and fail spectacularly.
“Yes,” Dualscar sniffs disdainfully. “I know a lot of people, you know,” he adds, in a mock-offended tone that makes you roll your eyes affectionately. “But you should stay away from Zahhak. He’s bad news.”
You don’t really think so, to be honest. He struck you as an odd sort of guy, undoubtedly, but not really dangerous or violent. You frown as you take a sip of your drink.
“How so?” You ask, watching as Dualscar turns his eyes to the window and starts playing with his rings.
“He just is,” he sounds genuinely wary underneath his annoyance, and that gives you pause. For better or for worse, you’ve been depending on the man to help you navigate the neighborhood, and so far he hasn’t really led you into disaster. Yet. “Did you see his shop?” You nod as Dualscar tips back the last of his coffee. “That’s a fucking Royce in the corner. A Royce, Suff.” You kick him under the table. As usual, he dodges. “In a fucking two penny shop like his? Really? How’s that not a redflag of a serial killer or something?”
“Maybe it’s from a client,” you mutter, disliking the idea of judging someone just like that, which unfortunately Dualscar is all too prone to do.
“Maybe it’s where he hides the bodies,” he tells you, leaning in dramatically.
“Maybe he’s a collector,” a quiet, painfully demure voice interrupts, and you choke on your coffee as the very source of your gossip materializes out of nowhere next to your table. He arches an eyebrow over the rim of his sunglasses and then casually holds up a ring of keys which you embarrassingly recognize as your own. “I believe you left these behind?”
“Yes,” you croak, ignoring the way Dualscar just stares as you reach a hand to grab them.
“Have a good day, gentlemen,” Zahhak murmurs as you hastily pocket your keys.
Then, with a nod and a swish of hair, he’s gone.
“Awkward,” Dualscar says after a moment, utterly unrepentant.
You bury your face into your hands and groan, already composing an apology letter in your head. It’s ten in the morning and your day already can’t get any worse.
Except of course that it’ll get worse. It always gets worse. Suff, you should know this already.
/sinks back to work on Tidestuck and stuff. And totally not on any humanstuck. What humanstuck. HA. Haha. Oh god. Save me from the WIPs.
how do I love Fi
let me count the ways
- humanstuck ancestors
- ancestors that are humanstuck
- zahhak the car collector
- all of everything
Shameless Shower Scenes
My client would like to prompt you as follows: Suf <3 Psi <3< Dualscar <3 Suf. Most awkward attempts at (sexy?) showering known to trollkind. Go forth!
I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY AM I ALLOWED A BED NOW
PN: told hiim dc wa2 leaviing forever becau2e he broke her heart
PN: don’t worry 2he laughed harder than ii diid
SF: CONVINCED HIM HIS FAVOURITE NUMBER WAS THREE THE FIRST TIME HE EVER GOT DRUNK.
PN: got hiim two clean wiith a bucket before DR explaiined the fact2 of liife two hiim
SF: SHAVED OFF ONE OF HIS EYEBROWS.
PN: 2haved off both of hii2
PN: liittle known fact: hii2 cloak diidn’t have a hood before that
SF: IT IS A MERE COINCIDENCE THAT THE COLOUR STARTED COMING INTO MY EYES THEN.
SF: REPLACED HIS SHAMPOO WITH GLUE.
SF: IT DIDN’T MAKE A DIFFERENCE, HIS HAIR WAS STILL RIDICULOUS.
PN: lii2ted hii2 trollhandle a2 up for a good tiime
SF: JOKE’S ON YOU, I LOVE GOOD TIMES.
PN: the funny thiing ii2 that he 2tiill doe2n’t get iit
SF: CONVINCED HIM THAT I DON’T UNDERSTAND ALL OF HIS OVERWORKED INNUENDOS.
PN: what’2 the 2core then
PN: oh 2f. 2f, 2f, 2f.
PN: iit’2 on.
SF: IT’S BEEN ON, SADSACK. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?
WHAT JUST HAPPENED
OH ATABROS JUST UPDATED THAT IS WHAT HAPPENED
I hope by ‘philosophical debate’ you actually meant ‘extra hurt/comfort’ because sorry I fail at adhering to prompts. Also, SPOILERS FER RECENT FBATN CHAPTERS AWOOGA AWOOGA.
The Humanstuck that never should have been…
I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore, honest.
“Oh god,” the man says, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you, “you’re a fucking hippie.”
Your jaw dislocates itself as you stare at him. In your peripheral vision, you see Karkat pulling an expression that probably mirrors yours. Behind the man, his son – Eridan? Maybe? – is pressing his face into his hands so hard you have a feeling the imprint of his rings will last for weeks. Then you snap your mouth close, raise yourself to your full height, all five feet and two inches of it, and glare.
“You’re a fucking hippie,” the man repeats, staring at you in fascination. “I didn’t know there were still legit hippies around. Holy shit.”
You take another look at his perfectly pressed pinstripe suit, with a ridiculous matching violet shirt, the earrings, the eyebrow piercing, and the stripe of violet on his hair. He’s wearing more jewelry than you’ve ever seen on a human being before and he still manages to pull it off somehow. The scars on his face don’t look as horrifying as they should, you think, they’re just… there, like an accent to his features. In short, you’ve never wanted to punch someone in the face more in your entire life.
“Excuse me,” you snarl, bristling and restraining yourself admirably. “How do you even—“
“No, no, it’s okay,” and he has the sheer balls to give you a winning smile, pearly whites perfectly straight as only years and years of orthodontist miracles could manage. “It’s my thing, you know? I can tell these things five minutes after meeting someone, really. Natural talent at reading people, it’s okay. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Except that he just loudly announced your secret to the entire room. Not that it’s your secret, of course, because you’re not a bloody hippie. But if you were, which you’re not, well, the cat would be out of the bag.
“You’ve known me for three,” you snap at him, glaring darkly.
“More than enough,” he insists, still giving you that stupid smile. “Some people are just obvious, really.”
You stop resisting the urge.
You get a warning from the school about violence in the premises and the only reason it doesn’t escalate is because he didn’t press charges after all was said and done. You wouldn’t have cared if he had, really. Punching him is a satisfaction no one will ever take from you.
“So,” you say, awkwardly, holding your cup because you’re not sure how to keep yourself from fidgeting otherwise. “Eridan.”
“Eridan?” He tilts his head to the side, birdlike.
“I’m going to say something very offensive,” you add, nodding at him.
“Go ahead, Suff,” he grins easily, and casually dodges when you try to kick him for the nickname.
You’re not a Sufferer, dammit. You only suffer the stupidity of the world around you, but that’s totally not the same thing. And you’re working on changing it, anyway. You’re fixing it. That’s not the same as suffering it.
“You’re not someone I’d ping for the fatherly type, is all,” you say, rolling your eyes and ignoring the way your hands are getting uncomfortably warm against the hot porcelain of the mug.
You stubbornly refuse to pull your hands away, even if they’re burning, because then you’re going to fidget and if you’ve learned something about Ampora is that he zeroes in on that kind of thing like a shark on blood.
“Oh,” he blinks, then shrugs, “yeah, I ain’t. He just sort‘a happened, one day.”
“Yeah.” He takes a sip of his ridiculously complicated coffee – it took him five minutes to enunciate his order and you think he might have made the poor barista cry (you don’t even like baristas all that much, what with them always getting your coffee wrong, and you still managed to feel bad for them) – looking at you over the rim of the cup as he drinks. “It was the weirdest thing.”
You stare at him. He shrugs again. He’s got a line of foamy milk on his upper lip and it takes him three licks to get rid of it.
“I can no longer tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” You pause a moment, letting that sink in properly. “It’s really fucking sad.”
(he just sort of happened dualscar what happened did you find eridan in the gutter)
Cleaning out my writing folder.
Ashkatom, I warned you, bro.
He balances this, like he balances everything else in his life: that is to say, horribly, terribly, awfully bad.
He keeps fretting about spending too much time with one or the other or both at once. There’s a threat in the back of his mind, when the three are together, that he’s somehow put their kismesissitude in jeopardy, that he’s double-quadranted them by proxy, that he’s fucked up something else.
“You’re a fool,” Dualscar tells him, lying on his side on a pile – it used to be their pile, when he thought they were pale and why is he thinking about them when he’s here with him – deliciously naked, unruffled and himself. “A glubbin’ fool, Suff, I swear.”
“I don’t know. Or I do. It’s just. This. Us. I don’t…” And then: “Fuck.”
“What, again?” Dualscar makes a show of widening his eyes, fins flaring at the side of his face and making the rings there jiggle as they do.
Sufferer reaches for whatever he has at hand, which is one of his shoes, which he then hurls at the seadweller’s head in retaliation, making a sound that encapsulates the heart and soul of sheer frustration. And then he throws his hands up in the air and throws the rest of himself into the pile, arms following almost as a second thought.
“That was red, pale and black,” Dualscar quips in, wrapping his own around the smaller troll, “I’m impressed. Shell I call Psii to sea if you can do ashen too?”
“I’m having a crisis here and if you don’t drop the goddamn puns I might strangle you.”
“Well, it is.”
“Your matesprit, one of your matesprits, is freaking out in your arms and having a crisis about the fact there’s a plural attached to that quadrant. This is not the moment to be a wiseass.”
ONE DAY, I WILL FINISH EDITING THIS INTO SOMETHING VAGUELY PRESENTABLE.
In the meantime, bask in my fail, man.
oh my god
oh my god oh my god
FOLLOWERS LOOK SOMEONE ELSE IS WRITING MY OT3
GO SHOWER HER IN PRAISE
And had it been me?
is this a thing
because I desperately need this to be a thing and if it’s not a thing by fuck I am making it a thing
Pairings: N/A it’s just Kankri and Suf havin’ a chat.
Rating: tw: social justice warrior
Notes: I. I’m sorry, people waiting on promptfic. But I had to.
[1:34:49 AM] Ashkatom: …
[1:35:02 AM] Ashkatom: I want a picture of Suf in stolen seadweller bling
Congrats you are the winner of a scribble and I am the winner of going to bed now because it took five tries to type this.