Life and Times of Teh Asuka

In Which A Secret Mutantblood Unknowingly Picks Up A Member Of The Nobility In A Bar Of Ill-Repute, After Which They Proceed To Have Sex, Fall Asleep, Then Have Sex Again While The Mutant Desperately Tries To Hide His Blood Color And Not Laugh At The Blueblood's Deplorable Jokes. Contains References To Ashen Pornography, A Somewhat Pitiable Inability To Handle The Gloriousness Of War, And Mentions Of Conciliatory Perversions Unsuitable For Trolls Aged Eight Or Under.

((btw I’m going with indigo-Equius, purple-Gamzee, violet-Eridan.))

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"Dude," someone mutters against his neck. "Dude, your communicator is beeping."

Karkat blinks away the afterimage of his dreams -- some boring cliché horsebeastshit about wading through a mess of alien larvae during a mission. It's dark in the recuperacoon, but a faint greenish glow comes from outside.

The slime isn't great, but better than they get in the barracks; it would be easy to sink back into its embrace...

He doesn't care about the dream (terrified pupae, gore squelching under the tread of his combat boots) and he does vaguely want to find out if the other troll pressed against his side would let him sink into his arms again (maybe his nook, even, shit, that part of yesterday was good.) Hey, the guy didn't steal Karkat's wallet or cull him during the day, Karkat likes his odds.

"Dude," the man mumbles, eyes entirely closed, and disappears under the surface with a quiet glop. His horns emerge from the orange up, two windswept, rolling curves that Karkat is almost (vaguely, entirely) sure he had his hands on at some point...

Karkat grabs the edge with both hands and fits his feet in the holds and executes a smooth-as-hell roll through the round opening.

(He lands on his heels and stumbles back, but the wall of the recuperacoon breaks his fall before he can get very far.)

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It's not a bad explosion, as those things get. Blows the shit out of his hinges, and makes the decorative door panels shudder and fall out of alignment like a linebacker rammed them, but it's a foot that finishes the job of knocking the door down.

His gun is -- stupidly -- all the way downstairs in the gun safe by the door. It's out of reach the second the first man rushes through -- a huge wall of a man, square and meaty -- and then the second man comes in on his heels and Dave gives it up for lost.

Under him on the main floor Karkat starts snarling, steps forward to meet the threat, but there's a machine gun in the first man's hands and Dave can see nothing but the confettied mess it would make of his non-shelled face.

"Get out of here!" he yells, and shoves the half-open windowpane out of his way and swings himself out and onto the ancient straight ladder bolted to the outside wall.

Two men on the fire escape's last landing, just under him; he hears glass breaking. One of them looks up, gun up --

Aradia rushes through him with barely a thought; the gun jams, trigger frozen in time. Dave beats Olympic records of ladder-climbing.

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Two sequels to By The Letter (of the law)

Anonymous said: Dorky Knights, a couple (two??) months later, trying to make out during some free time but their mounts won't leave them alone. Bad Crow.

The good thing about being a knight lawfully wedded to another knight is that he’s always got a partner. Especially because of the political angle to being a Dersite and a Prospitian, or a troll and a human — they get lots of peacekeeping assignments, not to the level of leading war parties but sort of pre-diplomacy. Diplomacy with teeth. Flattening the ground for the real diplomacy parties — and sometimes it turns out the problem can be resolved with a good talking-to, no need to bring in his hell-sister and turn everyone inside out.

Metaphorically speaking. Most of the time. But anyway.

( Read more... )

Anonymous said: By the Letter (of the law), five years later

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They don't really bother with court much. Karkat didn't enjoy Prospit's court already; Derse's makes him twice as happy that he's got disputes to slap down, speeches of friendship and country-wide news to deliver, and town-to-town enmities to mediate and scratch his ashen itch on. Even if he hated his current life he would hate it less than Derse's court.

The Empresses requested their presence, though, and he's good at hating things he's got to deal with anyways.

Case in point. "Dave I swear to all that is holy if you molest my gloves again I will slap you in the face with them."

"Huh."

"In a really not sexy way."

"Aw."

Karkat clears his throat and looks away from Dave's pouting lips. "You made us late enough with the boots, let's go already." He can still feel Dave's warm hands 'helping you tuck your pants in those stupid boots properly' all over his thighs.

He tucks Dave's arm in his and hauls him out of the door.

"Do you even like that kind of pain?" he grumbles -- quietly so the servants won't catch that they're discussing their sex life in public corridors once again.

"Face-slapping? Eh." Dave purses his lips. Karkat tears his eyes away. "I'd totally tolerate it if it made your clothes fall back off. They're so pretty, they'd probably make you look twice as good naked."

Karkat rolls his eyes, and vows to work twice as hard not to let on that the stupidly fancy court clothes Dave's brother sent them to wear are stiff and scratchy and ridiculously attention-grabbing, and make him miss his traveling leathers already. The lengths one will go to in order to please their matesprit, seriously.( Read more... )

"Is that a house, or a castle?"

Dave snorts as he gets out of the car. "Castles are prettier. This is a pile of giant cement pizza boxes, dude." The pile isn't even straight and even, there are corners sticking our everywhere.

Dirk doesn't crack a smile or even indicate that he heard as he extracts himself from the passenger's seat, even though he was the one who first made that comparison, ten or fifteen years ago. He's been monosyllabic ever since they picked him up for mandatory Strilonde Bonding Time on pain of Aunt Romy.

Crouched beside Dave on the driveway, Karkat is still staring up doubtfully.

"Besides," Dave continues, "it's not that big, just kinda sprawly."

"There's a tower."

"It's an observatory!" Roxy calls out from the other side of the bridge, and waves. Dave vaguely wonders how she heard them so well, with the little running stream between them and the waterfall just behind the corner where she's standing, but he sticks his hands in his pockets and follows Dirk.

"Oh, an observatory!" Karkat replies, sarcastic, as he makes his cautious way across. "Whew. Totally different! Especially the pompous levels."

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second half is still halfway written. this is still a pretty nice chunk of fic, about 14k.

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John reached the hangars at a dead run. Marcia was waiting with a pickup truck; he jumped on the open back and she floored the gas. He held onto the roof as she drove through piles of crates and past hurriedly backing off mechanics, riding the bumps and swerves.

"Flight suit!" she snapped, and grabbed a bundle of cloth on the seat beside her to push it through the cab's back window at John. He stuck it under his arm just as she swerved right, almost flinging him off, and then suddenly they were pacing Warhammer's immense, prone shape as it was moved onto rails toward the launch shuttle.

John didn't have time to put his flight suit on. He stuck a corner of it between his teeth, climbed onto the cab's roof; Marcia matched her speed to the flatcar and John jumped to Warhammer's wrist. He was running up the slope of its arm in the next second.

The rails made the whole frame vibrate, but not too badly. John threw himself in a controlled slide along his mech's chest plate, slapped a hand down on the cockpit door lock, and let himself fall backward through the opening, spine first into his seat.

Oof. ( Read more... )

Contains Pail-Free Xenosexual Relationships Between a Male Mutant Troll and Male Human for the Purpose of Exhibitionistic Sexual Gratification, Polyquadranted Individuals Presented in a Neutral or Positive Way, and Puppets Used in Several Perverted Ways, One of Those Puppets Depicting a Rad as Fuck Big-Nosed Allusion to Our Glorious Empress, Which She in Her Wisdom Has Allowed to Keep Existing Because Damn Straig)(t I Got Da Biggest One.

*eyes fic*

... Eh, I've written pornier.

I'm sure. Somewhere.

novidactyl asked: 1. Bro/Signless (my rarepair♥) 2.Flush 3.Pornstar AU w/ smuppets for Bro's website (humanstuck or normal species are both fantastic)
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"And really, in the digital age, with shit like tumblr and reddit around, what's going to touch the most people, boring long-ass sermons, or streaming free porn clips that fuck with hemocastist expectations and contain gleeful and unapologetic quadrant-smearing?"

On the other side of his bed, unzipping his pants, Signless laughed quietly. "Bro, I've already agreed to film this movie with you."

Bro shrugged, nodded, kept ogling. The guy's pants would be hilarious if he didn't fill them so well. Bro was also a fan of the zipper being placed on the side, from under the arm to the hip; the way it unveiled him as the cloth fell away was especially interesting.

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Anonymous asked: Kankri/Karkat, pale, first time pile? (Or losing his pale virginity in an unusual place because he needs to SHOOSH NOW, YOU IDIOT)

Dubcon/Noncon moirallegiance, Alternia.

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The only thing that saves them is that even in the throes of berserk rage Kankri has no clue how to fight.

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Anonymous asked: Kanaya/Byrd, pleasantly buzzed and/or festive, on Hellmurder island.

(this is Crash Standing-verse but idk if it's canon for the verse or not.)

960 words.

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"Byrd," she says with even more careful enunciation than usual, and that's how you know she's kind of drunk. "I do not wish to impugn on your transcendental broship with John."

She looks all challenging yet dignified, like she said something especially noble or important. You nod patiently, and pat the wooden log you're sitting on, your beer bottle trapped between your knees. Mighty useful as grabbing limbs, those knees, you'd never have found out without losing your hand and she would have tripped and gone down from you not being free to catch her and help her down.

That or she would have gotten a boobful of beer. You're not sure which would be considered worse.

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For a too-long moment you're struck completely dumb. You kneel there like a tool with a cat on your shoulder and a cat on your head as gunshots keep cracking on the deck above.

Running steps, several, heavy, and you can't really tell but you can tell anyway, they're not any of yours.

Steps on the stairs. You throw yourself back into the laundry room, your hand up to keep Gcat from falling. He slips anyway to become your new kitty hat, his paws on your shades knocking them askew and those are automatic guns outside so you captchalogue them, hat-cat and ear-warmer-cat both. (You tag them FELINE OVERLORDS for sylladex indexing purposes.) You just, nowhere fuckin' else to put them and ooooh fuck, where are you supposed to hide in here, the light's still on. You slap it off but the corridor still has little lights on so you can't come out, and then you hear them, one person, two.

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sionnachsskulk asked: Equius♣Vriska♣Tavros, first official date, mood: awkward/flirty

1k.

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"For the last time, cease hitting yourself," Equius said sternly, and left the remote engaged for another two seconds before Vriska surrendered with a groan. Equius inspected her face with a glance; her dead eye now had a bruised cheekbone to go with, but he suspected she would only see it as a "badass enhancer" if he pointed it out, or at least irritatingly pretend she did. Anyways as long as she wasn't bleeding offering her healing cream might nudge a bit close to pale territory.

Sitting on the other operation table, Tavros had a hand on his mouth and his ridiculously powerful shoulders were shaking visibly. Which wouldn't have been an issue, except that Vriska was starting to glare again, and she would become unmanageable if she suspected him of bias.

"Was there something funny, lowblood."

"Um, no? I'm, uh. Muscle spasms." He grinned guilelessly. ( Read more... )