NYCstuck - where Homestuck meets highschool AU

(October 31st, Wednesday - 13:32pm)

For some reason, your history teacher has decided today would be a prime day for the unprofessional act of passing out candy to the class. This makes you worry as Nepeta swipes your share before she even touches her own and seemingly devours all of it in two bites. The problem here is not the theft but the fact that Nepeta is extremely fond of two food groups - meat and sugar.

Unfortunately, she will devour either one as if she was an adult bear about to hibernate for the winter.

With meat, Nepeta became sleepy and sluggish, if consumed in large quantites. However with sugar and her natural energetic nature... It goes without saying that the result is e%tremely bad.

"Nepeta, I do hope you recall my extensive talk to you yesterday," you say as she licks her fingers clean.

Nepeta nods as she drops her hand. "Of course I do. Only a little bit of sugar today."

"Yes, precisely. We do not need a repeat performance of three years ago when you had all of those caramel apples."

She waved her hand dismissively. "I thought it would be okay because of the apples!"

It hadn't been okay. Nepeta's sugar rush-induced vandalism that had followed had been hoof-rific, er, horrific. The two of you were still banned from three bodegas and a McDonalds in Bensonhurst where you lived.

Your best friend was eying the sweets of a fellow classmate, making you scowl. Halloween was always a trying time of the year because of the amount of effort you expelled into monitoring Nepeta. It had been a long time since you got to enjoy it with little worry beyond possibly tainted candy. Perhaps not since you and Vriska had last gone trick-or-treating as children.

At the thought of your cousin, your stomach made an unhappy flip. Vriska had thus far ignored your texts, though it was certain the chumhandle she gave you was legit as her profile gave the name 'Lady Luck', a nickname your aunt often used to refer to herself with. Vriska had taken it up, demanding you called her it for a year straight.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Nepeta's chair scraping backward against the cheap tiling beneath your feet. Her eyes are on the desk beside her where the occupant was leaning over to pick up a fallen item from the floor leaving their candy wide-open for the taking.

"Nepeta, no."

She flinches, stares at the candy for a several seconds and sighs heavily as she scoots back into place.

"You may have an alloted amount of pieces later on tonight," you promise.

"I know," she says with a pout.

"Purrhaps," you say slowly so Nepeta would catch the pun, "I'll allot you a handful of extra pieces if you're on good behavior for the rest of the day."

Nepeta perked up.

(October 31st, Wednesday – 10:18am)

While cutting school is in strict violation of the school conduct agreement you signed at the beginning of the school year, you believe today denotes a perfectly excusable reason for your misconduct.

For one thing, there are several juvenile delinquents that you catch with illegally purchased eggs. They think that just because they have the contraband stashed away in the supposed safety of their schoolbags that someone like you – with your keen sense of smell - wouldn’t be aware of it. Foolishly confronting them face-to-face, while a thrilling idea, might draw too much attention to your own delinquent ways.

It, however, is no accident when one of the three boys trips over your walking stick, staggering forward into his friend and flattening the schoolbag with the eggs between their combined weight and the subway wall behind them. You can hear the third cursing as he moves his friends to check the bag, groaning when he finds nothing but a runny mess inside. Just desserts, you think proudly as you board the train.

That was approximately a half hour ago. You’ve since moved on to the true cause of your delinquency – tailing Vriska. Halloween is too much of a felonious temptation to her and you want to be there when she breaks the law. You’re still not entirely sure whether a civilian arrest or breaking her arm would be your punishment if you caught her. You are also blindingly – pun intended - aware of the fact that telling a cop or other law-enforcement official I SAW her do it! would be difficult for them to believe, all things considering.

So maybe you’ll break her arm when the time comes.

Not that want to actually do it, but if kept Vriska out of trouble for a little while then it’d absolutely be considered a public service, and thus, your duty to do it – even if you aren’t quite yet an officer of the law.

Vriska has ducked truancy officers twice in the last half hour but as the morning wears on, they’ll become a bit more scarce, until noon, when they’ll give up trying to catch kids who cut school. If things go well, you will have put her out of commission before then.

Your perp, or prey, depending on who was observing, was currently milling about a bookstore. The smell of books is almost bright on your tongue as you keep yourself no more than an aisle away. It was risky as she could turn a corner too fast and catch you but it was also easy to lose her scent over the books’ scent. Eventually, she leaves the store and moves onto a park – one you recognize from your date with Dave a few weeks ago.

Union Square Park is small, but not so small that you couldn’t lose someone if you’re not paying attention. Because it’s still so early in the day, there aren’t many people milling about to risk losing your perp’s trail, but enough so that she won’t see you right away. So far, it seems as though she’s ignorant of your presence. When she sits on a bench with - sniffsniff - an older man, possibly in his mid-forties, you press yourself carefully against the back of a nearby tree and listen intently.

They don’t say anything, but you get the feeling they know each other and that something shady has likely gone down out of your non-existent sight. When he leaves, you trail Vriska to the fenced in dog park at the far end of the park. This confuses you as she doesn’t even like dogs, but the confusion becomes realization when you suddenly lose her scent over the dog scents from the park.

“What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you?”

You don’t get a chance to answer before you’re knocked to the ground courtesy of a well-placed sideways kick to your ass. Once on the ground, Vriska grabs one of your arms, the one with the walking stick, and pins it behind your back.

“You don’t think I haven’t noticed you following me around for the last two weeks?” she asks, her voice just short of shouting. “You pull that bullshit on my phone then fucking stalk me – what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Just trying to catch a criminal in action,” you reply.

“Why don’t you mind your business, you little goody two-shoes? Go back to licking swing seats and sneaker bottoms or whatever the fuck you’re into licking nowadays and leave me alone!”

“I get it you know,” you pant. Vriska is digging her boot into your back, the heel pinching your arm.

“What could you possible get, huh? Not a fucking clue, clearly.”

“You act out because you’re having mommy issues. It’s okay, I’m sure she approves of how shitty you’ve turned out.”

The pressure on your back increases and you grit your teeth as the sole of her boot digs into you harder.

“You’re a bitch, Pyrope. A motherfucking asshole who can’t keep her fucking nose out anyone’s business, that’s why you’re so obsessed with me. I get it too – you’re mom works all of the time and you spend more time alone playing with yourself than going out and making real friends,” Vriska says. “I used to feel sorry for, that’s why I hung out with you so much. You were just a charity case. You’re welcome very much for giving you the company but I want to be left alone now. Got it?”

She screams in surprise when you just barely get your hand twisted around and jab a sewing needle through the cheap material of her boot that isn’t on you. It wasn’t easy having that pinched into your skin, and even harder to get it out place without your other hand, but absolutely worth it.

As soon as Vriska jumps away, falling onto her ass beside you, you roll yourself up and punch at her with the hand that had been previously trapped beneath you. It’s a shitty punch, but it still hits her in the chin and she curses at you. Because you’re smaller and Vriska is likely grasping both her chin and ankle, you’re able to then tackle her, headbutting her chest in the process. Once you’re on top of her, you grab her left arm, the one that had been holding her chin, and twist it. When she tries to push you away with the other one, you throw your weight down on her leg in hopes of driving the sewing needle deeper into her.

A shout of pain makes you smile.

“Where’s the contraband?” you ask.

Patting around at her hips to find her pockets is a tricky task as she still tries to push you off but another bounce on her leg makes her howl and you quickly use the distraction to your advantage. Finding nothing in her jeans, you locate the pockets of her hoodie. In there is some wadded paper, possibly money, and a lollipop. Nothing out of the ordinary to be found here, or is there?

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Vriska growls as you grab her other arm. Releasing the first, you slip your hand into the sleeve of her hoodie. She scratches at you but it doesn’t stop you from finding something up her sleeve.

A small bag – the contraband!

Yanking it out and rolling the bag through your fingers, you’re a bit disappointed to find it’s nothing more than…

“Are these dice?”

She shoves you hard, knocking you off of her. Snatching the bag out of your hand, she hobbles away a few steps from you, likely in mistrust.

“Yeah, they’re dice. Do you think I do drugs too on top of all the other shit I do?” she asks.

Though she’s clearly angry, you can just detect a hint of some other emotion in her voice. A tremble where there should be none.

“I see how it is Pyrope. A poor, broke, foster kid can’t have a few bucks in her pockets unless she’s selling drugs, right? Or maybe using them? Yeah, you totally got my number. I’m the biggest drug addict in the city, bravo to you for finally figuring it out. Forget the fact that I might have HOBBIES like playing Dungeons & Dragons because shitty foster kids like me clearly don’t deserve to have interests or hobbies that aren’t stealing, drugs, and prostitution!”

You open your mouth to reply but Vriska is already stomping away, either forgetting there’s a sewing needle in her ankle or having already taken it out. Standing, you dust off your ass and reconsider your approach to Vriska, feeling guilty. You’re not even sure what she just accused you of is true of your opinion of her or not, and maybe it is though you hadn’t intentionally meant to make it seem that way.

(October 31st, Wednesday – 8:27am)

If there was a day you would rather never go out on, it was today. You hate this dick sucking day so fucking much. It’s not because you’re afraid of it, no. The problem is the stupid pricks that spend most of the day tricking rather than treating. Those are the fuckers that essentially fuck up the day for you.

Plus, tomorrow morning you will be for sure scrubbing egg and candy vomit off the sidewalk in front of your family’s store before going to school, and it will be cold enough that your fingertips will be so fucking numb that you’ll barely be able to swipe your Metrocard to get to school. Fuck your life.

“You look sour as usual,” a voice says.

Oh fuck, yes, this is exactly what you DON’T need to start off this already terrible day.

Vriska’s leaning against a street lamp post just outside of the subway exit/entrance, a burning cigarette hanging from her cerulean colored lips. She’s also apparently embraced the freedom of Halloween and seems to have adopted a pirate theme, a blue bandanna tied to her head and an eyepatch over her left eye. You’re somewhat afraid to see if she’s wearing the rest of the get-up beneath her hoodie, though her jeans would suggest she probably wasn’t.

“Aw, where’s my morning hello?” she asks.

“Probably lying in my pile of fucks-that-I-don’t-give back at home.”

She laughs, the sound mocking. You try to cross the street to get away from it but Vriska keeps up easily with you.

“So what are you doing tonight, Karkat? Moping about as usual?”

“Jegus, if it was any of your business, wouldn’t you know by now?” you snap.

She slaps her hand on the middle of your back, just to piss you off more than you already were, you’re sure of it.

“Poor little Karkat, never changes. He’d rather spend all night rubbing his cousin’s balls than come out and have some fun and adventure like the rest of the kids,” she chides. Her tone is still mocking.

“Fuck off,” you growl, stepping up your pace.

If not for John and Rose at the next corner, you may have tried to run the rest of the way to school. Not that it would’ve deterred Vriska much but it would’ve given you something else to do aside from listening to her bullshit. Instead you’re saved by the grinning dork and his creepy friend, one of which Vriska seems to like and the other that she seems to despise.

“Hey Karkat! Hey Vriska!” John calls, waving.

Rose nods at you once silently before returning the glare Vriska is not so subtlety shooting at her. You’ve been trying to figure out their deal but so far it just seems that they rub each the wrong way. Not too surprising when things concern Vriska.

“Hey dickweed,” you greet, frowning even more than you already were.

“I was going to ask you later,” John says, “but now seems like a good time to do it.”

“Ask me what?”

“Dave and I are going to go trick-or-treating tonight and I thought it’d be fun if you joined us. If you don’t have other problems?”

You stiffen up slightly. People have asked you to go trick-or-treating before but you normally turn them down because, as stated before, you fucking hate this day. But not only will Vriska take the chance to make another insult about you chowing on your family’s ass, but you like John, surprisingly a lot – as a friend, of course. That doesn’t make your answer any easier.

“I have a shitload of things to do, but I guess I could put them off even longer,” you say. There is an edge to your voice, like you want to shout at the world to prove you aren’t afraid of trick-or-treating like Vriska’s been accusing for years.

“So that’s a yes?”

“Do I have to fucking spell it out, Egbert? YES!” you shout.

John beams at you. “Awesome! Do you want to join us, Vriska?”

Oh shit. You hadn’t thought he’d honestly be dumb enough to ask HER to come along too. It’s just your luck though, you should’ve expected it. To your surprise however…

“Thanks, Egbert, but I have other fish to fry tonight,” she says.

And she walks off, casually. You know she’s up to something but it’s best not to give two fucks because it’s none of your fucking business. You just hope, silently, that she doesn’t get herself killed.

(October 31st, Wednesday – 7:22am)

“Gamzee,” you call. No movement.

“Gamzee!” you call a bit louder.

He awakes with a start, his eyes more wild than his hair. You rest your palm against his cheek and wait for him to focus on you. When he does, the wild look disappears, replaced by a tired wariness that is unbecoming of your boyfriend.

“I’ve been trying to wake you up for twenty minutes now,” you say. “We’ll be late for school if you stay in bed any longer.”

He’s silent, nodding, but when you go to push yourself away from the bed, Gamzee grabs your arm. He looks miserable, has looked that way for almost two weeks straight now.

“Let’s just stay in bed today,” Gamzee says. “Let’s get our motherfucking cuddle on all day long.”

The request sounds so pitiful despite his façade to sound normal – he even manages a small smile that stands out on his unpainted face.

“It’s too early in the year to be missing school, Gam. Plus, if you want to stay a little longer here, you know you’ll have to go just so my dad won’t get mad or anything.”

It was true that your father had been pretty cool about Gamzee staying at the apartment with you, especially with the reassurance that the two of you had not and were not planning to have sex. But there was only so much your father would be cool with and there was a good chance Gamzee lounging about the apartment or missing unnecessary days of school could upset him.

And your boyfriend had made it crystal clear he was terrified of being at home while his cousin was there so he’d do anything to stay here.

You try to push out the image of pale face and too large eyes you saw a few weeks ago; the way Gamzee clung to you when he saw you. Kurloz has always been a rough topic for Gamzee and to this day, he refused to say why his cousin scared him so much but there was always a sense of peace in your boyfriend when his cousin was… away.

“Okay, Tavbro,” Gamzee says.

There’s a small frown on his lips as he gets up and gathers clothes for the day. You wheel yourself out of the bedroom to allow your boyfriend space to dress and get cleaned up for the day. Tinkerbull greets you at the fridge, his nose and tongue assaulting your hand when you reach down to pet him.

“Your boyfriend’s going to get jealous if he sees the way Tinkerbull is licking at you.”

Rufioh laughs as he walks by, pausing only long enough to reach down to rub the excited dog behind his ears. Your brother then gives you a playful noogie, ducking out of the way before you can slap his hands away from your, now slightly flat, mohawk. You look up to your big brother quite a lot, but there’s no way you’ll ever reach his level of cool, a fact you lament often in private.

“Dad said he’ll make an early dinner tonight,” he says, snagging his schoolbag from the kitchen table. “Said to tell you to be home from school early for it before you go trick or treating with Gamzee.”

“We’re not going trick or treating this year,” you say. “Gamzee’s not feeling much in the spirit for it today.”

You pause, setting the carton of orange juice you retrieved from the fridge on the counter.

“What are you going to do tonight?” you ask.

“Damara wants to go to a costume party.”

There’s a small scowl on his face that you don’t need to ask him about. Rufioh’s been trying to break up with his girlfriend for months now but he’s too nice to do it. Or maybe, you secretly think, he’s kind of afraid of what she might do. You’ve only met her twice, but she kind of weirds you out. Though you’re not quite sure why.

Rufioh finally says goodbye and leaves as you down a glass of cold OJ, leaving you to finish setting out breakfast for Gamzee. It’s a few moments before he exits the bathroom, facepaint freshly applied, hair tamed as much he cared to do so. He’s quiet when he sits down in front of the bowl of cereal you laid out for him, silently eating the Lucky Charms with no real interest in them.

“Hey,” you say, touching his free hand. Gamzee’s eyes focus on you. “Tonight we’ll stay in and watch a movie, okay? Maybe play some Fiduspawn while we give candy out to trick or treaters. Today’s supposed to be a fun day so let’s have some fun. O-okay?”

You smile and Gamzee smiles back at you, the first real smile you’ve seen on him in days.

(November 1st, Thursday – 4am)

==> Gamzee You’re pacing back and forth in your uncle’s apartment, rage burning you up from the inside out. If you could, you’d go back out and beat the first person you saw walking down the street, but you don’t. Can’t. Stay home, he said, stay home.

So you listened, despite everything.

There’s a knock at the door and you jerk so hard that you feel something almost tear from the tension built in your neck and arms, but you ignore it as you tear across the floor to the door. Flinging it open, you grit your teeth as the wave of rage becomes a hurricane of screaming voices inside of your head.

“Motherfucker, what the fuck are doing back here!?” you growl, clenching your fists.

Kurloz smiles gently at you.

“Why cos, ain’t you gonna welcome a motherfucker home? Welcome home, and the like?” he asks, brushing past you.

“Fuck that. You need to be getting up and out of here before a motherfucker loses his shit.”

You follow him into the kitchen where he ducks his head into the fridge and plucks a purple grape from the bowl of grapes on the middle shelf, popping it into his mouth before standing and closing the door.

“I think you forgot that I live here too, cos,” Kurloz says, calmly. Too fucking calmly for your liking.

You punch him, dead in the face, but your cousin just laughs even as a trickle of blood spills out from his nose. He’s still laughing when you knock him to the floor and grab a bottle of wine from your uncle’s wine collection. The voices in your head are howling for blood and you’re eager to appease their hunger as you raise the bottle over your head. The laughter turns hollow as your cousin meets your eye, smiles, and asks, “Whatcha gonna do, cos, kill me?”

You honk once and swing the bottle down.

*

(November 1st, Thursday – 3am)

==> Rose You find her sleeping, in all places, on the hood of her car.

“Mom,” you say, shaking her shoulder. “Mom!”

She stirs and blinks groggily at you, squinting slightly. “Rosie? Didn’t I tuck you into bed hours ago?”

“You haven’t tucked me into bed in at least seven years.”

“That’s good then sweetie,” she says and falls back to sleep. Son of a bitch.

You didn’t want to have to resort to it but fuck it. You dump the cup of cold water in your other hand onto your mother’s face. She bolts up, sliding off the hood of the car and crashing unceremoniously onto the garage floor. Her makeup is now running down her face, blonde hair sticking to her forehead, as she takes a moment to get her bearings, then to glare at you.

“Rosie, what the fuck?”

Tired, you sigh and shrug. “I tried to be diplomatic about waking you up but you wouldn’t listen to reason and simple shoulder shaking. The only logic next step I could take was affirmative action in order to capture your attention.”

She frowns at you. “I’m not a country, I’m your mother.”

“Well then, mom, I’m going to bed. You should too,” you say, turning.

This sends your mother into a burst of surprised laughter. You sigh again, wanting the night to end already.

“Did you know that your skirt is ripped in the back and I can see your undies?” your mother asks.

“No, I wasn’t aware. I thought this skirt was supposed to come with a ventilation panel but clearly I was mistaken.”

“Rosie, are you okay?” you mom asks, laughter fading. “I know I’m a lot of things, but I can tell when my daughter is upset.”

You turn back to her, shaking your head. “I’m really just tired. It’s been a long night and I still have to get up in a few hours for school.”

“You could stay home, maybe, if you wanted?” she offers.

You can tell she’s sober and really trying to connect with you but you shake your head. The night’s been far too long for guilt and soppy emotional connections. “No, it’s okay. I just have to lay down now or I’ll never get up later.”

“Okay.”

It takes some doing but you pretend not to hear the hurt edge to your mother’s voice.

*

(November 1st, Thursday – 2am)

==> Equius “Are you decent?”

There’s a yawn from the other side of the door before Nepeta calls, “Yes!”

You push open your bedroom door and find your best friend curled up on the foot of your bed, clad in one of your tee shirts. It’s so big on her that it looks like the fabric is attempting to swallow her whole when she walks around. Right now, it looks more like a blanket draped over her petite frame.

“Are you feeling better now that you’ve showered?” you ask.

She smiles up at you and nods, sitting up as you set the tray in your hand down on the chest at the end of your bed. Two cups of tea, a pitcher of milk, a bowl of sugar, and a plate of cookies sit on the brass tray. Sitting on the opposite end of the bed, you help yourself to a cup as Nepeta helps herself to the other. She sniffs the steam, smiling then dumping a generous amount of sugar and milk in the cup. You watch as she nuzzles the cup softly with her cheek and nose before blowing on the tea and finally drinking some.

It’s nice to see her back to normal.

“I think we should discuss what occurred tonight,” you say, sipping your cup of tea (milk only added).

Nepeta makes a face at you, pouting over her cup of tea.

“Do we have to? I didn’t really do anything wrong.”

“Well no, but you must learn moderation in certain situations. I would not like to have to forbid you from sugar, again.”

She groans. “That was a long time ago! I’m not a little kid anymore!”

“That does not negate my role as your moirail.” You pause, taking a careful sip of your tea. “I only hold your best interests in mind when I forbid you from things.”

Nepeta sets her cup down and sighs, crawling over to you to lean her head on your arm.

“I know,” she says, “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Wrapping an arm around her, gently, you press a kiss to the top of her head.

“Just promise not to scare me like that again,” you say.

“Promise!”

*

(November 1st, Thursday – 1am)

==> John You’re puking again, this time into the toilet bowl -- Better than earlier when you puked onto the rug in the living room. Inbetween gulps for air you can swear you still hear your dad scrubbing it clean while he sternly lectures his mother about… Blergh… Whatever she’s been up to tonight.

“You gonna puke that lung out or what?” Dave asks from the doorway.

“I’m not really trying to do that but at this point…” You pause as another wave of nausea hits you – it passes without incident.

“I feel ya, man.”

Dave helps you to your feet and you nod a thanks to him before reaching for some mouth wash. It seems pointless to brush your teeth just yet.

“I’ve been thinking—“

You cut Dave off before he can continue.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was being a jerk earlier.”

He’s silent, but you know he’s studying you. Dave’s been your best bro for long enough for him to know when you’re lying – about what seems to be what he’s currently attempting to figure out.

“How’s your stomach?” Dave asks after some time.

“So-so.”

He helps you back to your room where a small whiff of caramel makes your stomach clench up – no more sugar, ever again. At least for a week or two. Sitting carefully on your bed, you watch Dave claim your computer chair, pulling it up beside you. Taking a seat, he props his socked feet up on your bed and leans back, removing his shades to rub his eyes.

“I kinda feel like you’re holding out something from me, bro.”

You grimace, falling back on your bed to stare up at the ceiling. This is not something you want to handle right now.

“It’s cool to have your own secrets, we’re not married or anything so you don’t have to share all your dark little secrets with me, but it’d be nice to not feel like I did something to offend you or some shit. At least as your best bro you can hint at what’s up, if you want.”

“Dave, it’s not… It’s… Shit. It’s difficult, okay?” Sitting up, you wince as your stomach disagrees with the action. “Tonight was just, I don’t know. Maybe too much candy or something. I didn’t mean to act the way I did. I really didn’t.”

“Boys!” your dad calls from the hallway. “Lights out in five minutes, unless you’re still feeling sick?”

“We’re good, Dad!” you call back to him. Your dad says something else but your nanna’s chuckling drowns it out.

“Guess it’s time for bed,” Dave says.

Turning his face, he gets up and replaces the computer chair before laying out a quilt on the floor. Everything about this makes you uneasy. You’ll never be able to sleep if you leave things like this.

Managing to get to your feet, you stumble a bit, catching yourself on your nightstand. Despite what happened tonight, Dave gives you a look that can pass for concerned on his face. A part of you wants to reach out and shake him, make this night never happen. If only.

Instead, you excuse yourself to brush your teeth and end up banging your head against the bathroom wall in frustration. You puke once more for good measures.

*

(November 1st, Thursday – 0:00am)

(October 14th, Sunday – 22:14pm)

You yawn, not really tired just kind of bored. Since it’s Sunday night, Tavros had to stay home – one of the few unarguable rules his father has on him. Your boyfriend tends to get real sleepy after eleven at night anyway, even though he makes himself stay up longer for you. Checking your phone for the fourth time in an hour, you see he hasn’t popped up on Pesterchum so he’s probably asleep.

AT: gOOD NIGHT, AT: }:o*

That’s the last message from Tavros, dated now an hour and twenty minutes ago. You lean your head back against your mattress, setting the phone on the floor beside you, and throw your arm across your eyes, smudging your facepaint all over the crook of your arm. Without your boyfriend to distract you, your thoughts wander into the darker territories you usually keep them away from when he’s around.

A part of you wants to smoke some bud, just to keep the noise in your head from becoming a circus of nightmares. Just a puff or three is all it would take, and if you smoked the whole thing and made some mirthful pies afterward what would be the harm? Tavros wouldn’t be happy if he learned though.

A part of you whispers into your ear, telling you the stuff is toxic for your thinkpan anyway, keep it clean from that toxic junk. Let the voices in, embrace their dark messages for they are the way. Forget that miracle bro that keeps holding you back.

In a panic, you snatch up your phone and go to your pictures folder. Four hundred and twenty pictures of Tavros – Tavros sleeping, Tavros smiling and blushing, laughing, eating, hugging Tinkerbull, standing by your graffiti, and even two of him with his shirt off – one while still wet from a shower, his Mohawk nothing but a flop of hair on his head, the other while he’s curled up beside you on the bed, groggy but smiling. As soon as you see them you feel at ease, relaxed.

A motherfucker can make it through the night without bad thoughts with these.

The bedroom door flies open, making you jump and drop the phone in your lap. Your uncle is standing in the doorway, his presence is enough to make grown men flinch, but you smile up at him.

“Hey,” you say. “I didn’t up and hear you come into a motherfucker’s home.”

He grunts. Despite being a lawyer, he’s a man of few words, making his points in short, gruff snips of speech.

“Kurloz will be home by the end of the motherfucking week,” he says.

Your stomach rolls violently at the sound of your cousin’s name but you keep your face calm. Barely.

“Sounds good, uncle.”

You smile, feeling sick enough to puke into your own lap. Can’t be doing things like that though, not with your uncle watching. No, because the phone is in your lap. Or is because you don’t want to have to clean up the mess? A sweat breaks out on your brow as your mind begins to race, feeling muddled.

To your relief, your uncle nods once and leaves, closing the door behind him. You’re on your feet in seconds and puking into the toilet of your bathroom maybe a second after that. Feels like you fucking flew, you moved so fast. How’d you get here, you briefly wonder as your stomach empties into the toilet. Your knuckles are white on the toilet seat as your body tenses, the sound of your heart too loud – Why is everything so fucking loud!?

By the time you realize you can move, tears have rolled down your face and your arms and hands are sore from gripping the toilet seat; throat raw. You want to scream, run, hide, run forever, but your legs are stuck beneath you and you can only fall back stiffly onto white tiles with purple edges. It’s a long time before you can get your limbs to obey you again and even then you can only crawl back into your bedroom.

You bypass the phone, grabbing your laptop and flipping it open to reveal your lock screen of a clown juggling burning clubs. Clicking the screen and typing your password – MiRtHfUlMeSsIaH -- you open your video folders and play the first one that your cursor points at. It’s the one from when Tavros and you went to Coney Island. He screams on the Himalaya even though it doesn’t do anything but go round and round, but when he gets off the ride, you kissed him on the mouth, smearing some of your facepaint on his nose. Then the two of you went to get some Nathan’s hot dogs, the video ending with Tavros holding up his hot dog to his mouth sideways to look like he was smiling with it.

You save these videos for the nights when the pictures don’t do the job.

(October 14th, Sunday – 21:43pm)

Sorta.

Shit, it’s cold out, you think to yourself as the door to the roof heavily huffs shut behind you. It’s cool though, you’re about to work up a sweat.

You wait a few minutes to make sure the roof is empty and that Bro didn’t hear you slip out of the apartment. Doubtful he did though. He came home about four hours ago, showered for three, then ruffled your hair as a goodnight – he wasn’t going to wake up for another ten hours easy. Once your sweep is done, you make a beeline for the giant air conditioning unit, which you have no idea is there for. It’s unlikely it ever worked, and if ever did, that was probably when it was first installed decades ago, but you’d bet money it’s not even hooked up to the building as the hallways are hot as the sun’s dick during the summer and there’s two ACs in the windows of your apartment to back this up.

There’s a panel that you’re not sure what it’s for on the top of the unit – weird place for it, you’ve always thought -- and when you pull it open, quietly unlocking the padlock on it first, you reveal a black misshapen heap inside. Dragging it out, you hop to the rooftop before setting it down, and it takes a bit of juggling because the heap is heavy. Finally, you turn it upside down and shake out the item inside.

Out tumbles a small robotic bunny. It lands on its back with a thump and seems to be giving you a glare with its glassy, round eyes. Dumping the bag on the ground, you help stand up the robot and kneel before it. From your back pocket you extract a pair of shades similar to the kind your Bro wears all the time. They are actually yours from when you were an infant – your first pair of shades, to be precise. Who in their right mind puts shades on an infant? To this day you can’t go out on a sunny day without them because your eyes are sensitive from being in shades all the time. thanks bro

What’s done is done though. You’ve at least finally found a use for these old things. You popped out the original black lenses and put in red ones because red is a kickass color. You hold up the shades so the moon can get a nice glimmer off the red and nod solemnly feeling like a rite of passage of some kind is going down.

“Ain’t gonna lie, I’m a little sad to see these puppies go,” you say to the robotic rabbit, “but it’s for a good cause. A bunny like you deserves the best, even if you are a little asshole. It’s an ironic gift for an ironic friendship that makes no fucking sense whatsoever but fuck me, here it is in the flesh. Metal… Whatever.”

Reaching for the rabbit’s on switch, you flip it on so the robot can actually hear you.

“It’s with the deepest of sorrow and greatest of manly pride that I bestow upon you these ironic little shades even though you don’t really need them.”

Slipping them on, snapping the rubber band around the back of the rabbit’s head, you wait a moment to see it’s reaction. A robotic paw comes up to feel the shades, for a moment you think it’s going to rip them off and snap them in half, throw them in your face. Instead, the paw drops back to the rabbit’s side and it gives you a silent nod of approval. Fuck yeah. You fist bump the rabbit and stand back up.

“All right then. Let’s get back onto schedule, Huggy.”

From your back, you remove one of your Bro’s shitty cosplay swords and hand it over to the little rabbit. It takes it with ease, the hilt fitting perfectly in its little metal paw as if it was destined to hold it. You’re not sure what the fuck Bro had built this little guy to do, but if it was to fuck shit up with a shitty cosplay sword, A+ work then.

Walking to the opposite side of the roof, you turn and remove the other sword from your back. This one is yours and it’s not a piece of shit cosplay prop, though it’s not a real trufax sword like you wish it were. It’s a kendo sword, made of some of the finest bamboo this side of the Hudson River. Bro enrolled you in Kendo classes five years ago but you’ve only ever been so-so at it. Possibly it’s because you didn’t take it seriously at first – like, what the fuck does a white city boy need with Kendo? But fuck if it didn’t intrigue you.

Then some bullshit went down and you changed your stance on the whole thing about two years ago. You work harder now, mostly in private, to learn the stances and moves better. You work until your lungs are raw from the cold; throat scrubbed raw from shouting. You work until your arms won’t move upward without tears forming in your eyes. You’ll get this shit down pact if it kills you, but only in private.

Then you’ll be ready.

“Lemme warm up, then we’ll battle up a nice sweat,” you tell Huggy, getting into stance with the sword above your head.

Sliding your right foot forward, you bring the sword down through the air, barely keeping your back straight. Fuck. You repeat the move, doing better, and shouting, “YA!”

Gimme like two hours or so though!

(October 14th, Sunday – 19:12pm)

Pulling your hoodie tighter around your head, you stub out the last of your cigarette on a streetlight post before you cross the street. You’re two blocks from home when you remember you have to shut off your phone before heading inside with your foster mother’s dinner – two Subway sandwiches and an entire Entenmann’s chocolate cake. In your back pocket is a Fruit Roll-up for Casey to take to school with her tomorrow.

Digging your phone out of your pocket, you make a quick check for missed calls (none), new emails (two spam), and a quick sweep through Pesterchum for any hit ups not Terezi involved (non—w8 what’s this?). There’s a message from yourself that you most definitely didn’t write.

AG: YOU M1GHT NOT W4NT TO SP34K TO M3 BUT 1M GO1NG TO SP34K TO YOU AG: L1K3 1T OR NOT >]

Did she just…?

On your…?

“Son of a bitch,” you growl under your breath.

This is unexpected and in a rare moment of complete shock, you scramble for something to do, or say. Pausing at the corner of your block, you send Terezi a message to her chumhandle.

AG: You think you’re real funny getting your dum8 hacker friend to mess around with my shit? AG: Go fuck yourself.

You then block her from being able to send you a message but before you can even close Pesterchum, a message appears UNDER YOUR CHUMHANDLE.

AG: BL4H BL4H BL4H

Now you’re aggravated. This is about yesterday, you know it is. You knew you should’ve never sent her that fucking text because now she’s going to make you regret it for the rest of your already shitty life. You gear up to write a long-winded way of telling her to drop dead and leave you the fuck alone when another message pops up.

AG: VR1SK4 1M GO1NG TO HUNT YOU DOWN L1K3 TH3 CR1M1N4L YOU 4R3 AG: 1M COM1NG FOR YOU AG: S33 YOU SOON VR1SK4 AG: >]

With that you get signed out of Pesterchum. You quickly sign back in only to find Terezi’s messages gone from your history. You’re half tempted to believe it didn’t really happen until a >] pops up under your handle but nothing more.

Your fingers feel icy, either from the chill in the air or from the chill racing down your spine, as you unblock Terezi’s handle.

AG: So that’s how you want to play it? AG: It’s on then.

Grimacing, you shut off your cell and tuck it into your bra before walking up the block to your apartment building. Upstairs, Casey is the first to see you and she looks surprised.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

You don’t answer her because there are literally no nice words on your tongue and the kid doesn’t deserve your scorn. Actually, your tongue feels heavy and your saliva too thick; there’s a burning in the back of your throat as well. Glancing around quickly, you hand Casey the Fruit Roll-Up, pressing a finger to your lips before heading to your foster mother’s room. You can hear her moving around in the bathroom and see it as the only bright side of the day because all you want to do is pitch a fit and fight with someone. Quietly leaving the bag with her food atop her bed, you slip out of the room.

(October 14th, Sunday – 18:06pm)

Your dad’s lounging in front of the television even though the television is off. He’s not sleeping, just sitting there with his eyes closed and rubbing his temples. He spends most nights like this for as long as you can remember. The doctors say it’s just migraines but for them to be so frequent you can’t help but wonder if it’s something more.

Creeping carefully past the living room, you go into Mituna’s room where your brother and his long-time girlfriend Latula are playing video games, the sound on a medium volume so as not to bother your dad. Even their occasional outbursts or trash talking is at a well-practiced low talk. You drop two cans of Coca-Cola beside Latula and two cartons of Chinese take-out beside them. She thanks you quickly before cheering softly as your brother groans in disappointment.

On the opposite side of the room is Terezi, lying on the floor on her stomach and drawing. You’ve no idea how the hell she manages to draw pictures that are actually fairly comprehensible if somewhat juvenile, or even text, considering she’s blind. Inquiries into the matter have earned you nothing more than laughter, as though the answer was plain as day, which she CAN’T EVEN SEE.

Setting the remaining two take-out cartons and cans of sodas on the floor, you ball up the bag in your hands and toss it into Mituna’s trashcan. Making yourself comfortable next to Terezi, you wait until she sits up before helping yourself to your carton of chicken chow mein. She pops open her can of soda and you flinch ever so slightly at the memory of her shaking the can and spraying you with it. That was years ago, but a small part of you can’t help but mistrust Terezi with a can of soda.

"Happy belated birthday," you tell her, almost forgetting that yesterday had been her birthday.

"Thanks."

She shoots you an earnest smile and you can't help smile a little in return. You then dig into your food, hungry.

“What are you drawing?” you ask her between chews.

“A boy in a dress,” she answers, shrugging.

“Looks more like a dinosaur with a tutu.”

Terezi punches you in the arm and feels around for her carton of take-out. It’s sweet and sour chicken, her favorite.

“So why are you drawing a boy in a dress? Should I watch my back just in case you try to slip one of your sister’s dresses on me or some shit?”

“You wish you could wear one of my sister’s dresses,” Terezi teases, sticking her tongue out.

“Yeah, no thanks,” you snort, opening your own can of soda finally and taking a big swig of it. “Why’re you evading my question?”

“Because it’s dumb?”

“Shit, that burns TZ. You’re the one drawing weird shit but you treat me like I’m the weirdo doing it.”

You pause, studying her for a moment. You’ve known her years and years now – you were maybe six or seven when you first met her. Mituna had begun bringing his then very good friend Latula over a lot back then and one day she brought her little sister along. The two of you got along pretty well so it became a regular thing after that. That wasn’t to say the two of you were exactly close friends, more like brother and sister kind of thing, especially when the two of you got into an argument. Still, you respected each other a lot more than either of you let on.

“What’s up?” you ask, setting your soda and food down.

She pauses, biting her lip. “Nothing’s up.”

“Bullshit, TZ. Tell me what’s up.”

She nods her head in a rough guess of where Latula and Mituna are and shakes her head meaning she didn’t want to speak in front of them. Getting to your feet, you poke her forehead so she knows to get up and follow you. You lead her quietly out of your brother’s room and to your room.

“All right, it’s just you and me,” you tell her, plopping into your computer chair, “spill it.”

And she does, telling you about Vriska and some Dave kid and what her mom said earlier in the day. When she’s done, Terezi looks miserable and you feel like shit for making her talk about it. Vriska’s been a bit of a sore topic for you because honestly, you didn’t like her. Honestly, you didn’t like most people, but Vriska is high on the list. Mainly because the first time you met her, she punched you in the face and flipped shit when you punched her back.

Still, you knew Terezi had a soft spot for her for some god forsaken reason.

“You try texting her?” you ask, tapping your fingers on the arms of the chair. One, two, one, two.

“She’ll never answer me.”

“Didn’t know you were such a chicken, TZ.”

This succeeds in riling her up.

“I’m not a chicken,” she says, baring her teeth.

Tapping a button on your keyboard wakes your computer up from sleep mode. You open up Pesterchum and several additional windows, quickly writing out some codes until suddenly you’re logged into Pesterchum as arachnidsGrip.