#solerikar

Karkat gets a little too aggressive, uses a few too many teeth, and you pet his head, calming him down a bit as Eridan lets out a cute little chirp, pressing closer. They asked you for help, Eridan matter of factly, Karkat blushing up a storm and using about eight too many fucks in one sentence, and fuck, it’s finally happening. You finally get to bang or be banged by your lovers, and you cannot fucking wait. 

Unless they keep doing what they’re doing. Then you can wait. 

One of your hands is buried in Karkat’s hair, your thumb brushing over the base of one horn, and your other skims over Eridan’s side, teasing the gills he hides underneath his layers and layers of clothing. He gasps, startled, and Karkat takes the chance to deepen the kiss, cupping the seadweller’s face in his hands and dragging him closer. When they part, they’re both panting for breath, eyes half lidded, drunk off touch and each other, and it’s the most beautiful you’ve ever seen them. 

“S-sol,” Eridan whines, arching into your hand, shivering, “F-fuck, careful, those’re sensiti’e-“

“I know,” you reply, smirking, and Karkat leans over your shoulder, curiously reaching out to touch. Eridan just whines again in response, face flushed, and Karkat growls, a harsh, primitive, possessive sound that sends shivers down your spine, and Eridan’s too, if his sudden inhalation is any indication. 

You’re suddenly all too aware of Karkat’s bulk pressing up against your back, the warmth of him, the sheer physical strength of him, compared to you. You’re taller than he is, but where you’re twiggy, mostly limb, he’s short and muscular, build like a goddamn brick shithouse, and his broad hand covers a large portion of your chest, where he has it pinning you to him. 

Eridan’s the opposite, shorter than you both but as fragile as spiderweb- gossamer appearance with an iron strong core. He’s thin and delicate and breakable, with his almost translucent skin and fanned fins, but you know he could pick you both up and toss you halfway to the moons, if he wanted. He’s seadweller tough, despite his looks and frequent ill health, and all it takes is a press of those needle sharp shark teeth against your throat to remember that you’re dealing with a predator, not something to be coddled. 

Still, you’re not sure how this is going to work. You’ve messed around with both of them, separately, just touching, grinding, playing, really, and you know that Karkat, while not long, is much thicker than usual, you have two, and Eridan’s shown no desire to penetrate, whatsoever. His hips are so small he can’t even keep his skinny jeans up without a belt, and his waist is even tinier- either of you are likely to break him in half, especially if he’s never done this before. 

Eh, you’ll figure it out when you get to it.

You’re much more interested in arching back against Karkat as Eridan needles your neck with little bites, rough tongue licking away any traces of blood from broken skin. Karkat’s hands slide down to your waist, and you nod frantically at his questioning noise, letting him know that yes, it’s alright, everything is fucking perfect because your two hot quadrantmates are plastered all over you and to be honest, you think the world could end again and you would not care, as long as they don’t move.

…Well, they can move a little. Especially if Eridan is going to keep rubbing his hands down your chest like that. You’d gone about this far with them, just not together like this, and they’re staring curiously at each other as they play with you, touching and petting and driving you mad because hey, didn’t they ask you for help with this shit? They seem to have it all in hand, if they ask you. 

Of course, as soon as you say this out loud, Eridan preens like a songbird and Karkat flushes bright red, embarrassed beyond belief, and its really adorable how utterly prudish he is, sometimes. You know it’s because he couldn’t to anything even remotely sexual, because of his blood- a bucket of bright fucking red slurry would give him away just as fast as a gaping wound would, and he was too scared because of it to risk doing anything at all.

But you know his blood, and Eridan knows his blood, and there’s nothing preventing you from getting the party started in the best way possible, anymore. 

Which is why you don’t really hesitate to slide your hand back and shove it down his pants. It’s an awkward, kind of uncomfortable position, but it’s made worth it by the startled bark of pleasure he lets out, hips bucking a bit into your grip. His bulge curls around your fingers and squeezes tight, nearly cutting off your circulation, and you laugh, rubbing the thick length of it with your thumb. 

“F-fuck- Sollux-“ he moans, leaning heavily on you, pressed so close you can feel the pounding of his heart against your back, “Dammit, you- don’t you dare stop-“

“Of course not,” you lisp, giving him a kiss on one bright red cheek, his flushed face nuzzling your shoulder, “Not unless you ask.”

He groans and bites down, grinding against your hand, his own hands gripping your hips tightly. Eridan chirps and leans forward to kiss his nose, grinning. 

“What’sa matter, Kar, ’s it too much for you?” he teases, rubbing his hands over your chest, “Geez, an’ I thought I was bad…”

Of course, you quickly put a stop to the teasing by shoving your free hand down his pants, pulling a long, drawn out whine from him.  

“O-oh god Sol-“ 

He wraps his arms around your neck, clinging tightly as his hips roll against your hand, your fingers already slick with his lubricant. He’s dripping, body heated to something approaching normal temperature in his lust, and even as you watch, he shudders, biting his lip to muffle some of his less than elegant noises. 

“I think it’s too much for both of you,” you murmur, leaning forward to lick at his fluttering earfins, Karkat sniggering against your shoulder at the yelp you drag from Eridan, “Just relax, guys, come on. Deep breaths.”

They both obey in unison, tension draining from Eridan faster than Karkat, but they both relax, settling into a matching rhythm. Karkat moans and bites your shoulder again, gumming at it with his nubby teeth, and Eridan growls impatiently, shoving his hands up your shirt to rub against your skin. 

“Off,” he demands, tugging at the cloth, “All of it, off.”

Karkat murmurs an assent, hands sliding from your hips, under your shirt, to your back, scratching his nails down your spine just light enough to be felt.

“I have to stop touching you in order to strip.”

They freeze, both making conflicted noises, but ultimately keep shoving demandingly at your shirt, forcing you to reclaim your hands to yank it off. Eridan immediately sets on your chest, needle teeth nipping sharply at your skin, leaving little bruises everywhere. Karkat doesn’t move much, just enough to run his hands over your waist, thumbs pressing against your grubscars. 

“I- I don’t think I have to teach you guys anything-“ you choke out, running your hands down Eridan’s spine, smearing red and violet pre material across his skin, “You seem to know exactly what you’re d-doing.”

You gasp, shivering as Eridan claws off his own shirt, pressing his chill skin to yours. Karkat follows suit, the hot to your other lover’s cold, opposites, and your duality kink kicks you hard in the gut and you’re arching into their hands, mouthing words under your breath that are so garbled even you don’t know what you’re trying to say anymore.

Still, you’re not incoherent enough to sit back and let them do all the work. That would be irresponsible; after all, they did ask you to guide them. 

So it’s with great pleasure that you remove Karkat’s hands from your hips and place them on Eridan’s, grinning as both their breaths stutter at the temperature difference. This has nothing to do with the fact that their contact presses them closer to you, nothing at all. With your fingers intertwined with Karkat’s, you guide his hands up Eridan’s sides, brushing both your fingertips over the sensitive filaments of his gills and teasing the little grubscars between them.

“These are good spots, if you’re careful,” you murmur, and when you let go, Karkat keeps rubbing over the delicate slits, dragging needy moans and whines from Eridan, “So are the ones on his neck. And the fins on his ears, huge hotspots.”

He skims his fingers over the aforementioned spots and grins, his teeth brushing against the abused skin of your shoulder as Eridan whines and arches into the touch, body trembling in need. In response, you seize Eridan’s hands and move them to Karkat’s waist, shivering as he seizes your shoulder in his mouth again. 

“Kk’s spots are his hips, the little knob on the back of his neck, and the insides of his thighs-”

They attack each other’s sensitive places like it’s a battle, sandwiching you between them, and you’ve never been more turned on in your life. They’re so different from each other, night and day, hot and cold, and they’re both here with you, both yours, and fuck, it’s perfect. 

Eridan’s all high noises, little trills and whimpers and whines, sharp gasps, the melody to Karkat’s bass, deep growls and snarls, peppered with low moans, and it’s literally music to your ears. You encourage them to touch each other, to explore, and they do, shivering and shuddering around you until you’re almost out of your mind with lust. You were supposed to take this slow, to guide them, but you can’t take it anymore- you’re literally being driven mad. 

So, you kind of… speed things up a bit. And by that, you mean you shove Eridan back on the platform and fumble with his belt, stuttering out a growl when you can’t get his pants off fast enough. He helps, the perfect little angel, clawing off the material and baring himself to you, all soft, pale grey skin and tiny little violet freckles, bulge out and curling heavily between his legs, nook smearing genetic material all over the sheets. 

Karkat draws in a sharp breath, hips rocking against you in what you’re sure is an unconscious motion, teeth digging into your shoulder. 

“You too,” you rasp, running your hands over Eridan’s body, practically salivating, “I’m done waiting, come on, you too-“

He nods, and you hear the jingle of metal, the slide of leather, the shuffle of cloth, and then his bulge, hot and thick, writhes against the small of your back, and he clutches you tightly, moaning. 

You’re panting for it by now, desperate in a way you can’t ever remember being, and it;’s all their fault, the lovely, stupid boys, your boys, your matesprits, your everything, and god, you want them so bad you’d kill for it.

“Off!” Eridan chitters, pushing at your hands and tugging at your own pants, demanding, begging, and you oblige, shucking off the rest of your clothes and shivering as his cold, cold hands touch you all over. 

“Oh my fucking god, you actually have two,” Karkat mutters, eyes wide, and Eridan touches your bulges hesitantly, reverently, and you buck into the touch with a sigh, leaning back against Karkat’s bulky warmth. 

“G-good, good- just like that, a little more-“

He rubs his thumb against the small bit of webbing at the base of your two bulges and it’s only with a monumental display if self control that you keep yourself from coming right there. It’s amazing, seeing him staring at you, awed, hands a bit clumsy but so soft, so cold, so fucking perfect-

Karkat snarls and digs his claws into your sides, frustrated and wanting, and you spread your legs even further, guiding one of his hands down to your nook. 

“Touch, it’s fine, come on, do it-“

You’re already so wet that the finger he shoves into you without preamble slides in easily, and you bite your lip hard, tossing your head back. They’re exploring you now with the same eagerness they’d explored each other, touching you in ways that they’ve never touched you before,  and its better than you could have ever imagined. Better than you’ve ever felt, better than with Aradia, than with Feferi, better than anything, and you can’t help the horrible, pathetic little noise you make when Karkat slips another finger into you, a bit more carefully this time. 

He’s holding you against him with an arm wrapped around your chest, and you clutch it desperately, trying to ground yourself and force yourself to calm down, even as Eridan’s hands dance all over you, skimming over every inch of bared skin. 

“You’re so pretty, Sol,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips as his thumbs skim over your grubscars, making you shiver, “Why’d we wait so long? This is perfect, you’re perfect.”

“Fucking right he is,” Karkat growls in response, and a third finger joins the two already in your nook, and you know you’d dripping gold everywhere but you can’t stop, “Fuck, fuck, you feel so good, Sollux.“

You nod, gasping, and lean forward, wrapping your arms around Eridan’s shoulders. 

“Now. Come on, Kk, now, give it to me, I’m ready I swear come on-“

He removes his hands and sets them on your back, thumbs rubbing nervous circles against your spine as he suddenly goes from eager to wary.

“…Are you sure? I mean- I don’t want to fucking break you in half or anything, okay, I don’t want to hurt you-“

“Kk, I promise, you wont hurt me, just go slow-“

The tip of his bulge flicks against your nook and you sigh, leaning your head against Eridan’s collarbone, letting the cool of his skin sooth the heat of yours, and then he pushes forward, into you, and you can’t silence the low, ragged moan that slips from between your teeth. He’s so fucking wide, thick and fat and so big around that you almost have trouble accepting him, but he eases forward slowly and spreads you open, forcing you to take him in. 

“H-how’s that?”

You nod, too overwhelmed to speak, voice cut by pleasure, and he rocks his hips just a bit, filling you that much more. 

Eridan’s rubbing his hands over your skin, sapping your warmth from you, cooling you down and soothing your tense muscles, and you manage to put your hands on his shoulders and push, knocking him back. 

“Sol?”

“Shh, let me make you feel good,” you rasp, kissing and biting a path down his chest, across his stomach, and over the jut of his hips, drinking in the way he gasps and twitches, hands fisting in your hair. When your lips touch his bulge, he jerks, and when you wrap your tongues around it, he tugs your hair and wails, high and loud and sharp, and it’s beautiful even as it makes your ears hurt. 

Karkat moans at the sound and thrusts into you a bit harder, sending more of Eridan’s bulge into your mouth, and you swallow around his thin, writhing length, using your hands to pin his hips down to the platform. You’re well and truly spitroasted now, sucking off one lover as you’re fucked by the other, and you can honestly think of no better position, except maybe both of them inside you. 

But that was for another day. 

For now, you’ll- well, settle isn’t exactly the right word, because he’s perfect like this, spread out under you, thighs trembling, hands reflexively tugging at your hair and lightly pushing your head down- but you’ll enjoy this now, and someday, when you all have more time, more experience, more patience, maybe you’ll take them both. 

Karkat snarls and wraps his hands around your ribcage, fingers almost overlapping, and gives a sharp thrust, bulge twisting inside you, and you moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you swallow down the last of Eridan’s length. Now that you’re used to it, you let him go, let him rock his hips against your mouth and press your face closer, let him take his pleasure as he pleases because all you want is for him to feel good and hey, it’s not like you aren’t enjoying it too. 

He’s desperate, pitiful little whines and incoherent begging spilling from his lips with every aborted thrust, and you groan around the bulge in your mouth, grinding back against the one in your nook. You’re feeling blissed out, stuffed at both ends and full, and even the voices in your head are silent- you can’t hear anything except for them and your own muffled noises, and the thought of that makes you even hotter. 

You let out a loud, strangled moan as Karkat thrusts deep, bulge twisting, and Eridan curls around your head with his hands tangled in your hair, incomprehensible babbling following his legs wrapping around your shoulders, making sure you can’t get away- not that you’d want to. Your twin bulges are wrapping around themselves desperately, knotting and twining together, pressed against your stomach for added friction, and you wonder, almost hysterically, if you can get off without even having them touched. 

And then Karkat drives forward again, deep, powerful thrusts of his hips rocking you further onto Eridan’s bulge, and you are so, so close that you know without a doubt you could. You whine and moan and whimper, muffled by the bulge in your mouth, eyes closing, sucking hard and wrapping your tongues around the squirming length, and Eridan’t thighs tighten around your head and he lets out a high, needy noise, bucking harder. He’s about ready to blow, you can feel it in the way he trembles around you, and Karkat seems to notice it too, because he reaches out the hand not half wrapped around your ribs and runs his fingers carefully over Eridan’s gills. 

“Are you gonna come, Eri?” and by god, he’s been surprisingly quiet the whole time but he has a voice made for dirty talking, low and deep with just a bit of a rasp, and it sends shivers up your spine even if you’re not the one he’s talking to, “Are you gonna come for us? Can we see you come?”

The poor troll keens, tugging your head further onto his bulge, and you swallow around him, reaching up one hand to run your fingers across his dripping nook. 

“S-sol, Kar-“ he whimpers, eyes squeezing shut, and when you look up at him he’s flushed violet from fin tips to chest, panting, “M-mmh, mhmm, g-gonna come, p-please-“

“Then come, Eridan. Come on, for me, for Sollux, let us see your face, come for me-“

With a desperate cry, he bucks his hips up into your mouth and floods your throat with genetic material, hands fisted tightly in your hair, holding you still. You swallow down as much as you can, but it dribbles down your chin, joining the puddle on the platform underneath him, and he quivers, literally sobbing with pleasure. 

Your own bulges writhe with need, but you ignore them, sucking on Eridan’s length softly, milking him of all his material and coaxing him through his climax, drawing it out until he pushes your head away, collapsing back into the bed and lying there limply, chest heaving. You continue touching him, though, rubbing your hands over his thighs and kneading the soft skin of his stomach, cooing to him, even as Karkat continues to roll and curl his bulge inside you. 

“You okay?” you ask, voice shaking a bit, and he lets out an equally trembly, affirmative chirr, reaching down to pet your hair, rubbing his thumb over the base of one of your larger horns. You let out a soft moan and arch your back, rocking your hips against Karkat’s, but the pace has slowed, the franticness of before left in the dust. 

He drives in deep and hard, but not nearly as quick, his bulge dragging and curling over every major pleasure point, and you can’t help but cling to Eridan a bit, shuddering hard. You want him to plow you into the fucking bed, you want him to hold you down and take you hard and fast, you want it rough, dammit, but… but this is really nice too, you have to admit. 

And then Eridan sits up, and your head is pillowed in his lap, your arms wrapped around his waist, and he chirrs and twitters at you soothingly, his hands carding through your hair, rubbing over your back and shoulders, caressing your horns and touching you all over. Between him and Karkat, who has one hand wrapped around your ribs again, the other palm flat over the beat of your heart, right over the center of your chest, you have never felt more possessed, more claimed, more loved. 

You buck your hips back against Karkat and give them both a ragged moan, rubbing your face against Eridan’s thigh as your other lover rolls his hips into you, fucking you hard, but slow, too slow, too fucking slow-

“Calm down,” he murmurs, and holy shit his voice is ten times better directed at you, “Calm down, Sollux, stop rushing, we’re almost there. Shh…” 

He bends over and presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, and you grin, because in this position his chest is pressed against your back and you can feel the frantic beating of his own heart, and the way his body shudders, his hips trying to twitch forward faster, harder, and how tenuous his control really is. He’s trying so hard to keep himself slow and it’s great because you’re the one making him try so hard, you’re the one challenging him like this. 

He pushes into you a bit harder the next time, and he moves from kissing to biting your shoulder, squeezing you tight and pulling you in. Eridan rubs his hands over your horns, riling you up and calming you down at the same time, and you groan, hiding your face against his stomach as you rock back against Karkat desperately, bulges knotting heavily between your legs. 

“B-bucket or no bucket?” he asks, and you choke, face bright yellow, because holy shit no buckets? No buckets was your kink, but you didn’t think he’d be willing to indulge you like this, right now, with him- him in you oh god-

“N-no buckets, no buckets please,“ you gasp, your lisp mangling everything coming from your mouth, but you don’t care, you don’t give a single shit because he just let go of you to press a palm flat against your bulges, letting them curl between his warm, almost too hot fingers, and one more hard thrust and you’re done.

You spill all over yourself, coating your hips and the bed in gold, and go limp, shuddering, body wracked with trembles. Karkat just wraps his hands around you again and moves you, drives you back onto his bulge as he draws out your orgasm and seeks his own, and you moan, garbled thank yous and begging spilling from your lips. Eridan pets your hair, rubs your horns, and Karkat thrusts hard a few more times, rocking your limp, pleasure weakened body with the strength of it, then comes. 

It’s an experience in and of itself; he clutches you close, almost too tight to breath, and sinks his teeth into your shoulder as his hips jerk and stutter, filling you with his genetic material, and the rush of heat makes you cry out, nails sinking into Eridan’s hips.

He stays there for a bit, just idly rocking against you, holding you tight, before he pulls away, red dripping from between your legs. You feel used, and loved and cared for, and it’s fucking perfect, and you let yourself collapse, panting heavily, eyes half shut. 

“You okay?”

Karkat helps you roll onto your back and pets your thigh softly, rubbing over everything Eridan can’t reach, even though his hands are shaking just as bad as your whole body is, and you start laughing, giggling stupidly to yourself.

“I- I should be asking the two of you that. This was supposed to be me teaching you things, and instead you plowed me into next week,” you lisp, still sniggering, your hands shakily reaching up to cover your face, a bright yellow blush tinging your cheeks one you realize how thoroughly you’d been fucked. You’re still covered in three colours, and you’re positive you aren’t going to be able to walk without a limp for a few days. Karkat just kind of looks at you funny and starts laughing too, then Eridan joins in, until you’re all a big, howling pile on the floor, drunk off good feelings. 

“You- you did teach us a lot, Sol,” Eridan giggles,  bowing over your head and kissing your nose, “You taught us that you look real fuckin good fucked into next week.”

“Agreed.”

You flush brighter, and grin, jagged teeth biting into your lower lip. You feel better than you have in ages, light and warm and tired in a good way, not the gross, sleep deprived exhaustion you’re used to. You yawn, and Eridan copies you, and when you reach up and drag him into a soft kiss you both yawn again in the middle of it, prompting another bout of dazed laughter. 

“I think it’s time for bed,” Karkat says, and flops over on top of you, causing you to wheeze out all your air. 

“G-gg’t off fatass-“

He growls playfully and rolls all over you, squishing you into the bed, and you groan, shoving at his broad shoulders before giving up and laying limply underneath him, twin ears twitching. Eridan scoots from above to to your other side, curling up with his knees and forehead pressed against your ribs, a pleasantly cool weight against your overheated skin, and you relax, eyes fluttering shut. 

You know you’re going to wake up in an hour or so too hot on one side, too cold on the other, and covered in disgustingly dried slurry, but you really can’t bring yourself to give a shit. 

They follow you, not touching, but threatening, whispering, crooning to you in soft, pitying voices and telling you you did nothing wrong, that you were in the right for attacking, defending, even though you know that you fucked up. They take the circumstances and twist them around until you are the victim, a martyr in unwinnable circumstances, unable to do anything but fight your way out, but you know they’re lying, you know they aren’t right. 

  That was your mistake, the first time. Listening to them. That was the first rule of LOWAA, and the second rule you’d broken. 

  Don’t listen to the Angels.

  Don’t antagonize the Angels. 

  Don’t believe what you see.

  Don't let them catch you. 

  All four of those rules, you’d broken, and you’d paid the price for it. Everyone had. The angels… they had a way of burrowing into your skull, eating away at everything that makes you, you, and even just thinking about it leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth and a fine tremble to your limbs, remembering the hell they'd put you through.

  The first time you’d shot one, it had been an accident. 

  You- you just hadn’t known about what they were capable of, of what they could do, and when Feferi jumped out from behind a pillar, clothed in daywalker shrouds and shrieking about your failures as a moirail, as a troll, you’d reacted on instinct, punching a hole in the illusion before you could even think. 

  Then Feferi had melted into an angel, grotesque and splayed out in death throes, violet blood spilling over the ground in waves, and you think it was at that point that you’d realized how truly fucked you were. 

  They are capable of shifting their forms, melting into things they take from your own memories and nightmares and modifying them until they’re that much more terrifying, that much more mind breaking. They use it against you, goad you, take the forms of your friends and quadrant mates- when you’d had them, anyways- and say horrible, horrible things to your face and it just… 

  It hurts. It hurt when you were alive and it still hurts when you’re dead, because now the angels have that much more ammunition, that much more truth to play with and twist into their own weapons, and by the gods, do they love using their weapons on you. 

  You were jealous, hatefully so, at first, of all the other trolls and their pretty lands or their empty lands or their lands filled with kind consorts, and while you aren’t really jealous anymore you still wonder, why you. Why are you stuck with the monsters, why are you forced to suffer in a land that should be tailor made to you, why are you left alone night in and night out with shades of those you care about taunting you, breaking you. 

  The answer was always there in front of you, but you were too stupidly selfish to figure it out. Now though, in the clarity of death, you realize. 

  Punishment. 

  You are being punished for your sins, your transgressions, your hateful personality and bitchy self interest. Human karma has taken you by the throat and shaken you, hard, until you’re nothing but insensate jelly smeared across the broken glass gravel. You were a horrible person and, if you’re to be truthful to yourself, you still are, and that’s why you’re cursed with these horrible monsters as your consorts. 

  They hate you and pity you and coddle you and wreck you all in equal measure and you know it’s because of how much you feel all those same things for yourself. 

  You hate yourself, you want to rip yourself to pieces and laugh over the blood splattering the floor, but you’re suffused with sweeps and sweeps of built up self pity as well, and sometimes you can’t help but crawl into a little pile for one and cry, because your life is so fucking terrible, isn’t it. With your shipwreck hive and fancy clothes and gold jewelry, right, your life was horrible. With your empty quadrants and hateful lusus and bitter, polluted oceans, yeah, your life was just awful, wasn't it. 

  There are bitemarks all over your hands from your attempts to keep yourself in a normal state of mind, and you’ve taken up repetitive horn grinding, abrading the sharp points of keratin to dull, unsightly cusps. 

  It gets worse when the angles come in droves, and you’re surrounded by the bodies of the other game players, all of them whispering to you accusingly and, in fits of delusional lunacy you wonder if this is how Sollux felt, hounded by the voices of the dying. Then, you can’t tell up from down anymore, the lack of natural laws leaving you lost and distressed, running through walls and ceilings and roofs and doors and just trying to escape, to get away. They follow, of course. 

  They always do. 

  If there’s one thing you can say, it’s that you’re never alone. There’s always an angel or two hanging in your peripheral vision, or, in your weaker, ailing moments, when you’re struck down by guilt and sickness and what have you, curled around you in comforting embrace, whispering in your ear about how worthless you are. 

  Their touch is like ice but it’s something, and in death, you’re always cold anyways. They wrap their claws around you and tell you they love you like no one else does, tell you that despite your flaws, you are still their little toy, their plaything, and you don’t have anything else, so you just… stop fighting back. 

  You lose everything in a haze of kind and harsh words, painful and loving touch, everything done in harsh extremes and you just suffer through it because you’re too tired to fight back and you deserve it, you deserve every last moment of agony because you killed her. You did horrible, terrible things, and now, the only time you fight against the angels is when they try to tell you otherwise. 

  And that’s how they find you, curled up in the grasp of an angel, shivering with pain and cold because as kindly as it’s wrapped around you, it has one of its claws embedded in your shoulder. 

  You don’t think they’re real, at first. You think they’re more angels, come to taunt you with visages of people you once knew, but no longer.  It takes much longer than it should to realize that these aren’t more of your consorts, that these are real, flesh and blood people, and that they aren’t here to hurt you. 

  You’re so broken by the time they get through to you that you’re not sure why they even bother. It takes days of visits, pleading, yelling, promising, everything they can think of, to get to you step towards them, to put yourself within reach, but when you do… 

  It’s like coming home. 

  Karkat wraps his arms around you and he’s hot, burning even, in a way that feels like it’s going to melt the flesh from your bones. You haven’t been warm in so long that you think you’d forgotten what it felt like. 

  Sollux presses up against your back, protective, sheltering, and he’s not quite as warm as Karkat but anything is warmer than death and angels. 

  You have to ask them if they’re real, in a soft, hoarse voice, and it aches because you haven’t spoken in so long. There’s no need to speak in LOWAA, the angels already know everything you could ever possibly say. 

  Sollux flickers psionics over your dull, cracked horns and you know he’s real, none of the angels had ever been able to replicate the careless use of power, and Karkat nods and cries against your chest and says, you’re the last one, everyone else is home, please come home, Eridan, and you don’t know what to do, what to say. 

  The Game is over, English has been defeated, and now, all you have to do is wake up. 

  You don’t know how to do that. You don’t know how to deal with life, again, after death, after angels. You don’t know what you’d do without them hating your every step, whispering to you in the dead of day and never leaving you be, ever. 

  “You’ve paid penance,” Sollux murmurs, one arm wrapped around your chest, pinning you to him, and it feels so strange, everything feels so strange, “Come home.”

  Your hands are shaky, weak, your grip loose, but you cling to the two of them with everything you have, body wracked with shivers. The angels are crowding around, becoming, crooning and calling and promising such things as you’ve never been promised, hissing and screeching and demanding you stay, but Sol and Kar sandwich you between them and ask you to go, and the decision in made.