Edoro
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Summary
In which Karkat Vantas, overworked detective extraordinaire, juggles baffling quadrant vacillation and his job while falling ass-backwards into revolution.
Series
- Part 3 of Organized Crimestuck
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“Do you even actually need to study for that? I’m sure you’re already way ahead of the curve.” She turns her head and talks into your neck, voice dropping low and throaty so it buzzes through your thoracic cavity. Suddenly you can’t breathe. “Maybe you should put the books away.”
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“Bro?” you ask, reaching up to rap on his forehead with your knuckles. Somehow your hand just tangles itself all up in his fine-ass hair and you sort of yank and turn and then two of you are kissing. It’s sloppy and hot and awkward, the angle all wrong and neither one of you used to each other at all, but when he gets your lip between his dull choppers and bites until you’ll bruise it’s just about motherfucking perfect.
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You’ve already made a comprehensive mental list of all the hideous attributes of a mostly naked human body, from the smooth softness of their skin to the light dusting of hair they apparently all have to the bizarre vestigial thoracic fat-sack protrusions he says are called nipples to whatever the hell a navel is.
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Terezi has always known there is a right way to do things. Life has rules and the rules make it make sense and as long as she follows them, everything will be okay.
Recent series
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In which Terezi Pyrope is a rising star in the local mafia whose made it her mission in life to deal vigilante justice while kicking copious amounts of ass and making obscene amounts of money, and Gamzee Makara is her subjugglator partner preaching the righteous truth of holy violence to whoever she cares to point him at.
Also he has convoluted romantic woes with Karkat.
Also, they fuck. A lot.
- Words:
- 35,734
- Works:
- 3
- Bookmarks:
- 4
Recent bookmarks
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Summary
Mituna changes but his feelings don't. He learns to deal with them, and the people he cares about in the aftermath.
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You are sleeping off an unplanned encounter with your kismesis—the lispy little fuck liked to use his teeth; you have bruises and bite marks everywhere—when the sensation of the sopor rising in your recupracoon rouses you enough to register that someone has climbed in with you. You snap awake, already reaching for where your sickle hangs on the wall, but then you're wrapped up in a pair of lanky arms, your face squished against a familiar cool chest, and you growl into Gamzee's shoulder as he proceeds to cling to you like you're his favorite grubtoy.
“This is the third time this week, faceache.” you mutter.
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Summary
John is one of eight mech pilots heroically protecting Earth from an alien invasion. Pretty easy on the moral choices. See evil monster from space, kill evil monster from space.
Only then he actually meets one of them face to face.
Series
- Part 1 of Battlefield Terra
Bookmarked by Edoro
2 Aug 2012
Bookmarker's Notes
This is one of my favorite scifi fics. Gosh I love scifi. I also love language barriers.
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CG: HARLEY, WHEN I SAID THAT I WOULD RATHER CULL MYSELF WITH THE DULL END OF A SCALEMATE BEFORE I EVER GAVE YOU THE CHANCE TO RECOIL IN ABJECT REVULSION BEFORE MY HIDEOUS VISAGE
CG: WHAT THE FUCK GAVE YOU THE IDEA THAT I WOULD SOMEHOW BE AMENABLE TO INSTEAD PERFORMING A DAPPER SHOW AND TELL ROUTINE? -
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Summary
Your wriggling day is in three days, and while you normally celebrate this event with the apathy it deserves, this particular sweep is different. That’s because it will be your eighth sweep, and it happens to coincide with the arrival of the imperial drones. This is a milestone that every troll looks forward to with a heady combination of excitement and terror. For most trolls, when they reach their eighth sweep, they become adults.
Not you.
When you reach your eighth sweep, you will die.