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SF: THE REBELLION.
SF: HOW IS THE REBELLION GOING.
SF: DEAR CHUTEWIPE WITH ROTTEN SOPOR IN PLACE OF A SPONGE, THE REBELLION IS GOING SWIMMINGLY! THAT’S WHY WE’RE FUCKING ABOUT ON THE INTERNET ALL THE TIME!
SF: BUT NO, IT’S FINE, WE LOST THE WAR AND ALL YOU NOOKLICKERS CAN THINK OF TO SAY IS, ‘SUP.’
SF: IT’S NOT LIKE I GOT CLAPPED IN BURNING IRONS AND PSI SPENT THE BETTER PART OF HIS LIFE AS A SHIP OR ANYTHING!

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SF: CERTAINLY NOT LIKE WE’RE DEAD AND IT’S ALL MY FAULT!
SF: FUCK.
PN: 2f? what are you doii-
PN: oh no.

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PN: 2hoooo2h 2f 2hoo2h iit’2 okay.
PN: beiing dead wiith you ii2 better than beiing a 2pace2hiip anyway.

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PN: 2orry anon2, he’2 2tiill not really over iit.
SF: FUCK.
PN: ye2 that 2ound2 accurate.
PN: 2hoo2h.

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You hate seeing people get hurt.

It’s unavoidable, being what you are. Dolorosa dispatches your assassins and spies with a grimness about her that makes you think she’d do worse if she had to. Disciple drags home meat that you can’t force yourself to choke down. And Psi…

Psi just hurts. And you don’t know why.

Both he and Dolorosa think you’re too young to discuss his revolving door of pailing partners, even though you’re only a couple sweeps younger than he is. Whenever you try to pointedly bring it up in jams, he laughs and calls it, “none of your buithneth, SL.” Dolorosa says much the same, and cautions you against taking him as a role model in the same breath.

But he’s still hurting. And neither of them are letting you fix it.

You’re not very good at being subtle, like Dolorosa is. So one day, when you’re draped over each other on the padded seating block, you abruptly ask – or state, really – “Are you ever going to tell me what your fuckery’s about?”

He tenses slightly, his arm going stiff around your shoulders. “I don’t know, SL. Thith ith a thitty excuthe for a pile.”

His voice lingers on the Is and thickens on the esses, still like nobody you’ve ever met, and you pity him more every time you hear it.

Not that it’s pity, exactly. It’s complicated. You’re not sure you can pity anyone properly, the way everyone else seems to, and it’s well-established you suck at hate by now.

So you shove your cloak over his head. “Here you go then, nookwhiffer, if you really have to hide in dirty laundry to talk to me, I can provide that.”

Your cape dangles off his horns ridiculously, and he doesn’t even bother moving to get rid of it. A crackle of red and blue dumps it back in your lap, and he scruffs up your hair with one hand. “You thuck at romanthe.”

A flush rises high on your cheeks. “Well, you suck at being romanced. Stop being a bulge and tell me your fucking problems already.”

He sighs, soft against your ear. “I don’t even know,” he says after a long pause. “What’th wrong with me, SL?”

You don’t know how to answer him, so you just squeeze his hand tightly in yours. “Doesn’t matter. Just curious about what’s making you such a hornbiter lately.”

He scoffs, but his fingers wind through yours and squeeze back. “Thoon ath I know, I’ll tell you.”

“Course you will.” You lean back into him, settling your shoulders against his, and go back to watching Psi’s Shitty Taste in TV Shows, Example #83 with your hands locked together.

Over the next week, you observe six kismeses, four matesprits, and three unidentifiable enter and leave Psi’s block. You’re pretty sure that for other trolls, flipping quadrants is normal, and so is having both a matesprit and a kismesis. Psi is flouting all the rules though, and what he does…

There are a lot of hurt feelings going around, and they don’t just belong to the trolls that get sucked in by his charisma and ditch when they realise they’re not the only ones. The kismeses – ex-kismeses, you suppose – in particular spit insults at him as they leave. He doesn’t know what he wants. He’s just trying to fill a void. He doesn’t know how to feel so he cavorts from matesprit to kismesis and everything in-between, hoping for something, anything –

You can’t let him go on with that broken look on his face. Your bloodpusher hurts too much.

So you turn to the one troll who can make it stop.

Dolorosa doesn’t seem surprised to see you when you enter her block unannounced. It’s morning, and you two are the only ones awake. She’s sitting in the window, embroidering something in Psi yellow in the sunlight. “He wears through things so quickly,” she sighs, not looking up from the delicate needlework.

You fold your arms under your cloak, wrapping your hands around your elbows. “Like patience.”

“I suppose.” She bites her lip as she concentrates on the stitching. “He’s acting as he was taught.  Highbloods, seadwellers, tend to gather harems that they can pick and choose from. Their matespritships and kismessitudes are rarely binding. Mixing their blood into the next generation trumps all.”

You’re gaping in horror and you barely realise it. “But–”

“This is why I didn’t want to talk to you about it.” She finally looks up, then gently closes your jaw. “Pity – your pity, your idea of matespritship and moirailship and caring, it doesn’t mean anything to them.”

“Psi’s not a highblood,” you say in a small voice. “He’s here. With us.”

“His life, before we found him…” She trails off, sounding uncertain. It’s rare enough to have you worried. “He’s a powerful psionic, my grub. Highbloods take them, and use them until they break. It’s likely he was in their society longer than he has been in ours.”

You sink to the floor and rest your head on her knees. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Keep making things better, as you always do.” She strokes your hair the way she used to when you were younger. “Keep talking to him.”

“You’re worried too.”

“I worry when you worry, little grub.” She begins sewing again. “I also trust you to do what needs to be done.”

You spend the rest of the day hiding in your block, watching images of an Alternia that never was play in your mind.

Psi’s leaning outside your door when you wake up in the evening, his fingers hooked through his beltloops and eyes half-lidded as he watches the sun set through the window at the end of the hall.

“Why do you never knock,” you grumble, more statement than question, as you drag him inside.

“Becauthe you alwayth find me.” His eyes flare in the way that means he’s rolling them as he answers, and he heads straight for your padded seating block once he’s inside.

You roll your eyes back and lean on the armrest, giving his head a sharp tap to make sure he’s paying attention. “Listen up, I’ve got something for you.”

“What?” He blinks up at you and your bloodpusher twists just a little bit.

“Polyamory.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“It’s…” You gesture to your head. “I saw it.”

“And?”

You feel kind of silly as you continue, like you’re delivering a sermon for one. But clearly he needs it. “It’s kind of like having a harem, but not, not in a stupid way, like the highbloods, you actually lo– like the people you’re seeing.”

“Or hate them.”

You shrug. He smiles a little.

“Tho I’m polyamorouth?”

“And a bulge.” He starts to laugh, but the look on your face cuts him off. “Seriously, you bucket-tipping, lususless, bulgebag. You can’t keep doing this to others.” You look away nervously, then back at him. “Or yourself.”

Little sparks start leaking out of his eyes. “Thayth who.”

“Thayth me,” you say cruelly, and knock him over the head again. “I’m not letting you destroy yourself. You need stability, and you’re going to get it if I have to stand outside your door and inform everyone that passes, sorry, no, Psi’s sick today, can’t see anyone.”

He rubs the spot where you hit him and the sparks fade away slowly. After a long, tense moment he sighs. “I am thuch a bulge.” He looks up at you, half-smiling, and hopefully opens his arms.

You fold your arms and raise an eyebrow. “And.”

“I don’t know!” He turns the hug-me gesture into a fuck-the-world flail. “Knowing a word for what I am doethn’t mean everyone will thtop hating me for it!”

“You can stop hating yourself.” You shrug. “And maybe if you picked your partners more carefully instead of just seducing everyone walking down the street…”

He gives you a look worthy of Dolorosa.

“No, Psi. No seducing.” You return the look. “And multiple concupiscent partners only. I’m not as freewheeling as some people.”

He snorts. “SL, you’ll thoothpap anyone.”

You pap him indignantly. “Shoosh.”

He licks your hand with both tongues. You start laughing, at first in relief, then in hysterics. Psi peers over the edge of the seating block at you as you end up on the floor, laughing and hiccoughing.

“What’th tho funny?”

“We’re as completely idiotic as each other.”

When Psi opens his arms and raises his eyebrows this time, you crawl onto the seating block with him. You managed to fix this. Maybe if you keep going, you can fix the world, too.

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SF: ANY CLOTHES THAT AREN’T MY CLOAK, A THRESHECUTIONER UNIFORM, A FAKE GODTIER AND THIS LIME DISGUISE WHICH I AM NEVER WEARING AGAIN, THANK YOU DISCIPLE.
PN: ii have 2ome 2hiirt2 a le22 lame lookiing p2iioniic uniiform and the fakey god tiier thiing.
PN: oh ii al2o conviinced dr two make thii2.

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PN: iit wa2 actually harder two conviince her two u2e the fabriic than two make the dre22.

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SF: …
SF: THE ONE WHERE I AGREED TO LET PSI TURN ON ANON.
SF: WOW.
SF: YOU KNOW WHAT? I’LL HUMOUR YOU.
SF: LET’S LIST OFF MY FAILURES, ACCORDING TO THE WORLD: BEING HATCHED, SURVIVING PAST HATCHING, SOMEHOW CONNING ROSA INTO RAISING ME, CORRUPTING AN INNOCENT PSIONIC, ALSO AN INNOCENT OLIVEBLOOD WHO REALLY SHOULD HAVE JUST BEEN LEFT TO DIE IN THE WILD, EVER THINKING DISCIPLE COULD DIE IN THE WILD, WEARING LEGGINGS UP TO MY ARMPITS, NOT CULLING MYSELF…
SF: LEAVING THE HIVE, GOING PREACHING, CORRUPTING INNOCENT HIGHBLOODS, CORRUPTING CORRUPT HIGHBLOODS, POINTING OUT HIGHBLOODS’ LOGICAL FALLACIES, PROBABLY TO CORRUPT THEM, WASTING THE EMPIRE’S RESOURCES - THAT’S WHERE I DIED, BY THE WAY, MAN, THAT ROCK WAS JUST WASTED ON ME, AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE COST OF IRON THESE DAYS. AND ARROWS! AND ALL THAT HOT AIR THAT CONDESCE NEEDED - THAT COULD HAVE GONE TO STARVING HIGHBLOODS IN TROLL AFRICA!
SF: YOU KNOW WHAT, ANON?
SF: I REGRET NOTHING.

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PN: told hiim dc wa2 leaviing forever becau2e he broke her heart
PN: don’t worry 2he laughed harder than ii diid
SF: CONVINCED HIM HIS FAVOURITE NUMBER WAS THREE THE FIRST TIME HE EVER GOT DRUNK.
PN: got hiim two clean wiith a bucket before DR explaiined the fact2 of liife two hiim
SF: SHAVED OFF ONE OF HIS EYEBROWS.
PN: 2haved off both of hii2
PN: liittle known fact: hii2 cloak diidn’t have a hood before that
SF: IT IS A MERE COINCIDENCE THAT THE COLOUR STARTED COMING INTO MY EYES THEN.
SF: REPLACED HIS SHAMPOO WITH GLUE.
SF: IT DIDN’T MAKE A DIFFERENCE, HIS HAIR WAS STILL RIDICULOUS.
PN: lii2ted hii2 trollhandle a2 up for a good tiime
SF: JOKE’S ON YOU, I LOVE GOOD TIMES.
PN: the funny thiing ii2 that he 2tiill doe2n’t get iit
SF: CONVINCED HIM THAT I DON’T UNDERSTAND ALL OF HIS OVERWORKED INNUENDOS.
PN: waiit
PN: what
PN: SHIIT!
PN: what’2 the 2core then
SF: 29-32
PN: oh 2f. 2f, 2f, 2f.
PN: iit’2 on.
SF: IT’S BEEN ON, SADSACK. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? 

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SF: WELL, THEY WOULD BE EXACTLY THE SAME PEOPLE, JUST WITH A DIFFERENT PRONOUN?
SF: YOU SAY THAT LIKE PSI DOESN’T PRESENT FEMALE HALF THE TIME ANYWAY.
SF: PROBABLY THE MOST ANNOYING THING IS TRYING TO GUESS WHAT GENDER HE IS TODAY BY WHETHER OR NOT HE’S WEARING A DRESS.
PN: the que2tiion ii2 how do you get iit wrong when ii’m weariing a dre22
SF: THE DRESS TEST ISN’T ALWAYS ACCURATE!
PN: would pantyho2e help?
SF: YE
SF: NNNNN
SF: THIS IS A TRICK QUESTION AND I AM JUST GOING TO GO OVER THERE NOW AND BEAT MY HEAD AGAINST A WALL.

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PN: ok pupa you don’t want two a2k 2f thii2, he’2 totally conviinced he’2 an abject faiilure.
PN: 2o let me giive you an an2wer.
PN: before ii met 2f ii wa2 a 2lave two hiighblood2, ju2t waiitiing two be turned iintwo a helm2man for 2ome piiece of junk 2hiip that would probably ju2t go two ru2t 2iince hiighblood2 don’t have much tiime for joyriide2.
PN: 2o ii ran away iintwo the de2ert becau2e at lea2t dyiing’2 quiicker, hey?
PN: when 2f found me ii thought he and dr were goiing two make me go back there.
PN: but they diidn’t.
PN: 2f diidn’t change thiing2 ‘2omeday.’
PN: he changed thiing2 every 2iingle day for 2o many people. he changed thiing2 that day for me.
PN: ii wa2 able two liive becau2e of hiim and hii2 ideal2.
PN: 2o yeah, iit’2 worth iit.
PN: your friiend2 wiill have your back.

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SF: I THINK DOLOROSA WAS A STRANGE CASE, WHAT WITH HAVING A MOTHERGRUB FOR A LUSUS AND ALL.
SF: IT SOUNDS HARD, BEING A MOTHERGRUB’S CARETAKER. LIKE YOU HAVE TO BE THE LUSUS TO YOUR LUSUS, AND THAT’S UNFAIR.
SF: PLUS SHE HAD TO OVERSEE THE HATCHING TRIALS AND
SF: WELL.
SF: A LOT OF GRUBS DIE. AND MOTHERGRUBS HAVE THE NURTURING INSTINCT, IT’S WHY THEY BEAR OUR CHILDREN.
SF: SO IMAGINE TRYING TO CONSOLE YOUR LUSUS BECAUSE EVERY SWEEP HER BABIES DIE. VICIOUSLY. AND BEING THE ONLY CHILD THAT HASN’T LET YOUR LUSUS DOWN.
SF: SHE LEFT THE MOTHERGRUB FOR ME, SO NO, I NEVER MET HER. NONE OF US DID.
SF: BUT I’D SAY THANKS IF I COULD. AND SORRY. 

it's been so long

Finished answering all the asks I’m going to answer over at AtABros, queued them, and shut down ask/submit. I didn’t expect to feel so sad, but I guess I should have seen it coming? It was pretty much the genesis of me + Homestuck fandom and the root of so much of everything I’ve done. 

There’s about a month of posts (at 1/day) left, and then… that’s it. Now I have to write up the ‘Sorry, this is dead,’ post and…

I’m just sad. Finishing-FBaTN-sad. AtABros essentially closed a long time ago, so I didn’t expect to be sad at making it official, but… yeah.

Sayonara, AtABros. You were fun and taught me a lot and let me do things I thought I wouldn’t do again. I’m glad I decided to clear everything out and end you on a high note. 

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PN: who 2aiid 2he tru2t2 me?
PN: that 2aiid ii’m pretty 2ure ii’ve conviinced her ii’m not a 2leeper agent or 2omethiing now.
PN: the whole 2tayiing loyal two 2f through 600 2weep2 of torture doe2 count iin my favour.
PN: 2he ii2 a very 2u2piiciiou2 lady.
DR: Nonsense
DR: I Trusted Psiionic From The Moment He Halted An Assassination Attempt On Sufferer That Slipped Past Me
DR: I Reserve Judgement On His Intelligence However

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PN: 2hiit!
PN: 2f ii am very terriifiied and al2o uncomfortable!
SF: THEY’RE JUST HUGS, PSI.
PN: from creepy-a22 2hadowy FIIGURE2 OF DEATH, 2F.
SF: ONE OF THEM EXHIBITED VERY POOR TASTE AND ASKED FOR YOUR TROLLHANDLE, YOU KNOW.
PN: iit’2 twofoldAbolitionist creepy 2hadow anon, wiith siingular IIs becau2e 2f’2 a jerk and hiit me untiil ii made iit quiirkle22.
PN: hiit me up iif you’re ever not a creepy remiinder of mortaliity wanderiing the plane2 for new viictiim2.
SF: WOW. THERE’S SHAMELESS, AND THEN THERE’S YOU. I AM ACTUALLY IMPRESSED.
SF: DON’T WORRY, SHADOWDROPPERS, I WILL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR HUGS.

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