give me one. ONE LAST LAUGH

Strife!

You take a step back, and then you let yourself fall. You’re standing on your arms, legs outstretched like you aint even got a know on how bones work, and you close ‘em tight on the trident as it swings. You’re cackling again, god this is exhilarating. You’re bleeding, you’re laughing, you’re strifing.

You’re home.

You sink your arms slightly onto the floor to push yourself upwars. Your legs are tangled under the trident and now you’re sitting on it. For a moment you can’t help but notice she’s also having a good time, it almost gives you pause as you retriever your clubs and swing one down onto her head.

“nice moves, pisslungs”

“death aint nothing.

DEATH IS A JOKE

when my time comes i’ll motherfucking leap into hell

AND KILL THE DEVIL”

#honk (ic)

He noticed the way he scorned his offer of friendship, and for a moment he felt something familiar tick inside of him, something warm and nostalgic.

When Dirk suggested they stay together he’d take the chance to latch onto this feeling of attachment and not let go. Aint about to turn down an offer for company. The clown would simply chuckle at Dirks ‘joke’.

“aint got a problem with that, best friend,

THAT MEANS WE GOT A LOT OF TIME TO KNOW THE FUCK OUTTA EACH OTHER”

Strife!

You’re laughing, you don’t want to aknowledge why but you’re motherfucking cackling. You try and succeed in not thinking about the sick part of you that missed this, that misses the familiarity of locking yourself up in your hive, of dealing with seadwellers every week. Back when things made sense, back when things were simple.

You’re facing her while still keeping up the same position from before. Your horns poke at the floor while she struggles to get it back. There’s something so very hilarious about seeing a fuschia thrash and slip on slime like all the royalty’s been taken from her.

“SURE”

You let go of the trident, your palms hit the floor and you manage not to fall. You flip onto your feet again, kicking her on the side of the head while you go through the motions.

Your clubs are in your hands again. Your laughter’s dying down, becoming low, barely audible cackles.

Strife!

You’d just chuckle at the question, the only answer being a shrug and a wicked grin.

You’ve got your eyes set on her, and you know for a fact that you could dodge her next attempt, but you’ve got a much more fun idea. You recaptchalogue your clubs and you let yourself be hit by the side of the trident, and it fucking HURTS. The second hit is not as bad, the third hit and you manage to grab the end of the trident.

You pull it closer to you, strong enough to pull, but not strong enough to break her grip.

You stab yourself with the trident, three prongs now halfway into your gut. Blood starts to leak out.

You give the seadweller a smug look when you use the moment of surprise to lean your entire body back, still holding onto the trident. If she’s still holding on she’d be supplexed, if not, she’d be dissarmed as you use the momentum to get back onto your feet again.

Strife!

You’re moving fast, too fast to see the leg in your way. However as you fall, instead of freaking out, your body goes entirely limp. You move your head down, your horns facing the floor.

When they hit ground you’re able to use them flip the rest of your body onto the direction you were facing using the momentum. Your body looked as if it were made entirely of rubber from how you moved, and would’ve called into question your reality were it not for the bone cracking sounds that came as you flipped onto your feet.

“honk”

As soon as you’re on your feet again you turn briskly to scan the room for your opponent.

Strife!

Of course she’d ask for a fight. If there’s anything you know about seadwellers is that they WILL find a reason for confrontation. Something familiar boils in your blood, like rage finding its way back onto a cozy home. This is the rage you’ve dealt with your entire motherfucking life, the rage that pushes you to wake up and fight another night.

You might as well give her what she wants.

You throw your club, not at her but a few feet on the sand behind her. You’d quickly reach to the roof of the door and grab it. Your legs sink and your knees poke your stomach, making you suspend in the air. In one quick swing your feet press against Meenah’s shoulders, kicking her into your hive as you use the momentum to let go of the doorframe and roll onto the sand.

You pick up your club and another one materializes on your other hand. A wicked grin shows up on your face as you charge towards the seadweller.

“HONK”

Strife!

@renegade-royal

You remember this place. You remember a home that felt like it never was. You remember the tense sense of faux safety that this place was supposed to bring. It was less a hive and more of a fort, one that only felt bearable to stay in once you got high on your motherfucking clown ass.

There’s many things to look at in here. The religious imagery in every poster, the horns littered around carelessly, the slime dripping onto and staining nearly every surface. It’s disgusting. Your hive’s always been bad but it was never this bad since the day you first overdosed. You’d rather not look at anything right now.

Instead you focus on the door.

Your gaze fixates on the exit to your hive so long that you think you’re dissociating almost. You’re unsure if you’re dreaming, or dead right now. It scares you to think that you may actually be awake.

You hear steps outside, and a single club materializes on your hand from your sylladex. You open the door, and when you see her, that seadweller, you know where this might go.

“not a motherfucking good time to bother me, pisslungs”

failed-prince

@jckerskind

Dirk just takes one look at him, shakes his head and walks away. "No fuckin'way, dude."

He sucks all of them in, not even chewing the ones that went in his mouth or anything just motherfucking swallowing them whole. His expression is unmoved, but his eyes go red as a gentle, sweet scented smoke blows out of every hole he just sucked those candies in.

It is undeniable he has a problem.

Despite the semiconfrontational tone Gamzee managed to smile again. The clown wasn’t without grief, but there wasn’t any hint of a lie when he said he finally felt free. His holy duty was another Gamzee’s problem now, and he was more than happy to pass it on.

“IM GLAD TO BE PART OF THE CLUB, BROTHER,

can’t wait to start kicking it back with my fellow purpose free motherfucker,”

“LOOKING FORWARD TO EVERYTHING, BEST FRIEND.”

renegade-royal

jckerskind‌:

“any day i get to get high and piss off a seadweller at the same time is a good day”

“For reel? That’s where you get off?”

“Man, you ain’t the worst, but you up here.”

“BITCH I BETTER BE ON YOUR TOP 11″

“otherwise i feel i aint doing my job properly”

“...”

“imagine what it’s like to live for someone else”

His smile falters, his lips twitching, struggling to keep up the position, and slowly his cheeks go down. His smile starts to turn into something else. His voice sounds different too, his whisper is lower, almost inaudible. The chill tone from before is almost gone.

“IMAGINE Y’ALL HAVE TO WORK FOR A HAPPY ENDING THAT AINT EVEN YOURS,

imagine knowing you could, and would sacrifice your own despicable motherfucking self to make sure that others got to their paradise planet, their happy ending...and that it would come at the prize of their hate,”

NOW IMAGINE HOW LUCKY I MUST FEEL, GETTING TO DIE BEFORE EVER BECOMING THAT SELFLESS.”

“i get to be the version of me with no purpose”

Despite his face, there’s a hint of joy in his voice, or something like it at least...Something more like relief.

“any day i get to get high and piss off a seadweller at the same time is a good day”

#honk (ic)

Gamzee slowly moves his head back down again after a few minutes. Assuming from the position of his hands he was praying. He looks chill, if a bit fucked up still. Chill but fucked up just seems to be his natural state of being, kind of like if a stray cat couldn’t feel pain and were bleeding out without even noticing such thing.

“i feel free, so i am free,

DOESN’T GET SIMPLER THAN THAT.”

“i know what it’s like to be chained,

AND THIS AINT IT BROTHER”

renegade-royal

jckerskind‌:

renegade-royal

“yo imma let you finish, but do you take constructive criticism”

“nO”

“nope i hate it”