wHAT HAVE i GOTTEN MYSELF INTO,,,

On The Job.

Sun, 25 Mar 2012 22:48:47 -0500

You enter your lair with a thoughtful frown. You normally arnt the sort to worry about a job, but the one tonight was going to be a bitch of a job. Infiltrating a government building, destroying the security equipment and stealing any and all files on the criminals of the city. It wasn’t about being silent and effective, the heros and police of the city had gotten far too cocky in there attitude, and according to your father ‘needed to be put in there GOD DAMNED PLACE’. Sending messages you could do, but you were worried about the second part of his instructions.

‘That henchmen of yours has been working for you for THREE FUCKING MONTHS NOW. Its high time he earned HIS MOTHERFUCKING PAYCHECK. He’s coming with you on the this job.”

“Yo TaVbRo?” You call into the big entryway as you come in, kicking your shoes off and padding your way through the door, your thick socks cushioning the sound as you take off your hat and shake the snow from it. “TaV, We GoT A JoB ToNiGhT.”

You’ve gotten comfortable. Saying otherwise would be an awful lie and one that you even want to try to make believable. You were a smart man, given a good deal, you knew how to appreciated it. Especially when submerged fuck-deep in mafia bullshit, it was good to have a rather grounded attitude toward the menial tasks that you’ve been trusted with.

Keep the lair clean, and Gamzee in both check and clean clothing, make coffee in the morning, take care of the finances, and occasionally do errands on various sliding scales of legal. For the lot you’ve drawn, your job is pretty easy. Your boss was even kind enough to give his word regarding your safety and comfort. Life is, for lack of a better word, good.

You wipe your hands dry on your pant-legs when the door opens. It’s better not to get too far involved in work when Gamzee was home, he had this habit of being just as untrustworthy on his own as an infant, and you’re not about to risk another opossum in the heating vent. You learned your lesson last time. “Hey, what’s up?”

Looking at him is like a punch to the chest. In the three months you’ve worked for the strange mobster, you’ve gotten a pretty good hold on his personality, and that look feels like he’s just about signed you up to get packed up and shipped away. Or worse.

The word ‘we’ has never felt so terrifying. “…We have a job?” All you can do is stand, hope, and pray to a god you only somewhat follow.

((OOC post))

Sat, 24 Mar 2012 22:10:22 -0500

The people who have been following for some time knows what that means.

Coming soon: Tav’s butt.

It will be placed under a cut, with a NSFW tag for younger viewers. If you don’t want to see

Wed, 21 Mar 2012 19:31:06 -0500

You were never a sexual person. You grew up too slowly, making friends with your inner child rather...

Mon, 05 Mar 2012 17:35:00 -0600

You were never a sexual person. You grew up too slowly, making friends with your inner child rather than sending him away. Sexual exploration was a normal stage in any teen’s life; however your sessions always ended almost as soon as they begun. Teenage hormones and mistakenly delivered Victoria Secret catalogs had the same effect they would have on any fifteen year old boy, and during quiet times, alone in your room, you tried to indulge your lower half’s few remaining desires. In the end, it always just felt weird.

You tried, god knows you tried. You’d always start with soft touches though your pants, which was often where things would go sour. Your brain would order your useless legs to flex, which they of course ignored. The feeling would move from weird, to uncomfortable, before taking a headlong dive off the Tav-flips-his-shit-plateau, straight into the uncanny valley. That would be enough to end any teen’s fun.

So you gave up on the whole endeavor, let yourself be a kid. Paying more attention to games and books than girlfriends and getting anywhere even remotely close to second base. You were happy with it too. Sexual attraction dwindled down to almost nothing, and it was okay.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Which was why, at the age of twenty, when you received a rather odd link from your childhood friend, to the supposed ‘New peter pan movie’ you didn’t even question it. Nor did the title of “Peter pan: Return to Boner-Land” set off any alarms. You sat in your bed, metal legs folded, and back hunched forward slightly to get a good look at the small screen of your cheap laptop. You watched the bad acting, and focused on the awful plot, rather than just how meagerly clothed the lead roles happen to be. It was only after the minimal coverage was tossed, and things began to get heated that it finally clicked just what the hell you were watching.

Vriska, in her endless wisdom, and adoration for destroying everything you love, had sent you what had to be the worst porno ever made. Based entirely on your favorite book series. You were unsure if she was trying to be cruel, and ruin Peter Pan for you, or trying to be nice and pandering to your likes in possibly the least appropriate way possible.

You tacked it up to Vriska being Vriska.

But realization came too late. You were far too invested in the flimsy plot to stop watching. When would the lost boys come back? Would they catch Peter and Wendy mid coitus? Did the costume department even study period-specific clothing? What kind of twenty year old man uses the word “coitus”? Watching it all the way through couldn’t hurt, could it?

How wrong you were.

Attractive people slid together in their perverse mockery of love making, but your lower half didn’t seem to care how staged, or just plain bad it was. Sweat covered bodies rocking into each other was all you needed for heat to begin winding in your core. The feeling tightened, spreading warmth lower. It coiled deep inside, leaving your pants feeling tight and uncomfortable. Each line or moan was fake and corny, and yet your body still reacted, pants constricting around your clear interest. You didn’t worry, though it was the first time since your surgery, the territory was still familiar. Disgust and selfloathing had the habit of wilting problems like this.

You started the same way as always, placing the base of your palm over the growing tightness in your pants. Your hand kneaded at the cloth that stretched over hardened flesh, clumsily seeking out any way to make it feel good. You learned before, like most boys did sometime after the age of ten, that friction equaled good; however, technique—learning just what your body liked and disliked—was sure to forever be a mystery to you. Your breathing came out in heavy little puffs as you tried, and failed, to find any sort of rhythm in your touches.

Every now and again a particularly bad line would catch you off guard; you’d falter, pause, breath, and try again.

You waited for the eventual disgust to come; followed by cataclysmic failure of ‘operation boner-town.’ You’d be able to straighten up, relax, and never refer to an erection as ‘operation boner-town’ ever again.

Then you hit it, the heated moment where touching though clothes just stopped being good enough. Your body was sure to try to move into the touch without being told, awkward useless limbs would want to shift up into the touch that just wasn’t adequate and just like always they would completely… work?

That couldn’t be right.

You froze in place when your body reacted just as it should—albeit with the shifting of gears and metal rather than muscle and skin—and all you could do was stare in disbelief. While any reaction was good, if unexpected, it also came with very glaring flaw attached. Namely, in the form of the sentence that ran over itself in your head.

What do I do now?

While most guys your age had long acquired the age old equation of ‘pump the long bit—wipe sticky stuff on socks—hide evidence,’ You were never lucky enough to be graced with that particular bit of information. This left you all alone, gawking at tented denim and fumbling about your inexperienced mind for answers.

Were you a braver person, you’d have asked a friend, or hazarded a stint on the internet, but each of those options seemed like they’d be more trouble than help. The only friend you were even remotely close enough to was the cause of the problem in the first place. On the other hand, the closest friend geographically doubled as your boss, and while a nice person, you were more than sure that asking Gamzee questions about the best way to get off… Well, it made asking Vriska look tempting.

Clothes. Those coming off would be the first logical step, one that you barely managed without goring a hole in the adjacent wall, much to the amazement of the spectators. The thought that there might actually be onlookers, however, sent you skittering under his blankets. Like an idiot. Like a big, naked idiot, alone in his room, crawling under his covers in fear of the almost nonexistent possibility being caught with his hands down his pants. Or not, since there were no longer pants for them to be down.

You would have chided yourself, were you focused on anything other than pleasure in the muggy heat under the blankets. Awkward fingers wrapped around hardened flesh, and cool metal pressed into the back of your thighs. Pressure, you found, was good. The first application made you gasp, the second was more expected, and with the third you were able to settle into the motion. Your fingers gripped and rubbed into the shaft where it felt most comfortable, though the action itself was somewhat chaotic and unorganized.

The warmth spread out, to your very fingertips, coaxing beads of sweat to make their ways down your body, and making the sheets cling to your skin.

Tentative touches grew firmer, the way you gripped yourself could no longer be described as haphazard, and finally, finally, you could feel the pressure building. Thought halted and the world around you dissolved into the heated pleasure, and your own breathy moans that you could no longer tell apart from the video’s. You picked up speed, pumping yourself in a way that you learned felt good, your muscles tightening with your rapidly approaching climax. This was the moment that had always been denied you, sweet carnal euphoria that you only wished you allowed earlier. Each movement just made your body want to-

“Yo Tavbro, you up?” The only two sounds that registered in your mind were the click of an opening door, and the rip of blankets as you wrenched your head above them.

Fuck.

“G-gamzee?” Your voice was in a much higher pitch than you wanted; it wavered like an out of tune instrument, and pointed accusingly at your previous actions. Although Gamzee couldn’t see under the blankets you made sure to keep your hands well away from your body, as if by distance alone they could deny your actions. “Ahaha…ha… is it time to get up already? I was just… reading a book, and stuff.”

He blinked slowly, and you could just see the gears turning in that head of his, piecing together what he’s seen and what you said. You waited for the accusation or disgust, but all he replied with was, “Well shit, I’m gonna get my mofhterfucking breakfast on, tell me what’s all and up with the Pan dude when you get in.”

The door clicked closed behind him, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Though the pot filled haze Gamzee must have missed the flushed face and mussed hair. Thank God for oblivious stoners. You would have jumped and cheered if that didn’t mean bouncing around with your bits hanging out—a sight that no one, including you, wanted to see.

For once, luck was smiling on you. Caught in a compromising position and your employer was way too stoned off his ass to even tell. For this moment only, the world seemed fair.

Until you realized that the video was still playing.

Well… fuck.

Lost in Sburbia

Fri, 24 Feb 2012 14:51:46 -0600

whimsicalvoid:

You… suddenly aren’t so sure if you can trust this boy. You’re going through so many conflicting thoughts so fast! First you’re excited, then let down, then excited again, and now you’re just… baffled. But then again, his concerns are privacy can be understood, as his business is indeed his business. You decide to shrug the matter off.

Shrugging off the awkwardly long and incredibly effortless handshake is a bit more difficult, but you manage to do so, as well. You take a look at the boy’s map for him, and you… um…

…What exactly is this? You’re practically staring at the scribbling of a madman! THIS IS SO OUTRAGEOUS!

And what kind of landmarks are these!? ‘Make a left at’… at… well, you’re not quite sure. Is that a dog, or a bike? Maybe both?

You give up trying to translate that nightmare and instead take another approach.

“Boy, why don’t you just tell me where your destination was, maybe I can help you find it from here.”

It’s some comfort that you are not alone when it comes to deciphering the rambling mapping abilities of your stoned superior. What makes Gamzee a good boss in some respects, (such as the freedom he presents you with, and the comfort in which you live,) leave something wanting in regards to the actual technical difficulties of doing your job.

You just about wince at his face though, it looks downright offended—while you cant blame him for that much. It’s downright impossible to push away the apologetic smile that spreads across your face as you take the sad attempt at a map from the poor man.

“I think this job is just about… bust. So I’d settle for helping me find my car… or a way back into the city now that I think about it.” Your shoulders slump as you sigh. Gamzee of course won’t be mad that you gave up—heck, you wouldn’t be surprised if he thought you had the whole day off—but there is something inside you that is disappointed, purely for the fact that you screwed up yet again. You don’t need Gamzee to scold you for your failures, you can do that quite well on your own.

OOC

Fri, 24 Feb 2012 14:27:24 -0600

((Hey everyone, I just wanted to thank you all for following me and tell you that I will not be on for about three-four days. I am unsure if I’ll have internet in that time, so I won’t be able to update or continue RPs till I get back from skiing. This goes for both Tavros and Squarewave’s blogs. I’ll probably work on things while I’m gone, so I might come back with updates of some sort. See you on the flipside.))

Red Eyes and Charging Bulls

Fri, 24 Feb 2012 14:07:40 -0600

crimsonguardian:

“Don’t trouble yourself with apologies,” You say, taking a quick gander at the young man’s appearance.

Nervous pales in comparison to what you would use to describe his actions. Paranoid is closer to the correct word. Why he is acting in his manner might have to do with the paint on his face and the blood. For a moment you wonder if you should stall for the police sirens to draw closer. After all, this all is rather suspicious. A man, bloodied and dirty in that get up running at such a breakneck speed? Oh yes, nothing ominous at all about that, is there? Still… This stranger had paused to help you up. To apologize despite the very clear need to abscond.

You decide to take a gamble, reaching for his hand. While you allow him to help to you your feet, the decision has been made to help him. Well… Help him clean up at least. So in that moment, you instead take his wrist, inspecting any injuries.

“Quite the scratch you have there, friend.”

You expected to help him up and be on your way. It’s not like it’s a strange thing to assume, but clearly the wrong thing as he hasn’t let go of your hand.

Run. Hide. Get away. Be safe. Leave.

Your mind is screaming in time with the rapid thump of your heart. There is no control over the way your ears flick in the direction of every oncoming sound. You lick your lips, and they taste like paint. Even that much can’t comfort you.

“R-ran into a wall.” You cast your eyes around once more in a futile attempt to see past all the brick walls and surrounding scenery. “Sir, I really do need to go. I’m in a hurry.” You could push him out of the way. Kick him with your robotic legs, or punch him hard enough and you could probably kill him. The idea makes you ill. Even more so for the fact that you find yourself contemplating it.

Without thinking, you look down at the scraped hands, shredded skin under a layer of blood were staring back up at you. It’s enough to give your stomach one last painful lurch that had you on all fours and emptying it out. Blood never sat well with you, your own blood even less so.

Red Eyes and Charging Bulls

Sat, 18 Feb 2012 22:54:55 -0600

crimsonguardian:

Normally, walking back to your place isn’t such an adventure. You enjoy the exercise and potentially running into a new face. However, you do not realize that this would be literal as a young man turns the block and right into your path. Before you can even react, you find that your backside has met cold pavement. Honestly you are more surprised than actually hurt, though the sting still remains. Now that you think about it, you sort of feel like you had been run over by a stampeding bull.

Looking up at the stranger that is, presumably, addressing you, this seems to be exactly what has happened. He seems incredibly flustered and something must be on his mind for him to carry such an expression. Well you most certainly can’t have that.

“I’m fine. No harm done,” you say with a soft expression. Now you simply need to get back on your feet.

Everything about you screams ‘NERVOUS!’, from the way your eyes dart about, to how often you scratch at your face, smearing your skull paint into a grey and red mess. Your hands still burn, wet from each blood droplet bubbling to the surface, and irritated from all the dirt and paint keeps getting into the scrapes, but it’s the last thing you’re thinking about.

Your thoughts return to the throb of sirens, and the way it’s matching time with your heart beat, and to the man in front of you that could so easily identify you in a court room.

Horns cut though the air as you swing your head from side to side, as if scared that the police are ready to step out of the aether and descend upon you. You need to move, and more quick.

“Dreadful s-sorry, I never watch where I-I’m going, here-” You wipe your hand off on your vest, staining the fabric dark. Only once it’s semi presentable you hold the shaking appendage out to the stranger.

Red Eyes and Charging Bulls

Fri, 17 Feb 2012 23:57:39 -0600

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Sounds accost you from all around. The thump of your heart, the harsh clap of steel on stone, and the painful wail of sirens fill your ears like a chaotic symphony built out of your own fear. How you manage to place yourself in these situations, you’ll never know, and the flow of adrenaline that filled your body hardly allows for all that much pondering.

A job had gone south. Not Texas south, Antarctica south. So far south that you have a very good look at all the penguins wondering just what the hell you’re doing in their territory and- HOLY FUCK THAT’S A WALL!

You feel the skin on your hands tear when they hit the rough brick, all but killing your momentum. However, stopping is not an option, neither encroaching sirens, or your own frantic mind will allow it, so you keep going. You need to get out, safe, back home where you can wipe the sticky face paint from your skin and pretend that the repetitive whine of alarms outside your walls hasn’t a thing to do with you.

You careen around a corner, straight into another obstacle, but this one isn’t firmly attached to the ground. It’s soft, much more delicate, and currently on the ground after having the physical equivalent of a brick wall slamming into him at only slightly less than full pelt. Every part of your brain screams at you to keep going, but your conscience weighs more heavily than your fear.

You crouch over the stranger, worry painted over your features (under the far more literal paint) as you check to make sure that you didn’t leave any lasting damage. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, are you- are you alright?”

sshighblood: awkwardtoady: gAMZEE ALWAYS TAKES PICTURES AT THE...

Fri, 17 Feb 2012 16:52:32 -0600

sshighblood:

awkwardtoady:

gAMZEE ALWAYS TAKES PICTURES AT THE WRONG TIME,
i GUESS THESE WERE THE BEST, tHE OTHER ONES WERE WITH ME PULLING GOOFY FACES, oR EATING SOMETHING,
iT DIDN’T HELP THAT THAT WAS THE DAY HE DECIDED TO, wELL, pAINT MY HORNS, wHILE i WAS SLEEPING,
bUT THEY LOOK KIND OF COOL,
eITHER WAY, i’M HIDING THE PAINT FROM NOW ON,

((OOC: Downright amazing commission from the wonderful shilloshillo, I’m still flipping my shit over it. More or less Tavros’ default outfit, with and without his paint. If anyone is looking for references (haha, I’m funny, I know you’re not) here they are.))

AwW cOmE oN mAn YoUr HoRnEs LoOkEd AwEsOmE tHaT wAy! BeSiDeS iF yOu DoNt WaNt Me PaInTiNg YoU tHeN yOu ThEn YoUrE gOnNa nEeD tO lEaRn HoW tO dO tHaT bItChTiTs SkUlL pAiNt YoUrSeLf BrOtHeR.

tHERE IS A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN, yOU KNOW, fACE PAINT, aND PAINT PANT,
tHE LATTER OF WHICH YOU PUT ON MY HORNS,
iT’S SORT OF EMBARRASSING TO WALK AROUND WITH FLAKING PAINT ON MY HORNS„,

gAMZEE ALWAYS TAKES PICTURES AT THE WRONG TIME, i GUESS THESE...

Fri, 17 Feb 2012 16:40:00 -0600

gAMZEE ALWAYS TAKES PICTURES AT THE WRONG TIME,
i GUESS THESE WERE THE BEST, tHE OTHER ONES WERE WITH ME PULLING GOOFY FACES, oR EATING SOMETHING,
iT DIDN’T HELP THAT THAT WAS THE DAY HE DECIDED TO, wELL, pAINT MY HORNS, wHILE i WAS SLEEPING,
bUT THEY LOOK KIND OF COOL,
eITHER WAY, i’M HIDING THE PAINT FROM NOW ON,

((OOC: Downright amazing commission from the wonderful shilloshillo, I’m still flipping my shit over it. More or less Tavros’ default outfit, with and without his paint. If anyone is looking for references (haha, I’m funny, I know you’re not) here they are.))

(( OOC ))

Mon, 13 Feb 2012 13:49:10 -0600

generalterror:

(( Actually, I am happy to announce we’re having our very first event week!

The spirit of Valentine’s Day has taken hold of the Superstuck crew… with disastrous results. People have fallen for unlikely partners, creating a mess of their daily lives.

For this week only, please enjoy the shenanigans of these following pairs:
General Terror + Cutlery Countess
The Tailorbird + Gamzee Makara
Otto Strider + Tipsy Gambit
Anarchy Goddess + Rose Lalonde
The Gatekeeper + Feferi Peixes
Evilbuster + Gallant Tempest
Commander Greed + Giggling Gumdrop
Tavros Nitram + The Signless
Team Avengers + Bro Strider
Dave Strider + Galactic Gal
Whimsical Void + Itchy

~~The random generator was cruel indeed.~~ ))

((Pardon me while I nearly piss myself laughin’. Oh god, this will be good.))

wELL i THINK EVERYONE CAN GUESS THIS, bUT i REALLY LIKE THE POKEMON GAMES, aSIDE FROM THAT, i LIKE...

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 15:08:00 -0600

wELL i THINK EVERYONE CAN GUESS THIS, bUT i REALLY LIKE THE POKEMON GAMES,

aSIDE FROM THAT, i LIKE FINAL FANTASY, lEGEND OF ZELDA, eARTHBOUND, aNYTHING IN THE TALES SERIES, mOST MARIO GAMES, dONKEY KONG, tHE STAR WARS GAMES ARE PRETTY FUN, lUIGI’S MANSION, aND FABLE TOO„,

gOSH, i COULD PROBABLY GO ON ALL DAY, oOPS,

i LOVE JUST ABOUT ANYTHING, bUT i REALLY LIKE ADVENTURE, aND FANTASY ASPECTS, wELL, aND A HAPPY...

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 15:00:03 -0600

i LOVE JUST ABOUT ANYTHING, bUT i REALLY LIKE ADVENTURE, aND FANTASY ASPECTS,

wELL, aND A HAPPY ENDING,

aLL GOOD STORIES SHOULD HAVE A HAPPY ENDING,

}:)

oNCE, hE WAS THERE WHEN i SIGNED MY CONTRACT, hE DIDN’T TALK TO ME, jUST„,...

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 14:33:41 -0600

oNCE,

hE WAS THERE WHEN i SIGNED MY CONTRACT,

hE DIDN’T TALK TO ME, jUST„, lOOMED,

sEEING HIM„, iS NOT AN EVENT i WANT TO REVISIT,

tHAT’S QUITE A QUESTION, aND, iT’S NOT THAT i DON’T WANT TO ANSWER IT, bUT...

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 14:30:00 -0600

tHAT’S QUITE A QUESTION, aND, iT’S NOT THAT i DON’T WANT TO ANSWER IT, bUT KNOWING HOW, iS THE HARD PART,

tHERE ARE MANY WAYS i COULD, bUT JUST BEING REMEMBERED IN GENERAL,

i WANT TO STAND FOR SOMETHING,

iF IT’S FOR MYSELF, oR SOMETHING MORE IMPORTANT THAN THAT,

iF i WAS TO HAVE A LEGACY, i WOULD WANT IT TO BE A COURAGEOUS ONE,

bUT THAT PROBABLY WON’T HAPPEN, hUH,

aFTER THE LAST INCIDENT, i’VE LEARNED MY LESSON, aS FOR THE COFFEE THING, i’M NOT MUCH...

Tue, 07 Feb 2012 13:50:00 -0600

aFTER THE LAST INCIDENT, i’VE LEARNED MY LESSON,

aS FOR THE COFFEE THING, i’M NOT MUCH OF A FAN PERSONALLY, eVEN THOUGH i MAKE A POT EVERY MORNING,

gAMZEE IS THE COFFEE FIEND IN THE HOUSE, nOT ME,

askso11uxandkarkat: (( A gift to my friend over at...

Tue, 07 Feb 2012 13:38:51 -0600

askso11uxandkarkat:

(( A gift to my friend over at http://awkwardtoady.tumblr.com! I love her Tavros design, and said I’d do a drawing for her. Be sure to check it out! :D ))

i DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW GAMZEE FOUND A SUIT THAT WAS TOO BIG FOR ME, bUT THERE IS PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE,

i FELT SO TINY IN IT,

applejuiceboxart: Gamzee would totally make him wear only a...

Sat, 28 Jan 2012 14:52:20 -0600

applejuiceboxart:

Gamzee would totally make him wear only a zoot suit.

gAMZEE HAD THOUGHT ABOUT A ZOOT SUIT WHEN WE WERE FIRST GETTING ME FITTED,

bUT HE SETTLED ON THIS IN THE END,
i’M PRETTY FOND OF THE HAT, aND i FOUND THIS COOL TINKERBELL POCKET WATCH AT THE THRIFT STORE THAT i COULD WEAR WITH IT,
i STILL DONT KNOW IF i’M WEARING IT ALL RIGHT THOUGH,

generalterror: Four Ways Not To Wear Bandanas: A Novel, written...

Fri, 27 Jan 2012 19:29:00 -0600

generalterror:

Four Ways Not To Wear Bandanas: A Novel, written by General Terror.

gAMZEE, i’M SUPPOSED TO BE CLEANING THE HOUSE, nOT YOU,

((Tavros begs to differ on the second point. That’s a damn good way to wear a bandana.))