Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“ I wish that I could provide the kind of weapons money won’t buy.
Together we’d go hunting through the hallows of our hearts.
And kill the things that keep us down
And cut the strings to which our fear seems bound
And kiss the flicker of the flames that burn us out from within.”

"Fangs" - Man Man

     It was Girl’s Night.

     A clique of the once-dead--Latula, Meulin, Aradia, Meenah, Feferi, Kanaya and her human matesprit Rose--were gathered at Porrim’s hive. Meulin had filched some kicking soporific/tequila mix from Kurloz to facilitate a few rounds of Truth or Shots.

     It was one in the morning.

     Latula grinned like a mad cat when she finally convinced Feferi to show everyone her gills. Feferi’s cheeks flushed Fuscia, playing coy. It was a show substantial as tulle,  as her smile was as wide as Latula’s when she hoisted her shirt over her head. Anticipatory whispers broke into drunken giggles when it got snagged on her horns. Setting down her wine glass, Porrim offered to help untangle the poor woman.

     And she would have.

     But.

     It was one in the morning, and a sharp knock cut through the hive.

     Porrim assumed it was Nepeta. She’d promised she’d drop by, but she had a tendency to be at least a few hours late to everything she was invited to. It wasn’t anything anyone took too personally. It was well known Nepeta was a resident of her mind and her mind alone. She’d drift by eventually, once she finished her LARP, or whatever the fuck the nighttime Bubbles had charmed her away with.

     Meulin assured Porrim Feferi would be in good hands and began to pick her way through her wild mane of hair. Meenah groaned about how Feferi needed to buck the fuck up and try braiding for once. Rose quipped as Porrim stepped into the hall about how she better be quick coming back, else she miss some Major and Very Hot Gill Action. “That shirt isn’t going anywhere soon,” Porrim called back as she opened the door, “her horns caught on the stitching, we’ll be lucky if its still wearable by the end of the--”

     Night. 

     Night is thick in Porrim’s particular stretch of bubble. Velvet blacks. Deep blues. Oil-slick gleams of bubble edges catching the scant light cast from a distant cosmic Somewhere. No stars. No moons. Just void, the hive, the street and light cast down by three streetlamps before the bubble ended. The human porch jutting from the front is only as lit as the windows adjacent to it and their curtains were drawn. Porrim almost missed the figure just out of reach of the warm pool of light which spilled from the doorway. Tucked awkwardly behind to a supporting beam a few steps down, just far enough to get caught by the first few drops of rain.

     Lanky not short. Lightning bolts in place of cat ears. Violet instead of olive.

     Ampora.

     She slammed the door shut on impulse. It wasn’t until the initial shock wore off, leaning against the door with painted claws digging into the wood, that her brain made the connection that it was the youngest of the two violetbloods. She hadn’t spied a scar, or a sneer. No ‘authentic’ human cigarette. No choking smoke.

     Eridan. She was fairly certain that was his name.

     Angelmaker.

     Distantly she heard an “Everything cool?” from the room behind her.

     “Yep.” She stiffly shot back. Fuck. Am I really this keyed up right now? Nothing happened. She pressed her ear to the door. Silence. Nothing's happening.

     Despite this knee-jerk horror, a hand-me-down of a particular Beforan legend-- matesprit killer child culler--she was relieved. If it had been Cronus the rest of the night would have been shot. The bastard had a way of clinging to people like a leech to a leg, never dislodging until everyone in the vicinity had been drained. Eridan, while exhausting, could be shooed away easily.

     This will take five minutes. Tops.

     Assuming… I don’t…

     If he doesn’t…

     If they don’t...

     ...  ...  ...

     ...aw fuck it.

     Porrim opened the door.

     Very few of the dreaming dead, having died young, allowed themselves to appear their death age. They usually opted to masquerade older. Everyone knew everyone else was older than an eon and a day, sure, but nothing made it harder to be taken seriously than looking like a six-sweep-old. So the Alternians dressed up. These young ancestors bent the ever-expansive creative space afforded to them by the dream bubbles to appear mature and closer to their Beforan counterparts. Ten, eleven, even twelve sweeps old. Eridan typically favored older as to match heights with Cronus and to tower over most everyone else.

     So to see him standing on her doorstep a soft-faced bundle of too-long limbs took her aback.

     The rain picked up. Shit, really? She hadn’t anticipated any weather tonight, but the heavens had now opened and she was certain the fast soaking boy on her stoop was partially responsible. He was wearing pajamas. Boxers a size too large hanging off hips two sizes too narrow. A white cotton T clung to his chest turning into a translucent ash everywhere but his sides which, by shadow or stain, were as black as the void down the way. Hair like clumped seaweed stuck behind his glasses, and his arms were crossed tightly across his chest.

     “What…brings you here?” Porrim began, tone measured. 

     Eridan looked up.

     He didn’t need to answer, it was scrawled all over that broken-angle face of his. Looking straight-on it became obvious his nose didn’t bend that way naturally and what she had assumed were bags under his eyes were straight-up bruises. His pupils were so dilated that she had a tough time making out the violet ring of his iris. Suddenly, she thought she saw him shaking despite the humid heat of the rain blowing in on them like hot breath. For a moment, she forgot who this was and had the urge to reach out and take hold of him before he rattled himself to pieces right there in front of her.

     This isn’t a child.

     He cleared his throat. “Is Fef here?”

     His voice was as measured and quiet as her own had been. Suspicion licked up the back of her throat. Eridan was one to overplay his troubles, not underplay. She was tempted to assume this was some sort of 4-D chess stunt where this solidity was somehow just another tool in the kit… best to shake that thought off. Breathe. People go mad following that sort of thinking.

     “No.” Porrim lied. “You just missed her.”

     His expression didn’t even flicker. Damn, did he actually buy that? But before he could respond, a voice chimed in from the corridor behind her. “Hey! So is it Nep or nah?”

     “It’s not.” Porrim called back.

     Latula snorted. “Then tell whoever it is to piss off. I’m tryna get fish princess here to do the bare naked macarana but she can’t do that until someone who knows what the fuck threads do frees her from her own goddamn clothing.”

     “EXCUSE me?” Eridan’s eyebrows shot up, the first real emotion he’d expressed since turning up. Soaked in nothing but his underwear but still possessive as hell, Porrim wasn’t sure if she should be charmed by his consistency or horrified by his continued fixation. 

     Both would do. 

     In the meantime Latula had sidled up next to Porrim in the doorframe. “Oh fuck. Who invited lil’ Ampora?”

     “Let me in!” He hissed. When he stomped up the rest of the steps it was more sad than scary.

     Latula whistled. “Dude. You should get some help. Looks like someone fucked you up real bad.”

     “Latula.” Porrim snapped, but it was already too late. Whatever blood that was left in Eridan’s face evacuated in a hurry, leaving him a ghost. There was a hanging moment where Porrim was prepared to swoop in and catch a breakdown, to collect him in her arms while trying her damnedest not to get any of his blood on her dress.

     That didn’t happen.

     Instead, he plowed right by them. As fragile as he looked he was packing a lot of power in that twig body of his. He was stumbling down the hall in no time, and the two woman behind him lagged momentarily out of sheer shock before chasing after him.

     The next few minutes were a cluster fuck.

     Eridan started shouting something about royal chastity as he stormed into the living area where Feferi still had her shirt stuck over her head. Meulin was picking past horn, hair and frothy fabric but when Eridan stormed in she yoweled and flung herself back. But her claws were firmly trapped in Feferi’s deathtrap hair, sending the blind and confused seadweller tumbling back with her as Porrim and Latula came skidding in on Eridan’s heels. 

     Kanaya was the first on her feet, diving between Eridan and Feferi in no time. She shoved him back, sending him flailing into Porrim. She wrapped her arms around him in a vice grip, holding him back as he continued to thrash and shout. He wasn’t the only loud one. Everyone was talking past and over each other.

     Where the fuck--

     Who the fuck--

     Why the fuck--

     Get.

     Him.

     Out.

     By the time Feferi untangled herself from Meulin and wised up to the situation, the rapid tension had already crested. Kanaya had been shepherded into the kitchen by Rose. Meenah had thrown her hands up and exited the hive and, Porrim assumed, the Bubble itself. And Eridan...

     Eridan had gone stock still against Porrim staring wide-eyed at his ex-moirail.

     Porrim could feel every taut wire of his body cutting against her. It was the only thing holding this boy--man--together. How they strained with every shallow intake of breath, the slicing shift as he reached out to her with one pathetically shaky hand muttering mantras that only he could parse. From the looks of it she had gone equally as rigid, holding her shirt tightly against her front and not budging from her spot on the floor.

     Finally, a word rose out of the incoherent noise jumbling out of his mouth. “Please. Please. Please.”

     Feferi bolted.

     He crumbled.

     Latula helped Porrim haul him back to his feet, albeit with far too much commentary about how fucking gross his sobbing was. Aradia and Meulin, the only two left in the room at this point, watched quietly as he was shepherded up the stairs and into one of the empty respitblocks on the second floor.

     Faintly, from up the stairwell, Porrim heard Aradia chirp,

     “And here I was worried things were getting boring!”

      Porrim’s fangs were dug so far into her lip she might as well put in another piercing. Nerves, while something she could handle, were a real pest in this respect. The slow cut of her incisors moored her mind, keeping it from drifting too far as her thoughts flitted between downstairs and the troll that stood before her.

     Stood is putting it charitably.

     Slumped is more accurate.

     Eridan was pawing through her wardrobe. Well, one of her wardrobes. It was one of the burdens of being one of a pair of seamstresses sharing a hive: there never seemed to be enough closet space. 

     The past hour had been burned bickering and things had come to a head of sorts. He wanted to leave, embarrassed for having shown weakness so publicly or because of some other strange violation of Alternian custom. Through their entire spat, he never once looked her in the eye. Hound with his tail between his legs, speaking as if they were both near a shed and she was toting a rifle. Which is ridiculous, because melee was more her style.

     But she wouldn't let him leave. He kept pressing her but never articulated exactly where he planned to head. Likely back to his own hive, and Porrim would rather gnaw her lip off than see him return in this state. While he was never explicit, never attributed reason to his injuries she knew damn well who’s claws had been where.

(She had spotted, out of the corner of her eye two sets of gashes dragging up from his navel clear to his ribs. The filaments of teleosteian gills were still oozing violet, operculum torn almost entirely off. This near-dead skin fluttered, blood-starved, and bent loosely as he moved. Every breath resulted in a wince or flinch.

Porrim asked how he was still standing.

He said he’d show her by kicking.

The subject dropped.)

     It had been silent for at least a quarter of an hour, the only sound being the clicking of coat hangers and the steady tap of Porrims nails against the wall. The party had disbanded shortly after Eridan’s arrival, Kanaya and Rose down in the kitchen being the only other occupants left in the hive. Porrim knew Kanaya would rather Eridan leave even though she likely wouldn’t voice it. Rose would probably make a passive aggressive stab  in a weeks time psychoanalyzing Porrim’s “maternal fixation”.

     But none of that mattered at the moment. What mattered was the poor child who needed asylum from both his hive mate and his own idiocy.

     “You should rest.” She finally urged.

     Eridan scoffed. “You sound like a broken record.”

     “I know. If that’s upsetting you I recommend you sleep it off.”

     “Why are you still here?”

     “Not for my health.” She chuckled flatly, “that’s for sure.”

     “Then piss off. I already told ‘ya I don’t do charity.” Metal hooks screeched against the metal closet rod as he pushed several shirts to the side in favor of scrutinizing a collection of skirts.

     “We’ve been over this. It’s not charity. It’s common sense. You’re in no state to--”

     “--you pity me--”

     “--I worry for you.” The statement tasted wrong. It wasn’t quite true, or at least she didn’t particularly want it to be true. Angelmaker. This is Angelmaker. He murdered your ancestor in another life. He tried to kill Kanaya. Don’t get close. However, it was impossible not to feel something, a quiet care that somehow burrowed cardiac deep. Similar to what she had felt with Kankri, now that she thought about it. Logic be damned, this boy’s injury demanded she be gentle.

     Yet speaking on this troubling fondness felt wrong. Stilted. And despite Eridan being one of the more oblivious trolls of the Alternian twelve he could sense it too. “There’s not reason to.”

     The idiot was setting her up to rebut. Not this again. “Anything you like?”

     “Hm?” He had picked out a particular skirt. It was a light, knee-length garment that was an oppressive red with black velvet detailing. Very niche, something that was fun to make but Porrim wouldn’t personally be caught dead in.

     “The skirt.” She stepped away from the wall, closer to him. She held the skirt out by one of its corners. Examining it with him. “Maryam made.”

     He kept his body angled away from her, but otherwise stayed put. Progress. “Nice fabric.”

     “It’s from Kanaya’s loom.”

     “And the detailing--”

     “--gawdy--”

     “--eye-catching.” He muttered, crushing velvet under his thumb. “It seems like her."

     The fondness in his voice made Porrim uneasy. Any interaction between he and Kanaya did. “It’s… vocal. Certainly.”

     He nodded. “Fef would sometimes borrow Kanaya’s things. Wear them around. Wreck them under water. But she always wore them well.”

     Another landmine Porrim’s mind raced to side step. “Feel free to borrow it if you like. As you can see we have plenty.”

     “No.” His answer came a beat too early, eyes flickering between Porrim and the skirt. “I have what I need.”

     “I’m sure you do.”

     “I do.”

     “You do.”

     “Yeah.” He paused. “I borrowed one once, from Fef.”

     Porrim let go of the skirt. “I’m sure you looked striking.”

     “She was such a fuck’n bitch about it.” He muttered, snapping the hanger back on the rail with a sharp click. “Fucki’n laughed at me. Lowblood-loving air headed… fuck. Sorry. I fuckin’ hated her for it.”

     Porrim remained silent, watching him as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. Daring her to reprimand him. It was the flimsiest thing she’d witnessed all night. She plucked the hanger back from the rail, holding it out to him. “Good a time as ever to prove her wrong.”

     He didn’t move, he just watched but this time it was less out of wariness than bald faced confusion. She could see the gears working behind his eye, searching for a coherent answer and failing. So she hooked the hanger on the closet door knob. “You really don’t know how to take a favor.”

     He scoffed. “I already said. I don’t do favors.”

     She patted him on the shoulder, ignoring how it instantly went stiff under her touch.

     “I believe you, hun.”

     Eridan was gone the next morning. Slipped out before the rest of the hive woke up. One night of refuge and nothing more, which was probably all either Maryam could bear to offer. Kanaya was thrilled at his departure.

     “Here’s to never seeing him for another sweep.”

     Rose, as always, feigned being non committal with her opinion.

     Porrim wasn’t sure what she felt concerning him. Relieved, certainly. Consoling him was more exhausting than an argument with Kankri. However as the day progressed she couldn’t help but find herself wondering how he was. Fussing. Worrying.

     She filed all this away to the back of her mind. There was no use for concern. Despite the trauma, despite the snapshot of desperation she had the misfortune of witnessing, things would resume their regular pace. He’d fade back to the periphery of her social circle; only coming up in the casual mention or brief glass through the ever-consuming film of Bubble intersections. Sure, she’d see another facet of Cronus’s sneer and speculate over the sincerity in which the Beforan had killed her own ancestor. Wonder if it was possible for such a grub could be hatched with that level of sociopathy. She had a hard time imagining that scared boy doing anything so wretched.

     But at the same time, deep in her marrow, she knew he could. It wasn’t about fixing. Or guiding. Or being the fairy-godmother. She’d conned herself into walking down each of those paths many times. It was a waste of energy, of eternity, cleaning up the aftermath of someone else’s neurosis.

     All this stewed inside her as she tidied up the guest respitblock, combing the room for anything he could have left behind. An empty exercise; he came with nothing so naturally he left nothing.

     Except.

     An empty hanger on the closet door.

     Porrim plucked it up and smiled despite herself.

     Such a child.

CA: por

CA: por

CA: porrim please youre killin me here

[GA delete 245 messages from CA? Y/N]

CA: wwait wwhat

CA: thats not real is it 

CA: wwhy am i seein that i shouldnt be seein that

CA: it cant be real it wwouldnt post that shit ive nevver seen that shit before

[GA delete 249 messages from CA? Y/N]

GA: Y.

CA: rudeass bitch

[Data cleared.]

GA: I am surprised yo+u have never seen that no+tificatio+n before. Yo+u must have very patient friends.

CA: fuck you okay it just goes to showw howw shitty your chat client is compared to ours 

CA: unlike you lot wwe havve the decency to not be so clumsily blatant wwith our snubs

CA: spitin people is a delicate process and you cant just throww that negativve shit around like its nothin it looses its impact

CA: but you flush huggers wouldnt knoww that wwould you pitch really is a lost art

[GA delete 5 messages from CA? Y/N]

GA: Y.

[Data cleared.]

CA: fuck you

GA: Are yo+u wearing the skirt that I gave yo+u?

CA: wwere gettin off point

CA: seriously por

CA: wwhat do you wwant

CA: i wwasnt kiddin wwhen i said id make good on my promise

CA: just fuckin tell me wwhat you need so wwe can be done here

GA: Yo+u never made any promise.

CA: shut up

CA: wwhat do you want

GA: Here is the pro+blem.

GA: While I’d be mo+re than happy to reap the “fruits of my labo+r” so+ to+ speak, I am afraid that there is abso+lutely no+thing yo+u have that I want.

GA: Except, perhaps, fo+r yo+u to+ sto+p pestering me.

CA: …

CA: come on

GA: I tho+ught yo+u didn’t do+ favo+rs.

CA: literally anythin

CA: anythin you could possibly wwant

CA: amporas always repay their debts its a matter of fuckin honor

GA: Ho+no+r?

CA: its a high blood thing

CA: you wwouldnt understand

GA: I’m sure I wo+uldn’t.

CA: just tell me wwhat you wwant and ill get out of your hair for good

GA: Yo+u really are set o+n this, aren’t yo+u?

CA: yes!

GA: …

GA: Fine.

GA: If yo+u must pro+vide me so+mething I co+uld always do+ with a light snack.

CA: …

CA: wwait

CA: you talkin like fried grubs or

CA: the other thing

GA: The o+ther thing, Eridan.

CA: oh

CA: wwell

GA: Yo+u did say anything.

CA: yeah I fuckin knoww wwhat i said

CA: ill do it

CA: just givve me a second to collect myself

GA: Pardo+n?

CA: ill be ovver in an hour

GA: Eridan.

GA: This isn’t so+mething yo+u must do+ immediately.

CA: I wwant to do it noww

GA: Is this what this is all abo+ut? Getting o+ut o+f yo+ur hive?

CA: is kan there?

GA: Eridan.

CA: or ros?

GA: …no.

GA: They are not.

GA: They are o+ut fo+r the day.

CA: thank god

CA: ill talk to you later

CA: see you in an hour

[CA has disconnected.]

GA: Talk to+ yo+u later.

[GA has disconnected.]

     If Porrim didn’t have much kind to say about Eridan, she could always say that he was punctual.

     According to the pester log, the last message he had sent her had gone out at 2:13 in the afternoon. Sure enough at 3:13 a sharp rap echoed down the entry hall of her hive. So exact it may have startled Porrim if she wasn’t already used to tediously meticulous schedules such as Kankri’s. That and she had caught a glimpse of him out the window at 2:32. Chances were he arrived early and waited at her front stoop until the hour mark was reached. It would have been funny, she would have invited him in sooner... if the behaviour wasn’t so eerily similar to Cronus’s. 

     The last thing anyone needed was another Cronus.

     “Excited?” Porrim hedged.

     Eridan shrugged, taking off his sunglasses and tucking them into the collar of button-down. His nose by Bubble trick was straight and he was back to flaunting a 12-going-on-13 sweep frame putting him a head taller than Porrim. He elbowed past Porrim and headed straight down the hall. “I’m in a hurry.”

     Porrim followed him into the living room, stepping around him and settling on the far end of the couch. She looked up at him--for some reason, he was sticking to the edge of the room--and patted the spot next to her expectantly. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

     He nodded but didn’t move beyond that.

     She arched an eyebrow. “Second thoughts?”

     “No.” He snapped.

     “Then sit.”

     “I will.”

     “If you’re waiting for a cue, this is it Eridan.”

     “I’m not--” He cut himself off. He also wasn’t looking at her. “Okay, maybe I am. But I’ll get over it. Just give me a moment.”

     “Worried about germs?” Porrim Teased.

     Eridan’s eyes drifted to the ceiling. “Sharp things… put me off.”

     “Even teeth?!”

     “Oh shut up! I think that it should be expected considerin’ how the majority of us bit it.” With a steadying breath he finally worked up the courage to see her eye-to-eye. “Ya know. Just considerin’.”

     Porrim’s gritted her teeth, nauseous at the implication. Death was familiar enough to be a joke to most of them, but in that familiarity lurked an anxiety that prevented most if not all serious comment. Sure, they all thought about it but it was generally considered a low blow to bring up in any context. “You don’t have to, Eridan. It’s perfectly fine to walk out if you want to. I won’t be offended.”

     “It’s not fine and also it’s okay I’m over it. I’m over it.” He rigidly moved from his spot and sat next to her on the couch. “I’m over it. See? Over it.”

     “...take your boots off and relax a bit, then. Relax.” He was stiffer than the couch they were sitting on. When she placed a hand on his shoulder she wondered how his muscles hadn’t snapped with how taut they were pulled.

     He huffed, shrugging her hand off. “I told you I’m in a hurry. I’m headed out as soon as we’re through so I don’t see the point of taking them off.”

     “Yes, well, you’ve tracked dirt all over my carpet.”

     “Taking them off now won’t un-track it.”

     “I’d at least appreciate the gesture.” She muttered as he undid the buttons at the collar of his shirt. Porrim tsk’d. “Nonono, what do you think you’re doing?”

     “I...assumed you’d need access to my--?”

     “I’m not biting your neck. You just had a moment about sharp things, your arm will be fine. Besides, this is likely a lot less traumatic.” She gently took his wrist and started rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. “Besides, it’d tear your last set of gills, and I’m not going to do that just for a light snack.” 

     His annoyance quickly melted into a chilly pool of wariness. “I said I was fine. Nothing wrong with either pair.”

     She finished rolling his sleeve up, patting his arm. “Fine or no, I’m not inflicting any more damage than I have to. It’s not me going easy on you, it’s just common fucking sense.”

     Eridan leaned back against the couch, watching as she turned his arm over and searched for a vein with the tip of her thumbnail. “Do you usually… er… take from the arm?”

     “More often than not. Depends on the mood and the troll.” She pulled her thumb back and gripped his forearm as she leaned down. “Ready?”

     “Obviously.”

     “This’ll pinch a bit.”

     “I figured.”

     She sank her teeth into him.

     Each caste, each individual troll varied in taste and temperament. If Porrim was in a particularly mystic mood, she fancied that she could read people off the taste of their blood. Like a quick dip into that core something that pushed even her fellow dead forward. As far as flavor profile, the variance was never as drastic as sugar and iron, candy and meat. More like varying brands of bitter on a range from lowblood citrus to highblood salt. The mystic mind also liked to attribute particular boosts along with her diet, despite her knowing any and all effects she experienced were likely placebo. Medigo mania alit her veins in a way that made the world around her slow, Captors left her feeling like a short-tempered lightning rod, Pyropes were like human adderall and that one time with a Makara… isn’t worth dwelling on. She had never, however, tasted violet blood before. As much as Cronus taunted and teased her, she never wanted to give him the satisfaction. In Eridan, surprisingly, she did recognize a note of energized something.

     Highblood rage, like copper on her tongue. 

     The more she drank the stronger it was. It coated her tongue and the back of her throat thick and visceral- it felt like her ribs had collapsed and were now clutching her innards in a vice grip. Awful yet stable, it nailed her to the spot as she was driven for more, more, more. Muscles stiffened so tight she could have swore the cold sweat that broke out was from the water being squeezed from her flesh and not the heat. She shook, tethered by that tenseness that bled from him to her, leaving her a charged spring. Crush anything in her grip. Drive her teeth deeper. Floor, wall, ceiling room collapsing down those two points of connection beneath her palms and the third under her mouth.

     She realized how easy his arm would be to break.

     It was no small effort to pull back. After a quick once-over, it was clear he wasn’t doing so well either. His breathing was labored… she hadn’t taken that much, had she? His eyes were unfocused, dilated in a way that struck her same as it did last night. He hadn’t registered that she had stopped, his arm still bleeding out in her hands.

     Snap snap. Just like that.

     “Eridan.” She gingerly folded his arm to help staunch the bleeding. “Eridan, you still with me?”

     He blinked, his eyes taking a moment to refocus. “You’re… done?”

     Porrim’s stomach turned. “I’m going to get you some water. And a bandage. You stay there.”

     Outside of whatever nonsense complaint he muttered under his breath, he didn’t show any sign of getting up so with a quick pat on the shoulder she slipped into the kitchen. She took her time, picking through the cotton swabs in the first aid under the sink. Her mind was still in the space between the tongue and the roof of her mouth, reflecting on the aftertaste that made her want to snap the hinges off the box she was holding. Light fire to the gauze. Slam her head into the counter--

     She set the box down and poured herself a glass of water. It took several rinses to get the last bits of brine from her mouth, but she succeeded. Staring down into the garbage disposal she came to the conclusion that perhaps all of this was, as Kanaya had earlier asserted, a Big Fucking Mistake. She pressed her palms against the seam between sink steel and marble counter, centering herself on that harsh line. Things were handled. Things were fine. The only thing that happened was that she was taken a little off guard and That Was That.

     Snap. Snap.

     Porrim quickly gathered the bandages and water and returned to the living room, where Eridan had nodded off while she was in the kitchen. Violet was quickly congealing in a thin creeping line down the front of one of the couch cushions, his arm having been left unattended for a little longer than she would have preferred. Nothing a little bleach and hard work wouldn’t handle, but fuck it the past 24 hours had already been hard work so she really didn’t take a shine to the thought of more.

     She wrapped his arm quickly and quietly, and he barely stirred. Deep sleeper even out of the recuperacoon, she supposed. For the next few hours she drifted in and out of the living room, monitoring him, as he drifted in and out of sleep. He didn’t say much during any small stretch of lucidity. Mostly just sipped water and a muttered apology before passing out again. By the time evening rolled around she had gotten him to swallow down three glasses of water, but he rejected any food she offered. Claimed he had a discerning palate. The fucker was too damned neurotic for his own good, and she just wanted to snap at him about how he wasn’t going to get any better on an empty stomach, and if he didn’t get any better than he wasn’t gonna get anywhere other than her damn couch that she’s gonna have to bleach goddamnit--

     She often needed to step out. Get some fresh air. Rinse her mouth.

     By the time Kanaya and Rose returned from whatever romantic escapade they’d been pursuing, Eridan still hadn’t moved from where he was curled up on the couch. Porrim had since draped him in one of her old quilts, one she wouldn’t mind throwing out or burning should it get blood stained. Predictably, Kanaya was less than pleased. Thankfully it was late enough for her to be tired and easily cajoled to bed by Rose. She didn’t seem so much bothered than bemused by the situation. Porrim caught a flash of that grotesquely delighted smirk Rose of hers as Kanaya wrapped her conversation with her. The issue would be waived until the following morning.

     Porrim followed their lead and went to turn in as well, checking one last time on Eridan before she did. She could have sworn he looked smaller, curled up on her couch. Sleep had a way of making folks a little less… there. 

     Wait… what the fuck am I thinking? Is this thinking?

     She hit the lights and headed towards her fucking respitblock. It was never really a thing around her hive to lock the door, seeing as her bubble didn’t house anyone beyond herself. But…

     Never hurts.

                             Click.

                                         Click.

                                                       Back in her respitblock.

                                                                                                Click.

     It wasn’t until she had slid into her recouprecoon that she realized he’d never taken off his boots.

Chapter Text

“Skin making form as air pressure from both directions
How long does the body last without organs to fill it?
What does the body want except to pass blood
Through the tiny vessels and keep the whole shape intact?

I want to fill you up with my exhalations
And drink out all your flesh
But keep your bones and skin still flawless.
And blow through the tiny opening in the top of your scalp
Until all there was, was a perfect you and a perfect me
And breath, and shape, and pressure."


"Edge" - Lucrecia Dalt

“Have you thought of it? Even once?”

Porrim sat before a vanity.

She couldn’t for the life of her recall how or why she ended up here. The answer existed somewhere at the roof of her mouth, in the ache of her molars; encased in gum, wrapped in root and entirely inaccessible to her.

This wasn’t her hive, wasn’t her respitblock. The room around her felt like it was plucked from one of the human Bubbles, open and airy with far too many windows to let the light in. Sundown soaked everything around her through with orange and burgundy. 

Nothing sat in the reflection across from her.

There was her empty chair, foam bloating past cracked cream colored vinyl, and the portrait hanging on the wall behind her.  It contained a troll of high standing, considering the near comical amount of military medal clustered on his breast. Black fatigues and ceremonial blade blending with the backdrop while his skin must have been nearly as  pale as the canvas it was painted on.

Military portraits were certainly regular decor in Beforus, but usually they were imbued in the colors of the officer depicted. Teal, Blue, Purple and Violet was the typical range but occasionally you’d catch an upstart olive or two.

Porrim had never seen one done in Jade before.

She was at the foot of the portrait, the space between her and it shrinking in a second.

This close she could see the finer touches; the detailing of his jacket, the silver flecks of meticulously embroidered cuffs. Rings encircled each of his fingers, their paint locked together in what almost looked like gold-gilded brass knuckles. His nails were as sharp as any blood-drinkers.

And.

Her own jade eyes stared down at her from atop his cheekbones.

“Told you I was a shit mother.”

Reality folded.

She sat before a dinner table.

It wasn’t long, only two chairs on either side before reaching the fifth at the end.

The room around them was too small, sparing only a few inches between the backs of each chair and the wall. She was certain if she stood her head would meet the ceiling, despite it being invisible in the haze that hung right above her scalp. Nothing smelled of smoke, or steam. Witchcraft, she figured. Somehow that made perfect sense.

The plate in front of her was empty. So was the goblet that was in her hand. I must have picked it up at some point. Her elbow was crooked as if she was about to call a toast with it. What for, again, existed just out of reach deep under her skin.

Her reflection in the glass reminded her of the portrait.

Something warm was soaking her socks.

Porrim sat there, unmoving, staring at either the empty goblet in her hand or the empty seat across from her. Waiting for something. There was no door, after all, no vent no window no way out. The air was stale and unmoving.

Two arms wrapped around her waist. She was still sitting, yet, somehow she was also standing. Sea salt crept in her nostrils and a familiar copper note lanced across her tongue. Cool breath tickled her ear.

“Caught 'ya, ya handsome bastard.”

She felt her skin tear open.

The room is empty and she is standing. No one is pressed against her back. A brown slurry of blood creeps past her ankles. Wadded up newsprint bobs to the surface. It catches on her calves, wrapping around them, words staining her skin. An unfurled copy slides into her grip, words barely legible past the encompassing bloodstain.

ANGELMAKER APPREHENDED AT HIGHBLOOD CHAPEL

PERSECUTION DATE TO BE SET

GRAND JURY ANTICIPATES EXECUTION ORDER

EMPRESS UNAVAILABLE FOR COMMENT

THE PUBLIC AWAITS A VERDICT WITH BATED BREATH!!

Heat creeps, up past her knees and between her thighs, swallowing her to her navel as the paper is torn out of her grasp and she is yanked backward by her hair and into the growing pool. She opens her mouth to shriek, blood rushes in. It is sweet. Heady. Boozy. It snots up through her sinuses searing in like incense, bleeding into her brain with a bloating pressure. The floor is gone. The walls are gone. The only point of contact being the near-scalping cut of the claws dragging her deeper. 

It pulled so hard, so long, she felt stretched and decomposed and suddenly was thinking of something she read about spaghettification and black holes.

Porrim was spat out on basalt flagstone in the belly of some deep elsewhere with the warm wet smack of viscera on stone. She stared up at the ceiling, also basalt, as the blood congeals to her skin. 

Footsteps echoed across the room. A shadow fell across her in what felt like yet another suffocating layer.

"Took 'ya long enough."

Lucidity felt like sand crumbling through her fingers. 

She was on her respitblock floor outside of her recuperacoon with a migraine echoing through her skull. Slime seemed to crust against every crack and crease of her body. Everything was a blur between the crack of light from the hall door and the low-laying digital clock’s muted red insistence it was only 2 in the morning. Porrim pawed around and found a towel. She wrapped it tightly around her body before climbing to her feet and shuffling out of her block to the bathroom.

She cranked up the shower until steam flooded the room. Grout pressed rough against the arch of her foot, the ice cold tiles providing a blip of something else outside the pain. The water near scalding her was another one. But that heat soon numbed to a consistent, soothing radiation atop her head and snaking down the hunch of her neck and back.

Never before had she been so aware of how much space her breasts took, pinched between her chest and thighs.

Never before had she felt so deeply ill.