"The first watch keeps the correct time. Always. Terezi tried starting out of sync the third time they played this game, but without that one thread of the right beat to cling to, the grating wrongness of the other watches knocked Dave out of the mood long before he could hit trance state." Terezi/Dave, idiosycratic forms of bondage.

He wears the denim skirt because it's stiff enough at the waist to hide a lack of hips and pulls tight enough on the back when he bends over that his ass looks fantastic.

Feed a cold, starve a fever, and in the case of an ennui-filled Terezi Pyrope just quadruple caloric intake.

Dave and Terezi do a shitty sidequest and experience the Dark Nak of their Soul.

SOLLUX: tz, n0. SOLLUX: we are not even having this c0nversation. TEREZI: WHY NOT? >:[ SOLLUX: because it’s fucking ridicul0us, is why not. SOLLUX: i d0n’t like the guy. SOLLUX: he’s an asshole.

For the prompt: i'd like either john/karkat or rose/kanaya, where the troll language is very different from english, and karkat/kanaya keeps lapsing into their native language during cute or ~*intimate*~ moments.

Directly after takeoff to the new session, Dave tries to adjust to the strange customs of the trolls, the havoc of romantic miscommunications, and recent past events, which continue to linger with all of them. It's hard to begin an entirely new life.

He could gag himself with how deep in this he is. In which Dave and Terezi share in sweet interspecies lovemaking and realize that being born universes apart lends itself to some discrepancy in the biological department.

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.

'There's a whole other story, about that, a girl with mirrors over her eyes and a man who was scared to care about anything.'

on occasion of the strider-pyrope wedding

"I kind of... accidentally fantasized about Karkat while we were doing it. Which I do sometimes, not when we're messing around, just like-- uh, fuck, look, I'm--" Terezi puts a finger over your lips and you stammer to a stop. She nestles closer and sighs happily. "You too, huh?" You stare at the ceiling in bewilderment. Whatever response you were expecting, that was not it.

Terezi is the best at sexting.

You squirm your way between her thighs and suddenly her hand is braced against you, right below your belly button, like she's holding you at bay. "Dave," she says, and she's alarmingly likely to be serious when she uses your name, "let's do it the other way this time."

"You aren't denying the guilt part," she says happily. You shrug. This was the way you really liked her, alert and predatory, delighted with life and always a little weird. "You could find anybody guilty of something." "That," Terezi declares, "is one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me."

Growing up on a flying meteor is hard work. You know this from experience. TG: dude what is this piece of shit you just sent me CG: TO PUT IT IN YOUR HUMAN TERMS: CG: IT’S A FUCKING LOVE STORY, DAVE. Well, it's a bit more than that.

The diagrams are maybe Dave's favorite part.