![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crabmunicatorYou know what sucks? When people go prying into someone else's personal, private business which they have no place sticking their ugly, freckled nose into, least of which about perfectly consensual activities which shouldn't have gotten out to anyone else in the first place. Just once, once, he would like this kind of thing to not leak out to a certain someone's unfathomable web of information-sucking parasites. Who heard? How? He knows he hasn't been blabbing about it.
(Then again, how soundproof are these rooms?)
The point is that Beatrice's dumb stupid beak has been picking into his life, and now he's heard that she's heard that he fucked Ford.
(It was for science, alright?)
Worse (but predictably) she's been talking shit about him in relation to it. It can't be called the last straw, because there's been a whole host of them that have prompted their own responses, but this one does happen to jab its splintery end rather uncomfortably into his mental side. To that end he's come to confront her. Namely by banging on the door to her dorm here at ass o'clock in the evening.
"Open up, you slime-sucking harpy!"
(Then again, how soundproof are these rooms?)
The point is that Beatrice's dumb stupid beak has been picking into his life, and now he's heard that she's heard that he fucked Ford.
(It was for science, alright?)
Worse (but predictably) she's been talking shit about him in relation to it. It can't be called the last straw, because there's been a whole host of them that have prompted their own responses, but this one does happen to jab its splintery end rather uncomfortably into his mental side. To that end he's come to confront her. Namely by banging on the door to her dorm here at ass o'clock in the evening.
"Open up, you slime-sucking harpy!"
aspiringauthorHe was going to kill stan.
As soon as he got out of these handcuffs and out of the back of this police car, he was going to hunt his brother down and murder him so that he'd actually deserve to be arrested like this. Because as it stands, the only crime he's committed is being too similar looking to someone who's actually (allegedly) committed a crime. Funny how cops tend not to believe you when you say they have you mistaken for someone else - someone who just happens to look almost exactly like you and shares the same name with just a slight alteration.
Yeah. This is not how he expected to spend his Saturday evening.
It wouldn't be so bad if they had just driven him straight down to the station so they could clear this whole mess up as quickly as possible - no, they just had to spot a traffic accident on their way downtown and pull over to assist, thus leaving Ford to sit in the back of the squad car and hope to GOD no one sees him. The last thing he wants is for anyone to know he's been arrested - even if it's all just one big ugly misunderstanding.
As soon as he got out of these handcuffs and out of the back of this police car, he was going to hunt his brother down and murder him so that he'd actually deserve to be arrested like this. Because as it stands, the only crime he's committed is being too similar looking to someone who's actually (allegedly) committed a crime. Funny how cops tend not to believe you when you say they have you mistaken for someone else - someone who just happens to look almost exactly like you and shares the same name with just a slight alteration.
Yeah. This is not how he expected to spend his Saturday evening.
It wouldn't be so bad if they had just driven him straight down to the station so they could clear this whole mess up as quickly as possible - no, they just had to spot a traffic accident on their way downtown and pull over to assist, thus leaving Ford to sit in the back of the squad car and hope to GOD no one sees him. The last thing he wants is for anyone to know he's been arrested - even if it's all just one big ugly misunderstanding.
happy late birthday lepo
Jan. 29th, 2016 12:57 pmkallegeYou know what's fun? A threesome.
You know something Ford Pines has never experienced? A lot of things, but among those things is a threesome.
If all goes well that's going to change tonight. With Rick Sanchez as their third that's a very big if, but there's simply no one else qualified for the position. Beatrice is too much like a sister (and he's pretty sure that she'd laugh in his face if he suggested it), Stan actually is Ford's brother, Cuthbert's far too vain to participate in a threesome that doesn't revolve around him, Alain is beyond uninterested (his loss), and Ford was starkly against asking Fiddleford on the grounds that the shock of it might kill him. It had to be Rick and that's probably why Roland and Ford's room now smells a hell of a lot more like weed than it did a few hours ago.
"Pity we have bunkbeds and not separate frames or we could put our beds together and make a makeshift queensize." At least Ford can rest easy; they can't use his bunk when it's about three feet from the ceiling. Somebody'd be bound to whonk their heads. It's going to have to be Roland's or the floor and he's pretty sure if he suggests the floor Ford will have an aneurysm and call the whole thing off then and there.
You know something Ford Pines has never experienced? A lot of things, but among those things is a threesome.
If all goes well that's going to change tonight. With Rick Sanchez as their third that's a very big if, but there's simply no one else qualified for the position. Beatrice is too much like a sister (and he's pretty sure that she'd laugh in his face if he suggested it), Stan actually is Ford's brother, Cuthbert's far too vain to participate in a threesome that doesn't revolve around him, Alain is beyond uninterested (his loss), and Ford was starkly against asking Fiddleford on the grounds that the shock of it might kill him. It had to be Rick and that's probably why Roland and Ford's room now smells a hell of a lot more like weed than it did a few hours ago.
"Pity we have bunkbeds and not separate frames or we could put our beds together and make a makeshift queensize." At least Ford can rest easy; they can't use his bunk when it's about three feet from the ceiling. Somebody'd be bound to whonk their heads. It's going to have to be Roland's or the floor and he's pretty sure if he suggests the floor Ford will have an aneurysm and call the whole thing off then and there.
crabmunicatorYou know how it is. You spend your teen years feeling totally out of place, make a romantic disaster of yourself, totally die like two or three times, and ultimately spend a timeless eternity dealing with the endless drama of almost everyone you've ever known. Worse, they change so much every time you see them that you have to wonder if you ever knew them in the first place. Next thing you know, you're in college, waking up in your new dorm room and wondering how the fuck you even got here.
Well, it's not that alarming. It isn't the first time Karkat's woken up in an unfamiliar bed. Sometimes the dream bubble shifts while you're sleeping, and you wind up in some bulgeweed's memory, and you deal with that until the bubble shifts again. He doesn't recognize this one, but he doesn't need to just yet.
Instead, it's the mirror someone's hung up on the back of the door that gets him to lose his shit. It sounds a bit like someone's murdered a storm siren.
If someone comes to investigate, they're going to find him:
1) getting smacked in the face by the door because jegus could you fucking knock first, he was right behind it;
2) intensely concentrating as he tries to take a sickle to the concerning hair growth that's prickled up on his chin;
or
3) stalking down the halls and looking like someone just performed a disturbingly sexual puppet show with his lusus's corpse, if the perpetrators were the clothes everyone is wearing.
Well, it's not that alarming. It isn't the first time Karkat's woken up in an unfamiliar bed. Sometimes the dream bubble shifts while you're sleeping, and you wind up in some bulgeweed's memory, and you deal with that until the bubble shifts again. He doesn't recognize this one, but he doesn't need to just yet.
Instead, it's the mirror someone's hung up on the back of the door that gets him to lose his shit. It sounds a bit like someone's murdered a storm siren.
If someone comes to investigate, they're going to find him:
1) getting smacked in the face by the door because jegus could you fucking knock first, he was right behind it;
2) intensely concentrating as he tries to take a sickle to the concerning hair growth that's prickled up on his chin;
or
3) stalking down the halls and looking like someone just performed a disturbingly sexual puppet show with his lusus's corpse, if the perpetrators were the clothes everyone is wearing.
quackup[Ahiru likes Rue! A lot. That's what Ahiru would say if you asked her, and that's what the rightmost stall in the girl's bathroom on floor 6 of the McDuck Avian Academy would tell you too if you were to visit it. Though she was never too familiar with the concept of Christmas, it seemed to be quite a popular ordeal in the school (despite the founder's name literally being Scrooge). So, it made sense to to get her a gift or something, right? Right? That's what people do. She thinks. She has to ask Bird Person for help.]
[Bird Person's advice was simple: "In my culture, the dominant male often procures a significant amount of sturdy twigs in order to impress the female and convince her to allow him to impregnate her with her sperm. Ahiru, you must produce a nest that will increase Rue's intense desire to fornicate with you and raise your young."]
[So, she just got her a real nice leather jacket instead.]
[Ahiru shows up in a leather jacket of her own, complete with some weird logo adorning the back of the thing. Like she belongs to some weird gang of ducks or something. Even despite the questionable taste in jacket logos, she looks increasingly pleased with herself and her shoddily-wrapped package. So much so that she bounds down the halls signing to herself, until she finally makes it towards Rue's room, and begins knocking on the door.]
Rue! Rue! It's Ahiru! In front of your door! Please let me in!
[...oh my goodness rue doesn't answer back immediately what if she doesn't like her anymore]
[Bird Person's advice was simple: "In my culture, the dominant male often procures a significant amount of sturdy twigs in order to impress the female and convince her to allow him to impregnate her with her sperm. Ahiru, you must produce a nest that will increase Rue's intense desire to fornicate with you and raise your young."]
[So, she just got her a real nice leather jacket instead.]
[Ahiru shows up in a leather jacket of her own, complete with some weird logo adorning the back of the thing. Like she belongs to some weird gang of ducks or something. Even despite the questionable taste in jacket logos, she looks increasingly pleased with herself and her shoddily-wrapped package. So much so that she bounds down the halls signing to herself, until she finally makes it towards Rue's room, and begins knocking on the door.]
Rue! Rue! It's Ahiru! In front of your door! Please let me in!
[...oh my goodness rue doesn't answer back immediately what if she doesn't like her anymore]
aspiringauthorSo there they are, sitting in a booth in the back of some run-down Podunk diner that serves food greasier than a used car salsman's hair, and Ford still has absolutely no idea why Beatrice asked strongly insisted demanded he go out to eat with her in the first place. They've already ordered - Ford decided to stay away from anything fried or grilled because he doesn't particularly want to drink a pint of Crisco. Now, they're just waiting for their food, which gives them plenty of time to talk.
Or, you know, Ford could continue sweating under Beatrice's penetrating gaze while silently wondering if she's just going to pin him in place with her stare until he inevitably dies, or if she's actually going to say something. Rather than say anything himself, because quite frankly he is TERRIBLE at initiating conversations with girls, Ford simply continues to sip absently at his coke and fidget in his seat as he checks the urge to drum his fingers on the tabletop. He doesn't like to bring attention to his hands, particularly not in public, so he settles for jogging his leg a bit instead. He's gotta dispel some of this nervous energy somehow, doesn't he?
Or, you know, Ford could continue sweating under Beatrice's penetrating gaze while silently wondering if she's just going to pin him in place with her stare until he inevitably dies, or if she's actually going to say something. Rather than say anything himself, because quite frankly he is TERRIBLE at initiating conversations with girls, Ford simply continues to sip absently at his coke and fidget in his seat as he checks the urge to drum his fingers on the tabletop. He doesn't like to bring attention to his hands, particularly not in public, so he settles for jogging his leg a bit instead. He's gotta dispel some of this nervous energy somehow, doesn't he?
birdschoolNo one's really sure how they became friends with Rick Sanchez. He just kind of showed up in your life-- wedging his way in there and setting up camp forever whether you like it or not. Beatrice was never really sure if she did, in fact, like it or not. But sure enough through thick and thin she kept him there because there was just something about this gross stoner that felt like he belonged in her life.
However lately he'd been rather trying. And that was putting it lightly.
If Ford and Roland were obvious about their feelings then Rick was on some kind of higher plane. There was no subtlety and honestly the first time he'd mentioned being into her Bea was floored. The unpleasant whiplash sort of floored where you're really not sure how or why that just happened. She was sure that was some one-off thing. Oh boy was she wrong. Every day he'd mention it in one way or another, from an offhand comment to in-depth rants on how bangable she was. Beatrice wasn't the type of person to tolerate this and, to be honest, she didn't. She made it very clear that she wasn't interested and yet he still kept on going with it. It was like he didn't get it. Or, at least, he didn't want to get it. Either way Beatrice really needed to set him straight.
Which is why she was so irritated when she opened to door to her dorm that day to find Rick leaning against the doorframe, his jacket pouring off of his skeletal body.
Immediately she tries to close the door in his face.
However lately he'd been rather trying. And that was putting it lightly.
If Ford and Roland were obvious about their feelings then Rick was on some kind of higher plane. There was no subtlety and honestly the first time he'd mentioned being into her Bea was floored. The unpleasant whiplash sort of floored where you're really not sure how or why that just happened. She was sure that was some one-off thing. Oh boy was she wrong. Every day he'd mention it in one way or another, from an offhand comment to in-depth rants on how bangable she was. Beatrice wasn't the type of person to tolerate this and, to be honest, she didn't. She made it very clear that she wasn't interested and yet he still kept on going with it. It was like he didn't get it. Or, at least, he didn't want to get it. Either way Beatrice really needed to set him straight.
Which is why she was so irritated when she opened to door to her dorm that day to find Rick leaning against the doorframe, his jacket pouring off of his skeletal body.
Immediately she tries to close the door in his face.
birdschool[Ever since Roland had finally started going out with Ford the disgusting puppy-dog eyes and the late night rendezvous had become even more frequent. Because Beatrice doesn't hate herself enough to be in the same room as that, her visits had (begrudgingly) become less frequent. In fact that was the only thing that kept her from pretty much living in room 196. She spent enough time around Roland that she might as well but that whole boyfriend thing really complicates things.]
[But today is a good day. Ford is booked up with extra-circulars and Roland is free and it's the perfect day to visit her friend's dorm and catch up with him. Mostly that includes just talking shit about his brainiac boyfriend while he's away but hey. Details.]
[She shows up in the late afternoon, immediately making herself comfortable and taking a seat on Roland's bottom bunk. These visits have a ritual to them that has developed naturally over the course of time. They'll small talk for a little bit just to catch up on each others' lives. (So-and-so said something about so-and so. One of them is tired. You sure did get the shit beat out of you.) Conversation only becomes truly interesting when Roland inevitably sits in front of Beatrice, his legs crossed and body faced away. It's at this point that she'll start fussing with his hair, parting it here and there and braiding it wherever seems appropriate. And so it goes.]
[Phase One of preening ritual complete. Moving on to Phase Two: deep-ass conversation.]
So you're gonna tell me about that black eye, right? Come on spill it.
[But today is a good day. Ford is booked up with extra-circulars and Roland is free and it's the perfect day to visit her friend's dorm and catch up with him. Mostly that includes just talking shit about his brainiac boyfriend while he's away but hey. Details.]
[She shows up in the late afternoon, immediately making herself comfortable and taking a seat on Roland's bottom bunk. These visits have a ritual to them that has developed naturally over the course of time. They'll small talk for a little bit just to catch up on each others' lives. (So-and-so said something about so-and so. One of them is tired. You sure did get the shit beat out of you.) Conversation only becomes truly interesting when Roland inevitably sits in front of Beatrice, his legs crossed and body faced away. It's at this point that she'll start fussing with his hair, parting it here and there and braiding it wherever seems appropriate. And so it goes.]
[Phase One of preening ritual complete. Moving on to Phase Two: deep-ass conversation.]
So you're gonna tell me about that black eye, right? Come on spill it.
punkrickCollege is gross. That much has been decided on by Rick Sanchez, local delinquent and rabble-rouser. Who the Hell was up for this educational bullcrap? You go to college to get fucked up and get laid, son, and that's just what he was gonna do. Much to the chargin of his dorm-mates, of course, considering his near-uncanny ability to stay up for obscene hours and yet still ace all of his meaningless busywork. Also, the fact that he seemed to be the only guy in the school who could pull off a crop top didn't hurt matters.
So, when the man slinks out in the dead of night in some obscene XL-tagged jacket desperately struggling to not blow off his stick-thin body, one can only assume its for some sort of X-rated rigmarole. These suspicions could be confirmed when they find his ass placed down in some dewey-ass grass behind the dorm, packing a bowl with some much more illegal-looking grass.
Fuck. Bird Person always managed to hook him up with the good stuff. Not any of that skunk shit that ol' Rusty Venture used to sell him. Rick still swears up and down that shit was laced (and given his own...enthusiasm for drugs, it was a fairly safe bet, he figured).
Whatever. No time for inner monologue. Time to light up.
So, when the man slinks out in the dead of night in some obscene XL-tagged jacket desperately struggling to not blow off his stick-thin body, one can only assume its for some sort of X-rated rigmarole. These suspicions could be confirmed when they find his ass placed down in some dewey-ass grass behind the dorm, packing a bowl with some much more illegal-looking grass.
Fuck. Bird Person always managed to hook him up with the good stuff. Not any of that skunk shit that ol' Rusty Venture used to sell him. Rick still swears up and down that shit was laced (and given his own...enthusiasm for drugs, it was a fairly safe bet, he figured).
Whatever. No time for inner monologue. Time to light up.
LET'S GET THIS GAY SHOW ON THE ROAD
Dec. 13th, 2015 02:56 amkallegeIf there's one thing Roland knows, it's that you look after your people. Your family, your friends, anyone who depends on you: if they're hurt, it's the same as if someone hurt you. If they're insulted, it's the same as if someone insulted you. If some creepy business major keeps leaving them vaguely-threatening, vaguely-sexual notes, it's the same as if some creepy business major keeps leaving you vaguely-threatening, vaguely-sexual notes.
Presumably one would then break both of that business major's hands in order to ensure those notes stop coming, but when that business major has friends things become complicated. Things become violent. So that's why it's one in the morning and Roland is only just now making it back to his dorm room. He turns the key in the lock and enters with what he would like to think is a perfectly reasonable series of footsteps but is really more of a crappy shuffle.
At least he's got the bottom bunk which means he doesn't have to vault up a ladder before he's able to sit down. He lets his hands dangle between his knees and waits for the inevitable questions, because one usually notices when one's roommate comes back this late with bloody knuckles and a split lip.
Presumably one would then break both of that business major's hands in order to ensure those notes stop coming, but when that business major has friends things become complicated. Things become violent. So that's why it's one in the morning and Roland is only just now making it back to his dorm room. He turns the key in the lock and enters with what he would like to think is a perfectly reasonable series of footsteps but is really more of a crappy shuffle.
At least he's got the bottom bunk which means he doesn't have to vault up a ladder before he's able to sit down. He lets his hands dangle between his knees and waits for the inevitable questions, because one usually notices when one's roommate comes back this late with bloody knuckles and a split lip.
