Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

GHB: FIND-->

The fuck are you talking bout motherfucker? You ain't here to get your archeology on. You came to this fucking back of the woods place just to set up camp, coming back from a job over at some rogue burgundy's hivestem. It took a little longer than expected, that wicked motherfucker put up a hard fight. 

No one told you she had some fuckin telekinesis shit goin on. 

The trip wasn't a total loss though, now you have some paints to bring home to your wriggler so he can all up and worship your Messiahs proper. 

Motherfucker seems to have a thing for reds. 

 You sit back as you wait for your brothers to come back with the meat and firewood they decided was more motherfucking important than returning to the Big Top immediately. You really wouldn't care that much if it weren't for the fact that your little motherfucker was probably sitting alone in his respiteblock chugging down sopor at this exact moment. 

 You've been trying to kick him of the habit ever since he was a grub. An unfortunate accident involving someone putting him to sleep and forgetting to put the basin in to cover the hole so he wouldn't fall in. The cost of that was a motherfucker's horn. 

Anyway, now your little descendant is a fucking addict and isn't allowed to sleep in sopor. He doesn't sleep very well to say the least.

 You're kicked out of your thoughts as you hear the hoots and cackles of your fellow motherfucking brothers and sisters. One of the newer recruits comes running up to you, large horns making her run kinda motherfucking lopsided. You'd laugh if this didn't seem imoortant.

"Lord, we found something wriggling around the fucking woods." You raise an eyebrow and level a stare at her.

"These are the motherfucking woods, you're gonna find motherfucking slitherbeasts." She quickly shakes her head.

"No sire, this was a motherfucking wriggler." You continue to state at her. You find wrigglers everywhere, they often get either stepped on or eaten. This seems very pointless.

"It's motherfucking crimson." You stare. 

And then smirk. 

Your grub sure will like his new paint. 

Chapter Text

GHB: Take-->

Hold your motherfucking hoofbeasts, shit you ain't even found the vile motherfucker yet. You continue to lob after your fellow worshippers as they take you to wherever the motherfuck they found this grub. 

It's getting real motherfucking dense up in here with these fuckin trees getting closer together and hanging lower. You have to duck as you run through the forest cuz you don't want to have to suffer the embarassment of getting your horns caught in these vines. 'Specially cuz you'd have to get rid of the witnesses and you actually kinda like these ninjalicious motherfuckers.

Eventually you come to a clearing, there's a little rundown shack slanting in the middle of it. You look at one of your motherfuckers, Arquee, and gesture to the structure. 

"This it brother?" He nods and motions forward with his hand, signaling you to go first. 

You walk up to the building and stoop down, looking through the broken, dusty window.

You can't see much of anything since there's no lighting in there, not to mention all the motherfucking dust is blocking your view. You creep along the side of the shack until you come to a splintered wooden door. You gently twist the knob and briefly notice that it had been locked. 

Of course with just a little more force behind it, it's not locked anymore. Nor does it have a door. 

It's whatever.

You bend over. Getting your horns clear of the doorframe before entering fully, still slouched over.

When you enter you immediately start hacking up a lung. This bitch is dustier than a motherfucker. You decide to just not inhale anymore. You're a big dude that's lived for thousands of sweeps, you'll survive being a little dizzy for a couple minutes. 

You do hurry your pace up though. 

You make more of the relatively bare raiments in the home. Basically there's only a dresser, a fridge and some random pieces of moth-eaten fabric lying around. 

This motherfucker must've been surviving at the bare minimum. 

If there ain't nothin of value in this bitch, why'd a motherfucker go through the trouble of locking the door behind themselves?

You choose not to think on it too motherfucking long and owe it up to miracles.You keep walking through the hive, which is just one other room, a respiteblock, similarly sparsely adorned. Not even a 'coon, just some lump of fabric in the corner and a lamp. 

Now those bitches outside getting their wait on, told you a motherfucking heretic miracle was up and getting his comfy on up in here. 

Where the motherfuck is it?

 You hear something. 

You get real fucking quiet and get your listen on. 

It's a smal chirring sound, barely loud enough to be a squeakbeast, but hey, the Messiahs gave a brother some big motherfucking spongeclots. 

It's coming from the hastily crafted pile. 

You walk over to it and bend down. There, in the middle of this shameful pile, is a little red grub, all wriggling around and hissing, probably cussing out the world with his righteous motherfucking harshwhimsy.

You pick it up, it ain't even big enough to get your see on to its gender parts yet, most grubs don't get those till they after they go through their first pupation. 

You wouldn't be able to get very much use as a paint out of this little motherfucker.

When you leave the rundown hive, you've got a little wriggling ball of crimson trying to leave your arms.

As you walk up to them, your devoted motherfuckers got their question on, it's clear as Prospit, they don't even got to voice their thoughts and you know what they're asking.

"I'm bringing this heretic piece of shit back with us. Firstly, if imma be using this little guy as paint, I gotta be up and doing the ritual proper, back at the Top. And, if I were to cull this bitch right now, little as he is, I would be wasting his ability to be making more paint in the future, when he gets a little bigger. I'll get his righteous fluids out after his first pupation. Any motherfucking questions?" 

No one says anything thing. You didn't think they would. 

You turn and head back for camp. They follow.

 You're almost at your church, your motherfuckers are following close behind you. When you first told them your plan they were pretty motherfucking silent, now though, they get it and they've been cackling with glee for the chance to spill this motherfucker's swill for the entire walk back home. 

You haven't said anything.

You walk up to the huge cathedral door and knock. 

Your guard, Marthi, responds from his tower.

"What motherfucker fucking goes there?" You quirk an eyebrow, annoyed that you, the Grand motherfucking Highblood has to fucking explain himself at his own goddamn church.

"It's me bitch, now open the MOTHERFUCK UP BEFORE I OPEN YOU UP." The door swings open.

You enter. 

And are immediately met with a shower of freeazing water. 

After you let your shock dissipate, you see red, your righteous fury expands beyond you and reaches every motherfucker in the room.

Except one.

You understand now. 

You look over and watch the shaking figure of your wriggler as he fucking guffaws, spouting righteous blasphemies about 'how motherfucking scared you were' and how 'you should've seen your face'. 

You weren't scared.

You march up to your motherfucker and mean down, getting real close to his face. 

His face loses its smile and he backs up a step. You follow him.

You stare right into his wide, golden eyes. 

He stares back, you see fear creep in.

And you make your move.

You let a wide smile break across your face and let out honking laughter. You see relief cross his face and watch as his previous mirth quickly comes back. 

He laughs along with you as you pick him up, start tickling his sides and laugh, silently letting everyone know everything is ok. 

You put him rightside up, holding him to your chest.

"How did you up and know I'd be the one coming through that door, little brother? He smiles and looks up at you and motions for you to mean down. 

You do and he whispers in your ear. Basically speaking in a rasp, little motherfucker don't really understand the intricacies to speaking all hushed.

"I didn't brother." He breaks out into a series of honks and giggles like it's the funniest secret in the world.

To you, it is. 

You laugh with him and turn to some of the maids standing at various points of the main hall.

"Someone clean this up, 'fore some poor motherfucker slips on this prankster's shit." They quickly nod and leave, presumably to get a mop.

You're tapped on the shoulder and turn around, it's Arquee. 

"Grand Mirthfulness, where do you up and want me to put the new, uh, paint set?" You look at him quizically but then remember what you did yesternight.

Gamzee looks up at you, suddenly real motherfucking excited and grabs the sides of your face, gently forcing you to look at him.

"New paint motherfucker? Is it red?" You're about to tell him there's no new paint yet, but the little motherfucker jumps out of your arms and goes to the little box Arquee had been gesturing towards. 

He lifts the lid, expecting to see some colorful liquid and instead sees a bright red grub. 

He glances back at you in wonder, then gently lifts the thing up and out of the box, cradling it to his chest.

He looks at Arquee and scoffs.

"What are you, an idiot? This ain't no motherfucking paint, it's a little bro. Or sis. I ain't too motherfucking sure what's what to be honest." He brings the grub up to his face and they stare into each other's eyes. 

And then it bites his nose.

He flinches, pulling back with a curse and holding his sniffer.

"Aww shit, motherfucking bitchtitties, FUCKING SHIT!" You quickly come over and kneel by his side, swatting his hand away from his nose.

It's bright purple. 

But it ain't broken or nothing.

You laugh, knowing that he'll find it funny too and won't start bawling.

He looks at you.

"The motherfuck are you laughing for?" You look at his tearful eyes, a gleam enters yours,

"You look like that flying antlerbeast from 12th Perigree." He's silent at first, but quickly srarts laughing with you.

He looks at the grub again, this time, further away from his face.

"You're a funny motherfucker, I'll tell you that." He lets go of your arm, turns and starts walking away.

You get up and question him.

"Where you going little bro?" He doesn't turn around, just keeps walking.

"Goin to show my new little hivemate my block." You watch as he leaves.

And just like that, you now have two wrigglers to get your watch on over. 

Goddammit.

Chapter Text

Gamzee: Wonder-->

Yeah, you're doing that. Mainly cuz you can't really all up and help it. This little motherfucker is weird as shit.

He's writhing around, getting his hiss on at nothing. You lean closer and poke his red belly.

It's all squishy and so motherfucking cute you can't help but squeal. He looks at you, stops hissing and just stares.

Then belches.

So motherfucking cute. You scoop him up and carry him with you as you walk over to your respiteslab. You lay on it and gently set him down on your chest.

He kinda teeters for a bit, getting used to his tiny little paws holding him up. 

When he gets his balance on he slowly crawls toward you. You can't help but giggle at the way every now and then his head falls forward and he's stuck butting your stomach with his teeny tiny horns.

Oh his fuckin horns.

They're the tiniest, nubbiest little shits you ever got your gander on at. You love them.

You're pulled out of your zoning out by a harsh pinch on your left pleasurenub. The fuck?

You lift your head up and see that your little bro's got his little needlesharp biters sinking into your chest.

Honestly it's pretty fucking cute. Till it starts to really hurt and you're afraid he'll draw blood. 

You reach up and gently pry his clenched jaws off your merchandise. He immediately levels his face with you and hisses something fierce. Acting like he's the scariest motherfucking roarbeast in the jungle. 

Cute bitch.

You try to calm him down though, and stroke his little fur-covered head, poking at his horns. He freezes and stares at you.

You feel your hand start to softly vibrate. Little motherfucker's purring. 

You wonder if it's possible to die from affection overload. 

You hope not.

Suddenly there's a knock on your door.

You shout for them to come in, gently petting the little grub's head.

You hear someone clear their throat. You look up.

It's your old man. You break into a wide smile.

"Wassup motherfucker?" He nods and smiles back, his smile smaller than yours had been.

"Not much. What're you getting your wicked motherfucking self up to in here?" You turn and gesture to the crimson grub rolling around on your hand.

He sighs and nods.

"Yeah, I figured you'd be entertaining yourself with the little guy." You nod and watch the grub start to nibble the top of your middle finger.

He speaks up and you turn to look at him.

"Brother, I gotta tell you something bout that there red motherfucker." You smile and chuckle.

"Yeah, he's real fuckin cute aint he?" You see him glance down at the grub in your hands s nd let a little smile escape.

" 'Spose he is, in his own ornery way." You look down and the grub is once again biting your fingers and you hear your guardian let out a chuckle.

It goes quiet for a little while until your big motherfucker clears his throat.

"But that ain't why I'm here. Look bro, I gotta take the grub for a while." You feel your pusher sink. 

"But-but why?" You don't mean to whine but you do anyway. 

He looks down into your quickly watering eyes.

"Cuz it's best if a grown fucker watches the real little ones." You guess that makes sense, but damn of it don't make you real fucking sad.

You nod and quietly hand over the now snoozing wriggler. 

You watch as your guardian cradles him in his huge hand. It makes you feel really...small. 

You watch and stay silent as he leaves with your little bro. 

You don't say anything as he closes the door.

And stay silent as you sink under your unslimed recuperacoon.

You drift to sleep eventually.

Even in your dreams your pusher hurts.

You sleep.

Chapter Text

GHB: Do A Thing-->

 You're gonna ignore the voice telling you what to do, cuz you don't really wanna think about it right now. 

You walk down the hallway, wriggler snoozing away in your hand and decide not to ponder on your problems. 

Why is it even a problem? Nope. Not gonna answer that cuz then it wouldn't be ignoring it.

Actually, yeah. Why is it an issue? You don't know this wriggler from Derse. You know it was abandoned. 

Stop the fucking pity party.

Everyone gets abandoned eventually. 

But not everyone gets smashed and turned into paint.

....Shit.

Yeah, that's what you're on your way to do. Some of the other clowns were getting their wonder on as to where the red paint was. You were hoping they'd forget about it. 

Clowns don't forget their paint a-fucking-parently.

You're approaching the Rite Hall and sigh as you open the doors, obscenely large for anyone who's not motherfucking you, you push them open. 

Inside you see your brother's and sisters mixing the paint, getting all the clumps out, making new shades by combining previous ones. Occasionally you see a couple painting each other's faces, but that's not as common given how motherfucking precious you all hold your faces.

 You hear a scream coming from the left and look over. Guess a brother up and needed some more green. 

 You can't help but picture this wiggler in the greenblood's place. Fuck. 

There's a clawed hand suddenly grasping your shoulder and you instantly cover the wiggler and turn around, levelling the fucker what dares touch you with a glare as hot as The Irons. 

It's a priest in your court, pretty chill motherfucker but he don't always remember just how easy it would be for you to rip his horn clean out his puny skull. However you're a little anxious right now and decide to forgive the notch of his transgressions. 

Your glare intensifies as you speak," what can i up and be helping a motherfucker with?". 

He sighs realizing his head isn't gonna roll. For now. 

"My Lord, the other brothers were up and being told some righteously wicked tales 'bout what you up and found out in the forest." Great. Now the news has spread. You have no intention of culling this grub, especially not now when they're so small that they're death wouldn't generate even half a quart of red. 

You're not a wasting motherfucker. 

"I did up and get my discover on a couple nights ago, but I'm gonna be officially announcing my shit in a bit so just motherfucking sit back and get your wait on bitch." He quickly nods and scurried off. 

He always did seem a tad cowardly for your tastes. 

Better get this circus on the fucking road. You lumber up to the music plate of whimsy, a gong you recall, grab the whacking pole and let loose on that motherfucker. 

Well, not loose, cuz you don't wanna break shit right now, shit's hard as excretion sacs to replace. 

The Chapel goes silent, save for one lone horn that was stepped on in the dead of the quiet. Two of your laughsassins haul that heretic motherfucker on outta here. It was an accident, you know, but shit's downright disrespectful. No one bats an eye at the screen let loose from outside the doors. 

The trolls re-enter with more blood on them than when they had left. You'll reward them later for upholding your righteous motherfucking Law. 

You clear your throat when you have all the occupants' attention. You do a onceover glance across the sea of fellow Mirthful devotees and nod. 

"My most Wicked of brothers and sisters, I up and have an announcement. A yesternight ago, a band of subjugglators including myself, were up and called away by revelation from the Fishybitch hershellf. She gave us some birch assignment to clear down the abandoned hives up and bein on their lonesome in the woods." You pause, this band of wicked peeps are loyal, but they ain't the brightest of fuckers. 

While I was up and getting my wicked rest on, a brother, Arquee, came and spoke at me about a heretic happenstance. He learned me about a shack we was gonna crush, but he up and found something, or should I say....someone". At this point you open your palm and hold up the snoozing grub. 

Almost immediately the room resounds with loud whoops and yells about heresy and culling and all manners of torture. You let it last a second then let your harshwhimsy flow through their pans. Weak and pliable. They quieten and you let it keep going, their fear makes your pan sing. All these low fuckers. Lower than you.

But you always known that. Their terror is refreshing but you suppose it's time to resume your announcement.

You halt your voodoos and silence deafens the room. They're recovering so you lower your voice and continue. 

"This brother, this motherfucking Heresy ain't up for the cullingblock. Ain't his motherfucking time yet. This grub is an abomination. But he's too small still. We will Never get this color again. So we're gonna wait, gonna raise this blasphemy up to they're epitome, till they ain't gonna get no bigger. Then, and only then, we will cull this motherfucker so hard even the gogdamned Signless will feel it!" Resounding whoops and screams full of violent, bloodthirsty promises fill the room, leaking into the halls outside. This happens often enough, none of the other workers out there will do anything. 

  You just signed this grub to his death. But it's far enough time away that it won't crush your own wiggler and therefore, you don't have to worry on it anymore. 

You've done both your jobs, as your wiggler's caretaker and as the Motherfucking Highest Subjugglator in this Life and the Next. 

Sweet.