Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your name is JOHN EGBERT, and you're editing a video essay to upload to the internet. Your pesterchum is going off like crazy, pinging every few seconds, and you're pretty certain it's Dave trying to throw you off your video editing game, but you won't be swayed or deterred.

You've got a bet with one of your best friends, a boy your age named Dave Strider. You're trying to see who can get more youtube views within a week. Dave already had a youtube channel to promote his — frankly mediocre, if you're being honest — rap career, but you had insisted he had to make a new channel for this bet to put you on equal footing.

As far as you're aware, neither of you have videos up yet, but that's about to change.

You put the end cap on your video essay (a full breakdown of the themes of Ghostbusters) and put it up on youtube. You really went the full ten miles for this — it's got snappy transition screens, background music (you've never appreciated the Undertale soundtrack as much as you do now, it's all free use, thank god for Toby Fox) and even closed captions. Your channel — despite being new — even looks cool enough that it can pass for just being the first video on a budding channel. And you do have to admit, even if editing was hard, filming and researching was pretty fun.

You copy the link and open your pesterchum to see — yep, that's Dave pestering you. Nonstop.

tg: dude
tg: egbert
tg: egbert are you there
tg: egbert please
tg: john come on i know youre online get your ass over here
eb: i was busy editing my video, dave!
eb: which you should also be doing if you want to win our bet :B
tg: ive got the raw footage already being processed ill send it later
eb: well I'VE got my video FINISHED as it turns out
tg: whoa
tg: no way
ectoBiologist sent a link!
tg: whoa
tg: a nerdy ass video essay
eb: hey!
tg: dont get your panties in a twist egbert
tg: never said that nerdy was bad
tg: this shits how you get a massive cult following
tg: youre gonna have a legion of nerds hanging on your every word
tg: you could tell them to like
tg: idk
tg: jump off a fuckin bridge
tg: and they probably would tbh
eb: i'm not gonna tell them to jump off a bridge dave
tg: never said you were gonna
tg: just said you could
eb: are you gonna watch it or what
tg: whoa trying to game the enemy for free views i see
tg: not very classy of you egbert
eb: you know that's not what i mean
tg: lmao
tg: nah ill watch it later
tg: oh hey btw since you sent me your vid
turntechGodhead sent a link!
tg: heres the raw uncut footage of my video
tg: have fun

You sit back in your chair, opening the file. You instinctively turn the volume on your headphones down, expecting a deep-fried shitpost.

Instead, you're met with the video starting up on a close-up of Dave's face. His sunglasses are on his face as always, the bottoms smudged with- is that glitter highlighter on his cheekbones? Is Dave Strider wearing makeup?

"Testing, testing, is this thing on?" he asks, backing away from the camera. His hair — his hair is absolutely not that long. It's put up in a ponytail behind him, the tips falling to a little past his shoulders. There's red streaked through it and you're absolutely certain he's got extensions in. He's dressed — quite simply — like a cute girl. His face is still impassive as always, but he's got his hair up and there's a red ribbon tied around it in a cute bow and he's wearing an off-the shoulder blouse.

"Sup John," the Dave in the video says in his usual deadpan tone. "So, I'm sure you're wondering why I'm dressed like this." He gestures at himself with one hand, which you now realize he has a frilly glove on.

You lean in to your computer, turning the volume back up on your headphones. This could still be an elaborate prank, but you're pretty sure Dave would only willingly wear makeup for a bet and not just to mess with you.

"Well, you see," he goes on, "you're probably gonna do something nerdy like a video essay. Which is fine and all but a video essay takes longer than a week to build up traction. I'm doing something easier, faster, and more in my wheelhouse. A music video."

You watch as he stands and walks a few feet away from the camera, adjusting a tiny microphone tucked into his blouse. He's wearing red kitten heels and a knee-length fluffy skirt. You'd never thought you'd ever get to see Dave Strider, cool kid extraordinaire, in a skirt.

"I had Roxy help me with getting my shit together. I know you had Jade help you with citing sources so it was fair, y'know?" He does a cutesy pose, still with the same deadpan face. "'course, Jade helped me with my choreo too. Rox' did my makeup and clothes, Dirk helped film, and Jade and Rose helped me out with choreo and shit like that. I swore them all to secrecy, of course. If Jake or Jane found out I was starting my career as a secret idol I'd fuckin explode on the spot. Well, Jane wouldn't give two shits but I think that Jake would be wayyy too excited. I don't need him fangirling over me in a skirt, thanks."

You pause the video and open pesterchum again.

eb: hey dave what the fuck
eb: are you seriously telling me that to win a bet you decided to become a fucking pop star??? idol???? person????
tg: shhhh keep watching egbert
tg: video me isnt done yet

You roll your eyes and turn back to the video.

"I do gotta be a hundred percent real with you, John Egbert," video Dave continues. "I may have told you one lie during this whole thing. You see, this isn't the raw footage of my video. What, do you think I just started filming by fucking monologuing? Nah, I'm already done with filming as of this recording. This is actually post-production."

What.

"In fact, my video's live as you're watching this. Current-Dave's gonna edit in the current number of views my video has right here," he points to the bottom of the screen, "right before sending this video to you."

The words " holy shit howd this hit 50k views so fast" appear right where video-Dave's pointing. It includes a screenshot of youtube analytics where a viewcount of a little over 50k is displayed.

"Yeah. Anywho, you should be getting pestered right about" he checks his wrist, where he is not wearing a watch, "now." Sure enough, you get a pesterchum notif. "That's gonna be my actual video. Hope you have fun watching it."

You click over to pesterchum where Dave's sent you a very smug looking emoticon and a link to a youtube video.

eb: i hate how you did that
eb: sent it at the exact second that video-you said you would, i mean
tg: what can i say egbert im good at dramatic timing
tg: now watch my mv boy

And so you do. You open the link and, sure enough, it takes you to a youtube video that isn't a rick roll. The channel icon is a bright red gear on a slightly darker background. The channel is titled "Dame Dawn <3 Knight of Time".

The video clicks on.

The first thing you notice is that Dave isn't wearing shades. Bright red eyes stare at you through the camera. They're squinted very minutely against the lights, and you almost swear you can see him developing a headache in real time.

The second thing you notice is that he's smiling. To someone who's seen his face before, it's clearly practiced and a little strained. Dave never really emotes and especially never smiles so it's small and reserved. In fact, as he moves around on camera, you note that all his gestures seem practiced. His usual cool-guy stance is eschewed in favor of a cutesy girly way of movement.

Despite how clearly you can tell he's practiced his smile and movements, you're pretty sure that if you'd never known this was Dave, you'd mistake his movements for natural, casual, even, and his smile for shy yet friendly.

Damn. Who let him be a natural at being an idol?

"Hello," he begins, and you nearly pull back from whiplash. It's clearly still his voice — you've spent enough time listening to him ramble to know the tone he uses — but there's energy injected into it and he's pronouncing things slightly differently. His voice isn't necessarily higher, it's just lighter. "Welcome to my channel. I'm Dawn-" he makes a heart with his hands as he speaks, "and this is my debut as the internet's newest idol. I hope to win your heart over with my performance here today."

He takes a breath, moving back from the camera. Unlike when he'd been filming the taunt he'd originally sent, he's dressed up a little more. Now you can clearly see he's only wearing a glove on his left (the camera's right) hand, and his right arm has a golden arm band on it. You're about fifty percent certain he's got a petticoat under his skirt now, and his entire outfit reeks of cutesy idol energy. Roxy did a surprisingly great job on his makeup, based on the way he glows in the lighting.

He's not in his room, you note as the lights slowly dim. As Dave shakes himself out, you survey the background, which looks either like Rose's guest room (decorated head-to-toe in Roxy's signature pink, all wizard paraphernalia hidden out of sight) or a rented studio space. Which is strange, as the video he sent originally was definitely filmed in his apartment.

The music comes on with a click and you watch him take in a measured breath and then sing along in time with the music.

The track he's chosen to cover seems to be Heart Attack by Demi Lovato. It's a shockingly Dave choice, fitting the sort of music he'd enjoy ironically as well as the sort of cute, upbeat, pop music his newfound idol persona would choose.

He moves fluidly, his skirt swirling around his legs as he dances to the music. It's clear that Jade helped with his dance, but he pulls it off surprisingly well. He walks, turns, and spins in heels like he's been in them all his life. Even his dramatic gestures — including one moment where he falls to the ground smoothly on "the feelings got lost in my lungs" and stays there until the next bridge, the camera following him the entire way — are pulled off perfectly.

More impressively than anything is the fact that he sounds good. He's not just lip-syncing — or if he is, it's to his own performance of the song. He's a rapper first and foremost, but his diction is perfect, and he's on key. His voice is rich and powerful, and if you didn't know he had a floundering career as a soundcloud rapper, you'd swear he was classically trained in this sort of thing. You'd actually buy an album of this, if he had one out.

He ends the song with hands held in front of his chest in a heart, one eye closed in a cutesy wink.

You hate to admit it, but that's one of the best goddamn music videos you've ever seen. Out of the 50k views on it — which, wow, he wasn't lying, he genuinely has over 50 thousand views in the span of a couple days — he's got a little under 3 thousand likes.

Reluctantly, you pull pesterchum back up again. Dave's still online, though he's surprisingly not pestering you constantly.

eb: you actually filmed a music video
eb: in a skirt and everything
eb: you actually unironically did your makeup and danced to a pop song for internet clout
tg: hey i do nothing unironically
tg: i learned a dance to a pop song and did it in a skirt ironically
eb: you're seriously trying to tell me that you let roxy do your makeup that well and that glittery ironically?
eb: wait nvm you absolutely would
tg: id do anything ironically john
tg: including let my half sisters cousin put me in a dress and enough glitter to kill a horse
tg: even one of those horses that dirks obsessed w
tg: the magical rainbow ones
tg: yknow what i mean
tg: you feel me
tg: do you feel me egbert
eb: lol yeah i feel you dave
tg: ew gross get your hands off me egbert
eb: -_-
tg: lol
tg: anyways yeah thats my music video
tg: the world will bow to my awesome musical ability
tg: my perfectly timed dancing and fuckin godly singing ability will make everyone bow before me
eb: yeah, sure dave
eb: whatever you say
tg: admit it you just dont want to admit i killed it

You don't want to admit he killed it, actually.

eb: hey it's late i'm gonna turn in for the night
eb: night dave!
tg: john wait
tg: admit that i looked cute in that skirt
tg: ik youre thinking it
tg: its not even five for you dude
eb: night dave!

You close pesterchum and your computer before you can respond. You are actually pretty tired, and it's pretty much dinner time, so you figure you actually will go to sleep early.

Chapter Text

Your name is ROSE LALONDE, and as of this moment, you're taking it upon yourself to be your half-brother's stage manager.

He doesn't know this yet, of course. You're a woman of many secrets, after all, and all he knows as of now is that his ironic video of himself dressing up as a cute girl to sing pop songs is doing well.

It's been barely over a week since Dave's bet with John, a bet which Dave thoroughly won. Roxy has already left to go back to her home — a pity, really. Her makeup really made him glow — and Dave seems to think he's left the whole idol thing behind.

The thing is, you've never seen him seem that satisfied with himself.

Obviously his face and body language were completely unreadable during filming. Jade had been teaching him choreography for his performance and you had been helping him practice smiling and speaking with a softer tone, to mixed success. As was expected of someone of his fitness levels, once he got the principles down, Dave had taken to the dance like a fish to water. Your work, however, had been a different story. It was near impossible to get him to smile more than a tiny bit. But you had worked on getting it soft and gentle, and his dimples were still showing, to the delight of the YouTube audience, so you consider it a success.

But even ignoring his obscured face and body language — which, granted, is never a big help with him on a normal day — you can just tell he had been having a good time. Something about the way he'd seemed more comfortable practicing in the skirt Roxy had lent him, the easy way he shrugged on the blouse, the way he'd messed with the ends of the hair extensions in his ponytail. Some might call you crazy for it, but you can read Dave Strider like a motherfucking book.

And so, you pull up pesterchum. You're not pestering your dear, beloved half brother now. No, that would be too simple. Instead, you pull up Jade's pesterchum, allowing yourself to grin as you do.

tentacleTherapist [TT] has begun pestering gardenGnostic [GG]!
gg: rose!! hey! what's up?
tt: I bet you fifteen dollars that I can forcefem Dave Strider.
gg: WHAT

<== Be the other guy.

Right now? What? But things are getting interesting over here!

Well, alright. I guess there's no harm in being the other guy for a little bit. We can do that if you really want.

Your name is now DAVE STRIDER, and you're never going to get all this glitter out of your skin.

You really never should have let Roxy anywhere near your face. Once you'd seen glitter highlighter, you should have hightailed it out of there. But you'd been too committed to the bit — which you don't regret, for the record — and now you're going to find glitter every time you wash your face for fucking weeks.

Totally worth it though. You'd beaten John by a fuckin landslide, landing somewhere around 120k views compared to his measly 10. You're a little impressed that your cute girl idol shtick worked so well. You're pretty equally impressed that Roxy had enough red in her wardrobe to pull off dressing you up. (You'd told her you were allergic to pink and that if she put you in anything paler than crimson you'd have a breakout of dunking-your-face-in-water, which would ruin the makeup she'd done. She'd rolled her eyes but agreed to search for red. The socks had ended up pink, as had the fluffy thing she made you put on before the skirt — seriously, who has a pre-skirt-skirt?? — but it was good enough that you only pulled one strand of red tinsel out of your hair in retaliation.)

You open your youtube analytics, tabbing first on instinct to your main channel. As is typical, you don't have much more attention than normal. Which, you know, you haven't posted a new rap in a while, so it makes sense. The comments have started trying to check on you.

Hesitantly, you switch google accounts to your burner to see if your "idol debut" is still gaining traction.

And you're met with another few thousand views and at least a hundred more subscribers than you had when you went to bed last night. People really, really like the idol girl you dressed up as, huh. Like, you knew you had a serious set of pipes and of course you were fast and fluid enough to do the over-the-top dance Jade had you practicing for literal hours. It's just. Surprising. Seeing that your work on your rap career had translated to a shitpost this well.

Your pesterchum goes off with a grating sound and you press the keybind to bring it up.

tentacleTherapist [TT] has begun pestering turntechGodhead [TG] !
tg: rose lalonde
tg: to what do i owe the honor
tg: didya miss me that much
tg: bc we spoke in person like three days ago
tg: i mean not that im mad to be talking
tg: you just tend to like
tg: give me the good old silent treatment for a couple days after i go back to my bros
tt: Yes, well, usually I do prefer to give you time to re-acclimate to your brother's house.
tt: What can I say, it's a side effect of knowing that you have it a tad rougher over there than you do during your weeks with us.
tg: wtf i dont have it rougher here my bros awesome
tg: wait
tg: lalonde are you here to psychoanalyze my relationship w my bro orrrrr
tt: Yes, well.
tt: It has to do with your "debut" the other day, as it were.
tg: that shitty video i did
tg: ?
tg: for the bet w egbert
tt: Exactly.
tt: How many subscribers would you say you have, now?
tg: uhhhhh

You tab back to youtube for a second. Yeah you know the number, but you still wanna double check. Knowing Rose, she's actively staring at your channel.

tg: like
tg: idk 20k or smth
tg: what abt it
tt: Dave, you have an opportunity here.
tt: Think about it, how often do you get a channel that blows up this fast?
tg: where are you going with this lalonde
tt: Straight to the point, as always.
tt: I think you can make a career out of this idol business.

If you weren't certain it would attract Bro's attention had he been home — and more importantly, blow your coolkid image to shreds — you'd've just reacted out loud.

tg: youve gotta be kidding me rose
tg: you want me
tg: cool manly tough guy dave strider
tg: ME
tg: to do the dressing up in your cousin's clothes thing
tg: but like
tg: as a job
tg: is that what youre telling me rn rose
tt: That's exactly what I'm saying, yes.
tt: I'll even be your stage manager. If Roxy's out of town, I can do your makeup and costuming.
tt: If you'd like to shift your brand, I can get you different clothes. I think a cape would look good on you.
tg: a cape
tg: really
tt: Really.
tt: Think about it, Dave.
tentacleTherapist has ceased pestering turntechGodhead!

You stare at the screen for a few seconds in absolute shock.

You're not idol material. Not permanently. It was funny for a bit but does she really think you can spend that much time dancing in fucking heels? What, is she gonna try and get you to grow out your hair? Fuck, you mentally bring it back to the glitter caked into your skin from Roxy's glitter highlighter.

Although.

There's nothing saying you can't eventually start incorporating rap segments into dime-a-dozen pop songs. The choreo had been shockingly easy — at least compartively. You'd been allowed to mess with the camera work, too, even though Dirk had been the one actually in charge of it.

Plus, if you were being dressed by Rose instead of Roxy, you'd probably have a lot more options for not frilly clothing. Maybe you could even swing for a pair of stage-shades so that the video lights don't hurt your eyes as much — who woulda guessed that wearing shades indoors would give you a light sensitivity? Definitely not you.

You're actually considering this. Fuck.

tg: rose

Her pesterchum comes back online after a second.

tt: Dave.

You hesitate for a long while, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Nervously, you type and retype your message multiple times. Finally, you press send.

tg: your plan
tg: to make me a full-time idol
tg: im in

There's a long pause where you can practically feel her grinning at you through the screen. You're tempted to send another message when pesterchum notifies you of a response.

tt: Excellent.
tt: Meet me at mine as soon as you can.
tt: Bring your camera.
tt: I hope the world is ready to see more of Dawn Strider.

You roll your eyes, considering sending another message, but ultimately decide against it. She can refer to your stage persona as her own person if she wants to. You've already pretty set the "Dawn" persona apart from you, anyways.

Luckily for you, your Bro's out of the house and you know he won't be too upset as long as you're home before he is. You shut down your computer, check that you have your phone, and fix your hair. As it always is, your cameras are sitting on a desk in the corner of your room. Your film camera is usually your go-to for all things film-related, but it's kinda hard to film with it — it takes a lot of film and is such a bitch and a half to upload — so you snag your digital camera and put it into its case.

Despite technically being able to leave, you still head immediately for the fire escape. You know Bro's not home. But you just feel slightly safer swinging your leg over the windowsill and ducking out onto the rusty-ass metal staircase. If you'd been anyone else, it would have creaked loudly. But you're you, and you're one badass motherfucker with a lot of practice, so you land softly and silently, closing the window with one hand.

Luckily for you, Rose Lalonde lives about a bus ride away. Her mom's stupid rich so she's got enough houses to make a small victorian orphan faint. Ever since her 13th, Rose has been living in a fully paid for flat a few miles away from your place. It's convenient having her so close instead of halfway across the country like she used to be.

The bus ride is largely uneventful — you hand over your pocket money, pick a spot in the middle back, and keep your head down and your phone in your pockets until you get to your stop. Someone nearly bumps your camera and you resist every instinct to flashstep away. Rose — probably expecting you to take the bus even though you've definitely walked that distance before — is waiting at the stop with a grin on her face. You get off, rolling your eyes behind your shades.

"Lalonde."

"Strider." She holds out a hand, the shit-eating grin only widening. " Glad to see you made it."

You, in fact, refuse to take her hand mostly out of pettiness.

"I didn't say I was coming immediately," you point out, picking at a loose thread in your sweater pocket.

"Oh, consider it a sixth sense for these things. You always seem to have a grasp of the finer details of time, I can tell where people are going to be. More or less." Her hand returns to her side and she starts down the pathway to her apartment. You follow her, making sure to keep your pace measured and a few steps behind.

"Hey, at least my spooky-ass time shtick isn't as creepy as you showing up wherever people are." She shoots you a look over her shoulder, rolling her eyes playfully.

"Oh, please, as if you wouldn't get lost without me showing up."

"As if I haven't lived here longer that you have."

She stops in front of her apartment building and gestures at the street ahead of you both. "If you're so smart, Strider, why don't you lead the way?" You roll your eyes behind your sunglasses.

"Nice try. We're at your apartment." She chuckles.

"Right you are. Why don't you come in."

You do, and she follows you, leading the way up to a posh two-bedroom apartment. Once again, you're struck with jealousy that she lives alone in an apartment the size of the one you share with your Bro. Not that you particularly mind living with your Bro. He's cool, and his puppets don't freak you out like they do Jade.

You flop down on Rose's couch, going to put your feet up on her coffee table before she gives you a look and you pull back, hands in the air.

" So why'd you need me here so fast?"

"What, can't I just want to start my dearest, darling half-brother's career as the world's newest favorite darling in a dress?" She smiles, sitting in a plush chair across from you and folding her hands. "Truly, Dave, you wound me."

"You could record me dancing to shit music like. I don't know. Tomorrow. Why today?"

"Because. I wanted to get started as soon as possible, and I figured if you were free, this was a good chance. Also, who said I was planning on filming a music video today?"

"Uh, the fact that you asked me to bring the camera? Implies that we're doing filming today." To drive home your point like a nail that's been sticking sideways out of a 2-by-4 for four score days and seven nights, you — gently, this thing was expensive — put your camera on the table.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Her smile changes to something more dangerous. "Maybe I tricked you into doing a fashion show."

A fashion show. With Rose Lalonde. You are fucked three ways to fucking Sunday and you tell her as much.

"Rose you know you're my half sister and so I annoy you in special unique ways and you tolerate me in special unique ways. But if you seriously invited me here to put me in dresses I am going to perform the most pitch perfect acrobatic pirouette off the fucking handle this world has ever seen."

She pulls a metal box out from under the table, opening it with a click. Even from here, you can see palettes and glitter sparkling in the low light of the room.

"Better get to the acrobatics, then, Strider," she tells you, grinning like she's just found out she's the lost-long queen of fucking England. "We've got a long, long, long day of glitter and petticoats for you."

Chapter Text

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you've been put in less petticoats today than you'd've expected.

You're sitting on Rose's bed, one arm held out with a bored look on your face. She's fitting a collection of random assorted jewelry items on you. As had been decided by Roxy during the first round of filming, a golden armband was kinda required — which, strange, but it looks cool as shit and doesn't conflict with your vibe, so you can get behind it. Rose has been tending towards putting you in chains, draping them off your shoulders, pinning them to your waist, and as of now, securing them around your wrist. She says chains — and you quote — "add to the ambiance of a lady knight". You think it's what experts would call "lame as shit". You look like you're a breakout from the world's most gilded prison.

You fucking jingle when you move. You hate it here.

The room is filled with thrifted and rented red clothing items. True to her word, Rose had put you in at least one cape. It was comfortable — something you'd thought you'd never say in your life — and it did add a cool vibe that you liked. Not when paired with a poofy skirt though. You think you're going to explode if you have to wear another poofy skirt.

You roll your eyes at yourself. 'You're going to explode' you're already in another poofy fucking skirt. It crinkles when you move.

"Something the matter?" You meet Rose's eyes, turned up at you from where she's kneeling on the floor, messing with a chain.

"Uh, what?" you ask dumbly.

"You rolled your eyes." She arches an eyebrow. "Are you perhaps sick of me fiddling with your professional wear?" Fuck. You'd kinda forgotten your shades are off and have been for the better part of an hour. She'd turned down the lights to do your makeup and just. Left them turned down so she could throw clothes at you like you were the laundry basket.

"First of all, don't call this-" you wave a hand at your cutesy get-up "professional. I'm in knee-high socks and ankle boots."

"And you'll be wearing this in a professional setting, technically." She straightens up and tosses you a single red glove. You roll your eyes again — pointedly this time — and put it on the hand opposite the armband. Another thing Roxy had made a part of your permanent brand.

"Hell of a professional setting," you retort. Clearing your throat, you slip into the idol voice you'd practiced before filming. "It's not a professional setting if you're paying me to do a fuck-up of a cute girl voice." Your delivery is about as deadpan as everything you do — maybe a little less — but you do it in a lighter tone, so you call it good.

Rose gives you a look. "Your blatant hatred for the idol scene is noted and disregarded. You agreed to this, Strider, and if you back out now I am making you pay for everything I bought for this."

"Yeah, well," you let your voice fall back to its normal tone, "I'm kinda too deep into ruffles to back out."

"Good. Now put this on and go look in the mirror." She presses another bundle of fabric into your hands. It's red — like everything else in this room is — and soft. Unfolding it proves it to be another cape. It's got cute bows and little silver buttons. Silver isn't the color Rose has been putting you in, though, and you shoot her a look for it.

"Gold and silver? Together? And here I thought I was the one getting dolled up, but even I know not to mix metals like that. Tsk tsk, Lalonde." You shake your head at her judgementally, standing up and shaking out your half-asleep arm. She rolls her eyes.

"I'll paint them golden later if you're going to be pedantic about it."

"Hey, you're the one trying to be my stage manager. You should appreciate my attention to detail." You step forward, cape firmly around your shoulders, and you distinctly do not trip due to forgetting you're in heels. Rose snickers and you shoot her a nasty look she can absolutely see.

"I don't appreciate you thinking you know more about fashion than I do, that's all. I've been dressing in skirts for longer than you've been rapping."

"Yeah, well, at least my fashion sense is—" You find yourself cutting off as you turn to face the full-length mirror Rose has on her wall.

You blink, and the girl in the mirror blinks back.

Rose's makeup job is a lot subtler than Roxy's was — your face is less caked in glitter than it is properly highlighted. There's trace amounts on your cheekbones and nowhere else. Your hair is tied back into a ponytail again, tied with the same flashy red ribbon as before, though there's no tinsel woven through it, just red. The red highlights creep all the way up to your scalp, mixing with bleach-blond. Your eyes are startlingly red, which isn't new but always surprises you when you see them without the tint of the shades. The skirt is cheesy and poofy, but it's a nice shade of red and isn't too over the top. Everything is tasteful — ignoring the tragedy of the buttons — and matches — again, ignoring the buttons.

You… you hadn't thought about it, the first time you'd been here. In Roxy's clothes, Roxy's makeup, Roxy's hand-me-down jewelery. It had been a bet, and you'd been borrowing.

This is all bought or rented for you. And yeah, most of it is thrifted, and yeah, all of it's cheap, but there's a difference between borrowing someone else's clothes and wearing your own. The hair extensions are a better match this time, instead of being hastily bleached to match your hair. You look shockingly natural, and it's yours and it's weird. And now you're thinking about it, thinking about the girl in the mirror, thinking about the peculiar expression on her face and the way it softens in confusion. The hairline scars covered in foundation and glitter. You're really thinking about it.

You're so transfixed on your reflection that for a second you forget it's you. You reach out with one hand, then haltingly change to pull at the skin under your eyes. Gold really does look good on you, and the cape swirls around you, and the skirt less bounces and more sways. You feel mobile and light in a way you never feel in jeans.

You feel good.

Abruptly, you come to your senses and pull back from the mirror, turning away in one swift movement. Not giving Rose a time to say something smug — you can already see her mouth opening, probably to gloat or tease, the rat bastard you call your half-sister — you strike a cutesy pose and play up the girl voice as much as physically possible.

"World's cutest anime loser idol girl, reporting for duty with a song in her heart," you speak like you're reciting a line, relying on your killer fucking improv skills honed through years of dropping sick beats to carry you. "Get real, Lalonde," your follow-up sentence immediately sees your face returning to perfectly monotone and flat. "Do you really think a get-up like this would work on anyone."

By all metrics, you've nailed the turnaround. Irony laid on thick enough to bury whatever genuine emotion you may have considered feeling — if any — in a second, followed by the patented Strider Charm (being a dick unnecessarily).

Rose's smirk fades into a half-smile, one eyebrow raised.

"Seems like it worked on you."

And you don't dignify that with a response because it doesn't deserve one. Because nothing worked on you. Because the mirror is showing some fucking anime girl, someone's stupid doll done up in fancy fucking clothing, done up to the nines in something no one in their right mind would wear. Because you can practically feel yourself breaking out in hives the longer you wear this stupid skirt, the more the gold jewelery glitters against your skin.

This is fucking stupid, from top to bottom. It's a nice illusion, you guess, but that's all it is. An illusion. It breaks as soon as you apply any amount of critical thinking skills to it. Honestly, you never should have even agreed to go along with this plan.

You tell her as much, starting from the response you're not giving, shouldn't be giving, whatever. You'd keep going for as long as she lets you, until she gets sick of you or until you have to go home and risk Bro's wrath.

She stops you, of course.

"You can always back out," she tells you, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. "This isn't a dare or a bet anymore. If you're truly uncomfortable, you can change back into your t-shirt and jeans and leave. I won't fault you. I was bluffing when I said I'd charge you, earlier."

"Fuck, Lalonde, no," you snap, balling your fists in the poofiness of the skirt. "I'm not fucking uncomfortable, fuck that noise. Fuck it dry in the ass with a cactus."

"You seem pretty uncomfortable to me."

"Yeah, fuck no. I wouldn't have gotten halfway this far if I was uncomfortable. I woulda dropkicked you half an hour ago."

"Then what, pray tell, is your objection?"

"It's unbelievable," you insist. "Look at me, Rose, I look like a dude in a dress."

"Do you?" She raises an eyebrow in the way you've come to associate with her getting ready to therapize you.

You won't give her the fucking chance.

"Yeah, I do," you spit out. "I look uncomfortable and weird. I'm too like big and bulky for this shit and I look like I was born yesterday. I don't look anything like a chick."

"Strider-"

"I don't want to hear it, Lalonde,"

"Listen,"

"You think you know me better than I do, don't you-"

"That's not what I-"

"Well, guess what-"

"Dave."

Your mouth shuts with a click. You're breathing like you just came out of a strife with Bro, heavy and shaky and too hopped up on adrenaline to realize your shoulders are heaving. Rose walks forward and places her hands — slowly, gently, watching your body language as she does, the closet she ever gets to nervous and treating you like you're made of fucking glass — on your shoulders. You flinch. She doesn't move.

"Do you really look like a man in a dress or are you telling yourself that?"

"What does that even mean?" you ask, less fight in your voice than you'd like.

"It means, is it easier to look in the mirror and pretend you see a man wearing a dress, or do you really think you are one? Do you feel uncomfortable because thinking of yourself as a girl is too difficult or because you're truly not a girl?"

You hesitate for too long. You know it's too long, and she knows it's too long, but you're refusing to give her any ground and just scrambling for an answer that doesn't make you feel like you're being set on fucking fire.

"You're really gonna try some fuckin psycho mumbo-jumbo on me now?"

"It isn't mumbo-jumbo. It's an honest question."

"It's a stupid fucking question, is what it is."

"That may be so. Think about it anyways."

For real this time, you don't answer. You don't need to. She won't take no for an answer and you'd rather set yourself on fire than tell her yes. And she'll drop it here if you do, with everything out of both your systems. And you do, and she does, and she helps you wash your face, and you kick her out of her own room so you can change back into your clothes.

She promises that if there's a next time, if you show up at her place with your camera and an armband that insists you keep, you'll film. She insists that you don't have to announce that's why you're coming over, and if you decide never to speak of this again, she won't either.

In a gesture too genuine for either of you, she pulls you in for a hug, and you hug back. It's awkward and horrible and done right as you're leaving her apartment. You both pull back and swear never to do that again, laughing at yourselves in whatever reserved way you both can. It resets the energy back to a comfortable baseline.

You leave her apartment and get on your bus. As is usual for you, you beat Bro by five minutes and are able to pretend like you never left. Your life falls back into a rhythm easily, before the day's even over.

True to her word, Rose doesn't bring it up again. You talk to her and she doesn't mention it, doesn't tease you about how you look in makeup, doesn't insult the way you walk in heels. Nothing. It's surprising coming from her, but made less surprising because you've never known Rose Lalonde to break a promise.

You meet her at her house on Sunday, a golden armband wrapped around your left bicep and your camera slung over your right shoulder.

Chapter Text

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and you think if you have to put up with your cousin nitpicking your camera work for a second longer you're going to tear his cape right down the fucking middle. Or yank his hair extensions. You could go for either.

It's hour three of filming with Rose Lalonde and Dave Strider, the former switching between writing on her clipboard and doing something on her phone, the latter hovering over your shoulder to critique your filming techniques.

"Dave, I know how to work a camera," you stress, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you have a shitty dance to do?"

"Dude chill the fuck out," he replies, throwing his hands up defensively. "I just wanna make sure it looks good. Rose spent too long on my makeup for your camera work to be dogshit."

"It'll look fine, Dave, god." You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I'm literally blowing off Jake for this shit. I could be at his watching a shitty movie that he swears up and down is good and I'm here, being subjected to some shithead in heels telling me how to do the job he asked me to do."

"Hey, I didn't ask you to do shit, Rose did. I'm just the star of the show, she's the one actually running it." From her seat on top of one of the speakers, the Lalonde in question gives you a one-handed wave.

"Sure seems to me like you want to be running the show," you retort.

"I don't want to be in charge of the whole thing," he grumbles.

"Listen, I'm a control freak but at least I can admit it, unlike your glittery ass. Now get said glitterbomb in frame and at least let me shoot once so I can show you that my camera set-up is fine."

He rolls his eyes and walks back to his mark, heels clicking. You've already filmed the vlog section of this — a cute little introduction filmed a few days ago with Jade on set. Now you're onto the hardest part — or maybe the easiest, given how agile Dave is — the dance.

The audio is, of course, pre-recorded using some of Dave's audio equipment back at his flat. He'd insisted on being wired during his performance to splice the audio together for a more natural sound, and you hadn't cared so you'd let him set it up. He'll still be singing during this performance.

Today's song is another pop song best known for nightcore remixes with stolen art of anime girls. You're pretty sure that's going to be the vibe for a long time, or at least until Dave's stage persona has built up enough of a fanbase to experiment. Currently, his channel's almost plateaued. Which is fine, actually — if he's looking to make money he could probably actually get AdSense on this shit now. He already qualifies and then some. Even if he's looking for fame, he's pretty well known as Dame Dawn at this point.

A part of you is distantly proud — and by distantly you of course mean extremely, but you're not gonna verbalize that even to yourself beyond self-aware meta ramblings. You have some sense of self-respect. But right, you were saying: A part of you is distantly proud of everything Dave's accomplished so far. The bet was one thing, the commitment to the bit another. Going through with some harebrained scheme from Rose Lalonde of all people? That takes fucking guts. Granted, it's a pretty harmless scheme so far.

That is, operating under the impression that your cousin's cis.

As it stands, this whole idol business only works one of two ways — if Dave is comfortable in his masculinity or if he's absolutely not. If he's cisgender and comfortable then he's just fucking around and finding out. If he was cisgender and not, then you wouldn't be here listening to a performance of Attention (Charlie Puth).

If Dave's trans and in denial, however. Well. You're pretty sure that's where a Rose Lalonde Special would come into play.

You don't know all of Rose's plan. First and foremost because no one ever knows all of Rose's plans for anything — when she decides to start pulling shit, she means business, and usually people are only told whatever she needs them to know and nothing more. The inner machinations of her mind are a mystery, and that's part of the reason you're so close with her.

But secondly, you don't know all of her plan because, well, you're not a part of it.

As you watch your cousin do the cutesy dance routine, fingers tapping idly on the control terminal for the fifty billion cameras you have set up (well, it's closer to three, maybe four, but you're vaguely sick of Dave nitpicking and so you can be salty), you chance a glance at Rose.

She's still focused in whatever she's doing, although her legs have been tucked under her instead of dangling in front of the audio equipment like it was before. She's incredibly focused, which isn't surprising for her but just makes you more curious.

You'd only learned Rose was scheming something at all — aside from the surface level idol biz — through Roxy, who had herself only known because she'd overheard Rose talking to Jade. So your knowledge is pretty damn weak, actually. Which is fucking bullshit because you're the first guy to be looped into Rose's schemes half the time as you're one of the only people on her level. (You love Roxy and Dave, they're your best friend and favorite cousin respectively, but Rox is always too off in her own world and Dave's great at getting out of stuff he doesn't want to be involved in, which is basically anything. Neither of them are into the intellectual shit you and Rose do.)

You might corner her when you're done here, you decide. See what she's up to.

You refocus on the cameras, tabbing between them quickly to make sure they're all still running. Left-side camera is low on battery but will last til everyone here has to go home. Perfect.

It's with detached, clincal interest that you watch Dave finish up his routine. The last bit can't be filmed ahead of time, it'll lose its impact, so you brace yourself and cease recording on all other cameras so you can focus on the center-stage one for the finishing monologue.

"Thank you all so, so much for watching. I can't tell you how much it's meant to me" eyes closed so he can focus on smiling gently, just as planned, "that everyone who subscribed was willing to give me their attention after just one video. Thank you to my fans." Perfect irony is clouded in sincerity, as you've always said, and if he was going for irony there then it was perfect. "I hope to see you again in the near future, but until then, this is your Knight of Time, Dame Dawn, signing off." He pauses, holding the pose, until you shut down the camera.

He stays there for a little bit after, too, because you're an asshole and wait an extra fifteen seconds to tell him you've shut it down. For funsies.

"How'd I do," he asks, voice falling dead flat again.

"Decent," you reply, queueing up the video feed for the middle camera. "All recording went smoothly — like I said it would — and I got good footage. You didn't misstep or misspeak at any point and even remembered the specific facial movements for the end segment."

"Sweet." He pushes you out of the way and you move to let him review the footage.

Wordlessly, you walk over to Lalonde, adjusting your shades. She doesn't look up from her work, instead simply raising an eyebrow at you.

"I'm busy."

"Can't a guy want some one-on-one time with his cousin's half sister?"

"Not when said cousin's half-sister is busy."

"Hm. And to think I was planning to offer help."

"What, do you want to arrange recording spaces and analyze music trends for me?"

"I do have a program for tha-"

"You need to stop referring to your auto-responder as "a program for that". I'm sure he doesn't appreciate being a generic program for any and every whim that strikes you."

"Fine. I do have an artifically developed friend who could help with that."

She gives you the most scalding look you've ever seen — which is pretty damn impressive, considering you have a tendency to practice your glares in the mirror.

"I had no idea you and Hal were friends."

"We're not. Do you want my help or not."

You watch as she pauses, and considers. She lifts her pen all the way to her mouth, seems to realize she's about to chew on it, and settles for tapping it on her chin instead. After a few beats, she gives a melodramatic and long suffering sigh.

"Fine. Have Hal do it. Is that all you wanted, to derail me from my work and peer-pressure me into letting you and your ai clone do it all?"

"Nah." You allow yourself a small grin, leaning in closer and angling your body away from Dave. "You're scheming something, Rose Lalonde. I want in."

She arches an eyebrow again. "Am I truly that transparent." It's a statement, not a question, dry and biting. "Whatever shall I do with myself. My cleverly hidden scheme. Destroyed."

Your face falls back to flat. "Please. It's like you think that anyone but I would see through you."

"You say as if you didn't hear about it from Roxy." Now it's her turn to crack a miniscule smile, leaning in smugly.

"What does Rox have to do with this?" If you've fallen for her schemes, you're actually going to go apeshit.

"Oh, overheard some things I was telling Jade in vague enough terms to tell you and get you interested. Or, in other words — plant a seed so you'd walk right into my scheme."

"Fuck." You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "One point for you, I guess. There goes my leg up."

"Truly, the worst dishonor of all — losing to a girl three years your junior in a scheming competition." It's not a real competition, there are no rules or scores. But right now it feels pretty damn real to you, the loser of the scheming competition. Your reputation is in tatters.

"I'll get you for this one day," you mutter, immediately realizing how much of a fucking cartoon villain you sound like. God.

"I have no doubt you will," she retorts, sounding somehow more like a disney villain than you do.

"So, now that I've fallen for your trap," you deadpan, "what's the scheme."

Instead of an answer, she shows you her clipboard. In looping handwriting, she's written out what looks like a to-do list.

• Watch Con-Air with John and pretend not to hate it.
• First round of filming.
• Make condescending bet with Jade.
• Go shopping for gold jewelry that Dave finds palatable.
• Bitch to someone about half-brother's fashion tastes being surprisingly specific.
• Schedule recording space slots.
• Look into music video props.
• Watch as many idol videos as possible to figure out trends.
• Analyze chart topping songs.
• Don't have a mental breakdown from the sheer amount of idol content.
• Sit on floor clutching head and repeating "I will get Dave Strider to be an idol".
• Be normal again.
• Ask Roxy how to use hair extensions better.
• Rope Dirk into forcefem scheme.

You watch her cross off the last point on the list, vaguely baffled. Mildly bewildered, even. One might even go so far as to say confused. One would be wrong, of course, but if there's anyone who can make you confused, it's the girl sitting in front of you.

"What do you mean forcefem scheme."

"Oh, you know. The forcefem scheme. The one you can longer back out of."

"I think you underestimate how much I can get out of anything I don't want to."

"Oh, no, I know you could refuse. But I'm correctly estimating other things. You're not going to back out now. Your pride wouldn't let you."

She's right, of course. You resist the urge to sigh overdramatically.

"Who are we forcefemming and how."

"I'll tell you later," she promises, lifting her clipboard again. "When we all go home, I'll pester you with the details."

You roll your eyes behind your sick ass shades and turn back to face Dave who-

Aw, fuck. He's messing with your camera terminals again. Can't leave shit with that guy.

"Dave! Drop it," you call, running over. And thus begins another argument about your setup — even though it's perfectly fucking fine and worked for the whole-ass music video you just did. Your life is going to be arguing with your cousin about camera settings, now, isn't it.

Chapter Text

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you're exhausted.

You're at a get-together with your friends. Roxy's out of town — as is Dirk, who took Jake with him — and so it's only your core friend group. Rose, Jade, John, and you. Usually someone'd invite Jane, but everyone had agreed that she'd be too much to handle without someone else balancing her out. No hate to her, of course, it's jus that there's only so many times you can listen to one girl lowkey vaguepost-complain about her crush dating your cousin. Also, she only really shows up to these parties for Jake, Dirk, and Roxy. Something, something, you'd made too many jokes about "Egbert's smoking hot older stepsister" for her tastes.

Which is fair. You did do that.

This party is happening at Rose's place, as most parties do in this friend group. Your flat is off limits for obvious reasons, John's place means you run the risk of having to include Jane and slash or get smothered in baked goods, and Jade's place is too far away. Luckily, the lights have been brought up beyond the usual dim and foreboding level Rose prefers. If your shades are off you prefer the dark, but at least now you can see with them on.

You're sitting on the couch, slowly manspreading and creeping closer and closer into John's space for no reason other than to piss him off. It's working. He's sitting on the floor next to Jade, talking animatedly about something you're only half paying attention to. You're pretty sure you've heard Nic Cage's name at least twice. For her part, Jade looks decently interested, at least. Rose left the room about twenty minutes ago to take a call.

This party — in addition to being a routine get-together — doubles as a celebration for the last big milestone you'd reached: One million subscribers. One million whole-ass people watching you enough to consistently tune in. Every video consistently gets over half a mil views and you're actually making money. Which is still wild.

Of course, a large part of the reason you're making money is because Rose has you working your ass off editing, filming, trying on new outfits and learning new dances.

Your foot touches John's shoulder and he glares at you, cutting off in the middle of his sentence. Making direct eye-contact through your shades, you put it in his lap.

"Oh my god, Dave!"

"John."

"One of these days you're going to learn the meaning of personal space!"

"Don't fuck with me, Egbert, I have a million subscribers on youtube. You should feel lucky that I'm all up in your space."

"That's not how that works, Dave."

"Well it is now."

"Says who?!"

"Says me. Idol girl with a million subscribers." You gently push your knee into the side of his face. He pushes you away, rolling his eyes.

"You're only an idol girl when it's convenient."

"Damn straight I am, Egbert. What's the point of leading a super-awesome double-life as a cutesy pop star/idol whatever if I don't get to lord it over my pleb friends?"

John reaches up and hits you in the leg with the back of his hand. You lean over with the intent to collapse onto him. Your quest to land on him doesn't go through, though, and you're shoved off by — by Jade?

"What gives, Harley?" you ask, sitting back up. She ignores you, eyes locked past you.

"Rose, is something wrong?" You and Egbert follow her gaze to a mildly shell-shocked looking Rose Lalonde, holding her phone in one hand. She locks eyes with you behind your sunglasses and you freeze like a deer in headlights.

"Nothing is wrong. In fact, I'd say the exact opposite, actually." She clears her throat, straightening up and patting her skirt flat with one hand. "Dave, how would you feel about doing interviews?"

"What, like for magazines? Those little blurbs in chick magazines?" You raise an eyebrow, slouching back on the couch, all thoughts of bugging Egbert out of your mind.

"No. Like on a set. With an interviewer. While being filmed."

"What?" You shoot to your feet, turning to face her properly. "Like a tv interview? What, are you putting me on the Late Show with Steven Colbert?"

"Close. Would anyone here happen to have heard of the Alternia Darlings?" You get about halfway to sharing a mildly confused look with a very confused John when Jade interjects.

"Oh my god, wait, Jake's obsessed with them! The one bigger group that's actually two smaller groups of six, right?"

"Yes."

"They're huge! This could be your big break, Dave!"

"Whoa, whoa, pump the fucking breaks, Harley." You hold up your hands defensively. "Just because Jake likes them doesn't mean that, like, it's a make or break gig. Jake's got shit taste. Egbert, back me up here." He pauses for too long for your comfort.

"Well, I don't know. Usually I'd agree and say Jake's got bad taste, but that name sounds pretty familiar. Maybe it is that big of a gig?"

"Strider, it's a television interview with the largest idol group on the internet. They got their start exactly as you did — and now they want to bring you on." She walks closer and leans over the couch. "This isn't just a big gig. If you take this chance — which mark my words, you will — your popularity will explode." You lean back, stuffing your hands into your pockets.

"You want to work me to death, Lalonde? Is that what you're doing? You want to put me on a stage and have me fucking improv in front of a bunch of strangers until I die from exhaustion?"

"Of course not," she sighs, clearly exasperated. "If you're really that overworked, I can cut down the filming and rehearsal time. I can even leave you out of things that aren't crucial. We'll get in touch with the Alternia Darlings' PR team and get a list of questions and topics for the interview. I'm not throwing you to the wolves, Dave."

"What if I don't even want to do this interview, huh? What if I'm content with the subscribers I have now?" She raises an eyebrow.

"You're joking."

"What if I'm not."

"You don't seriously want to stop here."

"But what if I do." She crosses her arms.

"But you don't."

"I might."

"You don't."

"I-"

"Dave Strider are you doing the fucking interview or are you going to bicker with me until the world explodes?"

You hold eye contact with her behind your shades for a long moment. She doesn't back down, simply arching her own eyebrow at you.

"Fine." You return to nonchalantly sitting on the couch, arms crossed behind your head. "Send me the interview topics or whatever later. But I get to pick my outfit." You can practically feel her smiling to herself behind you.

"Thank you for cooperating. I'll request that topic list now." She hits your shoulder with one hand. "Now move, I'd like to do something other than work at this party."

John snickers. "Can't believe we're only thirteen and you all are talking about work like you have actual jobs."

"Hey, looking that cute is an actual job, Egbert. Mind your manners." You make a condescending clicking noise with your tongue.

"Also, isn't it October? We won't be thirteen for much longer."

You and Rose fall silent, staring at Jade. John picks up the slack, making a comment about how time flies or some inane bullshit you're too busy reeling to pick up.

You're almost fourteen. You're well on your way to a late start to puberty, and you're spending your time dressing up as an idol for views, learning cutesy songs and choreo when you should be learning how to shave or some shit. Instead of doing whatever the fuck it is teenage boys do, you're wasting your life pretending to be a girl.

The idea doesn't fuck you up as much as it should, and that in and of itself fucks you up.

A week later, you find yourself in the most terrifying place you've ever set foot in — a professional recording studio. The lights are too bright, there's a flurry of activity, and you're in a skirt that barely comes down to your knees. Which, totally your fault, you were the one to dress yourself and all. It's just not a situation you thought you'd be in. Like ever. You fiddle with your armband and Rose slaps your hand.

"No fidgeting. We're here on business."

"I know we're here on business, chill the fuck out."

"You're the one who needs to chill."

You open your mouth to give the sassiest, best retort of all time when you're interrupted by a gaggle of girls coming up to you. They're all dressed in cutesy outfits not too unlike your own, but unlike your knight theming being mostly conveyed through your excessive use of chain jewelry, their themes are loud and clear. Each one of them has some sort of animal/creature motif going on.

One of the girls steps forward, a girl in a fuschia dress not unlike yours and draped in a shit ton of gauzy shawls. There's a delicate crown on her head and she's covered in golden and pearl jewelry. Some of the golden chains around her waist clink against each other, glittering in a way that reminds you faintly of a mermaid's tail.

"Hello! You must be Dame and Rose!"

"It's uh," you hesitate, trying to slip into your performance voice as naturally as possible. "It's Dawn, actually. Dame is the title for a girl knight. Like Sir but for girls." The girl nods.

"I sea, I sea. Well, welcome in, Dawn! This is — in no particular order — Aradia, Nepeta, Kanaya, Terezi, Vriska, and me, Feferi!" She smiles cheerily and points to each girl in turn, doing a cute pose when she points at herself.

Just from glancing over them, you can see a pretty obvious order. While there's not every color of the rainbow, every girl is dressed in a different one, with Aradia being red and Feferi being a fuschia pink-purple. Every girl in between the two of them follows a pretty clear rainbow order. Red, green, other green, teal, blue, fuschia.

"Nice to meet you all. I know you know who I am but I'm Dawn and this is my stage manager, Rose Lalonde."

"It's nice to meet you all. I hope to get to know you better in the future." She smiles in a way that's probably meant to be friendly but just reads as vaguely wolfish.

"Likewise!" She smiles widely and bounces on the toes of her feet. "Now, Dawn, Kanaya was going to take you by makeup and then we can talk set-up! Because it's your first time doing an interview, we won't be doing it in front of a studio audience but I know Terezi and Karkat wanted to bring you onto their show at some point which is filmed live."

"So this is like a test run to get me used to it?" you ask, attempting to pretend you're not starting to get nervous at the thought of being on a second show.

"You could say that!"

"You don't have to do a second one if you're overwhelmed," she mutters to you under her breath. You shoot her a brief look and pull yourself up to your full height.

"Well, if it's interview practice, then I can only hope I pass with flying colors." Despite the canned tone of your line — well, at least it reads canned to you, performer of everywhere all the time — the girls lined up across from you all seem satisfied, reacting in various ways spanning from an amused snort (girl in teal with a cane held in claw-rings, which is sick as fuck) to an enthusiatic ooh (girl in dark green with cat ears and a tail you're pretty certain is partially robotic from how it moves).

"Well, we're happy to have you aboard!" She chuckles at herself and then turns around. "Kanaya!" A girl in a corset dress and draping jewel-toned green fabrics steps forward, smiling.

"Hello Dawn, Rose." She curtsies — actually curtsies, lifting the edges of her skirts and everything — and turns a sharp grin on you. It's at this point you notice she's wearing a pair of vampire fangs. "It's lovely to properly meet you. I've been looking forward to it, actually."

"Really?"

"Kanaya, right?" Rose sticks out her hand and Kanaya takes it. "I was the one speaking with you on the phone. It's nice to finally put a face to the voice." Kanaya raises Rose's hand to her mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it. And you thought you were supposed to have the knight shtick.

"Likewise. I hadn't realized the stage manager of such an up-and-coming idol could practically be one herself."

"You flatter me. I hardly have the personality to be an idol."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. An elegant demeanor and a put-together theme goes a long way. Not to mention a pretty smile."

You're about fifty percent certain this vampire-idol girl is flirting with your half sister.

"Hey, are you two gonna flirt or are you gonna put princess there in makeup?"

"Who're you calling princess," you retort, squinting at her.

"Uh, you, the girl in the poofy skirt, duh."

"We don't have the budget for chainmail yet so I'm working with what I have. Besides, you think you have a leg to stand on? You look more like a pirate than what you're supposed to. Which is what, a spider?"

"Yeah, I am a spider. Got a problem with that?"

"Just saying." You shrug. "Big talk for a spider who looks more like a pirate."

"Girls, girls!" she places herself between the two of you. "We can bicker after filming! Or, preferably, not at all!"

You shrug again, the chains hanging from your shoulders clinking against each other. She mutters something under her breath to the girl next to her, who hits her in the side.

"My apologies if I was too over-the-top," Kanaya chuckles, dropping Rose's hand. "We should be making our way further in, then. The makeup department waits for no one."

"Uh, we did my makeup before we came," you tell her, running a hand through your hair. She clicks her tongue.

"Nonsense. The sort of makeup that looks good in a music video will look horrendous under the floodlights we use to film."

You go to respond when, suddenly, she grabs your arm and starts dragging you inside. You barely have time to yelp in alarm before you're dragged into a side hallway and pushed in front of a gaggle of strangers holding makeup brushes and hair ribbons.

"This," she gestures at you, "is our newest guest. Make sure she looks stunning for the camera."

And then you're left to face the makeup department.

Chapter Text

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you're smiling and waving for the camera as canned cheers fade in.

Around you are six girls, each dressed like mythological creatures. You haven't committed all their names to memory yet, and you've been assured that's fine, that you'll get more practice with their names later. It seems you've been adopted as this idol group's newest protege. Which, hey, means that you don't have to do as much work going forward! Or at least Rose doesn't.

Speaking of your half sister, if you squint past the cameras, you can see her, tapping her pen on her clipboard. She notices you staring and smirks, waving at you. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her.

"Welcome, welcome!" Feferi cheers to the cameras. "It's great to sea our adoring fans!" She pauses to blow a kiss at the camera closest to her. It looks vaguely more like she's blowing a bubble.

"For those amongst you with sharp eyes, you may have noticed we have a guest today! Terezi, would you do the honors?" Aradia gestures to you before turning to the girl in teal — Terezi, right. The one with the dragon theming.

"Leave it to the only one here who can't see to introduce our guest." The way she elbows the girl next to her — if memory serves, that's Vriska in the spider get-up — lets you at least guess that it's a bit she does. Also, no one bats an eye as she continues with "This lovely lady here is Dame Dawn, the up-and-coming Knight of Time!" You wave at the camera.

"It's nice to be here with you all." You've got lines — not a full script, but enough to keep you moving during this. It's still weird as shit to be practicing what you'll say to this degree, though. Usually you don't plan nearly this much. The idol voice is also a bitch to maintain.

Feferi does a spin, the golden scales on her dress clinking as she does. "Now, Dame Dawn, first things first! We're all friends here, can we call you Dawn?" You smile as naturally as you can — which is only sorta.

"Of course you can. The big fancy title's for show, I don't actually like being the girl with some important role like that implies." You glance over at Rose again briefly before focusing on the camera again. "I don't need to be anyone's hero. I'm content just being the Dawn of girl."

"Well, if it's just fur show, Miss Dawn, could you purrrchance tell us what the logic behind it was?" That would be Nepeta, you think, the girl in the forest-green jacket and the cat ears. Interestingly, also the only one out of the six to not be in heels. You're pretty sure she speaks in cat puns. You can't see her words but you know you can hear an early 2000s cat pun coming from a mile away.

In any case, this was a question you were prepared for. As Feferi walks away from the camera to sit back down — in a giant fishbowl off to the side, she's really got that mermaid theming down, huh — you lean back in your seat and tap a finger to your chin.

"Hm, well, I guess it's a bit of a long story. I've always had this affinity for time — like this sixth sense for it and sh-stuff. I can usually tell the exact time down to the minute and sometimes even the second like I'm a stopwatch or something. So I wanted to do something time-themed." You play with the edge of your skirt, which has been cut into the shape of gears and hemmed with golden thread. "So, because "time" isn't really a theme on it's own, I talked with the people who would become my stage managers and we workshopped "Knight of Time". I used to take fencing lessons as a kid, so it kinda fits."

Used to take fencing lessons isn't how you'd put it, but when Rose'd given you the script of topics for today, she'd stressed that talking about Bro's training was probably a bad idea. Apparently swordfighting your guardian on the roof is not normal and Strider do you understand how concerning that sounds. You think it's whatever. You don't get hurt that bad and you're one badass motherfucker for your troubles.

"Fencing lessons, eh?" She raises an eyebrow. It makes the gems stuck on her face to emulate extra eyes lift. She takes a handful of eight-sided dice out of her pocket and rolls them around. "I'm kinda skilled with a cutlass. Maybe we should set up a fake spar or something."

"Oh, please, is that any way to greet someone? At least be friends with her before you start trying to test her skills," Terezi teases, turning to look right at you. Which is weird. You know for a fact she's blind. How is she doing that.

"Yeah, come on," you joke, "y'all are the ones who invited me here and you're challenging me to a fight?"

"Is it a crime of me to see if the lovely lady knight lives up to her words?" You lean forward in your seat, maintaining eye contact as you do.

"I'd defend my honor if it came down to it. I just don't want you to lose a fight on your own show."

Terezi ooooohs as Kanaya (can't forget the girl hitting on your sister) gasps in shock. You think you see Feferi gasp with enough force to jostle water out of her bowl, but truth be told you're not paying that much attention to her or Aradia. You wait, unmoving, for Vriska's response.

She stares at you for a long second before snickering — presumably at you.

"Confident, aren't we, Dawn?"

"I wouldn't be calling myself the Knight of Time if I wasn't."

"An attitude like that makes me wanna knock you down a peg." She leans forward, holding her head up on a hand.

"Get me a sword and a venue and you can try."

"You two are gonna fight?" Nepeta gasps more than says.

"I hope you know I'm holding you to that."

"You'll find I'm woman of my word." You grin a little wider than you usually would, aware you're selling a persona. "I'd be a hell of a knight if I didn't hold to my knight's oath, wouldn't I?"

"Classy," Vriska chuckles. "I respect it, Knight."

You nod at her and she nods back, sealing your fate of having to sword fight a spider girl on camera. Rose is gonna fuckin kill you, you can feel it. But for now, you have a stage interview.

"That'll be a sight to sea," Feferi declares, leaning on the edge of her giant fishbowl. Seriously, that can't be comfortable. "But let's keep our swords sheathed and our feet on dry land for now!"

"Yeah," Terezi chuckles, "I've got a brain to pick."

And that's how you spend the better half of an hour subjected to enough questions you start to feel your head spin. It's not just Terezi — Nepeta and Kanaya seem dead set on asking you so many questions you forget how to talk. Your favorite color (red), favorite flower (tulips), favorite song (you bullshit something and end up on one of their songs by sheer dumb fuckin luck), everything. You get invited to go swimming with Feferi (hell no) and excavating with Aradia (hell yeah).

Finally, finally, the floodlights flick off and Rose approaches you, your shades tucked into the front pocket of the nice blouse you made her wear. You'd rather be caught dead than with a stage managers who didn't look the part. Rose had only agreed because you "needed this connection" or some bullshit like that.

"Seemed everything went well," she muses, handing over your shades. Usually your image would be broken by wearing them but you have a migraine that could kill a motherfuckin god. You slide them on your face more gratefully than usual. Listen, usually your cool-guy shtick is the most important thing on your mind but right now you can't be fucked to care about more than getting your heartbeat to stop hurting your head.

"Thanks, Lal- Rose. Thank you, Rose." You slump back in your seat.

"Y'know, for being a first-timer that was purr-fect!" Nepeta cheers, leaning over you.

"What're the nerdy shades for?" Vriska asks, pointing at her own eyes — the real ones, not the tacky fake ones.

"They're not nerdy and I have a light sensitivity," you retort a bit sharper than you've been all interview. Rose elbows you but she's gonna have to deal, you're still being as nice as you can it's just that you're tired and want to go home.

"Light sensitivity, eh?" Terezi hums thoughtfully. You don't know what she's scheming but you have enough schemers in your life, what with Lalonde always cooking something up or Dirk roping you into random bullshit. Another schemer would ruin you.

"Yep. Kinda of annoying." Your sister hands you an open bottle of water and you nod your thanks before downing half of it. Through your lazily opened eyes, you can see the rest of the girls around you being offered their own bottles of water (with the exception of Nepeta, who's being offered a gatorade). Feferi's the only one who doesn't immediately drink half her body weight in water.

"We should talk about where we're going next," she says, rotating the bottle in her hands. "I don't want our plans to be lost to sea." That's a stretch for the sea pun, but you'll allow it.

"Ah, that sort of thing is Rose's job, mostly. I just look pretty for the camera and sing. And style myself, but our wardrobe's pretty small."

"If it's not too forward," Kanaya hums, "I could come shopping with you. Take you to the stores we frequent, let you borrow some of our money. After all, if we're to have a… partnership" you can see the way her eyes dart to Rose "it wouldn't be such a bad thing if you took some of our money. In exchange for, say, a concert with us?"

You glance at Rose, shocked. As if feeling your eyes on her, she glances back at you. Somehow — probably because she's supernaturally good at all things bossing-you-around — her gaze perfectly conveys it's up to you. Great.

You take a second to think.

On one hand, you'd have to practice in the Dame Dawn getup — which isn't hard — but including the voice this time. On the other — for all you've gotten on Rose's case lately, you are pretty committed to this idol thing, and this would be a great opportunity. Yeah, you'd be a little more worn out, but it would be worth it for your fame. And you really, really like the idea of being famous as Dawn. Almost more than as yourself, a sentiment which you immediately decides needs no further introspection or prodding.

"I'll do it. The concert and the shopping." Your voice is slipping. You really are tired, huh.

"We'll be free December 3rd through the 5th, if that works for you? After that, it's holiday rush."

You wince, enough that it's almost noticeable. "Ooh, I have arrangements then."

"I could simply not attend a filming of Aradia's show," Kanaya propositions more to Feferi than to you. "That would leave me free on the 12th, if that's fair for our guests."

You and Rose nod in unison. Jesus fucking Christ on a bike you're starting to get sick of this. Your head is killing you. Shouldn't your ride be here soon? You should ask if they have Advil in the car — as long as it's Dadbert like Rose told you, he should.

"Well, I don't know. Dia, what's your opinion?" Feferi turns to the girl in question, interrupting her in the process of unlacing the frankly impractical thigh-high lace-up platforms she's wearing. Seriously, Aradia's like the second tallest of the group, why does she need platform boots.

"Hm, well, it's not an important filming? And I'm pretty neutral on whether anyone shows up, really. Kanaya, if you want to ditch, I'm fine with it! Just bring me something from the mall. You know what I like." She winks and returns to fiddling with a buckle on her lower thigh.

"Understood." Kanaya turns back to you and Rose with a gentle smile on her face. "I'll see you on December 12th. Almost exactly a month from now."

"It's a plan." Your half sister smiles back, and Jesus fucking Christ if they're actually flirting you're going to throw yourself through a brick wall. Not because you're homophobic, just because it's Rose Lalonde, and you're dead set on fake-hating the idea of her dating. She can do whatever she wants forever, you just get your kicks from bullying her, especially now that bullying you is her new fulltime job.

You rise to your feet with practiced grace, adjusting your balance slightly for your heels, and smile at the girls sat in front of you. Almost out of here, Strider. You wonder if you can bully Dadbert into buying you McDonalds.

"Well, it was a lovely first meeting, but unless I'm mistaken, our ride should be here soon." Rose nods, a reluctant expression on her face. She can flirt later, you tell yourself, rolling your eyes. "Thank you all for having me on."

"Oooh, classy. Unlike some people." Terezi elbows Vriska in the side, causing the latter girl to make a rather undignified noise somewhere between a scoff and a snort.

"It was lovely having you on!"

"Thanks for coming out on such short notice!" Feferi and Aradia speak one after the other, thanking you with such coordination you almost wonder if they practice it.

"See you soon, new girl." Terezi waves at you and — after a brief pause — Vriska nods once in your general direction.

Rose smiles and nods at Kanaya before leading you out of the building. Soon enough, you're sitting in Dad Egbert's car, slumped over yourself and clutching your head.

"Tired?" your half sister asks, a bemused expression on her face. You're ninety percent certain she would say her expression is bemused.

"Fuck me, Lalonde, I just sat through an hour of playing nice and answering questions in the cutesy most girly voice ever. You think I'm tired? I have a headache the size of the fuckin state."

"Was it worth it, at least?"

You pause briefly, leaning back and smoothing a new wrinkle out from your skirt.

"No way to tell, yet. We just finished. It felt like it went well enough but for all we know, this isn't going to do fuckin anything for my reputation or popularity."

This seems to satisfy Rose, as she leans back in her seat and pulls a clipboard out from under her arm. You don't see her without that thing these days. She's always working on something.

It occurs to you that maybe she's as overworked as you are. That for every moment you spend half dead on your feet is one she's spending organizing and managing everything. That for every stolen nap you get she's pulling another all-nighter.

You're not gonna say anything about it, of course. That's not your style — you're coolkid Dave Strider, after all, and being overly sympathetic just ain't your vibe. But maybe you can be a little less hard on her going forward.

"Anyways," she sighs, "our birthday is soon. It's November as we speak." You startle.

"Fuck, yeah, I guess it is. We doing the party at your place like normal?" She nods.

"I've already got the snacks all planned out." A small smirk spreads across her face, quirking up the ends of her lips. "It's been a nice break to plan something other than your idol business." You laugh.

"I bet. And hey, it'll be a nice break as long as you don't bring up work during it." Her face sours slightly. You pause. "You're not planning on bringing up work during it, are you?"

Rose sighs, tapping a pen she pulled from God-knows-where on the clipboard. "I may have been. It's simply —" she glances at Dadbert once and then pulls a prescription bottle out of her pocket. "Might as well get it out of the way. Unless you'd like to shave every single day and work on voice training — I've managed to source puberty blockers."

You stare at her. Then at the bottle in her hand. Then at her again. You blink, three times in rapid succession, then take off your shades and do it again where she can see. Steadying your hands, you slide your shades back on.

"I'm fucking sorry."

"You're forgiven," she says with an air of nervousness, a cheap joke in a tense car.

"Where the fuck did you get puberty blockers???"

"Oh, you know." she shrugs, and does not elaborate.

"No I fucking don't???? Lalonde you're sitting here, next to me in this nice grey family car, holding a prescription bottle of goddamn puberty blockers??? How did you get those? Why did you get those?"

"I have my ways," she answers unhelpfully. "As for why — it's not conducive to your idol career if you start a masculinizing puberty. We've been lucky so far in that you're a late bloomer, but we're nearly fourteen. It's time to start thinking of these things." She hesitates, placing her clipboard on her lap. "It's not a requirement. It's simply a suggestion. In the end, it's your decision, and it'll hurt no one if you turn it down."

You stare down at your hands, resting on your lap in a puddle of tulle, left one gloved and right nails painted a bright red. Against all odds, you find yourself seriously considering it.

You could take dubiously-legal puberty blockers and stop your puberty. You could commit fully to this idol thing, could go to every length possible to be the best idol on the face of this earth. Take the — metaphorical and literal — dubious pill Rose's offering.

Or you could skip it. You could shave daily once your hair starts growing, you could train your voice as best you can. You could refuse this harebrained idea and keep doing what you've been doing. It's not like a deepening voice would mess up your idol career that much.

You bury your hands in your skirt, the red fabric rustling slightly. It's soft. Nicer than nearly anything you've worn in years, despite being a cheap skirt from the mall. You remember when Jade hemmed it, humming along to the music as you practiced your choreo. You're not used to this — soft fabric hugging your body, jewelry and skirts becoming your life.

"I understand if you don't want this—"

"I do."

It comes out before you can stop it, eyes still fixed on the red of your skirt and gloves. You don't lift your head. Instead, you extract your hand from the tulle and hold it out to Rose. She presses the bottle into your hand.

"The instructions are on the bottle." She pauses. "And I promise it'll be worth it."

You pull the bottle into your frame of view. Lalonde, Roxy the label reads. It's half empty. You don't know why Roxy needs them and to be honest, you don't care. In your head, you send your thanks to her.

"Yeah, whatever." You lean forward, leaning around the seat to talk to Dadbert. "Can we stop by like McDonalds or something. I'm starved. I'm dying over here. I've been in heels all day." He nods once and you pull back. A man of few words, that Egbert's dad.

Rose passes you a spare shirt and turns away so you can change out of your cutesy idol getup. In the back of a moving car. Like a normal person who also happens to be an idol. Whatever.

You go home in relative silence. True to his word — or, well, nod — Dadbert takes you both to McDonalds. You're dressed like a regular civilian by the time you get there, which is good because you'd explode if you had to go into McDonalds for a ten piece of chicken nugs looking like god's sparkliest solider. Which you kinda still do because Rose forgot to pack makeup wipes. Thank god for the drive-through. And for chicken nuggets.

He drops you off at your apartment and you sneak into it, stashing your remaining soda and nuggets in your closet as fast as you can. Your skirt and blouse go in the closet too, in a padlocked drawer to prevent your Bro from finding them. Your Bro loves irony more than you do but you're… not sure he'd see the irony in you having girl clothes in your closet. Especially cute, custom-tailored girl clothes.

You're not scared of him. Of course you're not. Your Bro is awesome. Irony master of the year — decade — century, even. He's the literal coolest. You could never be scared of him. But. You also know he's not the biggest fan of… these sorts of things.

You sit on your bed, puberty blocker bottle in hand.

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck you're actually holding puberty blockers. Like, medication to stop puberty. What the fuck. You'd be doing that shocked delirious giggle some people do if you weren't altogether way too cool for that. As it is, you rub at your eyes under your shades, blinking down at the bottle.

Lalonde, Roxy. Cyproterone acetate the label reads.

Your half sister stole puberty blockers from her cousin for you, and you're holding them in the palm of your hand right now. Jesus fucking Christ on a bike you're not ready for this.

How are you supposed to react to this? Text Rose and thank her? Text Roxy and thank her?

You don't know. Frankly, you're kinda in shock. You have literal puberty blockers. It's kinda not registering, no matter how many times you repeat it to yourself. A weaker…

A stronger person than you'd be having a crisis right now, you think.

Instead of letting your emotions get the better of you, you turn the bottle over in your hands, reading the instructions. It'll have to go in your closet, you think, right with all your girl clothes, next to your makeup. You get up off your bed and squat down next to your closet, taking a sip from your soda.

You run an idle hand through your hair. It's getting longer than it used to be, you're realizing — down past your ears, nearly to your chin. Which is better for tying in hair extensions but kinda fucks you over otherwise. You're going to have to do something about it, and soon.

The thought of cutting it makes you feel sick to your stomach, for some reason.

You could steal one of Bro's hats. He'd probably be chill with that. Say that you're following in his super cool footsteps, give you one of those suave nods you're always chasing. Maybe even lighten up on the strifes (you wish). You unlock your drawer and root around until you find a bobby pin. Setting down your bottle of Roxy's prescription medication, you tie your hair up into a messy bun. It's a little tight, but it coils nicely enough that you can stick your bobby pin in it.

Fuck, your hands are shaking. Why are your hands shaking? You're just tying up your hair. God. You grab a mirror and try to stop the shakes, unsuccessfully. You just need to check your hair. Make sure it's all in place so you can slap a hat to cover it.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You look at your reflection.

You haven't bothered to wipe off your makeup, so your cheeks are still a rosy pink and your face still looks rounder and softer than normal. Glitter sparkles on the high parts of your cheekbones. Your shades have glitter and foundation on the bottom of them, lightly rubbing off on the bottom. Your hair — bleach blond with a single red highlight Roxy said would look absolutely adorbs on you — frames your face in ways you could describe in infinitely cheesy ways.

The point is. Your hair looks good, and you look good. And you look like a girl.

You hastily put the mirror down, breathing heavily. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, you're completely freaking. You don't know — you don't know why but it feels like your chest is tight and it's hard to breathe. With one hand you cover your mouth, rocking backwards on your heels.

Rose would know what to do. Or Roxy. Or Dirk or Jade or John or any of your friends. They would know how to stop whatever's going on with you. Whatever is making you feel like you're going to tear out your own hair just from seeing yourself in a mirror.

You fumble with your phone and call a random number, not really seeing it. It rings once, twice, and then whoever's on the other side picks up.

"[What's up Dave?]"

"Talk to me."

"[What? Are you—]"

"Talk to me. Say anything, I don't care. I just—" you suck in a breath so harsh you're certain Jade can hear it, "I just need someone to talk to me. At me."

You can hear her hesitate. You don't blame her. Your voice is shaky, just like your hands, and it cracks. You don't care.

"[W-well… today Jake and I watched movies?]"

"Uh-huh."

"[He picked Avatar — the blue people one, not the TV show — like always.]"

"Yeah."

"[That went as well as you can imagine, haha.]"

You laugh humorlessly.

"[But it was nice! It was nice. Hanging out with Jake is always nice. You know me, I'm a people person! Haha. Um, are you okay, though?]"

"I'm fine. Keep talking."

And she does. She keeps talking, about her garden, about her dog, about the funny things she saw on her walk. And you listen, sitting there on the floor next to your closet. You provide the occasional interjection and she laughs at all your low effort jokes. The two of you stay there, until you feel like a human person again instead of a shaky mess.

She doesn't ask if you're okay again, not even at the very end of the call.

"Uh, thanks, by the way, Jade."

"[No problem, Dave. I'm just glad I could help.]" She pauses.

"Yep. Pretty fulfilling call. I'm feeling my social needs completely maxed out, I'm at one hundred and ten percent. Never been better in my life. Feelin as good as a bucket of bees someone threw in a… in a fuckin beehive b-blender to… okay I kinda lost the plot there."

She giggles. "[No, no, it's good! It's funny.]"

"Jade Harley — evaluator of all bits."

"[Hehe, that's me! Decider of which Strider bits are funny or not.]"

"Oh merciful bit-arbiter, please grant me the strength to have nothing but the funniest bits known to man or god."

"[Granted.]" She giggles and you chuckle in response.

"I, uh, know I'm allergic to sincerity and all, but. But really, thanks. I really needed that."

"[Of course. I'm always there for a friend. You should know this by now.]" You can practically feel her smiling sweetly at you through the phone. Gross. You smile anyways.

"I should let you go. Let you get back to hanging out with your- step-brother, right?"

"[Years of knowing each other and you still don't know that Jake and I are cousins,]" she teases. "[And here I thought we were friends.]"

"Hey, when you've got John and Jane bein step-siblings shit gets confusing."

"[Hehe, most confusing family tree this side of the Mississippi.]"

"Yep. But I really should let you go."

"[Talk to you later, Dave!]"

"See ya, Harley."

There's a click, and then a dialtone as Jade Harley hangs up.

Chapter Text

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and today is your 14th birthday.

You're standing in Rose's bathroom, fiddling with one of Bro's hats. As you expected, it covers your hair decently well as long as you tie it in a bun — and don't look at it. You'll be able to leave the house without exposing your secret idol career and without your Bro calling you gay for having long hair. It's a perfect plan as long as no one knocks your hat off.

The party hasn't started yet — you arrived early to help Rose set up for the party. You'd said it was your birthday present for her, but you've actually prepared a small box inside your suit jacket pocket. What, you thought you'd show up in a hoodie? You party in style, thank you very much. Yes, you recognize that a suit jacket and a baseball cap isn't that fashionable. It's the intention that matters.

You and Dirk are lucky; because the two of you have birthdays squarely in the middle of the three days your friendgroup gets to birthday it up, the party almost always falls on your actual birthday. Which is sick.

There's a knock on the bathroom door.

"Strider, are you done in there?"

"Yep, just uh, washing my hands," you call. To cement your alibi, you switch on the faucet.

"Well, whenever you're done, I need help with lifting something."

"Strongman Dave Strider'll be right there," you deadpan, doing a mock salute Rose can't see. On account of the door. Smart moves, there, you think to yourself.

In any case, she laughs. "The hero we all need," she shoots back. She doesn't say anything else, and you assume she's walked away.

You turn back to the mirror. Your reflection looks back. As always, your expression is impassive, obscured by your shades. You didn't wear any makeup today — of course you didn't, it's not a performing day. There's no need for glitter on your cheekbones or contour or anything. Despite how shockingly good you are at it by this point. Your hand grazes the side of your face without your input.

There's nothing else to do here. You shut the faucet off and leave the bathroom.

Rose is chatting with Dirk, her clipboard under her arm. She's in a short black dress and he's in his typical tank top and pants. You're definitely overdressed and you know what? You take some measure of pride in that. You look good enough for your tastes at least.

Both of them stop when you walk in, Dirk nodding once at you in greeting.

"Sup."

"Hey."

"Apologies for interrupting this riveting conversation," Rose says with a smirk, "but, my coffee table?" She gestures at it. Dirk nods.

"Yep, on it. Dave, you get one side I'll get the other?"

"Where are we putting it?"

"Just off to the side works, I want it out of the way so no one bumps into it. And so we don't have to make way for snacks."

You and Dirk work together to lift the coffee table — surprisingly heavy for being glass, what the fuck did she do to this thing?— and put it off to the side. As if on cue, there's a knock on the door, and Rose opens it to reveal Jade and Jake, both holding massive piles of presents in their arms.

"We're here!"

"Sorry if we're late, chums!"

Dirk walks away from you, holding out his arms to take some of Jake's presents from him, kissing him on the cheek as he does. "Don't worry, it's just me and Dave rearranging furniture so far. You didn't miss anything."

"Jolly good then!" You also make your way over, taking a handful of presents from Jade. She smiles brightly at you. Feeling awkward, you nod back at her.

"Better to be early to the party than late!"

"Ya got that right, Jadey!" You turn around to see Roxy coming out of Rose's bedroom. She — like you — appears to have gotten overdressed for this party for fun. Instinctively, you find yourself picking apart which parts of her outfit look best before you realize that's fucking stupid and you don't know why you're doing it.

"Yo, Rose," you call, "Where'd you want the presents?"

"Hm? Oh, on top of the dining table is fine."

"Having Janey and John take care of the snacks?" Jake asks as your little group walks over to the dining table to pile the colorfully wrapped junk on it.

"Of course. Consider it their birthday present to all of us," she smirks as she talks, walking over and sitting down on her couch.

"Well, I'm not complaining! Jane's the best baker amongst us — she probably made at least cupcakes."

You snort. "Come on Harley, you gotta dream bigger than cupcakes. If she didn't make us a cake I'm gonna eat my own hat."

"You mean if John let her bring a cake! You know how he is with them!"

Everyone in the room laughs, migrating over to the couch to sit in a semicircle one by one. You sit with far too much practiced grace and wince as you go to move a skirt you're not wearing under you. Jesus fuck, you've spent too much time being an idol, haven't you. Luckily, no one notices — or, considering everyone in this room but Jake knows about your secret idol career, it's more likely no one mentions it, instead.

Right as you sit down, the doorbell rings.

"Not it," you call, pressing a finger to your nose. Rose rolls her eyes and sighs.

"It's the host's job to let them in anways, Strider. You don't have to call 'not it'."

"I know that, duh," you roll your eyes behind your shades, "it's the irony of the thing."

"I get it."

"Of course. You Striders and your ironic bits," she looks at you two with one raised eyebrow. "Can I go let in John and Jane or are you two going to regale me with the epic rules of irony?"

"Go let them in," you tell her, "I'll lay down some ironic facts, Strider-style, later." This is the first actual break you've had in months, you're not spending half of it bullshitting something about the ancient and highly respected art of irony. As fun as that sounds, you're still dead exhausted from all the work shit.

You're officially 14 and thinking about work shit. Wow, you officially feel too damn young for this shit. At least Dirk's turning 17 this year, which is a more reasonable age to talk about chauffering his younger cousin around.

Rose stands and opens the door, letting the pair who everyone's expecting in.

"You're the last ones here."

"Yeah, the cake was hard to transport. Takes two hands to hold."

"Striders, will you do the honors of carrying the cake to my kitchen counter?"

"Nope." You sigh and get more comfortable on the couch. "Make Jake do it."

"Gee- me? I mean, sure! I'll do it if we need someone to."

"We'll be fine without someone carrying it, Rose, Jake. We could use someone to go down and get the rest of the snacks from the car, though. I made quite a lot, hoo hoo!"

"Thanks Jane! I can go down and get them if you want!"

"That'd be just perfect, Jade."

And with that, you turn around to watch John and Jane maneuver a massive cake into Rose's kitchen. Well, more like massive for such a small group. Jade runs out past them with Jake following on her heels. Once the cake is firmly on the counter and the two missing members of the group have returned, snacks in tow, John and Jane find their own spots around the couch, settling in so the party can really get started.

"It's so nice to have the gang all together! We really don't do this nearly often enough."

"I know, I've seen a few of you at your individual houses recently but we haven't caught up. I feel like I know nothing about any of you at this point!"

"Well, is anyone doing anything interesting in their spare time?"

"I've been working on some things." He taps the side of his custom made anime shades. "Hal, read off the summary of my most recent project."

"Sure thing, Dirk," Dirk's shades chirp in the same monotone voice their — or, well, his — creator has. "We've been working on a new and improved camera system. Centralized computer console to manipulate up to seven cameras at once with an intutive system. Newer higher definition cameras with built-in surround audio as well."

"Oooh, cameras sound cool," John smiles as he talks. "Hope that's been going well."

"It has been. I've got the setup mostly done, honestly. Just needs a few tests and it'll be ready to use. 'Course, I still want to recalibrate them before I test them — there's a few kinks in the setup that are more annoying than anything. Plus, the focus is all out of whack, so I'm worried they won't focus on things that reflect light." Dirk's mouth subtly quirks up in the Strider equivalent of a smile. "But hey, trying new stuff'll always have its problems. I'm just satisfied with what we have now."

"He's been having me help with calibration! It's been a jolly good time getting to help him."

"Ah, a couple's project, eh," you tease, lifting an eyebrow. "That's sappy as shit."

"It's not a couple's project, Dave."

"Well," Jake hums, "It is a project we're working on as a couple, even if your part of it is much more than mine. So in a way it sort of is a couple's project."

"You just want to call it a couple's project, don't you."

"Guilty as charged," Jake laughs. Jane leans back on one hand from her seat on the floor.

"Is this a party or is this a "watch Jake and Dirk flirt" gathering," she teases, swirling a cup of what looks like cranberry juice.

"We were all saying how much we missed each other when really what we missed was our friends flirting with each other. Whoever would've guessed, truly," Rose deadpans, rolling her eyes playfully. Jake goes a shade of red usually only attainable by tomatoes and Dirk smirks, slinging an arm around his boyfriend.

"You all are just jealous," he declares, pressing a kiss to Jake's cheek. John makes an exaggerated "ick" face and Jade giggles.

"Aw, come on, Di-Stri, stop flaunting your happy relationship," Roxy teases. "Although, I can't say I'm jealous." She smirks.

"Oh? My dear cousin, is there something you want to tell us?"

"Maaaaaaaybe." Her smirk turns into a grin.

"Don't keep us in suspense! I'm so curious!" Jade leans forward in her seat.

"You have us on the edges of our seats, mostly metaphorically." Jane gestures with one hand around her.

"Well, I didn't wanna say anything, but there's a cute girl I was talking with. And we might have a little date all set up and planned!" A dim chatter of gasps and congratulations fills the room. Even you nod once in approval.

"That's amazing! Can you tell us about her?"

Roxy smiles and nods, her expression changing as she stares off into nothing. "Her name's Callie and she's the sweetest. She loves roleplaying and drawing — she's a great artist."

You half-listen as Roxy gossips about the girl she's got a crush on. Jade and Jane chime in now and again, encouraging her, asking questions. Somewhere in the conversation, Jake and Dirk end up curled into a ball of limbs, and John ends up laying on his stomach kicking his legs in the air.

It's nice, honestly. You've spent so much time recently doing Dame Dawn shit that you haven't had time to relax. Rose clearly agrees from the way that she eggs on conversations she wouldn't've been caught dead in normally. You think that a chill party where you just get to vibe and hang out with your friends is one of the best birthday presents you could've been given.

There's actual presents, though, of course. As is tradition for these parties, everyone brings everyone else (except John and Jane) birthday presents. You usually bring gag gifts for everyone along with real gifts. You get a handful of cool things — Dirk gets you a handheld camera, Roxy a better hat, Jake a movie you'd been curious about, John a movie poster, etcera etcera. Rose hands you a skirt with shorts attached to it as a gag gift and everyone laughs before she pulls out a box with a crate of shelf-stable apple juice. Fuckin score. You come close to genuinely thanking her.

And if you keep the skirt, too, that's no one's business.

Everyone stands in a circle around the cake, singing happy birthday to each other as Dirk cuts the cake. As is par for the course with Jane, it's good — great, even. It's a three layer chocolate cake and though it's a little heavy, it's delicious. You think you see Jade go back for thirds. You don't blame her — though you ate a few too many snacks and can only shovel down seconds. Jane lets everyone take a few slices home. You're already planning where in your closet to stash it.

The party wraps up hours later, everyone trickling out one by one. John and Jane leave first, Jade hitching a ride with them. Jake's going home with Dirk, so she doesn't have a ride. Everyone takes a second to tease the two of them — which Jake reacts with embarrassment and Dirk takes in stride.

As it happens, you're the last to leave, standing in the doorway with Rose and Roxy for a minute or two longer.

"Uh, good party. 10/10 would party again." You find yourself staring at the floor. You don't know why.

"I'm glad everyone had fun, at the least. What is a group party if no one enjoys themselves, truly."

"Thanks for comin' out, Davey! I know we saw each other a few months ago so I could help you get your idol stuff off the ground but it's really great to see you again. Oh, hope the pills Rose borrowed from me are helpful." Roxy smiles brightly at you as you make eye contact with her again.

"Glad to know she didn't steal them," you joke, "but I was shocked as shit when she pulled them out. You sure you don't need them?"

"Ah, pshaw, nah! I haven't needed those things in years! I'm on different pills now." Oddly vague from her, but you're not gonna pry for medical bullshit. You look away from her, sorta embarrassed.

"Well, uh, thanks. They're useful."

"No prob, bob," she clicks her tongue. "I got a stash 'a those large enough to forcefem anyone, sharin' with my cuz's half-sib ain't no big deal, Davey baby."

You snort in laughter. "This is why our family's so tight-knit, Rox, you're out here doing the most batshit shit imaginable for kicks."

"I try." She leans on Rose. "See ya later, baby gator!"

"See you, Dave. Remember, we're meeting Kanaya—"

"On the 12th so you can have a date while I dress up in whatever catches your eye and dance for your amusement, yep," you deadpan. "I'm as hyped as a guy can be."

"Oh, you better be, or I'll put you in the pinkest thing in the store," she teases. Deadpan, you place a hand over your chest.

"A fate worse than death, Lalonde."

She laughs. "Goodbye, Dave."

"See ya." You turn on the ball of your foot and wave behind you in one fluid motion. You swear you hear Rose snickering at you, and to be honest, you'd be snickering at yourself too, yeah. The idol training is rubbing off on you too much.

You hop on the bus to go home, head down and shoulders hunched. Usually you hate getting on the bus while dressed up all fancy, but today you feel uncomfortable due to the hat you've worn to hide your hair. You don't look fancy. You look like a guy who threw a hat on with his fancy suit. The thought makes you feel sick to your stomach and you don't know why.

But the bus arrives at your stop and you get off, shouldering your way past everyone else to get to the door in time. You find your apartment complex and climb the fire escape dead silently. Hopefully your Bro is still out of the house — he's cool and all but you're not really a fan of being caught coming home.

You're lucky, it seems — as you slide into your window, the apartment is dead silent. The lights are all switched off, and opening your door reveals only darkness beyond it. Just to double check, you poke around the living room for a few minutes. And yep, it's completely empty.

You breathe out a sigh of relief and head back into your room, taking off your suit jacket and getting ready for bed. In some sort of haze, you end up by your closet again, halfway to unlocking the dresser drawer with your girl clothes before you realize what you're doing.

"Great going, Strider," you mutter, leaving it alone. You don't need that. You're trying to get changed for bed, not for a performance, for fucks sake.

You finish getting changed and lay down. Sleep comes fitfully — you jump at every small sound and spend more time staring at the ceiling than actually sleeping — but it does come eventually. You're used to restless sleep, anyways; it's as natural to you as breathing.

You dream of petticoats and glitter, of music blaring as your body falls into a rhythm that's second nature to you. You dream of short skirts and high heels, of pills that change your body into something altogether more familiar than it should be. You dream of tights under your skirts and fruity drinks. You dream of people calling out "Dawn" as you pass, of your voice being high and light.

You dream of being a girl, and wake up three times that night in a cold sweat, wondering why you don't feel as bad about it as you should.

Chapter Text

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you're out with your half-sister and the idol girl she's crushing on at the mall.

Rose had told you to show up dressed like yourself, so you're in a comfy hoodie and jeans today, instead of your idol getup. It feels weird leaving the house without makeup on, now.

You're walking a few steps ahead of Rose and Kanaya, who're gossiping about something or other behind you. You don't care — they can have their date if they want, all you care about is getting cool clothes on Kanaya's dime. Or, well, the Alternia Darlings' dime. You haven't met any of the guys from the group — something that'll change soon, as you're on Terezi and this guy named Karkat's show in January — but they're all paying for your shopping spree.

You roll your eyes behind your shades and return to window shopping. Most of the stores nearby are cheap, flimsy shit, but you don't care. All you want is something that doesn't need a petticoat. You've already gone window shopping for jewelry, too, so you're thinking about maybe swinging by the jewelry store again with Kanaya to bleed her dry for the sake of some sweet bling.

You're holding a smoothie you got from the food court — strawberry banana, it's fire — as a part of Rose and Kanaya's date. It's cool, you love smoothies. And Kanaya'd paid, also.

You take a swig of your smoothie and stop in front of a store.

"Hey, girls," you call, "What do we say about this store." You glance over your shoulder, watching Rose and Kanaya separate, cheeks red. Rose nearly trips over her heels — she's comically overdressed. Which, Kanaya would look overdressed in a burlap sack, so Rose doesn't look too out of place.

"It's up to you, sir fashion manager," Rose teases. That's your excuse for being here outside of your Dame Dawn getup — you're playing the part of your own wardrobe department. Fuckin surreal.

"We can certainly go in," Kanaya says, nodding once. "You said you'll be trying on the clothes?"

"Yep. Same body type as the girl up top." You wince. The girl up top? What are you, a god? Even if you could be, you wouldn't want to be.

"Well then, let's start window shopping." She holds out one hand to your half sister. "Shall we?"

"We shall."

You roll your eyes and lead the way into the store. It's bright and crowded with clothes. Which is to be expected, it's literally a clothes store.

You wander around the girl's section for a while, running your hands over soft fabric. Most of it's pretty generic and it's kinda hard to find red in the sea of pinks and purples. But you'll be fucked if you can't find something passable. A couple pairs of dark red pants catch your attention and you consider slinging them over your shoulder. A few blouses catch your attention, a little simple but nice enough, you guess. Other than that, nothing's really catching your—

Ah.

There is something you can wear.

Your hands land on a red knee-length skirt. It's not as fluffy or ruffled as the numbers you've been wearing so far — in fact, it's simple, just a short red skirt. Even the skirt Rose gave you as a gag gift on your birthday was more elaborate than this, absurdly red and glittery. Hanging on the rack next to it is a pair of plain black tights. They're soft and stretchy, made from a fabric you're not sure if you've ever touched before.

Almost on autopilot, you pick out your size and pass Rose and Kanaya on your way to the changing room.

"Find something you like?"

You pause. "Uh. Yeah."

"Have fun trying it on."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Will do." You rush into the changing room, hands slightly shaking as you lock the door.

You pull the skirt on easily. The tights are a little harder; who would've guessed something called "tights" are tight. But they come on eventually.

It's a perfect fit, you realize. They feel comfortable, you can move in them. Obviously you couldn't wear this on camera, but you kinda wish you could. You feel pretty.

Which is weird and gross. You feel like clawing off your skin. Fuck. You're not even gonna try to look in the mirror because — because you're shaking and you don't want to see. Every time you look in the mirror recently you see something that upsets you. You're not risking that while your sister and an idol girl go on a date.

You say an idol girl like you're not one. That's fuckin hilarious. You snort in laughter. You're an idol girl, dumbass. How could you forget. Air catches in your throat.

"Dave?" That's your half-sister's voice, outside your stall. You freeze like you're in a dinosaur movie. She can't see you if you don't move. She can't see you anyways, dumbass, but you digress.

You stay silent. She's going to notice, and you don't care.

"Strider, I know you're in there," she calls again.

"Uh," your voice nearly dies in your throat before you find the words to say. "That's me, Lalonde. Strider, Dave. Reporting for duty. What do I gotta cut in half or whatever the fuck."

"Cut the dramatics, Strider," she teases through the door. You sure feel like you're being dramatic. Dramatic is your middle name right now. Dave "Dramatic In A Skirt And Tights" Strider, that's you. "I'm here to ask how the fitting is going? Kanaya and I are here for the clothes." You can work with this.

"I don't know," you hum, "seems to me like you're here for your new idol girlfriend. You've got a crush, don't you, Lalonde?"

She sputters. "Well- Kanaya is- well, she's lovely, but that's not the point! She has been a perfectly lovely companion today — considerate and sweet — but that— Strider, you're deflecting. My point is you are deflecting. We're here to get you a new wardrobe and that is what I'm asking after."

"Suuuuure," you deadpan, "you keep telling yourself this isn't just a thinly veiled date." You try and put your hand in pockets that the skirt you're wearing doesn't have. It feels like something's squeezing your heart when you remember what you're wearing. It's suffocating. Almost in a good way, but mostly just in a strange way.

"It is not a date, Strider. Kanaya is lovely but we're here for you." You hear her shift. "How's the clothes? Do they fit?"

Fuck. Okay. "Yeah, uh, a bit more casual than we need but they fit. I was thinking about snagging a pair of those wide leg red pants. I'm a medium."

"I'll go get them." She pauses. "And you can relax. It's just clothes shopping." Before you can bite back a retort, there's the sound of her shoes on the tile as she walks away.

You are, once again, left to your own devices. Great. Not that there's anything bad about being alone in a changing room in a skirt and tights.

God, you feel like you look stupid. You're in a hoodie and a skirt and tights. Your hair is pinned into its bun under your red beanie that Roxy got you for your birthday. You really don't want to look at the mirror.

You've had enough of this, actually. The staring at yourself in the mirror, feeling like something under your skin is wrong, like something about yourself is unnatural. You've had enough of the shaking that starts whenever you get near a mirror. At least this time your face won't sparkle in the mirror you're turned away from. But you're still in a skirt that's way too comfortable for you, in tights that you grabbed on impulse.

You think if you have to have another shaking fit in front of a mirror something in you will break, so you don't face the mirror. You pace in steel-toed heeled boots you got from who knows where, your steps as light as possible, and you do not think about how nice it feels to be wearing tights.

You're not going to face the mirror. You're not, you're not, you-

You turn on your heels in the most graceful, practiced maneuver known to man or god and face your reflection. If you're gonna stop the shaking fits, then why the fuck not just desensitize yourself to it.

Yeah, it's objectively a bad idea, and yeah your hands start shaking, but you're turned around and that's all that matters.

The first thing you can bring yourself to notice is your head. Your hair pokes out from under your hat and your shades cover most of your face. Your expression is carefully flat as always. Even still, you can swear you're slightly red from nerves.

Your hoodie drapes over your body perfectly — you like clothes that hide your body shape, mostly. Your idol career has been a departure from that, but you don't mind as much. After all, if you're gonna be so far outside your comfort zone, why care about your body shape. Plus, it feels different when you're in a skirt. Like you can wear whatever and pull if off perfectly.

Today you wanted to wear a chunky belt for no reason other than you like the look of it, so you are wearing one. It looks nice. Goes with your hoodie. It's comfortable, too, which is almost as important as aesthetics to you.

And then there's the skirt. You… you think you like it. It works pretty well with your outfit. The tights are nice, too. It's sorta hard to think about, but if you're just detached enough you can admit it looks nice. Which you are. Detached. You don't care in the slightest. You sit down to stop your knees from shaking.

You think the part that scares you is…

You think the part that scares you is that it doesn't scare you. Seeing yourself in a skirt doesn't scare you. It looks nice, you look nice. You've been having dreams about being a girl — dreams about looking exactly like you do now except your hair doesn't have to be hidden — and they feel right.

And that scares you. You feel like shouldn't want this. Like this is something wrong and taboo. So you hide the mirrors, you let other people do your makeup, try not to reach for your locked cabinet of girl clothes as you get dressed every morning.

You take off your shades and stare at your reflection.

It stares back. He, she, whatever. Your reflection stares back at you, face flat, eyes gently squinted against the stupid-ass fluorescent lights in this changing room. Feet planted on the floor, knees together. You, Dave Strider, stare into the mirror, and a girl in a skirt and a hoodie and tights stares back.

Your chest feels tight. Like someone's squeezing you like you're a fucking stress toy. Against your better judgment, you hold that feeling. Take it in your hands and cradle it gently to your chest or some sappy shit like that. Run your fingers over it, see where it aches, where it bleeds, where it feels like a raw wound instead of a bruise.

It's raw, and tender, and visceral, and painful, and so, so soft all at once. You don't know what to do with it besides sit with it, holding your own gaze in the mirror.

It is scary. It is scary and you don't know why. You don't know why it scares you. You don't know why it hurts. The only thing you know is that it's yours. The pain, the fear, the way you sit, the need to never let go, it's all yours. A part of you never wants the pain to lift, and that's probably the scariest thing.

You'd never admit any of this to anyone else. Hell, you're barely admitting it to yourself, alone in a changing room. You're Dave Strider, you don't fuckin get scared. You're an unflappable ironic bastard and you take goddamn pride in that. If anyone else heard a word of your entirely-too-sappy inner monologue you think you'd have to do some sort of acrobatic pirouette off the handle.

There's a sudden knock on the door and you violently startle, reaching for a sword you don't have on you.

"It's me," your half-sister calls. "I brought the pants you were talking about."

"Right, yeah, just give me a second." Thank fuck your voice is naturally flat. Quickly, you snag your shades and slide them on gingerly, hands shaking. It's fine. You're fine. She just startled you, you're doing completely fine. Shakily, you stand and walk over to the changing room door. Hesitantly, you crack it open. Rose looks you up and down as you hold out your hand.

"Hm."

"I don't want to hear it, Lalonde, just hand me the pants," you mutter. She smirks and hands them over.

"I was simply going to say you looked nice, Strider," she informs you. Before you can respond beyond a raised eyebrow she can't see, she walks away.

You're not thinking about how that makes you feel, the awkward straining of something in your chest. If you were stupider, you'd call it something like happiness, but that's fuckin moronic. For one, you haven't been properly happy in your life. Prices of being a super cool stoic dude. For another… for another, why would that have made you happy?

In any case, you stifle the feeling. Not on your watch, feeling. Nothing changes your cool unflappable image.

You stare down blankly at the fabric in your hands. Deep red, and soft. Wider at the legs than at the tops.

Right. Pants. You're here to put on a pair of pants.

You change and come out of the changing room in the pants, posing when you reach Rose and Kanaya, who are sitting and talking to each other quietly. Both of them look up when you pose in front of them, Rose with a knowing smirk (because of course), and Kanaya with a soft smile.

"How do I look, girls?" you ask.

"They look comfortable, though maybe not with that hoodie."

"Oh, hush," Kanaya says in a lighthearted tone of voice. "They look wonderful on you. The fit is nice, though I think I could source you a higher quality pair if you wanted? Something better than the fast fashion here, hemmed in gold maybe."

"Uh, you sure?"

"Of course. Here, let me show you a place where we can take your measurements."

"Lemme get changed first."

You head back into the dressing room and change into the pants you brought. You hesitate when grabbing the skirt and tights. In all honesty, you're not sure you should want them. But you do. But you shouldn't.

You leave them, grabbing the pants instead. Rose raises an eyebrow when you come out with only the pants she got for you, and you notably do not react. She can fuckin deal, you're not grabbing what you're not grabbing.

You feel guilty, though. You still — irrationally, strangely, horribly — want them. You think you're broken.

Kanaya leads you and Rose through the mall. She moves fluidly, like it's second nature — considering you'd been ahead of her earlier, you hadn't noticed the fluid movement of her steps. You also hadn't noticed the way people stare at her until now. She's famous, which makes her notable, and puts you on edge while you follow her.

She stops in front of a store and ushers you in. The next few minutes are a blur of activity you barely register as people surround you and guide you to a secluded spot. You're manhandled onto a platform where someone starts holding out different parts of your body to measure.

Kanaya sits on a bench directly in front of you. Before Rose can sit down next to her, Kanaya lifts a hand to stop her.

"Actually, Rose, I was wondering if you'd do something for me?"

"Of course, what did you need?"

Kanaya digs around in her purse before pulling out a credit card and holding it out. "I'm getting a little munchy, and I'm sure Dave here is as well. Would you mind going down to the food court and getting us some of those pretzels we saw earlier?"

Rose pauses. "Are you sure? I'd have to leave the two of you alone."

"I'm certain. The two of us can take care of ourselves for a few minutes, and I'd like to be here to supervise the fitting and receive the numbers."

"Well, if there's nothing I can do to stop you." She shrugs. "I'll be back soon."

She waves at you knowing full well you can't move while your arms are being measured, and then your half-sister leaves you alone with the idol girl she's crushing on. Traitor. She should know you don't know what to do with this fancy-ass girl. You're just a dude, you're not seriously equipped to talk with Kanaya. Not to mention she seemed like the fanciest of the group during the interview. You hold back a shudder.

Kanaya turns to you, hesitation clear on her face.

"I would like to preface this with saying that I don't mean to come off… accusatory, I suppose? Or too forward, I know we just met. Please don't take this the wrong way."

You raise an eyebrow comically high so it's visible over your shades. "Okay?"

"It is simply with good intentions I say this — and you seem like a lovely person — oh, maybe we should be properly alone for this—"

"Just get on with it, Kanaya," you tell her, keeping your voice level. She tugs at her lip with her teeth — which aren't sharp, and which surprises you. It really shouldn't, she's not actually a vampire and you know this.

"I've been where you are before," she settles on. You watch as her hands tighten in her skirt — red and ruffled. You'd've never guessed a girl with such heavy green theming would like red.

"What do you mean?" you ask, apprehension creeping into your voice despite your best efforts to stifle it.

"I mean, I know what it's like to… to hide who you are. To try and stifle how you really want to be. To feel like… to feel like you're faking."

You don't let your confusion show on your face, but she surely feels it from the way she sighs and continues.

"I wasn't always the girl you see before you. I used to be like you — self-assured, surely, but uncertain of my place in the world. More comfortable in the skin of someone who I told myself I could never be. I used to get dressed up and feel a tightness in my chest as I saw my own reflection. Like happiness I was too scared to let myself really feel." She's no longer making eye contact with you, instead staring down at her hands in her skirt. You, on the other hand, feel like you can't pull your eyes away from her. It's like watching a trainwreck. "I used to be a boy."

It all slides into place when she says that. Like a stupid kid's sliding puzzle where it's supposed to make a picture but in reality it's a bitch and a half to even try to do and you give up halfway through with the eyes in the forehead and the hands right up where the ass should be.

She thinks you're trans.

You're not, of course you're not. If you were a trans girl you'd be a real girl, instead of just some guy pretending to be one. If you were trans this'd all be easier. You would be a woman, at least on the inside, and you'd be able to live your life in cute skirts with a name that suits you. Everything would be harder, yeah, you know a lot of people would hate you, but at least you'd be living your life honestly. But you're not trans, you're just some dude pretending to be a girl for your own gain.

"Listen, Dawn," your heart constricts at the name, that strange feeling flooding back. She really thinks you're a real girl and not just some pretender. "I understand what it's like. It can feel- it can feel terrifying. Like everyone is out to get you, like you're a fake. But you're not."

"I- I think you have me wrong,," you stammer. "I'm not a girl. I'm just— just some guy. Who happens to be on the team. Y'know." You feel like you're shaking apart into a thousand pieces. This is hands down one of the most terrifying conversations you've ever had to have — idol girl your sister has a crush on versus disgusting faker pretending to be a girl for clout.

"I know what it feels like," Kanaya repeats, lifting her head. Were her eyes always so soft but so piercing? They're brown — weren't they green when you met the first time? Does she wear contacts? Fuck, you're stress-rambling in your head. "I know what it feels like to be scared. To feel that straining in your chest, pushing against everything you think you know. Everything you think you are. It hurts, and it's terrifying."

She stands, walking towards you. The people measuring you fall back — you think they're doing something with the numbers you got? — but all that matters is you're on a raised platform while some girl you barely know takes your hands in hers. Maybe you know her now, though. Fuck, her hands are so soft. You feel like crying and you don't even know why.

"It gets better, Dawn," she tells you, her voice full of soft earnestness. "If you let yourself feel that, if you take that step, it gets better. You don't have to pretend to be someone you don't want to be. You can just be Dawn. Permanently."

Your breath catches in your throat. For one singular moment, you live in a world where what she's saying is true. Where you could turn to Rose and decide to never take off the mask, to live in it, to adjust it to who you want to be. Or maybe where you take off the mask forever, where you let the bleeding and raw parts of your heart take control.

"I don't know- I don't know what you're talking about," you tell her instead, your voice cracking. She smiles.

"I think you do, Dawn. But it's alright to be scared. Heaven knows I was when I first came out. You don't have to make a decision now — I won't let Rose know that I know and you don't have to do anything." She presses her forehead to yours and your words die in your throat. "I just wanted to let you know you have options. You don't have to be scared forever."

Her hands in yours tighten slightly, squeezing. You're reminded of your reflection in the mirror — holding a messy feeling to your chest. In this moment, you imagine holding it with her, the too-tender parts of your soul cradled in your hands, her fingers running softly over them. You didn't know — still don't know — what to do with the ache but she holds it with such softness. Smooths away the fear you barely admit to harboring.

That straining in your chest comes back. This time, it doesn't beat against your ribcage like it wants to rip and tear. It presses, and instead of stifling, you give. It's soft and warm and shit, you feel like you're about to cry.

"It feels like," you don't know what you're saying, why you're talking, but you are, "I'll always be scared. Like there's something wrong with me. I don't- I don't think I am a… I don't think I am what you think I am, but I'm so scared."

"It's okay. I didn't think I was a girl at the start, either. Or in the middle. All that matters is that you go at your own pace, alright? One step at a time, forever forward. It will get better, Dawn, and you don't have to rush there. I know you were saying you had some sense of time, on the show?" You snort in laughter, nodding. You'd kinda forgotten she put this together from your idol act. Your idol shtick is kinda the last thing on your mind right now. "Then you know everything happens in its own time."

In your head, Kanaya places your heart back in your own hands. It's delicate and torn, the layers of irony you've built up around it removed, but it's soft and beautiful in a way you'd never thought you could be. The straining in your chest is replaced by the emotional equivalent of a fuckin hug, of Kanaya's too-soft hands in yours, of her forehead pressed to yours. It's beyond warm, it's a fuckin inferno that threatens to devour you, but instead of feeling like kindling you feel like a phoenix or some cheesy bullshit like that.

Slightly delirious, you decide you approve of her. Rose can have her, she's a great person. You'll give Rose shit for it, of fuckin course, but there's no one you'd rather your fuckin Freud-fetishist half-sister end up with. Maybe they can psychoanalyze people together, wouldn't that be a nightmare. Or maybe a dream. Who fuckin knows.

"I…" your chest is still tight with fear, but it's more so fear of change. But you don't think you can say it yet. You think your name is still Dave Strider, and you're still just someone pretending instead of a real girl who fought your way there.

Irrationally, you're so fuckin jealous of Kanaya. She made herself with her own two hands, she decided her name and her colors and the shape of her smile and the tone of her voice. She's a real girl in ways you don't think you can ever be. In ways you don't think you'll ever be worthy of.

But you want to be.

Fuck you, you want more than anything else to be someone like her. To be a girl, to fight for being a girl. To look yourself in the mirror and know that finally your face matches your heart, for happiness to be more than a caged straining feeling that defines you in misery.

"I think I'll still be scared for a while," you admit softly, more to yourself. "I don't think I can take the next step yet."

"And you don't have to." One of her too-soft hands lands on your cheek. "You've taken the first one. And that's all that matters."

She lets go and steps back, and you miss her warmth as soon as she does. But you don't let it show on your face. You don't let anything show on your face, not the beating of your heart or the cold that sets in as she walks over to talk with the people who had been measuring you.

With calculated steps, you walk over and sit down on the bench where she had been, head spinning. You watch, detached from your own body, as she receives a slip of paper and folds it inside her skirt. You wrestle your face back to its normal, carefully crafted expression.

Somehow, you feel like you've been stabbed in the chest in a strife with Bro, but like it's the best thing that's ever happened to you.

Rose comes back bearing three pretzels, and wordlessly presses a shopping bag into your hands along with yours. You squint at her behind your shades in confusion and she makes eye contact for a second. You freeze up as she holds your gaze impossibly. And then she smiles and gestures at the bag in your hands.

You open it slightly, curious beyond words. It's probably a present of some sort — which is wild, considering that your birthday was a little over a week ago. But whatever, you need something to bring you back to some baseline after Kanaya's whatever-the-fuck where she made you feel motherfuckin shrimp emotions with just a few words. Well, many words, it was more like a speech— you're losing control of this tangent.

The point is: you open the bag Rose pressed into your hands, peeking in it curiously.

Inside the bag is a set of clothes, neatly folded over one another. Red and black layered on top of each other. You realize — with a dawning sense of what you think is as close to embarrassment as you get — that it's the skirt and tights you'd tried on. The exact same pair, you're pretty sure. She must've gone back and gotten them from the store after you left. There's a shirt in there, too, in the same shade as the skirt, with a scoop neckline and long sleeves. It's completely something you'd pick out yourself — more casual than for your idol job, of course, but it's fashionable and you honestly like it. No frills, no ruffles, just a plain red shirt to go with your plain red skirt.

You shut the bag quickly, looking away like it's going to burn your eyes if you keep looking. She bought you clothes because she noticed you looking at them. God, that's so thoughtful you're going to puke. "Rose Lalonde" and "genuine gesture" don't belong in the same sentence.

You're kidding, of course. You're touched in a way you don't know how to explain. You just know you can never say this out loud.

Lifting your eyes from the bag in your hands, you take a bite of the pretzel Rose gave you as you watch her and Kanaya talk.

Rose hands over a pretzel, grinning smugly as Kanaya takes a bite. Kanaya seems to choke for a second, before giggling with a hand over her mouth. Rose brushes a strand of hair out of her face. All very cute, run of the mill date shit. They really are a good match, you note, taking another bite of your own pretzel — seriously, soft pretzels are the shit. You know Kanaya only sent Rose out to get them so the two of you could have some weirdly-emotionally-charged one-on-one time, but they're so fuckin fire you can't even complain.

Kanaya squeezes your half-sister's hand once — cute and way too sweet, you suppress the urge to fake-gag to make fun of them — and walks over to where you sit on the bench.

"I think we're done here, then?"

"Uh, yep, we're done. Nothing more to do here. You got my measurements so you can go all gettin the fancy clothes we need and sh— stuff like that. Sorry girls, wrap up the date."

Rose's face instantly turns a bright shade of red and Kanaya looks away, covering her face with one hand.

"This is not a date, Strider," she stammers, taking on a scolding tone of voice. You resist the urge to laugh.

"Suuuuuure, the trip to a mall where you bought smoothies and pretzels, walked around while gossiping and went shopping isn't a date at all. Nope, nothing even romantically adjacent here." You get to your feet. "I'm gonna go see if Dirk's got the car here, enjoy talking out all your cheesy feelings on whether or not this is a date with each other. See ya."

Before either of them can stop you, you leave the two lovebirds. If Kanaya can corner you into some over-emotional talk about a gender you still don't fully feel you're allowed to have, then you can corner them into having alone time to talk with each other. It's fair game, in your obviously correct opinion.

You head out to the car, weaving your way through the mall with your head down. Big open spaces like this always skeeve you the fuck out, but it was worth it for your stupid-ass idol job.

As is kinda normal by this point, you find yourself thinking mad introspective thoughts about the wild-ass rollercoaster of a day you've just had. Fuck your stupid idol life and all the wild things you've done along the way.

Well. Maybe you don't hate it as much as you want to.

You like it, if you're going to completely drop the facade for a second. The dancing is fun, you like music and shitty pop is pretty fun now that you're into it. The people you're meeting aren't all that bad; you like Kanaya in all her unironic and genuine intensity, and you kinda fuck with Terezi from the few conversations you've had. She's told you that you'd like her friend Karkat, too, the idol boy she shares a show with.

The show you're going to in January, you remember. It's not that far off, honestly. It's what, mid-December? And you don't have anything lined up for the holidays, so you doubt anything's gonna happen until then.

So, less than a month and you'll be with Terezi and the guy she says you'll vibe with. You can do this. Not like being on some fancy show in a skirt is completely new like it was last time.

That's the part that still holds you up, though. The girl clothes.

You… you can't lie to yourself. You feel better about it all, now that your half-sister's idol-crush has spent way too long monologuing at you. For the first time since literally like, July, you don't feel like there's something crushing your chest or like your heart is a raw wound. It's nice, and you're still coming to terms with it.

What in the world are you supposed to do with yourself, now? Now that you can look at the clothes in the bag and imagine yourself in them without your hands shaking? Now that someone's looked you dead in the eyes and said it's fine to feel like you're pretending, it's fine to want the things you want, the things you need.

God, you're fuckin giddy, or nearly so, or something like that. You're allowed to feel all the cheesy emotions you've been feeling, allowed to want. You feel like you're fit to burst, but like, in a good way.

You make it out of the mall and find Dirk's car, a beat-up number he got from who-fuckin-knows-where. He's renovated it so many times the make and model is barely recognizable. He's got the windows rolled up when you walk up, so you knock on one of them and he glances up from his phone before rolling it down.

"Hey, what's up? That pretzel for me?" You roll your eyes and take another pointed bite of your soft pretzel.

"No fuckin way, dude. Rose's idol girl crush bought this shit for me on her company card."

"Damn. You at least get me a smoothie or some shit?" You shake your head.

"If you wanted mall snacks you shoulda come in with us."

"You're batshit if you think I'm going to third wheel Rose's date."

"Fourth wheel. C'mon man, you can't just forget about me, I had to get dragged all over this place and dressed up." He laughs.

"Didn't even take that long, dude. What're you even here for?"

"I ditched the girls to make them talk about their feelings or something cheesy like that. I was coming to chill in the car. Can I sit shotgun instead of Lalonde?" Dirk leans forward on one hand and taps his chin like he's thinking.

"Give me the rest of your pretzel and it's all yours."

"Deal." You pass the half-eaten pretzel through the window and Dirk presses a button in his car. You hear the distinctive click-thunk of the door unlocking and walk around the side of the car to slot yourself in shotgun. Dirk munches on what's left of your pretzel as you get comfortable with your shopping bag.

Neither of you are talkative, though, so you sit there in relative silence; just two cool dudes in a car waiting for your friend to come out of the mall.

As you kinda figured, Rose scolds you for taking her spot, to which you and Dirk explain the preztel situation. She tries to counter-offer what's left of her smoothie but he refuses it and you peel off.

All in all, when you get home and crawl in through your window to stash your girl clothes, you'd say that you're feeling better about yourself than you have in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you stand slightly out of view of the cameras as the lights flood the stage.

You're here on Karkat and Terezi's show, a talk show where the two of them bullshit whatever it is they want to talk about. Supposedly, they have one of the bigger shows among the Alternia Darlings, with the pair of them bouncing off each other well. Karkat also has one of the largest followings out of the guys of the Alternia Darlings, which doesn't hurt.

As is pretty much your life at this point, you're dressed up in some overly frilly outfit — cute skirt, cropped jacket, ponytail with red highlights, heels that give you a solid few inches. The works. You're red, and glittery, and girly, and you're starting to think you're okay with not hating it. Your ironic bit has gone way further than you ever thought it would and you're kinda living for it at this point. You feel alive, or some cheesy shit like that.

Terezi sports a grin from her spot on the couch, hands crossed over her dragon seeing-eye cane. She's covered in teal scales that glitter in the light and chunky golden jewelry. It's tacky, but somehow incredibly tasteful. She looks like some combo of a dragon and a knight, and it works well.

Karkat is the guy sat next to her, short shaggy hair and all. He looks, in all honesty, a lot like if you were a guy-idol: long cotton cape in a vibrant red color, silver plating on his shoulders. There's a helmet he's holding at his side, flat-headed and with a feather in it. On his other hip hangs a set of dual sickles. The number one theme you notice on his armor, however, is dark red beaded chains hanging off of him. They give almost the illusion of blood — sparkling, dripping off his shoulders. You're kinda jealous but Kanaya's already promised to set you up with his armor-crafters so you're not that jealous.

Okay, maaaaaybe you're still jealous. Those are kinda sick as fuck, it's kinda really hard to not be jealous. You have your weaknesses, and those just so happen to be sick-ass clothes.

Rose is dressed sharply, in a suit Kanaya bought her. As is her default state after months of stage-career-managing, she's holding her clipboard and scribbling something in it. You don't bother wondering what she's writing in it; chances are equal that she's writing actually important stuff or incredibly ordinary.

Canned studio applause plays as the show begins. Finally, you feel like you've been standing in the wings forever.

"Hello, all our lovely viewers!" Her grin widens — you're pretty sure she's wearing fake fangs — as she speaks.

"Welcome back to our show, or if you're a first time viewer, welcome in. I'm Karkat Vantas and this is my friend and colleague, Terezi Pyrope."

"For those of you who don't know the deal," Terezi leans forward in a way that looks vaguely like she's winking, even though her eyes are covered by her shades, "you don't need to worry. This isn't a stiff-collared show, we're just two friends hanging out. Only thing strange about it is that it's televised." She cackles, high and shrill.

"Today, though, we do have a plan. Or is there something you're forgetting to tell us, Terezi?"

"Hmmmm, am I?" She leans into his space with a bright grin. He rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated. It's kinda surreal to see them being normal friends and not some perfect santized version of it for the camera. You guess the people want genuine emotional connection and not some canned crap.

"Stop fucking around and introduce our guest," he tells her, shoving her. She cackles again but leans back, gesturing off hand where you wait.

"If you've watched our main show — or, well, been on the internet lately — you know her, you love her, you've heard her angelic voice and been waiting for the moment you could see her on a stage; the lovely Dame Dawn!"

A roar of canned applause greets you as you walk onto the stage, waving brightly. Your skirt bounces around your legs as you twirl to face the cameras. The studio lights beat down on you, but your smile is practiced and hopefully cute, so it's worth the slight eyestrain.

"Hello, everyone. It's a delight to be here."

"Take a seat, Dawn."

You do, smiling and nodding at Terezi as you fold your skirt under you in a fluid gesture and lay your arms over your lap. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Karkat size you up, seemingly surprised by something about you.

"Welcome on in our show. Terezi's told me a lot about you."

"Well, she did spend the entire time we last met asking me question after question," you joke. "Honestly, I'd be offended if she hadn't said anything ."

"Trust me, she never shuts up. About anything." He scowls — how is this guy the most popular guy in the group? — as Terezi hits his leg with her cane.

"Where's the fun in not annoying you with everything? I have no mouth and I must annoy Karkat Vantas."

"Yeah, we can all really tell." He rolls his eyes dramatically and turns to you. "Are you hearing her bullshit, Dawn?" You chuckle lightly.

"Yep, loud and clear. And you know, I think I'd have to side with her, dude. Girls gotta stick together." You minutely adjust your smile, pinning it back into place. Terezi nods once, grinning at you.

"See, someone here understands me!" Karkat sighs a long suffering sigh and leans back on his hands, shifting his helmet onto his lap.

"Great. Guess I can't get a fucking break around here. Everyone wants me to lose my mind from annoyance."

"Yep," you tell him, crossing your legs over each other, "no rest for the wicked and no breaks for you. We're going to annoy you so much there's not going to be anything left for the folks at home to cheer for." You almost wince. For a second, you think your joke's a little too far for a talk show like this.

But the corners of Karkat's mouth turn up as he shakes his head at you.

He turns to Terezi, a small smile on his face. "I have to admit it, you were right. She's funny."

"I told you! She's hilarious," she responds with a smirk as she turns back to you. "And so, I've got a little surprise for you."

"Oh?" You raise an eyebrow, careful to keep your smile up. "A surprise? Really?"

"Yep!" You watch as she digs in her pocket for a second, moving her cane to the side to give her a better angle. Finally, she seems to find what she's looking for, pulling it out and handing it over. "From the dragon to a knight; here's something just for you."

You hold it where the camera can see it as you look at it. It's… a pair of glasses? They're thin, red shades, almost exactly the same pair that Terezi has on, if a little — well, a lot — more translucent. They're rimmed in gold, just like hers, and when you hold your hand behind them, you can see it.

Out of every single scheme you've ever been a victim of — even if mostly at the hands of your family — you think this is the best one for you. She must've taken note of your light sensitivity at the last interview you did with the group and sourced a second pair of her shades for you. That's both surprisingly thoughtful for being work colleagues at best and also really, really fucking good for you. Your eyes thank her.

And since you're in your idol persona, you should thank her. You lift your head, flashing your biggest, friendliest smile — which, granted, isn't very big. Damn all those years of learning to keep your expression completely flat and neutral, it's really fuckin sabotaging your smiling skill now.

"Thank you, this is actually really considerate." She blushes slightly and waves a hand dismissively in your general direction.

"Don't even mention it. You join me in bullying Karkat, I gift you a set of my glasses. It's just a way of indotrinating you into my brand." She snickers and you chuckle back at her.

"Well, I'm glad our brands are at least close enough in color scheme that these don't clash with my whole outfit." You slide them on and it's such a fucking relief to have something covering your eyes. You watch as Terezi leans on Karkat, who rolls his eyes but doesn't shove her off.

"If you two are done with your display of cross-idol-group friendship," he sighs dramatically, "we have a show to get on with. Unless you both somehow forgot?"

"Nahhhhhhhh," a voice calls from off-stage. The cameras pivot and you turn to see Vriska, clad in a simpler outfit than last time, holding a cutlass in one hand and something you can't quite see in the other. Canned studio clamor rises. "That sounds boring as all hell. What, are you gonna discuss nerd shit?"

She strides across the stage, her gait carefully measured and confident. She tosses something at you and you catch it one-handedly, maintaining eye-contact. It's a sword, complete with scabbard, red and gold swirled together. The weight's decent, and at a quick glance, you can't see any obvious defects in the metal. Which, yes, you do immediately slide a sword that was just tossed at you from across the room out of the scabbard to examine the quality. The point is that it's a well-constructed sword.

"What do you say, Dame Dawn, Knight of Time?" Vriska asks, tilting her head with a mocking tone of voice. "Are you taking me up on the fight you started last time? Or are you chicken."

"Okay, first of all, you started that fight," you retort, rising to your feet with a flourish. "Second of all?"

"You bet your ass you're on."

You stand in a seperate area of the studio, Rose directly in front of you holding her clipboard. You hold the sword Vriska threw at you in your non-dominant hand by the scabbard.

"And you're certain you want to go through with this?" she asks, tapping her pen against the clipboard.

"Of course it is, Rose," you tell her. "I made a promise. Plus, it'll be good for publicity. Dame Dawn versus Vriska, on the stage of— wait I don't think they ever mentioned the name of this show." You go to think about it, but Rose sighs heavily.

"That's… not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" She hesitates, glancing across the room at Karkat, Terezi, and Vriska. They're busy strapping lightweight armor to her arms. You've already got your own set on, tied tightly around your arms and your torso. It's tight, but it's just a safety precaution.

"It's a swordfight," she stresses, her voice low. "I just don't want you to… have an adverse reaction to it. Or go overboard." You sigh, and lower your voice to match her.

"C'mon, Lalonde, trust me. I'll keep myself under control. I know how to not go apeshit on someone."

"I know you know how to control yourself, Strider. I trust you. I just." She lifts the pen halfway to her mouth like she's going to chew on it. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm worried about you. But I'm being silly, aren't I." She sighs, pulls back, and smiles softly. "Good luck out there, Dawn."

You hesitate for a fraction of a second, then nod. "Of course, Rose."

She steps back to her spot, leaving you in your starting position, sword in hand. You adjust the shades on your face with one hand, still trying to get used to the red tint. It's not quite as difficult to adjust to as you'd first thought, but it's weird and different from your usual flat black.

You draw the sword while the camera's still off, inspecting the blade. As you'd thought when Vriska first tossed it at you, it's not bad quality. The blade itself is lightweight but strong, solid all the day through. There's no obvious nicks or scratches in the blade and it doesn't bend too far when you press it against its own scabbard. Honestly, you're surprised Vriska got such a great sword. You're used to using shittier ones with Bro while he got the fancy shit, but this is honestly a nice change of pace. You swing it through the air once. It makes a slight swoosh sound and sparkles in the light.

"And we're on in three," a voice starts counting down from offstage and you slide the sword back into its scabbard, "two, one, live!"

Canned cheering greets you along with a brief jingle as Terezi and Karkat return to the middle of the stage.

"We're back on stage with the girls of the hour. Can't believe our show's being hijacked for a duel but here we are."

"In this corner," she makes a grand sweeping gesture towards Vriska, "we have the Alternia Darlings' own most famous girl. You know her, you love her, some of you hate her guts. The Spider of the High Seas, the Lady of the Eight Eyes, Vriska Serket!"

Vriska plants her feet firmly and flourishes her cutlass when the camera goes onto her. Her confidence is palpable. You'll have to show her up when it's your turn.

"And in this corner," Karkat gestures at you, "the newcomer to our show. She's sassy, she's smart, she's taking the world by storm. The girl you're all rooting for, the Knight of Time herself — Dame Dawn Strider!"

You do a twirl as you draw your sword, pointing it directly at Vriska. Behind your shades, you make direct eye contact, which she returns. The two hosts of the show let you have your badass sword moment for a second before moving on with the show.

"I hope you're ready to taste steel."

"Oh, please," you scoff, twirling your sword with expert skill, "I won't be touching any part of a blade that isn't the handle."

"Aw, that's cute," she chuckles. "I almost don't want to wipe that adorable confidence out."

"Are you going to pseudo-flirt or are you going to get on with it already," Karkat huffs. Terezi cackles.

"Come on, Karkat, you can't be too mean to them. A little banter is fun, makes sure stuff isn't too boring."

Terezi and Karkat step back to a table set off to the side, Karkat sliding his helmet onto his head. In all honesty, you'd kinda thought that helmet was decorative, but it looks sick as fuck on him so it's whatever.

You and Vriska take your positions. After a second of thought, you toss the — admittedly beautiful — scabbard off to the side to get a better grip on your sword. You're used to two-handed swords, not one-handed, after all. It's going to be an adjustment but hey, your Bro didn't spend all that time training you for nothing. You know you can take down this cocky-ass idol girl, no sweat. She seems to be every bit as confident as you are, at least.

"On the count of three, the fight will start!" Terezi calls, pointing the end of her cane with scary accuracy directly at you.

"No foul play, no serious injuries. We don't have the budget for a fucking hospital trip and we don't want one. That means you, Vriska," Karkat says, scowling. Vriska rolls her eyes.

"One,"

"Two,"

"Three!"

As soon as the pair of them finish talking, Vriska lunges at you, cutlass held low. Despite being in heels, you dodge out of the way more on reflex than anything, swinging your sword up to catch her blade with a distinct ringing sound. You're honestly a little impressed you're holding your balance in heels so well. Vriska grins and disengages her cutlass, stepping back. Even though you're far from used to being on the offensive, you follow up by coming up behind her and slicing down. There's a momentary look of shock and surprise on her face as she scrambles to pull her cutlass up to block you.

The rush of energy you associate with fighting flows through you like an electric jolt. It's as natural as breathing, as terrifying as falling off a cliff. You're used to it, used to the way your muscles tense as you back away from Vriska, heels landing lightly on the wooden flooring of the stage. It's different from the carpet in your apartment, or the concrete of the roof, but the sound of your blades meeting is the same as ever.

She aims for your face and, hands shaking, you flashstep away.

Fuck, why are your hands shaking? You can't- you're struggling to breathe, which is normal for a strife with Bro but Vriska isn't Bro. She's some pretentious stuck up idol girl with a god complex and fucking sequins glued to her face. Bro wouldn't be caught dead with sequins on his face, or covered in the silver jewelry that dangles off of Vriska, or on a talk show, fighting you.

You're firmly on the back foot now, breathing heavily as Vriska swings for you. Every time your blades collide, a sharp noise rings out, contricting your chest that little bit further. The world feels blurry around the edges, like a shitty picture that someone fucked up in the darkroom. The tips of your fingers are numb where they dig into the handle of your blade.

She goes for your legs and for a brief, terrifying second, you see shades instead of golden contacts, a hat instead of long hair. When you swing your blade up to catch hers, the familiar clang of metal causes you to skip a breath. You're almost expecting to hear the cry of crows from all around you, to feel the oppressive heat of Texas instead of the carefully curated air-conditioning of the room.

And then, as suddenly as it started, it's over.

Vriska is on her back, staring up at you in shock. Or maybe fear. Your vision's too blurry to tell. You're standing over her, blade pressed to her neck, her cutlass all the way over by Karkat and Terezi. There's a long cut down the side of her face, right next to her eye, shallow but with blood already welling in it. Cuts on the head and face bleed extra, you recall dimly. The amount of slices you've gotten yourself have drilled that into your head.

You don't remember how this happened, how you won this stupid strife, but you know your face is set into its too-flat normal expression, the one Bro had you cultivate every day of your life. It's a dim knowledge, like you're staring at yourself from an external point of view. Like it's one of those godawful movies that John and Jake like, and the person on the screen is you. You're shouting "do something" at the screen but they just keep standing there, face blank behind layers of glitter you're suddenly fucking certain highlight every hairline scar you've gotten over the years.

You're cold, for some ungodly reason.

"O-okay, that's the end of the fight," she tells you, voice clearly fighting for any semblance of the cockiness she had before. You stare down at her blankly. "You can, like, get off of me now."

Right. The whole standing-over-her-with-a-sword-to-her-throat thing. You'd — somehow — forgot. You back off, muttering something even you can't hear under your breath.

"Cut the cameras," your half sister calls, speedwalking towards you. She's not holding her clipboard, you note dimly. God, it feels like all of your thoughts are dim right now. Are you shivering? You think you're shivering. Terezi and Karkat rush over, Karkat heading for you and Terezi going to Vriska.

"What happened out there? You seemed fine and then you just started moving faster than I thought a person could and now you look..."

"I- I'm fine." You feel fine, anyways. You think. Your hands are still fuckin shaking. You bury them in your skirt to try and stop it, to absolutely no success.

"Would you give us a second, Karkat?" He looks between you and Rose, conflict clear on his face, before throwing his hands up and taking a step back.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Uh, I'll go check on Vriska. Tell me if you two need anything, okay?"

"We'll keep you updated." She places a hand on your shoulder and guides you off the stage. Somehow, despite the shaking and the heels, you manage to not trip. You guess your balance is just that good. She sits you down on a bench close to where she'd been standing during the filming.

She sits you down and presses a water bottle into your hands — where did she get it? From the camera and lighting crew, maybe? You sort of just stare blankly at it for a second, not processing what you're supposed to do with it until she unscrews the top of it and lifts your hands to your mouth.

You take a sip from the water bottle as Rose kneels by your side, looking up at you with more concern than you're used to on her face. You avoid her gaze, hoping to whatever god that exists that she can't see your eyes. Your face stays flat and expressionless, despite your best efforts to try and change it back into your idol persona.

"Strider," she begins, her voice low and hesitant, "how… are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Come on, let me go back to recording the show." She laughs dryly.

"Strider, I appreciate the thought, but I am absolutely not letting you go back on that stage. You… don't seem well enough for that." She pauses. "I know I'm not… usually the most emotional of us all, but I'm… worried, I suppose."

Slowly, you turn to look at her, taking another sip from your water. "You don't need to be worried, Lalonde. I'll— I'm fine. Put me back in, coach, I have, like, a stupid little dance to do."

She shakes her head. "I can't let you do that. We'll— we'll shut down the show for today. You can come to my place, I can make you a snack, get you a drink? Or I could call Jade, I'm sure she'd know what to do or say."

"I'm fine," you say with a tad too much force. She sighs and stands up.

"Whatever you say, Strider. I'm going to go reschedule, and I am not hearing any arguments. You sit there and just — just try and calm down. You're shaking." She walks away over to where Karkat and Terezi are fretting over Vriska.

You look down at your hands. You are, in fact, still shaking. It's weird. You don't really feel it. All your senses feel blurry and far away, like you're not really in your own body. The water in the bottle is sloshing around kinda a lot. You put it down next to you and ball up your hands in your skirt. A part of you is nervous that you're going to tear it.

You're still breathing hard, you realize, like you're still in a strife instead of just having gotten out of one. Every time you blink you see the inside of your apartment. Every loud noise of the camera crew shutting down makes you tense up.

Fuck. Lalonde was right, wasn't she. You're not in any shape to go back on that show.

You startle as something drapes over your shoulders, looking up to see Roxy over you, a cat blanket laying across your shoulders and a donut in her hand.

"Hey Davey baby," she murmurs, crouching down by your side. "Rose called me and Dirky swung by to pick me up." You squint.

"There's no way it's been that long," you tell her.

"Well, I was pretty close, my high school just got out so I was at a nearby Starbucks. But it has been a couple'a minutes since Rosie called. Here, I got this for you." She hands you the donut and smiles kindly at you. "If you're anything like Dirk, you're not the sort who's gonna wanna talk about anything, huh?"

You try to crack a smile, wincing at how stilted it feels. Somehow, it feels like you've forgotten all the hard work you've done to break your eternal poker face. "Nah." You want to say more but your voice dies in your throat, so you don't say anything else. Roxy nods once and sits on the bench next to you.

"I get it. Rose didn't give me a lot of info, just told me to get here fast, but I bet she wouldn't've been that worried if something didn't go wrong." She sighs. "I was just lucky that I was in the area already. And that Dirky was fine with picking me up, too. Usually I'd just drive myself but my Mom sent the car into the shop."

You nod once to let her know you're listening, unable to form words. Roxy smiles at you and gestures at the donut in your hands.

"You should eat something. You don't look that good." You stare down at it blankly, not moving for a while. Yep. That's a donut. You can't really bring yourself to move, for some strange reason. You feel floaty and weird.

And then, suddenly, you're being shepherded into Dirk's car by Roxy, a concerned look on her face. It's like you blinked and suddenly you're in the car with your friends staring at you awkwardly. You've even been changed out of your idol outfit and back into the hoodie and jeans you'd showed up in — probably by Dirk.

"Weren't we just in the studio?" you ask, your voice too slow, too quiet, like you're still hushed and trying to avoid the other idols hearing you.

"We're taking you home," Dirk tells you matter-of-factly.

"You've been zoning out too much for me to in good conscience let you stay in the studio."

"We're worried 'bout you, Davey baby. You gotta promise to take some time for yourself at home, mmkay?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Will do." You give a shaky thumbs up. Roxy sighs happily and Rose's shoulders relax. You can't see if Dirk relaxes due to the fact that he's sitting in the front of the car.

And so, your three worried friends/family members drive you home.