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Entry tags:
Monthly Word Count - June
TOTAL: 18 756 words. ... Wow, not bad at all.
It's all Homestuck, though. mea culpa.
POSTED:
-Battlefield Terra sidefic, Bro & Mom & DirkDave babies (3 063 words)
-"danger, danger, get on the floor" -- JohnKat, danger kink (706 words)
Also Posted:
Earthian Dating, Alternian-Style: Episode Three, The Matesprit/Kismesis Double-Double-Reacharound (which was completed the previous month but posted the 1st.)
Teamwork: old sidefic from an OC POV, not quite complete but it's stuck like a mofo.
WIP:
-Battlefield Terra chapter 5 (7 194 words)
-Karkat<>Gamzee & Dad, culture clashes/hurt-comfort (6 805 words)
-DaveKarkatTerezi recuperacoon porn that I might never complete (or alternately it might slot into Garden at some faraway point who knows) (988 words, all setup and pretty infodumpy one at that :-/)
--
Battlefield Terra chapter 5 (short but i couldn't choose and everything else was even more spoilery about stuff that happens beforehand in the chapter aargh. oh um i might have started posting the beginning on the kink meme, if you guys want to look. It's the posts, uh, 57 onwards. .__.;; This chunk's from later on.)
--
Noir seemed ready to spit nails. Mr. Strider stuck his hands in his pockets as he turned to him -- ooh, insulting, John thought, and could feel Karkat thinking it right alongside him, all 'eh, I could take you just with my feet', echoing so close John could only pick up which was whose from the undertones, John's from knowing the man and Karkat's just because it was apparently this blatant, what do you mean most people wouldn't read it that way.
Assuming you're right and your people are all stupid and blind and trustingsoft then Noir must know him well if he can read him too, Karkat commented, trying to distract himself from the nearly palpable crackle of tension at his back between the two men. John started to turn to look at him, and then a priority message took up his whole left lens.
BR: Egbert, stop chatting up the alien. Half the guys now think you have imaginary friends.
BR: The other, smarter half have probably figured out the glasses thing, it's not that new as technologies go, but honestly. If someone is observant enough to notice that, it's a fair bet they might also notice that it's not Rose you're chatting with. Guy's body language is as controlled and opaque as yours, for fuck's sake, he telegraphs like he's in a western.
Whoops. Um.
"There, there," Mr. Strider was drawling in real time, multitasking telling John off and pissing off Noir like a pro, "nothing to worry about. But Medical just doesn't cut it for a romantic walk, you know? B plus for effort, though."
"I am going to stab you in the kidneys, Strider," Noir hissed really quietly (but Karkat's ears were really good and even if he didn't understand the sounds John did so hey.) "And then I'm going to step on your face and stab you again."
"Aw, hon, that's so sweet," Mr. Strider drawled, at normal volume. A couple of guards choked quietly. "Exit's that way."
--
Karkat<>Gamzee & Dad
This one I have started to post at the Kink Meme so i'm not going to cheat by reposting it as a teaser. So go to the link to read the first scene, and then read this.
Warnings for potential non-con/ephebophilia and fucked-up cultural expectations.
--
John hasn't been coming in his bedroom at night since he was five year old, but instinct and habit are stubborn things. "Son?" he mumbles. He's still more asleep than not, head fuzzy with cobwebs and dissipating dreams. "Everything alright?"
No response, but he's aware that he heard the door opening, it's what woke him. He pushes himself up on one elbow, squints. He can guess at a dark, looming shape by the foot of his bed. "Son?"
A rustle of cloth, and then the bed dips. Someone -- not John, he can't see but he can tell anyway, they don't move like John (they don't feel like John) -- someone shuffles closer, on hands and knees, makes themselves small and low to the ground like they're playing pretend at being a stalking cat. The boy -- simple logic, neither of their alien guests is a young lady -- hunkers down by his side. Paul thinks he sees the short, rounded edge of a pale horn-tip, and beside the other boy, Gamzee, he'd take up more space, nice width to his shoulders, just needs to fill up some...
"Karkat, my boy," he asks, mind slow and voice rough from sleep. "What in the world are you doing here?"
He pats his head, so Karkat won't think he's angry for being disturbed, barely misses his target at all. He feels the curve of a bone-hard horn, and then thick, coarse hair, and ruffles it. It feels remarkably like John's, only even more full of cowlicks somehow.
The shouty little alien boy is so silent. He takes in a shuddery breath -- Paul is on alert immediately -- and burrows against his flank, making himself even smaller than he really is, though one of his hands comes shyly to hug him around the waist. Bemused, too sleepy to startle, he allows it. Paul hasn't observed that aliens were especially ... no, actually he has observed that Gamzee was quite physically affectionate and not body-shy in the least, but Karkat usually has a rather healthier personal space. For him to seek contact he must feel positively wrecked.
Paul keeps petting his hair, running his fingers through stubborn locks that won't stay combed into place, waiting. The shadow by the foot of the bed resolves into his second alien guest, long twisting horns and angular frame. He steps around the foot of the bed and cautiously lowers himself to the mattress.
Paul blinks, and waits.
Karkat presses his face into Paul's side, tightens his hold -- so cautious, like he's afraid of crossing boundaries. Paul keeps petting. And waits some more. Steadiness, calm -- it works. There is no need to panic. When they're ready to talk, they will, the answer will come; in the meantime he will not be adding to their stress by pressing. It never gives good results.
"I wanted," Karkat whispers, and inches a little higher, and a little higher still, "-- we wanted -- to thank you. For waiting."
Paul is baffled, and starting to suspect that he would be baffled even were he feeling more awake. But the poor lad seems to be looking for a hug, and in dire need of one; his usually assured voice gutters out in his throat, and he's tense, a ball of stiff muscles, Paul can tell right through his pajamas and the sheet.
It's mostly instinct by this point. He wraps an arm around the boy's shoulders, even as he reaches out to the indistinct form of Gamzee, which seems to be looming closer, doing its same slow, hesitant creeping-up. So tall and yet still just a kid. "Shh, it's alright, whatever it is."
Karkat goes loose all over, slumps on him, but Paul doesn't make the mistake of calling it relaxed. He can still feel faint tremors in the boy's fingers, fisted in the sheets on both sides of his hips.
He's not feeling a shirt.
He's not feeling a shirt.
Jesus-Mary-Joseph he is not feeling a shirt.
He absolutely refuses to make sure of his sudden, horrible realization. Because he knows, there's no need to make sure -- he knows. He's not going to feel any pants either. Or underpants.
Karkat feels him go tense and flinches in his arms, doesn't pull away, only burrows deeper, except he starts shivering again. Gamzee curls up like a cat against his hip, rests a hand, oh dear Lord, rests a hand on his knee and there are full-length pajama pants and cotton sheets in the way but it still feels like, it still, there are two naked teenagers in his bed.
He wants to throw Karkat off him and scream like a lady might seeing a mouse, jump from the bed, run away in his sleeping clothes. Run away to the police, tell them, I have touched naked boys they are the same age as my son they were in my bed I have touched them and let them touch me. He wants--
'We wanted to thank you for waiting.'
They're terrified.
--
DaveKarkatTerezi recuperacoon porn infodumpy thing.
--
It's a troll inn; it's a miracle already they didn't tell Dame Pyrope to leave him in the stable.
It's a troll inn in the middle of troll country. They could have suggested she leave him in the ditch, preferably a little corpsy.
As it is, all he has to deal with is the floor -- wooden, splintery -- and the Nordic-cold draft that runs through the rental respiteblock. Could be worse.
Instead he just has to find a corner to curl up and think nice happy warm thoughts about his girlfriend sharing a slime cocoon with "Goodman Vantas," her pseudo-rustblood "attendant" that everyone from the giggly kitchen boy to the ancient counter woman to the innkeeper with the moose horns ineptly pretend not to "know" she is totally fucking and that's why a Tealblood wouldn't pitch an ungodly fit at being told they only had a single left.
Except Karkat isn't the one Terezi is fucking, godfuckingdamnit.
Dave could have insisted they take a room with piles instead -- it'd have been cheaper, too, only the only reason Teez and Karkat ever dragged themselves that far was the promise of their first sopored sleep in, oh, four years now. He tried to pretend he couldn't see the wistful look on Terezi's face all of three seconds before he "accidentally" kicked her in the back of the knee.
Karkat comes back from the bath at the end of the hall all wrapped up in a robe, tie knotted, and hands holding on, like if he could he'd wrap himself two, three times around. He pads inside the room and comes to a stop in the middle of the floor, frowns at Dave, sitting on the floor with the baggage. Dave imitates a bark. Woof. Yup, still guarding your property.
Karkat rolls his eyes for a second, but his 'what the fuck, human' look is entirely perfunctory, and then he's frowning again but in that worried, unsatisfying way. "Listen -- are you sure...?"
Dave considers comebacks. He could mention Karkat's inevitable Olympic triathlon of tossing, turning and bitching that would rob Dave of the small amount of rest he might yet still get, but slipping in something about icicles up his nook or rusty nails in his ass or the unmetaphorical and well-deserved pain in his neck would only make the guy give him that split-second "I am guilting myself to death for evading that fate when you won't" look that makes the following enraged counter-snark so much less satisfying somehow.
Karkat's hair is wet, sticking to his neck in vaguely curly black tongues. It won't matter long, because soon enough he'll be slipping in nice warm sopor. Dave declined because it's a fair bet he would have to air-dry.
"Dude, yes. I am made of sure, nothing but pure crystallized certainty from the tip of my gorgeously styled hair to the toes of my horrendously stylish boots. Go frolic in the radioactive green snot, glide against each other like it's the world's greenest mud-wrestling match, have a party of 'whoops my hand skidded seductively across your slick, chiseled biceps' all up in that cozy little two-places cocoon. What's that bukkake splatter on your face Karkles? Oh, just dried bed slime, yeah it always turns a bit bluish the morning after, nothing to worry about."
... Uh. Shit. That... got away from him a bit there.
Karkat was already persuaded that Dave thought he and Terezi wouldn't be able to keep it in their pants if they were naked in the same slime, which is why he insisted he ruin his underwear keeping them on in the 'coon (he's gonna have fun when they have to start walking again tomorrow, going commando.) Dave's been doing his best to be all "nope, cool with it"; he trusts Terezi, of course, but he also trusts Karkat. No matter how much of a torch he still carries for Pyrope he wouldn't try that sort of underhanded bullshit. (He'd rather just pine in secret like an emo kid.)
Only now he's snarking about Terezi jizzing on Karkat's face, so of course the secret message isn't 'you're stupid and so is your face', it's 'yes, actually, I am pissed off, tyvm. I wish my words were urine so that I could mark her leg. Yup, this hot bitch is mine, no touchies. Oh, you don't even want to anymore? Well then it's working.'
"I'll just sleep on the floor," Karkat tries to growl, only he looks a little sick (a little heartbroken), and that just pisses Dave off.
He's up in a flash (his muscles bitch at him, already sore and stiff from sitting a half-hour on the floor, what will it be tomorrow) and then all up in Karkat's face. Karkat is startled enough to take a step back, but no, that way's the door, wrong direction. He grabs him by those rough, old terrycloth lapels and whirls him around.
"--What the fuck?! Dave, you --"
"Shh," Dave says, leaning in nose to nose to whisper way too loud, "the neighbors will hear you." He keeps herding him back, almost more with the threat of facial collision than with his hold. Karkat's hands are tight on the bathrobe, trying to keep it closed against Dave's pull, so he can't really fight back, and there's also how Dave's still wearing his big nice thick-soled leather boots and Karkat's feet are bare; his toes leave faint dots on the wood. "And then they'll be like oh no that poor troll, spousal abuse, what'd that mean old Teal did to him, when what they should wonder is why the fuck the human shoved you face first in your gross slime pool."
He backs Karkat up against the rounded, disturbingly organic side of the recuperacoon.
"Yes, you big stupid melodrama lord, I am honestly truly really fine with you sharing with Terezi. Now get in."
(the trick is that terezi was already inside and listening in ohoho. but upon reread man does this need editing. :/ also i've lost the pornwrity mood. nrgh.)
It's all Homestuck, though. mea culpa.
POSTED:
-Battlefield Terra sidefic, Bro & Mom & DirkDave babies (3 063 words)
-"danger, danger, get on the floor" -- JohnKat, danger kink (706 words)
Also Posted:
Earthian Dating, Alternian-Style: Episode Three, The Matesprit/Kismesis Double-Double-Reacharound (which was completed the previous month but posted the 1st.)
Teamwork: old sidefic from an OC POV, not quite complete but it's stuck like a mofo.
WIP:
-Battlefield Terra chapter 5 (7 194 words)
-Karkat<>Gamzee & Dad, culture clashes/hurt-comfort (6 805 words)
-DaveKarkatTerezi recuperacoon porn that I might never complete (or alternately it might slot into Garden at some faraway point who knows) (988 words, all setup and pretty infodumpy one at that :-/)
--
Battlefield Terra chapter 5 (short but i couldn't choose and everything else was even more spoilery about stuff that happens beforehand in the chapter aargh. oh um i might have started posting the beginning on the kink meme, if you guys want to look. It's the posts, uh, 57 onwards. .__.;; This chunk's from later on.)
--
Noir seemed ready to spit nails. Mr. Strider stuck his hands in his pockets as he turned to him -- ooh, insulting, John thought, and could feel Karkat thinking it right alongside him, all 'eh, I could take you just with my feet', echoing so close John could only pick up which was whose from the undertones, John's from knowing the man and Karkat's just because it was apparently this blatant, what do you mean most people wouldn't read it that way.
Assuming you're right and your people are all stupid and blind and trustingsoft then Noir must know him well if he can read him too, Karkat commented, trying to distract himself from the nearly palpable crackle of tension at his back between the two men. John started to turn to look at him, and then a priority message took up his whole left lens.
BR: Egbert, stop chatting up the alien. Half the guys now think you have imaginary friends.
BR: The other, smarter half have probably figured out the glasses thing, it's not that new as technologies go, but honestly. If someone is observant enough to notice that, it's a fair bet they might also notice that it's not Rose you're chatting with. Guy's body language is as controlled and opaque as yours, for fuck's sake, he telegraphs like he's in a western.
Whoops. Um.
"There, there," Mr. Strider was drawling in real time, multitasking telling John off and pissing off Noir like a pro, "nothing to worry about. But Medical just doesn't cut it for a romantic walk, you know? B plus for effort, though."
"I am going to stab you in the kidneys, Strider," Noir hissed really quietly (but Karkat's ears were really good and even if he didn't understand the sounds John did so hey.) "And then I'm going to step on your face and stab you again."
"Aw, hon, that's so sweet," Mr. Strider drawled, at normal volume. A couple of guards choked quietly. "Exit's that way."
--
Karkat<>Gamzee & Dad
This one I have started to post at the Kink Meme so i'm not going to cheat by reposting it as a teaser. So go to the link to read the first scene, and then read this.
Warnings for potential non-con/ephebophilia and fucked-up cultural expectations.
--
John hasn't been coming in his bedroom at night since he was five year old, but instinct and habit are stubborn things. "Son?" he mumbles. He's still more asleep than not, head fuzzy with cobwebs and dissipating dreams. "Everything alright?"
No response, but he's aware that he heard the door opening, it's what woke him. He pushes himself up on one elbow, squints. He can guess at a dark, looming shape by the foot of his bed. "Son?"
A rustle of cloth, and then the bed dips. Someone -- not John, he can't see but he can tell anyway, they don't move like John (they don't feel like John) -- someone shuffles closer, on hands and knees, makes themselves small and low to the ground like they're playing pretend at being a stalking cat. The boy -- simple logic, neither of their alien guests is a young lady -- hunkers down by his side. Paul thinks he sees the short, rounded edge of a pale horn-tip, and beside the other boy, Gamzee, he'd take up more space, nice width to his shoulders, just needs to fill up some...
"Karkat, my boy," he asks, mind slow and voice rough from sleep. "What in the world are you doing here?"
He pats his head, so Karkat won't think he's angry for being disturbed, barely misses his target at all. He feels the curve of a bone-hard horn, and then thick, coarse hair, and ruffles it. It feels remarkably like John's, only even more full of cowlicks somehow.
The shouty little alien boy is so silent. He takes in a shuddery breath -- Paul is on alert immediately -- and burrows against his flank, making himself even smaller than he really is, though one of his hands comes shyly to hug him around the waist. Bemused, too sleepy to startle, he allows it. Paul hasn't observed that aliens were especially ... no, actually he has observed that Gamzee was quite physically affectionate and not body-shy in the least, but Karkat usually has a rather healthier personal space. For him to seek contact he must feel positively wrecked.
Paul keeps petting his hair, running his fingers through stubborn locks that won't stay combed into place, waiting. The shadow by the foot of the bed resolves into his second alien guest, long twisting horns and angular frame. He steps around the foot of the bed and cautiously lowers himself to the mattress.
Paul blinks, and waits.
Karkat presses his face into Paul's side, tightens his hold -- so cautious, like he's afraid of crossing boundaries. Paul keeps petting. And waits some more. Steadiness, calm -- it works. There is no need to panic. When they're ready to talk, they will, the answer will come; in the meantime he will not be adding to their stress by pressing. It never gives good results.
"I wanted," Karkat whispers, and inches a little higher, and a little higher still, "-- we wanted -- to thank you. For waiting."
Paul is baffled, and starting to suspect that he would be baffled even were he feeling more awake. But the poor lad seems to be looking for a hug, and in dire need of one; his usually assured voice gutters out in his throat, and he's tense, a ball of stiff muscles, Paul can tell right through his pajamas and the sheet.
It's mostly instinct by this point. He wraps an arm around the boy's shoulders, even as he reaches out to the indistinct form of Gamzee, which seems to be looming closer, doing its same slow, hesitant creeping-up. So tall and yet still just a kid. "Shh, it's alright, whatever it is."
Karkat goes loose all over, slumps on him, but Paul doesn't make the mistake of calling it relaxed. He can still feel faint tremors in the boy's fingers, fisted in the sheets on both sides of his hips.
He's not feeling a shirt.
He's not feeling a shirt.
Jesus-Mary-Joseph he is not feeling a shirt.
He absolutely refuses to make sure of his sudden, horrible realization. Because he knows, there's no need to make sure -- he knows. He's not going to feel any pants either. Or underpants.
Karkat feels him go tense and flinches in his arms, doesn't pull away, only burrows deeper, except he starts shivering again. Gamzee curls up like a cat against his hip, rests a hand, oh dear Lord, rests a hand on his knee and there are full-length pajama pants and cotton sheets in the way but it still feels like, it still, there are two naked teenagers in his bed.
He wants to throw Karkat off him and scream like a lady might seeing a mouse, jump from the bed, run away in his sleeping clothes. Run away to the police, tell them, I have touched naked boys they are the same age as my son they were in my bed I have touched them and let them touch me. He wants--
'We wanted to thank you for waiting.'
They're terrified.
--
DaveKarkatTerezi recuperacoon porn infodumpy thing.
--
It's a troll inn; it's a miracle already they didn't tell Dame Pyrope to leave him in the stable.
It's a troll inn in the middle of troll country. They could have suggested she leave him in the ditch, preferably a little corpsy.
As it is, all he has to deal with is the floor -- wooden, splintery -- and the Nordic-cold draft that runs through the rental respiteblock. Could be worse.
Instead he just has to find a corner to curl up and think nice happy warm thoughts about his girlfriend sharing a slime cocoon with "Goodman Vantas," her pseudo-rustblood "attendant" that everyone from the giggly kitchen boy to the ancient counter woman to the innkeeper with the moose horns ineptly pretend not to "know" she is totally fucking and that's why a Tealblood wouldn't pitch an ungodly fit at being told they only had a single left.
Except Karkat isn't the one Terezi is fucking, godfuckingdamnit.
Dave could have insisted they take a room with piles instead -- it'd have been cheaper, too, only the only reason Teez and Karkat ever dragged themselves that far was the promise of their first sopored sleep in, oh, four years now. He tried to pretend he couldn't see the wistful look on Terezi's face all of three seconds before he "accidentally" kicked her in the back of the knee.
Karkat comes back from the bath at the end of the hall all wrapped up in a robe, tie knotted, and hands holding on, like if he could he'd wrap himself two, three times around. He pads inside the room and comes to a stop in the middle of the floor, frowns at Dave, sitting on the floor with the baggage. Dave imitates a bark. Woof. Yup, still guarding your property.
Karkat rolls his eyes for a second, but his 'what the fuck, human' look is entirely perfunctory, and then he's frowning again but in that worried, unsatisfying way. "Listen -- are you sure...?"
Dave considers comebacks. He could mention Karkat's inevitable Olympic triathlon of tossing, turning and bitching that would rob Dave of the small amount of rest he might yet still get, but slipping in something about icicles up his nook or rusty nails in his ass or the unmetaphorical and well-deserved pain in his neck would only make the guy give him that split-second "I am guilting myself to death for evading that fate when you won't" look that makes the following enraged counter-snark so much less satisfying somehow.
Karkat's hair is wet, sticking to his neck in vaguely curly black tongues. It won't matter long, because soon enough he'll be slipping in nice warm sopor. Dave declined because it's a fair bet he would have to air-dry.
"Dude, yes. I am made of sure, nothing but pure crystallized certainty from the tip of my gorgeously styled hair to the toes of my horrendously stylish boots. Go frolic in the radioactive green snot, glide against each other like it's the world's greenest mud-wrestling match, have a party of 'whoops my hand skidded seductively across your slick, chiseled biceps' all up in that cozy little two-places cocoon. What's that bukkake splatter on your face Karkles? Oh, just dried bed slime, yeah it always turns a bit bluish the morning after, nothing to worry about."
... Uh. Shit. That... got away from him a bit there.
Karkat was already persuaded that Dave thought he and Terezi wouldn't be able to keep it in their pants if they were naked in the same slime, which is why he insisted he ruin his underwear keeping them on in the 'coon (he's gonna have fun when they have to start walking again tomorrow, going commando.) Dave's been doing his best to be all "nope, cool with it"; he trusts Terezi, of course, but he also trusts Karkat. No matter how much of a torch he still carries for Pyrope he wouldn't try that sort of underhanded bullshit. (He'd rather just pine in secret like an emo kid.)
Only now he's snarking about Terezi jizzing on Karkat's face, so of course the secret message isn't 'you're stupid and so is your face', it's 'yes, actually, I am pissed off, tyvm. I wish my words were urine so that I could mark her leg. Yup, this hot bitch is mine, no touchies. Oh, you don't even want to anymore? Well then it's working.'
"I'll just sleep on the floor," Karkat tries to growl, only he looks a little sick (a little heartbroken), and that just pisses Dave off.
He's up in a flash (his muscles bitch at him, already sore and stiff from sitting a half-hour on the floor, what will it be tomorrow) and then all up in Karkat's face. Karkat is startled enough to take a step back, but no, that way's the door, wrong direction. He grabs him by those rough, old terrycloth lapels and whirls him around.
"--What the fuck?! Dave, you --"
"Shh," Dave says, leaning in nose to nose to whisper way too loud, "the neighbors will hear you." He keeps herding him back, almost more with the threat of facial collision than with his hold. Karkat's hands are tight on the bathrobe, trying to keep it closed against Dave's pull, so he can't really fight back, and there's also how Dave's still wearing his big nice thick-soled leather boots and Karkat's feet are bare; his toes leave faint dots on the wood. "And then they'll be like oh no that poor troll, spousal abuse, what'd that mean old Teal did to him, when what they should wonder is why the fuck the human shoved you face first in your gross slime pool."
He backs Karkat up against the rounded, disturbingly organic side of the recuperacoon.
"Yes, you big stupid melodrama lord, I am honestly truly really fine with you sharing with Terezi. Now get in."
(the trick is that terezi was already inside and listening in ohoho. but upon reread man does this need editing. :/ also i've lost the pornwrity mood. nrgh.)
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