Entry tags:
Monthly Word Count - August :/
TOTAL: 16 351 words
I'm cutting myself some slack cause two weeks of that were vacation time which always put me out of rhythm and for another overlapping eleven days I was super sick with mystery flu.
POSTED: :X
-Homestuck: Silly writing exercise (1 833 words) (not even a real fic aaaaaaaaa)
-Demon Patrol: Daemon AU ficlets (1 228 words) (on AO3 .__.)
IN PROGRESS:
-Homestuck: post-game Latula/Mituna/Kankri threesome fic (4843 words, none of which are anywhere close to being porn yet aaaaaa)
-Midnight on the Demon Patrol chapter uhhh 16 or 17? the last one i mean (2 656 words)
-Covalent 'verse: Caliborn and Equius pesterlog :X (1 141 words)
-Pale as Moonlight and kraken Murderbots silly outside POV sequel (1 631 words)
-Battlefield Terra: attempt at karkat POV for his mystery time in the bathroom that i am not keeping cause it's infodumpy and sucks (377 words)
-Gundam Wing: Lone Wolf and Pilot chapter I forget (2 248 words)
-Detective Conan/Magic kaito: Swingersverse: some Shinichi/Heiji/Kaito fic I haven't touched in a year and a half aaaaa i need to complete this series so many fics done or almost i haven't posted this is such a waste of writing (394 words)
--
post-game Latula/Mituna/Kankri threesome fic
--
"Bit funny for a dude who's mad into every bump 'n lump being covered up to be the last one on the beach, ain't it?"
Kankri startles, feet kicking out of their comfortable dune hollows and spraying sand onto Latula's wet legs.
There is a rather impressive expanse of legs, truthfully. He stares at her knees, and tells himself they are slightly knobby under that sleek muscle and that it doesn't make them cuter somehow. They are merely articulations used for forward locomotion, amongst other very mundane and not remotely interesting things.
"I beg your -- oh, no, I did not mean to engage in body shaming, I was merely. I wish you would be considerate toward my own personal preferences and the societal expectation we were raised in, but Karkat is, I suppose he isn't wrong in that in this context, a beach is explicitly a place where dress codes are more relaxed and perhaps I might relax my own standards of -- did you want something? "
She stands before him in the sunset, her surfboard tucked under an arm like it isn't huge and heavy, ungainly, and he doesn't even need to look up to know her mouth is pursed.
All his words have fled him.
They started to run when he restarted his quest, one by one by one -- a seer is one who knows -- and then he stepped through that last door back into life and.
She looks at him and his oaths and his certainties tangle themselves up like balls of string batted at by an army of meowbeasts.
"Why're you still here, bro," Latula repeats patiently. Kankri glances up accidentally -- midriff, oh dear -- glances away, fast.
Sitting in the surf is a man with too many visible ribs and shoulders too wide for his frame, musculature in stark relief through the lack of even the smallest coating of insulating flesh. He looks starving and steel-strong both and there are little chalk-white nicks of scars everywhere on him. Foam runs up to his waist; Kankri stares, thinking stupidly, he is naked. Did he decide in a fit of whimsical -- ah -- otherness, to take off that last bit of -- but no, there is the edge of his waistband, and Kankri turns his gaze down to the sand between his own knees, ears burning with shame at his own salacious, depraved disappointment.
They want me gone, he thinks, and he knows why. This is a perfect place, a perfect moment, he's intruding.
"I was not aware that enjoying a beach required some form of prior claim, perhaps a rental or a license, and there was a time by which I must be gone," he replies, haughty and hurt and still unable to look any higher than her (gorgeous, knobby) knees. "Perhaps if you wish to lay claim to a public place--"
"Kankri," she says, and his words run into a wall.
She almost never uses anyone's full name, and he wants to think she is merely finally acceding to his wishes and respecting his desire not to have his name made smaller and sillier and more easily dismissed, he wants it to mean that.
It doesn't. (A seer is one who sees.)
"I wasn't trying to kick you out, bro. You've been sitting on your tush here all afternoon and hardly talked to anyone at all, is all. Got mad cogitations going on in your pan, huh?"
"Yes," he lies decisively. "As it happens. There are a number of topics I must lay out with the greatest clarity, not least about the safe and inclusive merging of Alternian, human, post-apocalyptic human and Beforan societies into a cohesive yet accepting whole, and I must have all the pitfalls and necessary topics ready to be laid down in a clear and forthright manner for any later discourse to be productive."
He takes a breath. (He didn't have to pause to take a breath back when he was dead.) She doesn't rush into the breach to interrupt him, so his second volley of words stalls on his tongue, with no target to destroy in midair to regain supremacy.
She just... looks down at him, holding her surfboard, stance effortlessly steady. Saltwater runs down the inside of her knee. His eyes glance at the glittery trail the drop left on her inner thigh.
"Betcha if I was Seer of, like, that fucking thing in our body tubes, what is it again," Mituna calls back at them. His neck is craned to leer through the mess of wet hair plastered to his face, but he still sits facing the horizon with his hands planted back behind him, tendons and muscles in too much relief.
"Blood?" Latula suggests.
"Yeah, haha, Seer of fucking Blood, bet your sweet ass-tush I could see this hugeass crazy monster bulge in your shitstupid pants."
And as Kankri splutters in shocked horror, Mituna's leer widen and he lets out that breathless, rusty-saw laugh.
"Oh wait, I can see it anyways."
Kankri throws his shoulders back, lifts his chin, (bares his fangs no this is wrong.) (His knees snap together, Mituna is not right, he is not (not right now), it's not true--) "I'm sorry, did you just imply that I might have a -- that I might let myself entertain prurient thoughts out in public? That is barely one step removed from, from calling me a voyeur, which is one step removed from implicating unwilling strangers directly in my --"
He chokes. He can't.
"Dude, chillax," Latula says. "I been sporting mad boners like twice a day my own self and it's nothing to do with ogling people. It's just my bod being like, hey, sweet, second adolescence, is all."
"Nope," Mituna says, making the P pop. "It was to'lly your mad booty that sproinged him."
He snickers, repeats sproing, sproiiing more quietly to himself.
Kankri is hot and cold both, dizzy and guts in knots. (His groin pulses.)
He knows that they know. (He keeps watching, he keeps not managing to stop himself, his eyes betray him and then his body just --) Latula is merely being polite. He wishes briefly to be dead once again -- not as a ghost but fully dead. (Suicidal ideation is no matter to be trivialized out of mere embarrassment, a small part of him says, but the rest just. No. Can't.)
"C'mon, ain't no big," Latula says, and sighs. She sounds oddly weary; he can't help but glance up at her face. Her eyes are unreadable behind red lenses, as always, but the twist of her mouth is disappointed and sad. (He tries to unsee it and he can't. So many things he can't unsee anymore.)
"I find having aspersions cast about my -- my bodily functions plenty big, and--"
Mituna brays out a laugh, hugging his ribs, and topples back onto wet sand. His legs kick up with sheer glee. "You said it's big! Ehehe, fuskin' show it then!"
"What?!"
"Pics or it didn't happen, turdnub!"
--
Midnight on the Demon Patrol chapter uhhh 16 or 17?
--
Kankri is looking past the two of them and all his eyes are wide with sheer essence of oh fuck.
At first Dave doesn't even register it's a car. He sees huge and flying at us.
His hand rises up.
Something that's both blood and lava rushes through veins he doesn't truly have, comes out shrouded in blizzard ice and decay and destruction, comes out in nothing his eyes can see.
He sees the car unravel into bare struts and curling plastic, panels dissolving in the blink of an eye. It rains rust on his face. A half-eaten engine lands before his feet and topples toward his toes.
(Karkat's mouth comes off his skin with a little wet pop.)
"Back!" one of the officers yells, and "Dave!" Rose screams, and coils and coils of bruise-colored skull demon fall at him from the sky.
Red thorns bloom, tight and focused; the demon barrel-rolls out of the way. Dave searches his pocket for watches he doesn't -- oh, Welch, face still streaked with tears, slapping an electronic watch in his hand, and her cell phone; "It tells the time, right?!"
He's never tried it. (New smartphone; he hopes Expenses pays her back.)
--
Covalent 'verse: Caliborn and Equius pesterlog :X
--
-- undyingUmbrage [uu] started trolling centaursTesticle [CT] --
uu: WHAT THE FuCK IS uP. WITH THIS CHAT CLIENT.
uu: TROLLING. IS FOR LOSERS. WHERE IS THE JEERING OPTION.
CT: D--> I beg your pardon
CT: D--> Who the heck are you and why are you on my chumproll in the first place with your l00dicrous and despicable hemoanonymity
uu: I COuLD ASK YOu. THE EXACT SAME FuCKING THING.
uu: BuT I WON'T. BECAuSE I'M NOT A DuMBASS.
uu: AND I ALREADY ASKED DIRK WHO THE FUCK YOu WERE. AND WHY YOu WERE ON MY CHuMPROLL.
CT: D--> Why are you then
CT: D--> Ah, let me hazard a guess
uu: GAME SHENANIGANS.
CT: D--> Game shenanigans
uu: WHY ARE YOu REPEATING WHAT I JUST SAID. ARE YOu THAT STuPID. TOO STuPID FOR ORIGINAL THOuGHT.
CT: D--> I was not
CT: D--> We merely came to the same conclusion at the same time and you happened not to have to type up a bow first
uu: OH. IT'S A BOW.
uu: I THOuGHT IT MIGHT BE. YOuR TROLLISH PENIS.
uu: DIRK uSED TO DRAW STRANGE NONSENSICAL THINGS LIKE THAT. WHEN HE THOuGHT I WASN'T WATCHING.
uu: FOOL. I AM ALWAYS WATCHING.
CT: D--> What is a penis
CT: D--> No, it does not matter, no doubt it is silly and irrelevant
CT: D--> Why have you contacted me
uu: DIRK PROMISED. THAT HE WOuLD TALK TO ME JuST AS LONG. AS I TALKED TO OTHER PEOPLE. WHO WERE NOT MY COW OF A SISTER.
uu: I THINK YOu WILL FIND. THAT I EXCEL IN THE ARTS OF CIVILIZED CONVERSATION.
CT: D--> I fail to see why you sh00ld engage in them with me
uu: YOu WERE THE LEAST OFFENSIVE. ON ACCOuNT OF MY NOT KNOWING YOu.
uu: ALSO THE ONLY ONE ONLINE. WHO WAS NOT A HIDEOuS SHADE OF GREEN.
uu: SO.
uu: WHAT IS IT LIKE. BEING uGLY. AND A TROLL. WITH FREAKISH BLuE BLOOD.
CT: D--> Ah, yes
CT: D--> I find the fog of sleepiness lifted at last
CT: D--> You are the shrill and ridiculous puny larval form of our enemy
uu: EXCuSE YOu.
CT: D--> A being so petty he sought to break everything he could not own
CT: D--> Admirable trait in a troll
uu: I AM NATuRALLY ADMIRABLE. AND GLORIOuS.
CT: D--> If one isn't a grotesque mutant-blooded mistake of course
uu: WAIT. I AM NOT. A FuCKING TROLL AT ALL!
CT: D--> You might not have been hatched one
CT: D--> But denial will get you nowhere
CT: D--> It is what you are now
CT: D--> A low, wretched excuse for a troll, but a troll all the same
CT: D--> The swill in your veins is what it is, but so is its vessel
CT: D--> Throwing tantrums about it will not change the truth of it
uu: I AM NOT. A TROLL.
CT: D--> You are indeed a troll
uu: NO.
CT: D--> Yes
uu: NO.
CT: D--> Yes
uu: FuCKING NO.
CT: D--> Fu
CT: D--> Fudging yes
uu: NO!!
CT: D--> Yes
uu: I AM. NOT. A MOTHERFuCKING TROLL!!!
CT: D--> You are
CT: D--> You possess gray skin and horns on a trolloid body shape
CT: D--> Your body is that of a granted rather diminutive male of the troll species
CT: D--> You are a troll
CT: D--> You would do best to a%ept it
uu: NO I WOuLD NOT!!!
CT: D--> Yes
uu: THIS IS STuPID.
CT: D--> Yes
uu: NO!
CT: D--> I was agreeing with you about the idiocy of this futile e%ercise
uu: OH.
uu: WELL. GOOD.
CT: D--> Good
CT: D--> If there is no other conversation you wish to have I will go back to sleep
--
Pale as Moonlight and kraken Murderbots silly outside POV sequel
--
-- !SUBSCRIBE to Slanderazzi Grapevyn Shakspyr's Frankly Fabulous Feed for more OUTRAGEOUS scoops! --
GS: !!For those of you following at home, we are here tonight on the MOST LAVISH, resplendent, blitz-glammed satellite it has ever been my pleasure to sneak into, I mean of course the GRANDIOSE movie festival-hosting SPACE RESORT KHANNES and its ORBITING SEA!!
GS: .As we have been for the last week, by the way. (!!Click here for archive of audacious adventures!!)
GS: !Tonight our intrepid reporterrorist has managed to infiltrate the highly select Club Skank-Ass Fish on the arm of one generous, finned and highly anonymous benefactor (!!!Call me, Liddy!!!)!
GS: .While Laetii Ghagha and Phabio Hephnr attempt to pique guests' interest with their mode of dress (minimal, not to say nonexistent) the club itself is dismally slow-going for the first hour or so.
GS: !Not one out-quadrant makeout to behold! ?Though it seems Festival Judgeterminator Haruspex Wildmoon's ashen corner is undergoing furious pivot-flips? !!oh la la!! !It is nice to discover that the secret of keeping a quadrant steady for sweeps and sweeps and sweeps is a good healthy dose of FLAGRANT kink! !!Highblood readers, take note!!
GS: .Trolls congregate awkwardly by the bubble pools and at the bars, perch diffidently on pillow pile corners. .The dance floor might as well be empty and the dance pool moreso despite the DJ's best efforts. !Poor girl might not see another moonrise!
GS: !Such are the whims of the crowd! .A good death might bolster the flagging atmosphere in this dismal scene. !Dear readers, I am even starting to wonder if my infallible instincts have not for once failed me!
GS: .BRB bartender time. .Let us see if I might seduce anything headier than simple alcohol out of them.
GS: !I have no sooner perched my exquisite tush on one of those look-at-that barstools that the bored murmurs of the crowd cease entirely for a telling handful of seconds!
GS: !!And who might be making his entrance, but acclaimed DIRECTOR VIBRONIC, who this year is piercing out of the pornographic propaganda ghetto to present his sulfurous movie In Which In A Similar But More Fantastical Version Of Our Universe A Shockingly Low Caste Young Legislacerator-Summoner Binds To Him A Trollish Rainbow-Drinking Highly Destructive Creature Known As A Demon And finds Himself Falling Flush For His Non-Troll Slave Who Hates Him For Enslaving It, Contains Seven Xenosexual Concupiscent Scenes With A Sentient Non-Troll, Three Caliginous/Flushed Flips, Flushed/Pale Quadrant Smearing, Five Pail-Free Relations, Topped-By-Inferior Kink, A Lowblood/Indigoblood Moirallegiance, Traces Of Anti-Slavery Propaganda, Erotic Blood Consumption, Eleven Fight Scenes, Twelve Cullings, Humorous Gore, And A Tentacle Monster!!
GS: !But the source of the silence is not the man himself, formidable as he is in a simple white collared shirt, hair bleached a dangerous, challenging lusus-white, the sharp-angled backsweep of his horns a casual and sexy threat!
GS: !!It is well-known that the Skank-Ass Fish is Seadwellers and Guests only, and while there is no doubt the barely post-A boy hanging from his arm is just that, that charming bit of fluff is also the lowest-caste in the whole building, janitors included -- indeed, the lowest caste possible!!
GS: !And the intense GARNET long-sleeves of his shirt, trailing until they cover his fingers and make him appear even smaller, visibly delight in flaunting just that!
GS: .One does not need to wonder who dressed that poor boy.
GS: !Sources affirm that the boy -- for it has been rumored that he has not yet been a whole sweep off-planet -- has been registered as Vibronic's Pale Quadrant for EXACTLY THAT LONG!
GS: !As previously mentioned he is a slender thing, made even shorter beside the bulk of Vibronic's Seadweller body, his skull barely reaching the middle of the man's chest! .His horns reach somewhat higher before sweeping back in an admittedly gorgeous expression of classical lowblood horn swag, perfect, massive half-circles.
GS: !!As one might say, boy got serious handlebars!!
--
Battlefield Terra: attempt at karkat POV for his mystery time in the bathroom that i am not keeping cause it's infodumpy and sucks
--
The ablution room is this huge highblooded affair in overwrought alien styles; muted shades and fancy curlicues everyfuckingwhere. Tiny lights shine softly from every available corner. Karkat manipulates the clicky little breakers along the edge of the door until he has shut down half of them and the room is soothingly dim and has stopped trying to blind his dusk vision optimized ganderbulbs.
Then he leans against the door and he lets his face do exactly and only what it will and he breathes.
(it involves a lot of scrunching his eyes closed and grimacing at the ceiling in a way that unfortunately resembles someone manfully trying to ignore a broken leg and breathing noisily through his nose.)
He survived. He succeeded.
He succeeded in selling every single friend he still has left.
He doesn't even care if they never forgive him, and he is not thinking about it now, he'll have weeks and perigees to think about it, at the speed committees go, and he is fucking not starting in early on nights and nights of joyful entertainment he will sorely need the second they go back to the island and boredom crushes back in. He can do that mopey, whiny shit later. He glares down at the devil buttons holding his shirt closed -- antiquated shit that shines like sea dweller mollusk secretion bullshit, what's wrong with a normal glueline zipper, huh? Anyway nudging them out with the outside of his knuckles is easier than putting them back in; in relatively short time he's shirtless, and soon after panstless, and he is not sorry about that in the least. The material was much too thin and much too tight for him to trust it wouldn't tear in embarrassing places at the most inconvenient moment. Humans and their stupid fashion.
Ksst.
But he can wear his sign. (he could have worn it all along -- no, not thinking about that, beat yourself up later.) he can wear his sign, and he has the old battle leaders by the metaphorical horns, and he has won the first battle, the most decisive one.
He's also won the right to be entirely, magnificently alone in this lavish (who the fuck cares) ablution room.
With its ablution trap.
Fuck yes.
--
Gundam Wing: Lone Wolf and Pilot
--
Duo followed his wolf in.
"Today I'm testing your previous combat training," Segura told them, which his brother Bazooka, sitting beside him, reinforced with a sharp, fight bad humans! show us how. "One by one, you'll go at one of the dummies--"
Killer flicked his ears in bland acceptance and raced at the dummy Segura was waving his hand at. He feinted it, even though it didn't move, dodged a bullet that wasn't coming and leaped. His maw snapped closed like a bear trap on the mannequin's face, and he allowed his momentum to spin his massive weight around that new pivot point.
Crack, crack. He landed backward on all fours with a jaunty bounce, stuffed head in his jaw, then went trotting off to Chiquito and dumped his trophy at the pup's feet. Duo facepalmed.
"... Good job, buddy. I ... think it's dead."
Chiquito nosed at the mannequin head, tail wagging, a bit confused but happy to push it around with his muzzle and try to pin it with a paw, radiating happiness that Killer had given him a present just for me!!. Killer turned his head to look at Duo, projecting strong and sure, Dead yes.
Noticed. The dummy's back was broken, on top of its missing head; it listed backward on its support, still standing somehow.
Not enough dead?
"Killer, no--!"
Ooookay, now the mannequin was down an arm, and its other shoulder was caught and shaken savagely in an attempt to break the whole thing off its support entirely. The rest of the pack was staring in silence. Duo sank into a crouch and burrowed his face in his hands, groaning.
Makisig and Wangai started laughing.
"Oh my god, Maxwell. Be honest now, this was your weapon of mass destruction."
Face burning, Duo managed to lift his head enough to glower at Wangai and stick his tongue out very sternly.
Killer was energetically digging stuffing out of the poor fake dude's ruptured abdomen and encouraging Chiquito to join in. He even tried to nose the cub's paws into a better position to brace and yank with, but the cub just thought it was part of the game and danced off, fluff in his jaws.
"Sorry, I--"
"No, it's fine, the dummies break a lot," the drill instructor told him, hands in pockets. Bazooka was watching Killer with his head tilted in interest, like he was considering maybe wandering closer to get in on that mad fake-eviscerating action. "We plan for it. Nice moves, too. The fact that he didn't wait for instruction, though, that's a bit more of an issue."
Duo groaned again. "I had to tell him we needed to help Chiquito learn how to defend his brother, he didn't want to come. Didn't think he'd take it quite that seriously. He's -- I swear he's not like that with live targets."
... Well, when they were fighting live targets, Duo usually wanted to kill them, so of course Killer wanted to kill them as well, and Duo didn't mind if that happened and didn't try to stop him much. Um.
"He knows how to take a prisoner, I mean. If I tell him." Think I'd better be the one he demonstrates on, he sent Segura in an aside that apparently went through as planned. Other wolves would be twitchy.
"That's a plan. We'll do that last, give the other guys their turn first." Segura's hand landed on his shoulder, heavy, and Bazooka nosed his thigh. Killer's head sprang up from his synthetic prey to stare at the older wolf in suspicion. "In the meantime you get to haul a new mannequin from the reserve and put it up. Have fun."
Rubbing the back of his neck and laughing ruefully, Duo went. Shhh Killer, all good. Silly puppy, got my nose booped a bit, all good. C'mon.
Killer dragged his paws a little, looking back at Chiquito, who was bouncing around the head and batting it at his mother. Bianchi mostly looked politely confused about it, sniffing it with vague interest.
People organized themselves into groups. Duo opened the supply closet door and clicked the lights on, and started looking for a new puppet.
No breaking this one! he warned Killer, and heaved one off the wall it leaned on and onto his shoulder. The thing was damn heavy, but he'd carried heavier. Close the door behind us, he asked as he made his cautious way through the doorway. Killer nosed the lights off and took the handle in his maw, pulled the door closed delicately, twisting the handle as he went. Good, thanks.
No slobber! Killer told him proudly.
Though of course anyone with a nose would know a wolf and his person had come through there, and how come avoiding incriminating moisture or crusted-on saliva bubbles actually helped anything. Bah, humans.
--
Swingersverse: Shinichi/Heiji/Kaito pr0nz
--
Identical devious grins -- Kudo about to do something really evil to a suspect -- and then Heiji was tackled onto the tatami. He blinked the daze out of his eyes, caught himself staring down the shadow-filled front of two shirts looking for scars.
Ooh, boy nipples.
One of them kissed his way up Heiji's jaw. The other one kissed his shoulder through his clothes, pushed a hand up the bottom of his t-shirt. So uh, that'd make the jaw-kisser Kudo? Since he was about to kiss him on the moouuh oh lord, the mouth, and surely Kuroba didn't know how they kissed usually.
Though the calluses circling his nipple felt remarkably familiar, and Kuroba did kiss Kudo himself, and they played that game with Ran too and shit, he was tangling himself up, in thoughts and in the t-shirt they'd his pushed up over his face, pulled up to his elbow and left there, trapping his arms over his head.
"Damn it! Not fair, I wanta touch you back--" His arms were still caught. He wriggled a little to free himself; a hand closed on the cloth between his wrists to keep him trapped. "Aw, c'mon, Kud--"
Was it Kudo? He wasn't gonna call the wrong one by that name, it was a matter of pride. He glared instead, making the young man over him smirk. "Hm? What were you going to say?"
"Why don't you deduce it," Heiji growled back, and tugged at the hold pinning his wrists down. (Not half as hard as he could have. It was, he could get himself out of the hold if he had to, and he wouldn't have to, they'd heed any no he gave, he trusted that, but it was -- hot, just. Hot. He hadn't thought it'd be his thing, not like it was Hakuba's or even Kudo's, it had never pinged him, watching them, but--)
"Your mouth says you want to touch us back, but your pocket cannon is hinting otherwise," said the other Kudo, hand fitting itself boldly over his cloth-covered crotch and pressing down against the tent his cock was making.
"What's that, Hattori, smuggling katana now?"
Another hand on him, cupping him through his pants, sure and firm. Two hands feeling and cupping and squeezing him, his balls and his dick, the inside of his thighs.
I'm cutting myself some slack cause two weeks of that were vacation time which always put me out of rhythm and for another overlapping eleven days I was super sick with mystery flu.
POSTED: :X
-Homestuck: Silly writing exercise (1 833 words) (not even a real fic aaaaaaaaa)
-Demon Patrol: Daemon AU ficlets (1 228 words) (on AO3 .__.)
IN PROGRESS:
-Homestuck: post-game Latula/Mituna/Kankri threesome fic (4843 words, none of which are anywhere close to being porn yet aaaaaa)
-Midnight on the Demon Patrol chapter uhhh 16 or 17? the last one i mean (2 656 words)
-Covalent 'verse: Caliborn and Equius pesterlog :X (1 141 words)
-Pale as Moonlight and kraken Murderbots silly outside POV sequel (1 631 words)
-Battlefield Terra: attempt at karkat POV for his mystery time in the bathroom that i am not keeping cause it's infodumpy and sucks (377 words)
-Gundam Wing: Lone Wolf and Pilot chapter I forget (2 248 words)
-Detective Conan/Magic kaito: Swingersverse: some Shinichi/Heiji/Kaito fic I haven't touched in a year and a half aaaaa i need to complete this series so many fics done or almost i haven't posted this is such a waste of writing (394 words)
--
post-game Latula/Mituna/Kankri threesome fic
--
"Bit funny for a dude who's mad into every bump 'n lump being covered up to be the last one on the beach, ain't it?"
Kankri startles, feet kicking out of their comfortable dune hollows and spraying sand onto Latula's wet legs.
There is a rather impressive expanse of legs, truthfully. He stares at her knees, and tells himself they are slightly knobby under that sleek muscle and that it doesn't make them cuter somehow. They are merely articulations used for forward locomotion, amongst other very mundane and not remotely interesting things.
"I beg your -- oh, no, I did not mean to engage in body shaming, I was merely. I wish you would be considerate toward my own personal preferences and the societal expectation we were raised in, but Karkat is, I suppose he isn't wrong in that in this context, a beach is explicitly a place where dress codes are more relaxed and perhaps I might relax my own standards of -- did you want something? "
She stands before him in the sunset, her surfboard tucked under an arm like it isn't huge and heavy, ungainly, and he doesn't even need to look up to know her mouth is pursed.
All his words have fled him.
They started to run when he restarted his quest, one by one by one -- a seer is one who knows -- and then he stepped through that last door back into life and.
She looks at him and his oaths and his certainties tangle themselves up like balls of string batted at by an army of meowbeasts.
"Why're you still here, bro," Latula repeats patiently. Kankri glances up accidentally -- midriff, oh dear -- glances away, fast.
Sitting in the surf is a man with too many visible ribs and shoulders too wide for his frame, musculature in stark relief through the lack of even the smallest coating of insulating flesh. He looks starving and steel-strong both and there are little chalk-white nicks of scars everywhere on him. Foam runs up to his waist; Kankri stares, thinking stupidly, he is naked. Did he decide in a fit of whimsical -- ah -- otherness, to take off that last bit of -- but no, there is the edge of his waistband, and Kankri turns his gaze down to the sand between his own knees, ears burning with shame at his own salacious, depraved disappointment.
They want me gone, he thinks, and he knows why. This is a perfect place, a perfect moment, he's intruding.
"I was not aware that enjoying a beach required some form of prior claim, perhaps a rental or a license, and there was a time by which I must be gone," he replies, haughty and hurt and still unable to look any higher than her (gorgeous, knobby) knees. "Perhaps if you wish to lay claim to a public place--"
"Kankri," she says, and his words run into a wall.
She almost never uses anyone's full name, and he wants to think she is merely finally acceding to his wishes and respecting his desire not to have his name made smaller and sillier and more easily dismissed, he wants it to mean that.
It doesn't. (A seer is one who sees.)
"I wasn't trying to kick you out, bro. You've been sitting on your tush here all afternoon and hardly talked to anyone at all, is all. Got mad cogitations going on in your pan, huh?"
"Yes," he lies decisively. "As it happens. There are a number of topics I must lay out with the greatest clarity, not least about the safe and inclusive merging of Alternian, human, post-apocalyptic human and Beforan societies into a cohesive yet accepting whole, and I must have all the pitfalls and necessary topics ready to be laid down in a clear and forthright manner for any later discourse to be productive."
He takes a breath. (He didn't have to pause to take a breath back when he was dead.) She doesn't rush into the breach to interrupt him, so his second volley of words stalls on his tongue, with no target to destroy in midair to regain supremacy.
She just... looks down at him, holding her surfboard, stance effortlessly steady. Saltwater runs down the inside of her knee. His eyes glance at the glittery trail the drop left on her inner thigh.
"Betcha if I was Seer of, like, that fucking thing in our body tubes, what is it again," Mituna calls back at them. His neck is craned to leer through the mess of wet hair plastered to his face, but he still sits facing the horizon with his hands planted back behind him, tendons and muscles in too much relief.
"Blood?" Latula suggests.
"Yeah, haha, Seer of fucking Blood, bet your sweet ass-tush I could see this hugeass crazy monster bulge in your shitstupid pants."
And as Kankri splutters in shocked horror, Mituna's leer widen and he lets out that breathless, rusty-saw laugh.
"Oh wait, I can see it anyways."
Kankri throws his shoulders back, lifts his chin, (bares his fangs no this is wrong.) (His knees snap together, Mituna is not right, he is not (not right now), it's not true--) "I'm sorry, did you just imply that I might have a -- that I might let myself entertain prurient thoughts out in public? That is barely one step removed from, from calling me a voyeur, which is one step removed from implicating unwilling strangers directly in my --"
He chokes. He can't.
"Dude, chillax," Latula says. "I been sporting mad boners like twice a day my own self and it's nothing to do with ogling people. It's just my bod being like, hey, sweet, second adolescence, is all."
"Nope," Mituna says, making the P pop. "It was to'lly your mad booty that sproinged him."
He snickers, repeats sproing, sproiiing more quietly to himself.
Kankri is hot and cold both, dizzy and guts in knots. (His groin pulses.)
He knows that they know. (He keeps watching, he keeps not managing to stop himself, his eyes betray him and then his body just --) Latula is merely being polite. He wishes briefly to be dead once again -- not as a ghost but fully dead. (Suicidal ideation is no matter to be trivialized out of mere embarrassment, a small part of him says, but the rest just. No. Can't.)
"C'mon, ain't no big," Latula says, and sighs. She sounds oddly weary; he can't help but glance up at her face. Her eyes are unreadable behind red lenses, as always, but the twist of her mouth is disappointed and sad. (He tries to unsee it and he can't. So many things he can't unsee anymore.)
"I find having aspersions cast about my -- my bodily functions plenty big, and--"
Mituna brays out a laugh, hugging his ribs, and topples back onto wet sand. His legs kick up with sheer glee. "You said it's big! Ehehe, fuskin' show it then!"
"What?!"
"Pics or it didn't happen, turdnub!"
--
Midnight on the Demon Patrol chapter uhhh 16 or 17?
--
Kankri is looking past the two of them and all his eyes are wide with sheer essence of oh fuck.
At first Dave doesn't even register it's a car. He sees huge and flying at us.
His hand rises up.
Something that's both blood and lava rushes through veins he doesn't truly have, comes out shrouded in blizzard ice and decay and destruction, comes out in nothing his eyes can see.
He sees the car unravel into bare struts and curling plastic, panels dissolving in the blink of an eye. It rains rust on his face. A half-eaten engine lands before his feet and topples toward his toes.
(Karkat's mouth comes off his skin with a little wet pop.)
"Back!" one of the officers yells, and "Dave!" Rose screams, and coils and coils of bruise-colored skull demon fall at him from the sky.
Red thorns bloom, tight and focused; the demon barrel-rolls out of the way. Dave searches his pocket for watches he doesn't -- oh, Welch, face still streaked with tears, slapping an electronic watch in his hand, and her cell phone; "It tells the time, right?!"
He's never tried it. (New smartphone; he hopes Expenses pays her back.)
--
Covalent 'verse: Caliborn and Equius pesterlog :X
--
-- undyingUmbrage [uu] started trolling centaursTesticle [CT] --
uu: WHAT THE FuCK IS uP. WITH THIS CHAT CLIENT.
uu: TROLLING. IS FOR LOSERS. WHERE IS THE JEERING OPTION.
CT: D--> I beg your pardon
CT: D--> Who the heck are you and why are you on my chumproll in the first place with your l00dicrous and despicable hemoanonymity
uu: I COuLD ASK YOu. THE EXACT SAME FuCKING THING.
uu: BuT I WON'T. BECAuSE I'M NOT A DuMBASS.
uu: AND I ALREADY ASKED DIRK WHO THE FUCK YOu WERE. AND WHY YOu WERE ON MY CHuMPROLL.
CT: D--> Why are you then
CT: D--> Ah, let me hazard a guess
uu: GAME SHENANIGANS.
CT: D--> Game shenanigans
uu: WHY ARE YOu REPEATING WHAT I JUST SAID. ARE YOu THAT STuPID. TOO STuPID FOR ORIGINAL THOuGHT.
CT: D--> I was not
CT: D--> We merely came to the same conclusion at the same time and you happened not to have to type up a bow first
uu: OH. IT'S A BOW.
uu: I THOuGHT IT MIGHT BE. YOuR TROLLISH PENIS.
uu: DIRK uSED TO DRAW STRANGE NONSENSICAL THINGS LIKE THAT. WHEN HE THOuGHT I WASN'T WATCHING.
uu: FOOL. I AM ALWAYS WATCHING.
CT: D--> What is a penis
CT: D--> No, it does not matter, no doubt it is silly and irrelevant
CT: D--> Why have you contacted me
uu: DIRK PROMISED. THAT HE WOuLD TALK TO ME JuST AS LONG. AS I TALKED TO OTHER PEOPLE. WHO WERE NOT MY COW OF A SISTER.
uu: I THINK YOu WILL FIND. THAT I EXCEL IN THE ARTS OF CIVILIZED CONVERSATION.
CT: D--> I fail to see why you sh00ld engage in them with me
uu: YOu WERE THE LEAST OFFENSIVE. ON ACCOuNT OF MY NOT KNOWING YOu.
uu: ALSO THE ONLY ONE ONLINE. WHO WAS NOT A HIDEOuS SHADE OF GREEN.
uu: SO.
uu: WHAT IS IT LIKE. BEING uGLY. AND A TROLL. WITH FREAKISH BLuE BLOOD.
CT: D--> Ah, yes
CT: D--> I find the fog of sleepiness lifted at last
CT: D--> You are the shrill and ridiculous puny larval form of our enemy
uu: EXCuSE YOu.
CT: D--> A being so petty he sought to break everything he could not own
CT: D--> Admirable trait in a troll
uu: I AM NATuRALLY ADMIRABLE. AND GLORIOuS.
CT: D--> If one isn't a grotesque mutant-blooded mistake of course
uu: WAIT. I AM NOT. A FuCKING TROLL AT ALL!
CT: D--> You might not have been hatched one
CT: D--> But denial will get you nowhere
CT: D--> It is what you are now
CT: D--> A low, wretched excuse for a troll, but a troll all the same
CT: D--> The swill in your veins is what it is, but so is its vessel
CT: D--> Throwing tantrums about it will not change the truth of it
uu: I AM NOT. A TROLL.
CT: D--> You are indeed a troll
uu: NO.
CT: D--> Yes
uu: NO.
CT: D--> Yes
uu: FuCKING NO.
CT: D--> Fu
CT: D--> Fudging yes
uu: NO!!
CT: D--> Yes
uu: I AM. NOT. A MOTHERFuCKING TROLL!!!
CT: D--> You are
CT: D--> You possess gray skin and horns on a trolloid body shape
CT: D--> Your body is that of a granted rather diminutive male of the troll species
CT: D--> You are a troll
CT: D--> You would do best to a%ept it
uu: NO I WOuLD NOT!!!
CT: D--> Yes
uu: THIS IS STuPID.
CT: D--> Yes
uu: NO!
CT: D--> I was agreeing with you about the idiocy of this futile e%ercise
uu: OH.
uu: WELL. GOOD.
CT: D--> Good
CT: D--> If there is no other conversation you wish to have I will go back to sleep
--
Pale as Moonlight and kraken Murderbots silly outside POV sequel
--
-- !SUBSCRIBE to Slanderazzi Grapevyn Shakspyr's Frankly Fabulous Feed for more OUTRAGEOUS scoops! --
GS: !!For those of you following at home, we are here tonight on the MOST LAVISH, resplendent, blitz-glammed satellite it has ever been my pleasure to sneak into, I mean of course the GRANDIOSE movie festival-hosting SPACE RESORT KHANNES and its ORBITING SEA!!
GS: .As we have been for the last week, by the way. (!!Click here for archive of audacious adventures!!)
GS: !Tonight our intrepid reporterrorist has managed to infiltrate the highly select Club Skank-Ass Fish on the arm of one generous, finned and highly anonymous benefactor (!!!Call me, Liddy!!!)!
GS: .While Laetii Ghagha and Phabio Hephnr attempt to pique guests' interest with their mode of dress (minimal, not to say nonexistent) the club itself is dismally slow-going for the first hour or so.
GS: !Not one out-quadrant makeout to behold! ?Though it seems Festival Judgeterminator Haruspex Wildmoon's ashen corner is undergoing furious pivot-flips? !!oh la la!! !It is nice to discover that the secret of keeping a quadrant steady for sweeps and sweeps and sweeps is a good healthy dose of FLAGRANT kink! !!Highblood readers, take note!!
GS: .Trolls congregate awkwardly by the bubble pools and at the bars, perch diffidently on pillow pile corners. .The dance floor might as well be empty and the dance pool moreso despite the DJ's best efforts. !Poor girl might not see another moonrise!
GS: !Such are the whims of the crowd! .A good death might bolster the flagging atmosphere in this dismal scene. !Dear readers, I am even starting to wonder if my infallible instincts have not for once failed me!
GS: .BRB bartender time. .Let us see if I might seduce anything headier than simple alcohol out of them.
GS: !I have no sooner perched my exquisite tush on one of those look-at-that barstools that the bored murmurs of the crowd cease entirely for a telling handful of seconds!
GS: !!And who might be making his entrance, but acclaimed DIRECTOR VIBRONIC, who this year is piercing out of the pornographic propaganda ghetto to present his sulfurous movie In Which In A Similar But More Fantastical Version Of Our Universe A Shockingly Low Caste Young Legislacerator-Summoner Binds To Him A Trollish Rainbow-Drinking Highly Destructive Creature Known As A Demon And finds Himself Falling Flush For His Non-Troll Slave Who Hates Him For Enslaving It, Contains Seven Xenosexual Concupiscent Scenes With A Sentient Non-Troll, Three Caliginous/Flushed Flips, Flushed/Pale Quadrant Smearing, Five Pail-Free Relations, Topped-By-Inferior Kink, A Lowblood/Indigoblood Moirallegiance, Traces Of Anti-Slavery Propaganda, Erotic Blood Consumption, Eleven Fight Scenes, Twelve Cullings, Humorous Gore, And A Tentacle Monster!!
GS: !But the source of the silence is not the man himself, formidable as he is in a simple white collared shirt, hair bleached a dangerous, challenging lusus-white, the sharp-angled backsweep of his horns a casual and sexy threat!
GS: !!It is well-known that the Skank-Ass Fish is Seadwellers and Guests only, and while there is no doubt the barely post-A boy hanging from his arm is just that, that charming bit of fluff is also the lowest-caste in the whole building, janitors included -- indeed, the lowest caste possible!!
GS: !And the intense GARNET long-sleeves of his shirt, trailing until they cover his fingers and make him appear even smaller, visibly delight in flaunting just that!
GS: .One does not need to wonder who dressed that poor boy.
GS: !Sources affirm that the boy -- for it has been rumored that he has not yet been a whole sweep off-planet -- has been registered as Vibronic's Pale Quadrant for EXACTLY THAT LONG!
GS: !As previously mentioned he is a slender thing, made even shorter beside the bulk of Vibronic's Seadweller body, his skull barely reaching the middle of the man's chest! .His horns reach somewhat higher before sweeping back in an admittedly gorgeous expression of classical lowblood horn swag, perfect, massive half-circles.
GS: !!As one might say, boy got serious handlebars!!
--
Battlefield Terra: attempt at karkat POV for his mystery time in the bathroom that i am not keeping cause it's infodumpy and sucks
--
The ablution room is this huge highblooded affair in overwrought alien styles; muted shades and fancy curlicues everyfuckingwhere. Tiny lights shine softly from every available corner. Karkat manipulates the clicky little breakers along the edge of the door until he has shut down half of them and the room is soothingly dim and has stopped trying to blind his dusk vision optimized ganderbulbs.
Then he leans against the door and he lets his face do exactly and only what it will and he breathes.
(it involves a lot of scrunching his eyes closed and grimacing at the ceiling in a way that unfortunately resembles someone manfully trying to ignore a broken leg and breathing noisily through his nose.)
He survived. He succeeded.
He succeeded in selling every single friend he still has left.
He doesn't even care if they never forgive him, and he is not thinking about it now, he'll have weeks and perigees to think about it, at the speed committees go, and he is fucking not starting in early on nights and nights of joyful entertainment he will sorely need the second they go back to the island and boredom crushes back in. He can do that mopey, whiny shit later. He glares down at the devil buttons holding his shirt closed -- antiquated shit that shines like sea dweller mollusk secretion bullshit, what's wrong with a normal glueline zipper, huh? Anyway nudging them out with the outside of his knuckles is easier than putting them back in; in relatively short time he's shirtless, and soon after panstless, and he is not sorry about that in the least. The material was much too thin and much too tight for him to trust it wouldn't tear in embarrassing places at the most inconvenient moment. Humans and their stupid fashion.
Ksst.
But he can wear his sign. (he could have worn it all along -- no, not thinking about that, beat yourself up later.) he can wear his sign, and he has the old battle leaders by the metaphorical horns, and he has won the first battle, the most decisive one.
He's also won the right to be entirely, magnificently alone in this lavish (who the fuck cares) ablution room.
With its ablution trap.
Fuck yes.
--
Gundam Wing: Lone Wolf and Pilot
--
Duo followed his wolf in.
"Today I'm testing your previous combat training," Segura told them, which his brother Bazooka, sitting beside him, reinforced with a sharp, fight bad humans! show us how. "One by one, you'll go at one of the dummies--"
Killer flicked his ears in bland acceptance and raced at the dummy Segura was waving his hand at. He feinted it, even though it didn't move, dodged a bullet that wasn't coming and leaped. His maw snapped closed like a bear trap on the mannequin's face, and he allowed his momentum to spin his massive weight around that new pivot point.
Crack, crack. He landed backward on all fours with a jaunty bounce, stuffed head in his jaw, then went trotting off to Chiquito and dumped his trophy at the pup's feet. Duo facepalmed.
"... Good job, buddy. I ... think it's dead."
Chiquito nosed at the mannequin head, tail wagging, a bit confused but happy to push it around with his muzzle and try to pin it with a paw, radiating happiness that Killer had given him a present just for me!!. Killer turned his head to look at Duo, projecting strong and sure, Dead yes.
Noticed. The dummy's back was broken, on top of its missing head; it listed backward on its support, still standing somehow.
Not enough dead?
"Killer, no--!"
Ooookay, now the mannequin was down an arm, and its other shoulder was caught and shaken savagely in an attempt to break the whole thing off its support entirely. The rest of the pack was staring in silence. Duo sank into a crouch and burrowed his face in his hands, groaning.
Makisig and Wangai started laughing.
"Oh my god, Maxwell. Be honest now, this was your weapon of mass destruction."
Face burning, Duo managed to lift his head enough to glower at Wangai and stick his tongue out very sternly.
Killer was energetically digging stuffing out of the poor fake dude's ruptured abdomen and encouraging Chiquito to join in. He even tried to nose the cub's paws into a better position to brace and yank with, but the cub just thought it was part of the game and danced off, fluff in his jaws.
"Sorry, I--"
"No, it's fine, the dummies break a lot," the drill instructor told him, hands in pockets. Bazooka was watching Killer with his head tilted in interest, like he was considering maybe wandering closer to get in on that mad fake-eviscerating action. "We plan for it. Nice moves, too. The fact that he didn't wait for instruction, though, that's a bit more of an issue."
Duo groaned again. "I had to tell him we needed to help Chiquito learn how to defend his brother, he didn't want to come. Didn't think he'd take it quite that seriously. He's -- I swear he's not like that with live targets."
... Well, when they were fighting live targets, Duo usually wanted to kill them, so of course Killer wanted to kill them as well, and Duo didn't mind if that happened and didn't try to stop him much. Um.
"He knows how to take a prisoner, I mean. If I tell him." Think I'd better be the one he demonstrates on, he sent Segura in an aside that apparently went through as planned. Other wolves would be twitchy.
"That's a plan. We'll do that last, give the other guys their turn first." Segura's hand landed on his shoulder, heavy, and Bazooka nosed his thigh. Killer's head sprang up from his synthetic prey to stare at the older wolf in suspicion. "In the meantime you get to haul a new mannequin from the reserve and put it up. Have fun."
Rubbing the back of his neck and laughing ruefully, Duo went. Shhh Killer, all good. Silly puppy, got my nose booped a bit, all good. C'mon.
Killer dragged his paws a little, looking back at Chiquito, who was bouncing around the head and batting it at his mother. Bianchi mostly looked politely confused about it, sniffing it with vague interest.
People organized themselves into groups. Duo opened the supply closet door and clicked the lights on, and started looking for a new puppet.
No breaking this one! he warned Killer, and heaved one off the wall it leaned on and onto his shoulder. The thing was damn heavy, but he'd carried heavier. Close the door behind us, he asked as he made his cautious way through the doorway. Killer nosed the lights off and took the handle in his maw, pulled the door closed delicately, twisting the handle as he went. Good, thanks.
No slobber! Killer told him proudly.
Though of course anyone with a nose would know a wolf and his person had come through there, and how come avoiding incriminating moisture or crusted-on saliva bubbles actually helped anything. Bah, humans.
--
Swingersverse: Shinichi/Heiji/Kaito pr0nz
--
Identical devious grins -- Kudo about to do something really evil to a suspect -- and then Heiji was tackled onto the tatami. He blinked the daze out of his eyes, caught himself staring down the shadow-filled front of two shirts looking for scars.
Ooh, boy nipples.
One of them kissed his way up Heiji's jaw. The other one kissed his shoulder through his clothes, pushed a hand up the bottom of his t-shirt. So uh, that'd make the jaw-kisser Kudo? Since he was about to kiss him on the moouuh oh lord, the mouth, and surely Kuroba didn't know how they kissed usually.
Though the calluses circling his nipple felt remarkably familiar, and Kuroba did kiss Kudo himself, and they played that game with Ran too and shit, he was tangling himself up, in thoughts and in the t-shirt they'd his pushed up over his face, pulled up to his elbow and left there, trapping his arms over his head.
"Damn it! Not fair, I wanta touch you back--" His arms were still caught. He wriggled a little to free himself; a hand closed on the cloth between his wrists to keep him trapped. "Aw, c'mon, Kud--"
Was it Kudo? He wasn't gonna call the wrong one by that name, it was a matter of pride. He glared instead, making the young man over him smirk. "Hm? What were you going to say?"
"Why don't you deduce it," Heiji growled back, and tugged at the hold pinning his wrists down. (Not half as hard as he could have. It was, he could get himself out of the hold if he had to, and he wouldn't have to, they'd heed any no he gave, he trusted that, but it was -- hot, just. Hot. He hadn't thought it'd be his thing, not like it was Hakuba's or even Kudo's, it had never pinged him, watching them, but--)
"Your mouth says you want to touch us back, but your pocket cannon is hinting otherwise," said the other Kudo, hand fitting itself boldly over his cloth-covered crotch and pressing down against the tent his cock was making.
"What's that, Hattori, smuggling katana now?"
Another hand on him, cupping him through his pants, sure and firm. Two hands feeling and cupping and squeezing him, his balls and his dick, the inside of his thighs.