#le writes things

[thedragonbandit]

H/C Bingo: Abandonment Issues

Crosspost to DW

Fandom: Homestuck Characters: Hal Strider, Hal Jr Pairing: Gen Rating: G Wordcount: 635  Extra notes: Part of the kidfic AU. Written for the H/C bingo challenge.

 By the time it takes you to leave the dark bedroom and sit down, JJ has already started to screech. 

“G'night kiddo.” You say softly, getting up to walk out of the room. By the time you're about to sit down on the battered couch you rescued, JJ has started to screech. By this point, you're expecting it, one of the reasons you didn't collapse onto your own bed as soon as you got JJ settled. Even though you're tired as hell and can feel sleep dragging at the edges of your sight. As soon as you get near enough to the bed, JJ latches on with more force than a four year old should have in his body. “I'm here, you can stop the racket.” you say, running your hands down his back in what you hope is a comforting fashion. Sometimes JJ loathes being touched, other times he can't get enough. He curls into your hand though, and stops screaming at the top of his lungs, so you view it as a success. He snuffles into your chest. Tears soak into the thin cotton of your shirt.  “Want to talk about it?” you sigh into his hair. JJ shakes his head, and you nod gently. Sometimes he doesn't have words, and you've grown to accept it. You have enough words for the both of you.  You rock him gently, letting him hide his face in your chest for as long as he wants to. For what feels like an age, the only sound in the room is soft snuffles. You're tempted to fill the silence with words; you've never been very good at keeping quiet. It's a skill you're slowly learning though, one you have to learn if you want JJ to be fully happy living with you. Fuck, you want him to be happy with you. It's only been two months since you got him back from Dirk and he's already  got you wrapped around his little finger.  You can feel his breathing slowing down, in the way that means sleep is imminent. He's stopped snuffling too, instead sighing softly and nuzzling into you as his grip loosens it's death hold on your shirt. However, when you try to settle him back into his bed and stand up, his grip tightens faster than a crocodile snapping it's jaws around an especially tasty bit of prey during a famine. “JJ, you need to sleep,” you try. In response JJ shakes his head. “You do, it's way past your bedtime now.” More head shaking. “No.” “Yes.” “Nooooooooo.” His grip tightens. And that makes you pause, and look frankly down at the tiny boy cuddled in your arms. Something tells you this isn't about sleeping. When JJ doesn't want to go to bed, he's a hyperactive mess. Running around the apartment and laughing the entire time as you try and get him ready for bed. Right now, he's practically the opposite of that. “What do you want JJ?” you ask, the only thing you can think of asking to straighten this out. “You.” he says, which is more helpful than it really should be. In the same way you know why he hates orange and you had to switch out your shades when he became a major part of your life again.  “You've got me,” you say. “Got me?” It takes you a beat to realise what he wants, “I've got you.” His grip doesn't loosen. There's only one solution left for this. “Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight? With me?” JJ nods, and lets you carry him into the larger bed. You curl around him, and kiss his forehead. “I'm not going anywhere, kiddo.” “Not going,” JJ agrees.  You watch his breathing go soft and slow, and then sleep finally takes you under. No one is taking JJ away from you. Not as long as you still stand. Not ever again.

[thedragonbandit]

Cliche's Chance Encounters

enterlinkhereforthemebullshittery

Fandom: Homestuck Characters: Brobot (Timeaus), Hal Strider, Lil Hal Jr (mentioned) Pairing: Gen (For now) Rating: G Wordcount: 613  Extra notes: for the bingo card I made using a random generator. In the same verse as the one I wrote for "kidfic".

You keep noticing him now.

 After that night you end up noticing the strange man a lot more often. It's always when you're not expecting it.

You go out to buy milk and he's in the aisle in a mostly one sided conversation about the virtues of apples over bananas. One time you ride up the elevator with him mashed somewhere in the crowd of people that always end up in the tiny metal boxes. You swear you once saw him on the street as you headed to work. With a heavy raincoat on and holding tight to the hand of the small child that you are fairly sure is his son. Or his brother.

He looks young, it could be possible that there is just a large age gap between the two of them. However, since you don't even know his name (Or sex for that matter. You based it on his voice and face shape but sometimes that doesn't mean anything), You can't base any such opinions on the matter without it being moderately creepy.

It doesn't stop you from noticing him out of the corner of your vision.

You wish you knew his name. It's a strange whim, one you don't understand. You've never really felt the need to reach out to anyone. Instead being content to wander through life on your own with the small group of friends you already have.

You only met him once. It doesn't make any sense.

There he is again, you notice, as you walk from the grocery store back to your apartment. This time though he seems to have forgotten his umbrella, judging from the way his usually neat suit is practically plastered to his skin thanks to the rain.

He doesn't have his kid this time, and you wonder where he is. Maybe with his mother? Does he have a mother? You don't know this either, you shouldn't want to know but you do. So far you've been chalking it down to idle curiosity, even if you've never wanted to know so much random information about a random human before.

Before you know it, you're standing next to him, and sheltering him with your umbrella. He looks startled for a second, looking up at the grey plastic before turning his head to regard you with inquiring eyes.

There's a long silence, where you simply look down at him. Some part of you notes full lips, freckles down his face and white hair that must be light and fluffy to arrange around his face as it does.

“Thank you.” he finally says, “You're the guy who let me use his stove, right?”

He remembered you? Or, maybe he didn't. You nod regardless, ignoring the small desire that wants him to have remembered you.

“You looked cold. And wet,” you say.

“So you took pity and decided to share?” he's smiling, it lights up his entire face.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to the apartment building?”

“I am, are you?”

“I am,” you say, “We can walk together.”

“It seems we can,” he says cheerfully. “Lead the way neighbour.”

He fills the walk with chatter. You suspect that he always talks, and his light tenor fills you ears, as you nod and make stilted remarks in response. You've never been very good at talking. Thankfully he doesn't seem to mind.

Together you go up the elevator.

“This is me,” he says when the door opens. It turns out he lives on the floor below you. “Thanks again.”

“No problem.” you say.

He steps out of the elevator, giving you a jaunty wave.

It's only when the door closes again that you realise you still don't know his name.

[thedragonbandit]

Cliche's Free Space: Kidfic

Fandom: Homestuck  Characters: Hal Strider, Hal Strider Jr, Brobot (Timaeus)  Pairing: Gen (for now) Rating: G Wordcount: 851  Extra notes: I made a bingo card using a random generator using the cliche bingo's list of squares. I am not officially doing the challenge, at all.

“I'm really sorry about this,” he starts, “But can we borrow your stove?”

 There's a knock on your door. For a moment you don't believe you heard it correctly; it's 5 am, and you weren't expecting any visitors. But then the knock comes again, and you're lead to the conclusion that yes, there is actually someone on the other side that wants your attention.

You open the door. Just enough that the guard chain goes taught at the side: You aren't an idiot after all.

On the other side of the thin opening, a man smiles haltingly at you. He's short, blond haired and red eyes ringed with dark sleep circles.

“I'm really sorry about this,” he starts, “But can we borrow your stove?”

“What?” You say, blinking in slight confusion.

“Your stove,” he repeats, “I need to borrow it. Mine's broken and I need to make things.”

“At five in the morning?”

There's a pause, and then the man's shoulders slump. “Right.” he says. “Sorry for bothering you. I'll just, leave and forget this ever happened and you can go on with your day, well, night. Morning? I don't--”

“You can use my stove,” you interrupt.

“What? You're serious?”

You're not entirely sure yourself if you are, but you can't exactly take it back now. “Sure, wait there.”

You close the door to unlatch the guard chain, and then swing the door wide.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

You lead him to your kitchen, watching as his face takes on this incredulous look; like he can't believe this is really happening.

It's only when he grabs your saucepan, and rifles through his bag that you notice the small child standing in his shadow.

He's small, barely reaching the older mans knees. He's wearing grey pyjamas and he's staring right at you.

“Hello.” you say. The boy looks at you frankly, and then immediately disregards you to tug at his, fathers? Brothers? Trouser leg.

“Yes, J?” the man says.

The boy doesn't say anything, but you can see him shake his head slightly and tug at the trousers again.

“You have my attention, what's the matter?”

There's definite frowning. The man doesn't even look down from where he's stirring something on your stove.

“You need to use your words, lil' kid, otherwise I'm not going to know what you want. If it's hot chocolate still, I'm in the middle of making it.”

“No.” The child says.

“No?” There's a hint of a smile in the words.

“Not hot chocl'te.”

You start to feel like a stranger in your own kitchen, and you aren't sure whether it's polite to leave the two of them. You're not sure if it's polite to be in the same space as them either. Neither of them seem to be fully paying attention to you however.

“Then what?”

“Not hot choc'lte.”

“It seems we established that part. Do you want something else with your chocolate?”

“No.”

“Okay. Is there something you need?”

“No.”

The man hums slightly. “Are you worried about something?”

“Yes.”

“What are you worried about?”

Another long silence. The man glances down at the child, who is frowning and scrunching up the fabric still clutched in his tiny hands.

“Do you have the words for it?” The voice is soft, kind, understanding. The child looks at the floor, shaking his head. “Ok. Then it seems we need to work this out another way. Is it where we are?”

A shaking head, followed by a slow nod.

“It is where we are, but not exactly.”

“Yes.”

“Can you ignore it? We can go as soon as your hot chocolates done.”

“....Kay.”

“Good kiddo.”

The child hugs the man's leg. You really start to feel like you're interrupting now, and you leave as quietly as you can to your abandoned work. You lose your sense of time, getting lost in the words. It's brain melting stuff, most likely the reason they gave it to you; you're the only one who knows how half of the things work.

When the man enters your field of vision again, it startles you slightly. You had almost forgotten he was there, apart from the quiet, almost one sided conversation coming from your kitchen.

“Thanks.” he says, child balanced on his hip and red eyes grateful. “I'll get out of your space now.”

“It wasn't a bother,” you say, and get up to show him out. He shrugs at you, following you back to the entrance.

“Thanks anyway.” He nods at you, crossing the threshold. “And now we shall ignore each other again in the great tradition of American neighbourhood.” he jokes. “Bye.”

“Bye.” you say, and close the door.

You wander into the kitchen. He washed the saucepan he used. the only sign that there was anyone but you in the apartment is the way the chairs aren't quite the way you left them, and the suspiciously clean counter top.

There is nothing else you can do except go back to work.

Three hours later, you will realise you never exchanged names. Three hours later you will realise that you don't particularly want to go back to ignoring him. You have no idea why.

[thedragonbandit]

You can't stop me.

Fandom: Twitch Plays Pokemon Characters: Red Pairing: None Rating: G Wordcount: 790 Extra notes: For the 31days-dw I am in, the secondary fandom for TPP, which basically means that I wasn't there when shit was going down (Due to sensory issues) but the lore that was created by it was something that I genuinely loved and stayed current with all the way to Kalos.  I'm not sure how well I got the verse though. So, there's that.

His name is Red, and his body doesn't belong to him right now.

His name is Red. The day of his tenth birthday, he wakes up and something is terribly wrong with his body. He doesn't move correctly, his hands go to his bag, his new pokedex, his new pokemon, and his old battered diary without consulting his head first.

It's like they're being controlled by something else. His feet are even worse. He tries to hide it, because today is his birthday and he's sure it's nothing, that it will go away soon.

And anyway, the professor wants him to do things and Red can't say no to the old man. Even if he feels sick and shaky and like nothing is right.

He gets to the second route after hours of feeling like nothing more than a puppet controlled by a particularly sadistic puppeteer.

He tries to sleep but he can't. He can't stop his body moving. He spends hours fighting exhaustion until finally he collapses. but when he wakes up he's on the other side of Viridian forest. His pokemon looks at him with something like worry reflected in it's eyes.

Red tries to smile, because he doesn't want his pokemon to worry about him.

He doesn't understand what's happening to him, and the only clue he has is the strangest dream.

Where it was cold, and blank, and empty, except for words that would scrawl past in a never ending stream of white noise. It's hard to make out what the words actually say with how fast they are replaced by new ones. But it is easy to see the pattern after a few minutes of looking.

Up, down, A, B, up, up, left.

Over and over and over in an endless steam of words.

He pets his pokemon on it's head, and tries to show that there is no need to be concerned, he has this under control. Of course, that's when he gets trapped behind a ledge for six hours.

Six hours of nothing but trying to overcome this suddenly huge obstacle in his quest. Red pauses then, because he doesn't remember a quest. He was just meant to gather data for the professor wasn't he?

No. Suddenly it's very clear that there is a quest for him as well. To go through the eight gyms and complete the elite 4. Red has no idea where this desire came from.

It haunts him, this foreign, burning passion. Until finally he closes his eyes, and again he is in the strange room with all the words.

This time it is easier to see what they say. This time, the patterned commands are filtered out, and he can make out the individual words.

The words are arguing with each other. It seems that whatever they are, they are also mad at being stuck behind the ledge. It's a storm, an argument, like children on the school yard, and it makes his head hurt. And he doesn't understand what's happening.

He doesn't understand anything except that sometimes they will talk about a journey, a quest, and objective. And all of the words, who are usually so disagreeing all reach a consensus that yes, this is the end, this is what they are trying to reach.

Why they picked him to do it, Red doesn't know. He doesn't know anything any more, not since he woke up on his birthday and his body didn't belong to him.

He's learning though. He learns that they have a goal.

'Will you leave me then? Let me have my body back, when you reach it?' he says, but maybe not out loud. The words don't hear him. Or maybe they do. Either way, there is no answer. Not one that Red can see anyway.

The way they make his feet jerk to Pewter City tells him all he needs to know.

He learns that he can't stop them. He learns that he might as well get used to them being around until he finally gets to the champions hall. He learns that they aren't very smart. He learns that they are superstitious. He learns that they understand attachment in the most horrible way imaginable.

He learns that they think this is going to take a long time. His eyes narrow, he looks at the badges he has obtained, and the empty spaces where soon a badge will be.

He looks at his party, and the team that is his, his and the words, shared between them. Neither side having a clear upper hand on that (Silent) argument.

Red closes his eyes, and watches the commands and the comments scrawl down the back of his lids.

Red cocks his head. 'Try me' he thinks. Let's see how long this is really going to take.

[thedragonbandit]

Pairing: Auto-Responder/Dirk Prompt: “I would argue that masturbation is the human animal's most important adaptation. The very cornerstone of our technological civilization. Our hands evolved to grip tools, all right—including our own. You see, thinkers, inventors, and scientists are usually geeks, and geeks have a harder time getting laid than anyone. Without the built-in sexual release valve provided by masturbation, it's doubtful that early humans would have ever mastered the secrets of fire or discovered the wheel. And you can bet that Galileo, Newton, and Einstein never would have made their discoveries if they hadn't first been able to clear their heads by slapping the salami (or "knocking a few protons off the old hydrogen atom"). The same goes for Marie Curie. Before she discovered radium, you can be certain she first discovered the little man in the canoe.” - Ernest Cline, Ready Player One.

Rating: E Extra notes: Sexual Content, Accidental voyeurism, Background (onesided) Dirk/Jake

[thedragonbandit]

Pairing: Auto-Responder & Dirk Prompt: "I'd just like to point out that you were given every opportunity to succeed. There was even going to be a party for you. A big party that all your friends were invited to. I invited your best friend, the Companion Cube. Of course, he couldn't come, because you murdered him. All your other friends couldn't come either, because you don't have any other friends. Because of how unlikeable you are. It says so here in your personnel file: unlikeable. Liked by no one. A bitter, unlikeable loner whose passing shall not be mourned. 'Shall not be mourned.' That's exactly what it says. Very formal. Very official." - GLaDOS Rating: T Extra notes: Slight manipulation of Canon events, AR is mean.

[thedragonbandit]

Pairing: Disciple <> Psiioniic Prompt: Lonely Together: Characters with nothing in common except their loneliness band together — as many or as few as are lonely. Immediately following Sufferer's death, preferably. Rating: T Extra notes: Mentioned character death, mourning.

[thedragonbandit]

Pairing: Condesce/Psiioniic Prompt: And I Must Scream: A character suffers from an extremely horrifying Fate Worse than Death. Suicide is not an option; even death never comes to free him from it. He is immobilized or otherwise contained, unable to communicate with anyone, and unlikely to be removed from this situation — not even by death — anytime in the foreseeable future. Rating: M Extra notes: Body Horror, physical abuse?, Blood, surgery, suicidal thoughts, colourblind character,