A WORM HOLDING A PENCIL: harvey's writing thread

artistformerlyknownasdave · Feb 27, 2019 at 3:17 AM

trekstuck ficlets....
prompt: karkat losing his shit at other people’s filing systems

artistformerlyknownasdave said: ↑

"What the fuck is this," Karkat snaps, gesturing furiously at Dave's PADD.

"Uh." Dave glances down. "My notes on Alternian? Why, did I fuck it up? Your pronouns are pretty complex, maybe I--"

"No, those are perfectly legible. The problem is there's not even a semblance of organization here!" He scrolls down and opens a folder, tapping at the text with one of his filed-blunt claws. "Look at this! And you call yourself a professional? None of this follows any logical system. It's not alphabetical, by your language or mine, it's not grouped by part of speech, it's a mangled clusterfuck sculpted out of the remains of what used to be a decent language, before you got through with it! You've scribbled random shit between words in--what is that, it looks ridiculous, is that Vulcan? How do you translate anything?"

Dave shrugs. "I dunno, dude, it's my system. I know where the info I need is, it works alright."

Karkat scoffs, crossing his arms. "That is not a system. You're defaming the very fucking concept of any sort of organizational method by calling that linguistic dumpster fire a system. Looking at it is giving me heartburn."

"So don't look at it." Dave rolls his eyes, laughing in that barely-noticeable way he does where he just exhales a little harder than normal. "Look, man, you get to screech at the rest of the medical staff for moving your samples a micron to the left, you've got to leave that shit in your department. Do you get in fights with John over how he navigates?"

Karkat snorts. "I should, the maniac fucking deserves it. But I'm not forced to work in his presence for multiple hours every night. This is your cosmic reward for having the brainpower necessary to learn my language. Congratulations."

"I'm so honored," Dave deadpans, opening a new folder on his PADD. "But anyways, dude, we've got work to do. Maybe you can look at my rad-as-fuck system some more and let it inspire some choice tantruming? You guys have so many cuss words, I want a comprehensive swear dictionary to keep me warm on those long nights in deep space."

"That concept offends and disgusts me in equal measure. Your tiny mammalian thinkpan can't handle the burden of Alternian cursing; it's going to traumatize you for life and I don't need that kind of black mark on my file," Karkat says, but he sits down anyway.

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prompt: quadrant talk: starfleet edition

artistformerlyknownasdave said: ↑

"Are you married?" Dave asks, interrupting what was going to be a perfectly adequate meal without questions like that. It's just Dave and Karkat eating together in the mess hall tonight; Jade is eating in her quarters while she works on some experiment Karkat doesn't entirely understand, and John is...somewhere. He's probably playing a video game or running through a holoprogram.

Which means it is, apparently, time for Dave to ask bizarre and invasive questions. Hooray! Karkat's so thrilled he's going to do a funny little dance right the fuck out an airlock.

"What?" Karkat stops trying to pry the armored shell off of his deep-fried shieldbug so he can give Dave the full force of his baffled stare. "What the fuck, why would I be married? Do you have actual worms eating your brain? I don't know if you've noticed, since you apparently maintain a permanent residence in la-la land, but people aren't exactly throwing themselves at me."

Dave's expression is impassive as always, but his face is bright green. It's kind of hilarious that he has such an obvious tell.

"No, I mean, like, troll-married or whatever." He lifts his spoon out of his rice and fungus soup thing and points it at Karkat's right pinky. Specifically, at the band of jade he's wearing. "You don't strike me as a jewelry kind of guy, no offense. And...uh, I'm not keeping up on the gossip feeds, but dude, everyone knows about the tall glowing chick who ditched Alternia with you. And I don't know, you kind of act like she's your wife. Don't you live with her, when you're on shore leave?"

"That's none of your goddamn business," Karkat snaps, feeling his own cheeks start to heat up. "I don't care what the gossip feeds have to say about my personal affairs, but I'll have you know trolls don't do marriage. At least not like you do. Kanaya's not my wife, she's my moirail."

Dave raises an eyebrow. "I'm going to be honest, I have no idea what that means." He eats a spoonful of soup and clears his throat. "Sorry."

Karkat wedges his fork underneath the shieldbug's plating and pries it off, the meat underneath still steaming-hot and looking deliciously greasy. Dave puts his spoon down and glances away.

"It's whatever," Karkat says around a mouthful of food. "If the Fleet ever stopped being globes-deep in my business, I'd start to think something was wrong. A moirail is like...an anchor, I guess. They keep you stable, keep you from flipping your shit or from being a danger to yourself or other people. The kind of marriage you're talking about--or at least, what I've gathered from my research--is a lot more analogous with matespritship, and even then they're wholly distinct things."

"Your research," Dave deadpans.

"Yes. My extensive and purely academic research. Fuck you."

Dave huffs a laugh and leans back in his seat. "So, is that what she does for you? Keep you from flipping your shit and...I don't know, biting some dude's face off?"

Karkat barks a laugh. "Are you fucking kidding me? Of course not, she's way scarier than I am." He rests his chin in his hand, his voice taking on an almost dreamy tone as he continues. "You should have seen her back when we left the Empire, she was terrifying. I mean, she can have her fantasies about pacifying me, but let's be real here. She's an emotionally constipated trainwreck who's somehow convinced she isn't the smartest motherfucker this side of the galaxy. Someone has to talk some sense into her."

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artistformerlyknownasdave · Aug 17, 2019

i can't believe i haven't updated this since february. who am i
general CWs for shitty parenting for both, cw for blood for the first
minor editing to the first for flow

artistformerlyknownasdave said: ↑

“Giselle!” James called. James was...new, to their home, and a little unsteady on his feet. A little unclear where he fit in to their family. It was reasonable, of course, but Giselle was getting just a bit tired of answering his constant questions.

“Giselle!” He called again. “It’s the uh...the baby?”

Right. The baby.

“Coming!” She got up from her desk and made her way to the living room, rubbing her temples. She knew how important the baby was. Their oracle had insisted on it. And now that they’d gone through the trouble of finding a fae child who would fit in with their little family, they couldn’t just return him. But sometimes she just wished she could have a break, that was all. This wasn’t what she’d imagined her role to be here.

In the living room, the baby was standing in the fish tank he slept in—40 gallon, saltwater—hanging on to the edge to support himself. And he was screaming at the top of his lungs, stomping his little frog feet against the bottom of the tank. James, for his part, was holding a cloth to his shoulder.

“Why is he in bed?” Giselle asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“He wouldn’t stop crying, so I—I don’t know, he sleeps in there, I thought it would calm him down. He bit me, Giselle, I kind of panicked!”

“He has a playpen,” she muttered, “if we put him in bed every time he misbehaved, he’d never leave.”

She glanced over at said playpen, the kiddy pool surrounded by puppy pads to catch the inevitable splashes. Several of the toys in there—mostly the little terrycloth-and-sponge stuffed animals—had apparently been chewed on, holes ripped in them and limbs torn off. Ah. Well, combine that, him biting James, and the fit he was throwing...

“He’s teething. No wonder he bit you.” The baby had noticed her presence and was reaching for her now, still crying. Giselle went to stand in front of the tank, putting on her best childcare voice.

“Hello there, little one. It’s okay. Stop crying, shhh-shh-shhh. It’s okay.” She picked him up, resigning herself to saltwater stains on her clothes. Careful not to let him rest his head on her shoulder, lest he bite, she bounced him on her hip. He stopped crying after a few moments, breaths slowly evening out. He rattled off a string of nonsense, patting his wet hand against Giselle’s face for emphasis. At least she’d stopped wearing makeup most days.

“Gigi,” he said seriously, before launching into more babbling. It...was kind of cute, how he tried to say her name.

“Let me see that bite,” she said to James, gesturing for him to come closer. The baby already had some of his teeth and could deliver a nasty bite when he wanted to. He had a few pointy little fangs, with another row behind them. It was frankly disturbing.

And he certainly had done a number on poor James. Giselle hissed through her teeth at the sight (making the baby hiss too, although his mimicry sounded like a wild thing.) The cloth James had been holding to his shoulder was soaked with blood, and —mm. Those puncture wounds looked deep. They could be infected, and they might need stitches. They were still oozing blood.

“Go see the healer.” It was better to treat these kinds of injuries in-house, after all.

Once James had left, Giselle turned her attention towards the baby. She knew that if he was teething and she set him down, he’d just start crying again. But she couldn't just hold him all day long. She had things to do, and he was getting heavy. What she needed was a distraction.

“Okay, open your mouth. Is that where it hurts? Open up, let Giselle see. There we are.” She walked closer to a lamp, gently holding his mouth open with her thumb so he wouldn’t close it before she could look. Stupid mistake, really. Amateurish. She just got a glimpse of a red, swollen spot in the back of his mouth before he bit her. Of course he bit her, what had she been thinking?

“Ow!” She swallowed the urge to yell at him, taking a deep breath. “No! No. No biting Giselle. Come on, let go.”

After a little coaxing, she got him to ease up on her finger, though he looked like he was about to start crying again. If she had to deal with another fit, she was going to scream.

“Shh-shh. It’s okay. Don’t cry, don’t cry. It’s okay. Shhh.” She bounced him up and down again, holding her other hand away so as to not bleed on him. She needed that distraction, and fast. “You want a popsicle?”

That got his attention, eyes huge and wide. He nodded.

“Yeah? Popsicle for your teeth? That sound good?” She carried him into the kitchen, wincing when he let out a delighted squeal at the sight of the fridge. God, she was getting a headache.

She opened the freezer carefully, so as not to drip blood on it, and pulled out a frozen salmon fillet. The baby was wiggling with excitement now, reaching for it before she could even get it out of the vacuum sealed packaging. Once she gave it to him, he immediately started gnawing on it, eyes going squinty and half-closed with pleasure. Giselle savored the silence for a moment, before the painful throbbing in her thumb reminded her she had more pressing matters to worry about. She was dripping blood down to her wrist now, and she suspected he’d bitten nearly to the bone. Hopefully their healer was finished with James.

“You really got to poor Giselle,” she muttered, looking at the baby. Still clutching the salmon in one hand, he pointed at her thumb. “Yes. You did that. That wasn’t very nice, was it—ow!”

He’d grabbed her thumb, and was squeezing it hard, blood pooling up between his webbed fingers. Giselle swallowed a swear word, trying to figure out how to pry his hand away without damaging her hand more. He had sharp little nails.

Suddenly, her thumb felt like it had been dipped in cold water, the pain slowly starting to fade. The cool feeling radiated from the wound, spreading until it abruptly stopped. The blood was gone, and when she pulled her hand away, it was as though the wound was never there. The baby was staring at her, still gnawing determinedly away at his “popsicle.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

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artistformerlyknownasdave said: ↑

“Mama, come on,” Asher whined, bouncing in place on the balls of his feet.

“Hold still, I’m almost done.” His mother straightened his bow tie one last time, brushing his curls out of his face. She should have gotten his hair cut, but it was such a pain to get him to sit still for that long, and she forgot to ask the nanny to set up an appointment. Oh well. It wasn’t long enough that people would mistake him for Lily, at least.

“Can I go now?” He looked over, at the other children dressed up and ready to perform, still bouncing up and down. He’d never been one for being patient or still or calm. Lily either, although she tended towards explosions, whereas Asher’s was more a constant baseline of hyperactivity. She really needed to get him looked at for that.

But right now, it was time for his recital. He’d only been playing for a year or so—with just the most adorable tiny violin!—but she was sure he’d blow all of the other performers out of the water, even if it wasn’t strictly a competition. He was her son, after all.

“You know...” She tucked in his tiny dress shirt and helped pull on his suit jacket. God. So cute. “I think you’re ready, yes.”

She knelt down to give him a hug, peppering his face with kisses. When she was done, she stood up and gently pushed Lily forward.

“Give your brother a hug, sweetie.” Lily looked just precious too, in a pink dress with a puffy tulle skirt, a white lace bolero, a floral white headband, white tights, and pink dress flats. Today was about Asher, of course, but god. Lily was so cute when she allowed herself to be dressed up.

Lily gave her a surly look and seemed for a moment like she might throw a tantrum, but hugged him anyway. Asher kissed her on the cheek and looked at their mother for approval to run off, once Lily let go.

“Okay, yes, you can go. Break a leg, pyaare bete.” She kissed his forehead one more time for good measure before taking Lily to find a seat.

If Asher did well, she couldn’t wait to tell the ladies at brunch all about it. A few of them had made snide comments about her putting him in lessons at this age, but she wanted to cultivate that talent. She’d love to see the looks on their faces after this. Could their babies read sheet music yet? Could they even hold an instrument? She didn’t think so. They’d be eating their words when she got him into Julliard.

Most of the recital was dreadfully boring; she could sympathize with Lily’s loud sighs and restless kicking of her feet. Other people’s children weren’t why she was here, after all, and it felt like an eternity to get to surnames starting with L. At least he was the first one up once they got to that.

He walked onto the stage, looking for a moment like a deer in the headlights. God, she hoped he didn’t get stage fright now. He was a little attention sponge, this was the perfect environment for him! And he could hardly be a violinist if he couldn’t perform.

He seemed to snap out of it once he caught sight of Lily waving at him, and brought the violin into position. His instructor said he had excellent form for his age. She didn’t know much about that, but she certainly believed it. He was her son. Of course he was talented.

‘Ode to joy’ wasn’t something she’d listen to normally, but it was an excellent opportunity to show what he’d learned. She pulled out her digital camera and started recording. She’d get a few copies put on CDs, mail them out to their grandparents and, you know, maybe give some to the ladies at brunch. She was just so proud of him.

Once he was done performing, she went backstage to collect him. The instructor was hesitant to let him go early, but he’d finished his part, hadn’t he? There was no reason to sit around listening to other children pick their way through ‘Jingle Bells’ or ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ for however much longer. She convinced the instructor that it would mess up their bedtime if they didn’t leave now, and you know what, it was true! Yes, she took them out for pizza afterwards (god, she was glad that the housekeeper took care of the laundry; tomato sauce everywhere) but they needed to eat.

After dinner, on the drive home she caught sight of them sleeping together in the back seat, Asher’s head pillowed on Lily’s shoulder, and Lily flopped back against the seat. When they weren’t screaming or throwing tantrums or insisting on distracting her, they could be so terribly cute. Even with pizza stains on their clothes.

She couldn’t wait to show that video to someone. Now she just needed to find something Lily could apply herself to.

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artistformerlyknownasdave · May 15, 2020 at 11:07 PM

been a minute

artistformerlyknownasdave said: ↑

years in the future, but not many
aodhan and asher face their greatest challenge yet: feeding themselves

“Hey babe,” Asher calls. He’s sitting on the couch, under a novelty halloween blanket, watching some trash television. This chick’s addicted to eating people’s ashes; he should tell Matt about it. That is definitely not an idea he’ll regret.

“Yeah?” Aodhán pokes his head out from around the corner a few moments later.

“What were you thinking for dinner?”

“Oh, god.” He flops down on the couch next to him and shrugs. “I don’t want to cook tonight.”

“Coolies.” Asher scoots a little closer. He’s not ashamed to use his boyfriend’s tiddies as a pillow. “Pizza?”

Aodhán hisses by way of response. Okay, no pizza.

“Chinese?”

“No.”

“Burgers?”

“Die.”

“Jeez, okay, no land meats. Uhhhh, pub food?”

“Ehhhn.”

“You’re not being very helpful,” Asher says, pulling his blanket tighter around himself.

“Well,” Aodhán drawls, “you tend to object when I start suggesting things like raw squid or feeder fish.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, idly watching the television while they contemplate their dinner conundrum.

“I know,” Asher says abruptly, “we’ll let the fates decide!”

Aodhán looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “I’m not letting the cats decide what we’re going to eat.”

“No, dumbass.” Asher glances over at the cat tower, where Clotho and Lachesis are playing. “The actual fates.”

He sits back up, unwrapping himself slightly from his blanket burrito. “Go get my bowl.”

Aodhán does that weird little sideways blink of his. “Really?”

“Yeah, bro, really. Let’s suss out the most fortuitous dinner.”

Aodhán vanishes into the kitchen for a moment, coming back with a shallow bowl full of water. It’s carved out of a single chunk of dark agate, and Asher finds the various colored bands easy to loss himself in. Easy to drift into the right mindset.

The couch dips as Aodhán sits back down next to him, watching intently. He doesn’t focus on that, though. Any kind of foresight, especially when he isn’t actively receiving divine messages, requires the right kind of focus. He can’t reach too hard for it, but he can’t get distracted, either.

His expression goes slack, eyes unfocused and ever-so-faintly luminescent as he stares into the bowl. After a long, silent moment, he sits back, blinking rapidly as the strange light fades from his eyes. It’s a little disorienting, no matter how often he does it.

“There’s a Japanese place that does delivery,” he says, reaching for a notepad to scribble the name of the restaurant down on. “They’ve got sashimi, I’m gonna get like, noodles.”

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artistformerlyknownasdave said: ↑

"Hold still," Asher said, eyes flicking up to give Aodhán a stern look. "Or I'm going to end up getting this all over your hands."

"It looks fine," Aodhán replied, leaning closer to admire Asher's handiwork. He'd painted all but three of Aodhán's frankly terrifying claws, dark black keratin now covered up in several coats of a glossy pink-silver duochrome polish Asher had picked out especially for them. Maybe a little tacky, at least to his tastes, but they liked it, and who was he to judge? "I like it."

"Yeah, it's cute. I'm good at my job, what can I say?"

"You're cute."

Asher spluttered. It was hardly like the praise was unwelcome, hardly like he'd never been complimented before, but the intensity in those big luminous eyes always caught him off-guard. And, you know, hearing that from someone who couldn't lie was always an ego boost.

"You're distracting me."

"Oh no," Aodhán singsonged, leaning closer. Their lips quirked upwards in a smile, just the barest flash of sharp teeth visible. "If I make you mess up, you'll have to start all over. And then where would we be?"

"You're so not subtle, babe." Asher snickered, swiping the brush over another claw. He could feel their cool breath against the side of his face as they watched, heard the faint clinking of their numerous piercings as they gave an amused little finflick.

They twitched their finger, just enough for polish to spill over the cuticle and onto their skin. "Oops," they said, their voice positively dripping smug.

"You're the fucking worst," Asher said, leaning back to arch a brow at them. It only made their grin widen, the corners of their eyes scrunching up with amusement.

"You like it." Aodhán closed the miniscule distance between them, and Asher tilted his chin up for a kiss. Their lips were cool to the touch, like their breath; not unpleasant but forever just a little strange.

"Mm. Maybe."

i love that these dipshits run all the way from toxic to tender and everywhere in between depending on circumstance
truly it is the dynamic for me
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A WORM HOLDING A PENCIL: harvey's writing thread

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A WORM HOLDING A PENCIL: harvey's writing thread

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