Three Hundred And Sixty Five Ficlets About Homestuck
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The washed-up ex-gamblignant washed ashore the broadside bay, pulled in by the gravity well, tossed aside with reckless indifference like the latest swill. A sword propped her up, connected to a hand, connected to her wrist, and from there, the rest of her body. Rusted cybernetics creaked their last gasps of breath, locking up while her windsacs ground and whirred and clicked, just as used as the rest of her. A scurrybeast's nest of tangled locks buried her face in so much interstellar grime, pockmarks of long-passed neutrino rays like freckles burnt through her skin.
Vriska Serket was not having a good sweep.
1/365
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"Problem clown! What's shaking, greasepaint?" The pixiedust phantom purred perniciously past the nonplussed Pierrot, poking, prodding, pink paws padding at pliant pelt, piggish for particular provender, a powerful pastry provision kept painfully apart from her gaping gob. Gamzee, or A Gamzee, not The Gamzee, the problem clown truly worth of the title, looked up at her in mute disbelief, his eyes wide. She was absolutely certain that he thought he was hallucinating, which was fine with her. She just swatted his hair a couple more times.
2/365
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"Look at it. It's adorable, Kanaya." Rose said, gesturing to the writhing shape sitting in a small basket on their doorstep as it made noises that sounded like some straining shapeshifter attempting to imitate the most cute mewlings of a kitty cat it could manage. If it sounded like that, it was likely because it was exactly that, in fact, but Kanaya was having none of it.
"Rose. I love you so, so much, but it has tentacles and spikes. This is not a cat." Kanaya responded, rubbing her temples with her index fingers.
3/365
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"So, I think it goes like this..." Jade muttered quietly, feeding clumped strands of hair around each other, over under, under over, trying to remember the times in vain that Rose attempted to teach her how to braid challah. Oh lord, if she could barely manage bread dough, what were the odds she could handle hair?
Feferi laughed a little bit, just wiggling at the sensation of her hair being played with. "You know, if you don't know how to braid it, that's okay! I've braided my own hair before. Just need to say the word!"
"No!" Jade responded, screwing her tongue up, sticking it out of the side of her mouth.
4/365
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A Vriska woke up grasping for a sore wrist that wasn't there, phantom pins and ghastly needles in a wraith's arm, buzzing with nonexistent electricity through fictional nerves into her very real, and very pained shoulder. Deep blue scar tissue stretched across what remained of her joint, stretching underneath the flimsy shirt she wore to bed. Some podcaster, that's what they were called, talked about Dungeons and Dragons (TM) on her computer.
Needed to have plenty of noise to sleep. When she had too much to listen to it meant she wouldn't have to deal with her own thoughts, often loud, often overbearing. Her grabbing hand, her good hand, the left one (she was right handed) eventually realized there was nothing there to grab, and she rolled over in the other direction to push herself vertically up out of bed. Ganglia fired with the assumption that their signal would be carried to the correct place, only to grow confused at the lack of proper direction, making her stump buzz with the softest of agonies.
5/365
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Hood used to check for him when he'd pull up flexing
Now he check under the hood before he start the engine
Came out the stash house, something didn't smell right
He on the ground trying to look up in the tail pipe
Mighty fall for a mighty man
Had a manicure, now it's dirt and oil on his hands6/365
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Rosebot Performs The Trolley Problem With A Hologram Of Herself And Also A Hologram Of Nic Cage That Jake English Programmed by Classpectanon
Fandoms: Homestuck
07 Jan 2021
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"It's certainly an interesting conundrum." Rosebot mused quietly, spinning a little 3d diorama of the situation in question with her finger, feeling metal synapses snap into motion behind her transmitted consciousness. A trolleycar barreling towards a line of innocents, in infinite variations. Always Rosebot at the lever, of course, and she was more than intelligent enough to puzzle out, to solve the correct solution every single time.
Pull the lever. 1 < 5. Bam. Ethics won.
But something about that felt too easy.
7/365
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8/365
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By the time she had actually reached the tower of Rose Lalonde, the storm had begun in earnest, soaking through her furs with intense piles of snow, leaving her covered in drowning white. She was quite cold, yes, but better to be cold in clothes like this than cold in her normal billowy greenhouse wear. Approaching the massive double doors with knuckles chattering, she took a deep breath and knocked twice, as politely as she could manage while also making it very clear that she was sinfully cold.
It took a couple of moments. For the next thirty seconds, Jade was gripped with some sort of odd, humorous anxiety, almost ready to begin chuckling at herself. Was the tower empty, and Jade meant to suffer in the cold until she could find a way to knock the door in? Were the stories and tales all falsehoods? Was the dwelling secretly a ruin, or worse, a dungeon?
No. No it wasn't.
9/365
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- Part 9 of Three Hundred And Sixty Five Ficlets About Homestuck
- Part 1 of Wolfsbane
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The axe went sailing, sailing, into the edge of the tree with a loud, meaty thwack, always a satisfying sound to hear, gouging out a wedge of wood. Jade put her foot on the bottom of the trunk, blessing the clear weather, and yanked the axe's head out before reeling back and swinging again. Yank, swing, until she carved out the complete chunk. Then, to the other side, tensing her muscles, and letting out a breath-expelling kiai as she twisted violently, ramming the axe into the body of the stiff young pine. Quickly, she tugged the axe out and stepped away as it began to gently twist downwards, creaking with increasing intensity as it collapsed under its own now-tenuous weight, falling to the ground, snapping at the weak points she had introduced.
Then, it was trimming, traveling up and down the tree, chopping off limbs as she saw them with more solid, firm cuts, whack, whack, whack. The actual pine-needly branches were snapped free with her hands after a large enough pile had accumulated, into a second, delightful-smelling pile, Jade's hands sticky with gentle trickles of sap.
10/365
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- Part 2 of Wolfsbane
- Part 10 of Three Hundred And Sixty Five Ficlets About Homestuck
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,540
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 22
- Hits:
- 154
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Jade, John, and Dave were all still sound asleep, of course. John looked especially cute, sleeping in Rose's hairband and with his nails freshly painted, curled up into a little ball, Rose thought, quietly shutting the bedroom door behind her, but she would keep that tidbit for when John woke up. And for anyone else, Jade would probably be a nightmare sleeping partner, the way she sprawled like a dog all over the air mattress, but Rose simply sat down at the edge, pivoted until she was lying back down, turned away from Jade, and let her eyes droop shut. Jade made a snorting little sound and her arm thumped at Rose's head until Rose reached back, grabbed Jade's wrist, and set it down close to her hair.
11/365
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They tried very hard not to cry, wiping their eyes with the back of their wrist as they slowly ripped chunks of onion off the outside of the vegetable and tossing them in the trash. Then, putting it on its (mostly) flattened new top, they noticed a small speckling of brownish dirt on the interior and let out an annoyed grunt, quickly giving the (new) outer layer of the onion a rinsing under the sink, scrubbing the dirt off with their thumb. They tried not to stare too hard at their slowly cracking black nail polish. It definitely needed a refresh, and they definitely owed themselves a manicure after this nightmare.
12/365
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Roxy Lalonde Prepares Mirepoix Slightly More Successfully Than They Chop An Onion by Classpectanon
Fandoms: Homestuck
13 Jan 2021
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Roxy feels like, before they continue on with this adventure, letting you, the intrepid reader intruding in on their dinnertime thoughts, know a couple of things. Well, not quite, they would like you to know exactly one thing: They are not using a recipe, because they are the kind of person that hates recipes. Where's the fun in the recipe? You follow the steps and you probably end up with the correct thing unless you fucked up somewhere in some small imperceptible way that means your product comes out completely busted. There's no experimentation involved! And Roxy was nothing if not a scientist. They knew vaguely about the things that you needed in all of your Cookings, and figured out a meal that would hopefully be impossible to fuck up.
Hopefully.
13/365
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"'Ello, stranger!"
That was about what Dirk's audio sensors picked up before a 300 pound fist went sailing right into his cheek, sending him ass-over-skullplate, tipping off the barstool and then taking it back with him a good five feet.
14/365
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- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,278
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 16
- Hits:
- 180
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"Oh, wow." Rose silently mouthed, lips hanging gently agape. Suddenly feeling somewhat vulnerable, she wished she at least got a little made-up for the occasion, so that the hovering ghost in front of her wouldn't have to look at a Lalonde without makeup on. She could feel the judgmental gaze of the ectoplasmic entity hovering about a foot off the floor of the dorm in front of her, watched the TV distort through her translucent body as Rose stared back at the trailing tail that presumably used to be two legs. "Um." She said, trying not to do anything that would piss an actual, real life ghost off. What do you do, Rose? What do you do? Well, she scooted back, got on her knees, and bowed down as politely as she could possibly manage.
15/365
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TT: Ladies, gentlemen, Strider.
TT: I regret to inform you all that as of 10 minues ago I have imbibed the following:
TT: Benedryl,
TT: Nyquil
TT: And a bowl.
TG: Of cereal?
TT: Of the finest Devil's Lettuce, Dave, dearest.
TT: I predict I will lose coherence in approximately seven minutes.
TT: Nevertheless, NaNoWriMo waits for no victim of the common cold.16/365
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The air was thick with grime, the way it was on Mondays like this, when the actuators all failed at once in their "unplanned" spasmodic symphonies. Rose Lalonde always kept a sword on hand, hoping to never need to use it, but on days like this there was always an air of inevitability.
Mondays, huh?
17/365
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"L'Chaim!" Rose shouted with uncharacteristic excitement, tinking a glass full of Sprite against the side of the pool chair lacking a pool to dive in. "Here's to never having to deal with high school ever again."
"Is that a wine glass full of Sprite." Dave stated breathlessly, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the wooden floor of Rose's deck, across from John, while Jade was busy packing a bowl because of course she was. Growing new and interesting kinds of plants was her bread and butter, so why would drugs be out of the question there? Rose raised the most curious eyebrow back at Dave.
18/365
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When Jade Harley fell asleep, she often dreamed of falling. Tonight was no different.
There was a cloud, or several, combed together into large, billowing cushions, hovering on the waves of the endless-eternal ocean that dominated her thoughts. The sort of watery abyss that never went away, even when she woke up, where grasping, semisolid fingers reached up into the surface of her thoughts. She often dreamed about falling into this immense pile, of bounce-like cumulonimbi that would slow her down just enough that her subsequent impact into the water would be slowed to the point of barely stinging.
19/365
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- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 888
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 11
- Hits:
- 97
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"Jesus, fuck!" Sollux yelled, jumping up in fright at the spectral figure looming over his shoulder. Yes, he had the vaguest sense that someone was behind him, and yes, he understood the innate risks that came with showing up at a graveyard at night as a spiritual medium, particularly one just awakening to their powers, but it still took some getting used to seeing actual, honest to god ghosts. Particularly pretty ghost girls with their bedraggled hair draped over their somber faces like curtains, tattered rags hanging off loose, pale, translucent skin. "Scared the fucking shit out of me. Fuck. Jesus."
"Can you chill?" The girl whispered, her voice a cold winter wind on Sollux's pierced ears, making the various bits and bobs of metal ache in his skin. That was a side effect nobody had told him about. He adjusted his glasses, shutting his "sees-living-people" eye so he could take a good look at her.
20/365
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