Homestuck Fic: Data
I will never stop writing for this pairing YOU CAN'T MAKE MEEEEEEE
Title: Data
Fandom: Homestuck
Rating: T
Pairing: Roxy/Auto-Responder
Summery: The normally fast-paced action of Sburb slows down to a halt, and they take advantage of it.
When the rainstorm of imps and ogres and other things that you know of because the game shoves it all into your head ceases, she rests.
Well, more like she passes out because apparently her markswomanship skills improve by about a thousand percent when drunk, and the bottles of rum and vodka she’d brought along with her are now empty.
Her martini glass lays discarded to the side as she unceremoniously drapes herself across your weird ghosty lower half in a place hidden from the searching eyes of agents and Dersites and monsters, and proceeds to black out.
You wonder if she’s awake on Derse, yet. Maybe not, because Dirk has been working himself into a frenzy trying to keep his dreamself and hers safe from any form of assassination attempt. An interference may be in order shortly.
The game continues to feed you information that you already know and it drives you nuts, creating an almost permanent migraine that could rival that of Roxy’s hangovers. She’s definitely gonna have a nasty one when she wakes up.
You can’t bring yourself to complain about it, and as you automatically place your hand on the sword that protrudes from your stomach at every slight sound that comes your way, you breathe in the color of cherry red.
Roxy mumbles in her alcohol-induced sleep, making herself comfortable on your lower ghost half with some weird drunken giggle that follows. She smiles, and you run your fingers through her hair while data and numbers and pixels that you are composed of marches like lines of ants behind your eyes.
It reminds you that you were once just glasses.
Title: Data
Fandom: Homestuck
Rating: T
Pairing: Roxy/Auto-Responder
Summery: The normally fast-paced action of Sburb slows down to a halt, and they take advantage of it.
When the rainstorm of imps and ogres and other things that you know of because the game shoves it all into your head ceases, she rests.
Well, more like she passes out because apparently her markswomanship skills improve by about a thousand percent when drunk, and the bottles of rum and vodka she’d brought along with her are now empty.
Her martini glass lays discarded to the side as she unceremoniously drapes herself across your weird ghosty lower half in a place hidden from the searching eyes of agents and Dersites and monsters, and proceeds to black out.
You wonder if she’s awake on Derse, yet. Maybe not, because Dirk has been working himself into a frenzy trying to keep his dreamself and hers safe from any form of assassination attempt. An interference may be in order shortly.
The game continues to feed you information that you already know and it drives you nuts, creating an almost permanent migraine that could rival that of Roxy’s hangovers. She’s definitely gonna have a nasty one when she wakes up.
You can’t bring yourself to complain about it, and as you automatically place your hand on the sword that protrudes from your stomach at every slight sound that comes your way, you breathe in the color of cherry red.
Roxy mumbles in her alcohol-induced sleep, making herself comfortable on your lower ghost half with some weird drunken giggle that follows. She smiles, and you run your fingers through her hair while data and numbers and pixels that you are composed of marches like lines of ants behind your eyes.
It reminds you that you were once just glasses.