#alternia's dawn

[almostourgalaxy]

The Face You Wwvear To Please Them

[lime-bloods]

some less cohesive thoughts wrt something touched on in that last post.

i have assumed in some previous posts that by killing Calliope, Caliborn carves out some essential part of himself, and is thus cursed to an eternal Lack no matter the effort he might put into self-improvement. and while this is at least one interpretation proferred by the text, there is a fair argument i think to be made that it's a cruel or even ableist one. the idea that Caliborn is "stunted" is ultimately a bit of poking fun (possibly even at the author's own neuroses). while Caliborn makes it easy for us to come away with the impression that he's stupid, he's clearly not: his original plan to pass on the assassination of Calliope's dream self to Jack Noir is, yes, an evil plan, but it's a clever one! Calliope's underestimation of Caliborn's twisted genius is clearly a part of what allows the plan to work in the first place, and in retrospect this subterfuge clearly prefigures the kind of underhanded dealings that allowed Caliborn to take such complete control of Alternia.

I think it's very tempting to see Scratch's knack for manipulation as something Caliborn "stole" wholesale from Dirk-as-AR: the "Land of Someone's Handicrafts I Took" certainly comes across as a suggestion that Caliborn is incapable of truly creating anything for himself. but this too is just making fun of Homestuck's long-standing love affair with the Google image result photobash, and in the end the copy+paste only serves as one small step in Caliborn's creative journey. Lord English is a dark mirror of Hussie, after all, and to accuse Caliborn of being creatively bankrupt is to suggest Homestuck itself of lacking originality... but of course that's all part of the point. we can't necessarily assume Homestuck's default position is one of self-confidence; while it's never been particularly shy about the bits and pieces it aped from the works of fiction that came before it,* the comic crucially does set out to question the ethics of reusing ideas, or even of telling a story in the first place. that Hussie didn't even "create" his own characters - that they originate as some kind of timeless Platonic ideas that one merely plucks from the void when they're needed to tell a story - is essential to the comic's mythology; hell, how much of Homestuck even is there that isn't just a remix of Hussie's own previous work?

I asserted a couple years ago now that Homestuck is "only superficially" about creation and reproduction... but one particular rebuttal, that Homestuck actually very much is about reproduction in the sense that it is about the reproduction of images and ideas, has stuck with me since i first heard it. and though conversations about the difference between stealing / copying / learning / coming up with an original thought are obviously a LOT older than modern machine learning, given that Caliborn very literally goes on to become a Terminator-esque AI singularity (in a setting where all AI is just direct copies of living people's essences, no less!) and even played with early examples of tech bro grift a couple years before the debate really took off, I find it a fun thought exercise to ponder the ways in which Caliborn's contribution to Homestuck preempted the current discourse on algorithmically-generated art... which I suppose grows not just out of the more pedigreed argument about digital art as a medium, but probably stems all the way back to the dawn of comics as a medium, in all their entanglement with the burgeoning pop art movement. but that's about where my area of expertise ends.

*it's probably meaningful that the name of the planet Lord English "stole" his ideas for Alternia from, "befor-us", is so widely reinterpretable as referring to pretty much anything that came "before us".

[sunnetrolls]

Guys I Wanna Use More (w/ ways to plot with them!)

Elysia

She's one of my sea slug trolls, the Sagosa line!! As such her 'hair' is actually fleshy cerata like a sea slug. She's very peppy and upbeat and currently works at Vapore's smoothie bar as a waitress. It's an outdoor location by the beach and she's usually on rollerskates.

It's the best place to find her!! While you're there, if it's slow, you might be able to chat with her. It's polite not to flirt while she's working though--unless you're a hot butch lesbian, then she doesn't mind. Not at all

Lesath

Based loosely on the unkillable giant crocodile SCP as well as capybaras, Lesath has worked for the Fleet ever since they yoinked him as a kid and he's just resigned to it now. He's got an uncanny knack for not dying--he's not immortal or anything, just really hard to kill.

As such, he's usually assigned to dangerous tasks like guarding scary prisoners or anything with too much accident hazard for a normal guy to take the job. Right now he spends a lot of his time with Commander Mantle, working with Fleet employed psions, but it's always possible that he gets reassigned for a time to work with other officers/ships.

Maasco

This country dogboy is a shepherd and livestock guardian guy. He doesn't really have much going on besides living out in the country and caring for his flock, but he could always use some company that's not a sheep...

Orcinus

Orci is a pretty straightforward guy. He's a heirkiller, he kills fuchsia heirs that don't align with his rebel group's radical rebellious ideology. He's in incredible need of someone who can get him to loosen up and enjoy life outside of his work every once in a while. Or we can write toxic yaoi. The possibilities are endless

Xylova

Oh Xylova... This guy needs a total rehaul after his previous plots fell through. He's based on Xylitol Nova Cookie from Cookie Run Ovenbreak. He's part of a population of trolls that crash landed on a strange alien planet millennia ago at the dawn of Alternian space expansion and were never rescued. Now, they have a whole civilization that has somehow managed to avoid direct colonial reconnection with their homeworld.

Unlike Alternians, trolls of all blood colors from this planet have gills to filter out toxic heavy metal fumes from the air and require a mineral-rich diet since their planet is almost entirely metal. Additionally, there's not much of a hemospectrum system, since really only red - pink - purple - blue colors exist and the way their civilization started wasn't exactly conducive to systematic hierarchy--if they didn't all work together they probably would have all died lol.

Plotting with him would require a large undertaking in me basically remaking his entire planet, but you could have a guy on it too if you want!

Erraizi

Lastly, on the topic of aliens-- not exactly a troll, Erraizi is one of my OTHER aliens!! They live on the planet Adehiiri. It was invaded by Alternia a few decades ago, but there's very minimal colonial presence due to how challenging it is to actually build on the planet's surface. Adehiiri is characterized by very strong magnetic fields that generate giant, miles-deep cavern systems where in some places the surface is only a few feet deep. The arran'roa, the native sapient species, can manipulate these magnetic fields to float through the air in the caverns. Adehiiri does have a space port though and it IS possible to live there as a troll, provided you have a way to get around!

[cloudbattrolls]

So Far to Fall

This drabble is preceded by To Stave Off the End and followed by In Cold Blood.

Ullane Wistim & Epsilo Volant | Present Night

Late twilight hung over Chimer’s estate in a beautiful dark shade of blue, the color of relief from a recently set sun. 

The hive cast in warm glow and dark shadows was elegant without being opulent, a more lowkey building than one might expect to belong to a fuchsia. It had some well-maintained trees and a wild lawn, standing a short ways from other, similar hives also owned by highbloods in the rural area. 

In this part of Alternia, the dangerous local wildlife was kept under careful control by those who enjoyed hunting them. There were very few murders; most trolls around had what they needed. Lusii that ate trolls were forbidden, and culled if brought in. 

Ullane sat by the duck pond near the hive on a long low-set wicker lawn chair, watched the birds bob peacefully in the water, and was so bored she felt like she might start screaming.

She should be grateful, she knew, as she idly shredded grass with her hands. She was as safe as she could be, and had gotten off far more lightly than she deserved.

Yet she couldn’t contact her friends. Couldn’t make any sort of communication that could be tracked by the grey mob. 

They might still be hunting her.

She had made the trip here about a perigee ago disguised and under cloaking tech, but after the trial, they certainly would have put together how one of their number had been imprisoned. They may have also realized how another had lost an hour of his memory. 

Ullane now dressed in hemoanon colors whenever she stepped outside, and had swapped her symbol for a different one. She had stopped dying her hair and covering the marks on her face. 

She had - with slight reluctance - stopped wearing her contacts, letting her true violet-tinged eyes show. One could never be too careful. 

Her tail, too, flowed unbound behind her.

The former clinic administrator stared up at the stars starting to appear in the sky, a slight breeze rustling through the trees and tossing her ponytail.

She wasn’t sure what was more fantastical; having once been willingly possessed by a horrorterror and working with him to wrench her clinic away from the gang she had worked for, or being pursued by a different criminal syndicate after successfully escaping their attempt to frame her for murder.

The yellowblood thought of the lost Varzims. She’d seen Zanzul last when the violet had talked to Calcit for her, and Thrixe some time before the whole business started. 

Why was she safe, and they were trapped in the furthest ring? 

Nothing about her life made sense.

Only science ever had.

The lowblood fed the ducks some lettuce, scattering it over the water as they quacked and gathered to eat it, jostling for the leafy scraps.

Then she got up, and walked back inside with a blank expression. 

Hours passed in which she tried to read research papers, then cleaned the hive in the vain hope any excess dust had manifested since last night. She exercised, ate without really thinking about it, and fed her lusus his own dinner. 

Eventually, as dawn began to creep over the hive, she slipped into her recuperacoon and went to sleep.

Ullane sat bolt upright, gasping. Salt water welled from her mouth. She was - she was -

The water surrounding her rippled darkly, crushing down on her back and shoulders, yet she was not crushed. Violet tinged the liquid, galaxies of glowing lights slowly rising out of its depths, as if appearing from fog. 

She floated, suspended in this strange abyss, yet something about it was intimately familiar.

“Uryali.” she whispered.

She felt a rush of confirmation, of…relief?

What relief could she bring the Muted?

My DeScENDAANTSss are imPrISONED in the RING, came the voice that rose and fell in layered harmonies, a deep undercurrent of sadness welling through it. 

YoUUU heLPEd Us OOnCEE, MEDIIC. hElPP mE AGAAINN, foRR PESTILEnCE caaNNOT. THe fAEE have baRRED theiR reALMSss. buT yoU and I coULD opEEN thE wAY. 

“I am no medic.” She said softly. “Stripped of my title, my license.”

She felt…amusement? Amusement, and a hint of disdain.

alWAysS a mEDIC, medICC. yoU hEAL wITHoUT lAW. 

Ullane had no retort to that, and felt Uryali’s satisfaction.

sOO yOU wiLL Go. YoU WIlLL haVE to CRoSS ALl FOUR cOURTSS to fIND TOBRIA.

“Who?” She said with a frown.

hE PREDIictED theSE eVENTss. He Is a POWErful PRophet…or WAs.

Sadness again crashed over her like a wave.

“Why should I find him?”

oNlY hE cAN guIDE my DescENDANTS hOME. 

Ullane sighed and figured trying to ask more specific questions was probably pointless. 

It was a miracle to get this much sense out of the horrorterror…though, she supposed he had once been a troll. Thrixe had been able to stop him from destroying Nott Station in his anger, by appealing to what was left of his compassion. 

She’d watched as the horrorterror piloted her body, nearly killing her as an unintended side effect of his possession.

In light of this, a different - saner - person might have hesitated.

Ullane Wistim did not think of disobeying. The thought never entered her head.

“How will you help me?”

A vast starfish tendril reached up from the dark waters and placed its tip gently in her hand, leaving behind a small, unknown plant bud. 

tAKE pART of mE wiTH you. I wILL sPEAk in YoUR dREaMS, yoUR PsIiONICSs bOLSTERED by My poWER. 

We WiLl UnLock The WAy. I wILl gUiDE yoU.

She woke up heaving for air in her sopor slime, clawing at the edges of the cocoon. 

A dream. 

She licked her lips. They were crusted with salt.

Slowly, with dread, she turned her hand over.

A black bud lay tattooed - no - scarified on her palm. It…moved. The edges of it moved over her veins and the lines in her skin, rippling with her breaths, changing in the light as she tilted her hand. 

How had she bound herself? Could it be undone?

No - could she truly rescue the Varzims? Had the dream been real?

She took a deep breath and climbed out, green slime gently steaming away as she took off her day clothes and got dressed. 

Yes. Yes, she would accept it as true. She would question Uryali when she slept again. 

Ullane changed into clothes she hadn’t worn for a long time - her traveling wear, sturdy and full of pockets, warm and water-resistant. Her tail flicked, still unused to being free of clothing layers.

She had come from a town built over ley lines, a place full of undead, where magic had sunk into the roots of the place and things from daymares prowled.

Never had she imagined accepting a supernatural being’s bidding. Or asking one for aid.

She needed help, if she was to rescue the Varzims. She needed someone who she could rely on, though once she wouldn’t have dared trust him with anything.

She needed Epsilo Volant.

—

The violetblood was refining armor for his guild when he saw her, hands deep in a pile of monster samples - bone, horn, and carapace - that he was working with. He sat at his outside work bench, for the weather was fine and here he could see one of the island’s shores. 

At first, the former seadweller thought his eyes must be at fault when he saw her. He took off his glasses and squinted, wondering if he’d accidentally imbibed some sort of hallucinogen from his materials.

No, she was still coming closer, walking across the island, unbothered by any of the passing hunters or their palicos. He put them back on and got up, dipping his hands in the pot of disinfectant he kept nearby before he went over to meet the yellowblood.

“Wistim.” He said, neutral if respectful as she got within a few feet of him and stopped. “Why are you here?”

Last time they had spoken, he had asked for his fins and gills to be restored. For her to lift her part of the curse she and Uryali had laid on him. 

She had refused.

She smiled at him, a perfectly normal smile, yet the highblood found himself unsettled. 

Perhaps it was her violet-tinged eyes - a permanent remnant of her possession. Perhaps it was the way she looked at him - eager, fascinated, as if he was a particularly interesting specimen. It was not an expression he expected on a woman he had captured and given to a horrorterror. 

“I need you.” She said. “You’re a werehyena. Immune to horrorterror influence. Strong, and knowledgeable of animals. You want to be a seadweller again? Help me rescue the Varzims.”

Before he could respond, eyes widening in shock, the lowblood held up her hand.

It had a black bud inscribed on it. A…shifting…black bud, as if it moved in a wind. He could feel the energy from it; the same eldritch energy Vallis and all of Vernrot had. 

“Uryali has charged me to save them.” She continued. “I must cross the fae realms to seek aid - very dangerous, though I know something of their ways. I need a guard again. Will you help me?”

Speechless, the highblood couldn’t speak for a few moments, staring at her with a shocked expression, his mouth slightly open.

Then he shook his head and came back to himself, face settling into sheer disbelief.

“Wistim. This is suicide. The two of us in a strange land full of magical enemies? How will we eat and rest safely? How will we ensure we can return safely, or make it there to begin with? It is impossible.”

She stared back at him with those wide, strange eyes, as if he was the one who was being unreasonable.

Then she smiled again.

“I escaped you twice. I survived horrorterror possession. I have wrenched my clinic from the gang I once sold myself to. I have escaped another gang’s clutches, after I tracked and hunted two of their number. I once killed a whole gathering of corrupt jades.”

She raised and opened her arms.

All around her, the air turned headier with the scent of salt and life. The island’s plants curled and blossomed at her feet, roots rising up through the soil.

The hunters, attentive to any disturbance in bio-energy, stopped and stared, looking at the yellowblood and then at Epsilo. A few started to draw their weapons.

“Stop it.” He hissed. “They don’t take kindly to that here.”

He shook his head as she lowered her arms and the power waned, but he could still feel a crackle of it on his skin.

“Yes, I can tell you’re more powerful than before. Will that be enough?” He asked bluntly. “Having Uryali’s blessing doesn’t mean you can stand against every fae.” 

She raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t you want the Varzims back? For Vallis’s sake, if not your own needs?”

The former seadweller paused at the mention of his best friend. The man had been bereft when the other two horrorterror hybrids had left this world.

He scowled, thick arms folded under his light violet shirt.

The Varzims gone. Arty dead. Vannyn was away from Vernrot most of the time, and Lusien had the lighthouse to tend to…

He put a hand to his neck, where his gills had once been. Sometimes the places where they’d still ached at day, when he woke gasping for breath from a daymare of drowning.

“All right.” He finally said, turning around to walk back toward his hive. 

Sifrek wasn’t going to like this, Epsilo reflected as he thought of his primary guild contact and friend. Hopefully she would understand. 

Ullane easily fell into step next to him, her tufted tail waving back and forth. 

“I’ll go with you.” Said the highblood, waving to the hunters that everything was fine. The trolls and their feline companions heeded him, but their expressions remained wary.

“But first, I want more details. I’m not leaving unprepared.”

—

One night later, the pair left the island, taking a motorboat with one of the guild hunters back to the mainland. Winds tossed them about, making waves around them as they cut through the water, but the hunter’s control of the craft was steady and sure. 

They arrived on land none the worse for wear, though Epsilo looked like he was having second thoughts.

“Why you?” He asked Ullane as they set their feet back on land, thanking the hunter before they began to walk off. 

“Hm?” She said, almost absentminded, eyes ahead as she led them further inland.

“Why can’t Uryali simply possess someone and find this angel-fae himself?” The violet asked pointedly. “Why does he need us?” 

“Their body would break down before they made it.” Ullane said bluntly. “I nearly died on Nott, and he wasn’t trying to kill me. I have just enough of his power this time to guide us and help protect us; you can treat me if it starts to overwhelm me.”

“How likely is that?” Replied the highblood acidly.

She looked away from him, smiling slightly as she stared forward.

“It’ll happen in less than a week, regardless.”

The violet dragged a hand down his face, then heard a rumble of thunder.

He looked up, noting the dark clouds.

“Wistim. We should stop for the night. Where did you plan on staying before we left on this fool’s errand?”

“We keep going.” She said, eyes briefly flashing a brilliant pale magenta.

Epsilo shivered as the wind picked up as well, tossing his shoulder-length wavy hair around his head. He took out a band to tie it back. 

Why did the Varzims glow the color of moonlit snow, not ink-black like Vernrot’s terrors? 

He found he didn’t quite have the courage to ask right now, nor argue with his lowblooded companion.

So he silently followed her as it began to rain, and the lowblood didn’t seem to mind it at all. She did not shiver, nor falter from her path. Water dripped down her hair and tail as she forged on, leading him through bushes and trees as he cursed and had to detach his clothes at times.

“Wistim, slow down - “ He called irritably, and she waved a hand.

The thornbush that had just seized him began to droop from the weight of gray fungus sprung into existence on it, clinging to its bark.

Epsilo sprinted away from it, catching up to her panting and flecked with mud.

“That was unnecessary.” He said between breaths.

Again those unreadable eyes looked into his own.

“It worked.” She said calmly, and turned away from him again, pausing after a few steps.

The medic looked down at…a mushroom ring, Epsilo realized. 

He was no mycologist, but he recognized the species, red-capped and white-stalked. Fly agaric, one of the most toxic species there was.

The yellowblood got down on her knees, examining the ring with keen interest, her ears and tail flicking.

Then she swiped into the air above it with her marked hand, the air crackling with white energy as she - she pulled the world apart, creating a jagged rent within the circle as its mushrooms withered and rotted. The fungi then grew together in a thickening black mass as the rift widened and stabilized.

Now it was a gap large enough for both of them to pass through, but Epsilo could not see what was inside it; all he beheld was fog. He leaned over, trying to get a better look -

Ullane jumped inside and grabbed his arm, pulling him with unnatural strength beyond her caste and build as they both fell into the portal.

He yelled curses as they plummeted through the hazy air, writhing, but her grip was firm.

The haze cleared…and Epsilo’s eyes grew wide as his breath billowed out in awe.

Below them - stretching for miles and miles - was a wild land. Frozen forests of vast trees, branches interlocking and grown into fantastical woven shapes. Waterfalls of moving, frothing ice. Lakes set in tundra with waves cast in perfect, glittering frost. 

The wind around them swirled with snowflakes and stranger things, glowing blue insects that buzzed about, leaving shining trails in their wake. 

Even in the ocean, he had never seen anything so beautiful.

Beside him, Ullane laughed long and loud, and he tightened his grip on her hand.

There was still so far to fall. 

[indisfuckigntrolllllsssss]

[Lapita Fithum]

handle: crystallineSoldier

land: Land of Chains and Gusts (LOCAG)

Specibus: Shotgunkind

classpect: Prince of Blood

Prospit

Denizen: Medusa

Typing Quirk: .”THE QUICK BROWN FOX JUMPS OVER THE L🜍ZY DOG”

interests: HUNTING and STUDYING LAW

Lusus: N/A

Song: Numb - Marina and the Diamonds

lore under the cut!

He never remembered much from the earlier parts of his life. All he knew was the Traveling Cabaret, a traveling circus hosted by purplebloods and featured people all across the hemospectrum. From a rustblood with eight arms to a fuchsia with scaled wings, it seemed like a glorified freak show. He knew this all too well, as an olive without pupils. Even such a benign mutation prompted the circus to break into Lapita’s hive and paint the walls with his goat lusus’s rich olive blood. He was so young, only half a sweep old, but that memory has never left him. Fear led to hate, hate that he harbored for every member of the circus. He hated the people that called him “dead-eyed” and “a living corpse” and showed him off as a little party trick.

He hated everyone except for his moirail, a jadeblood named Marfen Pozlas, who had two unfortunate blessings. He was born male, and was a descendent of one of the most famous magicians on all of Alternia. Even with all the pressure on Marfen to be as good as the man who came before him, he still managed to smile so genuinely. Lapita idolized him, knew that he couldn’t live without his moirail.

Oh, the irony.

The circus had stopped at Thrashthrust, a dense forest on the outskirts of the city. After the day’s performance, at the crack of dawn, Marfen beckoned Lapita to meet him where nobody would see. The two stood in the middle of the forest’s clearing, the morning breeze ruffling their hair.

“aren’t you tired, lapita?

”TIRED OF WH🜍T, EX🜍CTLY?”

“aren’t you tired of being nothing *m*ore than just… their puppet…? don’t you *w*ant to break a*w*ay from it all?”

“WH🜍T 🜍RE YOU GETTING 🜍T?”

Marfen took Lapita’s hands in his, the morning sun reflecting in his childlike eyes, reignited with a new hope to live.

“*w*e can escape the*m*. right here, right no*w*.

“…”

“*w*e can *m*ake a ne*w* life for ourselves! no *m*ore *w*orrying about ho*w* *m*uch blood is going to be spilled today, no *m*o-“

Lapita punched Marfen across the face, his lack of pupils not hiding the sheer desolation in his facial expression.

“YOU RE🜍LLY 🜍RE 🜍 DUMB🜍SS KID. DO YOU H🜍VE 🜍NY IDE🜍 WH🜍T THEY’LL DO TO YOU OUTSIDE THIS PL🜍CE? THEY’LL JUST CULL YOU. 🜍 M🜍LE J🜍DE TH🜍T DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO C🜍RE FOR THE MOTHER GRUB? WORTHLESS. 🜍BSOLUTELY WORTHLESS, YOU HE🜍R ME?”

“lapita…”

“YOU KNOW WH🜍T? FINE. H🜍VE YOUR LITTLE ESC🜍PE F🜍NT🜍SY. WE BOTH KNOW YOU’LL END UP B🜍CK HERE 🜍S 🜍 CORPSE. SO GO. H🜍VE YOUR FUN, STUPID WIGGLER.”

Marfen was left in the woods outside, dazed and with tears of betrayal in his eyes. Over the horizon, he saw hundreds of trolls surround Lapita, demanding to know where his moirail went. He closed his eyes, waiting for him to point directly towards the forest.

He pointed towards the city.

That final act of protection may have cost a morailegance, but inadvertently saved two solitary lives.

He never saw Marfen again… at least not until he began to play.

[artbyifer]

Gardening for avosettas for Dawn Polyswap Promptfest 2021

jade teaching her girlfriends about gardening... you can't tell me that alternia isn't home to Exclusively carnivorous and venomous plants, so both aradia and nepeta are a little wary of jade's pumpkins and other vegetables, but that Immediately changes when they see jade lift two bags of soil over her shoulders at the same time like they're nothing. they've been distracted by Big Buff Girlfriend.

[swarmishstrangers]

You should do a cute scenario of reader kissing all over Mallek and telling him how handsome he is while he’s in his glasses to reassure him that he looks good in them

For as long as you've been on Alternia, you've been well acquainted with the harsh environment and the fact that one wrong move might make you end up as a plant's lunch. Or a drone crushing you and making some nice squishy bone snapping ASMR. Or just, um, anything can kill you here, really. Considering the planet's dangerous troll-eating plant life or the fact that you're also well acquainted with the arguably harsher and downright crueler citizens of Alternia, even if it meant getting up close and personal with the few who may have tried to kill you. But thanks to your friendship-making ass (or the fact that some may have just taken pity on how puny you were), you've managed to survive this long!

Even in that regard, that's just. Wow. That is something to truly marvel at. You should be dead by now, considering 1. You're no secretive bitch. As much as you can try, you stick out like a sore thumb. 2. You're also an alien, and if it wasn't for the fact you're already killed on sight by drones, some of the shit you've done by being an alien ignorant to the culture of Alternia should have gotten you killed.

Spoiler alert! I don't know if you could tell, but you're very much alive! You just may get the occasional small injury or big injury such as broken bones.

Speaking of more things to worry about killing you, that god-awful Alternian sun. That skin-scorching, cruel, unforgiving sun that even trolls themselves can die under is why everyone is nocturnal on this planet. Not even they, the species that has proven time and time again to be stronger than you, can withstand something as awful as the heat from that literal death ball.

Since you've only been caught in direct sunlight once, honestly, that was all it took for you to learn, and you never dared try and get caught outside for fear of being literally cooked again. Or, at least you try your best to. There are just some nights that you do end up staying up in that dangerous time of dawn beginning to peak over the horizon. What do you do in that situation? Well, you certainly couldn't rely on being able to be saved by a friendly country troll gal every single time you're in danger of being exposed in the daytime. Most trolls would definitely not take kindly to your burning sorry ass begging them to be let inside.

Which is why you deploy your secret weapon. You use your matesprit or your other friends. By that, I mean you ask one of them if you could crash for the day if you're nowhere near your hideout. You get to hang out with and catch up with your friends, and you don't die! Cool, cool!

Today just so happened to be one of those nights where you stayed out just a bit too long, and so you were sleeping over at Mallek, your matesprit's, hive to seek refuge for the day.

"you know you don't even need to ask me if you can stay over; we're matesprits; you can crash anytime you want robobud;"

He tells you, looking over at you from your place on his couch as he finishes up by pulling on the blackout curtains to cover the windows. He wasn't dressed in his usual attire, rather he was dressed in a tank top and some sweatpants to be more comfortable for the day. 

You don't want to be a bother by just coming over! What if you're busy on a project? You wouldn't want to intrude, ya know?

He gives the curtains one last look before he seems satisfied and begins making his way over back to his computers and seating himself, chair still slid out from under his desk and his body turned towards you. "nah, don't worry about that; you can stop by anytime you want for as long as you want; i like having you around;" He leans over and ruffles your hair, minding his claws while he does so. He can be heard snickering as you swat his hands away playfully.

You smooth down your hair and tell him that you enjoy his company too! You also add that you're thankful he let you stay over on such short notice. 

"like i said, no big deal; a robot alien can crash into my hive anytime-"

You're so flushed for him, you finish.

You see the blue lightly tinting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He lets out a quick puff of air, a gentle grin settling his features and just making him look soft. "flushed for you too;" 

You both sit in quiet, not silence. It's never really silent in his hive. The sounds of his husktops running and the sounds of the city makes for a never silent atmosphere. But it's quiet, neither of you speak or look each other in the eye as you both stew in that bit of sweetness that always makes the both of you so shy to speak next. You've been matesprits for a while but that shyness around crushes is still something that's visible on both ends. Ahh such is love. And you really do love these moments even if it makes you two look incredibly stupid. 

"hey;" 

You raise your head to acknowledge him. He turns toward you in his chair fully, his smile small and his eyes half lidded as he gives a few quiet pats to his lap. 

"sit with me;"

You don't make him wait. You swing your feet to the floor and use the couch to push off, the couch cushion sinking but never rising back up, so it just ends up leaving your hands prints. You make your way over to him with just a couple of steps before you're stood before him, tilting your head a little so you can properly see him and him doing vice versa in the opposite way. 

Your body shivers when he reaches forward and slides his hands over your abdomen before he hugs your waist, goosebumps already blossoming on your skin as you feel his cool skin mesh with your warm skin. He gently tugs you flush against him, and you can hear him sigh quietly as he buries his nose against your collarbone, his claws tracing up the skin of your back so lightly it almost tickles. With a huff of breath at the sensation you grasp his outer shoulders, holding him for a moment before you slid a hand up to the back of his neck and burying it into his rougher textured hair.

This was all just so sweet. Two people seeking comfort and warmth in one another and avoiding the danger of the outside. To take solace in knowing that there's someone, someone right here in your arms, that loves and cares for you on this planet. Actions like these may seem mundane back on Earth but here, Actions like these are all the more intimate in this planet's context and you couldn't be more aware of this in this moment in time. 

Of course, it didn't last long because your oh-so-lovely and kind matesprit yanked you up off the floor and into his lap, shattering this calm little bubble of comfort and love. The action obviously startled you, and when he snickers at your reaction, you huff and punch him in the shoulder, which just makes his hissy laughter louder. You can't pretend that you don't feel that warmth simmering in your chest when you listen to his laugh, though.

You're a jerk, you know that?

"mhm; but that = what makes me fun, right;"

You stare at him for a minute before you take your hand and just push his head into the back of his chair. His laughter is stifled in your hand.

That's when you feel something fucking cold and wet press and slide up against your hand, you let out a strangled squeal and immediately rip your hand away from his face. And there it is: that stupid, goddamn self-satisfied, smug look on his face at your shocked misfortune.

Thank God you love this nasty troll.

It was a few hours into the day. You were pretty sure it was anyway. You can't see it all too well because of those curtains. Man, people on earth would KILL to have these blackout curtains. They block every single little ray of sunlight that threatens to seep through. The only lights in this room were the very dim overhead lights and the blue light that illuminated from Mallek's husktop. 

You're still seated comfortably on your matesprit's lap, arms wrapped around his torso as your cheek presses against his shoulder. Whatever coldness you felt upon initial touches is very feint now. Your warmth overwhelms his chilliness. It's one of the reasons he loves having you sit with him while he works. He and his lusus are both cold-blooded, and you being the warm-blooded one means you're always going to have someone hanging onto you here. Not that you minded. You love warming him up, and you're happy to let his lusus curl itself around you for warmth.

You were fighting sleep right now, your eyelids heavy and your body slacking against him. You were fighting the good fight because if you fall asleep now, it means that Mallek most definitely will stay up way longer into the day now that you aren't awake to drag his ass into his recuperacoon. You must not allow this to happen again!

Quick! To keep you awake, find something to distract you from your thoughts of sleep!

Your tired eyes wander around the room, trying desperately to find something interesting to keep your eyes on, but you've been in this room, this messy fucking organized chaos wreck of a room, many times. You almost want to say you know where everything in this room is.

You almost consider getting out of his lap to walk around, but then you find something. Something reflects brightly in the corner of your eye. His glasses lens. Bingo.

Hey, Mallek?

There's no pause in his quick typing,

"what's up;" 

You've got a question for him.

"shoot;" 

Does he need the glasses- er. Gander enhancement lenses generally and he just doesn't want to wear them, or is he nearsighted and just needs them to read?

That caused him to pause his typing and become quiet as he considered your question. You're worried you may have asked something insensitive, but he soon quells your worry with an answer.

"yeah mostly; for reading i mean;"

You lean against him again. So that explains why he isn't ever seen wearing them around his hive other than at his desk. You know, he doesn't really like going outside, much to your chagrin. But what does that mean for his sight if he can't read things close to him?

He shrugs, your chin moving in sync with it,

"i can see fine; i'm not blind or anything; it = just if it != in front of my ganderbulbs i =! be able to see it clearly;"

He explains as he pushes his foot against the floor to push you both backwards so he can turn a little more towards you in the chair. He gently grasps your shoulders, pushing you back a little to look at him. And you do. You look into those black eyes that are half taken over with that bright cerulean blue. It's supposed to tell you how he's growing older and more adult. If you linger too long on that thought, you know he's going to see your expression and ask you what's wrong, so you focus on his face.

"besides;"

His claws clink against the metal around his glasses when he goes to take them off, holding them in between his fingers as he gazes at you.

"i hate wearing ocular plastics;"

You get that.

"and i think;" 

He holds his glasses over his eyes, not putting them on but seemingly trying to demonstrate his next point.

"i look like a fucking dork with these on;"

Hey! You happen to think he looks fucking cute with his glasses!

He quirks his brow, and you know he's about to ask.

Gander enhancement lenses, you correct. If he thinks he looks like a dork, you swipe the glasses he was holding. You hold them up to his eye level, being careful not to touch the lenses.

Then he'd be your dork.

With that, you slide his glasses back on his face, along with the soft look you tried to give him. He helped by leaning in a little to make it easier on you.

He snorts, giving you an easy grin.

"soooo sugary;"

He teases, and he can tease all he wants, but you can tell by that blue blush that your words got to him as cheesy as they were.

It's true, you tell him, wrapping your arms tight around him and knocking your cheek against his, making him grunt quietly. He's your gross gamer, "information specialist," alien dork of a matesprit. You say, rocking his whole frame with each word you listed.

He groans at how you're behaving, and he can pretend to hate it, but you see how a smile curls the corners of his lips.

You'll keep saying it till he believes it!

"okay okay;"

He says, his hands sliding to your back and bringing you in against him, just holding you. And you didn't hesitate to hug him back. A smile plays on your lips as you push your face into his chest.

Oh, by the way, Mallek.

"hm;" 

Clean your god damn lenses, please.

He gives a hissed laugh.

-

Also a link to the ao3 fic too - Refuge - LimeGutz - Hiveswap [Archive of Our Own]

[gmanwhore]

Your name is FEFERI MARYAM

You are one of the few of your kind who can withstand the BLISTERING ALTERNIAN SUN, and often enjoy to just walk around and feel its rays ESPECIALLY AT HIGHNOON. You also enjoy the TACTICAL ADVENTAGES going out more often gives you over those who claim they are better landscapers than you, you often end up becoming the envy of those types of trolls.

But that is far from your greatest achievement which might just be the number of DUELS AT DAWN which you have one over your 6 sweeps of life. You are often known for your win streak at FLARP in this specific manner and you often dreaming of being a COWGIRL RAINBOW DRINKER. Don't ask.

Your BLOOD RUNS JADE however you try to not let that stop you from relating with lowbloods and highbloods alike, and in fact you would consider yourself a bit of a LOWBLOOD RIGHTS ACTIVIST making Alternia a better place one protest at a time.

There are few of of your kind that take interest in fiction literature which are not seen as childish BUT YOU ARE ONE OF THEM often writting wild adventures about cowgirls that have duels, drink blood, and ride into the sunset preferably with another girl as their matesprit, moirail, or kismesis in the back of their horse. What can you say? You are A BIT OF A ROMANTIC at heart. The others of your group often praise your creativeness and PAY YOU TO WRITE THEM STORIES. You like to believe you do it for the art and not the recognizion though. You also tend to use your stories as part of your ALTERNIAN ACTIVISM and try to be discreet about it however it may come off as HEAVYHANDED sometimes.

Your trolltag is aspirationalCourtesy and you like to rEmiNd PEolE that for yoU thE GUN aNd thE PEN hold EqUal amoUNts of PowEr

AAAA I LOVE THIS!!!!!!

[froshele]

compiling this for my own nefarious needs but any of you with fanventures may be able to appreciate it:

List of things in Homestuck that are direct results of Scratch or Caliborn's involvement and would not exist in AUs without them,

Or: A Fansession Worldbuilding To Do List

Please feel free to rb with additions!

1. The troll caste system and society as we understand it

What's pivotal to the fuchsia hegemony more than literally anything else? Their psychic resistance, which is necessary to survive proximity to their living alien god? Sure, but canonically Doc Scratch introduced her after the... well, the scratch.

Glb'golyb isn't organically part of troll society in all universes and didn't choose to come down all theophanic and shit one day:

I like to think of her as the pet I gave to their race, at the dawn of their species' evolution. Again, it's just the sort of thing a good host does.

-- Scratch, panel 5936

She is also probably one cause (next to the everything proceeding from her) of everyone's nightmares and thus the invention of recuperacoons.

So whattafuck was going on before? Well, based on troll biology's every canonical indication, probably they were chugging along fine in discrete non-child-exiling hive societies run by mother grubs (who were once also people to them).

In the Beforus timeline it seems the concept of an empress is still real and she still is more important than the colony mother, so that's a cultural shift that may have been contemporary with the beginning of lusii as commensals (basically, queens lost sway as they made more longer lived more specialized workers, and those outsourced childcare to lusii).

In such a scenario it is your choice whether lusii are still a normal part of life for the trolls in your universe, and how your troll society developed is in your hands anyway so maybe none of this is real.

As for the other, canonically spacefaring terrors and cherubim, your fansession trolls could probably worship them just as well as having any other type of religion. It depends on what you want horrorterrors and cherubs (and angels more generally) to symbolize and do in your narrative.

2. The moons

Derse and Prospit are defined in gameplay by contact with Skaia and the Terrors respectively. But the Terrors are only talking because Caliborn is massacring them, though the planetary orbit does take it into the Furthest Ring where they live, so... do with that what you will. What are they doing? My headcanon personally is that they eat the detritus of finished or failed sessions... but not everyone has a take nearly so ecological.

Also! Chess usually has two players, but what if the tabletop war metaphor of your session is some form of checkers, or three player chess, or ...? :^) Why then you would need another portmanteau moon... back in the day we called it Derspit and we liked it!

3. Troll nocturnality

This is specific to Alternia. If your guys evolve somewhere else they may not face such a terrible sun...

4. The Green Moon and Sun

Didn't exist on Beforus! The Moon was created by the B1 kids for Green Sun shenanigans, which are impossible without it. Also to do with LE (presumably) and thus a post-Scratch world construction; first guardians (which Scratch is, and which he makes fusion caliborn upon, um, hosting him) probably act very differently for most fansessions.

5. Scratching and the Denizen Choice

Doc Scratch inherently is somehow connected to it. It may not be supposed or able to happen in worlds without him and Sburb forks without universe cancer, and the price may be steep for the fact that it does. After all, he has never failed to summon his master, who is always already here...

You may want to consider a few rule changes to your SBURB game. :^) What'd be new for Denizens without all this?

6. Troll religion, generally

Scratch is their First Guardian and sent them Glb'golyb. He/English are also the Mirthful Messiahs somehow (don't ask, it has to do with Gamzee and Arquiusprite also being components of English along with Caliborn), and probably paradoxically connected to,,, all the juggalononsense, and maybe the Jewish parallels idk I don't want them to be and so that's my blind spot, I don't care if they caused The System and neither has anyone fun ever. But maybe they did. In that case we must consider how they could not do that, which is not hard. Just as it takes more muscles to frown, it takes less brainpower to just handwave stuff like this as cultural development coincidence.

I think it's funny because we live in ICP town and so I keep it in when I fuck around in here, because I think the entire signless thing is interesting and leads to heartwrenching implications, but you actually can define your purples however. My homestuck-hiatused partner has one who's coded sort of like a commedia fuckup court reporter.

7. The entire canon limitations

All of it loops back to make English, so the MSPA reader stuff goes out of its way to define that universe as locked away and separate.

This is possible in more ways, I think. I'm probably missing a lot, which only seems core because it's prominent in the anomalous session. I don't know! Does anyone else? Thoughts towards a world in which he is not already here, and the frog can hope for something?

[sasster]

Insomnia for Reid!

Truly I do not know what you expected bestie! <3

One word prompt! Make sure you specify muse!

[And here's a google doc, for your eyes!]

--

Reid lay in bed watching the shadows from the trees outside stretch across the ceiling, painting themselves onto the black and red walls of his room. It was funny, he thought, that the trees surrounding Koteus’s territory were there for their protection. How could they be so scary? In the light of the morning, no less, silhouettes becoming gnarled, mangled hands that reached around the light filtering curtains into the room.

Why were the hands always reaching directly for him, though? Of course they weren’t reaching for him, that’s silly, they’re inanimate objects after all.

Wait, are shadows objects?

He shakes the thought from his head, it was irrelevant to the problem he was currently having.

After a certain age, one starts to feel a little silly when they wake up in the middle of the night, adrenaline pumping, from some horrific manifestations brought about by an overactive imagination. Or was it too much sugar before bed? A mind incapable of letting things go. But it was much worse when the "middle of the night" rolled around a little after noon.

Alternia had a funny way of making the mundane horrifying. Deadly sunlight that morphed branches into disembodied hands, unnatural silence turning a bids call into an ungodly shriek that echoes and bounces off of ceilings meant for giants. What use is a diurnal creature afraid of the day anyway?

Nonsense, he decides as he squeezes his eyes shut. He just needs to get back to sleep, then everything will return to normal.

Sleep does not find him easily, however, and before he can settle back down the strongest stench of vanilla begins to wash over him, and assault his senses. It fills his nose and burns at his throat. Who – Who could possibly be baking at this hour?

That doesn’t matter either, he needs to focus on getting back to sleep.

It is so familiar, this overwhelming smell. Somehow.

Realization dawns on him, and he sucks in a deep breath, an action that allows the smell to overtake him completely. Permeating him inside and out. Despite his fears, he opens his eyes again, hoping that the disfigured shadows would still be there to greet him.

Instead, his field of view is taken up by a plain grey ceiling, even further away than the ones the birds used for their choir practice. There is a small window on a far wall, it lets in enough light that he could make out that the moons were its source, not the sun. The entire scene highlighted by the faintest scent of death, just underneath all that vanilla.

He’s been here before.

Reid shoots up to sit in the bed, panic panging out in every direction. In the same instant, a spark of purple lights up at the foot of the bed.

His gaze is drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. They make eye contact.

Fuck.

Reids arms fall, useless, to his sides.

“Toto,” the stretching of the stitches that decorated the intruder's mouth are barely audible as he speaks. Yet, to Reid, it is deafening. “I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

The sound of that voice, the taunting of its cadence, paints a grimace on his face and forces him to once again screw his eyes shut. There was at least that freedom.

“Come now, Reid. If it were as easy as breaking eye contact, where would the fun be?” His voice was calm. Persep rarely found a reason to raise it.

“Shut up!” He shouts at the apparition, trying in vain to regain the use of his limbs. “You aren’t even fucking real. Persep wouldn’t know that reference!”

“No?”

Reid’s eyes flutter open against his will to find Persep standing now.

“So, I got the quote right. I was worried I didn’t.” It seems as though that is a point of pride for him, despite having borrowed it from his host's picture perfect memory, as he walks around to the side of the bed. Something shiny glints in his hands.

“What’s the matter, Reid? Cat got your tongue?” He grins, flashing two neat rows of sharp teeth. “No, not yet anyway. From where we left off, then?”

As the question leaves Perseps mouth, Reid feels his own begin to open.

“Ready?”

He doesn’t answer. He can’t.

“Of course you are.” 

Suddenly, he finds the ability to screw his eyes shut again.

How. Gracious.

He braces for the pain and…

And nothing.

Nothing but the pool of sweat surrounding his body and the thrum of his own heart beating in his ears.

When he opens his eyes again, the disfigured shadows of the branches swaying in the breeze wave their hello, welcoming him back.

No sleep this morning, he guesses.

[homestuck-fanauthor-coalition]

The Twenty-Fourth Problem, by @jonayariley

Chapter 29: Prince of the Dunes

The Era of Her Imperious Condescension in Exile The Southern Wastes, Alternia Eridan Ampora leaned over the railing of his landship, wondering when his grip would finally give out. The scream came up and over, distant — “You don’t have to do this!” — mostly because he was holding the poor olive-blood fuck at arm’s length by the leg. The landship might not hover very far off the ground, but it was still a good hundred-foot drop down below. Depending on the composition of the ground below, it might not kill the man right away… but the Southern Wastes weren’t exactly known for their hospitality to injured travelers. It was night, but near dawn — soon the wastes would light up with the punishing glow of the Alternian sun. “You’ll have to speak up,” Eridan growled, making his voice as clear and distinct as he could. “Because I must not be hearing correctly — was that an apology? An acknowledgement of responsibility?” “Yes! Fuck fuck fuck yes! I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry!” He sounded sincere, at least. At least in the moment. “I hear and accept your apology…” He grimaced. This wasn’t ideal, actually — wasn’t his preferred outcome… but things had been on edge, and this was a serious matter. Eridan glanced back toward the crew, lined up in neat rows along the deck of the landship, mustered there by his first mate, a cerulean-blood named Ardata Carmia — she stood in front of the rest, sharply at attention. It was good for order — good for morale to have structure. And ultimately, this would be too. He cleared his throat, speaking louder.

Hey guys! New chapter from our coalition member Jonaya! Check it out, or start at the beginning!

[almostourgalaxy]

A Spider And The Sea Its Self

You don’t understand why she keeps looking at you like that. Like you’re going to eat her.

Maybe you should, so she’d stop. So you could move on with your life, and stop letting this damn landdweller distract you. Her claws flex into the meat of your arm, and you fight the urge to bite her hand off.

She’d probably let you. She usually does, when you start chewing on her. Only because you let her tear you apart whenever she wants.

You spent too damn long trying to find her. Crossed a few continents in the process, and left a whole swathe of bodies in your wake. She had the nerve to laugh at the fang still stuck in your fin.

She’s not laughing now. No, she has that stupid look in her eyes as she looks up at you, nestled in your arms like you couldn’t snap her in half if you wanted.

She should be more cautious. Anyone else would be. Her hand presses against your face, and that look shifts to reverence. That feels better.

Your name leaves her lips, awkward and unfitting. You barely register it. It doesn’t sound like a name, or even a word coming from her.

You ignore her, squeezing your eye shut and enjoying the attention as she slides her fingers around the base of your horn, working her claws against your scalp. She calls you an old bark beast. You chirp, pulling away to clasp her hand in your jaws and squeeze.

She narrows her eyes at you, a silent challenge. You bite down softly, breaking skin but not bone. Blood pools in your mouth, dripping down your chin. She does not remove her hand.

Instead, she smiles, and kisses your jaw.

“8eloathed heart,” She murmurs, the adoration creeping into her eyes.

“8elovvwed spade,” you growl back, dropping her hand and kissing her. She laughs against your teeth, bites at your lip. You taste your blood, smokey and iron-stung, mixed with hers, salted and burning.

You spent too long tracking her down. And you’ll do it again.

[abaloneislandfestival]

INFO [In-Character]

What Is The Rainbow Summer Festival? The Rainbow Summer Festival is a three-night summer blowout open to all castes and walks of life, taking place on hostess Xelsia Leyvan’s private island resort. The event is free and features a buffet prepared by skilled chefs from around Alternia, a surfing competition and lessons, live performances throughout the night, private cabins and tours, and much more!

Who Is Xelsia Leyvan? Xelsia Leyvan is Alternia’s darling; Prolific actress, singer-songwriter, and fashion designer, all while aiming with fierce determination for the Empire’s seat and rightfully earning her the title of Celebrity-Heiress.

About Abalone Island  Abalone Island is a luxurious resort with every detail of design and construction personally overseen by Heiress Xelsia Leyvan. The island is home to a vast array of unique and fascinating wildlife and features an active volcano, white sandy beaches, lush jungle, and an extensive cave system. See below for a full list of amenities and events available during the Rainbow Summer Festival.

Endless buffet table with food prepared on an open grill and kitchen pavilion right in front of guests, serving barbecued meats, refreshing desserts, fresh fruit bouquets, and cold drinks all night long

 A bar open from 2am until dawn, stocked with everything you need for the perfect drink made by an expert bartender

Live music and dance performances at Crystal Beach’s main and auxiliary stages, all weekend long

Extensive tropical jungle with hidden ruins, rambling caves, and rare, dangerous wildlife

Scenic picnic and hiking locations across the island offering spectacular views and food delivered straight from the kitchen pavilion

Small automated hovercraft with viewing panels for tours and accessible transportation across, to, or from the island

A luxurious cabin for each guest, either close to the action or secluded for a quiet getaway, private or shared with any trolls of your choosing

Multiple beaches for direct access to the ocean:

- Crystal Beach, featuring the all-night buffet, live music, and primary location for all events - Nautilus Beach, featuring a pristine expanse of white sand for making your own fun - The small, secluded Moonstone, Agate, Jasper, Opal, and Diamond Beaches for peace and quiet

A private hospital staffed by safe and qualified doctors from across Alternia with state-of-the-art technology for emergency use

Relaxing rides and water rescues by Xelsia’s gentle giant sea dragon lusus

Main Events - More information to be announced night of event

Volleyball Games - Each night features a violent volleyball tournament- Survivors take hive a Golden Grub trophy!

Search for Lost Treasure - Scour the ruins, beaches, and caves on the island in search of The Opallyne's long lost treasure! You get to keep any treasure you find- IF you find any!

Wild Hunt - A timed hunt for the rare and ferocious critters of Abalone Island. Bring back one of the listed creatures, dead or alive, for bragging rights and a chance to win a private tour with Heiress Xelsia Leyvan herself!

Rules

No maiming or murder -- Light violence is OK

No nudity or sexual harassment. Keep attire LG-13 in public spaces.

Trolls of all castes and ages welcome

Anyone on the island in the nights following the event will be hunted for sport by security

[cloudbattrolls]

But Never A Key

Thrixe & Zanzul Varzim | Bukit Berongga | Present Night

Thrixe could tell he was being carried in pieces. 

He could not see, nor truly hear; there was only the grip of hundreds of hands holding him. Hot, humid air surrounded all his parts through the gaps in the trolls’ fingers. 

Dimly, he sensed many of his pieces get destroyed. They sickened until they died.

He felt the remaining chunks get put back together in a roughly troll shape, but he had to connect the pieces himself.

Thrixe began to feel pain again as he turned his starfish mass into troll bones and organs, making himself a face and a tongue once more. Then he regrew his horns, hair, and fins. Fortunately, he’d learned to grow clothes over himself a while ago, and he added those as well.

The Choir found himself sitting on the ground - not the beach he’d come up on, up in the hills - looking up at a sky thick with clouds.

Looking up at a woman. 

A woman taller than him standing a few feet away with crossed arms, a blueblood if her clothing was any indication. She had dark eyes with yellow pupils, and black markings on her face. Her dreadlocked hair was done up in a neat bun, and she wore a disdainful expression with a hint of pity.

A mass of other trolls stood further back, surrounding them in a circle. 

Something…something was strange about their eyes…

“Choir. Do you know what you’ve done?”

He shook his head. Everything was bleary. He still felt ill, and though his mind was a bit clearer he was far too exhausted to change shape or even move much, his limbs leaden. The last thing the hybrid remembered was wanting to attack Ginger…

Oh no.

“I fought…I fought them…” he mumbled, ashamed.

“Yes.” Agreed the woman crisply. “You bled their brain. They may not live. You will have killed a horseman of the apocalypse if so. The empire will not forgive you. The world will be out of balance.”

Thrixe’s fins lowered and he hung his head.

“Can I heal them?” He whispered.

“Do you think they would trust you to do so?” Asked the woman gently, a mild smile on her face.

Thrixe shook his head miserably.

“Who…are you?” He managed, his foggy head finally remembering to ask.

“I am Cyvell. The fae of anthrax. You have met my messengers before. The same ones who showed you to your ancestor’s pocket world.”

His violet eyes went wide.

“That was you?”

“On my mentor’s orders.” The fae clarified as thunder rumbled in the distance. “The Fireseer decrees all of the Muted’s descendants be shown safe harbor.”

“Thank you.” Thrixe murmured.

Cyvell’s smile tightened.

“What have you done with that harbor, Choir? You extend your tendrils and your songs into the world and you take no notice of what you leave behind. Look at these trolls.”

Thrixe rubbed his eyes, and reached out with his senses as well as his sight.

Sick. They were all horribly sick. Their eyes were crusted over with black. A few seemed to even have odd fungal growths beginning to sprout.

Wait. This was…

“That disease I cured.” He murmured.

“You never cured it. That disease was the result of your ancestor’s power, his remnants in these hills leaking into the trolls here.”

She gestured to the land around them in a wide sweep of her hand.

“The Muted left behind more than a pocket world, Choir. Before he sunk himself into the ocean, his weapons helped the empire kill troll and fae alike, and not only us. All of Alternia’s races suffered because of his works.”

Thrixe felt a dawning sense of clarity and horror. 

Then he frowned.

“Why…why only now? Uryali lived thousands of sweeps ago, so his weapons must have been used then too…what changed?”

The fae looked down at him coolly.

“I took the power for myself. A minor, temporary imbalance to correct the greater one. ”

Thrixe’s head hurt. He didn’t understand.

“You…you said it was my ancestor’s power that caused that disease, but you…”

“It did.” Said Cyvell crisply. “I took control of it after you made it stronger, thinking you had solved the problem.”

She gestured at the trolls around her.

“All around Alternia, wherever you have regrown the world, things are changing. Slowly but surely, microorganisms will mutate and their ecosystems will break down. Disease such as Alternia has never seen will run rampant, fresh strains fighting for dominance, rising to become new fae.”

She gave him a hard look.

“Do you know what would happen? That many new diseases at once, and new members of the courts? It would be war, Choir. It would be death. It would be the unbalancing of everything my people hold dear. 

The one who could best correct it - the Fireseer - is useless. All because he still mourns your ancestor, even though he knew this time would come.”

Thrixe felt like melting into the ground and never coming out.

“I didn’t know.” He croaked. “I thought I was being careful.”

Her expression changed to one of mild pity.

“You are better than the Muted. But you cannot help your nature. We diseases prefer to spread, and you seek to grow the world in your image, even if it is not a conscious choice.”

Thrixe absorbed that, feeling more tired than he ever had in his life.

“So…I have to fix it.”

“You cannot fix it. Not with your own powers. It would be counter to your nature.”

“But I -“

“You will make things worse, Choir. Like you just did. Look over at what remains of your clash with Pestilence.”

She pointed down at the shore he had crawled up on, and Thrixe could see the sand had become sludge overgrown with small animals and plants. The water had become violet-streaked black ice. The air was hazy with bioluminescent clouds of microbes.

All three were slowly spreading, consuming more of the hills and their surroundings. 

Right now, he was too weak to stop them. 

Thrixe keened softly with his ill throat despite the pain, another two of his voices softly joining in.

Was this all he was? A force destined to ruin the world he loved? 

Would the planet be better off without him, as he’d always feared?

A few violet tears ran down his spotted cheeks.

“What should I do?” He asked quietly.

Cyvell smiled.

“I can make it so you never hurt anyone or any place again.” She said soothingly. “The fae will take care of the damage you’ve caused. I swear it, as the queen of the winter disease court.”

He nodded. 

“I’m ready. For whatever you need to do.”

Her smile turned hard, and as lightning struck not far away Cyvell drew the circle of trolls surrounding them closer, and they stopped humming and started -

- singing.

The music sounded like his own. It vibrated deep within him, calling to his own songs.

They kept singing…they sprouted mouths all over their bodies like he could…

Cyvell changed.

Her troll form stretched and grew, body and legs elongating, face becoming a muzzle as she grew fur and long ears, and several more eyes. A tail sprouted from her, long and sinuous, and her hands and feet became paws with sickle claws.

She too opened her jaws - set with pincers on either side - and joined in the song, as the heavens opened and it began to rain down on the hill’s assembly of beings.

Thrixe welcomed the warm downpour. He felt feverish still, and his gills flexed instinctively as his fins waved up and down in time with the music. 

The air began to crackle, to shift somehow, and he could feel the world begin to distort…

“Thrixe!”

“Zanzul!”

He shouted back in confusion and delight, despite his sore throat, as he heard his name called out by a gloriously familiar voice. What was his signmate doing here?

The hybrid was too ill to remember how he had called out for the other Varzim. 

Thrixe turned to see her, and did not notice Cyvell gnashing her teeth and pincers, claws sinking into the wet ground.

Zanzul did. 

Before coming up, Zanzul had sung to the hills to ask them what had happened, and the hills had answered.

Her eyes were narrowed and glowing violet-white as she ran up the hill, her long dreadlocks tossed about in the rain and the rising wind.

“I have no quarrel with you, Lyric!” Shouted the fae of anthrax over the rising chorus of her trolls and the increasing thunder and lightning. “This is how it has to be!”

“The lie is your expense, the scope of your desire.” Sang Zanzul back at her, furiously. 

“I do not lie.” Hissed Cyvell. “I am fae.”

Thrixe didn’t understand what was happening. His headache was worse, his throat sore, his mind tired. He felt terribly lost and upset, and he didn’t know what to think anymore.

The singing trolls closed in on him. He couldn’t understand their words - they were singing in what must be some fae language - but he winced as he saw their distorted faces and bodies. 

Trolls weren’t supposed to have that many mouths. It must be painful.

As Zanzul got close, Thrixe became completely surrounded as Cyvell willed her forces to form a shield between him and his signmate.

She snapped her jaws, staring at the violet woman as her tail lashed.

“Now you cannot reach him without hurting them. I have heard of you, Lyric. You are gentle for both troll and terror. You are to be respected for how well you control your song; better than the Choir and his mess.”

Zanzul regarded the creature with her multicolored eyes.

She tapped into the same power the fae of anthrax had borrowed, but for her it was a direct conduit, a deep bloodline connection that had never withered despite the ages that had passed.

Zanzul sang, so clear and pure that it vibrated in the ears of all present, even as thunder punctuated her words. As if she spoke for the storm.

“Lo, that’s the way that it goes -“

Cyvell’s many black and yellow eyes widened as her trolls stopped their singing to listen. She tried to back up quickly.

“I’m sorry you’ll never be free.”

The now pounding rain spun into a funnel and caught the fae of anthrax, trapping her in a column of writhing water that stayed in place, a channel between land and sky as she struggled in place, clawing at the walls of her watery prison.

Zanzul knew she didn’t have much time. She pushed the sodden, warped trolls aside - they parted for her easily. 

She picked up a now-unconscious Thrixe, his illness worsening again now that Cyvell wasn’t holding it back.

The singer fled as lightning crashed around her, trying to figure out what the trolls’ song had been for, racing down the hill with Thrixe toward her boat.

He mumbled a line of her song in his sleep.

“So don’t lift a finger, your warden provides all you’ll need.” He sung roughly, troll mouth out of sync with his words.

As she reached the shore where she’d brought her boat up, trailing water with every step, Zanzul had a sudden, terrible feeling. 

The world itself felt fragile. Ready to break.

Safety was in sight, and yet - 

Black ooze welled from Thrixe’s mouth even as she leapt onto her boat, covering everything, growing so thickly into her throat and her eyes, there was nothing she could do.

She heard him whisper the song’s final line, and she could swear that under his voice was Cyvell’s.

But never a key.

Then everything vanished, and Zanzul lost consciousness as well.

To an outsider, it would seem the pair of violets and the boat had simply blinked out of reality. 

At that very moment, the ooze stopped growing. The remnants from Thrixe’s fight with Ginger ceased their expansion through the land, air, and sea.

The water trapping Cyvell splashed out of shape and ran down the hill. She struggled to her paws, dripping wet and coughing water, but drowning could not kill a fae of her caste.

Her infected trolls now all lay dead, souls gone from their warped and sickened bodies. She looked at them with a moment’s pity, then shook her long-eared head.

No matter. They had served their purpose in creating a gate, she conceded, as she struggled to her paws.

Tonight, she had stopped the malediction.

 —

Zanzul opened her eyes first. How long had passed, the violet had no idea.

She saw nothing, because there was nothing to see. Nothing to feel, smell, taste…nothing to hear. She shivered, but her body didn’t feel like it actually did. Her body didn’t feel like her body at all. Like she was a being of thought instead of flesh. A collection of memories. An idea.

But she sensed that she and Thrixe - still limp in her arms - were not alone in this seeming void.

There were others. Around them. Inside them. There was little distinction here. It was a place - not even really that - of potential. Where the laws of the universe stretched and bent and became malleable. Where nothing and something were made into nonsense terms, and existence itself became a question rather than a statement.

It would have driven any pure troll insane.

The Furthest Ring, she murmured without using her voice. There was no way to be heard here, no air or sound waves, but everything else could still listen. There was no distinction between thought and self.

She felt a song that gripped her, horribly similar to her own voice. A gentle, lilting bubbling of flesh and keening of spines and throats inside throats, compelling and terrifying.

It was distant, as much as anything could be in a place with no true way to be measured.

It was hungry.

It was coming for her and Thrixe.

Zanzul breathed nothing, exhaled nothing, then gently put her signmate down on the wooden planks below.

She prepared to sing for their lives. 

THE END OF

HARBINGER: PART ONE

THE PROPHET OF SCARS

[carcrash-ventass]

.: Pinned post time! :.

I'm Clodinator just about everywhere else. You can call me whatever you want tbh. I may be a terminal Homestuck, but I'm a huge fan of Transformers and Splatoon. The Crow Strider AU also gives me unbelievable amounts of artist envy so there's that.

Chained

Homestuck fanventure staring a bunch of bird people and some carapacians running amuck. It shifts authorship every week so we're never quite sure where it'll go. I'm the one you'll usually find making the [S] pages.

Our group Tumblr is @chainsmithsnackmix

Ultrastuck

The efforts of the machines to invade hell have The machines efforts to invade hell have gone astray, resulting in cross-dimensional Skaian portals opening up to Earth and Alternia. This is mostly an excuse for me to make fun pairings, but I'll make some lore as we go. Pfp by @cyclotts based on the green revian from Chianed

Oh, and I guess I have this one too: My current fursona, lets see how long this one lasts. :]

Previous versions below:

Nix V2: on standby

Nix V1: Reformated

Unnamed Authorbird: Evolved into their own character

Dawn: Not a fur, but I still use her for Homestuck RP

Azbrug: My wet rat who I have trapped in my basement.

[29pageshomestuckeveryday]

Homestuck, page 4,053

[o] ==>

Once, in this very universe, you could say, Alternia was home to a peaceful race. Trollkind had never known the corrupting influence in their evolution which led them to perpetual war and violence.

That is to say, they had never known me.

As was true of the bellicose world we know, there came to be twelve heroes on this peaceful planet. These heroes too had twelve ancestors whose fortunes were entwined with theirs. These twenty-four figures of legend were not of this world but sent from the sky, delivered from a reality not yet conceived.

On the eve of their race's extinction, the twelve heroes would begin playing a game. They would make an admirable effort, but they would fail. Their civilization had not prepared them for the rigors of this game, and the ultimate reward would fall shy of their grasp. But their failure was more comprehensive, more systemic, than a result of simple inadequacy so common to young players of this game. Though they could not recognize it for the bad omen it was, this session was not the one in which they had been spawned. Such is the symptom of a subtle glitch affecting certain sessions, an error designed to trigger an unfathomable cascade of misfortune throughout paradox space. This glitch is the calling card of the one I serve. It is the discreet, gentlemanly manner in which he reserves his place in a universe for later visitation.

The heroes, understanding their defeat was absolute, sought advice from the mother of all monsters. She offered them a choice. The heroes could either accept their defeat along with the extinction of their race, and put no others at risk. Or, she could show them a path to a second chance, to a reality in which the chosen heroes of their race would be strong enough to succeed with ease, and claim the reward. This reset would come at the cost of wiping the failed heroes from existence. They would live new lives from scratch, playing different roles in the reset reality, with no memory of the game they played or the choice they made.

The heroes chose to accept this bargain, and scratched their session. In doing so they jumpstarted the reality in which the twenty-four figures of legend would together be created - and I as well - and then sent back in time to take our places in history. Though I was delivered well before history even began, before the dawning of life on their planet. This time around, I would oversee its development, and thus fulfill the mother's promise of an aggressive, ruthlessly prepared group of heroes. One that would not rest until victory was secured.

The young twenty-four would again be scattered in two groups, twelve modern contemporaries, and twelve ancients. But in addition to losing their memories of everything that had happened before the scratch, there was another catch for the failed heroes. In the new reality, they would not serve as the heroes. They would mature to become the ancestors of the twelve they formerly regarded as theirs, and this twelve would be chosen for glory. These children would be the heroes to achieve victory, and have the reward easily within reach.

Of course this promise was fulfilled to the letter, as you have seen. The entire bargain was executed without a single hitch, as those authorized by my master always are. There was however one minor anomaly. One of the failed heroes, in his new life as an ancient on this now brutal planet, began to remember. This is his story.

This is the story of the Signless.